A/N: Don't forget to review! Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. All content is based off of work published byDC Comics and I own nothing.

Dick

38 Hours

My head is spinning. My vision is filled with black spots. My leg hurts- bad. I try to sit up but the movement sends pain shooting through my body. I fall back and hit concrete. Ouch. The room- or rather, cell- I am in is dark except for a single flickering light bulb that hangs from the ceiling. Where am I? How did I get here? Where's Babs? BABS! But no. Now is not the time to panic. Now is not time to be thinking about Barbara, it is the time to be thinking of survival, strategy, focus. Think think think! What would Batman say to do right now? Injuries. He would tell me to analyze my injuries, learn my weaknesses now so I will be prepared. No surprises, surprises ensure a moment of weakness. Weakness means death.

There is a wall about a foot to by right and I slowly shift my body, inch by inch, until I am slumped up against it. I can see at least part of my body now and one is for sure even in the dim light, blood. There is blood everywhere. No doubt the majority of it is from the bullet wound in my thigh, that alone means that I will have to play the part of a one legged protege if I have any hopes of getting home. That leg is a bum.

I heave a deep sigh and pain claws through my body once again, this time it is sharp and unforgiving, settling in my chest and leaving a tingling sensation for minutes afterward. Perhaps a broken rib or two then? Also not a good sign. Thats when I hear it. The laughter. A soft and sinister crackle that seems to come from all corners of the room simultaneously. And it doesn't stop. The laughter seems to go on for hours before finally stopping with three words, whispered so softly that I struggle to tell whether it was my imagination or not: Why so serious?

Barbara

30 Hours

I am running. Jumping. Flying. Kicking. Punch. I am chasing down every lead, every single person who could possibly know anything about Dick's disappearance. I am merciless tonight. Already, Batman and I have searched every single one of Joker's usual hangouts, we have discussed with the police, cross-checked records, viewed security footage. But nothing is helping. It has already been too long since his disappearance, the police say that the first 24 hours are the most crucial, but that is a lie. It's the first 12 hours that make the difference here in Gotham, they are the deciding factor of whether or not that person will be brought back home alive or cold. It has already been 14 hours and we have no clue where he is.

What would Dick do if he were in my situation? The only thoughts surfacing to my mind are that he is missing, Batman- the greatest detective in the world- can find no solid lead to follow and this is exactly what happened with Jason. Then it hits me: The tracker! Batman installed trackers on all of our utility belts and uniforms about a year ago, he said that it was a safety precaution, in case one of us were to go missing or was unable to respond through the com system.

I had thought that they were an invasion of privacy at the time- afterall, we were required to have our utility belts on our person at all times- but now I could kiss his feet I am so grateful for them. I immediately pull up the mini bat computer that is built into my suit and manual turn Dick's tracker on, it takes a few seconds to show up on the map and it's not until a bright red dot pops up that I realize I had been holding my breathe. I didn't even know for sure that Dick actually took his belt with him to the ball, but it appears that he had, judging by that fact that the dot was located about 10 miles north of my current location in central Gotham. It's not moving. With that, I start running. I'm coming Dick.

Dick

30 Hours

Joker. He is in my cell, walking circles around me, holding a crowbar. He suddenly stops, pulls the bar high above his head, and slams it into my jaw. The force of the blow knocks me over onto my side, pain is pulsing through my head and black blotches my vision. The world is spinning on its side. Blood is everywhere, it is under my face, pooling on the floor, soaking my clothing, and choking me. I try to spit some of it out of my mouth but I have no energy and it ends up dribble across my cheek like drool.

"Wow. That looks like it really hurt." He hits me again in the ribs this time. Then the pelvis and I hear a crack. And then he hits me in the face again and I'm whipped up to my knees from the force, my broken leg can't support the weight and I fall again. I hardly feel the pain anymore. "Woah now wait a minute… That looked like it hurt maybe just a little bit more HAHAHA. Now you should be thanking me, always so serious and never happy. Well, I'm here to help, to beat the serious out of you, fix you up. You can't expect to do your parents proud with an attitude like that, why I bet they would be so ashamed of you. You should know better than to let down your good ol' pops, such a disrespectful son you are! Let me just teach you a little lesson!" I could strangle him if it weren't for my injuries.

He has been doing this for hours and how I am still alive and able to think? I do not know in the slightest. " So Dicky you like experiments, so lets experiment. You tell me which hurts more. Forehand?" He hits me. "Or how about backhand?" He breaks another bone, that makes about 15 if I counted correctly, and I let out a piercing scream. "AHAHAHA I know! How about both?" And he hits me both ways, one after the other, in the same spot, four times. I let out a moan and shift awkwardly to face him.

He learns towards me, pressing the bar into my neck and I muster up every ounce of strength I can find and spit a disgusting mixture sweat, blood, and saliva into his face. His scowls at me and throws a punch at my nose- it is broken as well- he laughs at my moaning and pulls me up to his face by my hair. "What was that sweety? I can't understand you, perhaps you should speak up?" He slams me back to the concrete floor and kicks my abdomen. I'm immune to the pain. "Now I remember that last little bird I played with, he was so pathetic. Didn't last two hours before he was begging me for mercy, 'Please stop!' he said. 'You're going to kill me!' and so you know what I did? I did kill him, and can you blame me? I couldn't just let the boy down! He was expecting me to kill him and I just had to keep up appearances and expectations. He was so weak- a disgrace." I try to yell, defend Jason's name, but all I can get out is a grunt that is no louder than a cough. My head is spinning fast than ever before and I let myself fall into unconsciousness- or maybe it is death, I can't say that I particularly care which it is anymore anyway.