Batfam Week 2020, Day 2: Dark Batfam
Dick's finger tapped against the table, the only sound in the silent room. His suit stretched taut against hard muscle as he sat forward in his chair, highlighting the fit body beneath and betraying the idea he was nothing more than a businessman. On the contrary, Dick was the right hand man to the head of the Wayne Family, positioned as second in command with his brothers at his side.
Dick's eyebrow cocked, and Jason shifted where he leaned against the wall, the corners of his lips twitching. Tim lounged on a chair at Dick's side, body loose and comfortable. At Jason's left, Damian tutted softly, the sound derisive and dismissive in a way that made Jason's smirk grow.
"You thought you could come into our city and make a name for yourself," Dick summarized. "You thought you could take one of us to bend us to your will."
Again the silence stretched, broken only by Dick's tap-tap-tapping and the panicked breaths of the fifth person in the room. Fury tightened Jason's throat, while a sense of vindication and warmth filled his chest at his brothers' actions.
"You," Dick said slowly, tilting his head as he studied the man across the table from Tim and himself, "were wrong. Did you not think we would notice the instant one of us went missing? Did you not realize we have and will do absolutely anything to save one of our own?
"Did you not, Mr. Napier, do any research on us before you tried to take us down?"
The man was bound tightly to his chair, the clown paint on his face running from sweat and tears. The horrible smile that haunted Jason's nightmares was missing, though the Joker had made a valiant effort to keep it going during the first part of this "meeting."
Tim shifted in his chair, pulling out a knife and digging the tip into the table. Slowly, he began to twirl it, the blade glinting in the light with every turn. Damian's hands clinked when he moved them, the knuckle-dusters brushing against the buttons of his dress shirt.
They were each, the Wayne boys, dressed as if for a meeting with the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. It was the appropriate way to do business, their father had taught them. Dress for respect; dress to intimidate. Jason himself wore his favorite red silk shirt with a black suit jacket and pants. The clothing hid the bandages and stitches that marred his body from the treatment he'd received at Joker's hands.
Dick leaned back in his chair and stretched, the motion careless. "My brothers each have specific tools of the trade they prefer. In situations like this, Timmy here likes to see the skin part beneath his blade. He creates methodical masterpieces on his victims' bodies. Damian likes to break things. He especially likes to break things that have dared to touch something or someone he considers his. If you'd done your research, you would have known some of what you'd be facing. These two alone are a large reason Deathstroke still remains in Arkham and will never try to escape."
Jason's jaw clenched at the memory of Dick's broken body and tortured spirit. Of his sobbing and voiceless pleas. The only reason that mercenary lived still was because it was the torture he deserved, instead of an escape via one of Jason's bullets. He'd had Dick for months before they could rescue him.
"Jason, too, had a big hand in the man's reticence to try and rejoin the world. But to be honest, he's usually the most merciful of us. See, he takes care of the person at the end of meetings like this. One quick shot with his trusty .45 and your suffering ends. But you…. You hurt him."
Dick's eyes were dark, fury making his gaze frigid and frightening. "So you get to feel Tim's wrath, Damian's possessiveness, and my protectiveness."
Leaning over, he picked up the seemingly innocuous baton resting beside his chair. Flicking a switch, his escrima lit up with a crackle of bright electricity. Joker's breath hitched as his eyes swung around the room, searching for an exit, for a sympathetic eye. But Jason had suffered under his hands, and Joker's punishment had been set in stone the moment he had dared to touch him.
Dick stood with a deep breath. "Mr. Napier, your time in this city has come to an end. To be even more specific, your time on this planet is coming to an end. But only after we finish repaying you for the hospitality you showed our dear brother."
He stalked over to the clown, his gate smooth and gliding but for a slight limp. He circled behind Joker and leaned down to whisper in his ear. "Goodbye, Mr. Napier."
The escrima stick jammed into his side, and the clown screamed.
Down the hallway from the room where the Wayne brothers conducted their business, Bruce Wayne sat behind his desk and watched the feed from his computer. The scream filtered down the hallway, and he leaned back in his chair with a satisfied, proud smile.
"That's my boys," he said quietly. "That's my boys."