Once upon a time, Jason Todd hated Oswald Cobblepot.
The blame for that would lie at the feet of his presumed-deceased biological father and some ill-begotten letters his father wrote that fell into Jason's possession. What followed was a series of unfortunate events that saw him beaten within an inch of his life by Bruce and an estrangement between himself and his adoptive father that Jason refused to bridge even after said adoptive father showed immense remorse and was on the verge of going on his knees and begging for forgiveness. Which may or may not have been fueled by said adoptive father also estranging himself from his three other sons with his massive control freak tendencies in the interim and said brothers of Jason refusing to reconcile with said father unless he reconciled with Jason first.
But that was a story for another time.
What mattered was, a long time ago, Jason Todd hated Oswald Cobblepot. Despised him. Would've killed him if he thought it was worth it. Jason Todd hated Oswald Cobblepot, and for a moment, he thought nothing would change that.
Then life happened.
Then that adoptive father nearly gave his life for Jason's during an attempted villain-takeover of Gotham, finally allowing them to bury the hatchet for good. Then that adoptive father died a mere eight months later, leaving Jason left with very little else to do but to wallow in his regrets.
Then Jason, alcoholic and guilt-ridden, was finally coaxed out of retirement by his older brother to become Dick's right hand, both out of a desire to have an honest adviser and to give Jason a reason to fix himself up and live again. Then Jason, after the death of that older brother, who he had come to love so fiercely, forced himself to bear the mantle Dick had left to him.
After losing Tim and Damian and Alfred and nearly Cass as well, after working day and night, juggling between running Wayne Enterprises and the Justice League, after training and then all but raising Carrie when her neglectful parents were killed in an ill-fated car crash — when he finally received news about the Penguin's death at the hands of Ricky Sionis, the second Black Mask, Jason Todd found that he no longer gave two shits about Oswald Cobblepot. The only thing he felt when he heard the news was worry over how the underworld would fair now that its overseer was gone and a new, potentially more volatile, one was set to replace him.
Then Helena Kyle-Wayne arrived at his doorstep, and that was the last time Jason Todd had any meaningful thought about Oswald Cobblepot.
Jason, now in a new timeline and under the guise of Gotham Knight, was surprised to note that his feelings hadn't changed the moment he saw Cobblepot again. He presumed part of it was because he knew his biological father was actually still alive and out there in the world (not that he particularly cared to find him). That, and knowing that the Joker was out there, and while Cobblepot may be dangerous, he paled in comparison to the Joker. Regardless of whatever Cobblepot had done to him in the past, Jason would always hate the Joker more.
They had snuck into the Iceberg Lounge easily, despite the increased security. Even criminals got jittery when the Joker was out of Arkham; he wasn't exactly indiscriminate when it came to his victims. Then there was, Cobblepot, who, while occasionally indulging in a villain team-up or two, was smart. He knew when to wash his hands of something, and the Joker was one such thing. The city, Batman included, only tolerated his continued presence and prosperity because his crimes tended not to be too severe (relatively speaking) and because of the intel he could provide. But being connected with one of the Joker's atrocities would negate all that and mandate his arrest. And no judge in Gotham, no matter how corrupt, would allow someone associated with the Joker's crimes to go free without some kind of punishment, regardless of their fortune and connections. The villain was that hated.
Because of that, Cobblepot had to make a show of some form of disapproval of the Joker's actions, regardless of whether or not he was connected to the madman's current schemes. Hence the increased security. Not that it meant much in the end to two Bats.
"Hey, hey!" The Penguin screeched as his rich dinner was thrown to the floor due to Batman's dynamic landing onto his table. Knight, meanwhile, darted between the guards, knocking them out with quick nerve strikes before they could realize what was happening. "What are you doing!?"
"Joker's location. Now."
"I don't know what you're talking about! I had nothing to do—"
"LIAR!"
Knight hummed, while Batman continued to shakedown the crime boss, observing the sights. It had been many years since he'd seen the Iceberg Lounge. After Cobblepot's death it had been bought by the Galavans and converted towards their medieval aesthetics, providing another source of income for them. Jason hadn't particularly cared at the time, too busy dealing with Ricky Sionis, but after the Galavans came up in some shady dealings involving Sionis, paid more attention to the place. Nothing came up during the investigation, though he imagined Helena was keeping an eye out all the same.
Is that a shark? How did I forget he had one of those? Knight silently whistled at the large tank, where what was indeed a great white shark swimming throughout the crystal blue waters. He knew he should be taking this more seriously, but honestly things were depressing enough with the Joker running around. Let him enjoy at least this.
"Okay, okay! I'll talk!"
"Good. Talk faster."
"There's been rumblings down by the Cauldron about one of the abandoned buildings there lighting up at odd times. Some of the boys swore they heard the Joker's laughter come from there, but obviously weren't going to go in there and find out."
"Anything else? Does he have a new target?"
"I don't know! Who knows what goes through his mind of his? You know how freaking nuts he is!"
"He's got a point, B," Knight couldn't help but add, turning away from the shark tank to watch the confrontation.
"Yeah! Listen to…" Penguin trailed off when he realized he didn't recognize the new vigilante, "…who the hell are you?"
"Gotham Knight, though you can call me Knight. Batman's newest associate. Just think of me of a part-time Nightwing who lives in Gotham."
"Huh." Penguin actually looked a bit intrigued, but another shake from Batman reminded him of his current situation. "That's all I know, I swear!"
Batman grunted and dropped Penguin to the ground. "If I find out you were lying…"
"…you'll break every bone in my body, I know, I know!"
The vigilante grunted again and made for the nearest window, shooting a grappling hook to the ledge of the next building. Gotham Knight tossed a salute to Penguin right before mimicking his mentor's actions, leaving the crime boss all alone in the ruins of his meal.
"The Cauldron. Man does this place bring back memories," Knight mentioned nostalgically as he observed his surrounding through the tinted windows of the Batmobile.
Batman grunted. "What happened to it?"
"Gentrified," Knight immediately answered. "Eventually people stopped calling it the Cauldron in place of its original name — Crowne Park."
Batman grunted again but said nothing more. They parked on the outskirts of the area, hidden deep in a dead-end alley. Making their way to the rooftops, they observed streets below. Homelessness, drug dealing, casual murder — even by Gotham standards, the Cauldron was destitute. And as much as they'd like to deal with it all, they'd be here all night and nothing would change. The Cauldron would only ever heal if the internal rot of the city was gone, and that wouldn't be happening for a long time. There was someone more pressing they needed to find right now anyway.
They crept from rooftop to rooftop, trying to listen for the laughter that Penguin's men had allegedly heard during their last visit here. It was another half-hour before they heard that distinct 'ha ha' coming from an abandoned apartment building near — what else? — a joke shop. Batman turned on the infrared vision in his cowl, scanning for any heat signatures, and frowned when he saw none.
"I hear the laughter, but no one's inside," he told his partner, scowling.
"Trap," Knight easily deduced.
"Trap," Batman agreed. "Question is: do we spring it?"
"We risk getting killed if we go in there in person."
"Then we don't go in person."
One of the windows was open. That was too convenient, which only cemented their conclusion that the building was a trap waiting to be triggered. Thus, after confirming that the surrounding buildings were also empty of people, it was easy to send in a drone to observe the insides.
Knight frowned at the small tablet Batman had produced. It was directly connected to the camera attached to the drone, allowing them to view a live feed of everything the drone was 'seeing'. The place looked completely deserted. Like it hadn't been lived in for years. If that was true…where was the laughter coming from?
The drone turned a corner and 'saw' an open door. Entering the room, they finally found the source of the noise. At the center was a tall stool where a tape player with a small speaker was playing what they now realized to be a laugh track on repeat. Slowly, the drone approached the device, its light revealing that a piece of folded paper was fitted in between the bottom of it and the top of the stool.
Using the drone's claw, they managed to grab the paper, pulling it from its place. Fearing that something else would follow, they directed the drone to quickly hightail it, exiting the building and having it return to their spot across the street. Carefully taking the paper from the drone's claw, Batman folded it open, with Knight leaning over to read it with him.
'Batsy,
Come and find me.
Love,
Mistah J'
"Well that solves nothing," Knight muttered dryly, only to frown. the corner of the paper had a stain on it. "B…"
"I see it." Batman took out another device, a portable scanner this time. This one had a connection to the database in the Bat-Computer, allowing him to analyze materials quickly and remotely in case of emergencies. The downside was that it was one-use a day, needing all its charge to efficiently scan the database for a match.
Batman hovered the scanner directly above the stain, watching as the attached screen filtered through several words before finally settling on one. "Corn syrup."
"Does it say what kind of corn syrup?"
"Dark. The kind used in hard candy."
Knight frowned. "Wasn't there a candy factory over at the Tricorner that shut down a couple of weeks ago? What was it called — 'Mellie's'?"
Batman frowned. "Do you think he's there?"
"It's a worth a look, and we really don't have any other leads."
Batman's frown only deepened at that, but he had to concede to Knight's point. The two jumped from rooftop to rooftop to return to the Batmobile.
Batman was settling things back into the car, momentarily distracted with something. Just as Knight was about to get inside the Batmobile, his comm buzzed to life, with Alfred's familiar voice filtering through.
"Cave to Batman and Knight."
"Knight here, Cave. Did something happen?"
"Robin is missing."
Knight froze. "What," he hissed demandingly, catching Batman's attention.
"I went to check on him in Miss Cassandra's room with everyone else, only to find the window open and everyone else fast asleep. I believe he drugged their tea. Video surveillance of the Cave shows him changing into his suit, taking out its tracker and leaving with the R-Cycle."
"Shit," Knight swore. At Batman's probing look, he mouthed the word 'Robin', causing to Batman to adopt a similarly panicked look. "Do we have any idea where he went?"
"No, though I imagine there's only one thing he could possibly be after."
"The Joker. Alright. Keep us posted, Agent A. We'll find him." Knight turned to Batman. "Robin took out his tracker."
Batman grunted. "Do you think he knows where the Joker is?" Tim, after all, was the Robin that tended to do his own thing. It was a testament to his competence, but it didn't come without downsides either. There was a reason Knight hadn't let his Robins work alone until they were at least sixteen.
"I wouldn't be surprised if he bugged the Bat-Computer or the Batmobile to keep track of our activities. In fact, I'm almost certain that's he did. Meaning—"
"—He knows about the corn syrup. And he'll make the same deduction we did." Batman didn't groan, but it was a close thing. "We need to get to the Tricorner. Now."
By the time they made it to the factory, the place was smoking. The R-Cycle was parked right outside, near a wilting tree that was on the verge of collapsing under its own massive weight. Distantly, shouts of anger and laughter could be heard.
Silently, they agreed to a plan. Batman would be the one to go the direct route, being the most likely to catch Joker's attention and not be killed immediately. While Knight would go the indirect route — scaling the roof, scoping out the situation, silently feeding information through the comm and intervening if necessary. He wouldn't kill the Joker, they both knew that, but Batman would never completely rid himself of the unease of having them in the same proximity. Knight felt the same, but a loyalty and obedience, all towards the first Batman, had been ingrained in him since his youth. He wouldn't fight his mentor on this.
No proximity sensors. Knight thought as his grappling hook pulled him up. Then again, the Joker never was one for that kind of forethought. At least not by himself. The Joker only ever cared about screwing around with Batman. He would never want the game to end, which is why he never put as much stock into details such as security. Subterfuge, yes. But security? No. Surveillance only ever mattered to him when he wanted to know something to screw someone over. And security would only delay Batman, ruin the fun.
Knight cut off that train of thought before he gave away his position. Anger wouldn't help him here. It would only get Robin killed. And Robin would always, always be more important than the Joker. In any fashion.
After checking for traps, he quietly opened the hatch of one of the skylight windows, angling his body for a quick escape in case someone noticed him. What greeted him was a grim sight.
Robin had managed to take down most of the Joker's men on arrival. Why anyone would work with that madman was beyond him considering the notoriously high death rates of henchmen under his employ, especially since most of those deaths were caused by the employer than any vigilantes or police in the city. Then again, money talked and the Jokerz proved that even the most despicable scum had their fanatics. Either way, Robin had taken most of them out, but must have run afoul of an attack or perhaps a trap of some kind seeing as he was currently strung up upside above a massive industrial mixing vat. One that was on, and filled with what looked like to be chocolate. Hopefully.
He quietly whispered the information to Batman through his comm, preparing himself to jump in and rescue Robin himself if necessary. He wouldn't put it past the Joker to murder Robin the moment Batman burst through those doors. As far as the clown was concerned, the Bat's little birds only existed as another method to hurt his most beloved playmate. Knight himself was proof enough of that.
Once he completed his analysis, he waited for Batman to make his entrance. His mentor did exactly that, bursting through one of the windows, sending shards of glass everywhere. He took out the four henchmen charging at him with practiced ease, sending one careening with a well-aimed batarang that pinned his shirt to the concrete floor. He flipped over the next one, knocking him out with a well-placed boot to the face. The remaining two were punched out, and the Bat approached his arch-nemesis with ever-increasing righteous fury. Knight used this distraction as an opportunity, changing positions to a window closer to Robin and silently and slowly lowering himself down to the overarching walkways nearby.
Robin, bound and gagged, noticed him, but smartly made no indication of it other than a slight wiggling of his fingers. Knight placed a foot on the metal railing of the walkway, and waited.
The conversation was standard, as far as Batman and Joker confrontations went. Shouts from the former about how the latter wouldn't get away with his crimes, giggling laughter and taunts from the latter of his inability to stop him, to kill him. An explanation of what the villain was doing: apparently his newest plan was to make a smiley face that could be visible from space. Knight waited and waited, and when the button was pressed and the drop came, he was already swinging on his grappling line, with Robin in his arms.
He landed on another part of the walkway, and started cutting through the bonds with a batarang, then ripping off the duct tape that gagged his successor's mouth. Robin took in deep breaths, muttering his profuse thanks.
Only to stop when Knight hit him.
Not hard, of course. Not on the head, or anywhere on his upper body, which was no doubt still sore. No, on the knee, and just enough to sting. To grab his attention.
"Don't you ever do that again."
Robin stuttered. Knight hit him again.
"That's not a yes."
Slowly, Robin nodded.
"Good," and Knight squeezed that same knee. He wanted to hug him, they both knew, but they were on the job, and they had a villain to bag.
As if simultaneously reminded of that fact from some god above, the two turned to the ongoing confrontation down below. The Joker ducked underneath a blow from Batman, scurrying away as he cooed at Gotham Knight. He saw the similarities between Nightwing and Robin and him. A new partner, though it seems he hadn't connected Knight to the Robin he murdered over a year ago. In the end, all he really saw was another way to hurt his enemy.
Knight retaliated by throwing the batarang that had been used to cut Robin free.
It sailed through the air and then punctured the Joker's right hand with perfect aim, pinning him to the metal vat with a gasp of pain. He only had time to mutter a "No fair!" before he had his lights punched out by the Bat.
The most dangerous and immediate threat gone, Knight and Robin descended from the ramparts to the floor. Robin was quickly checked over by Batman, who gave him a stern warning about how they were going to talk about this back in the Cave. After assuring his health, he sent his two proteges to restrain the unconscious henchmen while he made a call to Jim Gordon to report the Joker's subdual and request police presence for apprehension.
They followed his orders, with Knight purposely making sure that Robin's eyes did not linger on the Joker for any longer than a few seconds at a time. Especially when Batman finally deigned to remove the batarang and bandage the hand. It wasn't a serious wound, but better safe than sorry.
Within the hour they had all the henchmen, including the ten or so Robin had taken down before he was captured, trussed up in ropes and bound together in groups of four in the center of the factory. The Joker, searched for weapons, was the last one dragged to a pile, an ascot he was wearing ripped off and wrapped around his mouth to keep him from talking in case he woke up. The man looked so limp, Knight went ahead and checked his pulse to make sure he was alive.
He was. Good.
The police arrived, and Knight purposely kept a hand on his Robin's shoulder as the boy glared death at the Joker, who was promptly and unmagnanimously stuffed into the back of Gordon's own personal police cruiser. No chances.
"He deserves to die," Robin muttered.
"He does," Knight agreed. "But he can't."
"Why not?"
Knight leaned over, and whispered something into his ear. Robin blanched. But before more could be said, Batman called for them, and that was the end of that.
The ride to the Cave was silent. Their arrival was punctuated by Alfred pulling Tim into a fierce hug and muttering many of the same worry-born, angry scoldings that had come from both Bruce and Jason's mouths. And once he was done, Bruce had went into his own tirade, sympathizing with his sidekick's loss while lambasting his reckless decision to go after the Joker. Tim would be benched for the foreseeable future, only allowed in the Cave for meetings and training, and then sent off with hugs to allow him to properly mourn his loss. He was warned that the rest of his siblings would be told of his foolishness, and to be prepared for that.
Tim had taken it all with a sullen but accepting face, barring that small look he shot Jason before he returned upstairs to the Manor. Jason had returned it silently, and another look to Alfred had him escorting his younger brother to ensure he actually made it back to Cass' room.
Once again, father and son were left alone, a heaving, exhausted Bruce with his cowl down and a hand on his forehead, no doubt suffering one of his many headaches.
"What did you tell Tim?"
Ah. Of course he noticed that.
"The truth," Jason admitted. "The reason why he couldn't kill the Joker. Why I couldn't kill the Joker. Why no one can kill the Joker, why the Joker needs to live as long as possible."
"And that reason is…?"
Here, Jason kept mum. "When is Nightwing coming?"
Bruce frowned but didn't call him out on the sudden subject change. "He thinks he can get the next two days off."
"Do you think you can get Babs away from her systems tomorrow night and convince her to come here?"
"Yes." Bruce's frown deepened. "Jason—"
"It's time you know the truth about the Joker. All of it. Or at least as much as I can tell you."
Now Bruce looked worried. "As much as you can tell me?"
Jason smiled bitterly. "I spent the rest of my life trying to piece together the puzzle, but some of those pieces were long gone by the time I became Batman. Maybe this time, we can piece it all together."
That was…that was…
"Jason. What the hell is going on?"
Jason snorted. "That, Bruce, is something I have been trying to figure out for the last thirty years."
The capture of the Joker and his immediate internment into Arkham with double the original security hit the news within hours of confirmation. The city relaxed, though many still mourned the losses rendered from the monster's latest attack, Tim Drake included. He would not be seen at Gotham Academy for the rest of the week, and his classmate and friend Stephanie Brown would collect his homework for him to bring to Wayne Manor herself.
But that was for the future. Here and now, the day after the Joker's capture, Tim Drake was sitting at Wayne Manor's breakfast table, quietly playing around with the food on his plate. He could feel Alfred's disapproval, but the old butler said nothing, understanding full well what Tim was going through. He had gone through the same with Bruce when Thomas and Martha Wayne had died all those years ago, and again when Jason had died over a year prior.
Truthfully, Tim hadn't wanted to eat at all, but had consented to having a few bites because he knew his family would give him hell otherwise. He hadn't eaten anything last night, had drugged Cass and Damian and Stephanie and had disobeyed orders to recklessly try and capture the Joker himself. They were sympathetic, yes, but he wasn't going to get a hard pass on everything, especially when those things put him at risk. They certainly weren't going to let him waste away, even if they had to force the food down his throat themselves.
At least they weren't making him go to school. No one, except Stephanie perhaps, was leaving this house for the next twenty-four hours as per Bruce's orders. And even Stephanie was simply going back to her own home. Tim would've asked her to stay, except that wouldn't be fair, and not just because of Stephanie's own mother. It was because of his own thoughts.
Jack Drake was not a good father. He wasn't necessarily a bad one, but he certainly wasn't a good one. Instead, for the first twelve years of Tim's life, he was simply…not there.
Janet Drake, as busy and absent as she was, still took time out of the day to spend with her son when she was in the city. Granted, a lot of it was spent doing pretentious things and some of what she taught him wouldn't fly under a normal household, but she was there. Jack, meanwhile, was so obsessed with his archaeological work that he often forgot he had a son. He only seemed to remember that fact after that fateful encounter with the Obeah Man, after he had awoken from his poison-induced coma.
Despite that, Tim had mourned each of them as much as a dutiful son could. They were neglectful, yes, but they were his parents and they had loved him in their own way. Not all of his memories of them were tainted but their lack of presence either. Stark among them was that visit to Haley's Circus, where Tim had a picture taken with the boy who would become the first Robin. They might not have been the best, but he had still loved them.
What did not help was the knowledge of the future Jason had granted him. His father should have had a few years left, at least. Bruce had handled the Palmers, had gotten Jean Loring checked out by a psychiatrist, had made sure she wouldn't be possessed by Eclipso. Jack Drake wouldn't die at the hands of a two-bit Flash rogue, Jason had promised him.
No, instead he had died in an explosion set by the Joker. Whatever dominoes had that had been knocked down by the changes in the timeline had ensured that Jack Drake would die in a blaze of fire. At least he wouldn't have suffered. At least he wouldn't have been trembling inside in his own home, gun in hand, waiting to fight off an assassin that he had no idea why was after him. Death by the kind of explosion the Joker had created was instantaneous. He literally wouldn't have known what hit him.
And his future stepmother, Dana Winters, had died with him. Tim didn't know how to feel about that. According to Jason, Tim had cared for her, enough to ship her off to a Bludhaven sanitarium after she went spare with his father's death. Of course, then she died when Bludhaven was nuked to oblivion, and by that point Tim was rife with so many losses that she simply became another one to add to the pile.
Tim wasn't blind. The theory had been growing in the back of his mind ever since Jason's talk with Diana. Since the admission that he wanted to train Tim to keep him away from Lady Shiva. With every look of pride and fear that had donned his predecessor's face whenever he made a correct deduction, and there were many of them.
Jason loved him, yes, but he also feared him. And Tim had never quite understood why until the Joker murdered his father. Through all the grief and the morning, the dark thoughts that crossed his head as he silently and tearfully plotted his revenge. Contrary to what his brother thought, Tim wasn't really planning on killing the Joker. That was something no one would ever quite forgive him for. But there were so many other ways to make someone suffer without crossing that line, wasn't there?
And when he had broken through that haze of anger, when he finally had some time to himself, he couldn't help but feel some disgust. Had those ideas really come from his head? They had, he was forced to accept, and the theory came back to the forefront of his mind. What kind of monster had he become in Jason's future? What had made his brother fear him so much? Considering all the losses that Tim had suffered, it was probably worse than anything he could ever hope to conceive.
Then there were the words.
Those words had been pinballing in his head from the very moment Jason had spoken them. They continued to that until his exhaustion had crept up on him and forced him to sleep. They were there now, and Tim was still trying to decipher them, trying not too succumb to the despair he felt just thinking about them. Because if they were true…would they ever be free of him? Of that abominable, godforsaken clown and all the death that came with him?
Before Tim could think on the matter more, Dick Grayson burst into the breakfast nook with his typical flurry. It took one look at his face for Tim to feel the tears streaming down his cheeks again, and soon he was snugged firmly into one of Dick's famous hugs.
"Oh, Timmy, I'm so sorry," the man whispered into his hair, gently guiding Tim's head to the crook of his neck.
Tim didn't say anything. He just continued to cry.
Once Tim was back in his own room, sleeping off his tears after listening to a soothing Romani lullaby from Dick's lips, the first Robin had cornered the eldest of his younger siblings. Jason was back in the library, typing away at his laptop furiously, face scrounged up in a kind of intensity that Dick usually saw when Bruce was confronted by a particularly difficult case. Whatever it was, it could wait, Dick thought.
"Jason."
"Not now, Dick."
Dick wasn't having it. He placed his palm on the back of Jason's laptop and forcefully closed it. "Yes, now. The Joker. Explain."
Jason scowled at him, and wasn't that nostalgic. His little wing hadn't looked at him like that since he'd first return home with two tag-a-longs and a fantastic tale to go with it. Dick would've appreciated it if he wasn't in a foul mood himself. "You'll find out with everyone else tonight."
"Jason—"
"No, Dick. It's going to be hard enough telling it once. I'm not doing it multiple times, even if it's for you."
Even if it's for you. He and Jason hadn't been close, the first time around, much to Dick's eternal regret. But for Jason, it had long been water under the bridge. Whatever had happened in that future of his, it was enough for Jason to look at him with the same adoration Tim did. And while Dick was grateful for that, it also made him guilty. He had done nothing to earn it, far from it, and yet he was getting it anyway.
"I'm just—"
"—going out of your mind, I know. After everything he's done, the fact that there's more to it than him being a two-bit crook who fell into a vat of chemical and came out of it an ax-crazy, psychotic clown with a weird obsession with our father is a little hard to bear. But you're going to have to wait. Babs needs to know too, and Stephanie's still at the house so we have to… we have to…"
Dick watched in slow horror as Jason clutched his head and swore. His younger brother placed his elbows on the table, cursing, muttering under his breath. "Jason!"
He went to help, but Jason stretched one arm out and pushed him away, lifting his head lightly to reveal his now Lazarus green eyes. Pit Madness. Jason had warned them about this, but Dick was fairly certain this was the first time he had an episode around another member of the family.
Jason kept muttering, and Dick could hear his name along with Tim's, Damian's, Cass', and Stephanie's. He could've sworn he heard Donna's as well, but before he could dwell on it Jason began huffing loudly, panting. He let go of his head, taking in another deep, laborious breath, and leaned back into his chair.
"Sorry about that," his brother apologized after a few minutes.
"Don't be," Dick insisted, "Is it always that bad?"
"Sometimes," Jason admitted after a moment. "But not always. Usually I notice it before it can overwhelm me and ward it off with a memory or two. This one, however…well, I was wondering what was taking so long."
Wait. "You were expecting to have one?"
"I always have one whenever the Joker escapes. Sometimes more."
Well shit. "Is it my fault?" Dick asked guiltily, "If so, I'm sorry."
Jason shook his head furiously. "Don't be. Seeing you actually helped it go away faster. It reminded me that you were alive again."
That wasn't really much of a comfort.
"I don't like that look on your face, Dickie. What was that thing we said about self-flagellation?"
"Not to," Dick sighed. "Tonight, then?"
"Tonight. Not a moment later. Just wait."
Here we go.
Jason swallowed. He hadn't expected to have this talk so soon. He wanted to wait a little longer, continue with his research, get a lay of the situation, but…
He had waited too long. He had waited too long, and now Jack Drake was dead. And perhaps if he had said something nothing would've changed, that Jack Drake would've died anyway, but that wasn't an excuse. They had to know, before someone did something they would all regret.
Like Jason had over thirty years ago. Thirty years of regret, of wondering if, had he chosen differently, if everything that followed could have been avoided. Jason wouldn't wish that on anyone, least of all his family. They were already agonizing of things hadn't done and probably never would. There was no reason to force them to agonize over this.
Stephanie had been sent home, her mother demanding her presence as soon as lunch was over. Damian had been drugged again, and was under blissful unconsciousness beneath the sheets of his bed in his own room. That left everyone else.
Alfred was setting up another table filled with sustenance. Jason doubted it would be touched until everything had long gone cold. Bruce was setting up chairs for everyone to sit in, on Jason's recommendation. Tonight would be a long night. And Jason himself was setting up the presentation he had hurriedly made throughout the day, organizing all of his notes into a digestible format. He jabbed the USB connector into one of the ports of the Bat-Computer and made sure that files had been completely downloaded. Then he pulled up his hard work, making it sure it would be visible for everyone to see.
The others arrived soon after. Dick wheeled in Barbara, and was followed by Cass. Tim, to no one's surprise, was last, pallid and reticent. They seated each other, with Barbara's wheel chair next to Dick on one side. After Dick was Tim, then Cass, then Alfred, and finally capped off by Bruce, who was eying him expectantly.
Jason stared at them all. They all stared back.
"There's a lot, and there's no real good place to start," he finally said, "but I guess you," he pointed at Bruce, "are as good a place as any."
Bruce blinked but nodded, urging his son to continue.
"Right," Jason inhaled deeply, "In the previous timeline, there was an incident with Darkseid. I won't go into details, it's not pertinent right now. What's important is what happened to you, specifically, during that incident."
"What did he do?" Dick couldn't help but ask in resigned exasperation. Jason shot him a commiserating look.
"He sat himself on the Mobius Chair and briefly replaced Metron as the God of Knowledge."
Everyone gave Bruce looks. He ignored all of them.
"And while he was on the chair," Jason said loudly, garnering back everyone's attention, "he asked two questions: who murdered his parents, and what the Joker's real name was."
Bruce sat up a little straighter. So did everyone else.
"The answer to the first question was a man named Joe Chill. A random mugger who was desperate for some petty cash. You'll learn more about him later. And as for the second…" Jason trailed off.
"Jason," Bruce prompted him.
"The chair didn't reveal to you the Joker's real name," his son confessed. "Instead, it revealed to you that there had been three Jokers."
And just like that, the entire world fell away.
Yeah, I'm going that route. Except there's more to it which you'll see next chapter, which will drop tomorrow. Along with why Jason feels so much pain when it comes to the Joker.
Next chapter: The truth about the Joker.