Disclaimers in prologue.

Who's Laughing Now?

Chapter Eight

**

"In the 1400's it was thought that fools should be avoided because foolishness was contagious. In Sebastian Brant's book Ship of Fools, first published in 1494, foolishness equaled sin in the eyes of God." –The Fool Throughout the Ages

~*~

Jim moved as quickly as possible to the nearest body, climbing over an overturned table, and kicking a chair out of the way. Dick was already trying to roll to his knees, despite the bleeding and broken arm. His other hand was wrapped around his chest, clutching his ribs. His knees actually slid in the puddle of his own blood forming beneath him, and he lost his balance. "I'm fine," the young man winced, looking toward Barbara. He grabbed hold of the up-ended table and attempted pulling himself to his feet.

Loosing some modicum of sympathy, he stepped over his daughter's date and moved the twenty feet to where she lay, facedown on the tile floor. He passed the counter and the young, headless short order cook lying in a pool of blood upon the floor, and then knelt beside his daughter. Next to her had been left the remnants of a child's plush toy, severed at the waist, its face exploded in a fluff of burnt stuffing.

It was sick, and even as he turned his daughter over, he couldn't take his eyes off the doll's red hair, cloth bat-symbol, or yellow cape.

She was breathing but unconscious. He saw the burn marks upon her right hand, the bruises on her arm and neck, and it turned his blood to ice in his veins. Hadn't she endured enough? Hadn't he?

Checking her pulse and pulling back her eyelids to investigate her pupils, he tried to brush off the chill that had overcome him. It WAS happening again—only this time he'd been lucky. She was still here, and relatively whole. That mad man was connected to every tragedy in his life.

Gently shoving his jacket beneath her head, he crossed back to the front counter. Stepping behind it, he did his best to avoid the puddle of blood that was now seeping into and running down the long spaces between the tiles.

He reached for the phone between the grill and the fryer.

"Don't," came a raw voice from behind him. "Not the cops."

Jim scowled, protest etched on every line of his face."Grayson, you idiot, we ARE the cops." He picked up the receiver.

"NO. I have people who can take care of this." The boy struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on the only chair in the area that had not been knocked over. All of his weight seemed to be pressing on its heavy magnesium frame. "People who'll look at her. And me. It's going to be OK." Dick sounded much more confidant than he felt.

"You have PEOPLE?" Jim hollered. "There is a dead boy back here, and my daughter was almost electrocuted and shot, and you want to call someone OTHER than the authorities?"

Dick took two steps forward, and then collapsed onto the chair. "You can't. The Joker…" he swallowed, his mouth suddenly so very dry.

"Tried to kill us all! I don't know WHAT game you're playing, Grayson, but don't play it anywhere NEAR my daughter." In a furious rage, his finger began slamming numbers on the key pad. There was a slight whistling in the air, and a bat-shaped razor sliced through the phone cord and embedded itself into the metal splashguard on the wall. He looked up to see a dark, point-eared figure in the doorway who didn't look at ALL amused.

"I have it, Jim," Batman informed his ally. Looking behind him, he gestured for Robin to take a look at Dick, and he went to Barbara. As stealthily as he could, he began to pick her up. Despite his efforts, the redhead began to stir in his arms.

Jim let the receiver fall to the ground. "Where are you taking her?"

"This location is NOT secure," Batman informed him, only cool logic in his voice. "They can not remain here." He looked to his protégé, who was making something of a splint with his collapsed bow staff and excessive amounts of medical tape for Dick's broken and bleeding arm. "Take him in her van," he ordered Robin. "I'll take her in The Car. Call Leslie. Have her meet us there." As he spoke, he also lifted the demolished doll from the greasy floor.

Eyelids began to raise and two green eyes looked first at the toy, then to him. Without thinking, the fist of Barbara's burnt hand pulled back and connected with his jaw. Like a masochist, Batman neither avoided nor retaliated. "Remind me to kill you all later," Barbara ground out, before passing into oblivion again.

Jim once again moved past the ever-spreading puddle of blood, actively avoiding looking at the boy's body. "Where are you taking her?"

"Ride with Robin and find out."

* * *

Robin quickly checked the rear view mirror, stealing a glance at the passenger in the back. Quickly he checked his side mirrors, making another quick look at Dick. He licked his cold sore as he tried to keep up with the Batmobile. Assuming the Joker didn't get to them first, Barbara was going to kill them.

He pulled a cell phone out of his belt. This was a LOT harder without someone in the clock tower or cave to patch him through to whatever number he wanted on his com link. Pressing number one on his speed dial, he thrust the phone at Dick. "Here. You talk to her." The young man didn't think he'd be able to deal with trying to talk around the issue.

Jim watched the scene transpiring, not knowing what else to do. Life had been nice. He'd finally begun to recover from the tragedies of the past, his daughter's shooting, No Man's Land, and the loss of his wife. He'd been at peace with the world. And the second he'd let down his guard…

"Hi," Dick began, leaning his head against the glass window as he spoke. "It's Dick. Can you meet us at the clinic? Me an' Babs kinda need looked at." He closed his tired eyes as he listened to her scolding. "Yeah. I know. Can't get into details. Ran into… lots of badness. The Bat's car should get there with Barbara first. Not sure about her injuries. I'm being held together with medical tape." His head pressed against the glass more firmly, and Robin removed the phone from his grasp.

"He was awake 'till just now," Robin assured the doctor. "I think it looks worse than it is. No, you're right. I'll leave the medical opinion to you. We're about five minutes out."

A van with its high beams blaring turned on the road right behind Robin. Jim dared to look behind him, trying to make out some details of the vehicle. "Lots of badness…" Jim whispered under his breath. That didn't BEGIN to describe whatever the hell was going on here.

As the gunfire started, Robin swerved. The van was jolted when it hit the side of the road, but he kept control.

"God… what the hell…" Dick muttered as he was jostled awake. A bullet hit the mirror on his side, and it sparked yellow then flew off.

"A little HELP here," Robin announced.

Dick looked around himself, gaining his bearings. With his good hand, he pulled the horizontal switch for the heating upward until it clicked. Behind them, Jim saw a screen of dark liquid and smoke develop. His daughter certainly had an… unusually equipped van.

"THANKS," the Boy Wonder breathed, adding more speed as they sped along the deserted stretch of highway. "Shit. I lost Batman." He knew where he was going—but he'd have felt better getting there as an entourage, as opposed to arriving alone. Robin looked in the mirror, glancing at both of the vehicle's occupants. "So… uh… anyone do anything fun this weekend?"

* * *

As his daughter's van wound its way through the city streets, Jim briefly wondered what he'd gotten himself into. Maybe he should have stayed in Florida. Maybe he should have shot Grayson when he had the chance.

He'd given several large and lengthy protests about leaving the scene of a crime, and notifying the people at Arkham that the Joker was loose,

There was a certain wave of relief when they turned down Crime Alley, and Robin caught the faintest glint of black ahead of him. The Batmobile rolled the remaining distance and turned toward the side entrance of Dr. Leslie Thomkins' clinic.

Only a few blocks away himself, Robin killed his headlights and took one more glance at Dick. "Hey, wake up," he said quietly. "We're here."

In the ill-lit alley, Robin could see Batman getting out of the car, and coming around to the passenger side. His hand on the car door, he paused, staring at the side entrance to the clinic.

There seemed to be a pause and stillness in the air, paper garbage ceased its upward spiral. Not even the ally cats were about on their night hunt for food. About a block off, Robin sensed the change in the air, and slammed on the break, lurching Dick's pale body out of the last remnants of sleep.

Fifty yards in front of them, the side blew off the Thompkins Clinic, Engulfing Batman's car in a hailstorm of mortar and a river of hot orange fire. The sight twisted and grew hazy in an atmosphere filled with accelerant.

"NOT COOL," Robin ground out as he opened the car door. Waiting for the fire to pull back, dying somewhat from the force of the initial explosion, he headed toward the Batmobile, even as Batman pulled his cape from around him and rose from the protective sheltering of the armored car.

A silver, nondescript car pulled up in front of the Batmobile. A short, wiry woman of advanced age got out. She seemed more angry that surprised. "YOU'RE going to pay for that, you know," she scolded loudly, before the three dropped into conversation. Fire continued to crackle beyond the doorway of the clinic and sirens could be heard approaching in the distance.

A second later, Robin returned to the car with the older woman and her medical bag. "New plan," he informed the vehicle's occupants. "We're taking him home," he said, thumbing a gloved finger at Dick.

Jim briefly wondered if the universe had something against him, personally.

Continued in part nine



"Most fools were considered "naturals". They were dwarves or the mentally challenged. They entertained by their inappropriate actions in upper society. The "artificial" fools were the ones who took the fools guise as a way to speak freely without retribution." –The Jester Pages