"B, we've got a problem. It's... it's Joker. He has Red Robin and Robin."
A cold, hard stone settles in Bruce's stomach. He slowly takes his hands away from the Batcomputer's keyboard, his eyes unconsciously flickering to the trapeze set that had been built in the Batcave years ago. He immediately wrenches his gaze away. Pointedly staring in the opposite direction, he lifts a hand to his comms unit.
"How?"
"He — Joker took them a half-hour ago," Barbara responds. "Got the drop on them, took them by surprise. Wasn't much of a fight, really. Red Robin was taken out first, fast and hard. Too surprised to properly defend himself. And Robin... he didn't want to fight. Not that the end result would've changed if he gave his all. He probably would've won even if they didn't hold back.
Bruce frowns as he puts his cowl back on. "I trained them better than that."
"Can you blame them, B? For not wanting to immediately fight?"
No.
He couldn't.
Bruce understands perfectly, and he's not sure he would've done much better.
"Where?" he asks instead of replying.
Barbara sighs audibly, but acquiesces. "Tracking them right — got it. Sending coordinates now."
Sure enough, a dot blinks into existence on his cowl's in-programmed map. It's a few streets down from the docks, in one of Gotham's many abandoned warehouses. Bruce strides toward the Batmobile.
"I'm on my way. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
"I'll contact Red Hood too; he's twenty-five away — "
"No!" Bruce snaps. "Don't get him involved. He has his own things to take care of. I'll handle it. He doesn't need to know." He doesn't need to see him parading around as his greatest enemy.
"Are you serious, Bruce? This is just as important to him as it is to us," Barbara insists. "He's his brother. Jason cares, a hell of a lot more than he wants to admit. He deserves to know, deserves the chance to see him face-to-face. We have to tell him; it'd be wrong not to — "
"No," Batman says, and it is Batman speaking now, not Bruce. "I'll take care of it. By myself."
"Damn it, B!" exclaims Barbara. "Stop obsessing over the mission and your stupid grudge and let Hood — let Jason — help! He's not going to kill him. Think about how he'll feel when he discovers that you left him out of the loop."
His jaw clenches. I am thinking about that. And I'd much rather he be angry over that than having to see him fallen so far. It's my responsibility, my burden, not his. None of them deserve to see that. And if I can still save one of my children, I will.
"Just keep him away from the warehouse, Oracle," Batman growls and cuts the line.
Judging by her radio silence on the way to the warehouse, this obviously pisses Oracle off, but Batman doesn't regret it. He flat-out refuses to let his son see the other's fate worse than death.
Landing silently on the roof, he checks around for potential dangers. The surrounding roofs and streets are surprisingly clear; there's not a hint of anyone. A sense of unease mounting, Batman unlocks a doorway on an upper level. He takes care to remain as quiet as possible, even more than usual; anything more than a whisper of a shadow, and Joker will know. The door swings open, and Batman steps inside. Inside, it's just as empty of people, thugs and civilians alike. It makes him wonder briefly if perhaps Joker's men refused to bow to him — but no, they've obeyed his orders since the moment he'd been created. At a single word, they wouldn't hesitate to fill the warehouse to the brim.
Which means only one thing: Joker wants them to be alone.
Batman grimly presses forward. His cape sweeps out behind him as he creeps along. Usually, the dark is a comfort, but knowing what he's about to face, it's become far from it tonight. Not when his opponent is just as intimate with it.
He rounds a corner and comes to an abrupt halt. Batman stares down into the middle of warehouse, where three figures wait.
His two captured sons are bound head-to-toe, held firmly in place by strong rope and intricate knots nearly impossible to untie alone. Both are still unconscious, their muscles limp. There's a massive bruise swelling across the right side of Red Robin's face, while blood still drips down Robin's nose from a gash at his hairline. The position Robin's leg is in makes Batman think that it's sprained or, more likely, broken. Their boots, gloves, and belts have been stripped away, and Batman spots them piled together in a corner, far away from the two. Neither show any sign of movement.
And beside both their bloodied, bruised forms stands Joker.
"I know you're there, Batsy!" he sing-songs. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!"
Joker turns around, long and dark green hair flopping over his forehead, once-tan skin bleached pale white. His crisp blue eyes are a mixture of fiery madness and cold calculation. Instead of the old purple suit, he's dressed in a black tuxedo. The electric blue highlights make a V on his chest. Blood speckles his outfit and coats the knife in his hand. The red curving along his lips and cheeks makes it seem that his face is split into a perpetual grin — which it is almost all the time now, even without the mockery of a smile.
"Come on, Bats, stop skulking around," Joker calls into the shadows, his eyes flickering around to try to spy him. Batman tenses, wary of his opponent's keen awareness. He was trained well, and madness didn't take that away.
It's how this Joker's evaded capture for so long.
When Joker fails to spot him, he heaves a great, exaggerated sigh, shaking his head in disappointment. "Really? We're going to play this game again? I want to play something new, Bats! Didn't you do this enough with — "
He cuts himself off when Red Robin makes a noise. Joker looks behind him, his face lighting up when he sees his prisoner stirring. Batman takes the opportunity to swing himself onto the beams crisscrossing the ceiling.
"Hey hey hey, you're awake, Babybird! You have a good nap?"
Red Robin tries to say something, but he can't speak around his gag. Joker ruffles his hair, the once-fond smile more a cruel twist of his lips now.
"Don't worry, you're safe with me," he coos. "I'm here, I'm here. Everything's all better now. Well, except for one thing, that is."
Joker suddenly glances around the rafters of the warehouse again. Then, smirking, he turns to Red Robin. His voice takes on a sickeningly-sweet tone, a faux-kindness seeping through his words.
"Why don't you go back to sleep, kiddo? Let Daddybats and I talk. We got some issues to hash out." Joker cracks his neck. "Violently."
Red Robin shakes his head, letting out muffled noises. He looks at Joker with a pained desperation. His mouth moves, trying to work off the gag, but Joker clicks his tongue in disapproval and places a finger on his lips.
"Now, now," he scolds, "none of that."
Red Robin makes grunts of protest. He tries to tilt his head back, away from Joker's touch, but his tight bonds make it impossible to do so. Joker grabs his chin and tips Red Robin's head from side-to-side, inspecting him; he would've looked thoughtful if Batman didn't know better. Robin still hasn't made a movement, and his chest tightens in worry.
He silently begins to slide onto a beam almost directly above them.
"Not feeling sleepy, eh, Babybird?" he muses. "How about a lullaby, then? You aren't too old for that, are you? No, of course you aren't. No one's ever too old for a lullaby. This is for you too, Bats! You work so hard; it's 'bout time someone gives you a good night's sleep."
Beaming, Joker claps his hands and clears his throat loudly. He holds up a hand like he's singing into a microphone. "Rock-a-bye, Batsy, on the circus top, when the Joker blows the nest will rock. When the bough breaks, the nest will fall, and down will come Batsy, nest and all."
His voice is a mockery of another man. Everything about him is a twisted reflection. Batman's heart pangs with regret, and for a brief moment, he's in a different place, a different lifetime, watching a little boy laughing as he dances and twirls through the hall.
Joker peers at Red Robin and sighs heavily. He tosses his knife to his other hand and takes a step away, reaching for a piece of metal half-obscured with shadows. It's stained with dried blood.
"Still awake, huh? Geez, you're a troublesome little kid. Maybe I'm gonna have to do this the hard way — "
Batman drops from the ceiling, cape flared. His descent is near-silent — but he still disturbs the air, and the flutter of his cape creates a whisper of wind.
Most wouldn't noticed, but it's more than enough.
Joker flips gracefully out of the way, dodging his attack with ease. "Missed me!" he chortles, sticking his landing on his toes and throwing his arms out like he's pandering to a crowd. "Getting slow in your old age, eh Bats? Me, on the other hand, I'm still spry as a spring chicken!"
Batman rises to his feet slowly, watching his enemy with care. All Joker does is pull out a second knife, just as red as the first, and start juggling them. His posture seems relaxed, but Batman can see coiled muscles ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.
Joker chuckles hoarsely. "Been a while, hasn't it? Here I thought you weren't coming at all. I knew you missed me! What?" he adds, lifting a brow when he gets no response. "No witty remarks or vengeful grunts tonight? Where's the Daddybats we all know and love? What, are you losing your taste for punching out guys' lights?"
Batman shakes his head. "I don't want to fight you. You're sick. I can help you."
Joker scoffs. "You kidding, Bats? I've never been more traught in my life. You and the rest of the fam, on the other hand... you're about to get very, very dead."
Batman stares into those familiar blue eyes, dancing with chaos. Then he reaches up and pulls off his cowl. Joker looks surprised at the turn of events, enough that he stops juggling the knives. One of them disappears into his suit.
"I know," Bruce begins carefully, "that we haven't always had the best relationship. We were both always headstrong, stubborn. And I didn't really know what to do in those beginning years. It was new territory for both of us. But no matter how much I screwed up, no matter what I said or did, you were still one of the most important things in my life. We're partners. We can still be partners."
Something flashes in Joker's eyes. A tentative hope rising, Bruce takes a step forward. He offers his open hand to the other man and implores, "We're your family. We love you. We can help you. Let your brothers go and turn yourself in. We can make you better."
Bruce swallows. "Just come home. Please."
Joker considers him for a long moment, long enough that Bruce thinks that maybe he's still in there, that maybe he can still save him. Then Joker barks out a dark laugh and the flare of hope is extinguished. "Sorry, Bats, but no can do. You need me, after all, and what sort of pal and son would I be if I let myself be taken away?"
Joker laughs again, the crazed, haunting sound filling Batman's ears. He hefts his long knife, the edge glinting and sharp, and places it on corner of Red Robin's mouth. Batman can see a bead of blood well up where the knife's tip has pierced. Red Robin stays stock-still, but his throat visibly bobs.
"What do you think, Bats? Who should I make smile first? Babybird One or Two?" When Bruce doesn't immediately reply, Joker digs around in his pockets and comes up with a small gas canister, a bright blue smirk painted on it. "Ooh! Or maybe some nice laughter to kick things off? Loosen up those grim and vengeance-y faces and get everyone in the proper party mood? You know, I like that idea! I think I will start with some good ol' fashioned laughing!"
He starts to open the canister.
Bruce pleads, "Don't do this. Don't make me do this."
Joker's grin widens. "It's like I've always told you, B. I'm the light to your darkness. Besides, what's life without a little laughter?"
I've never written Joker before. It was surprisingly fun.
I'm curious: when in the story did you all figure out who Joker used to be?
Thoughts?