Author's Note: Hey, guys! As promised, the next chapter before I leave. We head out tomorrow afternoon, and won't be back until Sunday night. But don't worry! I'm bringing my trusty notebook along for the ride! As well as Anthony and Carlos, because I don't trust those two alone for five days... Anyhow, I should get a decent start on the next chapter. And this should be the last time I go out of town this year. WARNING! This chapter gets very sad. Very. I don't know if I'd call it angst, exactly, but it's very serious stuff here. So much so, I almost wanted to avoid it. But it's a big part of the plot, so... There ya have it. Yeah, the entire thing is just absolutely full of serious sad things. Honestly, I have a love/hate relationship with this chapter. I'd do shoutouts, but I only had one reviewer this time around (many thanks to methegirl, and wonders where Eavis wandered off to...). Um... Hmm... Okay, last chapter was a cliffie, so I'll stop talking now and let you get to it.
Chapter 14: Bad Joke
Spot's a genius when it comes ta angles an' geometry. But ain't nobody can beat Blink in a dark room. He's real good at judgin' distances an' space. Comes from bein' half blind most of his life, I s'pose. Give him a gun an' a blindfold, an' I seriously think he'd be da best shot in alla Gotham City.
Which is why I couldn't fer da life'a me figure out why I wasn't dead on da spot.
I heard da gun go off, den Blink yelled. I could feel da heat from da bullet right by my ear. An' dat's when I screamed at him. I heard his footsteps comin' at me fast, so I stepped outta da way. He slammed hard into da door shoulder first. It wasn't 'til 'bout den dat I saw what it was he was doin'.
Dem shippin' crates dey use fer da Death Ring matches, dey's pretty old an' rusty. Da metal's real thin, an fer some reason most'a da gangs still use da original chains an' stuff ta keep 'em locked. Like I said b'fore, Blink's real good wit' spacin'. He'd chased me 'round da crate ta get an idea'a how big it was an' where da door was at. Den, wit' me backed up against it, he used my voice ta let him know where abouts ta aim. Dat numbskull actually did somethin' clever for once, shot t'rough da weak metal'a da door an' straight t'rough da chain keepin' it locked.
Soon's I figured it out, I started throwin' myself against da door ta help him get it open. Didn't take us long, an' when we come stumblin' outta dere armed an' angry, dem freaks didn't have a clue what was goin' on.
So dey finally caught Demon. Selina still managed ta get away somehow. Can't say I'm surprised. Spot an' Huntress kinda had deir hands full wit' da two'a Demon's goons an' den Demon himself. When Blink an' I busted out, he went right ta work.
I gotta say, watchin' him fightin' alongside Bruce always did have me more'n a little worried. Dis whole t'ing, it was like a game ta him. I think, in da end, dat's what done it. Wasn't da Joker, an' it wasn't any'a us. He was reckless, thought he was invincible in dat costume'a his.
Wasn't long b'fore we all figured out just how wrong he was…
For the next several days, it was pretty obvious that Blink and Race were avoiding each other. And not just the awkward avoiding eye-contact or uncomfortable silences. The angry tension between them was almost visible to anyone else watching. The air became explosive every time their eyes met, and they made it a point not to speak directly to each other. The entire ordeal was really beginning to wear on Spot's nerves.
It was blatantly obvious why Race was upset with Blink. After all, the two of them had been best friends since before they could remember. And the question of whether or not Blink had actually planned the whole thing out or was just making it up as he went was more than a little trust-shattering. A bit harder to pin down, though, was why Blink was upset with Race.
Truthfully, Spot wanted nothing more than to just smack the two of them and tell them to get over it already. But Oracle was in the process of getting him transferred to Blüdhaven, so he had a lot on his mind. He was going to be taking summer classes at a boarding school there so he could graduate early and enroll in the police academy. When they'd presented their plan to Bruce, he'd agreed that it was a good idea to have an inside advantage on the law enforcement. And even though they'd already caught Demon, Rhino was still at large, and Blüdhaven needed help anyway, so Spot had every intention of going through with it.
The only person who seemed to have any problem with the whole thing was Race, and it was making him even more irritable than was usual for him these days. Not only was he sour around Blink, he made sure Spot felt his disapproval at every opportunity. In general, he was particularly difficult to live with after the incident at the docks.
It was three days later, and Bruce could feel a storm brewing in the mansion. Tensions were high, tempers were short, and moods in general were at a record low. Spot made a point to get out as soon as he could, volunteering to go on patrol first thing in the morning and see if he could track down Catwoman. Since it didn't appear that the other boys were up yet, Bruce went down to the cave to call Oracle and see about some leads she had on the Joker – the first leads they'd had since Blink's accident. Somewhere in the back of his mind, though, he knew things were about to explode. He didn't know how, but he just knew.
Blink never was one to just let things hang between people for long periods of time. Mostly because he just couldn't keep things to himself or stay out of someone else's business. The fact that he had let Race alone for the most part for three days already was in itself impressive. But by now he'd had his fill, and even if it killed him, he was gonna settle it.
In a way, it was probably him feeling guilty about the whole thing. But he was angry. Angry at Race for being mad at him, for holding it against him. For not seeing that he had no other choice. For making him feel guilty when every shred of reason told him that he did the right thing.
He knew that Spot had left early to avoid what they all knew was coming. He knew that Bruce was well outside of hearing distance. And he knew that Race was, in fact, awake. And so, when he was sure that Alfred wasn't going to interfere any time soon, he went and stood in the doorway to the other boy's room, his hands shoved deep into his pockets and a dead-serious look in his eyes.
Race sat on the far edge of his bed with his back to the door, flipping absently through a book. If he knew Blink was standing there, he didn't acknowledge it. But the tension in the room spiked, and his shoulders and back visibly stiffened, so Blink figured that he probably did. Several moments of blaring silence passed as the air around them thickened. He could almost feel himself breathing in the animosity that hung between them. It made him sick. Not just because they were such good friends, but also because he didn't feel Race had the right to be angry with him.
At last, unable to bear the weight of the silence any longer, he cleared his throat – only a little awkwardly – and stepped farther into the room. His tongue felt like a match, in the sense that, if he opened his mouth, he knew it would set off the explosion that was looming over the entire mansion. But he just couldn't keep it shut any longer.
"Look, Tim," he began softly, trying his best to hold his own anger in check, "I know you're upset, but—"
"But nuttin'," Race snapped, keeping his eyes trained pointedly on his book.
"Tim—"
"Don't call me dat."
"What?" Blink snapped right back. "Don't call you by your legal name? You gotta stop this. It's getting a little ridiculous."
"Nah, what's ridiculous is dat I don't even know any'a you's anymore." Race glanced briefly over his shoulder, his eyes dark and hard. "New place, new names, new habits… New people."
"Speaking of new people, you ain't exactly been yourself lately, either." Blink felt the hostility rising in his voice and knew that it was about to get ugly.
"At least I's got an excuse."
"No, that's the point, Race. You don't have an excuse. You don't have anyone to blame for all this but yourself!"
At last, Race jumped to his feet and spun around to face him, slamming his book down on the floor in the process. His eyes burned fiercely. "No? It's all my fault, right? Right, Jason?"
"Race, that's not—"
"Not da point, right?" He shoved Blink in the chest a little, his voice rising. "Always 'not da point' wit' you. Well, you's gonna shut up an' listen ta me fer a change, or I swear, Jason, I'll punch yer lights out. Don't think I won't!" Blink swallowed his reply and nodded slightly. He could feel his face flush with rage.
"It ain't always my fault, ya know," Race went on. "Ya broke yer promise, Jason. Ya broke yer promise! Ya told him you's wouldn't get involved, an' ya went out dat night all da same. An' we didn't know if you's gonna make it. I was worried 'bout you. Spot was worried. We's already almost lost ya twice now."
"Race—"
"Don't interrupt me!" His fists clenched together as he gritted his teeth, daring Blink to speak again. When he didn't, he continued once more. "I couldn't take it. Jason, I… I couldn't take it. Dat's why I went lookin'. I's lookin' fer somethin' remotely familiar ta take my mind off it all. I went in too deep. But it ain't my fault!"
A sudden silence fell between them, Race's last words ringing in the empty air for several moments. The two of them stood, toe to toe with their faces close together, in the center of the room, staring each other down. Blink gulped at the dryness in his throat. "Are you finished?"
"For now, yeah."
"Good." With that, he shoved Race backward, towering over him in a menacing stance. "Then it's my turn. And this time, actually listen. That ain't what's been eating at you. We've been over this so many times. You keep saying that it wasn't your fault, that you didn't ask for this. But it's not getting us anywhere. I think it's just your way of avoiding the actual issue. Something's been bothering you since we got here, and I think there's more to it than Bruce lying to us. Because, since we've been here, that's all you've done, is lie to me and Spot. And frankly, I'm sick of it. I wanna hear the truth from you for once."
"Well, I don't give a flyin' crap what you want from me, Jason."
"The hell you don't!"
"I sure as hell don't! An' I don't understand why you give a crap."
"Because I care about you."
Race scoffed. "Yeah, sure."
"I do, you bonehead! What, can't get it through your thick skull that someone might actually care about you..."
"Shut up, Jason." Race sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Look, I know we's been friends since b'fore either'a us can remember, but dere's just some things you ain't never gonna understand 'bout me, no matta how hard ya try. One'a dose things is dat I don't trust people very easily. Ever since da day my own mudder left me sittin' on some doorstep, I just don't take ta trustin' others like most people do. I trusted Cowboy, cuz he took me in when I needed help, an' now dat trust has been broken." He looked up, his eyes going cold. "I trusted you, cuz you's my only friend fer a while. I thought I could always count on you, Jason, but… You's somebody different now. An' I ain't so sure I like it. I know I definitely don't like havin' a gun aimed at me."
"Race, I told you—"
"You didn't tell me nuttin'!" Race shouted, shoving him again. "Ya think you's so perfect in dat ridiculous costume'a yours? Think you's invincible or somethin'? Dat ya got all da answers? I got news for ya. You ain't. Ya sit here an' tell me dat what I did was stupid, an' ya keep remindin' me 'bout it as if I could do somethin' 'bout it. Well, if dat's da case, den why don't ya go an' fix your own stupid mistake? Huh? Cuz dat's what started all'a dis in da first place, anyway! Your one, stupid, lousy mistake!"
The blonde's green eyes blinked in surprise for a moment as he processed what Race had just said. The two of them stood facing each other, harsh words hanging in the air between them. Race was breathing heavily, a brief flash of pain crossing his face as his lungs hitched against his bruised ribs. Finally, Blink dropped his gaze and looked away. "You called me Jason," he remarked softly.
"What?"
"You didn't call me Blink. You called me Jason. You never call me Jason."
Race paused a moment before answering, realizing the change for the first time himself. "Well, da way I figure," he said at last, "I shouldn't call ya somthin' ya ain't. An' you certainly ain't da same kid I grew up wit'." He turned around, his tone as bitter as his gaze, and bent over to pick up the book on the floor. A couple of rattling coughs followed as his breath finally caught up with him. "I think you should go."
"But, Race—"
"Just go!"
Had either of the boys so much as a foreboding of what was to happen later that night, then perhaps at least one of them would have steered the conversation in a much safer direction. But as it was, neither of them had a clue.
Given the severity of Race's mood, Blink was quick to oblige him in his last request. The shouting and the cold words rang harshly in his ears. He felt more than a little guilty about the whole thing, but at this point he had no hope of straightening things out until Race had calmed down considerably. Which wasn't likely to happen any time soon. And so he left the mansion, looking for a little fresh air and some space to cool his own temper, venturing out into the maze of alleyways and backroads that was Gotham City.
He stayed out all day and late into the night, mulling over the entire situation in his head and searching for some way to regain his friend's trust. Trust, as he saw it, was a tricky thing to deal with. And he'd made a pretty big mistake the other night, he was willing to admit. But in his defense he was under a lot of pressure at the time. He never did work well under pressure.
Why couldn't Race just see that? Why couldn't they just forgive each other and go back to the way things used to be? Blink kicked lazily at a piece of rubble in the alley and stopped to lean against the brick wall of one of the buildings. He'd been walking all day, and by now he had no clue where he was, though he had no doubt he could find his way back to the mansion without too much trouble if he really tried. But his mind wasn't on that at the moment, so he was rather effectively lost. He sighed and rubbed at his left eye. Maybe Race was right. Maybe they had all changed too much.
A strange feeling settled in the pit of his stomach just then. At first he wasn't sure what it was. But then a shadow fell across him from the entrance to the alley. He turned to see a tall, slender silhouette standing on the sidewalk, armed with what appeared to be a crowbar in one hand and a gun in the other. Pushing himself quickly to his feet, he turned the other way – only to find that he'd wandered absently into a dead-end alley. His heart dropped in his chest.
A gratingly familiar voice sounded from behind him, sending chills up his spine. "Well, what have we here?" He turned, his shoulders tense, to meet the disturbing gaze of the garish being that stood between him and his only escape. "I've been following you, little birdy, and you seem to be lost."
"The Joker," Blink intoned calmly. "What are you talking about?"
Something about that must have been funny, because the Joker started cackling madly, waving his gun around like a complete lunatic as he slowly made his way farther into the alley. "You, little birdy. Wandering so far from home." His maniacal grin grew even wider, if that was even possible. "Something tells me you need some sense beat into ya!"
Blink just shrugged, trying to keep his panic down and wishing that he'd at least thought to bring his alert beacon with him. "'Little birdy'? I'm not sure I follow."
"Ha! Of course you don't. I did. Now let's see if we can… jog that memory of yours."
The first strike was expected. But the alley was narrow, and Blink had nowhere to go.
The second was sudden and sent him sprawling to his hands and knees.
The third made his vision blur.
The fourth started an incessant ringing in his head.
The fifth sent him all the way to the ground, and he could no longer feel his right leg.
The sixth elicited the first of several guttural screams for mercy.
The seventh broke several ribs, and made him think of Race and his poor breathing.
The eighth shattered his left arm, and he could hear the Joker laughing madly at the sound of cracking bones.
The ninth sent his body into a numb shock.
The tenth he barely felt, but the effects he was sure were devastating.
The eleventh took him exactly six seconds to register.
The twelfth stopped the ringing in his head, but caused him to see stars in his swiftly-fading vision.
The thirteenth blow stole his consciousness.
He wasn't even aware of when his heart stopped.
Author's Note: I kinda wanted to do something that would mirror the way it was done in the comics. I haven't actually read A Death in the Family, but I saw a scan of the page where the Joker is beating him, and it just shows a series a panels all focusing on the Joker swinging the crowbar, so you don't actually see him getting hit. The whole thing is left to the reader's imagination. I kinda wanted something similar here, and I hope I've achieved that instead of just boring you. Anyhow, as you can tell, the conversation between Bruce and Race will take place in a related oneshot much the same as Dead Center and Death in the Family (my story, not the comic arc. Man that's confusing...). Uh, next three chapters are gonna wrap it all up. Fifteen is the funeral, sixteen will see Spot make his decision about whether to stay or go, and seventeen is Race's ultimate turning point in the series. I really hope you guys are as excited as I am, because I am within spitting distance of finishing this thing, which absolutely never happens to me. Like, ever. Anyhow, please please please review, it makes my day, and I will still receive them even if I'm not at home. I have my phone, which has e-mail on it, so send me love while I'm away! Oh, and carry the banner!