Chapter 4 – The Prince
Tim woke up in the morning to the Joker grinning above him.
"Ah, finally, sunshine! I didn't dare to wake you up considering how tired you looked yesterday, but you were starting to get me worried! It's almost midday."
Tim blinked, stunned. The Joker wasn't wearing his nightgown anymore but a most usual purple three-piece suit with a stripped pattern. He had a pink daisy pinned to his chest.
Then the words' meaning found their way to Tim's brain and he paled.
"I overslept? I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!"
"It's okay, cookie, I let you."
Tim felt mollified – and ashamed to be. The Joker was taming him like a pet. But it was becoming really hard to resist.
(His name was Tim Drake, he was Bruce Wayne's ward and Robin at night. He helped Batman to fight crime. He liked video games and roleplaying with his friend…)
(He'd better remember that.)
"Should I get up now, then?"
"Yes, of course!"
The Joker freed his hands. Tim felt dizzy and tired despite the good night's sleep, but still much more aware than he had been the previous day. Then memories rushed back, paralyzing him with shame.
He had asked to the Joker if he loved him. What the hell was wrong with him?
Tim took a shaky breath and smiled at his jailor who was looking at him expectantly.
"Shall I take a shower?" Tim asked.
"Go on, like the good boy you are. We will be brunching as soon as you join me downstairs. There will be a surprise!"
Tim was quite sure he wouldn't like it but thanked him all the same before hurrying to the shower. It was acid, not water, today; but he was getting used to it. He showered quickly and avoided his whitening face's look in the mirror while combing his hair.
Contrarily to what the Joker promised, breakfast was quite usual if a bit more copious than usual – but since he had called it a brunch, it felt normal.
Tim was tense at first but relaxed while eating. The bacon and eggs were delicious! To think there had been a time when he had not been good enough of a boy to deserve them. No, that was rubbish; but they tasted good nevertheless. And the dessert! A delicious apple pie. Tim couldn't keep a grin to spread on his face.
"Do you like it, my dear?"
"Oh yes, very much!" Tim answered.
He hadn't felt that good since before he had been abducted.
(Something is wrong.)
(But what?)
"And now, the surprise!" The Joker said. "But first, close your eyes!"
Tim did. He felt a blindfold being put around his head. Then he heard the Joker moving around him and a sudden click. He smiled again, eager to know more.
(Wasn't he supposed to be worried instead?)
"Come on, on your feet! Take my arm, I'll guide you."
Tim followed as instructed.
"Careful with the step."
They climbed stairs. Stairs that were not in the living room before.
Step to the outside.
Tim started shaking – and, at the same time, grinning. He felt like he could do anything.
(Dangerous… Wrong…)
"Are we going somewhere?"
"I am afraid you did not earn that right just yet, honey-pie. But you sounded so worried yesterday! So we are going upstairs."
Upstairs. One step closer to freedom. Why was he so scared?
(Because he wouldn't dare to get away.)
(Hush!)
Tim chuckled.
"Upstairs? But I don't know the place!"
"Don't worry, I'll show you around. Aaand… Tadam!"
The blindfold was removed; Tim blinked until the luminosity became bearable again.
They were in a warehouse, as he'd thought. He couldn't see any door and the only windows were skylight, five meters above his head. It was dark outside, which meant the Joker had been lying about the time – probably since the beginning. That made sense: if he was with Tim during nighttime, he could do whatever he wanted during daytime.
For example, being held in Arkham.
Tim chuckled. That theory was likely to be correct. After all, the Joker was the asylum prince, able to get in and out so easily it had driven them quite insane. He seemed to use a different trick each time and yet, he always found another one for next time.
Well, Tim could also be wrong. But if he was correct, that meant he still was in Gotham.
(Batman could still find him…)
(Or not.)
Tim stopped staring at the ceiling and looked down. The place was mostly bare, except for a stage set against one of the walls. It was framed by red curtains. A purple-padded armchair had pride of place on it.
"What is it?" Tim asked.
"For today, your throne, my dear. Go on, sit down."
Tim grinned. The Joker escorted him on the stage and made sure he was settled. Then he handed him a plastic hammer, the kind of toy meant for babies, which would make a noise if used.
"Shall I call our guests?"
Tim nodded eagerly. He vaguely remembered he had been worried about something, but he couldn't remember what. He was grinning, happy, certain everything was going to be alright. He could do anything!
The Joker clapped his hands twice and people appeared from… somewhere. Tim didn't really bother to look. He was too busy staring at their beautiful clown masks and costumes. So many colors! He had not realized how bare their flat was, except for the Joker's bedroom of course. It was all in sepia tones. But now! Those thugs formed such a bright, colored crowd!
"Those are my friends", the Joker pointed out. "I hope you like them."
"They are beautiful!" Tim answered, clapping his approbation.
The Joker smiled. Strangely enough, his smile wasn't reassuring; it was way too wide, hungry, like a wolf's.
"I knew you would see things my way", the Joker told him. Then, to the thugs: "Bring our guests forward."
Two people were pushed on their knees in the semi-circle the crowd made around the stage. Contrarily to the others, they didn't wear clown masks but just bags on their heads, and their wrists were bound.
Tim laughed. It was so funny!
(Why was it funny?)
(What did the Joker drugged him wi…)
"Very good! Now. Ladies and gentlemen…" the Joker started, bowing.
The only girl in the crowd giggled and blew kisses at him.
(It's Harley Quinn!)
(Actually, where was she before?)
"Allow me to present you my boy!"
The crowd cheered. Tim blushed. They were happy to see him! He waved a greeting, his smile widening on his face.
Two red files were handled to the Joker who opened them and nodded seriously.
"We are here today because something has to be done about this city. Criminals are roaming in its streets. We shall cleanse it!"
The crowd laughed and clapped. Tim wrinkled his nose. That was very serious! Very important business! And he was part of it, of course.
"So we are here today to judge which of those two men is guilty!"
The bags were removed from the men's heads. Their mouths were kept shut with adhesive but, when they saw the Joker, they still paled and tried to get away. The thugs made sure to push them back on their knees.
"One of them is Jake Murdoch, who stands trial today for raping his daughter, Anna." The Joker shook his head, sad. "Horrible business."
He handed the file to Tim who read it carefully. It was, indeed, gruesome business. The man had repeatedly raped his 8-year-old girl and got away with it.
"We found some hard evidence but cannot bring it to the police for obvious reasons. Which is why we need to hold trial ourselves!"
People nodded and clapped at this. Tim grinned, glad they were doing something so important for the city.
"Then we have Malcolm Williams. Malcolm had no child of his own to rape so, instead, he decided to become part of Gotham City CPS, which provided him with lots of others' children to play with."
The crowd booed. The Joker gave the second file to Tim. It was as horrible as the first one: Williams had been part of Gotham CPS for five years already without being caught. He had put his hands on a dozen of children and abused them remorselessly.
"Now, my dear. Let's decrease Gotham's criminality by half. Which of those men shall we kill?"
The word 'kill' triggered some warning in Tim's brain. Killing was bad. … Wasn't it?
"But this is a courtroom", the Joker pointed out, and Tim realized he'd spoke out loud. "You know sometimes, people are sentenced to death here in the US."
Ah yes, that made sense.
"And those are horrible people, aren't they?"
Tim nodded. They were.
"So they deserve death, don't they?"
"Yes, they do."
"Which one deserves it more?"
There it was again, the hungry smile, like the Joker wanted to lean toward Tim and bite his neck to the blood.
(He had something to remember. Something very important…)
"So, are they guilty?"
"Yes, they are! Guilty, guilty, guilty!"
The crowd cheered. Tim grinned, happy with their reaction.
"Who is the guiltiest?"
(His name was Tim Drake, he was Bruce Wayne's ward…)
This was a difficult case. Because, of course, both deserved death. But if he was to choose…
"The incest one. Jake Murdoch? I mean, she was his daughter…"
Tim felt insecure about that choice, so he looked at the Joker for approval.
(And Robin at night… but he was fighting crime, right?)
The Joker grinned.
"Very good choice, my dear."
(Right?)
The Joker drew an old 6-shots Colt from his pocket and went down the stage. The man tried to scream, to get away – but to no avail, the thugs were surrounding him.
There was one bang.
Then the crowd cheered again, whistling their approbation, clapping. Harley Quinn even winked at Tim.
The Joker smiled at him.
"Good boy."
Tim blushed.
sososo
Damian had been observing the rooftop for less than five minutes when a shadow dropped from the surrounding darkness to attack the person whom he was focusing on. He couldn't quell a disapproving noise from the back of his throat. He had not been aware of any tracking device on his person, certainly put there because of his predecessors' previous failures.
Whatever their skills, his father should have known he was better. There had never been anything to worry about.
"Talia", the Batman growled.
His tone implied menace more than recognition. Damian felt he had to reassure him despite the lack of danger and stepped out of the shadows. As soon as he did, he heard the soft noise of someone landing at his side. Nightwing could walk as if made of thin air; he only provoked the sound to warn Damian of his presence.
That got a frown out of Damian. What had they been thinking to come after him which such haste and obvious belligerence?
Contrarily to his expectation, his apparition did nothing to relax Batman. If anything, his hostility toward Talia increased.
"Good evening, my beloved", Talia said, unruffled. "I was hoping to see you during my stay, though maybe not quite so soon."
"What do you want?" Batman growled, ignoring the minor rebuff.
"Isn't it obvious?"
Batman didn't move a muscle – and yet, his aggressiveness moved up another notch. Since he obviously didn't intend to give any explanations, Damian looked up to cross Grayson's gaze behind his mask, trying to convey both his annoyance and his demand for answers.
Grayson frowned at him, as if he was a mere child, then glared at Talia. Antagonism from his father toward his mother was one thing; after all, they belonged together. The same coming from Grayson ought to have outraged him. However, Damian was no fool. Of course Grayson would be agitated to see such an opponent threatening his supposed claim on Batman – he was no match for her.
Grayson had more qualities than Damian had anticipated. But he still wasn't an Al Ghul, to his own dismay.
"You have no business in my city", Batman insisted, as if wanting to reject her.
"I am, indeed, done with Gotham for the time being", Talia agreed. "Except for the presence of my son, of course."
"Whatever the reason why you revealed his existence at last, don't expect me to allow you to take him back."
Talia smiled indulgently.
"I was merely worried to see him being handled by servants, as if more important matters required your attention. More important than your son and blood", she insisted.
Damian had to fight back a protest at this. Grayson might obviously not be the Batman his father was, he still made a satisfactory replacement – and certainly didn't deserved to be labeled a servant. Damian only refrained from stating so out loud because that obviously should have been below his notice.
He thought about what Todd's reaction would have been to such an epithet and smirked. After all his boasting, he sure would have deserved to hear it.
"The way I handle Damian stopped being your concern when you left him to my care."
"What kind of mother would I be if that were true?"
"I think you don't understand the situation."
Talia smiled.
"Of course I do, as I am sure do you."
"That's enough, Talia", Grayson intervened, apparently tired of their never-ending conversation. "Damian stays with us."
This interference angered Talia enough for it to show, to Damian's astonishment.
"This is none of your concern", she spat.
"I am part of this family, that you like it or not, Talia. And now, so is Damian", Grayson said, putting a protective hand on Damian's shoulder.
How childish of him to think he could protect Damian. For some reason, it still made him feel warm inside.
Talia seemed to see the gesture as inappropriate and tried to move forward. Batman interfered, blocking the way, making clear she would have to fight him to get any nearer.
They were cornering her, Damian realized with some apprehension.
"I trusted you with our son", Talia admitted. "Then I hear yet another of your Robin disappeared. Last time, it took you more than a year before getting him back but I hoped you would have learnt from your mistakes. Yet, it has been six months already and I was lead to believe you still had not found any lead. Is that how you protect those trusted to your care?"
Batman tensed, as ready to hit her.
This was going too far.
"This is enough", Damian said, his tone clearly annoyed. "Father, I am sure you thought well but you need not to intervene in this matter which I could have handled myself."
He took a few steps toward his mother to prove his point. Grayson had the sense to stay back, though Batman tensed even more when he went past him. Damian looked at his mother face. She was pleased, he could see.
Unfortunately, he was to put an end to her approval.
"Mother."
She saw he was going to go against her wishes and tried to prevent it, but Damian didn't let her.
"I still have a lot to learn from Batman. Hence, I intend to stay. You admitted yourself I had reached a most satisfactory skill level for the league before we left for Gotham."
She pursed her lips, disapproving.
"Moreover, as you pointed out, no one is currently filling Robin's role. It would be foolish of me to leave in those circumstances – though, of course, I would have vanquished Drake easily if needed."
Another growl, from Grayson this time. He really should admit Damian was better than Drake; anyone with sense could see that. Damian, of course, still had to gain their trust but otherwise, he was a much better fighter and certainly had more discipline. He was no cuddled upper-class gothamite.
Damian wouldn't admit, even at gunpoint, that Drake had reached a good level for a plebeian, as the surveillance videos he had watched to follow Todd's advice had taught him. Drake had determination. Maybe he would have done an acceptable sidekick for Damian at some point in time, had he not disappeared.
"I had thought of allowing your stay to go on", Talia admitted. "But your father clearly didn't intend to teach you himself."
Damian smirked.
"Please do ask your most skilled follower to battle Grayson."
She blinked at that, surprised.
"You deem him worth of your time?"
"He obviously is not the most suited partner for my father and certainly doesn't deserve the name he has been using lately", Damian retorted, annoyed at her lack of faith. "But he is a good warrior."
He heard a strangled noise coming from behind him. Impossible to know if it had been caused by exasperation, amusement or both. Not that Grayson's feelings were any of his concern.
He concentrated instead on his mother face. She didn't hide her discontentment but she was also not insisting on the duty he had to his family. Which, of course, would have been a vain argument, Batman being family as much as herself.
"I would rather have you with me for at least one more year."
"Then maybe you shouldn't have left me here", Damian pointed out.
It sounded more like a complain than he had intended, but he didn't back of. She smiled.
"Very well. Have it your way." Then she turned to Batman. "Take good care of him."
On those words, she stepped to the building's edge, and jumped. Damian saw the numerous ninja hidden around the place disappear one by one, following her.
He then turned to his father at last – only to be caught in an embrace he had not anticipated. The black cape surrounded him as a shield against the outside world while his father's hand rested on his shoulder.
"Don't ever do that again", Batman muttered.
Damian rolled his eyes.
"If you want to make a new rule, pray inform me before it is implemented."
"In case it hadn't been explicit enough before, take it for granted, starting now. Do not get out of the manor's premises without warning one of us – and by one of us, I mean either Alfred, Dick or myself, and clearly so, not by some innuendo. Is that clear?"
Damian nodded. He could see Grayson smile above his father's shadow, his warm approbation surrounding them as a second cape.
Damian wondered if that was how it felt, to be Robin.
sososo
Tim rolled on his belly, then realized he'd just rolled on his belly, which meant he wasn't bound anymore. The thought startled him awake – and then came awareness.
Tim ran to the bathroom and puked.
God, what did he do? He had killed someone, God, God, he found it funny!
(He had been drugged.)
Which was no excuse! He should have fought! He even had realized he was drugged and didn't do anything about it! He had thought it was alright because he was fighting crime!
(Probably a lighter version of the Joker toxin, or something similar, created to induce a false sense of happiness and make people prone to suggestions.)
Tim sobbed, his stomach clenching, arching above the toilet to puke again.
He made the Joker kill people! He thought both of them should have died!
(His name was Tim Drake, he was Bruce Wayne's ward and Robin at night. He helped Batman to fight crime. He liked video games and roleplaying with his friend…)
God, God, God…
(He should flush the toilet and take a shower.)
Tim sobbed, shuddering from sheer despair. But he obeyed his internal voice, which seemed to make sense.
The shower spit acid at him.
He had caused someone's death.
He curled in a ball.
(His name was Tim Drake, he was Bruce Wayne's ward and Robin at night.
He had to remember this. It was important.
Really important. Vital, even.
(But he had caused someone's death!))
He started rocking back and forth, his arms around his folded legs.
(He was Robin.)
He had tried to do his best. Why was he punished when he had tried to do his best? He tried to behave!
(He. Was. Robin.)
(That was the most important thing in the world.)
Why hadn't Bruce found him? He was in Gotham! He was certain of that. He had no proof, but, he was, wasn't he? Wasn't he?
(His name was Tim Drake and he was Robin.)
He behaved and yet it hurt!
Why wasn't Bruce there?
(What if Bruce never found him?)
(Oh God, no, nononon…)
He was Robin, he was Robin, hewasrobinhewasrobin…
The acid cleaned his tears away, but the shower's dropping sound wasn't loud enough to drown out the distressed noise now escaping from his throat. It was a desperate, inarticulate moan, the most (pathetic) hopeless sound he'd ever produced.
Someone was casting a shadow over him. He had not heard the door opening, but then, he wasn't even sure he had closed it in the first place. He was still wearing his nightclothes.
He didn't dare to look. He knew what he would see: the Joker's smiling at him.
"Now, now, dear", the Joker (would say?) said. "Another nightmare of yours?"
Tim did not answer, shaking his head. (Or just shaking?)
"Hush, baby. You are such a bright, perfect boy. You shouldn't be so afraid all the time. I am here, now."
Tim moaned again, terrified.
The Joker joined him in the shower, crouching next to him to put his arm around his shoulders.
"Hush, hush. I am there, now. I am with you."
(He was Robin.)
This shouldn't feel safe.
(He was Robin, Robin, Robin…)
But it did. Tim curled against the man's warmth, sobbing desperately. Something wet wiped his tears away.
(He was…)
"I will always be with you."
Tim closed his eyes.
sososo
Bruce felt Dick's gaze weighting on him. Not that he cared: he was busy reviewing all the files filled during his self-imposed leave. Dick had been very thorough in writing them, obviously hoping he would need to read them at some point.
Then again, his leave had never been intended to last.
"So. Are you going to be Batman again?"
Bruce didn't react, because it was obvious. Was he not in the Cave, trying to catch on?
He also didn't answer because he was ashamed. He should have been upstairs in the library, trying to find his Robin. No; he should have found him already and patrol with him on Gotham's rooftops, making sure he was alright.
And instead, he was in the Cave, ready to cut down the search.
"Shall I review your files on Tim?"
Of course, Dick would take that investigation in charge. It wouldn't be dropped down entirely; neither he nor Dick – nor even less Jason – would let that happen. But still. Their efforts wouldn't be concentrated on Tim anymore.
He was betraying a child who had trusted him with everything. With his life, with his beliefs, with his safety.
To stop now didn't even make sense. The crucial timing was the first twenty four hours. The statistic came up without his prompting: in 76% of the missing children homicide case, the child died in the first three hours. The statistic moved to 88.5% after the first day.
Of course, one didn't kidnap Robin for the same reason one kidnapped another child. Bruce felt terrified because he was certain Tim was still alive. Any foe kidnapping him would have put his body on display if the aim was to kill him. If the intention laid somewhere else…
Except if this had been an opportunity kill. A thug willing revenge might have stumbled upon him by change, killed him and dumped his body in Gotham's river.
But most probably would not have taken his mask to tie it to a cat.
"Bruce."
Dick put his hands on his shoulders, massaging them slightly.
"Stop blaming yourself. You did all you could – you still are doing everything you can. And we won't stop looking. But we have to concentrate on what we can do."
God knew how much it must hurt Dick to admit that out loud. Bruce knew Dick loved Tim like a younger brother, probably more so than Jason. Everyone liked Tim. The child was sunny and genuinely kind.
And they were hoping he had died because the alternative was worse.
"We have to think about Gotham", Dick continued. "And about Damian. I know you didn't want him here at first, Bruce, but he is here now. He is our responsibility. Tim would want us to take care of him."
Maybe he would have, the first few days. But now? If he was still alive?
Was he even the Tim they knew?
"I did all I could, but I am no Batman. We both know that. You need to get back to work."
Dick was entirely capable of handling Gotham. Bruce had been pleasantly surprised to see how well he had done. He ought to have had more faith in his first Robin. He should have expected such a good result.
What Dick meant wasn't that Gotham needed Bruce to be back – but that Bruce needed to be Batman again.
His needs, however, were not to be taken into account in his decision.
"Stop being stubborn!" Dick exclaimed, annoyed.
"I am not saying anything."
"Like you ever needed to."
Bruce turned around to face him. Dick frowned, then relaxed.
"You already decided to come back, didn't you?"
"And here I thought you could read my mind?"
Dick rolled his eyes in an unsuccessful attempt to hide his relief.
"Only most of the time. What about Damian?"
Bruce darkened. What happened with Damian the previous month had set in motion the thought process which had ended in his decision to take the cowl back. However, he was still uncertain about what to do with the child.
The child. He really didn't manage to see him as his son, even in his thoughts.
"For God's sake, Bruce, should I ask Clark to come down here in order to make you talk?"
"You manage well on your own."
"Then talk."
Bruce sighed.
"I'm not sure yet."
"Why do you even hesitate? He is a brat, even worse than Jason, but he can learn. He did learn. And he decided to stay, to win your trust. Can't you admit that much?"
Of course he could. But to start training Damian himself would mean…
"Even if Tim is alive, you know what he would tell you, Bruce."
Yes, of course he knew. Batman needs a Robin.
"It wouldn't mean you think he is dead", Dick insisted.
Except it would. Wouldn't it?
"Damian deserves it."
"Did you talk about this with Jason already?" Bruce asked.
Dick cast him an annoyed look.
"I didn't have to. He is the first who started treating the kid as part of the family. He trained him. Without being prompted to."
Bruce just looked at him, waiting for his answer. Dick sighed.
"Alright, I did talk with Jason. He was furious that I even suggested it."
"Then?"
"Then he agreed the kid should have a place in this family. If not as Robin yet, at least some other recognition."
But there was no other way to include him, no other gesture Bruce could do. To another kid, he might have proposed adoption at this point. But in Damian case, that was irrelevant. Bruce might propose to acknowledge him publicly but he doubted that would make any difference in the child's mind.
"Did Jason have any idea on what 'other recognition' I could provide?"
It was worth asking: Jason was the most ingenious of them, always coming up with unexpected ideas. But Dick shook his head.
"No. That's how I managed to convince him."
That was unsatisfactory. Reducing the research was enough of a betrayal. Giving the title so someone else…
"You remember how you reacted when you heard about Jason."
"The situation was different", Dick protested. "And there had been no other Robin before me. It was my title, not yours to give."
Bruce raised an eyebrow. Dick pouted.
"Yes, now it is. Mostly. With our approbation, anyway. We have the right of veto."
Bruce almost smiled at that – but the circumstances were way too serious for a joke to brush them away. Instead, he looked Dick directly in the eyes, to enhance the importance of what would come next.
"If that were you, what would you do?"
Dick's eyes widened. Of course; he understood exactly what Bruce was asking. Which was, as Batman, if Bruce wasn't part of the equation, what would be Dick's decision.
He actually took a few minutes to think about it. Even though he obviously knew what he wanted Bruce to do, he now looked at the situation from a new perspective.
In the end, Dick shook his head.
"It's a difficult decision, but my answer is still the same. We cannot penalize Gotham or Damian because of what happened to Tim – whatever it is. And we cannot punish ourselves for not finding him."
Bruce nodded, acknowledging his input.
Then he sighed and nodded again, in approval this time.
Dick smiled – not with his usual brighten but a sad, tired smile, which echoed Bruce's own feeling.
Unwilling to endure their sight so obvious on his lover's face, Bruce got up, and kissed him.
sososo
Tim looked around before slipping into the living room. There was no noise, but something could still happen. The Joker was out and that meant the world was upside down; not because Tim was alone but because everything could turn into a trap.
There was food in the kitchen, which the Joker had left for him. Tim took a bit of it, then waited. Last time it had been poisoned. Thankfully, the Joker had arrived in time to save him – but he wouldn't do it twice, so Tim had to be careful.
He piled the dishes on a trail and went back to his room as quickly as possible while being careful. Rightfully so: bats started arriving as soon as he stepped toward the door, ready to attack his face and make him drop the trail. Tim didn't let himself be distracted by them and simply stepped outside and closed the door. They would be gone by the time the Joker arrived; they always did, like all his so-called nightmares.
He had almost reached the first floor when suddenly the steps turned 45° clockwise, transforming the stairs into a giant slide. Tim arched forward just in time to put the trail safely on the corridor ground but soon lost balance, falling, sliding back to the ground floor. The door had been somehow opened and the bats invaded the hall, their small wings flapping around madly, their summed screams almost unbearable by their intensity. Tim covered his head with his arms, waiting for their fury to pass.
It took several minutes.
Then the steps turned back in place and Tim was able to climb the stairs and reach his meal. It probably had been poisoned in the meantime, though, so he merely sighed and brought it back downstairs.
Hopefully, the Joker would be back before dinner, so he would at least have one warm meal for the day.
(Hopefully?)
Now that he was, once again, free to come and go in the Joker's absence, Tim could sleep during the day if he had 'nightmares' at night. Of course, he also could be attacked during the day, now, but he mostly managed to get the minimal number of hours needed for his brain to work properly.
Yet, he felt tired. Maybe tired wasn't the right word. It was more like – weary.
Well, at least, this morning, the water hadn't been boiling, so he had been able to shower without hurting himself.
A click warned him of the Joker's arrival. Tim covered his eyes while the not-so-secret-anymore door opened in the living room's wall. The Joker had promised him he would take his eyes if he ever tried to peak, and Tim believed him.
"Hello sunshine! Aw, you didn't have lunch yet?"
"It felt tasteless without your company", Tim answered automatically.
The Joker smiled, pleased. Flattery always worked on him.
"Why, thank you!"
He came near Tim to kiss his cheek, like he did from time to time. Tim summoned a grateful smile; it came way too easily for his taste.
He didn't even find it in him to try not to feel relieved. The Joker was there meant he was safe: no more blades launched from the cupboards, no more bats, no more poisoned food.
"You are so pale", the Joker said, pinching his porcelain-white cheek. "We should go upstairs so you can tan in the afternoon sun."
Tim fought back the urge to puke. He knew the skin of his face and shoulders was definitively white by now. He couldn't look at himself in the mirror most of the time. Thankfully, his hair still was black. He suspected the Joker's green wasn't due to the acid; maybe it was just dye.
Also, the Joker's 'afternoon' started at midnight. So much for tanning.
"I feel fine", Tim lied, trying not to think about what happened upstairs. "Why don't we just settle down here, just the two of us?"
"Hush, don't be silly. You are white as a ghost", the Joker sniggered. "Come on, let's go!"
Tim quickly hid his eyes before the Joker activated the mechanism, shaking with dread. … Dread? He usually felt happy as a rainbow when they went upstairs. But not this time – which meant the Joker hadn't drugged him. And how could he? Tim hadn't eaten since the morning.
"Can't I just grab a snack before going?" he asked, ashamed to look for the easy way out, but terrified to go without the toxin to ease the way.
"We won't stay for long. I'll prepare you something good to eat when we're back. Come on!"
Tim felt tears rolling on his cheeks while he followed. The Joker grinned at him.
The crowd was already there, waiting for them. They cheered as they appeared, Harley Quinn whistling to show her enthusiasm.
"Go, baby! Puddin', you're the best!"
Tim's teeth were chattering when he sat on his usual throne. Two hooded men where were waiting for him to judge them; two files were ready for him to read them on a table. Tim sobbed.
"Please…"
"Hush, baby, this is for your own good. Just one little trial, then you can eat. What do you think?"
The threat was clear in his wording, though the tone was as friendly as the Joker could be. Which didn't mean much.
Tim picked up the first file. The crowd acclaimed him, pushing him to go on.
This was his seventh trial.
Technically, all the people the Joker brought to him were criminals. The first ones had been the worst, though; with time passing, the crimes became less and less horrible. More common.
Under the toxin's influence, Tim had not cared about it, always pointing an accusing finger to the one he sincerely thought to be the worst. Now…
(What do you have to lose, Robin?)
Tim swallowed and read the files carefully. If he had to kill one and let one free – he'd better make the right choice.
This time, when the Joker pulled the trigger, Tim puked.
The crowd laughed around him, Harley clapping and booing alternatively. The Joker's strong hands picked him from the ground and dragged him to their private lair. Tim closed his eyes shut, sobbing, shaking. He didn't even remember the dead man's name.
(Jimmy Dove.)
He didn't want to, he didn't want to kill!
(But maybe would he finally get his treat, now? Just one bite of intoxicated food, so he would feel better.)
But he was Robin…
"Ah, my boy, don't be so distressed. You did good. You really did good."
The Joker sat on the couch, holding Tim tight.
"You made the right decision today."
Maybe he could ask, then?
"Food?"
"Don't be silly. If you are sick enough to puke everywhere, I'm not going to give you food."
Tim made a distressed noise. The Joker started rocking him.
"Don't worry, I will give you food tomorrow. I promise."
"Please", Tim sobbed. "Please."
"Hush, hush. You're such a good, lovely boy."
The Joker's hand ran in his hair. His lips kissed his cheeks, tasting his tears as if they were the most delicious ambrosia. The man's warmth surrounded Tim while he kept muttering words of comfort and love.
"You are the most perfect boy in the world", the Joker was swearing.
And Tim kept weeping because he didn't need the toxin, after all; because those words made him happy.
sososo
Jason wished he was angry. Angry would have felt good; instead, he felt hollow.
He stepped inside the apartment he had been living in for the last seven months. To his surprise, Lex was there, working at his laptop in the living room. He glanced up when hearing him.
"Come here."
Usually, Jason would have protested to such a direct command – he still hated being ordered around, which was perfect since Lex loved to see him try to resist. Lex always ended up getting the last word.
But today, Jason just went to sit next to his lover and put his head against his shoulder.
"What happened?"
"Why are you here? You had an appointment at 6."
"I canceled it."
Jason frowned. Business always came first for Lex.
"Bruce called me to make sure I would be waiting for you", Lex admitted easily, as if this was common occurrence. As if he was supposed to be there for Jason. "Didn't tell me why."
"They announced to Damian that his training as Robin would start today", Jason said.
The brat's face hadn't lit up at the news. On the contrary, his nod had been serious, accepting but also respectful. He had made no comment about Tim, he hadn't gloated about how much better he was.
Even Damian knew what this nomination meant, and had enough sense to shut up.
"I see."
And now Lex was being all compassionate. Had everyone got knocked on the head?
"Stop being weird", Jason mumbled.
"Would it feel better if I pretended to be happy about it? Technically, I prefer Batman to work alone. Especially if the alternative is him working with a reckless, assassin-trained child."
Jason snorted, but Lex was right: jokes made no sense in his current mood.
"Is there anything else I can do?" Lex asked.
Jason closed his eyes. There was nothing anyone could do. Jason couldn't even stand the sight of Gotham, lately, knowing his little brother – Robin, you're alive! – might either be detained or lying dead in one of those buildings.
"Let's go back to Metropolis", Jason finally said. "Let's go back home."
sososo
The skylights were obscured by winter snow, Tim noted. It had to be December or, most probably, January, for it to last so well. He wished he could see the stars.
Each time he went upstairs, it felt like he was going to his own trial. Or maybe his funeral. Each time, a little piece of him died. There couldn't be so much of his old self left.
(He was Robin.)
"Let's do this, cupcake! Did you choose yet?"
Tim went back to present time with reluctance.
"I did, my dear. Shall I point it to you?"
"Oh, I've got a better idea", the Joker laughed.
Then he gave him the gun.
Tim blinked. It felt cold and heavy in his hand, as it should.
The stars were hidden. This was his funeral, in the end.
"You know how it works, don't you? You just have to take off the security switch there…"
Tim's fingers worked as instructed. They weren't shaking.
(No, don't!)
"Don't be scared, boy. You are the judge, aren't you? It seems only fair that you get the right to execute the sentence. Right?"
Robin would point this to the Joker and fire. No – Robin couldn't do that. Robin didn't kill.
"There, which one did you choose? You might want to get nearer. We wouldn't want you to miss."
The Joker's hands, on his shoulders, prompted him to get up, then down the stage. The thugs were perfectly silent around them. Tim stopped in front of his target. The Joker probably waved at the crowd, because the men retreated, carrying the one he spared along.
Tim heard a door closing.
"You point it like this, yes? One finger on the trigger."
"I don't want to", Tim protested feebly.
"Don't you want to be a good boy?"
Tim swallowed.
"Of course, but…"
"Do you want to be a naughty boy?"
"No!" Tim answered right away. "Well, except if you want me to…"
The Joker laughed. His hands still rested on Tim's shoulders and he could feel his warmth, less than one inch behind his back.
"You know I love it when you do something naughty to please me. You always cry beautifully afterwards."
(He was Robin. Robin.)
"Isn't this man guilty?"
Yes, he was.
"Don't you like to please me?"
Yes – yes he did.
"So what are you waiting for, mh?"
There was a bang. It echoed appropriately in the empty warehouse. Tim wondered if it was insulated or if someone would hear.
But there had been other gunshots before, had there not? Fired by the Joker.
Tim's fingers lost their grip on the gun, which slowly fell to the ground.
There was no man in front of him now – only a corpse. A. Corpse. Cadaver. Flesh. Someone he – just – killed.
A distressed moan resounded. Ah, yes, it came from his own throat.
One arm quickly put around his waist prevented Tim to fall. Another soon hold him closer to the Joker, whose breath caressed Tim's neck.
"You did good, my dear. You did really good."
Warmth bubbled its way into Tim's stomach, despite the mixed feeling of – distress? Pride?
There was a corpse at his feet, and he had been the one to make it so.
"You're a good boy. My perfect boy."
(He… was…)
Tim hiccupped. It was almost a laugh – almost a sob.
"What is it? Talk to me, cupcake."
"Robin doesn't kill."
The words left Tim's lips before he could think about it, but then, he reflected, they made sense. Robin didn't kill. Robin was Batman's partner, and neither could kill.
A kiss on his neck, on his – wet? – cheek.
"No, he does not", the Joker admitted.
Robin didn't kill. But he just killed someone.
Tim wanted to scream – but, but it was too late for that, wasn't it?
"So, what you mean is…" the Joker pressed.
"I… I am not Robin", Tim admitted, shaking.
The ground was cold; they were now sitting there. But the Joker felt warm, warm and secure behind his back, his arms around him.
"You are not."
(He was… He was…)
"So who am I?" Tim asked at last.
The strong, reassuring hands were stroking his arms, his belly, patting his thighs.
"Who am I?"
One of those hands cupped his face and forced it up so he would look at the Joker in the eyes, his breath on his lips, his smile steady for him to see.
"You are who you decide to be", the Joker answered.
Tim pushed his cheek against the Joker's hand. If felt good… He was so, so afraid, of the void, because he didn't know who he was anymore, he didn't, but the Joker was there, strong and steady, and telling him how lovely he was.
If he was lovely, it meant he was a good boy, right? (Right?)
His other hand kept stroking his flank, and it felt even better, so, so reassuring, so good, that Tim moaned. He felt warm, yes, maybe he could relax at last, just a little bit, and those touch, he – he wanted more of that.
He moaned once more. The Joker was frowning.
"Are you hurt?" he asked.
Tim almost giggled at that.
"No, please, do it again?"
The Joker kept stroking, caressing him, one hand on his body, the other petting his hair. This was perfect, this was…
"Like this?"
"Yes… It feels good. When you touch me", Tim admitted.
Those hands, strong, purposeful, touching him. One got down his back and Tim arched, shuddering. The Joker laughed.
"You make a lovely cat."
The hunger was there, Tim noted. Not as devouring as when he cried. Maybe a bit wondering.
The corpse stared at them, a perfect little hole in the middle of its forehead.
"I don't think I'm a cat", Tim said, then moaned again, softly.
He felt warm. Warm, especially… there. In this place he had been too terrified to think about most of the time since the Joker had found him.
(He just killed someone. Robin didn't kill, so he was no Robin.)
(He just killed someone.)
"Touch me more?" he begged.
"As much as you'd like."
But this, this felt good, but it wasn't enough. Was it? He needed more. He needed…
The Joker grinned, kissing his cheek. Ah, Tim was crying again. The Joker loved that, loved it so much he started licking the tears away, like he only did when he was really happy with him.
(Why was he feeling sick? Just at the back of his head, just at the tip of his tongue…)
Maybe because this wasn't. Enough.
"I want you to be closer."
"Come closer then, my dear."
Tim tried; he sat on the Joker's lap and pressed himself against him, chest against chest, the Joker's hands resting on his lower back, then his hips. Tim gasped. He was…
Hard.
"Please", Tim begged.
But while he did not stop, the Joker also didn't do anything else.
He probably didn't even know how. Tim started shaking. The Joker didn't get what he was asking for. God – the shaking turned into giggles. The Joker didn't know.
"You wouldn't even be able to fuck me, would you?"
The Joker froze, blinking. Realization slowly emerged in his eyes. Tim didn't wait for him to protest. His laughs were turning back to shakings and he couldn't stand – he just couldn't – the corpse was looking at them…
"But please, please touch me more? I am a good boy, am I not? You said you loved me."
"Oh I but do, honey-pie!"
"Then show me."
The Joker considered his options. Then rose, putting Tim back on his feet in the process, not letting him go.
"Let's go back downstairs."
Tim didn't dare to challenge him. The corpse followed them with his eyes. The basement's door closed on them, but it was still starting, Tim could feel it on the back of his neck. Then the Joker's hand landed right there, stroking his skin, and Tim shuddered with relief.
"Are we going to your room?" he asked in a childish voice.
"Yes, yes we are, my dear."
They went up the stairs. Tim realized he had not looked away when the door had been opened, and the Joker hadn't punished him. Maybe he was now good enough to know that secret?
The bedroom was full of colors and life. The bed was soft, its blankets warm and welcoming – but less so than the Joker's arms, which closed around him again as soon as they laid down.
He kissed Tim's forehead.
"Please", Tim begged once again.
His hands got in motion. Petting, caressing, making him feel like home. The Joker's smell drifted around. Tim relaxed. There were just them, them and nothing else in the world, those hands, this touch and the Joker and that was it.
"More, more, please. Closer."
The Joker's mouth on his face, his forehead, both of his eyelids, his cheeks. His straps came open. Metal, cold on his belly – snap! One of his shirt's buttons. Tim moaned, rubbing against the flat blade. The Joker made a noise, then snap, snap, and a caressing scratch of the knife on his skin.
"Yes, please…"
The blade, in his trousers, tearing the fabric apart. Tim spread his legs. The knife, useless now that his skin was exposed, caressed his belly on its way up. Then – stab – right there, in the mattress – one inch short of Tim's face.
Tim whined.
"Yes, my lovely boy", the Joker approved.
Then, not a blade anymore, but a hand – his hand – on Tim's belly, warm, perfect, sliding down… and down…
Tim gasped.
It closed around him, firmly. Tim bucked – moaned – moved against it, and it moved with him, and the Joker said 'darling', and Tim came, so hard, so sweet, so – perfect.
The only sound left was panting. Tim was in a perfectly safe cocoon, getting his breath back. Someone else was panting there, and that someone was the Joker. There was something warm and hard pressing against Tim's thigh and an astonished look on the Joker's face.
Tim smiled – then pulled the Joker closer and kissed him.
sososo
The gestational period of a human child is nine months. From personal experience, this is also the exact time it takes for a monster so reach term.
Isn't that lovely?
(Call me theatrical if you must, but I like to see it that way.)
Then of course, the newly born monster still would have a lot to learn from his parent. Or shall we say, his mother cell?
Because, really, this sounds more like mitosis to me than like actual reproduction. After all, reproduction is a bestial act of passion – such a distasteful lack of restrain. While there was nothing left to chance in the process we are talking about.
After the birth, however… One can only marvel and watch the monster growing, testing its claws, until – at last – it becomes unstoppable.
sosososo
Notes: Please don't kill me?
Next part will be published soon, and is called "True Love".