Young Justice -:- Hooked

Author's Note(s): Wow. Just... wow. I can't believe how many people are liking this fic! So many faves and sixteen reviews - and that was just chapter one! Thank you so, so much! You are all totally amazing and have successfully kicked my muse back into action after an incredible slump (I actually wrote the first chapter of this in November... good thing I didn't post it then...)

Special mention has to go to Black Friar for that essay of a review (and the one you left for Identity... and the recommendations to others...) - I just really hope I can keep meeting expectations now! And to Potter4me who has totally caught me out - yes, I have seen Sherlock Holmes 2... which may have been a slight influence on the story... :P

Just a quick note: Updates are likely to bi-daily rather than the daily ones I gave you with Identity and Infection - I've only just finished chapter four (of six) and I don't want to catch up with myself and leave you hanging!

Thank you again! Enjoy!

Chapter Two -:- Jokes

When Robin woke up, his first coherent thought was: Ow.

Everything hurt. Muscles ached from exertion, his stomach was tender from Grundy's powerful punch, his head thumped with a vengeance… but his back hurt the most. From his shoulders down to his tailbone felt like one huge bruise, which was not being helped in the slightest by the cold, hard surface that he was lying on.

Despite the overwhelming urge to groan in pain and stretch out his aching body, Robin forced himself to remain still and keep his breathing even. He didn't open his eyes or even twitch, not wanting to give away the fact that he was awake. Instead he used his other senses as he had been trained, trying to discern where he was and what had happened.

It took him a moment (which he forgave himself for, figuring he probably had quite a serious concussion…) but he eventually remembered the fight on the church roof and the fall, though he couldn't recall actually hitting the ground. At least that explained why he hurt so much. Only now did he realise that it had all been a trap; Springheeled Jack had led him halfway across the city on purpose. Though Robin thought that using a building to knock him out had been rather extreme.

Now he was lying on his back on a concrete floor, his gloves, boots, cape and belt missing, leaving him feeling cold and exposed. He heard the cooing of pigeons from somewhere above him, their chatter lost in the echoes of the rafters. Judging from the chill and the vastness of the space, he figured that it was still night time or early morning and that he was in a warehouse. It wasn't the same one that he had landed on though – he could smell polluted river water and hear the distant sounds of boats, so he definitely wasn't in Old Gotham anymore.

He wasn't alone.

Heeled shoes scuffed on the concrete to his left; two steps followed by the tap of a cane. Springheeled Jack. Robin racked his brain, trying to remember what little he knew about the Victorian themed psycho. He was almost certain that the Brit usually targeted prostitutes, which didn't make any sense. Why would he change his M.O and kidnap a hero? Robin was pretty damn sure that he wasn't secretly a call girl…

A second set of footsteps. A cackle of laughter that sent a chill down Robin's spine.

Oh God no.

"Wakey, wakey, rise and whine, Wonder Boy!" the unmistakable voice of the Joker sang, and Robin realised that his breath had hitched when he had heard the madman's laugh, giving himself away.

Rookie mistake! He chided himself as his captors closed the distance between them and him. Suddenly gloved hands were wrapped around his wrists, Springheeled Jack's golden claws digging into his flesh as his arms were yanked above his head and held against the concrete. Robin was about to throw himself into a backwards roll and double drop kick the serial killer, but suddenly a heavy weight sat rather ungracefully on his legs. The young vigilante blinked up to find the pasty white face of the Joker grinning down at him, his green hair and garish purple suit glinting in the glow of the rising sun.

The Joker planted his hands on either side of Robin's exposed chest and leant down so that he was close enough for the teenager to smell his foul breath. Robin fought down his rising panic, turning his head to one side and making a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. "Woah, dude, ugh… don't they have breath mints in Arkham?"

Okay, so it wasn't exactly original… but Robin figured that he could be forgiven for being off his game. The Joker's grin broadened as he sat up straight and flipped open a switchblade. "Oh, they do… I've just never been a fan of little white pills. They tend to suck the fun right out of life."

Robin stared at the knife held so casually in the Joker's hand, and crooked an eyebrow. "That's because you have a very warped idea of 'fun'."

Joker grinned, and then looked up at Springheeled Jack and lightly punched the serial killer in the arm like they were old pals. "Didn't I tell you this kid was a hoot?" Joker paused expectantly, and then threw his head back and let out a short bark of laughter. "Hah! Get it? Hoot? Because he's a bird!" The green haired maniac devolved into a fit of hysterical giggles at his own joke, while his audience of two just stared at him.

"Owl's hoot," Robin retorted, cutting off the madman's outburst and earning himself a death glare. "My name is Robin."

"And they tweet," Springheeled Jack finished, his posh English accent sounding like something out of an old movie – nothing like Alfred's distinct syntax that Robin had come to love. The Joker turned his irritated stare on his partner in crime, though it did little to cow the British psychopath. "Please tell me that your plan is not to kill the boy with bad humour. I fear that I may perish first if that is the case."

For a brief, hopeful moment, Robin thought that the Joker was going to forget all about him and launch himself at Springheeled Jack. The teen was already planning his escape route, ready to move the moment that the Joker got off of his legs. But it didn't happen.

Instead, the Joker laughed. "Good one Jackie Boy! Robin's tweet! Hah! Get it, Bird Boy?"

Robin raised an eyebrow. "You know, for someone called the Joker, you're not very good at telling jokes, are you?"

He must have hit a nerve. All laughter and merriment drained from the Joker's face as he fixed his cold eyes on the young captive pinned between his knees. The grin was still in place, as always, but it just made the glare more terrifying. As Robin forced himself not to look away, he could feel the promise of all the tortures and torments that the pasty-faced clown had in store for him. He always knew that it would be his mouth that would get him in trouble – but he just couldn't help himself. He smirked up at his jailer. "Something I said?"

The Joker blinked, as if he had been lost in thought. The enjoyment and mischief behind his psychosis was gone, and suddenly Robin was looking up at a very angry psychopath. Even Springheeled Jack seemed to notice the change, his grip on the teen's wrists shifting as if he was getting prepared to run himself.

When the Joker spoke, his anger was like a hidden blade that belied the playfulness of his words. He rested his switchblade against Robin's collarbone, the intent clear.

"Say, Tweetie Pie…" he smiled, running the blade lightly across the boy's throat. "How'd you like to play a game…?"

Robin would have retorted, really he would have, but his voice had stopped working. It was stuck in his throat beneath the blade that was slicing a shallow red river across his skin. He couldn't move, and not just because of the two psychopaths holding him down. He was frozen in fear, no amount of training or conditioning able to get his uncooperative limbs to move. He knew that things were about to get a whole lot worse for him, that this was his one last chance to escape – however slim it may be – but he just couldn't move.

The Joker leaned back, rocking onto his heels and alleviating his weight on the Boy Wonder's legs. Springheeled Jack's attention was focused on the powder keg that he had chosen to work with, his grip on Robin's wrists ever-so-slightly loosened. This was his chance… but…

Get a grip, Grayson.

Robin curled up his legs, ignoring the many protests of his aching body, and kicked out, his bare feet catching the Joker in the chest hard enough to throw him backwards. The teen vigilante then used the momentum to push back, practically folding himself in half as he took out Springheeled Jack and completely freed himself from their grasp. He rolled onto his knees and climbed to his feet…

But immediately fell back down. His head was spinning like a merry-go-round as his vision went from full colour to grey scale. He tried to get up again, knowing that his captors were probably already recovered from his initial attack, but he couldn't see straight enough to remember where he had spotted the exit. Perhaps that concussion was even more serious than he had thought.

"If you didn't want to play, all you had to do was say so," The Joker grumbled, somewhere off to Robin's right. He glanced that way and made another attempt to get to his feet, but Springheeled Jack barrelled into him from his other side, sending them both sprawling on the concrete. "Not that you have any choice, of course."

The Englishman wrapped his arms around Robin's waist, pinning the kid's arms to his side as he hauled them both upright. Robin struggled and kicked as he was pulled to his feet, but all the movement was making him feel dizzy and sick. He briefly wondered if throwing up on the Joker would buy him enough time to escape, or just piss him off, before he was dragged to the middle of the warehouse and dropped on the floor.

This time, Robin didn't get up. His head felt so heavy that he was sure that it was anchoring him to the concrete. He landed on his side, his body feeling like a dead weight. His brief adrenaline rush was gone, leaving him slow and lethargic.

The Joker knelt down in front of him. "You're really going to love this game, Wonder Boy. I picked it especially for you."

Robin could barely get his eyes to focus on the hazy image of the Joker. His tongue felt too big for his mouth, but he forced it to work in one last act of defiance. "Go… to hell."

The Joker ignored him. "Have you ever heard of Go Fish? It's a brilliant game, really. But I find that it's so much more fun to play without the pesky playing cards. Me and Batman are playing it right now."

Something shifted behind Robin, the sound of footsteps and the chinking of chains reaching him through his concussion. Springheeled Jack walked into his eye line and handed something over to his partner.

"You see, Batman comes as a pair these days, and he's looking to complete his set," The Joker continued, crouching right beside Robin and holding something sharp against his shoulder. "So he says to me: 'Have you got any Robins?' and I say…"

Joker stabbed the hook right through the teenager's right shoulder, twisting it slowly under his clavicle until it pushed out of the other side. The pain was indescribable. It burned like a red hot poker and yet at the same time made Robin's entire body go cold, as if his brain simply couldn't process what the hell was happening.

But then it got so much worse.

Suddenly the hook was pulled taut, the sound of the metal grinding against bone making him feel physically sick. And then he was in the air, the metre between him and the ground feeling like miles as his entire weight was held on a single point.

It was too much. He couldn't handle it. As the blessed darkness came to take him far away from the pain, he heard the Joker laugh sadistically like the madman he was.

"Go Fish!"

"Where is he, Alfred?" Batman demanded as he steered the Batmobile through the streets of Gotham at dangerous speeds. The sun was almost completely risen by now, casting the creature of the night in hues of red and orange. The sane citizens of the crime ridden city were beginning to venture out of their houses now, and soon rush hour traffic would hinder the Batman's hunt.

"I do not know, sir," Alfred replied over the communicator. "However I doubt that causing a road traffic collision will speed up the search. Might I suggest…"

"I know Alfred," Batman interrupted, frustration and fear making him short with his lifelong friend. Reluctantly he turned the Batmobile towards home, hating the feeling that he was betraying his son by leaving the city. "I'm heading back to the cave now."

The further that he got from the tall buildings of Gotham, the stronger the guilt in the pit of his stomach grew. When he had seen Robin take that hit from Grundy and crumple against the alley wall, his over-protectiveness had taken over. He had wanted his protégé out of that fight – not because he thought that Robin couldn't handle it, but because Robin didn't know if he was strong enough. Dick had told Bruce that he was doubting his abilities since he had been thrown in direct comparison with his super-powered teammates; and doubts like that… they were dangerous.

And so he had sent Robin after what he had considered to be the softer target. He had recognised Springheeled Jack, recalled his file and knew that his fighting style was perfectly suited to Robin's agility and acrobatics. He had thought that it would have been a fairer fight. That maybe by taking down a villain like that, Robin's confidence could have been restored. Now though…

Now he realised just how wrong he had been.

He drove the Batmobile straight through the waterfall that camouflaged the cave's entrance a tad faster than he should have done. The tyres skidded on the smooth surface of the cave floor, and if it weren't for years of experience behind the wheel, he probably would have careened straight into the wall. As it was, his parking was less than stellar, and as he climbed out of the car he noted the shiny new tyre marks that marred the floor.

Alfred frowned at him disapprovingly from where he was standing beside the computer, but wisely chose not to comment. "I have re-tasked a Wayne Tech satellite that should be in position within a few hours and I have begun searching through the footage from traffic cameras in Old Gotham, though so far there has been no sign of the young master or his captors," Alfred briefed as he stepped aside for his eldest charge.

Batman pulled down his cowl, revealing the tired face of Bruce Wayne as he took his seat before the computer. His exhausted blue eyes took in all the information from every screen in a moment, and then he set to work. It may be too bright outside for Batman to be scouring the streets, but that didn't mean that Bruce would stop his search for a second. He wasn't resting until his son was home.

Alfred stepped back, practically blending into the shadows as he waited for the moment that he was needed. He had known Bruce long enough to know that no amount of talking or reasoning would convince the man to take the slightest of pauses to assess his own condition, no matter how serious it may be. And in this instance, with Dick missing, Alfred couldn't help agreeing that every second counted.

When Robin had been drafted into Batman's self-imposed war against crime, Alfred had protested. Dick had been nine at the time. Nine. He was just a child that should have been nowhere near a city as dangerous as Gotham in the twilight hours. But over time, as Alfred had watched Batman's darkness soften and Robin's confidence grow, he had gradually come to accept a truth.

Batman needed Robin.

Though at times like these, a revelation as vague as that paled in the face of a greater truth. Robin was just a child. A child in the clutches of a psychopath that had nothing but ill intentions for the boy. Right now, Robin needed Batman more than ever.

Before it was too late for everyone.

For a brief, delirious moment, Robin thought that he was on a boat. The gentle swaying, back and forth, was almost soothing. He could hear the sound of waves, the caw of seagulls, the bellow of boat horns. With his eyes closed and his mind half-conscious, it was easy to imagine himself on one of Wayne Tech's yachts with Bruce, the pair of them taking one of their rare vacations. He could practically taste the salt in the air as he envisioned Bruce in that god-awful Hawaiian shirt he seemed to reserve purely for these outings. It felt good. For a moment.

Then he woke up.

The first thing that was kind of impossible not to notice was the pain. It seemed to be coming from every fibre of his body, like his brain had been overloaded with sensory information and just decided that everything hurt. Between the pounding in his head and the burning in his shoulder he couldn't decide which agony was worse, so he tried very hard not to think about either.

Instead he listened for the sounds of his jailers, but everything seemed quiet. Maybe it was over now. Bruce had probably found him ages ago and he was now in the batcave coming out of the sedatives that Alfred had given him. Yeah… that was it. He was home.

"Well, it's about damn time, Wonder Boy!"

Or not.

"I was beginning to think that Ol' Jackie Boy had hit you on the head too hard!" The Joker's voice shattered Robin's brief illusion of safety, and reluctantly the Boy Wonder cracked open his eyes. He was greeted by the clown's pasty white face which was blocking most of the sunlight that streamed through the warehouse's high windows. He had been out for a few hours at least. "I guess my retiring of him was a little premature, but never mind that now! You're awake!"

Robin blinked, his brain taking a while to wake up due to the concussion. "Retire?"

"Oh yes," the Joker agreed, stepping aside so that Robin could see behind him. Crumpled on the floor against the wall was a thin man in an old fashioned suit and top hat. An eternal grin split his features in half. "After all the trouble I went through getting him to Arkham and the madman has the audacity to try and ruin my fun? It's just so difficult to find good staff these days."

It took far too long for the Joker's words to process, but even when they did they still didn't make any sense. The Joker had arranged for Springheeled Jack to go to Arkham? How? More importantly, why? What was the point of dragging a serial killer across the Atlantic just to capture one kid? Did this mean that Joker had also orchestrated the Arkham breakout? Maybe he had made sure that Batman was occupied with Grundy… Springheeled Jack had been waiting… And what had Harley said on that rooftop…?

"I want to soften you up!"

There… there was no way… "You… you planned… everything?" Robin asked, struggling to catch his breath between syllables. His right arm hung uselessly by his side, but he had wrapped his other hand around the hook in an attempt to alleviate some of the strain on his chest. He was going to asphyxiate at this rate. If the blood loss and head injury didn't kill him first.

The Joker cocked his head to one side and grinned. "Well… I can't take all the credit." He paused, as if thinking over his master plan, and then he spread his arms wide like a showman. "Well actually, I can! It is frighteningly easy to pull off a show like this from inside a cell, you know. A few words in the right ears… some good old fashioned scare tactics and suddenly all the dominoes are falling in a line! Wonderful place, Arkham. I almost call it home!"

He's messing with you, Robin tried to tell himself. It was a trick to make him feel even more helpless than he already did - to make him feel like the Joker had held all the cards all along. There was just no way that the Joker had organised all of this. It wasn't possible.

"But let's not talk about the past Bird Boy!" Joker exclaimed as he skipped forward and gave Robin a light shove, sending him swinging like a piñata. It took every shred of willpower he had, but Robin swallowed the groan of pain that wanted to escape. He squeezed his eyes shut and silently begged for the world to stop spinning, Joker's words barely registering through the haze. "It's dull, and we don't have time to waste! There are still so many games to play before Batsy gets here – and then the Grand Finale! Oo! I just can't wait!"

Robin squinted through one eye as the swaying began to slow. "Grand… Finale?"

The Joker grinned, Cheshire cat wide, and then gripped Robin's arms like he wanted to hug the boy. Robin didn't know which would be worse – slowly being tortured to death or being hugged by the homicidal clown. Thankfully, he didn't have to experience the latter. "I have truly outdone myself this time! I'm a genius, I know, but this… this is my pièce de résistance! Come, let me show you!"

Using Robin as a ballast, the Joker spun them both in a 180 so that they were now facing the opposite wall. The pain of the extra weight pulling on his impaled shoulder made his vision white out for a moment, but when it finally cleared, he kind of wished that he still couldn't see.

Before him was the biggest bomb that he had ever seen. Usually, explosives are quite small, as to be honest, it doesn't take a whole lot of C4 to make a big bang, but clearly the Joker had never heard the phrase 'less is more'. It looked like something out of a old Looney Tune cartoon. A keg of gunpowder was surrounded by sticks of dynamite. An oil drum with the words HIGHLY FLAMMABLE printed across it was right next to a flamethrower. An open gas can was on its side, its contents spread across the floor in a deadly puddle. Everything was wired to timers ranging from digital to hand wound alarm clocks.

It looked like a pyromaniac's wet dream.

"Overkill is underrated, I say," the Joker said proudly after giving Robin a few moments to just soak in the sight. "It's magnificent, isn't it? I know its missing the classic plastic explosives, but the fence offered me the flamethrower instead and I just couldn't say no!"

Robin couldn't find the words to retort. All he could think about was just how big a boom that pile of flammable material would make.

The Joker took his silence for criticism, and pouted at his captive like he really valued Robin's opinion. "What do you think? It needs more dynamite, doesn't it? No… it's the flamethrower, isn't it? It just doesn't fit with the whole 'massive pile of doom' thing I've got going on. Tell me, you can be honest with me. After all, you're a part of it!"

"Part… of it?" Robin questioned hesitantly, pretty sure that he didn't actually want to know.

Joker nodded eagerly. "This is the best part! You see, you're waiting here, hoping good ol' Daddy Bats comes and saves you, but guess what? I'm hoping for the same thing!" He kicked a crate forward and hopped onto it so that the two of them were face to face – far too close for Robin's liking. And then he grabbed a hold of the hook and pulled them closer. "He'll find you, of course he will. He's brilliant like that – that's my Batsy! But… what's this…?"

Joker looked up dramatically, his hand walking up the chain. Robin followed the movement, craning his neck painfully to see what the Joker was looking at. Wrapped in the links of the metal chain was a thin, barely visible wire. Robin traced the chain with his eyes all the way back to the bomb, the pieces beginning to click into place.

"Batman comes running in, sees you all helpless and half dead, and throws all caution to the wind!" Joker explained dramatically. "He tries to rescue you, but he doesn't know the genius of my trap! He doesn't realise that you are…"

"The trigger," Robin finished.

"Clever boy!" Joker patted the Boy Wonder on the cheek. "There's a pressure plate built into the hook that's wired to my little beauty over there. If the hook is removed, or your weight is lifted, or the chain is cut, this whole place goes sky high! When Batty comes here and tries to save you… he's going to kill you both! Isn't that amazing?"

Robin didn't reply.

Joker sighed. "I guess you wouldn't really appreciate the intricacies of it all, considering you're the one trapped in the middle, but for me… this is as good as it gets. Testing the Bat in the ultimate battle of wits! This is the highlight of my year, really. Me and Batty, we're connected, you see. Caught together in this eternal dance. Taking him out, spectacularly of course, is my ultimate goal. My raison d'être, if you will. Oo, I'm liking the French today…"

The Joker wandered off, leaving Robin to stare at the bomb that would soon be ending his short thirteen years of life. Suddenly, the hook in his shoulder felt like a living thing, pulsing with energy and promise. Part of him silently wished that Batman wouldn't find him.

"You know what, I feel a song coming on!" Joker called as he returned to Robin's field of vision, a baseball bat balanced in his hands. He cleared his throat loudly. "Alouette, gentille alouette! Alouette, je te plumerai!"

The Joker twirled the bat as he pondered for a moment. "You know, that's not quite right. I mean, alouette means lark, not robin… but it's a bird I guess, so I can work with that… But this plumerai business doesn't quite fit. You don't actually have feathers after all, so I can't really pluck you… Can you speak French? Tell me: how do you say, 'I will beat you'?"

Robin knew the answer, but he just glared defiantly at the Joker.

"Ah, forget it," Joker shrugged, before pulling out his cell phone. "I'll google it."

A few minutes and several curse words later, the Joker had found his answer. "Je te battre. Hmmm… doesn't quite fit, but I can make it work. Let's try this again…"

The Joker hefted the baseball bat over his shoulder like he was ready to strike a home run. And then he began to sing:

"Alouette, gentille alouette! Alouette, je te battre!"

The Joker does like to torture to a song…