NOTE: I've decided to use the original version of the events in RotJ. This means Joker didn't die of electrocution, he was killed by Tim. It's just more dramatic that way.
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The sun was peeking over the horizon outside of Wayne Manor, its rays casting a golden glow on the stone and reflecting off the windows brightly. All in all, a cheerful, promising looking day, the sort of day that spoke of fresh starts and new beginnings.
Inside one of the uppermost bedrooms, standing near the window where the curtains were parted, was the master of the manor: Bruce Wayne. He stared at the sunrise, not really seeing it. He didn't perceive the meaning of another sunrise, how glorious it was to see the herald of another day--a day that could become anything he wanted it to be, if he put his mind to it--all he saw was the end of another night's patrol, the end of another night fighting the insurmountable legions of evil that haunted his city. The undefeatable malevolence that had forced its way into his own home.
In the room behind him, tucked firmly into bed, was his young ward Tim Drake. The young boy was heavily sedated and resting as comfortably as his current situation would allow.
Not even a week had passed since his ordeal and he was far from okay.
Tim had awakened at least a dozen times that first night, screaming at the top of his lungs, refusing to be quieted by anyone. He wept, he wailed and he shook so hard that Alfred had to hold him still to keep him from hurting himself.
The mental anguish the boy was going through was so much that Bruce could hardly bear it. Not only had his mind been twisted by that perverted madman, he had also committed a murder. How a child was supposed to deal with that kind of trauma was a concept that Bruce couldn't wrap his head around. Though he himself had experienced a horrible, life altering event as a boy as well, he had to admit that something about this seemed so much more damaging.
Losing ones parents was one thing; being brainwashed and killing a man was another entirely.
Bruce turned away from the window, allowing the curtain to fall closed once more. He looked at the frail little body in the king sized bed and was struck by just how weak Tim looked.
Where a mere month before he was a robust, lively creature with boundless energy, now he just looked washed out. The dark purple shadows under his eyes were those that should have been found on the face of a much older person and there were creases in his forehead where his brow had been furrowed without rest for close to a week.
As Bruce watched him, Tim twitched in his sleep.
No, not a twitch. A flinch. A violent one at that.
Something inside Bruce's chest twisted uncomfortably at the sight.
It was his fault this had happened. If he hadn't taken on another Robin...
He knew something like this would happen one day. It was only a matter of time before one of his nemeses got frustrated with not being able to kill him and decided to take out their anger on his young companions. The most unfair thing of all was that he had been dragged into this whole mess...it wasn't Tim's fault.
Bruce made the decision to be an avenging presence in Gotham long ago, for his own benefit as much as for the benefit of rest of the city's inhabitants. He made a promise to his parents that he couldn't break.
Batgirl and Robin made no such promises. They would never have taken up cape and cowl if he hadn't paved the way.
Half of the villains in Gotham wouldn't be villains if he hadn't decided to take the law into his own hands so long ago and appointed himself protector of the city.
The Joker would still be nothing but a smalltime crook if it weren't for Batman.
There was still a part of Bruce--well, a part of Batman--that refused to believe the Joker was gone. To have something be a part of your existence for so long and then it being yanked away was an unfamiliar feeling. As long as there had been a Batman, there had been a Joker; the two of them locked in constant struggle, physical, emotional, psychological...
Two sides of the same coin that could never escape each other.
As much as Bruce was loathe to admit it, that was the truth. Batman was the light, the Joker was the dark. While they both occasionally stepped over the line into the opposite's territory, they still represented very different, opposing ideals.
Chaos and Order. Good and Evil. Madness and Sanity.
Now, Bruce found himself without that weight on the scale that balanced him so perfectly.
Although...there were certainly enough people trying to fill that void.
One of the corners of Bruce's mouth quirked up in a bitter smirk. In death, the Joker gained more followers than he ever had while alive. Though they were far from the criminal mastermind types, they were certainly persistent little creatures. In the days since the Joker's death, the rate of petty thefts had increased tenfold.
How Bruce knew they were members of the fanatics (as he had taken to calling them in his head), was because they had all taken to dressing alike.
Well, not alike, but there were several distinguishing features that they had adopted. The greasepaint smudges under the eyes was popular, but nowhere near as common as the three bands of cloth tied to their arms in tribute to the fallen Clown Prince and his Harlequin.
Bruce's train of thought suddenly took a hard left towards Harleen Quinzel, quite against his will.
She was as much a victim in this thing as Tim was.
Where Tim was following his hero, Harley was following the man she loved--or rather, the man she thought she loved. Her mind had been so badly bent by the Joker that it was a wonder the woman still knew which way was up.
There was a small part of Bruce that felt guilty for saving her and sheltering her after all the horrible things she'd done, but the larger part of him insisted that there was nothing wrong with Harley that time and therapy couldn't fix. She could go on to live a life distanced from her criminal past without the Joker in the way. Eventually, he had complete confidence she would make a complete recovery and become a whole person once again; no longer a soul shattered by the Joker's influence.
Looking at the prone body of his young ward, Bruce could only pray that the same could be said for Tim.