I just wanted to say that there are graphic sense in this chapter. It's towards the end of the chapter, so consider yourself warned.

They were all bullshit. Nightwing, the Network, all of them, just bullshit.

Jason sat in the darkness of his dingy apartment. Well, it really wasn't much of an apartment mostly because it was the best he could get out of his social worker and with his being a ward of the state, the government was doing all of the paying. Still, it wasn't much, but it was all his.

When Jason had first discovered the identities of Stephanie and Harper, he thought he had struck gold. His first impulse was to turn the two bitches over to the gang that ran his neighborhood. That would've bought him a ticket to a much better life than the one he had.

He had changed his mind only slightly because he knew how the city's vigilantes were working at the time. Several teams had been formed in the years since Batman began taking over; Jason had no doubts the girls weren't alone and it would be even better for him to find out everything he could on them and whoever else they were working with.

That's when he met Nightwing and something in him changed. Ya see, just looking at the guy told Jason he wasn't someone you messed with lightly. Their subsequent training sessions had backed that up very fast. However, the longer he had fought the guy, the more he realized just what he could gain from joining these vigilantes versus turning them in to the gangs on the street.

Jason had always been a fighter and always would be. However, these people knew tricks he didn't. They went out night after night and got better, beating those thugs that ran his neighborhood on a regular basis. The young man realized that if he could fight like them, he could maybe run them out, or make them fear him, which pretty much had the same result he wanted.

Soon, being held up in the same light as Batman was very appealing.

So he gave the stupidly-named Batclan what they wanted to convince them he was on their side, so that they would accept him. He gave them the Blackgate escapees, Murph, and anyone that had it out for him. In turn, they made him a better fighter, though he had to grudgingly admit that he was definitely not as good as he had originally thought.

In fact, he had to suffer a lot of insults to his worth, each insult aggravating him more and more. Some were more acceptable than others, though he learned those long after the initial prick to his pride. Unknowingly fighting Batman's sidekick had become more acceptable once he had learned who she really was.

But then everything changed the night Bane had broken the Bat. Gone was all of Jason's self-serving ambitions and he only wanted to help take that bastard down. He even voted to join Nightwing's Network group to further that end.

But then he slowly learned that these people, these other vigilantes, weren't what they claimed to be. They preached taking a slower course, allowing Bane to do whatever the hell he wanted while they took out his men, which there seemed to be no shortage of. Then when he brought up the most logical course of action for them, they lectured him.

They were idiots, all of them.

So here he was, having left them after yet another lecture and them wanting to ground him. That still pissed him off to no end. Their leadership was only going to make them lose this war and no way was Jason going to be preached to by losers. No, it was time to take matters into his own hands.

Before the young man was a footlocker. He wasn't sure where he had gotten it, but it was very useful in keeping things he wanted safe. The lock was undone, tossed to the floor. With the lid open, Jason reached in and rummaged around inside the footlocker.

It wasn't long before he pulled out a towel, folded into an oddly-formed square. Resting it on his lap, Jason was careful to unfold it, grabbing the edge of the towel between two fingers and slowly pulling it outward from the center. Soon, the towel was completely unfolded, and resting on it were two handguns, the handle of one gun hovering underneath the barrel of the other and vise versa.

These were the only keepsakes he had from his dad, may he rot in hell. There had been many times Jason had wanted to whip these babies out, but had thought better. He hadn't been in a position to take advantage of their raw power, not until now.

Leaning over, he again reached into the footlocker and pulled out a box of ammo. Picking up one of the guns, he removed the magazine, finding it empty as he expected. Placing the gun back on his lap, he began feeding bullets into the clip until it couldn't hold anymore. Satisfied, he shoved the magazine back into the gun, pulling back on the barrel of the gun so that the top bullet entered the bullet chamber.

Oh yeah, he was going to administer some true justice on the scum of Gotham. Once he was confident in his skill with these babies, he would aim higher and take out Bane's men. Then, once he had killed those guys off, he'd set his sights on Bane and put that bastard down.

For the first time in a long time, Jason felt as if he was finally going in the right direction.

The skyline of Gotham was a way for Nightwing to clear his mind. It was more the height than the actual sight, a coping skill left over from his days in the circus. There was just something he found calming standing on top of a pole, a foot resting on the end of a tightrope. That feeling never seemed to go away.

He was needing that serenity right about now, especially after Jason's blow up and quitting. Yes, the guy was full of himself, argumentative, and tended to not respond well to be being told what to do, but that didn't mean that the young man wasn't concerned about him.

Jason was just so angry. At times he recognized it as something he had once felt so long ago, before becoming Nightwing. There was something that had happened in Jason's life, then add to having to grow up in the streets, and you get someone who was very prickly and didn't work well with others.

And there were some good things about him. Though he tried to hide it, the guy had some kind of heart in him. Self-serving, yes, but it was being put to good use. Who knows, maybe given enough time and nurturing, it could be brought out. He was becoming a decent fighter, managing to outdo both Spoiler and Bluebird in recent spars. And he had dedication and persistence.

If only they could do something with that anger…

"Heard about Hood. How're you holding up?"

He knew immediately it was Red Robin, but he didn't look over his shoulder to say and greet the masked teen. Nightwing kept his eyes on the city, taking a moment to really take it in. This was what they were fighting for, and even though you couldn't see it, what with the towering buildings and the lights that lit up the night, somewhere in there were monsters, the kind that made the boogeyman look like a bitch. When not being terrorized, it was filled with so many people, all trying to live their lives and make something of themselves, not concerned with the citywide crises that seemed to happen every year.

In that moment, he never felt prouder to be a Gothamite. Then he had to come back down and give a response to his former partner. "I'm more curious as to who doesn't know. It really was loud back there."

"What're you going to do? Are you going to leave things like they are?" the transplant to Jump asked as he came up beside the older vigilante, crouching down and taking a seat next to him. In front the of the pair was the ledge of the building they were perched on and a several story drop to the streets below.

"I think he needs time to cool his head off," Nightwing said after a moment. "His biggest problem is that he lets his emotions get the better of him at the wrong time. He's so busy trying to prove himself a tough guy that he hasn't figured out that no one's impressed by it. But the gun thing? I didn't think this was going to have to be something brought up."

"From what I've heard from the girls—yours, not the Birds—you guys literally picked him off the street," Red Robin pointed out. "The best that I've figured out, you have a lot in common with him. Not like me, or the girls, who have some kind of family waiting at home for them, as far as I know. The both of you are orphans."

"I don't think he trusted anybody enough to talk about himself. Shit—I could have been that person," the older male spoke, swearing at himself. "Instead I gave him shit, didn't give a lot of reasons for him to trust me, to trust what we do. I guess I was taking my anger out on him, what with Spoiler being dumb enough to keep her costume in her damn backpack."

"That was really dumb," Red Robin agreed. "But we're all done dumb stuff before. I was dumb enough to get caught by Two-Face and put my parents in danger. I guess we're all owed one, so long as it is something we can fix."

"But you had to move to the other side of the country. This was more manageable than yours." Nightwing gave a grim smile, thinking not only about the differences between the two mistakes, but also how he could have done better with Jason. Anyone willing to stand up to a giant plant with teeth couldn't be all that bad, right? "But now...I mean, he was never the person who listened from the get-go. Once he makes up his mind, it's like you have to put the fear of God into him to make him listen."

"Doesn't help that he wants to start adding guns to the mix. Shame that Batman isn't here to set him straight," sighed the younger teen. "So how long are you going to let him cool off? I don't think it's safe letting him run around out there by himself."

"Give it a few hours, maybe the night, then I'll try to see if I can't talk with him." Now it was his turn to sigh. He was not looking forward to that, but a guilty conscience wasn't about to let him off the hook.

"Do you know how to find him?" Red Robin asked.

Now he was giving a smirk. "I've learned since last time. Got a tracer embedded in that suit I gave him. It's in all our suits now. That way if someone gets captured, a quick call to Oracle will give everyone a head's up on where they are so we can rescue them. Now about to let another you happen on my watch again."

"Do the rest know?" An important follow-up question and one that made Nightwing's smirk grow a little larger.

"Nope. You can bet at least Red Hood would be pissed. Not sure about the girls, but I haven't had the chance to tell them either. Now that I'm thinking about it, yours probably has a tracer too. I don't think Oracle is going to let you out of her sights anytime soon."

He noticed how Red Robin tried to subtly search for the theoretical tracking device and failed spectacularly at hiding his alarm.

He was feeling a little bit better now that he was talking this out with a trusted friend, but that didn't change how he was still going to have to wait for now. A part of him wanted to wait longer than a few hours hours, maybe a whole week. Another wanted to find the newbie and try to work something out now. There was a third that was adamant about the plan discussed.

Well, he was going to go with that third part for no other reason that it was the best of the three. In the meantime, he could begin thinking of ways of how to make sure he got through Jason's head why they shouldn't be using guns as well as everyone being a better team player. It was all of them standing against what Bane promised to bring to Gotham and they needed to stick together to show that bastard that they weren't having any of what he was selling.

This would be a speed bump, nothing more.

It wasn't like this was going to be the last time he'd see him.

Red Hood stood at the edge of the mouth of the alley, his back leaning up against the brick wall behind him. His hands were firmly shoved into his pockets, his red hood over his head, hiding his face as he stared towards the ground. A cute girl had walked by seconds ago, which he had picked up from the periphery of his eyes.

Shortly after came a small gang of punks and thugs.

He knew this scene all too well. These punks were tailing the girl, waiting to get her in a more isolated area, then gangbang the shit out of her. It happened more often than you thought and even more than you'd like.

That's where he came in.

Shoving himself off the wall, Red Hood exited the alley and began following the predators and their prey. It didn't matter how far they went, a fight was coming. He could practically smell it.

He even craved it.

There was a confidence in his step, one he hadn't had before. He felt secure, sure of himself. He knew how to fight and was packing. He was the definition of security. These punks didn't stand a chance against him and he knew it.

Red Hood sped up his pace as the girl neared a corner, coming to a stop as she looked both ways down the street in front of her. Crossing safety was ironic considering it was supposed to keep her from being run over by a car, yet was allowing these wolves to catch up to her. Reaching the back of the group, Red Hood pulled his hands out of his pockets and reached up with one, tugging on the guy's jacket.

Immediately, the guy spun his head around, only for Red Hood to slam his fist right into his face, knocking him to the ground in an instant. "What the hell?!" his friend shouted as he jumped back, alerting the entire group to his presence.

"Bad move, dickhead," one of them snarled as the entire group faced the vigilante. By now the girl had noticed what was happening and was bolting across the street. Good, there wouldn't be any innocent bystanders here.

"You say that," Red Hood replied after a moment, glancing from each guy and back. "But if you're anything like your pal on the ground, I suggest you walk away."

Oh yeah, that sounded badass.

That's when one of the closer ones took a shot at him. A fist flying, Red Hood immediately ducked it and had his own fist drawn back. As fast as lightning, he threw it, ramming it right into the guy's stomach, knocking the wind out of him as he gasped, the punk bending over from the blow. With his other hand, Hood grabbed the guy by his head and pulled his head back, right before he forced it back down, just in time for the guy's face to slam right onto his rising knee.

Letting go of the certainly unconscious fellow, Red Hood spun around just in time to see another punk throwing a punch at him. Easily, he blocked it and lifted a foot up, stomping it on the guy's foot and causing him to yelp as he began jumping backwards.

That was when something rammed right into Red Hood, arms wrapping around his waist. Tackled right off of his feet, the vigilante found himself hitting the pavement on his back, one of the punks landing right on top of him, knocking the air out of his lungs.

Or at least, that would've happened several months ago. One thing Red Hood had learned from Dickwing and his punk bitches was how to take a hit and how to land on the ground without getting the wind knocked out of him. Keeping his cool, he looked up as he saw his tackler hauling himself up above him and ready to pound his face to a pulp.

Nice try, asshole. Shooting a hand up, Red Hood caught a fist flying at his face, the smacking sound of skin against leather echoing out into the night. His fingers curled around his attacker's fist and held it right there, even as the guy jerked it back and failed.

The guy tried jerking again and Red Hood let him, the punk's eyes widening as he yanked back too hard and fell backwards, and subsequently off the vigilante. Scrambling up, Red Hood was crouched on his feet, the tips of his fingers pressed onto the sidewalk to help balance him. When he saw the punk pushing himself back up too, he sprung off his coiled legs, swinging a foot up to land a perfectly-timed kick to his face. The guy's head snapped backwards and his body whipped back down to the ground, where the back of his head smacked the pavement, bouncing off of it once, but then falling back down as the guy went out cold.

Damn, this was too easy!

For a moment, Red Hood's eyes drifted away from the thugs in front of him. On the building catercorner from the street corner he was at was a CCTV camera, its lens pointed right towards him and his prey. No doubt Oracle was watching what was going on since the Network was going to want to keep their eyes on his movements. Let them. Let them see just how capable he was.

That was when he saw the flash of metal. There were two guys still standing, one of whom was shaking off having his foot being stomped flat. The other had a switchblade in hand and was holding it in front of him, the tip pointing right towards him. Red Hood watched with amusement, allowing himself to feel relaxed.

This, this was cute. At one time, he would've been on high alert with that knife dancing around, but that was because he was unarmed with only his hands to defend him. Now though, he wasn't fighting with one hand tied behind his back.

Casually, he reached to the twin holsters he had stuck in the back of the waistband of his pants. Grabbing one of the guns, he pulled it out and pointed it right at the knife-wielding punk. His and his friend's reaction to the sight of the handgun sent a thrill down his spine as they both froze at the sight of it.

And then he fired.

Knife guy's left side jerked to a side as the bullet blasted through his upper arm. The guy cried out as he dropped the switchblade, grabbing his arm in pain.

"Fuck this!" the other guy cried out as he turned and took off running down the street, a slight limp in his stride. A vicious grin was on Red Hood's face as he took aim at the fleeing man's back.

Just as he reached the corner, something came flying out from around it. It was long and thin, like a bat or a 2X4. Whatever it was, the running punk caught it against his chest, stopping his upper body right then and there. However, his lower body kept moving, so his legs swung up into the air before gravity dropped him to the ground.

And then something else came around the corner, something that made Red Hood blink his eyes in bewilderment.

"Bad guys beware! Your villainy comes to an end!" Bat-Joker declared as he appeared on scene.

And then came to an abrupt stop, his eyes blinking owlishly. In front of him were a bunch of gangbangers, a few lying on the ground while another stood with his arm bleeding, staring much like he was at him. Further back was another guy, but he had a gun in hand and a domino mask on. However, his clothes looked a whole lot different from the gang members in that it looked like he was wearing armor.

"Uuuuugh," a groan came, causing Bat-Joker to glance down at the man he had clotheslined. The youngster was shifting on the ground, his arms wrapped around his chest. A crowbar could do that to a person.

Shaking himself out of his stupor—in his mind, mind you, since doing so physically made people think you were crazy—Bat-Joker casually swung a foot forward, kicking the kid across his face and knocking him out. "Now, now, what do we have here?" he asked. "Were you young people having a disagreement? Despite what common sense says, violence is not always the answer."

"Dear God!" the bleeding thug swore before he began stumbling away from Bat-Joker, no doubt in fear of that Bat Symbol on his chest. He flew right by the guy with the gun and kept running, leaving only Bat-Joker and this mystery guy.

"Well, now it's just you and me, Bucko. Mind telling me why you're assaulting these people? I mean, I know why they would be beating on people, but you I'm not so sure. Don't you know fighting can be dangerous?"

Immediately, the kid pointed his gun right at him, aiming for his head. "Don't come any closer, you creep!" he demanded, baring his teeth at him.

Oh, oh! This! This was one of those classic moments where Batsy had to disarm the guy pointing the gun at him! Bat-Joker knew exactly what to do in this situation! Hiding his hand beneath his cape, he went searching for the pouch that held his sharp, throwing thingies. At least he was trying to covertly; this was harder than Batsy made it look.

That's not the right pouch...not the right pouch...nooot the right pouch...okay, which frigging one was it?!

"Drop your weapon," the other guy warned him then.

"Weapon? What weapon?" Bat-Joker replied as he finally found the pouch, digging his hand into it. "I don't have any weapon on me. Hell, I don't even know who you are, Junior."

"The name's Red Hood, ya crackpot," the guy spat at him. "And I'm talking about the thing your holding. That metal pipe."

"What? The crowbar?" Bat-Joker asked as he held up the offending crowbar.

Suddenly, the gun fired and the crowbar went flying out of Bat-Joker's hand, the masked vigilante jumping to a side as he jerked his head around, watching as the crowbar went clattering onto the sidewalk. Again, he found himself blinking his eyes at what had just happened before he looked back to Red Hood. "Wow, good shot."

"Yeah, I am," Hood of Red sneered.

Suddenly, Bat-Joker whipped his hand out and sent his sharp projectile flying through the air, where it struck Red Hood's hand, knocking the gun out of his grasp. The guy yelped as he grabbed his hand in pain. "So am I, Junior," Bat-Joker growled threateningly.

And then he was running at Red Hood, who finally looked up at him after nursing his hand. With a right hook, Bat-Joker decked the kid, causing his head to snap to a side. He then swung his other fist, knocking Red Hood's head back the other way.

However, when he went for a third punch, Red Hood shot a hand up and blocked the blow. That's when Bat-Joker felt a fist ram into his stomach, causing him to gasp as he flinched back a step. Keeping his eyes on the kid, he saw him holding his fists up like a boxer, hopping from one foot to the other.

"Oh, so this is the kind of fight we're having," the vigilante said as he took up a similar stance, shifting his weight back and forth from one foot to the other, his own fists held up before him. "I'll have you know, I was the champ in the Arkham Psych League."

"Oh, I believe it, you wacko," Red Hood spat back before he lunged forward, jabbing at Bat-Joker's face. He blocked the punch as he stepped backwards, causing the kid to move forward, throwing another jab. He kept jabbing, always with the same fist, and Bat-Joker kept blocking.

This was all leading up to something, which turned out to be a left hook from Red Hood. Bat-Joker leapt backwards to avoid the swing and did so successfully. He then leaned further back to avoid a backswing of the same hand, feeling a breeze faintly blow by. But then it was his turn to lunge forward as he threw a punch right for Red Hood's head, which he blocked.

Alrighty then, boxing didn't seem to be working too well. Perhaps it was time to try something different. At least, that's what Bat-Joker intended to do, right before Red Hood suddenly dropped down. Leaning to one side, he stuck one leg out and swung it, kicking out Bat-Joker's feet from right underneath him. Eyes comically widening, Bat-Joker cried out as he fell to the ground, landing in a heap.

That's when Red Hood came leaping through the air, landing right on top of the masked vigilante, his legs straddling him. A hand grabbing him by the throat, the kid began punching him over and over, each blow hitting him in the face. Pain exploded throughout his face as Bat-Joker felt his head snapping to his right over and over. It was as if he would get hit, felt his cheek bounce off the sidewalk, and then turn back in time to rinse and repeat.

"How do you like this, ya Bat-wannabe!" Red Hood exclaimed as he hit him again.

That's when Bat-Joker shot a hand up, catching the fist, and stopping it dead in its tracks. "I think that's enough," he said in a deadly tone.

For a moment, Red Hood stared down at him with surprise, right before Bat-Joker let go of his hand and shot it up, grabbing onto the kid's shirt—his armored shirt as it turned out. Pulling him down, Bat-Joker then swung his head upward, headbutting Junior against the forehead. Stars exploded in his vision, causing the masked man to question why he went with a headbutt immediately after the fact.

However, this had the upside of causing Red Hood to fall off of him, coming to lay on the ground next to him. Quickly, scrambling to push himself up, Bat-Joker began crawling backwards, his back dragging against the ground, putting some distance between them. He came to an abrupt stop when his hand fell onto something, causing him to turn his head to look.

There his hand was, resting right on top of the crowbar. Curling his fingers around it, he took ahold of it before looking back to Red Hood.

By then, the kid was on his hands and knees, pushing himself up. However, the moment the guy caught sight of Bat-Joker, he suddenly threw himself forward, lunging to land right back on top of him. "Oof!" the older man gasped out.

"You're not getting away!" Red Hood cried out as he grabbed ahold of the straight horn on top of Bat-Joker's head. He pulled on it, attempting to pin the older man's head back and onto the ground. "I'm putting you down hard!"

However, that pulling pulled Bat-Joker's mask right off his head, exposing the Joker's pale face to the world. Again, the Joker felt his stomach sink as his identity was exposed for all to see for a second time.

As if that weren't enough, Red Hood stared at him as his mouth dropped open. "Holy shit, you're the—"

A blinding rage suddenly exploded within the Joker as his face twisted with fury. With a swing of his arm, he slammed the crowbar against the side of Red Hood's face. The kid cried out as he once again fell off from atop the clown.

However, instead of scrambling away, the Joker was flinging himself up, immediately throwing himself on top of the fallen Red Hood, pinning one shoulder down to the ground as he held his crowbar up high. "You little ingrate!" the Joker shouted as he swung the crowbar down, smashing it against the maggot's face.

"Get away!" Red Hood cried as he shot his other arm up, pushing the Joker back far enough so that he could then move his legs up, his knees reaching his chest as his feet pressed into the Joker's stomach. Kicking out, he forced the green-haired man back, causing him to actually fly up onto his feet as he stood at his full height.

That's when Red Hood shot a hand behind him, pulling out another gun. Before he had a chance to point it at him, the Joker swung his crowbar again, hitting the kid's hand and knocking the gun out of his grasp, a cry of pain tearing out of the youth's mouth as he instinctively grabbed his injured hand.

Grabbing the crowbar with both hands, the Joker held it high above his head, baring his teeth like an animal. "How dare you?!" he shouted before he swung the crowbar down, nailing the kid's chest. The kid cried out as his body began to curl into the fetal position.

Yet, the Joker wasn't done. Over and over, he raised the crowbar, only to swing it back down, hitting Red Hood against his face, chest, arms, whatever body part was visible. "Do!" Another swing. "You know!" Another swing. What!" Another. "This mask!" Another. "Is for?!"

"I was having a good night!" Another swing, another scream of pain. "Until you!" Another swing. "Took my mask off!" Another swing, another scream, blood flew into the air. "You're the second person!" Another hit. "To do that to me!" Another! "I will not be!" Another! "Disrespected like that!"

Blood flew up into the air with every swing he made. It spattered across the sidewalk, the side of the building next to him, reaching into the road. The Joker continued to shout at Red Hood, but he had lost all sense of what he was saying, only screaming with every swing. He was sure the punk was crying out in pain, but soon he couldn't hear that from the pounding in his ears.

Soon, his arms tired and he stopped. The night was silent save for the Joker's panting. Raising a hand, he rubbed it against his forehand to wipe off some sweat, only to feel something wetter and stickier smear against his skin. Frowning, he lowered his hand and saw on the back of it smeared blood.

Startled, the Joker looked down at the ground and saw a bloody mess of what once was Red Hood. His head was turned to a side, blood dripping from his mouth while some was smeared over his face, bruising starting to appear on his cheek. There was so much swelling too, which made his youthful face a caricature of itself. Because of his mask, there was no way to tell if his eyes were open or not.

Oh God. What had he done?

The Joker stumbled backwards, pressing a hand to his mouth to stop himself from vomiting. What had he done? What had he done?! He...he had killed someone. He...the Bat-Joker...wearing Batman's mantle…

He had killed someone as the Batman.

Joker looked down at his costume and found it covered in blood. Droplets had covered his chest, arms, legs, basically his front. The blood was now dripping downwards, creating trails of blood down his black costume.

No, no, no. This was not how it was supposed to be! The Bat never killed! Never! Ever! And now there was blood on the symbol. "Why?" he croaked at Red Hood's broken, bleeding body. "Why did you make me do it? Why did you make me kill you?"

He raised a hand to run his fingers through his green hair. That gave him pause. Squeezing his fingers over and over, pulling on the strands of hair, something...a thought occurred to him.

His mask, it was off. His real identity as the Joker was fully exposed. That burst of anger, the vicious beating, the blood...the death...that had happened as his real self, not as Bat-Joker.

Did that mean…?

Yes...yes! He hadn't been the Bat! He had been the Joker when he killed the brat! The Bat didn't kill people, but the Joker was a homicidal maniac who had killed hundreds, maybe thousands. That's right! That nefarious Joker, with his charming smile and devilish good looks had killed Bloody Red Hood there.

That Bat Mantle remained clean of blood, ya know, except for the literal blood on it. He, of course, was speaking figuratively and probably metaphorically.

"Whew! That was a close one!" he exclaimed as he relaxed his body, shoulders sagging as he looked up into the night's sky. For some reason it was looking brighter, if not lovelier now.

And why wouldn't it? He had a dead body in front of him and he already knew who the culprit was. The case was closed even before it was opened! Let's see Batsy do that! With a skip in his step, he spun around and moved over to his mask, snatching it up off the ground and continued walking off, disappearing into the night.