AN: Title and idea from the A Perfect Circle song of that name. Contains spoilers for Arkham Knight (like that matters now…) and…sort of…fits in there? I guess? I don't know, I just had the idea and had to do it, continuities be damned. Because we all love a chance to fuck with Batman's head. :p
Crane's not here. Batman didn't think he would be, but that doesn't make his mood any better.
Richardson's here, anyway, and he'll take that. She'll tell him what he wants to know, whether she wants to or not. She's got a hostage, though, so he'll have to tread carefully. No men, at least, so that's good.
Is it a trap? Probably. Does he care? No.
He pushes the door open and the breath is promptly knocked out of him.
Jason?
No. No, it's not Jason, not really, but they've done their damndest to copy him as he was in that video of Joker's, 'J' and all. The kid's slumped in the wheelchair, seemingly not noticing or caring that Batman is here and that Richardson's hand is moving through his hair like she's petting a cat.
"Back away."
"No. This one's mine." Did ya get that, Bats? Kid's not yours anymore. He's mine… "Jonathan made him for me." She moves her hand to the boy's shoulder and tugs him against her side in an awkward hug. "Isn't that right, sweetie?" The boy nods, stilted and mechanical. "Good boy." She looks up at Batman, goggles unreadably shiny from the florescent lights. "Come any closer, and I'll break his neck. He'll let me, you know. Won't you, sweetie?" Her fingers trace his jaw and guide his head up to look at her.
Another mechanical nod. It makes him sick.
"Where's Crane." Keep her talking.
"He couldn't be here." she says, hand carding through the boy's hair again. "Had some work to do…something about meeting up with the Arkham Knight."
The boy finally sees Batman, and jerks back, chair rattling. Richardson's hand moves to the back of his neck and she whispers, "Shh, shh. I won't let him hurt you."
She would have to pick a windowless room to wait in.
"What do you know about him."
She says nothing for several seconds, then, "You really don't know?" A grin spreads over her face, all teeth. "Oh my god…I'd kill to be a fly on that wall…well, I'd kill for less, but you know what I meant."
"Tell me what you know!"
"Or what? You hurtle over here in time for me to snap this poor child's neck? Tsk, tsk, Bats, it's like you want him dead." He lets himself have a grin of his own, sharp and dangerous. She cocks her head and he can see her fighting the urge to step back-or to run. "Interesting." The boy looks up at her through wet lashes and Richardson tousles his hair. "You can call him, you know. There's a computer, just there. I'm sure he'd love to hear from you."
He doesn't trust the computer, but he's not risking anyone else. If there's anything left of whoever that boy was…
It's easier, anyhow, to look at the computer rather than the child. Crane's a stickler for details, and it shows-they've even got the…the marks. From the barbed wire Joker had used as a restraint (or worse, who knows what happened). It'd left impressions, small scars, on Jason's neck (he'd watched that video too many times, desperate for it not to be true). They know him well, don't they. They know he did.
Crane's face appears on the screen, impassive as ever.
"Ah. Batman." He sounds utterly unsurprised. "I thought you might come looking. What do you think? A fairly…accurate…recreation, if I do say so myself."
"You owe me." Richardson calls. "He has no idea. I told you so."
Crane sounds a little annoyed when he says, "Really. I expected…more. Well. It was nice to see you, Batman, but I have work to do. Maybe you'll be a little more successful with this one, hmm?"
The screen goes black and he turns back. The boy is still slumped in the wheelchair, hands curled in his lap. Richardson rubs his shoulder.
"Y'know, I feel…a little bad for you. World's Greatest Detective…I've said for years that that's Sherlock Holmes, not you. How does it feel, to fail?"
If he can goad her to step away…just a few feet is all he needs…
"I haven't failed yet."
"No?" She cocks her head. "Last I heard, Barbara Gordon was nowhere to be found, dear Jim's up and vanished, and your other little bird was rotting in his grave. Not a good track record, is it, Robin?"
Robin?
The boy shakes his head, lips between his teeth. Batman feels his fingers curl into fists. Damn them both. Just a few feet, is all he needs.
"No, it isn't." There's a gleam of metal-a scalpel-passing from her hand to his before she pats his cheek. "There. That'll protect you from the big, bad, Bat."
"Last chance, Richardson." he warns. "Step away."
"No." She's angry now, a little. "You don't understand, Batman. You're not in control here. You're going to turn around a walk away, or you're going to be very sorry. Robin?" The boy glances up at her. "Go back to sleep."
The boy grips the scalpel. Batman is prepared to be attacked, but instead he raises his trembling hand to his own throat, presses the shimmering blade to his skin.
"Enough!"
"Too close to home?" Richardson puts her hand on the boy's, guiding the scalpel down. "You do realize saving him won't help, don't you? There's nothing left."
He can't believe that. He won't believe that.
And this ends now.
He sets his sights on the generator and ignores her, "Or is this an attempt to ease the guilt for the other one, hm? It won't save him, either."
He ignores the remnants of old nightmares and the Joker's laughter and the (accurate, he's sure) imaginings of Jason's no please no and turns back to the computer as though to try for Crane again.
"He's busy, what about that did you not understand?"
Say nothing. Say nothing, just focus. Okay…in…on…generator.
The room plunges into darkness and the boy whimpers. Richardson swears.
"Very funny."
They'll see who's laughing in a second.
He creeps around the side-knock the wheelchair over, hopefully get the boy to drop the scalpel while he deals with Richardson. She's drawn a gun-bad-but the boy hasn't moved. Excellent.
The wheelchair hits the ground and he hears the scalpel skitter across the floor. Richardson gets off a shot, but it goes wild and he rips the gun from her hand before slamming her against the nearest wall.
"What do you know about the Arkham Knight?"
She shakes her head-or tries to-and chokes out, "Spoilers."
Fine. They can talk on the way back to GCPD.
He throws her over his shoulder-give her a chance for that scalpel and things could get ugly-and turns to the boy.
Or, rather, where the boy should be.
He's gone, swinging door saying he made a run for it, and when Batman switches the cowl on he sees a blue skeleton sprinting down the hall. Richardson just laughs, hands and forehead planted against his back.
"Might want to catch him before he hurts himself." she says. "Wouldn't want to add another failure to your list."
They can talk at the GCPD, actually.
He slams her into the floor, knocking her out cold, and dashes out, tackles the boy at the head of the staircase. He screams, hoarse cries that barely even sound human, and it's with only a little regret that Batman gets him in a chokehold. Up close like this, the resemblance to Jason isn't as strong-Jay has (had) a pencil-thin scar along his hairline ("NOW will you stop playing with the gauntlets?" "No."), but he can see how young the boy really is. Fourteen, fifteen? Maybe?
He picks him up and goes back for Richardson, who's still sprawled on the floor. When he catches up to Crane-and he will catch up to Crane-he's going to make the man very, very sorry he started this game.
THE END