(12/26)

"This is so not crash," Dick moaned, his forehead resting on the desk in the Batcave. He looked at the computer clock. 3:00 a.m. I've been up for over 14 hours. He looked at the missed calls from Barbara. "So not how I wanted to spend my holiday," the 14-year-old sighed.

"Come on, Dick," Stephanie stood with her hands on her waist. "We need to talk about what to do with Tim."

"Just bench him," Dick shrugged.

"Like that'll work. Have you been able to get in touch with him?"

"No," Dick replied, "he's not picking up my calls; but Bernard heard Tim enter the apartment around midnight. So…that's something."

Cassandra stepped forward, motioning with her hands. "No," Stephanie sighed. "Alfred rarely ever takes a vacation. The situation isn't dire, but we need to check in on him every hour."

"What if he doesn't respond?" Dick asked.

"Keep texting until he responds," Stephanie ordered.

"Do you think a meta is messing with his head?" Dick asked.

"I don't know," Stephanie said, "but I've activated every tracker in his body. I'll get an alert if he leaves the apartment." Cassandra moved her hands again. "You want to sit on his apartment?" Stephanie asked the silent ex-assassin. Cassandra nodded. "Okay, but make sure you get some sleep. We're going to be paying a visit to some of the Joker's friends tonight—just in case. I need you alert and at your best."

Tim tossed and turned, sheets clinging to his sweat-drenched skin. Why is it so hot? His phone chimed again, the sixth time in ten minutes. He grabbed it, glaring at the screen—Dick. Again. His frustration boiled over as he typed out a furious reply and hit SEND. He fell back onto his pillow. Ha-ha-ha-ha! Tim's eyes flew open. The laughter echoed in his skull, sharp and menacing. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Tim sat up. His eyes darted around his room, but he was alone. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! "No!" Tim covered his ears, his voice cracking as he snarled, "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" But the laughter only grew louder, wrapping around him like a vise.

Empty packets of tea were sprawled out on the table. Raven sipped her eighth cup while staring at the problem in front of her. "This is impossible," she muttered. "Stupid Tim."

"Hey, Raven." She looked up to see Blue Devil stroll into the lounge. "Hello," she sighed.

"That's a lotta tea. What're ya' working on?" he asked, heading to the kitchen.

"Calculus," she grumbled, tapping her pen against the table.

"Aren't you on holiday?"

"Yeah, but I've fallen behind because my idiot tutor's been AWOL. My teacher gave me an extension until the semester starts again."

"I see. I'd help, but me and math don't mix." Blue Devil paused. "Ya' know, one of the high-tech gadgets around here could probably teach ya' maths."

"I can barely work my phone," Raven frowned.

"Oh… well, good luck to ya'," he said, hurrying away.

"Yep," Raven stared forlornly at the weird symbols Earthlings call 'math'. "Good luck to me," she muttered hopelessly.

Tim had remained in his room all day, responding to text messages since 2 a.m. It was now 10 p.m. The constant barrage of pings and dings had pushed him to the brink. His phone was driving him insane, chiming every few minutes. If that wasn't enough, Bernard had been knocking on his door every hour like clockwork, each time more grating than the last. Tim had considered escaping, but he saw Cassandra lurking in the alley below. He was trapped.

Tim's heart throbbed chaotically, his skin slick with sweat, and the Joker's maniacal laughter echoed in his ears, taunting him mercilessly. His phone went off again. I'm sick of this! In a flash of anger, Tim grabbed his phone and hurled it across the room. It struck the wall with a satisfying crunch, embedding itself in the plaster. "Great," he muttered darkly, staring at the cracked screen. "In 3, 2, 1…" Knock, knock, knock. "Of course," Tim groaned, his patience hanging by a thread. "I'm fine, Bernard."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Tim snapped, his voice thick with irritation. "I… found a discrepancy in a Wayne Enterprises document."

"Tim?"

"Bernard, please," Tim begged, his tone desperate.

"Okay…"

He waited until Bernard's footsteps faded away before letting out a shaky breath. Just as he glanced at the window, something caught his eye. The Bat-Signal blazed across the night sky. That means… He scanned the alley below. Sure enough, Orphan was gone. Tim exhaled sharply and undressed. He needed to visit an asylum. Reaching for his Red Robin uniform, he hesitated. I have a different suit in mind.

Harley Quinn lay on her stomach, humming a chaotic tune as she sketched a colorful, twisted picture of her and Mistah J frolicking in a field of dead bodies. The lights in her cell flickered, then suddenly the entire floor was plunged into darkness. She froze, her humming cutting off, as the dim glow of a couple of emergency lights flickered to life. A slow, unsettling smile spread across her face. Rolling onto her back, she stretched languidly before sitting up, arching her back with feline grace. "Well, well, well," she purred in her high-pitched voice, her words dripping with feigned innocence. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

"The Joker—where is he?" a sharp voice cut through the darkness. Harley's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing as she squinted through the shadows. A figure loomed just beyond the bars of her cell, bathed in the faint, flickering light. "You're not Batsy," she cooed, a smile tugging at her lips. The figure stepped closer, revealing a tight black suit marked with a large red X. Gray boots and gloves completed the look, but it was the full-faced skull mask that caught her attention. "Nice costume," Harley purred, sauntering to the bars. "I like the new look. You fill it out rather nicely." She licked her lips as her eyes roamed the vigilante's figure from head to toe.

"Enough!" the figure's patience snapped, his voice seething with barely restrained fury. "Where is Joker?"

Harley's grin widened with a dangerous glint in her eyes. "Last time I saw you, you were a bloody mess at Mistah J's feet, beggin' for your life!" She laughed sharply and maniacally, only for her laughter to be abruptly cut off as someone slammed her into the bars. She yelped, feeling the cold metal against her face as the figure's gloved hand fisted in her shirt, pulling her closer. "Hey! Watch it, mister!" she snarled, her tone mocking despite the pain. "Didn't your mommy ever teach you how to treat a lady?" Her retort was met with another slam, her head cracking against the bars a couple of more times. "He's dead!" Harley screamed, tears springing to her eyes as the pain finally broke through her bravado. "He's dead, ya' meanie!"

A cold, gloved hand wrapped around her throat, cutting off her air. Harley clawed at the arm, her nails digging into the suit, but the grip didn't relent. "He's faked his death before," the voice growled, low and menacing. "He's… dead…" Harley wheezed, her vision blurring as black spots danced before her eyes. "I… swear…"

"Why am I seeing him everywhere? Why should I believe you?" The voice was closer now, the figure's breath hot against her face.

"Because… I… loved him…" she gasped, her voice barely a whisper. She clawed at the hand, only to find herself staring into the blank eyes of the skull mask. Then, just as suddenly, she was flung back, crashing onto the floor. Gasping for breath, she curled into herself, her body trembling as she fought to steady her breathing. "Ya' really know how to show a girl a good time," she rasped, glaring up at him through tears. "He's gone, and… and…" Her voice cracked, the sobs tearing through her as she crumbled. "He's left me all alone."

For a moment, the room was silent, save for Harley's heartbreaking sobs. She stared at the dirty cell floor, her fingers curling into the cold concrete. "I don't know who you've been seein'," she whispered, her voice filled with pain, "but it ain't my Mistah J. He's gone." She sniffed, wiping her eyes with trembling hands. "It's either a copycat, or… someone's messin' with your mind."

Harley glanced up at him, only to see emptiness where he once stood. "Of course, he's gone," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "stupid bat-brats." Sighing, she turned away, shuffling back to her bed with her shoulders slumped in defeat. Crawling under the thin blanket, she curled up into a ball, her back to the intruder. The soft sound of her sobs filled the room as she cried herself to sleep.

Tim yanked off his mask, his breath ragged as he glared at the asylum. Harley Quinn had been telling the truth—she genuinely believed the Joker was dead. "But he's not," he muttered fiercely, pulling the mask back on. His mind was a storm of frustration and confusion.

A dark, sinister, sadistic laughter echoed behind him. "You," Tim growled, his fists clenched tightly. He spun around to see the Joker leaning nonchalantly against a tree, a wide, manic grin plastered across his face. "Miss me?" Joker's laughter erupted, a wild, unhinged cackle that seemed to pierce the night.

Tim's eyes blazed with anger. "Shut up!" he screamed, launching himself at the Joker with a series of fierce punches and kicks. The Joker danced out of the way effortlessly, mocking Tim with every dodge. "Is that the best you can do, bird boy?" Joker taunted, his laughter ringing out.

"You're dead," Tim panted, his voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and rage. "You're not real!"

"Does this feel fake to you?" Joker's voice was a chilling whisper as a crowbar materialized in his hand. Before Tim could react, Joker swung, and the metal struck Tim sharply on the head. "Ah!" Tim cried out, staggering back, his vision blurring.

"You've lost your touch, bird boy," Joker jeered, his tone dripping with cruel amusement.

Tim charged again, but his movements were sluggish, his breath ragged. He was exhausted, and the Joker seemed untouched, unaffected. "What drugs did you take?" Tim gasped, trying to catch his breath. "How are you beating me?"

Joker grabbed the tired vigilante, seized him by the throat, and slammed him into a tree. Tim struggled fiercely, his panic rising. Joker's face was impossibly close, but Tim couldn't even feel the Joker's breath against his skin. "Face it, Red," Joker hissed, his voice a chilling echo in Tim's ears. "You can't get rid of me. I'm in your head. You'll never be free from me."

With a desperate scream, Tim headbutted the Joker, breaking free from his iron grip. He turned, his vision swimming, and saw…saw… Tim blinked. Batgirl, Robin, and Orphan were on their motorbikes staring at him, their expressions a mix of concern and confusion. "Tim?" Batgirl's voice was a sharp, penetrating question. Tim's chest heaved as he stared at his team. The Joker was nowhere to be found. "I… I was fighting the Joker," he said, his voice strained.

"What!" Batgirl's shock was palpable as she dismounted and marched toward him. "Tim," she said his name quietly. "Listen to yourself! The Joker is dead!"

"We don't know that!" Tim shot back, his voice cracking with frustration.

"We were all there! We saw the body!"

"He was just here!" Tim insisted, his voice breaking.

"No one was here!" Batgirl's voice rose in exasperation. "What are you even doing out here dressed like that?"

"I was—what are you guys doing out here?" Tim retorted.

"Looking for you!" Robin exclaimed, his eyes wide with concern.

"Wasn't there a Bat-signal?" Tim demanded, his frustration mounting.

"We already answered it," Robin said tersely.

"Go back to the cave," Batgirl ordered firmly. "You're acting insane. Plus, you have a meeting with Wayne Enterprises board members in 7 hours. So, go."

"Excuse me?" Tim's voice was icy as he stood tall, his eyes flashing. He noticed Orphan and Robin stiffen behind Batgirl, ready to defend Batgirl if needed.

"Batman placed me in charge," Batgirl said through clenched teeth. "You need to go."

Tim's anger flared, but he forced himself to remain composed. "Fine," he snapped, turning on his heel. Without another word, he mounted his bike, revved the engine, and sped off into the night, a sadistic laugh ringing in his ears all the way home.

(12/27)

Tim stared at his reflection in the mirror, squeezing the phone in his hand. The text from Stephanie. It read, You're benched. Tim's anger was reaching a boiling point. "How dare she…?" he growled angrily.

"Aww, poor little bird, grounded by the big, bad…Batgirl?" Joker whispered in his head.

"Shut up," Tim growled. His reflection morphed and before Tim knew it, the Joker was staring back at him. "You're not real."

"You keep saying that. Yet, here I am! Hahahaha!"

"Quiet!" Tim yelled and struck out with his fist, punching the mirror. The glass shattered, fragments scattering across the sink and clattering onto the floor. Tim's breath came in ragged gasps as he stared in horror at the wreckage, his heart pounding in his chest.

Knock. Knock. Tim jumped, startled by the knocking on the bathroom door. "Mr. Drake?" Tim heard the voice of Lucius Fox. "Are you okay in there? The board is ready for you."

"Yeah," Tim answered as he grabbed a bunch of paper towels and cleaned his bloody knuckles. "I just need a few more minutes."

"Okay. I'll let them know."

"Thanks," Tim called out. He quickly washed his hands and rinsed his face. "I can do this," Tim whispered as he turned from the mirror and exited the bathroom.

"We'll see, heeheehee."