The first rule of living in Amity Park was simple: never trust Jack Fenton in a kitchen.
Danny had grown up with that rule.
So had Jazz.
So had the neighbors.
So had the mailman.
Frankly, the ghosts probably knew it too.
Jack Fenton was a brilliant inventor, a loving father, and a man who could build a portal to another dimension… but the moment he picked up a spatula, reality itself seemed to take offense.
So when Jack proudly announced, “Before I leave my boy alone in Gotham, I’m making him a home-cooked meal!”
Danny had smiled.
Because he loved his dad.
Because this was the last night before he started classes at Gotham University.
And because refusing would break Jack’s heart.
The kitchen had looked like a war zone.
There had been smoke.
At one point the blender had screamed.
Danny was pretty sure the oven had briefly turned green.
But eventually Jack presented his masterpiece with a proud grin.
“MEATLOAF!”
Danny stared at it.
It looked… wrong.
Not burnt exactly. Not raw either. Just… aggressively suspicious. The surface shimmered slightly like it might bite someone.
But Jack looked so proud.
Danny took a bite.
It tasted like sadness, motor oil, and paprika. He wanted to puke the moment it touched his tongue, but he choked it down. He could literally feel it traveling down his throat and feel the splash of it hitting his stomach acid. Thank the Ancients for his iron stomach.
Still, he smiled.
“Great, Dad.”
Jack beamed like he’d just solved world hunger.
Later, after Jack had finally left Danny’s small Gotham apartment—after the bone-crushing goodbye hug and at least five reminders to call his sister—Danny stood alone in the quiet kitchen.
He opened the fridge.
Inside sat the remaining meatloaf.
It twitched.
Danny sighed.
“Yeah… no.”
He picked up the plate.
The alley behind the apartment building was dark, damp, and smelled like garbage.
Which made it the perfect place to dispose of whatever that was.
Danny walked toward the dumpster, ignoring the faint growling coming from the meatloaf.
He had grown up in Amity Park.
A slightly alive dinner barely ranked in the top twenty weirdest things he'd seen.
Halfway to the dumpster, something echoed behind him.
A loud, manic cackle.
Danny stopped.
He slowly turned around.
Standing in the alley entrance was a pale man in a purple suit, green hair slicked back, lips stretched into a wide, unsettling grin.
In his hand was a crowbar.
“Oh this is perfect!” the man laughed. “Fresh little college kid wandering into my alley—”
Danny blinked.
“Oh,” he said flatly. “You’re the Joker.”
The Joker twirled the crowbar.
“Congratulations! You win tonight’s—”
Danny didn’t even think about it.
Pure reflex.
He threw the meatloaf.
The meatloaf hit the Joker directly in the face.
For half a second nothing happened.
Then the meatloaf screeched.
Eyes burst open across its surface.
A mouth split wide.
Teeth appeared.
And the ball of possessed meat launched itself at the Joker with the fury of a thousand haunted meat grinders.
“WHAT THE—?!” Joker screamed.
The creature latched on.
It bit.
It clawed.
It shrieked.
The Joker fell backward, thrashing wildly as the horrifying meat creature tore into his face.
The screams echoed through the alley.
A moment later three figures dropped from the rooftops.
Black cape.
Red armor.
Brown leather jacket.
Batman.
Red Robin.
Red Hood.
They froze.
Because in front of them—
The Joker was being violently murdered…
By a meatball.
Red Robin blinked slowly.
“…Is that… meat?”
Red Hood lowered his guns.
“…I’m not interrupting that.”
Batman said nothing.
Because honestly… what was the protocol here?
The Joker’s screams faded.
The meat creature finished its work.
Then, like someone had flipped a switch, it simply melted.
The eyes disappeared.
The teeth dissolved.
The whole thing collapsed into a dark, tar-like puddle that stopped moving entirely.
Silence returned to the alley.
Danny walked over.
He picked up a stick from the ground.
He poked the Joker.
Once.
Twice.
Definitely dead.
Danny sighed.
Under his breath, he sang, “Dumb ways to die.”
There was a pause.
Then Red Hood lost it.
He doubled over laughing, loud and unrestrained.
“Oh my GOD—!” he wheezed. “Bats— BATS— did you see that?! The clown got taken out by meatloaf!”
Red Robin covered his mouth, trying very hard not to laugh.
Not all glowing green liquid is ectoplasm… but it could be
In this case? I’m talking about the toxic chemicals that Jack Napier fell into that turned him into the Joker, that turned him into a ghost. He died and since it was Batman who caused him to slip he blames him for his death. So now he is obsessed with haunting his murderer and making him suffer.
After too many years Danny has finally managed to figure out the portal situation so that only benevolent ghosts can come through- something about enlisting the help of dead TSA agents and boarder officers? But now he has to round up all the problematic realms ghosts made by the ectoplasm his parents sold worldwide as a power source.
And his first stop? Gotham. That city jumped on using ecto-energy before all the rest, before proper safety measures and protocols for handling ectoplasm were developed and put in place. Probably something to do with all the corruption and greed- regardless. Gotham is a cesspit of ectoplasmic pollution, he’d be surprised if half their rogues weren’t ghosts or ghostly in some way.
So Danny does some research- he is far from the clueless kid he used to be just reacting to threats as they come. He’s grown to know that knowing a ghost’s obsession is the best way to trap them, and Joker is a wiley ghost. Preparation is key. Danny finds out about Joker and his obsession with making Batman pay…
And then he meets Red Hood, the furious young revenant Joker unintentionally created in his own image, obsessed with making Batman pay…
Sheesh. The poor kid even took on one of Joker’s old aliases…
Big Oof. Danny has some hard news to break to the guy. How exactly do you tell someone “Hey, so the reason you came back to life is because your murderer is a ghost who accidentally infected you with his ghost juices as he killed you… and now you’ve got some of his obsession nudging your thoughts and actions. Get a better hobby and maybe you can replace his parasitic obsession with one of your own.”
Jason is not gonna take this well. He’s gonna hear “you’re acting just like the Joker” and go fucking ballistic.
Welp. At least Danny is immune to bullets. This is gonna take a while.
One thing I haven't read before in DC x DP is a incidental—background—extra character being the one who kills the Joker.
I love any DP character being the ones who kill him or a DC one finally doing it after the Joker puts Danny in danger (or any other character).
But!
I like the idea of someone who has nothing to do with the main cast doing it; like—
The Joker escapes Arhkam and kidnaps a group of people, he hides them and starts a stream where he explains everything he plans to do with them, the games, and how Batman needs to found them before is too late.
You can see who Joker has. There in the background you can see Danny. He can be a new brother of the batfam, a friend, or he can even be dating one of them. Let's say Jason for more drama.
The batfam is all hands on deck. Bruce and Jason are screaming at each other but trying to still do something to save the people.
Jason feels more justify for him wanting to kill the Joker. Danny is thinking of how to escape without revealing his powers and avenge his boyfriend.
And then— when the tension is high, the bats and the birds are finally only a few seconds away, Danny at the edge of saying fuck it we roll—
A civilian, with nothing to lose (not caring what happens to them), launches towards the Joker. Their adrenaline is high, each punch like a bag of bricks. You can hear bones breaking and flesh being hit. Blood splattered in the floor.
Everyone is shocked.
Because, who expects a random civilian to attack? To just suddenly deciding to kill the Joker with their own hands, and actually have the strength and courage to do it.
They say adrenaline is a hell of a drug— or maybe the shadows carry the wishes of the dead, Danny won't tell—. They say a mother can lift a car just to get to her child; and maybe that's it.
Maybe it was a mother who had to watch her child getting killed in front of her.
A father who lost his family and had to return to a silent home.
An older sibling who is now an only child.
A son or a daughter who had to graduate with an empty seat in the crowd.
A friend who has to remember they can no longer call certain number in the phone.
A person who has to live covered in scars or with chronic pain for the rest of their lives.
Someone who has lost someone and suffered because of the Joker. Someone with just as much right to kill him as the next person. How many have died? How many have been torture?
At the end the Joker is just a man. He is flesh, blood, soft and tender. People forget how easy is to kill.
Danny stares. Batman stares. Red Hood stares. The goons stare. The rest of the civilians stare.
Ding Dong! The Joker is dead! And what can anyone do about it? Especially Bruce, since it can be considered self defense to a certain point. And it wasn't Jason or anyone he has anything to do with.
The aftermath of the batfam combine with the reaction of Gotham. Gold!
I haven't read anything like it yet, I have seen like the ghosts of the people Joker killed doing it but not this. (Recommendations appreciated).
So we’ve all heard of the classic trope of Danny being summoned by cultists, Danny accidentally killing Joker, Or Danny being an Arkham security guard and making Joker a vegetable. But what would happen if Joker was the one to summon the ghost king.
Joker: HAHAHA YOUR TO LATE BATS THE RITUAL IS ALREADY COMPLETE!!!
Batman: WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!!! Your have doomed us all!!
Joker: HAHAHhaHaaHahahAhahah
Ghost king: Who dares to summon me!!
Joker: Tis I King of Ghosts!
Ghost King: And what is it you have summoned me for!
Joker: I have summoned you to kill all those that are close to Batman, so that everyone he loves will die! Aaahahahaha oh I can’t wait to see the despair on your face Bats to see all you hold close disappear and there’s nothing you can do. AhahahahahaHahAhah I win Batman!
Ghost King snapping his fingers: wish granted
When the Ghost King snaps his fingers, suddenly the room goes quiet, and then deep tolls of church bells ring out and the starts to fill with small glowing green lights that float in the air. Those lights soon begin to take on shapes of people long since dead.
Ghost King: I call upon the souls of the dead to judge he who stands before me, and for the crimes committed I sentence you to eternal suffering, where you will be tortured and torn apart by the souls that you have killed, and you will never never die forever coming back and repeating the cycle until you are cast into hell
Joker sweating and shaking trying to run away if not for the ghosts holding him in place: WHATS GOING ON! I told you to kill the Bat!
Ghost King: I believe your exact words were “ to kill those closest to Batman”. And you Joker are the one that stands closest to him. That’s the thing about wishes Joker while you may wish it we the castor have full rain in how we interpret them. And you have given me the perfect opportunity to deal with you.
Joker: No No NONONONO NOOOOOOOOOO!
As the joker is dragged into a green vortex, all the ghosts and spirits in the room follow, all except the Ghost King. Once all the ghost are gone the Ghost King turns to the Bat family.
Ghost King: I hope you will not try to save him bat man, for if you do I will stop you by any means
Batman:….
Dick: Your not actually thinking about it are you!
Batman to the Ghost King: You are an actual raining monarch correct?
Ghost King: That is correct, but even if I didn’t want to sentence him, and would let your legal system deal out his punishment. When one is summoned we are bound by laws out of our control to grant the wish of our summoner our only control is how powerful the being and how we interpret.
But even without the wish the moment he summoned me he came under my jurisdiction. And I have a lot of souls come through whose deaths were caused by joker, and sooner or later I would have to come collect joker, but I guess it happened sooner.
Batman:….
Red Hood: your really going to do nothing old man? I know it’s rich coming from me, but this is you we’re talking about
Batman:…do you judge souls fairly
Ghost King: That I do, but I do not judge alone that is what the jury is for.
Batman:…. My code wasn’t ever simply a no kill rule, it was to never be a judge, jury, and executioner. But he is, he has the right to judge, people.
Ghost King:…. Sooo …..we good?
Batman: hmm
Ghost King: phew for a second there I thought I would have to fight you, and I did not want to do that.
The entire bat family: Wait WHAT!
Ghost King: Don’t “wait what” me there are more gods scared of him then there are of me!
the entire bat family: HUUUH!!
A flash of light appears around the Ghost King and in his place is a teenage boy around the age of 16 with black hair, blue eyes, and wearing a NASA shirt and jeans with red sneakers.
Danny: Anyways I’m Danny, can I get your autograph!
Give me Necromancer Tim but also Dick Grayson being the best.
Tim has always known who he is, what he is.
Doesn't fear walking Gotham at night, ghosts follow his every move.
Can sit in the cemetery and feel it's power.
A flick of fingers, a whispered word and animals breathe again, humans crawl from the earth.
Becoming Robin didn't change much.
Bruce's dislike of magic working in his favor the man obvious to anything other than Latin causing flashy lights.
Almost weekly he visited Jason's grave listening praying yet the boy was still out of reach.
The first time Tim panicked believing the magic had vanished but after multiple long dead mobsters hearts started to beat clearly it was a Jason specific issue.
Kicking the dirt as frustration got the better of him.
"Baby bird, hitting stuff doesn't fix it." Dick's voice catching him off guard, although he will deny jumping almost a foot in the air.
Glancing at the first Robin something cold begins to pool in his chest. Majority of men would be offended-angry at their brothers final resting place, being desecrated.
Not sporting a Dick (I know something you don't) Grayson™️ grin.
A hand gentle on his back "Kiddo-"Dick''s arms begin pulling; coaxing "Unlike Bruce...I think magic is pretty awesome. Especially, when it's my little brother's."
"It's not..working." The words the have been circling for weeks are finally spoken, yanking on his every soul because what is the point of Tim Drake if his magic is failing.
"Ah, well..it's not going too." Attempting to break out of Dick arms doesn't work the older tightening his grip.
"Funny thing, for a man who hates magic he adopts a lot- of witches." Power rushes reveling the sigals covering every inch of Jason's grave. Hiding his body and soul from any form of magic.
Tim can't help committing a technical taboo, releasing his own magic usually another's would retreat, or become defensive.
Dick's does neither. Tim very soul magic running wild, his brother accepts it.
The grown begins to rot a typical characteristic of his craft his brother burning it, their magic not inherently kind but accepting each other whole heartily.
It's difficult wrestling control back, Dick struggling the same neither wanting to let the other go.
"I can't believe." -" Your an odd bird to pin down, normally it's easy but never in my life have I met a necromaner so I had no clue what I was looking for."
"Still figured it out."
"Nope. I guessed." One again shock overtaking him.
"Saw you kicking the grave, way too comfortable surrounded by dead people figured, what the hell."
"Your such a dick."- "Dont you dare." Dick grumbles clearly not content losing his favorite horrible joke.
"I can... bring him back then." Joy, and plans already forming because this means Jason can come back.
"No, we will but not today I'm dragging you back to Bludhaven to watch shitty movies and eat food." Protests and complains building in his throat.
"Nope. Don't you dare. Fucked up as it is Jason will still be dead tommorow and we need clear heads so don't argue with me!" Tim forced to relent how dare his older brother be logical and responsible.
Hours later both nestled on Dick's couch somewhat relaxing when Tim shouts hunching over arms tight against his stomach.
Dick's attempt to figure out what wrong causes his magic to reach out first. His soul begins to sing.
"Jason-"
"We need to go."
An hour drive made in twenty minutes.
It's Tim who grabs Jason's hand pulling him from the dirt.
It's Dick who begins to heal broken bones.
It's Tim who sends bursts of power to anchor his soul.
It's Dick who bundles two exhausted little brothers into his bed to watch over them.
It's Bruce who slams open the door four hours later scared out of his mind after reviewing the tapes.
It's Bruce who wakes up two extremely protective and pissed off witches.
It's Jason who on his first day back from the dead gets to cackle as Alfred attempts to wrangle a toad wearing a batsuit.
"Best day of my fucking life-"
"Master Richard please-"
"No the bitch had it coming-"
"Lucky I didn't take his soul."
"Wait kid can you do that?"
"Yeah it's Death Magic 101."
"So hypothetically, if a certain clown-"
"Consider it done."
"So since Bruce can't exactly complain right now?"
"Dickhead how dare you become awesome while I was dead first magic now murder- the fuck?"
"Little Wing..? I had magic before."
"WHAT?"
"YOU KNEW THIS?"
"THE FUCK I DID?"
"YOU SAID ROBIN GIVES YOU MAGIC WAS THAT NOT BECAUSE YOUR BROTHERS A WITCH?"
"NO IT'S...actually I'm not sure why the fuck I did say that?"
After the Joker once again took the Gotham Gala hostage, the people in the Gala were surprised, as for once the police were able to do anything about it. As the SWAT came in and shot Joker and his goons down.
And saved the Hostage? Bruce Wayne's daughter Cassandra. Not normal.
All were confused; normally, the cops just wait for Batman or fail.
It turns out Gotham had a new SWAT commander who took the shots on the Joker.
+
Danny was pissed but happy too; he just worked here because his mother's brother, Uncle James, works here too.
Then Dad sent him here to learn about police work and see different kinds of things, not just Amity Park. Just defusing Bombs seem to get boring for Danny.
And the first thing he did at his job was kill a clown gang?
Well worth it.
I have no idea why people look so surprised; it's just a clown with a gun, not Superman.
A gun does the job.
And Cass was here too, the last time he saw her was as she teached Ellie ballet.
As Danny was new, he had no real idea about the crime world of Gotham.
When the Gordons visit, they don't talk about Gotham, and the people in Amity Park never cared about the outside world.
They have their Fenton shield as a defense against alien invasions or similar.
Danny meet the cute Cass as she teached Ellie Ballet, who was the Joker took hostage.
Danny shooting Joker had nothing to do with Cass. He saw it later it was Cass after they were done.
Danny was professional and not lead by emotion. A new clean cop in Gotham.
For you, There's Nothing In This World I Wouldn't Do
The alarms sound at the end of the prison's book club.
The Joker's are after you.
And who the hell is this "Red Hood' guy and why is he trying to get you to believe he'd save you when his name is an homage to the Joker? When you killed the Joker?
You are finishing up the book club discussion, summarizing what you and the other prisoners learned this week, when the emergency lights go off in the prison and the entire complex goes on lockdown.
The guards begin yelling.
“Single file! Hands behind your head!” The guards are all female. The lawyer Bruce had paid for made sure you landed in a ‘nicer’ women’s prison.
You ignore the trembling in your hands as you all drop your paperback books. They hadn’t allowed you to buy them all hardcovers.
“What do you think it is this time?” Debora says as her eyes slide to you. She got twenty years after finally snapping and murdering her abusive husband. Never mind the fact the law never gave him his due justice. She’s looking at you because the last break in was your fault too.
Afterall.
Every criminal wanted the bragging rights of killing the girl who killed the Joker.
Or his fanatics wanted revenge on you.
Because of that there have been several attempts on your life.
Debora is far from the only pair of eyes on you. You would have thought you’d be used to it by now. After your trial, the mass media frenzy-of which you had only granted Lois Lane an interview- Bruce’s lawyer had gotten you a sweetheart deal based on the fact you had been a minor when you had taken the gun of your departed cop father and had used the skills taught to you by Jason and shot that sick fuck dead.
It had worked exactly because you were a nobody civilian girl. The Joker hadn’t expected it, neither had the Batclan, or the cops. Hell you weren’t even sure you’d be able to do it until the bullets had left their chambers.
You swallow back tears.
Jason.
It had been for him. In his name. You had told Lois that and she had published it to the world. You even started this prisoner’s book club with him in mind, remembering how you two used to read together. The club routinely read his favorites.
“Sweetie, why don’t you stay close to me, they could be after you again!” Esther frets. She killed her daughter's boyfriend after the boyfriend murdered her daughter. As the youngest person in the women’s prison she was rather protective over you.
“Quiet!” The guards snap.
Single file, you all begin to make your way to your cells from the common room.
The lights go off.
Esther screams.
“Down on the ground into your cells!” the guards bark and you can hear the fear and confusion they try to hide.
You all struggle to comply as their flashlights click on.
“Wait a minute, why go into our cells if we have intruders again? We’d all be sitting ducks!” Debora cries.
Three people had died last time.
Two prisoners and a guard.
You tried not to drown in your guilt.
The women stop obeying. They inch back from their cells as if to run and your heart jumps in your throat. The last thing needed is a prison riot.
“What if they’re after her?” A third prisoner accused, pointing towards you. A former henchwoman for some C-lister, she lacked sympathy for you.
The woman stares at you again and you go cold.
“That's enough!” Rachel spits, a guard who had looked at you in awe and asked for your autograph. Most people upon hearing of your new fame either tried to kill you or fell over you in an odd parasocial admiration for killing the Joker. “Back to your cells, or else!” She pulls out her gun.
The women skitter to their cells. Esther sends you one last look of concern.
Your cell is at the very end of the hall and right before you can enter another guard grabs your bicep.
“Come with me.” She ordered. You recognize her as Maeve.
You consider screaming. Then you are relieved because if the intruders really are after you then at least these other women won’t be in danger.
Maeve marches you quickly. The power flickers even with the backup generator and distantly you hear screams.
Gunshots.
Your scream catches in your throat as Maeve shoves you forward frantically.
“Breach! The Jokers have breached cell-block D-” The Walkie spits out in garbled static and Maeve curses as she frantically lowers the volume, gun now pointed at you.
You don’t dare speak.
The voice had sounded like Rachel's.
Cell-block D is where you had just come from.
What would happen to Rachel? Esther? Debora?
And why the hell is she pointing a gun at you? You had been nothing but a model prisoner! You had even taken the money Bruce had put on your books and started a reading club and bought everyone their own copies!
“Don’t give me that look! You have no idea how much trouble you were to keep secure.” Maeve spits. “Walk!”
You do.
The two of you can’t turn back with the echoes of gunshots and cell doors opening and women shouting so you press on deeper into the bowels of the prison, several floors underground.
But it doesn’t matter.
The Jokers catch up quickly.
It should have been impossible for them to know how to follow the path you two took. Unless….
“Someone told them how to find us.” You whisper to Maeve.
She swears.
The first Joker is a young man your age, clearly caught up in the cult. So many desperate driven insane, hooked on the laughing drug of Joker’s, made crazier after his death. This young man's skin is completely covered in tattoos and bright colors, and his hair is short cropped and dyed a bright red.
“Give her here, and it’ll all be over.” You expected insane laughter, but somehow his smooth, amused tone is scarier.
He’s covered in blood.
“Who let you in?” Maeve barks and is ignored.
He turns to you instead.
“This is the girl that killed the Joker? A mousy little nerd, isn't she?”
You’d have a snappy comeback if you weren’t shaking.
The two other Jokers come in dragging the body of Rachel behind them and you can’t help but cry out.
“Aww, was she your friend?” One of the girl-Joker’s coos, painting a heart from blood on the cheek of Rachel. You can’t tell if she was dead or not. The remaining two are pointing guns at you and Maeve.
“Get away from her!” Maeve growls. You stand behind her relieved it’s not pointed at you anymore. Maeve and Rachel were good friends despite the occasional disagreement.
“Only if you get away from her. Got plans for her.” He leers at you.
And to your horror.
Maeve inches away from you.
They drop Rachel.
“What-You’re leaving me?” Your voice cracks. You hate how young you sound and evidentially so does Maeve because she looks away from you in shame. You still don’t even know how the Jokers got in here, probably a security breach from a corrupt cop.
You are left uncovered. Your arms are behind your back and handcuffed.
The Jokers lunges.
So does Maeve,
The gun goes off and shoots Maeve through her head and you scream. Her finger squeezes the trigger in death and takes down one of the four jokers with a shot through the chest.
The splatters of blood gets into the eyes of the lunging jokers and you are able to dance around them and around the corner. There is no cover in a carefully designed prison. You are flexible enough to loop your arms under your knees and then your feet, barely squeezing through the circle of your arms so your arms are still bound but at least in front of you.
You clasp them together into a large fist and crouch at the corner. No chance of out running.
You feel that animal in you.
That rage.
You looked mousy but you grew up in Crime-Alley same as Jason. Who then personally taught you self-defense as he worried for your safety. Not your first rodeo.
The bitch turns the corner sharply and you get her right in the fucking mouth. You pull something in your dominant wrist but it’s worth it.
Her gun skids from her hand onto the floor.
The third Joker rounds the corner and lifts her gun.
She’s aiming to incapacitate you with a shot to the leg as they want to take their time torturing and killing the person who killed their leader. But she’s not anticipating her peer in her daze and fury to leap at you-
-and directly in the line of fire.
Another kill shot.
The Henchwoman screams as she kills her friend.
You lunge for the gun and are able to shoot the girl’s shoulder. You can’t tell if that's a kill shot too. If it is, she’ll be the second ever person you’ve killed, if you could call the Joker a person.
The final Joker comes around the corner and before you can fire he slams you into the wall.
His breath is acidic, he’s way too strong for you and he lifts you up again and bashes you against the wall.
You are so stunned your ears ring.
You drop the gun.
“Been waiting for that, your face is too funny!” He finally laughs. The blood from the new cut on your forehead mixes with your sweat and tears and he leans forward to lick it off your cheek.
He will pay for that moment of cruelty, mockery toward you
You turn your head like a snapping turtle and bite it off.
He rears back, mouth open in a gargled scream that sprays you with more blood. You drop on your leg awkwardly and shout in pain as something in your ankle gives.
You pull yourself to your good leg and begin to hobble as fast as you can, deer into the bowels of the prison. You pass the body of the now two dead guards, the dead jokers, and the one still alive and moaning from her shot shoulder. You take another gun from Rachel’s body and access keys from both of them. You unhandcuff yourself using their keys..
And take a suspicious access key from the dead Joker.
Administrative.
Either stolen from the main office or given to them from a mole.
Even if you’re able to hobble back up there’s a chance you’d find yourself in the hands of a spy.
When you go to open the door to hobble up the stairs with your injured ankle it’s only open for a second, long enough for you to see the shadow of several more Jokers descending before you slam it shut, relocking it.
The other Joker is now getting up from the hallway.
You literally can’t run.
You grab the gun and hobble past him cursing in your mind as you leave bloody footprints behind from the pools you had stepped in
You’re not sure how your day went from quaint book club to survival horror in an instant. But that was Gotham for you, even if you were technically in the unincorporated Appalachian mountain foothills where the prison was located, on top of old mineshafts and miles of natural tunnels.
The Joker who’s tongue you bit off hauls himself from the floor, rage in the sound of his fist slamming against the wall. He was hurt, but not down.
The gun you’re holding only has one bullet left, and your dominant hand is sprained and shaking. If you get that shot wrong he’d take you down. If the hardness in his pants had meant anything when he pinned you to the wall he’d really enjoy it too.
You don’t know the layout of the prison this deep. Your pilfered administrative access key keeps letting you in deeper and you’re sure you’re under the prison by the time cells turn into storage, hallways lined with old flickering bulbs that lead to cold war bunkers.
You’re not sure if the Joker is still following you.
Probably.
You keep limping like you’re trying to bury yourself, preemptively end it out of sheer terror.
And curiosity.
Book always in a nose, cause you were nosy. How deep do these tunnels go? Every limp is another toss of the shovel over your shoulder as you dig yourself into a deeper hole.
You can’t help but feel you are descending into hell.
You’re in yet another hallway when a crunch echoes from all the way down the hallway and you see the faint figure of a hulking man.
He’s not the same Joker who’s tongue you bit off.
In the flickering bulbs you can make out a red helmet.
A Red Hood.
Like the Joker’s earliest alias. You had studied the man with Jason when he had first become Robin. Those frantic notes taken to track down his birth-mother and the Joker had allowed you to track him down and kill him when the Bats or cops couldn’t.
This must be the leader of this break-in operation.
The sheer terror you feel as you both lock eyes is beyond anything you’ve ever experienced. He’s taken the same route so there’s no turning back.
When he sees you he stills.
Not the freezing of a deer in the headlights like yourself, but the stillness of a predator whose spotted prey. Standing in the double doors you just walked through you can tell he clears six feet easily. He’s covered in blood too.
You scream.
It echoes off the tunnel walls.
He lifts his hands, you can’t tell to do what, maybe to shoot you with the two guns you see are strapped to both thighs, but you’re turning and scrambling away,
You can’t run.
You have one bullet.
Your wrist and ankle are sprained.
You barrel into an old cold-war office and huddle in the corner, taking the safety off, and aiming.
He walks to the door.
His shadow is impossibly large and when he appears he’s so much larger you almost give up and turn the gun to yourself.
He takes up the whole frame. It’s as if the darkness tried to swallow him whole but found he was too big for it, the way he erupts into the frame, frantic.
“Stop. I’ll shoot.” You’re so terrified you can’t even muster up the energy to scream, just faintly tell him what you’re willing to do.
He raises his hands in surrender.
All it does is reveal how muscular he is, how heavily armed he is.
And then.
He murmurs your name like a prayer.
“You’re okay.” He says. The sheer relief in his voice nearly makes you drop your gun in shock.
His hand reaches out like he’s moving to cradle your face.
“Stop!” you wail. You would have shot but you don’t know how thick that helmet is, if he's wearing kevlar.
And he listens!
He takes a step back like it pains him to move away. His helmet tilts ever so slightly as he scans your whole body. When he sees your bruised ankle his upright fists clench.
How! How did he know your name? He really was here to kill you with the other Jokers wasn’t he!? Was he part of the group you had shut off when you slammed it closed? It’s possible they killed another guard and got their access keys!
“Let me get you out of here. I won’t let you die down here.” He begs. His voice is deep and it trembles faintly. In fear? An oddly human and relatable emotion from him. You hadn’t bothered to take the time to tell the Joker why you wanted to kill him. To let him plead his case. You just shot him. A boring end for Gotham’s most theatrical villain.
“So you’ll bring me up with the rest of the Joker’s to torture and murder slowly?” You quake.
He reels back.
His shoulders move like mountains.
“I’m not one of them!” The venom and disgust in his voice makes you flinch and he sees that.
“Not mad at you. Never you. I just-I hate the Jokers.” His tone starts tender so when he snarls at the end you look at him bug-eyed. He’s not doing anything to prove he’s less insane than the Joker’s.
“So what? You’re some unaffiliated third party here solely to rescue me?” You say sarcastically then freeze in terror upon realizing you’re mouthing off to an extremely powerful unknown.
But he seems amused by it.
He nods.
“I caught wind that the Jokers were planning a raid. To kill you.” His fists clench like that personally offends him. You flinch back.
“Hey. None of that. If I’m angry it’s not at you. I’d never hurt you.” His voice gets so gentle you don’t understand it.
“Why are you speaking to me like we’re friends?” You ask nervously.
He flinches like you’ve struck him.
Oh good lord. Was this another weird parasocial thing?
“Why should I trust you? What are you going to do with me?”
“Lead you out of here. Protect you from the Jokers. You shouldn't even be here in this damn prison. You didn’t do anything wrong! You-” His voice cuts out, like a teenager going through puberty. “ -You were just doing it for your best friend. Your family.” He quotes your Lois Lane article like he's read it a thousand times. He recites it like poetry. His hand goes to over the breast pocket of his jacket, right over his heart.
“Hands stay raised!” You bark.
They go back up.
He’s really just humoring you. His reflexes would be faster than you’d be able to get your sprained hand to respond.
But he doesn’t know you have a sprained hand and only one bullet left.
“Why should I trust you?” You say. You begin to cry and you see his helmet track the first tear, how it tilts to follow it to the ground.
“You wear a Red Hood. Like how that was an early moniker of the Joker’s. Why shouldn’t I think you’re one of them?”
He realizes you’ve made a damn good point.
“You’re scary.” You say. It slips out.
He lets out a shuddering breath like it hurts him to hear that. Why does your lack of faith in him seem to cripple this man?
“I know. I didn’t ask for it but I make the most of it now.” He says, voice thick. “I’m sorry I scare you. Can’t say I blame ya.”
His body language is purposefully gentle.
“I…I’m going to remove my helmet. Partially. To show you why you should let me help you.”
You hold your breath.
He unlocks the helmet to reveal a strong neck and the bottom corner of his jaw and cheek.
He hesitates.
He audibly sucks in a steadying breath, exhales slowly, then lifts his helmet.
His visible face is horribly scarred and covered in scruff, the face of a man. And yet with a suppleness and hints of acne that indicated youth. He had to be around your age and you are stunned that a man this powerful could be so young.
Only the corner of his mouth is visible, and it’s trembling.
Somehow he’s just as nervous as you are.
And then you see it.
A Initial.
A J shaped scar.
For the Joker.
You see red.
It was uncommon but not unheard of for Joker to brand his victims of significance. He’d cut or burn with acid or heat his J in their faces.
Jason had been one of them.
This young man had been branded by the Joker. Nearly killed by the looks of him. Hell those head injuries should have killed him. Like Jason.
Despite yourself the gun you’re holding begins to waver. Being that deeply hurt by the joker did give this guy a believable motive for wanting to fuck with the Joker’s plans.
“Pretty ugly, isn’t it?” His tone is light and joking. He refuses to take his helmet the rest of the way off and you can’t blame him. You’re impressed with the amount of vulnerability he’s showing you know and you so desperately want to trust him…
You tremble.
Bite your lip.
Your gun wavers.
And then a figure blooms from the shadows. Blood drips from his mouth like saliva from a hungry predator.
It's the first of the Jokers.
The leader whose tongue you had bitten off.
He’s wielding a fire axe and it’s coming down in an arc of death right to the now exposed neck of the Red Hood.
You pull the trigger.
A red circle immediately stamps itself into the forehead of the lunging man and your gun makes several audible devastating clicks signaling its empty chambers as you instinctually keep firing at the arm holding the axe, hoping to shoot it away.
Red Hood had stood frozen like a man awaiting his judgement from you.
Then when he realized you were aiming at something behind him due to the desperate empty clicks of your gun he had rolled to the side just in time to avoid the heavy swing of the axe.
He catches it instead in a smooth liquid movement full of feline grace.
And stares at the body thuds to the ground behind him.
The silence echoes.
Red Hood had yanked his hood back down and is now a monolith of reds, blacks, and gunmetal grays.
And both of you now know you have no bullets left.
His head turns slowly to you.
His chest heaves despite being mostly still these past several minutes.
He steps towards you still holding the axe but he wouldn’t need it to kill you.
“Just make it fast. Please.” You sob quietly, not even bothering to throw your gun at him and letting it clink harmlessly to the floor at your side.
Red Hood staggers.
He drops the axe in a large clatter and sinks to his knees in front of your huddled, shivering form.
“You saved me, and you think I’m going to kill you.” He croaks. He stares at his own trembling hands, then at the useless gun.
“I was never going to hurt you please understand that. And now I only want to get you out of here. I want you okay, I need you okay.” He begs you. Even sitting in front of you he towers without trying.
“What choice do I have?” You sob.
He flinches.
“You always have choices. I’ll go out there and kill the rest. I’ll go get some of the guards. I’ll find a crutch and you can limp back but you could also let me help you.”
Silence.
There is something so familiar about him. The way he talks is like reading from the pages of a book. You know him from somewhere and that inspires terror and hope in equal parts. It’s like spotting an actor in one movie then trying to place how you know them.
He mistakes your silence for rejection.
“I know you don’t trust me.” And he’s crying! His voice is thick with tears! But why does your lack of acceptance hurt him so?
He reaches into a pocket.
Stops when you flinch.
He pulls out ammo.
Red Hood slides your gun to your hand then the ammo. He steps back with his hands raised. Watches as you refill the chambers with shaky hands, take the safety off and point it at him.
“Please.”
A beat.
You lower the gun.
“...How do you plan on getting me out of here since I can’t walk?” Your voice trembles.
He animates with hope.
“May I carry you?”
Your eyes widen at the idea of being so high up off the ground but you’re trembling with exhaustion, cold, and honestly you’re realizing he’s got a nice body. You don’t know nearly enough about this young man except that he has taken great pains to comfort and reassure you, including putting his life in your hands.
You nod.
Red Hood half-kneels next to you.
A massive gloved hand goes to your shoulder places, pressing tenderly like a paint brush on fragile paper like he can scarcely believe you’re letting him do this. The other goes under the triangle of your knees and in a motion that shouldn’t be that effortless he lifts you up and presses you to his chest.
He’s even bigger up close.
His hands grip and flex like he can’t believe you’re here. Hood settles you in the crook of his arms and shifts to almost cradling you. You catch his helmet tilted to you, inches away from your own face.
It’s like a princess and her knight, except this knight was rescuing her from a prison with Jokers instead of a tower with dragons. He holds your weight effortlessly, securely, hands finally clamping around his own arms like a lock, like he hopes to stay forever like this.
“We’re gonna have to go back a different way. Similar to the one you came down first but that’s been shut off, and there are a few Joker’s left I didn’t get to.”
Didn’t kill.
You nod and ignore the sharp stab of fear.
“...The mole was a cop. Shot another guard on A-Block and let the Jokers in. We gotta take a roundabout way so the cops can’t get you either. Not until we can verify they’re not dirty.”
You whimper.
“Shhh.” It’s not condescending or patronizing, but comforting, practical. You cling tightly to his warm frame in the coldness and he grips back. You wonder if he notices the way his gloved thumb begins rubbing circles into your outer thigh.
The two of you walk in silence because every noise could be another Joker, or maybe a cop waiting to shoot.
Then,
A noise.
Hood is whirling before you even have time to react.
And her too.
The female Joker you shot in the shoulder uses her good arm to grab for her gun and she’s just as surprised as you are. While you and Red Hood had been off in the side hallway she must have continued down the main one when it became clear there was no going back.
Hood’s hands are full of you. He’s running to shelter behind a door but you know that’s not necessary.
You shoot her other shoulder.
She howls in pain in a way that echoes.
Both arms now hang limply but she’s loud like a siren and her hysterical laughter terrifies the hell out of you and you whimper again. Red Hood hears that and turns his body to press your ear directly over his covered heart, other hand at your head to cover your other ear, and he swings a heavy booted foot directly into the skull of the Joker.
She drops instantly.
“Crackshot, aren’t you.”
“Had to be to kill the Joker.”
Red Hood nearly preens, like he’s so proud of you.
You two get moving again and the swaying of his steps puts you at ease.
You hear people behind you.
“Hang on!” He tells you.
You nearly shriek as he takes off in a sprint as the noise of the other Jokers catching up reaches your ears. You nearly pant in terror and yet even as he runs he finds the time to hoist you up and comfort you by rubbing your back.
“Almost there, mouse.” He says.
You nearly bite your tongue off at the term of endearment. It’s oddly sweet and captures a lot of your personality. Your blush surprises you.
A male Joker makes a grab for you.
He bangs against your sore ankle.
You shout in pain, not able to get a good angle with the gun, but Red Hood takes care of the problem.
“You tried to grab her?” He hisses, and does a kick so sharp you hear the Joker’s neck nap.
Hood kicks a door open and you’re both bathed in moonlight.
After hours in hell you gasp in awe.
Hood sees this and purposefully angles the two of you for a better view even as he multitasks and kicks the hatch closed, sealing it and then kicking a heavy desk on top for good measure.
You two walk from the watchman's residence and into his front yard, here on the edge of a forest preserve. You recognize it from the drive into the prison. It’s about two miles away.
You see sirens.
“That’s Gordan’s vehicle!” you say. “He’ trustworthy.”
Hood nods.
He sets you down on a flowery garden bench but does not let go.
“Mouse. I-” He cuts himself off.
You listen patiently. He has more than earned your trust. He has earned your respect and even fondness. He kneels in front of you, holding your hands in his.
“...I can take you away from here. You don’t deserve to rot in prison because you cared when no one else did.” His mask stares up at you
You inhale sharply.
You think of it.
Of the cool night air you just took in, how freeing and sweet it was. You dream of exploring and learning to your heart's content, of your anger at being locked up. You had accepted it was the outcome but it still hurt.
And this man was offering you that freedom.
You part your lips and watch as his Hood tilts to track the motion.
“No, thank you.” You say and it takes all your effort to tear those words from your throat. “I knew the price of my actions before I took them. It’s a price I’m willing to pay.”
He takes your rejection remarkably well. In fact his sigh is rather admiring.
“You’re not what's wrong with the world. You got more integrity in your pinkie finger than all of Gotham.” He says and you can hear the smile in his voice.
“I just radio’ed Gordon. He’ll be here in just a few minutes.” Hood says, and he sounds relieved but also…grieving. Regretful.
“Thank you for rescuing me.” You say.
His head bobs.
“Anytime.” His voice is thick. You hope there won’t be another murder attempt, but you don’t mind another chance to be with him.
Hood wraps your ankle with medical supplies found in the Watchman’s house. The watchman left when the alarms went off. Your ankle is dainty in his palms. He holds it like glass and after he finishes wrapping his fingers trace the fabric up to your bare leg just below where the pant leg was rolled up.
“Hood, can I ask you something?
“Anything.”
“...How do we know each other?"
He freezes.
He does not say anything like he can’t bear to lie to you, but he also does not tell you the truth.
“I’m smart. Mousey as you said. I’ll figure it out.” You jest, grinning at him.
He huffs out a shaky laugh.
A confirmation then.
You knew him somehow. From before. It settles your restless soul that at least this man could survive what the Joker did to him when your Jason couldn’t.
“I’m sorry you had to carry me. Thank you.” You pull him forward and into a hug.
He trembles.
His arms hang like he doesn’t know what to do with them before they come up and pull you to him. One cups the back of your head and holds your mouth to the side of his neck where he was nearly decapitated.
The last thing he does before he leaves is press his forehead to yours and promise you that he’d always be there if you needed him.
He stays long enough to salute Gordon from the top of the Watchman’s house.
And he’s gone.
But the scent of him and your memories of Jason linger.
Check out this fic on ao3 where I have addition works! Link Here!
Jason came back. He returned from death. And he was planning the downfall of Batman and the kid who had replaced him.
At first, he wanted to confront Batman — his father.
And he did, but not everything went the way he had imagined. He hadn’t expected that the man who was supposed to be his father, his mentor, his guardian, would choose the murderer of his child instead. He had held onto a foolish hope that Bruce cared about him, that he loved him.
But he was wrong, and he paid the price. That mistake taught him that there was no place for him in the family anymore. Perhaps there never had been?
It doesn’t matter now. He has no intention of going back to them. He will build his own empire of justice, and no one will be able to stop him.
He is healing from the wounds Batman gave him. He is becoming stronger, conquering more and more territory. His reputation as Red Hood spreads throughout Gotham, and more gangs tremble before him.
Now he sat in one of his hideouts. On the desk lay scattered maps of the city, marked points, names, targets. Everything was planned out step by step — where and how to strike. He was prepared.
With satisfaction, he looked over the weeks of his work. He had countless men under his command and an arsenal of every kind of weapon imaginable.
“I won’t make the same stupid mistake again, Bruce,” he muttered to himself, driving a knife into the photo of the man. The picture of the Replacement was riddled with bullet holes.
Only the photo of Nightwing remained untouched.
When he heard a sound behind him, he assumed it was just one of his men coming in with a report. He certainly didn’t expect to see Nightwing standing in the doorway. Instantly, he grabbed his gun and aimed it at the man.
“What the hell are you doing here?” The voice modulator made him sound almost demonic. But Nightwing didn’t flinch, nor did he reach for a weapon. He was holding only a single bag in his hand. His calmness unsettled Jason in a strange way. “Answer me!”
The man stepped forward slightly, moving into the glow of the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. Only then did Red Hood see the pitiful state he was in. His uniform was torn, his body thinned, his cheeks sunken, his face oddly flushed. He was trembling — but not from fear. Jason knew how he shook when he was afraid. This was something else.
“Get out before I put a bullet in you!” Jason’s voice was sharp, but his hand on the trigger trembled. He took a step closer. One. Then another. Until the barrel of the gun pressed against Nightwing’s forehead.
And then something happened that Red Hood never expected.
Nightwing dropped to his knees before him. The bag fell to the wooden floor with a dull thud.
“What the fuck…?” Jason muttered, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Why was Batman’s Golden Boy kneeling before him — Gotham’s terror, the crime lord, the Red Hood?!
He hadn’t expected the man before him to start crying. No — this wasn’t simple crying. It was a soul-tearing, heart-wrenching sob that stirred something primal inside Jason. Something he thought he had already buried deep within the abyss of his brutal past.
Nightwing cried, but he didn’t dare lift his eyes from the floor. He didn’t wipe away the tears. He just sobbed.
“Stand up,” Jason ordered, nudging his temple with the barrel. Yet, to his surprise, Nightwing’s head seemed to follow his hand as he pulled it away. As if he hoped Red Hood would touch him.
“What the hell is happening?!” Jason thought, lowering the gun to his side.
“Jay…” A single strangled syllable broke out of the sobbing man’s throat. That one mournful sound made Jason shiver.
“I’m not him,” he said firmly. But when desperate hands grasped his own and pulled them against a tear-streaked face, he couldn’t pull away. That touch was familiar.
“You are! I know it, I can feel it!” he cried, finally lifting his gaze. Red Hood couldn’t see his eyes through the mask, but he remembered all too well the expression Dick wore when he was broken. He remembered it far too clearly. And now he saw it again. He couldn’t block out the sound of his sobs echoing in his mind. “You are him… You’re my Little Wing.”
“Your ‘Little Wing’ died in a warehouse years ago! You don’t remember because you weren’t there. You didn’t even show up at the funeral.” Jason couldn’t hold back the pain spreading through his chest. And it only seemed to make Nightwing’s sobs worse.
“I know that!” he cried hysterically. “I know I wasn’t a good older brother! I know I shouldn’t have gone on that mission in space! If only I had known, I would’ve saved you… I swear, I would’ve been there for you… I swear, please, believe me!”
What…?
“You… you were in space?” Jason’s voice trembled as Nightwing nodded furiously, so hard that his forehead bumped against Jason’s stomach.
“It was my fault for agreeing to it!”
Jason’s world began to waver. How? He had been absolutely convinced that Dick hadn’t cared about his death — because if he had meant anything to him, he would have at least shown up at his funeral.
But now this version changed everything. He hadn’t been there, not because he didn’t want to be, but because he couldn’t…
“I didn’t even know you were dead… When I came back, you were already gone. The funeral had taken place two weeks earlier, and I… I was shattered. I didn’t know what to do. Just a month before, you were alive, everything was fine. I held you, carried you in my arms, and when I tried to do the same after I returned… you were gone! Joker had taken you from me!” he wailed, squeezing Red Hood’s hands even tighter. “I lost my little brother, and I wasn’t even told about it!”
“Batman didn’t tell you…?” Jason asked quietly, though he already knew the answer.
“No,” Dick shook his head. “He kept it from me. I found out from a damn newspaper about your death!”
“But you didn’t do anything about it.” Jason had to say it. He had to let it out.
He hadn’t expected Nightwing to let go of one of his hands, only to tear the mask from his face — revealing the broken, devastated, destroyed Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson. Jason stared into his eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes were full of desperation, pain, terrible exhaustion — but also hope, and love.
“No, Little Wing.” That damned nickname, spoken with such unrestrained love, began to break down Jason’s walls. “You’re wrong! I avenged you, I swear!”
“Oh yeah? How exactly?” Jason sneered, squeezing Dick’s wrist harshly, though the man paid no attention to the pain.
“I killed him. I killed the Joker, I swear I did!” Dick cried desperately, clutching at the leg of Red Hood’s pants.
“You’re lying!” Jason hissed. “I saw him alive with my own eyes. He hurt me again!”
“I killed him!” Dick insisted. “It was Bruce who brought him back! I really did kill him… He had Tim, and then he started mocking you, and I… I just snapped. I threw myself at him and beat him until he stopped breathing. I beat him to death with my bare hands. Jay, darling, Little Wing, please, believe me! You can ask Bruce about it! He almost sent me to Arkham because of that — only Tim’s intervention stopped him. Instead, I was cast out of the Manor and the Cave. I’m banned from Gotham.”
“You… killed him… for me…?” Jason couldn’t believe his ears. For so long, he had lived convinced that Dick hadn’t really cared for him — and yet, he had killed his murderer? With his own hands?
“Yes!” Dick said, a faint smile breaking through. “I had to avenge you. I couldn’t let him live unpunished. I didn’t want Batman to bring him back…”
“If you’re banned from Gotham, then why are you here? Aren’t you afraid?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t care if I leave here alive or not. I just wanted to see you. I wanted to see my beloved little brother again.”
“How do you know it’s me?”
“I saw the surveillance footage of you. You use the movements I taught you. You fight with my techniques. Only you know them. The moment I saw it, I knew it was you. I don’t know how you came back. I don’t know what happened. But you’re here, and that’s all that matters.”
It was true… Jason still used those moves. They allowed him to maneuver his body more easily in combat and to swing from rooftop to rooftop with his line. He couldn’t forget them. His body remembered them perfectly.
And so did Dick, who was still looking at him with hope. With love. Tears streamed down his gaunt, far-too-thin face. He trembled. But he didn’t let go.
“And… you broke Batman’s orders just to see me? A murderer? A crime lord?” Jason needed to know the answer — to know what Dick thought of him now that he had become… what he was.
“Yes, because I love you. I never stopped. I don’t care that you’re a murderer — I am one too. Please, look inside the bag…”
Jason reached for it, and when he opened it, he was struck with shock. Inside he found the severed head of the Joker.
“You… you killed him,” he whispered, staring at Dick in disbelief. The man only smiled at him. “But how? When?!”
“I also saw the footage of your… encounter with him recently. I knew I had to get to him and stop him from ever hurting you again. I trapped him and… well, you see what happened. It’s proof that I love you, Jason. There’s no line I wouldn’t cross for you.”
“What about Batman?”
“I’m sure he already knows, and knows full well that it was me. I won’t escape being sent to Arkham anymore, so I came to say goodbye one last time — and to tell you that I love you.” Jason’s eyes filled with tears. “I love you, Jason. I know I have no right to ask this, but please, don’t tell me you hate me…”
Dick lowered his gaze back to his knees. He was still kneeling. Not once did he move to change his position. One of his hands remained in Jason’s painful grip — which Jason finally loosened — but Dick didn’t pull away.
When Jason still didn’t move, Dick nodded slightly, then stood. He removed his hand from Red Hood’s leg and extended it outward. He looked at him one last time with such love and longing that Jason’s heart clenched with pain. Then he turned toward the door and began to walk away.
That finally snapped Jason out of it. He pulled Dick into a tight embrace. He wrapped his arms around his chest and waist so he couldn’t move farther. Jason began sobbing into his shoulder, burying his face there.
“Don’t go, don’t leave me. Not now,” he begged, tightening his hold. Dick gently patted his hands.
“My dearest Little Wing, I’ll bring Batman down on you. I have to leave,” he said. And Jason knew it was true — but he didn’t care.
“I don’t care. I just want my big brother…” At those words, Dick gasped sharply, as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard.
Jason hastily tore the helmet from his head, revealing a scarred face and eyes that glimmered green. He turned his brother so they stood face to face, then pressed Dick’s hands against his own cheeks.
Dick stared at his face in shock — but not disgust. Jason saw in his eyes love, happiness, hope, a touch of confusion and pain, but no revulsion. Firm thumbs traced his scars, outlining their shape.
“You’re choosing me…?” Dick asked, his voice breaking. Jason began to cry.
“Yes, yes! I’ll always choose you, Dickie… None of my plans ever included hurting you! I… I couldn’t even bring myself to think of harming you. Even the gun I was holding was empty… I wouldn’t have been able to shoot you,” he said, cradling his brother’s face. “I won’t hurt you. I love you too much to ever harm you. I… please, stay.”
“What about Batman? What about the Justice League, my dear? They’re probably already hunting me…” he said with a sad smile.
“To hell with the Justice League, and to hell with Batman! Bruce can go fuck himself, I don’t care about him!” Jason’s voice rose in desperation. “Dickie, I know how to disappear without a trace. I’ll help you, no one will ever find you, you’ll be safe. Big Bird, please, tell me that’s what you want…”
“I… I just want to rest…” he gasped, collapsing against Jason’s chest, who caught him easily. Under his hands, he could feel how thin his brother had become. The firm muscles and faint layer of softness were gone. He pressed his palms tightly against his back, holding him close. Now it was his turn to be the support his brother needed.
“I’m tired, Little Wing. I’m so terribly tired. For months I’ve been patrolling Blüdhaven alone, I have no backup, I fight on my own. Everyone turned away from me after the Joker incident came to light. Even Roy, Wally, Donna, and Superman — even Alfred — don’t speak to me. Tim and Babs don’t talk to me either, they’re too wrapped up in Bruce… I’ve been alone for so long. I can’t even remember the last time someone hugged me.”
“I’ll let you rest. I swear. With me, you’ll rest. You’ll heal. I’ll take care of you. You used to take care of me — and now it’s finally my turn to look after you, Dickie.”
The knowledge that even his brother’s closest friends had abandoned him nearly made Jason lose control to the Madness. Only Dick’s presence beside him forced him to choke back the rage.
He couldn’t understand how people whom Dick had helped so many times, supported in their darkest moments, and never once asked for anything in return, could just turn their backs on him. He killed the Joker, Gotham’s greatest criminal, who had—had had—countless victims on his conscience, not some random man.
How could Alfred abandon his first grandson?
How could Barbara reject him?
How could Wallace stop speaking to him?
His Replacement didn’t even surprise him. The brat worshiped Batman like a saint.
“Now you have me back. I came back, I’ll take care of you, brother,” Jason repeated through tears, stroking Dick’s hair as his brother leaned his whole body against him. Dick was still crying, but now it sounded more like relief than the pain it had before.
“And where will we live?”
“Don’t worry about that!” Jason reassured him. “I have money, we can live peacefully. My hideouts are well-secured. No one will hurt you. Batman won’t find you. I can even set up safe houses in Blüdhaven for us.”
“And you’ll do all this just for me?” The hope in his voice was almost tangible.
Dick, how long did you suffer alone? Jason asked himself.
“Yes. I’ll let you rest. When I was tired, you always took care of me. When I was sick, you stayed with me until I felt better. When I was hurt, you dropped everything just to help me. And now I’ll do the same for you.”
Dick’s head fell onto Jason’s shoulder, his nose nuzzling into his neck with trust. Jason finally caught a shadow of a smile on his brother’s face.
“Let’s go, Dickie. Let’s take you home,” he whispered, lifting his brother into his arms.
“Hey!” Dick squeaked in protest, making Jason laugh.
“What? When I was little, you used to carry me too. Now I’m bigger and I can return the favor.” Dick only muttered something under his breath, relaxing in his embrace.
“Jay, you’ll have to tell me everything,” he said as they walked through the corridors of the abandoned building.
“You too.” Jason ignored the sound of protest. “I’ll come back later for your gift. It’ll stand as a trophy and a warning, so people know not to mess with us, or they’ll end up the same way. Actually, thanks for the idea — it’ll scare them off.”
“Then Batman will get you faster…” Dick whispered, lightly brushing the streak of gray in Jason’s hair.
“I told you, screw him. He won’t hurt us. Neither he nor the League or the Titans can touch us. And if they try, I’ll give them a proper welcoming committee.”
“But please, leave Tim alone. He’s a good kid, just lost.”
“Oh my god, fine! But I still don’t like him!”
“Thank you, Little Wing… and thank you for coming back.” With every step Jason took, Dick’s voice grew sleepier. His exhaustion was catching up with him.
“I love you too. Now sleep. You’ll wake up at home.” That was all it took for his brother’s body to go completely limp, his breathing steadying.
Jason still couldn’t believe how much Dick loved him — enough to ignore the fact that he was a literal criminal, hunted by Batman, and soon probably the Justice League too. And yet, his brother still came to him. How did he even find him? Jason didn’t know, and honestly, he didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was that someone had finally found him, someone who truly loved him and wanted to take care of him. Since waking up in his grave, he hadn’t felt this kind of happiness.
Dick was so exhausted that he didn’t even wake up when Jason changed his clothes and tended to his wounds from the fight with Joker. He’d have to ask him later where he left that bastard’s body. For now, though, he laid his brother in bed, pulling the blankets over him. The furrow in Dick’s brow relaxed, as did Jason’s shoulders.
For now, he would set aside his plans of conquering Gotham in favor of looking after his older brother, though he wouldn’t abandon the idea completely. His list of people to take revenge on was growing, now including names he’d never expected to write down. He’d have to come up with something for them too.
For now, though, he focused on stroking his brother’s hair and humming softly.
“Little Wing…?” he heard a quiet murmur.
“I’m here, Big Bird. What do you need?” he asked, and Dick’s hand caught his wrist.
“Please… lie down with me?” How could he refuse such a tender request?
“Move over.”
With his brother in his arms, he finally felt at home.
