part 2 of Tim is the son of Anubis AU
There are many mysteres in Gotham. One of them is what the hell is wrong with the third Robin.
Over time even the rogues became to notice how weird everything about Red Robin was.
Drugs didn't work on him. Not unless they gave him enough to OD. Even then he was sluggish, but not completely out of it.
Fear toxin was not an exception. Sure, he saw Ra's or his "parents" or Daddy Joker or even Batman during his grieving period but he didn't loose touch with reality. He was hallucinating but it might as well be nothing. It drove Scarecrow mad. It pushed him to perfect the toxin time and again, to no avail. Red Robin was (mostly) unaffected.
Ridder was presented a riddle he cannot solve. The third Robin was always playing along and solving his riddles but he remain unscathed from the traps. No matter how comlcated, no matter how deadly.
Penguin's deals, if they are about extremely dangerous things, are always ruined by the third bird just stalking out of the shadows in a room, that was proven clear minutes before.
Two-Face's coin always lands on its side when Tim is concerned. As if fate itself doesn't dare do something to the boy.
Poison Ivy figured out deathcamma, hemlock and certain nightshades (or any other plants that are poisonous to jackals) and Red Robin do not mix. It was the closest situation to death anyone has seen him in. Ivy is, to this day, the only one that knows about that.
After his attempt to make a son out of Robin, after he failed, after the bird was safe in the nest, he had gotten a visitor. He was in his hideout, planning the next attack, when the room became freezing cold. It reminded him of a morgue, but... it was somehow colder. It was freezing his very soul. Or whatever version of it he had.
Joker was not familiar with fear. Sure, he felt psycotic happiness, rage, annoyance, but fear was not something that he experienced often, if at all.
As he was looking around, trying to get sense of what was happening, he saw shadows moving, growing, shaping into a silhouette. But the more it formed, the clearer it became - that thing was not human. Neither did it took the shape of one.
For the first time in a long time the Joker had no smart remarks, no quips, no jokes. The thing began to speak in a language that didn't sound anything close to human. After it saw that it wasn't being understood it paused for a second then began speaking again.
"You have hurt something of mine." The voice sounded as if it were composed of millions of voices, young and old, whispering and shouting. "Someone I hold dear."
The Joker kept quiet. He wasn't sure what would come out if he tried.
"Do you have nothing to say?"
"I..." Was it normal for the mouth to be this dry? The Joker did not know. "I have hurt many people." He tried his usual act - the arrogant psychopath for whom everything was a joke. It sounded hollow.
"I am aware. Many of them I've met in passing."
"N-not a lot survived." That came out more afraid than threathening.
"I have met those who didn't."
Joker gulped. Then began to think. Then came to the realization that this made no sense.
"Unfortunately, those questions will remained unanswered. At least until we meet again."
"When should I expect that?"
"When your time comes. No sooner. No later."
"W-what if I hurt that someone again?"
At that the creature's eyes snapped towards him. Or he thought so, since he couldn't exactly see them.
"You should hope not. For then I shall not be as merciful."
At that, the Joker laughed. He laughed so much he doubled over.
"Ha! If this speech is all you do now, I cannot even immagine what you'll do when- ha! Should I be scared? Oh, no. I should call my pal, the Bat. He would protect me."
The thing tilted its head.
"I wouldn't be so sure. He failed to protect mine." It snarled then stopped to look the mad man infront. "Do not be mistaken. I am not here only to speak."
A frown appeared at Joker's face, but then the laughter came back.
Hey, this shouldn't hurt.
This time, however, the laughter did not stop. Not when it wasn't funny anymore. Not when his lungs started to strain. Not when his knees gave out from the force of the laughter and lack of oxygen. Not when tears started streaming down his face. Not when he slit his throat. Not when the blood pooled beneath him.
So much of it. And yet...
He should have died by now.
He shouldn't be laughing. Is this what his precious Joker Venom did? Why is he affected? He shouldn't be.
Still laughing, still dizzy, still hurting, still bleeding, Joker looked up. The creature was still here, though it seemed to be closer now. It leveled with him and just kept watching.
Laughter was still pouring out of the clown's mouth, but there seemed to be a word he was trying to say.
After watching him struggle, the thing before him finally spoke up.
"What? A joke caught your voice?"
Hey, the Joker thought, this isn't funny.
"Is there something you wish to say?"
The Joker tried again and again, but no word came out. His mouth was dry, his lips starting to split from the effort.
All that answered him was a whine.
"Robin. Did he beg when you tried to make him yours?"
If it was possible the Joker would have paled.
There was no way that thing was Robin's father.
The laughter was still not ending, the blood still poured, the pain was becoming unbearable and...
And the there was nothing.
When Joker woke up, he was in Arkham, in chains. This time, he didn't start plotting to escape right away. This time his laugh didn't haunt the halls of that godforsaken asylum. For a long time there were no more cruel jokes in his blood, but chill and fear in his bones.
And when he got out he didn't go after Robin. At least not until the next one came. He poked and provoked the bats, but as soon as the third bird showed up, he fled. He didn't dare harm him again. And in the quiet nights, when he had fooled himself that there is nothing to worry, he saw a silhouette. Never again was it this close, but it was there. To remind him. To watch him. To judge him.
