Chapter Text
The approaching rumble jarred him back to consciousness. He honestly couldn’t believe he was still alive, though he doubted he would be for long.
As he listened to the sound, trying to figure out what it was, he was suddenly struck with a faint rush of adrenaline. That had to be the Batbike. It had to be—he’d recognize that distinctive engine anywhere. His instinct to burst into action was rendered impossible by the crushing weight bearing down on him.
This was it, though. Bruce had found him. There was nothing to be worried about now.
He waited until the engine went silent to call for help.
Jason tried to let out a scream, a yell, a noise—anything at all—but all he could manage was a faint wheeze. The pressure on his chest was too great, his voice irreparably hoarse. Not to mention the concerningly increasing slosh of fluid he could feel in his chest.
But there was still time, he told himself. If Bruce searched efficiently, there was still a chance. Right? Bruce would save him. He’d done it before, and he trusted him to do it again.
Then all sensation left his body when he heard that voice.
“You missed the big bash, Batsy!!”
Tendrils of laughter made their way to him beneath the debris.
“Boy Blunder has really got himself into it this time. I really thi–!”
“Where is he?!?!” Bruce roared, striding toward him from the bike.
“Are you religious, Bats? Do you think they sent him upstairs or downstairs? Personally, I thought he was a pretty nasty boy, so–”
“What have you done with him?!!” Bruce was almost on the Joker now.
“Well, first I beat him. Then we tried acid. When he tried to run, I was forced to break his ankles, poor birdie. Then we explored some new things: pliers, electricity, friendly rats—even branding! Th–”
“Where?!!”
Bruce punched the Joker, sending him sprawling. It did little to interrupt his reccounting.
“and for the grand finale I BLEW HIM UP !! Right over–!”
Bruce let out a guttural scream and fell on the Joker, allowing no attempt to control his rage.When he paused for a moment, the Joker smiled up at him.
“I think I finally did ittttt,” he gloated in a sing-song voice. “I think I finally found the buttonnnn.”
The Joker suddenly snapped into an intensive stare, pupils blown wide.
“What’d’ya say, Batsy, ol’ boy?? Can you do it??? Can you really kill me this time?” He erupted into a set of giggles. “ How will you do it? Will you do it with one of your Bat-gadgets? Or tho OO HF –”
He was winded by a kick to the ribs from Bruce.
“or the trusty old beat ‘em to dea–o OO oh”
Bruce heaved him up by his lapels.
“Kill her?!? I hardly know h–”
“ SHUT UP !!”
Bruce slammed him into the ground, pressing a knee to his chest. He breathed heavily.
He could kill him now. Take vengeance for everything this man had ever done. Be sure he could never hurt someone again. Never hurt someone that he loved again. And it still wouldn’t be enough.
But this couldn’t distract him. He had to find Jason.
“we’ll both find out by the end of tonight,” Bruce warned darkly.
He zip-tied the Joker’s ankles together and rushed to the carnage, ignoring the uncontrolled laughter, frantically beginning to overturn hunks of concrete and steel beams.
Jason couldn’t quite make out the full conversation beneath all the wreckage. The exchange had gotten quieter and tapered off while the ringing in his ears had only gotten louder. But he was certain Joker had spoken his last words. Taken his last life. Bruce would finally kill the fucker. At least this would be the last atrocity the monster would ever commit. He wouldn’t have chosen it to be in this way, but hey—he could always find a silver lining.
Eventually, the emotions gave way to fogginess. He thought that maybe he should feel panic, but it was a herculean effort to even form such thoughts. He could faintly hear footsteps moving about nearby, and something was shifting, allowing more dust to rain down onto him. He wondered what was causing it.
Each new inhale felt more useless. He could feel the smokey, debris-filled air moving into his lungs, but there wasn’t enough oxygen for it to be worth much. Strangely, it was almost a comforting sensation. And he felt warm. He hadn’t felt warm in… he had no idea how long. An hour? An eternity? Really, it was all relatively painless.
He found himself struggling to keep his eyes open. He vaguely had the thought that this would be the last time he’d ever be awake. The thought was peaceful, even reassuring. He didn’t want to die. But for the most part, he’d never had a life he wanted to live in the first place. And he was okay with that. He closed his eyes.
-
Bruce tried not to think about the crate in the luggage hold. He tried not to think about whether the dry ice would last the flight back, or what he’d have to do when they—when he —arrived home. But his mind kept replaying his first glimpses of the mutilated ankles, the caked blood, the scarred face.
He let his head sink into his hands. What would he tell Dick? Tell Alfred ?
His son. His son was dead. He muffled a sob and doubled over, head resting against his knees.
What had he done?