Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You’re the happy one, right? The one who laughs. Ye-as?”

The room is spinning, and he has to blink several times to even focus on the face above him, setting his jaw in restraint as it looms closer.

Everything’s...hazy.

“Then laugh,” he’d rasped, torn mouth ripping open wider. He’d tried to pull away, tried to hold his breath as the mask descended, opaque plastic leaking pale green steam. His eyes had been bright, bright bright, the last thing he saw before nothing was bright at all and everything was too dark to breathe.

-

5 hours earlier

“-and I was all like ‘I would rather go to trivia night with the Riddler’,” Tim complains, and Jason barks a laugh as they round the corner. “But then- hey, listen.”

Jason listens. The cave is quiet, except for the distinct creaks and whispers of the uneven bars. Tim’s eyes widen, and he’s grinning as they round the corner to the sight of a body flying through the air over the training mats, twirling like a baton against the dark ceiling.

Even Jason has to admit - in the air, Dick’s talent really can’t be denied. He does a few more flips, catching onto one of the higher swings. His momentum carries him forward, and for a breathless moment he’s suspended in the air, falling.

“Showoff!” Jason calls, as Dick sticks the landing, and Tim offers a golf clap that Jason can only hope is ironic.

Dick grins broadly, flipping over the mat across to them.

“I’m still waiting for you two to take me up on my offer to train on the high swings.” He grabs a water bottle from the training bench and strolls over. “I’ll have you know Cassie loves her lessons.”

“Hard pass,” Jason says. “But I can’t wait to see Bruce’s face when you finally realize this whole vigilante thing doesn’t pay well enough and decide to go Olympics instead.” He’s never wondered if Dick maybe had, at some point in his life, wanted to use his talent beyond crime-fighting. He’s also never asked, so maybe that’s on him.

“Rejection and a compliment in one, I’ll take it.” Dick slings an arm around Tim. “Timmy? You want to run acrobat routines with your favorite oldest brother, don’t you? Don’t you want to help him reconnect with his roots?”

Tim smiles, but rolls his eyes as he ducks out of Dick’s hold.

“Nope. You already guilt-tripped me over breakfast, remember? When you said that not getting the last of the orange juice reminded you of the time you were in some desert with no orange juice?”

“Hey, there was no orange juice in the desert.”

“You gotta use those sparingly, Dickie,” Jason nods, snatching Dick’s water bottle. “Apparently I’m not allowed to use the I died in a warehouse excuse anymore for skipping warehouse stakeouts.” He sees Dick and Tim hide their winces simultaneously, and plows on. “Do you know how many hours a year we spend just staring at warehouses?”

“Probably above average, for a normal human,” Dick agrees, grabbing the water bottle back and dodging beneath his arm as he lunges. “Does that mean you’re not on that gun-runner stakeout with us tonight? It’s the reason I’m even in Gotham, actually. Not that you asked.”

He tosses the bottle to Tim, snickering as Jason’s grab falls short.

“I thought it was because I was a pleasure to be around.” Jason squares up to Tim, eyes on the waterbottle. The kid tenses, grinning as he tosses it from hand to hand.

“Who on earth gave you that idea?” Tim asks, dodging Jason and faking a throw before tossing the bottle back to Dick and heading for the computer.

“Duke, when he invited me to the low-attendance family breakfast tomorrow. I like to think I’m replacing Br - hey, cheater!” he calls to Dick, who’s made his way back to the mats and jumped onto one of the lower bars. He flips upside down, waving the water bottle mockingly.

Jason almost laughs - it’s just a dumb game of keep-away, but sue him, it’s oddly comforting. Comfortable. Bruce being away for League business helps, sure, but it’s like when he wasn’t looking, some things actually...came together.

Yeah, Jason doesn’t trust it.

He shakes off that sudden chill of paranoia crawling over his shoulders, the sense of not-unfounded dread. Because nothing stays good for Robins.

“Answer the question and you get the prize, little wing,” Dick calls. “You want in? Waterfront district, files on the computer.”

“As much as I’d love to come stare at a warehouse with you all, see, I had this bad experience once -” Jason does laughs this time as Dick chucks the bottle at him, flipping to his feet in one motion and rolling his eyes.

“Whatever, we’ve got Duke and Steph, who would both be honored to join us.”

And then, just like that, Jason proves himself prophetic.

“Oh - oh shit.” Tim’s voice is at the computer, suddenly sharp and flat. Dick and Jason look over simultaneously.

It would almost be satisfying, knowing things are about to go to shit before they go to shit. But of course, the power to predict things going to shit does not mean they will stop going to shit. Hence, to shit things are then gone.

Dick sidles over to the computer, leaning over the chair and squinting up at the screen, the words blaring atop the bulletin.

“Oh shit,” he agrees, voice flat. They both turn to look at Jason in the same instant, and he kind of really hates it, but he can’t do anything about it because he’s focused on breathing. On trying to figure out if the feeling in his chest is anger, fear...or eagerness.

Jason doesn’t have to cross the room to see the computer screen. To see the blaring headline Tim’s pulled up.

JOKER ESCAPES ARKHAM MINUTES AGO; GOTHAM CITY ON ALERT

Chapter Text

Dick wonders if this is some kind of cosmic payback.

The first time in weeks he’s been in Gotham, the first time in months Bruce has been off-world. At least Damian’s still in Kansas, taking his spring break with Jon and the Kents and likely planning to bring home a horse or another cow.

But running a Joker breakout mission with no Cass, no Bruce, and a brother who’s more or less recently gotten over his penchant for homicide?

Dick definitely feels like he’s paying for something.

“Call Bruce,” he says, bracing a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “He-”

Before he can even finish his sentence, Bruce’s icon appears on the screen and Tim is accepting the call. Bruce - Batman - looks about as unhappy as an expressionless face can get.

“You’ve heard.” It’s not a question; it’s a confirmation.

“Yep,” Dick says, very purposefully not turning to look at Jason, who doesn’t sound as if he’s moved from his spot by the training mats. “He’s really got the worst timing, doesn’t he?”

“I can’t leave until League negotiations are done,” Bruce grounds out. That’s ‘Batman’ for I don’t trust anyone else here to not completely screw things up and cause an intergalactic war. “Robin is to stay in Kansas. All hands on deck otherwise. I’ve informed Oracle and Spoiler. Black Bat as well, but she’s undercover, and is to remain there.” Bruce pauses, mouth twitching. “Have you had any contact with Red Hood?”

Negotiations have clearly been taking up a lot of time, if Bruce hasn’t been keeping one eye on the cave cameras to know that Jason is here. League duties are really wearing on his stalking habits, and Dick isn’t about to enable him.

“Nope,” he says, crossing his arms and willing Jason to stay off-screen. “But I’m betting he’s in the loop.”

Bruce pauses, and Dick is about ninety-nine percent sure he’s about to call him out on his bullshit, but either Bruce genuinely believes him, or is too focused to care.

“Find out his plans.” Read: see if Joker’s gonna be executed with extreme prejudice by one Red Hood. “Coordinate if you can.” Don’t kill each other if at all possible. “The Joker is the absolute priority.” The Joker is the absolute priority.

“You got it, B.”

“Gordon’s released a statement saying they’re blockading to prevent him from getting too far, like that's going do anything” Tim says, pulling up a map next to Bruce’s face. “He stole a car, but my guess would be he’ll trade it, or go on foot as soon as he can.”

Bruce nods.

“Don’t waste any more time. The longer he’s out, the better chance he has to go to ground and regroup. Do not let that happen.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Dick says airily. No point in reassuring him, because nothing’s going to calm his well-meaning control-freakism. There’s a voice on the other end of the call, and Bruce turns, speaking. He looks back, and for a moment Dick wonders if they’re going to be treated to an actual moment of concern from the cowl.

“Keep me updated.”

Dick holds back a sigh.

“Copy that.”

The screen blinks off, and Dick can feel two sets of eyes on him.

He pats Tim’s shoulder.

“You heard him. Time’s a-wastin’. We’ll have to-”

Jason cuts him off, stepping forward with an expression on his face that’s a far cry from just a minute ago. Dick mourns the peace.

“What the fuck was that.”

“What the fuck was what?” Dick says, hopping down from the computer platform and heading towards the changing room. It’s probably too much to hope that Jason will buy nonchalance.

“You’re covering for me,” Jason spits. “Why? Gonna let him think I won’t go through with my plan?”

“That depends, Jason,” he says, keeping his voice even as he pauses in front of him. “What’s your plan?”

Jason’s expression darkens.

“You know my plan.”

And Dick does, from the last time he’d tracked down a less-than-sober Jason last April. He remembers Jason’s exact words.

“Fuck if I’ll get him while he’s locked up. But next time he’s loose? Fair game, s’far as I can tell. Open fucking season.”

“Are you going to stop me?”

He meets present-day Jason's eyes, which are shining. He’s always been an angry crier, ever since he was just that brat of a little brother Dick hadn’t fully wanted. But anger’s not the only thing written on his face. And there’s something about the air in the room that makes Dick feel as though he’s standing on a precipice, a height between valleys.

He takes a deep breath. He can't really afford to lose his balance, not now.

“We’re going to stop the Joker.”

Jason looks at him for a moment, eyes hard, before swinging around, heading straight for his bike.

“That’s not an answer, and you know it.”

Dick trades a helpless look with Tim as he follows him to the garage.

“Jason, wait, we’re not going to try to stop you, but we need to coordinate so we know where you-”

Jason swings over the bike, eyes set straight ahead.

“Just stay the fuck out of my way,” he snarls, and then the red helmet is lowered and Jason is gone.

They’re left with the echo of the motor.

“Well.” Dick sighs deeply, trying to calm the irritation blossoming in his chest as he turns back to Tim.

It’s not Tim’s fault Jason sometimes refuses to be a team player, just like it’s not Jason’s fault that the Joker is his pressure point. And of course Dick can’t blame him, not in the slightest. But having Jason out there, running his own agenda while they attempt theirs, is not going to make for an easy op.

Hopefully Barbara will be able to make sure he at least stays out of trouble.

“Suit up, Timmers. Contact Steph, I’ll call Duke and Babs. We’ve got work to do.”

Chapter Text

The sun has only just set as Dick and Tim set out on their bikes, ditching them near a safe house by the water and swinging across the straggling alleys by the bridges. When they reach a good vantage point, they halt, Dick tapping his ear.

“Hey O? We gotta keep it together tonight. Run me through whatcha got.”

“Hood’s turned off his tracker, all his signals, and disabled his comm." Barbara says, and Dick has never been more thankful for how she gets straight to the point. "I can still hack it and find him, but I’d need time. As for everything else, radio silence, eerily so. GCPD is still holding the blockades, but I think I’ve tracked Joker to a row of warehouses past them, on Barnett and Queen. There are gaps between the street cameras I used, so there’s a chance that's not even him, he could have dressed somebody up like him. He’s slimy like that.”

He blows out a breath. Okay, okay.

“It’s a start. Signal? He was just coming off the daytime shift when I talked to him.”

“Some of his gear got busted, he’s re-upping at a place in the textile district. I’ll put him on your frequency once his radio’s back on.”

“Spoiler? She’s not online yet.”

“Across town. A man got shot outside her building as she was leaving. She had to stay with him until an ambulance came.”

Dick worries his lip, thinking.

“Not exactly a great start to the night, is it?”

“It’s all a little too unlucky, if you ask me.” Barbara’s tone is, as ever, hard to read with the digital modifier. But she’s also never been a big believer in anything being lucky or unlucky at all.

“And…” Bruce would be saying to save the small talk. Focus on the mission. Time is the only thing that matters. “And how are you doing, in all this?”

Barbara pauses, the radio barely humming as she no doubt holds the line open.

“Hood’s going after him tonight, isn’t he?”

Dick glances over at Tim’s heavy face, the set line of his mouth beneath the cowl. He’s got no clue what he thinks of all of this. He’s been strangely silent, barely a word on their ride over.

“Seems like.”

“Are you going to try to stop him, if he gets there first?” There’s something in her voice. That feeling again; the precipice. Dick sighs, checking his line.

“I’m going to make sure everyone makes it through the night in one piece.”

-

“You know, you’re allowed to have an opinion. On what happens to the Joker.”

They’ve reached Barnett, a wide road with an uneven skyline, cut high with apartments on one side and the flat expanse of warehouse roofs on the other.

Tim shakes his head as they crouch at the edge of one of the apartment buildings.

“I...I’m not, though. Not really, the same way Hood, or Oracle, or Signal are, when they have the most baggage with him. I believe in the code, the rule. I don’t want to ever go that far. But at the same time...”

Tim shrugs, not looking at him.

“I get it. Logically, it’s sound. The Joker is never going to stop, he’s never going to stay locked up forever. He’s got a bodycount higher than any other Gotham rogue. And I get the whole personal vendetta thing, too. What Jason wants all makes sense, even if I wouldn’t do it, and even if I think it’s a stupid risk for him to try to cut us out tonight. But…”

“But is not doing everything to stop Jason from killing him, the same as killing him ourselves?” he muses. Tim nods, swallowing.

“It’s hard to find the line where complicity starts.”

They sit there in silence, the wind ruffling their hair.

“Look, I’ve thought this thing to death - poor choice of words, I know - for literally more than a decade. I still don’t know the full answer, not even after I - well, you were there.”

Tim nods again, silent, and Dick suppresses the shiver that passes through him, the sudden impression of stained glass and scattered pews, a pale, thin, unmoving body lurking in the corner of his vision. He clears his throat, mentally shaking himself. Now isn’t the time.

“Yes, I’m less than thrilled Hood is off on his own with no backup, and when this is over you bet your ass I’m going to have Alfred chew him out.” He sighs, because eventually he’s going to face up with his frustration. Jason needs space, but if something happens? Dick was the one who hadn’t played it right, who had driven Jason off before they’d managed to put together a plan. That’s on Dick.

But again, not the time

“Thing is, I don’t even know if we could stop him, if we tried,” he continues. “But what I do know?”

He grabs Tim's shoulder, dipping his head to catch his eye. “Is that Jason would be absolutely insufferable if he died and inevitably came back for a second time. So we gotta make sure that doesn’t happen. But I want you to be involved on your terms.”

For a moment he thinks he’s overstepped, tilted too far in one direction or the other. But then Tim sighs, priming his grapple with a click.

“Jason’s already insufferable.”

Dick grins, slapping Tim’s shoulder.

“Then let’s go catch a clown.”

Chapter Text

Barbara watches Red Robin and Nightwing’s trackers cross Barnett, moving in sync. Satisfied at their progress for the time being, she wheels her chair back slightly, then turns, pulling it forward to another screen, a map that’s conspicuously blank of signals.

She’s not fooling herself. Jason knows the game, knows to an extent how she operates. He’ll be avoiding cameras, wherever he is, and will have turned off all his outgoing signals. Though, she knows, he’ll be hacking the police radios, keeping up with sightings on social media. He’s good, but he’s not good enough to go off zero clues to find the Joker.

There had been no lie in Dick’s voice. If Jason gets to the Joker first, he will kill him.

Barbara is trying to give as little thought as she can to those implications, to the own bitter taste in her mouth. Because the fact is that it’s easier to ignore it. Easier to simplify, categorize, get the job done where she sees it and control what she can.

She can’t control what she feels about the Joker. Those memories are perfectly preserved as everything else in her brain, no matter how much she wants to forget some things.

She can’t control what will happen if Jason gets a clear shot and a moment of resolve. The fallout, the power vacuum that might swallow Gotham whole, whatever divides that will make between Jason and the rest of the family.

She can control surveillance on the mission, here, now. She can control the indistinct fear, amplified by Dick’s barely-concealed stress, of not knowing where Jason is.

Barbara adjusts her glasses. Game on, Hood.

After a few minutes of trying to raise his signal the nice way, she resorts to a bit of a heavier-handed approach with a few cobbled together lines of code. As far as her algorithms go, it's fairly basic - she'll need to tweak it if she wants real results - but she’s at least fairly certain he’s not in the area at this point. This could be good or bad, depending on if Dick and Tim are closing in on a false lead.

If Jason is chasing the real Joker, somewhere far, far away from Barnett, he’s not going to get backup.

Barbara grits her teeth as a sensor pings, turning her chair again to pull up the southside map. She can see Duke’s bike pull into the abandoned intersection, Stephanie descending from an alley rooftop. Barbara switches frequency.

“Oracle to Signal and Spoiler, what’s your status?”

“Personally, not too hot,” Stephanie pants, waving at the traffic camera. “Been having a rough night, not gonna lie. And Duke’s like, asleep on his bike.”

“Names, Spoiler,” Barbara reminds her, adjusting her glasses. “Signal, are you alright to work?”

“I could use a nap,” Duke admits. “But I’d rather hold off until there’s not a psycho circus freak on the loose.”

“You better not let Dick hear you call him that,” Stephanie snickers, and Barbara rolls her eyes as Duke protests.

“Names, Spoiler," she says again. "You need to get going. Head for Barnett. Take Queen Street, it’s clear. I’ll put you on Red Robin and Nightwing’s frequency once you get closer.”

“Aye-aye, capn.” Stephanie salutes the camera, turning to Duke as he pulls his bike up next to her. “If you let me drive, I won’t tell Nightwing you hate the circus.”

Duke snorts, adjusting his helmet. Barbara wipes the footage, the two vanishing from the screen even as Duke’s voice filters through the speaker.

“Nice try. Let’s go.”

There's a crackle from another speaker.

“Nightwing to Oracle, how’re we looking?”

Dick’s voice comes through the central computer just a moment later, and she reangles her wheelchair again. A few keystrokes, and a traffic camera on Barnett appears, featuring two dark figures perched on a truck container inside the lot’s fence.

“Sloppy,” she says dryly as one of the figures waves. “I don’t know how you made it this far, Boy Blunder.”

“I had you watching my back,” he says. Barbara would be irritated if she couldn’t hear the tension in his voice, if she didn’t know from all their years working together that the chatter was his version of focusing. “Any chance you could narrow it down for us between these buildings? We’ve done a perimeter sweep. There hasn’t been any movement, and we’ve got zilch on heat signatures.”

Barbara flicks her microphone aside, leaning forward as she rewinds the camera. Two minutes, ten minutes, twenty.

“Signal and Spoiler are on their way to you,” she says, as she speeds through the footage. “I put them at ten, fifteen minutes out, but - got him.” Barbara smiles grimly, zooming in on a green-haired figure ducking beneath a fence. “He headed to the alley between warehouses B12 and B13. I don’t have eyes there.”

“Does he look armed?”

Barbara frowns, enhancing the image.

“He’s definitely carrying something, but the camera is low-quality. It’s...small and white. I think there’s more than one part. I wouldn’t say a gun or knife.”

“A bomb?” Tim’s voice is sharp. The two figures on screen are on the ground now, moving stealthily towards the B-section. They pause at the blind corner.

“I wouldn’t discount the possibility,” Barbara says, distracted as she combs through the other surveillance angles around the place. Why there isn’t any better security on this place, she has no idea, but frankly it’s pissing her off. But a lack of cameras could also mean there are security guards, another moving part she’ll need to watch out for.

“Any luck with finding Hood so far?" Dick asks, tone even. Barbara bites her lip as she glances over at the still-blank screen that’s running the tracking algorithm.

“Nothing yet,” she says, then adds, “Focus, Nightwing. I’ll tell you once I find something.”

Dick makes a noise in acknowledgment, but Barbara can tell he’s not going to just let it go. On camera, Barbara watches his tiny smudge of a figure peer down the gap between buildings, then wave to Tim.

“No visual, alley’s clear. Dead end, so he must have gone in to one of them. 50/50 shot. We split for reconnaissance, proceeding with extreme caution.”

“Copy that.” She glances at the other screen, adjusting her glasses. “Adding Signal and Spoiler to your frequency. Standby for a wall of noise.”

“Alright R-squared.” Dick’s tone is bright, a bit forcedly positive even for Dick considering the situation. But Barbara’s not going to hold it against him. The slow, the quiet...she can’t say it’s not getting to her. Subtle isn’t the Joker’s m.o. ”Check your gear. Just basic sweeps, get familiar with the layout. We're gonna turn these warehouses into some warehomes.”

Tim makes a choked snort through the comm, and Barbara rolls her eyes with a smile as Dick continues.

“See anything, hear anything, call it in. If -”

There’s a crackle of static.

“-ust saying, use your turning signal!“

“You’ve never used a turn signal in your life.”

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t! I’m a bad example, everyone knows that. In fact, once-”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Barbara says sardonically, and Stephanie breaks off with a swear. “Nightwing and Red Robin in position to sweep two potential locations. Spoiler and Signal, standby for backup, and tell us when you’re five minutes out. Keep the comms clear, and low profile, if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah team, keep it professional.” The grin is evident in Dick’s voice, and Barbara rolls her eyes again, shaking her head. She hopes Dick knows her well enough to know her reaction without being able to see her. “Use your turn signal, Signal.”

Barbara switches to a private line.

“Nightwing,” she says calmly. “You're stalling. "

"Am I?"

"There's still no sign of Hood," she says, glancing at the other screen. No pings, to her irritation. "But I’m sure he’s fine. And the sooner you get the Joker back in Arkham custody, the sooner you’ll know for sure.”

“I know I….” Dick sighs. “Is it bad I keep thinking one of these warehouses is about to explode?” The humor has completely dropped from his voice. He’s being serious. Barbara takes a deep breath, chest twinging, but knowing now is not the time for a heart-to-heart.

“It’s bad you’re letting it get in the way of the task at hand,” she says, keeping her voice level. “I know you’re worried. But so help me, I will kick your ass if you don’t move it into gear.”

There’s a huff across the line.

“You’re the best, O.”

“It’s why they pay me the big bucks,” she says loftily.

She switches frequencies again, keeping an eye on the camera as Dick’s smudge leans closer to Tim’s. There’s still been no movement, which means if the Joker really is in one of those buildings, he’s just...waiting.

Barbara does not care for that idea one bit.

“Right, no more wasting time. Stay sharp, trust your instincts,” Dick is saying to Tim, voice even and serious. “I’m a building away. Meet on the roof if something goes wrong, or across the street if things go really wrong.

“Nightwing, you realize I’ve like, done this before.” Tim sounds bemused as they vanish from sight down the alley. “A few times, in fact. Not that I don’t appreciate the peptalk.”

“Sorry, can’t help it,” Dick’s signal fades over the line slightly, the layers of cement and steel fuzzing the edges of his voice. “See you in a few, babybird.”

Barbara adjusts her glasses, trying to watch every screen at once, straining to hear every ping and whisper and alert. The room itself is quiet, just the faint clicks of the harddrives. But before her, all of Gotham is spread out in flickering feeds and hacked snapshots and glowing diagrams. The city is literally at her fingertips.

And yet, she can’t shake the feeling that none of it’s going to make a single damned difference for what’s to come.

Chapter Text

Tim doesn’t know why he expected this night to have gone better.

Whether it’s some perpetual curse their family has with the Joker, or just the idea of him that throws them off, things can never just go right. For all his self-promotion as an agent of chaos, he’s pretty much the most predictable of their rogues in what the consequences of his actions are. It’s always going to end in blood, and misery, and fresh night terrors for somebody.

The self-contradiction might be funny. But Tim doesn’t like the idea of laughing at anything to do with the Joker. Not when he always seems to get under their skin.

Take now, for example.

“Nightwing, come in. My warehouse is clear, no other escape routes” he repeats, struggling to keep his voice calm as he races back towards the door. “Nightwing, do you copy?”

A hiss of static.

“Oracle to Nightwing, check in.”

Tim rounds a stack of crates, swearing under his breath.

“Track him.”

“He hasn’t left the warehouse.”

“Vitals?”

“Spiked, then dipped, but still online.”

“Yo O, what’s going on? Signal and I are five minutes out.”

Tim skids around a corner, breaking for the exit.

“Vitals back up, heart rate elevated. Radio signal’s improving, he might be outside.”

“Any sign on cameras?”

“Nothing from where you came in.”

Tim bursts out of the door, into the narrow alley between the warehouses. Splitting up for recon had seemed reasonable, low-stakes. But now hindsight is whacking Tim over the head with a shoe. Stupid, stupid. He glances down both directions, the way they came and the dead end. Ahead of him is the door where Dick had vanished.

Tim looks up, heart pounding. Makes a decision.

“Tim, what the hell is going on?”

“Names, Spoiler. Nightwing’s not responding. Joker in the vicinity”

“Crap.”

Tim fires his grapple at the fire escape ladder, and barely hears the metal creak as he ascends, swinging up and landing on the cement barrier. His heart is almost louder than the tinny mutterings of Stephanie and Duke, the barely-perceptible clicks through Barbara’s line.

He turns, almost numbly, trying to ignore the part of his brain that’s already composing what he’ll say to Bruce. To all of them.

I don’t know what happened, we split up, and I lost -

He was just a building away, I -

I’m sorry, I couldn’t -

There’s a figure standing across the roof.

“Wait I - I found him,” Tim exhales heavily, and he thinks he might hear an echoing, robotic sigh through the comm. “He’s here. I found him.”

“Tell him he sucks,” Stephanie spits. “Absolutely not cool. Doesn't he know the kind of angst-fest Bruce would throw -”

“Nightwing!” Tim shouts, sprinting across the rooftop. Nightwing turns slowly, face tilted upwards as if he were staring just above Tim. There’s blood coating one side of his forehead, and he’s panting, holding -

Tim stops, a few steps short. Something cold settles in his chest.

“Nightwing?” he says again, eyes on the crowbar clenched in Nightwing’s fist. That’s definitely blood, glinting around the curved fork.

He fights back the wave of conclusions his mind offers him, each more alarming than the next. His hand hovers at his waist, where he keeps the joker venom antidote.

“Nightwing. What happened?”

“Red...Robin?” Nightwing’s gaze finally settles on him, and something in his posture twitches, like he’s waking up. He glances down at the crowbar, before swearing and dropping it like he’d been burned.

“Fuck, Red. He got away, I -” he bends over, hands on his knees as he struggles for breath. Tim steps forward, carefully kicking away the crowbar. It rattles along the cement, and he shudders as it smears across the stone. “Theres - One victim down there. Decapitated. Security guard, I think.”

“What happened?" Tim asks again, struggling to keep his voice level. "The Joker? He’s inside? Do you need an antidote?”

“No venom,” Nightwing pants, “But he was down there, might still be. Go, Red, I’ll catch up.”

Tim passes a heat scan over the gravel beneath his feet, then all around them. Nothing, but apparently that's not reliable, since it hadn't picked up anything before either. He places a hesitant hand on Nightwing’s heaving shoulder, tapping his comm with the other.

“Oracle. You got us?”

“You don’t need to ask.”

“Nightwing had a run-in with Joker, says he’s in the building we’re on top of. He’s a little…” Nightwing flashes him a thumbs up, straightening and pressing his other hand to his bleeding forehead. That something in Tim’s chest settles, and he blows out a breath. “He’s a little banged up, but okay. There’s one victim.” He pauses. “Have you gotten hold of Red Hood?”

“That’s a negative. Running scans on the building now.” There’s a muted beep. “There’s no one in the building as far as I can tell, but I have footage from the traffic camera on the corner of someone heading south, towards Queen Street. Alone, on foot.”

“Alone?” Tim frowns, glancing southward. Lights reflect off the river. “It’s possible he hasn’t had the chance to contact any of his outside cronies. We need to get to him before he does.”

“Is Nightwing fit to pursue?”

“Tip-top shape, O,” Nightwing interjects, as he presses a new communicator into his ear, waving the broken one at Tim before he tucks it into a pocket. “I thought he had - thought I could get to the captive. Wasn’t aware of my surroundings, he jumped down from a box.” He shrugs, wiping away a bit more blood. “My fault. Just looks bad. Head wounds bleed a lot, ya know?”

“Is that Nightwing?” Duke’s voice filters in as Dick surreptitiously switches out his domino for one less stained with blood. “We’re still on Queen, heading towards you. We can try to cut him off.”

“Sending you live updates from the street cams, Signal.”

“And 'wing, -” There’s a muffled murmur, and Duke continues, tone uncertain. “Spoiler says to tell you you suck, and if you go offline again, she’ll uh, - okay, jeez, I’m not saying that. You have your own comm.”

“You fought him off?” Tim asks, tuning out the chatter and trying to restrain himself from shaking Nightwing’s shoulders and demanding answers. “What the hell happened? We completely lost you for a second.”

We completely lost you for a second and I seriously wondered which conversation explaining I’d lost you to the Joker would have gone the worst, out of everyone in the family. Bruce and Damian are top contenders, but Jason is definitely in the running -

He scowls, leaning forward expectantly as Dick bites his lip.

“Well?”

Nightwing shakes his head, pulling out a field bandage from one of his belt pockets and carefully taping it over where it looks like the blood is coming from, just beneath his hairline. He seems concussed, but it’s impossible to check now.

“I heard something when I was sweeping the building, radioed in-”

“Yeah, we got that. But you were supposed to wait,” Tim says irritably. “This isn’t Penguin or Riddler, or someone you can talk your way out of, this is-

“You think I don’t know that? I thought-” Nightwing’s looks away, jaw working. “I thought he had Jay.”

Tim stills.

Dick had said the victim was decapitated.

“Did he?”

“No, no,” Dick wipes his forehead again, only succeeding in smearing a line of blood over his temple. “It was just - I wasn’t thinking right. It was a - god, B is gonna kill me. He dressed up the body with a Red Hood helmet. I just. Wasn’t thinking straight, and the helmet, it fell off the body- ” Dick cuts himself off, swallowing hard. “I checked, it wasn’t him, I turn around, next thing I know I’ve got a crowbar and Joker's gone. Now we can hash all this out later, but he’s still out there for now, and I can still work.”

“I don’t think-” Tim hesitates at the expression on Dick - no, Nightwing’s face.

“He’s still out there, and I can work,” Dick says, voice steel, jaw set. Sometimes, Tim forgets that Dick had ever been Batman. Then, sometimes he remembers. “Alright?" 

Tim sets his shoulders, watching his brother make his way to the edge of the building, looking steadier by the second.

“Alright.”

“Alright. Then let’s work.”

Chapter Text

If Jason’s being honest with himself, he could be trying harder.

It used to be so easy, to muster that overwhelming rage that would white out his vision and make his veins feel as though they were burning with green. He’d move from one thing to the next, to the next, and each step would be obvious. Get to Gotham. Find the replacement. Trap the bat. Get him to kill the Joker. And so forth.

But that heartbeat -make him PAY make him dead make them PAY - it’s long since died out. Now, he just wants it over with.

He’s tired of wondering what Bruce will think, what Dick and Cass and all of them already think. It would almost be satisfying for them to hate him, after this- then, he could at least hate them back. But that weird, uncomfortable comfort from earlier, that strange warmth of just being in the cave without wondering if he’s going to need to make a break for it? Not his territory. The anger would be more familiar, but... He curses himself for thinking it, for buying into Dick’s feel-good, forgiveness-all-around bullshit, because he still only half believes the peace will continue to hold.

But still...even if the anger is what he knows, Jason has to admit it might not be better. He’d died alone, the first time. It hadn’t been exceedingly fun, and he’s not eager for a repeat performance just because he’s not thinking clearly enough to plan.

So yeah, he is going to kill the Joker, thank you very much. And if he really, really wanted to, it would probably be done by now.

But he could be trying harder.

“Chhhh-”

“Ow!”

He taps the side of his helmet, grimacing as the sting of whatever little zap had gone off fades. He’d turned off all his signals, gone radio silent to keep the birds off his trail. They didn’t need to see the deed done, if anything. But he’s pretty sure-

“chhhHood. You’re the worst.” He winces. She sounds annoyed.

“Good evening to you too, Oracle.” He hauls himself up from the fire escape, reaching the rooftop. “Any point in asking how you hacked into a closed network without an external signal?”

“Would have done it earlier, but I was preoccupied.”

“Alright then.” He skirts along the shadows of what smells like a carrier pigeon coop, perched on the edge of the building. Every once in a while, there’s a gentle coo, a rustle of feathers. “Any point in telling you to leave me the hell alone, then? I got a thing.”

“They caught him.” He freezes, poised at the edge of the next fire escape. His hand goes to the side of his helmet, as if that’ll change what he heard.

“They what?”

“He’s on his way back to Arkham now. Show’s over, Hood.”

Make him PAY -

There’s a burst of startled coos behind him as he slams his fist against the fire escape railing, the rattle of metal jarring through the otherwise quiet night. Oracle is silent in his ear. He doesn’t forget that she has her own shit to process, when it comes to the Joker. He wonders, absently, if she ever wakes up with a fire in her stomach, knowing he’s out there. Talking. Breathing. Waiting to break out again.

“Dick always did have a thing for stealing the spotlight,” he snarls, fighting the urge to rip his helmet off and throw it as hard as he can. “And of course Timmy had to follow Papa Bat’s footsteps, that -”

“It wasn’t them.” Barbara says, tone unreadable. “It was my - Commissioner Gordon. He caught him.”

That stops him cold.

“Well, well,” he whistles, blood cooling slightly. He tosses himself down to the edge of the roof, lowering his head into his hands and trying to breathe. “No offense, but I'm not inclined to not be suspicious. GCPD isn't exactly known for their efficient and spotless record. And this is, ya know. Him."

He clears his throat as she doesn't respond. 

"But how’s uh, how’s that feel, uh for you? Since it's your...Commissioner, and all.”

Because she had to have known that Joker would have been dead, if Jason had found him instead. To have him kept alive, if imprisoned, by her own father, rather than gone forever...

Barbara’s always been better than him, taken the higher road. But the Joker drags everyone down, down to his level. Makes everyone their worst self. It’s what he does.

“I’m...happy he caught him.” She sounds honest. But you can be happy for someone, and still resent them, still hate some of the things they do. Jason knows that, better than most people. Good feelings don’t exactly cancel out bad actions.

“Right.”

They sit there, a moment of silence between them. Their own private memorial, a lot of things unspoken, a lot of things unfelt. Then Oracle clears her throat, and Jason almost groans, because of course it can’t be that simple.

“There’s more. The birds did run into him, but he clipped Nightwing and got away. He’s getting checked out now.”

“How bad?”

“From what I hear from Agent A it’s nothing major, but Red Robin’s pissed.”

“What?” Jason wonders aloud, his heart unclenching slightly as he swings down from the rail. If Alfred says it’s nothing major, it’s nothing major. “Since when does the baby bird get mad at Dick when he’s beat up?”

“Oh, he’s not mad at Nightwing.” Now, there’s definitely a smirk in her voice. “He’s mad at you. Oracle out.”

There’s a crackle in his ear, and he’s left alone in the dark, with nothing but a bad taste in his mouth and the smell of pigeons for company.

Chapter Text

The cave is silent when Jason pulls up, and for a moment he wonders why that’s strange. It had never been a loud place, not even when he was Robin, save for the shouting matches Dick and Bruce had tried to hide from him on the regular. Then he remembers, near every other time he’d been here, Damian had been hovering in the shadows, either asking petulant questions or trading barbs with Tim or making veiled threats towards Dick whenever he's about to for Bludhaven.

Huh. Maybe the demon spawn’s grown on him.

He parks, and has just taken off his helmet when a voice breaks the silence.

“I thought you didn’t want to be like Bruce.”

He whirls, and a full-suited Red Robin is standing on the platform above him, arms crossed. Jason stares up at him for a second, then snorts.

“Trying to intimidate me with the high ground? You realize guns don't work like that, right? I can shoot you just as easily from down here.”

Tim might have raised an eyebrow, but it’s impossible to tell through his Midnighter-knockoff cowl. Jason starts up the stairs, intent on walking past Tim. But he blocks his path at the top, white eyes blank and condemning.

“If you don’t want to be like him, then don’t be like him,” Tim says, voice cold. “Don’t vanish into the night for your own personal vengeance crusade, don’t leave your line dead so we can’t reach you, and don’t pretend like you’re the only one out there!”

“Look, Replacement, I am really not in the mood for a lecture right now,” Jason scowls, shoving past him. “Especially from you.”

Do you have any idea what happened, tonight?”

“I -”

“He ran in without casing the place, and the Joker got the drop on him.”

“Great, so that’s categorically his fault.” He pushes Tim, walking past him again. The faint glow of the medbay is spilling out across the cave, and he barely manages to catch his feet from walking towards it. “Now get off my fucking back, you’re worse than Bruce.”

“You wanna know why?”

He stops, heel grinding into the dirt in time with his teeth. The heat is building up around his vision, filling his chest, but the kid’s too good at this. It’s probably that damned interrogation training. Tim seems to take his pause as a confirmation.

“The Joker had the victim’s corpse dressed up as the Red Hood.” Tim rounds him, blocking his path once again. His eyes behind the cowl are opaque, but somehow furious all the same. “Jason, we had no idea where you were, or what your plans were - the Joker could have had you! How were we supposed to know?”

“What, you’d rather I find a more original way to get killed?” he snaps, voice rising. “Joker’s loose, look out for Jason! Everyone knows, Joker’s got a monopoly on killing Jason! Can’t let it happen again, can we? Gotta protect Jason! Well guess what?!”

He hurls his helmet across the cave, the clatter of metal over stone echoing through the dark. Tim flinches, but stands his ground.

“I can fucking protect myself better than any of you ever did or could," he sneers. "Ever think maybe, there’s a reason I went it alone? Use that big brain of yours, Timmy, tell me. Why would I go radio silent to catch the Joker?”

Tim’s mouth is a flat line, and he has the sudden, insane urge to laugh because Bruce would be wearing the exact same expression, were he here now. Fucking uncanny.

“Because you wrongly assume our priorities,” Tim says flatly. “Jay-”

“Because I don’t fucking trust you,” Jason says, and then because he’s weak, because his eye catches the water bottle on the mat they’d been tossing back and forth to each other not hours ago, he adds, “I don’t trust you not to pick your precious code over what needs to be done. Now. Get the hell out of my way.”

As he’s walking away - not towards the medbay, mind you, though it’s noticeably silent - he can feel Tim’s eyes on his back. He’s almost reached the stairs to the manor, when Tim’s voice calls after him.

“Alfred moved him to his room. You know, if you want to go yell at him too, for bothering to give a damn about you.”

He grits his teeth, and begins to climb the stairs.

The kitchen is silent, the kind of still and quiet you only get around 4 am. He’s about to duck back out, suddenly uncertain of where he’s even going, when a figure appears in the doorway. The silhouette is just visible against the distant light of the lamp in the hall.

“Jason?”

He screws up his eyes as the lights flick on, hope of making his way to a bed undetected cast out the barely-lit window. God, why had he even come here? It's like he hadn't even been thinking.

Duke is dressed in thick gray sweats, face rumpled with exhaustion. He maneuvers around the kitchen slowly, wincing slightly. Jason does not envy the day shift.

“Tim get his chance to ream you out?” Duke yawns, grabbing a glass from the cabinet. “I’d add my two cents, but I’ve got a pretty killer headache, and class in like six hours.”

“Oh, no, by all means,” Jason snips, blood stirring up again as Duke crosses to the sink. “Take your shot too. Seems like everybody’s got an opinion, so let’s hear it, newbie.”

“Hey,” Duke says sharply, turning around. ”Maybe I haven’t been in the game as long as you, but that doesn’t mean I’m not in it. I know a dumb call when I see one.”

Jason snorts, starting to turn away. So everybody’s against him on this one. Fantastic.

“Oh, fuck off. I don’t need this.”

“Then why are you even here?” Duke asks coolly, leaning against the counter. “Why come back to the manor? You’ve got your own place. You don’t wanna be here, don’t be here.”

Jason rounds on him, covering his surprise with a fierce glare. He usually gets along with Duke, and the words sting more than he’d expect.

“So that’s it? You’re seriously taking his side, in all this? I know what the Joker did to your parents, what he almost did to you. You can’t possibly tell me you don’t want him dead too. ”

Duke raises his hands in surrender, but his face is set.

“Sure, Jay, bring up the parents,” he says, sounding tired. “Low blow, but okay.”

“That’s not an answer,” Jason replies, now struggling to keep the hostility in his voice. He really, really knows better. But fuck, if he’s not in for a penny - “Say it. You’re taking his side?”

Duke sighs.

“Look, man. You’re right. I’ve got my own stuff. But it’s stuff I’m way too tired to hash through in a bat-themed vigilante’s kitchen at 4 AM with an undead vigilante, after spending the whole night literally chasing down a psycho clown. It’s just not gonna happen.” Before Jason can respond to that, Duke’s gaze shifts towards something behind Jason. “And that’s my cue.”

Jason half turns to follow his gaze, but the doorway is empty save for the faint cast of the hallway lamp. He looks back to Duke, who’s collecting his glass of water and a bottle of Advil that had materialized in his hand.

“What?”

Duke lingers at the opposite door, the one leading to the front stairs.

“Way I see it, there are no sides, Jay. Just a bunch of people who can’t figure out how to talk to each other.”

He slips out of the room, a fraction of a second before Jason hears footsteps from behind.

“Jason?”

He turns to see Dick standing in the other doorway, blocking the dim light of the back hall.

That sneaky meta bastard.

Chapter Text

Dick is...pretty sure there’s something wrong with him.

Alfred had declared him free of concussion - shockingly, if his memory gap is anything to go by - but running a low-grade fever. He’s sitting up in bed, watching the footage of the Joker being shoved into the back of an armored vehicle as he tries to piece together what exactly he’s forgotten.

It's probably his least favorite past-time. 

They split up, he remembers. Dick knows he gave Tim a little salute as he entered his warehouse, an assurance. He swept the aisles stealthily, left to right, on high-alert and praying that Tim's warehouse was empty and quiet. If one of them is going to stumble on a bomb, well. 

He remembers the noise - a scrape of metal, the beginnings of a chuckle - and calling it in. Just like they’d planned.

Dick runs a hand through his hair, still damp from the shower, and breathes out. Okay, all that he is one-hundred percent sure of.

Dick knows he climbed a large tower of boxes to get a better look and wait for Tim, playing it safe. But that had gone out the window when he’d caught that glint of familiar red chrome across the room.

He jumped from box to box, irritation turning to horror growing as the figure in the chair came into view, bound and slumped in front of a stack of wooden crates. The red hood was undeniable.

He landed on the warehouse floor, sprinting through the dim alley of boxes. He recalls numbly kicking aside the crowbar resting against the chair, the one he can’t remember picking up later. He grabbed his brother’s shoulder from behind, shaking it -

If there’s one thing he can’t forget, it’s the electric horror that shot through him as the body’s head rolled off.

No.

The sound of the helmet hitting the floor - an almighty and terrible clang that had completely stopped his heart - is most definitely going to be featured in his nightmares. It's still ringing in his waking ears, divorced from it's image, a radio station he can't turn off. 

Dick closes his eyes.

But what came after was worse. Because Nightwing is supposed to stay cool, stay focused, was supposed to put two and two together when he caught sight of the corpses’s security uniform that was distinctly lacking a red bat.

He remembers...he moved too slowly, crouching to reach the head.

He remembers how loud his breath was in his ears as his hands suddenly became clumsy, unable to wrestle open the hood.

He remembers half-panicking as his gloves got slicker with blood, barely registering the scrape of a foot somewhere around him. Finally, after what seemed like ages, he managed to peel open the hood enough to see the face -

It’s not him, was his first, stupidly obvious thought. The next: Trap.

It's after that, that things get...hazy.

A cackle, the Joker’s blurred, painted face as he whirled around-

Dick huffs in frustration, scrubbing his eyes as if that will banish the image of the decapitated Red Hood. It..doesn’t feel as though that’s going to happen anytime soon.

He shuts his laptop abruptly, sliding out of bed.

Tim hasn’t stopped by his door yet, which means he’s still downstairs, likely perusing the police report. As much as he wishes for him to actually get some sleep tonight, Dick can't deny that Tim is right to review everything.

Dick doesn’t claim to have a sixth sense, but he’s been in the business long enough to know that things like this are never that easy. He can’t remember the last time the cops were the ones to nab the Joker, and even with Gordon and all his good intentions, Dick is well aware of just how rotten-through the whole GCPD system is. And catching the Joker, in a single night no less? 

The whole thing is more than a little suspect.

Dick creeps down the back stairway to the kitchen.

Something to eat, and he’ll feel less...off. Less itchy and twitchy and angry. Dick’s not sure if it’s the stress of the Joker, or the headless victim, or those infuriating missing moments, but he’s kind of relieved Bruce isn’t around to pick a fight with.

The fever’s definitely getting worse, though, and he still hasn’t followed up on the gunrunner case he’d been supposed to cover tonight, which means he’ll have to be in Gotham another night, which is another night in Bludhaven he won’t be - Dick freezes by the light in the hall.

There are voices coming from the kitchen.

Dick frowns. Stephanie had vanished into one of the countless guest bedrooms proclaiming her intention to speak to none of them until she’d been unconscious for at least twelve hours. And Duke had worked the day shift and the night shifts, plus he has class tomorrow, Dick had told him that the report could wait -

“...how to talk to each other,” he hears faintly, and just glimpses Duke’s retreating back as he enters the kitchen.

Where someone else is waiting, arms crossed, and very much not missing his head.

“Jason?”

Jason turns, looking surprised for a fraction of an instant before glaring at the far doorway, where Dick can hear fading footsteps.

“Goldie,” Jason greets. “You look terrible.”

“I feel terrible,” Dick responds flatly, and shuffles to the pantry, determined not to engage.

Not while he’s feeling worse by the second, while the memory of that body in the warehouse was so fresh. He doesn’t want to yell at Jason, who’s undoubtedly feeling his own feelings about the Joker, who doesn’t need Dick’s issues on top of his own. It's honestly a surprise he's even here, but Dick supposes the lack of Bruce might have something to do with it. 

Still, it’s hard to forget, that if Jason had just listened, had worked with them, there wouldn’t have been a moment earlier that night where Dick thought he’d been violently murdered in a warehouse alone. Again.

“Babs said you got clipped.”

“Yeah.” He stares at the boxes a bit too long, breathing through his nose. If he can just get back to his room, he can cool down. By tomorrow he’ll feel better, he’ll remember how to be patient, and he can have this conversation with Jason without saying things he’ll regret.

“Alfred check you out?” Dick grits his teeth at Jason’s careful tone. Now he decides to play nice.

“Yep.”

Dick gives up on picking a box, just grabbing the nearest one and spinning for the door. Jason is eyeing him.

Deep breathes, Grayson.

“What happened?”

“My fault.” The clang of the hood had been deafening on the warehouse floor, the unadulterated horror as it rolled from the body’s shoulders almost overwhelming. He takes another deep breath, closing his eyes for second. When he opens them he has the brief, insane impression that Jason is standing before him, headless. Yeah, he needs to go to bed. “Tell you tomorrow.”

“Hey, uh -”

“Tomorrow, Jay.”

There’s a lurching in his stomach, anger curled in his gut like a viper as he shoulders past his brother’s outstretched hand. He’s one step from the doorway when that hand comes down on his shoulder, spinning him.

Jason’s scowling, not meeting his eyes.

“Dick, listen - “

“Listen?” Dick can pinpoint the very second he loses the battle with himself. “Like you did, you mean?”

Jason actually winces. Dick’s heart twinges, but any sympathy is drowned out by the dull roar in his ears, the clang of that hood hitting the ground.

“I uh, heard what happened. With the victim.”

“Yeah?” Dick barks a laugh that lingers in his throat, and he can’t stop his voice from rising. “After the fact? Jason, do you even realize how sideways that could have gone?”

“Of course I do,” Jason retorts, volume rising to match Dick’s. That lurching in his stomach is bubbling up into his chest, ugly and hot. “Of all fucking people, you think I don’t know?”

“Then act like it!” Dick shouts, slamming the box of cereal down. “We had no idea! No fucking idea where you were! That body could have been you! You know what I had to do? I -”

“Yeah, yeah, no you assumed I couldn’t take care of myself!” Jason yells over him, jabbing a thumb at his chest. “Holy fucking hell, you’re all - “

“ - had to peel the helmet off the head to figure out it wasn’t yours, do you even -” Dick isn’t even sure what he’s yelling is comprehensible anymore, but he feels his breath catch, chest tight, and Jason takes the chance to cut him off, voice dropping suddenly.

“This,” Jason spits, lip curling. “This is why I don’t buy into your big-happy-family bullshit, Grayson. You want us to all sing songs and play games together until I do something you all don’t like, then you’re all lining up to -

For a moment, Dick loses the thread of what Jason’s saying - head suddenly heavy, chest burning like a bed of coals.

“-and I don’t fucking need that!” Jason is shouting, the room ringing. Dick blinks, furiously trying to clear his vision, as he opens his mouth to bite out a reply -

“Ha!”

Dick claps a hand over his mouth. He stares at Jason, wide-eyed.

Shit. Shit shit shit.

Jason’s staring back, face still flushed with rage.

“That’s funny to you, golden boy?”

He shakes his head at Jason, anger evaporating as he struggles to breath through the heat in his chest. Shitshitshit. He drags in a heavy inhale, opening his mouth again-

“Ha! Hahahaha!” The laughter works its way from his chest, stealing his breath. He gestures wildly, gasping “Jay-ahahaha!”

Jason’s face drops.

“Dick?”

“I-” Dick pants. “I ca-ahahahahaha!”

Jason looks stricken, body language doing a complete three-sixty as he steps forward with his hands raised.

“Fuck. Fuck. Dick? Can you hear me?”

“I -ahahah-” he nods, clutching his chest and drawing in a wheezing breath. “HAHAHAHA!” There are hands on his shoulders, barely visible through tears welling in his eyes. He swipes them away, still laughing as he sinks to the floor.

He holds out his arm, the other still at his chest, hoping Jason will get the message. Jason had been in his gear still, Dick remembers, he should still have the antidote - a hand scrabbles at his sleeve, and Dick covers his mouth, trying to smother the laughter and really only succeeding at sounding like a dying magpie.

There’s a pinch at the inside of his elbow.

He and Jason stare at his arm for a moment, Dick still choking on air as he counts to twelve. That’s all the venom antidote takes. That’s all it should take.

There are currently more than fifty strains of venom documented in the batcomputer. Dick is acutely aware of this, having loaded up on the most recent antidote just earlier that night, the one that’s been painstakingly adapted as a catch-all for almost all the previous versions.

He reaches twelve. Then eighteen.

Guess this is a new one, he thinks, stomach sinking as he chuckles into his hand. Hopefully not one that’s going to kill him in the next five minutes. That wouldn’t be the most ideal way to end the night.

“Haha - I don’t - hahaha - think,” Dick wheezes. “Not work- ahahahaha!!” Something tightens in his chest, and he gasps again, this time in pain as scalding air bursts from his lungs in new peals of laughter. “HAHAHA!”

“Fuck,” he hears again, and then someone’s shouting. Dick focuses as best he can with the bonfire currently roasting his lungs to a delicate medium-rare. Training says you don’t try to fight the laughter - just slow it down long enough to breathe. But his head is already spinning, his sides beginning to ache fiercely.

“Ahaha! Hahahaha!” his laughter is getting frantic, even to his own ears, and his vision is definitely blurring, blackening around the edges like a burnt photograph. He could focus if he could just breathe -

“Master Richard,” someone says, and Alfred’s face is before him, lined and serious. “Can you understand me?”

“Ahah-Alfred,” he gasps, “Anti - ahahaha!”

“The standard antivenom is not working,” Alfred says, voice strained but calm. “We need to flush your system, but first we must get you to breathe.”

Agreed, Dick thinks hazily.

“Ha, ba-ahaha- cave?” he tries to ask, but Alfred’s already vanished from his shrinking vision.

He allows himself to be dragged up to his feet, until he’s leaning heavily on the kitchen counter, shaking with laughter. There’s the impression of movement around him, and then Duke is next to him, looping a hand around his shoulder.

He tries to frown over at Duke, wishing he’d stayed in bed and out of this. He’s already dealt with his own parent’s Joker-induced breakdowns - he shouldn’t have to be around this. But Duke offers him a steady nod as they cross the kitchen.

“C’mon, birdbrain. You’re heavy.”

“You - ahaha,” Dick snickers, as they reach the study. He wrestles with his breathing long enough to level what he hopes is a stern glower at Duke. “Du-hahahayou hahave class.”

Duke just raises an eyebrow, setting the clock face with his free hand.

“Dude, you gotta sort out your priorities,” Duke says as they hobble their way down the cave stairs. Dick can just make out Alfred’s thin figure descending ahead of them, his vision still wavering. “Pretty sure I can take a sick day to help you not literally laugh yourself to death. Hey, watch your step -”

Something in Dick’s chest picks that moment to implode. He doesn’t even have the chance to react. The world spins into darkness.

Chapter Text

Honestly, at first Duke wonders if he’d actually gone to bed, and this is a nightmare. A lot of his nightmares involve laughter, these days. Sometimes it’s his parents. Sometimes it’s his friends, or Izzy, or once even Bruce. And ever since his...powers had really come to life, his dreams have changed. Good dreams are better, full of graceful shadows and glittering light tracing shapes back and forth in abstract motion.

But the nightmares are darker, the light harsher and more cutting as it plays out images of things he'd done wrong. He'd kinda known about the regret that comes with the hero gig - mistakes that cost more, moments that weigh heavier. It's not hard to just look at Bruce, and see what all that guilt looks like, on display. But anytime there's laughter in his dreams, the lights in his mind seem to know. And he watches whoever it is he let down - his parents, the Robins - dissolve into light and shadow like they've been erased from existence.

Just once, it’d be nice to get a dream with pleasant laughter. A nice comedy show or something, instead of the terrifying, unhinged, Joker variety.

He’d collapsed on the bed as soon as he’d made it to his room, leaving the door open. That had been a mistake. It’s honestly baffling, how far voices carry in such a big house, but sure enough, shouting had drifted up and right through Duke’s exhaustion-induced headache.

Duke had rolled over, staring at the ceiling and considering.

Does he need to worry about intervening?

Dick and Jason have been brothers long before Duke showed up, and Jason had the whole, angry, undead-rebel-with-a-cause thing going on for him. Jason’s definitely fought with all the bats before, if Tim’s simmering anger on the way back to the Cave is anything to go by, and they all still get along most of the time.

All that history is a bit daunting, and Duke’s really not sure where that leaves him by rights to getting involved in their spats.

Duke is just drifting off, decision made - if it sounds like it’s getting physical, he’ll go down there - when something sends him shooting up straight.

He stares around the room, scanning the past couple seconds of light. Was someone breaking in? To Wayne Manor, with it’s gazillion security cameras and over-the-top perimeter sensors?

Ok, doubtful. And the room is undisturbed, quiet and dark for the past few minutes. Even the yelling has died down. What…?

“HAHAHAHA!”

Duke is out of bed and down the hall before he even registers he’s moved. The laughter hasn’t stopped. It’s familiar, but manic, painful - Jokerized laughter’s got a certain horrible ring to it. One that Duke knows way too well.

He pauses at the bottom of the stairs at that thought, staring all around. Dreams can’t be this detailed, right? He follows the hall towards the laughter, slower, studying the walls. A new, Inception-themed rogue is ridiculous...but not outside of the realm of possibility for Gotham.

“I don’t - hahaha - think, ahah, not work- ahahahaha!!”

Duke quickens his pace again as a voice cuts through some of the mirthless laughter. Nightmare or not, he’s gotta find out what’s going on.

He reaches the doorway to the kitchen just in time for the laughter to reach a new pitch, a Joker-worthy cackle that sounds like it’s being wrenched from somebody’s lungs with a rusty metal gauntlet.

“HAHAHA!”

Duke freezes. His eyes involuntarily reform the light, and he watches the past shadows of Dick sink to the ground, of Jason scrambling to grab him as he lurches.

“Duke!” The shadows vanish, the room comes into focus, and Jason is yelling across the room at him. “Get Al, or we need to move- Alfred, thank fucking god.”

“Language, Master Jason,” Alfred says as he hurries into the room past Duke, still dressed but looking decidedly more rumpled than usual. He honestly hadn’t even heard the guy come up behind him. “Master Duke, if you’ll run and inform Master Timothy of the situation, and prepare the new strain protocol for Joker venom.”

Duke freezes. Again. He wants to shake himself.

“I, uh-”

“He’s never done that before,” Jason interrupts, voice tight. The restless anger from earlier is nowhere to be seen, and Duke’s almost impressed. “This is the first new strain in ages. I’ll go.”

Jason vanishes between one second and the next, the sound of running footsteps vanishing beneath Dick’s strained laughing.

“I’m...sorry,” Duke says, feeling useless. Always a bad feeling, realizing he’s still got bat-homework to do.

“Don’t be, Master Duke,” Alfred says, crouching before Dick. He’s still shaking with laughter, though it’s muffled behind his hand. “If we’re lucky, that protocol will one day be obsolete. Master Richard? Can you understand me?”

Dick laughs for a moment more, but Duke can see he’s listening, he’s trying. That in itself is comforting, knowing it’s not twisting Dick’s brain up. Yet.

Duke tries not to shiver.

“Ahah-Alfred,” Dick manages. “Anti - ahahaha!”

“The standard antivenom is not working,” Alfred says calmly. “We need to flush your system, but first we must get you to breathe.”

“Here.” Duke crosses the room, helping Dick to his feet as he shakes with laughter, listing left until Duke manages to lean him against the counter.

It takes some maneuvering, but he braces his arm around Dick’s back, and they manage to set out behind Alfred. Duke catches a crease in Dick’s his brow, and tries to give him a reassuring nod. It’s hard to tell if he’s reassured, since he just keeps laughing, but they step forward easily.

“C’mon, birdbrain. You’re heavy.”

It’s hard to keep Dick balanced as they stumble down the hall, and Duke can see Dick is doing his best to stay present. He racks his brain for literally anything to say - something comforting? Something funny?

Funny might be in poor taste, considering.

“You - ahaha,” Dick is still wheezing by the time they cross the threshold of the study, but he’s glaring down at Duke. For one horrible moment, Duke wonders if this is the part where Dick flips out on him.

“Du-hahahayou hahave class,” Dick finally gasps out, Duke snorts, turning the clock dial.

“Dude, you gotta sort out your priorities,” he says, keeping his tone light as they start down the stairs. “Pretty sure I can take a sick day to help you not literally laugh yourself to death. Hey, watch your step -”.

Next to him, Dick suddenly buckles, sagging completely. The laughter tapers off to a nasty asthmatic rasping, and Duke glances over at Dick’s sweating face, alarmed.

“Dick? You home?” Duke falters a bit under the added weight, but manages to keep Dick from toppling down the steps. “Dick?”

He doesn’t respond, and Duke swallows, lowering them another shaky step downward. “Hey, Dick? C’mon man, help me out here -”

“Here.” Duke looks up to see Tim coming up the cave steps. His expression is even more intense than usual, pale and creased with worry as he grabs Dick’s other side. “Medbay. We’re set up.”

Together, they hobble across the cave, Tim periodically muttering something Duke can’t quite catch. It’d almost be sweet - little brother vigilante offers rambling comfort to big brother vigilante - if Duke hadn’t seen both of them literally beat down guys three times their size before.

But then, so far that weird dissonance seems to be a large part of being in this odd, conglomerate family. It’s something Duke isn’t quite sure he’s getting the hang of.

Like that time Jason had nearly broken Tim’s arm to get the last bagel, then offered half of it to Duke. Or when Dick had spent an entire patrol mercilessly teasing Damian about a crush, then shattered the hand of a thug who had managed to land a knife in the kid’s shoulder.

Violent, but sweet.

They reach the medbay, Tim still whispering absently - Duke picks out the words gonna be okay, you’re gonna - and not for the first time, Duke kind of wonders what he’s gotten himself into. Not with the hero-ing. But the people that come with it, who seem to trust him as much as Bruce does. Who are almost comically bad at communicating when they’re freaked out, but who insist he go to class between bouts of psycho-clown induced laughter.

It’s...a lot. But it’s kind of nice.

“Jason, get his other side,” Tim orders, and the three of them manage to semi-gingerly position him on the half-upright exam table. Alfred appears with an oxygen mask, and for a moment the room is silent as they avidly watch Dick breathe, just the barest trace of a chuckle catching in his throat.

Alfred’s already gone to work extracting a vial of blood and is bustling around the medbay.

“We should call Bruce,” Tim says quietly, as he preps the IV needle to the saline flush. “He might have heard about a new strain being developed.”

“Unless the bastard stirred it up with stuff from the Arkham janitor closet,” Jason mutters. “B doesn’t have eyes there, and it wouldn’t be the first time. We can call him after- ”

“The sooner we know for sure, the sooner we can eliminate that possibility,” Tim snaps, glaring at Jason. “Literally for one minute, can you not -”

“Bruce would have reported new stuff in the computer, right?” Duke interjects, trying to head off the argument he’s really not in the right headspace to deal with. Even with the oxygen mask, Dick’s fingernails are edging on a faint blue, and he’s still wheezing even in unconsciousness.

Duke knows how fast Joker venom can take a turn for the worse, and then another turn, and then another until the person you thought you knew is just a twisted jumble of wrong-ways. He’d rather not stand around and watch it happen to Dick.

“Master Duke is right,” Alfred says, tone harsher than Duke’s ever heard it. “And I’m sure Master Richard would appreciate it if you would save your bickering for his funeral, if you’re aiming to argue at the most inappropriate moment possible.”

That shuts them up.

“Sorry, Alfred,” they say together, Jason’s quiet, Tim sounding upset.

“Right you should be,” Alfred snaps, and then straightens up, pointing to each of them like an army general. “Master Jason, you’ll do as he suggested and check the most recently updated toxin index, and then fetch Miss Stephanie from upstairs. We may need an extra set of hands. Master Timothy, basic protocol for the bloodwork. Master Duke, if you’ll be kind enough stay with me to monitor his vitals.”

They each nod in turn, Jason vanishing into the cave without another word. Tim takes the vial of blood from Alfred’s outstretched hand and follows suit, shooting a tight glance at Dick over his shoulder as he goes.

They work quietly, Duke mostly keeping an eye on the various readings while Alfred examines Dick for broken ribs from the laughter. After several minutes of listening to Dick’s labored breathing - according to Alfred, his windpipe is slightly inflamed, but undamaged - Duke pulls up a chair next to the table.

He places a light hand on Dick’s wrist, only feeling a little awkward - sure, he’s not as close to him as all the legal Waynes might be, but that doesn’t mean he can’t show he gives a damn. The heart monitor is only slightly elevated, but Duke starts his own heartbeat count anyway, something he’d seen Jay do with civilians.

Alfred’s gaze is severe as he surveys the room one last time before leaving to check on the antidote’s progress.

Duke...might have dozed off for a minute or two. But he snaps to attention at a sudden gasp next to him, the wrist beneath his hand shifting to grab him. Dick jerks up, looking over at him and furrowing his brows above the oxygen mask.

“Hey, you back?” Duke asks, surprised at the sharp twinge of anxiety as Dick breathes heavily for several moments, eyes squeezing shut. “Are you - okay, okay, hang on, what’re we doing?”

Dick has let go of his hand, is reaching up. Duke rises, thinking he’s about to go for his eyes, shit, he is so not awake enough to - Then Dick grabs the oxygen mask, ripping it off in one motion.

“That,” Dick rasps, blinking. “F’cking sucked.”

“It didn’t look fun,” Duke agrees sympathetically, patting his arm and sitting back down with a relieved sigh. “But Tim’s got your bloodwork, he’s running through it right now with Jason. He’ll get it.”

Dick sinks back, brow furrowed.

“Wait, I wasn’t given a working antidote?”

“Technically, yes,” Duke says. “Also, mask on. Alfie’s on the warpath. Cross him at your own risk.”

Dick takes a single deep inhale of oxygen, before pulling the mask back down. Duke rolls his eyes.

“Jason? Tim?” he asks. Then frowns. “Also, what does ‘technically’ mean in this context? I distinctly remember a yes on being given something, and then a hard no on the working part.”

“First, Jay and Tim are fine, just being snippy,” Duke says, waving a hand. The details...probably won’t be helpful right now. “And ‘technically’ means no, but...you’re not laughing right now, so maybe yes? I dunno.” He raises an eyebrow at Dick. “Are you feeling the urge to dye your hair green, commit senseless acts of violence?”

“No more than usual.” Dick takes a thoughtful couple of breaths from his oxygen mask. He looks at Duke, eyebrows coming together.

“I’m sorry, Duke,” he sighs. “You shouldn't've had to deal with this. I - sorry.” Dick coughs, and brings the plastic back over his mouth, still looking apologetic.

Duke blinks. Hey, what?

“Are you apologizing for the Joker tagging you?” Duke almost laughs as he leans back, nodding. Dick frowns from behind the plastic. “Yeeah, no, you’re right. Actually, I don’t think sorry’s gonna cut it. You owe me at least two escrima training sessions for neglecting to be at the top of your game when you thought the Joker had hacked off your brother’s head. I mean, wow.” He blows out a breath, widening his eyes. And he’d thought Bruce had a guilt complex. “Real shoddy work, Nightwing.”

Dick narrows his eyes, but there’s a definite twitch at the corner of his mouth as he removes the mask.

“I don’t know where you learned to be that sarcastic, but I hope you know you have a shot at removing Jason from his throne in the family. It’d do him good.”

Duke grins, like he always does when Dick throws around the word family like it’s a known fact.

“I just...I’m sorry about this. I don’t want you to have to deal with any more Jokerizations - outside of french fry seasoning,” he amends, mouth quirking for a moment. “Nobody should have to relive stuff like that.”

Duke furrows his brow, trying to phrase what he wants to say in a way that won’t make Dick think he’s trying to play it tough, but won’t make it sound like Dick can’t rely on him. It’s a fine line to walk.

“Hey, I’m not glass,” he settles on. “Yeah, it freaked me out a bit. Yeah, the Joker gets to me. But I’m not gonna run out on you when things start looking rough.”

Dick looks at him for a full five seconds, before patting his arm, face breaking into a grin.

“You, Duke Thomas, are alright.”

“Does that mean I can still get some of that extra escrima training from you?”

Dick laughs - a genuine, pleasant, non-demented laugh that only sounds a little rough around the edges, and Duke can’t help but smile back, pleased.

Alright, maybe he is getting the hang of this.

Chapter Text

Tim growls as he reconfigures the analysis yet again, the screen blinking. There’s barely a trace of the venom in Dick’s blood, and certainly not enough to synthesize an antidote. But that’s not really the problem.

The problem is, there’s not even enough blood-venom content to have caused such a reaction.

Tim can still hear the sudden shouts of hysterical laughter that had echoed down into the cave behind Jason’s shadowy figure as he’d sped past Tim, directly into the medbay.

“Delayed toxin reaction?” Tim had guessed, jogging after him. “There are extra antidote kits on the third shelf.”

“New strain,” Jason had grunted, over the rattle of the supply shelf, and Tim’s pulse had quickened. “Came outta nowhere, Al and Duke are with him but I don’t know- where are the goddamned needles?”

It had been easy to smother the lingering anger at Jason beneath what followed. There was no space to think beneath urgency and manic laughter and the dead weight of his brother’s body as they’d lugged him across the batcave.

But now, time’s slowed back down, and Tim can just make out Dick’s normal-sounding voice drifting from the medbay, and the numbers in Dick’s blood aren’t at all adding up to the reaction he’d had. And Tim is infuriatingly stumped.

Joker venom doesn’t just wear off. It perpetuates.

Which means either it’s a flawed strain, it’s dormant in the blood sample, or Tim is missing something big and blaring and likely bearing horrible implications.

None of those possibilities are exactly heartening. So when Jason finally reappears, Tim's not in the mood to go back on his earlier accusations.

Jason, of all people, should have known going off on his own was the wrong call. And as much as he wants to throw that in his face, that it’s his fault for being MIA, his fault that Dick had been pushed so off-balance to let the Joker even get his shot...that wouldn’t be productive. So Tim grits his teeth and runs the analysis and ignores Jason approaching from the chem lab empty-handed.

No-go on the new strain antidote, then.

That’s when the computer screen flashes, and a video call comes through. Tim stares at the ringing symbol for a full six seconds, steeling himself. Jason doesn’t move from the screen’s line of sighs as he hits the accept button.

A lined, uncowled face appears on the screen.

“I read the police report,” Bruce says, without preamble. “I don’t trust them. Whether they’re lying or wrong, there has to be more to this. The line is secure. Speak freely.”

“Or hello, as I hear they say in some places,” Jason drawls. Bruce’s jaw tightens and Tim levels as venomous a glare as he can muster at Jason, trying to make it clear as possible that now is not the time.

“Jason.”

“I agree,” Tim interrupts their tense little moment of acknowledgement. The Joker’s not dead, Jason didn’t get the chance to kill him, Bruce has emotions, whatever. Tim really doesn’t have time for it all. “Dick’s developed a Joker venom reaction. It’s died down for a bit, but the strain is definitely new.”

Bruce pauses, and Tim can tell of all things, he wasn’t expecting that.

“Your report didn’t say he was hit.” His tone is uninflected, but the words are accusing. “Neither did Dick’s.”

“They said he was incognizant and out of contact for up to four minutes,” Tim counters. “Which is more than enough time for something to happen, if the Joker had something on hand. My guess is that the strain itself has disorienting effects, which is why he can’t remember it.”

“Hm.” Bruce is likely restraining himself from asking exactly how Dick had become incognizant in the first place, what with that convenient gaping hole in their reports. “But he’s alright now.”

Jason scoffs next to him, and Tim plows on.

“Yeah, he’s awake and lucid, and we’re running all the right protocols, but...I don’t know, Bruce,” he sighs. “I don’t like this.”

He pulls up the blood analysis, sending it to Bruce.

“His reaction wasn’t the same as some of the worse strains, with none of the usual side effects aside from the laughter - no skin discoloration at all, and Jason and Duke said he stayed fairly cognizant until he passed out from the oxygen deficiency. But the blood sample we took doesn’t have the kind of toxicity that would warrant even that.”

“If it isn’t defective, it’s likely dormant,” Bruce says, face lighting up red and white as he opens the file on his end. Tim resists rolling his eyes. When Bruce is with the League he sometimes forgets he doesn’t need to state the obvious with these things. “Either some conditional trigger or set to react in timed intervals. Alfred.”

Tim startles, as Alfred materializes beside him.

“Is he well enough for me to talk to him?”

“For the time being, yes,” Alfred says. “Master Timothy and Master Jason, if you’ll fetch him.”

Tim rises immediately, walking straight past Jason and tuning out Alfred’s voice as he lists details from the medical exam. Jason jogs after him, and he pointedly doesn’t slow his pace.

“You didn’t throw me under the bus.” Jason says it like a question.

“As much as you kinda deserve it,” Tim says flatly. Jason’s ‘Because I don’t fucking trust you’ is still echoing in his ears. That had been barely more than an hour ago, even if it feels like ages. “No. Dick didn’t want to, and we all agreed.”

Jason opens his mouth to respond, but they’ve reached the medbay.

“Dick, Bruce wants to talk to you,” Tim says, hoping Jason won’t drag in whatever he wanted to say. Duke and Dick both look up, Duke yawning as he nods at Tim. Dick smiles weakly from behind the oxygen mask he’s definitely not using correctly, the thing hovering an inch off his face.

“Thought I heard the Batman’s dulcet tones,” Dick says easily, though his expression becomes more guarded as Jason files in behind him. “But I’m guessing he doesn’t just want to say hello?”

“‘Fraid not, Goldie,” Jason says, tone light, and Tim can recognize an olive branch when he sees one. Dick seems to accept it, offering Jason a small smile in return. Tim purses his lips. “Can you walk or are we going to have to make Duke lug your ass across the cave again?

In response, Dick slides from the exam table, switching off the oxygen outflow and leaving the mask behind. For a fraction of a second he looks like he’s going to pitch forward and without thinking, Tim seizes his arm in a vice.

“Woah there, Timmy. Just stood up too fast.” Dick flashes him a smile. “I’m good.”

“Sorry.” Tim lets go, ears warming. Dick ruffles his hair as he walks by, still smiling in reassurance.

“I’m good, Timbo. Off to face the music.” Dick offers them a jaunty salute as he opens the door, but all Tim can see is him vanishing into that warehouse in a world where the Joker had decided to forego the gas for a gun or a knife. Or a crowbar.

Tim is so...tired.

“Trust me, he’s good,” Duke is suddenly Tim’s favorite as he breaks the slightly-awkward silence, standing and stretching. “More than good, since he’s been whining at me to call Babs or Damian for the past five minutes. Apparently I’m not good enough company.”

“I didn’t say that!” Dick yells over his shoulder as he slips out of the room.

“It was implied!” Duke calls after him. He yawns again, looking between Tim and Jason. “Where’s Steph? Thought you were supposed to go wake her up to join the party.”

Jason swears.

“S‘fine.” Duke yawns once more, and Tim hears a distinctive pop in his jaw. “I’ll get her. I think I need a coffee from upstairs, anyway.”

“Or you could catch a couple extra z’s yourself, newbie.” Jason says, sounding like he’s trying to be offhand about it. “Don’t be like Tim, or you’ll never get any taller.”

“Har-de-har.”

Tim’s not sure if he’s quite ready to go back to the whole friendly banter routine. Not when he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Not when he can’t quite let go of the feeling that Jason shouldn’t be joking around and pretending he’d been in this with them all along.

Tim turns to Duke, apologetic.

“But he’s right, you can switch out with Steph. None of us really have had to deal with a day shift, so we forget. Go get some sleep.”

As much as he’d appreciated Duke’s calm, reasonable take on the whole situation, Stephanie won’t be shy about calling Jason out if he tries to make excuses for the one-man-only routine again. At the very least she won’t judge Tim about holding onto his lingering blame.

“As hypocritical as that is coming from you, I’ll take it,” Duke is saying. “I don’t think I’ll be much help for much longer anyway. But wake me up if there’s an emergency, I know the drill.”

Tim nods, grateful, as Duke exits. He’s just about to follow, not eager to be alone with Jason until he can stamp out the low-grade panic in his stomach that hasn’t gone away since the warehouse. He’s really not in the mood for another confrontation.

But Jason’s voice is controlled, quiet. Tim can even hear Dick and Bruce’s stilted conversation drifting from across the cave.

“Look. About earlier.”

“I don’t really want to talk about this, Jason,” Tim sighs. “We still know next to nothing about this new strain, we have no clue if Dick has some sort of time-bomb in his system, and I’ve barely even started the chem analysis. Can we just work?”

“You know what, no.” Jason crosses his arms and seems to solidify his stance, completely blocking the doorway. “We are going to stay here and use healthy communication, like men. And women, but for whatever reason the phrase scans better with just the one word.”

Tim blinks, and then blinks again, wondering if he's actually fallen asleep. That sentence had not just come out of Jason's mouth. But Jason's expression doesn't change. 

“I never thought I’d say this,” Tim says distastefully, trying and failing to shove past Jason and out the door. Jason looks down at him, amused and immovable. “But you’ve been hanging out with Dick too much. I didn’t think you knew the words ‘healthy’ and’ communication’ could go side by side.”

“You’re hilarious, Timmy. But I’m serious.” A new wave of exhaustion hits Tim, because Jason does look serious. “I want you to hear me out.”

“Of all the times to develop a sense of emotional maturity, you really picked the worst,” Tim snaps. His grasp on his patience is slipping, sharpened by the unfounded impression of time running out. “You do realize Dick isn’t exactly cured, right? That if the venom’s not a dud, it could still cause serious damage? And now for once in your life you want to play family therapist? What, did you hit your head?”

“I want,” Jason scowls. “To talk.”

“I distinctly remember, less than two hours ago, me trying to talk to you, and you telling me to get out the hell of your way.” Jason’s jaw tightens as Tim glares up at him with as much heat as he can muster. “Now get the hell out of mine.”

Chapter Text

There’s really nothing like a good dose of panic to clear out all the senses.

Jason isn’t sure if that’s a per se normal method of anger management, but normal is a word he prefers to use to describe people and things outside of Gotham.

Still, he honestly feels more clear-headed than he has all night. Yeah, he missed his shot at the Joker, but that’s an ulcer he’s practiced at burying. And it's not like he's not going to have another shot.

 Really, it was the cloying, insistent blame-slash-worry that had gotten to him, all that emotion wrapped up between all of them that makes it feel like there’s a target on his back. But now, the defensiveness has dissolved, the green taste in his mouth distant and stale.

Maybe it was the jarring alarm on Dick’s face as he struggled to speak through his laughter. Maybe it was what Duke said earlier, about sides and their admittedly lacking communication skills. Maybe it’s the sheer exhaustion of arguing with everyone he encounters in this house. He’s still smarting a bit from Alfred’s snapping.

If he’s being honest with himself, it might have something to do with the realization that for all of their rancor at him for going it alone, they apparently hadn’t mentioned it to Bruce.

Yet.

He follows Tim from the computer, leaving Alfred to follow up on whatever reporting he has to do to Bruce, he tries to think of a way to phrase what he wants to say without coming off as confrontational. Well, too confrontational. He’s still not certain how he feels, just that...he might need to clear some things up.

“You didn’t throw me under the bus,” he starts, then immediately hits a dead end.

That’s all he really knows right now, right? He’d been gearing up to have it out with Bruce, get the same dish-out he’d already had from everyone else. Hopefully one that would end up giving him a reason to blow this popsicle stand, now that Dick seems alright, and take a break from everything. Everyone. But that...hadn’t happened.

Instead, he gets the sudden, disorienting realization that they maybe hadn't sold him out to Bruce and that means...he's not sure what that actually means. 

So now, he bites tongue and follows Tim across the cave, the kid speedwalking like he’s late for something.

“As much as you kinda deserve it,” Tim says coldly, not slowing. “No. Dick didn’t want to, and we all agreed.”

Jason...doesn’t really know how to respond to that. He opens his mouth and is saved from whatever is about to come out of it by their arrival at the med-bay. He’s a bit preoccupied, seeing Dick awake, suddenly not Jokerized, and looking at him with a wary expression as he follows Tim into the room.

“- heard the Batman’s dulcet tones,” Dick is saying. “But I’m guessing he doesn’t just want to say hello?”

“‘Fraid not, Goldie,” Jason says, purposefully keeping his face neutral, his voice friendly. Maybe just pretending they hadn’t been at each others' throats earlier isn’t the healthiest thing, but like he said, panic really clears the senses - the anger from earlier is really nowhere to be found, and Jason doesn’t see the point in dragging it back up. Dick seems to be on the same page, lips turning up gratefully.

“Can you walk or are we going to have to make Duke lug your ass across the cave again?"

Dick moves a little too quickly getting off the table, and Jason tenses, prepared to jump forward as he sways. Tim beats him to it, seizing Dick’s arm unnecessarily as he steadies.

“Woah there, Timmy. Just stood up too fast.” Dick grins at Tim, whose ears are turning pink. “I’m good.”

“Sorry.” Tim mutters, and if he weren’t still pissed at Jason, he would probably be teasing him right now. As it is, Dick ruffles the kid’s hair, and Jason catches Duke looking between the two of them with something like fond amusement.

“I’m good, Timbo. Off to face the music.” Dick salutes them as he opens the door, Tim still staring at him with an unnervingly intense expression on his face.

“Trust me, he’s good,” Duke says, standing and stretching. “More than good, since he’s been whining at me to call Babs or Damian for the past five minutes. Apparently I’m not good enough company.”

“I didn’t say that!” Dick yells as he vanishes.

“It was implied!” Duke calls back. He yawns, looking between Tim and Jason. “Where’s Steph? Thought you were supposed to go wake her up to join the party.”

“Ah, fuck.”

He knew he’d been forgetting something, but the whole Bruce phonecall, and the thing about the birds fudging the reports had been a bit...distracting. At least one of them had gotten a bit more sleep out of it. Jason can feel himself starting to flag a bit.

“S‘fine.” Duke opens his mouth for another jaw-cracking yawn. “I’ll get her. I think I need a coffee from upstairs, anyway.”

“Or you could catch a couple extra z’s yourself, newbie.” Jason suggests because Duke trying to play up to Bruce’s obsessive, self-punishing standards isn’t going to do him any favors. “Don’t be like Tim, or you’ll never get any taller,” he adds, glancing at Tim. He’s been alarmingly quiet, his little ream-out the most he’s spoken to Jason since before the Joker escaped.

Far be it from him to question how another person copes, but Jason’s fairly certain Tim’s going to end up exploding at some point if he keeps this up.

“Har-de-har,” Tim says shortly, then turns to Duke. “But he’s right, you can switch out with Steph. None of us really have had to deal with a day shift, so we forget. Go get some sleep.”

“As hypocritical as that is coming from you, I’ll take it,” Duke says. “I don’t think I’ll be much help for much longer anyway. But wake me up if there’s an emergency, I know the drill.”

Jason nods appreciatively at Duke as he ducks out, waiting for him to vanish before he turns to Tim. He keeps his voice calm, trying to ignore the growing voices from the cave. He wouldn’t put it past Bruce to yell at Dick for getting hit, and with a Red Hood-shaped hole in their reports, Jason can’t help but feel a bit responsible for the chewing-out. But one thing at a time.

“Look,” he starts. “About earlier.”

“I don’t really want to talk about this, Jason,” Tim sighs. “We still know next to nothing about this new strain, we have no clue if Dick has some sort of time-bomb in his system, and I’ve barely even started the chem analysis. Can we just work?”

“You know what, no.” He thinks for a moment, crossing his arms and squaring his feet. Ah, fuck, is he going to admit this aloud? Is he going to say outright, that still being on the receiving end of Tim’s cold shoulder is frustrating, borderline uncomfortable?

Dick, Jason thinks with more than a little irritation, is a bad influence. But Jason’s nothing if not the type to dig his heels in.

“We are going to stay here and use healthy communication, like men. And women, but for whatever reason the phrase scans better with just the one word.”

Tim blinks at him for a second, looking faintly disgusted.

“I never thought I’d say this,” he says, trying to shove past Jason with predictably zero success. “But you’ve been hanging out with Dick too much. I didn’t think you knew the words ‘healthy’ and’ communication’ could go side by side.”

Jason wants to roll his eyes. As if he doesn’t know how hypocritical this all is, coming from him.

“You’re hilarious, Timmy. But I’m serious. I want you to hear me out.”

Tim doesn’t look like he gives a shit what Jason wants.

“Of all the times to develop a sense of emotional maturity, you really picked the worst,” he snaps. “You do realize Dick isn’t exactly cured, right? That if the venom’s not a dud, it could still cause serious damage? And now for once in your life you want to play family therapist? What, did you hit your head?”

“I want,” Jason scowls. “To talk.”

“I distinctly remember,” Tim says, and Jason grimaces. He can see where this is going. “Less than two hours ago, me trying to talk to you, and you telling me to get out the hell of your way.”

Tim’s mini Batglare is a lot more forceful than Jason would have expected.

“Now get the hell out of mine.”

Jason’s response is cut off by the sudden outburst of raised voices from the cave, and Tim shoves past him without another word. And that’s fine. If the kid wants to be a brat about it, that’s perfectly fine. Jason had done his part, trying, and now all they need is some time and an antidote, and things will magically resolve themselves so they can go back to tossing around water bottles and purposely forgetting about their issues with one another until the next charged crisis.

The life cycle of a bat, right? 

Jason knows he’s kidding himself. He follows Tim out the medbay door with a sigh. 

Bruce’s face is glowering down at Dick standing alone by the computer. Dick’s face is blank but tight, that expression he gets when he’s about to lose his cool. It’s the second time in one night Jason’s seen it up close, which is probably some sort of record.

“- no reason for you to have let your guard down,” Bruce is saying, tone icy. Once again, Jason predicts the future. At least Dick doesn’t look like he’s just taking it. “I expect-”

“You expect better from me, I’m well aware,” Dick snaps back. “You should say it one more time, in case I forget.”

Bruce’s face pinches.

Oh boy. Jason has enough tact to refrain from rolling his eyes, and instead calculates if he can edge around the blind side of the computer, back to the chem lab.

Tim doesn’t seem to be sharing the same idea, and is frozen next to him, his cold expression having devolved into a kind of uncertain concern. Jason wonders vaguely just how many of the original dynamic duo’s cage matches he’s actually witnessed.

“Dick, I need to know you’re taking this seriously. You could have -”

Dick laughs, sharp and loud, and Jason tenses, wary. The glow of the screen is reflecting off Dick’s sweating temple, and he’s leaning ever so slightly on the chair. But he opens his mouth again, and thankfully no more laughter comes out.

“Excuse me? You think I don’t?”

“I think -”

“Bruce, I’ve been doing this since I was in elementary school. Despite what you believe, I’m pretty sure I know the stakes at this - ”

“If you allowed the Joker to catch you off-guard, you clearly don’t,” Bruce growls. “You know better, Dick. If he hadn’t-”

“Then I’ll do better next time, Bruce!” Dick shouts. “I made a dumb mistake, I'm sorry, but I know that! You know I know, you know I'm sorry, and you know I'll try to do better! Why the hell are you giving me such a hard time?!”

“Because he could have killed you!” Bruce bellows, face pale and contorted. “And I can’t - ” Bruce closes his eyes, letting out a long exhale. “I can’t let that happen. Again.”

The cave is silent for a moment.

Jason swallows thickly, crossing his arms and uncrossing them.

He should have made a break for it when he had the chance. Not that he doesn’t love being reminded of his status as the family tragedy, Bruce’s go-to for excusing his self-enforced guilt trips when he takes it out on them. But right now, in the echoes of this argument he wasn’t necessarily supposed to be privy to, Jason can’t even muster the energy to pick a fight about it. He just wants to leave. 

That’s when a chuckle floats through the quiet.

Chapter Text

The laughter is raspy and hushed, bouncing against the cave walls, shooting icewater through Jason's veins.

For fraction of a second he is somewhere very, very different.

Bruce’s voice jars him.

“Dick?”

“Haha…” Bruce’s face on the screen goes pale as Dick slumps forward over the chair, shaking. “Hahahaha!”

“Jesus fuckin -” Jason mounts the platform in two steps, Tim hot on his heels. He seizes Dick’s shoulders just as he staggers, now laughing wildly. Dick grabs at him, eyes wide as he draws in a huge breath.

“HAHAHA!”

“Tim. Oxygen.” Jason grits his teeth as the laughter transforms into coughing for a moment. “Now!”

Tim’s already halfway across the cave.

“Jason, you need to extract blood while the venom is active,” Bruce says, tone urgent. “It’s -”

“Yeah, I know,” Jason bites out, trying to help Dick lower himself into the computer chair instead of pitching to the ground. “You asshole, you couldn’t wait until we were back to the medbay?”

“Not - ahaha,” Dick wheezes, grinning widely. “Fuck, hahaha, HAHAHAHAHAHA -!"

Dick suddenly yelps in the middle of a particularly harsh breath, hand flying to his midsection. Jason bats it away, holding his breath and ignoring the laughter long enough to feel along Dick’s ribcage.

Somewhere, something shifts beneath Jason’s hand. Well goddamn.

“I uh. Think he cracked a rib. I can feel it.”

Bruce’s face is pale and intense, a muscle in his jaw jumping frenetically. Jason’s not really in the mood to care, but he can at least acknowledge how shitty it must feel to watch all this happen through a computer screen and not be able to do a thing about it.

“That shouldn’t happen,” Bruce snaps. “A rib shouldn’t displace like that, just from laughing. Not so easily.”

“Well, it fucking did, so let’s move past should,” Jason grabs the oxygen mask Tim hands him as he appears next to him, panting. “Dick, can you slow down the laughter at all? Try to help yourself out and breathe?”

“I-ahahahahaha,” Dick shakes his head, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Gets -ahaha worse.”

Ok, dead end. He presses the oxygen mask over his Dick’s face, and glances up as Alfred appears, face of stone and syringe at the ready.

“Master Jason, if you’ll hold his arm steady.”

It ends up being more like holding his whole shoulder down, with Tim on the other side doing the same. Dick looks like he’s doing his best to hold still, but his best is still shaking like a leaf and grinning unnaturally beneath the oxygen mask.

“Jay- ahahah - goahahahaahaha -” Dick frees his hands for a moment, gesturing up at Jason. He signs something in ASL, but it’s too unsteady to understand as he continues to laugh, the sound ringing across the cave.

And yeah, the manic, Joker-y quality of the laughter might be starting to get to him a little, but he can deal until Dick isn’t literally busting his ribs with it.

“Didn’t catch that, Dickiebird,” Jason says, distracted as he watches Alfred carefully extract the blood sample. “Sign again once he’s done with the blood.”

“He said,” Tim says tightly. The kid’s face is pale, but he’s keeping a firm hold on Dick’s shoulder. “Leave.”

Jason swallows hard, stung. But at that moment Alfred draws the blood-filled syringe away and offers it to Tim.

“Well done, Master Richard. Master Timothy, I believe we can manage here, so if you would-”

“I got it.” Tim grabs the sample and sprints to the chem lab, around the dinosaur and out of sight.

“Alfred,” a hard voice says. “Sedate him. He’s going to pierce a lung.”

Jason starts, turning to the screen. He had...completely forgotten about Bruce. An impressive feat, with his face looming behind them, but still. His expression is tense, eyebrows drawn together in what could be mistaken for anger to the untrained eye.

Alfred doesn’t even look up.

“Master Bruce, I’m afraid Master Timothy was not able to identify the new compounds in the sample from before, and any sedative could cause a harmful reaction. In fact, I wouldn’t put it past the Joker to anticipate that action, and indubitably plan for it.”

“What if-” Jason is interrupted as Dick grabs his wrist, sending the oxygen mask flying. He pulls Jason down, until there’s a strangled whisper in his ear.

“Go, Jay,” Dick says harshly. “You gotta -ahaha!” He dissolves into laughter, and Jason pushes down the cold feeling in his chest. There’ll be time for hurt feelings later.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll fuck right off as soon as you -”

“No, you - he-ahahe’s here, Jay,” Dick hisses, and Jason tries to jerk away in alarm, but Dick’s hand is like a vice. “You gottahaha! - you gotta go, ahahgotta - get away -”

Jason peels Dick’s hand from around his wrist and squints into his darting eyes, heart pounding. Something’s not right - obviously - in a new way. Fantastic.

Alfred crowds next to him, twitching a flashlight between Dick’s eyes.

“Master Richard, do you know where you are?”

Dick somehow manages to grimace through the forced smile, breath hitching. Jason knows they need to get him lying down, wrap them up to minimize the damage to his ribs. That might be harder if there’s another clause of fine print to this fresh hell-strain of a venom.

“Al,” Dick gasps, reaching for Alfred’s shoulder. “Gotta -ahaha! - not safe, it fell."  He leans forward in the chair, breathing raggedly. He looks like he’s trying to get a grip enough to speak, but Jason isn’t optimistic as the words devolve into another bout of unremitting laughter.

“Master Richard if you’ll - “ Dick recoils violently as Alfred tries to place the oxygen mask back over his face, almost catching him with a fist that Alfred dodges just in time.

“No,” Dick pants, eyes bright. “Not -ahaha!” He curls forward again, clutching his ribs as the laughter worsens, sounding more like hyperventilating than anything.

Jason meets Alfred’s eyes, which are dark and pained in the low light of the computer. Behind them, Bruce is typing rapidly, utterly expressionless. God forbid he show concern.

Jason clears his throat, focusing on the matter at hand and not the pounding in his chest or the shakiness in his hand as he pushes Dick’s hair back from his burning forehead, trying to catch his eye. Dick’s pupils are blown to hell, still darting and glassy in a way that makes Jason think he’s seeing something not-so-nice where reality should be. He clears his throat again, the lump not quite dissolving.

“We’re safe here, Goldie. It’s just me and Al, and we’re gonna need to move you.”

Dick stares at him like he’s a ghost. Jason kinda hates it.

“He’s here,” he rasps out again, grabbing at Jason’s wrist. “He - it’s a trap, ahahaahaha…”

Ok, he hates that more. But he can play along.

“Then let’s get out of here before he catches us, okay?”

It’s hard to get an arm around Dick’s shoulder while he’s still shaking with laughter, and he probably doesn’t do that rib any favors as he drags him out of the chair and to his feet. Alfred does his best to support him from the other side, and for the second time in as many hours they’re focused on getting Dick to the medbay.

Dick, for his part, is pretty unhelpful. Jason can’t blame him, but the bouts of deafening laughter intercut with a sort of painful wheeze are a little more than distressing. And with every step he’s pretty sure Dick is slipping further and further from lucidity.

“Heard s’mthin’,” Dick mutters at one point as the laughing reaches a lull. “S’ a trap. No, loud, ahaha...” He grabs Jason tighter, eyes pressed shut. “Cl’ng, clang,” he sing-songs, then scowls, reaching up to swipe at his face. Jason holds onto him, feeling utterly useless as he shakes his head as if to clear it. “It fell. So loud. Fuck.”

“We’ll get you earmuffs.” Jason promises flatly. They’re almost at the door, and Alfred hurries ahead to prep the room. Jason shoulders his brother, grateful at least he’s still got a significant amount of weight on him.

“Th’ hood, it fell.” Dick whispers, voice suddenly so agonized that Jason looks over. "Off." 

There are tears leaking from beneath his tightly-shut eyelids, and Jason takes that opportune moment to recall one of the things Dick had shouted at him earlier, about the victim, the head, the hood.

Oh. Oh.

“It...fell. It...” Dick’s words dissolve into ragged giggling, then laughter, then borderline hysterics that bounce across every surface of the cave.

Jason fights down the sensation strangling his chest, that hot, protective pressure that feels dangerously close to outright panic. He’s not sure exactly how he and Alfred coax Dick onto the cot, nor how they managed to wrap his ribs with only minimal difficulty. The laughter tapers off now and then, only to bubble up into chest-tearing cackles that freeze Jason to the bone.

He runs a hand through his hair, watching Alfred reconnect the IV flush to his brother’s arm, listening to Dick trying to warn them about a trap like a skipping record. He refuses to let them put the oxygen mask back on, and instead tries to get up at least four times, muttering and laughing about Robin and my fault and of all things, Killer Croc, he -

Each time Jason insults him until he’s convinced to sit back down, until eventually they have to restrain his hands to the cot so they can put the mask on him and force as much pure oxygen as they can for when he manages a breath. For a half a moment, he looks betrayed, half-panicked. But then it’s hard to read any expression at all when someone's laughing too hard to focus on you.

Several minutes pass, feeling like hours. Alfred bustles around the room, while Jason tries to hold him steady enough that his ribs don't get shaken around too much. Bruce wasn't entirely wrong - it's not a great sign that they'd not only cracked, but displaced enough to move...but at the same time Jokerized laughter isn't the same as natural laughter, got different boundaries and everything. Functioning lungs, diaphragms, whatever, shouldn't be physically capable of laughing that hard. Normal, ungassed brains just don't let it happen. 

But of course, Joker venom doesn't exactly care what brains should and shouldn't allow. Jason's pretty sure they're lucky it's just a broken rib at this point. 

It isn't until Jason snaps his fingers in front of Dick's eyes and he glares at him in a very not-hallucinating sort of way, that Jason starts to think he's coming back in.

"Dick? Earth to Dick?" He snaps his fingers again, waving his hand back and forth in front of his face. Dick's bloodshot eyes track it, then glare at him again. "Hey, flip me off if you can understand me."

"Master Jason," Alfred scolds.

But Dick chokes back another laugh behind the oxygen mask, and his restrained hand curls until he's flipping the bird.

"Rude," Jason says, exhaling. He refuses to examine just how much his chest loosens at the motion. "I just saved you from cracking open your head on the floor, and that's how you thank me?"

Dick rolls his eyes, then squeezes them shut as another bout of laughter shakes through him. He still doesn't seem 100% aware - oxygen deficiency will do that to you - but the rambling stops between chuckles, and he responds to Alfred's questions with jerky nods and shakes of his head.

"Master Jason, I can handle this for a moment," Alfred says, snapping off his gloves and fixing Jason with a steady, not-unsympathetic look. "Master Bruce is still on the line. Please go tell him this is under control, for the time being."

It's not like he isn't just watching us through the security cameras, he wants to snap. But this is Alfred, so he just nods, spares a last glance at Dick, and ducks out of the medbay.

Muffled, rasping laughter follows him.

Hell. What a night.

Chapter Text

Bruce restrains himself from putting a hole in his screen, even as Jason and Alfred vanish from it with Dick in tow without even another glance at Bruce. He can still hear Dick’s laughter through the speaker, artificially loud and sending shooting pains through Bruce’s chest.

Bruce is used to coming up with worst case scenarios. It’s the only way to plan effectively, because once you anticipate the worst, you can respond to the smaller things with a steady mind. But if he had to come up with any kind of worst case scenario for himself, personally, in which everything he dreaded came true...this would check a lot of those boxes.

And he can’t do anything about it, not directly. He’s not there.

But wasting time agonizing is not helping anyone.

He keeps the cave link open, waiting for someone else to stumble on screen and tell him what the hell is going on. He’d seen Duke skirt by earlier, looking too worn out for Bruce’s comfort, but had been too focused on his conversation with Dick to greet him. Tim had run off to the chem lab with the blood sample, and hasn’t emerged - Tim has to be exhausted too, but Bruce doesn’t think he’ll be able muster the words to tell him to stop working on an antivenom until this is resolved.

He sends a ping to Barbara, simultaneously pulling open Tim’s blood panel work so far.

“Batman. What’s wrong?”

Bruce isn’t sure if he should if it’s a sign of his character that people assume he’s calling for bad things. But at the same time, Batman was made to handle bad things. And he usually is. At least it makes things more efficient.

“Barbara,” he says, to let her know the line is secure enough to forego codenames. “The Joker situation is deteriorating. Where can we get eyes in Arkham?”

There’s the rattle of a keyboard, and a faint yawn. Bruce clenches his own jaw, wondering when the last time it was that Barbara slept.

“By Joker situation, I assume you mean the new strain of venom,” she says, still typing. Her tone is hard to read through the modifier, but the words themselves are clipped. “Jason messaged me after the first attack, but said it wore off. How bad?”

“Uncertain,” he says. There’s a pause in typing on the other end of the line. “He had another...attack, and is being treated, but there’s been no progress on the antidote yet. From what I can tell...” he studies the model Tim is slowly putting together from his side of whatever computer he’s on, an admittedly sparse diagram. “It doesn’t have the same base as most of the others. It’s likely activated by different systems, but just attacks the body the same way.”

“I have eyes on his block.”

A live video feed pops up on his screen. A white-washed hallway appears, the back of an orderly pushing a cart just turning out of view. He pans the camera, flicking between the hall and limited the single-room view, where the Joker is sitting cross legged with his back to the window, restrained.

He’s staring straight at the camera. Grinning.

Bruce clenches his jaw.

“Bruce, the Joker’s not stupid. We’re not going to be able to see anything relevant from here. But I can -”

If he listens closely, he can still hear the faint sound of hysterical laughter from the cave audio, coming in and out like bad reception. If he really wanted, he could open up the medbay cameras, make sure Alfred and Jason weren’t missing anything, be absolutely certain Dick wasn’t going to die while Bruce wasn’t even-

“Bruce.” Barbara’s voice snaps him into focus. “Are you listening to me?”

“Of course,” he says, clearing his throat. “Wait, no, I apologize. Repeat that last part.”

“I said I can go through his files available on Arkham’s computers, but they keep a lot of them hard-copied these days, after they were hacked by - well, everyone. It was hacked so often it became more of a hazard to keep digital files than paper.”

“Get what files you can,” Bruce says, sending a note to Tim on the strain model. The venom is somehow fading from the digitalized sample, just vanishing from the imaging like it’d never been there at all. “I’m more interested in footage after he left Arkham property. The report said he was carrying something.”

“I assume a canister and a gas mask,” Barbara says over the sound of a keyboard. “I checked the warehouse manifest, it didn’t hold any chemicals or medical tools he could have fashioned something out of. “

“Tell me about the victim.”

“Clean.” Barbara says shortly. “No connections that could have made him an accomplice. He was an innocent bystander. Wasn’t even supposed to be working that night.”

Bruce closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, staving off the familiar roll of guilt and anger.

“Family?”

“Bruce.”

“Family?” he asks, a little more forcefully.

“Don’t do this to yourself, Bruce. Dick needs you to focus. ”

“I am focusing,” he retorts sharply, then adjusts his tone, wiping his face tiredly. “I apologize, Barbara. I just would like to know -”

“I know.” Barbara is quiet for a moment. There’s a click. “Mark LeRoy. He lived with his father.”

A father, burying his son. His son who had died alone at the hands of the Joker.

He’s certain the Joker must think this all very funny.

“Send me his information whenever you can.”

“Already done.”

Bruce takes two slow breaths, before leaning back over the computer. At the very least he can make sure the man won’t have to pay for the funeral. The very least.

“Thank you, Barbara.”

“I’ll go through what footage I can. And…” Bruce pauses as the typing ceases for a moment. “I’m coming to the cave. Keep me updated if anything changes.”

Bruce leans back, glancing as the room around him falls back into place. It had almost been easier to forget that he wasn’t in the cave instead of this tin can of a treaty ship, surrounded by well-meaning Leaguers and untrustworthy delegates of a far off world.

Here, instead of an unfathomable distance away, where he is needed to be. From where he needs to be.

Bruce can plan for anything. Count out the variables, and the variables of the variables, and decide to adapt when needed. But he can’t do a goddamned thing with all that planning if he’s not there to make those decisions.

He should have been there tonight. Should have been the one to face the Joker, to encounter whatever horror it was that had shaken Dick so much to lose focus. Bruce is aware that there exists very little that will catch Nightwing off-guard on such a high-stakes mission. The fact that Dick and the rest of them won’t tell him what it was is...disconcerting.

But regardless, he shouldn’t have had to encounter it in the first place. Because it should have been Bruce.

Batman is made for bad things, he thinks again, eyes flitting to the autopsy report of Mark LeRoy. Surprising, that it had been available so soon, but he’s aware that Gordon would have pushed for it before the evidence was “lost”.

Cause of death, asphyxiation. Injection marks, contusions up his arm. Head entirely removed post-mortem.

Toxicology is...completely clean.

Bruce frowns, considering.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Jason’s voice is rough and weary, and it takes Bruce by surprise as he slouches up the stairs and sits heavily into the batcomputer chair. “Alfred’s with Dick. Asked me to get you, tell you he’s mostly lucid again, just won’t stop…” He waves a hand, grimacing. “Ya know.”

“Other symptoms?” Bruce asks.

He’s trying not to read into too much about Jason’s presence at all, the fact that he’s here, and talking civilly to Bruce. That the Joker is still alive at all. He isn’t going to be the one to broach the topic.

“Well, he broke a fucking rib, if that’s considered a symptom,” Jason says dryly. “Does acting like an idiot count as a symptom? He kept trying to get up and walk out on us.”

“Jason.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jason waves a hand at him, sighing. “What’ve we got? I heard you talking to Barbara.”

“There looks to be two new components that are altering the behavior of the venom as a whole,” Bruce says, frowning at his screen. “If Tim can’t isolate them in time with the new sample, we’ll need to -”

“In time?” Jason cuts across him, sitting up in the chair. “Since when are we running on a clock here?”

“As far as I know, we aren’t,” Bruce assuages, slightly surprised at the sharpness in Jason’s tone. “Just in the blood sample itself. The venom seems to have a half-life even outside of the body. It was metabolized into the sample, the same way it was in the victim.”

Jason frowns.

“Vic died from gas? Isn’t that like, the opposite of what we want to hear?”

“He had fresh injection marks. Which makes me think this venom is more potent in that form. He just decided to use the gas on Nightwing instead, it seems.”

“Which is suspiciously lucky, if it’s deadlier as an injection,” Jason yawns. “Ok, so let me run through this timeline. Joker mixes up a new batch of venom, breaks out, somehow manages to get ahold of a -” Jason breaks off, glancing up at Bruce. He’s not sure if that’s supposed to mean something, or if Jason was suddenly struck with inspiration, but before he can ask Jason continues. “- of a gas mask and needle, sneaks into the warehouse, injects some poor sonofabitch with venom, then chops his head off?”

He leans back, yawning again.

“Yeesh. And I thought I had it bad, when I got snuffed.”

“There’s no proof he made the venom in Arkham,” Bruce says, putting in considerable effort to ignore the sudden lurch in his chest at Jason’s words. He can never be sure if Jason brings up his death so flippantly to get a rise out of him, or as a legitimate coping method. Another topic he doesn't dare touch, when this truce seems to be holding. 

He scans a videoclip Barbara sends through, labeled 8:15 pm. The tiny figure of the Joker is next to a truck in the Arkham service courtyard, dragging a body from the driver seat.

“In fact, if he had new components, it points to an outside source. He was largely unaccounted for between 8:30 and after 1 am. Barbara only picked up sparse footage of him in those hours, until he reached those warehouses, and encountered Nightwing and Red Robin.”

“Hang on, hang on,” Jason says, shaking his head. “I’m still fuzzy on how a guy laughed himself to death in the ten-odd minutes Dick and Tim would have been prepping to raid the warehouse. No way they wouldn’t have heard it, right?”

“It’s possible he had something to muffle the victim’s noise,” Bruce says, not missing the way Jason goes still. “It’s not a detail I would think the Joker would find a problem. It’s even possible he hoped the sound of laughter would have lured them in.”

A message appears on Bruce’s screen - another delegation meeting. He responds, telling them to start without him. Some things take priority.

“You need to find where he got those new components, and what they are,” he continues, one eye on the compound model. “We still don’t know why the attacks are recurring, and if the Joker finds a way to release a new strain on a larger population without an antidote, there would be chaos.”

“Very original stakes,” Jason sighs. “Go on.”

“If Tim can’t work with the samples he has, locating the chemicals will be the only way you’ll be able to reverse engineer the cure.” He looks back at Jason, trying to adjust his tone to be less Batman, more Bruce. “Find them, Jason.”

“Sure. I’ll just pop into Arkham then, gather evidence,” Jason says, rolling his eyes. “It’ll take an hour, tops.”

“There’s no proof there’s anything of value there,” Bruce responds with a frown. “He was outside of Arkham for over five hours, and had ample opportunity to collect supplies. You need to follow his trail there.”

“Well guess what, we’ve got five available investigators -

“One of you will need to stay and work on the antidote.”

“-four available investigators, who are literally trained for exactly this, plus Babs. We can split up and cover all our bases.” Jason tilts a brow at Bruce. “You know this old man, you’re not World’s Greatest Detective or whatever bullshit title people call you for nothing. What gives?”

Bruce knows whatever he says isn’t going to satisfy Jason. Not with this case, of all cases, and even on a good day it seems like he can’t seem to avoid putting his foot in his mouth. The best he can do is try to minimize the damage. He speaks carefully.

“He knows we would investigate Arkham first. It would be walking into a trap, one on his turf, where he’s had months of imprisonment to plan. I can’t risk it.”

“You can’t risk it?”

Bruce bites his tongue.

I can’t risk you. I can’t risk any of you. He doesn’t know why he couldn’t have just said it, for once. But he can’t say it now.

“It should be a last resort. We have resources here to help Dick, and other leads to follow before that. It makes no sense for you to play into his hands before all other possibilities are eliminated.”

“Oh, I see. You don’t wanna put all your eggs in one basket? If Dick bites it, that’s okay, at least you’ll have the rest of us to fall back on?” Jason asks, voice mocking. “That’s cold, Bruce. Even for you. But hey, needs of the many, am I right?”

Bruce clenches his jaw.

“That’s not -”

“Give me one reason that walking into a maybe-trap at Arkham is any less risky than anything else we’ve ever done.”

“It’s.” Bruce is overcome with the sinking impression he’s about to say the wrong thing. But he doesn’t know what else he can say, that Jason would accept. “I’m not there.”

It sounds arrogant, even to him. But it’s never been about arrogance.

There’s a long pause. Then, shockingly, miraculously, suspiciously, Jason doesn’t respond. He just leans back and scrubs his face with his hands. Bruce frowns, clearing his throat.

“You haven’t slept.”

Jason looks up at him for a long moment.

“No offence, Bruce, but fuck off,” he says, without heat. “If I had a choice, I would be about six cities away right now, and I’m not in the mood for your fuckin’...mind games, or whatever. I didn’t even get a shot, okay?”

It takes Bruce a moment to follow his logic, but it falls into place with a startling click. Jason thinks - however indirectly - he’s asking about the Joker. About why he’s alive. About what Jason has been doing all night. Which is a fair question, but not one even he would be foolish enough to bring up right now.

“I…” Something stalls in Bruce’s brain. The word is out before he can stop it. “Good.”

Jason’s expression hardens.

“If I had, I would have taken it. And maybe we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Jason - “

“What are you gonna do, Bruce?” Jason rises, staring straight at him. “I’m just curious. If things get worse, and Dick ends up like Duke’s parents, or worse? Is that gonna be strike two?”

“It doesn’t work like that, and you know it,” Bruce says flatly. “Jason, it’s not our job to act as jury and executioner, we can’t take it upon ourselves-”

“How many innocent people does he get to kill before you to get it?” Jason says, voice rising. “How much does he get to take, for you realize he’s the exception here?”

“There can’t be exceptions, Jason. That’s not how justice works.”

“Oh. Justice.” Jason sounds mocking, but he also sounds exhausted as he looks away from Bruce and into the dark of the cave. “How many of your kids are you gonna let him kill, B?”

Bruce opens his mouth, and closes it. Two warring emotions collide inside of him - the fear, that’s always there, amplified and all-consuming as another round of faint laughter echoes around the cave.

And a different, unplaceable feeling.

He isn’t sure if Jason’s ever referred to himself so explicitly as Bruce’s child. Not to his face, at the very least. It's..

“You know what? I don’t want to do this right now.” Jason sighs again, seeming to deflate before his eyes. He begins down the stairs from the computer platform without another look back. “I’m gonna go make sure Dick isn’t asphyxiating, or whatever.”

Bruce waits until Jason is out of sight to shut off the cave feed, to press one unsteady hand over his eyes, and just breathe.

There are a few things he knows.

One. Jason is likely going to ignore him, and break into Arkham anyway. How and if Bruce can do anything about the trap undoubtedly laid there, remains to be seen.

Two. The Joker is playing them. As much as he claims to be an unplanned force of nature, there’s always an algorithm to what he does, a calculation with the only end goal being as much pain as he can create.

Three. Bruce is not where he should be. He is not where he wants, needs to be. Dick is struggling to breathe. Jason is about to jump headfirst into danger. Duke has already dealt far too much with Joker gas in his lifetime, and neither Barbara nor Tim have slept. Even Stephanie has been dragged into this. Damian and Cassandra, at least, are out of harm's way, but it’s not a status Bruce trusts.

The fact is, he isn’t there. And resolving intergalactic tensions surely cannot be worth this.

He draws in one more breath, one more moment of weakness. It’s...a bad situation, all around. But Batman was made for bad things.

Bruce gets to work.

Chapter Text

“Say again?”

Jason is smiling, which in itself is kind of throwing up red flags. Given the situation, and all.

Stephanie is still pretty groggy, but it’s already pretty clear she’s walked into the kind of downward spiral none of them are gonna be emotionally equipped to talk about for years.

Duke had given her the bare bones - new venom, the results of Dick’s not-so-uneventful radio silence, laughing bad, breathing good, et cetera et cetera - but now that she's down here, it feels like he might have undersold the situation a little.

She hadn't even planned to be here, but the downside of being a part of an emotionally stunted and prone-to-danger hero squad is that - aside from all the stunted emotions and the danger - it's easy to forget there's a whole world outside she can go back to with less traumatized people and fewer obscenely opulent feather beds.

Not that she's complaining about that second part.

But as for getting caught up in this condensed little world of capes and masks and excessively dramatic vigilantes?

It's nice until it's not, and it goes good until it goes bad. Stephanie knows she should probably have a bit more nuanced of a take on plans going wrong beyond that mantra - and when it comes down to it she does, thank you very much - but she also thinks it's a pretty succinct way of putting it, when plans do go wrong. And Bruce is all about planning. So that's probably why he thinks she's the weakest link, and all.

Which to be fair, she hasn't done a lot to prove him wrong in that regard, since when she came back, she hadn't even had an edgy-killer-loner vibe like Jason.

Then again, tonight kind of scored a point against Jason on that front.

Their arrival back at the Manor had been tense and silent, and even Stephanie wasn't tactless enough to crack a joke about Tim playing up the brooding schtick. Okay, she had started to, but Duke had given her a wide-eyed 'please do not' look, and alright, she can take a hint.

Ugh, she misses Cass. Cass wouldn't necessarily have been able to stop the weird, tense energy coming off of Tim - and to some degree, Dick - but at least she probably would have been able to kick the Joker in the balls before they caught him.

Stephanie honestly wouldn't mind a shot at him herself, looking around the cave and wondering why on earth Duke wouldn't have wanted to stay up even longer for this absolute party of an aftermath.

Dick had stopped laughing only a few minutes ago, the silence somehow even more chilling, because Stephanie’s pretty sure that means he passed out or something.

Tim’s spoken exactly once, rattling off a series of chemical compounds that Alfred had dutifully written down before vanishing into the chem lab. He’d given her a harried nod before gluing himself back to the computer screen.

Jason had only emerged from the medbay once Dick had gone silent, and waved her over to one of the worktables.

And now, he’s smiling. Well, it looks as though he’s trying to smile. Really, it’s kind of like watching someone with a herniated disc try to pose for a portrait with an estranged relative. And as super not-great as things seem right now, Stephanie’s getting the distinct impression things are about to get worse.

“I want you to break into Arkham Asylum.”

Stephanie squints at Jason.

Sure, everyone had been kinda mad at him earlier.

Yes, he might have literally premeditated a murder less than twelve hours ago.

And yeah, he’s been called an unstable, zombie crimelord, blah blah - but he’s been working with the bats more often than not these days, and none of them would put up with him if he were a villain villain. Plus, no one’s ever called him stupid.

And things seem pretty 'going bad', as far as plans of actions go.

Stephanie shrugs.

“Okay.”

Jason leans back, fake smile wavering in confusion.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay, as long as you stop doing that with your face,” Stephanie says, disgusted. “You don’t need to try to be pleasant, or whatever that is to convince me. I know you way too well for that to work.”

“But -” Jason doesn’t seem like he expected to get this far. “Just, okay?”

Stephanie shrugs again, cutting him off before he can open his mouth.

“It’s not like you’re dumb enough to ask me to do something like kill the Joker, duh, and I figure it’s got something to do with making sure Dick doesn’t die Orin Scrivello-style. So yeah, what’s the plan?”

He lays it out for her, and Stephanie watches him with increasing suspicion as he leaves out basically everyone’s name but his own. When he’s done she sits back, snatching a bag of corn chips she’d spied lying on the workbench, hidden under what looks like a spare Robin cape. Alfred is really slacking. Or is encouraging normal, not-assassin-raised-child teenage rebellion. The man’s a master at reverse psychology. Anyway.

“On one condition,” she says, with a crunch.

Jason raises his eyebrows. Stephanie raises hers right back at him.

“We tell the others.”

“Absolutely not.”

Stephanie rolls her eyes, as Jason stands.

“I’m not saying we tell Bruce, god. Just everyone else who can actually back us up.”

“They’re not -”

“Come on, edgelord,” she says, waving a chip at him. “I’m all for capers and hijinks, but if we don’t, this is gonna be one of those things. Even I can tell this is going to end up being one of those things. I can only attempt to mitigate the damage of this being one of those things.”

“One of what things?” Jason scowls, snatching the chips.

“You know. One of those things where we try to keep it a secret, the whole thing blows up in our face, we end up needing help, and then it’s on us for keeping it a secret in the first place. It happens way more often than you'd think.” Stephanie smiles fondly. “I keep a scrapbook.”

“That’s...valid,” Jason concedes. “But this isn’t going to blow up in our faces. You won’t even have to talk to anyone. You get in, get the evidence, get the files, you get out. It’ll take less than an hour.”

Stephanie just squints at him again.

“Listen, just ‘cause I’m used to being the screw-up doesn’t mean you can wrangle me into every harebrained scheme out there,” she says. “I’m right and you know it.”

“You think you’re the screw up, you - you know what,” Jason throws up his hands, widening his eyes. “I’m not going to do this with you. I’ll do it myself.”

“That’s right,” she jeers as he walks away. “Take your chips and run. You’d rather quote Thanos like a hack than admit I’m right!”

He doesn’t stop, and Stephanie stands, scrambling for more ammo.

He will go do it himself, and no matter what happens it will somehow end up being her fault when he decides to make a stop on his Arkham shopping trip that’ll end up with the Joker dead in his cell.

“What, no comeback?” she calls after him. “We’re gonna just let the Joker kill another bird because you don’t know how to play nice with others? Dead Robins Club is crowded as it is, and we can’t let Dick in twice.”

He halts. She almost sighs in relief.

“You’re really something,” he snaps, turning on his heel. Maybe it’s her ego talking, but there’s definitely some kind of begrudging admiration on his face.

“I know,” she says, hoping her smile isn’t too smug. “Now do you wanna make the pitch, or shall I?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Nuh-uh, don’t make me quote Damian of all people about how stupid that phrase is.” She cocks an eyebrow at him. “What’s the problem? Boss-man shoot it down?”

Jason grimaces.

“Well, yes, which is why we’re not telling him. But it’s Tim, actually. Since when does he get all grudge-y?”

“Uhhhh,” Stephanie stalls, trying to work through the ethics of discussing her ex-boyfriend with his ex-attempted murderer, current sort-of brother. “Can I decline to comment?”

“Only if you know a sure-fire way to make sure he doesn’t tattle to Bruce and blow the whole thing.”

“Okay, why even ask me then? You said you could do it yourself, and it’s not like you and I are the A-team, since we’re both 0 for 1 on not getting dead.”

“Fair. But for some reason you’re currently the only available player who's got the least baggage when it comes to the Joker.” Jason drags a hand down his face. “Ugh, I should have just called someone who isn’t a goddamn bat.”

“Wow. Anyone ever tell you, you’re real good at this convincing stuff?” Stephanie sighs. “Fine, I’ll talk to Tim first. But only because I’m kind of interested to see what you could have possibly done to piss him off that bad.” She pauses for a second. “And of course to help Dick. That too.”

“As long as you keep Bruce out of it. He thinks I just want to get into Arkham to kill him.”

Stephanie watches him traipse back towards the medbay, trying to ignore the voice in her head that's saying pretty much just the one, repeated thought. 

This...is going to be one of those things.

Chapter Text

“Let me get this straight,” Duke says, rubbing his eyes. “You wanna break into Arkham, snoop through the Joker’s stuff, and steal a bunch of files.”

“Pretty much.”

“All without telling Bruce?”

“You got it.”

Duke pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Jay, no offense, but what the hell?”

Duke isn’t certain how long he slept for, but it certainly hadn’t felt like enough. He’d woken to light pouring in his window, and briefly considered shifting a shadow just to make it go away, let me sleep. But then his phone had buzzed again next to his cheek, and next thing he knew he was stumbling down to an alarmingly silent batcave.

“Good morning, Master Duke.”

Duke would like to say it’s a testament to how tired he was, but really, he’s fairly sure Alfred is just the stealthiest of all of them - he nearly jumped out of his skin as he whirled to face Alfred, approaching from the medbay.

“I hope you rested well?” Alfred asked. “I believe there’s some sort of gathering, in the far room off of the supply hall. They’re just waiting for you and Miss Gordon.”

“A...gathering?” Duke rubbed his eyes, thankful that Alfred’s too polite - or too experienced - to judge him for dumbly repeating his words.

“Indeed. Though I do believe it is meant to be a clandestine meeting,” Alfred said dryly. “So I advise you not to let anything slip, lest I find out.”

“Uh...right.” Duke rubbed his eyes again, trying to boot up his brain. A little more of last night chose that moment to be remembered, and Duke cleared his throat as Alfred turned to go. “How’s, uh, how’s Dick?”

Alfred had paused, expression a little less formal, a little more strained.

“He is...resting, and should be left alone for the time being,” he said firmly, though his expression wasn’t not sympathetic. “Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s nearly time for lunch and it seems no one has the intention of leaving this dismal cave anytime soon.”

Duke had watched Alfred stalk off as much as he could imagine Alfred could stalk off, then turned to wander deeper into the cave.

And now, he’s sitting at this weird, bats-of-the-round-table meeting, a little more awake and wondering if Jason’s finally discovered an even deeper end to go off of. Duke had been raised not to speak ill of the dead. But Jason does a good job testing that.

“I’m serious, what the hell?” he asks again. 

“I told you this was a bad idea,” Jason mutters, glaring at Stephanie. She rolls her eyes.

“Need I say it again? One of those things. And if you hadn’t told them, I would have.”

“So maybe I just shouldn’t’ve told you in the first place,” Jason shoots back. “Guess I should’ve known there’s a reason you’re called Spoiler.”

“Glass houses, Mr. Named-After-Your-Own-Killer, you wanna talk about -

“Enough,” Barbara’s voice cuts her off. She takes off her glasses, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Duke’s not wrong, Jason. I can access nearly all of Arkham’s files remotely, and comb through video of what he’s been doing inside. Logistically, what you’ve told us of your plan is...decent. But we don’t necessarily need to break in.”

“Not to mention we have about a dozen other leads to follow,” Tim adds coldly. He’d only been enticed from the lab computer with the tablet currently on his knee. Duke can’t see it from his side of the table, but it keeps flashing red. Every time it does, Tim scowls down at it.

“What if I said I had a gut feeling about Arkham?” Jason asks, leaning forward. Tim doesn’t even look up.

“I would tell you to get your colon checked.”

Barbara rolls her eyes, as Stephanie turns to look at Tim with a delighted expression. Jason just purses his lips.

Duke might be less familiar with their dynamic, but he’s got functioning senses. It’s not hard to tell that things are still a little more than tense between Tim and Jason. Mostly from Tim's end, which is surprising, since Tim’s never seemed like the type to hang onto blame.

But, Duke guesses, picturing the expression on Tim’s face as they’d hobbled across the cave with Dick in tow, some issues are hard to let go. Though the fact that Tim doesn’t seem like he’s slept a wink might have something to do with it.

Duke raps on the table, wondering if he’s the only one thinking this.

“Hang on, shouldn’t we ask Dick too?” Resting, Alfred had said. He glances over at the open doorway. “He might be up by now, he’d probably want to weigh in, right?”

Jason clears his throat.

“Dick doesn’t get a vote.”

Duke glances around at the rest of them again. Stephanie looks as confused as he is, but the rest of them won’t meet his eye.

“But he-”

“Duke…”

He knows that tone of voice. That’s the voice doctors used when they’d told him about his parents. They’d use it to say words like “too late” and ‘‘irreversible” and “I’m sorry, son”. A shiver runs through him.

“Is it…” he asks, mouth dry. “He’s not…”

“He’s in and out,” Jason says, finally meeting his eye. “Not as bad as some of the worse strains, but a little on the south side of lucid. He’ll be alright, Duke.”

There’s a weighted pause. Duke can feel everyone’s eyes on him. His skin prickles.

“And you weren’t gonna tell me, why? Don’t you think that’d be something I kinda need to know?” He thinks back to the silence of the medbay, now more ominous than anything. “Am I not part of this team?”

Tim actually looks up from his tablet, biting his lip.

“It’s not that, Duke. With your family, we just didn’t want -”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Duke waves his hands, a bitter feeling welling up inside him. “Newbie can’t handle too much of the bad stuff, sure.”

“Duke, it’s not about what you can or can’t handle,” Barbara says calmly. “We all have triggers for trauma, and have been working through it for a long time. You haven’t had as much time yet, and we didn’t think it necessary to force the issue on you when we think Tim could be so close to an antidote.”

“Do we think that?” Jason mutters darkly, but Duke can’t not say something here.

“I get that, but you guys don’t have to treat me like I’m glass on this,” Duke says indignantly, for the second time that night. This time, there’s nobody smiling at him in response. “Especially you, Jay, what the hell? Yes, Joker venom screwed up my life, no, I can’t help my parents. I get that, I’ve gotten that for a while now. But you think I’m gonna let my own issues get in the way here? I’m not you.”

And maybe it’s a little harsh. But Duke is still tired, and he can’t believe he thought things would have resolved themselves by the time he woke up. Dick had been fine, last time he saw him, just...

“Oh, pardon me for giving a shit,” Jason says, throwing his hands up. “I was trying to be sensitive.”

Stephanie chokes back a laugh, and Jason glares at her.

“Got something to say, Blondie?”

“No, not at all.” She glances over at Tim, who’s gone back to glaring at his tablet. “But Tim might’ve mentioned you’ve been playing fast and loose with the whole uncaring douchebag routine.”

“Oh?” Jason turns an ugly look on Tim. “Replacement, so you do have something to say to me?”

Duke sighs, leaning back in his chair and meeting Barbara’s eyes across the table. She nods at him, solemn, a little sympathetic. He guesses it's a sign that she gets where he’s coming from. Guesses that he’s not the only one done with always being told they’re a victim first.

Barbara...is elusive, the eye in the sky Duke sometimes forgets can do more from the Clocktower than a lot of brute bat-force combined. She’s also unflappable enough to rival Alfred, not the kind of person prone to panic. Her actually showing up here in person is a bit jarring. Duke can’t help but wonder what Jason’s definition of ‘lucid’ is.

“Not anymore,” Tim is saying, and Duke is taken aback at the scowl he levels at Jason. “I’m just surprised you’re still here, that’s all.”

“Oh, you want me to go then?” Jason mocks. “Here I thought your whole problem was me taking off, but if you want me to go, I’ll leave you to whatever brilliant little plan you’ve come up with. You know, whenever you get around to actually doing something to help Dick.”

Tim bristles.

“If you haven’t noticed,” he snaps, gesturing with the flashing tablet. “I’ve been doing something to help him. But I guess since it doesn’t involve running off on my own, it doesn’t count, does it?”

Duke blows out a breath, making eye contact with Barbara again. She shakes her head, looking tired.

“Not to interrupt some sorely-needed family therapy,” she interjects as Jason crosses his arms. “But it would be great to get back to the point.”

“The point being?” Tim says, setting aside the tablet. Duke can just make out the skeleton of a venom analysis model, huge gaps missing between the links. “We have other leads to follow, and means to follow them. It makes no sense to waste time staging an Arkham break-in when covering our other bases first is way more likely to yield results.”

“Tim, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but is it uncomfortable to have that stick that far up your ass?”

“Boooo, Jason, you can do way better than that.” Stephanie sobers as Tim shoots her a look. “I mean. Hey, that’s mean.”

“If you want to go to Arkham to run a pointless, half-baked heist as some convoluted way to screw with Bruce,” Tim says, picking the tablet back up. “Do it on your own time.”

“Tim,” Barbara says, then bites her lip. Tim looks up at her, and Duke can pinpoint the moment he realizes what she’s about to say. “I’m not saying you’re wrong,” she says quickly, and tosses a skeptical look at Jason. “And I’m not saying you’re right, Jason, I still think it could be a waste of time. But Tim, if the formula you’re working on doesn’t pan out, and our other leads show up nothing, we need a last resort. Splitting up our prospects…isn't a terrible strategy, you have to admit.”

Tim’s face falls, then tightens as he looks between them. At least Jason has the tact not to look smug.

That's when somebody clears their throat from behind him.

Whatever Tim had been about to say is lost as they look up simultaneously, Duke turning in his seat fast enough to crick his neck.

Dick is standing in the doorway. His mouth twists in a small, uncertain smile.

"Did I miss the memo?"

Chapter Text

Dick stands there for a moment more. Duke just stares, slightly dumbfounded, more than a little relieved. He wasn’t sure what he was imagining based on what Jason had said, but the lack of visual had left a lot to the imagination.

“You guys know this is a cave, right? Sound carries, even with these rooms.” Dick offers them a tired grin, strolling forward and sliding into the chair next to Duke. “And I couldn’t help but overhear something about a heist?”

Jason’s expression is frozen, and he shoots a look at Barbara that Duke can't for the life of him decipher.

“I’m hurt, guys,” Dick continues, tone light as he looks around at them all. “You all know I love heists. Almost the whole gang’s here, and I don’t get an invite?”

There’s a long pause, then everyone starts talking at once.

“Dick, are you-?”

“Wait, what-”

“Aren’t you supposed to be -”

“‘South side of lucid’?,” Duke says to Jason, raising an eyebrow.

“He was,” Jason hisses, then aloud, “Dick, what the hell? Where’s Alfred?”

“He went to get you all some food,” Dick says coolly. “Because apparently, not a single one of you has eaten since yesterday. And I’m an adult, Jay, I don’t need supervision to get up and walk around.”

Jason scowls.

“You do when you’ve been raving like a lunatic on and off for the past five hours.”

The silence is pointed and angry. Duke resists the urge to cough awkwardly.

“Well, that explains the restraints,” Dick says wryly. “But I’m fine now. Anybody going to update me?” He looks around at them expectantly, a slightly hard glint in his eye.

“We’re breaking into-”

“We’re tracking the Joker’s movements from when he escaped,” Barbara says smoothly, cutting a look at Stephanie as she snaps her mouth shut. “There are two new components in the toxin he gave you that the computers can’t identify.”

“And you’re hoping to track down the materials.” Dick nods. “No luck with the blood samples, I’m guessing?”

“Well, I know a few things it’s not,” Tim says, sliding around the table to show Dick the tablet.

Duke...is pretty sure it isn’t healthy for Tim to be awake much longer, if the mood-whiplash is anything to go by. A minute ago he’d been at Jason’s throat, and now he smiles strainingly as Dick ruffles his hair, leaning over the screen.

“And however it’s managing to make itself dormant in your blood is...intricately done.” Tim continues. “Only a few people would be able to do it.”

“Ivy and Crane are both in Arkham right now,“ Stephanie offers. Barbara shoots her another look, shaking her head imperceptibly. Now Jason looks smug. “But Strange is on the streets, so. We can look for him.”

“I mean, it’s the Joker,” Duke says quickly, getting the message. If Dick decides he wants to go to Arkham himself, there’ll be no stopping him. “He’s probably got plenty of connections, plenty of chemists to threaten into helping him, right?”

“All the same, we should keep an eye on the major dispensal places he could target with it, if we don’t have a cure,” Dick says. “Reservoirs, water mains. You know, all the hopelessly cliched places. If he passed any of that formula off to someone else while he was out, we need to find out.”

Barbara nods.

“We’re spending the day combing through footage. Duke will be following up until patrol tonight.”

She says it with a straight face - Duke certainly wouldn’t have been able to discern a lie, by omission or otherwise - but Dick’s gaze lingers on her for a moment.

“Can you give us any details from when you were gassed that might help us?” Duke asks quickly, gaining Dick’s attention. He still can't say for sure why they're not letting Dick in on the whole Arkham thing, but if Barbara's playing along, it's gotta be a good reason. “I know you said you didn’t remember, but we could rule some things out, right?”

"Duke's right," Tim says, eyes back on the tablet. "A scent, or a color?"

“It’s really a blank slate, guys,” Dick says, looking apologetic. “But I really do feel like it’s worn off, honest. It doesn’t feel like before. Tim, no offense, but you really look like you could use a break and -”

“Yeah, we thought it wore off earlier,” Jason says, rolling his eyes. “Goldie, don't be a fucking idiot, we don’t know why it comes and goes. That’s the point of trying to find out.”

“I’m not saying you stop all progress,” Dick says, voice patient. “I agree, finding an antidote for this strain is important. We don’t want to be caught off-guard if he tries to use it on a wider scale. But I’m also saying, I don’t think you all need to be running yourselves into the ground when you don’t need to. The Joker is secure, and as of now, I’m completely fine. There’s no point in killing yourselves over this while there’s not an immediate threat.”

“Dick…” Barbara presses two fingers to her temple, while Jason rolls his eyes again.

“And what if you’re wrong, Dick?” Duke asks aloud. Everyone’s gaze falls on him, and he falters for only a second because something is stirring in his chest. “You...don’t think maybe we should try to be sure? You don’t think that maybe we don’t wanna take the risk of seeing your brain turned into a Jokerized jungle gym?”

“Duke -”

But Duke sets his jaw, turning to look at Dick directly.

“I get you have this thing about looking out for everybody, fine. But who is that helping, right now?” He waves a hand around at the others, who are conspicuously silent. “What are we supposed to do if it does come back, and worse? Great, yeah, we all call it a day and catch up on sleep, meanwhile your brain’s cooking into mush because we couldn’t be bothered to play it safe. That’s on us. I know you’ve been doing this way longer than me, but doesn’t that seem just a little off-track?”

Dick stares at him for a moment, jaw working. For a horrible moment Duke is prepared for him to burst out laughing, unnatural and familiar all at once. But Dick’s tone is sober and quiet.

“Yeah, Duke.” He claps a hand on Duke’s shoulder, something bittersweet in his expression. “Yeah, okay.”

“Uh.” Duke...just told off Nightwing. The first Robin. Pillar of the hero community. The guy was Batman at one point. His cheeks warm. “Okay what?”

“Okay, as in I get what you’re trying to say. look,” Dick rubs his temple. “I’m not trying to be flippant here, I’m being honest when I say I feel fine. And I do expect some of you -” he angles a pointed look at Tim, who shrinks. “-to at least eat something. But I hear you.”

Duke eyes him, trading embarrassment for suspicion.

“Are you agreeing because you think I’m right, or are you agreeing because you feel guilty?”

Dick shrugs.

“I’m agreeing, aren’t I? Let’s start there.”

It takes everything in Duke not to throw his hands up in exasperation.

“Quit while you’re ahead, Duke,” Barbara advises, rolling around the table towards them. “You can't suddenly expect him to develop a sense of self-preservation all at once, after all these years.”

“Hey, we wanna talk self-preservation, Tim, when was the last time you consumed a liquid that didn’t come out of a neon can?” Dick raises his eyebrows, as Tim opens his mouth, then closes it. “Yeah, I’m not giving you another blood sample until I see you drink some water. C'mon.”

“Whatever,” Tim grumbles, sliding to his feet and rubbing his eyes. “Thought you were listening to Duke, 'bout not wasting time.”

Dick snorts as he lets Tim walk by him out the door, then follows them with a wave behind.

“I am, Timmers. I can make sure you don’t fall asleep into a batch of toxin samples. That’s not a waste of time.”

The room falls silent, save for the echo of Tim and Dick’s fading voices down the hall.

“Damn, Duke,” Jason whistles. “You realize you just won an argument with one of the most stubborn people in the multiverse?”

“For real,” Stephanie agrees, standing and stretching. “Wish we had that on tape or something. I could sell it.”

“I...” Duke glances towards the empty doorway, then turns to Jason. “That was winning?”

“He didn’t even get pissed off,” Jason says, standing and shrugging his jacket back on. “Wish I could get away with calling him a dumbass to his face.”

“You do call him a dumbass to his face,” Duke points out. “Often.”

“Yeah, but he never takes it to mean ‘stop being a dumbass’,” he gripes, turning to Barbara and Stephanie as they huddle up. “Alright, plan’s still in action. Ideas for factoring in the added Dick complication?”

“Stephanie and I can still comb through the surveillance leads,” Barbara says, glancing up at Stephanie. “Duke, you’ll be our follow-up if we need someone on the ground for those. Tim will need to stay to work on the antidote with whatever evidence we gather, but once the sun goes down, you all can head for Arkham.”

“Ok, but Dick’s definitely gonna notice if the three of us suddenly vanish but aren’t on patrol,” Duke argues. “And while we’re at it, why aren’t we telling him about this?”

And it’s true, he’d kinda expected it from Jason and Steph, and maybe Tim, but Barbara? He hadn’t pegged her as the type to play into the secrets-from-each other thing.

“It’s one of those things,” Stephanie says knowingly, and Jason elbows her.

“Because as much as I love him, Dick is a serial martyr and self-flagellant, and can be dangerously obsessive to boot,” Barbara says flatly, adjusting her glasses. “If he finds out we’re running an Arkham operation, he’s going to demand to be involved as backup, which we can’t risk until we know more about his condition. And then he’s going to go anyway, regardless of what we say, because he thinks if he’s not there, he’s automatically to blame if something goes wrong.”

“I....huh.” Duke considers. That...doesn’t sound too far out of the realm of possibility. “Sounds kinda familiar, to be honest.”

“It runs in the family,” Stephanie says dryly. “I fault Bruceman.”

“As for him noticing…” Barbara chews her lip, looking between Jason and Stephanie. “Even if Tim doesn’t agree, he won’t tell, because he knows just as well what Dick would do. He might be able to distract him for a while in the lab, but I would be concerned about another episode. Especially if things...deteriorate.”

There’s a pause, Duke trying not to consider what deterioration could mean, with Joker venom. It’s too bad he already knows.

“Well, Tim’s probably gonna pass out at some point anyway,” Stephanie breaks the tense silence, yawning. “And let’s face it, he can’t distract Dick for that long. He’s not that interesting.”

Duke squints at her.

“Didn’t you date him?”

“It was for the money.”

Duke turns his snort into a cough as Barbara takes off her glasses, expression still business-like. Right. Nightmare venom.

“Stephanie, you’ll go in as planned. But Duke, you’ll have to be her backup outside. Jason, you’ll stay in the cave.”

“Hey, wait wait wait, wasn’t this whole Arkham thing my idea?” Jason protests, crossing and uncrossing his arms. “C’mon red, you don’t get to kick me out of my own operation.”

“You’ll be on comms with me,” Barbara snaps, and geez, tonight is just not the night for warm and fuzzy feelings towards Jason. Duke almost feels bad for the guy, if he didn’t know he could give as good as he gets. “And either distracting Dick, or making sure he doesn’t take a turn for the worse. I don't trust that it just wore off. The Joker's not like that.”

“But -”

“You want my help?” Barbara says, hitting off the brake on her chair and turning for the door. “We do this my way. Duke, meet me at the computer once you’ve eaten something. We have seven hours to retrace the Joker’s steps. If we find something, we can call off the Arkham operation altogether.”

Jason scowls, but doesn’t argue further. Instead he just follows Barbara as she heads down the gently sloping hall to the main cave. Once the ceiling opens up, Stephanie salutes them.

“Sneak me something from the kitchen. I hid some eggo waffles in the fridge icebox.”

She turns to scamper after Barbara, who’s heading for the ramp to the main computer. After a moment of hesitation Duke jogs after Jason as he makes for the cave stairs.

“Dick did have a point,” Jason says, yawning. “Not gonna lie, I dozed off when he was stable for a few hours, but I’ve got to get something to eat before Operation Read Joker’s Diary. Wonder if Alf’s got anything good cooking.”

Duke follows Jason up the stairs, worrying his lip.

Everyone else seems down for the whole, secrets-from-Batman thing, and Jason most of all is probably the worst person to call out on this. But he’s still gotta ask.

“So, question,” he starts. “Assuming we don’t find anything before tonight...do we really expect to be able to keep this a secret? Bruce was probably somehow listening the whole time, and Dick might be a little out of it, but he’s not dumb. He’s gonna notice something’s up.”

“As much as I admire your awareness of Bruce’s lack of boundaries,” Jason tosses over his shoulder. “Stop worrying. We’ve got Babs on our side. Bruce is obsessive, sure, but he’s not omniscient. Plus, how would he stop us?”

“He’s Batman.”

“You say that like it’s a valid argument.”

They reach the top of the stairs, and Duke glances down. The lit computer is the main source of light, but he can catch behind the glow spilling out from the chem lab just behind the dinosaur, the receding silhouettes of Dick and Tim vanishing into it from a moment ago.

“He’s gonna find out.”

“He’s not gonna find out,” Jason grits out. “And neither is Dick.”

Duke waits until Jason is through the door before sighing to himself.

“They’re gonna find out.”

Chapter Text

“- which means the chemical framework is completely, completely…”

Dick sighs as Tim trails off for the third time, staring intently at the screen in his lap and sinking lower into his chair until he’s hunched over it, half-drowning in the huge S-adorned hoodie that Dick had finally managed to get him to put on in the chilly cave.

Dick can practically see the sparks coming out of his ears, system firing on too many cylinders. He stands, setting aside his own tablet where Hugo Strange is glaring out at them from a clip of security footage lifted from some resort in Prague.

Unless Strange has a proxy he’d trust to reliably work with the Joker, that’s a dead end. And Dick is aware their prospects are becoming more limited by the hour. Steph had swung by to check in sometime in the early evening, with a regretful report on their Joker-watch.

“Pretty sure he’d planned a route specifically to avoid cameras. Babs and I haven’t found a thing between Arkham and the cop barricade, and Jason hasn’t heard anything from his criminal empire, or whoever,” she’d said, shifting her strangely boxy sweater front and glancing past him at Tim. “Has he passed out yet?”

“No, not ye- sorry, what is happening right now?”

Dick had too much experience with Damian trying to hide various animals amongst his clothes over the years not to be suspicious of the uneven bulges along her wrists that she was now vigorously shaking.

Stephanie’d grinned as two candy bars came flying out of her sleeves, then finally drew out the box of cereal from beneath her sweater with a flourish.

“I got the weird, healthy-energy candy bars for Tim, and the cereal’s all yours. Snuck it down like a pro.”

“Alfred...will find out,” Dick had sighed happily, accepting his fate along with the Cocoa Puffs. “Thanks, Steph.”

“Any luck on this front? You seem...still not Jokerized?”

She’d gotten a strange look on her face as he shook his head, mouth already full of cereal. And alright, maybe he was a bit of a hypocrite seeing he hadn’t gone upstairs, but unconsciousness is kind of like sleeping, and a full meal hadn’t really been his priority over making sure Tim didn’t literally overdose on caffeine.

“Well that’s good. Uh, anyway, I’ve gotta dip, there’s….my mom, she wants me home before sundown.” Stephanie had smiled extremely unconvincingly, and Dick frowned as she rambled on. “I can meet up with whoever goes out later tonight, if we’re doing follow-ups on the Joker. Oh, and Duke said he was gonna meet up with some of his Robin friends later, see if they have anything. So he’ll be home way late. Just uh, so you know.”

“Steph, is everything -” Dick had started, but Stephanie had already leaned around him.

“Timothy!” she’d called. “Got you some snacks. Don’t die of exhaustion.”

She’d chucked a third energy bar at Tim, which thwacked him in the shoulder and fell to the ground unnoticed.

“Uh-huh,” he’d said, waving without looking up. “Thanks Steph. You too.”

And then Stephanie had basically bolted before Dick could get another word out of her.

Dick...knows something is up. What that something is, exactly? He’s pretty sure has to do with whatever “heist” he’d definitely heard echoing down the cave hall as he’d followed the voices, only half-wondering if he was still in some venom-produced nightmare

He’s long accepted the fact that being a bat means secrets. Hell, being a vigilante means secrets. But call him an optimist for thinking that maybe, just maybe, they’ve learned from being burned before by keeping secrets from each other on cases.

“We’re spending the day combing through footage. Duke will be following up until patrol tonight.”

Barbara’s too good to have tells. But she’s also too good to leave out so many important details of what they need to cover. A vague Babs is a sneaking Babs, and a sneaking Babs, plus a suspicious Steph, an absent Duke and a strangely cooperative Jason…

Dick sighs to himself as he picks up the energy bar at Tim’s feet, placing it on the counter.

Earlier, it had been easy to work up the energy to be mad at Jason, the stewing panic easily turned into a fight. Then there was Bruce, and yeah, he can admit he’d been a little shaken up at that point - he's still relieved the others hadn't noticed just how shaken up - enough to goad himself into what hadn’t needed to be an argument.

But now? It just feels like he’s standing on the edge of that same precipice as before, but this time with a grapple in hand hesitating way too long for the signal to jump. Knowing that there may or may not be something in his blood, dormant and waiting to push him…

He peers over Tim’s shoulder, the comparisons of various documented chemicals flashing different colors. He watches Tim tap a few buttons, sending something off to Bruce.

And that’s another thing.

It shouldn’t bother him. It shouldn’t. Dick knows Bruce, knows that Batman is Batman and is running negotiations for a reason, and doesn’t prioritize certain things - like communication - over pressing matters. But Bruce hasn’t called since their ill-fated argument from earlier, and he’s beginning to wonder if it’s less about the way their argument had ended, more about the fact he’d let himself be tricked by some knock-off helmet and an eerie warehouse.

Dick...pushes the thought from his mind. There'll be a time for his insecurities when this is all over and tied up in a bow.

Instead, he sets a light hand on Tim’s shoulder.

“Tim? Timmers?”

“Hm?” Tim jerks back up, nearly sending the tablet to the floor. “What?”

“You feel like taking a break yet?”

Tim levels him a look that’s something between annoyance and reproach.

“You feel like letting me work yet?”

“Woah, woah,” Dick says, snorting at just how Damian his tone sounded. “Claws away, buddy. Just a little concerned. You look like you’re trying to win a staring contest with that chem index.”

“Yeah, I -” Tim exhales. Dick frowns as he draws a hand over his face, setting aside his tablet entirely. “Sorry, sorry. Just...tired.”

“Yeah, I kinda got that. Hence me asking about a break.” Dick hops up on the counter, taking care not to jar the quietly whirring blood scanner. “It’s been hours, and I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere else with this until one of the us gets a hit on these leads.”

“I just - I should be able to work with these components, but it’s like...” Tim says, rubbing his eyes and leaning forward to glare at the scanner’s little monitor. “It’s like it vanished. And I can’t do much else if I don’t have a freaking sample of the toxin to reverse engineer.”

“Eat this,” Dick instructs, holding out the bar. “You are taking a twenty minute break, or else I will join forces with Alfred to make you. Ideally you’d sleep for those twenty minutes, but -”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” Tim says, unwrapping the bar. Dick hides his wince. C’mon Grayson, it’s just a joke. “And make it five minutes, I have an idea.”

“Fifteen,” he counters.

“Ten.”

“Fine.” Dick sighs, glancing at the door and wondering if Jason and Barbara were conspiring about whatever had had them trading weird looks the entire little council of bats. “Tell me your idea.”

“Wlmknoffact, th’ss thre, jsdmt,” Tim says, utterly incomprehensible through his first bite. “‘Snt dermt, sgertabe besthtrggdt, rt?”

“Yeah, totally,” Dick agrees, amused. “Sgertabe.”

Tim scowls at him, but there’s a hint of a smile there too. He finishes chewing and turns to face Dick fully. He’s got that look in his eyes, the red-string-across-eight-corkboards-of-evidence look that’s only slightly undermined by the dark half-moons beneath them. Or maybe it's enhanced by them. 

“I said, I know for a fact, that it’s there, it’s just dormant. But -”

Dick wants to ask how he knows, how he’s so certain, because Dick really does feel fine. Earlier it had been different, he’d been hot and cold all over, and the heat in his chest had given him a fair warning as it wrapped itself around his lungs and the room went fuzzy.

Now? He really does feel fine.

But...it’s Tim. Even a sleep-deprived Tim isn’t worth questioning on things like this.

“- if it’s dormant, there’s gotta be something that triggers it, right?” Tim is saying. “Out of dormancy, or otherwise what’s the point?”

“Weeell, come to think of it,” Dick says, scratching his head and a little chagrined. “Both times I was sorta having it out with somebody. I don’t know if you could hear the first one.”

“Well, arguing triggers a stress response,” Tim reasons, pushing back his sleeves and typing something. “We could run a brain scan, see if something’s hiding in your amygdala? It could even be using your adrenal glands as a station of venom production, god why didn’t I think of this before-”

“Slow down, Tim,” Dick says with a half-nervous chuckle, because the way Tim is right now, he would probably tie Dick up and throw him in the nearest MRI before he had the chance to protest. “Why don't you just run through stuff that reacts with cortisol first, and then you can pick apart my poor, abused brain?”

Tim looks like he stalls for a moment, eyes flitting between the tablet and the second outstretched candy bar in Dick’s hand. He hits two buttons, types c-o-r-t-i-s-o-l, enter, and then seems to deflate on the spot as the algorithm flickers to life.

Dick leans forward on the counter and Tim snatches the bar, tearing it open. He lets him eat in silence for a moment, trying to predict how each rephrased version of his question will turn out. Again, Tired Tim does not always equal Unaware Tim, and even Unaware Tim does not equal Forthcoming With Information Tim.

And as much Dick doesn’t necessarily want to coax answers out of his little brother….well, Dick had already taken his turn as the one who screwed up because of something he didn’t know. He’s not eager for a repeat performance.

But before he can speak, Tim’s eyes suddenly go wide, crumbs flying from his mouth as he sputters.

“Wait, wait - you - stress response,” he manages, and Dick raises his eyebrows. Unless this is a sudden moment of revelation, Dick thinks he might know where this is going. Tim shakes his head, chewing vigorously and then clearing his throat. “You need to - be. Unstressed. De-stressed. Not distressed.” Tim blinks, frowning. “Yeah.”

“That shouldn't be too hard,” Dick says, grinning easily and trying to quash his own, sudden unease as the situation settles in. Avoiding stress, with his life, his family, an invisible, yet-incurable toxin running through his veins. Right. “I can just kick back upstairs while I comb through the rest of my leads, no problem. I have to regroup on my gunrunner case anyway, since I lost time on it. And Duke, Steph, and Jason can handle patrol until we get a hit on the antidote, or another lead.”

It’s a weak argument, and one he’s a little uncomfortable advocating. Volunteering bedrest feels a lot like passing off responsibility. But if he wants to figure out what the rest of them are up to, he reasons he should poke around.

“I - well.” Tim’s got a weird look on his face as he fiddles with the string of his hoodie. “Yeah.”

Dick eyes him.

“Plus,” he adds carefully. “It’s not like we have any other major crises or assignments going on, aside from this.”

Tim just nibbles silently on the energy bar, half-turning back to the counter. Dick leans forward again, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Tim?”

“Mhm?”

“Something on your mind?”

Tim raises an eyebrow at him.

“Aside from being able to do exactly nothing about you being in imminent danger?”

“Imminent,” Dick scoffs. “If all I have to do is keep my cool until you work out an antidote, I think that’s a little dramatic. C’mon, give me an ounce of credit here.”

Tim just looks down at his hoodie strings, tugging them. Dick prods him with his foot, softening his tone.

“It’s just been a rough night, Timmy. I wasn’t in a good headspace earlier, and my temper got away with me.”

“Twice.”

“Twice,” Dick amends, trying not to roll his eyes. “But I’d like to point out I'm pretty sure the issues I was in a temper about, have kind of passed me by at this point."

As long as Bruce doesn't feel like going for criticizing Dick, round two. Which. Might happen, but probably only once doing so won't risk sending him into a laughing fit. So that'll be fun. 

Tim looks up at him, the bags beneath his eyes somehow deeper than before, but his expression sharp.

“So, you’re just gonna forgive Jason. Just like that?” Tim’s cold tone surprises him. Dick stops short, wondering if he’d completely misread the conversation.

“I mean…”

Dick glances towards the door again. In all honesty, he’s convinced his fight with Jason had been a mixture of shitty venom side-effects, post-mission adrenaline, and a bad case of overthinking. Seeing Jason when he’d woken up - alive, not decapitated, and most importantly still there - had done its job in finally calming some of the panic he’d harbored all the way from the warehouse to the kitchen floor.

“I’m not about to tell him he should do that again, but it’s done, it’s over. There’s no point in me waiting longer to move on.“ He looks down at Tim, who's picking at the cellophane wrapper like it offended him. “But something tells me you’re having trouble doing the same.”

“I just - haven’t we all figured out we don’t want to be Batman? That we can actually be smart about teaming up, instead of keeping each other in the dark?“ He exhales harshly, rubbing his eyes once more and not meeting Dick’s gaze. “It could- it could have been so much worse.”

His voice catches, and Dick sighs, leaning back on the counter. It’s been a while since Tim has been this at odds with Jason, and he kind of feels bad he’s the major catalyst for it. But Tim’s also got a point, even if it’s one Dick is too tired and too relieved to still be hung up on.

“Preaching to the choir here, Tims. But to be fair, Jason hasn’t reallybeen like that lately, and even when he does his own thing, he keeps in touch more often than not. The Joker is a bit more than a regular case for him.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Tim scowls. “But - it’s just.”

“Just what?”

Tim’s face goes carefully blank, which sets off more alarm bells in Dick’s head than if he’d smiled as fakely as Stephanie had.

“Just what, Tim?”

He hops off the counter, tensing as Tim stands to meet him with his hands raising warily.

“Dick, you can’t - remember, our best theory is stress response might be the venom’s trigger, so just. It’s nothing, don’t worry!”

“Okay, well, if you want me not to worry then tell me what I’m missing here,” Dick says, not liking the sudden fear in Tim’s already worn-out face. He takes a deep breathe in-and-out and fakes a smile to reassure him. “I’m good, Timmy. But not gonna lie, not knowing whatever you all are hiding is stressing me out way more than the thing you’re actually hiding could be.”

“I don’t know about tha-.“ Tim pales, mouth clicking shut. 

Dick crosses his arms. This time, the deep breaths are genuine because okay. So that's something.

“Dick, I’m so tired,” Tim says pleadingly. “Don’t listen to me, I barely know what I’m saying -”

“Tim.”

Breathe, Grayson. Remember those mind-numbing meditation tricks for slowing the heart rate. It can’t be that bad, right?

But a million scenarios are already flooding through his mind, and about half of them feature another run-in with the Joker, and somebody’s head falling to the ground. Breathe.

“I know you know something, and I know everyone’s in on it,” he says evenly, looking Tim in the eye. “So I need you to give me something, buddy, because neither of us want me to test that stress theory right now.”

“I - “ Tim looks frozen, caught-out and way more awake than before. “Duke was going to join the night patrol. We thought you wouldn’t approve.”

Dick opens his mouth, then closes it.

That...really isn’t that bad. Health concerns aside, it’s about as innocent as pulling one too many all-nighters. But...Dick doesn’t let his gaze stray from Tim. It’s way too innocent.

“I don't buy it. Try again.”

Tim shakes his head, eyes wide.

“Dick I - I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t?” Breathe. 

“I mean, you can’t know, it’s -

“Tim, I am trying to keep my cool here,” Dick says, chuckling nervously to ease the tension. Way wrong move, Tim freezes until he stops abruptly. “But you’re really freaking me out. Weren’t we just having a conversation about not keeping secrets from each other?”

“Yes, but this is different,” Tim says, insistent. “If you get upset about it, or try - you could literally get hurt from it.”

“Right.” Dick grits his teeth, breathing. “Right.”

Tim is looking at him in a way that makes him either want to hug him, or shake him for answers. He picks the third option.

Dick turns on his heel and strides from the lab, taking deep breaths as he goes.

Breathe, Grayson. It can't be that bad. 

Chapter Text

Things go good until they go bad, Stephanie thinks to herself, breathing out as she watches the door swish open with barely a creak. Here's hoping they won't go bad. She darts closer and glances up at the nearest camera.

It’s barely midnight at Arkham, and already this place is giving her the creeps. Babs has somehow either rerouted or tracked the night staff to the point of excess - Stephanie is glad she doesn’t have to run into anyone who might be on any of these residents’ payroll.

But still. All these doors.

“Signal is in position,” Barbara says, brisk and focused. “Coast is clear in the target’s hall. I have eyes on his room, it’s empty, and I’ll alert you if I see him being brought back. Cleaning staff has just moved on. Now’s the time, Spoiler. Be careful.”

“I’ll try, I’ll try,” Stephanie says under her breath, flashing a thumbs up at the camera and ducking through the wing’s door just as it slides shut.

And she is, thank you very much.

Careful all the way down the hall, careful past the other, spaced-out doors containing killers of every creed, careful all the way to the heavily padlocked door with a folder as thick as a yellowpages hung next to it.

She tilts open the cover and scans the first page skeptically.

Definitely the Joker.

She reaches up carefully, sliding the eyehole cover open as quietly as she can. The bed is stacked with still, white blankets bunched in a strange construction - probably left from the janitor crew - and the only piece of furniture she can see at her angle. Moonlight from the wire-barred window pools serenely across the floor.

“At the door,” she whispers. She makes easy work of the locks, sliding out the last bar carefully. The door creaks open, inward.

Time to do some snooping.

She steps into the room, her cape fluttering through the door as she closes it carefully behind her. Nothing in the room moves, save the faint shadows of clouds as they race across the floor and up the bed.

“When you get in, check the mattress, the window, the vent. Look for any kind of compartments he could have gouged into the wall or floor. This first, then grab his file.”

Stephanie heads straight for the tiny slotted heating vent, the only really obvious place. She shines a flashlight down it, cursing as she fiddles with removing the grate. After a moment, she raises a hand to her ear.

“No dice on the vent, moving on to-”

That’s when she hears a low, muffled chuckle from behind her.

“Holy shit.”

Stephanie hadn’t meant to say that out loud, or that loud.

But as she spins on her heel, she maintains it’s a valid reaction as the oddly stacked blankets on the bed seem to come to life, shifting and falling away to reveal a bone-pale face peering at her from beneath the covers, a form wrapped in velcro bindings that levers upwards like some freaky animatronic doll. Holy shit holy shit holy -

The Joker smiles at her with all his teeth.

“Holy shit.”

“Surpriiiise?”

“What? What is it?”

Stephanie is frozen. The Joker, for his part, seems delighted.

“Spoiler? Are you inside? We can’t see you in the room, the cameras must be looped, you need to-.”

“Let me guess. Miss pretty in purple wants some answers. And she came all the way to see me for them, oh,” he sticks out his bottom lip at her, the skin fleshy and puckered. “Were Poppa’s riddles tooooo eeeeeasy?”

Stephanie exhales, her stomach turning.

First, gross. Second, she’s maybe four steps away from the Joker. She’s fairly certain the last time anyone remotely associated with the Bat was this close to him, they’d gotten an axe to the chest. Or was it a knife to the back?

Stephanie doesn’t know that it really matters, because the point stands. Close proximity. Bad news.

If she dies, Tim is gonna kill her. Then Barbara, then Cass, then maybe even Dick, if he’s still kicking at that point. Jason might give her a high-five in solidarity - another one bites the dust, clown-style - but she swears, if Bruce builds her a freaking guilt shrine-

Her brain might be going into hyperdrive, because the Joker peers at her, eyes glinting pale in the low light.

“Bat got your tongue?”

“Shut up.” Again, she hadn’t meant to say that aloud. But the Joker must think it’s funny, because he cackles again, shifting on the bed.

“Is someone there?” There’s frantic typing from Barbara’s line. Well, at least they know Joker somehow has access to Arkham cameras, and is looping them. That’s super helpful. After the fact.

“Spoiler?”

“Uh.”

The Joker laughs again, louder, basically rocking back and forth.

“Is that - ?”

“Holy shit.” She silently thanks Duke for echoing her sentiment.

“What’s that?” The Joker lifts one chained hand, eyes rolling from side to side as he grins at her. “Gotta little...voice in your head? I can hear it all the way from here, honey-bunny.” He leans forward, looking around like someone might overhear. “It must really be...pissed off.”

“Spoiler, just walk out.”

“Get the hell out, Spoiler.”

“S - “

“I’m fine,” she hisses, eyes not leaving the Joker. He winks at her. God, gross. “He’s restrained, he’s not going anywhere. He might have answers -”

“That's the Joker in there!?”

“Spoiler, leave.”

“Do not engage.”

"Spoiler, leave now, that is a direct order."

“I’m - let me talk to him, I can handle this,” Stephanie whispers harshly, even as at least five different voices talk over her, because apparently everyone felt the need to jump on the line at once. “Guys, you’re embarrassing me in front of the genocidal maniac.”

“We have other ways of getting answers, Spoiler,” Barbara says, voice steely. “There are still other files we can work with. This mission is supposed to be no-contact.”

“But I-”

“Spoiler, go.”

“She’s right, S. Get out while you can.”

“You can’t- oh shit.”

The world slows down as the idea comes into her head. Okay, yes, she knows, it’s completely and objectively stupid. It’s going to get her chewed out by so many people, assuming she makes it out of this.

But she’s pretty sure she’s on the verge of completely flipping out, and needs to focus if she’s not gonna get killed in the next five seconds, and the yelling is really not helping.

Steph grits her teeth, and shuts off the comm.

The Joker leans forward, resting his chin on his bound hands. The fabric manacles are almost comically thick, decorated with scratchy, inked patterns that look like smiles.

Stephanie wonders distastefully if he ever gets tired of his own motif.

“They’re telling you to leave, aren’t they? Run away before I can get my hands around your neck, is that right?”

She says nothing, breath loud in her ears.

“But, uh, spoiler alert!” He laughs, the sound like a whine as he gestures with his restraints. “Even I’m no match for velcro and buckles. So don’t be shy, tell me what’s on your mind - we’ve got allll the time in the woooorld.”

Stephanie only hesitates for a moment, reviewing a few irrefutable facts.

One, the Joker lies, and shouldn’t be trusted.

Two, the Joker’s a creep, and shouldn’t be trusted.

Three, this whole mission’s been a bust, and she’s going back to the cave almost completely empty-handed.

Four - okay, she hesitates for more than just a moment, but it’s hard to think when you’re being stared down by one of the biggest baddest big-bads Gotham has to offer.

So four, as freaky as being in such close quarters with him is, as much as it feels like there’s a grinning, Shelob-sized spider sitting on the bed in front of her, waiting to pounce….he really doesn’t seem like a threat right now.

Stephanie really, really hopes she isn’t going to regret thinking that.

“So?” The word sounds like a match igniting. “Care to chat?”

She keeps her voice clear and low - no nonsense, but she’s not about to go for that rock-choking growly routine she swears Bruce must practice in the mirror.

“Tell me what was in the toxin you gave Nightwing.”

“Nightwing?” The Joker looks affronted, shifting his head from side to side. “Niiiightwing? Oh!” He snickers, rolling his eyes. “Niiiiiightwing. The bluebirdboy! The happy one!” His face seems to spread, like elastic rolled out as he grins impossibly wide. “The first.”

Stephanie crosses her arms, mind racing. Duke’s her backup, and she probably has about ten minutes before he gets in. Of course, she could turn on the comm and tell them she’s fine, but all they’re going to do is tell her to get out before she gets herself killed.

Because put Stephanie in a room with a bad-guy, of course she’s gonna lose. It seems like at least that, everybody agrees on. Stephanie grits her teeth.

“Tell me what was in the toxin, Joker.”

“I just get all of you so mixed up,” he complains. “And every time one of you dies it’s like Batsy buys six more, but I suppose you’re all cheaper by the dozen -”

“What was in the toxin?”

“DON’T INTERRUPT ME,” the Joker roars suddenly, raising a hand with a jerk. Stephanie jumps back, grasp tight around her staff, but before she can react more the rage on his face has already bent into a raucous smile. He leans back, chuckling and watching her swear beneath her breath.

“How about...a deal?”

Stephanie just watches him, not trusting herself to speak.

It feels like the trope-iest thing in the world. A literal deal with the devil, innocently offered, high stakes, blah blah blah. Transparently, stupidly, evil stuff. The kind of thing you point at on TV and laugh about how dumb the characters are.

But there’s something about the room, the quiet light filtering through the gridded window. Something about how still everything is, like all of Arkham is holding its breath.

Stephanie curses herself. Then, she lowers her staff, listening.

“I tell you what you need to know to save Wingnut’s life - or more like his diaphragm,” the Joker says, tone sing-song. “And you will…ummmmm.....let me out.”

Okay, scratch that entire earlier thought.

“What the hell?” she says, actually snorting. “No? Are you actually kidding? You’re kidding.”

“Me?” He flashes his teeth at her. “I never kid, kiddie. That’s what’s so funny. Whaddya say? Deal or no deal?”

“I’m not letting you out, asshole,” Stephanie shakes herself, heading for the door. Survived in a room with the Joker for ten minutes, she should get a t-shirt. If the bats don’t kill her first. “And we’re done here, see you never.”

“Wait wait wait wait,” he whines. “Don’t be like thaaaat! Baby, I can change!”

Stephanie’s hand is on the doorhandle - go, Stephanie, just go - but god, is she really going to walk out of here with nothing? Empty-handed? Mission: failure to launch?

She turns, and the Joker cackles gleefully. It seems ethically dicey to punch a guy who’s completely restrained, but he’s really testing her. And he has like. Indiscriminately murdered and tortured a bunch of people, so he's got that against him too.

“Alrightalrightalrightalright, let’s do this again.” He clears his throat. “Tell me what you want....and I’ll tell you what I really want, and we’ll both get to dream about the things we want together.” The Joker smiles beautifically, hands clasped. "Doesn't that sound nice?"

“I want,” Stephanie growls, and wow, maybe Bruce didn’t practice, maybe it’s just the tone of voice the Joker evokes. She wonders if that means she needs to apologize for mocking him about it so much. “For you to cut the crap. You know I’m not dumb enough to let you out, so what’s the plan here?”

“Plan?” The Joker somehow grins wider, eyes empty as a doll’s. “Now that’s funny.”

Stephanie stays silent, trying to estimate how much more time she has before Duke comes bursting in. With her luck, less than five minutes. Meanwhile, if she can keep the Joker talking, there’s the chance he’ll at least give her a clue, and not make this whole trip a waste.

She’d love to do the whole, room-search she’d meant to do, but that would involve not putting one-hundred percent of her focus on Mr. Literal-backstabber-and-other-assorted-violences.

But get him talking? She can do that.

“So you’re just breaking out, and immediately getting caught again, just for the hell of it?” She snorts dismissively, and takes note of the sudden twitch in his eyebrow. Alright, that’s something. “No, actually, that makes sense. No plan, so you’re dumb enough for even the GCPD to catch.” She shakes her head in feign disapproval. “That...must be embarrassing. Bet even Bats would be laughing. But like, at you.”

The Joker's mouth stretches again, but it’s a little less gleeful than before. And it suddenly occurs to Stephanie that she’s goading the Joker. Which in terms of sanity, is a little like kicking at a live grenade because it hasn’t exploded yet.

“Very cute, very clever,” he says lazily, but his gaze hasn’t moved from her. “Very nice try, Spoiled-rotten.”

“Ouch, you come up with that one all by yourself?” Oh my god just shut up, Stephanie thinks, wanting to beat herself over the head as a muscle in the Joker’s cheek jumps. He leans forward, a shadow from the window falling over his eyes. If he weren’t still visibly restrained, she would think he’s about to pounce.

“I will tell you this,” he simpers, smile creeping wider and wider across his face with every word. “For free, even, because I’m generous.”

He leans even closer, like he’s sharing a secret. The bed creaks as he whispers.

“It’s gonna get worse. Muuuuuuuch worse. Who knows? Maybe the next time the little blue bird gets his feathers too ruffled, he’ll laugh up his own lungs. Peak comedy, right there.” He grins sloppily, rolling his eyes to the ceiling as he falls back on the bed. “But he’ll probably die looong before that. So don’t you worry your pretty, little, head."

Stephanie’s mouth is dry.

"Plus," he continues, sitting up again. "I’m sure nobody would be foolish enough to misplace whatever little mixture he got himself into somewhere it might hurt people.”

“What was in the toxin?” she repeats, trying to channel Cass’ steady, quiet, don’t-fuck-with-me tone.

“Is there...some kinda echo in here? I swear I’ve heard that question before.” The Joker shrugs. “Little bit of this. Little bit of that. Little bit of this again. I don’t get out much, ya see, so when I do - “

At that moment, there’s a deafening crackle of feedback in Stephanie’s ear, and she swears.

“SPOILER,” Oracle’s voice thunders. “REPORT. NOW.”

“Accounted for, not dead yet,” she mutters, turning away slightly. The Joker’s eyes light up with interest. “He’s secure. There’s - I just need a moment more.”

“No. You do not do that again.” Babs sounds equally pissed and upset, and Stephanie shrinks a little.“Now get back to the cave immediately.”

“Yes ma’am,” Stephanie says quietly. She turns back to the Joker, who is still watching her avidly.

“Gotta go, huh?” He purses his lips, eyes shifting. “But I didn’t get to tell what I really wanted.”

Stephanie sighs. Might as well fire a last shot, if she’s already in hot water with literally everyone.

“Tell me what you gave Nightwing, and you can share with the class. But you’re not getting out of here.”

“Spoiler.” Steph winces, but holds her ground.

“You’ve got five seconds.”

Lucky Barbara must be just as eager to hear the answer as she is, otherwise Steph has the feeling she would feel one of the little zaps from the comm that only Barbara has figured out how to send, like a flick in the ear.

“Five.”

The Joker just grins at her, eyes going everywhere, and nowhere. She takes a deep breath.

“Four.” He licks his lips, and Stephanie shudders. She’s so going to need a shower after this.

“Three. Come on, clownboy, I don’t have all night.”

He snickers.

“Two.”

“Spoiler, he’s not going to -

“You like riddles, right? Does it run in the family?” He cracks his neck to the side audibly, staring up at her. “Not really my style, but well. That’s for copyright reasons. I’m sure you understand, Clue-bratster.”

“Uh-huh,” Stephanie says, glancing at the door. “Totally. You’re stealing Nygma’s gig, got it.”

“Oh, c’mon. What’s a joke, but a riddle with….a bang!?” The Joker fakes a lunge, making her jump. She steadies herself, scowling at him even if he can’t see her expression with those freaky dead eyes of his. “Soooo. You wanna hear one?”

Oh, what the hell.

“Sure,” she says, tense. “Shoot.”

He laughs outright, looking delighted, and Barbara is hissing in her ear again by the time he collects himself.

“How many holes,” he enunciates, clicking his teeth again. “Does it take, to turn a barrel, into a tough call?”

Stephanie stares at him for a solid five seconds. It’s...literal nonsense. Stephanie knows riddles, as much as she would rather she didn’t. And unless the words are spelling something, or pointing to some specific place or number she wouldn’t be able to calculate off the top of her head, there’s no detectable pattern.

He’s gotta be trying to throw her off somehow. Or stall her.

“Spoiler. Now.”

“Yep. Going.” She keeps her eyes on the Joker all the way to the door, not expecting him to not try something. He just smiles. Ugh. “Guessing I’m in trouble with the brass?”

“I’m the brass right now. And you’re goddamned right, you’re in trouble.”

There’s an audible click, like Babs slammed the line closed.

She grabs the handle of the door, taking care not to completely turn her back as she yanks it open.

“See you again, miss pretty in purple” The Joker calls after her, spitting the p’s. “Sooner or later.”

Stephanie pauses to stare at him coldly from over her shoulder.

“Not likely.”

The Joker’s cheek jumps, flesh curling around the prominent bone.

“I don’t know. It’s a small world.”

Stephanie slams the door behind her so hard, the folder falls from the wall.

She stands in the hall, breathing like she’d run a marathon and trying not to imagine all the ways that could have gone real worse. After a moment she snatches up the whole folder and bolts down the corridor, not looking back.

“Spoiler, I’m still in position outside, I have eyes on you. O had to sign off, there was...an emergency.” Duke sounds worried. “Are you on your way?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she breathes, reaching the end of the hall. “This was a bit more exciting of a mission than advertised. Ja- Hood fucking owes me.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Also, emergency?” Steph pants, adjusting her grasp on the folder. “Aren’t we up to our ears in emergencies? Can it not just take a number?”

“Yeah, you’d think.” Duke agrees. “Just - the faster we can go through that file, the better. I couldn’t really hear but I -I think things might be deteriorating with the venom.”

Stephanie feels her throat catch.

It’s gonna get worse, The Joker had said, with that stupid creepy-ass smirk. Muuuuuuuch worse.

It’s easy to compartmentalize when you’re in the thick of things, but it freaks her out to admit just how scared she is. Maybe the next time the little blue bird gets his feathers too ruffled, he’ll laugh up his own lungs. The part of her that remembers being Batgirl to his Batman, once they’d all figured each other out. Once they’d actually managed to forge something out of their little Left-Behind Squad.

That part of her is scared that this single file, the Joker’s stupid riddle, and all of Tim’s effort won’t be enough. But he’ll probably die looong before that. And Stephanie really hates being scared.

She curses under her breath, looking back. All these doors.

“Hey Sig?”

“Why do I feel like you’re about to say something I won’t like?”

“Because I am, and you won’t,” she says, trying to summon a cavalierness she is really not feeling at the moment. “If Oracle kills me, please frame somebody so she doesn’t go down for it. I’ve got an idea, and it’s real bad.”

“Are you - Spoiler, no.”

Stephanie sighs. She knows it’s not the time to be flippant. But she just escaped an enclosed space with the Joker, and she’s running on about 98% adrenaline, and Duke had kind of set her up perfectly.

“Spoiler, yes.”

Chapter Text

Tim pauses, his head a bit too heavy for a moment before he gets his bearings. The room swirls for a fraction of an instant, in which Dick is in the lab one minute, and gone the next.

There’s a chance he should have taken that break to sleep earlier. He shakes it off, bursting out of the lab in time to see Jason intercept Dick.

“Hey hey, where’s the fire?” Jason not-so-subtly darts a glance towards the glow of the computer, half-hidden by the penny, where Barbara is certainly overseeing Steph’s mission. Tim freezes as Dick stops. “We got a cure yet?”

Tim can’t see Dick’s face, but his shoulders are tense, his posture restrained. It’s enough to send dread pouring through him, coupled with no small amount of guilt. Because Tim is the one who still hasn’t worked out anything better than a baseline antidote. Because Tim had been the one too fucking exhausted to think before he opened his mouth.

At least he’s awake now.

“Not yet,” Dick is saying, and his voice is even as Tim draws closer, hesitant. Jason glances at him, face carefully neutral. “Got a question for you, Jay.”

“A -uh, yeah, sure.” Jason shuffles his feet a bit, crossing his arms and glancing at Tim. “Fire away.”

Tim wonders, vaguely, how any of them have made it this far in a business that requires deception. He creeps up between them close enough to finally see Dick’s expression. It’s flat, mouth set and gaze steady. He looks...well, he looks a little like Bruce.

“Where are Stephanie and Duke, right now?”

Jason’s eyebrows come together, and this time it looks like he’s making an effort not to look over at Tim.

“They’re...on patrol, right? Or at least Steph is, but I think Duke was gonna meet some of his friends. He didn’t say when he’d be back.”

Dick looks at Tim, who shrugs his shoulders helplessly. Something in his gaze hardens as he squares his shoulders at Jason again.

“Is that so?”

“I mean, as far as I know.” Jason frowns, uncrossing his arms. “Uh....Everything okay? Did one of them call you?”

“Jason.”

“What’s your problem, Dick? I’m not their fucking keeper.” The irritation in his voice is a little offset by how his hand keeps drumming on his thigh, a likely unconscious fidget. “Go find Alfred, he’ll know. And taking a fucking nap while you’re at it, you ginormous hypocrite. Take the Replacement, he looks like he’s seeing sounds.”

Tim winces - not at the jab, but at the way Dick’s expression sharpens at the words. Maybe any other time, Dick would have interpreted that as gruff concern, the unique Jason brand. But now, even to Tim’s ears, it’s very obvious Jason’s trying to get Dick out of the cave.

Which, Tim can't argue with, considering how unknown their current working theory is. But it could have been done more delicately. 

As it is, Dick’s jaw works for a moment, before he steps neatly around Jason and continues towards the computer platform.

“Fine, I’ll if neither of you will be honest with me, I’ll ask Babs.”

"Jeez, fine," Jason sighs dramatically, making to grab at Dick's shoulder but aborting at the last second. "They're following up on leads, like we've been doing all day. It's not a big deal, they'll be back in like a couple of hours. They just thought you would go all mother hen on them, so they didn't tell you."

Dick eyes Jason. Tim waits for the shoe to drop. 

“Alright, but what other leads? We’ve covered all our bases at this point except -” Dick breaks off, and Tim tenses as he closes his eyes. "Oh, come on." 

“Dick?”

“Jason,” Dick says, pinching the bridge of his nose and heaving an enormous sigh. “Jaybird. Little brother. Little wing. Tell me they didn’t go to fucking Arkham.”

Jason’s eyes dart from Dick, to Tim, and back.

“They didn’t go to fucking Arkham.”

Dick opens his eyes, looking right at Jason.

Oh, Tim knows that look. He’s been on the receiving end of that look, most recently when he’d gotten mad at Damian for secretly raising mice in his closet. It’s the half-sorrowful, crushing, Disappointed Dick Grayson look that leaves you all cold on the inside, because you know you’re the one that made him look at you like that at all.

It’s worse than Bruce’s by leagues and Tim would argue on par with Alfred’s. Because at least Alfred’s disapproval doesn’t weigh you with the overwhelming sense that you’re personally letting him down. That he had believed better of you. 

Tim can pinpoint the moment Jason breaks.

“Look, Dick, what did you expect us to do?” Jason says in a rush, dropping all pretense. “We weren’t going to not follow up on a lead -”

“I didn’t expect you to go behind my back and put yourselves all at risk!” Dick says, throwing his hands up. “Why the hell would you keep this from me?”

“Dick, you can’t -” Tim thinks he might be panicking, skin buzzing and unable to speak as he watches Dick meet his eyes and drop his arms. It might also be the Turkish coffee he’d poured into his Red Bull a few hours ago, but the point stands.

Calculations - what levels of stress could activate the venom? Is it just cortisol, or other stress hormones? Does he need to be testing for adrenaline, norepinephrine? If their theory is wrong altogether, what could the real trigger be? - are stalling in his brain as Dick takes a faltering step towards him, eyebrows pulling together in what looks like concern.

But then Jason whirls on Tim, expression sour.

“What gives, Replacement? You’ve lied to Batman, and you couldn’t keep a secret for two more fucking hours?”

“That’s different and you know it,” Tim says, eyes darting back to Dick. He’s straining to keep his voice, his body language in check, because if this escalates more - Tim doesn’t want it to escalate more, that’s the point.

“How? How is this different? Because you’re still pissed, so you want to just screw everybody over to get back at me?”

Tim scowls, stepping towards Jason.

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Tim didn’t tell me,” Dick interrupts. “He just confirmed what I already knew, because for being a bunch of highly-trained, professional vigilantes, you guys are terrible at conspiracies!”

“Dick, you can’t - please.” Tim steps between them, facing Dick and raising his hands beseechingly. He is not going to let this get out of hand because of his dumb mistake. Even if it hadn’t been his stupid idea to run the Arkham op anyway. “I know what it seems like, but it’s really not that bad, and there’s - just. No fighting. Remember? Corsol?”

He curses himself, his mouth not cooperating with his brain as he shoves through the exhaustion headache with an imagined snowplow. Dick is biting his lip, though, and he nods at Tim with a grimace as his shoulders visibly loosen.

“Oh, now you want to make nice?” Jason starts, sneering at Tim. “What, no more -”

“No, no, Jay,” Dick sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose again. “Tim has a theory about the venom. You’re right Tim, I said I’d try.”

“Are you before-” Tim resolves to dunk his head in the nearest bucket of icewater as he stumbles on his words again. Or maybe a bucket of iced Monster. “Do you feel okay now? You said earlier you had a fever, before.”

“Yeah,” Dick looks like he’s taking stock of himself, running a hand through his hair distractedly. “Yeah, still okay.” He makes eye contact with Tim, eyes a little puffy from exhaustion, but expression honest. “Still okay.”

Something in Tim’s chest eases. Again, it might be the caffeine finally burning a hole in his aorta. But at least Dick isn't about to start losing his mind right in front of Tim, who is supposed to have saved him from that exact thing, hours ago.

A theory, that's all he has right now.

Well. A theory, a useless prototype serum, and a knot of cold-burning anxiety sitting in the base of his spine. 

“Okay, awesome, we have a theory,” Jason says loudly, stepping between them and looking annoyed. “Anybody plan on explaining so I know we haven’t made zero progress?”

“Stress response activates the venom, arguing activates stress response,” Dick recites. “Which means you are going to tell me what the hell you guys have been up to, without any arguing. “

He offers Tim a very small, very fake smile.

“Hey, maybe I should do this more often, if it means you guys won’t fight with me.”

“Bad joke,” Tim says immediately, meaning it, but can’t keep himself from snorting. It’s too late for appropriate responses. Early. Whatever. “Way too soon. Not even funny.”

Another brief, painfully fake smile.

“Sue me, I’m not at the top of my game. It’s because I’d really like to know precisely where Duke and Stephanie are right now, their objective at Arkham, and why exactly you felt the need to keep me in the dark about it.” His tone doesn’t rise, and he’s taking even breathes, but his glare cuts right through Tim.

It’s not fair. Tim hadn’t even wanted in on this stupid half-baked hail-mary, and he if can just work more with this theory to fix u-

“Well?”

Tim sends a tense glance at Jason, who grimaces.

“To your first question, I’m not sure. Babs is on monitor. Second, there are hard copies there, plus we all know he’s used chemicals from around Arkham before.”

“So you’re having them break into the janitor closet?” Dick arches an eyebrow. “You do realize the Joker probably predicted all of this, and planted traps in places he thought we would look?”

“Yeah, Dick, we’re not completely dumb,” Jason snaps. “I can plan things out, you know. And like I said, Babs is watching out for them too. She swept the footage hours ago.”

“Sure, yup.” Dick presses his eyes closed, jaw working, and it’s like he’s visibly restraining whatever words were about to leap out in response. There’s a short pause in which Jason shuffles, crossing and uncrossing his arms again, and which Tim glances back at the lab, wondering if Bruce’s edits to his prototype model had yielded anything yet.

Then Dick’s eyes pop open and he gives them that fake, close-lipped smile that Tim can really only see as disguising prickling anger.

“Let’s go see Babs, then.”

Tim trails behind as Dick heads across the cave, grabbing Jason’s wrist and yanking him to a stop as he turns to follow.

“What?” he hisses, glancing after Dick as he vanishes behind the giant penny between one blink and the next. “You don’t wanna talk, Replacement, don’t fucking talk to me, but we have bigger fish to fry right now than your shitty attitude.”

“I don’t - yeah, agreed,” Tim spits back, hushed. “One of those fish is Dick’s amygdala.”

“I -” Jason makes a face, snorting. “What the hell are you talking about? Do you know what you just said?” He waves a hand in front of Tim’s face, which Tim slaps away. “You awake in there? You just called a part of Dick’s brain a fish.”

“I’m serious.” Tim insists, glancing over his shoulder. It doesn’t sound like Dick waited up for them, and he can hear the cadence of his voice mixed with Barbara’s across the cave. Thankfully Barbara is probably one of the best of them at de-escalating, particularly when it came to Dick. “The stress response theory, I have no idea how sensitive the venom could be to which hormones, but based on the specific symptoms ah-”

Tim is unable to stop a yawn from escaping, and Jason takes the opportunity to interrupt.

“The psycho laughing and the delusions? Kid, that’s in most of the venoms, in fact -”

“Based on the specific symptoms,” Tim says again, mind racing as he tries to suppress another yawn. He needs to get back to the lab, needs to see if Bruce has made any breakthroughs, needs to follow up on the reactant scan - “I would only guess it’s going to get worse, because the Joker doesn’t just do half-way. Why would he make a serum that doesn't kill someone or drive them completely over the edge? Every time Dick's woken up, it's been like a reset button, and he's fine. That doesn't seem strangely...harmless to you?”

Tim winces, because harmless definitely hadn't been the word he'd been looking for, but just the one his brain had provided. 

“Harmless for the Joker maybe. But what I'm hearing you tell me is that the situation is bad, and we need to fix it before it gets worse,” Jason says, turning towards the penny and the glow of the computer. “Wow! Good thinking Detective! I would never have come to that conclusion.”

Tim seizes his jacket again, irritation growing swifter now it’s not tempered by Dick’s presence.

“I’m saying, if Dick experiences a stress response now - such as him trying to take off for Arkham, or something going wrong there - I'm guessing there’s a way higher chance that we’re going to to be worse off than a busted rib and some mild delirium.”

Jason’s face transforms from pure irritation to irritation and disbelief.

“Jesus Tim, why couldn’t you lead with that?” he snaps, yanking away and this time making a break for the penny. Tim sprints after him, muscles heavy and head spinning as probabilities run behind his spotting eyesight. Should he have led with that? He’s not sure.

There’s something else he needs to tell Jason, he’s sure, but it’s caught up in the circles if this, then that, if that then this, if if if -

Chapter Text

“Arkham, Babs? Really?” Barbara closes her eyes at Dick’s voice, hands freezing over the keyboard.

On screen, Spoiler is lingering before a door. Another window shows the retreating backs of what looks like two janitors, while another depicts an empty room. Signal, in a fourth window, is crouching at the edge of what looks like Arkham’s roof, hand on a line that’s trailing over the side of the building.

Barbara takes a deep breath, torn.

In all honesty, she hadn’t expected him not to find out. They’ve worked together too long for her not to know when he’s at least suspicious, and too long for her to think he could be kept in the dark anyway. Not even Batman succeeded at that, half the time.

“Dick, I know you’re pissed, but I really need to focus if we want to make sure this goes off without a hitch.” She tears her eyes away from the cleaning crew as they make their way down the hall, to look up into Dick’s face as he draws up next to her. The betrayed look there is enough to give her pause, but all she can do is flash him as sympathetic an expression as she can. “You can and deserve to fight with me all you want about this, but please do it once the mission is over.”

She can feel him simmering beside her, and it’s all she can do to keep her eyes on the screen. Hurting him had never been her goal. But Stephanie needs her right now.

“I don’t - I don’t want to fight,” he says finally, sighing. “I just - god, Babs, Bruce pulls this all the time, then Jason shuts me out, now all of you are doing it? Is it me? Am I the crazy one for thinking it’s possible for us to look out for each other once in a while? Forego the secret-keeping for one goddamn day?”

“No,” she says firmly, keying in a command to turn the camera’s gaze to follow Spoiler down the hall. “And for the record, Dick, I am sorry we lied. But I’d do it again -”

“That’s not exactly -”

“Because I know you. And I know that if you couldn't stop the mission altogether, you would have done the same thing I would have wanted to do, which is go with them myself. But we can’t afford to have you in the field right now until we solve the venom problem.”

She spares another glance up at him, but he’s staring at the screen, tense and unhappy-looking.

“Dick, I...don’t you see where I’m coming from?”

“Yeah.” He sounds resigned. “Just...run the mission, Babs.”

She taps a key. She has the feeling this conversation isn’t over.

“Signal is in position.” Barbara says, keeping her voice calm and business-like even as Dick fidgets beside her. “Coast is clear in the target’s hall. I have eyes on his room, it’s empty and I’ll alert you if you see him being brought back. Cleaning staff has just moved on.” She hits another key, opening the wing door. “Now’s the time, Spoiler. Be careful.”

Spoiler whispers a confirmation, flashes a thumbs up, and takes off through the door.

“This has to be a trap,” Dick says lowly. His arms are crossed, a hand gripping each bicep tightly enough she can see fingerprints on his skin. “If he avoided being seen when he was making the venom in Arkham, he can avoid being seen setting snares. This is as close to his turf as anything can get when he’s locked up.”

On screen, Spoiler’s figure darts down an empty hall, a row of gray, reinforced doors on either side of her.

“I thought of that,” she returns, muting the comm. “But I’ve run scans of the places she’ll be going, weeks back. Everywhere she’s going is in view, just not accessible by camera.”

“At the door,” Stephanie’s whisper is crackling through the speaker. Barbara sits up straighter, leaning forward to speak into the mic.

“When you get in, check the mattress, the window, the vent. Look for any kind of compartments he could have gouged into the wall or floor. This first, then grab his file.”

“Did she already check the main fileroom?” Tim’s voice is strained and tired-sounding, and Barbara takes her eyes off the screen to glance back. Tim and Jason are trailing up the platform, each looking equally on-guard, if disgruntled.

They both look awfully young, Barbara thinks for the briefest moment. Tim in his stolen oversized hoodie and Jason in a red pullover and missing his leather jacket, both of their faces washed in blue light. She shakes herself, uncertain why nostalgia decided to make an appearance now, of all times.

“The only undigitalized hard copies are located by the rooms themselves,” she explains, frowning as she peers closer at them. It’s honestly surprising Tim has even emerged, but then that might mean - “Is there a breakthrough on the antidote?”

“Not yet,” Jason answers, glancing down at Tim. Tim is staring fixedly at the floor, rubbing his already red and shadowed eyes. “But long story short, no surprise parties or jump scares for circus boy over there until we do. Apparently the Joker’s now investing in stress-relief venom.”

Barbara blinks at him.

“As in -”

“Babs. Babs. She’s gone.” Dick’s voice cuts through her train of thought, and Barbara turns back so fast the muscles in her neck click.

Dick takes a step towards the screen, where two windows are suddenly deserted and still. He turns back to her, face ensconced in shadow from the computer’s backlighting.

“Where did she go? What screen is she supposed to be on?”

“I - I don’t know.” Barbara leans forward over the mic again, keying frantically from screen to screen, hallway to room. “She should be in one of them.”

They’re both empty.

“Call her,” Dick says immediately, mouth tight. “If -”

“No dice on the vent,” Stephanie’s voice comes through, and Barbara has to grip the arms of her wheelchair to keep from letting her head fall into her hands. “Moving on to- holy shit.”

“Why can’t we see her?” Jason hisses. Barbara’s eyes dart from window to window, blood freezing. She’s not in the hall. She’s not in the room. But she is in the room, which means Barbara’s feed on the room is wrong. Looped.

Tampered with.

“Holy shit.” Stephanie’s taut voice says again, more emphatically this time.

“What? What is it?” Barbara scrambles at the keys, trying to listen and untangle the camera’s outgoing feed signals at the same time. “Spoiler? Are you inside? We can’t see you in the room, the cameras must be looped, you need to leave the area immediately.”

“Listen,” Tim says faintly, stepping forward. They all freeze save for Barbara, who doesn’t stop typing. There’s a faint murmur through the speakers, a cadence of another voice.

“Shut up.”

Barbara starts.

“Is someone there?” she asks, opening the line to Duke and sending him his own visual of the hall. If Stephanie needs backup, he can’t go in blind.

“Tell her to get the hell out of there,” Jason snarls, and in the corner of her eye she can see Dick already snatching up an extra comm from the bench below the computer. “I don’t care if it’s the goddamned janitor, I said no contact for a fucking reason. Anyone the Joker could have talked to is not on our side.”

“Spoiler?” There’s wind in the background of Duke’s audio as he enters the channel.

“Uh.”

There’s a distant, distinct, bubble of laughter from across the line.

Barbara’s stomach twists.

“Is that - ?”

“Holy shit.” Duke’s words are obscured by the collective intake of breath around her. There’s a faint buzzing in her head, a flash of perfectly preserved images - smiles, all smiles - that Barbara determinedly shoves away as she grabs the mic and growls into it.

“Spoiler, just walk out.”

“Get the hell out, Spoiler,” Jason’s voice is doubled from realtime and into the speaker as he speaks into the comm Dick had tossed him.

“S - “

“I’m fine,” Stephanie says. “He’s restrained, he’s not going anywhere. He might have answers -”

“That’s the Joker in there?!” Duke sounds freaked, but Barbara is too busy redirecting his travel route from the roof to her location as an orderly lurks in the hall below his window to answer.

“Do not engage,” Barbara growls, dragging open the Arkham security mainframe.

“Spoiler, leave now,” Dick says, stepping up even closer to the screen so he’s just a silhouette. “That is a direct order.”

“I’m - let me talk to him, I can handle-”

“It’s not about what you can handle, get out of there,” Barbara snaps over her, as Tim snatches up a comm Jason hands him, pressing it to his ear.

“He won’t have answers, it’s too risky -”

“Spoiler -

“Get out, Spoiler -”

“Guys, you’re embarrassing me in front of the genocidal maniac.” Steph’s whisper is harsh, and on-screen the empty room barely flickers as Barbara tries to scramble the fake signal.

“We have other ways of getting answers, Spoiler,” Barbara says, letting some of her anger leak into her voice. “There are still other files we can work with. This mission is supposed to be no-contact.”

“But I-”

“Spoiler, go.”

“She’s right, S. Get out while you can.”

“You can’t- oh shit.” Jason’s voice is hoarse, sudden, and for a moment Barbara looks wildly from screen to screen, thinking of some new complication. But then Tim swears too, stepping forward and in the gloom to the side of the computer, she can barely see Dick bracing himself against the platform railing.

He’s shaking.

“Spoiler, out now. I’m not asking.” She reaches for the brake release on her chair, eyes on Dick as Tim and Jason approach him. But then she frowns down at the mic. Then up at the screen. Duke is still crouched on the roof, the other windows still distressingly empty.

But there’s no feedback from Stephanie’s comm.

“Spoiler?”

Nothing.

Barbara allows herself three seconds of pure, unadulterated panic.

One. Out of the corner of her eye, Tim and Jason have reached Dick’s side. She can’t hear any laughter, but -

Two. Stephanie. Brash, fearless Stephanie, four steps away from the Joker. If -

Three. This is as much her fault as any of them. Communication, visual. It’s on her, and she’s -

Barbara adjusts her glasses. Exhales.

Then with one hand she drags open the program she’d used just the night before to remotely turn on Jason’s signal, transmitting it to attack Spoiler’s comm. If the Joker EMP’d it, the algorithm likely wouldn’t even be perceiving anything to run on, and the tracker is still active - which just means Stephanie had turned it off.

Oh, she is gonna get that girl.

Next, she reopens the Arkham security link, and stares at it for half a second before getting to work.

“Babs? We might need-” Jason calls, voice stuttering to a halt at whatever he sees on her face. In her periphery she can see Dick’s still standing, still shaking silently as Tim presses a hand on his back.

“We lost audio,” Barbara snaps, hands not pausing. “But I can - there.”

The screen flickers, and suddenly the empty room is replaced by the image of a smudge of a dark figure standing opposite of a rumpled bed. A rumpled bed occupied by a cross-legged and grinning skeleton.

“But - she’s fine, she’s okay,” Jason breathes, suddenly at her side. “Can you get Duke down there, or -”

“Help Dick,” she orders. “Wake up Alfred, if you need to. I’m handling this.”

To his credit, Jason backs off with nothing more than a tightening of his jaw, and recedes back into the corner of the platform. Barbara can’t hear what they’re saying to Dick, but there’s definitely a stray whisper of laughter that’s amplified by the echo of the cave.

“Signal, copy,” Barbara snaps, muting the line as soon as she’s done speaking. Duke needs a clear head. If the venom kicks in harder, background noise won’t help. It’s certainly making it hard for her to focus.

“Still in position. Spoiler on her way back, or should I start down to back her up?”

“Standby for now. We have eyes on her, but she’s shut off her comm.”

“She what? Like on purpose?”

“Like on purpose,” Barbara confirms, not even trying to sound like she’s not fuming. “Your route isn’t open yet, or I’d be sending you for backup. But as soon as communication is back open, you’ll need to guide her out from the cameras. Sending visuals to your device, you need to monitor and make sure the Joker remains secure while she’s there. I can’t - Oracle’s signing off for a moment. We have a situation.”

“You’re signing - got it. Can I ask what kind of situation?”

A peal of laughter rings out across the cave, just as she unmutes it to answer. She slams the line back closed, but there’s no way Duke hadn’t heard it. Barbara grits her teeth, finger hovering over the speaker button as she collects herself.

Duke had made it clear enough earlier, in a way she viscerally understands: thinking the others don’t trust you to hold your own for one reason or another...it cuts deep. She exhales. Duke can handle it. Can handle keeping an eye on Stephanie until she can yell at her herself.

She presses the button to speak.

“Once she’s back, just get out and get back to the cave. I’ll be back once comms are open.” Once I’ve slashed my way into my own systems that Stephanie just decides to turn off at her convenience.

“Copy that.” Duke’s voice comes a beat later, and she’s already away from the computer and rolling to the shadow of the platform’s edge.

One nightmare at a time. 

Chapter Text

“What’s happening,” Barbara says, tone still Oracle-sharp as she pulls to a stop. 

Dick is still standing, a good sign, but his eyes are clenched shut and his head bowed. One hand is still braced on the railing, knuckles white around the metal. The other is clasped over his mouth, fingers digging into his skin so much she can see marks.

“Is this a new side effect?”

“We don’t really - shit, Dickiebird, you’re gonna hurt yourself,” Jason grumbles, leaning in and trying to tug at the hand over Dick’s mouth. Dick just shakes his head minutely, not letting go. “C’mon, don’t be an asshole. We can handle a little psycho laughter.”

“I think the stress response was triggered, but maybe in a lesser amount than before?” Tim looks doubtful, but Barbara knows she certainly felt the adrenaline kick in the second Stephanie had vanished. That, and the Joker suddenly being a place he should never have been? Barbara can’t really blame him.

“Dick, look at me,” Barbara says, but Dick’s eyes seem to clench shut even tighter. She glances over at the screen. Stephanie is still in place, the Joker shifting on the bed still but restrained. Looking back at Dick, she softens her voice. “Dick, can you say something?”

“I can go wake up Alfred, if -” Tim bites his lip as a snicker escapes Dick’s muffling hand, his eyes squinting open as he shakes his head again.

“Let him sleep,” Jason says roughly, taking Dick’s arm and managing to unwrap his hand from the railing. “We can handle this, we did before. Here, sit down before you fall down. I am not gonna be responsible for you breaking your fucking hip.”

“Not, ahha,” Dick gasps out, as his hand is finally torn from his face. “Not that old.”

Jason snorts, propping Dick’s back against the railing as he helps him lower himself to the ground.

“Yeah, you are. Don’t worry, Steph’s getting you LifeAlert for your birthday. Don’t tell her I told you.”

“Steph. Where’d Steph go,” Dick mumbles, eyes clenching shut again. “Y’find her?”

“We found her,” Barbara says, wheeling a bit closer and telling herself again Duke is there, he can manage.

“Good, that's g - ahahaha!”

Despite herself, she flinches back. Dick claps his hand back over his mouth, expression torn.

“Fucksake,” Jason exhales. “Tim, did you at least figure out if we can knock him out?”

“I - not until we know if it could interact with whatever’s in it we can’t identify,” Tim says. Barbara isn’t sure when he’d crouched down next to Dick, or taken Dick’s free hand in his, but for the second time she’s struck at how young he seems. It's not the time, but...

Bruce is MIA, Alfred exhausted and asleep, Dick is...not well. Jason's seems to be less flighty right now, at least, but as he begins to bicker with Tim, Barbara can't help but feel blind-sided on just how easily things could fall apart even further.

And how much that possibility rests on her.

“You’re telling me in the dozen odd hours you’ve been working in that lab, you really have nothing?” Jason hisses at Tim. “What the hell have you been doing in there?”

“Like you’ve been doing anything more useful,” Tim snaps, but he glances back at the lab, biting his lip. “But actually - it’s just a prototype, a baseline for symptoms, it’s not going to work work, we can’t get it to nullify the venom if we have no idea what the Joker put -”

“Joker,” Dick suddenly spits, sitting up straighter and grabbing wildly at Jason and Tim. “B’hind you -”

It might speak to how poorly the night’s been going, but all three of them turn their heads simultaneously, Barbara’s breath catching. There’s...nothing there.

“That’s the screen, dipshit,” Jason says finally, exhaling, “Cripes, don’t do that. Tim, you’re sure we can’t just knock him out? That was the reset before.”

“He’s -” Dick hisses, breath catching. Barbara tries to ignore the pounding in her chest as he begins to laugh in earnest, horrible and ragged, a familiar sound made ugly. “Ahah, ahahaha -” he chokes, coughing so hard he curls into himself while Tim and Jason try in vain to keep him upright to help him breathe.

Barbara looks on, feeling infuriatingly useless. A quick glance at the screen tells her the comm hack is still running. Duke is still in position, eye on his armor’s screen. Stephanie is still standing apart from the Joker, back to the door.

She grips her microphone, caught between watching the screen and watching Dick. She waits with gritted teeth. 

Finally, after several long, ear-splitting seconds, the laughter abates and Dick takes an enormous, heaving breath.

“Dickie?” Jason’s voice is low, but Dick seems to hear him, turning his head.

“”M okay,” Dick pants, swiping a hand over his face. “Guess you were right ‘bout stress, Timmy.”

He grins weakly, and all three of them still.

There’s blood staining his teeth.

“Tim, if you have anything on the table, now’s the time,” Barbara snaps.

Dick furrows his brow at her, but when he opens his mouth his eyes go wide again and he coughs out another laugh, this time spattering his hand with blood in its aborted movement to cover his mouth.

He looks at it for a moment, blinking unsteadily.

“Fuck,” Jason says her thoughts aloud. She offers a hand to Dick, who reaches up and grabs it like a lifeline, the stained one now pressed over his mouth and barely suppressing a choked snicker. He looks up at her miserably, eyes watering and unfocused.

“Tim, did you hear me? Go get the prototype.”

“It’s - it’s not ready, we could just wait this one out and next time -” Tim protests, eyes darting as if he’s watching possible futures playing out in front of him - which he might well be, since it’s Tim. “He could’ve just bitten his tongue, that doesn’t mean we - ”

“Or fucked up his windpipe,” Jason adds. “We don’t know.”

“Will it make him any worse?” Barbara asks, not taking her eyes off Dick as he squeezes his eyes shut again. 

Tim freezes, staring at a spot above Barbara’s head as his mouth twitches.

“No,” he finally says, eyes snapping back to her. “But there’s always the chance I didn't account for-”

“Go get it.”

Tim nods sharply, squeezes Dick’s arm once, and takes off across the platform.

“Heads up,” Dick pants, once Tim’s gone. There’s a trace of a giggle caught in his breath. “I can’t, I - seein’ things.”

Barbara forces herself not to grip his wrist too tightly.

“What things?” Jason sounds wary, but he crouches closer, placing a hesitant hand on Dick’s shoulder. “Things we can classify as Scarecrow-y? Think fear toxin is our mystery flavor?”

Dick looks up at him, grinning widely and now looking completely bewildered.

"Jason, he's not -" 

“What -whaahahah -” he dissolves into breathless laughter, clutching his ribs. Jason rolls his eyes, but his grip on Dick’s arm tightens.

Barbara takes the moment to scan the screens.

Duke’s still in position, crouched and tense over the entry point as he stares intently at the screen from his wrist. The image matches her own - Stephanie has stepped slightly towards the door, but hasn’t yet turned her back on the body in the bed. The program to externally activate the comm is still hacking away, trying to raise its nonexistent signal.

At that moment there’s a crackle of feedback, and Barbara snatches up the mic with one hand, the other still grasping Dick’s.

“Spoiler,” she says, heart pounding. She increases the volume as much as she dares without deafening Stephanie. “Report. Now.”

“Accounted for, not dead yet,” Stephanie thankfully responds immediately or she’d have to send her a stray charge on her comms. Her tone is as tense as Barbara’s ever heard her be, and on the screen she keeps the Joker in front of her. “He’s secure. There’s - I just need a moment more.”

“No,” Barbara grits out, suddenly pushing back a swell of emotion. “You do not do that again. Now get back to the cave immediately."

“...Yes ma’am.”

There’s a murmur across the line, and Barbara can’t glance down at Dick as he wheezes. Jason’s muttering something - it sounds like a strange mixture of profanity and comfort - but Stephanie hasn’t moved on the screen.

“Spoiler,” she barks, shoving away the panic. She's standing right there, she's fine. 

“You’ve got five seconds. Five.”

Barbara snaps her mouth shut, this time looking down. Dick’s shoulders are still shaking violently, and Jason looks agitated as he darts irritated glances towards where Tim had vanished.
Five seconds. She doesn’t know what the Joker’s been saying to Stephanie, but if it’s anything closer to an answer, she can give her five more seconds.

“Four.”

There’s a rattle from across the cave, the sound of chime of glass from the open door of the chem lab.

“Three. Come on clownboy, I don’t have all night. Two.”

“Spoiler, he’s not going to -” Barbara interjects, because goading the Joker isn’t exactly a sound course of action. But there’s another faint murmur, the Joker’s reed-thin voice sending icewater down her back.

“Uh-huh. Totally.” Stephanie says. “You’re stealing Nygma’s gig, got it.”

Barbara looks at Jason, mouthing a riddle? He just shrugs, and her attention is caught by the Joker suddenly lunging on screen, before falling back with a grin on his face.

“Sure.” Stephanie doesn’t sound amused. “Shoot.”

The Joker’s laugh is loud enough to be heard across the line.

“Spoiler -” she says, but then snaps her mouth shut again at the distinct echo of footsteps from across the cave. She thinks she might hear Jason mutter finally beneath his breath, but that could be her own subconscious. 

“Spoiler. Now.”

“Yep. Going.” On screen, Spoiler backs up towards the door. “Guessing I’m in trouble with the brass?”

Tim finally thunders up the platform stairs, brandishing a small sample container and a syringe as he skids to a stop. Jason leans forward with one hand still bracing Dick’s shoulder.

“I’m the brass right now,” Barbara retorts, turning away already. “And you’re goddamned right you’re in trouble.”

She slams the line closed, shooting a message to Duke - he can handle it, let him handle it - before turning her attention to the scene before her.

“Dickiebird, you with us?” Jason is saying roughly. “We’re gonna give you something Tim made, so if you freak out, hit him, okay?” Barbara slaps his shoulder.

“Wai-hahaa-wait -aha -bin,” Dick pants, and Jason sits back on his heels as Dick stares into Jason’s face, eyes suddenly filling with tears. “You, you’re not -ahaha!”

“Ok, he’s not with us,” Jason deadpans. “Give me the needle, Timmy.”

Tim draws back, expression fierce.

“Wait, what if -”

Dick chooses that moment to grab the arm Jason is holding him up with, still staring at him with something that looks like shock.

“Thought, you, ahaha- " He squeezes his eyes shut, taking in a deep breath and seeming to gather himself as he squints at Jason. "Thought you w're smaller -"

"Yeah well - " Jason looks uncomfortable, but Dick keeps speaking, raspy.

" - supposed t'be shorter than me, Rob'n."

Barbara takes in a sharp breath. Jason jerks back, looking like he’d been slapped.

“Give it to me,” Barbara says, tightening her grip on Dick’s hand and flattening his arm so it lays across her knees better. “You two hold his shoulder.”

Tim’s loading the syringe. Jason at least recovers quickly, face inscrutable as he grabs Dick’s free shoulder. Dick, for his part, has gone back to laughing into his hand, which Barbara notes with a jolt is even more stained than before. 

“Like I said, it’s just a symptomatic prototype, it doesn’t even interact with the venom or get to the source of it,” Tim says, worrying his hands. “Just slow breathing and suppress diaphragm contracting to stop the laughter, but it might not even-”

“Tim,” Barbara holds out her hand, looking him in the eye. “I trust you. Now give.”

“Hold still, Goldie,” Jason mutters, as Barbara flicks the side of the glass barrel, eyeing it. The solution is clear, inoffensive. If she didn’t know better, it could be saline.

Leaning down, she gives herself exactly one second to panic.

One. Dick catches her eye and nods shakily. What if -

She presses the needle plunger.

Chapter Text

Relief and dread are fighting it out in Duke’s stomach as he watches Stephanie glance back down the hall, at the Joker’s locked door.

“Why do I feel like you’re about to say something I won’t like?”

“Because I am, and you won’t,” she returns easily. “If Oracle kills me, please frame somebody so she doesn’t go down for it. I’ve got an idea, and it’s real bad.”

His legs are cramping from squatting on the roof for so long, and his nerves are on the verge of being shot by the time Stephanie’s figure on the screen stops at the end of the hallway. He’s all for playing backup, but it’s less fun of a role if you’re trapped in place with no real clue of what’s going on, not to mention hearing live audio clips of two situations going to crap without being able to do a thing about it.

“Are you - Spoiler, no.”

“Spoiler, yes,” Stephanie sighs, sounding almost remorseful. “I’m here, I might as well -”

“Spoiler, no, we gotta go,” Duke says again, pressing a hand to the comm as if that will make a difference. “We - they need us at the cave, S. It sounds bad.”

And it had - just that single, cut-off rattle of distinctly Jokerized laughter, with Barbara’s words clipped and tense were enough to send a fresh chill of adrenaline through his veins.

The fact Oracle had gone offline, leaving Duke to sort out Stephanie’s surveillance is a red flag in itself.

A surprising, almost-flattering red flag,to be fair - he hadn’t been sure if anyone would take his words to heart, since everything started happening so quickly afterwards. But here he is, being put in charge of getting Stephanie out of a Joker-occupied hotspot of danger. As cheering as it is to know at least Barbara was willing to trust him not to crack, there's the downside of having to actually deal with it when things get off track.

“It’s been bad!” Stephanie hisses, and Duke watches his wrist monitor helplessly as she skirts down the hall, giving the Joker’s door a wide berth and peeking at the folder of the next room. “Which is why I’m doing this. Desperate times, desperate measures, and all that? At least it’s me in here, out of all of us. I think I have the best shot. No offense.”

Duke frowns at the screen, pausing in his surveillance of the hall below him. The orderly is still lingering by the exact window he needs to use to get in and drag Stephanie out of, scrolling listlessly on his phone.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Best shot at what?”

“I mean, we know he’s using some kind of new chemical or something, and we know there’s only a few people who’ve got the ability to engineer something like that. One of them happens to be in Arkham, and isn’t exactly the Joker’s biggest fan. If I -”

“St- Spoiler, you - oh my god,” Duke says aloud, connecting the dots. “You are not about to go interrogate Poison Ivy.”

“First of all, I’m not going to go into her room,” Stephanie says in a rush, already opening another folder across the hall. “No more three steps away from dangerous villains without a wall in between us, I did learn my lesson, thanks.”

“Spoiler, you can’t -”

“Second, I’m going to save you some time and tell you that no matter what you say, you’re not going to change my mind. If there’s nothing in this file, we need more clues to work with. Do you know how much of a drag B would be if Nightwing d - wasn’t better by the time he got back?”

“Yeah, but he’ll be way more of a drag if he hears you went on a one-woman mission to interrogate every rogue in Arkham.” Duke responds flatly, rubbing his face.

“That’s a problem for future me. Third, Ba - Oracle.” Stephanie pauses, the bravado in her voice faltering. “Is she completely off-line? Is…” On-screen, Stephanie closes another folder, glancing both ways down the hallway. “Is it really that bad? Like, do you think it’s getting worse?”

“It -” Duke blows out a breath, realizing Stephanie hadn’t been around at all when the venom had actually been doing its thing. “I couldn’t hear too well. But yeah.”

“Crap.”

“Yeah.”

He watches her scurry to the next door, wondering if he can scare the orderly away with a bend in the shadows or if that would just set off alarms. The night guards are making rounds in a half-hour, but Duke is more focused on what could possibly get Stephanie to change her mind before she finds the right door.

He suddenly, somehow, has even more respect for Oracle. Talking Stephanie out of anything is not a task for the faint of heart.

“He said it would.” Stephanie’s voice is tight. “Get worse. For Nightwing.”

“What?”

“The Joker.” Stephanie is paused in the middle of the hallway, gripping her staff like she’s about to start a fight. “I was hoping he was lying but - ugh. He said a lot of - well, mostly creepy insinuations of stuff he shouldn’t even know about, like me and Cluemaster, and - oh, crap, I should have mentioned. He gave me a riddle.”

“A riddle?” Duke starts a little at a sudden rattle of wind across the rooftop, lowering his voice. “The Joker? Gave you a riddle? Isn't that some kind of copyright violation?”

“Better question, can the Riddler actually sue? Would he hire Two-Face? I don’t think - why are these doors not freaking better labeled, I swear -”

“Spoiler.” Duke interrupts with a wince, watching her move across the hall once more. “What was the riddle? Anything we can work with?”

Duke knows Stephanie has her own way with riddles - courtesy of having a riddle-themed, supervillain dad, he guesses - but he hadn’t spent half his life learning to make his brain jump through hoops of wordplay and misdirection for nothing.

If Stephanie gets to do her own thing - which Duke reluctantly admits doesn’t actually seem that risky to him - he can make himself useful by doing one of his.

“‘How many holes does it take to turn a barrel into a tough call?’” Stephanie recites, sounding unamused. “He - shoot, I really should have told O before she logged off - he also sorta implied there’s more venom somewhere it might hurt civilians. But again, he’s a lying piece of garbage so…”

“That...shit,” Duke says emphatically, meaning it.

A so-far incurable venom being used on one of their own is one thing. A widespread attack is a whole different set of cards, one he knows everyone needs to be on alert for - hell, even Bruce needs to know, wherever he is.

Duke...isn’t sure what would make Bruce leave negotiations, if Dick’s health hadn’t even done the trick, and it makes him more uncomfortable than he’d like to admit that he isn’t sure where the line of Bruce’s priorities is drawn.

“I’ll try her. You’re right, they need to know. Once you find Isley...let me know, I’ll find you a route out. Way you went in is compromised, for now.”

“Is this you condoning my signature maverick behaviour?”

“You said it.” Duke says, blowing out a breath and trying not to wonder what the hell is going on in the cave right now. “Desperate times.”

“Knew you’d see it my way,” Stephanie returns, tone cheerier. It only sounds a little forced. “Here’s hoping I don’t get seduced.”

“Do not,” Duke says, eyes on the screen.

“Hey, if it happens it happens.”

Duke snorts and switches to the emergency channel.

“Signal to the Cave, we might have a situation.” He pauses a beat. “Another situation.”

The line hisses. Dead air. Whatever Barbara’s doing, it’s keeping her away from the computer.

Duke...is really trying not to assume the worst.

“Uh, if anyone can hear me, we think the Joker could have something bigger in the works with the venom. There could be a cache of it somewhere outside Arkham. We have his file, and will be back…” He pauses, considering. “Soon. If anyone gets this, uh, radio back, we have some other details. Yeah. Thanks. Signal out.”

Yeah, Duke, thank the empty channel, he thinks with a wince, switching back. Glancing down at his screen, Stephanie’s stopped in front of a door. It's marked with a bright, cheery toxic-looking warning sticker. 

“Found her. Standby, in case I need a quick getaway? I can’t imagine she’d shout for guards, but you never know.”

“I got eyes on you,” he assures. He doesn’t think he quite accomplishes the tone he’s going for - Barbara’s calm, unhurried speech - but Steph reaches forward and slides open the grill.

“Hello? Dr. Isley?”

Duke watches Stephanie lean closer, peering through the slot. There’s a faint murmur.

“What? No,” Stephanie snorts. “Who do I look like, Batman?”

It’s ridiculously frustrating to only be able to hear just one side of the conversation - Barbara had given him access to the main halls, but he isn’t wired into the security mainframe to see inside Isley’s room.

“No way, I come in peace. It’s about a clown.”

There’s a sharp noise across the line, and then Stephanie’s rushing to speak.

“No, no, no, it’s nothing like that. I’m talking about the one who thinks kicking puppies and beating kids to death makes him a comedic genius.”

Duke strains to hear through the comm, but the wind is blowing again, too loud to hear over.

“He’s kind of being a problem right now, and you might be able to help us make him less of a problem - what?”

As far as pitches go, at least it’s to the point.

“Because I know you’re not his biggest fan either - listen, if you’d just hear me out?”

There’s another murmur, that Duke can’t hear really well but he still gets the sense is sarcastic.

“Well, basically - “

Duke listens to her explain the situation, carefully leaving out some of the more sensitive clues - the riddle, just one of them.

How many holes does it take to turn a barrel into a tough call?

Duke frowns to himself, tapping on each of the security cameras as he thinks.

Riddles work by association, a lot of the time. Holes, to the Joker, would probably run closer to meanings like graves, bulletholes, any kind of open wound - too much to narrow down.

He turns over the second part. Barrel, tough call.

The barrel of a gun is the first thing that comes to mind, flashes of Crime Alley and the Joker’s night-at-the-theater performance flashing through his mind. It seems too simple, though, too obvious.

Barrel. Duke finally reworks the route on his screen, only half-listening to the one-sided exchange as he blows out another breath.

Barrel. Barrel of laughs, barrel of a syringe, barrel of a wave.

Barrel as in -

Duke’s thoughts are interrupted by the sudden rise in Stephanie’s pitch, tensing up as the comm registers feedback with her rising voice.

“Because - oh I don’t know, maybe I was hoping you’d prove you actually contain a scrap of decency somewhere in that burnt pinecone you use as a heart, and help me save someone I care about plus a bunch of other people, while at the same time getting back at an evil, oozing ballsack of a person who used to abuse your girlfriend!”

“Spoiler,” Duke rebukes, trying not to sound panicked. He’d totally lost track of where Stephanie had been going with her argument, too lost in thought. “Please stop antagonizing every criminal you encounter. I am literally begging you.”

“I’m not antagonizing her! I’m being honest! I - ” Stephanie cuts herself off abruptly, and Duke peers over the edge of the building again.

“S? Spoiler?”

There’s an entire fifteen second pause, during which all Duke can do is reassure himself that Stephanie is still just standing in front of the door, folder at her feet where she must have dropped it and one hand clenched around her staff.

Then, quieter.

“I - we will. Uh. Thanks. Really.”

Then Stephanie is racing back down the corridor, clutching the folder in one hand and her staff in the other.

“Salvia Divinorum.”

Duke’s breath catches in his throat. No way.

“Is that - is that it?”

“It’s a freaking plant.”

“In the toxin? Is she sure?”

“Apparently he stole some from her garden in Arkham, like forever ago. It’s normally a natural hallucinogen, and can cause less freaky uncontrollable laughter, but she thinks however he added it into the venom twisted it up into basically a nightmare trip.”

“Turn left,” Duke says, eyes on the screen as he tries not to grin triumphantly. Even the orderly who'd been lurking near the window is gone. “We’ll get it to T - Red Robin, he’ll definitely be able to work with that. Oh man, this is huge - okay, careful at the end of the hall, there’s an orderly with his back to you around the corner, a few doors down.”

“Any word from Oracle?” Stephanie pants, slowing at the corner. “Not that you’re not a great eye in the sky, but we kinda need to tell them about all this.”

“She hasn’t gotten back to me,” Duke says, hooking his rope around an outcropping of the roof. “But I hope you get that you just saved your own ass, finding that out. Now you’ve got a fighting chance that O won’t strangle you for going offline.”

“All a part of the master plan.”

Spoiler, on the camera, takes another turn and Duke lowers himself just enough to peek into the window. Spoiler is hurrying down the hall towards him in a rush of purple and black, sticking to the sparse shadows as she passes the last corridor intersection. For good measure, Duke exhales slowly and stares intently at the shadows until they bend and grow, shielding her from view.
Stephanie glances behind her once she reaches the window, and goes stock still before letting out a nervous laugh.

“Is it rude that I forget you can do that?”

Duke just grins tightly as he creaks open the window, and moves aside as Stephanie grapples past him, up to the roof. He carefully screws the window back in place, and follows her up. She’s already crouching over the folder by the time he reaches their little outlook, flipping through at random.

“What a piece of work,” she mutters, pausing at what looks like photos of a victim before flipping to the most recent looking pages. “But yeah, riddle. Got any ideas? It’s not a code far as I can tell, but I haven’t exactly had the chance to stop and think about it. I was thinking we could look through, see what he’s been doing lately?”

She lingers over a recent psych eval page, where it looks like they gave him a crayon and told him to draw the most violent things imaginable. That and a bunch of -

“What the shit is this?” Stephanie says, holding up a page covered in scrambled looking circles and numbers arranged in loose formations. Like a toddler was trying to convey the idea of a clockface. “Hey Sig, look. ‘This is my design.’”

“Funny.” Duke says, squinting. Barrel as in - “Those - hang on.”

“Hm?”

“Clocks,” he says, tugging the page towards him. “The barrel could be talking about the barrel of a clock - it’s part of the mechanism that helps it run. It’s like what the gears go around, it’s what the main spring goes in.”

“Disregarding your weirdly in-depth knowledge about clocks, what about holes? What about the tough call?” Stephanie counters, gathering the folder up and standing. “Duke, there’s a very real possibility it’s just nonsense designed to freak us out.”

Duke stands, worrying his lip. The Joker would think that was hilarious. But at the same time, it doesn’t seem like...enough. The guy goes through the trouble to escape and design a new venom, dose Nightwing, and then gets caught again?

“Meanwhile, we need to get the information I heroically almost had a heart attack to obtain, to the cave,” Stephanie is saying, stowing her staff. “And maybe try to get through on comms again, while we’re at it. O’s still offline? What about Agent A?”

A sudden chill sweeps through him, and for a moment the roof’s shadows seem to swirl up as his mind races.

“Shit. Shoot. Crap.” He waves a frantic hand at the page, triumph gone, unable to articulate the - clocks. “That’s it. Steph, we gotta go.”

They need to go now, and he pulls out his grapple, already calculating the fastest way across the roof to get back to their bikes.

“What?” Stephanie picks up the pace after him as they head directly up Arkham’s eaves, towards the service courtyard. “Clue me in, you’re not allowed to convert to speaking only in cryptic revelations like everyone else.”

Duke fires across the courtyard, and they swing down into the shade of the arch, just outside the fence. Duke shifts shadows to cover their tracks from the barred windows, and they sprint across the lawn. Once they’ve made their way to the tree cover at the edge of the property, Duke preps his bike, panting.

“I don’t think it’s just any clock. Think about it - what clocks, in all of Gotham, do we actually care about?”

Stephanie, on Tim’s borrowed bike, goes still, looking up at him.

“The Clocktower,” she says, pulling down part of her mask so he can see her eyes. “You think he’s gonna have his goons shoot it up? Babs isn’t even there, and even if he tried to release toxin there, it has crazy-powerful defense and filtration systems.”

How many holes does it take to turn a barrel into a tough call?

“That’s - you said he knows stuff he shouldn’t know, right?” Duke says, tapping his comm again, trying not to let the growing chill make him freeze up entirely. The comm hisses - dead air, again. “Stuff about you? What about other stuff?”

Other stuff like -

It’s not a perfect answer to the riddle- there’s no number, he’s not sure where the holes fit in unless he’s talking about bullet holes. Maybe there was never supposed to be an answer answer, but there’s gotta be a margin of error for lunacy, right?

“He wouldn’t know Babs wasn’t there,” he says, heart pounding. “He would probably think we would have to make a call between the Clocktower and the only other clock I can think of that means anything to us.”

The wooded area around them is dark, but Duke's vision is already illuminated from ten seconds in the future, of their headlights burning holes through the dark as they tear off. 

“Quit with the allusions, get to the point,” Stephanie, now, snaps, glaring at him. She keeps tapping her own comm, switching channels. “What other - ”

She breaks off, eyes going wide. Duke nods, numb.

“The door to the cave.”

Chapter Text

Jason holds his breath as Babs pulls the needle back, grabbing onto Dick’s upper arm as he jerks away from her and collapses back against the railing with a yelp.

Dick wraps a hand around the injection sight, no longer laughing but heaving in breaths and hissing them out - that’s behaviour that Jason doesn’t have to be Cassandra Cain in order to read. That means pain, that means fucking ow, and that means something wrong.

By how much Tim pales, it looks like he knows it too.

“Oh my god, I -” Tim covers his mouth, hand shaking with what’s probably two-parts caffeine, one-part horror. He reaches forward, then draws back, white as a sheet. “Shit. Shit. He - I didn’t mean -”

Jason shoves him aside as gently as he can - he’s not going to pretend he’s not feeling sicker to his stomach by the second as some kind of low keening escapes Dick’s lungs, but the last thing they need is Tim to have an exhaustion and/or guilt-fueled panic attack.

“Dickiebird, say something if you can hear me,” he orders roughly, not making eye contact with Tim. That kind of panic is contagious, and Jason is just about wrung-out already. “Here, breathe with me -”

He tugs Dick’s hand to his own chest, focusing every scrap of his attention on taking deep, purposeful breaths. 

“Dick?” Barbara ventures after a moment, as Dick’s breathing slows with his, hitching every second or so in a weak laugh. Tim is silent and pale, but Barbara’s voice is steady. “Jason, sit him up.”

Jason complies, purposefully ignoring the way Dick hisses in pain again as he props him once more against the railing. It probably would have been way more convenient to have dragged him back to the medbay by now - what with the adjustable bed, not to mention actual medical supplies - but it had all happened way too fast, and Jason isn’t about to take the chance of moving him now.

Dick’s eyes are still squeezed shut as he huffs out a few short chuckles, face contorted and shiny with sweat.

“I cut the dosage with saline, I didn’t want to give him the full solution in case he - it shouldn’t hurt him, he shouldn’t even feel it,” Tim is rambling, eyes glued to Dick’s face, hands twitching frenetically. Jason hasn’t exactly been counting the hours he’s been awake, but an educated guess puts it at somewhere past reasonable. “It’s not supposed to interact with - Bruce looked it over too, it shouldn’t be doing this -”

“Tim, chill the fuck out. Just give it a second,” Jason snaps, trying to fight down an ugly feeling that rears its head as Dick’s laugh turns into a cough, a few flecks of blood spraying down his shirt.

So Bruce is pretending to do his part for this crapshow. Maybe the guilt of causing one of the attacks made him realize he couldn’t just do the thing where he literally waits until everything is already said and done and internalized. But oh, he’s helping with the cure, from however-the-fuck many lightyear’s away.That’ll make it all better, Jason thinks darkly, when Dick’s lungs are full of blood and venom, and Tim’s killing himself over fixing it, and the Joker still goes on laughing and breathing and planning for the next time -

“Did he say something?” Barbara says, interrupting his spiraling thoughts. Jason shakes himself. “Dick, can you hear us?”

Dick squints his eyes open one at a time, still panting. He darts a look between the three of them - Jason wonders what they look like right now, to him - and raises a hand to scrub his eyes.

“Babs?” he asks, voice scraped raw. “C’n hear you.”

Jason trades a look with Barbara as the silence extends, Dick rubbing his eyes and very noticeably not laughing uncontrollably.

“How are you feeling?” Tim asks, with no preamble. He’s still pale as a ghost, but he barely hesitates as he crouches in closer, one hand just shy of resting on Dick’s arm. The other is curled tightly around the little vial of antidote, unmarked and clear.

“Like I got hit w’th a garbage truck,” Dick rasps, but his eyes are definitely more focused, more alert. “'n it was on fire. Shit. Ugh.”

“Eloquent,” Jason puts in, as Barbara sighs - in relief, or exasperation, he doesn’t bother to differentiate because he’s trying to ignore down sudden looseness in his own chest.

“Can you breathe okay?” Tim quizzes, leaning forward on the balls of his feet. “What does your chest feel like? Does it feel like there’s fluid in it?”

“Steph,” Dick says, clearing his throat. “She’s not still with th’Joker? Got out?”

“She got out,” Barbara says firmly, and Jason wonders just how much self-control it takes her to not glance over at the screen. He’s gotta hand it to Duke for stepping up, but it can’t be easy to hand off responsibilities like that. “She and Duke should already be on their way back.” Barbara releases the brake on her chair, squeezing Dick’s hand one last time. “I’m going to go set up some tests,” she says, voice low. “Bring him to the medbay.”

“Call Alfred?” Jason asks - he really doesn’t want to drag him into this, especially if things are clearing up with Tim’s undersold antidote. ‘Not ready’, his ass - Dick’s already getting some color back in his cheeks, and his breathing is definitely less ragged than even a minute ago.

But at the same time, they’re never this lucky.

Barbara shrugs, already turning towards the ramp. His call. Jason sighs. Pulls out his phone, sends a text.

Dick is frowning at the blood smeared across his hand, even as Tim looks to be taking his pulse.

“Dick, do you feel lightheaded, or -”

“You give me ‘n antidote?” Dick asks, squinting at them.

“Something like that,” Jason says absently. The details aren’t exactly important, and he’s not sure Dick is with-it enough to care. “Now -”

“Are you feeling - “ Tim interrupts, but Dick coughs again.

“Fuck,” he says after a moment, wiping his mouth. “Ow. Rib. Everybody ‘lse okay?”

“You’re literally the only one in some degree of mortal peril,” Jason says flatly, holding out a hand. “Now shut the hell up so we can get you to the medbay.”

“What about - antidote didn’t work?”

“If you’d answer my questions, maybe we’d know,” Tim snaps, anxious expression replaced with startling ferocity. “Or we can just go on talking until you drop dead from whatever complication I missed, that’s fine too.”

Dick stares at Tim for a second with what looks like an aching, muddled mix of surprise, concern...something that looks like sorrow. Jason looks away.

It occurs to him that being dragged into consciousness after whatever - hallucinations? Memories? Jason’s still slightly reeling from that slurred, raspy Robin - having both of them act sharp and pissed off at him probably isn’t the best feeling in the world.

It’s enough to make him pause. Not enough to cancel out the prickling in his skin, the claustrophobia of having been caught up in this so thoroughly when all he really wants to do is get on his bike and not look back.

Still, Dick just nods at Tim, and takes Jason’s proffered hand.

“Sorry, Tim. Y’right.”

Tim clears his throat at that, expression still hard. His eyes flick across the room.

“It’s fine,” he says, ducking under Dick’s other arm. “Come on.”

It’s about a million times easier to walk Dick across the cave when he’s on his own two legs, and by the time they reach the medbay Dick seems even more alert, wheezing less and gaining steadier footing between them.

Tim - still sombre and pale as a vampire - steadfastly refuses to look at either of them as they enter the medbay, instead abandoning them to meet Barbara at the worktable where she’s laid out several syringes. Either that’s a good sign - Tim doesn’t feel the need to monitor Dick further after the antidote - or a bad one, that Tim is too anxious to do anything but keep working.

Jason would prefer the former.

He busies himself for a few hurried minutes, checking Dick over without a word - he’s stopped coughing up blood, and a quick exam shows a bleeding bitemark on the inside of Dick’s cheek - and rewrapping his ribs after a few steady pokes.

All the while trying to ignore the prickling under his skin. It’s a claustrophobic sort of feeling, that worsens every time Dick wheezes a little too hard, every time he glances over and sees the bags beneath Tim and Barbara’s eyes.

Because he’s not dumb enough to fool himself, and not narcissistic enough to pretend. Dick, Tim, Duke, Steph, even Babs - they’d all been pretty much on the money, blaming Jason in the first place for going off the radar. If he had - what, coordinated? Listened? Waited?

Dick wouldn’t have gotten gassed. Tim wouldn’t be awake for the second consecutive night. Babs would be at home, doing other likely important Oracle things. Duke and Stephanie wouldn't have missed school, and Stephanie definitely wouldn’t have had to face down with the Joker.

But there’s shitty people, and then there’s shitty people. To which Jason is neatly falling into the second category, because he can’t bring himself to regret going after the Joker alone.

Jason knows, he’s selfish. Because if the night had gone another way, if Jason had found himself in a room with the Joker and a weapon. Well. If that time ever comes, he doesn’t want to deal with someone trying to talk him out of it. Someone’s expression when they realize they’re going to fail.

Someone’s anger - horror, disgust, disappointment, whatever - once it’s done.

The prickling under his skin is turning to an itch.

“Jay,” a voice says, and Jason looks up. Dick is looking right at him, sitting up on the medical bed.

His voice still sounds torn up, but his breathing is even more even than before. He blinks at Jason as he reluctantly turns his gaze from where Tim and Barbara are fiddling with vials and muttering to each other in barely-decipherable chemistry jargon.

“So,” Jason says, pulling up a stool. He almost sits, then reconsiders, glancing around the room more than he needs to. His thoughts keep drifting to his bike. He stands in front of the stool, crossing his arms. “Your brain still functioning? ‘Cause I’m like, 80% sure I haven’t worn green and yellow in more than a few years.”

It occurs to him, a beat too late, that if Dick had actually been delirious, he might have no clue what he’s talking about. Which would begin a whole uncomfortable conversation in itself.

But then, there are about a million things to focus on and freak out about right now, so he might as well pick one. If it’s the one that happened to bother him the most, well, no one can prove that.

“I...sorry,” Dick says scratchily. He closes his eyes for a moment. Jason tries not uncross his arms as the silence lengthens. “Steph’s okay. You already told me that.”

“...yeah,” Jason says, uneasy. The words don’t quite line up with what he was asking. Jason glances over at Tim and Barbara, who don’t look as though they’d heard. “You, uh. You remember that, or are you just figuring that we’d all be a little more stressed if she wasn’t?”

Dick opens his eyes, brow furrowed. He’s looking a little past Jason, which, well, isn’t necessarily a red flag. Bruce had set the example of a lot of dramatic, middle-distance staring.

“I’m…” Dick swallows, coughing a bit. He breaks eye contact with the cabinet across the room, squinting up at Jason. “Is Bruce here? Thought he...thought I saw him.”

“No, Dick.” Jason frowns, pressing a palm to Dick’s forehead. He’s a little warm, but nothing alarming. Nothing as alarming as the way Dick blinks, gaze definitely more glazed than it had been ten seconds ago. “Dick, he’s still off-planet, remember?”

Tim and Barbara both go silent across the room, and Jason can feel their attention shift. But then Dick blinks again looking right at Jason, and the weird, foggy look in his eyes vanishes entirely.

“Shit,” he rasps, passing a hand over his face. “Forgot.”

Okay, Jason does not care for that.

“You…uh.” He dallies, watching Dick pinch the bridge of his nose and take several deep breaths, probably counting to himself. There’s something clearly still off here, but...he’s still breathing. Mostly. And Jason….

Jason needs to be somewhere else.

Tim crosses the room a second before Barbara rolls over, and they’re both so close, crowding Jason against his stool.

“‘M fine,” Dick says, waving them away with a crooked, forced-looking smile. “Just disoriented. Got hit with a garbage truck, r’member? Need water and some sleep.”

“Dick, you need to take this seriously,” Barbara says, taking off her glasses and rubbing her eyes. “We have a lot of unknowns here. Tim thinks he must have counteracted more than what he anticipated, but if there are neurological symptoms caused by more than just exhaustion and disorientation, we need to address them now.”

“I’m being serious, Babs.” Dick sighs, voice low and earnest. Tim is silent, arms crossed as he studies him. “I feel - okay, not great. Kinda dizzy, that keeps on coming and going. A lot of the past few minutes is kind of a blur, and my windpipe feels like it’s been through a shredder. But I’m not about to keel over. And I really could do with some water.”

Jason seizes the chance, jumping up immediately as Barbara opens her mouth to speak.

“I’ll get it.”

His skin is itching again, and he tunes out the low murmur of questions that continue behind him as he leaves the room.

Before he knows it, he’s standing next to his bike, helmet in hand.

He - god, he’s such an asshole. Normally he doesn’t mind acknowledging it, because at least he usually gives a crap when it counts. And he has - he’d done the whole emergency, tried to help with the stupid Arkham break-in, slept with a crick in his neck next to Dick’s goddamned bedside to make sure he didn’t suddenly die in the middle of the night.

He’s been here for too long, and it’s - he’s an idiot. He was an idiot for even coming back here the first time, an idiot for sticking around, and an idiot for letting himself put together a plan with anyone but himself. If he’d just had the gall to take off when things had looked better, before Bruce had yelled Dick into his second attack, none of this would be his responsibility, and he wouldn’t be even more of an asshole for bolting now.

But Tim’s done his job. For all he can ramble about possibilities and risks, Tim is more likely to sell his work short, because for all intents and purposes Dick is pretty much detoxed. A little dizziness and confusion does not a crisis make.

Duke and Steph are on their way back with at least an extra file on the Joker that should clear up whatever weird side-effects are still going on, and that will be that. Not to mention Jason is still betting on Bruce feeling guilty enough to show up any minute now, now that he won’t be faced with one of his kids’ imminent perils.

Jason’s role in all this is effectively over. He can go. He just.

“It wasn’t just about you, you know.”

If Jason were more poorly trained, he might have jumped. As it is, he just turns on his heel, hands not even twitching to his holster.

And if this isn’t a convenient echo, him standing at the bottom of the stairs while Tim Drake literally looks down on him.

“Shouldn’t you be tending to brother dearest?” Jason asks, the words coming across less sarcastic than he’d intended. “Or making sure you didn’t accidentally poison him?” he adds nastily, to compensate for it.

Tim looks at him for a moment, a little line of disappointment appearing between his brows. Oh god, Dick definitely taught him that expression.

“You remember the reason I became Robin? Or did you never think to ask beyond wanting to kill me for it?”

Jason feels his eyebrows rise at the non-sequitur.

Wonderful, just another shitty thing he’s done. He wonders if everyone in this house conspires to pile on the guilt while he’s still here, or if they decide to do it individually. Tim’s really been taking the cake these last couple nights, so it doesn’t seem amazingly well coordinated.

“I’d apologize again,” he says dryly. “But last I checked, we were way past that. Statute expiration, and all that.“

“Bruce was going to die, Jason.” Tim says it coldly, staring right at Jason. Jason stares back, refusing to be daunted. “I’m not speculating. It was inevitable. He was going to get himself killed, and I only stepped up when I didn’t think there was another choice.”

“Again.“ Jason waves a hand, readying to turn on his heel. He’s right to be making his exit now. Especially if they've reached the point of the night where they start dragging out old skeletons. “Thanks for the guilt trip. But this is the definition of old news.”

“Then stop interrupting and let me get to the point.”

He sighs, gesturing. It’s obvious Tim isn’t going to let him out of this discussion.

“Bruce, at that moment, is the prime example of why the loner thing doesn’t work.” Tim says. “I’ve got others, if you’re not convinced. I’ve gotten screwed over before, trying to be completely solo, and Cass or my team had to help me. Almost every time Dick does his self-isolating thing, he gets burned. And you -”

“Yeah, I run off and get myself beaten to death,” Jason says, letting his voice drop to a dangerous tone and taking a step towards Tim. “I remember that one, thanks. You done with the lecture, or -”

“No, I’m not,” Tim says, stepping forward as well. There’s something in his eyes, blazing cold and pointed, and it feels a little like there’s a searchlight shining in his face. “I’m not, because you wanted me to talk to you, and I’m talking.”

Jason’s about to snap out some sarcastic comment - oh lucky me, blessed with the Replacement’s two cents when it’s finally convenient for him - but something stills his tongue.

Something - christ, a bunch of somethings, like the fact that Bruce doesn’t have a clue why Dick panicked on the mission, or you're supposed to be shorter than me, Robin or Duke and his calm, reasonable, just a bunch of people who can’t figure out how to talk to each other or he sudden realization that he never heard the end of Tim’s stupid fucking story about some villain of the week asking him to join him - and I was all like ‘I would rather go to trivia night with the Riddler’ -

Jason has been here too fucking long.

“Fine. Out with it,” he snarls instead, crossing his arms and leaning against his bike.

Tim doesn’t hesitate.

“We wanted to keep you alive, Jason,” he says bluntly. “Before you start whining about you being able to protect yourself, or whatever, just take that at face value. And then next time, take ten seconds to think before you decide to pretend none of us exist. Because in our lives, with our responsibilities, alone doesn’t fucking work, Jason, and you can’t just assume what we care about, when.”

Tim relaxes slightly when he’s done speaking, the words bouncing softly off the rock walls of the garage. And for a moment Jason just doesn’t say anything. There’s not a lot he can say to that, because the little shit had cut off his counterargument at the knees. And the rest of it - well.

He recovers, clearing his throat.

“Yeah, well, no offense but I wasn’t exactly going to invite you along,” he says, not managing to sound as caustic as he wanted. Whatever. “My plan was always to kill him.”

Tim shrugs, expression thawing. Just that little movement, and he looks more like a teenager than a steely, pissed-off interrogator.

“Well, duh. But an invitation is different from turning off your tracking signal, your vitals, and shutting off all your communication. Not wanting us around is not at all the same thing as keeping us completely in the dark.”

“Oh, so you’re not concerned about the moral implications,” Jason says, letting a sneer drip into his voice. “Lotta wiggle room if you’re not the one doing the deed, isn’t there? You’re saying you wouldn’t have tried to stop me? C'mon, the second Dick thought I’d gotten close to him, he’d use it to track me down, be throwing himself in front of the Joker, and beg me not to take the shot.”

Tim tilts his head.

“Considering Dick’s killed the Joker before - over us, essentially - I don’t think it’s fair of you to make that assumption.”

Jason blinks. Tim is staring at him steadily, doesn't seem to find anything wrong with what he just said.

He looks closer at Tim - he’s not concerned, but that’s - that’s one hell of a statement.

“I’m sorry, I can’t tell if you’re just that sleep deprived that you think I’ll believe that, or just to the point of complete delusion. The Joker’s not dead, dipshit.”

Tim frowns at him.

“Don’t get technical. That’s not the point here. He would have been. ”

“What does that even mean?” Jason half-laughs, trying to regain his footing. This - this isn’t where this conversation’s supposed to go, and he really doesn't want to have to deal with a Tim who’s lost touch with reality.

Considering Dick’s killed the Joker before - Jason shakes his head.

“I’m serious. What the fuck.”

“Has - oh my god.” Tim rubs his eyes, lowering his voice. “He wouldn’t. And Bruce definitely wouldn’t.”

“What the hell are you talking about,” Jason snaps, growing more irritable by the second. He’s still in the middle of making his getaway, whether or not Tim realizes it, and the second Duke and Stephanie roll in there’s going to be a whole new flurry of conversation to get caught up in that he really just wants to avoid altogether.

Trying to leave with everyone in the cave can be like trying to extract himself from a vat of glue. He’d think he was free, but no, he turns around and there’s a bat stuck to his bike, asking him about all-blades or if he knows how to waltz.

Damian and Cass aren’t here, but they don’t have a monopoly on asking overly-involving questions.

“Don’t hold me in suspense, Replacement, I’m not in the fucking mood.”

Tim opens his mouth, gets a weird look on his face, and promptly shuts it.

“I - it might not be my place to tell. If he didn't.”

“Holy - if you didn’t want me to know, you shouldn’t play around with all the intrigue,” Jason says, exasperated now. “Spill, or I’ll just assume you’ve snapped.”

Tim glares at him - impressively intense, for someone with bags as dark as his beneath his eyes - but fidgets.

“Dick...killed the Joker. While you were dead. Bruce had him resuscitated, but he still, ya know…” Tim trails off, looking genuinely wary. Jason can’t bring himself to care. “Jason?”

The cave suddenly feels very quiet. Very small. He needs to...

“He.” There’s an odd shift in his chest, like a rib displacing. It makes him cold. The Joker had been dead. The Joker had been killed. By Dick. And saved.

By Bruce.

“Why.”

Tim fidgets again.

“Well, he thought the Joker’d killed me, and then he started taunting Dick about you, and so Dick kind of just...kept hitting him. And then he...”

Jason closes his eyes, letting out a long breath through his nose.

“Why did Bruce save him.”

Jason can feel Tim shrug.

“I can guess. But I don’t think that would do you any good, coming from me.”

There’s a long, long pause where Jason just lets himself breathe, listening to his own heartbeat -make him PAY make him PAY make them PAY -

“I’m - Jason, I can see how, without the context of knowing that, things might seem different.” Tim breaks the silence, but Jason can’t look at him. Not if he doesn’t want to lose the tenuous hold he has over whatever emotion is tearing circles through his brain. “And I’m not going to take back what I said, about working alone. But blaming you for all of this has just been making things worse, so…” Tim runs a hand through his hair, sounding exhausted and awkward and young. “I don’t. Blame you, that is.”

If Jason were a better - person, brother, whatever - he would probably be offering his own olive branch. A hug, if he were Dick, a smile and a nod if he were Duke or Cass. Some kind of snide comment to escape the conversation if he were Damian, followed by one or more thoughtful little gifts appearing amongst his things later.

He says nothing. Tim, in his periphery, sighs.

“That’s...all I wanted to say. Thanks for staying as long as you did, at least.”

Jason stands there for a moment more after he hears Tim make his way back to the medbay, the door left cracked open behind him. He leans taut against his bike, mind racing, but at the same time stilted as he processes Tim’s words.

Bruce had saved the Joker...because he didn’t want Dick to have killed someone? Because he didn’t want a murderer as a son? Because he couldn’t deal with the thought of Dick breaking his rule?

In a way, he almost wants to laugh - it’s so ridiculously Bruce, literally resuscitating someone as shitty as the Joker so he didn’t have to worry about the fallout of someone close to him having jumped the rails of his own straight and narrow track. So he didn’t have to think about what it meant, beyond ‘the Joker isn’t dead, so Dick didn’t break the rule.’

Because Bruce has never been good with dealing with things he can’t understand.

Jason shakes himself. He can ponder all he wants, once he’s far away from this dingy hole in the ground and away from any more sad, earnest little bat-gazes. He’s been here too long, and then some.

He starts to put his helmet on.

Stops. Curses.

The next thing he knows he’s storming up the stairs out of the garage, because the least he can do before he leaves is get Dick - Dick who killed the Joker - his fucking drink of water.

He casts around. They usually keep the minifridge in the lab stocked, but he might as well go upstairs to say goodbye to Alfred, who’s probably still in the process of getting up.

Just as he’s passing the practice mats, his eyes fall on a half-empty water bottle, propped against a bench. Right where he’d placed it. Three venom attacks, two botched missions, and one missed opportunity ago.

Jason sighs.

"Goddammit."

Chapter Text

Dick is so over feeling ill.

It’s not just the heaviness in his head, or the pain in his chest, or the dizziness that keeps boomeranging around his skull - though those aren’t exactly helping, even if he appreciates being able to breathe without laughing now.

But what’s worse is how Babs keeps peering at him over her glasses like he’s about to keel over and die, and he’s starting to wonder if he should be worried about doing just that.

Dick is also beginning to gather the impression that Jason isn’t coming back. It wasn’t hard for him to tell, even through the sensation of the room spinning around him, just how twitchy Jason had looked, how increasingly uneasy.

Tim had vanished a moment after Jason, and Dick chews his lip as he keeps an eye on the door, straining to hear any shouting or smashing. Dick trusts Jason not to make it physical right now, but Tim has reached the no-filter stage of exhaustion where he’s a perfect storm of blunt, relentless, and accurate. Which, while hilarious to watch, is downright infuriating to try to argue with.

And once Jason gets fed up and leaves, Dick can’t say for sure where he’ll go.

He catches another look from Barbara, and grins tiredly.

“Still here,” he says, wincing at the grating of his own voice. “Not that easy to get rid of.”

“Don’t I know it,” Barbara sighs with her own small smile and setting down the tablet with Tim’s notes. “But we need to run through some baseline tests. I’m thinking we start with concussion questions, and go more complex from there. I’m not a neurologist, but -”

They both look over as Tim slips back into the room, just as worryingly worn-looking as before. Wordlessly and half on instinct, Dick opens his arms - Tim looks at him blankly for a moment, but drifts close enough until he’s leaning into Dick’s side, half-sitting on the cot next to him.

“Sorry,” Tim says, rubbing his eyes as he pulls himself up on the bed entirely. Dick keeps his arm around him, and Tim leans his head ever so slightly onto Dick’s shoulder with a tired sigh.

Dick trades a look with Barbara, who’s looking up at them from over the tablet. She’s probably itching to get back to the computer, waylaid by whatever side effects keep sending the room spinning. Dick’s willing to chalk it up to stress, exhaustion, and the aftermath of having foreign chemicals running around and wreaking havoc in his system.

According to Tim and Barbara, making that assumption is “dangerously irresponsible and stupid, we’re not going to just hope things’ll be okay, jesus, Dick - “ but to Dick, it’s less about unfounded optimism they seem to think he has an endless supply of and more about the fact that he whole-heartedly trusts Tim’s chem-work.

Dick could remind them that he’s not dumb, and he’s not unrealistic. He knows he’s not fine, he’s not going to claim he’s at the top of his game by any stretch of the definition. But Tim - no matter how much he keeps saying he has no clue if what he gave Dick’s will kill him - Dick knows he doesn’t miss things that big.

Dick is aware a lot of people would call it blind faith. But he’s taken his turn in not believing in Tim, and only ever been proved wrong.

Dick sighs, wrapping his other arm around Tim and very conscious of the bittersweet expression on Barbara’s face. She’s probably thinking what he’s thinking: The kids - even the kids who aren’t kids, even the kids who haven’t had a front row to all of this - aren’t exactly alright.

Wherever Duke and Stephanie are in their trek back to the manor, they’re navigating without Oracle’s help. It’s lucky traffic at 1 am isn’t usually an issue.

They still haven’t heard the roar of a motorcycle leaving the cave. But Dick’s holding his breath.

He’s kind of dreading checking his phone - Damian had left about 8 voicemails the last he checked, and he can only hope Ma Kent has the grit to wrangle him into staying out of Gotham.

Cass isn’t the kind of person who leaves a mission unfinished, and Dick’s got no idea what she even knows - Bruce had said he would tell her about the Joker, but he didn’t say how much.

And all the while Bruce...Dick would be lying, if he told himself he didn’t want Bruce here. If he didn’t harbor a teeny bit of rancor at how he’s just...absent. It’s selfish, because Dick knows that a galactic war would pose one or two more issues than even a worst-case scenario with the Joker. And Bruce is all about priorities.

Considering he hasn't called since their last argument ended up with a not-so-fun laughing fit, Dick is fairly certain that whatever is brewing up wherever Bruce is, it's taking up all of his time. 

The League is the definition of big picture, and that big picture is what keeps aliens from invading more frequently than they already do. But still.

“What’re you sorry for?” Dick rasps finally, realizing he’d let the silence sit about thirty seconds too long, so caught up in his thoughts. “You’ve been working hard, Timmers. Harder than I have. All I’ve been doing is laughing at things that aren't funny, and taking spontaneous naps.”

“Don’t joke,” Tim mutters, but there’s no heat in it.

“I think I’m good for now, babybird,” Dick says, mustering a grin from deep within himself. “Little brother hugs are a miracle stress-reliever.”

That, and knowing that even if nobody’s perfectly alright, they’re all at least out of immediate physical danger. That’s usually Bruce’s first priority.

And here Dick goes, taking the first step in sorting out the other dangers, the one Bruce sometimes forgets about but that Dick can't. It’s...going to be a work in progress. And that’s hoping the side-effects stay to the side.

“Is there any chance under the sun I’d be able to convince you to take a nap before you put me under the microscope?” he asks, quiet enough not to disturb Tim if he’d actually managed to fall asleep in the .8 seconds he wasn’t actively working.

Dick isn’t that lucky. The look Tim angles at him is enough of an answer.

“Fine,” he sighs raggedly, tonguing the torn skin on the inside of his cheek. His mouth tastes like burnt metal. “But as soon as Alfred gets down here, I can’t make any promises he’ll let you stay. What are we even doing, just monitoring me for side effects? That’s not a three-person job, guys.”

“It is when you keep zoning out,” Barbara says, matter-of-fact. “As far as we know, venom’s still there, Dick. Hypothetically, the only problem Tim solved was the visible symptoms.”

Dick opens his mouth, but Barbara continues.

“If you say you’re fine, you can forget about any tech support on that case I was helping with before this all started,” she says, smirking. “Humor us in letting us remain mildly concerned.”

“A cruel and unusual threat,” he says, scraping the words past the lingering dryness in his throat, past the taste of blood in his mouth. “But fine. And I will need that water if I’m gonna be answering questions. I feel like I swallowed a bucket of gravel.”

“Sorry,” a voice says, and Dick looks up to see Jason stopped in the doorway. There’s a water bottle in his hand. “I had to fill it up,” he says, clearing his throat as he holds it out. “Should be cold.”

Tim, next to him, sits up straighter, and even Barbara turns her chair completely to face him. Dick meets Jason’s eyes, struggling not to grin.

“What - ok, all of you shut up,” Jason grumbles, ears going a little pink. “As soon as Duke and Steph get back, I’m gone. Speaking of which -”

“Stay for breakfast,” Dick interrupts. The muscles in his face feel stretched thin, but he keeps grinning. “Alfred’ll love it. And apparently I need supervising until we tie up our loose ends with this venom.”

Jason snorts, hanging him the bottle and dragging a stool to the far end of the cot.

“You always need supervising, dickhead,” he says, sitting. “But I was saying, Babs, I think there are a few messages on one of your channels. The computer was flashing when I passed it.”

Barbara looks up from the tablet, startled.

“Do you have a comm?” she asks, wheeling forward.

Jason tosses her one, and pulling a wire from nowhere, she plugs the comm into the tablet. A few seconds of soft tapping, and a Gotham map appears, zooming automatically onto two glowing dots racing through midtown. Dick cranes his neck and Barbara rolls closer, holding it out for all of them.

“How are they only in midtown?” Tim murmurs, frowning. Barbara doesn’t respond, still typing.

Then Duke’s voice is crackling through, over the sound of wind and a live motor.

“Signal to Cave, we’re still en route. Going to keep calling in, please respond if you’re able, there’s something - let us know you’re all okay, and check all the perimeter alarms. Trying again in three minutes. Signal out.”

Something cold and heavy settles over Dick’s skin. Tim has gone still beneath his arm.

“Oracle to Signal, do you copy?” Barbara is speaking into the comm, holding it out in one hand while she follows the map with the other. “Signal, this is the cave. “

“Oracle? Oh thank - Spoiler, you hearing them too?”

“Loud and clear,” Stephanie sounds tense.“Is everything - well, it’s not, but is everything somewhat okay there? Did you check the perimeter alarms? And all of Bruce’s other crazy surveillance gadgets?”

“Jason,” Barbara says and Jason nods sharply before standing and heading for the door. “One of you, explain. I have you nearing the bridge out of midtown right now.”

Dick closes his eyes, trying to calculate their timeline - he’s definitely lost some time, but he’s still fairly certain that if they’d left Arkham when he thinks they did, they would be here already.

“We think something the Joker said might have been implying - okay, now it sounds dumb and way too far-fetched, saying it aloud,” Stephanie huffs. “But the Joker gave me a riddle that we think is talking about the clock to the cave, and we have no clue what he might be planning with it.”

“The Joker...gave you a riddle?” Barbara raises a single eyebrow, trading glances with all of them. “That’s...off-brand.”

“More like a copyright violation,” Dick agrees, focusing on keeping his voice light instead of on the sudden light-headedness washing over him. He tightens his grip around Tim’s shoulder, just in case. “Leave something for poor Ed. Riddles are all he has.”

“There’s also...sorry, there’s also more,” Duke interjects, sounding genuinely apologetic. There’s another rev of the motor, and on the map Dick watches them hit the bridge. “The Joker might have a cache of the new venom, somewhere outside Arkham. Apparently he just said something nice and vague about leaving it ‘’somewhere it might hurt someone”.”

That blanket of chilly dread permeates Dick’s skin, shooting through his veins. For a fraction of the second, the room blurs.

“Wonderful.” Barbara presses two fingers to her temple, rubbing circles as wind howls through the speaker. “Just what we need.”

The three of them say nothing for a beat, Dick catching Barbara’s eye again - she gives him a calm-yet-resigned sort of look, but her eyes are starting to get red and puffy behind her glasses. Tim’s rubbing his face again, but a tablet had appeared in his lap when Dick wasn’t looking, and he’s already pulling up video feed from the gate.

Whatever fresh hell this is...Dick knows that these people, these remarkable people he has as a family, can weather a lot. Can take hit after hit, and not back down. But they’re worn. They’re tired. Dick is still wary of whatever the venom is hiding in his own mind, waiting to trip him up.

He just….Dick really wishes Bruce were here.

“Hey, it’s not all doom and gloom,” Stephanie says, and there’s a note of triumph in her voice. “Dick, I’m happy to announce that one of your mystery drugs is from some plant, salvia divinorum. Congratulations and you’re welcome.”

“What? Sal - are you sure that’s it? How do you know?” Tim asks, the tablet nearly jumping out of his hands as he jerks forward. “Was it in his file? Was there anything else?”

“Oh, uhhhh -” Steph clears her throat. “The wind’s getting really loud, I think we can go over everything else when we get back. The main things were the clock, the cache, and the plant, so we can -”

“Spoiler,” Barbara says, tone stern. “How did you find that out?”

“I -

Stephanie is saved from answering by Jason ducking back into the room, shaking his head.

“Nothing on the alarms. I messaged Alfred, he said everything’s quiet upstairs too. He's going to do a perimeter sweep with Ace.”

“Would you go with him?” Dick manages, focusing very hard on Jason's face - the rest of the room is starting to turn an off-color, like the very walls are jaundiced. He ignores it. “Watch his back?”

Even though Tim had somehow, miraculously convinced Jason to stay, Dick knows that being crowded in as they all go into yet another round of crisis-mode is just going to make him antsy. Better he get the chance to clear his head, with the one person he’s never verbally objected to spending time with.

Jason looks at him, expression - something. Dick can’t be sure, because for a fraction of a second his face - his entire head vanishes, a bloody stump barely visible at his angle.

Dick takes in a breath, pressing his hands to his eyes. When he drags them down, vision blurring, Jason is gone entirely. Batman is standing in the doorway. Grinning.

That, more than anything, tips him off.

“Hey, Tim?” he says hoarsely, unable to tear his eyes away from the figure in the doorway. “I don’t - isn’t salvia a hallucinogen?”

“Yeah, it’s - Dick?”

“Tim,” he says again, and before he can manage another word has to tighten his arm around his little brother’s shoulder to keep his balance because the room literally flips upside down. He squeezes his eyes shut immediately, focusing on the fabric of Tim’s hoodie beneath his hands, Tim’s hair against his cheek instead of the rush of vertigo sweeping through him.

“Dick?” Barbara’s voice is sharp, and he focuses upon it, exhaling.

“Not - uh,” His tongue is clumsy in his metal-bitter mouth, stumbling. He doesn’t trust himself to open his eyes, now he knows what he’s seeing isn’t exactly going to line up with what’s there.

Tim starts to pull away from him, but he’s pretty sure if he lets go he’s going to go pitching forward into what suddenly feels like an enormous vacuum of space in front of him, as if he’s standing on a ledge.

Wait, isn’t that it? Dick’s been here before, right? Somewhere high. Standing on a precipice. A height between valleys. There’s some kind of great expanse stretching all around him, empty open space.

There's a new feeling, one Dick knows. It's familiar and beloved and uncertain all the same - he’s falling. One side or the other, he’s falling all the same.

He just can’t remember which way he chose to lean.

Chapter Text

“This just all feels,” Tim waves his hands, searching for the word.

“Dastardly?” Stephanie offers. “Excessively villainous? Needlessly draining?”

“Well, yeah,” he concedes. “But I was going to say anticlimactic.”

They’re all crammed into the medbay, a room that really wasn’t designed for more than three people at once.

Dick is still on the cot, cross-legged now, and sipping on his water bottle. He’s been unnervingly quiet since the last bout of...whatever the Jokerized salvia concoction was making him see, but he’s alert now, studying his hands as he drinks.

Those fifteen or so minutes had been...scary, Tim can admit to himself now, after the fact. At least the sudden, unexpected alarm had done the job of waking him up a bit more but...still.

Probably the only thing that had kept Dick from pitching head-first onto the hard tile was his arm around Tim, and even then Tim had barely managed to shove him backwards onto the cot. Even ostensibly out of his mind, Dick had kept one hand gripping the bunched fabric of Tim’s sleeve, pinning him with an expression that looked horribly akin to grief.

The only thing he could think was that if he broke Dick’s brain because of a faulty interaction between his antidote and the toxin, he could think of ten names off the top of his head who would literally never forgive him. His own name heading the list.

They’d stayed like that for most of the episode, Dick refusing to let go as Barbara did her best to work around them, making sure he wasn’t burning up with fever or about to have a heart attack. Even if it was admittedly a relief not to worry about Dick’s lungs anymore, it was almost more alarming not knowing what to do for treatment.

Dick hadn’t spoken, hadn’t responded to their questions for the first several minutes, and theories were shooting like rubber balls around Tim’s brain as he tried to catalogue anything relevant. Knowing the salvia divinorum component helped, at least, because he could run through everything he knew about it.

Of course, less comforting was not knowing how the Joker had twisted it up with his own venom. But Tim didn’t have time to dwell on it in the moment.

By the time he and Barbara had started getting half-way lucid responses out of him, the sound of bikes pulling into the garage had already been echoing around the cave. The noise had actually seemed to bring him out of it faster, and he’d actually released Tim’s hoodie with a startled Timmy? Did I -

And then Duke and Stephanie had thundered in, breathless and looking ready for a fight, and Dick had sat up, blinking like he'd woken up - he’d been responding steadier, recognizing and trying to grin at them and generally pretending like Tim hadn’t been maybe-destroying his immune system with a flawed antidote. Jerk.

Jason was the last to arrive, carrying the scent of coffee and wet grass as he immediately dragged a chair into the corner of the room and set himself down to observe them all with an inscrutable expression.

Absolutely dead silence report from the outer perimeter, apparently, and nothing on the grounds. Alfred was still doing rounds, but apparently pretty much all had been quiet. “At least Ace got to chase a squirrel,” was all Jason had said, before sidling past and pressing a flask into Tim’s hand.

A quick sip had confirmed it as some of the good Guatemalan espresso from Alfred’s hidden cupboard. Tim can only hope that Jason and Alfred hadn’t conspired to add any “extra” ingredients that’ll have the opposite of the wished-for effect.

A few more hours, that’s all Tim needs. He can do a few more hours.

Now, Tim is still half-focusing on the antidote simulation - new and improved, thanks to Steph - currently whirring away on yet another tablet as he frowns down at the Joker’s psych file.

He’d really rather be in the lab, and he’ll need to get there to synthesize the final version. But here, Duke and Barbara can catch his mistakes, and Steph prods him periodically from where she’s slouched in a chair in the middle of the room, feet propped up on the medical cot.

Tim’s frown deepens as he spins in his stool to face the room. They all look...pretty terrible.

Dick has an excuse, granted. Duke and Steph are still wired-looking, to be expected after their blurted run-down of Arkham - they’re still clearly leaving something out, but Tim can’t bring himself to care. Jason is...tense. Also to be expected. But come to think of it, Tim isn’t sure how long Barbara had been awake before she decided to come over.

Tim...doesn’t really want to look in a mirror anytime soon.

“The Joker likes to make a big splash,” Tim adds, jarring himself back onto his train of thought. “He likes huge, messy events. Not...this.” He waves a hand, indicating their various states of definite non-emergency. “He wants all panic all the time, you know?”

“Something audience-worthy,” Dick offers, lifting his water bottle. 

“Audience-worthy,” Jason drawls from his corner. “You can just say he’s a narcissistic egomaniac and be done with it, Dickiebird.”

“I know what you mean,” Duke nods, crossing his arms and sliding onto a stool next to the cot. “Yeah, the whole...staging he did, with mom and dad and I...He likes people to know he’s the biggest bad. That he can pull out all the stops for a show.”

“So poisoning Dick, implying he knows way more about us than he should, and maybe-threatening the city with a new venom isn’t dramatic enough for him?” Stephanie says, sounding skeptical. “I don’t know. I personally feel pretty menaced already. I would feel comfortable calling it a night on this particular episode.”

“But you have to admit it’s a little strange?” Tim leans forward, massaging his temples. Think. The Joker isn’t unpredictable, he knows that, he’s been thinking it since the beginning of all of this - it’s that algorithm, the one made to produce loss, violence. He’s a person who wants to be remembered in the bloodiest way possible, and this just...doesn’t fit. “He didn’t follow through with killing Dick, even though he definitely had the shot -”

“Thanks, Tim.”

“- got caught right away, he hasn’t tried to escape again, didn’t even try to kill Steph -”

“Thanks, Tim.”

“ - and now he gives some random, insubstantial clue? I can’t remember the last time he pulled something like this with a body count in the single digits,” Tim finishes, scrubbing his eyes. “It just seems...not right. I mean. It does seem right, which it doesn’t seem right, because things never go right with him.”

“It’s not out of the realm of possibility that he’s just playing mind games,” Barbara puts in, lowering the tablet. “Something more psychological. It’s important to him that we consider him a threat. This way he knows we’re torturing ourselves over what he’s planning.”

“If you guys say you checked everything, I could have been reading way into the clock thing,” Duke admits, scratching his neck. “It’s just based on some of those scribbles in his psych notes, and I...I might have jumped to conclusions with it. We were a little on edge at that point.”

Tim bites his lip.

“Babs, you said all’s quiet at the clocktower?” Dick asks quietly. Tim glances over. He’s set aside the water bottle, eyes pinched shut.

Barbara nods without looking up, adjusting her glasses.

“I’ve put out scans on all of the other major clocks in the city, just in case, but nothing so far.” She glances up at Duke. “It’s a good lead, Duke, and seeing patterns like that is what usually solves cases. But the Joker’s different from Riddler, he’s different from anyone who thinks linearly."

Barbara grabs a pen, twirling it in her fingers.

"He makes patterns just to catch your attention..." The pen does a complicated little series of flips in her hand, practiced, drifting further to the side. Tim watches Duke's eyes follow it, suspicious. "And then pulls a knife when you’re not looking." A second pen is suddenly in Barbara's other hand, swiping towards Duke. He leans back in his stool to avoid it and grins in triumph. Tim glances down at his tablet as it pings.

"But more importantly, where you're not looking," he hears Barbara say, and there's suddenly a pen pressed against Tim's neck, Barbara angled in her chair to reach him. Dick and Steph, those jerks, are grinning. Jason is unreadable. 

Barbara leans forward, peering at Duke over her glasses.

"Watch for the knife.”

Duke nods, taking the pen with an appreciative grin, and all Tim can think is that after Damian - even after Dick had shown him the meaning of family, or whatever - training with Duke must have been an absolute dream for Bruce. There’s no pricklyness, no resentment towards Barbara, no vague threats of violence. Not even a suggestion they fight to the death over the advice.

Huh. Tim might actually be missing the little monster.

“Well, the Joker already lied about Dick’s condition,” Stephanie says, jostling her foot against Dick’s leg. “Who's to say he isn’t just lying about all the rest of it? Babs is right about the mind games though, he’d think it was hilarious to make us think we were missing some huge venom cache hanging over the city.”

“Please,” Jason scoffs, shaking his head. He’s still weirdly hunched, arms crossed and face tight. “You think he’s just been winding us up this whole time? Playing around with his food? All of you are missing the point here.”

They just look at him expectantly, but he’s glaring at the floor like he wants to put a bullet in it.

“Which would be…?” Steph prompts, after a moment. Jason shakes his head, lips pursing.

“C’mon Jay, I know this whole deal sucks for you, but it sucks for us too,” Duke says, stool spinning to face him. He waves the pen at him. “What are we missing?”

For a moment Tim thinks Jason is going to snap at Duke, stalk out. But Jason just huffs.

“It’s about Batman,” he says, shoulders stiffening as he glares harder at the floor. “It’s always about Batman. He didn’t kill me ‘cause he hated Robin, he killed me because he wanted to get at him. He didn’t use the Thomases in his little play because he had a personal vendetta against you, Duke - he was staging out Batman’s life.” Jason’s glare frees itself from the floor, instead cutting through all of them as he looks around at them, mouth twisting into something wry and ugly. “Get it? It’s about the Batman and the Joker. That’s all it’ll ever be about. We’re just the fucking collateral.”

His voice sharpens a little, tone caustic. His eyes dart to Dick, who's looking into his hands, brow furrowed.

“That’s all we’ll ever be, to him.”

Tim chews his lip, trying to compose a response to that.

He’s honestly surprised Jason hasn’t stormed out, hopelessly surprised he’d even stayed, that he’s still here. All that righteous frustration from earlier feels cheap and wasted, smothered by something that feels like a lot like relief.

In all honesty, put a gun to his head and Tim wouldn’t be able to recall exact words he’d said to Jason, since his own exhaustion-blurred brain is letting him focus on exactly one thing at a time. But at least they’d worked.

“But Batman’s not even here,” Dick points out in a strained voice, looking up. “And we can’t assume either way if Joker even knows that. And Tim’s right. Something about this feels off.” He pauses, then flashes them a weak smile. “And I swear I’m not just saying that ‘cause I’m apparently functionally stoned.”

Tim glances down at his tablet, where the antidote simulation is still running.

He’s not sure what will happen if the remaining venom is left unchecked, and he’s not eager to find out. Their working hypothesis is that it’s becoming more unstable the longer it’s in his system, more sensitive to stress hormones - which is going to make it way less predictable, why it comes and goes so quickly. Because none of them are allowed to catch a break, apparently.

Dick had refused to say what he’d been seeing, but Tim has seen Dick on fear gas before, and this is...not as bad, granted, no panicking or anything. But Dick had still been out of touch enough for a moment there to stare right through all of them, clearly some great distance away from the batcave.

Now, Dick just looks tired.

“Exactly. Batman’s not here,” Jason says, uncrossing his arms. “Which leaves us to clean up his mess. It doesn’t matter either way if the Joker knows or doesn’t know, because we’re the ones who have to deal with it.”

“But wouldn’t it?” Barbara pauses in her typing, taking off her glasses. “It would matter, because it would change the punchline for him, the whole set up. If he’s planning for Batman, he’s planning for Batman.”

“Yeah but -oh,” Tim breathes, the pieces suddenly falling together with an audible click in his brain, rearranging the whole picture. “Babs, holy crap. That - that makes so much more sense.”

“Totally,” Stephanie agrees, prodding his knee with her foot. “Wanna say it out loud, just to make sure Jason understands it?”

“He thought Batman would find th'body,” Tim says, words tripping over themselves in his mouth. “The whole staged Red Hood thing, it was aimed at Batman. And that means he doesn’t know he’s not in Gotham, that’s - oh.”

Because if the Joker never realized Batman was out of the picture for the time being, not killing Dick makes sense - Dick had never been his target, just the one unlucky enough to reach the fake Red Hood corpse first.

The Joker was never being merciful. He was improvising.

“So if his plan was to mess with Bruce instead...” Duke shakes his head, as if clearing it. “He, what? Thought Bruce would kill him while he was messed up by the gas, for killing Hood? And that’s some kind of philosophical win for him, getting him to break his rule?”

Tim trades a look with Dick, pointedly not looking at Jason. It’s a landmine of an argument, they both know it. But Jason doesn’t seem too fazed as he raises an eyebrow at Duke.

“Duke,” he says. “I know you weren’t exactly around, but I’m hoping you’ve picked up at this point that that’s exactly what Bruce would not do, gassed up or not. We had a whole shindig about it. Pry woulda made a great movie.”

“But you don’t think -”

“No, second time isn’t the charm.” Jason’s tone hardens as he crosses his arms again. “You’d think the Joker’d learn, but nope, not in this universe. Batman is Batman, and he doesn’t change his goddamn rules for anything.”

There’s a heavy pause. Tim sighs, turning back to his tablet. If he didn’t feel like his whole body weighed twice as much as normal, he might be able to appreciate the fact that Jason still hasn’t stormed out, no matter how much this conversation is straying into his exact emotional nomansland

“Hang on...does all of that mean we’re winning?” Stephanie thankfully breaks the silence, looking around. “We know things the Joker doesn’t, Tim’s almost done with the new antidote...“ Tim shoots her a look, but she waves him off. “Yes, you are, shut up - I didn’t screw up at Arkham, the Joker's still locked up...aside from all the lost beauty sleep, this feels like winning? Am I wrong?”

Tim chews his lip. Watch for the knife.

“We still need to focus on the unknowns,” Dick says lowly. “The cache, namely. If he wasn’t just lying, or misdirecting, that’s a major risk for civilians. Anyone, really. Babs?”

“I’m not convinced it isn’t just him lying, but considering all the dead ends we hit while investigating earlier,” Barbara replies, nodding towards the hefty binder on the table. “I would say that’s our best lead. And the riddle.”

“Riddle?” Jason says suddenly, looking up again. Tim realizes with a jolt that Jason had left before he’d heard it. If Jason knows something they don’t...But Jason just snorts, shaking his head. “The Joker? That seems like some sort of -“

“Copyright violation,” the rest of them agree in tired unison.

“And the litigation can commence as soon as we know it’s not anything more than a wild goose chase,” Barbara sighs, unfazed as Jason’s eyebrows climb towards his hairline. “You don’t happen to know how many holes it takes to turn a barrel into a tough call, Jason?”

Jason shrugs as he glances around at all of them, still wary-looking.

“Unless he’s planning on stuffing somebody into a barrel and shooting at it? You got me. But I wouldn't try to read into a riddle by the Joker, unless the answer's some kind of twisted pun.”

“Which brings us in a full circle,” Tim says dejectedly, shoving the Joker’s file along the countertop. Duke leans over and takes it, flipping a random page. From the face he makes, and the way he hastily flips away, Tim can guess it was nothing pleasant. But then, what would be? “To zero solid ideas of what he’s up to.”

If he were a little sharper, a little less sleep-deprived, a little less feeling like the room is going to start spinning when he stands up, maybe he could crack this. But it’s way worse, than that, because now he's wondering if there’s anything to crack. If the Joker is really just under their skin - as usual - but this time without any payout.

“Okay, but what about the whole, ‘setup for Batman’ thing?” Steph asks, leaning back in her chair far enough to look at him, upside down. “I’m the Joker, arg. I break out of Arkham, I try to scare Batman with a fake body, I gas him. What next?”

“He would have assumed Batman had backup, probably,” Dick offers, back to studying his hands. Tim...really doesn’t like how subdued he’s being, but at least he’s still talking. Quick glance down at the simulation, which hasn't hit any errors yet. “But if he got in a good enough hit on Batman, he could have held him at gunpoint.” Dick frowns. “Needlepoint, I guess. That was how he killed the guard.”

“Barrel of a needle?” Tim suggests, sitting up straight. Some of the fogginess in his head is starting to abate, the espresso kicking in. “The holes could be injection sites, or - “

There’s a sharp clap, and all eyes shoot to Duke, to the folder he’d dropped on the tile. He doesn’t seem to register, instead looking around the room like they’d all suddenly grown second heads.

They all stare back. Something in Tim’s stomach sinks to the floor.

“Duke?” Dick ventures, standing shakily and crossing the room to settle a hand on Duke’s shoulder. “Okay, buddy?”

“No, it’s not - the lights,” Duke says, voice cut with alarm. He pushes past Dick, past Stephanie’s chair, standing in the doorway to the medbay and staring out into the dim cave. He half-turns, gaze darting. “They - “ he waves a hand, a slightly desperate look in his eye. “I think - I mean, I’m pretty sure, unless -” he blows out a quick breath, shoulders setting as he faces them fully, dark eyes wide and glinting with the reflection of the square medbay lamps. “No. Crap. I’m positive. They’re about to go out.”

Chapter Text

Jason’s breath catches in his throat as Duke stares at them, the echo of his words already evaporating into the silent room.

Dick is the first one to react.

Surprising, since the guy looks pretty much the most beat-to-hell out of all of them, seconded only by Timothy ‘I’ll sleep when I’m dead which will be soon because I’m going to kill myself with lack of sleep’ Drake. Yeah, fine, it’s not a catchy nickname, but Jason’s tired too.

Still, the both of them actually look even worse than before the twenty-odd minutes Jason had taken his tour around the manor fence with Alfred, a welcome reprieve he hadn’t expected. Alfred had been as disarmingly alert as ever - Jason had had to rub his eyes at first, because seeing Alfred dressed in what looked like English hunting gear rather than formalwear was a whole trip in itself.

All Jason can hope now is that upstairs, where he’s no doubt still patrolling the Manor with Ace, he still has his shotgun within arms’ reach.

“All of them?” Dick asks Duke, expression setting. Barbara wheels forward at the same time Stephanie bolts upright in her chair, nearly kicking Tim as he stands. “All at once? Not as in a generator issue, bad storm, on-and-off kind of thing?

Jason uncrosses his arms and steps forward, the itchiness coming back with a vengeance and thrumming through his chest. He knows the sky outside is crystal clear, the stillness of hours that no decent person should be awake for.

Duke doesn’t hesitate. Nods.

Jason thanks his lucky stars that none of them are naive enough to believe in coincidence. It's the answer to all their speculation, all the wondering where the follow-through was. It's him. And Jason would be lying if he said it wasn't at least a relief to know, one way or another. 

“How long do we have?” Barbara asks over Steph’s emphatic swear. “Duke?”

“It’s - hard to say. It’s sometimes a few seconds, but if I focus... it looks like a few minutes - it’s intuitive, not exact.” Duke rubs his neck, shoulders slumping a little as he squints around at the gloom. “Sorry, I - “

“No time for that, Newbie,” Jason snaps, already storming past them and out of the medbay. “If it’s not just a glitch, it’s gonna be some completely over-the-top attack, because he has to make a scene every single goddamn -”

He trails off to a grumble as he sprints across the cave, heading for one of the cabinets where Bruce stashes all the spare gear. Lights out, night vision’s gonna be their advantage.

He can faintly hear Dick’s voice following him across the cave - commendably steady, for a half-drugged case study in the Batman school of control-freakism - voice echoing across the cave.

“Babs, computer access,” he’s saying. “Find out what’s going on, defense systems if we need them. You - you know what you need to do. Tim, cover her while she’s working. Steph - “

Jason reaches a cabinet just as somewhere, there’s the faint echo of a rifle blast.

Then another.

“Alfred,” someone says, loud enough for the word to bounce around the cave - Jason isn’t positive it wasn’t him. That answers the shotgun question.

“Steph, go...go back up Alfred,” Dick’s voice is sharper, now, louder despite a definite waver. “Duke, tell me exactly what you see.”

There’s a beat, and Stephanie rushes past him in a blur of purple, heading for the stairs.

“All the main lights are out,” Duke’s voice is spaced and strange as it reverberates across the room. Jason yanks open the cabinet, focusing on his words instead of the wild feeling in his veins. “The computer’s still on, but everything - yeah, everything else is out.

“Emergency lights?”

“They’re gone too, I can’t - crap.” Duke says, as Jason scans the shelves. “We gotta hurry up, it’s getting...realer. I don’t know how to describe it, uh. Closer, I guess? I give us a minute, and counting.”

Dick swears. There’s the sound of footsteps across stone, a rattle from the computer as Barbara no doubt starts typing at an inhuman speed.

“Faaack,” Jason hisses, as he yanks out a handful of the domino masks and sends a few other random objects crashing to the floor. He’s fairly certain there’s nothing explosive in here, but in the batcave it’s generally a good idea to watch where you’re grabbing.

He considers for a split second, glancing over to the others - Dick and Duke have vanished, Tim and Barbara already at the faintly-glowing computer platform - before just gathering the whole handful of masks, a beltful of batarangs for good measure, and kicking the door shut.

He spins away and is immediately intercepted by Stephanie, who’s breathing heavy and wide-eyed as she trips down the stairs.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jason snaps, screeching to a halt. “Go cover Alfred!”

“Cave door’s blocked,” she pants. Jason ignores the way his breath catches again, skin on fire - focus, idiot - and instead shoves a mask at her, forgetting a second too late that her uniform has its own night vision. But Stephanie still takes it, staring past him. “Not locked, there’s something big pushed in front of it, I swear if it’s like a freaking cartoon boulder or something I’m gonna - “

“We have interference,“ Barbara calls from over at the computer. Her hands are flying across the keyboard, and Tim is standing at her side, dragging off his hoodie - the little heathen hadn’t even changed fully, he still had half of his Red Robin uniform on underneath, and as Jason approaches he unclips his bo staff from the belt. “It’s the same configuration that was looping cameras at Arkham, I can untangle it, but -”

The lights drop.

Jason basically throws a mask at Tim, who’s somehow even more exhausted-looking in the blue wash of the computer screen. Barbara grabs hers and sets it on her lap - Jason can guess that it’s harder to look at a screen through them plus her glasses, and if she’s manning the computer, she won’t necessarily need it. She doesn’t even pause typing.

The darkness around them is silent, punctuated only by the rattle of the keyboard and a sudden flurry of squeaking from the bats circling far above them.

Jason’s veins really want to tear themselves out of his skin right now. Focus.

“God, this is so fucking creepy,” Stephanie says under her breath, pulling up her hood. “Remind me why Bruce chose a haunted hole in the ground as his super secret base?”

“Because he’s a fucking goth-ass drama queen,” Jason snaps, pressing lenses over his own eyes and ignoring the sensation of termites crawling up his arms, trying not to picture his veins filling up with green. “Where the hell are the two D-bags?”

There’s a quiet scrape across the room. Jason zeroes in, squinting as if that’ll help him find its source. He flinches at the faint snik as Tim escalates his bo staff next to him, eyes hidden beneath the lenses but expression focused.

Behind them, Barbara types on.

“Well?” he hisses, not taking his eyes from a spot just beside the penny. He doesn’t want to accidentally throw a batarang at Alfred the Cat.

“They went to check out the garage’s main entrance,” Tim says lowly, surveying the dark. “Babs doesn’t trust our security feeds.”

“Fantastic. Amazing. Love it,” Jason grits out, feeling the empty space where his guns should be. He can picture them in his holsters, strung across his bike with his jacket, because right, he had been about to leave. And it’s not like Bruce keeps extras around the cave.

Jason frowns, turning his gaze towards the garage entrance.

“Wait, isn’t Dick…” He taps the side of his forehead, refusing to say something cold and Batman-sounding, like compromised. ”...ya know?”

“Sporadically tripping?” Stephanie supplies in a very clearly forced light tone. “Intermittently high as a kite?”

“Why do you think Duke went with him?” Tim snaps, then bites his lip. He looks away, back out to the echoing cave. “They’re coming right back, and they have comms.”

“Didn’t Babs just say we’re screwed on that front?” Jason glances over at the screen, one half showing the peaceful perimeter cameras, the empty Manor. The other is half incomprehensible even to him, not helped by how fast Barbara’s hands are moving.

He’s not about to break her concentration, but waiting around for answers as to what the hell this is, is not gonna fly.

“Do you hear that?” Steph whispers suddenly, tilting her head towards the ceiling. She’s pulled her own mask up, and Jason can’t read her expression, but even the faked flippancy is gone. “What the hell - “

There’s a sudden shout, a flurry of echoing noise that has Jason leaping from the platform, sprinting towards the garage with Stephanie hot on his heels.

They don’t even make it to the garage steps.

Two sharp bangs cut the air, then a cascade of something like thunder. Jason keeps running, even as the thunder becomes deafening, as dust and rock coat his tongue and a blast of air roars towards them.

Then all breath is knocked from Jason’s lungs as a body slams into him - something hard connects with his midsection that even combined with the air doesn’t quite manage to knock him over, but stops his momentum with enough force for him to double over. For a moment he just gasps for oxygen, shoving back the offending body and drawing his fist back to -

“Duke?”

“Cave-in,” Duke gasps, staring up at him, clearly just as winded as Jason. Jason exhales, pulling a wheezing Duke up and handing him a domino. “We had flashlights, but I couldn’t, couldn't see it fast enough. The bikes, our bikes, they, they blew up, whole entrance is rubble.”

Jason, still struggling to regain his own breath, grabs at Duke wildly.

“They blew up?”

“Uh, um, um, help, pronto,” Steph’s voice is immediate and panicked. Jason takes one last heaving breath as he turns - focus, in out, now isn’t the time to lose it - to see Dick sitting with his head in his hands, eyes squeezed shut. Fuck.

It looks as though Dick had managed to avoid outright body-slamming Stephanie, and instead spun them both to the ground - it’s a good thing too, a Stephanie-versus-Dick collision wouldn’t have ended well for either of them.

She’s crouched next to him now, hands dancing around him uncertainly.

“Hey, hey, Dick? Please tell me you’re just upset about the Ivy thing, I swear it was half Duke’s idea -

Duke makes a noise next to him, but Jason’s not listening.

Jason - he - he can’t - fuck, how is anyone supposed to prioritize when literally everything is the most important? Tim and Barbara are exchanging words, fast and loud, across the room, and Duke and Steph are staring at him like he knows what the hell to do about Dick, and Alfred’s in danger, and there’s still the hollow rattle of rocks from the fucking cave-in that this place is supposed to be structurally designed not to do so, and there’s only so much he can do to shout down his own heartbeat ringing in his ears the same way it did the last time he felt this out of control make him PAY -

He should have left. He should have left he should have left because all he can do is stare dumbly at the three of them as the world slowly colors itself a frothing, technicolor green.

There’s no avoiding it. The Joker’s here. He has to be. He’s doing this to them.

If the Joker were smart, he wouldn’t be here, not physically. Because as much as Jason can ache and agonize about the others seeing him commit a murder, the others watching it happen, the truth still sits like a stone in his stomach.

That’s not going to stop him. They’re not going to stop him.

“It’s him,” he says. The words sound flat to his own ears. His skin itches. “He’s trying to trap us in here.”

He starts moving towards the garage without thinking - The Joker could have slipped in before the commotion of the cave-in, if the cameras were looped, and there’s still a chance his guns and his helmet are intact in the rubble. A hand suddenly lands on his arm, jerking him back and spinning him to face Duke’s wide eyes.

“Jay, we can’t -”

“He’s going to kill us,” Jason snaps, trying to yank his arm back and glowering down at Duke. “Don’t you get it, Duke?! He’s gonna kill all of us.” He shakes his arm, try to pull loose, but Duke doesn’t let go. “Let go!”

“But -”

“This is his goddamned finale,” he snarls. “The grand fucking denouement of the Batman-and-Joker show, but I’m not letting him use us like fucking props just to screw with Batman - you should get that, newbie. So fucking let go.”

“Jason,” Duke says, voice scratchy and distant and - Jason might be imagining it - a little desperate. “Jay, I know, man. I know. But we gotta defend, first. We need to get Dick to the computer, we gotta make sure there’s nothing worse coming, right?”

Jason grits his teeth, blood still singing through his veins, brain caught in furious loops of laughter and bones breaking and the visceral sensation of hope twisting into cold, dead disappointment inside him as the whole world blew to pieces.

It’s not - he can’t -

“Jay, c’mon,” Duke says, grip tightening. Behind him, Jason hazily perceives Stephanie struggling to drag Dick into a standing position, the two of them swaying perilously. “We need to have each others’ backs first. Please don’t put him before that. ”

I thought you didn’t want to be like Bruce.

He lets out a rough yell, chucking a batarang uselessly into the rumbling cloud of dust. Then yells again, the sound roaring back at him over the clatter of rocks.

Then he turns around, brushing past Duke and focusing very hard on something other than the fire slowly eating its way through his skull. The faint glow of the computer ahead. The echo of Tim and Barbara’s voice. The weight of Dick’s arm, as he grabs and guides it over his shoulder. The grateful look on Steph’s face, as she glances over. The quiet exhale of Duke as guards their retreat to the platform.

He’s here. Jason knows it. He wouldn't miss his own show. He’s here, trapping them -

“Jay?” Dick’s voice. Focus on that. He tilts a glance down at him, catching Stephanie’s eye as Dick blinks at the growing light. “Was..fuck, w’s that real? The cave?”

There’s a faint noise all around him that sounds like an animal hissing, but he turns his eyes back to the goal. The computer. Tim and Barbara, in the circle of light.

“Yeah. That was real.”

“Crap.”

Dick blinks for a second more, jaw working. Some of the weight lifts, Dick gaining his footing.

“Duke? He was with me. He...”

“He’s fine.”

Dick blows out a breath.

“Good.”

They reach the platform, soaked in the now-flickering light from all the flashing alerts. Tim has fallen silent as Barbara types frantically. He stands aside to let them up the platform, paler than ever and actually stumbling a little as he steps backwards.

Focus on the stairs. It’s hard to, when all that Jason can think is that they aren’t remotely in a shape to be dealing with this.

Dick grabs the railing immediately, pulling himself away from Jason and Stephanie and leaning his back against it. Jason lets him, exchanging a look with Stephanie.

They wordlessly station themselves on either side of him, Steph going so far as to offer a supporting arm over his shoulder. Dick glances up at her, eyes darting for a moment before his shoulders loosen, putting a little too much weight onto her than a ‘casual lean’ calls for, and still darting a hand out to grab Jason’s arm for balance.

Duke, meanwhile, braces himself next to Tim by the steps, staring around them, on guard. Tim himself looks a little like he’s about to puke, or maybe keel over, or maybe both.

Focus, Jason. Focus on anything but the fact that they are so fucked.

“The camera feeds have been looped for hours,” Barbara grits out, barely pausing to glance over. She adjusts her glasses, eyes roving over them - Dick, blinking rapidly, staring at the floor and supported from both sides; Duke’s rock-dusted armor; Steph and Tim who both look inexplicably queasy in the blue light.

Jason has no clue what he must look like. He doesn’t really have it in him to speculate.

A muscle jumps in Barbara’s cheek as she looks back at the screen.

“It’s the same disruption we had at Arkham,” she explains, words clipped. “But it’s not just a single hack. It’s a virus.”

“What does that mean for us?” Jason asks shortly, the grip on his arm tightening slightly. Dick looks like he’s trying very hard to stay in the present, and if Jason weren’t about to blow his own gasket, he might appreciate it.

“Anything programmable is down.” Barbara frowns at a small flashing icon in the top corner of the screen, but continues. “The mainframe itself has a failsafe built in, where if it detects a virus, it cuts itself off from the extraneous features - cameras, security systems, monitoring systems, communication things that would have detected those bombs or stopped the cave-in - before the main computer gets ‘infected’, so to speak. Only files on the computer itself are still…” Barbara trails off, pressing a sudden hand to her forehead, and frown deepening. “Sorry, I...” She seems to shake herself, looking up. “Only files on the computer itself are still uncorrupted.

“So c’n you reverse it?” Duke asks, slurring slightly. Jason frowns at him, hoping it hadn’t been his head that had collided with Jason’s ribcage. “Go in separately, ‘n regain control of each of those parts?”

“Yes,” Barbara answers without hesitating. “But I need time, and I need -”

“'m I the only one hearing that?” Steph interrupts, arm sliding from Dick’s shoulder as she takes a drunken-looking step forward. Her head is again tilted to the ceiling. “Seriously, what is that noise?”

The rest of them look up immediately, Dick even releasing his arm. Jason massages it as he squints upward, wishing he had a gun to point. The ceiling is, well, dark and rocky, no discernable movement across the stone.

None at all, in fact.

“The bats.” Dick’s voice is hoarse, but steady. “The bats are gone.”

Jason fists clench. He focuses on the cut of his nails against his palm. Not the heat in his veins. Not the blur at the edge of his vision. Not the sudden weakness in his legs.

Wait.

“Babs,” he starts, tongue heavy, but he’s interrupted by a sharp noise from Duke, who’s suddenly in motion. Jason already has a batarang primed to throw, but all he does is lunge and grab at a confused-looking Tim.

“Duke, wha’s…” Tim blinks dazedly, clutching at Duke’s shoulder. His face, somehow, goes paler. His bo staff clatters to the ground. “Oh.”

Tim slumps forward, Duke already taking the weight and lowering him to the ground. He glances around at them wildly, movements noticeably slower.

“What the hell?”

The feral hissing is louder now, and now Jason recognizes it.

The unmistakable sound of pressurized gas leaking into the room.

“Babs, air filters,” Jason manages, but Babs’ chin is already nodding towards her chest, hands stalled on the keyboard.

He manages one wobbly step, haze growing with every second. Cave’s blocked off, nowhere for the gas to escape to, no way for them to escape short of stumbling through the maze of tunnels to find the old well entrance they’d used a few months ago to get out of another shitty situation. But from the way his limbs suddenly feel heavy and light at the same time, he doesn’t think they have that kind of time.

If he had his helmet on, with it’s built-in rebreather - but no, he’d left it by his now-probably-crushed bike, like an idiot in some fit of philosophical symbolism about stupid Tim, stupid Duke, stupid Dick -

“Get Steph,” Duke gasps, staggering against the railing. Stephanie has her arms out, as if for balance, face completely bloodless as she pitches forward. Dick - delusional, high-as-balls Dick - somehow makes it to her in the 5 seconds she almost cracks her head open on the sharp edge of a worktable below the computer.

Jason doesn’t have time to appreciate Duke’s prediction - his eyes are set on the rapidly blurring keyboard.

The Joker wants to play dirty, fucking fine. Jason’s fine with cheating. More than fine, it’s what he’s good at.

“Jason,” Dick’s voice says weakly. He’s still standing, swaying like a drunk. Stephanie is crumpled and quiet where he’d caught her. Behind him, Duke’s fallen silent. The hissing hasn’t stopped, and Jason can visualize the cave filling up with gas - a knockout, a paralytic, nothing good. If he weren't so out of it, he might be legitimately panicking. “Fans. Comms. ”

“Hang in there, Dickiebird,” Jason mumbles, forcing the words out. He staggers into the keyboard, dragging it towards him - Barbara’s hands slide away.

His goddamned fingers won’t cooperate - he can’t type, he can’t think, the fire in his brain dampening by the second.

But he has to, or else this whole fucking thing was pointless, and the Joker wins again, and the only thing that’s gonna come of it is a couple of new uniforms on display, another excuse for Bruce to carry on his crusade like a guilt-ridden justice-bot.

Damian’ll be broken up, poor brat. Cass will probably vanish across the planet for a bit. Maybe Bruce’ll get some new orphans to ease the guilt, another generation of cannon fodder for -

“Jay,” a faint voice says, jarring him. Focus. The edges of his vision are blurring, and Jason blinks furiously, tapping out keys one at a time. “You gotta.”

There’s a hushed thud. Crap.

A chill runs down his spine - it might be whatever's in the gas, it might be the realization. He’s alone. Well fine, the Joker’s here - somewhere - but Jason doesn’t count shitty company. Jason’s alone, but according to one or two begrudgingly reliable sources, ‘alone doesn’t fucking work’.

So here he goes, Jason versus the uncaring universe, round two, ready, set - 

He hits a key, and the world shrinks as he slides to the floor, limbs like jelly.

Maybe this time it’ll be different, he thinks, hazily, hysterically. Maybe this time it won’t get him fucking killed for his trouble.

He wants to laugh, but fuck that.

Chapter Text

Dick wakes up to a sharp slap across his face.

Well, no, he perceives a slap - the sting across his cheek, the pitched clap of skin hitting his cheek, the way his head turns at an angle - and the combined sensations are enough for him to flutter his eyes, pulling them open against what feels like glue sealing his eyelids shut.

There’s something wrong with his body, a tightness at his shoulders, a numbness...pretty much everywhere else. It seems like something to panic about, but through flickering eyelids he can make out the metal floor of the computer platform - he sighs, relieved. He’s in the batcave.

Something burning and panicked dances at the corner of his dubious consciousness.

He lets his head drop again, trying to take stock as best he can beneath the layer of felt wrapped around his brain. Images of Robins and exploding bikes are mixed with the impression of high places, of precipices and arching clouds and of Jason, strangely enough, stumbling towards the computer in a wash of blue light.

He’s been hallucinating; it’s pretty much the only thing he’s certain about, aside from the taste of blood in his mouth and the ache in his chest. Which, ow. He’s going to need to rewrap his ribs, if Alfred - something stalls in his brain, stirring.

Alfred. Gunshots.

“I said,” a razor-thin voice says. “Rise and shine!”

Another slap, and Dick gasps as something cuts his cheek. He jerks up, the rest of his body falling back into place with the force of a truck collision.

For a moment he’s blinded, the world a sea of harsh blue light and strange, malformed shadows.

Then the Joker is standing in front of him, flashing a grin and a knife.

Dick blinks. The blinks again. Hallucination, delusion, nightmare - this has to be the part where he’s completely lost touch with reality, right? Because this can’t. This can’t be right. He can’t have screwed up this bad. It’s not - this can’t be real.

The room tilts as his head drops again. Dick fights the urge to shut his eyes, focusing instead on the webbed metal of the platform. He knows, he needs to look up. He needs to look up, because he needs to know just how bad this nightmare is.

But his brain is still losing a game of catch up, and he just needs. A second. A second more before he looks up and sees what he can’t unsee. The visions, earlier, had been tame - places, mostly, empty deserts and familiar cemeteries and rooftop after rooftop followed by the sensation of falling. The faces were worse - disappointed, usually, or heart-wrenchingly aggrieved.

“Fiiiiinally,” the Joker is saying. The sound is warped, like he’s hearing it through a layer of glass. “Welcome to the show, Batsy-lite! Six outta eight ain’t so bad - weeeell.” There’s a scrape, and the Joker snorts. “More like five outta eight.”

Dick’s blood goes cold as the words register. It can’t - no. He steels himself. Looks up.

The room is swimming in incomprehensible shapes, everything still blue and indistinct as his vision wavers. The glint of the knife, weirdly enough, is what helps his eyes focus. It’s an enormous, makeshift-looking cutout of metal, long as the Joker’s arm and flashing from where it swings at his side.

Dick let’s his eyes follow it, adjusting to the weird light and smudgy shapes arranged around him.

“I mean, he’s breathing,” the Joker continues, the blade rotating in his wrist until it’s pointing at the slouched shadow directly next to Dick. He blinks furiously as other blurred shapes vanish and reappear at the edges of his vision. Those aren’t real, he repeats to himself, staring at the one solid figure. Whoever it is, is slouched in a chair, utterly still.

“He just won’t wake u- ” The Joker’s arm moves to prod the figure with his knife at the same moment Dick’s eyes suddenly decide to work.

“Don’t touch him,” Dick snarls, words scraping over the fine-ground crystal that’s taken up residence in his throat. Someone else makes a noise across the room, but Dick is busy willing the Joker’s attention off of Duke.

It - well, it works. The Joker freezes, turning his neck. His lips split into a slow grin.

“Fi-i-i-nally! Someone with some bite! These,” he waves the knife idly, the blade passing in front of his face as he gestures to the other still-indistinct silhouettes around him. “Are absolutely no fun. Even the little zombie bird is playing up the silent treatment, and I don’t,” he glares to Dick’s right, tone dropping to a dangerous note. “Like it. Not cute. Not funny.”

Dick watches the Joker spin on his toe and stomp to the center of the platform, waving the knife. He chances a look to the right, vision remaining miraculously clear and freezes.

Jason is looking right at him, face set, domino torn away, and eyes a nearly luminous green - Dick can’t be sure if it’s a trick of the light from the computer, his own unreliable mind...or a completely real, Pit-green glow.

In which case, Dick needs to get it together now.

He manages to turn his neck enough - and isn’t that a chore, whatever was in that gas is not playing nice with his muscles - and scan the rest of the platform. His heart does a weird little convulsion.

Stay calm. Assess. Draw conclusions. Dick bites the torn inside of his cheek, exhaling sharply. Alright.

Tim is directly across from him in their little circle, stone-faced and half hidden behind the Joker. Stephanie is to the left of him, equally blank and glaring at nothing in particular.

Duke is next to her, between her and Dick. He’s close enough to be able to make out the rise and fall of his chest, and that alone is a million times. There’s no telling what had been in that gas - a paralytic of some sort, of the pins marching up his arms and legs are anything to go by. But Dick can’t do anything about it now, and it’s not like the Joker is about to call a paramedic if Duke's having an allergic reaction.

Jason, to his right, is silent. It’s unnerving, considering the look on his face, the gleam in his eyes. But whatever is going on in Jason’s head, Dick also can do nothing about.

Finally, Barbara is sitting to Jason’s right, angled enough he can see her hands twitching behind her chair. They’re bound, just like Jason’s, just like he assumes his own are. His arms and hands aren’t quite...there-feeling, as if the muscles have been asleep for hours. He presses experimentally against the rope, shoulders protesting.

The Joker halts in the center of the platform, spinning the chair and pointing to each one of them in turn. He hums to himself, what sounds like a children’s counting rhyme.

Dick goes around the circle again, making careful eye contact with all of them. None of them are wearing masks, but they've long-since known that the Joker knows their identities. He just doesn't care. It's a weird sort of blessing of his logic, that he has more 'fun' with them as vigilantes. But now, even without the masks, each one of them is wearing an identical stony expression.

It’s a strategy they’ve all been trained to use for the Joker, and one that’s frankly impressive for them to be maintaining right now. Because the Joker despises silence. Give him something to work with - fear, anger, pain - and he’ll spin off from there, engage like a homicidal, distractible fly.

Only speak if questioned. As much as possible, don’t react to threats. Don’t give him any reason to find you entertaining. Make the encounter as long as you can to make time for backup to arrive.

It’s a tough act. Especially considering that last part is less than a distant guarantee.

If the walls weren’t super-hearing proofed, Dick would sacrifice Bruce’s super-rule in a heartbeat. But all he can do is clench his jaw as the knife finally lands on a target.

The Joker takes a deliberate step towards Stephanie.

“So.” He leans down, back like a hinge as he levers himself to be nearly nose to nose with her. She looks a touch away from spitting in his face, but her eyes keep darting to the edge of the blade peeking out from behind his back.

Watch for the knife, Barbara’s voice says, somewhere far away.

“So-so-so,” he says. “So good to see you again, and so soon, miss clue-bratster. Did you solve my riddle?”

“You should stick to jokes,” Stephanie says flatly, eyes boring into his. They’re wide and dark with unmistakable fear, but she doesn’t so much as blink. “At least those sometimes make some sense.”

“Steph,” someone hisses in warning across the room, but the Joker doesn’t seem fazed.

“What?“ He groans dramatically, drawing away. Stephanie lets out a visible breathe, and Dick can only attempt to catch her eye, give a reassuring nod. “You didn’t. Pity pity pity. And I was so proud of it too!”

None of them speak as he scratches his forehead with the knife. Dick presses his arms outwards against whatever’s holding him to the chair. His arms still don’t really seem to want to cooperate, clumsily straining backwards.

“Anybody else got an answer?” The Joker whips around, gaze jumping to each of them in turn. “Aren’t you supposed to be smart? Didn’t Batsy teach you anything?”

He strides over to Barbara, who tenses imperceptibly. Her glasses are missing, and Dick can just make out the glint of glass shards scattered around the wheels of her chair.

“How many holes does it take to turn a barrel into a tough call?” he asks, tucking his hands neatly behind his back and grinning like a jackal. Dick watches his thumb tap the knife lightly. Watch for the knife, Barbara’s voice repeats, as his heartbeat ramps up. “I admit, it’s a little open-ended. But hey, there’s only one right answer!”

Barbara says nothing, just stares at him with a chilly, immovable expression. The Joker lingers, staring right back.

“Now you,” he says, almost too low for Dick to make out. His lips look as though they’re being pulled wide with a hook as he keeps his head level with Barbara’s. She remains silent, and the cave walls seem to waver inward as the Joker’s smile transforms into a snarl. “What are you doing so far from your ivory tower?”

For a moment, the whole room holds its breath - Dick associates the feeling with waiting for lighting to strike.

But whatever the Joker sees in Barbara’s eyes doesn’t seem to amuse him, because he turns on a toe and paces to stand in the center of the platform, leaning on the console chair.

“The answer,” he says, teeth glinting, eyes alight. There’s a rattle of metal, and from inside his jacket the Joker draws out a thin, shiny revolver. He holds it up to the light, turning it so they can all see the honeycomb of ammunition slots. Empty, all except one. “Is five.”

It takes everything in Dick not to react.

“Get it?” the Joker snickers, prodding Tim’s shoulder as he walks by. “C’mon, a bunch of whippersnapper, brat-wonders like you should be able to understand. Holes. Barrel.” He points to each part of the gun in turn, the cylinder rattling as he spins the case. “As for the tough call. Weeeeell. I know just the man to make it!”

He whips out a phone, a nokia-looking block of a thing with an actual, honest-to-god antenna. He snaps out the wire and flips it open with exaggerated movements, the plastic clicking sharply. If the situation weren't so absolutely nightmarish, Dick would be probably be laughing at it. 

“See?” The Joker beams, waving the phone around for a bit before tucking it back in his jacket. “It’s a game, a game of chance. It’s - what’s it called?”

He pretends to furrow his brow, but his mouth is twitching up at the seams.

“Slipped my mind!” he laughs finally, rattling the gun again. “It’s got a name. What’s it called?”

He crouches next to Tim - Tim doesn’t turn his head, just goes on staring straight ahead. The Joker’s face transforms, smile stretching into an even uglier expression.

“Tell me what the game’s called, brat,” he spits, pressing the barrel of the gun against Tim’s temple. Dick’s heart jumps to his mouth, and he has to blink away the sudden dizzy echo in his ears of a thousand remembered shots firing from a hundred different moments.

Focus, he thinks fiercely, here, now, this is real.

“Roulette,” Tim says, utterly inflectionless. “Russian roulette.”

“Good! Good!” The Joker beams, ruffling Tim’s hair with one hand. He doesn’t move the gun, though, pressing it enough that Tim has to turn his head slightly, face still carefully blank.“Very good! It’d almost be a shame to put a bullet in a brain like that, dontcha think? But who knows, even if poppa bats decides you’re the weakest link, I like to think there’s still an element of chance. Wanna play?”

“Hey.” Dick knows he shouldn’t break strategy, knows he sounds like he’s been punched in the gut, not a scrap of the Nightwing swagger. But he’s so not risking it with the barrel of the gun against Tim’s temple. His eyes don’t leave Tim’s face, blank and blue and horribly, horribly young-looking in the cutting light. “You’re not giving us the whole story, Joker. What’re we playing for?”

Because the Joker loves putting on a show. And even if he’ll probably break whatever rules he sets out for his game later, it will at least buy his attention for a few minutes. Of course, the Joker’s attention is dangerous at best, don’t give him a reason to find you entertaining. Yeah, well, Dick was born an entertainer, and the gun is still pointing at Tim’s head, the Joker is known for his twitchy trigger finger, and Dick can’t fucking think past that.

“I asked you a question, you crappy excuse of a comedian, or is this just another cheap, boring, clown-disrespecting - ”

The Joker whips around faster than Dick can track, crossing to him in two clanging steps and seizing his collar. The Joker’s always been inhumanly strong, like a steel wire skeleton coated in flesh, and he nearly lifts Dick and his chair together off the ground.

“You,” the Joker snickers, face bloodless and grinning and reeking of gun oil. “Why aren’t you dead?” Cold metal presses against the bottom of his chin, accompanied by a distant pounding in his ears and a sudden swell of what, courage? Anger? Dick honestly can’t tell at this point, but he clenches his jaw as the Joker’s grin sags and twists. “No, now, who cares about that,” he spits. “Why aren’t you laughing?”

“‘Cause you’re not funny,” Dick manages raspily. Jason’s swearing somewhere to his right and Stephanie might be shouting abuse. All he can focus on is the false echoes of guns and the clang of a hood falling to the ground and that the Joker’s eyes are on him, and that’s what matters. “Like, at all. Haven’t I been saying that for years? Did you think I was lying?”

The Joker’s goes even paler. There’s a vein snaking its way down his temple, like a worm beneath his skin, that pulses irregularly. Dick is about to say something else - something that will probably earn him a slap or maybe a knife to the gut - but the Joker’s face smooths.

He lets go of Dick’s collar, and the impact with the floor through his chair feels like a punch to his ribcage. For a moment he’s just gasping for breath, the dull roar of unreal noises blocking out everything else. Clang, clang, bang bang, on and on like a radio in his head he can’t shut off.

Which, been there, done that, not a fan, thank you very much.

“The rules,” The Joker comes back into focus, spinning on his toe in the middle of the platform as he waves the gun like a conductor. Dick isn’t sure where the knife went. “Wing-nut’s gotta point, kiddies. We gotta have rules, don’t we? Gotta have expectations? Stakes?”

“Just tell us one of us is gonna die and be done with it,” Jason speaks up, and Dick’s blood freezes as the Joker’s slow revolution halts to face him. Jason’s sneering, leaning forward against his bindings as he stares at the Joker. “Come on, can’t you get some new material? You pull this shit every what, two years? Every time it’s the same goddamned thing, oh, let’s put the bat in a dilemma where somebody might die, I’m Batman’s true enemy because I know - ”

The Joker backhands Jason, his face snapping to the right with the force of it. Dick bites down on his tongue, jerking forward on instinct as Steph hisses out a sharp breath.

The glare Jason levels up at the Joker is one that instantly sends off alarm bells in Dick’s head. For a moment the room tilts, and he swears he can hear the sound of cars honking below him as he falls -

“Tell us the rules,“ Barbara interrupts, loud enough to jar Dick back into reality. He blinks hard, the room falling into place with another rattle from the revolver.

This is real, he repeats to himself, tearing more skin from the inside of his cheek, tasting blood. Get a grip!

“Tell you?” The Joker wheezes, spinning to look at her. He stares at her for a moment, mouth agape as a weak chortle turns into a full belly-laugh, the Joker clutching his knees as he staggers with the force of it. “I’ll show you!”

With laughter still ringing through the cave, he whips out the phone again.

“A little birdie gave me this number,” he hums, pressing the buttons deliberately. “Wouldn’t you like to know who. But the rules - it’s pretty simple, actually, an idiot could play it. I give this a little spin.” He gestures with the gun, bringing the phone to his ear. “Batsy gets to make the call of who goes in what order.” He pantomimes pulling the trigger, clicking his tongue. “And we all get to see who he loves the best! Or well.”

The Joker snickers, winking at Dick.

“The worst.”

Barbara is biting her lip to his right, and he can make out minute sawing movements behind her chair as the Joker turns away. He can’t risk leaning back to try to see, not when he’s barely making headway on his own bindings. His arms still feel like they’ve been shot through with novocaine, tingly and weak. But at least now he can feel them at all - Steph hasn’t even moved beyond turning her head.

Dick shifts his eyes to Duke, who still hasn’t stirred next to him. He’s breathing, and Dick thinks he might be able to make out the faintest twitch of his eyelid - until Duke suddenly vanishes, replaced with the slumped, headless body of a security guard.

Dick snaps his eyes shut with a gasp.

Here and now, Grayson, here and now he tries to recite, but his thoughts are slipping away from him too quickly, heart pounding faster as his head goes light.

“Dick, look at me,” Jason hisses. Dick manages to peel his eyes open, craning his neck to the right. Jason’s watching the Joker, who’s got his back to them, plugging one ear as he presses the phone to his other. Across the circle, a pale-faced Tim is staring at him, mouthing something. “Are you listening to me? Fucking breathe, okay?”

“There’s a…” he tries to explain, eyes caught on a blurred figure perched on the computer railing. Blonde hair, red tunic, green tights. The figure waves jauntily. “Robin.”

He thinks Jason might have cursed at him. He’s not positive because suddenly the Robin’s hair darkens and shortens, skin changing shade, grin transforming into a scowl, and Dick’s heart seizes.

“Can’t - can’t be here,” he gasps, straining against his chair - the Joker hasn’t seen him yet, Damian still has time to get away -

“Dick,” a desperate voice whispers to his right. Dick’s eyes are glued to Damian. “Calm down, you’re gonna - “

“He can’t be here,” he insists, voice hoarse - there’s a distant crack, something giving in his wrist as he yanks forward. “He - “

“Shut up,” another voice snaps. There’s a sharp kick to his shin, and Damian dematerializes as if he had never been there at all. Dick blinks, swallowing back nausea as the Joker’s face fills his vision, too vivid to be anything but real. “Can’t you see I’m trying to make a phone call?”

“Can’t you see Batman doesn’t give a shit?” Jason retorts, tone like acid. “He’s not here for a reason, moron, and he’s not going to answer the goddamned phone.”

“Jason,” Dick says unsteadily, still regathering himself, at the same time Barbara’s voice cuts across the room, “Jason, don’t.”

But the Joker’s eyes light up as he approaches Jason, phone antenna tapping against his chin.

Watch for the knife, Barbara’s voice is instructing in his ears on repeat, but Dick can’t see the knife or the gun. What he can see is a tiny Robin hunched up on the main console chair, mouth moving soundlessly as he gestures enthusiastically towards the computer.

The real Tim, just behind him, looks like he’s having a silent conversation with Stephanie, eyebrows dipping as he shakes his head minutely. Dick doesn’t have the focus to discern it, the Joker’s proximity to Jason too distracting.

“Is that so, red-bird-dead-bird?” The Joker is saying, squatting in front of Jason with a grin. “Pop’s left ya in the lurch?” His mouth stretches as he leans forward, lowering his voice to a fake whisper. “I guess you would know, wouldn’t you?”

He laughs at that, a piercing noise that swirls around them and fills up the whole cave. Dick holds himself very still, refusing to shudder at the sound.

“You’re right,” Jason says, voice tight. “He’s not coming, so this whole show is pointless. My advice? Call it a night, because Batman isn’t making it, and he doesn’t give a crap either way. These aren’t stakes that are gonna impress him.”

The Joker’s cheek twitches, and before Dick can react he’s drawn the revolver and aimed it directly at Jason’s forehead. The room goes cold, walls wavering. Dick’s breath in his ears is deafening.

“You’re saying it’d be better to leave him a surprise for when he does show up?”

“No, that’s -” Dick tries to say, but Tim cuts across him.

“He’s saying you shouldn’t bother trying to use us against him,” Tim’s voice is trained low, flat. The Joker doesn’t look over right away, Jason staring dead into his eyes with his own alarming green glare. But Tim keeps talking, and with every word Dick’s heart pounds a little louder. “There’s no point in putting on a show without an audience, Joker.”

“Yeah,” Stephanie chimes in, sagging forward bonelessly in her chair. “This is good material, Jokes, but wouldn’t you wanna save it for when B can appreciate it? We can call this a dress rehearsal, reschedule for next week.”

Dick looks helplessly to Barbara, her blank face that holds the barest bit of tension as she trades a glance with him.

He could shout at them, scream, manipulating him won’t work negotiating won’t work that's not how he is - but they know that. He knows they know that. Short of each of them shouting pick me pick me!, all they’re doing is trying to grab his attention, be the one who pisses him off the most.

There’s nothing the Joker loves more than proving that they don’t have the upper hand over him. If that means breaking the rules of his own game by killing one of them outright - Dick’s train of thought is derailed by a sudden jolt in his chest.

There's a beaming Robin perched in the space below the computer, fiddling with a batarang. He pauses, then turns his gaze - an unbearably light expression - on Dick. Dick looks away immediately, biting the inside of his cheek again. Next to him, Jason is glaring straight ahead, those same eyes greener and heavier than Dick should have ever let become.

The Joker is holding the phone back up to his ear, humming again. Then he gasps.

“Well, look who decided to pick up the phone!” he says, loud enough to echo out over the cave. “It’s about time, Batsy, these wonder-brats of yours were just about to convince me to shoot one of them.” He glares at Tim and Steph, turning to face away from Dick. “This is you, right? Don’t want to call the wrong person, wouldn't that be embarrassing -”

The Joker halts, face lighting up.

“I’ve missed your voice, Batsy,” he says, examining the gun. He flips the cylinder in and out with a rattle of metal. “You’ve changed, you know. Weighed down by all this responsibility, all these needy little bloodsuckers.” He prods Duke’s leg with his foot. Dick grits his teeth, glaring as the Joker winks. “You know what they say about parenthood, don’t you Bats?”

Dick rotates his wrists, wincing. It doesn’t feel as tight as before, but the feeling in his limbs keeps coming and going. He glances at Jason, who looks like he’s testing out the same tactic.

“They say,” the Joker enunciates, reaching out to pinch Stephanie’s cheek - he seems to think better of it as she bares her teeth at him, and turns away instead. “That kid’s’ll break, your, heart. That all they do is take. What do you think of that, Batsy?”

Dick can’t imagine what Bruce is saying on the other line. How he hasn't snapped from hearing this. He knows he would have.

“You’re no fun.” The Joker's grip tightens on the gun. “I go through all the trouble to set up this intervention for you, and according to version two-point-oh over here, you’re not even bothering to show up. I call that inconsiderate, Batsy. Very, very, very, very inconsiderate. But.”

The Joker pulls the phone away from his ear, speaking directly at it. 

“But I do want you to know, that if it turns out he’s wrong?” Dick doesn’t pause in his subtle struggling of the ropes, but his eyes fly to the Joker as he bares his teeth at the phone. “If you even think about coming in here to ruin the game, this whole hidey-hole security system is going to decide it doesn’t like the Batman very much. And since you designed it, well...you know what that means!”

Dick presses his eyes shut, refocusing. Bruce is still not - it’s just hard to fathom him sitting in a spaceship, talking calmly into a communicator while they’re here, injured, disoriented, and trapped in this infernal circle of blue light.

Because Jason had been right, really. It’s not about them, to the Joker. It’s about using them to get at him. Dick grits his teeth, tugging again with his half-numb wrists. Not the time. 

“I already explained it,” the Joker sighs, eyes rolling exaggeratedly. “But I guess I can give you the short version. I’ve got here with me six chambers, six mini-bats, and one bullet. You can do the math, Batsy, but even better - you get to pick the chances! So who, goes, first?”

Dick isn’t sure if he imagines a growl from the phone, but the Joker bursts into laughter. Something in Dick’s chest catches, going cold.

“Come on, Batsy, don’t be that way,” he snickers, spinning as he fiddles with the uneven blade. “After this, you’ll be unburdened, in fact - how do you feel about shared custody? Or I can just keep half of them.” He points the tip of the blade at Tim, drawing an invisible line down the middle of his forehead. “You want the left half? Or the right?”

The Joker’s voice is becoming very distant, the room swimming as Dick finds himself listing in his chair. Someone is whispering, harsh and fast, but it seems fantastically less important than the blurred sight of a Robin cartwheeling beneath the computer, bright cape flying everywhere.

He shuts his eyes, focusing on his arms, the sensation creeping back into them. He tugs at the ropes, curling his wrist.

“Batsy, you have to choose, I can’t choose for you!” the Joker is whinging, teeth bared. “That takes all the fun out of it, and we’re all about fun here. Just ask circus-brat!”

Then there’s a phone being shoved against one side of his head, the barrel of the gun on the other.

“Speak,” the Joker orders. Dick drags his eyes open, ready to spit out an emphatic fuck you - unoriginal, he’s aware, stupid, and not witty or creative in the least. But if the Joker shoots him, he’ll at least be out of bullets for the rest of them. The knife, though, is a problem. 

“B,” is what he says instead, because in the shadows across the room he can just spot Batman creeping along the cave wall. If he keeps his eyes on him, he won’t vanish. Dick can pretend for as long as his muddled brain provides, that they have a shot at getting out of this.

The Batman across the room freezes, staring. Dick stares back, long enough that the room stills. Long enough that he dares to maybe begin to hope. But then the Joker draws back, blocking his view, and the Batman disappears from one second to the next.

“Hear that?” The Joker snickers. “Batsy, your brat is whining for you. Admit it, doesn’t that get exhausting? I’m doing you a favor, here, one less jabbering-”

Whatever Bruce says on the other side of the line makes the Joker’s face fall, pale eyes twitching from side to side.

“You think that matters to me?” An ear-splitting laugh rings out across the room, the Joker’s face lit up in fake animation. “It doesn’t! It doesn’t, because you’ll still be too late, just. Like. Always. So, play the game,” his voice slows, teeth clicking between each word. “And pick, the first, shot.”

There’s a long pause, the Joker tapping his foot as he glares at the phone.

“Fine. Be that way.” He spins, gun flying up in motion until the barrel lands. “We have our first contestant!”

Dick watches as if through a tunnel. Tim’s eyes go wide. Then close in resignation.

“Bang!”

The gun clicks, the quiet sound like thunder as Dick’s chest implodes along with the blue-lit world around him, voices shouting as the room changes entirely. The Joker is laughing in glee and he’s alive he’s alive echoing through Dick’s brain but the revolver is coming up again, aiming at Stephanie now -

Dick isn’t sure how it happens.

Something in his wrist loosens with a jerk, a distant tearing and crackling feeling that he thinks should hurt. But he’s already flying through the air, where the Joker’s arm is raised over a hunched and bleeding Robin, crowbar flashing in the blue light -

“NO!” he shouts, colliding with the Joker - the crowbar glimmers as it goes skidding across the platform, but it’s not a crowbar, and the world tilts and resettles, not a chapel, not a warehouse, just blue.

“Wh - hahaha!” The Joker is laughing as Dick’s elbow snaps into his chin - his limbs are still prickly and uncoordinated, but he manages to dodge a clawing hand at his face, rolling off and fumbling something metal from the Joker’s grasp - he kicks it, sends the blade flying. Another punch - there’s someone shouting in the distance, footsteps pounding -

The room comes to a standstill, and there is a gun in his hands.

Everything’s...hazy.

“Do it,” the Joker pants, still laughing. He’s crouched in front of Dick, blood dribbling down his lip. “Do it! C’mon, Wingster, take a shot!”

“Stop,” Dick rasps, barely conscious of the gun. He - he can’t think, he can just feel the height all around him. Unreality, wild and uncontrollable distorts his vision, colors it a glaring, toxic blue. He can’t think enough to even breathe. “Stop it, you -” He squeezes his eyes shut, memories surfacing, a familiar clang! ringing in his ears. “You killed Robin.”

The Joker snorts.

“Sure did! Old news, but good news.” He beams, throwing his arms out wide. His gaze keeps darting to somewhere behind Dick, blue squares reflecting across his eye. “Like putting down a dog, Wing-nut. You wanna kill me for it? A little quid-pro-quo? I know last time didn’t go how you hoped, but here’s your chance to do it right!”

The last words filter through a layer of cotton in Dick’s head. The gun doesn’t shake, but inside the strange technicolor reality he’s fallen into, a miraculously intact shred of Dick's mind understands a few things. Maybe just one. That the Joker wants this. He wants Dick to wake up with the feeling of his finger on the trigger. He wants Dick to be haunted by this lighting, to need to shake himself out of these memories, to wonder at his own guilt. He wants to own this corner of Dick’s mind.

There’s someone speaking, a steady, urgent rhythm he can’t focus enough to decipher. The Joker’s pale eyes are gaping at him, each one as cold and deep as an arctic well.

“C’mon, Nightwing,” he says, clicking his teeth with a grin. “Bang!”

Bang!

The Joker jumps as he fires, the bullet whizzing into the darkness far above his head. Dick throws the gun down, breathing hard.

“You,” he gasps, shoving the Joker back with a foot to the chest. His hands still feel prickly, distant and disconnected as if they're still clutching the revolver. “You don’t get to make me that. Not like this.”

Not when he barely feels like it's him holding the gun.

The Joker doesn’t get up where he falls at the edge of the platform stairs, scrambling back as Dick grabs the blade from where it had fallen. Really, it’s more of a machete, if a machete looked like it was soldered together haphazardly from bits of thick, filthy-looking metal.

The Joker’s still grinning, a missing tooth dripping blood.

“Oooh, I see,” he chokes out a snicker. “Rather get your hands dirty? If you’re gonna do it, better do it right, right?”

Dick stumbles to the nearest chair, not taking his eyes off the Joker. The spectre of the Batman is standing at the edge of the platform, a peripheral shadow cut in blue. Dick ignores it, focusing on cutting the ropes - barely frayed, where Jason had been sawing with the corner of the chair - and drops the blade, wanting to sink into the ground.

Not yet, not yet, a steely voice in his head says. So instead Dick turns, eyes still on the Joker who’s watching Jason carefully as he attempts to stand on shaking legs. Jason, however, isn’t watching the Joker back. He’s not even watching Dick.

“You fucking bastard,” Jason says quietly. His eyes aren’t burning green anymore, just a clear teal made glossy by the computer’s light. Dick frowns, taking his eyes off the Joker to follow Jason’s gaze.

The Batman is stepping forward, drifting up directly behind Tim. There’s a quiet noise, and ropes drop from behind Tim’s chair. Tim moves stiffly, staring up at the hallucination.

Except, well, Dick is fairly certain a hallucination can’t do that. And as he watches, Bruce tugs the cowl down, face lined deeper than he’s ever seen it.

“Bruce?” Dick can’t be sure he actually spoke. He suddenly can’t be sure he’s even standing where he thought he was. There’s wind all around him, empty space to fall into. “Bruce?” he says again.

Someone shouts. Dick perceives motion, a sound behind him. He turns in a single breath, just in time to see a glint of metal lit up with a blinding flash of electric blue.

Chapter Text

It’s about time. It’s always about time. Not enough. Too late. Not there.

These are things Bruce is familiar with. These are things that Bruce had thought he’d finally learned from.

But as he screeches the batmobile to a halt nearly twenty-four hours after slamming shut the computer on Dick’s echoing laughter, after a heated argument with a horde of Leaguers and diplomats, a hasty exit, and an admittedly grueling journey in a cramped tin can of a borrowed ship, his heart gives another, extra hard squeeze as he catches sight of the manor door.

It’s hanging open.

Sometimes, when Dick visits, he’ll barrel in and stand in the foyer shouting in glee until one of his younger siblings comes to get pulled into a greeting hug or tussle. Every time, without fail, he’ll leave the door wide open behind him until Alfred comes along to scold him for letting out the air.

Bruce tears through the open door, slamming it behind him with a foundation-shaking crash. No time for stealth, and no use for it either. The cave garage entrance in shambles, communication completely blocked going in and out. He can’t connect to something without an outgoing signal, and the virus failsafe has been engaged - he can’t access anything, not without some serious code-work, the kind he has no time for.

It’s as if they were on complete lockdown.

Bruce knows better.

“ALFRED?” he bellows, the sound ripping from his lungs and rattling the walls. “ALFRED!”

He sprints towards the study, muscles electric with fear as the silent house reveals nothing.

You weren’t there, a poisonous voice whispers. You weren’t there for them, and now you’re too late. Just like always.

Bruce crashes into the study and screeches to a halt. He takes in the room, chest twisting.

The huge, mahogany desk has been maneuvered in front of the entrance, stacked up with chairs and what looks like the axed-apart remains of the grandfather clock. He steps forward, only to glance down as glass crunches beneath his boot.

The smashed clockface stares up at him blankly.

He almost doesn’t catch the scrape of a foot, so quiet he nearly mistakes it for his own cape rustling. But there’s a ragged intake of breath, and he spins out of the way just in time to avoid the butt of a shotgun swinging around the blind corner of the study door.

“Oh!” a voice exclaims, and Bruce backs up, hands raised.

“Alfred,” he says, exhaling. He doesn’t have time to waste on relief, because Alfred’s appearance says more than he could have asked. There’s a swelling bruise on his cheek, and the hand holding the shotgun is clenched pale. Ace, sidling up behind him, whines.

“I would say I am surprised you are here, Master Bruce,” Alfred says, sighing harshly. He leans against the gun, a handkerchief materializing in his hand that he draws across his forehead. “But in my frank opinion, you are running late.”

Bruce nods sharply, already proceeding to the huge table. Alfred follows him, raising his shotgun again as he watches the entrance.

“The cave entrance is destroyed,” Bruce says, centering himself with a breath. He tosses chairs aside first, ignoring Alfred’s pursed lips as he carelessly casts them away from the wall of overturned furniture. “Communication on lockdown, systems non-responsive. No outgoing signals whatsoever.”

“There was a young woman here, who by appearance and temperament, I would guess is working with the Joker.” Alfred responds, lifting a chair and setting it aside. “She somehow made it past our automated security and caught me unawares. I believe she was a distraction for this...barricade.”

Being able to block the cave entrances. Being able to enter the manor. No sign of alarms, or internal contingencies being set off. Nothing.

“He...has control of our networks,” Bruce realizes aloud, a million implications coming to life at the edges of his mind. It’s the only way he can imagine their security bypassed, their surveillance measures circumvented - they couldn’t have been broken through or disabled, not with Oracle’s infrastructure.

But harnessed by another user, with interference or a virus?

Completely possible.

What the Joker has at his disposal, the kind of weapons and defense he might employ depending on how far his access goes, is unthinkable. The failsafe should have cut off most of it, but Bruce can’t be sure. Entering the bacave isn’t as simple as storming in, if that’s true.

“He’s defending the cave.” Bruce says, gripping a chair tightly before letting it drop to the ground. “Which means he’s inside it.” With them, goes unsaid.

Alfred, for his part, actually blinks.

“I expect we’ll be having a word with the head of Arkham security, then,” he says, setting down another chair forcefully. “Heaven forbid they keep him in custody for more than a day.”

“The woman,” Bruce says by way of explanation, not pausing as he tosses away a sidetable. All that remains is the desk, two hundred pounds of solid mahogany. Not an issue for him, but he’ll need to follow up if the Joker had used cronies to move it, if it hadn’t been his own near-inhuman strength combined with the accomplice, the woman. Who will also need further examination.

Thoughts for another time. He already doesn’t have enough.

Bruce rounds the desk, setting his knees and preparing to push - the desk screeches across the floor, almost loud enough to cover up the quiet buzz from around his feet. He freezes for half an instant, locating the source.

In a single motion he snatches up the tablet where it lies half-hidden beneath what looks like fragments of furniture and shakes glass off it, heart pounding.

He needs to find a way into the cave, around his own security measures. He needs to investigate this. He can’t do both.

The decision is made for him as he catches sight of the cracked screen, where an emergency transmission is flickering. Sent from the main computer.

Twenty minutes ago.

He doesn’t drop the tablet, but it’s a near thing as he accesses the file. Whoever had sent it had somehow navigated the virus failsafe, transmitting it from the main computer like any regular encoded message.

He doesn’t waste time wondering what it could contain. The Joker is a performance artist. If this is documentation of whatever is happening in the cave, as much as it twists his stomach, it will contain clues. Clues that he can use to his advantage before he plunges into the situation without a plan.

But the file opens not to a video or audio file, not to the Joker’s smiling face stuffed into the screen.

“What is it, Master Bruce?” Alfred asks, looking pale. “Not -”

“An algorithm.” Maybe if the situation were different, if every single one of Bruce’s muscles weren’t propped up by fear and adrenaline, he would sit heavily. As it is, he grips the tablet tighter, unable to identify the emotion welling in his chest. “A program, for. It’s - I can.” He looks up at Alfred. “I can regain control of the batcave.”

“Then mightn’t we use this advantage, instead of standing like a statue?” Alfred prompts after a pause. “I admit I’ve been skipping my own weightlifting regime, and may need help with this desk.”

Bruce snaps into action, handing the tablet off to Alfred as he braces himself against the desk once more.

“It’s Oracle-designed,” he grunts, not pausing as the desk clears the cave door. He lowers his voice, conscious of the chill of air that sweeps out from the gaping doorway. “She must have sent it before - “ He doesn’t finish the sentence, uncertain of what he had even intended to say.

Alfred hands him back the tablet wordlessly, levering up his shotgun and checking the rounds as Bruce scans the algorithm. Whether Barbara had it on hand, or designed it in whatever moments she had once the cave-in had happened, it’s the closest thing Bruce would be able to call a miracle.

A program that can locate and access a network with no outgoing signal, that can bypass radio silence and disabled networks. It’s...perfect. Bruce can’t help but be suspicious.

But even if it is a trap, he doesn’t have time to dwell. He stares down at the tablet, eyes running over the code. It’s not complicated by Barbara’s standards, but it’s enough. It’s enough. Whatever the Joker had done to infect the batcave, whatever threats he thinks he’s holding over Gotham - over Bruce - this is the answer.

A few taps across the screen, and he launches the program. It runs, code scrolling down the screen. He can see it’s not going to be an instantaneous hack - Oracle versus Oracle, her own designs working against each other. But the failsafe measure - another minor miracle, another twinge of paranoia - actually works to their advantage, the disconnected systems weaker apart.

He grips the tablet, looking from the flickering code to the whispering cave entrance. He doesn’t think he has time to wait. Behind him, comes the rattle-click of the shotgun barrel snapping into place. Ace whines as he checks his utility belt, and he gives the dog a reassuring nod. Which he realizes too late, is probably a motion that’s lost on a dog, but Bruce can’t bring himself to care.

An agonizing minute passes before there's a breakthrough - preliminary sensory alarm protocols falling into his control. He disables them, making a decision.

He hands the tablet to Alfred.

“I’m going down. I can’t wait longer. I can avoid the cameras.”

“Is that wise?” Alfred asks, frowning at the screen. “You won’t be able to do any rescuing if you are in need of rescuing, Master Bruce."

“I can’t know if I’m not down there,” he says, already turning towards the door. “You keep watching the program. It should automatically override errors, but I need to know what’s still infected. I’ll - “

Then. Of all things. His phone rings.

It’s not his phone, really - it’s a number that’s patched through to his comm, but it’s a reception tone he recognizes still for his personal cellular, and it should not be ringing. It’s a contact for emergency contacts, for his family only to reach him both in and out of the cape.

It can’t be a coincidence. He pauses in the doorway, still staring into the dark of the cave, and answers.

“Well, look who decided to pick up the phone!” a voice crows in double, emanating up from the cave at nearly the same time as it crackles through his communicator. “It’s about time, Batsy, these wonder-brats of yours were just about to convince me to shoot one of them.”

Bruce ducks through the doorway, indicating to Alfred to stay behind. He doesn’t look pleased about it, but he remains, shotgun held at the ready. Ace, at his side, tilts his head as Bruce turns away.

“This is you, right?” the Joker is grating into his ear. “Don’t want to call the wrong person, wouldn't that be embarrassing -”

“It’s me,” he grounds out. They have protocols for the Joker, methods to keep him talking rather than committing violence. “What do you want.”

He takes the ledge around the edge of the cave, where the sensors had been disabled already. He can’t know how the Joker is monitoring his own control of the cave - if he is at all - but there’s a chance the accomplice is working from a remote location.

The penny is neatly blocking his view of the computer platform, the only place in the whole cave he can make out a faint light. He needs a vantage point.

“I’ve missed your voice Batsy,” the Joker simpers, in his ears and through the warped echo of the cave walls. “You’ve changed. Weighed down by all this responsibility, all these needy little bloodsuckers. You know what they say about parenthood, don’t you Bats?”

Bruce grunts, sliding beneath an overhanging rock. He can just see the curved edge of the platform, the whole thing cast in the blue haze of the screen.

“They say,” the Joker enunciates, a grin in his voice. “That kid’s’ll break, your, heart. That all they do is take. What do you think of that, Batsy?”

He grunts again, not willing to risk a response for fear of the echo. He can see the very back of Tim’s chair, unmoving hands bound behind it. Tim’s head is raised, but mostly a silhouette from his angle.

Bruce creeps forward another step.

“You’re no fun,” the Joker pouts. “I go through all the trouble to set up this intervention for you, and according to version two-point-oh over here, you’re not even bothering to show up. I call that inconsiderate, Batsy. Very, very, very, very inconsiderate. But.”

Bruce is keeping his breath steady, conscious of the noise. Another step, and Barbara comes into view, her back to the screen. One more step and he’ll be able to see the center of the platform.

“But I do want you to know, that if it turns out he’s wrong?” There’s a heavy pause, and Bruce doesn’t dare move, trying to gauge where the Joker is standing by the angle of Tim and Barbara’s heads. “If you even think about coming in here to ruin the game, this whole hidey-hole security system is going to decide it doesn’t like the Batman very much. And since you designed it, well...you know what that means!”

Bruce tenses, glancing to the ceiling. He does know what that means - if the alarms are tripped, nets or bolos, occasionally a stun. He has an uncomfortable lack of awareness of how far along the algorithm is, which of the security systems have been counter-attacked with Barbara’s program. He switches frequency.

“Alfred.”

“All cameras are back in my hands, sir,” Alfred’s voice whispers in his ear, a stark contrast to the Joker’s piercing tone. “I’ll put them offline. Targeting defensive security and remaining sensory alarms now. I’d suggest you remain where you are for the time being.”

There’s a click as he switches channels again.

“The game,” Bruce says slowly, not wanting the Joker to get bored. A bored Joker is erratic. More erratic. “How do I play.”

“I already explained it,” the Joker whines. “But I guess I can give you the short version. I’ve got here with me six chambers, six mini-bats, and one bullet.” Bruce grits his teeth, the understanding like a physical weight in his stomach. “You can do the math, Batsy, but even better - you get to pick the chances!”

Bruce does know the math. 83.3% chance of survival on the first pull. 66.7% on the second. Even those numbers he doesn’t like, but everything beyond them is unacceptable.

The Joker’s still speaking.

“So who, goes, first?”

“I’m not playing,” Bruce says immediately, voice hardening. “Let them go. I won’t ask again.”

“Come on, Batsy, don’t be that way,” the Joker giggles. “After this you'll be unburdened, in fact - how do you feel about shared custody? Or I can just keep half of them. You want the left half? Or the right?”

“I have regained control of the air filtration system, it looked to be rerouted. The platform still has active proximity alarms.”

Bruce grits his teeth, knuckles itching. The one place he needs to be.

“I’m not playing, Joker.”

“Batsy, you have to choose, I can’t choose for you!” the Joker whines. “That takes all the fun out of it, and we’re all about fun here. Just ask circus-brat!”

Bruce’s breath goes cold in his lungs as the shuffle of plastic, at the sharp exhale on the other line. He focuses on the next step, not on glancing up, because he’s not sure how he’ll react, caught between his son’s voice and the sight of him.

“B,” Dick’s voice is hoarse, and Bruce can’t stop himself. He looks over at the platform, and every muscle in his body immediately pulls to a halt. Dick is staring straight at him from behind the Joker, looking completely oblivious to the gun pressed against his temple.

The Joker shifts, and Bruce takes the opportunity to duck beneath the rocky outcropping along the ledge. He breathes, recentering himself and reviewing the layout - if Bruce is looking at the platform from 12 o’clock, that makes Dick at 6 o'clock. Duke at 8 o’clock, Stephanie at 9 o'clock -

“Hear that?” The Joker snickers through the line. Bruce presses his lips together. Tim at 11 o’clock, Barbara at 3 o’clock, Jason at 5 - “Batsy, your brat is whining for you. Admit it, doesn’t that get exhausting? I’m doing you a favor, here, one less jabbering - ”

“Stop this. Or I will stop you,” Bruce growls, formulating his route. There’s cover around the edge of the monitor. He could sweep up behind Tim. But no matter how stealthy he is, he can’t move faster than the Joker can pull the trigger on one of them. 87.7% is not a chance he is willing to take.

He considers for half a second before dropping the words, playing a card.

“You aren’t in the position to negotiate that you think you are, Joker.”

“You think that matters to me?” A high laugh scrapes across the walls. “It doesn’t! It doesn’t, because you’ll still be too late, just. Like. Always.”

The words are familiar. The strangled feeling in his chest, familiar.

“So, play the game.” The Joker’s voice slows, a click of teeth punctuating each word. “And pick, the first, shot.”

“Let them go,” he says, because that’s all he can say, because he’s still too far away and he needs the Joker to waste time goading him. More talking, more time. “You don’t need them to prove a point, Joker.”

There’s a thin pause.

“Fine. Be that way.” Something in the Joker’s snarl sends a jolt of fire through him, and he’s already racing across the remaining empty space as the Joker roars, “We have our first contestant!”

Bruce is just in time to hurl a batarang at the Joker’s outstretched arm. Too late.

“Bang!” the Joker shouts as the gun clicks, hollow, but Bruce doesn’t stop - he’s nearly at the platform as the Joker raises his arm again, not enough, too late, too -

A blur of shadows crashes across the platform, bowling the Joker over with a torn shout. Bruce throws himself over the platform edge, aware of the startled looks from Barbara and Stephanie. But his eyes are glued to the Joker, who’s still laughing, even crouched on the platform at Dick’s feet, who - Bruce stops on a dime, taking in the scene.

It’s frozen in the faint blue computer light, like a tableau preserved in ice. Dick stands over the Joker, eyes glassy. The gun in his hands doesn’t shake.

“Do it.” The Joker laughs breathlessly. “Do it! C’mon Wingster, take a shot!”

“Stop,” Dick says, voice strained. “Stop it, you -” His eyes close, then pop open with a burning glare. “You killed Robin.”

The Joker snorts, blood spraying from his mouth.

“Sure did! Old news, but good news,” he crows, throwing his arms out wide. His grin stretches as his gaze darts over to Bruce. “Like putting down a dog, Wing-nut. You wanna kill me for it? A little quid-pro-quo? I know last time didn’t go how you hoped, but here’s your chance to do it right!”

“Dick,” Bruce says, but words won’t come. He’s acutely aware of the silence around him. Of Jason’s eyes, a furious near-luminescent green he can see from here.

“C’mon, Nightwing,” the Joker says, clicking his teeth with a grin. “Bang!”

Bruce has years of experience with guns. Training himself not to react, not to find himself standing in an alleyway at the crack of a bullet.

Bang!

He still flinches at the sharp report, uncomprehending for a fraction of a second. The Joker’s smile drops.

Dick releases the gun with a clatter.

“You,” he pants, a sharp kick sending, towards the platform stairs. “You don’t get to make me that. Not like this.”

The Joker picks his grin up as Dick grabs an enormous blade from the floor, a monstrous length of metal that twinkles mockingly in the computer’s glow. Bruce steps forward, hands out. Dick doesn’t even look at him, eyeing the Joker.

Bruce opens his mouth. Words remain at the back of his throat. Jason, now, is staring at him.

“Oooh, I see.” The Joker chokes out a snicker as Dick takes a step with the blade. “Rather get your hands dirty? If you’re gonna do it, better do it right, right?”

Dick doesn’t respond. He instead reaches for Jason’s chair, sawing for a moment until ropes fall from behind.

“You fucking bastard,” Jason’s voice seems louder for the silence.

Bruce doesn’t respond, just drags the sharp batarang edge across Tim’s ropes, ghosting a hand over his shoulder as Tim peers up at him with hollow eyes.

That’s when Dick finally looks over at him, brow furrowing. Something is...not right, about his gaze. Too unfocused. Too disbelieving.

Carefully, Bruce reaches up, unclasping the cowl and tugging it down. He’s conscious of the Joker, but the Joker doesn’t care for Bruce Wayne. Neither does Bruce, right now.

Tim - too pale, too unsteady, why do all of them look so worn - quietly takes a batarang from him, skirting towards Stephanie. Bruce’s eyes shift between Barbara and Duke, one stony-faced, one unconscious.

Not necessarily too late. But not on time, either.

“...Bruce?” Dick’s voice reaches him. He sounds...dazed. “Bruce?”

Bruce takes yet another step forward, this time determined to speak. He opens his mouth -

There’s a scrape, metal on metal. He watches as if in slow motion, feeling his own body respond slower than he wants it to.

The yell comes first, a strangled, desperate shout, the kind you can’t stop from ripping itself free from your lungs, one that comes from all around him, from inside his own chest. Voices in unison.

The sound doesn’t stop the Joker from lunging, doesn’t stop Dick from turning on the spot or throwing an arm out to shove Jason backwards.

There’s a thin glimmer of metal flashing from the Joker’s arcing hand, a fraction of a second behind another flash - Jason’s arm whips faster, the brilliant, hideous blade singing through the air until -

There’s an awful, squelching snik. It’s a sound Bruce knows as metal ripping through flesh and muscle.

For a millisecond there’s a lull as everyone takes in the same thing. Bruce is forcibly reminded of the circus, one gory spectacle stained with lights and sound and other things. The crowd hadn’t been quiet, then. They’d just screamed.

The sudden, discordant peace is broken by the sound of a body hitting the platform. Then a head.

There’s no laughter. Just a cough, as Dick stumbles back, hand pressed to a bloodied cut across his midsection. He looks up, flashing wide eyes at the Joker’s body strewn below him, to Jason panting next to him with the enormous blade still raised.

“Fuck,” he breathes, then sags backwards.

Bruce is across the platform before he realizes he’s moved, grabbing him and forcing him into a chair. All the while the Joker’s head is still rolling across the platform. The blue computer light is starting to feel smothering.

Jason hasn’t moved and Bruce barely perceives the sound of the blade dropping to the ground. He looks up at him, caught between two unnameable, agonizing emotions.

There’s there’s blood spattered in a line across Jason’s cheek, darker and shinier than his freckles.

“I…” Jason takes in a rapid breath, eyes huge and clear. He looks...surprised. “He was going to.”

They both look down at the same time. At the same thing.

The Joker’s headless body lies still and quiet.

It’s about time. It’s always about time. Bruce needs time.

He doesn’t have time to look at Jason, whose hand is clenching and unclenching as he stares down at the body. At Tim, who’s kneeling pale and shocked, next to Stephanie’s chair. At Duke, whose head is rocking from side to side in a slow, stirring nod.

Bruce needs. He needs to be with all of them. He is needed to be there, for all of them.

Only one of them is bleeding, right now.

“Dick,” he says, ripping field gauze from his utility belt. “Put pressure on this.”

“You…?” The word lilts upwards, and Dick’s squint is suspicious. “Bruce?”

“It’s me,” he says. He doesn’t know what else to say. He’s conscious of Jason standing there, staring. Of the Joker’s body, leaking blood through the computer platform just a few steps away. There’s movement around him, rattling and whispers and what sounds like the scamper of dog paws.

“The Joker,” Dick says, squeezing his eyes shut. “Jason.”

“He’s alright.” Bruce’s voice sounds distant to him. He peels away the gauze, peeking. The cut seems shallow, but it’s across his stomach, straight through the fabric of his shirt. If it had slashed any deeper - Bruce presses the gauze back firmly. “He saved you.”

There’s a quiet exhale from somewhere.

“Sorry, B.” Dick’s whisper is choked, as he blinks up at Bruce. “Too slow.”

Something in Bruce’s chest physically twists, like his heart is bound and struggling.

“No, no, you weren’t. You were perfect,” he whispers back, pushing Dick’s hair back and resting his palm on his forehead. He cannot fathom why now, the words are suddenly easy. “All of you were perfect. I should have been here. But everything...” he glances at the Joker’s head, lying across the platform. “Everything’s alright.”

Dick smiles weakly, barely a glint of his teeth in the low light.

“‘S good.”

That painful something twists deeper.

“Step aside, Master Bruce,“ a shaky voice says, and Bruce extricates himself enough to back off, to let Alfred bend to inspect it. “Master Dick, if I help, do you think you can walk to the medical bay?”

Bruce steps away.

Tim is very slowly and laboriously sawing at Duke’s bound hands, Duke himself blinking groggily. Barbara is massaging her wrists. Steph is huddled in her chair, arms propped over her knees as Ace snuffles at the cut ropes. As he watches, she reaches down to clumsily pet him, eyes squeezing shut.

Another twist of pain. He takes a deep breath and turns.

For a horrible moment, he thinks Jason is gone - taken off on his bike, vanished into the wind where even Bruce will never find him. But reality corrects him, reminding him of the batcave-in, that Jason’s bike was probably parked where there’s only rubble now.

He carefully steps around the Joker’s silent body.

Jason has moved to the edge of the platform stairs, fists clenched.

Bruce knows it’s not a matter of what he should or shouldn’t do. It’s a matter of can or cannot.

Coward, Jason’s voice echoes in his ears from long ago.

“Jason.” His mouth is dry. The journey back had been - rough. Rushed. He’s not sure when he last ate or drank. “Jason, look at me.”

Jason is staring at the Joker’s head, trapped in the corner of the platform and the railing. His face isn’t frozen into a rictus smile, like he’d probably always wanted. He just looks dead.

“Please.”

Jason meets his eye.

“You don’t -” You don’t need to look at me like that. You don’t need to defend yourself to me. I saw. I know what would have happened. “I’ve...missed you.”

Jason stares. If Bruce were a different kind of person, he would fidget.

“Seriously?” Jason says finally. “That’s what you’re going with?”

Bruce - mouth still dry, brain still wording and rewording things that still don’t sound right - manages a nod.

Jason is shaking his head slowly, and Bruce wonders if he’s imagining the wet sheen in his eyes.

“You...are so goddamned weird.”

Bruce...isn’t certain how to interpret that. But Jason hasn’t crossed his arms or made a move to run for it, and Bruce can’t stall forever; Dick might not be critical with Alfred by his side, but Bruce hasn’t been there for the past two days, and he has time to make up for. Duke had barely been cognizant, Tim and Stephanie displaying symptoms of shock.

He takes a centering breath. The Joker’s blood is nearing his foot, coasting along the thin lines of metal and dripping in between. He doesn’t edge away, in case sudden movements somehow make Jason vanish into the gloom of the cave. He should have asked Alfred to turn on the lights.

“Jason, I...couldn’t have.” He tries to infuse as much meaning into the words as he can, to convey what he has no idea how to with a single sentence. The Joker is dead, and Dick is not, and Jason is the reason for both. “I wouldn’t have been able to.”

“Yeah.” Jason scuffs the floor, crossing his arms. The spatter on his face hasn’t smeared yet, and Bruce wants to step forward, wipe it away with his thumb. The Joker is dead, and Jason is not, and - and that’s...Jason is not dead.

He savors the words, watching a webbed line of blood reach his boot.

Bruce can’t undo this. No thinking his way out of it, no resuscitations or reversals. The Joker is dead. His family is not.

It's...much simpler than he’s ever considered it could be.

He has work to do still, bad things that the Joker’s death will cause, a ripple effect, a domino cascade. All bad things, because that’s all the Joker ever gave to the city. Gave to Bruce.

“Jason,” he says, uncertain, because ultimately, ultimately, Bruce did nothing here. It did not matter he was here in what could barely count as in time. The last two days of fear and worry amount to very little. “I’m...sorry.”

“Sorry, you’re gonna throw me behind bars?” Jason says sharply, crossing his arms. “Sorry the Joker beat me to death when I was fifteen? Sorry Damian stole my wallet last week? You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“I’m not turning you in,” Bruce responds firmly, but he can’t find the next words. The noise from the behind is quiet, now, fading as rustles and whispers recede towards the medbay. It’s a good sign. He needs to be there. But he needs to be here. “I’m...sorry I wasn’t here. Sooner.”

Jason uncrosses his arms again, rubbing his eyes.

“Yeah. Well. At least you showed at all. I was kind of expecting Alfred, or Batwoman, no offense.”

This line, he knows.

“None taken,” he says. Then, tentatively, “Alfred...likely would have been very effective, even without backup.”

Jason’s eyes are definitely shiny now, and Bruce can only hold his breath that he doesn’t start shouting at him. Jason as a child always teared up when he was angry. But Jason just exhales, crossing his arms once more.

“Yeah.”

“Would you - “ Bruce clears his throat. “I’m sure the others would like you to stay.”

Jason’s face hardens, and for once Bruce catches the error before he opens his mouth.

“I would,” he clarifies, forcing the words from his lungs. “Like you to stay.”

Jason’s fingers tap against his elbow, gaze shifting.

“If you wanted,” he adds, but Jason is shaking his head.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” he says, tone curdling. “I appreciate the - the whatever the fuck this is, but I’m pretty sure you’re about to come to your senses and remember what you think of killers. Not about to wake up in a jail cell when that happens.”

“That won’t happen,” Bruce says, certain of this.

“Yeah, okay.” Jason snorts, feet shifting. “If you’re missing a car later, don’t go looking. I’m going, Bruce, you’re not gonna stop me.”

“But you can come back.”

Jason’s rejoining gaze is unreadable.

A moment later he’s vanished, deliberate footsteps up the darkened steps beyond the penny. Bruce wants to watch him go, but his eyes fall on the Joker. The Joker’s head, a few steps apart, reticent and unsmiling.

Studying it, Bruce thinks about the father of Mark LeRoy, the security guard. He thinks about funerals. The ones he remembers and the ones he will remember and the ones that now, will never happen.

It’s easy to turn away.

Bruce lets the silence wash over him as he crosses the platform, treading towards the soft rhythm of voices emanating from across the cave.

Chapter Text

Dick wakes up.

It’s a surprise, for some reason. Something worries at the very edge of his brain, something...very important, it’s the reason he’s vaguely surprised as he takes in a deep breath. He doesn’t quite know why, but he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth just yet.

It’s less of a surprise that every muscle in his body feels as though it’s been flattened and stretched like a piece of taffy, and the taste in his mouth is one that he can confidently guess is what day-old roadkill must taste like.

He doesn’t dare open his eyes, thoughts still scattered and hazy, and he’s certain there’s something he should be freaking out about right about -

“Bang!”

It takes every ounce of his control not to sit bolt upright, to instead keep his eyes closed and take stock of himself, his surroundings, racing through what had happened. The cave. The game. The gun.

The - the Joker.

He’d...had he? Hopped up on venom and swirling delusion, he’d - the memories don’t seem quite real. Like watching someone else move his body. The world had been blue.

But he hadn’t - he hadn’t.

Something loosens in his chest.

He can’t be sure what had been real and what had been fake, and it takes too much energy to think about it or what it means. He tucks it all away, keeping his breathing steady as he sneaks an eyelid open. The light above him is piercing, but he’s distracted by the sudden rustle next to him, but a soft weight landing on the bed next to his shoulder.

He turns his head to look Alfred the Cat in the eye.

“Hey,” he murmurs, not daring to move just yet. He’s been in this kind of situation enough times to know that it’ll probably just set off a chain reaction of pain that he will not enjoy. Alfred, for his part, seems to know this, and just blinks at him from the pillow.

He presses his eyes shut again, trying to assess just how creative of a swear he’s going to need when he eventually has to sit up. And how much money he’ll owe Alfred the Human if he’s anywhere nearby to hear it.

He lies there for a moment, trying to order and reorder his memories, classifying real and not real and pointedly ignoring the growing soreness in his ribs and gut. The painkillers are probably wearing off, but at least he’ll be sharp enough to remember more than blurry, blue, and bloody images and the sensation of leaning out over an exceptional height.

“Bang!”

The Joker had been real. If the burning along his stomach is anything to go by, the knife had been real. The cave-in had to have been, the exploding bikes, most likely. But Dick, he hadn’t…

He remembers standing on a precipice. Dizzy, unsteady. He’d leaned...there’s an impression of leaning away. Of letting something fall from his hands.

Dick freezes. Well, freezes more, he’s already trying not to move - as something shifts at his hand, pressing against his knuckles. He lifts his head up just enough to peek.

He can make out a head of tousled dark hair. Which doesn’t exactly narrow it down.

He’s saved by having to work too hard to deduce who’s grasping his hand now, by a sudden murmur at the door.

“...text you when he wakes up for real. No problem. You know, you could always -” Duke appears in the door, frowning at his phone as he pulls it away from his ear. He murmurs to himself, shaking his head. “Or you can hang up on me. That’s cool too.”

Then he makes eye contact with Dick and freezes. He looks behind him, then back at him. Dick manages to raise an eyebrow. At least his face doesn’t hurt.

“Uh. Crap. Bruce wanted to be here when you woke up, Alfred literally just dragged him out to get some food,” Duke says, still frozen in the threshold, pointing behind him. “I can go get him?”

Dick shakes his head without wincing and manages to tip his head towards the hunched, sleeping figure.

“Damian,” Duke explains, stepping into the room. He holds up a hand, counting on his fingers. “Tim’s asleep - and probably will be for most of the foreseeable future - Steph had to go home, her mom was freaking out, Babs decided to hang around, she’s asleep upstairs, Cass is -”

“Here.” A quiet voice says, and a shadow with a bright smile slips out from behind Duke. “All okay.”

Dick relaxes slightly at that - Cass saying all okay usually meant it more than when anyone else did, because she can spot who’s lying about being okay. She tiptoes to the foot of his bed, lighting on the edge without so much as a rustle. Damian doesn’t move.

“And you?” he manages, voice hoarse. “The gas. Were you -”

“Me?” Duke snorts softly, pulling up a chair without even a screech of metal. “I didn’t almost get gutted by a killer clown. I’m doing great compared to you. I was just a little out of it, Leslie said the stuff he used apparently didn’t agree with me. Nothing a good nights sleep didn’t fix.”

Dick hums, being sure not to move his arms as he frowns down at Damian.

“Wait, how long -”

“Since...everything?“ Duke offers. “No worries, not actually that long. Just enough for Bruce to finish the antidote. Damian was just already on his way back. I’m pretty sure he would have been here earlier, if Mrs. Kent hadn’t convinced him he couldn’t leave Titus and Batcow behind on the farm.”

“Pet vacation time,” Cass says, tapping his leg with a grin. “Sneaky tactic. We should remember.”

Dick huffs, grinning back. At his side, Damian stirs. Dick really despises assassin-raised instincts.

“Jason?” he asks, hoping to clear this hurdle before Damian can really wake up. He’d really rather avoid a discussion about morality in the first five minutes he’s woken up.

Cass trades an uneasy look with Duke.

“He’s...not here,” Duke says, letting out a breath. “He kinda took off right after. But he’s okay, I think. Just talked to him on the phone. I actually gotta text him, now you’re awake. I’m also supposed to tell you you’re a dumbass, but it feels kinda like kicking a man while he’s down.” He grins, prodding Dick’s shoulder with a knuckle. “Remind me to tell you later.”

Dick snorts, only partly from sitting up straighter too abruptly.

“Scared,” Cass adds helpfully, tapping Dick’s foot. “But so is Bruce. Scared.”

There’s a beat, as Dick digests the information.

“Did...I feel like I understand what happened,” he says, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes until his retinas burn with the pressure. He exhales, dropping them. “...But at the same time it feels like the past two days were just a bunch of consecutive fever dreams.”

“That’s what happens when you don’t have me to pick up your slack, Grayson.” Damian’s voice is accusing, but still soft with sleep. He peers up at Dick reproachfully, nose wrinkling.

Dick just opens his arms, and Damian has clearly been reading all of his medical reports - he carefully avoids jarring Dick’s ribs as he climbs onto the cot, returning the hug without complaint.

“It was foolish to challenge the Joker without me,” Damian tuts, drawing back. “I expect to be included the next time you decide to invite a rogue into our home.”

“Me too,” Cass says, as Damian slides back into his chair. She still has that bright grin, but it’s a little fiercer this time, a little more grim. “Don’t like almosts.”

Dick doesn’t either. He exhales, pointedly turning his thoughts away.

“Bang!”

“So Tim’s out?”

Duke snorts again.

“Oh, he is out out. I don’t expect you’ll see him conscious for at least a few days. Steph actually might have drawn something on his face - I told her not to, but you know.” He shrugs. “Steph’s Steph.”

Dick shares a look with Cass.

“Lie,” Cass says smoothly, reaching over to tap at a distinct, sharpie-black smudge across his thumb. Duke opens his mouth and snaps it shut.

“Snitch!” he laughs.

“Detective,” she grins back, tapping her chest. Dick leans his head back, too sore to laugh, but chest deflating as they bicker, as it really really sinks in.

The Joker’s dead.

No more wondering when the next breakout is, no more sleepless nights spent trying to untangle if a joke has a double meaning, and twice as many people are going to die. No more venom - though there will still be caches to clear up, remnants, the Joker didn’t exactly have a recipe blog for the stuff. No more jolt of fury every time he comes face to face with the man who’d killed Jason, who’d hurt Barbara and Duke and - and him. All of them. And a thousand more innocent people.

The Joker is dead. He mouths the words to himself. All he feels is relief.

“Richard?” Damian is poking his shoulder, and for a moment he doesn’t understand why his face is so blurry. “Do you need more of the antidote? Drake and Father both said it might require a few doses to clear up vestiges of it in your system.”

He shakes his head, reaching up a heavy arm - he blinks bemusedly at the plaster cast encasing his wrist - and presses two fingers to his damp cheek.

“Over,” Cass says quietly. She leans forward, taking the hand from his face and pressing it to her own cheek. She looks him in the eye, speaking slowly. “All okay.”

Dick closes his eyes, feeling the solidity of his own body. Muscles, sinew, bone, intact - for the most part - and very, very real. Duke’s hand is suddenly on his shoulder, Damian’s warmth at his side. Cass’ lowers his hand, still holding it in her own careful grasp.

“Yeah,” he agrees, opening his eyes and offering them a wry smile. “Over.”

There’s a shuffle at the doorway, and all three of them look over at once.

Bruce is frozen like Duke had been, staring at them over a towering tray of food. He opens his mouth, shuts it, then opens it again.

“You’re awake.”

Cass bites her lip, grinning, and Duke turns a snort into a very fake cough. Damian just rolls his eyes, petting Alfred as he struts across the cot.

“World’s greatest detective, everybody,” Dick says, clearing his throat. He drags himself up straighter with a quiet hiss, feeling what must be stitches pull at his stomach. “Please tell me you brought me something aside from cucumber sandwiches.”

Bruce frowns down at the tray, as if he’s actually checking. Dick takes mercy on him.

“Kidding, Bruce.” He sighs, meeting at Cass' eyes as she stands with a nod. As much comfort he draws from having them around him, there is still work to do. Practicality waits for no one, and frankly Dick is more than curious to know the details of whatever’s happened in the - what, day? - he’s been out of it.

“Guys, do you think we could have a moment?”

Damian grumbles, but Duke beckons.

“C’mon Robin, you can show me those mice you mentioned, long as we're quiet. I'm not responsible for what happens to you if Tim wakes up."

Damian brightens at that, shooting an unreadable look at Dick before sliding from the stool and scampering around the bed.

"I will be back, Richard." He says it like a threat, Duke waiting with a grin behind him. "I expect for you to still be awake."

They both vanish. Cass waves, then signs something at Bruce that Dick can't quite catch as she ducks out.

Bruce doesn't move, just squints his eyes as he examines Dick. He doesn't look happy, but he doesn't look mad either. Which, considering all the mistakes and near-misses - almosts, Cass had called them - is more than what Dick bargained for.

“Have you talked to Jason?” Dick asks mildly, at the same time Bruce says, “I’m sorry.”

Dick’s eyebrows rise. Bruce sighs, setting the tray aside, pulling a stool up to Dick’s bed and easing himself down.

“I’m - “ Bruce sighs again, reaching out a hand that Dick meets halfway with his own. Bruce holds the cast carefully, other hand coming up to rest over his knuckles. “We spoke, right before he left. I...I don’t know what he wants.”

“What he wants?” Dick parrots, genuinely lost. Bruce’s frown deepens as he studies the cast, both hands still clasped carefully around Dick’s hand.

“He didn’t want to stay.”

Dick stares.

“Okay, but what did you say to him?” There are a million ways Bruce talking to Jason after he’d killed the Joker could have gone wrong, a whole minefield that Bruce is observably mediocre at navigating. ‘Didn’t want to stay’ could mean anything from ‘needed some alone time’ to ‘decided to vanish off the face of the earth so none of them could find him’.

“I told him I wouldn’t turn him in,” Bruce says evenly. Dick rolls his eyes.

“Is that all you said? Jeezus, Bruce, no wonder -”

“I said I wanted him to stay. And I was sorry.” Bruce inclines his head, briefly pressing Dick’s knuckles against his cheek. Dick can’t see his eyes, but there’s something like grief in his voice. “And I am. I should have been here. When I think what could have -” Bruce breaks off, lowering his hands but squeezing tighter.

The it’s okay, it turned out okay is stuck in Dick’s throat. There’s a muddled recollection of fear welling up in his mind, of resentment and wishing and wondering where the hell Bruce was.

Wondering what would have made it worth it for him to show up.

“You don’t have to forgive me,” Bruce says quietly, and Dick bites his lip. Nods, squeezing Bruce’s hand back as best he can.

“What happened to the body?” he asks after a moment, voice rough. “And the head too, I guess.”

“I spoke to Gordon,” Bruce responds. “He’s taking care of it.”

“Did he ask?”

Bruce shrugs.

“Only if I had done it.”

“That’s…fair,” Dick nods. It wouldn’t be good for Gordon’s blood pressure to wonder if Bruce had suddenly decided he was alright with lopping off heads, now.

“Dick, regardless of...how it happened,” Bruce says, in a tone that means he’s reached his limit in talking about something. “This is going to change things for Gotham. For us. A lot of things. There will be a power vacuum where he was. An invitation for copycats to take his place.”

“I know, B.” Dick sighs, refusing to already feel tired at the thought. Bruce doesn’t pause.

“There’s already a new rogue they’re calling a successor. Punchline. She was working with him on this, planting bombs on the bikes when Duke and Stephanie were at Arkham, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she was the one who helped him escape, both times.” Bruce pauses, face tightening. “She was here, too. I doubt the Joker would have made her aware of every part of his plan, and who it involved. She could very well have thought it was an attack on Bruce Wayne and his family, if she never saw the cave. But we’ll need to be cautious.”

“Same M.O’s, then, or just matching themes?” Dick asks. The Joker’s obsession with chaos or whatever had worn thin over the years, turning into pretty much unrelenting, dreaded bloodlust every time he was in action. A new, fresh interest in elaborate stunts doesn’t sound appealing.

“Serial and spree killer, largely,” Bruce answers. Dick can tell he’s flipping through an imagined dossier, reciting bullet points. “Intelligent, clearly dangerous, but she doesn’t seem as unstable or interested in the same scale of violences he was.” He pauses, finally releasing Dick’s hand to run fingers through his hair tiredly. “But she won’t be the only one. The Joker’s end could well be the beginning of something truly terrible, for Gotham.”

Dick pulls himself up a little straighter, ignoring the various stings and aches as he leans forward.

“But Bruce…” He waits until Bruce is looking at him. “Sometimes things need to end. I get the risk, but the devil you know shouldn’t have to be the only thing you ever know. And really...”

Optimism can be hard to come by, the heavier things get, the worse the nightmares become. But Bruce isn’t going to be the one to provide it, and it’s always been Dick’s job to balance out his unyieldingly grim outlook. Robin’s job. Even if Robin has become something it was never meant to be, that, at least, remains.

And maybe, by saying it aloud, he can convince himself to believe it whole-heartedly.

“Yeah, things might get worse,” he concedes, waving an arm. “Maybe we’ll get a genocidal pianist, or a candy-themed villain who poisons all the lollipops in the city. I'm not at all arguing, things could get way worse. But...they might get better. And they sure as hell won’t stay the same as when the Joker was hanging over us.”

Bruce remains silent, expression contemplative.

“We’re all alive, Bruce. And since we’re alive, we gotta move past things.” Dick offers a wry half-smile. “Into the great unknown.”

Bruce breaks his gaze at that, looking down to study his hands. His voice, when he finally speaks, is soft.

“The great unknown.”

Chapter Text

It’s a week later, when Dick finally persuades Barbara to tell him where Jason is.

“As an injured man, I would have expected some more leniency,” he says easily as he looks up at the apartment building, its windows reflecting the setting sun. It’s in disrepair, but clearly well-loved by the residents if the brightly adorned and flowered balconies are anything to go by. “Though I guess I should appreciate any discretion from the all-knowing Oracle. Makes me less curious about the privacy concerns the ‘all-knowing’ label generates.”

“Hey, I was just waiting to see where the chips fell. I wasn’t about to let him get cornered by Bruce, or anyone else with hard feelings about the Joker. He needed space.”

“Well, can’t be mad about that,” he relents, bypassing the elevator and heading for the stairs. A decision his entire torso condemns, but he wants the extra few seconds it will take to talk. “How are you doing? Clean up the servers yet?”

“Yes, finally. I can’t believe...”

He switches hands on his phone as he grabs the stairwell door.

“...let that happen again over my dead body. And actually no, not even then. If someone hijacks our system, assume it was me from another universe, because no one else in this one is even touching these new firewalls.”

Dick snorts.

“I believe it. We’ll have to keep an eye out for evil parallel universe Barbaras.”

“An unfortunately legitimate concern,” she sighs. “I just...it shouldn’t have happened in the first place. There was so much from the very beginning I just didn’t see. If I had been able to locate Jason better from the very beginning, you would never have gotten gassed, we wouldn’t have broken into Arkham, the bombs would never have been planted…” she trails off with a harsh breath. “So much always depends on a single thing. You know how it is. And I’m just sorry it was me, this time.”

“Babs, c'mon, you can’t do that to yourself,” Dick says, reaching the right floor. “You aren’t at fault just the same way Tim isn’t at fault for not telling me it was dumb to split up, or Stephanie and Duke weren’t at fault for not catching the bike-bombs. A million things added up to how it happened,” he says, pausing before the stairwell door, thinking of Cass and her ‘almosts’. “But it turned out okay.”

“Richard John Grayson, I hope you appreciate the hypocrisy of this coming from you. And you know what it’s like to think you could have done better, so stop pretending you don’t. ”

Dick laughs at that, lowering his voice as he leaves the stairwell.

“Fine, I’ll play. Yes, if you’d tracked Jason earlier with plain old surveillance, maybe I wouldn’t have panicked and gotten gassed. But if you hadn’t, you never would have made that code to hack Jason’s helmet. That means you wouldn’t have been able to use it at Arkham to make sure Steph was alright, and Jason would never have been able to send it to get Bruce into the cave. If Bruce hadn’t gotten in, who knows?” He glances down the hall, counting the doors absently. “Maybe the Joker would have done something differently, because maybe Bruce would have said something different. Maybe we wouldn’t have been distracted for a second, maybe the Joker would have pulled out another trick from up his sleeve, one we couldn’t have reacted to in time. Maybe -”

“Alright, alright, I get it with the maybes,” Barbara huffs. “I understand your point, here. But I’m still Oracle. I still could have done better.”

“What would better have been?” He shrugs, even if she can’t see it. “We’re alive, Babs. Mission accomplished.”

She sighs, but there’s a smile in her voice.

“You say that like you don't think the same way, but I guess I can't deny. We are that.”

“Listen,” he says, knowing her brain is still running through the what-ifs, the I-could-haves. She's right. It’s a familiar course, one that usually composes his own nightmares. But he's still riding high on relief and a heady sense of finality. Finality in a good way. Resolution. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll accept your completely unnecessary apology if you swing by later and join us.”

“Tough bargain,” Barbara hums. “And if you’re there now, it won’t be until much later, but I think I can swing it. Assuming all goes well, of course. Keep me updated. I’ll bring ice cream.”

“I’ll hold you to that. I’m here, so I guess…” he hopes he doesn’t sound too apprehensive as he slows towards the end of the hall. “Yeah, assuming all goes well. Get some rocky road, will you? And neapolitan?”

“Copy that.” She pauses. “Good luck, Dick.”

There’s a low beep, and she’s gone.

Dick finally stops in front of the correct apartment door, noting the fake number. Because it’s harder to search for an address that doesn’t exist.

“Assuming all goes well,” he sighs to himself, and raises his fist to knock.

It takes a minute.

Jason opens the door and stares at him for a good three seconds before simply turning around, leaving Dick to follow him in. He does, after a pause, gently shutting the door behind him and taking in the neat - if bare - apartment.

Once they reach the living room, Jason turns on him, leaning against the counter between the carpeting and the kitchen.

“Let’s cut to the chase. How fucked am I?”

Dick raises an eyebrow.

“‘Hey Dick, it’s so good to see you, sorry I dropped off the face of the earth after that shared traumatic experience, I really-”

“I’m serious, Goldie,” Jason snaps, crossing his arms. “Yeah, we had a nice chat, he spouted a bunch of crap that amounted to one ‘no big deal’, but let’s acknowledge for a second I don’t live in a goddamn storybook. As long as he isn’t sending Leaguers after me I should be fine, but if he thinks I won’t -”

“Whoa whoa, nobody said anything sending anyone after you,” Dick says, holding up his hands and looking closer at Jason. He looks wound tight, shoulders hunched against the counter. A week alone, a week to stew, is what Jason’s had. Dick had even checked with Roy, who’d reported radio silence just the same. Whether or not Jason had been here the whole time, Babs hadn’t mentioned, but he certainly hasn’t been in touch with people. “You wanna sit down, maybe?”

Jason purses his lips.

“I’d rather stand.”

“Alright…” Dick rubs the back of his neck. “Jason, he’s not...well I won’t say he’s not angry, but I’m pretty sure that’s mostly self-directed. And he might secretly be a bit pissed at me, to be honest, but since I got such a rough deal out of it, I think he’s going easy.”

Jason barks out a poor excuse for a laugh.

“Sure.”

Dick rolls his eyes - internally, Jason is too prickly right now - and leans until he’s perched on the edge of the couch. Jason remains ramrod straight in front of the counter, now glaring at the floor.

“He’s not coming after you, Jay. Well, not in the way you’re thinking. He -”

“Then why are you here?” Jason glare flies to him.

“Maybe I wanted to thank you for not letting me get my stomach sliced open?” He offers a bland smile. “Maybe I wanted your shepherd’s pie recipe. Does it matter?”

“Yes, it fucking matters, if Babs is deciding to turn on me, it’s for a reason.”

“Turn on -” Dick almost laughs. “Jason, what?”

“Just -” Jason pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. “What does he want?”

“Jason,” Dick says, speaking slowly. “I’m not here on Bruce’s behalf. Babs told him - hell, she told everyone that you needed space, and he’s respecting that. ”

“More than you are,” Jason snorts, but there’s no heat in it, and Dick flashes a grin.

“If I’d known you were going to work yourself up into this kind of mindset, I would have disrespected it sooner," he says. "We’re still your family and we’re not gonna not hunt you down, Jason, so cool your jets.”

“Because Bruce is so well-known for letting go of things.”

Dick feels his grin drop without his permission.

“I’m serious, Jay. This isn’t me coming to take you in. Not even close.”

“...right.” Jason looks away, arms crossing tight across his chest. Dick lets the silence alone for a second.

“You know why he doesn’t kill people?”

“Because he thinks murderers are evil.” Jason says flatly. “Next question.”

Dick works his jaw, trying to think of a way this conversation could go that doesn’t end with Jason kicking him out and pulling another vanishing act, this time a little further than just the outskirts of town.

He’s thought about the points he wants to get across, tried to anticipate whatever excuses Jason would give.

But right now, all he can think of is one, obvious, burning question.

“Do you really think Bruce thinks you’re evil?”

Jason looks away.

Something breaks apart in Dick’s chest.

A lot of it’s still hazy, but one thing he remembers vividly was Robin. Robin, over, and over again, in a million different kicks and jumps and smiles and injuries. Some visions like looking into a decade-old mirror. Sometimes a girl with straw-blond hair whipping behind her as she cartwheeled. Sometimes one with a sword in his stomach and another one in his hand.

Robins all around, too many to count.

But the one he’s thinking of now had been tiny, beaming Jason-Robin, staring up at him with shining eyes and the Robin uniform in his hands. Hopeful and undaunted and gold-hearted.

That Jason - Jason who he should have been there for, Jason who had been killed by that uniform, little brother Jason - believes that Bruce thinks he’s evil.

Dick swallows the thought with the taste of blood in his mouth. Robin was never supposed to…

He doesn’t allow himself to finish the thought.

“Bruce is...Bruce.” Dick says, keeping his tone mild, even if he kind of wants to cry into his hands right now. “He does things to the max. If he killed one person, he wouldn’t change that, but he would just be allowing himself a hard left turn, where he would still do his all-systems-go thing, but with an added body count. Think about that for a second. Most efficient guy in the universe, efficiently following a mandate to kill. He knows that about himself, Jason.”

Jason’s expression is still shuttered, but to his credit he does seem to digest the information. Then looks up at Dick, a pointed gleam in his eye that looks like trouble. Offense is kind of Jason’s go-to defense, and Dick had known coming here was going to be an exercise in patience.

Deep breaths, Grayson. Just pretend you’ll start laughing uncontrollably and die if you get into an argument. Adaptive anger management, patent pending.

“Ok, then what about you?” Jason snaps. “You came pretty close, why not finish the fucking job? Worried you’d go on a homicidal rampage too? Or you’re just happy playing kiss-ass to Bruce’s rules?”

Dick shrugs. That one’s easy. As long as he doesn’t think about it too hard.

“I can’t just...justify myself committing that kind of violence against another person.” He shakes his head, keeping his mind on a steady track, one that doesn’t lead down darker avenues in his mind. Now isn’t the right moment for Blockbuster, or philosophical discussion on what counts as murder. “I don’t think I’d exactly go on a killing spree, but I don’t think I’d be the same.”

“Even someone like the Joker?” Jason challenges, that gleam still there. “Like I said, you came pretty fucking close. What the hell stopped you this time?”

Dick stares for a moment, blood freezing. He opens his mouth, but Jason cuts him off, scrubbing his face.

“Shit, I’m - Look, Tim...told me you did it for real, that other time. Killed him, or whatever, and that’s why this time...I just-” Jason snaps his mouth shut, blinking hard. “Yeah.”

Well.

“I...Bruce,” Dick manages to say, to fill the silence more than anything. This wasn’t exactly the direction he’d hoped this conversation would go, but it’s happening, and Jason’s expecting answers. Jason is depending on him for answers, and now isn’t the moment to entertain his own private fears. “Back then, I think Bruce was worried about the guilt, for me. The Joker…”

The memory stirs - stained glass, scattered pews, a still body, fury still pounding through his veins. Dick blinks it all away.

Jason’s staring at him so intently, he feels like there’s a spotlight on him, all eyes on Dick Grayson’s questionable morality, a death-defying act, a tragedy in about eighty different parts. He remembers the sensation of standing on a precipice. An empty void is stretched out all around, a trapeze swinging towards him.

“I don’t know what I would have felt, back then,” he admits. Honestly. “For him, if I’d actually...After you, and after what I thought he did to Tim. After everyone he’s ever hurt. The answer is I don’t know. But I’ll never know. And I have to live with that.”

He exhales, determined to be honest. Lead by example, and all that.

“If it had happened again, this time, when I had the venom in me, when I was...happened when...” he trails off, struggling with the words, with something he’s not even sure if he knows how to articulate. Jason is still staring.

He tries to imagine a different sort of waking up, one where it hadn’t been Damian and Duke and Cass and the faint inkling of Jason’s arm coming across the Joker’s neck. Instead, creeping realization, horror. Certainty. Flitting images, understanding, the wondering.

“Bang!”

He speaks slowly, conscious of Jason’s rapt attention.

“Those couple of days have a lot of blank spots,” he admits. He hasn’t really told everyone the extent to which he just remembers long stretches of nothing, of visions of air and light and absolutely zero reality to be found. “So if I had done it then, when I...I wasn’t all there,” he settles on, forcing out a breath. “When it wasn’t...a conscious choice? When I wouldn’t have even remembered doing it, or known what I was thinking when I did?”

He meets Jason’s eyes for a second, but has to look back at the ground. He doesn’t know what that expression means. He’s not sure he wants to.

“I...really don’t think I’d be okay. Even if it was him. I -” he swallows, skipping his gaze to the ceiling. This wasn’t supposed to be about him, but it’s dawning on him that this, this is what needs to be said. What Jason might just need to hear. “

“But I think,” he says, finally looking at Jason. “I would definitely be capable of it. If it was him, and if it was really all of you at stake. I would have killed him for any of you in a heartbeat. And I’m glad he’s dead.”

Jason nods slowly, letting out a breath as he takes his turn to look away, arms twitching like he wants to cross them.

“But Jason.”

This is where he makes the leap. Bridges the gap, finally crosses the empty space.

“Jason,“ he says again, watching his brother carefully. “You’re not evil. I don’t think that. Bruce doesn’t think that. Nobody in our family thinks that. Killing the Joker doesn’t make you evil, if only for the fact that you’re putting so much weight into obsessing over what good and evil even mean.”

Jason’s face goes tight. Well, tighter.

“You think I think killing that sadistic piece of garbage makes me evil?” he snaps, stepping forward. “No fucking way. He deserved what he got, and I’d do it again for free, so how about you take your condescending bullcrap and - ”

“I’m saying I don’t think that, jeez, Jason,” Dick says, restraining himself from rolling his eyes. “But frankly I’m kind of curious why you seem to assume Bruce does. He understands what the Joker means, he just - ”

“No, it’s about - ” Jason scowls. He scrubs a hand through his hair, looking away. “I’m talking about blurred lines, asshole. Murder in general is bad. You know that, I know that - why the fuck else would I go after murderers, after dirtbags who cause things like death and suffering? Why bother with a rule at all? No, I’m talking about Bruce’s whole judge-jury-executioner bit.”

Dick frowns, tapping his fingers against the sofa.

“I know what you’re talking about, but I really fail to see how that makes you think Bruce thinks you’re evil. Elaborate, Jay.”

Jason rolls his eyes.

“I can kill the Joker, I can kill other people too. I have, and I can’t promise I won’t again. So what the fuck is gonna stop me from going too far, if I don’t have your holier-than-me guilt complex?”

Dick sighs. He kind of wishes he’d taken his pain medication before coming here, if only to ward off his growing headache. But Jason’s kind of looking at him like a drowning man staring at a life preserver, and he can’t afford to hesitate.

“Look, I can tell you want me to argue or something, so you can tell me to fuck off and leave you alone,” Dick says. “But my real question is what the hell? I know you know these answers, Jay, because you’ve explained them to me before, yourself, about a million times. You have boundaries.” Dick frowns internally, uncertain of how close this can be interpreted as just...condoning murder. “Even I know, you don’t just kill without a good reason.”

“It’s not, but -” Jason looks like he’s about to start throwing things, but he just grabs his arms, crossing them tightly. “I - Bruce, fuck, sometimes…” He presses his eyes shut, jaw working, like he’s physically struggling to get out the words.

“Sometimes I wonder if he’s right. What if I keep pushing the line? Start killing objectively, obviously good people, and only I see the reasoning? The Pit’s still in my head, Dick. I can still do bad things, I just.“ He looks away, pulling his arms even tighter this time. “You think I’m not evil, sure. I don’t think I’m evil, not now. Killing the Joker, I know wasn’t evil. But what if.”

Jason looks at him, then looks away again. It’s enough that Dick can see the glisten in his eyes.

“What if I become evil. Without even knowing it.” He laughs wetly, and Dick’s chest twinges. “What then, Dickiebird? We still family?” The word comes out sour and clipped. “Yeah. It’s all fun and games until you wake up and you’re the one who’s been wrong all along.”

Dick stares, heart numb. Because far from the anger, the waspishness he’s basically been throwing in Dick’s face, there’s something open and uncertain in Jason’s eyes that he barely hesitates to label fear.

Because Dick...Dick knows that logic. It’s one Dick can’t help but think through, to the point of nausea. Every night. Every mistake. If one step is a step towards something worse, some version of himself he can’t see.

It had been that way with the Joker, with Blockbuster, moments even as Batman and in Spyral, some of the things he’d done and accepted and justified. There had been that wondering if this, this moment was the first step towards his own descent.

“But that’s…” Dick says slowly. He imagines waking up with the Joker dead at his own hand, without having even remembered choosing. The wondering, of what it meant for him. About him.

But that...that hadn’t happened.

“That’s not how it works.”

The words surprise even him, at how...right, they seem. It loosens something inside of him, to say it aloud. He’s still aware that Jason is staring at him, and he forges ahead.

“You don’t...think about this stuff - what’s good, what’s bad, constantly second-guessing yourself - you don’t do that without a reason. The reason is that you don’t want to become…that. You think about it because it’s important to you.”

Dick might have spaces of blurriness where memories should be, but the things he does remember are vivid as a nightmare he almost wishes he could forget. The Joker’s eyes burning into his, the bloody gap of his missing teeth.

“Do it! Do it! C'mon Wingster, take a shot!”

Dick presses his tongue against his own teeth, counting to three before he continues. Jason’s mouth is a thin line.

“The only reason you’re even asking me about it is because you’re freaked out by the thought, which means you give a shit either way. Evil people don’t give a shit about whether or not they’re really evil, Jay. The Joker sure as hell never did.”

Jason crosses and uncrosses his arms, looking away. He opens his mouth, and shuts it.

Dick summons his courage and steps forward, venturing a hand on his shoulder. Jason doesn’t shrug it off, so Dick takes a deep breath.

He remembers haziness. He remembers the weight of the gun.

“C’mon, Nightwing!”

“You have more control than you think, Little Wing,” Dick says. The world had been blue. Blue and unreal, and he hadn’t pulled the trigger, even then.

“Bang!”

The room is very still. Dick’s voice seems loud to himself.

“You can trust yourself.”

There’s a long pause, and Dick genuinely can’t tell whether Jason is about to punch him or hug him.

“The Pit,” is all Jason says, voice rough. His eyes are closed. “No offense to your valiant attempt at psychoanalyzing me, but I don’t exactly feel like I always have a choice there, Dickiebird. A lot of what I did right after wasn’t...I barely remember some of it.”

Dick shrugs.

“More the reason to keep us around. But you’ve come a long way since then. You’ve grown, figured out a lot of ways to cope. For what it’s worth, when it comes down to it I think you have your head on straight.”

There's a beat. Jason cracks an eyelid.

“Was that a fucking...decapitation pun?”

Dick chokes, snorting despite himself.

“Shut up, that’s horrible and we’re having a moment. Listen, if it makes you feel better, just remember we’re around to check you, if you think you really need it. Didn’t Tim give you some kind of lecture on the power of teamwork? It’s completely possible he dreamt it.“

Jason rolls his eyes.

“God, don’t remind me,” he says thickly, arms falling to his sides. “What a dork. But I blame you, I hope you know.”

Dick just shakes his head, raising his hands.

“Hey, no way. I am not responsible for Tim somehow learning the importance of something we all kinda suck at sometimes. There’s a reason he’s the smart - ”

Before he can finish speaking, Jason’s lunged and drawn him into a tight hug.

“None of us hate you, Jaybird,” Dick says into Jason’s shoulder after a moment, arms wrapping around him. His too-big little brother who by all rights shouldn’t have outgrown him. He wonders sometimes, if the Pit was responsible, if Jason would have stayed shorter than him if he’d been allowed to grow up naturally. It’s...a somber train of thought, so Dick focuses on hugging him tighter, trying to infuse oceans of words Jason will never believe aloud, answers to questions he’ll never bring himself to ask. “Promise.”

“Glad I didn’t let the Joker disembowel you,” Jason mutters back, voice rough but failing the off-handedness he sounds like he’s trying to go for. “Woulda been a real downer, you know.”

They break apart, Jason turning his sniff into a cough.

“I’m serious,” he says, crossing his arms across his chest again, and looking at the floor. “I didn’t - it wasn’t the Pit, not then. I actually,” he chokes a laugh. “I think I was more clear-headed in that moment than I’d been in days. But I just.” Jason bites his lip. “He was going to.”

Dick blinks, taken aback. His eyes are suddenly stinging.

“Anyway. About the whole -” Jason waves a hand, clearing his throat and not meeting Dick’s eye. “Power vacuum thing. What if killing him is just making way for someone even worse?”

“You and Bruce,” Dick says, clearing his own throat abruptly and proceeding past Jason towards the kitchen counter. He glances down at his phone, turning so Jason won’t see him surreptitiously send a text. “Think very much alike sometimes.”

“Literally fuck off.”

“Meaning,” Dick continues, unfazed. “I’m going to tell you what I told him, so shut up and be a better listener than he was.”

Jason rolls his eyes, but makes a sarcastic go on gesture.

“Just because things can get worse doesn’t mean they will. Yeah, killing the Joker is gonna change things. Yeah, in Gotham, that’s not necessarily a good thing. But I don’t know, us all still being alive?“ He shrugs, rapping the counter. “That’s a good thing.”

“A good thing,” Jason repeats, mouth twisting wryly. “Wonder if the Joker knew his plan was gonna end like that? Or how much was improv, by that point.”

“Yeah, well, Bruce found another revolver on him that was fully loaded. So it stands to reason after his little game he was just going to cut the crap and shoot all of us.”

“That’s...not very clever,” Jason observes.

“Or funny,” Dick agrees, chewing his lip. “He...was really losing his touch, wasn’t he?”

“Maybe...it was his time?”

Dick stares at Jason for a half second. Then he snorts.

A half-second later they’re both bursting into laughter, genuine, non-venom-induced laughter that’s only slightly hysterical, that has Dick clutching the counter to stop himself from sinking to the floor.

“Stop, stop,” Jason wheezes after a solid minute. “You’re gonna fuck up your ribs.”

“They’re already so fucked up,” Dick manages, wiping tears from his eyes. “I’m gonna, gonna need surgery.”

That just makes Jason laugh harder, and Dick has to lean further into the counter to prevent himself from falling over completely.

At that moment, there’s a sudden knock. Jason jumps to his feet immediately, but Dick just rubs the back of his neck, trying not to look too guilty as he straightens, still snorting. They must have been waiting outside the building, to get here so fast.

“Let us in before I stab Drake,” a voice says.

“Why? Literally what reason? I drove you here.”

“Todd appreciates violence. I was trying to demonstrate mutual understanding as a sign of camaraderie.”

“C’mon guys, can we not -”

“Wait, he’s smiling - oh my god, was that a joke?” Stephanie’s voice is slightly muffled. “Did you just make a joke that wasn’t completely lame?”

Jason whirls on him, mirth gone from his face.

“Dick, what the hell?”

Dick snickers, biting his lip but feeling altogether unrepentant.

“I may have invited a few more guests.”

“Not -”

“No, not Bruce,” Dick waves a hand. “Sheesh, who do you take me for? I know you don’t need that. So do they. Which means we’re not going to do anything more involved than watch whatever movie Cass picked, and eat food until we fall asleep.”

“Dick.”

“I can make them go away the second you give the word,” Dick promises, holding Jason’s gaze and willing him forward. “But I think Cass might have chosen Pride and Prejudice.”

Duke files in first, hugging a huge paper bag and flashing a tired smile.

“Hope you like bagels,” he says, nodding down. “Blame Stephanie if there are no more chocolate chip, I’m pretty sure she fished them all out and ate them.”

“I did no such thing,” Stephanie protests, peeking around the stack of blankets and pillows in her arms. “I took one chocolate chip bagel, it’s not my fault if there happened to only be one. You should have asked for a more even distribution -”

Cass comes next, holding up a distinctly Alfred-style basket of cookies. Behind her, Damian and Tim are squabbling in the hall, but she doesn’t seem to pay them any mind as she studies Jason.

“No more thinking” she says decisively after a moment. “Only Jane Austen.”

Dick glances at Jason, whose face is determinedly unreadable as Cass pats his arm and proceeds into the room to where Stephanie has dumped the blankets onto the couch and is digging through the bagel-bag.

Tim pauses in front of them, arm in the air. Damian is trying to grab something from Tim’s hand, but he’s still tall enough to be able to just lift his arm higher than Damian’s reach. Dick absently hopes he savors the feeling.

“We uh, got stopped on patrol a few nights ago - Dames, quit it,” Tim says, shoving him away. “And were told to give this - oh my god, stop!”

“She gave it to me,” Damian snaps back, trying to reach for it without jostling the small, covered box in his arms. “It’s my message to pass along.”

Tim clears his throat, holding out the card. There’s a dancing little clown on the cover, with red marker slashed all along it and the word ‘congratulations!’ outlined in glitter glue.

Jason takes it, looking wary. Dick hadn’t been on the patrol when they’d gotten it, but Damian had refused to let anyone open it for days, something about having been entrusted as a messenger.

“‘Dear Mister Hood-slash-Robin Two’,” Jason reads, eyes skimming the lines. “‘If it wasn’t me, sure as hell glad it was you. Hope the bastard rots in hell's garbage chute, if you ever need to feed anyone to a hyena, I owe you one.’” He looks up at them, looking bemused. “Hear that? I’ve got a free hyena-disposal pass. What the fuck do you have?”

“Wow.” Tim blinks, craning his neck to read. “That’s...actually really sweet. We weren’t sure if it was going to be a threat or not. She didn’t really stop to chat.”

“Who was the card from? We find out?” Duke asks from across the room as Jason passes Dick the note.

Dick bites his knuckle, unable to stop a grin from spreading across his face as his eyes fall on the huge, looping signature.

“‘Buckets of love, Harley Quinn.’”

“What,” Stephanie cackles, leaning over Tim and snatching the card. “Holy - oh my god. That is...some drawing.”

She holds it out to Cass, who raises her eyebrows at the detailed little illustration of a hyena with a leg hanging out of its mouth.

“Gruesome,” she nods through a mouthful of bagel. She leans back onto the sofa performing a neat backwards roll and lands cross-legged on the pillows.

“You got that right,” Duke says, sounding slightly awed as he takes the card. “You know this is probably worth...I don’t even know. You think e-bay would de-monetize villain signatures?”

Dick just catches the furtive look on Damian’s face as he takes the examination of the card to slip past, into the room, but Jason grabs his shoulder.

“Ah-ah-ah. What’s in the box, kid?”

Damian purses his lips. Dick trades a glance with Tim as he tries to keep a straight face. They’d both watched Damian’s long, serious discussion with Bruce and Alfred, his - to Dick - adorable determination that went into this endeavor.

Honestly, Dick should have probably expected it to become this involved.

“Due to the Joker’s paralytic gas, a significant portion of the bat population in the cave was left very ill,” Damian says, and Dick snorts into his hand as Jason’s eyebrows start to rise. “One in particular needs constant monitoring, and - “

Jason gawks.

“You did not bring a live bat into my apartment.”

Behind him, Duke wheezes, as Stephanie spits out a bite of bagel.

“That’s what’s in there?” she howls, coughing. “Oh my god, Damian.”

“Safehouses don’t count as living quarters,” Damian sniffs, ducking out of Jason’s grasp and cradling the box. “And all of the bats in the cave are thoroughly vaccinated, so you need not worry about rabies or the like.”

“But - “ Jason flounders, looking around at all of them for help. Tim is grinning, raising his hands in a not-my-problem sort of way as Duke and Stephanie fail to disguise their snickering. “Dick? Are you going to intervene here? You’re the one who set this whole movie ambush up, right?”

“C’mon, Jason,” Dick says breezily, following Damian to the sofa, where he’s very carefully cracking the lid. Cass cranes her neck forward in interest. “It’s not like he’s going to let it fly around.”

“One bat in a safehouse you barely use is better than a mouse infestation in your closet,” Tim offers, reaching for a bagel as he plops down on the floor, leaning against Dick’s legs. “Little monsters. And now for some reason they have diplomatic immunity until Damian deems them ‘safe to relocate’.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tim,” Duke says, leaning over the couch to peer into the box. “Those mice are adorable.”

“They ate through my computer charger!”

“Oh my god, you’re rich,” Stephanie breathes, rolling her eyes from her perch on the couch arm. “You can buy another one.”

Dick tunes out the bickering and instead turns his head to watch as Jason dallies at the door. He’s still staring at them all with a measure of disbelief, borderline perturbed. Dick tenses - it’s a lot at once, he knows, and if Jason is about to tell them to get out, they’re all prepared to.

“Join us?” Cass’ voice is quiet, but cuts through a lull in the noise. Jason goes noticeably still.

“This bat is really cute,” Duke admits, tone light. “C’mon Jay, come see.”

“There’s - “ Tim rifles in the bag next to him, tongue sticking out as he examines bagel by bagel. “Sesame, rosemary, pumpernickel, uh….” he squints at a spotted bagel. “Cinnamon-raisin?” He gestures it at Jason, expression tentative, but hopeful as he peeks above the couch.

Jason clears his throat. Dick shares a sympathetic look with Tim as the silence extends.

“Perhaps,” Damian says slowly, not taking his eyes from the box. “Todd. I have yet to name the bat if you...if you had an idea.”

Dick’s heart swells, and he throws an arm around Damian’s shoulder, tugging him closer as he grumbles good-naturedly.

“Jason gets to name it?” Stephanie protests. “Jason, I swear, if you don't name it Bruce, I'll burn this building to the ground.”

“Yeah, uh.” Jason scrubs a hand through his hair. “I…”

“Jason...If you want us to go, we’ll reschedule,” Dick says, trying to keep his tone easy. “But Babs is coming with icecream later, and I’ll have you know I told her to get neopolitan.”

“The worst kind,” Stephanie mutters, and Tim shoves her.

Jason just sighs, and Dick’s heart sinks. But then he catches Cass’ expression. She’s grinning, like she already knows what he’s about to say.

Jason opens his mouth just in time for Duke to yelp, shoving the lid back over the box.

“Thomas! Be careful, why would you - “

“Trust me,” he breathes. “I just saved us an evening of trying to catch that thing. For the record, it would’ve flown straight at Tim.”

“Duke, have I ever told that that power of yours is literally my favorite thing?” Tim asks, scooting away with a haunted look. “Not cool, Bruce.”

“Jason -” Dick starts again. But Jason holds up a hand, shaking his head with a grin tugging at his lips as he heads into the kitchen.

“You all...stay. I’ll make some popcorn.”