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The burning sensation at the back of Jason's throat is what woke him up first. The static air forcing it's way into his lungs, and tearing at the lining of his throat. Forcing his eyelids open was a challenge like no other that he had to face, and when they finally did find their final resting place, open and alert, the young man assessed his surroundings.
Dark, dinghy, the usual. He was in some sort of concrete room, his hands were tied behind his back, and his cheek was pressed against the cold stone below him. He could hear something, music? No, talking? A T.V.? Whatever- or whoever it was was seriously grating against Jason's ears as he came into awareness.
Jason struggled to push himself up, doing a kind of inch worm dance and scrunching inwards, only to find a searing pain erupt in his side. The apparently beaten and bruised man hissed inwards and paused for a moment, allowing the pain to subside before finally pulling himself some semblance of a seated position.
He took a better look around his new surroundings. The room was dark and small, cinderblock walls, no windows, one door slightly ajar allowing the only scraps of light to enter the room. There wasn’t anything on the floor besides a what looked like a pile of rusted nails, a peice of plywood and a tarp. Probably a construction sight if Jason could hazard a guess.
Jason worked his up using the wall as leverage, and managed to stand on his admitted shaky two feet. God, what the fuck had he been up to last night?
He stumbled across the room, still finding his balance until he practically fell in front of the pile of nails, crashing onto his knees with an aching thud that left him gritting his teeth and seeing spots in it's wake. Fuck this wasn’t going to be fun.
Finally he managed to position himself just right to grab a nail and work it in between his fingers, using the little friction he could create to break the rope binding his hands together. It seemed to be just the right time too, because as soon as the ropes hit the floor, a blood curdling scream froze Jason in his place.
Bruce. That was Bruce’s voice-
Jason swept up the rest of the nails, slipping one in between each of his knuckles and took off for the door, slipping silently out of his small room and into a dimly lit hallway. The one lightbulb in it emitted a yellow, flickering light as it swung in front of him.
Another scream and Jason was back in action, sprinting as quietly as he could manage down the hall. He practically slid around a corner, and finally found what he was looking for. Another partially ajar door where he could hear Bruce and somebody else’s voice drifting out from inside.
He knew that voice- something in his stomach twisted. He knew that voice.
If it weren’t for the thick fog that had completely enveloped Jason’s brain maybe he would have recognized the other voice quick enough to realize he shouldn’t have entered that second room. That walking in there would only mean trouble.
The door gave easily at the young mans push and his eyes flickered from a bloodied, half dead Bruce hung by his wrists from the ceiling, to him.
Joker.
The clown prince of Gotham whipped his head to the door, his usual sickeningly large smile was twisted down in the closest approximation of a snarl that he could form. He seemed furious.
“Oh, oh good you’re awake-“ He started, tossing a knife from one hand to another. He stalked forward towards Jason and the younger man couldn’t help but stumble backwards in turn.
“Care to explain to me who the hell that is?!” The man yelled, thrusting his knife back towards Bruce. Jason’s eyes flicked back to the man and it clicked.
The cowl was gone, nothing more than a torn piece of fabric discarded on the ground in a puddle of Bruce’s own blood.
“What?” Jason managed to stammer out, his energy already sapped out the second he had entered the room. His eyes flicked back to the Joker and he swallowed.
“That-“ The deranged man stalked back to Bruce and grabbed his chin in one hand, pulling it forward. Bruce managed a strangled groan at the action and Jason stumbled forward, catching himself mid step as Joker continued.
“This thing is not Batman- it. It can’t be.” He spat, pushing Bruce away with disgust. “Explain it to me, how is this, in what universe am I supposed to believe this is The Batman?!”
He was screaming now, flailing his knife everywhere, and all Jason could do was stand and watch. It felt like he was fourteen again, legs cemented to his spot as he watched Bruce- as he watched his father bleed out before him.
“Oh Robin, I’m looking for a fucking answer here!” Joker yelled again, turning his attention back to Jason.
“I don’t- I don’t know, I’m- I uh-“ What the fuck was he doing. What the fuck was he doing.
“Uh uh uh i What ?! You don’t what?! Stammer? Stutter? Did I bash you’re brain In too hard the first time around?!” The Joker demanded, he took a few more storming steps forward, pointing the knife at Jason now.
“Huh?! Are you fucking stupid now? Did I scramble some eggs, bird brain?!”
Jason couldn’t help take a step back, his back bumping the door behind him.
“God. I don’t have time for you, just. Wait there while I finish this. ” Joker waved his hand back at Bruce, disgust thick in his voice. He walked back over and without any hesitation drove his knife into Bruce’s stomach, wrenching a low groan from the man hanging in front of him.
Jason lurched forward, a yell halfway up his throat. It was like he was gagged, all echoes of protest drowned behind an impassable wall.
The clown retrieved his knife and drove it in again, before dragging it down, cutting a deep tear down Bruce’s chest. The flicker of a smile ghosted the man’s lips with Bruce replied with a wet sobbing yell.
“Stop.” It was out before Jason could stop it and he swore to god his heart stopped with it.
The clown stopped, and turned back towards Jason.
“I’m sorry?” He questioned, cocking his head. “I don’t think I asked for your opinion, little bird.”
“Stop. It. Drop the knife.” His voice was running on without him, the panic in Jason’s chest rose.
“Oh, we’re giving orders are we?” The ghostly pale man asked.
“Jay,” Bruce wheezed, capturing both men's attention. His eyes could barely open as he struggled to raise his head and look at him.
“Run, please,” Bruce was begging, Bruce was begging with blood, sweat and tears streaming down his face. He said it with none of the authority he usually held, it was nothing more than a weak plea.
Apparently that's what Jason had needed, because like a wolf animal breaking free from a cage he was barreling towards Joker in an instant. His fists raised, the rusted nails between each knuckle making a solid collision when he slammed into the clown prince with his entire body weight.
A crack and a yell sounded from the man beneath him, and somewhere in his brain Jason recognized the all too familiar feeling of a knife repeatedly entering his side as he drove his fists down into Joker's face.
There was blood in his eyes, so he couldn’t see the undoubtable carnage below him as he drove his fist down, over and over again.
Eventually the shooting pains in his side slowed, and the screaming laughter quieted, until it was silent.
Jason weakly drove his fist down once more, and once again, finally drawing his arm up one last time before letting it weakly fall back onto the wet sharp mass of what used to be his greatest fears head.
The ringing in his ears was starting to die out as he stared at the bloody mess before him. Flecks of grey matter, muscle and blood stuck to his hands.
“Jay, Jason, please.” A weak, wet voice trickled into his head and Jason turned to meet it.
Bruce .
Dying, bleeding out, hanging from his wrists Bruce .
“Jay,” Bruce’s voice dropped to a whisper when he met his eye, and Jason was up in a second getting him down.
With some awkward shifting and few pathetic cries from them both, Jason had Bruce propped against the wall.
“B, where’s- fuck where’s your com?” Jason asked frantically grabbing the discarded scrap that was Bruce’s cowl from off the floor. He searched it with deft hands and found nothing, just the wires of what could have been their saving grace.
“Jason, Jason . Stop, stop look at me,” Bruce’s hand reached out weakly, pawing more at the air than Jason.
“Bruce I need your fucking comm, I don’t have my fucking helmet-“ The numbness that has enveloped him during the last five minutes was quickly dissipating as panic rose back to greet Jason.
“Sweetheart I don’t- I’m not going to make it and I need- Jason just stop.” Bruce’s voice hitched, and it snapped Jason back to attention.
“Don’t say that-“
“I'm right, and you know it. Just. Fuck.” Bruce shifted slightly, a few tears slipping down his cheeks.
“Dad,” Jason’s own voice was breaking now, the lump in his throat almost hurting with it's ferocity.
“Shh, hey I know, I know. Just. Come sit with me?” His voice was barely a whisper now, a huff of air backed with wet tears.
“I don’t, I don’t want this- I didn’t want this I’m sorry please? Please I didn’t- I’m sorry -“
“Jason, come here,” Bruce’s arm was raised, another small plea for Jason’s support.
With a stuttering start the young man moved himself to Bruce’s side, resting his head against the other's shoulder. It didn’t feel real, the warm weight of Bruce’s shaking arm wrapping around his shoulders didn’t feel real. The drying great matter on his knuckles didn’t feel real, this couldn’t be real.
Jason remembered a time when he wanted this- when with all his heart he wanted both of them dead. He tried to reach for that anger, for some solace in this moment and couldn’t help the gasping sob that came when he couldn’t find it.
Bruce’s lips brushed the crown of his head and he curled into it.
“I don’t want you to die,” Jason whispered, his voice barely a whine against his throat.
“I know, I- I don’t want to either buddy,” Bruce let out a soft chuckle squeezing his own eyes shut against the feeling.
“God I'm so sorry sweetheart, I'm so sorry i'm leaving you like this- you deserve so much better.” He whispered, his hand ran up and down Jason’s shoulder, squeezing gently when it finally settled.
“I need you to know- it was worth every second. Every moment I got to be your father was worth it. Jason, Jason I am so grateful I got to be your dad.” They were both sobbing now and Jason was clutching what was left of Bruce’s shirt, sobbing into his shoulder.
“Stop- please- please stop-“
“I’m so sorry sweetheart, I love you so so much,” his voice was getting quieter now, the usual confidence and bravado it held completely gone.
“I- I love you too,”
“I know baby, I know.”
“I’m sorry,”
“You don’t have to be, you never ever have to be. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Bruce rested his head against Jason’s now, his shoulders sagging.
“I just got you back,” Jason argued, maybe if he could make a good enough point- maybe he could just convince Bruce not to die- maybe- maybe he’d win.
“How do you think I feel? I don’t get to watch you grow up- I don’t. I get to watch you turn into the person I know I’ll be so proud of,” Bruce's voice was barely a whisper now, partially muffled by his mouth being turned towards Jason’s hair.
“What do I tell the others? They won’t believe me,” Jason whispered back, echoing his fathers volume.
“They will. They love you. You did good, Jaylad. I’m proud of you,”
Jason could feel the moment he went still, the show decline of his breathing, the sudden slack of his muscles.
“Dad?”
“Dad?” Jason tried again.
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