Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jason descended into the batcave with quick and assertive steps, Dick hot on his heels.

“I just don’t see why you need to do this, he’s been gone for years , that should be a positive, right?” Dick argues as they reach the bottom, Jason grumbles irritatedly as he moves closer to the batcomputer. 
“I don't trust that piece of shit to just vanish in smoke— he’s not someone who just gives up or moves. If he’s still in Gotham, Bruce has to know, and I don’t appreciate being kept in the dark.” Jason says, as he turns to look at his older brother. Dick’s brows are slanted in a sympathetic manner and most of the fight has already left his shoulders.

He puts a hand to Jason’s shoulder. “Maybe he does know, Jay… but what if he’s not telling us for a good reason?” Jason averts his eyes “Even if he has a ‘ good reason’ , I won’t accept it. That bastard killed me , I deserve to know where he is and if he’s close.” Dick sighs, squeezing Jason’s shoulder once in a comforting manner.

“Alright,, but I’m staying here for moral support.” He half-jokes with one of his signature winks. Jason can’t help but snort at his brother’s antics, he always knows how to make a tense situation a bit more bearable.

It’s a short walk to the batcomputer, Jason takes a seat on the chair with Dick leaning against it, his arm over the back of it.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if B kept all the Joker stuff in one of his Batman-access-only files.” Dick says as he and Jason’s eyes skim through all the labeled files, each named after a Rogue.”I thought of that.” Jason replies, throwing a smirk over his shoulder to Dick.

The names fly past as Jason scrolls.

Scarecrow.

Mad Hatter.

Firefly.

Poison Ivy

Bane.

Joker.

Dick and Jason pause for just a second before Jason clicks on the file. It requires a specialized password, which Jason offers his own up to.

ACCESS DENIED

Jason clicks his tongue against his teeth, having picked up the habit from Damian.

Dick leans forward and tries his Nightwing access code.

ACCESS DENIED

The older hums in thought.

“So, What’s your plan JayBird?” He asks, as he leans back again to rest against the chair.

Jason grins “Little Timothy, of course.” He fishes out a device from the inner pocket of his jacket. “He told me a month ago about a code-cracker he had been developing. He lent it to me, so I didn’t have to break down so many locked doors when I’m out cracking skulls. He forgot to ask for it back, so I still have it. The thing has worked every time, and I know he helped Bats set up the batcomputer’s last update, so I wouldn’t be surprised if Tim made something smart enough to get through even the batcomputer.” Dick’s eyebrows raised.

“Not that I doubt Tim, but what will you do if it doesn't work? Ask Bruce like a normal person?” Dick asks, eyeing Jason, as he connects the little 5 inch cord to the computer. 

Jason barks out a laugh “As if we’re normal people.”

The screen of the device sifted through a lot of numbers and letters for about thirty seconds, both their breaths held as the little machine gave a faint ding and the file on the batcomputer opened. “Holy shit.” Jason said, a faint laugh to his voice. “You didn’t expect it to work?” Dick asks, an amused tilt to his voice. "Honestly? No. But I’m glad to see the little shit lives up to his hacker reputation.” Jason grabs the mouse, scrolling through a lot of files. All labeled by dates and years, spanning back to before Dick was Robin.

“Father would be cross if he saw you two right now.” A familiar voice says from above them, looking up they are met with Damian in his casual clothes, sitting on the big top monitor. Jason looks down again as he keeps scrolling, he’s a few years from when Joker took a crowbar to his head. 
“And yet you haven’t snitched.” He says. 
“And please don't snitch.” Dick follows it up with.

“I won’t… yet. I’m curious about the Joker as well, since I, and possibly Drake, are the only Robins to never encounter him.” Dick nods “should we call down Tim too?” Damian gives a shake of his head, hopping down to stand on the other side of the chair. “He had a long night out with father, he’s still asleep.”

Jason feels his stomach roll as he sees a file

ROBIN WAREHOUSE MURDER

He felt his trigger finger twitch and his vision go green for a second, before a warm hand settles in his hair, brushing his black and white-streaked bangs back softly. 
“Breathe.” He hears Dick tell him, as his older brother continues to card through his hair. Jason takes a shuddering breath, quickly scrolling past the file. All three are quiet for a few moments as Jason’s breath and pulse settles. 
“I’m good.” Dick nods and Damian huffs, the hand in his hair moves down to rest comforting at the back of Jason’s neck.

There’s only a handful of files after that one, with the last one being a file within a file.

JUNIOR

Well, isn’t that shit just perfectly ominous.

Jason clicks it, and the file contains a video file and a text file, both are unlabeled.

“Odd,” Damian says from Jason’s left “father is normally very diligent with labeling his files.” Dick hums “Yeah… also I’ve never seen any of this before, nor has Bruce mentioned it. Maybe ‘Junior’ is one of the Joker’s crime-partners, like Harley was?”

Jason looks back to the screen, moving the cursor to click on the video file

The quality is immediately odd. Filmed in black and white, like those old old films, with no sound. All they have to go off is the slightly grainy quality as things come into frame.

The screen is completely white for a moment before black, handwritten text in all caps that reads ‘OUR FAMILY MEMORIES’ covers it, the camera moves a bit, as if handheld before the text disappears. 
Next, is a pair of feet, the camera is panned downwards towards the ground. There’s a hand that comes down into frame, indicating whomever is holding the camera to pan up, and they do.

Jason feels his stomach recoil as the big smiling face of the Joker comes into frame, Dick’s hand tenses slightly on his nape. 

The camera moves to the left, showing a table covered in science beakers filled with bubbling liquid, metal tools, pills, smoked cigarettes, gloves and half eaten food.

Dick pauses the video. “Jason, you don't have to watch this.” He assures softly. “I’m okay.” Jason replies honestly. 
“Is this the ‘Joker Venom’ I’ve heard about?” Damian asks, as he looks over the many beakers of grey liquid. Jason is grateful for the slight distraction. 
“Hard to tell based on the lack of color in this horror movie, but it wouldn’t surprise me. Maybe he enacted a sort of venom attack before disappearing…” he thought aloud at the end.

Damian is the one to lean forward and press play, clearly very invested in what happens next. 

The frame lingers on the table for a few seconds before it cuts to a Robin tied down to a metal dissecting table, tilted up to an almost standing angle. He is struggling against his binds, surrounded by machines and some hanging wires.

“Todd… is that you?” Damian asks, leaning a bit forward to try and analyze the grainy footage.

Jason feels like his entire body is both too hot and too cold at the same time, sweat breaks out on his back under his shirt and leather jacket immediately.

“N-no… that—“

“Tim.” Dick finished from before him, an angry sort of hollowness to his voice.

None of them can pause the film as it races on; too focused and horrified at what they’re seeing. How the hell did none of them know this had happened.

The film cuts to a fake backyard barbecue, the background is a big flat piece of wood, like the backdrop of a theatre. It's painted to look like the sky and a white picket fence. With a fake flamingo and a grill in front of it, The Joker is smiling wide next to the grill, giving a wave to the camera as he’s dressed in a chef’s hat and a ‘kiss the cook’  apron.

It cuts again, an upwards angle on Joker’s face by the grill as he happily removes the lid of the grill, he licks his lips and he grabs something from the inside of it. All three boys seem to hold their breath, unable to look away.

The Joker pulls out a set of giant metal clamps, they look like jumper cables. Dick feels like he can hardly breathe, Jason’s eyes are slightly glazed and Damian’s hands are clenched so tightly together that his darker skin is going a bit pale. Electricity sparks from the clamps as the Joker opens and closes them.

The film cuts again, showing the Joker attaching the jumper cables to the metal table with Tim on it. The young boy is struggling hard against his binds, his face is in a pained grimace, he looks like he is hyperventilating too. There’s a wide cut, the Joker is by the side of Tim, giving a wide smile as he pushes a big lever on one of the machines. Tim’s whole body convulses harshly as he is shot with electricity. The lights in the room flicker with the amount of volts, and the big glass beakers by Tim’s side bubble aggressively.

The film goes black after that, then white.

“When the…” Dick begins, his mouth a bit slack as he seems to take in what he’s just seen. His dear little brother had been tortured by the most heinous man in Gotham, and he’d never known about it?! The thought makes him sick, he wants to run upstairs immediately and gather Tim in a tight hug.

Jason almost clicks out of the file with a shaking hand before something new appears on screen. 
It looks like security footage, a little watermark at the top right reads ‘ Arkham Security’ with a time of date counter at the bottom right. Jason numbly notes all this happened when he was still dead.

The security footage is in color, showing one of the operating theatres at the old Arkham Asylum building. It's dark and dirty but the quality is good enough to see what’s going on fairly well. 
Joker is to the right, up on a sort of platform, relaxing in an armchair with a newspaper. Harley Quinn is in the middle of the room, putting flowers on a dinner table. At the back of the room is a big curtain, hiding something. The security footage has audio, Harely is singing ‘Hush little baby don't you cry’ in a relaxed tone, when suddenly Batman flings open the doors on the left.

Harley smiles “Puddin’! Company!” She calls out happily, looking over her shoulder to Joker. The man tosses aside the paper and smoking-pipe he had in his mouth, a wide smile as he greets Batman with a joyous “Hello there! Welcome to our happy home.” As he makes his way down the platform to embrace Harley.

Batman approaches them both with tense shoulders.

“Where’s Robin?” He asks, his voice gruff and simmering with underlying anger. He has his hand up in a tightened fist, as if he’s about to punch either of them.

Harley and Joker look at each other.

“Robin?” Joker says in faux-confusion “there’s no Robin here.

Harley smiles, a hand to her own cheek “Maybe he means our ‘Little J’” Joker smiles even wider, snapping his fingers “Of course?” He exclaims “that’s it!” He points to the curtain at the back of the room.

Dick feels his jaw slack “You guys don't think…” Neither Damian nor Jason replies, eyes glued to the footage, Dick is reminded of the saying of how people can’t look away from an oncoming train crash.

Batman pushes Harley aside as he moves to the curtain.

“Nuh-uh, no peeking.” Harley calls out, she grabs a bazooka from under the dinner table. She fires it, hitting Batman square in the chest, as he had turned back to look at her. Instantly he’s tangled in strong, red confetti like ribbons.

“Mommy’s little helper.” She gloats happily, as Joker kisses her on the cheek.

"You know Bats,” the clown begins “we’ve been doing this little run-around of ours for years, it’s been loads of laughs—“ he stalks closer to Batman “but the sad fact is, none of us are getting any younger.” Harley moves up to stand by Joker’s side. “That old clocks-a-tickin’” she says, patting her stomach. Joker looks at her, hands folded behind his back “Quite right pooh.” He agrees “and Harley and I were thinking it was time to start a family —add a ‘Joker Junior’ to our merry brood.”

“But rather than go through all the joy of childbirth, we decided to adopt.” Harley continues.

Jason isn’t sure he’s able to blink anymore, as he fears the next words out of the two insane people's mouths.

Harley and Joker join hands, moving past Batman to the curtain. “We couldn't do it legally, but then we remembered you always had a few spare kids hanging around… so we borrowed one.” He finishes.

Damian is trying to appear as unbothered as possible, but his breath can’t help but hitch a few times as he attempts to take deep breaths.

Harley and Joker pull aside the curtain, showing the bottom half of the metal table from the first video, the top half is shrouded in shadow.

A pair of pale legs in purple shorts and shoes with high socks can be seen sticking out from the dark on the table.

“No…” Batman says softly, taking in the sight.

The three brothers then notice Barbara at the rows of seats around the theatre, she’s wearing her old Batgirl outfit, holding a grapple-gun as she watches the whole thing go down.

“He needed a little molding of course, what kid doesn't?” Joker says, clicking a button on a device in his hands that makes the table roll forwards. “But in time, we came to love him as our own… say ‘Hello’ JJ.” Joker leans forward to speak to the shadowed person on the table.

From the shadows, the form leans forward, revealing Tim. 
His skin is white as paper, hair dark green, and he’s dressed in a purple suit like Jokers own, but with shorts. His face is wide eyed, mouth curled up into a painfully wide smile with all his teeth on display, he begins to laugh. 
He unbuckles himself from the table, and with a hop he’s in front of Batman, never seizing his laughs. His arms are curled up, as if ready to jump and attack, his back shaking as his laughing becomes stronger and stronger. He turns to look at Joker.

Batman takes that moment to cut himself free with a knife, flinging it at the Joker’s head. Joker begins to laugh at that as he dodges.

Harley grabs Tim, and the Joker flings himself on the table, clicking the device again to make it speed off with himself on it.

The Joker is flying around the room as Batman tries to catch up.

Tim leans forward, his wide eyes focused on Batgirl where she has poked up from behind the circling seats above. Harley’s face grows in worry as she follows his gaze. 
Batgirl is already jumping, swinging from a grapple-line as she kicks Harley with enough force to fling her away from Tim, the woman crashes into a pile of wooden boxes painted to look like baby-building-blocks.

Tim tries to run to Harley, but Batgirl is quick to grab him, holding him at his shoulders to speak to him. “Robin! Robin!” She calls out, but he just starts to laugh in her face, she leans closer, whispering something to him the camera mics can’t pick up. 

Joker finally speeds up to one of the painted family scenes, jumping over it, Batman smashes through the window after him. Batman and Joker disappear out of the room, finally.

It distracts Batgirl enough that Tim escapes from her arms, running away. “Robin! Stop!” She calls after him, she tries to grab him again but Harley is on her feet and smacks the hero in the face hard, knocking her back. 
Dick winces as he sees the woman he considers a sister get hurt on screen.

“Hands off, Brat-Girl.” Harley says, before turning to Tim “Sweetie! Get Mommy’s bazooka!” Tim stops in his tracks in the middle of the room, as he runs to where Harley had thrown her weapon earlier. Batgirl takes the opportunity to punch Harley in the face several times, the villain falls to the dinner table and grabs one of the chairs, with some momentum she vaults over it and out through one of the doors, disappearing from the camera’s view. Batgirl runs after her, disappearing as well.

Tim is alone, he’s quiet and still for just a few moments. Before he gently picks up the massive bazooka, walking calmly towards and out the door the two women had run through.

The room is empty.

Jason finally pauses the video.

He feels out of breath and nauseous, his hands are shaking and his shirt is moist from the cold-sweat.

“Why the fuck did he never tell us…? He let another one of us get brutalized by that bastard, and he never even told us.” Jason says numbly, with an underlying anger to every word.

“I…” Dick begins, before he seems to lose his words.

Damian speaks up then “I think—“ the boy has to clear his throat, and quickly wipes his eye against his shoulder “I think father is ashamed that it happened.”

“Damn right he should be ashamed!” Jason barks, not necessarily angry at Damian,  but the situation as a whole.

“Even if Bruce wanted to tell us…” Dick finally says, eyes misty and shoulders tense “this is Tim’s trauma. We know he makes it out somehow , maybe he asked B not to tell anyone. Apparently Barbara knew too, but you’re not blowing up on her.” He's trying to make his tone seem non-accusatory, hoping to keep Jason from falling into mindless anger or an episode.

“Grayson is right.” Damian agrees after a moment. Jason grits his teeths and hits the play button a bit harder than necessary.

The big room is empty for a while, for several minutes nothing is heard.

Then suddenly the door Harley, Tim and Batgirl had escaped through opens.

Tim comes walking in, empty handed. His face has the same big smile and his eyes wide as he seems to search the room for something, or someone. His back is as straight as a needle, his steps slow and almost predatory. Dick, Jason and Damian all feel a sense of wrongness at the mere sight of him and his body-language.

There’s a loud crash, then the Joker comes flying through one of the upper windows, his body hitting a couple of the building-blocks on his way . He is still towards the top of the pile of blocks, Tim is at the bottom, the kid is watching him intensely. Like a robot awaiting an order. 
Blood runs from the Joker’s mouth as he spots the boy, a wide smile growing on his face as he looks back and up towards the bat.

Batman is behind Joker, his hand sling forward to harshly grips the throat of the clown, with one arm he lifts the villain and slams him against one of the blocks. Batman’s voice growls angrily “I’ll break you in two.” He raises his other fist, ready to punch Joker in the face.

The Joker giggles “Oh Batman, if you had the guts for that kind of fun you would’ve done it years ago.” Jason feels his heart ache, because it was true. Him dying wasn't enough to make Batman kill Joker, he doubted brainwashing and torturing another of his kids would do it either. It was a painful reality reminder. “I on the other hand—“ the Joker continues, throwing up one hand to distract Batman before flicking a knife from his opposite sleeve. He cuts Batman across the chest and arm while he’s distracted, making the hero lose his grip with a yell, before he buries the knife deep in Batman’s thigh.

With a kick, the Batman falls down, crashing into multiple blocks before he hits the ground hard. Tim watches his father with a smile, before averting his eyes back up to the Joker. Dick can’t help the tear that escapes his eyes at the sight, he knows Tim would want to run to Bruce immediately, but that sick madman had his sweet little brother so completely warped mentally.

Joker hops down to the ground, kneeling by Batman’s head. “You’ve lost, Batman… Robin is mine.” He smiles, a hand proudly over his own chest. He leans even closer to the bat’s face “The last thing you’ll hear is our laughter.” The gloating is clear in his voice. 
He grabs one of his guns from the block pile, throwing it at Tim. “Here you go, sonny boy!” He calls out, as Tim catches the weapon, taking a look at it and then back up to Joker

“Make daddy proud,” he tells Tim, as he grabs Batman by the collar, pulling him up so he’s kneeling weakly “deliver the punchline.”

Tim takes aim with the gun, manic and childish giggles spill from his mouth once more. 

He pulls the trigger, a metal rod with a paper reading ‘BANG’ on it comes out, hanging from the mouth of the gun.

“He—he wouldn't, right?” Damian says, voice strained as his eyes grow wide.

“Tim and Bruce are both fine, we know they make it. So I don't…" Dick trails off, as he watches his little brother being forced into killing their father.

Jason is quiet, his eyes unblinking.

Batman says something, but it’s too quiet to pick up. His face is full of grief and pain.

Tim seems to struggle for a moment, his laughing becomes ragged and panicked, he even lowers the gun for a moment, before he shakes his head and aims it towards the bat again.

“DO IT!” Joker yells at the boy, the man is still smiling but there’s a clear edge of anger and impatience in his tone.

Tim is laughing and lightly hyperventilating. His face grimaces as he bites his own lip, his right eye closing tightly as if struggling internally, he continues to giggle through his half closed lips.

A second before he pulls the trigger again, Tim manages to aim a bit to the right, shooting the Joker right in the chest, the metal rod piercing into his flesh. 
The clown flies back with a pained yell, his back ramming into a block as he holds his hands to his bleeding chest.

The Joker lifts his head a bit, looking at the rod and ‘BANG’ paper sticking out of himself, his face finally in a frown as more blood leaves his mouth.

“That’s not funny…” the Joker gasps “that’s not funny…” he takes a gulping breath before falling forward, his front slamming into the concrete ground.

The Joker is dead and Tim killed him.

Dick, Jason and Damian are all speechless, as the last minute of the video continues to roll.

Batman looks at the dead clown, only looking back at Tim when the boy begins laughing again. It’s manic and louder than before, he can barely take a breath before another wave of laughs rips away his ability to get any proper air in.

Batgirl comes running through the door from earlier then, she takes one look at the dead Joker, before looking at Tim. The boy still has the gun raised, his laughing quickly dissolves into loud, gasping sobs. The weapon falls from his limp hands as tears run down his face, his sobs and laughs mix together in a horrifying song. 
Tim falls to his pale, bare knees as tears continue to roll down his face. He’s still crying, he’s still laughing. 

Batgirl approaches him slowly, before cradling him like the little boy he is. His face is against her neck and she’s holding him protectively. “It’s okay, Tim. It’s okay.” She tells him, as his mix of soft laughing and crying continues. Batman steps closer to the two, his shadow falling over them like a blanket of darkness.

Tim’s sobs continue for a bit longer before the video file finally cuts off.

The silence in the batcave is deafening.

Then Jason speaks. “How the fuck is that kid even functional?” There’s a sort of disbelief to his voice.

Tim most of the time seemed pretty well put together. Sure, he had pains and bad habits, but all of them did. Had he been so lost in his own shit he never noticed that he and Tim had both been damaged so badly by the same man. Had Tim ever tried to tell him? Had he missed it? The questions made Jasons’s brain spin.

“The time that video is from is when I had retreated from the family, I hadn’t set foot in Gotham in months.” Dick says next, he remembered how Tim had pleaded with Dick to become Robin again after Jason’s murder, for Batman’s sake. He had refused, and that’s how Tim had taken the mantle instead. Dick can’t help but wonder if Tim would have avoided all that torture if Dick had just said yes.

“That sort of psychological and physical torture leaves it marks… It's remarkable Drake is so…” Damian starts, before being interrupted by a voice behind them.

“Normal?” 

They all turn, seeing Tim stand there in his pajamas, his phone in one hand and the other rubbing awkwardly at his neck.

“A bit rude to stick your nose into my past like this, I’ll be sure to return the favor in the future.” There’s a slightly angry bite to his voice, but it’s hard to be too intimidated when the teen is wearing Superman PJs.

Dick feels the urge to go and hug his brother, but refrains.

“Maybe we should talk?” He offers instead.

Chapter Text

Tim narrowed his eyes at Dick, shoving his phone into the pocket of his sleep-pants and crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’m not too amicable about this subject.” Tim says, a sharp edge to his voice, as his eyes move to look behind them at the video and not yet opened text file on the big screen.

“This is—it's serious Tim!” Jason barks, standing from the chair as he takes a few steps closer to his younger brother.

Tim’s fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt. 
“Does it look like I’m making light of this shit?” Tim replies, his voice hasn't reached the same volume as Jason, but there was enough venom there to make up for it. 
Jason’s brows knit together. “No! Look— we just want know if you’re okay, how the fuck did all this happen and we’ve never been told?” Jason takes a step back, as his voice comes to more of a quiet, seeming to realize how aggressive he had come in at first.

Tim sighs, looking down as he seems to mull something over. “I get you might feel better about talking about the Joker and what he did to you… but I don’t . It’s a chapter of my life I don’t like to revisit.” He settles on, eyes flicking up to Jason’s face, then Damian, then Dick.

“Can we ask Gordon, then?” Damian asks, Tim guesses he means Babs and not Jim. 

“Dont. She’s had enough pain surrounding Joker and his shitty goons.” Tim replies, trying hard to ignore the image in his head of Barbara bleeding on the floor.

There was an itch that sometimes came back whenever Tim thought of the Joker, like his skin began to buzz with that old electricity all over again, he refrained from scratching at his neck and arms. 
He understood his brother's desire to know; to be aware of Tim’s pain and how to avoid triggering him. He really did. But he hadn’t been prepared for all of this, and the right words seemed to be lost to him.

“Can we ask Bruce?” Dick asked next, Tim now noted he and Damian had come closer like Jason— he didn’t feel crowded, surprisingly. There was a sense of comfort; of care that he appreciated despite the still simmering anger at the breach of privacy, and the very unneeded blast from the fucking-hell past.

“I think B might actually react worse than I.” A melancholy chuckle to his words, as Tim recalls the months of waking up Bruce with screams and manic laughs from his frequent nightmares. 
How his adoptive father had to fight Tim to the ground, as the boy had tried to cut open his own face and forearms with the broken piece of a mirror that he smashed in (his right palm bearing a gangly scar to this day, where he had clenched the broken mirror-piece like a lifeline. 
He remembered the man’s distraught face as Tim had screamed at Bruce to kill him. Screamed that he wanted his ‘real daddy’ back. Screamed that Bruce was an awful person.

Tim hadn’t meant it, of course. The manic episodes and his unhealthy trauma responses had made his spew the worst he could, just for the sake of trying to hurt Bruce. 
Back then, he had hoped if he pressed the bat hard enough, he might snap and hurt Tim. If he hurt Tim, maybe the pain inside the child would lessen. The Joker sure had made the physical pain so barbaric that his inner world sometimes went quiet with blissful dissociation; Tim longed for that quiet feeling again.

He had killed the Joker, though.

So Tim had deemed it Bruce’s job to hurt the boy next. When he refused, it was like a slap to the face and the cycle of pained insults and suicide attempts began all over again.

A high pitched giggle escaped Tim for a second, then immediately he cut himself off, clenching his eyes shut tightly and his lips squeezing together into a taut line, as he took a shuddering breath.

He didn’t want to see his brother's look at him. 

He needed to get it the fuck together.

Before any of them would have the opportunity to comment on the giggle, Tim spoke again.

“I hurt Bruce a lot after he and Babs saved me. I don’t want to bring it all up again, he has enough to worry about.”

His eyes opened again, eyes to the floor once more. If they knew how bad he had hurt Bruce, would they hate him? 
Jason had done and said a lot of rough shit to the old man too, but it felt different . Jason had died and felt betrayed by the bat, he had more of a real reason for his anger. 
Tim had been saved by him, and he rewarded the man with insults and attempts on his own life. He’d essentially been trying to kill another of Bruce’s sons, just like the Joker .

“Tim…?” Dick said finally, his feet shuffling a bit to show his antsiness.

Tim hummed in reply, not trusting his voice then.

“Is it okay if I hug you?” His oldest brother asks, there’s a sadness to his voice that Tim recognizes as the attempt not to cry.

“You might not wanna.” Tim replies, voice barely a whisper.

“Why?”

Tim tried to recall a conversation he’d had with his therapist in the past.

‘It’s okay to say things in a too-direct way when overwhelmed, even if you might think you come off emotionless or even harsh.’ She’d said, when Tim had told her he wasn't sure how to explain his mental state properly.

“I don't feel deserving,” he began, he knew he sounded a bit robotic, but distancing himself from his emotions a bit made it easier to get it out. “When I was with him, he made me do things, horrible things… and after being saved, I continued to do horrible things.” Tim saw their faces in his nightmares… Bruce; the mother; the father; the children. His right pointer finger twitched at the memory. His skin buzzed with that electric itch again and this time Tim did scratch at his neck.

Dick shook his head, bringing his arms up a bit. “I don't see you any different… you’ll always be my little brother.” Dick assures, trying to catch Tim’s flickering eyes with his own.

“You don't know what I’ve done.” Numbness . 
“It won’t change anything.” Love .

Tim finally looked at him. Dick’s body language was open, his eyes still a bit wet and the faint smile on his face seemed genuine. The younger wondered how disgusted Dick would feel about him if he really knew the whole truth, maybe this was his last chance for his oldest brother to hug him before he’d see Tim differently forever.

“Okay.” His voice was quiet, but Dick immediately embraced him as the words left his mouth.

He’s warm, Tim noted, not realising how cold he himself had grown from being in the cave with such thin clothes on. His smell is familiar, calming. He’d stayed over for the weekend so his clothes had a faint smell of the detergent Alfred uses for laundry.

Damian came up beside them, with a bit of hesitancy he gently took one of Tim’s hands he had hanging slack by his sides. 
“We’ve all hurt father in one way or another in the past,” the youngest begins “You do not need to bear this burden alone.” Tim felt his heart clench at the soft display, Damian had never been this affectionate before. Once again, he wonders if this will be the last time.

Jason comes up lastly, a gloved hand on Tim’s back, rubbing soothly. “We respect if you want to keep all this to yourself… but we are family,” Jason strains the word, a lot of baggage behind that one painful word. Tim knows, he understands. “You have carried us, we are here to carry you too.” Tim takes a handful of deep breaths, second by second just absorbing each of their statements.

Every time he got triggered, he’d always retreat to his room. To scratch at his arms and neck or to giggle and laugh uncontrollably for a while into the fluff of his pillows until his throat was sore and his eyes were puffy with tears. 
He knew his brothers saw him as distant and possibly even antisocial, but it was a better assumption of his character than the truth—That their brother, the third Robin, is a killer, mentally unstable who had poured months of pain and verbal abuse upon their hero father; a man who is already on a cliff's edge every day from his own day to day struggles.

Tim sighed, maybe the truth would set him free, as that overused saying went. In any case, he didn’t have to lie every day of his life like he’d been the last handful of years. Even if his brothers would look at him like a stranger.

“You can read the document in my file.” He said, pulling back to nod his head towards the big screen. Dick quirked his brows, “You want to tell us?”

Tim shrugged, feeling tired and weirdly wired at the same time. “I’ll tell you what I’m able to in my current headspace.” He felt a bit removed from the situation, not quite dissociation, but emotionally distant. “If you feel pressured, we can drop it, really.” Jason chimed in, seeming to search Tim’s blank face. 
Tim shook his head, already moving to the batcomputer. “You deserve to be a part of my life, and even if I don't talk about it… this is a big part of it.”

The teen took his place in the seat, moving the mouse and clicking on the medical document. A list of milligram doses, electroshock damage and wound damage filled the screen.

“I’m sure you can guess what this is.” Tim said, before falling quiet as his brothers read line after line of the abuse.

“Tim… this is—the Joker Venom dosages are insane!” Dick exclaimed, before he felt his heart sink even more at the line reading ‘numerous bloody whip marks on the upper back.’ Tim followed his line of sight… oh yeah, that’s from when Joker got mad at Tim if he slouched his back.

“No son of mine will be hunching like a cave creature!” Joker had bellowed before taking a wooden cane to Tim’s back and ribs until the skin broke.

“Timothy?” Damian asked, his hand still clasped around Tim’s wrist. The older teen felt his body feel a bit lighter at hearing Damian call him by his first name for the first time. “How long did Harley Quinn and the Joker have you in their possession?” The youngest knew if all of this had happened at the span of a few days Tim would be dead in a ditch, the torture had to have been spread more out… but for how long?

“Three weeks.” Tim replied numbly.

Jason and Dick’s faces whirled to look at him. "Three weeks?!” They both exclaimed. 
“It took three fuckin’ weeks for that asshole to find you!? Were they even trying?” Jason growled, his leather gloves making a slight creaking sound from how hard his fists were clenching.c

Tim looked away from the section about his skin damage, to tilt his head up at Jason. “I don’t blame Bruce for it—or for how long it took, not Babs or Jim or anyone. Joker did what he did— Harley too. I don’t want to live my life hating people I love, I can’t afford that waste of time.” He hoped Jason didn’t feel it as a jab at him, it wasn't meant to be. He’d already hated Bruce enough, and even if it was caused by his damaged mental state at the time, it was enough of a stain on his heart. 

Dick took a deep breath, looking away from the screen like it was a horror movie. 
“What is the permanent damage? To your body, I mean.” He asked, looking over Tim’s body like it was the first time, as if trying to spot any details of his face or body he’d missed in the past.

The question felt like the medical questions Bruce had when they did checkups, it made it easier to answer, objectivity was easier.

“Repeated electroshocks have given me chronic muscle pains, it’s worse in my legs though. Mouth was cut slightly wider, so I have some scarring on my cheeks. There’s scar tissue on my back too from repeated cane-whipping and my skin is permanently pale from the venom injections, what’s why I'm never able to tan like the rest of you.” The list was old and familiar.

All three brothers felt a sense of discomfort at hearing how much Tim had hidden from them.

Jason felt guilty after several summers of calling Tim ‘Vampire’ or Dracula’ because he was so pale. Not paper-white anymore, like he’d been in the security footage, but enough to stand out; Jason hated when people pointed out his facial scars, and he’d essentially done that to Tim.

Dick regretted every time he had called Tim lazy for napping all day, or laying on the couch for hours, he now realized it was the muscle pains that made it impossible for him to walk, and Dick had basically rubbed it in his face—even if it was unknowingly.

Damian recalled he one time head walked in on Tim applying concealer to his face in the morning, teasing him with the nickname ‘Princess Drake’ for a week after, when he was likely hiding his mouth-scars.

“Timothy…” the youngest began, the rare feeling of guilt boiling in his little belly “I apologize if I’ve ever made you feel ridiculed about any of these things, it’s never been my inte—“ Tim lifted a hand up, stopping Damian in his speech. 
Tim hesitates for a moment, before the hand moves to brush over Damian’s soft hair affectionately. Normally Damian would scream and threaten to stab him if he’d attempted this before, but he was quiet, a slightly embarrassed blush on his tan skin.

“You don't have to apologize, Dames. None of you knew, now you do, there’s not much else to it.” There was a sense of finality to his tone, none of them wanted to argue with him. Maybe they could figure out some other sort of way to apologize later, one with less words (as Tim wanted none, apparently) maybe something more in the gift giving area perhaps. 

“Is this the part you didn’t want us to know?” Jason slightly changed the subject, gesturing to his list of physical damages.

Tim barks a laugh, before apologizing at the inappropriate response. They all tell him it’s okay. Tim doesn't feel like it is, but bites back a rebuke.

Oh god… if the physical damage was all there was it to it, Tim would honestly be thankful. It was the long lasting psychological damage and trauma that was worse, what had been done to him, and what he’d been made to do to others.

He shook his head slowly. The faces of a family flashing in his mind, the feeling of a gun too big for his small hands to hold, the way his arms had shaken to aim straight.

Well, here goes nothing. If they hate him he still has funds to move away, he’ll leave without complaint.

“You know how I hate my birthday, right?” Tim asked, his eyes fixed on the batcomputer’s big keyboard. He doesn't wait for them to answer, if he’s interrupted he fears he might choke and drown on his words.

His left left hand grips his right, he digs his thumb into the old scar there. 

“Two weeks and three days into being with them, it was my thirteenth birthday. I’d long confessed to Joker who I was, who Bruce was and even Barbara… Repeated electroshocks and injections have a way of loosening the tongue—“ the joke was bad, tasteless, but he smiled despite it. “So he knew when my birthday was, I shouldn’t have been surprised he’d do something for it, I don't even know if I really was. Maybe I didn’t want to admit how well I’ve begun to know him.

The other three were quiet as Tim talked, the air was full of unease and tense.

“He’d broken into a house, the day before—taken a family hostage, brought them to the old Arkham Facility. He put them on their knees, bound but not gagged in front of me, he wanted me to hear them. He told me about them…” each of their faces haunted him, their red, tear stained faces as they wailed and begged the newly thirteen years old boy in front of him to save them… they begged him to be their hero, but he wasn't, he was only Joker’s little Junior.

Years later, he’d not forgotten a single detail told about each member in that joyous tone Joker always used when he psychologically tormented Tim.

He began to rattle them off, the words were like bees in his chest, buzzing to escape. “Martin Lakewood, thirty-four years old, mechanic, he liked to watch football with his son and buy his wife flowers every Friday; Crystal Lakewood, thirty-two years old, secretary at a doctor’s office, she had a passion for dressmaking and fantasy novels; James Lakewood, eleven years old, he was top in his maths class and collected pennies and spare dollars in a jar under his bed so he could one day take his whole family on a vacation; Blake Lakewood, two ye—“ Tim voice broke and choked for a second, the memory of the little baby girl being too much for him, even years later.

On all sides his brothers once more embraced him, just holding Tim while he put himself back together, piece by scratched-up piece.

“You don't have to say it…” Jason quietly said against his hair.

Tim shook his head, he had to own up to it; what he did.

“He gave me a gun, and I used it—All four bullets.” He said, almost a whisper.

He’d murdered them, he looked them all in the eye as he took their life; their life which they deserved much more than he did his own. That fact had spurred on most of his suicide attempts, at least the ones that happened when he was in a depression rather than a manic episode. 
It had taken too-many-to-count appointments at his therapist, then prescribed meds by his psychiatrist and Bruce begging him to live and telling him he loved him despite it, to finally break the cycle.

“I didn’t want to do it.” He says, there’s a slight desperation to his words, scared they think he did, even a bit.

“We know,” Dick assures, squeezing him tighter. “You didn’t have a choice.”

“You were forced, their death is not on you, it’s on him .” Jason’s words had a lot of anger in them, but they were pointed to the clown, not Tim. He gave a kiss to the crown of Tim’s head.

“Timothy, you were severely compromised— not in your right mind, no one would have been.” Damian adds on, he pulls Tim’s hands apart, there was a blooming bruise in his right palm now, overlapping the scar from how hard he’d been digging his thumb in. Damian’s hands are too small to envelop Tim’s own, but it doesn't matter, he understands the gesture.

“I don't want to lie to you anymore.” Tim says, his voice is stronger, but still slightly distant.

“You don’t have to.” They all say.

“I don’t want you to feel disgusted with me.”

“We won’t.”

Dick catches Tim’s gaze with his own, both their eyes are slightly wet. 
“You don’t have to hide your struggles anymore. If your legs hurt, you don't need to get up. If you want to, you don’t have to cover your facial scars, we won’t stare. And if the memories get too much, we’ll listen, just like you’ve done with us.” The oldest says, his eyes never wavering.

Tim feels a warmth bloom in his chest, a feeling of love he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“All I’ve ever wanted was to just be your brother.”

"You are.”

Chapter Text

Today was a Funny Day.

Tim had woken up from a nightmare that had wretched him awake with a scream, followed by several minutes of uncontrollable laughter and crying. Resulting in Bruce (Batman? Bruce? … B .) running in and soothing the boy. What a joke, though a sincerely unfunny one.

If Tim had done that without permission around his Daddy, he would’ve been beaten half dead and shot up with more prickly needles; now that’s funny.

B just needed to get the joke.

He needed to learn how to deliver a real punchline, and since the old bastard is so goddamn stupid, Tim would teach him.

After all, he’d learned from the best.

—

Tim flung his blanket off himself harshly, making it fly off the bed and onto the floor on the opposite side of the bed. He didn’t pick it up, he didn’t make his bed, why should he? The thing is stupid and irritatingly soft, he missed his steel table.

The boy ripped the disgustingly comfortable pajamas off, discarding it on the floor like the blanket. This wasn't his clothes, not his bed, not his Daddy . Tim smiled even wider, he’d get him back. Tim had needed a bit of molding too, after all. B could be molded as well.

Tim rummaged through the clothes drawers, fishing out a purple t-shirt, black shorts and bright green socks. He missed his suit, maybe if he let B beat him hard enough he'd give the clothes back as a treat. Maybe if he killed the butler, maybe, maybe, maybe…

Going into the bathroom, he began to study the reflection in the mirror. 
His skin had gotten a bit of color back, only very slightly. The scars on his face were fading (he should rip them open again) and the green tint to his hair had faded. 
He looked painfully boring, he looked like a boy Tim didn’t want to think about. If he did, this Funny Day would turn into a Sad Day, and Tim didn’t want that.

He locked eyes with himself, took a deep breath before he put on one of his big smiles; Daddy would be proud.

He moved to his bedroom door, flinging it open so aggressively the doorknob banged against the wall, no doubt denting the old wood (he hoped B heard it.)

Skipping down the hall, and down the stairs he entered the main kitchen.

The Butler was doing the dishes and B was at the dinner table, reading a newspaper with several breakfast options on the table. There was a plate by B’s right side. Tim’s seat, or rather the one B had forced him to accept as his seat.  
Daddy would make him sit on the floor when he, Tim and Mommy ate, he missed the floor, it was grounding and if he dropped any food it was a short reach down to eat it off the floor; Daddy hated when he wasted food.

B looked up, his soft smile immediately turned into a frown as he saw the state of the boy, Tim giggled at his discomfort.

“Heya B! What a splendid day this is, hm?” Tim greeted, turning up the dial on his sunny demeanor as he tried to imitate the way Daddy used to curl his venomous words. 
B let out a slight sigh, barely noticeable unless you were perceptive, and Tim was very perceptive. “Good morning, Tim.” B said, for now not verbally commenting on the state of the boy. The Butler turns to look at Tim, a sad glint in his eye that Tim feels his stomach churn at, it almost makes him giggle again.

“Master Tim, do you want anything to eat that’s not currently on the table?” He asks, wiping his wrinkly hands dry from the water and soap suds on a towel. 
Tim flashes a wide smile at the elderly man, hoping to come off as uncomfortable to look at as possible. The Butler holds strong, never averting his eyes, Tim wants to rip the man’s windpipe out of his throat for it. “No thank ya!” He settles on instead, forming his words more like Mommy this time… he misses Mommy.

Tim makes his way to the table, but instead of walking around it to his spot he crawls on top of it, stomping hard on the dark wood with every step before plopping into the chair. “No feet on the table, Tim.” B says, only a slight annoyance to his tone, No anger. Tim grits his teeth, he wanted the anger, he needed the venom like an addict.

“And what if I don’t care about that.” Tim challenged, his wide blue eyes meeting tired blue. He picks up his fork, twirling it around his fingers with one hand like he’d been taught to by Daddy, except he used knives then and made Tim do it until his fingers bled with every mistake. 
Bruce folds his paper, laying it to the side and resting his right hand on the table between them.

“Listen, Tim. I see today is a hard one, so I’m—“ In a split second there is a fork driven into the table, right where B’s hand would’ve been if his superhero reflexes hadn’t made him rip his hand back. The prongs are pushed down so hard that the fork is stuck into the wood, even after Tim releases the piece of cutlery. 

His and Tim’s eyes never leave each other through the whole thing.

Tim is smiling, waiting, expecting.

“Oops,” the thirteen year old says “dropped my fork there, huh B?”

B narrows his eyes, just a slight smidge. “You won’t get the reaction you’re looking for, Tim.”

Tim’s wide smile leaves his face, a look of pure anger now only remains.

He grabs his knife next, it’s a butter-knife, not nearly sharp at all, but it doesn't matter since Tim had seen his daddy cut up flesh with duller objects.

Hand tight around the knife, he goes for B’s eye. He’d love to see the bastard look so fucking smug with no eyes. Try being a hero then! Try being such a good fucking father then! 
B grabs his wrist easily, his other hand ripping the knife away from him and to the floor. “Tim, don’t do this. I’ll call Leslie, you're having a bad day, I’m going to help you, okay?” B assures, and it makes Tim want to whip his head forward and bite off a chunk of his annoying face. Bet that would finally make the day as funny as Tim had hoped for twenty minutes ago.

"You're so goddamn stupid, you don’t want to help me, you hate me, you wish I had died in that asylum too.” The painful words dripped too easily from the boy’s mouth. It was funny seeing the flash of hurt on the man’s face.

Maybe if he kept going, B would punch him, he missed getting punched. He missed the buzzy electricity that made his brain go numb, he missed not having to think, he missed being told to jump and not asking how high because his knees were already bending and launching him in the air.

Ever since Daddy died Tim had to talk and think. He needed to process and heal and it was so IRRITATING. Why couldn’t B just punch him instead, that would be so much easier.

“You know that’s not true. I would never want to see you dead, you’re my son.”

Tim tries to rip his pale wrists from B’s grip, a snarl escaping his mouth like he’s one of Mommy’s hyenas.

“You’re not my father—Joker’s my real daddy, he knows how to treat his kids. Sure he beat me but he never let me die, how about you B?” There’s a lot of hurt that flickers through B’s eyes at that. It makes Tim want to throw up with sudden guilt and at the same time it makes him want to laugh right in the man’s face.

B just shakes his head, before looking at The Butler. “Alfred, call Leslie—say it’s an emergency.” The Butler had seemed like he was considering interfering when he got the order, but elected to nod and move out of the room.

“We’re going to help you, I’m so sorry all of this happened.” It feels like the straw that breaks the camel's back, Tim wished he could break B’s back. 
He manages to rip his arms free with a borderline animalistic scream. Running out of the room like the devil was on his heels, in the moment the Batman feels worse than the little red guy down below. Maybe Joker is having tea with him, Tim laughs at the thought as he runs up the stairs and slams the door shut, locking it.

There’s some frantic knocking behind the door. “Tim, please open the door, you shouldn’t be alone.”

Oh he shouldn’t be alone, huh? Took three weeks for the asshole to get off his ass and find Tim, but now he cares about how and where Tim is. Probably because of the family going missing… Tim pauses as he recalls the family— the blood, the begging, the tears, the— Tim shakes his head, bringing up a hand to slap his own face. Stop thinking about them, he didn’t want to think about them!

He enters his bathroom, eyeing the mirror.

B cares soooo much, huh? What a joke, what a shitty joke.

He’d give the man something to really get his blood running fast.

Cocking back his fist, Tim rams his little hand into the mirror with enough force to make it shatter. It’s a beautiful mess, Tim can’t help but relate to the sight.

With a steady hand Tim grabs one of the bigger pieces, it digs into his palm, making it bleed. He’d missed the sight of blood, he’d missed the feeling of pain.

The faces of the family come into his head again, it makes the boy’s eyes burn and his hands shake. Tim is about to drive the mirror-piece into his forearm when his wrist is gripped for the second time in a row that morning.

Tim is just about tired enough of seeing B’s stupid face.

“Let go, Tim.” He says, his tone is harsh but Tim picks out something else there… hurt? Good.

Tim tries to redirect the jagged piece towards his own face, but his arm is smacked into the floor. Next, his back is on the floor in the doorway, away from the rest of the mirror pieces. B has both of Tim’s wrists in one hand, while the other tries to pry his hand open without creating more damage.

“Just let go.” B soothes. It grates on Tim’s nerves even more.

“I hate you! I hate you! I wish I never met you! You’re not my father, the Joker is. You ruined my life! You’re worse than any goddamn villain in this cesspool of a town.” Tim screams, he feels hot tears run down his face and into his hairline, he feels the bloody mirror-piece leave his hand. It makes him scream even more, his throat begins to hurt and he kicks wildly with his legs.

“You ruined my life, Bruce! You ruined my fucking life!”

Bruce sighs, feeling his own tears slide down his face.

“I know.”