Chapter Text
Jason comes to with a splitting headache, a horrendous pain in his ankle, and the general feeling that this...is going to be bad.
He’s blindfolded, is the first thing he notices. There’s a soft pressure across his eyes and the tickly feeling of a hem rubbing against his nose. His mask is still on, so’s his armor, but his waist feels light. No belt.
He can work with no belt, if it comes to that. But right now, he has to wait for Batman. That’s rule number one in the event of a kidnapping.
But. He may have to wait a little longer than is ideal, because, well…
Joker. The kindergarten. He’d been going to...he’d turned off his trackers, all of them, taken one of the Wayne Family Guns and…
He’d been trying to do the right thing. The clown deserves death for what he did to those kids. And if he gets out of here before Bruce comes, he’ll finish the job.
Okay. Assess the situation.
He’s sitting up, he finds, tied to a chair. Exploratory rocking says the restraints are solid and that the chair is a wheelchair, one of the shitty ones hospitals use to move you even when you can walk just fine, because God forbid you fall and sue.
(To be fair, he might sue. They can afford it. They charge you ten dollars for a box of tissues.)
He pulls a deep breath in through his nose, holds it for a minute before the exhale. It smells wet, where he is, and the air is cold. The cold is helping his head though, waking him up.
Joker got the drop on him. That’s his fault, he should have been better, more careful. That’s okay, he’ll be okay like he has all the other times.
(Though admittedly, he thinks his ankle might be broken and that’s...new.)
Where is he? Underground, he’s thinking, and in some smallish room; it feels heavy and his breath is too loud to be a big space. Can he just...does he have...nope, not a sharp object to his name. Can he explore?
That turns out to be a big fat no; he’s tied to this chair pretty well, and attempting to just...awkwardly scoot or...something...sends spikes of agony through his ankle and wrenches a yelp of pain from his throat. He can’t see, but he’s sure his vision would be white.
M’okay...m’okay...just a little pain, m’okay…
Okay. This might be bad. But he’ll be okay. Bruce will notice, and he’ll come, and oh boy is Jason gonna be in trouble, but he’s gonna be okay.
At least, that’s what he thinks until something hard, metal and pointy collides with his chest. His armor spares him the broken rib, but the wheelchair goes flying backwards until it crashes into a wall, the impact jostling his ankle.
Shit.
“Eh-heh-heh-heh--”
The Joker’s laugh is unmistakable. Jason hates it, but it scares him, too. Joker’s always been a fixture, like Batman, ever since he can remember, and he remembers Mom shaking him and begging him to promise that if he ever saw a clown, he’d run.
Well. There’s that promise broken. Sorry, Mom.
He steels himself for a blow he knows will come sooner or later, gathers up as much Cocky Bastard as he can muster, and throws a vicious sneer in the direction of the laughing.
“That all you got?”
Joker cackles and claps, and then there’s the sound of something metal dragging across concrete.
“Oh, Boy Blunder, we’re just getting started. ”
This time, the hit comes for his head, snapping it back and making his teeth rattle. Blood fills his mouth as his teeth tear his lips and he spits it at the bastard’s feet.
“Go to hell.”
That high cackle fills his ears again and the next thing he knows, soft leather fingers are gripping his wrist and wheeling the chair back, back, until he’s up against a...brick wall. No wonder it’s cold.
“Ohh, Robin, Robin, Ro bin ,” the clown coos, lips pressed up against Jason’s ear. Jason can almost feel his teeth against his cheek. He’s okay. He’s okay, Bruce will come. Bruce is coming for him right now. “Batman’s not coming this time, kiddo- gah! ”
Jason slams his skull against the bastard’s teeth. He thinks he feels one chip. Whatever the case, Joker staggers back, shoes echoing on the tiles, and he sounds a lot less...cuddly...when he speaks again.
“Uncle J will have to teach you some manners.”
“Go ahead and try, freak.” Silence. Jason can’t even hear him breathing anymore, but he knows he’s still here. He has to be. Okay. Keep talking, play for time. That’s how this works. “Batman’s gonna come, and he’s gonna kick your ass and throw you back in Arkham, probably in a body cast, you sick, twisted fuck .”
Nothing. Jason’s just starting to wonder if maybe Joker did leave when the soft leather fingers wrap around his throat and squeeze before slamming his head into the bricks. He gags and tries reflexively to raise his hands and push Joker away, but the ropes hold tight.
“You listen to me, you snot-nosed little brat,” Joker hisses, spit hitting Jason’s face. He can’t breathe. “By the end of this, you will refer to me as sir , do you understand?” He can’t breathe. “I don’t care what I have to do to you.” He can’t breathe. “I’ve got all the time in the world, and don’t you forget that.” He can’t breathe. “Now.” The hand lets go and he gasps, already feeling bruises form. “What do you say to that?”
He wheezes for a minute. Gotta. Gotta keep him talking. Play for time. Just like Bruce taught him. He can do this.
“We-ell?”
He lifts his chin, knows this is gonna hurt, and grins.
“Riddler’s funnier than you.”
It does hurt, for all of thirty seconds. Then the Joker clocks him just right with whatever metal thing he’s got, and Jason’s unconscious.
THE END