The Man And The Hood

[Maverick_DaSupreme]

Not only was Roman Sionis staring death in the face, he was doing so with a lunatic pointing a gun directly at his head. A lunatic whose smile was too wide, whose eyes were far too alive, with 'crazy' written plainly across his face and carved deep into his gaze.

For the first time in a long while, Roman wondered if this was really how he was going to die.

No grand legacy. No empire to fall with him. Just a cramped vehicle, and a madman who might pull the trigger simply because the thought amused him.

He cursed himself inwardly, wondering if thinking outside the box—dragging the Joker out of Arkham and attempting to strike a deal with Gotham's most infamous psychopath—had been a fatal miscalculation. All of this… just to rid himself of Red Hood.

'Is this the end of me?'

Then Joker laughed.

"Hahaha, relax!" Joker said suddenly, his voice light and playful. "Can't you all take a little joke?"

Without warning, he flicked the gun away. It clattered onto the table, sliding smoothly across the wooden surface until it came to a stop right in front of Black Mask.

Roman nearly choked.

His heart slammed against his ribs, pulse roaring in his ears as he struggled to keep his breathing even. He forced himself not to flinch, not to gasp, not to betray just how close he'd come to pissing himself in fear.

With a stiff motion, he raised one hand slightly and signaled his men to stand down, even as his legs still felt unsteady beneath him.

Joker leaned back casually. "I am willing to help you deal with this Hood guy," he continued, tone almost conversational. "He's gotta go before he becomes Batsy's new favorite little project."

Roman swallowed.

'This is what I get for negotiating with a lunatic,' he thought bitterly. 'And we're still at the proposition stage.'

Outwardly, he remained composed. Inwardly, he was already thinking of just how Joker would be disposed of the moment Red Hood stopped drawing breath. One problem at a time.

The truck continued along its predetermined route, engine humming steadily beneath them.

If Joker had refused, Roman had been ready to order his execution on the spot. Instead, things had taken a sharp, unexpected turn—and Joker had come terrifyingly close to ending him instead.

Roman exhaled slowly and reached down beside his chair.

"Here," he said, tossing a packaged bundle toward Joker. "Take this."

Joker caught it effortlessly.

"You can't exactly keep wearing that uniform for the crazies."

'Even if you're the living definition of the word,' Roman added silently.

Joker opened the bag and pulled out the contents with exaggerated interest. Inside was a neatly pressed purple suit, green lining tracing the collar, and a bright red pocket handkerchief folded just right.

"Aww," Joker cooed. "You shouldn't have."

Miss Li glued her eyes to her tab, giving him privacy as he changed, her discomfort was evident in the stiff way she held herself. Joker slipped into the suit like it had been tailored specifically for him.

"It's exactly my style," he added cheerfully as the vehicle continued rolling through the night.

While Joker preened, Roman activated his burner and contacted one of the officers firmly under his payroll. A few hushed words later, confirmation came through.

The police wouldn't make it in time.

There was heavy traffic which had the fastest route blocked. There likely wouldn't be an interception.

Music to his ears.

Satisfied, Roman ended the call and turned his attention back to Joker as the lights of the bridge loomed ahead, steel beams rising like ribs against the night sky.

"So," Roman began, leaning forward. "Here's the plan."

Joker barely looked at him.

"For reasons I still don't understand," Roman continued, "Red Hood seems infatuated with me. I'll act as bait. I draw him out, lure him into whatever trap you set up, and we end him once and for all."

Joker yawned.

An exaggerated, bored yawn.

Roman paused. "Do I… bore you?"

"Yes," Joker replied immediately. "How about you bore Red Hood to death instead? Save everyone the trouble."

Roman's jaw tightened. "What part of the plan do you disagree with?"

"The whole thing," Joker said lightly. "It's lame."

"Do not underestimate him," Roman snapped. "He's slippery. Like an eel."
He took a breath. "Do you have a better plan? I'm open to improvements."

"I do."

Joker stood up.

He casually strolled toward the front of the vehicle, footsteps light, almost playful. Roman opened his mouth to protest, but never got the chance.

"But instead of telling you," Joker said cheerfully, "I'll show you."

In one smooth motion, Joker snapped the driver's neck with a sickening snap.

Before anyone could react, Joker grabbed the steering wheel and yanked it hard.

The van lurched violently as the tires screeched.

The entire vehicle lifted off the bridge, momentum carrying it sideways as it somersaulted through the air. It slammed into other vehicles mid-roll, glass exploding, alarms shrieking as it crashed back down and skidded violently—finally coming to a brutal stop right in the middle of the bridge.

Joker's laugh broke the brief silence.

Although banged up, Roman Sionis realized—far too late—that he had never been in control of this situation at all.

- - -

Standing atop the exposed steel beams erected along the bridge, Red Hood remained perfectly still, boots planted firmly against cold metal slick with frost and oil. From this height, he had planned to follow them but instead he witnessed the chaos unfold below.

The highway blockade had done its job beautifully, traffic backed up for miles, with headlights frozen in place like trapped fireflies, ensuring the police response would be late, slow, and messy.

He watched the black van lose control.

He watched the van lifted, twisted, and somersaulted violently across the bridge, colliding with other vehicles in a deafening chain reaction of shattering glass and screeching metal. Sparks lit up the night as the vehicle slammed down hard, coming to rest on its side—no, its roof skidding to a halt in the middle of the bridge.

A major incident caused multiple wrecks and had civilians trapped.

Joker, being Joker, emerged from the wreckage completely untouched.
Red Hood observed from above as the clown dragged himself free of the van, laughing with wild hair.

Within minutes, Joker had taken full advantage of the panic, subduing the injured, tying up Black Mask and his people with ruthless efficiency.

Both news and police choppers arrived soon after, their spotlights cutting through the smoke-filled air, cameras circling like vultures. Joker didn't care. He welcomed the attention.

Red Hood watched as Joker retrieved a keg of gasoline and began pouring it inside the overturned vehicle, over the very people who had just orchestrated his escape from Arkham.

Civilians closest to the scene abandoned their vehicles. With traffic locked tight from the accident and no room to turn around, they ran on foot, scrambling over guardrails, abandoning cars, screaming as they fled toward safety.

Joker stood atop the side of the wrecked vehicle like it was a stage, completely unbothered by the chaos. He upended the keg, drenching Black Mask and his crew in gasoline.

"Joker! What the hell are you doing?!" Black Mask shouted.

His arms were bound tightly behind his back, shoulders straining against the restraints. His voice shook, not with anger alone, but with naked, unfiltered fear. He knew this kind of death. Burning alive wasn't fast. It was agony.

"Ohhh, Roman," Joker replied cheerfully, tilting his head. "As much as people think I'm some kind of arson artist, I can never tell if it's enough gasoline." He shrugged and dumped the rest of the keg inside the truck. Fuel sloshed across the interior walls—what used to be the ceiling—now pooling around them.

"Might as well just dump the whole thing."
The captives mumbled and thrashed, panic setting in, but Joker quickly gagged them all—everyone except Black Mask.

A courtesy. A thank-you.

"Not that," Black Mask said frantically. "I mean—we had a deal. Why are you doing this?!"

Joker stepped back, wiping his hands against his coat. "I told you already. This is my plan."

He grinned.

"Although instead of Red Hood, I'd much rather say hello to Batsy and announce my return to Gotham." He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a lighter, one he'd lifted from a guard earlier while tying them up like sacrificial lambs.

An offering.

To Batman.

To Gotham.

The wind howled across the bridge, strong and unrelenting. Joker distanced himself and flicked the lighter once. Nothing. Again, just sparks. The flame sputtered and died.

"Joker, I beg you," Black Mask pleaded, desperation cracking his voice.

Miss Li sat bound beside him, eyes wide with terror, chest rising and falling too quickly. She'd known from the start that dealing with a lunatic like this would end badly. She just hadn't expected this badly.

"Don't worry," Joker said absentmindedly, still trying to light the flame. "I'll be right with you."

He flicked again.

Again.

"There we go!" Joker exclaimed as the flame finally held steady. Black Mask's eyes widened in horror as Joker casually tossed the lighter toward the trail of gasoline.

"No—!!"

The scream ripped from his lungs, but the lighter never landed.

A sharp clang echoed through the air as a bullet struck it mid-flight, knocking it away harmlessly across the bridge.
Joker froze.

"What?" he muttered, genuinely confused.
Then he heard it.

The sound of metal against metal. A grapple line snapping taut.

He turned just in time to see a figure swing down from above—red helmet gleaming under the floodlights, combat armor wrapped tight around a broad frame, weapons holstered and ready.

Red Hood.

Before Joker could react, Jason slammed his boot into Joker's chest, stomping down with brutal force. The momentum sent Joker flying off, body tumbling violently across the asphalt.

He hit the ground hard, rolled twice, and skidded to a stop.

Blood streamed down the side of Joker's face as he looked up, laughter dying on his lips.

Red Hood stood beside the wrecked vehicle.

Joker's eyes locked onto the red bat symbol embedded in Jason's chest.

Inside the vehicle, Miss Li stared at Red Hood like he was salvation itself. Jason noticed. ''Yeah,' he thought grimly. 'You were seconds away from being barbecued.'

He looked to Black Mask.

"Hey, Roman," Jason called casually.

"You…!!" Black Mask snarled. Gratitude warred with rage in his voice. If it weren't for Red Hood, he'd already be dancing in flames, but none of this would've happened if not for him either.

"Since I've got business to handle with the clown," Jason continued coolly, "I guess I'm saving your asses this time."

He waved them off dismissively, then turned his full attention to Joker.

Joker stood, dusting off his coat, grin slowly returning. "If you wanted to join the party, all you had to do was ask."

"Hey, Clown." There was a sudden shift in the atmosphere, as it became heavy and suffocating—as pure bloodlust seeped into every word. "Been to hell and back," Jason growled, "just to wipe that smile off your face."

- - -

pàtreøn.cøm/Da_suprememaverick

 

[Maverick_DaSupreme]

Finally—finally—he was standing face-to-face with the man who had cost him his life.

The face that had haunted him even when his own name had slipped through his fingers. The face that lingered in his nightmares without context, without memory—just pain, laughter, and the echo of a crowbar striking bone.

Joker.

"That's strange," Joker said casually, cocking his head as the news choppers circled overhead, their spotlights washing the bridge in harsh white beams. "When Batsy came asking for you, he never mentioned you were one of his." He squinted slightly, studying Red Hood like a puzzle he hadn't solved yet.

"Not that he talks much anyway," Joker continued with a shrug. "But still… you'd think he'd mention something like this."
Jason didn't move.

Joker's smile twitched as realization slowly crept in as to why he was here. Black Mask's words echoed faintly in his mind—Red Hood is oddly infatuated with him.

"Ohhh," Joker hummed. "That explains it."

Red Hood maintained his silence, leaving Joker in an awkward and uncomfortable position. Beneath the helmet, Jason's glare burned with something feral, pure and focused malice. Joker felt it, even if he didn't fully understand it yet.

Trying to ease the tension—if only for his own amusement—Joker chuckled. "You're almost as quiet as he is. At least Batsy engages me a little."

Jason lunged.

The distance between them vanished in a heartbeat. He grabbed Joker by the coat and yanked him forward, slamming his helmet straight into Joker's face with a brutal headbutt.

CRACK.

Joker staggered back, barely catching himself before Jason hurled him bodily across the bridge. He crashed hard into the hood of an abandoned car, metal denting inward under the impact.

"Oof—" Joker coughed, then laughed weakly as blood dribbled from his nose. "You're strong."

Jason advanced with slow and deliberate strides, his boots crunching against shattered glass as he reached for one of his pistols. Joker pushed himself upright just as the gun cleared the holster.

"Haha—wow," Joker said, raising a brow.

"Haven't seen one of you with an actual gun before." He grinned wider. "But we both know you won't shoot."

PA!

The shot rang out like thunder.

Blood exploded from Joker's right shoulder as the bullet tore through flesh. His eyes went wide—not in pain, but in genuine shock.

Before he could even open his mouth to speak, Jason shoved the smoking barrel straight into Joker's mouth.

"Do I look like fucking Batman to you?" Jason snarled.

Joker gagged around the gun, a broken laugh bubbling in his throat even as pain wracked his body. Jason glanced upward and, without hesitation, raised his second pistol.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

The choppers' lights shattered one by one, plunging sections of the bridge into darkness.

Above, the police reacted instantly.

Ziplines dropped from the hovering choppers, officers sliding down fast and hard, boots hitting the asphalt as they fanned out in a practiced formation. Guns raised. Shouts barked through the smoke and chaos.

This was it—their chance to take down Red Hood, the vigilante who'd given the GCPD endless grief since his arrival. Their chance to capture Joker before he inevitably slipped away again.

But they also knew the reputation. There was a very real chance Joker wouldn't survive this encounter.

"Drop your weapons and unhand him!" an officer shouted.

Jason's jaw tightened. He knew Batman wouldn't be far behind now.

Slowly, he pulled the gun from Joker's mouth and slammed it across his face. The impact sent Joker sprawling to the ground, teeth clattering against asphalt as blood smearing his grin.

"Finally," Joker rasped, coughing. "One that knows how to have some fun." It wasn't like Batman. It wasn't like the other Robins.

They never pulled the trigger. Never used guns. Never crossed that line of violence.

Well—almost never.

"Hands in the air!" the officers shouted again, keeping their distance.

Jason exhaled, steadying himself.

"You and I," he said quietly to Joker, "are taking a little detour."

He holstered his pistols and raised his hands slowly—at the same time palming something from his utility belt.

"Show your hands!" an officer yelled, noticing the clenched fists.

"Okay," Jason replied calmly. He opened his hands and tossed three smoke bombs at once.

The bridge vanished in thick, hissing clouds of gray.

Officers tensed, their fingers tightening on triggers, with eyes straining for movement. Inside the smoke, Jason moved fast. He bound Joker, sealed his mouth, and hauled him up in one smooth motion, tossing him over his shoulder like dead weight.

A sharp hiss cut through the fog.

No one fired.

They couldn't see.

As the smoke thinned and the lights struggled back on, the officers realized what had happened.

Red Hood was gone.

So was Joker.

No blood trail. No sign of escape.

It was as if they'd vanished into thin air—another impossible trick pulled off right under Gotham's nose.

- - -

Less than a minute after the disappearing act, the Batwing tore through the clouds above Gotham, its dark silhouette cutting cleanly across the night sky.

Batman had just returned from Washington, still riding the momentum of unfinished League business when the alert came through—Joker had escaped Arkham. That alone would've warranted urgency. The fact that Red Hood was reportedly involved turned it into something else entirely.

He hadn't wasted a second.

The Batwing slowed, hovering with predatory intent as the city lights shimmered below. Rain threatened overhead, low clouds hanging heavy and swollen, while police sirens and helicopter rotors echoed through the district.

Officers on the ground instinctively looked up as Batman dropped from the aircraft, cape snapping violently in the wind before he landed in a controlled crouch, his boots cracking softly against the pavement. He rose like a creature born of shadow, cape settling behind him as if it had a will of its own.

Commissioner Gordon had just made his way through the barricade, officers parting for him as they continued securing the scene. A tumbled vehicle sat nearby, its hood dented and streaked with blood, gasoline still stinging the air.

Floodlights cast harsh beams across the wreckage, illuminating shell casing, scuffed asphalt, and the lingering chaos Joker always left behind.

"Commissioner," Batman greeted evenly as he approached.

"Batman," Gordon replied, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. He glanced at him briefly before waving off the officer who'd been giving him a rushed Arkham report.

"You just missed the fun."

Batman didn't respond immediately. His eyes swept across the scene, taking in the trajectory of the fight, the disturbed bridge, and finally the thin smear of blood trailing away from the vehicle—fresh, and unmistakably from a gunshot wound.

"Heard Joker escaped Arkham," Batman said at last. "What exactly happened?"

"You know," Gordon began, exhaling smoke through his nose, "Joker being Joker. Only this time, before he could go full fireworks display, our new not-so-friendly neighborhood vigilante showed up." He paused, his jaw tightening. "Stopped him… then practically kidnapped him."

Batman's expression didn't change, but his eyes narrowed slightly at the implication. Before he could respond, an officer jogged up, helmet tucked under his arm.

"Sir. Batman," the officer nodded quickly before turning back to Gordon. "You won't believe who Joker had tied up in the vehicle he was gonna burn."

He let the silence hang there, just long enough for both men to turn the thought over in their heads.

"Who?" Gordon asked.

"Black Mask," the officer replied. "Him and his people. All tied up inside, soaked head to toe in gasoline."

That got a reaction. Gordon straightened, his cigarette forgotten for a moment, while Batman's gaze sharpened with recharged focus.

"Have them in custody," Gordon ordered immediately. "I'll be there soon."

The officer nodded and hurried off, boots splashing lightly through puddles as Gordon turned back to Batman.

"You think Black Mask helped Joker break out?" Gordon asked, more thinking out loud than seeking a firm answer.

"…And Joker turned on him," Batman added calmly. "Sounds like something he'd do."

"But why?" Gordon muttered, rubbing at his temple.

Batman glanced once more at the blood trail before answering. "Why does Joker do anything? There's always an absence of logic in his actions."

"Can't argue with that," Gordon replied, shaking his head with a tired huff.

"Get what you can out of Black Mask," Batman said, already turning away. "You might find the trace of logic you're looking for."

Gordon watched him take a few steps before calling out, "And Red Hood?"

Batman didn't stop. "I'm on it."

With a sharp flick of his wrist, his grapple gun fired, the cable latching onto the Batwing above. In one smooth motion, he was pulled upward, his cape flaring as he disappeared into the sky once more, the Batwing banking away almost immediately after.

Gordon exhaled slowly, watching the darkness swallow them both.

"No disappearing act tonight, huh," he muttered to himself before turning back toward the chaos that befell Gotham that night.

- - -

Right from his departure from the scene, Batman was already back in the sky, the Batwing gliding silently through Gotham's polluted air as its sensors swept the city below.

His eyes stayed locked on the HUD, scanning rooftops, alleyways, heat signatures—anything that could point him toward his rebellious son, who had just kidnapped the one man Batman had spent his entire career trying to contain.

Joker.

He did a rapid sweep around the bridge where the earlier incident had taken place. The aftermath was still visible even from above. Traffic stretched endlessly in both directions, a snarled mess of red taillights and irritated drivers forced into an awkward standstill.

Vehicles were attempting clumsy reversals, horns blaring in frustration as people craned their necks to see what could possibly justify this kind of disruption at such an hour.

The quickest highway leading deeper into Gotham was no better. Congestion clogged the lanes, movement reduced to a crawl. Batman adjusted his trajectory, eyes narrowing as the realization settled in.

Jason hadn't used a vehicle.

With Joker in tow, that limited his options—but not by much. Jason had been raised in this city's underbelly. He knew its paths, its dead zones, the places no satellite could see and no patrol ever bothered to check. Even carrying Joker, he could vanish into Gotham like a ghost if he wanted to.

He couldn't have gone far.

And yet, Batman already knew the search was likely futile.

There were simply too many places Red Hood could hide, and if Jason didn't want to be found, then finding him would be next to impossible. That knowledge weighed heavily on him as the Batwing banked away from the gridlocked streets.

What troubled him most wasn't the failure of the search—it was the fear of what Jason might do before he could reach him.

With that thought gnawing at him, Batman redirected course and returned to the Batcave.

The cavern welcomed him with its familiar cold stillness, the echo of the Batwing settling into place reverberating softly against stone walls. Alfred stood waiting near the console, posture straight as ever, hands folded behind his back.

"Welcome, Master Bruce," Alfred greeted calmly as Bruce approached with his usual purposeful stride.

"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce replied, taking his seat before the console. He pulled off the cowl and set it aside, revealing a hardened scowl. Drawing in a slow, steady breath, he exhaled deliberately, as though trying to rein in the storm brewing behind his eyes, before his fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Alfred didn't need words to notice the tension. It clung to Bruce, and was unmistakable. "What seems to be the matter?" he asked gently, even though he already suspected the answer.

"It's Jason," Bruce said at last. His gaze drifted, unfocused for a moment, before he added quietly, "He's taken Joker."

Alfred immediately understood. That single sentence explained everything—the edge in Bruce's voice, the stiffness in his movements, the barely restrained urgency beneath his composure. They both knew how fragile this situation was, not just for Gotham, but for Bruce and Jason alike.

"Black Mask apparently broke Joker out of Arkham," Bruce continued, bringing up footage and city layouts on the screen. "He underestimated him. Joker turned the situation against him, nearly got Black Mask killed." His jaw tightened. "Red Hood arrived just in time. Saved Black Mask… and took Joker."

"Hm," Alfred murmured, studying the shifting images. The pattern didn't sit right with him. "Jason has been hunting Black Mask relentlessly. Why stop Joker from killing him?"

"That's exactly what's been bothering me," Bruce said, finally removing the scowl entirely. His eyes were sharp now, analytical as he pieced fragments together.

"We knew Jason had an objective. Becoming a crime lord was never the endgame—it was a stepping stone."

He paused, fingers tapping lightly against the console. "This whole thing—the attacks, the pressure on Black Mask—it was all a setup. A way to force Black Mask into delivering Joker to him."

Alfred's brows rose slightly. "Jason has been playing a long game of vengeance," he said, surprised despite himself. "That doesn't sound like the impulsive boy we knew."

Bruce didn't respond immediately, his eyes flicking across maps, surveillance feeds, and probability models. "I've been doing everything I can to track him," he said quietly. "But Jason doesn't leave a trail unless he wants to."

"You're worried he'll finally close the curtain on Joker," Alfred said, his tone measured but knowing.

Bruce remained silent.

"If he does kill Joker," Alfred continued carefully, "don't you think his actions would be… justified?"

Bruce squinted slightly at that, tension creeping back into his expression. "There is no justification for ending another life," he said firmly.

"But Joker once took his," Alfred countered, stepping closer. "Wouldn't it be an even slate if Jason did the same to the man who murdered him in cold blood?"

Bruce said nothing.

Alfred pressed on, voice calm but unwavering. "Jason has already killed many. Why is the life of the man who destroyed him any different?" He asked, wanting to ensure Bruce knew his standing before he's eventual encounter with his prodigal son.

Bruce finally answered, his voice lower now. "It is not our place to play God. Everyone deserves a chance at redemption." He paused, memories surfacing—countless chances given, countless failures endured. "No matter how many times we have to offer it."

Before Alfred could respond, a sharp alert cut through the cave. The screens shifted, a signal pulsing across the console.

"What's that?" Alfred asked.

Bruce's eyes locked onto the display. "It's from Red Hood," he said, already rising to his feet.

"He's at Crime Alley."

 

[Maverick_DaSupreme]

After Red Hood made his getaway with Joker, he hauled him across the city to an abandoned building awaiting renovation—one of Gotham's many half-forgotten skeletons of concrete and rust.

The elevator was long dead, so Jason took the stairs, dragging his captive up flight after flight until they reached a top-floor apartment he had prepared for tonight's event.

Broken windows let in the cold night air, carrying with it the distant hum of traffic and sirens far below. The moonlight spilled through the gaps, painting the room in pale silver and shadow.

He dropped Joker onto the floor like a sack of meat. The impact echoed dully through the empty space. Jason crouched and tore the seal from Joker's mouth in one sharp motion.

"Finally," Joker rasped, rolling his jaw and smacking his lips. "Being prevented from speaking for so long with such a crazy turn of events is probably bad for my health." He grinned, his eyes gleaming as if he were genuinely amused. To him, Red Hood felt like a more entertaining, less restrained version of Batman.

Jason didn't respond. He turned away instead, walking toward the far wall and planting a gloved hand against the cracked concrete. He took a deep breath. Then another.

The psychopath who had murdered him, the clown who had haunted his nightmares even when his memories were gone—was finally here. Right behind him. In his possession.
And yet, there was no rush of satisfaction. No sense of victory.

Jason frowned faintly at that realization, then shoved it aside. So long as the clown still drew breath, closure was impossible.
Everything he had suffered, the fracture in his mind, every sleepless night since his resurrection—could be traced back to the thing sitting behind him on the floor.

He turned.

Joker had pushed himself upright, his back against the wall, knees bent awkwardly, wrists still restrained. He glanced down at the bullet wound in his shoulder, blood soaking into the purple fabric of his coat, then looked back up with a wide grin.

"Gotta say, this is quite the excitement," Joker chirped. "I've never been kidnapped before. Terribly rude, of course, but I am curious where exactly this leads."

"You don't remember," Red Hood said. His modulated voice was low, controlled, carrying a quiet authority.
Joker tapped his chin with the backs of his restrained hands, feigning thoughtfulness. "Not a clue. I've been cooped up in Arkham for the past five years."

"How could you?" Jason muttered.

He raised both hands and reached for his helmet. With a slow, deliberate motion, he pulled it off and let it drop to the floor. Beneath it was a domino mask—black, familiar, and unmistakable. The same type he had worn years ago.

Joker tilted his head, studying him. "Your face does seem awfully familiar…" he mused. "I just can't seem to place it."
"I see," Jason said.

His hand reached behind his back, his gloved hand closing around cold metal. He drew out a crowbar, the dull dark surface catching the moonlight. A dangerous, almost eager smile tugged at his lips as a suffocating aura of bloodlust rolled off him in waves.

This gave Joker the illusion that the man standing right in front of him had turned into an indescribable monster, salivating over his flesh and even his very soul.

Jason stepped forward, slow and deliberate, one step at a time.

For the first time, the smile on Joker's face faltered. Something flickered in his eyes as he stared at the man before him—something raw and unfamiliar.

Fear.

The grudge Jason carried from beyond the grave was finally about to be repaid in full. "You…" Joker breathed, recognition dawning at last.

He laughed suddenly, sharp and loud.
Jason stopped.

He wasn't in a hurry. He had waited years for this. A few more minutes wouldn't matter.
"One night with Papa Joker," Joker cackled, "and you completely abandoned Batman's teachings!"

"One bad day." He added with emphasis as he laughed.

Jason cocked an eyebrow, letting him talk and not having to explain himself to the likes of a man he considered to be less than vermin. Nothing he could have said would have gotten through the thick skull of the lumatic in front of him.

"I mean, look at you," Joker continued gleefully. "You even use my old moniker. All this violence, all that thirst for blood. Who knew you were a natural born killer? You lack my charm, of course, but you've become the spitting image of me, your pa—" His words caused Jason to twitch.

Thwark!

The crowbar crashed into Joker's face with brutal force. Bone cracked audibly as Joker's jaw shattered under the blow, his head snapping to the side. Jason had held back—barely. With the strength surging through his body now, a full-force swing would have split Joker's skull like a watermelon.

He had other plans for the night. Killing Joker now would be a waste. That honor was reserved for the guest of honor—the man who had failed him.

"Th…that was.."

"Shut up, clown," Jason snarled.

The crowbar came down again. And again.
He didn't narrate his pain. He didn't list his losses or recount his suffering. Every swing spoke for him. Rage poured out with each strike, years of restraint dissolving into raw violence.

Bones cracked. Ribs splintered. Joker's body jerked and twisted like a broken marionette.

Joker still tried to laugh, even through the agony, as if the pain delighted him—but his shattered jaw reduced it to wet, muffled sounds.

Jason thought this would make him feel better.

It didn't.

With every blow, the anger felt misdirected.
Of course it was. If Bruce had ended Joker—if he had taken one life to avenge another—Jason wouldn't be here now, standing over this pathetic excuse for a man.

Pa!

The crowbar smashed into Joker's knee. Something snapped. More ribs broke. The laughter dissolved into incoherent noises as Jason's vision blurred, red bleeding into the edges of his sight.

Something primal stirred inside him—something he had suppressed for far too long. It strained against its chains, roaring to be unleashed.

And now the anger wasn't just for Joker.
It was for Bruce.

He had never hated him. He understood Bruce's code. But in this moment, that understanding meant nothing. Bruce should have paid a price for his refusal—for letting the man who stole his life keep breathing.

Rage erupted like a volcano that had been simmering beneath the surface for years.
Jason roared, putting everything he had into a final swing aimed straight at Joker's head.

Aggghhh!

He stopped mid-motion, arm fully extended with the crowbar frozen in the air.
His chest heaved as he forced himself to breathe. Slowly, the red haze receded. His vision cleared, revealing the carnage at his feet—Joker broken, bloodied, and barely conscious.

If he had gone full strength with his swings, Joker was sure to die in that heated moment.

At this point Joker was sure to have suffered multiple comminuted fractures.

He lowered the crowbar.

He had nearly lost himself.
Yes, Joker deserved to die. But skipping straight to dessert after ignoring the main course was a sign of indiscipline. Jason hadn't waited this long to lose control now.

He tossed the crowbar into a corner and ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair. Closing his eyes, he focused on his breathing until the storm inside him quieted.

The rage lingered—but it no longer demanded blood. Not yet.

He looked down at Joker, who let out a weak, gurgling chuckle.

Jason felt a grim satisfaction.

"Not such a fan of your own medicine?" he asked. "If you'll excuse me, I have an invite to send… and a guest of honor to receive."
He turned and walked to the door. Hand on the knob, he paused and glanced back.
"I'll be right back," he said calmly. "And I promise—just seeing him will make your night." The door shut behind him.

'Not like you could even get up if you wanted to,' he thought as he moved on to the next phase of the night.

- - -

[At Titans Tower]

Dick Grayson had been enjoying his much-needed time off with his girlfriend and his team—especially with his girlfriend.

Time off was a rare luxury for heroes. Emergencies, invasions, and end-of-the-world scenarios had a bad habit of popping up without warning, but as long as there wasn't an immediate crisis demanding their attention, they were allowed to breathe. Tonight was one of those rare nights. The city was relatively calm, Titans Tower was quiet, and Dick had taken full advantage of it.

He had even brought along his antisocial kid brother.

That decision, in hindsight, was… debatable.

Damian had managed to piss someone off in less than an hour after being introduced to the team. Dick didn't even know how the kid did it so efficiently—it was like a talent. Since then, Damian had been keeping mostly to himself, sitting in a corner with his arms crossed and his posture rigid, radiating barely restrained disdain.

He's been minding his business ever since I threatened to snitch on him to Bruce, Dick thought wryly. The kid really hates being grounded.

Damian might have kept his mouth shut, but his eyes did all the talking. The sharp glances, the unimpressed stare, the permanent scowl resting on his face—it was more than enough to make the rest of the team uncomfortable. Even when he wasn't saying a word, he somehow managed to make everyone feel like they were being silently judged and found lacking.

The others could tell he saw them as inferior. What they couldn't understand was why.

As Dick found himself thinking about his brother's near-impossible ability to alienate people, he felt a warm hand rest on his shoulder.

He turned—and immediately felt lips pressing against his in a soft, lingering kiss.

"What's on your mind?" Kori asked, her was voice gentle and curious. Her bright green eyes flicked briefly to the half-empty glass of alcohol sitting beside him on the table.

"Well," Dick said with a grin, leaning in to kiss her again, "right now? You."

She smiled, amused, as he pulled back slightly. "I was just having a drink before bed," he continued, lifting the glass loosely, "but I ended up thinking about just how antisocial Damian really is."

He gestured vaguely in the direction of the common area, where Damian sat rigidly on a couch, pretending not to listen to the rest of the team while absolutely listening to everything.

"At this rate," Dick went on, shaking his head, "he's never going to get a girlfriend. And then I won't be able to give him dating advice. Or share all the hard-earned wisdom and experience I've gained over the years."

He sighed dramatically, then tipped the glass back and finished the last of its contents in one gulp.

Kori blinked, clearly not expecting that to be his concern.

Then she laughed.

It was a bright, genuine sound that filled the room. "Despite his attitude and… overwhelming confidence," she said carefully, "he is quite the looker. Do not worry. I am certain you will get the chance to play the experienced big brother someday." She gave him a playful nudge, chuckling.

Dick snorted. "Let's hope his looks alone are enough," he replied. "Because the other traits you mentioned? That's just sums up his arrogance."

Kori smiled but didn't disagree.

As the two of them continued talking, relaxed and close, the television behind them quietly switched to a breaking news broadcast. The newscaster went on speaking on a muted screen as bold red letters flashed across the screen.

BREAKING NEWS: JOKER ESCAPES ARKHAM ASYLUM

Neither of them noticed right away.

The broadcast showed shaky aerial footage of a bridge locked in disarray—police lights, damaged vehicles, smoke still hanging in the air. The reporters spoke quickly, speculating wildly as images of Gotham's most infamous criminal filled the screen.

Then it showed the appearance of Red Hood who they reported to have shot and taken Joker.

There was uncertainty—no clear confirmation on whether Joker had truly been kidnapped or if the entire incident was some twisted collaboration. The authorities themselves weren't sure yet, and until they were, the story remained incomplete.

 

[Maverick_DaSupreme]

Batman received the invitation from Red Hood and wasted no time, tearing through Gotham's streets in the Batmobile until Crime Alley came into view.

As he drove, memories surfaced unbidden—images of a younger Jason Todd moving under his watchful eye as Robin. Memories of a sharp, free-spirited kid with raw talent, someone who pushed himself harder than necessary just to earn a nod of approval.

He arrived at Crime Alley, stepped out of the Batmobile, and walked into the shadowed passageway. The place stirred even more recollections. "How ironic," he muttered, his gaze settling on the exact spot where he'd first encountered a scrappy kid trying to steal the Batmobile's tires.

That was where he met Jason Todd. An orphan. A troublemaker. A boy who'd already seen the inside of juvenile detention.

The deeper Bruce dug into his file back then, the clearer it became—there was something fierce inside that kid. A willful, volatile potential. Like a flame that could either light the way forward or burn everything to ash.

He'd known Jason was destined to make waves. Without guidance, those waves would crash on the wrong shore. And Jason had nothing to lose—no parents, and no safety net.

So Bruce gave him purpose and brought him into the fight. Made him the second Robin. Made him his second son.

"Brings back memories, doesn't it?"

The voice came from ahead, unmodulated but raw. "Glad you could make it."

Batman looked up and saw Red Hood standing in the alley. There he was.

The last time they'd crossed paths, Jason had fled, unwilling to entertain a conversation any longer than necessary.

But now he was waiting. Standing still. As if he'd finally decided to indulge him.

The first thing Batman noticed was what wasn't there, the absence of his crowbar and his sword made his getup seem incomplete. The dearth made him pause. He couldn't tell whether Jason wasn't taking this seriously, or if he was simply confident enough to believe he wouldn't need his full arsenal.

"Where is Joker?" Batman asked, keeping his tone clipped and professional.

"Wow. Not even going to ask how I've been?" Red Hood replied, sarcasm clearly audible in his voice as he struggled to keep his emotions from boiling over.

Batman's eyes narrowed beneath the cowl. He wasn't in the mood for games. "This ends tonight. All of it." His voice carried absolute conviction. No matter how much it hurt, he was prepared to fight his son if that's what it took.

"No one understands that better than I do," Jason answered from beneath the hood. He reached into his belt and snapped his arm forward, sending a pair of shuriken flying.

Batman dove behind a dumpster as the blades clanged off metal. At the same time, with a press of a button, the Batmobile roared in from behind Jason.

Red Hood leapt into the air just as the vehicle barreled past, skidding to a halt at the far end of the alley near Batman. Jason hit the wall high above, planted his boots, and kicked off—

—only for a sharp hiss to cut through the alley. A steel cable snapped tight around both his legs and yanked him hard to the ground.

"You and your gadgets," Jason muttered. He drew his knife, sliced clean through the cable. As he rose, he flicked a small disc toward Batman. Batman dodged with ease, but the device embedded itself in the wall beside him.

A sharp beep followed. Batman's eyes narrowed just before the disc detonated.

"Aghh!"

The explosion hurled him violently into the opposite wall.

Seizing the opening, Jason sprang to his feet and rushed Batman, who reacted instantly, snapping his arm forward and sending a pair of Batarangs spinning through the air.

Jason slipped past them with practiced ease and pressed on—only for the blades he'd dodged to embed themselves into the alley walls on either side of him. A split second later, they detonated.

Having returned the favour, Batman raised his cape, bracing as the explosions thundered behind Jason. The blast ripped him off his feet and hurled him toward the wall. Instead of resisting it, Jason adapted. Midair, he twisted his body, angling himself so his boots struck the wall first.

The instant his soles hit, he used the blast's remaining force and his near–super-soldier strength to rebound, launching himself toward the opposite wall. As he flew, he flung several smoke pellets toward Batman.

They burst on impact, flooding the alley with thick, choking clouds of smoke. Jason ricocheted back and forth between the narrow walls, each kick sending him higher in a rapid, fluid ascent.

In seconds, he reached the top. His fingers hooked over the rooftop ledge, and he hauled himself up, dragging the fight to higher ground.

Batman caught sight of him immediately. With a sharp thwip, he fired his grapple gun, the cable yanking him upward. His cape flared wide behind him as he cleared the ledge, hit the rooftop, and rolled smoothly into a fighting stance.

Red Hood was already there—waiting.

Jason threw the first punch. Batman slipped it and countered, but Jason weaved under the return strike and drove a hard blow into Batman's ribs.

Batman grunted but didn't relent, pressing forward with a relentless flurry. His suit's reinforced under-armor absorbed the worst of it, yet Jason's hits still landed with alarming weight.

It made Bruce pause, if only for a fraction of a second. Jason's strength now rivaled Slade Wilson's, maybe exceeding it. Worse—his combat skill was approaching the same terrifying level.

As they traded blows, Batman picked up on the changes immediately. Jason had refined the League of Assassins' techniques and fused them with his own aggressive, inventive style. It kept Bruce on edge; one mistake was all Jason needed to turn the tide.

Even at a physical disadvantage, Batman's decades of experience and tactical awareness allowed him to keep pace, forcing Jason to work for every inch.

Jason landed solid hits, held his ground—but Bruce could tell. He wasn't showing everything.

And Jason could tell the same about him.

The fight was still in its opening phase. Showing his full hand now would only give Batman time to adjust—time to read his patterns, develop counters, maybe even bait him into a mistake that would end in a devastating blow. Jason wasn't about to give him that advantage.

Red Hood drew his knife and settled into a combat stance, tilting his head as he motioned for Batman to come at him, the gesture clearly saying, 'your move.'

Batman didn't hesitate. He closed the distance fast, snapping a Batarang toward him. Jason knocked it aside with his blade and immediately raised his left arm, catching Batman's follow-up punch in a tight guard before swinging back to counter.

With proficient footwork, Batman pivoted around Red Hood's strike, slipped behind him, and locked his arms around his torso before flipping him overhead.

Jason hit the ground hard—but rolled through it, springing up into a low squat. A mocking chuckle slipped from him as Batman's utility belt clattered onto the rooftop between them.

While Batman had him in the throw, Jason had taken advantage of the moment, sliding his knife clean through the belt's fastenings. It parted effortlessly—like cutting warm butter—proof of just how refined his blade really was.

That move drew a clear flash of irritation across Batman's face.. Jason saw it and grinned beneath the helmet, casually tossing the knife from one hand to the other before lunging.

Slice.

Slice.

Slice.

Batman did his best to evade and counter the flurry, but the attacks came too fast, too tight. He couldn't avoid them cleanly, and shallow cuts began to score different sections of his suit.

"I see you're still underestimating me," Jason said coolly. "Keep that up and see how far it gets you."

Batman growled under his breath, the taunt clearly striking a nerve.

They charged again, colliding in a blur of motion—until Batman suddenly surged forward, driving Jason back and off the edge of the rooftop.

They crashed into a stone gargoyle on the way down before tumbling onto the roof below. In the chaos, Jason tore the cowl from Batman's head and rolled away, creating distance between them.

Seeing Bruce's face hit him harder than expected. The anger he'd been directing outward twisted, settling back into something far more personal as if reminded of the life Batman owed.

"Here," Jason said, tossing the cowl back to him. "Let's keep it even."

He twirled the knife once more along his forearm, then reached both hands up toward the back of his helmet.

With a sharp hiss, the helmet's edges expanded and separated as Jason removed it. He locked eyes with Bruce through the domino mask beneath, then let the red helmet fall to the ground between them.

"Jason…" Bruce said quietly, his voice was heavy with sympathy. Seeing the son he had lost—murdered by the Joker—made his hardened, professional exterior falter as the father in him surged forward.

"I don't want to fight you," Bruce admitted honestly, hoping—however futile it might be—to reach him with words instead of fists.
"That ship sailed a long time ago," Jason replied. Beneath the anger he directed at Bruce, there was something else—an undeniable flicker of happiness at standing face-to-face with his adoptive father again. The man he had loved, respected, and admired.

The man who had taken in a reckless orphan without obligation and given him purpose—something that had brought light and excitement back into his life.

"Please," Bruce said, stepping carefully. "I can help you. I know what happened."
Jason scoffed. "So you talked to Talia, huh." He knew Damian had never been told the full truth about his resurrection. Aside from Ra's—now dead—Talia was the only one who could have filled Bruce in. His former lover.

"Tell me." Jason continued. "Does it make things easier for you to believe a dip in his fountain of eternal youth turned me feral? Or have you come to accept that this is just who I am now?"

He nudged the helmet forward with his boot. It rolled to a stop at Bruce's feet, drawing his gaze downward.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Bruce looked up—and his eyes widened. Jason was already right in front of him. He'd crossed the distance in an instant, moving with elevated speed.

Bruce's instincts acted in full gear. There was no time to think—only react. He snapped into a guarded stance just as Jason launched himself forward.

Jason's boots slammed into Batman's chest with brutal force, both heels driving in as Bruce's raised guard barely absorbed the impact. The blow lifted him off his feet and hurled him backward into a stone gargoyle, which had a stone piece broken on contact.
His shoulder dislocated on impact.

Grimacing, Bruce forced his cowl back into place as he saw Jason crouch to retrieve his helmet.

Pop.

He jammed the joint back into place. Pain flared hot and shrewd—but he stayed on his feet.

Forcing himself upright through clenched teeth, Bruce watched as Jason exhaled slowly and pulled the hood back over his head.

The atmosphere shifted instantly. The air felt heavier, and charged—like something dark had settled in. For a moment, it no longer felt as though Jason Todd stood before him, but someone else entirely.

Bruce narrowed his eyes, studying him. "Jason?"

Red Hood tilted his head slightly. "Try again."

'The Red Hood,' Batman muttered inwardly.

Jason lunged forward with enhanced speed, his fist snapping toward Bruce's face. Batman raised an arm to block—but Jason's other hand slammed into his abdomen.

Bruce coughed sharply.

The impact felt like a sledgehammer driving into his gut, forcing him to fold forward on instinct.

Thwack.

Red Hood clasped his hands together and brought them down across Bruce's back, sending him crashing to the ground.

Before Bruce could recover, Jason's boot smashed into his side with a kick, flipping him onto his back.

"Tell me," Red Hood said coldly as he loomed over him. He grabbed Bruce by the collar and slammed him against the wall, pinning him there.

"What bothers you more?"

He leaned in, his grip tightening.

"That your greatest failure crawled back from the grave… or that I've become a better Batman than you?"

- - -

pàtreøn.cøm/Da_suprememaverick

 

[Maverick_DaSupreme]

"A better… Batman?"

With a strained grunt, Batman forced the pain in his shoulder down and out of his awareness. He clasped both hands together above his head and brought them crashing down, hammering against Red Hood's raised arm which had him locked in a chokehold.

The instant his boots hit the ground, Batman surged forward. His knee drove into Red Hood's solar plexus with brutal force, knocking the air from his lungs. As Red Hood folded from the impact, Batman followed through with a sharp kick across his face, sending him tumbling across the rooftop before he rolled and sprang back to his feet.

"You're ruling through intimidation and murder," Batman shouted, his voice edged with fury as if sheer volume might finally get through Red Hood's thick skull. "You're nothing but another criminal."

"You might be right, but I'm what this city needs," Red Hood fired back, anger flashing hot beneath his control as he charged straight at him.

Batman was bare-handed, and Jason knew it. Beating him like this—fist to fist—would stroke Red Hood's ego, sure, but it would also force a measure of respect. Not that Jason needed it, but he wanted Batman to see him.

Defeating Batman outright was never the plan that night. But giving him a solid beating? That might help hammer the message home—might finally crack through the stubborn certainty Bruce deluded himself in.

"I don't have a problem with you refusing to end the bastards who won't change," Red Hood shouted mid-swing. His fist snapped upward in a vicious uppercut that lifted Batman clean off his feet, sending him tumbling backward over the sweep of his cape. "After all the chances you give them—that's why I'm here."

"Is that your newfound purpose?" Batman shot back as he recovered, their fists colliding again as the fight resumed with renewed ferocity. His voice was stern, heavy with something that sounded uncomfortably like disappointment. "Killing? Is that how you plan to spend your second chance at life?"

He sounded less like an enemy and more like a father trying—and failing—to steer his rebellious son back onto the right path. But the kid was too far gone, too stubborn to listen. And if words wouldn't reach him, maybe a good beating would.

Batman shifted into an attack combo, relying on years of experience and honed technique. Jason was better than he'd ever been as Robin—sharper, faster, more dangerous—but his skill still hadn't reached Bruce's level.

Blow. Blow.

A sharp kick snapped into the side of Jason's knee, forcing him down onto that knee. Batman pivoted immediately, swinging his leg toward Jason's head.

Jason caught the kick.

With a surge of strength, he forced himself back to his feet and hurled Batman away from him, sending him skidding across the rooftop as the fight threatened to spiral even further out of control.

"It's nothing as grand as a life's purpose," Red Hood said, answering Batman's earlier question as they circled each other.

"But when I came back to Gotham, I realized the city was overdue for sanitation. So I took it upon myself to make sure the filth gets disposed of through the proper channels."

"No matter how you dress it up," Batman replied, unrelenting, "there's still no justification for killing."

There was no telling how the night would end. Capture. Escape. Rescue Joker, that was if he wasn't already dead. Or maybe something worse. So Bruce made the most of the conversation while it lasted—while Jason was still close enough to hear him.

"There you go again…" Red Hood muttered under his breath, lowering his head as he slipped back into a fighting stance. Batman mirrored the movement, recognizing immediately that he'd struck a nerve.

This time, Batman took the initiative.

He charged.

They collided, trading blows in rapid succession. As the fight wore on, Batman began to notice it—the increase in Red Hood's pace. His strikes came faster now, heavier, paired with sharp, efficient counters. Batman was forced to shift into a defensive rhythm, the unsettling realization creeping in that it felt less like fighting Jason Todd…

…and more like facing an alternate version of Deathstroke.

'What exactly did you do to him, Ra's?' Bruce wondered grimly as he slipped past a punch. In the same motion, he produced a small disc seemingly out of nowhere, weaving behind Jason and slapping it onto his back in one clean, fluid movement.

The device detonated instantly.

A concussive blast hurled Red Hood across the rooftop, tearing him off his feet as he clawed desperately at the device, struggling to rip it free.

"Fucker!" Jason shouted as he managed to shrug out of his jacket—but it was already too late. The momentum carried him past the edge of the rooftop and out of sight.

Batman moved toward the ledge, eyes narrowed, intent on confirming Red Hood's condition from the fall.

Before he reached it, a canister shot up from below and clattered onto the rooftop. The moment it landed, it erupted—vomiting out a dense rush of thick white fog that swallowed the rooftop whole, reducing visibility to nothing.

Batman snapped his cape up over his nose and mouth, his senses at full alert.

"I guess we're both walking armories," Red Hood's voice echoed through the fog, distorted and impossible to pinpoint.

Batman held his stance, scanning the shifting haze, fully prepared for the inevitable counterattack.

He was skilled enough that sneaking up on him was nearly impossible.

Nearly.

Ra's al Ghul and Lady Shiva had taught Jason techniques that allowed him to erase his presence entirely when hunting an enemy.

Detaching his thoughts—and whatever emotions still threatened to surface—from the action at hand, Jason melted into the fog. He moved deliberately, circling, letting the sound of his boots scrape and stomp just enough to bait Bruce's attention, each echo carefully placed to pull his focus in the wrong direction.

Batman held his ground, breathing slow and controlled, tracking the false signals—until a fist came from nowhere.

The punch smashed into his jaw at point-blank range. The impact sent him crashing to the rooftop, blood spilling from his mouth as his head snapped to the side.

He rolled and forced himself back up, spitting out blood—and a broken tooth—onto the concrete.

"Damn," Jason's voice echoed through the fog, mockery laced into the single word.

Batman turned his shoulders, dropping into a guarded stance, his eyes darting through the haze. His teeth clenched hard, and his patience wearing thin. He was done with the games.

Another strike came from his blind side—but this time he reacted instantly, twisting away and catching Red Hood's arm mid-swing.

Jason adapted just as fast.

A sharp kick slammed into the back of Batman's heel, knocking his base out from under him as it swept him off the ground and falling on his back. As Bruce stumbled, Red Hood drove his other fist into Batman's torso. The air exploded out of Bruce's lungs in a harsh cough as the blow folded him inward.

He hit the ground hard.

The smoke began to thin as Jason followed him down—one brutal punch to the abdomen, then another snapping across his face.

The exposed portion of Batman's jaw was already swelling, bruised and slick with blood. Crimson streaked down from his mouth, mixing with blood drawn from torn skin where Jason's gloved fist had split it open.

Bruce had fought gods. Monsters. Men with superhuman strength.

And yet the pain blooming inside his chest was blinding—deep, internal, one his armor couldn't fully absorb.

For once, Red Hood said nothing. No snark. No taunts.

He seized Batman by the leg.

"Better brace yourself," Jason warned, his voice low and flat.

Then he ran.

Batman was dragged across the rooftop by his ankle, cape whipping violently behind him. He clawed at the concrete, trying to anchor himself, but Jason's grip didn't budge. The pull was relentless.

Bruce reached into the sleeve of his glove, fingers closing around a slim, sharpened tool—just as Jason changed tactics.

Red Hood came to a sudden halt near the edge of the rooftop, boots digging in. Batman felt a violent upward yank as his body was ripped off the ground.

Then Jason hurled him.

Batman shot across the street below, body spinning as he hurtled headfirst toward the building opposite. The distance was too short, the force too great—his cape barely had time to deploy, let alone slow his fall.

Wind roared past his ears as he struggled to stabilize mid-air.

Thinking fast, Bruce reached behind his waist and drew a compact grapple gun—one he'd quietly lifted from Red Hood during their earlier exchange.

It was crude. Makeshift. Nowhere near the caliber of his own.

But it was all he had.

And at that moment, it only needed to do one thing.

Save his life.

Batman squeezed the trigger.

A sharp hiss cut through the night as the grappling hook fired, cable screaming taut as it shot back toward the building he'd just been thrown from.

"Oh no, you don't," Red Hood muttered.

He drew one of his pistols in a single smooth motion and fired. The shot was flawless. The bullet struck the grappling hook dead-on, knocking it off course and sending it spinning uselessly away from the wall.

With his escape cut short, Batman had no choice but to brace himself.

He crashed through a window.

Glass exploded inward as he hit, instinctively rolling through the impact. He came up inside an abandoned bedroom, glass crunching beneath him as he regained his footing.

A heartbeat later, Red Hood followed—bursting through the same window.

Jason hit the floor in a roll, bleeding off his momentum, and immediately went back on the offensive. He threw a straight punch the moment he rose. Batman dove sideways, creating space as the missed strike drove Red Hood's arm straight into a nearby wardrobe, splintering wood on impact.

Batman didn't hesitate.

He launched himself forward, boots slamming into Red Hood's chest. The impact sent Jason crashing into the wall behind him, the wardrobe door tearing free from its hinges as his trapped arm ripped it loose.

Using the recoil of the kick, Batman flipped and closed the distance again, charging while Jason struggled to regain his balance.

As he moved, Bruce slipped a pair of brass knuckles from the sleeve of his glove, snapping them into place over his gloved knuckles.

He swung for Red Hood's exposed ribs.

The shattered wardrobe door snapped up at the last second, intercepting the blow—but the force shattered it in half, knocking Jason's guard aside and leaving him exposed for just a moment.

Batman took it.

Two heavy punches slammed into the jaw of Red Hood's helmet in rapid succession. The strikes weren't meant to break bone—the helmet would take that—but the concussive force was aimed at rattling his brain. It could briefly send him in a daze and scrambling his senses.

He followed through with everything he had.

An overhead kick crashed into Red Hood's head, sending him flying through the wall and into the adjoining room, the drywall collapsing in a cloud of dust.

"Cute," Jason deadpanned as he pushed himself up, brushing debris from his shoulders. He reached up, unclasped his helmet, and tossed it aside.

"If only you put this much enthusiasm into beating criminals to the brink of death," he added with a dry, almost amused chuckle.

"Ever stop to think about how much good you could've done with that strength," he continued, voice sharp with disdain, "instead of walking this murderous path?"

The disapproval in Bruce's gaze hit harder than any punch.

The rage that had fueled Jason moments earlier faltered, twisting into further heartbreak. The ache of a kid realizing his father would never see things his way.

"Well, I wouldn't be walking this path if you'd done what you should've," Jason shot back, refusing to let his resolve slip. It was the only thing holding him together now. "Sometimes, ending one life saves hundreds of Gotham's innocents."

"Even so," Batman replied through clenched teeth, the conflict clear in his voice, "I won't abandon the principles that define me as Batman."

Jason scoffed. "I'm not talking about killing Penguin or some two-bit crook who still knows right from wrong."

His voice rose as he spoke.

"I'm talking about him."

He kicked the door beside him open, sending it crashing inward—and finally revealed the reason they were both there that night.

The Joker—or what remained of him—lay sprawled before them. The familiar clown Prince of Crime Bruce had chased throughout his entire career was barely recognizable now.

His body was broken, swollen, and smeared with dried blood, beaten so severely that for a fleeting, horrifying moment, Batman found himself wondering what kind of monster Jason had become for him to do something that inhumane.

- - -

pàtreøn.cøm/Da_suprememaverick