2014.05.24 - Batman's Choice

The invitation was clear; a first edition of Crime and Punishment and a lock of luridly green hair. It was practically a love letter to his brief time at the Manor, to Alfred and Bruce's traditions that they'd passed on to Jason... and spitting on it with a piece of the thing that had taken away from the only family that in his short life had shown him anything like kindness.

The return address an abandoned subway depot. Miserable, cold, and reeking of the Owls. It's also wired to blow -- ready to be collapsed, bringing down the abandoned Narrows bulidings that perch over it at any time. It's a threat. A promise.

Jason waits; he's not alone. The last remaining Talons, undead and inert stand stock still. He watches the cameras, monitoring the streets, the station, waiting for the Batman to take his bait.

The Bat knows Gotham's tunnels and sewers just as well as he knows its street. Where better for vermin to hide than in the long, unmanaged dark? Soon enough he finds the subway depot, approaching it from far below ground where hidden passageways and a secret railroad allow quick and unhindered access to the City from beneath.

An old, once-gilded grate shifts aside silently as he surfaces like a demon from the darkest hell and crouches in the shadow. His heads-up display tags the Talons and the Red Hood. Already his mind is ticking over, considering just how he'll approach.

"You know, I always did love watching you work."

It's faint, spoken from within the Red Hood's mask, but sincere. He knows he's made it. Tripped the other Bat's security -- this was really the perfect place to end this charade. "You were an inspiration. A living dream of a better tomorrow. A way to take back the streets I'd been born into. A promise that being angry at the way the world was... that it could mean something."

He stretches back, hands behind his head. The Joker is no where to be found. (The cold storage unit, however, lends a clue as to where he might be.

"Too bad it was all a goddamn sham."

The Red Hood. Figures. The Bat's plate had been more than full lately but he knew that this particular thorn was still wriggling around untended in his side. He doesn't make himself known just yet, instead he moves for higher ground. When the time comes to attack he'll do it from up here where he is most comfortable. But there's a nagging thought at the back of his mind. Biting at him like a stone in his shoe.

He gets up, pacing away. He considers, briefly, and then points at one of the undead revenant. "You. Go find our guest. You, stay put." He felt some strange kinship with them -- dark haired young men, cut down before they were truly allowed to live. He knew how that was.

The Talon stepped away, sealing his mask into place. Lambent yellow eyes lit-- and he was on the hunt in a moment later.

"Let's see you work."

It is as soon as the Talon steps away that the Bat springs into action. The Red Hood knows him. Knows the way he operates. He had thought to descend from above but that would be obvious. That's his standard. That would be expected. Instead, when the Talon is away the Dark Knight seems to launch himself through the very floor by aid of rickety boards and a localized explosive charge. He doesn't give the Talon room to operate, rising from the smoke and swirling dust to capture it by the neck with one thick arm - attempting to drive it down into the ground brutally. There's no need to pull his punches with the dead.

Somewhere behind, there's the sound of the cold storage unit being opened partway as the Talon pushes inside, before shutting the door after. No use in it rushing the surprise until the Red Hood is prepared; it will remain until called back, with the bit player in this long unfinished game...

Congratulations, Batman: The Red Hood is officially shocked. He steps back sharply, but the mask hides the expression of surprise. This is going faster than anticipated-- and Batman is now between him and the cold storage entrance.

"Showboating? C'mon, that's the clown's gig!" he doesn't stop taunting, though-- he's running that mouth nonstop as he begins to try and circle around the fight in progress.

The Talon fights with the same efficient brutality they all use. Undead implaccability mean nerve strikes mean nothing but the brutality employed certainly hampers limbs and movements-- a bladed gauntlet lashes out, but the arm is shortly broken and rendered half-useless. Really, it might almost be insulting to certain parties-- Batman's potential as a killer on display, and what does he use it on? The aleady dead.

Batman's experience with Talons has increased over the last few nights. Where they once posed quite the substantial threat he has now become adept at bringing them down. With one of the Talon's arms broken he reaches out, clasping one hand against its jaw and the other cradling the back of its head. Boot planted against the chest of the dead assassin, he pulls - and hard. He pays no obvious attention to the Hood, letting him talk. He'll get to him eventually.

The Talon is like a toy; forgotten by it's owner and abused by solmeone who doesn't know what care and time was put into creating it.... especially when Batman goes to just... pop the damn thing's head off. It gives with a sickening, wet noise -- but the Talons are just chilled, undead meat. Whatever gave them real life left them long ago.

"Alright, you sick son of a bitch," Red Hood mutters as he gets to the cold storage, "it's show time."

"I'm coming." states the cool voice of the Joker.

The door is slowly pushed open, and the shadows cast over a slender form. Too slender; what strides through is not the Talon, but the Clown Prince. He has a terrible rip across his chest and shoulder, and one hand looks badly bloodied. But he's dragging behind him the second of the undead creatures, still kicking and twitching, heavy chain wrapped around it's neck. "I didn't like your escort." he offers the Red Hood, almost conversationally, before extending the hand with the metal links towards him. He's bleeding badly, but after the incident with Rain, Jason can be 99.2% sure he no longer has anything dangerous on him. "So! How are we gonna do this? Roll a dice? Flip a coin?! I got a little ANTSY, and broke your--THING! They are so /boring./ And..." Eyes slit, utterly not appreciating the seriousness that Red Hood demands for this encounter. "I do so HATE boring things..."

Red Hood growls under his breath.

"You are sure in a rush to die," he said-- before he popped the taser. He'd use a full charge-- God knows they'd need more than that to lay him out, considering it was the Joker. He just needed him pliable -- to get him hefted before him like a human sheild.

"Alright, Batman...You don whetting your appetite?" he asked, as he turned; he manuvered the Joker before him as the dust settle. "Because we... are gonna have some words before we get to the main event. I gotta say, if you don't honestly get the gig, I'm... insulted. All your greatest hits. Everything you could possibly want... and him. It's always him, isn't it? He's still moving. After everything he's done, you still haven't done the /right thing/ and killed this sick son of a bitch."

Batman lets the head go, not looking as it falls to the floor with a sickening splat. He looks from the Joker to the Hood, mouth a grim line. His knuckles crack as he clenches his fists at his side, waiting. As the Joker speaks and then the Red Hood follows, he reaches to his belt to draw out a half-crumpled envelope with Jason written on it.

He flings it at the Red Hood, furious but keeping it tempered. Even. His eyes narrow but he says nothing.

The taser hits true. Joker really isn't capable of any physical feats. He only defeated the Talon because it registered him as 'not a threat'. Utterly fatal. As long as he is breathing, if you let your guard down, this madman can kill you. Undead or not; that rule has been proven over dozens of years. He's twitching and laughing on the ground, but it doesn't seem to be working very well all the same. "HO HO HO HO!! IT TI-TI-TICKLES!! I... I won't fight, damnit... I WANT this to happen..." He rolls over almost immediately after it cuts off, blood dripping down. Panting heavily. "Because I know..." His head raises, looking to Batman like he was a savior. "He'd NEVER pick you over me... isn't that right? I know it... deep down, you WANTED this broken bird to die. You made a mistake recruiting him, didn't you? But... your latest one is a violent upstart, too..." Eyes darken, bloodied grin stretching wider. "Maybe we... we should do an encore? For old time's sake?"

The letter gives the Hood pause. He stops, looking at it. So that's how they're going to play it.

"He understood," he said, finally. "He understood, and you and that fucking prick Riddler sent him God knows where. To a dead world! To die. Alone. Do you know what that's like? I do."

He pushes the Joker down into one of the chairs, before he pops off the mask. He needs to do this face to face. To see him...

His domino mask is red now -- but it's the same style he wore as Robin. Jason Todd glares trough it at Batman, and says, "You at least gonna tell me you missed me?"

"He understood giving up," Batman growls - practically spits - at the Red Hood, "He understood taking the easy path. The same path he took."

He gestures violently at the Joker, and if gestures could kill then this one would be a bullet right between the eyes.

"You're not Jason," he continues flatly, "You may have his mind and you may have his body but you don't have his soul. You're a hollow recreation twisted and misshapen by revenge. This is murder. Jason Todd wasn't a murderer."

With a bit of a giggle, Joker thumps into the chair, lifting his legs and kicking lightly as he grips the arms. "Fun, fun!" he allows, before coughing heavily. Blood drools down his lip, but does little to stem his injury. Batman can tell; an hour or so, and he'll die. ...Long enough to not worry about his health, compared to the matters at hand. "...Jason? Jason Todd? Who's that?" He looks between the two, as if being left out of a joke.

Jason's hand gripped the Joker's shoulder that much tighter. "Maybe digging myself out of the grave does that. Maybe I don't have a soul -- like the fucking Talon you just popped. But I do know this: I'm not a murderer. I don't kill people for thrills or money or power. I kill people who smuggle children across borders for sex traffic. I kill drug dealers who peddle in school yards. I know something you refuse to get: That you can't scare them all. That some of them have to die."

He drew his gun -- an tossed it to Batman - his aim easy. He'd either catch it or it'd bounce off his chest and land at his feet.

"But if I'm just a souless, undead murderer, you'll have no problem killing me to save the sack of shit that put me in the ground, will you?" He didn't laugh. "Can't kill what's already dead, right?" He dragged Joker up, before he drew his other gun. He held itto the Joker positioning the other man before his body, keeping his legs bent so the taller man wouldn't block him too badly. "Becaue otherwise I'm going to ventilate him. Because you wouldn't. You didn't after I died, and what did he do? He crippled our friend. Did you stop him then? No. You let him keep going. Jesus, I'm not asking for Riddler or Penguin... not even your old partner Harvey Dent. I'm asking for him. You let him keep going. So now, you have to pick: Put one of us in the ground yourself. Him or me."

He takes a step closer, fingers flexing at his side. His neck rolls slightly, popping the bones in his neck. Loosening up. He just disassembled something that may not have been technically alive but was still a human. It's all too clear what he's capable of.

"Explain it in your head however you like. When you kill, you take their side. Argue with me if you want. Rage against it and cognitively reframe it. You're wrong. You know you're wrong."

His eyes widen.

"And if you're not prepared to stop then I know you aren't Jason. And you're right - I won't have any problem breaking you apart."

"He's right." Joker states, matter of factly. Frowning slightly with a nod, looking up towards Batman with big, puppy-dog eyes. "They HAVE been bad people. I've been keeping track! I'm sure YOU have. Hell, I'm the WORST of them all... but he never killed me. Maybe you both have a sweet spot for little ole me? Harley is going to be so jealous..." The gun is watched as it flies towards the Batman. Upwards goes the Joker, and he's laughing in a crazed fashion. "IT'S POINTLESS!!" he shrieks. "YOU'RE RIGHT! YOU ARE A CORPSE! Me and Batsy, we're SOUL MATES!! I'm just letting you do this... so... you'll see the truth. The sick, twisted truth that everyone else denies..."

Black pupils narrow upon the Batman, grin remaining broad. "Everyone always lets you down in the end... until the day you finally die. Except for you, Bats. For years, you were always there for me. Every joke, every caper, my little shadow... When everyone else was gone, and everyone else wanted me DEAD... you keep me AROUND... you WANT me...!" A sigh. "Just do it, Batsy. Batarang him in the head or something. Leave him unconscious. Then take me to Arkham, carried in your arms, so we can begin anew~ Me and the Bat! The Bat and Joker! A hundred years, Joker and the Bats!!"

Jason let the click of the safety on pistol be his answer.

"Him or me," he was all he said. The Joker, after all, had said it all. "Take up the damn gun, and handle it, then. Or I tell him who the new Robin is." Or, more importantly: who he is to Bruce.

Batman pauses. He pauses. Rock? Meet hard place. He clenches and unclenches his fists once more. He closes his eyes behind the cowl. Then he extends a hand, palm flat and facing up. He doesn't ask. The gesture is enough.

The Joker is just grinning. "Do it. Give him the gun." the Joker states, barely a whisper.

Jason is still, briefly. He's not stupid enough to get within Batman's reach. "The one on the floor'll do. God knows I have a small armory in here. Take your pick."

Batman glances down and to the side, eyes locking on the gun. He crouches, scooping it up in his hand and drawing the hammer back. For someone who loathes the use of such weapons he certainly understands how they work. He weighs it in his hand. He looks at it and then lifts it to point it square at the Joker.

//Easy,// he thinks to himself, //One motion. He's gone. No coming back from that.//

He locks eyes with the Joker. Until now it seemed as though he couldn't hear his ranting and raving but now it changes. All at once he is keenly aware of his presence. Keenly aware of the gravity of the situation.

//Too easy.//

He turns the gun in the blink of an eye. He's swift with it. It levels on Jason and he fires. He knows the suit he wears. He fought him. He got a feel for it. He may know Batman well enough to know his weaknesses but Batman knows himself even better. For a range of motion there's always that weak spot. Between shoulder and arm. The arm holding the gun.

"No."

Hit or not, he looses the gun in his hand. The bore turns on his finger before it drops and clatters noisily to the ground.

The Joker's manic eyes watch as the Batman crouches down to pick up a pistol. "You know..." he suddenly says, curiously. "...I've never seen you use a gun, Batsy. Not a proper one. Wouldn't it have been easier... making rubber bat-bullets? More accurate and effective than throwing those fancy pieces of metal, I'd think!! Is it just a status symbol?!"

The Joker stares straight at the barrel, laughing louder. "You... you've never really SHOT a gun before, have you? Maybe gone through the motions... even learned how... heheheh..." He seems to be almost seeing something. Some sort of terrible, wicked insight.

"...It was a gun... wasn't it?" the Joker says, almost softly. "A gun... that created your own bad day?"

The moment the gun goes off, the Joker moves. He moves with someone who knew how this would go down. Batman wasn't going to shoot him. And he wasn't going to kill Jason. Just like the Talon... it only takes a split second of vulnerability to be lethal. In this case, it's a handful of blood, hurled towards the former Robin's eyes. A dive, quicker than one in his condition should possibly manage. Trying to grapple the gun from the Red Hood's hand, and tackle it to the ground.

But if he managed, what he would do... is put it to his own temple. "HERE." he then states. "ISN'T THIS WHAT YOU BOTH WANT, DEEP INSIDE?! Me ten feet in the ground? LET'S SETTLE THIS ONCE AND FOR ALL!!"

He points a finger at Red Hood. "Do you want me to pull the trigger...?!"

And then slowly, turns it to point at Batman. "...And you...?!" From the wild, manic grin, there's no mistake. If both of them said yes, he would. He'd end his own life, without requiring either to get a speck of it on their own hands.

"Here it is, Batman. We both know how it was going to go down with the dead bird. But this is why I'm here. THIS. Your one chance. To prove yourself to me... Do you want me in this world... or not...?!"

The heavy gun is pressed so hard into the Joker's temple that blood runs through his hair, laughing through broken ribs despite the blinding pain.

"No!" The denial comes out sharp and clear-- it's a mess, a fucking mess, going straight to hell now. No, Goddamn it, goddamn him right to hell. (Which one? Either of them. Both of them. All of them.) But Jason stumbles to the side as everything goes entirely south. "Can't follow instructions, and what do we get--"

THe Joker. Controlling the tableau between them. It's.... well, it's asome sort of a sick joke. A horrible, sick, perverse joke. Just the way he likes it. Just the way Jason despises it.

"Oh, shut up and do us all the favor!" he snarls, straightening himself against the console. He kicks the chair out of the way in a flare of temper. "Do it!"

Batman pauses for a moment to watch the Joker. His attention does not completely leave Jason, of course, but for now the Clown is the most dangerous of the pair. It would be easy to just let the Joker shoot himself. He wouldn't have done it. Jason wouldn't have done it. There'd be nobody to blame but the irredeemable madman with the gun in his hand.

But they engineered it. Jason by bringing them all here. Bruce himself by not killing the Joker all those years ago. Not exacting revenge. Not taking the Easy Road. If the trigger is pulled then it is just as much him pulling the trigger as the Joker. Just as much Jason killing the Clown as the Clown killing himself.

//Damn you to hell, old man.//

He moves swiftly. The Joker may be unpredictable and dangerous but Batman knows him. If anybody can truly understand the bizarre pattern in that chaotic mandala it is the Dark Knight. He waits for it. A crack. A moment when the attention wavers. When an erratic synapse fires. The briefest and most miniscule lapse in concentration. That is when the //Bat// is dangerous, too.

He doesn't swing a fist. Instead, he drives the back of his hand across the Joker's face. It's a blow thrown to shock. Perhaps less damaging but unexpected. Few would equate him with slapping. The sort of rattling blow that can stun and give him a moment to take advantage. A moment to reach out and grab the hand with which the Joker holds the gun. To squeeze it. To crack bone. To drive it down and away. To muffle the barrel by pressing it against his own stomach. Should it fire, that is where the bullet will go.

In the same suicidal motion he lifts one boot, driving it sideways in the direction of Jason's solar plexus. Seeking to disorient and knock the wind out of him.

"Well, that's one vote for NO MORE JOKER!" is stated in a happy tone. The Joker turns to grin at Jason. Just a moment. A split moment of that mirth, rubbing it in, enjoying his anger. He turns back in time to see the Batman's fist strike him hard. He's whipped around almost three-sixty, the gun spiralling away as his wrist pops with a strange, dull sound. "O...OW!! You HIT me!!" he states, with a sort of shocked pitch to his tone. No gunshot comes. The Joker's down on his knees, held by one hand and giggling to himself. "Did you see..." he asks towards Jason, eyes somewhat uneven, bruise forming like a slapped peach beneath his bleached grin. "...He wants me... to live...! Just like I knew he would...!"

"Son of a--"

Too late, he's gagging on air and bile as his stomach rebels under that kick. He smacks into the console, narrowing missing the countdown timer for the bombs wired into the Court of Owls lair...

Or did he? A timer's going off, ugly red numbers on a screen as Jason groans, trying to heft himself up after the blow he took. "Goddamn..." Because it couldn't possibly get worse, right?

Five minutes to escape, boys..

"You'll live," Batman growls, glaring down at the Joker as he grips his hand tight, "But you won't live well."

He clenches his fist, driving it shortly and sharply across the Joker's jaw. He wants him unconscious. He's had his little show and the curtain has fallen. His eyes flit to the timer. The place is wired to explode. Figures. Regardless, an unconscious Joker is easier to transport than a wakeful one.

The Bat turns his attention to Jason, eyes almost sad behind the Cowl. Angry and sad..

"If you want to die this badly then why did you come back at all?"

He holds a hand out to the former Robin, reaching the other up to pull his mask back and away. There's nothing to hide and it has been some time since they looked at each other face to face.

"Come home, Jason. This isn't you."

"...I have never lived well..." the Joker manages, with his grin still worn. "Not unless... we're having this dance..." The blow strikes true, and with a brutal sort of spasm, the Clown Prince goes completely limp. Alive. Spared. Even when Bruce's own hand was not required, still the murderer of Jason Todd dangles by the front of his breasted shirt in a gauntleted fist. Now and then twitching, some strange, muted sort of giggle leaving his lips.

"If you think I picked coming back-- you're wrong," Jason said, as he coughed and straightened up. "Anymore than I chose to die. I was trying to--" save lives, Goddamn it. Then. Even now, even off the path.

With the mask off, weary and winded, Jason looks up at the Bat with tired eyes. "You remember when we got my first editions for the collection? Lord of the Rings. And I felt like a huge nerd, but I read them all. But there's that one big thing that most people forget about the story: once you've walked through ash, you can't go home to the green hills again."

But neither is he going to allow them all to die down here in the depths; this can be the grave of the Owls...

"Come on. We don't have much time." He grabbed his helm from where it had fallen. "Fast route up and out. Area's clear of civilians and homeless."

He won't kill innocents. Not even as collateral.

Batman slings the unconscious Joker over his shoulder, the man's weight little to him in the grand scheme of things. He says nothing further, merely following after the Red Hood towards the escape route suggested.

"The Car's waiting."

"I got a bike," Jason says. He doesn't think this is actually an invitation. "You now you can't take me to jail -- or Arkham. Between the autopsy scars and the rest..." Well. Jason Todd knows everything about Batman, doesn't he? Bruce can't afford that.

So what will he do?

There's no reaction from the Joker, for once. In his head, he's won; deep within black, twisted dreams, the tender feeling of the Batman carrying him from death... a cycle more twisted and broken than any abberation that brought Jason from the dead.

"There's no point taking you to Arkham," Batman answers, "We broke into it enough when you were Robin. The same goes for Blackgate."

Thinking out loud. Something he doesn't do so much anymore but was a common trait back when Jason knew him. He turns down the tunnels, not slowing down from his run. He didn't have time to gauge the potency of the explosives. Best to get as far away as possible.

"Come back to the Cave."

Maybe not a good decision but better than letting him run free of his own recognizance.

"I'm not a broken toy you can put back on a shelf," Jason snaps. He's a little slower than he should be, but pushing past the stomach roiling blow is working. He's keeping up. "What are you going to do when I don't think you're right? When I'm still angry in the morning? You think a couple of days of good home cooking will make everything better? He was right. You chose him."

And he's still alive, right there, in Batman's grip.

"You know how I operate, Jason," Batman answers without looking back, "You know that killing him was never an option. That it will never be an option. That hurts you and makes you angry. But what I do - what we did - is larger than either of us. I don't intend to put you back on the shelf. I don't expect this to be fixed but I do expect you to be smart enough to understand that I won't give up on you."

Less than three minutes on the timer, and they finally hit fresh night air. Jason feels the burn racing up his muscles, even as he turns a corner, sees where the the car is. He's not sure he can believe in what Bruce is saying anymore -- in the mission, as Bruce has lived it, breathed it. As Jason once died for it.

"You got a delivery to make. Never to late to change your mind and drop him off at the morgue." He's-- got to get away. Get space. Regroup, rethink... something.

"Get in the Car, Jason," Batman answers, opening what equates to a trunk storage compartment and unceremoniously dumping the Joker inside, "And come back to the Cave. I won't keep you there. If you want to leave tomorrow then do it. But take the night. Call it a temporary ceasefire."

He climbs into the driver's seat, pulling the cowl up over his face to conceal it once again. The passenger side door opens as well and the Bat looks pointedly at his former ward. Expectantly.

"Why don't I get to sit in front..." is the only muffled noise from the Joker. At least he's been dealt with.

There's no time to agonize. No time to debate. Instead, he flips into the seat, pulls his helmet back on. "Just drive."

They can have a much needed, far more private fight later.