[ He remembers that night with vivid, awful clarity. Remembers Bruce, curled over Jason's body, as Alfred quietly drew up the autopsy report that no one needed to hear, because Bruce knew it all already. And Damian, so well-versed in the art of killing, needed only a single glance.
The beating, the explosion; as white-hot as Damian's furious grief as he lashed out at anything and everything in the Batcave, finally taking off for the streets of Gotham with a squeal of burnt rubber.
'I won't let him live.'
His father had tried and failed to stop him. If there is one thing Damian has never tolerated, it is threats to his family. Morgan Ducard had to die, and so did the Joker. He only followed his father's creed so far before he would willingly, and gladly, break it.
The Joker suffered as Jason suffered, suffered worse, but it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.
And now -- and now his mother has called. An empty grave, a silky promise, timelines and Lazarus Pits, and his heart is in his throat while his stomach has fallen out, holding the same breath for what seems like hours. Her terms are simple, and he vanishes on Bruce's watch without a word.
(He won't waste time arguing with him. Not when there's a chance.)
Only Timothy knows; Timothy, who catches his arm, squeezes it tight, and then lets him go.
Breaking in is laughably easy. Talia is squirreled away in one of her own private compounds, with only a few guards at the entrances. He remembers it, from his youth. The luxury, the peaceful surroundings, the open-air halls where they would walk, feeling the mist roll off the ocean cliffside in the mornings. His favorite place in the world, once.
So carefully chosen, to strike at his heartstrings like a pit viper. But he can't begrudge her for her nature. He just grits his teeth, striding into the inner chambers, eyes sweeping the room as he enters.
There she is, reclining upon the chais longue, a pleased, infinitely controlled expression on her face when her eyes alight upon him and she stands, gracefully, to greet him. Beautiful as ever. She thinks the ball is in her court, that he is cooperative, receptive to her machinations, so desperate to just see his younger brother hale and whole.
She is wrong. Their short conversation is the end of that (after he confirms Jason is here, Jason is alive, Jason is hidden out of sight ready to be brought forth once Damian has kneeled to his mother), and mere minutes later Damian is sprinting through the hallways, slamming every door he finds open, fighting off the waves of guards when they come, because he has to be nearby-- ]
Jason!
[ His voice ricochets down the hall, the barked call a demand for an answer in turn. ]
Operation: DEAD BRO RETRIEVAL
The beating, the explosion; as white-hot as Damian's furious grief as he lashed out at anything and everything in the Batcave, finally taking off for the streets of Gotham with a squeal of burnt rubber.
'I won't let him live.'
His father had tried and failed to stop him. If there is one thing Damian has never tolerated, it is threats to his family. Morgan Ducard had to die, and so did the Joker. He only followed his father's creed so far before he would willingly, and gladly, break it.
The Joker suffered as Jason suffered, suffered worse, but it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.
And now -- and now his mother has called. An empty grave, a silky promise, timelines and Lazarus Pits, and his heart is in his throat while his stomach has fallen out, holding the same breath for what seems like hours. Her terms are simple, and he vanishes on Bruce's watch without a word.
(He won't waste time arguing with him. Not when there's a chance.)
Only Timothy knows; Timothy, who catches his arm, squeezes it tight, and then lets him go.
Breaking in is laughably easy. Talia is squirreled away in one of her own private compounds, with only a few guards at the entrances. He remembers it, from his youth. The luxury, the peaceful surroundings, the open-air halls where they would walk, feeling the mist roll off the ocean cliffside in the mornings. His favorite place in the world, once.
So carefully chosen, to strike at his heartstrings like a pit viper. But he can't begrudge her for her nature. He just grits his teeth, striding into the inner chambers, eyes sweeping the room as he enters.
There she is, reclining upon the chais longue, a pleased, infinitely controlled expression on her face when her eyes alight upon him and she stands, gracefully, to greet him. Beautiful as ever. She thinks the ball is in her court, that he is cooperative, receptive to her machinations, so desperate to just see his younger brother hale and whole.
She is wrong. Their short conversation is the end of that (after he confirms Jason is here, Jason is alive, Jason is hidden out of sight ready to be brought forth once Damian has kneeled to his mother), and mere minutes later Damian is sprinting through the hallways, slamming every door he finds open, fighting off the waves of guards when they come, because he has to be nearby-- ]
Jason!
[ His voice ricochets down the hall, the barked call a demand for an answer in turn. ]
Jason!