Chapter Text
Lightning flashes through the grand windows of Wayne Manor causing shadows to line the halls. Footsteps hit the old wooden floors and carpets, echoing to every corner. The shoes hit harder, picking up speed.
A scratch fills the air before…a thud and hearty laugh. “I don't… have… it,” Jason gasps between giggles. He shoves her off before rolling over and trying to stand. Helena grapes his ankle, keeping him down. “Let me go,” he whines.
“Not until you give me my hoodie,” a disapproving frown, not too unlike Bruce.
She crinkles her nose, trying to discern the truth. Before she can decide there's a faint ruffle of soft fabric, it moves quickly and flawlessly. Her father enters the hallway with unusually exhausted eyes.
“What are you two doing?” It comes out slightly slurred, showing Helena he really needs sleep.
“It’s nothing,” she says a little too quickly. “We were just-"
“Why are you chasing him?” Bruce interrupts.
Jason grins, earning a playful smack from Helena. Bruce glares at her, especially unpleased.
“He stole my hoodie,” she frowns. “It was a gift mom just sent me.”
“I don’t have it!” Helena didn’t believe him and Bruce was not at the energy level to care.
“You always steal my jackets, who else would’ve taken it!”
“It’s a pretty distinct purple and white jacket why would I steal it?” Jason’s shifts as he tries to defend himself.
She gasps, “Guilty!”
“I don’t have it!”
“Hey!” Bruce yelled, pinching his nose. ”Jason says he doesn’t have it, could it be in your locker at school or in your room or just somewhere in the Manor?”
“I left it on my desk before patrol and when we got back. Poof! It's gone!”
“I don’t have it!”
“You keep saying that and I keep not believing you!”
“Do you think Alfred could have taken it to be washed last night?” Bruce asks flatly.
Helena’s body relaxes. She opens her mouth and then closes it before opening it again. “I didn’t… think of that.”
“Then go check. I am going to sleep. I will see you both at supper, please have your homework done if you want to patrol.”
Helena helps Jason up before hip-checking him and running to the laundry room.
*****
“Please. Jay, just come back. I know you didn’t do anything,” Helena pleaded. Her voice was wet and shaky.
The other line is silent for a moment. “I can’t. Bruce- he…” Jason tries to find the words. “I found out my mom may not actually be my mom and that my other mom may be alive,” the teen boy rambles out in one breath.
Silence. “Oh my god,” Helena gapes.
“Yeah.”
She had to help. She had to keep him. She didn’t want to lose another brother. Dick stopped showing up after Jason replaced him as Robin, except for the occasional argument with Bruce or if she was luck he would take them out for ice cream. “Do you know where she is? Do you need help?” Her voice pleads more than she means it to.
“That’s,” he breathes, “That’s where it gets complicated.”
*****
“I told her I was Robin,” Jason’s voice shook as his teary eyes looked off into the distance.
No one can know who they are or what they do, it puts them all in danger. “What?” She says it not in anger but as a gasp of disbelief.
He shakes his head and drags his hands across his face. “I know. But she’s my mom,” his muffled voice comes scared and small. “I just felt like I had to share something and it was just right there.”
She puts her hand on his shoulder and sits next to him. She takes a breath. “I get it.” She hesitates. ”Whenever my mom comes around, I just have to tell her everything that’s happened,” she gives him a half smile. Helena looks into the disheveled camp. “I hope she’s ok.”
Jason’s head pops up and then he jumps off of the ground. “ I have to… we have to..” help her. Save her. Make sure she's safe.
“Yeah,” Helena gets up too. “Yeah, let’s go find her.”
They both scramble grabbing their things before going in search of Sheila.
*****
Everything is fuzzy. The sound, nothing is distinct. Nothing feels real. Just waves of pain and fear as two young heroes try to breathe.
Calico can feel wood under her arms and a sharp pain in her stomach. The taste of metal is the one thing that fades in clearly. A blurry figure made of red, green, yellow, and black lies on the floor. She struggles to focus but can’t, everything is too distant, like an echo of reality.
She fades into darkness before a green, white, and purple blur moves. She blinks violently, afraid of what may be in front of her. Laughs and wheezes echo throughout the room. She can feel them in the pit of her stomach. A groan escapes as she remembers.
The figure moves closer to Helena and becomes clearer. She closes her eyes not believing what she sees. Retaliations of screams break through the quiet blob of noises. She struggles in an attempt to get up but she is bound by her wrists, ankles, and waist.
He laughs and tilts his head; her eyes focus on a crowbar in his hand. The screaming stops erupting from her lips. He steps closer and she spits out the metallic taste, spraying red on his face. His pale, bony hand wipes it across his face, emphasizing his smile. Chuckles escape him as she fights her restraints. “Don’t you want to help pull a joke on your old man?” He squats and places a hand on her thigh.
She resists the shutter that is fighting to release from her body. She sneers at him. His ‘jokes’ aren’t quite to her taste. She was there to experience the aftermath of what happened to Babs, along with his many other horrors.
His cold, dry hands grab her throat firmly. She grits her teeth, trying to stop them from chattering. Even with all of her father's training, she is still a child. Two of the chair legs lift from the floor. “You’ll be a part of it either way,” another giggle escapes him.
Trying to release herself from her binds is of no use. Everything sharp has been taken from her suit and it’s tied so tightly that she can barely feel her hands. Breathing no longer becomes an option and everything is starting to go out of focus again.
“Hey!” a new voice erupts, slurring. “What type of pussy hurts a girl?”
The clown’s laughs halt, as though he’s thinking of a comeback. The cloud on the girl's shoulders tilts back. He turns, letting her go, and the chair rocks on the concrete. Coughing erupts as she attempts to breathe again. The Joker walks away from her to the form that’s growing clearer as the black spots in her vision fade.
“You're not good at jokes…” The Joker's voice has grown deep and graveled, “… but do you wanna know who is?” His smile grows unnaturally wide, revealing the muscles and tendons of his cheeks.
*****
The young bird has fought hard. He can feel himself fading as red numbers glow and tick down. Even if it's not for himself, he has to see hope for his sister and mother. He struggles to stand, he is unsure what parts of himself are broken and what parts are just bruised. His agony grows with every breath but it and himself also begin to disappear from his mind. He uses his stronger hand to lift himself and then puts the rest of his weight on a pillar, before hobbling to the door.
He hears screams of pain along with groans but he doesn't know if they’re his. They can’t be his, can they? He doesn’t think he could muster the energy to speak if he tried. He reaches his hand forward, shocked by how it shakes. His fingers are bent and stiff in ways he knows they shouldn’t be but he tries to turn the handle. In his first attempt, a flare of pain shoots up his arm and down his spine. He can’t even properly grip it. His hands are coated in a red liquid that drips down his forearm. He wipes his hand on the wall deeming his suit too dirty as he tries again. It is to no use, the handle never turns no matter how well he grips it. No matter how hard he tries.
He looks back to his sister then his mother and then the bomb. Three minutes left on the timer that blinks red across the room. His eyes grow wide, he could have sworn it just said ten minutes not that long ago. Air fills his lungs and he rams his body against the door. Then again. And again.
A sob wrecks through his lips. “Come on, Robin,” he mutters. Two minutes and thirty-two seconds left. His eyes scan the room for anything that can help the three of them. Nothing. Only stacks of bricks and empty wooden crates.
He pushes himself against the door, coughing and launching himself forward to Helena. He sees how her head is slumped and her body is only upright due to the ropes that bind her. Jason stumbles into her before trying to shake her awake.
“Cal-Callie wake up. I n-need you to get up. Helena!” His voice is hoarse but it grows louder and slower with every plead, “The place is g-gonna explode.” No attempt wakes her from her dark dream.
A minute and fourteen seconds left.
Fuck.
He hooks his good arm through and around the back of the chair. Slowly but surely he limps her to safety behind a pile of bricks. that is furthest from the explosives. He grunts and tears fall as he drags her limp form. When she is safe behind the bricks, he urges himself forward.
Sheila.
Seconds remain and he can only hope that his body will protect her from the blast.
*****
His hands shook as he hurriedly rode a bike back to his son and daughter. He pushed the accelerator to its limit, willing it to go faster.
Sure Robin was rash and headstrong… and so was Calico but everything would be ok. Right? Just because they didn’t answer their comms didn’t mean they were hurt or… maybe they were just being stupid teenagers and had gone off to get pizza, playing ding-dong ditch, or just giving him the well-deserved silent treatment.
He wanted to believe they were ok, for just a second but a second was too long. A second could keep him from his children. A second could be the difference between life and death.
He could see it now, the warehouse. The one he told them not to go to without him. They knew better than this… he taught them both better than this. They shouldn’t be there, they should be safe at home in the manor but because of his idiocy, stubbornness, and the damn mission, they weren’t. They were here, in that God-forsaken warehouse that was still out of his grasp.
He jumped off the bike not even sparing the time to break and he ran. He was too slow he should have.. he should have called someone. Asked them for help. Clark, Diana, Barry, any of them. Maybe they would have gotten there in time but he couldn’t. He left his long-range communicator with Calico. So she could call him if Jason was being stupid or if either of them wanted to call Clark to take them home.
He ran and ran centuries before he was blown back. Everything went out of focus and clouded. The building was nothing but rubble, ash, and fire. But one thing pulsed within his mind. ‘Oh god, my children.’ He produced some strangled mess of a noise. A name? A word? A cry of a wounded animal?
He let out a cough and forced himself up. He stumbled but was able to use a pillar to stabilize himself.
“Ja-,” he caught himself with the last bit of Batman that was still within him. “Robin!” He fought back a sob. He couldn’t lose them, he had to find them. “Calico!” His screams were just that, screams. Something deep and beyond words. Beyond anything he had felt before. He had felt terror and fear. But nothing like this, this one felt wrong. Empty and dead.