Part 4: Shattered Laughter
Y/N's POV
I tried to focus, I really did. But the barbed wire biting into my skin, the sharp sting of Scarecrow's venom coursing through my veins, and the damn ache in my head wouldn't let me. Every breath felt like shards of glass scraping down my throat. The little TV in the corner flickered to life, static buzzing loudly for a moment before the first clip played.
The Justice League's iconic round table filled the screen. Superman stood tall, his arms crossed. Diana sat beside him, regal as ever, while Flash leaned back in his chair, spinning one of his cowls on the table like a kid. Normal. Ordinary. Until their voices started to shift.
"We can't keep babysitting him," Superman's calm tone turned sharp, cutting deep. "He's just... not cut out for this life. He's reckless, weak, and honestly—he's a liability."
My breath hitched. That... that wasn't right. Superman never talked like that.
Diana chimed in, her usually soothing voice twisted into something cold. "He doesn't belong among us. Even with training, he will never measure up to Batman's legacy."
No. That's not what she'd say.
I shook my head, struggling against the restraints, the wire slicing deeper. Blood seeped into my suit, but I didn't care. My chest tightened as the screen cut to another scene—the Titans Tower.
Cyborg was at the console, typing furiously. Starfire floated nearby, and Beast Boy was lounging on the couch, eating what looked like an entire tub of ice cream. Harmless. Just a normal day... until Cyborg muttered something, and everything unraveled.
"I don't get why he's even part of the team," Cyborg grumbled, slamming his metal hand against the console. "All he does is drag us down. We'd be better off without him."
Beast Boy nodded, his usual goofy grin gone. "Yeah, man. Y/N's a total downer. Always brooding, always messing up missions. Dude's gotta realize he's not a hero."
My stomach twisted, bile rising in my throat.
"Stop it," I rasped, my voice barely audible.
But it didn't stop. The scene shifted again, and this time it was Batman. My mentor. My father.
He stood in the Batcave, his back to the camera as he addressed Alfred. His voice was low, clipped, every word like a hammer to my chest.
"I should've left him in Jump City," he said. "He's not Robin material. Hell, he's not even son material. He's soft, a mistake. I can't keep pretending he's something he's not. The kid's worthless."
My heart shattered.
"No... no, you wouldn't say that," I whispered, tears stinging my swollen eyes. "You wouldn't."
But the venom in my system didn't care. It twisted everything, every memory, every voice, into something cruel, something I couldn't escape. The images blurred, but the words kept coming.
"Useless."
"Dead weight."
"Better off dead."
They echoed in my skull, louder and louder until I couldn't think, couldn't breathe. My chest heaved as panic clawed its way through me.
"Make it stop!" I screamed, thrashing against the restraints. The barbed wire tore through my suit, through my skin, but I didn't care. "It's not real! It's not real!"
But in the back of my mind, a voice whispered: What if it is?
The screen flickered again, and Joker's laughter erupted, mingling with Scarecrow's cold, hollow chuckle.
"Enjoying the show, birdie?" Joker's voice rang out. "Oh, this is just the warm-up. You haven't even hit the best part yet!"
The screen flickered again, and my body tensed as new faces came into view. It was the Hall of Justice now. Supergirl hovered near the ceiling, her cape swaying slightly as she leaned on the wall, arms crossed. Beside her stood Kid Flash, his usual smirk plastered on his face, but the words that followed were venomous.
"I don't even know why Batman lets him keep the Robin title," Kid Flash said, shaking his head. "He's got none of the skill. Just a kid with a big chip on his shoulder trying to fill shoes that are way too big for him."
Supergirl chuckled, her laugh more mocking than amused. "Honestly, it's kind of pathetic. All he does is get himself captured or cause problems. Batman has to keep cleaning up after him like a babysitter."
Her words hit harder than I expected. I tried to tell myself it wasn't real, that the toxin was warping everything, but the doubt was growing too loud.
The screen shifted again. Green Arrow and Black Canary were in the Arrow Cave, sparring. Between strikes, they talked, and my name came up.
"Kid's reckless," Green Arrow said, easily sidestepping a punch. "Every time he's on the field, it's like he's got a death wish. And that attitude of his? Not helping."
Black Canary landed a clean hit on him, but her voice was serious. "It's more than that. He's emotional. Sloppy. He's going to get someone killed one day. Maybe himself. He's not cut out for this life."
I clenched my teeth, forcing my breathing to steady, but my chest felt heavier with every word.
Then came Speedy. Of course it was Speedy.
The screen showed him lounging in the Titan's Tower, casually tossing an arrow in the air while he talked to Beast Boy. "I mean, come on," Speedy said, his smirk infuriating. "I had the guts to ask Starfire out. Guess Y/N didn't, huh? And you know what? She kissed me at the end of the date." He laughed, shaking his head. "Man, it must suck being Robin. All that pressure, and you can't even win over the girl you're always mooning over."
The venom burned in my veins, amplifying every word, every mocking laugh. It was like acid dripping into my brain, searing away any shred of confidence I had left.
"Shut up," I muttered through gritted teeth, my voice barely audible. "Shut up, shut up, shut up..."
But it didn't stop. The screen changed again, this time to a crowded Gotham Street. Citizens were talking to a news crew.
"I don't trust him," one man said, his arms crossed. "Robin's a loose cannon. He's even more reckless than Batman. At least Batman has a plan. This kid? He's just a disaster waiting to happen."
A woman chimed in, shaking her head. "I thought he'd be a wonderful addition. But honestly? He's a letdown. All the hype for nothing. If anything, he's dragging the Bat's reputation down with him."
My breath hitched as the crowd nodded in agreement, their faces blurred and twisted in the haze of the toxin. Their words became a chorus, overlapping, growing louder, until it was deafening.
"Worthless."
"Reckless."
"Pathetic."
"Letdown."
The screen flickered again, and Batman's voice came through, low and cold.
"He was never ready for this."
I couldn't tell where the voices ended and my own thoughts began. My heart pounded, my head throbbed, and the tears I'd been holding back finally spilled over.
"It's not real," I whispered to myself, my voice breaking. "It's not real..."
But in the depths of my mind, a dark voice whispered back: What if it is?
I wanted to scream, to claw at the barbed wire until it ripped me apart, anything to drown out the noise. But I couldn't move, couldn't escape. All I could do was sit there, bleeding and broken, as my own mind betrayed me, echoing the words I'd feared to hear my whole life.
The last thing I heard before I finally blacked out was Joker's laughter, echoing over Scarecrow's eerie whisper.
"Sweet dreams, birdie."
. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
One Week Later. . .
I lost track of how long it had been. Hours, days, weeks—it all blurred together into a grotesque tapestry of pain, humiliation, and despair. My body screamed for release, but there was none. The barbed wire dug into my flesh with every twitch, corroded and rusting, leaving deep, festering wounds. The sickening squirm of maggots writhing in my torn flesh should have horrified me, but I didn't care anymore. It was almost... fitting. A body as worthless as mine deserved to be devoured.
The screen before me flickered again, a new clip playing. Superman was in the Watchtower, talking casually with Wonder Woman about some mission in Metropolis. Their voices, warm and calm, should have been a reprieve. But all I could hear were the words my mind twisted from the haze of Scarecrow's toxin.
"He's a failure."
"Robin? Please, he's a joke."
"Batman should've left him in the alley where he found him."
My lips trembled as I muttered the same words over and over again, a chant that drowned out everything else. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry..."
But no one listened. No one cared.
The screen switched again. Green Lantern and The Flash sat at a table, laughing about something I couldn't quite make out. It didn't matter, though. My mind filled in the blanks with more bile.
"Did you hear what Robin did last week? He almost got himself killed—again."
"Seriously, Batman must regret bringing him on. Kid's just a liability."
"Useless. Reckless. Pathetic."
I bit down hard on my lip, tasting blood, trying to ground myself in something real, something tangible. But even the pain felt distant now, like a phantom limb.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed movement. A fly buzzed lazily around my head before landing on the open wound near my collarbone. I stared at it, transfixed, as it crawled into the flesh. I should've been disgusted, but all I felt was resignation.
Maybe it's better this way. Maybe I should just disappear. Let the maggots finish the job.
"Still holding on, huh?"
The familiar, sing-song voice snapped me out of my trance. Joker's face filled my vision, grinning like the devil himself. He tapped the screen with a gloved finger, chuckling softly.
"You know, birdie, I was starting to think you'd finally cracked. But here you are, still mumbling to yourself like a broken record. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry.' What are you sorry for, huh? Being such a colossal disappointment?"
I didn't answer. My throat was too dry, my voice too hoarse.
"Aw, don't give me that silent treatment now. We've been through so much together!" He crouched down, his face inches from mine. I could smell the greasepaint and sweat on him, a scent that turned my stomach.
He gestured to the screen. "Tell me, birdie, what do you see?"
"... They hate me," I croaked, the words scraping my throat like broken glass.
Joker's grin widened. "Hate you? Oh, darling, that's not what they're saying at all!" He clapped his hands, and Harley skipped into view, carrying a bowl of popcorn. She plopped down next to him, giggling as she stuffed a handful into her mouth.
"Puddin', you're gonna love this next part!" she said, pointing at the screen.
The footage shifted again. It was Batman this time, sitting at the Batcomputer, typing away. He wasn't talking to anyone, wasn't even looking up.
But my mind twisted it. His voice boomed in my ears, cold and cutting. "I should've left him behind. He's nothing but a liability. A failure. My greatest mistake."
Tears streamed down my face as I screamed, my voice raw and broken. "Stop it! STOP IT!"
But the screen didn't stop. The voices didn't stop. They never stopped.
Joker threw his head back, laughing hysterically. "Oh, this is just too good! You're breaking all on your own, birdie. I don't even have to lift a finger anymore!"
I thrashed weakly against my restraints, the barbed wire slicing deeper into my skin. Blood mixed with the pus from my infected wounds, dripping onto the filthy floor below.
"You know what the best part is?" Joker leaned in close, his breath hot against my ear. "This is just the beginning."
He stood up, motioning to Harley to turn up the volume on the TV. The screen filled with images of the Titans, the League, the people I once called family. And all I could hear was their disdain, their disappointment, their hatred.
"Worthless."
"Pathetic."
"Just drop dead already."
I let out another blood-curdling scream but honestly...who's going to hear me anyways, right?
https://youtu.be/GuDPBK1nE8A
A couple days ago. . .
Batman's Pov.
The Batcave was a mess. Not physically—everything was still in its meticulous place. But the air was suffocating, heavy with frustration and guilt. My guilt.
I stared at the glowing screens of the Batcomputer, each one displaying search parameters, tracking devices, and surveillance feeds. None of them told me anything I didn't already know. Y/N—Robin—my son was gone.
The thought made my jaw tighten, my hands clench into fists on the console.
I failed him.
The surveillance footage from Wayne Manor had been conveniently down the night he left. Coincidence? Sabotage? It didn't matter. What mattered was that I wasn't there when he needed me most.
"Damn it."
My voice echoed in the cave, swallowed by the endless dark corners. Alfred had tried to reason with me, to get me to rest, but how could I? Every second that passed was another second he could be...
No.
I wouldn't entertain that thought. Y/N was alive. He had to be.
Superman's voice crackled through the comms on my cowl. "Bruce, I've searched the eastern seaboard. Nothing. Whoever took him is either extremely careful or extremely lucky."
My fingers hovered over the console as I replied, my voice sharper than intended. "It's not luck. This was planned. They knew when I'd be gone. They knew how to avoid detection."
Clark's sigh was audible even over the static. "Bruce, we'll find him. He's strong."
Strong. Y/N was strong, yes, but he was still just a teenager. A teenager who had been through too much already, trying to live up to a legacy that crushed adults twice his age. And now... now he was out there somewhere, alone, and I wasn't there to protect him.
I ended the call abruptly, ignoring the pang of guilt for snapping at the only ally still actively communicating with me. The others—Wonder Woman, Green Arrow, even Aquaman—had scoured their cities and contacts, but no leads had surfaced.
The Titans were just as desperate. I could hear it in Cyborg's voice when he updated me last night, or in Starfire's when she asked if I had any news. But they didn't blame themselves. No, that burden fell squarely on my shoulders.
The sound of boots clicking on stone pulled me from my thoughts. I didn't have to look up to know who it was.
"Any progress?" Selina's voice was low, careful, like she was speaking to a wounded animal.
I shook my head, my eyes never leaving the monitors. "Nothing. It's like he vanished."
She moved closer, leaning against the console. "You know he's smart, Bruce. Smarter than you give him credit for. If anyone can hold out until we find him, it's that kid."
Her tone was light, but I could hear the tension underneath it. Despite her best efforts to stay detached, I knew Selina cared about Y/N. She'd taken a liking to him, always teasing him during her rare visits to the Manor.
"He shouldn't have to hold out," I muttered. "He should be here. Safe."
"And yet," she said, folding her arms, "you're here brooding instead of figuring out who took him. Let me help."
"You are helping," I snapped, then softened. "I'm sorry. I... I can't think straight."
She gave a small, understanding nod before pushing off the console. "I'll check with my contacts again. Someone has to know something."
As she disappeared into the shadows, I turned back to the screen, staring at the last known coordinates of the tracker embedded in Y/N's suit. It had gone dead the night he vanished.
No signs of unusual criminal activity. No ransom notes. No taunting messages from my usual rogues.
The only possibility that made sense was horrifying. If Superman couldn't find him with his abilities, then Y/N had to be in a room lined with lead—a place Clark's x-ray vision couldn't penetrate. Whoever had him knew how to stay off my radar and everyone else's.
"Bruce."
Alfred's voice startled me. I hadn't heard him approach. He placed a hand on my shoulder, his expression as composed as ever, though I could see the concern in his eyes.
"You must rest," he said firmly. "If you collapse from exhaustion, you'll be of no use to Master Y/N."
"I can't rest," I replied, shaking my head. "Not until I find him."
"Then at least allow me to bring you something to eat."
I nodded absently, already lost in thought again.
I replayed the few memories of Y/N over and over in my mind, trying to find some clue I might've missed. Every smile, every sarcastic quip, every time he stood defiant against the odds. He was always so determined to prove himself, to make me proud.
And I let him down
"Y/N... Where are you?"
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. . .
Y/N's Pov.
The air was cold against my raw skin as the barbed wire was finally unwrapped, the sharp sting of its removal leaving trails of fire along my shredded suit. When my body hit the floor, I barely registered the impact. My arms refused to move, my legs felt like they weren't mine, and my mind...
I didn't know where my mind was anymore.
I could hear faint murmurs, Joker's manic giggles echoing somewhere in the distance. Scarecrow and Two-Face's voices floated around me, but the words blurred together, just another meaningless cacophony. My head lolled to the side as they lifted me, dragging me out of the room that had become my personal hell.
Everything was a blur—the darkened hallways of Arkham, the flickering fluorescent lights, the wet squelch of my infected wounds. It wasn't pain anymore; it was something else. Numbness.
And then, light.
They shoved me into another room. The door slammed shut behind us, and I was left slumped on the cold, sticky floor. My eyes barely focused on the single spotlight above, illuminating the one figure that haunted my nightmares more than any other.
Joker.
But something was different.
The trademark grin wasn't there. The wild, gleeful eyes that promised chaos were dull. His face wasn't painted in mockery; it was twisted into something foreign—grief.
And for the first time, I felt fear that wasn't born from barbed wire, toxins, or fists. It was the raw, primal fear of seeing something unnatural.
Joker took a step forward, his polished shoes clicking softly on the floor. "Oh, my poor boy," he murmured, his voice cracking.
I didn't respond. Couldn't respond. My lips moved, but no sound came out except incoherent mumbling.
He crouched down, close enough for me to see the streaks of what looked like tears running down his pale face. "Look at you. Look what they've done to you, my dear little bird."
His gloved hand reached out, gently tilting my chin up so I was forced to meet his gaze. His green eyes, usually alight with madness, were glassy. Sympathetic.
"Do you understand now?" he whispered, voice trembling. "This isn't torture. This isn't pain. No, no, no... this is salvation."
I blinked slowly, his words barely penetrating the fog in my mind.
"They don't deserve you," Joker continued, his voice growing more unstable. "Every day, they tear you down. Every day, they make you question your worth. They laugh at you, mock you, spit on everything you've bled for." His hand trembled as he released my chin. "But me? I see you. I understand you."
His voice cracked as he staggered back, wiping his face with his sleeve, his composure slipping further. "You're not worthless, Y/N. You're not pathetic. You're not..." His breath hitched, and he let out a broken sob. "...like them."
The words twisted in my mind, mingling with the venom of Scarecrow's toxin. Part of me wanted to scream, to fight back, to reject every syllable. But I was too far gone, too fractured.
And then, the sobbing stopped.
Joker straightened, a strange calm settling over him as he stepped aside, snapping his fingers.
Harley Quinn, ever the dutiful accomplice, flipped a switch on the wall. The room flooded with light, illuminating a second figure.
A man.
Tied to a chair, gagged, squirming, and wide-eyed with terror.
Tony Zucco.
The name sent a spark of recognition through the haze, a jolt of memory.
Zucco. The man who killed my parents.
My vision tunneled on him, my breathing ragged as every suppressed emotion surged to the surface. Anger. Grief. Hatred.
"This," Joker said softly, gesturing to the bound man, "is why you're here. Why this is happening." His voice rose, filled with venom. "This is the man who ruined your life!"
I couldn't look away from Zucco. His muffled pleas reached my ears, but they felt distant, like a bad dream.
Behind him, Two-Face adjusted a camera, its red light blinking on.
"Smile for the cameras, Zucco," Joker drawled, his grin returning. But this time, it wasn't his usual manic glee. It was something darker.
"This moment," he said, turning back to me, "this glorious moment will be shared with all of Gotham. They'll see. They'll understand. And you, my sweet little bird, you'll finally have your justice."
. . .
Batman's Pov. (Play Music)
The Batmobile roared through the empty streets of Gotham, its engine growling like a beast on the hunt. My hands gripped the wheel tightly, my knuckles white beneath the gloves. The faint glimmer of hope that had kept me going through sleepless nights was now a raging fire in my chest.
I'd finally found him.
For days, it was as if Y/N had vanished off the face of the Earth. Superman, the Titans, even Selina—all their efforts had led to dead ends. But Gotham always whispers if you know how to listen. A flicker of movement here, a transaction there, and finally, the trail led to the abandoned Arkham Asylum.
I had failed him once. I wouldn't fail him again.
"Master Bruce," Alfred's voice crackled through my cowl. "You need to see this."
"What is it?" I growled, my focus locked on the asylum drawing closer with every second.
"It's... It's Master Y/N," Alfred said hesitantly, his usual calm replaced with a hint of distress.
The dashboard lit up as a broadcast appeared on the console's screen. My eyes flicked to it for just a moment—but that moment was enough.
Y/N.
Bruised. Bloodied. His suit in tatters.
The boy I raised, my partner, my son, was barely recognizable. His face was a twisted mask of pain and desperation. And in his shaking hands, he held a birdarang, its edge glinting ominously in the dim light.
Behind him stood Joker, grinning like a devil over his shoulder. His hand rested on Y/N's back, a puppeteer guiding his broken marionette.
The camera panned slightly, revealing the man tied to the chair—Tony Zucco.
My stomach dropped.
"Joker is live-streaming the whole thing," Alfred continued, his voice strained. "He's... he's trying to make Master Y/N cross a line he can't uncross."
I slammed my foot on the accelerator, the Batmobile tearing through the streets like a bullet.
"Not today," I muttered, my heart hammering in my chest.
The broadcast continued on the console, the screen a window into my worst nightmare.
"You know what to do, birdy boy," Joker cooed, his voice sickeningly sweet. "It's all so simple, isn't it? He took everything from you—your family, your innocence, your future. So go on..." His grin widened, teeth flashing like a predator about to strike. "Take everything from him."
"No..." I whispered under my breath, pushing the Batmobile to its limits.
Y/N's shoulders heaved; his breaths ragged. He raised the birdarang slightly, his grip tightening. I could see the trembling in his hands, the way his body swayed from exhaustion and the weight of his shattered psyche.
"Master Bruce," Alfred interjected, his voice sharp. "You're running out of time."
I was already moving, the Batmobile screeching to a halt as I reached the asylum gates. I leapt from the vehicle, the air cold and biting against my face as I bolted toward the main entrance.
Every second counted.
I could still hear Joker's voice in my earpiece, his taunts digging into my mind like knives.
"Let it out, kiddo," Joker said, his tone shifting to faux sympathy. "They've all been so cruel to you, haven't they? The Titans, the Justice League, even ol' Batsy. None of them care about you like I do."
Y/N mumbled something I couldn't make out, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Speak up, little bird," Joker urged, leaning closer to him. "Tell Uncle J what's on your mind."
I burst through the asylum doors, the shadows swallowing me whole. The halls were a maze, but I moved with purpose, every step bringing me closer to the sound of Joker's voice echoing faintly through the corridors.
"Y/N!" I shouted, my voice reverberating off the walls as I finally reached him but...I was too late.
. . .
Y/N's Pov.
My grip tightened on the bloodied birdarang, its sharp edge slick and wet. Beneath me lay Tony Zucco's lifeless body, a broken, bloodied heap riddled with stab wounds.
It was over.
I could feel every set of eyes on me—the city, the villains, the heroes. It didn't matter. They weren't real to me anymore.
I wiped my face with my sleeve, smearing blood and sweat across my skin. My suit, or what was left of it, hung in tatters around me. The barbed wire wounds burned, and the flies buzzing around them only added to the cacophony in my head. But none of it mattered.
Not the pain.
Not the humiliation.
Not the screams that echoed endlessly in my skull.
Because now there was silence.
I stared down at Zucco's face, the lifeless eyes wide in shock. The man who took everything from me, who destroyed my family, was finally gone. And yet... I didn't feel the satisfaction I thought I would.
I felt... nothing.
"See, birdy boy?" Joker's voice rang behind me, soft and coaxing like a twisted lullaby. "Doesn't that feel better? You're free now. No more guilt. No more pain. Just you, and that beautiful rage of yours."
I didn't look at him. I couldn't. I couldn't look at anything except the blood on my hands.
And then I heard it—a sound I hadn't expected, a sound that made my head snap up.
"Y/N..."
I turned slowly toward the doorway, my breath hitching in my throat.
There he was.
Bruce.
His silhouette filled the entrance, the faint light behind him casting long shadows across the room. His cowl obscured his expression, but I didn't need to see his face to feel the weight of his disappointment.
And for a moment, just a fleeting moment, a part of me wanted to crumble. To fall to my knees and beg him to fix me, to save me like he always did.
But that part of me was buried.
Instead, a laugh bubbled up in my chest—soft at first, then louder, harsher, until it echoed off the walls.
I laughed
https://youtu.be/zlDYpHiXyu8
Before I pressed the blade to my neck and slit my throat.
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