It started that summer

Once a Villan, Always a Villan

I jolted awake, my heart pounding, as the knock on the door shattered the deep sleep I had fallen into. I winced as I sat up, feeling the sting from the large cut on my stomach.

"Good morning," The Joker's voice was unnervingly cheerful, as though he were greeting an old friend. He strolled in carrying a tray of breakfast, his gaze sweeping over me concerned. "How are you feeling? How are your wounds?"

I nervously looked at the floor, trying to hide my discomfort. "T-They're okay," I mumbled.

The Joker didn't wait for an invitation. He quickly came to my side, the warmth in his demeanor almost disarming. "Let me help you," he said, his tone soothing as he set the tray aside and reached for a small first aid kit. "These things need to be cleaned every day, you know. We wouldn't want you in bad shape now, would we?" His eyes searched mine for a reply.

"No," I stammered, trying to keep my voice steady.

As he carefully unwrapped the old bandages, I felt every sting from the fresh air on my wounds. The Joker's hands were surprisingly gentle. His touch was almost tender, though I knew better than to let my guard down. This would never feel normal, but I knew it was better than going back to that room. "Almost," he said as he peeled off the last of the bandages, "There we are. This will be quick." He sprayed a clear, sterile solution over the wounds, and the sharp sting made me wince. I gritted my teeth, trying not to flinch, but the Joker's expression remained focused and calm. "There's nothing quite like the sting of cleaning out the old to remind you of the new possibilities ahead." He beamed.

"Ack!" I cried.

He chuckled softly, almost warmly. "Pain is a part of the process, my boy. It's a reminder that things are changing, that we're moving forward." His fingers worked applying fresh gauze and securing it with gentle precision. Despite his usual unpredictability, there was a level of care in his actions that was oddly comforting. He even smoothed down the edges of the bandage with a practiced touch. "I was wondering if you've made a choice?" he asked, his gaze fixed on my face as he worked.

The sudden sharpness in my movements caught me off guard. I instinctively tried to swipe his hand away, but his other hand closed around my wrist with a grip so strong it felt almost inhuman. "S-Sorry," I stammered, bracing for some form of punishment.

"Do you still not trust me?" he asked. He let go of my wrist and shushed me softly. "It's alright. You were just reacting. Now, you were saying?"

I couldn't ignore the sting in my wrists where the Joker's grip had just been. I was in too deep. I had to play along if I wanted to find a way out of this nightmare. I was trapped between despair and deception, and no matter what I did, the Joker was always a step ahead. "Y-Yes, I've made a choice," I forced myself to say, meeting his gaze, he still scared the crap out of me. "I'm ready to follow you."

The Joker's smile widened, it made my skin crawl, yet I couldn't deny the twisted warmth of his approval. "Perfect! I knew you had potential. I have a new task for you—a chance to prove yourself." He leaned in closer, "There's a camera I need you to retrieve."

I frowned, trying to piece together his words. "A camera?"

"Yes, my boy. The camera holds footage that's being used to incriminate murder. They've used it to paint you as Gotham's most wanted criminal. They want to lock you away and forget you. Your batty little family..." He sighed dramatically, "They want everyone to see you as a monster, someone to be hunted down and eliminated. They're pulling every string they can to make sure you're locked away for good. You're a target, Jason, and they've made it clear they don't want you back."

Damian's cruel words echoed in my mind, twisting the knife deeper. 'This family would be better off if you stayed dead. You were never worthy to be a Robin.'