Of Birds and Jokers

Chapter 1

Robin always thought waking up after being injured was somewhat surreal.
On one hand, he's relieved that whatever happened wasn't fatal. Granted, most of the time he can't even remember the exact events that occurred before he got hurt. All that matters in those few short minutes after waking up is that he's not dead, and it feels as though all of his limbs are still attached.
On the other hand, there's an amount of pain that just can't be ignored for very long. Usually it isn't very severe, as to be in Robin's line of work you had to be extremely cautious and skilled. But accidents happen. Sometimes he could wake up and be in an amount of pain that makes him wish he didn't have to wake up at all.
This hadn't happened in over three years, though.
More often than not he simply wakes up with bruises and a couple broken bones. And either Alfred or Bruce are right there beside him, immidietly letting him know the extent of his injuries and when he can go back out in the field. Sadly, this had become an almost monthly routine.
This time, though, everything was different.
Robin feels himself getting pulled out of the darkness, and as soon as he gets enough sense to jumble out his muddled thoughts, he knows something isn't right. It's way too bright, even behind his closed eyelids.
His first thought is that maybe instead of being brought to the Batcave, like usual, his injuries were more severe, and Batman brought him to Leslie's or even the Watchtower's infirmary. But as Robin cautiously grips the sheets in fists, as to not draw attention, he realizes that he's somewhere completely unknown.
The Clinics sheets were rough and papery, as it had to operate on very little money. And the Watchtower's sheets were made from a cotton fiber. What he was covered with was almost silky, but had a certain edge to it that made it itch at his skin. Robin also noticed that his mask was missing. And so was his belt and uniform.
He definitely wasn't somewhere he knew.
Now all Robin had to do was figure out exactly where he was.
He knew that he was in some kind of hospital or infirmary, the smell of disinfectant and the beeping of the heart monitor beside him said that much. And judging from the amount of pain he was still in-even though he had to be pumped full of painkillers-he was in here because of an injured from his time as Robin, not Dick Grayson.
So why was he in a seemingly ordinary hospital?
Knowing that he wouldn't be able to figure anything else out just by his other senses, Robin hesitantly started to open his eyes.
Only for them to immidiately snap shut again, making him let out a painful groan. The bright, white light above him stabbed at his eyes, but he tried once again to open them, just a sliver.
Robin didn't have to endure it very long. He tensed as he heard light footfalls on his right side, walking away from him. Then the light directly above him was shut off completely, along with all the others in the room, making it almost completely dark. The footsteps returned to the side of the bed, and he heard a weight shift onto what he assumed was a padded chair.
It was too heavy to be a normal woman or child. So either a man, or a very obese woman was sitting beside him.
He didn't dare open his eyes now, and he fought down the panic that swelled up inside him. It wouldn't work for him to be laying motionless while the heart monitor started to race.
"You awake, kid?" a masculine, soft, familiar voice asked quietly from beside him. A brief thought that Bruce was here flitted through his mind, but Robin immidiately washed away that idea. The voices didn't really match, and if it were Bruce he would know if he was awake or not.
The next thought was that a doctor had been in the room taking his vitals, and it was simply a coincidence. But why would a doctor be sitting in a chair if they were just checking up on him?
"Kid?" the voice asked again, and now the teen could here an almost desperate note to their voice.
Robin felt as though he should know them. He could see someone hazy speaking in the exact same voice, but couldn't put any facial features to them.
Whoever it was, though, they were obviously worried about him in some way. And, for some reason unknown to Robin, he felt as though he could trust whoever this was.
He must be losing his touch.
Deciding to take a chance, as there was no immidiate danger he could sense, he once again tried to pry his eyes open. His vision was a bit hazy at first, as it always is after being unconcious for an undetermined amount of time. But as he blinked rapidly he was able to open his eyes even more, and his suspicions were confirmed.
He was staring up at a white tiled ceiling, with a handing lamp hovering just over his left eye.
"Hey, you with me?" the man asked, and Robin used all of his willpower just to tilt his head to the right. It made him feel incredibly weak.
Robin's eyes seemed to pop out of their sockets when he laid eyes on the man beside him. He felt shocked and majorly confused.
Sitting beside him, in a chair that looked to be about two sizes too small for the masculine figure, was Superman. Only he wasn't the Man of Steel, but rather Clark Kent, and Robin could tell that the man had been there a while if the dark circles under his eyes said anything. His clothes also seemed a bit ragged, as if he hadn't been able to change out of them for a couple of days.
But why Clark? Where was Bruce? Or Alfred? What was going on?
"Hey there, it's alright, you're safe now." he said quickly, his eyes briefly flitting towards the heart monitor that picked up slightly with Robin's emotions.
Sure, Clark was like his uncle, and he definitely loved the man, but something tore in his heart at the fact Bruce or Alfred wasn't there. The hurt must have shown in his eyes, as Clark's light blue eyes softened from its previously panicked look.
"My name's Clark Kent, and I realize that maybe you don't want to talk right now, but when your ready do you think you might want to tell me your name?" the boy scout asked, and now Robin knew something was definitely up.
Clark didn't seem to have any idea who he was. And now that he took a closer look, none of his body language showed that he held himself in a way that showed there was no familiarity.
     This wouldn't be a problem if it were some other Leaguer, who didn't know his identity. But this was Clark. He's known him since he was nine. All of those memories he made with the Man of Steel over the years seemed to be lost on the man who sat in front of him.
This brought about a new stab of pain. Not having the people your closest to be there when you wake up in a hospital was one thing. Especially with the kinds of jobs those certain people have. But having someone you've known for years, sitting in front of you, staring as though you're simply some random kid off the street?
That hurt. A lot.
    He must have let some kind of emotion slip, because Clark suddenly looked concerned again. He didn't say anything, though, which Robin was slightly grateful for. He didn't want to hear the man's voice anymore, even if it did sound so familiar to the one he grew up with.
    Robin was so lost in thought that he failed to realize he had been just staring at Clark for about two minutes now. A faint color rose to his cheeks out of embarrassment, but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, Clark gave a little smile, even though his eyes still shown with slight worry.
    "Well, at least I know you're not brain dead." he tried to joke with a small laugh, but then he seemed to realize where they were and his eyes widened.
     "I mean, not that I ever thought that, or that the doctors said, it was...um...can we just forget about that?" Robin had to give a small smile at that, and he knew he involuntarily rolled his eyes at Clark's awkwardness. Luckily, the man seemed to like the reaction, and he just smiled brighter.
    "I'll admit, talking isn't exactly my greatest strength. Sometimes things just slip out, and I don't really think about it." Clark said, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. Robin felt his lips stretch further, but he felt a slight resistance from stitches of some kind. The best he could manage right now was a slight smirk.
    "It's...o...kay." Robin managed to croak, but that evolved into a coughing fit. Clark immidiately stood up from his chair and walked around the other side of the bed, towards a water dispenser Robin had failed to notice.
    His lungs and throat felt like they were ripping themselves apart. Robin was extremely grateful as a small, plastic cup of water was thrust into his vision. He tried to lift his hand to take ahold of the cup, but his arm simply refused to moved. Clark seemed to realize this, and instead moved the bed into the sitting position, and placed the cup onto his lips.
    Robin opened his mouth, and the cold relief was immidiate. He drained the small cup in under five seconds, and it was quickly replaced with another, and one more before Clark stopped.
    "That better?" he asked, and Robin nodded slowly in reply, wincing slightly as the cartilage in his neck cracked. 
    "Yeah, feeling a bit more traught." he mumbled, and he winced again at his still hoarse voice.
    Clark raised an amused eyebrow, a small smirk on his face.
    "Traught? What's that?" Robin grinned, but the smile he wanted to have was once again restricted by whatever was on his face.
    "Opposite of distraught." he explained simply, but was once again hit with a small sting of pain.
    Clark should already know this. Robin's smile simmered a bit, and Clark saw that a change of subject was in order.
    "Can you tell me your name? I don't want to keep calling you kid all the time."
    Now came a dilemma. Should he use his real name, his hero one, or something completely new? It was quite obvious by now that something was a bit screwy, so he didn't want to give his real name, that was for certain.
    His hero name was the better option, but that also held risk. He wasn't wearing his mask,  and 'Robin' wasn't exactly a masculine name, so whoever this impersonator was might connect the dots.
     But even though he wasn't wearing his mask, and Clark really didn't know him, shouldn't he be able to recognize Richard Grayson anyway? He was a highly popular topic in the tabloids in recent years, so it was highly unlikely that Clark wouldn't recognize him even if all the personal memories were somehow erased.
    Clark Kent was a reporter. It would be very sad if he didn't know about the recent news. 
    It seemed as though creating a new alias was the best option, then. Robin's mind began to filter through possible names, before he suddenly stopped.
    He couldn't do it. Robin couldn't lie to Clark, no matter how much he might need to. Even if he was really an impostor, he still wore Clark's face, and no one could fake the Man of Steels awkwardness.
    Hero name it was.
    "Robin." he answered stiffly, and Clark's patient smile he adopted while waiting for Robin to think diminished slightly.
    "How about a last name?" he asked carefully, but Robin still kept his features neutral.
    "Just Robin." Clark's smile turned to a frown for a brief second, before lifting once more.
    "Okay, Robin. What's the last thing you remember?"
    Nothing. That's what he wanted to say. But he did remember feeling cold, yet warm at the same time. There was also something wet and slightly sticky on his face, along with a feminine silhouette standing above him.
    "I'm...not sure." he replied, as he wasn't really sure what all of these memories were from. He just needed a few more pieces, and he was hoping Clark would supply them.
    "Do you remember seeing anyone with green hair?" and suddenly, everything came together.
    He remember waking up in that strange room, walking down the hallway and seeing the Joker blocking his path. There were things thrown, and then the Joker cornered him and began his 'fun'. He carved things into his skin such as Uncle Jay, and he even had the nerve to carve the Bat symbol into his flesh.  From then on it was mostly a blur of pain, blood, and broken bones.
    Then Captain Marvel. Wonder Woman. They were the ones that saved him when the Joker stepped out to do who knows what.
    "Y-yeah. I remember now." he answered, and cringed at the soft stutter. Sure, the Joker was scary, but he had never made him stutter.
    "Alright. What else? Do you remember what they did?" Clark asked after a short nod, and Robin felt himself answering without thinking. 
    "No, of course I don't remember being tortured by a psychotic clown." it came out with more spite than he intended, and he winced when he heard himself. Clark's eyes seemed to widen, but Robin wasn't sure if it was from shock or some kind of revelation.
    "Psychotic clown? What do you mean?" Robin's only response was to stare at Clark asked if he was crazy, too.
    "You don't know who I'm talking about?" he asked suspiciously, not liking the fact no one seemed to know what was going on except him.
    "I'm afraid I can't say that I do."
    "The Joker. That's who I'm talking about." Robin said softly, just realizing the possible severity of the situation. Who in the world could forget about the Joker?
    "He's the one who hurt you?" Robin's only response was to nod. Clark hummed softly, his eyes glazing over as he thought over something. 
    "What about your parents? Where are they?" Clark seemed to snap out of his thoughts, and that question caught Robin a but off guard as well.
    "Well...um...they're not exactly, around anymore." he replied softly, not all of the emotion he put into his voice fake. Clark's eyes softened in sympathy.
    "I'm sorry for your loss. So, who takes care of you then?" Robin honestly didn't know how to respond, and the silence that permeated the room was tense. Clark's eyes turned even more pitiful and it stretched on.
     "You have somewhere you live, right? It wouldn't be possible to survive in Wisconsin during the winter without shelter." Robin raised his eyebrows in confusion at this.
    "I'm from Gotham." Robin stated simply, and Clark looked suprised. 
    "Gotham? Then what were you doing in Fawcett City?" Robin didn't have a reasonable answer for this, either, and simply shrugged, wincing in pain when his muscles screamed at him.
    Clark looked troubled, and he seemed to hesitate before asking another question. "Is that why there was a...cut, shaped like a bat?" Robin nodded, and Clark looked really worried now. "What does this Joker have against Batman, then?"
    "Nothing. And everything. He's not exactly in his right mind." he knew it was a cryptic answer, but he didn't feel like giving away too much. Robin kept having to remind himself that this wasn't the Clark he knew, that he couldn't fully trust him yet. Clark seemed slightly annoyed by this, but didn't let it show.
    "Alright, Robin. I can see that you don't really want to answer anymore questions, but I have to ask...if the Joker hates Batman so much, then why did he go after you, and not Batman himself?"
    Ah, the fateful question. One that he couldn't answer without actually lying. So far he had been saying half truths, not all out lies. There was no way he was getting out of this question without lying, though. It was only a matter of figuring out what to say.
    Good thing he has had a lot of practice playing the clueless civilian.
    "Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe I look like him or something? Maybe I was just someone he could vent out his pent up anger on. Who knows?" Clark seemed to accept this answer, but Robin still got a bad taste in his mouth from lying to him.
    Even if he was almost certainly an impostor.
   "Well, I'll let you rest, then. In sure you're tired." and as if it was a magic word, Robin did suddenly feel like he could collapse.
    "Thanks for answering my questions, Robin. I'll sent a doctor or nurse in to make sure everything all right." the ebony tried to smile again, and was met with the same resistance as the other two times. It was getting annoying, and Clark could obviously see it as he opened the door.
    "I wouldn't try to smile too much." at Robins withering glare, he shakily continued. "U-um, I mean, I know it might be hard to, but you wouldn't want to somehow rip your stitches. It'll just make it scar more than it already will."
    Robin immidiately gathered up enough strength to move his right hand up to his face. His limb was slow, and he could only wish it would move faster, to confirm what he already feared he might find.
    When his hand finally reached its destination, all the color left his face. Adorning his cheeks were curved stitches that began at the corners of his mouth and arched upward. He slowly caressed the stitches, as if they would magically disappear.
    It seemed as though the Joker might have gotten the last laugh after all.

Oh, snap. I actually really liked writing this chapter for some reason. It had absolutely no action, but it had A LOT of plot development.

That said, this book should be a lot longer than the first one. Lots more will be happening, and I'm really excited!

That's all I need to say, I hope you all have a marvelous day! (or night...or whenever you read this...)

~BluePinetree