Motley
Missing
The Joker doesn’t get drunk often. It takes a lot to get him tipsy, make him really loose. He doesn’t ever truly relax, of course, he’ll always be himself, but…he can loosen. And he needs that now, because Motley is missing again. Batsy doesn’t have him, because if he did he knows that Joker would find his Robin and rip that goddamned pretty throat out, sink his teeth into pulled back flesh…But there’s no time to linger on pleasant fantasies right now.
Not when the kid’s missing and Joker can feel the heavy pulse of blood behind his eyelids and he knows, with absolute certainty, that if Motley dies there’s nothing that could stop him from destroying Gotham in a day, for all his plans. Nothing, not even the Bat. Joker’s hands clench nervously in his lap, and he aches to rip, to rend, to tear, taste hot heavy blood and thick wet screams, but Motley is missing again so Joker has to wait, aching for death and his son.
+
Joker can hear them coming eventually. He hears everything, notices everything, can’t turn it off. The heavy boot scrape of a henchman, the light pad of Motley’s feet. He won’t admit that he’s relieved, half torn between the urge to yell at the kid or make sure he’s alright.
Motley knows he did wrong. He hunches his shoulders, not daring to look at J. He just wanted to catch a balloon, large and red like a bubble of blood waiting to be popped. But he’d turned around and J wasn’t there anymore and the streets of Gotham are impossible, even for a murderous six year old.
“What’d you, ah, do, Mot?” comes J’s voice, quiet and dangerous.
He’s never hit Motley, but the kid shrinks anyway, wondering if this’ll be the day he starts. He remembers Leen, and her angry hands grabbing at his face, pinching his skin. He loved her anyway, carries her blanket around like protection. He loved her, but not like he loves J.
“Saw balloon.”
“Oh! A, ha, a balloon. What a rare thing. A balloon.” Joker can be cruel to him, mocking. It’s not like the kid will understand. Motley nods once, keeping his chin high. He’s brave again, a fighter like his dad. Suddenly all urge for cruelty is gone and the Joker is sighing, tapping his feet. “You okay, kid?”
“Yeah. Tripped once but it didn’t hurt.”
“That was, uh, stupid. Don’t, don’t do it again.” Motley nods gratefully and shuffles closer. “There’re tacos in the fridge,” Joker says finally, careless, his attention already elsewhere.
The kid is safe and here, so Joker doesn’t have to worry about him. Now, now he can worry about the Batman, and how much fun they’re gonna have soon.
Not when the kid’s missing and Joker can feel the heavy pulse of blood behind his eyelids and he knows, with absolute certainty, that if Motley dies there’s nothing that could stop him from destroying Gotham in a day, for all his plans. Nothing, not even the Bat. Joker’s hands clench nervously in his lap, and he aches to rip, to rend, to tear, taste hot heavy blood and thick wet screams, but Motley is missing again so Joker has to wait, aching for death and his son.
+
Joker can hear them coming eventually. He hears everything, notices everything, can’t turn it off. The heavy boot scrape of a henchman, the light pad of Motley’s feet. He won’t admit that he’s relieved, half torn between the urge to yell at the kid or make sure he’s alright.
Motley knows he did wrong. He hunches his shoulders, not daring to look at J. He just wanted to catch a balloon, large and red like a bubble of blood waiting to be popped. But he’d turned around and J wasn’t there anymore and the streets of Gotham are impossible, even for a murderous six year old.
“What’d you, ah, do, Mot?” comes J’s voice, quiet and dangerous.
He’s never hit Motley, but the kid shrinks anyway, wondering if this’ll be the day he starts. He remembers Leen, and her angry hands grabbing at his face, pinching his skin. He loved her anyway, carries her blanket around like protection. He loved her, but not like he loves J.
“Saw balloon.”
“Oh! A, ha, a balloon. What a rare thing. A balloon.” Joker can be cruel to him, mocking. It’s not like the kid will understand. Motley nods once, keeping his chin high. He’s brave again, a fighter like his dad. Suddenly all urge for cruelty is gone and the Joker is sighing, tapping his feet. “You okay, kid?”
“Yeah. Tripped once but it didn’t hurt.”
“That was, uh, stupid. Don’t, don’t do it again.” Motley nods gratefully and shuffles closer. “There’re tacos in the fridge,” Joker says finally, careless, his attention already elsewhere.
The kid is safe and here, so Joker doesn’t have to worry about him. Now, now he can worry about the Batman, and how much fun they’re gonna have soon.