Motley
New Robin
Joker wakes up one morning cackling, rubbing his hands together as he sits up.
“Mot. Motley. Kid, c’mere.”
Motley yawns, rolls over and frowns.
“Sleepy, J.”
“Whatever. I have plans.”
The kid doesn’t speak. He’s fallen back asleep, his face relaxed and peaceful. He looks so much like his mother, who was able to sleep anywhere. Balanced against his shoulder on the way to Arkham, or curled in a pile with her hyenas, or with her head in Ivy’s lap. His fists clench. Harley is dead, and she doesn’t matter anymore. He made her perfect, but she ran from him, and now she’s dead.
He touches a finger to Motley’s jaw, pushes his head to the side. There are scars there, from some fight or other. Joker wonders what his son’s face would look like with scars like his. But Joker kind of likes Motley’s face, a mix of his parents, so he sits back, thinks of the lives his new plan is going to destroy, and smiles.
Motley sees the new Robin again the very next day. Well, he’s not exactly the new Robin, Motley knows. He’s been with Batman for several years. But J calls him the new Robin, so Motley does, too.
“Hey, kid.” Robin flips over Motley’s head to land in front of him, grinning cockily.
Motley puts a hand to his knife. “J doesn’t like you.”
“J doesn’t like anybody, kid. Not even you.”
Motley shrugs and takes his hand off his knife, figuring that Robin isn’t here to fight. “Well, Batman doesn’t like you.”
To his surprise, Robin laughs. “I know. I’m too rough for him now. I don’t baby criminals like he thinks I should. Not perfect like Nightwing.”
“I think you’re okay,” Motley says, confused. Even J is willing to admit that this Robin is more fun. Robin grins at him, then tilts his head.
“Thanks. You know, you’re too nice to help Joker. And I’m too mean to work for Batman.”
“I just like hurting people,” Motley tells him. “Feels good.”
“You’re one fucked up kid,” Robin says, but he’s smiling.
“Are we friends?” Motley asked suddenly, puzzled. J’s told him about friends. Neither of them have any.
“Yeah, sure. I mean, your father is a mass-murdering maniac, but sure.”
“Cool.” Motley learned cool from the henchmen.
He can hear the sound of Batman punching J over and over. J might end up in jail tonight. Motley hides in trash cans on the nights J goes to jail. J told him that if J ends up in Arkham for a while, to find Poison Ivy or Killer Croc and to shut up and be respectful and stay away from Scarecrow and Zsasz at all costs.
“You know anything about geography?” Robin asks, hooking his fingers in his belt. Motley shrugs. He knows about every place that J’s ever been to, and the different cities that are important, but not as great as Gotham. He knows their villains, and who guards them. “I hear Boston is nice,” Robin says wistfully, cracking his knuckles.
“Dunno.” Motley’s never been outside of Gotham.
“We don’t fit in here, kid.” Motley shrugs again, turning away with disinterest. He can hear J cackling and he wants to go home for cereal.
He sniffles once, wiping at his nose. He got sick a week ago, throwing up into a bucket while J watched, pretending he didn’t care. But Motley was half awake when he felt J put a hand to his forehead, checking for fever, and J’s been feeding him healthy food since then, muttering to himself about immune systems.
“Don’t care.”
“You might one day.”
“Eh.” Motley wraps Leen’s blanket more tightly around himself and leans forward, wondering why Robin isn’t helping the Batman. He doesn’t help J, but that’s different. Motley can recognize that he’s still a very little kid, even if he learns fast.
J manages to stab the Batman in the side, and he staggers back. It’s enough of an opening for J to motion for Motley to run. He does, nodding at Robin and scurrying off.
“Mot. Motley. Kid, c’mere.”
Motley yawns, rolls over and frowns.
“Sleepy, J.”
“Whatever. I have plans.”
The kid doesn’t speak. He’s fallen back asleep, his face relaxed and peaceful. He looks so much like his mother, who was able to sleep anywhere. Balanced against his shoulder on the way to Arkham, or curled in a pile with her hyenas, or with her head in Ivy’s lap. His fists clench. Harley is dead, and she doesn’t matter anymore. He made her perfect, but she ran from him, and now she’s dead.
He touches a finger to Motley’s jaw, pushes his head to the side. There are scars there, from some fight or other. Joker wonders what his son’s face would look like with scars like his. But Joker kind of likes Motley’s face, a mix of his parents, so he sits back, thinks of the lives his new plan is going to destroy, and smiles.
Motley sees the new Robin again the very next day. Well, he’s not exactly the new Robin, Motley knows. He’s been with Batman for several years. But J calls him the new Robin, so Motley does, too.
“Hey, kid.” Robin flips over Motley’s head to land in front of him, grinning cockily.
Motley puts a hand to his knife. “J doesn’t like you.”
“J doesn’t like anybody, kid. Not even you.”
Motley shrugs and takes his hand off his knife, figuring that Robin isn’t here to fight. “Well, Batman doesn’t like you.”
To his surprise, Robin laughs. “I know. I’m too rough for him now. I don’t baby criminals like he thinks I should. Not perfect like Nightwing.”
“I think you’re okay,” Motley says, confused. Even J is willing to admit that this Robin is more fun. Robin grins at him, then tilts his head.
“Thanks. You know, you’re too nice to help Joker. And I’m too mean to work for Batman.”
“I just like hurting people,” Motley tells him. “Feels good.”
“You’re one fucked up kid,” Robin says, but he’s smiling.
“Are we friends?” Motley asked suddenly, puzzled. J’s told him about friends. Neither of them have any.
“Yeah, sure. I mean, your father is a mass-murdering maniac, but sure.”
“Cool.” Motley learned cool from the henchmen.
He can hear the sound of Batman punching J over and over. J might end up in jail tonight. Motley hides in trash cans on the nights J goes to jail. J told him that if J ends up in Arkham for a while, to find Poison Ivy or Killer Croc and to shut up and be respectful and stay away from Scarecrow and Zsasz at all costs.
“You know anything about geography?” Robin asks, hooking his fingers in his belt. Motley shrugs. He knows about every place that J’s ever been to, and the different cities that are important, but not as great as Gotham. He knows their villains, and who guards them. “I hear Boston is nice,” Robin says wistfully, cracking his knuckles.
“Dunno.” Motley’s never been outside of Gotham.
“We don’t fit in here, kid.” Motley shrugs again, turning away with disinterest. He can hear J cackling and he wants to go home for cereal.
He sniffles once, wiping at his nose. He got sick a week ago, throwing up into a bucket while J watched, pretending he didn’t care. But Motley was half awake when he felt J put a hand to his forehead, checking for fever, and J’s been feeding him healthy food since then, muttering to himself about immune systems.
“Don’t care.”
“You might one day.”
“Eh.” Motley wraps Leen’s blanket more tightly around himself and leans forward, wondering why Robin isn’t helping the Batman. He doesn’t help J, but that’s different. Motley can recognize that he’s still a very little kid, even if he learns fast.
J manages to stab the Batman in the side, and he staggers back. It’s enough of an opening for J to motion for Motley to run. He does, nodding at Robin and scurrying off.