Chapter Text
It feels pointless.
Ha.
Nothing Tim does changes anything. Nothing I do matters.
The injection sites are itching constantly. The staple in his tongue is aching.
Haha.
Smiling, always smiling, he can’t stop smiling, Tim does as he was instructed by the Joker. No-no, not Joker anymore, just Daddy. And I’m Junior.
ThERe iS No tiM AnyMOrE.
After his midmorning injections, Junior always feels a little off kilter. Sometimes it’s hard to forget about a life that doesn’t exist anymore. Nothing exists really, just Daddy, Mommy, and Junior.
He’d been sent to train on his own, a rare moment in Arkham without supervision from Daddy or his goons. A rare moment without Mommy fixing his face paint or sticking him with serum or applying the ELECTRODES.
Junior takes a breath and laughs, grin still in place. He repeats the mantra that’s become a constant throughout the past few months.
Grin and bear it, grin and bear it, grin and bear it. Junior clutches his stomach and gives a full body laugh, throwing his head back while facing the weapons rack in the underground training room, acutely aware of all the options available to him for training. Despite his cackling, Junior remains aware, as he always is, in spite of his constant headaches and the pain and ITCHING all over his body. He is more than aware enough to sense the interloper hovering up near the corner of the from behind him in shadow, where the wall meets the ceiling.
Impossibly stretching his manic grin, Junior fluidly grabs a gun and faces whatever superhero had decided to come visit. He’s unable to make out a face, even after being in the dark for so long, so deep is the shadow hiding this intruder.
Junior cackles, maintaining a steady aim toward the figure, “Why, if it isn’t a visitor?! You know,” he continues while undoing the safety of his pistol, “it’s very rude to drop by unannounced.” With his grin morphing into a nasty smirk- keep your teeth on display sweetie, we need to see those pearly whites! - Junior decides to give the super enough time to reveal their face. A curiosity nudges in the back of his mind, a sensation he hasn’t felt in… a while. Something stopping him from jumping the gun. Ha.
Slowly, the figure descends into the more lit area of the room, a young, guarded face becoming clear with each inch toward the fluorescent lights. And Junior… he knows this face… right?
“Hi, Tim,” Kon speaks softly, something decidedly heartbreaking about his expression. He raises his hands as he approaches, carefully telegraphing his movements.
Junior takes in the scene with glee, that curiosity in the back of his mind morphing into something slightly more persistent before he violently pushes down a rising recognition of the boy in front of him. Junior doesn’t know this super- and there is no Tim,
Tim is dead. Junior remains, and Junior knows better .
If this super wants to treat Junior like one of his little victims the super likely saves daily, Junior will let him. All the easier to get the supes close enough for some fun .
“I believe you are mistaken, friendo,” Junior laughs out, “It’s just me here today. Lucky, lucky you,” he sing-songs, waving the gun about and putting the safety back on, turning toward the weapons rack. Hmmm, where was it again?? Junior peruses the rack for his specific weapon necessary for such an esteemed guest. “Name’s Junior, by the way,” he lilts out, swaying his hips to a silent song before finding what he needs with an, “ah-ha!”
Junior twirls back around to face the supes, having kept an eye behind himself to track the other boy. “You might want to leave, pal,” he asserts, a manic expression on his face. “Any closer and things might get a little dicey. ”
The supes doesn’t take the hint and looks impossibly sadder. Kon reaches out a hand but doesn’t come closer. “Please, Tim,” he starts, “you need to come back… it’s not safe here. We miss you.”
“You must be dumb on something,” Junior exclaims, “the name is Junior! J-U-N-I-O-U-R! You need some lessons, super kid?”
Then Kon makes a big mistake, stepping forward while repeating, “Please Tim- “
BANG!
They both stand there frozen for a moment, Kon in horror and Tim- nope, nope, JUNIOR- just… processing. The kryptonite bullet is lodged into the stained cement at Kon’s feet. This felt strange. Junior searched for a better word…
“Tim…” Kon makes a likely intelligent decision and steps backward, away from the aura emitted from the kryptonite that could weaken him. A bullet like that, if it lodged into himself rather than piercing through, could actually kill him.
Tim hadn’t shot him though.
Junior found the word he was looking for, finally. This felt wrong.
Junior began crying.
Kon remains supernaturally still until he notes Tim crying, gun shaking in Tim’s hand before Tim lets out a little sob.
“Set down the gun please, Tim,” Kon appeals, praying that his friend can break through whatever torture had changed him so thoroughly. Praying his friend would come back to him.
Junior… no. Tim.
My name is… Tim.
Something fractured finally breaks as Tim finally, finally frowns and numbly lets the gun drop to the floor. Eyes unseeing, he gazes ahead as tears stream from his eyes soundless, every pain and throb registering, the itching becoming unbearable.
“Kon?”
That's all Kon needs to speed over to his best friend, catching him as Tim’s knees buckle and his limbs go limp. “Timmy,” he whispers over and over, lost in the moment as he comforts his friend, his soulmate. The moment is broken when time begins to dry heave, scratching himself hard enough for Kon to smell even more blood on his friend, “Tim, we have to leave. Now.”
Kon registers that Tim is unable to respond, absent from this moment and fully reliant on Kon. Which, I mean, no pressure, Kon laments before slinging Tim up bridal style and holding him tucked close. So small, Kon marvels, worried. Wait, definitely NOT the time.
Kon pools all his focus and sharpens his vision, then pulses out of the building as quickly as possible to avoid detection. The kryptonite gun had been a deeply unpleasant surprise.
They move towards the exit of Arkham, Kon breathing more easily with every twist and turn toward the main entrance. Heading toward Gotham’s smoggy daylight, Kon tries to hold Tim tightly enough that he can’t scratch more of his skin.