Work Text:
The morning had started out great, in the universe’s defense. While never quite sunny in Gotham, today was as close as it got. No rain, thinner than usual smog, a gentle breeze in the air; it was the perfect Gotham day.
Then the sun set.
And then the Arkham alarm went off.
And then they got notified that The Joker was on the loose.
Yeah, maybe the universe doesn’t deserve a defense.
The Bats were scattered around Amusement Mile, Nightwing and Red Robin crept through the main northern tent; the former cringing at the display as the latter stalked closer to inspect the bodies. Tim crouched and brought a hand to his ear, tapping and holding the comm to activate his mic.
“Oracle, Red Robin. Nightwing and I’ve got three victims in the northern tent in Amusement Mile. We’re moving in to take a closer look, but from here it looks like Joker venom.”
“Copy, Red,” Barbra’s voice answered over the comms.
“Victims are adult males. No visible trauma. Skin’s already starting to pale — lips pulled back.” He exhales quietly through his nose. “Yeah. Rictus grin confirmed.”
Tim’s brow furrows as he notices a glimmer inside the coat of the man he’s crouched over. He pulls his hand away from his ear, cutting his mic off. “Hey, Wing— GAH—” Tim sputters as his face is suddenly splashed with something, the liquid slipping into his nose and open mouth.
Dick’s head snaps up at the noise, looking away from the writing on the walls and towards where Tim is on the other side of the tent. The boy is wiping at his face, moving away from the body in front of him.
“Red? Report, what’s happening?” Dick’s request comes out more of a demand as he turns on his heel and rushes over to his little brother. “Red?” He asks as he nears.
“Heh—”
Dick pauses a bit, stiffening. He knows exactly what is happening right now, but his body still — stupidly — hesitates at processing the sound of a chuckle.
“Heh— Ack—!” Tim’s giggle cuts off in a cough as his wipes turns into clawing at his face, “HA—” A bark of laughter slips through, and it’s like a dam breaking. Suddenly the giggles turn into full force laughter mixed with his bone-rattling coughs as Tim leans forward, curling in on himself.
Dick snaps out of his hesitation and immediately reaches into his belt. He pulls out the syringe with ease, barreling towards his little brother. He pushes Tim’s head to the side — not looking the convulsing boy in the eyes — as he plunges the needle into his neck, pressing down to administer the antidote.
“Hng— HAHA—” Tim’s lungs force out more laughs as Dick pulls the syringe out. He tosses it to the side and pulls his brother close, rocking him slightly as laughs continue to rattle his body. Dick keeps one arm wrapped tightly around Tim and brings the other to his ear.
“Oracle, Red Robin’s been exposed to Joker venom. Antidote administered, but the laughter’s still ongoing.” Dick grimaces as he pulls a squirting flower from under the corpse’s coat, venom dripping from the nozzle. “Delivery system’s a venom-loaded flower. Exposure was about ninety seconds ago.”
Under him, Tim’s laughter keeps spilling into the comms. The hands clawing at his face don’t stop, instead they seem to be getting more desperate.
Suddenly, the laughs seem to change. What had been loose and uncontrolled sharpens into something harsher; each burst dragged out like Tim’s forcing it through clenched teeth. The sound crackles over the comms, uneven and jagged.
Dick glances back down. “Red?”
Tim’s gloved fingers twitch against his face, then they curl. Tightly.
The laughter keeps bubbling out of him in short, ragged bursts as Tim slowly lifts his head. Dick makes eye contact with Tim’s dilated pupils before Tim is suddenly shoving him off.
Dick rocks back onto his heels, grip breaking as Tim jerks free. “Whoa— Red—”
Tim scrambles away on hands and knees, laughter spilling out of him in sharp, breathless bursts that echo across the empty stretch of Amusement Mile. One hand clamps over his mouth like he’s trying to smother the sound. It doesn’t really help.
“Easy,” Dick says, pushing himself up and moving after him. “It’s just the venom. You’re okay. I’ve got you.” Tim’s shoulders hitch violently.
Then his fist slams into the pavement.
The impact cracks against the brittle concrete with a dull, ugly sound. Tim laughs again — ragged and wheezing — as he draws his arm back and hits it a second time, like he’s trying to drive the energy out of his body.
“Red,” Dick says, more firmly now, closing the distance. “Hey. Look at me.”
Tim freezes. For a moment he just crouches there, one hand braced on the ground, shoulders shaking with breathless laughter as he drags in a sharp inhale.
“D—” The sound collapses into another wheezing laugh. Tim squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head violently like he can rattle the venom loose. “D—hh—” Another broken laugh tears through the attempt.
Dick’s frown deepens. “Red, it’s okay. Just breathe.”
Tim sucks in another ragged breath, forcing the word out between gasping laughter.
“D—ick—”
The name comes out shredded and uneven. For a second, it almost sounds like a warning.
Dick takes another cautious step forward. “Yeah, I’m here.”
Tim’s laughter keeps spilling out, softer now but no less frantic, his shoulders trembling with the effort of dragging in air. Then he lifts his head again.
The movement is slow at first, almost hesitant. But the look in his eyes changes. Dick sees it happen.
“...Red?”
Then Tim’s moving.
His bloody hand pulls out his bo staff as he rockets forward, towards Dick. “Waoh!—” Dick barely doges a sloppy strike to his head, ducking out of the way.
“Nightwing, backup’s en route to your location. Joker’s been spotted—we’re splitting teams to assist you and intercept him. ETA two minutes.” Oracle says in his ear.
She must have said on his and Tim’s channel instead of directly to him, because Tim’s head snaps upward, wildly looking for the source of the voice before his eyes settle back on Dick.
“Heard,” Nightwing hisses.
And with that, Tim launches back into his attack.
Dick barely gets his arms up before Tim slams into him, knocking them both sideways across the asphalt. Tim’s weight hits hard and uncoordinated, more like a tackle than any trained move.
“—Red!”
Tim laughs in his face. It’s loud; hot breath and ragged wheezing against Dick’s mask as Tim swings.
The punch is sloppy and Dick easily catches Tim’s wrist before it connects and twists, rolling them both so the blow glances off his shoulder instead. “Okay— hey— that’s enough—”
Tim yanks his arm free with surprising strength and lunges again, movements jerky and uneven.
Dick ducks under another swing and shoves Tim back a step. “Red, listen to me—”
Tim laughs again and comes right back. No stance or guard, just raw momentum as he barrels forward.
Dick sidesteps, catching Tim’s arm and redirecting him past his shoulder. Tim stumbles, nearly going down — then spins back with a sharp bark of laughter and throws himself at Dick again.
Tim’s boot skids on the pavement as he tries to pivot too fast. The movement sends him lurching sideways, but instead of stopping he just keeps going, clawing for Dick’s armor.
Dick grabs both wrists this time, locking them down. “Red— stop.”
For a split second Tim freezes in the hold, shoulders heaving with breathless laughter.
Then he surges forward anyway, trying to drive Dick backward through sheer force. He jerks one arm free.
The punch that follows is wild but fast. Dick barely gets his shoulder up in time; the blow glances off his armor with a dull thud and sends a jolt up his arm. He lunges again and Dick pivots aside, grabbing the back of Tim’s cape and using the momentum to shove him past. Tim stumbles three steps before slamming shoulder-first into the side of a metal barricade.
For half a second Tim just hangs there, bent over the railing, laughter spilling out in harsh bursts.
Dick takes the opening. “Red, listen to me—”
Tim whirls. The movement is too fast, too sudden — his boot skids on the pavement but he doesn’t slow down. He barrels forward again, grabbing for Dick’s armor with both hands and they collide.
Dick catches him around the torso this time, locking his arms down in a tight hold.
“Alright,” Dick pants, trying to keep his footing as Tim thrashes, “we’re doing it this way.”
Tim’s head tips back with another jagged burst of laughter.
Then he slams his forehead forward.
The impact rattles Dick’s mask.
“—okay, not doing that again,” Dick grunts, loosening his grip just enough to shove Tim away.
Tim staggers back a step. Then two.
His balance wobbles, shoulders hitching with breathless laughter. For a moment it almost looks like he might fall.
Instead, he launches forward again.
“Oracle,” Dick says quickly, backing up as Tim advances. “Any update on that backup?”
“Already there,” Oracle replies.
A shadow drops from the scaffolding behind Tim.
Jason hits the pavement in a crouch just as Tim lunges again.
“Little Bird,” he says flatly. Tim doesn’t even hesitate.
Still laughing, he barrels straight into him. Jason barely has time to brace before Tim slams into his chest, driving them both back a step. “Yeah,” Jason grunts, locking his arms around Tim’s shoulders, “that’s about what I expected.”
Another figure lands beside them in a sharp, controlled drop.
Damian’s eyes flick from Tim’s shaking shoulders to the manic laughter spilling from his mouth.
“Grayson,” he snaps, already moving to grab Tim’s arm, “what did you do to him?”
Dick exhales sharply. “I gave him an antidote.”
Jason grunts as a sharp armored elbow slams into his stomach. “Yeah,” he wheezes, tightening his grip, “that ain’t normal venom.”
Tim thrashes harder, the laughter pouring out of him is sharp and breathless now, shoulders jerking with every wheeze as he twists in Jason’s hold. His boots scrape wildly against the pavement, trying to find leverage.
“Hold him!” Dick snaps.
“Working on it!”
Tim jerks sideways with sudden, reckless strength, and Jason’s grip slips just enough for Tim to wrench an arm free.
The punch that follows is clumsy, but powerful. Jason barely gets his forearm up before the blow crashes into it with a dull clang.
“Okay,” Jason mutters, “rude—”
Damian darts in low, catching Tim’s freed arm and twisting it behind his back in a sharp lock.
“Drake,” Damian snaps, voice tight, “cease this immediately.”
Tim answers with another round of giggling. He bucks violently, tearing Damian’s grip loose and sends all three of them stumbling.
Dick lunges forward before Tim can break away completely, wrapping both arms around his torso from behind.
“Red— stop fighting us—” Tim throws his head back again, and the impact nearly cracks Dick’s chin through his mask. “—ow— okay—”
Jason grabs Tim again, this time hooking an arm around his neck and dragging him sideways to the pavement. The four of them go down in a tangle of limbs, Tim hits the ground still laughing.
He twists like a live wire between them, boots kicking, hands clawing at armor plates and gauntlets. Every time one of them gets a grip, he wrenches away again with wild, jerky strength.
“Dick,” Jason grunts, trying to pin Tim’s shoulders. “We gotta quit playing nice— Damn it, Bird—!”
Dick hesitates as Tim laughs harder.
Jason doesn’t. He reaches for his belt.
“Nighty night, Birdy.”
Dick grabs Tim’s wrist just as Jason drives the injector into the seam of Tim’s armor. The hiss of compressed sedative is almost lost under the sound of Tim’s ragged laughter.
For a second nothing happens. Tim jerks again, trying to wrench free—
Then the strength drains out of him all at once.
The laughter stutters and his body goes slack between them.
Jason exhales slowly. “...Okay.”
Dick’s still holding Tim upright when his head lolls forward against Jason’s shoulder.
For a moment nobody moves, then Dick quietly says, “We’re getting him to the Cave.”
The Cave is too bright. Or maybe it just feels that way.
Tim lies strapped to a reinforced med cot in the med bay; restraints locked across his wrists, chest, and ankles. His cape and outer armor are gone, stripped away somewhere between Amusement Mile and the Cave floor.
Even unconscious, his breathing isn’t steady. Every few seconds it hitches like the echo of a laugh that never quite makes it out.
Dick stands at the head of the cot, arms folded tight across his chest, watching. Jason leans against one of the nearby worktables, helmet off now. Damian hasn’t moved from Tim’s side since they brought him in. Across the cave, screens glow with scrolling diagnostics as Barbara works remotely through the system.
“Vitals are stabilizing,” she says through the speakers. “Sedative’s holding.”
“Good,” Jason mutters.
Tim twitches against the restraints and all three of them go still.
The movement passes, leaving him limp again.
Dick exhales slowly.
“What the hell happened out there?” Jason asks.
Dick rubs the back of his neck. “Joker venom. Standard symptoms at first — laughter, motor loss. I gave him the antidote and—”
“And he tried to kill you,” Jason finishes.
Dick grimaces. “Yeah.”
Barbara’s voice cuts back in. “Hold on.” Keys clatter over the comms. A moment later one of the cave monitors shifts to a new screen—chemical analysis from Tim’s blood. “That’s not right,” she murmurs.
Damian looks up sharply. “Explain.”
“I’m comparing the toxin in his bloodstream to archived samples of Joker venom.” Another pause. “There’s a structural variation in the protein chain.”
Jason straightens slightly. “Meaning?”
“Meaning Joker modified it.” Dick leans closer to the monitor as Barbara continues, voice tightening. “But that’s not the weird part.”
Another set of data scrolls across the screen. “This spike here—” she says. “It didn’t happen when the venom entered his system.”
Dick feels his stomach drop.
“When did it happen?” he asks quietly.
Barbara doesn’t answer right away. When she does, her voice is grim.
“Right after the antidote.”
Jason pushes away from the table. “You’re telling me—”
“The aggression response wasn’t caused by the venom,” Barbara says.
Dick stares at Tim.
“It was triggered by the antidote,” he finishes for her.