Alfred sat in the Batcave, reviewing data, when the monitor alerted him to an incoming vehicle. The exit port opened, and the Batmobile rolled smoothly onto the circular platform, settling into its usual spot.
"Welcome back, Master Bru—" Alfred began, but his words faltered. He froze at the sight of Bruce—his suit torn, his posture heavy, and his usual grim scowl replaced by a somber, bruised expression.
"Goodness!" Alfred exclaimed, hurrying over to him and helping him toward the console.
"Did…he do this?" Alfred asked quietly, his eyes narrowing as he tried to comprehend how Jason could have left Bruce in such a battered state.
"Yes, Alfred," Bruce replied, his voice heavy with regret. Observing his son's expression and the weariness radiating from him, Alfred quickly understood how the night must have ended.
"Joker's dead," Bruce murmured, exhaling slowly as he sank into the chair in front of the array of monitors.
Alfred hesitated, his words catching in his throat. "Did he…?" he asked cautiously, hoping there might be another explanation for Joker's death, some way it hadn't come directly at Jason's hands.
"Yes. Jason killed Joker," Bruce confirmed, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he began scanning the area for any sign of Jason's escape route—just in case his rebellious son had been sloppy in covering his tracks after the confrontation.
"He put three bullets straight through Joker, with the muzzle pressed into his mouth," Bruce added grimly, the words heavy with the weight of what had transpired.
Shocked by the news, Alfred drew a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly as he shook his head. Just then, Dick and Damian entered the Batcave.
"Oh, welcome back. Master Richard, Master Dick," Alfred said calmly, masking his surprise at their sudden arrival while guessing the reason behind it.
"We saw the news and rushed back to Gotham," Dick explained as they approached the console.
"Damn… what happened to you?" Dick asked, while Damian's eyes narrowed, silently waiting for his father's reply.
"Jason happened—or should I say… the Red Hood," Bruce replied, and Alfred moved to fetch the first aid kit to tend to his cuts and bruises.
As Bruce removed the top portion of his suit, all three took in the sight with a mix of awe and concern.
"Wow!" Dick muttered, his tone neutral but tinged with disbelief. "Did the guy have metal in his gloves or something?" he added with a half-jesting lilt, though both Bruce and Damian ignored it—they knew that was just Dick's way, even when he took things seriously.
Bruce ignored Dick's question as Alfred began carefully tending to the bruises he had studied for a moment, methodically applying first aid.
"And Joker?" Damian asked, his tone calm, as though he wasn't shocked by Jason's ability to inflict such damage on their father.
"Won't be laughing anymore," Bruce replied solemnly. Both sons immediately understood the weight of his words. Jason had crossed a line none of them had ever dared to approach.
Dick, staring at the bruises marring his father's body, could barely contain the flood of questions racing through his mind, yet he tried to temper them, pressing only cautiously.
Damian, on the other hand, was impressed by the sheer force Jason had been able to exert against Bruce. It didn't surprise him entirely—he had long suspected that Jason harbored a strength he deliberately restrained, a lethal potential waiting for the right moment.
"It's unusual for you to be so quiet in a situation like this," Batman said, his voice calm but firm. "If something's troubling you, speak up. It's better to share what we can as soon as possible—especially with someone like the Red Hood out there."
"You too, Damian," he added, noticing the storm of thoughts behind his son's normally composed, stern expression.
"How did Joker go out?" Dick asked, curiosity edging his tone. He wanted to understand how a man as relentless as a roach finally met his end, and how Jason had carried out his long-awaited vengeance.
"When I arrived, Joker had already been beaten beyond recognition," Bruce replied. "There was no way to tell if he would have survived the injuries Jason inflicted." Even that brief explanation made clear just how brutal Jason could be.
"He wanted me to finish it, said he wasn't angry with me and had forgiven me. But killing him myself… that would have been my way of making it up to him," Bruce continued, his eyes distant as he recalled the scene. He chose not to go into the full details of their conversation that night, letting the memory remain contained.
"Seeing my refusal, he issued an ultimatum," Bruce said, his tone steady but heavy. The words sparked curiosity in everyone present, their expressions betraying it despite themselves.
"What kind?" Damian asked, eyes narrowing as he tried to imagine what Jason could possibly demand from his father.
"I could only save one life," Bruce explained. "It was either him or Joker. Jason made it clear—one had to die tonight. If I refused, all three of us could be lost. He'd planted a bomb beforehand."
"Cruel," Dick muttered, struggling to comprehend what could drive Jason to corner Bruce in such a manner.
'He used Father's own sense of responsibility against him, constraining his choices,' Damian thought silently, analyzing the situation.
There was no need to voice it, everyone could see Bruce would never yield to such a demand. He continued instead, summarizing the encounter.
"In trying to resolve it, I misjudged his reflexes… or rather, he deliberately concealed the full extent of his abilities," Bruce said, running a mental analysis of the fight to determine if he had overlooked anything critical.
"With a gun shoved into Joker's mouth—barely able to close because of his dislocated jaw—Jason fired three shots: one into the back of his mouth, another into his brain, and the last down his throat."
Dick hesitated, unsure what to say. Even he was taken aback by the sheer brutality of Jason's actions. Yet, deep down, he could sense a twisted kind of justification in it.
Bruce, never one for excess words, felt compelled to make one point clear: Jason could be ruthless, merciless, and cunning. He would exploit every tool, every emotional vulnerability, every angle to achieve his goals.
"The bomb was a decoy."
"A decoy?" Dick asked, brow raised in disbelief.
"Yes," Bruce replied. "It was designed to manipulate my reaction, to influence my decision. The real bomb had been right under my nose the entire time, disguised as something harmless."
Alfred carefully wrapped Bruce's wounds with bandages, while instructing Damian to fetch a pack of ice to help with the swelling.
"From everything I've shared, remember this: Jason is cunning and will do whatever it takes to get his way," Bruce concluded, his tone measured, signaling that he had covered all he could regarding Dick's earlier question.
"He clearly thought everything through," Dick remarked, shaking his head slightly.
"How about his combat skills?" Damian finally asked, the question he'd been wrestling with ever since the night Jason had snuck up on him on the rooftop during the Scarecrow incident.
"Clearly, you couldn't have sustained those wounds from the explosion," Damian added.
"Yeah, and watching him break out of steel shackles with his bare hands… makes you wonder just how strong that kid really is," Dick chimed in, recalling the time he and Jason had been trapped together in that cellar.
Bruce fixed Dick with a steady, piercing stare. "Imagine Deathstroke… but with amplified strength, speed, and reflexes," he said flatly. The words hung in the air, sending an unmistakable chill down Dick's spine.
"The mercenary who killed grandfather?" Damian asked, a note of astonishment in his voice. He had heard of Deathstroke's reputation—how formidable an opponent he was, even giving Batman serious trouble.
"Yes," Bruce confirmed, his tone steady.
"An amped-up Slade Wilson? What, is he a super soldier now?" Dick interjected, voicing the thought that had crossed his mind.
"A super soldier would be the closet description," Bruce said. "His combat skills weren't as polished as Deathstroke's, but his raw potential was undeniable. I'm certain that if Ra's al Ghul were still alive, he might have groomed and even entrusted Jason with leadership of the League."
Dick processed that for a moment, trying to gauge the level of Jason's abilities. Meanwhile, Damian clenched his teeth at the implication, silently questioning how Jason had become strong enough to be compared to a super soldier—even Bruce seemed to recognize the magnitude of it.
"One more thing," Bruce said, his expression remaining stern as the others waited, anticipating what else he had to reveal.
"I'm not entirely sure how to explain this, but… Jason might not have been fully himself," Bruce said, pausing his words and leaving a heavy weight in the room.
Alfred halted his treatment, his brow furrowed in confusion, clearly unsure what Bruce meant.
Damian looked equally perplexed, though Dick's expression hardened, his mind flashing back to the time in the cellar when he'd seen a glimpse of that same terrifying intensity from Jason. He remained silent, sensing this was no matter for idle speculation.
"What do you mean, Father?" Damian finally asked, recalling the dark, almost predatory bloodlust he'd sensed on the rooftop. "Did he seem… possessed? Or was he just acting… off?"
Alfred, quietly hopeful, wished that whatever Bruce meant might somehow explain Jason's actions—that perhaps he hadn't been fully in control.
Bruce exhaled, trying to articulate what he had felt. "I can't fully explain it. The first time I noticed something… unusual was when he wore the helmet. And again when I tried reasoning with him."
"In both cases," Bruce continued, "it was as if he suddenly—"
"—became a completely different person," Dick interjected, cutting in to finish the thought, drawing everyone's attention to him.
"That time we were abducted, I sensed something similar," Dick continued, tapping a finger on his chin as he recalled the scene.
"It was brief, so I assumed it was my imagination… but I can't lie, it gave me enough chill that even when surrounded by flames—I almost shivered."
Damian, having felt Jason's bloodlust firsthand, remained silent, his expression unreadable.
"It's subtle, almost imperceptible. He's still himself, but the presence he radiates is… entirely different," Bruce said, stroking his chin as he reflected.
"The best way I can describe it," he continued, "is that he suppresses all emotion almost instantly, every unnecessary thought and feeling vanishes. His focus on a single objective becomes so absolute that it makes him feel like someone else entirely." He left out, for now, the overwhelming aura of bloodlust he had sensed during their fight.
According to Talia, this was a known effect of being resurrected through the Lazarus Pit. All he could do was theorize, for he was oblivious to Jason's internal and mental struggles.
"In short, under no circumstances should either of you confront the Red Hood alone," Bruce said firmly, locking eyes with Damian to drive the point home. By "backup," it was clear he meant himself.
Having spoken more than usual—something entirely out of character, he stood and left to freshen up.
Alone in the shower, with water cascading down his hair, his mind replayed the events of that night.
"What are you becoming, Jason?" he muttered under his breath, ruminating on everything he had witnessed. He still believed in redemption—that no matter how far Jason had fallen, the son he had raised was still there beneath it all.
A small glimmer of hope remained, the possibility that Jason could be pulled back from the dark path he now tread. Yet as the water ran down his face, one nagging question refused to leave his mind:
"Was the Red Hood finished with Black Mask, and was Joker's death simply one item on his growing 'to-do' list of criminal upheavals?"
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