Work Text:
Jax should hesitate. Should feel guilt – remorse – something.
But he doesn’t. He never has. He does what has to be done, so his brothers don’t have to.
That’s how it’s always been. How it always will be.
The Joker’s wild shrieks of laughter mingle with Tim’s crazed sobs and Drake’s soft murmurs. The rogue lurches closer, his movements eerily jerky.
“Come on, then!” Joker cackles. “Show Daddy Joker what you’ve got! Let’s see your best shot, if Junior doesn’t want to!”
Something cold and nebulous in Jax hardens into white determination.
He meets the Joker’s eyes, unflinching even as the rogue’s gaze sharpens, cruel and calculating.
“Okay,” Jax says quietly.
A gunshot cracks in the shadows of the warehouse. Tim shrieks, with laughter and pain and fear, and Drake pulls Tim closer.
The Joker staggers backward, a bullet in his shoulder.
“That’s for Barbara Gordon,” Jax says. “Who you shot and permanently disabled.”
Joker licks his lips, breathy chuckles spilling through red greasepaint. “Not bad, lambchop,” he rasps. He steps forward. “Not good, either.”
The gun booms again, and a short, harsh grunt escapes the Joker as he falters, a bullet in his other shoulder.
“That’s for Jason Todd,” Jax says. “Who you murdered.”
He doesn’t give the Joker time to speak again, raising the gun slightly before pulling the trigger.
Tim shudders as the Joker collapses, a neat round hole in the center of his forehead.
“And that’s for Tim,” Jax whispers. “Who you kidnapped and tortured.”
Some men deserve to die. Need to die.
This?
This is justice.
Jax exhales before setting the gun down.
Then he turns, and goes to his brothers.
(Art is by me.)