Chapter Text
“It’s time you chose, Bruce! It’s either him or me; your false sense of morality or your son!”
It’s all I can do to keep myself from snapping this psycho along with the chair, but I manage, breaking the bastard out of the rotting oak chair and holding the cold steel of my gun against his temple, growling out at Bruce,
“There’s no backing out now! Either you can kill me, or I’ll kill this psychotic piece of garbage! There’s only one bullet in that damn chamber, so make your decision!”
“You don’t have to do--“ I can see the pain on his face, the regret, and it pisses me off. If he felt so much fucking pain about this, why didn’t he avenge me? Did I not matter to him? Fuck this, he needs to make his decision now or-
“I'll blow his fucking deranged brains out! I told you, either you shoot me in my face or I pull the damn trigger!”
“This is turning out so much better than I could’ve imagined, a perfect little family reunion!“ The clown’s face quickly twisted into an unnatural grin, moving further and further up his face, bending the wrinkles around his eyes and nearly touching the barrel of my gun.
Ignoring the bastard, I stare straight at Bruce, trying to read his next move, and for a second, his face is almost as twisted as the clown’s, looking me straight in the eye with I a fury I’d seen many times before, then suddenly dropping it and staring down at the gun I’d given him. He lets the gun slide out of his hands and hit the ground with a loud, metallic, and almost painful thud, turning away from me. I can feel my throat slowly constrict with the feelings of betrayal, anger, and god knows what other emotions. It’s so hard to breath, and I can feel my voice falter when I call after him, full of emotion and some kind of pain-
“Don’t you dare turn away from me! You did that once, Bruce, and look at what path that lead me-us, down, you bitch! Make your goddamn choice and quit trying to run!”
He keeps walking, not even flinching at my words, saying nothing, just letting his feet slowly and continuously drum on the broken tiles, giving up on me- again. I can feel the burning heat of anger slowly rise to my face, and I feel the strong urge to aim the gun at him, make him- No, force him to acknowledge me. If it’s the last fucking thing I do, even if I have to go back to that hell for him to notice- Wait. He’s shaking. It’s not nearly enough for the clown to notice, but I can see it clear as day. What the fuck? Why on god’s green fucking earth- why? The moment I notice, I can feel my anger towards him melt away a little. Maybe he’s just trying to convince me that it doesn’t matter. Maybe he does care, even just a bit. Maybe that’s enough for- No. No, it’s not. I’m still unavenged, still a ghost who hasn’t had his justice. I need to get that back. It’s the reason I came back, after all. Maybe this is my chance to take that for myself, if Bruce won’t. The bomb will still kill me anyway. I never planned on surviving this, after all. But why is Bruce’s shaking is comforting in any way? Probably because it means that my point came across. He feels something. It’s enough from him, maybe. After all, I can take justice for myself now. I literally hold that choice, that ability to attain vengeance, in my hands.
I pull the trigger, feeling the heat of the bullet slightly burn at my face, and the cold metal recoiling against my hand.
It’s in that same moment, when I feel his warm blood splattering on my face and my neck, when I feel the body I was holding in my arms go limp, that I see Bruce turn and throw something at me. A single. Fucking. Batterang. I can see it flying, his face filling with panic and terror, the world moving in slow motion, while I’m not able to react correctly. I can’t move fast enough to dodge his attack, and I can feel the cold metal swim through my jugular, cutting the vein and leaving me reeling in pain, panic, and confusion. I drop the bastard in my arms and let out a loud grunt, feeling my full weight drop heavily in my boots as I reel backwards, into a brick wall where I let myself fall, grasping at my neck, trying to stop or even just slow the bleeding, while Bruce looks at me with some kind of pity, or disgust, probably thinking about how pathetic I look, desperately hoping and struggling for life. Making my decision and feeling hatred in every part of myself, I remember the bomb, pull out the trigger, quit grasping at my neck, and give him a small smile, knowing just how soon he’ll realize it’s there after I activate the charges.
5
His eyes open wide in surprise as he notices it underneath the tarp in the room’s right corner.
4
He looks at the corpse for a second, his jaw tensing.
3
He starts running at me, trying to close the gap in time.
2
15 feet away.
1
6 feet away.
It’s too late now.
It’s over.
I’m going to die again.
Huh.
…
Why don’t I care?
I wish someone else did.
0
I feel myself slip under as the heat and light engulf me again, bringing me back to hell.
It’s almost beautiful.