Author's Note: Welcome to my story "Darkness Cannot Drive." This baby has been a labor of love for some time now. The story is futuristic DCAU, naturally in the Batman Beyond universe... with a little comic canon throughout. The cartoon is my main source, but I've also been drawing on Batman Beyond: Unlimited and Red Hood and the Outlaws. Also, spoilers for Batman Beyond: Return of the Joker and Batman comics #640-650.
By the way, you don't need to have read the comics, but it would certainly help to know who the various members of the "Batman team" (especially the Robins) have been.
This story will eventually be in two arcs with an interlude chapter or two in the middle. I hope you enjoy this crazy project! ~ Tsuki
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I don't own any characters mentioned in this story. The rights belong to DC comics, Bob Kane, etc.
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DARKNESS CANNOT DRIVE – A Batman [Beyond] Story
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As one great Furnace flam'd, yet from those flames
No light, but rather darkness visible.
– John Milton, Paradise Lost
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Prologue
He has always felt most at home in the dark. Even before (such a long time, before...) before his association with capes and bats, he used to sit in his room, listening to the dark as if it had stories to tell him, the only light being the faint, orange tip of his cigarette.
It's the same even now, only he's stopped smoking and the wall projections casts a sickly green-blue glow far brighter than his cigarette ever was. But the feeling is the same— the openness, the waiting.
He knows he'll find a story tonight. The news feeds (all seventeen from the various surrounding areas) telling tales of murders, rapes, and gang violence. He doesn't know what he's looking for, but he knows something will speak to him. Something always does.
The feed in the upper left corner (Star City, satellite AT-52, one of the few not owned by the dissolving Queen Industries) reports on the ten dead bodies found in the warehouse, the one that was being used to cover up a small but notable snuff-pornography ring. The men were either shot point-blank or stabbed with an unidentified jagged weapon, the news avatar reports. The police are currently pursuing a lead involving a recent sighting of what witnesses describe as 'a hooded vigilante.'
He smiles. It took the police far longer to catch on than they would in most cities (still sooner than some, sooner than Gotham, he reminds himself).
He's moved on since then. Almost half of a week now, so he's not concerned. He clicks the AT feed off and replaces it with one from Metropolis. He won't go there— not now, not ever, not even with 500 tons of kryptonite— but he likes to keep watch. He switches off Jump City's feed, replaces it with a second feed from Bludhaven. He is only half watching the feed on the bottom of the screen, currently showing an attack on some banquet. Something about—
This was the scene just three hours ago as a man claiming to be the legendary Joker disrupted a ceremony at the newly opened Wayne Enterprises Building. Adding to the drama was the appearance of another Gotham icon, the Batman, who engaged his one-time foe in a stunning aerial battle.
"Stop!"
The feeds all pause, horror stilled in time. The darkness presses around him— he can't breathe. All he can do (God, all he can ever do) is stare at the crazed, yellow eyes projected on the wall. For awhile, he doesn't trust his voice. Then— ever so softly, as to make sure that he doesn't scream, doesn't alert the neighbors that something is wrong, that an unstable dead-man is living next-door— he whispers "Play."
'Hello, Gotham! Joker's back in town!' And then the laugh. Oh God, oh God, the laugh...
He turns off the news feeds and sits silently in the dark. Then he gets up slowly, walks to the fridge and gets a beer (one of the cheap ones— he won't taste it anyway). He realizes, vaguely, as if from a great distance, that his hands are shaking.
He won't go out tonight. Not on patrol, not for anything. He knows he'll end up killing someone (a lot of someones) if he does, and it may not even be someone who deserves it.
He finishes his beer and goes to bed early. Some strange, humorless part of his brain makes a joke about sleeping like the dead.
The next day, he goes to the grocery store. He buys some rice krispies and mac & cheese. Both are on sale. Later, he laser-sharpens his knives.
He stays in again that night, just in case. He watches an old horror movie. He considers calling Bruce— considers saying 'If you don't kill him, I'm going to fucking do it for you!'
But Bruce has enough ghosts in his head for now, and so he doesn't.
The next day he stops a guy ripping off a convenience store. He beats him far more viciously than he needs to, and it feels great.
The next day, a press conference is held in Gotham. The official position of Commissioner Gordon (Barbara, he smiles to himself) and the GCPD is this: the Joker is dead, destroyed in his own satellite-laser blast. The rest of the conference is devoted to the Mayor's plans for the reconstruction of the battle-damaged sections of the city.
The police offer no evidence of why they believe the Joker to be dead. But he watches Gordon's face and sees the subtle conviction there. She knows, and she knows because there are shadows who have told her so, told her things that she cannot repeat to the world through a microphone.
The Joker is dead. But he is not satisfied— not yet.
He calls out through his computer system (he has to unhook the ear-piece from his helmet; he uses it so infrequently), using his most friendly voice when he asks to speak to the Commissioner. She answers after only five minutes of leaving him on hold.
"What do you want?" Her voice is cold, the way he knew it would be. He left no friends in Gotham.
His own voice is uneven, cracked like a teenagers. "How did he die?"
The hesitation is brief. "The Joker was able to return using a bio-chip implanted in... in a host's brain stem. As far as we know, it's the only one. Batman destroyed the chip— over-loaded it with electricity. The host is fine, but the Joker is gone." Her voice softens a bit, and he vaguely remembers her as she was, as Batgirl. "It's okay now, Jay."
He snorts. He can't help himself— it's just so funny and so untrue. "Did he know what he was doing?"
"Who?"
"The kid. The new Batman."
"I believe so. Yes."
He nods, humming softly to himself. "I'll have to buy him a beer or something next time I'm in town."
He hears Barbara stiffen— like a livewire. "You're planning on coming back?"
"What's he like? The new kid?"
Barbara allows him to dodge the question, but it still hangs in the air, static. "He's good."
"But not great?"
She hesitates, possibly considering. "No. Not great."
He thought not. He has stopped paying attention to Justice League wannabees after he punched out the teeth of the last "new" Green Arrow—the one who started showing up after Arsenal (fucking Roy Harper, who he still missed like crazy sometimes) died and after the cute Speedy chick retired. None of these new vigilantes were good enough or fast enough. But some part of him held out hope for Batman— held out hope that Bruce had fucking learned.
"That's a pretty serious problem," he finally says.
"Yes. It is."
He makes a decision, his mind only half-thinking, his chest clenching. "I'm coming back."
"Bruce won't be..."
"Whatever. If he's sending out a half-assed Batman, it's his own fault. Besides, I have a responsibility— me more than anyone. You know that."
"I do," Barbara sighs. "Just try not to make my job any harder, okay? Nothing like the warehouse in Star City."
"Awe, you're following my work? I'm touched." And he is, after a fashion.
"I try and keep tabs on everyone who could still be..."
"...a problem?" he finishes for her.
"Yes."
"Well, at least you're honest." He grins into the phone, knowing he can't be seen, but that Barbara will know anyway. She was always good at that.
"What do you want me to tell Bruce?"
"Tell him whatever the hell you want. Or don't tell him anything. It's not like he'll be surprised anyway."
The commissioner laughs without humor. "No, I suppose he won't."
"See you around, Babs. Good luck keeping sickos like me locked away and all." He hangs up the phone, the grin staying on his face a few moments longer than he expected it to. He's going home. He's going to see the (new, old, whatever) Batman. And, ding-dong, the Joker is dead.
For the first time in years, perhaps in decades, Jason Todd is looking forward to something.
...
To be continued...