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Summary
It'd come to them in the mail, hand delivered to Wayne Manor's mailbox in a seemingly innocuous brown box with a postage stamp that didn't make any sense and a sticky note with a little smiley face on the front. They'd run it through all the machines in the cave before finally opening it up to find the pieces of Tim's cut up Red Robin suit alongside a Polaroid of Tim mask-less and a thumb drive with a single video on it.
Dick can still see the way Tim had listed on the rusty coroners table, skin bruised and lacerated in all the places his clothes didn't cover. He'd looked so small in all the leather straps. Like he was bird boned and too rough a touch would make him snap.
Worst of all, though, was the way something had squealed off camera seconds before Tim had erupted into the most gut wrenching screams Dick had ever heard. He's seen a lot of messed up stuff, things that continue to haunt his nightmares; none of it has made him as violently sick as he was that day in the cave, bent double and dry heaving into the dark as he listened to Tim and his daemon scream.
It was low to target someone's soul but that had never stopped the Joker.
Series
- Part 11 of DC works
- Part 6 of DickTimWeek