Oculus | J. Todd ✔

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TW: This chapter includes mention of physical torture and violence. Read at your own discretion.

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The clamor in his head was drowned by the sickening clashes of the crowbar colliding hard upon his body, breaking the bones underneath his skin. He had squeezed his eyes shut, and his hands were clenched into fists held behind him though unable to break free due to the handcuffs. Blood trickled down his back that was reduced to nothing but a crumble of broken bones and joints.

And yet it was all his fault.

He should have listened to Batman, he should not have been that brash to go after the Joker himself and he should have known that even heroes have to draw the line somewhere and not every time the odds could be in his favor.

Jason Todd was left at the mercy of an insane psychopath who had crafted the identity of clowns into an utter menace and derived his pleasure from death and torture. He knew very well that there was no way he could make out alive.

But the survivor in him was pleading with him not to give up.

He had survived on the dreary streets of Gotham for days without a single morsel of food, he could not let himself die in an abandoned warehouse enveloped by the cold Bosnian winds.

The spine-chilling cackle echoed throughout the warehouse as the crowbar landed on his back once again. One sharp blow after another such that the blood pooling around him almost felt like water oozing away from him and gathered under the feet of his tormentor who merely splashed his boots through as if it was a puddle.

Worthless.

A puddle that would evaporate with the rise of the next morning's sun.

He had become unresponsive, the cries of pain drowned in his own throat as his body started to go numb. But still, the blows went on, and only when his eyes closed from exhaustion and his whole body went limp that the Joker stopped, throwing the crowbar aside.

The clash it made upon falling to the ground resonated in his head but he made no sign of acknowledging it as he lay lifeless on the bloodied floor.

Joker's hands wrenched at his hair pulling his head up as if to check whether he was alive or not but Jason did not move so he dropped him and kicked him to the side still receiving no response.

Assuming that he was either dead or unconscious, Joker finally stepped out of the warehouse, closing the door behind him with a loud bang. And it was then Jason's senses kicked in with full force.

His eyes fluttered open and he struggled to see through the heavy eyelids, one of which was badly bruised, and looked around to see that he was alone at last. Despite all the broken bones he rolled over managing to get his hands that were handcuffed at the back up front.

With tremendous effort he stood up, the survivor inside his heart urging him that he could still make it and even if he couldn't, he had to try at least. He was not going to give up without putting up a decent fight.

Because there was no one else to save him.

No one but his own self.

But the injuries were too much for him to handle as he collapsed face first on the ground once again but he had not given up yet. His eyes were fixed determinedly on the warehouse's exit and thus he dragged himself across mustering all his remaining strength to somehow reach the door.

A trail of blood followed him as he dragged his broken body towards the door, hands finally reaching out to grip the handle as he hauled himself up. But it was locked from the outside and even though he tugged hard at it, the door didn't budge.

He let go of the handle and made himself lean against the door for support, his back resting against the steel panel of the door but aching agonizingly due to all the harsh beating he had sustained. 

But then a ticking sound began to resonate in his head and his eyes darted round the empty warehouse, landing upon a bomb and a set of explosives in the corner.

00:08

His steel blue eyes dimmed as he took in his fate. He had done his best but he knew well that it was impossible to survive then. He could have made it through the beating but he could not make it through an explosion.

00:05

The faces he had seen throughout his life; loved, valued, and even those who he had hated all began to swim in front of his eyes. Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Barbara, and everyone else who he would never lay eyes on again.

00:03

Faces of people he had lost over the years or grown distant with fluttered in his memory as well. His parents, the children on the streets he used to play with and Evelyn, his friend who had lost a lot herself but still tried her best to give others a feeling of being complete.

00:02

Evelyn Nichols, the only person who had given him the will and motivation to survive even when life had been most difficult. And now that the flame of his life was going to be put out in merely a second, he could only imagine what it would be like if he had confessed before he had left.

00:01

"I'm sorry," he mumbled in a low resigned voice, "I fucked up."

00:00

And then the warehouse went up in flames, orange lighting up the otherwise white snowy terrain and the tumultuous echo of the blast could be heard for miles. And though the fire erupted intensely from the warehouse enveloping the surroundings, the faint flame of his life had been extinguished.

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