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“Master Bruce.”
Alfred voiced from across the room, where Bruce was wiping off some dust from his old Bike—Jason also stole some tires, he might need to get some new ones—
“Master Bruce!” He exclaimed a little louder than before, this time, catching Bruce’s attention.
“What?” There was a caustic tone to his voice, as if he already knew what the old butler was about to say. The noise of the fabric sliding on metal and trashy rock bands from the '90s really conveyed the exhausting mental state Bruce endured at that moment.
“I know right now there’s a lot of… fuzz in the streets, but you’ve got to rest, sir!” Bruce dismissed the suggestion, didn’t even say anything. “You haven’t gotten a nap in the past 30 hours; it can heavily affect your skill and overall mental health.”
“Sigh… Alfred,” Bruce placed the towel on the nearby table and paused the music before he looked right at the butler. “I can’t risk lives, not these days.” His monotone voice, laced with a gritty nature, captured the essence of what it meant to be trapped in this dark crusade. “I promise I’ll take a nap when I finish this,” he grabbed the screwdriver—“But that’s what you said two days ago!” Alfred took the screwdriver from his hands. “Don’t you understand?”
Bruce’s calm facade faded as soon as it came when he brushed his temple, “It’s about Joker.”
Alfred’s eyes widened. Joker’s back? How didn’t he know about this? He turned away from Bruce, reluctantly.
“The… The nap has to be 3 hours long, understood?”
Bruce scoffed, “Alright.”
And as soon as Alfred exited the room, Batman put on his cowl.
The sound of the kevlar flapped through the roofs, Gotham’s moist smell filled Batman’s lungs—it was fulfilling, in a manner of speaking.
“Oracle.” The city was loud today. “I’m here.” She responded immediately.
“I need the latest intel on Joker’s whereabouts. GCPD is stretched thin with the latest breakout. I might take the matter into my own hands.” He looked at the buildings in reconstruction work, which are pretty much engraved in Bruce’s soul at this point.
“Alright, let me trace the signal so I can hack into Gordon’s tracking device. It will not take much.” Batman nodded. “Also… I’m helping out Spoiler and Nightwing right now, so it could take a while.”
The sirens could be heard loudly in the comms line. “Take your time.”
“Thanks.” And as soon as the line turned off, feet stepped from behind.
He turned around—but not quick enough, because Red Hood landed a punch on him. Batman countered by swiping him off his feet and knocking him over before Jason kicked his jaw and lunged backwards.
“So, hah, Joker’s back?” He said, trying to hide his clear lack of breath and the sharp pain in his legs.
“I told you to stop listening in on my conversations.” The vigilante adjusted his cape and fixed his belt.
“I wasn’t spying, old man.” Jason replied, his tone defensive, “You landed in the building I was already in, not my fault that you don’t know how to be quiet.” He threw a piece of garbage from his pocket to the floor and stepped on it. “So, what is it?”
Batman sighed and ignored the question before turning around; his implacable indifference only worsened Jason’s mood.
“Oh my god, can you simply answer the fucking question I asked you?” He snapped, taking off his helmet, the older man glanced to the side—ashamed?—and muttered under his breath,
“No, he’s not.”
“So why the hell are you talking to Barbara about it?—Are you lying to my face?”
“No!” Batman snapped back. “Sigh, I’m going to his hideout. He escaped Arkham a few days ago, and we just discovered his location earlier today. Keep it quiet.”
Jason snarled, “Whatever, do what you want, keeping him alive is rotting our city, but sure, go see your disgusting clown lover.”
Bruce froze, then turned sharply, “Jason—”
“I don’t care, Bruce.” Jason stared long into the city lights. Gotham was chaotic in all parts of its beauty. “I stopped caring a long time ago.” Oh no. “But you—you seem not to give a goddamn fuck about what I think.”
Bruce’s gut twisted. Here we go, “Jason, what are you implying?”
“You know damn well what I’m implying.”
And before Bruce could say anything else, Jason was gone.
What did he mean by that? It didn’t make any sense. Jason looked constipated, all of these resentments and fights were taking a toll on Bruce’s personal life and family. Of course, sometimes he lets on more things that he would like to admit, but one thing for sure is that there’s no thing in this life Bruce cares more about than his loved ones, and even if seeing Jason like this has become the ordinary, it subconsciously hurts and hurts and hurts a little deeper every time that they meet.
“Wow, that was a bit intense, hah,” Nightwing commented, breaking Bruce’s train of thought.
“Nightwing?”
“Yeah, Oracle went to eat something, so Spoiler and I took the opportunity to chat for a few seconds—”
“Hi, Batman!” Spoiler abruptly interrupts Nightwing.
“Hello, Steph.” He said more quietly than usual, hearing all of them talk heals something in his heart that he didn’t even know was broken in the first place. Not that he could say it aloud anyways.
“Sorry that I took longer than expected.” Barbara’s calm voice hovered over the mic. ”It seems that you’re all talking already,”
“How long will Nightwing be staying in Gotham?” Bruce asked, while looking at the full moon that was already beginning to disappear behind the buildings.
“For approximately two days,” She replied.
“Also, Bruce…” Nightwing’s tone softened. “What Jason said, please don’t look into it too much. I know you sometimes take it a little too personally when he comes up with stuff like that, just let it be and don’t cloud your mind with sabotage.”
A frown faded away—when had it appeared?—as a familiar warmth filled his heart, unlike that particular cold night.
“...Thank you.”
“No problem, we’ve got your back, you’re as important as every member in our family.”
“Yeah!” Spoiler chimed in.
Bruce gave a chuckle while Barbara grabbed the mic again. “Really cute guys, but we still have to find Joker’s hideout, Batman, are you listening?”
“Of course.” His voice sounded tired this time; the lack of sleep was really catching up to him.
“Alright, I’ve sent you Joker’s coordinates with the live survey footage. Good luck.”
“Thank you, Barbara. See you all at the manor later.”
The comm disconnected once again.
Batman crouched at the top of the roof, 47th Street, close to Park Row. From that vantage point, he could easily see the window of the building that matched Joker’s coordinates, however, the clown couldn’t be seen.
“Do you see something?” Oracle asked.
“Not yet, I see a bedroom and someone is sleeping in it—but I highly doubt it’s the Joker.” He squinted his eyes.
“What color is their hair?”
“Hard to tell, the shadow’s too strong, I can't see colors properly.”
The person was skinny, bony, and probably pale. Short curly hair, and they were sleeping on their side. Graffiti painted on the floor with words like “Haha” or creepy smiley faces, accompanied by two hyenas sleeping as well, and—wait, were those Joker’s shoes?
“Oracle, I see Joker’s shoes. Maybe he’s the person we’re looking at right now.”
“Fine,” her voice softened, “...I have to get dinner with my dad, so I won’t be on the line. Good luck, Bruce.”
Batman nodded, and as soon as he closed his comms, he glided to the eerie balcony.
His obscure, tenebrous silhouette appeared in the crystal window, observing warily upon the room and emerging from the darkness. The cowl’s white lenses resolved the mystery: it was Batman. Not a terrifying spirit who threatened to enter and suck Joker’s soul whole.
Batman contemplated the decision whether to be noisy or not, and chose to be silent even though he knew Joker didn’t deserve to sleep peacefully at night—not after everything that maniac had done to him. To Gotham.
Joker was indeed on the 8th floor, so his balcony door hung open just a crack, enough for Batman to cautiously slide his fingers and open it completely without making any noise. He moved with precaution—the silence was so deep it seemed to breathe. His body remained aware that every noise could potentially lead to Joker's awakening.
Why was he on edge? His eyes kept darting between the clown’s gaze and body, as if he was expecting him to just—wake up and stop this.
Because it felt wrong.
Joker looked vulnerable like this, limbs sprawled out in the sheets, bland expression, almost peaceful. The sheer moonlight sparkled on Joker’s pale figure in a way he didn’t even know was possible—and since when did he start having curly hair? Batman always took for granted Joker's remarks about how he took hours getting ready before their encounters, not to mention that he constantly adjusted his hair. But he never thought that a natural Joker would look like… whatever this was.
Because a part of Bruce’s mind, raw, secluded, and definitely impossible to reach, didn’t want to accept that Joker looked absolutely breathtaking like this. He looked impossibly beautiful, as if he were a mystical creature that could only be seen at midnight, those kinds of spirits that live in your dreams—what the fuck? Yep, the lack of sleep is catching up to him. Nope, he did not just think that.
And the truth is, he was in fact falling asleep as we’re speaking. Not literally, of course, we wouldn’t want Batman falling over a sleeping Joker. But he was exhausted, and his sluggish mind worked really hard not to let his intrusive thoughts gain control. (A bit unreliable to label those thoughts as intrusive, but whatever makes you feel better, Bruce)
‘Focus at the task at hand’ Batman’s internal dialogue demanded, but whenever he laid his eyes on that damned clown his heart’s pace would inevitably pick up. Joker’s pyjama was just a loose tank top that dangerously showed his pale abdomen—oh my, are those bruises? The same bruises he planted on his body for years? It was getting too dangerous, Joker’s body was full of cuts, bruises, scars, and his… green pubic hair was peeking through his waistband. The man’s not even awake but his body was relentlessly mocking Batman, taunting him. Absolute evil. There were irregularities where it was most visible that the acid hit hardest, with disfigured skin pieces and awkward deformities—though they were very subtle and not easy to see at first.
He didn’t even want to begin with Joker’s expression, it was ‘ugly’ (in Batman’s manner of speaking), and even if the clown’s ugliness was inherent to his nature, it was certainly absent in his face. The man—if he ever deserved to be called that—was quite attractive to say the least, his sharp cheekbones, long eyelashes, porcelain-like skin, and perfect lips didn’t help much. Both mouth and eyes were closed, and he looked entranced into a deep sleep. Some hair pieces were covering his eyebrows, so Batman delicately set them aside, his touch lingering on the side of his face.
Oh, this is wrong. Awful.
Here he was, brushing his thumb along Joker’s cheek as he held his face. Looking at him, yearning, longing like a tide that always pulls towards the shore. He hated him, his heart only ached with repulsion and deep disgust. Jason, Barbara, dick… his family, what would they think of him?
What would they think if they saw how the distance between their faces gradually got smaller? He hated Joker. He hated him with all of his force, the mere think of him is enraging. The day he went to rescue Jason he just didn’t think of anything else but grabbing his neck and twisting it appart.
Hatred was a minuscule word compared to the enormous repulsion he felt towards that monster—deeply corroding the rivers of his heart, a poison that threatened to consume him whole and leave him still his loathing soul.
I hate this, I hate you, I hate seeing you like this. I hate everything about you.
The world started to fade away as it rewinded 10 years ago when Bruce couldn’t sleep wondering how would Joker’s lips taste like, would they be sour? Soft? Hard to the touch? Was it really that relevant for research?
Another wave of nausea hit his stomach, Barbara, Alfred, the unrepairable harm that monstrosity caused to them—to Gotham. Hundreds of lives: kids, animals, families, elderly... Everyone directly or indirectly had gotten any damage thanks to the thing he was holding in his hand right at that moment.
Would it really change if he kissed him?
‘What?’
Would it really change if Bruce eased the pain in his chest that has etched for decades?
‘no, Bruce, you’re not thinking this through, no.’
Batman’s hands shook as his consciousness latched on to the little sanity he had left. Was he really going to do this?
‘No, no, no, you will not.’
Did he actually go insane? Joker won?
‘Think about Alfred, Dick, Tim, Damian. Think about Barbara!—about Jason goddamit!’
They were so close now their noses were touching, and Batman could feel Joker’s breath fanning out in his face. His chest heavened, taking the biggest breaths he could so hopefully his mind would clear up. No one was forcing him to do this, but he wanted it. He wanted it so badly.
“Sigh… I can’t do this.”
He sighed in relief (defeat?) as his face gingerly parted from Joker’s. Batman obviously wasn’t gonna do this. Why did he get so close in the first place?—He needed to sleep. The fact that he was so damn sleep deprived that he almost kissed Joker was terrifying—
“Where do you think you’re going?”
And before Bruce could even react, Joker yanked him forward, and for the first time, their lips met in the warmest and magnificent kiss ever.