Two years after the fact huh? I wanted this to be an actual full length story not just a one shot and then I abandoned it. I still want to take a crack at this paring. So I'm fixing the first chapter. I'm going to make an attempt at actually making this go somewhere. It's not going to be a lot of changes to the first chapter but you know I'm cleaning up the writing as I see fit. I mean two years includes two years of growing as a writer right? So hold on to your butts. For the record I'm going to try to keep things in character but this will be my take on their relationship and my style of writing horror so you know it's a fanfic…
BATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATS
The mutilated man stared hard at his reflection. He accidentally caught it gleaming out of the corner of his eye.
He turned the cleaver which served as his weapon slightly sideways in his grip. No matter what angle his reflection took the image remained the same.
The gruesome face which greeted him was a nightmare manifested into the waking world.
Altogether the picture formed a kaleidoscope of colors- red, green, white, gray, yellow and brown; a brilliant accumulation of violence.
The red came from his exposed muscles. The other mixture of colors belonged to his rotting skin, although these days his flesh appeared more yellow and brown in tone than anything else.
The putrid skin belonged to a walking almost corpse. He tore his own face off some time ago. It felt necessary for the mutilated man.
He started to remember things. A different life began to flash behind his coronaries. At first the images only appeared in his dreams.
As time went on they started to haunt him in his waking hours. He didn't like the memories. The remembrances hurt and frightened him.
They were cohesion in the middle of his finely crafted senselessness. The mutilated man thought he held a better grip on his emotions.
He'd been wrong about them after all. Those feelings needed to be destroyed. He came to the conclusion he needed to start over.
So with deadly resolve he took a piece of jagged glass and cut his own face off. He went through a rebirth once before.
Now by his own hand he resurrected again. Every twisted cut severed his ties with those vile emotions. He no longer had the visions. He no longer felt any physical pain, he transcended.
He became the true monster he was always meant to be. Yet despite this new level of awareness he somehow ended up reuniting with his lost face.
He surmised it had a lot to do with his vanity. After all, he just wasn't himself without a smile. He took back the remnants of his face the police kept on ice for him.
After reuniting with his famous grin it got a lot harder to keep the loose facade.
His rotting skin forced him to smear it across raw facial muscles. He held it in place with some crude staples, wire and a leather strap bound around the back of his head.
His face became nothing more than a grotesque mask, a horrific impersonation of glorious days past.
At the end of the day it still brought him some happiness. He embraced his new mien. He intended to wear the mask until it completely disintegrated.
He'd figure out what to do for a face when the time came after. The mutilated man ripped his bizarre green eyes away from his weapon.
He ran a ghostly hand through his green hair. A family sat at a kitchen table before him. It had a mommy, a daddy and a quiet infant.
The couple seated mere feet away were not restrained in their chairs.
Neither moved and if he didn't observe the shallow movements of their chests they might have passed as mannequins on display.
The little baby boy rested on the table. The mutilated man spread him on top of a large white platter cut into portions.
He severed the tiny baby's head as well as his arms and legs. The mutilated man carved the boy's torso in half to display his tiny organs.
Blood spackled the kitchen in many places. The infant's corpse rested in a soppy pool of his coagulating fluids. The blood also stained the table underneath the platter.
The mutilated man's extremities didn't work like they used to. The platter was heavy. His arms quivered the entire time he moved it to the table which caused it to spill.
He left behind a trail that led to the table from the countertop where he carved the infant. The child's juices still oozed down sides of the cabinetry.
It was thick arterial blood, quite a rich burgundy color. The couple seated at the table continued to sit motionless. They both stared at nothing in particular.
They didn't budge as the mutilated man removed pieces of the dead child off the platter. There were plates before them.
The mutilated man placed a leg on daddy's plate while mommy received an arm. He grabbed a pitcher full of orange juice off the table next. He carefully poured them each a drink.
His wired grin never faltered as he set the pitcher down and seated himself into an empty chair between the couple.
He leaned back in his seat. "Eat up, breakfast is the most important meal of the day you know. You should have some. I slaved away all morning to make it for you."
The mutilated man's words didn't sound right as he spoke them. He no longer had any lips so his words were a garbled mix of lisps and over-pronunciations.
Mommy finally moved. She turned her head towards the mutilated man with tears in her eyes.
What a lovely woman with her bright blue peepers and curly blonde hair. The modest nightgown she wore couldn't hide the blossoming figure underneath.
She sat partially on the fabric so it pulled tight against her curves. Her body didn't hold much interest to mutilated man. He didn't come here to gain any sexual empowerment.
He never killed for something as trivial as that. Mommy's tears were silent ones. She was too shocked, to horrified, to over worked to scream.
Her brain shut down to protect itself against growing madness but the mutilated man embodied psychosis. Madness became one of the only consistent things in his entire life.
He delighted in sharing his insanity with anyone. He tried to give his gift many instances over the years to different folks. A particular favorite once involved an obnoxious police officer.
He shot the man's daughter (later on learning he paralyzed her much to his delight) then took photos of her shamed body.
Oh how wonderful it felt to watch the officer's mind unravel as the mutilated man forced him to look at those pictures!
He pushed the bewildered father to his absolute limits. It almost worked too then he showed up. He ironically became the reason for this new tryst now.
Part of this morbid breakfast came out of his need to have a few chuckles because, well, it's how the mutilated man went about things.
He actually intended this to be a method of punishment to him. The time with the cop he intended to make a point. He wanted to prove he could break a secure man in one day.
Right now he craved to destroy a family as reprimand for his absence. He only wanted one message to get across through this act. He'd no longer endure his fury being ignored.
Mommy's lips moved. The mutilated man engrossed himself with his thoughts to the point he didn't hear her speak at first. He pulled out of his musings to listen to her.
"Why?" she asked. "Why did you do this to us? What did we do to you?"
The mutilated man grabbed his chair then scooted it closer so he sat right next to mommy. With his free hand he grabbed hers folded in her lap.
"Well it's a long and funny story..." He began.
Mommy crinkled her nose. He had a distinct odor surrounding him. Her nostrils flared at the vile stench invading her at his closeness.
He smelled like the time her husband threw away some chicken parts. The meat soured in her garbage. It took days to get the smell out of her kitchen.
His hot breath certainly didn't help either. The exposed teeth in his sick head were a dingy yellow. His molars were actually closer to black in color.
She bet he never bothered to clean them. His rank breath smelled like bile. It blended with the sour stench of his body and dirty clothes. She fought an urge to throw up.
"Yeah it' really funny actually get this. I didn't pick you out in particular. I wanted to kill a family. I happened to see you two taking a walk with junior in the park yesterday. I thought about how lovely you both looked as a couple. You're both so young, so full of life, so radiant I could see you had a bright future. I might have been even a little jealous. Anyway, I randomly picked you. You were in the wrong place at the wrong moment nothing more or less."
He released her hands and stood up toppling his chair in the process. It made mommy flinch. His new target didn't stand a chance. The mutilated man outstretched his cleaver.
He ran over to daddy. The man barely had enough time to raise his arms to try to defend himself. The cleaver came down at his head.
In a measure of uncountable beats daddy's face disappeared right before the mutilated man's eyes. With each swipe he destroyed a little more of his face.
Soon enough Daddy no longer carried any distinct recognizable features. Most of his head caved in from the assault. It left only a large hole with part of a tongue sticking out.
Daddy's corpse slid down the chair. The mutilated man left his weapon lodged into the remnants of his face. The mutilated man reached into his jacket. He produced a pistol.
He turned back to mommy; a true picture of gore now. Daddy's blood covered most of his upper body. It soaked into his skin and dingy plum colored wife beater.
Mommy found her voice she started screaming. Her husband's killer let the noise wash over him. He had no eyelids so he no longer had the choice to close his eyes.
It prevented him from basking in the glorious noise properly. He came as close as possible. He learned to shut his mind off on command long ago.
He partially indulged now. He wanted to savor the aftermath of a satisfying kill. He needed this more than he realized.
Wild thoughts crept up on him again recently. These imaginings were not the same ones prompting him before.
He assured himself he erased his humanity and still this terrible thing stayed inside him. He savored the spilt blood a couple solid minutes before he came back to reality.
He placed the gun on the table. He yelled over mommy to get her attention. Mommy had slumped over the table bawling.
The mutilated man only saw the back of her head moving to and fro across the tabletop. Her hands were entangled in her hair. She pulled sizable chunks of it out.
The missing hairs were coiled around her fingers as she continued to wail. She finally succumbed to her madness. For a brief moment the mutilated man knew he wasn't alone.
It felt good, after all his current affliction with loneliness brought him here. It drove him to this point.
"Listen to me!" he barked.
Mommy's wailing grew softer. She still carried on with her breakdown. She lowered her voice enough so she could hear him.
"There's a gun on the table with a single bullet. It's up to you what you do with that bullet. You can kill yourself or not it's your choice. Whatever you do I suggest you do it quickly."
He made his way over to the kitchen phone hanging on the wall by the doorway.
"I'm calling the police. They're going to be here soon. Now I've given you a choice. What you decide to do you have to wait until after you relay my message. If you don't tell the cops what I say I will kill the rest of your family understand? I will make it my life's goal to hunt down your parents, siblings, nieces, nephews, cousins, uncles, aunts-hell I'll take close friends and family pets. I will destroy them all. You know my word is good as crazy as it is."
Mommy raised her head. She didn't lift her body up so she observed him around a funny angle. Her eyes carried a haunted look.
She barely heard what he said through the haze in her gray matter. He only needed to see a little coherency in her eyes.
He observed the faint glimmer of understanding buried inside her. He knew she'd obey.
"When the cops come I want you to tell them this. Tell them he better show up next time or I'm going to have to get serious. If he thought the lovely children of Gotham weren't safe now he is sadly mistaken. I can become the boogeyman. It's not a hard thing to do I'm halfway there already."
The mutilated man waved his hands around while he spoke. He grew angrier while he voiced his frustration.
"You're talking about Batman." Mommy interrupted his speech.
The mutilated man gasped. "How astute, I'd give you a prize if I had one. He's the real punch line to this sick joke you know. If my sweet little flying rodent would finish what he started then people wouldn't have to die. Your family might be all snuggled in cozy and safe right now."
The mutilated man lifted the phone receiver. He paused again before he dialed.
"I have every right you know. How would you feel if the one you loved stopped coming to your calls? What if they abandoned you and left you with only yourself as company? You'd get angry too right?"
Where were these words coming from? He didn't need to justify his reasons. Why did he feel guilty? Why did he care? He started laughing then.
It bubbled up out of somewhere deep in his guts. His merriment started out small then grew in passion. It echoed around the kitchen. It carried through his phone call to the police.
The operator who took the call listened to the laughter. He heard it several times before so he abandoned any questions he planned on asking.
He sent officers to the residence after the laughing man on the other end stopped long enough to tell him where they needed to go.
He kept laughing while the mutilated man dipped his fingers in the blood that surrounded him. He drew crude outlines of bats with his nasty self-made finger paint.
Mommy still heard his laughter ringing in her head long after he left. The police barreled through her front door. She moved before they entered her kitchen. She placed the platter in her lap.
She pressed the gun against her temple. She told them what happened. She also made sure to relay her attacker's message. The officers tried to coax her to put the gun down.
She ignored what they asked. This was her choice. The mutilated man gave her mercy by letting her have one. She knew what she had to do to ease her pain.
Her life lost its meaning anyway. The two reasons for her to get out of bed were gone. She wanted to go with them.
She couldn't bear this separation. She pulled the trigger. Mommy's brains and skull matter exploded through the fresh hole as the bullet exited her head.
Her body fell sideways. The platter went along with her. It shattered on the floor. The baby's head rolled across the tile towards an officer's foot.
The officer was new at his job. He excused himself from the kitchen. He didn't make it outside. He threw up his breakfast on the living room floor.
The other more seasoned force members didn't get sick but even the toughest officers required a break from the crime scene on this day.
BATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATS
Dick watched the news unfold on Bruce's television. He was the one who originally informed the older man of what happened.
He primarily filled in the gaps Bruce's absence created. His mentor no longer prowled the streets at night. Dick's assumed identity protected Gotham at the moment.
He called himself Nightwing. He used to be Bruce's sidekick back in the day. They used to call him Robin. Those days were over.
He grew up and had many chances to stop being a 'hero'. He found it impossible to put Nightwing away. Bruce planted something powerful in him.
His sense of obligation far succeeded his own needs. He was willing to fight and die for countless people he'd never meet.
Somebody had to protect those who couldn't defend themselves. Dick understood Bruce's limitations a long while before his current situation.
Bruce's days as Batman were finite. Even Bruce with all of his money and intelligence aged. Someday he'd succumb and die.
He needed someone to carry out his rather impressive legacy. Bruce mentored more than just Dick. There were plenty of others. Somehow over the years they bonded with one another.
Many people called them a family. Dick agreed with those people. He had quite the strange family. They kept Bruce's vision alive.
On his end it hit Dick on a personal level more than merely continuing one man's sense of justice. He had his own merit to prove to the world.
He wanted to elevate Bruce's ideas and solidify his own identity as someone who made a difference; a tall order to fill. He stole a quick glance over to Bruce.
The man sat on his couch with a grim look on his face. Dick only guessed what Bruce felt right now. At the current moment he sensed Bruce's anger.
The news they were watching made Dick feel sick to his stomach.
"The message was a threat by the Joker. If Batman doesn't make an appearance soon he claims he will be forced to get serious. He's going after all of Gotham's children."
The reporter grew quiet for a moment as she listened to something on her headset. Her trained indifference faltered.
She was a new girl who replaced the famous Vicky Vale. Vicky died several months ago in her sleep due to a brain aneurysm. It devastated the local news station.
She stayed their shining star through these years. The new girl whose name Dick couldn't remember to save his life still had a long way to go as far as controlling her emotions on camera went.
She'd learn quickly enough. Gotham had a valid reputation as a city of tragedy. Dick still called it home and loved it very much.
His fierce love still didn't change how terrible most of the inhabitants were. Gotham's notoriety spread across the world.
Dick tried and failed to understand what made this particular city so attractive to bad people. It produced some of the most vicious criminals who were feared among other murderers and the like.
The man responsible for this grim morning they nicknamed the Joker. He outshined as a monster crawling amongst smaller monsters.
He also happened to be Bruce's greatest foe and ultimate failure. Everyone in their family saw how Bruce lamented his decisions when it came to the psychopath.
He blamed himself to this day over his crimes. Dick didn't know how to feel about Joker. The man committed many atrocious acts.
Most people hoped that Batman Bruce's alter ego would finally snap and kill him ending his hold on their city.
Bruce entertained the idea numerous instances and somehow through the years he managed not to sully his hands with the man's blood. Bruce hated killing.
He outright refused it though most of the city's criminals deserved to be executed. Dick had a hard go sorting through his outlook. He clearly sympathized with both points of view.
He decided for him personally to let Bruce do what he wanted as the best course of action concerning Gotham's underbelly. Dick never killed anyone either.
He couldn't wrap his mind around taking another life with his own hands. It wasn't fair to hope Bruce followed through with what he found difficult to commit to as well.
"I'm getting word right now a child's body has just been…" The reporter covered her mouth a moment to hide her surprise. She snapped out of her shock seconds later. "A boy fell to his death downtown. There was a note left behind in the apartment complex where the boy lived. It had a joke scrawled inside."
She paused to listen to the voices in her ear some more. "Batman, what do you call a sad bird? It's a blue bird."
Bruce nearly leapt off of the couch. Dick rushed over to him after he saw his mentor rise.
"I have to go Dick. This has gone too far. I know he's killed children before, not like this though. It's never been this personal. We both know he directly threatened you with that joke."
Nightwing's suit Dick wore to hide his real identity had more blue in it than anything else. It also had a picture of a bird on his chest piece. Dick took the old Robin identity and altered it to fit his adult needs.
"I probably pissed him off all over again when I arrived at the crime scene this morning instead of you." Dick said.
Bruce reached for his cane he was forced to use most days. Dick touched Bruce's shoulder. Bruce smacked his hand away.
Dick reached out again. He gave an affirmative squeeze on the older man's shoulder this time. He didn't want to argue with his mentor. He'd do if Bruce forced him though.
Bruce was in no condition to fight. He was still recovering after a near fatal injury. His wounds were what prevented him going out. He fell victim to gunfire.
The bullet ricocheted off a wall and struck him close to the spine. It didn't kill him thankfully. The bullet remained in lodged in his body.
Any attempts to extricate it held potential to paralyze him or cause him to bleed out. The doctors made it clear he needed to take it easy.
He might accidentally cause the bullet to slip into his spinal column anyway. He also now had to endure a tremendous amount of pain probably for the rest of his life.
Dick knew Bruce would die in a matter of days if he went out as Batman now.
"Hold on Bruce you can't I'm sorry. Have you forgot about why you aren't out there right now? It's too dangerous he'll kill you."
Bruce slapped his hand away again. After this his back seized on him. He already started having a bad day with his pain levels.
The added stress along with the sudden movements agitated things worse. He inhaled sharply while the dull ache changed form.
It blossomed into an acute burning sensation that coursed down his entire back into both legs. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.
His breathing grew shallow. He knew he couldn't will the pain away. His years of rigorous training gave him plenty of ideas on how to simply ignore the agony.
The reporter's voice filled the silence between the two men.
"Is Batman dead? Did he leave? Why haven't we seen him in almost a year? There are countless rumors floating around but it seems nobody can come up with a clear answer. Commissioner Gordon claims he knows nothing despite his close affiliation with the vigilante. Nightwing seems to be filling in for the empty cowl the most. We've seen other members of the 'bat family' as they are so fondly called out hunting through the Gotham skyline. We've no luck in getting close enough to speak with any them. We can't get definitive answers. All I can say is this, if Batman is watching we hope he will come forward and end this senseless violence to our children."
Bruce managed to wrap his mind around his pain. He opened his ocean blue eyes. On his flat screen in high definition glory Joker smiled at him.
Joker looked right into Bruce's eyes through his television. Why did a mere picture make Bruce feel like the man might actually start looking into his mind?
Bruce swore the picture sprang to life. Joker jumped out of the television. He stood in the living room. He figured out Bruce's true identity and he had come for him.
His ugly smile grew wider. One of them certainly wouldn't walk away from this encounter.
Bruce shook his head. Joker sat behind his television screen where he belonged. In the photo Joker looked exactly the same as Bruce remembered him, almost.
He still had his ridiculous lime green hair, paper white skin and outstretched smile. The man in the picture endured a lot of depraved years. He had gotten old same as Bruce.
Long ago his face carried youth in the mix along with his insanity. Time caught them both. In the picture Joker's skin lost a good deal of its elasticity and had pocket marks.
There were large crow's feet in the corners of his eyes along with permanent wrinkles on his forehead and around the stretched grin.
Several lacerations trailed along his face in addition to his cheek scars. One in particular ran across his forehead to his upper lip.
The nasty eye wound came during an encounter with Bruce. They were struggling with a knife when it happened. Bruce bent the psychopath's hand back a little too far.
He accidentally caused the man to cut his own face. It never fazed Joker one bit. If anything it pleased the man to no end. He had no problems expressing how happy the scar made him.
There were several occasions where he praised Bruce for his handiwork. He tried to get Bruce to do it again. Bruce wondered what he looked like now.
He hadn't seen Joker in person close to two years. The man escaped out of Arkham Asylum almost immediately after they took the leering picture.
He disappeared almost an entire blissful year and a half. He emerged back on the scene around five months ago. Bruce backtracked a bit in his memories.
Joker cut his face off before he left the first year. When the man resurfaced he retrieved his face. He broke into the police department to steal it back.
Bruce couldn't believe it after he heard about the man cutting his own face off. Bruce observed the skin with his own eyes.
He remembered the dread he felt when he saw what Joker left behind. His enemy descended into a level of darkness not even his alter ego Batman wanted to chase after.
This marked the beginning of the end for them. Bruce also reminisced on the way the man started behaving before his terrible self-mutilation.
Joker's attacks grew increasingly violent those days. Some of his actions got sloppy. Joker had a disturbing level of precision with the destruction he caused. He never displayed carelessness before.
Something changed in him way before his disappearance. Bruce figured he contributed to this behavior. Joker started saying odd things. It threw him into a new whirlwind of bullshit.
He started talking about the old days more often. He told Bruce in detail his memories of their early encounters. He brought them up before.
His more recent go at those stories were more affectionate in tone during their retellings. He openly praised Batman. He took to calling him handsome as a sort of pet name.
The final crack in Bruce's carefully placed guard happened after he said he loved Batman. Bruce physically put distance between them upon hearing those words. Joker didn't love anybody.
He had no capability of such things. As cliché as it sounded if one looked in a dictionary for the word sociopath Joker's ugly face belonged next to the definition.
After he told Batman he loved him Joker started going out of his way to touch Bruce. He gave him little presents here and there.
Once he picked a handful of flowers and playfully bent on one knee to give them to Batman. Bruce struck the offering out of the man's hand. Joker hated his gifts being rejected.
The next encounter they fought after Joker offered him a real dead bat instead. He chose an animal well in an advanced state of decay to offer.
Bruce realized Joker might have managed to trick himself into believing his own illogical mindset. He seemed genuinely hurt after Batman's blatant dismissal.
The crueler he acted towards Joker concerning his presents the grosser his gifts became. He used it as some form of passive retaliation.
Bruce didn't think for a second the psychopath felt any true love for him. He believed Joker based his obsession with him by dipping into false idolism.
He made Joker after all. Bruce would die with this sorrow. He couldn't make it to stop his fall into a vat of chemicals.
Neither of them knew the man who died in the poisonous mixture. Joker always said Batman caused his rebirth. Bruce believed the twisted worship began at this point.
He committed some of his murders to honor Batman in an ironic way. Joker viewing him as a potential lover honestly didn't cross his mind.
After his opinion changed it terrified Bruce. He'd seem how Joker treated his lovers. He considered it fate worse than death.
Harley, the man's longstanding girlfriend or partner or toy proved it. He destroyed the poor woman inside and out. Bruce sighed, he had a dense heart.
He intermittently wanted to let his death come. He figure it'd be easier than continuing to shoulder the burdens he carried.
He thought many nights about how he wanted to reunite with his deceased parents and all the friends and lovers he lost during his days as Batman.
He couldn't give up though. As long as he drew breath he didn't have the option to quit. He'd never let Joker win. Nobody handled him like Bruce.
Bruce was the only one who got close to understanding him. He needed to stay in order to protect anyone unfortunate to cross paths with him.
"Bruce are you ok? You look pale." Dick rubbed the back of his neck.
Bruce almost never displayed weakness in front of people. This rare moment he dropped his immense wall. Dick saw pain skim across the man's face.
It made him uncomfortable. If he tried to console Bruce he would get chastised. If he remained quiet guilt threated to consume him. He worried for his mentor. He loved the man.
Joker got under Bruce's skin. Dick experienced firsthand the freak's obsession with Batman. As Years passed and he began to vigorously express it. Dick kept his darkest thoughts to himself.
He believed Bruce had secret pull to Joker's ministrations. He might have felt similar warped feelings. Dick still loved Bruce fully.
How could he not develop some sort of dependency on the other male? Joker had years to chip away at Bruce. He had a talent for manipulating people and he worshipped Bruce the most.
He knew what to say to get under Bruce's skin. How could his mentor not get his views twisted around with such a constant barrage of garbage getting thrown in his face?
Dick was thankful the man held on to his sensibilities. Bruce refused Joker's attempts to woo him to the other side. Bruce experienced plenty of real affection in his life to keep him grounded. He had true love with his family.
"Dick I have to go. He wants me. I've sat around doing nothing for almost an entire year. I've let you and the others handle things. You've done a wonderful job so far. This is different Dick. You know why. Joker is capable of anything. These new murders are my fault. I have to make it right. I have to stop this."
"I understand what you're feeling. I've watched you struggle with him for a long time. You'll never listen to me when I say this isn't your fault. Here's what I will say. Forget Batman for a second I'm talking to Bruce. I understand you wouldn't think twice about sacrificing yourself. You have to stop and consider this though. What would it achieve? If you died and he didn't would it make him stop?"
Bruce sighed. "I don't know but I have to try…something. These killings are only going to escalate until he gets his way. He left clues in previous cases and now he's making threats. He is at the limit of his patience."
Dick fought the urge to grab the man. He wanted to shake him. "You can't give in to him. You're stronger than he is. You've trained us well. We've fought him plenty to know what he's capable of. We can take care of this. Let me take care of this."
Dick patted himself on the chest to emphasize his words. "If we have to we'll enlist everyone to help. I'll reach to outsiders if I must. I'm sure Selina will pitch in for example. If I have to stretch it I'll call the Justice League. I'll bring Superman here."
Bruce pursed his lips. Dick saw the reaction and commented "Don't look at me like that. You two are close friends. You have spent plenty of your free time with him. Bruce please, give us a chance to prove to you we can do this. Besides what would Alfred say?"
Bruce almost backhanded the younger male in the face. He played this card when they disagreed on something now. He grew sick of his second father getting thrown in his face as ammunition.
If Alfred were still alive he'd tear himself apart between support and worry. He also do whatever in his power to protect Bruce.
He more than likely make an attempt to stop Bruce from throwing himself at Joker. It still didn't mean Dick had to use his name in fights to get the upper hand.
Bruce started to walk away from Dick. The burning in his spine coursed through his body.
"Where are you going?" Dick asked.
"I'm taking my medicine then I'm going to lay down. I'm not in the mood to argue. Go out there and look for him. Promise me you'll call me before you make a move. Dick I mean it, can you do that for me?"
Dick crossed his arms. He glared at the image on the television. They replaced Joker's face with footage of the downtown crime scene.
They were interviewing the nearly retired police commissioner. Gordon seemed disinterested as on his interview. He spoke in a monotone fashion. He said the same rehashed phrases to keep the general public calm.
"I'm glad you're finally listening to us Bruce. Thank you, it makes me feel better. I love you I don't care if you resent me for saying it. Sometimes I wish I said it more when I was younger."
Bruce motioned to the younger man to stop talking. "I'm glad one of us gets to feel better." He answered dryly.
BATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATSBATS