Here's the summary again for those of you on a mobile:
The Joker needs to get to Georgia, where Crane has fled to in the middle of their business arrangement, and Bruce Wayne appears to be the perfect candidate to get him there. Unfortunately.

So we're all on the same page here, we're starting out somewhere in New York and progressing down the east coast to Georgia, which is estimated to be about 16 1/2 hours, but with the Joker being himself and with other complications, it'll probably end up stretching out far past that :)

UPDATE 4/29/16: The world has Mireilles3 to thank for the extensive editing of this story! I probably wouldn't have done it if I didn't get the smack down from them.

Chapter 1
Kidnapping

Being the rich, protected socialite that he is, Bruce had never imagined himself in such a situation. Nothing bad would ever happen to Bruce Wayne the Idiot. The thought was once considered preposterous. Inane. However, the universe just loves to prove him wrong in every way that it can.

He stares down the five barrels aimed straight at his head. Each man is wearing a clown mask with its own unique expressions. They're standing in a sort of circle around him: one to the right, one to the left, two behind him to block his path, and the last two dead-set in front of him.

They're barking commands at him - stop standing and to get on your knees - easily ignored.

A window is shattered nearby and pots and pans clatter to the floor. Bruce makes a move towards the kitchen, but the sad-faced clown places a finger tight over the trigger. Bruce falls back to where he was with a tick in his jaw.

Another clown then enters from the kitchen, but this one's not wearing a mask. Rather, he has greasepaint smeared all over his face with red-covered scars that curl upward from the corners of his mouth.

There's silence.

Finally, he gestures for his men to back up. They comply, stepping backward all the way to the walls, but they still have their guns readily at their sides. Nobody speaks for a few seconds, the room filled with the sound of metal kitchenware still spinning on the floor. It comes to a stop.

Then the Joker gives Bruce a charming smile."Take a seat, let's chat," he offers with a hand, and Bruce has no choice but to do as he says.

The Joker sits at the same time Bruce does, all the way on the opposite end of the black leather couch. "Good, good." He nods. "Now I've got some bad news to break, rich boy," he says as he jabs a finger towards Bruce. Bruce's face remains passive even with the worst-case scenarios running through his head. The Joker tongues at his molars at the lack of a reaction. "Wanna guess what it is?"

"It's not too high on my priorities list."

The Joker pauses for a moment, then shifts so he's facing Bruce. He leans on his elbows with his hands splayed out in front of him to animate his point. "Look, me n' Dr. Jonathan Crane," he begins, sneering at the title, pausing to think. "Well, we made a deal a few months back... I won't go into specifics about what for."

He waits for Bruce's approval, and once when he gets a nod of acknowledgment, proceeds. "I had to pay him in advance for his services. He wouldn't budge on that; the guy doesn't 'do' persuasion.

"But here's the catch – Jonathan skipped town two months ago. He's all the way in Georgia. I had no clue until today." He leans against the arm rest. Bruce does something with his face to make it known that he's criticizing his observational skills, but the Joker ignores it. "... And that's where you come in." One of the masked men nudges his gun into Bruce's shoulder, prodding him up off the couch. "You see, I need money to get there, and you got a lot of the stuff. Make sense?"

Now the guns are pushing him out of the room, one trained on the back of his head with a rope being tied taught around his wrists.

With the mention of Jonathan Crane, Bruce has become infinitely more interested in following along with this little scheme. The Batman had been on Crane's tracks months ago investigating his position at Arkham, after rumors started cropping up underground about some 'experiments' he was performing. Then he disappeared one day and nobody's seen or heard from him since.

Batman had other villains to worry about after Crane left; Crane had ensured it by letting a handful of Arkham patients escape to cover his tracks.

This could prove to be useful.

"And where does Bruce Wayne keep his money? Under the mattress? In uh, safe locked up in your bedroom? Oh, or - maybe some of that trust fund money is being kept with a private bank under your own enterprise."

"Oh, you've done your research on me," Bruce says as if the Joker has genuinely piqued his interest.

"E-v-errrybody's a fan. You can hand over your wallet now."

Bruce denies him, the expression on his face firm and calm above all else. "I'm not helping with this. I don't help criminals like you."

The Joker is a few yards ahead of them, but he stops in his tracks with a half-hearted chuckle. He pulls out a knife and spins it around, stopping only to inspect the edge of the blade as he approaches Bruce. "If you wanna talk criminals, why don'tcha take a look at Wayne Enterprises. It looks all shiny, and clean and noble from the outside, but on the inside..." He bites his tongue. "It's corrupted. With all the branches you've got under you, it's not possible to monitor all of them, it's not.

And with some of the deals you strike up? I could smell it a mile away, and the smell of rotten businessmen in your - uh, closet? Isn't pleasant." They are staring at each other with a nasty sort of intensity, neither willing to break their stare. "Which answers my question of: Why would you want to help Gotham's Finest Criminal?" He seizes Bruce by his sleeve, eyebrows raised challengingly. Bruce tries getting his hands out of the rope with no luck, nails digging into palms.

Bruce makes his distaste clear when the blade is settled under his chin. "Wayne Enterprises works to make Gotham a better place, that's more than I can say about you. And if you run off to Georgia with me, it will be made known, and people will recognize both of us. You have a better chance of making it there without me, and without a bank trail following you all way there."

"Ohhh, there's no fun in that."

Some men can't be bought, bullied, or reasoned with, and the Joker definitely could not be reasoned with. There wasn't a method to his madness, from what he could see. Bruce sighs in defeat, though he's pretending. He could stand the trip to get a location on Crane; he'd just have to find a way to report back to Alfred so the media isn't alerted of his kidnapping.

"How much do you need?" The Joker loosens his hold. The knife suddenly seems less threatening, as if he forgot it was there.

"Uh." He scrunches up an eye in thought. "About two thousand," he drawls out the number.

"My wallet is in my left pocket." At that the Joker's eyes lighten up. He releases his hold on Bruce's arm and shifts hands with the knife. He reaches down into Bruce's pocket, digging and searching, until his hand comes across the leather wallet.

He grabs it between two fingers and flicks it up in front of Bruce's face, who remains indifferent.

"We're gonna have to withdraw it," the Joker mumbles under his breath. "I don't know much about the palisades, so, you have to show me to the nearest ATM," he says as he leads Bruce out the front door, henchmen following suit with their guns trained on Bruce.

He's being pushed over to the right side of the building where two cars are parked in the driveway. One is a dirty white van, and the other is a gray sports-car.

Bruce gives the clown a skeptical eye. "I didn't know tinted windows became legal."

"They didn't."

He's led over to the small gray car, with a weapon still being held up to the back of his head.

He's shoved into the passenger seat and before he knows it, more rope is pulled around his body. They're securing him to the seat, he realizes, as if his hands being tied behind his back wasn't enough. The rope is tied around his torso about three times, five for his legs, and on top of it all, he's buckled into the seat belt, too.

The door is slammed shut.

The Joker's muffled orders could still be heard as he tells his henchmen to leave. While his men pile into their white van, the Joker puts himself in the driver's seat with another slam of the door.

He doesn't bother to buckle up or to even look at Bruce tied to his passenger seat. He starts up the car, and as he pulls out, begins to swerve, nearly missing the white statues on his way out. Bruce sighs with annoyance; he's in for one hell of a ride.