Disclaimer: Still not mine.

Warnings: This is a sequel to Like an Arm In A Car Door. It you didn't read that, you WILL be confused by this. If you skip the warnings, go right into the story, are confused at any point in time, and then bitch at me--you are a fucking moron. I will tell you off. Then I will block you.

Readers of LAAIACD, I hope that you enjoy this. If you find any errors or have any suggestions, thoughts, or comments feel free to let me know. I love feedback and I aim to please.

I don't really feel the need to put warnings in here. If you stuck with me through LAAIACD then you aren't shy, squeamish, prudish, green, or otherwise easily offended. All of the old warnings may possibly apply with the addition of gay sex (which will be so hot that you'll need brillow to scrub whatever your sitting on clean), pedophilia (which will be just as hot….if you are a complete fucking creeper), and SEVERE angst.

"Joker."

…

"Joker?"

…

…

The voice was not hers.

John

And yet she was all that he could see.

Bruce sighed as his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He had been so certain that the other man would wake. While logic told him that it would perhaps be better if he never opened his eyes, he could not help but hope. With the psychological and physical damage heaped upon the already raving maniac, catastrophe was guaranteed. Uncertainty was guaranteed. In the depths of night he had managed to convince himself that it would have been mercy to kill him. He had come close several times. He had come within inches of smothering, strangling, and injecting the unconscious criminal with poison. The hapless, helpless man lay in a foreign country, wading through turbulent dreams and awaiting untold misery, and entirely at his mercy.

Bruce stayed by his side night and day. He was flooded with hatred when the joker cackled, a harsh and maniacal sound he remembered all too well. The ghost of violence burned through the bat's veins. Vengeance was his. Gotham's vengeance was at hand.

But just as often and even sometimes in the midst of his harrowing chortles an even more terrifying thing would occur--he would cry.

Tears would roll down his face and his frail body would be wracked with spasms. He would cry out to imagined abusers for the torture to end. He would sing sad praises of his tormenter. The agonies he spoke of were numerous and often turned Bruce's stomach. A piece of him cried with his charge. A part of him died as any doubt he had that people were capable of such atrocities evaporated.

Bruce inwardly cursed as he realized that he was holding his phone in his hand and it had stopped ringing. As Alfred was the only one with this particular number, he knew that it would be only seconds before he called back. He grudgingly left the hospital room for a white hallway. It was empty and line with identical white doors. His phone began vibrating again and he abruptly pressed it to his ear.

"Hello."

"Master Wayne, will you please at least tell me where you have gone?"

Alfred had been harping at him ever since he had arrived to tell him where he had gone to and Bruce could not bring himself to tell him. Not only was he forbidden by the most powerful drug lord in Brazil to ever speak of his true location, but he had a sinking feeling that telling Alfred that he had murdered the Joker's mother, paid Amilcar Magalhães to spirit them away to his private Brazilian medical facility funded entirely with drug money, and was now singlehandedly caring for the joker as Magalhães' favored guest would have unfavorable consequences. In fact, he had never been so ashamed of himself in his entire life. He often contemplated how far he had fallen and how disappointed Alfred would be if he knew.

"Master Wayne!"

"Sorry Alfred, but I just need to be alone. I need to get away. There's no need to worry."

"You've been gone almost three weeks, sir. I don't know what's become of you or of the Joker and his foul bitch of a-"

"Please. Don't. It's all been taken care of-"

"I will not deny that I am simply dying to know, sir."

"Alfred. I just can't I'm-"

"Senhor! Senhor!" Bruce looked behind him to see a young Spanish nurse peering frantically out of the doorway. She cried frantically in Portuguese but Bruce could not understand.

"Is that Spanish I hear? Master Wayne! Bruce!"

Bruce disconnected and followed the young woman into the hospital room. His heart pounded as she gesticulated wildly at the sleeping joker. His grey skin glinted sickeningly in the afternoon light. His cheeks hollowed even further and his lips were pulled taut as he croaked pathetically. His matted hair had been shaved away, leaving a lightly furred head almost entirely bandaged. His skeletal hands twitched and Bruce nearly fainted as his dark eyes cracked open, one at a time.