This is one of those fanfictions that springs to your mind suddenly in the middle of a lull-period of work and will not let you get back to the work you are supposed to be doing until you've at least given it some attention. Since I haven't had a great deal of time on my hands for fic-writing lately, I've been trying to churn out little, short pieces every now and then, to keep the part of my brain that thrives on fanfiction and character conflict well fed. This is one of them. Reviews and concrit are appreciated. Standard disclaimers apply.

Burning Into the Knight.

The Joker's dead.

It's all over the newspapers. And the internet. And the high street. And the Justice League Headquarters. Hell, it's probably all over freakin' Oa by now.

Wally can't get over it, which is weird, because the Joker isn't even one of his Villains –his "Rogue's Gallery", as the papers like to call them. He isn't the kind of bad guy who wears Technicolor coats and tries to kick your ass with spinning tops or who'll play darts with you when he actually takes his meds. Well he, is (except for the playing darts and meds bit), but...

Not like that. The Joker is different. The Joker is the kind of villain that Batman tells Wally to stay away from in that tone of voice which he normally reserves for apocalypses and/or evil dictators, and Wally will listen to him, too. The Joker is brutal and cruel and twisted in the head. He messes people up so badly that they'll never go to the circus again and leaves rooms full of grinning corpses in his wake.

And he's dead.

Nobody in Gotham City could ever call this a bad thing. Wally isn't surprised by that. It's just the fact that one of Batman's craziest, wildest, most-difficult-to-keep-locked-up enemies of all time is dead that creeps him out.

The Joker is dead because somebody shot him. That simple. No big doomsday weapons, no struggles over a high chasm. It wasn't even the Batman who did it, not that it ever would have been, Wally reminds himself, it's just the fact that the Batman is the only person who you'd ever think could, and it wasn't him...

More disturbing still is the effect the whole thing is having on everybody else. Wally figures he knows as much about it as anyone else in the Big Seven, and the little bit more that he's gleaned from those long, disturbing conversations he had with the guy who spent a couple of nights on his couch last week. They all know that Batman didn't do it, of course, but the tabloids don't and they're having an absolute field day with it.

It's mostly because of what happened to Robin –Tim, Wally tells himself. That scared, white faced, pinched-cheeked, grinning little thing is named Tim. Or he was before the Joker got a hold of him, and now he doesn't know his name, his date of birth, his left foot from his right foot or which freakin' pocket has the exploding flower heads in it, and...

Damn.

Just a few years ago that could've been Dick. Just eight or so years, when the Batman was still this strange and distant figure from Wally's nightmares; when Kid Flash (who didn't have a degree in forensics) couldn't tell a kidnapper from a murderer and just filed everyone under the subheadings of "good guys", "bad guys" and "Jinx".

The Joker is dead. Robin killed him. The second Robin, not the first (he has to remind himself of that). Wally knows because Nightwing told him, though he wonders vaguely whether anyone else would believe him because everyone knows that the Batman and Joker have the kind of history which, in fiction, usually ends with one of them being dead and the other being carted away for a murder trial and a meeting with the nice men in white coats. One the greatest scourges of Gotham city will now never hurt another innocent person ever again, and –moral inclinations aside– that thought would've almost been comforting, except for the fact that his legacy still hangs around in that white skinned, bright eyed little boy's face and in the clench of Batman's jaw.

Batman's taking a leave of absence (Wally is surprised he didn't just go AWOL). He's not talking to anyone. Hell, it's not like the Batman was ever a font of conversation, but Wally had gotten used to the occasional grunt or gesture of acknowledgment whenever Batman was in the room. And now Batman is never in the room. The day after Batman signed off ("Permanently", John thinks; "until he's got his head together" Shayera thinks; "no idea in heck how long for" Superman thinks), none other than Diana Prince (alias Wonder Woman) is photographed by a tabloid snapper coming out of Wayne Manor with a face as close to crying as Wally had ever seen her and ever wants to see her. And now she's not talking to anybody either. Well, she is, but mostly just to yell at people. She's bringing up a lot of nightmares that Wally is sure are better off left buried –like Thanagar, and The Justice Lords and that Laser Beam Pointing Downwards and whatever else she can think of which throws their credibility and ability to stay sane up towards the light.

Wally doesn't like it. He understands why she's doing it. Why she wants them all to remember this -especially the newcomers; to understand what happens when they don't think hard enough about their own powers and privileges. But he still doesn't like it.

What happened after the incident at Wayne Manor is a long story, but let's just say that there were no working cameras left in Gotham by the time Wally had finished taking them apart. He doesn't even joke about it afterwards, and it's not until John mentions while they're on monitor duty together how quiet Wally's been lately that Wally realised that he hasn't cracked a single joke in over a fortnight. That's how long it's been since Robin killed the Joker. That's how long it's been since everything changed.

For a speedster, saying "two weeks" is no different from saying "forever".

The entire League knows all about the scary details by the end of the month, and most of them are just as pleased that the Joker is off the streets as Wally is, but still, every time he talks to Dick or catches a glimpse of Diana in his sideward vision he remembers what that little victory has cost them. All of a sudden the reason why Batman never crossed the line –why none of them ever have before– is becoming that little bit clearer to everyone who has ever questioned it.

It's never going to be the same again.

And that's the part which bother's Wally West most of all.

"Now, did you read the news today?
They say the danger has gone away
But I can see the fire's still alight
They're burning into the night

There's too many men, too many people
Making too many problems
And there's not much love to go around
Can't you see this is the land of confusion?"

-Phil Collins.