I don't own anything. And I hate this piece a lot. A LOT. well, just don't flame okay?

Fair.

That's what they all called it. Gotham celebrated that night, the entire town did.

It was justice. Karma. So horribly, horribly fair. After all, a criminal is a criminal, and a murdered took someone's life. A mass-murdered took a lot of people's lives. It is only fair to take his life in return. Sure. No one complained when the Joker was sentenced to death.

Society decided that if Batman wouldn't kill the Joker, they would.

And I didn't know -still don't know- whether I'd still have handed him over, caught him, if I'd known beforehand what they were planning to do. Batman should have.

But Bruce Wayne really didn't want to.

Of course, they didn't just murder him. The hypocrite people from Gotham were much too fair for that. They gave him a trial, sure they did. As if anyone in the courtroom still had any doubts about what the outcome would be. They all knew he was as guilty as could be, hell, he even confessed himself. Various times. Actually, it took them quite some effort to make him stop confessing, stop talking. They didn't manage to make him stop laughing.

I was there, in the courtroom. Not as Batman, but as Bruce. Bruce, the billionaire playboy. Bruce, whom would never miss such an important social event. Bruce, the guy who would never pay attention, and instead lie sleeping in his chair.

I wasn't able to pretend that I didn't care, I wasn't able to take my eyes off of what was happening. I wanted to stop them, stop it. I wanted to bribe the jury, bribe the judge, bribe anyone, just to make it stop. I wanted to kill everyone in the room, just to make it stop.

Most of all I wanted to run to him, and smack him in the face. Just to make him stop laughing.

Not that it would help, it'd probably amuse him even more.

It made me hate him more than ever, that moment. Hate how he seemingly didn't care about what happened to him. Hate how he was still laughing. Hate how he always escaped, but now, at the moment it mattered- the single moment it really mattered- he didn't.

The trial had quickly ended, and he was brought back to his cell. He was to be executed in three days. Three days. Plenty of time for someone like the Joker to escape. Perhaps that's what they thought as well. Maybe that's what they hoped for; that way they could soothe their coincidence by telling themselves they really had tried to get rid of him, without really getting rid of him. Everyone expected the Joker to escape, and the cycle to begin from point one again. But I knew.

I knew, because they expected him to escape. The Joker never does what people expect him to. Not once, had he done what would be normal.

Three days went by, filled with eerie silence. Everyone held their breath. Gotham was empty at night, none of the criminals coming out to play with a very frustrated Batman.

Three days went by, and the Joker didn't escape. He didn't even try to.

He didn't even ask for his phonecall.

The guards later on said he was behaving unusual. Quiet. Waiting. Can you picture that? The Joker being quiet? It makes me feel sick. In the newspapers, the loose-lipped officers said he had been chattier the first day he came in, giggling as usual, though more to himself, and got quieter as the days went by. As if he slowly faded.

I talked to one of them as Batman, afterwards. After everything. What he said shook me more than I like to admit. Joker behaved as if he was waiting for someone. According to the guard, he kept humming the same thing over and over. 'Come and get me, Batsy.'

Waiting. For 'Batsy' to come and get him. A chill ran down my spine. He had been waiting for me to save him…hadn't he? For me to prove that I did not find this fair, that this wasn't what I-what Batman wanted. That I thought of him as my other half just as much as he of me.

It was a test. A gamble. A game.

And I failed.

I can only begin to imagine- no I can't. I can't imagine cause I can't understand the Joker. Not fully. Not enough to put it in words. Besides, I don't want to. I don't want to imagine the impact it had on him. I don't want to picture how he slowly realized, lost hope.

I don't want to know if he felt abandoned.

I abandoned my other half. And what for? Why?

Because my sense of justice thought it fair.

I never went to the execution, cause even if Bruce Wayne was supposed to be there, I couldn't handle it. I knew I couldn't. I didn't want to see that. I never heard what happened during the execution. Never heard how he reacted. (he probably laughed- right? I hope he laughed.) And I don't want to either.

Once he was dead, I was forced to take on my responsibilities. The entire city was partying, and what would a party be without the (in)famous Wayne heir?

So here I am. Among partying, smiling idiots. Idiots. The idiots that somehow managed to kill him. And they keep saying it. They keep celebrating it. They keep telling me how fucking FAIR it is! How glad they are that now that irregularity is gone! One freak less!

And I know which one will be the next to go, now that there is only one left.

When he died, somehow I did as well. They don't need me now. So they'll get rid of me. Cause he was right. I am a freak, just like he was. And they'll cast me out. They'll hunt me down and they'll get rid of me.

And I won't resist either, now that he's gone. I let my last chance fade. Die.

He was right. He completes me. Well, he once did.

Batman did what's fair.

Even if I wanted anything but that.

Brucey has multiple personality disorder XD Lol, jk jk.