Title: Story Time
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.
Warnings: Nolanverse. Violence.
Written For: Sparringett
Prompt Used: "It's a funny world we life in. Speaking of which - do you know how I got these scars?"
The Joker stared out into the black, waiting for the inevitable flashes of orange and yellow and red that would light up the nighttime waters like fireworks. Batman grunted beneath him. Joker gripped his arms tightly, twisting them painfully as he watched. The dark hero stilled.
Seconds ticked by. The black remained calm. Joker felt his smile slowly disappear from his face.
Batman watched the Joker's face. "What were you trying to prove?" he grunted. "That deep down, everyone's as ugly as you?"
Joker twisted about to look at the clock behind him. A spark of anger flickered through him as he watched the bars slide past twelve and continue on. The second hand taunted him as it ticked a path from the three to the four.
Growling, Joker turned around and glared into the black that had remained just that. Batman shifted, face contorting in a mixture of pain and triumph. "You're alone," he managed.
Joker sighed and bowed his head. Defeat. Wait . . . defeat? No defeat. Eyes flicked to the small box resting on the Batman's shoulder. No defeat. It was merely time to begin plan B. Such was life that one had to expect a need for 'plan Bs'. As much as he couldn't trust the people to do the right thing, he couldn't exactly trust them to do the wrong thing either. People just weren't trustworthy anymore.
"You can't rely on anyone these days," the Joker mumbled, glaring out into the black. "Gotta do everything yourself." His hand closed around the small box that was more duct tape than anything else. "Don't we?" he asked the Batman with a forced smile.
Batman renewed his struggles as a box came into view. "It's a funny world we live in," the man above him muttered, his fingers fidgeting over the dials. Batman felt one of his arms slipping free. Slowly he began to twist it around, forcing his gauntlet to face up.
"Speaking of which," the Joker continued, "do you know how I got these scars?"
"No," Batman began. "But -" The Joker grabbed his loose arm and twisted it back. Pain lanced through Batman's shoulder as he felt something tear. He clamped his teeth shut as he cried out, muffling the sound behind his lips.
"When I was sixteen," Joker began, "I got sick. They didn't know what was wrong, so my parents took me to a hospital. A doctor was sent in to look at me."
The Joker shifted the box from one hand to the other. The now-empty hand dipped out of Batman's field of vision for a second before reappearing. Something sliver glinted near his temple. A cold metal was pressed to his cheek. The Joker leaned closer, eyes flickering between the man and the blade.
"Unfortunately, the doc had a few problems of his own," the Joker grinned. "He was an insomniac. When he didn't get enough sleep he saw . . . things." The hand holding the blade tensed against Batman's skin. "He took one look at me," the Joker continued, "and saw insects crawling under my skin. Bugs, roaches, centipedes, all wiggling and squirming in and out of my mouth and my eyes, slipping in under my fingernails and sliding out of my ears. So he grabbed a scalpel -"
The tip of the knife traced light patterns across Batman's skin. It pulled to a stop at the corner of his mouth. A gloved finger pressed at his lips, spreading them apart to allow the knife entrance. Batman pulled back, but a hand shot out and gripped his jaw. "Ah-ah," the Joker chided. Batman glared up at the madman.
"So he grabbed a scalpel," the Joker stated, "and told he was going to save me. He was my doctor, after all."
The Joker suddenly sat back, pulling the knife with him. "He started low," the Joker said, pressing the blade to Batman's abdomen. "Slashing here and there." The knife's edge rose and fell over the Kevlar plating, scoring marks across plastic and metal. Joker leaned forward, adding weight to the thrusts. "He grabbed me and held me down as he cut me open," Joker stated, his voice hushed. "He was trying to save me."
The blade snuck in between two plates, slicing into flesh and muscle. Batman flinched back and grunted in pain. Joker removed the blade and swiped his thumb and index finger over the blade. Leaning back down, he made himself comfortable on the dark figure's chest. Batman stiffened as the blade was again pressed to his lips.
"He saw them pouring out of my mouth," the Joker said, his expression suddenly serious. The knife slid softly against Batman's skin. "He decided to give them more room."
The blood-coated thumb pressed against the corner of Batman's mouth. Moving up, it traced a bloody line across the dark knight's face. Batman stiffened under the unwelcome touch.
Suddenly the Joker burst out laughing as he examined his handy work. "There was so much blood!" he said gleefully. "It was everywhere, coating everything. We were covered in it. And it was . . . " He paused, searching the sky for the appropriate word.
"It was beautiful," he remarked. "Pain and pleasure mixed so completely you couldn't begin to tell one from the other. They were the same." He leaned forward, tongue darting out to lick away the Batman's blood. "It was wonderfully horrid . . . amazingly grotesque. Maybe we should try it sometime."
"Try this." With one swift movement, Batman arched up his hips and kicked the Joker off his chest. Rolling to the side he placed another kick to the mad clown's abdomen and watched as he tumbled off the building. Laughter echoed up towards him as the man plummeted towards the ground.
Groaning, Batman pulled himself to his knees and reached for his grappler gun.
A/N2: Feedback appreciated. :)