Where He Speaketh, There Be Death

Title: Corrupted Love

Rating: "M" currently for violence. May also later include sexual content unsuitable for those of younger ages (I usually go really light on sexual stuff, so we'll see).

Pairing: Batman/Joker. Guy on guy pairing (slash), so go away if ye' no likey! Lol.

Ch. Summary: A smile to remember you with. The Joker and his uncle.

Disclaimer: The Batman series/franchise is not mine. –whimper- The characters' opinions/lifestyles/beliefs rarely match my own. :0 Thanks!

Suggested Listening: "The Bird and the Worm" by The Used

Notes: GREAT JOKER SONG by they way. Especially with the version with the creepy laugh at the end, haha. :) Chapter four is usually my breaking point with most stories, so please keep reviewing! Thanks so much to those that already have. You've been a huge help to me with both your criticism and praise. I love this story, and so far, my passion hasn't died out, so I have hope! :) I understand that the spacing has been kind of funny with my stories, but, no matter what I do, my computer is just kind of jacked up, haha. Let me know if the spacing issue throws you off, and I'll work hard to fix it. :) Also, thanks for all of the song ideas! I'm totally going to be using them in future chapters –And so, we enter the story of how he got his second scar, and the pursuit continues. What, exactly, is the Joker planning? Wait and see.

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It was an empty Gotham that night. Where was the noise? Where were the people? Well, well, well, now. If the people would not take it upon themselves to shred the dark to pieces, he would happily gobble up the responsibility. Who is this he you ask? He, mind you, is the one currently fleeing from an overgrown Bat.

He was the new icon for what most would refer to as "evil." This evil was now the poster child for what younglings now considered to be creeping and crawling beneath their beds at night. 

Unfortunately for them, this monster was real, and it had jaws to bite (good, strong jaws, thank you).

This Bat was now gallanting off of rooftops, the fear he struck upon most only striking joy in the heart of The Clown Prince. He loved the repugnant. He embraced the vile. It was his nature. Growing up as a scarred child (literally) immediately stuck him as detestable in the public's eye. The Joker was unwanted. Batman also felt the repulse of the people. Heroes always fell sooner or later. Whether it be by an untimely death or by a sudden loss of moral value, they would drop like flies. He was here to speed up that process.

There was nothing wrong with the two of them in the clown's eyes. It was the "normal" people whom had conformed to society that were wrong. Had the latest trend been cutting up their faces, and had it been viewed as acceptable by the government, no one would hesitate in picking up a good razor or knife.

The world would watch them both from an arm's length, pleading that they disappear sooner than later. It was not just the Joker they asked to be taken in. It was the Joker and his creator.

++

Sirens blared, glowing lights of red and blue following in toe. Something was horribly wrong. Jack felt it in his gut. A massive knot tied around itself, increasing in size with every millisecond. Hell seemed to almost reach closer and closer for earth. It was playing with everyone's minds, tickling the world's soil amidst its palm.

A heavy umbrage damaged the once light-hearted feel of the red and white striped tents. Men in officers' uniforms and suits with ties met the current situation with scowls and down-cast faces. A few shook their heads in grief, unable to make anything of the happening- whatever this happening was.



"Back up, son," a portly man in navy instructed the teen, using his sausage-like fingers for support. There were plenty from the police force using their badges, their symbols of authority, to push away angry customers whom had been promised a show.

"Excuse me, but my UNCLE is in there," Jack grunted back. Sadism ate away at the back of his mouth, tempted go all out on this man who was keeping him apart from what he wanted to do.

The man in uniform took a hard swallow, his Adam's apple taking a swift, long drop. "What's the name of your uncle?" he inquired. The boy took the question as a sort of relaxed beginning to an interrogation. Jack hated questions.

"Stephen. –And buddy, trust me when I say that's all you need to know," he twitched, licking his scar manically. Jack wasn't in the best mood. He already had a million things running through his head that he could do to this guy. Still, there were a lot of people around. –A lot of people meaning a lot of officers with guns. Then again, he could just grab that badge, stick it to his throat and-

"Stephen, you say?" the cop tilted his head to the side. He was obviously struggling to keep his composure. Just as Jack had feared, something was wrong with his uncle. He could sense it.

"I'm afraid there's been an accident," the officer sighed, taking a huge breath to relieve the irritation he felt in having to be the one to tell the boy what had happened. "Earlier this evening, he was supposed to be practicing his routine, but somebody found him hung by the tight rope. We still have no idea how it happened."

Jack knew. Even in death, his father was still haunting him. Larz had always wanted to make an example of Stephen, but until now, his brother-in-law hadn't been bothering the family. All it would take was a little reappearing act, and the bastard would send someone after the beloved uncle. Jack wasn't sure how long ago it was that his father had ordered such, but the timing couldn't have been worse.

So here he stood now, in that hotel room, staring down the man inside of him. Someone was hiding in there, but he just wanted to know who. It was someone who immediately caught the attention of people as he entered the room, someone who could instill fear in the fearless.

A smile. A clown's smile. His uncle's smile. Damn it all. Even his uncle had to become just another victim to the big machine that was murder. Murder should be something so much more. It should go beyond money and the mafia. It was an art- one that he would perfect. A cold, hard machine would not suffice. It had to be something to savor.

Jack examined his face in the mirror. He saw his nearly button-like nose, his strong jaw, his soft brown eyes, firm mouth, and… that scar. It hung deviously above his chin like a mocking smirk. Something inside of him was pleading to come out, but he didn't know how to respond.

-That was it. The scar. His uncle. A smile. Clowns were meant to make people smile, but they usually only wound up bringing atrocious shrieks and gasps from the mouths of children. Unlike the audience, they could mask their anger and despair with that smile. Those red, painted smiles. His uncle used that smile. That smile…

Smile…

… Smile….

…. Smile…..

"SMILE!" he roared at the mirror, his lips trapped in a bitter scowl. He grasped his pocket knife, ready to put on a permanent mask. He continued to growl, silenced whimpers scratching at the top of his throat, pleading for escape. The small knife was pressed to his right cheek. It was time to smile.



The knife costively dug into his skin as he applied pressure. Trickles of blood escaped, releasing themselves like breaths of fresh air. The muscle tissue beneath ached, taking good sighs of relief at the touch of bittersweet air-conditioning. The longer he pulled the knife along, the more his groans turned into something completely new. Laughter.

Finally, with the grin complete, Jack emitted praise at his work. There he stood, crimson flowing from his mouth like water from a river. It was art. He could laugh, just like he always had. It was the perfect smile, and there it would always be… smiling… smiling…

++

Everything was dark. Cold enraptured him, swallowing him whole. He wasn't entirely sure of what had just transpired, but his head was killing him. It was sore just around his mouth. Had a dart hit him? He was trying to catch the Joker-

The Joker. Where was that psychotic son of a bitch? He peeled his eyelids open, the rotten, musty wind about him created by vents that sat just above his head, blowing bits of anger and frustration into his bones.

Speak of the devil, and he doth appear- his signature smile and all.

A creepish grin overtook the villain's features, greeting the Bat with that less-than-pleasing face. His eyes were spread wide awake in the darkness, welcoming his rival to consciousness. "Good morning, darling," he teased. The Joker's face was mere inches away from Batman's, boosting the hero's vexation. He could see every, little grimy detail on the clown's face- every fold in his scars and every twinkle in his eyes.

The Dark Knight glimpsed downward. It was hard to soak in all of the details so suddenly through the swarthy space, but he caught enough to understand his predicament. Chains bound his arms and feet to an iron chair. This very chair happened to be bolted into the cemented flooring. How did he allow himself to get into this situation?

The Joker stood up straight, taking one step forward- then another. His body took the Bats unawares, standing over the hero's lap like it was nothing. He dropped himself onto the other, staring him straight in the face from his place on his lap. No response was received from the Batman other than a stone-cold countenance. A conflict, indeed.

The Joker frowned, staring deeply into his playmate's eyes. "No greeting? Ya' know, a simple 'hello' would have sufficed," he lamented. How could he get a bat to talk? "If you won't start blabbing yer'self, I can make you talk," he basked in the mirth, his mouth curling into a devious smile.

"You wouldn't kill me, Joker," Batman maundered back, his crisp voice rolling out like fire. There was never a more pleasing sound to the clown. Well, then again, there was always the sound of explosives, buildings crumbling, dying screams, fearful gasps… In fact, there were a lot of noises in the world that brought a smile to his face. This happened to be one of them.

"Of course not!" he simpered, then sliding off of the other's lap contentedly, "-But that doesn't mean I won't beat you to a bloody pulp." The Joker paced about the room for a moment, humming a strange tune as he subconsciously fidgeted with every object in the room. He, apparently, wasn't one to enjoy sitting still for too long.

Batman's nemesis and his tinkering was beginning to irk him. Why was he being so indirect? He obviously wanted something.

"Cut the crap. What do you want?"



The villain abruptly stopped, studying the dark, grimy room with precision. "What do I want?" he emphasized every word. The Joker almost seemed to be asking himself that same question mockingly, sighing at his own, evasive nature.

He turned back towards his rival. With the few features he saw, he could still drink in the Batman's ardent lips and chin. They looked so deliciously solid. The Clown Prince's mouth dropped open, pausing for a moment before he spoke, "I want you, Batsy. I want you to tell me EVERYTHING there is to know about you. Favorite color, hm? I presume… black."

"Why are you doing this, Joker?" the crusader's eyes tensed, narrowing down on the smaller man before him.

"It's much more fun than stalking you for all the nitty-gritty details, if you ask me," the clown smirked. "I'd rather get…" he spoke, his voice growing colder and crueler as every step he took closer to his foe struck the ground beneath, "… personal."

Batman breathed inwardly, biting his tongue at what he knew the other man was attempting to use as an outlet for fear. "You don't need to know anything," his voice crawled out darkly, snapping off at the Joker.

The green-haired man growled. What would he do if this difficult, flying rodent refused to comply with what he wanted? He would GET what he wanted. Force it out, if he had to. "Well, you want to play hard to get?" he roared, storming over to an iron door that separated them both from the outside world. "I can play that game!"

And with that hissy fit, the demented clown was gone, iron clamoring against the wall, venting his frustration.

Batman knew something terrible was about to happen, and this would be his one chance for escape. His piquant eyes darted from one thing to the next. At the top of the wall to his left was a smeared window. Nothing could be seen out of it other than blurs of what may have been lurking outside. It was currently sealed shut, but if he could get out of his chair, somehow, he could break out unknown.

A sharp, ear-piercing noise struck his eardrums painfully. The sound of nails on a chalkboard filled the small room. The Batman cringed irritated. 'What the hell-!?' he thought, gazing about the room.

SHLUNK!

An unfamiliar face peeked inside the room, its black head hanging in from the window. He saw what looked like bat ears atop the shadow. 'Not another imitator,' he grumbled to himself.

"You wait there, handsome," the voice purred. It was a woman?

A long, slender arm cloaked in messily stitched black material snuck in from the hole that it had carved, unlocking a hook on the window. Her hand had what appeared like claws. It wasn't a bat costume, but a... cat?

The window swung open, and the long, thin figure slipped into the room with ease. She pranced into the faded lighting, revealing herself to the Batman. Her costume was messily pieced together, but it almost seemed to give it an effect all its own. She stood up on what looked like stilettos, but this only confused Bruce. She couldn't actually be trying to maneuver around in those things, right?

Wrong.



She slyly curved around the metal chair, licking her cherry red lips devilishly. He could hear the jingling of the chains behind him. "What are you doing?" he protested, leaning out of her work for a moment.

"If you want to live, you'll shut it," she bit in return. Her crystal blue eyes fell back to the chains, and she roughly managed to pull them up and over the Bat's head.

Batman didn't take too kindly to her words, but he valued her help anyway. Bruce Wayne could appreciate an attractive figure like that, but Batman was all business. Still, he couldn't get over the fact that he had just inspired the people of city of Gotham to dress up like "freaks" and run rampant. How many vigilantes had he unleashed unto their world?

The Catwoman erected herself from her crouching position and leapt out towards the window. Her small hands were able to cling to the frame and pull herself up carefully. She was obviously still getting used to the suit, seeing as her claws prevented her from grasping the edge for a moment, but she was definitely skilled in the art of agility.

"You can save your thanks for next time," she spoke. Her voice was like as slick as cream, but it still had a darkness to it. Batman had to be wary of these new characters.

As soon as she disappeared, he was quick to follow. The Dark Knight wasn't going to let her get away that easily. She seemed to be doing right from what he had just witnessed, but things were never as they first appeared…

………………..

………………..



The clown walked in with a bounce in his step, grinning with that odd face like a hyena. He grasped a smaller, rusted, and red chainsaw in his hands readily. He was currently revving it up, distracted from the empty chair.

VROOM!

VROOM!

VROOOooo-

The noise calmed as the Joker removed his large hand from the string. He examined he room- the open window, the Bat-less chains, and the sudden breeze (hm… That's actually quite nice). A realization hit him, and the clown lowered the object of destruction, shrugging at the strange sight. What the hell just happened?

"Aw, c'mon!! I was only going to loosen a few fingers and toes… I promise!"

'Note to self:'

Love. Ah, love. 'Tis always corruptible in the hands of us, weepy humans. It can be bought, twisted, and scared away. Who am I to plea for different? HAHAHAHA… Wait. That's not funny.

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Oh, the revelations of our dear Joker. :) -insert pre-school teacher voice here- Sometimes jokes hurt. Lol. Cracking through the Joker is pretty much going to take forever, so hey! That's why this is going to be a long story! Haha. I've just made a small crease in him right now. :) He found something he can't laugh at. That's a start, right? Of course, he's always going to be a little insane, which is going to drive Batman NUTS, even after they- ((coughs)) you'll see!

Don't hate me for using Catwoman! XP It's not like she's going to actually win Batman, anyway. More ladies to come!

Also, I've already started working on a chapter that is going to be VERY important, seeing as I've never written anything like it before. It's going to take a while for me to get through, so it's better to start now. By the way, did anyone notice the reference to "A Clockwork Orange" with the chair scene? Hahaha. Honestly, I don't like A Clockwork Orange (GAH! Don't hate me! There just wasn't enough of solid plot), but pieces of Heath's Joker do remind me of Alex (since he did use Alex as reference, hah).