'Matchy, my flammable buddy, be sure to bring a mop! There's going to be a spill that needs cleaning up on aisle eight. ;) xoxo -J.'

The text from the madman would have been enough to make Bruce hurry inside the hideout of one of his notorious enemies. But, the sound of a gunshot coming from inside resonated so much more within his core than any indication the Joker made through one message. Despite, the urgency he feels to enter and see for himself what he already knows has happened; he just can't. His legs feel like lead. A weight settles upon him that he seems unable to shake off. The earlier encounter with Joe Chill moments previously slamming into his consciousness. That sound. An unforgettable sound, no matter how many times he's heard it, hits him harder in this instant than all his previous nights as Batman. All it does is bring him back. Where his mind was already susceptible to the flashes of memory he tries so hard to burry.

The letter's contents quickly dissipate the feeling. As another type of emotion overcomes him. One that once started is even harder to ignore. Perhaps, it wasn't Jonathan Crane who was the victim of a gunshot. Maybe. Against odds. It was the Joker instead. Bringing forth another battle within his mind. One where apathy fights against something he doesn't even want to name that is to closely related to concern for the Joker's well-being. Should he even care if the murderous madman has met his end? All logic dictates he shouldn't.

He takes a few moments to steady himself as best as he can. An idea comes to his mind. Looking at the phone in his hand he contemplates the risks. His plan earlier today was to find out where Scarecrow was hiding to prevent any further threats the man might be up to. He's accomplished the first part of that goal. If that gunshot wasn't for Crane, the darker thought hits him hard. Another part of his mind trying to reason that it couldn't be the Joker that might be injured or worse instead. It's enough of a motivator to take the risk. He still has a duty towards this city. Taking the plunge was an attitude he was well accustomed with. If there are consequences with this decision, he'll handle them when they come. Without anymore doubt, he makes the call on a phone given to him by the Joker. This was an awful idea, one that he doesn't have long to think about for an adequate amount of time before the other line is picked up.

"Hello, James Gordon, speaking." Jim's voice on the other line is as welcoming as an embrace from an old friend to Bruce.

"Jim," Bruce speaks in the voice criminal's have come to fear and allies like Jim have come to appreciate hearing.

"Batman, is that you?" Jim sounds relieved, and Bruce can't blame him. "God, where have you been? I thought you were-"

"I've been busy," Bruce interrupts. Not rudely, but more of he doesn't want the words to be said. Not after what he experience earlier. Not after seeing his parents murderer again. Not after the gunshot he's heard that is making him so conflicted with himself that he feels sick. His voice shakes a little and if Jim notices he doesn't comment; thankfully. "I can't talk long, but I have information you'd like to hear." Business as usual is a stable for Bruce. Even if it will only be short lived, he'll take the seconds that will be afforded to him to appreciate it.

"Yeah? What is it?" Jim responds. Professional as always, with also a hint of eagerness and Bruce appreciates it.

"I know where the Scarecrow is hiding out." A response that would relieve any stress Gordon may have on that situation in Gotham.

"That was fast. He hasn't even been out of Arkham for long," Gordon comments; impressed. "Tell me where's the bastard at and I'll get my men and round him up faster than he can say fear toxin." His voice has some humor. And, although it bothers Bruce in that moment, he refuses to ruin Jim's enthusiasm. All he does is respond with the information that Jim would need to get there. As well as a request that Jim wait at least thirty minutes before heading out, that the older man begrudgingly agrees to.

When the call ends, all the anxiety comes back all at once. Like a poison he cannot escape from no matter how hard he tries to distract himself. He deletes the call history for safe measure, even if he doesn't feel like the act would help in the slightest. Pocketing his phone again, he lets out a deep sigh.

Rain hits the pavement around him. Sounds of hurried footsteps from people passing by catch his attention as he casts a quick glance around his surroundings. It seems they may have the right idea. Avoid a situation that could cause them harm if they confront it. Although, Bruce isn't concerned with psychical repercussions for entering the abandon pharmacy. No. Quite the opposite. Damage to his mental health is more of his worry. He could leave. Right now. Return to his life as Batman. Deal with the more pressing situation of the individual who was waging psychological warfare against him. And, he almost does when he takes a half step back. Only to then stop in his tracks as he gazes back at the door in front of him. Regardless, of logic and what is in his best interest, apathy does not win out in the end.

Nor, if he was more aware with himself it never would have. Bruce simply cannot walk away. Never could when the Joker was involved. It's like an indescribable force pushes him forward. And, next thing Bruce knows is he's inside the abandon pharmacy, witnessing a scene that knocks all the air out of his lungs. Feeling as if his heart stopped beating and time has frozen still. Nothing else in the room catches his attention. Nothing, but one single thing. His gaze lands on the one person he'd refuse to ever acknowledged knew him better than most.

The Joker is laying on his back, stiff, seemingly lifeless. Crimson cakes the pale face; making him seem more grotesque in appearance. It doesn't take Bruce long to realize it's his nemesis own blood. Slowly or perhaps quickly his glance goes to Jonathan Crane. The lithe man known as the Scarecrow stands over the clown. Gun aimed directly at the murderers head. It's way too simple to piece together what has happened. Even the world's greatest detective wouldn't be needed in this case.

A thread snaps.

The seams of Bruce's mind break.

Something darker takes hold over the Dark Knight.

A push of gravity and he's slipping off the edge.

Like clockwork his next actions come without hesitation or reason.

Logic and his usual moral compass seem to fall to the wayside against his control.

Or, perhaps, Bruce was already at that point and just never realized it.

It doesn't matter who started the confrontation first between the former psychiatrist and the Clown Prince of Crime.

All that matters is that Joker is laying on the ground. Not responsive to Bruce's arrival.

Looking way to much like he's...

Dead...

The sound of the door slamming shut brought Bruce back to reality. A downright dreadful reality. For in the time frame that felt like an eternity to him was only long enough for one single door to close upon his entry. And, with that a striking revelation of his actions in the small frame of time. He had moved forward without noticing. Had, reached into his hoodies pocket without thinking. Worse of all was that now he was holding a gun to the back of Crane's head and didn't even contemplate what he was doing before acting. His gaze had still been locked on with the unmoving form of the Joker. His arm trembles as he became aware with himself. Slowly, turning his glance to the back of Crane's head. Right where the barrel was placed.

Another paralyzing realization occurred when he noticed his finger was twitching against the trigger.

What the fuck was he doing?

This wasn't him!

Bruce wasn't a killer!

Wasn't capable of this...

Yes, he was...

A darker thought crossed his mind. The recollection of Joe Chill's neck under his boot. The desire that was overwhelming to take his parents murders life.

Bruce was capable of many things.

Things, he didn't even want to grace a single unwelcome thought on.

Yet, here was.

Doing just that.

Faced with the harsh reality that he just almost killed Crane in cold blood without a single thought about it. That he also almost killed Joe Chill. Today was just not his day.

He feels sick with himself. Nauseous at the very thought. Even still his hand does not sway. The rage he feels inside doesn't wither. Only grows. Consumes him. Taking over like a toxin that the man in front of him is known for using. He shouldn't be doing this. It's not him. But, he can't really deny that it also is a part of him. One he keeps buried. A side of him that he'll deny later and repress. What he needs to be doing is finding out if the Joker is even alive. Regardless, he still doesn't move. Because, deep down a fraction of him wants to release his anger. Wants to just let go of all restraint. It's not right. Nor what he stands for.

What the fuck is he doing?!

He tries to get ahold of himself as he glances at the Joker laying on the ground again. In a morbid way using his nemesis as a stable life line on his own sanity. It works, up until he sees the blood staining the spray painted version of his own Bat symbol on the Joker's purple hoodie.

It's as damning an image of his actions now more so than holding a gun on Crane could ever be.

Bruce has seen his own Bat-suit coated in crimson on many the occasion. Sometimes, his own, but the majority of the time it was others. Never has he killed. Regardless, he's caused serious damage to those who would threaten his city. Made them hurt. Felt their bones break under his strength. Made them bleed. Even seeing the Joker bleeding, laying on the ground, unmoving wasn't a rarity for him at all. That was a grounded fact of life for him over the years. An outcome he could easily predict to happen. All, by his hands. This was nothing new.

Except.

It was.

In one small way.

A condemning way that would only drag him into the abyss to suffocate on his own self-disgust.

It wasn't the fact that he found Joker like this that had made him snap this far.

Bruce could handle that. Had seen that before countless times.

It was the simple fact that he wasn't the one who put Joker in this predicament this time around.

Unsure if the madman was alive or dead.

And, that made him furious in all the ways that felt so inconceivable to him.

He couldn't understand...

Refused to understand why...

Allowing himself to do just that would ruin him.

It would mean that when it came to the Joker that he-

"Are you going to kill me?" Crane interrupts his thoughts.

No. But, I want to... I could.. I might even be able to sleep at night if I did...

The thought was instant and unwanted. Bruce shook his head -even if Crane couldn't see- to clear his mind. He was thankful for the distraction. Even if it only confirmed that he still hasn't lowered the damn gun- like he fucking should have done by now! Instead he finds himself pressing the gun even harder against the back of the man in front of him head.

Like a switch has been flipped, Bruce's persona changes gears into the criminal he's been pretending to be all this time while undercover. It's easier than dealing with all his inner turmoil for the time being.

"Drop the gun," he orders. Ignoring Crane's question. When the other man doesn't oblige his demand fast enough, he growls out a single word. "Now." Way to close to sounding like his Batman persona, but right now he doesn't care. It gets him the desired effects. The others gun is tossed to the side, then Crane shoves his hands into his pockets. A move Bruce isn't all to thrilled about. And, he doesn't hesitate to tell him that. Crane huffs as his hands then fall to his side's instead.

"You know, we can talk as civilized individuals and drop the dramatics," Crane speaks with a condescending tone. Showing he wasn't afraid of the fact that Bruce had a gun to his head.

Although, the same couldn't be said for Bruce. As, no matter how much he wills it, his hand won't stop trembling. He can play the role of Matches Malone, but in the end he's still Bruce Wayne. Still, the same man that lost his parents in that alleyway all those years ago. And, in the end, he's not fearful of the gun, he's dealt with plenty in his time as Batman. But, he's terrified of what he's becoming. Or, more accurately what is being brought out in him. The persona of the criminal is all he has right now to keep his sanity steady.

Bruce lets out a dark chuckle. One that's a little more unsettling -slightly unhinged- to himself than anyone else. Needing to keep the mask in place. He responds with a simple statement.

"Joker's always had a fondness for the dramatic," Which was true. It was the clowns infamous trademark. He adds. "Do you, honestly believe he would hire someone that doesn't share that same aspect in themselves?" In a way that was true. A sickening truth and with it comes the realization that might be one thing him and the madman have in common. He might reach so far as to say that might be the one trait that Joker immediately saw in him during the hiring process.

"Only a naive simpleton would work for that maniac." Crane doesn't hold back on the insults.

Fair point when it came down to most of the one's Joker has hired. Though, Bruce wasn't going to give him the satisfaction in thinking that. At least not in regards to himself.

"Not the best decision to insult someone holding a gun to your head." Bruce states simply.

Crane tried to look back at him, but Bruce stopped that idea quickly enough with a small tap of the barrel against the other's head. So, instead Crane resulted in trying to talk his way out of the situation.

"I have nothing to worry about." He sounds so sure of himself that it catches Bruce's attention instantly.

"Is that so?" Bruce questions.

"With how much your obviously shaking, you don't seem like the usual type the clown hires in the slightest," Crane isn't to far off, not that he'll be told that. It's not like Joker has ever had Batman -although undercover- in his gang in the past before. There is truth in what Crane is saying and if he knew exactly who he was talking to, he'd be petrified. "Tell me, are you afraid of getting your hands dirty? It's quite alright. Fear is a natural response. It shows a man's true colors. Not everyone has the stomachs for this lifestyle. Might as well run home where your fears can't cripple you. Besides, you're not losing anything if the clown dies."

"Except a paycheck." Bruce interjects with morbid humor. Which causes Crane to scoff in indignation.

"This is Gotham. There's plenty of jobs for brutes as yourself," Crane waves his hand to dismiss Bruce's claim. "Expand your resume. No point in facing your fears over him."

Regardless of what Bruce was about to say as a rebuttal, didn't seem to matter in that moment as the sound of loud chortles came from the ground the Joker was laying on. Catching both men's attention instantly. Crane visibly tensed slightly. Bruce doubted it was from fear, but more out of the fact that he didn't finish the job. For, Bruce he couldn't deny the relief of a sigh that escaped him at finding out the Joker was alive after all. That was quickly quenched with the irritation that the Joker has just been laying there -although injured as he was- listening to the conversation at hand.

Joker sat up slowly. A slight groan occupying the movement, that only was washed away with his laughter. Bruce could make out the detail of the clowns wound then. A superficial bullet graze wound on the right side of his head. And, despite the constant bleeding, as well as a need for stitches, he had no doubt Joker would live. Would be perfectly fine. He's had worse. Lucky. The clown was fucking lucky. Jonathan Crane on the other hand might as well not be. Joker wouldn't take kindly to the injury inflicted on him. If it was Batman that did it, then the clown would be ecstatic, that he was positive of as a simple fact, regardless, the odds were not in Crane's favor.

It's with that thought that Bruce realizes bitterly, he may need to let Crane leave. More preferably right now. For the man's own safety. Didn't matter that Gordon now knew where Scarecrow's hideout was. And, the GCPD could possibly be on their way at this very moment. No. Crane needed to leave while Joker wasn't completely all together there in the mind. Sure, Joker would probably hunt Crane down. If the clown cared enough to be bothered. But, it would give the man a chance to leave with his life.

A life I almost took without much consideration.

When I'm holding a gun to his head right now.

With just a twitch of my finger and Joker wouldn't even need to hunt Scarecrow down.

How easy it feels to do just that.

How Gotham wouldn't ever have to face the horrors that Scarecrow will undoubtedly unleash on his city again.

Perhaps, Joker is right and I'm not much different than-

No.

Bruce refused to dwell on his own self doubts and guilt. Not right now when every decision he made was crucial. Crucial for the man in front of him's survival, but in a sense his own as well. Hazel contact eyes glance at the clown's green. The risk of his goals become even steeper in that very second. In a way it's a double edge sword he finds himself on. Joker might easily turn on him if it's made obvious that he let Crane go. That one act could effortlessly sign his own death warrant, despite how Joker may view him in a positive light for the time being. Regardless, He can't let Scarecrow die. No matter what. Despite this mindset, he reacts on instinct when Crane tries to move away from him. In less than a second Bruce kicks out on the back of the man's leg and sends Crane lurching forward to the floor on his knees. Both men wince at the action for very different reasons. There went his plan of just letting Crane escape by letting him go.

Joker catches the action Bruce made immediately. His grin stretches the scars on his cheeks as his hands fall on his lap. Finger intertwining. A perfect picture of relaxed. Taking whatever time he needed to regain his bearings after his grazed bullet wound. At least Bruce thought that was the reason at first, until he sees the glimmer of unbridled maliciousness in seas of green. As toxic as their owner. Joker is simply enjoying the show. Waiting for the punchline. Or, more accurately the downfall of Matches Malone morality.

Hindsight is generally a never pleasant experience in Bruce's life. The reason behind the clown's desire for Malone not to kill who were following them as clear as day. It should have been obvious from the start and if Bruce had been in a better mental state, despite everything that's happened today as well as the catalytic moment of being in front of his parents murderer, then it would have came to him within a split second. The madman has said his desires for so long now. A never changing want, no matter what disguise Bruce wore. He wanted blood on Bruce's hands and to be there to witness all the damning glory. Like watering a flower with acid was Joker's goal. Instead of blooming beauty there would only be left withering weeds. Nothing left in the way that was separating them any longer.

"Maaaatchy!" Joker drawls Bruce's alias with disgustingly sweet honey in his tone. "About time you joined the party. Guess, I shouldn't have let you have all the fun you wanted with that adoring fan of mine." -He wasn't your fan, Joker. In fact he hated you. Bruce thinks to himself.- A giggle along with a unhinged smile that speaks volumes of the maniacs actual mood set. He wasn't that pleased with Bruce's apparent tardiness, yet at the same time was ecstatic about it all the same. Given the circumstances were in the maniacs favor.

There was a time for Bruce's anger at the situation he found himself in. Now wasn't that time. Humor was more appropriate with the company he was keeping these days. He's not thrilled with how easy it comes forth for him, as it reminds him to much of the Joker.

"What can I say," Bruce shrugs; which is more of an act to hide his shiver from all the anxiety he's feeling right now. The dread eating away at his skin like an incurable disease. "Lost my invite in the mail. Shouldn't use the postal service if you wanted me here on time. They have an awful reputation as it is. Especially in Gotham." He finishes his poor attempt at lessening the tension that was suffocating the entire room. Joker lets out loud chuckles at that. Bruce and Crane do not even smile.

"Ha! Good one. Oh, that reminds me of postal stamps. What a lovely memory." The Joker mutters happily to himself on the shared history that Batman and him have together. One that Bruce does not share in the pleasantries. Nostalgia was more the clown's cup of tea than Bruce's.

Continuing the distraction of conversation would have been the preferred outcome for the billionaire masquerading as a criminal. It could have given him time to think on his actions. Even begrudgingly and much to his dismay the banter between them was almost welcoming. A stability he could rely on. Regardless, of his wants, Crane's ego was a deadly interference. Deadly for Crane, not for Bruce or the clown. Seriously, it would be easier for everyone if his enemies learned when the right time to shut the fuck up was. They never would, but it was a hopeful thought.

"Seems my earlier analysis of your hiring process was correct," Crane states way to smugly for Bruce's liking. Joker's head snaps from his attention on Bruce to the other man immediately. "You really have lowered your standards, if your hiring men afraid to take a life. It's quite absurd that Gotham, let alone Batman would ever take you seriously with the types of people you keep around in your little gang."

The clown's glance moves towards Bruce slowly and calculating. It was already a known fact between the two that Bruce hasn't killed. Something, that the clown wanted to rectify and Bruce wanted to avoid all together. His body can't help, but tense in that very second. This was not a conversation that he wanted to be held at his expense. Having the Joker's focus on that line of thinking could have devastatingly results. There was no way he'd be able to talk his way out of this like he did at the school. His mind is garbled with scenarios of how to avoid what was becoming a foreseeable outcome. Already, predicting that his nemesis might find out the truth of his disguise today, all because Crane wanted to get under the clowns skin.

"It's a work in progress." Joker assures more towards Bruce than Crane. His smile has faded for an instant as he takes into account that Bruce has lowered his arm that was holding the gun during their short conversation. Whatever he was thinking, Bruce didn't trust it. The contemplative look doesn't last long, and Joker let's out a breathily chortle. His mood for the time being uplifting once more.

The maniac tilts his head, as he gives Crane a sneer. "If we're talking about lowered standards, I got some bad news for you doc. I mean really, let's evaluate the facts, shall we?" He points to his wound, blinking back blood that has dripped into his eyes. Taking a second to wipe at his face when that doesn't help him much, smearing the crimson, leaving behind a gruesome image on his countenance. "Scary, you really let your aiming skills become pitiful. Batsy would be ashamed if he knew one of his friends let themselves go this badly. Hell, I'm embarrassed for you!" Joker waves his hands in the air in exasperation, before slamming them down back on his lap. Shaking his head in pity, he continues, "I'd say, that knowledge would blow my mind, but, heh! you couldn't even do that! I even gave you a chance earlier to redecorate this ghastly room, and when you actually take the chance, Gotham's big bad Straw-head failed miserably! Paaaathectic!" He spats out at the end. Venom in his tone showcasing his displeasure.

What did Joker just say...

"Wait? What?" Bruce speaks up. Confused at first until the implications hit him shortly after.

Joker's taunts has the effect he was going for to wound Crane's pride. In spite of the clowns goals, it had a polarizing effect on Bruce. Like an unsuspected punch to his gut. Abandoning his spot behind Crane, and moving closer towards the Joker unconsciously. Every fiber of his being wanted to punch that smirk off the clown's face. Joker stood on wobbly legs and barely casted Bruce a glance. Still, very amused with himself. The same could not be said for Bruce. Joker didn't notice the underlying seething rage that was overtaking Bruce. However, the Scarecrow did, and did not hesitate to use that to his advantage against the two men.

"Looks like that paycheck of yours is becoming more unattainable by the second," Crane mocks Bruce, even using his earlier remark as a slight against the presumed motivations that he had for working with the Joker in the first place. The man on his knees casts him a smirk. Bruce's fires back with a glare that dares the other man to continue, Crane takes the bait regardless of repercussions. Thinking he has the upper hand. "A huge undersight on your part, I regret to tell you. It's almost an impossibility to expect to obtain any amount of wealth when your employer is a clinically insane death seeker with known suicidal tendencies." He gives a shrug as his hands go into his pocket, undetected by Bruce, who gives a side glance to the unperturbed Joker.

Naivety was not a trait the protector of Gotham possessed. Was fully aware of the psychological warfare that Crane was playing. Attempting to turn a thought greedy criminal against his employer a known terrorist. It would have worked on anyone else, but Bruce. In some ways it does work. For different reasons that he doesn't want to acknowledge, but Crane picks up in an unawares sort of way of how honestly damaging that unsuspected insight is for all of Gotham.

"It's a shame really, that someone like yourself would become so connected towards a man that has no regard for his own self-preservation." Crane illustrates his point by nodding his head towards Bruce. The black hoodie gives that impression that the lithe man has formed. He also nods towards the Joker's wound as well to hammer the point in.

The madman isn't bothered in the least by Crane's words and lets out a snicker in almost a sick way to prove it. Joker has an mountainous ego and of course he wouldn't be bothered by statements as monumental as that in those regards. Bruce on the other hand feels like he's the one who's been shot instead. Shaking him to his very core. Self-denial quickly sets in. Although, it doesn't hold much weight. When the honest truth is, he's furious at the clown. Joker does take intake of Bruce's souring mood though. His smile slipping off his face. Only then does the madman try to rectify any damage that Crane might have posed.

"Ignore him, Matchstick, it's not like Straw-head over there even had the guts to kill little ol' me." Joker gives a smile to appease him. It doesn't.

"Not the point." Bruce responds.

Joker gives a dismissive wave that does nothing to quench the anger within Bruce.

"Hogwash. Forget about it. It's not important," Before Bruce can interject, Joker turns his attention back towards Crane. "What is important is that a grave crime has been committed and a punishment needs to be disbursed," he rests his hand against his chin. "With great haste. And, very bloody. Paint this entire boring, unimaginative, unappealing to the eye, room, type of bloody." The sadistic nature of the manic comes back in full swing and whatever Bruce's feeling are about the Joker risking his life for some sort of sick satisfaction is sealed away within his mind to deal with at a later date.

Although, he's petty just enough to challenge the clowns remarks. Regardless of the seriousness of the conversation. "Crime? What crime?," he asks incredulously, "Doesn't seem like you give a damn that he shot you." Bruce glares at the clown. Crossing his arms. Completely unamused with the clown's earlier dangerous for the madman's well-being antics.

Joker returns the same gesture towards Bruce. Murderous intent clearly radiating off of him at Bruce's comments. Pointing a finger in Bruce's direction, he chides him as if speaking to a insolent child.

"As guilty as Scary is at his poor attempt of an assassination, that's not the-" he pauses. His hand dropping to his side as a frown forms on red painted on lips. Another thought crossing his mind mid-rant. He looks around frantically for a moment, catching Bruce off guard. Seemingly, not finding what he was looking for he lets out an annoyed huff. Digging into his blood stained hoodies pocket and pulling out his knife. Acidic green eyes look into his reflection on the metal of his blade. Adjusting it to see his wound. The damage that has been caused, even if earlier it was more of an afterthought for him. Joker was a known masochist and never really bothered with paying much attention to his injuries. Until now. He stares for long tense seconds. His frown getting deeper and slowly he lifts his head to shoot Crane a murderous glare. Promising painful retribution.

Then the clown speaks up again. Voice devolved of any mirth he usually possessed. "Hold up, seems I misspoke too soon. You're right, Matchy. Looks like two grave crimes have been committed on this fine rainy day," he points to his bullet wound with the blade of his knife. "My aesthetic style has been ruined!" He shouts suddenly. Filled to the brim with unbridled loathing. Startling both other men. "Scary, better hope my hair grows back where he shot me!" His wounded vanity ever palpable. "On second thought, no point in him hoping for anything. No siree Bob! I'm about to break check on his hopes and dreams," Joker casts Bruce a sadistic smile. "Well, you are anyway. It'll be much more poetic if Batsy's gift to me dishes out what my playmate loves so much; Justice!" He exclaims giddily. Claps his hands and adds. "A perfect punchline to the tragedy that has transpired for the blasphemy spoken against our beloved Bat King and the slight against his dashing Prince." His sudden laughter fills the room. Cold and cruel. Just like him.

Bruce's blood turns to ice, like November rivers. The gun heavy in his hands. His gaze stays locked on the clown. Perhaps pleading, not to the clown's lack of mercy to suddenly flip, but for a way out of this predicament to come to him. He could knock out the Joker like he did in the school and that option was plausible; although problematic. Any sort of fondness that the clown held for this persona would be shattered in an instant if he took on that path. Bruce wouldn't mind that, however it would destroy weeks of effort in a single second. Leaving him empty handed with the violent cycle of their lives continuing on ward. For a fraction of a second a part of him doesn't think Crane's life is worth that. His code disagrees, and that's not something he's willing to compromise. Still, it's extremely frustrating how all his carefully laid plans could end with whatever choice he makes now. And, he's left without much of a back up plan. Except for one that he doesn't even want to entertain with a single thought. He's not that desperate, not yet, anyway.

The manic moves closer to him as Bruce uncrosses his arms. Hands falling limply to his sides. At least until the clown stumbles, and Bruce is quick to catch the Joker and hold him up right. Both holding on to each other, one giving support and the other taking it greedily. A snicker leaves red painted on lips. Hazel contact eyes watch as the pink tongue licks away a dribble of blood. Although, the madman won't show any weakness, Bruce knows that the Joker's head wound is affecting him, more than the clown will let on.

"We don't need to bother with him, boss," Bruce says gently as the Joker's clutch on his arms tightens momentarily in disapproval. "You need to get that wound treated." He reasons with logic against a man known for irrationality.

"Your concern for my well-being is touching," Joker replies more sarcastically annoyed than genuine. "This, is nothing. I've had worse, or better, matter of perspective really, from Batsy's love taps."

"Either way, it should be looked at sooner rather than later," Bruce fires back. Hoping that just this once, the clown could let a vendetta go. But, the Joker was just as stubborn as Bruce was. When his mind was made up, it generally stayed that way. In one more attempt, he adds, "Not like Scarecrow is going anywhere that you won't be able to track him down again," icing on the cake, he takes on a more pleading tone. "Let me take care of you."

Joker simply responds by placing a finger to Bruce's lips and giving a shushing sound. His acidic green eyes matching the intensity of the other's stare. Joker cups Bruce's face gently. One stroke against the other man's cheek. Staining it crimson as well in the act. His hand's move slowly away, down his neck, shoulders and arms. Bloodstained purple gloved fingers dance down his sleeves, in a feigned act of assuring him that all will be alright. If only Bruce listened to what the Joker had to say. Stopping at his hand with the gun. He places his other hand on Bruce's shoulder and rather roughly -gentleness gone- turns him to face the kneeling man whose life once again lay's in Bruce's own hands.

But, couldn't that be said for all the criminals of Gotham City?

The fact that each breath they still took was because the Bat of Gotham doesn't kill.

How, they lived on a ticking time bomb, waiting in fearful anticipation if that day ever changed.

The clowns body presses against his broad back. Getting blood to mix with the dark fabric of Bruce's hoodie. Dripping down on the green spray painted claim mark the madman left on the attire. Taking a hold of his wrist, Joker attempts to lift Bruce's hand up, to aim the barrel at Crane's forehead, only to be stopped when he doesn't budge an inch of ground.

"His fear holds him back from playing your games," Crane observers them both. Smug even to the bitter end. Joker doesn't cast him a glance. His entire attention solely focused on Bruce. Likewise, Bruce's attention stays on the maniac behind him. The words the kneeling man speaks sounding like Bruce is underwater instead. Mumbled and not processing despite the close proximity. Crane too egotistical to notice, continues. "We've talked on the acts of manipulation before in our sessions, if you remember. Although, fear might be an effective motivator, it doesn't help when another fear prevents the goals that you want to enforce. Fear is more prominent than manipulation. As that is being clearly displayed right now. Not even you, can change that, Joker."

"This is your moment to shine, Matchy," Joker nuzzles his head against his shoulder. "The key to your freedom. Take it, turn the lock and you'll finally see all that I have to offer you, in my playground," Joker pressures. His tone as calm as can be. Encouraging and charming. Like a lullaby to lure Bruce into the abyss of insanity.

"I'm giving you a better gift than Jack the teddy bear, hehe," he feels the laughter against his back wrack the lithe body pressed against him.

"A baptism so to speak. Not as flattering as acid, but, oh, so very close. For, your first time being one of my favorite playmates little friends, is more than anyone can ask for. Aren't I generous? I'm doing this all for you," That was the lie, he needed to hear to clear his mind from the trance he found himself in. Bruce's hand stays put at his side. A low growl emits from behind him and the terse sting of metal against his throat comes like lightening to his senses. Only then does he notice Joker's free hand has moved to now hold a knife to Bruce's jugular. A warning and a threat. Like a child throwing a tantrum for not getting what he wanted.

"Don't ruin this for me now. Do it. Kill him," Joker yanks Bruce's arm up hard. Keeping a firm grip on his wrist. Gun aimed dangerously at Crane's head. "Be free and let us play together as we're meant to. I want that. You want that. C'mon!"

Disarm him.

Fight back against him.

It won't be that hard.

Sure, he might be pissed.

Not like that matters.

He'll only lose all the progress he's made. All future progress as well.

But, no one would have to die.

Still.

Joker might get lucky with the knife being precariously against his throat. One wrong timed move would be all it would take and then it would be him laying on the floor painting the ground. Crane would die anyway, if that happened.

Joker's always been faster than him. Insanely so. Unexpectedly so. Can't ever underestimate the clowns speed. The outcome of that is always deadly.

Don't stand here.

Stop thinking.

Do something.

Act.

Now.

Bruce's arm is shaking. Joker's grip the only thing keeping it as steady as he could. The blade caresses his throat in a mockery of an attempt to sooth Bruce's nerves. A very unhelpful encouragement, but in a way that's all the maniac can ever offer. He tugs Bruce closer to his body with the arm laid against his collarbone; being careful with the blade against his throat. Bruce feels a chaste kiss placed against the back of his head that makes his skin burn at the contact.

"It's not going to work-" Crane starts to state only to be cut off.

"Shut it, Scary! Matchy, is better than your absurd assumptions!" Joker snaps at the man waiting at death's door. His voice turns less threatening when he addresses Bruce again. Less impatient even if it's feigned. "Arentcha, Buddy? All you need is a push right? Is that what your hesitation is telling me? I think so. That's a'okay. I can oblige. How about this," A pause. "Self-preservation is a normal reaction to fear, right Jonathan?" He throws a glance towards the former psychologist, but doesn't let him answer. "Your life or his Malone, take your pick. Pass go and collect two hundred dollars or bankrupt. Choice is yours. I'll get a laugh on way or another." With the nicknames dropped, Bruce knows that the Joker is done waiting. Blade ready to crave a smile in his throat or a gun to be fired once more and tear his life apart once again.

One thing has always been a known factor about Batman.

He always had a contingency plan, no matter what situation he found himself in.

Not all of them were a wanted alternative.

Level of desperation a deciding factor for each one.

And, now he was desperate enough for his winning hand to show.

Although, a victory was a debatable word in this case.

He heaves a heavy sigh as he choose the path he could never walk away from. Where damnation was the inevitable outcome. A decision that doesn't come easy and is against his very nature. Information that should never be freely given to the one person who has caused him more harm than anyone. He could almost laugh at the irony that it's his own fault that he was brought to the very brink to even consider this. There was only one saving grace, the Joker would only know a half truth and never what would risk everyone Bruce knew and cared for as well.

"Joker, first let me say one thing." His tone catches the madman off guard, he can tell by how the clown stiffens against him. Whatever Bruce was going to say was palpable to the Joker as life changing as it would be for them. Even if the clown couldn't pinpoint what that might be. Or, why it was as important as it was.

"Of course," he sounds so unsure with himself suddenly and Bruce can share in the sentiment. "Anything for you." He finishes with an uncertain nod against Bruce's shoulder. Burying his head there, in attempt to settle his own worries. Waiting in growing tension; or more hoping that Bruce would change his mind and just do as he's been told. All humor seeming to leave the clown temporary and diving deeper into unease.

A breath.

A heart beat passes.

"I'm-" Bruce only gets one word out. It should have been a relief, but what stopped him at the start of his downfall was anything but a savior. For neither were focused on Crane, despite the conversation being completely geared toward the man's life and death. It left one opening and that was enough. He did wisely warn him earlier to keep his hands out of his pockets. Though, unwisely didn't enforce it stronger when his attention was captured by the Joker instead. Both heads turned in unison at the sound of the canister spraying its contents in their direction. The orange colored gas hitting its mark to seep the toxin into both of their veins. Joker reacts first, pulling away from Bruce, jumping to the side ungracefully and he follows suit less than a second after. The gun slipping from his grasp and clattering against the floor to go unaccounted for by the three men.

"Damnit Scary! Why'd you have to go and do a silly stupid thing like that for?!" Joker's voice is distant to Bruce's ears. The clown lets out a few coughs mixed with laughter.

Crane stands to his feet while both men try to recover from what just transpired. Tossing the empty canister to the side as he adjusts his outfit. He doesn't respond immediately. Humming to himself as he moved to one of the shelf's in the room. Moving aside some clutter, before finding what he was looking for. His mask; putting it on, Crane vanishes and the Scarecrow takes his place. He turns his attention back towards both men. Simply taking a short moment to observe them both. To see what his creation would do to them with intrigue.

Bruce can barely hear their conversation as he stumbles backwards, until his back hits the wall. He can't hold in the coughing fit that over takes him from inhaling Crane's fear toxin. Vertigo removing his semblance of balance. The world around him starts to break away in chips with his vision. He shuts his eyes tightly. Attempts to calm his breathing. Anything to help offset the effects. Trying to remind himself that this wasn't real. That he's been through this sensation before. Needs to hold onto reality as it slips away from him. Bruce can't afford that vulnerability. Not here. It could be the death of him or worse.. He could reveal too much. Put to many others at risk over a drug induced slip of the tongue. He hears the other two men in the room speaking and does his best to grasp onto the conversation for stability.

"Woah. Wowzers. HA! Heh! Ha! Whatcha put in that gas! Taste's different than last time. Not as sweet. Try more sugar next time? Maybe? Reminds me of a rotten smoothie I had years back. Boy. Scary. Uh. This stuff. Packs a real punch!" Joker laughs; loudly. Clutching his sides to try and control his insistent laughter. His speech patterns altering slightly. Getting more jumbled as he tries to keep his thinking straight.

"It's an improved version of my formula. Intended to handle even your abnormal resilience to toxins. Really. I have to give credit to those tests I've run on you back in Arkham. They proved beneficial for my studies. You truly were the perfect candidate for perfecting my fear toxin." He speaks with sadistic enthusiasm in his tone. Walking back to the middle of the room. Closer to the door, keeping his distance from the clown.

"Shoulda used a whooping cushion to be better at passing gas." Joker comments as toxic green eyes start taking in the altering change of scenery. At least the color scheme no longer hurts his eyes. That was a bonus to the crazy ride he was experiencing!

"Make all the jokes you want to. I highly doubt this time even you will be laughing when your deepest darkest fears come to light," He shrugs as he takes a step back. Ready to observe their reactions or leave at a moment's notice for his own safety. "Besides, even if you prove to still be resilient to this batch, your current favorite toy won't be so fortunate. A loss, that I doubt you'd lose much sleep over given your track record."

"Is uh, that what you think straw-head?" A pause. "Why hello there little Mormoops!" A beat. "Wait. Heh. What was I saying? Oh right! See, Matchy is special. Just like me; in fact. Cause, Bat," He glances to the side. "no, I'm not talking about you little fella," he looks back at Scarecrow. "another Bat made him."

"That's what you've never understood Joker. No one is special when it comes to persevering against their own terrors. Not Batman. Not you and definitely not your... Matchy," Scarecrow chides him as if he's speaking to a child. "Fear is what controls us all. A fact of life that you'll learn right now."

Neither Joker nor Bruce is listening any longer to what Jonathan Crane has to say on the matter. The importance of his presence dwindling to non-existence in their minds. Both experiencing different scenarios with the toxin running through their veins. The real outside world fading away for them. The drugs effectiveness encompassing them whole. One handling it with morbid curiosity, while the other doing his very best to fight against the effects. The conversation ending was the final breaking point for Bruce's grip at avoiding the hallucinations. Plunging him straight into the nightmare illusions they created. Joker on the other hand let the conversation exit his mind while he embraced the toxins effects with open arms and a wide grin on his countenance.

Dozens upon dozens of bats hang from the ceiling. Their wings wrapped around their bodies. Many of them huge and black with the perfect shade of blue eyes watching the clowns every move. He also takes notice that there are also albino bats with piercing toxic green that stare into a similar shade looking up at them. The albino one's have smiles of their own. Carved into their cheeks, blood still dripping from the wounds. They don't move. Don't make a sound. Just watch. Joker watches them back in fascination as his heartbeat elevates in excitement. It dissipates the ache in his heart from Batsy's disappearance ever so slightly. Joker was fond of the flying rodents. Very endeared to them in fact. Anytime he saw one soaring the night in his playground it would bring a smile to his face. Remind him of every thing he craved and brought his life meaning. This time would be no different. His grin widens as he gazes up at each one. Their hunger is palpable in their stare. Making him feel like a fancy dinner to be served on a silver platter for a dashing party of bats. The mental image is hilarious to him. He wants to laugh, but doesn't want to frighten the flying rodents away. If they want a meal he'd happily oblige them. He's done it before.

He's reminded of the one time Harley found an injured Vampire Bat and brought it back to their hideout in a box. The poor creature was so small. So, fragile and malnourished. Joker had instantly taken a liking to the little guy. Kept it safe in his room and away from prying eyes. Even gave Harley who brought his new pet a boot to the curb to keep her from meddling in his affairs. He had spent around a week feeding his tiny buddy his own nourishing blood. Joker had wanted to gift it to Batsy when the time was right. Perhaps, even use his own non-lethal form of toxin on the small creature in his possession. Show his playmate what he really could become if he just let go and listened to what Joker had to say. A perfect visible metaphor. Poetic symbolic gesture. Or, he could even had tried and market Jokerized Laughing Bats like he once did with the fish. Make a nice buck with his infamous brand.

Nah! That jokes run its course. A comedian can't keep telling the same jokes over and over again. It'd become to dull. Overused. Unfunny. He'd better stick with the first idea. It was an exciting prospect at the time that never came to fruition. A mistake was made that he didn't take into account in those earlier days of their dance. His own blood was downright toxic. Made that way by his own baptism in those chemicals that changed his outlook on life. His little bat buddy died, painfully and slowly. And, well it was only a partially funny twist of fate. His wanting of a symbolic metaphor for his playmate became one for himself. Then it was simply downright hysterical gut punching humor! The best joke that life had offered him in a good while!

The memory does not help the madman in the least in his endeavor of not disrupting his bat audience. Even when he attempts to lessen his giggle fit by placing his hands over his mouth in an attempt to keep quiet. It doesn't work. They all hear him instantly. Their hungry beady orbs drill into him. Seeming like a dare or a threat. Or both. It's all too much and Joker gives up and lets his laughter over take him. Wrapping his arms around his chest. It takes him a few moments to notice the reactions of the dozens of flying rodents. What follows next cuts off his mirth and takes his breath away. Leaving him momentarily speechless. His acidic green orbs stare in awe at the display before him.

Almost deafening high pitched chirps plague havoc on his sense of hearing. Joker was never fond of the moments where his sensory was overloaded with stimuli and that went double for his hearing. This time, he was to mesmerized to dwell on it for longer than a fraction of a second. All he could do was stand there and watch the bats. Simultaneously their wings spread out and took flight.

The madman took a small step back. Expecting any moment for the hungry creatures to make a tasty treat out him. That didn't happen. Instead he was glued to the scene of the bigger black bats attacking the albino colored ones. Their fangs ripping them apart as multiple bigger ones would overpower the smaller ones. Joker watched as those tiny albino bats smiles were made wider. Pulled further apart by tiny needle like teeth of the black bats. A a part of him could swear their screech's of pain was instead a form of pleasant laughter. Green eyes were gouged out and swallowed whole. White wings sliced to only shreds remained. None could fly away and escape. They didn't even have a chance. Couldn't fight back nor did they attempt. Just screeched in pain -chortles of a symphony- as they were devoured. Their throats cut open exposing the tendons underneath. Raining down crimson from the sheer number of casualties. Blood splatters forming a stunning piece of artwork for an excited clown to see. Small once white, now coated red bodies fall to the ground in pile after pile. One by one they fall. Never to flap their wings and soar the night polluted sky again. It seemed to continue to go on and on for hours. A continuous bloody cycle of bat-mayhem.

A bat massacre! Caused by cannibalistic bats! Joker has officially seen it all. He couldn't decide if he should laugh or save his own skin before they turned on him next.

In any similar situation with that decision, Joker did what he always would do. He laughed. It was all just painstakingly beautiful! Downright exhilarating to witness! If only he brought some popcorn! Better yet! If only his darling was there to see such a wonderful sight with him. Joker isn't blinded to the symbolism. Neither would his playmate be blinded as well. He can't tear his eyes away. Watching each weaker albino bat be a sacrifice to the glorious Bat King that ruled over the dark kingdom. Each one playing the part in the dance they were meant to. With their deaths they only give strength to the ones deserving of it. When the last screech was cut off and the body hit the ground did the clown finally stop laughing. He stood up straight and stretched out his arms wide.

"C'mon little fellas! I betcha you all are still hungry!" He welcomes them fully.

Expecting them to drain him of his own life supply. The final sacrifice to his Bat God. Their perfect blue orbs look at him and he remembers the saying blind as a bat. Crimson glimmers off their fangs. He wonders momentarily if they can smell the blood on his face from his graze gunshot wound. If its as intoxicating to them as much as his own Bat loves making him bleed.

A chuckle escapes his ruby lips. "Go on! Don't be shy! I won't bite! I'll save that for you! Ha! Heh!"

Instead the dozens of black bats don't attack him. Don't acknowledge him as they start to fly away through the open door. Leaving Joker behind. At first he's confused. Then disappointed. Finally anger takes center stage and he throws his arms down in a huff. Wobbles on his feet by the sudden momentum of his movements. Should have figured that those flying rodents would be as stubborn as his playmate. Batsy was notorious for his stubborn streak. That ironclad will never budging an inch of ground, no matter how much force was pushed against it. Must be a common trait for all flying rodents it would appear.

His annoyance doesn't stay for very long as a familiar deep growl penetrates his souring mood. Breaking apart any ire he felt previously. Sending a shiver of intoxication down his spine. Joker knows that sound. Has heard it many times before. The sound of an angry Bat beast that soars the night sky to deliver self-righteous justice on dashing maniacs like himself. Batsy was nearby. His Bat King. The God that he would sacrifice his life for to bring out the best in his friend. Green eyes snap in the direction of the doorway where he guesses the sound came from. That must have been what caught the flying rodents attention. Batsy always did seems to have a swarm of those little critters at his disposal whenever he needed them.

Joker stands there for awhile. His heart pounding in his chest. He wants to make the Bat wait for him. Just like he's been made to anticipate when the next arrival of his playmate would be. It's petty. But, that's how their games went. If he showed he was to eager his best friend might not show up again anytime soon. Bat was also a very petty creature of the night. It was a small power play that the clown would lose happily. Though, he'd stay there as long as he could. It doesn't last for to long with how eager he is.

His grin widens as he takes a step closer. Ready to see his friend again. Joker's been missing him more than anything and in that moment he finally feels like his balance in the world is back to normal. Only to be stopped by a gasp for air coming from behind him. It's a jarring sound. Non-pleasant in the least. Making his body jerk in a start. A flash of dizziness passing through him. Either from blood-loss or that sound. Most likely the sound. He could handle the blood-loss like a Bat could handle one of his infamous joy buzzers. Another more dangerous growl is heard from the darkness in the doorway. An order as clear as day. A beckoning for the sweet embrace into the abyss, he craves from those strong hands cutting off his windpipe. The Bat god has spoken. A choice so easily made that it was not even a choice to begin with.

Yet, instead acidic green orbs turn to look behind him. And, through the distorted scenery all around him, one thing shines through like the Bat's symbol in the Gotham night sky. For one second. Just one. Joker doesn't believe what he is seeing. Nor, wants to believe it. His little pet project for the past several weeks is sitting against the wall. Knees to his chest, head to knees, and arms wrapped around his legs. The gasps for air are even more audible. Leveling out against the warning sound of growls from his King. Muttering that can't be deciphered is heard, but their meaning is painfully obvious. A sound that's always been music to his ears. Panic. Utterly chaos induced panic. Although, right now it doesn't bring him any semblance of a laugh. Not funny at all. In that moment his abundantly effortless choice is ripped away from him and left with a dilemma he's never found himself in before. His mind being pulled apart into two different directions.

One side to his Bat King.

The other side to Matchy.

This shouldn't be a hard choice.

Batsy always comes first.

His death at the hands of his playmate was destiny written in the smog filled skies of Gotham.

However, the more he looks at his pet project the more he feels the embers of something unprecedented burning within.

Joker doesn't want to define this sensation with a word.

Another arsonist in this dark kingdom means nothing.

Even if this said arsonist was a gift to him from his Bat all the same.

Created to occupy the Joker's time when Batsy couldn't come out to play.

Or.

Perhaps.

A.

Replacement...

If the Bat is-

No.

Not going there.

Can never be that blasphemous..

Another growl in the dark is blissfully given to him just in time. He turns in the direction to head towards his long awaited fate. Pleasantly happy with himself for avoiding the test of temptation. The forbidden fruit one might call it. The Clown Prince would never betray his Bat God. They belonged together. Were meant for each other. Been created for the balance that this putrid city needed to feast upon. Joker had made the right choice. He'll cast the arsonist that he enjoyed so much one last goodbye though. It's the least he could do for a creation of his favorite playmate.

"Sorry, Matchy, but Batsy is calling me. I know, you'll understand. Sure, things are frightful right now. It's okay. It's alright. Hush, my dear little favorite arsonist. Just let your heart pat-pat away, faster and faster till it gives out, and then all will be peachy keen." His words are nothing, but a whisper. Inaudible to all expect the air and him. A moment of sentimentality, that only he'd be allowed to be privy to. He lets out a bitter sounding laugh in a feeble attempt to feel like himself again.

A few steps are taken forward and then he hears the raspy gasp of his name being said behind him in a mutter that he almost missed and would later wish that he did.

The final thread in the Joker snaps...

Bruce was not handling the toxin as well as the manic was. His heart pounded painfully in his chest. Feeling as if the organ would explode in the time frame of a single blink. His skin feeling like needles were slowly tearing it apart. He feels liquid at his eyes, for a split second thinking they were tears, but rubbing at them brought back crimson instead. Unsure if his eyes were actually bleeding or not. It could be either with the toxin. Chest heaving; he tries to control his breathing. The task not effortless as his body doesn't get enough air. He's been through this before; he tells himself in a mantra to relax. It doesn't prove effective. Not when he needs it to. This batch wasn't like last time. Nor was it even close. Stronger. Deadlier, that if ever released could bring Gotham to its knees. That single thought just makes everything worse for him. Drags him down deeper into the poison coursing through his veins. Bracing himself for the hallucinations no doubt to come.

Footsteps catch Bruce's attention. Opening his eyes and blinking away possibly blood filled tears; vision blurry, he sees the distorted mask. It never terrified him before, and doesn't even now. Crane was just a man, his mask a tool to intimidate. And, although, Bruce isn't well in every aspect, he can focus just enough to use Scarecrow's presence as a semblance of sanity. It won't last, he's not naive enough to think that. But, he'll hold on to what he's got. No matter how short lived it might seem.

"Fascinating," Scarecrow muses out-loud. "With this particular batch of toxin that's going through your system, I'd estimate that you should be screaming right about now. But, you aren't. Not even a whimper to be heard. I wonder, why is that? What do you see?" He stands a couple inches away from the feigned criminal. Curiosity gleaming in pools of ice.

He keeps his stare, in the background he can hear laughter that distorts his reality even more. Not responding to the criminal, or, more accurately he's unwilling to. Wouldn't be able to keep the effects at bay if he does. All it would take is just one second of a lack of concentration and that would spell the end for him. Scarecrow doesn't seem to be bothered. Continuing the one sided conversation unperturbed by the silence.

"If I'm being honest, when you busted through my door, I expected to be killed on the spot. I would have if it were anyone else the Joker hired. Imagine, my unfathomable surprise, when that wasn't the case," He steps closer to Bruce. To close. Dangerously close for his own good. "This city is a poison as you're aware. It takes root in the hearts of criminals. Makes them sadistic in nature and the Joker is at the center of that plague. Why is it then, that he would care an inkling for a man who is to afraid to spill a little blood? Now, that's the right question. Isn't it?" His smirk grows. Knowingly. He's at the precipice of insight. Ready for the plunge. And, he takes it greedily. Bruce's vision becomes tunneled on the former psychologist. "I've spent months studying his mind, and there has only been one individual that was of noteworthy for receiving the man's twisted sense of affection. Is it mutual, I wonder? Is that what you see now? What scares you? Taking a life is one obvious fear, but what drove you to almost take it on a whim?" He leans in to whisper in Bruce's ear. "Batman."

One name was all it took. Bruce's hand shot out faster than Scarecrow could even process. Gripped around his throat and next thing the former doctor found himself was slammed into the wall. Feet off the ground. And, any pretense of not being afraid was washed away instantly for the Scarecrow. His assertion being proven accurate at the worst time possible.

"It was you, wasn't it?" Bruce growls out. His Batman persona tone taking center stage. "The messages came from you, didn't they? The letter. Texts. All of it. Even the meeting with- it was you." Fear turning to anger. Ready to lash out. Pushing back the fact that the room was spinning. Growing darker. Making it harder to see. Stay focused. He needs to. Scarecrow must have been behind everything. He can't think straight. Some factors not adding up right. It's not a perfect fit to the puzzle. It has to be. His eyes narrow. The man's windpipe crushing under his grip. His heart pounds even faster with the adrenaline; ready to burst. Bruce needs to know the truth. It's the only thing keeping his sanity together right now.

"I.. don't," he tries to gasp out, a shaky breath then says. "know what you're talking about."

"You're lying." The grip tightens. Closing in on the point of snapping that thin neck. All it would take is one twist.

Scarecrow seems to realize his mistake. Taunting the one man he could only ever fear. A man so close to the brink of breaking apart. His own toxin pushing the Batman closer to the edge. And, that's when his own need for self-perseveration takes ahold. He can only hope to reason with his enemy. Who thanks to his own actions, isn't exactly a walk in the park to accomplish. Frantic blue eyes look at the distracted clown unaware of anything around him. An idea forming in his mind. Hoping his toxin has taken ahold enough for this half thought out plan to work. If not, then he's certain that one rule the Batman was known for won't be kept tonight. And, he can't have that. Not when everything has gotten more fascinating.

"I'm not lying..." that's the truth, now for the lie. "I'm not even here..." the Bat doesn't believe him he finds out when his airway is completely cut off now. He gasps for much needed oxygen. Trying his damndest to get the words out. "You didn't make it in time to save him... You failed, Batman. Just like you'll fail this city." his words are grounded out through clenched teeth. The doubt that plagues the Bat's face is like a beacon of safety from the stars and when his body hits the ground hard, he knows he's won. For now. Best to fight another day, if the Bat even survives his toxin. Which he can't be so sure of in that moment. He'll find out later, that he is sure of. Not waiting any longer for the inevitable snap of the protector of Gotham, he takes his leave as quickly as his panicked state can carry him out the door. Not even closing it on his way out.

Believing his enemy wouldn't have happened on any regular day for Bruce. But, today his mental state was at its limits. The toxin strong enough to pinpoint his fears and bring it unwanted to the surface. Finding himself as more of an observer than anything, he turns his body when he hears a door open. That's when he goes stock still. His vision as blurry as it was could make out the necessary details as clear as day. He's still in the abandoned pharmacy, but what he sees makes his blood turn cold. The Joker lays there dead on the ground. Acidic green orbs that were once so filled with life are glassy. Staring him down. Blaming him. However, that's not all he sees. Because, there's a body right next to the clown. Two in fact. Both he recognizes in crystal clear clarity. One belonging to his parents murderer, the other the Scarecrow. It doesn't stop there. The more he blinks what he thinks is blood out of his eyes, the more bodies appear. All people he knows. Friends and enemies alike. One thing all in common. They are dead. Murdered in gruesome ways. Bullet wounds, limbs severed apart, necks broken, fully twisted around, even stab wounds. The lists of reasons for each death feels almost endless to Bruce. A gory scene that he just can't get away from.

Another blink and the scenery alters again. This time the bodies chest cavities are ripped open. There organs scattered across the room. Their dead eye stares still accusingly fixed on Bruce. He can easily decipher that out of all the organs littered across the floor, one part of their inner beings is missing with the bloody mess. His glance turns upwards, and that's when his breath hitches. Right there on the brown painted on wall was what he was searching for. The victims hearts. All nailed to the wall in a grotesque mockery of his Bat-symbol.

His heartbeat quickens.

Skin feels clammy.

Head spinning.

Every breath comes with a fight.

His sanity slipping farther and farther into the abyss the toxin provides.

It's not real.

It's not real.

It's not real.

It's not..

What finally breaks his will down. Makes his body, slide down the wall, crumbling mentally inside, is who stands over the bodies covered in blood. Way to much blood. The attire that was usually like a second skin to him. A warm embrace. Protection from the night and the criminals that plagued his city. Stood, Batman. Him. Blue eyes watching Bruce's every movement. Cold and calculating. Needing to tear his eyes away from the sight he looks down. Only for bile to almost make it out of his mouth that he needs to swallow down. For, his own hands are covered red. Shaking his head; he tries his hardest to clear his mind. To find a rational explanation, but in his drug induced mind he can't. Only one explanation making sense. It's his fault. And, he can't remember why this has happened. The earlier events of the day dissipating from his mind, leaving him bare to the horrors before him. It's to much. His knees move up to his chest in a poor attempt to shield himself from what he sees. Somewhere, in the distance his foggy mind can hear the sound of laughter over the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears. All, it does is make the situation worse on his fragile psyche.

Taking a risk, he glances back up and his other persona hasn't moved from his spot. Bruce wants to ask him why? But, his throat is too dry to make a sound other than a whimper. The Batman cocks his head to the side, a firearm in his hand as he takes aim at Bruce. In that moment any thoughts of saving himself leaves him. Welcoming any end to what he was experiencing. It would have been calming until he hears whispers on both sides of him. Against better judgement he tears his gaze away from the deadly Batman and nearly jumps out of his skin when two decomposed forms are crouched next to him. They smile, teeth falling out of rotten gums. Eyes a glassy shade of blue that are so similar to his own. The woman's hair is just patches on her head, falling off as well as pieces of her scalp. Maggots slither against the decomposed flesh of the man. It's only by their expensive attires that Bruce can even recognize them. And, his heart breaks at the sight. Despite, the age of decomposition on both corpses, the torn bullet wounds still bleeds as freshly as it did that night they were killed. His parents. He's seeing his dead parents reanimated as a nightmare.

"Not real.." he tries to utter, only for his mother to attempt to shush him. Her jaw unhinging from its joints with the action. Hanging limply as she has to force it back in place.

"Come home with us, Bruce," his father says next to him. "We've missed you son." Dirt falls from his mouth in a coughing fit that takes over his body. The dirt landing at Bruce's feet, insects crawling around in it and Bruce feels nauseous at the sight.

"You'll like it with us. Nothing will hurt you again." His mother reasons. Her voice sounding more of an echo. Only a second later does a scream tear through her mouth as her eyeballs fall out of their sockets and Bruce's has to cover his ears at the sound. It lasts for so long he thinks he might go deaf only to abruptly get cut off by a gurgle sound instead coming from her throat. She's choking on her own blood. It gushes out of her mouth. Staining her dirty expensive dress.

He looks towards Batman again. Anything to prevent seeing the state of the one's he's missed so much. The ones whose death has caused the birth of his crusade in the first place. Batman still doesn't say a word. More distant than anything, but takes a step closer. Gun still trained on him. In that time frame, he wishes his other persona wouldn't hesitate. If his code was truly broken as it appeared then he didn't care if he was the next target in a rampage. It would be fitting. A justifiable end for him.

What happens instead makes him almost shout out in despair, if he could even manage it through the shock his mind and body is experiencing. The gun does fire. Twice. Yet, just like all those years ago the bullets were not meant for him. Instead, they rip away his parents from his life for a second time. Their heads crack open at the blast. Instead of blood, ashes splatter out from the wounds. They crumble to the floor in front of him. And, Bruce can't even look at them. His widened eyes stay glued on the murderer. On the reflection in the mirror of himself. His chest aches, perhaps from the rate his heart is beating or from the trauma he's just witnessed. A broken sob escapes him. He lays his head against his knees as he wraps his arm around his legs. Muttering a mantra of not real. A prayer of sorts for the next shot to be for him or all of this to go away.

Time passes, how much, he's not sure as he stays like that. Waiting for something. Anything to happen. And, something does. The sound of loud familiar laughter catches all of his attention. He knows that sound. Memorized it. Knows it as well as he knows himself. Hears it even in his dreams. Followed after it in a pursuit to stop its owner's destructive games on countless nights. But, he can't be hearing it right now, so he doesn't lift his head. He saw the Joker's body. The clowns blood on his hands. Although, this feels to real, right now. Like a flashlight that he can walk across to get out of this nightmare on onto the other side. He grasp onto the feeling. Even if he can't fully believe it. And, his nemesis name falls from his lips as easily coming as if he was saying his own.

Burning. That's all the Joker could describe the sensation as he moved closer to his pet project. His brand mark on his chest felt like it was burning away his skin all over again. Not in the pleasant way it did before, but instead a painfully cruel reminder. Or, was that just his heart breaking apart at turning his back on his soulmate; his reason for living? It was hard to tell when the brand was right over his heart. Either way, he moved closer to the broken down arsonist. Each step taken, he felt like his Bat was punishing him for his disobedience. Heh. Not like this would be the first time. It's a petty thought that he casts away as quickly as it arrived. Joker couldn't blame the Bat for having his tights in a twist this time. Wouldn't be fair given the circumstances. Hopefully a new game would make it up to the brooding Bat. A laugh quenches the guilt. And, he makes it to his destination even if the journey felt longer than it should have been.

Matchy doesn't react to his presence. Which is a tad frustrating for the clown, given all that he's sacrificing right now for the other man. Petty as he is, he almost turns back for the rudeness against him, but stops short when he hears the other's muffled words more clearly. Repeating phrases of the lines of not real and even the Joker's name said multiple times. A sigh escapes him as he crouches down in front of his toy. Observing him in silence. He knew how to feign comfort. A necessity in his line of work and if he was so bold he would say he's mastered the act perfectly. What makes the madman hesitate at all from doing what he needs to do, is the simple fact is that this time it wouldn't feel like an act. It felt to real. To personal. He doesn't like it. Matchy may be a creation of his playmate, but Joker shouldn't be this affected by the other man's woes. It doesn't settle well with him. He should be laughing at the others misery. Taking joy at the joke of his pathetic state. But, he just can't. It's confusing and unwanted. Not funny at all. That just isn't right.

Another whimper is heard. And, it's just enough of a motivator for the clown to stop hesitating and get this show on the road. Way to quickly for his taste. His hand reaches forward and he strokes the sweat dampened chestnut hair. Taken note of the flinch the man gives at his touch. A frown appears on his features at the reaction.

"Matchy, calm down. It's just me," His voice is soothing, hiding all the complicated emotions he feels. Yet, the man doesn't respond and that makes his brand mark feel like it's on fire now. His head swimming with thoughts that he just wants to cage away. "Shush, my little arsonist. You're safe. Nothing to fear," he lets out a slight chuckle. Stroking a bit more roughly. Letting his fingers get tangled in the other's hair. Just to untangle them a second later. "I'm here, and we both know I'm the biggest bad guy in town. Heh. See. There's nothing to worry about." He hopes that would be enough. It isn't.

Personal space never registered in the clowns mind before and it doesn't now. He needs his arsonist to listen to him. And, his refusal only dictates more measures to be done to see to that goal. Without a second thought, his hands move to the other's ankles and yanks. He barely prevents getting kicked hard for the action and that provides the laughter he needs to feel a bit better. More like himself. His grip goes firmer. Tapping his fingers. Once. Twice. A third time against the other's ankles.

"We can rough house later, big guy. Right now, I need you to be good," He hums out. It satiates the fearful man long enough for the Joker to finish his objective. The clown pulls his toys legs free from the others embrace. Matchy's hands fall to his side. Head lowered avoiding eye contact. And, the clown straddles his waist. Hands gingerly cupping both sides of the other man's head and gently lifting it up to look him in the eyes. His smile strained with fondness. His fingers stoke the sides of his face. Wiping away tears that do nothing to make Matchy appealing. "Thatta boy, so well behaved for Uncle J. It's alright now. Relax. Calm that racing ticker of yours. I'm not going anywhere until you do." He purrs. Pulling Matchy's head to lay against his shoulder. One hand embracing him, stroking his back in gentle circles, as the other strokes his hair. Humming a little song he heard on the radio that he can't remember the exact tune to. Doing everything he can to not focus on how much his brand mark still hurts him or the tightening ache in his chest.

The touch against his head makes Bruce clench his eyes tightly. A flinch engulfs his form. Thinking any moment his head will be yanked up and the bullet would enter his brain. He's not afraid of death. What he's more afraid of is being forced to see more of his failures. It doesn't come. At least not in a way he was expecting. A small part of his mind can hear someone talking, but he can't make out what they're saying. Nor, does he care one bit. When he feels a grip on his legs however, that's when his body reacts out of instinct. Trying to fight back only for his legs to be forced down by an iron grip. More words are spoken and this time, he thinks he might understand them. Relaxing him only slightly. A weight settles upon him and when he feels a touch against his face that's when he finally opens his eyes. Expecting another nightmare image, and in a way it is one. For the man in front of him has haunted his dreams in the worse ways possible for years now. Joker is looking at him with an unreadable look. Lips moving, but Bruce doesn't pay attention to the words coming forth. His body is stock still, and only moves against his accord like a puppet on strings when the maniac embraces him.

The smell of blood, expensive cologne and the scent of gasoline that always clung to the clown's body engulfs his nostrils. It should disgust him. it always did in the past. Right now, it feels like returning home after a rough day. Familiar. Even if it's a reminder of all he fights against in this city of theirs. His tired eyes close as he listens to whatever his nemesis is humming. Letting his body relax against the murderer he should be avoiding this close proximity to like the plague.

"This isn't real. Can't be." He mutters against his enemy's neck. Unbelieving for a second that this could actually be happening. That something horrible is about to happen. His breath hitches and his body tenses. The clown take's notice and holds him tighter. As if that will destroy any doubts.

"It's real, buddy. Let me take care of you," He echos Bruce's words from earlier. A short pause. "Wanna hear a joke? I've got plenty. Knock em' dead type of, ha ha funny," that was the wrong thing to say and Bruce tries to pull away, but the clown predicts this and doesn't let up on his grip. Keeping Bruce against him. After a moment, he says. "Why did the little girl fall off the swing?"

He doesn't want to play along with the Joker's games. Because, this isn't real, despite the lies the clown might tell him. Just his mind playing a cruel trick on him. Any second now, he'll find himself in the messed up reality that broke him down. He needs to be prepared for it. But, the grip that tightens on his hair is enough for him to just go along with it for now.

"Why?" He mutters out.

"Because she had no arms." Joker chuckles. Another pause and his hand mimics knocking on a door on Bruce's back. "Knock, knock!" He exclaims giddily.

"Who's there?" He replies.

"Not the little girl." Joker finishes. Echos of his insane laughter fill the room.

It's a morbid joke. Unexpected. And, the fucked up situation as a whole let's Bruce let loose for just a second and he gives just one weakly chuckle. The Joker nuzzles his head against him. And, back to humming he goes after some time. Seeming to take the silence as a pleasantry for once. Refusing to break it other than his quiet humming.

For Bruce the silence doesn't help his mental state. He keeps waiting for the inevitable and when it doesn't arrive the paranoia just gets worse. The body he's pressed against feels like safety that doesn't fit properly in his mind. Knowing the full depths the manic was capable of. Yet, right now the Joker is his only anchor to an illusion of sanity. He must have gone insane. As mad as the ones he locked away. Batman would not find any sort of satisfaction in his nemesis. Never. Ever. Regardless, Bruce does and that terrifies him. Because, inside he's drowning with need for this to be real. If it's real, he can fight against it. Disregard, any thought that allows him to accept the Joker in any sort of positive way. No. What is actually terrifying is the truth. That he doesn't want to fight back. That he wants to prove this is real and feel fleeting safety from his nemesis. The Joker is familiar to him. Just like himself. A fact of life that was always present. No matter what happened during his long nights in Gotham the clown would be there waiting to play a game with him. It's twisted. Fucked up. Morally wrong. And, he can't turn his back on how comforting the clown against him feels when he's so damn confused and his memories of earlier events today feel to jumbled; unattainable.

With that thought one sensation he ignored earlier hits him like a freight train. Knocking the air out of his lungs. The tingling sensation of ruby red lips pressed against his own for less than a couple of seconds. It's presence lingering and not leaving his side. Suddenly, he realizes that it feels like the clown's body is slipping away from him. It's not, but his drug induced mind that brings out his worst fears won't let him realize that. Panic comes back full swing. Needing the Joker to stay with him. His only connection to what might be real in the world he found himself in. Doubts, on if his enemy's presence is an actuality dissipate like smoke in his mind. The Joker was really here. And, now he was leaving. He can't leave. If he does then Bruce would have nothing to hold onto. That kiss earlier was real. Right?

Growing toxin implanted insanity removes all restraint. Bruce pulls away from the Joker. Green eyes watch him with a look is surprise. The tiny pin pricks of pupils small as ever. They only ever expand with love for his Batman persona, is the thought Bruce has right before he dives into the ocean of lunacy. His lips crash against the Joker's own. And, it feels so real he might almost cry. He has enough sense to know that would be more of a damnation than anything he's doing now. There's a gasp coming from the Joker that he ignores as his arms hold the clown close to his chest. Not wanting to let go. The lithe body is stiff against him. Bruce doesn't care. Even when a few seconds into his desperation of a kiss he feels the cold sting of metal digging into his adam's apple. Feeling the liquid drip down his throat and the slight burning sensation of his flesh opening due to pressure of the blade. Unlike, earlier when he had a blade to his throat, it's welcomed this time. A sign that what is happening is real. Joker isn't responding to his actions other than putting the other man's life at risk. It doesn't last though. And, soon he feels the clown kissing back just as desperately. It's sloppy. Messy. Ungraceful for them both. Bruising their lips against each other. Parting, for their tongues can taste each other. Copper. And, the excessively sugary drink Joker had drank earlier fill his mouth. Pleasant. Wrong. He doesn't care. He should care. A bite to the lips, one given in return that rends flesh. Breaths coming out faster. Chest hurting from his already racing heart exhilarating. The knife cuts deeper into his throat and he winces against the other's mouth. In that second, Bruce sees the reality of the world as Joker explained to him. That they might be the only two people who actually exist. It's madness. He makes the kiss go deeper. Fingers clinging the Joker's back. This lasts for an unknown amount of time. Both drinking each other in. Being closer than they ever had before and only Bruce is aware of that fact. He hears a growl as the Joker grabs his hair and yanks his head back hard. Pulling some hair out in the process. Parting them from each other.

Bruce is silent other than his gasps for breath. In the distance he swears he can make out the sound police sirens. Although, it doesn't take his focus away from the clown that is staring at him with an unreadable expression. The pain from his wound finally registers in his mind. His heartbeat in his ears. And, that's when his recollection of everything that transpired earlier and just now actually attacks his numb mind. Terrifying. A nightmare of his own design that he can't justify to himself. Self denial all washed away and unattainable. He feels like he'll black out at any second. Wishes for that more than anything right now just to get away from what he's done.

What the fuck did he just do?

It's not the toxin this time that makes his fear skyrocket. No. For when he stares long enough into that sharp unblinking stare of a murderer where he can't even fathom to read what's going on through the Joker's head. The fear. Real crippling terror comes from those tiny pin pricks in pools of acidic green, expanding, just slightly, that he might be mistaken in what he sees. However they stay like that. Expanded. For him.

And, the horrifying thought that perhaps he mirrors the Joker in that moment is the breaking point.