Why So Serious?

A Batman Begins/Dark Knight fanfic

Rating: M, for safety's sake.

Pairings: Bruce/Joker, Harvey/Rachel

Warnings: AU, Slash, Language (Mostly mine), Hetero, Violence, High School Humor, Murder, Bullying, and Brucie!Bruce.


Disclaimer: I don't own Bruce Wayne, the Joker, Batman, or anything else related. They belong, I believe, to DC comics and Bob Kane. I don't own The Johnson theme song, Charming Ultra, or Jan Seybold. I do own Strawberry Dream, Diana Cross, and The Diana Files. I co-own The Wannabe Russians with Akito-chan. I also own The First Annual Wayne Junior Engineering Competition of Gotham High. I don't own Scrubs.


A/N: Nothing new is happening. Except for one little thing. The fucking newspaper wants to interview me. Haha? I went to a very prestigious camp this summer. A camp for prodigies of science, math, and engineering. I had to send in my last report card (4.0, what else?), all the health papers, and a teacher's recommendation. I got a 275 dollar scholarship to a 300 dollar camp. I was very pleased. I told my parents I did not want to do an interview. In a town like mine, I have already inadverntantly appeared in at least 10 articles, whether for school or extra curricular activities. Why add to my eternal misery? Oh well. I'll do it. Show a couple pictures, throw in a few lines, attempt to hide my face. Wish me luck!


Why So Serious?
"Will true love prevail? Not on my show"
-The Joker, Wild Cards Part 1

Joker's POV

An acrid smell began filling the closet. And I laughed harder, the seriousness of our situation sinking in at long last. That was smoke. Where there's smoke there's fire. Where there's fire there is FUCKING FIRE!! I covered my mouth and said, albeit muffledly,

"Bruce. We've got to get out of here! Now! I know you know what that smell is!" He shifted nervously behind me,

"So what if I had two breakfast burritos this morning, don't look at me!" Gawd, he can't be that much of an idiot, can he? I glared my death glare, and he quickly said,

"Kidding! Geez, can you take a joke?"

"There's a fire outside, moron. The building is on fire. We might die. If the smoke don't get ya, the flames sure will. A direct quote from the Lieutenant." I jimmied the handle again, praying for a miracle. I didn't have to look too far.

"Scooch." He thinks he can do better? Fine. I moved away from the door as Bruce slipped past. He rammed his shoulder against the door. That tactic might work, eventually. But we need something faster, the smoke is slowly killing us, would this be firsthand or second hand smoke? Not the time, think, Jack, think, you can find the picture of the door in your head. What was the lock on the door, key, electric, or bolt? Hmm, KEY! I guess they aren't paranoid about having illegal animals in a closet. I poked Bruce's shoulder, at least, I think it was his shoulder.

"Bruce, what do you have in your pockets? And get down, smoke rises, remember?" I crouched and began digging through my pockets. A pencil, a piece of gum, a caramel apple lollipop, dammit. Nothing I can use to pick the lock. Bruce spoke up,

"I have a couple ball-point pens, a mini notebook with a mini pencil, a Bruce Wayne keychain, adorably chibi, and some mentos." No, we're doomed! Wait, what was that he said?

"Let me see the notebook." He was kneeling and when he chucked the notebook at me, it slammed into my nose. Ouchies. What is it with pain today? I growled again, and felt the cover, tracing along the wire spine.

"Yes!" I cheered and began twisting the wire out of the holes. Thankfully, it was already slightly loose, and worked free easily. I straightened it as best I could, and inserted it in the lock. I took a deep breath and concentrated. What was the brand on the lock. Birkdale. The lock was a Birkdale handleset. I can do this, remember your training, Jack.

Bruce shifted again behind me. "What are you doing?" Oh great, now I have to explain it. Cross that bridge when you come to it. Breathe.

"I'm picking the lock, shut up. I need silence, I haven't done this in years." That seemed to placate him for now, but I'm sure I'll be asked again later. If we get out alive, that is. I twisted the wire, applying pressure to the pins. I heard the first one snap into place, and then I repeated the process, pressing 6 pins altogether, I used the mini pencil as another pressure and... aha! The lock clicked and, after turning the handle, the door swung open.

"We're free. Why didn't you do this in the first place?" Oh sure, I just saved our lives and he critisizes me. I rushed down the hall, or rather, hurriedly hobbled my way to the stairs. I could see the flames at the other end of the third floor corridor. Bruce ran ahead leaping stairs three at a time. I was slightly slower, the pain in my ribs and foot weighing heavily on my speed.

I made it down one flight before collapsing. I had inhaled a bit too much smoke, and was a little too freaked out by pain and cold. Claustophobia does this sometimes, too. I think I'm in shock. Bruce heard my agonized moans and returned, scooping me up in manner mirroring his previous actions. I was hoisted up bridal style, and carried down the last flight of stairs and towards the front doors.

A chunk of flaming ceiling tile crashed down in front of us, sending sparks flying wildly. It was beautiful in a horrific way. The colors blending and burning, it truely is nature's art. I shook my head, clearing these unuseful thoughts. I yelled, over the crackling fire,

"Is there a back way out?" Bruce nodded and took off, dodging burning desks and chairs. The scene was the opposite of what it had been two hours ago. I hope Ms. Seybold is okay, she was a nice lady. I saw the burnt-out exit sign ahead as we burst through the door, out into fresh air, filling our lungs desperately.

Bruce's POV

I hugged the Joker close to my chest, just relieved to be alive. I barely registered the shrill cries of police cars, ambulances, and fire trucks. It was all white noise to me. All I could hear was the deep, gasping breaths of Jack and I. We made it, it's over, we'll survive. Some figures in black jackets spotted us and ran over.

"Bruce Wayne? What is he doing here? And who's this guy, I thought we had everybody out?" EMTs, they can help us. I keeled over, holding on to the Joker for dear life. A pair of hands gently tried to remove him from my arms, put I wouldn't let go, couldn't let go.

"They're both in shock get 'em in the ambulance, stat." Jack was pried from my grasp and I lost the battle with consciousness. Panic, relief, and exhaustion had set in at last.


A/N: Short chapter, I'm sorry. I have work soon, and the interview, bleh, and I promise I'll post another chapter later today.