Author's Note: Sorry for the long delays! They'll speed up some now for the last few chapters.

A RUNNING GAG

Nightwing drove through the streets of Gotham as fast as he could. His eyes weren't on the road, perhaps as they should be. They were scouring the bay and the harbour, the last place his mentor's location tracker had been activated. As of an hour ago, the Batman was in the dark...

There's other things I have to think about right now, he thought. Stay focussed, Grayson.

The Joker was wounded and Harley Quinn was raising hell. She'd left a trail of fire and ruin through the city, one that Dick was following. He was a little out of the way, his field of vision sweeping over the dark waters. If he was in there somewhere, Barbra would find him. If he wasn't, he'd surface. Gotham's dark hero always did.

"Master Grayson, are you there?"

"Reading you loud and clear, Al."

"It seems Miss Quinn has mended the Joker as far as she can and they are now making their way into the East End."

"Do we know what happened to him yet?"

"Survivors from the hospital say Miss Quinn was screaming about him being shot by – by Batman."

"Batman? Doesn't make sense. I'll get back to you."

"Yes, Master Grayson."

The line went dead as Dick swerved around a corner. Down Central Lane, he could see Wayne Tower. At its peak were lights, so bright that they lit up the Gotham skyline more than the thin slant of moon in the distance. Dick didn't want to deal with this himself; the Joker turned his stomach. Batman usually insisted to deal with the clown alone, and usually, Nightwing was more than happy to oblige. Tonight was different. Tonight he had no other option.

Dick pushed his earpiece. "Barbra – have you found any trace of him?"

"Not a thing. He's never been gone this long before – and all hell seems to be breaking loose. Deathstroke slaughtered two Sinestro Corps members, half of the Iceberg Lounge and then scared people in the Tap Room – and he's got a friend."

"A friend? One of the Suicide Squad?"

"No. They're calling him the black archer."

Merlyn. "They can wait. Joker's more important."

"Joker's out of commission –"

"—Joker is never out of commission. Don't fall for that gag. This could all be a trap to get a certain someone's attention… and when he doesn't get the card he was looking for, he might flip the table."

"Colourful metaphors."

She couldn't see the smile, but he was certain she could hear it in his voice. "I briefly considered becoming an existential novelist."

People didn't wave at Nightwing as he flew by them, something he considered to be odd. They simply looked, some might even have glared. He had a habit of looking into things too much, but in this case he felt it was warranted. Batgirl didn't share his concern. "I'm sure you'd have been fantastic. Probably would have won a Pulitzer. A regular Lois Lane."

The city was quiet but for the wind rushing past him. The city was a black and grey blur around him, one that made him uncomfortable. The streets should have been different, louder and filled with streamers. When Joker was on the move, the city lit up with a dark laughter. Now… dark silence, and a promise of bad things to come.

He saw the tidings of that when he turned into the East End. The streets were filled with the twitching dead, manic grins slit across their face. In the air Nightwing could still taste the residuals of the Smilex, and on the street the result of its spread make him feel sick. Why did you do this, Harley? Joker won't be there to praise you for it. Has he woken up?

"Barbra – Quinn's let Joker's toxin out through the East End district."

"Are people injured?"

"There's a lot of dead people here. Dozens." He slowed the bike. Most of the bodies were concentrated outside of a large building, detached from the others. Its doors were open where the others were sealed shut. Nightwing pulled the bike to a stop and jumped off. "Some of these stores sealed the bottom of their doors up." People lay, writhing and giggling, at them, clawing to get to safety… and others had closed their doors and let them. Eyes peeked out from inside stores.

"Why?"

"To stop the gas getting in, they left all these people out here to die."

"Maybe they didn't have a choice, Dick. We don't know what happened here."

Dick's mood darkened. "I know exactly what happened here. I need to catch him..."

Barbra seemed to hesitate on the other side of the line. "Dick, there's a reason the Batman alone deals with Joker. He's… he's warped. He could hurt you. He won't hesitate. You aren't the one he wants to see – Batman is. I don't want you going into a situation you might not walk away from."

"I'll be fine, Barbra. Keep me updated."

Nightwing followed the death-paved streets further down until he saw where it led: the Gotham High Church, dead in the middle of the East End. Gothic towers rose up and then swooped into domes; dark reds and purples the windows were. Outside of it, a few of Joker's henchmen stood. Nightwing pulled up and got off his bike.

"Let me through, boys. I'm not in the mood."

"Look! It's the Nightwing! Kill him!"

"Okay then," Dick Grayson sighed. "Let's dance."

Casual flicks of his wrists sent twisting bolas flying through the air. It smashed two of the four in their faces, and their guns went off, firing everywhere. Nightwing ducked down behind an old garbage can. He waited until the clicking stop, and then launched another attack. One of them tried to throw their gun at him, and failed; Dick followed up by launching upwards and landing his foot square in his chest and twisting. His staff came out and glinted at the top, blue and sparkling with electric fire.

He slammed it into the foot of another and they fell, screaming. Dick always felt that their pain was largely exaggerated – he'd mishandled it a few times, clumsy as he was, and it wasn't anywhere near as bad as the Taser Batman often used in close-quarters. The remaining henchmen decided to opt to run, and Dick let him. Usually he'd give chase, punch him up a little to teach him a lesson, but this was more severe. Corpses littered the streets, and the laughing maniac had to be brought into justice.

Nightwing made his way up the broad, high staircase into the Church and found that the doors were bound with chains. He took out his grapple it twisted up and around a gargoyle, pulling him up with it. The dome took a few attempts to scale, but once he did he found flat section in the middle, where aerials and the like were kept. To keep the stealth factor, he picked the lock.

It opened immediately into a small, metal staircase. He could make out the gentle vibrations that distant voices made, though no distinct words came through. Dick Grayson stayed the path.

The last time he'd heard from Joker, he'd killed hundreds in Gotham and Batman had called in the entire Batfamily from all around. This was nothing compared to this in the long run, but each life was special – each life was another notch on the headboard for the Joker.

The stairs led out onto an upper-balcony, but looking around, Nightwing couldn't see Harley or Joker. Joker thugs lined the bottom, smashing up things, but he wasn't there. Nightwing listened.

"—maybe he'll be back to his usual self soon."

"Are you kiddin' me? I saw all the blood! No way he's making it out of here alive, or anytime soon."

So he is here.

He followed the balcony around and went through another day, and that was when he heard the wheezing, whirring laugh of Joker.

"Puddin', you need to keep still."

"But why, Harley?" A beat passed. "You are Harley, aren't you?"

"Yes, puddin'. I'm your Harley. Vroom vroom!" She giggled.

"I can't tell the difference between you and the thugs most days. You all have such masculine features…"

Nightwing looked down into the small room; the balcony lined three of the four walls. Joker was sitting on a rocking chair, a dead body slouched on the floor beneath him – the priest. Harley was trying to sew up a wound on his face, it seemed. His purple jacket was on the table, but other than that he was fully outfitted. Dick knew he'd have to be careful.

Harley slapped him gently and he coughed, wheezing and whooping. "Oh golly I'm dying I can't breath oh gosh I'm dying to death, Harley!"

"You're gonna be fine, Mister J. Trust me. I'm a doc."

"And no doubt you slutted your way up the ladder!"

She whined a little, but said nothing. Joker began to hum. Nightwing stepped out from the shadows, aiming to walk around the balcony and see if there were any other guards. His heart was beating faster than usual in his chest, enough that he could hear and feel it in his ears. Pulse, pulse, pulse, pulse, all the way around his body.

"I think that's offensive to me."

"He's crazy, you know."

"Batman?"

"No, the dead priest – YES BATMAN." Joker coughed and spluttered, grasping at his chest.

"Please, puddin'! Don't shout like that! You're recovering!"

"What if this is all a dream?"

"This isn't a dream, puddin'."

"Dream Harley would say that too."

"He's not here, is he? My nails are still drying! Hoo!" Joker's neck craned upwards to see what was hiding in the balcony above and Harley shouted that some of his stitches had burst. "No, that can't be my Batman… my Batman doesn't make noises. Cooo-ey! Come out, come out! Hoo-hooo-hooo!"

Nightwing knew surprise was no longer a part of it, so he jumped down and hit Harley, then bounced back towards the door. They were alone in the room. Joker was squealing with excitement, and Nightwing cursed his forward thinking – he should have taken out Joker first; even maimed, he was still a thousand times more dangerous than Harley Quinn.

"Hail to the chief," Joker said, slapping his thigh. "Well, his second in command. How ya been, Blue? You look good. Sorry about the clutter. Who'd have thought a street full of citizens and an old priest would have been so messy?"

"This ends now, Joker. I'm taking you back to Arkham."

Joker shook his head. "No, no, no. Only my delectable dear dark knight has the right to take me to Arkham, and it ain't you. Where is he? He shot me, you know."

"What?" Is this a trick?

"Right here." Joker pointed to around his chest, where blood kneaded through the shirt. "Harley says she set him on fire."

"You're lying."

"I know, I know. Bats would never try to kill me, never mind with a gun. He's against guns, you know. I disagree. A uniquely American quality, don't you think? Hee-hee-hee…"

He's planning something already. I can see it in his eyes.

"Just make this easy for us, Joker."

Too late did Nightwing see Joker produce a handgun from just below the desk. He expected it to go off, for him to fire and kill him, and then he jumped up with surprising athletic finesse and threw the gun to him. Nightwing dodged it.

"I'm really disappointed with you, Blue. The moment was perfect and you didn't have the nerve!"

Joker skirted around Nightwing, tossing teeth from his pockets. Nightwing moved out the way of them, though they chattered and gave chase. A hard foot brought them to pieces and he looked back up. Joker was pointing the gun at him, and a giant grin was spread out across his face.

"You're a glutton for punishment," he said. "I like that."

Nightwing reached for his grapple and fired it up. He rose through the air… but not quick enough.

A feeling like a cold trickle spread through his back… he felt his grip on the grapple loosen, and he fell to the ground.

Footsteps burst into the room. "Boss?! We heard a – is that Nightwing?"

"Yes," Joker said, though there was a melancholy in his voice. "Never send a boy to do a man's work. I miss my Batman. Boys, pick up Harley. We should go." Joker came over to Nightwing and stood over him. Dick blinked a few times, his eyes stinging and cold and the rest of him, numb.

"Joker—"

"Reserve your energy," he said, laughing. "You'll need it to call for help… unless you want to make alternate arrangements." Joker dropped the handgun onto his chest.

"Think of this as… a running gag." He winked and left the room, howling with laughter.

Nightwing lay there quietly for a long time before his earpiece bleeped. He was crying. Barbra's voice cried out with excitement, "Dick! We found him! He's alive, but badly injured. Where are you? Have you dealt with Joker yet?"

"Barbra," Dick Grayson said, struggling to form a sentence. "I can't feel my legs… I can't feel my legs…"