AN: Thanks to everyone for the well-wishes! Sorry for the delay in the review, school, sickness, and fighting zombies got in the way. Luckily I'm not sick anymore, and Humans vs. Zombies will be over tomorrow, I'm not exactly sure.

Thanks for the reviews!

The Joker could feel the force of Jonny's head against the wall, the contact enough to send impact reverberating up his arms. The Joker noted that there was blood on the wall—finally, a splash of color beyond the sheets—but he was inclined to believe that it had come from his injuries, not Jonny's. There was a lot of blood, most of it higher than Jonny's head, and the cuffs had cut very deep into his skin before Bats had managed to pull the chains out of the wall.

That had really hurt. Badly enough that it went from being a good pain back to being something agonizing, and that never happened. Not even when the semi truck had flipped with him inside. None of that mattered now, though. He'd have to talk to Batsy about establishing a safe word later, but for the moment, his top priority was to keep Jonny from fucking things up any more than he already had.

His friend had slumped forward, but he was holding himself up, somewhat, which meant he was still conscious. The Joker pulled him back up, slammed him against the cement again. There was blood this time, definitely from Jonny, but there wasn't a lot of it. He doubted scarecrows had much blood to begin with. It would make the straw rot. Though, a lot had come out on Halloween, when he beat him senseless in the parking lot. Well, he hadn't heard anything crack this time, so the blood was probably caused by friction against the wall, like his own bandaged wound.

Whatever damage he'd done, it caused Jonny to collapse completely. The Joker stood, picking Jonny up as he went. He turned, nearly tripped on one of his chains, which had somehow wound itself around his legs during the struggle, regained his balance, and half-ran for the door. He didn't know how long Jonny would be out, and he didn't want to give him the opportunity to wake up, not while they were still in this cell. He paused at the connecting door, halted by the realization that he didn't know the security code.

"What are you doing?"

He turned. "Sa—" The word died on his lips as he realized he wasn't talking to Batman.

Oh, the Batsuit was there, all right. And the cape. And they fit the right way on that body, exactly the gorgeous intimidating physique that the Bat had. Likewise, the voice; that raspy, barely coherent growl that never failed to send shivers down his spine. But the mask was off, and without that, there was no Batman. Just Bruce Wayne, with his hair slightly mussed and big black circles painted around his eyes, like a panda. It should have been funny.

It wasn't. It felt a lot like being kicked in the stomach. Seeing Bruce Wayne masquerading as his Bat made something inside him twist. It was like winding up a broken music box; the sound that came out was recognizable as a song, somewhat, but it had become so distorted that it sounded wrong. And disturbing. He felt dizzy, though that could be from blood loss. The cuts from the restraints weren't gushing anymore, but the blood hadn't stopped flowing. "Christ," he managed, which made the situation all the more wrong. He was the Joker. He was never at a loss for words. "Don't show me that."

Bruce Wayne stared at him with a look that made him want to punch the stupid playboy more than a little bit. Then his brain seemed to start working and he lifted the mask in his hand, sliding it back on. Thank God.

"Saving your ass," he continued, deciding that that unpleasant little moment had not happened, and nothing could convince him otherwise. "Open the door."

"Wh—"

"Do ya want the kid with the chronic inability to stop running his mouth to know your secret? Open it."

Batman stared at him, looked as if he wanted to say something further, and then gave up, punching in the security code after a moment of what looked like hesitation. But it couldn't have been. Batman didn't hesitate.

The moment he heard the door click he shouldered it open, rushing inside. Jonny had begun to shift in his arms a bit, which he took as a sign that he should have hit him harder. This wasn't going to work if Jonny ruined it by waking up.

He lay Jonny down on the mattress, looked at the chains. Jonny had slid them off, it seemed, and judging by his movement and breathing, the Joker wouldn't have time to get them back on before his friend regained consciousness. Oh well. He'd probably believe that he'd managed to take the cuffs off, bled all over the floor and sheets, and given himself an open head wound in his sleep. It wasn't that far of a stretch.

He straightened Jonny's glasses, turned to leave.

"Joker?"

Damn it. Well, maybe if he just ignored him—

"Joker?"

"No?" he offered, turning toward the mattress but continuing to edge toward the door.

"What are you doing?" He was struggling to sit up, looking dazed. "Why the hell did you slam my head against the wall?"

"No idea what you're talking about." He went back to the mattress, knelt down. "This is the first time I've seen ya all day, kitten. I thought you might like to know that I figured out the security code too, but I, uh, didn't wanna wake you, so I'll just be off—"

Jonny grabbed hold of his wrist, kept him from rising. "You slammed me into a wall. A cement wall. Twice. You could have killed me, you son of a bitch."

Oh, because your life is so worth living. "You were dreaming, angel." He put his free hand on Jonny's shoulder, pushing him back onto the mattress. "You were kicking around a lot, so it might have felt like—"

The hand not clasped around the Joker's wrist moved to his face, grazed the blood there. "I'm bleeding."

"Like I said. Kicking around a lot. Look, you seem really stressed about this, so I'll just leave ya to go back to sleep, and—"

"You were screaming." He was wincing. It could have been from the pain of the head wound, or maybe it hurt to remember. He hoped it was the latter. His life would be far less stressful, if he could just convince Jonny into forgetting all about this. "I thought the Batman was killing you, you sounded like you were being ripped apart. I thought you were dying."

"Oh, so it was a nightmare. That explains a lot." He stroked Jonny's hand, fingers grazing over the round scar that the Joker had been told came from a nail gun. "I'm sure it was scary, but I'm fine, see?"

"Your makeup is gone, your face is bandaged, you're bleeding all over—and getting it on me and the floor and the sheets, I might add—and the chains are still hanging off of you. I just happened to have a dream where all of those occurred precisely as they are now, is that it? And explain exactly how all that came to be, if the Batman didn't attack you?"

Hell. "I got bored?"

"Enough. I know that I came over to help you and fell—tackled him and started throwing punches. And I know that you tried to stop me and I ended up pulling off Bruce Wayne—the Batman's—mask. There is nothing you can say to make me believe that that didn't happen."

The Joker stared at him. And forced himself to laugh until tears came to his eyes. "Bruce Wayne? Honey, remind me to try whatever meds they've got you on, because that sounds like one hell of a trip."

"Shut up." Jonny wasn't going to make this easy, it seemed. The Joker wondered if it would do permanent damage if he rammed his head against the wall a few more times. He wondered if he even cared what damage it did. "What exactly did you hope to accomplish by knocking me out? Did you actually think I'd believe that I dreamt it up?"

"Jonathan." He ran a hand along his friend's face, wiping away the blood there. "It didn't happen." He lifted his hand, waved it from one side of his body to the other as he spoke, as if performing a Jedi mind trick. Suggestion was a powerful thing, provided the person who needed convincing was open to it.

Jonny, however, was about as open as a parking space on Black Friday, at the moment. "Not. Going. To. Work."

The Joker tried to look as reasonable as a man with a Glasgow smile, covered in blood and bandages, possibly could. "All right, I'm sure it seemed real, but that doesn't change the fact that—"

"Dulcis Virgo Maria," Jonny muttered, before raising his arm and pointing towards the door. "He's standing right there, you idiot."

The Joker turned to find Batman darkening the doorway. Damn it. "And how long have ya been standing there?"

"The entire time."

"Why?"

"As if I'd leave the two of you alone together."

The Joker ground his teeth. "Well, thanks ever so much. I almost had him convinced."

"No, you really didn't," Jonny snapped, as Batsy scoffed. Everyone was against him. Nice. He tried to do a good deed, and this was how he was repaid. Now that Jonny knew the unfortunate truth, it was only a matter of time until everyone and their third cousin did as well, and Bats would lose all of his intimidation factor. Who was going to be afraid of some playboy idiot? Just thinking about the face beneath the mask made his stomach twist again, making slamming his own head into the wall seem like a greatly appealing process. It wasn't fair.

"'Scuse me for trying to protect your dirty little secret." He turned back to Jonny, who he realized was still clamped to his wrist. Out of fear of Bats, it would seem. Maybe he was wrong about the Caped Crusader's street cred being dependent on anonymity. "Any chance I can convince you that you're still dreaming?"

"Absolutely not."

Weren't scarecrows supposed to be brainless? He wasn't even being his fun, unable-to-shut-up self. That had better be the anger talking and not the meds adjusting. If the Joker had to know the horrible truth about his Bat and have his spur of the moment confuse-Jonny-into-forgetting-what-he-knows plan fail, he at least wanted entertainment out of it. It seemed the world was against him, today.

Jonny still looked pale as ever, except for the streaks of red where blood had run down his face. Knowing him, he probably thought Batsy was going to kill him so as not to compromise the protection of the Bruce Wayne persona. It was funny, how such a smart person could panic about such impossible things. Well, it would have been funny, had he not been in such a shitty mood. His hand was tight around the Joker's wrist; not as tight as it could be, as the wound from the cuffs made his skin slick with blood, but still tight enough to hurt nicely. He looked a few minutes away from a panic attack.

Bats also looked pale under the mask, jaw tight and mouth in a line thinner than the Joker ever recalled seeing before. Usually the Joker liked seeing him get all serious; it meant a fight was in short order. This, he did not like. Not one bit. Who knew how Batsy would take this? He hadn't wanted to let the Bat know he was in on the truth, but the loss of his makeup had forced his hand. That had been wrong.

The Joker wasn't sure how he looked at the moment, but he still felt sick. He felt naked without the makeup. Worse than naked, dirty somehow. He'd never had a security blanket, and his makeup did not serve that purpose, but he would kill to have it back. It didn't help that the whole Bruce Wayne debacle was out in the open now. Not at all.

There was an elephant in the room again, but unlike the full salute in the skirt from the other day, this one wasn't amusing. He could feel the unspoken question hanging over all of their heads, like a rain cloud about to start pouring. Where do we go from here?

AN: Dulcis Virgo Maria is Sweet Virgin Mary. I'm not sure why I have Jonathan use Catholic terms at times, given that his great-grandmother appeared to be some kind of Protestant, and his Year One comic leads me to think that he's an atheist. So yeah.

I'll try to have a longer next chapter!