The Stacked Deck was filled with life and energy, crowded inside with a line hanging around outside, hoping to get in and join the party. It was loud. Music vibrated through the floor and the tables. Poker chips clicked against a pile of them, some bouncing off beer bottles. The sound of card shuffling and the passing of the cards. Everyone's chatter, people yelling to be heard over the music.

He heard it all and much more.

He sat by himself with his back against the wall, his hand clasped around a full beer bottle, the cap still on. Even though it was crowded, there was space around him, like no one wanted to be near him. It could have been because he occasionally muttered to himself, but he was isolated and he liked it that way.

He would have enjoyed it further if his partner wasn't so quiet.

Hunter usually longed for the moments he could have his mind to himself, but whenever it lasted longer than a few minutes, it unnerved him. Peter was with him, always, he knew that, but when his partner went silent, the world around him rang a strange tune that he did not understand. He needed Peter, but his partner had been silent for over two days.

Hunter wanted to move on with the Plan. The Thief had lived with the Boss for too long, he believed; even a second with the Boss was too long. Hunter wanted the Thief gone, removed from not only the Boss's side but also from the face of the world.

"No, our moment will come." Hunter startled at Peter's voice, but he felt his partner withdraw back into the depth of his mind. His hand clenched the beer bottle in frustration.

Why must Peter torment him like this?

He didn't have time to ponder it further as a stranger pulled up a chair and sat down across from him. "Get lost," he said automatically.

"Is that how you greet friends?" a disarming voice asked.

Hunter lifted his angry gaze, hiding it in the process, and glared at the man. After a moment, he smiled inwardly, but his face remained emotionless. "I recognize you from the news. You're the infamous Detective Tew, the man chasing down former detective Jane McKinley."

Tew flashed him a charming smile. "This city's press works well exposing cops, like myself."

Something about the detective set Hunter on edge. Perhaps it was his good looks. The sharp jaw and the slick black hair defined his uncanny nature. The brown trenchcoat was a sad attempt to be like the detectives in television shows and was certainly too expensive for a detective's wage. Tew's dark green eyes betrayed nothing of his real intention, and his smile, as charming as it was, held no hypnotic control over Hunter.

"What are you doing here?" Hunter asked, gruffly.

"I came looking for you."

"And what do you want with me?"

Tew's grin grew. "We can help each other," he said, cunningly. "Do you want another beer?"

Hunter looked down and saw how obvious it was that hadn't drunk any of his current beer. "No. Are you stupid or something? And I don't accept help from cops."

"You'll accept it from me or I'll take you back to the asylum." A pair of handcuffs clattered on the table between them. Hunter raised his gaze from the metal cuffs, loathing the man already.

"Listen to what he has to say," Peter whispered.

"Why?" Hunter asked Peter, but Tew thought he was asking him.

"You're registered as an escaped patient from Arkham Asylum," the detective replied coolly. "I'm sure they would be happy to have you safely returned."

"I'm sure they would," Peter replied sarcastically. "He may be of some use to us."

Convinced he had Hunter's attention, Tew stood up and disappeared into the crowd, only to return with a hundred dollar bottle of scotch. "We have a common enemy, of sorts," he began as he sat himself down again.

Hunter inwardly rolled his eyes but held his uncaring expression, his eyes boring into the detective's face.

"Shadow," Tew verified upon seeing no reaction from Hunter. "Joker's puppet master."

Violently, Hunter slammed down his bottle of beer, smashing it and cutting up his hand. Bystanders moved tables, placing more distance between themselves and him. "No one controls the Joker," he growled.

"Control yourself," Peter ordered. Hunter reined in his rage with difficulty, his hand still clenching several pieces of glass. He felt a wet warmth, but he registered no pain.

Tew merely smiled at his reaction. "You want her," he stated plainly, "And I want Sniper. Our common enemy - enemies - need to take their medicine." He paused, giving it a moment to sink in more and then asked, "Will you help me get rid of Shadow and catch the Sniper?"

"No," Hunter said, simply. He didn't like the vibes he was receiving from this man; he was sly, distrustful.

"Very well, but you may want to reconsider. Here is my number. Remember, with Shadow out of the way, you'll have the Joker all to yourself." Tew stood, bottle of scotch in hand, and his card on the table. "Have a nice evening, Mr. Sullivan. And when you go to bed, remember, don't let Shadow bite." He winked and wandered back into the crowd, disappearing from sight.

It took a few moments for Hunter to relax after the sly detective had left. His hand was bleeding freely from several cuts. The pieces of glass clattered onto the table top, stained red, and casually, he swiped them off with his free hand. He stood, intending to leave the sly detective's card.

"Grab it," Peter snarled at him. "Just in case."

Hunter bit back a retort, swiping up the card and shoving it into his pocket. He retreated into the bathroom, cleaning his cuts and then wrapping his hand up, using the first aid kit provided. When he returned, a group of poker players had already taken his table. Anger surged through him, but Peter told him strictly to keep himself in line.

Frustrated, Hunter realized how parched he was. He moved to the bar, taking a free barstool. "Glass of scotch, on the rocks," he told the bartender. While he waited, he glanced over to see three men enter the Stacked Deck. It didn't register quickly, but as they seated themselves at the bar, Hunter recognized them as the Boss's current henchmen.

"So glad to have time off," one man said as he waved for the bartender's attention.

"Yeah, and to not have to listen to Harley's obnoxious voice," another perked up.

The bartender handed Hunter his glass before proceeding down to the waiting men. Hunter swirled his glass for a few moments, convinced he was wasting his time and attention with the three goons. He didn't pity them. The Jester would have been taken care of if the Thief hadn't rescued her.

His wounded hand clenched, causing his cuts to start bleeding again. The Thief always knew what he was going. How could she possibly have known that the annoying Jester was his target?

"The boss is pissed." Hunter jerked back to attention, jostling his scotch.

"How do you know?" the second man asked.

"Are you stupid?" the first asked. "Haven't you heard Harley howling like a wounded dog just about every night from 10 to 6 in the morning? It's a wonder she isn't dead from sleep deprivation."

"It's no better than that Shadow chick's screams."

Hunter couldn't swallow. His blood ran cold, and his hand shook from the strain of getting his anger in check. The Thief had so much control over the Boss. He had to save the Boss from her evil clutches.

"What do you think he's doing to her?" the second man asked. "It sounds like he's killing her."

"Torturing her, I guess. He's definitely not using her for the same thing as Harley. He's pretty loud too."

"You can't hear him yelling?"

The third boxed the second's ear. "It's not that kind of yelling, moron."

The second shot him a glare as he rubbed his ear. "But why's he torturing her?"

"Maybe she wasn't putting out," the first suggested. "I'd be upset too."

"But he hasn't been this upset since a few days ago. I saw him today; he looked like he was ready to kill the first person he spotted."

"Is she still not putting out?"

"It isn't that she's not putting out; she's gone," the third man said quietly, causing Hunter to move a couple inches closer. "The Shadow chick escaped."

"Nobody escapes the boss," the first man said.

"Well, she did, and supposedly she went to some Sniper chick. You know, the Sniper who killed forty-seven people in a couple of hours weeks back?"

"I wouldn't want to cross her."

"Me neither." The third man received a shot, and he inhaled it. "Joker's been beating Harley, and she's too stupid to leave. But the other chick is out, and Joker wants her found. Whatever he was doing, he doesn't think she's had enough."

Throughout the conversation, Hunter had been listening to every word, sipping his scotch and grimacing at the taste. Now, he had heard enough to know that his first thought when he heard about the Thief's screams was incorrect; the Boss was torturing her. A wave of relief had coursed through him at the thought.

The Boss was fighting back. And that wasn't the only piece of good news.

Hunter gulped the rest of his drink, resisting the urge to spit it back into the glass, and left some money on the bar. He stood up and left the three henchmen gossiping behind him. He had yet another chance to get the Thief, and no doubt the Boss would welcome him back with open arms once he had been released from her binding spell.

"And we can use Tew."

Hunter frowned. He was completely against it, but he wouldn't dare question Peter. Peter was the planner; he knew what to do. Hunter pulled out Tew's card from his pocket. He didn't know how Peter meant to use him, but he didn't have to worry. His partner planned out everything, and all he had to do was obey.

It was time to call Tew.

Dean knew he was dreaming. Memories constantly pervaded his dreams, drowning him with emotions from his past. He rarely ventured into proper dreams ever since he was thirteen. Instead, his mind plagued him, mostly with what some would consider nightmares if they weren't memories.

The banging had summoned him from his room. He stood a few steps from the heavy door that led into the gas chamber.

"Someone, please!" It was Shadow's voice. He heard the panic and fear clearly and leapt toward the door, pulling on the handle.

"Hang in there, Shadow," he called to her. His muscles strained against the weight of the door, but he managed to pry it open.

The fear gas hadn't quite cleared from the chamber. Shadow emerged from it, coughing and choking on it and the rush of fresher air. She collapsed on her hands and knees, overcome with a coughing fit. He held his breath as he threw his shoulder into the door, slamming it and enclosing the fear gas inside.

He immediately dropped to Shadow's side, embracing her shaking form. "It's okay," he said gently. "You're out. You're safe."

He knew his words wouldn't penetrate the fogginess of the gas in Shadow's mind, but he understood that the sound of his voice would reach her. She continued to shake in his arms, but she didn't pull away like she used to. She had made it a habit to keep her eyes closed during the ordeal of the gas chamber; her senses lied to her when Scarecrow's gas infected her mind. He wasn't always in time to get her out of the chamber, but when he came, she always knew it was him. He never knew how.

The other door burst open, slamming against the cement wall. Shadow stiffened at the sound, and he held her tighter as he glanced over his shoulder.

The Joker stood in the doorway, his eyes blazing when he spotted him with Shadow. "Bleak, what are you doing here?" he demanded angrily.

"Saving her," he replied plainly.

A dark chuckle escaped the Joker's mouth, and his tongue snaked out. "She's already being saved."

"By me, yes." The Joker's face darkened. He didn't give the clown a chance to respond, his anger surging forward. "If you think this is the best way to bring her memories back, then you're sick."

"Sick, am I?" The purple-clad clown stepped forward menacingly. "No, I'm not trying to bring back her memories; I'm trying to fix her de-lu-sions."

"Delusions?" he repeated, unbelieving.

"Yes, Bleak, delusions." The Joker's voice sharpened. "Release her and get out."

He did release her but not so that he would leave. Instead, he stood and purposely positioned himself between Shadow and the Joker, blocking her from the clown's view. "You will not harm her anymore," Dean said boldly. "You want to even speak to her, you have to go through me."

The Joker's scarred lips curved into his infamous Glasgow smile. "See if you can stop me," he dared and stepped forward.

Dean swung, his fist connecting with the Joker's jaw.

The Joker's head snapped to the side, nearly throwing him off balance. Instead of a grunt, a giggle escaped his scarred mouth. He laughed, straightening and cracking his neck. "Is that the best you're got-tah, Bleak?" he taunted.

Without hesitation, Dean swung his other fist, slamming it into the Joker's cheek. The clown lost his balance, turning and hitting a counter that lined the side room. He didn't stop laughing, simply letting it loose. Slightly unnerved by the laughter, Dean stepped back.

"That was better," the Joker giggled excitedly. "...my turn!" In a flash, his fist slammed into Dean's jaw.

Pain burst through his head as he staggered unsteadily to the side, tripping over his feet and ramming into the counter head first. He winced and scrambled to his feet, but the Joker leaped over and kicked him solidly in the stomach. The air rushed out of him, and he collapsed, arm wrapped over his aching stomach.

Mercilessly, the Joker grabbed a handful of hair and yanked his head back. "You're usually so o-be-dient, Bleak," he said. "Maybe you just need a little reminder of who's the boss." His free hand slammed into Dean's face, knocking him down to the floor. "Or maybe you want to fight over her." The Joker pointed at Shadow, who cowered in the corner.

Dean lifted himself to his hands and knees, glancing at her. A lump formed in his throat at the sight of her. She had been so strong before. Using the fear gas on her stripped her of her relationality, of her confidence, and of her identity. Reminding himself that it was the Joker who had done this to her, Dean roughly pushed himself to his feet, staggering slightly as he turned to face the clown.

The clown giggled as he leaped forward, punching Dean once again, bringing him straight back to the floor. His lean frame bursting with energy, the Joker kicked him and then crouched over him, clicking open his switchblade.

"Stop." Dean looked up, as did the Joker, at the cowering form. Shadow swallowed with difficulty but repeated her order. "Stop."

Dean heard a rumble in the Joker's throat as the clown considered what to say. "Who are you telling to stop?" the Joker asked, his voice low, warning Shadow of the danger that awaited her.

"You," she said simply. Her voice sounded stronger, but the effect broke as she was overcome by another coughing fit.

The Joker straightened and took a step closer to her. Dean grabbed his ankle, intending to stop him, but the purple-clad clown swiftly turned, smashing his free foot into Dean's face, nearly knocking him unconscious. Blood burst from his nose, and his vision darkened. Dean struggled to remain conscious, fighting through the pain. The Joker spoke to Shadow, and she whimpered. Silence followed, and then, Dean heard Shadow's scream but could not hold consciousness...

Dean bolted to a sitting position. He was covered in sweat, and his breathing came in labored, as if he had truly been fighting the Joker. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he swung his legs over the edge of his mattress, registering again that it had been a memory.

His body shook. He could still hear Shadow's scream in the back of his mind, and it unnerved him because he didn't know what the Joker had done to her. The next time he saw her after that, she was covered in bruises and was violently trying to tear her hair out.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a rapid knocking sounded on his door. "What?" he asked.

"Boss wants to see you."

Dean rolled his eyes. The Joker had the worst timing - or perhaps he considered it the 'best' timing. Dean changed his sweat soaked shirt and splashed cold water over his face, working the panic out of his system before he went to meet with the Joker.

The room was dark when Dean entered. The light behind him illuminated the doorway and revealed the Joker sitting on a moth-eaten chair, watching him.

"So-ah, you draw her out of hiding yet?" the Joker asked, cocking his head to the side.

"Not yet," he said, closing the door behind him. He knew it was dangerous, but he also knew that it would set the Joker at ease. "Sniper knows how to hide things well, besides it shouldn't be hard to find her and follow her to Shadow, unless-."

"Unless what?"

"Unless," Dean continued, "Sniper also goes into hiding, leaving no trace." He said this much quieter than his first statement, knowing that Xander was now under Scarecrow's protection.

"You know where she is."

Dean smirked. "Nice shot in the dark, but you missed."

"I don't-tah miss, and you know that all too well. Tell me where she went."

"I do know you well," Dean said, "But this time, you missed." A click echoed in the room.

"You wouldn't have come back unless you found her," the Joker said, his voice piercing through the dark.

"Or if I found her, I wouldn't have come back."

The Joker was quiet for a few moments, and after awhile, his lean frame rose from the chair. "Where do your loyalties lie?"

"That's an odd question."

"Not under the circumstances." The dark silhouette of an arm jerked to the side. "Have a seat, Bleak. Make yourself comfortable."

"I'm quite content."

"Sit, Bleak." The Joker's tone had sharpened, and Dean knew better than to disobey. He walked over to the couch, navigating well through the dark and purposefully plopped himself down. The Joker's silhouette moved and pushed the table closer to the couch before setting his foot on it, leaning forward.

"You wouldn't come back if you found her." Dean heard the question in the Joker's voice, even though he knew that he was merely verifying what he had said.

"I'd have to keep her from running, wouldn't I?" Dean said. "Besides, she's more dangerous now."

"Are you saying she's too much for you to handle?" The Joker's head shook. "No, don't answer that. She's always been too much for you. I question your loyalty."

"I've been loyal since-."

"Loyal to a fault…until now." The Joker cocked his head. "Since Shadow's arrived here-."

"Don't bring her into this."

A click sounded directly in front of him. "You have three chances left," the Joker said, the grin resonating in his voice.

Dean wetted his lips, a gesture the Joker couldn't see. "Russian Roulette? I didn't think that was your style."

"I decided to do something…different." He leaned forward, his face looming close to Dean's. "We've got something to settle."

Dean scoffed. "This is about my arguing with your abusing Shadow."

"It's not abuse; it's fixing, or healing if you'd like."

"It's abuse," Dean argued. "You used Scarecrow's fear gas on her constantly, and never cured her so that she had a break from her terrors."

"Memories aren't the same as terrors."

"You don't understand."

The Joker's silhouette stiffened, and for a moment, he was silent. Then, very slowly, he stepped up onto the table, set his feet on the ground one-by-one, and then settled himself before Dean. His head cocked to the side, and his shoulders moved slightly, as if he was doing something with his hands.

"I don't-tah under-stand," he repeated. "I've been through Hell and back. These scars are not fake, and they are not the only ones. Tell me, Bleak. What exactly is it that I don't understand?"

Dean inhaled slowly, choosing his words. "Boss, it is not my place to ask about you, but it is my place to say that you do not understand Shadow."

"How is it your place?" The Joker's voice dropped, low and dark.

Dean licked his lips quickly. "None of your business," he said, and a third click echoed in the darkness. "Just waiting for the real bullet, aren't you? I bet you've wanted to kill me for a long time."

"Actually, no. You're fun to keep around, and you're a decent right-hand man." The Joker pushed his hair back with a hand. "Though, there always comes a time when a new group of men should come in."

"You want a reason to replace me."

"I want Shadow's location," the Joker growled.

"I'm not telling."

"And you admit to knowing."

"I trust that you have a strong hunch that I know." A soft chuckle emanated from the Joker. "That, and if you kill me, you won't get her location."

"So you're taunt-ing me." Another chuckle escaped the Clown Prince of Crime. "I'll find her, with or without you."

"You're obsessed," Dean spat, his calm evaporating. The Joker sounded confident, like he knew he would find Shadow. Dean's underlying fear for her safety bubbled to the surface, along with the anger and hatred toward his boss. "You're obsessed," he repeated.

"I'm not."

"Like hell, you're not." He moved to stand, but the Joker shoved him back down. "Touch me again."

"You're not in a position to be making threats," the Joker said, calmly. "And if you want any chance at leaving this room alive…" He moved the gun, allowing it to rub against his leather glove.

Dean inhaled sharply through his nose and then leaned forward. The Joker didn't move, almost ignoring how little space there was between them. "You know what I think," he began.

"I don't care about what you think."

"Of course not, you're the man in charge, and you don't have to listen to me. But, I think you'll listen to this." Dean moved closer so he was almost face-to-face with the Joker. "Since Shadow has been within your grasp, you've been pushing her to bend to your will. You think it's been helping her, forcing her to face her fears and her memories. I don't know what else you've done to her, but you've done nothing but hurt her. Trust me, as what may be my last words, you've lost Shadow."

The Joker paused, staring back at Dean with vacant eyes. He was speechless, Dean guessed, a guess that wasn't far off the mark. He sensed that now was a good time to leave so he stood, and when he didn't see the Joker react, he headed for the door. His hand touched the doorknob, and the fourth click echoed across the room.

He opened the door, and as he stepped outside, the gun fired. Dean fell out into the hall, yanking the door closed behind him. Pain shot through his leg as he put weight on it, and groaning, he leaned across the wall for support.

The Joker had shot him, but not to kill, only to hurt. The thought flashed through Dean's mind multiple times as he focused on ignoring the pain. He shuffled along the wall, trying to place as much distance between him and his boss; if the Joker changed his mind, he had no chance of outrunning him.

Dean managed to get to his room and bandaged his leg. Testing his leg, he groaned with agony, but he had to set it out of his mind.

Whether or not the Joker came after him, Dean's foremost thought was of protecting Shadow, not himself, although he had said what he needed to say to his boss. Having spoken his mind, he felt content to leave and never return. His duty as the Joker's right-hand man was finished. He had someone else to take care of now.

In the lobby, Scout raced at him, barking excitedly as she traced circles around him. "Down, Scout," he ordered, and the Rottweiler slowed to a stop, cocking her head and perking up her ears as if confused by the order. She padded over and sniffed his leg, whining sympathetically.

"I'm okay, girl. It's all right." He reached down and scratched her ears before taking her by the collar. "He doesn't deserve you either." Dean left with Scout, whistling loudly for Prince.

The Joker would lose three essential pieces to his gang, and knowing that he was reason for that loss, Dean felt himself glow as he left the hideout, headed for Scarecrow's warehouse.

Little did he know that someone spotted him and after a moment followed him from the shadows.