A/N: Last but not least!
The weather was worse than ever. The sky was coated in metal clouds, raging on top of the billowing sea. Old barman Ford was quietly whistling to himself, wiping the beer glasses. The rain pattered on the large windows, streaming down like tears. The front bell suddenly tinkled. Ford looked up and lowered down his glass.
"Good afternoon, sir!"
The visitor took off his soaked coat and walked up to the counter.
"Good afternoon. Whiskey, please." Ford quickly disappeared behind the bottles as the visitor's eyes scanned the empty bar. Ford returned in a minute, carrying a small glass of the desired alcohol, curiously studying the man. He was around thirty six, medium height. His dark hair was slightly grey at the temples, completing the tired look on his face. The blue eyes behind strict eyeglasses, however, were burning with barely visible, hidden fire. The visitor quickly drank the whiskey.
"Anything else?" Ford politely inquired.
"Yes. Do you know where Winnifred Lewly, if she's still Lewly of course, lives?"
"Winnifred Lewly?" Ford raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"Yes, Winnifred Lewly," the man impatiently repeated. "She arrived here eight years ago."
"Ah, Freddie..." Ford heavily sighed. "Are you her relative?"
"I'm her friend."
"Well," Ford sighed again. "You see, Miss Freddie died two years ago."
The visitor's eyes wordlessly widened.
"Yeah," Ford sadly continued, looking down at the glass he was wiping.
"It was her spasms. You know about them, right?"
The visitor silently nodded.
"Well, they did it."
The rain quietly pattered on the windows. The man's eyes aimlessly travelled around the room.
"So where did she live?" He quietly asked.
"In her uncle's house," Ford gloomily answered. "Crown's Avenue, number five."
"Thank you."
Ford watched him leave into the rain, then looked down at the money on the counter. Sighing, he took it before forcefully making himself whistle.
The key, which was under the rug, trembled in the key hole. The pale fingers, which spasmodically gripped the key, tightened and roughly turned it. The door swung open, and Johnathan entered.
The house welcomed him with composed warmth. Johnathan's heart filled with lead, pulling him down, as he quietly closed the door behind him. Every object, every nook of once a detestable house seemed to breathe with Winnifred's already disappearing air. His footsteps quietly echoed in the abandoned walls. He stopped at the dining room. Johnathan bitterly scanned it with his eyes. Thank god Heath refused to run the day some other deranged criminals barged Blackgate Prison. This would've broken him even further.
There was a vase standing on top of the dining table. The flowers have long withered, their black, lifeless corpses leaning over the glass. A letter was pinned under the vase. Johnathan wordlessly walked up to the table, sensing that in any moment, he might lose control over his feelings. His fingers ran over the paper's surface, tracing the fading words.
Dear Heath,
It's time I pay you back the debt.
I remember Riley telling me something nine years ago that you made a bet that you'll care for me and my family after eleven years. I won't be able to live that long. I don't know, did you win that bet? Because I think you lost.
Six years ago, I was at your court. You saw me. Was I more happy this time, like your real Freddie?
I'm well. I buried Billy, then continued on my way. But I never came back to the town. Instead, I left to Gotham to work. It was only after two years when I got my courage to send a letter to Aunt Martha and Margaret that I am well. They're also well.
I left to Maine right after I left you in that horrid garage. I couldn't stay. It's your court that dragged me back to Gotham. Mrs. Haggard was kind enough to let me stay for one night. She said that I will sleep through Judgement Day. I should've slept through your Judgement Day.
After I've seen him last in your garage, I didn't have the strength to see him again.
I regret that I didn't contact Johnny. It would've helped both him and me.
When I first heard of what you did... you know, the ferries, Dent and all… I ended up burning your letters. Every single one. I'm sorry.
I know what they say about you. That you're mad. That you kill for fun. Do you, though? Has this become your life now? Have your life became a dream, or nightmare for that matter, that actions lost consequences and life value?
Do you remember Robbie and Lucy, those little kids you and I promised to teach card tricks? It's a shame no one can teach them now.
I never hated you, even after you killed Charlotte. God knows I wanted to. I still want to hate you. I can't. All I feel is empty sadness. And an increased desire to drink some tea.
Best regards,
Your dear lovely Freddie
A/N: And here we are!
First of all, I would like to thank everyone who has read and reviewed this fanfiction which has been such a close-to-heart and significant experience in my life. It was the accumulation of my emotions, thoughts, my first fanfiction which got reviews (I had other ones which I've deleted that were read by like three people), a challenge which I overcame (when I told my sister that I want to write a DC fanfic for the first time, she rolled her eyes, made a boring face, and said I wouldn't stomach it, geez did I prove her wrong), and just a story which I long wanted to write.
If you came here looking for a romantic past of the Joker or Scarecrow or something else, I'm sorry if I disappointed you (even though, I think Heath, Winnifred, and Johnathan's friendship is just as unique and nerve-racking as a romantic relationship). I also apologize if my ending let down anyone. I know there's a time jump and maybe I left out some details (Johnathan and Winnifred's lives after Heath/Joker), but I really feel like the story completed itself after Winnifred encountered Heath in the garage. If you have any comments about that, please leave them and I may reconsider (though, personally, I feel there's nothing to add).
I hoped you enjoyed this fanfic (man, flight attendant vibes right here ;)) and thank you, thank you so much!