Shattered Identities

by Kittryn

The Joker finally decides to crash one of Bruces parties and no one knows as well as Batman how to catch the madmans attention. Bruce just never thought he'd use it without the mask to save lives. Unfortunately for him once you've got the Clown's attention you never lose it and the last thing Batman needs is a madman whispering in his ear while a new villain is trying to out him.

7. Chapter 7 - This Side Of Life

Another long ass Chapter. I'm pretty damn sure I've got everything in this that I missed in previous chapters. I might go back and give hints. But meh who knows.

Shattered Identities

Chapter 7

This Side of Life

XxxxxxxxxxxxX

The sound was constant, a steady rhythm in his mind, pulling at him. Until it was something he couldn't ignore any longer. It was a high pitched noise he couldn't brush off, it moved with him, through him. His lower body was cold, his breathing painful, each lungful of air sent searing fire through his chest. He could hear that beeping, over and over, steadily, yet sometimes it sped up, like now as he tried to open his eyes. They felt heavy, leaden down, his eyelashes glued together. It took a few tries, fighting against the onslaught of weakness before his lashes fluttered open. Light stabbed at his irises and he jerked his head away, his neck muscles protesting angrily at the movement. He blinked several times, the world a wash of blurred white, steel, and one green glare. Bruce realized what that beeping was just before it all came into focus. It was his heart rate. The room became crisp and he was surrounded by white. The walls, ceiling, equipment, and sheets all a pristine white, accentuated by metal bindings, bolts and bars.

Several machines sat around him, one angled towards him, glaring green, the steady rate of his heartbeat echoing through the room, the little green line dashing across the surface over and over again. He was in the mansion's basement emergency room, he knew because he had hand picked all of the equipment. His heartbeat slowed a little at that fact, not that he was entirely pleased with it, but it could be worse. He must have a fractured rib, if the pain in each breath was anything to go by. His right arm was bandaged, he wriggled his fingers with little discomfort. Bending his elbow he was met with the same, sore muscles, but nothing too long lasting. He had a nasty bruise on his left arm, probably from where the vault door had slammed into it. That was the likely culprit for his fractured rib as well, maybe even a concussion, Kevlar could only stop so much.

In the end it beat being caught in the full blast of the explosion. Shuffling his foot out of the blanket draped over him, his ankle was wrapped up as well, looking pretty swollen and his bullet wounds throbbed without him needing to check them. He probably tore his leg wound open, which meant it would take a few more months to heal. He could live with that. Bruce ignored the pain in his torso, carefully sitting up, the blanket that had been covering his chest slipped down to his waist revealing his shirtless chest. His ribs were bandaged tight, restricting his movement. The rest of his skin looked just as bad as the Joker's had in the car. Speaking of the Joker. Bruce had a job to do. He ripped off the heart monitor dropping it to the floor, the machine zeroed out in an annoying high pitched tone. He was just tearing out the I.V.'s in his arms when the door slammed open rather forcefully. Tim walked in, his features marred in an irritated scowl of disappointment and concern.

"You are not getting out of that bed." Tim commanded going as far as attempting to man handle Gotham's top crime fighter. The teen swiftly closed the distance between them, placing his hands firmly on Bruce's solid shoulders, pressing him back down as hard as he could. Which was actually pretty powerful considering how often the kid worked out. The Detective fell back a few inches from the pressure, pain shooting through his ribs and abs as he resisted the push. Now equally irritated Bruce slammed Tim's arm with his fore arm, knocking the kids hands off his shoulder, he flipped his hand, latching onto the kid's wrist, twisting the teen's arm around and behind Tim's back in one fluid motion. The kid let out a hiss of pain. Knowing Tim could easily get out of the hold, he tossed the teen away from him. His younger partner stumbled, knocking into some medical equipment and the tool tray, plastic covered syringes and a pair of blue gloves clattered to floor. Tim quickly found his footing and straightened the tray before anything more could fall off. His short hair cascading into his face as he froze once the task was done, his muscles tense, his eyes hidden behind shadow. He stood there for a few seconds, unmoving, his jaw muscles flexing, his body tense. He released the tray, straightening up, letting his hands fall to his sides, turning slowly to face Bruce. His baby blue eyes peaking out from under his dark strands, leveling his mentor with a stern, hurt look.

"I know you don't like sitting around," Tim whispered his eyes glassing over, and he gritted his teeth. He stepped forward one hand reaching up to clench the bars surrounding Bruce's bed, his knuckles white from the pressure.

"You always talk about how you don't want to lose us. How you don't want another Jason. Not that, I mean..." The teen let out a frustrated sigh, turning his attention to the floor he took a deep breath, leveling his eyes on his mentor again.

"Look, I never met him, but I'm sure losing him hurt. Just as much. As losing you would. So stay in the fucking bed." Tim demanded pushing away from the bed, intending to make a quick exit. Bruce's hand shot out, grabbing his partner's wrist before he could get away.

"Tim..." Bruce trailed off unsure how to word what he wanted to say.

"Don't curse, it doesn't suit you." He said half-assed, unable to say what he really wanted. That he understood the kid's concerns, what he was saying, how he felt. Tim sighed with a small huff of irritated amusement, a bitter smile pulling at his lips he shook his head at his mentor's stubbornness, his eyes back on the ground. Almost wishing when he looked back it would be different, Bruce would actually open up, be able to say something. Anything.

"Yeah? Don't make me curse, and we won't have to worry about it." Tim replied, his eyes back on the billionaire's, slipping his hand from the man's grasp he folded his arms in defiance. Bruce let a little smile tug at his lips and he reached over, sliding the safety bar down so he could slip off the bed.

"Guess I'll have to start worrying." Bruce shot back throwing his legs over the edge, ignoring the pain that shot through his body with every move.

"Seriously Bruce, just once. Can you not be a stubborn jerk?" The teen asked a frown marring his youthful features, refusing to move out of the man's way. Bruce didn't answer him, pushing to his feet, letting the blanket fall to the floor where it pooled on his bare toes which immediately cooled against the tile floor. Tim's bulky frame still blocked his way, not willing to budge an inch. Bruce took in Tim's angry stare, but he could see the worry hidden in the emotion. Teacher and student. It seemed the kid took more from him than just crime fighting. One of his hands covered his aching ribs, while the other rested on the teen's tense shoulder. Tim's eyes narrowed at the action, immediately suspicious.

"It's been a long night. I'm going to go upstairs, shower, and get some sleep. Sound alright with you doctor?" Bruce asked teasingly giving the kid's shoulder a squeeze. Tim didn't seem phased, still not budging from his spot in front of the man, his eyes however seemed fixed on the bruises littering the elder man's chest.

"No news, no radio, nothing, straight to your room?" Tim demanded unable to hold back his tinge of hope that the man would actually comply. The billionaire would love to accept but he needed to know a few things first.

"What happened to the hostages?" Bruce needed to know before he could make any promises to the teen.

"They're safe. The police found them. Nice work." His partner replied sounding unhappy with Bruce's curiosity.

"The Joker?" He added and the teen shook his head.

"No sign." Bruce nodded in agreement, letting his hand fall from the teen's well toned shoulder.

"Fine. I promise, no television, no radio, just a shower, and sleep." They stared each other down for a full minute, baby blue eyes drilling into stormy blue. Finally Tim shifted out of the way, scooting the medical tray away from them. Bruce nodded his head in appreciation, making his way across the cold ground and out the open door, he stopped for a second just outside the door, turning his attention back to the teen.

"Just for tonight." He tacked on with a small smirk, continuing forward, "Tomorrow night we're back on the streets."

"Of course." Tim seethed his eyes narrowing in disappointment again, making his way out of the room as well, his boots making a distinct noise against the carpeted hall. Bruce let himself chuckle a little at the kid's grumpiness. Alfred turned the corner, their eyes met, and the billionaire knew he was in for a fight. He was seriously too tired for this.

"Oh dear." Alfred breathed, stalking purposefully towards the secret vigilante.

"Alfred I'm fine." Bruce stated dodging as best as he could out of the man's inquisitive hands.

"No you're not fine. When Tim brought you in you were a wreck. A fractured rib, bruises everywhere. You shouldn't even be walking on that ankle of yours. I understand I might not have raised you as I should have Master Bruce, but I am not going to – ."

"Alfred."

" – sit here and let you make a mess of yourself simply because you are a stubborn man child."

"Alfred."

"You're welcome by the way." Tim added in when his name was mentioned, walking leisurely past the pair, just as fed up with Bruce's stubbornness as Alfred was. The billionaire ground his teeth in irritation, the lack of sleep getting to his nerves faster than normal.

"You weren't supposed to be there, in the first place." Bruce snapped unnecessarily, his body sending waves of pain at him, every ache in his body adding to his annoyance.

"Yeah?! Well next time I'll just hang around outside, watch you pass out and get dragged away by the police! To be strung up as some poor little orphan boy gone crazy, revenging his parents by playing Bat in a stupid suit! A little you're welcome isn't that hard!" The teen exclaimed rounding back on his mentor, swiftly closing the distance between the them. He stopped just in front of him, his shoulders squared, his feet apart ready for this fight.

"Watch it, Robin. Or do you not follow me around willingly, fighting by this old man, dressed up in a Bat suit?" Bruce hissed back quietly using his height to tower over the kid despite his injuries.

"Boys." Alfred said dryly, this was not his intention when confronting his old charge, why was everyone in this house such a loose cannon these days?

"No! I don't!" Tim shouted throwing his arms out in exasperation, before poking a strong finger into Bruce's bruised chest, "Because you won't let me follow you anywhere!" The billionaire swatted the hand away, irritated that the poke had even hurt.

"Well in that case, maybe we should make you a puppy suit." Bruce growled out darkly, "you can be Golden Retriever Boy, Batman's best bud." Tim scoffed scowling up at the secret vigilante.

"Yeah! Sounds like a great idea. Maybe I could finally back you up for once!" Tim hissed, taking a step forward getting into Bruce's personal space.

"BOYS!" Alfred exclaimed, demanding their attention. Bruce backed down, one hand subconsciously holding his ribs as he relaxed his spine. The Detective was mad, but it wasn't at Robin. It was at whoever was causing this chaos, it was the Joker who had gotten away yet again. It was not being able to save the two sobs forced into the Joker's madness. Tim pivoted while Bruce realized this, immediately stalking away, his body tense, not throwing his mentor a second glance.

"Tim." Bruce called after him softly, his voice barely carrying down the hall. Tim's shoulder's tensed farther, his hands clenching into fists.

"Tim! Robin!" Bruce tried again, louder this time, taking a few painful steps towards the kid. Tim lifted one hand, flipping his mentor off just as he turned the next corner. Bruce sighed tiredly, unwilling to meet Alfred's disappointed gaze.

"Reminds me of you sir." The old man muttered, turning to staring after the boy.

"I like to think I had more manners." Gotham's richest orphan grunted back, starting up the painful limping journey to his room.

"You can think that, but you, still don't." Alfred replied with a bit of amusement, trying to lighten the mood.

"Thanks." Bruce replied dryly, noticing his father figure walking along with him. "Look I'm not going anywhere tonight. I'm fine."

"You're never fine Master Bruce." Alfred stated, just as uneasy with the purple bruises blooming across his old charge's chest as Tim had been. Bruce followed his gaze to his own muscled chest, taking in the purple splotches. They were pretty bad, maybe even worse than the Joker's. Speaking of the Joker, he had his work cut out for him tomorrow.

"We're not doing this tonight." The billionaire stated tiredly, limping farther down the hall, the elevator just around the corner. Alfred let out a dramatic sigh, watching the man hobble down the hall, trying to look prideful, while really just looking pitiful.

"At least, allow me to check your bullet wound?" Alfred tried hopelessly, not even bothering to follow Bruce down the hallway, already knowing the answer.

"I've got it. Goodnight Alfred." Bruce called back to him with a small wave of a hand, turning the corner just as Alfred replied.

"Goodnight Master Bruce." Alfred called back to him, already making his own way to the now empty room, getting it ready for the next time Bruce visited it. As the playboy waited for the elevator to come back down, he realized that he was actually pretty lucky Robin was the one that found him and before the police got in.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

The knocks were steady and forceful, rattling Tim's door. The teen had half a mind to leave the man out there, but couldn't quite do it after imagining his mentor standing pitifully in the cold corridors of the mansion, his injuries wearing him down every second. He kicked his covers off, padding quietly to the door. He cracked it open, staring out at his pale adoptive father who was looking anywhere but at him. They stood in silence for a little bit longer and Tim was ready to shut the door and actually get some sleep.

"Tim." Bruce tried, unsure what he could really say, I'm sorry? I'm sorry never really meant anything, not to him. He couldn't see how it could help anyone else. All he had ever heard when his parents had died was I'm sorry. The statement was always dry, empty. It didn't mean anything. So what do you say? What else could be said? Besides those empty words. Tim sighed letting his head rest against the ornate door frame.

"Look I get it." Tim stated stepping back to close the door, Bruce stopped him with a powerful hand on the wood forcing the door back open.

"It's. Not healthy to go to sleep angry." The billionaire stated awkwardly, meeting baby blue eyes. Tim's lips curled into a smile and he licked his lips slowly letting the hilarity of the situation wash over him.

"Apology accepted." Tim stated, pulling the door closed again, Bruce's eyes widened his hand slipping away from the door, not wanting another injury that night. The teen paused the door almost closed, and he turned back, opening it up again, he gazed up at his adoptive father in silence for a few seconds, reading his stormy blue eyes.

"And... I love you too." The teen turned away and the door shut with a final click. Bruce stared at the wood grains for a few shocked seconds, before he sighed, letting his head rest against the closed door. He was a terrible father. Adoptive or not. He didn't understand why he kept trying. Dick, Todd, Tim. They could have had real homes. He could have made sure they went to good families. Checked in on them, watched their healthy progress into adults. How was he supposed to raise children when he had never had parents, could barely remember their faces. Alfred was a father figure, yes, but had never been a father. He was always Master Bruce. His word, money, decisions, choices, they were always final. Maybe if he had let them go, hadn't thought it was a better life for them, hadn't let them decide for themselves that this was the life –

"Bruce! Go to bed! Now." Tim's voice demanded through the door with exasperation, the light in his room clicking off. The billionaire smiled, pushing away from the door. Tim was probably more adult then he was to be honest. It didn't matter. Dick and Todd were in the past. Dick had turned out perfectly fine, a little on the vigilante side, but he's a good guy and Tim is an amazing kid, brilliant enough to maybe out rival him one day. Not only that but Tim had chosen this, chased it. So, Bruce was a shit father, yet, Tim complained more about him being a shit partner. He supposed he should tell the boy it wasn't his fault he didn't trust him, was afraid to unleash him completely, then again the kid probably already knew the reason and it act still pissed him off.

"Night Tim." Bruce called through the door, ready to hobble his way to his room.

"Night Bruce. You know it's almost daylight right?" Tim shot back, the edges of sleep already audible in his voice. Bruce stood by the door a few seconds longer, he needed to say it, he should say it. He needed to hear it. He couldn't keep disappointing the kid, it was something so simple.

"Thank you." Bruce stated, barely above a whisper, but the house was quiet and he heard a shifting from inside the room. It took a full minute but he finally got a reply.

"Thank you." Echoed back to him from inside the door, barely audible but he still heard it. Smiling Bruce pushed away from the door. There, that wasn't that hard was it?

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Bruce didn't bother turning on the light as he entered his enormous bedroom, treading the well known path to the bathroom. Into the room and around the coffee table, he slipped inside, finally flipping on a light switch. He shuffled over the freezing tiles, stopping in front of the full length mirror. He took in his mused, sweat greased hair. His unusually pale skin, probably from the pain he was feeling, since he hadn't lost much blood. He turned his head taking in the scratches that ran along the left side of his face. He leaned in closer to the mirror noticing that Alfred had reapplied disinfectant to the cuts. He'd have to do that again when he got out of the shower, it looked like infection had already started taking a hold regardless of their efforts. He leaned away from the mirror, his body protesting painfully, then he leaned back in taking in the nasty bruise on the left side of his jaw, then he recalled the vault door hit that too.

He straightened up, it also his his left collarbone, shoulder, down his torso, and he shimmied his boxers off onto the floor, his left hip. All of which sported still blossoming bruises not even close to their healing stage. He reached up unwinding his fractured ribs with stifled grunts of pain. His ribs looked worse than the rest of his bruises which was saying something. He let the bandage pool on the floor, running a hand down his damaged muscles, wincing at the pain. At least his little Bruce escaped the vault door's wrath, hanging limply where it should be. The process of leaning into the mirror and back against had sent throbs of pain through his back, he wasn't sure what type of damage he had back there, but it was probably pretty bad. He had fallen almost two stories, and was also thrown across a glass covered floor by a vault door propelled by TNT. He turned around keeping his head on the mirror and there they were, bruises just like the rest of his body, light gouges where the glass had pressed into the Kevlar enough to damage the skin. Needless to say he looked like a train wreck, which meant he wouldn't be going on any playboy outings any time soon. It wasn't often things actually left marks on him he couldn't explain, but it seemed like the all day the hands of fate had been against him. Playing with him, like he hadn't already had a shitty month. Sighing Bruce unwrapped the rest of his wounds, the bullet grazes on his arm and leg, the full fledged hole in his thigh and his swollen ankle. The bandage on his arm revealed a slightly swollen wrist, and a few light bruises, the usual on any normal night. He took one last look at his well toned, bruised and battered body before he finally padded over to the large triple head shower. Turning the water on, he stepped into the heated water, thankful for the new installation of the latest top notch water system. He let the water run against his sore skin for a few minutes before the exhaustion of the day finally caught up with him. Sighing he reached for the shampoo.

XxxxxxxxxxxxX

The shower was shorter then he wanted it to be, but he wasn't sure he wanted to stay standing any longer then he had to. Stepping out he quickly dried off taking his time to disinfect and re-bandage his throbbing wounds, slipping on some boxers from one of the drawers. He didn't bother putting away the supplied as he tiredly stumbled out of the bathroom. Flipping the light off behind him, he didn't bother turning another one on as he made his way to the bed, easily avoiding the coffee table on his way, despite the lack of light. The curtains on his windows always closed when he left the room. Flopping onto his silky three thousand dollar comforter he sighed in relief, finally letting himself relax. He threw his hands out on either side of him, sighing again in relief, he tried to dredge up enough energy to get into the sheets. Then he noticed something, his heartbeat sped up, his eyes snapping open. He wasn't quite sure so he flexed his fingers, coming away with the same feel. Something thick and wet smeared the back of his hand. He flipped his palm down patting the comforter and was met with the same substance. Panicked, Bruce bolted up turning on the overhead lights to his bed. Then he froze, all of the breath leaving his lungs, unable to do anything more than stare in horror at the sight. Then he was out of the bed, dashing to the intercom that went throughout the house, shouting for Alfred.

"The medical room sir." Was the man's answer and Bruce buzzed in, refusing to get Tim involved in this.

"I need you to bring a stretcher up here, O negative blood pack, IV leave the door open." He exhaled quickly into the mic, his eyes still glued to his bed.

"O negative sir?"

"Just do it." Bruce growled, his finger slipping off the intercom leaving a smear of crimson. He flipped the rooms full lights on, and blinked a few times, just to make sure he wasn't delusional. Then he was dashing around the bed, to the opposite side. He tore the rest of the covers off the bed, letting them slide to the ground, revealing the full image to him, he didn't take much time taking it in, his hand moving forward, sliding in thick crimson as he pressed his weight downward. The man was crazy, he was fucking crazy, god he was insane, was all that the billionaire could think as warm blood glided against his fingers, slipping through the cracks and onto the back of his hands. A pale body lay on his expensive silken sheets, blood slowly soaking into the white fabric, the comforter. Spreading out like a blooming flower around the body. Tattered blood stained clothing soaked in the crimson renewing any old stain they had obtained. A pale face was tilted towards Bruce, their normally rosy lips tinting blue, green eyes gazed sightless into space, a glaze creeping over them. Matted green hair splayed out against the pillow, plastering to the pale sweat soaked skin. Bruce pressed harder against the bullet wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood. The chest beneath his hands barely twitched with each inhale of breath.

How long had be been here? What was he doing here? Why was he here of all places? It took longer than Bruce wanted for Alfred to arrive, but the man instantly went to work, no questions asked regardless of how absurd the situation was. They moved the bloody body onto a stretcher. Bruce instantly ripping open one of the packages, slipping in the needle needed for blood transfusions, as Alfred swiftly carted the wounded male out of the room, the billionaire easily keeping stride with the running man as they twisted through the mansion. The elevator took longer than it should have, Bruce reapplying pressure as they slowly waited for the ping, and then the doors to open. They rushed out immediately, before the doors were completely parted. Bruce easily transferred the body onto the operating table. Getting out of Alfred's way as the old man darted around the room, shouting orders at the playboy. Bruce made quick work cutting off the tattered Arkham uniform, Alfred sterilizing his tools as swiftly as possible.

"He's been shot."

"Thank you for that observation. Luckily, It seems to have gone straight through, we don't have to find the bullet, but I'm going to need you to flip him over in a minute, other than that, stay out of my way unless I tell you to." Alfred stated steadily, going to work on the slipping male. Bruce attached the heart monitor, watching it slowly creep across the screen before repeating the process, he moved out of the man's way, only jumping in to help when the man required his assistance.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

The room was silent except for the slow beeping of the heart monitor, their patient sleeping in the bed Bruce had occupied not even two hours ago. Bruce stood to the side of the bed staring down at its occupant.

"Well I hope your happy. I have officially saved a lunatic. Enjoy." Alfred stated unhappily, shutting off the sink after washing his hands. Bruce couldn't dredge up enough pride in the action to say thank you, all he could do was nod his head slowly, as the man left the room. Bruce fell against the wall, letting himself slid to the floor in exhaustion, the adrenaline finally wearing off. He tilted his head back resting it against the white surface, closing his eyes, just for a second.

For the second time in the last twenty four hours, he was awoken by the steady beeping of a heart monitor, except this time it wasn't his. Taking in a deep breath he regretted it when his ribs complained fiercely against the action. One hand came up to hold his aching ribs, his eyes snapping open to take in his surroundings. He was still in the makeshift operating room, the sterile white of his surroundings contrasted starkly with the small puddles of blood drying on the floor, one of his bare feet rested in a crimson pool. He frowned holding back a shiver as chills wracked his body, the room was freezing. His toes and finger's icy cold, his limbs moved stiffly as he straightened his spine, sliding into an upright position against the wall. He pulled his feet in, ignoring the trail of blood the action left across the floor. Closing his eyes he left his head fall forward.

He was almost surprised that Alfred hadn't woken him up, given him a blanket, or whatever it was that concerned people do. Then again he had pushed the man rather hard tonight. First he, himself, is carted in littered with wounds. Then he needs the retired male to save an insane criminal that has probably killed a hundred times more people then Alfred ever had, and that was during a war. The Joker simply did it for fun. Bruce's eyes eased open at the morbid thought, just barely noticing how close the madman's bed was. A pale hand hung limply over the edge, just in his line of sight as he slumped against the wall tiredly. Without thinking the billionaire reached forward taking a hold of that lifeless appendage, noticing that it was just as cold as his own freezing fingers. Lifting it he shifted the blankets a little, slipping the hand underneath. He released it, but let his own hand rest against the bedding as he dredged up enough energy to stand up, the steady rhythm of the Joker's heart monitor and the release of air through his respiratory machine the only sound in the room.

Bruce's hand gripped the side of the bed ready to pull his aching body off the floor, but he stopped, his eyes catching something. Underneath the bed, spattered in blood was a slightly crumpled paper, the edges stained in dried blood. The billionaire's hand slipped off the bed, leaning forward he grunted in pain at the pressure on his ribs as he reached for the paper. He snatched it up quickly, straightening out his torso as calmly as possible, trying to avoid causing any harm in the process. He slowly turned the paper over in his hands, a sinking feeling settling over him, then he froze taking in its contents. It was a picture, he picture. The one the Joker had snatched from Vale, something that seemed like ages ago. Bruce sat on the floor at the Christmas gala, the Joker being attended to by the paramedics. The playboy's head was tilted back, the line of his neck exposed blood trailing down his throat. His eyes closed, his face, arms, body relaxed despite the chaos that reigned around him. Bruce had been taking a steadying breath, a moment to recompose, it was barely a moment, but they had captured it.

Gazing at the picture, even he could see Joker's twisted vision of it. To the Joker, Bruce was probably secretly revealing in the crimson that covered his body, soaked into his clothes, bathed his skin. The Joker saw potential in him, saw a beautiful blood soaked angel begging to be invited into the Joker's unique brand of insanity. Bruce's shoulder's slumped his hand's falling uselessly into his lap, taking the picture with them. He continued staring at it, the realization of the photo's meaning leaving a hopeless bitter taste in his mouth. There was nothing he could have done, nothing short of killing himself that would stop the Joker's sick fascination with Bruce Wayne, with him. The trip to Arkham had been pointless. Buying the asylum, the deaths that followed, all of the last twenty four hours, was pointless. The Joker would have gotten out, he always does, especially when he wants something. Needs something. That need was currently him.

Anger curled in Bruce's stomach and he crumpled the picture in one fist, lifting it up to rest against the bed he leaned forward, resting his head against his arm. He didn't know what to do, sure people had discovered his identity before, ones that even wanted to kill him at all costs, but none of them wanted him alive and well, wanted him to join in on their twisted sense of fun at all costs, people gave up, The maniac didn't. None of them were the Joker. How was he supposed to deal with this? He had always believed the Joker would never discover his identity, simply because the man didn't want to know. If he had wanted to know, he would have known by now, hell the maniac probably already knew. Just didn't want to admit it. Didn't want to change the game or some other sick reason. Bruce shook his head a little, letting out a frustrated noise at the back of his throat. He stopped suddenly, his eyes narrowing, finding something else, a smudge of crimson where it shouldn't be was laying in the corner of the room, blood smeared and alone, away from all of the puddles of blood. Bruce stood up ignoring how his muscles protested greatly against the action, his bruises taking every chance to remind him of their presence.

He popped his neck bones, pulling out any kinks from his terrible sleeping position before he made his way around the bed and behind some equipment. As the object came into view his stomach sank again, this time a retching horror clawed at his insides as he neared it. Bending down he was oblivious to his pain as he picked up the key card, the crumpled picture fluttering to the ground. It was the key card, the one he had stolen from the orderly at Arkham. The one he had forgotten about. The key card that let him through all of the security gates except maximum security. He was the reason the Joker had escaped. All of this was his fault. He was literally the reason the Joker was free right now. He had given the man everything he had needed. A way out of maximum security, a way off the compound unhindered. Could this day get any worse, he questioned bitterly gritting his teeth. How could he have forgotten about it? Something so crucial? Did that visit really rile him up so much that it had slipped his mind? Bruce was getting sloppy and he didn't know what to do about it, wasn't sure how to fix it. Pay more attention? It was hard when the Joker required all of it. Bruce looked up at the bed, almost not wanting to see its occupant.

Near the back of the bed an IV dripped steadily, ensuring that the Joker wouldn't be awake any time soon. Not that he should be awake after nearly bleeding out all over Bruce's bedroom. The playboy walked around the equipment and up to the bed, running a hand along the bed's guard rail, a disappointed frown marring his lips. He let his eyes settle on the man, the monster, laying in the bed. Blankets were pulled up to the man's chin, his green hair was blood soaked, caked and plastered to his pale forehead. An oxygen mask covered most of the man's smiling scars leaving him looking surprisingly human. His long lashes rested gently against his grime covered skin, his brows relaxed in the drug induced slumber. His chest rising and falling slowly underneath the blankets. Without the scars and the insanity dancing in his eyes, the man looked pretty harmless. Peaceful, even if it was only while he slept.

Which was what Bruce needed to do. Needed to get some sleep, he decided after a few minutes of simply staring at the man. His mind tired of running through all of the night's events. Real sleep, not passing out on the cold hard floor. He needed this day to be over. He needed time to think, time to fix things. Nothing would be done today, though. The sun would be coming up, there was nothing Bruce Wayne could fix. Not really, and Batman didn't journey out during the day. Opening some drawers he brought out another packet of blood, switching out the packs. He shifted away from the bed, making his way out of the room, scowling in irritation when he stepped in some blood. Taking a deep steadying breath he opened the door, then he turned back around, checking the IV one last time, just to make sure. The last thing he needed was to wake up to the rest of the household murdered in their sleep. He closed the door behind him, moving to the potted plant a few feet away he pulled out a hidden key, locking the door, just to be safe, that that it would hold the man for long. He put it back stiffly making his way down the hallway, hoping he wouldn't run into anyone. He wasn't in the chatting mood. Not at all.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

He finally made it to his bedroom, ready to crash he opened the door, shuffling over to the bed, the lights in the room still on. Until he realized that his sheets were still covered in the Joker's blood, the dulling crimson standing out just as startlingly as it did on the floor down stairs. Sighing he ran a hand through his hair, then regretted the decision, he still hadn't washed them, dried blood flaked off into his dark strands. Scowling he stared down at them, the browning substance caked onto his skin, under his fingernails. With another sigh he closed his eyes dragging up some more strength. He shuffled over to the bathroom, grabbing the remote off the coffee table on his way, he flipped on the television. He didn't really listen to it much, slipping into the bathroom he turned on the faucet, and doused his hands with a liberal amount of soap, scrubbing away at the blood. Suddenly his hands froze, steam rose from the sink, fogging up the lower section of the mirror. He tilted his head towards the bedroom, actually listening now. His eyes widened and he quickly shut the faucet off, dashing out of the bathroom and into the bedroom he snatched the remote back off the table, turning up the volume, disbelief flooding him at the headline. He swallowed hard, listening to the anchor.

"Again, it appears these criminal acts have been committed by none other than Bruce Wayne. The police are currently on the lookout for Gotham's owner of Wayne enterprises for the rape of two woman and the attempted kidnapping of a little girl," Bruce fell back onto the bed, his eyes glued to the screen, his picture plastered all over the place.

"Their names will remain unknown for the time being, but we can tell you that they seem to be recovering well. All of this happened late last night, our sources say the calls to the police station happened around three to five in the morning. We have been informed that the GCPD are doing all they can to get to the bottom of these crimes. It has been confirmed that Bruce Wayne is the leading suspect in – ."

Bruce fell back into the bed, his back hitting the plush comforter, letting all of the air leave his lungs in a long drawn out sigh. What the fuck was going on? It was barely seven in the morning. He had caught maybe an hour and a half of painful sleep on the cold floor. It wasn't possible for him to be the main suspect. It just wasn't. He couldn't be two places at once, Bruce slowly sat up, or could he? His mind cranked through information, working as fast as it could. There was one person, who looked like him. Hush. He had escaped Arkham City as Bruce Wayne, but what was he trying to do? Why go through all the trouble just to discredit the billionaire? The man now looked like Bruce, what could he possibly gain from ruining his own image. Something didn't add up here. Something was missing. Something important and Bruce was afraid it was going to hit him harder then expected. It was one thing to have the police after Batman, it was another to have his daytime disguise compromised, where he lived, his money, assets, jets, contacts, well maybe not all of his contacts. He could still pull some strings, but only the ones Batman had made. He stood up again, stalking across the room he snatched one of his many cellphone out of the top drawer of his dresser. He typed in a phone number and waited.

"Hello?" Barbara's sleep riddled voice answered on the fourth ring, confusion in her tone.

"Barbara." Bruce said unable to keep the exhaustion, and apology, out of his own.

"Bruce? Hey what's up? I heard you were at home, resting up and stuff. Are you okay? Robin said you looked pretty nasty."

"I'm fine." Then he paused turning his attention back to the television.

"Well, not entirely." He added on, "Have you seen the news? The police are after me. I need you to find out what they know, I need to know what's going on. I'd do it myself but,"

"I'm faster and more efficient and you sound like crap. Have you slept yet? Aren't they always after Batman?"

"Not really. And this time it's not, Batman. Its Bruce Wayne."

"What? Look don't worry about it, I'm on it." Barbara said in a rush, obviously shocked at the revelation.

"Thank you." Bruce sighed leaning against the dresser.

"Wow you really are tired. You're welcome. Give me a few minutes and I'll get back to you."

"Wait." Bruce stated before Barbara could hang up. "I was a little tied up at the clock tower. I need you to hack the GCPD and put in a request for blood tests on the dead Joker bodies. Speaking of which I'm assuming they're keeping that quiet." The billionaire stated sating an itch on his arm, he held the phone with his shoulder, his eyes still glued to the television.

"You know they are. Could you imagine Gotham's reaction to more than one Joker running around?Look. Don't worry about it. The test request is... already done. So, again. I'll let you know when I have some answers. Get some rest Bruce." Barbara hung up with that and Bruce went to pocket the phone, only to realize he was still in his underwear. His blood soaked underwear. His entire body had smudges of blood on it, reminding him acutely of that bloody day barely a week ago. The blood didn't matter though, he needed to get this figured out before the police came – the doorbell rang throughout the house. Surprised, Bruce rushed over to his com, switching on the screen portion, he tapped the front door's tile. Two police officers stood near the entrance, Commissioner Gordon at the front looking stern and extremely concerned. Maybe that shower wouldn't have to wait after all. The last thing he needed was to greet the police covered in blood. Bruce made his way quickly across the room, throwing off his stained underwear he jumped into the shower. He was done within minutes barely taking the time to properly rinse. He dried off quickly ignoring how every move he made hurt worse than before, or how unattractive his limping was.

He ignored the bruises glaring at him in the slightly fogged mirror but stopped short at the reflection of his face, his eyes widening, all the blood leaving his cheeks. The scratch marks lined the side of his face, painfully obvious to anyone who saw him. Scratch marks, made by nails. Bruce turned away from the mirror leaning back against the bathroom counter. He closed his eyes tilting his head back, he couldn't meet the police face to face. This was going to look bad either way, but at least with him not showing himself he can remain only a suspect and not the perpetrator. Growling Bruce slammed a fist against the counter, how the fuck did Bruce Wayne, he, rape someone. Regardless of who they were. He was voted most attractive man for the last five years and counting and he was a fucking billionaire for god's sake. He didn't need to resort to rape. Ever. Pushing off of the counter he stalked back into the bedroom, trying to ignore the television yet unable to truly tune it out.

"Speculations are rising that maybe Bruce's encounter with the Joker didn't leave him entirely intact. Many now believe that maybe madness is indeed contagious with the recent – ." Of course. The masses always found some reason for the things people did. Bruce switched the screen input on his main television, flicking to the camera of Alfred speaking with the police in the greeting room. The billionaire moved over to his dresser pulling out a pair of boxers and slipping them on, his eyes never leaving the police's interactions. He was just walking backwards, towards his walk in closet, his eyes still trained on the screen, when Gordon looked startled, pulling out his cellphone. The old man flipped the even older device open, the frown on his face deepening as he listened to the other end. Bruce walked back towards the screen trying to make out their lip movements, it was frustrating but he didn't regret not installing microphones, regardless of how much he wanted to listen in. Anything picked up by the microphones from outside the manor could be catastrophic for his identity, it wasn't worth the risk. Gordon seemed to be making double checking the information he had just received, while the rest of the group stared at him, just as confused as Bruce was. Then the Commissioner hung up the phone and turned back to Alfred, laying a supportive hand on the old man's rigid shoulder. Words were exchanged, Alfred looking adamant about something, and the police left the house, Bruce switched cameras, they drove away, barely sparing a glance back at the house. Alfred immediately turned on his heels as they disappeared and Bruce knew where he was going. He switched the news back on, and took a minute to glare at the headlines before remembering he was still half naked. He was just standing up when the door opened and Alfred stalked inside. Bruce stood up quickly, crossing the distance between them.

"What did they say? What happened?"

"Apparently you're a wanted criminal, but I see you've already noticed that." Alfred stated, nodding towards the news.

"Yeah, apparently. Why did they leave?" The playboy asked in confusion.

"You've been apprehended." Alfred stated casually, moving around Bruce's well toned body.

"What?" Bruce asked turning with the man, watching his father figure start to tear the bedding off the mattress.

"What are you doing? Just leave it." Bruce added on stepping forward and Alfred placed a hand against his firm chest, stopping him.

"You look like shit, Master Bruce. I'm not going to sit around and let you just waste away to sleep deprivation, the guest bedroom across the hall has been fixed up for you. I'm going to take care of this. And you. Are going to sleep."

"What do you mean I was arrested? You need just as much sleep as I do right now. And stop." Bruce stated, tugging the bloody sheets from the man's hands.

"I don't know. The Commissioner simply got a call, saying that you were arrested and on your way to the station."

"How is that possible – ." Bruce trailed off turning towards the television as the news anchor's tone changed.

"This just in, Bruce Wayne has been arrested and is now in custody at the Gotham CPD. We will await further information, and will keep you updated with all the new facts. Apparently the billionaire was found wondering the narrows, helplessly drunk."

"I need to get to the bottom of this."

"Only time will get to the bottom of this. You need sleep." Alfred insisted, gripping the larger male by the shoulders he turned him around pushing him towards the door.

"This can't wait." Bruce growled out, turning his head back towards the old man.

"It can, and it will." Alfred insisted, pushing the male harder.

"I need to know – ." His cellphone buzzed on the dresser and he rushed to it, answering the call.

"Barbara."

"Hey. I thought I'd call and let you know that, none of this stuff is solid. It seems the GCPD is just as out of the loop about all of this as we are. I'll keep tabs on it for any solid evidence but so far it's all speculation and word of mouth. I'll let you know when I get something, or they get something, but you know how the police work. It'll probably be awhile. You should get some rest." Barbara insisted, a worried tone to her voice.

"Fine." Bruce grunted out irritably, but Barbara was right, the Gotham detectives weren't the best and it was daylight. He wouldn't be rushing down there anytime soon. Shutting off the call he brushed past the old man, making his way out of the room, ready to cross the hall. He was done with this day and it seemed there wasn't much he could do in the meantime. He stopped across the hall, his hand on the door. Turning around he walked back into his bedroom.

"Alfred." Bruce stated, getting the man's attention, Alfred simply hummed in acknowledgment as he continued stripping his bed, revealing just how much blood the Joker had lost. The mattress was completely ruined.

"Don't tell Robin." Bruce asked, then realized he should have specified.

"He's going to find out." Was Alfred reply, the man not even looking from his work.

"Don't tell Robin about the Joker." The billionaire added.

"He's going to find out." His father figure repeated himself, throwing the sheets to the ground.

"I know, but I need time, and I need him to stay away from the man. The later he finds out the better."

"I don't believe that's wise sir."

"Alfred. Please."

"Alright, but I don't like it."

"Duly noted. And thank you."

"Get some sleep Master Bruce." Alfred stated watching his charge turn around and enter the guest room without a backward glance.

Bruce thought sleep wouldn't be easy, but he was wrong. His mind blacked out the second he placed his head against the pillows, barely getting the sheets onto his bruised torso.

XxxxxxxxxxxxX

Sun glared through a crack in the open curtains gouging into his eyelids in a rude wake up call. He attempted to throw an arm over his eyes, blocking out the sun, but it was just enough time in the waking world for his brain to kick in. Reminding him of the events of last night, of the Joker, the copies, his failures, the destruction of his daytime self and there was no chance he was falling back asleep. He shifted slowly out of bed his muscles even more stiff than they were the day before, and he took a few minutes to stretch them out, working them gently, letting the muscles slide beneath his skin. He avoided moving his ribs as much as possible, but wasn't doing a very good job. His stomach gave a loud growl informing him just how long ago it was he had eaten. Scratching the back of his head, he also realized what a mess his hair was. He shouldn't have slept on it while it was wet, but given the option to blow dry it he probably would have just fallen asleep regardless. He attempted to flatten it out as he left the guest room, taking a glance towards his closed bedroom he didn't feel up to getting dressed right now, but that didn't matter he needed to be ready for the day. Ready for whatever came up, god knows something would come up. Walking into his room the first thing his eyes met was the brown stain on his mattress, flashes of the night before playing through his head. The feel of the Joker's blood on his hands, the way his heart raced in panic at the sight. Then he noticed some clothes on the bed, folded neatly on a clean space. Lifting them up he found a simple gray t-shirt and some black sweat pants. He guessed Alfred was right though, he wasn't going anywhere today. Not with a bounty on his head. Claimed or not his face would still garner attention on the streets.

Slipping on the clothes he decided to complete his entire morning routine. Fifteen minutes later he left his room, making his way down to the kitchen. He needed some food first then he would figure out what had happened while he was asleep. He got halfway down when he realized he had forgotten the phone he had called Barbara on, then decided against going back for it. He'd call her after he ate as well. He could hear someone in the kitchen before he reached the door, slipping inside as quietly as possible he found Tim rifling through the cupboards for a snack, or breakfast, depending on when the boy had woken up. The kid could really put food away, but that was only because he was still growing, muscle wise if nothing else. The teen should be finished with puberty any year now.

"Good to know you're not as stealthy while injured." Tim stated, pulling down a box of cereal, instantly opening the top, he turned around shoving a hand full of cheerios into his mouth. Honey Nut. Bruce would have to have a chat with Alfred again. Tim noticed Bruce's narrowed eyes and frowned looking down, he realized his mistake with wide eyes. Grumbling in annoyance, the teen grabbed another handful shoving more into his mouth defiantly as he moved away from the counter. Just then the door on the other side of the kitchen swung open and Alfred stepped in.

"Ah, I thought you two would be awake. Master Tim put that away. I will cook you both a real breakfast. God knows you could use it." The butler stated, borderline sour, as he opened drawers and pulled down cooking pans. Bruce closed the distance between them frowning at the old man.

"Alfred." The billionaire stated disappointment in his voice and the man who raised him rolled his eyes.

"They have the same amount of vitamins as the regular ones do." The man stated, bustling over to the fridge.

"That's not the point."

"That is the point. Now sit down and shut up. Master Bruce." Alfred tacked on sarcastically at the end of his sentence, pulling out some eggs and ham.

"No more."

"Of course." The ex-war veteran stated flippantly and it was Bruce's turn to roll his eyes. Giving up the younger of the two left the kitchen entering the casual dinning room he found Tim already lounging in a chair, his boots on the table, he flashed his mentor a lazy grin at the attention. Bruce knocked the boots off and took a seat beside him. He made an attempt for the remote, but Tim lunged forward beating him to it. The kid smiled sweetly sliding the remote across the table into Bruce's hand.

"I'm not that delicate." The elder male muttered grumpily, turning on the television.

"Go spin that tale to someone else." Tim replied haughtily with a hint of exasperation, turning his attention to the television as well. Bruce paused it before the woman could say anything, and Tim's eyes widened at the headlines.

"Does that say what I think it says?" The teen asked no longer slumping back into his chair.

"It appears so, I need to freeze the accounts." Bruce stated in a serious tone, he clicked a button releasing a section of the table in front of him, popping up a computer screen he started typing. Robin reached back over and snatched up the remote, un-pausing the program.

" – has been arrested, the authorities are unsure of what exactly is going on here, and we can't really blame them. I mean, we realize that some people want to be Bruce Wayne but this is ridiculous." The woman anchor stated, a different one from the woman this morning.

"Yeah, this is definitely something that hasn't happened before. I don't think there is much protocol they would be able to follow. I mean how often does two of the same people pop up?" The male replied.

"Both are in custody as we speak, the GCPD are getting to the bottom of this and we will keep you updated, for those of you just joining us, our title may be a bit confusing right now. Last night a string of criminal acts were carried out by supposedly Bruce Wayne himself. Both witnesses and the victims themselves of two rapes and an attempted kidnapping claimed the perpetrator was none other than Bruce Wayne, the owner of Wayne Enterprises and Gotham's leading playboy in social circles. Around seven thirty Wayne was apprehended by the police wandering the Narrows, and just an hour ago Wayne was arrested again! We are unsure whether these are really Bruce Wayne, but they sure do look like him. The GCPD are running blood tests as we speak. This is definitely going to be a story for the books! The victims of these crimes are in reco – ."

"What the fuck." Tim exhaled in shocked awe and Bruce instantly slammed a palm loudly against the counter making the teen jump.

"Language." The billionaire stated, pointing a finger at the teen before going back to typing.

"Language? Seriously?! You're a wanted man and you want to talk about my use of language." Tim snapped slamming both hands onto the table, just as loudly, he leaned towards his mentor, his eyes wide with incredulity. Bruce glanced up at the boy, unable to pass up the opportunity.

"When am I not wanted?" Bruce stated blandly and Tim slumped to the table, his hands carding through his hair, letting his head hit the solid surface once, twice, three times.

"You are really, really irritating sometimes you know that." The teen hissed out, straightening back up and throwing himself back into his chair.

"Tim..." Bruce started, looking up and the kid simply glowered at him.

"Don't. Just don't." The teen scowled, kicking his feet back up onto the table. His mentor rolled his eyes, finishing up the process.

"How is this possible?" Tim asked scoffing at the anchor woman now painting a morbid picture of the attacks.

"I don't know." Bruce muttered back trying to remember all of his assets off the top of his head.

"What are we going to do?" The teen asked quietly, staring at the screen.

"I don't know." Bruce replied again and Tim narrowed his eyes at the man.

"Whats your name?" Tim asked dryly, staring down his mentor, who's eyes hadn't left the computer screen.

"I don't know." The man replied, attempting to hide the smile pulling at the corner of his lips. Tim pulled his feet off the table and leaned forward again. He sat for a few seconds staring his mentor down, trying to figure him out.

"This isn't a game Bruce. This is serious." Tim whispered, worry and concern, fear even, tainting his voice. Bruce looked up from the screen taking in the teen's creased brows and bright eyes. The kid was right. This wasn't a game, but it was easier to handle if he pretended it was. This wasn't someone elses life on the line, it was his own. This was Bruce Wayne, not Batman, this was who he was born as. If he lost Bruce Wayne, could he be Batman? He wouldn't have the funds. Not really. What would he do in the day time? Could he live with being just the vigilante? Existing as just an idea? He used to think he could. That he didn't need anything else. That it was all trivial, but his Robins had changed that view. He didn't want to spend endless days simply fighting for a city he couldn't exist in, couldn't enjoy. He would do it of course, but it wasn't his preference, wasn't what he wanted. Tim's words also reminded him of the insanity sleeping below them. The Joker played games, not Batman.

"You're right." Bruce stated and Tim frowned, slowly sitting back in his seat his baby blue eyes never leaving his mentors as he studied his face.

"Wow this week is fucked up." Tim stated staring at Bruce like he was a three headed monster, or a foreign object, just as the door to the room opened.

"Language." Both Bruce and Alfred stated, the old man maneuvering in a trolley of food. The billionaire just finished locking his assets when Alfred set down the last plate, he clicked the computer screen back into place and pulled the plate closer.

"Thank you Alfred."

"You're welcome sir." The man replied sitting down with them. Bruce didn't realize just how hungry he was until he had taken that first bite. Comfortable silence fell over the table as they all ate, too busy enjoying the food to comment on anything else. Bruce was halfway through his second omelet when the news station pinged in with an urgent announcement.

"This just in! Bruce Wayne steps forward! What appears to be the real Bruce Wayne has just called an impromptu press conference. We are going live now to the event! Now this is live and uncensored so parents be advised." The anchor woman stated, and the screen changed to the conference, what really did look like Bruce stood at the podium, addressing the hordes of reporters.

"It has come to my attention that some men have taken it upon themselves to smear my image. I know I look good but well, they've gone a little far." The spitting image of Bruce Wayne joked on the screen, dressed immaculately in a pressed high dollar suit. The camera moved a little getting a better angle of the billionaire's smiling face, which turned serious.

"Now I want to say that I was not anywhere near those crimes last night, I have a lovely alibi," The fake Wayne gestured to a beautiful woman standing just off to the side. "and an entire club to back me up. I will be willing to subject myself to a blood test. I have in no way harmed anyone one way – ."

"Hush." Bruce growled out, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his fork, the other hand's nails digging into his skin.

"Wait." Tim stated tearing his attention from the screen.

"You mean that guy that got away in Arkham City? The one you've been trying to tracking down?" The teen asked watching his mentor's reaction.

"If he wants to slander your name... why fix it?" Tim asked, and then his eyes widened. Bruce was already a step ahead, shoving the food out of the way he pulled his computer back up.

"He wants your assets?"

"No. I think he wants to be me, which is my assets. So yes." Bruce stated, typing code furiously into the computer. He hacked into one of the lower scale banks he used checking on the one thing that would unfreeze his accounts. His blood. Bruce cursed when he found it. It wasn't his DNA on record any longer, it was Hush's. Trying a few more databases he found the same result. His own DNA wiped from the system.

"What are you going to do?" Tim questioned, turning his stunned attention back to the man on the television.

"The one thing I can do." Bruce replied combing quickly through his assets again.

"Who are you going to use?" The teen asked, turning his attention towards Alfred, the obvious candidate.

"You." Bruce grunted, his attention on his task.

"Really?" The kid asked surprised and a little honored, but knew that wasn't the best choice.

"Hush isn't stupid, he would have known I would use Alfred as my backup asset holder. He would have gone through the means to procure a way around that, but you. He might not expect you."

"You want to risk that?" Tim pressed his brows furrowed in concentration as well.

"Not really." Bruce muttered, but it was the best course of action.

"Use Oracle."

"What?" Bruce looked up.

"No one knows about Barbara. They wouldn't expect it and you know she won't run with your money. You buy her everything she could possibly want and she believes in you. In what you do."

"I'm not going to put her in danger." The billionaire muttered turning back to his work.

"Then we'll whisk her away to the Bat Cave. You know the second Gordon finds out he'll have her on lock down, you can show up and insist on keeping her safe. Taking her away to – ." Tim trailed off waiting for Bruce to agree.

"The Batcave." Bruce indulged him, finishing his sentence. The playboy leaned back in his seat mulling the suggestion over. If he went with that plan he didn't want to risk waiting for Gordon to find out. He could just 'kidnap' her without Gordon knowing, it would worry him sick but then she wouldn't be connected to Batman at all, no that wouldn't work. Why would she be connected to Bruce Wayne? Batman could take her, tell Gordon he was inquired to do so by a friend that was in trouble and it sounded like a just cause. Gordon might buy it, he'd probably come out of it thinking Bruce Wayne knew Batman but that was the worst that could happen. Hopefully. It was better than hoping that Hush didn't have a backup Tim Drake or Dick Grayson hiding somewhere.

"Alright. We'll do it, but you need to go get her soon. Once I change these she needs to be safe, I don't want to take any chances." Bruce decided, backtracking on his work through his assets, he would need to call some people as well.

"Should you really leave her here sir?" Alfred asked taking a bite of his eggs.

"She should be fine." Bruce stated, engrossed in his work.

"Not as fine as she would be without a few additions to the grounds." The old man stated flippantly.

"As long as there is dripping it won't matter." Bruce insisted, then he paused, looking up at Alfred's silence, concern clawing at his insides when the man simply took another bite.

"It is dripping. Right Alfred?"

"It's you're toy sir. I want nothing to do with it." Alfred replied airily, if the old man hated anyone it was the Joker, that much was certain. Bruce just didn't realize how much he disliked the male until now. What time was it? Bruce glanced at a clock, it was nearing five in the afternoon. The IV had been half empty when he had left, he figured Alfred would change it when he awoke, which was normally around ten on their late nights like last night, but if the man didn't. That meant the IV was probably out. Bruce cursed silently turning back to his task. He needed to get this done and get down there to change that IV. The last thing he needed right now was the Joker awake, he doubted the male would be able to go anywhere but he never knew with the madman.

"What is he talking about? What are you talking about? What is going on? Bruce? Bruce. Don't hide stuff from me." Tim warned, standing up from his seat, his jaw set with determination.

"I'll tell you later Tim." Bruce brushed him off, hoping to make it seem like it wasn't a big deal.

"Don't later me! If this is important I need to know." Tim demanded, leaning over the table again.

"Later." Bruce stated again, and the teen's eyebrows shot up in disbelief.

"What if later gets me killed?" Tim whispered, miss-communication was the lead cause for death in police partnerships. They weren't police but they were partners.

"It won't." His mentor insisted and the kid shook his head.

"Whatever." Tim scooted his chair away from the table noisily, stalking out of the room, obviously intending to search every inch of the house.

"Tim! Go get Barbara." Bruce called after him, his tone demanding and dead serious. Tim stopped, turning his head to look over his shoulder he sent Bruce a death glare, then he turned towards the door instead of farther into the house. His boots echoing through the halls as he left. Bruce took a deep breath, unsure how he dealt with so many teens. The billionaire finished up the work of changing his policies to Barbara's name and social security, meanwhile he picked up the phone Alfred placed beside him on his way to clean up the room. Bruce dialed Barbara's number from memory pressing send he moved it between his shoulder, getting back to work.

"Hello?"

"Hey Barbara."

"Hey. You sound better! Have you seen the news?"

"You were supposed to call me."

"I'm not an idiot. You needed sleep." Barbara stated motherly.

"What do you have for me?"

"The coroner's sent the blood to the lab, it should be done in a few hours. As you can see from the news there are more then one of you. They're taking blood samples from them as well. Those should be done around the same time, they got precedence of course. I'll keep you updated on the results. So, you have any idea what's going on? Because the police still don't."

"It's Hush."

"The creepy guy from Arkham City?"

"Yeah. The one you said was me going crazy."

"I apologized for that." Barbara whispered, knowing her words had really hit Bruce.

"I know. He's trying to get to my assets, I think he wants to be me."

"Well that's a pretty good guess."

"I've made you the sole owner of all of my things. You're the only one who can unfreeze my accounts. I've sent Tim over to bring you to the Bat Cave."

"Whoa whoa whoa! What did you just say?! Did you just tell me I'm the only means to retrieving your money?"

"Cars, bank accounts, vacation houses, the mansion, stocks, Wayne Enterprises. Everything."

"Wow. I, um, I'm glad you trust me." The girl stated, shock evident in her voice.

"As long as you don't resist coming in it'll remain that way." Bruce joked, still typing away.

"I'm not going to run off with your money." She laughed.

"I know but you're stubborn. So don't be and we won't have a problem." Bruce replied just finishing up the changes.

"Again, I'm not stupid. I'm okay with the added protection. I'll wait for him to get here."

"Sounds good, keep me posted on the blood results, and leave a note for your dad."

"Will do, good luck Bruce." Bruce hung up and immediately his phone started ringing off the hook. He answered every one of them, confirming the changes. As long as the changes went through before they realized what was happening in Gotham he'd be fine. Hell his asset holders better keep them frozen until the entire situation was figured out or he would be switching companies immediately afterwards. As he spoke he made his way towards the lower areas. Brushing off Alfred's concerned questions of his well being. His ankle hurt like a bitch as he continued walking on it, but it seemed the swelling had gone down a tinge or maybe that was just what he would like to think. He really shouldn't be walking on it, but after years of beatings he tended to forget about the wounds. He stood outside of the room finishing up the calls for the next half hour. Finally he hung up the phone and turned to stare at the door. He didn't want to deal with this. Couldn't he just pretend the Joker was still asleep and leave him locked up? No, the room wouldn't hold him and they still had the surgical tools in there. Shit. They still had the surgical tools in the room. Bruce hesitated on opening the door. Then he remembered that the Joker wouldn't kill him, well shouldn't kill him. He had tried before, but would he have really killed him? He didn't have time to debate on the madman's mood swings. The longer he waited the more likely the man would be awake.

Taking a deep breath Bruce opened the door. The room was quiet, the heart rate monitor and respiratory machine the only sound in the room. The Joker was still in the bed, the same position as before, still asleep, but the IV fluid was out and his heart rate was better, but the billionaire couldn't tell if he was awake or not, he appeared asleep. Bruce's shoulders a little slumped in relief as he walked into the room, still on the lookout for any surprise attacks from the sleeping male, but hoping for the best. The first thing he did was quietly swipe any tools or syringes the madman could possibly use, which was everything really, and silently placing them outside of the room. Bruce quietly unhooked the IV, switching it out for a new one he retrieved from the cabinet above the sink, keeping one eye on the maniac through the entire process. When he was done, he took a step back, taking in the Joker's disheveled state again. He looked like shit, and the cuts and scrapes on his face were still an angry red, infection setting in. Bruce moved forward gently pulling the blanket away from the madman, letting them fall just below his navel, taking in the blood stained bandages and infected cuts across his bruised chest and stomach. He couldn't just leave the guy with swelling wounds and simply take care of the most important ones. Besides the stench of dirt and blood was getting to Bruce. He didn't want that smell to be what the Joker woke up to. Who knows what it would do to his mood, probably make him happy, and a happy Joker was a homicidal Joker. Bruce moved to the sink, quietly pulling out some rags and a bowl from the cupboard beneath it. He turned back around to watch the IV drip quietly, he brought out his phone checking the time, he would give the drugs ten minutes to pull the maniac back under and ensure he stayed there.

The minutes slowly ticked by, and Bruce spent that time formulating and dismissing plans for bringing down Hush. He had time to figure out a solid course of action. The fake Bruce Wayne wouldn't be able to cause too much damage while he took his time ironing out any kinks. Taking Barbara was a rash action, but it was probably the best course. Hush wasn't an idiot, he would have thought of all of Bruce's possible candidates for unfreezing his accounts, but Batman's were unknown. Even if they weren't, Barbara was in his custody, she would be safe from anything Hush would try to throw her way. Once the ten minutes ticked by Bruce turned back around running hot water into the bowl. He placed the bowl on the now empty tool tray, dipping a rag in the near burning water. He moved next to the bed, watching the Joker's face for any signs of being near consciousness.

There was nothing, no flutter of eyelashes or twitch of muscles, just the even steady breathing and the steady beep of the heat monitor. Slowly Bruce lifted the rag, bringing down onto the madman's forehead carefully, still watching for any reaction, but none came. He drew the cloth down the side of the male's temple ending at the mask's elastic. Clearing the dirt streaked flesh as he went, revealing smooth pale skin beneath it. This close up he could see the blue veins peaking through the light tone, being slowly revealed by the clean water. Bruce swiped over the area a few more times removing what little dirt remained. He rinsed the cloth, cleaning the small cuts he had cleared way for, before moving to the man's forehead. The green hair was grungy and plastered to the man's skin getting in his way, irritated Bruce took the time to wipe the hair back away from the man's face, the oil slicked hair easily sticking to each other in clumps as he slicked them away leaving the man's forehead exposed completely. Rinsing the rag out again, he started cleaning the laugh wrinkled brow, running over the artificially dyed eyebrows, cleaning the dried blood from the fine hairs. Eventually he was forced to turn the Joker's head a few inches to clean the other side of his temple. The man's face moved easily, no changes in his sleeping form indicated the movement awoke him. Relieved Bruce cleaned the other temple and brow, with the upper half of his face done he moved to the man's jawline cleaning the scrapes and dirt there, slowly revealing every single bruise the man had received.

Bruce briefly wondered what the Joker would look like without his scars. Would he be beautiful? Handsome? Pretty? Cute? Average? The angle of his jaw and the slant of his brow pointed more towards the former. His frame was lithe though, he wasn't muscled or broad, so Bruce decided on the first. The Joker had probably been beautiful, stunning even with those sharp eyes and long lashes. Slightly disturbed at his train of thought Bruce moved on to his neck, over the bruises he knew where caused by his own hands and over the man's adam's apple. His neck was pretty clear of any cuts, so Bruce moved to his shoulders, clearing away the dirt. He switched over to the left side of the bed, cleaning a rather nasty looking cut on the Joker's right shoulder that was begging for attention. He worked as quickly as he could, getting halfway down the man's arm when he had to get new water. The male's biceps surprisingly more solid then the playboy had expected, which explained the hidden strength the man seemed to possess. He was cleaning up the man's right wrist, gently wiping the rough abrasions on his skin from the cuffs, when the heart monitor randomly sped up. Bruce's head jerked up to the man's face and froze. His own wrist enclosed suddenly, held in an iron grip. The Joker's lids snapped open and their eyes met. They stared at each other for a full two seconds, Bruce easily reading the Joker's emotions in those spare seconds, the confusion, fear, determination.

Then the hold on his wrist was released, Bruce lunged forward to stop the madman but it was too late, the Joker ripped the IV needle from his arm tossing it to the floor, the heart monitor beeping away at an accelerated speed. The billionaire quickly jerked away, and the madman fell back against the bed, his chest rising and falling with his effort, not even bothering with removing the heart monitor, his energy apparently sapped for the moment. Bruce's back hit the wall, his head turned to the left like he was facing a wild animal, unsure if staring him down was the best method. The Joker's green eyes darted around the room taking in every weapon and escape route he could find before they fell shut, his head falling back against the pillows, his muscles relaxing. One shaky hand reached up and tore the elastic bands on his mask over his head, specks of dried blood raining onto the sheets and his bandaged chest as he tossed the respiratory mask to the floor to join the IV needle. He smacked his dry lips scowling at the foul taste in his mouth, left from the drugs they had pumped into his system. One grime covered hand lifted up to run down his pale scarred face, ruining the work Bruce had just done in one long pull. The Joker's eyes opened to half mast, leveling glassily onto the billionaire, staring at him, a small loopy smile tugged at his scarred lips.

"Hey there precious." The Joker greeted him, his voice gravel, the last word getting stuck in his throat and he coughed with a grimace.

"How long have I been out?" The madman asked closing his eyes again, holding back a groan of pain. Bruce watched him carefully letting his left temple rest wearily against the wall as he tried to judge the man's mood. So much for one peaceful day of rest.

"Not long enough." The playboy finally muttered when the madman fixed him with an irritated glare, the Joker smiled, letting his head lull to the side, resting against the pillow.

"Well it did take you long enough. I got so tired of waiting." The Joker whispered, his eyes lazily watching the playboy.

"You almost died." Bruce stated incredulously, a frown marring his masculine features. The Joker frowned as well looking around the room, like he was missing something.

"Well, next time you should hurry." The madman stated, almost like it was obviously the correct course of action. Bruce's eyes narrowed in annoyance.

"Next time, don't come here." The playboy hissed and The Joker hissed in sympathy glancing down at his feet, which he wiggled under the covers.

"Not much of a choice, love. And I was just, dying, to see you." The madman smirked holding back his weak laughter of amusement.

"Next time die somewhere else." Bruce stated blandly, his face void of emotion. The Joker pouted, turning his attention back to the playboy, who was still basically pressed against the wall.

"But the game isn't over yet." The Joker complained, shifting a little in his place, obviously uncomfortable but too lazy to actually move. Bruce shook his head in disbelief.

"This isn't – ."

"Bruce?!" The door slammed open, Bruce's head jerked around taking in Tim's huffing form in the doorway, the furious look on his face. A small hitch in breath came from the bed, and the heart monitor sped up. Bruce snapped his head back around to find the Joker staring at him, eyes wider than usual, unblinking, his lips parted. His heart rate increased under Bruce's attention. The Joker's eyes slipped to the side of his face and Bruce swallowed hard, his shoulders slumping. He understood. One hand lifted to trail along the scratches on the left side of his face. The scratches the Joker had taken so much time admiring last night. Tim's eyes were just as wide, but he was staring at the madman in the bed.

"You've got to be kidding me." Tim muttered in disbelief and betrayal.

"You're hiding. The Joker in here?! From me?" Tim exclaimed his hands balling in fists as he rounded on his mentor, and partner.

"Not now, Tim." Bruce exhaled, realizing just how horrible this entire situation just turned out to be.

"Then when? Why don't you trust me?" Tim whispered desperately, stepping towards his father figure.

"We'll talk about this in a minute." Bruce stated sternly, his jaw muscles tight, his lips thin, Tim didn't understand the situation yet.

"You heard the man, flit away. Little bird." Bruce gritted his teeth at the Joker's taunting words, and the color drained from Tim's face.

"Later." Bruce stated, shoving the frozen teen out of the room and shutting the door behind him. The playboy stood with his hand on the door, his back to the madman. He knew the Joker wouldn't kill him now, or would he? What if the game was over now? What if it wasn't fun anymore, he wasn't fun? Bruce slowly turned around his eyes trailing to meet those dancing green orbs.

"Now you know." The playboy whispered, his eyes never leaving the madman.

"Kinda hard to miss." The Joker stated slowly, a little irritated disappointment in his tone, his eyes losing their glassy sheen.

"Yet it took you this long. Why is that?" Bruce laughed dryly, letting his hand fall from the door.

"What's the fun in knowing." The madman asked him with creased brows. Bruce shook his head, unable to believe the man.

"Are you saying you didn't know?" The playboy asked doubtfully, "Or that you didn't, want, to know. I bet you did know. You just didn't want to acknowledge it. Didn't want the fun to end." The Joker raised and eyebrow and they stared at each other in silence for a full minute. The billionaire his head again, this time in confusion.

"Why would the fun end? Why would it matter who I was?" Bruce asked slowly, he had always wanted to know, and the Joker's eyes flashed, his tongue unconsciously licking the side of his mouth. His scars, and the billionaire understood one hand coming up to touch his own brow.

"You wanted me to be like you." Bruce stated, letting his hand fall away.

"Scarred in some way. Imperfect." Bruce whispered walking around the right side of the man's bed, watching green eyes trail away from the playboy.

"Sorry to disappoint." Bruce stated and the Joker simply rolled his eyes, scratching at some dried blood on his arm, that turned out to be one of his own wounds, blood slowly creeping out of the new opening. Bruce cocked his head to the side leaning against one of the stationary machines, crossing his arms. He stood for a few seconds before shaking his head slowly, like he didn't quite believe the Joker's flippant attitude, but then he knew, had always known, and so had the Joker.

"No, there is a reason you left the billionaire playboy, voted most attractive man in Gotham, as the last high class socialite you attacked. It's because you knew. You knew at the ball, before the ball. You knew at Arkham. Is that why you tried to kill me?" Bruce asked quietly, he wanted to know needed to know. He just wanted some insight on the madman he had chased around the city for so long. The Joker rolled his eyes again, tsking in disbelief.

"Oh please, if I tried to kill you, you would know." The Joker insisted, leveling Bruce was a lewd gaze. The billionaire shrugged his shoulders.

"Felt like it." He stated, remembering the look in the Joker's eyes. The desperate need to distinguish Bruce's life.

"Then playboy Bats is a pussy princess." The Joker growled, and Bruce scoffed, reaching out to remove the heart rate monitor, the last thing attached to the man, and the machine skyrocketed, the billionaire froze understanding what that meant. The Joker growled and ripped the thing off himself tossing it to the ground, refusing to look at the man, his face a blank slate. The way he looked in therapy sessions when he didn't want to play with his doctor's psyche. Bruce shut the machine off and walked back over to the bowl of water, picking up a rag he ringed it out.

"What if I am, is the game over then?" The playboy asked curious, as he squeezed the water out of it, he knew he was playing with fire. That the Joker wasn't someone you baited, but he had been playing with fire all of his life. It wasn't something he could just stop doing.

"No." The Joker stated dryly leveling him with an unamused gaze.

"What if Hush wins, and I lose my status as Bruce Wayne. I can't be Batman anymore. Does it end then?" The Joker's eyes narrowed at him, the line of his lips growing thin at his words.

"No." He stated again, this time with a hint of irritation. Bruce nodded his head, he was going to keep trying until he got a better answer. Then he knew what would get the Joker going.

"What if you didn't have them?" He asked actually speculating the possibilities that it would change the madman's behavior in some way. The Joker eyed him skeptically,

"What?" The madman questioned, not sounding too sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"The scars. What if you didn't have them. I have the money, the connections. What then?" The Joker brows furrowed, eyes widened, and his lips parted, staring at the billionaire for a full minute.

"Are you daft?" The Joker whispered slowly, and Bruce knew he had broken through.

"You think the scars are what make me the Joker?! Does that cowl make you the Batman?!" The maniac exclaimed with an angry hiss, insulted that Bruce didn't quite understand their situation, his breathing elevated. Bruce's eyes narrowed, then he broke their eye contact, when did he go from being Bruce Wayne to Batman? He recalled the rigorous training and the deep seeded desire to be something more, something better and then he was. It wasn't the suit that made him Batman, he had gone through plenty of suits to know that. Been through trials without the cowl and Kevlar. The Joker nodded his head with a little huff of amusement.

"Babe, this is who we are." The Joker whispered soberly and Bruce looked up at him, their eyes meeting again. His lips thinned as the Joker's hand fell over the side railing in an attempt to reach for the billionaire, but his reach fell short, so he left it hang limply instead as an invitation. The Joker's eyes searched his own for a few more seconds before he parted his lips again.

"It's branded. In our Souls. You can take away the scars. You can take away the cowl. But we're still us." He exhaled, then he hissed in pain, shifting in the bed. He tilted his head towards the playboy when he settled back in, a sad smile on his face.

"That's what I've been trying to get you to see. We're two sides of the same coin. My madness, is your madness. I. Can see, your, insanity. And you..." The Joker suggested raising his head off the pillows, trailing off with a smile. Bruce crossed his arms eyeing the madman who looked, almost hopeful.

"Can see yours?" Bruce asked dubiously, raising an eyebrow at the madman.

"Yes!" The Joker exhaled letting his head fall back again.

"Ah! All it took! Was a few bullet wounds to the chest! God if I had known it would be that easy. I would have done this ages ago." The maniac joked with a wink towards the playboy. He then smoothed the bandages on his chest a little, as he cleared his throat.

"See Batsy, if I'm insane. Then you're insane. But, we both. Know. We're insane. So..." The Joker shifted again, a grimace of pain crossing his features.

"Am I insane Bats?" He asked turning wide eyes towards the unmasked vigilante. Bruce gazed into those sharp green eyes, the ones that held so much intelligence. In history wasn't the brilliant often labeled insane?

"Yes." Bruce stated, the Joker couldn't handle the world as it was, couldn't see the point of helping people, so what was he to do with his brilliance,? He hated people, hates people. Most geniuses furthered the world, but why bother helping humanity when all you wanted to do was see it burn? So the world burned and the Joker laughed.

"Am I insane, Bats?" The Joker's eyes narrowed, and he frowned lifting himself a little off the bed, his brows creased in irritation.

"Yes." The billionaire whispered this time, he was insane. They were both insane. And they both knew it. Which made them sane. To themselves, and only to themselves. To the rest of the world they were still insane. Brilliant madness held in helpless never ending cycles. Bruce would always watch those he helped fail, die, or be corrupted, and the Joker will continue burning, but creating nothing in his wake. They would never get what they were after.

"Am I. Insane... Bruce?" The Joker whispered back, watching the emotions play though the man's steel blue eyes. What if the cycle was broken? Bruce's eyes snapped up not realizing he had let them fall, meeting those bright eyes.

"... most of the time." Bruce whispered tempting fate and the Joker huffed in amusement falling back to the bed.

"You're hopeless." The Joker stated, a smile tugging at his lips, a real one. The one he hides behind homicidal grins.

"Hopelessly insane according to you." Bruce tacked on, letting a smile of his own pull at his lips. The smile broke on the Joker's face, lighting up those green eyes and Bruce wondered what line he just crossed.

"And most shrinks. I know you've met some." The madman joked, his smile morphing into a smirk and it was lost. Bruce realized that the rag had gotten cold, and turned back to the bowl with a shake of his head.

"I don't kill people for fun." The billionaire muttered, rinsing out the rag again.

"No you saaaave them." The Joker exhaled sarcastically, letting loose a little chuckle.

"That's not insanity." Bruce stated turning back around to the man.

"Isn't it?" The maniac attempted to shrug his shoulders, but grimaced in pain, letting out a small hiss.

"It's not." Bruce insisted, grabbing the man's limp arm and scrubbing some dirt out of one of the deeper cuts. The man's muscles tensed in pain, green eyes narrowing on the dark haired male.

"Is." The Joker stated, his lips pursed.

"Isn't." The playboy shot back.

"Is."

"Isn't."

"Is."

"Isn't." Bruce stated flippantly, he could play this game all night. The Joker stopped it with a little chuckle, flipping his arm over, revealing the soft flesh underneath.

"See, now we are insane! Doing something over and over again. Expecting different results." The Joker whispered his eyes trailing down Bruce's figure, taking in his thin t-shirt covered muscles, the line of his jaw without the cowl.

"Shut up, before I give you more bruises." Bruce stated, his voice lowering, almost reaching his Batman tone, but not quite and goosebumps broke out on the skin beneath his hands.

"Oh, there it is, saving people through violence. Insani – ty." The Joker chuckled, punctuating the last word for effect. Bruce's stomach flipped at his words, because it's what he did wasn't it. He always saw the way Alfred looked at him when he came back from a night out. The hidden disappointment, regret. Now he couldn't get those moments out of his head. He tried to ignore them. Pretend they didn't exist. That Alfred didn't disapprove of his methods. That his only saving grace was his goals.

"Is not..." Bruce whispered, moving farther up the man's arm.

"Isn't it? Fighting fire, with fire, just makes. Bigger flames." The Joker whispered back, his other hand left its place by his side moving over to tilt Bruce's head up by the chin. Their eyes met, and stormy blue narrowed in annoyance.

"Hasn't it?" The Joker asked biting his scarred lip, and Bruce ripped his face out of his hands, turning back to the task of cleaning his wounds. Not that the madman seemed grateful. Silence reigned through the room. The Joker's eyes darting back and forth between his own.

"Bats?" The madman called after a few seconds, when it became apparent that the billionaire was simply ignoring him.

"Baaaaats." He tried again, his muscles tensing, the familiar irritation eating at him, his features twisting into a scowl. He tried to sit up but only really made it half way.

"Bruce." He gritted out, when all the male did was move to the next cut. The Joker's hand shot out grabbing Bruce's own, the one that was cleaning his wounds. He tightened his grip, pulling the man away from his skin.

"Don't fucking ignore me." The Joker hissed, attempting to crush the man's bones. Bruce's eyes snapped up, but Batman's were the ones that met him. Bruce twisted his arm, switching their hold, he gripped the Joker's wrist, squeezing tightly he stood up and leaned over the man shoving his hand into the bed by the male's side a scowl on his lips.

"I am not." Bruce growled out, hovering above the madman, who's lips parted and eyes widened as the billionaire towered over him.

"Playing. Your fucking mind games! So stop, trying. I'm not your pet project. I'm going to heal you up and put you back where you belong. In Arkham." Bruce hissed out, making sure the maniac knew exactly where he stood.

"So I'm. Your. Pet project?" The Joker asked leaning up, with help from his grip on the bed railing, Bruce's hand still holding it in place, their faces now inches apart.

"Why do you get a pet and I don't?" The madman pouted tilting his head a little more towards the billionaire and Bruce wanted to back away, his breath was rancid, the playboy didn't even want to know how many days the male had gone without brushing his teeth.

"You have a pet, her name's Harley Quinzel." Bruce informed the man, and the maniac rolled his eyes with an annoyed huff.

"Oh that sad puppy that followed me home? That's not a real pet. I want a real pet." The Joker whined and Bruce scowled.

"They'd just end up dead." The Joker chuckled at his words, shaking his head, amusement dancing in his green eyes.

"No. That's your forte." He licked his lips, "Do you know what you're waiting for Batsy?" The maniac asked quietly, and Bruce's grip tightened on the man's wrist, the Joker's fingers twitched from the pressure.

"You leave a lot more dead behind you." Bruce growled through gritted teeth ignoring his question, his voice slipping lower, and the Joker's eyes flickered down.

"Not one's I care about." The Joker's eyes narrowed slyly, and the billionaire's followed in anger, a scoff leaving the playboy's lips.

"Because you're a bipolar sociopath. Which is why you're going back to Arkham." The vigilante stated, his voice finally falling into his usual growl. The Joker exhaled airily, closing the distance between them, his lips resting against Bruce's softly.

"I'd like to see you try." He whispered against the larger male, Bruce jerked back instantly. Removing himself from the man's space, running an arm in disgust across his lips. The Joker licked his own bottom lip, sitting back into the bed, the bandages on his chest now spotted with blood.

"And that, Bruce... was what you were waiting for." The Joker whispered darkly, a satisfied smile on his lips. The playboy scowled, tossing the rag back into the bowl. He didn't need to play this game. He stared at the madman, he was fucking bonkers if the maniac believed that. Just absolutely insane. He didn't need to deal with this right now. The man was awake, Bruce didn't need to help him, he wasn't helpless anymore.

"I don't need a pet project." The billionaire stated gripping the tray, he rolled it over to the bed, ignoring the Joker's stunned look.

"You can take care of yourself." Bruce said blandly meeting the bright green eyes one last time, he stepped away from the bed again and turned his back to the madman, making his way to the door.

"Woah-wa-w-wait. Hold on!" The Joker called after him, there was a scrambling against the sheets and a hiss of pain behind the billionaire. The madman huffed back into the bed, one hand on his shoulder as he watched Bruce turn the door handle.

"Come on Bats. You're not. You're not actually going to just run away are you?! You're, hey! You're running away! You're running away Bats! Bats?! Bruce?! Get back here! I'm not done with – ." Bruce slammed the door shut behind him, locked it, turned, and stalked down the hallway without a second glance, he didn't make it far however. Tim was leaning against the wall near the elevator. His eyes immediately narrowed in on his mentor. They were going to have a talk. Now. Bruce so didn't feel up to this.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

I would appreciate if you guys pointed out anything that doesn't seem probable. I like my stories to flow well and not seem entirely like a cracked out fanfiction where you stop and say wait... that's not possible in real life. So let meh know!