I'm currently in the process of fixing up this fic and I haven't gotten to this chapter onward yet. Bear with me :)

Chapter 5
Power

This is around the time Bruce has begun to realize that the Joker is desperately trying to claw his way back into power.

It had started with the lifting of the car, making them hold it for far longer than they needed to as the clown changed the tire. Then it escalated to escorting Bruce a little ways off of the highway, holding him at gunpoint and ordering for him to go to the bathroom right there and then.

Now, it's blown up into the Joker holding a gun to his captive's temple and forcing him to drive. He's being granted a sort of pseudo-power, essentially.

And it's really annoying Bruce.

Greg has been trying to hold conversation with the clown, much like how they were not thirty minutes ago, but all attempts have thus far been shrugged off with nothing more than a particularly dirty look.

It pleases the billionaire a little bit more than it should.

At least Bruce could find a small upside to the situation; Alfred would be proud for it. His lips twitch upward at the thought.

When the gun's barrel nudges against his temple again, though, it turns down into a scowl. He shifts his eyes to the side, catching the clown's cold gaze. "How long do I have to drive for?" He dares ask the question.

At this point he has gotten a decent grasp on where he stands with the Joker and just how much he could push at the boundaries before things get ugly. Even with a gun to his head. Even with how absolutely unpredictable he is.

The scarred man did no more than huff out a breath. "Don't worry about it."

"Oh now that's just petty."

The Joker closes his eyes, doesn't even bother to respond. Bruce takes it upon himself to continue his train of thought from earlier.

"There's really no reason for me to be here anyway. You have the car, the money and a destination. Why do you need me?" The car falls silent again for a few minutes. Bruce grows wary and allows himself another quick glance over to the Joker, then turns his attention back to the expanse of Virginia highway road ahead of them.

He doesn't seem as if he's too on-edge over the comment, so he allows himself to relax as much as he could with a gun pressed to the side of his head.

The clown works a tongue along his scars and finally answers, "Entertainment."

"You're ready to kill me, though."

"I think we can work through our differences, Bruce, I really do."

In return Bruce gives him a strange look. He sighs and lets the car settle back into silence, hoping that it would stay that way. When they approach a gas station some few minutes later, the Joker cranes his neck to check the fuel gauge. He pouts his scarred lips and drawls a breath.

"Stop there." He motions to the station with a tilt of the head. It's a command, it only adds to the ever-present shifting of power between them. His next words are slow, careful, full of regard and meaningful pauses between each word as a mother would scold her children, "Now I'm going to remove the gun from your head. If either of you do anything out of line, just remember that I will have my hand on it," he says, the warning clear as day, keeping his eyes on Bruce's profile even as he addresses Greg as well.

Bruce lets out a breath that he wasn't aware he had been holding when the Joker relinquishes the gun from his temple. As promised, though, he tucks it away in a pocket and his hand stays there.

As he pulls into the gas station and stops at a pump, the Joker waves him out of the car with a free hand.

He rolls his eyes, unsurprised, because of course. "If you really want something done you should do it yourself," he grumbles as he gets out, trying to ignore the humidity surrounding him and the sun beating down on the back of his neck.

"Sorry, what was that?" The voice is dark and threatening and it really shouldn't be making him smile, but it most definitely is, with his face safely being turned to the gas pump.

"Nothing."

"That's what I thought."

Before he knows it, they're off on the road again. The Joker's arm is extended across the empty space between the driver and passenger seat, the gun having returned to his temple as the clown slouches back in the seat with his legs up and resting atop the dashboard. He's reaching into a bag of chips every so often with his other hand.

From the corner of his eye, Bruce sees him pulls his eyebrows together for a second, then suddenly turn to his captive. "How long have we been in Virginia?"

"For about twenty miles. Why?"

He doesn't respond, just sits up a little straighter in the chair, throws the bag of chips to the floor and reaches for the glove box. Then he's fiddling around with his one free hand as he pulls out a pen and a random sheet of printed paper.

The pen is all chewed up and bent out of shape, but the Joker hardly realizes it has he pulls off the cap with his teeth and begins scribbling out something.

The gun slides down to his jaw, forgotten, and Bruce clears his throat. "Uh, what're you doing?"

Then in one fluid motion the clown springs to his knees, pointing the gun at Greg in the back seat as he folds the paper in half with two fingers. Bruce can see Greg's eyes widen in the mirror. "Do you remember that story I told you about my guy? Here's the address, the name and the objective. Take your gun back," he says, making the long forgotten gun re-appear in the same hand as the folded paper.

The Joker practically shoves them into Greg's hands. "Now get goin'. Don't stop the car." The last bit is directed at Bruce, who can't help but shift uneasy in his seat.

Greg switches glances from the gun to the clown, and the pause is making Joker grow annoyed. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a sleek black cell phone.

The gun being held up to him suddenly becomes more threatening as he hands the object off to Greg, as well. "Here's a phone, now I'll know if you follow through or not. Get. Going."

Bruce can't bring himself to look when everything seems to fall into place for the poor guy.

There's a click of a seat belt being undone.

He hears the fumbling of a shaky hand as it gropes for the door handle.

Before he knows it there's a scream coupled with the car shaking violently, and when Bruce looks back up to the mirror, the backseat is once again empty.