Disclaimer: Please don't say you believe I own them. You know I don't.
It had been a long day, and it was going to be an even longer night. It had been four days since the last killing, another body was due to be found anytime now. Every criminal in Gotham was running scared.
Bruce was jumpy as he drove back to the manor after a day as Bruce Wayne, he needed to get out on the streets as soon as possible as the Batman; he had to be there when the next body was found.
In the closed confines of his Roles Royce he let his shoulders slump and he admitted- only to himself- that there wasn't much he could do about all these murders.
As he turned into his driveway he straightened up once more. He would do his job, he would do all he could to keep the streets safe for innocent people. He would not mourn the loss of a few retched criminals.
Where had that last thought come from? That wasn't like him. No one deserved to be cut down in the streets.
Parking, Bruce made his way inside and headed straight for his cave; he really needed to be out on the streets right now. He had to get out on the streets.
Almost to the clock, he was intercepted by his butler.
"Sir? I have your dinner ready. Would you like for me to bring it down to you?"
JOKERJOKERJOKERJOKERJOKERJOKER
Slowly coming back to consciousness, the first thing Bruce registered was a horrible pain in his head. I must have been hit pretty hard, he thought.
The second thing he noticed was that he was strapped down. His only thought on that was: Again?
Opening his eyes slightly he was shocked to see he was in the batcave. Why was he strapped down in the batcave?
"Hold still, I need to get these stitches straight." Alfred. Alfred was here somewhere. Opening his mouth to call out to his faithful butler, Bruce got another shock.
"I am holding still, you have a concussion. Why I'm letting you stitch me up in your condition is beyond me." The Joker. The Joker was here! In his most sacred of places.
"It is simple: you can not reach and you needed stitches." Alfred was treating the madman? Let him die!
No! Why was he thinking this way? This wasn't him! What was happening?!
"Master? Are you awake?" He must have made a noise of some kind, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Opening his eyes- when had he closed them again?- he turned his head slightly and gasped.
Alfred had a large bandage on the left side of his face, his left arm also appeared to be bandaged and he had dried blood in his hair. What had happened to his old mentor?
"Master? How are you feeling?" His intrepid butler stopped a little more than an arm's length away, he seemed hesitant to come any closer.
"I have a headache. What happened, Alfred? Why am I strapped drown?" And in an undertone he added:
"Why is the Joker here? Did he do this to you?" Alfred looked down and away, presumably towards where the madman still was.
"The Joker has been staying with us for the last four days, sir. He has not once raised his hand to me; he has, in fact, recently saved my life." Alfred looked back towards him and Bruce could see the answer he didn't want shining in the old mans' eyes.
"No. I didn't do this. No!" The worry and concern was plainly written on the others' face, but he seemed reluctant to come closer.
That was enough to tell him that he had almost done something horrible. In a broken whisper, Bruce asked:
"What did I do, Alfred?"
"I think I had better answer that one." The clown stepped around the corner, taping down a fresh bandage; if Alfred looked to have been put through hell, then the Joker looked to have been put through a meat grinder.
Bandages covered most of his torso and up his neck, his arms were a patchwork of band-aids. Whoever had gone after him was obviously going in for the kill. Giving Bruce a small smile, the starkly white man turned towards the butler.
"Why don't you go lay down. There's a cot just over there, you don't have to leave Bruceys' side; but you need to lay down before you collapse. I'll check on you in an hour, to make sure you're still alright." Watching as his butler took the advice and left, Bruce remembered the earlier overheard comment.
"How badly is he injured?" He hated asking his greatest enemy anything, but he didn't seem to have any other options and he needed to know.
"Concussion, deep slice to the face, gash to his arm, a few bruised ribs; nothing unusual for us really." The clown tried to give his signature smile, but it came up short.
"I did that to him." He had meant to keep that statement to himself, but it seemed the green-haired psycho had heard him.
"Yes and no. It's rather complicated. Suffice it to say that you didn't know what you were doing at the time." His smile this time was a little more genuine.
"And you? Did I do all that to you, as well?"
"The same answer applies." Bruce could see the cracks in the mans' smile this time. Out of all his enemies, he knew the Joker both the best and the least.
"I should have killed you and carved out your heart as a trophy." Had he just said that? The sad look on the others' face said that he had.
"Joker... I-"
"Don't worry Batsy, I understand. I just hope you understand that this is why we have to keep you here for now."
"Yes. But can you at least tell me why you are here." Why are you being so nice?
"I can't let anything happen to my Batsy." His smile was sad but sincere.
Bruce wanted to carve it from his face.
"Why am I thinking this was? What is happening?" He shut his eyes once more, he just wanted his mind back.
"As far as I've been able to find out, you're suffering from a psychotic break brought on from one of Scarecrow's toxins. You had a run-in with him just after you put me away this last time? He was testing a new mix? Remember?"
He did remember, it had been a horrible three hours of nightmares and hallucinations. He hated nights like that.
"The side effects seem to cause repressed desires to manifest themselves into actions." The Joker was looking at him now with an expectant expression.
Why? What did he need to figure out? If he had been suffering for the last few months from... oh.
"I killed all those people, didn't I." Please tell me I'm wrong.
"Yes and no. Like I said before: it's complicated."
"Don't give me that! If I've been going around murdering people then just tell me so!"
"No, sir, you haven't!" Alfred came back around the corner, he had obviously been listening instead of resting; he swayed on his feet, only staying upright when the Joker caught him.
"The Joker is right. It was your body but it wasn't your mind. Do not blame yourself, that will not change anything. You must fight through; we will help as much as we can, but you must fight as well." Having said his piece, the old man slumped.
As the green-haired man took his butler to bed, Bruce was left to think. Going over all the new information, he came to one conclusion: he needed help. He couldn't be sure when another episode would occur; so he would have to rely on someone to work by his side, but still be able to take him out if it got too bad.
He could not endanger his old allies or proteges by asking for their help. Seeing the mad genius he called his Arch Enemy come back, he knew that their was only one person he could rely on.
"Joker, help me." Giving him an odd look, he had never asked the man for anything before now, he realized; the psycho walked back over to his table.
"I will do everything I can, Batsy. You have my word on that."