AN: So the alert stuff still isn't working, contact me by email if you need me. I'm not even sure why I bother to type that at this point.

In other news, I've had Caramelldansen in my head for like a day now, and it really doesn't help that I found an icon of Bats and Mr. J doing the dance. Now I'm wondering why someone hasn't animated Doctor Crane flailing around doing rabbit ears with the other guys. This is why I shouldn't have the Internet, people. This is why we can't have nice things. (If you don't know what Caramelldansen is, Youtube it. Then imagine Batman and the Joker doing that.)

Thanks for the reviews!

Crane shot a glance back to the door. Seven steps, about, if he was guessing right. An equal seven steps between all of the choices. Seven steps to freedom, seven steps to imprisonment, seven steps to death. It couldn't be that hard, could it, to get seven faulty assumptions? They didn't know him, not really. Certainly not the Batman, who pretended to understand when things couldn't be plainer that he didn't, and not the Joker either. The Joker had only pretended to understand so he could use him, much like Ra's al Ghul. He didn't know how things truly were.

He couldn't. Because if he did, Crane was dead. And while he'd accepted that death was a very real possibility, gotten to the point where he really didn't mind it, that didn't make the thought of death at the clown's hands any less frightening. What incentive was there for the Joker to keep his word, if he won? This had probably been a terrible idea.

"So, do you wanna go first, Bats, or should I?" In sharp contrast to the stature of the other men, Joker stood casually, waving the gun in his hand back and forth slightly, as if bored. His other hand slid into his coat for a moment, reemerged with a straight razor. Crane didn't even want to know why he carried a straight razor.

"What is that?" Apparently the Batman did.

"A razor." He didn't add "idiot," to the end, but his tone strongly implied it. "For when I win, see? 'Cause Jonny said no flamethrowers and a gun isn't any fun at all."

"Then why are you pointing the pistol at me?"

Crane glanced at the mask's eyeholes, saw Batman's eyes shifting, no doubt taking in everything about the Joker, any weakness he could exploit. Constantly looking for an alternate method. Not that it would help much here. The Joker wanted to play the game and nothing Batman did could stop him from having his fun. He wasn't sure that Joker would respect the rules should he lose, but it was his best shot.

In a way, he understood the desire for things to continue. He was still holding the scythe painfully tight, and the Batman would be cut if he tried anything. If the blade could cut the armor. Crane was sick of all the running, the hiding like a frightened child. He wanted this over, even if it ended with a razor to the throat.

"In case you decide to interfere with the progress of the game," Joker said. "As in, when I win. All right, I'll go first." He turned his head in a manner Crane imagined let his watch the Batman in his peripheral vision, smirked.

The clown's smile made him want to faint. He forced himself not to shiver—at least, not more than usual—and looked back with what he hoped was a steady, calm gaze. "Go ahead." Don't panic. Don't let anything slip. He doesn't know you. Not really.

"'Kay." He paused, sucking on the scars from the inside.

"Well?"

"Er…you don't think I have any real insight into your life, that I only pretended to sympathize with you to get you on my good side." He ran his tongue over his lips, continued. "That's why you chose this game. You were banking on the idea that I wouldn't understand you."

Oh, fuck. The chance of death just became about fifty percent more likely. Silent, he stepped forward, noticing that the Batman tensed as he did so. Six steps left, or eight, to get out.

Joker stopped waving the gun, and the Batman, judging by the way he tensed again, got the message. He didn't try anything.

"Guess you're not so unreadable, huh princess?" He giggled, didn't wait for a response that they both knew wasn't coming. Because he was right, and that made Crane tempted to give up here and now. "Your turn, Batsy."

He felt the Batman's eyes on him without looking away from the Joker. "You don't want to die."

He almost smiled as he stepped back, making eye contact with Batman for the first time since the game had begun. Thank God for heroes who thought they understood. He took in the Bat's expression, which looked stunned from what he could see, and did smile, slightly. "I can't bring myself to care anymore," he explained, to deter protest. "I'd like to get out, yes, but I'm sick of the struggle."

"But you don't want it to hurt."

Damn it, he thought, almost halfheartedly, as he took a step. Once again, eight to freedom, six to death. The Joker smirked, flicked the razor open, running his thumb lightly over the edge. Crane wondered where he'd stick the blade, if he won. And whether he'd follow the agreement and make it fast.

He doubted it.

The Batman's eyes were on him again, taking everything in. He'd come to expect it from the Joker, but now he felt oddly exposed. With the threat of death looming over him, it shouldn't have been an issue, yet it was. "You're hurting yourself by holding the scythe that tightly," he said, after what seemed like an eternity. "But you can't let it go, not because you're afraid I'll stop this, but because it's the only thing giving you a sense of security."

Crane considered it. He hadn't thought about it, but the feel of the scythe in his hands, blood and ache aside, was comforting. Heart sinking, he took a step. Five to go, either to the Batman or the Joker. Nine to freedom, which was starting to look far away.

"Not that the scythe's gonna do you a lot of good," the Joker said, amusing himself for a moment by watching the overhead light reflect from the razor and onto the wall. Crane and the Batman watched, waiting. He found himself drawn in by the light as well. Watching it mindlessly was far better than the situation at hand, but though it didn't get him any closer to death, it didn't bring him any closer to safety either.

"Joker," he said after a while, the very word hurting to say. It brought up all sorts of unpleasant memories and worse, pleasant ones. It wasn't the abuse that hurt, not as much as the betrayal. Though both were agonizing.

"You're afraid that I'll break my word if I win," he said automatically, not even needing to think about it. "Make it slow and painful."

Shaking a little more than could be explained by side effects, he nodded. Stepped forward again. Ten away from the door. It might as well be ten thousand.

"I won't." His voice was quiet, almost gentle. It was the same way he always spoke when he was trying to get on Crane's good side, and Jonathan knew that. But he still felt the urge to believe that, and it disgusted him. I really am pathetic. I don't deserve to get out of here.

His self-loathing was interrupted by the Joker's voice. "Hey, Jonny?"

"Yes?" He felt uneasy, doubting he wanted to know what the Joker was interrupting the game for.

"Can I have your eyes, when you're dead?"

Well, there went any thought of believing him, right out the window. "No."

The scar tissue closest to his mouth turned down. The way the scars moved slightly in accordance with his expressions reminded Crane of a cartoon's exaggerated features. Like a smiley face from hell. "Why not? You're not gonna need 'em."

Fighting the urge to be sick or shout, either was equally tempted, he glanced toward the Batman. "Your turn, isn't it?"

Batman, who'd been watching the Joker with similar disgust, turned back to him. He looked him over again and Crane was shocked to find that even in this situation, it made him more uncomfortable than almost anything everything else about the situation. It just didn't make sense. Why was the Batman taking part in this game? Why hadn't he just taken the scythe again and beaten the Joker into submission?

For that matter, why had he driven him out here in the first place? Crane hadn't thought about it at the time, but back in the Batmobile, and even before that, he was sure he'd slipped and left himself open more than once. Why hadn't the Batman taken the gun and driven him back to Arkham? If he'd avoided fights to keep from hurting Crane, why was he making correct guesses? If he wanted Crane to get out of this alive, he should be helping him toward the door, not bringing him closer to the Joker with each turn. He could always hunt Crane down later; he'd never had a problem with that.

He remembered Batman's words, about wanting to take him back of his own accord. But that had been a lie to placate him. He didn't care; someone like the Batman couldn't really care about someone like him. Whatever game he was playing, Crane didn't like it. He almost preferred the Joker, who at least wore his intentions like a badge of honor, letting everyone know what he was up to.

"You don't want me to win." Lost in his own thoughts, Batman's sudden words nearly made him jump. "You want to leave and you've accepted that you could die, but you don't want to go back to Arkham. You're afraid that if you do, he'll kill you there, and slowly."

There it was again, that maddening ability of his to find the thing someone was nervous about and tear it wide open. It made him feel so exposed, so vulnerable that he had to say something as he took a step. "If you understand that," he said, looking away. "You ought to be willing to let me leave Gotham."

"No."

"Then you're signing my death warrant."

"Not if I win."

He shook his head. "Do you think the Joker will care?"

"Hey." The Joker moved as if to step forward, stopped himself. He did, however, raise the gun holding hand, like he was going to fire a warning shot into the ceiling. He didn't need to, having their full attention. "One, I don't like being talked about as if, uh, I'm not here. And two, I'm a man of my word, Jonny."

"Given that your word means whatever you want it to mean and changes every few seconds or so, that's not very reassuring."

He rolled his eyes. "If I weren't about to kill you, I'd be on Batsy's side about heading back to Arkham. You've got major trust issues, you know that?"

"Maybe I wouldn't, if the person I trusted hadn't broken my ribs and left me for dead."

"You're still mad about that?"

He bit his lips to keep from shouting, hard enough to draw blood. "I believe it's your turn."

"Fine, dodge the question." He licked the corners of his mouth, glancing down at Crane's wrists, where, he realized, the scars were visible at the edges of his sleeves. He wanted to pull them back down, but that would involve letting go of the scythe. And the Batman, loathe as he was to admit it, had been right. The scythe was functioning as his security blanket, for the moment. "Uh…you're ashamed of your scars, but not just 'cause they represent a loss of control. You're pissed that you let the circumstances get to you enough to lose control at all. Because you're supposed to be above letting past experiences affect you, or uh, you're no better than any other run-of-the-mill psychopath with mommy issues."

He didn't try to deny it. They both knew that would be a lie. Another step forward. Two left, and then he'd be dead. He wasn't sure which surprised him more, the fact that he'd accepted that or the fact that neither of the other players had lost patience at this point and either stopped the game, or shot him. "Batman?"

"You wish you'd never broken out. Because whatever the Joker would have done at Arkham, he'd have been more likely to let you live if you hadn't run away."

Maybe there was a chance of living after all. He wished he could bring himself to be enthused about it, but at the moment, he seemed to have been drained of all emotions, save for resignation and fear. "At least this way, there's a chance of living," he said, stepping back. Three steps to death now. "Had he decided to kill me at Arkham, I'd have had no hope."

"You've done nothing to get the Batman's attention," the Joker said, nodding. Possibly in agreement to Crane's last statement. "At least, not on purpose, you only wanted to get away. So you don't feel that you deserve this sort of retaliation on my part."

"I'd have to be a masochist to think I did deserve it." He stepped forward, back to two steps left. Death was almost a given now. That, or going back to Arkham, which mean the same thing. Even if the Batman's guess was incorrect, he'd still be eleven steps from getting out. And he highly doubted they'd be wrong eleven times in a row.

"You are a masochist, kitten. Anybody who lets me touch him is a masochist. It's not that you've done anything to get his attention, it's the fact that you've got it that pisses me off. But I digress." He tilted his head toward the Batman, cracking his neck in the process. "Your turn, darling."

"You had trouble leaving Arkham; not because you didn't want to get out, but because you didn't want to hurt your friends."

Crane blinked. How had he known that? It wasn't as if he'd ever seen him interact with his friends, aside from when they'd stayed by his side during Joker's attack on Arkham. It was beyond unnerving, his skill at this game. But, he reflected, as he took a step, it also proves that he doesn't care. He was one step away from the Joker now, and the Joker had yet to get a question wrong. He was dead and they all knew it. If the Batman had really cared, he would have guessed wrong, let the Joker get him one step away, and then made a correct comment so he would win. It figured. He felt more disgust with himself than ever, for believing the Bat might have had real concern.

His eyes caught the Joker, who was grinning broader than ever. What was truly disturbing about it was how happy he looked. He seemed honestly amused about the whole thing, not malicious or demented. It should have made Crane shudder, but all he could think about was the time the Joker had given him a rose, how similar his smile had been when Jonathan had accepted his proposition. It made him almost reminiscent of those days, and that twisted Crane's stomach far more than his imminent death did.

"At this moment, you hate me more than you've ever hated anyone in your life."

Crane stared, surprised. He took a step backward and the Joker's mouth fell open.

"No, I don't." He hated him, yes, he hated him beyond his ability to describe. But at the same time, he couldn't completely detest him. It made no sense, given that this man had abused him, both physically and emotionally, poisoned him, dislocated his arm, cut him, gave him a concussion, broke his ribs. Not to mention the betrayal. The Joker should have been absolutely right.

But…he'd also given him one of the best experiences of his life, before the ride had come to a sudden and horrible halt. Looking back, it was all a lie, of course, but that didn't make the memories completely unbearable. The rose, and the first real kiss between them that followed, the fantastic ride home, and the night in the rain a few days later. The Joker's arms around him, his voice singing along with Judy Garland as Dorothy. The Joker coming to his defense when he'd been injured during the convenience store experiment. The kiss on the floor of the bank, and the experience in Gotham General, at least before he knew it'd been caught on tape.

He should have hated him. And most of him did. But part of him couldn't. What's worse, buried somewhere deep, deep inside, a part of him wanted what they'd had back. Even though he knew it was a lie. Even though the fact that he wanted it made him hate himself. He still wanted it, longed for it.

The Joker was still staring, eyes widened in sharp contrast to the black around them. "…Really? You are one messed up kid, you know that?"

He didn't answer, turned to the Batman.

For once he didn't have to think about it. Or he had while Crane was reminiscing. "You want help, but you're afraid to say so."

Well, that was just idiotic. Had he not hammered this point in a thousand times before the game began? Maybe he was trying to lose on purpose after all. He didn't need help, and he certainly didn't want it. Honestly, as if saying that now would change his answer in the slightest, as if he'd suddenly—

Crane realized he'd taken a step forward without thinking about it and went cold.

He stared down at his feet, mind unable to process what his eyes were showing him. Swallowing, he glanced up, inadvertently meeting the Batman's gaze. He wanted to look away, but found himself unable. The eye contact was making him feel more exposed than ever, more helpless, among many other unpleasant feelings, but he held it, unsure of why. For a moment it was as if there was nowhere else to look, no apartment, no Joker, just him and the Batman, and no thoughts in his mind but "Why?" Why had he stepped forward? He hadn't wanted to, it made no sense.

"Ah." Just a meaningless sound from the Joker, but it was enough to snap Crane out of it, break the stare. He turned to face the clown, who was nodding, tongue on his lips. "Yeah, I get it. The person you hate most of all is yourself."

There was no denying that. He hated himself for getting into this game to begin with, for letting himself be caught, for revealing this much about himself to the two people he almost hated as badly as himself. He hated himself for wanting the Joker, and most of all, he hated himself for that step forward.

So he took another step, the last one, letting the scythe drop from his hands. The Joker had won, and he didn't even feel fear anymore. Just the resignation, and something that bordered on relief. At least now it'll be over. The Joker met his eyes, smiling that same, unsettling ordinary smile, and he didn't try to look away.

There was a sound behind him, he didn't turn his head. The Joker's arm was around him, pulling him to the clown the way he'd used to hug him when they were lovers. The arm connected to the hand holding the gun, which was either still pointed at the Batman or at his own head, he wasn't sure. Wherever it was, the sound stopped.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Bats." The Joker's tone was singsong, but with an undercurrent of steel. "Jonny said I could do this. It was in the rules of the game, and you heard 'em before you agreed, so there's no right to bitch."

"Let him go." It was half-growled, half-shouted, and it made Crane shudder harder than ever, hugging onto the Joker without realizing he was doing it. Then he caught himself, disgusted. He tried pulling back, but the Joker had tightened his grip.

"I will let him go, calm down. It'll only be a…" he paused, smacking his lips, as Crane felt the straight razor on his throat. "How long does it take to bleed out from the jugular? Like a minute?" He glanced down at Crane, eyes shifting in thought. "Well, you'll black out after about, uh, three seconds, but I don't know how long it'll take you to die. Either way, you won't feel it."

So he was keeping his word after all. He'd probably desecrate the body beyond belief after that, but he was keeping his word. Crane felt mild surprise and nothing else. "Thank you." He wasn't sure why he said it.

"You're welcome, angel." He met Crane's eyes again, readjusting the razor. Crane could feel his pulse beating against the cold metal edge. "And here we g—"

The metal left his throat as Joker pulled to the side abruptly, dragging Crane with him. The arm holding him jerked, he heard the gun drop to the floor. There were gloves on his shoulders, digging into his skin through the shirt, pulling him away. "Let him go."

"No. I won, he's mine." The razor came back down, nicking his throat, before one of the Batman's hands left his shoulder, knocking it away while the other continued to pull. Joker jerked back with his own arm, and caught in a tug-of-war between hero and villain, all Crane could think was how childish the Joker sounded. "Look, Batsy, I'm doing it his way. If you keep fighting me, Jonny-boy's gonna get really, really hurt before he kicks it, and it'll be your fault."

"Get your hands off—"

There was a hammering sound, and for a moment Crane thought they'd crashed into something. Strange that he didn't feel the impact. And that both Batman and the Joker had stopped. Had they knocked something over? He should have felt the vibrations from that, at least.

The sound again. And this time splintering wood accompanied it. He looked up to find his companions staring off in the same direction, heard the hiss that sounded like fear toxin releasing, and realized someone had broken down the door.