AN: Happy New Year! *sings first two lines of Auld Lang Sine and quits because I can never remember the rest*

All right, so I lied. This chapter is actually the build up to the hack and slay bits. I wanted to have it all at once, but it would have been obscenely long, so I cut things off before they actually went to the hospital. But there will be blood, and lots of it, next time. Also possibly some more creepy sexiness. Because scarring people for life is fun.

Valuable lesson for today: I should not watch Breakfast on Pluto and try writing fanfiction about Jonathan Crane immediately after, as my mental image of Jonathan is Cillian Murphy. And now my current mental image of Cillian Murphy is a blond girl in a feather boa singing "How Much is That Doggy in the Window." This is not conducive to keeping Jonathan in character. At all. Though it is hilarious.

Thanks for the reviews!

"Victory is mine," Jonathan announced, stepping into the kitchen. An aerosol of the latest toxin in hand, he waved it overhead like actors waved awards. "I am triumphant, I am brilliant, I—" He stopped, scanning the room and finding only Knox there, drinking coffee. "Where's the Joker?"

"Shopping."

"Shopping?" he repeated. Why on Earth would he go shopping? Did he run out of makeup? No, that couldn't be it. He'd had makeup yesterday, Jonathan knew that for a fact, as the Joker had taken advantage of his not paying attention due to experiments and tried to put the makeup on him. He'd gotten rather far into the process—Joker stroking his face was nothing new, and he blocked it out easily—before he'd tasted lipstick and put a stop to it. So makeup was out. What could he possibly be buying? For that matter, what was open at nine in the morning?

He imagined the Joker terrorizing a Wal*Mart and sighed.

"You were saying?" Knox asked.

"What? Oh, I finished the laughing gas."

"Good job. Look, don't take offense at this, all right, don't poison me or anything, but you look like death." He scooted his chair back a bit, as if that would somehow protect him from the toxin. "When did you last sleep?"

"Er…three days ago?"

"You know you can start hallucinating after four days, right?"

"So I'll sleep tonight," he said, sitting down. "It was irrelevant, as long as I finished the drug by today."

Knox shook his head, braids swaying slightly. "Is the reason you're so skinny because you don't take care of yourself at all?"

"I'm naturally thin. Why are you concerned, anyway?"

"There's a bet on it. Some say you're on speed, others that you're anorexic. Mine was that you forget things like eating when you're caught up in research."

"Gambling addict." He was somewhat annoyed. Being near-freakishly thin had caused him enough grief in life as it was. True, most of that had ended when he'd left high school, but he didn't like reminders.

"Hey, you try entertaining yourself when the Joker's between plans. There are only so many times I can play Grand Theft Auto without going insane."

"You're not mad already? You willingly work for the Joker, that's hardly sane." He supposed he wasn't one to talk, but he was more than just a lackey. They were partners, or almost. Joker would never allow full equal standing, but he was about as close as it got. Which made him far happier than reasonable. Jonathan justified it by telling himself that he was only relieved because it made him less expendable, less likely to be used as a shield against police gunfire, and it got him more respect. Scarecrow put it less eloquently as 'I'm special and they're not. Ha.'

"You don't exactly quit working for the Joker. There's a limited number of ways out, and they all end in either jail or death."

"So you're trapped."

"You're not?" He looked as if he were trying not to smile. Annoying.

"Sir, I cannot be held against my will." All right, so there was the time with the dislocated shoulder, and the other time when he'd tried sneaking out through the bathroom, but those hardly counted. "If I wanted to leave, I'd be gone."

"Right." Knox's expression was completely deadpan, though Jonathan couldn't shake the feeling that he was amused. Ridiculous, no one would toy with him that way, not when he was armed with deadly chemicals. Besides the Joker. "Do you want some coffee?"

"No. I don't like coffee."

"Still. The boss won't like it if you fall asleep in the middle of his plan."

"Oh, that won't happen. There'd be an adrenaline rush to prevent it."

"If you say so."

"All right, kids, clear the table."

Jonathan and Knox turned to watch Joker shove through the doorway, multiple shopping bags in one hand and an enormous plastic cup in the other, filled with blue liquid he was sucking up through a straw. His makeup was off, to Jonathan's surprise, and he was in ordinary clothes, though the shirt was a bright shade of purple. Jonathan wondered how he'd managed to hide the scars, before noticing the scarf around the clown's neck. That was probably it, then. "What are you drinking?" he asked, standing.

"Slushie. Want some?"

"God, no. That's straight sugar."

"Do you ever have any fun at all?" Joker asked, spreading the bags out on the table. Jonathan glanced at the brand name printed on the plastic, trying to guess from the company what could be inside, but he'd never heard of it.

"If by fun you mean engaging in activities that lead to malnutrition and early death, then no."

"Try it or I'll pour it down your throat," he said serenely, holding the cup out to Jonathan.

"Fine." He took it, drinking apprehensively, and nearly dropped the thing from the sudden shock of taste. "Christ, that's sweet. Agh."

"Ya know, for all your talk about my ill health," Joker said, taking it back, "normal people can handle sugar without flipping out."

"Whatever." He crossed his arms. "What did you buy?"

"Supplies. For the infiltration part of the mission."

"Infiltration?"

Joker drained the last of the slushie, wiping blue from his mouth before he went on. "You know, getting into the hospital without rousing suspicion?" He reached into the first bag, pulling about a gallon's worth of fake blood from it. "That's where this comes in. Thank God for Halloween."

Jonathan could feel a migraine coming on. That, or the lack of sleep was finally catching up. "So, your plan is to douse yourself in fake blood and go running into the ER?" Well, we're screwed.

"Not me. You." He closed the space between them, hands on Jonathan's waist, and the next thing Jonathan knew he was sitting on the table, the Joker unloading bags around him. "And there's more than just fake blood."

"No one's going to fall for this. We'll get caught."

"Do you always have to be such a pessimist? Trust me, I know how to do makeup." His hand reemerged from the last bag, scissors in hand. "Here, lay down."

"What are you going to do with those?" he asked, leaning away from apprehension, only to have the clown grab hold of him, forcing him down.

"Whaddya think? Hope you don't like this shirt, Jonny." There was a flash of steel, and then he could hear the sound of fabric tearing, feel cold metal against his skin.

"Watch it! You're actually going to cut me!"

"It'll add to the realism." He smirked. "Stop struggling, then. If you don't wanna get hurt, hold still."

Holding still was the absolute last thing his body was telling him to do, but he willed himself not to run for his life. Unable to completely fight the flight urge, however, he switched to reasoning his way out. "The doctors you're trying to fool are trained professionals. "They'll be able to tell this isn't real."

"If you're brought in with a massive chest wound and major blood loss, they're not gonna look too closely at first. The main concern will be getting you to a place where they can stop the bleeding and do transfusions. By the time they figure out what's going on, you'll be able to take them all out. And from there, we'll go on to the rest of the building. Trust me, kitten, it'll be fine."

He held in a sigh, heard a lid being unscrewed, a bitter smell in the air and a cold sensation against his skin. He tried not to put away. "What is that?"

"Liquid latex. To make ripped skin. Stop moving." He swatted a hand against Jonathan's face, gently.

"I can't help it. It tickles."

"Too bad. Suck it up or I'll cut you."

This time he was unable to keep from sighing, though he forced the rest of his body into immobility until the Joker was through. He was just beginning to relax when he heard the very unsettling 'hand me the knife, Knox."

"The what?" he demanded, bolting upright. "What the hell do you need a knife for?"

"Relax, Jonny." The Joker's hands were on his shoulders, pushing him back down. "I'm only using the blunt end."

Not at all reassured, he nearly jumped again when he felt the metal. "Why do you have to use a knife?"

"Because it's more fun this way. Let's see, I wanna big cut here, one over there, and let's do one here. Yeah, that's nice. Right, give me the purple makeup."

Jonathan lay there for what seemed like hours, trying to ignore the sensation of sponges and other objects being dragged over his skin. The moment where Joker had poured bits of gravel on him—apparently, hit by a car was their story, if anyone asked—was especially irritating. He was just beginning to drift off when the Joker poured fake blood, lots of it and all of it freezing, on top of him. He would have jumped up in terror had they not been holding him down.

"'Kay, that's good. Wanna see, kitten? I can get you a mirror."

"No, thank you. Are we through, then?"

"Nope," Joker said, knife cutting through the knees of Jonathan's jeans now. "It's a car accident, remember? You'd be cut up all over."

"I hate my life," Jonathan muttered, unable to keep from jerking away this time, despite the henchmen called in to hold him immobile.

"Jonny? Jonny, wake up."

"I am awake," he said, trying to ignore the hand poking him in the one spot on his ribs that didn't seem to be covered in blood. "I've been awake throughout this ordeal."

"Then why've you been lying there like a dead thing?" Joker asked, with a tilt of his head.

"I was trying not to be affected by sensation," he explained. "So I wouldn't keep moving. I was off in my head."

"Well, come outta your happy place and check this out," Joker said, mirror in hand. "Great, isn't it?"

He stared at his reflection, almost startled at the blood smeared down his face. He'd known it was there, of course, he'd felt it applied, but he wasn't prepared for the vividness of it, how real it looked. The same held, he found, for the rest of the injuries, the one on his chest absolutely shocking. He wasn't how the Joker had transformed liquid latex into tattered skin and sinew, or what he'd used to make it look as though bits of Jonathan's sternum were visible through the scraped away flesh, but the effect was horrific. It wouldn't hold up under close scrutiny, of course, but it would certainly be convincing for a few minutes.

"You're incredible."

"I know."

"Where did you learn this?" he asked, gingerly running a hand over the skin pulled away at his temple.

"My sister was a makeup artist."

"Let me guess; she used a real knife as opposed to a palette knife, and one day she was practicing on you and it slipped?"

He blinked. "Have I told you that one before?"

"No. It just sounded like something you would say. So what's the plan?" He wondered if sitting up would ruin the makeup. Certainly it would coat the table with even more blood.

"The plan is, I bring you into the ER, you wait for the doctors to figure out what's going on and attack them. Meanwhile, my men have cut the phone lines and alarms and all, and sealed the other exits. You'll stay in the ER, taking down anyone who tries to come in, my men move through the hospital killing everyone else, and I just run around causing whatever chaos springs to mind."

"You're going to slaughter everyone?" Jonathan asked, shuddering at the thought of the body count. If Batman caught up with them, they'd be so dead he couldn't even come up with a clever analogy.

"No everyone. I figure if someone's in a coma, or covered in third degree burns or something, they're fucked enough without my help. Which reminds me, I need to give a speech to the men about how anyone caught making untoward advances on coma patients or something similar will be fed their own genitals."

"You object to that?" His brows raised, nearly getting fake blood into his eyes. "Isn't that chaotic?"

"It's not the right kind of chaos. There's a difference between pushing someone in a wheelchair downstairs and fucking a sleeping person. One's acceptable—"

"Really?"

He was ignored. "The other is not. At least the person in the chair could grab onto a railing."

"Wait," Jonathan said, the gears in his head turning slowly. "Your men are just securing the building and walking in? Not masquerading as patients or staff?"

"Right. It's not that hard to block an exit. I didn't need to go all out, especially since we don't know if this is the final laughing gas test."

"So then…couldn't we have just walked into the ER?" he asked, headache returning.

"Yeah, but where's the fun in that?"

"So you did all this," he gestured to himself, "for no reason at all?"

"Yep." He grinned. "Actually, I didn't even plan to do it until this morning. I just left to get a slushie, then I saw all the Halloween stuff and thought, 'Well, why not?' And lo and behold, it turned out amazing."

"I hate you," Jonathan muttered, hands over his eyes. Damn Joker to hell, and damn whoever invented slushies with him.

"Hate me as much as you want, but get up. It's time to go."

AN: My knees are the most ticklish part of my body. All it takes is someone's hand there to cause a fit. And since Jonathan's ticklishness and Joker's exploitation of it is entirely based on my relationship with my sister, I decided to give Jonny the same weakness.

I see Joker as having his own, weird little set of morals (one comic states that he's firmly against animal abuse, for example) that don't make a lot of sense or seem hypocritical to others. Raping a coma patient, for example, would offend him because there's no challenge, and because rape is not something I can see the Joker doing. He may threaten it to scare people, but I think he'd view the act itself as beneath him.

There will be real blood next time, I promise, and lots of it.