I Trust You To Kill Me: Rocco DeLuca & The Burden
At 12:30 AM, Wayne was still driving around in his father's incredibly conspicuous car, trying to make it home before someone saw him. He didn't expect to come across the wrecked police car, high-centered in the middle of the road. There was a thin trail of blood leading away from it across the street. Wayne parked his car at the edge of the street and stared at the trail for a minute before he started following it.
The Joker was stumbling down an alleyway off Second. He was almost through the alley when he stumbled and pitched forward onto the ground. He lay still for a moment before he dragged himself up. Wayne waited for him to reach for a weapon, but he didn't. He didn't even move as Wayne approached. He just leaned against the wall, coughing. A beam from a streetlight cut through the gap in the two buildings, casting a thin slat of light over his face. The Joker stared back at him and raised his eyebrows.
Hey, sport- you've just caught Gotham's most dangerous criminal…what are you going to do next?
i'm considering my options.
Your options. The Joker laughed weakly. And those are. He gagged suddenly and doubled over on the ground. His knees hit the asphalt hard. Wayne rotated his forearm and inspected the metal blades sticking out of his armor. The edges were sharp enough to cut to the bone, he'd made sure of that.
What i'd really like to do is cut a hole in your throat and watch you bleed out.
Would you now. The Joker grinned. Well, shit. That's a pretty reasonable thing to want. He raised himself up on his knees. Go ahead, knock yourself out. Wayne looked at him.
Come on, you dumb fucking freak, he growled. i haven't got all night. Wayne rested his forefinger on the trigger.
i don't want to break the only rule i have over a wreck like you.
Fuck your rules, fuck your principles, and fuck you, the Joker snarled. Go ahead and act like you're above the rest of us, but writing your own tragic hero code of conduct isn't going to save you. As i recall, Dent was a man of principal too. He laughed and his face shone he laughed and his face shone electric.
This city is still standing because of him, Wayne retorted.
Well i hate to break it to you, but he's in the ground now, the Joker said. He was just another bad joke. Like you. And the longer you pussyfoot around and fuck it all up, the longer i'll be here, until Gotham's knee-deep in shit and shotgun shells. Or i might get tired of you and put a bullet in your head...The Joker's voice trailed off and he started coughing again. It sounded like his chest was caving in on itself. Anyway, it's your choice.
It's my choice? Wayne didn't look at him.
It sure is, sugar pie, the Joker said. You know that. He tried to stand up, but his legs gave out and he sank back to the ground. Wayne looked at him sitting there in the snow.
You deserve far worse than anything that i could do to you, Wayne remarked. The Joker looked at him with drowning eyes. And then he slumped back. Resigned. Wayne waited for him to stand up, but he did not try again. He didn't even try. Wayne looked at him. His bottom lip was split and thick red ropes of blood ran down his chest the cops had hit him at least once. He was shivering. He'd been shot.
Wayne turned around and walked away. He walked back to his car and put the key in the ignition and turned the radio on.
The Joker deserved to suffer. He deserved it. He'd killed so many innocent people that any god would deem him Unforgivable. He was too far gone. But even if the Joker bled to death in the alley that night and order was restored in Gotham and the People joined together in celebration, they would still hate Batman. They would still hunt him and criticize him and badger the cops to bring him down until the next master criminal arrived and declared war on the city and the whole thing started all over again. In the end, Batman would still end up hated and alone.
Wayne wasn't really sure why he drove his car back to the alley, but before he realized it he was standing in front of the Joker again. Making poor decisions. The Joker didn't speak or look up at him.
Get up. Wayne grabbed the Joker's arm and pulled him to his feet. He didn't resist at all- he seemed to be having trouble just staying conscious.
What are you doing?
i have no idea. Wayne took out a pair of handcuffs and pulled the joker's hands together behind his back. The joker smiled as the metal tightened around his wrists.
Hm, that's nice.
You're really sick, Wayne muttered under his breath. You've got problems.
Bat fetish fuck telling me i have problems, the Joker said softly. He snapped his head back suddenly, catching Wayne in the jaw. He hit the spot that was already bruising and the pain crackled up the side of Wayne's face. His knees buckled but he didn't fall. The Joker tried to pull away, but Wayne punched the bullet wound on his arm a few times and he stopped struggling.
Don't do that again, Wayne said. He dragged the Joker back to the car and fished the keys out of his coat. Get in the car.
i don't get in the car with strangers, the Joker protested, digging his heels into the ground.
i'm not a stranger. Wayne slammed the Joker's forehead into the window and shoved him into the backseat. He did not speak or fight back again; he just sank down he sank against the seat and closed his eyes. Wayne slammed the door shut and got into the driver's seat. He could feel his heart beating at the back of his throat.
Bruce Wayne sat in his father's car half a mile from the penthouse with his arch nemesis in the back seat and he wondered what the fuck he was going to do. The left side of his face was throbbing and his lungs ached when he breathed and he was still hung over.
Wayne put the key in the ignition and turned it and the engine purred.
Listen to that, the Joker mumbled. She's whispering. Wayne almost smiled. Why were you driving this car around in the snow? The Joker asked.
i…don't know, Wayne said. The Joker grinned.
She's too beautiful for you.
You're right. Wayne put the car in gear and started driving.