A/N: Yes, this is a slash fic. Partially because gayness is hot, and partially because KInk comes so naturally to these guys. But don't worry, they're not going to get all sappy and ride off into the sunset. That's not how i roll. They're just taking some time off from the pressures of hero/villain life to get fucked up, watch Netflix, and screw. That's what most people do on their days off, anyway: get fucked up, watch Netflix, and screw. It's rad.

Warning: Hey so this chapter is sort of gross...but if you're still reading this fic after six chapters, i'm assuming you probably don't mind graphic stuff. Ha

Hello, Goodbye/Galaxie: Blind Melon

When Wayne awoke from his opiate coma, cold light was cutting in through the window and the Joker wasn't there. He was not passed out on the sofa where Wayne had left him, where they had both fallen asleep sweaty and exhausted while the coals crackled down in the fireplace.

Wayne sat up and cracked his neck and checked the clock. He'd been asleep for three and a half hours. Wayne stood up slowly and picked his shirt up from the floor. He waited for the pain to nag at him to race up and down his nerves but it didn't come. The night before, as they lay on the sofa the Joker asked him if he regretted what he'd done.

No, Wayne had said. i don't.

i don't regret it

i don't regret it i

do not regret it.

Oddly enough, when Wayne thought of regret, when he thought of guilt, the first thing that sprang to his mind was the dent in the hood of his father's Galaxie- where he'd slammed the Joker's head into the metal. He thought of the puddles of blood on the back seats. He'd have to rip out the material the Original Material and reupholster the entire thing.

Of all the cars in his life, Wayne's father had loved the Galaxie the most.

The pain began to creep up on him up through his limbs but it was dull and bearable and it took him by surprise, to wake up and feel Better instead of Worse. To not know or care what happened to the People of Gotham that day. The bruise on Wayne's jaw was deep blue and dark but it didn't hurt as much and the open wounds were slowly healing over into the other scars into the crisscrosses of purple and pink and white that tracked up and down his body. The laceration on his arm still needed stitches. It was about two inches long and deep and the edges of the wound were jagged. But he was healing.

He felt better than he had in weeks.

The bathroom door was open and the light was on. The Joker still hadn't eaten anything and had already been dosed up on the finest morphine money could buy, so Wayne wasn't really surprised when he found the Joker sitting half-conscious on his bathroom floor vomiting in his toilet. He leaned against the doorframe. His knuckles ached and he didn't want to deal, but at least he was only dealing with pain and pain never

lied. At least it was open and honest and easily fixed and he knew how to work with it. He of all people knew how to deal when things got messy every now and then. The percocet was wearing off he was coming down and it was leaving him but he wasn't afraid. He knew that the Joker probably felt fifty times worse.

That many times at least.

And the pity crept up on Wayne and he went over.

How's it going, champion.

The Joker laughed weakly.

That's funny. i didn't know that you had a sense of humor, he said. He looked a hell of a lot worse than the day before. Bruce Wayne's got a sense of humor, everybody, the Joker went on. Boys and girls, there's hope for our tragic hero yet. His skin was bleached white even beneath the paint and the shadows under his eyes were darker than bruises.

Do you want me to leave. Wayne asked. The Joker shrugged.

i don't care.

Do you want me to leave or not. If you want some company, that's okay too. i'll do whatever you want. The Joker rolled his eyes, but then Wayne saw something in him that struck anomalous, Wayne

could see that the Joker did want him to stay there. He didn't seem upset or anxious or anything like that, but there was something else that Wayne couldn't quite read. He glanced at the door and back and the flicker of pity rose up so he stayed where he was. A few seconds later the Joker retched and spat up a thin stream of bile, making Wayne's heart clench in sympathy. He rested his hand on the back of the Joker's head for a moment and pulled some toilet paper off the roll.

You know that's fucking disgusting, he remarked. Here.

Sure is. The Joker smiled like it was nothing and wiped his mouth. i'm sorry about this, by the way...

Don't apologize; i was just making an observation, Wayne told him. i've seen a man's kneecaps explode and spray chips of bone everywhere; puking doesn't even bother me anymore. He stood up and turned the cold water tap on at the sink. As he filled a glass half full the water ran across the cuts on his fingers. It burned. The percocet was wearing off he was coming down hard sinking.

Wayne put the glass where the Joker could reach it and went over to the medicine cabinet. He opened it and took out a needle and the hydrogen peroxide and a roll of surgical thread.

You took the cuffs off, the Joker said suddenly. Why.

Your wrists were bleeding, Wayne sat on the edge of the bathtub. You've been wearing those handcuffs for almost two days.

So you trust me?

Sort of. Wayne shrugged. That, and right now i could knock you down by pushing you. The Joker nodded once in acknowledgement, didn't try to deny it. He was shaking visibly now but only just and his face was slicked with sweat and the paint was dripping off his jaw, pulling lines of black down through the white then dripping off. He shone slick.

Then without warning the Joker gagged and started throwing up again, so Wayne reached out and pulled the curtain of hair away from the his face and held it. For a minute he didn't stop he was coughing and dry heaving and he couldn't stop

Take it easy, Wayne said gently.

i'm all right. The Joker took a deep breath and winced. Ahhh fuck me, he hissed. Wayne rested his free hand on the Joker's back, moved it in a slow circle around his shoulder blades. He could feel the Joker's ribs under the skin. He had gotten thinner over the months, but all the muscles in his shoulders stood out, his arms were hard and prison-ripped from years of throwing punches.

That morphine got right on top of you, didn't it. Wayne i think i've got some cyclizine around here somewhere, he said as he got to his feet. It should be enough to stop the nausea so you can rest.

Sure. The Joker flushed the toilet and moved back a little. That would be swell.

It's intramuscular, Wayne told him. Where do you want me to do it?

My arm. The glass scraped against the tiles as the Joker picked it up and drank.

You worried about me? He was breathing hard but his mouth was twitching at the corners like he was trying not to laugh. i've been worse. This is nothing. The Joker put the glass down and rested his forehead on his knees. You think this is bad? Just a fucking. Skinned knee on the goddamn playground, he said. That's all this is. He was still coughing and his lungs crackled.

You're crazy.

No i'm not, the Joker said. i'm not.

Okay, you're not, Wayne sighed. But you're dehydrated and your glucose levels are probably in the fucking negatives by now. i can help you feel better, if you'll let me. He pulled the gloves over his hands they were the powdered kind that he hated. The powder stuck to his fingers and left white fingerprints over everything he touched like ghost fingerprints over everything he touched.

Do you care about me.

i think i've made that pretty obvious, Wayne said. Take your shirt off. He retrieved the vial of cyclizine and took a hypodermic needle from the top shelf. The wrapper crackled under his fingers as he tore the plastic away as he lined everything up on a tray and knelt in front of the Joker.

Do you.

Yes, Wayne said, defeated. i do. i can't help it You wanted me actually wanted me and you don't judge me like She did you're still a monster but you don't judge

You don't think i deserve this. The Joker unbuttoned his shirt, looking at Wayne curiously still despite the tired glaze over his eyes.

Nobody deserves it. Wayne peeled the cover from the vial and cleaned it before sticking the needle into the stopper. I've been there. Nobody deserves to hurt like that.

Nobody? The Joker watched as Wayne tipped the vial upside down to fill the barrel, watched him draw the needle from the stopper snap the plastic twice with his forefinger and depress the plunger. Wayne tried to ignore the Joker's staring as he cleaned his skin with peroxide.

Did you want me to leave you in that alley. He slid the needle into the deltoid muscle of the Joker's left arm he'd done so many injections since becoming Batman that it had become automatic. The Joker didn't say anything. Are you glad that you're not dead, Wayne persisted. Are you even glad that i helped you. The Joker sighed and leaned forward until his head was resting on the edge of the toilet seat. Wayne noticed how tired he looked. He looked worn down. The Fight still shone from his dark eyes but he looked worn down.

i'm sorry. Wayne capped the needle and set it down. You're all fucked up and i'm sitting here questioning you...i'm sorry. He pressed his thumb against the tiny circle of blood on the Joker's arm. Look, Wayne continued, i know that i didn't have to save you. And i know that i can't fix you, or change who you are. But i'm helping you because i want to.

Are you ashamed of that. The Joker's voice was soft and worn and wrecked.

Of what.

That you want to help me. That you always try to help who you can. The Joker raised his head and looked at Wayne really looked at him. You don't have to be ashamed of that. Wayne stared at him.

You have no idea how strange that sounds. i mean, coming from you. Coming from someone like you you're still a monster but you don't judge me

i suppose i should even thank you, the Joker replied.

Should you? Wayne asked him. The Joker shrugged.

i might. We'll see.

Okay. Wayne trailed his fingers down the Joker's white forearm to rest them lightly on his hand. It wasn't just pity, you know, Wayne said quietly. Pity wasn't the only thing that saved you. The Joker's eyebrow arched. You intrigue me, Wayne went on. You always have. And i always felt that...

What.

Nothing.

What did you feel? The Joker's fingers suddenly twined around his own and squeezed, twice, so that Wayne more felt the urgency behind the question than heard it. He returned the pressure but was unable to look the other man in the eye.

A pull, he said at last. i always felt a pull. i was drawn to you. Am drawn to you. The Joker's gaze fixed on him burned so much he felt it could set him alight, but Wayne found he could not meet it all he could do was focus on the bathroom floor and hold the Joker's hand until he realized that he should probably clean up the bathroom and tend to the wound on his arm.

The Joker smiled weakly and watched as Wayne tossed the dirty needle at the trashcan across the room. It landed squarely without hitting the rim. And the crowd goes wild.

The Joker laughed but he was still breathing too fast like he'd just run for miles without stopping and he was still running. Like his body was starting to betray him. And part of him was human. Not all of him, but part. Not like he was hiding the pain but that he (wanted needed couldn't feel) it pushing at him coupling with exhaustion until it was almost too late until his physical self started to crumble beneath him. But his anger was there and his will was still there. Wayne had to remind himself that the Joker was used to it that he'd chosen a life of suffering and he would be all right. He would be all right.

Try to drink some more water, Wayne said to him. You need it. The Joker picked up the glass and drank a little, setting it back down after a few sips.

i can't, he said quietly, tipping his head back and closing his eyes.

That's okay. Wayne sat back against the wall pulled the gloves off over his hands he could feel the white sticking to his skin.

Come here, he said softly. The Joker scooted back across the floor and sat beside him. They were so close that their knees were touching so close that the smell of blood and sweat and gunpowder sank into him. The Joker glanced up at Wayne and saw the look on his face.

For fucksake, the Joker sighed. Cut that shit out. i'm fine. He looked at Wayne again and grinned. i have you, i'll be fine.

i know, Wayne said. i know. i just. His voice cracked so he shut up and his hand moved all on its own to rest just above the Joker's knee. He felt the Joker's weight against him felt the Joker relenting, sinking into him he felt the Joker's head on his shoulder on his shoulder and he wanted it there. The Joker was still shaking, Wayne could feel the tremor running through them both. But his breathing began to even out and he wasn't coughing hard anymore. Wayne got his other arm around the Joker's shoulders and hugged him a little closer.

Are you okay? He asked. The Joker nodded.

Do you need anything?

He shook his head.

Are you lying to me?

Head shake.

Good. Just…sit here for a minute. Wayne disentangled one of his arms and took the surgical needle and thread from the edge of the bathtub. He threaded the needle after several attempts and poured a stream of peroxide over the wound. It bubbled into the exposed flesh, stinging. He bit his lip.

The Joker watched him fumble with the stitches.

You're fucking it all up, he remarked. Give it here. Wayne relinquished the needle. The white powder made a little puff in the air as the Joker snapped a glove over his hand.

Wayne barely felt the needle dip into his skin, despite the unsteady twitch in the Joker's fingers.

You do trust me, the Joker remarked. i could stick this needle into your eye right now.

You could, Wayne said softly. But you won't. i know you won't. The Joker didn't say anything more. He just sat in silence with his head resting on Wayne's shoulder and the needle at his white fingertips, making a row of tiny, perfectly spaced stitches that Wayne could barely see.