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He is numb. Not physically, but mentally, psychologically, he is nothing but numbness…but yet he is also pain. It's a funny thing, pain, you never understand it but you feel it, feel it in your heart, and feel it rip you from your toes to your heart to your head. Bruce Wayne knew nothing but pain and numbness since Rachel Dawes' death. He never had the numbness like this before, not even when his parents died, and it perplexes him. Batman, the Joker, Two Face, Scarecrow… they all had somebody behind the alias…right? The Joker, he was sure, probably used to have an identity, but not now. Not in Gotham. Ditto the other two, sort of. Batman…he stopped right there and closed his eyes, sinking down on the ledge where the Joker had pinned him down. Batman was him, was basically all of him, but yet not him. Bruce Wayne, he was sure, was dead. Not dead, like DEAD dead, but gone. Bruce was what had tied him down to humanity, and now that he was gone, Batman could break his one rule.

And he planned on it. He stood, and leaped off the ledge, his cape billowing out, and he enjoyed the fall for a few seconds, and then snapped out his Batwings. He soared out over the deserted street, towards the Narrows. Towards the darkest part of the city.

Jokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjoker

The Joker sighed and ran a leather gloved hand through his dirty green hair. He glanced down absentmindedly at the half-dead mobster at his feet and kicked the guy, hard. All he could think about anymore was the Batman, and it showed. He hadn't killed a person in days, and had only blown up two little measly schools. He tilted his head back, stared up at the sky and cursed whoever was up there to hell and back. Joker sighed, ran his hand through his hair again, the clicked his fingers and pointed at the guy. Two of his henchclowns fell on the guy, and the Joker, Clown Prince of Crime, stalked forward, out of the alley and into the main street. He didn't wait for the other two clowns, just kept stalking down the street, eyes glued to the horizon, one hand curled in a tight fist, other curled around the knife.

That's when he heard it, heard the sobbing. He cocked his head, and struggled not to laugh. Something told him not to laugh, not this time. He followed the noise, like a hunter stalking its prey. Silently. Stealthily. He stopped in the shadows of the dark alley, stunned at what he saw, laughter, for once, not threatening to explode out of him.

Jokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjoker

Bruce Wayne no longer existed. Only Batman, only this…this…shell existed. The Bruce they had all known, Rachel, Alfred, Lucius, anybody, was gone. Dead, the shell, this…this…thing was it.

Dead, huh, Batsy??

Shut up, Joker. Wait, why are you in my head? WHY DO YOU CARE ANYWAY??!?? Batman screamed in his head, sobs getting louder. Damn it hurt, hurt so fucking bad, it felt like his head was splitting in half twice. This time, he screamed out loud, gripping his head, then seeing the flash of silver and grabbing it, feeling the cold metal of the barrel. He started to laugh, and then stopped when he realized that he sounded like the Joker.

Ah ha ha haha aha hahaha! The voice laughed, and he imagined – no saw him, bending over and gripping his stomach, giggles erupting. Batman growled, and then almost instinctively threw a fist forward. It flew into the brick before him, and pain blossomed up in his fist, but he ignored it, laughter throwing itself up into the night. His laughter. He let himself laugh now, not caring anymore about the laughter and how it made him sound like his supervillian/soulmate.

Jokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjokerjoker

The Joker crouched down, hiding in the shadows, barely breathing. He watched as the Bat, no, his Bat slammed his fist forward into solid brick. There was a crunch, ad he started to laugh. Joker felt his own mouth start to curl up on its self, desperately trying to drown his laughter back down. Then he saw the gun, and it hit him like a brick to the stomach. NO NO NO NO NOO! He yelled mentally. Batsy couldn't kill himself, not while Joker was still here. Not while the Joker still needed him.

"R-r-Rachel…" The Bat slurred, giggles still coming out. He stripped off the glove, hands shaking so bad that it looked like an earthquake had sprung up in his hands. The Joker watched with a morbidly dark fascination as a smooth, pale as death hand reached for the gun, as the hand still shook, even when it had the gun pressed against the cowl, as it even still shook as the Bat pushed the barrel in his mouth. He closed his eyes and breathed ragged breaths. The Joker knew that he would have little time to get the gun away from him, so he flicked his knife, aiming for the Bat's hand. He hit, and the Bat yelped as the knife slashed open his hand.

The Joker stepped out, and the Bat went limp. "N-N-Noo…Not you. Anyone but you..."

"Sorry, Batsy, but I'm the best you're gonna get." He stepped toward the Bat, and the Bat panicked, grabbing the blade of the knife in Joker's hand, ignoring the deep cut he got as a result.

"Noooo. Where's…where's Rachel?" He slurred, his eyes crossing, blood pouring out of his hand.

"Dead, Batsy. Harvey…he, uh, killed her." He licked his lips, a Cheshire grin from Hell on his face. He was pleased. Maybe, just maybe, he could finally break the Bat. He watched as the Bat processed that information, shock turning into anger, anger turning into hate.

"No. No. No. I'M GOING TO KILL HIM!!!!" The Batsy screamed, and then yelped as pain overcame him from his hand and his fist.

"Go to sleep, little, uh, Batsy. I'll still, uh, be here." The Joker murmured, stroking the Bat's pointy ears. The Bat passed out.

Oh, yes, he could break this Bat. And that, he realized, would break Gotham, would make it burn completely. He loved it.