The Ballad of the Knight and the Jester

by Grigiocuore

Once upon a time, in a city of skies and concrete lived a knight and a jester. This is the story about how they bleeded, about how they fought, and how they finally reached for the other. A series of one-shots and flashfics that explore Batman, the Joker and their link. Eventually slash.

3. So Scarred

Hello everyone! Thank you for the support, your're fabolous. While working on some little things for San Valentine's Day, I present you my third chapter. It's pretty short, but I have to describe deeply their relationship. I don't think Bats has ever really hated J, but I'm too partial. Hope you like it...

P.S.: I don't talk about real scars; the deep ones aren't in their flesh, but in their minds.

So Scarred

Batman

It would be simple to hate him.

You said it to yourself so many times, wandering, without crying, no, never crying, through the rust of a new duel, through the worn lives of a new plan you couldn't stop in time. You repeated it to yourself because it would be the most natural and rightest and easiest thing; because it wold finally slice a white, clear line between him and you, a border that offers you the sureness of a homeland and frees you from the doubt that your roads belong to the same earth. It would be simple, because that way you could believe that he's not a man anymore and stop asking yourself what being human means. Joker is red and gangrenous darkness; Joker is a frightened child's cry, the fierce laugh of the last soldier in the battlefield. He rose from the acids and the defeat, bringing with him the shadow of a still heart and a madness that resembles too much an icy clearness; he rose and he decided to dance with the death itself, tearing apart every limit with a ruthless lightness that isn't the martyr's one or the warrior's one. It would be simple to hate him, because doubt is a guilt an hero can't afford. It would be simple, but everytime you try behind the eyelids is only intoxicating green.

You can't do it, can you, Batsy? Because othrwise you would have to admit that for me there is neither grace nor redemption, and that being a paladin doesn't mean anything.

Isn't that what you fear the most, Bats?

No, it isn't that. It isn't that.

You repeat it one hundred times, but words cut the heart and rip the edges, like a scarlet smile.

See, in the end I've made it, Batsy. Now we're both scarred. We're both blooded dreams. We're brothers.

And some scars, you know, just never heal.