Day Seven: In the End, it's Just You and Me

Notes/Warnings: Explains events in Day Three: Anniversary (translation: Major character death) me being heartless, and I am so, so sorry.

Bruce woke up drenched in sweat. He didn't even need to look outside the window, but he did, and sure enough- there was the bat-signal. He sprung out of bed and downstairs (and then down another, more secret set of stairs) and soon the Batmobile was racing through the city.

It took him longer than expected to get to the police station, but he realized that he was taking a longer route that went by Arkham Asylum- where the Joker was- and had to turn around. He was already going through a list of possibilities. Two-face Riddler Ventriloquist Penguin New Guy Hatter Zsasz...

He landed on the station's roof and slid out of the shadows to face Commissioner Gordon and Harvey Bullock. "What is it this time?"

"The Joker," Bullock said immediately, lighting a cigar. "Body count already on the rise."
There's a body count?

"When did he break out?"

"Four hours ago," Gordon answered, shutting off the Bat-signal. "Plenty of guards and inmates dead."

Inmates? "Who?"

"Quinn, for one."

Harley. She had gone with him and the Joker to see a movie once. Batman clenched his fists. "Anyone else?"

"Riddler and Two-Face are injured, Scarecrow is pretty out of whack, I heard that one of Freeze's arms got cut off-"

"How many, in total?"

Commissioner Gordon paused. "We're not entirely sure, but at last count... eighty."

"In four hours?"

"No, that's... just from Arkham."

Batman swore. "Warn the public. Keep your men away from it. This is between me and him."

"Batman-"

He was gone.

When the sun rose, Batman was forced to return home, with no idea where the Joker was, and even more people dead. He parked the Batmobile and saw a form slumped by the Bat-computer.

He walked over, almost smiling. "Dick, you really should be in bed." He stopped over Dick. "I don't care if you're an adult, as your legal guardian, I'll have to force you to get some sleep. Dick?" He placed his hand on his shoulder. It was ice cold.

It suddenly struck Bruce how quiet it was. "Dick?"

He grabbed him and spun him around. His eyes were open. "Dick! Nightwing!" He started to feel for a pulse. "Alfred!"

There were footsteps and Alfred appeared. "Sir, it- Master Richard!"

The pulse was there, but it was faint. Almost gone. Bruce flipped Dick onto the ground and started to press against his chest. "Come on, come on, come on."

There were more footsteps and Jason emerged. "What's all the-" His eyes landed on Dick. "-noise? Dick?"

Jason sprinted down and pushed Bruce out of the way, performing CPR on Dick. He pumped up and down on his chest, and then tried to breathe life into him.

"I'll call the hospital!" Alfred turned and hurried back up the stairs.

"Dick! Dick!" Jason screamed.

It was then Bruce saw something, resting by the keyboard, when Dick had been sitting. He picked up a green card, with a flower drawn on the front. He opened it up to find a single word. Sorry.

And then, written in shaky handwriting: To, Bruce. Love, J.

He set the card down. Jason gave up trying to save Dick, and sat up.

"He's- I-" He closed his eyes and pulled his knees tight. "Do we know what- did someone- I-"

"Sir?" Alfred reappeared. "I called the paramedics. We might want to get Master Richard out of the Cave."

Shaking, Jason stood up, and picked up Dick. Bruce took his feet and they carried him out of the Cave, into the Manor, and laid him down in his bed.

Bruce went to change out of his costume, then came back. Jason was still sitting next to Dick's bedside, holding onto his hand.

"I reviewed the security tapes," Alfred started, seeing Bruce. "Master Bruce-"

Bruce pulled the card out from his pocket and stared at it. Alfred fell silent.

"It was him, wasn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"What did he do?"

"It looked like his Joker toxin, but with a different effect than usual. Almost untraceable."

Bruce crumpled the card up in his hand. "I'm going after him."

"Wait-" Jason stumbled over his words. "Wait until t-tonight." He met Bruce's eyes, blue against blue. "It's what you would tell me to do."

Bruce nodded, and turned back to Alfred. "Where're the boys?"

"At school, sir."

"Go pick them up. And call Barbara, and the Titans, and- everyone. Alert everyone."

There was the sound of a siren, and Jason went streaking out of the room. A few moments later he returned with paramedics at his side.

"Shall I take them straight to Gotham General?"

"Yes."

By the time the sun set, a small crowd had gathered, huddled by his bedside. It was the strangest group of people, including a wheel chaired-girl with sleek scarlet hair, and another with mounds of orange locks. There was a boy who's skin had an almost green tint to it, and a ginger boy, a girl whose hood covered her face in darkness, an ebony-haired girl, and then there were the three boys lurking in the corner. They were all near-identical, with the same dark hair and the same blue eyes, though the youngest's skin was just a shade darker than the other's.

"Were- were you his brothers?" a nurse asked, after great hesitation.

The youngest folded his arms. "We are."
"I- I'm very sorry. I remember seeing his family in show once, they were very-" she turned and shuffled away. "They were very good."

Richard John Grayson was dead, and someone had hell to pay.

Bruce would have gone after him the moment the sun started moving toward the horizon, but first he had to shake off the boys, asking- begging- him to let them come too, and then, when the Batmobile was finally out of the Cave, the signal went up into the sky.

Gnashing his teeth, he turned around and drove toward the police station, giving little to no regard for traffic laws. He swerved around a corner, narrowly missing the curb, and zoomed right by a red light. In several moments, he was at the roof.

He'd been expecting Gordon. He'd been expecting Harvey Bullock. Billy Petit, Renee Montoya, a police officer to be waiting for him, with a new number, and a lead on the Joker's location.

Good. We need to have a nice, long talk.

Instead, he got him, the man he'd been planning on hunting down, waiting for him, sitting on the edge of the Bat-signal like he did this every night.

Trembling, Bruce stepped out of the shadows, and shut off the signal. "What the hell do you want?"

The Joker turned to face him. "I-"

Bruce didn't give him time to answer- he swung his fist forward and the Joker fell off the signal, landing on the ground.

"Bruce, I-"

"Dick!" he screamed. "My friend!"

The Joker stood, wiping a trail of blood from his chin. "Batsy-"

"My son!" Bruce slammed into him again, his foot catching under his chin. "He wasn't even in costume and you killed him!"

The Joker raised his hands, backing away. "Can we just talk about this?"

"No!" Batman charged him again, and the Joker ducked his punch. "We are not going to talk about this!" He missed the Joker again. When he spoke again, his voice was like shattered glass. "I trusted you!"

"I know."
"Why?"

The Joker lit up, a smile taking over his face- and not the sweet, gentle smile Bruce had grown used too. The hauntingly familiar old one.

"I wanted to remind you!"
"Remind me of what?"

"That we're two of a kind." The Joker leaned forward, and for a moment Bruce thought he was going to kiss him. "I've forgotten something over the last year, Batsss, but now I remember." He brought his hands up to his face, holding him in place. "In the end, it's just the two of us, face to face. The body counts doesn't matter, the dead don't matter, the flames all around us don't matter, because in the end there is no Gotham. No Dickybird. No Bat-family and no Alfred and no Wayne Manor. In the end, Batsy..." His lips brushed his cowl, right by his ears, his voice little more than a whisper. "In the end, it's just you and me."

And then the explosions started.

And Bruce did remember.

He remembered the small, purple calendar hanging by the Joker's bed, the way he would mark each day he went without killing someone with a star. He remembered sitting by the computer, with the Joker in his lap, looking up how addicts stayed sober, because every little trick helped. He remembered the ferris wheel, and Valentine's Day, and their anniversary dinner, and the ring, and the knife... If only he could turn back the clock and take back that knife, take back that ferris wheel...

But no, he couldn't. And if he did have the choice, he knew he wouldn't. So many lives had been saved that year because the Joker was with him, and one of those lives just might have been his own. He remembered the past year being wonderful, he remembered the Joker's smile and- and what if he never saw that smile again?

And then, the Joker's hands slid upward, slipping off his mask, and this time their lips did meet.

But it was all wrong.

The Joker must have felt it, or maybe he saw it in his eyes, because he pulled away, his green eyes raging.

"Just as I thought," he snarled, reaching into his jacket. His lipstick was smeared.

"What?"

"You don't love me."

"I did. I do. I-" the Joker pulled a gun out from his jacket, and held it in front of him. "Let me help you-"

"You. Don't. Love me!" The gun was moving now. "You love the nice, pretty, watered-down version of me. And that. Isn't. Me!"

"Joker-"

"Well, Bruce?!" he shouted, jerking the gun out of safety. "Would you still love me if I burnt the city down?"

"Please-"
"Would you?!"
"Let me help you!"

"No!" With his free hand, the Joker swatted Bruce's outstretched hand away. "I don't want your help!" His fingers were slipping toward the trigger. "I don't want to be a part of your precious Bat-family, I don't want to be another hero-"
"Then what do you want? Please-"

"You!" The Joker shrieked. He squeezed down on the trigger. "I want you!"

"Please." Bruce said, hoping it would be enough.

It wasn't.

He dove off the building, wind whistling past his face, and he pulled his cowl on mid-fall. He dropped on the ground next to the splayed body.

His neck and leg were at unnatural angles, his wrist snapped backward, the gun having spun out of his hand. A small, red hole was carved into his forehead where the bullet had entered, his green eyes, looking up at the world but not seeing. A halo of blood spread around his head, and it was so dark against his white skin-

Bruce's body shook with the effort of not screaming. He knelt and checked for a pulse.

Already dead.

It wasn't as if someone could survive a shot to the head, anyway.

He pressed his lips to the Joker's cold cheek and stood. With an eerie calmness, he walked over to the Batmobile and closed the door. He pulled his cowl back off, rubbed his temples, and pulled his legs up.

He wasn't sure how much time passed, but eventually he moved again, stepping on the gas and driving out of the alleyway. He forced himself to stop and get the body. He laid the Joker in the backseat, pointedly not looking at his face. He then got back into his seat and sat for another five minutes before slowly driving out of Gotham and back to the manor.

You. Don't. Love me! You love the nice, pretty, watered-down version of me. And that. Isn't. Me! Well?!

He gripped the steering wheel tightly.

Would you still love me if I burnt the city down?

And the worst part of all, the part that made Bruce feel sick to his stomach, the part that really killed him was that the answer was no.

I'm sorry.

After laying the body on a medical table in the Cave, he staggered upstairs and into Dick's room. He got down on his knees and found the card. He smoothed it out, and left again, for his bedroom. He opened a desk drawer and found the anniversary gifts the Joker had given him. Most importantly, the letter. He read it.

Dear Bruce,

I really wanted to get you something special for our anniversary, something romantic and heartwarming, but I had no idea what to get. So I got you a thank you card.

Bruce, since the day I met you (even though I didn't know your name at the time) I have been head-over-heels in love with you. I would do anything and everything for you. I would crawl to the ends of the earth just to see you for half a second.

Thank you so, so much for everything you've done for me. You believed in me at my worst and brought me to my best. No matter what happens after this I will always, always love you.

I would do anything for you. I would die a thousand times over for you.

Always, Joker

Bruce closed his eyes tightly, and felt something hot and wet slide down his cheek.

I would die a thousand times over.

And maybe he had.

He set the letter on his desk and took everything else downstairs, back into the Cave. He opened up his cabinet, found the file marked Joker, and for the first time in over a year, he shoved the papers into it. He stormed back upstairs and sat down, reading and re-reading the letter.

Part of him wanted to tear it into pieces and burn it.

He just folded it up and tucked it back in his desk, and then he slept for two days straight. When he woke up, he took in a deep breath, and left for breakfast.

There was nothing special about that day.