Chapter Text
The chase leads them to the observation deck of Wayne Tower. Joker slows as he reaches the edge and peers over, seemingly distracted by the glowing lights below. Bruce takes the slight pause to finally catch up to Joker. It’s unusual, normally the clown got some sick thrill when they were in close proximity but today he had yet to allow Batman to catch him.
The man could run like the hounds of hell were after him, maybe they were. It would almost be impressive if it isn’t so frustrating.
Bruce reaches for the other man’s purple overcoat, heavy with rain water yet still favored. Grasping the wet fabric Bruce roughly pulls Joker back from the building’s edge. Caught off balance Joker hits the ground and immediately attempts to stand only for Bruce to push him back down and pin him to the wet stone.
They’re both panting heavily from their run, gasping breaths visible in cold. Joker's eyes close and when he smiles there’s blood staining his teeth. With a look of adoration he bares his neck to the man above him. Bruce moves to grasp Joker’s thin wrists in one hand. Rain trickles down from Bruce’s cowl onto Joker who licks at the droplets.
In that instant Bruce hates the rain. Hates the way his eyes are trained on that pink tongue darting out between smiling lips.
“That was a good one,” Joker notes, squirming in the iron grasp. Bruce growls in annoyance and slams Joker’s head against the stone with his free hand.
“Oh I don’t think I’m quite done yet dear,” Joker murmurs before sliding a pin out from his sleeve and jamming it into the hand below his. Bruce flinches slightly as the mental slides under his ring finger’s cuticle, and it’s enough. Joker uses the second of weakened grip and breaks free. He pulls a hunting knife from where it had been strapped to his hip and attempts to slide it between Batman armored plates. Joker growls in annoyance when the armor does not give, there had not been enough momentum to his thrust.
“It’s like trying to open a clam,” he complains while Bruce moves to avoid the knife while keeping his grip on Jokers left wrist.
Joker’s knife finally finds purchase and he laughs in triumph. Immediately he rips the weapon back out. Swiftly Joker pushes himself to his feet just as Bruce moves to protect the freely bleeding wound from anymore onslaught. Joker skips to the far edge of the building and slinks behind the metal guardrails. Bruce clenches his jaw and gets to his feet then follows in pursuit.
Joker spins around to face the other man again, his eyes alight with excitement. He pulls out a pistol from his inner coat pocket. Bruce immediately pauses.
The sound of a door swinging open catches both of their attention, but Joker’s sharp eyes refuse to leave Batman. Several GCPD officers spill out onto the roof.
“Invite an audience?” Joker teases, flicking the safety off. “I do love putting on a good show.”
“Its over,” Batman orders.
“Oh I can’t have five more minutes?”
Joker aims the gun over Batman’s shoulder.
Before Bruce can act several shots ring out at once. But Bruce has his eyes trained on Joker’s hand and he hadn’t pulled the trigger.
Joker stumbles back, look of genuine surprise on his face. His left hand comes to rest on his chest where vicious fluid ran though his fingers mixing with the rain. His breath stutters and he smiles. Bruce starts forward when Joker raises the gun once more, this time aiming directly between the vigilante’s eyes.
He wouldn’t
Time slowed.
“Take care of her for me,” Joker whispers, pulling the trigger and taking a fatal step back over the edge.
Bruce feels the familiar rush of adrenaline flood his body, his vision blurring as he waits for pain, for darkness, for whatever happened after death. But there is nothing. Joker couldn’t have missed, not at that range.
The officers behind him rushes toward the verge. Bruce follows soon after, still processing what had happened in the span half a minute. The officers block his way and he has to push them aside. Peering over the edge it is almost impossible to see anything as the rain pours down. The few lit street lamps just allowing him to make out what could be the outline of a body. An unhelpful part of him made a mental note to increase the amount of lighting around the building.
“Who shot him?” Someone cries, it takes a few seconds for Bruce to realize it is him. But the officers have already begun to scatter, all heading towards the stairs, shoes splashing in the shallow pools left from a day of rain.
Bruce turns his attention back to the streets. This time the sole spectator from above. Joker’s own guardian angel. In the distance he can hear sirens.
Bruce prepares for his decent when he instinctively grabs at the shallow stab wound. Holding it tight he grapples down to street level. Lighting flashes as he lands.
The police have started setting up a permitter. He eyes the gathering with discontent as the ambulance arrives. Medics step out, one going to the police the others carefully approaching Joker. There is no rush to their movements. Bruce presses harder against his wound.
He remains in the shadows despite wanting to be closer. Wanting to see for himself the damage done. He starts towards the group when an officer notices and brakes rank to approach. Bruce is left with his first real view of Joker. He lies motionless in one of the small garden patches that surround the building.
The edges of Bruce’s vision start to darken, his heart beat is deafening. He wants to run, get far away from the broken body lying on the street, he wants to push the police aside and remain with Joker. The clashing needs leaves him frozen in place.
Bruce sees Joker twitch slightly, drawing a short ragged breath. It is hardly noticeably but enough to cause Bruce’s heart to constrict in his chest.
“He’s still moving!” He calls, surprised at the steadiness of his own voice.
The officers took the call to action as a warning and those standing closest took hasty steps back, as if Joker could do any damage in his current state. The growing space allows Bruce a clearer view. Joker lies on his right side, his back to Bruce. His purple overcoat concealing the worst of the damage.
“Well he won’t be for long,” the officer closest to him mutters. “Not after that fall,” he finishes, glancing upwards at the building’s rooftop.
The paramedics begin to move Joker onto the stretcher with little care.
Please let him be unconscious
Bruce internally flinches at every rough movement. He feels sick. He takes several swift steps further into the shadows virtually disappearing from sight. The police, long used to the behavior, pay him no mind. But he doesn’t leave, he can’t. He waits for the remaining people to disperse and it takes too long. Finally when most have gone he walks over to the place Joker had been lying moments earlier. There is blood, of course there is. Joker left blood wherever he goes. There were marks in the dirt, footprints from the police and scratches where Joker must have been clawing at the ground.
He closes his eyes and wills his breath to even out. Joker had conscious enough to register what had happened, to know something was wrong. Bruce felt a heavy weight settle over him.
He signals the car absentmindedly and waits, during which time the raining starts to lessen. He needs to figure out what would come next. His wound needs attention but that could wait a few more hours. Joker hadn’t meant for it to do serious damage, just enough to inconvenience. He remembers the gun, the primal fear and memories that accompanied it. Joker had pulled the trigger. It must have been a blank. Bruce wants to strangle him, if it wasn’t for that stupid trick the police wouldn’t have shot him. Maybe.
The car pulls up on the empty street and Batman starts towards the hospital. He quickly climbs to the roof and gazes out over the city. Robin would hopefully be back at the manor by now. He had purposely sent the boy away to go after Joker alone. Maybe that was a mistake, maybe if he hadn’t- it doesn’t matter.
“Alfred,” he says, activating his ear piece.
“Yes sir.”
“The police shot Joker in the chest, he fell from Wayne Enterprise,” his voice held as he spoke.
Alfred is silent for a moment. “Are you alright sir?”
“I’ll be out a while longer, can you check the hospitals records for him?” Bruce asks, ignoring the question.
“I will call when I find something,” Alfred promises, worry lacing each word.
With a click Bruce is alone once more.
Half an hour later found Bruce closely watching all incoming and outgoing people and cars. Nothing unusual. He has paced the full length of the hospital roof several times, knowing he is too distracted to do anything more useful. God knows what would happen if he had been in the middle of a fight and Alfred called back. Returning to the cave isn’t appealing, he would have to wait it out. As taxing it is.
The night has not started any different, there was no foreshadowing, no sign on how the night would end.
Bruce tenses as his comm comes to life and immediately activates it with a steady hand.
“Sir,” Alfred says and Bruce is caught between relief that he would have an answer and concern for what that answer would be.
“Yes?” Bruce answers.
“Joker was declared dead on arrival.”
Bruce immediately cut off communication. He didn’t need Alfred to hear his sharp inhale or the shaky breaths that follow. After a moment he reactivates the line.
“Understood, thank you,” he responds briskly.
“Come home soon,” Alfred replies, the line is dropped.
The batsignal is broadcasted in the sky. He knew what is waiting for him. Bruce checks the time, 04:40 October 1st. It is turning into one of his longer nights, longest he’s had in a few months.
He leaves the hospital for the police station, better there than returning home. There is hardly anyone on the street and Bruce is standing in front of Gordon in minutes. The rain has abated to a light drizzle.
“Figure I’d tell you before you saw the papers tomorrow,” Gordon says. “I’ve heard from the hospital, Joker died in transit.” Bruce attempts to keep his reaction in check.
“It’s over,” Gordon turns to look out at the city, the sun would rise in the next hour. He reaches for the cigarette case in his pocket. “I almost can’t believe it, first morning without him in years,” Gordon continues, clearly unperturbed by Batman’s silence. Bruce is thankful that Gordon is facing away, knowing he would be unable to hide the distress from his features; his hands tighten into fists, nails would draw blood if not for the gloves.
“I understand this is not the optimal outcome in your eyes but my people did nothing wrong,” Gordon says calmly, a cigarette hanging unlit between his fingers.
“Will the names be released?”
Gordon shakes his head. “Not by us, if they want to paint targets on their back then fine but we’ll be keeping quiet.”
When Gordon turns back to Batman he finds himself alone.
“Congratulations,” he calls out, the word haunting Bruce as he retreats.
Bruce drives home slowly, ignoring incoming calls from Robin and Alfred. He has nothing to say to them anyway. Entering the cave Bruce finds the hospital records for Joker already pulled up.
An autopsy has been ordered. A small shiver runs down his spine as he imagines Joker lying out an examine table, cut open by the uncaring hands of a pathologist.
Preliminary cause of death: Fall-related central nervous system injury and/or multi system trauma.
It would be easier on the GCPD that way. No one would question it, no internal affairs investigation. Autopsy would probably be rushed, the hospital would want the situation taken care of as soon as possible and the newspapers would be hounding them for information.
He can’t bring himself to go into the house, to go to bed knowing what would await him. So he remains awake, finding any work that he had previously left undone. Later he moves to organizing miscellaneous files which Dick had suggested doing the previous year. When Alfred comes down a few hours later Bruce isn’t surprised. It takes longer than usual to take off the suit, to shower and walk to the dining table.
It’s all over the papers. Bruce briefly wonders if there is a photo to go with the piece. He hopes not. Seeing it once was enough. When he asks Alfred for the newspaper he sees the older man hesitate. Is he that transparent? Does he appear that fragile?
He is able to get three sentences in before he needs to stop. The tightness in his chest returning. In his mind he can see the pale man grasping at the ground while taking his final painful breaths, others gathered around watching with interest as if it was some spectacle. Although, Bruce considers, Joker probably would have enjoyed an even bigger audience.
Cause of death is injuries sustained from the fall.
“Sir you are expected at Wayne Enterprise today at 2:30, however considering the circumstances I-” Alfred says.
“No,” Bruce interrupts. “I’ll go. This is hardly the first time our build has been a battle ground.” Right someone had died on his property, something should probably be done about that.
“Yes sir,” Alfred replies with a hint of trepidation. “You have three and a half hours. Do try and sleep. And as a reminder it is the biannual update from each department and discussion of new projects.”
Bruce wanders to his room, bed still made from the previous day. The horrible question returns.
What now?