Chapter Text
Somebody had left the news on.
“Do we really have to do this? I’m tired of talking about the- oh wait we’re live? Shit,” the reporter hissed, “A viral video has been circulating around the internet of a fight between Batman and the Joker in an FDA warehouse. In the video, Batman can be seen shoving an unknown medication down Joker’s throat. Since this video came out, Joker has been admitted to Gotham General with major cosmetic changes. The GCPD are referring to this man as Jack Napier as the patient requested,”
Bruce was half tempted to turn it off, but knew that Babs and Dick wouldn’t approve of it. They’d say that he was hiding.
He wasn’t hiding.
The word he’d probably use was grieving.
“Your reputation is ruined,” Dick said, “Correction. Our reputation is ruined. No one’s ever going to trust us again,”
He wanted to go see Joker. Or Jack. Whoever it was. He didn’t care. He just needed to know that he was alright. That he hadn’t caused permanent damage, that Joker might come back soon.
“You do realise what you’ve done, right?”
“I didn’t do anything, Dick. He was trying to kill himself,” he argued weakly, feeling too numb to try anything else.
“Well how the hell am I supposed to know that? You looked like you were shoving pills down his throat,”
“I wasn’t,” Bruce said, but it sounded so unbelievable.
Dick just rolled his eyes, “Whatever. I’m done. I’m going back to Bludhaven”
“You said you were staying for the rest of the month,”
“Yeah,” Dick crossed his arms, “I came back to help you look for Joker. Now that he’s been found, I’m going home,”
Bruce didn’t have the energy to argue with him. Dick walked out the door and Bruce wasn’t going to try and stop him.
He just watched the news, even though it meant that he was going to be forced to watch that awful video over and over again.
Then the photo appeared. Jack, Joker, lying in a hospital bed. Tubes were sticking out of his arms and nose. They’d apparently had to pump Joker’s stomach. He’d had drugs in his system even before he’d downed those pills. Other than that, Bruce didn’t have much information about his medical needs.
He’d find out eventually.
Right now he was just worried out of his mind.
♦♠ ♥♣
Jack woke up in a hospital.
“Where-...?” he murmured even though speaking took so much effort.
“Jack?!” came a voice, “Oh, god, Jack. You’re okay,”
She tried to hug him, but it was more like her laying on him. He clutched her back just as tight, feeling so broken and hurt
A nurse, he thought, already feeling much better. He breathed out in relief, “Everything hurts, so bad. Please,”
“I know, Jack. I know. You’ll feel better soon I promise.”
“I can’t-... I can’t remember anything,” Jack panicked, “Did it not work?”
He looked down at his wrists, expecting to see gauze with blood seeping through just like he’d seen the first time he’d tried something like this. He didn’t go to the hospital for that one. He’d just wrapped his arms in gauze and bandages and prayed that it didn’t get infected. He’d never seen the infirmary in Arkham before. Well, he had once, but he was basically knocked out that whole time. The last time he’d looked down at his wrists though there had been blood and gauze. Maybe something had gotten infected? That must have been why he was here. However, he’d done everything the doctors told him to keep them clean. Even though those guards probably ruined that, shoving him onto the floor and gagging him so nobody could hear his screams. That floor in the showers had been so disgusting and dirty…
There was nothing there. No bandages, no gauze, no blood. Just two clean, already scarred cuts.
“How long was I…”
“You’ve been gone for fifteen years, Jack,” the nurse said, rubbing her hand over his scars. He pulled away from her, feeling awkward now.
“Like in a coma?” he didn’t think that he’d cut that deep.
The nurse hesitated, combing a hand through her platinum blonde hair, “Not a coma. You were… Joker,”
“Joker?” he asked, not understanding what she was saying.
“I-... I can show you,”
She walked across the room to dig a phone out of a red coat. He liked the design of her phone case. A three of diamonds. He liked playing cards. He used to keep a cheap pack in his pocket at all times.
Or at least he thought he did.
She showed him a video of a man that looked just like him, but with pale skin and green hair fighting a man in a black bat costume. He'd known that Gotham was crazy, but he’d never thought that it was that bad.
“Is that… me?”
The woman nodded, tears in her eyes, “You really don’t remember anything?”
Jack shook his head. Something about her felt familiar, but not at the same time. Although something in her was something that he didn’t want to get near.
She smiled, “My name’s Harley. Harleen Quinzel. I’m your girlfriend, Jack,”
“Harlequin,” Jack said, not smiling. Playing cards weren’t funny even though his immediate urge was to smile as wide as he could.
Harley smiled right back, “Yeah. You called me that. Harley Quinn,”
“What did you call me?” Jack asked, feeling like he was swimming in a pool of confusion.
Harley’s smile grew, tilting in a fond way as if she was so happy that he was catching up, “Puddin’” she said.
“Puddin’” Jack said, amused.
“Get some sleep,” she said, kissing his forehead.
He listened to her, suddenly feeling exhausted. His head dragged him down into a deep sea of his own misery.
He wished that he had died.
♦♠ ♥♣
When Bruce went in to see him, he was sleeping.
He looked so peaceful, like he was at ease for the first time in his life. His wrist had some red scratch marks right over the scars that almost took his life, but other than that, he looked like he was fine. He just had a little more color to his skin.
Well, however, there were the healed scars all up and down his arms, raised and faintly white. Bruce had a feeling that he knew where those had come from.
And he hated himself for it.
“I’m so sorry, Joker,” he said softly just as the man in the bed started to stir.
“Harley…?” the man said, eyes slowly opening.
“I’m sorry,” Bruce apologized one last time before disappearing.
He walked out of Gotham General with tears in his eyes as judgemental eyes followed him down the halls.
♦♠ ♥♣
One Week Ago
Bruce headed back home once he felt like he couldn't stop the stream of tears running down his face much longer. He let the shower run while he collapsed on the bathroom floor and cried until he didn't have anything left to give. He wanted to throw the cowl in the trashcan, just like Joker's letters had been. Knowing that the cowl was what caused all of this in the first place made him hesitate. He couldn't do it now, couldn't give it up. Not when he made J. hurt himself by even thinking about telling everyone. He'd certainly go to jail for the rest of his life, if not Arkham. Joker may have been diagnosed with insanity and other forms of psychosis, but he was right about that.
He left the cave at about six in the morning, back patrolling. Still hopelessly looking for Joker, eyes blurry with tears he didn't want to fall. His head ached from too much coffee and too little sleep and too many tears. Nothing helped.
The next morning, the GCPD comms went off.
“We have a Joker sighting downtown. He appears to be on a skateboard. Wearing a grey Batman shirt and purple striped pants”
That was his J.
And he was alive.
Bruce felt like he was about to cry with relief. Obviously he couldn't because Grayson and Barbara were right next to him.
He sped faster than he had ever done in his time as a vigilante, flooring the speed and still not catching up despite the fact that J. was only on a skateboard.
He didn't miss the fresh scars on Joker's arms when he slammed a mallet similar to Harley's in his face. The ridge lines marring perfect white skin, the scars healed over white compared to every scar Bruce had given him that was a faint pink.
He heard when Joker talked about them having make up sex like they had never been together, like they hadn't just had a fight that ended everything. Somehow out of all the arguments they had over the past year, over the past fifteen years, he decided that this was enough. He decided that he had to hurt himself to get Bruce's attention. He had to cause pain to everyone in his vicinity until everyone was just as scarred as him. He heard the “power couple” line and something in his chest twisted.
He didn't get an opportunity to speak, every time he tried Joker would throw another quip at him. J.’s mascara was running, everything about him screaming that he wasn't okay, that this wasn't normal.
“J.?” He asked, voice quivering. They were alone, surrounded by pill bottles that nobody was ever going to use. Joker looked wild, hair windswept and eyes bloodshot.
“I didn't think that you'd want to call me that anymore, darling” J. said, looking more broken than ever.
“I do. I still want to” he felt pathetic. Nothing he could say would ever make any of this better. He was probably making everything worse, ruining this before they even started.
Joker hummed in response, skipping over to grab a bottle of chemicals. Bruce thought he could see the words “anti-psychosis” on the side.
“Please,” he begged, his voice still not used to the words. Joker had made him beg for multiple things. To disarm explosives, to release him from restraints, to keep riding his cock like a maniac, but never for him to just live.
“That's cute, Bats, but I don't think it's going to work this time.” Joker said solemnly. He looked so helplessly broken. Bruce couldn't help but blame himself.
Joker poured out several pills, staring down at them like they were his only hope, “It's okay, baby,” he said comfortingly, like he was talking to a small child, “I'm sure you can grow to love him too.”
“But I don't want him. I want you.” Bruce retorted childishly. Stop fucking this up, he screamed at himself.
“No you don't. You want someone you can rehabilitate. Not me. I'm not going to do that”
“Please, J.. The scars…”
“Oh! Those things?! There nothing, baby, really” he ran his fingers down the length of his forearm, fingers catching on raised lines.
That didn't help ease Bruce's worry. He felt tears threatening to spill and debated taking off the cowl. However, that would probably subject him to the full spectrum of Joker's anger.
As he did often, Joker's face switched from the performance of clown that he put on for everyone to the quiet, hurting J. Bruce knew. His gaze drifted back down to the pills, eyes hollow like he didn’t want to take them.
“Please,” Bruce tried one last time, voice just as hollow as those eyes he had fallen in love with.
God, he had never told J. that he loved him.
Joker looked up like he was recognizing Bruce for the first time after years apart. Bruce was half expecting him to actually pretend like all of this had been a misunderstanding.
Oh, darling! I didn't see you there. Why are we here?
Of course it didn't happen.
“I can't,” Joker said, breathless, “You don't need me. I'm not helping you. Just let me do this… please.”
Then he started singing. A common occurrence with him. Although the song choice wasn’t one he would have expected.
“With or without you. With or without you, oh. I can’t live. With or without you”
The whole bottle of pills was in his mouth before Bruce could stop him. He lunged to make it to him before he swallowed, but it was too late.
All he succeeded in doing was pushing the pills down J.’s throat.
The cameras couldn’t catch him screaming. They didn’t see the tears running freely beneath white lenses. All they saw was him worsening the situation.
And he wanted nothing more than to die. He already felt half dead…
♦♠ ♥♣
Bruce woke up with a start. He was sweating bullets and breathing heavily.
He ran a hand over his face, sitting a little more upright. He eventually swung his feet off the side of the bed, ignoring the slippers there to touch his bare feet to the cold ground. It shocked him awake, pulling any remaining drowsiness from his head.
He didn’t want to go back to sleep. Not if that was going to plague his dreams.
An ice cold shower could probably help. The only problem was that he kept Joker’s favorite knife that he’d been given as a gift under the sink in his bathroom.
Getting anywhere near that was probably not a good idea. His arms would probably look worse than Joker’s after that.
And he already had enough scars from himself.
Plus, Joker probably wouldn’t appreciate Bruce having anymore scars that weren’t from him.
♦♠ ♥♣
Jack woke up slowly again. He could tell that he was drugged, but didn’t know what he was on. Harley was talking with a doctor by the door.
“Harls?” he asked and she rushed to his side immediately.
“Morning, Jackie,” she said with a smile, “Do you remember anyone being in here?”
Jack shook his head, “I think I heard a voice earlier, but I was a little too out of it.”
“Okay then. Batman came in here without authorization. I’m trying to get the police to grant you a temporary restraining order, but they’re not budging right now,”
Jack just looked at her in adoration. She was being so kind. He couldn’t remember a single thing about her other than the few facts about them that she’d told him and she was already trying to protect him.
He could see where he had fallen in love with her.
She kissed his forehead before leaving with the doctor to go talk to the GCPD.
He leaned back in his bed, feeling safer than he had in years. He ran his fingers over the scars on his arms, feeling every bump and ridge. He didn’t know where they had come from, but he could take a guess. Harley had told him that a few of them were from fights with Batman, but he couldn’t remember a single thing about them.
A few hours later, Jim Gordon and Harvey Bullock walked into his hospital room.
“We’re going to be moving you to Arkham Asylum. You’ll be staying there until your trial,”
“Trial?” Jack asked, goosebumps erupting over his arms, “Arkham?”
Arkham. He remembered Arkham very well. He remembered those dirty floors and the pain blooming through his lower half and the laughing and the teasing and the names and “how’s this feeling, pretty boy?”
He didn’t flinch when they nodded a yes.
He rubbed the scars on his wrists again, “Okay… When?”
Bullock was the first to answer, “In about an hour or so,”
He shrank into himself, “Alright,”
Harley walked over to him, grabbing his hand and kissing his temple, “I’m sure they’ll let you out in just a few days, Puddin’,”
“Yeah,” Jack muttered, picking at the raised scarred skin.
He didn’t want to go anywhere near Arkham. Not again. No.
Harley pulled him close in a hug, “It’s changed in fifteen years. I promise.”
♦♠ ♥♣
It had in fact not fucking changed.
He mostly stayed locked in his cell, wide awake and curled up on the bed. Several guards had looked in with those same expressions that he’d seen during his last stay. He was terrified.
When he wasn’t shaking with fear, he was in the library. The librarian was always kind and made sure that nothing stupid happened. He liked that.
He also liked that he could study to become his own lawyer. He was not going to use whatever crackpot lawyer the asylum dug up for him. Anyone associated with Arkham wasn’t someone he wanted to get anywhere near.
He fell asleep at his desk a lot. He was fine with that. It was better than risking heading back to his cell.
Court was scary. He tried to make himself look as presentable as he could in handcuffs and his orange Arkham uniform. Harley had brought him a little bit of hair gel because she said that he looked good without his curls.
He could agree with her. His curls made him look just like Joker. Even worse when the light hit him just right and his hair looked green.
He pleaded his case as well as he could, almost begging them to let him go because he wasn’t who they thought he was.
And they let him go.
He went straight back to his apartment, hoping that Harley would be there since she’d had to drive ahead to set up his stuff while Gordon and Bullock drove him there.
Harley wasn’t there.
“Puddin’!” a girl yelled at him, lunging at him to swing her arms around his shoulders.
“Who-?” he asked, pushing her away a little. She looked almost exactly like Harley, despite having arms lined with scars similar to his own, “Who are you?”
She smiled lopsidedly, “Aw, they told me that you were havin’ problems with remembering things”
She grabbed his hand and dragged him over to the bathroom, forcing him to sit on the toilet, “C’mon. Let’s get yer makeup back on,”
Her accent was heavy and yet he couldn’t quite place it.
“I’m good, thank you,”
She recoiled in shock, “God, why are ya so nice now? Did those meds really do all that much to ya?”
“I just-.... I don’t know you,” he said, hands starting to mess with his fancy new dress pants that Harley had bought him.
“I’m yer Harley Quinn, puddin’!” she said a little too excitedly.
“But- I just saw her a few hours ago. She’s not-”
“I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about puddin’,” she said, cocking her head to the side.
The door opened, “Jack?”
Harley.
“Hi, Harls,” he said with a small wave, giving the other Harley a pointed look.
“Get the fuck out, Marian,” Harley said to the other woman (Marian apparently).
“It’s my apartment,” Marian argued, standing up to face Harley.
“No, it’s his,” Harley nodded to Jack.
They left quickly as Marian looked like she was about to cry.
♦♠ ♥♣
Bruce had watched Jack like a hawk for weeks. And he kept doing it for months. He didn’t trust leaving him alone, especially not when Jack started up that politician bullshit.
Harleen and Jack were engaged. He’d seen the ring on Jack’s finger. He’d seen how much happier he looked.
He didn’t like it. Especially not when he was still in mourning.
Jack had started covering up the scars on his arms. Bruce didn’t know if he’d done it himself or if Harleen had done it.
He watched as Jack continued to piss off Neo-Joker. He watched as he dug himself deeper into a hole.
He let himself get blinded just because he didn’t have the energy to pretend like he was going to fight Jack anymore.
He was just exhausted. He was tired of feeling like he couldn’t do anything right.
He was tired of dragging himself through life like Joker basically killing himself didn’t bother him. He was tired of trying to ignore that it was basically all his fault.
And he stumbled out of the car, head dizzy.
Ready to finally be done with this.
“You know. You’re not easy to get over” Jack said coolly, completely shirtless for some reason, “The fanboy in me is still rooting for you”
Bruce didn’t care. He just wanted Jack to finally have his moment so he could get himself locked up like he deserved. Months of living with grief was too much. It was almost like it was physically weighing him down.
“Part of me never wants this to end” Jack stepped a little closer.
Bruce weakly held a batarang to his throat, trying to seem semi-threatening.
“Look at me,” Jack said, hands gesturing outward, his body clearly itching for a fight, “I’m unarmed. Wouldn’t you rather beat me the old fashioned way?”
“One more romp? For old time’s sake?” Jack asked, as Bruce watched blood trickle down the batarang held to his throat.
Brucet watched him for another moment before pushing away, stripping off his cape and tool belt.
Jack watched him with hungry eyes. He looked like he would lick his lips like a cartoon wolf if he could.
Bruce hit him so hard, blood immediately started running from Jack’s nose.
“That’s more like it,” Jack said with a smile, wiping the blood from his face.
Bruce felt so angry that he swiped at him again. Jack dodged swiftly, clipping Bruce in the face himself. Bruce punched him as hard as he could in the stomach, then upwardly shoved his knee into that same spot.
Jack stumbled for a second before uppercutting Bruce in the chin. Bruce stumbled just as Jack had a second ago, moving blindly backwards. He suddenly felt Jack’s foot kicking into his face, making him even dizzier.
Bruce kicked Jack in the face once he fell to the ground. Jack ended up knocked back against the brick wall behind him.
Bruce came up next to him, leg up by Jack’s shoulder to trap him there.
And then Jack fucking headbutted him.
And Bruce strangely liked it. He needed to be beat until he passed out tonight, to hurt and hurt and hurt until he couldn’t think of anything else but the pain singing through his limbs. He let them dance together, limbs intertwining into a damned symphony.
Bruce hit Jack down onto the floor, watching helplessly as Jack grabbed his discarded belt and swiftly ran around behind him to pull the belt tight around his throat.
All he could feel was relief. Maybe he was finally getting what he deserved. He wanted to take the batarang that fell on the floor and slash his wrists. He needed the burn, the pain.
He deserved to die.
♦♠ ♥♣
Bats went out like a light. Jack lowered him down to the floor slowly, not wanting to hurt him anymore than he already had (for some reason).
Something popped a bubble in him. He didn’t want to hurt Bats. He didn’t want to have him bleeding alone in an alley.
“I’ve thought about this moment for decades” Jack threw his head in his hands, blood staining the skin on his face too. “Wondered what I’d do if I ever got to see you like this, all broken and vulnerable”
I don’t like it.
“Oh god…” he felt tears prickling in his eyes, “What have I done?”
He tried his best to pick up the bat without either aggravating the bat’s open wounds or hurting himself. He scolded the guards at Arkham for attempting to take the cowl off. He didn’t know where it came from, why he was placing the bat in the cell right next to his old one or why he was arguing with the guards about who he was.
He didn’t know why he lied to Harley later about the fight. He lied again about the coughing blood and the switching back over and all the things that he probably should have told her.
She would insist over the next few weeks that they needed each other and he refused to believe that she was right even though he knew she was right.
And then the freeze ray hit, spelling out words in the Gotham skyscrapers.
Send Joker