Chapter Text
Click.
Bats are nearly blind.
Kevlar on kevlar. Pressure.
Flying around in the dark they perceive the world around them by sounds. They build a whole three dimensional model of their surroundings, as skillful in movements as any other of the night"s inhabitants.
Material on skin. Tacktack. Gloved fingers grasping.
Whenever their prey makes a sound, moves, gives them any indication of itself, they sense it.
Intake of breath. An object falling on the wooden floor.
They sense it and the game is afoot.
Laughter.
As the Joker slowy stepped over the mask on the floor and approached Bruce, the now-unmasked man wondered. He wandered why this was the obvious choice. He spent such a long time hiding his identity from everyone. He knew why it had been important then. It still was.
If he had to guess the main difference was that in all of the other cases, people wanted to know. They wanted the leverage, the satisfaction of beating him, the money, the glory. Joker never did. He asked about it, demanded it, threatened people over it, but he never really cared. It was just a pretext.
A white hand reached to him, trying to touch his bare face. The bloody mouth was still spilling laughter, but the clown was trembling.
"Oh Brucie, gotta give it to you. I did not think you had it in you."
Brucie. He wasnt"t surprised. Of course.
"So you"ve known all along." A statement, not a question.
"To be fair, no. It took like...I don"t know. Two months? Three?"
Bruce sighed and chuckled softly. He always suspected.
"So what now? Is this the moment you go and kill my family and coworkers?"
"Oh, leave joking to me. If I wanted that every and all of the little birds would be dead by now. Don"t worry, after the second one I learned it only makes you grumpy."
Barbara still in the weelchair. Jason, alive but scarred and changed forever. And he removed his cowl.
"What will it be then? I paid."
The jester"s fingers combed through the dark hair, before the pale silhoutte took a step back.
„You did, didn’t you. Leap of faith and all that stuff. And as much as I don’t love what that means you know I don’t believe in one sided relationships. Come along then, it’ll be easier to show.”
Bruce really hoped that he didn’t let the confusion he felt as he saw where the Clown Prince of Crime lead him show on his face. But really. A bathroom. Just why?
The room was precisely as shody as the rest of the hideout. Small, part of the yellowish tiles broken, the shelves stacked with various make up and first aid articules.
Joker quickly shed his clothes, standing only in plum slacks and suspenders. The already familiar bandages remained on however, causing Bruce to shoot the madman a curious glance.
„No reason to untie them, they’ll come off anyway.”
Before Bruce got a chance to ask what he meant by that, two sharp spikes emerged from the Joker’s back. They grew for a few second, before changing directions, like an upside down „V”. Their beatiful, pure white color was barely visible, as they dripped on the floor with crimson blood.
Now the bathroom made sense. The wound were the marks of these things piercing through the flesh.
„Ta-daaa! Sorry if it’s not what you expected. As much as I despise them, I’m afraid this isn’t something you can put me or anyone else in Arkham. No case here, Detective.”
He teased, like he did always, but Bruce could see the tension in Joker’s whole form.
„What are they, exactly?”
A shrug; the things mimicking the shoulders in the bigger scale, scratching the walls with a horrible sound.
„Could not tell you for the life of mine, not that I would oppose if you tried to take it. They have been like that ever since I was born.”
Born. Emerged a new man from the green tides. Fair enough.
„Why do you keep them hidden? ”
„Ah, yes an excellent question. For that I am sorry darling, while I do my best to share my life with you, those get a bit pesky when I keep them out too long. With all my love of flair, I just never liked feathers.”
Bruce nodded. That was understandable. In silence he put on the cowl and left through the window.
Next time they met was, ironically in the Gotham Cathedral. The light poured through the stained windows, coloring the grey stone. The sculptures twisted in sinful agony or stood perfectly still, virtuously boring. Unbalanced.
GCPD for once stormed in first. The raid was smooth and in a few minutes all of the hostages were safe and sound outside. To everyone’s surprise there was no explosion, no poison gas and barely any resistance from the henchmen. There was also no Joker.
The Caped Crusader found him on the roof, with the gargoils. The things were spread over his back, covered now in snow white feathers. He looked out of place crounching among the stone monsters, the worst of them all and yet holy.
When he approached him, Bruce couldn’t help feeling guilty. Here he was, another of Gotham’s gargoils, undeserving. He hesitated, unable to gather the courage.
The angel kissed him.