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Bruce hated it, every second of it. He hated standing on top of a building, the person he was once ready to allow himself to love in front of him, wielding a knife or whatever his newest toy to ‘destroy Batman’ was. Bruce hated fighting John, hated it whenever the other announced himself as ‘Joker’, hated it whenever they hurt each other and boy did they hurt each other. John was different than anyone Bruce had ever fought. None of the people who had tried to kill Bruce were ever this… feral. Bruce never felt bad about hurting them because he had never felt for them. The closest thing to this, to this inner hatred he was struck by whenever he saw what became of John, was the time he had fought Harvey. Sure, he had a crush on Harvey as well, but Harvey wasn’t actively trying to stab him or claw his eyes out when Bruce had tried to help him, when Harvey was executing people in Bruce’s own home. He had loved Harvey and he could help him. To a certain degree at least. He can’t help John. Not anymore.
Bruce knew he was the reason John had turned into what he is now. He knew it was his and only his fault. Some part in him knew from the beginning this couldn’t work out. What did he think would happen? John would just abandon his criminal ways, go live a happy life with Bruce, free of any problems? Bruce Wayne doesn’t get that. Batman doesn’t get a happy ending. It was something Bruce knew from the start. He would never be able to live a normal life, let alone a life with someone at his side. He had lost Alfred already, knowing it was just a matter of time for the butler to walk out on him. It was better this way. Safer. Batman works alone and will always be alone and it’s fine that way.
At least that’s what Bruce always told himself. Whenever he patched himself up after another violent encounter with John, whenever the urge to cry, to claw at his own skin became too much to bear. Whenever the silence of the manor was crushing him, knowing even if he were to scream, no one would come to his rescue. Sometimes, the loneliness almost drove Bruce over the edge.
Which was why he couldn’t give up. Why he’d never stop. Bruce would always try to help. Help the city, help Gordon, help John. No matter how many times he’d have to suffer, how many lonely nights he’d have to get through. It didn’t matter, because Gotham was more important. The safety of millions was more important than Bruce’s well being.
Yet, he still hated himself in moments like these.
John was attacking him relentlessly, almost shoving Bruce off the side of the building multiple times. In all honesty, Bruce didn’t have the mental energy to fight back, not to speak about the massive amount of cuts John had managed to give him. He wanted to give up, wanted to let John finally end it.
It will be Christmas soon. It would be his first Christmas without Alfred. His first Christmas all alone.
He couldn’t do it.
He didn’t know how, but he somehow managed to smash the knife out of John's hand and put some distance between them, a short moment to breathe before John would no doubt move on to his next weapon.
When Bruce saw the gun John had pulled being pointed towards him, his mind went silent for the first time in months.
“So this is how you want to play, huh, Batsy?” John was smiling wide, deranged, a smile which burned into Bruce, tore his heart into pieces and put a single thought in Bruce’s head.
Give up.
He couldn’t do it. He wasn’t strong enough. Not anymore. From the moment where Bruce had met John in Arkham, he knew this was a battle he would never be able to win.
He felt sorry. Sorry for all the people who needed him, who needed Batman, who believed in him and his message. He was sorry for everyone he had let down. He was sorry for everything he had made these innocent people go through because of some delusional dream. He was sorry for everything he had made Alfred go through.
At that moment, Bruce, for the first time in his life, gave up.
Falling to his knees, his body was so weak all of a sudden. Drained of any energy, both mentally and physically. He had closed his eyes, terrified of what will happen now but also welcoming it.
This will be it huh? Batmans legacy. Shot on a rooftop in the middle of the city he couldn’t protect, by one of the many people he couldn’t save.
“What are you doing?” John’s voice was distant, nothing but a low ringing in Bruce’s ears. “Get up! Now!” Bruce couldn’t, not anymore.
“It’s over John. Take your best shot.” He didn’t dare look up, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stand John's look without breaking down right now.
There was a short silence before John’s angry voice started yelling at him.
“No! This can’t be how it ends! I’m supposed to win, Bruce! I’m supposed to get my revenge, not have you fucking roll over like a dying dog!” Bruce didn’t move. It seemingly only made John angrier.
Bruce could hear the other grunt, could see him taking steps towards Bruce.
“This isn’t fair Bruce! You broke my heart and now you just want to end it like a coward?! This isn’t like you god dammit!” John started pacing, the gun still pointed towards Bruce, until he came to a sudden stop.
Silence. Pure silence. Something Bruce dreaded for so long.
He hated silence, no matter what kind. No matter if it was the silence of the manor after his parents died, after Alfred left, the silence following an argument or even the silence while on parole. Silence seemed to follow Bruce everywhere and he couldn’t stand it anymore.
Daring to look up, he could see John standing on the side of the building, staring into the air.
Only now did Bruce realize it was snowing. Snow wasn’t unusual for Gotham, certainly not for this time of year. Now that he was thinking about it he really couldn’t remember a Christmas without snow.
He used to love playing in the snow with Oz when they were children, once he even forced Harvey outside with him to build a snowman when it had snowed so bad that Harveys car wouldn’t even turn on. Bruce could convince him to stay the night at Wayne Manor, at least until the snowstorm was over. What Harvey wasn’t prepared for was billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne pulling him outside the next day and forcing him to build a snowman as tall as them. He could even convince the attorney to a quick snowball match before Alfred had called them inside for breakfast.
Bruce had to admit, it was one of the few moments since his parents death where he felt truly and 100% happy and at peace.
Oh how he had wanted it to last. It didn’t.
Harvey stopped taking his meds and Bruce didn’t do anything.
Harvey lost his mind and Bruce couldn’t help him.
Alfred got hurt and Bruce couldn’t save him.
John needed a friend and not even that was something Bruce could be.
He had tried to do good, had tried to help the people, but all he did was hurt those that needed him the most.
Maybe he really was like his father.
Maybe it was simply the Wayne curse.
Pulled out of his self pity, Bruce could see John sighing, throwing the gun over the side of the building and watching it fall for a moment before turning back towards Bruce, still with a smile on his face. Only this time it was a lot softer.
“What? No lecture about how it could hit someone?” John chuckled, walking towards the other, not getting a response. “Boy, you are no fun like this” Still laughing, John walked right next to Bruce, letting himself drop with a small grunt. “You know”, he started, pulling his knees up to his chest, staring at the snow in awe, “It’s my first snow outside of Arkham”
Now Bruce finally managed to look at John, a slightly confused expression. John only chuckled again.
“Last winter I was too busy scrambling through sewers to really be up here when the snow was falling, you know. It’s almost… magical.” Letting his head drop onto Bruce’s shoulder, Bruce could feel his face heat up. He didn’t dare move, terrified of this moment ending, terrified of ruining it again. “Doctor Leland used to say I have a very childlike way of enjoying new things. I never liked her saying that. New things can be exhausting, don’t you think Bats?” John turned his head, smiling at Bruce, a smile which for a short moment filled Bruce’s heart with something he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Yet, he still couldn’t muster up the energy to answer.
“Oh please, you’re so boring like this” Turning his head away again, John kept watching the snow for a moment, before an idea seemed to spring into his head.
“This deserves a special celebration don’t you think? ‘Jokers first time in the snow’” Spreading out his arms as if he was showing Bruce some huge writing, John laughed, swiftly getting up, holding out a hand for Bruce to take.
“So, how about a dance?” Bruce stared for a moment, unsure if John was serious or if this was just another of his twisted, unfunny jokes. “Come on, if I wanted to kill you I would have done it. I’m not the type of person who stabs a clearly mentally ill man in the back.” He kept his hand out, Bruce almost deciding to take it, hadn’t it been for John’s next comment. “Honestly, I have the feeling as if I just gotta wait a bit and Bruce Wayne will do the job of offing himself for me” John started laughing, his laugh breaking off as he earned a dark glare from Bruce.
“That was tactless John” John’s face instantly lit up as Bruce finally talked, his smile only growing wider.
“The bat can talk! Now, let’s dance!” Bruce simply stared at John’s hand for a moment.
“Why should we?” He asked, unsure if he even wanted an answer.
“Because it’ll be fun! Dancing in the snow on the top of a rooftop, just like two crazy people. After all, that’s exactly what we are, right Brucey?” John still smiled, yet the use of Bruce’s nickname tore at his already weak heart.
“Yeah.” Somehow, Bruce managed to smile. Taking John’s hand, John pulled him to his feet and, even if only for a short moment, Bruce felt like maybe his life could be okay. The feeling would most likely be gone by the time that, whatever their little truce right now is, is over, but for this moment, Bruce could allow himself to enjoy it. To enjoy this short wave of security, of warmth, of love as John stood next to him, taking a step towards the man in the batsuit, a big, hearty smile on his face.
“So, Mr. Wayne'' John put his hands on Bruce’s chest, slowly stroking over the bat symbol. “Who’ll lead?”