Chapter Text
Bruce hadn't been feeling well these past few weeks, and it was slowly becoming a problem. He felt less focused and less up to the task as Batman, though he kept up appearances and caught the perps as usual, even if he were a bit slow on the uptake. He'd been talking to Alfred about taking a break, and Alfred had been all for it, but Gordon's apparent need for the Batman had held him firmly tied to the job as vigilante.
Said job found the Bat patrolling the East End of the city, mostly in hopes of finding something, anything to give him that spark of adrenaline he'd been missing from his daily life for so long. He was lucky enough to find a lowly thief shoplifting from a drug store and immediately went into action.
Bruce flung himself through the broken window, almost crashing into the poor shoplifter now startled beyond belief. He'd been hoping for something to calm his nerves, but now the Batman was in front of him, looking menacing as always and feeling very vengeful.
"What do you think you're doing?" Bruce growled, already tensing his muscles, ready for a fight that wouldn't come. This man was far too afraid for his life to dare cross the Batman.
"I was just- I was- I needed meds for my nerves, just something calming, and tea doesn't do it, nothing does, I just wanted- I'm sorry!" The perp confessed, taking cover behind raised hands and closed eyes.
"That's no excuse for breaking the law and you know it. Now run off before I charge you for shoplifting or break in your face." Really, Bruce? 'Break in your face'? Since when were you this violent? These calm nights must be taking their toll on you, get a grip.”
"Yes sir, yes! Thank you, sir. Thank you so much, I'll be off, thank you," the perp muttered, swiftly making his exit and running down the street. Bruce turned to watch him leave, but caught sight of a familiar face before the guy had even rounded the corner.
"Batsy, Batsy, Batsy. I didn't know you punched other guys. I'm disappointed in you. It feels almost like you're cheating on me, haha!"
"Joker."
The Joker jumped down from the container he was perched on and sauntered over to the broken shop window, inspecting the damage before shaking his head with a tsk and wagging his finger.
"This doesn't look very good for you, Batsy. I'm sorry, but you breaking a man's nose unprovoked is going to make the news in a bad way, and we can't have that. So, let me help you let out some steam, huh? What do you say, give me your worst, let it out, and we'll see about drinks afterward. Sound good?"
Bruce almost wanted to say no, but the villain was basically offering himself up as a punching bag, and who was he to decline such a generous offer? And perhaps he'd even let him take him back to Arkham without much fuss later, it was almost too good to be true. But the Joker didn't seem to be lying, he wasn't wearing his manic prankster grin, nor was he seemingly hiding anything on his person capable of doing more harm than a knife or a deck of cards.
"You willingly offer yourself? You mean for me to take you on your word and let me punch you till next Wednesday without lifting a finger or calling for backup?" He had to make sure this wasn't a trap or a trick to make him agree to something he wouldn't get out of easily.
"I won't promise not to hit back, but I can promise you that I'm the only one here and that there isn't a bomb somewhere ready to blow as soon as you're distracted. No need to bring out the big guns when I’ve got you to play with.”
Even when promising not to threaten the city, he sounded insincere. But Bruce decided to take him at his word and charged him with barely a grunt in reply. He was not wasting this chance, free or expensive as it may be. His whole body was begging for a fight, and the Joker was so willing to give it, who was he to say no?
The Joker was ready for the first punch, but the second was a surprise, much faster than anticipated. He quickly changed his stance, working harder than usual to keep up with the Bat's rapid punches. He wasn't used to defending, but found it a necessary tactic against the onslaught of kicks and punches Bruce dealt out, getting winded faster than he would have liked.
When Bruce finally broke off to take a deep breath, the Joker was on him in a second, retaliating with all he had. He had the feeling this was all he would be allowed during the fight and introduced his knife to Bruce's side, burying it as deep as he could before Bruce caught on and held his wrist in an iron grip. Bruce merely grunted in response and threw the Joker off him, ready to start punching again.
The Joker saw the madness and the unbridled fury in the Batman's eyes and felt, for the first time in a very long while, scared for his safety. But not only his own. This new Batman was something else, and perhaps not something to be ignored as merely a whim. He'd been following the bat around, watching him punch and maim undeserving subjects and overall adding to his broody demeanour by being violent and destructive, more so than usual.
The Joker could definitely see the appeal in the murder and the mayhem the Batman seemed so close to discovering, but he also knew that the Bat had a very strict moral code, and it was worrying to see him so out of line. He almost felt bad for the Bat and had the sudden urge to help him through whatever was causing him this much distress. Maybe that was why he offered to become a punching bag for tonight, letting him work out some pent-up energy by bruising a target used to violence and brutality.
Seeing the Joker hesitate and take a step back brought Bruce somewhat back to his senses, and he took another deep breath. He'd been hitting the Joker pretty hard, not caring that he was a human being and not the sandbag waiting for him in the Batcave. He suddenly felt a surge of pride in the fact that the Joker was still standing, seemingly able to take the hits Bruce had brutally dealt him. Pride, what a weird emotion to feel about one's worst enemy.
But was he really only that? He had become a more familiar presence than most of Bruce's friends. He knew him almost as well as Alfred did, and certainly better than anyone else not in the know about his whole identity crisis. Yes, the Joker was almost on par with Bruce's surrogate father, and better than his closest friends. What had his life become, this thought being more of a comfort than a terrifying revelation to Bruce. He took a step forward.
"Joker. I'm sorry, you were right."
"Right. And you're the Easter Bunny, what are you doing?" The Joker snarled at him, spitting blood.
"I could ask you the same thing, but it seems the answer is 'helping me', which I don't understand at all. Thank you for the reminder, but we're enemies and there's nothing to help me with, I can deal with it alone."
"If you say so, Batsy. You know where to find me," the Joker said, and jumped around the corner in a sprint, easily shaking off Bruce who was too stunned to pursue.
Bruce slowly made his way back to the Batcave for some peace and quiet and to take care of the knife wound in his side. He'd kept the knife in, but it hurt like a bitch, and he wasn't one to cry about it, so he'd like it taken care of quickly. As he'd made it back, Alfred had seen him coming and left him some antiseptic, a bottle of scotch and some bandages. Bruce set to work on his side, cleaning the wound, disinfecting and wrapping it, and downing a good third of the bottle of whisky before dragging himself to bed and promptly falling asleep.
Unbeknownst to him, Joker was doing much of the same on the other side of the city, taking care of his bruised torso with a hot shower and a fruity mix of cheap vodka and some orange juice he'd found in a container next to a convenience store on his way home from their fight. He still didn't know what the Batman's deal was with the heavy punches, but they sure did take a lot of energy out of not just him but his punching bag too. The Joker felt like he could sleep for days at this point, and so that's what he set off to do, climbing into bed with all of his clothes still on and entering dream land before his head had hit the pillow.