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“This can’t go on forever.”
The voice trembles over the sounds of pounding rainfall. Such traces of vulnerability betray the attempt at a strong remark as a weak façade, an indication of how much things have changed.
Pathetic, really. It’s enough to elicit a dry, demeaning laugh from the Joker, his back turned towards his bat. His bat. At last.
“Do you truly believe that? After all this trouble, after all of your losses, you’re really ready to let it all go?” He asks, his voice breaking somewhere in the middle. He really ought to get his hands on some water, when he can. He can’t remember the last time he’d had a drink.
The sky burns bright and red as his eyes wander over it, the dark, jutting outlines of burning buildings obstructing the horizon. It’s the kind of scene you would expect from the end of the world, although Joker’s not quite sure whether it’s real. After all, he’d had this dream before, back in Arkham. He had half a mind to ask Batman if he, too, could see how the skyline seems to be ripping itself in half, and he would - except that he isn’t entirely convinced that the Bat isn't a figment of his imagination too.
“You knew this would have to happen eventually. Everything comes to an end, Joker.”
It isn’t entirely true. Some things are just universally present; like sentience, or sentience’s dependence on beliefs. He doesn’t say that out loud though, doesn’t move from his position on the rooftop, stooping over the edge as if he’s hoping for a breeze to knock him over it. Maybe he is. He’s not entirely sure.
His silence doesn’t seem to please the Bat, though.
“Look at me.”
The Joker doesn’t move, doesn’t give any indication that he’d heard what Batman said.
“Goddamnit, Joker, look at me!” A hand grasps his shoulder violently, though it doesn’t startle him. Instead it entices an eruption of giggles to burst out of Joker’s throat, grating and harsh, because even though his Bat’s resolve seems to have crumbled to dust amidst all the fighting and anarchy, he’s still as predictably violent as the day Joker met him. It’s endearing, something that Joker loves about him, and he finally turns his gaze to look lovingly at his other half.
The cowl is scratched and dirty, part of the left bat ear chipped away, and the eyepieces no longer glow. Instead, Joker can see the eyes of the man underneath, clouded with irrational anger and hopelessness, and Joker feels his expression soften even further at the familiarity.
He can handle broken things.
“Oh, Brucie. Tell me you haven’t given up now! Not when the curtain is drawing itself closed for the intermission! Just you wait, darling, the show will resume shortly! All we have to do is stand by for the next act!”
His speech doesn’t seem to spark hope in those empty eyes.
“Why, Joker?” Batsy asks instead, voice hollow. “Why can’t you see that this is it? There is no ‘next act’. This isn’t an ‘intermission’. The show is over. Everyone is gone. It’s just you and me, now. There’s nothing left.” His other hand reaches for Joker’s other shoulder, lying there idly instead of hungering for bloodshed, for injury. It’s new, and Joker’s eye twitches at the unexpected intimacy it brings to their conversation.
But Batman’s words ruin the effect, causing Joker’s eyebrows to furrow in confusion.
“I honestly thought you would be happy about this,” He says, and Batman’s eyes stare questioningly. “Well, there’s finally no more distractions. Nothing to get in the way of us. It’s a dream come true! We’re finally on our way to the romance arc we’ve been building to for all these years!”
When Bats doesn’t say anything for a few moments, Joker continues. “I mean, that was what the issue was, right? The reason we couldn’t be together? Because of your silly little relationships, the birdies, et cetera. Well, now they’re all gone! As you said, it’s just me and you! We don’t have to worry anymore!” He smiles, wide and bloody, the re-opened scars revealing rows of teeth which should appear unnatural on his gaunt face, but instead fit in perfectly with his ghoulish features.
His Bat looks like he wants to argue. He opens his mouth, likely to go on his usual angsty rant about family, justice, good and evil and whatever other bullshit thing he likes to kid himself into believing means anything - but he doesn’t. No words leave his mouth, and he closes it with a click of his jaw. Instead, he sighs through his nose, and his shoulders slump. Joker frowns.
“You alright there, honey? Looking a little pale-faced, and that's coming from me.” He asks with a light chuckle, carefully keeping the concerned edge out of his voice.
Batman doesn’t answer for a long, long time. So long, in fact, that Joker guides them to sit on the ground beside one another as his legs begin to ache and the blood-red sun starts to set.
At last, Bats sighs again, and lifts the cowl off of his head and tosses it to the floor a few feet away from them.
Joker doesn’t start at seeing his face, is unsurprised by his identity. He’d found out long ago, back in the early days, when there were no little robins tittering between them and the suit his Bat wore was significantly more destructible.
Bruce Wayne rubs his temples, as though trying to soothe a headache. He watches the Joker from out of the corner of his eye, though Joker gets the feeling that he is not worried for his safety.
Finally, he speaks.
“Is it crazy to say that after all this, I think I’ll be fine?”
Joker cackles, swinging his arm around Bruce’s shoulders, laughing for so long that he wipes an imaginary tear out of his eye (of course, his tear ducts had stopped functioning a long time ago).
“Are you asking me, the Joker, if you’re crazy or not? That’s got to be the greatest joke in the book, baby!” He wheezes, clapping his knee with his free hand. “Oh, you sweet, sweet creature. ‘Crazy’, he says! We’re all crazy, darling, always have been! It’s quite ironic that it took the literal end of the world for you to be able to see that.”
“So you admit that this is the end?”
“For the world, sweetie, yes. But not for us. No, I have a feeling we’ll be around for a while longer.”
There’s a pause, for a moment, where Bats seems to be considering something, but Joker’s distracted by a rat scampering behind some debris nearby, and he almost forgets he’d said something until Bruce speaks up again.
“Yeah, I think so too.”
Joker hums. They’re silent again, a peaceful, contemplative silence that is unusual for the Joker. Usually, he’d feel a crawling itch underneath his skin, an urge to move and destroy and hurt. But since the start of this mess, once the screams died down and the rubble settled, the craving for chaos in his mind had slowed to a blanketing hum of contentment. He can’t even conjure up his usual favourite mental image of the romantic ways in which he would murder his love, his Bat.
“What does this mean for us?” Bruce asks quietly, as the red sky melts into a darker looking maroon with no stars in sight.
Joker hums thoughtfully. “I can’t be the only director in this performance, love. We’ll come up with something, eventually. Together. But for now, I think we should start with agreeing to no longer kid ourselves with a fantasy of our former cat-and-mouse act, yes? It was dragging on, anyway.”
“I can get on board with that.” Bruce agrees, a not-quite smile tugging at the corners of his bloodied lips. “I’d say we’re getting a bit old for it.”
The Joker laughs lightly. “Indeed! Young in spirit, stooping in physique, as they say!”
Bruce doesn’t bother to point out that he had never heard anyone say that before in his life. He just shuffles slightly closer to Joker, shrugging his arm off of his shoulders and bridging the gap between their sides. He doesn’t embrace him, not yet. Neither of them are quite ready for that.
But the knowledge that in time, things could progress to that level (and more), is enough to leave both men patient and content at the edge of the world.