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The Batman stood, tall and proud, surveying his city. It wasn’t easy, being the protector of this hellish city. Sometimes it felt as if it were actively rejecting his attempts. But still, he had to try. Nights like these were the ones that made him want to give up. All around police sirens echoed and screeched, getting inside his head, and making the perpetual headache pound. The biting wind was working its way through his armour and making him miserable, and the torrential downpour hadn’t let up the entire time, meaning Bruce was shivering, and he still had six hours of his shift to go. Why don’t more criminals have nights like these off from their dirty business? Must they utilise poor visibility and chills?
Whilst Bruce was busy brooding atop of Wayne Tower, Barbara was warm and dry inside the Clocktower. It wasn’t often that Bruce was jealous of Oracle but nights like these certainly made it hard for him not to be a bit snappy with her.
She broke his envious brooding, distracting him from thoughts of warm, dry clothes and a mug of hot tea. “B, I think someone is trying to break into the Clocktower.”
Bruce’s heart gripped with fear, he couldn’t lose another family member. He did all this to keep them safe. “Received. Heading there now. ETA -”
Barbara cut him off. “No. They’re breaking into my apartment, not my Oracle base. They want Barbara Gordon, not Oracle. I want to see where this goes, I need to know why they want Barbara Gordon. It’ll do no good for Batman to magically know and interrupt before he’s been called for. I’ll bait them and keep my tracker on me. I’ll lead you to where they take me and we can find out what is going on. Okay?”
Bruce wasn’t happy about it but decided Barbara had a point. There must be a reason why these people had gone for Barbara Gordon, especially if she had no known connections to any of the Gotham vigilantes. He sighed and relented, “received. Keep your tracker and comms on.”
“Roger Dodger,” and with that, Oracle became the Commissioner's daughter once more. Batman threw himself from Wayne Tower, diving and gliding to reach the roof of the Clocktower. He wasn’t going to interrupt, simply watch and see when he needed to get involved. As he tried to land on the slanted roof, the rain made the tiles impossibly smooth. Bruce’s feet slipped from underneath him, but he managed to grab the edge of the building at the last moment. Slipping and falling to his death would’ve been embarrassing. Bruce really needed to talk to Lucius about adding some grip onto his suit, the Batman cannot be slipping and sliding every time it rained. Finally, after crawling back up to the vantage point on the roof, Batman crouched and listened to Barbara’s break in.
Nothing about this left Bruce reassured. Sitting and waiting for his cue left him uneasy, he preferred to be in control. Bruce nervously brought up his scanner on his wrist computer, wiping it every few seconds clean of raindrops.
A large crashing sound could be heard over the comms mixed with Barbara’s startled shouting. The girl was a convincing actor and the sounds made Bruce’s stomach twist up. He should be helping. Instead of rushing in and taking out the numerous thugs that had no doubt invaded the apartment, Bruce crouched and listened. He could hear smashing, crashes and Barbara pleading for them to leave her alone.
Then all the noises stopped as another person joined the room. He was speaking too quietly for Bruce to hear so he pulled out his wrist computer to turn the sound up. At first the screen didn’t respond due to the rain, and his glove kept smearing all the water around the screen instead of pressing any buttons. Growling, Bruce frustratedly pulled of his glove and wiped his screen on the cape and finally was able to turn the volume up, having now missed most of the typical monologue. All he caught was a bone chilling cackle.
“Joker,” Bruce and Barbara said at the same time. This just took a turn for the worst. Bruce heard Barbara, amplified now, pleading feverishly for her and her father’s life. No doubt being back at the mercy of the man who had paralysed her brought up some slight traumatic memories. All Bruce could do was grip his hands, one uncovered, and trust Barbara.
Through the comms Bruce heard the girl ask what he wanted, voice wavering and panic evident in her tone. The clown responded, giving a vague answer about attracting the attention of a very important man. Then, he gave the order to have Barbara blindfolded and wheeled out to their van, which was waiting just outside for them. Bruce watched as the group left the building and collected themselves in the van, one thug driving with Joker riding shotgun and two in the back with Barbara.
As the van drove through the dark and wet streets Bruce heard Barbara counting under her breath, announcing whether they had turned left or right and then starting from one again. The clever woman was leaving him a clear breadcrumb trail to follow. With the additional information provided by her tracker, Batman leapt off the top of the tower and started to follow her. She would not be harmed; he was making sure of it.
Whilst Barbara counted and Bruce parkoured through the city to get to her before more harm could occur, Bruce opened the main comms channel that Oracle mainly oversaw. “Present?” he asked with the Batman growl.
“Here,” chirped Nightwing, only slightly out of breath. Black Bat tapped her comms twice to indicate she was also present.
The line was silent. Bruce waited to see if anyone else would announce their presence. “Where is everyone else?” he asked when it was clear no one else would be speaking.
“Umm, well Red Robin is with the Titans, I think. Red Hood is probably in space or Russia. Spoiler is, oh I don’t know actually, Black Bat where is Spoiler?”
“Finishing school project.”
“Oh yeah! Spoiler is finishing her project because it’s due tomorrow and she only started it yesterday. Signal is only doing the day shift and-”
Bruce rolled his eyes. God bless his eldest, Bruce loved him, he really did but sometimes he gave far too much information when a simple answer would suffice. Finally, Nightwing had finished. “Why do you ask, B?”
“Barbara Gordon has been taken from her apartment today by Joker and some of his thugs. They are en route to a secondary location, which is currently unknown, but I am in close pursuit. Requesting back up for arrival.”
Cass once more tapped her comms twice, giving an affirmative. “En route too, B. I’m following your tracker but I’m on the other side of Gotham. ETA 12 minutes.” Dick’s voice had hardened, and all traces of playfulness had vanished from his voice.
Glad to have backup, Bruce refocused on following the van that had taken Barbara. They were approaching the housing quadrant of Gotham, where all the new properties were being developed. Taking a surprising left turn into the housing estate led to the van being surrounded by bungalows, certainly an odd choice for a villainous lair. Maybe Batman should be more appreciative, not everyone could get a stylish and thematic hideout.
Still though, to go from Amusement Mile, which was on brand for the Joker, to a tiny, unfurnished and barely finished bungalow in Gotham’s new housing estate? Bruce hadn’t seen a bigger downgrade, except for when Tim had shaved his head and looked a bit like Eminem, but they all tried to forget that period.
Holding up on a nearby roof, the Batman watched as the thugs dragged Barbara Gordon, with her wheelchair, from the van and up the two steps into the bungalow. After she had been secured inside, the Joker got out of the van in his gaudy purple suit, which was covered by his clashing neon green raincoat. The colour was so bright and offensive to Bruce’s eyes, and it made the pounding in his head much worse. Tonight was already miserable enough, couldn’t they be up against one of the Rogues who had a sense of style? Or at least Scarecrow, whose brown, shapeless gown was at least easy on the eyes.
Joker looked around the bungalows, eyes sliding right past Batman. “Waiting on the big man now,” he announced, presumably to the goons stationed inside, in the dry. Bruce longed to be there with him. Instead, he remained in the rain, getting soggy, waiting for Black Bat.
In only a few minutes he caught sight of a dark figure leaping from roof to roof towards him. When Black Bat was in front of him he raised his hands, silently signing to her all the information he had. She nodded and gestured for him to enter through the front door, whilst she covered the back. Bruce nodded and then leapt off the roof, approaching the door to the bungalow quietly, the rain covering the sound of his footsteps. Black Bat jumped and Bruce lost sight of her in the darkness.
Batman approached the door, being careful on the stairs due to the reduced grip from the rain. Right before the threshold there was a fine metal grate, with deep gaps to collect rainwater and flush it to the drainage system. The grate, whilst a good attempt to prevent flooding, was a rather poor idea as it was extremely slippery when wet, and it often rained in Gotham.
Bruce made a note of the good intentions with this new build but wanted to circle back to it as the City Investor version of Bruce Wayne. It would do no good to have bungalows that were accessible and ideal for pensioners to have a slippery grate right before two steps. It was simply a recipe for disaster. Bruce tried to remove the images of the fallen elderly that were sure to succumb to this slippery grate and stair combination and knocked on the door. Nobody ever expects Batman to come through the front door.
Inside the bungalow, the dull drone of voices paused, and Bruce heard approaching. It opened and there stood the Joker, in all his offensive neon glory. “Bats? What are you doing here?”
“You took Barbara Gordon. You said you were waiting on the ‘big man’. Here I am, Joker, let Gordon go.”
“Oh no, no, no Batsy. The big man wasn’t you this time. I’m really sorry, but not everything is about you. No, no. The big man this time is the backbone of the city, Jim Gordon.” Joker stepped aside, revealing Barbara Gordon strapped into her wheelchair with the three thugs standing next to her. “The man of the hour. We had so much fun when I shattered her T2 vertebrae. This lovely little lady still has a working upper half, I want to see his face when I smash C4 through to C6. I do love how his daughter screams so wonderfully.”
Bruce tried to control his anger. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I can! Because he dares to try and stop me showing his actual face and using his real name and he needs to know what happens. I will destroy his entire family and leave him knowing it is all his fault. Even you’re not stupid enough to face me without a mask, are you Bats? Then again, that didn’t stop me from getting to your precious little birdy, did it?"
Bruce lunged forwards but Joker jumped backwards, and the three thugs abandoned guarding Barbara to grip him. Their hold was weak, but Bruce let them think that they had him secured.
Joker tutted, “Oh no. I’ve already told you, this isn’t about you, for once. Joker’s busy right now, okay Batsy? You’ll have to wait until I’m finished.” There was a knock at the door. “That’ll be our guest, do step aside please.”
Batman didn’t move, unwilling to let Jim walk into this horrendous trap. “I won't ask again so nicely.” The thugs tightened their hands and Bruce let himself be led away from the door. From the corner of his eye, he could see where Barbara had been placed and he just managed to catch a glimpse of a dark blur. Cassandra was here. Good, all Bruce needed to do was bide his time.
Joker pranced to the door, looking like a fool the entire way. He had a clown aesthetic but surely he didn’t want to go the entire way to being the jester of the court? Instead of a deranged sociopath, the man looked like an idiot. Judging by the sighs he heard from the goons, he wasn’t the only one who thought so.
“Who is it?” He asked in a sing-song voice. There was no reply. “I said, who’s there?” Joker repeated, sounding slightly more annoyed. Again, there was no response. Eventually Joker roughly grabbed the door handle and flung open the door, growling “who’s calling?”
The stoop was empty, save from the puddles dripping from the gutter. Joker stuck his head out, looking both ways to check for their supposed guest. When he found no-one, he turned around and quietly shut the door, seeming deflated. “Seems like the Commish doesn’t want you Baby Gordon. Such a shame. A waste of a good spine. And to think, I got all dressed up for this.” Joker twirled around, showing off his outfit.
The striped, purple suit flared out from his pale, emaciated body, his green bow tie clashing horribly with both the suit and the yellow dress shirt. After twirling he lifted his leg, shoving a pointed black shoe into Batman’s vision. “Look, I even got shoes special for this occasion. I wanted them to look nice when stepping in Gordon’s blood.”
Joker’s shoes were knock off Gucci dress shoes, which already had a poor excuse for grip on the soles. He had stupidly spray painted the soles of the shoe purple which, besides looking like a poor man’s version of a Louboutin, removed any speck of grip that the shoe may have originally had. The purple colour he had spray painted the shoes wasn’t even remotely close to the purple of his suit, and the paint was already chipping off. Joker looked off putting, and not even in a scary way. He just simply looked awful. It was hard to marry the memory of the man who had brutally murdered, tortured, and destroyed millions just for the sake of it to this foolish, revolting imitation. Perhaps that was the point. Once more Bruce wished for Scarecrow and his easy, simple gown.
The knock on the door came again, and this time Joker was finished with the theatrics. He strode to the door in his ugly outfit and flung it open. From where Bruce was held, he could see Gordon standing nowhere close to the door, leaving the steps between himself and the demented clown.
“Commissioner, I am so glad to see you. You’re just in time for the show. The main act this evening is Barbara Gordon starring in ‘Me Before You,’” Bruce grimaced at the reference because it felt like a bit of a stretch, but Joker had a wide smile gripping his face, showing rotting yellow teeth and receding gums. Jim showed no signs of getting any closer to the bungalow, so the Joker took it upon himself to retrieve the Commissioner.
He took a step forward, one foot landing squarely on the wet, slippery metal grate. His shoes skidded slightly, but Joker regained control quickly. When he pushed off with the other foot however, Joker lost his balance as his remaining foot slipped rapidly off the grate. He fell down the two steps to get into the bungalow. There was a sickening crack as Joker’s skull connected with a large rock on the ground. Blood seeped out the gash, matting the neon green hair instantly. His neck was bent at an impossible angle, the sight gory enough to make even the Bat squeamish. Necks should not bend that way. The Joker did not move.
Seizing the opportunity, the three thugs dropped Bruce’s arms and booked it out of the bungalow, jumping in the van and driving into the night. The Gordon's and the vigilantes remained where they were, a good distance away from the fallen clown. Nobody knew what to do. Eventually, having had enough of the tension, Barbara wheeled towards his unmoving form. Barbara picked up a stick and prodded Joker with it. He didn’t move. “Dead,” she announced, decisively.
Cass followed her mentor and approached the scene. She kicked the Joker’s leg with her sensible, extremely grippy boots. The Joker didn’t move. “Dead,” She echoed.
Bruce switched to Detective Mode on his cowl. Joker’s bpm read 0. His heat signature was fading. There was a crack in his skull, immeasurably big and irreparably broken. The spine had distorted itself and the neck was almost parallel to the rest of the body. “Dead,” he said, almost unable to believe it.
The group stood around Joker’s immobile body, unsure of what to do next. It felt like an important moment, but nobody seemed to care. There was certainly an air of relief in the bungalow, but at the same time the whole thing felt underwhelming. Nobody dared to speak. Nobody wanted to break the silence that had-
Bang. Jim Gordon lowered his gun from where he had pointed it to the Joker’s skull. Now he had a gash on his forehead to match his gaping hole in the back. “Definitely dead.” Gordon said, his tone booking no room for arguments. “That was for my family, you sick son of a bitch.”
Barbara smiled proudly at her father. Jim ran to her, making sure that she hadn’t been harmed in any way. She shook her head and pulled him into a hug.
Nightwing landed on a neighbouring roof, and after checking that the potential danger was contained, he approached the bungalow and its inhabitants. He looked at Bruce, Cass and the two Gordon’s before processing the scene that quite literally lay before him. Dick let out a startled laugh at the Joker’s unresponsive, cold, and bloodied body. “So, how did he die?”
“Slipped on the drain, fell down the stairs and hit his head on a rock and broke his neck.” Barbara replied, holding back laughs.
Dick didn’t hold back his laugh. “Fell down the stairs in a bungalow and broke his neck. What a stupid way to die. Cannot relate.”