For Laughs - Batman/Criminal Minds - Chapter 15 - 16/17
Title: For Laughs
Fandom: Batman (Nolan universe, mostly)/Criminal Minds
Links: Prologue + Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6 + Chapter 7 + Chapter 8 + Chapter 9 + Chapter 10 + Chapter 11 + Chapter 12 + Chapter 13 + Chapter 14
Rating: T (overall), but ventures into M
Warnings: Joker-level violence, serial killer activities
Summary: If the BAU wants to catch the Joker, they'll need to profile the Batman. But will all of the team survive to close the case? Gen fic.
Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or any related characters in the franchise, nor do I own the television show Criminal Minds. Written for fun and sick kicks, not profit.
Chapter 15
Just For Laughs
The laugh was high-pitched, echoing off the walls of the building, heard outside by the waiting men in clown masks. And it was genuine.
No forced Hee or pronounced Ha. A laugh, pure and simple.
Reid gasped, the pain in his chest leaving him blinking away tears, but he shook with relief because the pain was still there. He was still there. Reid tilted his head up to see that his shirt had fallen open once more and a long welt showed at his sternum, its forming bruise blending in with the dull purple blotches on the surrounding skin. Reid released a sigh of relief, but his confusion was still apparent in his wrinkled brow and his dropped jaw.
The Joker patted him on the shoulder, unable to stop the laughter from shaking his body. "You should have seen," he cackled, manic, "your face."
To illustrate, he raised the knife and dove it into his own palm. The blade disappeared. And didn't reappear out the other side.
A retractable knife.
Reid sobbed at the realization. The sob turned into a laugh, and he convulsed to the point of hysterics. Laughing. Laughing with death. Laughing with his murderous abductor. Reid wondered if this was real. Or was he in some sort of coma, laying in a hospital somewhere, imagining the strange encounter?
A fit of coughing finally brought the agent's chuckles to a trailing stop. Reid released another rough hack, his head lolled to one side, where the clown was finally beginning to calm himself down.
"This is actually about the Batman," Reid breathed. "You weren't lying."
The Joker sat down the retractable, false knife and picked up a rusted, flathead screwdriver in its place. Its crystal plastic handle had the name "Dave" etched into the side. Reid had no doubt in his mind that this weapon was very real, and at least two decades old.
"No one ever listens the first time," the Joker finally said. "Still too sane to answer questions. Gotta introduce a little crazy into their world before they spill," he explained. He waggled the screwdriver in front of Reid's face. "The next one, though, it's gonna hurt."
Reid closed his eyes, knowing the threat wasn't empty. But somehow, he couldn't bring himself to care quite as much. Was this what it felt like to be crazy? Had he reached it yet? "You don't really care who he is, you just wanted us here to profile him." He opened his eyes, gazing into the Joker's grin, as if it were a shark's. "Unsubs make the best profilers," he said, quoting an old friend. "You want to clear the Batman's name, don't you?"
"Me?" the Joker said, patting his chest in awe, "Help the Bat? Kiddo, you're off your rocker."
Nevertheless, the clown's smile was unwavering.
"Because you can't stand the thought," Reid swallowed, "of the world believing the Batman broke on his own. You want to be the one to make him into a monster, you want to be the one to force his hand."
The Joker tapped Reid's neck with the screwdriver before leaning forward, his stale breath against Reid's ear. "Because we're all the same, on the inside," he hissed.
Reid felt nauseous. He knew it was the blood he'd ingested, but a part of him wondered if it wasn't intuition. Without a doubt, he knew what this madman, this clown who prided himself on his unpredictability, was planning for the agent. All the pieces were falling into place, and time was running out.
"I like you, kiddo," the Joker continued. "You've got a great sense of, uh, humor."
Another piece.
"That's why I'm going to do you, how would our friend Mr. Zsasz put it? Umm, a little favor. Yeah, I'm going to do you a favor, kiddo. I'll get the information from someone else." The Joker pulled away, looking down at the agent. His smile was gone, replaced by a frown, as if the words didn't amuse him any longer. "Someone more deserving. You, you… I'm going to save you from yourself." He leaned in closer, pushing the sharp flathead against Reid's jugular. "You'll never become a monster. Like me."
Reid saw a shadow above the lights, something tall, perched on the room-sized oven near the building's top row of windows. Spencer blinked lazily, his vision blurred around the edges, but he didn't want to call attention to the form. Instead he swallowed, wincing when the tool was pressed more tightly against his skin. He looked up at the Joker.
"I'll never be a monster," Reid said, confident.
The Joker still didn't smile. A look of shock crossed his face when the ping of a gunshot rang out, echoing in the darkness outside the factory. It was followed by the sound of an automatic weapon being fired in rapid succession. But the criminal didn't have time to question it. A black gloved hand dove out, grabbing the Joker by the neck and tossing him away from the conveyor belt. The screwdriver landed on Reid's chest, rolling over his torso.
Batman stared down at the agent a split second, a black, expressionless statue, before turning his attention back to the clown.
The swat team was under fire.
Morgan swore under his breath, carefully tucking himself behind the abandoned metal cargo bed of a tractor trailer. The fading red words announcing Marcus Toys Inc. floated above his crouched form. The rest of the team was still at the SUVs. Morgan stared back at them, checking for injuries, but it appeared that only the SWAT officer first fired upon was down, a red stain on the ice below his knee. His colleagues were dragging him behind their vehicle.
Derek knew he should wait. There was no question about it, there were more men on the way, and if officers weren't already inside the building, they would be soon enough. The gunfire ceased for a split second and Morgan could hear it, coming from inside: laughter. Maniacal, teasing, laughter.
He wasn't waiting. Morgan signaled for the team to cover him and hoped they got the message. His feet steadied themselves on the slick ground, and then he took off, letting his long legs do the thinking for him as he crossed the distance of the space between the storage unit and the shadow of the main doors.
Weapons fired, but from behind him, toward the right face of the building, where a half dozen criminals were holding territory.
The door was unlocked. Somehow, Morgan couldn't find that surprising. He slipped in, quietly, just in time to see the Joker make a run at the Batman with a knife. Before Morgan could shout out, the vigilante had thrown up an arm, blocking the movement, and throwing the Joker back with a sweep of his arm.
Then Morgan saw Reid on the belt, and made a quick decision. He crossed the length of the factory, eyes focused on his fellow agent.
Reid heard the footsteps and rolled his head back at a painful angle, looking for the source. "Morgan!"
The younger agent's voice was hoarse, and Morgan had no doubt as to why. The factory was as frigid as the outside world and Reid had been stripped of his coat, his shirt and vest cut away and hanging at his arms.
Morgan paused, registering the marks across Reid's stomach, the developing bruises along his thin torso. And the blood at his face. "Reid," Morgan shook off the shock. Forced himself to look away, "just hold on, man, I've got you."
Reid smiled tightly, and the expression looked pained. "Hurry," he said.
Morgan yanked at the strap across his body, holding his arms in place. Three quick tugs, and it was pulled free. He moved down to the feet.
"Watch out!" Reid shouted.
Morgan turned just in time to see a clown mask above, gloved hands raising pistol. He kicked out, knocking the weapon away, and moved in to restrain the Joker's man. Reid sat up, wincing, and pulled his feet out the loosened restraints.
The world around him spun. Unable to stay still, Reid fell off the belt, landing noisily onto the floor with a yelp. Disoriented, he scrambled to find something to hide behind. Without realizing it, he found himself behind the table the Joker had been using. It was knocked onto its side, the "tools" the Joker had wanted to use, had used, were slung out across the floor, joining the litter of scattered papers. A book was laying amongst the mess as well, spine broken in the fall. Reid felt a bubble of hysterics form in his throat when he read the title, recognized the author's name. David Rossi. One of the founding members of the BAU.
Reid managed to brush off the thoughts stirring in his mind, instead reaching out, seeing double, but his fingers found something familiar. It wasn't the book. Beneath the pages sat his Colt 17, slung out of its belt holster. The gun felt heavy against his palm, but he lifted it, nevertheless.
"You know, I'm doing you a favor," the Joker snapped.
Reid stiffened at the words, the hairs on his neck standing, but he noticed the clown was no where near him. Reid peaked out from behind the table and saw that the statement had been directed at the…
"Batman," Reid hissed, too low to be heard.
The vigilante was pinned under the weight of the tilted cauldron, his stomach against the floor as he scrambled to push the vat off of his body. But the Joker leaned down onto it to hold it into place and pulled out a knife from his ankle strap. His wide grin was directed entirely at the Batman, but the vigilante was looking elsewhere, at Dr. Reid.
Reid wasn't sure when his legs had managed to stand, but he found himself straight, his arm out in front of him, the weapon trained on the Joker.
"Spencer, don't!" Batman growled.
Reid didn't hear him. He pulled the trigger.
Reid leaned his head against the pillow, but he didn't close his eyes. Didn't dare. Because that meant looking away. The curtain had been pulled back so that he could see her silhouette, the spill of her long blond hair over the covers. He still couldn't believe that J.J. was alive. Not by any act of mercy, not by any moment of chance, but because someone had been there to rescue her. Batman.
Reid's smile was soft, sad. She hadn't awoken since he'd arrived. And the doctors had only managed to keep him in the hospital because of the promise that she would probably wake sometime in the night. Reid didn't like it here. It smelled too much like the sanitarium, and there was the constant offer of medications for the pain. Something to make it seem like it wasn't real.
No.
He refused to take them, even if it meant staying awake even longer in an attempt to get comfortable. Out of habit, he scratched at the IV planted in the crook of his arm, reminding himself that it was just for his dehydration, nothing more.
"She'll make it," a voice said.
Reid tried not to jump but failed. He rolled his head to the other side. Batman was standing a few feet away. Reid wasn't sure if the man had used the door or the window, and he somehow doubted he'd find out any time soon.
"Morgan just stepped out," Reid said. "Snack. I don't think he's eaten over the past thirty hours."
The Batman acknowledged the statement with silence before taking a step forward. "You should be asleep," the Batman noted.
Reid heard the vigilante's voice raise slightly. It reminded him more of Bruce Wayne's voice. Reid knew that the slip was no slip at all, but a statement all unto itself: I know you know.
"I don't want to," Reid admitted, shamefully looking down at the covers. "Not sure what I'll see when I close my eyes." He cleared his throat, wishing he could take back the admission. "I know why you're here," he said, "you want to know if I can…stay quiet." Reid looked up sharply. "I won't tell. No one needs to know."
Batman didn't speak for a moment, his eyes on the female agent in the next bed. He looked away from her. "You could have killed the Joker," he finally said. "But you didn't."
Reid shook his head. He'd taken the shot, the bullet hitting the Joker above his left ankle. The distraction had been just enough for the Batman to pull himself free before SWAT flooded the factory.
"I've been told I have bad aim," Reid countered.
Batman tilted his head to once side, studying the agent. "You did what was right," he concluded, "even though you thought the Joker was responsible for killing your friend. You spared him."
For a life locked in Arkham. "Did I?" Reid voiced, softly.
"You'll do the right thing again," Batman said.
Reid nodded, unsure, "Thank you. For saving me, and J.J."
"Penelope Garcia," Batman replied. At Reid's raised brow, he continued, "I wouldn't have found you without her." He hesitated only a moment. "I'm going to hold on to her number."
As tender as his cheek was, Reid couldn't help the smile on his face. Somehow, he doubted that the Joker was aware of the Batman's sense of humor. He wondered, briefly, if Batman had spoken to Hotch yet. Between the hardened gaze and the masked personality, the two seemed more alike than Reid would have expected.
"Still, thank you." Reid forced down the grin, becoming somber once again. "If you ever do break, though, I'll be back. To arrest you."
Batman nodded once. "I'll hold you to that," he replied, the gravel in his voice returning. "Go to sleep, Dr. Reid."
Reid wasn't sure why, but he closed his eyes, drifting off in minutes under the watchful eye of the Bat.
READ THE EPILOGUE