Batman: Locked Up Part 3
Title: Locked Up Part 3
Author: Magick
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Batman/Joker
Summary: The Joker is sent to stay with Batman, and Bruce will have to learn how to deal with the Jokers insanity and his past.
Bruce woke up to find himself in the Jokers room covered in marker ink and dying under the weight of a serious hangover. He forced his eyes open and saw the Joker smiling down at him from behind a huge tome of nursery rhymes. Bruce tried to smile back but the pain in his temples was too much.
“Good morning Sunshine, the Earth says hello!” The Joker said brightly.
“Good morning.” Bruce muttered back, closing his eyes against the brilliance of his smile.
“Have you ever noticed that nursery rhymes are really sad? Here were have a poor little eggman sitting on a wall-and he falls down and even though the kings’ horses and men tried they could not save him. Then you have this old woman who shouldn’t have a dog in the first place if she can’t feed it, but she’s slowly starving it to death anyway because she’s selfish.” The Joker rambled as he flipped through his book.
Bruce tried to master his headache and push it away because he could feel in his gut that this conversation was important. There was something in the Jokers tone that Bruce could not identify. He sounded angry but not angry at Bruce or the fact that Bruce was laying in his bed in a rumpled tuxedo with a semen stain on the front. He seemed to be internalizing his anger and directing it towards something on he could see.
“Then you move onto this lullaby. Rock-a-bye baby in a treetop, when the wind blows the cradle will rock, when the bough breaks the cradle will fall and down will come baby cradle and all. Who the fuck puts their baby up in a tree! Especially when it’s windy!”
The Joker turned the pages a little harder, ripping a few in the process. Then he seemed to find the page he was looking for. He jabbed his finger angrily at the words and Bruce tried to mentally capture the expression on his face. He looked furious and terrified at the same time and Bruce had never seen such a look on his face before.
“This is the worst one. There once was an old woman who lived in a shoe. She had so many children that she didn’t know what to do. So she gave them some broth without any bread, spanked them all soundly and sent them to bed.” The Joker stared at the page for a long moment before ripping it out of the book and tearing it into tiny, tiny pieces.
“She starves and beats her children because she doesn’t know how to be a mother! What’s worse is that she continues to have them even though she can’t feed them and she can’t care for them. That selfish bitch just wanted money! She wanted people to look at her and want to help her! She wanted sympathy! She wanted everyone to look at her and say ‘wow, that poor woman having to deal with the burden of a child like that. Why don’t they get rid of him? Why don’t they send him away for the sake of the family?’ The fucking BITCH!” The Joker threw the book across the room and it hit the wall with a horrible crash. Silence reigned as Bruce tried to comprehend everything the Joker had just told him.
Bruce realized that the Joker was not just yelling about the story, he was telling him something about himself. Giving him some clue as to who he is. Bruce gathered all the information close to him and forced his mind to take it all in and hold it for future reference. Then he looked up at the Joker. The man was sitting beside him with his eyes shut tight and his chest heaving as he attempted to master his rage. There was something unnerving about knowing that a murderer was so close to that edge but fighting it and it made Bruce want to gather the man close as much as push him away. Finally, the Jokers eyes opened and the all encompassing rage Bruce had just seen had vanished and was replaced by laughter. Just like that, everything was funny again. But the Jokers laugh made Bruce feel cold and he needed to get away, to do some searching, to find out just why the Joker was who he was. He forced himself into a sitting position and looked the Joker in the eye.
“I have to go to work today. I’ll be back this evening to bring you dinner, alright?” Bruce said levelly.
“What? No tirade about how sleeping with me goes against everything you stand for? No freaking out or telling me that it meant nothing, you were just drunk?” The Joker laughed but it was a bitter, crazed sound.
“No, I’m telling you that I’m going to work but I’ll be back tonight around 6. I’ll bring you something for dinner on my way home.” Bruce said softly, though his brain was still running a mile a minute.
The Joker looked confused for a second and Bruce had to wonder about his own sanity. He was trying to tell this man, this murderer, that he’d be back for him. Everything was getting crazier and crazier and Bruce didn’t know if he wanted off this merry-go-round or not. He felt more alive than he had in years but he was also terrified of the implications of being too involved with the Joker.
“You really will be back?” The Joker asked.
“Yes, around 6.” Bruce remembered the Jokers raving the night before and tried to smile. “And if I’m held up for any reason I will have Alfred tell you, alright?”
The Joker looked reluctant to believe him but finally nodded and Bruce pulled himself from bed and out the door. Alfred was waiting outside it looking concerned but Bruce waved his questions away.
“It’s a very long story Alfred, but please take care of him today for me. I’m going to grab Lucius and have him help me do some people searching. I’ll be home around 6 and if I call and say I’ll be late, please tell him. That is, unless you want him raving and screaming at you.”
Alfred nodded solemnly and Bruce cocked his head at him.
“What?”
“I know what’s happening, Master Wayne. You’re beginning to see him as a person instead of a monster, aren’t you? You’re finding that there is much, much more than just face paint and murder and it both scares and excites you. But don’t try to be too much of a hero Master Wayne-he may not appreciate being saved.”
“Thank you Alfred.” Bruce smiled before rushing upstairs for a quick shower then was out the door.
***
“I don’t know what you think I can do, Mr. Wayne but I’ll try.” Lucius said after Bruce explained the story.
“I need to find out about the Joker’s family. I have his prints, dental records and DNA from the police and they weren’t able to find anything on him but my gut tells me that he’s on file somewhere, it’s just locked. From the way he was talking I hypothesize that he was a minor when whatever happened happened. We have the technology to pass over those locks so I figured you could run it for me since you’re the genius.” Bruce smiled winningly at the older man and was rewarded by a chuckle.
“Of course that’s why. It has nothing to do with the fact that you’re about to fall asleep where you’re standing. Have a seat boss and rest a little. I can follow the threads for you until we have a more complete picture.”
Bruce settled down in one of the comfortable chairs in Lucius’ office and let his eyes drift closed. Embarrassingly enough, he immediately wondered what the Joker was doing at that minute and he fell asleep thinking of the other man. It felt like minutes later when Lucius was shaking him awake though when Bruce looked outside he could tell it had been a few hours.
“Mr. Wayne, you’re going to want to see this.” Lucius turned the computer screen towards Bruce and waited for him to file.
The file was for a boy named Jeremy Dewitt. The picture showed a 13 year old boy with gruesome scars on his face that looked brand new. The skin was still inflamed and there was blood oozing out on one side-but despite the pain the child must have been in, he was smiling for the camera. Bruce rubbed his eyes tiredly then began reading the small print.
Jeremy Dewitt, age 13, was convicted of burning down his family’s home December 14, 1975. According to Dewitt, his mother was verbally and physically abusive so he killed her. He would not elaborate on what she did to him, instead when asked to explain his mothers’ behavior he would smile and nod but do nothing else. Dewitt was found about 10 miles from his families burning home by a police officer who was concerned about the wounds on his face. He told the officer that the wounds were self inflicted because he wanted to always be smiling.
Dewitt underwent hypnosis January 25, 1976 to undergo questioning for his crimes. He was taken into a solitary room with only the hypnotist and the stenographer that would be recording the incident. The stenographers’ notes are what follows.
Doctor: Please state your name for me, son.
Dewitt: Jeremy Raymond Dewitt.
Doctor: And how old are you Jeremy?
Dewitt: 13
Doctor: Can you tell me about your home life, Jeremy? What was your mother like?
Dewitt: My mother hates me because of my problem.
Doctor: What problem, Jeremy?
Dewitt: I don’t know how to handle people. I have attacks at school where I’ll start screaming and I won’t know why or how to stop. I don’t like to be touched or looked at. My mother wanted to have a trophy child, one she could take with her to parties and be proud of but I’m all she got and she hated me for ruining her womb and taking away her chance for a better child.
Doctor: You mother was unable to have anymore children after you?
Dewitt: No, she had to have it removed.
Doctor: And she blamed you for this?
Dewitt: Yes. It didn’t help that I am not normal. I spend all my time in my room alone, in silence and reading. She hates it and she hates me.
Doctor: Tell me, Jeremy, what happened to your face. How did you get those scars?
Dewitt: My father always told me to smile and nod when my mother ranted at me, that way she would be satisfied and not hit me. I tried it time after time but I assumed that my smile was not wide enough for my mother so I made it bigger. When she called me to her that night she screamed and threw things at me until I was backed in a corner. Stupid, ugly, worthless, I took away her chance at a real life with normal children. She finally ran out of things to throw and I was so angry, so I took away one more thing from her. I took away her life. I grabbed the poker from the fire place and I stuck it through her stomach as hard as I could and she screamed so loudly that my father rushed in. He looked at us for a second before trying to run but I was through with him too. He never saved me so I wasn’t sparing him. I hit him with a book and knocked him down then caught the house on fire. Both of their bodies were found in the rubble.
Doctor: That’s quite a story, son.
Dewitt: Yes it is, it’s a good thing you hypnotized me into telling it to you.
The reports stop here because Dewitt then jumped off of the couch and strangled both the doctor and the stenographer with his shoelaces. The guards rushed in and were too late to save the employees but were able to salvage the record of his confession before he destroyed it. It is assumed that this account is true after talking to his teachers about mysterious bruises and reviewing the information from the crime scene. Dewitt was held in the hospital until a month before his 18th birthday. He was to be tried as an adult on that day but he escaped from the hospital and was never seen again.
Bruce looked up from the computer in horror.
“Pretty heavy stuff, I know. His dental, fingerprints and DNA match this 13 year old boy. The Joker is really Jeremy Dewitt, a little boy who suffered from what sounds like Autism mixed with some type schizophrenia and was punished for it until he snapped. This boy disappeared from files but there are strings of unsolved murders all around the area he disappeared from. For years the cases added up until they all stopped-then they began in Gotham. The Joker is about 30 years old now and he’s finally caught in a place where he may be treated instead of punished, correct?” Lucius paused and looked sternly at Bruce.
“Of course. I’ll always hate him for killing Rachel and Harvey Dent but this past month or so I’ve learned so much about his behavior and how much of his violence is acting out for attention. The boy in this file said that he never understood how to handle people-and now the Joker shows that the only interaction he has with people anymore is to manipulate and kill them.” Bruce stopped, lost in thought, until his eye caught on the clock. It was nearly 5:00.
“Shit, I have to go. Can you print all that out for me and have it sent to headquarters. I want to go over it again when I’m not so tired. I have to beat rush hour and get food before I go back to him.” Bruce rushed out the door without saying goodbye but Lucius only smiled and shook his head.
Bruce made it to his car in record time and called ahead to his favorite restaurant to order food on the fly. He wove in and out of traffic and when he reached the restaurant there was a young girl on the curb waiting with it in her hand. He overpaid her generously for her kindness and sped home as fast as he could. He rushed in the door right at 6:00 and stopped to catch his breath before he opened the door.
The Joker was still lying in bed but he was reading the Patricia Cornwell novel instead of his nursery rhyme book. He tried to look up and laugh nonchalantly but Bruce could see how thin his façade really was.
“I brought food.” Bruce held up the bag as peace offering and the Joker got up and moved to the table.
“You’re right on time.” He remarked lightly.
“I told you I would be.” Bruce answered, opening the bag and setting the food on the table.
“I hope you like Italian.”
The Joker laughed.
“You brought expensive food; I’d be an idiot not to like whatever it was.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes until Bruce broke it by clearing his throat and looking at the Joker expectantly.
“Can you possibly tell me a little bit more about that nursery rhyme book this morning? You were very upset about it.”
“I wasn’t upset. I am never upset. I laugh at everything, always. I laugh at the misfortune of that bitch in the story just like I laugh at the misfortune of all people.” He replied heatedly, then laughed.
“Joker… Do you have a different name? I really think it’d be easier to speak to you if I didn’t have to call you Joker. You don’t have to call me Batman.”
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, Mr. Wayne, you’re trying to get into my head. See what makes me tic.” Suddenly the Joker licked his lips and Bruce’s eyes were drawn to his tongue.
“But you will never learn all my secrets.” He finished, cocking his head at Bruce in question.
“Don’t you ever want anyone to understand who you are beneath all you make-up and scars?” Bruce asked softly.
“I am no one under my make-up and scars.” He replied just as quietly.
Suddenly, Bruce needed to be across the table and kissing the Joker and he did not argue with that impulse. Instead he sat his fork down and moved around the table and pulled the Joker to his feet. He opened his mouth to needle at him sarcastically but Bruce put a hand over his mouth.
“You are someone underneath your scars. You’re not just the Joker in the same way that I am not only Batman. I hide under much more than Batman, I hide under my persona as a playboy as well. Everyone thinks I’m so happy all the time because I have money and women-they never wonder if I miss my parents or if I was a lonely child. They only see what they want to see and they see a wealthy, well adjusted man with women all over him. They don’t know that I dress up as a giant bat and go flying around the city stopping crimes as a way of apologizing to my parents for not being able to save them.” Bruce explained, his lips mere inches from the Jokers.
“My reason for hiding isn’t nearly as noble as that.”
“Why don’t you tell me about it?”
“If I did you’d never touch me again.” The Joker tried to laugh feebly but it came out too strained to count.
Bruce thought about telling him that he already knew but decided against it. He wanted the Joker to feel like he still had some control before he lost himself completely. It was painfully obvious to Bruce what was happening. After years of being treated like a freak, a monster, the Joker learned to be just that. But the expectations changed when he came to Bruce and now he was confused with all the new rules. He started out by raging against it, then he quietly accepted out of necessity but now he was changing. He was still crazy, he still enjoyed reading about gore and murder and sometimes he even dreamt about it but he was so removed from that life now that his whole mindset was shifting. It was more of a curiosity now, to wonder how the blood would look if he plunged a pen into Bruce’s or Alfred’s neck instead of a need to do it that instant.
“I’m touching you right now and I’ve seen you kill people with my own eyes. You killed my very best friend and someone I loved very dearly and I will always hate the part of you that did that but I’ve seen that you are something other than the laughing madman that gave me the wrong address.”
“And how do you know that, Batman?” The Joker asked, his voice once again the hard, sarcastic tone he used to taunt the police.
“Because I’m alive right now and you’re holding a real fork.” Batman answered just before he sealed their lips together.
The metal flatware clanged against the table as the Joker lost his grip on it. Bruce smiled against his lips and pushed him back towards the bed. They reached it in only a few steps and Bruce pressed him down into the soft surface. The Jokers eyes were closed as Bruce took off his own clothing then removed his bright red pajamas. Bruce let his hands linger on each of the scars and he couldn’t help wondering how many of them were inflicted by his horrible mother. The Joker was biting his lip harshly so Bruce kissed him, freeing the abused muscle and urging him to relax. After a while the Joker loosened up and began moving along with Bruce, anticipating each of his touches and answering them with one of his own.
The Joker reveled in Bruce’s smooth skin. There were scars but nothing like the ones on his own body. He felt ashamed being naked in front of someone so perfect and masculine but just as he opened his mouth to vocalize that thought in a harsh, self-depreciating tone; Bruce cut him off with another kiss.
Bruce’s dilemma was very different from the Jokers. While the Joker was worrying about his scars, Bruce was worried about lubrication. He knew the Joker got off on pain but taking him dry was not an option. It would hurt Bruce as well and just the thought was almost enough to make him lose his erection. Then it hit him. With an apologetic kiss he jumped up from the bed and rushed over to the table. He kept his eyes on the Joker and saw the play of emotions cross his face. He palmed the little packet he was looking for and rushed back to the bed and fastened his mouth to the Jokers nipple.
Instantly the negative emotions left his face and his groaned softly in pleasure. Bruce worked the butter packet open and spread it on his cock before positioning himself between the Jokers splayed thighs. Then he held his breath and pressed forward, impaling him slowly inch by tortuous inch. He paused once fully sheathed but the Joker was having none of it. The burn in his body was delicious and he bucked wildly until Bruce pulled out and slammed back in.
The pace was brutal and Bruce knew there was no way he’d last long. The Joker was too hot, too tight and too wild to try for more than a few minutes. Bruce wrapped his hand around the Jokers throbbing erection and stroked it in time with his thrusts, delighting at the way he moved beneath him. Suddenly his body went completely still and his breath stuttered in his throat-then he was coming, spurting between them and coating both their stomachs. Bruce couldn’t resist following him and he thrust deeply once more before coming explosively inside him. The Joker groaned weakly at the sensation of warmth just as Bruce collapsed atop him.
“How do you know I won’t kill you as soon as you fall asleep?” The Joker panted.
“Because I know that you want me to do that again.”
The Joker laughed and Bruce couldn’t help but smile at the sound.
Author: Magick
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Batman/Joker
Summary: The Joker is sent to stay with Batman, and Bruce will have to learn how to deal with the Jokers insanity and his past.
Bruce woke up to find himself in the Jokers room covered in marker ink and dying under the weight of a serious hangover. He forced his eyes open and saw the Joker smiling down at him from behind a huge tome of nursery rhymes. Bruce tried to smile back but the pain in his temples was too much.
“Good morning Sunshine, the Earth says hello!” The Joker said brightly.
“Good morning.” Bruce muttered back, closing his eyes against the brilliance of his smile.
“Have you ever noticed that nursery rhymes are really sad? Here were have a poor little eggman sitting on a wall-and he falls down and even though the kings’ horses and men tried they could not save him. Then you have this old woman who shouldn’t have a dog in the first place if she can’t feed it, but she’s slowly starving it to death anyway because she’s selfish.” The Joker rambled as he flipped through his book.
Bruce tried to master his headache and push it away because he could feel in his gut that this conversation was important. There was something in the Jokers tone that Bruce could not identify. He sounded angry but not angry at Bruce or the fact that Bruce was laying in his bed in a rumpled tuxedo with a semen stain on the front. He seemed to be internalizing his anger and directing it towards something on he could see.
“Then you move onto this lullaby. Rock-a-bye baby in a treetop, when the wind blows the cradle will rock, when the bough breaks the cradle will fall and down will come baby cradle and all. Who the fuck puts their baby up in a tree! Especially when it’s windy!”
The Joker turned the pages a little harder, ripping a few in the process. Then he seemed to find the page he was looking for. He jabbed his finger angrily at the words and Bruce tried to mentally capture the expression on his face. He looked furious and terrified at the same time and Bruce had never seen such a look on his face before.
“This is the worst one. There once was an old woman who lived in a shoe. She had so many children that she didn’t know what to do. So she gave them some broth without any bread, spanked them all soundly and sent them to bed.” The Joker stared at the page for a long moment before ripping it out of the book and tearing it into tiny, tiny pieces.
“She starves and beats her children because she doesn’t know how to be a mother! What’s worse is that she continues to have them even though she can’t feed them and she can’t care for them. That selfish bitch just wanted money! She wanted people to look at her and want to help her! She wanted sympathy! She wanted everyone to look at her and say ‘wow, that poor woman having to deal with the burden of a child like that. Why don’t they get rid of him? Why don’t they send him away for the sake of the family?’ The fucking BITCH!” The Joker threw the book across the room and it hit the wall with a horrible crash. Silence reigned as Bruce tried to comprehend everything the Joker had just told him.
Bruce realized that the Joker was not just yelling about the story, he was telling him something about himself. Giving him some clue as to who he is. Bruce gathered all the information close to him and forced his mind to take it all in and hold it for future reference. Then he looked up at the Joker. The man was sitting beside him with his eyes shut tight and his chest heaving as he attempted to master his rage. There was something unnerving about knowing that a murderer was so close to that edge but fighting it and it made Bruce want to gather the man close as much as push him away. Finally, the Jokers eyes opened and the all encompassing rage Bruce had just seen had vanished and was replaced by laughter. Just like that, everything was funny again. But the Jokers laugh made Bruce feel cold and he needed to get away, to do some searching, to find out just why the Joker was who he was. He forced himself into a sitting position and looked the Joker in the eye.
“I have to go to work today. I’ll be back this evening to bring you dinner, alright?” Bruce said levelly.
“What? No tirade about how sleeping with me goes against everything you stand for? No freaking out or telling me that it meant nothing, you were just drunk?” The Joker laughed but it was a bitter, crazed sound.
“No, I’m telling you that I’m going to work but I’ll be back tonight around 6. I’ll bring you something for dinner on my way home.” Bruce said softly, though his brain was still running a mile a minute.
The Joker looked confused for a second and Bruce had to wonder about his own sanity. He was trying to tell this man, this murderer, that he’d be back for him. Everything was getting crazier and crazier and Bruce didn’t know if he wanted off this merry-go-round or not. He felt more alive than he had in years but he was also terrified of the implications of being too involved with the Joker.
“You really will be back?” The Joker asked.
“Yes, around 6.” Bruce remembered the Jokers raving the night before and tried to smile. “And if I’m held up for any reason I will have Alfred tell you, alright?”
The Joker looked reluctant to believe him but finally nodded and Bruce pulled himself from bed and out the door. Alfred was waiting outside it looking concerned but Bruce waved his questions away.
“It’s a very long story Alfred, but please take care of him today for me. I’m going to grab Lucius and have him help me do some people searching. I’ll be home around 6 and if I call and say I’ll be late, please tell him. That is, unless you want him raving and screaming at you.”
Alfred nodded solemnly and Bruce cocked his head at him.
“What?”
“I know what’s happening, Master Wayne. You’re beginning to see him as a person instead of a monster, aren’t you? You’re finding that there is much, much more than just face paint and murder and it both scares and excites you. But don’t try to be too much of a hero Master Wayne-he may not appreciate being saved.”
“Thank you Alfred.” Bruce smiled before rushing upstairs for a quick shower then was out the door.
***
“I don’t know what you think I can do, Mr. Wayne but I’ll try.” Lucius said after Bruce explained the story.
“I need to find out about the Joker’s family. I have his prints, dental records and DNA from the police and they weren’t able to find anything on him but my gut tells me that he’s on file somewhere, it’s just locked. From the way he was talking I hypothesize that he was a minor when whatever happened happened. We have the technology to pass over those locks so I figured you could run it for me since you’re the genius.” Bruce smiled winningly at the older man and was rewarded by a chuckle.
“Of course that’s why. It has nothing to do with the fact that you’re about to fall asleep where you’re standing. Have a seat boss and rest a little. I can follow the threads for you until we have a more complete picture.”
Bruce settled down in one of the comfortable chairs in Lucius’ office and let his eyes drift closed. Embarrassingly enough, he immediately wondered what the Joker was doing at that minute and he fell asleep thinking of the other man. It felt like minutes later when Lucius was shaking him awake though when Bruce looked outside he could tell it had been a few hours.
“Mr. Wayne, you’re going to want to see this.” Lucius turned the computer screen towards Bruce and waited for him to file.
The file was for a boy named Jeremy Dewitt. The picture showed a 13 year old boy with gruesome scars on his face that looked brand new. The skin was still inflamed and there was blood oozing out on one side-but despite the pain the child must have been in, he was smiling for the camera. Bruce rubbed his eyes tiredly then began reading the small print.
Jeremy Dewitt, age 13, was convicted of burning down his family’s home December 14, 1975. According to Dewitt, his mother was verbally and physically abusive so he killed her. He would not elaborate on what she did to him, instead when asked to explain his mothers’ behavior he would smile and nod but do nothing else. Dewitt was found about 10 miles from his families burning home by a police officer who was concerned about the wounds on his face. He told the officer that the wounds were self inflicted because he wanted to always be smiling.
Dewitt underwent hypnosis January 25, 1976 to undergo questioning for his crimes. He was taken into a solitary room with only the hypnotist and the stenographer that would be recording the incident. The stenographers’ notes are what follows.
Doctor: Please state your name for me, son.
Dewitt: Jeremy Raymond Dewitt.
Doctor: And how old are you Jeremy?
Dewitt: 13
Doctor: Can you tell me about your home life, Jeremy? What was your mother like?
Dewitt: My mother hates me because of my problem.
Doctor: What problem, Jeremy?
Dewitt: I don’t know how to handle people. I have attacks at school where I’ll start screaming and I won’t know why or how to stop. I don’t like to be touched or looked at. My mother wanted to have a trophy child, one she could take with her to parties and be proud of but I’m all she got and she hated me for ruining her womb and taking away her chance for a better child.
Doctor: You mother was unable to have anymore children after you?
Dewitt: No, she had to have it removed.
Doctor: And she blamed you for this?
Dewitt: Yes. It didn’t help that I am not normal. I spend all my time in my room alone, in silence and reading. She hates it and she hates me.
Doctor: Tell me, Jeremy, what happened to your face. How did you get those scars?
Dewitt: My father always told me to smile and nod when my mother ranted at me, that way she would be satisfied and not hit me. I tried it time after time but I assumed that my smile was not wide enough for my mother so I made it bigger. When she called me to her that night she screamed and threw things at me until I was backed in a corner. Stupid, ugly, worthless, I took away her chance at a real life with normal children. She finally ran out of things to throw and I was so angry, so I took away one more thing from her. I took away her life. I grabbed the poker from the fire place and I stuck it through her stomach as hard as I could and she screamed so loudly that my father rushed in. He looked at us for a second before trying to run but I was through with him too. He never saved me so I wasn’t sparing him. I hit him with a book and knocked him down then caught the house on fire. Both of their bodies were found in the rubble.
Doctor: That’s quite a story, son.
Dewitt: Yes it is, it’s a good thing you hypnotized me into telling it to you.
The reports stop here because Dewitt then jumped off of the couch and strangled both the doctor and the stenographer with his shoelaces. The guards rushed in and were too late to save the employees but were able to salvage the record of his confession before he destroyed it. It is assumed that this account is true after talking to his teachers about mysterious bruises and reviewing the information from the crime scene. Dewitt was held in the hospital until a month before his 18th birthday. He was to be tried as an adult on that day but he escaped from the hospital and was never seen again.
Bruce looked up from the computer in horror.
“Pretty heavy stuff, I know. His dental, fingerprints and DNA match this 13 year old boy. The Joker is really Jeremy Dewitt, a little boy who suffered from what sounds like Autism mixed with some type schizophrenia and was punished for it until he snapped. This boy disappeared from files but there are strings of unsolved murders all around the area he disappeared from. For years the cases added up until they all stopped-then they began in Gotham. The Joker is about 30 years old now and he’s finally caught in a place where he may be treated instead of punished, correct?” Lucius paused and looked sternly at Bruce.
“Of course. I’ll always hate him for killing Rachel and Harvey Dent but this past month or so I’ve learned so much about his behavior and how much of his violence is acting out for attention. The boy in this file said that he never understood how to handle people-and now the Joker shows that the only interaction he has with people anymore is to manipulate and kill them.” Bruce stopped, lost in thought, until his eye caught on the clock. It was nearly 5:00.
“Shit, I have to go. Can you print all that out for me and have it sent to headquarters. I want to go over it again when I’m not so tired. I have to beat rush hour and get food before I go back to him.” Bruce rushed out the door without saying goodbye but Lucius only smiled and shook his head.
Bruce made it to his car in record time and called ahead to his favorite restaurant to order food on the fly. He wove in and out of traffic and when he reached the restaurant there was a young girl on the curb waiting with it in her hand. He overpaid her generously for her kindness and sped home as fast as he could. He rushed in the door right at 6:00 and stopped to catch his breath before he opened the door.
The Joker was still lying in bed but he was reading the Patricia Cornwell novel instead of his nursery rhyme book. He tried to look up and laugh nonchalantly but Bruce could see how thin his façade really was.
“I brought food.” Bruce held up the bag as peace offering and the Joker got up and moved to the table.
“You’re right on time.” He remarked lightly.
“I told you I would be.” Bruce answered, opening the bag and setting the food on the table.
“I hope you like Italian.”
The Joker laughed.
“You brought expensive food; I’d be an idiot not to like whatever it was.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes until Bruce broke it by clearing his throat and looking at the Joker expectantly.
“Can you possibly tell me a little bit more about that nursery rhyme book this morning? You were very upset about it.”
“I wasn’t upset. I am never upset. I laugh at everything, always. I laugh at the misfortune of that bitch in the story just like I laugh at the misfortune of all people.” He replied heatedly, then laughed.
“Joker… Do you have a different name? I really think it’d be easier to speak to you if I didn’t have to call you Joker. You don’t have to call me Batman.”
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, Mr. Wayne, you’re trying to get into my head. See what makes me tic.” Suddenly the Joker licked his lips and Bruce’s eyes were drawn to his tongue.
“But you will never learn all my secrets.” He finished, cocking his head at Bruce in question.
“Don’t you ever want anyone to understand who you are beneath all you make-up and scars?” Bruce asked softly.
“I am no one under my make-up and scars.” He replied just as quietly.
Suddenly, Bruce needed to be across the table and kissing the Joker and he did not argue with that impulse. Instead he sat his fork down and moved around the table and pulled the Joker to his feet. He opened his mouth to needle at him sarcastically but Bruce put a hand over his mouth.
“You are someone underneath your scars. You’re not just the Joker in the same way that I am not only Batman. I hide under much more than Batman, I hide under my persona as a playboy as well. Everyone thinks I’m so happy all the time because I have money and women-they never wonder if I miss my parents or if I was a lonely child. They only see what they want to see and they see a wealthy, well adjusted man with women all over him. They don’t know that I dress up as a giant bat and go flying around the city stopping crimes as a way of apologizing to my parents for not being able to save them.” Bruce explained, his lips mere inches from the Jokers.
“My reason for hiding isn’t nearly as noble as that.”
“Why don’t you tell me about it?”
“If I did you’d never touch me again.” The Joker tried to laugh feebly but it came out too strained to count.
Bruce thought about telling him that he already knew but decided against it. He wanted the Joker to feel like he still had some control before he lost himself completely. It was painfully obvious to Bruce what was happening. After years of being treated like a freak, a monster, the Joker learned to be just that. But the expectations changed when he came to Bruce and now he was confused with all the new rules. He started out by raging against it, then he quietly accepted out of necessity but now he was changing. He was still crazy, he still enjoyed reading about gore and murder and sometimes he even dreamt about it but he was so removed from that life now that his whole mindset was shifting. It was more of a curiosity now, to wonder how the blood would look if he plunged a pen into Bruce’s or Alfred’s neck instead of a need to do it that instant.
“I’m touching you right now and I’ve seen you kill people with my own eyes. You killed my very best friend and someone I loved very dearly and I will always hate the part of you that did that but I’ve seen that you are something other than the laughing madman that gave me the wrong address.”
“And how do you know that, Batman?” The Joker asked, his voice once again the hard, sarcastic tone he used to taunt the police.
“Because I’m alive right now and you’re holding a real fork.” Batman answered just before he sealed their lips together.
The metal flatware clanged against the table as the Joker lost his grip on it. Bruce smiled against his lips and pushed him back towards the bed. They reached it in only a few steps and Bruce pressed him down into the soft surface. The Jokers eyes were closed as Bruce took off his own clothing then removed his bright red pajamas. Bruce let his hands linger on each of the scars and he couldn’t help wondering how many of them were inflicted by his horrible mother. The Joker was biting his lip harshly so Bruce kissed him, freeing the abused muscle and urging him to relax. After a while the Joker loosened up and began moving along with Bruce, anticipating each of his touches and answering them with one of his own.
The Joker reveled in Bruce’s smooth skin. There were scars but nothing like the ones on his own body. He felt ashamed being naked in front of someone so perfect and masculine but just as he opened his mouth to vocalize that thought in a harsh, self-depreciating tone; Bruce cut him off with another kiss.
Bruce’s dilemma was very different from the Jokers. While the Joker was worrying about his scars, Bruce was worried about lubrication. He knew the Joker got off on pain but taking him dry was not an option. It would hurt Bruce as well and just the thought was almost enough to make him lose his erection. Then it hit him. With an apologetic kiss he jumped up from the bed and rushed over to the table. He kept his eyes on the Joker and saw the play of emotions cross his face. He palmed the little packet he was looking for and rushed back to the bed and fastened his mouth to the Jokers nipple.
Instantly the negative emotions left his face and his groaned softly in pleasure. Bruce worked the butter packet open and spread it on his cock before positioning himself between the Jokers splayed thighs. Then he held his breath and pressed forward, impaling him slowly inch by tortuous inch. He paused once fully sheathed but the Joker was having none of it. The burn in his body was delicious and he bucked wildly until Bruce pulled out and slammed back in.
The pace was brutal and Bruce knew there was no way he’d last long. The Joker was too hot, too tight and too wild to try for more than a few minutes. Bruce wrapped his hand around the Jokers throbbing erection and stroked it in time with his thrusts, delighting at the way he moved beneath him. Suddenly his body went completely still and his breath stuttered in his throat-then he was coming, spurting between them and coating both their stomachs. Bruce couldn’t resist following him and he thrust deeply once more before coming explosively inside him. The Joker groaned weakly at the sensation of warmth just as Bruce collapsed atop him.
“How do you know I won’t kill you as soon as you fall asleep?” The Joker panted.
“Because I know that you want me to do that again.”
The Joker laughed and Bruce couldn’t help but smile at the sound.