Slipping Into Entropy - Part 24
The lunatic had never looked so helpless, never been so completely at Bruce's mercy before. Even during the little flashbacks in personality that Bruce had chanced upon, there'd always been that coiled tension, that energy vibrating just below the surface, threatening to burst forth in unpredictable, violent ways. Green eyes half-closed and glassy from pain and blood loss, he now resembled nothing so much as an overgrown doll, sadly forgotten in the dirt and trash by a careless child, ripped by passing animals until its stuffing began to bleed out.
It was a sight to see, the giant black car infamous throughout Gotham, shooting down the streets and pulling into the nearest available hospital. Ironically, Gotham General would have been closer, had it not been taken out of commission months ago. Bruce didn't have time to avoid onlookers, but he did launch the tank up the hospital's topmost ramp, going in through a backdoor, carrying the barely conscious Joker the entire way.
Joker did his best to hold the cloth in place despite all the movement that jolted him around, but it was becoming increasingly difficult as his fingers grew colder and numb. It was nearly impossible to manipulate something when you could neither feel the object, nor the muscles you were supposed to tighten. Pulled out of the car again, he dangled limply from Batman's arms, vaguely aware that it had gotten brighter, white and hushed noises all around them. Turning his face away from the reflected, amplified lights, he hid against the darker armor.
They rounded several corners before they ran into anyone. When they did, it was a young man, not more than twenty years old, an assistant, or an intern by the look of him. Bruce advanced, shouting at him to find a doctor, and it must have made a frightening image because the boy ran back down the hall so fast he nearly slid into the wall at the end of it before he hit the stairwell. Bruce searched the area, finding a stretcher to lie the Joker on, checking to see if he was still there after he set the man down. He was, but his breath was shallow and the cloth in his clutch was soaked. Bruce scowled, fighting his own anxiety down inside himself.
The doctor who rounded the corner in response to the hysterical aide's summons stopped abruptly in shock, his jaw visibly dropping at the sight that greeted him. Two of Gotham's Most Wanted were right there, in his ward, the black-clad vigilante fussing over the clownish mass-murderer like... ...like a normal cou- Shoving the thought away, he hoped the aide was smart enough to have gone and called the cops by now. I have a sworn duty, and it's on my head and hands if they die or cause trouble here...
Stepping cautiously closer, wary should Batman turn violent, Dr. Bachman pushed his glasses back up his nose, quickly assessing the situation. "...someone called for a doctor? What happened to this... man?"
Bruce straightened immediately. "He's been shot. It's serious," he growled out. "I need you to help him." At the corner of the hall, the aid having brought his superior and fulfilled his duty, began inching backward away from them, clearly hoping to flee the scene. Maybe even call for help. "You! Don't move." The young man froze mid-step; the doctor swallowed audibly and couldn't quite cover a flinch.
"...Brian, come here. We're going to need another set of hands. Get the bloodwork equipment from that cabinet, there, and follow me to B12." God, what did I do to deserve this? Trying not to look too much at the towering, armored man, not wanting to frazzle his nerves even more, he began maneuvering the wheeled cot into the nearest empty room. Clearing his throat, he turned to Batman nervously. "....remove your gloves and scrub off in the sink. There's a box of latex right beside it. I'm guessing you're not going to let Brian leave to fetch help, so I will need your cooperation."
Bruce hesitated a moment at the thought of fingerprints, but nodded deciding he could risk it if he was careful. He did so quickly, not wanting to let either men out of his sight. They rolled hurriedly into an elevator that took them almost directly to B12. The halls up here were lit in a dingy florescent light, and probably not as well as those downstairs. There was little activity, but Bruce kept his ears out for doors and footsteps. He shut the door and pulled the shades to the glass panel behind them. "You're not leaving my sight until this is finished," he informed them to make things perfectly clear. "If anyone comes for you, you'll turn them away."
"...understood." Goddamnit. What on earth did I do to piss you off? Rushing to set up the equipment for a last-minute emergency surgery, he took a razor and sliced through Joker's clothes, peeling back the cloth until he could see bare skin and the bullet hole. "...only a bullet wound?" he asked, his hands still moving automatically as he took in all the other cuts and bruises. Accepting the anesthetic and stabilizer from Brian, he administered them while the aide set up the heart rate monitors.
"Get a blood sample and page the lab for a match. It looks like he's lost a lot of blood at this point." Swiping a towel saturated with disinfectant over the Joker's bared chest, the doctor looked disgusted when the cloth came away full of dust and grime and caked blood. It took two more towels before he was satisfied that the skin was clean enough for incision.
Batman watched from the side, motionless. He stepped away to give the doctors more room, and he gave to answer to Bachman's inquiring tone and gaze when he saw the Joker's other wounds, both old and recent. It looked like the man on the table had lost consciousness almost completely now, and that worried him. He had never seen Alfred so....ruthless before. He knew he hadn't been listening to the man for days, he knew the butler was becoming increasingly agitated and frightened on his behalf, and he knew that though Alfred presented nothing less than a professional persona to the world, he had been through a lot in his life and knew how to make and follow through with tough decisions. Yet he hadn't seen this coming. Something angry and wrathful coiled deep down inside of him. It was his decision when and how to end this....thing he had with the Joker. No one else's.
The doctor worked quickly and in relative silence, suctioning out the blood and air that was making the lung collapse, patching and stitching the interior wounds as best he could. A knock came outside the door at one point, and Brian opened it just enough to accept a few bags of blood from the lab, hooking them up and inserting an IV.
Dr. Bachman gestured or placed Batman's hands where he needed them, applying pressure or siphoning away more blood that collected in the chest cavity. When the internal work was complete Bachman stitched him back together, applying yet more antimicrobal gel and a protective bandage over the scalpel line. He then turned his attention to the exterior damage. "Brain, hook up an antibiotic to the drip while you're at it. He's going to need it."
Going along with everything Bachman asked of him, Batman stayed relatively silent. Besides the occasional order from the doctor, it was as though they were all afraid to speak. When a lull in activity came, the Joker's chest bandaged, and Bachman's eyes roaming over the knife wounds instead, Batman finally broke his silence. "How bad is it?"
"...not as bad as it could have been. He was very lucky that it went clean through, rather than ricocheting. And that it missed the heart and spine. He won't be running about anytime soon, but he will recover, given proper care." Working on disinfecting and stitching the man's other wounds, color slowly began returning to Joker's face as blood dripped down the IV. "You were lucky to get him here when you did. A few minutes more, he would have died from blood loss."
Bruce nodded again, watching the doctor's hands. He had gotten so used to the knife wounds lately that he hadn't noticed how slowly they were healing. He should have paid better attention.
"Once he's stable, we're leaving." He got the feeling Bachman would protest, but it wasn't a question. It should be a relief for the doctor and his aid at least.
"He will recover with proper care, I said," the doctor remarked irritably, snipping another thread as he stitched the last slash closed. "Jostle him around and separate him from his antibiotics, and I won't be held responsible when he dies on you. Lung injuries are touchy things to heal." He finally wasn't able to help himself, taking a curious peek at the masked man on the other side of the table, wondering what the connection was between him and the patient strewn on the table. I had heard rumors that they were working together, but I didn't believe it...
"If you want him away from the public, you won't argue with me." Batman's low tone was steady, focused compared to the frustrated and anxious doctor. "He can't be left here." Besides the Joker having leverage on Batman being heir to the Wayne empire, he was fairly sure the man had connections wandering the city, perhaps even inside the police force. If they got hold of him, he'd be free again the moment he could stand on his feet.
"How do I know you won't be 'loosing him' on the public, may I ask? I seem to recall something on the news about you breaking him out of jail," the doctor quipped back, his tone mild as he lifted the clown up, guiding Batman's hands to hold his shoulders while he ran a length of gauze around the man's battered torso.
"Trust me," Batman replied simply. In the back of his mind he began to wonder if that was really such good advice after all. Bruce was, though maybe he hadn't always been....confident in his abilities, his motives, and his resources to combat men like the Joker. But, the Joker had also thrown more than a few twists into his motives recently. He was as good at manipulating and caging Batman as they were the other way around. He didn't know whether it was pride, or stubbornness, or something....else, entirely that kept him forging ahead on his own. Gordon was an ally. Lucius was an ally. He had connections, but they were kept at a distance. In the end, whether it was the best decision or not, he would do his best to keep the Joker from being loosed on the city again.
"Easy for you to say," the doctor mumbled back, then shook his head, having Brian switch out the second emptied blood bag while he went digging in the supplies cabinet. Tossing two bottles of pills into a nondescript paper bag, he shoved it into Batman's hand. "Antibiotics and painkillers. Follow the directions. He needs bedrest - that means as much sleep as possible, and no moving about. If you can keep him still. Too much excitement, and he could tear his stitches and the membranes I've used to patch his lung. He'll be back at square one at that point," Bachman warned, stripping off his gloves and washing up in the sink.
Taking the bag offered him, Batman snapped off the latex gloves, shoved them inside it, and replaced them with with the black, leather pair. Carefully, he lifted the unconscious Joker from the table, making sure not to undo any of the damage they'd repaired. "If you're lucky, you'll never hear from me again," he said in parting to the doctor and the aid, Brian, who was looking slightly greenish in the face.
Knowing they would only wait until he had cleared the hall to race downstairs and contact the rest of the hospital, Batman made his exit quickly.
Race away they did, as soon as the black figure and his burden were out of sight. Police soon arrived to take statements and pour over the little ER, scouring for evidence of any kind and comforting the shaken aide. The whole thing left Gordon with a knot of anxiety in his stomach, wondering if he dared flip on the signal to summon his friend for an explanation. If he was still a friend.
Joker was still blissfully unconscious as they slipped back into the second Tumbler, pliable and obedient for once in his life.
Bruce didn't take them back to the lair, nor the penthouse. He didn't want to face Alfred. Instead, the dark tank sped down below the city into the underground railroad connecting Gotham underneath the river, and they wound up at the half finished Wayne Manor once more. He took the tank into the cave, leaving the Joker inside while he turned the generators on. This place hadn't been used in some time.
The injections tha doctor had used weren't meant to keep the man knocked out for long, merely numb the area he was working with. His eyes moved back and forth beneath closed lids, trying to open them vainly; all of his muscles felt too heavy to move. He could dimly hear other sounds, movement, but he was too groggy to put anything together.
He was moved from the Tumbler when Bruce got most of the lights working and the computer system booted up. He had a cot set up in the corner of the large room. When he set the Joker down, he noticed the man's half lidded eyes watching him. So he was half conscious, then. Bruce took off his mask, unfastened his cloak, and laid it over the Joker before setting off to find the stock of first aid supplies. It would take a few minutes for the cave to heat properly.
Someone set something warm over him, like a blanket, then moved away, lights flickering to life as some generator hummed in the distance, the sound echoing off... Cave walls. The thought made his chest tighten, causing an odd feeling that left him coughing in return, his lungs not working like they should. He would have touched his chest to feel around for what was wrong, but his limbs still wouldn't respond, heavy as lead.
Being in the business he was in, Bruce had more than a healthy stock of bandages and other supplies on hand in almost every location he owned; it didn't take him long to find and return with some. He threw the gloves he'd used at the hospital away, and read bottles of medication that Dr. Bachman had given him. Having done what they could for the Joker already, he had a few hours to wait before he would need to re-administer the antibiotics.
After the initial panic of finding himself underground again, his coughing forced his breathing to slow, memories slowly seeping back into his head. He'd been fighting again, with... -and then the butler- ...and then he'd begun dying, feeling the blood rush out of him in a river like he'd never felt it before. There'd been yelling, hands pressing his own to a cloth....
Across the room, Bruce had been ignoring messages from both Alfred and Lucius after word about Batman and the Joker's hospital visit hit the television stations. He silenced his radio receiver, both in Batman's hood and in the entire station just in case they realized that was where he'd holed up for the night. It was only then that noticed that the Joker was looking more coherent. Bruce didn't want to talk to him. Resignedly, he went over to the man, knowing he had to make sure he was breathing properly at least.
An odd feeling, liberally doused in fear, filled him to the bones as he watched Bruce walk closer, making him cough again as his muscles tightened. All of this was unexpected, something he didn't understand, and now he couldn't even move or breathe. The confusion and fear must have showed through his eyes and expression, for the other man paused for a moment as he got close.
It looked like the Joker was ready to bolt if he could only get up. Bruce reevaluated his pace, slowing considerably in his advance. He knelt down carefully to get a better look at the Joker, and hopefully seem less threatening. It wasn't something he was used to doing intentionally around this man, under any circumstance. It was the very opposite in fact, of his usual intention. The coughing didn't sound good. Bruce hoped the Joker didn't try to move too much. If he did, he would have to be tied down, and for that, Bruce would need a larger and more stable bed. "Can you hear me?"
Still watching Bruce with an anxious gaze, Joker nodded slightly, not trusting his burning lungs and disobedient muscles enough to speak at the moment. It was such an odd thing, something he hadn't felt for another living being in years; he was used to chaos, but nature had always behaved in certain ways. He had insight into the nature of things, of people and reality, through his unique experiences, and he had believed in those truths solidly. Little deviations were to be expected, but things always happened in a certain spectrum.
...the fear was because of that, though. He was like a man who'd caught a small glimpse of something that couldn't, shouldn't exist, and now the very ground seemed unstable, whispering subversive thoughts in his mind. Bruce hadn't acted in the way he should have, not if they were the same at the core. Nothing was certain, now.
Bruce followed the Joker's darting eyes, and spoke in low, even tones so that he could be heard clearly, "If you try to move any more, you'll displace the stitches, and I'll have to tie you down." It was a warning he hoped the Joker would understand. But understanding looked like the last thing that was clear in his expression. "Do you remember what happened?"
Another slow nod, the look in the madman's green eyes growing more stricken and desperate, trying to sweep together the crooked pieces of his mind into a whole again while doubt dropped stones into his stomach. He was, in a sense, trying to mentally duct-tape his world back together again after it had been shown to be nothing more than a darkly smoked, shattered mirror.
"Good."
Bruce was uncomfortable. He was sitting, kneeling actually, over the man who should have been pulling a knife on him at any moment to declare the whole thing an elaborate farce. But he wasn't. Something about the Joker looked utterly horrified. In turn.....it put Bruce off balance. Whatever could make the Joker frightened was something....something he didn't want to mess with himself. It was aggravating that he had no idea how they had gotten like this either. He had no idea what the Joker was frightened of, besides nearly dying on the floor of Batman's lair, or waking helpless on his cot. This wasn't helping him understand the man at all; all it was doing was making him want to get as far away as possible, to be anywhere but here, seeing his enemy helpless.
It was no good; the confusion and uncertainty ate at everything he'd constructed until there was nothing left. He was left standing in a darkness even his eyes couldn't pierce, but what was terrifying was the thought that he might no longer have to consider just falling down or the seeking claws of some predator. The rules of nature no longer applied, and anything could happen. He could even fall up.
The void left behind was half cold numbness, half screeching pain. Joker stared miserably at the man who'd brought it all about; he may as well have shot him again. He coughed, then finally got enough breath to whisper. "...why didn't you let me die?"
Rising, Bruce caught the Joker's question halfway to his feet. He glared down at the Joker. The gaze was unforgiving; the pull inside him to get away from the crippled madman, to not have to look at him anymore was strong, but on principle Bruce Wayne didn't run from anything.
"I don't kill."
"Killing isn't... same as... let die. Didn't answer... the question," he breathed back, impassive to the self-righteous glare that the man gave him. He looked, more than anything... tired. He was still who he was, but in some ways he would have to start over from scratch, learn anew in the same exhausting way he had those years ago. He wasn't looking forward to it, and this time he had no idea how to begin.
"I did. It would have been the same." Bruce snarled. Something in him felt sickened. He couldn't get away from it. Imagining himself letting the Joker die in a puddle of blood on his concrete floor made him sick. Seeing the man who had practically brought Gotham to its knees, who had brought Bruce to his knees in a slightly...different way.....made him sick as well. He had sought to understand the Joker, to protect the city, but if he couldn't conceive of mere bullets and fear bringing the killer down, then he knew he had failed miserably at it.
"...it wouldn't," he countered stubbornly. "You could have....and been... rid of me. As you wanted. With your.... precious honor. And now... now... I have nothing."
"You have nothing? You have nothing?" Bruce was furious. "What the hell did you expect?" Did the Joker think he would take pity on him? Is that what he wanted? Bruce got down low to him, eye level, bracing his arms on the sides of the cot. "If you want to die a martyr in the name of your own little delusion of how this world works, then be my guest. But you will not do it in front of me."
That's what was breaking the Joker, wasn't it? In the end, it always seemed to come down to this: whose vision on the nature of humanity held true. They had both built their lives, their entire beings, on these ideals. One pitted against the other. But they had discovered something....else. Each had discovered a tainted part of their view they hadn't understood before, maybe never would understand. That was what the Joker was afraid of, that Bruce could live with getting off on beating him up in spite of his high hopes for the human race, but the Joker could not accept that Bruce couldn't take his chance to get rid of him, after everything he had done. That was how he had wanted to break Bruce, to make him see the Joker's side of the world.
His face twisted up in pain, biting his lip until blood ran in a trickle again, trying to take the edge off of it. This pain wasn't beautific, wasn't glorious and rapturous. It hurt like hell, and he didn't want anything more to do with it, shutting his eyes against the sudden flow of tears down his cheeks. He wanted to scream, but his lungs wouldn't hold enough air.
Bruce couldn't watch anymore. Disgust writ itself across his features. With a shout of rage, he flung himself from the madman's bedside, hands flying out through the air, fists clenching. He should have felt triumphant, he should be reveling in seeing the Joker break, understanding the giant flaw in his logic, but Bruce was irate. That was his own flaw. It maddened him. The Joker was supposed to be his enemy, his equal. In all of his ranting and raving on the subject, the madman had finally made him believe it somewhere deep down, that he posed a real threat to Batman. That all Batman had to do was take him out of the picture and the world would have a chance at finding peace. But Batman couldn't do it. He had never despised the Joker more than he did now.
It ended up being unbearable to endure, too much to have the universe turned upside-down and shaking until everything came loose and fell out. Eyes rolling back behind closed lids, he found that empty, dark space he thought he'd never have to use again, something he thought he'd outgrown. Growing still again, the life went out of his eyes while his breathing slowed and calmed.
It took a moment for Bruce to notice. He had made his way out into the middle of the cave by the time he did. Still it took him a while to cool off. His thoughts didn't settle so easily. He stood there on the stone platform, his head thrown back, arms out, trying to erase his mind and invite calm again, trying to find whatever meditation he could. It came out in a long yell, the release of sound frightening and agitating the creatures that hung from the ceiling and hid in the walls. They dove down around him in a swarm, a mass of energy and wings rushing by and adding a chorus of wind.
The madman jolted in response to the noise, then turned on his side, curling inward and putting his back up against the wall as he tugged the cloak closer. If he hadn't been fully grown, his expression would have matched that of a child that had looked under the bed and found the monsters looking back.
Several of those hairy little monsters found their way into the Joker's corner, fluttering over and around him as though he could help them in their plight. Bruce's scream had ended. He let the sound of his childhood terrors flow around him like a symphony with his eyes closed. He lost himself in it, and it was soothing. His mind cleared, and his heart raced with a different kind of adrenaline while the bats flew around him, one that he had never quite gotten rid of. Every now and then one of them touched an outstretched hand. But it helped.
Flinching again as the little winged creatures flitted about and squeaked in protest, Joker pulled the cloak over his head, huddling underneath it to hide. Oddly enough, the warm darkness was soothing, as was the familiar scent. It was a child's illogical logic, but it worked; cloth might not actually protect against an attack, but any shield from sight and sound gave a measure of peace.
It took a long time for the bats to settle again, even longer for Bruce to open his eyes. When he did, he collected himself and left the room. The Joker had been silent; for that he was grateful. He shed the suit and put it away in the hanger that had actually belonged to the previous suit. He dressed in Bruce Wayne's clothing, black pinstriped pants and a dark navy shirt. He had another room down here, it had a medium sized bed. It had never been used until now. He found it, lied down, and willed himself to go to sleep.
Minutes passed, silence pervading the caves. Out in the open instead of in a room, hearing on the sounds of echoing stone and water and tiny creatures, Joker's hair stood on end. It took a long time to gather up both the courage and will to get his body to move from where it was, petrified on the cot in the corner. Clutching the cloak around him protectively, he stumbled away from the open cave, having to pause to catch his breath every few steps while his heart pounded in fear.
Feeling his way along the walls, he eventually found the same room, shuffling through the doorway as quick as he could to get away from the feel and sounds of being underground.
Bruce shot up into a sitting position the moment he Joker's steps landed at the door. He was surprised the other man was still awake, much less standing. He was clearly having a difficult time of it. Bruce couldn't fathom why he had followed him. "What are you doing?"
Casting fearful glances behind him, Joker stumbled over to the bed in silence, a guilty, subdued look on his face. Nearly falling onto the bed beside the darker man, he huddled next to him miserably. He didn't have any clear thoughts other than the desire to not be alone in the dark.
Severely uncomfortable with this, Bruce contemplated getting up and leaving entirely. It was his first urge. But it was irrational, and would be foolish to follow through with. He noticed how the Joker was lying, curled, trying to get close to him, and he knew it wasn't a good idea to put pressure on his chest like that. His jaw set tightly and he laid back down slowly, not expecting an answer and deciding not to further the question. He took the wounded man by the shoulders, not roughly, and eased him onto his back. "Lie flat." His voice was weary as he turned onto his back as well, lying next to the unhappy clown.
Obeying without a word, he stayed that way for about a minute, then turned on his side again, scooting over until he laid up along Bruce's side, his head tucked against his shoulder and one hand draped over his arm. Just the heat and touch of another presence, coupled with the familiar scent, was enough to be somewhat calming.
"No." Bruce sighed through his nose. He wasn't going to wake up tomorrow with a bleeding and suffocated dead man plastered to his side, so once more, he rolled them. He had to use a bit of force to do it. The Joker clung to him. But once he got the man on his back, he on his side, and their positions reversed, Bruce stayed. He let his body press up against the Joker's side, and let the arm that had pushed his shoulders down rest across him, just below the large patch in his chest.
Finally letting himself be rolled flat onto his back, he relaxed when Bruce stayed put at his side, though one arm snaked up to rest across his as if he was afraid he might retract it. His breathing gradually slowed until he slipped into unconsciousness.
It took Bruce much longer to find sleep. Exhaustion did pull at his limbs, but he couldn't stop thinking. He was caught somewhere between feeling very uncomfortable and feeling.....all too comfortable. Seeing the Joker wounded, mortally, had disturbed him quite a lot more than he had ever thought it would. Maybe it wasn't just seeing him this way, but that the Joker had reached for him when he was like this. The madman sought protection, comfort, help.....the very fact that he had wanted, needed these things from Bruce rattled him.
An hour passed as Bruce pondered and worried, searching for the answers to questions he hadn't realized were there. The smaller body jerked suddenly in his arms, twitching in response to some dark dream. The man's breathing quickened as his face contorted into a mix of fear and anger.
Not wanting to wake him, but....curious still, Bruce shifted his weight, raising slightly on an elbow to see the other man's face which had turned away from him unknowingly. He hovered close, feeling like he was watching something he shouldn't be. He wondered what the Joker was dreaming of, old fears or new? At first he immediately assumed he was dreaming of whatever hellish kind of life he had lived before he had wandered into Gotham, but on second thought it wasn't inconceivable that he could be dreaming of the present. Bruce wouldn't be able to forget the expression the Joker held only a few hours ago, eyes screwed shut, nose wrinkling, lips pulled back, and tears running down the sides of his face standing out against what was left of the dirty white makeup. It had looked like agony. The expression he held now was a shadow of it. Underneath Bruce's palm, he could feel the other man's blood pumping faster.
Whimpering quietly, he shook again as if stuck by a blow, then tried to curl up into a ball, his breathing pained and ragged. He was completely oblivious to his company, living out his own internal hells in his subconscious.
Bruce tightened his hold, wrapping his other arm underneath the Joker to hold his waist. He used his legs to maneuver himself closer, between the Joker's legs that had been trying to pull up into himself and thus cut short the movement. Instinct told him to provide comfort, but in the back of his mind he was wary, keeping one eye on the man's expression should he lash out unexpectedly.
A wary surprise flickered across Joker's sleeping features, the contact making him go rigid for a moment. He relaxed slowly, then burrowed against Bruce, a childlike smile slipping into place. His dreams had never turned this way before, always waking him after a few hours of rest, the constant sleep deprivation adding a further edge to the insanity.
Waiting like that, locked together for minutes after he had relaxed into Bruce, he finally realized that the Joker wasn't going to tighten up again, he wasn't about to lash out. He even looked happy. Bruce stayed wary for as long as he could, but eventually, seeing no further negative response, he began to relax.
The Joker's body was warm. Bruce's forehead was pressed to the side of his temple in the closeness of their embrace. The Joker's tangled hair fell into his face. It wasn't unpleasant. He didn't.....mind being like this.
He might have still smelled like some wild thing, but for the moment Joker remained utterly tame. Comforted by the touch and warmth, the nightmares seemed to stay at bay, leaving him quiet and peaceful within Bruce's embrace. His breathing and pulse slowed again as he slipped back into deep slumber.
Bruce fell into the unconscious world not long after. As he did so, what tension that was left in his body eased out almost completely. He slept deeply, head lolling into the touch of the other man's skin, relaxing and loosening. It had been a long time since he had been able to let go in this way, guard finally lowered for the night, resting to fight again another day.