Actions

Work Header

Rating:
Archive Warning:
Category:
Fandoms:
Relationships:
Characters:
Additional Tags:
Language:
English
Series:
Part 3 of City Goblins
Stats:
Published:
2015-09-15
Completed:
2015-11-16
Words:
4,333
Chapters:
5/5
Comments:
90
Kudos:
756
Bookmarks:
50
Hits:
14,279

Heal in the Howling

Summary:

It all starts because he was ambushed (the Batman managed to get himself ambushed imagine that)
Batman gets busted up and Bruce Wayne gets hospitalized. An unexpected visitor shows up to keep him right.

Chapter 1

Notes:

Oh man oh god oh man what have i done i wrote more batjokes fic o_O The title is also a song (of course) by the *amazing* O'death, i'll post a link in the next last chapter because it's more relevant at the end of the story.

This takes place a few months after Lemonade and before Powerful.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

It all starts because he was ambushed (the Batman managed to get himself ambushed imagine that) by a mob of ex-marines who were convinced that the Batman does their city more harm than good and they outnumbered him (twenty five to one? thirty?) and Batman escaped by the skin of his fucking teeth, but not before one of the thugs cracked a crowbar against his elbow and another sank a hatchet into his left leg two three four times and

Batman’s forced to jump off the roof he’s been cornered on hits his ribs on the edge of a dumpster but he escapes, gets to the Tumbler before his opponents catch up to him he’s

lying awkwardly across the two seats in the Tumbler alone in the near-dark cursing and hyperventilating trying to guide his injured leg out of his boot with one hand but his fingers are slipping are
slick with blood and shaking but somehow

Wayne manages it, he’s

tucking the suit under the driver’s seat putting in a desperate call to Fox (who doesn’t answer) leaves a message begging him to please please come pick the Tumbler up as soon as he can, Wayne
practically falls out of the car drags himself upright drags himself as far away from the Tumbler as he can, even though he’s nearly in tears even though his left shoe is filled with blood and he’s leaving a trail of gory incriminating footprints even though it hurts to breathe but he needs to get farther away or somebody will figure it out then

he’s strapped to a backboard confined
by a c collar staring up at the quiet whiteness of the ambulance ceiling staring at the undersides of paramedics’ faces as they press fabric against his mutilated leg to stem the flow of blood he’s half conscious with pain radiating from all sides and all angles hoping
that he’s hidden the suit well enough praying
to any god or devil or ghost that hears him that nobody figures it out please please let nobody put two and two together please

then

they bring him into a room, there’s a needle fed quick into his hand a push of morphine that momentarily tightens every muscle in Wayne's back all the way down his spine, then
his body relaxes
and the opiate takes over
and the pain fades

although it doesn’t dissipate completely (far from) but at least it’s bearable Wayne
hardly listens to the rushed conversations of the doctors and nurses around him and he can’t answer their questions he’s so god. Damned. Tired and in so much pain it’s taking him over and his body has already chewed through that scant five milligrams of morphine he’s only hurt this much a handful of times in his life and

it takes just under a half hour of assessment and scans before Wayne is

flat on his back on an operating table squinting into the bright lights awaiting the inevitable surgery to repair the deep tissue wounds in his leg to piece together the shattered bones in his arm and he wonders who’s supposed to protect The City and the Innocent and everybody who doesn't ever deserve to hurt like he fucking hurts now then there is only

anesthesia seeping into his veins carrying into his heart followed by nothing

nothing until

he’s blinking awake into the dark of a large room and there are voices above him and Wayne's legs are shaking he’s so cold

Demerol i think. And a heated blanket, that should do it.

A few seconds later the shaking stops, and a sudden warmth envelops Wayne completely heating his body from head to toe.

He closes his eyes.

Notes:

Durrr so i got all heath ledger sad the other day and got a feeling that i couldn't complete Powerful without exploring this little fic that came up. And yes the structure and grammar is a'sposeta be all over the place because extreme pain and/or opiates will do that to a person's thought process. All comments are welcome, i sure do love reading them.

Also i finally made a strictly batjokes tumblr so come say hi if you're so inclined

Chapter 2

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Good morning, Mister Wayne.

Muffled footsteps echo around the dark room as Wayne surfaces a second time into fuzzy half-numb awareness his leg is beginning to throb, his right arm is in a cast and his throat hurts. It must be very early morning because there's no light coming in through the open curtains and Wayne's room is lit only by a single lamp beside his bed.

There’s a man standing beside the monitors. Wayne can barely make out his shape and the color of his scrubs (dark purple) can hear him speaking (calmly, evenly) but he can’t force his eyes to focus farther and he’s so tired still

Your oxygen sats are good, pulse is good, blood pressure's low but that's to be expected…oh, you’re shivering again. Hang on. The nurse walks around to the other side of Wayne’s bed, injects something into his i v port. Can you give me a number for your pain?

Four, Wayne tells him and tries to ignore the expectant silence that follows before he admits: seven, and closes his eyes again as he hears the nurse pick up another syringe. A few
seconds later he feels the familiar opiate pumping into his heart and the trembling eases as a bleach-scented blanket covers him completely. It’s heated and wonderful and for a moment Wayne nearly falls back asleep, then

he coughs without warning because his mouth is dry and his throat is irritated, the motion sends a sharp pain into his side making him gasp and flinch
warm hands gently guide his own to wrap around the pillow sitting on his chest.

Remember to squeeze this when you cough, the nurse says and Wayne does while he processes the dim recollection that his throat aches because he’s been intubated for hours and two of his ribs are cracked he needs to brace them, his ribs are cracked (at least they’re on the same side) he's bruised from head to toe and Batman is going to be out of commission for a while by the feel of things

he coughs again

and the motion rattles his torso radiates little jolts of pain across his chest into his abdomen into his shoulders as a tiny noise of discomfort grates against his throat

You’re okay. A hand settles on his shoulder rubs briefly up and down his arm where there isn’t any bruising and suddenly Wayne recognizes that voice, catches The Scent that is burned permanently into the back of his mind that always rocks him to his core the
blood
sweat
gunpowder oh my god, he whispers. i hope i’m hallucinating.

Sure you are. Go back to sleep, the Joker murmurs but Wayne can’t now because even the most vivd of hallucinations could not mimic the eerie gentleness of the Joker’s hands
the hands that bear the blood of thousands that have touched Wayne with such reverence and passion and need, that
touch Wayne now as if he’s made of spun sugar.

It’s been a while, the clown says as he trails his fingers up to cup Wayne’s face. Wayne leans into the touch but fights back an opiate-laced smile swallows down the words it’s good to see you but finally looks up at him
and then Wayne’s heart stutters,

because the Joker isn’t wearing his facepaint.

Wayne can tell he’s still wearing makeup though, because the scars on his cheeks and lip are only faintly noticeable even when he steps into the light. His mouth is rosy pink instead of red and his hair (dark blonde with the barest tint of bleach and green remaining at the ends) is pulled back in a ponytail Wayne
has seen the Joker’s face completely clean before (during Arkham interrogations, a few times) but it’s always shocking to see the malice dulled like sea glass in the man’s dark eyes, with

some of his sharper edges smoothed out.

i’m not even going to ask how you—wait a second. Wayne glances down at the cannula in his left arm and forces his eyes to focus on the i v bag above his head. You medicated me. Get the fuck away from my his throat twinges without warning making him cough weakly again and the pain erupts across the side of his chest
the Joker’s guiding Wayne's arms around the pillow again as he says

Squeeze the fucking pillow Bruce, or it will just hurt more. As pissed off as he is Wayne does as he's told, and the searing ache in his side dies down. i used to be a paramedic, once upon a time, the Joker says as he adjusts the pulse oximeter on Wayne’s index finger. i would never hurt you. Not like this, anyway. His tongue flicks out against the corner of his mouth and he goes over to the sink
turns it on while Wayne huffs and settles down,
resigned,
he’s still exhausted and sore and the painkillers make it hard to care about much but the thing is

he does trust the Joker knows that the Joker does not lie to him can’t deny that

he’s glad the Joker is here, that he's here with someone whom with he can be honest. Who knows the whole story.

This was the only way i could be here when you woke up, his nemesis explains from across the room. i mean it’s not like they would let me visit you or anything. He comes back with a white washcloth perches on the edge of the bed
and begins to wipe the patina of sweat from Wayne’s face. i need to leave in a while anyway, i just want to make sure that you’re okay and these fucking people are doing their jobs.

So you escaped Arkham just to check on me? Wayne asks and now he is smiling (smirking) up at the madman who doesn’t respond, who just
continues running the warm cloth across Wayne’s forehead down the sides of his jaw into the hollow of his throat, wiping away the layers of old sweat. When he’s finished the Joker
tosses the cloth aside
checks the dressings on Wayne’s leg and
stretches out on the mattress facing him.

Don’t worry, the clown says as he moves closer but not quite touching. i can monitor you just fine and nobody’s going to bother us, i’ve made damned sure.

Did you kill anyone to make damned sure, Wayne asks. The Joker laughs quietly, shakes his head and Wayne’s momentarily mesmerized by the way a few dirty blonde curls free themselves from the Joker’s ponytail and fall across his cheek

Nah, i figured that would probably piss you off royally so i had to do things the hard way…using words instead of knives fuck that. The clown’s spider fingers slip a tiny chip of ice into Wayne’s mouth and his thumb brushes Wayne’s lower lip sparking a shred of memory making him grin again in spite of himself. The ice melts almost immediately and he reaches out for the styrofoam cup. Not too fast, his enemy warns. Throwing up with broken ribs sucks. Wayne drops his hand, tries to turn away but he doesn’t get far before the ache in his leg stops him.

Don’t pout, princess, the Joker teases. Relax, for fuck's sake. You don’t have to do anything—you've done enough the past few days. Wayne makes an upset little growling sound without really meaning to, and the Joker leans forward to kiss him once

briefly

the clown’s lips are cold because he’s got an ice cube in his mouth which he passes into Wayne’s with his tongue. Wayne allows it, lets his own mouth fall open tries not to dwell on how much he’s missed the Joker’s kisses then all too soon
the Joker pulls away but then he begins to thread his fingers through Wayne's hair and it feels so damned good Wayne settles back into the mattress into the comfortable morphine haze and relaxes, completely he

lets his arch nemesis hand feed him ice chips

one every few minutes

until the cup is empty and he drifts off with the Joker lying next to him, holding his hand.

Notes:

Okay so the Joker's actions might seem ooc here (especially if you haven't read i Wanna Be Your Dog and Lemonade) but my take on it is that the Joker and Bruce connect on a deeper level so they do care about each other (sometimes) and are willing to help one another out once in a while. And the Joker's crazy ass probably reasons that it's fine for him to beat the christ outta Batman but he would never hurt Bruce Wayne, because to an extent he sees them as two different people.

Oh and i forgot to mention my batjokes verse keeps Lucius Fox as a background character but not Alfred because reasons, it's just easier if he's not around...

Chapter 3

Notes:

Aw man i did the split up a chapter thing again but the last part is almost ready i swear to gosh isn't close to ready anymore but i'm working on it x___x

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The sky outside turns from black to barely navy before Wayne realizes that any time has passed then
all of a sudden the Joker is slipping into his room setting a bottle of water down on his tray asking

Do you need anything else?

i want to take a shower, Wayne sighs. He picks up the bottle fumbles the lid open and drinks. A real shower, not a half-assed creepy hospital shower where i have to sit on a fucking foldout bench... The Joker laughs softly and scoots his chair closer to Wayne’s bed.

It’s gonna be a minute before that happens. You’re lucky they even let you brush your teeth.

Yeah, Wayne agrees. That helped.

And it does help, in some small way. At least
when Wayne runs his tongue along the inside rim of his teeth he feels clean enamel, tastes mint instead of decomposition and blood. He repeats the action now and it somehow
stirs something up in him

the morphine has rendered him artificially euphoric has left his nerves oversensitive and buzzing and suddenly all he wants
is the Joker’s beautiful mouth against his own all he wants
is to feel that strange energy rise electric to his surfaces like tendrils of light from a plasma lamp

he reaches out takes a fistful of the Joker’s scrub shirt and tugs but the other man giggles and pulls away

Stop it you fucking libertine, we’ll definitely raise some suspicion if i get caught with my tongue down your throat—

i haven't seen you in months, Wayne murmurs reaching for him again. Just come here for a second.

The Joker smiles, and stands up to close the door, then

he’s stretched out on the mattress
gentling Wayne’s mouth open slotting their lips together with a delicacy that Wayne has never felt from anyone else, and for a minute he’s content to lie there warm high and numb he’s content
to lie there and be kissed by his nemesis
to let the Joker do all the work
to feel nothing but the Joker’s wet velvet tongue sliding against his own, nothing
but the Joker beside him
but after a moment Wayne finds his uninjured hand wandering up under his enemy’s shirt up
higher and higher, until his thumb brushes the Joker’s nipple until

his i v cannula snags a stray thread
and the pulse oximeter falls off his finger
and his nemesis chuckles quietly says

Hey knock it off, you’re getting all tangled. He sits up clips the monitor back on Wayne’s fingertip smoothes the wires out inspects Wayne’s cannula with the same elegance and efficiency that he does everything else, then
the Joker’s lip twitches as his dark eyes study Wayne’s face.
i got bitchface on you, he remarks, and looking at him Wayne sees it now—some of the flesh toned makeup has rubbed off the Joker’s scar on the right side and presumably transferred to his own. He pulls his lip into his mouth tastes the floral chemical foundation while
the Joker goes over to the other side of the room
a tap squeaks and
water runs, and

then he’s back perched on the bed dabbing Wayne’s chin with a paper towel and Wayne’s
not sure if it doesn't hurt because his enemy’s hands are so gentle and steady or because he is so. Fucking. High but either way
there is no pain, no just the barest twinge as the paper swipes across his mouth pulling color away but he almost wishes the Joker would just leave the makeup there so he can still taste it when he wakes up alone.

The Joker stands up tosses the paper towel into the trash and turns his attention to the hospital computer, whistling quietly as he types
the tune is from a song that Wayne recognizes but can’t recall completely. He picks up the remote to mute the television so that he can stare at the screen without really watching
so that the only sounds in the room are the tune Wayne can’t quite remember
and the Joker’s fingertips tapping at the keyboard at an impressive speed

on the television a barfight breaks out in a bar the size of a gymnasium,
while the band plays encaged in chicken wire

Pain level? the Joker asks Wayne after a minute (or maybe it’s been five minutes or ten or thirty) so Wayne tries moving his limbs but doesn’t get far before he’s gasping as his ribs protest as the stitches in his leg pull

Six, he hisses. And i don’t lie to you either, by the way.

Good. It’s in your best interests not to. Like not just in this situation but in general. The Joker brings a syringe over and again Wayne can feel

almost the exact moment

when opium surges into his heart

and the pain recedes.

There it is, the Joker murmurs, smoothing Wayne’s hair back from his forehead. That better? Wayne nods and catches the Joker’s hand, pulls it to rest flat on his chest
over his heart. The corner of the Joker’s mouth twitches up in a half-grin revealing the
barest hint of scar that pulls at the skin around his mouth betraying the makeup and Wayne regards his nemesis, imprints him like this, with something that might pass as a real smile on his face with
the dim lamp shining through his hair lighting up the high planes of his cheekbones.

He really is quite handsome.

And quite young, Wayne suspects—except for the scars his skin is nearly lineless and there is no grey in his hair not to mention that Wayne has seen him in all states of undress and he definitely has a young man’s body (and a good one at that)—but Wayne has never asked if the Joker knows how old he is,

and probably never will. He really doesn't want to know.

Wayne falls asleep again watching the Joker as he stands at the mirror over the sink,
smoothing foundation across his cheek.

Notes:

Derp not my best work in my opinion but oh well

So i love all the Joker incarnations but i dig the realism of Ledger's Joker just being a sociopath who got carved up and wears facepaint...and forgive me i love toying with my tdk headcanon where the Joker is Ledger's age when he filmed that shit because holy fuck that was a lot of crazy for twenty seven
even if it was just acting o_o

*The song that the Joker was whistling is These Days by: Alien Ant Farm. Check it out.

*Bitchface is a term coined by my friend, it refers to when makeup (often excessively applied) has transferred from one's face onto another person's skin or clothing.

Chapter 4

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It takes the Joker nearly half an hour to change the tape and gauze dressings covering Wayne’s injured leg, but Wayne can tell
he’s going slowly to avoid causing additional pain.
With all the old bandages off Wayne can finally get a look at the damage and he
didn’t realize the extent of it didn’t see
the checkmarks of sutures across his thigh or the quarter-sized puncture wound above his knee that the surgeons couldn’t stitch

God. He leans back flat against the mattress
exhausted already from a few minutes of sitting up. Batman’s going to be on hiatus for longer than i thought. The Joker clicks his tongue, shrugs.

For a while, yeah. But you only ended up with two screws in your arm and the lacerations on your leg aren’t terribly deep. Looks like your armor absorbed a good deal of the weapon’s impact. He removes his gloves tosses them over his shoulder into the trashcan and slides onto the bed. All things considered, you’re in pretty good shape. Wayne can’t help but laugh even though it hurts, and the Joker tilts his head to one side looking confused at his reaction.

See, you call this good shape and i have to wonder what you consider bad. If i’ll ever see what your limits truly are. Wayne settles into his enemy’s arms breathes in that same scent
that always calms him so quickly
when they’re together this way
when they're not all dressed up and at each others' throats.

You have seen my limits, to some extent, the Joker reminds him. But that’s what this gig is all about—having your limits tested. And you’ll continue to push them just like you’re doing now and it will break you down. And then it’ll make you stronger. That’s how people like us work, Bruce Wayne. That’s how being a badass works. Wayne smiles can’t help but reach up to tug one of the Joker’s unruly curls and the clown nips playfully at his fingertips.

You think i’m a badass?

i don’t think, i know. The Joker straightens up a bit gently draws the hem of Wayne’s hospital gown up to his chest and whistles lowly. But that is a hell of a lot of bruising. How did you break your ribs anyway.

The edge of a dumpster broke my fall.

Ouch. What about your leg?

Hatchet.

Jesus. Those jarheads really fucked with your business didn’t they. The Joker laughs and for a second the familiar tempest of fury and malice stirs in his eyes in his grin Now that’s funny, vigilantes going after The Vigilante…Wayne glares at him, and his expression softens. Hey take it easy, he soothes as he pulls the covers back up. These things happen in our line of work. Just try not to focus on your Batman stuff for a while, and focus on healing.

Easy for you to say.

Well normally i’d offer to have them all slaughtered like cattle if it would make you feel better but i know you’re not into the whole vengeance by way of bloody execution thing.

That’s sweet of you though, Wayne admits.

The Joker beams at him.

Notes:

So. i could have worked a hundred times harder on this part but i just really want it to be done, so maybe work on Powerful can resume.

Also i usually ignore trolls but there have been a few lurking around lately saying "hurtful" things about my work, i'm sure out of ignorance and jealously and general trollishness. One of these folks even went so far as to say that my writing is shit and my readers are mindless idiots. So i went home and cried in my pillow. Just kidding actually i reaffirmed my goals and got fired up to work harder write more and perfect my art so i can continue sharing it with you lovely people. So thank you hater for making me stronger, and reminding me that the best way to deal with rando internet hate is to just ignore it <3

(Which brings me to the last part) to all the folks who read kudos comment subscribe support encourage and believe in me, from the bottom of my heart: Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Chapter 5

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

I'm not always good, but I will learn to hide my shame
And give back to you in time

—Heal In The Howling: O'Death

So you’ve been updating my chart and acting as my sole caretaker all morning and nobody’s said anything?

Nope. The Joker taps the name tag on his shirt without looking away from the computer screen. I dug out one of my aliases and got some documents falsified, child’s play.

Wayne has to narrow his eyes to read the tag:

Andrew

and shudders unconsciously, dimly aware of the danger of attaching such a normal sounding name to this version of his nemesis this quiet self-assured young man with purple scrubs dirtyblonde hair and steady hands.

The only flaws in the Joker’s disguise are faint outlines of scarring on his cheeks and an occasional shock of raw hatred that passes in his expression when the tempest that’s settled back deep into his eye tunnels rises to the surface, which makes
Wayne suspect that he’s medicated (his tics are subdued as well, so much that they're hardly noticeable) but as to
why in the hell the Joker would go to so much trouble on his behalf Wayne can only guess.

And even under the weight of the morphine his mind is buzzing with a hundred questions but he only asks one:

So say you were the one who put me in here…would you still try to visit me.

My record for hospitalizing you is what, three days. The clown shrugs. i don’t think that far ahead. Ever.

Okay, Wayne replies (because he was half-expecting an answer along those lines even if it does sink his heart a little)

But i would never try to stay if it upset you, the Joker adds, looking Wayne in the eye. You understand that right.

Wayne nods and turns his face away
because now he’s a little choked up, just hearing that, then
his enemy’s hand is under his chin slowly guiding his head back he closes his eyes feels the feather press of a kiss to his forehead

and another on the tip of his nose

and for a split second his heart is breaking

Speaking of which i need to get going, the Joker says suddenly. Shift change is in five minutes. Would you like something to help you sleep.

Sure.

It’ll knock you out but you need to rest anyway. The Joker pushes another syringe into the iv port and closes the door over without shutting it. Wayne watches him move silently around the room straightening the blankets checking the counters for things he’s left behind and Wayne doesn’t speak, doesn’t say i wish you could stay

then

a flash of metal catches the light as the Joker slips a knife into his pocket and it sparks a horrible thought in Wayne’s mind

Wait wait wait he reaches out to grab the clown’s wrist stopping him in his tracks
please don’t tell me you’re going to tear Gotham to shreds while i’m down, that’s not fair but the Joker sits next to him shushes him with two fingers pressed softly against his mouth

i thought you knew me better than that, Bruce Wayne. i couldn’t take pleasure in such a cheap victory. His gaze turns distant as he looks out the window over the greying horizon and his hand wanders over to rest on top of Wayne’s. No, he continues, i’ve actually got some business to take care of out of town but i’ll be back. Just don’t watch the news.

You’re such an asshole, Wayne sighs. The Joker squeezes his hand, smirks

and stands up

and says

i know. i’ll see you around.

Then Wayne blinks, and he’s gone.

Two steps out the door, and he’s gone.

 

And Wayne lies there motionless

watching the sun come up so

grateful for whatever heavy sedative his nemesis gave him because now he doesn’t have the wherewithal to feel sad or deserted or anything besides one initial
push peak of aloneness that only hurts for a second,
because the drug keeps dragging him under dragging him
barely below the surface of full awareness and he can just float
as his last conscious thoughts swirl down
and drain away
and circle around this anomaly of a human being who has taken an interest in him on both sides of the mask now, his archenemy who became his counterpart who has become his companion
who hurricanes in and out of his life at a moment’s notice, always with different intentions this man

for all of his malevolence
has yet to hurt Wayne as badly as the people whom Batman has slaved to protect day in and day out

but that’s not to say he won’t the next time they fight.

Or the next time.

He’s like a wild animal that plays at being tame.

Notes:

*Andrew was Heath Ledger's middle name :(

If you're curious about what the nolanverse Joker's facial tics would look like if they were less severe...the idea comes from the common, scary knowledge that the tics themselves were just Ledger exaggerating natural ones he had—perhaps a combination of twitches and simple motor tics. i couldn't find a good movie clip where Ledger's tics are really noticeable, but i noticed them most in the awesomely terrible film The Brothers Grimm. You can wade through a bunch of clips from it here. Or watch the whole film if you want a laugh. Ledger was still spot-on, as always...
*Edit 01/16 Okay so i read an interview in which Ledger stated that he considered his performance in Brothers Grimm as a clown act sorta thing (and it laid the groundwork for his Joker) so again it seems he exaggerated the tics and that's why they were so conspicuous in that particular film. The more you know...

Series this work belongs to: