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At the Brink of Midnight - Chapter 9
*Arrives two days late with Starbucks* âSup, guys! Ď( âźââź)Ď These past 96 hours have somehow filled me with a weird chaotic energy, and I pumped out the longest roller-coaster of a chapter Iâve ever done in such a short amount of time!!! Thank you, whoever sent all the writing vibes my way!!!! â
>d(,,シξ´-,,)ââ Iâm sending out strong vibes to everybody in return! *May you get hit by the writing bug and have the opportunity and energy to completely translate your ideas to printed words!*
Buuut a big note before we get to the good stuff: I realized too late that the original events of S2 take place in Spring. LikeâŚApril. I was writing all of this with the thought that S2 took place in fall; I mean, the characters can wear a leather jacket or a couple of layers comfortably, so I thought ��yeah that sounds like early autumnâ. Nope! So that means that for this storyâs timeline, everything gets shifted into where it should be. On the downside, that means I had to go through and edit all the bits where it said âit was totally spring, you guysâ. On the upside⌠ITâS NOW OCTOBER!!!!! THE SPOOKY SEASON THAT COMPLETELY FITS WITH WHATâS GOING ON!!! And coincidentally, itâs my favorite time of the year, so I love writing about it even more! I get to add in a thing here and there about the spookiest time of the year, so Iâll have a nice list of what those little changes are uploaded here soon if you donât feel like re-reading the whole thing. A re-read isn't necessary though, just keep in mind that the humid air of rainy spring in the city is replaced with chilling fronts and even more cloud cover than usual. Why am I bothering with this? Because Iâm a stickler for keeping with canon as much as possible and I feel like an absolute fool for not remembering what goddamn time of year it was to begin with. (I mean, I went so far as to download all of TeamFourStarâs play-through because I watched it so often, you think I'd remember to go back and watch the very beginning once in a whileâŚ)
Anywho, thank you all again for your continuously loving support!!!Â
âĄ~(É Ë3Ë)ËâŁË c)
Important Spoiler Tags: drugs (mentioned), swearing, canon-typical violence, electric shocks (mentioned), torture of flowers, flirting, almost an excessive use of emoji, crying, romantic dirty thoughts
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Read on Ao3 or continue below:
Chapter 9:Â Grapevines
Bruce Wayne couldnât remember the last time heâd conducted a meeting from his home office. It wasnât as if he didnât use it â the desk surface had hardly any dust settled on it and two empty coffee mugs heâd forgotten about on two different occasions just happened to be stacked behind the monitor â but it felt strange, like a lot of things did lately.
He knew part of the reason for that was watching houses down in the Batcave right now. Knowing he wasnât alone in the house was comforting, but knowing there were two cops outside the Manorâs front door just waiting for a chance to grab his best friend-cum-houseguest was not, and knowing that they were both close to being thrown in hot water was even less so.
He figured the other reason he felt strange was because he was slipping back into his old habit as if it had never been shelved in the first place. He had time to kill before the video meeting started, so heâd been scouring for information on âPamâ, Jonathan Craneâs âold friendâ.
There were a few Pamelaâs in Gotham, but only one fit within Craneâs age-range and attended Gotham University at about the same time: Â Pamela Isley, a forty-four-year-old former botanist with a record that ran the length of his arm. Theft, assault, threats, and attempted poisonings all done in the name of extreme environmentalism and social activism were sprinkled in her history before and after her days as a researcher, and according to GCPD records, she was now suspected of running her own drug-ring under the moniker of âPoison Ivyâ. (Bruce found several recorded instances of people claiming to be Poison Ivy, most of whom were already arrested.)
Bruce wouldâve wondered why on Earth she hadnât been thrown in prison when she made a bomb-threat at a wealthy businessman several states away nearly a decade ago if he hadnât seen her mug-shot from back then. At thirty-five, she looked every bit as beautiful as a top-billed Hollywood star, with natural orange-red curls cascading over her pale shoulders and ample bust in chemically-tamed waves, flashing the camera a come-hither stare that made it look like she was trying for a part in a high-budget porn flick rather than standing in front of a height chart for her criminal record. Pamelaâs charges were mysteriously swept under the rug.
The latest photo he found of her reminded him a bit of those âcougarâ dating ads heâd seen â the older Pamela was blowing a kiss to the camera with a mocking look in her dark green eyes. Bruce glared at it. There was little doubt she was using people to cover for her constantly, and when she was in trouble, she managed to wriggle out of it with her looks.
Not this time. She was friends with Dr. Jonathan Crane, and that meant she wasnât going to get out of this unharmed. The second his virtual meeting was over, Bruce was heading towards Toxic Acres, and hopefully the wounded Crane would still be there to see Batmanâs fist hit his â
Bruce snapped out of his thoughts at the buzz of his phone. A message from the BatComputer�
Iâm bored :/
Bruce blinked down at the screen. John had found the emergency messaging system. Of course he had. He was just grateful that the encryption software on his phone was still up to date. Just what else did John poke his nose into down thereâŚ? (There was the chance that John would see files he shouldnât, but Bruce kept those under a thumbprint encryption. He shouldnât even entertain the thought.)
Stake-outs are usually pretty boring.
It wouldnât be so bad if you were down here tho! :)
Bruce hovered his thumb over the keyboard, unsure of what to say. The feeling was kind of mutual, if he was being honest; having another person around on a stakeout would at least keep his mind wandering into the worsts of what-ifs and double-checking every last security issueâŚ
No movement on either houses btw. Been reading Craneâs docs in the meantime but itâs DREADFUL!!! I feel like Iâm reading a sleeping pill⌠=_=
You finish your WE stuff yet?
Meetingâs not for another 20 minutes. Been looking up stuff on Craneâs âfriendâ.
Oh??? :o Do tell!!!!
Bruce couldnât help but smile at the enthusiasm.
Pamela Isley, former botanist w/ criminal rec., mostly extreme protest kind of stuff. Good chance sheâs the head of a drug-ring that moved here a couple months ago; their leader goes by âPoison Ivyâ.
They went to college together, but Pamela moved back here recently.
hMmMmmâŚ. That means no burning the place down if weâre stuck! Bad fumes everywhere xP
Bruce focused on the word âweâreâ. He hadnât been planning on bringing John along. He wanted him safe, at home, where no one had a chance of seeing him and he wasnât put in harmâs wayâŚ
Oh!!! Youâve got a bunch of sticky electro-shockers around - do you mind if I tinker with them? :3c pleeeeaaasssee?
What are you thinking of doing with them?
Making one BIIIIIG shock-bomb, of course! ;D I can wire them together so the shock spreads evenly in the space while itâs discharging.
Bruce reconsidered bringing John. He was still learning to curb his impulses, so being outside in a fighting environment would be a serious gamble, but... Maybe that could be their advantage, too. Bruce made a mental note to go dig out the spare bullet-proof vest from his closetâs secret panel.
You can do that?
I played around with making something like it before, butâŚâŚwell, you know.
Time + supplies for that project were low att. I figured I could always go back to it later anyway.
Bruce felt like his heart had deflated and swelled in such a short time that it hurt.
I mean Iâm fine with throwing knives around too but I figured that would be less discrete ÂŻ\_(ă )_/ÂŻ
Heâd been thinking of different methods of entering the âhouseâ. Most of them featured a silent slip-in and as little combat as possible, but he knew that there would likely be some muscle around to stop any would-be intruders, and getting a quieter jump on them would certainly be helpful. He would certainly be lying if he said he wasnât impressed that John had thought that far ahead even back then.
If you think you can get it done within 1.5 hours, then yes.
Ha ha ha with these supplies I can get it done in like 40 mins! >:3 just you watch!!!
Btw have you seen the news?
Not yet. Why?
I was on the morning edition! At least they used a good pic ;D
But also saw a guy getting fished out of the harbor. Your handy-dandy invasion software said heâs a registered Ryde driver.
I told you not to fiddle with that.
Sorry, but I only used it the once! Promise!!!
Bruce sighed through his nostrils.
Besides I thought youâd want to know. Think Crane stole his ride and dumped him by the docks? :v
Probably. I can get the plate from up here to verify. DO NOT TOUCH THAT PROGRAM AGAIN.
Yes sir ( ͥ° ÍĘ ÍĄÂ°)
Bruce wasnât sure if that message was supposed to be flirtatious or mocking.
The incoming call from Iman Avesta stopped him from responding. He figured it had to do with Johnâs escape and the extra security added at Wayne Tower this morning, but why was she calling him now, rather than several hours ago?
âIman?â
âHey, Bruce. Hold on a sec â there we go, now we can both -â
âBruce, what the fuck?â Tiffany asked over the line. âAre you at home right now?â
Bruce almost sighed at the attitude. âYes, Tiffany, Iâm at home, in my office.â
âUh-huh. I keep getting alerts that your basementâs messaging system is being used. Care to explain that?â
Oh. Of course. Heâd forgotten Tiffany had linked her phone to that, too. Itâd justâŚbeen too long, he supposed. (She couldnât read them, though, could she? He was fairly sure it didnât give out mass-texts unless prompted.) ââŚwhere are you right now?â
Iman responded instead. âWeâre in your second office.â
ââŚthe lineâs secure?â
âOf course.â Iman paused, and Bruce knew his new CSO was choosing her words carefully. âIâm guessing you have John Doe in the Batcave?â
âYes.â
âBruce, did you fucking break him out?â Tiffany asked with no shortness of impatience.
âI rescued him,â Bruce said firmly. âI know what youâre thinking, and I have a pretty good idea of what youâre going to say, but listen: Â I had no choice but to take him with me. One of the doctors working at Arkham has gone rogue â heâd been doing experiments on patients, and I have a feeling heâs going to continue them on civilians. I need to find him before then, and John has been helping me.â
âHelpingâŚ? Youâre not bringing him in the field with you?â Tiffany said disbelievingly. âAfter that psychopath almost killed us?â
Bruce could still see Joker running at Tiffany, knife in hand, his psychotic breakdown in full force. He could still see him being smacked against the railing, sheer madness played over his long, bloody face as he desperately fought to stab what was his hero.
But John and Joker were as much the same as Bruce and Batman were, and they were constantly changing.
The Joker in the Batcave wasnât the same one from Ace Chemicals. Â
âI know what John did,â he answered, trying to breathe even as something wanted to hitch in his throat, âand I know how far heâs come since then. I know you both regret-â
âNo, Iâm not listening to this right now,â Tiffany scowled, her voice fading in the middle her sentence like she was leaving the room. âTalk some sense into him.â
Bruce heard Imanâs voice call after her, and then nothing for a beat.
Iman sighed. âIâll talk to her. But Bruce,â she started seriously, âTiffany isnât the only one worrying about you. Six months canât possibly cure everything wrong with a man whose spent his life in an asylum.â He could practically hear her chew over her phrasing. âI need to know⌠If John goes too far â if he shows signs of regressingâŚor just becoming more volatile â I need to know youâre going to put your foot down.â
âIâm more than capable of handling him, Iman.â
âPlease, Bruce, Iâd rather not have to pull you off another broken pipe lodged in your kidney.â She paused, and Bruce let her continue, feeling the scar in his side twinge at the painful memory. âI know you care a lot about him,â she resumed in a softer tone, âand I know you trust him. But if you doubt him at any time, you need you to step back and re-evaluate your choices. I donât want him to regress back into the Joker.â
That was a different Joker, Bruce wanted to say. He knew that wouldnât sound the way it should. âI promise I wonât let that happen.â
âGood to know,â Iman replied, sounding somewhat relieved. âThis doctor youâre hunting â is there anything we can do to help?â
Bruce shot a look at the clock in the corner of his monitor. He didnât have as much time left as he wouldâve liked before his virtual meeting started. âTiffany can fill you in a bit, I had her help searching Arkhamâs records before. Can you run a plate for me? I think Dr. Crane is running with a stolen car; Iâll send you the details in a bit.â
âSure. We can check traffic cams for it, too, if youâd like.â
âIf you would. And the second I have anything concrete on Dr. Crane, Iâm sending Tiffany the details â I need her pull as Oracle to get the word out to the GCPD before anything happens. Theyâll listen to their number-one informant more than a vigilante coming out of retirement.â
ââŚyouâreâŚ?â
He could almost see the shock in her face. Theyâd had a short discussion about his alter-ego when he decided to quit the first time; sheâd been incredibly understanding about the whole thing. It was almost as if sheâd seen it coming.
âAre you sure?â
He was as sure. She didnât know about the instincts broiling underneath his surface every day. She didnât know he never really stopped being half of himself. She wouldnât know or really understand that he just shoved it all down and aside like he did so much else just to get through things. âI donât have any other options at this point.â
ââŚyou know you can count on us if you need the help.â
âOf course I do.â
âRight. Well, in the meantime weâll keep the fort over here running as smoothly as possible.â
âThank you. Iâll talk to you later.â
âGood luck.â
The line went silent, and Bruce pulled his phone away, catching a glimpse of three unread messages.
Sorry, buddy, I was just kidding around, you know? Ha ha
Bruce???
Hello???????
Sorry, had a phone call and couldnât reply. Itâs fine.
Seconds ticked by, and Bruce began changing out of his black t-shirt and into his button-down. It wouldnât do to appear as a CEO in anything less than a proper suit. He could leave the jeans on, at least.
âOh! UhâŚsorry, BruceâŚâ
He felt his heart stop for a second. That was definitely Johnâs voice, even though it crackled slightly from the speakers. The monitor didnât show anything out of the ordinary. John must have been using the spy-camera feature on the Batcomputer; it was linked to most the devices in the house, and Bruceâs webcam was no exception. Heâd almost forgotten it had a loudspeaker function, too.
âI didnât realize you wereâŚum, changing.â
Bruce glared at the webcamâs lens. âJohn, what did I tell you about fiddling with the Batcomputer?â
ââŚsorry. I was worried when you didnât answer me.â
He sounded genuine, at least. Bruce could easily picture him running upstairs to find him, if there wasnât a chance he wouldâve been seen. âI answered you a minute ago. I was on a call with Iman,â he stated plainly, fixing the buttons on his sleeves.
ââŚoh, ha ha, there it is! Uh, I guess Iâll justâŚgo, thenâŚâ
Bruce almost questioned why John was sounding nervous and distracted, but it wasnât until he saw the webcam light wink off again that he realized his shirt was wide open, the scars littering his torso half on display from the waist up.
Thankfully, no one was around to see Bruce bury his face in the palm of his hand for a moment, feeling like his face was on fire from first and second-hand embarrassment.
It didnât last long. Bruce took a few deep breaths as he fixed himself up, and dialed into the meeting with a fixed expression of calm, firmly ignoring the heat that had settled in his stomach that threatened to go lower at the thought that John was bound not to forget any of that.
Driving the Batmobile in full gear again was certainly something else. Bruce felt the weight of the Kevlar body armor press against his limbs as he sped down Gothamâs twisting alley streets, no one any the wiser that the Wayneâs red sports car was hiding Batman behind it. The cityâs CCTV signal was scrambled with the flick of a switch as he came into driving distance of the alleyâs camera, making him almost untraceable.
Heâd given the Honda Accord a head-start; it couldnât go nearly as fast as the Batmobile, and Bruce had to find a spot to safely change before going to go pick John up from his drop-off point, and the post-working-hours traffic had already gotten its usual early start. It was a slower drive than heâd like it to be, even with Bruceâs shortcuts.
The setting sun was completely obscured by a dark overcast. It made the orange streetlamps glowing over the decorations sitting here and there in windows and doors even more energetic, like every corner of Gotham was slowly growing with the energy of Halloween.
Bruce clicked the communicator in his cowl. âJohn, are you there yet?â
Silence for a few seconds, and then a rustling noise. âSorry, I had to take this off for a bit. What?â
âAre you there yet?â
John giggled slightly. âOh, yeah, Iâm here. Just waiting on you, pal.â
He was already at the meeting point? How did he get there so fast? âYou put everything back where it was supposed to be?â
âNo, I stripped the seats and threw everything into the garbage,â John grumbled with dripping sarcasm. âOf course I did, itâd be rude not to put Jerryâs stuff back. What do you take me for?â
ââŚIâm just making sure you didnât forget anything.â
âI didnât.â There was a loud slurping noise, like the last of a liquid being sucked from a straw.
âJohn, where are you right now?â
âIn the alley, waiting for you.â
âDid you make a stop?â
John giggled, a little louder, but not at all nervous. He was enjoying himself. âWhat can I say? Going out on the town with you like this makes me thirsty,â he said with a strange purr. âBesides, no one bats an eye at me when I look like this anyway.â He paused. âWell, no, Iâve gotten some eyes on me, but, uh, I think theyâre more the appreciative type. I guess ZZ Top was kinda right about the sharp-dresser thing.â
Bruce felt his brows knit together. âYouâve always looked sharp,â he said truthfully, turning down a narrow alley.
âYeah, but not thousand-dollar-suit sharp. Thereâs a difference! Plus I think this bullet-proof vest makes me look a little bulkier than I actually am.â
Bruce spotted him leaning against the graffiti-covered wall, a Burger Lord cup in one hand and a plastic orange bag in another. Just how much time did Bruce lose while he was changing?
John tossed the drink in the dumpster and practically jumped into the car, shoving the orange bag behind the driver seat and slamming the door shut as Bruce switched off the communicator. He took one look at Bruceâs questioning glower and gave a nervous sort of grin. âHey, donât look at me like that, thereâs something in there for you, too.â
Bruce almost asked what, but decided that a lecture on keeping a low profile and not taking money from his houseâs various hiding spots would have to wait. (Though he supposed whatever John got wasnât expensive. He was quite frugal, and it wasnât as if Bruce couldnât afford to buy John whatever he wanted anyway.) He concentrated instead on heading down the twisting path towards Toxic Acres. At least the traffic over there was a hell of a lot lighter.
âHey, when you drove me to the Batcave, did you go in fourth gear, or third?â
He wasnât sure why he asked, but he honestly couldnât remember. He just recalled putting his foot to the floor and keeping his eyes on the road, occasionally reaching over to check Johnâs pulse. âI wasnât really paying attention to that; I concentrating more on driving as fast as possible.â
âOh â so you didnât know you could punch the shift down into third whenever you wanted? It was so fun! I can say I literally punched it out of the Batcave!â He laughed. âIâm guessing you canât do that in this car?â
ââŚIâve got paddle shifters.â They were starting to travel into the more deserted road leading into Toxic Acres. Bruce took a sharp turn onto the hill with the broken Do Not Enter sign, and checking that no one was behind him, flipped the switch to shift the car into armored plates and pressed the wheel-paddle for a lower gear.
They flew down the road with a whirring whine of the engine, Johnâs notorious excited laugh mixing with it, and Bruce allowed himself to smile a little at it, knowing his own little joyful thrill wouldnât last very long.
John was soon tapping his fingers together in some kind of rhythm as they passed by more empty houses, Bruce moving a little slower to keep his eyes out for trouble. Sitting close to the river on the outskirts of the city, they were originally meant to be a long neighborhood for the middle and upper class to build their lives, but as the unemployment and crime rates rose, the place became abandoned. It didnât help that the piping structure to carry water there had been faulty, making either lead poisoning or unfiltered dirty water a prominent problem and giving the section of Gotham its nickname.
âHow do we know which place is the botanistâs?â John asked, his green eyes scouring the houses in front of them.
âI sent out another drone earlier for some aerial shots. Thereâs a place with camouflaged green-houses in the back on Aster Place.â
âWow, you did that before I left? That was fastâŚâ
âIt was a quick job. Iâm not picking up the other drone until later.â
They turned the corner onto Aster Place; the road would dead-end in a while, but Bruce knew the house wouldnât be situated at the end.
âOh, thereâs the spot Jackie got shot at!â John pointed ahead. âI wonder if thereâs a bloodstain leftâŚ!â
Bruce tightened his grip on the wheel. âWeâre close.â
It was oddly quiet out there. There was no other sign of life in what was a hot-spot of criminal hide-outs. Bruce turned on the thermal vision in his cowl; a lot of the houses were actually empty for once.
Except for one. 1801 Aster Place. There were a group of people scattered around on the bottom floor and what appeared to be a lot of heat-lamps running on the top floor. If one of the people in the group wasnât Pamela Isley, then she might have been holding up in the basementâŚ
They left the Batmobile out of sight down the road, and Bruce and John moved swiftly behind the backs of the houses in the chilly night air, the taser bomb safely in Johnâs coat pocket; John was surprisingly quiet, only humming a familiar tune here and there. (Wasnât it the theme from that old spy-thrillerâŚ?) Bruce managed to quiet him with a look, and John mimed locking his mouth shut and throwing the key away.
Two unknown people were standing in what used to be a kitchen; three more people were up in the front room of the house. There were no security cameras to be seen. Â
âStick close to me,â Bruce whispered, the modifier in his cowl deepening his voice. âWe go in through the back window, take out the two in the kitchen quietly and throw the bomb up front so we can cuff the lot. If none of them are Ms. Isley, we find the basement.â
John gave him a thumbs up, pulling out the riot baton he had hidden away. (Bruce had still not remembered when he or Alfred bought that, but vaguely remembered stashing it in the towel cupboard with some other emergency gear. He wasnât surprised John found it.)
The bathroom windowâs locks werenât difficult to break. They looked like they had been broken several times already. Bruce slid the insect screen up and slipped in through the thin opening feet-first, twisting his limbs just right to softly land on the floor. He had to help pull John through the rest of the way after he smacked his head on the bottom of the window; thankfully he hadnât made any noise, but he did give Bruce a strange look as brushed himself off where Bruce had gripped his sides.
Bruce didnât have time to think about it.
The two people in the kitchen stood in semi-darkness, watching through the patio windows with rifles leaning against the wall. There wasnât so much a bare bulb to give off light. Bruce figured their eyes might have adjusted to the dark, and signaled John to follow as he crept up behind the two goons.
âI dunno, with all the hype surrounding episode four, you just know those guys are going to mess up somewhere. Remember when they decided to let Celestyne drop to his death back in season one?â The one with dreadlocks asked.
âOh, come on, that was just to test the gameâs limits. Besides, Celestyne couldnât die; I donât think Jane can, either,â the second person responded in a higher voice with a casual shrug.
âDude, you know the gameâs gonna make her a villain in the end, though, right? She might dieâŚâ
Bruce was ready. John was gripping the baton with a widening grinâŚ
âAre you kidding me? They have her affection meter up so high Iâm surprised the game doesnât have a dating opt-â
Bruce slammed dreadlocked goonâs head into the wall just as the baton crashed down on the other goonâs skull, little smears of blood marking the plaster and paint with a satisfying crack.
John clutched the collar of the goon heâd struck, gripping the slightly bloody baton a little harder in his other hand. He seemed to be thinking.
Bruce took a zip-tie out and cuffed the goonâs hands behind their back, and wondered just what John was staring at until heâd turned the person around and caught a glimpse of them in the light of the window.
They were both women with little tattoos of vines creeping along the back of their necks.
If Bruce guessed right, those were ivy leaves on the vine. Poison Ivy had a loyal gang.
John zip-tied the wrists of the woman heâd struck and patted the part of her head that wasnât wounded. âSorry,â he whispered as if she would hear it. âLaurenâs ex,â John mumbled, gesturing to the woman on the floor as if he knew Bruce had raised his eyebrow at him.
Bruce simply swept onward, spying the door for the basement. There was a light on in the front room, and three women who looked like they could be professional boxers of different weight categories were sitting in different areas. One was sharpening a knife at the table, and another was cleaning a semi-automatic rifle as the third kept watch over a monitor showing security camera footage; three looked to be by the greenhouses (Bruce recognized the Foxglove variety growing in one under an opening in the glass, sitting next to something that looked primeval), and two were watching over the plants upstairs (marijuana, by the looks of it) and in the basement.
There was a figure in the last screen, working over a row of potted plants with low lamps. A zoom-in with Bruceâs lenses showed long red hair.
Bruce felt a hand on his shoulder, and John crept ahead him, the taser-bomb in hand: it looked like a mass of the sticky-bombs grouped together, colorful wiring connecting them all like some kind of net, and before Bruce could do or say anything, John threw it into the living room, where it tumbled into the middle of the floor.
The group began to shoot out of their seats in a second, and in the next the ball seemed to expand like a geometric toy, the wired tasers being thrown in the air with a flash before smacking people and surfaces alike as they discharged. All three people fell to the floor in trembling heaps, and John dashed out and started to cuff them, Bruce close behind.
The electric bombs were safe to touch now that they had fully discharged, so Bruce had no qualm about stomping on the lightly-burning sections of carpet underneath some of them to prevent any spread of fire as he pushed them aside. The bulkiest goon wasnât quite down for the count; she was still conscious.
She yanked John off her fallen comrade by his shoulder and threw him into the tableâs edge. Bruce threw a Batarang at her arm just as she was about to punch, and John gave a swift knee to her stomach as she flinched.
She fell to the floor with a louder crash and a grunt, pulling the Batarang out from her arm and letting it drop to the floor. âYou fuckerâŚâ She said, glaring up at John before looking over at Bruce, her eyes widening as he approached with more Batarangs at the ready. âB-BatmanâŚ?â
âYup! Heâs real,â John said playfully before smacking the side of her head with the baton. âAnd so am I,â he added with a growl. He decided to tie her wrists behind the nearest table leg. âI hate not being able to call myself Joker like this⌠Really sells it better.â
Bruce felt his heart twitch at the name. âYou can call yourself that, if it helps,â Bruce said gently, tying the monitoring-station womanâs wrists together, âJust not to peopleâs faces.â
âKinda defeats the point,â John grumbled.
Bruce shot a look at the security monitor â Pamela Isley didnât seem to have heard anything. Still, precaution should be used. âLetâs go,â he said plainly, sweeping out of the room with a swish of his cape.
John tucked a hand into his pocket and followed.
The basement stairs were carpeted and quiet, but Bruce was careful to walk on the outsides rather than the middle. Spiders had clearly made themselves right at home in the damp corners of the walls, and he had to duck to avoid getting the tips of his cowlâs ears stuck in one of their webs. A soft sort of click was heard behind his back, and Bruce figured John had gotten out his grappling gun.
Pamela Isley was bent over a row of exotic-looking orchids posed under heat lamps, dabbing something into the center of a blue orchidâs petals. Bruce saw several troughs full of hallucinogenic mushrooms sitting on the other side of the wall.
âThere you go, my darling,â she cooed in a honeyed voice, acting like she was carefully painting the center of the flower, âYouâll soon be the belle of the ballâŚâ
Bruce eyed the electrical box on the other side of the room. It wouldnât do to drown the place in darkness; heâd be able to see, but John wouldnât. The best bet was to tackle and restrain her.
OrâŚ
Bruce took out his own grappling gun, and aimed it at Isleyâs collar. One click, and it snagged her shirt with practiced ease.
âWhat the-?!â
Pamela Isley was suddenly dragged yelping through the air at an angle, smacking hard into one of the tables and spilling several unusual potted flowers to the floor.
Bruce grabbed her and threw her to the concrete floor, standing over her with several Batarangs in his hand as John cackled beside him.
âJonathan Crane,â Bruce growled out, âWhere is he?â
Pamela Isley sat up, shock written all over her face as she processed exactly what happened â it quickly morphed to a steely stare. âBatman,â she said slowly in a sweet voice, âI thought you were an urban legend,â she continued, wiping the corner of her mouth where a dribble of blood leaked out. âDo you always treat a lady this way?â
Bruce dragged her up by her collar and threw her against the wall, keeping her at armâs length. âI know he bought plants from you today. Tell me where he is.â
âOr what?â She taunted, smirking widely at him. âYou think I havenât been knocked around by men before? Iâve been in whole worlds of hurt, honey.â
There was the distinct sound of the grappling wire rushing through the air, and then an enormous crash â John had taken out one of the mushroom tables, the fungi now breaking and bouncing against the floor it the scattered in the dirt.
âWhoopsie,â John hummed, a wide unnerving grin on his face, âbutter-fingers.â
Isley looked rather taken aback, but the expression quickly warped into a mocking glare. âYou think destroying my inventory is going to intimidate me?â
John shrugged, leaning back against a table and knocking over a several small tropical plants with a slide of his hand, shattering the clay pots and sending the plants scattering to the hard floor.
That definitely got her attention; her face paled slightly and there was tremble in her. âStop that!â
Bruce glared at her, mentally thanking John for his quick thinking. âTell me where Crane is and Iâll consider stopping him from tearing this place apart.â
Her dark green eyes glared at him with a slow-boiling dislike. âLet me go first.â
Bruce did a very quick once-over; she didnât seem to have a gun holster on her, and she was definitely a lighter build than the rest of her gang. Knives were still a possibility. He decided to let go, keeping a Batarang between his fingers just in case as he stepped just out of her reach.
Pamela dusted off her green turtleneck. âI donât know where he is, and I donât care. He bought a few of my flowers and left,â she said, crossing her arms.
John laughed, fingering the leaves of the blue orchid sheâd been attending. âWith a hole in his shoulder? You didnât even offer a band-aid for that?â
Pamela was closely eyeing the plant in Johnâs hand. âWhat if I did?â
âI know heâs a friend of yours, Isley,â Bruce growled. âYouâre the only one who could know what heâs planning.â
âI told you, I donât know,â she stated, âand I donât care. Iâm not his mother.â
âI can see why you were paying such close attention to this one,â John hummed, fingering the petals with a gloved hand. âItâs so pretty. You put a lot of effort into keeping all these, huh?â He grinned at her, almost looking like his usual self. âItâs not just some financial scheme for you, is it?â
âOf course it is,â Pamela stared at him, trying to keep her voice level; Bruce noticed her eyes kept flicking slightly downward, like she was watching the plant. âI breed and sell rare plants to collectors on the side.â
âOh good! So this wonât bother you!â
In a swift move, John cut the blossom off the stem with the bowie knife one of the group upstairs had been sharpening.
The blossom fell to the table, and Pamela Isley looked as if sheâd seen a ghost.
John picked up the blossom. âLetâs see â sheâs honest,â he said playfully, plucking a petal from the stem, âsheâs not!â He pulled another.
âSTOP IT!â Pamela shrieked, making to rush at him â Bruce pulled her back and pointed the tip of the Batarang at her face. She glanced at it fearfully, but then looked back at the flower being torn apart in Johnâs hand, and it looked like she was watching a child die before her eyes.
âStop that,â Bruce instructed; John hummed and held it still. âTalk, or my partner and I crush every plant in this place.â
Isley stared at the flower in Johnâs hand. âI⌠I donât know what heâs planning,â she said quietly, her voice cracking slightly. John only touched the tip of a petal before she spoke again â âBut-! But I know⌠Heâs building something. He didnât say what, but he asked for some muscle - I hooked him up with some of Maroniâs old boys.â She shut her eyes and took a breath before glaring at John like he was a complete monster. âI hope the lot of them tears you limb from limb.â
Bruce forced Isleyâs hands behind her back and zip-tied them. âDown on the ground,â he growled, pushing down on the top of her head. John pointed the grappling gun in her face with a smirk; a good insurance if she decided to try and elbow Bruce in the face.
Pamela shot them both a hateful glare as she knelt down, and it didnât waver as her ankles were tied, too. âI wonât forget this,â she spat.
Bruce sent off a message to Tiffany regarding the coordinates of âPoison Ivyââs headquarters from his gauntlet. He knew sheâd get the word out before he could even get back in the car. âTell it to the judge,â he taunted, leading the way out of the basement, not missing the sparkle in Johnâs eyes as he followed, the severed, torn orchid blossom having been carelessly thrown at Pamela Isleyâs feet.
John gathered up the sticky bomb device before they hustled back to the Batmobile, and it wasnât until the doors closed that he spoke, and when he did it was in a tone Bruce would almost call revered.
âSo, what do we do now, partner?â He asked, a definite glow on his face.
âWe go look at some of the Maroni gangâs old haunts and see if we can find anyone recently hired,â Bruce said, the voice modifier in his cowl now disabled. He glanced at his recent text messages: Â one from Tiffany giving the ok on Poison Ivy, and another from Iman with the last known location of the stolen Ryde car. âAfter we look into the motels in the red-light district. Crane mightâve stayed there.â
John laughed to himself, but for once he didnât share the joke; instead, he pulled out a packet of jerky from the plastic bag heâd brought along. âI knew this would be a long night,â he said cheerfully, as if he was really looking forward to the whole thing.
It was well past one in the morning when Bruce arrived back home through the front gate, the Batsuit stowed away and the plates flipped back to red. The two patrol officers were only somewhat surprised to see him arrive back. Naturally, they reported nothing new, since John had been dropped off in the Batcave first.
Sore muscles were nothing new to Bruce. The old strained climb back up to his bed was just as annoying as ever. He honestly didnât feel like he wanted to sleep, but after following several empty leads over the city and bruising a few heads alongside John, he did admit that he was physically exhausted. He knew lying down was better than nothing, and he still had to go to work in several hours like he didnât have a double life. At least he wasn't starving, thanks to John thinking ahead and buying him protein-and-carb-filled snacks.
He forced himself to go through his usual nightly routine, despite the temptation to just flop into bed and lay there. He looked at the bruises on his back and ribs from where John had struggled against him under the influence of Craneâs drug, and decided not to bother putting the bruise-away cream on them, nor on the new ones forming on his shoulder from where one of the former mobsters had hit him.
When he did finally collapse onto the master bed in nothing but his boxer-briefs, his brain still decided to chat away at him.
There were no leads as to who exactly Isley had hired for Crane. Bruce cursed himself for not trying to work the specifics out of her. At least he knew she was arrested for drug possession and manufacturing, as well as smuggling illegal fauna.
There was no word on the whereabouts of Jackie Lant. Her car was missing, and sheâd called into work sick. Her apartment hadnât been visited in the entire time Bruce had his droneâs eye on it, and neither Tiffany nor Iman had seen anything when they looked into Jackieâs friendsâ places, either. All Bruce knew was that she hadnât called an ambulance to fetch her from Toxic Acres, that she hadnât been admitted to a hospital, and that there was no sign of her body either in the Acres or in the Gotham River.
She was alive, somewhere, and Bruce didnât know what she was going to do next. He hoped she was just going to lie low until he caught Crane.
Jonathan Crane was nowhere to be found. His house was still empty. He didnât seem to be staying at any of the motels â or hotels â around the red-light district or its surrounding streets, and nothing had come of a quick credit-card check. The Ryde driver the GCPD fished out of the River that morning had been shot in the head, and his car was so common that if Crane couldâve switched the license plate with anything and been completely invisible. Theyâd done a quick search of the warehouse district and found no sign of him there, either.
Bruce had the nagging feeling that he wasnât going to find Crane until the doctor reared his head.
The billionaire rolled onto his stomach, shoving the anxious thought away as he pressed his cheek further into the plush black jersey pillowcase. There were a couple more places he could check tomorrowâŚ
The bedroom door creaked, and Bruceâs eyes shot open, a second away from grabbing the billy-club under his pillow â he could see Johnâs messy hair in his dark silhouette.
âBruce? You awake?â
âYeah,â he mumbled.
ââŚcan I come in?â
âSure.â
Bruce noticed he closed the door behind him. Like he was planning to stay there.
That definitely put a new light onto the situation. A tense thrill was building in his shoulders as John deigned to sit on the edge of the mattress, his back to Bruce.
John was only wearing his Arkham-regulated pants, and the pale white of his bare skin almost shone in the light streaming in from the window. Bruce saw several bruises forming, one of which was from where heâd gotten grabbed by the shoulder by a Poison Ivy goon, and several more where heâd gotten knocked into.
ââŚI donât think I can sleep in that guest room,â John sighed. âI mean, I tried my usual methods of sleep induction, but⌠Itâs too bigâŚand empty. Iâm really not used to that.â His voice came out quieter and more contemplative. âI know itâs weird, but do you mind if I sleep in here?â He asked, turning halfway to look right at Bruce.
He felt trapped. If he said no, at the worst John would sulk, and at the best John wouldnât get any sleep, and that was definitely worse for his mental health. John had mentioned before about how regular sleep cycles were supposed to help with that.
If he said yes, though, heâd know he was sleeping next to John, and there was the tiny worry in the back of his head that John mightâŚtry something. Or at least roll over too much.
âI promise Iâll stay over on my side,â John muttered, not tearing his eyes away.
âAlright.â
A sweet smile stretched on his face. âThanks, Bruce. You wonât regret this.â
âIf you keep talking, I might.â
John giggled as he slid beneath the covers on the far side of the bed, flopping one of the extra pillows down between them. âThere â a no-roll barrier,â he said as if he had to explain the concept to Bruce.
It did not escape Bruceâs attention that John had decided to lie facing him and rest his arm on top of the pillow. John had pulled the covers up to just underneath his armpits; Bruce could see John's sharp collarbone and the lean wiry muscle of his chest. (Bruce made sure not to look for more than a moment's curiosity would allow.)
God, Johnâs face was actually his for the first time that whole night. Bruce had gotten used to seeing it in the natural makeup, but it was almost a relief to see it in its normal borderline-luminescent white. He looked like the man Bruce knew.
Acid-green eyes stared at him, flicking slightly and growing soft. âIâŚdid want to talk to you about something, though. If itâs okay.â
âI suppose Iâm still awake,â Bruce said in an attempt to lighten the tension in his arms. âSure.â
âDo you everâŚlook back on something, and think about the worst thing that couldâve happened in that situation?â
He didnât like to admit it, but he had. Usually in his worst moods, heâd think about how everything couldâve gone wrong. Heâd usually think about everything he couldâve done better, too. âI try not to, butâŚsometimes, yeah.â
âIâve been thinking about our fight a lot, lately,â John confessed, âAt Ace. I used to think about it a lot when I got recommitted, but⌠You started visiting me,â he said softly, a light smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. âYou remember when I told you I thought Iâd messed things up for us?â
âYeah.â It was Bruceâs first visit to John. He never forgot the sheer hopeful joy on Johnâs face upon seeing him. It was practically engraved in his memory.
âEver since I started sessions with Crane, I kept going back to that night. He always tried to weasel my worst secrets out of me,â he said with a low scowl, âbut when he started using thatâŚtoxin on me⌠I keptâŚthinking about what could have happened back there. I⌠I know I almost killed you.â
The sheer pain reading in Johnâs eyes was enough to make Bruce want to wrap his arms around him. It was beautiful and raw and honest, and Bruce found himself holding stock still, almost captivated by the expression.
âI kept seeing it. Over and over â it was like I could see myself throwing you over the railing or-or stabbing you, or...â Bruce saw tears welling up as John clenched the pillow between them. âI donât want to come close to that again, Bruce,â he managed to say, his voice starting to hitch. âI donât⌠I donât want to kill you.â
Bruce threw his pride away and grabbed Johnâs hand in his. âYou wonât.â
âYouâŚyou donât know that,â John said with a light sob. âIfâŚif IâŚgo back to how I was⌠If I mess up...â
Bruce squeezed his hand, feeling the soft skin twitch under his fingertips. âI wonât pretend youâre perfect,â he said, honesty seeping through every word, âbut I know you, John. I know youâre not going after Crane out of revenge, like you did with Waller. You reached out to me for help â but you were already trying to find a way to stop him without resorting to just stabbing him with the nearest shiv.â
John sniffed, a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth like he was almost smiling. âYeahâŚâ
âSo youâre not the same person you were then, are you?â He soothed with a supportive smile. âEven if you feel you are going backward, I know it wonât be to that same point.â
âMaybeâŚâ he said with another sniff, looking more serious. âBut Bruce, you know there are things I canât ever really stop, right? The auditory psychosis is pretty much going to stay with me the rest of my life,â he started, clutching Bruceâs hand back, âand Iâm not going to lie here and pretend my pulse wasnât pounding a mile a minute when we were fighting those mobsters out there.â He sported a small knowing grin at him. âYou know what thatâs like, though, donât youâŚâ
(Yes, he did.)
ââŚyou know whatâs funny? I used to think one bad day could turn a person completely upside down.â John managed to stroke his thumb against Bruceâs knuckle, sending a little shiver over the skin, and Bruce wondered if John knew how incredibly intimate that gesture felt as he stared softly at him from the pillow. âEspecially after Waller came to town⌠ButâŚI never really thought things could go back up after it. I guess it justâŚtakes a while.â
Bruce knew there was something right in Johnâs line of thinking. It only took one day to turn his life on its head, and he felt he knew, despite John having no memory of his life before Arkham, that something similar had happened to him. âWellâŚthey say time heals all wounds.â
âHow much passed before yours started to heal?â
He almost didnât want to answer. The truth was that he wasnât sure at all if he was ever going to fully heal, despite knowing what his parentâs really were. Maybe it was because he knew the terrible truth about them that they wouldnât ever heal right. Maybe heâd always have that miserable note in the background of his life.
ââŚIâm still healing.â
âI didnât say you stopped, buddy,â John chuckled with a knowing look. âStillâŚgot good days and bad days, huh?â
âFeels like it, yeah.â TodayâŚwas definitely more of a mixed day. Looking at John across from him, though, all honest and open, and thinking back to how it felt to fight alongside him again, and investigate with him, with that warmth and instant familiar comfort between that never faded away, he almost felt like he wanted to call it a good day. âToday might have tilted things right-side up.â
John laughed, a genuine, humored one that was almost infectious. âNow I know Iâm rubbing off on you; that sounds like something Iâd say!â
John slipped his hand away and turned to lie on his back, still chuckling to himself. The warmth still burned in Bruceâs palm, and he found himself reluctant to pull his hand away at all.
John turned to him once more, an all-too-familiar affection shimmering brightly in the green depths. It pulled Bruce in and made him feel like he should inch close enough to feel the warmth and security it promised. ââNight, Bruce.â
âGoodnight, John.â
John turned over, leaving Bruce to stare at the bruises forming on his shoulders. There was the terrible temptation in his hands to shove the pillow between them aside and wrap his arm around the manâs middle so he could lean into that pale, battered back and bury his face in a head of soft, green hair.
There was a worse urge, one so vivid it almost made Bruceâs head spin â he could just reach out and touch the bruises, feather-light, and trail his fingertips down the curve of spine until it arched with a pleased shudder, and Bruce could follow that trail with his mouth as far as John would let him.
Bruce turned his head away, the memory of Johnâs lips on his coming to the front of his mind, and he shut out the mental image of repeating that kiss right then and there, telling himself that he really shouldnât feel that way towards someone who desperately needed support, nor to his best friend who heâd left scarred in more ways than one, and certainly not someone who was both.
It had been a long time since Bruce shared a bed with someone, and far, far longer when he shared one with someone he didnât have sex with.
He hoped that was all it was. Just the bedâs memory getting to him, and nothing elseâŚ
Notes:Â Â Super-sexy-plant-person-in-her-late-twenties Ivy is OUT. Cougar-aged-mobster-botanist Ivy is IN! >:)Â
I really wanted a different Ivy. Iâm tired of the young, uber-sexy walking plant-human-hybrid thatâs immune to all toxins and diseases; plants get diseases, too, and sheâs so plant-like she should have some kind of physical humanizing weakness! Itâs much more interesting to have a human whoâs just built up an immunity and uses her babies for weapons and business; I kept her serious environmentalist trait, though, because while I dislike the anti-hero thing sheâs got going on lately and would love to see her as a straight-up villain again, we do have to relate to her somehow, and her love of nature is always going to be a good part of her. Since Harleyâs older, too, I figured it would be alright if they had a ten-year gap between them, so when Pam eventually goes to Black Gate one day, theyâll be pals. ;)
And Bruce you complete fool!!!! You shouldâve kissed him!!! Why do you do this to yourseellllfff? D:
I'm sorry it took so long, but as you can tell, I had a lot to work on, and Iâm doing my best to write the next chapter as quickly as I can while this nutty energy in my brain is still fresh. Iâm trying to keep with my weekly schedule, but I hope you guys are okay with having a gap day, as appears to be the habit now. ( ._. ) I mean, no one yells at me or anything for being late, but I aim to please with my work, and part of that is being consistent.Â
I shall continue to try my hardest! (*ď˝ă¸Â´*) 彥3 See you next weekend!!!
#batjokes#telltale batjokes#juce#atbom#at the brink of midnight#fordarkisthesuede writes#I had a lot of fun coming up with a different ivy!#i like the idea that she heads her own gang despite being rather anti-people#like she doesn't even consider them when the JUCE force shows up#then again goons are rather expendable in the batman universes aren't they?#i can't believe i worked in a nod to TFS's playthroughs of TT bats#i still laugh when i rewatch the first season and they just let Selina drop#all because they were curious to see what would happen#so will ivy's info have an impact on future events?#only time will tell.........#also i'm serious about those writer vibes#i'm sending 'em all out#you'll all do great this week i can feel it#p.s. the ao3 chapters are already edited properly so i'll fix the tumblr ones asap
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