Chapter Text
Collecting all his energy and holding his breath, Bruce pushes through the unreflective mirror, hoping that his guess is right.
It is - the surface breaks under the mass of his shoulder, falling in millions of sparkling pieces, as he stumbles forward into the unknown.
Someone catches his upper arm, not letting him fall. It doesn't feel like long, bony, fingers of the Joker, and a sliver of hope flashes in Bruce's mind, that there is someone - be it Khoa or Clark or Dick, to help him.
Regaining his balance, Bruce looks up, knowing that he hoped in vain. It was stupid of him to even think of something going in his way. Of someone to actually still care about him, after all that happened.
“Captio?” He says, squinting and blinking in confusion. This doesn't add up. What is he doing here?
“Long time no see, Bruce.” Captio easily answers. It's definitely him. One of Bruce's old mentors, the one who taught him how to stop being so terrified all the damn time. He didn't change much, except for aging lines and a pale scar of a Glasgow smile marking his face. Bruce is taller than he is now, but it does not bring any comfort to him. Captio looks at Bruce, one eyebrow raised, mocking and amused.
“What the hell does all of this mean? What are you doing here?”
“It's not the time for your questions, yet,” Captio says. The corners of his mouth curl up in a half smirk, as he observes Bruce with an aura of condescending superiority. Bruce frowns, uncomfortable and wary, sensing how the other man enjoys his confusion. Savours it like one of his rich wines. “The crowd is waiting.”
Before he can protest, Captio leads him forward, his grip firm, and they walk in between the massive dark-red curtains. The sudden circles of soffit light blinds Bruce with their white-hot brightness, as several of them focus on his hunched figure.
Flinching and covering his eyes from the light, he tries to read the surroundings. It takes him some time to realize that they are on stage. It's filled with theatrical scenery of Gotham - decorative uneven buildings, skinny lamp poles, and a giant symbol of a bat-shaped smile in the black background. His heart sinks as he turns from the stage to the sitting rows.
It's filled with people.
People who are cuffed to their seats, scared and helpless, are forced to watch this masquerade of madness. Their eyelids are taped open.
Bruce feels an immense pang of guilt for dragging them all into this mess.
Turning around more, Bruce sees big screens broadcasting what's going on on the stage. The operators, clown-themed dressed goons, follow his every movement with the cameras, surrounded by their comrades, standing there with the guns and checking the perimeter. Bruce feels like a pinned butterfly under the scrutiny of gawking onlookers.
Then, half of the stage lights move away from him and Captio to the dark corner, illuminating hidden in the shadows grotesque construction. A tower made of broken puppets and thornes rises from the bloody ground, bleeding and weeping, built on fake porcelain bodies and empty smiling doll faces tied together, trapped in endless agony, bowed under the weight of their tormentor.
On the throne on top of the tower, basking in the light of the softies, the Joker is sprawled, legs spread uncaringly, resting his head on his hand in utter boredom, until they catch his attention. He is dressed like on the poster, a jester-like ringmaster.
He gasps and claps like an excited toddler who finally got the toy he wanted, and stands up, slowly sliding down from his throne.
“And finally, the star-crossed lover reunited! Bravo! Crowd cheers!” He exclaims, throwing his arms up in the air. “I said crowd cheers.” He mumbles venomously, shooting a glare to their reluctant observers in a clear warning and pointing a gun at them. They cheer, unsynchronized and unsure, too scared to disobey him.
“That's better.” He approves, and then his eyes bore into Bruce's.
Despite his spinning head and weakening limbs, Bruce steels himself, trying to be ready for whatever Joker throws at him.
He knows it's futile.
You can never be ready for Joker.
Joker is the chaos.
He is the violence.
He is death.
“Are you ready for the final act?” Joker asks as if he's read his thoughts, lurking closer and vibrating with twisted excitement. Bruce wants to step back and protect his personal space, but Captio's grip is still firm on him.
“Thank you for your assistance, Doc. I take it from here.”
“The pleasure is mine.” Captio smiles, as Bruce tries to figure out why and how they even know each other. That's fine. He will figure it out eventually. He just…needs a little bit more time. Figure out what exactly he is fighting with.
“Well? No La Bise for good ol’ me?” Joker asks, fluttering his eyelashes. “Or are we feeling camera-shy?”
Bruce is silent. He observes Joker with a heavy glare, while Joker circles around him like a shark who smelt blood, tracing Bruce's shoulder with a pointing finger.
“All these people came to watch us today and you can't even say a word. Someone did not rehearse, I see. But don't worry, I have a good monologue prepared. I've been dying to finally get it off my chest. Oh, and been killing for it too.” He snickers.
Bruce stares at him, refusing to give him any reaction at all.
The mask of a too-far-stretched smile falls from Joker's face, and like by a click of a switch, he turns cold and infuriated.
He throws his arm around Bruce's shoulder, and Bruce stands still, trying to calculate what exactly all of this bizarre spectacle is about.
"I was faithful. I was loyal!" Joker exclaims, and his creaking voice scratches Bruce's ears. "Yes, maybe I fought one or two itsy bitsy heroes... bu-ut, it was nothing serious. Us alphas have needs, right, gang?" He shoots a crooked smile to the audience, wiggling his eyebrows. When people just continue to look at him with terrified expressions on their faces, he purses his lips, and turns all his body towards Bruce again - his movements dangly, like he is an old puppet on the strings. "But Brucey, batty, baby - for god's sake, tell me, my dark pumpkin pie, my gothic Carmen, how could you cheat on me behind my back?!"
"I..." Bruce coughs, hating himself for displaying weakness, "I have no idea what you are talking about, Joker." He manages to say in a gravelly voice.
"Ha!" Joker laughs in his face, his scent oozing with rust and blood and death. His essence envelopes Bruce, like tentacles. Bruce tries to get away, fruitlessly. There is a hot breath on his neck, bony fingers digging into his waist. "Very funny. You're forgetting that it's me here who is doing the jokes." Joker grinds out, roughly leading them into a chaotic mix of a waltz and a tango, accompanied by the Danse Macabre, but it's clumsy and uncoordinated. "Don't pretend! I know everything about your adventures with that Ghost-maker." He spits quietly, more to Bruce than to anyone else. His eyes burn with the heat of possessive madness. "As soon as good old Joker gets out of the town, you just need to get yourself another psychopath, don't you? You unfaithful little harlot."
"You're insane," Bruce whispers, as Joker spins them in the dance. There is a pang of overwhelming fear in Bruce, awakening with Khoa's vigilante name, pronounced by those bright red lips. Please, be okay, he thinks. "There is no us. There was never us. You're sick, and you need help."
"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury!! Tell me, who is here in front of you, if not us? Who's been here for your amusement and pleasure all these years? That's right! It's Batman and Joker. Joker and Batman." Joker chuckles, facing the crowd. “We have merch. We have a whole subreddit. There are several books written just about me and you, the main characters in this goddamned show, the only ones who matter, and you decide to throw all of our story under the bus as soon as some other psycho swoons you off your feet? Ha! Never going to happen.” Bruce feels how cold sweat covers his body, and he has trouble staying in a vertical position. Joker, as it seems, greatly enjoys his struggles and basks in his distress. "Face at it, darling. Everyone else abandoned you, didn't they? They don't need you. They don't love you. Not like I do."
It's true. They all abandoned them.
“Not. Not true.” Bruce grits out, using a burst of energy to twist away when Joker makes a move to dip him down. He gets out of Joker's grip but falls to the ground, his head spinning.
"Oops! Bats, did anyone tell you that you're quite heavy for omega?"
“What have you done to me?” Bruce breathes out.
“Why, how sweet of you to finally ask. I've Put a lot of work into it, you know.” Joker exclaims, fussing with his green hair. “I do enjoy a little bit of attention too.”
“Joker,” Bruce growls.
“Alright, alright! But honestly, Brucie, you would have appreciated your man a tinsy bit more.” He pouts. Then, his face brightens up. “Don't tell me you didn't notice my visits? I've been working on our relationship. Scenting your places, watching you. Gentling you. Had to take care of those suppressant pills too, or otherwise how would you be truly affected by my new Alpha-ness? Those hormone injections were a pain in the ass, quite literally!”
“You…all this time,” Bruce whispers.
The scent of sweet rot and blood and rust. Why hasn't he realized this before? It's been haunting him, following him from shelter to shelter. All those creaks and whispers he heard in the dark, all those nightmares. It wasn't just wind, or water pipes, or small critters. Joker was there. He was always there. Watching Bruce, preying on him. His slimy fingers corrupted everything innocent and pure that Bruce still had.
Suddenly Bruce feels so nauseous, that he just presses his forehead to the cold dirty floor, trying to breathe. It feels like he was violated to the core of his soul.
It means things he doesn't want to think about. It means that he is in heat right now, probably, but since his mind is unstable, his body doesn't feel the desire. Stress heat. Constructed by biology as a self-defense mechanism against the predator alphas. Aimed to please them.
A pair of polished purple shoes step closer to him, stopping right in front of his lowered head.
“I told you before, Bats,” Joker speaks, tone deadly serious now. The tip of one of his shoes lifts Bruce's chin up, and Bruce can't tear his eyes away from the pure darkness that Joker is. “You are mine. Our mating was only a matter of time. You always belonged to me.”
“Mating?...” Bruce repeats dumbly, unable to hold the shiver from his voice. No…Not that. He is not strong enough right now to fight - there is no one to help him -
Joker's laugh is like a dagger in his ears. He wants to try to get away again, but Joker's leg hooks under his chest and kicks him, pinning him to the ground, grinding his foot down on him. Bruce curses himself for being so weak right now that he can't even lift that fucking scrawny leg off him.
“Yes, you silly billy! See, little Brucie, that's what alphas and omegas do when they decide to stay together forever. Don't be afraid, Uncle Joker will take the lead…”
Bruce's chest rises and falls with a quickening speed. He can feel his heart beating in his ears. Joker shoots him a grin, delicately putting his leg away and holding out a gloved hand for Bruce, lowering down.
Bruce slowly sits up, and looks at his offering under his eyelashes, faking demure hesitation until their faces are on the same level.
Then, he spits in Joker's face, catching him off guard.
“Feisty.” Joker rumbles, wiping it away. “That's what I like in you, Bats.” He laughs, getting down on one knee, and grabbing Bruce by the shoulders.
“I know, I know, your daddy is six feet under and isn't able to lead you to the altar, so is your butler, but that's why I invited the good old Doc today - and he did it marvelously! Or wait…you didn't know he was responsible for your dirty little Zur secret, didn't you?” Captio waves at them from the front-row seat when Bruce looks at him, shocked. “Or that he taught me the same as you years ago? You were so beautiful and so terrifying, and I just had to learn how to not fear you so we could continue our rendezvous. Dannyboy is a good teacher. He even found me himself to get back at you. You really can strike a nerve in a man, don't you? But enough about him. It's our day. And I am an absolute romantic, aren't I? Who else would do such a thing for you?”
Bruce thinks of Khoa.
Thinks of him trying to learn fear from Crane, so he could understand Bruce better, so he could help him. Joker eradicated everything in him that was still human, so he could inflict Bruce as much pain as possible - so he could break him.
He keeps his mouth shut.
“Well, anyway, I guess the Doc is like a pops for both of us. Helped to birth our best selves. We're like one big family. Which makes it a bit creepy, doesn't it? But me and you, we love creepy. Haha!”
Bruce can't help but tremble. Can't help but show real emotions on his face. It is torture, to be bare in front of the Joker. To not have a mask to hide his face, his eyes, his fear, his helplessness, his crushing vulnerability. There is no Batman cowl to hide him from the world, and shield him from the pain and violence, to give him strength.
But there is Batman inside of you, Zur prompts.
“Aw, what's the matter, Batsy?” Joker coos, pinching Bruce's cheek with a force that could've bruised him under all that white makeup. Bruce grunts. “Can't wait to be forever together? Oh you, such an impatient boy.”
Bruce turns away from him, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to regain himself. He opens them up and sees himself on the big screen up there.
He looks pathetic. Pitiful and powerless.
Despite all his best efforts, the training, the weapons, a faint voice in his head always whispered that it was all he ever was and all he ever be: a victim.
Still a little more than a brutalized child to whom the world is all shadows and fear.
Always under the mercy of someone else. Never in control.
Then take control.
Maybe that's what he deserves. Maybe Khoa was right about him. He doesn't have the means to save himself. Was he doomed from the start? Is he destined to have a mating bond with a person whose love for him is equal to his desire to hurt him? Is it Bruce's fault that he always attracted people like that to himself? Something in him is so cracked and broken, inherently victimized that it calls out to the predators roaming around him, like a trail of blood in a sea full of sharks.
Joker studies his expressions, his pale sharp face split by the crimson grin. He wants to say something, but both of them are distracted when an object falls onto the stage with a loud, wet noise, staining everything around with dark red. It takes a second for everyone to realize that the round mass of toxic green and asbestos white is a human decapitated head.
The crowd gasps and screams, and Joker shrieks with them, lifting his leg in a ladylike fashion and hiding behind Bruce.
Bruce tries to focus and analyze. Clean cut, in one fast swipe. Probably some sort of a longsword. Lifeless face, twisted in agonizing fear. It's one of them - one of the Jokers.
The minute everyone calms down the second head falls shortly.
Another Joker.
No -
Could it be…?
Suddenly, the big screens glitch and flicker, the image getting distorted until there is nothing but a grainy gray display. When Bruce looks at the goons, he finds all of them dead, hanging from the balcony, pinned to the walls, and lying around in their own blood.
A familiar symbol of the Icon shows in the broadcast.
Bruce lifts his head, and he sees him.
Ghost-maker flies down to the scene like an angel of vengeance, his white cape fluttering behind him like a pair of wings, his katanas covered in blood. Bruce can't stop a soft gasp that escapes his throat.
Khoa lands on a stage with a theatrical elegance, despite the rugged state he is in. There is blood all over his suit, and chunks of armor are missing here and there, but his body language is as graceful and self-assured as ever. Probably, he was caught in the middle of his crusade on the remains of Joker Incorporated and rushed here when the Icon saw the broadcast, programmed to scan all the digital information in Gotham.
“Game over, Joker. Unhand him. Now.” Khoa orders, not even raising his emotionless, cold voice. Somehow, it's even more threatening than anything else. It's like a forest that goes eerily quiet because there is a beast lurking, ready to tear someone apart.
"You weren't invited, you greedy homewrecker. Trying to steal both Harls and Bats from under my nose.” Joker blurts out, his fingers digging into Bruce's shoulders while he sways him around like a shield to hide behind. The sudden movements make Bruce's head spin. “Besides, only the bride is allowed to wear white on the bonding day.”
“You are even less funny than the other two.” Says Khoa, wielding his swords.
“Ah ah ah. Not so fast, ninja boy.” Joker leers, roughly grabbing Bruce by the throat, cutting his airflow, and tugging him closer, leaving no space between himself and Bruce's back. “I advise you to lose those sharp toys if you don't want me to leave a bite of this neck right this second.”
Khoa abruptly stops, gripping the handles of his blades. His scent is heady with contained rage that is ready to be unleashed; he radiates anger with all his body.
Joker lets go of Bruce's throat, and Bruce is so distracted by the air he can freely gulp that the cold and disgustingly wet tongue on his mating glad startles him so much that he cries out, futilely trying to shy away; he never felt filthier and dirtier than now. He can't bear the humiliation of being treated like that - and worse, of Khoa seeing it.
Khoa growls, throwing his swords away, which only makes Joker cackle maniacally. His overwhelming, increasing Alpha scent makes Bruce nauseous and dizzy, and the most he can do is to try to stay in a sitting position.
“Ha! The best joke is that you really trust the word of Joker,” Joker mutters, and then Bruce cries out from the sudden white hot pain that pierces his neck.
“No!” Khoa yells as Joker gives Bruce his mating bite. Everything gets blurry, like he is underwater, as he feels their twisted bond forming, filling him with poison, inserting in his veins, freezing him. His inner omega keens inside of him claimed not like a creature to love but as a possession to own. Numbly, he realizes that Khoa jumps on Joker and drags him away from Bruce, hurling him on the ground with uncontained force.
“Oh please, don't kill me, mister Ghost face! I wanna be in the sequel!” Joker shrieks, laughing. He manages to take a few hits at Khoa, and they roll on the ground, but very quickly Joker gets subdued, taking blow after blow until he turns into a bloody mess below Khoa's fists.
Bruce idly thinks that Khoa is probably going to kill Joker with his bare hands.
He has a feeling that he is one of the spectators in the crowd, looking at the stage from a distance. Slowly, he wraps his arms around himself, looking at the splash of blood on the wooden floor. It's so polished under all that dirt. Alfred would probably be interested in what kind of polish it is.
Horrible laughter quiets down until all the sounds Joker can make are pained wheezes. Bruce blinks when Khoa leaves him instead of finishing the job. He rushes to Bruce instead, taking his helmet off in a hurry; his face mask gets in the way, and he tears it off too, throwing it all on the ground uncaringly.
“You're in shock,” Khoa states, cupping Bruce's face and examining him with technical precision.
“And you're beautiful.” Bruce murmurs, gently running his palm over the structured lines of Khoa's face. It's such a handsome, lovely face. Slanted eyes with a lively twinkle in them. Warm-toned skin. A strong, aquiline nose that for some reason always makes Bruce feel soft. Full lips…Bruce blinks owlishly, trying to put his hand between Khoa's face and the crowd, suddenly understanding that he is bare-faced too. “But... Your helmet, Khoa. Everyone will see you.”
“Fuck everyone.” Khoa snarls. “Bruce, we don't have much time before your bond with this maniac fully settles. I'm sorry. I always wanted to do it differently…”
He wipes the blood from Bruce's neck with his forearm, making him shudder from discomfort, and before Bruce can realize what is even happening, he bites his neck, hard. Bruce trashes, pained not only with the physical pain but mental as well - he feels how Joker's bond is getting ripped off him, like a piece of flesh. Khoa holds him, strong hands clutching his shoulders, his waist; and presses them together so close that they might as well be one being. Slowly but surely, unbearable pain blooms with delightful pleasure, and Bruce moans softly, trembling. Khoa's scent of sea salt and sun-warmed sand and wild orchids envelopes him in its safety bubble, making him high on it.
“That's it,” Khoa praises, voice shaky and breath laggard. His hands grip Bruce so hard that he expects him to disappear any second. It makes Bruce purr. “Yes. Good omega. Bruce, I need you to bite me too. Bite me so Joker's bond will dissolve completely. Okay?”
Bruce rests his hands on Khoa's armored chest, wishing it was his naked skin instead, while Khoa hurriedly rips off his white cape so it wouldn't obstruct the way to his throat. Bruce gives him a slow blink, watching at Khoa's blown wide pupils, at his parted mouth covered in blood, at his intense, feral expression, and his wild mane of dark brown hair, and he loves and he yearns and he presses his omegan fangs to the side of Khoa's neck, teasingly nibbling at him at first. Khoa is a beta, so he doesn't really have a mating gland, but as soon as Bruce sinks his teeth in his tan neck, they still will be bound like any other mates.
Bruce gives his skin a little kitten lick, enjoying the salty taste. His mind is clouded by all sorts of hormones, by intense stress and immense comfort, and his omegan brain wishes that it was his real heat, that they were laying in his nest, that they could cuddle and kiss and make love and fuck, that layers of itchy uncomfortable clothes wouldn't separate them. He wishes, but Khoa presses his hand on the back of his neck, fingers firmly but gently caressing Bruce's sore flesh, and he relaxes. He whispers Khoa's name, taking a lungful of his scent, and sinks his aching teeth into him.
He hears Khoa's breath hitch, and suddenly -
Suddenly he feels whole.
Like he got a missing piece to fall into place. He feels grounded in a way he didn't feel in what feels like centuries. He feels real, present, and complete. He knows both of them feel like that at this moment.
“Khoa.” He whispers. “Khoa.”
They hold each other, swaying slightly; covered with grime and sweat and blood, wedded by the violence of the world, standing in the middle of the chaos, it feels like the most innocent and vulnerable they're ever been. It feels like they're the first people in the Garden of Eden. Khoa is silent except a little breathless and ridiculously proud heh, and Bruce smiles and purrs in his ear, tongue apologetically lapping a trail of blood after his bite. Despite soreness and exhaustion and confusion and anger, his body sings with serene content, twitching with fuzzy energy.
From inside of the blanket of comfort, Bruce's mind doesn't catch at first what exactly happens next. He hears a horrible sound that he heard decades ago in the Crime Alley. He hears how the bullet pierces flesh and blood.
But it only fully settles his mind when Khoa coughs, sliding down on the ground.
Bruce scrambles to help him somehow, to put pressure on the wounds, to make Khoa comfortable, because he has to be comfortable, and Bruce got this, but there is just so much blood, and that insane laughter doesn't stop, and here is a loud ringing in Bruce's ears.
It's like his head is under the water. Or, no, it's like this - he is eight again, and he is on his knees, and he is scared of his damn mind, facing the darkness. The air tastes cold and there are no other smells than blood.
Khoa whispers his name, and it falls from his lips like a prayer. His face is getting paler, twisted in pain.
There is no time. There is no time, and it's just blood and pearls splattered everywhere.
“Bruce...promise me he will never get you, okay?...”
“Huh?” It takes a second for Bruce to register the words that have been said to him. There is just so much blood. “Of course he won't. You're my mate. He won't be able to. I have you.”
Khoa sucks a breath of air, inhaling heavily and flinching from the pain. It feels so wrong to see his face when he is hurt. He rarely gets hurt, and even when he does, it's hidden behind the masks, and he never lets Bruce see him compromised like this - at least, after they became adults. Bruce doesn't know for whose sake it was, now, because seeing Khoa in pain tears his heart apart, and claws at his soul.
“Bruce...” Khoa smiles at him, so fondly and so gently that it feels like a hit. In the corner of his vision, Bruce sees a panicking hologram of an Icon, but neither of them pays her any attention. “Don't cry.”
His hand reaches out, shaky, to wipe tears from Bruce's face that he didn't even realize he had.
Bruce clasps Khoa's hand in his.
He wants to fall into Khoa's arms, to hide on his shoulder, to beg to not leave him, but. For some reason, he just freezes, shaking in his place.
Khoa tries to speak more, but his “You know what I…” remains unfinished, as he starts coughing blood.
A strangled noise of worry escapes Bruce's throat. I love you too, he thinks.
“Oh, how the tables turned!” A breathless and hysterical voice exclaims, breaking the moment. “Now I am the ghost maker and he is the clown! Hah!” Joker laughs.
Slowly, Bruce turns to face him.
Despite being beaten to a pulp, Joker still has a grin splitting his face. He is lying on the ground, just like Khoa, and gripping a gun in his spider-like fingers.
“Great teamwork as ever, Bats. You bring me people who stand between us...and I kill them.” He praises, maliciously approving.
His yellow-stained eyes stare at Bruce, like two voids of madness.
Are we going to just stand here?
No.
No. Zur agrees, encouraging. We are going to punish him for all he did. We are going to bring vengeance. We are going to make sure that he will never hurt anyone else.
Yes, Bruce thinks. Yes.
He doesn't remember how, but the next moment he knows, he's standing in front of the Joker, with the gun that he wrangled from him in his hand. His head feels empty. He knows his face looks empty too. He saw this look on himself before, a pale face and blue eyes wide open.
Joker looks up at him with deranged desperation. A trail of blood leaks from his crooked, long nose. His green hair is a disheveled mess. He stretches his arms to the sides like he welcomes anything that will come at him.
“Oh, darling. I love it when you get rough! Don't be shy, Brucie; I'm all yours.”
Bruce inclines his head.
The weight of the gun is pleasant in his hand.
“If you insist,” He murmurs, “darling.”
Joker yells when the first bullet pierces his shoulder, shattering the bone and damaging the nerves, paralyzing the mobility of the whole limb.
Good. Zur says. But he still has another one.
Bruce agrees.
“Why aren't you laughing?” Bruce asks, tone placid, purely omegan. He takes a step to the Joker, watching him trying to drag himself away, scraping the floor with the nails of his functioning hand. It makes something inside of Bruce twist with excitement.
“That was not very funny.” Joker pants. He looks pathetic. Bruce wants to destroy him for hurting Khoa. Tear him down with his fangs for daring to take Bruce's mate away from him. Crush him like a bug under his boot.
Break him.
“Oh, but I think it was. I think this is hilarious.” Bruce murmurs. “Maybe something is wrong with your sense of humor?” He aims the gun to the left shoulder.
The thing about him, he is painfully good at using guns. Even when he feels like he is going to pass out and die, when the world sways and quivers around him - there is just no way he can miss when he has his eyes on a target.
And what a target we have.
Another bullet rips an awful, howling noise from Joker's lips.
“I think Jason would find this funny.” Softly muses Bruce. Joker makes a nervous laugh, opening his mouth to say something, to, probably, reason with Bruce, but Bruce doesn't want to reason. In his next shot, he aims at Joker's leg.
“This would probably make Barbara chuckle. And this,” He hums, shooting the second one. “This would amuse Bao.”
Joker yells something, but Bruce doesn't hear him. He can only pay attention to the scared look on his face. On satisfaction it gives Bruce. He can feel the phantom hands of Zur proudly clasping his shoulders.
But the fulfillment that vengeance gives him vanishes quickly, as he takes an accidental glace at his bloody hands gripping the weapon that murdered his mom and dad.
The sight is so horrifying that he almost throws up.
Is that what becomes of him?
Is it what his parents sacrificed their lives for?
Maybe in this world, you either die like Thomas and Martha Wayne, or kill like Joe Chill.
A part of him burns with the desire to put a bullet into the black void that is Joker's heart. And that's the scariest part. The intensity of it. Nauseating understanding that he already made up his mind on it.
Then, there is not much he can do to stop that, doesn't he?
What are you doing, boy?
Bruce smiles gently at the surprised worry in Zur's voice. He lifts the gun to the level of his head; his head and body are light as a feather. Maybe that's the thing. All this time, he was living on borrowed time. Was it why he has to constantly suffer? Because he wasn't meant to stay?
Because he was meant to go with his mom and his dad, back then, in the darkness of an abandoned alley…
"Bruce. Bruce. You did well." Khoa praises, pained, hoarse, wrangling the gun from Bruce's ice-cold fingers, aiming it away from Bruce's temple. Bruce's body automatically resists him, but his attempts remain in vain.
"No." Bruce breathes out, shaking his head. He doesn't even know for sure what exactly he protests about. Khoa entangles his arm, mowing it further away, until he gathers up the strength to throw the gun across the hall.
It seems to devour both of their remaining energy, and they sway before sliding down onto the floor together. Khoa nuzzles him, holding him tightly. Bruce clutches his shoulders like a drowning man.
They lock their tired eyes on each other, struggling to stay conscious, sharing one heavy breath.
The last that Bruce remembers, is how the ground started to groan and shake under them, how it looked like flowers bloomed around them, and how Khoa's lips softly touched his.
*
“Ghostie! You're awake!” A high-pitched voice happily squeaks.
“Ugh. Where?...”
“You are in my domain, Ghost-maker. You're safe,” a lower voice murmurs. “For now.”
Khoa groans, trying to get up. It feels like he was slumbering in sleep for at least a century. Awareness comes to him slowly - first, the sounds. Then, the smells. He pries his heavy eyelids open, and after a short period of adjustment, his vision comes back to him too.
It's a small room, filled with a variety of flora. Even the ceiling is covered with leaves and vines, making it feel like a wild jungle and not whatever dirty corner of Gotham they are in.
“I was so worried ya kicked the bucket!” Harley exclaims, jumping on him with the tight hug, making the mattress bounce and her unsymmetrically colored pigtails jump up and down. He grunts, immediately losing his newfound balance.
“If you may, Harley. Could you squeeze my ribs a little less harder? I'm not sure it's beneficial to my recovery.” He asks, flicking his wrist carelessly at the arrangement of her apologies. She sits near him on the bed, a big bright smile on her earnest face, cozy in her Hello Kitty pajamas, looking at him all cute. And Khoa can't help it. He likes cute, so he smiles back.
“How you feelin’? Are you thirsty? Hungry? Angry? Horny? Wanna take a piss?”
“I think what he does want is a second of silence to get into his senses, Harley.” Ivy - or rather, Pamela scolds, standing near them with her arms crossed on her chest, her wild red hair filled with sticks and leaves, her feminine frame wrapped in a loose robe. Khoa gives her an examining glance. The last time he saw her, she was under the influence of divine powers and not fully herself.
Well, at least he's in the hands of an interesting company.
“Oh. Sorry. Will be quiet.” Harley whispers, pressing her pointer finger to her lips in a childlike manner.
Khoa shakes his head slightly and fixes his hair back when the long brown locks of his fall on his eyes.
“Sorry again.” Harley peeps, her shoulders going to her ears under Khoa's stare. “It was more handy to leave you without the mask since we had to take care of you and all. It was getting all stinky.”
Khoa grinds his teeth, feeling uncomfortable and suddenly trapped. He never went out without the mask with the strangers after the second of his teachers tried to murder him for not seeing empathy on his face. Usually, if his face is shown, he leaves no witnesses, no matter what kind of person sees him. Even now, his fingers itch to kill them after letting himself into the compromised position. But it's not much use, he supposes. He already took all the masks off to bond with Bruce. Between the baring of his face and the life of Bruce, the answer is always going to be the same.
Bruce.
“Where is -”
“Oh, dontcha worry, Batty is right here. We figured you have to be in the same room, as you are now, you know…mated, like me and Pam.”
Khoa doesn't listen to her and gets up as soon as he sees him.
He ignores the weakness of his body and the pain, deeming them as a slight inconvenience. Doesn't pay attention to how his knees want to buckle.
What really matters is…
Bruce…
“What's his status?” He asks, looking at him.
Pale and fair, he looks ridiculously like Snow White after she bit the poisoned apple, surrounded by Pamela's blooming flowers that frame his bed. His chest rises and falls softly, his pink mouth is slightly parted, his jet-black hair grew out to a lovely length, and his long eyelashes flutter in his sleep. Khoa wants to touch him, to gentle him, to kiss him, but he just stands near, since everybody watches them; the most affection he allows himself is a touch of Bruce's round shoulder.
He looks at the mating bite that covers Bruce's neck and feels a rumble of satisfaction inside of him.
“He had a stress heat, a cross bonding, and was malnourished when we brought you two here. Not enough to make it lethal, but…I'm not quite sure if…when he wakes up. It purely depends on him, and his will to live.” Pamela says in a wistful tone, glancing at Bruce. Her strong alpha scent of wood, moss, and exotic flowers steadily filled the room with stoic calmness, probably subconsciously soothing everyone as an alpha of their impromptu pack. “We kept you close so your bond could help you both. But you don't ask about your own state?”
“No need. I will manage,” he says, stretching his muscles. “I am not as delicate as our friend here.”
“By the way.” Harley chips in, sneaking close from under Khoa's arm, “Holy macaroni! Batman is Brucie Wayne?! I can't believe he didn't tell me.”
“Right.” Pamela rolls her eyes, leaning on the wall. “Because it's totally in his character to tell everyone his real identity.”
“Not everyone, Pam. Just best friends.” Harley pouts, bending down and examining Bruce's unconscious face. Khoa doesn't move, and despite his fond fascination with her, he kinda wants to shield Bruce, and he suppresses his twitching fingers. Maybe that comes with the bond. Probably. “Bruce Wayne.” She whistles in wonder. “He is a pretty one, ain't he? The most wanted omega in Gotham. But I'm sure who you are supposed to be, Ghosty.”
“Of course you aren't. There is no database that has my real identity. You can say I deleted myself from existence.”
“Impressive.” Pamela raises her eyebrows.
“Wait wait wait, I don't get it. If there is no you in a real identity way, then why do you always walk in that shiny helmet? If you got nothing to protect? You are a handsome fella, I woulda just showcase it.” Harley blinks at him.
“What can I say? I am a privilege few can afford. Or so they say.” He shoots her a lopsided grin, shrugging.
“Ooo. Okay. Kinda weird, but I get it. I think so.” She says, scratching her head. “Anyway, isn't it funny that you and I almost had it, and Red and B also have a history together?”
Khoa remembers the scene of Ivy kissing Bruce in his memories that they saw via telepathic bat-helmet, how assertive and dominating she was. He rubs his unshaven chin with his thumb in a thought. Maybe she is the one he has to shield Bruce from.
“Darling. It's surely amusing, but I think we have things to do.” Pamela steps closer, wrapping her green-toned arms around Harley, as vines wrap themselves around the trees.
“Oh, we don't have anything to do, you know it's Sunday - ouch.” She whimpers when Pamela purposely steps on her feet, glaring at her with a meaningful expression on her face before glancing at Khoa and Bruce. “Ohhh. Yeah. Right. Gotta go, bye Ghostie! Have fun with your omega, but don't have too much fun. He's not fully healed yet. Bye!”
Khoa follows them with his gaze until the wooden door shuts closed. Then, he sits near Bruce, grunting when his wound pulsates in sharp pain. No matter. He had it worse.
He traces patterns on Bruce's soft milky skin, feeling their contact in their bond. It's a pleasure he never experienced before - something above the physical world. Like a calming, warm energy somewhere behind his heart.
A sense of belonging.
He belongs.
What a terrifying, delightful thought.
“You'd better wake up soon, Bruce,” Khoa says, looking at the uncharacteristically peaceful face of his dear friend. “Or I will be pretty much annoyed.”
Bruce doesn't answer. Overcome with quite absurd thoughts of princesses and knights and dragon slaying and kisses of true love, Khoa gently presses his lips to Bruce's, holding his breath.
When he moves back and Bruce's eyes are still closed, Khoa feels almost insulted. Then, he quietly laughs at his fantasies, shaking his head.
That's fine. He will wait.
He takes Bruce's remaining hand in his, thumb caressing his skin.
And he waits.
And waits.
*
Turns out, Harley and Pamela saw everything easily enough - when Khoa asked them about it in the middle of breakfast, Pamela just smiled, pointing at the greenery around them, showing how every plant yields to her power and whispers to her its secrets. They were fast enough to arrive on the scene so Harley could play out a scene that was long overdue to be done, and get her happy grand finale.
Khoa wishes it was him who killed Joker, but Harley was a close second choice. It was almost poetic.
Then, when the Joker was no more, they took Khoa and Bruce to their secret lair, a little shabby shack in the middle of the Slaughter Swamp, several miles from Gotham.
It is peaceful enough. Khoa only had a chance to fight Killer Croc and the creature called Swamp Thing, but it was before he got the memo that they are on the road to redemption - or, at least, are working on the benefits of society in this exact moment, which he learned from panicking Harley, exclaiming that everyone here is friends. He remained a bit skeptical, but promised her not to pick any more fights, even if he was dying from boredom.
A lot of people are capable of change, as it seems. But some of them are too rotten at their core and will infect everything they touch upon.
Maybe, neither he nor Bruce are right. Maybe the truth is something in the middle, as it often is.
Maybe that's why they were destined to be together.
He is asleep when Bruce wakes up. Grudgingly, he feels it through their bond that transcends his dreamless rest. He feels it in his being, which is a curious addition to the list of the bonuses of having a mate.
Khoa opens his eyes awake, shaking off the crumbs of sleep of his mind. The night seems young - but it's hard to say what time it is exactly. The ladies don't have any clocks, and his suit is hopelessly uncharged because Pamela finds the modern electricity system distasteful.
He was beginning to get restless with awaiting his and Bruce's recoverings, not used to living on someone else's terms, on someone else's territory, under someone else's mercy. He liked Harley well enough and had begrudging respect for Pamela, but frankly. He couldn't wait to get out of here.
The other half of their nest (that he arranged for Bruce when he woke up), is empty, and Khoa gets up, following the call siren of his heart.
The air is sweet and just slightly windy, despite the humidity of the place. Moonlight faintly colors everything with a silver glow. Khoa makes his way, bypassing exotic flowers, dancing fireflies, and crying willows, accompanied by the orchestra of nature - nocturnal animals, grunting frogs, the rustle of the leaves in the wind.
He knows that Bruce must be ansty and sorrowful right now, but he, on the other hand, feels absolute calmness. Maybe that would be enough for both of them.
Bruce awaits him under one of the willows, looking at the green, muddy body of water in front of him; his dark figure as melancholic as the tree itself. His omegan scent of red roses and rain is too delicate, too aristocratic for the wild swamps around them.
“That's my Bruce,” Khoa says instead of a greeting, half mocking and half tender, “barely on his legs and already brooding.” He steps closer, hands in his pockets, his posture relaxedly slack.
Bruce doesn't really look at him, the gaze of his weary, red-rimmed eyes too far away. Khoa wonders, if would he be able to feel Bruce's woe through their bond if it was in his ability to soak the emotions of others.
“What if he could be helped? Saved?” Bruce asks, his voice is a barely audible whisper.
Khoa sighs, standing close for a bit before sitting down on the soft moss.
“You know it yourself as well as I do, Bruce. Joker was beyond help. What you and Harley did was probably the most merciful to the remains of his deranged soul. Besides, it was self-defense. From you, at least. Arguably from her too.”
Bruce looks down, turning away ever so slightly to avoid Khoa's gaze.
“It was more than that. I wanted to kill him myself. I enjoyed holding that gun in my hand. I craved this power over him. Ghost-breaker should've cut both of my hands and he would do me a favor if having them made me closer to the murderer of my parents.” He mutters bitterly.
“Come here.” Khoa takes Bruce's hands in his and tugs him down, so he has no other choice but to sit near him. Bruce frowns at him, clearly not expecting to be manhandled like that while having his dramatic monologues, and Khoa grins with a corner of his mouth, enveloping him in his arms.
“I saved you. You saved me. We saved us. All the rest is rust and stardust.”
Bruce makes a little chirping sound when Khoa rubs his scarred mating gland.
“I wish I had your steadfastness,” Bruce says quietly, settling down in his embrace. Khoa thumbs him gently, stealing reluctant purrs from him.
“And you have it. Whatever mine is yours.” Khoa easily answers.
Bruce exhales with a tired little laugh, squeezing one of Khoa's hands.
“You are being awfully romantic today. Missed me that much?”
“You wound me, Bruce. I have always been perfectly gentlemanly and poetically romantic. You were just too dense to notice.”
Bruce snorts, scrunching his boyishly petite nose, his face brightening up with a ghost of a smile.
“I am not sure what to do next.” He confesses after a short pause, curling up closer. “I need help. I've been unstable for a long time now. Plagued by visions…Walking among the nightmares. And I know Zur is still in me, though he is subdued right now.”
“That is a problem.” Khoa agrees, thinking. “I was also going to tell you that Icon edited Joker's broadcasting immediately, but the people in the crowd saw our faces, and getting rid of all of them goes even against my morals.”
“It's like we are teenagers again, not knowing where to go.” Bruce murmurs. “I feel…I feel free now. Joker has been haunting me all my life, and despite the guilt I have, it's liberating, not having to constantly look over my shoulder, trying to prevent all the ways he can think of to hurt me or the people I love. I was so scared he took you from me…” He tries to contain it, but his voice cracks and wavers. “I almost betrayed my oath. I think I've lost myself, Khoa.”
“Well. Why don't we go on a journey to find all of the answers we are seeking?”
“Oh my gosh, boys. That will be amazeballs.” Harley cries out, jumping at them from seemingly nowhere with a big hug.
“You are not coming.” Bruce frowns, pressing a flat hand on her face, pushing her away like a disgruntled cat who received too many pets.
“Oh come ooon!” She whines. “Ghosty, tell him. It will be like the fear state again, all of us together.”
“Sorry, Harley. If His Highness decided so, there is nothing I can do.” Khoa shrugs, pulling Bruce closer and away from her, allowing his instincts to win him over.
“You guys are no fun.” She pouts. “I saved your asses, and this is what I get?”
“We will bring you a souvenir on the way back.” Bruce raises an elegant eyebrow, tone cold.
Harley groans, accompanied by Khoa's laugh.
The End.