Title: Not Quite the Bat
Author:medorikoi
Disclaimer: If i owned them they would have less clothing when together
Rating: PG13-R for now
Warnings: Just some gore for now
Characters/Pairings: Batman/Joker
Summary:A last stand by a band of Gotham's worst nearly kill The Batman and The Joker is less than pleased. No one stands between Joker and his Bat and he aims to make sure it never happens again...




Something was crushing him; it was hard to breath with the weight on his chest. He wanted to swat it away; to fight and live but his arms were slow and heavy, scarcely responding to him. Panic coursed through him, had he been captured? He opened his eyes and closed them just as quickly when the garish light blinded him, he squinted this time, letting the world turn into hazy grey.

“Master Bruce.”

“Alfred?” The voice that was ripped from his throat was an unrecognizable croak. He forced his eyes wider, ignoring the tears in them, it was so bright. “What-?”

Something cool and wet was held onto his eyes and he was immersed in blissful darkness, a hand carded gently through his hair. So he was safe after all. He tried to smile his thanks, his relief, but the muscles seemed frozen and useless. Alfred must have seen his effort because the calming hand was back, a second cloth brushed gently across his face.

“You were badly injured in battle, two gunshot wounds and multiple serious lacerations. This is the first time you have been lucid in two and a half weeks.”
If Alfred said anymore just then it was lost as his heartbeat thundered in his ears, a warrior’s drumbeat and a war cry. Two and a half weeks Gotham had been left unprotected with the villains celebrating his downfall.

“Alfred!” The croak turned into an anguished roar that tore at his throat. He struggled to sit, the crushing pressure on his chest increased and his head swam, his ribs felt as though someone had lodged a knife between them and twisted mercilessly.

“Sir!” Soft hands pushed him down and Bruce wanted to cry out when he fell back the precious three inches he had gained. “It is alright!”

“Gotham.” His city, he left it so defenseless, how many people died as he lay here? What had he done?

“Sir everything is under control, or very nearly.” Pain throbbed in his head, through his whole body, he shut his eyes against the pain and Alfred’s voice grew softer, more paternal. “A masked crusader has stepped up in your absence, the first night that the criminals of Gotham believed they had free rein of the city Firefly was found dead. He was burned with his own laser, rather nasty business if you ask me.” The blankets were pulled down to his hips the cold caressed his overheated chest; it would be a welcome distraction if not for Alfred’s soft sigh and the hands pulling at the remnants of a bandage just below his heart.

Bruce opened his mouth to speak but Alfred hushed him and continued with the process of cleaning the reopened wound. “Since then ten known gang members including one or two of the leaders, Bane, and Firefly have been found dead.”

“Dead-” All that time he had spent capturing them, saving them and his own soul- wasted, stolen away while he slept.

“Disreputable methods to be sure but the criminal class of Gotham has been scared into hiding, besides the murders there has been an all time low of nefarious plotting.” Bruce forced his eyes open, Alfred finished the bandage on his chest, he looked older. Deep purple darkened under his eyes, his suit and hair not unkempt but somehow ruffled, not so untouchably immaculate. He was truly worried; these wounds were serious.

“All the people who attacked me.”

“Sir?”

“They had stood together against me, I was not expecting them. Firefly, Bane, and I would bet Wayne industries the dead gang members were there. Whoever is doing this has some connection to the Batman. ”

“In this city who does not?” Bruce forced the smile this time, it burned his cheeks and it was a wasted effort, Alfred could see straight through him.

“I have to stop this; I have to save the others.”

“Forgive my skepticism but do you plan to ask The Knight to wheel you to the scene of the next murder and please refrain from killing the villains?”

“The Knight?” Bruce was glad to see color return to the older man’s cheeks even if it was an uncharacteristic blush.

“That is what they are calling him. He is the talk of Gotham, besides you of course. He says-” Bruce was amazed to see the blush on his stoic butler intensify. “He says that he will act as The Batman’s Knight until such a time that you are able to retake your mantle.”

After arguing and another round of antibiotics to burn off infection Bruce managed to gain control of a laptop interfaced with the Batman computers below… propped up on several pillows with a strong cup of English tea at his side.

The sun was setting outside of his bedroom and Bruce longed to return to the Batcave. The work he did now was relevant, necessary even before he faced this new character. Was he good or evil? A righteous villain or a misled hero? But he felt weak as Bruce, like his mind was numbed by this inferior façade, that the fever that raged within him and stole his strength would only fuel the Batman’s rage.

The first mention of this man, this Knight, was the night following his own failure. Firefly had been raiding a bank, working for himself now that the pay was better than working for hire, when he was well and truly stopped. Bruce broke into the police database to find the pictures of the crime scene, the wounds were all cauterized with the heat of his own searing laser, his mask had been ripped off and thrown to the floor at his feet, his dead eyes staring from an untouched face bared for all the world to see. How strange, Bruce realized that this may be the first time he had seen Firefly’s face outside of a mug shot, in death he looked so human.

The gang members and even a few of the Falcone family died the next week, it was a normal murder, that is if murder can ever really be normal. Six low ranking men and two cousins were all shot in a restaurant downtown controlled by the mob. Three of the men were taken down in a fight, their bodies strewn across the restaurant, the other five were not as lucky. They were herded into a corner and forced onto their knees in a small circle. The pictures were gruesome, each died execution style with a bullet to the back of the head but the bodies all lay on top of one another. As if in punishment, perhaps for the cowardice of surrender, they were forced to watch the bodies fall in front of them as they waited their turn, friends piling up in a mass of blood, skull, and grey matter.

Bane was the last to die, he had taken to walking around as juiced up as possible, even he had been running scared. He was on the street when The Knight found him; the tubes attaching the venom to his brain were severed. At the high level of Venom Bane had been accustomed to the withdrawal was instant and crippling. His weakened body was hoisted 20 stories over Gotham before the rope was cut just above him. A knife was found next to Banes remains. Bane had been given the knife before he was lifted into the night air, he had been given a choice, suffer the massive debilitating withdrawals he would never in this life escape or cut the rope and end it all. His back broke upon impact.

Each murder had eye witnesses, there were pictures of sketches done by police composite artists but they were all the same. A full figure instead of a headshot, clad all in black including a mask that covered most of the face, any skin not covered was blacked out with makeup save for feminine ruby red lips. The figure itself was definitely masculine but the tight clothing and stance of the figure held an air of feminine grace. There were news clips and live interviews with witnesses. Gotham was bussing with news of its ‘Knight‘, a flood of condemnations and gratitude in equal parts. The headlines all bore the same quote from one man’s description of Gotham’s new Vigilante “Not Quite The Bat…”

Bruce spent the night gathering information but there was almost nothing to be found. No leads on who this masked crusader was besides a strange affiliation with Batman, the M.O. on each murder was different, the places and the methods of killing were all twisted but profoundly diverse. It was three in the morning when a signal came over the Batwave speeding Bruce’s heart to a flurry, the thumping rhythm of utter helplessness. He knew as he listened it was useless, not a murder in progress, Killer Crock had just been found dead. Teenagers drinking on the beach had heard thrashing, Killer Crock was chained at the water’s edge, unable to escape his bonds he could only watch as the water came over him with the night tide, thrashing in the end as his final breath fled with the frightened children. At 3:05 Bruce called Lucius Fox and began working on a temporary Batsuit, one that could hopefully keep Bruce Wayne together long enough to make it through a night as The Batman.

Lucius and Alfred watched as he struggled with the lightweight armor, they did not need to say a word, it was in their eyes as Kevlar slipped over the harsh white bandages. If he was found tonight by any adversary this would be the mission he did not return from. That did not stop Alfred from trying.

“Sir-”

“You know I have to go. I cannot sit here while he is out there killing people.”

“Is it really worth it? To risk your life, to risk Batman to save the lives of criminals? Be reasonable Master Bruce, how can you go prowling through the night when you cannot stand on your own.”

Bruce glared up at Alfred as his betraying body swayed and forced him to stop putting on the Batsuit to catch himself white-knuckled against a chair. “They are still people and Batman can not knowingly let them die. Whether they deserve it or not is not up for us to decide.” A deep breathe calmed his drained body and he felt better, stronger, as the cowl slipped over his eyes and he could feel the reassuring switch from Bruce Wayne to The Batman. “And I do not plan to do anything more than necessary, I know where he is going to be and Batman obviously means something to him, hopefully when he sees me I can end this without a fight.”

Lucius and Alfred shared a look that conveyed entire conversations that Bruce would have pretended not to see, Batman watched his two oldest friends with the cold finality of a decision already made.

“Tell me where you will be so if something goes wrong I will be there to help.” Lucius spoke for them both; the silent ‘in case you are irreparably damaged’ went unsaid.

“Arkham Asylum. Dr Strange turned himself in earlier this evening looking for protection. There is no way the Knight is going to let him walk, it is going to happen and it is going to happen tonight. ”