Batter

Why will love me now ?

Slash warning! Turn back now.

Really, it had been like any other normal night in Gotham.

A new vigilante on the loose, the police baffled and useless-the Batman on it's tail. The usual.

Only, it wasn't. It just...wasn't. ..It was raining that night too, he remembered, raining, buckets. Pitter patter, everywhere. Not a drop to drink. The entire City seemed to overflow, water washing off the buildings in sheets. Still, not even the seemingly forgiving rain could cleanse the filth that is Gotham. Not just-the small time criminals, the bosses, the murderers, the incurables-the people as well. The undeserving masses, the civilians. Dirty. Worthless.

The tunnels had been closed off earlier that day. Flood warnings. Lightning cracked the night sky now, crash, boom, shing-all through the night. Pouring down. Oh, it could have been so beautiful. The City could have been washed away. Now, that would have been fun. Thousands and thousands, screaming for the hand of God, pleading, before they're swept away under so many crashing currents. He liked that image. It wasn't fire and kapow, it wasn't -pretty-, like fire, or sparklers, but it was still a pleasant thought. How many of them would cry for The Batman. THAT's what he would really want to see-Batman's -face-. Watching the people of this so beloved city, sucked away. And he couldn't raise a hand to help just -one-. They never deserved to touch him in the first place.

None of them did.

He hadn't seen it happen. But that wasn't the burn of it. He hadn't -known- about it, until so many precious hours after. How -dare- they keep such a thing from HIM. How DARE they think he didn't need to know.

Gloved hands fisted green-greased hair. The roots were -screaming-, the skin was pulled so taut, it was so close to giving way. How could they not tell him. How could they. How could they. How could they. How COULD THEY.

They had played it a hundred times on the news. A thousand, hundred, million times. It had been retold by different people a hundred, thousand, million times too. He had heard it all. Memorized it. It played over, and over, and over in his head. Every single word. Every report. An image had been painted so vividly in his mind, he pulled, ripped, scratched at his head to get it -out-. To make it all go away.

That it was all one big joke.

Why did it have to be raining? He used to like thunderstorms. Like small explosions rumbling through the sky. Now he hated them. He never wanted to see another storm for the rest of his life. Which, at the moment, was very, very likely.

Someone had been kidnapped. Someone that worked for a very important business. Someone that had to be brought back, immediately. Gotham's finest were useless, as usual. So, who else were they to rely on...?

In the corner, a television flickered in the dark. Dark-circled eyes turned to gaze at it. Some anchorwoman. They were searching still. She kept saying-they ALL kept saying it-'No sign' 'no sign' 'no sign'-

The Joker reeled. With a keening growl, he leaned back a bit too far in his chair, and went tumbling to the dusty floor of his temporary base of operations.

He screamed.

Nearby, a considerably jumpy group of Hench-clowns went still. Since their boss had come back, their numbers had decreased considerably in a puddle of blood. No one dared to approach him. They didn't even breathe loudly. The ones with the most seniority stuck close to the doors, just incase. None of them had ever seen him in such a way. He hadn't laughed in hours. Not even when he blew the brains out of half their guys. It was a bad, bad sign.

The Clown Prince of Crime remained where he was. Face down against oil-stained concrete. He wasn't sure when he had stopped making noise...or had he? Was his throat even working. Nothing else seemed to want to. Nothing moved. Nothing hurt, nothing felt. He could only see the flickering, grainy film playing back in his mind.