A/N: Boo! So, ah, yeah. This is the final chapter. Wow. I'm... humbled, to say... Nah, sorry. I sound really fucking sarcastic don't I? LOL. I've been trying to channel the Joker too much. Anyway. I do appreciate all the feedback, all the traffic, and just generally being here. I've loved every minute of writing this (it's been a lovely escape from the real world) and frankly, have met some friends during the process (y'know who you are, kidda).

Anyway, just a foreword to say if you haven't heard the tracks Example - Something in the Water, and Don Diablo ft Example - Hooligans (VIP Mix) then I'd recommend listening to them before you read this. Just to get the feel of it into your head.

But aye, I'm outta here cupcakes so look after yourselves and be good and all that shite.
At least I've left you with a longgg chapter, which, quite frankly could be the best thing I've ever written. (I don't believe this is true anymore, but at one point it will have been)

So, from me (and Frank) it's goodbye.

Until next time, eh?

FS

Batman was confused, to say the least. Because everywhere around him in Gotham people were dancing. Proper hardcore raving, too. Covered in sweat, panting and exhausted, their bodies writhed and twisted to the rhythm of some inaudible beat that, for some reason he wasn't caught up in. He put his head in his hands and sighed, passing women with make-up smeared down their faces crying out to him for help, sweat mingling with tears and bodies that had fallen still twitching while lying on the floor like they were doing some sort of break dance.

It'd been a gruelling three months of tense recovery since the Joker had so rudely awoken him from his lovely, calm coma with the word 'darling' managing to effectively smash him back into reality with a very surprised bang. Every time he'd mentioned it since when he just happened to come across him when he was getting checked out in the hospital, or doing some shopping the Joker had giggled and shrugged his shoulders, pouting like a teenage girl and fluttering his eye lashes. Frankly, it was creepy.

What was creepier was that he hadn't killed anyone for a while. This is a man who poured digitalis into men's drinks and then cut said men open when they went into ventricular fibrillation just so he could see the chaos. A man who'd gotten on a bus and got upset by the smell of a man's sandwich and elbow touching and so carved out his throat, covering the back half in blood. He'd then got bored of being a passenger, and so dragged the drive out of the cab, slit his throat so to cover the front half of the bus in blood, hacked into his stomach so his entrails were hanging out and then managed to catch the bus before it ploughed into a third car, taking the poor civilians of Gotham on a half hour wild ride through the streets of the Narrows being chased by the police and cackling, blood tastefully decorating the windows, before he crashed it into a wall and somehow managed to escape unscathed and vanish into the streets. A man who, in Arkham, had strangled a man with his own tie and then stuck a pen into his eyes. And another into his jugular. There was always so much blood with him…

And now he had Crane with him. There should be untold destruction. There had to be a reason they'd helped him heal faster, and if that reason wasn't that they wanted to make his life a living hell then what was it? He should be chasing them all day and night. And yet, nothing. Gotham was calm. The super villains had retreated back into the woodwork from whence they came, and Bruce was completely stumped as to why.

He hadn't so much as seen the Joker and Crane together since the night that the Joker had woken him up. They'd stuck around a bit for the explanation of what had gone on from Alfred, but the Joker was awkward and twitchy, probably feeling naked without his war-paint and now that Bruce was awake, the sense he'd outstayed his welcome. Bruce was fairly sure the only reason he was there at all was that he was waiting for Crane to finish gloating. And yet, throughout the three months it had taken him to recover, nothing. No explosions, no gassing, no Fear Toxin in the cocaine… Nothing. So why on earth did they seem so pally before if they weren't working together?

He supposed there was the fact that the Joker had three broken toes, copious bruising, two stitched cuts and a recently (doubly) returned hip into its socket and that he was probably healing too. That and Crane couldn't use his palms until they were healed up, so probably couldn't do any experiments. But the quiet worried him. Three months was a long time for two psychopaths to be cocking up some plan to cause devastation. He tried to reassure himself that this was the Joker, and even an ex-psychiatrist (especially one with mental health issues himself) couldn't stand to be around him for that amount of time, so maybe they'd had an argument and weren't sitting in an apartment somewhere bouncing crazy ideas off each other and building mental things that he dared not even think about.

But for some reason his gut instinct told him differently. They were helping each other out, making each other stronger and neither would want to give that up over a petty argument. So as soon as he was back up to speed Bruce donned his bat-suit and headed out on to the streets.

And yet, still nothing except a couple of drug dealers and some kid trying to mug an old lady at knife point. And he was so terrified that he'd dropped the knife and started sobbing for his mother as soon as Bruce had touched down behind the old lady, who'd promptly hit the kid with her handbag, and then limped off into the darkness.

Well, nothing other than the recorded message he got when he returned to the cave later that night feeling faintly dejected, guilty about feeling dejected and with the idea that he needed to get back into his former shape in his head. He was convinced he was slower and far less agile than he was before. And his back was still tender.

"Aww, don't worry Brucie, you're fine as you are. Better than fine, in fact! I take it the, ah, game is back on…?"

The recording sent tinny laughter out into the room, and then the singing started.

"Just sitting here, chilling in the Batcave, whilst listening to Nick Cave. Last night was a sick rave, eh? Used to be Elliot, now it's just a nickname."

Bruce was instantly suspicious, his senses on red alert. Was the Joker here? What was he going to do? Could he outfight him? And why did he keep hitting on him?

Bruce shuddered, replaying the singing at the end of the tape. Elliot? Was that the Joker's name? Maybe he should've tried to get some information out of Crane when they were at the manor. His mind instantly assumed he'd be the easier target, but then he shook his head. Crane had spent years in Arkham experimenting with mentally unstable patients without anyone noticing, manipulating people into thinking he was just a normal guy getting through life. He'd been dosed with his own toxin and sent insane, and he had a pretty nasty alter-ego hiding in the shadows of his brain. He was pretty sure he'd be equally as good at withholding information as the Joker was. Bruce got Google up on the screen while the scans searched the cave and the house, for any intruders.

Nothing. No one there and the song was just a song. The lyrics matched up. His fame must have reached across the pond to England where some rapper was including it in his songs as a 'cool' lyric. The Batcave. What a stupid name. Who the hell came up with that? It was almost insulting, like a kid had thought of it or something. Bruce wondered if he should start calling his car the 'Batmobile' or something. Get it painted down the side so everyone could see that he was living in a fucking comic book written by a douche.

Bruce sighed and sat down in the chair. He was getting paranoid…

The next night there was a bomb scare down town. Bruce rushed to it, thinking that the Joker was starting the mindless killing again, and got there just in time…

…To witness the bombs explode and shoot green and purple streamers into the air like giant party poppers. He stood with Gordon, scratching his head, and the Joker never appeared. Not even to point and laugh. It was frightening.

The next day, half the cars in Gotham had flat tyres. And all the spares had been stolen. Each flat had a J, and a symbol from a card deck carved into it. The tyres were found in the river, all joined together by rope, the top one, somehow, floating on the surface. Bruce didn't even want to think about how and why the Joker would do this. The last time he was in charge of a large vehicle bad things had happened. In fact, all of the times he'd been in a large vehicle bad things had happened. He must've let Crane drive.

Two days later Bane escaped Arkham. That night half of the streets were painted purple, and a big sign calling for Bane's attention shone out into the streets drawing people from far and wide who didn't seem to think that a Joker threat area was somewhere they should stay away from. Sometimes Bruce despaired.

Hey.

Ah, let's keep this sweet. Batsy's okay, I'm okay, Scarecrow's okay, and we're all rather pissed at you. Watch yourself, Bane. You never know what could happen.

J & S.

Three days after that, Batman apprehended Bane in an alleyway. He was laughing so hard he was crying, and clutched Bruce's hand like a lifeline. He seemed to have shrunk since the last time Bruce had encountered him, too, the hysterical mannerism and lack of super muscle making him far less intimidating than the last time they'd met. Bruce called Gordon, and Bane willingly headed back to Arkham, thanking Batman for his compassion. Gordon wondered out loud when the so-called super villains had turned into kids. Bruce murmured that it was better than the Joker murdering people, while secretly thinking that at least he knew where he was when the Joker was murdering people…

The next night, a message was sprawled on the walls for him. It just read 'darling'. Over and over again in red paint, heading in a specific direction with the letters set out in the shape of arrows. Bruce cringed, and then followed them, coming to a package at the end of it.

"Yours. Forever, honey."

His curiosity got the better of him and he opened it. A short, sharp electric shock shot up his arm and he pulled it back, swearing loudly. Inside was a jar, a heart in it still beating on its own even outside the body of… well, where ever he'd gotten the damn thing from. Bruce growled. What the hell was he playing at?

And so that's where he was now, wandering the streets of Gotham listening to the morbidly obese wheeze, and the click of stilettos clanging out against the background rumble of feet hitting pavement as everyone danced. He wondered if that was the Joker's plan. To drive him mad by just being so damn unpredictable.

A loud crackle made the people start, still dancing in the streets, glancing around and trying to see where it had come from.

And then the music started. And it pumped out of everywhere possible.

Bruce felt like he wanted to cry.

"I see them come, I see them go, been coming here since I don't know. Come to play, here to talk, or are they here to simply show? Sense of danger, bunch of strangers, simply staring 'cross the room. Pretty soon they'll taste the water and it ought to change their tune."

The dancers were raving to the beat, it infected them; crawling beneath their skin and into their brains, taking over. He called up his communication system to Alfred and Lucius.

"Don't drink the water!"

Lucius' voice came back at him, "Thanks for the warning Bruce, but we got the memo. It's broadcasting everywhere."

"Where are they?"
"They?"
"Oh, come on. Something in the water? That has Crane stamped all over it. The Joker's just managed to twist it into his own sick idea. The bloody dancing… Crane would never do that of his own volition. He doesn't have a sense of humour."
"I believe the signal is transmitting from the nightclub in the centre of the city where the strobe lights are coming from."

Bruce sighed,

"I should've guessed, really… He's always been theatrical."
"Yeah. Good luck, Bruce."

"Thanks," he muttered, and shut down the line.

At least the Joker was doing something. His head felt clearer already. He just hoped whatever he was playing at wouldn't be in any way fatal. Although, he did wonder if his obsession with the Joker doing something was making him as bad as the Joker was. Was he encouraging it? If someone did die, would it be his fault?

"They take a sip and lick their lips, start to shake their hips. Dance the night away, the gangsters put their knives away, the water drowns the fights away, I'm really liking life today. But don't let it confuse you when they wake, they'll all be back to usual.

There's something in the water, like oh! I think there's something in the water, like oh! I try to stop me drinking it, but now I come to think of it, there's something in the water I can't say no!"

Bruce started to sprint, and was in the club before he knew it, and not even out of breath! Maybe he really was okay. He made his way through the crowds of exhausted and frightened dancers calling out to him for help to the centre stage - an inch thick glass box with the ventilation coming from the street and speakers on the outside so the clubbers could hear what the DJ or band were playing without any risk passing to them.

Gotham was a risky city, after all.

The Joker and Scarecrow were singing into microphones, their bodies crashing into each other as they danced back to back, Scarecrow holding a bottle of champagne which was being passed and forth as their singing and the music passed over through the speakers into the crowd. Bruce felt himself thinking that they weren't half bad really, before really realising that it wasn't karaoke and that he himself was heading for Arkham if he didn't snap himself out whatever mind game the Joker was playing on him. He'd been out of a job for too long…

He strode forwards, and the Joker noticed him through the dry ice and dance lights for the first time. His face cracked into a grin, and he grabbed Crane's shoulder, pointing. Crane pulled off the Scarecrow mask, smiling with equally as much demented glee. Bruce felt fear for the first time. That was a good sign. It'd speed him up.

"What've you done?"

The Joker turned down the music, motioning to his ears while the crowd kept dancing.

"Sorry, bit loud in here. I, ah, didn't catch that."
"What have you done?"
"Oh, nothing, nothing. Just bringing the residents of Gotham a little fun. You should try it, Batsy. Grab a drink."
"I don't think so. How long will it last?"
Crane shrugged, "Shouldn't be too long. Another hour at most, probably."

Bruce growled, "And what about the elderly? The overweight?"
"What about them?"
"They'll die of exhaustion! People are already on the floor in the street!"
"They should use their water filters, then," Crane said, and he laughed. "Or, you know, use bottled water like you do."

Bruce sighed, he knew that the Joker and Crane being in his house would never lead to anything good. Even if they weren't attacking him directly they could still use certain things against him.

"Why are you doing this?"
"What?"
"The easy stuff. The tricks. You've not actually done anything! You're just being a nuisance!"

He caught himself just after his words had slipped out. It all made sense, the out of character tricks, the lack of violence, the come-ons. He was trying to make him lose it.

The Joker giggled.

"It almost sounds like you want me to go back to mindless slaughter."
"You're driving me insane!"

Again, Bruce answered before he'd thought better of it and wondered whether the Joker had slipped him something too. The Joker smirked. He'd won already.

"Join the club," Crane said, and the Joker shoved him playfully.

The crowd were raving harder, but Bruce couldn't make out the song they were dancing too. Crane took a swig from the champagne bottle and then started moving to the beat again, dancing like the rest of them but of his own free will, jumping up and down. The Joker laughed, pointing,

"See, Johnny's got it. Maybe you should, ah, lighten up a bit."

The lights flicked on, and started strobing at a faster rate, between pitch black and different colours. Bruce couldn't make anything out, and tried to head in the direction he thought the glass box was in. He didn't want to lighten up, and he was concerned that Dr Crane did. It was a turn for the books.

"A field full of ravers with their ribs broken, bounce up til their shins open, bones poking through, all beat up but a token few."

"There's no door!" one of the crowd shouted to him, breathlessly. He was wearing a shirt with "bar staff" written on it. The poor bloke hadn't come to work that morning and expected to be raving against his own volition while the Joker and Scarecrow manned the stage.

"Where's all the Hooligans? The nasty music fans? Lets see ya break some bits and make this pit a zoo again."

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, looking for somewhere else to find a way in. it was too dark. Too difficult. The Joker turned the music up even more, the sound of a horn starting up cutting into Bruce's thought pattern even more. He needed quiet. He needed to think.

"We came. We saw. We killed the crowd. We came. We saw. We killed the crowd."

The music was at fever pitch and Bruce had started to panic. It was the type of beat that added something to an already startling atmosphere, and he realised that maybe he wasn't ready to come back yet. He could hear the Joker and Crane's voices over the pounding music and the shrieks of the crowd. He needed to think, he needed to breathe, and the air was too thick…

"We came. We saw. We killed the crowd. We came. We saw. We killed the crowd."

The implications of the words finally hit Bruce full in the face, and he glanced around for anything, anything, that they might be using to do… something. He could make out the dry ice, connecting to something that Crane was injecting… Bruce pulled on the gas mask he'd had fitted to his mask after their initial run in, looking for the vents. They were covered. He tried to herd the dancers to the door. It slammed shut, locking them in.

"Shit. Shit. Shit!" Bruce thought, frantically looking for another way out.

He could see the Joker and Crane dancing in the back ground, jumping up and down in the box, shouting into the microphones, pushing each other, and holding on to each others necks. If Bruce had've known the song and the video, he'd see the sick parody that it held as the men played it out almost move for move.

"We came. We saw. We killed the crowd. We came. We saw. We killed the crowd."

The lights flared up into his face, the filter set on red. The music calmed from the frantic, piercing, pounding rhythm and settled on something lighter, the previous beat quietly playing in the background. The Joker and Crane jumped so that they were facing each other. In a corner of his mind that he tried to ignore Bruce helpfully told himself that it was indeed very theatrical.

"We came. We saw. We killed the crowd…"

A hiss started up, the music stopped, and the crowd stopped their dancing and stood stock still. Bruce looked around him, still frantic, trying to predict what was about to happen.

And then the people in the room started to laugh. Joker and Crane exchanged a glance, identical leering smirks playing up their faces, like they'd just achieved something. Which, really, they had.

The crowd still laughed, they laughed until they cried, and Bruce couldn't speak through the mask to ask what the hell was going on.

And then they stopped laughing, and all dropped to the floor. Bruce knelt down beside the nearest person and felt for the pulse that he already knew wasn't there. They had laughed until they died, faces in a sick parody of a grin that was sickening to look at. Batman had known the Joker had hold of some strychnine for a while, but he never expected the man to have the patience to formulate it. Crane, on the other hand, was an obvious and easy way to make the dream a reality. And now a club full of people were dead.

The Joker was laughing himself now. Batman wanted to punch his face in, and ran at the glass. Crane snickered, watching Batman claw at the screen that separated them.

"Gas mask, you've learned," Crane said, and the Joker appeared over his shoulder, looking down at Bruce.

"What? You said I was driving you out of your mind doing nothing, and here you are complaining when I do something. I can't win." He threw his arms up in the air, shrugging in mock exasperation.

Crane opened a trapdoor and jumped down.

"Coming, J?"
"Yeah, I'll be right down cupcake."

He looked at Batman, still searching for the way in and blew a kiss.

"See ya around, darling."

He winked, and followed Crane down the hole, pulling the door shut behind him, leaving Batman feeling confused and empty and worried for Gotham. He calmed himself down and found the trapdoor that lead outside, but they could be anywhere by the time he got to the end of it. It was a wild goose chase, and yet he set off anyway.

He was back in business, and the game was definitely on.

In the tunnel, Jonathan and the Joker walked along with their arms slung around each others shoulders, giggling.

"Did you see his face?" Jonathan asked, laughing. The doctor had definitely picked something up from him, the Joker thought, smiling.

"I know. It was like he'd expected us to just give up or something. I mean rea-lly? That's not why we saved him."
"Tell me about it."

The Joker paused the conversation, deep in thought.

"We need something new."
"Yeah, I was thinking the exact same thing."
"We've been out of the game far too long, and have been letting him have it far too easy. I've missed the chaos."

"The fear."
"Pre-cisely!" he shouted, gesturing madly.

The Joker threw his arm back round Jonathan's shoulders.

"But right now…"
"Now?"
"I need a beer. Champagne just does not taste right."

Jonathan rolled his eyes.

"Do we even have any beer in?"
"Eh, yeah. We have a fridge full. And even if we didn't, you can get far in life with a smile." The Joker smirked and reached in his pocket for a gun. "Then again you can get further with a smile and a gun."

"Do you just store all of these phrases and songs in your brain until a time comes where they would fit in?"
"Pretty much. Maybe we should get a dog or something. Make the flat a little more domestic. Like a family."

Jonathan recognised the wording from the same mind games he was playing with the Batman, and tried not to smirk. Everything was definitely back to normal.

"No."
The Joker pouted, "Aw, why not?"
"Because I get enough death threats from the hamster."

The Joker laughed, the sound echoing around them, and they headed back to the apartment.

THE END.