A/N: Here's your next chapter. I hope you like.
Warning: This chappie does contain a few dark thoughts (no death thoughts, I don't write that-ever) but Bruce gets angry.
Disclaimer: DC Comics owns everything Batman related.
Attacks on the Avenger
Bruce had decided that he didn't like waking up in hospitals (-his father's hospital, with all the workers-). It isn't fun being cooped up with no way out (-falling down the well, bats everywhere, why do we fall?-) He'd much rather be on the roof, where he can see everything in his city, where he can protect it. Because if something happened when he wasn't looking (-Rachel in the building, fire everywhere, my fault-) he didn't like how it ended. Now the only thing he could see was the white walls and the white sheets and the white equipment and the white blinds and Gordon.
Whoa, whoa, whoa, what? Backtrack, Gordon? He looked back at the cop who was currently slumped over in the uncomfortable hospital chair, glasses askew and coat hanging off of him. Gordon…why was he here? Bruce frowned as he tried to push away the fog that seemed to be covering his brain. And then what had happened the last night flashed though his head again (-the alley, the theatre, the Joker, his parents, the gun…or was it a knife? He couldn't remember, but…red everywhere, red on everything, on the knife, on the shirt, on the pearls…). He was hyper-ventilating, breath coming in short gasps as he relived everything (Rachel smiling at him as he left, his parents smiling at him on the way out the theatre, The Joker's eternal smile, the Joker stabbing him, the Joker killing Rachel, The Joker killing everyone!-) .
He felt something touch his shoulder (-a hand grabbing his shoulder, twisting him around- this is just too good!-), and jumped out of his skin, shooting up in the bed to twist around. Gordon had his hand on Bruce's shoulder, looking at the billionaire with a mixed expression of worry and guilt etched on his face. Bruce calmed a little, his heart lowering from a bird trapped in a cage with a cat pawing at it to just a bid trapped in a cage.
"Easy there, Bruce, easy," The commissioner warned, patting him in the shoulder as the vigilante slumped back on the pillows.
"Gordon?" he rasped, wincing at how raw his throat was (-tube running down his throat, choking him, can't breathe, alarms everywhere!-). He looked around the room again, desperate to see anything but white or red. But no such luck-even the sky outside the window showed the blood red of sunset(-red on the floor, red on the smile, red on the pearls, red on the shirt, red on the suit, red, red, red-). He flinched away from the sight, instead opting to look back at Gordon. The cop smiled (-at least there weren't scars-).
"You've been here two days, Mr. Wayne," he said. Bruce's eyes widened-two days?!
"How…how bad is it?" he almost didn't want to hear the answer.
"Bad. The Joker managed to hit your lung, and it started to collapse. You went into surgery for a few hours, and then they doped you up to sleep. The doctor left you alone, but apparently, you pulled out the tube that was helping you breathe, and the alarms went off. The doctors rushed in and you were pressed against the wall like you were terrified of something. Then, the doctor figured out you had PTSD, based on your elevated heart rate. He managed to calm you down somewhat, but then something happened, and just as I walked in you started freaking out. You fainted- Bruce…you nearly died. Your heart was beating too fast. But Alfred said something, and you calmed down a little. You'd been sleeping since I came in the first time. We took shifts, but Alfred looked like he was about to pass out from worrying, so I sent him back to your house." Bruce winced at the thought of his elderly, mother-hen butler worried sick about him. He coughed, his throat feeling rough. Gordon looked over at him in sympathy.
"Do you want some water?" he asked, and Bruce nodded like a five year old. Gordon smiled a little.
"I would too, after all that yelling you did." The vigilante scowled.
"Yelling?" he asked hoarsely, feeling a tickle at the back of his throat(-Harvey yelling at him, Rachel scorning him, Ras shouting at him, Gordon screaming after him-too much noise!-). Gordon winced visibly.
"I forgot. You woke up screaming around two in the morning, scared the nurse senseless. I don't want to know what you dream about." Bruce thought about responding (-alleys and gunshots and red and flashing lights and people screaming and fire everywhere and psychotic laughter and clowns and his parents and Harvey and Rachel-all of them, dead!-) but it would horrify any living person. Gordon stood up, pulling his coat back up and headed for the door. Bruce was about to ask him where he was going (-too many people left- his parents, his friends, his girlfriends, his teachers, Rachel, all of the people he'd ever loved-) but then remembered what had started the conversation: water.
As Gordon left, a nurse came in, bustling around the cop with a mutter 'scuse me, Co-missioner', and hurried over to the machines surrounding Bruce. He didn't pay the bright red head much mind until she wandered over to the door and locked it shut with a 'click'. He immediately whipped his head up (-no way out- of the well, or his life, of the room, trapped!-) in time to see her rip off the wig and the hospital mask, revealing stringy green hair, black coated eyes, and white face and red scars (-red on the pearls, red in Rachel's dress, red on his coat, red in the alley, red on the smile, red, red, red red redredredred-).
He snarled as the Joker turned back to him, smiling at him with hideous scars. Bruce leapt from the bed, yanking the cords away as they hindered his goal to get as far away from the freak as possible.
"What are you doing here?!" What should have come out as a yell merely came out as a hoarse whisper. The Joker laughed a jerking, throaty laugh.
"I can't come see my favorite billionaire, the Prince of Gotham just to tell him 'Get Well Soon'?" he asked, and laughed again, pulling a knife (-a knife, going between his ribs, a knife against his throat, a knife hitting his stomach in a burning house, his house burning down, fire, fire everywhere-) out of the pocket in the hospital jacket. He flicked it open, and took another step forward.
"I just wanted to share my…gratitude…for your survival. You see, I've figured out you and the Bats are real close. And if I get you, he should come running. So I'm gonna leave a little message for Bats, and you're gonna give it to 'im." The clown reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded up piece of paper with the word Batsy scrawled across it carelessly. He tossed it at Bruce, before looking out through the window into the parking lot. He smiled.
"Oh look! There goes your butler! I haven't met him yet…"
Bruce snapped. He roared as he lunged for the Joker, memories flashing through his mind (-Didn't Mommy and Daddy die behind a theater too?...save one of them…You're gonna break you're one rule! Got a bit of a temper, don't we? Does Harvey know about you and his little bunny?... You're just a freak, like me! Nothing you can do…-). He knew it was the Joker's fault for everything (-bang! And his parent are gone. Bang and Gordon's dead, Boom and the Judge is dead, Bang and Rachel's dead, dead, dead, all of them: dead!-) and he was lunging at the Joker, swinging fists at him and kicking him and just trying to kill the little freak who had caused him so much pain. He didn't feel the punches the Joker gave him, didn't feel the knife cut hit his arm, didn't feel the cold held against his neck until the Joker grabbed an arm, twisting it around his back until he was incapacitated. The Joker spun him to face the door.
Bruce kept fighting (-Pick ourselves back up, back up, back up, Mind your surroundings! Endure, Master Wayne-) . And then he saw Gordon at the door, gun drawn and pointing at the Bruce. (-gun held up to his parents, bang! Bang! Red everywhere!-) But, no, not aimed at Bruce. Aimed at the Joker. But Bruce was in between. And the Joker was pressing something to his neck. It was cold. Round. Metal. Another gun. There was a pause as everyone looked at everyone, there were doctors yelling in the background, nurses running everywhere, police sirens wailing outside, but the three people in Bruce's hospital room were completely alone-the only ones in the world. The Joker spoke first.
"I don't want to kill anybody today, Gordo. But I will. So put your gun down, or I pump Gotham's Prince full of lead!" Gordon hesitated, eyes locked with Wayne who was silently begging Gordon to just shoot the Joker. But there was still the chance that Gordon would hit Bruce-Batman, so Bruce had to watch as Gordon put the gun down.
Bruce was expecting the sound of a gunshot-expecting the Joker to shoot Gordon, but he didn't. He simply kicked the gun to the far side of the room, and bent his head down to Bruce's ear.
"Remember Brucey, give my message to Bats." There was a sudden loss of pressure on his neck, but then his head was hit hard.
He never even felt himself hit the floor.
A/N: Well, I hope you liked that! I might get the next chappie up tomorrow, or something like that, or update Playing a game…not sure yet. But no, Bruce isn't going to lose it, and the only person who might die is the Joker.
Lots of Love