A/N:

Hey Munchies I'm back! This Fic has been bouncing around in my brain for some time now and I finally sat down long enough to get the first bit written :)

Tragic and angsty (which is what I like best to write) so if sadness and death aint your cup of tea this probably isn't a story for you.

REVIEWS ARE MUCH APPRECIATED! Leave one and I will love you forever!

Now here we go:

Cold.
Snowflakes drifted haphazardly down onto the street, dusting it white.
It was just another night. Like any other night in Gotham. Nothing ever really seemed to change; things stayed the same, the people stayed the same, it was almost a comfortable routine.
Bruce looked toward the horizon, his breath escaping his lungs to freeze on the winter air; it was getting close to morning, the sky was still dark beneath the heavy storm clouds but soon a watery red sun would rise.
And he could go back to the Batcave.
His body ached for rest; he never seemed to have time to sleep between his delicate dance as vigilante and billionaire.
Bruce sighed and swung down from the brick ledge, he would make one more round before heading home.
The snow muffled everything, like a huge white blanket that wrapped the city tight and covered over the ugliness. The scars. The decay.
Bruce blinked against the falling flakes, his face raw where his mask didn't cover.
A deadened crash caught his attention, two thugs, their beanies pulled low over their eyes were exiting a pawnshop, arms piled high with stolen goods.
Petty crooks.
Bruce shook his head. There never seemed to be an end of them.
The alarm was blaring as the pair began lumbering down the sidewalk, their progress slowed by the slick footing and the TV each carried.
As Bruce dropped silently to the ground behind them he picked up snatches of their gruff conversation.
"...kids got the flu again, Nichole's been frettin' over 'em 'n I think she's comin' down with it too."
"Tough, just before Christmas too."
"Yeah. Just my luck huh?"
Bruce taps the two men on their sinewy shoulders, commenting quietly, "Nichole is going to have more than a case of the flu to worry about."
"Batman!"
One of the TVs crashes to the pavement as the thugs turn to face the masked vigilante.
"Looks like you'll both be having Christmas dinner in jail." Bruce says as he dodges the other television as it is hurled past his head.
"We'll see about that Creep." One of the thugs mutters lunging forwards.
The fight lasts longer than what Bruce had initially estimated, the snow hindering him as he struggles to maintain good footing.
The street is deserted as the three figures mesh into a flailing writhing mass, powdered snow scuffed and sent flying into the night wind.
"You miserable fucker, it's time someone taught you a lesson!" One of the men by the name of Allen roars, blinking a fistful of snow from his eyes as Bruce lands a solid punch in his gut.
"You boys are the ones who need a lesson." He retorts with a grunt as Allen returns his strike.
The alarm continues to wail as Bruce slams Allen's partner into to pavement beside one of the broken TVs.
Allen hisses, his cropped hair damp with snow and sweat, his beanie lying several feet away in the gutter. Blood is flowing freely from his twisted nose as he squints angrily at the Dark Knight, "You're going to pay for that."
Bruce side steps the attack, dropping Allen with a quick kick to the ribs and another sigh.
Gotham and her inhabitants never changed...they never learned either.
He reaches into his utility belt for handcuffs; the police would be at the scene soon, the alarm was assurance of that.
Bruce smiles faintly, he'd leave them an early Christmas present.
Click.
The sound of a pistol's hammer being pulled back turns him slowly around; Allen is sitting up, a cold grin creasing his features, "I said you were going to pay fucker."
How had he not heard him taking out the gun? Bruce wonders in annoyance, reaching swiftly for a batarang.
However not swiftly enough; Allen squeezes the trigger, the shot ringing out like a dull pop in the empty street as Bruce is shoved aside.
Momentarily stunned he lies on the cold pavement, staring in confusion at the heavy laden clouds above. He feels no pain. No white hot burn from the bullet wound.
Regaining his senses he quickly sits up, ears ringing from the blast. Allen is still sitting there, gun in hand although his grin has been replaced by bewilderment. Seizing his chance, Bruce delivers a sharp kick to the criminal's head, dropping him unconscious beside his partner.
At a faint shuffling behind him Bruce whips around, batarang at the ready to find a familiar figure lying curled in the gutter.
A crimson pool is beginning to spread on the snow, staining the ground and the purple cloth of the man's suit.
Bruce lowers his weapon in confusion as he cautiously approaches the Joker, wary of his arch nemesis's uncharacteristic silence.
"Joker."
The lithe figure stirs as the Joker slowly draws his arms beneath himself and rolls over onto his back with a grunt of pain,
"Ah Batsy. Fancy meeting you in a place like this."
The brilliant green eyes crinkle at the corners as the Joker beams up at the Bat.
Bruce kneels beside his enemy, feeling cold dread in the pit of his stomach at the sight of Joker's bloodstained suit front.
"What did you do?"
Joker rolls his eyes with an exasperated grimace, "Pushed you out of the way. What does it look like to you?"
He's clutching his stomach rigidly with both hands, grinding his heels into the snow in silent agony.
"You stupid fool." Bruce mutters tugging the clown's hands away from the wound.
"You're w-welcome." Joker hisses, his long pale face twisting up in a gasp as Bruce places his own hand over the gaping hole.
He can feel Joker spasming beneath his touch, the Clown Prince's body fighting against the blood loss as the crimson pool grows.
"Why?"
Joker smiles, a bloodstained hand coming to rest over the tops of Bruce's, "Couldn't let that nobody hurt my Batsy now c-could I?"
He chokes suddenly, retching violently as blood spills from between his red lips and runs slowly down the side of his thin cheek.
The bony fingers tighten over Bruce's as Joker gasps for air, the blood gurgling thickly in his throat.
Bruce says nothing as he carefully scoops the trembling madman up in his arms, uncomfortably aware of how close his enemy is.
"Aw why Batsy, I feel like a princess. I have my Dark Knight to carry me and keep me safe."
"Shut up Joker."
"Oh tut tut, no reason to be sour, it's almost Christmas!" Joker wheezes as he catches sight of a window display consisting of a brittle looking Christmas tree and dusty tinsel; his expression one of childlike glee.
He taps a bloody fingertip against Bruce's chin, "Don't tell me the Defender of Gotham is a Grinch."
"Keep talking and you can walk."
Joker laughs, a weak gurgling noise that darkens the front of his suit with a fresh wave of blood, "No no Bats I'm afraid not."
Bruce glares down at his nemesis, his steel blue eyes boring angrily down into the brilliant green orbs in a wordless dare to challenge him until Joker whispers softly, his bloody lips turned up in a small smile, "I can't feel my legs."

A/N: More soon so stay tuned!