I got a beta! HORAY! Thank you Eve! All chapters will be updated... I hope. :P

Shattered Identities

Chapter 1

The Fall

Arkham Asylum was just as run down and rotten as the last time Bruce had "visited". Its only redeeming factor being the newly-installed, high-tech security measures whirling away around him, the soft drone and buzz of electric doors, the subtle sound of swiveling cameras. The last time he had been here had been… different. Despite the absolute chaos that had been running rampant at the time, the place had almost felt more controlled, or at least he had. It all came down to the fact that, right now, dressed simply, in his crisp button-up shirt, and slick, tailored suit, he felt naked, exposed and vulnerable in ways he loathed. It couldn't be avoided though, he had to know, had to make sure. And now he had the excuse he hadn't even realized he needed, let alone wanted.

It had been a long week; to be honest it had been a long month. The Joker had, once again, escaped the re-established island of Arkham Asylum. Although Arkham City had been dismantled months ago, some of Gotham's filth and degenerates still inhabited the dilapidated ruins. It had taken Bruce weeks to track down the more dangerous inmates, several of which still managing to elude him, lost in the chaos that had ensued that night. The Joker wasn't one of them.

The week it occurred had been relatively quiet for Batman, and yet for Bruce Wayne it had been a complete mess, taxing in ways he was vastly unfamiliar with.

He had a party. Actually had to throw one himself, as Alfred had come down with the flu. While Alfred's tasks for such an event were usually quite straightforward, consisting of making a few calls, bringing in a team of professionals and simply letting them to do their thing, it seemed as though when Bruce attempted it, everything went to hell. Half way through preparation, the decorator feel ill, the DJ they had hired was shot by his girlfriend twelve hours before the party, not an uncommon occurrence in Gotham, the shipment of wine ordered never arrived, having been snowed in and unable to ship, and the list went on, one ridiculous call after another from the panicking employees. Bruce was just about ready to tear his hair out before the party had even commenced. As the first pompous, rich man shook his hand, Bruce confirmed his preference: he'd much rather be out keeping the streets of Gotham clean, maybe even punching in a few criminals in the face, then mingling with haughty Gothamites. But, in spite of the impromptu efforts, things seemed to be running smoothly. So far.

Bruce found himself crowded by a circle of Gotham's richest. A blonde actress clutched his arm a little too tightly, her pastel pink dress clashing horribly with his burgundy tie. Apparently they didn't get the same memo. The men and women around him talked non-stop, their own dates hanging off of them, laughing at their own perverse jokes and playful jargon. Bruce would give anything to leave this party; unfortunately Alfred was still sick, thus preventing Bruce from pawning off his host duties onto the man. He snatched up a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, almost downing the whole thing in one swig. His date gave him a delicate side-glance at the action, her well-groomed brows furrowed. He gave her a tight smile. Suddenly, the unmistakable sound of gunshots shattered through the chatter and music, utter silence immediately falling over the gathering.

The jarring sound stopped Bruce's heart, his body instantly pumping with adrenaline. Everyone around him dropped to the ground, his arm tugged down by his date as she ducked with the rest of the crowd. Bruce spun around, searching for the cause of the violent outbreak and attempting to wrestle his jacket sleeve out of the woman's terrified clutch. His brain instantly filtered through the possibilities that could have allowed this to happen; how the hell had weapons made their way into his party? He was always meticulous about security. Wracking his brain, his rapid thoughts paused on the call he had received about a change in his head of security. His usual man had come down with the flu, so he went with the highly recommended alternative. This attack had obviously had been planned, and Bruce wondered if Peter was really sick or if he had been murdered, the latter seeming the more likely option. Around the room, armed men stepped forward, their faces obscured by contorted clown masks. A goon was located at each exit, preventing any attempt to escape. Bruce swallowed hard. Out of all the madmen in the city it had to be the one he couldn't bargain with.

"Bruce!" his date hissed from beside him, "Get down!" At the sound of his name the billionaire was reminded just who he was at that moment. Right now he was Bruce Wayne, not Batman. Steadily, he raised his hands in surrender and lowered himself to his knees, acutely aware of the hench-clown stalking towards him from behind. One of the men from the crowd stood up, his head bowed, back turned. Slowly, his large coat was slipped off to reveal a signature purple suit. A brown wig was pulled away, green hair shaken out leisurely, as if in slow motion. Turning around in a lazy, almost sensual manner, the Joker's eyes met Bruce's, a wide grin spilling across his scarred face. Bruce froze, half way to the floor.

"Sit down, pretty boy," the Joker crooned, his voice reverberating around the silent room, machine gun cocked over his shoulder, aimed towards the ceiling. Bruce knelt down with the rest of the Gothamites, feeling just as vulnerable as they did, but entirely more useless as the Joker clicked his tongue.

"What a bee-ee-ay-oo-tiful group of people we have here!" he enunciated, dancing around the room, stepping over the cowering men and women too frightened to scamper away from his passing boots, carelessly crushing the hands of those too slow or too afraid to move. The Joker swung his gun around mindlessly, pointing it randomly at people, eliciting gasps and whimpers from the crowd. They had all seen the last party; they knew the Clown Prince of Crime killed at the drop of a hat. The Joker mocked them as he went:

"Love the dress."

"Who's your tailor?"

"You sell your kid for those earrings?"

"How many puppies did you need for that coat? Mine took sixteen, pure bred of course, only the best for me, myself and I."

"I wanted to look like you once. So I cut this girl's face off. Best Halloween ever," the Joker taunted, skipping through the crowd. Bruce's heart sank as the Joker danced closer and closer, with every swaggering step, steadily diminishing his chances of slipping out undetected. The clowns he could fool, the Joker was a different story. With a pivot of finality, the Joker came to a stop in front of Bruce, his coattail slapping the billionaire in the face as he gave the crowd a little twirl. Bruce knew it would be impossible to leave now; it appeared he was to be the Joker's main entertainment for the night, the focal point of his attack. The Joker paused abruptly mid spin as if frozen in time, he snarled at the people within close proximity and they darted and scurried away hastily, shrieks and wails of terror accompanying the movement, allowing the slim man plenty of leg room. Cackling laughter echoed through the quiet hall, the crowd gazing on in horror.

"Didn't even have to say boo!" the Joker snapped, leaning into Bruce's personal space. Bruce realized too late that his startled reaction was a second too slow for someone truly afraid. Everyone had already cowered away from the clown by the time he had done the same. The Joker frowned, pursed his lips and hummed, leaning forward, his face barely inches from Bruce's, eyes calculating. Bruce avoided eye contact at all costs, playing the quivering socialite, knowing that even one more slip would give him away. The Joker would figure it out.

"Loooovely party you have here, Brucey babe!" he began, "I'm sur-prised! You pulled it together so well, considering all the trouble I went through to put a little, uh, chaos. In your life," the madman giggled, his voice easily projected through the entire hall, along with his accompanying, maniacal laughter. Bruce worked to quell the glare that threatened his frightened features. So the Joker had been responsible. It shouldn't have come as a surprise. Alfred never gets sick, it was a shock he ever contracted the virus in the first place. Bruce should have known. Damn it, he should have known. The Joker began to applaud, leather gloves slapping against each other with a muffled clap as he straightened.

"Well done!" The architect of anarchy turned his back on Bruce, who had to resist the impulse to attack the madman. Knowing that even if he did manage to get the Joker in a headlock and divest him of his weapon, he would still be left wide open to any other attacks from the various henchmen scattered throughout the room. The Clown Prince slunk away from him, taking any thoughts of saving the situation with him.

"How is everyone enjoying the party so far, hmm?" the Joker's smile quickly slipped off his face when the crowd remained silent, only muffled sobs audible over the henchmen's heavy breathing. "I asked you a question sweetheart," the madman said darkly, cocking the machine gun on his hip, pointing the barrel at a woman's face.

"Please," The woman sobbed desperately, and the Joker sneered in disappointment, finger tightening on the trigger.

"Boring," he sighed, dragging out the word, just about ready to blow the woman's head clean off, maybe even taking out few others in the spray.

"Don't," the Joker warned, his attention zeroing in on the chiseled billionaire when Bruce tensed, ready to spring into action. Red lips pulled into a smirk, white face tilted curiously, strands of green hair plastered down with greasepaint. "All beauty and brawn, huh?" the Joker chuckled, walking back towards the playboy. Relief and dread warred inside the man as the clown approached him, placing the tip of his machine gun under Bruce's defined chin and tilted his face up, exposing his throat. Bruce fought the urge to meet the Joker's mad eyes.

"How about you, cupcake, enjoying your party so far?" the smaller man stage whispered, leaning in close. Bruce knew he needed to say something in response, but was unsure of what; the cold press of metal a threatening reminder against his skin. The Joker's finger tightened dangerously on the trigger a disappointed look on his face.

"A blast," Bruce let the words tumble quietly across his lips, barely audible to his own ears, his Adam's apple bobbing when he tried to swallow, neck tilted at an awkward angle. Slowly, the Joker's finger eased off the trigger. Surprised, Bruce looked up, against his better judgment, meeting the madman's laughing, vivid green eyes. Eyes that ate away at any and all sanity they could find, piercing into your very soul in pursuit of the most intimate secrets, the things kept hidden away. Bruce ripped his eyes away almost immediately.

"It's a real riot," he tacked on nervously, spurred by the amusement he had seen in the Joker's eyes at his previous comment, hoping that if he could keep him entertained long enough– pain exploded in Bruce's head as the butt of a gun slammed into his unprotected temple, stars dancing across his eyes. His hands slapped painfully against the tiled floor as he fell forward, thankful that his date had scurried back farther then he had. Her hands still clutched the back of his jacket however, her fearful shivers tugging at the fabric gently.

"Only the boss makes the jokes," a scratchy voice interjected.

"Hey!" The shout was punctuated by a spray of gunshots that echoed through the hall, pulling screams from many guests. There was a thud beside him, something bounced off of Bruce's side. "Hands off the merchandise," the Joker whined, like a child almost deprived of his favorite toy.

Bruce's head snapped back around, feeling only a slight relief at the sight of clown henchman's fallen body, chest riddled with bullet holes. It wasn't an innocent, but it was still a life. Bruce raised a hand to his temple, fingers coming away blood stained. Black spots still dancing erratically through his sight, he blinked in an attempt to chase them away, along with the throbbing pain slowly taking up residence in the back of his skull. He tried to focus on the pain instead of the warm wetness at his knees. Blood soaked into his pant legs, pooling on the floor, sped along through the grooves in the tile. An intricate pattern of crimson crisscrosses spreading out before the puddle could catch up.

"Sorry sweetheart, my men can get a little grabby," the white nose scrunched up in distaste, "Not that we blame them, right?" the Joker winked at him, the gun cocked against his hip again.

"He's insane," a man whispered in awe, just loud enough for the Joker to hear and Bruce wanted to bash his head against the tiles in front of him, add his blood to the rest, despite the pain already throbbing behind his skull. Was this guy serious? Was he stupid? Suicidal? Why did some people have so many death wishes, and why did they all live in Gotham?

"Who said that?" the Joker whipped around, scanning the crowd as he moved away from the main event, eyeing each hostage until they squirmed, "Do you wanna know how I got these scars?" the Joker finally laughed, his gun sweeping over the gathering. "Better yet!" the madman grinned, "I'll show you!" The sadistic chuckle that followed silenced even the whimpers of distress in the crowd. "Who was it?! Was it, yoooou?" The Joker sang mockingly, picking up an older man by the jacket, demonstrating just how misconceiving his smaller frame could be. The man shook his head violently, tears streaming down his wrinkled face. "Ah, who cares who it was! Want to have some fun old man?" the madman questioned darkly, deftly drawing out a knife. Bruce still couldn't go for the gun on the dead henchclown, even though it was right next to his hand, it was too risky... what would he even do with it? The embodiment of insanity placed the knife against the whimpering man's cheek, oblivious to Bruce's inner turmoil, trailing it in a loving manner back and forth a few times. Bruce clenched his fists.

"Our play date over already?" Bruce panicked, calling out whatever came to mind, whatever could catch his attention, just as the Joker broke skin. The people around him gasped, his date finally letting go of his jacket to scamper farther away from him. The Joker froze in place, blood trailing down the blade of his knife, the crimson meeting leather, then a grin broke out across his face. He squealed in joy, a visible shiver running up his spine as he violently threw the elder back to the floor. Pure insane, excited, laughter echoed through the hall accentuated by his shrill sounds of excitement. Pocketing the knife, the Joker skipped back over to Bruce, covering the small distance quickly. A purple, gloved hand shot out, sharply fisting dark stands of hair, tearing Bruce's head back roughly.

"Bruce, baaaby, we're just getting started," the Joker whispered darkly, and then it felt as if everything stopped, slowed. The shuffling of the henchmen, the sobbing of the crowd, all silenced. The smaller man leaned forward a fraction, leering smile adorning his face, then he went rigid, his hand tightening in Bruce's hair. Glass shattered somewhere in the background and a stinging pain broke out in Bruce's leg. He watched in morbid fascination as the clown's lipstick trickled down his pale chin, gazed on in horror as crimson liquid bubbled up out of the clown's mouth, slipping past his painted smile and dribbling down his chin. The Joker coughed, splattering blood across Bruce's face, warm droplets making the billionaire blink. "Bruce," the Joker gasped weakly, blood frothing at his lips, and everything suddenly sped up again. The Joker fell forward swiftly, Bruce surging up to catch him. Glass tinkled onto the ground, cries of pain echoed through the hall. Warmth drenched Bruce's arms through his jacket sleeves, blood oozing down the front of his dress shirt. Screams filled the hall, accompanied by gruff shouts and confused curses. Chaos reigned around them. Bruce lowered the Joker to the ground, flipping the man over carefully. Crimson had seeped through both his green vest and purple jacket, making its way to the tiled floor at an alarming rate. Bruce's hands instantly began pushing down against the clown's gushing wound, applying pressure. Bruce was unable to look away from the garish sight the man's blood streaked face made. Someone tugged at his shoulder but he roughly shrugged them off. The Joker's lips trembled, his eyes rolled back in his head, bubbles slipped past parted lips once more as wet coughs racked his body, before his eyes closed, his hand falling limp against his chest where it had been clawing at the wound.

"Bruce!" The voice cut through, warped and twisted through a tunnel of water, then snapping suddenly into sharp clarity.

"Bruce, what are you doing? Bruce, stop! Just let the bastard die!" someone shouted from beside him, tugging violently at his arm. He ignored them, pushing harder against the wound, the Joker's breathing wet and harsh.

"Master Bruce!" shocked, Bruce looked up. Alfred ran towards him through the fleeing crowd.

"Alfred, call an ambulance. Get your med kit, we need blood." the billionaire commanded immediately, turning his attention back to the task at hand.

"At once, sir," his butler answered weekly, his skin still pale.

"Bruce just let him die," the voice said again and Bruce slapped them away harshly. He was vaguely aware of the flashing lights: white, blue and red. He knew the henchmen had scattered. The party goers had either fled or were currently fleeing. Fear shot through Bruce at the Joker's pale blood coated lips, soaked jacket, and stilled breathing. He wasn't going to let another person die not if he could help it. When the tugging at his arm insisted he snapped his hand out, catching his date's thin wrist, blood smearing over her expensive bracelets. Tugging her hand down he placed it on the Joker's wound. The woman recoiled in disgust, trying to pull her hand away with an indignant, horrified exclamation.

Bruce fixed her with a serious stare, "Help me."

"I'd help you, not him. He's a mass murderer, Bruce, let him die!" her eyes were wide with fear, her full painted lips twisted in revulsion.

"I can't." Bruce breathed out, the statement ambiguous, yet meaningful.

"Why?" she asked him in shocked horror.

"I just can't!" Seeing the disgust on the woman's face Bruce knew he was getting nowhere.

"If you don't start applying pressure to the wound I'll make sure you never, ever, work in the entertainment industry again. Not even for porn." Bruce tacked on at the actress' wide-eyed fearful stare. The woman moved shakily, placing her hands over the wound, shock obviously taking her over as she pressed down. More lights flashed, they were constantly flashing. Bruce checked the clown's pulse, the smaller man was obviously not breathing, but his pulse was weak. Shifting positions he leaned over the Joker, tilting the white face back. Taking a deep breath he placed his lips against the unconscious man's blood lined ones. Ignoring the metallic taste, he exhaled, sending air into the Joker's lungs. It was an awkward position, his date was in the way. He pushed air into the Joker three more times, moving to pump his chest steadily. Alfred arrived at that point, quickly folding the man's pale arm away from his chest. Tapping for a vain, the elder man slipped in an IV and held the blood bag up, handing it to the girl, who looked grateful for the change in task. Alfred took the woman's spot and reapplied pressure to the Joker's wound just as Bruce switched from the clown's chest to his mouth. Bruce wasn't sure how many rotations of CPR he had done until the paramedics finally arrived. Bruce caught sight of them, immediately noticing their reluctance. Fixing them down with the same stare he gave the actress he gritted his teeth, he didn't have time for this. They didn't have time for this.

"If he dies, I will strip you of your jobs. Any schooling you've had will be worth nothing, just a pile of debts and no way to pay for them," he hissed out watching the same startled looks cross their faces.

The paramedics jumped into action, immediately taking over the situation. You didn't make a billionaire ask twice. Bruce fell back as they rushed around the fallen clown. The playboy leant back on his hands, only now noticing just how much his leg hurt. Looking down, he wasn't sure if the blood staining his dress pants belonged to him or the Joker. Sighing, he let his head fall back, his shoulders slump, as they carried the clown away on a stretcher. It took him a moment to realize that those flashing lights were no longer red, white and blue, but bright and sporadic. Opening his eyes he took in the reporters snapping pictures of him. Beside him, Alfred looked queasy, raising a hand to rest on Bruce's shoulder, more to lean against the sturdy, younger man than to comfort him. Bruce covered Alfred's hand with his own, meeting the old man's tired gaze and swallowing hard.

"Alfred. What just happened?" Bruce asked pointlessly, trying to take in the chaos around them.

"Peter called, he informed me that the man hired for security wasn't who he had originally spoken with, and I believe someone just tried to assassinate the Joker," was the man's steely reply. Bruce nodded before looking around the ground beside them.

"But where's the bullet? It went straight through him." Bruce speculated, but really not seeing anything more then red pools. He supposed he had a little shock of his own to deal with.

"I believe, sir, that it went in you," Alfred observed ambulance speeding off before looking towards the police rushing in. Bruce glanced at the man, confused, before he fully realized the situation.

"Let's get you downstairs, Master Wayne, and patch you up before they can start questioning you," Bruce inclined his head agreement, shakily rising to his feet. Pain shot through his leg and blood trickled down his thigh, confirming Alfred's hypothesis. The shock wore off half way to their destination and Bruce wondered how the hell he managed to miss being shot, because it sure hurt like a bitch.

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