#I think he frames all your exes/ guys your into with atrocious crimes

[hysterialevi]

Lotus pt. 3 (Batjokes)

Author’s note: I’m honestly blown away by the amount of support you guys are giving me, and I’m overjoyed that you’re loving this story so much. I don’t think any of my fics have ever been this successful, and I’m glad to see that this is as exciting for you as it is for me. As always, enjoy :)

From John’s POV

THE FUNHOUSE - ONE DAY LATER

“I’ll always have your back, John,” I mimicked in my lowest voice possible. “I promise! You can trust me -- Bruce Wayne. You know, the guy who betrayed you on the bridge when you needed me most and turned out to be an undercover agent? Yeah, nothing shady about me whatsoever! It’s not like every word I say is a complete lie or anything! I’ll be your best buddy forever! Pinky swear!”

Willy peered at me from a nearby table, interrupting his game of cards with Frank as he eyeballed the doll.

“How long are you gonna play with that thing?” He whined. “It don’t even look like the man that much. It’s also kinda creepy.”

“Shut up!” I exclaimed back at him, pointing a finger. “Brucie and I are having a very important conversation at the moment, and you are not invited. Not to mention it’s rude to call him creepy. Then again, it’s also rude to cut fabric from someone’s suit behind their back just to make a doll of them, but I’m his friend! There’s an understanding between us, you got that?”

Frank jumped in. “His friend? I thought we were trying to kill Bruce.”

“Not kill,” I specified. “At least, not yet. Just...beat to a pulp. If that’s even possible. Besides, you’re telling me you’ve never wanted to kill any of your friends before?”

Frank flicked his eyes around the room awkwardly, unsure of what to say. “Um...not really, no.”

I scoffed, leaning back in my chair. “Then you’re not truly friends.”

I turned to the doll again, tidying up its yarn hair. “Sorry about that, buddy. Tsk, people can be so inconsiderate sometimes. It’s like no one has manners these days. I think it’s something in the water. Gotham’s always had a weird smell to it. Anyways -- where were we?”

Before I could continue, a woman’s voice called out to me in a sing-song tone. “Yoohoo! Puddin!” 

I rolled my eyes at the second interruption, letting out a breath.

“Can’t a man and his arch-nemesis just have a chat in peace?”

Harley walked up to me, crossing her arms in annoyance. “Well, if ya love him so much, then why don’t cha go talk to the real Bruce? We’ve been sitting here for ages. I’m getting bored, sweetie. I want some action. And more importantly, I wanna find that survivor.”

I pouted, flopping the doll onto the table’s surface out of frustration. “I don’t know where he is though! No one’s seen him for the past three days! And he’s definitely not at Wayne Enterprises. It’s not like him to just...hide when there’s so much crime running rampant. I wonder if he’s okay...”

I gasped, slapping a hand over my mouth as a worrying thought struck my mind. 

“Oh no--” I blurted out, “what if we accidentally killed him with the bomb?”

Harley glared at me. “What about it? Why does it matter? Good riddance, I say.”

“Erm -- right!” I quickly covered, clearing my throat. “I just...I just wanted to play with him a bit more, y’know? No fun in winning by default.”

Harley’s glare didn’t disappear, but she let the subject go.

Pushing myself away from the table, I stood up and held a finger in the air as an idea popped in my mind.

“I know! I’ll check if he’s home -- pay a visit at that fancy manor of his. I’ve actually never been inside. It’ll be interesting to see.”

Harley took my seat, resting her feet on top of the table and kicking the doll aside. “What, you think Bruce will just let ya in?”

I prepared my gadgets, including the Batarang Bruce gave me a while ago as I felt my heart sink at the sight, attaching them all to my belt. 

“Don’t you worry about me, babe,” I assured, winking confidently as I headed out to my car. “He’ll never know I was there. I’ll be as quiet as church mice.”

WAYNE MANOR

Pulling up to the colossal, gloomy manor and parking in the spacious driveway, I instantly hopped out and made a beeline for the front porch, admittedly eager to see my ex-friend for some reason. 

Despite our past arguments and all the conflict that was currently going on between us, I couldn’t help but kind of...miss Bruce. He had been a part of my life for so long that, it just felt weird to have him suddenly drop out. I wondered if he was ignoring me on purpose. Trying to act like I meant nothing to him. Perhaps he thought that would push me away? Or maybe he thought I would just get bored of chasing him eventually.

Well, he was terribly mistaken.  As much as I cared about Bruce, someone had to pay for his betrayal on the bridge. We used to be in the same stitch -- best buddies for life -- but now, he had gone and torn us apart. I wasn’t going to let him get away with that. Not even justice was above being sentenced, and it was high time he learned that.

Peeking in through the tall, luxurious windows, I didn’t see any sign of Bruce -- or of anyone else for that matter -- and his butler, Alfred, had made himself scarce. The inside was actually rather dark, and it looked like no one had been home for days. It almost looked...abandoned. 

I was starting to get anxious. Where was he? Was he even still in Gotham? Or did he find a way to escape? I decided to investigate the area for clues.

Using the Phalanx Key we stole from Bruce’s vault, I unlocked the front doors and subtly slipped inside, quietly shutting the entrance behind me as a gust of wind rushed through. The temperature seemed to drop by ten degrees as soon as I walked in, and this unsettling feeling of loneliness sat heavily in the air. It reminded me of the subway station, and I hated it.

Aimlessly wandering around the manor for a while, I gazed upwards and admired the eloquent designs on the ceiling along with the number of chandeliers dangling around, my mouth hanging open in awe. The furniture alone in this place could’ve bought a second manor, and the building itself just screamed “Gotham royalty.” I wondered if anyone ever helped Bruce “fill up” the space. After all, the women in this city seemed to adore the billionaire playboy, and it honestly surprised me that Bruce had never been married. The guy had to love someone.

Then again, they could’ve been dead or something. It seemed like most of his friends were.

Accidentally stepping on a remote that had been sitting on the floor, I jumped as a large TV suddenly flashed on, the news rambling on about all the havoc blowing up in Gotham right now. Robberies, murders, people not daring to step foot outside because of the Lotus threat...it was all music to my ears. I explored the manor more.

Averting my focus to an impressive bookshelf standing behind me as the news carried on, I found myself strangely intrigued and began to explore its contents, trailing my fingers along the books’ spines.

Judging by the almost perfect condition of a lot of these books, I assumed that Bruce hadn’t actually read most of them...and I didn’t blame him. These genres were atrocious. Banking? Academics? Budgeting? What was a billionaire doing with a book about budgeting? These must’ve belonged to his father, back when he was still amassing his insane wealth by picking the entire city clean. I moved on from these texts, travelling elsewhere in the bookshelf.

Standing on my tippy-toes, I noticed a lone, intricate music box occupying the very top shelf, hiding away from sight. It appeared rather new, actually, and it looked like no one had used it yet. I took the music box into my hands.

What was this? I asked myself, gently placing it on a nearby end table. It looked like a gift for someone. Maybe Bruce did have a significant other, after all. Who was it though? The cat lady? Probably. Or it could’ve been for his new best friend, Agent Avesta. I carefully opened the music box and wound it up, examining the inside as I listened to its haunting yet beautiful melody.

The song it played sounded like a romantic waltz for two ghosts, and the emptiness of the manor only enhanced its eerie chimes -- but I couldn’t deny that I felt at peace when I heard it. It was almost like...Bruce thought of me when choosing this song. It fit perfectly.

As for the music box itself, the outside had been decorated with a smooth coat of black paint, and there were highlights of silver designs tracing around it, sort of like a frame. The inner parts however, were much more vibrant. In the center, there was a small, spinning ballerina holding a rose close to her chest, and the space around her was cushioned by purple and green velvet. As for the upper lid, I could see a short, engraved message shimmering in the dim light, reflecting the velvet’s colors. I squinted my eyes, reading the silver calligraphy:

“You’re my light outside of Arkham. --Bruce”

I paused, scratching my head. Why did that sound so familiar? Where had I heard that sentence before? I could’ve sworn someone else said that once. I backtracked through my memories.

Wait a minute.

That was what I said to Bruce back at the cafe, when I pretended to be talking to Harley. Why did he write it down here? He wasn’t...he wasn’t trying to steal Harley away from me, was he? With my own phrase, no less. I laughed to myself. She would never pair up with someone like him. Especially not after the way he betrayed me.

But...what if it wasn’t for Harley? What if...what if it was for--

“--Breaking news,” the TV suddenly blurted out, interrupting my thoughts and causing me to jump again. I turned towards the wide monitor, curious to see what happened.

The same old reporter, Jack Ryder, adjusted his glasses in a grim manner, clearly upset about something.

“This just in,” he announced morosely. “Billionaire and CEO Bruce Wayne has been confirmed dead after battling with the Lotus virus -- a result of the Joker’s attack on Wayne Enterprises three days ago.”

My heart froze in place and I nearly fainted on the spot, taking a second to comprehend what I just heard.

What did he say? B-Bruce was...dead? No, no. That couldn’t be right. They had to be mistaken. I hastily changed the channel, only to come across another news station. There were two reporters this time, sitting side by side as they read off the teleprompter.

“--Well, enough about the weather,” one of them said in a joking manner, switching the subject, “I think all you folks out there joining us today will be far more interested in another topic. A topic relating to one of Gotham’s most prominent citizens. You see, mere moments ago, the CEO of Wayne Enterprises -- Bruce Wayne himself -- was confirmed dead after falling victim to the notorious Lotus virus. Apparently, he managed to survive the virus’s fatal symptoms for an entire three days before finally succumbing to it earlier this morning.”

I hurriedly changed the channel again, the remote trembling in my hand as I shivered from shock, unable to process the news. There was no way Bruce could be dead. The man was practically invincible. A puny little virus couldn’t kill him...right?

But no matter how hard I tried to escape, or how many different reporters I listened to, every single one of them talked about the same thing. In fact, I was flipping through the channels so fast, it started to sound like they were finishing each other’s sentences.

“Philanthropist and entrepreneur Bruce Wayne has passed away--”

“--he was killed by the Lotus virus--”

“--The Agency is still investigating the attack--”

“--who is the Joker, and why did he kill Bruce Wayne?”

“--A service will be held at Divinity Church--”

“--What will happen to Wayne Enterprises now?”

“--no survivors were accounted for during the Joker’s assault--”

“--yet another life taken in this tragic war. The only question now is--”

“--We all have to wonder--”

“--Bruce Wayne’s death has left the city wondering--”

“Who will the Joker go after next?”

Steadily backing away from the TV in horror, the remote slipped from my grasp as my body came to a halt and I felt myself struggling to breathe, my entire world collapsing around me within a matter of minutes.

I. Killed. Bruce. I actually...killed. Bruce. This was all my fault. He died because of me. This was all. My. Fault.

Burying my face in my hands, my eyes began to water as I slid to the floor out of helplessness and suddenly realized why Bruce had been missing for so long, the thought stabbing me right through the chest. He was never hiding like I suspected. He wasn’t playing games with me, or trying to trick me like my paranoia insisted. The whole time, my closest friend had been dying...and I did nothing to stop it. 

I mean, I wanted him to pay for what he did to me, and I was still beyond furious...but I never meant for this to happen. I never actually wanted him to die. I violently shook my head, nearly ripping my hair out. Oh god...what had I done?

“...Bruce,” I whimpered, as if he could hear me, “I’m...so sorry. I just wanted...I just wanted to be loved by you. I never thought it would go this far. I’m so sorry.”

Curling up into a ball, I shut out the world around me and rocked back and forth as the music box’s melody continued to echo throughout the manor’s walls, softly lulling me to sleep. Bruce bought the box for me, didn’t he? I could see that now. I was Bruce’s light outside of Arkham, and I let him die alone in the dark when he needed me most.

I clenched my fist, tears streaming down my face. 

Even though there was no one else to blame for Bruce’s death but myself, I still felt the sudden urge to make Waller pay for all the pain and suffering she put him through. I didn’t know why, but my gut told me the Agency had something to do with this, and I intended to bring them to justice. The right way this time.

Waller killed the Riddler, she nearly killed me, and now, I was more than certain she killed Bruce too. It was high time someone put her and her corrupt organization down, and I was going to do everything in my power to make sure that happened.

Not for me, and certainly not for Gotham...

...but for Bruce.