Prompt 'week' - Corruption
--
ReCorruption
"You're better than this,"
"You’re worse,"
"I tried to believe in you,"
"And I never did,"
"You deserve everything,"
"You deserve nothing,"
"I hate you,"
"I love you,"
"For who you are,"
"And for who you are not,"
The voices never really stopped, nor did Jack remember how they even started. It has become normal to him. He liked to think the words didn't impact him. He liked to think.
New day, new pill. Sanity's hard to keep in a world, a city, like this. He hummed and popped the pill, taking a sip of the water just a bit too late, the pill going down slowly, uncomfortably but it was bearable.
Jack stared at the mirror.
He didn't recognize himself. No more Joker. There has been no Joker for the last two years. That was not Joker in the mirror, which was strange, to say the least. But he was glad, right? No more Joker taunting him, not more bad decisions based on an obsession for Batman, everything's how it should be. He sighed.
"You should--"
The pills stopped the voices, or they were supposed to, Jack just assumed they did because they stopped immediately. Always. Whatever bad or unhealthy things they said was just a part of the wind now, and inside, there wasn’t any wind.
Jack combed his hair back, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. His phone dinged and the screen showed a text from Bruce.
“Jack, you’re needed.”
“GCPD’s saying you need to be here for them to let me work.”
He read the messages and pocketed the old phone with a sigh and an eyeroll. Time for his second job? Work? It wasn’t really anything. He got in the car and drove to the GCPD, half an hour, hour maybe. Jack opened the GCPD doors and went to the back corner room, the forensics room.
“Okay, I’m here, Bat-brain.”
“No longer a bat, remember? Try harder to remember, Jack. No bats.”
Bruce said quietly without thinking, not really directed at anyone even though he was speaking with Jack, then he started to talk about the test results from the lab of which he was checking now.
Jack froze, but swallowed the thought, his ears only registering the first sentences. The remark. It sounded like the voices. He smiled, though it was a grimace more than a smile, lips pressed firmly together in what he really wanted to be a smile. Nervous. He felt obsolete.
Work! Right, work. They’re working together now and a consensus had been made about two months ago. Bruce did his time for his bat-crimes, not all the agreed upon time, but enough, and Jack took a small, small, step back from politics. He was still whatever he was, just not doing all the work, the papers, the television appearances.
Bruce, the vengeance hungry bastard he was, made a deal with Jack to work in the GCPD, at least as a forensics specialist, since any higher position wouldn’t be seen as any good with his violent past. Jack would be seen as lenient, and his previous words would be disregarded, so his position wouldn’t have enough power to make a change, the change, that he wants to. To ‘keep him in check’ Jack sometimes went to the police department, maybe lend a helping hand, he wasn’t half bad.
Jack shook his head and sat besides Bruce, not doing much of anything yet. No need to. He watched Bruce do the sciency, tech stuff and was just there. Sitting quietly. He almost drank a drink that was most definitely not water. ‘Drinks’ on the table in the forensics room were usually not water. It was good Jack noticed before taking a sip. He quickly put it down and leaned his face on his hand, just looking at what Bruce was doing.
“You’re nothing,”
Jack blinked.
“You should do more,”
Jack breathed in. No way they were back. He thought the pills took care of them. He breathed out, breath hitching in his throat.
“You’ll always be him,”
Why were the voices back? So early too! He took another breath.
Maybe they were nothing. They were nothing.
He needed fresh air.
“Jack?”
Bruce spoke up, looking at him with a half-worried face, half completely different emotion Jack couldn’t decipher. Sometimes he could, sometimes he couldn't. With Bruce it was always mixed signals, sometimes hard, sometimes easy to knwo what he’s thinking.
“Yes, B?”
“Mind turning your thoughts down?”
“..?”
“I can hear them, they’re loud.”
“Oh, shut up, you’re lucky I even came here, you wouldn’t be able to work otherwise.”
“You need air. Outside.”
Jack narrowed his eyes but sighed in agreement and stood up, both leaving the building for some ‘fresh’ air. Bruce leaned back against the wall of the police department, his silver-snow beard and hair contrasting the red brick behind him. Jack breathed in, breathed out the disgusting Gotham air, which, slowly but surely, was being cleansed.
“You should quit,”
"You're not making a change,”
“Fresh air won’t fix you,”
Jack furrowed his eyebrows, still trying to breathe. Breathe in, breathe out. He shouldn’t quit, he’s making a change, the fresh air is nice.
Breathing didn’t work, he still tried. He shouldn’t not quit, he’s making a bad change, there isn’t any fresh air.
He felt wrong, the voices grew stronger, Bruce looked relaxed for once, the air was stale, and he was tired. He hadn’t gotten good sleep this night, or week. Or the whole time he's been Jack for that matter! It was extremely tiring to speak his thoughts for thousands to see him, exhausting to do paperwork, hard to find time to go to the police department for Bruce to be able to work.
Sirens rung in the background, much less usual now that he’s made some changes, but still a regular occurrence. High-pitched ringing echoed in his ears, his mind filled with self-deprecating words that he himself didn’t think of.
“Come back,”
“You know what you are,”
Not even who. But what. Jack felt awful.
“Joker,”
He didn't want to hear that name ever again. He didn't like it. He did, but he didn't like the association. He felt his heart. Budumm. Budumm. Budumm.
“Joker,”
He felt the need to laugh. He had a lump in his throat, holding back any noise. He didn’t want to laugh, but maybe just a little giggle. Nothing serious. Nothing wrong, except the voices. He was fine. He is fine. He’ll be fine.
“Joker.”
He’s fine. “Joker.”
He doesn’t want to laugh. He. He wants to work. Yeah, work. Work will work, will keep his mind sane, keep it safe.
“Joker.”
He needs to go inside.
“Joker!”
He swallowed as he started to feel really bad. Worried. His stomach hurt. His heart felt cold, rotting almost. Dead. He tried to slow his breathing, which led to a sound resembling hiccups? Not exactly, but that’s the closest sound to it.
“Joker!”
He will fight it.
“Laugh, laugh, laugh,”
He didn’t want to. He won’t.
“Joker!”
He’s fine.
“Ha. Ha. Ha,”
He needs something to hold onto. The ground was spinning, or was it his mind? Breathe in, breathe out. He got chills. Goosebumps. Why was it cold? Freezing actually. Mr Freeze is not out, and if he were it would be more icy. Cold.
Cold.
“Cold. Like your heart,”
He balled up, crouching down as his breathing quickened even more. He can’t let it win, can he? No, of course not, he won’t. He’s better than that. He felt a tear.
It froze on his skin.
“Winter already?”
He chuckled out, feeling his voice not be his anymore. He felt cold and detached. He was not attached to his body.
He lost.
He didn’t even feel Bruce's terrified gaze, not his worried touch. He didn't hear his words of comfort. Jack felt trapped. He was trapped.
“I’m back, baby!!!”
Bruce took a step back.
“That can’t… be.”
Bruce reached a hand out only to pull it back immediately when Joker smiled that toothy grin, which reached his eyes, though his eyes didn’t smile. His eyes stayed the same, except for the pupils, they dilated even more than they already had been thanks to the pills.
“Not good.”
“How so, Batty?”
“Not Batty anymore. And you aren’t Joker anymore.”
Joker cackled and took a step closer.
“What made you think that?”
He asked poutily, mocking sadness, running a finger down his cheek for a tear. Bruce's eyes widened a wee bit and he took a step back, now once again against the wall, this time not willingly. Joker came closer and pleaded dramatics, talking nonsense, Bruce replying with disbelief and sorrow.
Long, long day. Bad day. Horrible.
Bruce needed a drink. He didn’t know what to do with Joker now, the clown tired himself out, and right now they were both in Jack's apartment. Joker was placed on the couch, while Bruce went to the bathroom.
On the sink's dry part was a note. Bruce raised an eyebrow and took a step closer. He picked it up. He opened it. And glitter, of course. But then he actually looked at the card.
“He’ll always come back. J’s in there.”
And Bruce didn’t know what to think. Of course J was in there, but which one? Jack or Joker? J. J. Bruce sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose at the useless note, throwing it into the trash.
Joker was back. Joker is back.
And there wasn’t much he could do about it. Either of them.
Joker is back. And Bruce needs sleep. They both do. And Joker’s already sleeping, so Bruce just followed suit. Sitting on an armchair, head leaned back, eyes closing.
Joker. Is. back.
--
Idk I wrote this on a whim, like everythig I write, and maybe lost the plot somewhere, but it's fine, I like it ig
