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He wasn’t one to plan, meticulously detailing each action to be taken.
It wasn’t a physical list made, but rather a tally that he accumulated as he went, a tiny jot made in his mind as he impassively traced each thought. Ideas bloomed crimson in his imagination, bristling sharply with each step taken. He felt equally edged, barbed thickly as he slowly continued his careful stride, footsteps heavy against the slick pavement.
There was nothing truly tying him to this place, but he was drawn to it regardless, a gut instinct to stand in this particular spot, a prickle of anticipation dancing up his spine. Silence rang, a hushed whisper fluttering through the light dusting of rain, gently sliding in one ear and out the other.
He felt hollow, emptiness draining throughout his limbs, although his head felt as though it were filled with oil, sludge slithering across his aching mind. He paused in a specific sequence, tilted a certain way, waiting for the shattering of the collected quiet.
He didn’t have to remain patient for long, tensing as a cackle echoed from just behind him, coiling tightly in as brisk of a motion as possible, tensed in uneasy preparation.
“Looks like a little birdie’s come to visit,” a voice hisses jubilantly, a fragile barb of uncertainty crackling the edges of a hoarse tone.
He doesn’t speak, wordlessly spinning on his heel to look into a set of glistening eyes, glassy with a sick sense of pride. His throat feels dry as he does so, moisture mysteriously missing as he swallows thickly, gaze darting quickly to shift from the cruel jest he sees hazing the gaze in front of him.
“Cat got your tongue?” a simpering tone mewls playfully, pitched uncomfortably concerned.
There is no reply he can make, at least not verbally, so he settles for reaching to his side, wrapping an unsteady hand around the cool metal. There is no reaction to this aside from a stifled shuffle as the weapon glints in the undisguised moonlight, rain slowing as a cloud abandons its position as a shield.
There’s a cold desperation, a cruel sense of forced dispassion as a harsh snarl burnishes a pale face, scars even whiter than the surrounding skin as teeth bare in feigned aggression. “I don’t think dear old Batsy will be too happy if you do this.”
He feels that same familiar shame, a blush of guilt streaking his expression, but his mind races as he pointedly focuses on the waver within the tone, a warble of plea hidden under a serpentine taunt. A begging barb, a hooked sensation of bargaining, catches his attention, steadily changing into something that he can’t stop himself from bracing against.
Dark eyes lightened to a sky blue, shimmering with stubbornly held tears, a shadowed red streaking across a frightened face, torn and tattered fabric clinging to a haggard frame. The image only lasted a moment, a flash of a recollection of an unseen description, but it’s enough to provide a burst of motivation.
His hand trembles minutely as he lifts his arm, fingers poised purposefully as its twin begins to mimic the motion, curling around the first. There’s a strange lack of resistance, a hazed film overtaking the face before him, slackening in impassivity.
“Sorry to be the one to burst your bubble, birdie,” a nauseating sweetness flickers over the words, dripping with a thickly sugared syrup as a head tilts in desolate compassion, “but you and me both know you’re too chicken to-“
He watches in fascination as a dot appears in the middle of a patch of freshly fallen snow, a trickle slowly falling from it. He can’t feel when his grasp weakens, can’t hear when the gun scrapes across the concrete.
There’s a disgusted betrayal as a hand lifts to meet the hole, a burst of thick crimson prompted with the motion. There are no words exchanged, but there is a crystalline clarity brightening the stare joined with his own, a smile curving languidly over a painted pair of lips.
He knows it was only a few moments, a sparse accumulation of seconds passing, but the relaxation seemed to last a lifetime, a gradual trailing of inelegance spreading through the body lazily breaking down before him.
The smile stretches inhumanly, the raised lines somehow thicker than before, heavy tainting the lingering amusement etched into the expression. It’s fleeting, gone as swiftly as it had arrived, but it burns itself into his vision brightly, searing across his scattered mind.
The fall is expected, but startling all the same, the drop a dulled thump against the ground when it should have been thunderously loud, deafeningly grating in his ears. It was soft, gently settled into a lazy heap of lifeless limbs, unmoving from the effortless pile at his feet.
Incredulity burst, a disbelief at the ease of the action. This should have been difficult, a hardship to be overcome. It had been too simple, over in one fell swoop.
Someone should have noticed, seen something, but he knows no one had, not a single soul present aside from his own. He is alone, completely so, his only possible company dead by his hands.
He takes a clumsy step back, relinquishing his maintained posture as he contemplates abandoning the scene, leaving the body to stiffen and fester in its crumpled location. A warm breeze brushes his hair, heat carding through a stubborn curl crossing his cheek.
A crackle pops in the back of his mind, orange waving across his face as it playfully greets him. A flame burnishes his imagination, overtaking the flesh before him, an ironic laugh bubbling through the smoke collecting in his lungs.
He ignores the weight upon his shoulder as he continues to bring more distance between them, shakily collecting the gun as he does so. He was wearing gloves, but he didn’t want to take any chances. The law enforcement didn’t typically wander this close to Crime Alley, but with a murder as highly sought after as this, there would be a lot of press eager to catch a story.
He didn’t holster it once more, instead containing it in his grasp in a reckless hold that would make him wince if he were actually aware of it. He feels like he’s floating as he tosses it in the same area he had found it, whispering a hesitant apology to the owner as he did so, a crime pinned to their head because of what he had done.
He doesn’t take off his gloves until he gets into his car, parked as far away as he could possibly manage, sliding them off in a careful movement as he opens his door. He drops into the seat with a tired sigh, carefully placing the gloves into a small plastic bag. He won’t keep them for long, but he zips it closed, placing it gently in the empty seat beside him, already tracing the following route in his thoughts.
His hand shivers as he turns the key, engine purring as the car rumbles to life. It feels too normal, too unhindered, but he’s not in the mood to look a gift horse in the mouth, bringing his foot to the brake as he shifts the car into drive.
He gradually moves from his spot, surveying vigilantly for anyone who may have been watching, but the streets are clear as a slight tap begins to pat against his windshield, the rain continuing from where it had left off.
He doesn’t wonder about whether it was the right decision, pointedly does not ponder his actions, instead focusing on the frail spatter of sprinkled water falling in his view. All he knows is that there is not a single speck of regret, no wish to turn back and reverse what he had done.
He felt nothing as he turned the wheel, the moon blinking down at him through the fog.
A burble of a thought, arching through a faded teasing tone, the memory turning to dust in his grasp. He couldn’t stop himself from hoarsely giggling at the recollection of a bright shine gliding over the atmospheric hue, a trace of mirth threading through a voice which he would never hear again.
He had killed the Joker, violently, purposefully, triumphantly total.
But-
The chuckles raised in volume as he presses his foot to the gas, stifling the itch of his lungs to hitch, repressing the prickle of tears as he mercilessly stomps down the urge to sob.
Dick was the one to have the last laugh.