The rooftop was slick with rain, Gotham’s skyline glowing faintly in the storm-churned night. Batman’s breaths came heavy through gritted teeth, blood sliding down his side where the Joker’s blade had caught him earlier. It wasn’t deep—but it was enough. Enough for Joker to notice. Enough to slow him down.

Joker’s laughter echoed around him like a phantom, bouncing from shadow to shadow. “What’s wrong, Batsy?” he cooed, sauntering into view with his coat flapping behind him, drenched and stained. “You’re limping. Did I nick something important?”

Batman’s fist clenched. His left arm trembled slightly—not from fear, but from the pain he refused to acknowledge. He took a step forward anyway. “You’re done, Joker.”

“Oh-ho! Bold words for a man who’s leaking like a faucet!” Joker lunged, swinging a crowbar—one of those crowbars. Batman caught it, barely, but the impact jarred his wound. His knees buckled for a second. A second too long.

Joker drove a boot into Batman’s gut, knocking him back. “You’re not untouchable anymore,” he sneered, crouching beside the fallen vigilante. “Face it—you’re tired. You’re getting old. Bleeding out alone on a roof? Kind of poetic.”

Batman coughed, pushing himself up with raw determination. “You’ll never win.”

Joker paused. Just a flicker. “Win? Oh, Bats… I did, the moment I made you care.” He leaned closer. “You feel now. That’s your weakness. You hesitate. You regret.”

Batman’s eyes narrowed. Despite the agony lacing his body, he surged forward, delivering a brutal punch to Joker’s jaw. The clown reeled back, blood blooming from his lip.

“I care,” Batman growled, “so I don’t become you.”

The rain fell harder. Neither of them moved for a second. And Joker—still laughing, still bleeding—smiled like he’d just been given a gift.