Christmas Truce, Anyone? (Part III)

Continued from Part II

“This isn’t helping, you know.”

“Not at all.” Selina agrees. “Honestly, out of all of us, I thought he was the most mature one.” She pauses, then adds on. “Well at least the most level headed one…right?”

Ivy shakes her head. “I don’t know what the people of Gotham see in him – the whole hero thing, I mean – he’s just a dude obsessed with the color black who got too bored one day and decided to interrupt our fantastic lives in order to get his jollies.”

“Really?” Harley cuts in. “I don’t think that at all…actually there’s no evidence to support your theory..”

“Evidence?” Huffs Ivy. “There’s your evidence.” She narrows her eyes and just her chin forward.

Batman and Joker are rolling on the ground, locked in a wrestling match that seems more playful than violent.

“Take that!” bellows Bruce as he swings at Joker, nearly clipping him in the temple.

Joker giggles and delivers a punch where Bruce’s gut should have been had he not dodged swiftly. “How’s that for damage?!”

They continue to exchange blows and sprout silly lines, causing all to roll their eyes, until Bruce suddenly stops and doubles over, gasping. He whines – it’s too much, even for Batman too handle. The pressure in his head increases, throbbing and pulsing, and his body flushes hot and cold all over. “H-help!” He cries. The burst of pain had been so spontaneous, he couldn’t prepare for how excrutiating and strong it was and so he did what any other would do.

He collapsed.


Joker panics. He stares in horror at the crumpled figure on the ground. Batman…is unconcious? No. It simply can’t be. His bats never dropped like that. His dark knight was stronger than that. Much, much stronger. “BATMAN! WAKE UP!” He pounds a fist onto the man’s back. “THIS ISN’T FUNNY, DAMNIT!”

He ignores the hands pulling at his body, the other party guests attempts to haul him off, and continues pounding away with both fists. “Wake Up, Damn-AHHH.” He convulses. The pain. It feels as if his head is being torn apart, the flesh and bone being ripped open with claws, and his precious brain being poked by nails and snipped by scissors. No wonder Batman had passed out. With hurt like this, it wasn’t such a bad idea. “D-do s-something.” He stutters and he’s out, like a rock, eyes rolling back into his skull.

“Mistah J!!” Harley cries and looks wildly around. “What’s happening?!”

“A side effect of the eggnog?” suggests Ivy, her eyebrows furrowed as a low ring steadily rises higher in her head. She can feel a headache coming. “Maybe the c-clown was r-right and we sh-should p-puke it up.” She grits her teeth, it’s a slow burning ache consuming her head instead of a fast one and she knows she’ll end up on the ground soon.

“Kyle!!” shouts Gordon.

Next to her, she sees Selina slump to the floor without any warning. No cries, no yells, nothing. It had worked much harder and faster on her, apparantly, and Ivy can’t help but be relieved it wasn’t Harley.

When Bane roars, she doesn’t even have to look to know that John is now limp in his arms. Those still standing, tremble in fear, especially Harvey. He quakes and steps back, faltering when the pain that had subdued the others pierces his forehead. “Ohhhh..” He groans, grabbing his temples, and drops.

Seeing the bodies around, Gordon remembers something he’d seen earlier. With purpose and desperation, he runs out of the room to the kitchen before he passes out as well.

Ivy would follow him, but she is distracted by the pained whimper near her. “I-Ivy..” Harley clings to her shoulder. “I c-can’t t-take this p-pain!” There are tears in her eyes as she pleads. “M-make it st-stop.”

Ivy’s heart clenches as she stares into her better-half’s eyes. She knows what’s coming when she hears the harsh cry and she catches Harley’s limp form. She gently lowers Harley to the ground, her breath hitching at the heavy pounding pain now searing through her head. She must hold out. She glances over at Bane and notes how protectively he is holding John. His face is drawn and tight, she knows he is suffering as well, but he is standing steady and strong. His giant body, a brick wall against the darkness that has almost consumed her.

“You have not fallen like the others.”

“I d-did not d-drink as m-much, I s-suppose.” She explains.

“Neither did I.”

Gordon rushes in, panting, with streams of tears running down his face. He manages to hold out long enough to throw a small bottle at her, a strangled “T-take this!” gurgling past his throat, and then he joins the other bodies on the floor.

Ivy just barely catches the bottle and struggles to clear her blurry wet eyes. How Bane is holding out so well mystifies her and she feels jealous. She turns the bottle in her hands, finds what she’s looking for, and runs her fingers over the label. Ipecac?


She only needs a second to process what the content of the bottle is and what it will do; and she’s twisting the cap and hurriedly taking a swig, her fingers trembling and hope in her eyes. She then screws the cap back on and raises a hand to her lips. She meets Bane’s questioning eyes and feels the corners of her mouth rise into a twisted, relieved smile. She can feel it working in her stomach quickly and she quivers, a burning sensation now at the back of her throat and an acidic taste filling her mouth.

Holy crap, it really does work fast, is all she can think before she’s on her feet, stumbling into the bathroom. One second after she’s thrown the toilet lid up, her body is wracked with shudders and she’s violently puking into the porclein bowl.

Bane picks up the bottle that had been tossed in Ivy’s mad dash to the bathroom and studies it. He can hear her throwing up and decides that it is the best solution to this mess, only because it is the only solution they have. He hefts John over his shoulder and speedily opens the door to outside. He lowers John into a kneeling position, keeping a arm around the man’s waist for support, and slaps him awake. He knows John will forgive him for this and so the ache of having to hurt him eases a little.

When John stirs, he opens the bottle and pours it into John’s unsuspecting mouth. John protests and tries to spit the offending liquid out but Bane clamps a hand over his mouth and tips his head back, forcing him to swallow. “I am sorry, but this is for your own good.” He removes his hand and John coughs, glaring weakly at Bane.

“What did I just drink?”

Bane offers no response and instead begins to rub John’s back as he sees the green tint already take over his habibi’s face.

John glowering stops when he feels his stomach turn over and push what he’d eaten earlier, up. “Wh-what the hell did I dri-” John’s body lurches and he’s hacking up vomit. His flings his hands forward onto the ground to brace himself as mouthful after mouthful of puke splatters the ground.

Bane turns, giving John the privacy he’s so sure the detective wants, and decides that before he ingests the ipecac himself, he must help the others. Knowing that Batman would offer the most help, he goes over to the black kevlar suited body and shakes him awake. “Batman.” He demands. “Drink this now.”

Bruce doesn’t hesitate. Bane’s eyes plus all the unconscious bodies around him tell him all he needs to know and how dire the situation is. He recognizes the taste immediately – having accidently drunken some when he was a boy – and steels himself for what’s coming next, clumsily standing and heading to the kitchen sink.

Bane goes to work on Selina and he’s helping her take a sip, when Ivy stumbles out of the bathroom, wiping her mouth with a wet towel. “Let me help.” She says.

He beckons her over and then hands her the bottle. She watches him drag Selina outside then hurries to Harley.

Bruce enters the room again, after throroughly rinsing out his mouth, to find it empty save for Gordon, Harvey and a twitching Joker – slowly waking on his own. He finds the ipecac bottle laying in the middle of the floor, one third of the liquid left. “Oh…Joker is definitely not going to like this..” He murmurs, already yanking the smaller man up, and forcing the now half-conscious maniac to drink a small amount.

“B-bats?” Joker swallows and grabs Bruce’s arm. “Is th-that…d-did you just give me…Ipecac?”

And because Bruce can’t help himself, he grins. “Yup.” He pops the p sound.

Oh fuck.”

And Joker runs out of the room to the sink Bruce had just abandoned.


They’re all seated on the floor again, pale faced this time. After heaving their guts out, they’re all a little peeved and tired.

“Can we open gifts now?”

Bruce drops his head into his hands. Of course that’s all that Joker cares about.

“Well, can we?”

“Fine, Joker. Fine. Let’s open gifts, so we can all go home from this blasted party as soon as possible.”

“Thanks, Bats,” Joker smiles sweetly, “I knew you had my back.”

Bruce gets up and goes to the tree and starts handing out colorful bags and gift wrapped boxes. “For John. Bane. Harley. Ah, this one’s for you Gordon.” He picks up another gift and turns the package in his hands searching for the name.

“Oh that’s for Ivy.” clarifys Harvey. “And that other one is for you. I forgot to put the names on a few of mine, sorry.”

Bruce continues to hand out gifts, feeling a bit sheepish when he comes to a familiar sparkly purple package. He places it to the side, wanting it to be the last gift Joker opens.

Finally, there are nice sized stacks in front of each of them and they quickly begin to tear into them, exclamations of thanks and joy filling the air.

Bruce watches Joker with a playful grin as his nemesis rips apart through each gift. Not one to be patient, Joker is soon surrounded by piles of tattered tissue and gift-wrapping paper. All the things he’s recieved are placed neatly in a bag and he thanks everyone with a politeness and niceness Bruce hadn’t known he could possess.

Soon he’s by Bruce’s side with his hands clasped behind his back. “Are you done now, Batsy?” He cocks his head to the side. “Finish with your other gifts already, I want to give you mine.” His eyes gleam with an eagerness of a jittery puppy. “Hur-ry Batmaaan!”

So Bruce hurries and he’s quite pleased with what he’s gotten. These people know him better than those who associate and claim they’re friends with Bruce Wanye. In hindsight, that should say how sad his life is, but he doesn’t care at the moment. He’s happy. “Thank you,” he exclaims and gives everyone a bright charismatic smile, usually reserved only for use while in his Wayne persona.

They are all a bit dazzled by the mega watt grin and then are back to their gift opening and hugging.

He faces Joker again who’s pouting at the attention his bats is giving to everyone else but him. He holds out his hand. “Alright, where’s the gift you’re so excited to give me?”

Joker hesitates for a moment, but then deciding that he really can’t wait much longer for Batman’s reaction to his gift, he pushes it into the man’s hand. “Here.”

Bruce carefully peels apart the black wrapping paper, nodding in approval at the color, and opens the black cardboard box underneath. He finds himself staring at a rather astonishing array of things.

There are two pairs of silk boxers – one solid black with a pattern of silver animated bats spread across and the other one purple with green bats instead. Bruce quirks an eyebrow. Very subtle, he thinks sardonically.

Next, there is a pair of impressive black shades. He wonders where Joker got them from and if they were stolen but one look at the goofy grin on the prince of laughs’ face and he pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind.

After that, he pulls out a white t-shirt with a giant purple smiley face in the middle. Over it in neon green letters is ove of Joker’s favorite phrases “Why So Serious?” Bruce chuckles. He’s never going to wear it in public, but he already knows there’ll be many days spent lying around the mansion wearing the tee.

Finally, there is a notebook paper drawing of himself in his kevlar with a wide red grin done in crayon. Really? He pulls Joker into a hug, burying his face into the crook of his neck, muffling his laughter. Honestly, the man was egnima. An amusing one though and since it’s the holidays, he allows for this.

Joker is brimmimg over with pride at Batman’s reaction and relaxes into the hug for a few minutes. All too soon it ends though and he’s poking Bats, demanding to know where his gift is.

Bruce gives him a lazy grin, but picks up the purple package and offers it to Joker. “Stop poking me, here’s your present already.”

As expected, Joker pulls the paper apart in hurried strips, and mewls with delight when his gaze lands on the surprise lying underneath.

A case full of all sorts and types of knifes, from serrated to needle point, with either gleaming purple or green handles, and for the finishing touch, a engraved J was found at the base of each blade. Made for Joker and only Joker.

Bruce watches those green eyes light up, and while he just knows some of those blades will be used on him, his heart tugs at the sight. Alfred had warned him about the gift and he’d almost gone with a different idea, but now he’s relieved that he hadn’t.


“Don’t say anything.” His voice more gruff than he intended for it to be. “Try not to stab me too hard with them in the future.”

“No promises.” Joker cackles evily. “You’ve sealed your fate already.”

“Hardly.” Bruce snorts, smugly.


“Can I get a ride?”

Pause and sigh. “To where?”

“A few blocks from home would be nice.”

Another sigh. “Okay, but we leave now and this is the only time.”

Joker opens his mouth, but Bruce cuts him off, still not done speaking. “And we don’t ever speak of it again. And no touching anything in the Tumbler, okay?”

He hangs his head and agrees sullenly.  What a killjoy his batsy is.

“Cheer up. I’ll let you choose the radio station we listen to on the way there.”

Joker perks up. “Even if it’s like…songs from Lady Gaga?”

“Even Lady Gaga.”

“Wheee!” Joker pumps his fist into the air. “I’m so going to fnd Bad Romance and blare it so hard, our ears will bleed!”

“That’s not a good thing…”

“I never said it was, did I?”

Bruce grumbles and opens the door, letting Joker out before him. They had already said their good bye’s and wished their Merry Christmas’s to the rest and were now going home.

Joker struts and points his index finger at the sky. “To the batmobile!”

“It’s called the Tumbler! The TUM-BL-ER.”



So that’s the end… I had much fun in writing this and as for the puking scene…I can’t really explain why there was one other than I just really wanted a violent throwing up session. Don’t bother asking why since I don’t really know that either.

The Lady Gaga, Bad Romance, and Tumbler parts are references to another Batman fanfic that I particularly love so all credit to that writer. If anyone’s interested, I’d be happy to give them the link to that story.

While not the first fanfic, I’ve ever tried writing, it is the first I’ve actually put up publicly so yeah.. I’m proud that it is somewhat decent.

Another reminder, this is a crack fanfic. Therefore, it is completely AU and totally pointless. Yay!

That’s all for now, DEUCES.


Posted on January 2, 2014, in My Writings, Prompts/Challenges, Short Stories and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 3 Comments.

  1. Great story, I really liked it 🙂
    And I’d LOVE the link to that other story

  1. Pingback: Christmas Truce, Anyone? (Part II) | Simply Miko

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