Batman swooped over their heads as they ran through the streets between buildings. Their feet clattered against the pavement as they ran, glancing behind them, above them, anywhere to see where the Bat was hiding.
Jonathan held Scarecrow at bay; he was better at running, he could see surroundings better, avoid things better. Plus they needed his intellect to escape it; they couldn't risk fighting back again.
The streets were dark, lit dimly by streetlamps that never seemed to quite cut through the night. Everywhere in the Narrows smelt of piss. Jonathan tried to avoid the puddles, not knowing whether he was stepping in drizzle or urine, but their footsteps splashed nonetheless. The chill hit their lungs as they ran, their footsteps echoed around them. In the background, Jonathan's toxin was still making people scream, men in masks trying to calm the situation, avoid riots.
Something fluttered behind them, and a pain seared in Jonathan's leg making him stumble.
"Shit," he muttered through gritted teeth, picking himself up and starting to run again before Scarecrow could come back to fight Batman for hurting Jonathan.
"Doesn't seem like it."
"Well I am!"
"Hey, Johnny, wanna stop arguing with yourself and keep up?"
Scarecrow growled, and Jonathan pushed him aside again.
"Shut up and keep moving, Joker, or else he'll catch up. You're not in any state to fight."
"Neither are you, Johnny. At least my legs are working."
"Bastard slashed my calf."
"Need a hand?"
"No," Scarecrow growled, but Jonathan shook his head. "Ignore him. I don't think I can run fast enough."
The Joker looked momentarily confused, but took Jonathan's arm and slung it over his shoulder nonetheless, trying to avoid the dizziness and searing pain when he breathed.
"Jesus, look at us. We're rusty, Johnny. Very rusty."
The Joker turned down a smaller alleyway, darker, filled with rubbish but more importantly open. If the Bat came after them, he'd have to fight on his feet, no buildings to scoot up, no rooftops to fly across. And the park ahead would provide just the right cover for them to lose him.
"Any idea where we're running to?"
"I have a flat, but I'd rather he didn't find it. If we can shake him off we can probably get into the Narrow's industrial estate and cut through the warehouses. That might throw him off the scent."
A noise behind them made them turn round to see Batman swooping overhead. Jonathan pulled a pistol out of his waistband, aimed, and fired. A cry of pain let them know they'd hit their target, and the Joker practically lifted Jonathan into a wooded section of the park. Jonathan ripped part of his shirt off and tied it around the gash on his leg to prevent him from leaving a blood trail behind him, the rest of their injuries leaking into fabric. They looked terrible.
"You shot the Bat?"
"I didn't aim for anything major."
"You still shot him."
The Joker seemed scandalised, and Jonathan raised an eyebrow.
"Okay, I'm sorry if I shot," he mimicked the Joker on the word 'shot', "your boyfriend, Joker. But I am trying to get out of here without further injury, and back to my flat rather than Arkham."
Batman crashed to the ground in front of them, and Jonathan's vision crept back into bright colours as he laughed. The Joker stuck a hand over his mouth and got a bite in return, the fabric protecting from major injury, but it stung nonetheless.
"Crazy fucking bastard."
"Excuse me?" Jonathan said, his expression puzzled.
"You bit me!"
"I didn't. I wouldn't."
"Well your fucking multiple personality did. Ow."
"Are we going to get moving while he lies in the grass?"
"Where did you shoot him?"
"Arm. Shoulder maybe. I'm not sure."
The Joker nodded, "Okay then. But you're walking. I'm not helping someone who spends half of their life behaving like a mad dog."
Jonathan laughed, "Oh, that's rich coming from Mr Rabid Dog himself."
"What did you just say to me?"
Sirens started up in the distance and Batman staggered to his feet, breathing heavily and running off into the shadows before he used the grappling gun to escape up on to the rooftops. Jonathan and the Joker paused their argument just long enough to watch the scene.
"We should probably go now," The Joker said.
"Yeah. The cops should keep him out of the way."
Batman ran west across the rooftops, and the Joker and Jonathan Crane ran east through a maze of streets. Once they were sure no one was watching, Jonathan tugged off his mask and climbed up some stairs with slow progress, the cut in his leg searing every time he moved it. The Joker walked behind him, becoming quickly twitchy at the lack of progress and eventually picked him up and carried him to the top of the stairs where he dumped him back down again. Scarecrow glowered, but Jonathan nodded. The Joker thought he'd probably never get used to separating emotions between the two, especially when they conflicted and occurred at the same time.
Jonathan got his key in the door eventually, shaking from the cold, his clothing drenched with rainwater and blood, his hair hanging into his eyes and staggered into the living room to collapse on a chair and finally take note of his injuries.
The Joker slammed the door, wiped his feet and then followed behind him, shaking his head like a dog to get rid of the excess water. He flopped down onto the chair beside Jonathan, and for a while they just sat, saying nothing.
And then Jonathan eventually tried to move his leg, cringing at the pain and inhaling sharply.
"You need to fix us up, Johnny boy."
The Joker quirked an eyebrow as Jonathan nodded seemingly to himself , and started stripping.
"First aid's under the sink, can you get it for me?"
The Joker nodded, "Only if you fix me too."
Jonathan chuckled, "I don't think even I could fix you."
The Joker pushed him into the chair, but went into the kitchen nonetheless.