Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was rare for Joker to be free of the thick makeup that completed his signature look. Whites and blacks and reds all smeared into naturally pale skin. Tonight though, Joker was in a rare mood, and so the makeup has been violently scrubbed off. He’d taken what had been the longest shower of his life. Joker’s skin was raw and pink where he’d scraped and picked at bare flesh. Something set him off and he wasn’t coming back down.

Bruce found all of it very concerning. Joker never took off the stuff, certainly not around them. They had tried talking to Joker, tried to soothe whatever dark thoughts the man was clearly being subjected to via his own mind. It had gone worse than Bruce hoped. All they’d manage to do was work Joker into an even more tetchy state. Joker was still scratching at his skin, a tell tale sign that he was hearing or possibly even seeing things that weren’t there.

Bruce buried their face into the heel of their palm. They had a big big mess on their hands. With a long-suffering sigh they gazed at the ceiling, silently praying for Joker to calm down, even just enough for the man to sleep. Bruce wondered if Joker would spiral into a manic episode, wondered if maybe they needed to take him to Arkham. Then they felt guilty at even entertaining the thought. Joker hadn’t been taken to Arkham for years. There wasn’t a need for that these days.

Then it struck Bruce what the problem might be. Joker had been complaining since morning about off the makeup felt. How it seemed to be seeping under his skin instead of staying on top. How it felt like Joker was melting into the persona he loved to toss around in public. How it felt like he was losing himself to the facade he so willing played up around everyone except Bruce.

First things first, though. Bruce needed to get Joker to take his medication. As usual, it was a struggle. Joker had clamped his mouth shut. Bruce pinched his nostrils shut and waited patiently until Joker gasped for air, then quickly shoved the tiny white pills into his mouth and sealed their palm over it in a smooth motion. Joker swallowed with all of his usual theatrics. He then glared at Bruce as though they’d committed the world’s worst crime. Bruce could appreciate the irony.

“J, just tell me what’s wrong. Please?” Bruce tried.

“I did. I’m stuck. Stuck inside this,” Joker gestured wildly at his entire body, “horrid, wretched thing. It’s too small to fit inside.”

Bruce knew what Joker was referring to. The fact that his mind was too fast, too deep, too much. How Joker never got a break from the constant barrage of sights and smells and tastes and sounds of the world around him. How something as easy as understanding the difference between “killing is probably bad” and “not killing is probably good” got twisted in his system until he simply couldn’t differentiate between the two. Joker insisted still that he wasn’t crazy, he was just above the rest of them all.

“So there’s nothing I can do to help?” Bruce said with a defeated air about them.

Joker bit the side of his cheek. He cocked his head to the side, clearly debating something. He took Bruce’s wrist in his grasp and promptly dragged them to the bathroom. He shut and locked the door behind them.

“There’s something I want you to do for me. I’ve always been curious what it would be like.” Joker stated while rooting around in the medicine cabinet.

He shoved a bad of makeup supplies into Bruce’s hands. Joker then sat on the floor, motioning for them to sit in front of him. It was obvious what the man wanted. What wasn’t so clear was why.

“Why? I thought this was bothering you?” Bruce asked, confused yet willing.

“Maybe it’ll feel different if you do it.” Joker shrugged.

Bruce has seen Joker do this enough times to have a vague understanding of how it was done. They set the bad off to the side, open and in reach.

“Okay… Close your eyes, then.” Bruce said. Joker complied with a happy hum.

Bruce didn’t really know what they were doing. It was far more intuitive than learned, despite having watched Joker put on his face nearly every morning since the man moved in. Somehow they managed to get the foundation on without a hitch. Soft fingers traced even softer lips before Bruce applied the bright bright red slick of lipstick to them. Smudgy rings around Jokers eyes left Bruce’s thumbs black. They didn’t mind. All in all it took less than twenty minutes to make Joker look like… Well… Joker.

Finally Joker opened his dark eyes again. With a huge grin on his face he stared at Bruce, who was staring back just as intently. For a long stretch of silence they remained that way

“Aren’t you going to look? I don’t think I messed up that badly but maybe you should check anyway.” Bruce whispered. They didn’t particularly want to break the spell that was encasing them, but they wanted to see Joker’s reaction even more.

“Nah. I’m sure it looks fine. It’s not like I’m much better anyway.” Joker murmured back, just as softly as Bruce.

“This wasn’t really about the makeup, was it?” Bruce sighed knowingly.

A smile and a shake of Joker’s head gave them their answer.

“You’re an odd one, J.”

“And you love me for it.”

“Yeah, I sure do, don’t I.

“’Bruce Wayne, billionaire orphan with a soft spot for Gotham’s notorious Clown Prince Of Crime a mile wide, does Joker’s makeup for him in a filthy motel bathroom.’ What a headline, am I right?”

Bruce rolled their eyes. Reached out for Joker, pulled him against their chest. Let the makeup he’s so carefully applied smear against their shirt and neck and eventually even his face, when Joker kissed them with a passion they could only hope to reciprocate.

“I’ll do yours later, if you want.” Joker giggled after pulling away.

“Only if I get to leave lipstick stains on you tonight.” Bruce winked.