Fan Fiction ❯ The Game We Play ❯ The Menagerie ( Chapter 26 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Dark Jester 
A circus of lunacy...
Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Adventure / Angst / Drama / Psychological / Romance | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 12.18.2002 | Pages: 3 | Words: 3.1K | Visits: 250 | Status: Completed
A circus of lunacy...
Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Adventure / Angst / Drama / Psychological / Romance | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 12.18.2002 | Pages: 3 | Words: 3.1K | Visits: 250 | Status: Completed
Chapter 26 - The Menagerie
Bruce grunted as he pulled himself up to the bar - the one that the friendly folks in Arkham had installed in his new "room" - for the twentieth time. He was perspiring lightly, which bothered him a little. Either he'd been weakened from sitting in a four by eight cell for almost a week, or. . .
He didn't want to finish the thought. The whole thing was too frustrating.
Of course, his mind jumped from one depressing thought to another: The Joker. He missed him. He really missed him. It was so hard to go back to hiding, go back to telling people what they wanted to hear, after feeling so open for a few days.
It hurt. It hurt deeply. What hurt more was his suspicion that Dick had put him in Arkham. Who else could have done it under 'Batman's' orders? He knew the other night hadn't gone well, but he didn't think for a second that Dick would have had him committed because of it. He'd been wrong. SO wrong. He'd miscalculated the amount of control he had over his long-time ward, and he was now questioning what else there was about Dick he didn't know. One thing he was sure he didn't know is which had scared Dick more: seeing him with the Joker, or hearing him open up over the phone. Maybe it was a combination of the two.
He heard a bolt slide back and a team of doctors entered the room. They were approximately three minutes late. He had a window now -- he could tell time.
Privilege was privilege no matter where you went, and the name Bruce Wayne bought a lot of it.
"Good afternoon, Bruce." One of the doctor's said tentatively.
"Hello, Keith." Bruce said calmly as he pulled on his shirt, smirking at the first-name basis he'd gotten into with the staff. "Am I finally getting out of here for a while?"
"Are you sure you want to do this? We can't guarantee your safety." The doctor cautioned.
"I'm sure."
"Very well, follow me, please."
After a quick shower and a change of clothes, Bruce was escorted to the common room of Arkham. It was a large, windowless room with a skylight in the high celing for natural light, which appeared to be made out of three panes of thick bulletproof glass. At least they'd learned a few things after the numerous breakouts they'd had. All of the doors had both magnetic and standard locks, in case of a lockdown, and all the furniture was bolted to the floor. Bruce supposed this was incase any of the inmates decided they didn't want to play nice.
As he looked around the room, he saw a collection of faces he'd been personally responsible for putting there: Zsasz, Wesker, Hatter, the Riddler giggling at some brilliant idea, he was sure, as well as a few people that he'd put away so long ago, he'd almost forgotten about, and barely recognised. He was trying to recall their names when his eyes met a pair of mismatched ones across the room.
He froze.
Harvey Dent.
The one person in Arkham who knew his secret.
***
It had been days, now... and nothing had really seemed to change. There had been so many promises made, and so many secrets shared... but it was still... all the same. Day after day there were prying questions. There were 'therapy' sessions that involved more pain than therapy. There were moments of lonliness that could eat a man up from the inside-out.
The Joker had returned and it was all the same.
In the back of the rec room, oblivious to Bruce's entrance, the clown sat pressed into a corner, hugging himself by force due to a straight-jacket tight enough to restrict full intakes of breath. The look of pure lifelessness was hidden behind a smooth face mask with eye holes and a slit to talk through. A shudder of frailty racked his thin frame as he shifted, finding that with each passing day, his strength decreased dramatically. The doctors couldn't understand it... and didn't want to listen.
Overall, the Joker looked horrific. His hair was matted with sweat and blood, his eyes were glassy, and there were splotches of red all over his once perfect skin. He tried to remember where they'd come from... the electroshock or the growing illness inside...? He supposed he wouldn't live long enough to find out, and resigned himself to silence.
***
"Well, well, well... What do we have here?" Two-Face said, a lopsided smile twisting his disfigured face. "We'd heard rumors that Gotham's favorite son had come to visit us, but we never thought we'd actually SEE you. How. . . surprising."
"Hello, Harvey." Bruce said flatly.
"Come come," Two-Face scolded. "Is that all you have to say to an old friend, Bruce? Has it really been THAT long? No. It hasn't been long at all, has it?"
The other inmates were now turning to look, intensely intrigued by the exchange.
Bruce glared at Dent.
"It's not you I'm here to see." He said gruffly. "Now if you're going to do it, do it."
"Ah yes, we've heard some interesting rumors concerning why you ARE here." Two-Face said, playing with the playboy like a house cat would a mouse.
"Why do you care?" Bruce asked defensively.
"Because." Two-Face replied sleepily.
"That's no answer." Bruce snapped.
"Why not?"
"Because!" Bruce said loudly. A few of the inmates snickered.
"Because?" Two-Face repeated, grinning wickedly.
Bruce blinked, and realized he'd totally lost track of the conversation. He needed to keep it together, and not let the fact that he was in a room full of lunatics who would try to skin him alive if they knew who he was rattle him. Especially since Dent was seemingly taking great glee in making him wriggle like a worm on a hook.
"Where's the Joker?" He demanded.
"Why do you care?" Dent asked with a chuckle. "Who are you to him?"
"That's none of your business." Bruce said firmly.
"If you want to know, it most certainly is." Dent said languidly, then let his head drop to the side so he could nonchalantly locate the Joker in the room.
"Tell me, Dent!" Bruce demanded through clenched teeth.
"Who ARE you?" Two-Face repeated.
Bruce knew he couldn't allow himself to be cornered like this, but he had to answer somehow. And it had to be at least somewhat honest.
"I don't know anymore." He said, physically deflating.
"What do you mean by that?" Two-Face asked, leaning forward intently. "Explain yourself."
*Why does this sound familiar?* Bruce thought. Then it dawned on him. The realization gave him an idea. When in Rome. . .
"I can't explain *myself*, I'm afraid, sir," he recited, "because I'm not myself, you see."
Two-Face sat back, looking stunned. That hadn't been a response he'd have expected from either of the people he knew.
"I. . . don't see." He admitted.
"I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly," Bruce replied very politely as he began strolling further into the room, "for I can't understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing."
"He's lost it! He's really lost his mind!" Someone exclaimed in the crowd that had now formed around Bruce.
"Shut up, stupid." Another voice muttered.
Two-Face blinked, looking a little afraid. The concept of Batman going off the deep end was terrifying, considering what he was capable of allegedly sane.
"He's over in the far corner." He said meekly, all thoughts of tormenting his old friend any longer, any thoughts of threatening him with the revelation of his dual identity pushed away as suicide.
Bruce nodded and started pushing through the crowd. The other inmates watched him, some moving aside as if in a trance. There was an air of respect in the room, which was silent, until the Hatter started laughing maniacally.
"Someone shut him up!" Two-Face snapped.
There was some yelling, some scuffling, and Hatter went quiet.
Bruce ignored it all as he made his way across the room. He froze when he saw the Joker.
Bursts of muttered commentaries and explanations crackled through the crowd that had followed Bruce.
It was, however, when the room went silent, that the Joker actually looked up. There was a severe lack of recognition in his eyes... and instead a certain bitter - and quiet - anger. He remained motionless beyond raising his masked face, only barely breathing.
Bruce looked back into those hate-filled green eyes and choked on his own breath. What had happened? Why wasn't he saying anything? What could he do? . . . So many questions filled his mind that none of them made it out.
Joker broke the gaze, tilting his head downward again. He pulled his legs in closer and closed his eyes. He was confused and having difficulty processing the information being shown to him. Maybe... it was the influence of sedatives? He couldn't force himself to display any sort of emotion.
Bruce winced. He didn't understand what was happening, and it hurt. Actually, he didn't WANT to understand. That was probably what hurt.
"Joker?" He whispered.
"Batman," came the gruff response. Hostility littered the word.
Bruce felt dizzy and sick as he heard that name used. The Joker was either delirious, or that had been deliberate. His 'friend' was trying to hurt him. Badly. Why? He decided to play dumb, and shook his head as if confused.
"I don't understand." He said softly, not looking back at the mob behind him. "Did he bring you here?" Bruce asked, knowing damned well he'd done no such thing. "They wouldn't tell me anything about you."
"Of course HE brought me here," Joker hissed.
"How do you know?" Bruce asked, knowing damned well he'd done no such thing.
Joker giggled a little and rolled his head off to the side, wincing behind the mask. In truth, he didn't have a clue... but that didn't mean he was about to admit it. No words formed on his lips.
"He didn't put me here, that's for sure." Bruce continued, hoping Joker would get the hint.
"Sure he did," Joker mumbled. He tried really hard to clear his mind, then, knowing he'd been heavily drugged before being allowed into the rec room. "And if he didn't... who did?"
"Nightwing."
"He's such a dork." The Joker continued to lean until he slumped down against the floor.
"Well, he learned from Batman. That's to be expected." Bruce responded, crouching down next to the Joker.
"Take me home," Joker blurted suddenly. "It hurts." He blinked a few times and puzzled over himself.
"I'm working on that." Bruce whispered. "Where are they keeping you? The same cell?"
Joker nodded slowly against the cold floor. He stared at Two-Face across the room, his eyes blurry and reddened.
"Okay." Bruce said, knowing where the Joker was looking, but not wanting to look back and make it obvious. "How're you feeling, Jack?"
"Like a freshly baked muffin," Joker growled. "More like a burned one." He averted his eyes from Two-Face, and met with Bruce's. "It hurts," he repeated slowly.
"What kind of muffin?" Bruce asked, then blinked and shook his head. "Nevermind. Have they hurt you here? The guards or the doctors or anyone?"
For the first time tonight, the Joker broke into a peal of laughter. He wheezed throughout it, and then settled down to speak. "I'll give you one guess, Brucie. The doctors exhaust me with relentless questions, and send the guards in with electroshock to stimulate me. At night I receive several lovely visits, in which I'm treated like royalty, of course... only with a little more blood and pain, you know? And then there're the... others." His voice quieted. "I'm not the most popular person right now." After a meaningful pause, he added, "And have you noticed the drugs pumping through my veins? They really do make it hard to think straight."
"What do you mean you're not the most popular person right now?" Bruce asked slowly. His eyes narrowed, and his fists slowly clenched, then unclenched as he fought between the two warring sides of him. The rational voice said 'don't blow your cover', while the furious, vengeful child in him roared to be unleashed.
"Everyone's been taking advantage of me," Joker explained. "I'm so... pathetic right now." The words were said with disgust as he glanced around. "I'm an easy target for the others."
Bruce nodded, moving in slow motion. A muscle in his neck twitched as he gritted his teeth against the urge to start smashing heads.
"Who?" He asked darkly.
Joker fidgeted in his straight jacket and shifted. The mask was getting really uncomfortable. "Ugly, Croc and Hat-boy..." He paused. "Spooky, too. Mostly the guards, though."
Bruce quickly unfastened the Joker's mask and pulled it away from his face.
"Two-Face, Killer Croc and Scarecrow?" He whispered.
"You missed Mad Hatter," Joker corrected, hoping Bruce wouldn't remind him that his left eye was swollen, and that there were very visible burn marks on his forehead and throat.
"Hat-Boy. Right. I thought Scarecrow, hat. . . nevermind." Bruce peered into the Joker's face, zeroing in on his forehead. Must be marks from the electroshock. His fists balled up again.
"You're really dense today," Joker said quietly. "Scarecrow, too. It's why I said Spooky. C'mon... don't tell me you're losing your edge being here." He tried really hard to resist looking upward.
Bruce rubbed at his eyes.
"Sorry. You're not the only one they're shoving full of drugs." He admitted. "I was palming the pills, so they've taken to shoving needles in me. I can't really fight that without raising suspicions."
"Birds should have their wings clipped," Joker stated quickly, completely changing the subject. He watched Bruce's eyes for any sign of hope that they'd ever leave this place.
"I disagree. It's much better when they can fly free." Blue eyes bored into the Joker's green ones as Bruce hoped that wasn't too subtle.
Joker looked away and moved to scoot back upward into a seated position. "I have five minutes left."
"I'm honestly surprised they haven't figured out they put us in the same room together." Bruce admitted. "No wonder people keep breaking out of this place."
"Then I suppose I won't be seeing you anymore after this." Joker nodded in the direction of an approaching orderly.
"You'll see me again." Bruce vowed, squeezing the Joker's shoulder before slipping away through the crowd. He took a deep breath. His mind felt sharper. Alright. Time to go to work.
His mind started going over what he remembered of Arkham's layout and security procedures, and the numerous loopholes found therein. He could escape easily. It was getting Joker out that would be difficult.
"Time for my therapy?" Joker asked with a cocky grin, not at all surprised when a knee was shoved into his chest. Pinned, his mask was strapped - tightly - back onto his face.
Nearby, the Mad Hatter clapped gleefully and rocked back and forth on the floor.
Bruce froze, hearing the air rush out of the Joker's body. Before he even knew what he was doing, three of the guards were on the ground and the Joker's straight-jacket was undone. A surge of adrenaline cleared his head and sharpened his reflexes, years of fighting off fatigue, injury and numerous other impairments coming to his aid.
Every head in the room snapped around to face him. There was a moment of eerie calm, no one saying or doing anything, not even breathing, before all hell broke loose.
The Joker toppled over onto his hands and knees, panting as he glanced around for someplace to hide. Some of the inmates shrieked and began running wildly about the room, and others laughed. Still, others glared at the Joker and his little friend, considering them in the lowest of regards. The Hatter recited something and lunged for the green-haired man. It would appear he was still upset about their last meeting.
Two other orderlies picked up clubs and started for Bruce.
The orderlies wouldn't have a shot at him for another three seconds, so Bruce used two of them to throw Hatter across the room, conveniently taking out the most intrusive security camera. In the remaining second, he reached out and grabbed one of the orderlies, dislocated his elbow and threw him against the other Arkham employee, knocking them both down.
The Joker grabbed for Bruce's nearest leg, coughing as he tried to breathe properly. He was too sick to handle much abuse, and dearly hoped this was not in vain. If it was, he didn't want to ever go back to his cell. There would be hell to pay.
Two-Face laughed and flipped his coin into the air, glancing briefly at the coin before stomping his foot down into an orderly nearby.
"Come on." Bruce said, grabbing Joker around the waist and looking around for the best way out of the room. He determined that the Joker probably couldn't go anywhere but out the door across the room. Great.
Moving the Joker behind him to keep him relatively out of harm's way, he started around the perimeter of the room, keeping the Joker between him and the wall.
Clinging with all the strength he could muster, the Joker tried hard to keep up with Bruce. His legs faltered and even buckled under him several times, but he struggled, anyway. "Don't let them take me back!" he pleaded.
Bruce escorted him quickly around the room to the door, fending off wild attacks and flailing limbs. Just as they reached the door, he saw Two-Face looming over one of the guards. Quickly, he ran into the hallway and yanked the alarm, causing a large magnetic door to slam shut across the hall, blocking access to Arkham's only above-ground exit.
"Find somewhere to hide!" He barked at Joker, then rushed back into the fray in the room, knocking Two-Face to the ground before the villain could crush the guard's windpipe.
Down the hall, on the other side of the security door, a cluster of armed guards came running, stopping up short as they reached the barricade.
Joker scrambled along the floor of the hallway, gasping for air as he tore the mask away. He glanced backward several times. *Where is he?!* He paused and turned around, but then noticed the barricade beginning to lift. "Bruce!" he yelled futiley. Hesitantly, he hurried further down the hallway, and around a corner into another area.
The staircase was there - spiralling downwards into the basement of Arkham Asylum. Joker contemplated it for a long while before rushing toward them... and disappeared down the stairwell. Somewhere above him, a siren went off.
*
Bruce grunted as he pulled himself up to the bar - the one that the friendly folks in Arkham had installed in his new "room" - for the twentieth time. He was perspiring lightly, which bothered him a little. Either he'd been weakened from sitting in a four by eight cell for almost a week, or. . .
He didn't want to finish the thought. The whole thing was too frustrating.
Of course, his mind jumped from one depressing thought to another: The Joker. He missed him. He really missed him. It was so hard to go back to hiding, go back to telling people what they wanted to hear, after feeling so open for a few days.
It hurt. It hurt deeply. What hurt more was his suspicion that Dick had put him in Arkham. Who else could have done it under 'Batman's' orders? He knew the other night hadn't gone well, but he didn't think for a second that Dick would have had him committed because of it. He'd been wrong. SO wrong. He'd miscalculated the amount of control he had over his long-time ward, and he was now questioning what else there was about Dick he didn't know. One thing he was sure he didn't know is which had scared Dick more: seeing him with the Joker, or hearing him open up over the phone. Maybe it was a combination of the two.
He heard a bolt slide back and a team of doctors entered the room. They were approximately three minutes late. He had a window now -- he could tell time.
Privilege was privilege no matter where you went, and the name Bruce Wayne bought a lot of it.
"Good afternoon, Bruce." One of the doctor's said tentatively.
"Hello, Keith." Bruce said calmly as he pulled on his shirt, smirking at the first-name basis he'd gotten into with the staff. "Am I finally getting out of here for a while?"
"Are you sure you want to do this? We can't guarantee your safety." The doctor cautioned.
"I'm sure."
"Very well, follow me, please."
After a quick shower and a change of clothes, Bruce was escorted to the common room of Arkham. It was a large, windowless room with a skylight in the high celing for natural light, which appeared to be made out of three panes of thick bulletproof glass. At least they'd learned a few things after the numerous breakouts they'd had. All of the doors had both magnetic and standard locks, in case of a lockdown, and all the furniture was bolted to the floor. Bruce supposed this was incase any of the inmates decided they didn't want to play nice.
As he looked around the room, he saw a collection of faces he'd been personally responsible for putting there: Zsasz, Wesker, Hatter, the Riddler giggling at some brilliant idea, he was sure, as well as a few people that he'd put away so long ago, he'd almost forgotten about, and barely recognised. He was trying to recall their names when his eyes met a pair of mismatched ones across the room.
He froze.
Harvey Dent.
The one person in Arkham who knew his secret.
***
It had been days, now... and nothing had really seemed to change. There had been so many promises made, and so many secrets shared... but it was still... all the same. Day after day there were prying questions. There were 'therapy' sessions that involved more pain than therapy. There were moments of lonliness that could eat a man up from the inside-out.
The Joker had returned and it was all the same.
In the back of the rec room, oblivious to Bruce's entrance, the clown sat pressed into a corner, hugging himself by force due to a straight-jacket tight enough to restrict full intakes of breath. The look of pure lifelessness was hidden behind a smooth face mask with eye holes and a slit to talk through. A shudder of frailty racked his thin frame as he shifted, finding that with each passing day, his strength decreased dramatically. The doctors couldn't understand it... and didn't want to listen.
Overall, the Joker looked horrific. His hair was matted with sweat and blood, his eyes were glassy, and there were splotches of red all over his once perfect skin. He tried to remember where they'd come from... the electroshock or the growing illness inside...? He supposed he wouldn't live long enough to find out, and resigned himself to silence.
***
"Well, well, well... What do we have here?" Two-Face said, a lopsided smile twisting his disfigured face. "We'd heard rumors that Gotham's favorite son had come to visit us, but we never thought we'd actually SEE you. How. . . surprising."
"Hello, Harvey." Bruce said flatly.
"Come come," Two-Face scolded. "Is that all you have to say to an old friend, Bruce? Has it really been THAT long? No. It hasn't been long at all, has it?"
The other inmates were now turning to look, intensely intrigued by the exchange.
Bruce glared at Dent.
"It's not you I'm here to see." He said gruffly. "Now if you're going to do it, do it."
"Ah yes, we've heard some interesting rumors concerning why you ARE here." Two-Face said, playing with the playboy like a house cat would a mouse.
"Why do you care?" Bruce asked defensively.
"Because." Two-Face replied sleepily.
"That's no answer." Bruce snapped.
"Why not?"
"Because!" Bruce said loudly. A few of the inmates snickered.
"Because?" Two-Face repeated, grinning wickedly.
Bruce blinked, and realized he'd totally lost track of the conversation. He needed to keep it together, and not let the fact that he was in a room full of lunatics who would try to skin him alive if they knew who he was rattle him. Especially since Dent was seemingly taking great glee in making him wriggle like a worm on a hook.
"Where's the Joker?" He demanded.
"Why do you care?" Dent asked with a chuckle. "Who are you to him?"
"That's none of your business." Bruce said firmly.
"If you want to know, it most certainly is." Dent said languidly, then let his head drop to the side so he could nonchalantly locate the Joker in the room.
"Tell me, Dent!" Bruce demanded through clenched teeth.
"Who ARE you?" Two-Face repeated.
Bruce knew he couldn't allow himself to be cornered like this, but he had to answer somehow. And it had to be at least somewhat honest.
"I don't know anymore." He said, physically deflating.
"What do you mean by that?" Two-Face asked, leaning forward intently. "Explain yourself."
*Why does this sound familiar?* Bruce thought. Then it dawned on him. The realization gave him an idea. When in Rome. . .
"I can't explain *myself*, I'm afraid, sir," he recited, "because I'm not myself, you see."
Two-Face sat back, looking stunned. That hadn't been a response he'd have expected from either of the people he knew.
"I. . . don't see." He admitted.
"I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly," Bruce replied very politely as he began strolling further into the room, "for I can't understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing."
"He's lost it! He's really lost his mind!" Someone exclaimed in the crowd that had now formed around Bruce.
"Shut up, stupid." Another voice muttered.
Two-Face blinked, looking a little afraid. The concept of Batman going off the deep end was terrifying, considering what he was capable of allegedly sane.
"He's over in the far corner." He said meekly, all thoughts of tormenting his old friend any longer, any thoughts of threatening him with the revelation of his dual identity pushed away as suicide.
Bruce nodded and started pushing through the crowd. The other inmates watched him, some moving aside as if in a trance. There was an air of respect in the room, which was silent, until the Hatter started laughing maniacally.
"Someone shut him up!" Two-Face snapped.
There was some yelling, some scuffling, and Hatter went quiet.
Bruce ignored it all as he made his way across the room. He froze when he saw the Joker.
Bursts of muttered commentaries and explanations crackled through the crowd that had followed Bruce.
It was, however, when the room went silent, that the Joker actually looked up. There was a severe lack of recognition in his eyes... and instead a certain bitter - and quiet - anger. He remained motionless beyond raising his masked face, only barely breathing.
Bruce looked back into those hate-filled green eyes and choked on his own breath. What had happened? Why wasn't he saying anything? What could he do? . . . So many questions filled his mind that none of them made it out.
Joker broke the gaze, tilting his head downward again. He pulled his legs in closer and closed his eyes. He was confused and having difficulty processing the information being shown to him. Maybe... it was the influence of sedatives? He couldn't force himself to display any sort of emotion.
Bruce winced. He didn't understand what was happening, and it hurt. Actually, he didn't WANT to understand. That was probably what hurt.
"Joker?" He whispered.
"Batman," came the gruff response. Hostility littered the word.
Bruce felt dizzy and sick as he heard that name used. The Joker was either delirious, or that had been deliberate. His 'friend' was trying to hurt him. Badly. Why? He decided to play dumb, and shook his head as if confused.
"I don't understand." He said softly, not looking back at the mob behind him. "Did he bring you here?" Bruce asked, knowing damned well he'd done no such thing. "They wouldn't tell me anything about you."
"Of course HE brought me here," Joker hissed.
"How do you know?" Bruce asked, knowing damned well he'd done no such thing.
Joker giggled a little and rolled his head off to the side, wincing behind the mask. In truth, he didn't have a clue... but that didn't mean he was about to admit it. No words formed on his lips.
"He didn't put me here, that's for sure." Bruce continued, hoping Joker would get the hint.
"Sure he did," Joker mumbled. He tried really hard to clear his mind, then, knowing he'd been heavily drugged before being allowed into the rec room. "And if he didn't... who did?"
"Nightwing."
"He's such a dork." The Joker continued to lean until he slumped down against the floor.
"Well, he learned from Batman. That's to be expected." Bruce responded, crouching down next to the Joker.
"Take me home," Joker blurted suddenly. "It hurts." He blinked a few times and puzzled over himself.
"I'm working on that." Bruce whispered. "Where are they keeping you? The same cell?"
Joker nodded slowly against the cold floor. He stared at Two-Face across the room, his eyes blurry and reddened.
"Okay." Bruce said, knowing where the Joker was looking, but not wanting to look back and make it obvious. "How're you feeling, Jack?"
"Like a freshly baked muffin," Joker growled. "More like a burned one." He averted his eyes from Two-Face, and met with Bruce's. "It hurts," he repeated slowly.
"What kind of muffin?" Bruce asked, then blinked and shook his head. "Nevermind. Have they hurt you here? The guards or the doctors or anyone?"
For the first time tonight, the Joker broke into a peal of laughter. He wheezed throughout it, and then settled down to speak. "I'll give you one guess, Brucie. The doctors exhaust me with relentless questions, and send the guards in with electroshock to stimulate me. At night I receive several lovely visits, in which I'm treated like royalty, of course... only with a little more blood and pain, you know? And then there're the... others." His voice quieted. "I'm not the most popular person right now." After a meaningful pause, he added, "And have you noticed the drugs pumping through my veins? They really do make it hard to think straight."
"What do you mean you're not the most popular person right now?" Bruce asked slowly. His eyes narrowed, and his fists slowly clenched, then unclenched as he fought between the two warring sides of him. The rational voice said 'don't blow your cover', while the furious, vengeful child in him roared to be unleashed.
"Everyone's been taking advantage of me," Joker explained. "I'm so... pathetic right now." The words were said with disgust as he glanced around. "I'm an easy target for the others."
Bruce nodded, moving in slow motion. A muscle in his neck twitched as he gritted his teeth against the urge to start smashing heads.
"Who?" He asked darkly.
Joker fidgeted in his straight jacket and shifted. The mask was getting really uncomfortable. "Ugly, Croc and Hat-boy..." He paused. "Spooky, too. Mostly the guards, though."
Bruce quickly unfastened the Joker's mask and pulled it away from his face.
"Two-Face, Killer Croc and Scarecrow?" He whispered.
"You missed Mad Hatter," Joker corrected, hoping Bruce wouldn't remind him that his left eye was swollen, and that there were very visible burn marks on his forehead and throat.
"Hat-Boy. Right. I thought Scarecrow, hat. . . nevermind." Bruce peered into the Joker's face, zeroing in on his forehead. Must be marks from the electroshock. His fists balled up again.
"You're really dense today," Joker said quietly. "Scarecrow, too. It's why I said Spooky. C'mon... don't tell me you're losing your edge being here." He tried really hard to resist looking upward.
Bruce rubbed at his eyes.
"Sorry. You're not the only one they're shoving full of drugs." He admitted. "I was palming the pills, so they've taken to shoving needles in me. I can't really fight that without raising suspicions."
"Birds should have their wings clipped," Joker stated quickly, completely changing the subject. He watched Bruce's eyes for any sign of hope that they'd ever leave this place.
"I disagree. It's much better when they can fly free." Blue eyes bored into the Joker's green ones as Bruce hoped that wasn't too subtle.
Joker looked away and moved to scoot back upward into a seated position. "I have five minutes left."
"I'm honestly surprised they haven't figured out they put us in the same room together." Bruce admitted. "No wonder people keep breaking out of this place."
"Then I suppose I won't be seeing you anymore after this." Joker nodded in the direction of an approaching orderly.
"You'll see me again." Bruce vowed, squeezing the Joker's shoulder before slipping away through the crowd. He took a deep breath. His mind felt sharper. Alright. Time to go to work.
His mind started going over what he remembered of Arkham's layout and security procedures, and the numerous loopholes found therein. He could escape easily. It was getting Joker out that would be difficult.
"Time for my therapy?" Joker asked with a cocky grin, not at all surprised when a knee was shoved into his chest. Pinned, his mask was strapped - tightly - back onto his face.
Nearby, the Mad Hatter clapped gleefully and rocked back and forth on the floor.
Bruce froze, hearing the air rush out of the Joker's body. Before he even knew what he was doing, three of the guards were on the ground and the Joker's straight-jacket was undone. A surge of adrenaline cleared his head and sharpened his reflexes, years of fighting off fatigue, injury and numerous other impairments coming to his aid.
Every head in the room snapped around to face him. There was a moment of eerie calm, no one saying or doing anything, not even breathing, before all hell broke loose.
The Joker toppled over onto his hands and knees, panting as he glanced around for someplace to hide. Some of the inmates shrieked and began running wildly about the room, and others laughed. Still, others glared at the Joker and his little friend, considering them in the lowest of regards. The Hatter recited something and lunged for the green-haired man. It would appear he was still upset about their last meeting.
Two other orderlies picked up clubs and started for Bruce.
The orderlies wouldn't have a shot at him for another three seconds, so Bruce used two of them to throw Hatter across the room, conveniently taking out the most intrusive security camera. In the remaining second, he reached out and grabbed one of the orderlies, dislocated his elbow and threw him against the other Arkham employee, knocking them both down.
The Joker grabbed for Bruce's nearest leg, coughing as he tried to breathe properly. He was too sick to handle much abuse, and dearly hoped this was not in vain. If it was, he didn't want to ever go back to his cell. There would be hell to pay.
Two-Face laughed and flipped his coin into the air, glancing briefly at the coin before stomping his foot down into an orderly nearby.
"Come on." Bruce said, grabbing Joker around the waist and looking around for the best way out of the room. He determined that the Joker probably couldn't go anywhere but out the door across the room. Great.
Moving the Joker behind him to keep him relatively out of harm's way, he started around the perimeter of the room, keeping the Joker between him and the wall.
Clinging with all the strength he could muster, the Joker tried hard to keep up with Bruce. His legs faltered and even buckled under him several times, but he struggled, anyway. "Don't let them take me back!" he pleaded.
Bruce escorted him quickly around the room to the door, fending off wild attacks and flailing limbs. Just as they reached the door, he saw Two-Face looming over one of the guards. Quickly, he ran into the hallway and yanked the alarm, causing a large magnetic door to slam shut across the hall, blocking access to Arkham's only above-ground exit.
"Find somewhere to hide!" He barked at Joker, then rushed back into the fray in the room, knocking Two-Face to the ground before the villain could crush the guard's windpipe.
Down the hall, on the other side of the security door, a cluster of armed guards came running, stopping up short as they reached the barricade.
Joker scrambled along the floor of the hallway, gasping for air as he tore the mask away. He glanced backward several times. *Where is he?!* He paused and turned around, but then noticed the barricade beginning to lift. "Bruce!" he yelled futiley. Hesitantly, he hurried further down the hallway, and around a corner into another area.
The staircase was there - spiralling downwards into the basement of Arkham Asylum. Joker contemplated it for a long while before rushing toward them... and disappeared down the stairwell. Somewhere above him, a siren went off.
*