Disclaimer: I do not own any Batman characters, ect.
A/N: This is just my attempt to get into the Joker's head. It's a short story, so it's not going to be one of those 209365 chapter stories. It's going to be rated M, just in case for later chapters. I may get into the gore, but it's just in case.
Bruce Wayne gasped for air. His head was spinning and his mouth salivated, as he was about to vomit. The attempt to open his eyes to observe his surroundings failed. His eyes simply rolled back into his head. Bruce was able to recognize that his arms were tied behind him; his ankles were also bound. He was on a soft piece of furniture, possibly a couch. Breathing slowly, Bruce tried to listen to any noise around him. But there was nothing. Absolutely nothing but his own soft intakes of breath. Feeling his head steady a bit, he opened his eyes once again. His vision blurred in and out of focus, but that didn't matter, there wasn't much to see.
He was propped up on an old couch, the stuffing popping from the seams. Beside the couch was a side table with a lamp on it. The fuzzy light pooled around him, but the rest of the room remained in inky darkness. He pursed his lips and tossed his head back to rest on the couch. Fidgeting around, Bruce experimented with the movement of his hands and feet, trying to see if his binds would loosen. They didn't.
"Mr. Waaayne."
Bruce stilled his movements. He knew that voice. He knew it all too well. It was nasally, and crawled through the ears.
From the other side of the darkened room slunk the owner of the voice. As the light touched his face, the white makeup took on an eerie glow. His red lips formed an O in mock surprise.
"Oh, well, Mr. Wayne! If I knew you'd be coming, I'd have put on my good shoes."
Bruce looked down at the Joker's scuffed brown shoes, the ends curling up. His eyes flickered back up towards the face of the fiend in front of him. The Joker held a bemused smile on his face, like always. His dark eyes gazed eagerly at Bruce, waiting for a reply. Clenching his teeth, Bruce looked away, refusing to give the Joker recognition. Nervous thoughts passed through his head. Did the Joker know of his double identity? Or was this kidnapping because he was Bruce Wayne, the billionaire?
"And I thought they, uh, taught manners at finishing school. I guess not." Bruce continued to look around the room, anywhere but the Joker.
"You know, being locked up in Arkham-" Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce saw something flash in the Joker's hand.
"-can be such a drag. I was a bit, uh, bored." The Joker crept closer to Bruce.
"Would you like to play, uh… a game with me, Mr. Wayne?" Bruce had to watch the Joker now. Keeping an eye on the knife in his hand.
He knew what the Joker wanted. All he ever wanted was attention. He wanted to be feared and recognized. He wanted to play a little talking game.
"You escaped from Arkham?" Bruce murmured.
The Joker leered at him, contemplating the question. He leaned over Bruce, waving the knife in his hand.
"I escaped from a prison. You actually think a loo-oony bin could hold me?" The Joker gave a barking laughing.
"They don't realize that I can escape by doing absolutely nothing. That was all I could do, anyways. Nothing. They made sure to strap me up nice and tight at Arkham. Yes. They. Did." The Joker's tongue darted out to lick his lips. Bruce scrunched his nose in disgust.
"But outside Arkham, the world continues to spin, to breathe, to… come up with plans to blow up Arkham." The Joker folded his bottom lip into his mouth as he muffled a giggle.
"My associates came to my aid. Do you know why, Mr. Wayne?"
Bruce glared up at the Joker. The man who killed Rachel, the man who corrupted and destroyed Harvey, the man who made his life a living hell.
"No." Bruce answered through clenched teeth.
"Because Gotham needs me. I return to see the police with their nuts in a bunch, chasing the Batman through the streets. Why? Because he murdered police officers." The Joker looked down at his knife, playing with it in-between his fingers.
"But I know the truth. I, uh, know the Batman… and he has one rule. One rule he didn't even break for me." He thoughtfully gazed upward, the whites of his eyes contrasting with the dark makeup of his eyes sockets.
"No, I know the truth." Looking back at Bruce, the Joker smiled mischievously.
"It was Harvey, Harvey, Harvey… Dent. The, uh, White Knight of Gotham."
"Harvey was a great man."
The Joker licked his lips.
"Oh, I beg to differ, Mr. Wayne."
The Joker breathed in heavily through his nostrils, a dark anger taking over his features.
"Sadly, the people of Gotham have not yet received the message. They live in fear, but they do not understand why."
"Because you're a raging psychopath." Bruce growled.
The Joker jumped at him, the knife now against Bruce's throat. He raised his brows, giving Bruce an innocent simper.
"I tend to bring out the best in people, Mr. Wayne."
Bruce did not cower away from the knife. As he swallowed, the cold steel pressed harshly against his Adam's apple. But, the man who dresses up as Batman at night isn't a coward. Bruce pushed on.
"The worst. You bring out the worst in people." He corrected.
The Joker let out a slow, drawling laugh. He removed himself from Bruce and took a step away from the couch.
"You see, that's where the brainwashing of, uh, society shines through. The good is bad. When in reality, the bad is good. Very good."
He wasn't making any sense to Bruce.
"I decided to show society its faults. I thought about the perfect embodiment of… greed… It was you, Mr. Wayne. You and your women, fame, and fortune. Your expensive outfits,-"
The Joker brought the knife down onto Bruce's suit, cutting open the sleeve.
"-your imported cars, your expanding corporation. All the while, riding the coat tails of dearly departed mommy and daddy as you set out for another night of drinking and sleeping with some star-gazed whore."
Bruce looked down to the ground, his body tense with anger. The Joker grabbed his hair, forcing Bruce's face back up. The Joker regarded him as a child, with a falsely sympathetic face. He brought the knife up to Bruce's face, the blade lightly touching his temple.
"Does it… make you sad, Mr. Wayne? To know, that all your earthly comforts amount to nothing? That… at the end of the day, when you max out your credit card, and your libido is sated… there is no happiness? Does it make you feel… lonely, Mr. Wayne? That all the money you own will not hug you at the end of the night. That it's just cold paper?" Bruce blinked, and opened his mouth to speak. But nothing came. The Joker released his hair.
"Didn't think so." He muttered. Turning his back to Bruce, he clasped his gloved hands behind his back.
"And to think, of all those children… wishing they could be as rich as Bruce Wayne. To score like he does, to ride those expensive cars that he does… Well…"
He turned back to Bruce, a smile reuniting with his features.
"Tonight, they'll realize that, uh ha, Bruce Wayne is just like the rest of us. Just as scared, just as lonely. Maybe, then, they'll see the message. That what they hope and dream for, what they desire and live for… ah, all amounts to nothing. Because in the end, Mr. Wayne, it all burns."
Just like he always does, the Joker had gotten under Bruce's skin. He wanted to jump up and snap his neck. The Joker reached into his coat pocket, the coat that was a nauseating plum color. In his hand was a black walkie-talkie. He brought it up to his scarred lips,
"Bring it in." He ordered. He quickly placed the walkie-talkie back inside the pocket.
In the darkened section of the room, Bruce could hear a door being opened. Into the light, a clown-masked man wheeled in a cart with a TV on it. Beside the cart, he placed a cardboard box, the flaps shut. The Joker shooed the henchman away and picked up the remote off the top of the TV. Turning to Bruce, the Joker shrugged a shoulder.
"I thought you'd like some entertainment to pass the time. Would like some caviar, Mr. Wayne? Or perhaps some, uh, escargot, maybe?" The Joker let loose a mad laugh once again.
"If you wait a moment, I could get some of my vintage wine. Just imported from France."
Bruce glowered at the man as he flung himself onto the couch, seating himself on the opposite side. Stretching out his arm, he turned the television on with a push of a button. The channel that turned on was the Gotham News channel. The Joker gave an excited twitch and leaned forwards.
"You gotta love this stuff."
The news anchor was a young blonde woman. She read her script with professionalism.
"Police, today, arrested Emelio Novachezk on the murder charges of his five year old daughter, Rosa Novachezk. Her body was found Monday, buried under the family's shed. She died from a blow to the head."
"That's the problem with people…" Came the Joker's grave voice.
"They think… that villains run around in fashionable spandex, plotting plans against the super heroes of the world. But in reality, the villains are right in their own homes, uh ha."
That drawling laugh came once again.
"In other news,-"
The woman continued.
"-Bruce Wayne, head of Wayne Enterprises, has gone missing. Last seen at the Wayne Foundation charity ball on Tuesday, there have been no leads to where he has gone. Commissioner-"
The Joker gave a snort.
"-Gordon gave a press conference on the day of the disappearance. The Commissioner strongly believes that the Joker may be behind the disappearance of the billionaire, and that everything that can be done to get Bruce Wayne back, is being done."
"You hear that, Mr. Wayne?" The Joker placed a pale hand on Bruce's shoulder. His fingernails were long, chipped and yellow.
"Commissioner Gordon is coming to save the day." His giddy smile disappeared. Jutting his chin out, the Joker gave a thoughtful raise of his brow.
"Or… is he? Hmm…" The smile returned.
"What did you do?" Bruce whispered. He couldn't have killed Gordon… could he?
The Joker crossed his legs and leaned over to Bruce, as if to tell him a secret.
"I was playing with him. Just having a bit of, uh, fun. But I think… ah, I broke him."
He showed his teeth and grimaced, like a child would if he made a mistake.
"What did you do?"
The Joker giggled, springing from the couch, he walked on his knees towards the cardboard box. Opening the flaps, he rummaged through and pulled out a videotape. He stared at Bruce as he placed it in the VCR. His gaze dark and feral. He reminded Bruce of an animal. His quick, jerky movements; his unrelenting stare; the way he glowered with his chin tucked in. He wasn't a man at all.
Quickly taking a stand and jumping back onto the couch, the Joker pushed another button on the remote. The television screen became filled with static and then cleared. Horror filled Bruce at the sight of the video.
Gordon was strapped to a chair in a bare room. His glasses had fallen off, and his face was bruised and bloody, slick with his nervous sweat. The camera was shaking and unsteady as it focused on him.
"Say your name." Came the nasally voice from beyond the camera.
Bruce shot a glance at the Joker before looking back at the screen. Gordon breathed heavily against his restraints. He didn't bother looking up at the camera as he answered. His head hung low to the side.
"James Gordon."
"Is there something, uh, you would like to tell the people of Gotham? Perhaps something you have been lying to them about?"
Gordon sobbed and shook his head.
"Tell them."
Gordon continued to sob and shake his head,
"No, no-"
"Tell them."
"-, no, no."
"SAY IT!"
Gone was the nasally voice. The shout was guttural and frightening. It reverberated off the walls and left a cold silence in its wake.
Gordon stopped his sobbing and looked up into the camera. His eyes were filled with sorrow and defeat. His lower lip trembled as he spoke,
"The allegations… against Batman are false. He wasn't the one who killed those people."
"Who did it? Who did it?!" The voice beyond the camera was riding with excitement.
Gordon gave a shudder, his head hanging down in shame once again.
"Harvey Dent did…"
A laugh echoed through the room.
"Harvey, Harvey, Harvey… Why did you lie to them, Commissioner?"
The camera was brought up close to Gordon's face.
"You did it. You turned him into a monster! Now Batman-"
Gordon was silenced by a punch to the face. The seat he was in tilted over and crashed to the floor. There was a laugh once again as the camera showed a scuffed brown shoe lightly tapping against Gordon's forehead.
"The justice system lied to the people? Have you no shame?"
There was a giggle.
"They looked to you for answers, for hope, and you lied?"
Gordon turned his face into the floor, as far from the camera as he could. The room suddenly spun and the television screen was zoomed on the Joker's face. His scars shined with red lipstick and his yellow teeth were barred in a smile.
"You heard it, Gotham. The man whom you have faithfully followed is a liar. He pinned the murders on Batman, your real hero. Perhaps you should choose more carefully who you worship."
The video ended with the Joker's mouth open in an obnoxious laugh. The static from the television filled the room, making Bruce's mind numb.
"Tonight-uh, I'll be sending the video in… The people will know that Harvey was a fraud, and once again turn towards the Batman for help." The Joker licked his lips.
"Then, I'll break him too."
Batman wasn't coming. With Gordon gone, there was no hope. There was no Batman to save Bruce Wayne. There was no hero to come to his aid. His only hope remained with Alfred. Hopefully, his old friend would be able to do something.
"But before we do that-uh…" The Joker grabbed Bruce's jaw, forcing him to look in his direction.
"We'll have some fun. Chums like us are going to have our own little party." He squeezed Bruce's cheeks, making his lips squish together.
The Joker gave a half laugh. Squeezing Bruce's cheeks twice, he made his lips move.
"Fishy, fishy…"
Bruce tugged his face away and the Joker let go. Giggling, he stood and stretched, cracking bones in his ankles and back. The Joker stared lazily down at Bruce. Languidly, he pulled out his knife once again. Standing in front of Bruce, he allowed his body to lean forward and nearly fall on top of his captive. Before he hit Bruce, his hand shot out and landed on the back of the couch, supporting his weight as stood slanted over Bruce.
"Uh ha, made you flinch, Mr. Wayne."
Bruce scowled up at him.
"I can't help but, uh, notice, Mr. Wayne. We don't have all that much in common, do we? Should I change that?" The Joker gave a vigorous nod.
His legs kicked onto the couch and he straddled his victim. The Joker pulled on Bruce's hair, forcing his head back so the light shined on it. Bruce fought back by kicking up his knees at the Joker.
"Hold still now…" The Joker tucked his feet under his behind, pushing down Bruce's knees in the process.
"Wouldn't want to make a mistake, would I?"
Bruce froze as he felt the blade on the corner of his mouth.
The Joker paused, sucking his teeth.
"Hmm…" Came his irritation.
The knife was pulled from his mouth, allowing Bruce to give an exhale of relief. It was short lived as the blade swiped across his cheek. He hissed in pain as the Joker mimicked the act on the other cheek. Leaning back, the Joker examined his work.
"Oh, let me get that for you…"
The Joker pushed the back of his forearm against Bruce's face, catching and soaking up the blood that had been trickling from the wounds. The rough, dirty sleeve caused Bruce's cuts to sting worse. The smell of gasoline flooded Bruce's nostrils; he was only too relieved when the Joker withdrew his arm.
"Not too shabby, not too shabby…"
He removed himself from Bruce, sitting next to him on the couch. The knife retreated back into his pocket, and then he produced a palm sized, rectangular mirror.
"What do you think, Mr. Wayne?" He held the mirror in front of Bruce to see.
The cuts were still bleeding. They weren't as horrible gnarled as the Joker's. They wouldn't need stitches, but they would still scar. At least he didn't tear open his mouth like the Joker's mutilations had been done.
"Lovely." Came his sarcastic retort.
"Thought as much."
He hid the mirror in his pocket. Bruce wondered why the Joker even walked around with a mirror. Most likely for touch ups on his ghoulish makeup. Reaching in-between the cushions, the Joker was reunited with the remote. Bruce had gotten so use to the static noise that he had forgotten the television was on.
"Let's watch something… ah, funny."
With a click, the channel changed. Once again, there was a man strapped to a chair, his head hidden by a paper bag. The Joker leaned towards Bruce, crossing his legs in the process. Rolling his eyes upwards to the ceiling, he began,
"You know, Mr. Wayne-" His eyes came back down to Bruce's face.
"- I've been watching you. Yeah, I have." The Joker nodded his head.
"I had wondered if a man such as yourself could, uh, love anything except his expenditures."
Bruce watched his facial movements, his yellow teeth that peaked under his lips.
"Because when a man loves something, he becomes horribly weak. That's how, uh, I made Gordon bend to my whim. Point a gun at a man's family and you get a rather decent reaction."
The Joker ran a hand through his washout green hair, making sure it was parted to the side. Cocking his head to the side, the Joker leered at Bruce through his blonde lashes.
"Do you love anyone, Mr. Wayne?"
For the first time since he had been held captive, Bruce felt raw fear ripple through him. He turned towards the television once again. From his side, he heard the click of the walkie-talkie.
"Remove it." The Joker gave his stoic order.
Bruce watched as a clown-masked henchman grabbed the bag and lifted it. He felt a sickening weight fall into his stomach as Alfred's face was revealed. He was slumped over, obviously unconscious. He didn't appear to have any wounds but had been drugged into a stupor.
"Ohh, that face-uh. You do love him."
Bruce felt himself explode.
"HE'S JUST AN OLD MAN! YOU SICK FUCKING BASTARD!!"
The Joker's fist came cracking down on Bruce's jaw. He fell to the side, his head hitting against the couch armrest. The punch had agitated the cut on his cheek causing it to reopen and bleed profusely. Bruce licked the bottom-lining of his teeth, tasting blood.
"I always wondered what it'd be like to punch a billionaire, uh ha."
Bruce breathed heavily through his nose, ignoring the ache in his jaw.
"Leave him out of this. Whatever you need out of me, doesn't include him."
The Joker chuckled, "Oh, Mr. Waaayne. I do like that humor of yours." He gripped the walkie-talkie once more.
"Okay…" He turned towards the television, "Give him the dose, it's time to wake up."
The Joker slowly tucked the walkie-talkie back into one of his numerous pockets as he watched the television. He was blocking the view for Bruce, who wiggled about on the couch to try and catch what they were doing to Alfred. Minutes passed and the Joker remained unmoving in front of the television. His legs apart and his arms dangling at his sides, he appeared to be a lifeless mannequin. The silence was broken by a low moan. Bruce's breathing hitched.
"Ahh, there we are."
The Joker moved backwards towards the couch and Bruce was finally able to see the TV. Alfred must have just awoken. He blinked his eyes rapidly as he looked around the room. When his eyes fell on the camera, Bruce felt his heart deaden. It felt like Alfred was looking straight at him.
"You'll never get anything out of me." Came his thick English accent.
Alfred was all Bruce had left in this world. He was without a family, without Rachel; Alfred was the closest thing he had.
"If you leave him out of this, I'll get you anything you want."
The Joker threw Bruce a bemused expression, "A problem, Mr. Wayne. You have nothing I want-uh."
"I'll get you Batman."
At this, the Joker raised a brow. Clasping his hands behind his back, he slunk over to Bruce.
"And how, uh, would you be able to do that-uh?"
He towered over Bruce. He must be over six foot tall.
Bruce straightened himself on the couch, throwing himself back into a sitting position.
"I have connections. I'll be able to bring him to you."
He gave Bruce a long stare. His face was dark and menacing as he watched, calculating Bruce. He finally blinked and smacked his lips. Straightening himself to full height, he cracked his neck and looked down at Bruce.
"The Batman is going to be here, anyways…" He drawled.
"Actions have all ready been set in motion to, uh, lure him here."
Whenever he spoke, he never stood steady. He swayed ever so slightly, or shifted weight from foot to foot.
Bruce felt like calling him a fucking idiot. No one was coming. No one. He wasn't going to get the big bang finish that he wanted. He wasn't going to get the ultimate showdown that he wanted. He was going to get zilch. Nothing!
Bruce gave the Joker a fierce glare, placing all the hatred he had for the man into it.
"I'm telling you right now. If you hurt him-" He was cut off.
The Joker cracked him in the face again, this time in the temple. He fell sideways once again. Spots began to dance in front of his eyes.
"Don't forget who's in charge, Mr. Wayne, when you start whining threats."
Bruce felt the Joker's hot breath on his ear.
"I want nothing from you, Mr. Wayne. Except to watch you fall into insanity… Much like Dent."
Bruce peaked an eye open. The Joker was in his peripheral vision, leaning over him.
"At the end of the night, you'll be like me. You'll be free, Mr. Wayne, and the people of Gotham will realize that apple of their eyes, the, ah, light at the end of the road, can be misleading…"
"I'll never be like you." Bruce whispered.
"You're an inhumane bag of shit."
The Joker clutched at his chest dramatically. A look of pain pulled at his face.
"You don't think I'm human, Mr. Wayne?"
He started to fake cry. The sobs slowly transformed into a demented airy laugh. Once again, he grabbed Bruce by the hair, helping him sit up straight. He crouched so he was eye-level with Bruce.
"No… you're not human. Just an animal that's lost its mind." Sneered Bruce.
The Joker's eyes rolled up to the ceiling again.
"Well,-" His eyes came back to rest on Bruce.
"- if I'm crazy… the world isn't that far off." The Joker stabbed Bruce with a dangerous glare.
He straightened up, and turned towards the television. "Ready for the fireworks, Mr. Wayne?"
The Joker reached into his pocket, drawing out the walkie-talkie. Bringing it to his mouth, he clicked it on. "Don't! I'm begging you!" Came Bruce's plea.
"Shoot 'im."