Disquietude:
He lifted the lithe man in his arms, his body battered, his face bruised and bloody, his hair disheveled, his usually immaculate attire dirty and wet. And he noticed very suddenly the frailty of the man, how light his weight was. His long, thin frame might easily break, in fact, did, it seemed, with only the slightest pressure applied. And the vigilante then wondered how such fragility bore such abuse.
His starring was jarred by the sound of a voice. His voice. A voice which always so startled the cowld man. It defied his energy, his intensity. One only could imagine a frantic tone in matching his demeanor, but instead his timbre was soft, his pitch quiet and low, soothing. He was articulate.
"You've thrown me for a loop darling, most literally." He laughed. He sounded weak.
Batman said nothing, only placed The Joker in his car, strapping him tightly to the seat.
He'd beaten the hell out of the clown. He almost always did. But he'd been especially brutal this time. And he didn't even know why. The Joker had walked in to a bowling ally and begun executing people at random. Hardly new fare where the madman was concerned. Batman hadn't been surprised to find The Joker petting the head of some poor woman he'd shot in the face, talking to her in comforting tones, erupting in to giggles every few seconds. And The Joker hadn't been surprised at the vigilante's arrival. He never was. He expected it, welcomed it and had managed to expel some quick, witty insult before the vigilante sunk his fist against the maniacs jaw.
He tried to tell himself he didn't like hurting The Joker. But he did. And that night, he realized, while brining his fist down upon the lunatic, that it was The Joker himself who pushed him to enjoy it. He would talk to the vigilante, even as he was pummeled, he would talk and say things more cutting and cruel then anything The Dark Knight could ever hope to say in return. He wanted the madman to shut up. And so he would hit him harder, and each blow, he admitted grudgingly, he got some sort of sick satisfaction from. But it only ever seemed to make The Joker talk more. And so Batman would hit him and hit him until he went unconscious.
He'd been particularly difficult to put out that night, it seemed. The vigilante thought he must have hit him a dozen times or more before he fell silent.
But now he was awake again, talking.
Batman looped around to his side of the vehicle, leaping in behind the steering wheel. He could feel The Joker's eyes on him, watching him. He kept his own fixed ahead, turning the ignition, the cockpit roof sliding shut.
"Oh honey. The silent treatment again? You know that never works."
The vigilante could feel his jaw clench, his muscles tighten. He gripped hard the wheel in his hands. He couldn't help the reaction. He wanted desperately to go unaffected. But he couldn't. He never could. The Joker always had an impact on him. He was the only one. Batman couldn't understand him. He was sure that was why. Every other rogue, every street punk and criminal, he could explain, he could place a reason to their actions, to their behavior. Everything made sense with them. All that was needed was to connect the dots. But The Joker, he was impossible. Nothing about him lined up, nothing seemed rational in even the most remote sense. The vigilante thought, if only he could understand, the bother the lunatic caused him would dissipate. But he was like a living, breathing contradiction. This very instant he seemed a paradox. Only half an hour before had he mowed down half a dozen innocents in cold blood. Brutal, violent, obscene. But now, when he spoke, it was with that unsettling calm he always did, that confidence that made you feel as if he knew something you never would. He had an extreme sort of sophistication about him, a great intelligence. Listening to him, just listening, you never would pin him for the psychotic he was. You would think him, ten times out of ten, the most grounded, sane man you'd ever met; possessing an extraordinary depth, perceptive, thoughtful. His demeanor, his manner, it absolutely challenged his actions.
Batman couldn't understand.
He breathed out heavily through his nose, glancing over to the lunatic bound tightly beside him. His wrists were cuffed, near to the point of affecting his circulation, his arms strapped down in the specially designed seat. The Joker looked back at him, his gaze focused, steady. He never blinked. His face was calm. He wasn't bothered by the restraints. He looked mad, Batman thought.
"Why do you do this Joker?" He spoke finally, his voice low but harsh.
The Joker's eyes rolled and he turned away, looking out the window.
"Not the sorry old saw, dear." He sighed. "Can't you think up anything even the slightest bit creative? Or am I destined always to uphold that end of the relationship?"
Batman starred at his enemy. He seemed incredibly small. He was taller then the vigilante, by a good 3 inches he was taller. But his frame was slight. He was very thin. It was his will alone that made him in to so crushing a force. He was no match for The Dark Knight physically, not as strong by half, but, somehow, he near was impossible to hold down, harder still to knock unconscious. And he was quick and agile, extremely so. One wrong move and you likely would end up with a knife buried somewhere inside you.
After what seemed an eternity of silence, the maniac at last looked back at him, and he smiled.
"Let's play a game." He nearly whispered, a giggle waiting to erupt from his throat.
Batman turned away.
"No games Joker."
"Oh, come now." His face fell to a frown. "The trip back to Arkham promises dreadful if you take such an attitude."
Batman said nothing.
The Joker sighed loudly, turning away.
"I was thinking charades, but confined like this, I suppose it would prove somewhat difficult…"
He looked back to the cowld man.
"There's always the option we make out. But, bound as I am, I'm afraid it would be you having to lean ove…"
He was cut short by Batman lashing out, punching him in the face.
The Joker laughed loudly, licking at his lips as blood trickled down from his nose.
"So easily disturbed sweetheart. You're no challenge. No fun at all."
Batman felt his blood boil. He hated that The Joker was able to rile him up while his affect on the lunatic seemed practically non-existent. The vigilante operated on fear. His effectiveness resided in his ability to scare criminals. But The Joker wasn't scared of him. The Joker wasn't scared of anything.
Why did he even bother? The Joker was insane. Trying to talk to him seemed insane in itself. There scarcely was a man beneath that suave exterior. Batman hardly could imagine him as ever being anything but what he was.
"You can't reconcile it, can you?"
Batman glared at him from the corner of his eye.
"What?"
"Myself. You can't reconcile how my manner with what I do, can you? And it perturbs you, doesn't it?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." Batman huffed, turning the car's ignition and shifting in to drive.
"Oh please." The Joker half laughed. "You know perfectly well. Your continued denial serves you no good."
"You're crazy. There's nothing to reconcile."
The Joker chuckled.
"Oh, but you're much the same as those poor doctors in Arkham, aren't you Batsy? Longing desperately to understand. Though, for you dear, it's much worse. So determined you are that everything make sense!"
"It's simple Joker. Everything you do is an act. You put up a front to lure people in to your traps. There's nothing complicated about you."
The Joker laughed loudly.
"Oh cupcake, is that what you think?" He barely was able to expel, his hysterics grew so intense.
"It's what I know." Batman answered coldly.
"And if I told you you were wrong?"
At this Batman scoffed.
"Another of your sob stories Joker?"
The Joker looked away.
"Life makes no sense Batman. Why should people?"
The vigilante glanced over at him, turning the car's engine off.
"Take, for example, you dear." The madman looked again his way. "Some tragedy befell you, I'm certain. But tragedy, she is a close companion to all, in one form or another. Taking the weight of the world's criminal element upon your shoulders is hardly the logical response, and surely not sane, if we're to go by the societal standard of what qualifies as such, even if at some point, as I know it did, some faction of that element preyed upon you. Still, it was your response, whether or not logic's perspective tells you you're wrong. It's what allows you to cope. Am I right? I know I am. But you've laid for yourself the most difficult path. Your unhappiness is profound darling. Don't try to lie. You can't. Not to me. The very thing that makes manageable your loss, simultaneously takes away any chance at contentment. You'll never be fine, sweetie, not when you've chosen as an enemy the inevitable."
Batman turned away.
"Don't try and psychoanalyze me Joker."
"I'm not trying Bat-babe. I've already done so. You're terribly cliché, only in an extreme sort of way."
The cabin fell silent for a moment.
"Still, it's who you are. You posses true conviction, however wrong you may be."
"Wrong?" Batman glared at him. "And what does that make you? Right?"
"Of course honey-pie. Of course I'm right. It's everyone else struck by mental illness. I appear to them mad only because they themselves are. You included, sweet-cheeks."
Batman nearly laughed, turning away.
The Joker shrugged.
"It's as I've said innumerable times Batsy. Laugh with life or life with laugh at you."
"That's only if you regard life to be some joke. Which you do. Problem is Joker, no one else sees it that way."
"Oh, of that I am aware. The poor babes. So lost, so confused. Barely able to hold their heads above the river of denial they swim in."
"I think you're the one living in denial Joker."
"Oh no. Oh no, no, no!" He laughed. "They've identified me as insane, but only as a means of legitimizing the farce of the world they've constructed around them. Acknowledging my soundness of mind would jeopardize everything they've convinced themselves is true."
"And somehow you've managed to glean the truth where everyone else is blind?" Batman asked, his tone sarcastic.
"Yes, yes." The Joker nodded vigorously. "Life is but a series of random, indiscriminating events. The absurdity of one asking 'Why me?' is nothing short of incredible. Until you've realized that life cares nothing for you, then you cannot stop caring for life. Until you can give in return what it is you receive, you forever will remain inconsolable in your misery. Don't you understand? Life is a joke, an inside joke. Cruel and cold and uncaring. You may choose to be in on it. If not, you choose then to be that joke's butt."
Batman starred at him. He hated him. He hated how sane he sounded. The calm evenness of his voice was betrayed only by his wild eyes.
"You always knew this then? You were just born with the gift of divine knowledge?" The vigilante spit back at him, his tone mocking.
"No." The Joker looked away. "I am happy. I am exquisitely happy. But I was as sad as you once, I think. I think I was…" He trailed off.
"Come're ya little shit!"
Two, giant hands reached out from the darkness, drawing closer. The boy pushed back on his knees and stomach, trying to get away, his feet hitting a wall. He began to cry.
"P-please Daddy! L-leave me a-alone!" He begged. "Please!"
Still the hands came near.
And then a scream came, low and angry, and the hands withdrew.
"He bit me! The little fucker bit me!" The hand's owner furiously exclaimed.
"Would you stop messin' around and just grab em' already?!" A woman's voice sounded, slurred and drunk and course.
The hand's owner mumbled something bitterly and in the next instant it seemed the earth shifted, the bed above flying in to the air. The hand's owner, a giant man, 6'3", maybe 6'4", with a massive chest and wide shoulders had lifted the thing fully, frame and all, and tossed it aside. His face was mean and ugly.
The boy shoved back in to a corner, his eyes wide with pure terror as the man came in on him.
"P-please Daddy! P-please!" He sobbed, his arms folding over his head instinctively.
The man didn't seem to hear him. He didn't react to the child's please. Instead he only grasped him tightly by the arms and lifted him up with ridiculous ease, tossing him over his shoulder.
The boy began to struggle then, kicking out, his hands balling in to fists as he pounded pitifully against the giant's back. And he screamed. His voice high pitched and desperate.
The man said nothing, reacted only by slamming the child against a wall, holding him up there, pressing his massive weight against his son's fragile frame before letting him go, letting him hit the floor with the impact of a two foot drop.
The boy cried out in pain and then the woman appeared, stepping out from behind the giant. And she knelt down before the child, so that both their eyes were level with one another.
"There, there." She began quietly. "It'll be alright baby. Just relax. This is how it's supposed to be. It's how God wants it to be. It's perfectly natural. It's all perfectly natural." The woman reached her hand out, touching it to the boy's cheek. He flinched violently away as though in reflex, and she looked suddenly disgusted, her eyes flashing in anger.
"You ungrateful bastard!" She spit, backhanding him across the face. "I'll teach you some respect! Make em' up Jack! Get em' ready!"
The boy shrunk back as the giant came in on him once more. He tried rising to his feet, tried to run. But fear had turned his legs to rubber and he fell, face forward, and then he felt those vice-like hands around his arms again, lifting him in to the air. And he screamed and cried and kicked as he was carried towards another place. That place.
"You don't remember, do you?"
"Remember what?"
"Your life. Before." Batman answered.
The Joker smiled.
"In a way, I do."
The vigilante starred at him incredulously.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
The madman threw his head back and laughed.
"It means what it says honey pie. It comes to me in flashes. Dreams, mostly. But when one entertains sleep as infrequently as do I, these blasts from the past indeed are short lived. Sometimes they come when I'm just sitting there, putting one of my brilliant designs to paper. Still, I've a ridiculously good memory, and can recall such instances in the most vivid of detail."
"And?" Batman eyed him intently.
"And what?"
"What do you remember?"
The Joker giggled like a child.
"You'd like for me to recount the gruesome details then?" He laughed. "The horrific abuse suffered by me at the hands of a merciless mother and father?"
Batman shrugged.
"Why not? It's just more lies anyway. You might as well entertain me."
The Joker's face fell in an exaggerated expression of hurt.
"Oh darling, you wound me deeply. So sure you are, that my entire past I've fabricated. Ah, but if your certainty is true as you claim, why then reward to me an audience for my lies? Is that not irresponsible conduct?"
Batman starred at him coldly for a long, few seconds before turning away and saying nothing.
"Heh." The Joker laughed. "You know I'm right. Clearly, you're not as stupid as you look. Though still painfully transparent. You need to work on concealing your emotions sweetheart."
Batman glanced over at him with a look of disbelief. And The Joker erupted in to hysterics.
"Oh, don't look so surprised! How do you think I pass my time in Arkham? There only are so many options dear. Analyzing the annalists proves absorbing, depending on the number of layers they've in place." And he began again to laugh before abruptly stopping and starring at the cowld man with focus.
"You really want to know. Oh, you poor thing, you truly believe that will help. Idealistic foolery at its finest." He laughed.
The vigilante remained mute.
The Joker sighed.
"It's a multitude of imagery, if you must know. Sometimes it's strung together, much like a movie reel, creating a kind of scenario. But mostly, no, just single explosions of faces, voices, environment, etcetera. Maybe it all really happened, maybe none of it did. Maybe part is true while another part not. Who can say? Certainly not I." He laughed. "Really, it's of no consequence."
"It is if it made you in to what you are." Batman said.
The madman chuckled.
"No." He said. "Knowing the past won't change it. It doesn't change it for you."
"And how are you so sure I remember my past any better then you do?"
Again The Joker laughed.
"You know, darling. It couldn't be more obvious. The reveal is in that self-righteous anger of yours. You must recount it in your mind a hundred times a day, am I right? Of course I am. Trying to make sense of what happened, trying to force it in to some logical, formulated pattern. You're only fooling yourself dear. I've tried in vain to show that to you. Having some event, it's only what your mind makes of it. If you need for that event to be your anchor, your reason for what you are, what you do, than it will become that, regardless to there being any actual relation. I always would have been as I am, despite who I was. You too Batykins."
"And who were you Joker?"
"I don't know. That's the point. Whatever you experienced, whatever I experienced, a thousand other people may lay claim to that exact trauma. But they don't dress up like a giant bat and beat the snot out of street thugs, and they don't realize suddenly that the universe has played us all for fools. We are who we are, regardless of what we've been made to suffer. If you never had been exposed to whichever slice of random cruelty you were, you would have grasped at something else, anything to give you reason and purpose, any excuse for what you had to become, anything to explain it away. Your discontent lies in your refusal to accept that you simply are. That there is no reason or logic, no meaning."
"You're wrong."
"Am I? You think that ridiculously obsessive drive you have was developed? Or that I learned to see the funny side of death? Oh, don't misunderstand me, please. There are triggers, to be sure. Those circumstances we wait on to occur, so we can excuse unleashing what's always been in us. But like talent, my sweet, it only can be honed, never created. Me? I needed no reason at all. I woke up one day as I am, and I've loved every moment since. Whatever path I took, I still would have ended in the same place, and so that path means nothing."
"How can you say your past has no effect on you when you can't even remember it? It renders you unable to make that judgment." Batman countered.
"I remember enough." The Joker said. "I see enough, see and hear the emotions when the flashes come. But I feel nothing. It conjures no reaction in me." He laughed. "It doesn't drive me insane or anything." And then his laugher grew raucous.
He felt the rope digging harshly in to the skin of his thin wrists and ankles, the strain of his weight fully against his limbs caused searing pain to rip through his body and his eyes squeezed tightly shut, tears escaping from out their corners.
He wanted to scream. He would have, if not for the gag in his mouth. And then he felt it, her fingers on his face, tracing along his cheek, brushing his slightly curled bangs across his forehead.
"Look at me baby. Look at me." He heard her hoarse voice coaxing him. He didn't want to. He wanted to disappear, deep in to oblivion, where they couldn't touch him any more. But then he felt her fingers pressing hard in to his face and she gripped his jaw viciously, shaking it back and forth.
"Look at me you worthless piece of trash! Look at me or so help me God I'll…"
He could feel his entire body trembling as his eyelids slowly came up and he saw her hard, lined face starring only an inch from his own. She smirked.
"That's a baby." She slurred, removing his gag then, running the back of her hand across his forehead and then again, down his cheek. He jerked away, only to hit his head against the board of wood he was tied against.
"Aww, I'nt that sweet Jack? He's so eager, he barely can contain em'self."
"Yeah, real sweet Trish. Let's just get goin'!" The giant sounded impatient, his eyes looked glazed and hungry.
"Please…" The boy again begged, his voice small and hopeless. "L-let me go. Please, I promise I won't t-tell no one."
"Quiet you!" The woman slapped him hard across the face. "Any more back talk and we won't be so gentle! And damn right you won't tell nobody. You ain't never gonna get that chance. Ain't never gonna see no one again after that little display you put on earlier! Thought you could let that nasty old cook down the road know 'bout our private time? Well, now you gonna see what happens to little boys can't keep their mouths shut!"
Suddenly the boy hated himself for the tears running down his face and he turned his head away, ashamed.
Batman looked disgusted, turning away. Everything to the clown was a joke. The vigilante very much doubted if anything he'd said was even remotely true, either in fact or in how the lunatic felt.
Seeing his reaction, The Joker's hysterics faded and he looked intently at the cold man.
"Oh, you don't belieeeve me." He grinned. "But scouts honor Bats, I'm telling the truth!"
"The levity with which you regard the things you're saying makes it seem unlikely." Batman replied.
The Joker again began to laugh.
"And when have I ever taken anything seriously?"
"You seem to want people to acknowledge your murders as art!" Batman spit. "That seems to rile you up when they don't!"
The Joker shrugged.
"It doesn't bother me. That they don't catch the humor just further demonstrates the absurdity of them and their lives."
"Then why do you try so hard to prove it to them?" Batman countered quickly.
The Joker smiled widely, bearing his straight, white teeth.
"Because…" He began. "Seeing their vexation in the face of something so evident makes me laugh. So strong is their denial that even when, plainly, they've been proven wrong, they cannot accept it. The sight of their delusions shattered causes in them such great confusion. And oh, that is amusing."
"How is it even possible?" Batman thought to himself, frustrated.
"You act so cultured Joker." He said allowed. "You present a sophisticated gentleman, but then the things you do…"
"Oh honey-pie, don't reduce yourself to their level. One qualities existence is predicated not on another. Again, letting logic blind you from reality. I am what I am, so called contradictions and all. I take note and appreciate the finer things of this world because what point is there to living if in fact you don't enjoy it? To have fun, baby-doll, that is our only endeavor worth while. Good taste is an endowment, another of those things not teachable, as evidenced by you, I'm afraid." He laughed.
Batman bristled. He hated this. He was sure there was no experience so frustrating as talking to The Joker. He always had some ridiculous counter, and he would almost always end it with some silly joke or witticism. Nothing was sacred to him. Yet the way he would word things, it always came across as something totally sound.
"You really want to know what I remember Batman?" He was jarred from his annoyance by the sound of The Joker's voice.
The vigilante glanced at him.
The madman pouted.
"I see a little boy darling, accompanied by two utter grotesqueries. One a beast of a man, your size, just about. But not near as cute." He laughed. "The other is a woman, a drunk, her face a sack of crinkling flesh. And you know what they're doing? With this poor boy?"
Batman eyed him in a front of disinterest.
"They're hurting him. In the worst sorts of ways they're hurting him. One should take care in delivering this next part with tact. How best to put this without causing offense? Hmm, well, we'll just say they had with him their way."
Batman whipped his head around, starring hard at the lunatic.
"What?" He uttered.
The Joker chuckled.
"That's right dear. And it's all very unpleasant, for the boy I mean. He's crying and trying so hard to scream, but the grotesqueries? They've got him bound and gagged, doubtless to keep those nosey neighbors from their little game. And this child? He looks remarkably like myself. Tall for his age, skinny. Gangly limbed and all. And oh, it drags on forever, on and on." He laughed loudly then.
Batman looked at him incredulously.
"How can you laugh about something like that?"
"Because… I can. Because it's funny." The Joker answered, his tone nonchalant.
"But, it's you. It's you. How is that funny!?"
"The same way everything is. I mean, it's ironic. Don't you agree? For someone so terribly feared, as am I, to have begun as that? As nothing more than a simpering, little wretch? The very prototype for every wimp in the world!"
The madman threw his head back and laughed with abandon.
Batman gapped at him in disbelief. He really did think it was funny. His hysterics weren't forced. The memory of himself as sexually abused struck him as… as humorous!? Jesus, he truly was mad!
"What in the hell is wrong with you?" The vigilante muttered.
At this The Joker scoffed.
"Oh, don't take yourself so serious darling. You've got no sense of humor. And don't try to fool me! I know that's why you go around huffing and puffing all the time, like some horrible dragon lady. If you can't laugh at yourself, you can't laugh at anything."
Batman just looked back, his mouth twisted in repulsion.
The Joker rolled his eyes.
"God, don't be so upset! That recollection is only one in a bottomless pit of others. There's so many. So many pictures and sounds. I never twice remember it in quite the same way. More often then not the scenes differ entirely from one to the next, with new people, new places, new sights and sounds. The memory I just recounted? Maybe it happened to me. Maybe it didn't. Maybe it happened to someone else and I was there as only a witness? Maybe it didn't happen at all, and merely is a product of my brilliant, always active imagination. It's not possible for me to say. But what I can affirm for you Batsy, sweetheart, is that it doesn't bother me. Whether that's me in the dream or not, whether it ever even happened, it's still just one, colossal joke, not to be taken with any gravity. Because life, in the end, is just one disappointment, one after another, one, giant devastation. For everyone. There's no use in making a display of something so common place, so inevitable, no use in treating it as something special or distinguishing, as unbelievable or worthy of note. Until you get that darling, until you see that we all are made to suffer, that there is no purpose beyond what blatantly it is, until you grasp the irony and absurdity in that, you forever will be consumed by bitterness and frustration. You regard everything with far too much weight doll, and it's sucking you dry."
"No." Batman said. "You're wrong. It's you. You're so consumed by hatred that you just want to destroy everything."
The Joker laughed abruptly.
"Oh Batman, I can't begin to tell you how many times I've had that accusation thrown my way! If it weren't so desperate, it most assuredly would be funny!"
"Just shut up." The vigilante growled, sick to death of hearing the lunatic talk now.
"Come on, don't be like that!" The Joker chuckled. "I'm only trying to…"
He was cut short by Batman's fist smashing in to his face.
"I said shut up!"
"Ouch." The Joker said. "I guess you really are through talking."
Batman said nothing, again turning the car's ignition and shifting in to drive. This time he took off, towards Arkham.
The ride was silent, much to the vigilante's relief. The occasion was rare when The Joker actually did as he was told. It usually didn't matter if Batman hit him over and over, telling him to stop talking, the lunatic never would, instead spilling an endless stream of insults and taunts. But now he remained quiet. Batman glanced over at him several times during the trip and saw him starring out the passenger side window. If the vigilante didn't know any better, he would say The Joker looked hurt. Hurt? Was it even possible for The Joker to feel such an emotion? And even if it were, why would he be? The madman's only intention was to bring Batman down, to cause in him grief and anxiety, and as usual, he had succeeded. He had no cause to feel disappointment. The cold man had the sudden urge to smash The Joker's head through that window.
When at last they'd arrived, in continued uncharacteristic fashion, The Joker persisted in his silence as he was brought through the gates of the asylum.
It made Batman uncomfortable. He didn't know or understand what was causing it.
His unease grew as he handed the madman off to the institute's staff and watched as they led him through the front lobby, towards the maximum security wing. He said nothing to them, no antagonizing, witty one liners, no veiled threats. It was utterly unlike him.
And suddenly, without warning, The Joker spun around, starring at the vigilante with a clear expression of dismay.
"I really was only trying to help you Batman." He said. His voice was sincere. He meant what he said.
Batman started, then stopped.
"What?" He uttered.
But by then, the three guards escorting The Joker had spun him back around, shoving him violently forward.
"Get movin' clown!" One of them spit, ramming his billy club in to madman's lower back.
"Wait." Batman moved towards them only to find himself blocked suddenly by further staff.
"Sorry Batman. Only authorized personnel beyond this point. Unless you've got some kind of legal authorization, we can't let you past. It's not that we don't appreciate what you do, but you understand, I'm sure."
But the vigilante wasn't listening, his concentration fully on The Joker as he disappeared out of view, behind the doors of a lift leading down below. And his mind swam with the pain he'd heard in the lunatic's voice, realizing all too suddenly how real it was. Understanding in that instant, The Joker had meant every word he said that night. That he hadn't been heckling, but truly, honestly, had been trying to help. Trying to help him. To make less his burden, genuinely believing his advice would, and that he was hurt, actually hurt by Batman not believing him, not giving his words any regard. And The Dark Knight felt at once nauseous, stumbling backward, because he knew, in that moment, he finally knew, The Joker cared about him. Actually cared… about him. And there then was no prospect more frightening to Batman. Nothing so unsettling as knowing the man who cared for nothing, cared not even for himself, truly cared… about him. And with The Joker, what that meant, it was impossible to say.