Joker's prison number is a direct reference to The Joker Blogs, a brilliant YouTube series. If you haven't watched it yet, I highly recommend.

This is a canon-compliant AU. I envision Joker as a mixture of several past interpretations including Ledger and comics. Takes place between TDK and TDKR. There are no major OCs. Some minor-character retcons. Throughout the whole story, you'll recognize ideas and material from several comics and novels as well as the Nolan trilogy.

ECCHYMOSIS
CHAPTER ONE

There were these two guys in a lunatic asylum.

Arkham Island, Arkham Asylum, Intensive Treatment Building

Sleet fell from the blackened sky over one of Gotham City's oldest family homes. Situated on a small island, between the larger uptown and midtown islands, stood a dilapidating Arkham Asylum. Its crumbling walls, mismatched with old and new brick, resounded with the cries of the insane, evil, and a few geniuses. The mansion-turned-hospital separated into many buildings spread over every useable inch of the moss-covered rock. The stench of sewage in the Merchant River clung to the grounds. Even the rain seemed contaminated. Acidic. Filthy.

Two bright spotlights exposed the greenery (which was anything but green) surrounding the road that connected the island with midtown. The lights grew and reflected off a sleek black vehicle; the Batmobile squealed to a halt only three paces from disaster. There was a hissing release in air pressure as the tank's passenger compartment slid open. Gotham's caped crusader emerged from the opening, allowed it to shut again, then preceded through the rod-iron gate. The vigilante could be described in one word: intimidating. His physical capacity was apparent in his solidly muscled form and his mouth—the only visible part of his face—etched a scowl into his strong jaw.

Batman didn't bother to close the gate as he glided toward the Intensive Treatment building.

Outside the door of the large hospital building stood two aging men, one holding an umbrella and the other nursing a steaming paper cup. The eldest of the pair, one Jim Gordon, shoved his coffee into the hands of the detective standing next to him, Harvey Bullock. Gordon placed a hand on the brim of his hat as he scurried after The Batman. Gordon's lined face dripped with rain despite Bullock's umbrella. His stooped shoulders and the pursing of his lips were indicators of his exhaustion—not happy about leaving his wife home alone with the children at such a late hour—but still he followed the vigilante with determined footfalls.

Hours ago, Batman had called him—using a pay-as-you-go cell phone that had been delivered to Gordon's desk from an unknown source—asking for this favor. Batman's request had been damn-near unintelligible between the harsh growl of the vigilante himself and the spotty cell service. It had almost been amusing, playing "can you hear my now" with The Batman.

Once they could actually hear each other, Batman had asked to pay a visit to Arkham. Gordon had been more than reluctant. Batman was the number one most wanted man in the city. He had not had contact with Batman since he disappeared after the murder of Harvey Dent. It wasn't safe for Gordon to be working with the vigilante but, then again, it never had been. In the end, the commissioner knew he owed Batman the life of his son, and probably the lives of his daughter and wife as well.

The secretary would be paid off. That's why Bullock was there: he was the only detective Gordon knew—really knew—he could trust with this.

Drops of rain flicked off the end of the sleek black cape and made a trail of breadcrumbs for the commissioner to follow. In Gordon's pocket was the pay-as-you-go phone, gripped tightly in his fist. Part of him hoped Batman would continue to use it—continue to help people—while another part of him hoped it would never ring again. Either way, Gordon found some comfort

Batman stormed through the lobby. He ignored the protests of the warden's secretary then pushed his way through the double doors and into the Violent Ward. As Gordon nodded to the secretary, he almost smiled. A knickknack on her desk, a long translucent sign, read "You don't have to be CRAZY to work here – but it HELPS."

The vigilante's cape fluttered behind him, caught in the wind of his strides as he marched toward the end of the hall. Gordon took long tiresome steps after his… one wouldn't call them friends. But if Batman ever were to have a friend then Gordon would be it, he pandered to himself. His thoughts jumped track when he read the sign to his left, he was walking so quick it was a miracle he managed to make out what it said.

Crane J. 52576.

The further away the police commissioner moved the more he craned his neck to see the doctor—a fallen from grace Jonathan Crane—who gripped the bars of his cell door like lifelines, his knuckles splotching white. Crane's face was gaunt and his eyes irritated; his hair greasy and matted; nothing like the perfectly groomed man Gordon had remembered him to be. Distantly, he wondered about Crane's therapy. It had to be difficult to psychoanalyze a skilled psychiatrist.

Realizing his pace had fallen behind Batman's own, Gordon jogged back to his position behind the flapping cape. After rounding a corner he stopped to prevent a collision with the vigilante, feeling the jolt in his old knees. One of Arkham's security guards—an L. Bolton, according to his name tag—saluted the vigilante before unlocking the steel door that read:

Name Unknown 04479.

After Batman strolled into the cell, Bolton slammed it shut and locked the door. Batman didn't flinch at the sound. His focus was only on the cell's occupant. Engulfed in shadows, the Joker sat in a chair playing a game of solitaire with his signature cards. His scarred face was only just visible, cloaked in sharp shadows cast by the harsh florescent bulb gently swinging overhead.

Gordon peered into the cell through the bars, hesitant but willing to trust the masked man alone with the clown. Batman snatched up the only other chair in the room and sat down at the unoccupied side of the table.

The Joker snapped another card to the stack closest to the door with an echoing FNAP.

"Hello," Batman growled, feeling awkward and uncomfortable, "I came to talk."

FNAP. The Joker didn't pause in his game and said nothing. He drew a new card from the dwindling deck.

"I've been thinking lately," Batman continued, his voice lacking its usual harsh inflection, "about you and me. We're going to kill each other."

FNAP. Gordon flinched at the sound as he watched from behind the bars, outside the door. Batman kept going, growing ever the more agitated, "Maybe you kill me; maybe I kill you. I just wanted to know that I tried to stop that outcome. Just once."

FNAP. The vigilante's fists clenched. Then he snatched Joker's hand, forcing the clown to stop his petulant game. Joker snatched back his hand, clutching it as if burned. Batman continued his speech, pointing at the madman, "I don't want your death on my…"

Then he noticed something odd about Joker's hand, still clutched by its counterpart. Smudges. Batman turned his own hands to face him, and saw the smears of pale make-up on his glove.

"…hands?" Batman's voice trailed off. In a flash his head snapped up as he reached out, snatching the criminal's face and pulling him forward.

"H-hey…" the clown stammered, finally speaking up as Batman pulled his face into the light and more makeup streaked away at his touch. Wrong. All wrong. Smooth features and ugly teeth: this young man wasn't the Joker. "Hey, wait a minute! Don't touch me! I have rights! You're not allowed to-," the impostor cried. Batman held him still, wiping away the red that marred the lips.

"Where is he?" The vigilante's voice wasn't harsh or gruff. It was exploding with rage, thunderous and filled with the promise of pain.

"Oh, God! No-!"The impostor begged. His face contorted and strained as he tried to pull away.

Batman was shouting, hysterical. "Where is he?"

Gordon started from behind the door as the criminal screeched.

"Get him off me! Get him off!"

"Christ, he's gone berserk!" Gordon shouted at Bolton, hands like a vice on the guard's shoulder, shaking him for attention. "Open the door!"

The more the inmate screamed, the more Bolton fumbled with the cell's lock. The second he got it open, Gordon was already inside, "That's enough! You know the laws as well as I do!" Batman paused in his assault, and the young man whimpered. Gordon blew air out his nose, feeling anger at the sting of betrayal, "If you hurt him-"

"Commissioner," Batman interrupted, a snarl lacing his words and his jaw pushed into the hard rubber mask. "Take a look…"

Confused, the commissioner looked to the prisoner. Gripped in the claws of The Batman, a man who was certainly not the Joker pleaded to him for help. Realizing the situation, Gordon froze and his jaw may as well have unhinged. Batman turned his attention to the inmate, "Now, I'm going to ask again.

Where is he?"

\~/

End Chapter One
Special thanks to Alan Moore and Brian Bolland.