Title: Moonstruck
Rating: M
Summary: After escaping Arkham, the Joker is injured and his memory is lost. Bruce Wayne takes the Joker into his own confinement, where the two learn they are not so different and the story unfolds as one of the most formidable love stories captures the cat and mouse in a trap neither of them can forget.
Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or the Dark Knight, and special thanks to Miz. Jynx who originally had the idea for amnesia, so read her story too! Enjoy!
Arkham Asylum
Tuesday, September 23
"What are you looking at, freak?"
"Careful, he might pull a knife out on you."
"Scoggins, stop joking around, that guy is giving me the creeps."
"Stop being such a pussy, that guy can't do anything to you. He's locked in there and separated by a layer of glass and reinforced titanium bars. The most he can do is pester you."
David Crofford and his partner stood outside the hull keeping the anonymous mastermind imprisoned. The staff member shook his mess of red hair from underneath the white cap he wore, part of the uniform. Being over thirty years of age and an occasional on and off alcoholic, Brightton was growing weary of his nightshifts at the Asylum. As if keeping guard on crazies was vexatious enough, he had to deal with them and their incessant needs.
He rolled his eyes and turned to stare in the glass to see the prisoner still staring right at him, grinning from ear to ear. Then Crofford thought to himself. 'Is it the scars or is he really smiling at me?'
The other patrol, Ethan Scoggins, slapped his friend on the back. "It's fine, man. Don't worry about him, he's just crazy."
He turned as well to stare at the Joker, helpless and imprisoned. His hands were chained by cuffs to the wall. Enough to let him move around, but not enough to leave the cell. The white grease paint on his face was almost rubbed away, his scars more visible without a the thick layer of lipstick. Greasy hair, where he was only given one chance a week to take a shower.
They had taken his clothes away, his trademark violet suit and even his socks, shoes and gloves. The knives and weapons were of course confiscated. The only thing he had left of himself was the makeup, a deck of playing cards, and white breeches along with a matching white shirt given to him by the staff. That way, with no pockets, he could not conceal any weapons very easily. The only things he had inside the cell was a mattress, sheet, pillow, toilet and plates that they had served him the disgusting food on. He had not touched any of the food since he arrived, managing to lose about 20lbs.
He hated the place more than anything, and hated the Batman for sentencing him to Arkham. If there was such thing as hell on earth, that would be it.
He knew what Crofford did when he was sedated. He knew where the nightmares came from. Not nightmares that scared him, nightmares that sent him out for vengeance.
Planning, with all hellfire burning in his eyes. But he was not angry or upset. He was awaiting the time where he could take the chance.
But he just sat there, like he was observing a documentary on the Discovery Channel. And he was smirking at them, staring them both in the eye with his poisonous glare. He knew exactly what he was doing, gaining power over them just by a simple staring contest.
A small bell rang, catching everyone, except for the Joker, off guard.
Crofford knocked his knuckles on the glass, yelling in. "It's medicine time, fuck-face." He laughed a little and backed away from the cell to walk down the hall, disappearing for a second.
Scoggins watched as Crofford went to fetch the medicine, and kept his eye on the clown, who never moved his gaze. The young guard hated his job, and he did feel a bit of condolence towards the Joker.
Speak of the devil, Crofford was marching back down the hallway with a handful of unopened syringes and a stuffed pocket in his apron with vials of the drugs to administer to the patients.
The Joker stared down at the syringe in the redhead's chapped palms.
Thorazine.
Having been imprisoned in the asylum for three weeks, the RN would come in every night at 8:00PM to administer 30CCs of thorazine. The drug had been used for sixty years to treat mentally ill patients. The injected drug would neutralize manic episodes and ease schizophrenia in order to keep the patients under control and eventually draw the line between insane and recovering.
The Joker was used to the ritual. Crofford or West, one of the nurses, would come into the sealed off area he now called "home" and one would hold the psychopath down as they stabbed the needle into his body and injected the drug, that would also double as a sedative.
Crofford stared at his friend, "Watch my back." He ordered, before scanning his ID card into a slot on the door. It made a loud buzzing sound, as it unlocked and the two men walked into the room with the deadliest man in Gotham.
The Joker had no weapons on him, and lacked the capabilities to fight both men upon having no food or nutrition to his diet. Hating to admit it, he was weak. He had become just a regular patient in the asylum.
The redhead circled around the Joker and waited for Scoggins to hold the man down while he extracted the clear fluid from a little vial.
"Easy, easy." The Joker spoke in a fluid tone, having his left arm snatched by the man sitting on top of him now. He complied easier than expected.
Crofford slipped the little glass vial back into one of his apron pockets and pushed the air out of the syringe, causing a little of the liquid to seep out of the hypodermic needle. The Joker eyed the silver needle as the men brought his arm up and then pierced the bruised artery in the man's arm.
He injected the clear drug into the Joker and quickly removed the needle, almost breaking it off in the man's skin.
Scoggins let the patient go, and stood as he and his colleague watched as the Joker's hazy eyes rolled back into his head and he passed out quickly from the sedative.
"Really, man. I have no idea what you worry about anymore. The guy's as harmful as a kitten." Scoggins muttered as he turned to leave and pulled his ID card out of his neckline, hanging on a necklace. He scanned it and let himself out as the door buzzed.
Crofford stood over the Joker's unconscious form, lost in his own little world.
"You comin' or not?" The other man asked, waiting at the door for his friend. He smacked the gum between his teeth.
Redhead stared over at Scoggins and muttered, "Yeah, I'll be there in a minute."
Scoggins got the idea and chuckled to himself as he walked off.
He knew Crofford was an odd character, to say the least. The man like to romp around with the patients, taking advantage of them in their loopy state. He had done it many times before to the Joker, which was most likely the reason behind the glares and uneasiness when the murderer was aware of the redhead.
He leaned down to the floor where the unconscious Joker was, and tapped the crazy's face. Nothing. Crofford then grabbed the bruised wrist and held it up, and let it go. It smacked back down on the cold floor. Nothing.
Smiling, Crofford then leaned up and began to unbuckle his pants. "I know you're not fully out, you don't have to fake it." He chuckled and pulled out his member, already erect. He turned back to the Joker.
Who was inches from his face, pressing a needle against the guard's throat.
The Joker smiled wearily, with fire burning through his enraged eyes. "I'm gonna tell on yooooouuu…" He trailed off with a slight slur. Before Crofford had time to react, the Joker sucked in a full syringe of air and stabbed it into redhead's bubbling jugular.
"N-no--!!"
He was cut short by the immediate hemorrhaging that wracked his large form. Almost instantly, the redhead's body fell to the floor.
The green haired villain swayed on his bare feet, staring down at the man who had been abusing him for the past few weeks.
His lip twitched and he leaned down to check the man's pulse.
There was none.
---
Jonathan Crane, otherwise known as Scarecrow, sat in the corner of his holding cell, staring off into space as he waited for his medicine to be brought to him. His blue eyes scanned over the others in his vicinity. Through his cage he could see the murderers, rapists, and pedophiles in the wing. He sighed, bored to death.
His lips twitched and he parted them to speak, "Once I get out, Batman… I'm going to kill you." The Scarecrow told himself, part of the schizophrenia that had possessed his easy brain.
Starting to bite his nails, he saw a reflection in his spoon. And twisted around to see his nurse.
"Oh… good evening." Crane greeted him.
The white-clad man outside of his cell scanned the ID card and slid open the door to the sound of the buzzer. The nurse was wobbly on his feet, and snatched something from his back pocket where something jingled.
Keys.
The blue eyes widened in realization that the nurse was taking off the cuffs that kept him chained to the room. "Is this a new schedule?" He asked, clueless as to why the nurse was letting his hands free.
"You have been discharged…" The nurse slurred, putting a staccato ending to his words. He looked up to meet Crane's eyes. "On your own accord."
"You…" was the only thing the Scarecrow could mutter.
Under the white cap and nurse clothing was the devil himself, smiling through the red lipstick smeared on his face. He rustled with the keys, losing coordination from the drug's effect. He licked his lips and fit the key into the slot on the shackles, and twisted, letting the pressure off of Crane's wrists.
The Joker pushed the shackles away and stumbled out of the cell, with the confused Jonathan Crane coming after him. The felons in the other cells screamed and begged for the 'nurse' to them free.
The two ignored the demands.
"I heard a rumor that you were in here, Joker. I thought you were dead."
The one who had set him free made no response. The only thing he was focused on was getting out and then passing out in a safe haven. He noticed the pain in the younger man's dark eyes, and the sweat on his brow.
The Joker panted, fighting the drug to stay awake.
"Y-you okay?" Crane asked. No, it was not concern in his voice, more of: 'what's wrong with you? You look like shit.'
No answer.
He yanked on the doctor's arm.
"Hey, wait-- the exit is that way!" Crane protested as the Joker led him into another wing of the mental institution. "What the hell are you doing?!"
The Joker came to a room labeled: Storage. He struggled to unlock the door while Crane kept silent watch. "What the hell are you--" The ex-doctor turned back to see the door open and the Joker gone. Inside the room.
Crane peeked inside to see the Joker rummaging through boxes. The room was small, it would not take him very long to find whatever he wanted.
Suddenly he started to rip open the cardboard boxes, looking for anything that belonged to himself. Clothes, belongings, toys spilled out of the boxes. Crane looked around, scared about the watch.
The Joker then leaned down and pulled out a handful of violet and green clothing. His own. He snatched it and walked as hard as he could out of the room, pushing through Crane, who started to follow him again.
"What's the time?"
He asked, not bothering to even look at the Scarecrow behind him.
Crane blinked and looked at his silver watch, "Uh… 8:23, why?"
The Joker was silent again.
They ran to the exit and pushed open the large door. Causing an alarm to sound.
"Shit!" Crane yelped and looked around frantically for the Joker who had disappeared into the night. They were in a parking lot now, and red lights filled the premises. The young man shifted back into the shadows where the light would not catch him.
"Joker!" He whispered harshly, looking for the man who had freed him. "Shit, shit!"
Then he spotted it, the white figure lying in the grass about fifty feet away. Crane frowned and bit his lip, debating. 'I should just let him die.' He thought and looked from the unconscious Joker to the guards on the roof of the building. 'He did free me…' He screamed at himself and ran into the red light, instantly spotted by guards.
"Hey!" The guards on the roof screamed.
Crane cursed at himself over and over again, then reached the motionless figure in the grass, and rolled him over. The Joker was unconscious. He tapped the man's chest, almost smacking it. "Hey, hey, hey. What happened?" he demanded, temporarily waking the Joker.
He uttered one word before passing out again. "Thorazine…"
"Shit." Crane grabbed the side of the Joker, wrapping his arm around the shoulders and latched an arm under the man's knees. 'God, what the fuck am I doing…' Crane asked himself as he lifted the Joker. Surprisingly, the Joker was lighter than he expected and noted the sweat on his brow, melting away the grease mask.
He walked forward, his knees shaking from the extra weight he had to carry. He walked at least a hundred feet before he wanted to collapse from the exhaustion. The adrenaline pumping through his veins slowly dispersed and the endorphins ran out.
Pain shot throughout his body like fire, but he kept telling himself to walk forward.
A beacon shone into his eyes, lighting them up to a sky blue and he sighed in relief.
The black car screeched to a stop, only feet away from where Crane and the Joker were. A door was pushed open and a man in a clown mask ushered Crane in and dragged his boss into the car.
As soon as the door shut again, it sped off.
---
Gotham City, Wayne Penthouse
Wednesday, September 24
"Master Wayne!"
The billionaire woke from a light sleep at the call of his name. Without prying his eyes open, he frowned and slammed his head back onto the cold desk he had passed out on hours earlier. He sighed, feeling the cold on his forehead to cool off. The old butler's voice came again. Bruce Wayne noted the urgency in his butler's voice and sat up, wiping the sleep from his eyes.
'Dammit, Alfred. What is it?'
He gazed at his watch. 1:02 AM. Groaning, he walked out of his room and followed the man's voice.
"Master Wayne!"
Bruce Wayne found his butler, Alfred Pennyworth, standing in the kitchen, staring in awe at the flat screen television mounted on the granite counter. Gotham Central News was on.
The butler's mouth hung open.
It was hard to tell which was more disturbing, the handheld video camera footage of the Joker, or the headline reeling across the top of the screen:
JOKER ESCAPES ARKHAM, SCARECROW AS ACCOMPLICE
The mass-murderer known as 'The Joker' escaped Arkham Asylum yesterday around 8:00PM, leaving in a black 2006 Hyundai. David Crofford was killed as a result, with the Joker's Glasgow smile trademark left behind on the victim. The escape is said to be assisted by Dr. Jonathan Crane, also known as 'Scare--
Alfred turned away from the screen to see Bruce making his way out of the kitchen, a quick stride that the butler recognized. "Shall I be seeing you again in the morning?" Not earning an answer, the butler figured it was affirmative.
The Caped Crusader made his way to the safe-room before disappearing from the old man's sight. "Dear God, that boy is a maniac…" He muttered, looking back at the grainy television screen.
If you have any information regarding the Joker's whereabouts or have witnessed any suspicious behavior, please contact the Gotham Police Department at…
"Sir, we already have seven incoming calls saying they have spotted the Joker and Jonathan Crane." An official at the GPD station announced to her boss as operators answered the incessant phone calls.
Her boss, a rugged Yankee-man, growled through the smoke of his cigarette, "Open the lines, I want Gotham city to be on the lookout for the Joker, this is not a fucking drill!"
The younger employee stuttered. "Y-yes sir…"
The light on of the phone machines flickered red, and Jim Raines answered. "Gotham Police Department, this is Jim Raines, if I may ask you to hold--"
"Hello, Mister Raines."
The operator froze, instantly recognizing the voice of a man they had once imprisoned.
"Aren't you going to greet your old friend?"
Raines' heart slowed, but he could still hear its consistent pounding in his eardrums. He parted his lips as if to speak, but he could not speak. Not because his throat was dry or because he had nothing to say. He was frozen.
"Raines…. Raines."
"Raines!"
The administrator flicked down a red button on the phone machine, pushing through his shocked employee.
"Hello? Who is this?"
The voice on the line acted as a paralyzing agent.
"Hello Mickey. I'm terribly sorry for calling so late, but I think I may have just witnessed an attack by the men you described."
Mick Kramer's hand shook as he kept his finger glued to the 'talk' button. He knew. "What do you mean?" He asked, wanting to remain blind to facts he already knew.
"Oh, no-o-o-o! Daddy, there's a shelling on 42nd Street, ruuuuun! Heeheehahahahahahahahahahahaha!"
The line cut off.
It was going to be a long night.
The other chapters will be longer, this is just the prologue, my dearies. Expect the next update to be within the week.
-Ididntdoit07 (Mika)