AN: So, here it is. Nolanverse…..sort of. It's quite bizarre and I totally beat the hell out of the characters for my own amusement. This is BEYOND alternate universe and not much like the comic or any of its reincarnations. There is a good chance that almost anything offensive or fucked up that you can imagine will be in here, so don't complain to me when you come across it. Tell me what you think. Concrit is greatly appreciated.
It was an endless string of events mangled and incoherent in his mind.
Eyes. Grey. Very unlike his. Clear and focused and cold. Penetrating and silver like…like a knife. Knives. Yes, that was the feeling and suddenly they were no longer eyes but two glinting knives, their dull edges ghosting across his skin in waves of pleasurable discomfort. It was a soft agony and the strike was coming. Oh yes, the tearing pressure and the giddy pleasure of your own blood seething and dispersing from within you. Breaking free. It was deliciously lurid and to his addled mind it was a caress that never came. And oh how he longed to be touched…
Touch was not something he felt often being what he was and whatever that was he could not seem to recall, but there was a child crying. A child bawling. A child with no face and no form but a distinct shape. It was a child that appeared to be rotting away. A blackened eyeless corpse was what it was and he could see through the eyes of this vile formless child scraping itself against the floor. He could feel it. Every movement sounded like a rusty nail scraping across an endless expanse of blackboard.
The cacophony of high pitched friction and the child's forlorn wails finally rattled him beyond repair. The dull frigid knives denying him the pleasure of release, those cries, that corpse of a child, those fucking eyes…
"Dahlia!" The Joker screamed. He thrashed against his restraints to no avail. They held him tightly. He shivered and moaned and screamed as if he was simultaneously in the throws of passion and having his skin peeled away with an old unserrated knife strip by strip by strip. "Dahlia!" He howled and the nurse standing beside his bed jumped. The machines monitoring the patient were beeping and buzzing frantically to signal his distress and imminent death if nothing was done.
"Dr. Crane! He cannot take anymore! We must end this now! It won't be long until he-" She stopped as the Joker flat lined. His body lay still.
It was then that she looked at him for the very first time. Apart from the scars, he was handsome. In fact he seemed almost and angelic sans face paint, his scars lending him the frown of an errant child. She watched as he was revived. Throughout the entire ordeal she did not look to the far corner of the room, where she would have seen Dr. Jonathan Crane grinning madly.
Honestly, he didn't give a fuck if the treatment was successful. He couldn't give a shit. He'd already been paid. And as long as he continued to be paid a million dollars a month, he would continue to dose the freak with whatever the hell his mysterious employer thought appropriate. It wasn't as if anyone cared what happened to the Joker. Hell, they would say he deserved it.
They were right.
Dr. Crane smirked. Sure it wasn't his usual brand of fear, but whatever the hell it was it was gold. Pure. Sadistic. Unadulterated. Gold.
He had never heard the freak scream before.