Title: Maw
Chapter One: Echoes of Myst
Summary: Batman stews and Joker giggles. Bruce Wayne is confuzzled. Arkham Asylum pulses darkly, looming like a nightmare, larger than life.
Pairing: Batman/Joker, der ;P
Warnings: Sorta graphic imagery I guess... Nothing too offensive yet.
A/N: Beta'd by RavynneRune! Thanks love, owe you lots :3 Constructive criticism and/or gushing is welcome of course, flames will be eaten and shat on :D
Blue tendrils of fog crept across the flat roof of a short and sturdy-looking office building. The mists swirled, momentarily disturbed by the whispering movement of a shadow. In an instant the heavy moisture pooled back into the space created, coloring the air opaque. A grappling hook whizzed through the haze and thudded dully into the side of a nearby structure, the skyscraper's tall sides disappearing into the dark gloom above. A black cape fluttered in the still night, following the course of the grappling hook, as Batman swung onto a jutting ledge of steel and concrete.
Retracting the batgrappler, the Dark Knight cursed under his breath, the noise muffled in the stuffy atmosphere. His uttered oath echoed back at him, caught in the encircling fog. A few feet was the extent of his visual perimeter; "blind as a bat" was not a phrase Batman enjoyed hearing. Wrapping his heavy cape around him like a cloak, he blocked out the cold and damp, focusing instead on looking through the impassible brume into the streets below. Black pointed ears twitched as faint laughter ghosted through the pocket of space he stood in, tickling his ear drums and chasing a shiver up his spine. He pivoted quickly, pressing a button to switch his radar vision on, but there was nothing.
Batman straightened slowly, his hand instinctively hovering near a batarang which hung on his utility belt. Mentally, he ran through a checklist of the homicidal madmen that regularly haunted Gotham City, as the batradar silently bounced back to him. Nothing stirred the heavy clouds which had earlier descended from, and filled, the sky. The night was eerily quiet. Sorting through the list revealed nothing, most of the maniacs had been caught, carefully filed and put away for further study. Even the Joker was out of action. Harley Quinn, his loyal henchwench, had recently gone straight, clean of even the smallest of petty thefts for over a year now. She hopefully would not risk a breakout attempt for her "Mistah J." Pamela Isley as well had been cleared for human consumption. The two ladies were running a small, but successful plant boutique and pharmaceutical, focusing on natural remedies rather than miracle cure-all drugs. So far it appeared legit, but Batman kept a rigid thumb pressed upon their green endeavors. They would have to deal with the Bat, and the entire police force, breathing down their necks and watching their every movement if they hoped to atone for the past.
However, besides the two born again normals, the rest of the persistent maniacs had been located and thwarted. Arkham Asylum's walls were no doubt filled to pop with its brutally unstable wards. Batman imagined the bodies packed and squirming in the hot sick atmosphere of the place, stuffed in corners, hallways, basements, closets. A shuddering mass of twisted flesh, a self-sustained organism, feeding off the fears created as its reputation bulked ever darker, looming on the edge of conscious thought. Batman, shadow of the night, provided a never-ending supply of criminals to the institution. He wondered idly how there could possibly be enough room for them all.
There wasn't, he concluded. They escaped. Quite often in fact. One would think they were unhappy there…
A grim chuckle escaped Batman's mouth. Keeping the radar vision on, he released the grappling hook once again, adjusting to the altered view of the neighborhood.
The psychopaths deserved the treatment they were given at Arkham; rehabilitation into society was the ultimate goal. No matter the methods necessary to achieve this… If reform was even possible, it was worth the inhumanity.
Gritting his teeth, Batman soared into the dark mists.
oOoOo
Joker grinned, cackling quietly to himself under the bright lights. He sat dead center in the utterly blank cell, facing the back wall. The shining white of the place was so powerful it hurt sometimes. There were no shadows even to keep him company. It was 3 AM and the lights were on. They were always on. It was a new brand of therapy the docs had patted themselves on the backs fervently for. Don't shut off the lights. No "lights out," no bad dreams. No sleeping for the whack jobs at Arkham. Dreaming was dangerous. Clever schemes of escape were out of the question if one was too exhausted to count past seven. For the moment at least, they were all stuck in the nuthouse. The crazies knocking against each other like marbles in a fish bowl. Poked and prodded and electro shocked till their glassy eyes sizzled, and occasionally popped. "Oh well" if one was lost on the couch; at least the body count was more manageable. The tragic loss of an inmate by the hands of the caring only meant there was one less mind to cleanse. One more corrupt shell of a person with less potential than a steak knife had been saved, delivered from this cruel world into another. No more babbling to themselves in a corner, they were in a better place now. So the doctors said. Joker imagined they all ended back here anyway. The ultimate joke, weren't they all going to hell? Arkham Asylum was hell. They were already there; this was the "better place." Death cleansed nothing. Tabula rasa was not included in the package deal of Rebirth. When a new face showed up at the asylum it was like an old friend coming home. It probably was an old friend coming home. The one constant that existed, there would always be more.
Lack of sleep caused tempers to run high and the lines of reality to blur, but as long as they couldn't think, the psychoanalysts were happy. Joker's arms were restricted by a straightjacket, tightly wrapped around his sides in a twisted parody of an embrace. He couldn't even cover his own face, shield against the fluorescent bulbs which illuminated the sterilized environment.
"If the lights are on and no one's home, what's the sense in knocking?" Joker shrieked with laughter. "Just walk right in, trample mud over the pristine floors and lush carpets, spatter blood across the walls, make pretty pictures with the red, red, reeeed," he chanted in a high falsetto. "Mommy and Daddy won't get mad, they've gotten lost." He grinned and licked his chapped lips. "Honey, I'm home! What's for dinner, Muffin?" He scooted closer to the wall and ran his pink tongue up it. "Hmm, salty bat muffins for supper…" He giggled and thudded his forehead against the cool surface of the whitewashed concrete. A sharp pain blossomed through his skull. Closing his eyes he saw red sparks as light tried to pry its way inside. His eyelashes fluttered, caked mascara colored them black. One luxury the doctors let him keep, his makeup. His lipstick at least he couldn't live without, throwing a fit the first time they tried to take it away from him. It was like Harvey's coin, or Ivy's plants, not that she was here anymore…
"And good riddance," Joker grumbled. "The creeping vine…" he stuck his tongue out, making a face at the corner. Then he pressed up against it; the mascara was making his eyes itch.
"Oo, the bed!" he gleefully erupted. Crawling over on his knees he face planted against the sheets, leaving black smears as he rubbed off the paint.
"Much better, even if I do look a fright." Cackling again he rocked onto his back and kicked his legs in the air. No one would keep Joker drained; he'd make his own energy even without sleep.
A sharp clanging came from nearby. Joker froze.
"Shut. UP. Joker!" Harvey growled, his coin rolling to a stop on the floor of his own cell, having thrown it against the glass in frustration.
"Why? Sleeping's not allowed anyway!" Joker whooped, climbing to his feet, awkwardly without the aid of his arms. "I know! Let's dance!" He squealed happily and twirled in his cell, kicking at the glass, concrete, and steel of the bed, creating a rhythm.
Two-Face leaned against the junction of glass and cell wall farthest from the Joker's residence, the one angle he could catch a glimpse of the clown's antics. He shook his head, the pleasant side of his mouth twitching up into an almost-smile. Reaching for his fallen coin he flipped it into the air, watching it spin. The double headed silver landed softly in his mangled palm. Harvey sighed. Turning from the sight of the neighboring whirling dervish, he returned to his unkempt bed.
Joker continued to twirl, but slower now. The grin slipped off his face, fell to the floor and shattered into a broken frown, the pieces glimmering like tiny red jewels. He brushed the shards under the bed with his foot.
"No one but Bats will dance with me." Joker teetered on his tiptoes, hips swaying slightly. His long green hair hung in sad-looking dread locks in front of his pale face. The docs didn't care enough to trim it, as he nipped at anyone who came too near. He used it as a curtain, hiding behind it when the questions grew too deep. The roots were beginning to fade, they never let him dye it. Makeup was one thing, but green hair? That was just, wrong.
Prancing lightly over to the wall, he kissed it, leaving a red mark. "'Night, Sweet Cheeks." He tapped his forehead against the surface, eyes crossing as he tried to keep the mark in sight. "I've got to go, Honey Pie. Daddy's missing and someone needs to rescue him. Mommy will be all right, she always finds her way back." Joker blinked, his eyes were burning.
"If I didn't know any better, this would be a Rorschach test and you…" he leaned closer to the bright red lipstick mark, inspecting it with one eye. "You would be a bat!" He giggled, but sobered quickly. "Unfortunately, I do know better and you're just a silly old smudge on the wall. Not even blood, that's no fun!" Blowing a raspberry at it he abandoned the cherry red blot and tripped onto his bed.
"Catch me if I swoon too soon?" He lay on his face, smashing it into the flat, utterly non-fluffy, prison issue pillow.
"Thanks, Bats. Always were a lifesaver." Joker's conscious escaped him as he passed out into a darkness which no light could follow. He would be lucky if he caught two or three hours of blessed renewal.
Lucky.
Right.
