Chapter Seven

Inner Asylum


Where we going, Bats? The wall again? Been there-"Oof!"--done that. And again with the face?

"Ohh! You need to learn some new dance moves, my friend. These are-ugh--a little old-fashioned..."

Wow! Now, this is new. Wow-wow-wow... ooohhhh... Didn't know you could twist my arms that far around without breakin' 'em off! Hah! Ya know... He never did bring me my food, still kinda hungry... Mmm, hard to breathe with all this blood going down my throat, he knock another tooth out? Guess he did get me something to drink, at least. In a way!

Where am I, is this the floor or the ceiling? Floor, I guess-"Ugh!"-seeing as how the blood's going over, not down. Pretty color, that red... What's that he's saying?

"Worthless, heartless... Murdering piece of scum... No purpose... No soul..."

"A-ha-ha-ha. Pffff." How terribly immature.

Well! Who knew a kick to the hip could crack that loud! Loudly, loud...? Yeow! Yikes! Eeyeow! 'S'like he's playing the goddamn drums on my back... I like this song, I like it. Good...

"Bats... I was wrong about you, you... really are a... creative guy! Ahahaha...Ohh!"

Spoke too soon-there he goes with the head again, ha-hehe... And again, and again, and a, a, aahhhh...

'S'funny... I'm still conscious... Why?...

"How come, Bat? How c-ohh! Hahahahahaaaahhhhh..."


"I can't keep him here, Alfred." Bruce was breathing heavily, shedding his suit bit by bit in between gasps for air. The butler noticed dark red blood dripping from the black gloves that had just been thrown down but he made no mention of it. "I've gotta take him back to Arkham."

"I think that's a wise decision, sir," the older man agreed softly. He was seated at the kitchen table, as he had been since Bruce had returned to the Cave with the Joker, waiting for him to return. Praying that he would. "How do you propose to do it?"

"...I just don't know right now," Bruce sighed, raking a hand through his sweaty hair. "But I'll think of something."

"I've no doubt of that, sir. As for now..." Alfred rose, plucking a small kettle up from the stove. "Take your tea and get some rest. You've had enough of this... madness, for tonight."

Bruce nodded, nearly falling into his seat. After all his old friend had been through tonight (this morning?), he'd humor him by forcing down one cup of the scalding, acrid tea before finally giving in to his bed.


Mmm... where..? Feels like... Yeah. Still here. Spared me. Again. Pffff...

Ooh... too bright. Too lonely. Too boring. Ohhhh, can't move yet, wait a minute, wait another few... There we go, can see a little better now... Well! Lookie here!

"Hahaha, looks better in here with some red paint on the walls. Cheery."

'S'a good change, good change. Change my clothes, gotta... Ahh, legs ain't broken, that's good, that's good. Yeow! Arms ain't broken either, maybe sprained? Huh... coupl'a ribs cracked, just a little bit, that's all right. We'll heal again, feel again, I'll be real again, soon. Hahaaaa...

Ya know, you're never as funny up here as you are out there. Ya know? I know, I know... You know. I know. Not 'we', silly, you know that by now. Never pretended otherwise, did I? Knock it off.

Gotta get up, gotta get moving, ssss! That hurts, it hurts, but ya gotta straighten up your back anyway. Ohh, it's nice, it's nice. Man really brings me to life, a-haha... Now.

Time's a-wastin'. Look around, look around, think, think...

Wait. Where am I?


Bruce had fallen like a dead weight into sleep but awoke early in the morning to bright sunshine pushing past his closed eyelids. He couldn't get back to sleep afterwards, so he lay on his back in bed, thinking over what would be the best way to get the Joker back into the asylum. It would be so nice if he could just wrap the lunatic up in chains and dump him at Arkham's front door with a little note taped to his forehead. He chuckled at the memory of Lau; very amusing, though he didn't like to admit that it had been his idea. Joker's note would have to read: "lock me up in solitary and PLEASE throw away the key." They couldn't underestimate the man again and he was in no position to counsel them as to the particulars of this fact.

Speaking of counseling, why did those idiots send the Joker to therapy in the first place? Was it out of genuine concern for his mental well-being, or out of the perverse need to delve into it? Whichever the reason, it was just asking for trouble. Though, spiriting the lunatic off to Batman's basement was really not much more clearly thought out. He hated to make mistakes-not that he was a perfectionist, per se. He just always wanted-needed-to do the right thing, at all times. He didn't understand how he could have made so many mistakes with the criminal who had hurt him personally almost as much as the man who'd killed his parents so many years ago. He, who should damn well know better!

Knock it off.

Bruce pressed his fingers against his throbbing temples and sighed. No time to berate himself; he had to figure out how to get the psychopath out of his home. Suddenly, he wondered if the Joker had regained consciousness yet. Although what the demented clown had said about Rachel, true or not, was completely infuriating, it was Bruce's nature for him to feel a bit badly about the beating he'd inflicted upon the sick man. He just had to be sick, he had to be. Despite the guilt Bruce was now experiencing, he knew he'd do it again in the same situation, without one second's hesitation. Joker saw it coming, too, Bruce had seen it in the man's fathomless green eyes. Joker had been smiling, laughing, as he pummeled him. He'd made no move to retaliate, to defend himself against Batman's rage.

What was wrong with this man? Not even two days in Batman's captivity, and the Joker had threatened to destroy the life of the only living person he truly loved, and the memory of a loved one he had lost. He may never find out what Joker's twisted reasoning may be for any of the things he did and it bothered him that he was curious about it at all.

Alfred had been right: Bruce didn't understand the Joker. And how he hated that! He couldn't stand not having any answers to the question of the Joker's past and true identity. Bruce had come to learn that criminals were very simplistic beings, easy to please. They were either motivated by greed or pure sadism. They cheated, stole, and killed, for a reason. The Joker did not. He didn't want money, he didn't want power, he didn't want sex...

What do you want?! What can I give you to make you just STOP THIS!

Bruce abruptly cut off that line of thought. He would not be made into a victim, he would not beg a criminal to stop committing crimes. He took a deep breath. He had to get the Joker out of his house, as soon as possible, before the man consumed him further.


"Well, well, welcome back! And I thought you never wanted to see me again." Joker's smirk was what could only be described as feline. He had spent his entire day drifting in and out of sleep in his cell (which would have been terribly boring had he not been rather severely injured), uninterrupted by any visitor until now.

Batman closed the cell door behind him, his face set in stone. He refused to look directly at the Joker, who was slumped bonelessly against the rear wall, as he walked toward him. Wordlessly, the other man pulled the Joker into a standing position by the collar of his jacket, ignoring the brief mewl of pain he uttered in response to being so handled. He drew the same black blindfold and silver handcuffs he'd forced on the clown two days ago from his utility belt.

"I take it we're moving?" Joker asked, affecting a nonchalant tone to hide his underlying anxiety at seeing these items again.

Batman didn't answer but roughly secured the blindfold over the Joker's eyes and dispassionately whirled him around, cuffing his hands snugly behind his back. He began to lead him by an arm out of the room, not outwardly responding to the other's intermittent whimpers and gasps of discomfort as they walked. Joker had known Batman would still be angry at him but he did not expect or understand the other man's stoic silence. He sensed a plot.

"Where to, Bats?"

Again, no reply.

"...It's a secret? Hmm. You want me to guess? You want me to? Ok, heehee, I'll bite. Lessee..." His increasing agitation manifested itself as a rather frenzied sense of humor. "To the zoo? To meet your parents? To Gordon's house? Which is it, Bats?!"

Again, nothing. Fear seized Joker's heart with a frostbitten hand. (Not fear, no, no. Worry, anxiety... not afraid of anything.) He had suspected it, but now felt he was positive about what Batman was going to do: throw him back to the dogs at Arkham while he was still too weak to stop him from doing it. His posture stiffened, limbs shaking from the pain. He was absolutely livid.

"How dare you."

Batman nearly stopped walking. The Joker's voice, which had been so light and jocund a moment ago, came out many shades darker in a deep and violent hiss. Apparently shrugging off any apprehension, Batman continued to pull his unwilling prisoner along behind him into what Joker sensed was another small room. It was when he heard the sound of running water that he began to physically struggle against his captor.

"You wouldn't dare! You couldn't...! No, no, no!"

Batman used one arm to hold the fighting man tightly against his chest as he wrenched off his blindfold. Joker's eyes stung and teared against the sudden onslaught of light but he continued to struggle against Batman in an attempt to get away from the large, white sink he found himself standing in front of. Batman shoved him forward roughly, forcing the Joker's torso over the sink as he splashed cold water onto his made-up face. White, black and red ran down the clown's cheeks and chin, swirling colorfully into the drain.

Joker shrieked and shook as if the water were poisonous to his skin. He bit at Batman's gloved fingers as the man swabbed his face with the frigid liquid but his teeth couldn't make it through the kevlar. He was trapped and his identity was literally being washed off of his skin by a man he had respected. Batman, who had recently been so kind as to return his face to him, was now effectively erasing it. It was as though the Batman was messing with his mind, manipulating his feelings, and the Joker absolutely despised being the victim of the kinds of games he liked to play with others.

When there was no longer paint in the flowing water, Batman ceased his rough ministrations and turned off the sink. The assault of his face having stopped, the Joker threw back his head, spraying water over Batman, and inhaled deeply.

"How dare you! How dare you! How dare you!" He screamed over and over again, practically running against Batman's vice-like hold on his arms. Growling, the Bat gripped the back of the Joker's neck, fingers pushing into pressure points, and forced him to kneel down on the floor.

Suddenly feeling his legs give way beneath him, Joker stopped screaming, his breath now too shallow to keep it up. Tremors attacked his spinal column and his battered ribs surged with pain. He wanted so badly to get back up and fight but he couldn't force his body to obey him.

Okay... okay... okay... This is awful-terrible-dreadful and pain hurts more than usual, but I can't give it over now. He's going to give me back, that's what he's doing. He doesn't want them to recognize me, making it easier on himself. That's what he's doing. Gotta be calm for a little while, save your strength, you'll be back... Just pay attention to what he's doing...


The Joker had stopped fighting, his face suddenly going blank. Had Bruce been too rough with him? He had thought no amount of force was enough to even make the man blink, let alone to subdue him... No time to think about that now. He had to finish.

Bruce retrieved the blindfold from the floor and refastened it around the Joker's eyes. The clown gave no reaction to suggest he either noticed or cared. Bruce placed his hands around the other man's upper arms and guided him almost gently up from the ground. With a firm hand wrapped around one of the Joker's wrists, he led him toward a wooden chair placed against the wall across from the sink. Grabbing the neatly folded pair of the white cotton shirt and pants the Joker had arrived in off of the seat, he pushed the other man down onto it. Bruce stood before him with his legs spread apart in an offensive stance, just in case Joker suddenly regained his energy and tried to escape him. He unfolded the clothing and tossed it over one shoulder.

This was going to be the most dangerous part of the procedure: he would have to remove the Joker's handcuffs, undress him, and redress him in the white scrubs. He got out the key for the cuffs and drew in a deep breath.

"Joker."

The other man's almost imperceptible startle at the sound of his voice reminded him that he hadn't spoken aloud for a long time.

"I need to change your clothes," he began gruffly. "Now, I'm going to un-cuff you so I can do that. If you make one wrong move... Let me just say that your body can't take much more punishment."

The Joker said nothing and made no movement. Bruce was becoming vaguely concerned with this catatonic behavior-was it a trick? He knew he could handle the clown if it was; Joker was too weak to do any damage to him at this point. He grabbed the man's left shoulder and pulled him back up to stand before him.

The Joker was several inches shorter than he and his body more lithe and wiry. His pale face remained expressionless, save for the permanent scarred grin stretched across his cheeks. Without the usual maniacal smile, he appeared unthreatening and rather diminutive. His once animated green eyes were disturbingly blank. All the same, Bruce held his breath as he reached around the man to unlock his cuffs.

Still, nothing. The only movement Joker made was to allow his arms to fall limply at his sides, the handcuffs dangling from his right wrist. Bruce began the process of undressing him by pushing his old blazer off of the other man's shoulders and pulling it down his arms before tossing it carelessly to the side. With some difficulty due to his heavy gloves, he unbuttoned the pinstriped dress shirt and removed it in the same manner as he had the jacket. The revealed flesh of the Joker's torso and arms was lightly muscled and trim, dotted in various spots with scars, some jagged and raised, others straight and smooth.

He couldn't help but notice the evidence of the beating he'd given the other man the day before. Purple and red bruises blossomed like dark flowers up the right side of Joker's faintly visible rib cage, over his left upper clavicle and down his lower right hip bone. Smaller blue and violet hued marks riddled the expanse of the man's abdomen and upper arms.

Bruce hated himself for feeling guilty that he'd caused the other such harm, despite the fact that the clown had practically begged him to do it. He shot his gaze downward, focusing on the black slacks Joker wore. He was irritated to find that he was hesitant to remove them. Despite his multitudinous crimes and reprehensible nature, the Joker was, after all, just another man. Not unlike himself.

Bruce forced his fingers to undo the top button and tug down the zipper, the sounds of which echoed in the silent room. He felt the Joker's breath hitch in his throat.

Could the lunatic actually be shy? Nervous? A smirk of disbelief squirmed over Bruce's lips before he could squelch it. The thought of the notorious criminal being bashful made it easier to pull down his pants and get him to step out of them. However, he found his eyes darting about the room, attempting to focus on anything but his now nude arch nemesis as he quickly helped him into the white scrubs.


The Joker was so relieved to be dressed that he allowed himself to be easily turned around and almost offered Batman his wrists to be re-fastened into the tight handcuffs. Having his face taken away by his enemy had been infuriating enough, but the humiliation that went with Batman's newfound knowledge that underneath his clothes he was just any other flesh-and-blood man made his eyes tear behind the blindfold.

He remained in a horrified stupor as Batman marched him through his lair. They went through what felt like an elevator, down some steep steps and when the Bat unlocked and opened a heavy-sounding door, Joker felt the cool, refreshing breeze of night air hit his face. He inhaled as much of it as he could into his nostrils, knowing he wouldn't be enjoying it for long. He was right as they only marched a short distance before reaching the car. He heard it unlock and recognized the sound of a trunk opening up. The Joker's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat.

How dare he!

He let out an animalistic shout of protest and fought Batman with every ounce of strength he still possessed in his worn out body, flailing his limbs and twisting wildly in an attempt to escape.


Bruce struggled with the Joker for several moments, easily dodging his foe's kicks. It was as though the sound of the trunk opening had unlocked the Joker's mind from wherever it was he had sequestered it. Handcuffed, blindfolded and battered, the Joker's revolt only prolonged the inevitable, and Batman was finally able to grab him around the stomach and fold his reluctant body into the trunk. The man let out an anguished wail of defeat as the roof crashed down over him. In the darkness of the trunk, his tantrum continued as he hurled himself against the confines of the vehicle, fingernails scrabbling about in search of its weakness.

Bruce stood and stared at the trunk for a moment in disbelief. He was shocked by the way his enemy could completely shut out the pain of his injuries in order to resist being trapped. Joker was moving as though there was nothing wrong with him at all. It was almost superhuman.

"It was on the goddamn cheek, Bats!" Joker was yelling in that dark voice. "I only kissed her on the cheek! Let me outta here!"

Bruce exhaled in a relieved shudder. Of course, the confession wouldn't change anything. Might not even be true; a trapped criminal would say whatever it took to be set free. Still, he allowed his mind to believe that it was the truth, to believe that Rachel had not been molested further before she died.

Now that his nemesis was imprisoned out of his sight, he began to remove the bat suit, piece by piece, collecting it in a discreet black garbage bag which he tossed into the back seat of his car. He took from the front seat a crisp pair of blue hospital scrubs (small, white letters embroidered into the shirt read ''George Donovan, RN"), plain, white sneakers and dressed in them. He tied a white surgical mask over his mouth and nose and covered the majority of his hair under a blue surgical cap.

Mustering up all of Batman's fortitude for the journey back to the madhouse, Bruce climbed into the driver's seat and started the car. He wasn't sure if the Joker had actually calmed down in the trunk, or if he just couldn't hear him or feel the vibrations of his movements during the ride. He was speeding around the various twisting roads that made up the back way he'd taken from Arkham just a couple of days ago. It was almost pitch black out, as there was no moon that night. Perfect.

Now that he was returning with the much-wanted cargo he'd stolen from the asylum, Bruce felt very calm and at ease despite the danger of the task at hand. The police still believed that the Joker had escaped from Arkham alone and there were many more cop cars than usual scouring Gotham city in their search to reclaim him. He had to return the criminal without being seen or suspected. Batman was in enough trouble already without Gotham linking him to its Clown Prince of Crime.

He dared to park in a darkened section of the asylum's back parking lot. Taking a moment to survey the lot and assure himself that they were alone, Bruce exited the car and moved swiftly around to the back. He opened the trunk without preamble but was fully prepared if the man within it decided to try to make a break for it. Were he not "in the zone", he would have been surprised to see the Joker laying limply on the floor of the trunk, his features expressionless as they had been before when he'd changed his clothing. Bruce pulled the unresisting man out of the trunk and checked the handcuffs to make sure they were still secured tightly; they were. He knew Joker only needed so much as a twig to get himself out of a pair of cuffs. Just to be extra safe, he had brought along a small but powerful taser to keep the madman in line. One zap and the Joker would be flat out on his back.

"We're back at Arkham, though I'm sure you know that by now. I'm going to walk you in there and see if they can handle you better this time around. Just be quiet and don't try anything funny," Bruce growled in his Batman voice, pressing the taser to the small of the Joker's back in warning as they crossed the parking lot together.

Joker remained silent (normally, he'd likely have jumped at the opportunity to make a snappy retort to Batman's last sentence), and walked obediently where he was guided. He looked and behaved as though he was merely a shadow of himself, unable to speak or act of his own free will. Accustomed to the man's mania and erratic mannerisms, it was more than a bit unnerving to see him this way. Bruce suspected that, as before, he was merely lying in wait within his own body until an opportunity presented itself.

He led the Joker to the laundry room located at the back of the building where he had snuck in the last time he was there. He pressed an ear to the thin crack between the large double doors, listening for any sound of humanity inside. Hearing only the hum of a dryer or two running, he disabled the lock on the left door using the taser he'd brought. He winced as it emitted a fairly loud buzzing sound along with a puff of thick smoke but quickly pushed open the door and pushed the Joker inside. No one was there. He quickly removed the other man's blindfold, watching him closely as he squinted in the light. Joker's eyes were sharp and observant once more but his visage and manner remained dull.

Still waiting, Bruce presumed.

They walked briskly through the laundry room and then up a long, white hallway. It was silent, save for the Joker's shallow, wheezing breaths and empty but for a couple of hospital orderlies passing them. One paid them no attention and the other raised an eyebrow at Bruce as he rushed by. Suddenly, the Joker chuckled softly, causing Bruce to nearly leap out of his skin.

"That's Ned," Joker said in a low, amused voice. "Guess he didn't recognize me. If he had, he'd do that funny, jumpy, little blink he always does with his eyes when he sees me. Hehehe... Y'know, you can even see the idiot's Adam's apple bob when he's nervous."

Bruce glared at him obliquely, continuing to walk on. He had to find the correct ward (he was looking for "Criminally Insane"), and he hoped the Joker would behave until he located it.

"Oh, we have several more to go, yet," Joker drawled tiredly. "It isn't written down, but they put the most dangerous people at the very end. Can you 'magine that? Me, dangerous?"

Bruce exhaled through his nose, ignoring the other man. It wouldn't do to speak in his concealed voice now in case others might hear him. Besides, he didn't want to encourage the lunatic. He felt the Joker's eyes traveling over the side of his face that was visible to him and hoped to God the clown had never paid attention to any tabloid or news story featuring his picture as Bruce Wayne.

"Dark hair. I imagined you'd have dark, dark hair..."

Bruce grunted and shot a look of intense irritation at the Joker. His gaze locked with the other man's for a split second, and he watched helplessly as those darting green eyes took his in completely. He abruptly turned away, cursing himself inwardly, as he realized he had just offered the Joker more naked skin to memorize.

"Oh, Bats, I've told you, I don't wanna know who you are," Joker told him in a tone devoid of energy and emotion. Bruce wondered why he bothered to keep up this act; he had plenty chance to strike out now, while no one else was near them.

At last they reached the correct ward, the one at the very end of the hospital. A silver panel built into the wall beside the locked door read "Criminally Insane" with a series of letters and numbers inscribed beneath the words that Bruce guessed-if Joker had not been lying to him-signified that the most dangerous patients were within. He studied the lock, which required a special card to open, and knew that his taser would not do any good here. A large clock above the door told him that midnight was drawing near, which was the time he knew the shifts would change and too many people would be milling about for him to stay any longer.

He decided that he would remove one of the Joker's handcuffs and attach it to the metal bar on the door. Not the best plan he'd ever come up with, but he hadn't had nearly enough time in which to study the building. He spun the Joker around and made to unlock the cuff on his right wrist.

"Joker, the shifts are changing in five minutes," he growled into his ear. "You won't get far if you manage to get out of these."

The mask-less clown kept still while he fixed the cuff onto the door, watching his face the entire time. Bruce met the other's gaze once more. It seemed as though the Joker's eyes were the only living things left in his body at that moment, so electric were they in comparison to his sagging, careless posture. Despite his intense hatred for the murderer, he found himself fascinated by the enigma that he was.

"Joker, who are you?" Bruce asked him without thinking, just managing to hold onto Batman's voice. The other man smiled sadly, the most genuine expression Bruce had ever seen grace his twisted features.

"I'm nobody, Bats," he whispered. "But I'm flattered you cared to ask."

Taken aback, Bruce sneered at him and turned away, walking quickly down the hallway while the Joker bored holes into his shoulder blades with those searing green eyes of his. Suddenly the empty room erupted in sound, bursts of the Joker's old, familiar cackle chasing him as he broke into a sprint.

"Thanks for dropping me off, Batman!" Joker shouted at the top of his lungs. "Yes, I said Batman! Batman, Batman, Bat-maaaaan!"

An ear-piercing alarm followed Bruce out of the laundry room. By the time he reached the car, he felt as though his lungs were ready to burst. He punched the steering wheel before starting the ignition. The bastard may have gotten the last laugh on him tonight but at least the lunatic was now out of Bruce's "dark, dark" hair.