AN: Sorry the updates have been a bit sporadic as of late. For whatever reason, about half of my classes decided to do midterm-ish assignments after Spring Break. I don't know why.

Thanks for the reviews!

I am not speaking to you ever again, Jonathan informed Scarecrow, as soon as he'd recovered the ability to breathe.

It's not my fault you haven't managed the art of swallowing without inhaling. He sounded slightly amused. Jonathan wondered what it said when even his other half was entertained by his suffering. He had a feeling it wasn't a good sign.

You waited to say that until I was swallowing on purpose. He glared at the half-eaten fruit in his hand, the apple white slowing discoloring from exposure to the air. His stomach was informing his brain that it was still hungry, and it didn't care whom the mouth would be indirectly kissing by eating the apple, it tasted good. His brain countered that while the stomach may be able to handle that knowledge, his mental health would not.

And his mental health really couldn't take much more stress, after the latest medication switch. If he ever got out of here, he was going to pay Arkham a visit and show them just how much he appreciated the drug change, using some drugs of his own. And maybe knives. He really didn't care for blades or guns and the like, but Scarecrow enjoyed them.

No knives, then. He wasn't in the mood to let Scarecrow have any happiness at the present.

It's not my fault the Batman's making a pass at you.

Oh, shut up. He'd never do that, and besides, it would be a pass at you as well, if he'd made it. Which he didn't. So don't act as if you're removed from this.

But I am, Jonathan. The amusement was more than slight now. Sometimes Jonathan really hated him. He doesn't know I exist, remember?

That was technically true. Scarecrow had never been brought up in his therapy sessions, besides the ones with Harley, and as things would turn out, she took notes in a haphazard pattern that only she—and the Joker—seemed able to make sense of. Even if the Bat had access to his therapy records—and Jonathan was sure he did—there would be no mention of Scarecrow. None of his therapists had ever realized he had a second aspect to his personality, despite the fact that Scarecrow would occasionally talk to them. Those sessions tended to be the ones that would end with sedation and loss of privileges.

Still. For a part of himself, Scarecrow could be more than a bit of an idiot. He's around you as often as he's around me. More, actually, given that you're the one who does the fighting, and that's pretty much the only time we're around him.

Right. Scarecrow being an aspect of him and not a hallucination, Jonathan obviously couldn't see him—outside of dreams—but if Scarecrow was a separate entity, he imagined his other half would be smirking. He certainly sounded as if he was holding back giggles. So the time you spent around him when the Joker was trying to kill you was a fight, then?

That's the exception that proves the rule.

And the time when you fired a nail gun into your hand? Definitely giggling. And finding humor in Jonathan's suffering. His alter ego was a stupider, sluttier version of the Joker. Lovely.

Beating me then almost certainly would have killed me. And he won't break that rule of his, contradictory as it is. I fail to see where you're going with this.

I'm pointing out that he's spent time around you as well. Honestly, and you act like I'm slow. In fact, all of the nonviolent time's been around you, now that I think about it, so if that kiss was directed to anyone—

It was not a kiss. Jonathan resisted the urge to throw the apple against the opposite wall. Somehow, he doubted that would go over well. Not that he could be sure; he wasn't sure why he'd been given the apple in the first place, unless it was to unnerve him as much as possible. It was…some sort of mind game.

Mind game? What's he trying to do, make you fall for him so he can use you to make the Joker jealous?

Stop implying that I'm going to become involved with him. He began biting what remained of his fingernails. Not much, at this point.

I'm not implying that. Stop jumping to conclusions. I'm just saying that the Joker is clearly in love with the man. Or, whatever passes for love with that psycho. The humor slipped out of his voice there, which was comforting. Much of an ass as he could be, he did care for Jonathan. Of course he did; he had to, given that they shared a body. Even so, it was a nice reminder that someone cared, and he hadn't been left all alone to rot and have his mind tampered with by a mad vigilante.

So, of course, Scarecrow had to ruin the moment by continuing. So if the Batman wants to screw with him, what better way to do so than flaunting a relationship with his ex in front of him?

The Joker would never fall for that. He wasn't going to bother addressing how ridiculous the idea was. Not again. I hate the Batman, and he knows that.

You hated him too. Twice. And look how both of those turned out.

Oh, shut up. I seem to recall that you fell for him as well. Hard enough to make out with him on the floor of a bank lobby in full view of his men, while he was bleeding all over you.

Hey, I was only involved for the sex. I didn't have any emotional ties.

Jonathan rolled his eyes as he set the apple on the floor. You're such a liar. And a slut.

That's not very nice, Jonathan.

He shrugged, pushed the apple as far away from him as he could get it without standing up. It made him uneasy. More uneasy than usual, anyway. It's true.

If I'm a slut, then so are you.

Whatever. The Batman wouldn't do that, and you know it. He might physically torture people, but he's not one to play mind games. Not that I've ever seen.

The Joker likes being beaten. Maybe he switched tactics.

He did not. He's all about upholding his perverse idea of justice. He would never stoop so low as to taunt a man by sucking face with said man's ex—The mental image that thought gave him removed his ability to think further for a moment, energy focused on not gagging.

I wasn't serious, you know, Scarecrow informed him, when he'd stopped dry heaving. Remind me not to try lightening the mood anymore. It might just kill you next time.

Quite possibly. He straightened his glasses, frowning. If that's your idea of lightening the mood, there's something terribly wrong with my sense of humor.

Well, it's not as if there's a lot to work with here, Jonathan. Look around. Ten-by-ten cell with absolutely nothing of entertainment value in it. Just the light flickering and that stupid dripping.

So you switch to tormenting me. That's good to know.

Oh, you're too sensitive.

If I am, then you are too.

Just because we're the same person doesn't mean we share the same aspects. Which completely contradicted his earlier comment regarding Jonathan being a slut, but whatever. He wondered if Scarecrow was aware that his arguments made no sense and just didn't care, or if his hypocrisy went right over his head. It seemed that, generally, intelligence was an aspect held by only Jonathan.

Whatever. It really wasn't worth getting into his idea of logic. Jonathan was confused and annoyed enough as it was. He wished he could move the apple somewhere out of sight, but in an empty cell there was no way to do that unless he wanted to shove it under the mattress, which would make him feel it whenever he tried to lie down. He shook his head, closed his eyes. Maybe his mind would stop racing enough to allow him to sleep. Unlikely, but possible.

Jonathan?

Or not. Annoyed, he kept his eyes closed, but responded. What?

Whose side are you on anyway?

He sighed. Can't you just sleep?

I'm not tired.

Well, I am.

No, you're not. If it weren't for the chains you'd be pacing around the room.

Not by choice. He'd never been this restless in captivity before the drugs. Sitting still for any period of time this way was miserable, so he opted to sleep as often as he could. Unfortunately, the meds made that equally difficult. And Scarecrow wasn't helping either. He supposed he might as well answer, if that would help his other side to shut up. What do you mean, whose side?

The clown or the bat?

He opened his eyes, blinked. For what?

For this, obviously. Do you want the Joker to accomplish whatever madness he came here for and escape with him, or let the Batman win and drag you back to Arkham?

A plague on both their houses.

That doesn't count, Jonathan. You can't spend your life sitting on a fence. Or hanging from a pole, or whatever.

Watch me. It really wasn't fair. All he wanted was to sleep. Not even sleep so much as have his mind stop racing. If he had the chance to live his life over and fix his mistakes, he was beginning to think he'd have never studied fear in the first place, not if he'd known it would lead to madness like this.

You can answer the question and I'll be quiet, or you can ignore me and I'll sit here asking over and over, or screaming nursery rhymes or something at top volume.

He tilted his head to one side, as if there was someone there to gape at. Why nursery rhymes?

Why not?

Fine. I haven't thought about it. He leaned back, angling his body so he didn't have to face the apple as he thought. It was horribly distracting. The Joker or the Batman…it was like choosing a method of execution, really. One might be faster or less painful than the other, but they both had the same miserable outcome.

They'd both beaten him, though the Joker far more severely. Both fed him his own poison, though the Batman had used the one that left lasting damage. They'd both tracked him down after he'd run away from Arkham, the Joker to kill him and the Batman to drag him back to that hellhole, which was almost as bad. And they'd both had the odd moment where they'd tried to be comforting, though he was sure both had been done to further some twisted agenda.

But there was no real contest, similarities aside. The Joker.

Why?

Because at least I have some idea of what goes on in his head. And I've found that people tend to do far worse things in the name of some virtue than they do for the sake of causing trouble. He thought of his grandmother and shuddered. Besides, the damage he did to my body healed, for the most part. Whereas what the Bat did will never go away. I'm glad the Batman intervened when the Joker wanted to kill me, but if I had to help one in this struggle? The Joker. Besides, he gave me a horse.

He wondered what the Batman had done with that horse; waited for Scarecrow to offer his theory as to Nightmare's whereabouts, or his own view on the issue. There was only silence in response. It seemed he'd been serious about being quiet. Jonathan lay down on the mattress, pulled the blankets tightly around himself. It seemed luck was finally on his side today, as after half an hour or so of racing thoughts, he was able to sleep.

AN: "A plague on both [your] houses" comes from Romeo and Juliet.

The nursery rhymes bit is a reference to Jeph Loeb's Scarecrow, who speaks almost entirely in such rhymes.