I: A Slow Night
A/N: I didn't feel like pretending this was original we all know this is an Arkham Asylum rewrite. Enjoy it, it's probably the closest I'll get to a fic that properly establishes the status quo of Earth-Psi. This was originally posted on Ao3
It was a quiet Friday night, too quiet. Something was bound to go wrong any minute. Batman partly wanted it to just happen already, just so he had an excuse to stop playing chess with Nygma and do something more productive with his night. Nygma had won the first two games, and was on his way to winning the third, but that was only because Batman didn't really have the patience for chess. Also, there were no bombs attached to the chess board. Bombs were always a good motivator.
"Did you ever get around to searching Arkham for that riddle list I gave you?" Nygma interrupted partway through the third game.
"Nope," Batman replied, swinging one leg off of the gargoyle he was perched on and rolling out his shoulders. He was starting to get stiff up here.
"And I was all ready to hear what you had to say about them," Nygma said in a voice that sounded a bit like he was pouting.
"Does it look like I have the resources to sneak around a mental health facility with more security than Belle Reve?" There was a stretch of silence, and Batman quickly added, "Don't answer that."
"I don't think you want the answer to that," Nygma replied.
The police scanner flared to life, and Batman switched off Nygma to hear it better.
"We've got a 10-35 in the Financial District, suspect is a 10-96, over."
Batman let out an audible sigh and stood from his perch. At least he was close.
"Where exactly is the 10-35?"
"Gotham City Hall."
There was a loud bang from down the block, and Batman used a line to swing across three apartment buildings before landing on a fourth. Just next door was city hall. Convenient, if a bit of a security hazard.
"Do we have an identity on the 10-96?"
"Affirmative, 10-96 is the Joker, over."
Batman jumped down onto a windowsill and kicked the window open before sliding in. This room was dark, but Batman could hear laughter. He was close.
Batman leaned on a door as it swung open and peered around it, making sure none of Joker's thugs were there. When the coast seemed clear enough, he swung around the door and started down the hall. He didn't really have the time to sneak around, and besides, the hallways were barren this time. This was completely unlike Joker. Joker's schemes were always so... elaborate. He hired at least fifty underpaid thugs per job; it was a headache just to get to him.
Today, there were no thugs, no crazy distractions, not even a single morbid decoration. Batman clicked his teeth and leaned on the doors to the mayor's office, where the laughter was loudest.
And on repeat: a recording, childish, too easy. Joker was smarter than this. Where were the traps? The set-pieces? The mocking note at the end of the recording that made it really obvious Joker had spent seven minutes just laughing into a microphone just to trick him?
Batman kicked the door open and strode in. The recording was strapped to the mayor's chest, and of course he was terrified, all wide-eyed and squirming. He'd probably be squirming more if he didn't have a luger against his temple and a deranged clown's leg dangling over his shoulder in what could not be a comfortable sitting position for the Joker. Mayor Hamilton Hill was not a particularly hard-to-spook man, and Joker was almost the scariest Arkham inmate Batman dealt with on the regular. Almost; he wasn't a six-foot-three disgraced psychology professor who could mimic voices, and he certainly wasn't a six-foot-seven minimum drug cartel whose idea of restraint was breaking ribs.
"Batsy-boy! So glad you could make it!" Joker beamed proudly from his seat on the desk and leaned back, moving the luger so it was at the back of Hill's head. "I'm sure our friend here's been just dying to know when you'd get here."
Joker pointed the luger at one wall and fired, sending a 12mm lead bullet straight through a portrait of Mayor Hill. Joker didn't need to look at it to be accurate; sure enough, the shot struck right between the portrait's eyes. Sometimes Batman forgot that seven years ago, Joker was a distinguished sniper in the Marine Corps. Then he made a shot like that, and that knowledge came back very quickly.
"Oops." Joker grinned wider. Batman suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and stepped fully into the room. Joker quickly switched the luger back to its place behind the mayor's head and raised his eyebrows.
"Let him go." Batman kept his voice firm. Better he didn't show fear or hesitation when a psychotic clown was involved. Of course, he could tell; he still had that stupid painted grin on his face. Like a child had gotten into a suitcase of costume make-up.
"Where's the fun in that?" Joker asked. "But I suppose you're right, Mr. Hill's a little superfluous, isn't he?" Joker grinned wide and kicked the chair forwards, sending Hill tumbling flat on his face.
Joker hopped down off the desk and held the luger at his own temple, "I like this hostage a lot more. No complaining, you don't have to tie him up, and he's perfectly happy whether he has a bullet in his skull or not! Isn't it perfect?" Joker let out an obnoxious laugh, it sounded a bit like a screeching monkey. The laughter slowly died down and, still smiling, he mumbled. "I need sleep."
"I think you need a bit more than sleep," Batman carefully stepped forwards, reaching for the luger.
"Oh, without a doubt," Joker nodded, "but you are absolutely not the one to be telling me that, Batsy."
Batman kept moving forwards, waiting for Joker to turn the luger towards him. He didn't he just used it to tilt his head to one side and smiled blankly at Batman. Batman carefully took the gun from Joker's hand and tossed it aside, holding Joker's hands firmly in front of him. He wasn't resisting, not a shred. Even when Joker was really low, he resisted. He screamed, threw a fit, and kicked his way free. Not this time. This time, he stood, smiling, an uncertain laugh echoing in the back of his throat.
"Are you okay?" Batman asked, a little worried Joker was worse than usual.
"Just fine," Joker replied, "perfectly peachy."
Batman didn't believe that. He didn't believe it until the handcuffs were on and Joker was sitting in the back, curled into a ball and singing to himself.
"Near Banbridge town, in the County Down one evening last July, down a bóithrín green came a sweet cailín, and she smiled as she passed me by..."
Batman knew the song as well as he knew Joker. Joker didn't sing unless he was very, very happy. Batman recalled hearing him say that he liked the kind of songs you needed to be in a good mood to really sing. Batman wasn't too clear on what that meant, but he didn't tend to pry when it came to Joker.
"Is he in the car?" Oracle came online in Batman's earpiece, her voice soft so Joker didn't hear.
"Yes," Batman replied as quietly as possible. "He's singing."
"He's what?" Oracle paused, "How easy was it to bring him in?"
"Too easy."
"Joker's not usually happy to go back to Arkham," Oracle pointed out.
"I know, Oracle," Batman sighed. "That's the worry. If he's in this good of a mood..." Batman risked a look back at Joker, who perked up a bit and waved. "Maybe I should watch him through processing. Just until he's in his cell."
"Good call," Oracle sighed. "Do you want me to put Prophet on everyone else's lines? You know, just in case something happens."
"What about me?" a voice interjected, "Are you driving payaso back to Arkham?"
"Yes, Prophet," Batman sighed. He forgot she was still on his comm link from last night. Prophet was Oracle's partner, a girl named Audrey Brenner. She was an invaluable addition to what was now a team of five field vigilantes. The downside was that she was a bit more difficult to manage than Oracle, who could already be a handful. Prophet had wanted to be in the field, but Batman didn't trust it. Prophet had trouble opening some doors; there was no way he could train her to fight.
"He's singing," Oracle said. Prophet let out a short laugh.
"Son mamadas," she scoffed. "El payaso no canta." Batman rolled his eyes. He figured she would've stopped that after Robin told her she sounded like her mother but apparently not.
"Prophet," Batman warned. "We had a talk about the swearing."
"Sí, sí," Prophet sighed. "Oracle, switch Robin and Red over to my feed, I'll keep track of them. Oh, and take me off Batman's feed."
"Will do, Prophet," Oracle confirmed.
"Buenas noches, el Murciélago," Prophet sang, then her comm went silent.
"Do you think she talks like that just to bother you?" Oracle asked.
"What?" Batman slowed as he reached the Westward Bridge. "The Spanish? No, that's just how she talks."
"No, the swearing in Spanish," Oracle corrected. "she doesn't swear in English around you, but she does swear in English around the others."
"She might," Batman confirmed. "In fact, that's more than likely. Why?"
"No reason," Oracle replied. "I mean, besides that Kate thinks it's funny."
"Of course she does." Batman sighed as he pulled up to Arkham. Dr. Leland was already at the door, flanked by two guards and looking about as pleased as a bowl of scorpions. She also looked tired, very tired. It had been a slow night for Batman, but clearly it hadn't been a slow night for Leland. This would probably be the last patient sent through processing before she was off for the night. Most people would be grateful to be out of Arkham, but Leland was probably the only psychiatrist at Arkham that could actually handle the inmates most of Gotham called the "Rogues' Gallery". There used to be more, but apparently being able to handle difficult inmates had a sixty percent chance of meaning you were also a difficult inmate.
Batman got out of the car first, eyeing Joker through the window as the guards descended the stairs. Batman passed them and approached Leland. They needed to talk.
Dr. Joan Leland was the type of woman that could keep a man twice her height in line. She wasn't particularly tall, nor strongly built. In fact, Leland was a petite woman who barely stood over five feet. Her dark hair was cropped short, and her dark brown eyes were always covered by a pair of square-rimmed glasses. She was calm, if a bit stern, both particularly rare traits for psychiatrists at Arkham.
"How's he doing?" Leland asked.
"He's happy," Batman replied. "He was singing in the car."
Leland rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Of course he was."
"To be safe, I'd like to follow him through processing," Batman added.
"I figured," Leland nodded. "Gordon's waiting inside."
Batman nodded. Leland turned to the guards as they brought Joker in, flipping through her clipboard.
"What's up, doc?" Joker grinned wide as he passed her.
"Hello Jack." Leland didn't look up, and her voice stayed level despite Joker's maniacal grin. "How are you feeling?"
"Oh, just wonderful doc," Joker replied. "Is Dr. Young in tonight?"
"She may be," Leland replied following after him, "I hope you don't mean to torment the poor girl."
"Of course not!" Joker stumbled to one side intentionally, but the guard on that side recognized the feint and pulled him back. "I'm just really excited to see what the new antipsychotic cocktail will be! Will it taste good? Will I need to eat with it? I'll have you know I've given up on potatoes for Lent."
"Of all things," Leland muttered. "Did he point a gun at himself at any point?"
"Yes," Batman replied. Leland marked something down on her clipboard and shot an annoyed glance at Joker before looking back to the clipboard.
"Oh, you know I wasn't gonna do it, Batsy." Joker flung his head back and grinned. "Wouldn't want to get clown brains all over the suit." He swung his head back forward. "The suit actually has some worth. It'd be a shame to ruin it."
The doors creaked open, and Joker began humming quietly.
"Welcome home, Jack." Leland finally looked up from her clipboard and Joker let his head fall back so he could smile at her.
"Good to be home, Dr. Leland," he replied.
Batman almost smiled there, mostly because the Joker's own smile seemed so genuine. That one small moment almost allowed Batman to forget, for a moment, that Joker was most certainly up to something. It was moments like that where Batman had faith in the Joker. People didn't tend to have faith in the Joker.
The procession continued until they reached a second door. In front of this one stood a man clearly edging into his fifties, rotund, with thinning white hair but a curled mustache that had clearly taken a long time. His hands rested on a hardwood cane that stabbed into the floor, both palms resting so they hid the emerald tip. On either side of him stood two guards. One took a very quick swig from a side flask as they approached. Batman could smell Southern Comfort. The man with the cane sighted Joker, and his lips curled into an expression of disdain, like someone had spit on his clearly expensive pinstripe suit.
"Warden Sharp." Leland stepped around Joker and his escort quickly. "Did something happen?"
"No, just a routine check," Sharp replied, tapping his cane twice. "Dr. Young requested it."
"Of course," Leland sounded a bit annoyed. "Boles, put the whiskey away. If Crane smells it—"
"Atlanta doesn't drink Southern Comfort," Joker cut in, then laughed. "I thought your taste was better, Frankie. Anyway, how's the wife and kids? The littlest one is what, six now?"
The guard who'd drank from the flask started forwards, but Sharp stuck out his cane before anything further could happen. Batman recognized the man: Frank Boles, the man most rogues with half a brain stole alcohol from, provided he was carrying something good. Batman only remembered that because he had to return Boles' flask when a very drunk Harvey broke into Roman Sionis' house and tripped the perimeter alarm, then the fire alarm when he accidentally knocked over an ashtray with hot ashes on it. That Boles wasn't fired after that wasn't even a testament to how lax Arkham was about their guards. It was a testament to how much Roman let things slide when a friend was involved.
"Will the Batman be joining us for processing?" Sharp asked.
"He requested to," Leland nodded. "Joker was singing in the car."
"Is it marked on the processing sheet?" Sharp asked.
"As always," Leland replied.
"Good," Sharp nodded, then looked to Batman. "Gordon's at Patient Handling, you two can speak there."
Sharp stepped aside and the second set of doors opened. As he followed the guards and Leland, Batman quietly switched his radio frequency so he could hear what was going on with the others.
"I did not!" Tim's voice was almost too loud. Great, they were fighting.
"Did too!" Dick shot back, as if he was the same age as the fourteen-year-old he was arguing with.
"Boys, boys, you're both pretty," Prophet muttered as if this back and forth had been going on for a while. "Are you done? Because you've been at this for three minutes and I'm pretty sure Mothman already flew off to the nearest bug lamp."
Batman smiled a bit at that, but knew Prophet had a point. If Dick and Tim hadn't gotten into a fight, they probably would've caught the person they were chasing, and from the sound of it, that was probably Killer Moth. Drury Walker was hard to find at the best of times. After he'd escaped two vigilantes? There was no way anyone was finding him, except, perhaps...
"I'm onto the Moth," Kate interrupted. "He's headed for Gotham Heights."
"On it," Cass pitched in.
"Oye, niños," Prophet sang, "they're making you look bad."
Batman switched the channel back to Oracle's and returned his attention to Joker, who was still chattering like a champ. There was no way anyone was getting him to shut up. You could hear his brogue edging into his voice as he spoke. Batman didn't listen to most of it; he was paying more attention to Joker himself.
He was dressed nicely, done up for a party from the looks of it. The suit was brand new, with dark green satin lapels and a ridiculous pink corsage that looked like a demented daisy. The dandelion yellow suit vest was decorated with a reflective harlequin pattern, and the light green shirt underneath had to be silk. And of course, the green string tie was the same satin as the lapels. The shoes weren't new, but by god if he didn't shine them enough to look the part and wrap them with bright yellow spats.
Holding Mayor Hill hostage was definitely not Joker's definition of a party. He'd done it before... in Superman basketball shorts and sandals with the worst hangover Batman had seen. If that was a special occasion, Batman wore glitter.
Leland stepped around just before the contraband scanner, "We've got Batman heading through processing. Exclude him from the scan."
"Yes, Dr. Leland," the operator said.
The scanner doors opened, and the guards ushered Joker inside. Batman and Leland followed. There was a loud buzzer, and Leland stepped in front of Joker and held out a hand.
"Not me," Joker hummed. "Must've forgotten to exclude—"
"You're a terrible liar, Jack." Leland cut Joker off. "Hand it over."
Joker let out a loud sigh and dug through his pocket, muttering about eagle-eyed shrinks. He slapped a bright purple zippo lighter in Leland's hand and scrunched his shoulders up. If Batman could see his face, he'd probably see that Joker was pouting.
The tunnel opened and Leland tossed the lighter to the guard on the other end. The guard quickly moved the lighter out of the way as another guard tried to snag it from him.
"Back to your cell, Basil," Leland said, not looking at the guard. The second guard looked at Leland, then hurried off. If you looked closely, you could see him shift into a formless blob of clay and lurch into a vent.
The next set of doors opened, and Leland sighed as a doctor came into view at the fourth set of doors. Batman didn't blame her; this man was unsettling. He was on the round side, with a slightly squashed nose and watery blue eyes.
"Great," she muttered. "Valentine's on shift."
"Hello Joan," the doctor smiled, as if trying to be cordial.
"Dr. Valentine." Leland stared straight ahead as the doctor looked over Joker, quickly retracting his hand when Joker snapped at him.
"He's fine, let him go through," the doctor stepped back.
"Thank you, Dr. Valentine," Leland said sharply. She allowed the guards to head through, staring right at the doctor. "And it's Dr. Leland, please."
"Of course," the doctor smiled. "Joan."
Through the doors, the procession came to a stop, the gate blocking them off from the elevator. The elevator was steadily rising, just a little.
"What's going on?" Leland asked.
"Category 9 in transit," a guard said.
"Croc!" Joker chirped as the elevator rolled into view. Sure enough, behind three guards and a small inmate holding a parasol, was the man, or monster, himself: Killer Croc. Croc rolled his shoulders and curled his scaly lips into a toothy snarl at the sight of Joker. It was quite obvious what Croc's small companion was there for. If the blonde ringlets, done up in pigtails, didn't give it away, the parasol certainly did. Mary Dahl was ideal for keeping Croc in check, not the least because he was fond of her.
"Easy, Waylon," Mary smirked. "We're not here to chat, Jacksie. Go bother someone else."
"I'd love to, dollface, but my hands are tied." Joker gleefully held up his arms to show his cuffed wrists. "How's my favorite pair of star-crossed lovers?"
"I can eat his face," Croc suggested, starting forwards.
"That would be doing him a favor," Mary shook her head, starting to skip out of the elevator after the guards. "Come on Waylon, I can smell Boles' whiskey. Crane smells nicer after a binge."
Croc grunted and followed after Mary, catching eyes with Batman as he passed.
"Best watch yourself boy," he suggested. "Baby ain't got a problem with me chewin on you." Mary let out a sharp laugh from down the hall and Croc kept moving.
"Those two seriously freak me out," a guard muttered under his breath.
"You're clear, Dr. Leland," the operator said, and Joker was ushered into the elevator. As the doors closed, Leland leaned on one wall and rubbed her temples.
"Long night?" Batman guessed.
"Well we've got most of our regulars here," Leland nodded, "not to mention the transfer of most of the Blackgate inmates as well."
"The fire, right?" Batman guessed. He had Nightwing looking into that; it didn't seem like Firefly's MO.
"The fire," Leland sighed. "Thanks for following through processing, I'm pretty sure it would've been more of a headache without you here."
The elevator doors opened, and Joker was shoved out by Boles. Joker quite happily walked after that.
"What are you actually up to?" Batman asked, slipping into place just behind Joker.
"Spoilers, Batsy," Joker sang. Leland led the guards and Joker through the hallways until they reached the Patient Handling desk. Batman felt a little better seeing Gordon filing paperwork in front of it, and a little more secure seeing the Arkham intern, Salem Jackson, at the reception desk. Salem was one of the more no-nonsense therapists at Arkham, and popular with the inmates to boot. Check-in almost always ran smoothly when she was around.
"Hey Bats," Salem waved, "Gordon said tonight's been slow for you lot."
"Aside from the City Hall mishap," Gordon corrected.
"Aside from that," Salem nodded. "Seen Harvey lately, Mr. Gordon?"
"No sign of Dent yet, Miss Jackson," Gordon replied.
"He'll turn up sooner or later," Salem turned to Batman. "Oh, Bats, you can't go past here. Staff only."
"Why not?" Gordon looked up at Salem, who shrugged.
"Kellerman said he'll unsettle the more violent patients," she answered. "I'm just the intern. I can't argue with a doctor."
"She can't," Leland agreed, leaning on the desk. "There's an observation window at the holding cells though."
Batman walked over to the window and leaned on it. He barely noticed Salem leaning on the window beside him. Boles walked over to talk to Leland; Batman largely tuned their conversation out. Joker was walking across the Holding Cell floor. This was the last chance Batman had to figure out what was going on.
"Think he's up to something?" Salem asked.
"He always is," Batman sighed.
Joker spun his head upside down from where he was walking, and he grinned.
Not good.
Using one guard's hip as a launch point, Joker jumped up, hooked his leg around another guard's neck, and spun him to the ground fast enough to break his neck. Batman didn't need to hear his neck crack; the motion was fast enough that it would be impossible for the neck not to break.
Joker swung his hands up to hit the second guard in the jaw, then kicked the third's feet out from under him, kicking him hard in the head once he was down.
Batman clicked his teeth and Joker waved, flipping his hands out of the handcuffs with ease and dropping them on one of the guards.
"Harley, if you'd be a dear," he shouted, and the security gate on the far side of the cells shut off.
"Oh, well that's just not fair." Salem hopped to her feet and swiped her keycard on the gate lock. "Have fun."
Batman stepped in, and Joker was singing again, the same exact song. This time, on the other side of a locked security gate. Perfect.
There was another loud buzzer, and the holding cell doors slid open.
"Oh, come on!" Salem shouted from the observation deck. "That's fucking cheating!"
Batman met eyes with Joker and sighed.
So much for a slow night.