AN: So it warmed up to three degrees today, though when I went to work this morning it was negative thirteen with a wind chill factor of negative thirty. I actually felt ice forming in my nose, and spent the rest of my time outside with a scarf wrapped around my head about eight hundred times. Ah, Indiana.

Anyway, back to the story. Thanks for the reviews!

Fucking crows, Scarecrow thought, feeling a poke against his ribs. He felt like sighing, but wasn't yet awake enough to make himself do so. He was awake enough to realize he was waking up, however, and that annoyed him to no end. Getting to sleep had always been hard for him, even before he'd started having nightmares about demonic bats. And the whole readjusting to brain altering drugs and hallucinations issues hadn't helped. He'd already woken up three times in the night, the last screaming so badly he'd had to be mildly sedated.

He felt a poke again, this time accompanied by a voice. "Jooooonnnnnyyyy."

Fan-fucking-tastic. He didn't need to open his eyes to recognize the voice. So the Joker hallucinations were back as well. He did sigh now, and tried to turn away, only to feel material catch against his wrists. Oh. The restraints. He'd forgotten they put those back on at the same time he'd been sedated. Which made no sense—how much damage could he cause with his system pumped full of Xanax?—but then, Arkham and logic got along like oil and water.

"Jonny?"

He tried to say "Piss off," but the words came out slurred, unintelligible. Why am I acknowledging this to begin with? he wondered, mildly disgusted with himself. Giving in was something Jonathan did, not him. He was still together enough to know that the Joker was not really sitting on his bed, poking him in the ribs. It was probably the sedatives. He closed his eyes tighter, tried to ignore the voice and fall back to sleep.

"Jonny." This time there was a hand at his wrist, pulling on his sleeve.

Oh, for Christ's sake. Well, there was little chance of falling back asleep now. He opened his eyes, which took more effort than he'd thought it would. Stupid sedatives. He blinked, almost but not quite managing to focus on the Joker, looking down at him from his position beside Scarecrow on the bed.

"Well, it's about time, Sleeping Beauty." Black-lined eyes scrutinized him, and Scarecrow noticed that for some reason, this hallucination looked like the actual Joker, and not a nightmarish, fear toxin version of him. Odd. It might have been a sign that the medication was taking effect, but he'd never known the hallucinations to get more realistic before they faded, just to become less distracting.

The Joker shook his head. "God, scaredy cat, you've really let yourself go, huh?" He felt leather against his arm, and realized, slowly, that the Joker had pulled his sleeve back and was caressing the scars there. "I mean, I know everyone reacts to breaking up in their, uh, own way, but look at you. I mean, cheer up, emo kid."

Even when hallucinatory, and even when Jonathan was sedated, the Joker still managed to enrage him. I must be the spawn of Satan. Why else would my mind torture me like this? "Don't touch my scars," he muttered, teeth clenched, and could have slammed his head against the wall in frustration once the words left his mouth. Great, responding to the hallucinations now. This is getting to Jonathan levels of pathetic.

Joker smirked, fingers tapping against the reddened, inflamed tissue. "Or you'll what? You used to like it when I touched 'em, didn'tcha?" He paused, eyes scanning Jonathan's body, and tilted his head. "Though…none of those were really self-inflicted, back when we were together." He twisted the final word in his mouth, as if poisoning the syllables that should have formed an innocent term. "What, are you ashamed of the new ones?"

Scarecrow felt his face flush, now really wanting to smash his head against something. For the love of God, get it together. You're letting a damned figment of imagination bother you. He knew about Jonathan's—and by association, his—loss of control well enough, the last thing he needed was this clown reminded him. He looked away to the next bed where Nigma lay sleeping, trying to block the voice and image out.

"Hey." There was a hand on his face, moving his head back to face the Joker. And despite his attempts to look back the other way, he couldn't. Goddamn sedatives. A hallucination should not have power like this, not over him. Jonathan, yes, but Scarecrow was better than that. He was above that. It had to be the sedatives weakening his resolve, because he was above being pushed around by an illusion.

Or at least, he was supposed to be.

"You are embarrassed," Joker said, running his fingers across his captive's burning face. Scarecrow tried turning away again, and the Joker, giggling, grabbed him by the hair, holding him in place. "That's cute, you know that? Mr. All-Powerful Scarecrow, supposed to be so removed from lowly ordinary people, so, uh, above all that, and you're embarrassed by a few deformities." He tilted his head again, considering. "Or…you're not bothered by the scars themselves, are you? No, it's just what they represent." His hand left Jonathan's face, went over his mouth as he giggled. "You lost control, huh?"

"Shut up."

"You did. You so did. You. Lost. Control. You hacked yourself up, because you couldn't take it. You couldn't take a breakup, for Christ's sake. I mean, c'mon. How pathetic is that? You couldn't have just, I dunno, bitched in your Livejournal for a few hours, 'til you got over it?"

It occurred to Scarecrow, somewhere between his rage and shame, that he had no idea what a Livejournal was. Great. Now the hallucinations had developed self-awareness. It was like that episode of The Twilight Zone, only without the robots. "I cut myself because I was insane at the time, you idiot."

"Whatever." He gave a dismissive shrug, hand disappearing into his jacket for a moment, presumably straightening the suspenders underneath, judging from the movement. "You're always insane. The point is, you're human. You're not immune to emotion."

Don't let it get to you. He's not real, it's just yo—it's just Jonathan's insecurities manifesting. Don't let it get to you. He tried to keep his face impassive and almost succeeded. "So what?"

"So you're just like everyone else." His hand was back on Scarecrow, caressing his cheek almost gently. "You're not special. And that drives you crazy, doesn't it, Jonny? 'Cause you've always been about power, and now your body's a living reminder that you can't lord over it all. You're not special. And you can't offer anything to the Batman that I couldn't do better. 'Cause I'm actually, you know, a challenge."

Scarecrow stared, mind blank for a second. Where the hell did that come from? Since when was Jonathan insecure about Batman liking the Clown Prince of Crime more? His other half hated the Bat just as badly as he did, or at least he thought so. Then again, there was that dream from last night…Fantastic. Just fantastic. As if the malnutrition and the hallucinations weren't enough, his alter ego had a crush on the goddamn Batman?

It was too much. It was all too much. He was enraged and ashamed and unsettled, and starving, despite the fact that eating made him just as sick as neglecting food had. He was drugged up to his eyeballs and then some, and even that wasn't enough to block out crap like this. And he was still shaking all over. But above all that, he was tired. Exhausted, really. His eyes were half-closed as he made himself look back at the Joker. "Fascinating insight. Are you about finished?"

To his astonishment—and mild amusement—the Joker looked confused for once. "What?"

"I'm tired," he said, mocking the Joker's inflections. "This is the fourth time I've been up tonight, so if you're quite through with humiliating me, I'd like to go back to sleep. All right?"

The clown's eyes narrowed, hand that had been stroking Scarecrow's hair twisting painfully. "It isn't wise to talk back to me, Jonny. You remember the last time you tried that?"

He rolled his eyes. "Find a new threat, would you? There's nothing you can do to me." And there wasn't. He might hallucinate pain, but the only injuries ever caused during these periods were self-inflicted. "I'm strapped down to the bed, idiot. What can you possibly hope to accomplish?"

The expression on the Joker's face was more than mildly amusing now. He looked about as lost as a nun in a red light district. "Have you completely lost it?" he managed, after a moment, look shifting back to angry. "Still suicidal, I guess?"

"Suicidal?" He laughed back, partly at the idiocy of the idea and partly at the Joker's look. "Right. Because provoking a hallucination is so likely to get me killed. What do you plan to do, annoy me to death?"

There was a pause, of about thirty seconds or so. "Huh?"

"That's the best you can come up with?" He laughed again. "I suppose the Xanax moved to the part of my head imagining you. Good to know."

He blinked more than a few times, rapidly. "Jonathan? I'm not a hallucination, you idiot."

"Sure you're not. Just like you weren't this morning. Or yesterday. Or every day since I stopped taking the pills."

"Every day?" The Joker still looked incredulous, though he managed a smirk. "Damn, I didn't know you were obsessed with me that bad."

"Right. Look, why don't you run along and come back when I've gotten some sleep? Maybe Jonathan will be the one who sees you when you come back, and he'll actually fall for it. Or not, I think the meds are kicking in again. But you can always try."

The Joker slapped him, impact making him see stars in one eye. It hurt like hell, but then, everything hurt lately. It was easy enough to ignore, past the initial shock.

"I take it someone doesn't like realizing he's imaginary, then?"

"Idiot. How can I hit you, if I don't exist?"

"Because the hallucinations aren't restricted to visual and auditory, obviously. I can imagine sensations as well. You're a part of me; shouldn't you know this?"

"Part of you?" The Joker shook his head. "Hate to break it to you, honey, but I'm way too interesting to be anybody's dream. Let alone some whiny little bitch who's gotta slice himself up to deal with his angst."

"Oh, as if you're one to talk. You think you're some greater class of person yourself, don't you? So…unaffected by remorse, or love, or fear." Scarecrow smirked back, pulling against the restraints a bit to sit up. "So tell me; if you're supposed to be fearless, why are you so concerned that the Batman might care about me?"

Hands grabbed him by the hair, slamming his head back against the cinderblock wall behind the pillow. He saw stars again, numb for a second before the pain reared its ugly head. "Correct me if I'm wrong, scaredy cat, but haven't I already taught you why it's a bad idea to mock me on that particular point?"

"Well, if you're referring to the real Joker, then yes," he said, trying to make his vision focus again, and so far failing. "You, Mr. Hallucination, have only alluded to it in our unfortunately prolonged exposure to each other. I daresay you haven't quite got his talent for sending a message."

"Really?" There were hands around his throat now, not yet restricting his air supply, and all he could do was laugh. "You wanna test that, Jonny?"

"As I've said repeatedly now, I'd rather try that when I've had sleep."

"Well, hate to break it to you, kitten, but I've got plans for tonight, and none of 'em involve your unconsciousness anytime soon."

"Don't call me that," he snapped, humor fading from his expression. It was only a nickname, yes, but it was far too close to bringing up memories of time spent together, memories that, despite the falling out, weren't entirely unpleasant to look back on. Which made them all the worse, made him feel all the more betrayed by his own damn emotions.

Joker's smug grin was back, fingers stroking the bandages over Scarecrow's hand. "Or what, kitten? As you said yourself, you're kinda strapped down at the moment." His hand trailed upward, slipping under Scarecrow's sleeve and caressing the scars again. "I can do whatever I want, and there's not a damn thing you can do to put a stop to it, is there?"

Goddamn it. Of course, just when he'd found some method of revenge his mind had to run it. "Fine," he said, keeping his voice mostly flat. "Do your worst. Why should I care? It's not as if it's actually happening."

"Right." His hand reemerged from the sleeve, stroked Scarecrow's face on the unscarred side, where he could feel every second of it. "Tell yourself that all you want, if it makes you feel better. But somehow I doubt that'll keep it from getting way under your skin, kitten."

"What are y—" And then the Joker leaned down, pushing his mouth against Scarecrow's.

Fuck.

Imagined or not, it felt exactly the way their kisses had in real life. He could taste the Joker's lipstick, along with that gingivitis flavor he'd actually been able to ignore—God only knows how—in their time together, could feel the smooth paint and the heat and texture of scarred lips against his mouth, tongue trying to force its way between his own tightly clenched lips. It brought back the memory of every moment they'd shared and then some, and brought tears to his eyes, tears he refused to let out.

The reminders it brought up—the times Jonathan had told the Joker he loved him, the oddly sweet moments they'd shared, the kissing and what had followed it—were miserable enough, twisting his insides as if his organs had been shoved in a vice. But worse than that, there was still a part of him, somewhere far, far removed from the logical bits of his mind, that still responded to the touch. That actually wanted to kiss back, and that realization was nearly enough to make him retch.

Then there was a sound of footsteps, and Joker pulled back at once, wiping the paint he'd left on Scarecrow's face away with his sleeve. He'd just lowered his arm back to his side when the doors to the infirmary opened and Harley stepped inside. He noticed, as the tears cleared from his vision, that the night nurse appeared to be missing. "Huh. Never hallucinated you before."

She stepped out of the way of the doors swinging back, stared. "What?"

"Ignore him, Harl. He's confused."

Behind her, the doors swung shut, with a loud slam. In the bed beside him, Edward Nigma twitched, and sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Jonathan? What was that?"

He'd woken Nigma up? Interesting. He must have made some sound without realizing it. He'd never considered that noises he heard when hallucinating might well have been himself acting the fantasies out. "It's nothing. I'm hallucinating again, sorry. Just go back to sleep, all right? I'll be fine."

But Nigma had lowered his hands, and was now staring past Scarecrow, eyes wide, at the spot on the bed beside him where the Joker sat. Almost as if he could see him. Almost as if the Joker was really…oh shit.

And then Jonathan was back, shaking like a startled rabbit, new tears threatening to come to his eyes. "N-Nigma? Tell me you can't—"

"Jonathan." He sounded as if he were trying to stay calm. Trying being the operative word. "Jonathan, what's he doing here?"

"But…but…" His brain refused to process it. Joker couldn't be here. He couldn't. "H-he's not real, right? You've been t-telling me that this whole time, haven't you? He can't—he isn't—" Nigma shook his head and he stopped mid-protest, heart sinking. Shit. I'm beyond dead.

"Why are you here?" Wisely, Nigma directed the question at Harley, from whom there was at least half a chance of getting a straight answer.

"To see Batman, of course." She said it as if it should be obvious, sitting on the bed by Jonathan. In her gloved hand she took his uninjured one, and held tighter when he pulled away, stroking his face like one might pet a frightened animal.

"Why here?" Nigma asked, and Jonathan could see, through his terror, that his friend's mind was already working overtime to try and puzzle it out.

"Well, for starters, to visit scaredy cat here," Joker said, taking Jonathan's other hand and squeezing just enough to be painful. He smirked at Jonathan's gasp and went on. "And to remind him who the Bat's nemesis is. And second, because I had a lotta bombs, and I was in the mood to set 'em off. So if Batman doesn't show, this whole building goes sky high. No great loss, right? I mean, this is Arkham."

Never before had Jonathan found himself hoping for the Batman's arrival. Now, he was praying for it.

AN: The next chapter will have Bruce. About time too, considering I listed him as the second character as so far he's had one appearance.

I don't consider self-mutilation to be emo, but I can see the Joker mocking someone with that problem. Nor do I have anything against Livejournals. I have one myself.