Candy Cigarettes (2/4)
Title: Candy Cigarettes (2/4)
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Rating: PG-13 (Though I want to say R)
Word count: 15218
Warnings: Drug use, violence, disturbing imagery, and innuendo (Bats and Clowns do not make nice housepets)
Summary: Superman visits Arkham, and finds the Joker behind bars. He and the Joker have an unusual conversation about Batman.
A/N: This is my first DC fic. I really want to thank
quiet__tiger for the exhaustive beta read. (So many rounds. She is totally cool! And all those that offered their support. Hope you enjoy
The Joker stood in the doorway of the room that Arnie was in, flanked by three guards.
“Mr. Wesker, could you clear out of here? Once we get the security cameras in place and the lights up Patient J is going to be housed here in Level C in this surveillance area, separated from the other patients until his cell is fixed.” It didn’t make sense that they wouldn’t put him a private cell. But maybe it was necessary. It was easier to monitor the area than a private room on Wing C, in front of all the cameras and the steel bars locking all the patients in. The officials at Arkham had tried to use a medium security cell with precautions, but those rooms were only on the fourth floor and had windows and the Joker was not afraid of scaling the heightsusing a small homemade ladder or even jumping.
“The Joker, that jerk off,” the wooden puppet grumbled. “Like I need another Fruitloop in my face. I was here first. Dummy, you better not be responsible for this fuck up or I will kick your ass too.”
“Scarface, why do you blame everything on me?” Wesker whined, reaching out for the puppet.
“Good to see you, Scarface, Mapplethorpe.” Joker shook the puppet’s hand, as if he was really a part of the conversation. “How you doing, Dummy?” He rubbed Arnie’s bald head.
“Ease up there. No contact with fellow inmates until Dr. George says so.” The guard hovered over Joker. He was extremely nervous.
Supermen noted that Joker was shackled at the wrists, instead of using mere handcuffs, so he couldn’t slip them off his wrists or touch his hands together, and could only leer through those bars of the steel gate. The Joker had an armed guard by his side of the bars with a Taser and a tranq gun. The whir of cameras in the corner indicated he was under the best surveillance they could provide right now. And Superman was right in front of him. What would he try?
The guards were large physical guys, experienced working with criminals and psychotics, and phased in and out of the conversation. They were able to ignore the constant barrage of insane monologues. They stood by, quietly focusing on the Joker’s movements.
“Didn’t you hear, Mr. Joker, about Atman-Bay and Uperman-say?” Arnold asked.
“Hear about it? I thought I started that rumor,” Joker said, looking confused. Joker came right into the room, and he and Superman had never been closer. “But it bears repeating.” Joker smiled at Superman.
Scarface spat he was so angry. “If there was any way I could hate the Batman more, it’s this. That smug pole-smoking sonuva bitch…. No wonder he lives in a cave with boys.” Scarface growled and snarled.
“I feel ya,” Joker addressed the puppet. “But don’t think he did it to piss us off. Can you imagine the great personal depth of pain to keep a secret like that?” The Joker patted Scarface on the back, affectionately. “You know if I had to live with such stress, I’d fucking punch a guy in the throat. Although then I would have had a reason to do what I did to the man at the coffee shop last month. It would have been less funny, but still he might have appreciated it more…. Good times,” Joker confided in the puppet. “And the good Bishop Mumblety Peg says, ‘Judge not lest ye be judged.’”
“Mappletorpe, sir. Well, like the Good Book says….”
Joker groaned and picked up the monkey, stealing it from Arnold. “Blah blah blah. Blaha, lots of crap that doesn’t work in reality. Levitijohn 12:13. Amen.” He brought the Monkey to his face.
“You can’t do that!” Arnie panicked.
“You can’t do that.” Joker mocked him. “Evangelizing Monkeys are worse then the Rastafarians. I can‘t take it anymore.”
Joker started playing with it. "Oh, look now, your monkey can FLY! He’s filled with the Holy Spirit. Hallelujah!" He launched the monkey high through the air towards the ceiling.
The guards tried to spring into action and stop him but Joker wriggled away.
"Mr. Mapplethorpe!" The Ventriloquist raced after his puppet. He was having a breakdown.
“Come now! He’s apotheosizing! It’s the Monkey Puppet Rapture!” Joker played Keep Away with the monkey. “Take him, Jesus, he’s ready.”
“He’s not! Stop it!” Arnie clambered and howled.
“Praise Jesus!” Joker bellowed.
“You two get down now!” The guards gave them a verbal warning.
“YOU’RE KILLING HIM! Give him back. Give him back!” the man screamed his head off.
"Hahahaaha," Scarface the marionette laughed. "Take that, Mapplethorpe, you stupid monkey. Look at how useless that dummy is.”
“Leave him alone,” Arnie cried to Joker.
“Help, I’m doomed!” the monkey screamed.
Joker threw the monkey through the bars onto Clark’s side of the cage. Superman actually jumped back. He didn’t know if it was rigged to explode.
“Monkey! MONKEY! MONKEY!” Arnie screamed, trying to break through the iron bars and set his puppet free. His eyes were crazy red and shining as the Joker laughed.
It was hard to filter out all the screams and the chatter and the encouragements that Joker was supplying Arnie to act up, urging him to freak out even more than he already was.
The orderlies managed to subdue both of the patients. Soon two guys were holding the Joker down, and Arnie was on the floor on his back yowling like a child.
Was this what it was like in a crazy person’s mind? It would like be if he turned up all his superhearing to hear every voice in the city shout at the top of his lungs.
“You gotta save Mr. Mapplethorpe, Superman! He’s all I have!” Arnold cried.
Superman grabbed the monkey from off the floor, feeling so helpless. This man was trapped in the chaos of his mind and would be in the asylum for the rest of his life. “No no no. He’s fine. He just fell on the floor. He’s…” Superman bent over to pick up the toy. He held him up.
“Superman, you saved him!” The little strange man had tears in his eyes. “You’re a hero.”
“Bless you, Superman, and all you do!” the monkey said to Clark.
He handed the monkey to the little man. “Here you are, don‘t lose this one.” He wished he could launch that Scarface into deep space to that lovely planet of lava and intelligent cultured termite people he had been to a few years ago.
The Scarface puppet sat silently for a while as the monkey puppet spoke kindly to the little man as he petted his puppet.
That was the last possible thing that Superman could ever do to help, it felt so petty and insignificant. A child could have done it.
Superman knew why he hadn’t come down here to Arkham before.
The orderlies began to try to calm Arnie down and drag him back to his room. “We’re just a little over stimulated by all the people. Come on, Arnie.”
“Don’t forget me!” Scarface shouted.
“I don’t want to talk to you, Scarface. Leave me alone,” Arnie said to the puppet. Trying his hardest to drown the noise of his alter ego out of his mind. Some small justice.
Superman wiped off his hand. It was Arnie’s chance to fight evil now.
The first orderly cleared out Wesker and his puppets. Two more remained, pacing uneasily. Arnie could be a handful.
"Thank you for getting rid of him.” Joker smiled as the other orderly pinned his arms back. “Whew!” Joker laughed. “Arnie used to be such a blast. Drinking all night, making crack out of baking soda, cutting himself, telling these screamingly funny stories about getting gang banged in juvie every night for six years. I nearly split my sides. When he told the group about how his mother tried to drown him, milk shot out of my nose. And when that stupid puppet bitch smacks him around, it’s a riot. Isn’t it a riot? Who said that ventriloquists aren’t funny? I think they’re funny.” He laughed. “The second he stopped taking crystal meth he turns into a freak.”
Joker kicked Wesker’s Bible under the door. “We get rid of this.”
The guard held up his Taser. “You stop that. We are not messing around,” he shouted at the Joker. “You are not allowed to speak with other patients or visitors until Dr. George reinstates your privileges. You are going to sit there and behave,” the orderly reminded him. The chain on the shackles had too much slack. The orderly took the shackles and attached them to the steel bars on the door, by the chain so he couldn’t leave the room. He could only pace around two or three steps. He couldn’t use the chain as a garrotte either, since his hands were in the sturdy steel contraption. Even with the guards and orderlies right there.
The Joker squirmed and bucked, but the sedative found his leg and he slumped down, unable to hold himself up. Joker wouldn’t be able to run with that much juice in his system.
Joker closed his eyes in an act that sort of resembled surrender. The remaining orderlies disengaged, letting the drug settle him down, and went after Arnold.
Superman thought that staring was impolite so he always tried to stop himself, but as Joker opened his eyes and started looking at him he couldn’t help staring back. They had used some sort of muscle relaxant so he was still alert and awake. He looked sick today. Teeth looked too yellow next to bone white skin. His eyes were deep set and a bit limpid. If they weren’t swirling with madness, he might have called them big brown puppy dog eyes. It was too strange. His hair looked like a chlorinated pool with self-done green highlights, like ribbons. Superman wondered if he had gotten hair dye on the inside. And where he had gotten make-up. The man wore make-up the color of lead white on his face, perhaps an homage to the actors of ancient yore who had contracted lead poisoning leading to a madness this mad genius had refined, or perhaps just for the striking visual effect.
He wasn’t born sickly looking. Clark was surprised how most of his face was fine-featured, and delicate. A strong jaw with a girlish heart shaped chin with one dimple. There was some kind of accident, involving a factory, a fire, or chemical burns or something. Make-up an inch thick couldn’t cover the problems with his face. On one side was a charming dimple and the cupid’s bow of full lush lips; but the other was slashed by an x-shaped scar. The texture of his skin was meaty and scarred, but colored powder white like someone had painted the dirty ground. The most disturbing thing under the slash of red he put over his lips was that he hadn’t just painted his lips red; he painted over the skin where his lip should have been. It was missing because of the scars. He had painted on his own face.
The pretty features were more frightening than they should have been, compared to all those scars. His face seemed like an obscene joke.
“Mr. Superman. We gave him a sedative, to moderate his behavior while he’s out of his cell. Will you watch him while we get Arnie back to his room? We’ll only be ten minutes.”
“I will do my best,” Superman said. At least with the Joker subdued and injected the chaotic part of his trip was over. He had dealt with the Joker before. He even sent the Clown here on a few occasions when Batman needed help.
“There was an incident of arson in his cell. We really are investigating the situation. Batman is around trying to make sense of the crime scene,” the guard said. “We think…” Superman nodded. When Batman said he had fires to put out in Arkham, he was being literal.
The head guard addressed the doped up Joker. “You sit down there,” the guard said to the Joker, rattling the bars on the steel gate with his nightstick. There was a blue line drawn on the floor down the middle of the partitioned cell. “You do not cross this line to attack Superman or you are going back into solitary confinement,” the orderly said. “Dr. George’s orders.”
“It’s okay. He’s not bothering me, guys,” Superman said. “He’s just a criminal. They like to hear themselves talk. I just ignore him.”
“Nice to see you again, Superman. You rock. Come back anytime. There is no need for us to worry with this guy around.” The guard pointed proudly at Superman. The guard tried to high five him but Superman shook his hand instead. The guards all left the room..
Superman nodded. He spoke to their departing backs, “I just hope I don’t get in the way.” The guards thought they could take a break with the most important superhero in the world in the room. Superman tried to remember who he was as he watched Joker on the ground.
Even incapacitated Joker might gambol free. He was dangerous and unpredictable. The situation was unfamiliar and risky. Superman had learned to be nervous around the quick more than the strong over the years. There was something casual and powerful in the way that Joker moved, even when not moving.
His eyes were still awake, but that could have been a result of using such a potent muscle relaxer instead of narcotics. He would be awake the whole time. Superman stared intently until…
"I thought those dicks for brains would never leave.” The Joker immediately sat up. He tried to stand, but instead stretched out his foot over the line and stuck out his tongue, in a gesture of pointless defiance. It was less then three feet from where the Joker slumped.
next part
Pairing: Clark/Bruce
Rating: PG-13 (Though I want to say R)
Word count: 15218
Warnings: Drug use, violence, disturbing imagery, and innuendo (Bats and Clowns do not make nice housepets)
Summary: Superman visits Arkham, and finds the Joker behind bars. He and the Joker have an unusual conversation about Batman.
A/N: This is my first DC fic. I really want to thank
quiet__tiger for the exhaustive beta read. (So many rounds. She is totally cool! And all those that offered their support. Hope you enjoy
The Joker stood in the doorway of the room that Arnie was in, flanked by three guards.
“Mr. Wesker, could you clear out of here? Once we get the security cameras in place and the lights up Patient J is going to be housed here in Level C in this surveillance area, separated from the other patients until his cell is fixed.” It didn’t make sense that they wouldn’t put him a private cell. But maybe it was necessary. It was easier to monitor the area than a private room on Wing C, in front of all the cameras and the steel bars locking all the patients in. The officials at Arkham had tried to use a medium security cell with precautions, but those rooms were only on the fourth floor and had windows and the Joker was not afraid of scaling the heightsusing a small homemade ladder or even jumping.
“The Joker, that jerk off,” the wooden puppet grumbled. “Like I need another Fruitloop in my face. I was here first. Dummy, you better not be responsible for this fuck up or I will kick your ass too.”
“Scarface, why do you blame everything on me?” Wesker whined, reaching out for the puppet.
“Good to see you, Scarface, Mapplethorpe.” Joker shook the puppet’s hand, as if he was really a part of the conversation. “How you doing, Dummy?” He rubbed Arnie’s bald head.
“Ease up there. No contact with fellow inmates until Dr. George says so.” The guard hovered over Joker. He was extremely nervous.
Supermen noted that Joker was shackled at the wrists, instead of using mere handcuffs, so he couldn’t slip them off his wrists or touch his hands together, and could only leer through those bars of the steel gate. The Joker had an armed guard by his side of the bars with a Taser and a tranq gun. The whir of cameras in the corner indicated he was under the best surveillance they could provide right now. And Superman was right in front of him. What would he try?
The guards were large physical guys, experienced working with criminals and psychotics, and phased in and out of the conversation. They were able to ignore the constant barrage of insane monologues. They stood by, quietly focusing on the Joker’s movements.
“Didn’t you hear, Mr. Joker, about Atman-Bay and Uperman-say?” Arnold asked.
“Hear about it? I thought I started that rumor,” Joker said, looking confused. Joker came right into the room, and he and Superman had never been closer. “But it bears repeating.” Joker smiled at Superman.
Scarface spat he was so angry. “If there was any way I could hate the Batman more, it’s this. That smug pole-smoking sonuva bitch…. No wonder he lives in a cave with boys.” Scarface growled and snarled.
“I feel ya,” Joker addressed the puppet. “But don’t think he did it to piss us off. Can you imagine the great personal depth of pain to keep a secret like that?” The Joker patted Scarface on the back, affectionately. “You know if I had to live with such stress, I’d fucking punch a guy in the throat. Although then I would have had a reason to do what I did to the man at the coffee shop last month. It would have been less funny, but still he might have appreciated it more…. Good times,” Joker confided in the puppet. “And the good Bishop Mumblety Peg says, ‘Judge not lest ye be judged.’”
“Mappletorpe, sir. Well, like the Good Book says….”
Joker groaned and picked up the monkey, stealing it from Arnold. “Blah blah blah. Blaha, lots of crap that doesn’t work in reality. Levitijohn 12:13. Amen.” He brought the Monkey to his face.
“You can’t do that!” Arnie panicked.
“You can’t do that.” Joker mocked him. “Evangelizing Monkeys are worse then the Rastafarians. I can‘t take it anymore.”
Joker started playing with it. "Oh, look now, your monkey can FLY! He’s filled with the Holy Spirit. Hallelujah!" He launched the monkey high through the air towards the ceiling.
The guards tried to spring into action and stop him but Joker wriggled away.
"Mr. Mapplethorpe!" The Ventriloquist raced after his puppet. He was having a breakdown.
“Come now! He’s apotheosizing! It’s the Monkey Puppet Rapture!” Joker played Keep Away with the monkey. “Take him, Jesus, he’s ready.”
“He’s not! Stop it!” Arnie clambered and howled.
“Praise Jesus!” Joker bellowed.
“You two get down now!” The guards gave them a verbal warning.
“YOU’RE KILLING HIM! Give him back. Give him back!” the man screamed his head off.
"Hahahaaha," Scarface the marionette laughed. "Take that, Mapplethorpe, you stupid monkey. Look at how useless that dummy is.”
“Leave him alone,” Arnie cried to Joker.
“Help, I’m doomed!” the monkey screamed.
Joker threw the monkey through the bars onto Clark’s side of the cage. Superman actually jumped back. He didn’t know if it was rigged to explode.
“Monkey! MONKEY! MONKEY!” Arnie screamed, trying to break through the iron bars and set his puppet free. His eyes were crazy red and shining as the Joker laughed.
It was hard to filter out all the screams and the chatter and the encouragements that Joker was supplying Arnie to act up, urging him to freak out even more than he already was.
The orderlies managed to subdue both of the patients. Soon two guys were holding the Joker down, and Arnie was on the floor on his back yowling like a child.
Was this what it was like in a crazy person’s mind? It would like be if he turned up all his superhearing to hear every voice in the city shout at the top of his lungs.
“You gotta save Mr. Mapplethorpe, Superman! He’s all I have!” Arnold cried.
Superman grabbed the monkey from off the floor, feeling so helpless. This man was trapped in the chaos of his mind and would be in the asylum for the rest of his life. “No no no. He’s fine. He just fell on the floor. He’s…” Superman bent over to pick up the toy. He held him up.
“Superman, you saved him!” The little strange man had tears in his eyes. “You’re a hero.”
“Bless you, Superman, and all you do!” the monkey said to Clark.
He handed the monkey to the little man. “Here you are, don‘t lose this one.” He wished he could launch that Scarface into deep space to that lovely planet of lava and intelligent cultured termite people he had been to a few years ago.
The Scarface puppet sat silently for a while as the monkey puppet spoke kindly to the little man as he petted his puppet.
That was the last possible thing that Superman could ever do to help, it felt so petty and insignificant. A child could have done it.
Superman knew why he hadn’t come down here to Arkham before.
The orderlies began to try to calm Arnie down and drag him back to his room. “We’re just a little over stimulated by all the people. Come on, Arnie.”
“Don’t forget me!” Scarface shouted.
“I don’t want to talk to you, Scarface. Leave me alone,” Arnie said to the puppet. Trying his hardest to drown the noise of his alter ego out of his mind. Some small justice.
Superman wiped off his hand. It was Arnie’s chance to fight evil now.
The first orderly cleared out Wesker and his puppets. Two more remained, pacing uneasily. Arnie could be a handful.
"Thank you for getting rid of him.” Joker smiled as the other orderly pinned his arms back. “Whew!” Joker laughed. “Arnie used to be such a blast. Drinking all night, making crack out of baking soda, cutting himself, telling these screamingly funny stories about getting gang banged in juvie every night for six years. I nearly split my sides. When he told the group about how his mother tried to drown him, milk shot out of my nose. And when that stupid puppet bitch smacks him around, it’s a riot. Isn’t it a riot? Who said that ventriloquists aren’t funny? I think they’re funny.” He laughed. “The second he stopped taking crystal meth he turns into a freak.”
Joker kicked Wesker’s Bible under the door. “We get rid of this.”
The guard held up his Taser. “You stop that. We are not messing around,” he shouted at the Joker. “You are not allowed to speak with other patients or visitors until Dr. George reinstates your privileges. You are going to sit there and behave,” the orderly reminded him. The chain on the shackles had too much slack. The orderly took the shackles and attached them to the steel bars on the door, by the chain so he couldn’t leave the room. He could only pace around two or three steps. He couldn’t use the chain as a garrotte either, since his hands were in the sturdy steel contraption. Even with the guards and orderlies right there.
The Joker squirmed and bucked, but the sedative found his leg and he slumped down, unable to hold himself up. Joker wouldn’t be able to run with that much juice in his system.
Joker closed his eyes in an act that sort of resembled surrender. The remaining orderlies disengaged, letting the drug settle him down, and went after Arnold.
Superman thought that staring was impolite so he always tried to stop himself, but as Joker opened his eyes and started looking at him he couldn’t help staring back. They had used some sort of muscle relaxant so he was still alert and awake. He looked sick today. Teeth looked too yellow next to bone white skin. His eyes were deep set and a bit limpid. If they weren’t swirling with madness, he might have called them big brown puppy dog eyes. It was too strange. His hair looked like a chlorinated pool with self-done green highlights, like ribbons. Superman wondered if he had gotten hair dye on the inside. And where he had gotten make-up. The man wore make-up the color of lead white on his face, perhaps an homage to the actors of ancient yore who had contracted lead poisoning leading to a madness this mad genius had refined, or perhaps just for the striking visual effect.
He wasn’t born sickly looking. Clark was surprised how most of his face was fine-featured, and delicate. A strong jaw with a girlish heart shaped chin with one dimple. There was some kind of accident, involving a factory, a fire, or chemical burns or something. Make-up an inch thick couldn’t cover the problems with his face. On one side was a charming dimple and the cupid’s bow of full lush lips; but the other was slashed by an x-shaped scar. The texture of his skin was meaty and scarred, but colored powder white like someone had painted the dirty ground. The most disturbing thing under the slash of red he put over his lips was that he hadn’t just painted his lips red; he painted over the skin where his lip should have been. It was missing because of the scars. He had painted on his own face.
The pretty features were more frightening than they should have been, compared to all those scars. His face seemed like an obscene joke.
“Mr. Superman. We gave him a sedative, to moderate his behavior while he’s out of his cell. Will you watch him while we get Arnie back to his room? We’ll only be ten minutes.”
“I will do my best,” Superman said. At least with the Joker subdued and injected the chaotic part of his trip was over. He had dealt with the Joker before. He even sent the Clown here on a few occasions when Batman needed help.
“There was an incident of arson in his cell. We really are investigating the situation. Batman is around trying to make sense of the crime scene,” the guard said. “We think…” Superman nodded. When Batman said he had fires to put out in Arkham, he was being literal.
The head guard addressed the doped up Joker. “You sit down there,” the guard said to the Joker, rattling the bars on the steel gate with his nightstick. There was a blue line drawn on the floor down the middle of the partitioned cell. “You do not cross this line to attack Superman or you are going back into solitary confinement,” the orderly said. “Dr. George’s orders.”
“It’s okay. He’s not bothering me, guys,” Superman said. “He’s just a criminal. They like to hear themselves talk. I just ignore him.”
“Nice to see you again, Superman. You rock. Come back anytime. There is no need for us to worry with this guy around.” The guard pointed proudly at Superman. The guard tried to high five him but Superman shook his hand instead. The guards all left the room..
Superman nodded. He spoke to their departing backs, “I just hope I don’t get in the way.” The guards thought they could take a break with the most important superhero in the world in the room. Superman tried to remember who he was as he watched Joker on the ground.
Even incapacitated Joker might gambol free. He was dangerous and unpredictable. The situation was unfamiliar and risky. Superman had learned to be nervous around the quick more than the strong over the years. There was something casual and powerful in the way that Joker moved, even when not moving.
His eyes were still awake, but that could have been a result of using such a potent muscle relaxer instead of narcotics. He would be awake the whole time. Superman stared intently until…
"I thought those dicks for brains would never leave.” The Joker immediately sat up. He tried to stand, but instead stretched out his foot over the line and stuck out his tongue, in a gesture of pointless defiance. It was less then three feet from where the Joker slumped.
next part