Slipping Into Entropy - Part 11
Alfred made sure Bruce ate something, and he tried to get the Wayne heir to go to bed, but that was no use. Bruce stalked around the rooms for a while, then took to sitting at the window. Alfred noticed he never faced away from the direction of the bat-signal. The butler knew it was no good talking to him, so he didn't try. He hoped Bruce would find what he was looking for; a mystery like the Joker could consume a man like the young billionaire.
No signal came that night. Bruce stayed up well into the morning waiting for it. Once or twice he thought he'd seen a flicker of it, then blinked, and decided he'd been awake for too long. In the end he fell asleep in his chair; Alfred put a blanket over him once he was out. He slept into the morning, but had fitful dreams. Half remembered visions of sickly green hair, yellow teeth and shining eyes writhing against him, and laughing at him at the same time filled his head when he woke up.
It made his skin crawl, it really did, every time he made his rounds and checked on the cell at the end. He kept telling himself it was only for a couple of days; all they had to do was hold out and keep the freak drugged, and after everything was processed the docs would cart him back off to rot in some dark corner of Arkham. More'n he deserves. Hell, what's to keep him from escaping again? Insanity plea, my ass. They should give him the chair while we still have a hold on him...
As the day went on, it became clearer and clearer that the police staff at the station had no idea how to handle Joker. They tried to let him wake up gradually on his own, figuring that no matter how insane, every living thing had the same bodily needs to attend to. This criminal, however, seemed to pick right up from wherever he'd left off when he slipped into unconsciousness, causing one male officer to shriek in terror when a dirty hand caught his ankle after he entered the cell to drop off a plate of food.
Joker flickered back and forth between consciousness. Everything came back sharply as soon as his senses returned, feeling the concrete and the stale air around him, causing the same pangs of fear and rage all over again. When they drugged him back into the dark silence, there was nothing but dark, erotic nightmares best left unremembered.
Showering, breakfast, and stretching were all performed with Bruce's mind elsewhere. His neck was stiff from sleeping upright after fighting, and forgetting to stretch the day before. Bits and pieces of his dreams came back to him, but he didn't really want to remember them, so he pushed them from his mind. All he knew was that they'd involved the Joker, and were either very sexual or very......violent. He couldn't discern which. It made his stomach churn.
When Bruce encountered his new security again, they looked marginally happier to see him than they had been last night. It might have only been because they hadn't lost track of him. He had a headache, and was feeling irritable, which suited a morning after a night like they believed him to have perfectly. So far they'd been watching over him, minus that one incident, with no trouble. He was really hoping they'd go away. He rubbed his temple, trying to will away the pressure. He needed to know if Gordon had found anything yet, so he laid the cell he used for those sorts of calls on the coffee table and stared at it. Alfred came and went several times before the phone vibrated on the table.
"I've got what they had on him at Arkham, but I gotta say it isn't much." Gordon's voice came through clearly but he sounded flustered. "Something happened last night....to him. They're not sure what; he hurt himself pretty badly. Nothing serious though, had to sedate him. We want to put him back in Arkham."
"I'll meet you on the roof, this evening." Bruce hung up.
Batman was out of the Wayne tower as soon as the sun began to set. This time he stopped at the warehouse for the Tumbler. The new model, though very much like the old, had a few extra gadgets including a monitor from which he could access his central computer or the television if he liked. So far there hadn't been anything on the news about Batman being Bruce Wayne nor Wayne's company going under. Still, he didn't want to push his luck. He met with Gordon, taking the files saved on a tiny flash drive, but left quickly. The commissioner's eyes had been too searching when he talked for a second time about taking the Joker back to Arkham. They would be moving him soon, and Batman had a feeling that once he was there, all deals were off.
Evening crawled closer, seeming to take forever. When Joker woke again and didn't immediately start screaming and raising hell, they decided to leave things be until he started up again. Their supplies would have to last until a team from Arkham dropped more off or came to get him.
Moving to the corner of his cell, sitting in a defensive crouch, Joker looked the opposite of his normally manic self. As much as his face was forced into a smile by the scars, the expression beneath was flat, fear and anger still dancing in his eyes.
Joker had taken to pacing the cell, snarling and backing into the corner whenever the patrolling officer checked the ward, dart gun ready. His mind wasn't able to work straight; the small space was affecting him, there were too many possibilities. Things had seemed so certain, he'd planned every possible course and the unforeseen had happened.
It was night. Night, and he still hadn't come. Night, and then another day in this space, drugged unconscious while they-... and then they'd-... Grabbing one of the bars for support, helpless laughter came pouring out, echoing down the ward and attracting the attention of the officer on guard.
"Hey. You. Quiet down, now, y'hear?" Stepping closer to the cell, he watched the madman laugh until his breath seemed to run out, choking himself. When the skinny man suddenly dropped to the floor, he told himself it was all a ruse, that Joker was just trying to trick him.
When he hadn't moved an inch for a few minutes, the guard got nervous. "...'ey. You ok?" A poke with the muzzle of the gun seemed to do nothing; the inmate just flopped. Goddammit... whu- As he moved to poke him again, a thin hand wrapped around the gun, shoving the butt of the weapon into the guard's face. He fell unconscious with hardly a sound. Scrambling up from the ground, Joker took the gun and poked back at the warden in a sick parody, trying to drag the ring of keys from the unconscious man's belt.
Security at the prison was double what it had been the previous night. Apparently the Joker had caused something of a calamity after Batman had left. He closed his eyes, steeling himself for the future. It sickened him that he would have to fight policemen for the Joker, men who deserved better than to be caught up in his sick game.
He parked the tank not far from the building, but further than he'd liked. It barely fit into an alleyway between two of the station's sheds. Ironic that those sheds were filled with unused squad cars. If he was going to do this, it would have to be fast.
Moving silently down the halls was far more difficult now. Once more Batman used the CCTV loop feed, but he'd run into three guards on foot. He'd had to take them down, quickly. Tied up and gagged, they would be just fine until someone found them. Once more he prayed for time. The inmates he past were quiet for the most part, they shrank from his presence as if he really were a ghost and whispered amongst each other. Only a few shouted to him. Approaching the Joker's cell he recognized a body lying on the floor, and immediately noticing the rifle in the crouched man's hands fishing for something on the body, he was slower in noticing a second guard coming down the hall. The officer had obviously come to the same deduction Batman had, and not seeing the caped man who clung to the shadows, he ran for the Joker.
Bruce's heart leapt. The officer was sprinting, but he was only beginning to draw his weapon; Joker already had one in his hands. In seconds he flew out behind the guard, catching up quickly as he neared the cell. With a grunt and a well placed chop to his shoulders, the guard fell. Batman caught the body and threw the man behind him, out of the Joker's range of fire.
Dilated green eyes turned a hazy focus on him, the chemicals not nearly out of his system and playing havoc with his senses. They stared at each other for a moment - a living shadow and a blood-coated, ragged mess on the floor. "...change your mind, or come to laugh?" he hissed, yanking the barrel of the dartgun back behind the bars, pointing it shakily in Batman's general direction. He couldn't seem to hold the gun straight.
Batman didn't move. He was silently thanking Lucius for the kevlar, but also hoping that the Joker's shaky hands didn't cause him to fire accidentally. He was definitely suffering under the influence of whatever the police had him on. Feeling reckless, Batman rushed to the cell, cape flaring out behind him. He didn't miss the flinch in the Joker's eyes.
"I don't laugh at the damned." He took a miniature explosive from his belt and wedged it against the lock on the door. It blew loudly, and the gates shook, but he didn't waste time entering the Joker's space. Batman eyed the dart gun. "You can bring that with for me to use on you later, or you can leave it here."
Licking his lips nervously, he finally shoved it behind him with a grim set to his mouth. Not that again, no. It took a few moments to make his muscles work, lever himself to his feet... and nearly topple over again, his balance and distorted vision becoming a disorienting jumble. His hands moved instinctively, one hitting the bars of the cell while the other snatched at Batman's chest as he fought to keep his feet under him.
Grabbing the grasping hand and the Joker's collar, Batman dragged him from the cell. They moved down the hall as swiftly as possible, but it was mostly Joker stumbling and Batman carrying him. Unfortunately, the shouts and loud noises of the cell breaking had alerted the police, who were already on their way to take the Joker, to his presence, and their impending escape. A deafening alarm sounded, and Batman winced. The sensors in his ears took a moment to filter the noise into bearable levels.
The noise seemed to further disorient Joker, his free hand clutching at one ear as he hissed. His fingers itched for his knives, wanting to kill the noise and whoever was responsible for the throbbing pain in his head.
As fast as they had been moving, it apparently wasn't enough. A couple of pale officers, all the color drained from their faces in fear, rounded the corner, familiar-looking dart guns in their hands. Raising them into ready position, they didn't seem to know whether to focus on the madman hanging from the Dark Knight's fist or Batman himself. "...f-f-freeze!"
Throwing the Joker's weight on one arm, Batman threw two tiny metal disks at the guards. Both guns flew from their hands and the batarangs fell to the floor with a clatter. "Out of my way!" Batman shouted and they abided as he and the Joker sailed past. The backup that had arrived was not so accommodating. Gunshots whizzed passed them as they ran, one grazing Batman's leg and nearly tripping them over. Fortunately it did little damage. They rounded a corner; bars were on every window, so they took an emergency exit.
They ran into a burst of fresh air, and Batman breathed it in deeply. He got his arms underneath Joker's and took off across the lawn. Spotlights and the buzz of a helicopter were fast approaching.
Joker watched with fascination as the world spun and rushed by, the sedation drugs doing interesting things to his senses. When the taller man picked him up, lifting his unsteady feet off the ground, he had to bite back a growl; his first reaction was to fight back, but even drugged he knew that now was not the time. His unfocused gaze slid down and to the side, trying to spy what kind of weapons the Bat might have handy should he need to fight his way out.
Shots echoed all around them like a symphony. Reaching the Tumbler, Batman threw the Joker inside ahead of him. He was forced to spin and take out two officers that had come up on them from the opposite direction and followed them into the passageway. Once they were down, and the others were getting far too close, he flung himself inside as well, igniting the engine into life and blasting out of the alley. Half of one of the sheds went down in their wake.
Air knocked out of him as he hit the side panel, he only had a moment to recover before being squished tightly against the metal again, the entire machine vibrating as they sped away from the station. Hands and feet seeking some sort of way to stabilize himself, minimize the blows he got every time they hit a bump or turned a curve, everywhere he touched seemed to be a lever or a button. He heard several different clicks from the back of the Tumbler as he unwittingly pressed defense controls, something or another engaging or dropping things behind them. Unable to find any other purchase, he settled for the only thing that came to mind, wrapping himself tighter and clinging to the black-armored form manning the controls.
"Don't touch that!" Batman shouted when the Joker nearly knocked loose a grenade from the rear of the tank. The pursuing squad cars were narrowly saved by the tank's safety precautions. It was so hard to lose them. He wasn't out here saving Rachel, God, Rachel's, life, he wasn't fleeing because he had to; he was giving in to Joker's demands, and betraying the city for it. He snarled at the Joker, unable to take his hands and eyes away from the road. Those hands itched to throw him off, they itched to hurt him.
Idle hands were the devil's playground.
He had to focus, the turmoil inside needed to be pushed back. He needed to use it to get out of there instead.
The shaking was making Joker even more disoriented, quiet giggling barely audible over the thrum of the engine as his stomach heaved and tightened. He didn't dare spare a hand so he could bite on a knuckle, distracting himself from the violent motions of the automobile; instead, he settled for a piece of the black armor in front of him, eyes squeezing shut. At that close range, one couldn't fail to notice the odor that clung to him. It wasn't just the coppery tinge of blood this time, having long been away from the hospital and its required, forced scrubbings; it was dirt and sweat and tears, death and decay and the reek of something unwashed and wild.
It was all the same to Batman. if anything, it amplified his fury. Right at this moment, the Joker was more of a thing to him than a person, clinging and dazed as he was.
They drove for almost thirty minutes before they lost both the air team and the ground team behind a stack of abandoned warehouses. Fortunately they were very near the Wayne warehouses. Batman shot the Tumbler into the safety of the hideout as soon as the doors were clear. He rose out of the vehicle and stared down at the Joker. His stomach turned. He picked the man up, the smell was more noticeable now and that, among other things, disgusted him. Joker's eyes were still going in and out of focus, his pupils were huge. Batman dragged him out of the car, bypassing the cell, and moving hastily to a small shower in one of the adjacent rooms. He had an entire sleeping quarters here, but he rarely used them. He turned on the water, not caring if it was hot or cold, and threw the Joker to the floor under its spray.
Rolling onto the tile sharply, he yelped as he hit the water, scrambling to get away. There was a flash of something across his face that was almost like ... fear. Still on all fours, huddled near the ground in the bloody rags that remained of his stolen clothing, he glared at Batman, water dripping off of him to form a small puddle on the ground.
Batman pulled off a glove, tested the water, adjusted it, then bodily held the Joker under it. It came down in a hard jet, and gushed all around them more like sparks than water droplets. He held the Joker's face to it, then mussed up his hair. So involved was he in his task that he didn't bother to keep himself out of the spray. Joker slid on the floor, Batman in a low crouch over him, his mind still swimming.
Joker kept struggling, trying to escape the spray, flinching each time he was pulled back under like the water was liquid flame, painful to the touch. His mind didn't even know what provoked the senseless panic - the input from every sense left a sickening knot in his gut that wouldn't go away. He wanted to scream and fight back every time he was dragged back under the stream, but something closed his throat, telling him he mustn't make a sound. Resentfully staying put under Batman's forceful hands, his vision swam for a moment and he fell lower, retching up what little he'd had in his stomach.
Batman held fast, they slipped and slid around on the floor, but neither made much noise. By the time it was over, both were breathing hard, Joker still on the ground and looking very unlike the mocking Joker Batman was used to. He stood and turned off the faucet, throwing a towel at his "guest", and turned away. If he didn't like the water that much, maybe he'd use the damn thing.
Stepping out of the room, Batman tried to calm himself. His hands shook and his throat felt tight. All he could feel was anger, hate, like he'd only known once before in the man that took the lives of his family. So had the Joker. But he hated this situation more. He was being tied, and used, by this man of all people, and he hated it.
The hands left, a soft fabric hitting his head, and he froze before realizing that the hands hadn't returned to tighten the cloth around his head and choke him. Listening to the footsteps walk away, he bolted out of the stall, dripping water as he went. Spotting a small cabinet above the steel sink, he opened the mirrored panel, searching for anything he might be able to use.
Snapping to attention at the clatter behind him, Batman whirled on the Joker, tearing him away from the cabinet.
"Stop! Just stop it!" He was going to lose it. His head was filled with Rachel, with his parents, with everyone dead and gone that he could never get back again thanks to people like the Joker. Thanks to the Joker himself. He'd never....really....allowed himself to mourn their deaths nor was able to talk about it, especially Rachel. Now, the man who had killed her, for fun, to get to him, was right under his nose. Joker looked crazed and panicked, even fearful, and still Bruce could not stop hating him.
The man throwing him into the wall, pinning him there, was both Batman and yet wasn't - it blended with something else in his head, long forgotten and pushed aside into the dark. His green eyes darkened as he realized this was the end; it wouldn't stop this time until he was dead. Manic laughter pouring out of his throat, he fought back against the hands holding him down, Batman's hate reflected right back at him in Joker's unfocused gaze. Maybe he'd die, but he'd be damned if he was going to make it easy.
They twisted together and fell. The Joker used his nails like claws, his teeth sank where they could, he fought like an animal, and the laughter reminded Batman of their time in Gordon's holding pen. It was a little different this time though. Then he had obviously been enjoying himself, now the howls sounded more like cries of battle, a secondary nature, like breathing. Or screaming. Batman was doing plenty of that. He was forgetting his footing, his surroundings, moves to take a man out and keep him out; everything he had trained for fell together and he forgot what he was doing.
They might have gone on like that until they had killed one another if it hadn't been for the sound of a gun firing at close range. Batman halted, suddenly brought outside of himself to see Alfred standing at the door, rifle in hand and a stony look about him.
Flinching back at the sound, Joker scrambled off of the Dark Knight, backing tightly into a corner and eying the two warily. His breathing had quickened, leaving him almost panting as he hunched down at the edge of the room. One hand splayed against the wall while his ankle slid into the intersection, getting ready to push off and charge should they attack him again. Even knowing he'd stand little chance against a rifle, the man gritted his teeth into a defiant grin, no trace of humor touching his eyes.
"Right. That does it then," Alfred lowered the rifle and looked at Bruce. "Until you can come to your senses, you can bloody well stay down here with this beast. Just so you know." He dropped the gun to the floor where it spun and clattered, not very far from Batman's feet.
Gasping for air, Batman was hard pressed to find a response. The butler left. Batman pointedly ignored the rifle. He heard the doors locking quite clearly behind the old man.
A/N: For those who think that a fear reaction is OOC for Joker - yes, he's normally rather fearless. He doesn't fear pain or death or being hurt. He cannot consciously think of anything that frightens him. However, there are some fears that don't necessarily involve direct bodily harm, and some things sink deep into the unconscious mind until even their owners don't know they possess them.
Needless to say, I have a reason for his reaction. There is no need to worry that he will suddenly turn into Wuss!Joker. XD