Slipping Into Entropy - Part 16
Mindlessly walking through the steps of a classical waltz, not perturbed in the slightest by the smell or feel of his unresponsive partner, he finished with a dip, one living-skeleton locked in a tender, romantic moment with a real corpse. Green eyes peered curiously out of the shadowed sockets of the skull he'd fixed over his face, trying to puzzle out what the woman might have looked like in life.
Batman yelled without meaning to. The Bat-pod burned it's tires into the tar of the little walking path and shot out of the shadows. The screech and roar of the engine drowned out his voice, but he didn't stop screaming as he tore up the hill. Like a knight pulling a lance, he tore a spire from one of the monuments on the way and held it out at his side. Adrenaline rushed through his veins like a drug. All he could see was the Joker's face, his eyes hiding from behind a half skull mask, his green hair flaring out behind him. Bruce locked onto that face like a target, readying the metal javaline in his hand, taking his metal horse up and over the wreck, and swinging with all his might for his tormentor's throat.
Eyes widening as Batman made a spectacular entrance, he ducked for cover just a fraction of a second too late; the spike grazed across the skull Joker had atop his own, cracking the ancient bone. The blow threw him to the ground, the headpiece shattering into sharp fragments as he hit the ground. Dizzy from the force of it all, the lunatic rolled, trying to crawl and scramble away. Where he'd go to wasn't really crossing his mind.
Landing on the other side of the mountain, tearing the grass out from under him as he spun the pod around, Batman raised the bar once more. The Joker was down, crawling for cover that he wouldn't find in time. He'd dropped the corpse when he fell, Batman had seen it land. He revved the pod's engine, grimacing in fury, and drove at the Joker again.
Hearing the roar of the engine, the steel monster coming back for him, something between a smile and a grimace filtered into place. Levering himself back to his feet, he turned to face the incoming growl of fury, sheer determination in his eyes. It's happening. Joker didn't even bring his arms up to shield, his legs and back bracing for the impact as he screamed back at the other man. "Hit me! C'mon! C'mon, c'mon! Hit me, Hit me, HIT ME!"
Batman pushed the bike as hard as he could, he leaned into it; there was nothing, NOTHING, he wanted more in the world than to end this man's life. To do so would be a mercy, to that world and himself. It was a weight lifting off his shoulders, anger and relief raced through him faster than his tires turned, but it pooled in his stomach and turned into a monster, a monster larger than he and the Joker were combined.
He'd had his mother, DEAD, in his arms! But it was she Bruce saw in his mind, unexpectedly, in the last moments of her life. His father as well, willingly giving up their lives when they could have fought back. Unwilling to take a life for their own. Tears streamed out of Bruce's eyes, taken quickly by the wind. In his mind, his mother said no.
He jumped, in only a moment before the pod's giant front tire drove down the villain. He hit the man himself, both of them landing in front of the bike that had been thrown off kilter by Batman's sudden change in heart. It crashed into him nonetheless, momentum unable to be completely swayed. He felt the crush of it digging into the armor of his suit, dirt and grass flew in a shower around him.
He was hit by something entirely different than he was expecting, a dark body jumping and covering his before the roar of an engine screamed overhead, screeching as it bit into plates instead of flesh. The pressure on top of him was crushing, pushing all the breath out of his lungs as confusion writhed in his mind. He thought he'd finally done it, finally pulled out all the stops and unchained the other man to his full potential, his freedom. Everything had collapsed at the last minute, and he couldn't understand why.
When the bike collapsed, Batman couldn't tell how much of himself was still aboveground. He hurt everywhere. He needed to stand, it was imperative that he get up. He tried but something didn't work. Pain came from every inch of his body, he couldn't tell what part was hindering him, or if he had become too tangled with the Joker, maybe the suit's plating had been bent and locked into place, or perhaps the pain came entirely from within himself, not physical at all. He had no idea if the Joker was hurt or not. He wanted to smother the man until he was buried in this dirt as deep as his mother had been. Whywhy-why had he not killed him?
Unable to breathe, his lungs aching for air, Joker writhed and pushed until he escaped enough to gasp for breath. The collision was making itself felt all over his body, but his mind was what had been numbed the most. Coughing until he found his voice, he slammed a fist into the ground beside them in frustration. "....what the hell... is wrong... with you?" he managed to rasp out, all of his irritation and disappointment and confusion mingling in the gruff tones.
Batman coughed sharply as the Joker dug himself out from underneath him. What? Finally he managed to roll himself over. All his plans had been forgotten in the instant he had seen the Joker's willowy silhouette dancing with that corpse. And now, NOW, he had the nerve to ask what was wrong with Bruce? Again he coughed harshly, dirt falling from his mouth. "I won't.....give you....the satisfaction," he spat.
"It's not for me, you twit," the madman hissed back, slowly and creakily patting himself over, checking for missing bits. "It's for you. Who did you think I was doing this for, eh? I could have just killed you and... gone off to have... as much fun as... I wanted," he panted, his fingers catching on the string of pearls that were still around his neck.
"You're doing this for yourself, and no one else. This IS your idea of fun." Batman struggled to get up. "Don't think you're doing one bit of this for my sake." He no longer had to fake the growl in his voice. God, Bruce remembered that necklace. He climbed to his feet, staggering on the way, and lunged at the Joker intending to tear it off.
That made him angry, absolutely furious. The rest of the trash that walked and talked and passed for 'civilized humanity' could burn for all he cared, but after he'd worked so hard... "You ungrateful bastard," Joker spat back at him, scrambling backwards and trying to keep out of reach. "After all the work I went to? Letting you catch me, stick that fucking thing in my neck, and you refuse to learn a goddamned thing and say it's for me? I could be poisoning politicians right now instead of wasting my time teaching you the dance!" It was actually bizarre, seeing the man angry instead of slyly pleased for once, furthering the impression of a rabid animal.
Having missed in his reach for the Joker's neck, Batman had to stop and clutch at the growing stitch in his side. "Hah! Spoken like a true sociopathic revolutionary." How he enjoyed the rage that spread across Joker's face at that affront. "How very.....noble of you." He swept an arm out, making a grand gesture as if he were bowing in respect instead of catching his breath.
Joker kicked at him in response, growling in rage. "Says the Flying Rat who gets off on beating others only almost into a bloody, pulpy death. That's fucking rich. Tell me, Bats, how is it you manage to continue to delude yourself and still retain some semblance of sanity, eh? Go ask your butler if he really thinks you're all there," he laughed, bitter notes souring his tone. Abruptly he clutched his head in his hands, rocking from side to side. "...augh, it's like arguing with the fucking mirror, except the other side wants to be the good twin and wear pink ribbons..." Another laugh shook him at the image.
Batman cringed at being compared to the Joker's mirror likeness. "You....you do THIS," Batman waved his arms at the scene around them, "and expect me to be fucking GRATEFUL?" He wasn't going to deny how much he did want to physically punish the Joker, his hands trembled at the thought of that man's blood running over them, but he also couldn't staunch the pang of guilt that hit him at being called on it. Still, the Joker fucking deserved it. As much as he ached, and as hard as it was to move, Batman had to take him down before he could find someone else's grave to rob.
"Yes," he yelled back, every drop of anger and frustration thrown into the cry and flung in the other man's face. "But you don't fucking get it! You're completely blind and deaf, even when I shout in your ears and rub your face in reality! I can't get the chains off you and I can't fucking stand it!" His scream of frustration at the last was partially cut off as he ground his teeth, his mind frantically trying to think of some other way to try to communicate what he'd wanted to all along.
"You.....you don't understand...the value in a life." Breath coming hard, Batman's words came quietly. Once you lose one that matters to you, that significance isn't easy to forget. Bruce had morned that loss for so long. It was law to him not to inflict that grief unto others. To prevent it, that was his life's work.
"No, you don't understand the nature of things. Life eats itself. You eat others and live until another monster comes and eats you," he murmured in return. "Some just go about it more quietly than others. Or they pretend they aren't and that they live on spun-sugar dreams..."
Finally Batman rushed at the Joker. He swung, catching the man's now unprotected cheek in a left hook. Luckily, the contents of Batman's belt were still intact. He snapped a pair of handcuffs from it, and wrestled the Joker to the ground. "Nature doesn't kill for sport," he spat back.
"...obviously, you've never watched it up close," Joker hissed, now trying in earnest to get away, get away from the damnable man that just wouldn't get out of his head.
The cuffs slid shut over his wrists, and Batman sat atop the criminal's back to hold him down. He knew the man could escape them, but the point wasn't to rely on that restraint alone, just to hold him down until Batman freed a small syringe from his belt as well. He thanked the laws of physics that it hadn't been shattered in the chaos he'd put his armor through.
His eyes catching sight of the sparkle of glass and metal in Batman's hand, Joker screamed in wordless rage, redoubling his efforts to escape. As much as he strained, he just wasn't a physical match for the hero, especially while cuffed and pinned to the ground. Joker's eyes slid shut as his face took on a look of despair the moment the needle pushed through his skin. Only a few moments afterwards his manic pulse and breathing began to slow, the tension in his frame unwillingly unknotting.
Only once the Joker had gone limp did Batman release the tension throughout his body. He slumped, catching himself with a hand on the ground. His head fell and he let all the pain that was filling up within him wash through. It came out in a sob.
Little relief came from having the Joker bound and practically immobilized at his feet. He truly was Batman's tormentor. He took another, slightly longer pair of cuffs and bound the man's feet together. Once he was sure the Joker was secured, he left him at the base of the rubble. Slowly, carefully, he climbed to the top of it. There laid his mother's corpse, stripped in half, lying face down where the Joker had dropped her. It took him a long time to move again. He found it difficult to stand, despair overwhelmed him completely. He bent down, turning her over carefully with Batman's gloved hands. The Joker still had her necklace. Hands shaking badly, he tried to arrange the corpse as well as possible back into her grave.
Despair was washing over Joker, for once. He'd done what he was so sure would break the last few links holding those chains together, and it had failed at the last second. He might not even get another chance; the fools at the hospital were easily outwitted, but the other man really was like his mirror, his only real equal. And the damnable Bat had somehow figured out the cocktail they'd kept him drugged on in Arkham. His hands felt too large; movement was slow, dreamlike. He couldn't even seem to pop his thumbs out of their joints to slip out of the cuffs, something that had become almost effortless for him over the years.
Batman wished for all the world he could cover this grave again, wished the monument could fall back into place, wished the rubble would melt away. How many things had he wished for since these corpses had left him?
At eight years old, he had gone through the stages of grief like clockwork. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression....and then, as he got older, he could accept the loss only if he did his best to prevent it for anyone else. The first few weeks, maybe even a month he waited, hoping though he knew they were gone for them to come back home. He dreamt about it. Alfred caught him doing it. When he tried to tell Bruce how to accept it, Bruce turned away from him. The butler didn't understand, no one did, and he couldn't stand it. The most ridiculous thing....after all of that, at his wit's end, having no one else to turn to but the person who took his parents away from him, Bruce had tried to make a deal with God. If he could believe enough, be enough of a good person, maybe this keeper of souls would give his mother and father back to him. He would make bets with the unseen being that if he could do this thing, or do that thing, if he could just run fast enough or jump high enough, or overcome some sort of peril, he could win his parents back. His pleas, childish as they were, fell on deaf ears. He honestly had no idea how long he really had grieved for after that.
Joker finally got his fingers to slip out of their joints, grunting as the pain hit him. Shoving the cuffs off of his hands, he drew his hands up into the dirt near his face, popping the digits back into place with a quiet hiss. He couldn't think right with this... stuff inside of him, if 'right' was the correct word for it. Feeling more than a little drunk, he struggled to sit up, trying to see what was wrapped around his feet.
Finally Batman's attention returned to the bound criminal. He was moving like he couldn't focus on anything, swaying where he sat. With a last, mournful glance at the grave, Batman left it for the city and Bruce Wayne to rebuild. He returned to the Joker, pulling him up and keeping a firm hold should he decide to topple over. He dragged the man up on the Bat-pod, sitting him in front where Batman could hold him in place, and made his way back to the lair.
Joker tried to fight back but found his muscles rebelling, saturated with the drug that left him relaxed until he could barely stand. Even held in place by black-armored gloves, watching the pavement and buildings streak by was too much for him. He closed his eyes, swallowing, trying to force his mind to think of some way, any way, out of the trap he'd just stepped in.
Lucius had gone back to Wayne Enterprises by the time Batman returned to the hideout. Alfred, although displeased as he was with Bruce, was still willing to help with his injuries. While he had been away, the butler had finished work on the Joker's quarters. He was either slowly coming to terms with the fact that Bruce found himself incapable of taking the Joker's life, or he simply didn't want to see the man escaping again. Bruce heavily suspected the latter. He had been hurt quite a bit worse than he thought he had been back there, but after he finished patching himself up, he gritted his teeth and took the Joker to the new cell.
Joker was eerily quiet and well-behaved, only trying to weakly resist once his drug-addled brain realized where Batman was dragging him. Instead of being the nuisance it had been before, it was rather pathetic, doing nothing to stop the taller man from moving his captive wherever he pleased. Confusion, anger, disappointment and despair continued to war for supremacy in the insane man's eyes.
Though annoying with his attempts at shoving Batman away from him, it was much easier to deal with than he had previously been. For the most part, Batman tried not to look directly at the Joker. His breathing was shallow, like any exertion he performed was difficult. That was the part Bruce worried about. He would still be able to monitor the man however. He set the man back on the bed and removed the cuffs from his legs. This time, the bed had no springs. There was a sparse amount of furniture in this room, but little the Joker could use to harm himself with or pry apart and otherwise destroy. It was much roomier than the last cell had been by far.
The madman shivered, the rag-tied bones clattering as he curled into himself as soon as his feet were free. The man was truly filthy now, covered in grave dirt, corpse dust and gods knew what else, his hair as ragged as his breathing. A dusting of stubble was beginning to appear on his unpainted face, everything having been neglected in order to put his insane plans in motion. It took a moment before he collected himself enough to speak. "......what now, Bat? Done with all your dominating for now? Has it made you feel better?"
Bruce simply stared down at him. "No." At least he had the Joker, and he might be able to find a way to put him back in Arkham. But he didn't feel better at all. He was physically, emotionally, and mentally drained. Still, he had to clean the Joker up. Not looking forward to it, he sat down next to him and began untying the few bones that were still bound to his limbs like part of a costume. He set them on the floor where they could be picked up later. In this cell there was an attached bathroom; he went into it and ran water in the tub, then came back out hoping that this would be a little easier than it had been the last time.
The man on the bed shied away upon Bruce's approach, his gaze turned down on the bare, uncomfortable mattress barely deserving the name. If it had been anyone else, the expression on his face would have been likened to a lover who, slighted, wanted nothing to do with their partner for a time. He'd heard the water running and was already feeling the sickness creep up on him.
Nevertheless, Bruce picked him up, practically carrying him into the bathroom. He tried to stand the Joker upright, but he kept swaying when Bruce removed his clothing. He kept several more sets of simple clothes in the room for his captive, black pants, button down shirts. He took a pair and set them on the stool by the bath. The entire process made Bruce a little nauseous as well.
Joker was noticeably tenser the moment they set foot in the bathroom, his complexion going paler than normal. Their movements were like a peculiar sort of dance: Bruce trying to keep the other man from falling while he stripped off the dirty rags, Joker trying to avoid being touched. It resulted in him nearly falling backwards to smash his head on the tile, barely caught in time by his captor. Another violent shudder passing through him, he tried to push Bruce away. ".....leave me alone, Bat..."
"I would love to." Bruce hauled the Joker up once more, trying to ease him into the water. He removed his own gloves and mask with the Joker's clothes so that he could move more easily. "Work with me." He was having a very difficult time forgetting what the Joker had done to him only an hour ago. It was beyond frustrating, now having to clean the man up. He probably liked the whole situation less than the Joker did. Quickly, he ran soap and water over the less than lucid man's skin and through his hair, rinsing it off a second later.
The smaller man kept trying to get away from the shower stall and Bruce's hands, his drug-slowed breathing speeding up again. The longer he was cornered in the cubbyhole and drenched under the water, the more a greenish tinge seemed to color his complexion. Eventually his stomach wouldn't let his disquiet remain hidden; Joker fell down on his knees and retched.
Bruce stepped back, still holding the Joker's shoulders to make sure he didn't fall forward. As far as he knew, this shouldn't be a side effect of the drug. Then again, for all he knew, the Joker might have taken any number of drugs that had mixed badly with Arkham's prescription while he had been hiding out today. What he would give to find out where the man hid his supplies, if he had a hideout somewhere, or if he moved from place to place. The asylum's files hadn't mentioned anything about finding narcotics in his system when they admitted him nor that he had ever showed interest in them, but if he had, it wouldn't surprise Bruce. He checked the Joker's pulse. It was fast, but steady, and Bruce finally decided that he wasn't having a serious reaction. Perhaps it was just nerves then. It damn well served him right if it was.
When he was clean, Bruce turned off the shower and tossed a towel to him. He picked up the ragged set of clothes and the bones on the floor and headed for the door. "Enjoy your stay," he said coldly, unable to resist.
Mindless rage filled him, but it wasn't Bruce he saw in front of him. His mind's eye saw another room in another house, another snarky, dominating bastard throwing a parting insult after getting what he came for. He didn't make a sound for once, rushing at Bruce's back with murderous intentions.
Struck unexpectedly, they went down in a heap at the cell's threshold. Bruce hadn't seen it coming, he hadn't even heard the Joker's feet hit the floor. He came out of nowhere. As they fell Bruce was caught between amazement and the beginnings of a defensive strategy. He was lucky that he still had the armor on, for the Joker had suddenly transformed into the monster that he had always hinted at.
He didn't even seem to notice or care about the armor, trying to do as much damage to his captor as possible. The punches and kicks from his wiry limbs were surprisingly strong but still did nothing to protected flesh. He couldn't even stand straight with the sedative drugs depressing his nervous system but he leapt into the fighting with a feverish intensity. He jumped on Bruce's back, trying to choke him, twist his neck, and ram his head into the cell's walls all at the same time.
Bruce let out a shout as he threw his body in a spiral, turning with the Joker clinging to his back and slamming them both into the wall. It did little to throw the monster off of him. His own anger coiled through him in response, jumping at the chance to do some damage to the man he had wanted desperately to destroy all night. He caught the Joker's hair and pulled him off of his back, scrabbling with the madman's hands which he was using more like claws.
The same look of mindless rage and fear from the darkened room was locked in place on the scarred man's face, his breath coming in hisses and gasps between clenched teeth. Getting thrown into the wall only pushed him to further desperation. He had to kill this man or he'd never get free...
The Joker wasn't tiring, and he came back after every blow Bruce landed. Sharp nails left tracks down Bruce's neck, the fingers searching out vital areas and trying to pull them physically out of his throat before Bruce caught the Joker's hands and forced them to release. Teeth bit into his skin, he retaliated by slashing at the Joker with the edges of his cuffs. He stopped caring how much damage he inflicted on the madman. He wanted to kill Bruce. And after what he did tonight, Bruce felt he deserved everything he could throw at the Joker.
Every blow he took just put more fuel on the fire. He fought back every time, panting with the effort as his muscles didn't want to respond. When he was finally pinned to the floor he fixed a hateful glare on the man on top of him, spitting in his face and laughing in spite. "...it doesn't matter what you do to me. You can't trade me for her, and I've ruined your illusion." He snapped at Bruce, his teeth just short of the man's face. "Hit me, fuck me... whatever you do, eventually it'll be my turn to win."
His words gave Bruce pause, and for a moment he floundered in confusion. Her? Did he mean...? Bruce's face contorted into a vision of rage. "You are nothing like Rachel!," he roared, "The day I compare you to her, I'll shoot myself!" He slammed the Joker's head into the floor with his fists, watching his eyes roll.
Joker laughed bitterly, drops of moisture escaping from the corners of his eyes as he let them slide shut, admitting that he'd lost this round. "Of course I'm not her, you bastard. You always told me so, that it was my fault. I figured it out, though. You liked to pretend, didn't you?" His index fingers on either trapped hand traced half-circles in the air as he opened feverish eyes again, giving Batman a hateful grin. "Not so easy to pretend now, is it? And here I thought you'd be happy, with you insisting that I smile through it all, you fucker..." The smile turned into a snarl, Joker's hands curling into fists.
What? How dare he imply that Bruce could ever see Rachel when he looked at the Joker. His lips pulled back around his teeth in a snarl reminiscent of Batman's namesake as fury ran through his veins. "I don't care if you're smiling or if you're crying, Joker. And I have never, ever pretended you were her." He twisted the man's wrists, pulled him off the floor and swung him into the wall back inside his cell.
The impact knocked the breath from him, leaving him coughing. "Whatever you say. There's nothing I can do to stop you, now. But someday you'll leave your guard down, just a crack... and I'll stab through it and make you pay for everything you've done to me. You'll wish I'd killed you a thousand times over before I actually will... and through it all, I'll make sure you smile." Joker's head dropped in defeat, but insane laughter still bubbled out of him.
Bruce stared him down and then slammed the door, locking it securely. He stalked down the hall, feeling sick with rage and just....plain sick. He holed himself up in the operations room wishing desperately for some release of the turmoil inside of him. After he locked away the rest of the medication he'd obtained from Arkham, he checked the news. Public interest in Batman had skyrocketed, even compared to what it was before. There was even a protest being held downtown to get these masked villains off the street. Gordon would be having a hell of a time keeping the rest of the force off of his back, and he had a feeling that he wouldn't be seeing the Bat-signal's light any time soon. He was lucky that the Commissioner still trusted him, but he was no closer to working out how to get the Joker back into the asylum's custody while he knew who Batman was. There had been a time when he'd been ready to tell the world himself. At the time it might have spared the Joker's reign of terror over Gotham, now it would do no such thing.
Turning one of the sedative vials in his palm, Bruce stared at it as if willing it to give him the answer to his questions.
Hardly able to believe the other man had left things at that, Joker snatched up the clothes that had been left in the room, pulling them on as quickly as he could. Any moment's reprieve would be put to use. Still overwhelmingly dizzy from whatever drugs had been put into his system, his thinking muddled, he explored the boundaries of his new surroundings.
A thought slithered across Bruce's mind. So Arkham had found a combination of drugs to keep the Joker mostly sedate. Was it possible he could do more with them? A cocktail to keep the madman's lips sealed..... It wasn't a pleasant thought, but where Bruce stood now, there wasn't much left he wasn't willing to do to the Joker. And there was....one person he might be able to consult. He was desperate to be considering it, but it was possible the man knew the Joker, or at least was aware of him. That is, if he was still lucid enough to his surroundings. A stirring of hope welled inside Bruce as he gathered up Batman's supplies once more.
Stumbling around the limits of his cell, Joker fingered the edges of the locked door in vain, trying to figure out whether it could be unlocked or otherwise manipulated. He pounded his fists against the door angrily, frustrated when he couldn't spot a weak point. ...need to do something before he comes back...
This time when Bruce visited Arkham Asylum, he parked in an alley and the front door was off limits. Batman climbed over the building window to window until he found what he was looking for, then took the roof entrance inside. Creeping down the halls, passing patients who sometimes felt his presence and nurses who shushed them unknowingly, he found the cell he was searching for. It was in the high security wing, fortunately secluded from the other prisoners. Before he picked his way in, he found and cut the alarm wiring in the door and temporarily looped the security camera. Once more making sure the coast was clear, he opened the door to say hello to the former Dr. Crane.