Slipping Into Entropy - Part 20
Joker had remained where he was for the majority of the time, numbly sitting in the corner with his knees up to his chin, arms wrapped around himself. Try as he might, he couldn't figure out how Bats would fake it, or why he wouldn't be able to remember it. There were always periods of time he couldn't recall, dark gaps strewn about the patchwork of his mind, but he'd never considered it odd or of any importance before. He was always a creature of the moment, so what was happening had always occupied most of his mind.
Equally chilling were his attempts to probe the boundaries of his cell while the Bat was away; nothing was working, and the knowledge was eating away at his calm, stripping away layers to something beneath that he'd never wanted to acknowledge was there.
Bruce found the Joker like that when he checked the monitor. From the screen however he had no idea what the man was thinking. He entered the cell cautiously, as always, and shut the door securely behind him before setting the plate down on the cot. "Alright, no more going on about how much of an ungracious host I am."
He finally looked up, his arms hiding everything but his eyes from the other man. "...no chance of you letting me have my face back, then?" he asked quietly, the corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement at the tease before the humor slipped, leaving him with haunted shadows on his face. The smell of the food finally pulling at him, he uncurled himself from the corner, moving cautiously towards the bed. Heading for the meat before anything else, noting the sad lack of tomatoes on the plate, he actually avoided looking Bruce directly in the eye. "...has it happened before?"
Bruce considered for a moment. "The first night I took you here," he responded dispassionately. "And....the night you....." he wasn't sure how to word it civilly, "last night after you took the Tumbler...." He took a breath, and willfully fought down the anger. "You said I was pretending you were someone else." He shook his head. "I thought you were talking about Rachel, but you were out of it at the time."
His gaze became unfocused, his face setting into odd, solemn angles as he absorbed the information. "...I don't remember." He avoided thinking about what that might mean, turning his attention to the food on the plate beside him; not eating for a few days had taken its toll. ...maybe it doesn't mean anything.
So far Bruce had been standing next to the Joker, but not looking at him after he'd had to recall the previous night. Now, he glanced over. He sounded........hell, he sounded honest. He really sounded like he was leveling with Bruce for the first time with that one simple statement. But so many sparks of distrust in the back of Bruce's mind were going off like fireworks. What ploys and lies he had heard come spewing out of that scarred mouth already, was this just one more? What if it wasn't? Goddammit. Bruce didn't have the luxury of believing him, giving him any sort of leeway. He knew what the Joker did when he saw a sign of weakness; he took advantage of it every time. So what if this man was even more mad than he had suspected? The more he thought about it, the more he agreed that he would like to give the Joker back his makeup. He couldn't afford to think of the Joker as a human being anymore.
The plate cleaned, Joker sighed, not liking any way his thoughts twisted today. ...what the hell do missing memories matter, anyways? Slouching over, his arms resting on his knees, he still didn't bother looking up at the man who was giving him a suspicious stare. "...I'll need a razor, too. Unless you plan on locking me in here until I like Van Winkle."
Without a word, Bruce left and returned a while later with the requested supplies. He'd had to stop at the pharmacy in the small shopping mall a building over to find halloween makeup, where he gave the curious little clerk a smirk and a wink because he simply didn't know what else to do when she raised an eyebrow at Bruce Wayne shopping for kids' makeup. When he returned, he tossed the razor and paint down on the bed, where he made himself comfortable as well. "When you're done, I'll be having that razor back of course."
Giving Bruce a sour look, he gathered up the supplies and retreated to the bathroom. He stopped the sink and filled it with warm water, making quick work of the last few day's growth and rinsing it away. He was so accustomed to putting on his 'mask', of sorts, that he so longer really had to pay attention while doing so. Oddly, despite telling himself that the memory lapses meant nothing, weren't important, it bothered him on some subliminal level and left him with a feeling of hopeless dread. He kept telling himself that he just had to be patient, that he was making progress on the Bat... and another part whispered that he would never succeed; the Bat would keep him trapped down in the dark until he died of despair.
Lying back against the wall, Bruce watched in dim fascination as the Joker went through what once must have been a daily routine. Shaving was quite normal, Bruce didn't know what he had been expecting, but as the Joker began applying the paint, Bruce found himself gazing at every stroke of his fingers.
Finishing the last manic, curling lines of red to complete the look, he looking apathetically at the changed reflexion, not quite feeling the satisfaction that usually came from having that piece of himself back. Not really thinking at he did it, his fingers drifted back to the razor, fragile plastic holding twin lines of sharp metal in place. He smashed the razorhead against the edge of the sink, fishing the silver shards out of the pieces of useless plastic.
Bruce was off the bed in a flash. Rushing to the bathroom, he threw his arms around the Joker and grasped at his hands, trying to pry the little blades out of them. "Stop!"
Joker managed to open a bloody line up along one forearm before Bruce wrestled him still, missing the veins from having his hands wrenched off the mark. His breathing rapid, he tried to fight himself loose of the hands restraining him, his jaw set in a stubborn line.
"Goddamn!" Bruce shouted, shoving the suddenly obstinate Joker to the floor. He searched for some other way to express just how much frustration he was going through, but all that came out was briefly started sentences and a fair amount of gesturing. Finally he calmed, swiping a hand through his hair and looking back at the Joker, who now looked very much like he had when Bruce first encountered him. "Give me your arm."
"Why? So you can lock me in a dark oubliette and forget about me until I die? Keep me in a box until I can't move and stop breathing?" he shot back, flexing his arm and watching with fascination as the blood welled to the surface. "I won't do it."
"Shut up," Bruce seethed through his teeth. "Don't you dare pull the sympathy card, not after what you've done." He got down on his knees and wrenched the Joker's hand away from his body, feeling to see how deep the cut had gone. Not very. Still, he would prefer it bandaged.
He growled in rage, kicking at Bruce and shoving him aside, racing back out into the cell to claw at the door, drops of blood pattering to the floor in a trail behind him. Razorblades still in hand, he slid them along the crack, desperately hoping to hit some catch that would unlock the door. He pushed and scraped at it until the edges of the metal bit into his fingertips, then screamed his rage and despair, throwing the pieces against the metal door. They bounced off with a clatter, leaving Joker slumped with his forehead against the unyielding portal, red smears coating the metal as his hand slid down the door.
Bruce watched with distaste from the bathroom door. The slightest pangs of guilt found their way into his heart, but they were too small to truly move him. He picked the blades off the floor, tucking them into his pocket, as well as the plate still sitting on the cot. "Your plans, all your grand schemes for this city? They're over," he said softly. He pulled the Joker up by an arm and pushed him back into the room before he slipped out himself.
Uncontrollable shivers racing through him, he paced through the cell again, manically eying everything within; there had to be something he could use. Something. Anything. He had to do something or he'd never get out... The world shifted, something slipping out from beneath him, but he barely noticed.
Bruce stalked up to the kitchen and threw the plate in the sink. It shattered, and he cursed to himself now having to dig out the pieces. While tossing them in the trash, along with the bloody razors, Alfred strolled into the room.
"Aha! So I see you're still alive and kicking then," the butler commented, sounding all too jovial in the wake of Bruce's frustration.
"Of course I'm still alive, Alfred. Thanks for the concern," Bruce responded under his breath.
"Oh you're most certainly welcome, sir, because in case you haven't noticed, I have been concerned." Alfred's voice went suddenly flat, losing any hint of mirth. "More than concerned, actually I've been downright beside myself at your current behavior, and we're going to have a little chat about that, right now."
Bruce stood, one palm plastered to his forehead, and he almost wished he had stayed down in the lair with the Joker. "Alfred, not now. There's too much..... I can't do this now."
"Well you're going to, whether you want to hear it or not," the butler said harshly. "You have been, quite frankly, out of control, and I'm astounded that you haven't gotten yourself killed. You want to clean up the streets of Gotham, then fine, but this is NOT the way to do it!"
Frustration swelling, Bruce gripped the countertop in order to curb his nerves. His voice came out strained. "I can't hand him back over to Arkham. I can't give him to Gordon. I can't kill him!" the last bit ended in a shout. He hadn't felt like this talking to Alfred since he was a teenager.
"And the rest?" the older man countered firmly, but comparably softer. Alfred's expression didn't waver, but Bruce knew what he referred to and he cringed inside. "Tell me what is so noble about what you're doing with that man when you think no one else is watching?"
Bruce could hear his teeth grind, could feel the muscles in his neck tighten, and his breath shorten. He had no explanation. No justification. Whatsoever. "That's my business, Alfred."
Stalking back into the bathroom, his eyes widened as they fixed on the mirror bolted into the wall, an idea forming. A snarl pulling at his lips, he drew back his fist and smashed it into the surface. Again, and again, and again.
The flat surface cracked, then shattered into several large, gleaming shards. Picking them out of the frame with fingers made all the bloodier, Joker carried them back to the door. One after another, the pieces were tried, thrown violently against the walls when they failed to have the desired result. He continued on until he ran out of mirror, staring numbly at the locked door that refused to be picked open. Falling over to lie on the floor filled with scattered bits of glass, he covered his face with one bloody hand and actually wept for the first time in years, laughter interrupting the sobs every so often to fill the room with bubbling madness.
Bruce turned away from his butler and swept out of the room. He could hear the man shout behind him, "If you don't put a stop to this, I will!"
He had no idea what to do. Taking the elevator back down to the lair, he found he couldn't stop trying to justify it all in his own mind. He knew Alfred was right and, god, he didn't mean for their....."encounters" to happen...... and still he not only allowed it, but now initiated it. He slumped in his chair at the operations table, burying his face in his palms and squeezing his eyes shut until his head cleared. The damnedest thing was.......he didn't want to stop. He wanted to stop the Joker, yes, but......the man was like a drug.
Another bout of odd, hysterical laughter echoed through the caves before getting choked off again, quieting into something else. Joker still lay on the floor, ignoring the pricks of mirror shards sliding into his skin as he rocked on the floor, leaving tiny stains of blood and makeup in puddles around him. His hand stung from the salt, but he couldn't stop himself - any more than he could stop himself any other time.
Bruce's head lifted slightly at the hysterical sounds trickling through the caves. What a foul parody of the sirens' song. It was a moment before he recognized the difference in tone from the Joker's usual laughter, and out of curiosity he pulled up the monitor screen. What he saw was nothing short of astounding. Pieces of glass littered the cell in tiny, glinting points while the Joker writhed on them like he couldn't get up. Without thinking Bruce bolted down the hall.
Another set of sounds that were half sobs, half mad laughter wracked him, his mind having snapped to a different time and places as he fixated on his captivity. His careful artistry was all for naught; the black around his eyes had run in spidery patterns over his face and hand as hidden emotions from a time long past resurfaced. He didn't even react when the door to the cell opened again.
The glass had gotten everywhere. When Bruce entered, he suddenly realized that it had come from the mirror. That should have been obvious when he'd put the cell together and mentally he told himself to do another once over of the cell after this. Taking hold of the Joker and pulling his hands and face away from the glass, Bruce quickly looked him up and down. There were shards in his arms and all over his hands and back.
His eyes were still tightly shut, one hand trying to shield his faces as tears continued to trickle down his face. A part of him realized there was company in the room and the agony only increased. He could never fight back, and never escape, and time would continue to drag on forever as he endured the same torment in endless succession.
When Bruce tried to pull him up by latching an arm around his back, he discovered there were shards of glass embedded there as well. How long had he been rolling in this stuff? He did his best not to touch them, but it was near to impossible while still moving him back to the bathroom. He set the Joker down though he was still bent over in agony, and ran the water, pouring it over an arm to wash away all the blood.
Bruce wasn't sure how he felt about this. There was something obviously wrong. The clown was more wretched than ever before, but through all the giggling, all the sobbing and incoherence, Bruce......found it difficult to call forth pity. Mostly, he felt there was a duty that needed to be done, and he was performing it. The analytical part of him wondered what was going on inside the Joker's mind, but the feeling part had been shut off.
The man only seemed to get more hysterical as he was brought into the bathroom, shying away from the water as he had every time before. A shudder ran through him every time Bruce got too close; aside from the hysterics, it almost seemed as if the man was terrified.
Trying to push his frustration away, Bruce finally turned off the faucet. He tried to hold the Joker still enough to look at the cuts, but that seemed to be as close as he got before the other man twisted away making things very difficult. Bruce didn't know why he did it in the first place, but this was getting to be impossible. At first he thought it had been an escape attempt, then maybe simple frustration, now, with his own aggravation on the rise, it looked as though the Joker had simply gone mad. "If you don't hold still, I'm not going to be able to get these things out of you," he growled.
The other man suddenly went quiet and still at the growl, only shivering every so often. When Bruce went to take hold of his arm again, he was as stiffly compliant as a mannequin.
The pieces came out gradually in spite of the Joker's state. Bruce thought it a great improvement actually. Nevertheless, they had a long way to go and he wasn't looking forward to it. "How do you survive like this?" he muttered after digging free half a dozen of the pieces in one of the Joker's forearms. He was becoming astounded that the man hadn't managed to kill himself when on his own out there.
The man didn't respond, sneaking fearful looks at Bruce while he picked the glass free. It was rather eerie with the madman still and quiet; under normal circumstances he would have been beside himself in bliss over the pain or using the opportunity to tease the object of his obsession. He was acting completely cowed, and there was simply something off about it, the way he looked through Bruce like he saw straight through him...
Bruce met his eyes briefly. He went back to work right after. The blood was flowing again from where he had to gouge the pieces out, but at least the spots he hadn't attended to yet were doing alright. Nothing too deep to worry about. The Joker's stare, and his silence, was unsettling. Maybe......maybe. "Where are you, Joker?"
Silence. His mind saw another man, another room, another time. He shivered again, averting his eyes back to the floor now that he'd been caught peeking. His mind vaguely seemed to grasp that he'd been asked a question, but that clashed with the memory; questions were rarely asked of him. Consciencious of the hush filling the room but for the clinking of glass in the sink, he licked his lips and whispered something so softly it was inaudible.
"What?" Bruce had barely caught the movement. His hands stilled, attention now focused on the Joker's withdrawn expression. His silence was proving to calm Bruce, who, though never off his guard around the Joker, had put up such a mental block to the piteous display he'd witnessed earlier that was now fading little by little.
Sensing that the other man had suddenly stopped what he was doing and turned his attention completely to him, the color seemed to drain from Joker completely and he hunched over instinctually, defensive. His tongue darted out again, trying to gather up the courage to speak. "...please, let me out, just for a little bit, just for a minute, I won't run away I swear I won't, I-" He stopped, seeming to consider something, his eyes darting nervously towards the shower before dropping back to the floor.
Taken aback, Bruce considered the request for a long moment. It was unusual that as much as he searched for it, he sensed no deceit whatsoever from the Joker. .....he couldn't do it. Even if the boy who cried wolf would be forever in the back of Bruce's mind. Every single thing he'd learned from this man so far was that you did. not. trust him. Ever. If he wasn't trying to coerce you in the beginning, those intentions would change at any opportunity given. If the Joker was telling the truth right now, there was no possible way Bruce could know it. He frowned, staring at the buttons on the Joker's bloody collar.
On the other hand. His eyes rose to the huddled man's face. Now he had something the Joker wanted, desperately. Whether the Joker was lying, or turned back on his word the moment he saw daylight, would never be known until his word was tried. And, Bruce could certainly use the leverage. "I might be willing to make a deal."
Green eyes flicked upwards at that, incredulous, as if he could hardly dare to hope the man would agree. The spark was quickly suppressed, replaced by wariness. "....what do you want?"
"Information." Using his better judgment, Bruce kept his words as unthreatening as possible, holding his crouched position on the floor. "I want to know about you."
He was quick to nod his assent, glad that he hadn't been asked for something more sinister. He was still eying Bruce like he was a deadly viper, coiled and ready to strike.
Surprised, Bruce paused. He hadn't expected that. "Alright...." Bruce's eyes wavered on the Joker's scars, intimately curious, but....deciding against it for the moment. "Where did you come from?"
He licked his lips again, looking like he was facing a firing squad, and gave a soft, nervous chuckle, shivering. "...you'd know better than me, wouldn't you? I...think...Kekoskee. Is that right?" His brain was fighting through a fog of confusion, trying to reconcile memories of being outside with how he'd ended up back underground. "...Ill... is...noi?" He seemed to recall seeing the word on paper and the sound people made were different, but it was hard to remember...
Suddenly Bruce got the feeling that he was not exactly speaking to the man he had brought down here. For one thing, that Joker would have known how to pronounce "Illinois". Kekoskee.... The name did not ring any bells, but Bruce locked it to memory. It was a start. He just hoped it wasn't a wild goose chase, as the saying goes. "And your name?"
Joker gave Bruce a flat, tired look. "...you never gave me one, remember? Make up whatever you want..." A new thought occurred to him, bringing the wariness back in full force. "...is...this a test? I haven't been reading, I swear, I stayed put..."
Bruce pursed his lips in confusion, but halted the words before they came out of his mouth. The Joker was not speaking to him at all. Something cold trickled down inside his chest, and he searched the man in front of him for some explanation. "How did you......how did you come into my possession?"
He laughed again, bitterly, before he could stop himself. "...I was born, dammit all. Or should I say it your way? Hell sent me to kill her." He paused, but didn't add the next part of the catechism he knew so well, the one he'd heard thrown at him since well before he finally figured out what it meant.
"Have you killed anyone else?" The words were out of Bruce's mouth before he could think. A vision was forming inside his mind. He knew he was talking to the Joker, but....also not. This person was weary, but still brash and petulant. Kind of like watching years fall off the Joker's features. Or rather.....to see that he, like Bruce, wasn't actually as old as he appeared.
He seemed to pause, considering the question. Killed... anyone... else... "I don't remember-...her-..." Something wasn't right. His head snapped up, eyes narrowing as he regarded Bruce, a more vicious light filtering into his features. ".....I don't remember her, but I do remember you." His frame bunched and tightened, as if he was going to pounce at any moment. "I cut you to fucking ribbons and threw you in the swamp. How are you here?"
The change was jarring. Bruce had been sure he was speaking to the Joker he knew, sure that the game was up and he had been recognized as Bruce Wayne once again, but that idea suddenly flipped on itself. "I....." he searched for the right words. He, this other person, had some kind of control over the Joker..... The Joker had then killed him. But the change in his demeanor was more like a jump, through time? A moment ago he was resigned, afraid; now that fear had been shed completely. Deciding the best way to avoid losing him was to sidestep the Joker's shocked question, he pressed on. "I gave you these, didn't I?" He moved a hand toward the Joker's mouth, stopping short of touching his skin.
Joker just gave him a feral grin, looking like he might bite Bruce's fingers off at any second. "...don't be ridiculous. Maybe you'd like to take credit, now. I don't know why - you were so pissed when I ruined my face and you couldn't pretend anymore. Totally destroyed the illusion, didn't it?" he cackled, amused at the odd reactions he was getting out of the other man.
"Her, you......looked like your mother. After she died," Bruce was putting it together fast. He had a damn good idea whose role he was playing now. "What did I do to you?" he whispered.
"Nothing I won't pay you back for again," Joker purred back, delighting in the expression that created. "It doesn't matter that you got me here again. You won't have your fun so easily this time. I'll fight you every. Single. Second. Eventually I'll find a moment where you slip, and I'll have some fun. And this time I'll make the pieces of you even smaller," he hissed, leaning forward with the threat of violence in his eye and a vicious twist to his smile.
Blanking his expression as well as he could, Bruce pulled back ever so slightly. This was, perhaps, the very first time he had felt physically frightened of the Joker. He wasn't really speaking to Bruce. But maybe that made it worse. He wanted to defy the Joker, he wanted to talk to him without riddles, but this was the best he had ever gotten. Searching for something to keep the man talking, he knew he had to play along. "I can't hurt you anymore. I'm dead, long dead. Somehow....you got away."
"Damn. I would have liked another go, now that I have the experience to keep you alive longer." Joker clicked his tongue in disappointment. Taking in their surroundings, you could almost see the wheels in his head turning. "...so if you're dead, I must be crazy. Or-...HAHAHAHAHAH!" He curled over in violent laughter as he took in the shards of glass embedded in him, the other 'dead' man, the room they were in. "I get it! I fell out a window and died, and now I'm in hell!" He collapsed in manic giggling again, his face twisted up in a bizarre mix of despair, agony, and rage as tears streamed down his scarred cheeks again.
"You're not in hell. But you've...." Bruce felt strange, telling the Joker this. Like telling a child. "You've hurt a lot of people." Bruce wasn't sure he wanted to bring up where "here" was, or anything from the present. "After you killed me, do you remember where you went, what you did?"
"Up. Outside." He spoke the two words like that should have explained everything. He laughed again. "Since when did you care who got hurt but yourself? You certainly like making me scream a lot, but you never seemed to get the hang of enjoying pain, yourself. You made such a fuss, even before the end."
"Did I?" Bruce muttered. He could very well imagine. There was absolutely nothing subtle about the Joker's lust for blood. "Anyway it doesn't matter what I care, I'm dead, right? But you, you should care." Hearing his own voice playing the part of the Joker's guardian....An-something, was probably as disconcerting for him as it was for the other. He didn't care that the man the Joker thought he was seeing would ever care about what the Joker had done, he needed to hear it one way or another.
"Oh really?" The implication that he should care seemed to amuse him to no end. "Care about the endless varieties of life eating one another alive? Every city, town, village... every place was the same, but different. Different packages, same thing inside. There were already eating each other, and when they decided to eye me for dinner, I ate them instead. Chicago was... exciting."
Bruce tried to shake his head. "Where you just got locked up again? You have such little faith in people....." Was there any way at all the Joker would listen to him? "Batman can't let you go. Stop what you've done. End this and you'll be free."
Joker just laughed in response. "I'm already free. It's everyone else who's trapped. Trapped by their own minds. They see what reality is, but they don't want to, so they create an alternative world in their mind and pretend it's real and everything plays by their rules. And so they live and die without really living. I suppose it takes being chained in a lightless cave to learn to recognize the shadow puppets for what they really are and crawl towards the real, hmm?" He watched Bruce calmly, smirking all the while. "You did me that favor without knowing or meaning to. And now I dance around and pull the invisible chains of others so they can see too."
"You think that isn't in your head?" Bruce whispered back. "Don't you ever doubt your own conclusions? You may not want to admit it, but you're human, too." Only after the words left his mouth did he realize what he'd just said. He hadn't meant to. He'd meant to question the Joker's logic. He wasn't sure he was even ready to see the Joker as a human being.
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Y'see, no matter where people where born, lived, any of that, they were surrounded by others. Other people reinforcing their own illusions by perpetuating it in others. Spreading around the propaganda, so to speak." That smile flickered again, and he leaned forward. "But you and I, no, we know that wasn't me. There was only you, me, and whatever I could scrape together in secret while you were away. I was the eye in the knothole, spying on what was going on on the other side of the fence. I learned outside the reach of others' delusions. When you do that, it's just so easy to find the chinks in the walls and watch them crumble with a little push in the right place."
"Somewhere along the way, you got it all wrong." Bruce had understood how skewed the Joker's conclusions were before. Crane's theory as to how he'd become that way appeared to be dead accurate. Still.... "There is no excuse that you can give me to to justify the hell you've put those people through. That isn't propaganda, that's real."
Joker just cracked up, apparently amused beyond all reason at this shadow from his past talking so seriously about 'excuses' and 'hell'. He couldn't even come up with a response, tears streaming down his face again as he clutched his side, having trouble breathing.
Bruce didn't see what was so funny. The Joker in all his hysteria sitting before him was more like a hyena than a human. Perhaps he had been mistaken. "You still haven't told me what happened to you after you left."
Gasping and coughing for breath, the other man finally seemed to calm down. Somewhat. "And you still haven't lived up to your side of the bargain."
Sitting back on his heels, Bruce surveyed the bloody man. "Alright. You can tell me when we get up there." He pulled a cloth from the sink and handed it to the Joker. "The big pieces are out, but you'll have to get the rest. I'll be back." He rose, taking some of the large pieces with him to throw in the trash later and went to the door. If he was going to bring the Joker up into the world again, he would have to go prepared.
Watching Bruce leave the room, he set upon the remaining pieces he could reach, carelessly pulling them out with fingers and teeth and dropping them into the sink. He had the distinct feeling that he was forgetting something, had overlooked something, but he couldn't figure it out for the life of him.