But as he had feared, The Joker did begin to deteriorate and by the time they'd reached the cave, the
lunatic was shaking violently and muttering incoherently.
Batman quickly leapt from the cabin and moved around to the passenger's side. Normally, he would be
cautious of The Joker, anticipating him to still pose a threat, even while seemingly incapacitated. But
it was clear now the madman posed no such danger. The detective carefully un-cuffed each of his wrists
before lifting him from the car with incredible ease. He again was shocked to feel how light and bony
the madman was as he carried him across the floor.
He was pleased however to see the bed with extra blankets stacked on top, and a tray of steaming food
by its side, as well as the cloths he had requested. Alfred, even when in disagreeance with his
actions, was as ever, reliable.
Moving the pile of quilts aside, he placed The Joker gingerly across the mattress, starring down at him
intently.
He had to get him out of those cloths quickly, and more thoroughly dried off. Otherwise, things would
only become worse.
Carefully he sat The Joker up and began to lift the thin, cotton singlet over his head. He felt shock
upon seeing for the first time the state of the madman's body. He was even thinner then the vigilante
had suspected, with every rib showing prominently through, along with his spine and collar bone. It
seemed that only skin covered the bone. The skin itself looked paper thin, and even more distressing,
nearly every square inch was covered in ghastly bruises, new on top of old even, some yellowing, some
fresh as the day, blue and black and red. Bruce thought he might be sick looking upon The Joker, but he
pushed through the feeling, removing the pants and undergarments. His lower half was no better then his
torso, also marred by grotesque discoloration. Upon closer inspection, the detective observed, beyond
the bruising and older knife and bullet wounds, fresh lacerations along his back. What in the hell had
happened to him? He couldn't possibly have done this to himself. Batman knew that. The Joker was a
known masochist, true, but it would have been impossible for him to inflict the kind of damage his body
had suffered by himself.
What's more, feeling along the madman's collar bone and left arm, it became apparent that he had indeed
suffered breaks, and that they hadn't been allowed to properly heal. He examined his legs just the
same, and found the right limb in a similar state. He was dehydrated too, severely. The vigilante moved
to retrieve an IV drip, filling the bag with water, before taking The Joker's thin arm in his hand.
There were track marks running from the inside of the arms crook to the wrist.
He'd been injected with something, many times over.
Attaching the drip, he then moved to examine The Joker's back before grabbing hold of the hydrogen
peroxide, dabbing the liquid on to a cotton ball and applying it to the lacerations. Some of them were
very deep and fairly fresh, obviously from just the past week or so.
The Joker moaned softly. He was definitely out of it.
Pulling a pen light from his belt, he forced the maniacs eyes open, shining the contraption in. His
pupils were dilated. Batman quickly took hold of one of the many stacked, oversized towels near the
rear of the bed and began to rub the cloth vigorously along the thin man's body, trying both to dry and
warm him at once. The Joker's face twitched and Batman knew he risked waking him. His stomach tightened
at the prospect of the clown regaining consciousness while in the middle of being dressed and the kinds
of ridiculous insinuations he would make. Batman knew he did it as a means of agitation. None the less,
it worked. It was a talent of the lunatics. A dangerous talent. He understood exceptionally well how to
rile and fluster, how to use ones own emotions against them.
Batman pushed the thoughts aside and continued in his task. Carefully he dressed his nemesis. His body
was fragile. Much more so then ever he'd seen it before, and he looked as though he might snap with too
much pressure applied. Each time the vigilante moved the maniac, he groaned in pain, his face
contorting and wincing. He would be hurting when finally he awoke, Batman thought. Though The Joker
would never admit to such, he knew. His being unconscious rendered him vulnerable, his guard down. If
aware, he never would let others see that the pain did indeed hurt him, just the same as it did
everyone else. The difference between he and others was in how he would react, how it affected him. At
least, in how he conveyed it did. He would lap it up, as though he enjoyed it.
It was madness.
Finally he finished, pulling the oversized shirt down straight. The cloths were far too large, save for
the length. The Joker's limbs, in proportion to his incredibly height, were very long. But Bruce's
frame was roughly 2 to 3 times as thick. The pants alone would fall to the madman's ankles if he were
to stand.
Batman laid The Joker on to his back gently before taking a seat by the bed side.
He watched the maniac's chest rise and fall in a rapid and shallow pattern, questioning himself over
why he was helping the sociopath. The Joker was a monster. He had, and if allowed, would continue to
commit the most horrific of acts, without so much as a hint of remorse or hesitation. He had absolutely
no concept of right and wrong, of the difference between the two. And though Batman despised him, in a
way, with equal intensity, he felt sorry for him. He was diagnosed as clinically insane. According to
the absolutely unending studies conducted on him, was unable to control his impulses. He had no say, no
decision in what he did. In many ways, Batman thought, it was pathetic, pitiable even. It was why, he
reasoned, despite the clown having pushed him so close, so many times, he had never been able to bring
himself to end the madman's life, in spite of all the evil he had done. He almost, he admitted to
himself, felt bad for The Joker.
The Joker would claim it was due to the intimacy they shared, how the two of them were inescapably
alike, born of the same cloth. How they were the only two beings in all the world capable of relating
to one another. As though they were destined to dance as they did forever, he would say. He would
insist Batman needed him, as he needed Batman
But those were the ravings of a lunatic, not to be taken seriously.
He realized then he'd left The Joker unrestrained. Though in his present condition it was unlikely he
would pose any sort of threat, it still was best to be safe. He had, after all, been surprised more
then once by the maniac's uncanny tenacity. Gingerly he cuffed The Joker's thin wrist along the bed's
railing, then covered him with one of the large blankets before leaning back, just watching.
He sat that way for what seemed nearly an hour, just studying the ailing man until, finally, The Joker
began to stir. The vigilante could feel his body tense. There was something entirely off-putting about
the maniac.
"Oh, my…" The clown mumbled softly, trying to bring his cuffed hand to his head. The chain pulled him
forcefully back and that's when his eyes opened, narrowing at the light over head. Immediately he
brought his gaze to the restraint which held him.
"Brilliant…" He again spoke. He starred at the manacles for only a moment before his expression seemed
to change in to one of complete cognizance and an instant later, he looked up, directly at the
detective.
Almost immediately he smiled.
"Well, hello darling. A most pleasant surprise, waking to your stoic visage."
Batman frowned.
"Do you know where you are?" He asked simply.
The Joker looked at him quizzically for only a moment before turning away, observing his surroundings.
"In a word…" He began after some seconds. "No. But, certain I can say, not Arkham."
He looked back to the vigilante.
"How in the hell did I end up in your clutches again? You'll have to remind me."
"You don't remember?!" Batman sounded startled.
The Joker's lips pursed and his eyes narrowed, tilting his head slightly to one side.
"Hmm… No." He answered.
The lunatic was in more dire straights then even he'd thought.
"I found you… on the street." Batman divulged.
The Joker still held a vexed expression.
"You were trying to escape."
The Joker laughed suddenly, before abruptly being cut off, grimacing.
That hurt.
"Really dearest, if I was _trying_, I would have." He managed to say through the fire which ran
suddenly up his side.
"It looked like you were trying as best you could Joker, from where I stood. You had no strength to
fight."
The maniac continued to stare at him.
"You really don't remember?"
"What _possibly_ might I gain in lying about so trivial a detail?!" The Joker snapped, obviously losing his patience.

"Do you remember escaping Arkham?" Batman ignored the flare of temper.
At this The Joker smiled.
"Indeed, I do." He said. "A daring departure! You should have been there!"
"If I had been there, you never would have left."
"Oh, a spoil sport, as usual." The Joker teased. "But I feel I must disagree. I was rather
_determined_, you see. And when I've set my mind to a thing, as well you should know, it's quite the
task deviating me from its acquisition."
"How _did_ you escape Joker?" Batman pressed.
"Ah, ah Batsy." The Joker wagged a long finger his way. "Some secretes are meant to keep."
"You barely could stand when I found you Joker."
"Power of the will, my lad." The Joker smiled. "However do you think it was I've been able to lay my
hands upon you when so clearly your physicality outshines my own?"
Batman huffed. The Joker's eloquence betrayed the psychopathic tendencies underneath. The contradiction
was disturbing, always unsettling to the vigilante. He imagined the madman's charm and sophistication
many a time ensnaring some poor, unsuspecting victim.
"What happened to you Joker?" He changed the subject. If The Joker was unwilling to answer a question,
the Dark Knight had learned, than there was absolutely no way of making him talk.
The lunatic's brows shot up.
"Happened to me?" He questioned.
Batman nodded towards him.
"You've been beat to hell Joker." He said, his voice monotone.
The Joker looked down at himself finally, lifting the blanket slightly.
"Change of attire!" He exclaimed, looking up, taking quick note of the discarded asylum uniform, draped
over a nearby chair. "How very benign. Thought the style is ghastly, it's ill-fit being the least of
its shortcomings."
He looked again to the detective.
"So, sweetheart, like what you saw?"
Batman felt his muscles tense.
"You were soaked. Nearly running a fever. I had to dry you off."
The Joker's grin broadened, bearing teeth.
"Always an excuse at hand!" He laughed before turning his attention to the IV drip in his arm, and then
back to the cave.
"Now allow me a question of my own. Why aren't I back in Arkham, if indeed you found me, _gallivanting_
about the streets as you say?"
"Your condition Joker. I saw your body…"
"Most certainly you did!" The madman cackled.
Batman bristled, but went on.
"You've been beaten… severely. It could only have happened in Arkham."
"Quite the detective Batman. How ever did you come to so elusive a conclusion?"
"And you've lost weight. A _lot_."
"And…" The Joker rolled his eyes, as if bored.

"What happened?" The Dark Knight continued to question.
The Joker gasped loudly, dramatically.
"You care! You really, REALLY care!" He theatrically threw his free hand across his forehead.
"_Joker_! _Enough_!" Batman stood in frustration. "Answer my questions. Who did this to you?!"
The maniac waved a dismissive hand.
"I did it to myself. If you must know. An attempt to catch your attention. I have to say, it's worked
wonders."
He was playing obvious games.
The detective shook his head.
"No. You didn't Joker. You may be a masochist, you may flaunt your tolerance for pain, but you've never
been suicidal."
The Joker looked away then, his eyes scanning along the cavernous ceiling of the cave.
"So sweetums, where are we, exactly?" He changed subjects.
Batman sat again, sighing in exasperation.
"Someplace safe." He answered.
This elicited a sharp laugh from the maniac.
"Oh, darling, that's rich! You of _all _people should know there's no such place."
Batman said nothing.
The Joker rattled the chain of the cuff loudly.
"Especially considering… How long do you think this will keep me? I mean, _really_!"
He looked at the vigilante with amusement.
Batman felt a shot of anger run through him, his blood boiling at the uncooperative and threatening
attitude of the clown. He stood again, abruptly, reaching out and forcefully taking hold of one of The
Joker's wrist. He applied pressure, as a warning of how easily he could snap it. The Joker responded by
grabbing on to the gauntlet, his expression telling of his extreme displeasure, the smile going
completely from his face, and he stared at the Dark Knight with angry, accusatory eyes. But his grip
was weak, frail even. He had no strength.
"Take your hands _off _me." The madman seethed, his voice low and dark.
The detective starred at him, bemused at the sudden shift in demeanor. The Joker never took his eyes
away from the vigilantes own. They were intense, furious, nearly vibrating in the sockets.
Batman looked down to where he held his enemy, the maniac's long hand on his own. He was gripping the
vigilante's glove tightly, and pushing, though Batman hadn't noticed until then. He released The
Joker's wrist, stepping back. The lunatic looked away, brushing at his arm violently, as though trying
to rid himself of something. The Dark Knight looked intently back, before again sitting, hesitant.
That was weird.
"You need to eat Joker." He said, pointing to the bowl of now cold soup, placed on a nearby tray.
The Joker whirled his head, looking to the dish.
"I'm not hungry." He stated simply.
"You're too thin. You need to eat." Batman countered calmly.
The Joker abruptly struck the mattress with his free hand, releasing a frustrated growl.
"Why do you persist in _pestering_ me Batman!?" He spit.
"You'll die." The vigilante responded.The Joker was acting unlike himself. He was being easily angered. It usually took a great deal to
fluster him, either that, or something very specific. Batman hadn't yet done anything that the madman
wouldn't otherwise brush off with a laugh or some witty, insulting remark.
The Joker scoffed.
"Says the man who gets his kicks going out at night to beat the tar out of anyone who dares disagree
with him." The Joker mumbled to himself, looking away.
Batman's eyes narrowed.
"I don't _enjoy_ what I do Joker." Batman defended, his voice angry. "You bring it…"
"Oh _please_!" The Joker cut him off, half laughing. "Don't you _dare _try and fool me sweetheart. I'm
far too intelligent for that and you know it. Don't think I can't see the sadistic pleasure in your
face when you ravage me."
"You bring it on yourself Joker." Batman continued. "By insisting on acting like a maniac. If you would
just let me take you in, if you wouldn't fight me, I wouldn't have to hurt you. I don't _want_ to hurt
you."
The Joker laughed loudly.
"I'm sure." He smiled, starring directly at the vigilante, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Is that what
you tell yourself? When you continue to pound me against the concrete, even after it's become
_painfully _apparent I've been rendered defenseless?"
Batman looked back, remaining mute.
The Joker chuckled.
"Not that I mind." He continued, flicking his hand upward, gesturing flamboyantly. "I quite enjoy it.
But you already know that. No. What I find repulsive is your _denial_ of the pleasure it gives you. You
have all these excuses, ready and waiting, to lift the burden of guilt. You can't be honest with
yourself, with the simple fact that it makes you feel good. Just like _them_. It makes me want to kill
you. It really does."
Batman starred. For a moment, he was at a loss for words. He felt his body tense. The truth was, The
Joker was right. He did like the way it felt. Taking his anger, his frustration, his sense of justice
out on the lunatic, it had always been a kind of therapy, invigorating even. He told himself The Joker
deserved it. And he did! Still, the madman had him, dead to rights. Lying to him had always been a
useless endeavor. The Joker _was_ too smart for that. But he never wanted to hurt him in the way he now
was. He knew when to stop. He knew what was wrong. This was wrong. The lunatic may have deserved
punishment, but there was a point in which his mental illness had to be considered, factored in. He
didn't deserve this.
His thoughts were broken by The Joker again speaking.
"Oh, I know why you're pampering me now Bat-boy." He laughed. "You simply couldn't bear the guilt of
letting me die. At least, that's what you _think_." He giggled madly.
Each time he did, it sent ripping pain through his body. He ignored it.
The detective decided it best to move away from the subject.
"Are you going to tell me what happened or not?" He said.
"Why should I?" The Joker countered.
"So it doesn't happen again." Batman was quick to respond.
The Joker laughed.
"Don't act ignorant to the abuse that goes on there darling. You aren't that stupid."
Batman frowned.
"I've never seen this." He said. "Not with you. Not with the others."
"Oh yes, and seeing is believing, isn't it dear?" The Joker chuckled. "Well, to be fair, it never was
so severe. And more or less, the cattle kept away from me. The risk just wasn't worth the reward." He
laughed. "But don't expect dear Jonathan or Edward or any of those other charlatans to come stumbling
out looking like this. You see, Warden Sharp's new policies apply to me specifically."
"You mean…"
"I mean," The Joker cut him off. "being their star patient, well, they've concluded extreme measures to
be in order… an experiment in treatment, I think they said." He laughed. "And should any ill befall
me... It's not as though anyone should or would take note. If limited only to one, then no suspicion
will arise, and the facility can go on operating, as it always has."
Batman eyed him intensely.
"The others receive their share of "punishment", as the staff justify calling it." The Joker continued.
"But nothing out of the usual. Only their methods with me have intensified."
Batman leaned back.
"When did it start?"
The Joker laughed.
"Are you really that concerned?!"
"Yes. I am." The vigilante answered flatly.
The maniac sighed, looking away.
It wasn't something he wanted to talk about, Batman noted, that much was obvious. He was agitated, his
mood sour. For The Joker, the behavior was unusual.
"I won't let you go back to that." He said finally. "I've been suspicious of Sharp from the beginning.
If he's done this to you, it's only a matter of time before he starts on the others. We need to stop
him now. If you tell me what happened, I can get him removed from the asylum."
"If you would have only let me be, you wouldn't need concern yourself with his removal. I would have
seen to it myself." He chuckled.
"_No_ Joker." Batman stood. "Not like that. He'll be charged and tried. He'll serve his time. But you
need to tell me what happened to you."
"How droll." The Joker looked away.
"You're half dead Joker." Batman said. "I don't know how you escaped, but if I send you back now, and
Sharp is allowed to continue, it's likely you won't survive."
"Have I ever shown concern for that?" The Joker questioned, looking incredulous.
Batman sighed. It was true. The Joker wasn't afraid to die. He'd seen the madman stare death in the
face on countless occasions. From other criminals, other heroes, from being in the wrong place at the
wrong time. He himself had nearly killed him, more times then he wished to remember. And The Joker had
never shown even an inkling of fear, under any circumstance. He'd never begged for his life, or tried
to appeal to whoever, or whatever, was threatening it. He wasn't driven at all my self-preservation, as
most others were. Still, The Joker was a vain creature, egotistical, one who felt others were below
him, and he wouldn't tolerate being treated as a lab rat.
"No." Batman finally answered. "But I know you Joker. You may not be afraid to die. But you also don't
think anyone deserves to kill you. No one but me. You otherwise wouldn't have found the will to escape,
not in your condition. You're angry, you want revenge."
The Joker looked at him intensely, when suddenly he smiled broadly.
"You know me too well Batsy. But right you are. No one should be allowed that privilege. No one but
you, and myself, of course." He laughed.
The room fell silent for several seconds.
"Alright then." The Joker finally broke the quiet. "I'll tell you." Batman leaned forward.
"Mind if I record this?"

The Joker smiled.
"How very considerate you are Bats." He batted his eyelids. "But be my guest."
The vigilante reached in to his belt, pulling from it a digital recorder.
The madman watched him intently.
"Okay." He said.
"I'll take some of that." The Joker nodded towards the soup.
"I thought you said you weren't hungry." Batman said.
"I am now." The Joker said simply.
Batman stood, handing the dish to his enemy. He watched him carefully, never taking his eyes from the
thin man. He knew The Joker could utilize both the bowl and spoon as a weapon, and that he wouldn't
hesitate to do so.
The Joker took it from him, pulling his legs in to a crossed, Indian style position before bringing the
spoon to his mouth.
Batman noticed the care with which the madman ate. He must have been starving, literally. But he did
not rush the food to his mouth; he did not scarf or slurp it. He ate slowly, daintily even.
After only a few bites, The Joker looked up.
"Well then, shall we begin?"
Batman waited.
"You recall our last encounter? When you brought me back?"
"Yes." Batman nodded.
"You dropped me in to the hands of that disgusting brute Jamison. And then you left. Without so much as
a goodbye. I was crushed darling. Truly."
Batman felt his lip twitch. Could the clown ever be serious?
"Alright, alright!" The Joker rolled his eyes. No sense of humor, as usual, he thought.
"Well, it started soon after."