Chapter Text
It's a feeling one cannot shake easily. It's a feeling of missing something, that being the object of your obsession and affection, and not being able to avoid the feeling of something being loose inside you as that one things has been taken away from you. Falling and knowing there's nothing catching you at the end. You can only hope to catch the rope that falls just from within your reach.
And the more time passes on, the feeling eats you more and more until core is hit and there's just licking and and suckling on the fragile, white bones. All the while you're just waiting for that one thing to come back. Begging, pleading, praying to everything that's out there. Because you cannot lose hope, but at the same time, oh, there's so little of it...
All things considered, no one would have guessed what happened before it was too late to stop it from escalating into a downward spiral heading straight to rock bottom that they didn't even know existed - for this, the present was already thought out to be one for him. This was Joker weeping against the white padded corner of the room and looking like a victim of love and obsession more than one couldn't have known him capable of since after all he was the Clown Prince of Crime and nothing else would suffice. For the odd doctors and nurses who prodded and poked at his brain, wanting to see him as just another murderer with a tendency for having psychosis. They would not be able to just lock him up when he showed more raw humanity than they had ever seen in their lives before.
No one would have guessed, expected it to come to this, because it all started like it always did.
Batman had taken Joker in after yet another brutal night out on the town and shipped him back off to Arkham Asylum. Soon he was placed in his usual, customized cell at the intensive treatment ward and no one spared a glance back at him through the small slot in the metal door when walking back to their lives. No one but Batman, and he told Joker to get better and that he would come back for him then. His expression was collected and firm like usual, though blue eyes sadder than normal as he looked down at the bound maniac staring right back him with glossy, livid green eyes.
And Joker had nothing but laughed in his face and said: "Sure, Batsy! See ya then! Lova ya!", sure enough that they would see each other much sooner than later from a "recovery". He would make his way back to the streets of Gotham city in no time and they would fight and fight and love until they bled. That was his plan, it always was. He wasn't going to let this temporary set-back dull him down. He never did. He was getting out again in a few days like always.
But it wasn't all too simple anymore. He did love challenges too and was rather gleeful at first when he noticed that he would need to work on his escape with a little bit more thinking this time.
Not for long though.
Days stretched into weeks and weeks to months. He could not imagine what had made the asylum change so drastically which lead to all of his options of escape vanishing and only one left to remaining.
That's when he knew the Bat had to be behind it. His cell wasn't customized by another daft engineer. The usual and unusual ways of getting out weren't nicked away from him by an amateur who had no idea who in fact the Joker was.
That one way out was exactly what Bats had asked of him. But did he not know the most important part about the Joker then?
The Joker was incurable.
I
II
III Hahahah
IV
V Hahahahahahahahah...
VI
VII HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
VIII
IX HAHAHAHAAHAhahahaHAHAHAahhahaaaah!!!
X
XI HAHAHAHAAHAAAAAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!!!
XII !!!
Months stretched into a year and still the clock kept ticking away. One, two, three, four, five, six... Sixty, one, two, three, four, five, six...
He couldn't stop. Couldn't. Couldn't they see that?!
He had ended up in solitary more times than he was allowed in the common areas and his "usual" room. White, padded, secure, white, white, white.
No clock there, but still the consistent, infuriating ticking kept going inside his head and he was going just CRAZY from it! Just the same old, same old from day one to day two. He was not man made for lying on soft floors with his hands bound crossed over his chest. He was a man of action and anarchy. A man made for the Bat - not for piercing needles filled with liquid that made his knees weak and head fuzzy with thoughts not so funny.
But the damn Batman wouldn't let up. Would not let him out until he gave in.
He would have to decide what he wanted most. Get things into perspective. Prioritize.
He wanted the Bat of course. The most. He was what he needed to be himself. But if that meant sacrificing himself, then even if he did get Bats back, would he be complete anymore? Was this not unfair and unjustified by the Bat with everything he stood for?
Twisted he was. Just like him.
That should have made him smile. But that sure was a thing of struggle with the muzzle plastered over his mouth to keep him quiet. The laughing was making the other patients agitated.
Oh, but he would show him. He would show him that the Bat needed him as much he needed him and if he would not be able to get out, then the Bat would have to get in.