(trigger warning for language, violence, gore, mental illness, and mentions of drugs)

(also i wrote this pretty late at night so if it's bad...., sorry)

"Hello, Batman. Or Bruce, I guess I should say."

Bruce scowled at Joker. He felt like he was naked in the spotlight, with no cowl to hide behind and no armor to protect him. Only Arkham's white sweatpants and t-shirt, both complete with the Arkham Asylum logo and void of color.

It was the direct opposite of Bruce's preferred color scheme and made him feel like he'd been deprived of color. Like he was in a void prison. He didn't know how anyone could stand it in here... until he realized that nobody could.

Bruce was now experiencing the life of an Arkham patient, trapped in a cold, desolate building with wildly dangerous criminals inside. And in this asylum, people went crazier than they already were.

If Bruce looked strange in Arkham clothes, then Joker looked stranger... at least, to Bruce, — Gotham was going wild over Batman's revealed, once-secret identity, plus the famous billionaire trapped behind bars — because he was lacking his usual red lipstick. It had become so trademark to Joker's... character... that Bruce sometimes thought it was printed onto his skin like his acid green hair and sheet white skin.

Joker looked completely out of place in the building and clothing that he probably spent most of his life in. Not just because of his undecorated face... but because he looked completely calm.

Joker smiled patiently. Not a single tooth was revealed in that smile. Just a genuine, patient smile as Bruce brooded on.

"Pretty weird when you say it out loud, huh?" Joker continued when Bruce didn't greet him back. He chuckled to himself before adding, "But it's still your name: Bruce. Always has been and always will be, no matter what mask you put on your face."

Bruce's scowl deepened, his teeth gritting in what was supposed to be an intimidating fashion. But this was the Joker, and he didn't swoon at the facial expressions Bruce pulled. Not even when Bruce was dressed in Kevlar and beating the shit out of him. Joker wasn't afraid of Bruce at all.

Bruce's balled up his fists, the palms of his hands sweaty and his fingernails digging into his skin uncomfortably. Joker noticed his clenched fists — very clearly looked down at them — but did not react in the slightest. Rather, he put his hands behind his head and sat back on his cot relaxedly.

"Bat or man," Joker mused, "you are always the same person."

Bruce couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed Joker by the shirt and pressed him against the wall. He could practically hear Joker's skull ringing as it hit the wall hard, and it almost made him smile. Almost.

"Shut the fuck up," Bruce spat, unleashing the beast that had been injected into his veins.

Bruce had thought Joker was calm before, but now he returned to his usual toothy smile and cackled his usual maniacal laugh. Bruce almost felt as if like they were on the streets of Gotham again, the moon seeming barely a white speck in the pitch black sky, pollution in the air, and rain pattering against the pavement... just like the blood dripping from Bruce and Joker's wounds.

But they were only in Arkham, despite the Joker's mad guffaw and the grit in Bruce's voice. And Bruce had been drugged by Poison Ivy, his anger completely unjustifiable.

Joker let his head roll against the wall, still so infuriatingly at ease. And his grin was familiar, but still so remarkably un-red.

"That's what I was looking for," Joker said. "Now you're really Bruce. Not the billionaire, not the Batman, just... Bruce. Good ol'... cold, traumatized Bruce."

Those last words brought Bruce back to reality. He dropped Joker to the floor, and his bare feet touched the ground. Bruce was again reminded of how similar Bruce and Joker were in height when Bruce wasn't decked out in Batman gear. It reminded Bruce of his humanity, if only for a moment.

"I've been drugged," Bruce replied quietly. "This isn't me."

"It is you," Joker objected. "You without limitations. You're doing exactly what you want to do. You're being more honest with me right now than you've ever been with anyone else in your life."

The words made Bruce want to punch Joker in the nose, hear the crunch of the bone and make it bleed out of both nostrils.

"I know you want to hurt me right now for saying that," Joker guessed (correctly), "but I'm only being as honest as you."

Bruce refrained himself from hurting Joker. He didn't want to prove him right and he knew it was wrong.

"You won't get in my head," Bruce retorted, voice nearly breaking.

Joker laughed again. "That's what I used to tell my shrink."

Joker looked out wistfully into the halls of the asylum. Joker never brooded like that. It reminded Bruce too much of himself. Bruce folded his arms awkwardly over his chest, curling in on himself slightly.

"I was scared to tell the doctors my problems," Joker continued, "because I'd been told my whole life it was bad that I had 'em. In a world where being a deviant is a negative thing, you're taught that you should conform and keep your mental problems to yourself."

Bruce swallowed. He couldn't tell you what emotions he was feeling.

"You'd be pretty scared to tell someone about your lunacy if everyone said you could end up in a place like this," Joker said, then turned back to Bruce, smiling gently once more. No teeth. No craziness. Bruce could barely tell it was him.

"Why do you throw us in here?" Joker asked, but he wasn't mad. "Do you like rescuing the regular folk? The ones you see on TV who talk normal and think normal and laugh normal? Do you ignore the crazier ones who would be more difficult to fix?"

Bruce straightened his back, suddenly, and puffed out his chest in an attempt to look confident. Unfazed by Joker's words. "I'm saving Gotham as a whole. Sometimes sacrifices must be made."

"Even when that includes yourself?" Joker questioned.

Bruce inhaled and it burned his lungs.

"Yes."

It was quiet in the cell for a moment. You could hear the rattling of cell doors and tortured screams faintly. The ambiance of a truly screwed-up loony bin. Something out of a horror movie. But that's not what Bruce was paying attention to, and it wasn't what Joker was thinking about either. Both of them were staring at each other intensely in the eyes, to the point where Bruce felt like he was zoning out til he was swimming in Joker's piercing eyes.

They were so very close without realizing it, and Bruce was breathing so laboredly, as if every second pained him. Joker was pressed up against the wall, but he wasn't the helpless one.

Bruce stared and stared and stared.

Then he crossed the room and laid down on his cot, hands folded over his stomach.

"Good night," he said automatically.

Joker grinned. Bruce couldn't see it with his eyes glued shut, but he knew it. He felt it. They were connected more closely than any two other human beings and they both knew it.

"Good night, Batman," Joker replied. Bruce winced and tried to sleep.