Chapter 169 - My OC Stash #69 - But Doctor, I Am Pagliacci by Acyl (DCU)

-Recommended by Denzel_theking & chiller~ It's quite an interesting fic with a level-headed Joker trying to figure out the mystery of Batman not existing at all. But then big twist, we have this more sane Joker becoming this world's Batman, check it out!

(″ロ゛)

Sypnosis: Jack Napier, a.k.a. the Joker. After years of madness, he's finally sane. But there's something wrong. Something's not right. According to his psychiatrist, there's no Bat. Nobody in Gotham City has heard of a superhero named Batman. The Justice League doesn't have a guy who dresses like a bat.

And that's wrong. That can't be. Because if there's one thing that Jack knows, it's that there can't be a Joker without a Batman.

Rated: T

Words 100K

Posted on: forums.spacebattles.com/threads/but-doctor-i-am-pagliacci-dc-joker-au.808805/#post-63241049 (Acyl)

PS: If you're not able to copy/paste the link, you have everything in here to find it, by simply searching the author and the story title. It sucks that you can't copy links on mobile (´ー｀)

-I'll be putting the chapter ones of all the fanfics mentioned, to give you guys a sample if you wan't more please do go to the website and support the author! (And maybe even convince them to start uploading chapters in here as well!)

Chapter 1+2 (exceptional)

"That can't be," Jack whispered.

The doctor looked at him. Her expression was sympathetic. Empathetic. Jack was getting vaguely sick of seeing that expression on people's faces. He understood why, of course. But it didn't make things any better.

"Forced visual hallucinations aren't unheard of," the doctor murmured. "And I guess you could have seen some kind of figure that… "

As she spoke, the doctor spun her pen between her fingers. The ballpoint moved back and forth, the blue plastic contrasting with the red of her nail polish. Jack had noticed the nervous tic. It was one of Doc Quinzel's many tells.

Perhaps it was wrong of him to expect a psychiatric professional to have better control over her own body language. She was a doctor, not a machine. Whatever the case, Quinzel was an expressive woman. It was easy for Jack to read her mood. He knew what she was thinking.

"Look," Jack tried again, leaning forward slightly in his chair. "Sure, you think I'm crazy. Because, yeah, I was. Crazy. Totally cray-cray. But I'm not making this up, okay? Batman, you know? Superhero? Guy in a bat outfit with pointy ears? The Dark Knight? Protector of Gotham City? Am I ringing any bells here?"

"Well," Quinzel said, carefully, "there is a guy with a knight theme. Maybe you're thinking of Azrael?"

Jack made a face. Then he covered his face with one hand.

"No," Jack stated, flatly.

"I don't know what to tell you, Jack," Quinzel said, shrugging her shoulders. "The local superheroes are the Creeper and Ragman. I've never heard of this Batman, or anyone called Robin."

Jack sighed. "No offence, doc, but unless you really follow the cape-and-tights set, is there maybe, just possibly, a chance that you haven't heard of Batman because… "

Quinzel bit her lip. She tapped her ballpoint pen against her notepad, the nib moving aimlessly across the paper. At least, it didn't seem to Jack like she was actually writing something.

Finally, Quinzel spoke again. "I'm accredited with the Justice League."

Jack blinked. "What?"

"The Justice League has a programme that… it's not important," Quinzel said. "The point is that I did check the League's database. There isn't anyone on their public roster that fits your description."

Jack thought quickly, his mind going over what the doctor had said. "Public roster. Key word, 'public'. The Bat doesn't exactly do high profile. What if… "

Quinzel closed her eyes for a second, her brow furrowing. "That's possible, I suppose. But, Jack, there's nothing in your case file that talks about a… Batman. That is the kind of thing which is included in, ah, supervillain case doc.u.mentation. They want us to know who to call in case of an emergency, if nothing else."

Jack inhaled, sharply. He held his breath, counted slowly in his head, then exhaled in a rush. There was no point in getting angry. He wouldn't gain anything from losing his temper. Doc Quinzel was trying to help. She wasn't his enemy.

No. The Batman was.

Except… if she was right, the Batman didn't exist.

"There was that time," Jack said, "I took over damn near every radio in Gotham City. Had one hell of a transmitter, pumped a ton of power. Taunted the cops. Then Batman stopped me. Unless you're telling me that never happened, and I imagined the whole thing."

"That happened," Quinzel replied, reaching for the thick binder on her desk, before stopping herself, and letting her hand fall. "I wasn't at Arkham then, but it was another, er, criminal that turned you over to the police. Brute Nelson."

Jack frowned. "Nelson? No, I… "

"That's what I read," Quinzel said, almost apologetically.

Jack shook his head. "Alright. Fine. Then there was the time I went to New York and tried to… "

He winced. He didn't like dredging up the memories. But he also couldn't run away from everything he'd done.

He forced himself to finish the statement. "Tried to gas the entire UN General Assembly. Because I fancied myself a terrorist, or something. Then Batman and Superman arrived, and… "

"Superman did," Quinzel interrupted, quietly. "Just Superman."

Jack started to protest. But the words died in his throat.

"The whole incident was televised," Quinzel continued. "It was the UN building, and they were in session. Superman came in, and, well… "

Jack clenched his fists, his fingernails digging into his palms.

"The fish," he said, desperately.

Quinzel's eyebrows went up. "I'm sorry? Excuse me?"

"The Joker Fish," Jack clarified. He suppressed the urge to groan at his own insanity, and carried on. "I injected fish with… mutated them to, er, look all… "

He lifted a hand to his face, and mimed an exaggerated smile with two fingers.

"Oh, yes," Quinzel said. "The fish incident, yes."

"Right," Jack muttered.

He wasn't really smiling, of course. No, the expression on his face was a scowl, by now.

"I guess," Jack said, "you're gonna tell me that Batman didn't save the day? Batman didn't turn up to foil my evil seafood plot? Who was it, then? Aquaman?"

This time, Quinzel did open her binder, leafing through the pages. It took her a few moments to find what she was looking for.

"The United States Fish and Wildlife Service," Quinzel said.

Jack's frown deepened. "Wait, seriously?"

"That's what it says here," Quinzel replied.

Jack opened his mouth, then closed it again. He didn't know what to say.

Chapter 2

They considered him low-risk. These days, anyway. His old self would have probably been deeply insulted by that, perhaps considering it an unforgivable slight against his honour. But then again, he wasn't the Clown Prince of Crime anymore.

No. He wasn't the Joker. Not anymore.

So it was understandable that there were only two guards escorting him back to his room.

Jack considered the situation, as they moved down the corridor. The staff liked to use different paths through the building, but it wasn't all that much of a precaution. He still had a fairly good idea where they were.

He'd had years to build a mental map of Arkham, after all. And he'd always had a good memory, even through all those years when his brain had been fogged with madness.

The thing about comedy was… it wasn't all improvisation. Sure, some people did ad-lib on stage. But most stand-up comics had a script. One they'd long since committed to memory. Lines and timing.

When you did a show, be it just five minutes, ten, or a longer gig, you were working with prepared material. Sure, there was always some room for variation, dealing with hecklers and all that. But much of it was memorisation.

"Hey," Jack said, dragging his feet and lightly nudging one of the guards. The left one.

He didn't know what either man was called, and the Arkham guards were clever enough to not conveniently identify themselves with name tape.

Internally, he chose to call the guy 'Curly', because that was how the man's hair looked.

Curly frowned at him. "Keep moving, Napier."

"I gotta pee," Jack shot back.

"There's a toilet in your cell," the other guard stated.

Seeing as how the man's partner was 'Curly', Jack decided that made the right-hand guard 'Moe' by default. He didn't look much like one of the Stooges, seeing as how Moe was tanned and built more like a piece of architecture rather than a regular human being.

"Yeah," Jack replied, "but it stinks. Literally."

"That's your problem," Curly drawled.

"Look, man," Jack complained, "the anti-psychotic meds give me the runs, okay?"

"Like I said," Curly continued, remorselessly. "Your problem."

"Come on," Jack said. "There's a men's room over there, can't I just, you know… "

"Doc said to walk him back," Moe interrupted.

Curly frowned.

"Come on," Jack pleaded. "You guys can walk me in, like you do."

"Not seeing how that's convincing me," Curly growled. "Ain't nobody wants to see your pasty white d.i.c.k, Napier."

Moe made a warning sound. "Professionalism, man."

"He's the Joker," Curly hissed.

"He's an inmate," Moe corrected, firmly.

Curly ground his teeth together. The man clamped his hand tighter around Jack's upper arm, all but hauling him to one side. "Fine. You wanna piss, Napier? You got one minute."

Jack resisted the urge to smile. He kept his face studiously neutral, right until they passed through the bathroom door.

Then, and only then, did he move.

The door was narrow. Which meant the guards had to split up, even if they both were trying to follow him in.

Jack spun, sending an open palm strike straight up, into the underside of Curly's chin. It felt more like the man's jaw was made of concrete, rather than glass. But Curly went down all the same.

Because he was feeling courteous, and because Curly hadn't really done anything to warrant serious head injury, Jack took the brief moment he needed to slow Curly's descent.

He didn't want the guy to crack his skull open on the bathroom floor. Especially since the floor smelt of excessive chemical cleaning products, and who knew what else.

Moe shouted something. It didn't sound like an articulate word in any language Jack knew. As it turned out, despite his size, Moe was fast. Unfortunately for Moe, Jack was even faster.

There wasn't truly any completely safe way to render someone unconscious. A chokehold was better than clobbering someone on the head and hoping for the best, but even then there were too many ways it could go wrong.

And even if it worked right, it wouldn't keep either man down for long. Jack knew that. But he didn't need them unconscious forever, just long enough for Jack to pull the plastic restraints off the guards' belts, and slap them on their wrists and ankles.

The high-tech plastic cuffs all but tightened on their own accord. They were easy to use, which was sort of the point.

He'd watched the staff use them on Tetch, when the guy had kicked up a fuss in the asylum cafeteria. Screaming something about tea parties and Alice.

Absently, Jack noted one small detail that he hadn't noticed earlier. The little plastic restraint devices did have a manufacturer's logo on them. LexCorp.

A part of him had expected them to be… WayneTech, or something. Of course, Doc Quinzel had repeatedly told him there was no such thing as the Wayne Group of Companies. No WayneTech. No Wayne Industries. No Wayne Capital. No Wayne Financial Services.

No Bruce Wayne.

Leaving the bound guards lying on the bathroom floor, Jack crossed the room, hauled himself up and above a urinal, and gripped the window.

The window was more for ventilation than any sort of scenic view. It would be a hell of a squeeze, and likely he'd damn near tear something cramming himself through.

But it would get him outside.

And that was step one.