Those Who Fall Down the Rabbit Hole | Batjokes |

Part 6

Author's Note: The picture above is the painting "The Son of Man" by Rene Magritte.

Batman visits Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane again, ironically, three days after his first visit.

He does not look at his surroundings as he barges through the door.

"We can't find him"

"Well, that says a lot more about, ah, you and your people's competence than it does of the clue I gave you. How's good ol' Jim holding up?"

The Joker's laying down on his back, looking up at the ceiling. He answers Bruce without even spearing a glance his way.

Bruce pointedly ignores the question."We've looked in tunnels, abandoned subway stations," he feels his voice hardening, his pose straightening, and he walks closer to the glass separating him and the psychopathic maniac. "You said he would be underground."

The man on the other side of the glass just hums. And it's that tune again.

"I never said that. I said he wasn't on the ground. Doesn't mean he's under it," the Joker is still looking up at the ceiling. He stretches up his arm, as if trying to reach up to the sky. But there is no sky. Only white walls, and white beds, and white ceilings, and white and white and white. Only white and that humming.

What in the hell is it?

"Bats, do you know about the soul of cowards?"

"I won't be playing your games"

"Though earth and man were gone, and... suns... suns and universes ceased to be. And thou were left alone. Every existence would exist in thee," the Joker frowns up at the roof. "What was the other part?"

Bruce scowls, and his fists tighten. He knew this would be a waste of time. He'd told them. He'd told everyone. Gordon, Rachel.

You're sick in the head

But nobody would listen.

Perhaps you can come out of it intact

Three days ago, Bruce had run to Gordon with a new piece of information on Dent's whereabouts. And Bruce had been almost convinced then, that maybe there was hope. For whom, he does not know. But maybe there was. And then they had looked. And he remembered that no, there was no hope. He was just wasting his time. Talking to a crazy person. Talking about three's.

Three hundred and thirty three

Bruce wouldn't be that calm again.

He stands close to the glass, glaring at the Joker, who is still laying on his bed looking up at the roof. The Joker's other arm goes up, and his fingers reach. And they reach. Up. And up.

And that humming.

But there is no sky.

"I won't be playing your games," Batman says again. The Joker does not look at him. "So you either talk or—"

"Or what?" The Joker asks, both arms up, reaching at nothing. "You can't hurt me, that glass' too thick. Even for you, big guy. You won't kill me. You have nothing to threaten me with." His eyebrows knit together, and he asks in a small voice, "I wonder what you'll do now. Now that you're more guarded."

He then frowns harder. "It was something about rooms," he nods. "Yes, it was about rooms."

The Joker starts humming again.

And then it comes to Bruce. That tune.

Why do birds suddenly appear

Every time you are near?