The Broken Clown.

Chapter Two.

Batman stood frozen in the doorway. He had driven to Arkham and snuck past guards. He only snuck in and out of Arkham when he needed to. Joker was in isolation. He had learned, from overhearing a guard, that they had built a special cell for him. Soundproof, secured and locked. When Batman arrived he noticed it was indeed different. The door was a thick metal with a padlock on the side. The door would slide up and had no gaps. But when he entered he didn't expect to see what he did.

He stood frozen in the doorway, eyes locked onto the beaten, bloody, naked, pale body hanging in the middle of the room. To his relief, Joker was still breathing. His wrists were tied with rope that hung from the ceiling, cuts in his wrists from struggling. His feet were a few inches off the ground, both of his legs unnaturally limp. He slowly approached Joker, a wooden chair conveniently behind him. Blood was on the chair, both from dripping off Joker and from being used as a weapon. He froze when he heard a muffled groan. He couldn't tell if Joker was awake or not, a gag tied in his mouth and a leather blindfold over his eyes. It was obvious he was tortured in more ways than one. Slowly he stepped onto the chair, taking his cape off first before untying the gag and blindfold. Joker was unconscious. Maybe that's a good thing. Bruce lightly held onto Joker, already feeling how light he was, before throwing a batterang at the ropes. Once Joker was in his arms he wrapped him up in his cape.

'Fuck.' The word repeated in his head as he sped down the road. 'Damnit this is my fault!' Bruce glanced over at Joker, curled up in his cape. He ignored the blood dripping onto the batmobile's floor and called Alfred. "Sir? Is everything okay?" "Alfred. Set up a guest room with medical supplies. Needles, wraps, IVs. And set up a warm bath." "Sir? You seem upset, what's-" "NOW ALFRED!" Bruce hung up, he was just about at the Batcave.