The corridors of Arkham Asylum always carried the same smell - antiseptic attempting to mask despair.
Batman moved through them, his cape flowing behind him like a shadow given form.
The guards nodded respectfully, some with relief in their eyes. Scarecrow's recapture had prevented another night of terror in Gotham.
But Batman hadn't come for Crane tonight.
"Maximum security wing, end of the hall," the guard said unnecessarily. As if Batman didn't know exactly where they kept him.
"I need privacy," Batman stated, not a request but a command.
"Of course. The cameras will still be running, but audio's yours to control." The guard handed him a small remote. "Press when you're done. And... be careful, sir."
Batman took the device without comment and continued down the sterile corridor.
His newfound senses extended before him, feeling the asylum's psychic landscape. Pain. Confusion. Rage. Madness in a dozen different flavors.
And ahead - something different. A void. A presence that felt like static in the Force, chaotic and unpredictable to most.
The Joker.
Batman stopped before the reinforced cell door, activating the privacy protocols. The red light above the door blinked twice, confirming audio surveillance was disabled.
"I know you're awake," he said, his voice low and gravelly.
A chuckle emanated from the darkness within. "Ooooh, Batsy comes calling at the witching hour. To what do I owe the pleasure? Don't tell me it's my birthday! I never can keep track in this place."
The Joker emerged from the shadows, straightjacket pristine white against the cell's gloom. His grin stretched unnaturally wide, green hair wild despite Arkham's regulations.
"No escape attempts this week?" Batman asked, studying his nemesis through the transparent barrier.
"What's the rush? The food's improved since they fired that dreadful Chef Matheson." Joker tilted his head, his smile faltering momentarily. "But you're not here for small talk, are you? Something's... different."
Batman remained still, his expression unreadable behind the cowl. The Joker's perception had always been unnervingly acute.
"You've changed." Joker pressed his face against the barrier, eyes narrowing. "New cologne? Diet? Spiritual awakening? Do tell!"
"I came to ask you something," Batman said, ignoring the bait.
"An interview! How delightful!" Joker spun in place, giggling. "Shall I lie down on my couch? Get comfortable for the psychoanalysis?"
"Do you think you can change?"
The question hung in the air between them. Joker stopped spinning, his perpetual smile frozen in place.
"Now that's a boring question," he said, disappointment evident. "I expected better from you."
"Answer it."
Joker sighed dramatically. "Change is life's only constant, Batsy. I've been a failed comedian, a gangster, a terrorist, an ambassador... Why, I've even been dead once or twice!"
"That's not what I'm asking." Batman stepped closer to the barrier. "Can you stop? Choose a different path? End this cycle?"
"Ohhh." Joker's eyes widened with mock realization. "You mean can I be good?" He spat the word like it tasted foul. "Become a productive member of society? Get a job at the post office? Coach little league on weekends?"
Batman said nothing, waiting.
"But darling, why would I want to?" Joker pressed his straightjacketed form against the barrier. "We complete each other! Your dour righteousness, my chaotic brilliance - it's perfect symmetry!"
"People die because of that 'symmetry.'"
"People die because they're fragile and temporary," Joker countered, his voice hardening. "I just speed up the inevitable."
Batman felt the Force swirling around the Joker - not just flowing through him like others, but churning, distorted. This close, he could sense the fundamental wrongness that was the Clown Prince of Crime.
"You know," Joker continued, studying Batman's face, "you really have changed. There's something... I can't quite put my finger on it." His eyes narrowed. "What happened to you? Someone else get to break you before I could?"
"Nothing broke me," Batman replied evenly.
"Something did!" Joker insisted, suddenly angry. "You're different! What was it? WHO was it?" The last question came as a shriek, possessive and jealous. "If someone else has touched my Bat, I'll-"
"Do you feel guilt?" Batman interrupted.
The question silenced Joker mid-rant. For a moment - just a flicker - something passed behind those mad eyes. Then the grin returned, wider than ever.
"Guilt?" Joker repeated, as if tasting the word. "For what? Being the punchline this dreary world deserves? For showing people their precious order is just one bad day away from collapse?"
Batman remained silent, watching, sensing.
"Do fish feel guilty for swimming? Do birds apologize for flying?" Joker pressed closer to the barrier. "I am what I am, Batman. I do what I do. It's my nature."
"Nature can be overcome," Batman said, though he felt the hollowness of the words even as he spoke them.
Joker's laugh started low, building gradually to a hysterical crescendo that echoed through the cell. "Oh, that's RICH coming from you! The man who dresses like a BAT to frighten criminals because Mommy and Daddy got SHOT!" He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. "We're both slaves to our nature, our precious formative traumas. The only difference is I embrace mine!"
Batman felt something shift inside him. The certainty he'd been fighting against since his awakening in the cave settled into place like the final piece of a puzzle.
"Last chance," Batman said quietly. "Do you regret any of it? The people you've killed. The lives you've destroyed. Jason Todd. Barbara Gordon. Do you feel anything for them?"
Joker's eyes gleamed in the dim light. "The bird boy and the commissioner's daughter? Please! They were just props in our grand performance." He leaned forward almost like he's telling a secret. "And between us, I think I improved the girl. Much more interesting in that wheelchair, don't you think?"
Batman's fists clenched involuntarily. The Force responded, objects in the cell trembling slightly before he regained control.
Joker didn't seem to notice, continuing his monologue. "Guilt is for ordinary people, Batsy. The ones who need rules to feel safe. You and I? We're beyond that."
"I'm nothing like you," Batman growled.
"Keep telling yourself that!" Joker sang out. "But we both know the truth. One bad day separates you from me. One rule broken."
His voice dropped to a whisper. "And something's happened to you. Something that's making you question that rule. I can see it in those brooding eyes of yours."
Batman stared at the Joker, extending his senses fully. No remorse. No guilt. No potential for redemption. Just an endless void of chaos and cruelty, wrapped in a human form.
"You're wrong," Batman said finally. "I'm not questioning my rule. I'm understanding it better."
"Ooooh, cryptic!" Joker clapped his hands awkwardly within the straightjacket. "Do share with the class!"
"Goodbye, Joker." Batman turned to leave.
"WAIT!" Joker shouted, suddenly desperate. "You can't just leave! Not when you're finally getting interesting again! What's changed? TELL ME!"
Batman paused at the door, not turning back. "Everything."
"This isn't over!" Joker's voice followed him down the corridor. "Whatever's happened to you, whoever's changed you - remember, I'M the only one who gets to break the Bat! ME! DO YOU HEAR ME?"
The laughter echoed through the halls of Arkham long after Batman had departed, fading into the night like a bad dream.
---------------------------------
The Batcave's silence was broken only by the distant drip of water and the occasional rustle of bats overhead. Bruce sat before the computer, cowl removed, staring at the screen without seeing it.
The encounter with Joker had confirmed what he already knew but had been reluctant to accept. Some people couldn't be saved because they didn't want salvation. Their nature - chosen, reinforced, embraced - had become immutable.
"Master Bruce?" Alfred's voice broke through his thoughts. "I've brought some soup. You've been down here for hours."
Bruce accepted the tray without looking up. "Thank you, Alfred."
"I take it your visit to Arkham was... illuminating?" Alfred remained standing nearby, concern evident in his posture.
"It was." Bruce finally turned to face his oldest friend. "I've been wrong, Alfred."
The butler raised an eyebrow. "A rare admission. About what, specifically?"
"Justice. Punishment. Redemption." Bruce gestured to the computer screen, which displayed files on Gotham's most notorious criminals. "I've been operating under the assumption that everyone can be redeemed. That my refusal to kill wasn't just about maintaining my own humanity, but about preserving the possibility of rehabilitation."
"A noble philosophy," Alfred noted carefully.
"A flawed one." Bruce stood, pacing before the giant screen. "Some people choose evil, Alfred. They embrace it. Repeat it. Until it becomes who they are at their core."
"And you believe the Joker is such a person?"
"I know he is." Bruce's voice was certain. "I sensed it."
Alfred's eyebrow raised slightly at the unusual phrasing, but he didn't comment on it directly. "Even so, sir, your refusal to take life has always been about more than the criminals themselves. It's been about you - about not crossing a line you can't uncross."
"I understand that better now than ever before." Bruce turned to face the display case containing his parents' portrait. "But what if sparing one irredeemable life costs dozens of innocent ones? What's the moral calculation there?"
"That is a question philosophers have debated for centuries, sir." Alfred set down the tray. "I'm not certain I'm qualified to answer it."
Bruce was silent for a long moment. "When my parents died, I made a vow. To wage war on criminals. To ensure no one else would suffer as I had."
He turned back to Alfred. "But in sparing those who cannot and will not change, I've allowed countless others to die. Children to be orphaned. Lives to be destroyed."
"You cannot hold yourself responsible for the Joker's actions, Master Bruce."
"Can't I?" Bruce's eyes were intense. "If I know what he'll do when he inevitably escapes again, and I do nothing permanent to stop him, doesn't that make me complicit?"
Alfred straightened, his expression grave. "Sir, if I may speak plainly - this line of thinking concerns me greatly."
"I'm not planning a killing spree, Alfred." Bruce's lip quirked slightly. "I'm reassessing. Reevaluating the moral framework I've operated under."
"Might I ask what prompted this philosophical crisis? Beyond your visit to Arkham."
Bruce hesitated. How could he explain the memories of another life? The knowledge of what awaited after death? The Force now flowing through him, showing him truths he'd been blind to before?
"Perspective," he said finally. "I've gained... perspective."
Alfred studied him carefully. "And this new perspective has led you to question your most fundamental principle?"
"To understand it better," Bruce corrected. "Evil isn't just an act, Alfred. It's a state of being. For some, it's a choice made so many times it becomes nature."
"And you believe you can judge who has crossed that threshold?"
Bruce turned back to the computer, bringing up the Joker's file - the endless list of atrocities, the countless lives destroyed. "Some cases are clearer than others."
Alfred sighed softly. "I would remind you, sir, that throughout history, the most dangerous individuals have always been those who were absolutely certain of their moral judgments."
"I'm not certain of anything anymore, Alfred." Bruce's voice was quiet. "Except that there must be justice. Real justice. Not just for the crimes committed, but for the nature of those who commit them."
"Justice or vengeance, sir?"
"Is there a difference when the system fails repeatedly?" Bruce asked. "When the same victims suffer again and again because we refuse to acknowledge that some people cannot be rehabilitated?"
"There is always a difference," Alfred insisted. "One looks backward in anger; the other looks forward with hope."
Bruce was silent for a long moment. "What about Hell, Alfred?"
The question clearly caught the butler off guard. "I beg your pardon?"
"If there is a Hell - a place of eternal punishment - who deserves to go there? Everyone who's done wrong? Only the worst offenders? Those who feel no remorse?"
Alfred regarded Bruce with growing concern. "This is rather theological territory for you, sir. May I ask what's brought this on?"
Bruce shook his head. "Just... thinking about ultimate justice. If even the divine is unclear with who deserves eternal punishment, how can we be expected to make perfect judgments?"
"We cannot, sir. Which is precisely why we must err on the side of mercy when possible."
"And when mercy enables further suffering?"
Alfred had no immediate answer for that.
Bruce turned back to the computer, pulling up a different file. "Thank you for the soup, Alfred. And the conversation."
Recognizing the dismissal, Alfred nodded. "Very well, sir. But may I suggest that major philosophical realignments are best undertaken after a proper night's rest?"
That earned a small smile from Bruce. "Noted."
As Alfred departed, Bruce stared at the new file on his screen: John Constantine.
If anyone could help him understand the metaphysical realities of death, judgment, and eternal punishment, it would be the Hellblazer himself.
Bruce reached for the secure phone, dialing a number few possessed.
After several rings, a gruff British voice answered. "Whoever this is, it's bloody three in the morning."
"Constantine. It's Batman."
A pause, followed by a dry chuckle. "Well, well. The big bad bat calls little old me. Must be the end times."
"We need to talk."
"About what? I'm a bit busy with an incubus situation in-"
"About Hell. About guilt. About what happens when we die."
The line went silent for several seconds. When Constantine spoke again, his voice had lost its flippant tone.
"What's happened, Batman? What have you seen?"
"Not over the phone. Meet me tomorrow night. Gotham Cemetery, midnight."
"Fitting location," Constantine muttered. "Alright, I'll be there. But Batman-"
"Yes?"
"If you're messing with the veil between worlds, be careful. Some doors aren't meant to be opened."
"I'm not opening doors, Constantine." Bruce's voice was grim. "I'm looking for keys."
He ended the call, leaning back in his chair. The Force flowed around him, responding to his resolve.
Whatever it took, he would find a way to save those who didn't deserve damnation - his parents, Jason, everyone burdened by misplaced guilt.
Even if it meant redefining justice itself.
Even if it meant becoming something more - or less - than Batman.
The path forward was unclear, but one thing was certain:
Things would never be the same again.
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(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all liked this chapter!
Do tell me what you think of it.
What do you think of Bruce's thoughts and new understanding?
Well, I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)