Disclaimer: Disclaimed.

A/N: Thanks for reading + kind reviews. The fic ended at last chapter, but I'm sort of wrapping things up here. Cheers.

.

.

Slippery People

Part 08:

Epilogue

.

.

Arkham Asylum.

Home for the criminally insane.

Location, Gotham. USA. Earth.

"This," Nick Fury said, "is a bad idea." He looked at the faces of the world leaders on the many screens. Most were impassive. A few, repulsed.

"Please do not blame us, but we do not believe you are the best man to give advice on this matter." The grey, gauntly man makes Fury think of morays. Those slippery fish that produced slime when one tried to catch them. Ugly motherfuckers. "Especially not after you previous disasters concerning the handling of the Asgardian criminal. Which of them was he again?" He had a shrimp cocktail beside him, and took one, slurped it in and chewed while he spoke. "The skinny one... mmm... yes?" Pieces of it got stuck in his beard.

"Loki is a time bomb. Putting him in the state's worst nuthouse isn't gonna slow him down. Hell, his former partner in crime resides there. And with all due respect, sir, I've lost a shitload of good men and women because of that sick son of a bitch." His bad mouth did not ease the situation. But Fury recalled the terrified faces of his agents as the chemical toxin had destroyed their nervous systems. One had gone rabid and had to be put down. Like a mad dog.

"Ah, but he'll be their problem, not ours or SHIELD's." Another shrimp was consumed.

"And 'sides," a pug like woman continued, "he's under the pledge of insanity. He'll avoid the federal death penalty, and we'll avoid trouble with Asgard."

Fury realized this'd been dealt with beforehand. This conversation merely existed to keep up the façade. He stiffly thanked them for informing him and clicked the screens off. Agents who passed him heard a quite impressive list of profanities. Their ears rang like when their mothers dropped an f bomb for the first time.

Loki was flown to Gotham as fast as possible. They didn't want a grieving citizen to take the law into their own hands. There'd been three attacks and numerous less hostile on the local police station, demanding Loki's whereabouts (and head). He'd been sent to Gotham with private SHIELD flights with cloaking abilities.

Crane, too, had been shipped to Arkham. Separately, of course. It was less controversial. Some critics claimed he'd been manipulated by Loki—and found straw and blood in their beds the next morning, as warning. The connections Crane had in prison remained. Time stood still in Arkham. He was put under intense care, the exposure to Fear Toxin triggering some old effects from Batman's stunt on him a year ago. The critics used this as another way to backslash Batman. For obvious reasons, Batman wasn't to be found. But the Avengers knew he was watching. Stark had even discovered a nanoscopic probe fastened to his suit. Much to his dismay, it self destructed before he had a chance to take a closer look. God knows how many other the paranoid vigilante had.

All in all, Crane and Loki's arrival had been quiet.

There was media coverage, of course, but a crook or two only held the public for so long. Now, an official cheating taxes, that was news! Foreign paparazzi did not show much interest either. Or rather, couldn't, because being in Gotham for too long made one... stranger.

(There was something in the water.)

And Loki?

Loki hated, quietly.

Another cell. Another prison.

Thor visited him sometimes. He didn't try to understand Loki anymore. He did not offer redemption. Instead he just sat there, preferring to talk of insignificant things like food or wedding feasts in Asgard. He didn't respond when Loki mocked him, which, alas, happened less and less. Thor didn't look guilty anymore. Merely hollow. Thor wasn't mere brainless muscle. Loki knew that. The thunder god had grown over the years, going from a carefree boy king to a quiet, stoic warrior. Under iron and boiled leather there was a patchwork of scars.

Loki supposed he should've felt triumphant. But all he felt was emptiness and tire.

He'd sleep it out, for now. Rest. Another opportunity would show itself soon enough. That was how it always was. An endless cycle, the brothers blackening for each time.

Perhaps Loki didn't even realize there was a cycle.

It was over, for now.

Or so he thought.

.

.

Loki laid on the bed when it happened. Sleepless. The previous inmate had scratched hieroglyphs into the ceiling. If he had looked close enough, he'd seen a fingernail. But he didn't.

Iiiiiik!

The door whined as it opened. It slammed shut, afterwards. The light was dim because of the hour. But Loki could make out was a shape of a man. Medium built. Tangled hair. Orange jumpsuit. Male. An inmate.

Loki sat up. Perhaps this night would be less of a bore than all the others.

"So, uh, you're the guy. Been lookin' for you. A lot. And I mean an l-o-t." The inmate smacked his lips on the t. The voice went from deep to hitch pitched, up and down, up and down. So unreliable. Distorted. Disorder.

"Why?" Loki asked, smiling.

The inmate did not stir. He lifted a finger. Rays of light illuminated it, showing signs of corrosion. "You. Took. Something. Or someone. Remember Johnny? Scaredy Cat? Calls himself the, uh, master of fear or something equally non clever. He's a chemist, see, and I needed him, and you took him." And then his voice dropped an octave again—and this time, darkness oozed from it. "I don't like being stolen from. Awfully sorry about being a party pooper, but I'll need to repay you, see. Make y'remember."

And then Loki remembered.

"Joker," he whispered. His smile shattered. Dread dawned on him.

Too late, too late.

"So, Lo—ki..."

The Joker moved forward like a hungry ghost. In his hands were needle and thread—or rather, a toothpick and a roll of wire.

"D'ya wanna know how I got these scars?"