Disclaimer: I don't own any of this. Rights belong to Marvel and DC.

Wolverine in Arkham

AN: This is rated T for F-bombs and some gruesome violence. What Wolverine does isn't very nice and more often than not what gets done to him isn't very nice either.


Chapter One: "By Reason of Insanity"

"And the court rules the defendant not guilty by reason of insanity. He is to be committed to Arkham Asylum for the criminally insane for an indeterminate period of time." The gavel banged with a thundering thud, "The court is dismissed."

His lawyer, a young fellow still trying to get a footing in the field, jumped up congratulating himself, a huge grin plastered across his face. He didn't give Logan a second glance and Logan didn't care. He'd been a dick of a lawyer and Logan wasn't exactly pleased by the verdict anyway. If he had to be locked up, he'd rather spend the time with normal thugs and not a bunch of whackos and pill-pushers.

He scowled as two guards came over to lock the custom-made cuffs behind his back. "You may think you're off the hook, but you just wait 'till you get to Arkham," scoffed one of the guards, "My fiancé works there and she says the place is full of freaks who'd sooner rip your face off than say "good morning"

"You should fit right in…" the second guard sneered and reached out and grabbed the dog tags still around Logan's neck, reading one of the names stamped upon them, "Wolverine."

Logan gave an angry snort and resisted the urge to extend his claws and throw both guards over the rail. As therapeutic as the outburst would be, some genius at Wayne Tech had come up with a nifty device that would cause a stunning electric shock should he try such a thing. "I'll be sure to look your fiancé up…" Logan turned his head, trying to read the nametag on the guard's vest. He smirked, "… Francis."

Francis' grin fell to an ugly frown and he pulled Logan roughly from the booth. "After attempting to murder Bruce Wayne, you'll be lucky if you ever make it out of the padded cell, Freak!"

Logan just smiled, unconcerned and then tensed as his eyes fixed upon a man making his way through the courtroom.

"Speak of the devil," he growled through his teeth.

It was Bruce Wayne, tall, handsome and dressed in a twelve-thousand dollar suit. Logan licked his dry lips; he could feel his body trembling in anticipation. His eyes remained locked upon Wayne, like a cat's upon a canary and everything else seemed to fade to nonexistence. Then the guards jerked Logan toward the door and Wayne vanished among the crowd, as the world turned back to normal.

"Come on!" growled Francis, shoving the back of Logan's head. Logan could only stumble ahead of him and wonder how long it would take them to find a straitjacket in his size.


It was yet another rainy day and head doctor at Arkham, James Cidelle, sighed as he put aside a written report and took out a cassette tape. One more rainy day and one more crazy sicko to analyze. Sometimes his life seemed to melt into one long, dreary river of insanity. Pushing the play button, Cidelle picked up a magazine and only paid half attention to the interview. A middle aged female voice, with an Indian accent was conducting the interview.

"February 20th, 1996, Report #3: Patient's identity unknown. Alias: Logan aka Wolverine.

The Initial diagnostic made by Dr. West is Retrograde Amnesia and Paranoid Schizophrenia.

Patient has very little memory of his life prior to his appearance in Gotham last November and suffers from violent compulsions, sullen despondency and paranoid delusions. When he arrived, Logan was obsessed with the compulsion to kill Bruce Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises.

After 60 days of prescription medications and talk therapy, we have seen marked improvements in Logan's condition. He has dismissed the idea of murdering Mr. Wayne and has become notably less violent. Also, the patient's memory is slowly, but gradually improving. However, as he attempts to piece together his past, Logan's paranoid delusions are not only persistent and seem to be expanding."

There was the sound of a door opening and the scuff of a chair, as someone else took a seat in the office.

"Good morning Logan. How are you doing today?"

The response was just a passive grunt and it was easy to imagine Logan sitting there with his burley arms crossed and a perpetual scowl on his face.

"As I told you yesterday, I'm sending a report to Dr. Cidelle today. If he approves of my diagnostic, you should be allowed to visit the common room with the other patients very soon."

Again there was minimal response.

"You have come a long way since we started seeing each other. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Reckon I would, if'n I were actually crazy."

"You don't think you are?"

"Like I said Doc, I think someone messed with my head. Course you just consider that paranoid delusions, so there aint no use in say'n it again."

"No, please, explain what you mean."

There was the sound of movement as Logan leaned forward. "I'm having dreams, flashes of memory. Needles, water-tanks, folks in white lab coats, concrete cells."

"Are you sure you aren't just having nightmares about Arkham?"

"It aint Arkham Lady. It was a whole different place. They were experimenting on me. How else do you explain the adamantium and the amnesia? Besides, when I woke up here in Gotham I'm sure there was a collar on my neck, something that they were using to control me. It's like it could read my mind and whenever my thoughts questioned their mission, it… corrected them."

"I see… Logan I've shown you your X-rays. There is no metal bonded to your skeleton, except for that on your claws, which we believe to be weapons you built into your own arms. And we have no reason to believe you ever had a collar on when you attack Mr. Wayne. If you had, I'm sure it would have come up in your trial."

"The Batman was the one who stopped me, he probably took it and those weren't my X-rays. Someone must have switched them out."

"Why would anyone want to do that?"

"Clearly they're try'n to keep this covered up."

"Who?"

"How the hell should I know? Whoever's try'n to kill Bruce Wayne, that's who!"

"Logan, I think you should calm down."

There was a frustrated snort of breath. "Whatever," Logan drawled, "Just keep marking down my crazy points, Doc, but I'm telling you, Wayne's in danger."

"You are concerned for him? Two months ago you were obsessed with killing him."

"From what I hear, Wayne's nothing but a wealthy leach on society, but I got nothing personal against him and the fact that someone tried to use me to get to him, ticks me off. I'd like the rich chump to make it to a hundred, just screw with whoever did this to me."

"I see. So you wish no harm towards Bruce Wayne."

"None."

"Well that's good to hear. Now, Logan, besides those dreams you mentioned earlier, what can you remember from you past."

There was a slight pause, before Logan began hesitantly, "I remember driving along snowy roads and I remember fighting."

"Fighting?"

"Yeah, in rings. Boxing and such, anything to pay for the next beer and the next tank of gas. Before that… Well I think I lived in Japan… It's still all rather blurry. There was a girl… and a samurai…"

There was a tense silence.

"Do you remember your name?"

"Nothing but Logan and Wolverine. I used Wolverine as a fighting alias."

"Do you remember your childhood, your family?"

"No."

"Do you remember anything else of significance."

There was another break in the conversation, in which Logan supposedly shook his head, because when the doctor spoke again, she said, "The patient has responded in the negative."

"Logan how do you feel about the idea of joining your fellow inmates in the common room?"

"Well, I reckon it's better than sitting in a padded cell all day."

"What do you think you'd do, if you were allowed to spend time in the common room."

"Don't know… play checkers, watch TV, eat some fuck'n muffins. Whatever the hell crazy people are supposed to do, I guess."

"Do you think you could abstain from violence?"

"Well, that's what you've been trying to teach me Doc."

"Thank you Logan. You may go now. I'll be sure to let you know as soon as Dr. Cidelle makes his decision."

"Whatever Doc. While you're at it, you think you could sneak me in a couple of cigars?"

"You know there's no smoking aloud."

There was a slight chuckle and the sound of Logan standing up to go. "Just thought I'd ask."

The door closed and the doctor gave her final statements. "It is my recommendation that Logan be allowed to mingle with the other inmates. Despite delusions and occasional outbursts of violence, Logan has shown great progress morally and mentally and continued isolation is likely work against his rehabilitation.

Dr, Sharon Patel."

The tape came to an end and Dr. Cindelle looked over the top of his magazine and yawned once, before pulling the permission slip forward and signing his approval.


The custom cuffs weighed down his pockets stretching the cheap fabric of his robe and the soft souls of his shoes didn't make a sound as he followed the guards down the hall. In the absence of a cigar, Logan had made do with a toothpick and he rolled absently between his lips.

Thanks to Dr. Patel's encouragement, his face was mostly clean-shaven and even his hair was less of a wreck than usual, though it would have taken a tank of gel to get it to actually lay flat.

"Now listen here, Wolverine," said one of the guards, stopping before the door and glaring down at his prisoner, "The doctors have given you permission to remain in the common room for three hours, but we'll be keeping watch. If you start getting violent, we'll cart you back to the padded cells so fast you won't even get the chance to say Yipi-ky-ay."

"Whatever you say Cash," Logan drawled back, "I'm just looking forward to a peaceful afternoon watching the tely."

"Alright. Just one last warning. Some of the others in there are hardcore lunatics, who'd love a chance to manipulate a sucker."

"I look like a sucker to you, Bub?"

Cash shook his head dubiously and turned to unlock the door. "Alright. Just remember we'll be watching."

The common room wasn't very big, some tables were set up at one side, there was a tv with some cheap furniture arranged about it and some vending machines along the wall. Most of the inmates were playing cards at a table, though a few were watching a nature show.

Everyone turned to look at him, and Logan scowled back, taking in the strange faces… and most of them were very very strange faces.

"Well whad'a know it's the NEW guy!" came a loud, obnoxious voice. An inmate with a completely white face, save for his wide, red lips, jumped off the sofa. "Nice to meet you. I'm the Joker," he said, coming enthusiastically forward to shake Logan's hand, "Welcome to the nuthouse! Here." He handed Logan a handful of grimy peanuts and then burst out laughing.

AN: Hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please leave me a review and let me know!