Disclaimer: I don't own the Dark Knight.

The Angel with the Slingshot

It was a full moon the night they went to the opera. Legend had it that the full moon brought out the freaks and criminals. Not that anyone could actually see the moon in the Gotham. The industrial city was filled with smog that covered up the beautiful celestial bodies at night.

The stars and the moon were the last things one the mind of Bruce Wayne as he watched a man point a gun at his parents.

"Hand over all your money and jewelry." The dirty man hissed as he cocked his gun. Bruce flinched at the sound.

"All right. That's fine. Here, take my wallet." Thomas Wayne offered as he slowly took his billfold out of his coat and held it out for the mugger to take.

Bruce wanted to scream, to tell his father not to do it, not to give that vile man any money. What he wouldn't give to just make that man vanish into thin air. To just go poof! And be gone. But that's not how life worked. Bruce wished they were back inside the opera house watching the play that he hadn't even understood. He wanted to grab both his parents rush back inside and watch the rest of the show, never mind the bats. . .

He paled suddenly as his mind came to a horrifying conclusion. This was all his fault! If he hadn't been such a baby, if he hadn't been so afraid of bats, they would still be in there and this would have never happened. After all, the only reason they had left in the first place was because of him and his stupid fear.

"I said jewelry too!" The man yelled, shaking Bruce out of his inner thoughts. The man was looking at his mother's pearl necklace with a greedy glint in his eye. The one his father had just bought her.

The man made a violent gesture and began to walk towards his mother, the gun aimed at her chest. This is it, Bruce thought; watching in shock. This man is going to kill my mother just because she's wearing a pretty necklace. Then he's going to kill dad and me. Bruce felt numb at that realization as he watched his mother; too scared to move himself. She was frozen in fear and his father stepped in front of her, the man stopped and readjusted his aim, his finger about the squeeze the trigger. . .Bruce closed his eyes. He didn't want to see, he didn't want to see. . .

. . .and that's when fate decided to intervene.

Though the opera was considered a thing for the blue bloods of society to enjoy, it was located in a rather run down location near the Narrows.

Jack Napier huffed as he rubbed his hands against his shoulders, trying to keep to cold out of his bare-rag clothes. He was small for his age, with curly dirty-blond hair and green eyes. Everything about him screamed poor because, well, he was. He lived in the Narrows where everyone was poor and while he had heard of children who were rich and could wake up every day in a warm house with good clothes and food, he had never actually seen any, let alone met one. Sometimes he suspected it was something the adults and older kids made up so that the younger the children could at least have nice dreams about in their tiny broken beds.

In any case, he wouldn't be sleeping on a mattress tonight. His father had gotten drunk and had kicked him out tonight for not cleaning the dishes (which he did, but frankly, it's hard to clean a dish when the water's always dirty). It wasn't the first time it had happened, but it was the first time it had happened in the winter. His mother had always convinced his father to give Jack a different punishment in the winter time. One that didn't involve sleeping outside. She had always done her best to protect Jack from his dear old dad- she even took beatings for him, but he wished she hadn't.

She's dead now.

Jack glared at the ground as he kicked a crunched beer can out of his way with his torn up shoe. They called it a suicide, but Jack knew better. He knew his dad had killed her and made it look like she slit her wrists. Heck, after he'd done it he'd woken Jack up and showed him.

"This is what I'm gonna do to you if you ever try to disobey me. Only they'll find yer body in a dumpster, ya got that?" The drunken man slurred as the boy sank to his knees, tears streaming down his face as his small hand caressed his mother's arm, his fingers bloody as he retreated and silently went to his room, his father booming with laughter.

Her body had still been warm.

Jack shook his head violently, trying to get the images out of his head. It had already turned out to be a bad night; he didn't need those reminders to make it worse. He was thankful for finding and old beat-up hat and scarf to help against the cold as a gust of air hit him full force. Now all he needed were some gloves and he'd be set for at least three years.

Now here's a bit of insight about Jack: for an eight year old he's very frugal in all the things he does. At school he is extremely quiet and harsh lessons in life taught him to blend into the background quite easily. The bullies usually didn't even realize he was there but even when they did they ignored him. They heard about what he did to the last kid that messed with him. Amazing what you could do to someone with just a sharpened pencil. His mom taught him that trick. Just because he couldn't defend himself at home didn't mean he couldn't outside. Small he may be, but he could pick up just about anything and turn it into a weapon. Though poor, he still loved to learn and ended up nabbing an old beaten-up dictionary from his school. Most of the pages had been ripped out and the ones that were left had a lot of doodles on them, but he could still make out some of the faded words. His favorite one so far was chaos. Not only did he like the meaning but the word itself! It was just so much fun to say. Cha-os, he thought with a big grin.

"I said jewelry too!" Someone shouted, shaking him out of his thoughts. Curious, he walked to where he heard the voice coming from. Was it a mob hold up? Maybe they were taking care of a squealer and his family. Whatever the case was it would help pass the time. The mod never minded if people from the Narrows watched them pop a guy. The mod knew they would never go to the cops and it helped serve as a reminder to one and all.

But when Jack rounded to corner he stopped dead.

Oh. It was just a mugging.

Taking a closer look, he noticed something odd, the people where dressed rather nicely. No, nicely wasn't good enough, like royalty or gods. They were, they were. . .

. . .rich. His mind whispered and he found himself in shock because he didn't realize those types of people really existed. He always thought they were fairy tales.

Jack had never been out of the Narrows until tonight and he hadn't even realized he'd left. For a moment his heart was filled with rage and envy. These people probably had everything handed to them on a silver platter. Had they ever felt real pain? Had they ever had to actually work one day? To lift even their pinky finger? Most likely not, he snorted. Filled with disgust at these people, he began to leave. He almost left, almost turned back the way he came and let these rich, pompous people have a taste of real life.

Then he saw the boy. The boy with big blue eyes filled with fear and worry, standing in the back watching the man with the gun. The boy had brown hair and looked about his age. Jack felt an odd feeling in his chest; he felt as if this boy and himself could have been friends. What really jolted Jack into acting was the mother (he assumed). He watched as the mugger walked closer to her, saw her pale and begin to shake. His own mother flashed through his mind. Her body motionless on the floor with blood pooling out of her and he couldn't bear to think that another child would have to feel the same pain he felt when he saw her like that.

Mostly, he was apathetic. But this was one thing he would not stand for.

He saw the father step in front of the mother and he watched as the man began to pull the trigger. Quick as a flash, he took out his sling shot and a stone he had picked up earlier. Adjusting it in the strap, he took aim.

"Hey mister!" He shouted letting the rock loose. The man jerked his head in Jack's direction and pulled the trigger but it was too late. The stone made contact with the gun sending it to the ground, as well as the bullet. Cursing the man turned back around the grab the gun but it was already pointed back at him in the hands of Thomas Wayne.

"Whoa," the mugger said nervously, "whoa. Look man, I was just trying to get some money to feed my family with, honestly. These are desperate times. Please don't shoot me. Here, here's your money back." The man whispered, tossing the wallet near finely polished shoes. After doing so, he broke in to a run, fleeing into the darkness.

Letting all the tension out of his body with a big sigh, Thomas Wayne took out the remaining bullets and pocketed the gun. Turning to his wife and son he smiled and held out his arms. Sobbing in relief, Martha Wayne hugged him tightly as well as Bruce.

"Thank God." She mumbled into his shoulder. "Thank God."

"Yes." Thomas answered back. "Thank God." Letting go of her, he crouched down to give his son a better hug.

"You alright, son?" He asked, taking the child into his arms. Bruce nodded before bursting into tears.

"I'm sorry!" He cried. "I'm sorry I just stood here doing nothing! I'm sorry I asked to leave early! If I hadn't been so scared, I. . ."

"Bruce. Bruce, look at me." Thomas told his son in a serious voice. Watery blue eyes turned to his. "This was not your fault. There is no way you could have known that man would have been here. And I would rather have you behind me doing nothing in this kind of situation than in front of that man trying to stop him. That's how people die and that's the last thing I want to happen to you. So don't cry and blame yourself, alright?"

"That's right honey." Martha said in a comforting voice as she too bent down to hug her son. "We don't blame you. We would never blame you."

Jacked watched this in silence; his heart feeling like it had been stabbed a thousand times over. Why couldn't he have been born into a loving family like that? What had that boy done to deserve such loving parents? Jack didn't recall ever doing anything truly bad, so why couldn't he have that? Shaking his head, he realized that there were no answers to those questions and decided he would just be happy for the boy. But when he moved to leave, he caught the attention of Thomas Wayne.

"Wait!" He shouted as he stood up, breaking the hug and slowly walking toward the tiny-now motionless- figure. Sadly, he couldn't see much of the boy's face because a ratty scarf covered his mouth and an oversized hat covered most of his hair. However, he did manage to catch a glimpse at startled green eyes.

"You're the one who threw the rock, right?" The boy frantically shook his head no and Thomas let out a chuckle. "Ah, so the sling shot your holding is just for show?" He teased and grinned as an embarrassed blush bloomed across the boy's face as he hastily shoved the weapon into the pocket of his ill-fitting pants. He frowned when the boy backed up slightly.

"Hey, it's ok. I just want to thank you. You saved my family tonight and I'm very grateful." Thomas wanted to do more than just say 'thank you'. Those words alone were nowhere near what he owed this child. It was clear just from his clothing that this boy was poor. . .and probably abused if the bruise he saw peeking out from beneath the scarf was any indication. His mind was filled with thoughts of taking this boy back to the Manor, letting him heal and possibly finding him a better home. Anything to repay this child that he just knew helped saved his family tonight.

Mean while, Jack watched in trepidation as the man neared him. He hadn't planned on being seen and he certainly didn't want to be thanked. He tried denying it but the man pointed out his sling-shot that Jack cursed himself for forgetting to put it away. For some reason this man scared him. Jack had never spoken to a man that acted this nice. He had tons of questions that he wanted to ask. Mundane things like how it felt to smile on a regular basis and if it this man was as rich as Jack suspected. If he was then was it fun to spend money on pricey things? Did they live in a big house? What was the boy's name? Would it be okay for them to play together sometime? If the other wanted to that is; Jack could teach him so cool pencil tricks! All these questions he had bottled up inside and he couldn't find the words to say them. He was use to yelling and screaming; not conversations which actually required him to respond. Feeling a pressure in his chest, Jack took a chance and started to run back home. To what he knew and expected.

As Thomas opened his mouth again, the boy shot off; running as fast as his small legs could carry him. He called for him to stop but the boy kept on running and was soon out of sight. Sighing he turned to his family.

"Who was that dad?" Bruce asked he looked in the direction the boy had gone.

"An angel son." Thomas told him. "Most defiantly an angel. Come on, let's go home." As they walked toward their car Bruce turned his head to look back one more time.

He'd find that boy someday, he vowed silently to himself. That boy had saved his mom and his dad's life tonight. He'd find that angel with a sling shot and thank him.

To be continued.

A/N: So one day I was thinking how cool it would be if the Joker and Bruce had met as children. At this point in my timeline, Jack has yet to receive his famous scars which I think was the last straw before he went insane. However, I did try to make his personality more cautious and dangerous than a typical eight year old due to the fact that he is extremely poor as well as abused.

Sorry to all who will be expecting slash. This is going to be a brotherly fic. A different take on the line "You complete me."

Constructive criticism is welcomed.