Years Escaping Hell
by: Haud Aku

Disclaimer: I do not own The Joker, Gotham, Bruce Wayne, Batman, or Robin. I do, however, own this story, the plot, Jenipher, Coax, and Marley. Please, do not harass the original owners.

Warning: If you are under the age of 17, please heed my warning and do not continue past this line, unless you have a guardian's permission. Thank you, kindly.

Well, life never did go according to plan, no matter how hard you ever tried. There are always little things here and there that would lead it astray, to change something to overdramatize your already stressful life. Let's admit it; you've all had at least one thing happen in your life to cause it to go awry. However, you always found your footing at the end of it all, and by the time you are able to gain control of it again, you can blossom that smile.

By the Gods, I wish I had your life.

Now I'm not saying mine is terrible in a way that I can't control it. For example, I don't have a blackmailing husband that could trip the wire at any second and murder myself and children if I so much as blink interest at someone or something else. No, I know that there are people that suffer hideous and cruel lives that just came out of no where, thus causing them to loose ultimate control. No, mine is not as…for lack of better words, "abusive". I can still gain the access to the wheel of my life, but once I find a comfortable situation or "cruise control", the passenger that has been riding with me since my eighteenth year upon this world would grab it and have us drive in the dark.

Yup. The majority of my life has been run by a single person, someone that was forced into my life against my will. How he became to be in my life is another, possibly longer story. But since then, he's been in constant contact-usually once a year he visits. And I have gotten to the point where I know when he will show up. An intuition thing.

Right now, I'm in the barrens of the desert, living in a two-complex trailer house. The nearest town is nearly three hours away, as well as the nearest gas station and neighbor. I have no internet, no phone connections, and absolutely no television entertainment. I create my own electricity through make-shift batteries and retain my own water through a well. As for food, ever heard of hunting? Sometimes it takes me a whole day to find just one meal, but I never (okay, exaggeration, "hardly") complain about it. My normal wear would be a constant tank top with a matching underwear, daisy duke denim shorts, and combat boots. I always carry a knife, my favorite being the "butterfly" knife. I'm more nervous around guns and restraints, because of my passenger in this odd life of mine.

You know, I was supposed to be a Graphic Designer, designing brilliant posters, banners, tee shirts, and even helping with character designs for movies and comic books. Who would have ever thought I would have ended up in the boondocks of the boondocks, literally surviving in a wasteland? Me, that's for sure.

To give you a quick summary of how long I've lived like this; I was eighteen when my passenger came unwelcoming into my life. I ran away from him at the age of twenty two, seeing my family and friends for the first time since he had come. Two years later, I ran off with what little money I held in my account (withdrawn into cash, of course), terminated my account, sold my old car for cash, bought a used one with the cash I received, and left as is. No, I didn't pack, and I didn't tell anyone, no friends or family, where I was going. Hell, I didn't even know where I was going. Five years later, I finally settled where I stand and strive today, with adventures here and there, of course.

It has been four years since I have settled, and I made it to where no one, and I mean no one, could find me. I stripped my Social Security all together, from using nothing but cash, but I never changed my name. I never used my last name though-just first and middle as a first and last, and made my cousin's middle name my middle name….Okay, so I suppose I did change my name, but only for public use. I still go by what I used to before all this madness started happening.

Sadly, however, only one person uses it. And I can't get rid of him.

When I first arrived at this abandoned two-complex trailer, I literally thought and prayed that it was a heaven space sent from the Gods. It wasn't until about eight or nine months later, not even a year, did that bastard show up at my doorstep and with a single sentence, changed my God sent heaven, into a never-ending spin of hell. He wont even tell me how he was able to find me! By the Gods; I don't even know what state or county I'm in!

Well, getting off the frustration note, ever since that mid-summer day four years ago, he's kept his promise (as dreadful as that is to me) and has been in my life, at least once a year. Sometimes I consider myself "lucky", for two years ago he made two trips to see me. The first was the "usual check-up", as he kindly places it, and the second one was…well, we'll just say it wasn't as pleasant and brought back too many memories from my past with him. His reasoning behind it was "pent-up energy" and that he needed someplace to "store it". My response? "The hell happened to Quinny?" Damn. Haven't seen him glare that hard at me since the day I escaped him.

You know…now that I think about it, he never really told me what happened to her. Through those four years of torture with him, she was the only friend I had, even if she did help out on the torture sometimes. I honestly don't know if she ran off from him, which would have been completely good for her, or if she…well, I'd rather not ponder on that little bit. I'd like to think that she ran off with that red-headed woman that she was always talking about. I could see the love, admiration, and true loyalty revoting from her eyes every time she mentioned her. Whoever she was talking about, she was definitely a good influence on Quinny when it came to her personal life.

Yeah…I think I'll live in that fantasy a bit longer, until J decides to tell me what really happened to her. A thought just struck me on the subject: If he really did kill her, then my fear of guns and him will have evaporated with just a single pull of the finger. Of that, I can swiftly assure you.

Okay; I'm sure by now you're thinking "Why the hell don't you just get rid of him? You seem capable." Or, the most classic, "Why are you letting him rule your life anyway? It's yours, do what you want with it. To hell with him." Well, for one, you obviously don't know J, or as many civilians know him as, Joker. Secondly, I literally, and I stress this, literally owe him my life. I still have nightmares about it, and still ponder on the "why me" scenario every now and then, but it is true. I, Jenipher Orion Stephant owe the most crazed, insane, psychopathic villain of the world my life. Again, it's a whole other, much longer story on its own.

I'll just sum it up:

In the midst of Gotham City, I was in traffic-the worst in days, I swear-on my way for an interview at Wayne Enterprises for becoming a Graphic Designer for, not only their products, but as well as Mr. Wayne himself for a secret project of his. I got the call personally from Bruce Wayne himself, stating that he wanted me at his office as soon as possible that day.

Sadly, I would never get to see nor hear what the secret project was to be, or live out my dreams as a top-notch and well-respected Graphic Designer. Why? Because during that traffic jam I had mentioned earlier, there was a series of explosions that had killed over two-hundred people. Two hundred ninety-six to be exact.

Why wasn't I number two hundred ninety-seven? Two minutes, exactly (as I was told), before the bombs went off, The Joker walked calmly down the road between the cars, startling every passenger and driver to the brink of frozen fear or flighting frenzy. Weird thing was, I could have sworn he was staring right at me. At first, I was confused, looking around my vehicle to see if any of his henchman were near by or even if the Batman was around. Nope. No one. Just more cars and scared spectators.

I looked back at him, and had the sudden urge to run, like a deer running from it's death by the hunter just beyond the trees. So, I did just that. I got out of my car, leaving everything that I owned and brought with me in the vehicle, and started off as a fast walk, then a sprint, and into a full run. I could hear his calm footsteps behind me and decided to do the one dumbest thing I could ever think of that I knew would save my life: I jumped off the bridge. A bridge that wasn't over a large river, but over a large strip of valley and a creek. I landed, feet first, on the muddy bank. Let me tell you something, mud hurts. There, learn something new every day.

I honestly don't remember much after that, especially after I looked up from my hard landing and saw the grinning face of The Joker starring down at me. I've never felt fear rung up and down my spine like that. I believe that it was because of the fear that I had blocked the chase from my memory (plus the near death experience once the bombs went off).

Eventually, about an hour later, I was caught and tortured for the next four years of my life until Quinny helped me escape (she said it was to help me, but I knew it was because she was starting to become jealous of the attention J was giving me). And you already know of the briefness of my escapes after that.

To be honest, I have nothing else to say; you are now caught up (more or less) with my life, and right now I am waiting for that clown of a bastard to show himself any day now. The "feeling" started about twelve hours ago, and hasn't stopped since. It normally takes forty-eight hours for him to get here, give or take an hour or two, once the feeling starts, so I'm not expecting him for another day. With him, though, you really could never tell.

Well, I'm sure you're tired of hearing all of my thoughts with each passing moment, so I'll let you be and just watch the rest of what happens. Hell, I don't even know what will happen past this point. If you feel the need to leave at any point from stomach issues or sanity's sake, I wouldn't blame you. I'm used to it.

Just don't enjoy it as much as he does, please.

00ooo000oooo0000ooo000ooo00

The tanned woman stood at a crouch formation, her dull, hazel eyes fixated on her target nearly twenty yards from her. Her stance and expression alone pulsed with concentration and another feeling that the human-body had lost, only within instinct: hunger. Slowly and patiently maneuvering herself into proper position, the huntress of the desert raised her chosen weapon, a Vision 175 Realtree APG Crossbrow repainted to her own design, and took her aim. With the patience of a saint, the tanned woman exhaled smoothly as she pulled the trigger, seeing her target fall limp in a matter of milli-seconds. Looking in the area of her target outside of the scope, she waited a few moments before swiftly standing up from her crouched position, her walk towards her kill a calm sense; much similar to how a certain killer approached her as pray nearly fifteen years ago. Just minus the psychopathic grin and makeup.

Approaching her kill, the woman looked down at it: A mid-sized desert cottontail. Well, it was something. Enough to make Rabbit Meat Stew, without the carrots, anyway. Ha! She loved her humor. Almost as twisted and sick as her favorite cartoon icon, Bugs. Though, she is certain that the infamous rabbit could've come up with something more clever.

Shaking her head with a bemused and pathetic smile, she kneeled down to pick up the fresh kill by the tail, starting to grow excited with her upcoming meal. As she walked back to her combined trailers, her thoughts began to wonder off to what to do with the pelt once she skinned it, for once not noticing her surroundings. If she had been paying attention she would have noticed the faint dust trail picking up five miles before her, where the highway was. The dust trail was leading off the main highway and towards the road that lead straight to her desolate home.

As she approached her home, the woman glanced up towards the road, mainly out of habitual practice than noticing the signs of upcoming visitors. When her eyes met the trail of dirt signaling cars headed her way she began to shortly panic. Without a second thought, she ran into her home through the back entrance, setting her kill upon the island table of her kitchen, as well as her weapon. She replaced her hunting weapon with two guns hoisted upon her thighs by holster straps, a hunting knife held at her ankle by a similar strap, and a much larger knife, similar to a machete held against her back, hidden very well unless you were standing behind her. She was not going to be taking any chances, not after last year's visit. His damn recruits almost cost her a voice box.

She was thinking about using her bazooka, but decided against it, thinking that would be going overboard too soon. Although, with J, going overboard was expected. Or, unexpected, rather. So, instead, she opted to stand before her home, her hand resting on the gun hoisted upon her right thigh.

By this time, they were three miles away from her. She could almost smell the cologne that he always wore; cheap, like the rest of his findings, yet alluring. He had good tastes in small packages, she would give him at least that.

Two miles, now. As she squinted her eyes, she began to notice something off. If she wasn't mistaken, there were more than two cars coming. Shit. There were five cars in total, coming. He brought his entire posse this time. The maniacal fucker. Taking in a breath, she took out the gun that her hand was resting on and cocked it. She only needed a second to aim as they took a slight curve on the road, and pulled the trigger. She took out the third car. Aiming again at the next curve, she took out the fourth, hitting the engine dead on.

One mile. The last curve. She took one final aim, sweat beginning to glisten down the side of her brow and the back of her neck. Her finger pulled the trigger. Dead hit, literally. The fifth car wasn't bullet proof like the first two she knew that were. She had hit the driver with a kill shot. Now, there were only two cars driving up, the proper number.

Why was it that she didn't take out the second car, but the third car first? Well, it's simple. Just like the President isn't in the Original President's Vehicle, The Joker isn't in the leading car, but the decoy. A simple act of sanity.

As she locked her gun and placed it back in it's holster, the two final cars drove up to her drive way. Each parking, rather violently, barely five feet from her. Either they were in a hurry, or he was awfully pissed. Either way, she's going to be hearing his never-ending lectures.

As she prepared herself for him to step out of his vehicle, she couldn't help but notice the henchman that were getting out of their respected areas of their cars seeming anxious. That was new. Normally their calm and rather hussy to be coming to visit her. Now they seem to be more…urgent. Like, emergency urgent. She still held her guard up, because when it came to The Joker, you could never be sure what "emergency" meant.

When one of the bigger, burlier henchman that she knew as Coax had taken something out of the back seat, what she didn't know because the door was hiding it, she too began to grow anxious. However, her heart and guards began to sink at an alarming rate when she saw a purple coated arm limp over the big man's arm.

Shit.

Coax came up to her, his mask covering his true emotions as he held his boss in his arms, beaten, bloody, and unconscious to a limp form. He only needed to say what she feared to get the woman's attention before him.

"He needs help. You're the only one that we could turn to."

Fuck me.

Looking down at the withered and obviously dying mass criminal before her within his arms, she began to weight her options: Let him die and live a Joker-free life, with no excitement, stress, or guards up every day, but live with the guilt of causing one to die. Or saving him and possibly getting killed by his obvious loss of The Batman. Looking at the unconscious face of Joker, she knew what choice she had and that she had chosen it as soon as she had seen his limp arm come out of the car. Sighing, she rolled her eyes and motioned for the big man to follow her inside, another henchman following close behind the two while the rest stayed outside.

As the front door was closed and locked behind the three, and one unconscious boss, the lankier of the two henchman decided to talk, placing his Del-Ton TRX against his shoulder as he leaned against the door.

"Well, well. Little miss Jenni has been hiding a Machete from us. Tell us, pet, you were really wanting to piss the boss off today, weren't you?"

"I was hunting, you know it all jack. Coax, place him in the tub I'll be right there, thank you." She maneuvered her way towards the kitchen, taking off her guns and knives, along with holsters as she began to mentally prepare herself for what she was about to perform. She had never done it professionally, but she had been studying up on it ever since she had "left" The Joker's grip eleven years ago. She just thanked the almighty power that she had the proper materials. If she had enough, though, well she's about to find out.

"How long as he been in that state, Marley?" Jenni looked over at him as she went over to the other room across from her door, her personal study and library. She didn't need to do a last minute study on what to do, but she did grab a detailed anatomy book and began to gather up all the supplies that she needed for the amateur operation.

"You know very well how far Gotham is from here, Jenipher," Marley stated as he crossed his arms, the mask before his face muffling his words into a deeper sound, making him sound more menacing. Jenni didn't flinch, just kept listening and gathering. "We're all surprised that he hasn't died from the amount of blood-loss yet. You should see the back of the car, doll-forget black, blood red is the new theme."

Jenipher had to roll her eyes at the last remark. Sarcasm was a very accustomed habit for people when they are nervous. Marley was no exception. Although, it did creep her out a bit that he cared for his boss in that manner. Eh, she supposed it was to be expected considering how long he's been in the business with the Prince of Crime.

Standing up with materials in hand, she began to walk towards the bathroom, pausing for just a moment to place a hand on Marley's arm, silently telling him that it would be alright. As she made her way into the small bathroom, she noticed blood on the carpet, many droplets from the still bleeding Joker. Even she was in wonder on how he wasn't dead, just by looking at the blood on her light carpet. Shaking her head a bit to get those thoughts out of her mind, and instead mentally strangling J for ruining her carpet, again, she walked into the small bathroom.

Coax was kneeling before the tub, cleaning up the blood from the wounds as best he could so that Jenipher could see the wounds properly. She had also seen that he had stripped the boss of all clothing as well, but it wasn't the sight of seeing J naked in her bathroom that shocked her, it was the amount of injuries that was on him. There were cuts all over his body. There was hardly any natural skin left! Pelts, bruises, gashes, slashes, injuries in general littered his body. And he was still alive!

"Fuck," Jenni stated as she leaned over Coax's shoulder to get a good look at his boss, "He's got an iron will to live, hasn't he?"

An airy chuckle rang into her ear that caused her to look at the big man next to her with curiosity, his words catching her off guard in the worst way.

"Well, he did say on his last breath before he lost conscious, to take him here."

Needless to say, Jenipher couldn't sustain the blush that vastly crept up on her. Whether out of embarrassment or anger, it didn't matter for it still made Coax chuckle with amusement.

Scoffing at such nonsense, Jenipher flipped her hand in the air as if shooing the moment away from time and turned back around to prepare her materials and tools properly for the procedure. She didn't ask Coax to leave just yet, rushing him out would be too…inhumane. Out of all the henchmen, Coax was probably the one that had a close relationship towards J, besides Harley. Okay, not in that way; Coax was more like an older brother/caretaker of The Joker's, to be honest. Mainly silent, but when it came to the protection of his boss, Coax was as stubborn and immovable as a mule. Hell, even J couldn't budge the guy when he wanted to. In this instance, however, something had gone horribly wrong.

So no, she couldn't order him to leave. If anything, she was sure he was hurting inside, blaming himself for the state his boss was in. Or at least something on those lines. However, no matter how hard she tried to picture it, she just couldn't see The Batman doing this to any enemy. Unless…Well, unless The Joker had completely pissed off the Bat this time around. It wouldn't surprise her, but in this state? No, in all her 15 years of knowing the Prince of Crime, she's never seen it get this bad.

It was a few moments after she had finished with preparing her materials and tools for the operation did she finally hear Coax begin to shift. He was starting to stand up, albeit slowly but still showing signs that he was beginning to leave the room. That was good; the faster she could get started, the faster she could save this clown's life. However, he didn't move. He just stood there. Now, Jen's curiosity was peaked: This normally meant that he wanted to say something, but only when the attention was full set on what he had to say. So, she turned around, looking curiously up at the big guy before her, barely having enough room to not bump her shoulder upon his back in the small spacing that they had.

He stayed silent for a bit of a while longer, his head still down. If he was looking at his boss, she wasn't sure, but she knew this pose was that representing depression. He hasn't given up faith on the life of their boss, has he? Or did…? No, he couldn't have-she hadn't even tried to save him!

Coax's voice was a mental slap to bring her back to reality, of which she was thankful for. But what she heard was something she wished he could have saved for until after surgery, but it was already too late. He had already said it:

"…He did something very…very bad, Jenipher…" His use of her first name shocked her. He never used her name, not ever since they met. He always called her "Short Round" or "Phipher". This is seriously bad. She didn't even need to ask what he meant, he had answered for her.

"…He took a life, but not in the way that he normally would. Not with his…trinkets or bombs…He…He literally took a life…And-and a life that wasn't…" She could have sworn she heard him sniffle. Okay, this is really starting to freak her out. She was fully turned around, now, her chin practically touching his muscular back. Her expression was that of listening, wanting to comfort. She placed a gentle hand upon his back as she stepped out to stand next to him, part of her back hitting the wall as she did so, making her stand at an odd angle not quite in front of him and not quite beside him.

"God-damnit! Jenipher, he fucking killed Robin!"

Jenipher's mind blanked. She honestly wished she had more room within this small space. In her silence, Jen looked back down, slowly, towards the Prince of Crime, disbelief crossing her face. She took another gander at his body, now seeing that the all the bruising, scars, and marks made sense. It was The Batman. And he nearly got his revenge of loosing his comrade and friend. In fact, Jenni was beginning to wonder if the Batman might have even succeeded in killing his evil counter part.

The thought in itself made her shudder.