Hi everyone, I hope you like this story as much as I have enjoyed writing it! Thanks for taking the time to read this! Warning:Story contains boyxboy, violence, fighting, character death, torture, dark themes such as self harm and suicide and other such as swearing. Bear in mind, chapters may be turned up at a later time. Hope you enjoy and have a nice Day/Night wherever you guys are.
Summary- One night in the dark shadows of Gotham. Harley came across an alley way, just after losing the boy wonder to her and Mr J's plans. When however she begins to feel some motherly instinct soar deep inside of her, can she manage to keep her precious little pearl a secret, even from the one man who she's utterly obsessed with?
The man who would destroy all the innocence that she loved about the boy, within a heart beat.
The night was cold and damp as rain poured down more viciously.
Lightning lit the streets as the lamps seemed to all but fade.
The cold air was enough to set the chills in anyone's bones. The winter felt like it had returned back with a vengeance at that moment. Like the seasons had all of a sudden rebelled, but that wasn't enough. If it had been winter, then it was almost the worst they had seen it in such a long while.
Any person with some place to go, was snuggled up warm inside their apartment, under a warm blanket, resting peacefully and waiting out this storm. After all, with this cold, it was only a short while till this detestable stabbing rain would become an unbearable ice, cold dagger.
It was sad how even those who were homeless and burdened without lives were still in a lot more safety and warmth, cuddled up against each other in the dark sewers: hiding bellow ground, they still had more than the figure who was stumbling down the dim lit road and path of flickering lamps.
They had felt the full wrath of what this city had to offer.
So much went on under the cover of darkness and this was no difference.
It wasn't the first time that what was going on at that moment had gone unseen.
It wouldn't be a last time.
This was murder's city. She ruled it's streets, she ruled every square mile of it.
But all a city of darkness and deep misery. A place where pain is known so well.
As the figure stumbled, their hand reached out and grasped onto the fractured brick wall next to them. Their clothing was plastered down to their shoulders with a the colour of their shirt lost to the darkness of the night as it stuck to their form.
Their movements were sluggish at best as the thin figure struggled the simplest task of even walking. Their hair was hair was gone, completely shaven and sheared free, having been cut away. The thugs who had attacked had thought they had simply been embarrassing the body, not doing it to a still breathing boy.
The figure clutched their torso painfully as they stumbled forward; their vision swarming into a multitude of darkness and pain. Their eyes were lost without the light to identify them. Their fingers were numb as was the rest of their body... well not entirely. The figure kept one arm close to their chest as they seemed to limp and drag the right half of their body as they struggled but pressed on further.
After all... sometimes instincts of survival are stronger than what we give them credit for.
As the figure dragged them self forward, they didn't notice the imprint that they had left on the wall behind them, where they had lent.
A imprint of a crimson hand which still dripped down onto the floor, smeared across the brickwork.
How long had they been walking now? An hour? Two? A minute? All night? Had they run long enough? Had they finally broken out of sight and away from them? Were they still around?!
He whimpered slightly, flinching at that thought.
The moment a new car headlight flashed along the road, they ducked within an alley way and crouched in the shadows. As the light momentarily flashed over the figure, it came clear to see that they were only a boy. But even so, their face was coated and soaked in a river of blood from the various cuts and slices left across them. It was impossible to distinguish much if anything about them.
Imagine that though: coated in a river of your own blood and running away from a life you should never have been put in. Running away from those who had tried to capture him and rip him apart and kill him. But what were his options now? Could he run? If they came back could he get away? Did he actually even stand a chance any more?
He tried to push himself into a small jog but cried out in agony holding his chest tighter but feeling a scream rip into his throat as his hand moved to his back. His clothes were left into shreds, sliced violently, now coated in thick crimson and mud from the ground. He could feel his own life source streaming down his leg, the feeling in the nerves around it screamed out, begging him to stop. To just collapse and die on the cold ground! But he couldn't. He just let out a huff of breath, staggering on further and further.
At one point, left with no other use than when his slick hand slipped on the wall and for ten minutes, he had to dragged himself through the crap of the alley way. People looking in and hearing his moans of agony but not seeing him, thinking he was just some other junkie homeless person, groaning out now that they were out of their dependency.
What would be the use even if they did stop to help him?
He was as good as dead now anyway.
He stared up towards the storm and down pour of rain, letting the sick metallic taste mingle with the bitter salty taste of his tears which streamed down his cheeks, before he hauled himself to his feet.
This is what he got.
Staggering down a street, feeling his breath slip away as every drop of freezing rain brought him one step closer to passing out.
Or at least he wish it would.
It would mean this expanding pain in his torso would finally give up and he could be free of the agony.
Eventually, his body did give in and his legs collapsed, him falling back against the wall, feeling the cold bricks tear more into whatever damage it was that had been done to him.
As cars passed by, the boy tried to get out of his crouch but paused as he no longer could take the pain.
The damp shadows, shifted as slowly another figure became clear in the shadows. "Hey kid? What you doing out here by yourself?" The figure fixed the boy with a confused look as the boy was just paused there; not moving. "Kid?"
He watched as slowly the boy began to slump forward and fell into a puddle of ice cold water. "Hey!" The figure became clear as the in the light he seemed like just the other kid. The figure themselves looking about nine, maybe ten at a push. Scarred and sheared open, bleeding profusely onto the concrete around them. The other, about fourteen, thick golden mess of hair and cracked glasses on a pale face. "What's wrong-" He paused as he crouched next to the boy and saw the pool of water beginning to become tainted crimson. "Jesus Christ." He whispered. "SOMEBODY GET AN AMBULANCE!" He screamed onto the street as a few people were strolling by.
Somebody pulled out their phone and quickly began describing the area.
The taller boy leaned down and looked into the collar of the boy's cloths but there was none.
He grabbed the boy's pocket searching for anything that he could use to identify this boy. There was a a busted phone and a letter but both were completely doused in blood and unusable.
He looked over to see where the blood was coming from and saw the crimson, staining the sleeve. He quickly rolled it up to reveal, deep slices with razors still partially sticking out. Then at the boy's back.
The homeless boy simply paled, his eyes widening as he just looked on with horror at what had been done. The damage and carnage made. The mess of slices across the boy's face... his body- oh god.
"SOMEBODY! HELP!" He called and went back to cradling the injured boy's head in his lab as he tried to bring some warmth. "Hang in there kid!" He whispered as the distant sound of sirens filled the blocks of buildings.
"Well, look just what we got ourselves here." A chirpy voice giggled.
The gutter boy looked up slowly as he heard the loud click and stared down the point of a barrel.
"I think, we found another spare!" The figure giggled, their dark shadow hidden face glancing down towards the nine year old for a moment. "Shame about you though. Sorry doll, but no one's got to be left around to see this!" They sighed.
Before the brains of the fourteen year old boy was splayed across the walls of the alleyway.
-Years later-
The moon was high in the sky as a cold breeze blew viciously over the roof tops as a figure sat on the edge of a railing. His dark eyes burned over the city as he focused his gaze onto one particular house nearby where he had just finished up his last job. "Four alley ways... This town is just getting darker by the minute." A cold voice whispered.
As the figure stood, his cloak whipped around him. His arm glinted in the moonlight with the glistening dark of the material. For it's great strength it was incredibly light. It was rather an amazing piece of craft. It was almost like a suit of armour but gleamed with the resemblance in texture to leather. It moved across the large muscled tones of his body, encasing it like a shell. The material of the torso piece seemingly a dull grey colour, only rivaled by the black of the cowl mask that the figure wore. It's pointing ears standing to attention like blades and it's eyes gleaming and piercing through the night.
As he crouched the black of the cape flickered out to the wind behind him, his intent eyes scanning over all that he could see. His jaw was set tight and his teeth gritted without him even seeming to realize it. A slight sound of metal clicking together sounded as his fist flexed before closing into a fist, highlighting the strong gauntlet's of black he wore, like the man's boots, which all but crushed the tiles under his step.
Something didn't feel right to him... something felt... off.
The air was cold and the skies were cloudy, but not enough so that at that point, the moon could be seen at it's zenith. It's light shining down like a dark beacon across the pits of Gotham which the man patrolled.
He still couldn't help but feel that something wasn't-
The man's masked head darted towards one of the main shopping streets as a figure fled down it.
The quick darting of movement having been what caught his gaze originally.
His eyes narrowed.
He focused on the crowd, which was flocking behind the running figure.
He said nothing as the breeze caught in his midnight black cape and in a flash he launched forward across the rooftops as he easily kept pace with those running. His mind kept running over the numbers and scenario in his mind. When he had first started this he had quickly learnt how to start predicting battles. He had slowly climbed the ladder until he had realized he was stronger than these bastards who preyed on the weak because he had something that they didn't.
He was fueled by dark revenge though he didn't realize it as that. To him it was only the purity of protecting his city and giving it a defendant against those who had other wise changed the course of his own life.
He leapt from the rooftop an landed slowly on a lamp post.
"What the hell are you doing?!" A voice whimpered as the crowd of thugs slowly drew in closer.
The figure who had been running, had taken a wrong turn into a nearby dead end alley.
"Hold still... this won't hurt... much. What comes next... may."
The mask man stared as the thug raised his hand to grab the kid who had been running. His eyes instantly noted the scars on the back of the hands. "That's impossible."
He lunged down, landing in a crouch, their heads instantly snapping over to him as he raised his gaze slowly up to look into the pits of their eyes.
It was to the similar effect of setting off a bomb. The fear ignited through the air, the thugs immediately move back, staring at him.
and began to slowly walk forward. "It's the bat!" Some exclaimed.
"You little brat." The thugs turned. They still had the hidden kid pinned up against the wall. "You little son of a bitch..." The thug's eyes shined with something like confusion for a second. "That's okay, this is all fine! Because I have a little present for you-" The thug shut up as Bruce's fist smashed him up against the wall and he slumped unconscious to the floor.
He looked over them, taking a second to try and notice anything distinguished about them. They looked like some of the recently escaped convicts from Arkham. The prison uniform just indicated to that all the more. These must have been the small group which had gone missing. They must have been-
But his body tensed as suddenly and with great shock he felt a fist connect with his face and sent him staggering.
He didn't know what was more surprising, the fact that he had actually been hit or that a pathetic thug had actually gotten him for once. "So the Bat finally took a hit. Well-" The thug fell as Bruce's hand flashed around and gripped his neck. It took all his self control not to squeeze and crack the guy's pipes. Every day he was out here, thinking how much easier it would be if instead of just striking fear into them, that wiping them away would be simpler. There was a moment when he didn't think about those who he had let live, who should be dead. Those who had caused untold agony, to repeat on them everything that they had done onto others.
But he knew that he couldn't.
Once he went down that path, there would be no coming back from it. He had once warned an old friend about that.
"Every strike you land on me just makes me stronger."He growled as he smashed the man up against the wall. It was quite strange to watch as the man stared horrified. "Please don't hurt me!"
But he didn't seem to be looking exactly at Bruce... it was almost like he was looking through him, at something else.
"Shut up." Bruce pulled back his fist and smashed it into the thugs face making him fall back unconscious. He took a quiet pleasure as he watched streams of blood move down the man's face. "You all make me sick... and you know the best way to deal with sickness?" He slowly clenched his fist as the lenses in his mask lifted to reveal the horrifically dark pits of his cold and fear educing eyes. "Eradicate it's source."
All stared in horror before one stepped forward nervously. "It's seven against one." The thug growled nervously.
"You're right."Bruce nodded before taking a battle crouch. "You're outnumbered." His eyes narrowed as the lenses lowered back again.
That's when the thugs made their second worst decision of the evening.
They charged at him.
He slowly stood as he grabbed one of their necks and span around onto his back as he twisted and kicked two in the face making them fall but as he fell he brought the man down with him and smashed his head off the ground. "Who's next!" He snarled and watched as the other four began to move with agitation.
One looked at the others before he pulled out a knife.
Stupid idiot. His thoughts snarled.
He stepped back quickly as the man made the first slash. Tire him out. Let him use up his energy trying to land a hit on me. He thought as he flipped back and landed in a crouch. "Stop moving!" The thug snarled.
"Yeah because that's going to happen." As the thug took a step back to take another slash, Bruce lunged forward and smashed his armored fist into the man's gut making him cough up blood sheer impact of the hit. He took that opportunity as he grabbed the man's wrist in the moment he was staggered and twisted it violently as he caught the blade out the open grip and pinned him to the floor. "You all belong back in Arkham. I'll drag you there by myself if I have to" He snarled.
"Now why would you do that."
Bruce looked up just as he heard the sound of the bullet leave the gun.
For a moment he felt nothing. He just stared incredulously at the grinning faces of the thugs.
The boy who was pinned against the wall had his face covered by his hood and was standing in the shadows. "You were getting in my way B'man. This town belongs to me now. It's my rightful inheritance! Always will be now! But you with your damn costume and your vigilante behavior- " The figure fired another shot and Bruce dropped to his knees as he himself now coughed up blood. "Is taking the attention away from me." He tossed the thugs a bag of money. "See you in hell... men it was a pleasure doing business with you. See that he's finished off, will you?"
"It will be our pleasure sir." One thug grinned and smashed Bruce in the face sending Bruce sprawling backwards. A few others began to copy this and punch and kick the man till he was coated in blood from the one bullet which seemed to have made it's way luckily through his armor and just into his skin. "But a heads up in what you were doing would have been nice!"
"That's why I'm the boss and you're the idiots!"
The figure was chuckling slightly as Bruce finally managed to break away from them and get some distance.
Bruce listened to the voice as much as he could. It was a boy, definitely. It sounded young... way too young. Like that of a teenager! But how the hell would a teenager have thugs from Arkham!?"
His gaze was becoming shaky and hard to keep together as the figure walked away. The thugs themselves were beginning to converge around him as he held onto his chest and backed away. Think! Think! His thoughts roared.
He looked around for any sign of something being of use. He hadn't the strength to climb one of the side pipes.
He couldn't possibly out run them... What do I do!?
"Look at him... not so strong and confident now are you B'man?" The boy taunted.
Bruce stepped back still looking around desperately for anything but paused as something clicked in his thoughts. 'B'man? Hang on... that sounded familiar. Who-'
That's when his foot scratched over a burning hot pot hole cover.
He winced slightly at the intense burning from the metal of his armour but he quickly looked around for confirmation of his theory. The stains of red on the wall... this was the same alley! "He enjoy's dressing up in costumes so much. How about we give him a Joker smile along his face!" One thug exclaimed.
"No. Let me carve him open slowly." Another suggested.
"Are you Bozo's just completely thick! This is a new outfit! I ain't ruining because you're all crazy!"
"You're one to talk." One thug muttered.
Bruce's foot slammed down onto the scolding heat as he blocked it from escaping. How ever hot it had been on the previous night it was tripled if not quadrupled this evening. "Let me play with him." One thug grinned. "Let me peel off that mask... then his face with it!"
"No where is safe for you now." Bruce's fist slammed into the metal.
The blistering air which had been held back, exploded in one expanding, intense wave which rocketed him into the air as the cloak caught and carried him away.
"NO!" The thugs shouted. "COME BACK HERE!"
"Leave him." The figure stated.
"But sir-"
The thug turned in time to fall back as the sound of a bullet rang out and their blood splattered the alley walls.
"RODRIGUEZ!"
"Pleasure doing business with you." The figure giggled quietly.
Just as the others turned around, they barely had time to blink or cry out before their blood painted the walls of the alley.
The figure giggled to themselves, their cold azure eyes turned up excitedly to the rooftops.
As they stepped out the shadows, their red and black leather clad legs crossed over one another, revealing the alluringly thin but strong toned state that they were. The symbols of black and red diamonds opposite each other were clad like a uniform over him. He wore a matching themed colour corset piece which had been adjusted for him, like the boots had been which reached up to his knees and clicked lightly, sending a faint echo bouncing of the walls around him. His pearly teeth glistened as he ran a hand through his platinum blond locks of hair, his fringe edged with the same colour of his clothes as he placed the pistol carefully back into the sheaths on his black and silver belt. His hands were gloved up to his elbows but fingers were left exposed as they reached up and touched the headpiece he was wearing, while he pulled on a matching black and red jacket. "This is J.J to Mamma bird."
The boy stepped out the shadows, illuminating the painted white porcelain pale of his face and the ringlets of black shadow around his eyes. "Part one of the plan is completed. You won't be seeing the rodent tonight." The boy giggled, before exploding out into a harsh and insanely cold laughter.
On the other side though.
A certain blond couldn't help but look down sadly as she listened to the news.
"Alright puddin, don't be late getting home, and make sure you give those bozos what's coming to them." She said softly before turning off the mic.
Never... Never.
Never had she thought it would end up like this.
Where had it all gone wrong?
How was she going to fix this?