A/N - Sadly, I do not own Batman, nor The Dark Knight, nor any of its characters and contents. Actually, it's probably a good thing; I'd trash the series with my awful plots. RIP, Heath Ledger.

I notice a lot of stories where people have their character (almost always a girl) kidnapped and 'tortured' by The Joker, and somehow not completely despising him for it. So I made this, where the main character is a dude. So that you all know what to expect, behavior-wise, I'm going to write a quick summary for you:

James is a timid, pessimistic person. He has a tendancy to assume the worst will happen, and he is downright shocked whenever it does not. He has a tendancy to blame himself for everything, though he rarely admits how he feels about anything. Overall, he is extremely introverted, prefering solitude to people.

Now that that's out of the way, I want to clear up something else: I'm going to keep this character throughout the story, and he will not stray into being all, "HAPPY GOODNESS AND SUNSHINE!" I take staying IC very seriously. Call James emo if you wish; he probably could be considered emo by some circles. At the very least, I'm not gonna make him a Marty Stu, Gary Sue, whatever you want to call it.

So yeah, demented Joker and such and such. There ain't no pairings here! At least, I don't intend to make any. This ain't no romance, foo'! Please refrain from flaming; constructive critiscism is welcome. However, if you post a message like, " u suk! G2H ur so stupid n shud die," then... well, that's a flame. And it's a poorly written flame at that! If you don't like it, say what you don't like or just stop reading it.

O0O0O

Dark encompassed the city of Gotham. It wasn't really that late; it was only about seven PM. Nonetheless, the skies were cloudy and bleak, the light from the moon blocked out by several long, gray clouds. Walking down the street, a small backpack over his shoulder, was a boy. This boy wasn't what most people would call, 'stunningly handsome,' nor was he what others would call, 'hideously ugly.' He was average in every way, from his dark brown eyes to his nearly-black hair. It was such a dark brown that it almost looked black; under this poor lighting, it might as well have been black. He had a rather lanky build, and his clothes seemed like a school uniform of sorts; he was walking down the street in 'dressy' clothes—which included a red necktie and a black jacket and slacks.

"Damn, I'm gonna be late," he mumbled. No matter how he looked at it, he was going to miss his curfew: 7:15. He was at least twenty minutes from his house, and even though he doubted his parents would do anything for him being five minutes late, Gotham could be a dangerous place.

Truth be told, this boy, James, was what most people would call timid. He wasn't too excited about the prospect of getting mugged, or jumped, or really just confronted in general. Even for his age, he was rather short. He couldn't be any taller than five foot two, so he wasn't exactly intimidating. "C'mon, c'mon, that bus has to come by soon."

He walked to the bus stop, nervously shifting in place beneath the lamp. He wasn't too keen on going underneath the shelter the city had put up, seeing as there would be nowhere to run should he feel that to be a necessary option. Of all the places to be, Gotham was the worst for such a timid boy.

"C'mon, c'mon," he mumbled. "Hurry up, hurry up…"

To be honest, James despised going home at the end of the day. However, he also despised the thought of being shot, assaulted, or really just ambushed in general. In the end, catching a bus and taking it most of the way home was a far nicer idea than waiting to be shot or just walking six or seven miles to get home. Home was the place where his sisters wouldn't leave him alone; home was the place where he couldn't get six minutes of solitude. That was his favorite thing. If people left him alone, there was nothing to worry about. He really didn't care what happened too much so long as he got his alone time. Call him an introvert; you'd be right.

Finally, something pulled up the curb. Unfortunately, it wasn't a bus. His eyes widened as he stared at the car before him; it was a van, it was black, the windows were tinted as far as dark as they could possibly be. It was bad enough that there was a van like this one so close to him; having it right in front of him at a bus stop—of all places—wasn't much better.

"Need a lift, kid?" asked a rather high-pitched voice, full of mock.

"N-no thanks," replied James.

The man inside of the car snickered. The boy was obviously nervous, and he didn't seem too thrilled to be spoken to, at all. "I insist."

"Look, I'm just waiting f-for the bus, so leave me," James answered nervously, halfway through his sentence he found a gun pointed at him, and his eyes widened a little. "A-alone?"

"How 'bout now?"

James blinked as he stared at the figure in the car. The gun barrel was just barely past the window, its metallic shine reflecting the light from a streetlamp right into James' eyes. "Please, j-just… put… the g-gun… down…"

"Mmm… not gonna happen," the clownish voice from behind the window answered. "Now hop in before I get bored and shoo'cha."

Taking a deep breath, the adolescent obeyed, reaching for the door and pulling it open, sliding in without looking at his captor. He didn't dare look, especially not when his captor was obviously psychotic. Sitting shotgun, the boy held his backpack close to his lap.

"Why so serious?" chirped the captor as the door closed. Not long after, he slammed on the gas.

"C-can I c-call my mother?"

"Nervous, uh, aren't'cha?"

Gulping, slightly, James hoped, silently, for an answer. He had reasons for wanting to call his mother, even if he did wish that she would leave him alone when she saw him. For one, his father had left them a long time ago. The bastard had been cheating on his mother for a year—he even tried to take James with him. James was pleased when the courts gave his mother custody, but he wasn't pleased when he realized how much responsibility he would have to take on. Fifteen and he was already working whenever he wasn't studying. That was why he needed his alone time. If he didn't get his down time, all the time he spent in Wal-Mart and at school would drive him insane.

Secondly, his two little sisters were annoying as could be; they wouldn't leave him alone. As soon as he walked in through the front door, he would find himself tackled by the two little demons. One of them would pull on his hair while the other stayed glued to his ankles. They were so affectionate that they drove James half to madness.

"She'll find out later, uh," the man laughed lightly.

Deciding not to press the matter, James remained quiet. What was he supposed to do? This guy was armed. He was dangerous. Meanwhile, James had absolutely nothing to threaten the man with. All he could do was stand in place and hope that somebody would rescue him. Batman? No, no, he wasn't going to waste his time helping some kid like James. Kids at his school had spent some time bragging about getting to meet the legendary bat, but James just couldn't even fake interest.

So, for the rest of the time, James remained as silent as he could possibly be. Whenever the captor would utter a question, James would ignore it until he heard the dissatisfied grunts of the clown-faced man. Joker. That had to be the kidnapper. He was the one who separated James from his sisters and mother. Even the slightest glimmer of light caught over the captor's face; James struggled to avert his gaze from those scars. What the hell were those doing on his face? James had heard that the Joker had a Glasgow smile, permanently etched into his features, but he didn't expect to be close enough to really see it.

"Someone's awful quiet."

James wasn't sure if he was meant to respond; all he knew is that he was gripping his backpack as if it would save his life, and he was in a car with someone who had so callously murdered many people. What the hell was he supposed to do?

"Scared?" laughed the captor.

Wincing slightly, James turned his head so that he was staring out the window. The last thing he wanted was a conversation with a madman. He especially didn't want a conversation with a madman while they were in a moving vehicle. "N-not really thrilled…"

The Joker chuckled as he turned the steering wheel. At the very least, James thought to himself, I'm not dead yet.

O0O

After the ride that felt like several hours, but was, in actuality, no more than ten, James found himself with a gun pressed to his left temple, and the man holding it smiling lightly. "Out of the car; don't try anything funny."

James, being a self-proclaimed coward, stepped out of the car, still clutching his backpack closely to himself. He was shaking slightly, and he turned his eyes to try and get a grip on what was going on, or where he was. He was so nervous he doubted that he would remember anything more than gripping his backpack close to his chest.

"Atatata," the Joker scolded mockingly, putting a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Thinking about running, uh, away, isn't going to help you."

The two began to walk into a building that smelled of mold and rotting pork. James crinkled his nose at the smell, and yet The Joker merely continued to march on, hand on the boy's shoulder in an unassuring manner. If it was meant to calm James down, it wasn't working. Then again, this guy was known for being a psychopath. It probably was meant to make him more nervous.

The two approached a door, and James continued to squeeze onto that backpack for dear life. Was he going to be shoved in—was that a meat locker? "Well, nice meeting you," the man laughed as he opened the door, extending an arm with bruising force that shoved James into the locker. "Oh, and I'll be taking that."

"Wait-!" James shouted as the man grabbed his backpack and pulled it away.

Oh right. He had a cell phone in there. As the door slammed shut, threatening to rip off his fingers as it flew shut, James felt like he could scream. However, instead, he just stared at the door, speechless.

Well shit.