Just a short little oneshot based off the events of The Dark Knight. Dark and slightly graphic!
The Joker was what some might call crazy.
That wasn't true, though.
Psychopaths aren't crazy, you see. Psychopaths are completely aware of what they are doing and what the consequences will be… And they do it anyway. So when the Joker explained they'd be making a little detour to Gotham's MCU, his henchmen were not at all surprised. They'd been working with the Joker for weeks now, even before his big debut at the mob bank that had started all these shenanigans. He had to get things ready, see, and for that to happen, you needed some elbow grease. And not just two elbows would do.
Happy was one of the first recruits. The Joker had found him on the street weeks before, where he was shaking on a large, stinking pile of trash bags. Happy had been an in-and-out patient at Arkham for years, never dangerous to the point of needing to be locked away, but still needing regular — and heavy amounts — of drugs. And that didn't just mean the medical kind. He hadn't had a fix of heroin for two whole days when Joker found him and when he heard the man clear his throat, Happy thought he was hallucinating. A… Clown? In Gotham City, in the middle of the night? And… Was that a knife? But instead of running, he continued to shake and rock back and forth on the make-shift bed, staring at the clown in front of him with wide eyes, sweat pouring down his face. The voices were suddenly very quiet… Everything was suddenly quiet. The whispering had stopped. He hadn't had this much peace in… Months.
"Well, hello there."
His voice was breathless and shaken when he replied. "Hi."
"What's your name?" The dark figure in front of him asked, tapping his own palm with his knife.
"B-Barry."
The red lips spread into a wider smile and he froze as he saw the scars. "People call me… Joker."
And that was how it had began.
Happy (otherwise known as Barry Morris) had no idea where the boss kept getting his drugs. All he knew was that whenever he could feel himself beginning to shake, suddenly a small baggy was dropped in front of him as the Joker walked past. It was like magic. Over the past sixteen days under the Joker's wing, he'd learned a few things. The first, was that the Joker wasn't the Devil. He wasn't evil at all. He was his guardian angel. The second was that there was nothing to worry about when you were with the Joker. He took care of it all. All you had to worry about was yourself. The third and final thing was this: The only time the voices came around… Were when the Joker wasn't. It was almost as if he controlled them. Happy knew that was silly, of course, but it seemed the only logical explanation. "Happy! Come 'ere." He loved being noticed by the boss, felt pride being in his attentions.
"Yeah, boss?" He asked, scrambling into the garage beneath the old apartment complex they were shacked in. He ran down the stairs quickly, coming face to face with the Joker. A single lightbulb hung precariously above him, swinging gently while the Joker laid down a white sheet. He looked up at the henchmen and licked his lips, his eyes drooping heavily.
"I need your assistance. Lay on your back." He pointed with a sharp finger at the sheet while he walked to the other side of the room. Large barrels of gasoline were strewn across the room, knives and guns stocked and a small pile of canned goods. The Joker picked up something on top of a close gas can and Happy thought he heard a beep. He was quick to obey, even though he was feeling quite unsettled in this position. When he sat down, the Joker quickly approached and patted his cheek with his gloved hand. "Now listen… I need you to pay attention," He murmured in that strange, sing-song voice he had. Happy nodded quickly. "How's your head?" He asked while licking his lips and Happy knew exactly what he meant. The voices.
"Not so great, boss," He replied, his voice shaking. The Joker frowned, his pout ridiculous and exaggerated and Happy shuddered, making the Joker tut and pat his cheek again.
"Shh, shh… Listen. I'm gonna make 'em go away." And then he grinned, a genuine smile so sharp it could cut bone. "I'll go in and… And replace 'em with bright lights!" He giggled and Happy's brow furrowed. "Like Christmas..." He said finally, and cackled with laughter and before Happy knew what was happening, the Joker was handcuffing him to the radiator beside him.
"Boss, wait! Please —" A blunt force his his temple and he moaned, his body slumping and woozy. What had he hit him with? He hadn't been holding anything heavy… Oh. The blunt handle of his knife. He moaned loudly as he felt blood leaking from the head wound. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry…" He didn't know what he'd done wrong but by this point he was sorry, for anything and everything he could've ever done to anger the man who had saved him.
The Joker handcuffed his other wrist to the radiator and then yanked him by his ankles so that he was lying flat now. He grabbed hold of his chin and shook his head gently until he finally opened his eyes and look up at him. "Don't be sorry. You're doing me a favor right now, Happy boy." And then he smiled again and Happy moaned, letting his eyes close and his head fall backwards onto the concrete. "You've just gotta be still and this should be over in just a couple minutes!" He was giggling uncontrollably to himself as he grabbed the bigger man's shirt and wrenched it up his body, baring his torso to him. He nodded as he saw his canvas. Happy looked up, still dizzy and confused.
"What are you… Doing?" He asked, gasping.
"Just some art. This sure will make a big bang for the Commissioner!" He laughed again and then Happy felt the tip of a knife tapping against his ribs. A white hot pain flared through his right side as the knife dug into flesh, tearing through it like it was nothing more than cutting up chicken for dinner. The Joker's tongue stuck out at the corner of his mouth as he worked, listening with glee to the writhing man beneath him as he screamed. "There we are…" He chanted to himself, twisting the knife up and to the side. Happy screamed over and over, the waves of pain more than too much for one person to handle. Would he pass out from the pain? If he did, would Joker kill him? Would he kill him anyway? The pain burned through him in agonizing bursts. Warm, sticky blood dripped down his skin as he writhed, soaking the waistband on his pants and the t-shirt rolled up to his arms. "Hey," The Joker said under his breath. "Hey, stop that… Hold still. We're almost done…" The knife stabbed deeper into him then, creeping a larger hole, underneath the skin and he felt the muscles ripping tearing. "Now, don't go 'way, ya hear?" He said and then stood up, leaning over the dizzy man who was faint from blood-loss and smiled cheerfully, baring his teeth. He skipped across the room, whistling plaintively as he went and when he returned he held up an old Nokia cell phone. "Unbreakable, indestructible, all purpose," He said and then let out a laugh so dark it could terrify the strongest man. He imagined the Batman, then… Did the Joker affect him this way? To the point where he thought his heart would burst from his chest, the terror so strong that it gripped him like a vice, making it impossible to even move? The Joker's fingers were there again, right next to his ribs, digging into the trench of a cut he'd made and the screams and whines that followed were almost pathetic. He knew he couldn't get away, and he knew screaming wouldn't help. But he just couldn't hold them back. Suddenly, a cold metal slipped against his torn flesh and muscle and he groaned, a loud, guttural shriek raising from the depths of his lungs, the soles of his feet and the tips of his fingers. He was putting the phone inside of him.
"No, no… Nonono!" He begged, tears rolling down his eyes, the drops thick and heavy and he couldn't see through them. And then it was inside of him, tucked securely away behind the wall of flesh and muscle. Joker patted the spot twice for good measure, making his body shake with pain, the agony so fresh and sharp that he knew he was going to pass out. When the Joker began to rummage through a black bag beside him, Happy couldn't even raise his head to investigate. He was just too damn weak.
"Just a warning… I'm no seamstress, so, uh… Don't make fun of my work…" He licked his lips again, smacked his lips and then a thick piercing needle was pushing into his skin, stitching him back. Happy passed out.