Fire and Steel:
A Dark Knight Fanfiction
Chapter 1:
The sky was fading, purple and orange, bleeding in to red, turning the world hazy; abstract like a dream. The light's intensity became more as the sun began its dip beneath the horizon, and his eyes narrowed against it, casting away, to the ground below his feet, the railway tracks, iron and wood and dirt and gravel.
Cottonwood hung in the air, floating slow and soft past him, tumbling over his short, blonde hair and across his pale and freckled cheeks.
He skipped over the tracks planks, every other one, his arms stretched out at the sides as he landed on the next, going so quickly it was almost like running; like flying.
Like freedom.
He felt the train before he heard it, the planks trembling beneath his feet, and tiny rocks, ricocheting off metal framework.
He smiled.
This was his favorite part; this was the reason he walked the tracks after school, the real reason.
His father's rage didn't matter. He didn't care that every night he felt the man's wrath for being home late.
It was worth it, every bit, when he would hear that deafening whistle, and then the blaring, overwhelming horn which let him know without even looking the train was behind him, that it was so close, and the conductor could see him.
The horn would grow more urgent, more frequent, the driver trying desperately to warn him, to make him move. It was the man's fear; fear for himself, fear for his conscience, for his soul, for his well being, wanting more then anything not to live with the burden of having killed a child.
He could imagine the panic lining his features, the hugeness of his eyes, and the pain of his rapidly beating heart as he screamed uselessly, screamed until his face was red. "Get off! Get off! Get off!"
But he wouldn't.
He wouldn't.
He would stay on those tracks. Jumping over the planks, every other one, even as the vibrations grew so strong beneath him, he barely would keep his footing.
He would stay, and he would hear the train upon him, right behind him now, right behind him. So loud it made the rest of the world disappear. Made it shrivel in to nothingness.
And the driver would be crying, tortured by what he knew was to come, helpless to stop it, to do anything at all. And still the blame would take him.
Maybe his foot would get caught between the framework, maybe he would trip on that last leap, and fall, and never have the time to get off. Maybe he would be crushed and shredded and pulverized beyond recognition beneath a thousand tons of steel and fire.
No control.
No control.
The sound consumed him, the ground shaking, rattling the teeth inside his head. There was nothing, and this was everything.
His eyes closed.
He smiled.
And then he jumped.
/
The force of the train passing had blasted him forward, the rush of air knocking him to the side, slamming him back in to a tree, stealing the breath from his lungs.
He fell, hard, crumpling on his side, half gasping, half laughing, not really able to move.
He nearly hadn't made it this time, the train bulleting past barely a second after he'd leapt.
A second more, and he'd be dead.
He sucked in sharply, rolling to his back, his arms stretched out, above his head. The sky was spinning, round and round, making him sick, the faint light of stars now starting to break through.
And for a while, he just stayed like that, laid out, watching as those stars became brighter, and the world grew dark around him. Silence settled, broken by the humming of mosquitoes and fireflies, and the soft crying of the wind.
There was stillness, and the feeling of being small.
The world would be here still, like this, just like this, even when he was gone.
Far away, he heard the train whistle.
And only the silence heard him laugh.
/
The sun had long set by the time he walked through the front door of the tiny, two bedroom apartment.
He could see his father from here, his face pressed to the kitchen table, passed out in another of his drunken stupors.
He felt the corners of his mouth pulling down at the sight. He didn't bother with trying to be quiet, kicking the door shut with his foot, walking swiftly to his room.
He knew he wouldn't get through the night without catching a beating from the man. He would wake up at some point, come stumbling in to his room, all in a rage. He could hear the loud, obnoxious voice, screaming at him, demanding to know where he'd been.
He always told his father the truth, that he'd been walking the tracks again.
But it didn't matter, it made no difference whether he told the truth or not; his father was going to kick the hell out of him either way, because that's what he wanted to do.
His thoughts shifted from this, to earlier that day, and how he'd lost his bag to a group of boys older then him.
Kenny Brandish and a few of his "friends".
They'd come calling after school, hung up about something or other, something to do with not liking his face.
He'd told Kenny to stop being so hard on himself, that he never knew, things could get better, that maybe someday he'd manage to land a good paying job and not have to worry about the fact he couldn't attract girls with his face.
Kenny didn't like hearing the truth about the cause of his insecurity, and predictably, he'd lashed out.
That's how Jack had lost his bag, ducking under Kenny's punch and swinging it hard in to his face. The thing was heavy, full of books, and the impact had knocked the older boy back and off his feet.
Jack had taken off, over the school grounds and towards the rails, a good mile and a half from there.
It didn't take long for him to lose them, weaving in and out of the different buildings and back alleys. A couple of the boys went down over a trash can he'd pulled over, hitting the ground hard from the sound of it. The others simply hadn't been able to keep pace, eventually giving up, shouting after him, obscenities and threats about what they were going to do to him tomorrow.
He'd smiled and just kept going.
He moved to the light he kept by his bed, a small table lamp which sat on the floor, and switched it on. It filled the space with a dull kind of glow, and one could now see how empty it was, the only other contents consisting of a singles mattress with no frame, and on that a thin blanket and pillow. Against the opposite wall was a dresser, with two drawers and one missing, and that was it.
He wouldn't be able to do his school work tonight, since it'd all been in that bag, but it didn't matter, really. His grades were failing. His teacher thought there was something wrong with him, that he was doing poorly because he didn't understand the lessons. She thought he needed to be placed in a class for those with special needs. He'd told her once that it was nothing more complex then a case of boredom, that he understood perfectly everything she taught. It simply held no interest for him. When she'd persisted in her belief he needed help, he'd gotten agitated and told her he understood her "lessons" better then she did and that, really, she wasn't qualified to be teaching anyone anything.
That had gotten him sent to the Principles office.
Now they were talking about his poor social skills and lack of friends. As if they really cared and weren't just trying to justify the school's spending on extraneous and ineffective programs by filling them with students they stupidly thought fit the bill.
Jack was more frustrated by the fact he'd lost his books then anything.
The library probably wasn't going to let him check any more out now, since he couldn't afford to pay for the ones he already had.
He remembered the strange looks the librarian had given him when he'd laid the books on the counter, college textbooks on chemistry and theoretical physics, mathematics and books on philosophy.
"You checking these out for someone you know sweetheart?" She'd asked.
He'd shaken his head and told her no, that they were for himself, and she'd laughed and said he must be joking.
He'd told her no again, and she just stared at him for a few moments, blankly, and he remembered wanting to smash her face in.
He hated when people didn't believe he could understand something just because he was a child. He didn't know what your age had to do with your intelligence.
Worse still were the people who, because they couldn't themselves grasp a concept, thought no one else should be able to either.
Those were the kinds of people who got angry, got jealous and felt threatened, and then they'd start with the insults.
Stupid, pathetic insults which only made obvious their own insecurity.
He ran a hand through his hair, breathing out as he dropped himself on to his mattress, lying back and staring at the ceiling.
He thought of earlier, of the train tracks, the sound of it, and the rush of air as he was knocked back.
And it made him smile.
He must have been thinking of it a long time, and deeply, he realized, as he was startled by the sound of his door slamming hard against the wall, and his eyes shifted forward to find his father, standing in the frame of it, fury lining his features.
"Where the hell've you been?" He asked through clenched teeth.
Jack stared back with eyes smoldering, unblinking.
"No where you don't already know about." He answered, sarcasm dripping from his voice.
That synched it.
His father's outreached hands were the last thing he saw before he felt himself being lifted in to the air, and he found himself held up to stare down at the man.
"What's the matter Dad…" He began, his lip curled. "Can't take a joke?"
His stomach flipped in the rush down, and searing pain ripped through his body as he was slammed to the floor against his back, his skull impacting a moment later.
The world spun in sickening circles, impossibly fast.
And then, everything went black.
/
Hey everybody! So, this is my attempt at a Joker origin story. I know it's been done innumerable times, by me included, haha. But I thought I'd give it another go anyhow, as I've never been extremely happy with my attempts at it, especially with the Joker from the Nolan universe. I plane on it being quite extensive and detailed, and obviously, since the Joker is a very dark character, the story will also reflect that. I hope to take him all the way up through his childhood, where we've started, through his teens and eventually adulthood, where we'll see him finally make the complete transformation in to the character we know. I think, realistically, in all likelihood, the Joker probably displayed sociopathic tendencies, even as a boy, and I tried to capture that here, i.e. I don't think he would be cowering in fear of bullies or his father, like he's often portrayed as doing in these sorts of fics, yet somehow he develops in to this completely fearless and hardened character as an adult. That's a glaring character shift, I think, not character development. So while we may see young Jack as a victim, and he is, he isn't how your typical victim might be portrayed, as weak, as feeling sorry for himself, or what have you. Even as a child, he's largely unfazed, unaffected and indifferent to people's feelings, to their emotions and the things they do to him. He's a tough little bastard, even from the start, and, I think, already quite mean, despite him being the one enduring the brutality of others. And, of course, as the Joker's a genius, that too would be a quality of his which was always there from the start, and he already would be using his deep insight in to people against them, I think. Anyway, that's the jumping off point, which eventually will snowball in to him becoming a psycho terrorist who dresses up as a clown, lol.
Anyway, enough rambling. Reviews are welcomed and requested. Good and bad, short and long. Reviews are important in keeping a writer motivated to keep going. Without them, it becomes very difficult to retain that desire. So, if you read this, I would ask you to take the time to tell me what you think, share your thoughts, where you think its going, where you think it SHOULD go, etc… Let me know. And, of course, right up front, to everyone who read the first chapter, THANK YOU for taking the time and I'll have an update soon!