A/N: Hey everyone! I wrote this during the summer, before I learned that a Joker movie is coming out, and now that there is, I found this a good opportunity to present my interpretation of Joker's backstory. First of all, I apologize if my DC content is off, I'm not a fan of DC but rather of the Dark Knight Trilogy. Also, I used the name Heath for Joker's original identity just because it stuck most, if ANYONE HAS A PROBLEM WITH IT, WRITE ME RIGHT AWAY IN THE REVIEWS, I'LL CHANGE IT IMMEDIATELY. Enjoy!

Disclaimer for this and all the following chapters: I do not own any of the DC characters that show up in this fanfic!

P.S. The writing is a bit shaky in the first couple of chapters, but I promise, it evens out. Just hold through it.

Part 1. Gotham Outskirts

The cold glass gently nudged her at the back of her ankles. Winnifred carefully slanted her eyes down, tracing her gaze down to the three bottles of Heineken beer in a plastic bag. Behind her, Sammy leaned over the table and showed her a quick thumbs up. Winnifred cast him a grimace and warily looked at the teacher in front. His bald spot in the center of his head gleamed in the bright lamplight like sand in the sun. Beautiful. Carefully, she slipped a dollar piece out of her back pocket, just enough for Sammy to see. He sent her a broad grin and slouched back in his chair. Winnifred contently tucked the money back and turned away from Sammy. Her eyes inevitably ran to the clock. The long hand struck fifty-six. God damn it...

She was the first to run out of class. Racing across the sidewalk and dodging away from students, Winnifred skidded behind the college church. Next to the walls, with no veneration to the sacred building whatsoever, was a group of students playing cards. Winnifred felt a broad smile stretch her dry lips. Tramping the moist dirt with her flip flops, she flung her bag over her shoulder and started towards the guys. Coming behind the one with a long, torn coat, Winnifred wrapped her arms around him, trying to get a glance on his cards.

"You missed class again, Heath," she remarked. Heath absentmindedly rubbed his hand against his lips, not looking in her way.

"Did you get the beer?"

"Sammy stripped off thirty bucks." Heath grinned and quickly passed over the cards to another player.

"Quite generous for his taste. Where'd you get the money?"

"Does it matter?" Winnifred calmly retorted, watching the game. "Who's winning?"

"You'll see in a moment," Billy answered her, triumphantly holding his two cards.

"Both are the highest trump cards left. Will you consider yourself lost, eh Heath?"

"Go ahead and we'll see," Heath returned, glancing at his opponent out of the card. Winnifred saw a small kindle of fire glimpse in his eyes.

"Did the trump ace leave the game?" She quietly asked. He nodded, eyeing Billy. The latter victoriously threw down his card.

"Trump king!" The guys around them whistled, intrigued by the prospect of Heath losing. Winnifred felt the muscles in Heath's neck flex against her hand.

"Well?" Billy sharply clicked his tongue. "Will you take it?"

"No, why should I?" Heath smiled and threw down his card. "C'mon, Freddie, let's go. Jonathan is probably waiting for us." Heath stood up, shaking Winnifred's hands off, quickly gathered the stack of money, and wrapped his hand around her shoulders, leading her away from the appalled group. She craned her neck back to see what they were all staring at; it was the joker card. Smirking, Winnifred turned back.

"Could've let them win once, you know. After all, they are your friends."

"Don't' get so familiar, Freddie," Heath warned, letting his hand fall down off her shoulders. He looked to his side, noticing her sack and bag with beer. Mumbling something like "for fuck's sake what are you carrying", he grabbed the strap from her fingers and swung her stuff over his shoulder. Winnifred happily let him take the plastic bag as well.

"Thirty dollars?" He asked, opening the latter and staring down into its contents.

"Yeah," Winnifred vacantly confirmed, more interested in the nature around her.

"He did not even ask if they were real or not."

"Were they?" She shrugged.

"Maybe. Depends on how you want to look at it." Heath sighed and closed the bag. Winnifred took him by the hand, clasping their walk into silence. The weather was dismal, dark clouds engulfing the sky in their embrace. The wind was slightly howling through the trees, crumpled leaves shuffled at their feet.

"What are you planning to do in life?" Winnifred, shivering from the cold, quietly inquired, moving closer to Heath's side.

"I'll figure out something," he smiled. "Certainly not what Jonathan is doing right now." At this time, they've reached the lonely hospital standing aloof in the midst of the dark thicket. Winnifred squinted, quickly leveraging some facts onto her internal balance. There were at least three wings, each with three floors and countless amounts of rooms.

"And?" She flatly asked. "Do you know where he is?"

"Should be in the emergency room..." Heath murmured, stepping back and estimating the size of the hospital.

"Alright, the therapeutics are to the right, the psychologists are on the first floor, the surgery is usually located on the third floor in the second wing..." With that, he shoved the sack and bag back to Winnifred and began jogging to the left around the corner.

"What the hell?" Winnifred rebelled, but Heath was already gone, leaving no choice to her but to follow him. He was already on the other side of the building.

"Heath!" He did not even turn his head. Winnifred silently swore before fixing the bags on her shoulders and running up to him. Heath was standing in front of the wall and contemplating the windows on the third floor. Winnifred loosened to walk and stopped next to him, staring at the windows next to him.

"What's wrong?"

"Do you know which window is Jonathan's?" Heath asked, not answering to her question. Winnifred whirled her head to the windows, then back on Heath.

"Do you?" She retorted, annoyance getting the better of her. Heath growled in return, sensing her exasperation. Shoving past her, he picked up a small pebble off the ground and started aiming at the farthest window.

"Don't break it," Winnie warned, eyeing his actions. "You tend to destroy everything, don't you think? After all, these windows are not the strongest of their..."

"Shut up, or I'll actually break them. On purpose." Heath cut her short. Winnifred bit her tongue and turned around. Silently, they watched the pebble clink against the thin glass. No one appeared. Heath grumbled and picked up another one, this time aiming for the window next to the first one.

"Maybe Jonathan just didn't hear the first time," Winnifred suggested, watching the second pebble fall down, just as futile as the first one.

"Or maybe you're hitting the entirely wrong windows, I mean, who would make an emergency room on the third floor?"

"What do you mean?" Heath asked, kneeling down for more pebbles and simultaneously standing up and throwing them.

"Well," Winnifred started, the sound of her voice mixing with the soft clacking of the window glass and the low thuds of pebbles hitting the damp dirt. "If you break your leg, you wouldn't just go marching up the staircase, right? I mean, what idiot does that..."

"To begin with, no one would even go to the hospital if they've broken their leg. Secondly, don't expect a lot from the idiots who live in this town and built this hospital." Jonathan leaned out of the window, looking down at the people below him with apparent disapproval.

"Heath, for your information, it's always the seventh window."

"Johnny!" Heath broadly grinned, before quickly looking back and sharing a knowing glance with Winnifred.

"C'mon! Let's go!" A rare glimpse of sunlight flashed on Jonathan's glasses.

"I can't." He said, almost reluctantly. Winnifred held back her groan. This wasn't knew.

"God damn you, Crane, let's go. I brought refreshments," she added, lifting up the bag with beer. She swore she saw a smirk. This also wasn't knew.

"Freddie, I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you in the sense that you cannot bribe me with alcohol..."

"Oh, Johnathan, stop being an ass and let's go," Heath impatiently gestured with his hand.

"It's not like you're doing anything important!"

Winnifred knew that during the week, no one would ever get Jonathan out of the building. However, Friday was his half day, meaning that Heath and she still had a chance of luring the intern out. When Jonathan looked back in doubt behind him, Winnifred knew they won. She nudged Heath in the arm, indicating their victory. He hastily answered with a small nod and arched back his head to look back at Jonathan.

"Well?" He inquired in a offended, obviously faked, tone. "Are we going with you or what?"

"I'll come," Crane agreed, trying to cover his defeat under a facade of forced resignation. But Winnifred heard the immense relief in his voice. Heath triumphantly clutched his fist and let the unneeded pebbles fall out of his palm. He rested his hands on his hips, examining the ground with his shoe, waiting in anticipation. While she waited, Winnifred re-positioned the bag on her shoulders. The back doors swung upon, shaking them both out of apathy. Jonathan ran towards them, cleaning his bloodied hands with his once perfectly white apron.

"Afternoon," he greeted Heath, the latter shortly slapping him on the shoulder.

"What's up, Freddie?" He nodded to the girl, looking most utterly disgusted.

"Do you even wash your hands after a surgery?" She answered, scanning his tainted clothes. Jonathan simply smiled and took the plastic bag out of her hands.

"Heineken?" He lifted his stare up on Winnifred. She shrugged.

"There was only Sammy on the market. Had to take what was there." Jonathan seemed content with the answer and shoving one hand into his pocket, turned to Heath.

"I have only two hours."

"Then we shall get going," Heath replied, slyly twisting his face. "C'mon, let's get out of here, before I vomit from the sight of the hospital."

"Why don't you like hospitals?" Winnifred asked, topping the bottle back and forth between her hands. She had not drank three fourths of it, but Heath already saw the upcoming haze in her eyes. Prior he simply watched with amusement how she gets herself drunk, swinging back and forth more sharply each time and slightly fidgeting with words. Jonathan also noticed the first symptoms; the way his fingers, curled around the bottleneck, tapped the glass betrayed his growing concern.

"Why don't you like spiders or snakes, Freddie?" Heath merrily asked, thinking how much Winnifred will hurt herself if she topples off the windowsill.

"Or why does Johnny hate people in general? It's a pure instinct, Freddie, something that subconsciously...purrs in us, quietly murmurs in our ear, until it...bursts!" Crane cast Heath a dirty look; obviously, Heath's syntax of long sentences did not slip his awareness. He silently stood up and while Winnifred furrowed her brows, trying to understand the answer, carefully pulled the bottle out of her hands. Winnifred followed it with her eyes, but did not argue. Instead, she lay down on the wooden floor and stared upwards. Heath, without losing his criss crossed position, shifted over to her side and began braiding her loose hair.

"Heath?"

"Hmm?" Her hair was extremely soft and easy to braid.

"Have you ever been to Gotham?" One braid done. Heath, holding the braid in his fingers, leaned over to see her face, locked in concentration.

"You mean like the city itself?"

"Yeah."

"No." Heath returned back to his upright position, taking a new dark chocolate lock and entwining it with another one. "I want to, though."

"Don't." Winnifred abruptly lifted on her elbow to look at Johnathan.

"Why not?" She demanded, trying to tell apart his features in the shadows that loomed over the rocking chair. It seemed that he shrugged, but then Johnathan stood up and sat next to her.

"I went to school in Gotham. It was not a pleasant experience." Heath lifted his eyes on Johnathan. Crane caught his gaze, for he did not continue.

"I haven't lived in the city itself," his eyes bore into Heath's, as if testing whether or not he will reveal anything. Heath lowered his gaze down; the braid he kept constantly twisting was messy and clumped. He hastened to switch the topic.

"Why do you ask, Freddie?" He asked out of played interest. Winnifred slightly tilted her head and shrugged.

"I mean, we'll still have to go there anyway. It's like a final destination end point. We'll keep revolving around it, but in the end we'll always come back one way or another."

"Is there only one Gotham in the entire United States for you to go to?" Johnathan bitterly asked.

"There're plenty of other places you could..."

"Oh yes, as if we can afford it," Winnifred sarcastically retorted, squinting her black eyes.

"I don't know, it's just a premonition I have. Maybe we will end up going to other cities." Winnifred lowered back on the floor. Johnathan rested his chin on his knee, gazing somewhere into unknown to anyone, even himself, space. Heath finished the third braid, observing his own work and everyone around. God, he could just close his eyes and see this all over again; them, sitting in a partially destroyed mill, in the dim attic, hay and some old furniture scattered all over the place, Freddie lying down, Johnathan sitting next to her, and himself, Heath, making braids. Heath opened his eyes.

"Who were you cutting today?"

"I was doing a brain surgery," Johnathan shrugged.

"But you hate performing..." Winnifred paused, feeling the seizure coming up to her throat. Heath also paused his braiding, cautiously watching how her face slowly wanes to marble, before some small muscle painfully twitched again.

"Alr..." Winnifred stopped Heath by raising her finger. He pursed his lips, Crane quickly glanced at his watch to check the time of the attack. Suddenly, Winnifred breathed out, forcing out a semi relaxed smile.

"Over?" Johnathan confirmed. She nodded, then folded her arms under her head, destroying Heath's fifth braid.

"It was better this time, really. They always pass well whenever you guys are around. The worst ones are when I'm on a street or something, then it's extremely shitty...So why are you cutting someone when you're a bloody psychologist?"

Her childlike incomprehension brought a smile to the strict face.

"Because I'm an intern," Johnathan lightheartedly explained. Heath made a knowing face at this, never glancing from his braids. "Interns do all the dirty or hard work, sometimes both."

"Oh, poor soul," Winnifred sympathized, but quickly specified herself, "The patient, not you." Johnathan laughed, shaking his head, while Heath put the final knot on the braid to keep it from falling apart.

"The patient," Heath chuckled. "The patient, not you. Damn, did you hear that Johnny? It seems to me that you're ousted from Freddie's sympathizer list."

"I never knew that I was on one," Johnathan returned, not offended, and taking a sip of beer. Winnifred closed her eyes and broadly smiled, taking the moment in. The wind slightly shuffled the hay across the floor.