AN: hey lovelies! So who was excited for Gotham? Certainly me! It just needed a lot more Harley, so I added this in after I saw a prompt for cheerleader!Harley on tumblr. Let me know what you think, if I should continue this as a story. Happy reading!

She hadn't noticed when the bus had stopped, nor when the gasoline truck had parked in front of them. As far as 15 year old Harleen Quinzel was concerned, she had an AP Psych test to study for. Even if the test wasn't until next week, there was a certain stress level Harleen wanted to keep down. Also a certain GPA she had to keep if the girl wanted to keep her spot on Gotham Charter's charity cases. What she did notice, was the screaming when a bullet zinged through a window. The boy in back of Harleen fell to the floor, hair already taking on the shiny tone of blood and his ragged scalp.

Then they boarded.

Harleen couldn't breathe. Her pocket knife was open, but these people- these maniacs- had guns. Big ones at that too. Except for the redhead, he didn't carry much in the variety of firearms. All the girl could see was a small revolver, hardly enough to do any significant damage. But there was something incredibly off about him. Undisputed, this teenager was the leader. Whether the others were too stupid to notice, or that he was just the most insane out of the four men remained to be seen.

The four lunatics were making quick work of handcuffing all the cheerleaders. Harleen glanced at the boy on her team that had gotten shot. The puddle of blood was now at her feet and had stained through her tennis shoes. The small girl drew up her feet to the empty space on the bench next to her. One hand clenched tighter around the knife, the other bracing against the wall of the bus. She could take the redhead out, he didn't look that strong or fast. Her team might rally around her as well, cause a commotion. They were dumb enough to, even though most of them would die. Bye-bye Gotham High cheer squad.

"And what's your name, gorgeous?" Harleen looked up to have the redhead at her seat, revolver placed under her chin.

Harleen stared at him with hard eyes. "I'm going to die soon, it doesn't matter."

The boy backed up, a mocking expression gracing that actually quite attractive face. Harleen mentally chided herself. Now was not the time to develop a case of Stockholm Syndrome! She had to stay alive, get out of this bus. And if the gas truck outside was any indication, she had to figure out how to become fireproof in the next ten seconds. The odds were certainly not in her favor.

He leaned back in, the end of the revolver now resting on her temple. "Smart girl. But when someone asks you a question, you answer. Just human decency."

Harleen opened her mouth when one of her already handcuffed teammates cried out, "Are you insane?! Don't tell them anything! They're insane! A bunch of-"

The cheerleader never got to finish, as the thicker freak put a bullet in her head. Harleen could could see the smoking of the man's gun, the crazed smile on his face. She swallowed thickly, not daring to have the same fate. Her eyes turned back to the boy in front of her, an insane smile on his face as well.

His grin cracked wider than the Cheshire Cat's. "You gonna answer me, gorgeous?"

"Harleen Quinzel," she breathed out.

The boy laughed, a breathy sound that scared her more than any scream ever could. "Anyone ever call you Harley? Harley Quinzel. My little harlequin."

He stood suddenly, grabbing her arm, she dropped the knife out of shock, but fortunately the madman didn't notice. "Change of plan, boys! I like this one! We're taking her with us!"

He shoved her forward, Harleen stumbling before the chubby man grabbed her, holding a gutn to her temple. Slowly, she complied when he handcuffed her and threw her against the front. Harleen's head reeled in protest, all of her vision going blurry. They made short work of cuffing the other cheerleaders, the redhead moving towards the front, lazily threatening the team.

"Now I want you all to all to know, this was a very difficult decision for us," he began. "When it's between you and a senior citizen bingo party." He flashed one of those insane smiles. "In the end we decided to go a little younger. You won the game. I'm sorry. Give me an O."

When no one responded, the leader let out a shot, a perfect circle appearing in the ceiling. "I said, give me an O."

The team reluctantly spelled out his O NO, each letter gaining more lackluster responses than the last.

"What's that spell?" He laughed again. "Oh no!"

One of them brought up a hose connecting to the gas truck, handing it off to the leader. Harleen had feared they would use it to set fire to the bus and she was right. The redhead opened the nozzle, drenching her and the rest of her team in gasoline, most shrieking in terror. He was dying with laughter, sometimes his body shaking so hard he sprayed in a completely different direction. This made the blonde seize up in terror. What person-what teenager- Could be alright with the mass murder of others?

All too soon, Harleen was yanked up from her position on the floor, and thrown out the bus. A bald loon, dressed like the other two on the bus, snatched her up. The leader of the insane band danced out of the bus, pulling a lighter out of his pocket. Harleen instinctively turned away, not wishing to see her team go up in flames. But the poof of the flames never reached her ears.

"So embarrassing," the redhead muttered. He stood up. "Anyone got a light?"

Thankfully, as the thin loon handed him another lighter, the cop cars rolled up. She opened her mouth to scream, but the bald one clamped a hand over her mouth. As a second instinct, Harleen bit down. The bald one released her, and she tore off running towards the police. The redhead grabbed her by the waist. One arm held her close to his body, the other on his revolver, outstretched to the cops. She wanted to scream, but fear kept her voice from working. The cops were getting massacred by the one of them called Aaron and the chubby guy. One spark and the bus (and Harleen) would be up in flames.

The leader shot at the cops until his revolver was empty, leaving a ringing in Harleen's ears. When done, he dragged her over to the gasoline truck. "Light 'em up!"

The teenager held onto the driver's side, the other in an embrace that she could have called comforting if he didn't just try to use her as a human shield. Despite the rail thin appearance, the boy was a hell of a lot stronger than she expected. He was laughing as they sped away, Harleen turning into him only to escape the biting winds.

"Why are you doing this?" She choked out. Captives in Gotham never were returned to their families; the only exception was in a bodybag.

The boy grinned. "Because I can, my little harlequin."