Mary liked to think that her parents were laughing when they named her, because honestly, who actually names their child Mary Sue?

Nerds. That's who.

Joan and Gary Sue were very well versed in the world of creative writing known as Fanfiction.

Mary, not knowing this, had googled her name once when she was younger, gotten through half of a terribly written story, and had never done so again.

Not only did she not fit the physical characteristics of her namesake (she was too gangly and half blind and perpetually tired to), but her classmates, who were also nerds, were very aware of that.

Tragic backstory involving bullying?

Half check.

When she asked her parents why they'd named her something that would obviously get her teased in school, Gary had smiled serenely and Joan has ruffled her hair affectionately.

"You'll understand when you're older," they had said.

Their synchronicity and Stepford smiles had been enough to thoroughly dissuade Mary from asking about her name ever again.

She also started calling them the Stepfords in her head, but that was irrelevant.

From then on, Mary was as average as she could be.

She woke up, went to school, did moderately well, ate lunch, was harassed by nerds who actually knew what her name meant and liked to remind her of the irony of said name at every chance they got, came back from school, ate dinner, ignored her parents because she was an angsty teenager and most of her problems were indirectly or directly caused by them, went to bed, and repeated the process the next day.

Breakfast, in her opinion, was unnecessary.

Until one day, she didn't.

The reason?

Mary woke up in an alley.

Mary woke up in an alley in her sleep clothes.

Mary woke up in an alley in her sleep clothes in the middle of the night on her seventeenth birthday and Mary was, rightfully, freaking the fuck out about it.

WHERE AM I?

WHERE AM I?

WHERE AM I?

OH MY GOD, WHERE AM I?

In an alley.

WHERE'S THE STEPFORD PARENTS?

DID THEY THROW ME OUT?

IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT?

ON MY BIRTHDAY?!

Wow, they're assholes.

I'M SORRY FOR BEING A BITCH!

No, you're not.

PLEASE TAKE ME BACK!

That's pathetic.

I'LL DO ANYTHING!

That's more pathetic.

I'LL DO CHORES!

WOAH THERE, LET'S NOT BE HASTY, HERE!

At that point, she realized she was hyperventilating. She tried to control her breathing and started counting backwards from thirty.

Once she had calmed down as much as she was able, she began to rifle through her oversized hooded sweatshirt that had been her pajamas last night. She knew it was probably hopeless, as she'd put her phone to charge the night before, but the Mary Sues in stories always had some sort of weirdly lucky backpack or overly deep pockets that came with them once they were dropped into an already existing plot.

Apparently, instead of anything physically helpful, she got voices in her head.

Shit, was I kidnapped?

Ha, no.

Where's my goddamned phone?

Shrugadubdub, not fucking here.

Is this what the parents meant when they said I'd understand when I was older?

How the fuck did you get to that conclusion?

Guess what, mom and dad? I don't fucking understand!

How the fuck did I even jump to that conclusion?

That's what I said!

Why would they name me Mary Sue, god damnit!

Why are these your priorities?

She sat up slowly and looked around, trying to assess the situation.

Yep. This is an alley.

Good going, Mary, you've managed to state the obvious yet again. What more can you do? I bet it's just as impressive.

She shivered, goosebumps raising on her skin.

The Stepfords couldn't've warned me to wear pants last night?

Sigh.

She stood up slowly, and then fell down again when a ringing started.

Shit shit shit, that's not my phone. And oww.

After a while the ringing stopped.

Mary sighed.

And then it started again.

She covered her mouth to keep from screaming and crawled over to the phone lying innocently on the pavement.

She squinted at the tiny screen.

Unknown caller.

Well, now I'm definitely not answering it.

She started picking dirt and questionable substances that she refused to think about off of her legs.

I mean, I wouldn't have answered it anyway, but this has solidified my resolve to not answer it.

After the last ring, a message started playing. "Mary? Mary, this is your parents, can you-"

Mary picked it up and clicked answer, holding the phone to her ear and ignoring the fact that currently only landlines have the type of system necessary for the message to have gone through. "Mom? Dad? Where are you?"

Gary sighed in relief and chuckled lightly. "I believe the question is where are you?"

Mary clenched her teeth and fought back a sudden urge to cry. "I'm in an alley, dad."

There was a silence. "...Diagon Alley?"

Mary clenched her teeth. "No. An alley. An honest to god, beware of rapists and hobos alley. Get me out."

There was a moment before her mother spoke into the phone. "Mary, dear, we're going to need you to get out of the alley and assess the area."

"I'm in my pajamas!"

"Yes, and you are in an alley. The sooner you get out, the sooner you can get yourself some pants."

Mary grumbled. "Maybe if you had warned me, I would already be wearing pants."

"What was that?"

"Nothing!"

Mary braced herself, stood up slowly, and then poked her head out of the alley. She was met with a very artificially lit up street.

She glanced around quickly, eyes pausing on a group of prostitutes around the corner.

She tried to read the signs, but like a normal person, she didn't go to sleep wearing her glasses, so it was a lost cause.

"Mary?"She jumped slightly and backed into the alley again. "It's a really lit up street, but I can't see the signs."

"Uh, isn't that a shame?"

She turned around quickly and backed toward the opening when she saw who had surprised her. "What-"

"Shh, toots, no need to be uh-larmed. I just, ah, wanna have some fun with you."

Mary resisted the urge to vomit and held up a finger, raising her phone slowly and shakily to her face.

He looked at her in mocking amusement and did the universal signal for 'take your time', then turned away, playing with a knife that was suddenly in his hand and humming to give her an illusion of privacy.

"Mary? Mary, who's there with you?"

Once she could speak, she spoke in a voice that strained for monotony. She ignored the question. "Since I probably won't ever see or talk to either of you again, I would like you both to know that I love you and that this is all your fault."

"Mary-"

She hung up and put the phone in her pocket, then lowered her finger. She stared at the man in front of her, who was still humming disjointedly. She would've found it adorable if he was a child instead of a serial killing clown and she wasn't scared out of her pants in an alley with him.

No pun intended.

Who the fuck are you?

Never mind that, what even was that analogy?

Was it an analogy?

Haha, anal.

Not the fucking time.

Haha, fucking time.

Urgh.

He turned back toward her and bared his teeth in what in no way could be described as a smile.

She forced up some bravado before deciding it would be useless anyway and slumping to the floor.

He looked at her with raised eyebrows. "I know my, uh,... reputation precedes me, but I was an-tic-ipating something a little more, uh... entertaining."

Sorry to disappoint, Clownfish.

...Clownfish?

I AM UNDER EMENSE EMOTIONAL DURESS!

Shit, no need to yell.

She kept her mouth shut.

He sighed and began playing with a different knife he'd procured from somewhere in his suit. "You... Are no fun. I expected you to be fun."

And now she was annoyed.

Is he serious?

...Why so serious?

Shut the fuck up, voice number three.

Sorry.

But is this boy honestly complaining about me being no fun?

Don't do it, Mary.

In this current situation that I am in?

Don't do it, Mary!

In which I literally woke up in an alley with a fucking clown?

DON'T-

She spoke calmly. "Was it the pantlessness that gave you that impression?"

He looked mildly intrigued. "What?"

You fucking did it, Mary.

Mary stood up, keeping her eyes averted from his face and paced back and forth in her sweatshirt and underwear, probably catching hypothermia and twitching all the while.

What are you doing, Mary? Sit your ass down.

Nope.

She continued shakily. "Or-or was it the overwhelming aura of 'what the fuck is going on' that surrounds my very being, huh?"

"You're loony."

She snapped her head toward him. "Just call me Lovegood!"

He let out a snort.

She stumbled toward him, trying and failing to avoid all the broken glass as she spoke. "Fuck! Ow! Was it the perfect glimmer of my half-blind eyes filled with tears of frustration or the shimmery hair that should be golden if I could just live up to my goddamn name but is currently brown and looks like a cat shredded a sofa cushion on my head?"

Mary, what the fuck?

He started to laugh.

She snapped her teeth and got in his face. "Stop laughing at me! What was it about me, little old Mary with her pjs and her blue lips, that made you think I'd be entertaining? I wanna know so I can change it immediately and would you STOP GRINNING AT ME like an IDIOT you FUCKING CREEP?"

She pushed him roughly against the alley wall.

OOOH SHIT!

SHUT THE FUCK UP, VOICE NUMBER THREE.

He stopped laughing abruptly and looked at her darkly and unblinkingly, licking at the insides of his scars. Mary was so unnerved at the fact that she had effectively just signed her own death warrant by yelling at the Joker, of all people, that she laughed so that she wouldn't scream.

That didn't stop the tears.

She backed away from him and cackled, loudly and absurdly and frustratedly and mockingly.

...Goddamnit, Mary.

He pushed her against the opposite wall and held a knife to her throat, finally annoyed enough to act. "You might wanna, uh... shut that massive gob up, Lovegood."

She grimaced, keeping her eyes on the knife so that she wouldn't have to look at his face. "My name's not actually Lovegood, Bozo."

You really fucked up this time, Mary.

No fucking shit.

He sliced a line into her shoulder nonchalantly, cutting through the sleeve of her sweatshirt. "Its, ah, bet-ter than Mary."

She grunted in both pain and agreement and clenched her teeth. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck your parents, fuck your knives, fuck whoever made these fucking comics in the first place, fuck you.

We're gonna die.

Don't think about it.

She met his eyes. "You ruined my sweatshirt."

"What are you gonna do about it, Lovegood?"

She twitched, ignored the fact that he still held a knife to her and threw herself at him.

There was now a knife lodged in her shoulder.

She couldn't move her left arm.

In hindsight, this was probably not one of her smartest ideas.

Actually, even in foresight, that was a shitty idea.

SHUT UP.

She screamed and slumped against the wall. "YOU PIECE OF SHIT! YOU OVERGROWN COCKROACH! YOU-"

He cackled and brandished a new knife at her. "YOU are TOO LOUD! I can't hear myself think!"

She ducked and tried to avoid it, getting a small ish cut on her cheek for her troubles. "OH BOO FUCKING HOO YOU WORTHLESS EXCUSE FOR A-!"

And then the Joker was on the ground and a man in a bat suit was on top of him.

Mary felt many emotions go through her in that moment; terror, irritation, pain from the various cuts on her body along with the knife still lodged in her shoulder that she couldn't remove yet for fear of bleeding out in a fictional alley. She decided to settle on being heavily exasperated and on the verge of a slight mental breakdown and carefully maneuvered herself away from the fight going on in front of her. She held her shoulder still and waited.

Why are we waiting? What are we waiting for?

An ambulance?

Who's gonna call an ambulance? This is Crime Alley. They've learned not to come here.

Well, sorry for being the only one here who wants to help.

Shut the fuck up, Mary, you tried to tackle a psychopathic clown who had a knife to you.

And apparently caught his insanity through a knife wound.

Is insanity contagious?

According to the voices in my head, apparently.

We've literally been here the whole time.

Shhh.

It's Gotham, Mary. Actual Gotham.

You're right, Voice Number Three. You have to be insane to survive in Gotham.

Bruce Wayne isn't insane.

He runs around fighting crime in an animal costume.

Mary rubbed her temple. Will you all be quiet? I've had you for all of five minutes and you're already driving me crazy!

...She says to the voices in her head.

Also, do you not understand the concept of time, or...?

Mary smacked her head against the wall and groaned. "Shut up!"

Add that to the list of injuries.

Why you little-

A throat cleared.

Mary slowly looked up to meet the Batman's eyes and raised both eyebrows. "Howdy."

"Are you injured?"

She looked at him like he was an idiot and glanced carefully at the knife embedded in her shoulder, then to her foot, and then back up at him. "Nope."

He looked at her impassively. "There's a cut on your foot. Can you walk?"

He noticed the cut but not the literal knife sticking out of me?

I'm sure he noticed the knife, you idiot.

Than why'd he ask such a stupid question?

I don't know? Common curtesy? Social awkwardness? A poor attempt at humor?

Where'd the Joker go?

Mary nodded and tried to brace herself against the wall with her good arm.

She grunted in pain when the movement jarred her injured arm and sighed in relief when the bat actually helped her stand.

Oh look, he noticed.

She stood and backed away from him slightly once she was steady. Fuck, this hurts. "Where's stabby the clown gone?"

His jaw set even more than it already was and he looked straight ahead, cape swishing behind him. "The Joker has escaped."

She grimaced as she walked, every step hurting. "Damnit, Batsy, he always escapes. Eventually someone needs to put the creep out of our misery."

He said nothing.

Don't make him feel even worse, he probably already feels terrible.

So do I!

Yeah, but if you hadn't jumped at the Joker, we would probably still have two functioning arms and Batsy could've gone after him.

Fuck, my arm hurts.

She hissed as she stumbled after him. That foot is definitely getting infected. And I'm still cold.

Jesus Christ, Mary, quit your whining.

Knife! In! Shoulder!

Your! Own! Fault!

"A-and another thing! Can you tell these goddamn voices in my head to shut their f-freaking pie holes before I take this knife out of my arm and have us all-"

"Quiet."

She glared at him but had enough sense to stop talking.

Why am I here?

Not this again.

Shut up! It is perfectly sensible to question the sudden appearance of myself in a fictional universe!

Look, once we get to some place indoors and have some pants on, we can call the Stepfords and get an explanation.

Fine.

Batman stopped and Mary almost crashed into him. She hissed. "Little warning next time?"

"We're here."

Mary stumbled around him and looked up. He walked me to a hospital.

Well, he wasn't gonna take you to his top secret batcave, was he?

Look, maybe I still had a little hope of living up to my namesake, alright?

You make it sound so noble. We're talking about fanfiction.

Touché, I guess.

She didn't look at the Batman as she stumbled through the doors, the blood loss finally getting to her.