Sorry for taking forever to update… I was busy studying for board exams. Anyways, thanks so much for your reviews. I love you guys!
By the way, thanks yob3 for the suggestion about the school's name. DC Academy is more fitting than Gotham High. I changed it accordingly.
Enjoy!
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Drenched in sewage water, he squeezed himself in the bathroom corner, stifling sobs from bouncing off the dirty tiles. He knew that if he unleashed the dam, his tiny shred of dignity would be swept out to the dirty floor, into the drainage system, into forgotten darkness. Biting his lip, he began gathering his soaked cards, which seemed ready to melt in his trembling hands. He smelled of used toilet water with a hint of urine and unwashed butt holes. The only way out was through the window but even that proved difficult; the window was an impossible height for him to reach. He'd need another person to heave him to freedom. But right now, Jack knew that anyone approaching him was social suicide. Not to mention that he reeked of human waste—a personified host for contracting dung-related diseases. He was the laughing stock, the sad clown, his head the perfect ball for dunking into the toilet bowl despite his strikingly angular face structure.
Jack had no other choice but to wash his hands and face with over-diluted soap. He stripped off his purple wedding suit, which was a gift from his late mother. His mother had always encouraged him to pursue his dreams no matter how much he got beaten up for it. Like his current situation, his mother was his own father's primary punching bag. An evil drunk, his father would drag his mother by the hair into their bedroom, uncaring if he made her bald in the process. Hours of screaming, of useless pleas of innocence, of listening to bone hitting bone, his mother would always come into his bedroom to read him a bedtime story. Through sunken eyes, hollowed cheeks, torn lips, and missing teeth, his mother limped through the threshold with a thin book in hand, smiling—though mostly grimacing—at him, ready to bid him goodnight. Every night seemed like her last, as if she were ready to collapse on him any second, which was why Jack figured that she tried to make every second count. For the both of them.
And their prediction did come true one day. Of all the days to be brave, choosing to intervene than to cower in the closet, Jack had grabbed an empty beer bottle and tried breaking the old man's skull. But instead of knocking him out, it only fueled his father's rage even more. His father then turned to him, with blood dripping down his father's nape, spewing ugly profanities at Jack, charging at him as if Jack were himself a red flag taunting the angry bull. His mother, ever protective, instantly gathered all her remaining strength and beat her husband's back, this time spewing her own series of profanities, pulling his hair to veer her husband's anger back at her. Like a raging animal, he did just that. He turned his attention back to her and resumed beating her senseless until she couldn't move anymore. All Jack could do was weep, making no move to call 911, watching his mother's last look on him, her eyes welling up in sadness that last night was their last time together. Along with her last breath, she managed a tiny wink, a sign for Jack to run away but not without remembering her motherly advice to keep on moving forward. At that moment, Jack rushed to his bedroom, stuffed his magic kit and his mother's storybook into a bag, and ran out the backdoor. On his way out, he stole his father's cell phone and called the police, directing them to his old home. Since that day, Jack admitted himself into foster care. The process was fast due to his obvious past of domestic abuse. He was only twelve at that time.
After two unsatisfied families, Jack had finally found the one. An old lady named Mrs. Hood decided to take him in. Prior to their foster arrangement, they had met in a park. Jack often found solace in the open field, practicing his magic tricks on a lonely bench. His only companions were pigeons that sought him for bread. His foster family at that time always wondered where the newly bought bread had gone, rightfully pinning the blame on Jack. But Jack didn't care. The birds looked at him with more ardor than his "new" family; they didn't judge him when his cards flew out his hands, making a "mess" on their linoleum floors. Or for this matter, their graveled path. So focused was Jack on improving his craft that he never noticed the old lady sitting a bench away, looking at him with curiosity and amusement. Finally, she walked to his bench and asked if he could amuse her with his tricks. Initially flummoxed by a stranger's request, Jack feared her. But she calmed him with a gummy smile, assuring him that she was not there to bite. He soon complied and she instantly praised him, even though he guessed most of her cards wrong. Mrs. Hood was his first audience. Since that day, they would feed the birds, talk about their respective pasts, and practice magic tricks. And then one day, Mrs. Hood—a widow—proposed to take him in. They have been inseparable ever since.
Jack loosened his purple tie, a birthday gift from Mrs. Hood, and fought back the tears. He was determined to not let Mrs. Hood see him like this. Jack gazed at his reflection, his angular face distraught and hawkish nose dripping with snot, his black hair in disarray from his perfectly gelled hair, his wide lips drawn in a frown. Jack closed his eyes to forget his misery, to keep on moving forward, to hold his head high. But today was the last straw. He had been putting up a strong front, trying very hard not to cry or throw flimsy punches to inflate their egos, simply turning a blind eye. But this was just too much. He couldn't go on anymore. His grip on the sink tightened, his anger showing through his eyes.
"No more," Jack muttered under his breath. His vision suddenly went red. He didn't even notice the door open and the figure standing next to him.
"Wear this until you get to the lockers. You wouldn't want them to stare. Or gloat," Bruce said, handing Jack a brown bag filled with a fresh set of clothes.
Jack was speechless, looking at Bruce warily. Jack wondered what kind of angle Bruce was playing.
Bruce wordlessly placed the clothes on the floor next to Jack's feet, walking to one of the urinals to relieve himself. Jack watched on as Bruce washed his hands, trying very hard to read Bruce's unreadable expression.
As Bruce shook his hands dry, he said, "If you don't change soon, the smell might just go through your skin."
"Why are you doing this?" Jack said, sounding almost angry. "How do I know you didn't put itch powder on these or make holes in the nether regions? Don't think I don't know what you did to Duncan and Bane."
Bruce sighed. "For one thing, those people deserved it. They had it coming when they ripped the pages of my textbook. You, on the other hand, need to start freshening up because seriously," Bruce pinched his nose. "You're making my eyes water."
Jack tentatively picked up the bag and poked a hand inside. "These are yours."
"Just a change of clothes after gym class, but you need them more than I do." Bruce began walking to the door. "I also put in a bar of soap in case you're paranoid about the soap in the showers."
"Oh, thanks. I'll wash them after I'm done," Jack said, smelling the shirt for bluff.
"No need. Keep them. I have many more at home." Bruce said, leaving Jack to ponder about the unlikely Samaritan. Before he knew it, Jack shed his usual wear—purple suit and tie and a green dress shirt—and replaced it with Bruce Wayne's white shirt and running pants. This was the nicest thing someone had done for him while expecting nothing in return, besides his mother and Mrs. Hood. As he stared at this simple attire, he suddenly felt renewed, as if he were turning over a new leaf. As if he could feel Bruce's aura seeping into him.
Carrying the bag of wet clothes, Jack walked out of the bathroom with his head held high, dodging the stares and snickers of fellow schoolmates. The bell was now ringing, alerting students that next period was up. He then noticed Bruce and Diana talking animatedly, almost worriedly, by the lockers. Suddenly, he felt a flash of jealousy for the black-haired beauty. She always got her way with everything: looks, riches, and Bruce Wayne.
He was plotting a way to get closer to—or for lack of a better word, befriend—Bruce when he noticed the pair being joined by Wally West, Hal Jordan and Arthur Curry. No one seemed to notice the odd combination except for Jack. He saw them whispering and then going their separate ways, but not until Jack noticed that they seemed to be plotting something. Something that smelled mischief but in no way devious. He suddenly felt the urge to know more about them, about Bruce, about their brief, secretive rendezvous.
As soon as the group dispersed, Jack realized that he was following Bruce into class, even though he should be in American History. He chose a seat in the back row, pushing his chair as far away as possible so as not to attract attention, especially when he neglected the need for a shower. Bruce was seated in the row second to the last, next to Clark Kent. The latter was listening intently to Bruce, showing shock and asking questions that were out of reach for Jack to hear. It was tempting to move closer, to the empty seat right behind Bruce, but the last thing he wanted was to attract Bruce's attention. So he stayed where he was, watching the clock impatiently.
When he feigned taking notes on Charles Dickens' personal life prior to his career, Jack felt pieces of paper being flung at him. He looked beside him and recognized the infamous Duncan, one of the jocks, sitting two seats from him, stifling laughs with his idiot friends. They were joking amongst themselves that Jack couldn't get enough of it in the bathroom. Due to their verbal jabs, Bruce turned around to glare at them but he stopped when he caught sight of Jack. Bruce gave Jack a questioning look. The teacher also deviated from the lesson and gave Duncan a warning.
"But Sir, it's not our fault when there's an imposter in our midst," Duncan said, pointing in Jack's direction.
While the teacher referred to his list, Jack immediately ran out of the classroom, ignoring the guffaws behind him. Jack's first impulse was to hide in the nurse's office but that wouldn't stop Duncan and his stooges from attacking Jack once the nurse went for a bathroom break. After running aimlessly down the hall, after escaping the hall monitor's watch by a hair's breadth, a thought hit Jack. There was only one place where no one else dared enter.
The old chemistry lab. Bruce's solace during after-school hours.
Jack sprinted toward his new safe house. When the room wasn't occupied, Jack slipped in, choosing one of the roomier cabinets that wouldn't make his legs grow numb. It was a closet that housed lab coats and musty jackets, a perfect place for Jack to hide until the coast was clear, a secret place where he could work on his tricks undisturbed. He stayed there, checking the time first before confining himself. It was a quarter to three, giving him ample time to nap or practice his craft until the last bell rang through the halls. It was a long, tiring day, and all Jack wanted was some respite from the chaos that ruled his entire life. As he was closing his eyes, his mind drifted to Bruce Wayne. For some reason, he knew that an obsession began to take shape. Not in a malicious, perverse way but more of curiosity. Bruce Wayne has been known to keep to himself. That showed through his tiny circle of friends, and even around them, Jack noticed that Bruce still preferred not to engage in much activity or conversation. Jack had always thought of him as a nonchalant person, going through life without a care for the world. But after today's incident, the person who seemed incapable of emotion was the only one who showed any form of care. A first in his life, Jack felt like he could trust Bruce with his life. As he rested his head on hard wood, Jack felt safe. He soon drifted to sleep.
Suddenly, squeaky soles against polished floor woke Jack. What seemed like five minutes turned out to be two hours gone by. Jack peeked through the crack, catching sight of Bruce, Diana, Wally, Hal, Arthur, and Clark. He tried sitting up, almost cried out when a knot in his neck exploded in a shower of pain. He shifted as quietly as possible to one side, leaning his cheek on the inner wall, his one eye having full view of the unlikely group. He listened to their every word.
"We can't trust her. For all we know, she's pulling our leg. 'I want in,' my ass. Honestly, who in their right mind wouldn't leak the photo?" Diana said, pacing back and forth in frustration.
"The Justice Club, of course." Wally added. "Well, we do have the living, breathing proof back at the manor…"
"I think Diana meant it as a rhetorical question," Arthur said, pointing out the obvious.
"No duh, Sherlock," Hal said, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "But Bruce has a point. Shunning her will only lead to her turning against us and then it's goodbye football scholarship—and John Jones."
"And our brains," Wally said with a sly grin.
"What's left of it," Bruce muttered under his breath, leaning against one of the tables. "Look, the reason why I called for this meeting was so we could talk things through once she gets here. Let's just hear what she has to say and then we can all decide on what to do with her."
"You make it sound like I'm either sentenced to the electric chair or a pack of hungry lions. I honestly don't know which I'd prefer," Shayera Hol stood in the threshold, staring at them with a confident smile.
"For your sake, pray for the hungry lions. For someone as conniving as you, the electric chair will do you no harm. The current will pass right through you," Diana said, closing the gap between them.
Shayera merely chuckled. "You suggesting I'm a cold-blooded eel? Ouch. What did I ever do to deserve this?" She crossed the threshold, approaching Diana until they were four feet apart.
"Or that you somehow remind me of Darth Sidious," Diana said through clenched teeth. "How dare you blackmail us with such a measly photo? Do you actually think we'll succumb to something as sleazy as you?"
At the mention of Darth Sidious, Arthur and Wally exchanged awed looks. The Diana Prince actually knew Star Wars. Diana. Prince. Knew. Darth. Sidious. By. Name. OMG.
"Whoa there, we've only met a minute ago and now we're reduced to name calling," Clark pushed Diana to the side, whispering to her, "You're making things worse."
"I am not name calling. I'm only describing her—" Diana started.
"Bite your tongue," Clark muttered under his breath.
Diana instantly clamped her mouth shut, glared at Clark, and stomped toward Bruce. Diana was practically shaking with rage, her face a bright shade of crimson. Bruce knew that words would only make things worse; so he did the only thing he could think of—no thanks to Clark—he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her against him. He felt her stiffen but he eased her nerves by whispering, "We'll hear what she has to say and then you can resume barraging her. Deal?"
Diana could only nod, leaning her head on his shoulder. Her face temperature could have deep-fried a fish right then and there.
Ignoring the romantic spectacle, Clark turned to Shayera and gave her an apologetic look. "I don't think we've formally met. I'm—"
"Clark Kent," Shayera replied, took his outstretched hand. "I know you. I know all of you. Just because I'm not as popular as ex-cheerleader here," Shayera ignored Diana's death glare. "Doesn't mean I'm not aware of the interesting people at school. After all, I am the photographer for the yearbook."
"About that…" Clark started.
Shayera interrupted him. "I'm sure Bruce has already briefed you on my offer. But I want to add something to that. When I came to school this morning, I expected it to be flooded with reporters and government agents. I expected the worse. But when I saw you guys sneaking in some time to speak to one another, I figured you all swore to secrecy. And I respect that."
"So you're saying you didn't have any plans of selling the picture to the media?" Clark asked.
"I did at first. But who would believe me? A minute ago an alien crashed into earth. Into our school. And now's it's vanished. Sure, I have your picture but anyone would hardly identify your faces. For starters, Hal and Clark's backs are facing me, Diana's a blur, the spaceship could be just a prop and the alien a mascot. If there really was a spaceship, where did it go? Besides, it's not like one of you can actually fly the thing…" Shayera snorted at the last part, while the rest of the gang snickered at the inside joke.
Feeling proud of his achievement, Hal squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. "Actually…"
Clark quickly cut in after seeing Bruce's impatient look. "How do we know you'll keep the secret?"
"Because I'll give you all my negatives on that day. All the proof you need in exchange for the intel. And I'll be sworn to secrecy, just like you guys," Shayera said with conviction.
This time Bruce joined the conversation. He let go of Diana and walked toward Shayera. He stared at her for a moment before saying, "Once this information is leaked, you will be the first person I'll break. Not Hal, not Clark. You. Understand?"
Clark was aghast. "You actually tagged me as Suspect#3?"
"Understood," Shayera gave him her hand as a sign of mutual agreement. Bruce took it with unwavering calm. He then turned around and eyed Diana, who blew out a sigh and shuffled toward them.
"I'm sorry for calling you a cold-blooded eel," Diana said.
"Actually, it's Darth Sidious," Wally reminded her.
"Yeah, that. Sorry," Diana said, shaking her head in mild embarrassment. "It's just that… you could have just told us in a more approachable manner than threaten us with the photo. It really sends off the wrong vibe."
"Well, I apologize for that. I figured that you wouldn't hear me out if I chose to leave a note in your locker. Like that's going to get your attention."
Diana mulled it over. "It would have. As long as you include the significance of the matter, we wouldn't ignore you."
Shayera feigned blowing a sigh of relief. "Jeez, and I went through such a trouble." She immediately stopped when Diana cocked an eyebrow at her. She quickly acquiesced, said, "And please understand that I'm not here to use you. I just… want to learn about this creature. Just like you guys."
"You do make a valid point," Diana said, smiling now.
Just then a loud thump caused the group to stop in their tracks, causing them to stare at each other with heart-stopping panic. A guttural oomph followed after a moment's silence. It seemed to come from the closet. Wally immediately ran to the source of the noise, revealing Jack in a fetal position. Jack's sheepish smile gave their fears away. He heard everything.
"Hello," he said with cool frivolity, as if he had done nothing wrong. All this talk about aliens did sound absurd when he first heard it but as soon as he added two and two together, it all made sense. The big hole in the football field, the likes of Bruce Wayne and Hal Jordan joining forces… an alien crash would be the only cause for all the strangeness that has happened.
"This isn't what you think it is," Jack said out of impulse.
"Oh yeah? The part where you sneaked into the closet and got stuck or the part where you eavesdropped on us? Ever heard of the First Amendment?" Hal inquired.
"Look, I can explain…" Jack held his hands up in surrender. "I needed a place to hide… and this was the only place I could think of. Duncan wouldn't come anywhere near here."
Hal was about to intervene when Bruce stopped him. "If you were hiding from Duncan why where you in my class today?"
"Oh, well, I've uh… always had this interest in Charles Dickenson…" Jack said. Diana was about to correct the obvious lie when Jack apologized to them. "I didn't mean for any of this. I came in here, found this closet and as soon as I was inside I fell asleep. Scout's honor." He felt no need to disclose his feelings about seeing their newfound group together.
"Good for you," Shayera said, her nose twitching from the smell that pervaded the air, as if the closet was Pandora's box. "But I'm afraid it's getting late. My mom's picking me up from work."
The others concurred but not before turning to Bruce for a solution. Diana and Clark both had to be home for personal matters so it looked like Bruce was left to handle this predicament alone. "I'll handle this. You guys go on ahead. Besides, someone's overdue for a shower."
Jack lowered his head, feeling embarrassed.
Diana held Bruce's hand and apologized. "Of all the days Mother needs me."
"Rotten timing," Bruce said, squeezing her hand for comfort.
When everyone had left, Bruce gestured for Jack to follow him to the showers. Jack wordlessly complied, feeling ashamed for his deceit. They walked in silence down the hollowed hallway. Jack had so many questions but he was afraid that Bruce would only hate him more for listening in. He wanted to apologize again but he could tell that Bruce had a short fuse and that opening his mouth might only aggravate the situation.
"From what I know of you, you don't kiss and tell," Bruce said out of the blue.
"Mostly due to the fact that I don't have any friends," Jack tried humor but meeting Bruce's cold look made him rephrase, "No, of course not. There's no one whom I can confide in."
"Good. Let's leave it at that then," Bruce attempted to end the conversation, but Jack had other things in mind.
"Well, it does seem that you've formed a club out of this particular event," Jack started.
"What are you getting at?" Bruce said, turning to Jack.
"This isn't your ordinary exclusive club. And there's only way to membership: spotting the alien or hearing about it. I want in."
Bruce stopped, pinched the bridge of his nose. Why did it seem like everyone turned to him for admission? "Let me think about it." Saying yes was out of the question but declining Jack's proposal might only lead him to committing outrageous acts out of retaliation. Although no one would believe him even if he tried, the mere mention of the word alien crash might spark debate or rumor mill, and any implication of an alien sighting was simply out of the question.
"But with Shayera…" Jack's face fell in slight disappointment.
"We thought about her too. I mean, we had a discussion before we made a final decision. The same applies for you. So be grateful." Bruce stopped at the doors that led to the men's room. "You need a ride home?"
"I take the bus, thanks," Jack felt his cheeks grow warm.
"Alright. Well, I could wait till you're done. My ride wouldn't be here until 6:30." Bruce said. It was only ten to six. "I'll be in the lab." He didn't feel very comfortable leaving Jack all alone at school, especially with him knowing their secret, so keeping an eye on Jack might help convince him that Jack played no harm to their cause.
"Okay, thanks." Jack watched as Bruce disappeared into a corner. He made a quick beeline to the showers, stripped himself, and started scrubbing off the stench. Drenched in soapsuds and silence, Jack didn't initially notice footsteps. But a sudden bang in the locker area prompted him to grab a towel. He turned off the water after hearing hoarse whispers echo around him. He tentatively stepped out of the stall, wrapping the towel around him tighter, when large hands grabbed him from behind. He struggled but to no avail. The guy behind him was massive and strong.
"No use in fighting us, Jackie," Duncan emerged from the shadows, flanked by two other jocks. They all held buckets, ready to splash Jack with human excrement no doubt.
"Let me go, you jerks!" Jack said, trying very hard to wring free.
"Awww… is Ms. Jackie fed up with us jerks? Too bad," Duncan said. He approached Jack, his face mere inches from their victim. "I have something that suits you."
Jack looked in the bucket and saw that it was a colorless liquid. "What are you going to do with that?"
"Figured you'd need a makeover. Something that goes with that ugly coat of yours," Duncan said, making a sign for his friend to release Jack. As soon as his friend did so, he immediately dumped bleach on Jack. "You stink!" The other two guys followed, splashing some into his eyes and mouth.
Jack cried out in pain, slipped as he attempted escape and then hit his head against the wall, causing blood to flow and mingle with the bleach on the floor. Duncan and his stooges ran at the sight of blood, unwilling to claim responsibility. Before falling into unconsciousness, Jack crawled to the bench for support, reaching out for nothing in particular. He caught a glimpse of the clothes Bruce Wayne had loaned him and he suddenly grew angry. Finally, something in him snapped. Blinded with bleach and rage, his nasal cavity filled with the atrocious cleansing agent, Jack blamed it on Bruce. If it hadn't been for Bruce, he wouldn't be in this mess. He wouldn't be humiliated in the class where he didn't belong to in the first place, he wouldn't be caught with a sore neck in the closet, he wouldn't be ambushed in the locker room.
This was all Bruce's fault. All Bruce's fault. If only he left him alone, just like everyone else. Falling into the brink of hatred, into the depths of unconsciousness, the last thing Jack heard was squeaky footsteps, a familiar voice calling his name, a phone dialing 911.
Jack was dead.
The next time he awoke, a new name would spell fear in the hearts of every schoolmate at DC Academy.
Someone was now applying CPR with a help of a machine. Jerking him back to life, the Joker inhaled his first breath.
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To be continued…
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