A/N: Sorry I haven't posted in a while but high school's really kicked me while I'm down. I kinda wish I used the original Killing Joke story arc, where Jim Gordon is tortured by the Joker because now I realize that would have made more sense. But I really like the direction this story is headed in, so it's okay. Once again, just Barb. I promise more members in the next chapter or chapter after that (I want the next chapter dedicated to Barbara and her dad so idk). REVIEWS ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED. Even if you leave a review telling me to yeet my laptop and the myself off a cliff, that'd be fine too.

The doctor came in. Sandy hair in the process of being whitened, paper-white skin, pale eyes, the first things she noticed. He could have blended in with the hospital walls if he tried. Completely stolid, he informed her in soft tones that he probably practiced in front of the mirror that she was a paraplegic. T12 paraplegic, to be exact. As in, paralyzed, completely, from the waist down. The world didn't stop spinning, and it was moving at light speed with the doctor's words.

"The bullet entered through the abdominal region and entered out the other side…."

Blinking away tears, she tried to comprehend the slush of words that exited his mouth. Never walking, never moving her legs, never again.

"…. very lucky it didn't pierce any vital organs…"

Was she though? She turned her head to the side, staring at the bag of clear liquid, dripping, drip, drip, into an IV. injected into her arm. The numbness in her legs seemed to have spread to her mouth. Her dad studied her, concerned at the lack of attention she displayed.

"…. Shattered the T12 plate of the spinal cord. Significant damage to the thoracic vertebrae…."

The cape and cowl would now be hung up, collecting dust. She couldn't walk, so what use was she exactly to other people? No more Batgirl to save lives. Just paraplegic Barbara.

"Here, hon, I'll prop you up, so you can see better. Is that okay?" the nurse inquired, breaking her spell of detachment.

"Okay" she replied, briefly startled at the brittleness of her own voice.

At her side, the nurse gently pushed up Barbara's head, bowing it forward. Painful cricks developed from how stiff her neck had become, making her wince. Propping up three pillows behind her head she murmured soothingly," Now, I'm gonna move your hips up."

Barbara was at odds. Surely, she could at least move her hips. Maybe her legs wouldn't function entirely but moving her hips should be a minor task, right?

Gingerly, with the nurse's help, she began to shimmy her torso a little, trying to drag up the weight of rest of her body with only the upper half. There was practically no progress until the nurse carefully placed her gloved hands on her abdomen. Barbara stopped writhing uselessly, silently tormented. The little struggle took away her determination.

Jaw set tight, offended at her own lack of resolve, she attempted again. And again, in the most infuriating way possible, nothing happened at all.

Falling back on the pillows, she let the nurse finish the job. The friendliness of the nurse made no effect on her; she felt just as cold as before.

"We're gonna go over the specifics, we already did with your dad, your stay, recovery, rehab, therapy, the whole thing" the doctor continued in a calm manner, but the changing his tone abruptly. "I understand it's going to be difficult. You're not the first to come in and be diagnosed with this condition. The violence of this city has created, well, your dad knows, a lot of people to care for in this very building."

Barbara finally began paying attention, as if the over excessive sweetness of the nurse made no effect but the realism of the doctors was something she could relate to.

He grinned at her sudden attentiveness, breaking his own perfunctorily demeanor. His bleached white scalp nearly matching the color of his teeth.

She stopped short, fear tying a knot in her chest as his smile grew wider. The smile grew more grotesque, until he was baring a grin that resembled the Joker's.

"Dad?" she whispered, horrified, waving out her arm in an attempt to grab at the familiar feel of her dad's trench coat, unable to peel her eyes away at the growing resemblance the doctor bore to the Joker.

But there was no comforting touch of her dad's hand, no woolen material to grab on to, just emptiness. Where did he go?

Whipping her head around, instead of her dad she encountered darkness. Dark tendrils unlike anything before, darkness that did not resemble the night that shrouded Gotham on patrol, darkness that seemed to want to swallow her conscious, her very being. The whole hospital room was devoured by the darkness, as if someone had turned off the lights on earth.

The fear was paralyzing the rest of her body. It became difficult to breathe. Her lungs seemed to have constricted. Turning back around, she faced the doctor. In the doctor's place was someone else. A warped, twisted version of the Clown Prince himself, no longer resembling the doctor in the slightest. Honestly, a nightmarish version of the Joker, already a demon himself, was hard to even glance at. Yet she couldn't take her eyes away.

And wrapped in a head lock with a gun pressed against his head was none other than her father.

"It's okay," he managed to get out, giving her a look that seemed to convey what he couldn't say through the head lock Get out of here. Run

"No, no, no, no, no," she whispered, as if that would stop the Joker from pressing the trigger. He was back, he was here to finish the job he came out to do.

"Not today, pumpkin," he drawled, a ghoulish grin smeared on his face. And he pulled the trigger.

BAM

Flinch.

Smoke climbed out of the gun while blood poured out his scalp. Both at a disturbingly steady rate, to the point where she had to look away, unable to stomach the sight of her dad.

Once again, it was like that night. She didn't fight back, or call for help, or even protest. Just let shock overcome her senses.

The Joker let his body slide to the ground. The room encountered a lull, the stillness overwhelming. Suspense crawled up her neck like a spider. The Joker carefully blew away the smoke rising from the muzzle, his countenance unreadable as always. Inwardly, she was screaming in vengeance, in pain. Outwardly, all she could do was try not to look, trying to erase the picture of the gun and the bullet and her dad going limp and oh god- she squeezed her eyes shut.

Hearing him cock the gun, positive he was aiming the same revolver at her, now wondering nothing at all.

She opened her eyes with the sound of a deafening BANG.

"Barbara...? Barbara? Barb- honey, Barb?" a familiar voice begged while a calloused hand shook her bare shoulder almost frantically.

Wrapped in a fierce embrace of blankets and hit by bright lights, she willed herself to open her eyes. It wasn't real, realizing this as the world stopped spinning and the hospital room came into greater focus.

It didn't happen she thought, It was a dream. Her body didn't seem to get the memo though because her teeth wouldn't unclench and her hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Are you okay Barb?" her dad asked tenderly, disentangling himself from her. She didn't want him to move at all, so sure that he might still be dead, and she might be dead soon as well. More than that, she wanted to hug him, confirm that this was all real. That it was truly him standing there, concern etched on his face instead of blood. And if this was real...

If this was real, that would mean... she glanced noticeably at her legs, draped by the white sheets. For some odd reason, she didn't mind that they were obscured from view; afraid somehow that seeing her unresponsive limbs would only sink her melancholy further.

"You, fell into shock- when you found out. D'you remember that?" he continued gently after receiving no response, "you passed out. I heard you moaning, saying stuff in your sleep, and you need to tell me Barbara, what's going on. How can I help you?" he finished almost pleadingly. Deliberately leaving out pieces of this story that screamed out at him, leaving out bits if the story that he knew, but abstained from saying, knowing that this was not the time. Barbara needed a dad right now, not a detective.

He took off his glasses wiping them over and over, pondering. Then when was the right time?

"There's nothing you can do to help me" she finally whispered, wondering when she would wake up from the nightmare she was living right now.