Sorry for going dark for so long. I got a new job at the beginning of June, and my free time suddenly went into hiding. Even when I did scrounge up time to write, this chapter fought me every step of the way. Not the plot, which I had figured out months ago, but the actual execution was murder. Part of the problem was switching from my mindset with CJWO, in which Naruto is pretty far along his power creep, to this story, where Harry is right at the beginning of his. It's a little jarring, going from writing a character who can juggle tanks to a character who still struggles with a group of human thugs.
The other part of the problem is that I have a ton of ideas for this story that all take place after season 2 of the cartoon, and I kept having to interrupt my flow to jot them down so I didn't forget them. Trust me, there is some cool shit coming down the line. I just have to focus long enough to get there. No problem. My ADHD riddled brain is great at stuff like that.
As with every chapter for the past few years, I am once again asking you to please donate whatever you can afford to the people of Ukraine to help in their fight against Russia.
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Chapter 11
For Harry, the transition between drugged sleep and bleary wakefulness was sudden. It might have been gradual, under other circumstances, but a bucket of icy water to the face can expedite even the most sluggish of wakings. He breached the surface of consciousness with a spluttering gasp as rivulets of what felt like glacial run off trickled from his hair.
"Oh, good! You're awake, finally. I was gettin' tired of filling up this bucket."
He couldn't make out who was speaking beyond a red and black blur. His vision was fuzzy, and not just from the water. There was a heaviness in his limbs and his thoughts were cotton drifting through molasses. Something dug into his wrists. Something cold and metal. Chains. He was dangling from chains. He could feel the strain in his shoulders from supporting his weight for who knew how long. By reflex, he reached for his magic to free himself, only for it to slip from his mental grasp like a greased eel. It took a minute to drag enough brain cells together for him to realize why.
'Drugs. That lady… drugged me. She kidnapped me.'
Just that tiny burst of cognition left him feeling drained. His head lolled forward and sleep beckoned. He should have been terrified. He should have begun assessing his situation and planning an escape, but he was so tired. Even a ten-minute nap sounded heavenly. He let his eyes drift shut and his mind slow-
Slap!
Light flashed in his eyes as his head jerked to one side. For a moment, his face was numb, but then the sharp sting of a slap lit up all along his left cheek.
"Hey! Don't go fallin' back asleep now, ya hear? Mistah J won't be happy if you're not awake when he arrives."
The slap was enough to drive the sleepiness from his mind, though the cotton fog remained. The red and black figure was closer now, and the water was gone from his eyes. It was a woman. The same woman from the warehouse, if he had to guess, though her blond hair was hidden under a jester's hat and her face obscured beneath some sort of clown makeup. She wore a lurid outfit of bright red and black checkered quarters.
"Wh' r'yu?" His voice came out slurred, but the meaning got across. She grinned madly and executed a theatrical bow.
"The name's Harley. Harley Quinn. Nice ta meetcha."
Harley Quinn. Harlequin. Even drugged stupid, it didn't take him long to make the connection. She was dressed like one, after all. And 'harlequin' plus 'Mistah J' could only mean one thing.
"Harley! Is our guest ready yet?" Right on cue, a voice he recognized from Batman's recordings echoed from the hall. It was high-pitched and raspy, and somehow wrong. Not in any way he could specify, but the tone and emphasis were just a touch off. Like something that had imitated human speech a few times, but never quite mastered the nuances.
Harley lit up as if someone had told her every day was Christmas for a month. "Yes, puddin'! He's awake and everything."
There was movement in the shadows outside the door, and then, as he'd feared, the Joker stepped into the room. It was the first time he'd ever seen him in person, but he was hardly difficult to place. Harry felt panic try to fight through the fog of drugs and his own mental discipline.
"Excellent job, my sweet. I don't-" the Joker broke off when he got a good look at him. His rictus grin shrank until it was barely more than a smirk. "Gasp! Doth mine eyes deceive me, or is that NOT ROBIN?!"
He turned to glare at Harley, who suddenly looked terrified. She reminded Harry of a kicked puppy. The comparison grew even more apt when Joker backhanded her across the face. She spun and went sprawling to the floor.
"Puddin', I swear- ooof."
Joker cut her off with a kick to the stomach. "I ordered one Robin, lightly used. One brightly colored birdie, just the right size for hanging from a ceiling and beating with a hammer. This-" he gestured at Harry "-thing is much too big. Much too dull. Much too NOT ROBIN! Kindly do explain, my dear."
Harley made no move to defend herself as he beat her. She just looked up at him with misery, guilt, and… love in her eyes. Actual love. Harry felt his jaw drop. The crazy bint was actually in love with the Joker.
"I s-swear, he's with B-Batman," she stammered. "He had bats on his costume and everything. Robin never showed up. It was him. I didn't know what else to do, so I dosed him and brought him here."
The clown leaned over her until he was all but kissing her ear. "Is. That. So? You're not lying to your precious Mister J, are you Harley?"
Harley shook her head. "No, puddin'. I would never!"
To his shock, Harry believed her. Not just about how she'd kidnapped him. He'd lived that bit, after all. He believed she would never lie to the Joker. She was totally loyal to him, even as he beat and threatened her.
Apparently the Joker believed her too, because the menace abruptly vanished from his demeanor. He leaned back and even helped Harley to her feet in some sick mockery of chivalry.
"Well, then, I suppose that's settled, then. Nice to know I can count on you, toots. As for this one…" He turned to face Harry. The grin returned wider than before. Those poisonous green eyes practically glowed with malice.
"I don't recognize you, kid. Neat tech you've got there, making your face all fuzzy. But I still think I'd have heard if Ratman was auditioning for new choir boys. So you must be- no." His eyes went wide with delight. "It's your first night, isn't it? No, no, no, don't bother answering. Uncle J can tell these things."
Without warning, he drove a fist hard into Harry's gut. Harry coughed and wretched. His lungs briefly forgot how to do their job, and his eyes watered from pain.
"Talk about rough luck, rookie." The Joker spoke in a jovial, familiar tone, as if he were a seasoned veteran doling out advice to a greenhorn. "I mean, getting captured on your very first night? And by little old me, of all people? Imagine how disappointed old Batsy'll be. Why, he might frown so hard his face'll fall off. Ooh, now there's a happy image."
The clown sighed, and a dreamy look stole over his twisted face for a moment, before he shook himself back to the present. His hand moved and Harry tried to flinch away, but the blow he expected never came. Instead, the Joker patted him on the cheek.
"Not to worry, though. If there's anyone who can whip a new Bat-brat into shape, it's yours truly. We'll have you fighting fit in no time. Why, by the time Batman sees you again, he'll be blown away. Literally. Hahahahahahahaha!"
The mad clown doubled over in a fit of laughter, slapping his knee at his own joke. Harry felt as if he'd just missed something important, but his thoughts were too slow to figure it out. Eventually, the Joker's mirth petered out, and he straightened his rumpled jacket. The mad light in his eyes stood in contrast to the sudden business-like tone he took.
"Harley, get his armor off. I prefer my pupils unarmored. Makes them more… moldable." The Joker tossed something to the madwoman. A straight razor. "Just like I taught you, there's a good girl."
Giggling, Harley flicked the razor open and reached around him to saw at the straps behind his shoulders. He waited until her face was just inches from his own, and then he head butted her as hard as he could. She rocked backwards with a yowl, hands flying to her nose. Harry coiled a leg to deliver a follow up kick to her-
BANG!
A thunderclap split the air. Something hissed past his ear and slammed into the wall behind him. On the floor, Harley still clutched at her bloodied face, but all his attention was on the Joker and the comically large revolver he'd produced from his jacket. Thin wisps of smoke curled from the barrel. Behind the gun, the Joker's eyes glared at him, even as his smile grew wider and wider.
"Ah ah ah. Hasn't anyone ever told you it's rude to hit women? I thought old Batsy would have taught you better manners than that." He sighed. "Oh well. I suppose I'll just have to correct any gaps in your education. Harley, stop sniveling! You're bleeding all over the nice dirty floor."
The woman shot to her feet as if electrocuted and snapped off a salute. When she turned to face him, though, her cheery smile twisted into a mask of rage.
"Stupid brat, making me look bad in front of Mistah J! I'll cut your ears off, see if I don't." She advanced on him, razor blade in hand, and Harry had to suppress a gulp. The look in her eyes was unhinged to say the least. Harley Quinn's walls definitely didn't go all the way to the ceiling. "Let's see how smug you are when I've- hrrk!"
Her rant cut off in a choked gurgle when the Joker caught her by her frilly white collar and yanked back hard. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly, as if admonishing an unruly child.
"None of that, dear. Remember, you always take shots from folks who just don't get the joke." His gaze pinned Harry to the wall, even as he spoke to the madwoman. "I'm sure things are much clearer to him now. If not, well, we can always resort to slapstick for a really tough crowd."
Harry grit his teeth, but the message was clear. Cooperate or die. The options were clear in the cold gleam in the Joker's eyes and the rock-steady muzzle of the gun yawning before him like a black hole. Through the clouds fogging his mind, he remembered Bruce's first lesson on escaping capture. He had repeated it over and over until the words echoed in his dreams.
'You can't escape if you're dead.' He must have heard those words a thousand times over the last few months. There was a way out of any situation, but only if you were alive to find it.
He wouldn't die here. He refused to die here. Refused with the sort of muzzy determination available only to the drunk and the drugged. So, when Harley came back with the razor and started cutting the straps of his armor, he pushed down the stomach churning revulsion and let her.
She wasn't gentle about it, and more than once, the razor slipped and sliced into his skin. They weren't deep cuts, but the shock of them was enough to make him gasp. From her innocent titter, not all the slips were accidental. The pain brought back memories. For a moment, he was tied up in a graveyard and Wormtail (the sniveling coward deserved no other name) was cutting into his arm. The Joker's laughter brought him back, though. No one had been laughing then. Reality wasn't any less horrifying than his flashback, but at least it was real. That meant he could do something about it.
Not yet, though. As it was, he could barely conjure enough power for a lumos. In a room with a supervillain, his mad girlfriend, and a brain marinating in drugs was not the recipe for a successful escape. Yet another lesson came to mind, this one in the voice of every frustrated teacher who'd ever tried to pass it on. Patience. He wanted to spit it like a curse, but it was the only option. There would be an opportunity, if only he was patient.
With one last swipe of the razor, Harley finished her work, and his armor fell off him in pieces. Despite the warm air, he shivered. In reality, there was almost no difference between facing the Joker tied up with his armor on and facing him in nothing but his trousers, but to his mind, there was a very big difference indeed. He felt exposed. Vulnerable. It took most of his sluggish focus to control his breathing.
'Don't panic,' he told himself. 'Don't hyperventilate. Patience. Observe and stay calm.'
Then the Joker pulled a cattle prod out of jacket and patience suddenly looked a lot less appealing.
"You know what you remind me of, new boy? All trussed up like that, dangling from the ceiling. A marionette puppet. Oh, I used to love watching puppet shows as a kid. Did you ever see one, Harley?"
"No sir. Never."
The Joker gasped and put a hand to his brow. "What?! Never? Well, that just won't do. The way those puppets used to just dance on their strings… why it was pure wonder." He looked back and forth between the madwoman and Harry. "I'll tell you what. How about I put one on now, just for you? Does that sound fun?"
Harley squealed and jumped and clapped with excitement. "Oooh, yes! That would be grand. Thank you, puddin'."
Harry gulped and yanked desperately at his chains. He had a sickening suspicion about what was to come, but it was no good. Without his magic, there was no way he could break the steel links. The Joker noticed his struggles and his smile grew another inch. He was actually panting in excitement. Little flecks of spittle flew from his cherry red lips as he watched.
'He likes it,' Harry realized. 'He's getting off on my fear.'
Unfortunately, that realization didn't make him any less afraid. Rather the opposite, in fact.
The Joker hefted the cattle prod. "I'm afraid we've only got the one puppet, and it's not the most elegant I've ever seen. Still, with the right tools-" he lunged forward and jabbed the sparking cattle prod into Harry's bare ribs "-I'm sure we can make do."
The pain was… odd. Nothing like as bad as a Cruciatus curse, thankfully, but it certainly had its own unique demerits. A burning, tingling mix of agony and numbness pulsed through his body. All his muscles locked and then convulsed. A scream tried to escape, but his jaw had clenched shut and it turned into a groan. His arms strained against their bonds, but the chains kept them mostly still. His legs, on the other hand, were free to spasm and kick at nothing.
"Hahahahaha!" The Joker laughed as Harley clapped and cheered. "Hehehehe! I told you it was wonderful to see them dance. Watch him go!"
Fzzztt!
The cattle prod crackled again, and he had less than a second to brace himself before electricity slammed into him like a truck. Just like before, he jerked and twitched. His feet beat out a rhythm on the floor. His teeth clacked together. Tears and snot streamed down his face. Time stretched like taffy. Seconds turned into days.
Sirius had taught him all sorts of techniques to deal with pain. Magic required focus, even in the face of overwhelming pain, and even a momentary lapse in concentration at the wrong moment could prove disastrous. Unfortunately, even the simplest methods of ignoring pain required focus of their own, and focus was in short supply for him. His mind was a pile of drug-softened mush, and his nerves were alight with electricity. Perhaps a master of the mental disciplines could have pushed through the fog and gained control of their mind, but not a frightened, confused novice hanging from his wrists in front of a monster. So the cattle prod sparked, and he screamed.
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It had taken longer than Dick liked to finish securing the last warehouse, but it was a necessity. There were still hostages to rescue, living ones thankfully, and underestimating the Joker wasn't a good plan if you enjoyed breathing. Where there was one trap, there could be two. Or twenty. They couldn't help Harry if they wound up in the pickling pot with him. Still, every second that went by grated like a razor on a guitar string.
Finally, the last of the hostages were free and the last of the kidnappers were on their way to jail. Or the hospital. At the moment, he felt ambivalent on the matter. Gordon tried to ask questions, but Bruce ignored him and made a beeline for the warehouse where Harry had been taken. Dick paused just long enough to give the Commissioner the bare minimum of details. The Joker was out, he'd taken Marauder, they were handling it. Then he raced off after his mentor, leaving Gordon to call after him furiously.
He caught up to him in the warehouse, in a small office room tucked away in a corner. Bruce was already setting up a crime scene, and he didn't acknowledge Dick's entry.
"He was taken here. Tell me what you see."
Dick jerked, shocked. "You want to make this some sort of… teaching moment? Marauder's missing, and-"
Bruce turned to look at him. It wasn't a glare, exactly, but it still was a look of total, unyielding authority. His protests died unspoken, and he cast about the room with an eye for clues, just as Bruce had taught him. They weren't hard to spot. A chair with severed ropes lying at its feet. A used syringe. Harry's jacket and utility belt lying on the floor. He took the individual pieces and turned them over in his mind until they formed a coherent whole.
"There was a fake hostage." He took a closer look at the ropes and spotted a few strands of long blonde hair snagged in the fibers. "A woman, probably. Isolated, so Marauder would have to separate from the others to get her. He got the others out, then came back to free her. She got him with some sort of tranquilizer when his guard was down. It must have been fast acting for him not to have gotten a spell off. Then she took off his jacket and belt, probably so we couldn't track him."
The words sounded strange coming out of his mouth, as if someone else was saying them. Even as he gave the report, most of his mind was still whirling through nightmare scenarios, one after another. Bruce had taught him how to work through stuff like this, but no one could teach you to handle the Joker kidnapping your friend with perfect calm.
"He was aiming to take you," Bruce said. "The letter mentioned my 'birdie'. That means he wants me present for something. An event. Something spectacular enough he wants an audience."
Dick shivered. Anything the Joker considered 'spectacular' couldn't possibly be good. "So now what? Call Sirius?"
Bruce shook his head. "I already tried. He's out of contact. He could be anywhere on Earth, or not on Earth for that matter. We're on our own."
Dick set his jaw. "Then we tear the city apart until we find him. We are not letting that maniac hurt him."
Bruce nodded. "I think I know just where to start."
Dick recognized the look on his face. It meant the gloves had just come off. He felt his fists clench so hard the tendons creaked. They would find Harry. And if he wasn't alright, the Joker would pay.
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It was later. Pain had happened. Not as much as Harry had been expecting, though. Apparently, him not being Robin took a lot of the fun out of torturing him. The Joker had made him "dance" some more, and had added a couple fresh cuts to his chest with his straight razor, but aside from that, he'd mostly flirted with Harley Quinn, who had lapped up the attention like a rabid puppy. There was something deeply wrong with that woman. Something broken. When Joker had given her a crack at him, she'd set about bludgeoning him in the head with the same broken, naïve, not-all-there smile shed had on ever since he woke up. It was as if she didn't realize she was beating on a real person.
Fortunately, after a while, Joker grew bored watching him writhe. The shocks came less and less frequently, the blows grew lighter, and even the sick jokes sounded half-hearted. Finally, Joker tossed aside the cattle prod.
"Well, it's been fun, new boy, but I've got things to do. There's a big show to put on, after all. Oh, it's going to be glorious. Smiling faces as far as the eye can see. Hahahahahaha!"
The joy in his voice sent a shiver up Harry's spine. Nothing that made this monster happy could be good. Joker must have noticed, because his grin gained a few more molars. He leaned in close and patted Harry on the cheek.
"Oh, don't look so glum, gumdrop. Ha! Don't be a glumdrop. I'm sure there'll be something for you to do. Last-minute cast changes can be a bitch, but we'll find a part for you somewhere." Impossibly, he grinned even wider. His voice became a stage whisper. "And if we don't, then someone will find parts of you somewhere. Hahahaha! Heeheehee hoho hahahahahaha!"
He dissolved into paroxysms of insane laughter. The mad cackles bounced off the metal walls until the whole room rang like the bells of hell itself. Joker stumbled away, still laughing, and staggered into the hall. Harley followed behind him like a leashed pet and kicked the door closed as she passed.
The door slammed shut with a disturbingly final clang. The sound echoed in the small space, but it was positively soothing compared to that laughter. Harry gave himself a count of sixty after the door closed, just to make sure the clown wasn't playing some sick prank. Only when he reached zero did he let the flame in his mind gutter out. The moment it died, he slumped forward and retched. The acrid taste of bile coated his tongue as he threw up what felt like everything he'd ever eaten. Fear, pain, and stress teamed up to force his stomach contents to make a bid for freedom. The heaving felt like murder against his bruised ribs, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. Only when he finally ran out of stuff to puke did his body relax. Sweat, tears, and snot coated his face, and his lips burned from the bile.
"This… sucks," he panted. Luckily, he avoided getting too much on himself, and the blood made it hard to tell, anyway. He gave himself another count of sixty to wallow in self-pity, and then he turned his focus to escape.
That was easier said than done. Between the electric shocks and the lingering effects of whatever drug Harley Quinn had hit him with, his focus was about as formidable as a wet mop. His vision swam, his thoughts drifted, and his body didn't want to move right. It was hard to even stay conscious. All the while, the door stood in front of him, mocking. There was freedom behind that door. Joker hadn't even locked it. It was so close, just ten feet, but those ten feet may as well have been ten miles. He tried vanishing the chains, loosening them, cutting them, anything, but his spells fell apart before they even formed. Magic required concentration, and his head was a lump of soggy cotton. He wanted to scream in frustration.
So he did. He screamed, even though his throat was already sore. The noise echoed off the hard steel walls, mocking him. He cursed, and there was someone with his voice cursing at him from the shadows. It was hard to tell what was real and what wasn't. The only thing that he was sure of was that he had to escape. Thinking was hard, but he'd done hard things before. Slowly, as if he was dragging them backwards through mud, Bruce's lessons on how to escape capture drifted to the top of the tar pit he had for a brain right now.
'Step by step,' he recalled. 'So, step one. Get out of the chains.'
If he'd been clear-headed, that would have been easy. An afterthought, even. He'd have snapped the links with a muttered word and been on his merry way. Now, reaching for his magic felt like trying to catch a Snitch with oven mitts and a blindfold. His concentration kept slipping. It was dangerous to use magic in this state, especially without a wand to focus the power. One wrong move, and he would have a burst of uncontrolled magic either bouncing around the room or grounding itself through his body. Either way could be terminally hazardous to his health.
Breathing. Breathing was the key. If he could control that, he could control his focus. If he could control his focus, he could (hopefully) use magic without lighting his bone marrow on fire. Breathe.
In and out.
In and out.
In and out.
Slowly, he gained a semblance of control over his mind. It was shaky, but it was there. Now he was trying to catch a Snitch with mittens and foggy glasses instead. Still hard, but just on the good side of possible. Even after he got a hold of it, it slipped and writhed in his grasp like an eel. He shaped it into a spell as quickly as he could, before he lost control of it, and let it go.
"Relashio."
It was the worst spell he'd cast since coming to this Earth. Sloppy. Asymmetrical. Overpowered and poorly aimed. But it worked. The chains wrapped around his wrists uncoiled with whipcord speed. The one on the left actually shattered, and a chunk of metal sliced open his forearm. He crumpled to the ground like… well, like a puppet with its strings cut. Thankfully, his face didn't land in the puddle of vomit. When he tried to stand, a wave of dizziness washed over him and he sat back down with a grunt.
'Okay. Probably shouldn't do any more magic like this.' If a simple spell like that had his head ringing and his nerves dancing a jig, he didn't want to think about what something stronger would do. Ideally, he would go to bed and sleep until his head didn't feel like the bottom of an old boot. Then again, ideally, he wouldn't have gotten himself kidnapped and tortured. Ideally was going to have to take a back seat to realistically for now. He clawed his way to his feet and stumbled towards the door. Towards freedom.
He was halfway across the room when the door slammed open and a lot of things happened all at once.
"What the fuck?"
"Whoa!"
Someone burst into the room. There was no time for hesitation. He lurched forward and charged. Magic was too risky without his wand, so fisticuffs it was. Two steps into his rush, his brain finally processed what his eyes were looking at. What he saw left him stunned. Far from some pot-bellied thug coming to strangle him, it was a girl. A masked girl. He barely had time to register her waist length blonde hair before he crashed into her, sending them both to the floor. It felt a little like running into a small oak tree. Whoever this girl was, she was in serious shape. While he skidded a foot on his face, she turned her tumble into a roll and sprang back to her feet. Add coordinated to fit. To his surprise, rather than try to attack him, she popped her neck and growled at him.
"Geez! Do you always tackle people trying to rescue you?"
"I- wha'?" Something was off here. More off than just being kidnapped and imprisoned by a psychotic clown and his deranged girlfriend. How had this become his life?
Now that he got a better look at her, this girl didn't fit anyone's idea of a Joker thug. She could string more than three words together, for one. As a general rule, the more psychotic the supervillain, the worse their hired help was. The smarter muscle in Gotham joined up with Penguin, Sionis, or the Cosa Nostra. Joker notoriously attracted the lowest of the low. Rapists, cannibals, serial killers, and brutes too violent or too dumb to find work with any of the other big names. Appearances could be deceiving, but this girl didn't strike him as a raving lunatic or a bloodthirsty psychopath.
She was wearing some sort of armored body suit and a domino mask. Her blonde hair was tied in a ponytail that stretched down to her waist. If he had to guess, he'd have said she was his age. Maybe a year or so younger, even. Strangest of all, she had a bow in one hand and a quiver of arrows on her back. Not some toy, either. It was a sleek-looking compound bow, the sort Green Arrow or Speedy wouldn't have been ashamed to carry. There was no way a run-of-the-mill Joker goon would have a weapon like that. The wickedly sharp arrow she had strung and ready to loose didn't exactly scream 'friend', though.
"Who 're you?" He slurred. Launching himself across the room, it turned, hadn't been a good idea in his condition. The ceiling and the floor were trying to swap places, and the walls were turning cartwheels.
"I told you, I'm here to rescue you," she snapped.
He blinked in surprise. "Is y'r name Luke Skywalker?"
She stared at him as if he'd just suggested she look up her own nostrils. Eyes like chips of flint scanned over him and then over the pool of vomit before narrowing in disgust. "Oh, great. Just perfect. What did they give you?"
He struggled to his feet. It felt as if his legs were being run by committee. The tip of the arrow followed him as he stood, staying level with his chest the whole time. "Not- not sure. Whatever it was, it came with a side of cattle prod and razors. Seriously, though. Who are you?"
Her flinty grey eyes softened a little, and she waited for him to get his balance. "I'm a friend. You can trust me. I was scoping out the docks when I saw them bring you in."
He nodded. Bits of his brain tried to tell him he should be more cautious, but other bits were wondering when the walls would stop spinning, and still others were humming the Addam's Family theme song for some reason. It was easier to just go with the flow and trust her. He suspected he'd get a lecture for… something from Batman, later, but later was a nebulous concept next to the oh so shitty now.
'Not like I have much choice,' he thought.
"Fine. I'm Marauder. I… work with Batman. Maybe lower… the bow?" He had to talk slowly, or else risk slurring so much even he wouldn't be sure what he'd said.
She glared at him for another second before relaxing. The arrow went back into her quiver, though he noticed she very deliberately didn't drop her guard. That was fine by him. If she didn't want to waste time with niceties, then they'd just get out of here faster.
"So what's… your plan? How are we getting… out of here?" He hated how weak his voice sounded. He hated how weak he was. With a clear head, he could have Apparated them both to safety in a heartbeat. Now, he didn't dare even contemplate it. Apparating like this would just be a complicated way of dismembering them both.
The girl (he should probably figure out something to call her other than 'girl') opened her mouth and then promptly closed it again. Her lips pursed as she looked him over once more.
"About that…" she said, a hint of embarrassment creeping through her gruffness. The burgeoning hope he had of an easy escape withered to dust.
"Are you serious? You came in here… without a plan to… get out?" He ignored the little voice in his head listing off all the times he'd done the exact same thing.
"Hey, I saw them carrying your limp ass onto this ship and I just reacted, okay? I didn't think you'd be so messed up."
He shook his head. "You really are… Luke Skywalker."
Her hand twitched towards the quiver on her back. "Hey, it's my first day, you ass. Besides, doesn't that make you Princess Leia in this scenario?"
"What's wrong… with that? Leia was awesome." Her hand twitched again, and he sighed. "Sorry. It's my first day, too. No bets… who's having the worse… go of it. Anyway, you… said we're on a ship?"
She nodded. Well, that helped explain why his magic felt so strange, even with the drugs. Sirius had said large bodies of water were like energy sinks. Not as bad as running water, but they could still interfere with most types of magic unless you knew how to compensate. It was something he was still working on, and not the sort of thing a fuzzy head made easier. That aside, the idea of the Joker in control of an entire ship, and a large one if he couldn't feel it rocking, was terrifying.
'Focus,' he told himself again. 'Remember what Bruce taught you. Identify your needs, identify your resources, plan, and execute.'
Well, his needs were fairly simple. He needed to get off this ship, and he needed to make sure this girl made it off with him. Resources were a little trickier. Harley had stripped him of his armor, and his jacket, and his Cloak were nowhere in sight. That meant no ingredients for spells, no potions, no invisibility, and no bulletproof buffer between him and the Joker's goons.
"How far… offshore are we?"
She shrugged. "Not far, I think. A mile or two by now. We could swim it, if you can handle that right now?"
He shook his head as another wave of dizziness and nausea told him just how much of an option that wasn't. "No. Can't leave yet. Need to- urgh, need to stop him."
Something like the outline of a plan was sketching itself out in his head. It was dangerous, stupid, and mad to boot, but he was in no state for tactical brilliance. He needed to stop Joker, and he needed to escape. To do that, he needed Batman and Robin's help. There was only one way he could think to get it with what he had to hand.
He started to walk down the hall, but the girl grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him back. "Are you kidding me? We need to get out of here. Whoever these guys are, they're bad news. I-"
"It's Joker," he said. The color drained from her face. Good. She knew enough to be afraid, then. "Whatever he's planning… it'll be… bad. He wanted to… use me as bait. We have to stop him."
Having a numb tongue was really getting annoying. It made talking slow and awkward. Despite that, he knew in his bones he couldn't let the Joker get away. Whatever that psychopath had planned, he couldn't pass up the chance to stop it. With a ship like this, he could kill hundreds. Maybe thousands, and that was if he stuck to the basics of crashing it or blowing it up. From the files Bruce had made him read, Joker was rarely so unimaginative.
"We need… to get to the top deck," he wheezed. "Signal Batman for… backup."
"You're insane," she breathed. "This is suicide. You'll-"
"I'm doing this," he growled, drawing himself up to his full height, which was a good foot taller than the blonde girl. "Either help or bugger off."
There was a long beat where they both just stared at each other. Finally, the girl growled and threw up her hands. "Ugh. This is what I get for going in like a dumbass. What even is your plan? Or are we just winging it?"
Privately, he mused that she had no business getting on anyone's case about winging anything. Then again, neither did he, so he let it lie.
"Get… to the top deck," he said. "Then set… the ship on fire."
A burning ship just a few miles offshore would be sure to get Batman's attention. The idea certainly got that of his mystery rescuer. Her eyes bulged, and she made a noise as if she'd tried to swallow a live niffler.
"You- you want to set the ship on fire?"
"Yes."
"While we're still on board?"
"Yes."
"I thought Joker was supposed to be the crazy one?"
He shrugged. "It's… not that crazy. Batman will… see it."
Her mouth worked up and down, but no sound came out. The look she gave him could have stripped paint. He thought he saw her eye twitch a little. He waited, if not patiently, then at least dazedly for her to make up her mind.
"And how are we supposed to get to the top deck?" She finally asked. Her tone promised pain sometime in the future. "I barely snuck in here when I was on my own. No way are we not getting spotted with you stumbling around like a drunk bear."
That… was actually a very good point. He wanted to bang his head into a wall for not thinking of it himself, but he was in enough pain as it was. Options floated through the fog of pain and drugs, and he selected the one least likely to blow them up.
"Do you have… any matches?"
"Matches?" The girl repeated. He really needed a better name for her than just 'girl'. Maybe he would just call her Luke Skywalker. She probably wouldn't shoot him for that. He hoped.
"Matches. You know… little sticks that… make fire."
"I know what matches are, asshole," she snarled. He held up his hands apologetically. "Yeah, I've got a pack. Why?"
"Give them here," he said, holding out a hand. She looked skeptical, but he motioned her to hurry up and she passed him a book of matches.
"What are you-"
"Shh," he hissed. "Have to… concentrate."
He lit two matches and focused on the flame. The light. In his mind, he linked it to the idea of sight and focused a trickle of power into the matches. His magic was still as unsteady as it had been earlier, but the matches made it easier. Using props (as Sirius liked to call them) was slower, but it made up for it in the greater control it offered.
Once he had the link, he blew the matches out and muttered the incantation. "Ignis obscuratus. Fumus obscuratus. Ignis obscuratus. Fumus obscuratus."
Smoke billowed from the smoldering tips as he chanted. More smoke than two small matches should have produced. It clung to the both of them like a veil for a few seconds before fading from view. When it had vanished, the lights looked dim and watery. Everything took on a faint pall, as if he was seeing it through a dirty window. Even with his senses in disarray, he could see the faint shimmer of the spell enveloping them. It wasn't his best work, but it would do for the moment.
Angry mystery girl looked back and forth between him and the veil a few times, confusion building on her face. "Was that- wait, was that magic?"
There was something significant about her recognizing it so quickly, but he couldn't place it. Thinking too hard threatened to take his headache from splitting to absolutely unbearable, so he just nodded and let the question wait with all the others. There was quite a mental queue forming.
"Thaumaturgy," he explained. "Sympathetic magic. You use… the connections between things to… nudge bigger things. Do it right, and… you can push the universe in whatever direction you want. This'll keep us hidden for now. Just… stay close and follow me, Luke."
"You- it's Artemis, okay," the girl, who apparently was named Artemis, growled. She growled a lot. Still, at least she followed him when he set off down the hall.
"Goddess of the hunt? Clever."
Walking helped with the fuzzy feeling. Not so much the pain, but his head felt a little clearer now that his body was moving, as if the fog were further away. He tried to convince himself he wasn't stumbling like a drunkard. It was hard to deny so much evidence to the contrary, but he tried anyway. The small comforts were important when sneaking through the lair of a supervillain with a mysterious ninja-archer girl of dubious trustworthiness.
And he'd thought his life was weird back at Hogwarts.
OoOoOoOoOoOoO
This was seriously not how Artemis had seen her first night as a masked vigilante going. She'd figured she would beat up a few would be muggers, maybe stop convenience store robbery, and stay under the Bat's radar. That last bit had been especially high on her list of priorities. She still didn't know how her little 'family unit' had gone unnoticed the last six years, but she had no interest in drawing undue attention. Even her dad had known to steer clear of the Bat. The one time he hadn't, she'd had to feed him through a straw for a month. With her luck, he already knew about Jade. Sharing blood with the infamous Cheshire was probably enough to get her a one-way ticket to Blackgate all on its own. If it wasn't, her father's identity surely was.
But all her plans had gone up in smoke when she'd caught word of a smuggling operation at the docks. In a moment of never to be repeated weakness, she'd let herself entertain delusions of taking down a smuggling ring and proving to Batman that she wasn't just her father's daughter. Stupid fairy-tale bullshit. She knew better. Except, apparently not, because no sooner had she seen a group of obvious thugs carrying an equally obvious Bat onto an old cargo ship than she'd abandoned her stakeout and snuck aboard without an escape plan! Oh, and if Marauder was to be believed, the Joker was somewhere onboard. The fucking Joker! God, she deserved whatever beating Crusher would have dealt out for being this sloppy.
The only comfort she had was that this Marauder was apparently just as new at this as she was. That at least explained why she hadn't recognized him. New faces in Gotham didn't stay unknown for long. Either they made a name for themselves, or they wound up wrapped in plastic and dumped in the gutter. Right now, she gave the two of them even odds in that contest.
Marauder stumbled again, and she kept watch on him from the corner of her eye until he'd regained his balance. It was the fifth time in three minutes he'd almost taken a dive, but if she was being honest, she was a little impressed he could walk at all. She didn't want to think what sort of drugs the clown had given him, nor what else he'd gone through. He'd mentioned cattle prods, and between the chains back in his cell and the burns on his wrists, her brain could paint a picture. A very ugly picture. Despite whatever Joker had done to him, she had to admit he was probably doing better tonight than she was. The perks of training under Batman, she guessed.
'Not the only perks,' she thought as she looked him over again. He was tall, as in a foot taller than her, sort of tall, and in good shape. Skinny, but fit. In a different, less terrifying situation, she would have enjoyed the sight of him walking around shirtless. At the moment, though, she'd have traded the pleasant view for a solid escape plan in a heartbeat. No matter what he said, lighting the ship on fire and hoping Batman showed up before they burned or drowned was not a solid plan. It was an unhinged acid trip.
Still, Marauder was definitely interesting, and not just because of his fancy accent. There were also his eyes. For a moment, she was grateful he was facing away from her. Those eyes were a little unsettling, especially when they were the only part of his face she could make out properly. She'd never seen someone with such intensely green eyes. They were just a little too piercing, a little too bright, almost like a hawk's. Even clouded with drugs, they still made her feel a little like a mouse facing death from the sky. And then there was the strangest thing about him. The thing that still had her scratching her head in disbelief.
"So, wait, you use magic?" She asked, if only to break up the oppressive silence. Bad practice on a mission perhaps, but something about being trapped on a ship with the Joker and a crazy wizard made her nervous. "I thought Batman didn't let superpowered heroes into Gotham. Everyone knows that."
"Well, I guess… everyone's wrong." There was more than a trace of sarcasm in his voice, even under the drugged slur.
She frowned and resisted the urge to slap the back of his snarky head. "Well, if you use magic, why not magic us out of here, oh mighty sorcerer?"
He stopped and turned to stare at her. Even glazed over, those eyes still made her want to flinch. "Do you know what happens… when you try to manipulate the raw fabric… of the universe when you're stoned and concussed?"
"Umm, no?" She got the sense she'd asked something dumb, but how the hell had she been supposed to know that? Stupid magic using mystery boy.
"Neither do I," he snapped. "Let's… not find out, yeah? For now, I'm stuck… with small stuff."
He made a sweeping gesture, and she guessed he was pointing at whatever spell he cast with the matches (which he still hadn't given back). She pursed her lips and grimaced. No matter what he claimed, all she could make out was a hazy film surrounding both of them like fog.
"Are you sure this stuff will work?" She tried not to sound too skeptical. "I mean, you're obviously not at your best. If we get caught-"
"Quiet!" He hissed, and oh, that was it. He was going to get a piece of her mind.
She opened her mouth to peel strips from his hide, but a faint noise from further down the hall caught her attention. Something was moving up ahead. She glared at him, but shut her mouth. In the silence, they could both hear a set of approaching footsteps. A man rounded the corner a dozen feet in front of them and turned their way. There was no mistaking him for anything but one of Joker's goons. He had shaggy, matted hair down to his shoulders, wild eyes, and a mouthful of broken teeth. Crude clown makeup covered his misshapen face. A fist like a bag of walnuts clutched a pipe wrench, and the butt of a pistol stuck out from his filthy jeans. The stench of unwashed human wafted ahead of him, and Artemis had to suppress a gag. She reached for an arrow, but Marauder stopped her.
"Too loud," he mouthed. He flattened himself against the wall and gestured for her to do likewise. She grimaced and glanced anxiously between the approaching thug and her bow. It would be easy to drop him. She could do it silently, whatever magic boy thought. But if someone thought to miss this guy, they could find themselves swarmed with nowhere to run.
'This spell had better work like says it does, or I'm going to shoot him in his fucking liver,' she thought.
With a resigned huff, she joined him pressed against the rusty steel bulkhead. Together, they held their breath as the thug walked by. Each footstep seemed as loud as a gunshot. Artemis felt her heart climb up her throat. Marauder seemed calm, but the instincts her father had spent years hammering into her were screaming for her attack. With every step the man took towards them, she kept expecting him to point, to shout, to pull his gun and start shooting.
She'd hidden from Crusher before, both in training and when she just couldn't take anymore of his bullshit, but this was nothing like that. Even at his worst, she'd never thought her dad would try to kill her. Beat her face sideways and leave her without food for a few days, sure, but not kill her. This was different. If this creep spotted them, he would absolutely try to kill them. A part of her that sounded a lot like Sportsmaster told her to kill him first. Better a corpse on her conscience than a fight in this place. She shuddered and pushed that thought down.
The moment of discovery never came. The thug walked right past them without a glance. The closest he came to attacking was the awful stench he left in his wake. His footsteps faded down the hall. Artemis sighed with relief and gave Marauder a punch on the arm.
"Not bad, princess. Guess you really can do magic."
They passed two more guards on their way up. Neither saw them. For the last one, they didn't even bother to stop. They just walked past him, unseen. It was almost comically easy. She thought she could get used to this magic business. Not that she'd be able to, she thought with a grimace. Sticking around after Batman got to them would only end with her in a cell.
The door to the top deck had a fancy padlock securing the handle, and she cursed under her breath. Lockpicking had always been Jade's thing, and this one looked all expensive and shit. It probably had extra security features to make it harder to pick, because fuck her and her entire life. She fished in her pocket for her picks, but Marauder just walked past her and tapped the lock.
"Alohomora," he muttered. A few sparks burst from his finger and the lock popped open with a click.
"You have got to teach me how to do that." Already she could envision all the wonderful ways she could use such a skill.
"I haven't known you an hour and I already think that would be a terrible idea," he said as he rubbed his hand. His voice wasn't as slurred anymore. She hoped whatever was in his system was wearing off. If it came to a fight with the Joker, a fully functioning magician would be a lot better than a half-conscious liability.
She still punched him in the arm for his wise-ass remark. Ally or not, no one got away with sassing her.
"Shut up, princess."
He chuckled and slipped the lock off the sore handle.
"Ready?"
She nodded once and mocked an arrow. "Let's do this."
He pushed the door open, and they ran out on deck. At least, she ran. He managed to trip over nothing and almost face-planted in the doorway. Only her quick reactions kept him on his feet. He muttered a thank you, but she just grunted and kept moving. So much for the drugs wearing off.
The night was pitch black. Clouds covered the moon. Gotham was a sickly glow in the distance. Artemis thought had been a bit conservative in her estimate. They were at least five miles from shore. Hopefully, they were still close enough for his madcap plan to work. It looked as if it was still raining hard on the city, but it was barely drizzling over the ship, which was fortunate. The ship itself was just a faint shape in the night, a different texture of darkness that suggested shapes more than showed them. She could hear the water, though. More than that, she could smell it. Away from the city, the brine spray had none of the sour taint of pollution to it. Just salt and dead fish and old wood. That last one was from the ship. Whatever it had once been, it was old. That was probably good, though. It would burn more easily.
'Yeah, with us still on it,' she thought ruefully. 'This is crazy.'
Artemis swept the deck like the soldier her father had trained her as. Her bow never dipped as she checked around every corner. The deck was a mess of cargo crates, railings, and general detritus. Apparently the Joker didn't think cleanliness was very funny. There was a large, clear area in the middle of the deck, probably for loading large cargo with a crane.
In contrast to her stealthy movement, Marauder stumbled around like a drunken bear. Twice, he almost tripped over the railing and fell. After the second time, she pushed him onto a crate and leaned in close to whisper in his ear.
"Just stay here before you get us both killed."
He grunted, which she took as assent. It had better have been assent, or she'd tie him up. No way was she taking a bullet because Lurch still had the wobbles.
Luckily for both of them, he stayed put while she finished clearing the deck. Every time she rounded another stack of crates and didn't see any guards, her nerves grew tighter. Seriously, where were all the goons? Joker almost always had a crew, and a ship this size would need at least a dozen people to keep it running. She popped open a few crates, half-expecting to find armed henchmen waiting inside, but they only held old clothes and shoes. Probably whatever cargo the ship had been hauling when Joker nabbed it. Eventually, she had to admit defeat and head back to where she'd left her temporary partner.
"We're clear," she whispered. He almost jumped out of his skin when she spoke, and she couldn't help the little surge of pride in her chest. She'd just snuck up on a Bat. A new Bat, and a drugged one at that, but still. "You sure about this? It smells like a trap."
"Then you know what we do next, right?" He asked with a grin.
"Don't you-"
"Spring the trap."
She whimpered and thumped him on the shoulder again. His pained squawk was therapeutic. "You're a dork."
He snorted. "You should talk to Robin. He's way worse than me."
That brought her up short. Her, bantering with Robin. The idea was absurd. Insane. She was tainted blood. There was no way the real heroes would ever accept her. Not with her past. Not with her family. Still, some part of her couldn't help but envision that dream being a reality. It was a pleasant fantasy. But she knew fantasy was all it was.
When she glanced over at Marauder again, he'd pulled out another match and was staring at it as if it had killed his puppy. There were no obvious signs of magic, but then again, what the hell did she know about the arcane? Maybe this was how it was supposed to look. He'd come through so far, so she was willing to go a little further out on the limb and trust him to make this part work, too. She just hoped he didn't overdo it. Lighting a ship on fire while they were still onboard was just about the craziest thing she'd ever been a part of. There was no point sending up a signal flare if all Batman would find was two charred corpses. That would just be embarrassing.
"Adūre," he said after another few seconds of silent staring.
The match flared into tiny, brilliant life and then night turned into day. With a sound like a bomb going off in slow motion, half the deck erupted in brilliant, golden-red fire. The flames shot 200 feet into the air before settling back down to ordinary bonfire levels, if there was such a thing as an ordinary bonfire nearly the size of a football field. The heat hit her like a physical blow. It had been a wet night, and the damp chill had slowly seeped into her bones. Now, her bones were toasty warm, while the rest of her was just toasted. Her skin felt dry and tender, as if she had a sunburn. She was tempted to check if she still had eyebrows.
She turned towards Marauder, panting. Her heart had climbed so far up her throat it was practically in her nose. It took all of her self-control not to immediately start whaling on him with her bow. The little bastard would deserve it for the scare he'd just given her, but she might still need him. Later, though…
"What the fuck was that?" She hissed through clenched teeth. Her index finger poked him in the chest hard enough to bruise. "I thought you said you could only do little stuff right now. That. Wasn't. Little."
He shrugged. "I put as much power as I could into it. The bigger the better, right?"
She snarled and strangled the air, imagining it was his throat. If they got out of this alive, he was so, so dead. "If you singed my hair, I'm going to stab you in your balls."
Anything he might have said to defend himself died unspoken when the ear-splitting squeal of rusty metal clawed its way into their ears. Her stomach dropped into her feet when she spotted the source of the cacophony. The cargo bay doors set into the middle of the deck were winching open, allowing a nauseating mixture of green, purple, and yellow lights to spill out and illuminate the deck even further. Beneath the awful screech of tortured gears, he could just make out a tune. Carnival music. That could only mean one thing. Artemis felt the blood drain from her face. Her stomach turned into a block of ice.
"Well, crap," she muttered. It was as succinct a summation of their situation as she could manage. Sheer terror robbed her of eloquence. As the doors opened further, something rose out of the cargo bay. It looked like some sick mockery of a concert stage. There were goons dressed in miniskirts and crop tops for backup dancers and more goons shooting shotguns and flamethrowers into the air instead of confetti. Where there should have been instruments, there were people. What was left of people, at least. Through the pale skin, too-wide grins, and missing limbs, it was hard to tell who was still alive and who wasn't. A few of them still twitched and screamed feebly when the men behind them jabbed with cattle prods, but most were unresponsive. She gritted her teeth at the sight. Not even the Shadows engaged in such wanton brutality. Anger ran a hone over her senses. Everything was suddenly crystal clear. She could smell the sickening odor, hear the demented parody of music, and at the center of it all, she could see the monster responsible for the display. She had an arrow nocked in a heartbeat, and the familiar thrill of the fight began pulsing in her ears. These animals were going to suffer for what they'd done. They were going to hurt.
OoOoOoOoOoOoO
Writing the Joker is hard. I don't think that will come as a surprise to anyone, considering how often he's written poorly, but it still bears repeating. He's a character that can all too easily descend into a parody of himself, becoming overly edgy gore porn or a bland trickster. He should be a dark and disturbing character, true, but he should also be goofy and cartoonish. I, along with I imagine most of you, look to the DCAU and Arkham Joker as the pinnacle of the character done well. I don't claim anything like that sort of writing talent, but I do have a few rules I tried to follow.
First among them is that nothing the Joker does should ever, ever be funny. However, the way he does it should be hilarious, or at least goofy. He should kill innocents indiscriminately, but he should do it while dancing and singing show tunes. Ideally, when the Joker does something, you should cringe, then smile, then feel bad about yourself for smiling.
Second is that the Joker does NOT love Harley Quinn. He's possessive of her, and he sees her as a useful tool, an amusing experiment, and maybe even an object of sexual desire, but he doesn't love her. He isn't capable of love. Indeed, the fact that she insists on thinking he's in love with her is part of what drives him to abuse her. Early Harley should be a pathetic figure, for all that she's also a dangerous psychotic.
Finally, I went ahead and introduced Artemis early. As far as I can figure out, she was active as a vigilante in Gotham prior to the start of the series, which is what drew Batman's notice in the first place. I had been looking for a way to bring her in early, and this provided the perfect opportunity.
Please leave a review and let me know how I did writing both Artemis, Harley Quinn, and the Joker. Until next time, enjoy.