This is not my first fic but the first one submitted, probably because it's more generally comedic and swift to write up. Of course was blown away by TDK and was epicinspired. This is one of many TDK fics I am writing, and this more explores the fact there was never any children in The Dark Knight except for Commish'ner Gordon's kids, not any that Joker encountered anyway. I'm going to try my damned hardest not to have a generic mary-sue-child-vaguely/somehow-similar-to-me-but-unrealistically-cooler/crappier character. Mostly just for fun, please rate and review!
Prologue : A Small Development
The Joker peered at the child sitting 8 feet in front of him on a wooden chair. The child was male. His name had not been asked, nor had he offered it yet. He was approximately 9 years old. He had dark, quite thick hair, childish freckles dotted on the apex of his cheeks, eyes vibrant grey-blue. His clothes had some colourful character on it, probably originating from a cartoon.
The Joker had obtained this child whilst making his way back to his current location. His graceful retreat had gone haywire and transformed into a precisely erratic flee through the dark contours of Gotham, whilst he had gone hun-….recruiting for henchmen to his radical, necessary cause.
Now normally Joker would have gone shopping at length in Arkham among his fellow loons, handpicking inmates that had the right qualities and manipulated them piece by piece, when he was first sent there when prison just couldn't handle him. He had been quite adept at creating weaponry out of the blandest material in prison, and lacked the pain recoil when bending or breaking something tough to shape the desired tool – slangtermed 'shanks' as he recalled. In prison he could hire thugs and tap into unchecked psychotics, whilst he himself was slowly being noticed as abnormal, and not quite prison fodder. So once he had slipped security and ran gleefully into the crevices of Gotham to bide, he had a large gathering of followers at the ready.
Spending several months in Arkham had proved too much, and his energies consolidated to escape, which, of course, was utterly successful. But now that he had skipped back into Gotham scot-free, he needed more cattle – people with enough stomach, idiocy and dependence to carry out his whims. And since Arkham and Blackgate had been out of question, he had the task of visiting mental hospitals looking for psychotics that hadn't yet manifested their urges or energies, or even miniature prisons fishing for new adults who hadn't any dreams. The Joker could manifest energy. He could shape dreams.
But there had been a glitch in his timing, caused by the collaboration of horrendous traffic (probably caused by a severe crash he had delightfully made along a main road earlier and forgotten about) and a police officer glancing at his van's one-sided windows. Minutes later and he had sirens seizing the air, tires screeching behind him as he made his vehicles dash – right into an armoured police truck. The collision fortunately killed the driver, making enough delay for the Joker to leap out of his destroyed vehicle and disappear down multiple alleyways. He even climbed fire escapes, infiltrated people's homes (killing along the way for good measure) to put extra distance. Unfortunately the last apartment had heard the choked off screams and muffled gunshots, and by the time he had smashed through the window, a fatherly man was on the phone urging the Fuzz to hurry. Crashing past furniture, the Joker deftly sliced open his neck, shoved him in a closet and kicked the phone across the room.
Damp with sweat under his heavy garb, panting and covered in broken glass, the Joker could only slap his forehead in annoyance when he heard sirens already making their way to his location. About to leg it, a certain small boy stepped into the kitchen and caught his eye. Too preoccupied to kill him and not lax enough to leave the witness, he grabbed the kid like a sack of potato's, grabbing handfuls of keys from the hooks by the door, and scurried into the garage. After stabbing multiple keys at the lock of their charming car (leaving silver gashes all over the red finish), the child practically pointed out the correct one, was bundled inside, and the vehicle crashed right through the wooden entrance. To the Joker's relief, he was off down many streets without meeting a single policecar.
The boy was sat across from him quietly.
He had a child in his hideout – and he didn't know what to do with it.
YES, a small chapter, but a longer one is following after. :3