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eternalcantarella · 4 years

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Entropy - Chapter 1: Siege - Joker/Reader

Entropy

Summary: We all seek for some measure of uncertainty. Working against the mob is a dangerous game, you might as well be signing a death warrant. You would think it was all by a stroke of chance, the multiple run-ins with Gotham’s Jester of Genocide. When crooks begin to make more sense than do-gooders ― that’s anarchy. He’s no ordinary crook, however. And he’s still wrong. At least that’s what you'd like to tell yourself.

Word count: 10.4k

A/N: First entry, just felt like contributing something to the Joker fandom. This fic is multi-chaptered, and the main pairing in this is Joker/Reader. TDK/Ledger Joker specifically. We follow the story of our reader who is a junior data analyst working in the corporate world, trying to expose Lau for the fraud he is. Of course, meddling with the dichotomy of lawful good and evil would naturally lead to her butting heads with the Joker sooner or later. Somewhere along the way, she is left questioning the validity of her moral code and ends up trading answers with the Joker himself. The goal, of course, is to prove each other wrong. I didn't feel like creating another original character, so I used John Blake from TDKR for her colleague. Apologies for the non-canon compliance regarding John Blake. Rated T for now, but will probably be escalated in future. Gonna be pretty slow burn with build-up, if you're into that. Enjoy!

Available to read on AO3! Check my blog description for link to my AO3.

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“That is why I propose that we continue this joint venture between Lau Security Investments Holdings and Gotham Press Holdings.”

The lone presenter clasped his hands together, ending off his presentation.

“I firmly believe that it is in both our best interests to do so, and it is what’s best for business.”

Reservedly, a light smattering of applause pulsated through the board executive room. You looked pointedly towards the man to your right, typing furiously into his laptop. Chewing your rose-stained lips while you collected your thoughts, you knocked a pen absently against your coffee cup. Subdued murmurs and discussions could be heard as a low rumble across the room, not long before the presenter opened the floor up for a question and answer segment. Multiple hands shot up, competing for the attention of the corporate powerhouse.

The room smelled a mixture of two distinct smells, cologne and freshly ground coffee. You recalled that you had silently muttered a ‘thank you’ to no one in particular earlier this morning, when you found out the ancient coffee maker had been replaced. Perhaps the company was lucky enough to have bosses who listen to their employees’ caffeine needs and have no problem shelling out for a new and improved machine. The room was painted a bluish gray from top to bottom, with tall glass windows teetering on the edge of an unhindered view of Gotham City.

You sat round a large conference table with people whose suits probably cost more than your monthly rent. Board meeting perhaps would be the right name. Dress shoes, egos, no smiles that weren’t plastered on, or opinions unfiltered enough to contribute anything significant to the discussion. A conglomeration of people who almost deliberately attempt to create the most monotonous environment and experience for working possible.

“Eight percent annual growth, huh. A little too good to be true.”

You craned your head towards the young man beside you while maintaining your gaze on the data projections presented on your laptop screen. You received a hum of assent in response to your subdued remark. The sound of his dry hands rubbing contemplatively against his chin accompanied afterwards. The tapping of your pen got harsher and more deliberate, as you narrowed your gaze on the lone presenter, none other than the founder of Lau Holdings himself.

The data simply did not make sense. Even with the vast economic expansion of China, the numbers seemed at least a little bit inflated. Your hand tensed as you shifted forward in your seat, smoothing out your blue pencil skirt. Your partner seemed to have caught sight of this. His hand darted to press over yours in a flash. Slightly startled, you flashed him a look of annoyance.

“Now listen, we’re not here to change anyone’s minds, calm down.”

Seemingly easy-going, his soft words still conveyed an undertone of warning. Indignancy blossomed in your chest as you clenched your jaw shut. Your findings and suspicion over the past months were almost in fruition. How dare he tell you how to do your job. You gave one last defiant glare at your coworker and then whipped your head around, zoning your focus in towards Lau. You raised your other hand and caught Lau’s gaze, as he gestured an open palm towards you.

You regarded each other coldly, his eyes devoid of any signs of sincerity save for an icy smile for the sake of pleasantries. As you stood up, you could see from the corner of your eyes that your partner had so kindly sank back in his chair defeated, resting his elbows on the table with his head in his hands. A little too melodramatic for your tastes, even for someone like you.

“Thank you CEO Lau for the wonderful speech. I’m going to cut to the chase and raise an issue here. Frankly speaking, your powerful economic potential, while surely enticing to keep working with, is a little concerning.”

Lau’s smile showed cracks in its facade. Perhaps this was an unexpected little wrench in his plan. Somehow you took victory and pride in gaining a reaction, no matter how small, out of a cold and calculative man of his calibre, and it took all your will and strength to maintain a stoic composure without your lips curling into a slight smirk.

“Surely your company had to have had a hefty tax levied on this revenue you’ve raked in. Not to mention, upon further assessment it seems that Wayne Enterprises has yet to conclusively accept your business proposal to them. Not to throw insult to your endeavours, but is this as promising, or stable, as you make it out to be?”

Perhaps you are assimilating to become one of them, the beautiful people, what you called them. Perhaps you had let your ego show a little bit too much. But you’d be damned if you didn’t feel badass standing up to a multinational company giant like this, in front of other multinational company giants. It’s not every day you let an opportunity like this be passed.

You felt a collective shift of heads as you suddenly felt about ten pairs of eyes lock onto you, but it felt like ten thousand. Under the magnifying glasses of scrutiny, you felt like you were encapsulated in a glass display as you were studied and picked apart by higher forms of life. You were an alien. An alien who spoke a language they refused to understand and come to accept. A pregnant silence fell over the room and the stares were too much. It was as if they had a morbid fascination with you, patronisingly waiting to watch you fail. Incredulous smiles of pity and disbelief that they failed to hide were spotted on a few in the crowd and you felt the dread pool in your stomach. You tried to maintain the puff of your chest but your fidgets merely deflated it, as you kept your gaze straight on the presenter, unable to look him in the eye.

You could see a visible twitch of his neck as you stared at his grey dress suit, straining a smile on his face. His breath had seemingly gotten heavier and he tongued the side of his mouth, clasping his hands together. He cleared his throat, and only then had you mustered the courage to look him again in the eye. Subtle shades of malice roamed dangerously behind his onyx eyes.

“I will say this once and once alone. We are undoubtedly a legitimate business. And I will not stand for anyone questioning the integrity of my establishment.”

This was a threat. No doubt. You felt hot and humiliated, and nothing beats being shamed in front of the board of directors, speaking of whom, shared panicked glances shifting between each other before one of them dismissed the meeting. It was a walk of shame as you and your partner were singled out by a hand gesture to the front of the room, while everyone sashayed past you, their glances lingering far longer on you two than what was necessary, with the CEO of Gotham Press Holdings watching you reproachfully. A reprimanding was in order, you supposed. CEO Lau had been escorted out of the executive meeting room by other directors in hopes of coaxing him to calm down. You and your partner you’ve unintentionally dragged through the mud stilled in front of the man in control, CEO Loeb.

“Did I hire you to do something so incredibly stupid? For God’s sake you two are here to take care of our financial transactions and fill up board meeting spaces. Nothing more.”

The bite was stinging. It felt like you had been slapped across the face. The welling of tears could be felt behind your eyes but you refused to let them show. You stared at your chief executive officer’s forehead, with shallow lines that ran horizontally across them. His brows which resembled caterpillars were furrowed deeply as he found it difficult to find the right words to say to you without uttering a string of expletives, which you admittedly did deserve. You buried your gaze deep into his crown of white hair as a form of distraction and you hoped dearly that he would show just a shred of mercy.

“Financial Consultant Blake, I hope you understand your place and educate your little Junior Data Analyst lady friend.”

Your coworker clenched his fists and nodded.

“You young people always have an inflated sense of self-importance. Keep your mouths shut next time and this is the last warning. Keep treading on thin ice, both of you.”

With that, he stormed off, leaving you and your partner. The chestnut-haired man, at a loss for words, shifted his weight and looked at you. He tried to say something, but refrained from doing so upon seeing your pathetic state of emotions. You desperately tried to keep it all together, the rage of indignancy staining a crimson tint on your face and embarrassed mortification flushed against your neck hotly.

“Listen, John…”

He looked down and placed a hand on your shoulder, an obligatory act of comfort towards you despite feeling quite frustrated himself. Tears beaded at the corners of your eyes as you blinked them away. You will not cry. You were a strong woman. A mantra you meditated whenever you felt the urge to break down.

“I’m, uhm, just really sorry. Really sorry that I dragged you into this. I... I’m just so goddamned naive and selfish. And I don’t know why, but I just-”

You took a deep breath and shut your eyes, before reopening them, willing the constricting feeling back down your chest.

“I just felt the need to prove something.”

He let out a huge sigh and pat his hand two times soothingly on your shoulder. As if to tell you it was okay, but he was still mad. He brought his other hand to his temples and closed his eyes. His jaw shifted around absently, possibly to ease the tension that was there from clenching it too tightly. There was really nothing much he could say to you. After all, he did warn you, but he was nice enough not to say ‘I told you so’.

After getting the apology off your chest, the humiliation subsided slowly like a beach wave into a dull headache. You took your hand to his wrist and squeezed the top of it reassuringly, to let him know you would be okay eventually. He took this as a sign for you both to take your leave, away from the sterile walls of the meeting room that seemed to cave in on you.

As you turned round the corner of the large glass doors of the meeting room, you nearly bumped into the CEO of Lau Security Investment Holdings. It had seemed that he had left something behind in the room. You were face to face with him, widening your eyes and noting to yourself that he was a man of short stature. There was a brief moment where time seemed to slow down around the two of you and you two were the only ones on this plane of existence. There was nothing but a look of disdain on his face. A subtle twist and contortion of his face, the corner of his lips tightened and raised on one side of his face. His eyes were devoid of any spirit, seeming to look through you instead of looking at you. Nothing but pure unadulterated disrespect and contempt for you. Small and worthless you were, this was your standing in this world of beautiful people. You were fundamentally different from all of them. Fundamentally loathsome.

And you’d be damned if you didn’t confront this head on.

You hardened your gaze with eyes of defiance with lips suggesting the hint of a snarl. Something about the look he gave you re-ignited the flame within you snuffed by shame, and it showed through your eyes.

And just like that time sped up for you, and you were thrown back into the normalcy of the rush of office life. John Blake watched you and let out an audible groan.

“You really don’t know when to give in do you, kid?”

While visibly frustrated, a little smirk played at his lips, clearly amused at you and the turn of events in spite of himself.

“Always bursting in, castle crashing like the siege engine incarnate you are.”

Clicking your tongue in annoyance at this long-time God awful nickname bestowed upon you by none other, you hastened your speed with strong strides, having done nothing but prove that nickname to be characteristic of you today. He kept up the pace, noting to himself that you had gotten over yourself and more or less returned back to normal. You took the meeting card from today out of your pocket and bent it, snapped it into two halves and discarded them into the bin you walked past. You needed to forget this incident. Clipboard and laptop hooked onto an arm, you prodded at your updo then pulled at the hem of your white blazer. Gussying did help ground you back to reality in providing you with a sense of unfounded control.

“We aren’t going to take this lightly. We need to get to the bottom of this. Lau一Lau is going to ruin this place.”

Alarmed, John Blake grabbed your shoulder and wrenched your form to face him, stopping you in your tracks. He stared at your eyes scanning and darting his eyes around your face for any signs of whether you were serious or not. It dawned on him that dear god, you weren’t kidding at all. Before he could start on his tirade that the two of you couldn’t even dream of changing how things worked in this company, or the world for that matter, you shrugged yourself off his grip.

“Don’t you forget why you teamed up with me, John.” You raised your voice slightly.

“Don’t forget the reason you launched Blake Accounting Consultancy. Need I remind you of what you believe in?”

Jarred by your emotional declaration, he knew what you said were mere rhetorics. He noticed people were starting to stare at the commotion between the two of you, thus he resumed a slow walking pace with you. You kept observing his internal dilemma, noting the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, and how his perpetually furrowed brows deepened even more. You needed his help. And he needed yours. As your walking speed hastened back to normal, the people at the reception area took fleeting glances at your gait but never longer than needed. You took a short glimpse at your watch and signed out of the register with Blake.

The self-assured clacking of the heels on your pumps down the descent of the stone steps, marking the entrance of the imperial office building, was a pleasant familiarity to you, as it signaled the end of an exhausting work day. It was especially empowering on a Friday, such as this one. At the base of the steps you awaited his answer. Clearing his throat and adjusting his tie, he stepped onto the same level as you.

“Alright, you’ve convinced me. There’s no point in doing this,” he pointed between the two of you, “And our arrangement if we don’t do it right. You are my partner after all and you’re here to keep me from losing sight of what’s important. To the both of us.”

You smiled and felt the warmth blushing across your cheeks. Yes, he had hand picked you for this job and he was so confident you were the right one. You restrained your smile to revert back to a professional feminine composure and tilted your head coyly.

“Then I don’t need to tell you why we’re doing it the right way, do I?”

“For hope in the goodness of Gotham. This generation’s gotta do some cleaning up after our very thoughtful predecessors.”

The crinkle in his eye after he spoke was all the reassurance you needed. After being given a satisfactory answer, you gave him a knowing look and turned away from him as he began tapping hurriedly into his tablet. As undignified as John Blake could appear to be at times, you had to hand it to the man. He was worthy of your respect and had been nothing but an inspiration to you. The two of you shared more things in common than most and provided each other an intellectual challenge. Of course, mostly one thing was considered upon deciding on this mutually beneficial partnership in business. And it wasn’t because you two were sleeping with each other, despite common belief. Before you began walking again, you asked.

“What do you reckon our plan would be right now?”

Still fiddling with his tablet, he stalled on his answer for a few seconds. Clearly mapping something out in his head, you turned back to give him your full attention.

“We’re heading to Gotham National Bank. Let’s just say, there’s been minor speculation that it’s been involved in activities not short of... illicit. Yes, I suppose that’s how we’ll put it.”

He treaded carefully.

“Now, the companies we work for, both Gotham Press Holdings and Lau Holdings, have some shares in this bank. The catch is, it would be incredibly difficult to prove Lau’s activities as fraudulent.”

Seemingly defeated, Blake hung his head and rubbed the back of his neck. However, he peeked his eyes at the building in front of him, a smugness quirking at the corner of his lips.

“Fortunately for us, they didn’t call me a forensic accountant for nothing.”

Beaming at him, you grabbed at his forearm shaking it a few times, giddiness bubbling inside of you, before letting it go. For you, there was nothing but a mischievous glee, the kind that feels like icing on cake and splashing at beaches. All this for one shared vision. The two of you were visionaries. To this, his smile was that of happiness blooming as a spring flower would. You could see it coming from inside of him to the light of his eyes, and spreading across his chest. He was happy to see you filled with hope, and you could feel it in the way he spoke and the way he relaxed. It was nothing short of genuine. You bubbled up and joked around with him.

“John, frankly speaking, is this even legal?”

“It depends.”

You felt the excitement die down a little bit as you realised the seriousness in his tone. It was replaced by an uncomfortable premonition pervading your senses. You gave him a look, pressing him to tell you more.

“I meanㅡTechnically we could do this. We have enough authority to access banking information. The problem is if they come to know we had been snooping around.”

“Oh my god John are you really sure about this-”

“You just have to trust me, we have to take a risk. Just as I have taken a gamble on you. I have a plan.”

Your eyes widened at his statement. He was right, he couldn’t gain anything else from working with a hothead like you. He had taken a chance on you. What else did you have to offer to him? It was a sobering statement. After all, you did prove to be a handful in the meeting today, it was a pretty big mess up. You two could only have trust or you would have nothing. And you would hate to be a liability to him.

The two of you stared ahead at the streets, bustling with the cacophony produced by the city at midday traffic. The winds picked up, with fallen leaves and litter on the semi-empty street dancing to their own choreography. A chill ran down your spine, signalling the approach of nightfall. You both had decided then that it was best you get a move on to the bank before rush hour traffic befalls upon you.

###

The buildings galloped up where your sights could reach, Gotham National Bank standing out as a nostalgic hue of ivory, marbled with contours of magnificent antiquated architecture. Small fragments crumbled from the pillars encircling it, exalting it to an unmatched quality of regality as if there stood an ancient and historic piece of post-American Renaissance. This unusual lavishness caught the eye in the heart of Gotham. You both sauntered up the stone steps with a comfortable rhythm. The wooden framed glass doors pushed to the side as you both turned round the bend. The confidence you two shared initially was faltering as you realised the danger behind the work you were going to do.

The place reeked of opulence, a feeling of vastness with high ceilings, yet you still felt suffocated by the scent of luxury vanilla tobacco perfume. The air felt still and frigid, despite its warm rustic tones and yellow ceiling lights. You would never fall for this false allure and fabrication of a cozy and comfortable environment. It lulls you into a false sense of security. A carefully crafted institute that tries to evoke trust is nothing but lies. Money, whether little or a lot, is a source of stress in the lives of people after all. How the bank could portray themselves as anything but was beyond you. Your lips tightened as you walked to the bank tellers. Surprisingly the foyer was not as crowded as you had expected. It is well enough that the people of this city did not understand the banking and monetary system, for if they did, there would be a revolution by the next morning.

There was no line at the counter where you two were expected. John Blake regarded the bank teller with a tightlipped smile and firm handshake. You noticed Blake’s calloused hands, they weren’t too big and certainly did not look fitting for that of a white-collar accountant. He flashed his identification card from the companies you two were liaised with and requested to be granted permission for a thorough evaluation of their financial statements. Fingers crossed, you and Blake shared a look as the young man behind the desk studied the card in its holder skittishly. Clearly, he wasn’t experienced at all.

“Sir, I’m sorry but I think I would have to check with my superiors if I could authorise your entry into our systems.”

He brought a hand to his collar and nervously adjusted his tie around his neck. Your heart sank as you prepared yourself for the worst. Multiple scenarios rang through your head. They could be notified. You could be fired for attempting unauthorised entry into confidential records. Blake hurriedly reached into his coat pocket in a last-ditch attempt, stopping the young man from approaching higher-ups.

“We are directly associated with Mr. Lau of Lau Security Investments Holdings, and as the official Financial Advisor of Gotham Press Holdings and part of the directorial meeting board, we are granted perfect autonomy in ensuring and cross referencing the accuracy of our financial statements.”

John Blake maintained a stone cold composure, not a single crack in his facade, presenting a separate placeholder card from today’s meeting with the company stamp embossed on its surface. Although, upon closer inspection you could see him grip the sleeves of his dark blue suit in his folded arms. He could fool a silly junior bank teller, but not you unfortunately. You held your breath. Upon hearing the name of the CEO roll off his tongue, the young man inspected the card and his shoulders slackened a considerable amount. He cleared his voice.

“Of course. I will access the statements for you in just a minute.”

He began keying into the laptop in front of him and dialing numbers into his keypad. You suddenly remembered how to breathe as you let out a puff of air held in your lungs. In a wash of relief, you brought your hand to John’s back and gripped onto his suit reassuringly. You could see that he had his eyes downcast, his tight hold on his sleeves loosening. His jaw was still tight and jutted forward. You looked him in the eyes as he was vulnerable for a moment, you softened your gaze as if telling him something.

You don’t have to be so strong anymore.

It was a tough call. You could tell he was scared out of his wits. He didn’t like to lie, he didn’t like to use deceit. You two had abused your positions after all. You had taken advantage of the inexperience of the young man behind the desk. You were surprised he had done it at all. Hell, he had been the one who spontaneously suggested the idea anyway. You understood though. He had infracted his moral code for something bigger and more important. All this went unnoticed by the bank teller who was so engrossed in fumbling about with card keys and entering the right code. You smiled at John encouragingly.

To signal he was done, the bank teller turned his laptop around to face you two. The two of you stared into the records presented on screen. This was your golden opportunity. Blake gave you a look and nodded, and immediately you knew what to do. For him, all signs of remorse had dissipated like cotton candy on a tongue and his senses were on overdrive. The impressive work ethic of Blake had begun to override his emotions and you saw his propensity for achieving results.

You loaded the data into a thumb drive and jammed it back into your laptop. You processed the data with Microsoft SQL. This allowed you to store, read or manipulate the data. Then you loaded the data into Tableau to start data visualisation. Concurrently, you fetched a code for a machine learning algorithm you had worked on and were familiar with. You looked over at Blake as your computer was processing, chewing on your lips as he loaded a graph on his screen. He had been analysing the datasets provided by your company which you had prior access to.

Well, as can be expected, most transactions are non-fraudulent. To find evidence was like finding a needle in a haystack. But you were an expert at detecting outliers. For an imbalanced dataset, you needed to think out of the box. If you projected the sets into a scatter plot, you could visualise the clusters of fraudulent and non-fraudulent transactions. Bingo. You could generate synthetic samples from then on. However, all this prediction was meaningless without insights from Blake. Your work could only substantiate what he was able to find. You tried to make sense of the data and tugged at your hair, nervously shaking a leg. Seemingly in a state of distress, he tugged his hand on his chin with pressure increasing by the second. He was onto something.

When he was done, he shifted your laptop over to his side of the desk and compared both of your graphs and excel tables. After a grating amount of time, he let out a burning stream of air that was searing the walls of his lungs. He looked over at you and nodded solemnly. That meant only one thing, this was it, you guys had done it. You had proven Lau’s fraudulence. He instinctively leaned over to you, voice nothing more than a raspy whisper.

“In more than a few accounts, extra digits were added to the fees recorded.”

He gesticulated towards the data and scrolled in.

“For example here, if the fee initially recorded by the clerk was $5,234, a five was added to the first position reporting the fee as $55,234. In that single month, production fees were overstated by several hundred thousands of dollars. This explains why they could evade taxes so easily.”

You narrowed your eyes. He added more discernment to the situation, a form of scum reading if you will. Of course, he did so in hushed tones, to prevent the bank teller from catching on.

“Not to mention, the dates of the frauds you identified tie in and correlate heavily with reports of organised crime in Gotham.”

Your eyebrows raised and you snapped your head to look at him in disbelief. Never had you imagined things to be this bad. This was a massive case you had uncovered. Blake chuckled lowly, a slender brow quirked incredulously at you with mixed amusement. He was always one to be tickled by your over-dramatically animated reactions to things.

“Always on the ball, aren’t ya kid? Like a true siege machine. I couldn’t have done this without you. Excellent work.”

You felt your face heating up at this statement. You suddenly felt awkward. Your actions suddenly, not within your control, became demure and coy. You even went as far as to attempt to hide your features behind your fingers, as you brought a hand to your face. You hated it when this happened. You could never admit this to yourself. You had always put on a tough front for John. Yet no amount of training could prepare you for moments like this. You thrived on being able to impress him, to prove yourself worthy. That you were no mistake he made.

This revelation was nothing but a testament to the remarkable teamwork and chemistry you two had. It was nothing short of an incredible feat. Your skill sets heavily complemented each other, and your lines of thoughts and cognition heavily resonated together. You truly felt invincible at times with him. You could do anything with him. You could build an empire. You tasted something akin to victory on your tongue, despite not really having won anything yet. It felt like snowflakes had settled on your tongue, except instead of icy coldness you felt a sugary golden warmth. Blake had reached his arm around and patted you on your shoulder reservedly, denoting the conveyance of commendation from a coworker. Shrugging his hands off you, you sent him a sidelong glare for daring to interact with you on such a formal basis, as if you hadn’t skirted past a professional connection long ago.

Your attention was caught on your screen as you realised the data visualisation for Gotham Press Holdings was also complete. You realised that movements of funds to Lau Holdings had increased 342 percent for the past month. This was definitely a suspicious transaction that had gone unreported in the official financial statements. You dug deeper and deeper and you cursed at the power Lau had, and resolved to bring this up to the higher-ups at some point. The ire in realising your company had been pulled into Lau’s heinous mess tore through your chest like a claymore blade, and thoughts raced through your mind. Anger coursed through your veins like a lifeforce in and of itself, tugging at your fingers like puppet strings as they twitched involuntarily. Blake noticed this and called out your name. It was futile. You can’t listen to him like this. You wrenched your attention away from the screen and onto Blake in an attempt to explain the situation and―

Gunshots ripped through splitting the still air, its sound piercing like that of blithe firecrackers, a bangarang seeming to come from nowhere as screams of terror rang. You blinked, hands haphazardly thrown in front of you in reaction, a dulled instinct of your body lost years ago. You blinked again, and you were on the floor all of a sudden, not really sure how you had ended up there. You searched around with your pupils, registering that Blake had an arm tugged around your shoulders and another pulling at your white sleeves. You peeked upwards furtively through the curtains of your hair framing your face, trembling with your chin strained against your sternum to watch men clad in suits with frightening clown masks run through the space.

“Alright everybody, heads down! I said hands up, I’m makin’ a withdrawal here!”

To you, the man had the most venomous voice you’ve heard, straight from the depths of hell. You squeezed your eyes shut, not daring to stare at them as if it were a mortal sin that would grant you the eternal punishment of death if you did. It was a long time ago when you had last been placed in such a compromising situation, since the Batman had taken to cleaning the streets. You forgot the feeling of fear. It was almost invigorating in a sense. This was life on the edge as you know it.

“Obviously we don’t want you doin’ anything with your hands, other than holdin’ on for dear life!”

These words didn’t really mean much to you. Just jumbled sloppy threats, obviously unplanned and entropic in nature. Perhaps they didn’t mean exactly what they were saying. Yet this frightened you so much more. Clowns were unpredictable. You thought back on the various cirques and circuses you had patronised in the past, remembering the many archetypal clown personas they assumed. Their traditional slapstick humour, mischief in demeanor always put you on edge. You never knew what tricks they might pull on you, they were masterful tricksters. You saw the clown pass what looked like a grenade-shaped time bomb to the man at the counter next to you. An epileptic meditation swept over you, foreshadowing the prelude of a nervous collapse. Blake pulled you closer into his form upon seeing the time bomb, caging his arms around you. You were unsure if he did this to comfort you or if it was for his self-reassurance.

“Nobody make a move! Nobody! Stay down!”

One of them lazily swung his gun around, uncaring as he pointed wherever a group of people clambered. You huffed. Clowns and their general nonchalance, clearly exaggerated in their movements. What is this little regard they had for human life? What is human life to them?

You continued watching a clown terrorise a blonde woman behind the counter. You heard an internal time bomb ticking, echoing away as the dissonance of razors on violin strings bled through your ears. The icy fingers of apprehension wrapped tightly around your spine, much like the way Blake held you, they tugged at your bones until they felt ready to tear past your flesh.

Bang!

You jerked your head and out of John Blake’s grasp. You saw an explosive shattering of glass from the main counter which was encircled by a glass and wood partition. The gunswinger had been taken down. A man in a grey suit, who you recognised as the head bank teller, wielded a powerful shotgun. You pressed your wrists together, you still had a fighting chance. This man was a glimmer of hope for the victims. He shot a couple more shells at another clown, but he missed all of them. He let out a yell. You bit down on your bottom lip, nails digging crescent shapes further into your palm. He exuded a sense of confidence and self-assuredness, with an upright posture and puff in his chest unbefitting for someone who has to sit the entire day for his job. He trudged onwards with his mighty steps with more pumps of his shotgun, a masculine energy that was striking enough. You felt a collective sense of relief from the other victims as you all rooted for him in silence.

“You have any idea who you’re stealin’ from? You and your friends are dead!”

You pondered this statement from the grey suited man. What kind of threat was this? It was a minor detail that you could be overthinking. It was definitely out of the ordinary for a generic banker to say something like this. But it all makes sense now, especially with everything Blake had led you to believe, and the realisation dawned upon you. This was indeed a mob bank. And believe that no one who robs a mob bank leaves alive. You started laughing at yourself internally, perhaps you were going insane. Oh how the tables have turned, the only salvation in this situation was that a member of the mob was your only hope in escaping this place alive. It was a bitter realisation, you cursed the irony in the situation. Perhaps Lau had indirectly saved your life, given his ties to organised crime.

You saw the two clowns regroup and discuss something. You noticed that one of them hadn’t spoken the whole time since their arrival, and simply nodded his head fervently at the other. He wore a clown mask that had a blue frown. You recognised him as the one who handed out and unhooked the time bombs. You narrowed your eyes at him. He was too quiet.

The man with the shotgun had missed his last shot as the other clown, the one with the spiked hair, stood up. It seemed that he had emptied the barrel of his shotgun, and fumbled with it within his hands. Oh no. Blake had sunken backwards further into the floor. In a split second, what hope you held onto swiftly dwindled down, you saw some of the other terrorised folks’ faces fall as you let go of your closed fists, the heat of the blood rushing through doing nothing to warm up your cold and clammy hands.

The clown with the blue frown took advantage of this and swiftly stood up, with a sort of careless grace that was strangely unique. Idiosyncratic even, how could that man possess a quirk so paradoxical and contradictory in every sense of the word? He fired a flurry of shots and the man wielding the shotgun shook violently, falling to the floor in an undignified manner with the clinking of bullets ringing onto the floor.

The clown quirked his head to the side with his eyes trained on the fallen man with mild intrigue, almost in lackadaisical amusement. It was patronising, frankly. A mockery of a quizzical look. It reminded you of the morbid fascination the beautiful people had shown you earlier today. Your face twisted into a snarl. Your gut was right about this man. He was dangerous, not your average goon. He looked like he did this on the regular for fun.

The clown with the spiked hair squabbled with him over something that seemed to be important. But he still said nothing. He stayed while the other clown left to head to where you presumed to be the vault. He walked down the aisles between desks with leisurely footsteps, and a relaxed hunch in his posture that looked feigned. He swung his arms around his body candidly, like how one would on a leisurely stroll when you were out on a boring trip with your family. His masked eyes swiped across every gentle shadow the room forged. He was extremely observant. More so than the rest, as he constantly took note of the surroundings and mapped the location out. However, he only gave passing glances to the people on the floor, as if they weren’t really there at all. He didn’t seem to care at all that he was, as a matter of fact, carrying out a godforsaken bank heist right this very moment. Was this a joke to him?

Nothing could dissipate this horrible feeling you had about this man, how gut-wrenching it felt to be in his presence. You tried to stare at John Blake covertly, trying to search if he had found out a way to get out of this mess alive. But he had his eyes trained forward and hands gripping at the floor tiles, seemingly paralysed with fear after the man with the mask walked past you two. The man looked at his watch, with an unreal sense of patience. You tried to get Blake’s attention, but it was no use. He was scared stiff. You dared not move as you were sure that the clown would have no qualms shooting you then and there. You observed as he turned his back to you, and you noticed he had messily dyed, faded green hair. You craned your head. What kind of twisted criminal was this...?

The spiked hair masked clown returned with many navy duffel bags, some on his shoulders and some dragged across the marble floor. The other clown lugged a couple bags along, pooling them at the center of the back entrance, in front of three wooden framed glass doors.

“That’s a lot of money!” The spiked hair clown jibed, clearly in greed. “If this Joker guy was so smart, he’d had us bring a bigger car!”

The clown with the blue frown turned his back to the other clown. Immediately when he did this, a heavy clicking noise was heard. You noticed a sort of hesitance in his movements, realising he had made a mistake. The other clown had turned on him, reloaded his handgun and pointed it straight at his back. The air was tense. He slowly turned his head to face him again, almost defensively so that he wouldn’t trigger the other clown to make any rash decisions.

“I’m bettin’ the Joker told you to kill me as soon as we loaded the cash.”

The hand holding the gun was quivering. Whatever game it was that they were playing, it was dangerous. You noticed the two of them were the only clowns left. Whoever this ‘Joker’ person they talked about was, he was calculative. He managed to turn them all on each other, and they weeded each other out. The man with the frown pulled back his sleeve to check his watch, and grumbled. His life was on the line and he was still playing games. Your brows tightened. Enough of this feigned indifference.

“No, no, no, no. I kill the bus... Driver.”

This was the first time he spoke this whole time. He sounded like how a real clown possibly would. A raspy timbre from years of smoking and a nasally tone in wry jest. At the corner of your eyes, you saw the fallen bank teller try to turn his body, but to no avail. He seemed affected by this statement, for reasons unknown. The clown side-stepped, out of the gun’s line of sight.

“Bus driver?”

The man holding the gun delayedly tracked him with his gun, stepping backwards tentatively in tandem with the other clown. The clown continued stepping to the side, acting defenseless with his hands in front of his waist as a gesture of nonaggression despite holding a gun, to cajole the other man. They kept at a distance apart and circled each other. The clown with the frown cocked his head to the side as he stepped, as though in confusion at the situation at hand. However, it felt unnatural to you. This simple act was definitely deliberate. You could almost see the gears turning in his head. Whatever it was, he was cold and calculated. Every one of his actions seemed carefully thought out and he did not do pointless things. He only spoke when absolutely necessary. Every move he has made thus far, he had done so with intention and purpose.

The air hung with uncertainty. Blake, seeming to have regained his senses with this distraction, turned his body to face you. The man with the gun grew impatient with this lack of an answer and he shook his head.

“What bus drive-”

In the blink of an eye, the wooden frames of the doors burst apart and glass flew everywhere. A yellow school bus had crashed through the gates like a battering ram. It drove directly into where the clown holding the gun stood and at break-neck speed, knocked him out cold. The bank was silent at that moment, not really knowing how to register or react to this turn of events. John Blake forced your attention on him and took full advantage of this distraction, whispering to you.

“Whatever happens, when this is over make a run for it. Through that hole in the wall.”

You gave a grunt of acknowledgement. The door slid open to reveal another goon with a clown mask.

“School’s out, time to go. That guy’s not gettin’ up, is he?”

Not one for small talk, the clown with the frown threw him the duffel bags to load them into the bus. The other clown continued jibing in excitement, especially after seeing how many filled bags of cash they had to toss into the bus. He threw the last duffel bag at him. Having just arrived, the talkative man clearly did not understand the circumstances that had led to this point. You felt bad for him as he seemed naive.

“What happened to the rest of the guys?”

Without even looking at him, the clown with the blue frown offhandedly shot him with a round of bullets. You squeezed your eyes shut. You could not get used to this nasty sound. He did not even give him the time of day. Not a single care in the world. He ambled past you again to pull the last duffel bag and tossed it into the bus. The question of why he always gave this impression of detachment from the reality in front of you remains unanswered.

“Think you’re smart huh?”

He pulled his hand onto the edges of the doorframe and was about to climb into the bus, but he turned around. Perhaps this was not a part of his calculations. He had one foot on the steps, but pulled his foot back down and adjusted his mask to stare at who it was daring enough to speak up to him. The bank teller struggled and floundered on the ground, coughing and sputtering. He curled into himself even more, much like a fetus would, looking absolutely pathetic. He was fighting back a grimace on his face.

“The kind that hired youseㅡThey’ll just do the same to you…”

The masked man’s interest was seemingly piqued by his speech of open defiance. He brought his arm behind his back into his back pocket and staggered across the floor. That couldn’t-care-less grace acted again, his attention wavering as his gaze flitted between the man on the floor and the surroundings. He pulled something out of his pocket. You could not recognise what the object was.

No, why couldn’t you have just kept your mouth shut?

“Oh, criminals in this town used to believe in things… Honour, respect.”

The bank teller spat. The masked man continued walking and stopped before him, imposing. There was a momentous promise in his gravity, a hint of catastrophe in the tilt of his head. He bent down and crouched to the fallen man’s level, bringing the object to his face.

“Look at you. What do you believe in huh? WHAT DO YOU BELIEVE IN?”

He shouted the last statement, blood-curdling and grinding around the edges. It seemed to be a last final effort display of dominance, his ego refusing to allow him to submit before he was stifled and his words fell off with a gagging noise. The man had shoved a black cylindrical device into his mouth. You felt the same internal razors on violins escalate in intensity, and your heart constricted with the crescendo.

“I believe,”

The masked man started, this time his voice different, sounding smooth like butter. It felt like a balmy breeze sending chills down your spine, wrapping around your neck with smooth fingers. It was laced with an anarchic menace.

“Whatever doesn’t kill you simply makes you,”

He removed his mask, and looked to the side. Then, he looked down at him again. No one amongst you could comprehend what they were looking at. The violins had reached its loudest forte, and in a thunderous roar it came crashing down. He gave a slight twist of his head.

“Stranger.”

His tone shifted and he uttered that last word with his nasally rasp instead. His eyebrows lifted a fraction off his face, in mock honesty. He smiled and withdrew quickly, vanishing away from the scene like a shadowy wraith.

“Kid, run.” Blake urged. You just stared at that spot where the apparition appeared.

You had just seen a ghost.

Silly little girl. Maybe there is a ghost, maybe... It’s only you.

“Hey, are ya listening? Get ready.”

He was a phantom. You could not scratch off this disturbing feeling about him. Thousands of spiders had crawled up your arms to reach your face, paralysing you in your wake as dread was siphoned into your head, numbing your brain. No matter how much you gouged and clawed at your skin, the arachnids could not be torn off. You thought back on his face. He was soaked in nothing but pure malice, doused as if an arsonist had poured gasoline on him. You saw him enter the bus and slid the door shut, a cord extending from the back of his pocket to the man still on the floor. Your eyes focused onto the black cylindrical gadget in his mouth

Alarmed, you snapped out of it.

It finally occurred to you, this man was about to die. This man who valiantly fought for you people and tried to save the bank. You didn’t care at this point if he was part of the Mafia or whatever blasted gang it was that ran about in Gotham. He was a citizen of Gotham, no less than you. You broke free of the grasps of the arachnids, and stood up and ran to the center of the back entrance, heels clicking sharply against the cold floor. Blake watched your back in horror, swapping glances between you and the yellow school bus which hadn’t left. You could feel gazes of scrutiny, all unsure of what to think of your spur-of-the-moment effort.

You had to do something about this. You made up your mind, there’s no convincing you out of this. Not even from Blake.

What about me?

The ghost flashed in your mind.

You ran so fast, when you stopped in front of him you felt the whiplash of inertia propelling you further. Snapping out of it, you bent down in front of him and tried to yank the butt of what was in his mouth. You looked him in the eyes, noticing how wide and blue they were, and they were close to watering. You frowned, tears threatening to break at the corner of your own eyes. You felt as helpless as he did as you were unable to pry the object out of his mouth.

You attempted again, trying to attack it from a different angle. You tried to ignore and dull the twinging sensation pricking your nose. Your brows pinched upwards bridging at a peak, your methods administered were to no avail. The man looked at you as if his life flashed before his eyes. You can’t give up on him. Not with the way he practically stared into your soul.

“Hey, listen to me alright. We will get you out.”

Your voice was shaky. You stared into his eyes with determination. You observed how his mouth curved around the object. His jaw was like a vice in a workshop space clamping on tightly to the object. A vice was made of metal however.

“Okay, this is going to hurt. But don’t you worry it will work.”

You used your fingers to pick up the drool lapping around his mouth. Then, with the warning you gave him prior, you forcefully jammed your lubricated fingers into the sides of the entrance of his mouth. He let out a long and drawn out moan of pain as you hooked your fingers around the foreign object, wrangling it out of his mouth, feeling the scrape of his teeth against your fingers and the smooth walls behind the hollows of his cheek.

At long last, you trawled the object. However, while you held it triumphantly in your hands, the bus had driven off with a force that pulled you backwards slightly. You felt the string dislodge and it released a noxious gas that bellowed columns like thickets around you and the bank teller. The small dose had proven to be debilitating, and you coughed and moved your hand to cover your nose. It burned. In a swift motion, you tossed the smoke bomb to the other end of the room, something you should have done long ago.

That’s too bad then. Maybe next time.

You collapsed onto the ground from the strong inhale of the gas that filled your lungs, finding it difficult to get back on your feet. It scorched your air passages. You heard the sound of hurried and loud footsteps frantically pounding against the floor tiles as the people were running towards the hole in the wall. You tried to grab onto the man to lug him as you crawled, but it soon proved to be difficult. You cursed as you lost your strength.

However, before you knew it, you were suddenly hoisted onto the shoulders of a man, your upper torso hanging down his back. Disoriented and sputtering in anguish, tears clouded your vision as you tried to spot the bank teller and you yelled.

“Someone-help the man who was shot!”

“Still worryin’ about him at a time like this? Not sure if that’s very smart of you.”

This voice was unfamiliar. You couldn’t recognize it. The man who carried you was running towards the entrance and you felt this in the bob of your torso. You knocked your arms frantically at his lower back, though it probably felt quite pathetic given your current state.

“Relax, relax. Someone else’s got him.”

You relented upon hearing that, and thanked him for telling you that. As you exited the building you looked forward and your vision was blurry, however you could make out Blake catching up to you. He held a stack of laptops and tablets. He was panting and when he made it, he caught your hand and clasped it in his. This reassured you. You felt a little safer.

The adrenaline was draining out of your system quickly. The lightheaded fatigue was settling in. You felt like you were in a bad dream. The sounds of traffic and sirens whirred past you in a blur, sounding louder than they should have. You felt the comings of a migraine swallow around your head. It almost felt like your world was spinning, and you just wanted to sit down.

The recoils in the steps were too much. Your stomach lurched, and you clutched at your mouth. You tried looking at Blake, but you couldn’t see him. He looked ghoulish. Like a creature of the underworld.

He lurked under a veil of alabaster, blotted onto his canvas were two black cavernous holes gouged in place of his eyes, deep like the plunge basins of a calamitous waterfall, one that roared with stygian ink. But this was perhaps not the most terrifying part about him.

You saw a bright spark in front of your eyes, unsure of what was happening. Blake squeezed your palm even tighter. It must’ve been the bombs from earlier going off.

His grin extended far beyond the realms of what would be normal, unsettling and sinister as a macabre smile was carved deep into his white flesh, dripping blood red over ridges and grooves that swirled and curved along the sides of his mouth, peaks pushed together and formed after millenniums of cataclysmic terrain shifts.

You gave Blake’s hand a crushing grip. Anything to snap out of this terror.

When he grinned he revealed a set of discoloured teeth, yellowed and rancid with dread, the earth no longer fertile and only bore fruits of death.

All of a sudden, you could see and you saw people gathered around, safe and sound. Blake had a concerned expression.

You sniggered inwardly, looks like that clown had a miscalculation in his steps. All the small victories mattered to you. The running had stopped and the feeling of vertigo had been alleviated slightly, but was not gone completely. The man set you down as you slumped heavily against the sidewalk. You looked around you and you were suffocated by the imposing high rise buildings of Gotham City.

“Hey, look―About that comment regardin’ the man who was shot…”

You steeled yourself to stare at the man who saved your life, pushing past how dizzy looking up made you feel.

“Look, I’m sorry about that alright. If you hadn’t done that… Then perhaps others like me wouldn’ta done what’s right.”

Still in a state of befuddlement, you stared at him blankly. Slowly, you registered the meaning of his statement and a blush crept over your cheeks.

“That’s really all I have to say. Uh, thank you, I guess.”

With that, your mystery saviour left you with Blake. You wished you had at least been in the right mind enough to ask for the man’s name. John Blake skirted around you and supported your weight as he sat beside you. He smirked at the ground, an unreadable look in his downcast eyes.

“You know kid, I really hate to admit this to you. And I’m only really saying this because you’re in this sorry state.”

He flicked your forehead with his fingers. You reeled backwards and patted your hand across the area where he inflicted his damage.

“That was pretty damn badass of you back there. But you could have died.”

Groggily, this barely registered in your head, and your head lolled about, the motion lulling you into a dream. You were out, and your head rested against Blake’s shoulder. Alarmed, he recalled that you had taken a direct hit from the smoke bomb. He had to act fast.

“Guess we have to drag your sorry ass to the hospital.”

He stared forward at the ambulances arriving, dragged your arm across his shoulders and tightened his grip on you, preparing to lift you over there. Before the ambulances stopped, he looked motionless at the ground. He felt an uneasy sense of discomfort build within his chest. What had he done in that whole debacle? Looked on at the sidelines like a sitting duck?

A word rang in his mind over and over again like the sirens coming close.

Coward.

He shook his head and rubbed his chin. He hated nothing more than the feeling of uselessness. He always wanted to contribute something, he shifted his gaze to look at you. He was stunned by the display of courage and compassion. You outdid him in your generosity. He couldn’t even do anything to save you, for crying out loud. The look in his eyes wavered, full of convoluted emotion. One thing’s for sure, he was clearly disappointed in himself.

You performed way better than he had expected in the data interpretation too. He had indeed found a diamond in the rough.

Kid, if you could realise your potential on your own…

He tried to smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

He thought back on the words spoken by the man who saved you. Your kind act has unknowingly inspired others. Your compassion and spurred on further acts of compassion. He was right. This strengthened his hope and belief in the people of Gotham. This city was worth fighting for. Fighting the conflict that reigned over his emotions, he had to arrive at a resolve.

Sighing, he muttered a curse under his breath. Then, he hoisted you up and staggered over to the paramedics.

###

Flinging the mask to the side, he emptied his gloved hand and saw it lightly bounce against a cushioned bus seat. Then he turned around to wind the doors shut. He looked down to observe the duffel bags, roughly gauging if this heist alone was enough for him. He was hoping that he wouldn’t need to carry out another heist for a long time. He stared at the shotgun he held in his other glove. A very useful trinket he snatched from today’s heist. What a steal, he thought to himself. He was about to jump over the duffel bags to head to the driver’s seat but something caught his eye as he peered out the frosted glass pane.

A girl? What is she doing?

She bent down facing the wasted bank teller and tried pulling at the cylinder in his mouth. He observed with light boredom, unimpressed by her antics. He jammed the smoke bomb far too deep into the vice grip of his jaw. There was no use, really.

Foolish little girl.

She re-angled herself, to get a better grip on the smoke bomb. He could discern her appearance from this view. She wore a white coat and had her hair tied up in some type of bun? What did she think she was, some type of doctor? This ticked him off. He narrowed his eyes. While he was making a pretty baseless assumption about a random girl in a bank, it couldn’t change the fact that his first impression of her was that she was a healthcare worker.

He stretched his lips, jutting his jaw forward. For some reason, this made him irrationally annoyed. He never did like healthcare workers. Doctors and nurses are perhaps among some of the most prestigious jobs in society today, and have been for pretty much the entirety of history and human civilisation. As the front lines combating disease, they are often lauded and praised as heroes for their sacrifices, saving lives while putting their own lives on the line. They give up many things for their medical careers.

This was laughable. He gave a snort, how funny is it that everyone reveres and idolises the motivations of such people. As if they were actual messengers from the divine being, God himself. What they don’t realise is that people lie. They always do. They always say that they’re mainly doing it for altruistic purposes, because they feel fulfilled saving other people. As if prestige and money aren’t a thing. No one truly wants to be a pawn in war.

He licked his lips and peered down at the naive girl. There will come a time when she realises that helping others is asinine. The reasons for which she has to learn on her own. She will only be weak the more she believes her morals to be better than everyone else’s.

And weakness only disgusts him.

He rolled his eyes watching her fail yet again. This was a waste of his time, people really love doing pointless things. We live in an amusing world. He paid her no more heed.

“Doctors and nurses are not heroes.”

With that, he braced his hands on the seats lining both sides of the aisles, hoisting himself over the haphazardly strewn hoard of duffel bags to the other side. His cable extended further from his back pocket, the sound lightly scraping the shell of his ears. He clambered into the driver’s seat and landed unceremoniously as his limbs were thrown forward at the impact. He shifted forward, widened his palms and then scrunched his fingers as he searched around for the engine start. After pulling the knob, he smacked both of his hands carelessly on the steering wheel. He shook his head a few times and sighed.

“At the end of the day, they’ll always be martyred against their will.”

#joker #Heath Ledger Joker #ledger joker #ledger!joker x reader #the dark knight

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positivelyterable · 4 years

Text

Anyway, I wrote a thing about Death. TW for very short implied self harm as well as the discussion of animal death.

Everyone's aware of the eerie feeling that comes when you wake up around 3 am, feeling like something is watching you. There are generally two reactions to that feeling, the uneasiness that dawns on you and the panic that settles in, making you jump and search - surely there's nothing actually in your room, right?

Except, for them, that feeling is familiar, it's embedded into them at this point. Insomnia does that to people. The slight panic picking up in your heart, the feeling that something could be watching you, the uneasiness that crawls up your back, for them, it's become something of an annoyance more than outright fear. Waking up at odd hours is common and nothing has ever been there before, so despite the nagging feeling nipping at their anxiety, why would there be something there now?

Except...this time when they open their eyes, there's a figure looming over them.

Surely, the proper reaction is fear. The proper reaction, from the proper person, is to scream, to run, to fight, to do something. But that's just...not what they do. Instead, they prop themselves up on one elbow, blinking and grabbing onto their glasses to allow the figure to take better shape; partially a ploy to make sure they aren't just seeing things again. When the figure is still there, their heartbeat picks up a small bit and their anxiety, well, it runs rampant. What if it's an intruder that's going to murder them? As long as it's quick... Or what if it's actually something otherworldly? They've never met anything otherworldly despite their interest in it and continued disbelief in it. One of those, you have to see it to believe it, people. That fear, though, that anxiety running through them gets stifled down. It's 3 in the morning and they've only been asleep for roughly two hours and something is standing over them and really, they'd better react quickly lest things get weird.

"Hello."

There's a silence for just a moment after that breaks the air as if the creature is debating just how to respond. And finally, in a drawn-out, hard to place sound, they answer.

"Hello."

Now, something had been established and the voice that came from the creature? Person? It was hard to tell given how dark everything was, it merely seemed like a looming figure in a cloak. Certainly not something a burglar would wear. Still, its voice was...well, otherworldly. It was deep, smooth, like a bed of velvet, but also soft and comforting, like a warm hug. It made them feel...well, curious for sure, but also a sense of ease, a sense of peace.

"I feel like I should ask but...." The words died from their lips as they grabbed their phone to shine on the creature, wanting to see a bit better. Only, when they did so, the cloak lit up, looking like old, weathered leather, but nothing came from shining it towards their face. Where something should have been, in between the edges of their hood, was just...nothing.

"What -"

The voice came again, the comforting presence once again being noticeable as they spoke.

"I am Death."

Now that would be cause for concern, wouldn't it? But no panic came, no overwhelming urge to cry, no fear, just curiosity. Why was Death standing above them in the middle of the night?

"I don't understand. I haven't...well, I know I had a rough night but I didn't..."

Confusion lit up their features as they set the phone back, finding it unnecessary to keep the light on when they could see nothing anyway. Besides, Death was standing in their room, mere inches from them.

"Fear not, for I have not come for you. It is merely a coincidence that you are seeing me now."

"Well, if you haven't come for me...Oh, oh please no -" Now there was panic rising through them as the realization hit them. They weren't scared, not for themselves, at least, and not really at all, but the idea of losing such an important part of themselves filled them with grief.

"All things must come to an end."

"Yes, but it's not fair. He's the only thing keeping me going half the time and and and - please. I can go instead, you're Death, you can do that, can't you? Take someone else?"

The creature tilted their head as they looked over the figure practically begging in front of them. There was a line in their work, in their existence. It wasn't as if they often had the ability to even choose who was to go, let alone did it much matter to them. Everything had its time, be it the fields of flowers or the long lives of humans and the companions they kept alongside to give their lives sense of meaning. People had begged before, of course, whenever there was enough time to see Death. Moments where they were losing loved ones or even for their own lives, bargaining was a part of the process. The only problem was, well, Death was quite fond of humanity and while it was their job to pass them on, it did become very hard when times like this happened.

"I've heard you call out to me many times before, my dear. Why is that?"

The look of confusion on their face in response to Death's question must have been something. This was Death they were talking to, surely, Death had dealt with this many times before, worse even than their own fight with it, right?

"I mean," they stuttered, trying to form some sort of coherent thought. "Surely, you're very close to those with depression? I mean, you have to be. There are people who..."

"I am well aware. I'm not a stranger to it, I'm merely asking why you've called out to me so many times." Death liked to hear reasoning in moments like this, moments when they actually had a chance to talk, a chance to see just what it was that drove some humans. A bit of morbid curiosity, you could suppose.

"I - well - I'm tired. That's all it is. I'm exhausted. It just seems...easier."

A simple reasoning, something that held so much weight without delving too deeply into it. Death understood, of course, Death understood anything that had to do with their realm and this one was deeply intertwined with their own. Still...

"I do not often make the choice," the voice broke out again. "I do not kill. I merely collect the souls that are owed to me. I do what has to be done. However..."

Small extensions here and were something Death allowed, only in certain situations. And they were feeling particularly kind tonight.

"I shall give you one more day. Tomorrow night, at the same time, I shall come by again to collect."

Their eyes lit up, though whether it was from thankfulness or the tears threatening on the edge of their eyes, it was hard to tell. It was something, to have a moment to say goodbye, even if it would hurt so much more to be counting down the minutes.

"Thank you." __

The thoughts going through their head the next night were interesting to say the least. Death was real. Well, of course, death was real but Death was real. Personified. Alive. Well, maybe not alive but walking and talking and existing. That had to mean something, didn't it? What else was real, what else was out there, was Death the only thing of the occult to actually exist? Really, this was going to create a crisis but at the same time, it gave them, once again, a sense of comfort.

Though that sense of comfort didn't last much longer. It was nearing 3 am once again and they couldn't sleep, their cat curled up in their arms, wanting to spend as much time with him as they could before Death returned. He was sleeping soundly, of course. How was he supposed to know of anything that had transpired last night? It was going to be hard to let go, god, it was going to be hard to let go, but their tears had already been shed for now and they merely wanted to hold onto them for a few more minutes.

When the time came, they were ready. Still curled up beside them was their cat as they sat up with their legs over the bed, waiting.

And right on time, the figure came. It was an odd experience, to be paying attention to the way Death appeared. It wasn't sudden, rather slow really, like they'd faded into existence right there on the spot.

"Hello."

Death dealt with this many a time. Usually, even the screaming and begging couldn't get them to change their mind but here, there was none of that. The human seemed calm, collected even, and the hello was less filled with dread of the moment they knew was coming and filled rather with a politeness that someone used when speaking to a stranger.

"Hello. Are you ready?"

Would they ever be? Of course, not. But life was fleeting and there would plenty of time to grieve afterwards.

"No. But before you...well, do your job, could I ask you a few questions? If you don't mind. I imagine you're very...busy."

Once again, Death's head tilted at the odd request. People were usually too focused on the fact that they were speaking to Death and what that meant for them or the people they loved to really ask anything other than for Death not to take their lives or loved ones. Perhaps this was even what this was, but they seemed far too calm for that. Even those who were accepting didn't ask questions this calmly.

"I suppose I shall allow you your questions. Do keep in mind, however, that none of your questions will change the outcome of this."

They nodded, reaching over to stroke the sleeping cat gently before turning their gaze back to Death. There were millions of questions they could ask, things that evaded even the smartest of people that Death could know, answers all of humanity asked themselves late at night. But they wanted none of that, really, none of the usual. Death had to have questions like that constantly and if they answered, well, perhaps no one was meant to keep the answers to those questions.

"Why don't you have a face?"

All Death's answers before this had been calm, monotoned, direct. But with a question like that, the response they got was a chuckle, something that brought a smile to their lips, light and fleeting. Carefully, in response to the question, Death pulled down their hood. It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the vision in front of them, finding Death to look vaguely familiar. A mixture of a lovely face that they'd definitely seen somewhere but just couldn't place it. It was beautiful, really, all the right angles, all the right features, even lovely blue eyes that were staring right back at them. They quite liked blue eyes.

"That...doesn't seem right, does it? What are the chances that you happen to look exactly the way I pictured you? Or did I happen to picture the way you looked on purpose?"

"My dear, I come in many forms. Should I so choose, I come in the form most pleasing to you. I can look however I like, whether it be any of your genders, any of your preferences, any of your curiosities. I am Death. Death comes in every form."

"That's a very good answer. But it's not an answer to a question I asked. Why didn't you have a face last night? When I tried to look, I could see nothing but darkness. And here you are smiling at me with the most beautiful face I've ever imagined. But I want to know what you really look like, what form you take of your choosing."

Quite honestly, the response from them threw Death quite off guard. The small smile on their lips dropped to fit with the curiosity of the rest of their features.

"Most people do not ask such things. I assure you, should I show you what I truly looked like, it would scare you."

"Why?"

"I am Death."

They laughed softly, leaning closer to Death on the edge of the bed, hands settled beside them. It was such a silly answer.

"That's a silly answer. I've seen horrible things done to innocent people, we've put ourselves through war and famine and poverty, we've done terrible things that should never have been thought up to each other. Humanity is cruel, Death, of which I'm sure you're aware. The images that the human brain conjures up are ridiculous. Oh...and I've seen tons of horror movies."

Once again, Death was left with curiosity at the responses of this human. Their form intrinsically inspired fear, even if it was relatively tame compared to the monstrosities humanity could think up. Death was something humanity was afraid of, individually or as a whole, it did not matter. And yet here this human was, calling Death silly.

Another moment of silence stretched before them and what sounded like a sigh came from Death's human lips. It was dark enough in the room that features could be obscured but their eyes had adjusted enough so that they could clearly make out the form in front of them, even as it changed. And change it did. All the flesh previously on their features was gone and they were left with something akin to a skull. As they looked on, however, they were unable to settle on any features that were formed. There was no solid skeleton staring back at them with empty eye sockets, rather, there was what seemed to be an ever-moving outline of a skull, swirling wisps of what could be construed as smoke making up the bone structure. After a few moments, the swirling settled down and the structure became more clear but still, the wisps never quite stopped.

It was breathtaking, really. Something so solid to create but still moving, never quite forming what could be considered touchable. And it made sense to them. Everything death was ever portrayed in, they were portrayed as a skeleton or corpse. And really, they weren't far off, because how hard was it to capture the reality of it? How difficult was it to take something ever-changing into something solid? Instead of shrinking back from Death, finding the form too much to hold onto, they stood, wanting to get a better look. Curiosity had always gotten the better of them.

"Can I touch you?"

"You cannot touch something that does not exist."

"But you do exist. You're right here, standing in front of me. I can see you. Your face may be...immaterial, but your clothing is solid, you are solid, I feel like I could reach out and touch you- Perhaps that would be rather rude, though, wouldn't it? Or it could kill me. Isn't that what happens in literature? Touching Death kills you?"

The action of Death tilting their head now was odd, the wisps of them moving in tandem but against each other within the same moment. Without the hood, it was hard to recognize as a movement at all. A hand rose from the mess of cloak that surrounded Death and it was as their face was, solid but not solid. It looked like a human hand, like something of substance and not the lack there of, but created out of something akin to smoke rather than flesh and bone.

Hesitation was their first response. Of all the times they'd called out to Death, of all the close calls, all the curiosities, never had they been face to face with Death. It was daunting, terrifying for sure. But surely, Death knew what they were doing. So carefully, they reached out to grab onto Death's hand.

The first feeling was that of any normal handshake. It felt solid, firm, tangible, like a human's hand, but devoid of either warmth or chill. A moment of holding onto Death's hand and the smoke, wisps, what really were you supposed to call those? started to rise up and around their own hand. It felt soft to the touch, like the brush of a particularly comfy blanket, light enough that it could have been a feather, and ever-moving like the rest of them. It was certainly odd.

They found themselves focusing back on Death's face, taking in what little of features they could manage. This was a gift, really, to be able to meet Death face to face, to be able to touch Death, to be able to conversate with something so embedded in humanity without being human itself.

"You are not afraid."

"No. No, I'm not. If anything I'm quite...how do I put this? I'm rather intrigued."

Something similar to a smile formed through the swirling of their features and their hand dropped, leaving a small gap between the two of them once again.

"It is not often I find those who are not afraid of me. At least, not like this. Death is still a fear rooted deep in all of humanity but to be face to face with me and not recoil..."

They smiled in response to Death and moved to settle back down on the bed, looking back up towards them. "It sounds awfully lonely being Death. And dreadful, really. How - you must be terribly busy."

"I can be many places at once."

"Makes sense. Could you...this is going to be a very odd request. Could you...come back?"

That was a very odd request indeed. No one ever asked for Death's company, let alone if they brushed close enough with them to begin with. And here this human was, asking for Death to come back despite the circumstances of which they had come back in the first place. Still, to have someone ask such a thing was a curiosity within itself...

"Why?"

"I think you're...interesting. I mean, you're Death. And you're calm and pleasant and I would imagine, lonely. So, would you come back? It doesn't have to be for long. Death is constant but...perhaps a few more talks like this would be appreciated, on my end or yours. I'm sure my company would be rather boring but...it would be a nice change of pace, wouldn't it?"

Death hummed curiously as they contemplated everything the human had just said. They weren't asking for Death to change their mind on collecting or even asking Death to give them the answers to humanities biggest questions on death. They were merely asking for the company.

And perhaps it did sound nice.

Without an answer right away, Death closed the gap between the two of them and leaned down a hand to brush over the sleeping cat, resulting in a quiet purr in response. Their gaze fell upon the human as they pulled their hand away, the cat perfectly undisturbed.

"I believe, perhaps, another extension may be granted."

#my writing #death #idk what to tag this honestly #tw: self harm #tw: animal harm #????#like #what else do i tag this as

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