Crossroads

The blast was disappointing. When the small explosions met wet, rotting wood, it didn't spark into a glorious, ferocious entity of flames. It had the same effect as lightly blowing the bottom of a house of cards; it simply collapsed onto itself, albeit with a wheeze and a spiralling column of thin, black smoke. Kyle was also wheezing beside her, hands on his knees and anxious eyes staring up at the ruins of the building.

"We... actually did that." he didn't seem too affected by the potency of the explosion.

Chest shuddering with each breath, she looked over at him and let out a small, satisfied smile. "Yeah, we did."

Their eyes locked, and her smile spread wider, skin buzzing slightly with the left over-adrenaline and... something else. If Hayley had to pinpoint a moment when she began to actually... love Kyle, it would be that. But that idyllic moment was shattered as a new wave of pain rippled through her arm.

"Shit." she spat out through gritted teeth. "Kyle, help. My arm."

His hands were shaking slightly as he peeled off her jacket and rolled up her white shirt; Hayley was trembling too, and it only got worse as she glanced down at her arm. The bullet had skimmed her, (thank you Jesus) but had taken a whole lot of flesh with it, leaving a gaping, grinning red streak up her shoulder. If she peered and panicked hard enough, she could almost make out the white glint of bone.

"Okay, you're gonna have to hold it up." Kyle tentatively tapped her injured arm, a grimace permanently fixed on his face. "I'm not sure where we can get bandages -"

"-I have some in the trunk. Oh, there's also a cardboard box; can you get that for me as well?"

"...okay." he peered at her suspiciously, "I may take a couple of minutes, just stay right there."

"Got it."



The couple of minutes ticked over into a shitload of minutes.

Hayley had resigned to lying on the soot-stained, icy cold pavement, hand still painfully stretching out to the pitch-black sky and eyes half-closed. Her thoughts weren't on Kyle, or on the Joker, or on Sam - they were on her duffel bag. She wished she had it with her right now. It had her favourite shotgun in it, along with a little more dynamite, and a small box of gasoline - she probably should have brought that with her. Maybe the explosion would have been more fun.

This sucked. Her toes, fingers and nose were absolutely numb, and the rest of her was stinging and prickling with cold. When Kyle finally came back, she could use the gasoline in the cardboard box, tie up her arm, set the place ablaze and go home. She turned her injured arm slightly to the right, so she could peer at the small brown watch wrapped around her wrist. Sam's watch.

1:49

"One, two, three, four..." she muttered under her breath. If Kyle didn't return in 60 seconds, she would get up and look for him.



"Fifty, fifty one, fifty two, fifty three..." panic was beginning to bubble in her chest, and she drew out the numbers slowly, trying to buy Kyle some more time before she really began to freak out and search for him.

"Fifty four... fifty five, fifty six-"

Her half-closed lids shot open at the sound; a loud crack, followed swiftly by a bang. A car backfiring?

"Fifty seven... Fifty eight..." she began to stand up, arm still raised like an idiot and wide green eyes probing the absolute blackness. There was a rumbling sound in the distance, almost like thunder.

"Fifty nine..." the thumping of footsteps.

"Sixty."

1:50

A pale figure cut through the blackness as Kyle scrambled towards her, bandages and and a box of gasoline tucked underneath his arms. His eyes were blown open, and he was breathing heavily, but before she could ask him what the hell happened she heard it.

The screech of tires, followed by a chillingly familiar laughter. Coming down the street.

"Fuck. Give me the gasoline."

"We have to go -"

"Just give me the fucking gasoline!" she screeched, with a ferocity that startled Kyle - a newfound fear in his face, he tentatively threw the red bottle at her, and glanced behind him.

"Just run, I can handle this." She frantically splashed the foul-smelling liquid wherever she could, crinkling her nose at the smell - before merely chucking the bottle over the smoking wreckage. Just as she withdrew the matches from her pocket, however, she heard the slam of a car door.



"Welllll, this isn't that impressive. I was hoping for a little more show from you." a cold chill began to trickle down her spine, and she slowly turned around, matches gripped in her hand.

"If you give me a moment, I'm sure you'll be satisfied." she lifted up the box and rattled it, small smirk on her lips - but her voice was fucking shaking. It was so dark, she couldn't see anything - she couldn't see him. But that also meant he couldn't see her, right?

She struck the little match alight, and before the light could give away her position, threw it onto the debris; half-dreading the light that would inevitably...illuminate the situation.

The gasoline did its work, and the ex-warehouse exploded in a burst of bright, dizzying flames. The heat flashed against her skin, and she staggered back a few steps, quickly turning away from the blast.

Only to be greeted with a fucking pipe, slammed into the side of her skull; twice in two weeks wasn't healthy. She staggered back, but the second brutal hit sent her sprawling across the cold floor with a wheeze - she could feel warm blood and the heat from the flames against her skin and she could smell burnt hair - and another hit, this time across her ribcage, squeezed a tear or two out of her clenched eyes. And above all else, above the crackling of the fire and the screaming of her wounds (and probably her own mouth), she could hear him cackling.

"You motherfucker." she spat out, kicking frantically in an attempt to get him and his goddamn pipe away from her - she planted a foot in his stomach and shoved him away, which gave her a few seconds to scramble upright and snatch the small, blunt knife that was laying in the half-singed carboard box. It was used mainly for opening packages, but it would have to do.

The pipe swung towards her head, and she ducked; but in her vunerable, crouched position, it was easy for him to shoot his foot out and send her smacking against concrete. There was the smell of burning hair again. Desperate, she lashed out with the blunt knife and earnt a grunt of pain - and another hit with the pipe.

"That wasn't very nice." he growled, digging one end of the pipe into her stomach and leaning on the other end, almost casually - she whimpered and wriggled, like a worm on a hook - the pipe would break her ribcage and rip through her if he put too much weight on it. The tears were flowing freely now, and she just wanted to pain to stop - so as a sign of surrender, she let the knife clatter from her hands, sagged against the floor, and closed her eyes. The painful weight was lifted almost instantly, and she breathed a sign of relief.

"Giving up so soon?" he clucked his tongue disapprovingly, before grabbing her ankles and dragging her none-too-lightly against the rough tarmac. "C'mon, you can do better then that." a light groan in response. "No?" he let out a light, scattered giggle, "alright then. Loser's forfeit."