Motley

Healing

A five year old child should not be left alone, especially not in a criminal compound, but neither the Joker nor Motley knows that. As soon as J’s cackling laughter fades, Motley steps into the hallway, pulling his blanket tight around himself.
He’s a curious kid, and the hallway seems to stretch on endlessly, but Motley is brave. He starts walking down the hall, peering into every open door. The first interesting thing he comes to is a dim room filled with boxes.

Motley likes boxes. He loves to climb them. He’s almost halfway to the top when his foot slips, punching into one of the boxes. It’s filled with spikes, for some twisted plan of J’s. Motley yelps, falling back. He’s lucky not to break any bones, but his ankle is deeply cut and bleeding. He doesn’t see the bloody footprints he leaves behind as he limps onward.
+
The Joker is killing someone. Well, several someone’s. He’s trying to blow up a museum so he can get at a statue within. It’s a gold one, with a big smile. Joker likes smiles. He’s not as much of a hoarder as Catwoman, but this is nice. He’s killed the guards, taken a few hostages, all part of a good time. He is most definitely not thinking about Motley.
+
Motley is holding a grenade. He turns it over and over in his hands, interested, fingers coming dangerously close to the pin. He tosses it carelessly behind his shoulder and hobbles to a pile of clown masks for Joker’s men.
Motley puts a mask on his face, head too small to fit. It’s crooked, eyeholes located somewhere near his chin. He feels cool anyway, with a permanent smile like J. He decides to keep the mask, hanging it around his neck as he climbs a bookcase.

The sharp slats of the shelves cut into his palms, but Motley doesn’t feel it. Motley doesn’t feel much pain at all, another trait of the Joker’s. His acrobatic ability comes from Harley. His ankle drips blood to the floor, but he’s tough.
He goes a bit higher, reaching for the shiny thing he saw earlier. It’s just a piece of broken glass, but Motley likes it. His hand closes around the shard and he manages to get down safely. He tucks his prize into the pocket that holds his knife and leaves, wondering when J will get home.
+
The Joker is hiding behind a pillar, being shot at. He laughs, making the men around him jump. “C’mon, boys, we’ve had worse than this! Let’s, ha!, KILL SOME PIGS!” He grabs a gun and leaps out from safety.
+
Motley drags his palms along a wall, fascinated by the bloody smears he leaves behind. There’s a lot of madness in him, received from both parents. He finds the door that leads to the kitchen and uses a stool to get on the counter. He sits, legs swinging.
Motley feels lightheaded and happy. He fishes around for food in a cabinet. He finds crackers and devours them, scattering crumbs across the floor. Motley takes peanut butter and jelly, scooping out fistfuls to smack them together. He thinks he’s making a sandwich, like Leen.

He’s sticky, covered with a mix of food and blood. Motley puts the mask on and feels like J. He stands up, searching for something else to play with.
+
Joker comes home, holding the statue. He’s cackling. “HA! HA! What a pretty new smile for my, hoo boy!, collection!” He almost slips on a bloody footprint. “The fuck?” It takes him a second to realize they’re Motley’s. They’re too small to belong to anyone else.

“Motley?” He follows them back to the toppled boxes, then to his storage room. He notes the stolen mask and the blood on the shelves. The Joker will never admit this, but he’s beginning to worry. “Motley? Kid, where’d you go?”
There’s no answer. Joker continues to follow the footprints until finally he finds Motley. The kid is perched precariously on the counter as he reaches for more food. Joker hurries to get him down. “Motley, what the hell have you been up to?”

The kid’s almost as pale as he is. Makes them look even more alike. “Found knives, J! And a mask!”

The Joker kneels, examining Motley’s ankle. “Jesus. You’re a tough kid.” Motley beams with pride. Joker carries him to his room. “Let’s stitch you up.”

Motley has his hands clenched in the Joker’s hair, lips tight as his ankle is sewn up. “Drink your orange juice. It’ll help with the blood loss.”

“Hurts.”

“You’re tough.” Motley nods and tries not to show pain. “Don’t fuckin’ step on sharp things. Don’t be stupid and climb boxes that can’t hold your weight.”

“Okay, J.”

Joker realizes he feels like a dad right now, healing his kid and teaching him life lessons. He wonders if his own father ever did stuff like this. Probably not. “Climbing shelves is stupid, too. Don’t cut up your hands.”

“Okay, J.”

Joker leans back and looks the kid in the eye. “Are you listening to me?”

Motley nods obediently. “No fuckin’ sharp things, no boxes, no hurt hands.”

“Good.” Joker finishes stitching and stands up. “You shouldn’t put a lot of weight on that leg for a while.”

“Won’t.” Motley holds his blanket close to his chest.

It’s filthy, covered with dirt, blood, and food. The Joker wrinkles his nose. “We’re going to clean that blanket, Mot.”

“Will it hurt?”

Joker chuckles and shakes his head. “Nope. But you’ll, haha, have to give it up for a bit.” Motley grips the blanket, glaring defensively. Joker sighs and changes the subject.

Joker tosses the statue from hand to hand, admiring how light gleams off it’s bared teeth. “What’s that, J?”

“Statue,” he grunts.

“I like it,” Motley chirps, leaning closer.

“Don’t breathe on it. You’ll get it dirty,” Joker snaps, shoving the kid away. He gets back up with a smile. Motley is the kind of kid who will never be broken.

“It's pretty!”

“I know. Now, go ‘way.”

Motley ignores him, choosing instead to kneel on the floor and play with his knife. He likes knives, a lot. Leen never let him play with them, though. Her face would screw up as she grabbed the knife away, muttering, “Just like your fucking father.”

Motley examines his reflection in the blade, smiling. He wonders what he’d look like if he had J’s scars. He cuts a line across his cheek and licks the blood away, giggling. The Joker laughs behind him. “You're a, haha, twisted little kid, eh?” Motley nods happily and continues his game.