Chapter Text
The subway platform was admittedly not well lit. Angela sucked her teeth as she waited for the train, looking around at the flickering lights. The platform was packed with people. She saw a pickpocket scoping around and held her bag tighter to her side. It was finally Friday after a grueling first week at the office, and she desperately wanted to get home, put on pajamas, cook something hot and tasty and watch a show until her brain went numb. Maybe she’d make a fancy little cocktail or something, too, if she had ingredients.
While her mind was on what she had in the fridge, something started to feel off. Then a sound - an explosion followed by rending metal that raked claws through her ears - roared through the subway station. It was excruciating. A cloud of smoke billowed into the platform from the tunnel, and that’s when the worried muttering from the other waiting passengers really began to rise in pitch. Sparks and squealing followed the smoke, and the lights flickered again.
Half of a train car rolled into view. Not a front or back half, but the bottom half, as if the roof had been opened like a sardine can. Most of the scene was still obstructed by smoke. But there was a figure standing atop the wreckage, and it was laughing. Not a laugh of relief or joy or humor - a laugh that sent chills down Angela’s spine. A menacing, maniacal thing that had no humanity to it. What an injured antelope hears when surrounded by a pack of hyenas.
People began to scream, some running, leaping over turnstiles and racing up the stairs, desperate to escape, trampling one another in their mad dash. Others were frozen to the spot, eerily silent and still. This is precisely why her elder brother was so against the move to Gotham. Why her parents insisted she stay on the farm, or at least in Wichita so she could be somewhat close by. Her heartbeat was competing for space in her ears. She began to hum nervously, out of habit. The acrid smell of smoke and metal stung her eyes and made her cough.
The figure hopped off of the damaged train car, spreading his arms presentationally. “Well, helloooooooo Gotham!” The voice of the figure was raspy and harsh, as if he had been laughing for a very long time. In the clearing smoke, the voice was matched by an unnatural bright red smile stretching a chalk-white face and lighting coals in dead, soulless eyes. A garish purple pinstripe suit, complete with spats on his shoes and a mop of oddly green hair, as if this were some old fashioned gangster-styled clown. A clown with no man under the paint. He was gangly and menacing, and altogether unsettling. “I believe it’s time for me to introduce myself. My name,” he paused for dramatic effect, “Is the Joker.”
Angela couldn’t stop the humming, as hard as she tried. Rats scurried out of the tracks, out of crevices and corners, forming a squeaking, scuffling circle around her. Those closest to her backed away in disgust or horror.
The rat’s odd behavior unfortunately turned the clown’s attention to her. “Ah! Looks like I’m not the only freak here, I see,” A deep chuckle rumbled from the clown, “Say, little songbird, if you can do rats, how about bats?”
Being addressed directly made her breath become too short to continue humming, and she stopped abruptly. The rats dispersed, and with a late reaction, she realized they had been running in time to her rather indeterminate tune.
“Don’t stop your little performance on my account, chickadee,” the Joker chuckled some more, then snapped his fingers, “Do you take requests?” A large man materialized out of the haze behind her, grappling her and holding her under his arm like a football. “How about Freebird?” He looked up at the huge goon and cackled outright, saw that no one was laughing, then scowled. “No, of course not, the joke didn’t have time to truly marinate. Got to work on that material.” He shrugged. “Oh well, comedy is as comedy does. Thanks for being a hostage, little lark.”
Angela was feeling strangely faint. Probably smoke inhalation, she thought as the light faded in and out, tucked as she was under the big man’s arm.
Something large and black as night swung into her field of vision. There was the sound of a meaty impact and the muscle-head holding her dropped, pinning her painfully to the ground as he fell. More meaty smacking sounds, grunts of pain and effort, cracking noises and some moans followed, and the laughter of Joker erupted through it all.
“Look everyone, I’ve made it to the big leagues!” His voice was full of morbid delight, “Batsy has come to play!”
Angela was crushed under the unconscious weight of the goon, but from what she could see, he was there alright. The fabled protector of Gotham, the urban legend, the vigilante known as Batman. The points on his helmet were like horns, the cape like wings. His protective lenses glowing, or at least reflecting the lights, like the eyes of a creature in the dark. He was towering and intimidating. Maybe about the same height as her brother, broad shouldered like him too. For a moment, she considered that he had been keeping secrets from her and moonlighting in Gotham part time, when not busy in Metropolis. But she distinctly remembered him disparaging Batman, and knew he wouldn’t keep this sort of thing a secret from her.
She shifted, trying to extricate herself from under the huge body. Something sharp bit into her hand. A broken tile. She held on to it, using the slight pain to keep her from passing out under the still heavy smoke as she continued to struggle out and stand.
Finally free, she looked up again to see Joker and Batman circling one another, but there was another man with a huge piece of pipe, holding it like a club and creeping up behind him.
Angela didn’t think. She shouted a warning to Batman, and lobbed the piece of tile toward the clown, aiming for his pinstriped shoulder. Unfortunately, it hit him square in the back of his head just as he was about to turn around. He stopped, almost cartoonishly, which would have been hilarious, had it not been for the black rage across his face as he turned to face her.
She ran. Finally, her legs would carry her. She was almost to the stairs, she could make it. But a biting pain bloomed in the back of her own head, stunning her and sending her careening forward into the stairs, the impact of her head against a step sending her straight into oblivion.
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Everything felt dry and crusty. The throbbing in her head was unbearable. And the bright lights as she opened her eyes were devastating. She groaned.
“Angie! You’re finally awake!” A relieved familiar voice came from beside her. Her eyes adjusted and she saw her brother, glasses askew, and hair ruffled, like he ran his fingers through it a few too many times.
“Clark?” Her mouth felt full of cotton balls. The light above her bored into her eyes and the electricity in it buzzed too loudly in her ears.
“Angie, we’ve been worried sick - ma and pa were this close to hopping on a plane to get out here! Do you realize how long you’ve been out?” Clark rambled, his voice sounding like a freight train in her head.
“Clark, Clark, I’m - I’m sorry, but where am I?”
Clark was about to reply when he stopped suddenly, mouth agape and a look of irritation crossing his face.
“Gotham General Hospital.” Replied a new voice from the doorway. It was almost sickeningly suave, practiced and overly silky. “My apologies, Miss Kent, you didn’t have a primary care hospital on file, so after the emergency room they kept you here.”
“Why are you here, Mr. Wayne?” Clark’s voice carried barely restrained disgust.
“To check on one of our valued employees.” It was Bruce Wayne. Billionaire bachelor, eccentric CEO. He offered a hand to Clark, and shook, hiding the wince surprisingly well. “You must be the brother. I remember you - a reporter, right? For the Daily Planet out in Metropolis. We had an interview last year, I think. I’m glad you could get away to look after your poor sister.”
Angela was in shock, or at least she was pretty sure that was what this sensation was. The man was the hottest ticket in town, notorious, eligible, and admittedly a devastating beauty. He had the appearance of some ancient Greek god - strong features that looked both refined and rugged - someone who would appear at home on a mountain or in a luxury car. Tempting, but altogether unattainable. Besides, his reputation as a womanizer and playboy, not to mention his frequent trips to unknown locales and drunken escapades that didn’t really recommend him as a person. All accounts pointed to the assumption that he was a terrible pain, who cared for no one but himself. So, why was he here?
“I wanted to stop by and let you know that the bill has been taken care of, with no draw on Angela’s insurance policy.” Bruce looked down at Angela for the first time since entering the room, “I also wanted to let you know that your position is secure, and it won’t use up your PTO. That was a lousy way to end your first week, and we want to see more of you in the office. We hope you have a speedy recovery, Miss Kent.” His last sentence ended almost in a purr, which was clearly meant to razzle Clark. Bruce’s mouth was tilted in a mischievous smirk, too, and Angela was a little incensed herself, until she actually processed what he had said.
Her eyes were wide open now, and she felt tears sting the back of them, “Thank you, sir. That is incredibly generous,” The news that she wouldn’t be swimming in debt after the whole ordeal was an overwhelming relief.
Bruce grinned wider, leaving the room with a flirtatious salute. To which sibling, neither could tell, but Clark certainly had his hackles up.
“Guy gives me the creeps,” He said when the footsteps faded out of earshot.
“But at least he seems to mostly be a force for good, whether he means to be or not,” Angela countered, “He’s got several charities going, and a halfway house, and a rehabilitation program for institutionalized criminals reentering society. I don’t know whose ideas they were, but they’re in his name and sponsored by his money.”
“Doesn’t change the creeps he gives me.” Clark mumbled.
Angela chose to ignore it, changing the subject. “So, how long was I out?”
Clark sighed, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. “Four days, Ange. I got the emergency contact call when you were admitted. Apparently the Batman brought you in.”
“Batman’s an ambulance service too?” Angela’s feeble attempt at a joke fell flat.
“What were you thinking? Why didn’t you run for it?”
“I did.”
“Not what I heard,” Clark’s face was shadowed, “Witnesses on the scene said you stood there singing while the clown came after you. Then someone heard you shout a warning to Batman, and only then did you start running. Batman carried you out of the subway station, your head busted in two places,” He put a hand on Angela’s arm. “Ange, why?”
“I’m not like you. I froze. I couldn’t move.”
“But why the singing? Were you trying to draw attention to yourself?”
“Oh heck no, Clark. That guy was terrifying. I couldn’t control it. A nervous impulse. Like I do on the phone when I don’t know what to say next. Only this time - I dunno,” Angela hesitated, looking around the room. “Clark, the rats responded to me. Am I going insane? Maybe I was hallucinating with the fear, but they left when I could finally stop humming.”
“Rats?”
Angela nodded seriously. “I’m not even scared of rats, why would I hallucinate them?”
“No, I think I heard someone say something about strange rodent behavior on the scene. Someone thought the Joker had been controlling them to keep you in place.”
“What does that mean? I’m not an alien, too, am I? I thought ma and pa were just finally able to keep a baby.”
“No, you’re human, for sure, but I - I don’t know. I’ll look into it when I get back to Fortress.”
Their voices were low, almost inaudible, but they switched topics just in case when they heard people walking by.
“Have you heard anything about whether they’ll need to delay harvest by Smallville? Last I heard, pa said the rains have still just refused to come.” Angela asked in normal hearing levels.
“Stalks weren’t higher than shins, last time I visited. Definitely cutting it close. I don’t know if they’ll ripen soon enough or not, we’ll see, I guess.” Clark replied, also at a normal volume.
“It sucks, especially after the flooding last year. Do you think you’ll go out at harvest anyway?”
“Too soon to tell yet, you?”
“I don’t want to use too much PTO, but maybe?”
They continued to catch up, until Clark looked at his phone and nearly panicked at all the messages and missed calls. “I gotta get going. See ‘ya later alligator.”
“After ‘while crocodile.”