Chapter 4-

I was listening to You Don't Own Me – Suicide Remix from the movie and boy did it help with creativity flow and getting me in the mood to write these characters. :)

Now, without further ado, here is the second part that everyone has been waiting for. Enough waiting to know how the tattoos came to be. :)

Along with that information, as per request of VBallPanda, we're going to find out why the Joker has silver teeth.

Disclaimer: The answer on why the silver teeth mainly belongs to DC, because they started the rumor. I'm just writing how I think it happened. More on that at the end.

WARNING: Grisly descriptions

Shall we?

1 Month After the Mobster Massacre

The Joker loved killing.

It was something that he found joy in.

He couldn't name all of the people he'd fired a round into, but he could describe them quite easily.

A woman in a blue dress.

A man in suede shoes.

A young man with an "R" on his chest.

That one was special. That one had been killed when they'd had a run in with the bat.

Mr.J and Harley made their way out to the car. Speaking of kills, it'd been a long night. A nice night at their favorite club had turned bitter when one of the stripper's had flirted her way over to the Joker, and begun undressing only to comment on his teeth. His silver teeth. She said she liked them. Stupid bitch. Hm.

A stripper. Another kill.

He still remembered the day.

~A JOKER'S MINDSET~

FLASHBACK

2 Weeks After The Mobster Massacre

1 Week After the Robin's Death

The car was an expensive black sports car. Mr. J preferred red, or purple, but Harley liked the sleekness of it. He took the driver's seat, and she jumped into the passenger. Het let out a laugh as they took off, reaching full speed in minutes. He heard sirens approach the building as they made their escape. He swerved around cars, although there weren't many at this hour.

It was then that something slammed into the side of the car, on the Joker's side. He turned angrily, baring his teeth when he saw the bat clinging to the side of the car. Why couldn't he just piss off? Always ruining Harley's fun. His fun. Any fun. Just because he wasn't invited. What a sore sport.

For a very brief moment, the doctor that he once was returned and the Joker found himself feeling the need to ask for mercy, to return to the sick sorry pathetic human being that he had been. No. Harley improved him. The Bat slammed a hand through the glass, spraying broken glass over Mr.J and forcing him to swerve the car. They neared a wall, the Joker ready to turn the Bat into graffiti on the wall. Suddenly a third hand was on the wheel, veering it away.

Harley was shouting angrily as she pulled a gun from the glove compartment and fired past the Joker at the Bat, who deflected but released his hold on the wheel. Mr. J kept one hand on the wheel as he reached across to the cup holder between the two seats, where his pistol sat abandoned. He grabbed it and fired at Batman's face, ears ringing from the noise. People were running around outside, cars were steering off of the road and onto the sidewalk, trying to avoid the clown, his love and their Bat.

Speaking of bats.

Harley opened the sunroof quickly, standing so that half of her body was out of the car. She leaned over the joker, knees bumping him with the swerves of the car. She brought down her bat over Batman's head. Grunting, he fell back, holding on with one hand. His chest was facing out now, as he struggled for a grip. The sunroof shattered, raining glass down on the driver.

Laughing loudly and proudly, hair disheveled, Joker clutched the wheel with one hand and stuck his hand out the window, firing as many times as he could before chucking the gun itself in the general direction of their intruder.

Suddenly something grabbed his wrist, yanking forcefully. Joker growled, pulling fiercely as the car narrowly avoided a lamppost. Harley ducked back in, reaching over and taking the wheel with both hands, her bat resting in her lap. With steering under control for the moment, he allowed himself to be pulled out the window a ways. It was easy, seeing as he wasn't wearing a seatbelt.

Now sticking half of his body out of the window, legs inside the vehicle, and face to face with the Bat, he pulled a knife from his vest and swung dangerously close to the Bat's exposed chin. His hand was caught and Joker was forced to release his grip on the car, bringing up his other hand as he pulled another gun from the dashboard and fired a few times. The bullets dented the armor ever so slightly, but pinged off nonetheless. One scraped against the Joker's cheekbone as it flew past, causing a stinging pain that he barely noticed, to focused on the fight.

The car abruptly swerved again, Harley making an attempt to shake the Bat. The Joker pulled back, managing to get back into the car in a sideways sitting position as he and Batman continued to wrestle for leverage. It was then that they inevitably slammed into something.

Pain burst out all at once as the Joker was slammed into the steering wheel on his side, the horn blaring in the background upon impact. An airbag inflated into his face. The Bat didn't have time to jump, instead flying forwards and landing in a roll. Joker's arm nearly went with him, sounding an unholy noise as it dislocated at the shoulder.

He groaned, coming to after briefly blacking out. He blinked a couple times in confusion when he realized he was getting dragged by the back of his collar. His feet dragged across the pavement. His hands were cuffed together.

In the distance he spotted the expensive car. Shockingly, the hood was barely dented, even though the lamppost had fallen onto the street upon impact. He saw that Harley was unconscious and tied up, leaning against a wall in the alleyway he was being dragged into. Her bat was nearby, across the alleyway, two pieces of splintered wood. She'd obviously awakened before he had. He made a note of getting her a new one.

With another grunt of discomfort, he lifted his head and peered up the arm dragging him, at the Bat's masked face.

"What's wrong, Batsy?" he grumbled. "Don't wanna do this in front'a Harley?"

He was thrown forwards, his back and the back of his head connected harshly with the end of the alleyway, a brick wall. He slid down until he was sitting, back against the wall, dislocated arm pulsing with pain.

"You still have a chance," Batman said in his ridiculous gravelly voice.

Joker laughed, tilting his head. "Fine. I'll play. A chance at what?"

"Redeeming yourself. I know who you were. I know what you were. What you did. You helped people." The Bat said in a growl.

The Joker didn't like this. Harley said he shouldn't think of it. He didn't want to. He didn't help people. That guy died with the rest of them.

"You're confusing me with someone else," he tilted his head the other way, lifting his good hand and bringing the other one up to his face as well due to the handcuffs. He wiped blood from his nose. A smile worked its way to his mouth. "Someone who smiles a lot less, I bet."

The Bat had turned, back facing him, cape flowing a bit in the wind. How dramatic. There was silence as they watched the smoking car in the distance.

"Did you do it?"

The Joker raised an eyebrow. Now they were getting somewhere. "Do...what…?" he asked, almost teasing himself. He knew what.

"You know." Growled the Bat.

A laugh bubbled from his throat. "You know what's funny?"

The Bat remained stock still, not saying a word.

"The sound a Robin makes when it's dying," he smiled cruelly. "Cheep cheep cheep…" he said quietly, the last word trailing off pathetically. He laughed again.

Batman apparently didn't get his joke, because he spun, punching Joker hard across the face with steel knuckles. A crack filled the alleyway and Joker fell to his side, only to be hoisted back up by the Bat. He brought his handcuffed hands back up, wiping blood from the corner of his lips. His tongue felt around his mouth. No damage so far. He could keep playing.

He brought his lips to a whistle, releasing the true song of a robin and letting it drain off to nothing. Another smile formed. The Bat's eyes narrowed beneath his mask and he crouched, shoving the Joker backwards into the wall again and making him see stars. He blinked them away and whistled again, earning another punch. This time when he spat a glob of blood to the pavement, a broken section of tooth went with it. A swipe with his tongue and he realized that half of his right canine was gone.

"Help me, please," the Joker imitated, bringing his voice up an octave to sound vaguely like a child. "I'm sorry, don't kill me, please…" he made a pouting face before snickering again. "Please, I'm sorry, please don't kill me…" His grin fell. "Pathetic. What're you teaching those snot-nosed apprentices a yours?"

His head was whipped to the side again, this time sending cracks up a collection of teeth and causing some others to loosen. Blood and saliva mixed, filling his mouth. He spat again, some of the foul mixture coating his lips and dripping down his chin. "Pathetic!" He spat. "You swing like the kid did before I capped him!"

The Bat released an angered shout, kneeing the Joker in the chest and punching him again.

"That's more like it, Batsy," he slurred through broken teeth and blood. "Let me have it. Won't bring him back." Another chilling smile was shown to Batman. When the next hit came it sent Joker to the ground for good, landing on his bad shoulder. Blood leaked from the corner of his lips, forming a puddle under his head.

"Cheep, cheep," he muttered with determination. "And they say I'm funny."

Right as the Bat was about to bring his fist down, a rope found its way around his throat. Harley had pounced after freeing herself from here restraints. Said restraints were now being used in the best way as they were yanked back against the Bat's throat. He'd seen her cutting the restraints, of course. Why else would he have kept Batman distracted? For fun? Well. Good point.

The armor was proving the task of strangling quite difficult, but Harley was putting her full weight into it. The Bat slammed her into the wall in an attempt to get her off, but she was determined.

"Look what you did to my Puddin!" each word was emphasized with a tug. "Look! Look what you did!"

The Bat choked, eventually buckling at the knees and passing out.

"You didn't look," snapped Harley as she got to her feet. "Pussy."

Her full attention was on him now as she hurried over and dropped to a kneel next to him, freeing him of his handcuffs before helping him back to a sitting position.

"Hiya darlin'," he muttered with a half-hearted broken smile and half lidded eyes.

While most people would've hidden their grimaces, Harley didn't have one at all. Instead she slid her hand over his hair with a smile, pecked his cheek and helped him to his feet. He threw an arm, his better one, over her shoulder and they made their way past the Bat to the car.

This time he took passenger, shattered glass crunching as he sat on the fancy leather.

"We'll pay Mr. Frost a visit, huh Mr.J?" asked Harley. He didn't respond, but she took it as a yes. He was too busy peering at his reflection in the half broken window.

They reached Mr. Frost's within the hour, ditching the car on the way. They limped and dragged their way to the front door. Mr. Frost was a muscular middle aged fellow. He was a loyal man that had known Harley for quite some time, and Joker for as long as he used the alias. He had many talents from arsenal to medical to artistry. His entire house was suited for their purposes. It wasn't large, one floor with six medium sized rooms.

A kitchen. Three bedrooms. A large bathroom with a large bathtub. And a mini tattoo parlor/medical examination room, basically a room with cabinets and a dentist style chair in the middle of the room.

He was laid on the chair, still a little uncertain as to what was going on. His brain was working at slow speeds, and it was pissing him off. He vaguely heard Harley explain what had happened. All the while he was swiping his tongue over the broken teeth in his mouth.

That night many things happened. The first was Mr. Frost mending his teeth with silver grills and caps. It was a long process, that one, and the entire time all Joker could think was how much more he enjoyed thinking about plucking the feathers from the Bat's sidekick now.

After that his shoulder was popped back into place, and blood was cleaned. His clothes were trashed and his broken ribs were wrapped in bandages, leaving him bare chested in an old pair of Arkham Asylum sweatpants that had belonged to one of the deceased at the attack in which Harley had saved him from that place.

When Mr. Frost handed him a mirror to see his work, he threw it across the room where it shattered to the floor in pieces. His smile wasn't the same now. The Bat thought he could get rid of it that easy? No. No, no, no, no, no. Not that easy.

Getting to his feet and ignoring Mr. Frost's arguments of his health and well-being, he shuffled through the drawers for the tattoo gun. He found it and perched back on the chair, beginning without hesitation or pattern, just smiling at the mirror whenever he needed it.

He jumped from the chair once finished, letting the tattoo gun drop to the floor, and tuning out Harley and Mr. Frost as he entered the bathroom. He smiled once. Broken. Silver. Off. Then he smiled, but brought his newly tattooed hand up to cover it. Perfect.

The Bat wouldn't break him that easily. No, no, no. He wouldn't break. He'd kill all of the robins in the yard. He'd slice their heads off and rip their wings and laugh the entire time. He'd smile and laugh and one day, when he finally caught he pesky bat in his attack, he kill it too. The Bat hadn't broken him.

Broken. No. Broken broken broken.

The Joker growled, angrily exiting the bathroom and shoving past Harley to grab the gun again. He didn't smile once as he shoved the gun at Harley.

"Broken. Broken. Broken. Damaged. Damaged," he muttered endlessly to himself. He growled and dropped to his knees in front of her. "Write it."

Harley smiled and began writing in cursive. All the while the Joker continued muttering. "Damaged, damaged, damaged, damaged, damaged, damaged…"

End Flashback

~A JOKER'S MINDSET~

So the stripper died.

Because he didn't want people to compliment his teeth. He wanted respect. He wanted power. He wanted people to compliment his smile. His laugh. His power.

Since then many tattoos had been added. The first was a knife stabbing into a bat on his left arm. He would kill the bat. He would. A dancing jester on his left bicep. The bat couldn't stop him. Couldn't stop his killing. His fun. He was a prince. The words "God's Only Child" were scrawled over his side just to prove it. The robin that had been drawn earlier now wore an arrow through its chest.

He and Harley would create chaos for as long as they wanted to.

And no bat—no bird—would stop them.

What I'm trying to do is progressively make the Joker more unstable. :) I hope it's working. We're reaching the point where the Suicide Squad movie plot will start working its way in, but don't worry—as said earlier—I will be putting my own twists and turns in.

Again, please don't be shy to review. They help inspire me to keep posting. Even just one line. :)

Let me know your thoughts!

I'll update soon!

-AG