You Can't Spell Slaughter Without LaughterAuthor:
DC comics and all the related characters belong to… well, DC? WB? Someone in that corporate mess. Never quite figured out who owns the Buffyverse, but I know for a fact that it's not me…Summary:
Some men aren't looking for anything logical. They can't be bought, bullied, reasoned, or negotiated with. Some men… just want to watch the world burn.Joe's Note:
I don't remember the name of the person who was stupid enough to request a story based on the portrayal of Joker in the upcoming The Dark Knight
, especially stupid considering the damn movie is still months away from being out in theaters, but the general concept amused me enough to want to have some fun with it. Enjoy.
Looking away from his reflection in the mirror, with its eerie white skin, green hair, and bright red lips, Xander Harris pressed his palms against his temples as he stalked down the hall and back into his bedroom. Sadly, that did nothing to shut out the voice now clamoring in his mind… or block out the memories he'd both acquired and made that night…
"You idiot! You made me. Remember, you dropped me into that vat of chemicals. That wasn't easy to get over, and don't think that I didn't try."
He grinned, savoring in the boy's screams. For some particular reason, this one stranger… a boy dressed up as a pirate for Halloween… had called out to him. Something had made him want to torture this boy for past indignities. Which was strange, because he didn't ever remember meeting the boy before. He wasn't even sure where he was or how he'd gotten there to be honest. But… well, who was he to deny that little voice inside his head? It'd served him well so far.
And so Joker continued to hum softly to himself as one knife after another emerged from his pockets, his helpers thoughtfully keeping the boy pinned down as he mutilated the pirate's leg. "Fear not, Captain Nobeard! We'll have you ready for that peg leg in no time. Then… hmm. Maybe then we'll do the eye patch?"
"Any man can have one really bad day and end up just like me…"
His tongue flicking out to moisten his lower lip, Joker stalked toward the brunette girl who was dressed up (quite badly, might he add) as some sort of cat. It was pathetic, really. A leotard and some ears? Batman's little playtoy was much better at it than this girl… grr. Batman. Just the thought of his nemesis made his fingers twitch, wanting to rip and tear and destroy.
Yes, rip and tear… and oh look! There was a convenient, screaming, annoying girl right here for him to play with. Joker's ever-present smile widened even further as her back hit a tree, still babbling nonsense about… sanders? What did carpentry have to do with anything?
Maybe it had something to do with that strange itch in the back of his head, the one that had been feeding him information all evening. Because just like the pirate, he recognized this girl… and even had something topical to say, rather than being a bit random. "Evening, Cor…delia." Leaning forward, he planted his pointer fingers at the corners of her mouth and gently pushed them upward. "Why… so… serious?"
"Sometimes I remember it one way, sometimes another… if I’m going to have a past, I prefer it to be multiple choice!"
"Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!" Xander slammed his palms hard against his head, hoping to beat the voices into submission. Larry's screams. Cordelia's choking gasps for air. The laughter. Oh God, the laughter. It bubbled up inside him and he couldn't help it: he started to chuckle. The chuckle turned to full-blown laughter and he leaned his head back, cackling like a lunatic.
Oh, the irony of it all. He was one of the White Hats. He was supposed to be one of the good guys. He'd deviated from that for a night, deciding it'd be fun to walk on the wild side… maybe see what was so appealing about being one of the bad boys that all the girls supposedly wanted. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. There wasn't supposed to be blood on his hands.
There weren't supposed to be voices in his head.
The urge to cackle rose up again and he indulged it, the high-pitched sound echoing through the quiet house. Or at least it was quiet for a moment. Then there was a loud grunt from the living room and floorboards began to creak. "BOY!"
"FAT MAN!" Xander chuckled at that as he picked up the purple coat he'd thrown on the end of his bed when he got home. It jangled ominously as he slid his arms into the sleeves, wrapping around him like a purple cocoon of safety. By the time the door slammed open, bouncing off the wall hard enough for the doorknob to leave a dent in the drywall, Xander was ready. "Hello, father."
Bloodshot eyes narrowed and Anthony Harris sneered at his sole offspring. "BOY! What's wrong with you, making that kind of racket at this time of night? And why are you still wearing that fucking faggot makeup? I still don't know why I put up with your shit. Coming and going at weird hours… bringing those slut friends of yours around the house… eating our food… God I can't wait until you're eighteen and I can throw you out without the cops getting on my ass."
Xander, tuning out his father's drunken rant as always, froze as he processed one of the insults slipped in there among others about him. Willow wasn't a slut. Amy wasn't a slut. Buffy… had extremely questionable taste in men, but wasn't a slut. His father could say whatever he wanted about him; he was here to defend himself. They weren't. And even then… nobody insulted his minions. They were a reflection of himself, and if his minions were flawed, it meant he'd made poor choices. So no… his father making crude comments about them, he just couldn't stand for that. "You know, father, I have a joke for you. Trust me, you'll love it… the punch line is a killer."
"What are you talking about, you fucking retard? Why would I want to hear a joke?"
Reaching behind his body, Xander's fingers wrapped around the comfortable weight of the gun tucked into the back of his pants. Somewhere out there, one of Sunnydale's finest was missing his service revolver… and a kidney. The kidney probably being a bigger concern than the gun for him, Xander realized. So if the cop wasn't going to be needing the gun anymore… why not pass it on to someone who did? Like him? "Just trust me. Now… a father walks into his son's room and starts insulting the son's minions. The son gets angry and kills him."
Xander smoothly brought the gun out and up, pointing it directly between his father's eyes. He pulled the trigger, burying one bullet in his father's brain.
The body slumped to the floor and Xander stared down at it, watching as the blood slowly oozed outward. The way it crept over his floors… reflecting the light… it was almost hypnotic. "Hmm. That wasn't much of a joke. I'll have to work harder next time, eh?"
"Tony? What's going on up there?"
Xander grinned widely, bright red lips curling upward. He'd have to go past his mother to get out of the house and, well, she'd never done anything to stop his father when he was at his worst. She was just as guilty in Xander's mind, and so he decided why not make it a two-for-one special and try his hand at double murder tonight? Leaning his head back, he let loose another wild cackle of laughter.
Up and down the street, both the living and the dead shivered in terror at the unholy noise.