Chapter Text
Gotham City was experiencing one of those rare pleasant days. The perpetually gray sky had cleared to reveal patches of blue, and the air didn't smell quite as toxic as usual. You slouched in your bus seat, earbuds in, the world's problems firmly pushed away behind a wall of indie music.
Your apartment was waiting for you—messy, comfortable, and blissfully isolated from humanity. Your roommate had left for the weekend, which meant two glorious days of doing absolutely nothing productive. The thought alone made your lips curl into a small smile.
The bus lurched to a stop at a red light, and you glanced out the window. Wayne Tower loomed in the distance, gleaming in the sunlight. Another reminder of how the other half lived. You adjusted your worn hoodie and slumped further into your seat.
A few rows ahead, a guy with a brown leather jacket and a streak of white in his black hair caught your attention. Something about the way he held himself—alert even in relaxation—was intriguing. Your eyes lingered a moment longer than necessary before you caught yourself staring and looked away.
Just another day in Gotham, you thought. Get home, order takeout, binge-watch something mindless, sleep until noon tomorrow. Perfect plan.
That's when everything went to hell.
The explosion came first—not large, but precisely placed under the front of the bus. The vehicle rocked violently, throwing you against the window. Screams erupted as smoke began pouring in through the vents.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" a voice sang out, amplified through what sounded like a megaphone. "This is your friendly neighborhood conductor speaking! Please prepare for an unscheduled stop on the crazy train!"
That laugh. Everyone in Gotham knew that laugh.
The Joker.
People were scrambling now, pushing toward the back exit, but the smoke was getting thicker. Your lungs burned as you coughed, struggling to see through watering eyes. The world began to spin.
Through the chaos, you caught a glimpse of the man in the leather jacket. He was moving purposefully against the crowd, toward the front, not away from it. Was he insane?
You felt yourself growing dizzy, your limbs heavy. The smoke—it had to be laced with something. As you fought to stay conscious, you saw the man in the jacket confronting a purple-suited figure that had appeared at the front of the bus.
The last thing you remembered before blackness took you was the Joker's wide, red grin and his delighted voice:
"Well, well, well! If it isn't the little dead Robin! This is my lucky day!"
Consciousness returned slowly, like wading through molasses. Your head throbbed, and your mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. You tried to move your hands, only to discover they were bound behind your back.
"Finally awake, sleepyhead?"
The voice beside you was deep and rough, with an undercurrent of anger. You turned your head, wincing at the pain that shot through your skull, to find yourself face-to-face with the man from the bus. Up close, you could see he had striking blue-green eyes that seemed to gleam even in the dim light of... wherever you were.
"Where—" Your voice cracked, and you had to clear your throat. "Where are we?"
"One of Joker's hideouts," he answered, scanning the room. You followed his gaze, taking in the decrepit warehouse space. Abandoned machinery cast long shadows across the concrete floor, and the windows high above were covered in years of grime, letting in only weak, filtered light.
"I'm Jason," he said after a moment. "And you're in serious trouble."
"Y/N," you replied automatically. "And I think we're both in trouble."
He gave you a look that was both amused and annoyed. "Listen, Y/N, I'm not just some random passenger. The Joker and I have... history. You were just collateral damage."
"Great," you muttered. "The one time I actually leave my apartment, and I get kidnapped because I happened to be on the same bus as... who exactly are you?"
Before Jason could answer, a door screeched open across the warehouse, and fluorescent lights flickered to life, momentarily blinding you. When your vision cleared, there he was—the Joker, in all his ghastly glory, twirling a crowbar like a baton.
"Rise and shine, my unexpected guests!" The Joker's voice echoed through the warehouse. "Oh, we are going to have so much fun together!"
Jason tensed beside you, his expression hardening into something cold and dangerous. You could feel the hatred radiating off him in waves.
"I've got to hand it to myself," the Joker continued, approaching with an exaggerated strut. "I was just planning a little bus bombing—you know, for laughs—and what do I find? My favorite little failure of a Boy Wonder! And he brought a friend!" He bent down, bringing his chalk-white face uncomfortably close to yours. "Aren't you a lucky duck?"
You recoiled from his rancid breath, earning a high-pitched giggle.
"Don't touch them," Jason growled.
"Or what, Bird Boy?" Joker straightened up, tapping the crowbar against his palm. "You're not exactly in a position to make demands. But don't worry! I'm not going to kill you... yet. You see, I've got bigger fish to fry."
He began pacing, gesturing wildly with the crowbar. "Gotham's elite have been very stingy lately. Very uncharitable toward my little enterprises. But I figure, what if I had some leverage? What if I had some... bargaining chips?"
The Joker stopped in front of Jason. "The prodigal son of Bruce Wayne—even if you are the black sheep." Then he moved to you. "And you, my dear, are from a lovely little family with just enough money to make you worth keeping alive. For now."
Your blood ran cold. How did he know about your family?
"You've been researching Gotham's upper-middle class?" you asked before you could stop yourself.
The Joker cackled. "I do my homework! Driver's licenses are so informative these days." He leaned in again. "And your family's recent inheritance made the society pages. Small fish, but fish nonetheless."
Great. The inheritance from your grandmother—the one your parents had used to move to that gated community in Gotham Heights. The one you'd fought with them about because you wanted independence, not handouts. And now it had made you a target.
"Batman will find us," Jason said, his voice steady and confident.
"Oh, I'm counting on it!" The Joker clapped his hands together. "But by then, I'll have collected quite a handsome sum from your families. And maybe, just maybe, I'll have broken you both beyond repair. Won't that be fun?"
He snapped his fingers, and two burly henchmen emerged from the shadows.
"Take them to their accommodations. Separately. I want our guests to get comfortable before the real entertainment begins."
As the henchmen approached, the Joker added, almost as an afterthought: "Oh, and do check their wrists. I heard the Wayne boy has a soulmark. Would be a shame if his soulmate was right under our noses without us knowing it. Think of the leverage!"
The henchmen roughly grabbed you, and as one of them yanked up your sleeve to check your wrist, you felt a sudden, strange burning sensation. You looked down to see what had been a small, indistinct mark all your life suddenly blooming into clear, defined lines.
The henchman holding your arm froze. "Uh, boss? You might wanna see this."
The Joker pranced over, his eyes widening comically as he looked from your wrist to Jason, who was being held by the other henchman.
"Well, well, well!" The Joker's grin stretched impossibly wider. "Isn't this just precious? Fate has a sense of humor after all!" He threw his head back and howled with laughter. "The dead Robin and the lazy little heiress—soulmates! Oh, this is too perfect!"
You turned to look at Jason, who was staring at his own wrist in disbelief. When he raised his eyes to meet yours, a mixture of shock, anger, and something unreadable flashed across his face.
Soulmates? With this intimidating stranger? This had to be some kind of cruel joke.
But the burning sensation in your wrist and the matching marks told a different story. Somehow, in the middle of this nightmare, you'd found your soulmate.
And the Joker couldn't be more delighted.
"Change of plans, boys!" The Clown Prince of Crime declared with a theatrical bow. "Let's keep the lovebirds together. After all—" his voice dropped to a menacing whisper—"it's so much worse to watch someone you're bound to suffer."
As the henchmen dragged you and Jason toward a rusty door at the back of the warehouse, you caught his eye again. A silent message passed between you, an understanding born not just from the marks on your wrists but from the shared danger you faced.
Whatever happened next, you were in this together.