Barbara Gordon Commission (Patreon)

This is an alternate story of "The Killing Joke". "The Breaking Joke"Barbara Gordon had always been prepared for Gotham’s worst nights, but not for this one.

Barbara heard the door bell rang, and she opened the door expecting her father.Instead, the painted grin of madness greeted her.

“Hellooo, little bird!” the Joker sang, tilting the revolver like a conductor’s baton. “Daddy home?”

Her heart stopped. “Joker!”

The gun roared before she could slam the door. Barbara twisted hard, the bullet grazing her shoulder. Pain erupted like fire through muscle, spinning her into the coffee table. She screamed, clutching the wound, blood staining her blouse.

The Joker cackled. “Oh, now that’s a note I could dance to!” He strutted into the room, his coat sweeping across the floor, eyes wide with ecstasy.

Barbara staggered to her feet, but the crowbar came down."Crack!!!!!"

Her ribs screamed as metal met bone. She collapsed, gasping, her hand trembling over the wound in her shoulder. The Joker twirled the crowbar like a golf club, mock bowing.

“You see, Batsy won’t really laugh until he loses one of his precious birds. And you, ohhh, you’re the feather that tickles his heart!”

Barbara groaned, trying to crawl away, but the crowbar slammed again across her thigh. She shrieked, tears mixing with sweat.

“Beg! Squeal! I want music!” the Joker barked, before lifting her by the collar. With a sudden shove, he dragged her toward the window, shards of glass glittering in the Gotham night.

“Showtime!” he said brightly, and hurled her through.

Her scream trailed into the darkness, cut off by the brutal crunch of pavement.

The Joker leaned out the window, arms wide, crowbar balanced across his shoulders.“Break a leg, darling! Or two! HAHAHAHA!”

*******************************

Barbara awoke to the sterile buzz of fluorescent lights. Her father’s voice trembled in her ear.

“Barbara… sweetheart, don’t move. You’re safe now.”

Her eyelids fluttered open. Commissioner Gordon stood over her. She tried to speak, but the weight of her body held her silent. Then she saw the white armor encasing her.

A double shoulderspica cast wrapped her chest, swallowing her torso. Her right arm was pinned stiff against her side, her left arm jutted upward, frozen at a right angle, fingers peeking out from the plaster like pale prisoners. Two thick plaster bars bridged the arms to her chest, making her body a rigid frame.

Below, both her legs were engulfed in bulky plaster long leg casts. The right lay cushioned on pillows, the left raised skyward by two slings, exposing the raw fragility of her frame. Around her neck, a plastic neck brace held her head immovable, forcing her to stare only forward.

She felt buried alive.

“Dad…” Her voice cracked like broken glass. “I can’t… move.”

“You don’t need to,” Gordon whispered, holding her fingers jetted from the bulky cast. His face was lined with grief and fury. “You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”

Barbara let tears spill down her cheeks, feeling them trail into the neck brace. “He… he wanted to break me. To make give you message."

Gordon shook his head. “You’re not broken. You hear me? Not to me. Not to anyone.”

Then, Barbara's lips tightened. “No… he didn’t win. He thinks I’m a victim. But I’ll make him regret leaving me breathing.”

Gordon blinked. “Barbara…”

Her eyes, though brimming with tears, hardened with fire. Her father didn't have a clue that this would be the birth of the ultimate brain of the Batman, the Oracle.