Chapter Nine — Sensory Overload.

09: A Wayne Enters The Scene.

❝Don't talk like you know what I've been through these past few years. Do you have any idea what it's like to lose your friends from one moment to the next, to feel like you don't belong anywhere? To not like your appearance because it's not yours... damn, maybe you know what that's like.❞

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[ HARLEY QUINN ]

A playful smile dominated my crimson-painted lips, just as a few giggles slipped out every now and then; my amusement was evident to anyone who glanced in my direction, even if it was just a quick glance.

Okay, I know it's not every day that a portal opens in the sky over Manhattan, and a beautiful blonde in a shredded red dress holds a metal baseball bat and is capable of killing several Chitauris with a single blow... but give me a break, will you? Just this once.

It wasn't a surprise to me that I missed fighting, since I spent many years of my life dominating the dark and polluted streets of Gotham City, fighting the so-called Batman, playing at robbing stores, and running from the police with Selina Kyle and Pamela Isley as if it were second nature to me.

And, perhaps, at some point in my life, fighting became a part of me; of who I am, and who I would always be.

However, even for someone like me, who had fought countless heroes and villains more times than I had the patience to count, it wasn't exactly easy to get used to my new abilities, especially with me feeling... powerful.

I know I was oblivious to many things in my life, and I was more easily distracted than a hyperactive child, but even I, a potential sociopath, the person who was called an airhead by a group of insufferable teenagers at the beginning of medical school, was certain that I didn't have the heightened speed, strength, and hearing that I did now.

There was only one skill—what should I call it? I'm not sure, to be honest, and I don't really care—that I was genuinely good at, and that was my reflexes; I've always been proud of them, especially how fast they were.

Seriously, I was particularly good at fighting Nightwing, Barbara Gordon, Selina Kyle after she got together with that damn hot Batman (gods forgive me, but Bruce Wayne is a piece of knockout), Jason Todd, and other idiots who thought old Harley Quinn couldn't defend herself.

So, not to complain—but I'm complaining anyway—why now, universe? Couldn't it have been twenty years ago, when I was trying to decide what career path I should pursue?

In my humble opinion, being the fastest human woman in the world would have been, at the very least, fun.

— "Some days I hate my life." — I grumbled to no one in particular, just for the satisfaction of being able to complain openly without anyone judging me, forgetting for a brief moment about the communicator connected to my ear, which had a good chance of still being on.

If I can curse capitalism for stealing every penny of mine in the last two years, I have the right to complain about my life (whether it's this one or the old one), yes!

— "Get the fuck out of here now!" — I yelled at the family currently paralyzed inside the car, especially the adults since the children seemed petrified with fear after having been terrorized by these spawns of Satan.

I tried to ignore the sound of their hearts beating at full speed, denouncing the anxiety and fear in their bodies, of the blood pumping through their veins, of their lungs and other organs working, of the sobs of the two children curled up in a ball in the back seat, however, it almost seemed impossible. Ignoring the sounds happening around me was difficult, but I was trying to make it work.

If Superman was perfectly capable of ignoring people fucking all the time and other shit happening in the world, I could do it too until we won this fight. I needed to be able to do that.

— "What are you waiting for?" — I shouted, immediately regretting it, feeling my eardrums hurt with my voice. Or maybe it was the scream of one of the Chitauris around me, I couldn't tell many things apart at that moment. — "A formal invitation, for fuck's sake?"

I continued to hit those space reptiles on the head with the baseball bat, taking out my anger with each blow, smiling when I saw the strange blue blood — I noticed that sometimes the liquid was gray, however, I easily ignored that fact — of those lizards from hell splashed thanks to the force of my blows; staining the Manhattan asphalt, the dress I was still wearing, but I no longer cared about that useless piece of fabric.

I didn't even blink or care when my face and arms were on the list, even though I was aware that it must not be a very attractive scene to watch.

I focused on the sound of my heart, the force of my blows, and the crunchy noise that the skulls of those creatures made as they turned to dust under the baseball bat.

I'm really angry right now, especially when I realized that, no matter how many Chitauri I killed, it seemed like another one was sprouting from the ground — I know that, in reality, they fell from the sky, but who cares? —, and all my work seemed to be in vain.

I'm going to take out every shitty feeling I've felt in these last few days on those creatures, even if I have to kill Loki himself in the end.

Useless, imbecile, wretched Norse God who deserves to be punched in the balls by the Hulk himself, just to learn that you shouldn't play with other people's planets like they were ping-pong balls.

The last few weeks had been shit; I was going to be evicted next week (I knew the owner's wife liked me, but she couldn't save me forever), I was broke, my perfect dress was in tatters, my date had been a complete disaster, New York had been invaded by aliens, and my hope of winning was fading with every passing second.

But at least my anger was only growing, and it seemed my determination to kill these aliens was too.

— "I can't take it anymore!" — I screamed, delivering the last blow with all my remaining strength, watching the last Chitauri of a large group fall dead.

I finally managed to stop, taking a few deep breaths, feeling the tears streaming down my face in the next minute, wetting my face, sure that my makeup was being ruined, and I must have been a wreck by now.

Letting the baseball bat slip through my fingers, I squeezed my eyelids shut, raised my arms, and tried to wipe away the tears with the back of my hands, so clumsily that I was sure I looked like an idiot, having a crisis in the middle of a battle.

All that work we had been doing in the last few minutes was useless, I knew that, but who cared? What did it matter, in the end? Why do I even try to live in this universe? It's not worth it. It's not worth it, damn it!

— "I want to go home. Please, let me go home." — I begged to the heavens, feeling my chest hurt, my throat dry, and my anxiety double by the second; everything became a blur from one moment to the next.

My ears were so sore that all I could hear was my rapid breathing and my heartbeat increasing.

My sobs were unbearable to my eardrums, like a disgusting sound mixed with the noise of something being torn apart near me.

Had someone died? No. It wasn't possible. I killed all the Chitauri just now, how could they-

I gave up trying to reason, allowing my ears to work on their own. However, something seemed to be going wrong, and all I could hear was my body begging for a rest, for a break from all that stress.

I felt ridiculous for having a crisis in the middle of a battle, but what did it matter, if all our work was going to be in vain? The governors were going to blow up this place, the people, the buildings, me, and the others in the group, so what did it matter?

— "I can't take it anymore. Everything just goes wrong for me." — I cried, feeling a weight taking over my shoulders, no longer able to ignore my exhaustion.

To make matters worse, the last few days flashed before my eyes, replaying themselves like my own personal torture; the messages from my parents asking me what was new about my job (I didn't have the heart to tell them I had been fired), the eviction notices from the landlord, the countless overdue bills piling up on the refrigerator door, the lack of food, and all the nights I spent counting my savings, knowing that soon I would have nothing left.

Why, of all the days I took to try to cry, to suffer my misery like the failed adult I was (and possibly always would be), did my body choose today to reach its peak?

— "Everything keeps going wrong for me. What do I do?"

I kept repeating those words and similar things for a while, wishing at every moment to wake up from my nightmare. I wished it was all just that: a simple dream.

If I weren't such a coward, I would have ended everything in my adolescence-

— "Quinzel, look at me."

Suddenly, two hands landed on my arms, just below my wrists. The touch was gentle and soft, clearly not wanting to hurt me in any way, but still trying to make me separate my palms from my face; I had no idea who they belonged to, and I honestly didn't care.

— "Get her out of here!" — Someone shouted out of nowhere; the female voice hurting my ears, which chose that damn moment to become sensitive.

My ability returned with such intensity, such force, that I felt as if a huge wave had hit my head on; hurting me from the inside out, reminding me of the feeling of when seawater entered your lungs.

— "DADDY!" — I struggled with the sharp pain that went through my head, feeling it explode from the inside out, repeating the girl's speech over and over, like a scratched record playing at the highest volume a speaker could.

That sound wave hurt more than anything I had ever heard in my entire life as if my ears were bleeding.

I tried to free myself from the grip of the person who was still holding me, struggling desperately. I managed to move my palms to my unprotected ears, taking off the communicator with no gentleness, throwing it on the floor, not caring where it would end up; trying in vain to stop the sounds from reaching my eardrums, however, it seemed impossible; the person's grip was like steel — or I had somehow become weak from the amount of effort I had made that day, I didn't care.

— "Daddy, please-" — The voice came out lower than seconds ago. However, it still seemed extremely loud to me. Something told me that it was a whisper, a thread of hope among his pain. Still, it hurt. — "Daddy, please don't leave me. LET ME GO!"

Why is there a child here all of a sudden? Where did she come from? Get her the fuck out of here!

— "She needs to get out, or she'll get hit again! She's having sensory overload!" — This time, a more velvety voice said, clearly belonging to a woman, who seemed to be older. Hearing that voice made me have an epiphany, and I quickly realized who it belonged to: Patricia Wayne. — "Get her away from here, Rogers! Now! I'll take care of the girl!"

With my eyelids still roughly closed, and my hands over my ears, I felt the grip on my arms loosen. Then, I was lifted off the ground; a pair of arms lifted me by passing them behind my knees, picking me up bridal style.

Automatically, I tried to hide my face in the chest of whoever was holding me in their arms, not even trying to figure out who it was, not caring about that fact.

I wanted to disappear. To be buried six feet under or more. To fall into an extremely deep hole and never come out of it again. Anything to make this hell go away.

— "Please make it stop." — I sobbed, squeezing the person's clothes between my fingers, feeling the texture on my skin, the sound being as loud as the footsteps of the person who was currently carrying me. I tried to focus on something other than the sounds around me, but it seemed impossible.

I could hear everything. I could hear the desperate cries of children, the screams of adults asking for help from under the rubble, the Chitauris being killed all the time, Clint Barton himself on top of a building complaining about how difficultthe fight was, the lightning bolts of the self-styled God of Thunder killing a large group of aliens, the floating platforms the lizards used to move around the city, a Leviathan being knocked into the east lake by Stark's missiles, Morana doing a quick spell to soothe the damage caused by the Chitauri Leviathan now dead on the asphalt... it was hurting me. Everything was hurting me.

I was so focused on the sounds, on the pain they caused me, that I didn't even realize I had said all that out loud.

— "Focus on the sound of my voice, Quinzel. Follow the sound of my voice." — I knew he was following Morana Isleen's advice over the comm; I could hear her helping Captain Rogers since he had no idea what to do with my situation;or how to help me.

I don't blame him. I didn't know what to do either.

— "Harley, stop thinking." — Steve asked, the tone of his voice still soft, patient, not at all affected by my words, no matter how desperate I was at that moment. — "Try to focus on a single sound. Just... try."

I tried to do what Rogers asked me, trying to focus on something besides the deaths and the screams. I heard a heartbeat; it was fast, like a horse running for miles for a while, but somehow it calmed me. The sound of Steve's heartbeat calmed me.

— "Your heart." — I murmured in a whisper, pressing my still-closed eyelids together once, trying to completely focus on that sound.

I didn't realize that I had extended my hand until it was open against Rogers' chest, pressing my palm over the place where I knew his heart was, feeling his heartbeat even more intensely, now able to hear it clearly.

Thanks to that, I didn't notice the time passing. I didn't even try to count it. Maybe it had been a minute, five minutes, or maybe hours. Either way, time didn't matter to me.

The only thing that mattered was that the chaos around me had stopped consuming me from the inside out, and the pain in my ears was finally calming down. My mind was finally able to calm down, slowly relaxing.

— "Steve?" — I asked in a low but audible volume, feeling my body also begin to relax, and sleep come to meet me.

— "Yes?"

— "Thank you. For getting me out of there." — It was the last thing I could say, and then I completely blacked out, finally having a break from it all.

𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭?

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