Chapter Text
A laugh that lingers too long, it’s a pitch too high, a tone too wrong and ultimately falls out of tune. Flashes of vibrant dripping red, around yellow teeth on a face too white. Swampy green hair and eyes perpetually wide with shrunken pupils.
Moving current. The last thing Tim does is picture the flow of electrons.
And like that, Joker Jr. is born.
—-
Jr. does what he has to.
He follows his parents around. There's no threats explicitly. Not anymore. Yet when Jr. watches Harley's tight smile it never reaches her eyes.
Jr. smiles back, wide eyed sputtering out uncontrolled HAHA's .What's a clown that doesn't laugh?
——
There’s a thud. It's the kind of sound that settles into the wall and stays there, heavy enough to be felt more than heard.
Then another.
The second one comes harder and faster.
The cry that follows is distinctly feminine and is in sync with a loud, looping laugh.
—
It’s been 5 years since Tim Drake went missing by the time Jr. celebrates his 13th birthday.
Manic laughter rings through an abandoned warehouse as Commissioner Gordon lies hogtied on a table. Polished mahogany, it's easiest the nicest piece of furniture in the vicinity. It's big enough to accommodate around twelve people, yet only eight chairs surround it.
Jr. is the only one seated, forcing his gaze forward, straight into the commissioner’s baffled, uneasy expression.
Joker had been muttering about guests for some time now, the manic gleam in his eyes flickering brighter with every half-formed thought.
Jr.’s hands stayed folded in his lap throughout, fingernails carving crescent moons into pale skin, the sting grounding him more than he liked to admit.
He didn’t notice when Joker drifted behind him, movements silent, deliberate. A breath brushed his ear as he cooed, “Go on, Jr.”
At the same moment, Harley slid something onto the table, the soft scrape of it against the surface suddenly far too loud in the quiet room.
A present, wrapped in underwhelming, dull paper appears before him. It's ripped in some places, with red string being the only thing holding it together.
Jr. carefully pinches at the strings edge before pulling, neatly unravelling what he knows will be his only present.
It's at the same moment Batgirl bursts through the window.
Glass shards fall in her wake, luckily missing Jr's balloons.
She locks eyes with the Commissioner immediately, the lenses of her mask dilating in size. Tim would have loved to know how the mechanics behind the mask worked.
The cackles increase in volume as Batgirl lunges forward at Harley with a newfound fury. Interesting.
Jr. whistles and rocks in his chair whilst thinking. "HAHAHA-" the noise is uninvited yet burst from his mouth regardless.
Harley now has a mallet and is trying her best to pound Batgirl into a batcake.
It’s funny and reminds Jr. of that whack-a-mole game he used to play with… well, he’s not too sure.
A shadow detaches itself from the night.
“The Dark Knight” Jr. mutters to himself.
It's the show everyone's, at the very least Jr's family have, been waiting for. Filled with anticipation mixed with nerves at the not so surprise guests, Jr. finds himself at the edge of his seat.
Batman steps through the broken window, boots finding the floor effortlessly. His cape follows last, dragging heavy and deliberate, swallowing any lingering light as it follows.
It's cold and Jr. wishes he had a cape.
Batman straightens, eyes catching onto every face in turn, pale slits unblinking. He pauses his surveillance of the area to look at Jr. and Jr. makes sure to smile extra wide to make to welcome the new guests.
A flicker of surprise is evident under the cowl yet it's brief before landing onto the Crown Prince of Crime.
“BATSII-“, the man himself squeals before being cut off by a mean uppercut by the Caped Crusader himself.
He stumbles backwards and Jr. watches his maker's blood leaking from his lips, dark and slow. There's a pause before the man in question raises his hand to smear it wide with his thumb as if fixing lipstick. He looks utterly deranged, with his lower face covered in red as if he'd been eating flesh. It's the look he gives the Bat, that cements this belief. It's wide, shining and wet with excitement. The look of something that's finally been fed.
Jr. shivers.
A sudden crash split the air to his left. When he turns, he sees Harley sprawled on the floor, his cake reduced to a ruined smear of frosting and crumbs. Batgirl stands over her, chin lifted, her smile sharp with something that feels too satisfied, too rehearsed.
Jr. felt a small, quiet sadness bloom in his chest.
They brought me cake, he realises dimly. No one had told him.
His gaze drifted to Commissioner Gordon. Their eyes met. Gordon’s response comes out muffled, “MMmmPHh”a sound that might have been a protest, or a plea, or nothing at all. It was impossible to tell through the gag.
Jr. stares for a beat longer, searching Gordon’s face for meaning.
Finding none, he shrugs.
“You’re too late batsy, HAHAHAHAHAHA”, even Jr. cringed as the laughter rang out.
Jr. looks at his gift. The red digital number flashes as it drops from six to five. Huh, that went quickly.
There's shouting and in a moment of frantic head turning Jr. finds Batgirl gone. Harley too. The Commissioner has vanished as well. The only proof he was ever there lies in the ropes, slack and abandoned on the floor.
Something slams into Jr. with brutal force before a bright white light floods his vision tearing through thought, colour and shape.
Just as abruptly there is nothing.
No sound or sensation.
Only darkness.