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The Batcave had seen many things over the years.
Alien invasions. Time-traveling murderers. That one incident with the giant penny that nobody talks about anymore.
But somehow, watching Tim Drake sprint up the cave stairs with a fully transformed Night's End in pursuit—while Jason was still explaining why getting his ass kicked had been therapeutic, felt like a new low.
"COME BACK HERE," Salix snarled, his red jacket flashing as he vaulted over the Batcomputer console like some kind of beautiful, murderous gazelle.
"I DIDN'T CHOOSE TO BE THE JOKER!" Tim shrieked, nearly tripping over a stalagmite. "THAT'S NOT HOW DESTINY WORKS!"
"THAT'S EXACTLY HOW DESTINY WORKS, ACTUALLY," Terry called after them, still standing by the computer and looking deeply unbothered. "Future me sends his regards, by the way."
"FUTURE YOU IS A MENACE!"
"HE'S NOT WRONG THOUGH," Jason yelled, grinning like this was his favorite television program. Which, to be fair, it kind of was. "YOU DO ACT SUSPICIOUS SOMETIMES, TIMMY!"
"REMEMBER WHEN YOU HACKED MY PHONE FOR A WEEK STRAIGHT JUST TO PROVE I WASN'T A SECRET VILLAIN?" Dick added helpfully. "THIS FEELS KARMA-ADJACENT!"
Tim made a sound that was somewhere between a scream and a sob. "I WAS RIGHT ABOUT THAT, BY THE WAY! JASON WAS SECRETLY ALIVE!"
"IRRELEVANT!" Salix's voice echoed from somewhere near the trophy room.
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose so hard he was concerned he might bruise.
"Father," Damian said, watching the chaos unfold with the detached curiosity of a nature documentary narrator, "should we intervene?"
Bruce considered this.
He considered the last time someone had tried to intervene when Salix was in what Jason had once called Chase Mode. The resulting paperwork. The medical bills. The explaining to Commissioner Gordon why a vigilante had put three professional criminals into the same hospital bed.
"...No," Bruce decided. "Let them work it out."
"Work what out?" Steph appeared from one of the side tunnels, Cass close behind her. "Why is Tim screaming like that? Is that Salix? Is Salix chasing Tim?"
"He's going to become the Joker in the future," Damian supplied.
Steph blinked. "Like... the Joker? Our Joker?"
"The future Joker," Terry corrected. "Different guy. Same energy. Very talkative. Very annoying."
"So Tim's going to be—"
"AN INNOCENT MAN WHO IS CURRENTLY BEING HUNTED FOR SPORT," Tim's voice echoed from somewhere near the garage.
"HE'S NOT GOING TO HURT YOU!" Jason called back, still not moving from his spot. "PROBABLY!"
"HE LUNGED AT ME!"
"THAT'S JUST HOW HE SAYS HELLO!"
"JASON, YOU HAD A CONCUSSION FOR THREE WEEKS AFTER HE 'SAID HELLO' TO YOU!"
"It was two weeks," Jason corrected, then paused. "Okay, it was three. But I learned from it! Character development!"
Bruce finally looked up.
Salix had cornered Tim near the Batmobile, his escrima stick pressed under Tim's chin in that signature move—the one that Bruce had seen Salix use on at least forty-seven different criminals over the years. The one that always made Bruce think cat playing with its prey and I need to update my will.
"Timothy Jackson Drake," Salix said, and his voice had gone quiet—which was somehow worse than the screaming.
"Please don't use my full name," Tim whispered. "That's how you talk to people before you kill them."
"I'm not going to kill you."
"That's WORSE because I don't know what you ARE going to do!"
Salix tilted his head, mismatched eyes gleaming behind his domino mask. "I'm going to check something."
"Check WHAT?"
"Whether you have Joker tendencies."
"I DON'T—HOW DO YOU EVEN—"
"By chasing you until your fight-or-flight response reveals your true nature."
"THAT'S NOT SCIENTIFIC!"
"Neither is destiny, apparently," Salix said, and then he lunged again.
Twenty minutes later, everyone was gathered around the Batcomputer.
Tim sat in a chair with an ice pack pressed to his forehead. Salix perched on the back of Bruce's chair—his chair, the one nobody else was allowed to sit in, and looking utterly serene, like he hadn't just terrorized a member of the family for a full quarter of an hour.
"I maintain that this was unnecessary," Tim muttered.
"You screamed 'I'LL KILL YOU ALL AND WEAR YOUR SKINS' approximately twelve seconds into the chase," Salix said mildly. "That seems Joker-adjacent."
"I was panicking!"
"Future Jokers also panic," Terry offered. "It's a whole thing."
"I'm sorry," Dick said, raising a hand. "Can we go back to the part where Tim is destined to become the Joker? Like, is this a fixed point? Can we change it? Do we need to, I don't know, get him a hobby?"
Tim gestured wildly at Dick. "THANK you! That's what I've been saying!"
"You do have a hobby," Jason pointed out. "You take pictures of things."
"PHOTOGRAPHY IS A VALID ART FORM!"
"Not the point," Bruce said, and everyone fell silent.
Bruce looked at Terry. "Explain. From the beginning. Without the dramatic pauses."
Terry shrugged. "It's not that complicated. In my time, Joker's not a guy. It's like... a disease. A personality. It passes from person to person, and eventually, it passes to Tim. Something happens, someone becomes the Joker, and then that Joker infects him, and then he's the Joker, and then I have to deal with it, and it's a whole mess."
"And you came back to... what, exactly?" Bruce pressed.
"Make sure he stays Tim."
"That's literally the same sentence as before," Damian said flatly.
"Because it's the same answer!"
"I refuse to accept this," Tim announced. "I refuse to accept that my future is being a clown."
"You'd look good in purple," Jason said.
"I will end you."
"You see? This is the energy I'm talking about," Salix said, sounding almost proud.
Bruce rubbed his temples. He needed coffee. He needed sleep. He needed— "Salix. Put the watch away."
"I'm not—"
"You're holding it. I can see it in your jacket pocket."
Salix looked down at his own pocket, then back at Bruce. "...It's not my fault the pocket is transparent."
"Pockets aren't transparent."
"This one is."
"THAT DOESN'T—" Bruce stopped himself. Took a breath. Centered himself. "Fine. Fine. We'll deal with the Joker situation later. For now—"
"Can I at least get a 'congratulations on not being murdered'?" Tim asked.
"No," said everyone except Steph, who gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.
Terry checked his wrist device and grimaced. "I should probably go. Future me is going to be insufferable if I stay too long and mess something up."
"You could've just called," Dick pointed out.
"Where's the fun in that?"
Terry hit a button on his suit and vanished in a flash of light, leaving the Batcave in awkward silence.
"So," Jason said eventually. "Anyone want to bet on whether Tim's going to develop an irrational fear of bats or birds?"
"I'm not afraid of—"
"You screamed when a bat flew past your head during the chase."
"THAT WAS A STARTLE, NOT A FEAR RESPONSE!"
"The difference being?"
Tim opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"That's what I thought," Jason said smugly.
Salix hopped off the back of Bruce's chair and stretched, cat-like and utterly unbothered. "Well. That was entertaining. I'm going to go make tea."
"You can't just leave after chasing me for twenty minutes!"
"And yet, I am."
Salix paused at the cave entrance, turning back with a small, soft smile—the kind that made people forget he had just threatened to check someone's Joker tendencies by chasing them like a horror movie villain.
"Tim," he said.
"Yes?"
"If you do become the Joker... I'll make sure it's quick."
"...Is that supposed to be comforting?"
"No," Salix said, and vanished up the stairs. "It's a promise."
The Batcave was quiet for exactly three seconds.
"I need therapy," Tim announced.
"Join the club," Jason muttered.
"We should start a group chat," Dick added. "Call it 'People Who Have Been Traumatized by Salix.'"
"There wouldn't be room for everyone," Bruce said wearily.
And somewhere up the stairs, Salix, who could absolutely hear them because his hearing was ridiculous and they all knew it, smiled into his tea and considered the day a success.
He hadn't even needed to call Tostada.