Chapter Text
Deadpool had been in worse situations.
He had been stabbed, shot, exploded, dismembered, insulted by teenagers, emotionally wounded by fast food establishments, and once banned from a petting zoo for reasons he still insisted were “misunderstood performance art.”
So, all things considered, being hurled through a glowing hole in reality by a screaming wizard in a discount bathrobe was not the worst Tuesday he had ever had.
It was, however, very rude.
One second, Wade Wilson had been doing what any responsible mercenary with questionable impulse control would do, poking a mystical artifact he had been specifically told not to poke.
The next second, a robed man with glowing hands had shouted, “You fool! You have meddled with forces beyond your comprehension!”
And Wade had said, “Buddy, I once microwaved aluminum foil because I wanted to see if it would look like tiny fireworks. My comprehension has always been more of a suggestion.”
Then there had been light.
A lot of light.
A deeply inconvenient amount of light.
And then Wade landed face-first in an alley that smelled like rain, garbage, wet concrete, and unresolved childhood trauma.
He lay there for a moment, cheek pressed to the pavement.
“…Okay,” he said into the ground. “New York has really let itself go.”
A rat climbed onto a nearby trash bag and stared at him.
Wade lifted his head.
The rat stared harder.
Wade stared back.
“Do you talk?” Wade asked.
The rat did not.
“Wow. Tough crowd.”
He pushed himself to his feet and brushed grime off his suit. The alley opened onto a dark street lined with gothic buildings, flickering streetlamps, and approximately four hundred gargoyles that looked like they had been designed by someone who thought architecture should come with a side of clinical depression.
Above the skyline, a giant spotlight shone into the clouds.
On it was the shape of a bat.
Wade slowly tilted his head.
“Oh,” he said.
Then he looked directly at no one.
“Guys. Guys. I think we got upgraded to a crossover episode.”
He wandered out of the alley and onto the sidewalk, ignoring the way every pedestrian took one look at him and immediately crossed the street.
Gotham was beautiful in the way a haunted mansion was beautiful. All sharp edges, dark windows, dramatic fog, and the kind of alleys that screamed “someone’s parents died here.”
Wade pointed at a building with a gargoyle perched above the entrance.
“Subtle,” he said. “Very subtle. I bet the city mascot is a grief counselor.”
His phone had no service.
His emergency beacon had turned into a small smoking brick in his pouch.
And his usual “peeps,” as he affectionately referred to the only people in his life who had not yet permanently blocked his number, were apparently not available for immediate extraction.
Which meant Wade Wilson was stranded in a new universe.
In Gotham.
Alone.
Unsupervised.
He clasped his hands together.
“This city is going to hate me.”
Three hours later, he had acquired a hot dog, a stolen police scanner, three new knives, and a contract.
The contract had been handed to him by a very nervous man in a very expensive coat who clearly thought Wade was a local assassin.
Which, honestly, fair.
The man had found him sitting on top of a gargoyle eating nachos and talking to a pigeon.
“You’re the mercenary?” the man asked.
Wade looked down at himself.
Red suit. Swords. Guns. Questionable body language.
“No,” Wade said. “I’m the children’s librarian.”
The man swallowed.
“I was told you handle… difficult people.”
“I handle lots of things,” Wade said. “Difficult people. Easy people. Emotional baggage. Churros. Occasionally myself.”
The man did not laugh.
Gotham really did have terrible crowd energy.
“I have a job,” the man said.
Wade leaned forward. “Is it fun?”
“It’s dangerous.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“It pays well.”
Wade gasped and pressed a hand over his heart. “You flirt.”
The man held up an envelope.
Inside was a name.
A location.
A very large number.
And a photograph of a pale man with green hair and a smile wide enough to qualify as a safety hazard.
Wade stared at the photo.
Then he looked at the man.
Then back at the photo.
Then back at the man.
“This is a clown.”
“He is the Joker.”
Wade blinked.
“The Joker?”
“Yes.”
Wade stared again.
“So, let me get this straight. You live in a city that already has gargoyles, a bat signal, and more rain than a vampire romance movie, and your big criminal problem is a guy named the Joker?”
The man’s expression tightened.
“He has killed hundreds.”
Wade looked down at the photo again.
“Oh,” he said, voice going flatter. “That kind of clown.”
For a moment, the jokes quieted.
Then Wade tucked the envelope into his belt.
“Good news,” he said brightly. “I have extensive experience with murder clowns, circus trauma, and people who think purple is a personality.”
The man hesitated.
“You’ll take the job?”
Wade hopped down from the gargoyle and landed in a crouch.
“Buddy,” he said, standing. “I’m stuck in a universe where my phone doesn’t work, my friends are probably arguing over who has to come pick me up, and your city looks like it was built by Edgar Allan Poe during a thunderstorm. I need a hobby.”
The man nodded once and hurried away.
Wade waited until he was gone, then looked upward.
“Okay, mysterious bat-shaped city. Let’s go meet your local Hot Topic war crime.”
He made it six blocks before Batman appeared.
Not dramatically. Not with a warning.
One second, Wade was walking along a rooftop, humming the theme song to a cartoon that legally did not exist in this universe.
The next second, there was a shadow in front of him.
Huge, silent, pointy.
Wade stopped.
Batman stared.
Wade stared back.
The rain fell between them.
Finally, Wade raised one hand.
“Hi. Love the ears.”
Batman did not move.
Wade looked him up and down.
“Wow. You are committing to the bit. Respect.”
“You’re not from Gotham,” Batman said.
His voice sounded like gravel being interrogated.
Wade clapped.
“Ooh. Detective points. No, I am not. I’m from a different brand.”
Batman’s eyes narrowed behind the cowl.
“You’re carrying weapons.”
“Several.”
“You took a contract.”
“Allegedly.”
“To kill the Joker.”
Wade gasped. “Wow. You are good. Do you smell crime? Is that part of the bat thing?”
Batman stepped closer.
“You’re not killing anyone in my city.”
Wade looked around at Gotham.
Then back at him.
Then around again.
“Your city?”
Batman said nothing.
Wade leaned in slightly.
“Not to be rude, Count Broodula, but has anyone told the criminals?”
A muscle jumped in Batman’s jaw.
Wade noticed it immediately.
“Oh my God,” he said. “You do have facial expressions under there. I thought it was just one big haunted action figure.”
Batman’s cape shifted.
Wade’s hands went up.
“Okay, okay. No killing. Got it. Strong stance. Very after-school-special. Love that for you.”
“You don’t understand what the Joker is.”
Wade pointed at the envelope tucked in his belt.
“I got the brochure.”
“He manipulates people. He destroys lives. He wants chaos.”
“So he’s a podcast host?”
Batman’s glare somehow got darker.
Wade sighed.
“Look, Batsy—”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Batman.”
“Don’t make this difficult.”
“Too late,” Wade said. “I was born difficult and then professionally trained.”
Batman took another step forward.
Wade tilted his head.
“Wait. Hold on. You’ve never tried to kill him?”
“No.”
“Ever?”
“No.”
“But he’s, like…” Wade pulled out the photo and waved it. “This?”
Batman’s silence answered for him.
Wade stared.
Then he slowly lowered the photo.
“He killed someone important to you, didn’t he?”
The rooftop went very still.
Batman’s shoulders did not move, but something in the air sharpened.
Wade whistled low.
“He did. Okay. Wow. And you still didn’t kill him?”
“No.”
Wade nodded slowly.
“Bold choice. Weird. Hate it.”
Batman’s cape snapped in the wind.
“You’re done.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
Wade glanced at the skyline.
“See, the thing is, when scary men dressed like animals tell me what to do, my first instinct is to ignore them. My second instinct is to make it worse.”
Batman moved.
Wade barely had time to say, “Oop,” before a gloved hand grabbed the back of his suit and yanked him off balance.
Ten seconds later, Wade was face-down on the rooftop with one arm twisted behind him and a knee between his shoulder blades.
“Oh no,” Wade said into the gravel. “I’ve been subdued by the gothic fitness influencer.”
Batman tightened his grip.
Wade winced.
“That one hurt. Rude. Also, you smell like leather, justice, and father issues.”
A new voice cut through the rain.
“Okay,” someone said. “I already like him.”
Batman’s head turned.
A figure in a red helmet stood on the next rooftop, arms crossed.
Wade lifted his head as much as he could.
“Ooh. New player unlocked.”
“Red Hood,” Batman growled.
Red Hood looked at Wade.
Wade looked at Red Hood.
There was a pause.
Then Wade said, “You look like if a motorcycle had trauma.”
Red Hood pointed at him.
“I love him.”
Batman said, “No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“I was going to say we should hear him out.”
“He’s here to kill the Joker.”
Red Hood went very still.
Then, slowly, he turned his helmet toward Batman.
“Is he.”
Batman’s grip on Wade tightened.
Wade raised a finger from where he was pinned.
“For legal reasons, I am exploring a freelance opportunity.”
Red Hood walked closer.
“B, I think we should consider this.”
“We are not considering this.”
“Just as a concept.”
“No.”
“Like a community service project.”
“No.”
Wade squinted between them.
“Oh,” he said. “There is history here. Delicious, emotionally constipated history.”
Red Hood crouched in front of Wade.
“You really took a contract on the Joker?”
“Sure did, Red Bucket.”
Red Hood’s helmet tilted.
“Red Bucket?”
“I’m workshoping.”
Red Hood nodded. “Needs work.”
Batman hauled Wade upright and slapped restraints around his wrists.
Wade looked down.
“Ooh, kinky.”
“They’re reinforced,” Batman said.
“Buddy, so am I.”
Red Hood snorted.
Batman shot him a look.
“What?” Red Hood said. “He’s funny.”
“He’s dangerous.”
“So am I. You still invite me to family dinners.”
“No one invites you. You break in.”
“And yet Alfred sets a place.”
Wade gasped.
“You have an Alfred?”
Batman ignored him.
Wade turned to Red Hood. “Is Alfred the butler, the handler, or the secret final boss?”
Red Hood said, “Yes.”
“I knew it.”
Batman dragged Wade toward the edge of the roof.
Wade dug his heels in.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Where are we going?”
“The Cave.”
Wade went still.
“The what.”
Red Hood sighed.
“B.”
Batman’s jaw tightened.
Wade turned his head very slowly.
“You have a cave?”
No one answered.
Wade’s voice dropped into reverent awe.
“You have a bat cave?”
Red Hood looked away like he was fighting for his life.
Wade lifted his restrained hands.
“Please tell me there’s a dinosaur.”
Batman said nothing.
Wade’s gasp was enormous.
“There is a dinosaur.”
Red Hood broke.
He laughed so hard he had to brace a hand against the roof ledge.
Batman looked like a man regretting every decision that had led to this moment.
By the time they got Wade to the Cave, four more vigilantes had arrived.
Nightwing appeared first, flipping down from a platform with the cheerful energy of someone who absolutely should not be this comfortable in a cave full of weapons.
Wade took one look at him.
“Hello, handsome gymnastics trauma.”
Nightwing blinked.
Red Hood pointed. “Accurate.”
“Do not encourage him,” Batman said.
A teenager with a bo staff stood near the computer, studying Wade with suspiciously bright eyes.
Wade pointed at him.
“That one’s the smart one.”
Red Robin frowned.
“How did you know?”
“You’re standing next to the giant computer and you have the posture of someone who argues with databases.”
Red Robin looked slightly offended.
Then impressed.
A girl in purple leaned against a railing, grinning.
“Can we keep him?”
“No,” Batman said.
Spoiler snapped her fingers. “Knew you’d say that.”
Another figure appeared silently beside Wade.
He flinched.
A small woman in black stared up at him.
Wade stared back.
She tilted her head.
He tilted his head.
She smiled faintly.
Wade whispered, “She sees me.”
Red Hood whispered back, “Yeah. She does that.”
Then a smaller, angrier child stepped from the shadows with a sword.
Wade’s entire body perked up.
“Oh my God. Baby assassin.”
Damian Wayne glared.
“I am not a baby.”
“You are child-sized and murder-shaped.”
“I will remove your tongue.”
“Been there. Grew back weird.”
Damian narrowed his eyes.
Batman said, “Robin.”
“He is insufferable.”
Red Hood leaned back against the Batmobile.
“You get used to it.”
“I will not.”
Wade looked around the Cave, taking in the giant computer, the weapons, the suits, the dramatic lighting, the actual dinosaur, and the giant penny.
He slowly turned to Batman.
“You are so much weirder than me.”
Batman stared.
Wade pointed at the penny.
“I say this with love. That is not normal billionaire behavior.”
The Cave went silent.
Batman’s head turned slowly.
Red Robin made a choking sound.
Spoiler clapped a hand over her mouth.
Nightwing stared at Wade like he had just watched someone throw a grenade into a family dinner.
Wade looked between them.
“What?”
Batman’s voice was terrifyingly calm.
“What did you say?”
Wade blinked.
“Uh… not normal behavior?”
“Before that.”
“Billionaire?”
The silence got worse.
Wade looked around again.
“Oh, come on. Giant cave. Custom car. Child army. Secret medical bay. Trauma museum. You’re either rich or you’ve got the best coupon game in history.”
Red Hood was shaking.
Nightwing whispered, “I can’t breathe.”
Red Robin was typing rapidly into the computer.
Batman pointed at Wade.
“You do not know who I am.”
Wade leaned closer.
“Is this a secret? Because the cheekbones are doing a lot of work.”
Batman’s mouth tightened.
Wade gasped.
“Oh no. Is this one of those dramatic secret identity things? Don’t worry. I’m very good at secrets.”
Everyone stared at him.
Wade nodded.
“I am excellent at secrets.”
Spoiler said, “You announced you were from another universe to a rat.”
“He seemed trustworthy.”
Batman rubbed the bridge of his nose through the cowl.
Red Hood pushed off the Batmobile.
“So. Joker.”
“No,” Batman said.
“Counterpoint,” Red Hood said. “Joker.”
“Still no.”
Wade raised both restrained hands.
“I feel like I should mention, just for the record, that I am not attached to the killing part. I am an artist. I can ruin his life non-lethally.”
Batman looked at him.
“No killing.”
“No killing.”
“No permanent maiming.”
Wade hesitated.
Batman’s glare sharpened.
Wade sighed.
“Fine. No permanent maiming.”
“No guns.”
Wade gasped. “Now you’re just being mean.”
“No swords.”
Damian scoffed. “Coward.”
Batman turned. “Robin.”
“What? He has swords. They should be evaluated.”
“You are not evaluating his swords.”
Wade leaned toward Damian.
“I like you.”
“I despise you.”
“That’s how most of my friendships start.”
Nightwing crossed his arms.
“What exactly would non-lethal Joker-ruining look like?”
Wade’s mask shifted in what was clearly a smile.
“Oh, Bluebird,” he said. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Batman should have said no.
Batman did say no.
Repeatedly.
Firmly.
In several different tones.
Unfortunately, Gotham had many things, crime, corruption, cursed architecture, emotionally damaged vigilantes, and a truly terrible sense of self-preservation.
What it did not have was the ability to stop Deadpool once he had decided something would be funny.
—
The Joker was in the middle of a monologue when the first glitter bomb went off.
He stood in an abandoned theater, one foot propped on the stage, arms raised, surrounded by henchmen and canisters of laughing gas.
“Tonight,” he declared, “Gotham will learn that laughter is not merely an emotion, but a—”
Pop.
A small device rolled to his feet.
The Joker stopped.
He looked down.
The device beeped.
Then it exploded into a cloud of pink glitter.
Everyone screamed.
Not from pain.
From confusion.
The Joker stood frozen, covered head to toe in shimmering pink dust.
There was a long pause.
Then a voice from the rafters said, “Wow. You look like a craft store threw up on a Hot Topic manager.”
The Joker’s head snapped up.
Deadpool waved from the lighting rig.
“Hiya, Jokes.”
Batman appeared in the shadows behind him.
“I told you to wait.”
Wade looked back.
“And I told you I have impulse control problems. This is on both of us.”
Nightwing landed on the stage with a grin he was trying very hard to hide.
Red Hood dropped down beside him, shoulders already shaking.
Red Robin’s voice came over comms.
“I’m in their system. Also, Wade replaced all the laughing gas labels with stickers that say ‘sad clown juice.’”
Spoiler laughed so loudly that Batman turned toward the balcony where she was hiding.
The Joker wiped glitter from his face.
“What,” he hissed, “is this?”
Wade dropped from the rafters and landed in a crouch.
“This,” he said, standing dramatically, “is an intervention.”
The Joker stared.
Wade pointed both hands at him.
“Sir, your brand is stale.”
The theater went silent.
Even Batman paused.
The Joker blinked.
“My… brand?”
“Yes,” Wade said. “The clown thing? Tired. The purple suit? Overdone. The laugh? Forced. The whole ‘me and Batman are bound together forever’ routine? Very divorced theater kid. I’m worried about you.”
The Joker’s eye twitched.
Red Hood whispered, “Oh my God.”
Nightwing whispered back, “He’s going to kill him emotionally.”
Batman said, “Focus.”
Wade began pacing.
“I get it. You’re spooky. You’re chaotic. You’ve got dental confidence. But what are we doing here? Laughing gas? Again? Buddy. Sweetie. Mr. Discount Pennywise. Do better.”
The Joker’s smile strained.
Batman looked like he did not approve.
But also like he was not going to interrupt yet.
The Joker stepped forward.
“You think you can come into my city and mock me?”
Wade looked at Batman.
“See? Your city thing is contagious.”
The Joker’s expression twisted.
“I am the nightmare Gotham deserves.”
Wade made a buzzer noise.
“Wrong. Batman is the nightmare. You are a man who saw one clown at a birthday party and made it everyone else’s problem.”
Red Hood made a sound that might have been pain.
Nightwing bent over, hands on knees.
The henchmen looked uncertain.
One whispered, “He’s kind of got a point.”
The Joker whirled.
“Shut up!”
Wade pointed at the henchman.
“See? Employee morale is in the toilet.”
Batman finally moved.
In seconds, half the henchmen were on the ground.
Nightwing took the left side of the theater.
Spoiler and Red Robin handled the exits.
Robin dropped from above like a tiny, furious blade of judgment.
Deadpool, under strict instructions, did not use his guns.
He did, however, use two rubber chickens, a paintball gun, three smoke pellets he had stolen from Batman, and one extremely aggressive sock full of pennies.
Batman caught him mid-swing.
“No.”
Wade froze with the penny sock over his head.
“What? It’s thematic.”
“No.”
Wade lowered it.
“Fine.”
The Joker lunged toward a control panel.
Red Hood reached him first.
For one sharp, dangerous second, everything changed.
Red Hood had a gun raised.
Joker had a knife in his hand.
Batman’s voice cut through the theater.
“Hood.”
Red Hood stopped.
The Joker smiled.
There it was.
That ugly little victory.
That knowledge that he could still pull them all into the same old dance.
Then Wade stepped between them and slapped a sticker onto Joker’s forehead.
The Joker froze.
Red Hood froze.
Batman froze.
The sticker said:
HELLO, MY NAME IS: EMOTIONAL SUPPORT CLOWN
The Joker’s face went blank.
Wade patted his cheek.
“Not today, trauma goblin.”
Then he hit him with a taser.
The Joker dropped.
Batman stared at Wade.
Wade held up the taser.
“Non-lethal.”
Batman’s jaw worked.
Red Hood slowly lowered his weapon.
For once, he said nothing.
Wade leaned toward him.
“Proud of you, Red Bucket.”
Red Hood exhaled.
“Never call me that again.”
“No promises.”
The Joker groaned on the floor, glittery and twitching.
Wade crouched beside him.
“Hey, before Arkham, I have notes.”
Batman said, “No.”
“Just a few.”
“No.”
“Constructive criticism.”
Batman dragged Wade back by the collar.
Wade pointed at Joker as he was hauled away.
“Your hideout lighting is bad! Your henchmen need dental! And Harley can do better!”
From somewhere near the balcony, a blonde woman’s voice shouted, “Tell me somethin’ I don’t know!”
Batman stopped.
Everyone stopped.
Harley Quinn leaned over the balcony railing with a bucket of popcorn.
Wade gasped.
“Harley!”
Harley squinted at him.
“Do I know you?”
“Not in this universe, but spiritually? Yes.”
She looked him up and down.
“Huh. You’re like if a red flag learned sword tricks.”
Wade clasped his hands.
“Best compliment I’ve ever received.”
Harley looked at Batman.
“You keepin’ this one?”
“No,” Batman said.
Red Hood said, “Maybe.”
Batman said, “No.”
Spoiler said, “We should vote.”
Batman said, “We are not voting.”
Nightwing raised a hand.
“I vote yes.”
Red Robin said, “For research purposes, yes.”
Robin said, “Absolutely not.”
Wade gasped. “Baby Bat, you wound me.”
“I am attempting to.”
Cass appeared beside Harley on the balcony, silent as a thought.
Wade pointed.
“She votes yes.”
Cass smiled.
Batman looked tired.
Very tired.
The kind of tired that came from years of fighting crime, raising children, and now having to stop an interdimensional mercenary from adopting himself into the family.
The police arrived ten minutes later.
Commissioner Gordon stood in the theater entrance, took in the unconscious henchmen, the glitter-covered Joker, the sticker on Joker’s forehead, the rubber chickens, Harley eating popcorn, and Deadpool waving cheerfully beside Batman.
Gordon removed his glasses.
Cleaned them.
Put them back on.
“No,” he said.
Wade lowered his hand.
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“I know enough.”
Batman stepped forward.
“Joker is contained. The gas is neutralized.”
Gordon looked at the Joker again.
“Is he covered in glitter?”
“Yes.”
“Do I want to know?”
“No.”
Gordon nodded.
“Good.”
Wade leaned toward Nightwing.
“I like Mustache Dad.”
Nightwing smiled. “Everyone does.”
The ride back to the Cave was uncomfortable, mostly because Batman insisted Wade sit in the back of the Batmobile between Red Hood and Robin.
Robin spent the entire ride glaring.
Wade spent the entire ride narrating.
“And on your left, folks, you’ll see Gotham’s historic Crime Alley, named for the city’s proud tradition of making bad choices in narrow spaces.”
Batman’s hands tightened on the wheel.
Red Hood muttered, “You’re going to get ejected.”
“Worth it.”
Robin said, “I still believe we should have left him in the theater.”
Wade turned to him.
“You say that now, but who taught you how to make a smoke bomb shaped like a duck?”
Robin’s expression flickered.
Red Hood slowly turned his helmet.
“You did what?”
Batman said, “He did what?”
Wade stared straight ahead.
“Nothing.”
Robin also stared straight ahead.
“Nothing.”
Batman said, “Robin.”
“It was educational.”
“No.”
“It was chemistry.”
“No.”
Wade whispered, “See? Friendship.”
Robin whispered back, “Silence, clown swordsman.”
Wade wiped an imaginary tear from his mask.
“He gave me a nickname.”
Back at the Cave, Alfred Pennyworth was waiting with tea.
Wade stopped dead.
Alfred stood perfectly still, silver tray in hand, expression mild.
Wade slowly turned to Red Hood.
“Final boss.”
Red Hood nodded solemnly.
“Told you.”
Alfred’s eyebrow lifted.
“I assume this is the interdimensional guest.”
Batman removed his cowl.
Wade pointed at him immediately.
“I knew it. Cheekbones.”
Bruce Wayne closed his eyes.
Dick lost it.
Tim actually slid down in his chair laughing.
Jason slapped the Batmobile.
Damian looked personally offended by everyone’s lack of discipline.
Alfred approached Wade and offered him a cup of tea.
Wade took it with both hands.
“Thank you, terrifying British man.”
“You are welcome, deeply unstable visitor.”
Wade looked down at the tea.
Then up at Alfred.
Then back at the tea.
“I would die for you.”
“I should prefer that you not do so in the Cave. It stains.”
Wade whispered, “He’s perfect.”
For three days, Deadpool remained in Gotham.
This was not anyone’s plan.
Cable, Negasonic, Yukio, Dopinder, or whoever else was responsible for Wade retrieval apparently needed time to locate the correct universe and repair whatever glowing cosmic nonsense had dumped him there.
Wade referred to this period as his “Gotham vacation.”
Batman referred to it as “the incident.”
Gotham referred to it as “why is there a red man on the news calling the Riddler a crossword gremlin?”
The Riddler lasted twenty-seven minutes against Deadpool.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
He tried to present a complex riddle involving clocks, mirrors, and Latin.
Wade interrupted him halfway through and said, “Is the answer daddy issues?”
The Riddler screamed.
Penguin refused to meet with him after Wade walked into the Iceberg Lounge and asked if he was “the Monopoly man’s damp cousin.”
Two-Face flipped his coin.
Wade called heads.
It landed tails.
Wade gasped and said, “Betrayal. From a coin. In this economy.”
Poison Ivy trapped him in vines for trespassing.
Wade asked if this counted as a first date.
Batman had to retrieve him.
Again.
By the third day, Bruce had developed a very specific headache behind his left eye.
Unfortunately, the Batkids were having the time of their lives.
Jason and Wade had bonded over weapons, resurrection trauma, and a shared belief that some villains needed fewer second chances and more permanent naps.
Dick had tried to be responsible and failed because Wade kept calling him “Blueberry Nightlight.”
Tim had developed a file titled “Wilson, Wade: Biological Impossibility???” and had not slept in thirty-one hours.
Stephanie had taught Wade how to use glitter in ways that made Bruce deeply concerned.
Cass and Wade communicated mostly through staring, nodding, and occasionally pointing at people who were lying.
Damian claimed to hate him.
Damian also kept appearing whenever Wade was in the training room.
For supervision.
Obviously.
On the third night, they gathered in the Cave because Tim’s sensors detected an energy signature forming near the Batcomputer.
A glowing portal cracked open in midair.
Wade sprang to his feet.
“My ride!”
A man with a metal arm and the expression of someone who had aged ten years from sheer Wade exposure stepped through.
Behind him, a teenage girl with a shaved head looked around the Cave.
She blinked.
“Of course,” she said. “Of course you ended up in a cave with a billionaire furry.”
Bruce’s face went blank.
Wade pointed at her.
“See? It’s not just me.”
Batman said, “Leave.”
Cable glared at Wade.
“We spent three days tracking you across dimensional bleed points.”
Wade clasped his hands.
“You do care.”
“No.”
“You missed me.”
“No.”
“You cried.”
“I considered leaving you here.”
Jason raised a hand.
“We’d take him.”
Bruce said, “We would not.”
Stephanie raised her hand. “I vote yes again.”
Dick said, “I also vote yes, conditionally.”
Tim said, “Scientifically, we may need further observation.”
Damian crossed his arms.
“He is a menace.”
Wade gasped.
“Baby Bat.”
Damian glared.
Wade waited.
Damian looked away.
“…His sword form is adequate.”
Wade clutched his chest.
“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
Cable grabbed Wade by the back of his suit.
“We’re leaving.”
Wade dug his heels in.
“Wait, wait, wait. I have to say goodbye.”
“No.”
“I have emotional closure needs.”
“No.”
Wade turned to Bruce.
Batman stood in front of the Batcomputer, arms crossed, cape falling around him like a judgmental curtain.
Wade sniffed.
“Bats. I know we’ve had our differences.”
Batman said nothing.
“You don’t like killing. I like killing bad guys. You brood. I sparkle. You have a cave. I have unresolved narrative awareness. But I think we both learned something.”
Batman’s expression did not change.
Wade nodded.
“You learned that sometimes chaos can be helpful.”
“No.”
“And I learned that you are terrifyingly rich.”
“Also no.”
“And we all learned that the Joker looks terrible in glitter.”
Jason said, “That one’s true.”
Bruce sighed.
Wade stepped closer and held out his hand.
Bruce stared at it.
Everyone watched.
Slowly, reluctantly, Bruce shook it.
Wade leaned in.
“Admit it. You’ll miss me.”
Bruce’s voice was flat.
“No.”
Alfred, from the stairs, said, “I packed you sandwiches for your journey, Master Wilson.”
Wade released Bruce instantly.
“Alfred loves me.”
“He feeds everyone,” Bruce said.
“That’s how love works in emotionally repressed families.”
Jason pointed at him. “He’s not wrong.”
Bruce looked at Jason.
Jason looked away.
Cable dragged Wade toward the portal.
Wade waved both arms.
“Goodbye, Bat-family! Goodbye, dinosaur! Goodbye, giant penny! Goodbye, murder child! Goodbye, emotionally constipated gargoyle man!”
Damian shouted, “I am not a murder child!”
Wade blew him a kiss.
Damian pulled a knife.
Dick caught his wrist.
The portal hummed louder.
Wade braced one hand on the edge and looked back one final time.
“Oh! Bats!”
Bruce looked at him.
Wade pointed at him.
“For what it’s worth? Your no-kill thing is weird.”
Bruce’s face hardened.
Wade’s voice softened, just a little.
“But I get it.”
The Cave went quiet.
Then Wade added, “Still think the clown deserves a rocket launcher to the face, but, you know. Growth.”
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Goodbye, Wade.”
Wade gasped.
“You used my name.”
Cable yanked him through the portal.
Wade’s voice echoed after him.
“He loves me!”
The portal snapped shut.
For a long moment, no one moved.
Then Jason said, “So.”
Bruce said, “No.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”
“You want to invite him back.”
Jason crossed his arms.
“I mean, not permanently.”
“No.”
“Just for emergencies.”
“No.”
“Joker emergencies.”
Bruce turned and walked toward the stairs.
“No.”
Stephanie leaned toward Tim.
“Can we make a beacon?”
Tim was already typing.
Bruce stopped without turning around.
“Tim.”
Tim’s hands froze above the keyboard.
“…No beacon?”
“No beacon.”
Alfred cleared his throat.
Everyone looked up.
He was holding a small red card.
“I believe Master Wilson left something behind.”
Bruce took it.
On the front was a doodle of a bat wearing a Deadpool mask.
Underneath, in messy handwriting, were the words:
CALL ME IF THE CLOWN GETS ANNOYING.
Bruce stared at the card.
Jason slowly leaned in.
“There’s a number.”
Bruce crumpled the card.
Tim said, “I already scanned it.”
Bruce turned.
Tim looked innocent.
Jason grinned.
Stephanie whispered, “Family rule?”
Dick smiled.
Cass nodded.
Damian huffed.
Bruce looked at all of them.
“No.”
—
In Arkham, the Joker sat in his cell, still finding glitter in places glitter had no right to be.
A guard passed by.
Joker smiled slowly.
“You know,” he said, “Batman and I are bound by—”
A tiny speaker hidden somewhere in the room crackled to life.
Deadpool’s recorded voice blasted through the cell.
“Trauma? Codependency? Poor city planning?”
The Joker screamed.
Back in the Cave, Bruce stared at the security feed.
No one spoke.
Then, very quietly, Jason began to laugh.
Dick followed.
Then Stephanie.
Then Tim.
Even Cass smiled.
Damian looked away, but his mouth twitched.
Bruce stood in silence for a long, long moment.
Finally, he said, “Find the speaker.”
Jason wiped at his helmet.
“Sure, B.”
Bruce narrowed his eyes.
Jason’s shoulders shook.
“Right after we save the footage.”