Chapter Text
Things are the same, after that.
Well, some things are different. There are twice as many people in Wayne Manor, which means twice as much food, twice as much noise- twice as much everything, really. Sometimes it feels like there’s so much of all of them that the Manor might just burst from the wholeness of it.
Batman’s phone goes off a dozen times a day, and as much as he gripes and complains about it- in the deepest voice he can muster, to make sure everyone knows it’s important- he can’t bring himself to scowl at the frankly alarming number of selfies Robin manages to take every day. And even though more food takes more time to cook, there are also more hands to help. And more ideas to cook with. And more opinions on the cooking itself. And more. Everything.
It’s nice. It's also a lot. And sometimes it’s too much.
He shifts his position on the top of the street light, catching a glance of the city.
It’s not like Batman stays outside every night. Just sometimes in the summer, when it’s warm enough, when he wants to. When Robin makes too much noise at night, for instance. Batman regrets giving the kid a drum-set for his birthday, which had come not even a week after the whole debacle. Batman would have thought he was making it up, but that kid isn’t physically capable of lying.
Barbara finally agrees to take one of the master bedrooms after staying over for a full week straight. Her father had been been a little skeptical at first. After all, living in Wayne Manor is prime gossip fodder around Gotham. But Barbara doesn’t care- which is something Batman just can’t get.
Something moves out of the corner of his eye, but it’s just a bird.
How does she not care about what other people think about her? Isn’t that the point of doing things?
Robin’s finally moved on from “Police Lady” and landed on “Miss Barbara,” which she answers with a pat on the head or the shoulder most of the time, unless she’s busy, and then she just gives him a smile.
It’s… cute.
Batman doesn’t do cute. Sure, he can acknowledge when things are cute- there are certain things in the world that are cute by default. Cats, for instance. Babies. Wide, tear-filled eyes and wobbly lips- but he isn’t. Alfred isn’t. The Batcave isn’t.
But Robin has a talent for being cute when he wants to be. And sometimes even when he’s not trying. It’s almost impressive, and as much as Batman wants to hate it, he can’t, not really. Because Robin adds in his little dash of cute to the Manor, and somehow it just fits.
Robin fits, Barbara fits, Alfred fits, and Batman… fits too. Maybe better than he did before they all started being a weird little mishmash F-word. It’s absurd that he has to think about that, about the fact that he fits into the place he’s lived his entire life, but he does it anyway. Mostly at night.
So that’s different.
But there are other things that aren’t different at all. Lobster Thermidor tastes just the same as it always has. Gotham still somehow launches itself into a different catastrophe every week- though most of Gotham’s criminals took a little break after the Phantom Zone debacle. Barbara had been pleased. Batman had not.
But the sun still rises over the jagged horizon every morning, still sets just the same.
And Joker is still annoying.
“Bats! Batsy! Bat-caroni and cheese!”
“That one doesn’t even work,” Batman growls, flicking the edge of his cape. It’s easy to balance on these things with practice, but he still doesn’t appreciate distractions.
“Of course it works,” Joker scoffs. “But I have more, if you want to hear.”
“I don’t.”
“Oh, good!” Joker gives a little jump, settling himself at the base of the street-light. “I made a list.”
Batman closes his eyes. “No.”
“So, at first I was gonna go with ‘Batarang’, but that’s already a thing. There’s also ‘Baseball Bat’, but that’s not that creative. So then I started brainstorming during my yoga hour- there’s nothing that gets the creative juices flowing like a good yoga session. Have you ever tried yoga? You know, I think it would help you, maybe mellow you out-”
“I’ve just decided,” Batman grunts. “The drums are better.”
By the time Joker looks up with a what, Batman’s already sliding down the street-lamp. “Hey,” Joker says. “Hey- hey, hey, no, wait- Batsy. Batsy.”
Batman drops to the ground, heading for the Batmobilito parked neatly in the lot across the street. Apart from the Batbike and the Batmoped, it’s the only vehicle he owns that will fit into a parking spot.
“Batsy,” Joker says again, jumping up to his feet and scuttling around to Batman’s side. “Batsy. Batsy.”
In the empty air of the night, his voice echoes not only in Batman’s ears, but the entire street. With his super-powered bat hearing, it’s like being beaten over the head with a stick.
“Batsy-Batsy-Batsy- Batsy-Batsy-”
“What,” Batman grunts at last, stopping short. Joker slams into his back and topples to the pavement below with a little yell. He rolls over and onto his feet again in a flash, coattails whipping.
Joker nudges his shoulder. “I’m here.”
“So?”
“I’m here,” Joker repeats, rolling his eyes and grinning like he’s making an obvious point.
“Why,” Batman says. “Are you here.”
Joker’s grin flickers a little. “Well,” he says, brushing off his coat-sleeves. Batman reaches the Batmobilito and grabs the door handle. “Well,” Joker says again, hurriedly. “I mean- I just through that, y’know. Now that we’re- officially- our greatest enemies, and everything,” he stammers. “I thought- well. Maybe it would be good for people to. To see us together? To really drive the point home, see.”
Batman’s hand closes around the handle, but he doesn’t open the door just yet.
“Just,” Joker continues, clearly running out of steam. “Just a thought. You know.”
“Look,” Batman says, and Joker perks up. Batman sighs. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Joker’s mouth falls shut. He takes a second to process, before sighing himself- and then looking straight at Batman with those stupid eyes.
“Please?” he whimpers, sliding over so he stands between Batman and the Batmobilito. “Come on, please? Pretty-please?”
“Don’t- make that face,” Batman mutters.
“Blink-blink?” Joker tries. “Blinkity-blink-blink-blink?”
“Stop.”
“Blink-blink-blinkity-”
“Look.”
Joker looks.
Batman sighs again. “I live with a police officer, all right? It’s- it’s not a good idea. It’s a bad idea. Trust me.”
Joker’s face goes still at that. And then, slowly, he steps away from the Batmobilito, giving Batman room.
“Yeah,” he says. “That makes sense. Smart thinking.”
Batman starts to pull the door open, but hesitates.
“Guess that’s why you’re such a good superhero, huh?” Joker adds, giving Batman’s shoulder another nudge. It lacks conviction this time, and his hand just slides off Batman’s shoulder, barely making any impact at all. “You’re always one step ahead. Smarty-pants. Butt. Smarty-butt.”
Batman stares. Joker just gives the hood of the Batmobilito a pat, still grinning.
“I’m,” Batman says. “Gonna. Go, now.”
“Mm, yes, of course.” Joker nods, almost-grinning. “Lots of things to do, I’m sure. I keep you pretty busy, right?”
Batman slips into the Batmobilito and tugs the door shut. “Sure,” he says, determined to leave this conversation as quickly as he can. He slams his foot on the pedal and the Batmobilito shoots forward, knocking three cars out of the way.
He doesn’t check his rearview mirror, and he doesn’t see the way Joker’s smile falls right off his face as he watches Batman go.
“I think he’s fighting someone else.”
Harley rolls her eyes. “Boo-boo.”
“No, I’m serious!” Joker sits up, ignoring the newscaster yammering away in front of him.
“You know you’re not the only bad guy in town,” Harley points out. “Someone’s gotta take care of the rest of us, right?”
Joker huffs, crossing his arms. “He’s got that- that team, now. Can’t they take care of it?”
“I think it’s a moral thing,” Harley muses, flopping onto the edge of the armchair. “He just wants to help out?”
Joker sighs, and the sigh slips into a groan. He flops onto his back and slides halfway off the armchair, watching the television upside-down. His coattails flop up over the top of the chair. “What if he is, though?”
Harley sighs. “Boo-boo, you gotta stop worrying.”
“I can't.” Joker runs his hands over his face, groaning again. “I can’t stop thinking he’s- he’s-” He flops onto his stomach, coattails falling into his face. He waves them away impatiently. “This is awful. I hate thinking about this.”
Harley shrugs. “So go talk to him.”
“He won’t talk to me,” Joker grumbles. “He doesn’t even want to see me.”
Harley jumps off the side of the couch and wheels around in front of him, blocking the television from view. She pats his head. “Aw, I’m sure that’s not true. Everyone wants to see you, Mr. J.”
“Thanks, Harley.” Joker rolls back onto his back and stares at the ceiling, old and cracked, stickers peeling. Batman probably doesn’t have to look at an old ceiling like this. “And that’s another thing,” he says, jumping back onto the armchair and sitting up. “He says it’s because he’s living with that police commissioner.” He scoffs. “Like that matters. What’s she gonna do about it, huh? Arrest me?”
“Maybe.”
“She can try.” Joker scowls. “I bet he’s happy in that dumb basement with his dumb roommates and their dumb. Everything. They’re dumb.”
Why does Batman even have roommates, anyway? Maybe his little sidekick needs to live with him, sure, Joker can understand that. But the police commissioner? And that other, older, weirder Batman? And Bruce Wayne?
Wait.
“Boo-boo?” Harley asks, as Joker goes stock-still. And then, slowly, a smile works its way onto his face. A real smile.
“I’m gonna need this suit pressed,” he says. “Harley, we are going out.”
It’s every day. It’s every single day.
If he doesn’t find Batman on a street-lamp, he finds him on the rooftops. Or on the streets. Or on his car. And if he isn’t talking to Batman, he’s writing in the sky or defacing the nearest skyscraper or doing other weird things.
This one, though, this is definitely the weirdest.
Barbara and Alfred have teamed up for the absolute worst cause possible- getting Batman to go outside. As Bruce Wayne.
It’s torture.
Sure, his public image might need a little work, but that doesn’t mean Batman has to go out every other week to some fancy dinner for whatever the city wants to celebrate that day. And it doesn’t mean they all have to come with him.
At least Alfred’s staying home, since Barbara’s driving. She insisted on tagging along, because she’s the police commissioner and she has to keep up public appearances. Robin’s here too, because eh’s Robin, and if he spends more than twelve straight hours in the mansion he starts getting destructive. He’s really the only reason Batman agrees to go to these stupid things.
But back to the Joker.
Considering the fact that he’s crashed one of Bruce Wayne’s events before- Batman still keeps his old ‘Man of the Year’ award safely locked behind half a dozen security features- he shouldn’t be too surprised that Joker’s here.
He’s just surprised that Joker’s here and hasn’t done anything yet.
“Uh,” Barbara mutters, shifting next to Batman. “Batman?”
“I see him,” Batman mutters back.
“See who?” Robin pipes up. “Who’s here? Who are we seeing?” He’s back in his little red sweater-vest, but Batman’s at least got him in a new set of pants. His old jeans had positively reeked of sadness. And orphans. Mostly orphans.
“No one,” Batman says.
“Joker,” Barbara growls.
“Ooh!” Robin jumps out of his chair, looking around wildly. Barbara tugs him down, and the table scoots forward with a honk. Batman winces, but the room is so full of chatter that no one pays them much attention.
Well. People pay them attention. Gotham’s favorite story is still the fact that Barbara Gordon lives in Wayne Manor now, and a public appearance like this is like serving up a buffet to a house full of orphans.
Again, with the orphans.
Across the room, Joker gives an enthusiastic wave, kicking his feet under his chair.
Barbara knocks back her wine glass. “This is going to be a long night.”
“I still think this is way too complicated,” Harley says under her breath, glancing nervously at the crowds of uppity-class people that pass their table by without a second glance. “Don’t you think there’s an easier way to do this?”
“Girlbuddy,” Joker scoffs. “I do ‘way too complicated’ for a living. Trust me, this is gonna work out just fine.”
Across the room, the commissioner, the kid, and Bruce Wayne are all staring at him. He gives another wave, throws in a wink for good measure- though he doesn’t like to waste his winks on just anyone. Winks are special.
“Well, this is your last chance to change your mind.”
“It sure is,” Joker agrees. “Keep an eye on the commissioner, let me know when she’s not hovering around, all right? You know what to do from there.”
“Gotcha, Mr. J.” Harley salutes. They stick out here- Joker with his green hair, Harley with her red-and-black. But even if Joker’s suit is purple, it’s still a suit. And that seems to be enough for people to overlook the both of them. Either that or someone had put in a good word for them tonight.
Joker thinks Batman? for a split second before shaking his head to clear it. Batman doesn’t even know he’s here.
“She’s getting up,” Harley whispers.
“What, now? Already?” Joker looks up. And sure enough, commissioner Gordon’s standing. She bends down to whisper something in Bruce Wayne’s ear, and he gives a terse little nod. The kid sitting next to Bruce Wayne grabs her coat, eyes wide. She gives a smile and tells him something, and he lets go.
And then she walks away.
“Now’s your chance,” Harley hisses. “Go!”
Joker stands.
Bruce Wayne watches as Joker sashays his way across the room, stopping right at the commissioner’s empty seat and leaning forward on the back of it. The kid sits adjacent, and Bruce Wayne sits next to the kid. It’s a circular little table, but they’ve all clung to one side.
“Mis- ter Wayne,” Joker says, holding out a hand. Bruce Wayne eyes it warily, but takes it after a moment. Joker shakes it firmly, and the moment their hands dip down and back up, Wayne snatches his away. “Oh, and who’s this?” Joker asks, looking down at the kid.
“I’m-” the kid starts, looking like he’s about to vibrate right out of his seat.
“With me,” Wayne cuts in, before the kid can finish. “He’s my-” Wayne stops short for a second, and the kid’s eyes widen impossibly. “Kid,” Wayne finishes. The kid beams.
“That’s so sweet,” Joker gushes. “You know, I always wanted a little one to raise, myself. Someone to look up to me, and everything.”
Wayne says nothing.
“You must be a bit cramped, over in that little mansion of yours,” Joker continues. “What with the…” He holds out his hand, counting. Bruce Wayne, Batman, other-older-weirder Batman, the sidekick, the kid, and the police commissioner. “…six of you.”
“Six?” the kid repeats, frowning. “But there’s only-”
“We make do,” Wayne says loudly.
“Especially with that Batman around,” Joker says, barely taking notice to the interruption. “Is he a handful?”
“He’s,” Wayne says. “Fine.”
“Water?”
Wayne, Joker, and the kid all look up. A waitress offers out the pitcher of water expectantly.
The kid holds up his cup. “Yes please! Thank you very much, ma’am!”
“I’m fine,” Wayne mutters. The waitress shrugs, refills the kid’s cup, and doubles back around the table.
“Gosh, Padre, everyone here is so nice.”
Wayne ignores him. “If you’re trying to get to Batman through me, I assure you it’s not going to work.”
“Oh,” Joker says, standing up off the chair as he spots the commissioner heading back to the table, chatting to some other official looking person. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
And oh, he can’t resist. The moment’s just too perfect not to give another wink to Wayne as he spins around, coattails flying, and heads for the door.
“Sorry that took so long,” Barbara says, taking her seat beside Robin. “One of the other police chiefs wanted to talk about something.” She frowns. “I saw Joker over here, what was that about?”
Together, the three of them watch Joker amble around through the crowd, reach the far doors, and swing right out of sight into the night. Robin gives a little gasp as his coattails swish into view for a second before disappearing.
“I,” Batman says, “have literally no idea.”