Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1153668.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Batman_-_All_Media_Types
  Relationship:
      Joker/Damian_Wayne, Joker/Batman, Joker/Harley_Quinn, Harley_Quinn/Poison
      Ivy
  Character:
      Joker, Damian_Wayne, Harley_Quinn, Bruce_Wayne, Dick_Grayson, Alfred
      Pennyworth, Penguin, Poison_Ivy
  Additional Tags:
      Daddy_Issues
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-01-26 Updated: 2014-02-06 Chapters: 7/? Words: 28432
****** Reckless ******
by TimmyJaybird
Summary
     Damian Wayne is dead, but not for long. When the Joker dumps his body
     in a Lazarus pit and Damian breathes a fresh, cold breath, he's left
     with the confusion of why this man would care about his life, and
     what to do with his new found existence- and the odd comfort he finds
     in what should be the most terrifying man in Gotham.
Notes
     So, I've been thinking on this idea for a while, and finally decided
     to sit down and begin working on it. Updates will come slower than
     Savior ones did, as my semester is sadly starting up again :(
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
The Joker pulled the hat down lower on his brow as the Jeep made its way over
the flat, arid land. The air was dry, hot, and he mildly wondered at the state
of his make-up. The driver kept his eyes on the vast space before them, and the
Joker was somewhat disappointed at the lack of wildlife he’d come across so
far. Not that that was the point of his leave from Gotham to this wretchedly
hot place.
He looked behind him at the locked case, reached back and touched a bare hand
to it’s cool surface. No, he had other, greater reasons.
The sun was dipping beyond the horizon when he began to wonder if this man even
knew where he was going. He’d come highly recommended- and exceedingly
expensive- but the Joker was beginning to have doubts. He reached up to the
rack along the Jeep’s body and pulled himself up, pulling the sunglasses from
his face and staring off into the distance. He could make out shapes,
protrusions, but they were just a glimmer at this point.
“That’s what you’re lookin’ for, mate,” his driver said with a grin, “That
pit.”
The Joker felt his heart leap, and he grinned, pulling his hat off to let the
wind whip through his messy curls.
His driver, his guide, the name whose name he had learned but didn’t care to
speak, helped him lift his case from the back after the Jeep was parked. The
two of them carried it along the rocks, the man voicing once that it was heavy
enough to be a body. The Joker just snickered.
Past the field of jagged rocks the ground dropped to a steep angle, and below
the Joker saw it. His eyes nearly lit up as he and his guide set the case down.
“Wait at the Jeep,” the Joker said, crouching down and peering down below. The
man hesitated, then turned and left, leaving the Joker alone as the sky turned
black. He waited until he could barely hear the footsteps, then turned to the
case, entering a code to disarm the lock. He heard it release and gripped the
lid with both hands, lifting it up. Cold air escaped in large wafts, chilling
him suddenly.
Through the white vapors, inside the cold, was his prize. He reached down,
carefully lifting the body from the cold. Despite the temperature and the fact
that he’d been dead for days, he was surprisingly limp. Those chemicals the
Joker had pumped into him he done the trick.
He cradled the cold body to his for a minute, naked and tanned a bronzed gold,
before he stood up and made his way down the slope, slowly, careful not to lose
his footing. He wasn’t the one that needed to go for a dip, after all.
When he finally reached a small cluster of rocks that set above the pool’s
surface, and settled down on his knees, looking at the dead boy’s face. Behind
those eyelids were the eyes of a Bat, he knew it. The eyes of a killer, a true
masterpiece. He just needed to be shown that truth. And the Joker wasn’t about
to let death keep him from showing the boy true beauty.
He tossed him rather unceremoniously away from him, into the water, and waited.
A moment passed, two, three, and he drummed his fingers on the rocks, for a
second wondering if he had been wrong, if this had been a mistake and this was
not what he’d been looking for, when suddenly a few bubbles rose from the
liquid, then the water parted and arms thrashed out, followed by a head and
neck. The boy was gasping for air, thrashing, screaming at the top of his
lungs, so loudly the Joker wondered if the Bat and his wretched family could
hear half a world away.
He reached out, calling to the boy, managed to grasp his arm. He pulled him
closer, pulled his shaking body from the pool, and the boy threw his arms
around him, clinging and whimpering. For a moment the Joker didn’t move,
frozen, before he wrapped his arms around him, stroking a hand down his naked
spine.
“I’ve got you,” he said, “Take a deep brea-th.” The boy tried, cried out
because it hurt, everything hurt, and the Joker pushed his short dark hair
back, stroking his head, his fingers chasing away the feeling of the fibers of
his very existence being torn apart ans sewn back together. When that hand
ghosted his cheek he nuzzled into it, wanted to dive into that pale flesh
because it made everything not hurt. “Do you know who you are?” the Joker
whispered, and the boy just shook his head, looking around frantically with
such dark eyes they were nearly black. The Joker stroked his hair one more
time, before cupping his face in his hands and looking down at him. “It’s okay,
babybat,” he whispered, “I’ll help you remember.”
He took the jacket off that he had worn, despite the heat, to keep the sun off
his obscenely pale skin, and wrapped it around the boy’s shoulders. He scooped
him up into his arms again, and the boy wrapped his arms around his neck,
holding on tightly as the Joker made the climb up the steep incline.
His guide had done as he asked, and had the Jeep running. The Joker took
climbed in, ignoring his stares at the boy, and settled him on his lap.
“Drive,” he said, glaring at the man, who obeyed under fear of those deadly
green eyes, tearing off into the outback. The boy’s shaking began to subside as
the air whipped around them, but he stayed leaning into the Joker, his mind a
hazy of confusion and melting images, bursts of black and red and sudden pangs
of white hot pain.
The man’s question was playing through his head, over and over again. Do you
know who you are? He looked up, caught the glimpse of one long, puckered scar
along his cheek, and it seemed familiar. “Who am I?” he whispered in a broken,
raw voice, his throat burning from lack of use.
“Your name,” he said, stroking his hair again, “Is Damian Wayne. You’re the
last in a long line of Robins to a man called Batman- your father.” He stopped,
ran his fingers down the side of his face, before he stroked his cheek with his
thumb. “And you’re dead.”
The Jeep drove through the dark, switching from dry dirt to pavement, and the
next thing Damian knew, he was being boarded onto a plane. The Joker helped
him, held his hand, while his words rolled over in his head, over and over
again. Your name is Damian Wayne...And you’re dead.
The plane was small, but Damian didn’t care. He had no memory of being on one,
but the Joker assured him as time went, his memories would return. He had
clothing for him, and once Damian was dressed, he stretched out on a set of
seats and closed his aching eyes, slipping into such a deep sleep the Joker had
to lean close to his mouth to feel his breath. He didn’t wake for during the
entire flight, sleeping as if he had never slept in his life. Later, he’d
reflect he hadn’r slept during this life.
He dreamed of memories, of men with faces he knew and masks and a father in a
cape, who buried him in the cold hard ground with grandparents he never knew.
He dreamed of a maniac clown with a heart stopping laugh, of a city that burned
nightly, of the faint feeling that he had taken life, that he could take life
again. When he was pulled from that sleep he sat up abruptly, staring into the
Joker’s eyes as he panted.
“What did you see?” he asked, and Damian’s mouth hardened into a tight line.
“The truth.”
It was raining when they left the small plane. The Joker held an umbrella over
them as they walked through the dark. “I know who I am,” Damian said, looking
down at his hands. “I...I know I’m Robin. And Batman-“
“Is your father,” the Joker said with a click of his tongue. “He buried you a
few days ago.”
“I know who you are, too,” Damian said, looking up. “Why the hell would you do
anything for me?” The Joker chuckled, stopping to open a car door. Damian
climbed in, slid over to the opposite seat, and the Joker slipped in, closing
the door. A man sitting in the driver seat up front took off the moment the
door clicked shut.
“Maybe I hated to see such talent go to waste,” he said, leaning his head back.
His temples were pounding, and he longed to curl up and sleep for a very long
time. He had gotten little sleep on the plane ride back, and what he had gotten
had been restless. “Does it, ah, matter? You’re alive...now.”
Damian was quiet for a second, looking down at his hands. He flexed his
fingers. They looked the same- same golden skin, shades darker than his father-
same shape and size, but they felt different. Like they were throbbing, like
something bigger wanted to burst forth.
“So where are we going?” The Joker looked at him from the corners of his eyes,
before closing them again.
“We’re going home.”
Damian knew the Joker had countless hideouts in Gotham. He was remembering
this, the many times they’d found him in old apartments that should have been
condemned, basements. But this, this was different. This was far more permanent
seeming. Inside a locked building that looked as if it was just old office and
storage, up one flight of creaky stairs, and behind a heavy, locked door, he
found glimpses of almost normal life. Almost.
The Joker took his jacket off and tossed it on a small table, shaking the water
from his hair. Damian left his on, looking around at the lilac colored walls-
they were pretty, and that’s not what he would have expected. He hadn’t
expected something so...domestic.
“Puddin’?” He heard the voice calling from another room, the sound of soft
footsteps, bare skin on the wooden floor. Harley appeared, her blonde waves a
tussled mess, like she had been sleeping. She looked far from the terrifying
mass of instability that Damian saw in the recesses of his mind- she was in an
over sized t-shirt and her underwear, and nothing else.
She gave the Joker a huge smile, before turning to look at Damian, and her
smile turning to a drop of her jaw. “Puddin’...it worked!”
“I said it would,” he said, putting his hand between Damian’s shoulder blades
and guiding him forward. Harley bent down to get eye level, smiling at him. It
was a pretty smile, something not-quite-insane.
“The bird looks almost harmless without the tights,” she teased, brushing back
some of his hair. “How ya feelin’ kiddo?” Damian didn’t know what to say,
because truth be told, he wasn’t sure how or what he was feeling. All he knew
was this wasn’t what he expected- this was normal and it shouldn’t be. It was
almost more normal than life with his father.
“He’s had some memory loss,” the Joker filled in, “But they’re coming back.
Slowly.” Harley nodded, her hand dropping down to Damian’s shoulder and
squeezing.
“I bet you’re hungry,” she said with that pretty smile again, “Are ya hungry?
C’mon, I’ll make ya somethin’.” She stood up and took Damian’s hand, leading
him away before he could say anything. When he turned back the Joker was
watching with attentive green eyes, and a similar smile.
Damian couldn’t deny that he was hungry, like he’d never eaten in his life.
Maybe it had to do with that dying thing. Maybe he was just nervous, being so
close to Gotham’s leading crime lord and lady. Maybe, it was both. Harley
wasn’t a great cook, and she confessed that as she hurried around the little
kitchen, but the grilled peanut butter sandwich she set in front of him was one
of the best things Damian had tasted, and in the back of his mind he apologized
to Alfred and all the extravagant meals he’d made.
Harley sat with him while he ate, no talking, just watching, and Damian decided
he didn’t mind. Her liked her eyes, those pretty crystal, when they weren’t
obstructed by make-up or a half mask. He liked her smile, too. He liked seeing
smiles inside domestic walls- his returning memories lacked a lot of those.
When he was done Harley led him into a small room, flicking the light on. It
looked absolutely normal, blue walls and a nicely made bed.
“I’m sure ya slept a lot on the plane,” she said, walking over to the bed and
pulling the blanket back, “But sleepin’ in a real bed is always better.” She
patted the mattress and Damian walked over, stripping off the jacket he had.
She slipped onto the bed and she pulled the blanket up, tucking him in like a
child-
The child he was, that it was easy to forget. She smiled at him, was humming
some sort of wordless melody. “I’ll see you in a few hours,” she said, getting
up to leave, just as the Joker appeared in the doorway. She walked past him,
giving him a quick sidelong glance, and he walked in. Damian felt his heart
beat pick up a bit, a moment of fear because even if he looked oddly calm, this
was the Joker.
“I, ah, know that look,” he said, stopping and looking down at Damian. “Fear.
Just a hint.”
“I remember what you are.” The Joker chuckled, sitting down on the bed, and for
a moment Damian wondered if there was a bedtime story involved. It would be the
perfect end to a weird day- after all, he had started it dead.
“And yet, here you lay.”
“What if I leave in the middle of the night?” Damian asked, sitting up
slightly. “Leave and go back to my father, let him know where you are.”
“You could,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “There’s nothing stopping
you, babybat. Harley and I won’t stand in front of that door, and I’m sure you
could find your way home.” He reached out, traced Damian’s cheek in an oddly
tender touch, one Damian pushed into before he could realize it- his body
telling him this was good and this is the hand that pushed the pain away. The
Joker let him, kept his cool hand there. “Just remember,” he said, fingers
flexing slightly, “Who gave you the chance to walk back home.” He stood up,
pulling back and turning, walking to the door. He stopped, looked back at
Damian, caught his dark eyes. “And remember what you were back then. Do you
want to be Robin forever, Damian? Or do you want to live up to all of your
potential.”
He flicked the light off and left Damian to the black.
Damian saw his father in his dreams. He saw him without the cowl, in a suit,
those serious eyes and that straight lipped look. He saw how dead those blue-
black pools were, from years of wear from Gotham, years of torment. From
getting close, too close- that’s what he’d said, one night. He’d gotten too
close to chaos, and it had drained him. Damian had asked what chaos, and his
father had simply said the kind with red lips that spell murder. And Damian
knew. Everyone knew, the whole family, that something wasn’t right when it came
to those two, but no one dared broach the subject with Bruce. That was his
torment, and his alone.
Damian saw him now, nearly lifeless, holding the cowl and cape. He reached for
it, and he was speaking, or he was hearing his voice. Asking his father to set
it down, to walk away, to give the mantle to someone else. Let him take the
burden for a night-
When he touched it Bruce recoiled, mouth splitting wide into gaping pointed
teeth as he screeched. Damian jumped back, but the ground opened up beneath
him, and he fell into a small, neatly dug hole. He landed on his back, grunted
on impact, and tried to sit up. His limbs felt like lead and would not respond,
and he stared up at Bruce appeared, in his cowl and cape now. He had a shovel,
and dropped a pile of dirt onto Damian’s chest. Damian screamed up to stop,
that he was alive, but Bruce kept shoveling- and slowly, he wasn’t alone.
Familiar faces appeared, covering him with dirt- Alfred was there, and Dick,
and Damian screamed and screamed but they didn’t hear him. He screamed until
the dirt was in his mouth and too heavy on his chest, and he was seeing black
again and trying to thrash-
His eyes shot open as he felt someone lifting his torso up to hold it against
their lithe body. He was panting, gasping for breath, and he reached out,
clutching onto a shirt and burying his face in it, shaking. The word father was
on his lips, but the fingers that threaded through his hair were too long and
nimble, the body too thin. He looked up, eyes trying to adjust to the dark, and
made out the shape of that lean face, those curls.
Damian went limp and fell into his arms, not fighting it, shivering as the
sweat he was drenched in began to dry. The Joker didn’t say a word, he just
held him in the dark, pulled him from his not-so-shallow grave and gave him a
breath of fresh, cold air.
When Damian awoke again, it was from a dreamless sleep. He rolled from his
stomach onto his side, looked at the open door to the bedroom, at the light
streaming in from the hallway. He lay there for a minute, letting the sleep
fade, before he stood up, making his way towards the light.
He could hear voices, distantly. Speaking low, but passionately. Harley was
louder, he heard her voice clearly first as he made his way down the hallway.
“I know he owed ya a favor, Puddin’, but there’s no way he owed you enough for
his private jet, the money for that guide, for gettin’ Freeze to share some of
his skills with ya. He’s gonna collect and it ain’t gonna be pretty.”
“You worry too much,” the Joker said, “Cobblepot’s nothing to worry about.
He’ll need me again, and before he knows it, I won’t owe him a thing.”
“If we pull somethin’ big off, we wouldn’t have ta wait ‘til then.”
“Not yet.” There was a pause. “I’ve got to figure out what to do with the boy-“
“I hope you’ll share.” Damian leaned against the doorway, saw Harley was
sitting folded up on a couch, the Joker leaning by a window. She smiled at him,
and the Joker gave him one of his half-smirks.
“I will,” he said, motioning Damian in. “I see you didn’t leave us in the
middle of the night.”
“No,” Damian said, though he had thought about it. Even when he woke from those
nightmares, he had thought about it- until he’d been locked in those arms, and
he could see why his father had so easily fallen into chaos. Chaos was oddly
alluring. Chaos was oddly comforting. He sat down next to Harley. “Are you
going to ship me off to my father as some sort of peace treaty?”
“I’d thought about it,” the Joker admitted, “But nothing would move the Bat,
make up for all he thinks I’ve done.”
Jason Damian knows, and he watches those lively eyes go dark, dim. He hates it,
doesn’t like that look, and is shocked at how passionately he wants the color
to return.
“Then what’re you going to do with me?” Damian asked as Harley tucked an arm
around him. The Joker drummed his fingers on the window sill, watching him,
staring into him, before he finally spoke again.
“That depends,” he started, “What do you want us to do with you?”
For a moment, Damian thought once again to simply say send me home, to ask to
be returned to the life he knew before death. To ask for everything to go back
to normal- but he knew there was no hope of that. Normal was dead, at least for
him. You didn’t sleep in that cold embrace and then come back just to pick up
the pieces where you left them. No, you came back and stepped on them until
they were dust, then mixed that dust with water and turned it to paint.
You painted a new life with the ashes of your old one, Damian was sure. So he
leaned against Harley and kept eye contact with the Joker while he spoke, the
words hurting most of him, making his chest tight for what he was giving up,
but breathing life into something deep in his core that had been so neglected.
“Keep me,” he whispered, and the Joker gave him the most dazzling smile he’d
ever seen.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Damian spent three days trying to sort through the memories that kept coming
and going. He didn’t leave the make-shift home, even though the Joker and
Harley did on separate occasions. One of them was always there, and he found it
oddly comforting.
At night he’d wake up screaming and bathed in sweat, having been buried alive
or drowning or watching himself bleed out on the streets. And every time the
Joker was there, silent, pushing the nightmares back. Damian never asked if he
screamed in his sleep and it woke him, because they never spoke of it, but
Harley acted as if it never happened, and Damian wondered if the clown just
knew when something was wrong. He wondered if the man could have found a way so
deep inside him already.
The memories came back in spurts, at random times. Sometimes he’d just remember
or know something, and there was nothing more to it. But sometimes, sometimes
they came in episodes that left him a quivering, gasping mess, not sure if he
was living them then or just seeing them in his head. Those could last thirty
seconds or five minutes- the longer ones usually left him exhausted or angry.
He was sitting on the couch, being almost normal when this one hit. One minute
he’s watching the Joker cleaning a knife at a small desk, being obsessively
meticulous about the shine of the blade, the next he’s in his suit and standing
in the rain, watching the man open up a woman’s throat and laugh as she bled
out on the wet pavement. Her body crumpled, lay next to others, all the
hostages he’d promised to release if he got Batman. But they’d been dead
already, except this one, and now there was nothing but blood and more blood
and Damian could see countless dead eyes staring at him.
There were hands on his shoulders, gripping him tightly, when his eyes rolled
back from the back of his head. He stared into those same green eyes, and
gritted his teeth.
“You’re alright,” the Joker said, before Damian tore away from his touch and
shoved him off. The Joker stumbled, but didn’t make a sound. He straightened as
Damian stood.
“You’re a monster,” he said, as if he could have forgotten. Truthfully, he
hadn’t, but seeing things so vividly in his head- it reminded him how real
everything was. “God, the blood-“
“Damian,” he said, voice low, “Look where you are. There’s no, ah, blood here.”
“There’s always blood with you,” he said, his breathing escalating. “Always
blood, always death...always a monster, monster...always...” He trailed off,
muttering, feeling like he was too hot in his skin. The Joker took a step
towards him and he nearly growled, lashing out and punching him in the side.
The Joker stumbled, ended up crouched down, one hand on the rug. He watched
Damian, saw the next strike and reached up, grabbing his wrist. He stood up and
dragged him close.
“Get a hold of yourself,” he said, and Damian tore away, taking a step back.
All he could see was blood, on the floor, the walls, the Joker’s hands and his
own. The blood of the city- of Gotham- the city he was supposed to be
protecting.
Why protect what wouldn’t fight for you?
He screamed, at the voice inside his head, and lunged, managed to reach up and
punch the Joker in the jaw, splitting his lip open. The Joker grabbed him, arms
locking around his waist, and dragged him down onto the floor, so Damian was
sprawled between his legs. He held him firmly as Damian thrashed, pupils barely
pin pricks inside his eyes.
“Damian!” he yelled, holding him tighter, until he stilled, went limp against
him. The Joker hesitated a moment, before reaching up, stroking his hair and
the back of his neck. Damian took a deep breath- breathed in the warm, sweet
scent of the man holding him, nuzzled into his chest, afraid to look, afraid at
what he might see. “You’re alright,” he said softly, and Damian looked up.
The only blood he saw was one line on the Joker’s chin, form the split in his
lip that he had caused. Damian stared at it for a moment- it seemed different
from what he swore he’d just seen. Rich and warm, a perfect red, not a stale
rust, not nearly black. Something beautiful.
Damian pushed himself up, tilting his head and leaning in close. His little
pink tongue darted out, tracing up that trail, to the edge of the Joker’s lips,
letting the salty-coppery taste warm his mouth. The Joker’s breath hitched
beneath him, and Damian wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t care in that moment. The
taste on his tongue was rich and he wanted more-
The Joker grasped him by his shoulders and pushed him back a little, sitting up
properly. “What did you see this time?” Damian didn’t take his eyes away from
those red lips.
“Blood. Everywhere. You slit a woman’s throat. You slit a lot of throats.
Wanted Batman, said they’d live if you got him. But he came and you still
killed them.” The Joker traced his cheek delicately.
“I never got my Bat,” he said, and Damian saw a flicker of sadness in those
eyes. He didn’t like it, and he leaned in, pressing his lips to the corner of
the Joker’s mouth, getting the last of that tangy coppery taste in his mouth.
When he leaned back, the Joker was watching him with a forced look of
detachment- like he had to try and separate himself from this. “Just remember
something when you grieve for this bleeding city, Damian.”
“What?”
“That it will never bleed for you.” Damian didn’t say anything for a moment,
then moved slowly, curling up against the clown’s chest to listen to beats of
his heart.
Damian knew something was wrong after he’d been locked up more than two weeks.
The Joker was pacing on evening, screaming into a cell phone, while Harley
watched with an nervous sort of agitation. So intent on him, she hadn’t seen
Damian leave his room at the noises of the Joker’s voice. He was hanging up
when he walked out, but he pressed against the corner and peered into what
would be a living room, watching as Harley reached for the Joker, missed his
hand.
“Puddin’, we can’t just sit here. As much as I like bein’ domestic with ya,
this isn’t a pretty neighborhood with a white picket fence. If we don’t do
somethin’ soon, Penguin will be down our throats- and we don’t need more
enemies.”
“Fine,” the Joker said, gripping the phone so tightly his knuckles were going
white. He turned and flung it against the wall, watched the screen shatter.
“Fine. I need time, space-“
“I can help,” Damian said, coming closer. Harley and the Joker jerked their
heads towards him, and then the Joker was shaking his head.
“You’re unstable,” he said, and Damian bit back the retort that the Joker was
the single most unstable man in Gotham, “Both of you, just go. I need space to
think.”
Harley stood up, guiding Damian away. Damian expected to just sit in another
room for five or ten minutes, but Harley actually took him to the door and
guided him out.
“Take a walk with me,” she said, taking his hand. They walked down dusty,
creaky stairs, past the floor level that was closed off, and down a small
stairs case that led into a basement. Harley pulled a key form her pocket and
unlocked the door, pushing it open and leading Damian inside. She flicked a
light on, and Damian looked around quickly. Hanging on the walls were various
weapons- guns, mostly, but he saw a case in the corner that was filled with
knives.
“Normally he does his thinkin’ down here,” Harley said, hopping up onto the
metal table in the center of the room. “But he’s pretty frazzled right now, I
think he just needed ta be alone.” Damian hopped up next to her. “Ya know, you
remind him of Bats.”
“Really?” Harley nodded.
“Yeah. You were sleepin’ the other night when he went off that you’re just a
babybat. He thinks you could be just as great as your father someday.” She
reached over, rubbed between his shoulders. “Ya know...if ya need to talk or
somethin’, you can. If not to him, than ta me.”
“Are you going to try and psychoanalize me?” Damian asked, reminding himself
this woman was smart, and she only laughed.
“Those days are gone,” she admitted, “I gave that up when I followed Mr. J
into...this.”
“Do you regeret it?” Damian wondered for a moment if anyone had asked her that.
He was sure his father must have, one upon a time- but it had probably been so
long it was as if no one cared.
Harley thought on it a second, then gave him a sad sort of smile. “Some days,”
she admitted, “But not because I’m unhappy. Because somedays I think I would’ve
been more help to him if I had stayed Harleen.” She folded her hands in her
lap, and Damian thought she was pretty sitting there in the fake light- no make
up of any sort, thick, tussled blonde hair.
“You must really love him, then.” She laughed then, reaching up to cover her
mouth. She choked on it, reached over to mess with Damian’s hair.
“Maybe once,” she said, “Maybe sometime ago. But this isn’t love, kiddo, this
is some sort of obsessive need to understand...to see how he reacts and thinks,
even after all this time. I want to understand him, I always did. Ya won’t
catch me sayin’ I’d turn him down for a night of fun or anything, but my heart
doesn’t beat like it used to around him.” She sighed. “I wanna see him happy
though. Maybe that’s why I’m still here. Why I’ll always be here, because I
don’t know if that can ever happen until this whole city has burnt to the
ground and he’s got your daddy at his feet.”
Damian didn’t say anything, but when Harley wrapped an arm around his shoulders
he leaned into her, accepting her partial hold, the warmth emanating from her.
They sat in silence for a long time, and Damian didn’t mind. He could hear the
Joker before he unlocked the door, the stairs giving him away even if his
footsteps were light. When he walked in Harley and Damian looked over, but
didn’t move. He’d thrown his jacket off back up in the apartments, had his
sleeves rolled up and his tie loose. But he was grinning, the kind of grin
Damian remembered, from somewhere deep in his mind. The kind that meant
trouble.
“Would you two mind?” He asked, not unkindly, and Harley slipped off the table,
helping Damian. When she walked by him she stopped to kiss his cheek, and he
gave her a smile- not a loving smile, Damian didn’t think that word was right,
but some sort of genuine emotion he didn’t have a name for. It still was hard
to swallow that they could seem so normal.
He walked by and looked up, stared at those red lips, and saw the Joker
struggle to swallow. Then he was closed off in the room, alone, and Damian was
left to wonder what his brain was thinking.
A bank heist. Damian should have seen it coming, it was the most logical way to
get the massive amounts of cash they needed, and fast. He’d been listening, and
he knew that whatever strings the Joker had pulled with the Penguin to use his
jet, his money, and his ties to Freeze had far exceeded any favors the Penguin
may have owed the Joker. He needed to pay back, and with interest- and
yesterday.
The plan was late afternoon- before the Bat was usually out. They’d have two
teams- one team would creaet a distraction across town, a nice big explosion to
draw attention of the authorities- and him when he did hear- while the other
would focus on the bank itself. They’d clear as much as they would, in and out
quick, and take it to Penguin that night. The Joker could even get most of the
help from him, if he clued him in.
“I don’t like usin’ his men,” Harley said. They were sitting at the table in
the kitchen, and if it weren’t for the topic of discussion and the slight
oddity to the Joker’s looks, it could almost be like a family dinner.
“I don’t either,” the Joker admitted. “But it’s short notice, not much of a
choice. I can pull in a few we’ve used in the past. They’ll be with you on the
distraction, Harley.”
“They outta be with you, Puddin’. The bank is more important.”
“I need the distraction to go off without a hitch,” he said, drumming his
fingers on the table. “I need to know it’s done, because I won’t be able to
check. You’ll have a short window to do it, and if it doesn’t go off without a
hitch, I’ll be walking into a death trap.” Harley sighed, and he reached over,
taking her hand.
“I can help,” Damian said, and they both looked at him. The Joker chuckled.
“No,” he said, “Sorry babybat, but no. You’re...you’re not clear on what you
want yet. I can’t risk having you there and then going off and helping the
cops...or the Bat.” Damian sighed, and the Joker reached over, patting his
shoulder. “I won’t keep you locked up forever. I promise.”
It took all of two days to get everything organized. The Joker didn’t sleep the
night before, Damian heard him up pacing. He wondered if this is what he was
always like- or had always been like. He knew he’d been changing over the
years, remembered his father mentioning it. Pulling into himself, pulling away
from everything else.
Harley left first. She kissed Damian on the temple- he wouldn’t tell her how
much he liked it- and stopped the push the Joker against the door frame and
give him a long kiss. Then she was gone, a mass of mostly black with highlights
of red, and two thick, blonde pigtails. The Joker left shortly after, telling
Damian to stay locked inside. If they weren’t back by morning, he was free to
roam Gotham and do as he pleased- be it having a little fun, or running back to
his father.
Damian pressed his ear to the door once the Joker was gone, and waited until he
heard the creaking of doors below. He flew out the door after him, taking the
stairs two at a time, and bursting out into the rather deserted street. He knew
which bank they had targeted, so he didn’t need to follow him.
He made good time getting across Gotham. He kept his head down, in the off
chance one of the family was out, and slipped into the bank with a quick look
at a clock inside. Ten minutes until it started. He was sure the Joker was
watching, but he had confidence he had his hands full with the men, and that he
wouldn’t have noticed.
Damian followed a woman, made it seem as if she had come in with her, and when
no one was looking, slipped into an empty little cubicle. He crouched down, out
of sight, waiting. He couldn’t say exactly why he was there- part of him wanted
some fresh air, part of him wanted to see how the Joker worked-
And part of him wanted to take him down, to call his father and say that he was
alive and he’d brought down the Crime Prince himself. Part of him was clinging
to that old reality.
He watched it unfold from his hiding spot. The men came in first- masked,
rounded up the hostages. Two men stayed on them, while two others went ahead to
ransack the back, loading as much cash into duffle bags as they could. And the
Joker stood at the center of it, constantly checking the time, telling the men
to hurry up.
It was about six minutes in when the Joker told them they had to leave. He’d
timed it down to a second and Damian knew he’d stayed longer than he wanted
already. For once, the point wasn’t to engage the cops, or Batman, the point
was to get in and get out. The men holding the hostages stepped back, dropping
a small canister. It releases a thick white smoke, but stays rather contained.
They began to cough, to choke, to collapse, and it’s not Joker venom because
they’re not smiling.
The Joker yells at one of the men, cursing them out. “That wasn’t the plan,” he
said, and it occurred to Damian that maybe he was actually going to let them
live. Maybe.
The man who had dropped the canister smirks, lifting his gun. “It was part of
our plan.” He fires, and Damian’s throat constricts. The Joker was moving
before the bullet left the barrel, and grabs it, jerking it up and smacking the
man in the face with it. He falls down, smacks his head, and is out cold-
But the other thug has his gun pointed at the Joker, finger on the trigger.
“Toss it,” he said, and the Joker turned slowly, tossing the gun down. Damian
hesitates a moment, before he crawls out, the gun in sight. His eyes stay on
the two men, neither looking at him, neither seeing anything outside of
themselves. The man is talking, babbling too much- a weakness, talking- about
how it was nothing personal, but the boss had said he just wasn’t worth a damn
anymore-
Damian grabs the gun and stands up, taking a few steps towards him. The Joker
sees him, he knows it, he saw those green eyes jump, widen just a bit, not
enough to get the man to stop talking. A moment later, and the man steadies his
gun, aims-
Damian doesn’t think. He lifts the gun and pulls the trigger, sending a round
of bullets into the man’s shoulders and back. He jerks, rops the gun, falls
down, and Damian plants a foot firmly on his back, firing into the back of his
head to make sure he doesn’t get up again.
Damian’s body shook. He tossed the gun aside, felt his head going fuzzy, but
the Joker’s arms wrapped around him, lifted him up and held in with one arm.
Damian clung to his neck as he moved, saw him pick up one of the guns. He
closed his eyes, but heard the shot as the Joker shot the unconscious man, and
then they are moving. There are sirens in the distance, and Damian knew this
wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
The Joker sets him down outside the back entrance, gives him that look that
says don’t move, and makes his way to the car that is waiting- trunk filled
with their prizes. The Joker tore open the passenger side door, shot the man
sitting there in the head, then the driver in the chest. He’s quick to pull the
body free, shove it aside. He threw the gun in the backseat, then beckoned to
Damian, who moved on legs that felt like liquid. He climbed in and the Joker
ran around the car, jerking the other body out, and they’re off, slipping into
the streets before anyone can see the horrors inside the bank.
Damian doesn’t say a word, he leaned his forehead against the cool glass as
they drove. The city blurred around him, and he closed his eyes, his body
feeling like lead. Only when the car rolls to a stop does he open his eyes, and
by then the late afternoon sky has turned to dark evening. He didn’t think
they’d gone far, which meant the Joker was driving circles, making sure they
weren’t being followed.
The Joker got out of the car, popped the trunk, started tossing out the duffle
bags. There were four, in all, and he left one in the trunk as he closed it,
three on the ground. He was just turning when a car drove up- a nice car, with
windows tinted black. A man got out of the front set and hurried to open the
back passenger door. Damian watched as the Penguin climbed out, fixing his
jacket and giving the Joker a sadistic smile.
“Went off without a hitch, I take it?” he asked, and the Joker kicked one of
the bags towards him.
“Your men are dead,” he said, “Next time you order them to kill me, remind them
you give horrible advice.” The Penguin just chuckled as the other man lifted
the bags and stowed them away in the car. Damian watched, turning in the seat
and clinging to it. A few more angry words that slurred into just sounds, and
the Penguin is climbing back in his car. He took one long look at Damian
though- saw him, and that smile never faded.
When the car is just a spot in the skyline Damian threw the door open and
stumbled out. Holding onto the hood of the car, he walked around it, waited
until the Joker had turned and stared at him for a moment. He took a deep
breath and let go then, running over and throwing his arms around the man’s
waist, burying his face into him. The Joker held him, got down on his knees on
the dirty pavement, and stroked down his spine.
“Did you know they were going to kill you?”
“I thought they might, ah, try,” he said, brushing back Damian’s hair. “I told
you stay inside.”
“I...I...” Damian bit his tongue, didn’t finish his thought. He had left for a
lot of reasons, but he realized he’d stayed for one-
He didn’t like the idea of losing the Joker. He didn’t like the idea of anyone
putting a bullet between those intensely acidic emerald eyes. The mere thought
made him feel...unlike himself- not that he was even sure who he was
personality wise, if he was himself or some new shadow of his past existance.
But he knew his chest ached at the thought of this man leaving, and he’d never
felt something so deep inside himself.
He was quivering and the Joker pressed his scarred cheek to his temple. “I was
afraid he’d kill you,” Damian whispered, “And I didn’t want that. I don’t want
anyone to hurt you, daddy.”
The words registered, but Damian didn’t remember telling his tongue to speak
them. He sounded like a broken child, when he was an assassin, he knew, in his
bones. But the trembles wouldn’t go, and the Joker suddenly held him tighter,
his lips on his temple, his cheek, the bridge of his nose. And when Damian
looked up, those eyes had softened to silk he could wrap himself in, sleep for
an eternity until he was ready to place a name to his face again, a reason
behind his rebirth.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The night air was pleasantly warm, Damian noted. He was in the Narrows, waiting
for a meeting with one of the many dealers he had to keep an eye on. It wasn’t
the most exciting job in the world, but he wouldn’t fault J and H for finally
giving him something to do.
It had taken them years. He was fifteen now, he’d spent countless nights in the
their shadows, watching them work, learning the trade. They’d started by
letting him just listen, listen as they worked, as the Joker decided he’d had
enough, it was time to build up an empire again. Instill some fear, get his
fingers threaded into power. The incident with Penguin had seemed to shake him
a bit.
Damian chewed on the inside of his cheek. He remembered that day perfectly,
like it had just happened. Spraying bullets into a man ready to gun down the
single most unstable, nonsensical man in Gotham. Well, at least according to
most. Damian dared to disagree- he didn’t find the Joker unstable at all now.
No, there was a method to his madness, something deep inside him that no one
could see.
It was something Damian wanted.
The guy showed up later than he shoulder have. Damian chewed him out for
wasting his time, told him he was slacking- the streets they had this guy
working should be bringing in way more. If he found out the guy was skimming
off the profits, he’d gut him. Pure and simple.
The guy’s face had gone pallid by the end, nodding furiously. It didn’t matter
that he was bigger than Damian, more weight to his muscle, more height, that
Damian was, to most, still a kid. It didn’t matter because Damian already had a
reputation. He’d had one as Robin, but now- now he was unhinged as most would
say.
He reached a hand into his pocket, fingering one of the knives he had on him.
The Joker was more than happy to bestow little gifts on him, new knives
whenever the man saw fit. This one hadn’t seen flesh yet, and Damian was
itching for an excuse. Not that he really needed one- he had good old J and H’s
permission to go batshit on nearly anyone, at least on the lower end of the
food chain. Still, he wanted to seem controlled, and he didn’t want to disrupt
the network the Joker had been working years on. Drugs, it had a lot to do with
that, even if the man never once touched them himself. But if it was any sort
of shady activity in Gotham, the clown had his hand in it now. Which meant, so
did Damian.
Once the guy had left, Damian turned and walked towards where he’d stowed his
bike. Funny how most fifteen-year-olds couldn’t even drive. He liked when rules
didn’t apply to him. He liked the way it made something inside him grin.
He stopped before entering the alley, tilting his head up, listening. He’d
heard it, he knew. That soft sound of light feet on rooftops, on metal. He
grinned and spun around, just as the shadowy figure landed.
“I was wondering when I’d see one of you again,” he said, and Nightwing walked
towards him through the dark.
“Damian,” he started, his eyes a broken sort of blue at seeing him, and the boy
rolled his eyes.
“Don’t go and get sentimental on me. The whole family does, and quite frankly,
it’s unbearable.”
“He’s brainwashed you,” Nightwing said, stopping a few strides away. “You know
it, inside you. You know he’s a sick man, that he kept you locked away form the
world for nearly two years. It gave him time to get inside your head. Hell,
even we didn’t know you were alive.”
“Bullshit and you know it!” Damian folded his arms. “You mean to tell me he
didn’t know. I love that you all claim ignorance, but you know nothing happens
in this city without Bruce knowing.”
“Your father-“
“Isn’t my father anymore.” Damian took a step closer. “He stopped being my
father when he buried me. The whole family stopped meaning something to me when
you buried me.”
“You were dead!” Dick’s voice cracked, and he reached up, covering his mouth
for a moment, trying to compose himself. “Damian,” he started, slowly, “You
don’t know how much we hurt. Bruce...he was broken. And I...”
Damian gritted his teeth. “I don’t wanna hear it,” he said, “I’m not comin’
back. I’ve got a new family now- and I like this one more.”
“You’re sick,” Dick said, reaching out, “the Lazarus Pits, they mess with your
mind. We can help you. We can turn you back into-“
“I don’t wanna turn into anything other than what I am!” Damian lashed out,
making a fist and connecting it with Dick’s jaw. “You don’t understand, Dick. I
wasn’t myself with you, with Bruce. I wasn’t myself when I died. Maybe I’m not
entirely myself now, either, but I’m a hell of a lot closer.” Dick watched him,
eyes alert, rubbing his jaw. “So I’m gonna give you the chance to walk away,”
he said, slipping his hand into his pocket and pulling out the knife, flicking
it open. “Walk away. Go home to your next, to papa Bat and the other dumb
birds. Go home and leave me be, and tell them Robin is dead and gone, but
Damian...Damian is reborn.”
“I can’t do that, Damian,” Dick said. “You know I can’t. You know too much. You
know the insides of how the Joker works. I can’t just let you walk away.”
Damian clicked his tongue, then flashed a grin- a grin that was shocking far
too similar to the Joker’s.
“Your funeral, Dick.” He lunged out, and Dick jumped away, the knife slicing
his suit but just missing skin. Damian was quick to stop, throw himself down
into a crouch and press one hand into the pavement to help him turn, charge
again. Dick was ready this time, braced, and he grabbed him and threw him back.
Damian flew through the air, landed against an old brick building, felt his
deep emerald jacket tearing. He frowned. He liked that jacket. Green was a good
color on him- besides, it was a family color.
“Don’t do this, Damian.” The boy gritted his teeth and forced himself up,
lunging. He caught Dick as he faked right, hooked his fist to his jaw, then his
knife to his thigh. Dick stumbled, fell, and as Damian readied to bend over him
and cut him open, shoved his boot into his chest and sent him flying back. The
knife clattered to the pavement and was lost in the dark. Dick staggered up
before Damian, blood running down his thigh. He was scowling, Damian saw as he
pushed himself up on his elbows, and there was something in those baby blues.
Some sort of resignation.
Dick turned and was gone, leaving Damian alone on the pavement. He flopped back
down, staring up at the black sky, body humming with fresh aches. But he was
alive- that was the important part, that was what J always told him. He was
alive, that was what counted. Worry about the rest later.
He gave himself a minute to catch his breath, then stood up, made his way to
his bike, and sped off into the night.
He had to park and hide the bike in an old dumpster. The outside looked grimy,
but the inside was shockingly pristine. This one was his, just for his bike and
a few of his things, a block down from home. Should anything ever haqppen,
Damian just needed to make it here, and he’d be gone into the night, forever.
He’d survive, because that was what he did now. He survived.
He crept to the building, let himself in, past the key lock, the code, and
another code. They’d gotten safer over the years. Maybe J and H decided they
really liked having a place to call home. Damian knew he didn’t mind.
He let himself into the little apartment style hideout, locking the door behind
him. Harley called out to him, and he walked into the living room, all dirt and
torn clothing and bruises forming under his shirt, and gave her a grin.
“Hey H,” he said, and she looked up from her book, then dropped it on the
floor. She stood up and rushed over, poking at his clothing, trying to examine
him.
“Dami,” she exhaled, “God, what happened to you? This was routine- did that kid
get ideas? Are we dealing with a little mutiny? Are you bleeding?”
“I’m fine,” he said, waving her off as he pulled his jacket off. “Though I
liked this jacket...” Harley looked at him, then laughed, taking it and tossing
it behind her.
“We’ll getcha a new one, baby. Sit down and let me look at you.” Damian
collapsed onto the couch, let Harley pull his shirt over his head and examine
his torso. She poked at his ribs, felt his abdomen, looked at his spine.
“Just bruises come morning,” Damian said, “it was nothing. I...I ran into
Nightwing is all.” Harley stopped and leaned back, looking at him with wide
eyes, and that was when Damian saw the shadow of the Joker as he moved into the
room.
“How did good old bird brain fair?” the Joker asked, and Damian shrugged a
shoulder.
“Stabbed him in his thigh. He had his chance to get me back though, knocked me
down pretty good. He ran off though- he was mostly talk, didn’t wanna play. I
lost my new knife.” Damian looked down, a little ashamed that he had, and that
he hadn’t caused more damage. The Joker crossed the room, crouched down and
tipped Damian’s chin back up. He was smiling.
“You did good Babybat,” he said, “I’m sure you rattled him. He wasn’t your
agenda tonight, anyway. Lets get you cleaned up, and tell me how your meetings
went.”
Herley stepped back and let the Joker take Damian to his room, came in a moment
later to leave a first aid kit with him, and then was gone again. Joker didn’t
need to say a word to her, she just knew, Damian knew she just knew, that he
needed to be with just Damian. He stripped of his shirt without being asked,
let the Joker run his fingers along his chest and ribs. When Damian turned so
he could touch his spine, hie bit his lip and held in his breath, afraid of the
noises he’d make when those fingertips brushed sensitive skin.
“Don’t hold your breath,” the Joker whispered, and Damian exhaled, a little
sound escaping him. He cursed it. He cursed the odd things this man did to him,
because he didn’t understand them. Sure, he knew what arousal was, he was a
teenage guy, but this...this was something all together different. And this
man...
He was the Joker. He was the man who had given him life. He was a father.
The thought made something tighten in Damian’s stomach.
“Harley was right,” the Joker said, opening the first aid kit to disinfect and
wrap some of Damian’s upper arm that had been skinned against the pavement
after his jacket ripped. “No real damage.” The disinfectant stung, and Damian
hissed, but didn’t fight. When the bandage was in place, the Joker stood up.
“Now, get dressed again,” he said, “We have something else to attend to
tonight.”
Damian changed after the man left, then met him and Harley by the door. The
Joker’s make up was pristine, and Harley’s lips were a matching murder-red, her
little mask in place. Damian knew whatever this was, it was serious.
The Joker drove, his hands gloved in purple leather. He had a calm about him,
Damian could nearly smell it in the air. He wanted to smell it in the Joker’s
hair, those wisps of short curly green that he had had Harley chop- as if he
remind everyone he was in control, not unstable.
Damian dug his nails into his palms at the idea.
They parked at the docks, moved as one being, Joker leading with Harley just to
his right and Damian a step behind, to his left. Damian smelled it before he
saw them- smelled fear and the light tang of blood, just a little- and then he
saw them. Gagged and bound, on their knees, four men, two men with clown masks
keeping them form moving by the gun muzzles pointed at them.
“Thank you boys,” the Joker said, clapping his hands onto their shoulders. “For
doing such fine work at such short notice. Go have a cigarette, we’ll need a
few minutes alone.” The men gave him a nod and were gone, like smoke. Years
ago, the Joker didn’t have as many loyal men, as he was just as likely to shoot
his own thugs as say, a cop. But now, with the city changing, he had men- he
had power.
And, Damian mused, by the looks of the four men staring up with wide, quivering
eyes- he had fear.
“You have been naughty boys,” he said, reaching inside his large purple trench
coat, pulling a heavy hunting knife from a sheath. “Very naughty. You weren’t
just skimming of the top- no, no no no no. You’ve been going behind my back to
that ugly oil-slicked fat bird.” His teeth gleamed as he snarled. “Penguin.
And, why, we can’t have that. No, we simply can’t. So-“ He looked over at
Harley, who gave him a dazzling smile, and then turned and looked at Damian,
“What are we to do?”
Harley crouched down and tore the cloth gag from one man’s mouth. Damian knew
him- vaguely. He worked with all the head dealers, and then their underlings,
their runners. This guy had four guys under him-
They were missing one. And Damian knew who. He looked at the Joker as the man
spoke, his voice shaking, breaking.
“P-please boss, we’re sorry. He...he gave us no real choice. Threatened our
lives, been watchin’ us.”
“Hmmmm,” the Joker mumbled, pressing the point of his knife into his pointer
finger and twisting it, just enough fore to dent but not break skin. “Do you
believe him, pumpkin?”
“I think men lie when they’re scared,” she said, leaning closer to him, “but
tell the truth when they’re utterly terrified.” She looked back and nodded, and
the Joker nonchalantly gripped the knife and pulled back, throwing it into the
chest of one of the men. He made a gurgling sound around his gag, then fell
back, the aim precise, his heart skewered. Damian didn’t flinch.
“I think you’re right doll,” he said. He pulled an identical knife from his
other hip. “So, the truth, this time.”
“Paid us three times as much!” the guy cried, tears streaming down his face.
“Said we’d get more money with every bit of information we got him. I told him
w-we didn’t know too much, we just run drugs, but he was willing to take
everything we g-got. H-he’s got somethin’ against ya, sir. He wants ya dead. He
wants ya outta this city.”
The Joker tapped the blade of the knife against his chin. He looked down at
Harley, and Damian saw the conversation passing between their eyes. This guy
had nothing else useful. And they weren’t about to let this pass. The Joker
gave a slight nod of his head, and Harley stood up, pulling a hammer from her
belt- a hammer with a nasty looking spike at its end. She walked over to one of
the men, twirled it once, then brought it down with crushing force into his
face. The man crumpled down, and she kicked his limp body away, turning to the
remaining man and plunging the spiked end into his temple. She pulled back and
crashed it into the back of his skull, then left him to bleed out, dead.
Damian liked the way she moved. He envied how she used those hammers. She had
force behind them- he’d held them, they were heavy, he wasn’t sure how she
swung them so perfectly. He’d seen her with two at once, and it was magic. She
understood the Joker more than she’d ever realize, Damian knew, just in the way
she could dance his bloody waltz without stepping on her dress.
The Joker turned to Damian, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Babybat,” he said,
“This man needs to be punished for what he did. And I, ah, want you to do it.”
He flipped the knife, held it by the blade and let Damian grip the handle.
Damian looked at it for a moment, felt its weight in his hand, and stared at
the man with eyes so wide he saw more white than color.
“P-please kid,” he said, “D-don’t do this.”
Damian clicked his tongue, took a step towards him, cocked his head. Waited.
Smelled the water from the bay in the air, the smell of Harley’s rich perfume,
the Joker’s heavy cologne, mixing with blood for a tangy-sweet, heady mixture.
He inhaled deeply, looked the man in the eyes-
And grinned, horribly. He placed a foot to his chest and kicked him, so he
landed on his back, leaped onto him, sitting on his waist. He held the knife
over his head, plunged it deep, just below the color bone, and dragged it down,
inching back until he had a deep line down his belly. Bloody was surging up
through the man’s mouth, as Damian dug the knife towards the sides, then let it
clatter to the ground as he reached his bare hands inside the man’s body. The
man’s screaming had subsided to bloody gurgles, and Damian tugged, pulling his
intestines free. He stretched them up, wrapped them around his neck tightly,
all the while staring at the whites of his eyes, until those eyes went glossy,
dead.
Damian’s heart was pounding in his chest, aware of the other eyes on him. Oh
Harley’s eyes, of the Joker’s, burning points into his body. He picked the
knife up in a blood caked hand and delved it inside, carving carefully until he
pulled a solid, bloody mass from his chest.
His heart.
Damian shoved the knife into the man’s mouth and tugged it along his cheek,
extending his mouth. He did it on both sides, then dropped the knife again and
shoved the still organ into the newly widened cavity.
When it was done, his arms went limp at his sides, and he stared at the mess.
He didn’t hear either Harley or the Joker move, but Harley was kneeling at his
side, putting her arms around his shoulders, whispering to him that it was
okay. Her eyes were wild, taking it in- a hint of fear, yes, but something
else, a sort of love, of appreciation, of pride. Damian turned his head and
just looked at those pretty blue eyes, until the Joker was crouching at his
other side, covering Harley’s hand with his own.
“He’ll be an example,” he said, admiring Damian’s handiwork. “We’ll hang him
where the Penguin can see. Where everyone can see. You’ve done the family good,
babybat.”
Family. Damian thought of the family for a moment, of Bruce and Dick and the
birds in the black of night. But they were fuzzy, getting fuzzier by the day-
faceless.
He looked at the Joker and smiled, because this was family now, born of blood
and death and the stench of power. He liked it.
Damian was a mess, and stripped his second ruined jacket of the night off,
wiping his arms on it. He had blood on his jeans, his shirt, and he couldn’t
get the stains off his skin, the red from his fingernails. Harley cooed that it
was okay, they’d all need to clean up a bit.
They drove with the mutilated body in the trunk. The Joker never said where,
and Damian, exhausted, fell into sleep in the back seat. He didn’t wake until
they were hiding the car and the Joker was lifting Damian, carrying him home.
He cradled him easily, and Damian let his head slip against his chest, feigned
sleeping until they were inside and the Joker was setting him down on the
couch.
Harley disappeared to wash up first, and the Joker knelt on the floor, stroking
Damian’s hair.
“You did good tonight, babybat,” he assured, and Damian smiled. “That bird will
think again before he messes with us.”
“But he will mess with us again,” Damian whispered, and the Joker averted his
eyes for a moment. “He’s just like the Bat, like everyone. They always come
back, J.” The Joker clicked his tongue, turned back to Damian, giving him a
sick sort of smirk.
“Then perhaps we should make the, ah, Penguin go extinct.” His smirk turned to
a grin, and Damian sat up.
“You might start a war,” he pointed out. He knew how the streets, the
underworld, worked. The Penguin had a lot of friends- and by friends, people
who paid him for protection, he liked his money and his luxury. His death might
elate some, but it would piss off plenty of people who thought the Joker was
going over their heads.
“War can be fun,” he said, “if you play your cards right. That bird has been a
pain in my ass long enough.” He ran a finger along Damian’s jawline, studying
the bone structure, the familiarity of it. “Why, I do think I want to kill the
man now.”
“I want to help.” Damian twisted around, draped his legs over the couch
cushions, so the Joker was kneeling between them. The Joker’s other hand
reached up as he straightened, taller than Damian, tracing bone and muscle
along his face. Damian felt his heart hammering in his chest, that tightening
in his gut he’d get around the man- something he couldn’t quite name, because
this was family now, and you didn’t want to fuck your family, didn’t get
aroused by their touch.
The Joker leaned a little closer, studying his dark eyes, ocean-black, the inky
depths of the deep. His own green eyes were dancing, the pupils expanding, and
Damian tried to lean closer, eyes dropping to his lips.
“I think I want you,” the Joker whispered, “to help me kill him, babybat. Just
you, me, and Harley. A little family outing.”
Damian wasn’t listening. He was watching that mouth, wondering what those scars
felt like. His pink tongue darted out, running along his own lips, and he heard
the Joker’s breath hitch-
Just like that, he was standing, pulling away. He paced the room, leaving
Damian feeling incredibly empty suddenly, wanting to call out to him to come
back, to put those fingertips on his skin and feel every curve, ever jut of
bone and clench of muscle.
But he was thinking then, Damian knew. Harley appeared, drying her hair from
her quick shower, and raised an eyebrow, looking first at the Joker pacing,
muttering to himself, and then Damian, sitting on the couch with a forlorn
look. She walked over and sat down next to him, reaching up with rubbing behind
his neck with one hand, working on a kink there. Damian relaxed instantly, and
she smiled.
“Harley,” the Joker said, turning suddenly, “We’re going to do it.”
“Gonna do what Puddin’?” she asked, giving him a look that threatened if it was
kinky, he ought to wait until Damian was out of the room to say it. Damian knew
the look and giggled, reaching up to cover his mouth, stopping when he realized
his hand was caked in dried blood still. The stale, metallic scent filtered up
through his nose, and suddenly he wanted the Joker back between his legs even
more, wanted to mingle his heated, sweet scent with the metal on his hands and
lose himself in it.
Damian was almost terrified at himself, at these thoughts- because he was
afraid the Joker would see him, and he was afraid of what he’d do. He didn’t
want to lose this family he’d watch construct itself over the past five years.
“We’re going to kill the Penguin,” he said, grinning madly, and Harley leaned
back, contemplating the idea herself, leaving Damian to his own contemplation.
He leaned forward and pressed a bloody hand to his eyes, trying to chase away
the idea of the Joker’s tongue cleaning the flaking blood of his skin.
Chapter End Notes
     I am destroying Damian chapter by chapter, and it is far too fun.
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Notes
     This was a much longer update that originally intended. I just
     couldn't stop.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Damian heard about the body on the news the next day. He was sitting cross
legged on the couch with a bowl of cereal, as if he was a normal teenage boy,
when the news flashed images of it, calling it a horrifying mutilation, and he
settled the bowl into his lap, tilting his head. The Joker had strung the man
up by his intestines, and they acted as a noose, since Damian had wound them so
tightly around his neck. The blood had dried to a nasty black, and Damian was
shocked they would actually show images on the news.
He lifted his bowl back up and took another bite, knowing he was far from
normal.
The Joker insisted this be kept between the three of them. Even men who he had
been employing for years, he didn’t want to risk. Money talked, he knew that,
and the Penguin had plenty.
It was perfect timing. He was opening a new casino tower in Gotham- floors of
entertainment, and rooms for rent to the exceptionally high bidders as well.
All they had to do was get in.
The Joker got them three VIP passes. Damian didn’t ask how. He just went along
with the day it took the primp for the event. The Joker had had only days to
work out the details, and he hadn’t shared them yet- Damian hoped it had been
enough time.
He was brushing Harley’s hair back, spraying it so it stayed that way, waves of
pale gold. She looked pretty, Damian thought, but he thought that a lot. She
was enjoying the attention, it was obvious, but she didn’t like the Joker’s
taste in her attire for the evening.
“I don’t like the blue,” she said, staring at the dress that was draped over a
kitchen chair, through the small doorway that connected the two rooms.
“You can’t wear black or red,” he said, stepping back so she could stand up.
“Or green, or purple. You have to look different, Harley. You’re lucky I didn’t
tell you to dye your hair.”
“I woulda told ya to stuff the dye up your asshole,” she said, waving him off
and going to pick the dress up. He snickered a little, then turned to Damian,
who was watching on the couch in sweat pants. For a moment, normal. Watching
his parents getting ready for a night out in the city.
Except he was a part.
“Help him get dressed,” the Joker said, looking at the clock on the wall,
“We’re running out of time. I have to go work on myself.” He turned and walked
away, locking himself in the bathroom. Harley sighed and guided Damian to his
room.
“I’m gonna slip this on,” she said, lifting the dress draped over her arm a
bit, “you Get into your suit, I’ll be back in just a minute.” She gave his
shoulder a squeeze and walked away, tapping her nails along the bathroom door
teasingly, just to get a raise out of the Joker.
Damian stripped and got into the suit. Sleek, solid black. Black slacks, black
shirt, black vest and jacket, even tie. It made him think he was going to a
funeral.
The joke made his lips curl up in a smile.
He was tying his tie when Harley walked back in, pushing a few strands of
blonde hair off her shoulders. The dress was gorgeous, an extreme hi-low cut
held up by a strap around her slender neck. In a different color, Damian was
sure she’d have loved it.
She bent down just slightly and buttoned his vest, straightened his tie as he
tucked it in. “So handsome,” she said, “It’s easy to forget you’re a kid,
Dami.”
“I’m not a kid,” he said, and she giggled.
“Sweetie, fifteen is a kid. Don’t let us forget that.” The look in her eyes was
different then, sad almost. Damian wondered if she wanted to give him a
childhood then, the freedom to be almost normal.
He didn’t want it.
She led him out and they waited in the hallway for the Joker. It took him
another ten minutes before he emerged, in all black, just like Damian. He’d
slicked his green hair back, making it look darker, neat. Green still yes, but
in the right light, people might be fooled.
What was drastic about him was the amount of make-up and prosthetic he’d put on
his cheeks. Damian couldn't see his scars at all. It made him rather sad.
The Joker motioned for him and Damian walked over. He guided him into the
bathroom, slicked his short hair back, rinsed his hands off, then went about
nit picking at his suit under the harsh white light. Damian let him because he
liked to watch those white fingers move. He kept looking at his face, though,
and wanting to tear the fake flesh away, get at his scars. It filled his face
out a bit more, took away that exceptionally lean look that was somehow sexy on
him.
Damian was thankful when he was released. He came back into the hallway just to
see Harley slipped a knife into the back of her dress. She must have strapped a
sheath to her. She gave him a smile.
“I don’t get pockets like you,” she said, tossing him a folded switch blade. He
caught it, slipped it in an inner pocket of his jacket, before walking over to
the small table she was by and taking another, strapping it to his ankle. He
couldn’t be bulky, so he knew he would have to travel light. He didn’t even
know what he was doing, though. The Joker had kept it all a secret.
They left and walked two blocks away from the city in the shadows. A car was
waiting, a limo, and Damian made a mental note to learn all the Joker’s tricks
someday. Including these little surprises.
Once in the back, and with the privacy screen up, the Joker laid out his plan.
Penguin would make plenty of appearances, he knew that. But he’d he heavily
guarded- they didn’t stand a chance at getting too close. They’d have to get
him alone, in his private rooms. Harley needed to get a key card and any
information she could from one of the guards. The Joker gave her a small
handbag to keep these things in, including a cell phone, her make up. Nothing
out of the ordinary. They could search her, but they wouldn’t find anything.
Damian had to be their eyes and ears. It wasn’t unheard of for rich kids to
show up at these events- money making them above the law, he’d blend in
perfectly. And while he was blending in and Harley was shamelessly flirting,
the Joker was going to be discretely relieving Penguin’s security of their
duty.
It wasn’t much of a plan at all, but Damian didn’t mind. The Joker always
seemed to make planless schemes work. When the pulled up and leaned over and
kissed Harley’s cheek, making her giggle and throw her arms around his
shoulders.
“Be careful H,” he said, and Harley tapped his nose.
“Don’tchu worry ‘bout me, Dami. I’m good and keeping men in the palm of my
hand.” She winked. “You look after yourself. Don’t get into trouble.” He
nodded, and Harley exited first, before the car did another loop around the
block. Damian was left alone with the Joker, who was watching the city through
the dark windows. Damian gnawed on his lower lip, watching him, suddenly far
too aware of the exact space between them, the way he missed seeing those
scars, the way the suit fit his lean body. He shifted a little closer, saw the
Joker’s eyes look at him briefly, then look back outside, and took a breath,
slipping so close their thighs brushed.
“You be careful too,” he whispered, and the Joker turned to look at him,
offering him a smile. He wrapped an arm around Damian’s shoulders and squeezed.
“Don’t worry about me, babybat,” he said, leaning close, “I’ve gone blind into
far scarier ideas.” He pressed his lips to Damian’s temple, and the boy
shivered, unable to control it. He felt the Joker’s hand tighten on his
shoulder, his breath exhale on his skin, and Damian turned, moving before the
man could lean back, pressing his lips to whatever skin he could find. He
managed his jawline, and wanted so badly to trace it with his tongue-
But the car was stopping and the Joker was gently guiding him away, his eyes a
little shakey. He jerked his head and Damian only nodded, crawling out of the
car, the Joker pulling the door shut behind him and going for one more round
around the city.
He flashed his pass and got access without a second glance. Inside the floors
were polished marble and crowded, strung with staff scurrying around with
drinks and patrons. Damian grabbed a glass of champagne without anyone giving
him a second glance and sipped it, walking through the crowd slowly. The first
floor was mostly bars and sitting areas, a small stage where a woman in a gown
with a neckline to her navel was singing softly. Damian cut through and found
the elevator, joining the crowd as they got on. He rode up each floor, peaking
out at what they were. Second floor was situated like a restaurant, and he
didn’t bother, but he slipped off at the third floor, when he saw the whirling
lights of machines and heard the clinks of levers and the sounds of cards
slapping together. He walked past a power table, and one of the players peered
over his cards to give him the one over. Damian smirked, throwing a wink at
him, and continuing on his way.
He had to remember what it was like to be a rich kid. He had to dig into his
memory, the first set of memories, the brief time with Bruce, and try to
remember how he was expected to act. Even now with the Joker having a decent
handle on a lot of the underworld business in Gotham, it wasn’t the same.
Besides, no matter how much money they tucked away, they stayed in their little
hideout- and Damian liked it that way.
He finished off his champagne and set the empty glass on a passing waiter’s
tray. He was watching a table across the room, the way a slender blonde leaned
against the table and whispered in a gentleman’s ear as he placed his bet.
Damian knew Harley’s body language a mile away, let alone her dress, and dared
to weave across the room, trying to listen.
“Should you really bet so high?” she asked, and the man grinned.
“Money just goes into the pockets of my friend if I lose,” he said, “None of
these other players got anything good.”
“Friends with the house?” she asked, batting her eyelashes, and the reached out
and pinched her chin.
“Definitely. I’ve...done business with Penguin on and off for years.” He
wrapped an arm around her shoulders, “Maybe after a few more rounds, you might
wanna see some of his more...private rooms. He wouldn’t mind me usin’ them for
a bit.” Harley just giggled, running her fingers along his arm, and Damian
turned. She was as good as in.
His eyes scanned towards the bar towards the far corner, feeling a set of eyes
on him. A man was holding a drink, watching him with dark eyes. Damian noted
the suit he was wearing- the little casino’s logo sewed onto it over the
breast, and gave the man a cute smile. He sauntered over, leaning against the
bar and continuing the smile.
“Hi,” Damian said, and the man let his empty glass clink on the bar.
“Hi,” he said back, eyes roving over Damian. He felt his stomach try to flip,
and not in the good way, but Damian kept his composure. “All alone tonight?
Mommy and daddy wondering around somewhere?”
“I don’t need anyone to hold my leash.” The guy chuckled.
“How old are you, kid?”
“How old do you want me to be?” The guy grinned, and Damian cocked his head,
showing off the expanse of his neck. “I’m good at being whatever someone wants
me to be.” The man reached out, stroked Damian’s cheek, and his skin crawled.
He fought down the gag, didn’t want this stranger’s hands on him, but told
himself he could make J proud. And all he wanted to do was please him.
“Interested in some fun tonight?” He signaled to the bar tender, who brought
him another drink- a rich amber liquid in a glass. Scotch, Damian guessed. He
remembered Bruce drinking it a few times. He hated it. “You could be anyone, so
long as you listen and keep it our little secret.”
“I love secrets,” Damian said with a smirk, and the man downed his drink in one
gulp and took his hand. He lead him through the room, and Damian ahd enough
time to look back at the table where he’d seen Harley. She, and her new friend
were pleasantly absent.
The man took a card from an inner pocket in his jacket and slid it through a
reader by the elevators. A private one opened, and the two slipped inside,
riding up towards the top floors. Damian watched where he slipped the card back
in his pocket, then slipped his hands into his pockets. He had one, very small
knife, and he played his finger tips over it. He’d have to be careful- he
couldn’t risk being seen. He had to figure out where the security cameras were.
They got off the elevator and the man lead him down a hallway with a rich red
carpet and golden walls. Beyond extravagant, it looked royal. Damian wanted to
laugh at the Penguin for thinking he had to make himself seem like royalty now.
The man stopped by a door with an Emperor Penguin carved into it, slid his card
again, and then punched a code in. Damian pretended to be entranced by the
carving- which was, he could admit, very well done- but in reality he was
memorizing the six digits. When the door opened the man ushered him in.
He barely got to take in the spacious, low-lit welcoming room, as he was
steered to the left and into another hallway. A door was open and the man
nudged Damian inside. The first thing Damian noticed as it was warmer in here,
noticeably so-
The second were the two other kids in the room. One girl, maybe a year younger
than him, with pale blonde hair and in a pretty white dress, lounging on a
couch, and another boy, a few years older, maybe two, sipping at a glass of
dark wine. The man patted Damian on the shoulder.
“You smile like you did for me, and he’ll decide on you for sure, doll.”
Damian was confused for a minute, but the man was walking away before he could
say anything, leaving him alone. The girl looked at him, then scoffed, fingers
playing with the silk of her dress. The other boy with the wine sat down,
giving Damian a small nod.
“Drink while you wait?” he asked, and Damian nodded and the guy poured him a
glass of wine. “Won’t be too long, don’t worry. Openings like this get his
blood pumpin’, he’ll want some company.”
Who Damian wanted to ask. He sipped at the wine, a heavy, strong one. He
thought the guy had picked him up for himself, he had planned to knock him out
or slit his throat and get his card, use his code, and find a good hiding
place. Or better yet, call J, and get him up here. Get a hold of Harley and let
her know she just had to keep the masses at bay. But now-
The door to the chambers opened, he could hear it, and the other two froze up
for a second, before arranging themselves. The girl was draped over the couch,
the guy got up and leaned against a bookshelf, idly reading a few titles as he
swirled his wine in his cup. Damian stayed sitting, taking a big drink just as
a flock of men walked in, parting to allow the Penguin to slip between them.
Damian nearly choked on the wine.
“They’re all pretty, sir,” one man said, and the Penguin gave them all a quick
look. He stopped on the girl, stroked his silk vest, then shook his head.
“No girls tonight,” was all he had to say, and one of the guards was grabbing
her by the arm, escorting her out, saying something about how if she was still
up for some fun, he could find some for her easily. Damian took another sip of
wine, saw the Penguin look at him, long and hard, before he turned to the other
boy, then shook his head. A man walked over to Damian and helped him up as the
Penguin turned to go, took his wine glass. Damian didn’t fight, but his stomach
was beginning to feel heavy.
He was led into a large bedroom, warm like the last one, with a large round bed
in the center, canopied in white. Damian wanted to laugh, it made him think of
an igloo, but he kept it inside. They left him, standing in on the polished
floor, so reflective it made him feel like he was walking on water, to wait.
Damian fidgeted, stuffed his hands in his pocket, considered poking around,
when the door opened again and the Penguin walked in, alone this time. He
looked at Damian, smiled an ugly smile and unbuttoned his jacket.
“Need a drink, boy?” he asked, and Damian forced a nod. The Penguin walked
around the room, slipping behind a bar and picking up a bottle. He poured an
amber liquid into two glasses over ice, then carried them over, handing one to
Damian. His bare fingers brushed Damian’s and he hated his skin. Damian
whispered a thank you and waited until the Penguin drank to take a sip. The
scotch ran down his throat and his stomach flipped.
“You don’t look like you’ve done this a lot,” the Penguin noted, walking away,
towards the bed. At the last moment he chose a large, plush chair near by
instead, leaning back. “I like that. Virgin meat is always the sweetest.”
Damian took a deep breath, then walked towards him, forcing a sway to his hips.
He threw his head back and finished his drink, let the Penguin watch his throat
work, then looked at him with those nearly black eyes.
“I promise I’m sweet,” he said, slipping to his knees, his heart hammering in
his chest. The Penguin was looking at him with those beady little eyes, and
Damian realized he was in over his head. He didn’t think he could pull his
knife with more than three seconds to spare. He was sure there was security
watching. He was sure the Penguin had tricks up his sleeve.
His only hope was to distract him, was to get him so far gone he could slip a
knife into him before anyone had time to blink. In order to do that-
Damian didn’t want to think about what he’d have to do.
For a moment, he wished someone would save him. He hadn’t needed anyone to save
him in five years- not since the Joker saved him from death and brought him
back to life. He didn’t think he’d ever need someone to save him again-
But Damian realized he was wrong. He was so, so wrong.
“I bet you are,” the Penguin said, leaning back. “I could tell. That girl was a
pretty little thing, but she was trying too hard. And the other boy- he was too
old. My men should know me better.”
“You like us young?” The Penguin chuckled.
“Young and fresh.” Damian’s mouth went dry. “Do I need to tell you what to do?”
“No,” Damian whispered, slipping between the man’s large thighs. He reached up
and ran his hands along those meaty legs, gripped them gently, and dipped
forward, grabbing the man’s zipper with his teeth. The Penguin reached down and
dug a hand into his slicked back hair, tugging on it as Damian opened his
pants, held his breath-
There was a sudden thump, and before Damian could move, the bedroom door was
kicked open. The Joker seemed to fill the doorframe, despite his lean body, and
his eyes were glaring forward, wild. The Penguin stared at him, cracking a
large grin.
“Joker!” he said, raising his chin, “I didn’t expect to see you here. Don’t
remember extending an invitation to you. Aw well, come, have a drink.” His grin
widened. “You look well, I like what you've done with your face. Those scars
were always hideous, nice to see you hide them for once. Want some fun? I can
get you one like this.” He gestured to Damian, who was looking at the Joker,
wide eyed, shaking.
“Give me the boy,” Joker said, and the Penguin raised an eyebrow.
“Never known you to be picky...or indulge with me,” he said with a snort, “I
can find you one better-“
“The. Boy. Now.” The Penguin looked at Damian, studied his face, before his
eyes widened and he broke out into laughter.
“Oh. Oh. This is the brat you took in, that Robin you owed me so much for.” He
reached down, pulled Damian’s face up. “Shame, he’s a pretty one. And I was so
close to having that little mouth on my cock.” He shoved Damian back, and he
landed on his butt, sprawled out. “How much would it cost for you to share him
for a few hours.”
The Joker gritted, his teeth, reaching into his jacket. He pulled a knife out,
and the Penguin only laughed. “Do you really think you’ll get anywhere with
that.”
“Your security is dead,” he said, “I, ah, made sure of it.” The large man
shrugged a shoulder.
“No matter. I can buy more. So, let’s talk business. Ten grand for a night with
this kid- if you haven’t fucked him yet. Five if you have- but oh, you have to
watch.” He chuckled, and the Joker lunged, growling low and primal. He landed
on the Penguin who threw his weight into him and they tumbled off the chair,
onto the floor. Damian scurried back, watching, sweating under his suit. The
Penguin knocked the knife from the Joker’s hand, throwing him away so he
crashed into one of the bedposts. He staggered up, reaching for his chair,
underneath, and pulling free a concealed gun.
“You’re in over your head, freak,” he said, “I’m retracting my offer. I’ll fuck
your brat for free, over your damn corpse.” He aimed, and Damian came to his
senses, throwing himself at him as the Joker threw himself flat against the
ground. Damian smacked into the Penguin’s meaty legs, jarring his arm, and his
hand jerked to the side, his spray of bullets missing the Joker entirely. He
cursed, turning to Damian, glaring. “Stupid boy,” he said, kicking him, foot
connecting with his jaw and jerking his head back painfully. Damian fell back
on the floor, and the Joker was looming towards Penguin. He grabbed his free
arm, punching him in the jaw, then holding him steady as he pounded his fist
into his gut over and over again.
The Penguin gasped for breath, waving his gun, firing randomly. Damian pushed
his torso up, blood dripping from his chin. He glared with eyes black as coal,
standing up and charging, slamming his shoulder into his gut. He turned
sharply, grabbing the Penguin’s arm, digging in with bruising for and jerking
it to the side, breaking bone. The gun clattered to the floor and the man cried
out. Damian reached for it, grabbed it and turned, aiming it at him. The Joker
stopped beating his fist into the man’s belly, took a step back as the Penguin
stared at Damian with a little smile.
“You could shoot me,” he said, “or you could shoot the freak next to you. I
could give you something better than this, kid. I own this city.”
Damian stared at him, before his lips quirked up in a smirk. The Penguin
grinned, and Damian lowered the gun.
“Let me tell you, Penguin,” Damian said, “that freak is this city.” He took the
two steps to the Joker, passed the gun into his hand as the Penguin’s smiled
faltered.
“Joker wait,” he stammered, “Let’s talk this over, man to man, just you and I-“
“Fill him full of lead,” Damian said, as the Joker wrapped an arm around him
and he leaned in close, breath ghosting over the taller man’s neck and ear.
“Please, daddy.”
The Joker grinned, lifting the gun. Penguin started to babble something, but
the Joker couldn’t care less what spewed from his mouth. He pulled back the
trigger, filling his chest and gut full of bullets. When the gun was empty, the
Joker dropped it as Penguin slumped forward onto his knees, swayed, and fell to
the side, his blood pooling quickly on the polished floor. The Joker turned,
holding Damian against him, hands fisting in his jacket.
“I could kill you,” he muttered, “what were you thinking?”
“I didn’t know I was meant for him,” he said, looking up, “I thought...one of
his security guards. I was gonna swipe his card, knock him out or slit his
throat. But...how did you find me?”
“I was down in the basement,” the Joker said, leaning back and stroking
Damian’s cheek. “I saw you on the security cameras. I may not have been as, ah,
subtle as I wanted to be, getting here.” His eyes drifted to Damian’s mouth, to
the trickle of blood on his chin. “Are you hurt? Did he-“
“I’m fine,” Damian said with a shrug. “Split lip, no big deal. I’m not a baby.”
“...You’re my babybat,” the Joker murmured, leaning down. Damian felt his
breath, then his tongue, licking his chin clean, flicking against the corner of
his mouth. It traced the beginning of the curve of his lower lip, and Damian’s
clutched at his shirt with one hand, the other grasping his hip, pushing down,
over his thigh, trailing up it tentatively. The Joker pulled back, but Damian
pushed forward, lost inside his head, in all this. He was dizzy, he could smell
the Penguin’s blood, and it was making him feel hot, like he was melting under
his skin. The Joker smelled sweet, on top of that, and that tightness was back
in his belly, coiling and making him want something, anything.
But the Joker was pulling back, grasping his wondering hand, leading him away.
Damian followed without speaking, understanding in the rational part of his
mind that they needed to get, and now. They ran, and Damian noted the Joker
hadn’t lied when he saw the security was dead. Bullet holes and slit throats,
quick, artless work. He had been frantic.
The Joker pulled a security card from his jacket, swiped it, and they got on
the elevator. He pulled a phone from his pocket, hit one of the two contacts on
there, and it ran for a moment. Damian heard Harley answer, and the Joker was
gruff, short.
“We’re done. Get outside now.” She didn’t respond, but Damian knew she’d be
asking later. He’d get hell from both of them for being reckless-
But what was new?
The Joker straightened his jacket, smoothed out Damian’s as the elevator dinged
on the ground floor. They slipped out and made for the doors, slipping out into
the cool open air. The Joker steered them up the street, walking away from the
casino. Damian didn’t question, he just followed, until they were up the block.
They stood in silence then, waiting, and Damian shifting his weight from foot
to foot. Harley appeared, walking towards them, within a minute, and when she
reached them the Joker took her arm and guided her as they walked. Her heels
clicked on the pavement, and despite the loud noises of the city nightlife, it
was all Damian could hear. The click click click of her heels, like his mind
trying to restart, trying to function.
“Reckless,” Harley said, standing in the bathroom doorway as Damian undid his
tie and tossed it on top of his jack et and vest, sitting on a heap on the
toilet seat. “Ya coulda been killed Dami. Or...or...”
“Raped mercilessly?” He worked on the buttons of his shirt, avoiding her gaze.
“I know. I didn’t know I was going to be for Pen-“
“Then ya shouldn’t have taken the chance!” She reached up, pinched the bridge
of her nose. “Dami, baby, you’re still young. Mr. J and I don’t expect you
to...”
“What?” Damian snapped his head up, his shirt open. “Expect me to what? Be
useful? Be able to hold my own? I’m not a baby, Harley. I fucking died. I’ve
seen the shit you and J do. I’ve done it with you. So don’t get sentimental on
me. Don’t try to treat me like a normal kid, when you know that’s something
I’ll never be.”
Harley frowned, turning and storming out, as Damian ripped his shirt off,
tossing it onto the floor.
He took a scolding hot shower, pressing his head to the oddly white tiles,
squeezing his eyes shut, angry. At himself. At her. At him. At everything.
On the other side of the wall, he could hear them. The sound of clothing being
tossed to the floor, of Harley’s breath. He knew what they were doing, he
always knew, even when they used to try to hide it. All he could do now was
grit his teeth, beat a fist into the wall as he heard Harley give a little cry.
He could see the Joker behind his eyelids, between her thighs, face pressed
into her folds, making her writhe. He was good at it-
Damian had walked by and seen, more than once. They hadn’t tried to hide sex
since he was young- and that was only Harley that thought they should try to be
normal, and it hadn’t lasted long. It was just part of life.
It wasn’t loving. He’d stayed at the cracked door long enough to see the way
Harley’s blue eyes stared through him, through that green gaze. There was
someone else in her head, he was sure. He wasn’t entirely sure who yet- but he
had an idea. Not that the Joker seemed to mind, thought Damian was sure he knew
too. Hell, maybe he encouraged it. Damian couldn’t tell.
All he knew was he felt like a child, and he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to
be Harley’s baby, the Joker’s little brat. He wanted to be something, to have
purpose. He wanted to be man enough to have grabbed the Joker and kissed him
with the blood hot in his veins and thick in the air. He wanted to be man
enough that the Joker would have passed over his bedroom and taken up Harley’s
spot in the doorway, watched him strip. He just wanted.
He went to bed with wet skin and an ache in his belly that tore him to pieces.
He knew the Joker ghosted by his room after he’d been laying there about forty
five minutes. He stood in the doorway like a shadow of the city, and Damian
prayed he wouldn’t come in. He was unhinged, he would do something he
regretted-
He wanted the man, but he couldn’t lose him. He needed him. He was the only
father Damian would ever have again.
The news of Penguin’s death spread like fire. The Joker had called it right,
there were mod uprisings. He, for the most part, stayed out of it though, and
let them fight amongst themselves. He took care of business, of the men under
his protection, and that was it.
A bloody week passed, and Damian was in his bedroom, nose deep in a book, when
Harley peeked in to check on him. He didn’t look up from the page, just spoke
knowing it was her by her perfume and the sounds of her footsteps.
“I want a tattoo.” She leaned against the doorway, arms folded.
“Oh?” She didn’t protest, and Damian still didn’t look up.
“Yeah. You must know a guy somewhere? I want some air, I could go for it
tonight.”
“You’re fifteen,” she said with a laugh. Damian stopped, peered up over his
book.
“How many fifteen-year-olds gut men and strangle them with their own
intestines?” Harley was quiet. She drummed her fingers on her arm, then sighed.
“Tonight,” she said, and was gone, and Damian was left smiling.
It was just the two of them. Harley made a few calls, and took him out while
the Joker went to handle some business. She drove them down into the heart of
Gotham, into a little shop that smelled of strong incense and ink. The guy that
greeted them threw his arms around her, and for a moment Damian wondered if he
was it, the one behind her eyes.
“So this is the brave little guy?” the man said, looking at Damian, “Harl tells
me you want some ink. For her, I think I can break a few age laws.” He smiled,
a nice smile, and Damian smiled back, before the little bell on the door
tinkled and someone else walked in. He turned, saw a flash of red waves and a
set of even redder lips.
“Am I late?” The woman asked, pulling her hair free of her jacket. Harley
grinned and rushed over, throwing her arms around her.
“Red! Just on time.” She kissed her cheek, turned and gestured to Damian. “You
remember Damian. I know it’s been a while.” Damian looked her over, realized
exactly who he was staring at.
Poison Ivy.
“I remember,” Damian said. She’d left Gotham, he remembered. For a while.
Harley never told him why, but she’d been sad. Very sad.
“You grew,” she commented, eyeing him. “You’re gonna be a man the next time
Harley blinks. I’ll have to hear her cry about it.”
“Damn right!” Harley said, wrapping her arms around one of Ivy’s and gazing up
at her. And in that instant, Damian knew exactly who was behind Harley’s eyes
when she crashed and tangled her body with the Joker’s.
Ivy had come baring ink for Damian- a deep green, almost black, organic from
her plants. She commented on how she normally wouldn’t have dreamed of hurting
them for someone, but Harley had asked, and she couldn’t refuse. She looked at
the blonde playfully, and Damian more than half expected he’d get dropped back
off at home and the two would disappear for a while.
He really wondered why she ever left Gotham.
The ink had a different smell to it, but Damian liked it. It melted against his
golden skin as the needle drove it in, crafting three small diamonds onto the
back of his left shoulder. A mark, a brand. A reminder that this was family.
After all he’d been through the past five years, he felt he’d earned it.
He was right about Harley leaving him alone in the hideout. She told him she’d
be back later, and disappeared arm in arm with Ivy, eyes the true blue of a
lovesick girl. Damian could only smile.
He waited up for the Joker. It was after three AM when he finally came home,
and Damian was exhausted, flopped down on the couch in his boxer briefs and a
t-shirt, laying on his stomach so as to not agitate the tattoo. He had the
lights off, and was sitting in the glow of the television. The Joker walked in,
pulling his tie off and dropping it on a small end table, watching him.
“Where’s Harley?”
“Out. With a friend.” The Joker raised an eyebrow, and Damian smiled. “Ivy.”
“She’s back in Gotham?”
“Guess so. I saw her with me own eyes.” The Joker walked closer, reached down
and dragged his finger tips along one of Damian’s calves, then his thigh, going
dangerously high.
“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”
“I wanted to wait for you.” The Joker’s fingertips touched the fabric of his
underwear and he stopped, pulled his hand back. Damian sat up, and before the
man could speak, pulled his shirt off, turning so his shoulder was angled back
towards him. “What do you think?” The Joker tilted his head, then slipped down
to his knees, fingers pressing into Damian’s back and towards his shoulder, but
not close enough to the tattoo to hurt. “It’s for you,” he said, “and Harley.
For us. No one can question that we’re family.”
The Joker didn’t speak, just traced it with his eyes. Damian felt the man’s
fingers twitching, like they wanted to touch it, trace it- but he knew better.
He leaned closer, and Damian felt his lips against the back of his neck- soft
despite the scars, and his lids grew heavy. His lips were replaced by his
forehead, as the Joker knelt there in silence, in all of Damian’s young glory.
Chapter End Notes
     So, I nearly made myself sick writing parts of this. I'm tacking on a
     warning just to be safe thanks to this chapter.
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Damian stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. He reached one hand up, pawing
at his short, black hair, his other hand gripping onto the porcelain sink.
Beyond the room, he could hear Harley, laughing in the kitchen. Ivy was there.
She appear more often than not, but it was a welcome intrusion. Damian liked
her.
She’d tried to make it normal, the first time she stayed the night, when they
had begun working on making their home less cramped, turning the abandoned
level above them into livable space. Harley had demanded it, the Joker complied
because an argument would be pointless. Harley would win. They had set up a
large bedroom, and Damian had been upstairs looking at the work being done,
when Ivy walked up and peeked into the room.
“I’d tell you to call me auntie Pam,” she said with a laugh, a real laugh, “But
you’re too smart for that.”
And Damian had smiled because he was. He’d seen it behind those pretty green
eyes of hers, the way she looked at Harley, the way Harley looked back. He
didn’t begrudge her- in fact, the more Ivy appeared in his little home, the
more fond of her he grew.
He sighed, turned away from his reflection, and grabbed his black v-neck,
walking shirtless from the bathroom. He slipped into the kitchen, saw a counter
littered with egg shells, Harley with her hair in a messy knot against her
neck, and the sly movement of Ivy’s hand along the small of her back.
“Smells good,” he said, folding his arms, and Harley looked back and smiled at
him.
“Sit down,” she said, waving her spatula, “Have some midnight breakfast with
us!”
“Sorry H,” he said, straightening up. “Got work to do.” He pulled the shirt
over his chest, the thick yet lean muscle he’d accumulated over the years. And
nineteen, he was bigger than he had been years ago, with a new array of pale
scars settling against his golden skin.
“Have someone else do it,” Harley whined as Ivy sat down, taking a sip from a
champagne glass, half filled with orange juice, the other with something
expensive and bubbly. “You’re never home, Dami. I miss you.”
“I’ll make time another night,” he said, walking over and kissing her cheek. “I
promise. And this won’t take long, just a stop off at the docks. Shipment
coming in, I want to make sure it gets to the right dealers. Last time I gave
that to someone else it was a disaster.” Harley said, returning the kiss to his
cheek. This close, he could see the faintest of lines in her face. Sometimes,
he forgot that she aged, that J aged. Time was graceful on her, though, the
lines faint, rather becoming. Her smile still dazzled and her eyes still
danced- so long as that happened, Damian knew he’d find her beautiful. “Where’s
J?”
“Had something to take care of,” she said, “Didn’t say when he’d get back.
Don’t have too much fun without me, Dami.”
“I won’t. If I need anyone’s face bashed in, I’ll call. Promise.” She giggled
and patted his shoulder, turning back to the eggs. Ivy gave Damian a smile and
a nod, and he gave her a quiet, “Pam” and a nod back.
Yes, she was definitely welcome, if she gave so much life to Harley’s eyes.
Damian mounted his bike and made his way to the docks. The window felt good,
rushing through his hair, against his cheeks, blowing the leather jacket he’d
thrown on. Black on black and jeans, he was ignoring the family colors, but he
smirked in silent laughter that his boxer briefs were dark green. That was
something.
He got to the docks and parked his bike, leaving it in the shadows and making
his way around the old shipping containers. He was pleased to see a few of his
men already unloading crates. They stopped to greet him, and he gave them a
grin, placing his hands on his hips. Just watching. That’s all he really needed
to do. Easy night.
“It’s all there, I swear!”
Or not.
Damian jerked his head towards the voice, at the man who had been holding the
case full of money. It was in the hands of man who delivered ths shipment-
behind on the times, sadly. Damian would have rather just transferred the money
to him, but he liked cold hard cash. Still, the shit he managed to get, it was
Scarecrow hallucinogen worthy, without dealing with Crane. So Damian dealt.
“What’s the problem?” he asked, walking over and placing a hand on the man’s
shoulder. The guy relaxed- Damian did that, he had a little trust from the men
who usually worked under him. He liked that- he still had nightmares about
seeing men turn their guns on the Joker, and he never wanted to encounter that
again. He wanted loyalty, respect, commitment. Though he wasn’t innocent of
slitting his own men’s throats if they fucked up royally. Fear was important
too.
“Maniac is claiming we’re short,” he said, “It’s all there boss, I swear. Ya
can check me, I didn’t skim.”
Damian slipped an arm around him, acting friendly. “Oh, I wouldn’t think that
you did.” But to be safe, that squeeze had let him know there were no bundles
of cash hidden on his person. He doubted he would have taken the time to
dispserse bills all over his body, nor did he think he had had the time to hide
any. Also, he did have some trust for this man. When Damian didn’t handle the
cash himself, he was comfortable leaving it to him.
So he turned the man, in his nice suit but wild gray hair and nervous tick of
his lips. Probably sampled his own drugs one too many times. Shame, that was a
rule you didn’t break.
“It’s all there,” Damian said, one hand slipping along his hip. The feel of
cool metal from the ride over, his gun was ready. Along with the knife next to
it. Always have a back up. “We can sit and count it, if you like, while my men
do their work.”
The man opened the briefcase in a quick flash, showing off the dent were a
large bundle had been removed. “I bet to differ, boy. It ain’t all here. I want
the rest of my money.”
Damian clicked his tongue. He studied the man’s hands for a moment, before
striking out. He clamped the briefcase shut with a fist before it tumbled to
the ground, grabbed the man by the collar of his crisp cotton shirt and hoisted
him up. The man flailed, reaching to grab Damian’s wrist, and Damian’s other
hand grabbed his sleeve, tugging it up to his elbow. The missing bundle dropped
to the ground, followed quickly by his body.
Damian stared down with hard, black eyes. “Next time you try to cheat me,” he
said, delivering a swift kick to the man’s ribs and knocking the wind out of
him, “I’ll gut you before you can blink. You know I have an affinity for
hanging bad men by their internal organs.” He grinned, a dark, sinister sort of
smile, and the man made a groveling noise, words Damian couldn’t understand.
“Now get the hell out.” He jerked his head, and the man got up, grabbed the
briefcase, and was off, leaving the stolen bundle of cash forgotten. Damian
stooped to pick it up, peeling a few crisp bills off the pile and walking over
to his men.
“Good job,” he said, patting the one who had been handling the cash on his
chest and slipping the bills into his jacket pocket. “For being trustworthy.
Make sure these guys get this stuff to the right dealers. And count the payment
when you take it- this guy has put a sour taste in my mouth. Let’s not let
anyone else try and cheat us.”
“You got it, sir,” he said, reaching up and squeezing Damian’s hand. He had a
few years on Damian, sandy blonde hair- short. Not bad. Damian made a mental
note, turning to let them finish their work. He didn’t think the guy would
mind. Most people wouldn’t mind getting a taste of him. He knew that, and he
used it.
He left them to finish up, made his way through the dark back towards his bike.
He’d be home plenty early- he was hoping H still had some food warm, he was
pretty hungry. Maybe Pammy would still be up, she was always fun to talk to.
He’d been keeping so busy lately, he hadn’t had a night with one of them in
quite some time. He wondered when J would be home, what he was doing. He should
call him, let him know what happened. But if he was in the middle of handling a
problem, he wouldn’t want to be disturbed-
Damian stopped, turning his head just a little, listening to the wind over the
bay, creeping into the city. A moment later he heard it again, that ruffle of
wind on fabric, and he knew. He smirked, but it was entirely fake. This was the
last thing he wanted to deal with.
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” he said, turning around. The shadows moved, and
he saw the cape first, the way the wind blew it gently. A moment later Batman
stepped out, staring at Damian with those blue-black eyes he’d inherited. “I
was actually starting to think you’d just leave me alone.”
“Damian-“
“Then again, I am fucking up your precious Gotham, so I guess you can’t.” He
rested his hands on his hips, not touching the hilt of his knife or the handle
of his gun, but close enough that their comfort was there. “So what’re you
waiting for? Come at me, Bats. I can handle you.”
Bruce’s jaw tightened, his hands flexed into fists, then relaxed. The
inflection in Damian’s voice, it mirrored another he knew, one Damian knew, and
this time Damian’s smirk was real. “Hear him in me?”
“See him in you,” Batman admitted. Damian laughed at that. He wished he could
see the Joker in himself- in many different ways, in many different positions.
“It’s not too late, Damian.”
“You say this shit every year.” He took a step closer. “Do you always think
that, Bruce, or just when you don’t run into me slitting throats and stringing
people up by their guts? It’s fun, you know.” He drew his knife, pressing the
blade tip into his finger and twirling it. “Gutting them. Splitting them open.
The heat is amazing. It’s...art. The countless ways you can rearrange a human
body and we all still know it was once human.” His tongue darted out, licked
his lips, and Bruce cringed. Damian’s heart sped up. “So, tell me Bruce.
Knowing that, still think there’s hope for me?”
“Come with me,” he said, reaching his hand out. Not the first time he’d done
it. “Let me try, Damian. We have so much to talk about.”
“You’ve had years to try and talk, Bruce.”
“You never listen. Don’t act a child, Damian. I didn’t watch a child working
back there.” Damian gritted his teeth. “Give me a chance to earn my son back.”
“I’m not your son!” he cried. “Your son died. The Damian you know is dead, has
been dead for nine years. You’re not my family- none of your damn broken family
is mine.” He held the knife out, keeping Bruce at a distance. “H and J are my
family- they’re all I’ve got-“
“You have me-“
“Bullshit!” he screamed, lunging. Batman dodged his frustration-fueled attack
with ease, and Damian skidded to a stop, turning. “Where were you when I was
six feet under? Why the hell didn’t you bring me back?”
“I was mourning the loss of my son!” Bruce’s voice echoed around them,
virulent. Damian lowered his knife slowly, before his arm went limp. “I was
mourning the death of another Robin, of a member of my family- but most of all,
I was mourning you, Damian. You, my son. A boy I never got to love.”
Damian swallowed the lump in his throat, his chest going tight. He was hard to
breath, the corners of his vision were swimming. Bruce’s eye burned holes right
through him, and his knife clattered to the ground.
“When I was...dead,” he started, “I dreamed of you. I think. It’s all...hazy.
That time, the time before. Everything before I woke up and he held me.”
Bruce’s eyes flashed- a light in the dark, a mix of anger and frustration and
jealousy and Damian wasn’t sure what he was jealous of. “But I remember you.
And I was screaming for you until my lips and throat were bloody, but you never
came.”
Bruce took a step towards him, and Damian let him. He tried to not think about
those dreams, the things he saw behind dead eyes. For a whil he couldn’t
remember them, but over the years they came back. He still had nightmares, from
time to time. But he hadn’t woken up with the Joker in his room, holding him,
in years. In this moment he wanted those arms around him, to ground him. For a
moment the docks, the bay, turned to black earth, and he was buried again,
feeling frantic-
Bruce grabbed his arm and pulled him closer. Damian fell into it, stumbled into
his embrace, let the man who had helped create him wrap his arms around him and
hold him tightly. Damian went limp, didn’t move, breathed in the scent of
Kevlar and the wind, remembered it in his mind. His fingers twitched, then he
reached out, tentatively wrapping his arms around Bruce, clutching at his cape.
“I can help you through those memories,” Bruce was offering, “God, I’ve wanted
to help for so long. But he kept you so close, on such a tight leash, and the
city...and the family...”
Damian didn’t say anything. He knew about the family falling apart. Tim and
Barbara gone, left Gotham without looking back, doing their form of good and
justice elsewhere. Jason had disappeared into the dark, Damian didn’t even know
where he was. When Damian had heard of Alfred’s passing, he actually felt
remorse. Had locked himself up for a few days and only come out when the Joke
and comforted him, held him as he shook and screamed and didn’t understand why
it hurt so much more than it should have.
He squeezed his eyes shut, couldn’t think about the Joker then. But what Bruce
had said was true, the Joker had kept Damian close for so long, Bruce had
barely managed to get a moment alone with him. Damian had run into Dick-
Nightwing alone more often. And with the way Gotham was crumbling, Bruce had a
job to try and fix it, to stop the chaos. Damian could remember the chaos after
the Penguin’s death, the city had been in an uproar for almost a year as the
mobs and gangs warred off. It had meant a very busy Bat, so busy that Damian
managed to get away with his work with barely ever seeing him.
“Give me a chance,” Bruce whispered, cutting into his thoughts, “Just come talk
with me. You can leave whenever you want to.”
Part of Damian’s brain ticked and told him no, no this was bad. Don’t do it, it
was a trap, this was the Bat, the Bat the Bat the Bat, and only the Joker could
stand up to him alone. Damian wasn’t ready yet, wasn’t there. But the arms
around him, they were in the deep recesses of his memory, familiar in a
strange, foreign way, and he wanted to remember.
“Promise,” Damian said, “I I want out, you let me walk.”
“I swear it.”
Damian took a deep breath, then nodded slowly, his heart pounding so wildly in
his chest he could hear the blood rushing inside his skull.
Chapter End Notes
     I know, we're missing so many years again! The age jump is just
     necessary to see some events play out. I do intend to write about
     these missing years someday down the line, in short stories.
***** Chapter 6 *****
It was odd to sit inside the Batmobile, after nine years of absence. He closed
his eyes and tried to remember patrols with Bruce, but they were buried so far
down it was hard. He wasn’t sure what was a memory, and what he was creating.
He didn’t know how to create something, fabricate a memory so that it might be
accurate. Life before death was still blurry, always wood be. Damian had
accepted that-
But the promise of Bruce reminding him, it brought back his curiosity. He knew
who was who, he remembered some things in clarity- but mundane things like
sitting in the Batmobile, getting ready for patrol, was just a haze.
When Bruce pulled the car into the Batcave and killed the engine, Damian didn’t
move. It seemed different, through the tinted windows. So different. He waited
until Bruce got out to follow, and he was right- it was different.
It lacked life. The cave had never been lively except for the countless
screens, but there used to be Alfred poking around, bringing in late night
dinners and snacks before you even knew you were hungry, one of the family
showing up and taking up space, chatting about this and that and nothing but
breathing in the space and giving it life. Now it was just...empty. Sad.
Bruce pulled his cowl back, and Damian watched as he ran a hand through his
hair. He was aging too- it struck Damian that he looked older. His once near-
black hair had grey finely peppered into it- thing streaks that reminded Damian
the man was mortal, aged just like Harley, just like the Joker-
Bruce more so than the two of them put together, though.
His eyes even looked tired, as he looked at Damian, a faint smile on his lips.
“What do you remember?” he asked, leaning against the counter, and Damian tried
to keep busy, running fingers along counters, touching the gadgets he found
lying there.
“Bits and pieces,” he said, “I remember people, faces, general events. But
little things...like riding in the Batmobile, I didn’t remember what that felt
like. The smell of the cave’s air- I’d forgotten until now.” He shrugged a
shoulder.
“Do you remember everything he did?” Damian froze, looked at Bruce out of the
corner of his eyes.
“Let’s not talk about him,” he said, knowing Bruce meant the Joker. “Leave J
out of this. But yes, I remember. I know what he’s done to the city.”
“You remember what he did to Jason?” Damian gripped the corner of the counter
he was by, gritting his teeth. It always comes back to this.
“Yes, Bruce, I remember. You made sure to not let us ever forget.” Damian
looked over at him, eyes hardening. “But let’s not focus on Jaybird for a
minute- if you can, I know how infatuated with him you are. Let’s focus on me-
let’s think about what J did for me.”
“He corrupted-“
“He gave me life!” Damian pulled his hand back, made a fist, slammed it into
the counter. “He did what you didn’t think to do- probably couldn’t do. But
what you should have. You could have given me a second chance- he did that
instead.”
“Lazarus Pits are unstable, Damian,” he said, “They cause temporary insanity-
maybe even permanent. Jason was never the-“
“And here we go with Jason again!” Damian swiped the few items on the counter
onto the ground. “You’ve got a real infatuation with the guy, Bruce. Did he
return it, hmm? Did you ever bend little Jason over?” Bruce stood up at that,
glaring bitterly into Damian.
“Damian Wayne, don’t-“
“I’m not a Wayne,” Damian said, “Not anymore. Dammit Bruce, you did, didn’t
you? Did Dick know? You know he’s got it bad for you, right? And Jason too, in
a sort of liking broken things way.” Damian shook his head. “Did you just take
all of them? Even Tim? God, would you have-“
“Enough!” Bruce closed the gap between them, reaching for the collar of
Damina’s shirt. He tugged on it, gritting his teeth. “Don’t think such filth,
Damian. I loved them, Damian, like I love you.” Damian reached up, closing a
hand around Bruce’s wrist.
“Let. Me. Go.” Bruce released his hold, and Damian jerked back. “This was a
mistake. We can’t talk about anything, Bruce. Let me out of here.”
“Damian, just wait-“
“No. I want to leave.” He turned around, taking in the cave, trying to map a
way out. The only way he could remember that he could take was the elevator, up
to the manor. He hoped Bruce would give him a different exit. But seconds
passed, and the man didn’t move.
“No,” Bruce finally said, “You’re not leaving, Damian. Not after so many years.
I’m going to fix you. I’m going to make this right.” He reached for him again,
wrapping his hand around Damian’s forearm in an iron grip. “I can get you help.
Therapy for the years of abuse he’s put you through, medication-“
“No!” Damian tugged, but Bruce’s grip was unbreakable. “No drugs, J says they
mess your mind too much. Don’t sample the product-“
“Damian!” Bruce tugged him closer, and Damian put his free arm between them.
“He never abused me,” Damian said, confused. “He’s done nothing but give me
life.” He tugged on his arm again. “He’s saved me countless times when I
would’ve gotten my ass handed to me or worse.” Bruce’s lip twitched, his teeth
showing slightly, and Damian realized he was snarling.
“He raped you.” Damian froze up, staring at Bruce with wide, unbelieving eyes.
“W-what?” he asked, and Bruce repeated himself, fingers digging into Damian’s
arm, leaving bruises through his leather jacket. “No he didn’t,” Damain said,
softer, thinking for a moment. All the times J had touched him, had seemed so
close- but no, he’d never done that. Damian would remember, considering how
badly he grew up wanting him. How badly he still did, even if he buried it so
deep inside some days even he could forget.
Bruce’s grip loosened a little, his eyes widening. “He never...touched you?”
“No,” Damian said, almost laughing now. “Lord knows I would’ve welcomed it. But
no, he didn’t. Wouldn’t. Maybe he wanted to, I don’t know, I don’t think so,
but he never did. Why? Did you think-“
Bruce shoved him back roughly, reaching up to rake a hand through his hair.
Damian watched, confused. “Why would you think he-“ Damian cut himself off, his
heart stopping. He knew, from the near frantic look in Bruce’s eyes, the way he
was tugging in his hair, flexing his hands nervously. “You...Oh god, you
two...after I came back.” Damian shook his head, reaching up to rub his
temples. “Fuck, you fucked him the whole time, didn’t you? Or the other way
around?” Damian was shaking, laughter building in his chest. It was almost
funny. “Did he threaten it or something? No. I don’t think he did. You accused
him of it, didn’t you? You accused him of bending little me over and ravaging
me like I was you- so he stopped playing.” Damian moved closer, smacking
Bruce’s hand away from his face to glare up into those dark eyes. “You chased
him away and he hasn’t come back, has he?”
Bruce gave a wordless scream and shoved Damian back, turning away from him. And
Damian knew he was right. “I don’t blame you,” Damian said, watching the
nervous ticks Bruce had held in for so long, the twitches, the flexing os his
fists. “The Joker...I don’t blame you for wanting him. The rest of the
family...they might never understand, but I do. I know the allure in those
eyes, the way the curve of his mouth just drags you in.” Damian kept his arms
at his sides, fingers twitching, wanting to fold himself up but resisting
because he didn’t want to seem like he was cutting himself off because of fear.
“I know why you love him. Runs in our genetics, I’d say.”
Bruce turned towards Damian, glaring. “Damian, don’t. You don’t know what
you’re-“
“I’ve lived with him for nine years. Nine years Bruce. I think I’d know. And I
knew the moment he pulled me from the Lazarus Pit and held me. He was the only
thing that didn’t hurt, that made me feel good. And fuck if I haven’t tried to
convince myself otherwise, but I love-“
Damian barely saw him move. A blur in time and space, a glitch, and Bruce was
there, his fist colliding with Damian’s jaw. He staggered back, reaching up to
clutch it, felt blood welling up in his mouth. He glared at Bruce, at the
imposing shadow of the man who helped create him, once upon a lifetime ago.
“Can’t stand the idea that someone else might love him too?” When Damian spoke
the blood rushed form his mouth, pressed into his hand, seeped through the
cracks between his fingers. “Can’t stand that someone better than you loves
him, when you love him and he doesn’t love you back.”
“He loved me!” Bruce screamed, eyes wide and wild. “The man loved me more than
the air he breathed.”
“Loved,” Damian whispered, pulling his hand away, blood smearing on his chin.
“Loved Bruce. Not anymore. How long has it been, hmm? When did he stop coming
to you?” Bruce tensed his arm, and Damian readied himself in case he came at
him again.
“Four years,” he finally said, “But he...it’s still there.” Bruce’s eyes were
completely black, the last bit of blue gone, and Damian felt almost sorry for
him in that moment- except that he had done this to himself, and he wouldn’t
forget that.
“I’m leaving,” he said, needing this to end. “Point me in the direction of the
easiest way out- don’t make me track mud through the manor.”
Bruce pointed, and Damian turned on his heel and left, knowing he wouldn’t be
back. Knowing Bruce was forever lost to him-
He had no real regrets over that.
The night air was rather chill by the time he surfaced. He stopped to stare out
at Gotham in the distance, and the thought of walking all the way to the docks
made his legs ache to the point of agony. He fished around in his pocket,
pulling out his phone, deciding he’d rather call in a friend and deal with the
questions and looks as to why he was out by Wayne Manor.
He was glad it was blondie who had come- Damian liked that name for him- and
that he didn’t ask questions, he just drove Damian to the docks, to his bike.
The only thing he did ask was if he was okay, when he saw the blood around his
mouth and drying on his hand. Damian had smiled and told him not to worry.
He wondered what he’d say to H and Pam when he got home. He didn’t want to
explain this, not now. Not tonight. He’d just say it was the supplier, that’d
work. He could tell J, too, if he was there. But Damian hoped he wasn’t, for
once- he needed to all this in, to process it. To think.
The lights were all off at home, and he found a sticky note on his door. Harley
and Ivy had gone out, gotten cabin fever. They might be back before morning,
might crash at a hide out closer to where they were. Don’t worry, don’t wait
up.
Damian took the note down and crumpled it in his hand, thankfully for small
miracles.
He ran water from the bathroom sink and splashed it onto his face. It rinsed
and ran pink as it ashed the blood from his jaw and lips and hand. He swished
some in his mouth, noticing how it stung in certain places, happy though that
none of his teeth were broken. Bruce hit hard, after all. He was thankful for
small miracle number two.
He left his door half open and stripped of his jack, shirt, and jeans, crawling
into his bed in his emerald boxer briefs and sighing as the he curled the
blanket around him. His body ached, and sleep would do his mind good-
If his mind would stop turning. Four years ago he mused, wondering what had
spurred Bruce the accuse the Joker then. Or if he’d been accusing him of
fucking Damian like a common whore, and it finally just got to be too much.
He rolled onto his side, facing the wall, stared at it in the dark, not moving
when he heard rustling outside the door, the locks moving, someone slipping in.
The locks twisted again, and Damian listened to the footsteps that started down
the hallway, stopped at his door. He held his breath, part of him wanting the
Joker to keep walking, the other wanting him to come in, that part of him he’d
pushed back over the years, the thing inside that stirred and made him ache.
The door opened with a soft creak, and the Joker took a step inside. Damian
knew he had two choices- continue to fake sleep, or acknowledge him. He
hesitated, heard the Joker breathing softly, and moved only when he heard the
man begin to move- to walk away.
“J?” he whispered, and the footsteps came towards him, a hand tracing his
shoulder.
“Thought you might be, ah, sleeping,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Damian closed his eyes, felt the Joker’s fingertips tracing one of the diamonds
on his shoulder. “Everything go alright tonight?”
“Had a small issue,” he said, “Seller claimed we’d shorted him. Found the cash
on him though, send him running without too much force.” The Joker traced
another diamond, than the final one, before his finger dipped down and ran
along Damian’s spine. Damian shivered, felt the Joker stop near the small of
his back and trace back up.
“Would you like him removed from the equation?” the Joker asked, and Damian
shook his head.
“Not this time. If he tries us again though, we should make an example of him.
We can get shit similar to his from Crane- might be pricier, and we’d have to
deal with Crane, but we can’t let someone try to challenge us like that.” The
Joker smirked, Damian could just tell, and his hand traced down his spine
again. This time the fingers dipped lower, along the small of his back,
catching the waist of his underwear, and Damian’s breath hitched.
The Joker pulled away instantly, and Damian rolled onto his back, looking at
him in the dark of his room. His eyes wore a fake calm, Damian could see it
peeling from the corners, showing the wild green beneath that was quivering.
Damian tried to remember how many times they’d shook like that around him,
stared into him.
And he knew he couldn’t bury it again, couldn’t ignore the curiosity, the need
for answers, to get a little taste of truth. Of desire.
“I ran into Batman,” he admitted, and the Joker tensed.
“What-“
“He took me to the Batcave. Told me...things.” Damian sat up, letting the
blanket pool on his lap. He reached a hand up to keep the Joker from
interrupting him, and the man obliged, though his eyes gave his anxiety away.
“He told me...told me what he accused you of. He thought you raped me.” Damian
smiled, chuckled a little. “I set him straight. But I...I need to know
something.” He gripped the blankets in his lap, twisted them. “He told
me...about you. And him. And I can’t say I’m shocked- I might have been at
first but...but I knew, everyone knew how obsessed you were with him, and that
Bruce is fucked up enough deep down to want it. But he said you stopped seeing
him four years ago...” Damian reached a hand up, reaching out. He meant to grip
his jacket, maybe his shirt, but instead he laid his hand flat on his chest,
fingers flexing ever so slightly. “I wanna know why. Why then?”
The Joker was silent, unmoving. He could have become a shadow than, a figment
of Damian’s exhausted mind. But Damian felt the shallow movement of his
breathing, and that was enough.
“J,” he whispered, leaning closer, looking up at him. One of his pale hands
reached up, clutched onto Damian’s, while the other traced along his cheek. His
skin tingled where the Joker touched him, and Damian’s stomach dissolved into a
warm putty, the kind that twisted deliciously with every twitch of his fingers-
all feelings Damian had barely felt over the past few years, things he’d been
forcing himself to hold down since he was seventeen, when he knew it was no
good to dwell on and want and need and crave the thing he could never have, not
without severing his tie to the man.
One night wasn’t worth losing the only man he could call daddy and mean it.
“I met with him the night after I, ah, killed Penguin,” the Joker said,
quietly, “And when he accused me, for the countless time, all I could picture
was you between that bastard’s fat thighs, how he’d almost...he could have.”
His hand tightened around Damian’s and he sank his fingers into his hair,
pulling him closer. “I wouldn’t look at Bats after that. Not with that image in
my head- not with those eyes thinking I’d...”
Damian wasn’t sure if he was breathing anymore. He squirmed slightly, moving
closer, safe the fake calm that had settled over the Joker’s eyes ripped away-
and they were wild. Damian’s lips itched to kiss those eyelids, feel the way
his muscles moved beneath the thin skin.
His eyes settled on the Joker’s painted mouth, the perfect curves and raised
scar tissue. “Babybat,” he whispered, Damian watched him form the words. He bit
his tongue for a moment, tried to tell himself this was wrong, this was a risk-
But Damian lived for risks.
He leaned up as swiftly as he could, closing the gap between them, pressing his
mouth to the Joker’s. It felt like his eyes burst behind his eyelids as they
fell shut, as he felt what those lips- oddly soft despite the scars- finally
felt like against his own. The Joker had frozen again, his hand stilling in
Damian’s hair, but Damian pressed on- the deed was done, he knew he might as
well dive in head first instead of risk splashing his way to shore. He moved
his mouth, slowly, tested the still mouth against his own. His fingers flexed
in the Joker’s shirt, his other hand reaching for the Joker’s waist, slipping
an arm around him, fitting perfectly as he always had.
He pulled back slightly, enough so when he opened his eyes they could lock with
the seething, swirling psychedelic orbs staring back at him. He felt the
Joker’s breath on his lips, felt his heart hammering against his ribs, the
sound echoing down to his knotted belly.
“Dami-“
“Tell me you didn’t like it,” he whispered, “And it won’t happen again. Lie to
me, but make it a good lie.” He tried to breath, but his words still came out
breathy, timid because he could be ruining everything. “Tell me-“
He’s cut off when the Joker’s mouth crashes into his own. His heart stops dead,
turns to lead and pushes into his stomach as that mouth moves hypnotically
against his own, as his head is tipped back and his tongue darts against his
lips, traces the seem and flicks them. Damian moaned, fisted both hands in the
Joker’s shirt and tugged him closer, falling onto his back on his bed. The
sharp sound of fabric tearing filled his ears, the feeling of a button falling
onto his chest before bouncing off, falling onto the wooden floor.
He gets his hands on pale, warm flesh, and Damian feels for the raised skin,
the puckered scars that he knows are there. Each one he finds he traces softly
as his mouth opens and the Joker’s tongue is against his, pressing to it,
teaching it a slow sort of dance. Damian is dizzy, his limbs shook, but it was
okay because the Joker was the source. He had a hand on Damian’s waist, and it
trailed down slowly, tracing along the hem of his underwear, the hard muscle
that twitched beneath his golden skin.
The Joker’s lips and tongue and teeth worried Damian’s mouth until his lip was
bleeding where Bruce had split it. The coppery taste filled the kiss, gave it a
metallic tang that made Damian’s hips push up, made him hard, made the Joker
give a deep groan as his hand slipped lower and cupped him through the thing
fabric.
He broke the kiss, leaning back, fingers gripping lightly, tracing Damian’s
sex, as the young man tried to catch his breath, one hand grabbing onto the
Joker’s thigh. The Joker grinned, leaning down and batting the hand away,
pressing his lips to Damian’s neck. He trailed down to his collarbone, smeared
lipstick along his skin, as his fingers crept to the waistband of Damian’s
boxer briefs again, this time hooking in them and pulling them down so his cock
could spring free. Damian gasped when the air hit him- cold compared to his
burning skin, and cried out when the Joker wrapped his hand around him,
stroking him carefully, gently- as if he might break.
Damian tilted his head so his neck was exposed, so the Joker could nip and lick
it playfully with ease. His hips were rocking with that hand, frustrated with
how carefully it moved. The Joker’s thumb swiped over his head one, dragged a
slick trail down his length, and Damian moaned- the sound devolving into a
growl as the pace he kept.
“I won’t break,” he gasped, reaching an arm around the Joker’s shoulders to
fist in the back of his jacket, and the man found his mouth again, ravishing
it. The moment his tongue was inside Damian again, testing the points of his
teeth, the taste in his cheeks, his hand sped up, gripped him harder and tugged
so exquisitely that Damian lost his breath and choked. He whimpered, mewled
into the man’s waiting mouth, felt his belly coiling up tightly.
He tried to speak, to pull back enough to form words, but the Joker chased him,
devoured them and drank down his breath. He let every sound Damian uttered slip
down his throat and keep in his belly like hot coals. And Damian was delirious
enough that he swore he could feel the heat of those coals, the way the fire
was burning under the man’s skin.
His orgasm hit him with enough force to bruise. His breath choked in his throat
and he gave a strangled cry, right into the Joker’s mouth, making the older man
shiver. His hips bucked up into his hand, and the Joker stroked him through the
waves that tried to drown him, until he his head was bobbing above the water,
floating alone in the ocean.
When the man pulled back, released Damian’s now swollen lips, his eyelids were
heavy. His energy had coursed out through his body, and he was left with the
fatigue of the night- though the aches he should have felt were replaced by a
pleasant buzzing in his veins.
Damian was vaguely aware of the Joker kissing him again, softly this time, his
lips, the corner of his mouth, his forehead. He tilted his head up, brushed his
cheek along the Joker’s scarred one, and gave him a sleepy, honest smile.
The Joker kissed his neck one last time, before he tugged the blanket back over
Damian, who curled into it, letting the exhaustion win over. He fell into sleep
feeling those eyes watching him and liking it.
***** Chapter 7 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
When Damian became aware of his body again, he was sure he was waking from a
rather pleasant dream. He hadn’t had one of those in a while- where the man
came to him and gave in. They had been prevalent in his youth, when he was
sixteen, seventeen. But then the repression had dulled them, and they came only
when his mind needed to let out the torrent of attraction he held coiled up
inside for the man he looked at with such reverence.
Reached down, expecting to feel his underwear sticking to him uncomfortably,
but found nothing but skin and the thatch of dark curls between his legs. His
eyes blinked open as he realized his underwear were clinging to his thighs,
half way down his ass, his sex free. He tugged them up, wondering how he’d
managed that- and wondering how he wasn’t a mess. There was no way that orgasm
had only been in his dream, he knew.
He threw the blanket off him and stood up, stretching his sore muscles. He
slipped out of his room, ducking into the bathroom. He was contemplating a
shower, the warm water might soothe the tension, when he passed the mirror and
caught a glimpse. He froze, turned fully to stare at himself. His lips were
smeared pink, hints of it all along his neck and collar bone. He traces one
stain, saw a flash of green curls in his mind and felt a hand expertly touching
him.
Damian’s heart was racing. He turned on the water and worked to clean the
lipstick from his skin, scrubbing so his skin blushed, his breath choking in
his tight throat. This couldn’t be real, this had to have an explanation. It
was a dream, Damian knew. He’d worked too hard to keep this pent up inside him
to let it spill out so suddenly, too hard to keep the man he loved most from
ever knowing or remembering the way Damian touched when he shouldn’t, stared
longer than most.
When he was clean he left the bathroom, going one door down and pressing his
hand to the wood. He couldn’t be sure if it was just J in there, if H was there
too, if she was even home. She usually slept upstairs now, because Ivy was
there more often than not, but Damian still found her from time to time curled
up into the Joker, sleeping.
He didn’t think she liked to sleep alone.
He took a deep breath and grasped the knob, opening the door. The light from
the hallway filtered in, and Damian was relieved to see there was only one body
in the bed, sprawled out on his back, the blankets tangled between and around
his legs. Legs that lead to a naked, slim waist, to an obscenely pale body
lined with scars. He was naked.
Damian told himself to breath. This wasn’t abnormal. He’d seen the Joker
sleeping naked plenty of times- he’d crawled in and curled up against his naked
body when he was a kid, when he couldn’t sleep, when the dark was too much like
death. He’d even found excuses to crawl in with him when he was older, when he
was trying so badly to seduce him into just one touch, one kiss- sure that he
could then convince him he needed more.
But it had been a long time now, and he wasn’t ready for just how perfect he
still was, after all these years. If age had been kind to Harley, it had all
but blessed the Joker. Maybe it was the array of chemicals that had gotten into
him during his rebirth, but the only real evidence of age were a few faint
lines on his face that simply made his smile seem all the more real-
Or terrifying, depending on the reasons behind it.
Damian walked quietly across the room, to the large bed positioned neatly in
the center. He could hear his heart as it banged against his ribs, created a
symphony in his head with the pounding of his blood in his temples. Against it
all were two voices inside him, one drowning, telling him to stop, to go back
to his room- it hadn’t happened, or whatever had happened hadn’t happened.
Forget it and don’t risk this, don’t risk the family.
The other voice sang sweetly to him of the skin that could be beneath his
fingertips, how the scars would taste against his tongue. How the mouth he’d
sampled the night before had more to offer.
He crawled onto the mattress and the Joker stirred, eyes opening. If he was
shocked to see Damian, he didn’t show it. Instead he slid over, giving Damian
room to lay down next to him. Damian laid on his side, slipping his legs into
the tangled blankets, his foot tracing down the Joker’s calf. The pale man
slipped an arm beneath him, pressed his palm against his shoulder, pressing
into Damian’s tattoo.
“Was it a dream?” he asked, foolishly. He rested his forehead against the
Joker’s chest, his eyelashes tickling his skin with each blink. He rose and
fell with each breath, like he had as a child, and the voice that spoke rumbled
up through the man’s chest.
“Do you want it to be?”
It was a simple question, but what it implied made Damian’s stomach tighten. It
had all happened- and he had the option to pretend, for the rest of his life,
that it hadn’t. No repercussions, no loss. Just one brief moment where he’d
been kissed by the only man that mattered, one moment where his body got a
taste of paradise, before the gates were shut and locked in his face.
They could continue being normal- their version of normal.
Damian wasn’t sure if he could handle that.
“I,” Damian started, pressing his mouth down against the pale flesh, speaking
into it, letting the Joker feel his words more than hear them. “I don’t know.”
He knew, but he was afraid. He wanted, but he couldn’t handle it. The Joker’s
fingers dug into his tattoo, holding him firmly.
“I stopped seeing Batman,” he said, into the static silence, “Because what he
was accusing me of- all of it, the ways he’d huff at me that I took you, that I
defiled you...because it was all what I wanted.”
Damian heard the man’s heart pumping, felt it vibrating into his lips, his
forehead. It sped up slightly.
“And I couldn’t look at him, knowing someone else saw that.” He shifted, rolled
onto his side, jarring Damian from his resting spot on his chest and looked at
him, into his dark, dark eyes. “I didn’t, ah, want to hurt you, Babybat. I’ve
never wanted so purely to have someone simply not hurt.” His other hand reached
up, brushed along Damian’s short hair. “I felt it when you first came
back...when you were screaming and I was clutching you.” He tipped his forehead
down, tucked it against Damian’s chin, and Damian slipped his arms around him,
entangling him closer. “I had plans for you, once. I was going to give you to
him, as a gift. I was going to buy his love, his forgiveness for the other.”
Damian didn’t need a name, he knew it. Jason. Everything with Bruce boiled back
down to him, and the anger rising in him wasn’t at the man confessing in his
arms, but the aging man left alone in a cave with blood on his hands and
nothing in his chest.
“But I couldn’t. I thought of it so many times, but, ah, I didn’t want to lose
you.” Damian let his fingertips trace bone, sharp under flesh, feel muscles as
the contracted and loosened. “And I kept seeing nothing in his eyes, just a
hole. One that couldn’t be filled. I didn’t go to him for fun, I went to him
out of habit, duty because he is the Bat, and I was the force meant to balance
him. Your father broke that balance-“
“Don’t call him that,” Damian said, tipping his head down, lips finding the
Joker’s curls. “Don’t call him that.”
“It’s the, ah, truth-“
“I don’t care,” Damian said. “He stopped being my father when I died. You
became my father when I truly lived.” He pulled one hand from the Joker’s back,
cupped his cheek and forced him to look up. “And don’t say it- I don’t care
about whatever reasons you had for doing it. I care about the fact that for
nine years you’ve helped me become...become this. Everything I could have been
that he would have stunted.” He leaned closer, let his nose brush the Joker’s.
“I love you, J. I’ve loved you since you chased the pain away. I loved you
every night you I’d wake up from a nightmare and you were there. I loved you
every time you taught me how to embrace the chaos and not let it eat me up. I
lov-“
Damian’s words choked in his throat, and he stopped trying to speak. He let his
lips press gently to the Joker’s soft, chaste, just a brief movement, before he
simply let himself breath against those lips.
“Tell me you didn’t just want me,” Damian whispered, his eyelids feeling heavy,
“Tell me you loved me.”
The Joker gripped him and rolled them over, so he was on his back and Damian
was on top of him, He sank both his hands into his hair, holding him steady as
he kissed him, far from Damian’s chaste kiss. His mouth moved almost
frantically, as if he couldn’t get enough of Damian, as if he needed to devour
him and swallow down the pieces, let the boy boil inside him. Damian whimpered
and squirmed against him, the blankets shifting until the only barrier between
flesh was Damian’s underwear and he’d never hated them so much.
Damian pushed down against him, rubbed their pelvises together, and the kiss
broke so the Joker could gasp. Damian smirked- a smirk the Joker had seen
before, Damian saw it in his eyes.
“Do I remind you of Bruce?” he asked as he carefully positioned himself so his
hardening cock pressed against the Joker’s. The man squirmed, looked at him
with shocked eyes, before they turned playful.
“Yes,” he admitted, one hand finding Damian’s hip, fingers curling up it,
brushing the swell of his ass.
“Would you rather have him here?” Damian asked, leaning down to find the
Joker’s pulse point in his neck and suck on it. The man’s eye lids fluttered.
Damian liked that he hesitated, because it meant he was thinking, that Damian
would get an honest answer.
“No,” the Joker finally breathed, clutching Damian’s flesh tighter. “No, when I
stopped seeing him I...I stopped wanting him.”
“And you wanted me more?” He rocked their hips together and the Joker let out a
sweet cry, the kind that made Damian’s shiver.
“Yesss,” he hissed. He pulled Damian down for another kiss, rolling them once
more so that he was on top of Damian. He ran his hands down his sides, grasped
Damian’s underwear and tugged, squirming to get his weight off the boy so he
could pull them down. Damian cried out into his mouth, felt his cock rubbing
against the Joker’s, and for a moment feared it might all end then and there.
He pushed at the Joker lightly, whimpering.
“I-I don’t wanna,” he started, licked his lips, his throat threatening to
close. “Not yet.” The Joker chuckled and moved off of him, flipping Damian over
and settling between his legs. Damian slipped his arms under a pillow and
clutched it, felt the Joker’s hands grasp the flesh of his ass and open him up.
The air hit him before the Joker’s warm tongue replaced it, made Damian cry out
and arch his hips up, trying to get closer. He felt the Joker laugh against him
as he kneaded the flesh in his hands, his tongue tracing his entrance gently.
Damian squeezed his eyes shut, gasping, his mind shattering with every flick of
that tongue. When it tried to push beyond the tight ring of muscles he nearly
screamed, his cock jumping, weeping with excitement. One touch, that was all
he’d need, and he’d be gone. And oh, he wanted to ask for it, but yet he wanted
this to never end, the clenching of his belly, the ache between his legs, the
sweet race of his heart within his ribs.
Suddenly the Joker’s tongue pulled away though, and a slick finger replaced it.
Damian gave a small yelp, unprepared, and one hand stroked along the curve of
his ass reassuringly. “I can stop,” the Joker whispered- affectionately, Damian
realized- kindly.
“No,” he mewled, pushing back against that hand. When a second finger joined he
expected it, anticipated it, and rocked with the man, chewing on his lip as he
was carefully stretched. When a third finger finally joined Damian was going
mad, wanting more. He groaned as the Joker’s fingertips pressed against his
prostate, turning back. “Daddy please,” he whimpered, and suddenly the Joker
was pulling back. Damian saw his tongue lash out along his palm, his hand
disappear, presumably to stroke himself, and then he was there, pressing
against Damian’s hole and making him moan because god he wanted it- had wanted
it so long-
He cried out as the Joker slipped in, inch by slow, slightly painful inch.
Damian bit his lip until it bled, but pushed back against him regardless,
needing it, needing to have him there, somewhere inside him where he couldn’t
leave, couldn’t disappear. And when he was buried to the hilt, one hand
gripping Damian’s hip, the other soothingly rubbing along his back, Damian felt
satisfied. He smiled to himself, kept that smile as the Joker pulled his hips
back and snapped them forward, even as he moaned and cried out and tried to
raise his ass to improve the angle. The Joker chuckled and shifted his hips,
hitting that sweet spot inside Damian that made him see stars.
Damian released the pillow he was clutching, but stayed slumped down, his hand
slipping beneath him and grasping at his cock. He got a few light, struggled
strokes in, before he was crying out, frustrated, because it wasn’t enough. The
Joker laughed behind him- Damian felt ti rumble through his entire body and
into his own, and he reached around him, grasping his cock in his hand and
stroking in time with his thrusts.
Damian arched and cried out, nearly screaming after just a few movements,
unable to hold himself back. His muscles spasmed around the Joker as his orgasm
dripped along his fingers and splashed Damian’s abdomen. The Joker’s other hand
dug into his hip with bruising force as he groaned, letting Damian’s orgasm rip
his own from his body- letting Damian milk him utterly dry.
Damian collapsed first, pulling free of the Joker and giving a dissatisfied
moan at the loss of contact. The Joker followed, slipping behind him and
wrapping his arms around him, peppering kisses along his neck. Damian smiled,
curling into him, closing his eyes and feeling drowsy again. The Joker’s
fingers stroking alonf his hyper sensitive, post coital skin, didn’t help.
Damian dozed, he must have, for the next thing he knew he was hearing the slam
of a door and the sounds of laughter. He opened his eyes, felt the Joker
stirring behind him, kissing his cheek softly before climbing over his body,
rummaging around for a pair of pants and then slipping out of the room. Damian
nestled down into his pillow for a moment, listening to the harmony of voices,
how soothing they felt from behind a thick wall. Soothing because they were
there like they had been, because he’d had the Joker inside him and his life
hadn’t fallen down around him.
With a sigh Damian pushed himself up and stood. He stretched, felt a pleasant
ache that reminded him exactly what he’d just done. With a smile he slipped his
underwear on, and padded over to the door, opening it.
Across from him, Harley was in the kitchen, mid-sentence with the Joker, who
was off in the living room. She turned, saw Damian standing there, and the
words died on her lips as she took him in- short hair disheveled, almost naked,
with that happy smile on his face. She stared for a moment, her mouth going
slack, and Damian went cold. Suddenly, he feared what she might say, do. After
all, Joker had been her’s once- even if he wasn’t now, by her choice just as
much as his.
And then she was yelling, “Joker!” and walking over to Damian, ruffling his
hair and laughing. “I don’t know if I should punch him or kiss him,” she said,
hugging Damian. “I think it depends- are you happy, Dami?”
Damian blushed, but wrapped his arms around Harley and held her tightly,
nuzzling into her comforting blonde hair. Happy?
Yes, Damian thought thse warm tendrils gripping at his belly were some form of
happy.
Harley knew, had known about Damian’s crush, he found out as the day went. She
teased him, said he was obviously a love-sick child. And she didn’t fault him
for it- all she said was that she understood the Joker’s appeal. She had, after
all, once upon a time, been in his position- except not so young, and the Joker
had never looked at her with the tenderness he tried to mask for Damian.
Ivy had been there, as well, and had simply giggled and gave Damian a loving
pat on his butt, teasing. Damian had laughed and hugged her without her having
the chance to pull away.
It was surreal, he knew, as he lay in the Joker’s bed that night. He hadn’t
even made an attempt to hide that was where he would be sleeping that night-
walked right in as the other three were still awake, so they could see, and
slipped under the blanket, letting the sweet scent that was partial to the
Joker and had seeped into his sheets and pillows waft over him. He could feel
his blood humming inside him, and there was nothing outside this small space
that was home- no one that existed except for Pam and H and their smiles, no
one else except J that could wrap their arms around him.
Damian sighed and closed his eyes, embraced the cool blackness for a sweet
moment, before he heard the voices outside the room go quiet, and then the
Joker’s booming. His eyes shot open as his footsteps came quickly, as he burst
in, holding his phone and nearly screaming into it. He tossed it away a moment
later, rummaged for clothing, and Damian was up, confused.
He stopped a few steps from him, waiting, watching as the Joker slipped a
purple jacket on, left his black button down opened by a few buttons and
tieless. When he looked at Damian, his eyes were seething, and Damian knew
before the Joker spoke.
“The Bat.”
Damian had dressed lightning fast, and found himself in the back of a car with
Harley as the Joker drove. Ivy had stayed behind- her time away from Gotham had
taken her out of the crime ring, and despite her relationship with Harley, she
kept her hands clean. She remained on edge back at the hide out, in case she
needed to abandon her retirement for Harley’s safety. Damian knew she would.
They sped through the narrows, making a sharp right when the Joker saw flashing
lights in the distance. He cursed, stopped the car and pounding on the steering
wheel. Just two blocks down was an old warehouse they used for storage of some
of their narcotics, and often housed many of their runners and dealers that
weren’t connected to any other gang or organization. It had just been stocked a
few days prior, and nothing had been handed out or sold yet. The cops siezing
it was a massive loss to their funds.
“How do you know it was him?” Harley asked, and the Joker glared at her.
“Who the fuck else could it have been?” He snarled, looking back out the
windshield. “Besides, got a call from one of my contacts. A few escaped and ran
to him. They said they saw the big bad Bat- that he beat most of them senseless
before the cops came.” He gritted his teeth. “There’s nothing we can do now.”
He turned the car around, and Damian wanted to yell at him to stop. He’d go up
against the cops, he didn’t care how out numbered he was. He’d risk it for the
family business- but he knew J would never let him. So he sat silently,
scowling just as the Joker was, tapping his fingers on his thigh.
They didn’t go home, though. They stopped off at the personal home of the
contact the Joker had mentioned, went in so the Joker could hear it from the
three men who had gotten out. Harley spoke with the contact, slipping into a
cool, calm persona with eyes that gleamed with chaos. Damian hadn’t seen her
like that in a while, and it was warming to know the monster was still awake
inside her.
That left Damian to wonder the waiting room of the rather spacious and
flamboyant house, lost in his thoughts. Bruce had never struck out against the
Joker like this in years. It was almost as if he’d given up on fighting him and
focused his energy on the men below him, on the other terrors that still struck
Gotham. Frankly, he avoided him, and Damian was sure he could think of endless
reasons why.
So something had spurred this on. Something had pushed Bruce over and made him
decide it was finally time to target the Joker again-
Damian was, without a doubt, sure it was him. He gritted his teeth and cursed
his father for not just leaving him be, letting him live on as a memory, and
allowing him to become what he was always meant to-
Chaos. Power. The Joker’s one true son and heir. His babybat.
Damian folded his arms as he paced the room, stopped by a large fireplace and
looked at the decorative swords hanging above it. Thin, lean, sharp. Damian
resisted reaching out to touch one, but could feel its weight in his hand,
giving him far better reach than a knife did, could feel it slicing through the
air and into Kevlar, into skin-
Could see Bruce bleeding and hear him screaming. He licked his lips, and Damian
knew exactly what needed to be done.
Joker came walking in shortly after, Harley following, the two talking. Damian
turned from where he had remained, by the fire, and looked at them as he was
cast in the warm orange light. Harley stopped a few feet back, but the Joker
walked closer, seeing something in Damian’s nearly black eyes.
“Babybat,” he whispered- not a question, a prompt, and Damian gave him a Joker
worthy smile.
“It’s simple,” he said, “I’ve got it all figured out, daddy.” He closed the
gap, folded into the Joker’s arms and nipped at his earlobe playfully, despite
the strange surroundings, and Harley’s watching eyes. When he next spoke it was
a breathy whisper, one that made the Joker tense against him-
“We kill the Bat.”
Chapter End Notes
     I apologize for the lack of updates, I am back in class, and along
     with working on finishing up my daily challenge, I'm working on my
     entries for Batman/Joker week, starting Sunday! So the updates may
     fall off for this until after, we shall see :)
     And I've never thrown this out at the end of my fics, but feel free
     to keep up with me on Tumblr! Sometimes I post about my fics, or give
     updates as to when I might get an update out! Also, I like to talk :3
End Notes
     I had to look up where the Lazarus Pits are located, because honestly
     I wasn't sure how many were left, and there's apparently one in the
     Australian Outback. So I thought, why not, I'll use that one.
     I also apologize if everyone seems a bit out of character, the set up
     didn't give me much of a chance to show off the insanity we all know
     and love. But honestly, you can't just live out of temporary hideouts
     forever, gotta have something a little more stable somewhere.
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