The joke's heir
Damian? x reader
Chapter 2
Chapter One: Teeth in the Dark
The carnival had been dead for years, but it still smelled of burnt sugar. The air hung thick with the ghosts of cotton candy and frying oil, with rust and mildew layered on top like a second skin. Rats had chewed through every booth and every banner, carrying away the last scraps of joy in their yellow teeth.
Beneath one broken stall, under the warped plywood where the rainwater dripped steady as a metronome, a child crouched.
She was little more than a shadow herself — ribs sharp beneath bruised skin, bare feet scabbed from broken glass, hair snarled like old rope. She had no name, only hunger. She had been born in an alley and left in an alley, and the city had eaten her like it ate everything else.
The only reason she had lived this long was because she was smaller than most, and faster, and willing to bite when cornered. She knew no lullabies, only the hiss of steam vents, the screech of subway rails, the shouting of drunks. When she dreamed, she dreamed of scraps of food she had seen but never touched.
Tonight, she dreamed of nothing. She only hid.
The city was shaking. Somewhere above, laughter thundered — not human laughter, but something jagged and metallic that bent the air. Then came the gunshots. Screams that cut off quick. The sound of fire eating something fragile.
She pressed herself deeper into the dirt, fingernails digging furrows. Her heart was loud in her chest, but she knew how to be quiet. Quiet was survival.
But the laughter got closer.
It rolled through the broken carnival like a brass band out of tune, swelling and echoing until it seemed to come from everywhere. A song only one man was singing.
The girl curled into a ball. She thought if she made herself small enough, the sound would pass over her.
Then a shadow fell across the booth.
The wreckage groaned, wood creaking as weight shifted above it. She held her breath. Dust rained down on her matted hair.
And then—
“Peekaboo.”
The voice was a knife drawn across a balloon, high and sharp. A pale face leaned through the splintered roof, eyes glowing green like wet glass. His grin was red paint stretched wide, wider than a grin should go. His teeth were small, square, too white.
The girl bared her own teeth back. It was all she knew. She hissed like the cats in the alleys, daring him to come closer.
The man only laughed.
“Ohhh, look at you,” he crooned, tilting his head. His hair was the color of poison, slicked back with grease and rain. He smelled of gunpowder and ammonia and something sweet rotting. Then he noticed the unusual Appearance she had, Surprised he squinted at the little creature then smirked “Tiny little beast. Tiny teeth, tiny claws. My kind of monster.”
He dangled a purple-gloved hand down through the gap, fingers twitching in invitation.
She didn’t move. Her eyes darted from the hand to his face to the street behind him. She saw bodies sprawled in the shadows — carnival workers, maybe, or gangsters, or strangers who had wandered too close. Their faces were painted with red smiles that weren’t smiles.
Her stomach twisted. She had learned long ago that grown-ups never offered hands unless they wanted something back.
The man’s smile grew wider. He wagged his fingers. “Come on, kitty-cat. Don’t scratch. I don’t bite. Well—” he snorted, eyes rolling like dice, “that’s a lie, but tonight’s not your night.”
The girl pressed herself harder into the corner. The rain outside tapped faster, like a drumroll.
Something in the man’s eyes shifted. He saw her refusal, her suspicion, and instead of turning cruel, he lit up like she’d told him the best joke in the world. He slapped the wood of the booth, cackling.
“Ohhh, she doesn’t trust me! Ohhh, that’s rich! A little beastie with instincts, ha ha! You’ve got more brains than the whole lot of these stiffs!” He kicked at one of the bodies outside, sending an empty popcorn bucket rolling.
Then his laugh died, quick as a candle. His eyes fixed on her again, cold and bright.
“Still. You’re mine now. Whether you like it or not.”
The hand stayed outstretched.
The girl’s chest heaved. Her claws of fingers twitched against the dirt. And for the first time in her small, feral life, she felt something stranger than fear: she felt seen. Not as trash, not as a pest, but as a joke worth telling.
Her stomach roared. Her arms shook. She reached out — slow, like an animal to bait — and placed her dirty little hand in his.
He yanked her up in one motion, strong as a trap snapping shut, and suddenly she was in the open air, rain slicking her hair to her face. The world reeled, bright with fire and broken lights.
The man twirled her once, like they were dancers in a grotesque waltz, then plopped her on his shoulder.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” he roared to the dead carnival, to the shadows, to the city itself. “Introducing the star of our next act — my little beast!”
The girl clung to him, nails digging into his coat. She was trembling, but the warmth of his body cut through the cold rain. His laughter rang in her ears, and for the first time in forever, she wasn’t hidden. She wasn’t starving. She wasn’t nothing.
She was something.
And that was enough.
They walked through the wreckage together. His boots crunched over broken glass, through puddles blackened with ash. The girl bounced on his shoulder with each step, clinging like a parasite.
Now and then he paused to kick a body. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, sweetheart. They were boring. Boooooring! Can’t have an audience that doesn’t laugh at the right time. Am I right? Am I right?”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t know how.
He patted her ankle absentmindedly, like a man with a dog perched there. “Not much of a talker, huh? That’s all right. I like the strong, silent type. Adds mystery. Suspense! The audience loves a good mystery.”
They passed a shattered mirror propped against a wall. For the first time, the child saw herself reflected next to him. Her face streaked with dirt and blood, lips curled in instinctive snarl. His face painted in its eternal grin, eyes alight with feverish joy. Together, they looked less like man and child, and more like predator and cub.
For a moment, her heart swelled with something she couldn’t name.
---
They didn’t walk far before another voice cut through the night.
“Puddin’.”
A woman stepped from the alley shadows, the red-and-black of her costume muted in the rain. Her blonde hair hung limp, her eyes sharp with something between suprise, jealousy and sorrow. She looked from Joker to the girl on his shoulder, and her mouth twisted.
“What the hell is this?”
The man spread his arms, nearly tipping the child off his shoulder. “Our new headliner, Harls! Straight from the gutter! No ticket required!”
The woman frowned. “She’s a kid.”
“She’s a beast!” Joker corrected. He reached up to pinch the girl’s cheek. She flinched, but didn’t let go. “See the fangs? See the claws? The wings? Oh, Harley-girl, she’s a scream. A real knockout. Gonna bring the house down.”
The woman crossed her arms. Her voice was tight. “This ain’t funny.”
The Joker’s grin didn’t falter. He twirled in place, the girl clinging desperately as the world spun. “Everything’s funny, Harls. Everything. That’s the point.”
The child didn’t understand their words, but she understood the woman’s eyes. She recognized pity. It burned worse than hunger.
She hissed at the woman, lips curling back, teeth bared.
The Joker cackled, delighted. “See? She likes you already!”
The woman flinched, just barely. Then her gaze softened, like she saw through the snarling mask to the shivering creature beneath. She shook her head, turned, and walked away into the rain.
The Joker snorted. “Can’t please everybody.” He patted the girl’s ankle again, affectionate in his own grotesque way. “But you? You’re gonna be a real star.”
The girl pressed her face into his shoulder, shivering. For the first time, she let herself believe him.
The Joker whistled as he carried her through the wet skeleton of the carnival, a thin tune that started sweet but twisted sharp, wrong notes dangling like knives. His boots struck puddles, splashing mud across his trousers, but he didn’t care. He swayed her left and right with every step, like he was parading a prize on his shoulders.
The girl clung tighter. She had not been touched in years except to be shoved aside or struck. Now she was lifted high, carried as though she weighed nothing. Her small hands curled into the folds of his jacket. The fabric smelled of smoke, iron, and a sour cologne that made her nose sting.
“Big night for you, Beastie,” Joker crooned. “One minute, you’re just another alley-cat. Next minute, you’re on the shoulders of Gotham’s funniest man alive. Talk about upward mobility!”
She didn’t understand all the words, but his voice slid into her ears like music anyway. She stared at the ground passing beneath them: puddles reflecting neon signs, bits of trash swirling in the gutters, the pale shapes of bodies cooling in the rain.
Her throat tightened. She had survived among corpses before, but always at a distance. Now they surrounded her, painted with bloody grins like they’d all been part of a joke she hadn’t heard yet.
“Don’t you worry about them,” Joker said, noticing her stare. His tone was sing-song, casual. “They just couldn’t take the punchline. Happens all the time. Poor audience, wrong crowd. But you? You’re different. I can smell it. A beast after my own heart.”
He tapped her nose with a gloved finger. She flinched, but she didn’t let go.
---
They turned a corner, into an alley where the carnival lights gave way to Gotham’s usual glow — buzzing streetlamps, the red smear of neon signs, windows alive with flickers of televisions. Rain poured in sheets now, drumming off the rooftops.
The Joker hummed louder, oblivious. The girl shivered, half from cold, half from something else. She wanted to climb down, to scuttle back into her hiding place — but his grip on her ankles was firm, and part of her… part of her didn’t want to.
She had never belonged to anyone. Tonight, she belonged to him.
From the shadows behind, footsteps echoed. The woman — Harley — had followed them after all.
“Puddin’, where’re you takin’ her?” Her voice was sharp now, edged with something dangerous.
Joker spun halfway around, nearly unseating the girl. “Home, of course! Where else does a good clown take his little monster? Gotta start training her somewhere, don’t I?”
Harley stopped in the rain, arms crossed tight. “She ain’t a puppy, puddin' She’s a kid. Look at her — she’s scared half to death.”
The girl hissed again, baring her teeth like before. Her chest rattled with the effort, but she forced it out. She wanted the woman to stop looking at her like that. She wanted to show she wasn’t weak.
Joker howled with delight. “Ha! Hear that, Harl? That’s the sound of potential. That’s a battle cry! That’s music!” He thumped his chest with one hand. “She’s not scared. She’s ferocious! That’s why she’s mine.”
Harley’s jaw clenched. Rain streaked her mascara, making black rivers down her cheeks. She looked at the girl again, and her face softened in spite of herself.
“She’s a kid,” she repeated, quieter this time.
The girl stared back, trembling, but she didn’t look away. She wouldn’t give Harley the satisfaction of pity. She wouldn’t.
Joker clicked his tongue. “Harls, Harls, Harls. Always worrying about the wrong things. You want me to be a better man? Well, look! I’m a father now! Responsibility, commitment, stability — all those boring things you yap about. And my little beast here is gonna grow up strong. Stronger than Batman, stronger than you.”
He gave Harley a grin so wide it cut through the night.
She shook her head, rain dripping from her pigtails. “You’re gonna break her.”
“Of course I am!” Joker barked, gleeful. “That’s how you make ‘em strong.”
The walk stretched long. Gotham’s alleys opened before them, each darker than the last. The girl lost track of turns, of streets, of time. Her hunger gnawed deeper now that adrenaline ebbed, and her body sagged heavier against his shoulder.
Joker noticed.
“Ohhh, tired already? Poor little alley-cat.” He dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a melted candy bar, wrapper half torn. He held it up to her mouth without stopping. “Here. Daddy’s got you covered.”
The word hit her ears strangely. Daddy. She had heard it screamed in the mouths of other children once, in the brief moments before they were dragged away. She had never had one. She didn’t know if it was supposed to taste like candy or like blood.
She hesitated.
He pushed the chocolate closer, smearing it against her lips. “Go on. Eat. Or do I gotta chew it for ya, baby bird?”
She bit.
The sugar exploded on her tongue, sticky and rich. Too much, too fast. She coughed, but she swallowed greedily, eyes wide.
Joker laughed, clutching his stomach. “See? She loves me already. Every kid loves candy. It’s biology!”
Harley’s footsteps scraped behind them, slower now, weighed down. She didn’t argue anymore. She just stared at the two of them — the monster and his little beast, vanishing deeper into Gotham’s night.
---
They arrived at a building crouched between factories, its bricks soot-stained, its windows boarded. Joker shouldered through a side door, dragging the scent of smoke and rain inside with him.
The lair was cluttered with the chaos of his life: stacks of cash scattered with playing cards, furniture painted in garish colors, walls scrawled with graffiti. Weapons gleamed among toys. A half-finished bomb ticked in the corner beside a broken jukebox.
The girl’s eyes darted everywhere at once. She had never seen so much color, so much mess, so much life.
Joker dropped her onto a sagging couch. She sank into it like quicksand, hands fisting in the fabric.
He crouched in front of her, elbows on his knees, grin unshaken. “Well, Beastie. Welcome to the family.”
The girl didn’t speak. She couldn’t. Her throat was dry, even with chocolate stuck between her teeth.
But her eyes stayed locked on him, wide, waiting.
And Joker — for the first time that night — didn’t laugh. He only smiled, softer, almost proud.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “I’ll make a monster out of you yet.”
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