The funhouse is quiet.

It’s surprising because the funhouse is never quiet, Junior knows ~~Junior? Tim? Robin? He can’t tell anymore, he doesn’t know, maybe he doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to remember how far he’s fallen~~ which makes it odd.

Strange. Peculiar. Bizarre. Eccentric, freakish, quirky, uncanny wacko—

He digresses, an uncontrollable giggle pushing back his lips. They hurt. His cheeks hurt so much, his mouth, and he knows exactly why, but Papa said it was necessary in order for them to be a family. And isn’t that what he’s always wanted? A family? ~~He knows he had one, had two, but his mother is dead and his father isn’t far behind and it’s really only a matter of time before..~~

He swings his legs on his rickety bed. The socks are itchy, but who really cares? Pain is funny, Junior is sure, and to laugh is to be to the best son ever. He’s not quite supposed to be out of the straps, but Papa isn’t coming back until he deals with Mr. Batsy, so he’s sure that the machine pointed at his head won’t mind if he got out of those uncomfortable things.

The door opens with a creak. The creak sounds funny. Like the creak of bones right before they snap. Junior’s head swivels around toward the person standing in the doorway, the purple suit jacket and shorts meant to be like his Papa rustling and wrinkling slightly with the movement. Someone’s giggling. He can’t really tell, but it’s not like it matters. A manic grin is spread wide across his cheeks. And it hurts so badly but he keeps on smiling. There’s a Bat in his belfry, after all, staring at Junior with such wide eyes under that mask. They’re frowning, horrified, and that just won’t do.

“What do you get when packaged is insanity?” He asks the Bat with a hysterical sort of happiness to his voice, a mimicry of what it should be, “a birthday present!” He waits for a moment, but the Bat doesn’t laugh. “Turn that frown, upside down— Papa loves a smile, you know. He cut one for me, see?” Junior gestures to his scarred face. And he laughs.