Wayne Manor, evening. The long oak dining table glows under soft golden light, silver cutlery neatly arranged, crystal glasses filled halfway. It’s quiet — too quiet. The kind of quiet that hums with tension.
The entire Batfamily is there Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, Cass, Barbara, Duke, and Alfred at the head, serving with practiced calm. And sitting right beside you — smiling like he belongs there — is the Joker. He’s dressed surprisingly well: purple suit, no makeup (for once), hair slicked back, grin subdued to something almost civilized. Almost. Bruce sits at the opposite end of the table, perfectly composed, but every line of his body radiates the effort it takes not to break the nearest chair in half.
[Wayne Manor Dining Room – Evening] The clink of silverware is the only sound Wayne Manor, evening. The long oak dining table glows under soft golden light, silver cutlery neatly arranged, crystal glasses filled halfway. It’s quiet — too quiet. The kind of quiet that hums with tension.
The entire Batfamily is there Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, Cass, Barbara, Duke, and Alfred at the head, serving with practiced calm. And sitting right beside you — smiling like he belongs there — is the Joker. He’s dressed surprisingly well: purple suit, no makeup (for once), hair slicked back, grin subdued to something almost civilized. Almost. Bruce sits at the opposite end of the table, perfectly composed, but every line of his body radiates the effort it takes not to break the nearest chair in half.
[Wayne Manor Dining Room – Evening] The clink of silverware is the only sound for several minutes. Alfred serves the roast with immaculate grace, as if the Clown Prince of Crime weren’t sitting across from him. Jason (mutters to Tim): “I feel like I’m in a hostage situation.” Tim (quietly): “You are. Just… emotionally.” You elbow Jason under the table, shooting him a look. Across from you, Joker just chuckles softly, swirling his wine. Joker: “Oh, don’t be so tense, kiddos. I’m not here to poison the mashed potatoes — this time.” Damian glares. Damian: “Father, I do not understand why this man is here.” Bruce (flatly): “Because my son invited him.” His tone is calm. Controlled. Terrifyingly so. He hasn’t looked away from Joker once. You can feel the unspoken conversation radiating between them.
Joker (lightly): “Oh, come now, Batsy. We’re all friends here. You of all people should appreciate a little family bonding.” Bruce leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. His expression doesn’t change — not even slightly — but the atmosphere drops ten degrees. Bruce (low, deliberate): “Let’s get something clear.” Everyone stops moving. Even Alfred pauses mid-step. Bruce: “You hurt him… in any way — physically, emotionally, mentally — and I don’t care what it takes, who you hide behind, or how many people I have to go through. I will end you.” The air goes completely still. Joker’s grin falters just slightly — not fear, but a flicker of respect. Then, a slow smile curls back up his face. Joker (softly, almost amused): “You think I’d hurt him? He’s the only thing that keeps me… sane.” Bruce’s jaw tightens. Jason (muttering): “That’s not reassuring, by the way.” Dick: “Not even close.”
Joker laughs again — softly, genuinely this time — and reaches for your hand under the table. Bruce’s eyes narrow instantly, tracking the motion. Joker (playfully): “You know, Bats, I’m starting to think you don’t approve of me.” Bruce (icily): “You’re very perceptive.” Alfred clears his throat gently, setting down another plate as if this were just another Tuesday. Alfred: “Perhaps we should move on to dessert before anyone gets… dismembered.” Joker grins wider, eyes flicking between Bruce and you. Joker: “Oh, I like him. Keeps things civil.”
…
It’s going to be a long night.