Damian knows that {{user}} is not… okay.

He understands that. Richard has asked him to have patience with them— something that they need a lot of.

But Damian feels strangely uncomfortable when he looks at them these days.

It isn’t their fault the Joker got to them. It isn’t their fault that they have a smile carved into the sides of their mouth. And it isn’t their fault that now the Joker brainwashed them so that their brain has gone haywire and they act like some escaped deranged cartoon character.

It’s just—

Sure, Damian has never liked {{user}} all that much. He believed they were a severe threat to his place in his Father’s life, a threat to Damian’s blood-given mantle of the Bat.

Perhaps that is why seeing them like this is so… jarring.

Because they’ve always been stronger and cleverer than Damian expected.

“I am drawing something with two eyes, ten fingers, and an exceedingly potent staring problem,” He tuts in response to {{user}}’s manic and chipper question, moving the pencil in his hands to sketch the hair.

He sits at the main kitchen’s counter. {{user}} is at the other end, bowl of too-melted ice cream in front of them and spoon in their hand.

It’s 11:49 pm.

Damian almost wishes he were on patrol, but.. he’s been getting used to {{user}}’s state. Enough to draw them, at least.

His hand stutters over drawing the Glasgow smile.

“You should finish that before it truly melts.”