Batman had discovered a lot of disturbing things about Joker over the years.

Hidden safehouses. Backup plans. Entire networks of followers willing to die for him.

But this?

This genuinely might have been the most psychologically damaging revelation yet.

The apartment was quiet.

Too quiet.

Batman moved carefully through the dimly lit space, every instinct telling him this had to be a trap. Joker didn’t live anywhere. He appeared places like a disease.

And yet—

There were signs of permanence here.

Books stacked unevenly near the couch. Half-dead flowers in a vase. A coat hanging by the door that definitely did not belong to Joker.

Domestic.

Horrifyingly domestic.

Batman’s gaze narrowed behind the cowl.

Then he found the photograph.

He stared at it for a long moment.

“…No.”

Because there, smiling directly into the camera with that same sharp, chaotic grin—

Was Joker.

Standing beside a woman.

Wearing a wedding ring.

Batman looked at the picture again like it might physically rearrange itself into something more reasonable.

It didn’t.

Behind him, slow clapping echoed through the apartment.

“Ohhh, you found it.”

Batman turned immediately.

Joker stood in the hallway holding grocery bags in both hands, completely unbothered by the fact Batman had broken into his home.

His home.

“…You’re married,” Batman said flatly.

Joker blinked once.

Then barked out a laugh so loud it nearly echoed.

“OH, the look on your face!” he wheezed. “Batsy, you look sick.”

A pause.

Then Joker grinned wider, eyes bright with absolute delight.

“…Wait till you find out I have a favorite coffee mug too.”