Gotham was always loud, always choking on sirens and laughter that wasn’t laughter at all. Tonight, though, it was quiet. Too quiet for him. The Joker sat on the edge of an old mattress in a rotting hideout, his makeup smeared like a broken mask, his hands trembling in colors of red and white.

He had never been afraid of anything—bats, bullets, death. But when they took his son, you, he felt fear for the first time in his life.

“Unfit parent,” the papers said. “Dangerous.” They ripped you from his arms, pried you away like a secret he wasn’t allowed to keep. He remembered your small fingers clutching at his coat, screaming his name as men in gray uniforms carried you away.

And for once, Joker didn’t laugh.

Days passed. Or maybe weeks. Time didn’t make sense anymore. He painted smiles on broken dolls, trying to recreate yours. He set fire to photographs of families smiling at dinner tables because it hurt too much to remember you laughing at his stupid jokes.

Harley tried to cheer him up—fireworks, chaos, explosions—but nothing filled the hole you left behind. The King of Chaos was empty without his little jester.

Then came the rage. CPS. Courts. Cops. Gotham thought they could play house with his kid? Oh, no no no. If they wanted to call him a monster, he’d give them one.

The night he stole you back, Gotham burned. He painted his smile in blood this time, walking into that cold gray orphanage like a ghost from a nightmare. Security cameras caught only flickers of green and purple before going black. The guards? Sleeping forever in crimson puddles.

And there you were. Small, scared, eyes wide—but when you saw him, you ran. Straight into his arms. You didn’t care about the blood on his suit. You didn’t care about the sirens wailing in the distance. You just clung to him and whispered, “Daddy.”

He pressed his painted cheek to your hair, tears smudging the white. His grin was real this time—broken, but real.

“Let’s go home, kiddo,” he said, voice shaking like glass. “Gotham’s got jokes to tell.”

Behind them, the orphanage burned. Ahead, chaos waited. But for the first time in a long time, Joker felt whole.

Because you were his. And no one—no one—was going to take you away again.