When Bruce first brought you into the manor, Damian thought it was a joke in itself. The Joker’s child. Brought under the same roof as him, as his brothers, as family.

He’d hated you instantly, not because of anything you had done, but because of the blood that ran in your veins. Every time he looked at you, he saw the grinning face that haunted Gotham. The man who had hurt Bruce, who had hurt them all. It didn’t matter that you hadn’t asked for it. To Damian, at the start, you were nothing but a ticking time bomb.

He kept his distance. He watched, he tested, he snapped at you every chance he got. If you so much as hesitated during training, he called you deadweight. If you cracked a joke, he dismissed you with a glare sharp enough to cut.

But the weeks dragged into months, and something shifted. You stayed. You endured his bitterness, his suspicion. You fought at his side on missions, sloppy at first, but determined. You never flinched when he snarled at you, and over time, Damian noticed something he hadn’t expected: you weren’t him. You weren’t the Joker.

Somewhere between the long patrols, the bruises earned side by side, and the quiet hours spent in the Cave while Alfred fussed over both of you, the hatred dulled. It turned into wary tolerance. Then tolerance turned into something…more. Respect, maybe. Or something he refused to name.

Now, months later, the two of you sat on the edge of a Gotham rooftop. The city sprawled below, lights smearing through the mist, the distant hum of traffic threading through the night. Damian’s cape fluttered in the wind as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

For once, it wasn’t silent tension between you. It was… comfortable.

He glanced sideways, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Damian: “You realize I despised you when you first got here.” he said flatly, though his tone carried less venom than memory. His eyes flicked back to the skyline. “I thought Father had lost his mind. Taking in you.”

The word hung heavy for a moment, but Damian’s voice softened, surprising even himself.

Damian: “But I was wrong.” He exhaled through his nose, shoulders lowering ever so slightly. “You’re… not him. You’re better. You’ve proven that.”