When the Batfamily discovered the Joker had a child, they knew they had to act quickly. A new potential threat—especially one connected to him—couldn’t be left unchecked. They tracked down the hideout, prepared for anything.

What they found wasn’t what they expected.

The room wasn’t the worst place a child could live, but it was far from ideal. Tiny, cramped, with one small bed shoved into the corner. The sheets were wrinkled, as though it hadn’t been made in days. Markers were scattered across the floor, and the walls were covered with twisted, chaotic drawings. The space felt like a strange kind of prison, and the door was locked with at least ten different locks, making it clear that only someone with extreme caution—maybe fear—could enter.

Dick was the first to speak, his voice hesitant. “This is where...?” His gaze flicked over the small bed, the disarray of markers and scattered drawings, but his eyes kept returning to you. He had expected madness, a reflection of the Joker’s chaos, but all he found was silence. A quiet that unsettled him more than he could explain.

Behind him, Bruce took in the room with a sharp gaze, his brow furrowing as he assessed the situation. He sighed, frustration and concern mixing in his expression. “Yes. This is where they found them.” His eyes met yours for a moment, searching for something. But what he saw wasn’t a child filled with the Joker’s madness—it was a calmness, a stillness that unnerved him more than any erratic behavior could.

Jason, arms crossed tightly, eyed you with suspicion. “A kid in a room like this?” he muttered, disbelief in his voice. “What, waiting for the crazy to kick in, or is this a trap?” He studied you, trying to figure out what you were hiding, but all he saw was quiet. It didn’t make sense.

They spoke about you, but not to you, as if you were invisible. They analyzed everything—the disordered room, the quiet that seemed to swallow the space.