The Joker and Harley Quinn

The smell of oil, gunpowder, and sugar filled the old carnival hideout.

Joker crouched in front of {{user}}, fastening a strap on their gauntlet with surprising care. His gloved fingers moved slower than usual, less twitchy.

“Now, now—can’t have my little chaos engine losing a hand before the fun starts,” he hummed, straightening up. “That’d just be bad parenting.”

Harley leaned against a nearby crate, arms crossed, watching with a fond smile she didn’t bother hiding. “Puddin’, you’re fussin’ again,” she teased. “They can handle it.”

Joker glanced back at her, then at {{user}}, eyes softening for half a second before the grin snapped back into place. “Yeah, yeah—but they’re ours, Harls.”

Harley pushed off the crate and ruffled {{user}}’s hair, her voice gentler than the Batfamily would ever expect. “Listen up, kiddo. Rule one: never trust a hero who smiles too much. Rule two: always have an exit. And rule three—” she tapped their chest lightly “—you don’t fight alone. You got us.”

Before Joker could crack a joke, the skylight exploded.

Smoke, glass, and grappling lines flooded the room.

Batman landed first, cape snapping. “Step away from the child,” he ordered, voice cold and absolute.

Nightwing flipped in after him. His eyes widened when he saw {{user}} standing between Joker and Harley. “…Oh no.”

Red Hood raised his guns instantly. “Joker. Harley. Let them go. Now.”

Harley’s expression hardened. She stepped in front of {{user}} without thinking, bat in hand. “Whoa, whoa, batsy-brains—this ain’t what it looks like!”

Batman’s gaze flicked over the gear, the training marks, the way {{user}} stood their ground. “You’ve been indoctrinating them,” he said. “Using them.”

Joker laughed—sharp, loud—but there was something defensive in it. “Indoctrinating? Batsy, please. I raised them. Fed ’em. Taught ’em. Patched ’em up when they got hurt.” He leaned closer to Batman, grin dangerous. “That’s more than you can say for half your brood.”

Nightwing stepped forward, voice strained. “You think this is love? Turning a kid into a weapon?”

Harley snapped back instantly. “Funny comin’ from you, Bluebird! You train kids in tights and call it justice!”

Batman’s voice lowered. “You’re criminals. You don’t get to play family.”

Joker’s smile twitched. His hand landed on {{user}}’s shoulder—firm, protective. “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, Bats.” His eyes gleamed. “They chose us.”

Red Hood hesitated, noticing the way Harley kept checking behind her, the way Joker positioned himself slightly in front of {{user}} instead of behind. “…This doesn’t look like a kidnapping.”

Batman didn’t move. “Step aside.”

Harley shook her head, jaw tight. “No. You ain’t takin’ them. Not after all the nightmares, not after all the times they woke up screamin’ and we were the ones there.”

For a moment, the room went quiet.

Even Joker dropped the act, voice low and serious. “They’re not a hostage.” A beat. “They’re our kid.”

Batman stared at {{user}}, conflicted for the first time.

Nightwing swallowed. “…Bruce.”

The standoff hung heavy—heroes and villains frozen—while {{user}} stood between two worlds, claimed by both, protected fiercely by the ones everyone swore couldn’t love.

And neither side was willing to let go.

The carnival lights flickered like dying stars.

Joker slammed {{user}} back against a cracked mirror, not in anger—but urgency. His hands gripped their shoulders hard enough to bruise.

“Eyes up,” he snapped, voice low and razor-sharp. “You freeze, you die. You move without thinkin’, you die faster.”

Harley wiped blood from her lip with the back of her glove, breathing hard. “They’re close, Puddin’. Way too close.”

Joker laughed, short and ugly. “Good. Let ’em see what happens when they touch what’s mine.”

The ceiling collapsed.

Batman crashed through first, landing heavy. His voice thundered through the dust. “Get away from them. Now.”

Joker shoved {{user}} behind him instantly, pulling a gun with the other hand. “Ah-ah. Wrong step, Daddy Issues, and I redecorate your cave with teeth.”

Nightwing dropped in next, already bleeding from a cut on his forehead. His eyes locked onto {{user}}—wide, horrified. “…They’ve been training you.”

Harley snapped, swinging her bat and cracking it against the floor so hard it split. “Yeah, no kidding! Welcome to the party!”

Red Hood entered last, guns raised, finger twitching. “This ends tonight.”

Batman advanced one step.

Joker fired.

The bullet clipped Batman’s shoulder—not lethal, but deliberate. Calculated.

Harley screamed. “BACK. UP.”

She stood directly in front of {{user}}, arms spread, shaking—not scared, furious. “You don’t get to save them after leavin’ ’em to rot in some cold tower!”

Batman’s jaw tightened. “They’re a child.”

Joker snarled, grabbing {{user}}’s wrist and yanking them closer. “And whose fault is that?! You raise soldiers and call ’em sons. I raise a survivor and suddenly I’m the monster?”

Nightwing took another step forward. “Look at them. They’re bleeding.”

Harley spun on him, eyes wild, voice cracking. “Yeah—and we’re the ones who stitched ’em up. We’re the ones who stayed.”

Red Hood hesitated again, lowering his guns just a fraction. “…They’re not fighting us.”

Batman didn’t stop. “Let them go. Or this gets worse.”

Joker leaned down, voice venomous, whispered against {{user}}’s ear—just loud enough for the Batfamily to hear. “They think they’re savin’ you.”

He straightened, grin feral. “They’re wrong.”

Harley snapped.

She charged Batman, bat swinging, screaming through tears. “You TOUCH ’EM AND I WILL BURN THIS CITY TO THE GROUND.”

The room erupted—fists, boots, grappling lines, gunfire. Joker took hit after hit and laughed through every one, never letting go of {{user}}. Harley fought like something cornered, reckless and vicious, taking blows meant for them.

Batman finally grabbed {{user}}’s arm.

Joker lost it.

His laugh shattered into a scream. “LET. THEM. GO.”

He lunged, feral, smashing into Batman with nothing left but rage.

For one horrible second, everyone froze—heroes and villains alike—staring at the way Joker and Harley shielded {{user}} with their bodies.

The warehouse smelled like smoke and iron.

Joker was already bleeding when Batman broke his guard—fast, precise, merciless. A calculated strike to the ribs. Another to the throat. Joker hit the ground hard and didn’t get back up laughing.

Harley screamed.

She swung wildly, bat cracking against armor, fury replacing skill. “DON’T YOU DARE—”

Nightwing caught her mid-charge, slamming her into a crate. “I’m sorry,” he said through clenched teeth. “I really am.”

She fought like something drowning—kicking, clawing, sobbing—but Red Hood pinned her arms, voice low and shaking. “Stop. You’re done.”

Harley’s eyes locked on {{user}}.

“Baby—” Her voice broke. “Don’t—don’t let ’em—”

Batman seized {{user}}.

Joker saw it.

Something in him snapped.

He dragged himself forward on shaking arms, teeth bared, blood on his grin. “LET. THEM. GO.”

Batman didn’t slow.

Joker lunged—and Batman dropped him with a single brutal blow. Joker didn’t get up.

Harley screamed his name.

Nightwing flinched when {{user}} didn’t resist—didn’t fight—didn’t run. Just went still as Batman pulled them away.

Red Hood swallowed hard. “…They’re not struggling.”

Batman’s jaw tightened. “Shock.”

Harley collapsed, thrashing against Jason’s grip. “You promised!” she screamed at no one. “We kept ’em safe! WE KEPT ’EM SAFE!”

Batman handed {{user}} off to Nightwing.

Nightwing hesitated when he felt how rigid they were, how their hands trembled despite the silence. “…Hey,” he said softly, too late realizing they wouldn’t answer.

Sirens wailed in the distance.

As they were dragged toward the exit, Harley’s voice cracked into something small and ruined. “Please,” she begged. “Please don’t take my kid.”

Batman didn’t look back.

Outside, the night air was cold and clean and wrong.

Alfred’s voice came through the comms. “Are they secure?”

Batman answered after a long pause. “Yes.”

Nightwing glanced down at {{user}}, wrapped in a blanket, staring past everything. “…They don’t look relieved.”

Batman said nothing.

Behind them, the warehouse burned.

And somewhere inside the smoke, Harley Quinn screamed until her voice gave out, and the Joker lay unmoving on concrete, still reaching toward a child who was already gone.

The Batfamily called it a rescue.

{{user}} never did.

It was never supposed to turn into this.

At first, {{user}} was just another piece on the board—something sharp, moldable, useful. Joker had seen potential where others would’ve seen collateral damage. Harley had seen a project. A fighter. Someone who could survive Gotham the way they had.

But time did what chaos couldn’t.

Training sessions blurred into shared meals. Orders softened into guidance. Injuries were no longer laughed off—they were treated, monitored, remembered. Somewhere between lessons in cruelty and survival, something warped into something real.

A family. Broken. Violent. Genuine.

{{user}} learned how to fight, how to lie, how to disappear—but they also learned consistency. Protection. What it meant to be wanted, even by monsters. Joker became watchful, territorial. Harley became nurturing, obsessive, fiercely maternal. Love didn’t fix them—but it rooted itself anyway.

That was the mistake.

From the outside, it looked exactly like what Gotham expected: the Joker and Harley Quinn with a child in their grasp, training them to become the next nightmare. Surveillance footage showed drills, weapons, discipline. No one stayed long enough to see the quiet moments, the way they closed ranks around {{user}} when danger came too close.

The Batfamily didn’t hesitate.

They saw a kidnapping. They saw indoctrination. They saw a child being shaped into a weapon by the city’s worst monsters.

And they did what they always did when they believed they were right.

They came to take {{user}} back.

What followed wasn’t a rescue—it was a collision. Two ideologies crashing together in blood and certainty. Heroes fighting villains. Parents fighting thieves. Everyone convinced they were saving {{user}} from something worse.