For those wanting a Batjokes read-through with the actual DC characters: just replace Damien Edwards with Bruce Wayne and William J. Barnum with whatever name you'd give the Joker. :)

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Damien stood in his study, nursing a glass of wine by the ceiling-high windows. The city lights looked small from this high up, stretching all around. Below, cars filed in through the gates of Edward Manor, piling in the driveway. The guests that exited them were dressed to the nines—those with crisp, clean suits and those with glittering evening gowns. Their pompous, airy laughter echoed in the night air as couples linked together and made their way through the front doors.

Damien tipped his head back and downed the rest of his wine, preparing himself for a night of fake smiles and laughs—perfected so well that they looked natural. The kind that added to the playboy charisma that the public had labeled him with. Tonight was going to be like any other night spent as Damien Edwards. A performance. A means to keep an image polished even though he didn't quite care for it.

The door to his study creaked open, and Damien gazed down at his empty glass, knowing who it was.

"Nearly everyone's here," said Xilef, voice composed despite the growing noise below. "I'd make an excuse for your absence, but you know how that'll go."

Damien searched the dark, hazy skies through the windows on instinct, almost yearning for the Batsignal to show up. Anything to keep him from this party. Instead, he set his glass on his desk, straightened his all-black suit, and brushed past Xilef.

"Time to make an entrance, I suppose," he said.

Xilef couldn't help but smile as he closed the door. "Throw the dogs a big bone, and they'll be fine for the rest of the evening."

"I'll mingle for an hour," said Damien, smoothing down his slicked-back hair. "Then I'm back to the cave until the media starts searching for me again."

An hour, Damien told himself with a sigh, adjusting the rings on his fingers. He only needed to get through an hour.

That would change as the night unfolded.

──────••• ♤ •••──────

Over the past three months, Joker had crafted his plan from bare scraps, to fumbling with all the pieces, into creating a masterful gem.

There were still holes in his creation—no matter how much he tried to smooth out the many nuances of a new person, it was still lacking something—but it was believable. It was less so the detail he put into the alias, and more so the way he handled it.

Joker took a deep breath and exhaled, cardinghis fingers through jet black hair, a jet-black moustache. Brown eyes stared back at him, looking foreign. His skin wasuntouched, feeling naked without his signature face paint. But that didn'tmatter, because this wasn't Joker's night. It was William's debut.

William J. Barnum had gone from an idea to a reality.

A wonky, eccentric reality—but a believable one.

Joker studied himself in the full-length mirror, smoothing his hands along the lines and folds of his new suit. It was vintage—tailored like something from the 1930s—and although it wasn't as flashy as the modern styles, it had character. And Joker, even when playing the role of someone else, needed character. Because what fun was manipulating a man without some flair?

The suit accented his angles, the fabric such a dark brown that it almost looked black. An ivory shirt hugged his collar, accented with a bow tie, and beneath his suit jacket was a dark brown and red, pinstriped vest with antique, golden buttons.

He had to admit—as out of place as he felt, he looked dashing.

He was adjusting his golden cuff links when Murdock walked into the room, bleeding with that upsetting energy of his. Joker had always been able to have fun with the man, but ever since he'd returned from Damien's manor that one night, something in him had changed. It was a natural progression, now that he looked back on it—a slow erosion of Quinn's once upbeat, ride or die attitude. What was left was resentful, brooding, and not at all a pleasure to be around.

This was William's debut! This was what it all came down to. This is how he would unmask the Batman.

He expected Murdock to be happier about it.

Joker flashed one of his smiles and turned to Quinn, splaying out his arms. Murdock forced a small smile, eyes relaxing at the sight of him.

"Wow," said Murdock, although his chest ached. "You look..."

"Pleasure to meet your acquaintance," said Joker dramatically, changing the tone of his voice. It was more slurred than usual—almost as if he'd been drinking—and it had a low, gravely quality. Murdock blinked with surprise when Joker reached forward, took his hand, and bowed as he kissed it. When his eyes flicked up, and his lips gave a sly smile, Murdock's heart raced.

"I'm William J. Barnum," said Joker, that sly, private smile widening as he straightened himself. Murdock swallowed, the clown's transformation uncanny. That smile really was all warmth. It really was this new alias coming to life. "And you are...?"

"Wow, that's..." Murdock exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. "I wouldn't even recognize you, J."

Joker tugged on his lapels and laughed—caught himself—and brought the sound of delight to a chuckle as vibrant as honey.

"I know, right?" said Joker, giving himself another once over in the mirror. "I've really outdone myself."

"Yeah," said Murdock, smiling painfully. "You really are... different."

Tonight was the night Joker had been waiting for. Although Murdock was reluctant in helping with his research, they had studied Damien together, piecing bits of life onto the corkboards with each thing they found. His past, his scandals, his generosity, his foundations and life work. People he was tied to, where he visited often and where he lived, and when the Annual Charity Gala was held—the perfect opportunity for Joker to put his plan into action.

It hadn't been the easiest digging through Damien's records, but when Joker was set on something, he burned with laser focus. Everything about Damien Edwards was clean—no sign that he was the Bat—but Joker knew that if he looked hard enough, he could find the same holes he had in the creation of his own alias. A well-built character could only be played for so long. Over time, no matter how strong it was, it would crack under pressure.

And what better way to reveal someone's true self than getting impossibly close to them?

There were so many nuances of a person—so many different faces they carded through to fit the situation. Who was Damien Edwards beneath that mask of his? The media called him billionaire, playboy, orphan turned successful.

Joker intended to rip all those layers away and find out what was really under there. Hoped to find the real mask he wore—the one he'd grown to adore.

But tonight, important as it was, was only a dip in the water. There was a possibility that Damien Edwards wasn't the Batman. There was a possibility that Joker's alias wouldn't impress the billionaire.

If all else failed, he'd go with the less-exciting Plan B. Make a public show of kidnapping Damien, wait for the Batman—and if he didn't show, reveal the truth before all of Gotham.

No matter what plan worked, Joker knew one thing for sure. He would rip everything away from Batman's life so he suffered and faced the truth. That he needed Joker, that he loved Joker, and was—at the end of the day—no different from him.

Joker inhaled, running his hands along his suit, and exhaled.

Time for that debut.

──────••• ♤ •••──────

When Murdock refused to drive—"Every time I'm in a car with you, J, I end up crashing," he had complained—Joker decided to drive there himself.

He parked along the street, Edward Manor glowing ahead. When a car pulled in through the gates, he rushed in beside it, narrowly avoiding the metal swinging shut. His heart sped up as he walked through the grass, picking up a discarded wine glass on his way towards the entrance.

As many stunts as he'd pulled, he rarely got nervous. Wreaking havoc and waiting out the Bat had always been fun—just a game where he pulled all the strings—so he'd never been nervous. The emotion was never in his vocabulary. Only came to him in fleeting instances, when he knew he had a really good plan and just couldn't wait the Bat to come and crash the party, or when the Bat pulled him in close, their bodies brushing.

Tonight, Joker was very, very nervous. His knuckles whitened as he clutched the empty wine glass, thoughts racing in the back of his head.

For once, he felt sane. And he hated it.

What if Damien rejected him? What if this had all been for nothing?

What if—no matter how hard Joker tried to change himself—Batman would never love him?

He sucked in a few breaths, forcing an air of confidence in his shoulders as he approached the entrance. A car circled around the driveway and pulled to a stop, releasing a glitter-clad couple.

Quit your thinking, Joker told himself, putting on that warm, honey-hued smile. He slipped past a crowd of guests—missed the sharp blue eyes of a man taking in the guests at the door—and stepped into the main lobby of Edward Manor. It was the same lobby he wandered through three months ago, but back then, it was dark and haunting, lit only by a fireplace. Now, as Joker looked around, the enormous lobby opened up into a glittering display—white marble, polished balcony rails, glass chandeliers shining from the high-vaulted ceiling.

Countless voices bounced off the decorated walls, filling the manor with noise. Joker forced himself to take another breath before he walked into the sea of perfectly dressed people, narrowly avoiding laughing guests and passing trays of food and alcohol. It was almost overwhelming trying to take everything in, his fingers itching to grasp the entire party's attention before he went and ruined it all. That's what Joker would do. Joker would have a blast interrupting a party for the high class—throw around a few bombs, steal some cake and take a hostage or two. Anything to cause enough commotion for his favorite Bat to come crashing down.

Instead, Joker grappled over what William would do. What the fuck would William do?

He was eccentric and full of personality. He was a warm and inviting presence.

What did someone like that do at a party? God, he was losing his mind over trying to fit in. How did anyone stand forcing themselves to adjust to it? It made him feel both sane and insane at the same time—two sides of his head trying to rip him apart.

A group of women laughed over the noise, catching Joker's attention. A waiter passed by with a tray of champagne, and Joker quickly grabbed one, replacing it with his wine glass. He gulped it down and approached the women, studying how they interacted with one another.

"You're right," said a black woman in gold. "He looks better than usual."

"Which is surprising," said a red-head in green, scrunching her nose. "This Edwards guy hides away all the time. You'd figure he lives in a cave."

Joker's interest piqued, and he leaned against a pillar, pretending to scan the party as he eavesdropped.

"The speech was bland," sighed an Asian woman in red. "I bet he recycles the same thing every year."

Speech? thought Joker, raising a brow. He pouted inwardly. What a shame; he would've loved to see Damien dazzle before the public. He'd only ever seen him like that on the TV.

"Oh, look—" said the last woman, her saree dipping past her arm as she pointed. "That's him over there."

Joker glanced in that direction, and when the sea of people parted—even for a moment—he froze when his eyes locked onto Mr. Edward's figure. Batman or not, he looked stunning. He was just about to study his figure when the crowd of guests hid him from view, breaking him from his reverie.

Joker huffed and closed his eyes, scoldinghimself for being so damn hesitant. What was there to be scared of? If his aliasdidn't work out, something else would. He sure as hell wouldn't mind killing afew people just to get the edge off.

He grabbed another flute of champagne, made hisway through the sea of guests, and went towards Damien Edwards.       

──────••• ♤ •••──────

At first, Joker lost Damien in the crowd, cursing as he searched through countless heads. He fumbled with himself for a bit, searching and searching, until—finally—his eyes landed on the back of Damien's head.

He was walking away from the bright lights and the thick crowd, heading somewhere quieter. Opportunity shot in Joker's throat like a heartbeat, and he pushed past a few guests, catching Damien before he could fully disappear from the party.

"Mr. Edwards," Joker called out, changing his voice. The billionaire stopped in place—shoulders sagged for a brief moment—but when he turned around, he displayed a charming, automatic smile. He was going to say something back, but his mouth stopped mid-word, his eyes glinting with conflict, then realization, then doubt.

Joker bowed dramatically, gazing up at Damien through his lashes with a chuckle. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you," he said, offering a hand as he straightened himself. "I'm William J. Barnum."

Damien blinked, eyes frantically searching Joker's face—and then he laughed it off smoothly, shaking his hand. Joker's heart raced at the possibility of this being his Bat. And if he really was, he'd be losing it at how casually he touched him, how brightly he smiled at him.

"Apologies for my reaction," said Damien, all charisma and pearly-white teeth. "You just reminded me of someone."

Will rose a taunting brow, smiling. "Really?" he ventured, feeling butterflies. "Who?"

"A friend," said Damien. He studied William's face a moment, tilting his head. Only moments ago, he had been desperate to leave the party and make some excuse for why he wasn't seen for the rest of the night. But the longer he stared at this newcomer's face, the more curious he became.

His features were uncanny. For a moment, he could have sworn it was the Joker, but he was too different. Similar in looks, but magnetic with personality and an inviting smile. Joker never smiled like that—always had that manic energy in his smile, in his eyes, or in every nuance of his movements. But William possessed none of that. Had a calm, curious air about him.

Damien snapped from his thoughts when William clapped him on the shoulder, laughing so generously that it surprised the billionaire with his authenticity. Throughout the entire night, the other guests' laughter were composed and tinkering—a reflection of their images. But as Will slid past Damien and towards the bar, he showed no signs of holding his posture to a high-class standard. His body was relaxed—careless, even—and Damien had to admit: it enraptured him.

"Care to join me for a drink?" offered William, smiling that genuine, honey-warm smile.

"Well..." Damien hesitated, considering it. He had told himself he'd only stay for an hour after he'd made an appearance. "Alright."

Will sat down at the bar table, setting his champagne down. When Damien sat next to him, his eyes lit up, smile widening to flash teeth.

"You've made my night, Mr. Edwards," slurred Will, nudging him with his elbow. "I've always wanted a drink with the man of the hour."

"Please," said Damien with a smile. He flagged down the bartender, who handed him a glass of wine. "I'm nothing special."

"I've always wondered how talking with you would go," said Will over his champagne, "but I never thought you'd lie to me, Mr. Edwards." He smirked and ran his eyes down Damien's figure, making it sickeningly obvious. The shameless gesture made his face heat. "You're more than special, sweetheart. You are eye candy."

Damien blushed, running a hand down the front of his suit. Why did that make his heart race?

"Usually I'm the one who's forward," he said, chuckling softly. He faced William, tipping his glass towards him. "I like you, Mr. Barnum."

"Please," said William, brushing his hand against Damien's. "Call me Will."

The billionaire smiled, gaze softening. "Alright, Will," he said, leaning closer. "Call me Damien."

──────••• ♤ •••──────

Talk about a fucking success.

As the night unfolded, Damien and William spoke at the bar, sharing laughs and teasing glances. Conversation flowed easily; chemistry built fast. Joker didn't know if it was because of the fights they'd had with their masks on (if Damien was really Batman), or because of the character he was playing. Either way, they were both infatuated. Damien, with William's effortless confidence and warm, magnetic energy. Joker, with Damien's forwardness and signature charisma.

When they'd gotten closer, and they'd had a few drinks at the bar together, Damien finally admitted who William reminded him of.

"I hope you don't take offense, Will," said Damien, nursing a whiskey. His cheeks glowed from the alcohol. Joker wasn't affected by it—having immunized himself to various poisons—but he acted like it did. "But you remind me of the Joker." He quickly waved a hand, mistaking Joker's curt inhale as offense. "Not the criminal side, of course, but—"

William laughed, shaking his head. "No, no," he said, slurring his voice a bit. "It's fine. You know, I take that as a compliment."

"Really?" muttered Damien, interest glinting in his eyes.

Will smirked, leaning forward. Over time, their chairs had gotten closer the more they spoke. Now, their legs were practically interlocked, brushing against one another's.

"Yeah," he said, fingers brushing against Damien's. "You have to admit—the Joker has style. And a killer moustache."

Will rose a teasing brow and tugged the ends of his stache, pleased to see Damien smile. The billionaire glanced away with a chuckle and shook his head.

"Well, I can't argue with you there," he said, breath clouding in his whiskey glass. "But that's where your similarities end. Aesthetics aside, the Joker's a criminal, and a threat to this city. As long as he's still out there, Gotham can't rest safely."

William hummed, spinning his glass idly on the table. "Is he even alive anymore?" he asked, making a face. "I haven't heard a single thing about him since he blew up Arkham Asylum. Maybe he got caught in the crossfire... or maybe that Batman finally put an end to him."

Will's gaze flicked up, catching the shift in Damien's expression.

There.

Damien downed the rest of his whiskey, and the shift left as soon as it came.

"I doubt it," he said. "Batman doesn't kill."

William shrugged. "One day, he'll have to," he said, studying Damien's reactions through half-lidded eyes. To anyone else, they wouldn't have suspected a thing. The shifts only made themselves clear to someone who was watching them closely.

"Why do you say that?"

"Y'know—and I hate to get political or whatnot, Damien—" said Will, setting a hand briefly over the other's. "—but I think the only thing that really sets Batman and Joker apart are their morals." He flagged down the bartender, who refilled his champagne. "Deep down..." And this time, William studied Damien's face carefully. "Deep down, I think the Batman is so desperate to avoid killing someone, because the moment he does—he becomes one of the villains."

Damien's eyes glinted, fingers shifting over his glass.

"Without that code, he's exactly like the Joker."

Damien hummed, tipping his head at William. The suspicious side of him questioned the man's intentions, but his doubt overran it.

"You have strong feelings about this," he said.

"Every Gothamite does, in their own way," said William with a smile, tipping his glass at Damien. "It's our city, too, after all. We have a right to question who's protecting it when there's such a fine line between good and evil."

"A vigilante isn't a hero because they tread that line."

William smirked, eyes glinting. "Vigilante is just another word for criminal," he said. "From an outsider's standpoint, the Batman and the Joker seem the same to me." He met Damien's eyes, bringing his glass to his lips.

"One just hides the truth behind a mask," he breathed.

The troubled look left Damien's face as quickly as it came, and a while later, he steered the conversation elsewhere, trying to distract them from getting deeper into that subject. It was everything Joker needed, and boy, did it give him a rush. There was no guarantee that Damien Edwards was Batman until he found more concrete evidence, but his reactions and justifications were enough.

Damien Edwards and the Bat... one and the same.

Joker almost lost his composure just thinking about it.

As the party thinned out, and William motioned to leave, Damien insisted on walking him to the door. Other partygoers watched them interact—some staring the entire time—but nonetheless went back to their own business. Damien was thankful for the noise to muffle his voice from eavesdroppers.

"It was a pleasure spending the night with you, Will," said Damien, brushing his hand up the other's. Will smiled, stepping closer. There was that rich, oaky vanilla of his—Joker could get lost in the aroma. "I'd love to see you again."

"Oh, you will," said William with a lopsided smile. Damien exhaled, and when he glanced down at Will's lips, his entire body rushed with a thrill.

"Let me take you out to dinner," he said, smiling softly. "Tomorrow night?"

William smirked, resting a hand on Damien's chest. He shuddered at the feel of him.

"I like men like you who are forward," he said. "Tomorrow night it is."

"I'll pick you up."

"I'll come here," said William, aching to just kiss him. "7 PM?"

"7 PM," said Damien, tipping his head closer. William's heart raced, and before he could've sworn it would explode, he stepped back with an exhale.

"I'll see you then," said Will, biting his lip. "Goodnight, Damien."

"Goodnight, Will," said Damien, watching him go.

That night, both men reflected in their own way. The moment Joker made it onto the sidewalk, and was sure no one spotted him, he jumped up and down and started squealing with excitement, unable to believe that he'd actually pulled it off. And better yet, he fucking enjoyed himself. Batman or not, he fucking loved Damien Edwards. He loved pleasing him, and making him flustered. He loved challenging that mask of his and making him uncomfortable. And the cherry on top? Damien was into him. Into William. Into Joker's William. Anytime doubt crawled up his throat, he reminded himself of the man's face just looking at him, all interested and absorbed. He fed off of Damien's attention like it was his lifeline—and maybe it was. Ever since Batman chewed him up and spat him out with such harmful, untrue words, he'd been desperate to hit backspace in his memory. Been desperate to prove that he could be loved, that he was loved.

Even if he was someone else.

While Joker celebrated all the way home, and Xilef sent off the rest of the guests, Damien sat in his bedroom, deep in thought. There was a ball of energy in his chest—lasting excitement from his night with William—and even as he replayed their conversation, he still couldn't believe he'd met the man. It still unnerved him how similar his features were to the Joker's, but his energy swayed him from any ill feelings.

Maybe, deep down, he was more drawn to William because he reminded him of the Joker.

The thought hadn't taken shape in his consciousness, yet.

But it made him think of Joker, and his absence, and how empty it made him feel without him. And it made him think—maybe it was time to try and fill that void with something else.

Maybe it meant giving William a chance with his heart.

When the thought first crossed Damien's mind, he laughed at himself. He had only met William that night, and he was rushing things already? He never realized just how rusty he'd gotten with intimate relationships, because the Joker had occupied his time and energy for so long.

He might as well give it a chance, he thought as he laid down in bed, staring at the ceiling. Maybe this was what he needed.

As Damien fell asleep, dreaming pleasantly of William, Joker stayed awake, buzzing like crazy in his lair.

It was time to get more serious about his plan.

...

I've got a lot of Midterms for college, so I'm warning y'all ahead of time that I might not be able to update next week! Also, writer's block is terribleeeee 😭

Thank you so much for reading, and have a wonderful day/night!

Love, Vic xoxo