What If Tim Drake Was Never Rescued? The Making of Joker Junior

Tim Drake never became Robin. He was just a smart kid, a quiet shadow with a camera, trailing the Bat and the rogues of Gotham, digging into the mysteries of the city’s underworld with a tenacity that should have earned him a place beside the heroes he admired. But then, one night, he dug a little too deep, got too close. Joker noticed him watching, eyes bright with curiosity, and that was it—Tim vanished off Gotham’s streets, just another lost kid in a city that moved on.

Except Tim wasn’t really gone; he was Joker’s new project.

The Joker didn’t just lock him up. He broke him down, with every taunt and twisted trick. Tim’s mind, once sharp and resilient, became the Joker’s playground, his personal canvas. Joker saw the spark, the intelligence, the raw potential in him—and Joker loved breaking things with potential. Each day, he wove his madness deeper into Tim’s mind, twisting and warping his reality. Tim tried to hold on, to remember who he was, what he cared about, but every moment was a fight, and Joker didn’t play fair.

Days bled into months, maybe years. Gotham moved on. The city forgot about the missing kid who’d once admired heroes. But Tim? He stopped thinking of rescue, stopped imagining life outside of Joker’s twisted games. His laughter, once warm and genuine, turned sharp and hollow. Joker’s cruelty became his comfort. Eventually, the line blurred until there was no Tim Drake left—only Joker Junior.

It was Joker who gave him his new name, laughing as he handed him the purple suit. “You’re a real chip off the old block now,” he’d sneered. Joker Junior didn’t protest. He just put the suit on.

The transformation was complete. He’d become Joker’s perfect apprentice, a wild-eyed agent of chaos, dancing through Gotham’s streets with a smile too wide, eyes too dark, and laughter that sent shivers down people’s spines. The innocence he once had was gone, replaced with Joker’s venom, embedded so deep it felt like his own.

One night, Batman finally tracked him down. He’d been following the mysterious “Joker Junior” across the city, tracking the strange sense of familiarity in the kid’s movements, the way he seemed to know Gotham’s streets like the back of his hand. They clashed on a rooftop, Joker Junior dodging and weaving, just like… just like Robin. Bruce caught a glimpse beneath the mask, a flash of familiar features, and his world seemed to tilt.

“Tim?” Bruce choked, his voice breaking. For a second, Joker Junior stilled, his eyes meeting Bruce’s.

But then that dark grin returned, the twisted mask of the Joker’s protégé. “Tim’s gone,” he said, his voice too casual, too familiar, too empty. “Joker taught me better.”

And as Bruce reached out, trying to connect with whatever was left of the kid he’d never saved, Joker Junior slipped into the night, his laughter echoing behind him.