Joker doesn’t think. It’s such an ingrained response in him that he doesn’t need to think, not really, like how a cat doesn’t need to think when it wanders outside for the first time and spots a bird. There’s only the sight from the corner of his eye of something looming out and reaching, grabbing, and his hand twists the only means of defense he has.

He has too many memories of laying broken in an alley to hesitate in sliding the weak sword out.

His back hits a wall- the backpack hits the wall and he hears a startled noise from Angel as she awakes to pain and what Joker doesn’t doubt is a dark stew of emotions. Hearing her makes his arm move automatically until the blade presses in warning against the side of his attacker. He knows from using the throwing knives over and over that weapons don’t have much weight here, don’t last long, but this outta last long enough-

And then that voice makes it through the fog of his mind.

The dark look on Joker’s face clears up as he stares. “Wait a bleedin’- Ralph!?”