Chapter Text
Jericho was nice to Gar.
Every evening, after school clocked out, Gar turned up to the record store, pretending to go through the vinyls, even though the only music he listened to was on his old crappy Walkman he'd been handed down from his pseudo-uncle. The vinyls were much to expensive anyway, not to mention buying an actual record player.
Jericho knew. Gar didn't know that Jericho knew. Jericho would watch the same boy shuffle through the same vinyls every day, leaving at exactly 6pm. School let out at 3.15; Jericho would turn up for his shift at 4; Gar would turn up at 4.30. Like clockwork, every day of the school week, Monday through Friday, without fail.
Jericho didn't quite know why Gar was there, the boy never spoke to anyone, not that Jericho could say much on that subject matter, but he always kept an eye on him. Something just seemed off with him, something he couldn't quite place.
It wasn't until three months in, when the November air started nipping at your neck, did Jericho finally understand why Gar was here.
Gar was late. Gar was never late, so something must have happened. Perhaps he's ill, perhaps he broke his arm, perhaps he died. Many dramatic thoughts fluttered through Jericho's brain as he checked out customers, rearranged comics on the shelves, put out new vinyls.
And then he turned up.
Chased by a gang of seniors.
Jericho recognised a few from the school, though he'd never interact with them. Nobody dared to, except Rose once to tell a guy to fuck off after asking her out too many times. Jericho was proud of his sister, though also a little scared for her the following few weeks.
Gar dashed behind a shelf of comics, crouching behind it, shaking slightly, hands clasped over his mouth. Jericho doubted he needed to do so, the boy never spoke much anyway.
The seniors pushed through the doors, smashed bottles in their hands (Jericho tried not to think too hard about the blood on the edges of some) and began walking around the shop, snarling as they did so.
'Can I help you?' Jericho signed, playing dumb. He knew where Gar was, and he would be damned if he were going to let these guys get to him (he tried not to add 'again' in his head, but it was hard not to with the red droplets rolling off the cracked glass and staining the light blue carpets). The guys stared at him for a second, a few glares sent his way, nothing out of the usual. Either way, started them talking.
"We saw a guy come in here, green hair, pretty short, you seen him?" It must have been the leader who spoke, as he was the tallest, the broadest, and standing before all the rest. There was about ten of them, and at school Jericho would see them all lined up below the bleachers together, or crowding into a corner of the toilets where they didn't fit, or taking up as much hallway space as possible by insisting on walking side-by-side until they physically couldn't.
Jericho shook his head, looking around the shop in faux-search. "No, we definitely saw him." Another guy piped up, clutching the neck of his bottle just a little too tightly for Jericho's liking. He pulled out his phone from his back pocket inconspicuously, unlocking it below the service desk. He messaged his adoptive dad, a detective by the name of Dick Grayson. He took in Jericho three years back, and then Rose last year, reuniting the siblings and giving them each better lives than what they had before. Jericho's mother had been killed by his father, and Rose's had lost her life in a car crash (one Jericho didn't doubt their father had something to with).
The seniors began searching around again, pushing items off shelves and starting to cause a mess. Jericho couldn't afford to have all the stock ruined. If they kept at it, he'd be down by hundreds with each $50 vinyl they threw to the ground. He raised his arms above his head as he walked around the desk, leaving his phone face down on the counter.
The seniors ignored him, and one got a little too close to Gar's shelf than Jericho liked. He moved forwards and pushed the guy away, glaring as he turned in shock and through a fist at Jericho.
"Don't fucking touch me, man. If you tell us where the kid is, maybe we'll stop ruining your shit." Jericho barely dodged the fist, grabbing the guys arm and pulling him down to the ground. He heard a squeak, and quickly turned his head in Gars direction. Luckily, none of the others heard it.
Gar was peering around the edge of the shelf, mouthing 'are you okay?' to Jericho. He looked worried, which almost shocked Jericho, for why would he be worried about Jericho when these guys are willing to risk breaking hundreds of dollars worth of stock just to get to him, but Jericho knew Gar better than that.
He nodded towards the boy before turning back to the guy he had pinned down. He'd managed to get him on his front and pulled his arm back, his knee settling between the guys shoulder blades. He couldn't remember if this was exactly how Dick taught him, but it worked so he doubted that it mattered much.
The others didn't seem to notice. They weren't friends, that was for sure. Purely people of common interest. Or maybe they were all just sad and lonely. They liked to punch things, maybe that's what brought them together.
The bell sounded above the door again.
Dick.
XX~•~•XX
After about an hour of cleaning up the shop, Jericho decided it was time to go to Gar's hiding place, a place that he'd apparently chosen to stay in despite Dick having dragged the gang out ages ago.
Police sirens were going off outside, Dick still talking to the officers and giving all the information he could, occasionally coming in to ask Jericho about a few certain details he wasn't aware of.
But right now, it was only Jericho and Gar in the shop.
Jericho walked behind Gar's shelf where the boy sat cross-legged against it, staring at the blank wall opposite. Jericho took a seat beside him, gently nudging his shoulder with his own.
'Are you okay?' He signed, smiling sympathetically. Gar looked up at him and shrugged, the edges of his eyes red.
"Sorry they busted this place," he murmured, leaning his head back against the shelf and staring upwards. Jericho felt bad for the kid, he wondered if maybe there was a reason why he kept coming here instead of going home or to a friends or literally anywhere else.
'It's not your fault, besides, it's dealt with now. My dads a cop, want a lift home?' Gar nodded. Jericho stood and held a hand out towards him, the younger boy grasping onto it immediately.
They walked around the shelf and out the front door, Jericho having already let his boss know what went down and closed up for the day. Gar waited as Jericho locked the doors, the policemen finally scattering.
"You okay?" Gar merely glanced at the new man stood in front of him before diverting his eyes back to the ground. Dick turned to Jericho, confused.
'Can you give him a lift home?' Jericho signed, avoiding the obvious conversation whilst Gar was right there. Dick nodded, placing a hand on the kids shoulder. Gar didn't shrug it off, which Jericho counted as a good thing.
"Where do you live? I can come in and talk to your folks if you want, probably best." Dick explained, leading Gar to his mini van with Jericho following in tow. Jericho supposed it would be better to escort Gar in a police car, however all the police cars that were there had gone and Dick had come straight from home, not the station, so the mini cab would have to do, even though Gar was giving it weary looks.
They all piled in, Dick and Jericho up front whilst Gar sat in the middle seat behind them, finally pulling out of the car park of the shop.