Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He is being Timothy right now, and he is in public right now, and nothing too bad is supposed to happen right now.

He is also with his father right now, but that barely even needs to be said. If he is not completely and utterly alone, then he is with his father. And being with his father doesn't mean nothing too bad will happen. Usually, it means the opposite, even the exact opposite.

But that is a wrong thought, wrong wrong wrong, and not in a right-wrong Father-approved way, so he pushes that thought away, far away, as far away as Gotham is getting from the plane they are in.

He has left Gotham before. He knows he has. He sometimes is hopeful about it when they leave Gotham. It usually means getting to be Timothy for a while. Sometimes it even means being Timothy at fancy events where he gets to soak in the precious moments when the men shake his hand and the women pat his cheek and some of the people go as far as to talk to him, actually really talk to him!

This time, though, is not one of those times. This is a time when he is being Timothy on the plane, but when they get off the plane, they change where they're going and he has to change who he's being.

He won't get to be Timothy where they're ending up.

He'll have to be Joker Junior instead.

He… He doesn't like being Joker Junior. And that's wrong wrong wrong too, never right-wrong, he's supposed to be Joker Junior fully deep down, Timothy is supposed to be a cover, but he doesn't like being Joker Junior. He doesn't like being Timothy most of the time either, to be fair. Only once in a great while, usually at those fancy events, is it nice to be Timothy. But being Timothy is usually nicer than being Joker Junior.

Most of the time, it'd be even nicer to not be any of those things.

It might even be the very nicest to not be anything at all.

He sneaks a guilty look at Father, as if Father could see his thoughts and realize how ungrateful he's being. He's pretty sure Father doesn't read minds, but he doesn't take anything for granted.

But no, Father is leaning against the wall and chatting away happily with one of the other passengers. Father looks entirely at ease. Father does not look at all like he knows his son is being so bad, so very bad in a wrong way.

So he tries to fix himself before his father comes back over. He tries to concentrate. He tries to think through the plan.

He doesn't like the plan either. Right now, he likes it even less than he usually likes plans that happen while he's being Joker Junior. This plan is so right-wrong in that way Father likes the very best. It makes his head and his stomach and his heart hurt so much.

But he has to hold it together. He has a part to play here. Father wants to teach him a lesson and wants to use him to teach a lesson to someone else too, so he has to be just the perfect version of right-wrong.

He has to hold it together.

He can barely hold it together. And that's just for now, just on the plane. He's dreading continuing on and keeping holding it together, always just barely holding it together, trying to stifle his laughter in public as Timothy and trying to silence his sobs in private as Joker Junior. He doesn't want to think about how hard it will be to hold it together when they land, and when they disembark, and when they change their travel plans, and when they change their appearances back to their permanent states of Father's Joker self and his own disfigured Joker Junior self.

He really doesn't want to think about how hard it will be when they set up the trap.

He really, really doesn't want to think about how it will be to spring the trap.

He really, really, really doesn't want to think about anything they're going to do in Ethiopia.

Chapter Text

A secret meeting with an informant isn't an unexpected occurrence for Batman. It's a somewhat big part of being a vigilante, and it's not a big deal. Having that informant be completely mysterious and undisclosed isn't too unexpected either. It can be a somewhat regular event. The only difference there is that Batman doesn't often bring Robin with him when he doesn't know precisely who he's meeting with.

The difference this time, though, is that Bruce wouldn't have brought Jason with him even if he'd known who the informant was.

The Felipe Garzonas case hit Jason hard. Bruce has tried to express that his worry is more for Jason's well-being than for Jason's reasoning, has tried to reassure that being concerned doesn't mean he's angry, has tried to say that he doesn't know exactly what happened out there but he trusts Jason's word. If Garzonas slipped, then Garzonas slipped.

But Jason is so shaken up about it that Bruce wants to give him some time to deal with his feelings, hence benching Robin in general for a little while, not just for this meeting.

It's for the best, Bruce hopes, but he can't completely shake his concern about his son, not as he suits up, not as he heads out as Batman, not as he does a small amount of pre-meeting patrol, not even as he makes it to the meeting place at the right time.

Then a figure steps out of the shadows of the alley at the park's edge, and Bruce's concern has to be sidelined for Batman's readiness. The secret meeting with an informant is to be expected. The informant keeping their identity hidden at least until the meeting is to be expected.

The hidden identity of the informant being that of a Rogue is not to be expected.

A batarang is in one of Batman's hands and a grappling hook is in his other hand before Harley Quinn can take another step.

"Hey, hey, slow down, chill out," Harley says, her voice unusually quiet. She spreads her hands in front of her, palms up. They're empty, but that doesn't mean much. Back when she was working consistently with the Joker, that would tend to mean she was playing the distraction or yelling orders at goons. In more recent times, after she managed to remove herself mostly from Joker's influence, for the better of herself and of the general Gotham population, it usually means she's not alone and Poison Ivy is lurking around the corner.

Despite the fact that Poison Ivy hasn't been seen in Gotham for several months, or perhaps because of it, Batman gives a subtle glance around. He checks the nearby plants, the weeds poking through the concrete, the ferns crumpled by the park edge, all of it. None of it is moving in any odd ways, at least not yet.

"Hold your horses, or your bats, or whatever," Harley continues, still speaking at almost a whisper. "Sorry about the whole, uh, secret-y thing, but not sorry, you know? I need to tell you something, 'kay? I've got some info you gotta know."

"With the message I received saying that you have information for me, I understood that already," Batman says dryly, uncertain whether to be more or less guarded with Harley's unusual behavior.

Usually, Harley would cackle at that or maybe say a dry quip of her own, advancing toward him to fight. Instead, she nods slowly and stays right where she is, barely out of the shadows, staring down at her feet. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess you would've. Right. Yeah."

Batman holds back a sigh. Something is wrong here, possibly very wrong, and he's starting to get more worried.

Harley does not hold back a sigh. She blows out a long, pained-sounding breath. "Bats? I, uh, I've got, oh, I mean… I messed up."

"You messed up?" Batman asks, attempting to leave room for her to continue, both verbally and physically.

"I messed up," Harley says readily. She sighs again. "I… I've been messing up. Ivy's been outta town for a while. And I've been trying real hard to not do the wrong thing, real hard. But that doesn't mean I did end up doing the right thing. I think I did the wrongest thing I could've done."

"And that is?" Batman prompts when Harley pauses for a long moment. He's not sure what she would call "the wrongest thing," but he's fairly certain he's not going to like it.

Harley sighs once more. "...I teamed up with Joker."

He's right; he doesn't like it. Batman tenses, ready to strike or to retreat at a moment's notice.

"Not right now," Harley adds quickly. "I thought I'd known better before, when I got out the first couple of times, but I really thought I'd known better this time. But I did it anyway, but now I'm out again. And I ain't going back to him."

"Why are you telling me this?" Batman asks.

"Let's say it this way," Harley says. "I know Joker's not a team player. I know him better than just about everybody, and I know how he works. He just likes to play his pain games. He don't care about anything else, and he definitely don't care about anyone else. He never cared about me."

She hesitates, but that's clearly not the end.

"But?" Batman says, sensing a little of what's coming.

Harley finally looks up. There are several dried tear tracks running through her makeup. "But I care. I care about other people, at least some of the time. There are lines I ain't gonna cross, lines I won't stand to see anybody else crossing either, and Joker's using one of those lines as a jump rope right about now. And if I'm right, he's been doing it for a long, long time."

"What's the line?" Batman asks.

"There's a kid," Harley says. "He's got a kid involved."

"A kid," Batman repeats tersely. Villains getting children involved is always an awful thing, and from the way it seems to have shaken Harley, it's even more awful than he suspects.

"I think it's been for a while, too. I don't know for sure, but I've been getting hints at this for years, maybe five or six years, definitely before I really broke off from Joker," Harley says. "But this time, it wasn't just a hint. It wasn't anything I can explain away. I saw the kid. Not well, but I saw 'em. It was just a glimpse, you know, and Joker tried to tell me I didn't see nothing, just like every time I've gotten a hint at this, but this time I saw it and I know what I saw. Joker's got a kid involved."

"What do you mean when you say 'a kid involved?'" Batman asks, because there's a few ways that could be interpreted.

"I mean he's got some elementary schooler holed up in his lair," Harley snaps. She breathes heavily for a moment, then she shakes her head. "It's all… I dunno exactly what it is, but it's messed up, Bats, it's real messed up. I don't got a clue what to do, but I thought… Maybe you'd have an idea?"

Batman definitely has an idea. Well, maybe it's less of an idea than it is a blaring alarm bell, but it's what he has. He doesn't know if Harley knows exactly what she saw, and he doesn't even know if she's telling the truth, so he's more than a bit suspicious. However, if there's a chance the Joker has a child involved in his schemes, then Batman needs to act on that chance.

"Is there anything else you can tell me?" Batman asks. The more information, the better, and the sooner he can get on with what he needs to do.

Harley sniffs. "There was some stuff Joker was planning for doing soon. He said something about, uh, Ethiopia, and getting some lady named… Shelly Hayfield, I think, or something like that. It sounded like it was a trap for you."

"Shelly Hayfield in Ethiopia," Batman says. "All right."

With a nod, Harley takes a step back into the shadows, becoming an indistinct figure as she moves away from the alley.

"And Harley?" Batman says before the figure can fade entirely into the distance. "Thank you. This means a lot to me."

She stops in her tracks. Barely audibly, she says, "I ain't doing it for you."

As Harley starts moving away again, Batman shoots his grappling hook for a nearby balcony. He moves away from the alley too, going out at nearly his top speed. The rest of his usual patrol will have to be put on hold for now. He's filled with concern to the point of feeling ready to burst.

A kid is involved.

Chapter Text

This probably isn’t a good idea, but Jason knows that, okay? He knows it. He’s known it the whole time. 

He knew it probably wasn’t a good idea when he first found out that Catherine wasn’t his biological mother and he started having thoughts. He knew it probably wasn’t a good idea when he researched how far he would have to go and how much he would have to spend to get to Sheila Haywood. He knew it probably wasn’t a good idea when he lied to Alfred about going to hang out with Dick and lied to Dick about spending time with Alfred. He knew it probably wasn’t a good idea when he booked the flight to Ethiopia. He knew it probably wasn’t a good idea when he got on the flight, and when he wiggled with nerves for the whole flight over, and when he got off the flight, and, and, and whatever! He knew it probably wasn’t a good idea, but he did it anyway.

And now he’s here. 

And Sheila Haywood isn’t exactly what he expected.

To be fair, Jason hadn’t been sure exactly what he’d been expecting in the first place. What kind of person would’ve given a baby to Willis Todd of all people, after all? So Jason hadn’t been sure what he’d expected. Maybe he’d been expecting her to be outright mean. Maybe he’d been expecting her to be way too trusting. Maybe he’d been expecting her to be just not caring at all. So far, she doesn’t seem to be any of what he’d been expecting.

And, well, he sure hadn’t been expecting her to be blond.

Jason smirks to himself as he follows Sheila into the warehouse where she’d said they’d be able to talk, really talk.

“Sure is dark in here,” Jason notes, squinting into the shadows. The only light comes from the open doorway behind him as he walks further in amongst the boxes.

“Sure is dark,” Sheila says quietly from somewhere behind him.

Then there’s footsteps, and the creak of hinges, and the light disappears.

“Sheila?” Jason asks, but her voice hadn’t come from that far behind him. How had she made it to the door that quickly? Unless…

“Not quite,” a different voice says, a voice filled with glee, a voice Jason knows and not in a good way.

Jason spins around as bright lights flare from everywhere. “Joker!”

“Ding ding ding, give the boy a prize!” Joker says, clapping his hands.

Jason’s already in a fighting stance, feet steady and fists clenched.

Sheila, on the other hand, is very much not in a fighting stance. She stands between Jason and the Joker, looking back and forth. She seems a little scared, which makes sense.

But she doesn’t seem surprised.

A stone drops heavily into Jason’s stomach. “Sheila?”

“Sorry, kid,” Sheila says, and to her credit, she does sound a little sorry, just a little. “But I don’t even know whatever you got named after I left you. I don’t know you, and you don’t know me, and you offered to get to know each other, but a better offer came along. So I took it.”

Jason feels his fists clench even tighter.

“Now, isn’t this interesting?” Joker says, and he’s twirling a little pistol around one finger. “A little family reunion, but not so united, hmm? You’d think spending time with family would make a person happy. You’d think it’d make them want to laugh!”

“I’m not hearing anybody laughing,” Jason says flatly.

Joker grabs the pistol with his other hand. He points it at Sheila and says lowly, “You know, neither am I. So let’s laugh.”

“Joker!” Sheila says sharply, and now she seems way more scared. “That wasn’t in the plan!”

“You know what also wasn’t in the plan?” Joker says. “You weren’t! Not in the real plan, anyway, ha ha!”

Sheila cries out, but it’s in fear, not in pain. Joker hasn’t pulled the trigger yet. 

“If she wasn’t in the plan, then let her go,” Jason says, slowly edging forward while Joker’s eyes are on Sheila.

“Mmm, no,” Joker says, pistol still locked on Sheila but eyes locked on Jason. “Not yet, at least. Not until we’re ready. Not until you’re ready.”

Jason considers that, and the stone in his stomach weighs more and more with each moment. Finally, he says, “What do I have to do to be ready?”

“Miss Haywood, if you would be a dear?” Joker says, tilting his head toward one corner of the warehouse. 

Jason tilts his head too, but he can’t quite see what’s behind the crates over there.

Sheila slowly backs toward the corner and scoops something off the floor, then comes forward again, Joker’s gun never wavering from pointing at her head. She’s holding a bundle of ropes.

“Go on,” Joker says.

“Sorry, kid,” Sheila says again, and she sounds like she fully means it this time. But she still steps up to Jason and starts looping and fastening the rope around him.

At a loss at what else to do when Joker’s gun is still pointedly facing Sheila’s forehead, Jason lets Sheila tie him up. After a few moments, he’s tied up from head to toe, and Sheila starts backing away again.

“Very nice, very nice,” Joker says. “All right, Miss Haywood. Your job here is done.”

Sheila freezes in front of a crate, staring at the pistol.

“Say goodbye,” Joker says teasingly, and he pulls the trigger.

Jason screams.

Sheila screams louder and throws her hands up over her face.

Both of their screams peter out gradually.

Slowly, Sheila lowers her hands from her face. 

The bullet ended up in the crate behind her, Jason realizes with a rush of emotions, and if it was anybody but the Joker he’s facing, he would laugh out loud with relief.

“I said, say goodbye,” Joker repeats. He gestures with the pistol toward the door to the warehouse. “Go on. Say it and go.”

“Goodbye,” Sheila manages to blurt, then sprints toward the door, never looking back.

Joker watches her go with a happy little sigh.

Jason watches too until she’s out of sight, but surreptitiously tests the ropes all the while. They’re tied so securely, he bets it would take him hours to escape.

It would probably take Batman or Nightwing only a couple of minutes, though. The thought twinges in Jason’s chest with desire. He wishes Bruce was here. He wishes Dick was here. He wishes he’d never thought of this bad idea. He wishes he wasn’t alone with the Joker.

Joker turns from the warehouse door and leers at Jason. “Well, well. Alone at last. Or maybe not so alone?”

Jason stares Joker down, trying his best not to give away the confusion that last statement caused him.

Joker laughs as he walks up to Jason. “Oh, poor boy, so confused.”

Well, so much for Jason’s best.

“Don’t worry,” Joker says, falsely soothing. “You won’t be a confused you for long. Then you won’t be you for long, because you won’t be at all! Ha ha, here comes the end for Robin!”

As if it didn’t feel heavy enough already, the stone in Jason’s stomach now feels like it weighs about a million tons. The end. Joker is planning to kill him.

“Oh yes, poor boy,” Joker says, and he strokes Jason’s cheek with one finger.

As quickly as he can, Jason turns his head and snaps his teeth at Joker’s finger.

Joker dances away, still laughing. “But not yet, not just yet. First, there’s a lesson to be taught, and you’re going to help me teach it to him, and he’s going to help me teach it to you.”

Confusion and fear clash in Jason’s head. Joker keeps acting like there’s someone else here, saying “not so alone” and “to him” and “he’s going to” and those things. But it’s just Jason and the Joker.

Having stepped away, Joker opens one of the numerous boxes littering the warehouse. He rummages in it for a moment, then pulls out-

A bomb. Jason wonders, maybe a bit morbidly, is an explosion the “he” that’ll teach Jason a lesson?

Joker fiddles with the bomb and sets it on another nearby box. He stares at it for a moment, then nods decisively. “Good. All right, Robin’s end is here. You know what that means, don’t you? It means it doesn’t matter if he sees you, JJ!”

JJ? Jason mouths the initials with a mix of curiosity and terror.

For a moment, nothing else happens.

Then Joker gives a huge, annoyed huff. “JJ! That’s your cue, son! See, this is why you need to learn a lesson, you don’t listen to your father when he tries to teach you how to be good. Now come on out, Joker Junior!”

Chapter Text

He doesn't want to be here. He doesn't, he doesn't, he doesn't want it. He doesn't want to be anywhere. He wants to be nowhere, if he wants anything at all.

Cowering and trembling behind the crates in the far corner, he knows what's coming. Father is finishing talking to Sheila Haywood and to Robin, and that means it's almost time for his cue. It makes him feel sick, his head throbbing, his chest aching, his stomach pulsing with pain. He doesn't want this. He doesn't want this so very much, as much as he's ever not-wanted anything.

The shot of a pistol rings out, and twin screams echo after.

He hates it, he hates it so much! The knowledge of what comes next scares him deeply, knowing it cuts him to the core, and not just knowing what comes next for him, but what comes next for Robin.

Robin. The brightest thing that exists for him. The closest thing he has to joy. The greatest moments he gets. Batman and his Robins are the best thing that could ever happen to Gotham, and the best thing that ever happened to him, even if they don't know he exists, even if they don't know he's stranded every time Father goes to Arkham, even if they don't know he's tormented and tortured all the time when Father is out of Arkham. They're the best thing that could ever exist. Jason Todd and Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne are the names he holds closest to his heart. Batman and his Robins are what he lives for. And now Robin is going to die.

If he was alone, he'd moan in fear.

But if he was alone, he wouldn't be here, waiting to help Father kill Robin.

He really does almost moan with fear at that thought. He bites down on his tongue instead, bites until it bleeds, bites until the pain makes him want to laugh rather than moan or cry or call out or be bad. He doesn't laugh, though. Instead, he listens.

Sheila Haywood is gone. She's gone and she's safe. Good.

But soon Robin will be gone, not safe, not good, not alive.

He tugs at his own hair fiercely at that thought. There's nothing he can do about it, not now. He's already done all he can by sneaking out to put information where Harley would definitely get it. He's pretty sure she saw him a little bit, which works. Father explained it away, and Harley will be okay. Now Father will hurt him, teach him a lesson for being wrong wrong wrong and letting someone almost-sorta-kinda see him, but that's fine too. If it works out, Robin will go and be okay too.

But it doesn't look like it's going to work out. Batman isn't here. Batman was supposed to be here, and Batman isn't here.

He tugs harder at his hair, hoping Batman is on his way, hoping, hoping, hoping. He hopes all the time. It almost never helps. He hopes to be Timothy for a little bit when being JJ is too hard, and when being Timothy is too hard, he hopes to be JJ for a little bit, even when usually, that hope isn't granted any time soon. He hopes to help someone instead of hurting them for once. He hopes for a break from Father's brutality. He hopes and he hopes and he hopes. He hopes Batman is almost there.

But then, instead of Batman coming, it comes. His cue. Father yells to him.

And he freezes.

No. No, no, no! He needs to be right-wrong, he needs to behave, he needs to obey! He can't mess this up!

But he also needs to buy time for Batman to come. He needs to stall and make Batman have time to get there, and Batman will rescue Robin, and Batman will capture Father, and maybe Father will be put in Arkham forever, and maybe…

Maybe. Just maybe. Maybe he himself will be put nowhere forever. He would like that, he thinks, he would like that most of all. No more people in danger and getting hurt, no more carefully obeying Father, no more pain, no more sorrow, no more fear, no more anything. Just nothing. Batman is a good person, right in the rightest-right ways, always helping other people. Maybe Batman will help him like that when he gets here.

But Batman isn't here, and now Father is annoyed and angry and getting angrier and calling for JJ to come out.

And he can't disobey, he can't, he doesn't know how, he can't!

And so he makes himself be JJ, and out he comes.

As he walks forward from behind the crates, he fixes his eyes on Father, doing what he's supposed to do, being exactly the right kind of right-wrong.

But then Robin makes a gasping, choking sound.

And JJ can't help himself. He peeks away from Father.

Robin looks wrong. Robin's all tied up in ropes, not running around like he normally is, and Robin's all silent and still, not chattering and teasing like he normally is, and Father's bomb is working and isn't that far away, not like the traps usually get broken, and Robin is in danger!

And Father is talking and telling JJ what to do to help.

JJ wants to help. But he doesn't know who to help. He's torn, frozen, staring at Robin and Robin stares back, frozen too and clearly horrified.

JJ would be horrified too. Even if the bomb and the ropes and the absolutely everything wasn't here, JJ knows what he looks like. He knows he's horrific. He knows he's right-wrong, and he knows that people don't like right-wrong, not like Father does. JJ knows all people would hate him if any of them ever met him, and it looks like that's right, because it looks like Robin hates JJ too.

JJ swallows back another moan of fear and sorrow and pain, and he moves to do as Father tells him to do.

Chapter Text

Jason is already horrified enough by the Joker, by the threats to Sheila and by the threats to Jason himself and by the actual bomb Joker had been playing around with. Jason is horrified enough by all of that, and he doesn't need things to get worse.

But this is the Joker, so of course things get worse, and worse, and more worse, and now Jason is more horrified than ever.

Because when the Joker calls out for "JJ," out comes…

Jason chokes on his next breath.

…Out comes a kid, looking just like the Joker. But it's not just a costume. Jason can tell. He isn't Robin for nothing, he's a detective, and he's a good detective at that. It's not just a costume. It's who the kid is.

The kid walks the same way Joker does, a mix between a stagger and a dance step. The kid wears the same clothes Joker does, clearly made of the same materials. The kid's face… Well, the less said about the gruesome scars etched along the kid's cheeks, the better. And Jason would bet that, if the kid were to laugh, he'd sound just like Joker does.

There's only two differences Jason can tell between the kid version of Joker and the Joker himself. The first is obvious: uneven heights.

The second difference isn't obvious right away. Jason only sees it when Joker orders the kid, who he calls JJ, to grab "a little something."

Joker is clearly elated to be here, having the time of his life, basically enjoying every moment. On the other hand, the kid, JJ, just looks terrified.

JJ returns from one of the boxes by the warehouse wall with some long, thin thing, all wrapped up in newspapers and balanced in his hands. He offers it silently to Joker.

Unwrapping the thing, Joker sighs and brandishes the thing, which looks to be a plastic broom handle. "Really, boy? You think this is what I wanted?"

JJ winces, a full-body movement.

"You want something done right, you've got to do it yourself, wouldn't you say?" Joker says, turning toward Jason.

"More like if you want something done right, don't involve guys who dress up like playing cards," Jason says. It's not his best taunt, and he knows it, okay? But he's thrown off-balance a little, or maybe a lot, by the kid.

Joker shakes his head and heads over to the boxes by the wall, coming back while steadily unwrapping something else. From under the newspapers, something metallic emerges: a crowbar, Jason thinks, but why a crowbar?

The Joker gives the crowbar a few swings through the air. "Now. Let's see if we can get a good lesson going here, hmm?"

"Lesson" isn't the word Jason would use for it. It really isn't the word Jason would use at all. He'd be more likely to call it torture, that is, if he could get the breath to speak between screams and sobs.

Joker pauses for a moment, tracing the crowbar along Jason's throbbing leg then lifting it away. "You see, JJ? This is how lessons are meant to be received. You need to be just right for me, or we'll do this sort of thing again with you."

Jason cracks his eyes open. He doesn't know when he shut them, probably around the time he started crying, tears dribbling along his face and dripping into his mouth. But he opens them, just in time to see JJ nodding slowly.

"I don't like to punish you," Joker says from somewhere off to the right of where Jason is splayed across the ground. "You know that, don't you, JJ? But I'm a good father, so it's necessary for me to instill some discipline now and then. I need to punish you, so you can be a good son."

JJ nods slowly again.

"Now," Joker says, and he steps into Jason's vision. Joker's smiling as he crouches down, because of course he is. "Other people are not such good fathers. Like Batman. So they end up with bad sons. Heh. Bad sons, more like Bat-sons, more like bad all the way through. Maybe his son wouldn't have ended up here if Batman wasn't such a bad father."

Jason spits in the Joker's face.

A mix of blood, spit, and probably some tears splatters along Joker's nose and chin, starting to ooze downwards. Joker looks completely taken aback, an expression of confusion and dismay on his face. It's not a common expression for Joker; really, it's the opposite of common.

And maybe that's what does it. Maybe it's that the Joker's expression is so out of the ordinary. Maybe it's that Jason's actions are genuinely amusing. Maybe it's that JJ just doesn't know what else to do.

Whatever the reason he does it, JJ lets out a laugh.

It doesn't sound like the Joker. That's what startles Jason the most. It sounds like a kid, a real kid, just some boy out at a playground or in a classroom or at a kitchen table or in a cozy bedroom. It doesn't sound like the Joker at all.

Joker is very still for a moment.

JJ is just as still as soon as his laughter dies out. He's frozen, jaw still hanging open, eyes wide and panicked.

"If that's how you feel," Joker says, deadly quiet. He wipes his face off on his sleeve. He stands. He pivots. He drops the crowbar. He walks right up to JJ and takes a hold of JJ's shoulders, and he lifts JJ off of the floor.

Jason makes a sound of protest that comes out as a half-gurgled "Hey!"

JJ makes no sound at all as Joker forcefully moves him around, crumpling under the weight of Joker's hands.

Once JJ is little more than a trembling ball of limbs, Joker carries him over to the farthest part of the warehouse.

Despite the pain, Jason strains to watch.

Joker stuffs JJ into one of the boxes there at the edge of the warehouse, into a wooden crate with "fragile" stamped in bright red across the side. Then Joker picks up an equally wooden lid and crams it down on top of the crate.

A sound reaches Jason's ears. It's muffled. It's coming from the crate. It's laughter.

"It's too late to apologize," Joker says in the vague direction of the crate. "If you wanted to do it right, you should've done it right the first time."

The crate keeps laughing, no, JJ keeps laughing. It's scratchy and frenzied and unhinged, and this time, it sounds like the Joker.

"You'll learn your lesson," Joker says, sounding almost bored. "You're the right distance to survive the bomb. Just barely, of course, but you'll survive."

The laughter shifts and cracks, now interspersed with occasional sobs.

Joker gives the crate a solid kick. "Shut up and shape up, and maybe I'll come get you after the explosion and teach you who and what and how to be. At least, if Batman doesn't find you and put you right into Arkham."

The laughter and crying abruptly cut off.

Joker nods to himself. He hums tunelessly as he walks back up to Jason, then walks a little past Jason. Joker fiddles with the bomb for a moment, then sets it down. He glances down at Jason and raises his eyebrows in some sort of mock-acknowledgement.

Jason glares upward. It's not like he can do much else.

"Ta-ta for now," Joker says, backing away lazily as the ticking of the bomb fills the air. "Or, well, I suppose it's ta-ta forever in your case, hee hee!"

The moment the warehouse door slams shut, Jason tries to get up. Or sit up. Or even just do more than turn slightly sideways and flop back onto the ground with an aching thud. It's no use. The pain is too intense, the injuries are too severe, the ropes are too tight and too restricting, the only part of him that he can use in any reliable way being his voice.

"Help!" Jason calls out hoarsely, and something stabs at him from within his chest as he tries to yell. "Help! Somebody help!"

The laughter starts up again from the direction of the crate, this time with even more crying mixed in.

"It's okay," Jason says, putting as much certainty into his voice as he can muster. "Hey, kid. Hey! It's gonna be okay. We'll get out of this."

Now the laughter has all turned to crying. The sobs get quieter, then even quieter, then quieter still, until Jason has to make an effort to hear them, until Jason isn't sure they're even there, until Jason is certain they aren't there.

"It's gonna be okay," Jason says again, but he isn't as sure as he's trying to sound. His breathing is getting funny. The world seems to be flickering in and out. He's crying again, and his sobs sound a lot like JJ's sobs sounded just moments before. But he's holding on as best he can, and he repeats, "It's gonna be okay."

Chapter Text

He has to get there in time.

Bruce is screaming inside, fear and anger and sorrow, and he might actually be screaming on the outside too, he has no idea, because that doesn't matter.

He has to get there in time.

On his way there, he's already notified the Justice League, and they're working from the Watchtower to coordinate Superman and Wonder Woman to his location.

He has to get there in time.

They have to get there in time.

He has to get there in time.

Jason has to be okay.

When the warehouse comes into sight, Bruce tries to force more speed into the Batjet, but it's already about to burst into flames from overworking. He flies right to the warehouse and vaults out before the Batjet has even powered down fully. Bruce sprints to the door, flinging it open and hoping against hope he's made it in time.

"Jason!" The cry erupts from his throat, and Bruce falls to his knees beside his son.

His captured son. His tied son. His bloody, so very bloody son.

His crying son. Jason is crying, he's breathing on broken gasps of pain, faltering and heart-wrenchingly ragged. But he's breathing.

And that means there's time.

"Jason," Bruce croaks, relief flooding over him.

Jason continues to cry, but his eyes fly open. He rasps out a single word. "Bomb."

The flood of relief transforms into fear, and Bruce reassesses the situation. He had barely looked around the warehouse, only just long enough to find Jason, not aware of any danger, not aware of almost anything at all, only aware of his son, his son is alive. Now, he takes in the situation, Batman determined and sharp, and he hears the ticking of a bomb.

Bruce scrambles in the direction of the ticking on his hands and knees, not taking the time to get to his feet, not knowing if he has that kind of time. He reaches the bomb quickly, a haphazard-looking device, and he begins to fiddle with it, recognizing many of the parts from Joker's previous contraptions, disarming those and disengaging piece after piece.

By the time he's down to the core of the bomb, the ticks have gotten far louder. There's no timer on the front, no way of knowing how close he and his son are to annihilation. Bruce grits his teeth. He continues to work. Sweat beads up under his mask. He pries one part of the bomb open with his left hand and feels a fingernail split under his gauntlet with the force of the effort. His jaw aches from tension. Jason is still crying behind him. Jason's crying, he's sobbing, he's breathing, and that's all Bruce needs.

That's all Bruce hears.

The ticking has stopped. The bomb is disarmed. They're safe.

His son is safe.

Bruce tosses the last bomb parts aside and swivels around.

Jason is still crying, his chest heaving beneath his torn and bloodied uniform.

Flinging himself in Jason's direction, Bruce heaps himself in a pile at his son's side. "Jason, Jason, my boy, my son, Jay, Jason."

He's babbling as he unties Jason, ripping ropes apart and away from Jason, careless with the ties but careful, so careful, with his son, his living son, his son is alive, he hadn't known if it could still be true but his son is alive.

Jason is okay. Everything will be okay.

"Batman," Jason says weakly, still crying.

"It's okay," Bruce says.

"Dad," Jason says with more strength through the tears.

Bruce almost stops in his tracks, but he keeps pulling away the final ropes. Jason almost never calls him that. Jason is far more comfortable calling him "B" or "Bruce" or "Batman," and Bruce would never want to push him. The few times Bruce gets called that are treasures, stored safely in his heart alongside Dick's own "dad" moments and the times Alfred has called Bruce his son. This moment? This moment is a treasure and a curse wrapped into one.

"Wait," Jason says when the last rope is gone, the crying finally coming to an end. He tries to sit up.

Bruce eases him back to the ground and tries to pick him up.

Jason struggles. It's feeble, but he struggles, and he gasps again, "Wait."

Alarmed, Bruce pauses. "What?"

"There," Jason says, forcing himself into a half-crouch and pointing in a random direction. He starts to drag himself across the ground.

Bruce stops him with a cautious hand on the least-damaged part of his shoulder that Bruce can reach. "What?"

"There," Jason insists. "We have to-"

"We have to go," Bruce says. "You need medical help, you need-"

"I need to save him," Jason says, still trying to stumble-crawl forward, leaving a trail of half-dried blood in his wake. "We need to save him, Dad!"

Bruce is confused. He's so confused. He's confused and concerned and alarmed and overwhelmed, but-

Jason didn't seem to think Bruce trusted him. Jason felt that Bruce wasn't believing him with Garzonas. Jason was so hurt that he ran away. Jason almost died because he thought Bruce didn't trust him.

Bruce needs to show he trusts Jason, and if Jason says they need to save someone, then they need to save someone.

Chapter Text

Jason has to do this. He has to help.

But he can’t. He’s hurting and he’s wobbling and he’s barely staying conscious, barely moving forward. There’s no way he’s going to make it all the way to the crate in the corner, let alone be able to open it. He has to do this, he has to help, but he can’t.

He can’t, not on his own.

“Dad, help,” Jason says in a rasping wheeze, just a moment before his arms give out from under him.

Bruce catches him before he crashes to the ground. Measuredly, Bruce hefts Jason up, cradling him, so very careful of Jason’s injuries, the complete opposite of the forceful and uncaring way Joker had handled JJ.

Jason wants to cry again. He can’t, not yet, partly not when there’s work to be done, but mostly not when his body is so worn and overtaxed as-is. He doesn’t think he has a single tear left in him.

“What do you need me to do?” Bruce asks once Jason is fully in his arms.

“Over there,” Jason says, trying to point even though his hand doesn’t want to cooperate. “That crate, the ‘fragile’ one, with the crooked lid.”

Bruce carries Jason over to the crate.

The crate is silent. JJ is silent. Jason can’t see the kid yet, and he definitely can’t hear the kid. Jason hopes JJ is okay. Oh no, what if the reason the kid stopped crying is that he stopped breathing?!

“Open it!” Jason says as loud as he can, as urgent as he can, not that it ends up being very loud or urgent. So he says it again, starting to panic. “Open it!”

Bruce hesitates.

Then Jason realizes what the issue is. Bruce isn’t sure he can open the crate without shifting Jason around too much. Even now, Bruce is so worried about Jason. It’d be nice and touching and all that if it wasn’t totally the opposite of what Jason needs at the moment. “Put me down and open it!”

Gingerly, Bruce settles Jason on the ground, kneeling to adjust his position and-

And it’s taking too long.

“Open it!” Jason nearly shrieks, his chest stabbing with pain along with his panicked thoughts. What if they did take too long? What if, what if, what if?

Bruce lets Jason be and stands back up. His hands dart along the sides of the crate’s lid for a moment, finding handholds and checking to see if it’s nailed down, and then he pulls the lid up and away.

Bruce stares down into the crate.

Jason doesn’t stare. He can’t see from his angle. All he can see is Bruce, and Bruce looks horrified.

Even Bruce probably can’t see all of the crate’s contents, Jason tells himself, trying to reassure himself that JJ is still okay in there, trying to let there still be a chance. It’s shadowy in the warehouse. But despite the shadows, Bruce is clearly alarmed by the crate’s contents, and that means-

Jason doesn’t know what that means.

“Help him!” Jason cries out.

Slowly, carefully, Bruce reaches into the crate with both hands. His hands come back out bearing the child-sized imitation of the Joker. When JJ is mostly within the light, Bruce’s hands and arms tremble visibly, almost like he’s going to drop the kid. 

It’s not from the kid’s weight. It can’t be. The kid doesn’t look like he weighs half of Jason’s weight, and Bruce carries full-grown men all the time as Batman. It’s not from how much the kid weighs physically. It has to be how the kid is weighing on Bruce mentally and emotionally, how the kid looks.

And JJ looks dead. He is perfectly still, limp and half-dangling, like some kind of toy instead of a person.

Jason’s heart skips a beat in alarm. JJ has to be okay. The kid has to be!

And he is okay. 

Well, he’s alive, at least. “Okay” is probably saying too much for a kid who’s evidently been raised by the Joker as some sort of apprentice.

As Jason watches, the kid’s chest moves out, just a tiny bit. Then it moves in, just a tiny bit. Out and in, out and in, the kid is breathing, shallowly, but he’s breathing. He’s alive.

“I told you,” Jason says, really almost sobs, in his relief. JJ is alive. Jason is alive. Bruce is here, and everything is going to be okay. “I told you everything would be okay. Everything’s okay, it’s all good, because now he’s here, Batman is here.”

JJ’s body shudders at that, and his mouth falls open and his chest heaves and his head lurches forward, almost like he’s going to throw up.

But he doesn’t throw up.

Instead, he bursts out with a laugh. Scratchy, frenzied, and unhinged again, his laugh sounds like the Joker, just like the Joker, if not worse, if not infinitely scarier and terrible in a totally different way.

And unfortunately, even though Jason can’t entirely blame him, Bruce really does drop the kid at that.

Chapter Text

The terrifying laughter continues, even as the one laughing crumples on the ground.

Bruce is… Bruce can't…

"B!" Jason says in clear outrage. He starts to try to stand, but his battered limbs collapse and he keels over sideways instead like he's going to pass out.

Dropping quickly to his knees, Bruce catches Jason and steadies him automatically.

"You can't-" Jason begins, voice cracking, then he stops, panting pained breaths.

"It's okay," Bruce says, feeling like he's never been less okay. The laughter keeps coming from beside him, the crumpled figure on the ground twitching slightly, as Bruce repeats to Jason, "It's okay."

"That's what I said!" Jason wheezes out. "That's what I told him!"

"Him," evidently, because there's no one else around, is a small version of none other than the Joker.

Bruce is at such a loss. He kneels there uncertainly for several seconds until a beeping noise splits the air through the sound of deranged laughter, the latter of cutting off at the sound of his communicator. His communicator!

Grabbing the communicator, Bruce answers the call.

"Batman! Robin-"

"Is okay," Bruce says, trying to sound professional when he feels anything but that. "I arrived in time. Joker has left, and Robin will be okay. Have Superman and Wonder Woman been reached?"

"They're finally getting to your location. Arrival estimated in under thirty seconds."

"Good. I'll brief them when they arrive. Batman out," Bruce says, making the call as short as possible. He ends the call and looks down at Jason.

Jason's eyes are clenched closed, but he's breathing. "B?"

"Robin," Bruce says after several moments of feeling his own breathing catch. "Jason."

"You gotta-" Jason tries, but he cuts himself off, shaking his head. "Hurts. I can't. You. You gotta."

"What?" Bruce asks urgently.

"Save him," Jason says, flinging a hand outward toward the miniature Joker.

"Okay," Bruce says. He doesn't know what else to say.

That's when the air shifts and, in a blur, Superman and Wonder Woman arrive in the warehouse.

"Batman," Superman says, sounding just as alarmed as he and Wonder Woman both look. "What-"

"Robin needs immediate medical attention," Bruce says, trying to keep himself calm and clear. "Take him to the Watchtower."

"No!" Jason cries out.

Superman looks back at Bruce.

"You need help," Bruce says firmly. "Superman, bring him to the Watchtower."

"I can't go," Jason says, trying to sound firm but breathing erratically.

Superman kneels on Jason's other side and puts out his arms. "I'm sure Batman has everything handled, okay? Let's get you some help."

"But I-" Jason begins.

Superman gently scoops Jason into his arms and stands back up.

Jason's speech cuts off. His eyes roll back, and his whole body goes slack.

Bruce's heart leaps into his throat. Jason probably finally passed out from all the pain and exertion, that's probably all it is, but what if-

"He's alive," Superman says before Bruce can even ask for Superman to check Jason's heartbeat. To be fair, Superman probably was checking Bruce's own heartbeat to know to say that. "He's clearly in a lot of pain, and it's going to take time for him to heal, but he'll be all right."

Bruce nods. That's basically all he can do.

"What about…" Superman says, voice trailing off as he tilts his head meaningfully toward the smaller version of the Joker.

Bruce considers the figure on the ground warily. He considers asking Wonder Woman for her lasso to get some answers. He even considers, however briefly, asking the Justice League for an assisted immediate transfer to Arkham Asylum, but he also promptly feels bad about it. The figure is clearly some kind of victim if Jason wants to save him, even without taking into account the figure's small stature and striking scars.

"I'll take care of it," Bruce says eventually.

Superman shifts from foot to foot uneasily.

"Understood," Wonder Woman says after a long pause. "Let's go get Robin some assistance. Superman?"

Superman nods to both of them and turns so that Wonder Woman can get on his back with Jason currently occupying his arms. Wonder Woman nods to Bruce and grabs onto Superman, and in a moment, Wonder Woman, Superman, and Jason are all gone.

Bruce lets his heart calm for a moment, knowing Jason is in good hands. Then he turns on his knees toward the person remaining on the ground. Bruce examines the crumpled figure, trying to ignore how his heart quickly speeds up back again.

The miniature Joker is lopsided on the ground. That's Bruce's own fault, he supposes, guilt spiking through him at the reminder that he was so startled and overwhelmed by the sound of Joker laughter that he dropped a probable victim. Still. The miniature Joker hasn't moved, hasn't adjusted his crooked posture and position in any way. It's… Unsettling.

"Hey there," Bruce says, trying to sound gentle.

The miniature Joker's whole body heaves with a massive shiver.

"I don't believe we've met," Bruce says. That's likely a foolish thing to say, but Bruce feels entirely out of his depth here, and he finds himself falling back more on Alfred's manners lessons than anything he's learned as Batman. "I'm Batman."

The figure's body heaves again, and his mouth falls open, spilling out that horrific laughter again.

Bruce valiantly attempts not to wince backward. He even mostly succeeds. "It's okay. I'm here. What's your name?"

The miniature Joker keeps laughing, laughing, laughing. It sounds just like the real Joker, a perfect replica, not even close to the broken but still individualized way people on Joker venom laugh.

Oh. That's a possible solution.

"It's okay," Bruce says, grabbing at his utility belt and rummaging through the compartments as fast as he can. "Everything's going to be okay. I'm going to give you something to help you, okay?"

The miniature Joker laughs and laughs, the sound screeching through the air and sending shudders down Bruce's spine.

Finally, feeling like it took an hour but really only taking maybe ten seconds, Bruce pulls out a bottle of the most recent Joker venom antidote. He speedily preps a syringe with a concentrated dose, taking into account both the small size and the violent laughter of the figure to choose how much to inject.

"It's going to pinch a little, okay?" Bruce warns, gingerly inching closer to the figure on the ground.

The small Joker just keeps on laughing, the sound cracking every now and then in what sounds less like a laugh and more like an eerie gasp or maybe a sob.

Carefully, although not entirely sure for whose sake he's being careful, Bruce eases one hand under the miniature Joker's arm and lifts it up, turning it slightly for better access. Bruce readies the syringe and injects the antidote.

The moment the plunger on the syringe begins to press down, the small figure gives a loud scream. Hopefully that's a good sign? Bruce has no idea. Usually the antidote makes venom victims go silent. At least the miniature Joker isn't laughing anymore? Bruce keeps injecting the antidote until it's gone.

When Bruce pulls the syringe away, the figure goes limp. The scream cuts off.

Bruce has just enough time in the silence to think a relieved "oh, good."

Then the figure begins to spasm, shaking and quaking, whimpering and wailing in pain. With one last violent tremble, the figure goes very still and silent, eyes closed, limbs slack.

Oh, not good.

Uncertain of what's happening, Bruce rapidly checks for breathing and a pulse. Both are present but weak and inconsistent.

When Bruce's hand pulls back from checking for the pulse at the figure's neck and jaw, the figure on the ground whimpers more and tries to chase Bruce's hand with his head, tilting closer to Bruce.

Bruce feels like… How might Jason put it? A total heel.

Carefully, Bruce puts his hand back against the small figure's neck and jaw.

The figure whimpers still, but leans into the soft touch.

Bruce puts his other hand on the figure's opposite cheek.

The small figure fully keens, the noise filled with pain but hinting at the barest bit of what sounds like hope.

Bruce gathers up the tiny body and pulls him close.

There's no other word for it. The figure snuggles into the touch. The small figure almost relaxes, still whimpering in what sounds like absolute agony. The little body shakes now and then, but the small boy presses into Bruce with all his strength and will, however tenuous that might be.

Yeah.

Bruce is in for it now.

Chapter Text

He's awake again. Well, that kind of suggests he wasn't awake before. He might have been, or he might not have been, it's hard to say. The entire experience is blurry, viewed through a haze at best and unable to be remembered at worst. So maybe he's awake again, or maybe he's still awake. But before, he wasn't really aware.

Now, he's aware again, at least partially.

Opening his eyes, although not sure when they had closed, he stares up at the ceiling of an unknown room. The ceiling is plain, a bit metallic, rather nondescript. The walls, when he slides his eyes to one side and then the other, are equally nondescript.

He blinks at the ceiling and at the walls. They seem to fade in and out of focus for a while, for how long, he's not certain.

Gradually, he becomes more aware. The ceiling and the walls sharpen into detail, boring detail, but detail to be sure. The blanket over him is now noticeable. It's soft, on the heavy side. The sheet under him is soft too. Sounds begin to filter in alongside the sights and the textures: the quiet hum of some kind of air system, the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears, and the measured pacing of steady footsteps, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

Batman told Superman to take Robin to the Watchtower. He remembers that. He doesn't remember Batman saying that they were going to the Watchtower too, but that's almost certainly what's happened.

He's on the Watchtower.

He's captured by the Justice League.

He's away from Father.

A rush of emotions threaten to break through, but he forces them down and away. He can't let himself feel. He doesn't have that luxury, not unless he's completely alone, and usually not even then. He can't feel.

Instead, he plans.

There are two options available. He has JJ and he has Timothy. He can be JJ and try to please and do his best to be right-wrong, or he can be Timothy and try to blend in and do his best to seem right-right. Neither would be what Father would want, because Father wouldn't want him to be here at all. So he has two options, and neither one is good.

He tries to sit up to think better, to consider his options, pushing against the soft sheets with his hands. But his arms tremble, and his body aches, and he can barely move. The thing Batman gave him, which he assumes is a version of the antidote Batman uses to help against Joker venom, must still be having an effect.

It's not enough of an effect, though. The thought of Batman trying to "help" him wriggles in his chest, and his breathing catches in his throat, and his mouth opens, and peals of laughter start to spill out of him. He hates the laughter, he loves the laughter, he hates-loves-hates-loves the laughter, the laughter is in him and around him and out-out-out of him, and he doesn't know what to do.

The laughter keeps spilling out of him. It covers the sound of the air system's hum. It covers the sound of his heartbeat in his ears.

It doesn't cover the sound of the steady footsteps changing.

The footsteps go unsteady in their pacing. Then they pause. They shuffle a little, then they come closer, closer, closer-

With all his might and willpower, he grabs the blanket over him and flings it over his head. It probably doesn't stifle the sound of the laughter coming out of him toward the world, but it stifles the world coming toward him, just for a moment, just for a few moments.

"Oh," a voice mutters from somewhere above him and off to the side. "Yeah. Okay. Let's… Let's deal with this."

He laughs and he laughs and he laughs. He doesn't know what else to do. He doesn't know if there even is anything else he can do. The laughter grows, it bursts out and it grows, the laughter spills and bursts and grows, and it hurts. The laughter hurts. It makes him want to cry. He can't cry, but it hurts and he wants to cry.

The voice mutters something else, but he doesn't know what it is. He's too busy trying to hold back and away from crying, to control himself, to contain himself, to keep himself to himself, to be exactly what he needs to be.

"Batman!" The voice says loudly enough that it's audible through the laughter still growing from him. "Batman can deal with this!"

Batman isn't supposed to know about him. Batman's supposed to be focused on the Joker. Batman isn't supposed to know there's even the idea of a Joker Junior.

He keeps laughing, always laughing, always sounding just like Father and laughing and laughing and laughing, but now he does start to cry too.

Chapter Text

Bruce doesn't know what to expect. He's been told that the boy is fully awake and laughing again, but that's all he knows. He doesn't know the boy's history, how he came to be held captive by the Joker, or how he came to look and sound and act like the Joker. He doesn't know what he'll be able to do for the boy, since the antidote sounds like it didn't have the effect it was supposed to have. He doesn't even know the boy's name.

All he knows, coming through the door of the medical room, is that the boy needs help.

The boy is fully under the blankets on the medical bed. He can't be seen, but he can certainly be heard: the laughter cracks through the air, a horrifying sound. Equally horrifying, if not worse, is when the laughter stops for a moment and a barely-audible crying can be heard.

Bruce's heart aches for the boy. He closes the door to the medical room behind himself and steps forward to the bedside. Clearly and a little loudly, trying to be heard over the laughing that's started up again, Bruce says, "Hey there."

The laughter peaks in a shriek and then goes promptly silent.

Bruce winces. The silence is almost as eerie as the laughter and the crying. Still, he's Batman. He can't let uneasiness get in the way of helping someone. So he soldiers on. "This is Batman. How are you doing in there?"

The silence stretches on, moment after moment. Then the kid starts to cry in earnest, weeping and weeping to the point that the blanket shudders over him.

Logically, Bruce knows it might be the best idea to give the kid space and time when he has no idea what the boy has been through or how to handle that.

Emotionally and physically, however, he's already sitting in a chair waiting at the edge of the bed and reaching out to the boy.

With a slow, gentle carefulness, Bruce puts one hand on the blanket, near the top where the boy's head probably is, but off to the side. He pats the blanket repetitively, slowly moving his hand closer to the top of the bed with each pat.

The crying continues, but it quiets a little, hopefully out of curiosity or comfortability and not out of fear or discomfort, but Bruce can't be certain.

Once Bruce's hand is all the way up the bed, he grasps the edge of the blanket, right between where the two fisted lumps of blanket are being held in the boy's hands from underneath. He waits a moment.

"May I take a look at you?" Bruce asks after a pause.

The boy just sobs. He doesn't say yes, but he doesn't say no, either.

Bruce takes the chance in the hope of making the kid feel a little better. Gently, he tugs the blanket down and away.

Two pale little hands are revealed, then two skinny arms. Tugging and tugging, the blanket continues to go down and away, and more is revealed: a head of green hair, a pair of eyes squeezed shut, a set of scars stretching up from a quivering and whimpering pair of lips.

Bruce sets down the blanket when he can see the boy's whole face, tucking the blanket slightly around the boy's thin shoulders. "There you are."

The boy lets out one more sob and goes silent.

"Hey," Bruce says. "It's all right. It's all going to be all right. It seems like everything's been really hard for you, hasn't it?"

The boy shivers, but after a moment, he does give a tiny nod.

Bruce hums sympathetically. "Yeah. I'm sorry it's been so hard."

Another sob wracks the boy's frame, and then a peal of laughter pops out.

"Hey, hey," Bruce says, trying to sound as comforting as possible. "It's all right, kiddo. I've got you."

That, apparently, is the wrong thing to say.

The boy's eyes fly open in clear panic. His jaw drops, and he wheezes out several bits of laughter. In between gagging on his own laughter, the boy whispers something.

"What was that?" Bruce says over the continued laughter.

The boy shakes his head frantically and clamps both hands over his own mouth. The laughter keeps going, muffled now, but keeping going.

"It's going to be all right," Bruce says, thinking hard. What had helped when he'd first found the kid? What had gone well, or at least decently?

Oh. Right.

Gingerly, Bruce puts both hands out toward the boy's face, intending to stroke his face soothingly.

As soon as Bruce moves forward, the kid flinches away, still trying to cover his mouth and his laughter.

Bruce pauses. He reconsiders. He reaches out again, but this time toward the boy's shoulders. He puts one hand on each side and rubs his fingers over the boy's shoulders.

The laughter slowly gives way to a long moan. The boy slumps into the touch and goes blissfully quiet.

Bruce keeps rubbing the boy's shoulders. He can feel every bone and bit of joint there clearly. It's not pleasant for Bruce, but the boy seems to be taking some comfort from it, so he keeps going.

They sit there for several minutes. Bruce slowly works his way from the boy's shoulders up the boy's neck, eventually stopping with the boy's face cradled in his hands.

The boy gives a little sigh when Bruce stops. The boy's eyes are closed again, and his lips slacken.

"Hey," Bruce dares to say after a few moments of silence and stillness. "How are you doing now?"

The kid pauses, then he cracks his mouth open enough to whisper, "Thank you."

"Thank you for letting me get close," Bruce says, taking a wild guess that not many people have thanked the boy recently, and that not many people have been close enough to touch in a way that helped or was good for the boy recently either.

By the little shiver and the way the boy presses slightly into Bruce's hands, Bruce is pretty sure his wild guess is accurate. How long has the Joker had this poor boy?

"I'd like to get to know you a little," Bruce says.

The boy tenses up again.

"Not like that," Bruce says, not knowing what the boy is thinking but trying to stop that line of thought before the laughter or the crying comes back.

The boy stays tense, but he doesn't make a sound.

"I'd like to learn about you so I can help you," Bruce says. "Do you know… Do you have any family left?"

The boy is quiet and tense for another long moment.

"If you know of any family, I could help you get back to them," Batman says, trying to figure out what to say next.

The boy gives a quiet whimper. "I can't."

"You can't?" Bruce asks. "You can't tell me, or you can't know?"

"I can't go back," the boy says.

Bruce rolls that sentence around in his head. Already somewhat sure of the answer and trying to avoid harsh words like "murder," he asks as gently as he can, "Was it the Joker? Did he take them away from you?"

The boy shakes his head.

Hmmm. Well, that's a bit of a surprise, but not unheard of. Bruce tries again. "Did the Joker threaten your family if you tried to get back to them? If he did, I can help find protection for you and for them."

"It's not like that," the boy says after a pause.

"What is it like, then?" Bruce asks.

"It's… Look at me," the boy says, opening his eyes but looking down toward his hands rather than up at Bruce. "Do you see me?"

"I do see you," Bruce says, thinking through his next words carefully. "I see a boy who's been through some very hard times. I see a boy who's been very hurt. And I see a boy who I'm sure his family desperately wants to have back."

The boy nods slowly. "My father would want me back."

"Good," Bruce says. "Can you tell me how I can get you back to him?"

"I can't," the kid says, then he covers his mouth with both hands, muffled laughter spilling out again.

"Hey, hey, it's all right," Bruce says, taking a few guesses. "You said he'd want you back. I know he'll still want you. Parents don't abandon their kids just because they've been hurt or they've done something 'wrong.'"

"But he did," the kid says quietly. "Father abandoned me. He put me in the crate, and he left me in the warehouse, and he said he wasn't coming back until I'd learned my lesson, and I, I don't want to learn my lesson, I didn't want to help kill Robin, and that's wrong, he says that's wrong, I know I'm wrong, and I don't want to be wrong, but not like that, not that kind of wrong, and, and-"

A pit settles in Bruce's stomach. If he's understanding this right… "Who is your father?"

"The Joker," the kid whispers. "And… And I know he's bad. I know he does bad things. I helped him do some of them. And I know it's wrong, it's really the real wrong, and I don't want to do bad things anymore, I don't, I don't want to. Please. Please don't let me. Please don't make me."

Bruce doesn't-

Bruce just wants to-

Bruce can't-

"Please kill me," the kid says with a surge of passion, finally looking up at Bruce. "Please kill me, or put me in Arkham Asylum, or, or, or something. I don't want to be bad. I'd rather be dead or in Arkham than back with Father. Please."

Chapter Text

Something is holding Jason's hand.

Irritated, Jason tries to shift away. The thing only holds on tighter. It wraps around his hand, almost like… Another hand? Yeah. So, apparently someone is holding Jason's hand.

Jason scrunches up his nose, thinking hard. The thoughts come, but only with a lot of effort, between the blurriness of his brain and the annoying beeping of something nearby. Why would someone be holding his hand while he's sleeping?

Except, he's not sleeping. He's definitely not sleeping.

It all comes back to him in a rush, and Jason's eyes fly open. Well, they try to. Really, they sluggishly pry open. Jason peers around the room, but he doesn't see much more than what looks vaguely like a hospital room before-

Bruce. Bruce is leaning into Jason's vision. Bruce is holding Jason's hand. Bruce is looking just as concerned and relieved as Jason has ever seen him. Bruce is here.

Bruce is not with that kid.

Jason tries to say something. His mouth is dry, his throat aching with the effort. Everything aches. His nose especially aches. Ow, did they have to give him oxygen through a nose line or something? Or did they have one of those tubes up his nose and down his stomach to feed him? That's gross. Worse, that means he's been out for a long time, longer than he should've been, and for however long it's been, that kid has to have been in need.

Jason tries again to say something. A rasping moan comes out.

"Hey, hey," Bruce says quietly. "It's all right. You're safe. You're-"

It's not him being safe Jason's worried about. Obviously Jason is safe. What about that kid? What did Bruce do with him? Did he put him in Arkham Asylum? Bruce had looked so freaked out by the kid, but it wasn't the kid's fault, it couldn't have been the kid's fault!

The beeping from before is getting quicker, louder. Jason's breathing rattles in his chest as he tries to tell Bruce that the kid really does need to be saved. Only gasps and rasps come out. Trying to do something, anything, Jason flings an arm toward Bruce, the arm that Bruce isn't holding the hand of, but a sharp tug of hurt comes from that arm's elbow.

It's hard to talk. It's hard to breathe. It's hard to think.

Jason gasps and groans and tugs and twists, but Bruce is holding him tight, and the mild aches he started out with are becoming full-blown pains, and someone else is in the room, and Bruce is shushing him, and someone is doing something with his painful arm, and-

And Jason's eyes fall closed again.

When Jason wakes up again, he resolves to do better. It's pretty obvious that getting worked up wasn't gonna work, and from the vague reactions he can recall, it probably made everything worse. So before Jason even opens his eyes, he takes a couple deep breaths and wiggles his fingers and toes, trying to tell how he's doing.

Yeah, his left leg is definitely broken in at least one place. He can feel the hard line of a cast formed around it. Most of his fingers are in splints, but he can't tell if they're badly banged up or all the way broken. His ribs are probably cracked in multiple places, given the way it feels to breathe, and it feels like every inch of skin on his body is bruised or cut or both.

He also has a killer headache, but that's gonna be at least partly from stress.

Slowly, Jason opens his eyes.

He's still in the hospital room from before, definitely a Watchtower one. Bruce isn't there right now. On the other hand, Dick is sitting in a chair a little bit away from the bed, flipping through a folder of papers on a rolling table.

Jason coughs a little.

Dick's eyes pop up from the papers and practically pop out of their sockets. Dick absolutely beams at Jason. "Jay!"

Licking his lips, Jason tries to ask what's been happening and for how long, but instead, he just coughs again.

"Here, try this," Dick says, and he trades the folder of papers to pick up a cup with a piece of what looks like plastic sticking out. Using the plastic thing, which turns out to be a spoon, Dick offers a couple shreds of ice to Jason.

Feeling goofy, but still grateful, Jason opens his mouth and accepts the bits of ice. He lets them melt in his mouth for a few moments, soothing the dryness there, before swallowing. Then he opens his mouth again, intending to speak.

Dick pops the spoon into Jason's mouth with more ice chips.

Begrudgingly, Jason takes those too, but when he gets ready to open his mouth again, he turns his head away from Dick's waiting spoon first. Man, that hurts his neck.

"How long?" Jason asks, wincing at both the sound and the feel of his voice.

"Don't worry about that," Dick says gently, which is a ridiculous non-answer and makes Jason scowl at him. "Just focus on healing and-"

"How long?" Jason asks, forcing as much power into his voice as possible. Mostly his voice just cracks, which sounds more pitiful than powerful.

Apparently that works too, though, because Dick nods and says, "Just about five and a half days."

Five and a half days. Almost a week. In that amount of time-

"The kid," Jason says. "Where's the kid?"

Dick looks uncomfortable.

"I need to know about the kid," Jason insists.

"B would want to be the one to tell you," Dick says slowly.

"Since when do we care about what B wants?" Jason says, aiming for humor.

Dick gives a laugh, but it's small and strained. "I think this time we do. Or, I do."

Jason huffs. "Then go get him."

Dick grabs his phone from beside the folder of papers. He taps at the screen for a minute before he nods and looks up. "He'll be here in just a minute. I'll bet he was already on his way when your vitals showed you were up."

Jason nods back and falls silent.

Dick talks to him, rambling on about how things have been in Bludhaven recently and how Alfred is debating trying a new dish for when Jason gets healthy enough to go home.

Jason lets him talk. He doesn't really pay attention.

Dick doesn't seem to mind. As he chatters, Dick's eyes never leave Jason's torso, clearly catching every rise and fall of Jason's chest.

As soon as Bruce walks in the room, his eyes go to Jason as well. It's really obvious, especially because he's wearing civilian clothes and no domino mask. Come to think of it, Dick's in civilian clothes without a domino too. Weird. Even though most of the main heroes on the Watchtower know their identities, Nightwing doesn't usually walk around in civvies, and Batman definitely doesn't. What's going on?

"Jason," Bruce breathes.

Jason tries for a casual, almost-bored, relaxed wave. It doesn't come off very relaxed, given the finger splints and the painful wince it causes him.

"What's wrong? Do you need your pain medications increased? Do you need me to call in the doctors? Do you need-" Bruce begins, rushing toward the bed.

"Whoa there," Dick says loudly. "I think he just needs some answers."

Bruce stops, already hovering beside the bed. He looks a little offended, almost, but mostly concerned.

The concern makes something inside of Jason warm up and melt down at the same time. But Jason doesn't let that stop him. He says firmly, "The kid."

Bruce's expression goes from concerned to guarded in the span of a moment. Dick looks pretty much the same.

"What did you do with him?" Jason asks. "He's a victim, B. He needs help. We have to make sure Joker can never get him again."

"I'm becoming pretty aware of the help he needs," Bruce says slowly.

"Then you've got to know it isn't the kind of help he can get in jail," Jason says sharply. "You can't send him to Arkham, or to Blackgate, or anything like that. He's a kid! And you can't send him to juvie, either, that won't do him any good. He needs something good! We need to help him!"

"We will," Bruce says. "I promise you, Jaylad, he's not going to jail or to juvie or anything like that. We'll help him."

Jason pauses. He takes a deep breath and slumps down into the bed, not really realizing until that moment how much he'd pushed himself upward and how much that pushing hurt. "Okay. Yeah. Okay, good. How are we gonna help?"

Bruce and Dick exchange glances.

"I'm not gonna crack if you tell me," Jason says. "Not unless it's something bad and stupid, and we already ruled out jail and juvie, so that's most of the bad, stupid options, I think."

Dick shoots Bruce a meaningful glance.

Bruce clears his throat awkwardly. "How would you feel about adding to the family?"

Jason blinks at him for a moment. It feels like they've jumped topics entirely. "What?"

"The boy. JJ, or Joker Junior," Bruce says. "Unfortunately, that's how he refers to himself."

"Which is super screwed up," Dick says unhelpfully. "We've been calling him just Junior."

"Junior is in need of a lot of care," Bruce continues on. "He needs help, like you said. He needs a safe space, multiple caring people, lots of comfort and ease and time and security. And Wayne Manor has all of those."

Jason blames his definitely-banged-up brain for the moments it takes him to process that. "Oh. Oh, yes. It does. We do."

Bruce looks like the weight of the world has been lifted off his shoulders at Jason's enthusiastic reaction. He smiles. "As soon as it's possible, we're taking Junior home with us."

Chapter Text

He doesn't need this. He doesn't want this.

To be honest, he doesn't know for certain what he wants or doesn't want. He doesn't even know what he needs or doesn't need. He's never been allowed to have wants, and he's usually not allowed to have needs either. But he thinks he neither wants nor needs this.

The "needs" part is pretty simple. He doesn't need Batman hovering over him. Batman has much better and more important things to be doing. Batman is so important! Batman is always saving people and saving the day, he's so important! Even when he's not Batman, Batman is important, because then he's Bruce Wayne and he's working to make Gotham better. Bruce Wayne is important, and Batman is important, and Batman's needed in Gotham.

Batman is not needed here with Junior. Junior doesn't need Batman to talk to him with quiet encouragement or offer him food or pet his hair or just sit there holding his hand. Junior doesn't need Batman. Gotham needs Batman.

And yet…

Batman is here. With Junior.

Or, well. Bruce Wayne is here with Junior, if the removal of the Batman cowl and cape has anything to say about the situation. Junior is shocked every time Bruce shows up in civilian clothes, like he's not worried about keeping himself and his identity safe. It's almost like Bruce trusts everybody in the Watchtower, even Junior, trusts enough to walk around without his fully-armored suit, enough to walk around with his whole face showing, enough to walk around without sneaking around.

It's something Father would've never done under any circumstances.

Junior is pretty sure he's the only one who knows Father is the Joker. At least, Junior is the only one who knows Father is the Joker who's still alive. Mother had known, but Mother hadn't cared as long as she got her cut of the proceeds from the schemes, and Mother's been dead for years.

Everyone dies, after all. Mother died. So many of Father's victims die.

Junior wants to die.

That's why he doesn't want this. He doesn't need this. He doesn't want or need or deserve Batman coming in and being so nice to him.

But Batman still comes in. And Batman is still nice. Like now.

Batman, or, well, Bruce Wayne is trying to convince Junior that Bruce Wayne wants to help. Of course Bruce Wayne wants to help. Bruce Wayne is Batman is Bruce Wayne is Batman. But Bruce Wayne says he wants to help Junior, and Junior just can't accept that. Junior can't be helped.

"We could go for a stroll," Bruce Wayne is saying tentatively, kneeling next to the bed that Junior is sitting on. "Maybe get a little exercise. You've been cooped up in here for far too long."

Junior stares at Bruce Wayne. Junior doesn't know what to say. He can't say no, but he can't say yes, but he can't just keep staring, but he can't let this go on. "I can't."

"You can," Bruce Wayne says. "As long as I'm with you, you're cleared to walk around the low-security-clearance parts of the Watchtower."

Junior shakes his head. "I can't. I'd, I would- I can't."

"You would-" Bruce Wayne says, then he lets his voice trail off, repeating Junior's words and clearly fishing for more.

Junior shuts up. He can't. He's not going to tell Bruce Wayne that Junior would definitely do something wrong, because Bruce Wayne as Batman probably already knows that. Except Bruce Wayne is acting like Junior wouldn't do something wrong. Bruce Wayne keeps telling Junior that nothing was Junior's fault, and that nobody is blaming Junior, and that nothing is going to keep Bruce Wayne and everybody else from helping Junior.

But Junior doesn't need help. Junior doesn't deserve help. Junior doesn't want help.

Shaking his head again, Junior whispers, "I want to be done. I don't want to do this. I just want to die."

Bruce Wayne looks sad, mouth frowning, head tilting, shoulders slumping. "Yes. You've said that."

"Sorry," Junior whispers. "I didn't mean- I'm sorry."

"How about this?" Bruce Wayne says after a long moment. "We go for a walk and we meet Dick and Jason for a meal."

Junior opens his mouth to say no.

But.

But Dick and Jason. Nightwing and Robin. Dick Grayson and Jason Todd and Bruce Wayne, all so good, so kind, so right. His heroes.

And Junior has met Dick Grayson in these past few terrible days, but he hasn't seen Jason Todd since Jason Todd passed out in Superman's arms in the warehouse. Bruce Wayne has promised that Jason Todd was recovering, but hearing it and seeing it are always two different things. It would be… It'd be nice to make sure that Robin was actually okay before Junior convinces Batman to let him die.

Slowly, Junior nods.

And Bruce Wayne absolutely beams. He looks a lot like his public persona of Brucie the clueless and well-meaning billionaire at the moment, but this beaming smile of his is even brighter than his Brucie one. It's both brighter and less painful to watch at the same time, somehow. "All right. Dick and Jason are already waiting for us in a conference room just a few hallways away. Once we're there, I'll call and get something brought in to eat. Let's get going."

Junior nods slowly again.

Bruce Wayne stands up, offering Junior a hand.

Junior considers it. Carefully, he puts out his own hand and just barely brushes against Bruce Wayne's hand.

It doesn't hurt. Each time Bruce Wayne has touched him since Junior got to the Watchtower, it hasn't hurt. Junior marvels at it every time.

Still only barely grabbing Bruce Wayne's hand, Junior stands up. He steadies himself for a moment. It makes him dizzy to get up sometimes. Junior usually blames that on the sparse times he gets to eat, but he's been fed multiple times every day at the Watchtower. So this time he's going to blame it on lying down almost nonstop since he got here, and also blame it a little on Bruce Wayne for making him get up.

The thought sends a rush of fear through him. Blaming Batman? He can't. That's wrong, wrong-wrong-wrong, he can't!

Junior sneaks a look at Bruce Wayne, but Bruce Wayne is still beaming down at him. No sign of anger, no sign of frustration, no sign of getting ready to hit or trap or yank or blame back. That's probably a good sign. Okay.

"Ready?" Bruce Wayne asks.

Junior nods. Despite his own nervousness about clinging too much and making himself a problem and causing Bruce Wayne to need to make him behave, Junior finds himself holding on tightly to Bruce Wayne's hand.

Hand in hand, they walk out of the room.

Bruce Wayne was telling the truth about the conference room being close, because of course he was. Just two turns down the hallway later, Bruce Wayne stops and knocks on a closed door.

"Come on in!" A voice yells cheerfully from behind the door.

Bruce Wayne opens the door and gestures for Junior to go in.

Junior walks forward, feeling himself start to curl inward, trying to keep himself from being noticed. He's not supposed to be seen when he's Joker Junior. He's not supposed to be seen or heard or noticed or acknowledged. Nobody is supposed to know about him unless they're really, really about to die, so Joker Junior stays a secret.

But he isn't a secret, Junior reminds himself. He's known now, so he's a failure.

That thought hurts in a weird way. After all, he did what he was trying to do, mostly. He saved Robin's life and delivered Robin back to Batman. Junior just didn't think he'd get delivered to Batman too.

So was it a failure?

He doesn't know. He regrets getting found, he regrets being known, he regrets being delivered to Batman.

He doesn't regret saving Robin, though.

That's when Junior realizes he's been staring at Robin, at Jason Todd, at the cast and the splinted fingers resting on the wheelchair, this whole time.

Jason Todd is smiling awkwardly, sending nervous glances sideways at Dick Grayson, who's sitting next to him.

Junior shrinks backward. "Sorry."

"You're fine," Jason Todd says quickly. "It's fine. How are you doing? How is everything?"

"It's all right," Junior says back automatically. He feels himself trying to slip into being Timothy, ready to make boring social chit-chat at a social function, but no. That's not allowed. That's not what's supposed to happen. He's being Joker Junior right now, not Timothy. Father hasn't turned Junior into Timothy, so Junior can't be Timothy. It's not right, and not in a right-wrong way.

"Cool," Jason Todd says awkwardly.

Dick Grayson snorts.

Jason Todd elbows him in the ribs.

Dick Grayson gasps, either pretending to be offended or genuinely offended, and leans over as if to elbow him back, but pauses just before making contact. Slowly, Dick Grayson leans back into his own chair.

Now Jason Todd looks offended. "I'm not some kind of baby doll or nothing. You can still mess around with me."

"Just maybe not elbow you," Bruce Wayne says from behind Junior as he closes the door to the conference room. "You have several cracked ribs, Jay."

"Cracked ribs, schmacked schmibs," Jason Todd says dismissively.

Dick Grayson cackles again. "You say that now from a wheelchair, but let me tell you from experience, wait until you start trying to walk on crutches."

"What?" Jason Todd asks.

"Trust me, Little Wing, cracked ribs are going to be your worst enemy," Dick Grayson says confidently.

"Cracked ribs, schmacked schmibs," Jason Todd says again. "It's not going to be a big deal. I'm way tougher than you."

"Oh yeah? Is that why you cried at our last movie night and I didn't?" Dick Grayson asks.

Jason Todd sticks out his tongue.

Despite himself, as the two brothers argue, Junior feels himself start to relax. This… This isn't so bad. They're being kind of funny, bantering like that. It brings him back to times of spying on the Bats during their patrols, supposedly to give Father intel, but sometimes secretly to bring himself just a little smidge of happiness, even if he doesn't deserve it.

"Don't give me that face," Dick Grayson is saying as Junior tunes back in. "Don't you give me that face!"

Jason Todd is making an exaggerated pout. "But you're my big brother. You're supposed to help me. You're supposed to be on my side!"

"I'm on your side right now," Dick Grayson says, waving a hand back and forth between himself and Jason Todd. "Literally!"

"Sitting at my side is not being on my side!" Jason Todd says, still making that exaggerated pout. "I need you with me metaphorically as well as literally. I need you as my big brother."

Dick Grayson sighs. "Fine, fine. You've guilted me into it. You can have my vote for the next movie night."

Jason Todd cheers. "I get to pick, then! I'm totally-"

Shaking his head, Dick Grayson interrupts. "Not necessarily."

Jason Todd pauses. "Uh, yeah?"

"Uh, no," Dick Grayson says. "Two votes out of four isn't a majority."

"But Alfred is the tie-breaker, and he'll totally vote with me," Jason Todd says, affecting that exaggerated pout again. "I'm injured. He'll vote with me."

"You think he won't vote with his newest grandkid?" Dick Grayson asks, pointing across the room at-

Junior.

He's pointing at Junior.

Junior looks around, but no, Bruce Wayne has walked past him to pull some chairs out by the table and is beckoning Junior over, so Dick Grayson isn't pointing at Bruce Wayne, not that it'd make much sense if he was, but that would make more sense than this.

"What kind of movies do you like?" Dick Grayson asks, and yes, he's definitely pointing at Junior. "Alfred will definitely be on your side, so if you can get Bruce on your side, that's the majority right there."

Junior blinks, processing the last minute.

Dick Grayson pauses in thought. "You told him already, right, B?"

"I was going to bring it up to him slowly," Bruce Wayne mutters.

"Oh," Dick Grayson says.

Jason Todd snickers. Carefully, he maneuvers his wheelchair up toward Junior. "Hey, kid. You're one of us now. Congrats."

"One of us," Junior repeats helplessly.

"B was apparently going to 'bring it up' slowly, but when has that ever helped?" Jason Todd says.

"Generally, it does help," Bruce Wayne says petulantly.

Dick Grayson laughs, and Jason Todd scoffs.

"One of us?" Junior says again, feeling beyond lost.

"What, did you think you were staying on the Watchtower forever?" Jason Todd asks, then he adds quickly, "Actually, don't answer that. You're coming to Wayne Manor, and we aren't going to argue with you about it."

Junior wants to feel a lot of things at that statement. He pushes all the feelings down before he can tell what they are. He's not supposed to feel. He's supposed to be exactly right-wrong, or maybe even right-right. If Robin is so sure about this, then Junior isn't going to argue. Junior has done enough that hurt and went against Robin. The cast, the splinted fingers, the mention of cracked ribs… No, Junior isn't going to argue.

At least, not yet. There'll be time to argue later. Junior can't let Batman and Nightwing and Robin think that Junior is the right kind of person when he really isn't. Junior will need to convince them to let him go eventually, and by that, he means he needs to be put in Arkham or, even better, a grave. But for now, with Jason Todd looking at him so confidently, with Dick Grayson's laugh and Bruce Wayne's beaming smile fresh in his mind, Junior really can't argue.

Chapter Text

"I've missed this place," Jason sighs, looking around the Manor entryway.

"And this place has missed you," a voice comes from behind him.

Jason spins around and almost falls off of his crutches. "Alfred!"

Dick steadies him. "Slow down there, Jaybird."

"I do what I want," Jason says, heading toward Alfred as soon as he's steadied on the crutches again.

"You do indeed," Alfred says with a sigh.

Jason… Jason isn't sure whether to feel guilty or relieved or something else entirely at that statement. So he just smiles up at Alfred and begins the awkward process of hugging him while still staying upright on the crutches.

"It does me such good to see you in person, Master Jason," Alfred says into Jason's hair.

"Yeah, me too," Jason says, although he's not sure how well it comes out with his face mushed against Alfred. "Phone calls and video calls from the Watchtower just didn't cut it."

"Speaking of the Watchtower," Dick says after a few moments, so apparently at least Dick can understand Jason with his face mashed into Alfred.

"Indeed," Alfred says.

Somewhat reluctantly, Jason pulls back. "Yeah. The kid and B'll be arriving soon too."

"About an hour or so," Dick says.

"That should allow us to get Master Jason settled comfortably in his bedroom for some rest, then," Alfred says.

"Nope," Jason says breezily.

Dick sighs. "I didn't think so. Alfred, Jason wants to be here when Junior arrives."

"I have to," Jason says. "I've gotta be there for him."

Alfred looks back and forth between Jason and Dick. He must see something, because he sighs again and says, "In that case, we will all get settled comfortably in the primary living room, then."

Jason nods. "Yeah. We've gotta show the kid how family actually works, with games and hugs and stuff. Oh, and we need to have snacks for him too. He's so skinny, Alfie. Can we have snacks for him?"

"I would never argue with the idea of feeding a child, and from the information Master Bruce has sent me, I would in fact argue for the idea of feeding this child quite fervently," Alfred says. "We will certainly 'have snacks.'"

"Cool," Jason says.

By the time Jason has settled onto the couch in the primary living room, Dick has gathered a bunch of games at his and Jason's brainstormed suggestions, and Alfred has brought in several different kinds of foods to spread out, there's still like thirty or forty minutes left until Bruce and Junior arrive. That's what Jason thinks, at least, but then Dick's phone buzzes.

"They're almost here," Dick says, looking up at Alfred and Jason.

"Huh. I guess that took us longer than I thought," Jason says.

"Or, more likely, perhaps it took them a shorter amount of time than we thought," Alfred says, eyeing his watch.

"I'll go bring them here," Dick offers. He stands up from his weird halfway-squatting position on the floor, stretches in that way that makes Jason cringe to watch him stretch so far, and walks out of the room.

Jason wiggles back and forth a little on the couch.

"When did you last take pain medications?" Alfred asks.

Still wiggling back and forth, Jason blinks up at him. "What?"

"You are uncomfortable," Alfred says, gesturing to Jason.

"Oh," Jason says. "Nah, not like that. I just… I guess I'm nervous. I want this to go really well. I want it to be perfect for Junior. That kid deserves so much better of a life than he's got."

Alfred nods, a fond look on his face. "Indeed. And we will do our level best to deliver such a life to him."

Stopping his wiggling, Jason pats the couch next to him, raising his eyebrows. "Come sit with me?"

After a moment of hesitation, Alfred does come perch on the couch.

Jason flops into Alfred's side gratefully. It's familiar and right every time, the starchy feel of Alfred's suit and the soft rhythm of Alfred's breath.

It's so familiar and so right, in fact, that Jason starts to doze off. He wakes up slowly to murmuring voices.

"-A panic attack," Bruce is saying.

"The poor lad," Alfred says.

"Dick is sitting with him in the bathroom now," Bruce says.

"The bathroom," Alfred repeats.

"I asked Junior if he felt nauseous and he said not to worry because he'd clean it up if he threw up," Bruce says.

They're both quiet for a moment.

Struggling fully back to alertness and trying to put the pieces of what he'd heard together, Jason pries his face up from Alfred's side. "Ise'kay?"

"What?" Bruce says, pausing pacing for only a split second.

Jason clears his throat. "Is he okay? The kid?"

"He got pretty nervous when we got into the Manor," Bruce says.

Jason frowns, but before he can ask why, Bruce continues.

"I'm not sure why. My best guess is that something reminded him of his father or that somehow being here made him feel guilty for somehow knowing our identities," Bruce says.

Jason nods. The guesses make some sense.

They sit there quietly for a moment. Well, Jason and Alfred sit; Bruce keeps pacing.

"But he's going to be okay," Jason finally gets up the courage to say.

Bruce and Alfred exchange glances.

"He is," Jason says firmly. "We're going to help him be okay."

"We will certainly do our best," Alfred says just as firmly.

"I'll check on him in a few minutes, give him some time to try to collect himself," Bruce says. "It might be-"

Then Bruce pauses and tilts his head a tiny bit, clearly listening.

Jason hears it too in the next moment: footsteps. Exactly one set of footsteps.

There's just enough time for Jason to worry that somehow Junior ran away or something before Dick comes into the room, Junior set on his hip like a large toddler.

Jason grins at the sight. His grin falters when Junior looks at him with tears in his eyes. "Aw, kid, what's wrong?"

"I didn't mean to do it wrong," Junior says, voice trembling.

"You didn't do it wrong," Jason says immediately. He doesn't even know what "it" is, but he's sure Junior isn't in the wrong.

"I wasn't supposed to-" Junior begins.

"You did nothing wrong," Bruce says firmly. "You're in a new situation. It's different, and that's got to be frightening for you. We aren't going to be mad at you for having a panic attack for that reason, or for any reason, for that matter."

Junior ducks his head into Dick's shoulder and shakes, a whole-body tremble that makes Jason hurt just to watch.

"It's going to take time to adjust," Dick says, running a hand over Junior's back.

Junior says quietly, "But it'll be hard."

"It might be," Dick says.

"I don't want it to hurt," Junior says. "I know I don't get to want, but I don't want to get hurt or hurt anybody. I just don't want to."

"You won't have to hurt anyone," Bruce says.

"And you are certainly allowed to want," Alfred adds.

Junior's head shoots up. He stares at Alfred hopefully.

Alfred smiles. "Hello there. It is a pleasure to meet you, young sir. Welcome to Wayne Manor."

"...Am I allowed to want things here?" Junior asks.

Alfred nods. "Most certainly. If you have a request, simply let me know what you want."

Junior clings to Dick for a moment longer, then he wriggles a little.

Dick sets him down.

Slowly, Junior walks up to the couch. He stares at Alfred for a long moment, rocking back and forth, on his toes to on his heels. Then he says softly, "I want to not have to be alive."

"Aw, kid," Jason says without really thinking about it. "I don't think that's what Alfred meant."

Junior shrinks in on himself.

Again, not really thinking, Jason shoots out a hand to rest on the kid's shoulder.

Junior freezes.

Alfred hisses out a sharp breath.

Bruce and Dick look uncertain.

And just when Jason processes what's happening and that he probably shouldn't've done that…

Junior leans forward into Jason's hand. His face is filled with what looks remarkably like pure want.

Jason gets an idea. Slowly, he puts his other hand on the kid's other shoulder.

Junior leans forward even more, practically on his tip-toes.

"You like that?" Jason asks.

Shyly, Junior nods.

"C'mere," Jason says, leaning closer into Alfred and patting the couch on his other side.

Junior looks to the side, toward Bruce and Dick.

"If you want to, you can," Bruce says.

Dick gives him a thumbs-up.

Slowly, Junior climbs onto the couch. Every time Junior hesitates, Jason tugs him closer, until Junior's head is resting tentatively against Jason's shoulder. Then Jason wraps his arms around the kid.

Junior's whole body melts into the touch.

"You like that?" Jason asks.

Hesitantly, Junior nods against Jason's shoulder.

"You want to have more of this?" Jason asks.

Junior tenses.

Jason quickly adds, "You can. If you want hugs, you can have hugs."

Junior untenses some. He's not as loose-limbed as he was before, but he's not super tightened up anymore.

Jason imitates Dick's earlier actions and strokes a hand down Junior's back, then pauses. "You want more of that?"

"Yes," Junior says, barely audible.

"The thing is," Jason says slowly, stroking Junior's back again, "If you're not alive, you can't want things. So you have to live. We just have to help you find ways to want to live."

Chapter Text

He isn't sure how he feels about the idea of experiments. Usually, experiments mean long stretches of time spent in a hurting haze. Experiments mean sharp pain and dull senses and drugs and restraints and all of the laughing and have-to-be-right-wrong-right-wrong. But when he tells Jason Todd that as they sit on the edge of the bed that's apparently Junior's now, the reaction he gets is not what he expects.

"No," Jason Todd says firmly. "No way, not a chance, no."

Junior blinks and tries not to shrink back at the firm bitterness in Jason Todd's voice. Evidently he doesn't do a very good job of it, though.

Jason Todd sighs. "Sorry. I didn't mean to freak you out. I meant… That's not what I meant by experiments. They aren't going to hurt at all. They're supposed to help."

"Help who?" Junior asks, perking up slightly. Maybe to help Batman? Junior doesn't deserve to get to help Batman, but that would be… That would be more good than anything Junior can imagine.

"Help you," Jason Todd says simply.

Junior feels his face scrunch up in confusion. Why would anyone want to help him?

"They'll be good experiments. They'll help you. Trust me," Jason Todd says.

And, well, Junior does trust him.

One of the first experiments they try is books. How books can be an experiment is beyond Junior to start with, but Jason Todd explains.

"One of the things I usually want to do is to read," Jason Todd says as they walk through the doors to Wayne Manor's library. "I like books, I like the stories they tell, I like the way the words all go together. Maybe you'll like reading too, and it can be something you want to do."

Dutifully, Junior follows Jason Todd to the bookshelves.

"Pick out some books," Jason Todd says, sweeping a hand toward the nearest shelf.

"Yes, Jason Todd," Junior says absently, trying to calculate the most right-wrong book to pick. Except, no, they probably don't want him to pick the most right-wrong book, they probably want him to pick a really-right book, but what makes a book really-right? Junior peeks over at Jason Todd, hoping to get some answers without needing to ask.

But Jason Todd has one hand over his face. He pulls his hand down his face before he says, "Just Jason is okay."

"Yes, Jason," Junior says obediently.

"And you don't have to say it like that, like it's a command or nothing," Jason Todd says.

"Yes, Jason," Junior repeats, even though he isn't sure how else to say it.

Jason Todd sighs. "We'll work on it. Let's get you to pick out some books."

In the end, Jason Todd is the one who really picks out the books. Junior browses the shelves while Jason Todd bustles back and forth, showing titles to Junior that are "so good, really, you've gotta give them a try!" Junior accepts each title Jason Todd gives him for the first five or so books, but then Jason Todd starts to try to explain more about each book and Junior starts to feel lost. He keeps accepting the books, but when Junior can't hold back his concerned frown anymore, Jason Todd stops in his tracks and in his speech, mid-sentence about how awesome the next book is.

"You know, I think that's a good start, okay?" Jason Todd says after a moment, eyeing the stack of books in Junior's hands.

"Okay," Junior parrots back.

"Let's settle in and read," Jason Todd says.

Junior nods, but Jason Todd isn't looking to make sure Junior is good and agrees. Jason Todd is already plopping down in a wide armchair and pulling a bookmark out of a book on a side table.

Junior stands there for a few moments. Is he supposed to go find an armchair too? Is that what settling in means? Or is he supposed to wait and watch Jason read? Or is he supposed to sit on the floor? Or can he-

"Kid," Jason Todd interrupts his thoughts.

Junior shifts the books in his arms uneasily, waiting for the reprimand.

It doesn't come.

"Come here," Jason Todd says, and he points to a couch on the other side of the side table. "That's a good spot too."

Gingerly, Junior makes his way over to the couch and sits.

"Let's get reading," Jason Todd suggests, burying his nose in his book.

Junior waits a moment longer, certain a command or a complaint is about to be sent his way. And yet that doesn't happen.

Jason Todd just licks his thumb, flips the next page in his book, and settles further into his armchair.

Slowly, Junior puts the stack of books in his arms onto the couch cushion next to the one he's seated on. He sifts through the stack gently, careful not to bend any pages. Eventually, he chooses the book that looks the most like it's based in reality. That's got to be the most useful one. That must be the way to do it right.

Junior opens the book and begins to read.

It's the best experiment Junior's ever been a part of. True to Jason Todd's word, it doesn't hurt. It doesn't send shocks of staticky pain through his head or his heart. It doesn't make his vision go fuzzy or his stomach go woozy. It doesn't poke his arm with needles or shove pills under his tongue or even pour sour liquids down his throat. It just… He sits and he reads and he sits and he reads, and when Alfred Pennyworth comes to get them for a meal, Jason Todd just says that they were having a good time reading and that's it. So apparently Junior did it right.

And then they go eat, and Junior gets to eat a full plate of food, and when his plate is empty at last, Alfred Pennyworth asks if he could put more on it. So Junior gets seconds! And then, when he finishes the seconds, he gets thirds, too! And he can say when he's done, he's allowed to, they say, so he gets to decide if he wants even more. It's another experiment, according to Jason Todd, and Junior apparently does that one right too, because nobody yells at him or pushes him or in some other way tells him otherwise.

Junior doesn't think he'll mind more of these experiments, especially if they're so easy to do right.

Chapter Text

It's clear to Bruce that Junior wants something. Junior is hovering just outside the door to Bruce's office, barely visible except for a few tufts of green hair and the occasional glimpse of a too-pale set of fiddling fingers. But Junior hasn't gotten up the courage yet to ask.

So Bruce waits patiently, looking back down at his computer. He returns to working through the files he has on the Joker, cross-examining for any hint at how Joker could have had a kid, any hint at how Joker could have turned that kid into a replica of himself. To the current moment, Bruce has been working off of the assumption that the Joker has a secret "normal" identity, one Bruce has never been able to find. The fact that Junior exists is both a support and a hindrance to that assumption. On one hand, Junior looks so much like Joker, right down to the scarred skin around his mouth, so maybe Joker really does look the way he does all the time. That would make it hard to have a secret identity. On the other hand, Junior had to come into existence somehow, and even Harley Quinn had barely known that Junior existed. So maybe the Joker has a secret identity away from villainy and that's how he had a child. However-

At the sound of a shoe scuffing the ground, Bruce cuts off his theorizing. He looks up and sees those bare glimpses of Junior at the doorway disappear from sight.

Bruce stands and heads for the door, cursing himself for not acting sooner. Of course Junior hesitated too long, of course Junior needed help to get started in asking for what he wanted, of course Bruce should've stepped in. "Junior?"

No response.

Bruce walks out the door and almost walks right into Junior, who's frozen a few steps from the doorway. Catching himself before he can bump Junior, Bruce says gently, "Hi there."

Junior ducks his head and whispers, "Hi."

"I saw you hanging out outside my office," Bruce begins.

Junior ducks his head further.

"Did you want something?" Bruce tries to prompt him.

Junior shakes his head.

Bruce holds back a sigh. Sighing seems to imply to Junior that he isn't being "right" enough. "All right then."

Tentatively, Junior asks, "Is there anything you want from me?"

Bruce automatically starts to respond in the negative, not wanting Junior to feel that Junior's there for Bruce's use in any way. Then he stops and thinks about it. Maybe there's something he can do here to help. He says, "Would you be willing to spend time with me while I work?"

Junior nods. It looks automatic, but his lips start to upturn just a tiny bit.

Bruce nods back. He steps back into his office, Junior close on his heels. Bruce sits at his desk and pats his lap.

"I get to sit with you?" Junior asks quietly, looking awestruck.

"Of course you can," Bruce says, patting his lap again.

Gingerly, Junior climbs onto the chair and then onto Bruce's legs.

Bruce lets him shift around for a minute to get comfortable. Once Junior stills, Bruce moves back toward his computer. Then he pauses.

Bruce looks down at Junior, then at his computer, which is currently on a screensaver and not showing his Joker research. Then Bruce carefully nudges the computer closed, brushes it aside, and starts filing through Wayne Enterprises paperwork.

They sit there in silence for a few minutes, Bruce signing things that need to be signed, Junior gradually leaning more and more into Bruce's chest. It's comfortable for the most part.

Then Alfred comes in, carrying some window cleaning supplies.

Junior jolts upright and starts to climb down off of Bruce's lap.

"Wait," Bruce says reflexively.

Junior freezes, half-off, half-on. He blinks up at Bruce, looking startled and unsure.

"Is everything all right?" Alfred asks, setting his supplies down on the side table closest to the windows.

Junior looks back and forth between Alfred and Bruce.

Bruce takes a guess. "If you're worried about Alfred not wanting you to sit on my lap, it's okay. You can sit with me."

Junior keeps looking back and forth.

"Or if you'd like to help-" Alfred began.

"I have to," Junior says immediately.

Alfred and Bruce exchange concerned glances.

"You have to help?" Bruce asks.

"It's what I'm supposed to do," Junior says simply. "I need to do what's right and be useful and do work for anybody who's over me."

Alfred and Bruce exchange another set of concerned glances.

"To be certain, it's good to be helpful," Alfred begins, choosing each word with clear care. "However, no one here is 'over' you."

Junior frowns slightly, the scars at his cheeks creasing in a way that looks painful.

"We work together here," Alfred says. "No one person is subordinate to another person. We may have differing tasks or schedules or views, but we are a family and we work together."

Junior blinks at Alfred uncertainly, frowning still, but he leans back into Bruce a little.

Bruce carefully shifts Junior back into his lap fully. Wrapping his arms lightly around Junior, Bruce repeats, "We are a family and we work together."

"Family?" Junior whispers. "Does, does that-"

"That does indeed include you," Alfred says with certainty.

Junior still looks confused. "So I don't help you?"

"You may help me if you wish, but it is far from being a necessity," Alfred says. "I do welcome assistance, but on this occasion, I believe it would be better for you to see that you do not need to be considered useful to be considered family."

"Oh," Junior says softly. He sounds a mix of emotions: confused, relieved, and maybe even a little pained, but his frown has disappeared. He leans into Bruce's chest again, and he even wraps his own little arms around Bruce in turn as he watches Alfred begin to clean the windows.

"Thanks, Alfred," Bruce says, hoping Alfred knows both reasons Bruce is thanking him.

Alfred looks back with a smile. "Of course."

Chapter Text

Jason doesn't want to use the word "possessive," because that makes him sound like a jerk. Maybe "protective" is a better word? But that doesn't really cover the flare of what feels (to be honest) kinda sorta like jealousy when Dick offers to spend time with Junior. Jason just frowns as Dick talks.

"I was planning on spending the next chunk of time in the gym, but I figured, hey, why not do that all together?" Dick brightly continues to explain.

"The gym," Junior repeats thoughtfully. "As in…"

"As in the gymnasium," Jason says before Dick can say anything.

"As in gymnastics?" Junior asks. He looks almost excited, in a way Jason rarely sees from him.

"Sure, if you want it to be," Dick says.

Junior nods rapidly.

Looking pleasantly bemused, Dick says, "Yeah, okay. What about you, Jay?"

Jason considers it for a moment. On one hand, he feels, well, not great about this. Jason's the one who's been spending the most time with Junior. Dick's the one who's been in and out. Why should Junior look so almost-excited about this idea?

On the other hand, Jason feels bad about feeling bad. Junior deserves to get to feel excited. Junior deserves to get every good thing Jason can think of, and yeah, Jason usually thinks of gymnastics with Dick as a good thing when it's for himself. Sharing Junior is hard, and sharing Dick is hard in a surprising way too. But they're sharing Jason in a way too, Jason supposes, and it'll probably be good for Junior, so…

Jason nods. "Let's do it."

As they make their way to the gym, Dick starts spewing gymnastics terms. Jason nods along, recognizing most of them, even if he can't define half of them. Junior nods along too, but Jason's not sure if that's because Junior has some background in gymnastics (not completely impossible, but probably implausible) or if that's because Junior is a trained people-pleaser. Jason hopes it's the first option.

"Shall we get started?" Dick asks once they're in the gym and drawing near to the gymnastics equipment.

Junior bounces on his toes a tiny bit, looking truly excited.

"Cool," Dick says, and he starts stretching, leaning carefully this way and that.

Jason begins stretching too, starting with his ankles. Then he pauses.

Junior is frozen, watching them with wide eyes.

Rapidly, Jason tries to think of all of Junior's triggers that they already have an idea of and if any of them could've been the problem. He comes up blank.

"Hey," Dick says, obviously noticing the same thing Jason is noticing. "You okay?"

Junior nods. It looks automatic.

"What's up?" Jason asks.

Junior fidgets with his fingers a moment, then he asks softly, "What are you doing?"

"Getting started," Jason says, narrowly cutting off the "duh" that would've accompanied that statement if anyone else would've asked it. Then he realizes what's happening.

Apparently Dick realizes the same thing. "Oh, right. So, when you're doing gymnastics, or really any kind of physical activity, it's a really good idea to warm up. In this case, that means stretching so you don't get hurt."

Junior nods slowly.

Dick keeps stretching, asking, "Are you planning on trying some gymnastics with us?"

"Can I?" Junior blurts out, then he clamps a hand over his mouth and goes frozen again.

Dick gives a little chuckle. "Definitely you can!"

Junior grins.

"So, here's a good stretch for you to start with," Dick says, demonstrating a static stretch, the one that he calls the downward dog and that Jason calls the bow-down.

"For me?" Junior asks, looking uncertain.

"Sure," Dick says.

Junior still looks uncertain, biting on his lower lip.

"What's eating at you, kid?" Jason asks frankly.

"Why do I need to stretch?" Junior asks after a moment.

Dick pauses. "I thought I said that already? I mean, stretching is a warm up to keep you from getting hurt."

"But I'm supposed to get hurt," Junior says. He says it like it's obvious, like it's a fact, like it's perfectly all right.

It very much is not.

"Who says so?" Jason demands a second before the answer pops into his mind.

Dick clears his throat quickly. "Right. Never mind. So, here, with us, we don't say that. We say you're not supposed to get hurt."

Junior blinks at him in clear confusion. "Then why am I here?"

Jason wants to throw up. He wants to punch something. He wants to start screaming and maybe never stop.

He does none of those things. Instead, Jason says carefully, "You're here for doing gymnastics with us, remember?"

"But why do you want me to do gymnastics with you if you don't want to hurt me while we're doing it?" Junior asks, still seeming extremely confused.

Dick blows out a long breath. "Let's take a step back here. Junior, what did you think we were going to do?"

"Gymnastics," Junior says.

"And what does that mean to you?" Dick asks.

Junior shrugs and admits quietly, "I don't really know. I thought we were going to move around and do stuff together."

"And why would that mean we would hurt you?" Dick asks.

"Because that's why I'm here," Junior says. "If we're together, I need to do what you say and be useful, and if that's not by helping you get something done, then it's by helping you get focused and ready."

"And getting focused and ready means we hurt you," Dick says in conclusion.

Junior nods with a smile. "Exactly!"

Dick blows out a long breath again. Then he does it again, then yet again.

"That's not what we do," Jason says. "Not at all. We don't want you hurt, and we really don't want to hurt you ourselves, and we don't want anybody to get hurt, really. That's basically the whole reason we do what we do, you know?"

Junior blinks at him for a long moment.

"Let's take a step back again," Dick says finally. "You said that you need to be useful if we're together. What if we weren't together?"

"Then it'd just be me," Junior says.

"And what would you do then?" Dick asks.

Junior shrugs. "Whatever I can do to keep being useful. Or-"

"Or what?" Jason asks when Junior cuts himself off.

Junior bites his lower lip again.

"It's okay," Jason says, trying to sound soothing. "You can tell us."

"Or," Junior whispers. He swallows hard and glances from side to side. "Or sometimes I don't."

"And what do you do then? When you're not trying to be useful?" Dick asks.

"I watch you," Junior says very quietly.

"Watch us?" Dick asks.

"I watch Batman and Nightwing and Robin," Junior says, still so quiet.

"Oh," Dick says.

"Oh" is right, in Jason's opinion.

"You make me feel right," Junior admits quietly. "Not right-wrong or wrong-right. Just… Right. Like things are how they're supposed to be. Sorry."

"No need to be sorry," Dick says.

"That is pretty much the last thing you'd ever need to be sorry for," Jason says. "You're saying watching us helped you?"

Junior nods tentatively.

"Good," Jason says fervently. "We want to help people. We want to help you."

Junior fidgets a little. After a moment, he says very quietly, "That sounds good."

"It sounds good to us too," Dick says with a smile.

Jason smiles too.

Slowly, Junior smiles back.

Chapter Text

"-But I said, 'Sounds pretty cool," Dick Grayson says, snorting a little.

Jason Todd groans. "Really? That's what you went with?"

"What? It's Mr. Freeze! It made sense," Dick Grayson says defensively.

"Sure, it made sense, but it wasn't a very good quip," Jason Todd says.

Dick Grayson shoves his elbow into Jason Todd's side as they walk.

Jason Todd gasps, sounding outraged, and he starts smacking Dick Grayson's shoulder with his hand.

Junior tenses, but it's okay. It's not an actual fight or a punishment or anything like that. He knows Dick Grayson and Jason Todd wouldn't hurt each other, not for real. They won't even hurt him, maybe, or at least that's what they claim.

And that's what they try to do, because when Dick Grayson turns a little, defending himself against Jason Todd's hand, Dick Grayson catches sight of Junior's tense frame and says, "Jay, quit it."

"Not a chance," Jason Todd says, still hitting.

"Jason," Dick Grayson says, with more firmness in his tone now, as he jerks his chin in Junior's direction.

Jason Todd turns a little, then he looks at Junior and slumps. "Yeah, okay, I'll quit."

"You don't have to stop because of me," Junior offers quietly.

"Eh, it gets boring beating on Dickie pretty quickly anyway," Jason Todd says nonchalantly. Then he smirks. "Mostly 'cause he could never win in a fight."

"Take that back," Dick Grayson says.

Jason Todd laughs and starts walking faster. "Not a chance."

Dick Grayson speeds up to keep up with him, and Junior does the same.

"Take that back or else," Dick Grayson says.

"Or else what?" Jason Todd challenges.

"Or else…" Dick Grayson says, his voice trailing off slowly, then he grabs Jason Todd by the shoulders and wraps all the way around him. "Or else I'll never let you go from this hug!"

"Oh no, Dick's hugs, my worst nightmare!" Jason Todd complains, grinning all the while.

"Exactly! And you'll never escape my loving embrace until you admit I can fight you and win easily," Dick Grayson says.

"How can this be!" Jason Todd gasps. "My own big brother, betraying me with hugs!"

"Hug betrayal," Dick Grayson says, nodding sagely as he holds Jason Todd close. "The worst kind. Oh, what a fiend I am."

Jason Todd breaks out in laughter at that, and Dick Grayson is only a moment behind, happy chuckles spilling from both their mouths.

Junior feels his own mouth twitch and open in response to their clear joy.

But what comes out isn't exactly happy.

At the sound of the laugh Junior gives, Dick Grayson and Jason Todd break apart immediately, spinning to face Junior fully, already starting to fall into defensive poses, and then they seem to realize what's happening and wilt.

Junior clasps his hands over his mouth, trying to muffle the laughter that sounds just like Father's laughter, but it keeps coming, choking and wheezing its way out painfully.

"Aw, kid," Jason Todd says with sympathy.

"Sorry, hee, I'm, hee hee, I'm sorry," Junior manages to say between gagging laughs.

"You don't need to be sorry," Dick Grayson says. He pauses, then he says, "Is that laugh… Is that something you do naturally?"

Junior shakes his head miserably, still trying to pull the awful laughter back.

"It's something you were forced to do," Dick Grayson says in conclusion.

Junior nods, gagging out a few last cracked chuckles before falling silent. He doesn't trust himself to speak at the moment.

"Was it something trained or something more, I don't know, chemically-induced?" Dick Grayson asks.

"Dick," Jason Todd hisses, smacking Dick Grayson's shoulder again. "Don't pressure him. This isn't an interrogation!"

"I'm not trying to make it an interrogation," Dick Grayson says. "I'm trying to figure out how to fix this. If it was training, then it's a behavioral response, which needs a different way of helping him stop doing it than a chemical response would need."

Jason Todd pauses, hand raised for another smack. Slowly, he lowers his hand back to his side. "I guess that's fair."

"So. Training, chemicals, something else?" Dick Grayson asks. "Do you know?"

Junior hesitates, then he takes the chance on speaking. Thankfully, he doesn't laugh any more, and he's able to say, "Some of all of it?"

Dick Grayson nods thoughtfully. "Okay. Is it something you can do on command?"

Junior nods.

"It's clearly not something you can easily stop," Dick Grayson says.

Junior nods again.

"Maybe we could try teaching you how to laugh another way," Jason Todd suggests, looking deep in serious thought.

"I can laugh another way," Junior offers, half-hopeful to bring back the light mood from before he'd laughed. He concentrates, closing his eyes to go deep inside himself, to the place he goes when he's being Timothy. It's difficult work, doing that without Father's Jokerization methods to help him along the way to being disguised as Timothy. With focus, Junior finds that place inside himself where the idea of Timothy floats, and he nudges at it carefully. A moment later, out of his mouth spills a single high, clear giggle. "Ha!"

Junior opens his eyes quickly, hoping to see Dick Grayson and Jason Todd ready to laugh along.

Instead, they look thoughtful, just as serious as before.

"I mean, that did sound like a normal laugh," Dick Grayson says.

"Yeah," Jason Todd says. "More than normal. It almost sounded like a laugh I'd hear at one of B's stupid galas, like some high-society kid having fun."

Junior nods. "That's what it's supposed to sound like."

Dick Grayson frowns. "And why would it be supposed to sound like something we'd hear at a high-society party?"

"Because that's where I was supposed to laugh like that," Junior says. He thought that much was obvious.

Dick Grayson and Jason Todd exchange glances.

"Does Joker have a plot to infiltrate a gala or something?" Dick Grayson asks.

Now it's Junior's turn to frown. "No? He doesn't have to infiltrate. He's usually invited. So then we put on our fake-real selves and we go."

"Fake-real selves," Dick Grayson repeats. He looks sick.

Junior hopes he isn't actually sick. Junior keeps explaining, just in case that would help. "Yeah. So we have to be right-wrong in a different way, so I'm not being Joker Junior."

"When you're not Joker Junior, who are you instead?" Jason Todd asks urgently.

Junior blinks. He gives them his most winning, most pleasing, most clearly-I'm-a-just-sweet-rich-kid-without-a-care smile. "Why, I'm Timothy Drake, of course."

Chapter Text

Timothy Drake. Timothy Drake. Timothy Drake.

Bruce struggles to wrap his mind around it, even as he wraps his arms around the scared and confused boy in his arms. He's already sent Dick and Jason out of the room to calm down from the situation, he's already called Alfred and let him know what the situation is, but now he has to figure out what to do about that situation.

The boy at the center of the situation sits very still and straight in Bruce's lap, not leaning in like he's finally started doing, but at least not leaning away.

Bruce takes a deep breath for probably the hundredth time since Dick, Jason, and Junior burst into his study. It's supposed to be calming. It really isn't. He takes another deep breath anyway.

"Kiddo," Bruce says at long last, not really sure what to say to refer to the boy. Is "Timothy" too weighted of a name? Is "Junior" too traumatizing of a name? He really doesn't know, so he says the same thing again. "Kiddo, what are you thinking right now?"

"I'm sorry," the boy says.

"No need to be sorry," Bruce says as gently as he can. "I just want to know what you're thinking about."

The boy shifts a little. "You're all acting like… But didn't you already know?"

Bruce hesitates. "If you're asking if we knew you and Joker had secret identities that we had even met briefly, then no, we didn't know."

The boy shifts again. "I'm sorry."

"I'm glad we know now," Bruce says.

"Okay," the boy says.

They're both quiet for a long moment.

Finally, Bruce decides to just go ahead with it. "You thought we knew your secret identities, and you already knew our identities when you first came to us. Does the Joker know our identities?"

"Yes," the boy says. "It makes him laugh."

Of course it does. Joker is all about the "game" between himself and Batman. It doesn't necessarily surprise Bruce that Joker just holds onto the information instead of using it against them in an obvious way, but it does horrify Bruce that Joker is so knowledgeable about Bruce's family. Bruce sighs.

"Sorry," the boy whispers.

"It's okay," Bruce says, gathering the boy closer to himself.

The boy lets Bruce do so, even relaxing a little into the hold.

Bruce holds him close. "It'll be okay."

It's a balance. Everything is a balance, life is always a balance, Brucie versus Batman versus Bruce, running Wayne Enterprises versus fighting crime versus maintaining his family, but at this moment, the balance seems more fragile than ever.

Bruce struggles. That's the most honest way to put it. He struggles. He wants to stop the Joker. He has to stop the Joker. He really, really needs to stop the Joker. But he wants to and has to and needs to help Junior.

(Junior appears so confused by offers of help still. Now that they know he does have a civilian identity, they want to help him return to being something other than Joker Junior, but Junior doesn't seem to understand why he deserves help. It hurts Bruce to see the boy, his boy, their boy, hurting.)

It doesn't take long for Bruce to realize he can't do both. He can't go out as Batman and stay in with Junior at the same time. It should've been obvious, but at first, it wasn't. When Bruce pulls his head out of the new casefile he's opened, it hits him like a brick to the face.

He has to choose. He has to choose between going after Joker and going to Junior. But he's not alone, he remembers at last.

So Bruce chooses. He chooses his family.

When he contacts the Justice League, they are all overwhelmingly supportive. Superman and Wonder Woman get set up to plan and lead the mission, while the rest of the Justice League are at the ready.

"Thank you for this," Wonder Woman says before Bruce signs off of the Batcomputer.

"Thank you for sending you after an incredibly dangerous criminal who, on his own, has committed atrocities far beyond many of the groups we face?" Bruce says dryly.

"Thank you for trusting us to help," Wonder Woman corrects.

Superman nods. "We're here for you."

Bruce doesn't know what to say to that. So he just nods, but from the looks on their faces, Superman and Wonder Woman know exactly what he means.

In the end, it takes less than a day: about eighteen hours, to be more exact.

Bruce is on the couch, Junior curled into his side, Dick on Junior's other side, Jason sitting on the floor in front of them and facing them. They're playing a card game, one that Dick and Jason call so many different names that Bruce doesn't know the actual name of it. Junior won the first round, and the surprised, excited look on his face was as adorable to see as it was heartbreaking.

That's when Alfred comes into the room at a pace Bruce has rarely seen from him, almost hurrying.

"Whoa," Dick says with surprise. "What's up?"

"We have just received a message," Alfred says, stopping in front of the couch.

"Was it from my school? Is something getting in the way of going back?" Jason asks, sitting up straighter. He's very eager to go back to actual school rather than the online version he's been doing since his injuries, Bruce knows, just as he knows that Jason is also very concerned about what leaving Junior behind while Jason goes to school will do.

Alfred shakes his head with a crooked smile. "Not at all. It was from Mister Kent and Miss Prince."

It's Bruce's turn to sit up straighter. "Did they-"

"They did," Alfred says. "Jack Drake has been arrested and brought directly to a high-security holding facility."

Jason whoops, while Dick lets out a sigh of relief.

Bruce is about to celebrate too when Junior goes stiff against Bruce's side.

"Hey, hey," Bruce says soothingly. "It's okay."

Heaving in a breath, Junior presses his face into Bruce's shirt, which is almost immediately dampened with tears.

"Oh, Junior," Bruce says. "Oh, sweetheart. It's okay."

Junior mumbles something into Bruce's shirt.

"I didn't quite catch that. Can you say it again?" Bruce asks.

Junior lifts his head. Tear tracks trail down his face. His mouth hangs open for a moment. Then he says thickly, "I don't know if it is okay."

"It will be," Bruce promises. "It will be okay. We're here with you. We'll be with you, every moment, until it's okay, and then every moment after that too."

Junior sobs and presses his face into Bruce again.

And all Bruce can do is hold him.

Chapter Text

Jason has a little brother. The world doesn't know it yet, because the news about Jack Drake being the Joker is being kept under wraps so far, meaning that nobody can know yet that Junior is with them or even really exists. That's not much of a problem at the moment. Jason doesn't care much about what the world thinks. It'll become a bigger problem when Junior is ready to rejoin the world in general, ready to go to school or go out in public or do things like that, because then they'll have to figure out how to present Junior to the world. But for now, that nobody outside of the Manor knows yet that Jason has a little brother is not the problem.

The problem is that Junior doesn't seem to know it yet either.

Ever since Superman and Wonder Woman captured the Joker, Junior has pretty much gone backward. Jason knows healing from anything, physical or mental, can be a whole "one step forward, two steps back" kind of thing. But still. Junior acts scared of them all again, and while he is improving, slowly getting better again, it's hard to see him hurting. It makes Jason want to make him laugh, to give him every good thing possible, to protect him from every harmful thing ever.

(Begrudgingly, Jason kind of understands Dick a little better now, if this is what being an older brother to a younger brother is like.)

It's hard to protect Junior from harmful things, though, when the most harmful thing seems to be Junior's own mind.

Even so, Jason does his best. He spends as much time as he can with Junior, trying to get Junior's attention off of the situation with Jack Drake, trying to get Junior's attention onto fun and funny things.

That's hard too. Part of it is Junior's history. There are many things to which Junior doesn't react well: needles, fast movements, pills, being too close or too far away from someone at different times, sometimes completely random things, and sometimes any kind of laughter, just to name a few. But part of it is also Jason's history.

Jason has gotten pretty used to living with Bruce. He's gotten kind of used to attending a private school with well-to-do students, to getting expensive gifts and trips, even to going to fancy galas. And though the private school students can make him mad, and the gifts and trips can make him nervous, and the galas can make him uncomfortable, he's accepted them. He's talked with Bruce about them, and they've come up with ways to handle this way of life for Jason.

But Jason doesn't know how to handle it for Junior, and a big part of that is that Junior can't leave the Manor right now.

It makes sense. It makes Jason furious for Junior's sake, but it makes sense. After all, the kid is very visibly a tiny version of Joker, from his green hair to his scarred cheeks to his trained laugh. To go out in public would be to almost certainly risk Junior's physical and emotional safety. Jason doesn't like it, but he gets it.

But even if he gets it, it still makes it hard. Jason can't bring Junior to the nearest library to search for books Junior might like. Jason can't bring Junior to the milkshake shop to get him a treat when he's upset. Jason can't even bring Junior on a walk around the edges of Wayne Manor's grounds for a long talk on a long stroll, because paparazzi have been known to sometimes sneak pictures through or over the various fences and gates of the grounds, and a paparazzi pic would probably be the worst possible way for Junior's existence as Junior to be revealed to the world.

Worst of all, Jason can't bring Junior on patrol, and Jason can't bring Junior to school.

Not that Jason is going on patrol or going to school again. Not yet.

Jason's been doing his own form of healing from the Joker. He's in pretty good shape now, just regaining the last of his strength and his speed and stuff like that. He's even back in training as Robin! And that was not an easy thing to accomplish. He had to beg and plead and argue his way back into the Cave. Bruce had been convinced that Jason should never go on patrol again, but after Jason talked to Dick and Alfred about how much being Robin means, and after Dick and Alfred talked to Bruce in turn, Bruce had been re-convinced to let Jason train and eventually patrol again.

And Jason's excited about patrolling again. He is. He's just…

He hasn't put on a suit again.

Specifically, he hasn't put on the Robin suit again.

Something about the red, yellow, and green sends phantom pains spiking through Jason. Something about the feel of the fabrics sends laughter ringing in Jason's ears. Something about the very existence of the Robin suit makes Jason look around for a counting-down clock and a terrified Junior.

So. Yeah. It's not easy. And it's not something he wants to think too much about. After all, he wants to go back on patrol!

He also wants to go to school, and that's coming up more quickly. His re-admission date is set and is on its way. And normally, he'd be thrilled to be getting back into learning. He's missed his teachers, his classes, his backpack, even his classmates, at least somewhat. But when he goes back…

He'll be going back to eight hours a day at school, and that's without counting drive time. That makes up a lot of the day!

Which means for a lot of the day, instead of missing school, Jason will be missing his little brother.

So Jason does his best to prepare Junior for the change. Jason worries about it constantly now, as the day of his re-admission rushes closer. Jason checks on Junior all the time, and Jason gives Junior all the resources he can think of, and Jason hopes Junior will be okay.

That's the best he can do for now: just hope.

Jason just hopes for the best for Junior.

Chapter Text

It takes time, which Bruce was expecting, and it takes effort, which Bruce was expecting, and it takes a little assistance from Diana's lasso, which Bruce wasn't exactly ruling out, but they finally do it. They finally track down Jack Drake's notes on what he calls "Jokerization."

The notes are horrific. A part of Bruce almost wishes they'd never found the notes, they're that horrifying. But Bruce is still glad they found the notes, because in those horrific notes about information for how to become Jokerized is also information for how to reverse being Jokerized.

That's the good news.

The bad news is that the reversing is meant as temporary. It last twenty-four hours exactly, and then the subject is once again Jokerized, which appears to be the permanent and "natural" state for the subject after all the experimentation to Jokerize in the first place.

It makes sense in a twisted way. The Joker is evidently who Jack Drake considers himself to truly be, given some of the disturbing comments he made while under the lasso's power. So in some awful logic, it makes sense that the "Jack Drake" face and name would be considered the "mask" for Joker, not the other way around.

Unfortunately, that means "Timothy Drake" is also the "mask" for Joker Junior, which means that completing the reverse process on Junior won't last for long. To give Junior a normal life, they would have to complete that reversing over and over to reset Junior into Timothy Drake, and from the notes, the reversing process is far from pain-free. So that's not happening.

And so Bruce turns to his friends once again.

Martian Manhunter offers his expertise on shapeshifting, as do Hawkman and Hawkgirl. The Flash gives input on chemistry and about a hundred other areas of scientific research, one by one, as soon as he finishes speed-reading whatever he can find about each one. Wonder Woman continues to work with her lasso on Joker. Zatanna contributes magic, while multiple Green Lanterns contribute their version of science-that-looks-like-magic, and so on. Superman coordinates the efforts and reports to Batman, and Bruce thanks them all more effusively than he thinks he's ever thanked anyone before.

And eventually, they come up with what looks like a solution. Then comes the next step: getting Junior to agree.

Bruce isn't going to just make Junior do this. Junior has had enough choices taken from him in his short life. But Bruce is going to firmly emphasize how beneficial this process could be for Junior. Bruce has a whole PowerPoint prepared, plenty of sources to back him up on both the process and the probable benefits, several Justice League members at the ready for interviewing…

But when he brings it up, Junior just nods and says, "Okay. When do we start?"

Bruce blinks down at him.

From his spot snuggled up against Bruce's side, Junior blinks up at him in turn.

"What?" Bruce says.

Junior says again, "When do we start? Or do I have to-"

"Hold on," Bruce says. "I said we came up with a way to permanently unJokerize you."

"And I said okay," Junior says, sounding confused. "You want me to do it, right?"

"Right," Bruce says, starting to see where this is heading.

"So okay," Junior says.

Bruce sighs. "I don't want you to do it because I want you to do it. I want you to do it because you want you to do it."

Junior's face scrunches up. "What?"

Bruce thinks for a moment. "From what I understand, all your life, you've done what your father wanted you to do. Everything exactly as he said, and nothing to go against him. Is that understanding correct?"

"Yes," Junior says, then he looks away. "Almost yes."

"Almost?" Bruce asks.

"There was one thing I did against him," Junior says quietly, then he squirms a little.

Bruce hums quietly and wraps his arm more tightly around Junior, letting Junior think.

Eventually, Junior whispers, "I showed Harley the stuff about Ethiopia."

Bruce sits there. Absurdly, he wonders if this is what being struck by lightning feels, and if he can compare notes with Barry Allen. After a moment, Bruce repeats, "You showed Harley the stuff about Ethiopia. You gave away Joker's plan to her."

"And she saw me, just a little, and because she doesn't get kids involved, she broke back away from Joker, and she let you know about Ethiopia," Junior admits.

"And so I got there in time," Bruce says in a murmur, his mind whirling with what might've happened if he hadn't come home from patrol so soon, if he hadn't known where to look and what to look for, if he hadn't gotten to that warehouse in time. Bruce wraps his arm around Junior even more tightly. "Oh, sweetheart."

They sit there in silence for a while.

"That was the one thing I did against him," Junior says. "But I'm glad I did it."

"I'm so glad you did it too," Bruce says fervently. "And that brings me back to my point. I don't want you to live your life doing just what other people tell you to do. I want you to have your own life as an individual. And while I would prefer for you to be able to have that life as a normal kid, without the influence of Jokerization hanging over you, I don't want to force you to do that. I want it to be your choice."

They sit in silence again for a bit.

Junior breaks the silence once more, leaning back slightly. "I don't think I'm ready to get unJokerized yet."

"That's all right," Bruce says.

"But," Junior says, and then he hesitates. He starts again. "But the important thing there is the word 'yet.' I'm not ready yet, but I think I will be eventually."

"And I think that's a great choice," Bruce says.

Junior leans back into his side, and Bruce hugs Junior more tightly once again.

Chapter Text

"First day jitters?" Dick asks sympathetically.

Jason pauses from packing his backpack (okay, re-re-re-re-packing his backpack, but how else is he supposed to know he has everything?). "What? No. Not a chance. Why'd you think that?"

"You've unpacked and re-packed your backpack about five times in the past five minutes we've been sitting in the entryway," Dick says.

Jason huffs and resumes packing his backpack again. "So what?"

Dick is quiet for a moment. "You know, it's okay to be nervous."

"I'm not nervous," Jason says.

"You've been gone for a while, so you'll have a lot to get used to again, and even with the cover story of a really bad car crash, people are sure to ask questions, so it's probably even normal to be nervous," Dick says.

"I'm not nervous!" Jason says fiercely.

Dick raises his eyebrows.

Jason sighs. The fierceness rushes out of him all at once, leaving him feeling deflated. "I'm a little nervous. But not just for me."

Dick waits, being more patient than he usually is.

"It's just… I can't bring Junior with me," Jason admits. "I've been with him practically non-stop since, you know, he came here, and I'm the one who found out about him in the first place so we could even rescue him and bring him here, and I feel responsible for him, and I'm going to be worrying about him the whole time. …Does that sound crazy?"

"Only in a normal way," Dick says.

Jason scowls at him. "How can something be crazy in a normal way?"

"Let me put it this way. If I had said, say, a year ago, that I worried about you whenever I left for Bludhaven, would you have called me crazy?" Dick asks.

"Yes," Jason says immediately. Then he pauses and gives Dick a side-glance. "What, you worry about me?"

"Only in the crazy-normal way siblings worry about each other while still driving each other up the walls," Dick says.

"Fair," Jason says. "'Cause, you do drive me up the walls."

"I was going to say you drive me up the walls," Dick says, and before Jason can respond to that, Dick stands, takes a running start, and does a flip off of the opposite wall. "Ta-da!"

"Applause, applause," Jason says dryly, distinctly not clapping.

"Thank you, thank you very much," Dick says, miming a deep bow. He comes back over and leans against the wall next to the bench Jason's sitting on. "So, yeah. I think it's normal, or at least it's okay."

They stay there in silence for a few moments, waiting for Bruce and Junior to come say goodbye, waiting for Alfred to bring the car around, waiting for something to break the quiet.

"Do you think he'll be okay?" Jason asks eventually.

Dick smiles. "I think we'll do everything we can to make everything okay for him."

"That's not the same thing," Jason says.

Dick's smile thins a little. "No. No, it's not. But we can hope, and we can plan, and we can try our best. I mean, I'm here in the Manor for a reason, aren't I?"

"I thought you were here to eat Alfred's cooking and let me drive you up the walls," Jason says lightheartedly.

Dick laughs. "That too. But I'm also here as support."

That's when the front door opens, and Alfred looks in.

"As soon as you are ready, the car is ready as well," Alfred says, but he's looking around the entryway like he's not quite ready himself.

"Just a minute longer," Jason says, standing and stretching. "I think-"

"Wait!" Junior cries out, rushing into the entryway with Bruce a step behind him. "Please, wait, I haven't said goodbye yet!"

Jason gives a laugh that he hopes sounds more at ease than he actually feels. "I wasn't going to leave without that."

Junior skids to a stop. "Really?"

"Of course," Jason says. "I wanted to say goodbye to you too."

"Really?" Junior repeats.

"Yeah, kid," Jason says.

"Oh," Junior breathes. He straightens up as tall as he can. "I hope you have a good first day back at school."

"I hope you have a good day, too," Jason says, patting Junior on the shoulder.

Junior beams at him. "Goodbye!"

"Bye," Jason says, trying to ignore the lump that's forming in his throat. "Bye, Junior. Bye, Dick. Bye, Bruce."

"You'll do great!" Dick says.

"Text us if you need anything at any time," Bruce says. "We'll have it covered, just keep it covered from your end."

A little confused, because normally Bruce reinforces the school's "keep your phone away during class policy," Jason nods, resists the urge to rearrange his school things in his backpack one more time, shrugs his backpack onto his shoulders instead, and follows Alfred out the door.

They chat a little as Alfred drives, nothing serious, just small talk, mostly. But when Alfred pulls up in front of the school, Jason goes quiet, trying to calm his nerves.

"Master Jason?" Alfred says.

Jason looks up. "Yeah, I know, we're here, I'll go."

"That is not what I was about to say," Alfred says, not unkindly. "Rather, we will watch out for your younger brother for you."

Jason blows out a long breath. "Okay. Here I go."

His homeroom teacher smiles at him when she takes roll, and surprisingly, when Jason's phone dings a few minutes later, during announcements, she doesn't call him for pulling it out of his pocket. Usually, she's a stickler for students not being on devices during class.

"If I could just-" Jason begins, holding his phone up questioningly.

"All the teachers were informed that your family would be wanting to check on you throughout the day," the teacher says, instead of scolding him. "It's understandable, given the circumstances, so we'll allow it this first day."

Jason blinks at her. "Oh. Thanks."

He unlocks his phone and glances at the text notification, which is from Bruce.

"Having breakfast!" It reads, and the accompanying photo when Jason scrolls down is of Dick and Junior over a platter of pancakes. Dick has a dab of whipped cream on one finger, and he's smearing it on Junior's nose. Junior has gone cross-eyed to try to look at his own nose. They're both grinning.

Jason realizes faintly that he's grinning too.

Throughout the day, Jason's phone dings intermittently, and his teachers allow him to check it every time. Jason has never been so grateful for Bruce's ability to plan ahead, which is certainly part of what is allowing Jason to get away with using his phone in class, and he's also never been so grateful for Bruce's massive wealth and tendency to donate to places like Jason's school, which is also certainly a big part of what is allowing this to happen.

Each time his phone goes off with a notification, Jason looks at it.

There's a picture of Alfred and Junior sitting on the couch, with Junior's eyes closed and his face at peace as he leans into Alfred's side.

There's a picture of Dick and Junior practicing the beginner's gymnastics moves Dick has been teaching Junior.

There's a picture of Bruce's hand on Junior's shoulder, Junior slightly turned back toward him with a shy grin.

Over and over, it's a picture of something good, usually with a short text explaining it.

At the end of the day, though, when Jason's in the line outside of school waiting for Alfred to get him, the notification is not a picture. It's just a text.

It's a text that reads, "Junior says, 'Tell Jason his little brother had a good day and hopes he had a good day too, okay?'"

Jason cheers inwardly, resolving to give his little brother lots of hugs and praises as soon as he gets home. Because yes, they both had a good day.

Chapter Text

Junior is trying. He's trying really, really hard. And at this point, he thinks he understands most of it pretty well.

The Waynes are different. Everything is different from what it used to be because the Waynes are different from what Father (and even Mother) used to be.

The Waynes value being together and working together. They don't force anyone to be alone, and when they are alone themselves, it's to "have time to themselves" rather than to have time to focus on evil deeds. When they're together, they even prefer to be equals and teammates rather than conquerors over subordinates.

The Waynes value teaching. They let Junior take his time in learning, and they don't make it a painful lesson when he does something wrong, and they teach him more of how wrong and right actually work, not right-wrong or anything like that.

The Waynes value actions that help, not ones that hurt.

That's the biggest thing, Junior is pretty sure. The Waynes want to help, for real. That's just who they are.

So he understands it. That doesn't mean he fully believes it. It's still so hard. It might always be hard.

Junior pulls his head up from Dick Grayson's (Dick's, just Dick's, Junior's trying to get better about calling people by their actual names and not using full names as substitutes for respectful and fearful titles, so just Dick's) shoulder a little. "Dick?"

"Yeah?" Dick says, looking up from his phone, which he's been using one-handed, the other hand and arm wrapped around Junior.

"This is hard," Junior says quietly.

"'This' like the couch, or 'this' like the situation?" Dick asks, already shifting a little on the couch they're on, like all Junior has to do is state that he feels like the couch is too hard and Dick will move to accommodate him.

"Like the situation," Junior says, trying to be brave.

"Which part?" Dick says, putting his phone down on the couch cushion, clearly giving Junior his full attention, something Junior is still getting used to having from anyone.

Junior hesitates.

Dick continues. "Is it the cuddling, or being just you and me at the Manor, or the time of day, or-"

"Living here," Junior says, interrupting Dick without meaning to. Realizing it, he covers his mouth and whispers, "Sorry."

"No 'sorry' needed," Dick says. "Keep going."

"Living here is good," Junior says, bringing his hand down and lacing his fingers together in his lap. "It's kind. It's nice. It's good, but it's not what I'm used to, and it's hard. That's hard."

Dick hums, seemingly in understanding. "Yeah. Change is hard, buddy, especially a really big change like this. But you're doing your best."

"I'm doing my best," Junior agrees. "But is it enough?"

"Your best is all you can do. It'll always be enough for the people who love you," Dick says firmly, tugging Junior a little closer with both hands.

They're both quiet for a moment.

Junior chews on his lip, thinking. "Dick?"

"Mm-hmm?" Dick says.

"I didn't want to come here," Junior says. "When all this started, I didn't want to come here. All I wanted was to not come here, not be anywhere, not exist at all."

Dick's hold tightens then carefully relaxes again. Dick asks, "What do you want now?"

"I want to be here," Junior says. "But… I want to not be here as… You know."

"I actually don't know," Dick says.

Junior waves a hand, indicating his own face, hair, body. "I don't want to be here like this. I don't want to be Joker Junior."

Dick pets a hand slowly through Junior's hair, saying, "We don't want you to feel like that's who you need to be either."

"But that's who he made me to be. If I'm not that, then who am I supposed to be?" Junior asks.

"Well, I wouldn't say it's about who you're supposed to be," Dick says. "Maybe it could be about who you want to be."

"I don't know who I want to be," Junior says miserably. "I just know who I don't want to be."

"That's a start," Dick says. "I mean, just as an example, how do you feel about being Timothy Drake?"

"I don't think I want to be whoever that is," Junior says.

"Here's the good news. You get to decide who that is," Dick says, warmth and tenderness threaded through every word.

They're both quiet again, this time for a longer moment.

"Dick?" Junior asks around the lump forming in his throat. "Can I… I think that... Maybe I…"

Junior coughs, trying to force the words out.

"Take your time," Dick says, waiting gently, holding him, giving support with love, just like everyone else in Wayne Manor.

Junior takes a deep breath. "I want to be Tim Wayne instead."

Chapter Text

It was going to happen sooner or later, Bruce reminds himself faintly. He had just hoped it would happen according to their schedule, so that he and the Justice League would have as much time as possible to make their preparations. Now, all preparations are off.

The secret is out.

The headline across the morning news TV show (and probably the headline across every news show and newspaper and online news site in Gotham) blares that the Joker's newly-revealed-to-exist secret identity is that of Jack Drake.

Bruce takes a deep breath, trying to calm the uproar inside himself that probably matches the uproar across Gotham and possibly the greater East Coast. He takes another deep breath, then a third. He looks down and across the couch to where Junior… To where Tim, he wants to be called Tim, Bruce will always honor what he wants… To where Tim is sitting.

To where Tim was sitting.

Tim isn't there.

On one hand, it shocks Bruce. How could Tim have slipped out?

On the other hand? Of course Tim isn't there. Just because Bruce was shocked into silent stillness doesn't mean Tim automatically was. And if Bruce was stuck in shock, that meant Bruce wasn't paying as much attention as he should've been. That would make it far easier for Tim to leave the couch and, upon a quick inspection, to leave the entire living room. But how long was Bruce stuck in his own shock?

Bruce pulls out his phone as he stands. Thumbing it open and ignoring the flashing notifications (because he was right, every news source has caught on to revealing the Joker's identity and everyone is in an uproar), Bruce calls Alfred.

"If you mistakenly believe-" Alfred begins dryly, probably about to scold Bruce for calling by him phone when Bruce "has two fully functioning legs with which to retrieve me, does he not?"

"Joker's been revealed as Jack Drake," Bruce interrupts as he does another quick glance through the living room. "On the news. Tim saw it, and now I can't find him."

"I'll search the first floor," Alfred says immediately.

"I've got second," Bruce says, putting the call on speaker. "Stay on speaker."

"Understood," Alfred says.

At first, Bruce almost assumes that calling Alfred for help will have been a good precaution but an overreaction: Tim can't have gotten far, right? But as Bruce moves efficiently through the Manor, room after room turning up no sign of Tim, he starts to wonder if he's going to need to call for even more help.

Then…

"Ah," Alfred says with clear relief.

Bruce stills in the doorway of the room he's leaving.

"Young master Tim," Alfred says lightly. "Has the main door to the Manor offended you, and you plan to glare it into submission? Or is there another explanation for your current posture and position?"

Tim's at the main door to the Manor.

Bruce moves so fast, he half-wonders if he could put Barry Allen to shame. He's in the entryway in what feels like mere moments, his head spinning with the speed. He's several paces back from Tim, who is staring at the door with what looks half like longing, half like fear.

Tim looks stiff. He doesn't answer Alfred for a long moment.

"Tim?" Bruce prompts.

Tim swallows loudly. Then, much more quietly, he answers, "I want to do what's right."

Bruce looks at Alfred.

Alfred looks back, clearly uncertain. It's a look that doesn't suit him.

"I think we all do," Bruce says. "We all want to do what's right."

"My father doesn't," Tim says.

Bruce winces, feeling a little sick.

"And now everybody knows that," Tim says. "The people know Jack Drake is the Joker is Jack Drake. It's the truth. And once the people know one truth, it isn't long before they start to look for more."

Bruce blinks. Vaguely, he recalls that phrase being at the center of one of Joker's schemes from about two years ago, and he feels a little sicker.

Tim still stares at the front door. "They're going to find out, aren't they."

It's phrased like a question, but it doesn't sound like one.

"Everybody is going to find out. They're going to know everything he did. They're going to know everything I did," Tim murmurs.

"They don't have to," Bruce says, the words rushing out of him. "I can work with Justice League, there are ways we can-"

"They're going to find out," Tim says, trembling a little despite, or maybe because of his stiffness. Then he repeats something he's already said. "They're going to know everything I did. But they're going to know everything he did to me."

Bruce doesn't know what to do with that.

Tim finally turns away from the door. He turns toward Bruce. His eyes are glistening with hurt.

Bruce doesn't quite know what to do with that either.

Tim lifts his stiff hands, slowly at first, then more rapidly, but not to scrub at his wet eyes. He reaches up and out toward Bruce.

That? That, Bruce knows exactly what to do with. He reaches back out toward Tim, stepping forward and pulling Tim into a hug.

"I want to do what's right," Tim says, now wrapped up in the hug but still stiff, still trembling, still so very hurt.

"I know," Bruce says. "I know you do."

"I want to say what's true. I wanna be allowed once, just once in my life, to say the truth," Tim says.

"Okay," Bruce says helplessly. "You're allowed."

Tim sobs and goes trustingly limp against Bruce.

Bruce considers how best to make it happen. There'll have to be press releases, of course, and carefully-constructed backstories. He'll work with the Justice League, and to make sure Tim is safe and healthy and publically well-regarded and at home in Wayne Manor, Bruce will almost certainly be working with the Justice League both as Batman and as Brucie Wayne. It may take a lot of effort, and it may take a little time, and it may even take some bribes if his understanding of Gotham's public services systems is up-to-date, Bruce muses.

But it'll be worth it.

Tim wants it, and it'll be worth it.

Chapter Text

The rumors at school are flying around at crazy speeds, and despite being back at school full-time, Jason has been trying his best to stay out of the rumors' way.

Well, at first he tries his best to stay out of the way of the rumors. And at first, it even goes okay. Then the news eventually comes out that "the Joker's kid," that Tim is staying with the Waynes. That's when things go kind of… Sideways.

"What, like you thought I wouldn't jump in if they were saying stuff like that about him?" Jason puts forward, stopping in his tracks as a challenge.

Bruce sighs and keeps walking down the empty school hallway toward the front door.

Unfortunately, that means Jason has to keep walking too, if only to make sure Bruce hears the rest of his argument. Scowling, Jason catches up with Bruce and adds, "Tim isn't even here to defend himself! And even if he was, he shouldn't have to, and-"

"And you shouldn't have to, either," Bruce says evenly.

"Yeah, like the teachers are doing anything about it," Jason mutters.

"Rumors about unknown people are one thing, rumors about classmates and classmates' families are another," Bruce says, but as Jason puffs up to continue arguing, Bruce adds. "Which is why, when I was alone with the principal, I made sure she knew about my expectations on how these rumors will be dealt with as pertaining to our family."

Jason deflates a little. "Dealt with how?"

"Severely," Bruce says, a firm protectiveness filling his voice.

Jason smirks to himself and follows Bruce out.

Once they're in the car and Jason's greeted Alfred, Jason says, careful to keep his tone casual, "So I'm out of school early today."

"What an astute observation," Alfred says dryly, not lifting his gaze from the road.

"Yeah, yeah," Jason says with a laugh. "But I was thinking, maybe that means we could go down to the Cave earlier tonight?"

"Are you saying you think you should be rewarded with extra time to get ready to return to patrol? And this is due to your physical threats to the other students based on their own vague comments about your family, for which you were given a strong warning and early let-out rather than two days of in-school suspension, and having that sentence switched only based on the points I made to the principal?" Bruce says in a very specific tone.

Jason knows that tone. That tone is a trap. Jason's probably in too deep to get out of it though, so, with a shrug, Jason says anyway, "Yeah, pretty much."

Unexpectedly, Bruce gives a chuckle. "Better luck next time. We'll go downstairs at the normal time."

Huh. Bruce must be more upset about what the other students said than Jason thought, if Bruce is letting Jason off that easy. Jason settles back into his seat and changes the conversation to lighter topics, still thinking about going down to the Cave.

Now that he's healed up, he's been concentrating on getting ready to be active as Robin again. The time he's recently spent in the Cave running comms and sorting through evidence and stuff is good, but it doesn't come close to running through the streets with Batman.

The problem now is how he'll do that. It's not a problem with his strength training or his speed training or anything like that. All of that's been going fine. The problem is the sick feeling he gets in his stomach when he looks at the Robin uniform. To this point, he's been able to avoid putting the Robin suit back on, but Jason's pretty sure Bruce has noticed that avoidance and will say something soon, probably some completely awkward attempts at emotion that both of them would rather not deal with.

So Jason's goal tonight is to put the Robin suit on again. He's been avoiding it, but there's really no reason to avoid it, right? It's just nerves, nothing big. This will be fine. It'll work.

"That didn't work," Jason says between counting his breaths.

"No need to speak just yet," Alfred chides gently. "Focus on the breathing exercise-"

"It's okay, I'm okay," Jason says. He takes a couple more careful breaths, rubbing his hands across his bare sides to ground himself further. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine, it's fine."

"Master Jason, it is not fine," Alfred says sternly. "You have just experienced a panic attack."

"I noticed that," Jason says, but it comes out more weary than the snarky way he'd intended to say it. That's probably a good thing, though. He sighs.

From his spot kneeling on the ground, Alfred reaches out a hand and pauses, hovering his hand in the air above Jason's bare shoulder.

Jason leans closer, leaning into Alfred's hand, basking in the warmth.

They stay there for a moment, not nearly long enough in Jason's opinion.

"It would likely be best to get some clothes on you," Alfred says mildly. "The Cave air is not intended to be bathing suit weather, after all."

Jason looks down at himself. After frantically pulling off almost all of the suit in his panic, he's wearing just the shorts of the underlayer of the Robin costume, plus a single sock on his left foot. A snort bursts out of him. "It does look kinda like a swimsuit."

Alfred's mustache twitches in amusement. "Indeed."

Jason makes himself stand, then offers Alfred a hand up from kneeling. "I guess I'll… Put on pajamas, maybe?"

"Returning to training after a panic attack is not advised," Alfred agrees. He scoops up the right sock of the Robin suit from the floor and raises an eyebrow. "I will tidy up here."

"You're the best," Jason calls back as he heads back into the changing rooms.

Putting on a set of pajamas he keeps in his locker, Jason sighs to himself, "What even just happened?"

It's a stupid question. He knows what happened. He put on the Robin uniform for the first time, feeling uneasy the whole time but trying to surge forward. By the time he'd stepped out of the changing room and made it maybe ten steps across the next room, he'd started a full-blown panic attack and stumbled around the Cave, shedding the uniform as fast as he could while Alfred tried to calm him down.

"Stupid," Jason mutters. "So stupid."

"Trauma is not stupid, Master Jason."

Apparently Alfred was still close enough to the changing rooms to hear muttering. Great.

"I know," Jason says slowly, tying the string on his pajama pants and then untying it and retying it again. "But…"

"But it can take time to realize trauma is trauma," Alfred's voice says from out in the main areas of the Cave.

Jason sighs. "So what am I supposed to do? I'm not going to stop patrolling."

"No one said you would need to do so."

"But if I have a panic attack just putting on the suit…" Jason hears his own voice trail off, and he shakes his head at himself. "What am I supposed to do?"

"What would you like to do?"

Jason considers that for a while. By the time he's out and helping Alfred put away the last bits of the Robin suit, he has at least part of an answer.

"I don't want to get rid of the past," Jason says, methodically smoothing down one of the shoulder pieces on the Robin suit. "But I do want to move on, keep going, something like that. Maybe being Robin is the past, I don't know for sure, and I don't know how long it'll take to know for sure. But maybe if Robin is the past, being someone else could be the future?"

Alfred smiles widely and nods. "Well put."

Jason nods back at him. With a sense of finality, he fondly strokes one more time along the Robin suit in its locker, then he closes the locker door.

Chapter Text

"Hey, um, Bruce?"

Bruce looks up from his paperwork, putting a gentle smile on his face. "Yes?"

Fidgeting with his fingers, Tim stares at his feet and hesitates for a moment before saying anything else.

Bruce waits patiently. Soon enough, his patience is rewarded.

Tim keeps fidgeting with his fingers, and he doesn't look up from staring at his own feet, but he says, "You know how you said you had… That there was a way to make me unJokerized permanently?"

Bruce hums an affirmative.

Peeking up at Bruce, Tim says quietly, "I think I'm ready to try it."

It's not something that can really be done in the Manor, unfortunately. The equipment they've come up with is bulky, large and heavy and hard enough to maneuver around the Cave, much less get upstairs, so it's in the Cave that they'll be working on this.

"Are you ready?" Bruce asks. He'd been waiting for Tim to speak up and say so, but it's become evident over the past ten minutes of Bruce readying things that don't really need any more readying that Tim is not going to be the one to speak first.

Tim blows out a long breath. He stares at his sock-covered toes, kicking his feet a little in the air from where they're hovering over the edge of the medical cot.

"You don't have to be ready now," Bruce says when Tim still doesn't speak.

"But I want to be," Tim says finally. He holds out an arm toward Bruce and glances sideways at him. "Okay. I'm ready."

Carefully, Bruce preps Tim's arm for the IV, sterilizing, drying, finding a good bloodstream. Then he readies the IV and warns Tim, "It'll be a pinch."

Tim bites his lower lip and nods.

As gently yet as quickly as possible, Bruce puts in the IV. Then he crosses the medical bay and checks on the rest of the equipment, turning on the unJokerizing ray that will correspond with the IV chemicals and making sure the monitor for Tim's vitals is still accurate. Then he turns back toward the cot.

Bruce's heart aches as he hurries over. "Oh, sweetheart."

"I'm fine," Tim says breathlessly, more of a whimper than a statement. His IV-prepped arm is still stuck out to one side, and it's trembling in the air. He's still biting his lip, and his eyes are clenched shut, with tears gathering beneath his eyelashes. "Really, I'm fine."

"It's okay if you need to stop," Bruce says, already reaching for a bandage in preparation for removing the IV.

"I'm fine!" Tim says, still breathless. "It's not that bad! I can do it!"

Bruce hesitates. He thinks for a moment. "Which part is bad?"

"None of it, it's fine, I'm fine," Tim insists.

"You said it's 'not that bad,' which implies at least part of it is bad," Bruce says.

Tim blows out a long, teary breath. "It… It's a little like Jokerizing."

Bruce wants to hit himself over the head. He settles for a short, sharp shake of his head instead. Why hadn't he thought of that? Of course the unJokerizing process would remind Tim of being Jokerized in the first place. "I'm sorry. We can still stop-"

Tim's eyes pop open as he protests. "No! Don't stop, I want to get better, please!"

"And you will," Bruce says firmly. "We'll do our best to make sure you'll get better. I'm not going to stop you from wanting to get better. But right now, I am going to limit this session to five minutes maximum."

"You said fifteen minute sessions to start with," Tim points out.

"That was before I realized the amount of harm it could do along with the good," Bruce says. Tim doesn't look convinced, so Bruce adds, "If you're in a mindset of Jokerizing, you won't be focused on getting better."

Tim blinks a few times, then swipes at his gathered tears with the hand of his non-IV arm. "Okay. But we have to try again."

"And we will," Bruce says. "I promise. But we'll try again in a better way."

First of all, even though the equipment is bulky and difficult to move around the Cave, that doesn't mean it's absolutely impossible to move around the Cave. Bruce enlists some assistance from Superman and Wonder Woman to move the entire set-up out of the medical bay and into one of the Cave's side storage rooms.

Then he enlists Dick, Jason, and Alfred in turn, and they really get to work.

They position the unJokerizing ray behind a mesh curtain that they hang up, not enough to block the ray from working, but just enough to block it partially from view. They position the vitals monitor much more prominently, so it's hopefully obvious how much they care about Tim's health during the process.

Alfred puts together a full cupboard of snacks that can be kept in the Cave, tailored to Tim's tastes, ranging from soft drinks to simple fruit snacks.

Jason notes down the types of books Tim has been leaning towards and compiles a pile to be situated for keeping Tim occupied during the procedure.

Dick comes up with a list of gymnastics stretches that can be done without dislodging an IV from one arm, so that Tim has plenty more to keep him occupied during the procedure.

Rather than ask for help, Dick and Jason insist on bringing down a loveseat from the Manor "using our own manpower, Bruce!" It results in a large scrape down Dick's left forearm from maneuvering around the Cave's corners and several curses in languages Bruce hadn't been certain Jason knew (almost certainly learned from Dick), but it also results in a plush loveseat being the place for Tim to unJokerize rather than a cot, so Bruce counts his blessings.

They bring in three blankets of different weights and warmths, about fifteen varied throw pillows after arguing over which might be Tim's favorites, a box of fidget toys, a coffee table…

In all, they make it as safe and comfortable and welcoming as they can.

As a last step, they bring Tim in and show him around, starting with the loveseat and ending with a laminated sheet of paper inside the drawer of the coffee table.

Tim's eyes go wide as he looks the paper over, then he looks up. He's tearing up.

"It really is what it says it is," Jason says awkwardly, glancing at Bruce, as if Bruce might know what to say (Bruce does not, in fact, know what to say). "We're not going to leave you alone when you do these procedures."

"We signed a pledge to have at least one person within cuddling distance of you at all times," Dick says solemnly.

"We will be here for you and with you," Alfred says.

Tim sniffs, then he flops back onto the loveseat and bursts into tears.

Bruce hurries to sit next to him. "We're sorry, we-"

"Don't be sorry," Tim says, scrubbing at his eyes with both hands and giving them all a wobbly but wide smile. "I think these are happy tears."

Chapter Text

UnJokerizing is far from easy. He had been sure that would be true from the start, and he's correct about that much. It hurts, mostly emotionally, when his heart stings and shivers from the memories, but it also hurts some physically, despite the ongoing efforts of painkillers and modifications to the process. So no, it's not easy.

But…

But it's a lot easier than he thought it would be, thanks to Bruce and Dick and Jason and Alfred. Thanks to his new family.

That's still an odd thought.

Thanks to his new family.

To Tim's family.

Tim is still getting used to referring to himself as Tim. He's still getting used to being who Tim might be. He might always be getting used to who Tim is. Tim is certainly still getting used to having a loving family, even as nice as that is.

Tim smiles at the thought.

"Ah, is that a smile?" Alfred asks teasingly, looking down at Tim.

Feeling a bit silly at that question and at the thoughts going through his head, Tim hides his face in Alfred's side in response.

Alfred chuckles and pats Tim on the head. His hand strokes through Tim's hair, which has been starting to turn darker and darker with the treatments. Pretty soon, with the treatments' help, his hair might even be black and not identifiably green. Tim is fascinated by the idea.

Tim is equally fascinated, if not more, by the idea that Alfred and Bruce and Dick and Jason don't mind helping him. They like it, even, because they love him.

The thought rings true.

For the most part.

Some part of Tim still doubts it, though.

Slowly, Tim pulls his face away from Alfred's side and looks up, leaning back a little. "You don't mind, right?"

"Do I mind making you feel as comfortable as possible while you undergo a procedure that frightens you?" Alfred asks. "Dear child, I welcome it."

Tim nods and gets settled back against the loveseat again. Almost without thinking about it, he traces the fingers of his opposite hand around the site of the IV in his arm.

"What might you be thinking?" Alfred asks, leaning to one side and reaching over the side of the loveseat.

"A lot of things," Tim admits.

"Well, we do have time," Alfred says dryly, coming to sit up straight again.

Tim glances at the nearby clock. To be fair, Alfred's right, it'll be close to fifteen minutes until this round wraps up.

"Bruce wants to sign me up for therapy," Tim says.

Alfred hums but says nothing. He holds up a fidget toy, which must've been what he leaned over to grab.

"He says he's gone to therapy before," Tim continues, taking his fingers away from the IV site and grabbing the fidget toy. "He says it was your idea."

"If he's referring to the first time, then yes, it was my idea," Alfred says.

Tim sits up a little straighter. "First time? Bruce went more than once?"

"Indeed, yes," Alfred says. "For quite a while as a child, then for some time as a teenager, as well as other times as an adult. Some of those times were even ones he initiated based on on past experiences."

"Bruce says that therapy was hard but good," Tim says, starting to fidget with the toy, a little black bit of metal that easily spins around and around Tim's fingers. "That it got him ways to better help himself and to heal some."

Alfred hums again.

"But I don't know," Tim says with a sinking feeling in his stomach. "I want to… I want to heal. But the idea of telling someone everything? Talking about all of it? I don't want to talk about all of it. I just want it to go away."

"Does not talking about it make it go away?" Alfred asks.

Tim pauses. He pauses for a long time, staring at the toy in his fingers and messing around with it. Finally, he admits, "I wish it did. But it doesn't. Can talking about it make it go away?"

"Not exactly," Alfred says. "But it can make it far easier to deal with."

Tim looks up. He looks around at the room they're in, filled with blankets and pillows and books and snacks, full of things brought into the Cave for him by people who love him.

"I want it to be easier," Tim says, his voice quieter than he intends it to be.

"We all want it to be easier for you," Alfred says.

"It'll take time to get easier, won't it?" Tim asks, his voice still coming out too quietly as he leans back into Alfred's side.

Carefully, Alfred tugs him a little closer. "Time. Effort. Help from many sources, perhaps even ones we don't yet realize."

"Like therapy," Tim says.

"Perhaps," Alfred says with a nod.

"But also like people," Tim says. "You and Bruce and Dick and Jason and me."

"We will be here for you," Alfred agrees. "And my hope is that we will find more people to be there for you. That may include a therapist, and it may include many other people, teachers and classmates and friends and more."

"More people who will be there for me," Tim says. It feels nice to say it.

Alfred gently squeezes his arm around Tim's shoulders. That feels nice too.

The nice feelings aren't enough to fight back the fear all the way.

But they do help.

"I'll try therapy," Tim says. His voice isn't quiet now. It isn't loud either, but it isn't quiet, not quiet or shy or weak. It's firm and it feels right.

Not right-wrong, not wrong-right.

Just right.

Chapter Text

His stomach is all tied up in knots, but Jason's pretty sure it's more in an excited way than a nervous way. There's some nervousness there too, but not as much as the excitement, he decides as he pulls the last parts of his new uniform.

"How's it going?" Bruce calls from outside the changing rooms.

"Chill out, give me a minute!" Jason calls back. "It's not like I'm on some death-defying mission. I'm just getting dressed!"

Jason smirks when he hears Bruce huff in response. Pulling on his gloves, Jason steps out of the changing rooms and spreads his arms wide. "Wingman, reporting for patrol!"

"You look good," Tim says.

"'Cause I feel good," Jason brags, doing a spin and shrugging his shoulders to make the padded details there flex. "And of course I look good, Alfie and I worked hard on the design."

"It suits you well," Alfred says, coming close and carefully straightening one side of the uniform's collar.

Jason grins and lets him fuss. "Better than your first post-Robin attempt, right, Dickiebird?"

"I still say it was a good suit," Dick says.

"We call it Discowing for a reason, dude," Jason says.

Tim grins. "You really call it Discowing?"

"No," Dick says.

"Yeah, we do," Jason says.

"I don't," Dick says petulantly.

Jason snorts. "Yeah, well, I think Wingman's debut is much better-looking than Discowing's, at least."

"I'm not agreeing with that," Dick says.

"But I'll agree," Tim says, shuffling a few papers and shooting a curious look at Dick.

"Betrayal," Dick moans, flopping around in the chair he's seated in. "Oh, betrayal by my own brothers."

Tim's grin falters for a split second as Dick begins to speak, then returns full-force by the time Dick's done.

"Well, shall we?" Jason asks.

"I'll get the Batmobile," Dick offers, leaping from his chair and rushing toward the vehicle storage bay.

"Not a chance," Bruce says, then again, more hurriedly as he starts to follow Dick, "Dick? Not a chance, I said!"

Jason laughs, and he shares a glance with Alfred. "As if B would forget Dick's grounded from driving the Batmobile again."

"Master Bruce doesn't tend to forget much, and Master Dick's current lack of Batmobile driving privileges would be towards the bottom of the list of things he might forget," Alfred muses.

"I still want to see the footage of the crash from last time," Tim says. "Dick really thought he could drive with his feet?"

"No, he knew he could drive with his feet, right up until he really couldn't," Jason says. He raises his helmet's visor and winks at Tim through his mask.

Tim leans back in his chair and winks back. "I see."

"And I want to see you get going, but not until I get a photograph," Alfred says.

"For posterity?" Jason says.

Alfred nods. "For posterity. Allow me to retrieve the camera."

As Alfred walks away, Jason takes a deep breath. Now's the perfect time. "Hey, Tim?"

Tim looks up from the papers he'd been shuffling. "Yeah?"

"So, with me being Wingman," Jason says. He takes another deep breath. "You know, there's a vacancy in the Robin position."

Tim blinks, staring at Jason.

Jason stares back at Tim, waiting.

Slowly, Tim says, "You don't mean…"

"I do mean it," Jason says. "You're part of the family, and I'd love to give it to you. If you'd ever want it, you can have it."

Tim bites down on his lower lip.

"Lip," Jason says as a reminder, trying to keep his tone firm but gentle.

Tim lets go of his lip with his teeth and picks up a fidget toy in one hand. "I don't… I don't know."

"Think about it," Jason suggests.

Alfred returns with the camera then, probably having waited for that conversation to wrap up like the all-knowing butler he is, and Jason gets his picture taken before heading off to patrol.

It's a good patrol. Jason missed patrolling, swinging between rooftops, fighting off bad guys, delivering justice for those in need. It's over far too fast, Bruce believing Jason needs to "ease back into it" and returning Jason to the Cave with a firm reminder that Jason's supposed to go right up to bed, Alfred's waiting for him, and all that.

Jason waves goodbye as Batman and Nightwing head back out for the rest of their patrol. Then he heads to the changing rooms and peels off the Wingman suit.

When he goes to put it away, though, he stops.

There's a folded-up note taped neatly to the hook for the Wingman helmet.

Jason picks it up and unfolds it, fondly reads Tim's crooked handwriting.

Jason. Thank you. Thank you for everything. You've helped me in so many ways, and you want to keep helping me, and I want to help you too. The thought of being Robin scares me a little, but… In a good way, I think. I don't know if I could ever be Robin, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't try. If I can be Robin, I think I want to be. Thank you, and love you. Tim.

Chapter Text

It feels monumental, and maybe it is. Tim's never gone out in public as anything other than Timothy Drake before. Now, he's going out as Tim Wayne, and for some reason, it almost feels more nerve-wracking than ever having gone out as Timothy Drake.

That's probably a stupid thought. After all, there's none of the secret-keeping pressure to be exactly right-wrong in a way that masquerades as being right while under Father's watchful gaze, so really, this shouldn't make Tim nervous at all in comparison.

But when he voices this stupid thought as they're waiting for Bruce in the car, Jason makes a loud, disapproving grunt.

On instinct, Tim almost apologizes, but he catches himself at the last moment. Somehow, he doesn't think Jason is disapproving of Tim's very existence, despite the way Father would've.

"Nah, that's not a stupid thought," Jason says.

Tim smiles because he was right, Jason didn't disapprove of Tim or want Tim to apologize, Jason just wanted to make sure Tim knew it was all okay.

"It's normal to be nervous," Jason says practically. "I was nervous going out as Wingman the first time, right? And I was nervous going back to school for the first time. Hey, even if he probably won't admit it, I bet Bruce is nervous right now."

"Why?" Tim asks, startled at the idea of Bruce being nervous.

"It's one of his kids' first time out as a Wayne," Jason says, like it's obvious. "He's always nervous about stuff like that."

Tim considers that, trying not to overtly react to the phrase "one of his kids." "Huh."

"I mean, he spent a lot of time working with Wayne Enterprises' press people to make sure the paparazzi wouldn't be bothering us, and he's been switching around the plan for this whole outing thing over and over," Jason points out. "I'd say he's super nervous."

"Bruce is super nervous," Tim repeats thoughtfully.

Of course, that's the moment Bruce chooses to open the driver's door and slide in, overhearing just that last part. "Wait, what?"

Again, Tim almost apologizes, but instead, he says, "Jason says you're really nervous about this."

"I'm not nervous," Bruce says nonchalantly, catching Tim's eye in the rear view mirror. "I'm Batman."

Tim giggles.

"I was just saying that it's okay for Tim to be nervous, 'cause it's new and you're nervous too," Jason adds.

Bruce pauses.

"Don't try to deny it. It's all right to be nervous," Jason says, sounding a little like Alfred, if Tim's honest.

"I'm a bit nervous," Bruce says after a long pause.

"That's Bruce-speak for 'I'm so nervous I'm quaking in my stupid custom-made suit,'" Jason says in a false whisper.

"Jason," Bruce sighs.

Jason holds up his hands innocently. "If I'm wrong, look me in the eyes and tell me I'm wrong."

Bruce turns around in the driver's seat and looks Jason in the eyes. "…Let's get going."

Jason cackles.

It's good. It's a good outing. They go to a park and walk around for a long time, looking at the plants and the statues and the occasional bird as Jason rattles off his thoughts on the latest few books he's been reading. Bruce seems to know some of the books, because he has thoughts on them too, and Tim even recognizes some of the titles from recent times Jason's listed off books he'd like to read. It gets a little tense and quiet when Tim spots a few of what look like paparazzi gathered at one end of the park, but Bruce casually steers their group away from them and reminds Jason what he'd been talking about.

So it's good, really good.

Right up until they get out of the park and to the fancy restaurant where they're planning on eating lunch.

They're walking up to the restaurant from one side when Tim stops in his tracks.

There's a newspaper stand at the opposite corner of the front of the restaurant. Tim can't read the headline from where they are, but he can recognize his Father's face on the front page.

The worst part is, it isn't even Father's face as Joker. It's Father as Jack Drake, looking totally at ease, looking exactly like he'd looked every time Father and Timothy had gone to a gala or a party or-

Or a fancy restaurant.

Tim doesn't even realize how fast his breathing has gotten until Bruce's hand guides Tim's own hand to Bruce's chest to copy Bruce's own breathing.

"Slowly, in, two, three, four, that's it," Bruce encourages. "And hold, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four. In, two, three, four. And-"

"I'm good," Tim manages to say. "It's okay. I'm good."

He looks up at Bruce and tries to smile, but it's a weak smile that feels a little too crooked, a little too wide, a little too cracked at the edges.

"Good," Bruce says. "That's good. We can get going back to the Manor now, and-."

"Do we have to leave?" Tim bursts out.

Bruce raises his eyebrows.

"Sorry," Tim says reflexively, but then he continues. "I still want to eat at the restaurant, please."

"Are you sure?" Bruce asks.

Tim thinks about it for a moment, but he's sure. "Yes."

"Yes," Bruce repeats. "All right. We can still eat here. Let's go in."

Bruce guides Tim to the front doors.

Just as they head in, Tim realizes something. "Where'd Jason go?"

From behind him and a little to the side, Jason says, "Right here."

Tim turns his head back. Jason is coming from the opposite side Bruce and Tim came in from, the same side that the newspaper stand was. "Jason. You didn't- you shouldn't have-"

"Relax," Jason says, catching up with them and ushering them into the cozy atmosphere of the fancy restaurant. "I didn't lay into 'em or anything. I just turned a couple papers around and paid them to keep those that way. They can turn those back around after we leave."

Chapter Text

Batman has been busy lately. A lot of it has had to do with the Joker (with Jack Drake of all people, something Bruce is admittedly still shocked by), and coordinating with the Justice League about Tim, both as Batman and as Bruce. In fact, almost all of it has had to do the Joker situation, plus plenty of regular petty crimes.

It isn't until weeks and weeks have gone by and Bruce happens to take a closer look at his files that he realizes it.

Since Batman found Junior, that is, since Bruce found Tim and brought him home, there hasn't been a single major Rogue attack.

It's unusual, to say the least. Also, concerning. It's rare for Gotham to go so long without at least one or two Rogues attempting (and usually succeeding) to wreak havoc. Usually, when it's quiet for so long, it's because something big is being planned, something big and bad and dangerous and often involving multiple Rogues teaming up.

It's the kind of thing that makes Batman on edge.

So, while swinging between rooftops, when he swings over an alley and sees Harley Quinn down below, sitting under the light of a lamppost, he almost attacks immediately.

Almost. That's the key word. Instead, Batman finishes swinging to the other rooftop, swings again to get himself to the end of the alley, and stands there for a moment, waiting.

"Hey there, Bats," Harley says, all bright and cheery. She's seated cross-legged on top of a closed dumpster, hands open on her knees, no weapons in sight.

"I haven't seen you in a while," Batman says, cutting to the quick of the matter. As a matter of fact, he hasn't seen her since just before Ethiopia.

"That's 'cause I haven't wanted to be seen," Harley says. "I didn't want you seeing any of us Rogues while you were dealing with stuff, so I pulled a few strings. Keeping things quiet for a bit, but just for a bit. So yeah, until now, I haven't wanted to be seen."

"Meaning you want to be seen now?" Batman asks, trying not to show how much he's warmed internally at the idea of Harley telling the other Rogues to "keep things quiet" so he could deal with things.

"Exactly." Harley gives him a wide grin. Then the grin falters, and she drops the bright, cheery demeanor. "Listen. I've been keeping an eye on the news."

"Generally a good idea," Batman says neutrally.

"Especially in Gotham," Harley agrees. "And… I've seen the stuff about the kid. You've gotta believe me, Batman, I didn't know. If I'd known… I don't know if I'd've gotten him out, but I'll say I would've tried. But I didn't. 'Cause I never knew. But you? You got him out."

Batman considers what to say for a long moment. Finally, he breaks the silence between them. "I got him out. And you made that possible."

Harley blows out a long sigh. "Feels like one good thing done, but too little, too late."

"Never too little," Batman says. "And it's never too late."

"So you keep saying," Harley says, and she sighs again. "Maybe one of these days, I might be able to believe you."

"And maybe one of these days, it'll be more than one good thing," Batman says.

Harley cracks a smile. "Yeah. Maybe. Say, speaking of the kid?"

Batman waits as Harley finds the right words.

"You and all your Justice League buddies, you really thought that was the right place? Putting him with Brucie Wayne of all people?" Harley says. "That's the right place for the kid?"

"It's the right place," Batman says. "We'll make sure of it."

Harley hums thoughtfully. "All right. If you say so. Then I say so too."

"That's a lot of trust you're putting in my word," Batman says.

"Maybe," Harley says. Then she wiggles her eyebrows. "Or maybe I'm just saying I trust you, making you trust me, so that I can pull off some awful scheme, you know?"

Now it's Batman's turn to sigh. "Oh, I know. I've seen it from Rogues many times before."

Harley bursts into laughter.

"And yet somehow, I know that's not it this time," Batman says daringly.

Harley's laughter peters out. She peers at Batman for a long moment, then she nods to herself and murmurs, "Yeah. Yeah, somehow that's not it. Not this time, at least."

She goes quiet for a bit after that, just looking at Batman. Then Harley claps her hands together and hops off of the dumpster, saying, "Okie-dokie! That's that, then. I'll see you around, Batman. When I want to be seen, you know. And you'll know then! So long!"

Batman inclines his head in a deep nod and pulls his grapple gun out, swinging away and leaving Harley walking out of the alley.

By the time Bruce gets up into the Manor from his solo patrol, it's well past Tim's bedtime. Bruce stops by Tim's bedroom door anyway, listening.

Tim isn't always the best at adhering to rules that are for his own good. Most of it is that he's used to rules that aren't for his own good. More than a few times, Bruce has gotten home from patrol to find Tim wide awake, usually apologetic, sometimes rambunctious or weepy, occasionally even with his door locked and stubbornly, loudly working on a project and begging for five more minutes even though his bedtime was hours ago and not minutes ago.

This time, though, when Bruce tries Tim's door, Bruce finds it unlocked. Bruce slides it open just a crack and peeks in.

Tim is flung across the bed upside-down, one arm dangling off the side and both feet on his pillow. His mouth gapes open, and his eyes are contentedly shut.

Bruce swallows a chuckle. He shuts the door, resolving to check in with Tim in the morning and congratulate him on evidently getting to bed on time. Taking care of himself doesn't come naturally to Tim, and Bruce wants to encourage him every step of the way.

Chapter Text

It's been a really fun evening, Tim thinks, watching the others as he stacks up the cards. Alfred is dryly ribbing Bruce over his final few moves in the last game, Jason verbally assisting with glee, while Bruce is trying to protest but laughing too hard to really make an argument. Dick is on the other side of the table, putting the other kinds of game pieces back in the box and snorting at every few comments.

Dick holds a hand out across the table, waiting.

Jason slaps it with a high five.

"No, you doof, I was waiting for the cards from Tim," Dick says, snorting again.

Jason looks over at Tim.

Tim holds up the stack of cards and wiggles it, then hands it to Dick.

"Oh," Jason says. "So you weren't congratulating me on the epic own on B?"

"Not that time, but try another one," Dick says brightly.

Tim laughs, then his laugh turns into a sigh. "Oooh, I'm tired."

Alfred raises his eyebrows. "And that means…"

"Yes, that means…" Bruce says, turning toward Tim.

"…I should run around like crazy until I wake up?" Tim tries with a smirk, certain that's not the answer anyone wants.

Bruce just looks at him.

"I should go to bed," Tim says knowingly.

"Bingo," Bruce says. "We'll all be going to bed soon, anyway."

"Okay, fine," Tim relents, standing and stretching. "Good night, everybody."

A chorus of "good nights" follow him out of the room, as slowly, Tim makes his way up to his bedroom. He yawns, opening his door and heading for the bed and-

Huh. Where's his blanket?

Oh, right. Tim brought it down to get cozy during the games, and then when Jason and Dick kept going back and forth so closely on who was going to win that one game, and Alfred snuck past them for first place, Tim jumped out of his seat and the blanket fell to the floor. It must still be there.

Tim turns around and heads back downstairs. But just before he turns the final corner, he hears his name.

"-The whole thing with Tim."

Confused and a little curious, Tim halts. What whole thing with Tim?

"What 'whole thing with Tim?'" Bruce echoes Tim's own thoughts.

"I mean the whole, whole thing with Tim," Jason continues. "I mean, from the beginning."

"The beginning," Bruce repeats.

"I don't regret it," Jason says. "I'm not sorry at all about us getting Tim. It's really the opposite."

"And what would be the opposite?" Alfred asks.

"You know," Jason says, hedging his words.

"I think you know even better," Alfred says lightly.

"Fine. He's my little brother and I love him, so yeah," Jason says quickly.

"Ah, I forgot you're allergic to feelings," Dick jokes.

There's a few scuffling sounds, and Tim considers going in. Before he can decide, though, the conversation continues.

"Anyway," Jason says breezily. "Tim's the best, and I'm sorry about that at all. But…"

"But?" Bruce asks.

"I am, uh," Jason says, then he trails off for a moment. "I am sorry… A bit. About. You know, going to Ethiopia. I didn't. I wasn't really thinking. I was being… I don't even know. But I'm sorry."

A pause, then…

"Thank you," Bruce says, sounding a bit choked up. "Jason-"

"So, yeah," Jason says. "That's all, I'm going to bed now, good night!"

Tim takes a quick step back.

Jason's steps are quicker. He barrels around the corner and runs smack into Tim.

"Eep!" Tim yelps as they both fall to the floor, tangled together.

Bruce appears around the corner a moment later. "Jason- Tim!"

Dick and Alfred peer around Bruce.

"You good?" Jason asks, sitting up and holding a hand out to Tim.

Tim grabs the hand and heaves himself up, then he pulls Jason up in turn. "Yeah. You?"

"Good," Jason says, then he freezes. "Wait. Were you listening the whole time?"

Tim hesitates.

"You heard all of it, didn't you?" Jason says, sounding embarrassed. "You heard-"

Tim lets a grin spread across his face. "That you loooove me?"

Jason pounces.

"Boys," Bruce says tiredly. "Boys."

"For once, that's not you," Alfred remarks to Dick, who snorts.

"Boys!" Bruce says again.

Jason pauses for a moment, which means Tim can pause too.

"What?" Tim asks innocently, pretending he's not currently being sat on.

"Yeah, what?" Jason repeats, equally pretending he's not currently doing the sitting.

Bruce takes a deep breath. "Okay. Jason, you love Tim?"

"I said that already," Jason protests.

Tim gives a fake hurt whimper. "You mean you don't still-"

"Okay, I love you," Jason hurries to say.

"I love you too!" Tim says delightedly.

So Jason gives him a noogie.

Bruce sighs. "Good. You both love each other. Now get off each other."

Tim and Jason oblige, scrambling to their feet.

"Are we good?" Bruce asks.

"We're good!" Tim and Jason chime in unison.

"Good, good, everyone's great," Bruce says, rubbing his forehead.

"Great!" Dick basically chirps, slipping past Bruce to wrap a blanket-clad arm around Tim and the other arm around Jason. "So it's bedtime, right? Right! Cool! Here's your blanket, Tim! Let's go to bed! Good night!"

Dick starts steering Tim and Jason toward the stairs.

"Dick, you were supposed to help finish cleaning up," Bruce calls.

"Can't hear you, I'm too sleepy," Dick calls back, pulling ahead of Tim with Jason behind them. In a whisper that's far too loud to actually be a whisper, he adds to Jason and Tim, "If he takes me down, I'm taking you two down too. Go, go, go!"

Breaking out into giggles, feeling lighter than air, sandwiched between his brothers, Tim runs forward.