Chapter Text
Crap. You’d made your nailbed bleed again.
Despite what Jason had said, most of the time, you didn’t feel crazy. You made judgements, because you knew the rules and you knew the consequences and you knew how things worked. Sure, you got emotional, but you figure that was allowed. Right? Given the circumstances.
But at the moment, you felt a little crazy. Like you were hanging by a thread. Mr J still wasn’t back. There’d been no instruction. No guidance. Paulie was more stone faced than ever when he did make an appearance.
It had been cruel. The way that when Paulie came for you, you thought that finally Mr J was back, only to be herded down that other corridor. The bad one. The one with the gurney. The way your stomach had sank and the way you’d been so angry that you hadn’t fought more before being overpowered. Crane had made sure to comment on it. He’d made several interesting observations, come to think of it.
How long had it been? You still weren’t sure. Time had grown to be even more of an abstract concept after being injected with liquid fear once again. The Robin was the only visual cue you had to the passage of time. He had peach fuzz growing on his chin. Something that had only recently made an appearance. You’d spent some of the endless boredom wondering if it made him look stupid or if you actually kinda liked it.
“Do any of the other rogues work with Joker?” Again with the questions. Endless, endless questions. Jason was a test. Crane had been a test. You’d pass them all.
Don’t get attached.
Teach him the rules.
Don’t hurt him.
Don’t be rude.
“Yes.” You reply, surprised only that it’d taken him this long to think of asking. It was nice though, that Alfred was still doing okay. You’d been worried.
“Who?” Jason demands, sitting up. The answer rolls through your mind and feels too complicated for you to finds words for it. So instead, you shrug.
“Damnit (Y/N).”
You must look crazy. The twitches after Crane’s visit had been particularly bad. Nightmares every time you closed your eyes for days after. You’d woken up screaming once or twice, being held down by the Robin so you apparently didn’t hurt yourself. But worse was the sinking depression that had settled in. Mr J hadn’t even checked in. He hadn’t spoken over the speaker in the corner of the room, or even been spotted as a silhouette at the end of the corridor. You’d checked.
Didn’t he care? He always came back. And you believed it.
But the Robin didn’t. And his constant questions, his voiced thoughts and ideas, they were wearing you thin.
You just had to hold on.
“Who else comes here.” He calls your name when you don’t answer and you sigh.
“No one else comes here.”
“But you said-“
“You asked who else works with him.” There was more to it. Plenty more. But if the Robin was lucky he wouldn’t have to find out. “Not who else comes here.”
Mr J hadn’t been caught. An idea the Robin had brought up at one point. You were sure of it. But where he actually was, was a mystery. Busy. With plans. More important things. Other toys. You wished you knew.
He had to be back soon. Right? You try and remember how long he’d disappear for at a time before but you just can’t work it out.
“What other rogues have you seen then?” He amends. Your stomach sinks with dread. With memories.
“I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Oh. Come on!” Jason was getting more irritable in the quiet. He’d healed up well. No signs of infection which was lucky. And with that, he’d found a renewed confidence. Traitorous thoughts that he’d wanted you to go along with. You understood the desire to leave. You didn’t like it here either, and on the odd occasion, you’d found yourself entertaining the idea more than you should. He made it sound almost possible. Appealing, even. Anything to break the monotony of waiting.
But you wouldn’t leave. What would you even do if you did? You didn’t have anyone left. Not even Alfred would want you after all you’d done. He wouldn’t recognise you anyway. You couldn’t even remember the person you’d been before all of this. It hurt to even think about.
Without anything to actually do though, his confidence had turned into irritability. His outburst sets of a slight tremor in your wrist, and you wrap your other hand around it to soothe yourself. “You come on. What good would it do?”
“Knowledge is important. Anything could be useful.”
You shake your head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why not? If no one else comes here, but you’ve seen other rogues - other than– ”
The speaker overhead crackles to life, cutting Jason’s tirade off. Your head snaps to it, hope stirring in your chest.
You wait.
Nothing happens.
Jason lets out a sigh before you’re ready to consider that it’s just static. It meant something. It had to.
Still, nothing happens.
And then, just as you’re about to betray your best judgement, there’s a rattle from the end of the corridor, you scramble on bruised skin to get to the gap in the door to see.
It’s Paulie.
“He’s back.” You feel almost giddy.
“You said that last time and it was Crane.” Jason warns.
“No. It’s Mr J-Sir.” The tic comes back betraying your state of mind. The Robin looks at you carefully, before backing away from the opening. Like it would make a difference if Paulie wanted him instead.
The thought hurts as it crosses your mind. What if Mr J wants him and not you, after all this time? You’d beg. That would work. He’ll have missed you and be more lenient. He’d let you beg. Yes.
You step back from the door at the last possible second before Paulie rattles the key in the lock. He fills the doorway. Stoic, calm. An immovable object.
He looks to you and gestures behind him with his head. Your heart skips. You nod. He moves and you follow, forgetting to even give a backward glance to your companion. If he says anything, you don’t hear him.
He was back. He had to be.
Paulie walks you down the stairs, down the good corridor this time, towards the large stage of a room you almost always found yourself in and then just before you turned onto it, Paulie takes you with a heavy calloused hand on your shoulder and steers you left instead of right. To the lounge.
A whimper escapes you, the anticipation almost too much to bear.
Mr J is the first thing you see and your insides flip around in a strange nervous excitement. He’s sprawled on a chaise, tumbler of something that looks like whiskey in his hand, the liquid rolling around as he tips it back and forth.
His makeup is cracked, a little smudged. A few days old. He looks tired, but when he turns to look at you, a wide and crooked smile spreads across his face.
“Hello Poppet.”
Your fingers twitch in a small wave before you find your voice, small and hesitant. “Hi Mr J – Sir… You’re hurt.” You step forward a little as you spot the bloodied bandage under his open shirt. When you’re not chastised, you move in further still.
A tiny fly, moving further into a spider’s web.
Mr J watches you, something soft in his eyes, the smile seems fond. “Worrying about me? You sweet thing. Come here.”
He stretches out an arm to you, and you hesitate to read the intention in his eyes. Was he upset with you? Was this going to hurt? But he seemed pleased, so you go the rest of the way to him, and he tugs you into his lap, tucking you against his uninjured side.
It’s the first morsel of comfort you’d had from him that had nothing to do with the Robin since he'd shown up. Your eyes close briefly and breathe. He smells of gunpowder, sweat and blood. His own, for once. It’s strange to you that you can tell the difference.
“…What happened?” He won’t tell you. But he’d be touched that you asked. He liked that. Your mind wanders down the path that he’d laid out over the years. You know what he wants and it’s almost relief for once to know what to do. Everything had been so strange since the Robin had arrived.
Your stomach sours at the idea that Jason would be ashamed of you right now. You rest your head against the crook of his neck. It’s nice. You know it shouldn’t be. But that doesn’t change the fact that it is.
“Oh, a bad punchline, happens to us all. You know how I like to play. Nothing that won’t fix, don’t you worry your little head.” He presses a kiss against the top of your head, oblivious or uncaring to your turmoil. “You know, I owe you an apology princess.”
That catches you off guard, you look up at him with rounded eyes. “Y- You do?”
“Yes of course! I feel simply terrible.” He watches you as your brow furrows. Everything he did, he’d told you he’d done for your own good. You needed the firm hand. His apology was foreign to you. What was he getting at? Was it a catch? Had you failed a test?
“I’ve come to the realisation that lately I’ve been so busy that I’ve barely spent any time with you at all!”
You let out a breath. “Oh. That. That’s – it’s okay. I – “
“- You don’t have to pretend Princess. It’s okay if you’re mad at your dear old Uncle J.”
“I’m –” You swallow and shake your head. That’s most certainly a trap. “I’m not mad.”
With a muted gasp of horror, he pulls back to take a better look at you. “Disappointed then? Oh no. Anything but that.”
“No – I just –“
“It’s alright Sweetheart. You can tell me.”
There’s an old and familiar war waging inside you. You’re reminded of the grainy footage of the gun pointed at a man in a mask. Gloved hands helping you hold the trigger. Caught between what’s left of you, what’s still recognisable, and what he’s turned you into. You’re ashamed of it, but the worst thing was, you didn’t even know what was real anymore. How much of it was you, and how much of it was him. Did you want this? Did it matter? He always won in the end anyway. Wasn’t this nicer? It felt nicer.
The gun goes off. The bat swings. The pain subsides in a twisted reward. Another tiny piece of you breaks off in sacrifice of survival.
You blink and Mr J comes back into focus once again. You’re not lying when you answer him. “I just… missed you.”
His smile spreads, with long limbs he cocoons around you, crooning in your ear. He’s warm. “There there. Was that so difficult? It’s okay Pumpkin. I’m here now.”
A lump starts to form in your throat. A deep ache you don’t have words for. No, no, no. Why now? Holding your breath to hold it in, you hide your face against his collar and shudder as he gently rubs your back. “I’ve cleared my schedule today, just for you. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
“…Yes. Yes, it does Mr J -Sir.” Nodding, your voice betrays you, wobbling and thick with unshed emotion.
Like a shark smelling blood, he doesn’t relent, prodding and goading you to what you tried so hard to keep at bay. “Such a good little Poppet for me, aren’t you. Come on. Let it all out. Uncle J’s got you.”
You can’t help yourself. The agonising grief and overwhelming mix of confusion, relief and shame spill over and your next breath hiccups in a sob. The rest comes easily after that. Your hands tighten in the fabric of his shirt as you cry, curling up closer to soak in any comfort he has for you.
“Oh you poor thing. I should leave you alone more often if this is the welcome home I get.” Strong fingers massage the back of your neck, soothing you as you continue to cry, silent out of habit. Broken this time not by torture, but kindness.
You were pathetic. But he doesn’t rush you. If he grows bored, he doesn’t make it known. Your tears don’t last. It’s cathartic, to finally let go. He always knows what you need.
“Look at me, Poppet.” Obediently, you do without hesitation. He brushes the tears from your eyes. Always smiling, but this is a good smile. He’s pleased.
“To business, for a moment, Dolly. Did you tell old Jonny boy what he wanted to hear?”
It’s jarring to suddenly have to think about Crane’s most recent visit, but his question was the same every time. You’d had your answer ready for days. If you were being honest, how you’d managed to keep the secret under his torture was a mystery to you. “No. I don’t think so.”
He cups your cheek and his smile grows. “Excellent. You are good aren’t you. It’d spoil our fun if he found out. And we can’t have that, can we now?” You shake your head and it satisfies him for the moment.
“And… what about the boy wonder?”
You blink. Your stomach lurches uncomfortably. “W-what about him?”
Mr J’s eyes narrow, but he looks off in the direction of your cell, humming. “He’s persistent isn’t he. So convinced that good old Batsy will come for him.” Distain laces his voice. He'd been listening. Always listening. “He reminds me of you, you know.”
“I don’t, he isn’t.” You insist immediately, hating the comparison. “I don’t want Batman to come for me.”
“You’re sure? I wouldn’t blame you.” His face twists in sincerity. “Your dear old Uncle J has been neglecting you lately.”
“You haven’t. It’s – No. Mr J – Sir. I -I don’t want to leave.”
“You don’t?”
“No. No. I want to stay. I’m – he’s wrong. I’m not like him.”
“No one cares about you like I do poppet. Remember that.”
“Always. Mr J – Sir. I – You’re… all I have.”
He touches the tip of your nose with a measured movement to emphasise his point. “I’m all you need, sweetheart. You don’t need anything or anyone else. You and me, this is for keeps. I’ll always put you back together again. You know that by now, don’t you?”
“I- Yes. I do. It’s good. That’s, that’s good. For keeps.”
With a nod he takes your hand in his, rubbing his thumb against your fingers he notices the gnawed nailbeds and frowns, tugging your hand closer. “What’s this?”
Stomach dropping, you hurry to apologise. “I’m sorry. I was just so worried -”
“- Oh, poppet. You know the rules.” She wasn’t allowed to hurt herself. Never to hurt herself.
“I do. I do. I tried not to.” Apologies tumble from your lips over and over. Pleading. You barely even remember doing it in the boredom of the last stretch of time. It was stupid. You’d ruined what would have been a good moment. He was displeased now and surely he’d -
“Just this once, I’ll let it slide. Because you’ve missed me so.” His mercy is foreign and you still in place as you process it.
“Thank you. Thank you.”
Mr J ignores the way you grovel, his head turning to look at the gramophone in the corner of the lounge as it moves onto a different song. The tempo is faster, more lively. His favourite.
“Ooh I do so love this song. Up. Up. Dance with me.” He takes your weight easily and moves you how he wants you. A pliant doll to dance with. To toy with. Relief moves through you and familiar territory takes over once more. Mr J beams down at you, and despite yourself, for the next few moments, your heavy heart lightens.