Chapter Text
Big Richie stood between them and the newcomer, light on his feet like he was getting ready to fight. Jason followed his lead and shoved Richie behind him.
“Really? Two more?” New guy’s voice came through a speaker on some kind of custom motorcycle helmet. “I bet Damian’s fucking thrilled.”
“I was about to call you,” Big Richie said. He didn’t really sound scared or pissed off, but he didn’t move out of the way, either. The new guy was a lot bigger than him—bigger than Bruce, maybe—and armed, while Big Richie was in sweats and socks. Richie was shaking, huddled up against Jason’s back.
“I don’t give a fuck, you’re not the one who should’ve called,” the guy said, taking long, fast strides towards them. Jason glanced towards the stairs, trying to figure out if he needed to grab Richie and run.
Big Richie altered his stance, widening his legs. New guy stopped suddenly.
“Dude, what’s your problem?” he asked.
“This isn’t a good time for you to meet them,” Big Richie said. “Which is why O told you to wait.” Now he sounded pissed off.
“Christ, fine,” the new guy said, raising his hands and stepping back. “I’ll use the clinic and clear out.”
“Are you okay?” Richie piped up from behind Jason. Christ, did he ever learn?
“Got a scrape,” the guy said, dramatically pulling up his sleeve to reveal… a tiny scratch. It wasn’t even bleeding.
“Owie,” Richie said, like he was a toddler instead of nine.
“Yeah, it’s pretty owie,” the guy said. “Anyway, guess I’ll see you two later.”
He took his helmet off, and Jason choked.
“Dad?” he heard himself mumble.
“Shit,” Big Richie whispered.
“The fuck?” Dad stepped around Big Richie to stare at him.
“Is that fucking us? Where the fuck did—hey, I do not look like Willis fucking Todd,” said the guy who looked like Willis fucking Todd, but bigger, tougher, and meaner.
“Okay. Sorry, sir,” Jason said, looking down. When he glanced back up to check if not-Dad, or whoever the fuck it was, was still pissed, his face had fallen into something—he wasn’t sure what.
“No, it’s—shit, I’m—” not-Dad swallowed audibly before continuing. “Sure, I look like him. Whatever.”
“… Okay,” Jason said. “Sir.”
Not-Dad took a deep breath, and when Jason risked another glance up, he could see that the man’s eyes were a little red and glassy, like he was high, or maybe drunk. He looked back down and fought the urge to hunch into himself, because Dad always hated when he did that. Richie’s hot hand was tugging at the cape, but Jason ignored him, other than to step a little more in front of him.
“Kid, I’m not gonna—” not-Dad started, but Big Richie spoke at the same time.
“Let’s do this later, okay? They—”
“Yup,” Not-Dad bit out, and walked away before Big Richie could finish talking.
Richie and Big Richie were both saying something, but he couldn’t hear, because everything in his chest was trying to drop straight out of his body and through the floor because not-Dad saw—no, no. He took the makeup off. He was in normal clothes. He didn’t look…
Not-Dad would still know what he did. But he wouldn’t see him like—like that.
But there were cameras here.
“Jason? You alright, bud?” Big Richie said.
There were definitely cameras here, and not-Dad was in new-Bruce’s stupid fucking underground lair, and that meant that he worked for him, so not-Dad could watch the footage, and when Jason came through the portal he had been wearing lace underwear and red lipstick that was smeared from sucking a man’s dick and he might see him like that, his dad was gonna see him like that—
“Jason?” Richie said, high and scared. He tried to tell him to back off, but his breath was coming in wrong and puke was rising up his throat and he couldn’t throw up again, so he clenched his teeth together and dry-heaved.
“Food not sitting right?” Big Richie asked.
Richie’s little hand was on his back, petting him like he was a fucking dog, the touch coming through the cape, through the new clothes, through his skin, into his nerves, and he couldn’t fucking stand it anymore.
“Stop fucking touching me!” he screamed. “Fuck off!”
And Richie backed off, but it didn’t even really fucking help. Both of them were saying shit again and he still couldn’t make it out over the noises coming out of his throat.
“Jason, it’s okay,” Big Richie was saying, crouched in front of him, but he was fucking wrong.
“He’s gonna see me,” he said between heaving breaths, even though he knew it wouldn’t help. “Dad’s gonna…”
“He’s not here,” Big Richie said. “He’s not watching. Bruce isn’t either.”
“Cameras,” he forced out, choking on it.
Big Richie inhaled sharply, like maybe he got it, somehow.
“Got it. I’ll get them turned off.” He pulled out his phone and started fucking around on it, but that wasn’t even what Jason meant, he meant before.
“Rec—recording,” he said, still having to choke it out between sobs.
“From when you came through?” Big Richie said. “Okay—okay. I’ll get Babs to censor any footage with you or Richie in it. No one else will see it.”
“Don’t—don’t watch it,” he begged. He was still crying, but his breathing was evening out. Not because he felt better, he was just… worn out.
A few seconds later, Richie handed him the phone, and he took it numbly.
He was on a video call with a redheaded woman in a dark room with a bunch of screens. After seeing Richie’s and his dad’s weird not-doppelgangers he was almost expecting some bizarro version of his mom, but he didn’t recognize her at all.
“Hi, Jason,” she said. She sounded nice. “I’m Barbara. I’m going to go through the camera footage and block out the parts with you and Richie in them, okay?”
“Don’t watch it,” he says weakly, even though he knows that’s stupid, how the fuck can she censor it without watching it?
“I’ve already seen it, I’m sorry,” she said gently. “I keep an eye on the cameras to keep everyone safe, but I’m the only one who’s seen any of the footage with you in it. I’ll make sure no one else does.”
“… Okay,” he said. But… “Will Big Richie see what you’re doing?”
She smiled a little, looking over Jason's shoulder, and when he looked, Big Richie was smiling too, like they were in on a joke Jason wasn't in on. He felt sick, but he was too tired to try to figure out what the fucking joke was.
“No, Big Richie won’t see anything,” she said, still smiling. “I’ll let you know when I’m done.”
He nodded and pulled himself into a cross-legged sit on the cold stone floor. Richie was huddled a couple feet away from him with his arms wrapped around his legs. He looked freaked the fuck out—more than that, he looked scared. But he’d seen Jason cry before, hadn’t he?
No, not like that. Not that much. He’d gotten those kind of sobbing, gagging, huddled-on-the-floor breakdowns out and done with before Bruce ever brought Richie home.
Not to mention that he screamed at him, and he was just trying to be nice. Jason knew he was just trying to be nice. He swallowed.
“Sorry,” he said, and held out his hand.
Richie looked at his hand, then down at the floor, shaking his head. He unwrapped his hands from his legs and tucked them under his armpits.
Thank god, he thought, even though he felt like shit for it.
“I’m finished,” Barbara said, and Jason hunched back over the phone.
“Can—can I see what it looks like?”
“Sure,” she said, typing something on the keyboard in front of her, and another window popped up on the phone. A hole in space in the cave, and then—it was covered by a black rectangle, then the rectangle moved away, and the portal was visible again. So both he and Richie were behind the rectangle, totally invisible, but…
He still felt wrong. Felt like—what if people see that and imagine something even worse? What if they think he’s doing something to Richie behind the censor? What if—
“You know what?” Barbara said. “I can’t think of any reason why we would need this footage at all, so I’ll just delete it.”
And the window closed.
"Is Bruce—will he... you'll get in trouble for..." he sounded so fucking stupid and immature but he couldn't think of how to ask if Bruce was going to hurt her without just saying it.
"I won't," she said gently. "He won't be angry. And anyway, he couldn't hurt me if he tried."
"He could," Jason whispered. If she didn't know what he did—but she watched the cameras, she had to know, right? "He..."
She let him flounder for a second before speaking again.
"I'm not in any danger from him."
"The videos are—they're—deleted? No one can see them anymore?"
"All gone. Completely unrecoverable."
"Promise?" he whispered, choking up like a fucking baby.
"I promise," she said, still gentle.