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."
