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, but that's fine. 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.