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I could run away.
The thought came unbidden, but not subtly- it rushed over his mind like a sudden wave, breaking over his neurons, leaving him awash with it in its wake. It curled around his mind, burning white, searing itself like a brand. I could run away.
Jason opened his eyes. The darkened hotel room ceiling, tinged green from the streetlight outside, loomed over him. The light on the fire alarm blinked at him. He glared back. It was annoying, somehow.
He went to sit up, but there was an arm curled about him, and he mentally groaned. If Damian would let go of me, I could run away, he thought, a little more wryly. Damian whimpered in his sleep and hid his face against Jason's side. Another nightmare. Jason sighed, reaching up a hand to card gently through Damian's hair. "Me too, demon brat," he murmured. The nickname feels dumb when Damian's asleep. He doesn't look much like a demon when he's asleep, when his face is creasing with nightly fear and his body is curled against Jason's side, little hands knotted in his shirt. He doesn't look ready to let go. He shuddered in his sleep, made a strangled noise, something so primally frightened that Jason's heart twisted in reply. "It's ok," he found himself murmuring, pulling Damian closer. "I've got you, kiddo." He remembered when he'd been younger, when he'd been better, when he'd been just like Dami, curled up next to Dick and clinging to him. He remembered waking up to soft Romani words murmured in his ears, gentle hands rubbing his back, a kiss dropped on his forehead. "I love you, little wing," he remembered Dick saying. Dick hasn't said that in a long time.
Jason ached. His hand pulled out of Damian's hair. The smaller boy whined, his face crumpling up more, but Jason just pried the arms off him. The bed groaned as he got up. No one stirred.
I can run away.
He wandered over the window, tugging back the curtain to peer outside. Someone rolled over in bed behind him. A car rolled by on the road, going at least ten over, the beat of their radio palpable even through the shitty motel walls. The muscles in Jason's hand tightened, his entire body going stiff with longing. A spiking, sudden need to be in a car, maybe on a motorbike, going as fast as he could, yelling out drunken lyrics and turning corners without slowing down, feeling the wind peel everything away, leaving him clear headed and numb, letting nightmares and stepdads and distant older brothers behind him. He needed to leave. He needed to run away. I can run away.
Jason stepped away from the window. He moved like a man possessed, hardly processing his own movement. He pulled out his shoes from underneath the bed; he pulled on his jeans; he shrugged on a flannel and his jacket; he picked up his red baseball cap from the nightstand.
He picked up his phone. He put it down and stuffed his wallet in his pocket instead.
Damian made a whining noise, curling into a tight ball, and Jason froze. "I'm sorry," the kid muttered, the words coming out like a slurred, broken sob. "I'm sorry." His hands grasped at empty air, searching for comfort in hollow space. "I'm sorry, I swear it…" Jason had never heard Damian sound anguished before. He pressed his lips together and turned away.
"Me too, baby bird," he whispered. "I'm sorry."
The door closed quietly behind him. Wind bustled across the parking lot, rustling over him. Without even fully meaning to, Jason laid down, sprawling across the asphalt to stare up at the sky. It's only half past midnight. He has time.
He wished he had something poetic about the stars, something about the way they struck white against the sky, something about the cold fires burning somewhere in space behind God, but Jason had never been poetic. He had never wanted to be. Poetry was beautiful, and Jason's life, Jason's mind, had never been beautiful. It was messy, tangled, broken pieces loosely bound together, slowly splintering into shards that pierced every piece of him. It was painful to be ripped apart by his own mind. There was nothing beautiful about that.
The stars were ripping apart the sky, he reflected, almost hazily. The stars were burning the sky open, like cigarettes burnt open his lungs. Jason was the sky, and the stars were his problems- complicated, imploding, and really fucking hard to count.
Sarcasm was poetry, he decided. It was all words just the same. Bitterness and rolled eyes and snapped curses were poetry. Anger was poetry, if only you were angry enough.
Jason snorted, pushing himself up off the asphalt. He sounded like Tim.
Oh. He looked back at the hotel room, a frown creasing his face suddenly. Timmy.
I'm running away.
He wasn't going to see them again, not if he did this right, and Jason's heart burnt, because they had no reason to mind, he'd given them nothing but trouble, but his gut felt so cold suddenly, because he was leaving them behind.
"I'm sorry," he said out loud. His voice sounded like thunder in the empty parking lot. The streetlight flickered. He thought of Damian, crying out in his sleep and reaching for a brother that was no longer there- reaching for Jason. And Jason was in the parking lot. He was leaving him behind.
He became aware of the person standing behind him and every bone in his body stiffened, ready to whirl around, but the familiar voice spoke before he could, still dragging with sleep. "Jaybird, what are you doing?" Jason's body tensed tighter. He hadn't heard that nickname in a long time.
Dick's hands landed on his shoulders. "Jay." He sounded so sad, suddenly. "Jay, Jaybird, can you look at me?" Jason shook his head. "What are you doing?"
Jason squeezed his eyes shut, wondering why he didn't feel upset at being caught. "You're not stupid," he muttered. "You can guess." Dick was quiet for a long moment.
"Why not bring your phone?"
"It has a tracking app." Bruce doesn't trust him. He reflected that maybe this was why.
Dick turned him, and Jason didn't resist as much as he had meant to. He looked like he was about to cry. Jason looked down at the ground. "Don't." Dick's hand came up, running through Jason's hair, cupping the back of his head and tugging it against his shoulder, hugging him. "Don't leave." Jason didn't reply. A kiss was pressed into his hair. "Don't," his brother repeated, sounding strangled, sounding weak. Dick had always been so emotional. "I love you."
Jason didn't reply, but he didn't resist Dick pulling away and taking his wrist in hand, didn't protest as he was led back to the hotel room. The door closed quietly behind them.
Dick smoothed Jason's hair out of his face. "Go to bed, little wing," he whispered. "Please." Jason stared at him for a long moment. Dick swallowed hard and squeezed his wrist lightly. "Please," he repeated, and Jason heard another plea behind it. Please be here when I wake up.
He nodded, and he watched Dick relax. "Thank you," he whispered. Jason nodded again.
Damian latched onto him as soon as he climbed back in bed. He seemed to have calmed down a bit from his anxious twitching earlier, his face relaxed again in childish innocence. Jason murmured something soft in Hindi, rubbing his hands over Damian's back, and dropped a hesitant kiss on his forehead. "You're safe, baby brother," he whispered. "I'm here."
I could run away, his mind still whispered, but Damian smiled in his sleep and another thought broke over his mind, washing a soft lull of peace over him. But I don't want to.