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You would think an inability to feel pain would be a good thing.
And it was, in some ways.
The pit had put Jason back together a little wrong. It meant that Jason could push through injuries that would have been unbearable to any normal person. It was a good intimidation tactic too; to stare down your foe, having been shot and to barely even flinch.
It was all well and good, until the rage subsided, and the sensations and emotions came flooding back to him all at once. Minutes or even hours of feeling all at once, overwhelming and destroying him in equal measure.
Jason often had no idea of the extent of his injuries until well after the fight was over. He hadn’t even known he’d been shot until he pulled off his undershirt and the stagnant wound started pouring blood, staining his hands bright red.
So much red. It made his stomach turn.
There had been so much green. Swirling and sickly.
And Jason had come back.
But he’d been wrong, hadn’t he?
Had he always been like this?
Rage bubbling below the surface.
He needed stitches, probably. Had to get the bullet out too.
The idea of doing that himself, with his shaking hands and reeling head made Jason feel nauseous.
He’d need help. Badly.
The cave was a terrible reminder of the choices Jason had made in his life, and the way those choices drove a chasm between him and Bruce.. He didn’t like going there if he had another option. Bruce made things even worse. They’d meant something to each other, at some point in their lives, but everything was too raw and painful and traumatic for things to ever go back to the way they were.
Jason was pretty sure Bruce hated him.
That was fine; Jason hated him back.
Still, the cave had a well-stocked medical wing and Bruce had steady hands. Best in the business. Didn’t ask too many questions, either.
“How did this happen?” Bruce asked, looking over the bullet wound in Jason’s shoulder.
Well, not usually.
“Same way it always does,” Jason muttered. “Just get the bullet out.”
“It will hurt,” Bruce said carefully. “A lot. Do you want painkillers?”
Jason stiffened. “You know I don’t.”
That was one thing that had been the same ever since Jason was Robin. No matter how bad the pain was, Jason would turn down painkillers, especially if the drug had to be given intravenously.
“I’m aware,” Bruce conceded. “Even so, I thought it would be good to ask.”
“Shut up.”
Bruce frowned. “Jason, I’m trying to help you.”
And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Bruce was only ever trying to help, and Jason hated him for it. Hated him for other things too, but that was part of it.
“Just get it over with,” Jason gritted.
He didn’t care about Bruce’s comfort. He felt nothing as he watched Bruce prepare his equipment to extract the bullet.
He didn’t care.
He didn’t.