Chapter Text
Jason is tired.
He has been tried time and time again, and he’s just… tired .
But he’s also so angry.
So upset with the world that treated him so poorly. He’s not a bad kid. Is he? Does he deserve it in some way? Maybe. God does love to punish a sinner. But Jason doesn’t believe much in any God. At least, not anymore. Not since his twisted fate came to be.
Not since his saving grace couldn’t save him.
Bruce.
Maybe it truly is because he came into the world, a stain unto it. But God, he felt so stupid for finally, finally, trusting someone. Trusting someone to care about him, to love him. And he knows Bruce loved him, just... Not enough. And Jason can't let go. He can't let it go. Because he trusted Bruce to save him. And he loved Bruce. Maybe he still does, considering how he can't get himself to move on and forget. But Bruce has moved on. And that is evidently shown by the fact that Jason had been replaced.
But he's over all of that. Or, he should be. It's insane to stay so fixated, but Jason can't help himself. He can't help the pain that overwhelms him when he sees his adoptive father. Is he even Jason's father anymore? By any stretch of the word? Does he still have a place in the cold, beating heart of the only one who even attempted to understand? Jason doubts it. But he can't accept it.
But all of that is besides the current point.
Yes, the current point, is this kid—of course it had to be a kid—is hurting.
Hurting so badly, she might just end it all.
Jason is definitely not qualified for this.
He's standing in a run down apartment, windows broken kinda run down. The floorboards creak with every move, and the only light is that of the moon. So this young girl, in her unkempt state, is illuminated by purly a pearly glow. And it only serves to make her innocence shine through that much more.
He moves closer to the kid, a teen, who is holding a gun, crouched on the fithly flooring, and sobbing. She has it pointed at herself, the gun that is, and Jason doesn't know what to do.
"Hey, kid," Jason starts softly, holding his hands out in a placating manner. "Why don't you put down the gun, huh?" he offers.
"Why does it matter? Nobody cares anyway." the girl sobs, her frail frame shaking with the effort. Without even a moment of hesitation, Jason blurts, "I do. I care."
That gives the girl a pause. Her grip on the gun faltering slightly, but nowhere near completely. "You don't even know me." she says, so softly that it almost seems she didn't mean to.
"I-" this time, Jason falters. He's even more lost now. Why had he said that? Why does he care? "You're right, I don't." he says, like some terrible confession. Which, it might as well be at this point.
"Just... Please.... Don't," Jason pleads, which he rarely ever does. The words feel unnatural, and almost sickening as they leave him. He just doesn't want this girl to die.
He wants her to be saved.
Ideally, by someone who loves her, but alas, all she has in this moment is Jason. But Jason can love. He never learned how to do it properly, but he'll try for this kid. He'll do anything at this rate.
"I don't have to know you... To not want you to die, kid," he says with impossible grief. It's overwhelming, even to the girl's ears. She shakes her head, looking conflicted.
Her grip tightens.
"That's pity." she whispers, but it's so loud in the silence.
And then it's too late.
It doesn't even take more than a moment, and that possibly makes in impossibly worse. Jason is frozen, the loud bang of the bullet making his ears ring. The way the shot lights up the whole room in a bright, fiery, impact. But only for her final instant. Her blood makes it's way onto the walls, and onto Jason. Red, hot, sticky, and sickening. He's sure he screams, and he's sure he's crying. He goes to hold the young girl's body close, begging this to not really be happening. That it could all just be a bad dream. He's had plenty of nightmares, ones based in reality, and ones not. And it's not like he's never seen someone die, but she was just a kid. No older than Damian. He rocks her gently, and strokes her hair, utterly destroyed.
He didn't even know her name.
And that, without a doubt, makes it worse.
He is once again, left utterly clueless. All of his logic, his training, has been thrown out the window. And he is sure this is a pitiful sight.
"Please, please, please..." he begs, unsure of what exactly his pleads are praying for. Or to, for that matter. Because if God is real, any god, then why allow this? Why permit such pain? Jason isn't sure. He isn't sure of anything right now.
So he sits, and he crys, and he prays. He prays to a God that has long since forgotten him, and long since forgotten the world all the same.
...
Jason doesn't know how long he's here before someone finds him. All he knows, is that it's light out when he's being dragged away from the girl, and it was dark before. But can anything be light anymore? Surely not. It eludes Jason, how the world could continue, when it should have halted, at least for a moment, to mourn. But no, it keeps going, even when the girl could not. But really, he was being ripped away from her. He was holding on like a vice, and surely would be hurting her if she was still alive. But her eyes remain still. Cold and unblinking. Unliving. Either way, he can't just leave... It was his fault after all. Wasn't it? It was. Maybe he really is as terrible as Bruce thinks. Maybe he deserves this never ending pain. This heavy grief. Because a weight cannot be without burden, so someone must carry the load.
But he can feel his whole body shaking, perhaps under that weight. And he's thankful for his helmet, because it hides how much of a wreck he really is right now from his brother, Nightwing. Or, Dick, but that's too complicated a thought for Jason now. He sees the mask, and the suit, and nothing else registers. Not his brother, not that he's trying to help, nothing. For the only thing on his mind, is that he's being pulled away. And he cannot have that.
"Hey, hey. It's okay, it's gonna be okay," Nightwing says, an attempt to comfort Jason. But Jason just thrashes, trying to get away, and back to the girl. Back to his sins That he cannot uncommit. That already is setting off alarm bells in Nightwing's head.
"Get off me! Get the fuck off!" Jason screams, his voice growing rough, the modulator in his helmet only serving to make the words harsher. And that's when Nightwing really realizes how bad it is. How bad Jason is. No nicknames, no snark. Just... Desperation. And that terrifys him. Something is very, very wrong with his brother. And sure, the sight of a dead kid will make anyone reasonably upset, but... this is a lot. Even for Jason.
"Jay... Jay! Listen to me!" Nightwing pleads, still trying, and struggling, to hold back the brick shithouse that is his brother, besides their blood. "There's nothing you can do! She's gone!"
"Just let me stay! I need to stay!" Jason sobs, fully in tears, fully torn apart. And that's another moment of realization for Nightwing. He's come to the conclusion that he'll probably have to knock his brother out somehow, just to get him away from here.
"No, Jay! Stop it! You need to calm down! " Nightwing says, still trying to at least sound soothing to his brother. He slowly pulls out a tranq, one he would usually use for mentally ill civilians, that he needs to bring in.
And it hurts to know Jason is at that point.
Jason doesn't stop thrashing, not until Nightwing jabs the needle into his leg. And as the chemicals make their way through, Jason's world fades to black.
...
When Jason finally wakes up, he's in the batcave. The bright florecent lights blaring into his bleary eyes. And an aching in his leg. Why does his leg have a bruise like he got an EpiPen? And good God his head hurts. His eyes are dry, and his throat is hoarse as well.
And then everything floods back to him.
“Tt, you’re finally awake,” Damian says, pushing off of the wall he was leaning against. It sounds snarky, but Jason knows better. He’d watched Damian grow up, and he knows the ins and outs of this kid better than most. And that’s putting it lightly. And similarly, Damian knows Jason just as well. But all Jason can think about is that girl. How she was so young. Just like Damian, whom he promised to himself he would protect. So when the words leave his mouth, it doesn’t even feel like he said them. More like his dread and worry speaking through him.
“Do you ever want to kill yourself, Dami?” and good God, Jason has never been one for putting it lightly. Damian’s arms uncross, and fall to his sides, his face a mixture of shock and confusion. Why, out of anything Todd could have said, any snarky remark, did he say that? First thing after being knocked out? But, as always, Damian recovers quickly.
“No, I can’t say that I have,” he says simply, much less snarky than before. Jason just nods. Good, good. He thinks to himself. It feels like he can breathe fully again. Though, that weight still persists. Just… a bit lighter now.
“That’s good,” Jason says, more of an exhale than anything else. “Why is it that you ask, Todd?” Damian questions. Worried? Possibly. The way Jason speaks is very reflective of where he is mentally. He never was good at hiding his emotions. Not like the rest of the family. So quick witted, and too short tempered. That is without a doubt, Jason. And Damian loves his brother—and all his very outrageous reactions—very much. But he won’t be caught dead saying so.
“Nothing. It’s nothing,” Jason responds after a moment. He considers just telling Damian, but decides against it. No need to cause unnecessary worry.
Jason tugs the IV out of his arm, and Damian doesn't even blink. Jason's been stripped of his armor, of his weapons. And even though he's only in the cave, he still feels far too vulnerable. Exposed. He grunts as he sits up fully, feeling the chill of the air around him. It's also then that he fully realizes he's only in his briefs. Even worse.
"Where are my clothes?" he grumbles as he puts his feet onto the ground, a shiver running through him at the icy contact. "How should I know? Pennyworth was the one to asses you," Damian responds with a light scoff. Jason simply grunts, standing up and rolling out his shoulders. The icy cave floors send a shiver up his spine.
"I really do suggest you rest, Master Jason," a voice that can only belong to one man, speaks in a chiding tone. "And I didn't ask," Jason retorts, albeit weakly. Alfred doesn't dignify that with a response, and sets Jason's clothes, pressed and polished, on the cot behind him. The time and care he knows Alfred took, makes his chest feel tight.
"Thanks, Alf." Jason says quietly, still only looking at the clothes. He stares at the thick armor and padding, brows furrowing at the thought of Dick's needle getting through all of it. Probably part of the reason his leg hurts so damn bad. Jason subconsciously presses on the bruised flesh, wincing imperceptibly. But the ache is not unwelcome.
Jason knows plenty about pain. Hell, he harbors it with every breath he steals—he considers it stealing, because he should be dead—from the air around him. And sometimes... Sometimes he craves it. Sometimes, when he can't make heads or tails of the persistent burning in his body, he allows the flames to consume him. They always want blood. Whether it be his, or someone else's. Jason prefers it to be his. Plenty of the scars on his body, are by his own hand. But who, besides him, could really tell the difference? To his... Family,—If Jason even considers them that, he isn't sure—Jason is shrouded by violence always. So what are a few more cuts, on an already marred flesh? Nothing, that's what. They assume, and Jason lets them.
"Todd? Are you listening?" Damian asks, raising a brow. He sounds irritated, but it could be worry. Jason glances scarcely at the boy, and sees the crease between his brows. So worry then. Jason finally grabs his clothes, and pulls his pants on first. He's in his head now, and that never ends well for him. He'll probably wake up, soaked in something. Though, whether it be booze on his kitchen floor, or blood on his bathroom tiles, Jason isn't certain. He clenches his jaw briefly at the thought. He moves slowly, more focused on his increasingly concerning thoughts, than getting clothed.
"Todd? Are you going to answer me?" Damian persists, crossing his arms back over his chest. "Sorry, m'fine," Jason says quietly, only just now buttoning his pants. Damian raises a brow, unconvinced. "You don't seem it," he says, observing Jason closely. Jason pulls his shirt on, ignoring that statement.
"You're being avoidant," Damian insists, narrowing his eyes at Jason. "I'm not being anything," Jason mutters, sitting down on the cot to put on his shoes and socks. Truthfully, Jason is being avoidant. That tends to be his default when something is wrong.
"You are," Damian presses, yet again. "So what? Maybe I just don't feel like talking. Ever think of that?" Jason says, more exasperated than anything. Mostly with himself. And all these damn questions. Damian scoffs, but drops it. He knows very well how stubborn Jason is. It's not worth fighting. Jason finally puts on his jacket, and stuffs his gear into a duffel bag that he will definitely not be returning. He lugs the bag over his shoulder with a soft grunt.
"See ya, kid," he says, before making his way out of the cave.
But as he's looking back, he doesn't notice the figure in front of him, and stops dead when he turns back forward.
It's Dick. Because of course it's Dick. And of course he looks worried, and scared. He always get like this whenever anything happens with Jason. Maybe it's because he's terrified of missing a small thing that becomes a big thing. Again. Because last time, what was just a fight with Bruce before Dick left for outer space, turned into Jason dying. At the hands of the Joker no less. So, maybe he's rightfully paranoid. It's still exhaustingly irritating for Jason regardless. But Jason knows full well that Dick would sooner kill himself- and at that thought, Jason's chest clenches. It feels like his heart stops, then speeds up to a concerning pace. He takes in a sharp breath, and steps away from Dick.
Dick clenches, and unclenches his hands in front of himself, unsure of what exactly he should do. In Jason's self hating opinion, he shouldn't do anything. Jason has relied on himself since he was eight. And the last time he needed someone else to save him, he was let down. But he's over that, obviously.
"Jason, please. Stay," Dick pleads, wringing out his hands, like an anxious mother. And he is that, in a lot of ways. To a lot of people. A mother, a father, a friend. And a brother, if Jason would allow it. But, he won't. Not at this rate. So Jason just rolls his eyes. "I need to go home, Dick. Roy-" he starts, irritated. But Dick quickly cuts him off. "Roy knows you're here. I called him."
"Then he knows that I don't wanna be here," Jason grits out. Dick flinches slightly at the harsh tone, but knows it's the truth. Jason shoulder checks him as he makes his way out.
If he hears Dick’s breath hitch, he ignores it.