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Cold January rain was pattering on the rooftops.
It hit against the windows, it was what clung to his clothes now in an uncomfortable, slimy, heavy mess that made him feel sick.
Jason’s apartment was very dimly lit. The only light source in the living room was a small lamp he found at a local thrift store. He was in his apartment, the one he usually stayed at, not the one that’s been recently associated in his mind with fucking around with Slade Wilson.
He clumsily sat down on his couch, dampening the seat along the way. His mind was heavy, his blood was pumped full of Alcohol. He was absolutely plastered.
Jason went out on patrol tipsy, then after patrol, one of his guys— one of the guys who dealt his drugs— offered to drink with him tonight.
“Boss, it’s just— you’ve been pretty violent tonight, y’know? Even heard you mumbling under your breath a few times. Hey, every guy needs a drink now and then, right? No shame in it.”
And then after that, he went on patrol drunk. Though, it was only for around thirty minutes before he slipped in the rain, hit his head and decided to call it a night.
Jason took out his phone, it’s been buzzing all night. He was avoiding it. But now, in his drunken state where thoughts ceased to exist and his mind was a complete blur, he decided to finally look at the messages and calls that were no doubt his family screaming at him.
He clicked play on the first voicemail while he got out his pistol to start cleaning it.
Dick’s voice came crackling in through the speaker, muffled slightly by the heavy rain from outside.
“Jason, what the hell are you doing?”
Jason snorted out a laugh as he slowly ran the cleaning rod through the barrel. Even while intoxicated, he’s got this down to an art by now
“Seriously, I expected more from you,” Dick’s voice continued, he sounded mad. “I thought we were finally starting to reach an understanding with you, and then you walk out after we invited you to Christmas.”
Jason blew a raspberry at the mention of Christmas. He took apart his gun methodically while his hands cleaned it dutifully. “Yeah, suureee… ‘we.’ Wha— *hic* an asshole…”
“And last night, when we’re off fighting three of Gothams most dangerous villains, you killed fourteen fucking people instead of lending a hand!” Dick shouted.
“It was actually 16…” Jason slurred, brushing the outer gun.
“The same night— might I add, where Deathstroke had multiple reported spotting. And, low and behold, Babs gets a security camera shot of you and Slade fucking Wilson sitting together at a Diner. You wanna tell me what’s up with that?! Just—” he heard Dick sigh. “Just tell me what’s going on, okay? I’m your brother, whatever it is, I can help. Just, call me back? Please?”
The voicemail beeped, letting Jason know it was done.
Jason sat there in the near silent room, alone on his couch with a now clean pistol. The words that were said didn’t surprise him. Not at all. But hearing them in such a blunt manner— well. Jason scoffed, turning off his phone and deciding not to listen to the others.
What the hell did Dick know anyway? He didn’t get it, he didn’t understand anything that Jason was thinking. Dick was a rich kid who still talked to Bruce, he even had a loving, nice family once. He’s never experienced what it felt like to have two fathers fail you so drastically.
“Fuckin’ dick…that’s where ya get your name from…”
“Dick’s right.” A familiar voice said from his kitchen.
Jason blinked, his eyes going wide as he pointed his gun towards the voice (the shadow) in a delayed, stuttering reaction. He wobbled as he stood, his head was dizzy from standing up so quickly.
How the hell did he even find this place? Was he being that messy?
“Wha— what the— *hic* fuck d’you wan’?” He slurred.
The blur of his intoxication made the shadow feel two times the size it was, and as Batman stepped into the dim light of Jason’s lamp. Jason nearly gagged at the sight of him.
“You’re drunk.”
“No— *hic* shiit asshole.” Jason groaned, stumbling from where he stood on his two feet before he held his head in his hand, the grip on the gun he was holding was wavering. “Get outta h— *hic* here, dad, I don’… don’t wanna…”
The shadowed figure of Batman stilled for a moment, before he walked a few steps closer to Jason. “Come back to the manor with me,” he said softly. “It’s too dangerous for you to be like this right now.”
Jason laughed, a hiccuping chuckle that hurt his throat.
“I thought you didn’t want me there?”
“Christmas, was a misunderstanding, Jason.”
“Oh, suree, everythin’ is a— *hic* misunderstanding with you, *hic* right?” Batman stepped forward again, only five feet away from his— his son? “Don’t! Don’t you fuckin’ come any closer,” Jason waved the gun at him. “I’ll— *hic* fuckin’ shoot you.”
“The gun’s not loaded Jason. I watched you reassemble it myself.”
“Wha—? Nuh uh, this things got… a load of bullets.”
In a quick motion, Batman snatched the gun from Jason’s hand before he could even blink, and put it in his utility belt. Jason stared incredulously, not exactly processing what just happened.
“Please, just come to the manor.”
“Fuck you!” Jason shouted as he stumbled back onto his couch, splaying across it like a broken doll. “You— *hic* you can’t make me do anything.”
Batman sighed, and slowly, carefully sat down on the coffee table in front of Jason, his cloak-like cape folding, making it look like he was wearing some sort of weird spiky bat dress. Jason snorted out a laugh.
“What were you doing with Deathstroke, Jason?” Batman asked, his tone more serious. It was firm and cold. It was the same exact tone Jason heard whenever he did something wrong to him.
“I wasn’t with Slade,” he lied out of his ass.
“Jason,” Batman warned, a no-nonsense glare being pushed his way.
“Fu— *hic* —ck you I wasn’t..”
“Deathstroke has a job in Gotham at the same time you kill sixteen men, you’re shown next to each other in multiple security cameras that night, and then you go to Maggie’s Diner this morning.” Batman paused, inhaling sharply. “With him wearing a sweater I’ve seen you in once.”
Jason froze, he swore his heart stopped beating as a cold chill ran through his body. He completely fucking forgot he wore that sweater around his family once. That meant Bruce knows now. He knows and— and god, what will does he think of him? Humiliation curls in Jason guts as his heart hammers out of his chest from anxiety.
“We’re— we’re not fucking,” Jason blurted out, staring at Bruce with wide eyes.
“Then what is this?” Batman asked sharply. “What, are you helping him now? Do you not even care about how terrible a person he is?”
“Oh, I fucking care—”
“Then you wouldn’t have gone down to his level. Even if you’re just… helping him, for whatever reason, you’re helping a mass murderer who has killed children, worked for rapists, drug dealers, you name it—”
“Oh my god!” Jason groaned, throwing his head back in pure frustration and clenching his eyes shut. He wanted to hit Bruce, he wanted to smash his face in then jump off a roof. “It’s just— *hic* sex, Bruce! I don’t give a single shit about him!” He shouted.
The silence that followed was telling. The rain poured heavily outside.
He heard Bruce sigh, and felt his heart break.
“So you are sleeping with him,” he practically murmured. He was disappointed in him. He could feel it in his bones and hear it from the way it’s screamed from his voice. Jason felt utterly shattered.
Jason bit his lip, he could already feel the tears welling up in his eyelids, so he looked away from Batman. “It doesn’t matter,” he slurred.
“Jason,” Batman said softly. God, he said it so softly and Jason wanted to hit him for it. “Slade Wilson is more than twice your age, a known manipulator and a very, very vile man. Whatever you think you have with him, you don’t.”
“You don’ think I don’t fuckin’ know that?”
“Then… why—?”
“You wanna know why? Maybe…” Jason clenched his eyes again at the feeling of prickling tears. “Maybe I just wanted— *hic* a guy who said he would take care o’ me. And… he just wanted some kid to fuck, I don’t matter to him,” he slurred.
“Jason…”
“Just fuckin’ go, dad.” He turned around so he laid on his side, and he faced the black cushion of his couch. “Yell at me tomorrow.”
“I… okay. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.” Jason heard the light swooshing of Batman’s cape underneath the pattering rain. “Goodnight, Jason.”
Jason waited a few minutes. He usually didn’t leave right away. He usually wanted to watch for a moment or two.
Now, he’s gone completely. Jason could feel it in his bones, it was an instinct he had ever since he was Robin.
At this feeling, Jason sniffled, a singular tear rolling down his cheek before it become all out sobs, wrecking his body in front of him and shaking his shoulders. He wrapped his arms around himself in a pathetic attempt at a hug.
The rain and his sobs mixed together in a solemn chorus, as Jason sat alone in his apartment. Wishing someone would pull him close and whisper sweet nothings in his ear.