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"So. Batman, huh? Was that just to surprise me?"
"Fuck off." Jason commanded, not even looking to see who decided to bother him this late at night. After all, this one voice accompanied him far too often these days - he wouldn't mistake it for anyone else's.
And so, he came back to doing what he already was before the interruption. Getting rid of the evidence - although he didn't know why he even bothered, at this point.
"Mmm, no thanks. I think I'll be sticking around a bit longer." Superboy Prime - Clark - took a few confident steps towards the edge of the bridge. "You haven't answered my question."
"Wha' an astute observation." He replied drily, refusing to make eye contact.
This wasn't his first rodeo - the vehicle he used to transport the corpse was hard to trace, and almost impossible to tie to him. He wasn't dressed in his usual getup when he dropped in on his target, instead putting on a set of dark, unsuspicious clothes that at first glance didn't even resemble tactical gear, and could easily be mistaken for a casual street outfit. No cameras revealed anything that could make him easy to identify, even if somebody was looking. In other words, the crime was nearly perfect.
With the empathizes on nearly.
After all, a perfect crime required no witnesses, and Superboy Prime was right there, in all his infuriating glory.
The body made a splash, falling into the water. The sound didn't invoke a single feeling, not even the tiniest spark of regret in the back of his mind. God, this used to be so much different. During the 'before', he would. Well. Always at the very least try hiding what he was doing out of some irrational fear of the cycle repeating again - of the man he once called his father willingly choosing to find a way to end his life, instead of doing. Anything else he could do.
He didn't know why he was so worried - everything was bound to happen again, and again, and again, anyway. Even now, with Bruce disappearing off the face of the earth, the man still found a way to make Jason's life into the Shakespearian abomination that it was.
"You just killed, like. A lot of people today - what were they called - 'the Buddy Butchers'? Something like that, right? And now, look, I clearly don't judge, but you have to admit, your actions were very obvious this time. Theatrical, even. Sooooo?"
Jason lifted up his eyebrows - a movement that shouldn't matter considering his face was hidden beneath the cowl, but that was nevertheless visible to a Kryptonian.
"What's with the secrecy now?" Clark spoke again after receiving no answers.
"They called themselves 'Butchers of Gotham', actually."
His interlocutor shifted, a strange look appearing on his face. It seemed as if Prime was desperately trying to look unaffected and nonchalant, hell, maybe even a little pissed off, but just couldn't help but come off exactly as what Jason thought of him. Needy and irritating.
Beautiful, if you ignored his dominant traits.
"Tomayto, tomahto. Why was their murder-"
"-killing." Jason interrupted him.
"Geez, whatever. Why was their killing - you pretentious weirdo - so dramatic, while the ugly bastard's you just sent to explore the depths of Gotham Harbor, incredibly anticlimactic? See, I'm not even sure it will make the cut with the DC editorial. If they make the decision to put it in, the reading sales might fall, and they definitely won't like that. So." He put his hands on his hips. "I'm asking you once more, why are spending this lovely night all lonesome, hiding the fact you just whacked that guy?"
For the first time during their encounter, the new Batman turned around to get a good luck at the man before him (although calling him a 'man' was quite generous, although the same could probably be said about Jason; they both existed in-between two ages, not quite young, but not old either).
He was- god. Most of the time, words were something that he never ran out of, his arsenal always full of most peculiar phrases for every kind of situation. But not with Clark. Never with Clark. There was nobody else he was displeased to see as much.
Nobody else that stuck around also.
The cowl Jason wore still felt foreign, in comparison to the helmet he once wore as if it was a truer version of his actual face. His first instinct was to unlatch it like he was used to doing in the past, but his hand stopped before reaching the nonexistent mechanism. In order to take this new mask off his face, he needed to get rid of the muzzle-like structure that concealed his nose and mouth first, and only then work on the rest. It, unsurprisingly, took a while, but Prime waited, finally shutting up for once.
There was something intimate and naked about the process, delicate in its uncomfortability.
Jason hated that he loved it.
Hated that there was no other way for him to experience any kind of intimacy.
"I'm beggin' you, don't say 'whacked'." Jason asked, now bare-faced, staring into Clark's eyes.
"I would prefer it if you begged me for different things." The teasing reply was imminent.
The first time he and Prime met was somewhere around seven to eight months ago; depending which one of them you'd ask. Jason, of course, was entirely sure about the date up to the very second, but Clark refused to agree with him - probably just out of stubbornness - and insisted otherwise, even though he could never say when they met exactly.
"I don't think I'm in a position to arrange tha'." He fell right back into the familiar banter. There was nothing he could do to stop the corners of his mouth from perking up.
"Oh yeah?" Clark took another step, and oh. His face was mere inches away from Jason's.
Moving with pure instinct, he lifted his hand up, slowly, and let it hover over the Super's lips. Prime took it for what it was - an invitation - and close the distance, forcing Jason's index finger to brush against his upper lip so he could gently bite it. All while looking up at him daringly, of course.
"'Yeah' indeed." He teased.
The other man didn't let their interaction end there. He traced the outline of Jason's body, touching him, but not strongly enough, even though he was well familiar with how much he needed to feel another person's presence. Personally, he viewed the action as cruel. Unmerciful in its knowledge of his needs and wants.
Things would be so much easier if it was just Clark who couldn't pull away from this. Especially considering neither one of them fully enjoyed one another's being and soul. What they were doing was all just an.. unspoken, temporary arrangement between two very disturbed, very desperate people.
"Is it going to be the roof or your place, this time? I don't want to do it here, I feel like the guy is watching us from underwater."
And just like that the moment was over.
"My place. And then, if I'm feelin' generous, th' rooftop." Jason sighed, and hooked his finger on the tip of Prime's chestplate. "Let's go."
-
The first step was to strip himself of his armor. One by one, Jason lay down his cowl, muzzle, gloves, utility belt, cape.
That moment was quiet. It was quiet now, just like it was all the times before, because - even though they both refused to acknowledge it out lout - they sincerely longed for the vulnerability that the silence brought. Their increasingly frequent interactions didn't have much to do with desire (even if it was there at times); they did, however, remain a search for answers to questions that lingered somewhere in the depths of their minds; an attempt at soothing the inescapable wrongness of their very existence.
Being able to freely watch Prime undress was mere echo of the kind of trust Jason wanted to be given his whole life, but at that point, an echo was better then he expected to be granted.
For once, he wasn't thinking about Bruce. Or Dick, or Batman, or Robin, or Tim, or even Gotham. He was just allowed to be. Focus on the sound of his breath. Clark's breath. The cold and the wind creeping into his sad excuse of an apartment.
Maybe the next time he was going to die, this could be the memory he could play in his head.
The moment of quiet in the eye of a hurricane.
-
"Have you seen my cigs somewhere?" Jason asked, pulling his pants back on.
They were both occupying the comically large couch that came with the apartment that he rented. Jason took up only a small portion of it, sitting on the edge, and attempting to dress himself as fast as possible. Clark displayed the opposite approach; he was sprawled around, still half-naked, and in no rush to change position.
"Here." Prime took the pack from under the pillow he was laying on. How did they get there, Jason had no idea. "I thought you smoked Marlboro's." He added, after a moment of consideration.
"I did. Can't afford 'em any longer. They raised th' fucken' price again." He complained, absent-mindedly.
Their little encounter already took up more of his time then would be preferable.
"Can't imagine that's really what stops you." The man stated the obvious.
"Well." Jason shrugged. His gloves, where were his gloves-? "I suppose you're right. Do you want one?"
It didn't matter that he already knew the answer.
"Nah. I'd be happy to watch, though." He smiled. "You know. You don't even have 'ta put them out on me. But I'd really appreciate it if you chose to do so."
Jason rose from the couch, shaking his head, slightly. It didn't mean anything. It didn't mean anything at all.
On his way towards the window, he snatched the pack from the super's hand. It goes without saying, that even just the brush of their fingers was enough to make his body react. An average onlooker wouldn't notice a thing, obviously, but what was important was that Clark knew and enjoyed it. If it wasn't him, if Jason had slept with a different person, perhaps he would find it in himself to feel regretful about his reaction, but the wondrous aspect of their relationship was that what they were doing was so private, so shameful, that there was no need to hide things.
Opening the window didn't help with the smoke like it did in most places - Gotham's charm came with terrible air quality; a strange mix of fog, questionable chemicals, and overall pollution. And thus, just by opening it to make the smoke escape, Jason was letting in something far worse. Nevertheless, it was more about the principal of things. If he was going to smoke indoors, then at the very least he could invite some outdoors to his home in return.
"You can ask yer questions now." Jason said, after one; two; three drags.
"Don'cha wanna ask me something first?" Clark asked, turning around to lie on his stomach, so that he'd have a better view on him.
"There's nothin' about you of interest to me." He lied. "Besides, you always tell me whatever bullshit's on yer mind anyway. Wha' more do I need to know?"
He hoped the answer he was about to receive was trivial. Otherwise, his control of the conversation had a good chance of slipping, and after all that vulnerability, control was something he simply couldn't do without.
"I bet you could think of something." Oh thank fuck. "I already asked you something today. Do you remember-"
"- I remember." Jason assured him, quietly.
"Okay. So?"
"Th' question hasn't changed?" He inquired, letting his head hang loosely, as he stared at the floor.
"Nope." Clark wasn't about to grant him mercy.
If so, then so be it. Jason could be honest. And he could handle whatever answer he was meant to give. After all, it wasn't as if he didn't know about his own reasoning. He did - very well, in fact. It was admitting it out loud that was the problem.
"Fine." He was going to need more then one cigarette that night, he could swear it. "I. God, t's illogical. It's terribly illogical, I'm sure you'll have no other choice but to laugh."
"Maybe." Prime answered, unfazed.
"The case with th' 'Butchers', and th' men tha' I killed before them, while wearing this stupid suit. This - wha' I did afterwards, wha' you witnessed me doing - is mine. Th' cowl is as much of a statement as it is a response, but t's not like it's wha' I would do if th' situation was any different. I do it only because I have to. And fuck, do I hope tha' this really is an 'I have to'." Jason took short break before he could fall victim to his voice cracking under all the emotion.
"In comparison, th' body in the harbor was all Red Hood. Or, if I'm bein' extra honest, just Jason. This is wha' Bruce always saw me doin', even back when it would never even cross my mind. And this is wha' I, unsurprisingly, end up doin' nonetheless. But I don't want him to be right, I can't let him be right."
"I know." The man on his couch stated, his words simple yet no less meaningful.
"This one, unlike all th' other, wasn't planned. I didn't know that I'll.." Jason started, but couldn't quite finish. He took another break, and then, gathering up all the strength left in him to mutter; "He almost raped me when I was nine. With the empathizes on 'almost'. My friend wasn't so lucky, he. Th' GCPD 'couldn't find him', so they assumed he ran off. They were wrong. We found him behind a dumpster two weeks later."
Clark stayed silent, letting him finish his story.
"And it didn't even matter, you know?. Nobody came to pick up th' body. Maybe th' files are still there somewhere. Maybe they never even got created. I have no idea. I'm not sure I want to have an idea." Jason took another quick drag, and immediately put the cigarette out. "I shouldn't be telling you this- I absolutely shouldn't. God."
He pursed his lips.
"Forget all about it. Fuck. It was a moment of weakness - just one more to add to my ever-growing pile." He flicked the cigarette butt off the windowsill, and let it fall. "Tha' would be it, I'm afraid. I need you to ask me another question."
"I'm sorta the reason the love of my life died."
"You-" Jason frowned, completely caught off-guard. "Wha'?"
"A dozen retcons ago, but it still happened. If I ever get back , I don't know if I'll be able to look her in the eyes again. Maybe I'll ask her to kill me this time. Maybe that would fix things." Clark continued his confession, each word worse then the other. "Although it probably won't."
"Why th' fuck are you tellin' me this?" He genuinely wanted to know, since they were both entering an uncharted territory.
"I'm giving you a confession in exchange for your confession. Now we're even. Nobody loses." Clark rewarded him with a sharp grin to really prove his point.
The expression on the super's face was a bit too much for him to handle, so he turned away to close the window.
"Nobody loses." He repeated, hung up on another memory. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Yeah." He lift up his chin to look at the last person alive to whom he repeatedly bore his soul to. "Yeah."
"Now. Can you smoke one more? I really wasn't kidding when I said I need you to put it out on me."
"Get th' fuck out of my apartment."