"Jason... Jason," Bruce Wayne moaned, gripping the ghost white sheets of his bed as his body twisted in agony under the covers. "JASON."
The hero's eyes only opened with a flash when he felt a pair of smooth, stiff hands around his forearms. At that point, the hero shot up with a scream. "No!" he wailed, gasping for breath as if his lungs were collapsing like poorly made bread dough.
"Master Wayne," Alfred the butler softly begged, "please settle down. I think you're scaring your other employees."
Surely enough, there were quite a few pairs of rather shocked eyes peering in at him from the doorway. When the butler noticed this, he shooed them away as quickly as possible, but that couldn't take back what they'd seen. They'd seen what Bruce Wayne had hoped no one but his closest friend, Alfred, would ever see. They'd seen him crying, screaming, covered in a panicked sweat – his most intimate, private moment.
When he'd finally gathered himself, he shook his head and sighed, seeing the droplets of sweat flung all over the bed. "This is going to have to be burned."
"Master Wayne, I hardly think that necessary. I'm sure a good dry cleaning would do just fine to get out what little bit of sweat is on your sheets."
"Alfred," Bruce breathed darkly, "There's a puddle beneath me, and since I know I didn't piss myself in the middle of the night, I'm pretty sure there's enough sweat here to stain my mattress."
"Do please tell me you won't be burning that as well."
"No, Alfred, I think a good scrubbing will do all right."
When Alfred left him to collect himself, Bruce found himself dizzied and full of heat as his body melted back into the mattress among the heap of covers. In his sleep, he mumbled and moaned, the images of the past haunting him.
"Oh, Jason," the hero breathed. "Jason, please... listen to me. You've got to stop this. If not for yourself or your career then for me."
"For you?" his side-kick questioned drowsily, glancing up at the dark figure before him. "Why do you care?"
Bruce's eyes filled with tears, and they glistening on his stubbled chin as he stared down at the pile of needles and syringes. "Jason, you don't have to live like this! I know it hurts, and I know this is hard for you, but you're not the only one who's gone through this. There are people all around you who care and would do anything at all to help you. I would. I...I worry..."
"But do you love me?"
Love was a difficult word. It tasted sour in Bruce's mouth, and so he never spoke it. "Jason, please..." he begged, hoping the budding hero would understand and let him off the hook. "Jason, I care for you deeply..."
"But do you love me, Batman?" The intoxication gave way in his voice as he grabbed the hero's suit and jerked him forward, holding their mouthes dangerously close. "Tell me you love me. Don't tell me you understand or that you care or that Gotham needs me. Tell me you love me, Bruce Wayne."
"You know that I can't do that, Jason..."
"Batman, please."
Now Jason was crying, and he lifted his hands to touch the masculine face of the older hero, his one and only mentor, Bruce saw that his hands were covered in blood. It was so fresh that, down in the ice-cold cave, the warmth of human life gave off steam as his hands made contact with the stubbly jawline of Bruce Anthony Wayne. The hero's body gave an involuntary shudder, and he stumbled back to fall on his knees as the young Robin stared into his eyes. "Say that you want me. Tell me all this is worth it and you'll love me forever. Say it now!"
But the Batman's lips were stuck fast as he remained in shock, able only to stare. "Then don't fucking touch me." Without so much as another breath, Robin disappeared into the darkness of the cave and was gone.
Woken by his own groans of anguish, the Batman awoke once more to find himself, yet again, soaked with his own sweat. "Oh, Jason," he sighed. "Why did you have to die?"
Later that night, in the darkness of the dirtiest parts of Gotham city, the hero found himself facing an enemy his mind was unable to focus on. In one single moment of mental weakness, he fell unprepared, resulting in a swift blow to the head which sent him tumbling down a flight of fire-escape stairs. At the bottom, he was left o lie unconscious as the culprit got away. It was the first time in a long time. In his dreams, his side-kick returned again to haunt him further still.
His swift, nimble foot his the side of Bruce's head like a two by four. That bat hadn't even seen the blow coming, and he stumbled backwards into the wall. Jason was on him in an instant, his fists flying like daggers as they pounded into his temples over and over. Had it been any of adversary, the Batman would have been in complete control – totally alert. But Jason! It was Jason. It was his dear friend, his student, his little apprentice who was so brutally advancing on him.
But, no... Jason wasn't little. Jason was a young man. A handsome young man. With his own ideas, his own feelings and thoughts, goals and dreams. He was a man. As Bruce managed to look up weakly into his eyes, they both froze, just sizing each other up.
"Jason, stop," he whispered. "Stop. I won't fight you. I just want you to get better."
The harder Bruce fought to hold him off, the more passionately the adolescent fought to keep the upper hand. Just when Bruce thought that Robin would deliver a final blow to render him unconscious, the boy's hands reached up and touched his face once more.
As Jason Todd shoved him roughly to the floor, Bruce could feel tears fall onto his own cheeks as the younger hero cried over him.
"Bruce," he whimpered, his body collapsing in a heap over Bruce's chest. "Please, help me. Please, just tell me that you love me, and it will be all right. Please..."
The Batman's shaking hands reached up and slid down the lean, toned sides of the young man he'd trained so well. "Jason... Jason, I do love you." When their lips touched, Jason's hands were sliding off the hero's mask and pushing through his hair.
"I love you, Batman."
Whether or not this all really meant that Jason would get help for his addiction, Bruce didn't know. What he did know was that the boy's lips tasted like honey, and he couldn't pull himself away when he tried.