Welcome to chapter 3! So, you've got one more day to get prompts in over on my Tumblr. I'll be shutting it down at the end of Monday (I run on the PST zone). Then I'll get to work actually writing all of them. XD Enjoy that, and this chapter!
I land on the roof of the building across from the address that Tim directed me to. An apartment building, ten stories, in a pretty decent part of town. Usually Jason's safe houses are in the far worse parts of town, but I guess when he really wants to hide he goes to the ones that we won't expect him to be at. I check the direction I'm approaching — from the North — and then let my gaze travel down the windows in front of me. Seventh floor, Tim said, and I have to trust his intel. Tim is good at keeping track of all of us, and he's probably the only one in our family who even vaguely knows where Jason hides.
The curtain is pulled tight over the window, and there's the glow of light from behind it but no shadows. It is early though, the sun is starting to brighten the horizon, so even if he were right behind the window I probably wouldn't be able to see him. It is right on the fire escape and even from here I can see a few cigarette butts on the dark metal. It's probably the right window.
I have to take the chance. I have to talk to Jason before he runs too far for anyone to find him.
I hook my grapnel and swing in, making sure that my landing is as quiet as I can make it. I test my weight on the fire escape carefully, a little at a time. I wouldn't put it past Jason to have one of his security measures be a creaky fire escape outside of his window. Or a squeaky window, for that matter.
It takes my weight without sound, and I shift to eye the window. There are a few locks, subtle and not, that raise my guess that this is the right apartment. I set to work on them, carefully disabling the security. I still double check to make absolutely sure that there's nothing still holding it, and when I do pull it open I only do it a half an inch. Just enough to peer around the edges and make absolutely sure that there's nothing hooked to the window that's going to blow up in my face when I open it.
Which I do, very carefully. I slip onto the ledge, check the closed curtain for traps as well — there's no wind this morning, thankfully, so it stays still and doesn't give my presence away — and then take a deep breath. There's no way that Jason misses me slipping into his apartment, no matter how subtly I do it. I've seen his safe house layouts before; anywhere he could sit or work is always aimed so he can see one or both entrances. So I have to do this fast. Or, I have to make it casual.
Better idea. Taking the chance that Jason isn't going to automatically shoot me if I burst through his window is probably a bad plan. So I pull the curtains open and slip through, ducking into his home like I belong there and I do this all the time.
I have time to register the lack of anything immediately Jason-shaped before a hand closes in my hair and yanks my head to the side. A knife sliding underneath my chin and tight against my skin isn't far behind. I give a sharp, shocked noise, and then the knife is withdrawing and I'm getting shoved forward by the grip in my hair.
"Jesus Christ, Dick." Jason's voice is a dark growl, and when I whip myself around he's glaring at me. His eyes are dark, narrowed, but there's also a bright green tint to them that instantly puts me on edge. "I could have fucking killed you," he snaps, as I try and decide exactly how currently affected by the Lazarus Pit's madness Jason is, and how likely that is to translate to violence. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
"I had to talk to you," I defend. His jaw clenches, something dark and hurt flashing through his eyes.
"Got the message, huh?" His hand tightens around the knife, he sneers, and if I wasn't so used to Jason deflecting his pain into anger I might have missed that it's still lingering in his gaze. "There's nothing to talk about." He stalks past me, keeping his head turned so he can keep me in his peripherals as he crosses the room. I carefully lean out the window and tug it shut as he comes to a stop at the back of his couch.
The apartment is pretty bare, apart from a few cases scattered here and there and some papers around a closed laptop on the far cushion of the couch. It looks like there's nothing here apart from those that's actually his; like these are just the pieces of furniture the apartment came with. That's probably true.
"Nothing to talk about?" I ask, tugging the curtains closed and taking a few steps into the apartment.
Jason stiffens for a moment as he turns back towards me. He looks angry, yes, but he also looks worn around the edges. The green tint to his eyes is emphasized by the shadows underneath them, and his white t-shirt is wrinkled the same as his slacks. Without his jacket, the armor, or any of his gear, it looks like civilian clothes. There's a white bandage around his lower right arm that's got just a hint of red leaking through — not dark, has to be fresh; tonight? — and a nasty looking scrape across the left side of his throat.
This is bad.
Any one of those things I would take in stride, but put together? Jason isn't stupid enough to go out on patrol, or on a mission, when he's tired enough for shadows like that. He's also not stupid enough to look tired, which is what the wrinkles advertise. Jason does get hurt sometimes, it happens, but if that wound is fresh enough to still be bleeding some then that means he did go out tonight, and was in a fight. The wound is one thing, that could be anything, could even have been an accident, but the scrape? A scrape that bad looking either means that he was dragged across something, or thrown into something. Either way, that means that someone big and mean got close enough to get ahold of him. In turn, that means he either wasn't fighting at near his full skill level, or he got into a fight with someone powerful.
Not even Jason gets into fights with people that powerful without calling in some kind of backup. Not unless the side effects of the Pit are wreaking havoc with his mind, common sense, and survival instincts.
"Scrape looks nasty," I comment, instead of asking him if he's alright. No, Jason is not alright, and asking is a really dumb thing to do. All that'll do is make him defensive, which will lead to him being pissed, which could easily turn into violence if the Pit is messing with his head.
Did I do this to him? Jason has a good handle on the Pit's influence. There are times when he just can't control it, and days when it has him no matter what he does, but usually the only thing that can make him lose control of the Pit is when he's already unbalanced. Bruce and I all but accusing him of rape would have been enough, and if he's been pushing himself as hard as I think he has that could have made it worse. Stress triggers these attacks. Mental stress, usually, though pretty severe pain has been known to do it too.
"It's fine," Jason all but grinds out, "and no, there's nothing to talk about. Get out, Dick."
"Jason—"
"Get out!" he shouts, taking a sharp, threatening step towards me. His shoulders curling in, knees bending, eyes narrowing in danger and bright with that unnatural green glow. "I'm already leaving, alright?!" I stop myself from doing anything more than tensing a little bit, and shifting my weight back so I can dodge, if I have to. "Christ, Dick! You couldn't give me the decency of some fucking peace in my last two days in Gotham?! Is the idea of not having the last word that much of a fucking mystery to you?!"
I tense a little further, nearly feeling his fury and really hyper aware that he's still got that knife in his right hand. Alright, how to deal with him. I'm not leaving, I really do need to talk to Jason about all of this. Trying to calm him down isn't going to work, since he doesn't take being patronized or treated like a wild animal very well, and appealing to reason isn't going to work while he's under the Pit's influence. That leaves me with the more dangerous option; meeting his anger with my own. If I can meet him head on, it might be enough to snap him out of this.
Because I am angry. Jason does not get to dump something like this on me and then bail out of Gotham before I have a chance to respond. I know I screwed up pretty royally, and he does have the right to not speak to me again if he doesn't want to, but not yet. Not without giving me a chance.
I crouch down just a little bit, mirroring his threatening, ready position, and grit my teeth together for a second. "The last word?" I get out, slipping my hand back to grab one of my batarangs, just in case he throws that knife at me. "You can't just drop something like that on me and then leave, Jason! Did you really think I was going to just let you vanish off the face of the Earth without a chance to talk?!"
"Talk?" His tone turns sharply mocking. "We all know how you deal with talks, Dick. You've already called me a fucking rapist, what's the next thing you're going to pull out when you get uncomfortable?" My hands clench, and he barks out a sharp laugh that twists his mouth into another sneer. "You don't get to track me down and force me into a talk. See, I remember the kind of nasty bullshit you pull when people press you for answers, Dick, and two can play that game. Get out of my goddamn home, you hypocrite."
That stings, but he's not wrong. I don't do well with people pressing me into talks I don't want to have, and yeah, it's pretty hypocritical of me to be forcing Jason to do something I hate so much. That's the thing about Jason, though, he's so rarely wrong. He's perceptive, and smart, and he's got a kind of raw, instinctive, ability to feel people's intentions that the rest of us had to learn. Product of where he grew up.
"Don't start that," I warn him. "We've hurt each other enough already, haven't we? Don't—"
"Hurt each other? Are you fucking kidding me?!" I can see the fury slide up his spine, into his shoulders and arms, and I grip the batarang a little tighter. Then suddenly he's moving, arm snapping out and flinging the knife. Luckily, not at me. It sticks, quivering and nearly all the way to the hilt, in the wall to his right. It's enough of a distraction that when he lunges at me I'm just a fraction of a second too slow to stop him grabbing my arms and throwing me up against the wall to the side of the window.
It's not hard enough to knock the breath out of me, not with my suit on, but he still manages to get in my face and grab my arms again before I can stop him. A quick knee to the groin or stomach would get him off of me, but I hold back for now. He looks angry, but not murderous, and I don't want to start a physical fight if I don't have to. This isn't dangerous yet, not since he's more or less in civilian clothes, and he's not geared up.
"Hurt you?" he snarls into my face, his voice low and more of a growling rumble than a shout. "I didn't do a fucking thing to you, Dick. I didn't touch you, I didn't hurt you, I didn't humiliate you, and you fucking dare say we hurt each other?" He lets go of my left arm and reaches up, and I twist my head away but he follows it. Nails scrape across my skin, and I shove him back with my freed arm but he already has the edge of my mask in between his fingers. It comes off with his step back, and I wince at the rough removal.
"Jason!" I snap, in sharp reprimand.
He throws my mask to the floor, tightening his grip on my right arm. "Look me in the fucking eyes and tell me how I hurt you, Dick." I can't find an immediate answer, and his jaw clenches down before he spits out, "You've already won. You arrogant, condescending, piece of shit; you've fucking won, alright? I'm leaving Gotham, you'll never fucking hear from me again, and you don't have to pretend you trust me anymore. Better for everyone."
He lets go of my arm, starts to step away, and I snap my free hand out and grab ahold of his shirt, at the collar, to hold him closer. "Better?!" I can't help how angry I am, or how frustrated, or how much it hurts that every bit of what Jason's said is true. "Are you delusional?! Do you think I want you to leave Gotham?!"
"Why wouldn't you?!" he shouts back.
"Why would I?!" I counter, immediately. I tighten my grip and give him one vicious shake. "You're family, Jason! I screwed up, I know that, but—"
"I don't want your fucking apologies—"
"—where the fuck did you get it in your head that I'd want you to leave Gotham because of what I did?! It's my problem; if anything I should be leaving! God, Jason, you're my brother!" He jerks like I've struck him, and then he gives a low snarl that sounds more like an animal than a human.
"Don't ever fucking pretend that I'm anything to you but a loose cannon," he grinds out, his voice shaking just a bit. "Don't you dare."
"Are you insane?" I shouldn't have said that, I know it the instant that he gives a tiny flinch, but I shove ahead anyway because it's too late to stop now. "Of course you are!"
"I'm what?!" he demands, grabbing my wrist and wrenching it away from his shirt as he snarls into my face. "Your brother? Through what, Dick? It's not blood, it's sure as fuck not loyalty or trust, and as far as legality is concerned I'm dead! You're free and clear, so what the hell makes you think you can call us that?!"
I suck in a sharp breath, stiffening up for a moment. "Jason—"
He lets go of my wrist and shoves me back against the wall to cut me off, before stepping away and deliberately turning his head to not look at me. "Get out, Dick. I'm not here to make you feel better about your shitty choices, and your apologies don't mean jack shit to me. Get out, or God help me I'll throw you through the damn window myself." I can see his hands curl to fists, see a tiny shudder shake his shoulders, but I shove away the obvious warnings.
I take a step forward, bringing us close again, and I can see his gaze flick to me. Not quite as green anymore, that's good. "I know I screwed up, Jason. I shouldn't have said what I did, and yes, I've got my excuses for what I did but they don't matter. I still said it, and I know it hurt you. Tell me what you want from me, Jason. Just tell me and I'll give it. I'm the one who messed up, not you. If you really hate me that much for it then I'll leave. I'll go back to Bludhaven and—"
He shakes his head, taking another half-step back. "No, fuck, Dick I don't…" He raises his right hand and scrubs over his face; back through his hair. Then he slowly, deliberately, meets my gaze and lowers his hand. "What I want from you, you would never give me." His voice is flat and resigned, with just a tinge of pain mostly hidden by irritation. "I already know that, and I'm not going to push so just… Don't. Don't, Dick."
"Don't what, Jason? What is this about? Why have you got it in your head that you have to leave Gotham?" I push him back as I ask my questions, taking steps forward that he matches with backwards movement until his legs hit the side of the couch. Then I take one more, crowding him, and he grits his teeth and clenches his hands down on the arm of the couch. "Answer me, Jason."
"Fuck you," he snarls, but he feels and looks like he's on the defensive. "You're not going to give it to me so there's no fucking point in asking."
"How do you know if you don't ask?" I point out, sharply, and the frustrated resignation spikes into anger again.
"How do I—? Did you even fucking watch what I sent you?!" He jerks forward for a moment, like he's going to lunge at me, and then bares his teeth instead. "It's you, you son of a bitch! I want you, and I always have, and I'm always going to! But you're straight, and I'm not enough of a piece of shit to push you for that." Then he does snap forward, shoving me back a step and giving a furious, pained sound. "And now you fucking know, and I won't put that between us. I won't put you in that kind of a position, Dick, so I'm fucking leaving, alright?!"
"Is that what this is about?!" I ask, completely incredulous. "You think I'd make you leave because I know you're attracted to me?! Do you really think I'm that insecure?!" I push back into his space, meeting his bared teeth with my own. "Have you missed all the attention I get from people, Jason?!"
"No!" he snaps. "You think I'd give a shit if it was just finding you attractive, Dick?! God, you moron. I think Bruce is hot, I think Tim is hot, but I don't want them. It's just you. It's only ever been you!"
Oh. Jason actually cares for me? I didn't get that from his video. I got a lot of lust, and a lot of him having wanted me for a long time. But actually wanted me? That's different, that's complicated, and it's not something I ever expected from Jason. He wants more than just sex?
"Fuck," Jason hisses, scrubbing his right hand over his face and ducking away from my gaze. "Missed that part, huh? Shit." His hand lowers again, and he gives me a narrow-eyed glance that says a lot I'm not sure I entirely understand. "It's not going away, Dick. I've spent fucking years waiting for it to, and it hasn't. I didn't ever want you to have to deal with it, and I still don't. I know that it's fucked up, and it's awkward, and wrong, so I'm just going to go. I'm not going to force you to deal with it, alright? Just back off and let me go."
I study Jason, staring at the sharp angles of his clenched jaw, the line of his neck, the fall of his hair and that small shock of white at his left temple. I slowly raise my right hand up towards his face. He cringes a little bit, sets his jaw a little more firmly like he thinks I'm going to hit him. I carefully touch his forehead, beneath that shock of white hair. His eyes snap up as I trace my fingers along his hairline, down past his ear and to his jaw.
"I'm not straight," I tell him.
Instantly his hand snaps up and knocks mine away, and he straightens up and jerks forward into my space. I barely manage to stop myself from flinching back.
"Don't you fucking dare!" he shouts. "Don't you dare fuck with me like that, Dick! I'm not your toy to be yanked around and manipulated, and if you try I'm decking you, got that?!"
I lash out and shove him backwards, knocking him half off balance and sprawling him partially back over the arm of the couch before he catches himself. His right arm hooks over the back of the couch, stopping his fall, and I push forward to be too close for him to comfortably straighten back up. I am not letting this happen.
"I'm not straight," I snap at him. "I was never straight, Jason. I thought you were. Have I ever thought about having an actual relationship with you? No, because I thought you were straight. Have I thought about sleeping with you? Yes." I reach down and grab him by the front of his shirt, dragging him partially up so I can bare my teeth and speak right into his face. "I am not letting you cut all ties with me because of this, you understand me? You're going to stop whatever plans you've put in motion, you're going to stay in Gotham, and you're going to give me time to think about this."
I carefully pull him the rest of the way up as I step back, giving him some space back but not letting go of my grip on his shirt. Not yet. "You're family, Jason. No matter what, I'm always going to care about you, and I would never make you leave Gotham." I carefully ease my hand out, leaving it resting flat on his chest. "Stay, and give me a bit of time, alright?"
"For what?" he demands.
I lower my gaze for a moment, and then tap my gloved fingers against his chest and meet his eyes. "To think about this. I can't promise anything yet, but if you give me some time to think… It's not a 'no' yet either, Jason."
He makes a wounded noise and shakes his head. "Don't play with me, Dick. God, don't—"
"I'm not playing," I correct, putting just a bit of snap into my voice to make him pay attention. "I'm saying 'maybe.' Stay, Jason. No matter what I decide, you still belong in Gotham and I'm not going to make you leave." He avoids my gaze, and I carefully lift my hand to touch the side of his jaw and tilt his head up. "Jason, please, look at me."
Grudgingly, he does. I can see that he doesn't want to, but he clenches his teeth together and does it anyway. "What?"
"I know this doesn't change how badly I screwed up." He winces, but doesn't jerk away from my touch like I mostly expected him to. "I didn't need it, but thank you for the proof. I thought it was just a pain in the ass for you; I didn't know it was that much of a fight, and I didn't know that you'd actually… I shouldn't have assumed anything, and I should have trusted you. Thank you for being honest about all of it; I know you didn't have to tell me any of your side of it."
"Wasn't really a choice." He sounds grudging too. "Make it obvious or have you wonder what I was hiding were the only two routes; didn't really leave me any option to avoid any of this."
"You could have made an excuse," I point out, lowering my hand to rest on his shoulder. "If it was halfway decent I would have taken it; I didn't really want to know that much detail about what I did." Which— "Sorry, by the way."
He looks just a little confused, and then snorts. "For what?"
"The—" I have to pause, avoid his gaze for a second and clear my throat. "Marks, and the uh, hair pulling."
He gives a sharp bark of laughter, and I look back to see his mouth curling in a tiny grin. Still hurt, and a long way from being alright, but at least it's something. "Yeah, those were pretty much the best parts of the whole night, Dick. Besides, you were drugged. I can be mad that you were stupid enough to get dosed in the first place, but the rest of it isn't your fault." He deliberately meets my gaze, holds it for a moment, and then pointedly says, "It wasn't your choice either."
"If it was?" I don't even register the words until they're out of my mouth, and then I yank my hand away from his shoulder and step back. "No, sorry, I didn't mean that."
His grin is gone. I swallow, meeting the intensity of his gaze — only the faintest hint of green in the blue; he's alright — and trying not to back away from it. The last time he looked at me like that, I'm pretty sure that we were about midway through a fight and he was so fully focused on me it was unnerving.
Finally, Jason eases out, and his gaze softens some. He gives a quiet sigh that's more like a huff of breath, closing his eyes for a moment. "In a heartbeat," he says, sounding like it hurts him to admit it. "I wasn't kidding, Dick. This is so fucked up, but I can't control it, or make it stop." His mouth parts like he's going to say something else, but then he shakes his head and closes it again.
Before I can stop myself, I ask, "What was that?"
"My business," he answers instantly, gaze flicking up to meet mine, "not yours."
I nod, reading the hard wall of refusal that those four words represent. Whatever it was, he's not going to tell me. Pushing is only going to piss him off, and I just calmed him down. I don't want to ruin that. "Got it. Fair enough." There's a moment of silence, and I recognize that this conversation is done and over. Jason's avoiding my gaze, but his eyes are blue again and he's not screaming danger anymore. That has to be good enough for now. "I'll go," I concede. "Stay in Gotham, Jason? Give me the time to think it through?"
He hesitates, but then gives another huff of breath and a short nod. "I'll stay." Then his gaze flicks sharply up to mine. "This doesn't fix things between us, Dick." His hands clench on the couch, and his shoulders draw in as he turns his head away. "What you— I can't. Not yet."
"I'm not asking you to," I reassure him, even though the refusal feels a bit like getting sucker punched. "You don't have to forgive me a second sooner than you want to. But whatever I can do to make it up to you, tell me and I'll do it. I never meant to hurt you, and I really hope you know that."
Jason's gaze is a little more obviously pained when he glances back at me, and then dips his head in acceptance. "I know." He shoves out a breath and squeezes his eyes shut, rolling both of his shoulders back. "You should go. This is a good note, and if we keep talking we're just going to fuck it up."
I wince — it stings that I'm almost sure he's right — and then back off a few steps. "Yeah, I'm going." There are a dozen different things that I could say, apologies and promises alike, but I settle on, "Get some sleep, alright? You look tired." That means more to us than it would to any civilian — it means that Jason looks weaker, and none of us can ever afford that — and for a second I'm worried he'll take it badly, but he just snorts and shakes his head.
"Haven't really been—" He cuts himself off, glances at me, and then rolls one shoulder in what might be a shrug. "I will. Go beat the sun, Dickiebird, B won't like it if you're out past curfew." I watch him stiffen just a little bit at even the casual mention of Bruce, but bite my tongue and force myself not to go after that. I'm not going to help by getting in the middle of the two of them; I never have before. They're going to have to work things out on their own, someday.
That, or I need to enlist the rest of the family's help in trapping them together somewhere and forcing them to work it out. I'm pretty sure they won't kill each other. Pretty sure.
But instead of any of those thoughts I just give another nod — he's not looking at me, but he'll catch the movement out of his peripheral vision — and back off. I do have to pause to lean down and swipe my mask off the floor, and another to press it back into place and make sure it'll stay for long enough to get me back to my safe house. I climb back out the window, leaving Jason to fix the security on it, and head off into the night.
I don't look back, and I don't stop to watch the shadow of his frame behind the curtains. I have other things to think about, and Bruce might not have any say in what time I get home but I would love to catch some actual sleep for once. Especially after tonight.
Then I have to talk to Tim. He has to have known about at least some of this, even if he didn't know specifics. Tim is the closest to Jason out of all us — a little weird, considering how much Jason wanted him dead for awhile — and yeah, I'm really sure that Jason's never told anyone this, but that doesn't mean that Tim didn't figure it out. At least, I'm sure Jason's never told any of us. Maybe Roy, or Kori, but they're a step removed from any of us. Now, after everything that's happened, Jason is closer to both of them than any of us, Tim included.
I'm not going to them for answers, or perspective. The history with Kori and Roy is one thing, but I also don't want to invade Jason's privacy like that. I've done enough of that recently, and I've hurt him enough too. I don't want to drive that in any deeper if I can help it.
So sleep, Tim, and then I need to sit down and dissect everything I've learned today. I just need the time to figure it out, like any other unsolved case.
