Giving a scar-twisted grin, Jason tilted his head in a mocking bow.
Robin couldn't speak.
Jason was alive.
Jump City was crashing down around him. He could hear it—a roaring, rumbling constant sound, like an earthquake. Or was that just the blood rushing in his ears? He tried to say something. To say he was glad. To leap off the table and drag Jason into a hug and never let him go.
But his face …
Jason's smirks and his scowls and his rare, genuine smiles—all torn apart by those scars. Robin's stomach dropped, and then dropped further.
Jason … Jason killed those kids.
'No …' he choked. 'You're—you're dead. You died.'
Raising his singed eyebrow, Jason tipped his head. 'Don't you remember bringing me back?'
The smell of candle smoke. The voice, following his chants right behind his head. The figure forming in front of him, soft and vague but growing stronger …
Shakes rattled through Robin's body, overpowering the numbness in his limbs. 'You killed those kids.'
'Oh no.' Jason stood tall. 'That wasn't my fault. That was you, Dick. Perfect little Dick Grayson. Because you forgot me.'
'Forgot you?' Robin choked. 'I could never—'
'You forgot me the moment you fucked off with Slade!' Jason roared, white spittle spraying from his ruined lips. 'I died a hero, Dick! I was always the problem kid, the one with the bad family and the bad temper, the one who needed fixing. But thanks to me, the name Robin was immortalised forever.' He bared his broken teeth in a snarl. 'And then there's you. Perfect fucking Dick Grayson. Why can't you be more like Dick, Jason?'
Robin's head spun. The room tilted madly around him, and he couldn't breathe. The air was too hot, too close. But his skin was cold. 'Bruce would never—'
'He didn't need to say it! I knew he was thinking it. D'you have any idea how much he just loved it when you came home? Like you'd set me straight. And how goddamn disappointed he was when you left, and he was stuck with just me.'
Robin's voice was tiny. 'Bruce loved you.'
Jason sneered. 'He loves me better dead than he ever loved me when I was alive. And so do you.'
Robin slumped against the table. The brand on his chest throbbed, each thud of his heart sending another sharp stab through it, burning over and over again. And with it came waves of nausea. His head spun. He tried to say it wasn't true, but only managed a weak mumble. His vision was going soft. Dark. He was going to pass out again.
New pain brought him sharply back.
His leg. Right where he'd been shot.
Jason had set his hand on it, leaning down. Robin cried out, nerves searing as the half-healed wound flared up in protest.
'Is this where Slade touched you,' Jason snarled, 'when you laid back and called him "Master"?'
Teeth gritted against two separate waves of pain, Robin squeezed his eyes shut. How did Jason know all this? Had he bugged Robin's uniform?
Jason shook his head. 'Dick Grayson, the perfect little prodigy, fucking a villain. You're disgusting.' He lifted his hand off Robin's leg, and Robin gasped as blood flooded through the wound. But Jason left his fingertips where they were, tracing softly. 'Want me to fuck you right now, Dick? I can put the mask back on.'
Robin stared up at him, horror closing his throat.
'I don't hear a no.' Jason trailed his fingers higher.
'No!' Robin yelped, trying in vain to heave himself away. 'No—Jason stop!'
Jason smirked, his broken mouth making it close to a grimace. 'See. That's all you had to say to Slade. Not too difficult?' He trailed his fingers under the waistband of Robin's leggings. 'But you didn't.'
Robin's heart thudded against his ribs. He was choking. This wasn't real. It wasn't happening. 'Jason, please … please don't do this.'
'You're begging me?' Jason let out a sharp bark of laughter. 'You're actually begging me! I didn't even beg the Joker before he killed me. You're pathetic.' He pinched the corner of Robin's mask, and with a quick flick of the wrist ripped it off. 'You don't deserve to wear this.'
And then he slipped his hand down into Robin's pants.
Robin's dry lips wouldn't move. His tongue was a lead weight, stuck to the roof of his mouth. And Jason's hand was tight and rough, giving sharp, painful tugs. It was nothing like Slade's touch, even when Slade was going fast. Because Slade's touch Robin wanted. Craved. And this …
This turned Robin's stomach.
He trembled, fighting with every nerve to lift himself off the table. He'd done it before. He'd gotten free. Why couldn't he do it now?
'You're getting hard,' Jason said. 'You actually like this, don't you? You fucking whore.'
Robin tried to say no, and instead let out a sob. Get off me. Stop. But Jason didn't stop, and Robin couldn't make him. And yes, he could feel the blood pooling in his cock; the growing strain in spite of Jason's harsh handling.
Jason. Jason, his brother.
He wanted to move. He wanted to be sick. He wanted to die.
'You're crying?' Jason sneered. 'What's the matter, Dick? Don't like it without Slade?' He set his other hand on the cracked mask, and tightened his grip on Robin's cock, so hard Robin cried out in pain—
And came.
It was agonising. Every uncontrollable shudder send pain shooting up into his stomach, tearing down his thighs. And the brand on his chest seared, but suddenly that was nothing compared to the tightness in his gut. Robin squeezed his eyes shut, clamping his jaws against the shudders and sobs that broke over him, one after another.
And over it all, Jason shouted, 'You enjoyed that! You filthy fucking slut, you liked it!'
Robin didn't answer. He could barely breathe. Come plastered over his stomach, trailing down his cock. He wanted to be sick. It wasn't fair. He'd hated it, had felt nothing but pain and sickness, but he couldn't control his body.
'No wonder Slade kept you around. You're so fucking easy.' Jason sneered, gripping Robin's chin in his damp, sticky hand. 'How long did you think you could keep it secret? Did you even intend to? I know you were going to run away with him. You were just going to drag the name "Robin" through the mud, and you didn't care.' He slammed his fist into the table, hard enough that Robin felt it shake beneath him. 'My name, Dick!'
Robin could barely bring strength to his voice. He was so tired. It all hurt so much. 'No …'
'You think the average dumbass on the street can tell one Robin from another?' Jason snapped. 'One minute, Robin is a martyr, and the next he's a whore. And no one cares which of us the headlines are talking about. I died a hero, and you dragged me back just so I could watch you destroy me.'
'But …' Robin's lips were going numb. He couldn't lift his head anymore. 'But … you're not dead.'
Jason's lips curled into a thin smirk. 'No. But you will be soon. I think the world only needs one Robin, and you don't seem up to the job.' He straightened. 'They'll understand. When I tell them what you did … Bruce and the Titans will forgive me.' He traced the backs of his fingers over Robin's cheek. 'Won't they?'
Robin saw in his head the looks of horror on his friends' faces, when they realised he was working with Slade. Just working with him.
If they knew the truth …
Reaching across Robin's chest, Jason brushed his thumb over the burning brand. It felt like claws, scraping through layer after layer of skin, digging for the soft flesh underneath. Robin let out a hoarse cry of pain.
And then Jason pressed down.
Robin didn't know if he was screaming anymore. Everything was white light. Fire. Broken. He couldn't think.
'That's it, feel it.' Jason's voice was like an echo through deep water. 'Hold on to this pain. You deserve this.' He finally lifted his thumb away, and traced his hand down Robin's ribs, almost comforting. 'Go to hell, Dick.'
He said it as softly as if he was telling Robin to go to sleep. And Robin fought, clinging to the orange flickering light even as his vision blurred, but now the white light was gone and he was so heavy. So heavy, and sinking. And the further he sank, the less everything hurt.
I'm dying.
Dying felt so easy.
A dark shape slipped over the corner of his vision. It was a figure. A black shadow, silhouetted against the fireplace, standing over Jason's shoulder. And without a word, without any noise at all, the figure reached up—
And struck Jason down.