AN: Written between chapters of 'Masks', because fight scenes are hard. Think of it as a…commercial break. I gleefully took inspiration, in part, from the film of Stephen King's '1408' and a little smidge from Kingdom Hospital. The title comes from the Ivy song of that name, which was used in Kingdom's (pretty) opening credits. Come, frolic through the fields of angst!
McStaken-You think that's a joke, huh. IT'S NOT. IT'S NOT. When I first moved in, Dick sucked at being an adult-y'know, really sucked at it, not just kinda fails like he does now-and Alfred used to go up there every couple'a months with a bunch'a groceries, and I know that at least once he stood there and loomed until Dick ate an entire apple. So.
AndAnotherOneBitesTheDust-Pink Jacket is canon. Pink Jacket is a really, really freaky SOB and Jason should probably leave him alone. Too late now, though. Eh, what can I say, m'stubborn. You're a disaster. Me? Noo. 'N yeah, m'fine. Work hazards, that's all. I've had worse. Don't traumatize the readers. What? M'just saying. It's not my fault if they have vivid imaginations.
Jason is in Bruce's room.
Well. Not really. Jason's dead, and it's obvious-he's beaten and bloody, looking exactly as he had in that damned tape. But he's here all the same, thrown over the antique chair Mother always loved, grinning at him through cracked lips.
"Time to get up, B, Alfie'll be pissed if you skip breakfast again."
Bruce blinks at him. That usually gets him to disappear, but not this time.
He finds he doesn't mind.
"Come oooon, Bruce, I know old people need their sleep, but it's like, noon."
He went to bed two hours ago.
"Oh my god. I'm fucking dead and I still have to save you from Alfred. You suck." The hallucination (ghost) gets up and drags itself over to the bed, leaving a trail of blood behind it. "Get up. Get up. Get up."
He ignores it. It hurts, but not responding is the only solution.
Jason (not Jason, Jason's dead) makes an exasperated noise.
"I can annoy you all day, old man. Got nothin' better to do. Sooo…" He takes a deep breath (doesn't, can't). "Bruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuce."
He gets up. Jason flops back on the bed with a squelch, blood smearing on the sheets. Bruce resolutely doesn't look at him.
He may as well go down for breakfast.
Jason doesn't reappear until the afternoon. Bruce looks up from his computer and he's…there, in the office, sprawled across the sofa like he used to do when he was alive. A steady puddle of blood forms beneath him.
"B, m'bored." Pause. "Like, I could die of boredom…oh. Wait." He fingers the bullet hole in his chest, pulls out a shard of bone. "Shit…B, I need a new thing. What do I say now?"
"Cross over from boredom." he suggests, realizing too late that acknowledging Jason's nonexistence is a red flag for batshit fucking crazy.
It's almost worth it when Jay laughs, even though said laugh devolves into wet choking that brings blood bubbling up through his lips, dripping down his chin. He doesn't seem to notice.
"'Kay. I could cross over from boredom."
Bruce eyes his hand, dangling limply off the couch, and says nothing. A minute later, the door opens and when he glances back at the couch, Jason's gone.
The bloodstain isn't.
"Why didn't you find me?"
Bruce adjusts his position on the gargoyle. It's harder to ignore Jason now, when he's crouched on an adjacent one, always out of the corner of his eye.
Always where he used to be.
"Did you even look for me?"
Bruce focuses his attention on one of Penguin's men in the street below. Jason flicks a batarang at the gargoyle.
"I never stopped thinking you'd come. Even when Joker killed me, I thought you'd come." He flops down, upper body stretched precariously over the edge. "Wasn't I good enough for you?"
"Jason." No. No. Do not respond. Abort. "I'm…sorry."
"Then pull me up." And Bruce looks over to find him hanging off the gargoyle, tool belt gone, fingers slipping. "I'm right here."
He doesn't answer, doesn't move. It's the only way to make this stop.
"Bruce, please."
Bruce turns his head away, doesn't watch as the hallucination's fingers scrabble and finally slip.
Jason's body hits a car below. The car doesn't notice.
Bruce stumbles out of the cave at five in the morning. It was a long night, a reckless night (too many stupid risks but he's fine, a few more bumps and bruises than normal but it's no less than he deserves), and he's hoping for a few hours of uninterrupted rest.
The front door opens and closes and god, what now?
No one comes. No Alfred, announcing a visitor, and no one else, either. But he heard the door…
Suddenly very suspicious, he goes into the hall.
It's Jason, and he's about to dismiss it as another hallucination when he really looks at him. He's in an orange jumpsuit (Arkham uniform?) now, and it doesn't fit him but maybe…god…
"Jason?"
He looks up from his feet (bloody, no shoes) and whispers, "M'back."
Then he goes down fast and Bruce is across the hall to catch him. He's warm (too warm, fever-hot) and solid (fragile) but it doesn't matter it doesn't matter he's not…he…
"Jay." he breathes, burying his face in the boy's hair. "Jay, my god, my god…you…"
Jason starts to cough, desperate, wet hacks and he must've survived the shot but Joker wouldn't have-shit. Shit, they need a hospital, Alfred-
He struggles up and he's so light now, Jesus…okay. Okay, downstairs, cave, he can fix this, it's better now.
"I've got you." he murmurs. "You're okay, we'll fix this, Jay, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-"
"You let him kill me." Jason mumbles and Bruce freezes, doesn't want to look down. He's here. He's here, he's delirious or something, that's all.
One of his hands slips off his chest and Bruce looks at the green-gloved thing with growing horror. No. No, no, he was here, he is here, he-
"S'your fault." he whispers. "B, I…" He chokes, whines. "It hurt."
His head drops back with the sickening looseness of the freshly dead, and Bruce finally looks down. That damned Robin uniform, torn and bloodied, looks up at him. He wants to drop him, (he's not here, he's dead, he's not here) but…
But he can't.
Bruce doesn't see him after Tim comes. Not until the Joker starts paying little visits-lounging on the piano seat, commenting on the books in Bruce's office, fiddling with the answering machines.
He only ever sees Jason once, then, at night in his room. He's on his knees, the Joker's fingers keeping his head up so he can hold a knife, shiny and sharp, to his throat.
"Bruce, please." Tears streak down his face, mixing with blood and dirt. "Don't let me die."
The Joker laughs, shoves Jason onto the carpet. He doesn't get up, and there's nothing Bruce can do when the Joker goes at him with a crowbar.
Jason's choked-off pleas linger in his ears for the rest of the night.
"B. Bruce. Broody McBroodstein." The bed shakes as someone kicks it. "Rise and shine, asshole."
Aches, that's what registers first. The deep echoes that come from heavy muscle spasms. Then things fall back into place-some sort of new drug, helped boost memory, had the nasty side effects of enhanced rage and a higher pain tolerance. Popular in street gangs, mostly for the higher pain tolerance. He'd been hit with a dose last night and…
"F'you don't wake up, I'm calling Alfie to come and tell you he's disappointed in you."
Nngh?
The bed is not his-it feels different, and when he rolls over he rams his elbow into the wall. Whoever's kicking the bed bursts into laughter.
"Oh my god, B, you're a human disaster. How do you save Gotham?"
"Jason?"
"Uh-huh. You were here freaking out when I got in this morning. I think you tried to hug me." There's a pause. "Or it was a really, really sloppy attempted punch. I don't know." He hears blinds being pulled and sunlight hits him in the face. "Time to get up."
He doesn't want to open his eyes. Doesn't want to see the bloodied remains of his son.
"Bruce? You, uh, okay over there?"
He doesn't have a choice, does he.
He looks. Jason's…not Robin. No blood, no dangling broken arm. A few bruises-fingers around his neck that make Bruce worry-but he looks fine. Sweats and a Marvin Martian shirt and striped, fluffy socks.
"B?" He sounds…concerned. "I don't really need to call Alfie, do I?"
"No." he manages to grind out. "I'm fine, Jason."
"Yeah, you say that, but you're lookin' at me like you've seen a ghost." He pauses, quirks a grin. "Which, yeah, okay, but-"
"Don't."
"What? S'not like I actually died. Jeeze, old man, lighten up." He grunts and sits up, feels things pull. Jason gives him a look. "Does this have anything to do with the attempted hug slash punch?"
He has the right to remain silent and he intends to make full use of it. Jason huffs at him and walks away. Bruce hears cabinets opening.
He gets up, gives his head a minute to stop swaying, and takes note of himself. He remembers flashes of crunching bones and screams, but not much else. He'll need to check. To…to make sure. He's sure nothing happened, but…
Jason comes back in with mugs of coffee.
"I'd ask how you knew where this place was, but I'm guessing Babs."
Dick, actually, but what tentative peace they all have might be preserved if he doesn't say so. Barbara won't mind being thrown under the bus, he's sure.
He takes a sip rather than say anything, sets the mug down, and pulls Jason into a hug. He makes a noise of alarm that Bruce ignores.
"Uh, B? What are you doing? Is someone dead? Are you dying?"
Ouch.
"No, Jay." He grew up, didn't he? Bruce always had him pegged as the kid that would be four feet tall for years and years and then suddenly shoot up out of nowhere. "I'm just…glad you're still with us."
"Oh." There's a hesitant pat on his shoulder. "Um, thanks? I guess?"
And the Marvin Martian shirt and sweats stay that way, don't change into a bloody uniform. Or if they do, Bruce doesn't notice this time.
THE END
