Another night in Gotham.
Just as usual, I'm drunk. Not that I wait until late at night to start drinking, but it's usually this part of the day when everything starts to spin around in my head.
Maybe this isn't the best lifestyle for an ex-vigilante, but alcohol is currently my best friend (whiskey, vodka, bourbon, tequila, beer, whatever) it's the one thing that's kept my thoughts the longest. possible and, believe me, you would want to run too if you were me.
And that's basically how I spend my days. Drinking from bar to bar until I end up getting kicked out, sometimes for breaking something, sometimes for drinking more than they think is morally acceptable, sometimes for punching some jerk. And then I'll look for another.
And that's exactly what just happened. An unfriendly owner just kicked me out and told me never to come back. Just because I might have knocked some teeth out of his best customers.
What cool people! If you can't take some injuries, you shouldn't provoke me.
And I still came out in profit! I have a bottle half full and I'm on my way to the next bar, by the time I get there I'll be as drunk as I like to be and I can keep drinking until I pass out, the only way I can sleep without having nightmares.
Well, maybe I'm already drunker than I should be because I've just arrived in Crime Alley. And I have no idea how I got here.
Yeah, it happens.
Being in this place makes a lot of memories (good, bad, and worse), sometimes I'd rather be able to erase it all.
But being here, it kind of makes me feel like I'm at home. It was in this bloody alley that it all started, my robberies, my fight for survival, and that's where I met him. And I don't really feel like home in anywhere else these days.
For a while, Wayne Manor was what I called home. And being the Dark Knight's jolly partner was all I could ever want. But that was ripped from me in the worst possible way. And to make matters worse, the guy who did this is still around, alive and laughing in my face, knowing that Bruce will never do what it takes.
Of course, I could kill him, it would be very easy, but Bruce was the one who should have done it! That sick clown took me away from him! He beat me until he was tired and then I got blown up! If I really mattered, he wouldn't be alive anymore!
As I think about it, I've already finished with the bottle that was in my hands, Drinking helps to distract, but seeing a super suspicious van approaching the corner helps a lot more. At this time of night, good things are not being done.
It doesn't take a minute for other hooded figures to step out of the shadows and head towards the vehicle. It appears to be a standard drug sale. But for me, it's my lucky day! I'm really in the mood to fight!
I pull my red mask out of my jacket and put it on in an instant. I may be rusty, but I can still easily take down six common thugs. Or that's what I imagined.
I run (actually, stagger) toward them, the guys are so distracted they don't even notice me until I pull one of them and land a right hook. Then I kick the nearest one and then chaos ensues.
My head is spinning, but I'm having fun here. Beating these guys is child's play, I'm breaking a few bones, watching the blood flow, but… suddenly, I'm hit in the ribs and I'm out of breath.
If that wasn't enough, one of them runs towards the van and grabs a gun (oh, damn it) and as much as I want to react, I think I'm drunker than I thought, because when I walk forward, I trip over my own feet just fine. in time to hear the shot.
I think it hit my belly, at least that's where the pain comes from, I don't know if my stumbling helped or fucked up everything. But never mind, the van is speeding away and I still have five more guys to contend with.
I try to hit the closest one, but the pain and dizziness make me drop to my knees. I bring my hands to the wound in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. And I think they realize how screwed up I am because they started laughing like they won the lottery.
Oh shit!
I go down as soon as one of them kicks me right in the face (God, that hurt!) I feel everything spin and now I don't know if it's the effect of the drink or a concussion.
They don't stop to see me down, no, after the beating I gave them, they're more than happy to fight back. I don't think I've ever been hit so hard before and I can't keep up with the bastards hitting me.
But suddenly, all the worry I'm feeling about the damage to my body gives way to insane joy. I can smile at the possibility that this will be over soon. My suffering is about to end, and nothing could be better.
Maybe it's a little pathetic, but just thinking about Bruce's face when he sees my body, again, is worth it! My eyes are heavy, opening them is impossible, and I don't even want to. But I'm curious why the kicks have stopped.
The only thing I feel around me is a sticky puddle that is making my clothes sticky, I think it must be my blood. No... there's something else. I'm being lifted off the ground.
"What's going on with you?" I know that voice, I hate it.
I want to tell him to fuck off, I want to shake myself until he lets go, but I can't. My mind is too heavy, and I think resting my eyes wouldn't be such a bad idea. I just wish I didn't have to open them again.
It doesn't take long and I'm off. I think my body is no longer able to stay awake. Neither do I, but no one asks me if I want to.
Generally, I don't like to sleep. If controlling waking thoughts is difficult enough and requires a good percentage of Gotham's alcohol. Sleeping it's almost impossible not to have nightmares.
That's why I like to black out as a side effect of alcohol, my mind is empty and at peace. If the side effect is a nasty hangover, that's fine.
I think if they varied it wouldn't be such a problem but having to see that damn clown every night is hell. It's always the same with that fucking crowbar. He beats me up as much as he wants and laughs and I, well, stand there waiting for Bruce to show up to save me at the last second like he always did. But he never comes, and the warehouse always explodes.
And every time I wake up, I'm screaming and crying and feeling even more pathetic for not being able to let go of him. fuck! It would be so much easier if I could just let it go. If only I could not care so much about Bruce.
Dying would be easier.
There was nothing after the lights went out. I wasn't exactly at peace, but I didn't feel anything. At least that's what I remember. Coming back only to see that Bruce failed to save me and even to get revenge created a hole in my chest that will never close
I could have gone back to him right away, maybe it would have been better. But I've learned a lot about how the world works, and in Bruce's way, nothing will ever get better.
So yeah, I freaked out cool and tried to take the crime. And? I wanted to show him a better way, I even tried to give him a chance to kill the clown. But... Bruce chose him over me. He preferred the man who killed me and for that I will never forgive him!
"BRUCE!" I wake up screaming his name.
It's not unusual, even though I hate myself for it.
My heart is racing, I feel cold sweat running down my entire body. Wait... if I can feel it, it means I'm alive. Damn it. I thought I'd be lucky this time.
I try to get up, even though I can't open my eyes, I know who saved me and I don't want to face him or listen to his crap. It's just... my body hurts so much when I left my torso that I give up.
No chance of escaping from here for now.
I manage to open my eyes (more or less, they are still very swollen) and expect to see myself in my old room at the mansion, however, I don't recognize the blurs I see in this environment and, coming to think of it, this bed I'm in is shit.
I'm in a twin bed, the mattress looks like it's made of concrete, but the biggest problem is those damn blue eyes staring at me. I try to find my clothes, because I realize I'm only wearing my black boxers, but I can't find any sign of them in this tiny room.
"Hey, hold on," my savior says, as I make a move to get up.
He approaches and forces me to lie down (as if I'm able to resist) in one of his hands he has a cloth that seems to be soaked in alcohol as it makes my entire arm burn as soon as he touches me.
"You can't move yet; I haven't finished tending to the wounds." He keeps his voice calm and even looks worried, except that I would have preferred to stay to die.
"The bullet…" I can't finish the question. My voice is hoarse and nasal, maybe they broke my nose, I'm not sure.
All I know is that I've been shot, and now that it looks like I'm not going to die from it, then I need to know whether I need to go to a hospital. Don't get me wrong, I really want to die, but not because of a slow, painful infection caused by my stupidity.
I try to focus on the pain from where I was hit, but I can't. My body is in so many places and with so many different intensities that I just can't focus on just one, not that it would serve as a conclusion anyway.
"You were lucky." he doesn't know how wrong he is. "The bullet went through near your ribs, didn't puncture any organs apparently, but I think I'd better go to a hospital later for an x-ray. I don't know much about medicine, but with everything Alfred has taught us, I've gotten good at stitching up wounds." He brings his other hand down to my abdomen and I feel a mixture of shivers and pain as it lands near the stitches. "I don't know what the fuck you have going after those guys without your vest on. You could have died..."
As if he would care, as if anyone would!
"You should have left me there, Grayson," I interrupt him, not wanting to hear about this speech that I must do something better with my life and that this whole thing was a wake-up call. "Son of a bitch!" I scream, the bastard has just wrapped the cloth around the wound and it's like pouring hot embers onto my skin.
"Oops, there's still blood here. Let me clean."
Dick puts more pressure on the stitches, just enough to cause one of the worst pains I've ever felt in my life. And believe me, there weren't many.
"Fuck! Son of a fucking bitch! You bastard I'm going to kill you and I'm going to fuck your corpse!" I can't stop cursing until he takes his hand off my wound, if I were in better condition, I would rip him off!
"Now. That's the foul-mouthed, angry Jason I know." Dick laughs at me, seems to enjoy watching me suffer. And I hate him for it. "You'd better cut this talk about wanting to stay to die. Since when are you a coward?"
I think of a thousand answers, but what good is it? He would never understand, he didn't go through what I did. Bruce didn't fail him, not like he failed me. He still doesn't see the world as it really is. He keeps following the fucking Bat code!
And honestly? I'm not in the mood to argue. That won't change anything. But... he called me a coward, and that's already abusing my goodwill too much!
"You have no idea what you're talking about!" is all I can say right away. I want to show him wrong, but I don't want to prolong this discussion. Otherwise, I'm going to have to start a fight I'm not able to win. "And why the hell did you come to save me?" He doesn't even like me... not that anyone does...
I look away, I hate to feel so pathetic, but I need to know.
"There you go again, playing the poor guy all alone. I know out of all of us you were the most fucked up for being around Bruce, but I thought you'd already put that behind." Dick rolls his eyes, but he speaks as if this isn't the fact that I was murdered and brought back to life against my will. "And anyway, I didn't come for you. I was investigating a new type of heroin and I wanted those guys to take me to the supplier, but thanks to you, I've lost sight of them and will have to try to track them down again."
"Pathetic." I try to laugh at his stupidity, he sure made the wrong choice, but my cheeks hurt too much even to mock him. "What would your boss say if he knew you didn't even put a tracker in the van?"
"Fuck you." he answers, then starts cleaning my face, I realize that he must have several cuts because where the cloth passes, I feel the burning of the alcohol. He then presses a cut over his forehead, and I close my eyes against the pain. "I had just got there when I saw you get shot. I didn't have time to think about anything else, if those guys kept hitting you, they would kill you."
"You're already abusing it, there shouldn't even be any blood there," I say, still with my eyes closed, feeling my forehead burn.
"If you could open your eyes properly, I'd put you in front of the mirror, you are a mess, man." I don't think he's just talking about my bruises, but I just shrug.
I know the fact that I'm not eating or sleeping properly, coupled with my alcohol-fueled lifestyle, must be killing me, but it's not like I care how I look at this point.
"Thanks for saying it, I don't think I would have noticed without it." I reply, using all the sarcasm I can.
He talks like I'm not aware of my own problems. I just want you to shut the fuck up soon and leave me alone!
"Now, seriously. What's happening with you? I've seen you fight, and you could beat guys like those with their eyes closed, so explain why it ended up this way."
He takes his hand away from my face and sits on the side of the bed.
It's only now that I realize he's wearing his ridiculous Nightwing uniform, (I've never seen anything this tight before, his balls must be gone by now), except for the mask that's thrown in some corner of the room.
"I could kick your ass too, but you see me kicking your nocturnal ass right now?" I deny the question, I'm not in the mood to talk about my problems, not with him.
"If Bruce finds out what happened..."
"He's going to what?' Hmm ... pretend I don't exist? Leave me a little longer? Oh, I know! He's going to ask the Joker to kill me again!" I manage to get up a little, moved by fury, he shouldn't have mentioned Bruce's name.
I thought he was going to lecture me again or shut up because his eyes widen as if in shock, but what he does manages to surprise me: Dick punches me squarely in the right cheek (which is already badly bruised, by the way, but thanks, I think it's the intention that counts!) and he knocks me back on the bed.
I feel terrible because when I look at him again, I'm crying, not from the pain, but from seeing that even someone who saved me can hurt me just because I dared to speak my mind.
It was always like that, wasn't it? Bruce scolded me all the time on missions, Alfred scolded me at home, and Dick scolded me in my personal life.
I think that's all I can expect from them: disappointment. It's what I am, what I've always been. The Robin too broken to fix. The family member everyone prefers to stay away from.
But it's my fault. There was always something wrong with me. And it only got worse after I came back from the dead. I think the world would be better off without me, but I don't have the courage to put an end to my pain.
Yeah, maybe I really am a coward.
"I hope you're happy to kick a dead dog." That punch served to remind me that I can't trust anyone, that I must fend for myself no matter what.
I want to leave, so I use all the strength I have left to get up. One way or another, I'm better off alone.
It's just that... I fall over after I stand up. And for some reason, I'm glad he supported me. I feel the heat of his body and he's so protective I can only cry.
What do I do? I hate to feel this way, but this is the first time I've talked to someone in months, it's the first time anyone has touched me other than in a fight. I'm so desperate I'm even enjoying being around Dick Grayson!
Yeah, I'm pathetic!