Title: JayLad

Words: 12694

Rating: T

Fandom: Batman

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Richard Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, and Alfred PennyWorth

Summary: Jason gets sick, goes out and fights -I know, D U M B- but he runs into the bats. Jason is pretty young in this story and he is still recovering from the after effects of all that happened with him and the pit. And, I may have thrown canon right out of the window from a plane down into the recessing pool of ocean... What I'm saying is that Jason gets a hug from his FREAKING Dad. Okay. Imagine that. Happy Ending.


Chapter 2: "All the Men and Women Merely Players"

Summary:

That Monster was coming.

Was always coming.


❤❤ ...

Groaning, trickles of sweat beaded down his face.

Backed up into a corner of an alley way, he was hiding from that thing.

No escape.

No where to run.

No where to hide.

Strength long since gone.

Panting, he glanced around in desperation. When would this end?

It was the same charade, every time, every night.

Shivering with an undue panic, he looked down with confidence as to what he was going to see.

That gun. The same gun.

Knowing the barrel was empty of any cartridges, it got tossed it aside in frustration. It would be useless this far along in the dream. The rubber bullets had been depleted rather quickly, and there were none left. Or at the rare times that there were some left, the Gun would malfunction upon firing. That is when he knows the nightmare was going to be worse.

That Monster was coming.

Was always coming.

With a hitch in his breath, he knew he had to try and stay calm. It was what was coming next. It was the anticipation that was typically the killer. Closing his eyes, sweat crept down his face.

There is no rest for the weary.

Blood pumping through his veins rang throughout his head.

Taking deep breaths that only amounted to small pants, he waited. Such small useless pants.

This dream has been reenacted far too many times to count.

Having lived through all the versions of his nightmares this turned out to be the most common one.

Was it even worth him liv-

Stopping his reprieve of thought. He heard it.

It had begun.

With his lungs drowning, he could only mumble a few curses at that despicable laughter. That laughter lived in his dreams and in his day to day life. That laughter had lived with him in the final moments of his death. In the moments in when he is still dead.

Oh #$%.

This is what it feels like to be dead isn't it? This Hopelessness.

The loneliness.

Oh, he knows so well what it feels like to die, to live; but being dead-

Now he knows, that this is what that feels like. It is as if one is decomposing from the inside out.

Feeling hopeless in such a hopeless situation, he looked down but again.

Yep, as he knew.

Punching an arm into the brick wall behind him, he fought the shivering trembles of his frame. No longer did he care anymore.

Instead of wearing his usual leather jacket and kevlar costume, he now wore his Robin costume. Yea, he was probably a bit big to fit into the real one. Either he shrunk, or the costume had expanded -the one in his dream of course- Oh, and how nice, there was even a touch of blood dousing the whole entire thing. Lovely.

"Don't you think it adds just a bit of, I don't knowww a pop of cheer? Brightens the outfit up! It does seem to be your color after all?"

Bile ran up his throat.

"Oh, come here lil' birdie. Where are you? We aren't finished yet." The voice cooed sadly.

The vocal's in his throat constricted.

It was getting harder to breathe.

He needed to wake up.

With every hitch in his gasping breath, the maniacal laughter could be heard bouncing around in his mind. The foreboding sense of doom was becoming quite too clear as it resounded in the drag of a cold metal rod on a concrete pavement.

It was a sound he would never forget.

And it was getting closer.

Fleeing into a fight or flight panic he just knew he couldn't do this. Not again. Even though this was a dream, it was HIS dream. Even though he had lived through this almost a thousand times, he didn't have to live through it this time! It was his mind, so therefore it was in his control.

Closing his eyes, he fought to reality. Remember, the floor lying beneath you? The towels? The helmet just under the old chair in the corner of the room. Anything? Was anything enough to pull him to his senses?

With his blood begin to boil, a flash of desperation crashed over him.

"Aw, are we being a party pooper? I can fix that." The clown sighed with a audibly louder crack of the crowbar upon the pavement.

As desperate times call for desperate measures, he began to slap himself. Repeating it over and over, each ended with a resounding thwack. This caused his face to burn with such a strange fire that felt almost real at times. Good, perhaps this would hopefully wake him up.

"Awww, little birdie. Giving yourself a good ol' punching warmup for your old pal? You really shouldn't have. Really I mean it. Your good friend, the Joker, doesn't need any help, but I'm grateful. Believe me you. Gives you a chance to know of what's to come." The jesting voice spoke dancing silhouettes upon the walls as he gestured.

Then again, when had hope ever done him any good. Hope is exactly what had gotten him killed in the first place.

" #$%," he muttered. It was only a matter of time.

Wanting to run, his feet stay put as if glued to the floor. How was he going to wake up?

"Aw... Wanting to leave sooo soon? And leave me and my friend Mr. Whacks all here by ourselves? That's not the proper way to treat your guests? I guess I'll just have to teach you some manners bird-boy."

Covering his ears, he allowed himself to listen to the sounds of his own breathing. In. Out. In. Out. This is just a dream. Your safe. This is just a dream. Your sa-

"Oh come on, lets have a heart to heart! Just you and me. The Joker and his lil' JayJay"

Sliding down against the wall, he wrapped his arms around his legs in a upright fetal position.

"Only, you're not quite so little anymore."

"But-" Hearing the Joker's signature giggle.

"That means we could have more fun."

Looking at the corner of the wall, the shadow grew closer as an approaching predator ready to meet his prey could be seen.

No, not the Joker.

Batman.

Once the shadow of the past came out of sight. There he was, the old man dressed as a bat. Only he was now holding a very distinct batarang.

That same batarang.

Oh how nice, this batarang, also seemed to have a nice touch of dripping blood.

Tendrils of exhaustion waved over his features causing his vision to blur. How could he be so tired when he was asleep?

Closing his eyes, he waited as he heard the Old Man's footsteps approach even closer.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Pause.

"Your a disappointment."

Ah, there it was. The same old, same old. Get on with it old man. He was very tired and very much so waiting to wake up, thank ya very much.

Clenching his fists, the seconds counted down.

"I wished I never adopted you."

Tik.

Just a little more.

Tik.

"I can't believe you. I raised you better."

Tik.

Wanting to argue. Wanting to scream, and shout. Wanting to yell, and tell his da- Bruce, that he's not dead. Tell him that hes still alive. Tell him that he doesn't need to be memorialized behind a glass wall with a plaque anymore. That he doesn't need to have flowers placed on his grave on the day of his death. However, what good would any of that do? If you can't fight with the B-man and win in real life, how can you expect to win an argument with a figment of Bruce and win? Now that's... insanity.

Tik.

"Jason, I-"

Tik-

Then, the old man was interrupted with such a well-known ear defeaning explosion. One that he had experienced every time he slept. No matter the type of nightmare he had. The eruption of flames about him was always the one true constant.

Opening his eyes now, Batman was now running away.

Leaving him, again.

Alone.

Reaching up to his neck, he was startled. There wasn't a batarang protruding the flesh of his neck?

Rather.

Feeling a strike of actual existent pain, he moaned hunching forward. Anguishing, he looked down to spot that the batarang was lodged in the right lower region of his midsection rather than its usual place. His neck.

Well that was unusual and rather painful.

At least the nightmare was almost over. Until next time of course.

Leaning against the wall, he untangled his mass of limbs blinking. The world felt hot as it began to turn to mush.

Lucid dreams were terribly real feeling.

In the thick cloud of the night there was now a comforting explosion of light and heat. It tickled upon his face with a wave of fire, dropping fast flickers of embers upon his face. It was actually hot. Hotter, than typical.

Turning his face towards the sparks the world around him turned into a fiery blaze and a sense of painful burning crossed his body.

This was a differing feeling, and that was scaring him. It felt like he was dying again, but for real. That can't be. This was just a dream. Dreams can't hurt you.

With sweat dripping down the expanse of his body, the blazing fire engulfed him. It started devouring him in an angry rage.

Choking on his air, it only left him in his thought's screaming.

He was dying. Again.