"Jason, you really need to talk to us. . ."
"Actually no, Dick, I really don't. Now stop calling me." Jason snaps back. And, alright – maybe he doesn't need to be so harsh; after all he's not the only one grieving right now. But Dick had wired through his com almost an hour ago and he hasn't stopped trying to get Jason to come to the manor since then. It's frustrating Jason beyond belief. That, and he isn't sure how long he can hold up before he finally caves. He can't afford to see his family right now – can't afford to let them see him like this. He just needs more time to be alone with his thoughts, that's all. But Dick refuses to comprehend that.
"Just come home, Jay. Please?" Dick's voice whines from the unit. Jason's footsteps falter, but a soft scuff a boot against the rooftop is the only evidence of his hesitance. He leaps the small gap between buildings, lands with a low grunt, then replies – still not exactly friendly but far less harsh than before,
"I'm on my way home now, Dick. My home."
"Jason-"
"Bye, Dick." Jason cuts through Dick's pleas before removing the com and shoving it into his pocket. He would stomp on it for good measure, but with his partner gone, that's far from a good idea. So, instead, Jason runs his thumb across the unit's power button as he turns and stares down at the busy streets below.
So, he lied to Dick. He's not going home – not technically. He doesn't want to, not when it feels so empty. Because now the place that was their home is just his home. And it's lonely in the worst possible ways.
He can't stand that, when he walks into the kitchen, he still expects to see Tim wrapped up in his work while coffee brews on the counter. If he listens closely, he can hear the soft clicking of fingers on keys, the soft rustling of paper, and the hollow bubbling of the pot.
He can't stand that he sometimes looks up to ask for Tim's opinion on a difficult case or a particularly amusing loon – only to stare at the empty couch while his heart sinks lower in his chest. Yet he can still feel the slight indent, as though Tim is sitting beside him. If he closes his eyes, he can convince himself that he hears Tim's barely-audible laugh or soft hum of thought.
But worst of all, he can't stand waking up in the middle of the night and reaching across the bed for comfort – for reassurance that his terrors had been nothing but a bad dream. But it's not just a bad dream – it's reality. And that reality hits him every time his fingers brush across cold blankets and he opens his eyes to stare at Tim's vacant spot. It hits him like a goddamn train when he has to face the fact that Tim will never lie there again.
But then some nights, Jason closes his eyes and pretends Tim is just up late working on a case. He pretends he can hear Tim shuffling around downstairs and that he will, eventually, come to bed. He pretends that, in the morning, he will be able to mock Tim for forgetting to go to bed – mock him in a way that says 'I'm worried about you, you really should get more sleep'. Pretends that Tim will laugh along with him, act like he's listening, but do the same thing all over again. Like always. Jason pretends – and it's worth it when he dreams about happy mornings and lazy days filled with Tim's smiling face. Even though he has to wake up and face the reality every morning and it feels like losing Tim all over again. . .It's worth it. If he gets to see Tim one more time, it's worth it.
But it's starting to drive him insane. He can't handle it tonight – hearing echoes of a voice that's not really there, feeling ghosts of a touch that's never coming back.
So he had decided to stay at the theater safe house instead. Tim had stayed there for a while when Bruce was lost in time and Jason would crash there every now and then before they decided to buy their house. Then, after they decided to keep home and work separate, it served as their own personal bat cave. It's not quite home, but it's similar enough for Jason to feel the memories without fearing the ghosts.
But it still hurts a little every time he goes back. The place still smells like Tim, there are still half-finished reports stacked atop a tidy desk. There is a red coffee mug sitting on the counter beside the sink, left there when something distracted Tim before he could finish making a pot. It's all still a reminder – all its own type of ghost; but it's the kind that doesn't haunt, the kind that shimmers in certain lights and fades in and out of sight and – therefore – mind. It's easier to pretend here. Easier to think that Tim could walk in at any moment or that Tim is sound asleep back at home. With thoughts like these, Jason might actually get a decent night's sleep tonight. He doubts it, but it is worth the shot.
As soon as Jason steps inside, he lets his shoulders fall and removes his helmet. He sets it on the shelf beside the door before continuing through the front corridor, working his mask off as he goes. He slides his mask into his pocket with his com, glances around the room – and then freezes. Something is. . .Off. It takes him a few seconds to realize what that 'something' is, but once he does, his blood starts to boil.
The papers atop the desk are no longer stacked in neat folders. They're scattered across the desk – organized in their piles, but sloppily. Someone had been going through them. Jason clenches his fists and walks further into the room, ready to figure out who the hell broke in and dared to touch what wasn't theirs. He is almost certain it was Bruce. Maybe Damian. Dick. One of their 'family' looking for something Tim had been helping them on. But this place is private – sacred. It's Tim's – and Tim chose to share it with Jason. How dare someone else bust in here without permission as though they have the right-
But that's when Jason notices the light slicing through the darkness of the back hall. He knows for a fact that he did not leave that light on. He knows because every room has a timer that shuts the light off after 4 hours if the sensors don't detect motion. So someone must have been here recently. Jason ignores the desk, for now, and instead makes his way down the hallway. He swears to himself that he won't let his anger get the better of him – that he won't go on a shooting spree just because he finds the room in shambles. It's just a safe house, after all. Well, that's what he tries to convince himself as he nears the room. But as he reaches out to push the door open, he hears a muffled thud from a few doors down. He blinks, listens, and then hears another sound – a barely audible hiss of frustration.
Jason can't stop the cruel smirk that slowly peels apart his lips as he turns and sneaks towards the occupied room. And here he thought he was going to have to work at finding this trespasser. At least now he'll be able to work off his newfound aggression on the source itself.
Once he reaches the edge of the door he stops and peers in, his hand instinctively falling on his gun. He doesn't plan on using it, though. For one, even though he's pissed, shooting the trespasser is a little much. That and if it helps him feel better to beat up random thugs, it will feel like fucking bliss to beat the holy hell out of this guy. He's really hoping it's Damian – the little brat keeps going on about how Drake's death isn't such a loss. He really hopes its Damian.
Jason readies himself as he hears the sound of a closet opening, the piercing screech of hangers on a metal bar alerting him to the trespasser's prying. Certain that the intruder will be occupied for the next few seconds, Jason decides to attack now. He steps around the corner, slips into the room, and looks in the direction of the closet. Sure enough, there is a slim figure standing in front of the open door – its back to Jason. The moonlight shines through the window and casts just enough light for Jason to make out the basics of the figure: it's not someone he recognizes – long and slender, built like a gymnast. Male, if he's not mistaken. But he's small, and Jason is pretty sure he'll be easy to take down. So he takes another step forward, then another - hoping to get as close as possible before bringing the figure down with a simple tackle.
Too bad the figure has other plans.
Jason knows he's been discovered as soon as the figure's rummaging hands still – gripping the clothes tight. As the figure tenses, Jason takes in a quick breath and gets ready to pounce as the figure begins to turn his head. But before Jason even has time to let exhale, the figure moves.
It spins and shoots forward at the same time, flying at Jason fast enough to make Jason wonder if this is some sort of meta he's up against. He doesn't really have the time to process what's happening before his back slams against the ground and he feels slender fingers wrap around his neck. But the moment he feels the grip tighten, his instincts kick in and he remembers what he came in here for.
His fist flies forward and meets the figure's jaw with a satisfying snap. The fingers loosen and Jason is able to break free and throw the figure a little less than halfway across the room. He quickly stands and turns to face the figure – who is already crouched, by the looks of it, cupping the side of its face. Then out of nowhere the figure runs at him again, this time with an animalistic hiss. Jason is ready this time and, as the figure aims a punch at his face, Jason grabs the assailing arm and pulls. Hard. The figure gasps but quickly responds by twisting in an almost unnatural way and landing a kick against Jason's side.
Jason grunts and releases the figure's arm but manages to keep from doubling over. Good thing, too – considering that the figure is already turning to aim another kick at him. Jason side steps to avoid the attack, but the figure immediately crouches and sweeps the leg back around in an attempt to knock Jason's legs out from under him. Jason jumps over the limb and, as soon as his feet hit the ground, he dives forward. He tackles the figure before it has time to stand up and, after a quick scuttle, Jason manages to pin the figure down by digging his knees into its thighs. The figure gasps and hisses and tries to get him off by punching, pushing, and clawing at anything he can reach. Jason retaliates by landing a few punches – a few to the face, one to the stomach.
Trespasser or no, Jason would almost feel bad for beating a guy like this – but the stranger is giving as good as it's getting. Jason's skin stings where nails dug into his skin, his eye is starting to swell, and he can taste blood on his lip. It's like fighting a feral cat. Eventually, though, Jason is able to grab the stranger's hands and pin them above its head. He plans on asking him why he's here, what he's looking for, and just who he thinks he is. That was the plan, until the figure bites out a sharp command of,
"Unhand me!"
At that, Jason immediately lets go of the figure's wrists. Not out of obedience, but of shock. He scrambles back, stumbles to his feet, and blinks into the darkness. No. . .there is no way. . .
Jason swallows hard as he backs away, his eyes never leaving the figure. The slim silhouette stands up almost instantly but, sensing the sudden shift, it remains otherwise motionless. Jason feels like he's floating and his breathing picks up to a near painful pace. He's lost in so many thoughts, too many emotions – until his back collides with the wall. As though it's some sort of command, his mind snaps back into focus and he quickly run his hand along the wall in search of the light switch. He doesn't dare turn around and take his eyes off of the figure, though; for fear that it won't be there when he looks back. He finally finds the switch, flips it up, lets his eyes adjust – and then sucks in a deep breath of air as his thought is confirmed.
". . .Tim?"
It's him, there is no mistaking it. Jason stares as an icy glare and vicious snarl become wide, confused blue eyes and a contemplative frown. Blood trails from a split lip, his light blue button up is torn, and a few scratches trail across his arms and chest – but the figure, Tim, is otherwise unharmed. Unharmed and so very, very alive. Jason feels like laughing and sobbing and shouting for joy all at once as he takes a step forward, one hand reaching out for the ghost that's been haunting him for weeks.
But in a fraction of a heartbeat, azure eyes grow impossibly large and confusion flares into unbridled terror. And then, without another word, he bolts – runs passed Jason and scrambles into the hallway as though his life depends on it.
And if Jason had been in his full right mind, he would have stayed put. None of this made any sense – it could have been a trap. Hell, the two of them had just been at each other's throats – something is obviously up. But all Jason can think now is 'He's alive.'
So even as the logical part of his mind screams about how bad of an idea this is, even as he reminds himself that Tim is dead and there is no way he can be back, even as the pieces refuse to fit together in any way shape or form - he turns and runs after him. He runs after him, like he should have that night.
Because he refuses to lose him again.