(AN: This chapter is dedicated to FujimoriChikaru.)
Tim spent a good portion of his time dodging nurses and the occasional policeman. He didn't want to deal with their questions or anyone else's for that matter. Hours had passed since his lover's surgery and his muscles ached from waiting.
The paper cup of coffee was a balm from a night of fitful sleep. The watered-down substance tasted awful and it burned his throat, but just having it was a small shred of comfort.
The man beside was too still, he thought, and the teen grew more anxious as time passed. A part of him wanted to wake him just to see if he was alright. He finished the drink but the burn was still there.
…
Jason woke to the sound of bugs crawling in his brain. Weak arms pulled at handcuffs binding him to the bed. He could feel needles and tubes move in his skin as he struggled. Something covered his mouth and made him itch. Shapes blurred and danced in front of him.
The former Robin tore out the IV, fumbling to use the sharp edge to pick the lock.
Memories warped and skipped in his mind, playing like an old tape. There was a deep sense of anger and a sadness that he couldn't yet explain. While he could see the outline of a person he loved, but he hated the colors his eyes met.
A bullet rattled around in his head, clinking against the empty bone. "Tommy" He seethed, ripping away at the wires. Machines flat-lined and screamed that something had gone horribly wrong.
Strange hands were on him in an instant, holding him down and calling for someone to find a sedative. He fought them with everything he could muster and punched someone flat in the mouth.
Seeing who it was, his blood started to boil. "You" He seethed with hatred so deep it made the teen step back, "You used me!" The voice was thick-tongued and slurred from brain damage.
Tim had to stop him before he got hurt worse. "Jason, I don't want to hurt you but you have to-" The man roared, more animal than human now, and attacked blindly. He dove for the teen and heard a sick crack as Tim's head hit the wall. He went quiet as quickly as flipping a switch.
The half-dead monstrosity went quiet as he held his breath, waiting for the boy to get back up. The teen's face was blank and his blue eyes stared off at nothing. A look of horror stained his features. Minutes passed as nothing happened.
A shrill noise escaped his throat as he tentatively touched the boy's face and neck, hoping to stir a reaction. He became more frantic as he searched for a pulse that wasn't there. Fear, guilt, and shame overtook him as he gingerly scooped up the lifeless body in his arms. Speech was beyond him now, leaving him with only the ability to howl and cry at his lover's passing.
His hands were shaking as he noticed the gun beside him. A bitter voice inside his head encouraged him to use it. The voice had been there from the beginning, mocking him with every shortcoming. It reminded him of how he was thrown out of every family he'd ever known and ruined everything he came in contact with. It was because of him that Tim was dead. He was the walking disappointment.
He had no one to blame but himself.
Shapes and colors throbbed in front of him as his head pounded in pain. He didn't want to hurt anymore and he didn't want anyone else to hurt because of him. The weapon was familiar and the barrel was cold against his bruised head.
The only comfort was that it was going to be over soon.
…
In the same room and yet in another world, Tim turned away from the sight of Jason sobbing in pain and was halted by a vision out of an old novel. Swathed in black robes, the figure was as cold and inevitable as the grave itself.
He watched the deity as dark smoke rolled off of him like fog, mystified and frightened by what he was seeing. Tim had always identified himself as a man of science, but he never doubted that this creature was a god.
Realization washed over him like a frigid wave crashing against the sand, he was here for Jason. "No…You can't take him! Not now!" The teen screeched in vain. The grim figure solemnly gave the man a weapon, the same gun he had hidden under Jason's pillow. "He will soon be free." It said.
"No…" He pleaded weakly. Tim's eyes wandered to the man he loved, his wounds were deep and oozed with infection. His movements were disjointed and clumsy. No matter what surgery he was given, they knew they could never stitch his mind back together.
Whatever part of his brain that made him Jason was nothing more than bleeding pulp at this point. The sobbing creature probably wouldn't recognize them anymore. What was left of the man would be placed in a long-term facility and everyone would just pretend that he never existed.
I promised that I'd save you, but I didn't want it to happen like this. The deity beside him was immune to his torment and once again urged euthanasia.
This can't be happening, the teen cried silently once again feeling that odd burn in his nose and throat. A conversation from a few days ago replayed in his mind "You can tell Spooky that everything will be back on track…extra stuff for his whack-juice…"
The revelation gave the teen a new sense of clarity, and he could see straw sticking out of Death's seams.
Scarecrow.
Tim inched his fingers to a utility belt hidden under his shirt, he had to act quickly if this was going to work. He pricked his wrist on a needle, and trained not to react as the antidote cleared his veins. A smoke bomb blinded the so-called 'Reaper' and the teen dove for Jason. "No!" Scarecrow screamed in fury at he swung his scythe blindly in the dull-grey smoke.
The gun skittered across the ground as it was knocked away and the former Robin struggled against his opponent. The older man was made weak from medication, allowing a sharp needle to slip between his ribs. His vision clarified in moments and a thousand emotions swam over him when he saw the teen alive.
Tim kept his distance out of either fear or caution, uncertain what would happen next. They both looked down to the pain in Jason's chest to see his hand wrapped around the teen's. The syringe was yanked out without a word, the former Robin had expected to find a knife instead.
The teen could see his face clearly now, pleased that deep green eyes were clear and focused. "…Fear toxin" He explained hesitantly. He wanted to say something, anything, but now wasn't the time to beg for forgiveness.
"I thought I killed you." The older man said with regret in his voice, and Tim couldn't tell if it was for the imagined murder or the fact that it was imaginary.
Before he could ask, Jonathan Crane slashed through the fading smoke to narrowly miss the teen's throat. Jason snapped forward to attack his former ally, triggered by an instinctive need to protect.
The attack was quick and decisive, with one hit disarming him and another to knock him unconscious. A pair of cuffs from a utility belt and the doctor was effectively chained to a radiator.
The silence weighed them down like concrete. Tim tucked a dark strand of hair behind his ear and tried to make conversation. "You seem to be doing well." His compliment was ignored as Jason found the misplaced handgun and hid it in the waistline of his pants.
The former Robin stepped out of the room and into a firing squad. Almost a dozen officers were waiting with rifles fixed on the vigilante, prepared to shoot at the slightest movement. James Gordon was at the rear demanding that he put his hands behind his head and get on his knees. His only options were to comply or be filled with lead.
Jason made a glance behind him, as if telling the teen not to interfere. One hand was raised in surrender as he shut the door behind him.
Tim had ducked back inside to hide from the commissioner and prayed Jason wouldn't do anything that would get him shot. The vents allowed him to watch as his lover was placed in handcuffs and led to another part of the hospital. Before he could think, a birdarang was in his hands and poised to strike.
Realizing what he was about to do, the weapon clattered to the ground as the full brunt of the situation hit him. He could no longer wrap himself in his tiny world and blind himself to the whole truth.
Jason was a murderer.
He had seen trucks on the highway explode in flames and the surviving drivers being gunned down in cold blood. He could neither deny nor sugar coat what happened. But he had also seen him reach out to save some nameless runaway, with no reason to and with no expectations of a reward. Spending years to train and prepare, only to toss it aside at the chance to save a lost soul.
Tim buried his face in his hands, not sure if he was describing the former Robin or himself anymore. He missed when the world was black-and-white.
Bruce and some of the older heroes would talk about the line. It was always there, the mark in the sand that no one must ever cross because they would never come back from it. The line that divided good and evil.
Here the logic hit a snag, the reason they chose not to kill was because people could change for the better.
A part of him wanted to make the leap and follow Jason down, if only to bring him back at his side. Even if he could convince him to come back, would anyone else accept him? Accept them?
Screams and gunshots knocked him out of his reverie. James' radio crackled to life with a distress call "John Doe has escaped and we have an officer in critical condition! Consider the suspect armed and highly dangerous, last seen moving north-!" More gunshots and then static over the airwaves.