[ Familiar, like a favorite pair of boots. Or Jay's favorite gun and the familiar weight of it in his hands. And yeah, maybe the weight is unbearable some days. But so is the weight of being alone. He's done that for years and years. Now, he's got something almost comfortable to rely on. He's got someone here to help shoulder the weight. He's just a little ugly. Nobody's perfect. ]
I'll just steal some more from B.
[ He doesn't believe for one hot second that Bruce is dead. So what if his house exploded on the evening news? He's been through worse. Jason's put him through worse.
There's some amusement coming through the modulator in his helmet. Jason could probably tell this one is grinning a little bit. He can't help himself. ]
Dunno. Seems a little understated. Could always kick him out a window to make sure.
[It had only been weeks. Just a few weeks, almost no time at all in the scheme of Gotham's usual heart attack pace. He'd been perfectly fine being alone, preferred it, actually. Chased anyone who came uninvited out of his territory, kept his people at arm's length, moved through the shadows without anyone being the wiser of his passing. He was good at it. It was familiar.
So how had a few short weeks suddenly made the idea of going back to a quiet apartment so unappealing? Even now, with his hackles still raised and his hand starting to throb, he heard that grin under the modulator and gave one of his own. He still wanted a fight, still wanted to go nine rounds with his heavy bag before passing out in bed...but it was better. More controlled. And yeah, he'd learned how to be better and more controlled, but he'd never backed down from a full episode like that before.
It was probably why his guts were twisting in all different ways.]
I put a rocket through his office window once. Wasn't aiming to kill him, but I needed him to think I was. Used him to get Joker out. Plan worked....up until B fucked it.
[The grin was gone by the last word, but they were already downstairs.]
You take my bike. I'll make the run home. [He lifted his wounded hand as if to use it as an excuse as he tossed his keys over to the other man.] Don't forget the biometrics or you'll BBQ yourself and I'm not scrubbing piss out of my seat.
[ Their gaits almost match. Confident, self-assured. Two ghosts wearing almost identical armor. It's familiar and easy to settle into a quiet rhythm of living because they know what to expect from each other. Brutal honesty. No masks. No bullshit. It's why Jason hadn't turned and ran, despite feeling so much like a fish out of water. He doesn't quite fit and doubts he ever will. This world has a Jason Todd; it didn't really need another.
But there's something about being around the other that makes staying bearable. Maybe even worth it.
There's no trust. Not yet. But there is understanding. And maybe that's good enough. ]
Niiiice. I'll have to keep that in mind next time I see him.
[ He grows quiet at the mention of Joker. It's hard to ever know what to think about that freak. He'd sank his long fingers deep into Jason's brain, poked and prodded and pushed and pulled until something broke under the pressure of it all. Sometimes he wants to shoot him. Shove the business end of his rifle right down his throat. Other times he...he doesn't know. He just doesn't know.
Maybe he never would. He's thankful when they hit the streets and he can shift his thoughts away from Arkham for a change. ]
Don't worry, babe. I won't scratch the paint either.
[ Jason can probably tell his counterpart is grinning again as he trots over to the bike and gets it ready to ride. ]
[Joker was a complicated subject. He knew that his counterpart had been tortured by him, knew that there was more to the story that the other hadn't told in the briefing that Bruce had demanded. He knew the brand, but not the exact story behind it.
But it didn't really matter. Same as it didn't really matter that the other didn't know his own story. Not completely. The roughed in basics, the Reader's Digest version, but not the specifics. If he had known the specifics, he never would have dyed his hair like that, no matter what Bruce said.
Bruce. The anger welled up quick and hard at the thought of the man manipulating his other into doing something so stupid. He bared his teeth at the inside of his helmet, hiding the worst of his turbulent emotions as the other swung his leg over his bike and coaxed her to life with a throaty roar like she belonged to him. And she did, in a way. He was him, after all. The biometrics proved it. He was him and Bruce had pitted them against each other like dogs.]
Don't wait up, sweetie. I'm gunna take the scenic route.
[His hand throbbed and his anger swirled and Jason bared his teeth at the night as he fired off his grapple in the opposite direction of his apartment.
It was almost sunrise before he made it back to the little space he'd built for himself in the Bowery. He didn't look that much worse for wear, though his left glove was tight around his swollen hand. It was going to have to be cut off. Especially after he'd put that same fist directly into Bruce's teeth not an hour before. A cheap, surprise shot that had hurt like a fucking bitch but had been so unexpected that it had actually landed. Bruce would be sporting that split lip for at least a few days and a little bit of extra pain had been worth it.
Still, pain and the exhaustion that always came after an episode made him clumsy as he let himself into the gutted roof level apartment. No doubt the other would be able to hear his boots from the apartment below, but he didn't really care. If he was still awake, he could come up to investigate. Until then, Jason was content to peel off his gear, one handed and slow.]
[ That briefing had been an interrogation. A demand for answers this Bruce would never be entitled to. Jason answered his questions, at least enough not to get tossed into Arkham with the rest of the local loonies.
It didn't take the World's Greatest Detective to figure out Jason hadn't been exactly forthcoming with the details of his torture. Why would he? He lived with it in his head everyday. And he sure as hell never wanted anyone else in there ever again. Not the Joker and especially not Bruce. It's self preservation, plain and simple. Maybe one day he'd tell his counterpart the truth. Maybe when he gave up why he got so defensive about that white patch of hair.
Speaking of...He takes the time he's riding Jason's bike to decide exactly what he's going to do about his hair. He could dye it back, sure. But by the time he reaches the apartment, he's made up his mind. He wants to buzz it off. It's simple. Clean. Starting over. And just one more thing to set them apart. He's looking at himself in the mirror, rubbing a hand over the fine hairs he's left himself when the other Jason comes home back. ]
I'm thinking pizza for dinner.
[ He takes the stairs up into the loft two at a time and stops at the landing when he sees his counterpart. ]
Shit. [ Mutters it quietly before he crosses over to him, offers to help him get some of that gear off. ]
[He heard the suggestion of pizza before hearing the other's bulk on the stairs and he met the other man with a small chuckle and an arched brow.] Pizza, huh? And is that because you have a craving or because I already have pizza dough in the fridge?
[He rolled his eyes, but it was a fond expression, one that turned a little shocked when he turned to finally see the other man. He hadn't been expecting all that hair to just be gone. Sure, he'd been pissed, but he still hadn't expected the other Jason to buzz it all off. As soon as the other man was close enough, he reached up with his good hand to lightly run his fingers over the short, fine hairs. His fingers lingered over where the hair was still a little lighter, but it was much less noticeable now. Easier to ignore.
To forgive.
After a moment, his fingers slipped down to lightly touch the bruise that was already forming where he'd clipped the other's jaw. One small brush, then his hand was falling away and back to wrestling with his holsters one handed. His guns were heavy enough to make the process cumbersome.]
Just gave the person who actually deserved it a bloody lip, that's all. Used the hand that was already fucked up so I didn't just break both.
[ Jason knew the second the other looks at him that he made the right call. Part of him wants to recoil at Jason's touch but he doesn't. It's always a war in him when people reach for him. Not after Arkham. Every touch had been a new way to break his bones or peel away another vital part of him.
Most days he never wants anyone to touch him ever again. Not ever.
And then there are rare days like this one, when that's all he wants. Just a hand over his own. Something quiet and steady. Simple. Something that makes him feel human again.
So he doesn't pull away when Jason touches the bruise. Instead, he leans into it. Just a little. The answer to his question does draw up a smirk and for a minute he forgets all about that don't touch me thing and reaches for Jason's holsters. ]
[He recognized that wary glint in the other Jason's eye, but then it was gone and he was rewarded with that subtle nod of trust. There would probably be some who would say that it was because the other trusted him not to hurt himself...but they'd both know just how wrong that assumption would be.
No one could hurt him more than himself.
So the fact that he let undamaged hands strip him of his weapons, stepping quietly out of the holster rig with his good hand resting on the other Jason's shoulder, was just as much of a nod as the one before.]
Dingus? Really? You're a dingus.
[While the other dealt with his weapons, Jason started to work a solution soaked wipe around the edges of his domino, peeling it away bit by bit as the glue dissolved until he could pull it off entirely. His skin was a little red under it, but his eyes were the same piercing, almost colorless blue.]
Next time you see him, look for the split. Lower left side. He'll have it covered up, of course, but you should be able to see it if you know where to look.
[He flashed a grin, pulling the sap glove off his uninjured hand with his teeth.]
Gunna need a pair of shears for the other one, I think. Damn. Gunna have to break in a new pair of gloves. [There was a pause, then more. Soft, like he almost wasn't going to say it.]
[ Jason doesn't doubt the kind of trust it took for his counterpart to let him near his guns. The kind of trust it took to let him close enough to slip the holsters from his thighs and get the weapons stored away safely. It doesn't come easy. Not for guys like them. But when it does come, it's a nice feeling.
He snorts as he clicks the case shut. If he wasn't so sure he'd punch the other side of Bruce's face, he'd make a special trip to the manor just to admire that fat lip in person. He'd have to settle for Jason's description for now. It's almost as satisfying.
He finds the shears next in a stash of tools and makes his way back over. ]
Don't worry about it. I'd feel the same way if you'd—you know. [ he gestures vaguely at his face. That thing he wants to forget is there, but can't. Anyway.
He snip-snips the shears and offers Jason a lopsided grin. ]
[He snorted at the obligatory testing of the shears, rolling his eyes as he gestured to the chairs by the table.]
Easy there, hot stuff. We should be ready to wrap this bitch as soon as you're done setting it so it doesn't have a chance to swell more.
[Apparently, not only was he going to trust his counterpart with cutting the glove off, but he was also going to trust him to intentionally hurt him. He didn't want to acknowledge that part, though, so instead he busied himself with digging through a cabinet to pull down the first aid kit that had his casting supplies. He didn't ask if Jason knew how to cast something. All Robins were given the crash course and he didn't think it would have been that different even in another... world? Timeline? Dimension?
Fuck, he was too sober to think about all that shit. Speaking of... He grabbed a bottle of tequila off the top of a locker, plonking it down next to the kit before hinting around until he found two plastic water cups. Only then did he sit down and lay his arm out on the table.]
[ Yeah he'd gotten the crash course in dealing with injuries. Bruce often had enough of them. And Jason, well he was used to being the field medic. Because Bruce never really let him be much else. It never felt like partnership. More like servitude. Like he was there to clean up the mess, not help prevent it. But what could he do about it now? Not much. That chapter's written. That book is closed. At least here with Other Jason, he didn't feel like he'd been shuffled off to the side. That he needed to be moved out of the way so Batman could do the real work.
Here he felt needed and that was. Nice.
Tequila procured. Arm laid out. Jason rounds the table to get to work. He inspects the glove, to find a good spot to start cutting. ]
I'll go slow. Make it last.
[ He makes the first cut, glances up at his counterpart and winks. ]
[A flush spread over the bridge of Jason's nose, the influx of blood making his freckles stand out in a way they usually didn't on his face. He felt the heat and that just made it worse, so while his counterpart started to cut through the thick leather and armor of his glove, he busied himself by pouring them both shots of tequila.
He threw back both before the glove was even halfway off, the heat simmering in his belly spreading to numb some of the pain. The second round he poured didn't immediately get slammed, though, and he set the bottle down before picking up his drink to sip at it.]
Mmm...needs lime, but it's just what the doctor ordered.
[He made a face as Other Jason worked, but he didn't so much as twitch.]
[ The blush. didn't go unnoticed. He had freckles. Something this version of Jason didn't. And it made him smile. Just a little. He kept his head dipped low, eyes fixed on working the shears through the armor and leather of the glove so he didn't cut the tender skin underneath and so Jason couldn't see that little smile.
The armor gave under each cut, bending back under the blades. He stopped when he reached the fingers and took the tequila to throw it back in a single gulp. Then he picked the shears up to start working again, snipping carefully around each finger. ]
Careful with that. You might say something you'll regret.
Nah, that would be vodka. If I didn't puke it up, first. [His tone hinted at a story there, and there was. But it wasn't a nice story and most people didn't want to hear it. Bruce hadn't wanted to, but he had.
Bruce had heard most of his stories.
Not that it fucking mattered.
He hissed when the glove finally came off, his jaw tightening as that rush of flight or fight surged back up from his guts. He was able to keep it in check, but it made his next sip bitter and he grimaced as he laid his head back against the chair.]
[ AJ flicked his gaze up at the comment. There was a story behind it and Jason wasn't entirely sure he wanted to hear it. He doesn't say anything at first. He just works CJ's hand out of the glove, careful and slow. He'd have to find the break so he could set it properly.
And yeah. It was gonna hurt. AJ would try to minimize as much as he could, but there would be no getting around it completely. ]
Okay so tell me the vodka story.
[ If it'd help keep his mind off his hand getting manhandled back into place. ]
[There would be no getting around it completely. That was the story of his life, wasn't it? He was used to it, but fuck did it suck sometimes.
All in all, his hand could have been worse. Most of the damage, thankfully, was a pair of dislocated knuckles. Easy enough to pop back into place with application of precise force. The only outright break he had in the bone was in the two long metacarpus that were attached to the dislocated knuckles. And those weren't severely out of place. Just a little squeeze to put them back where they belonged and then a cast that went up to just under the first bend of the fingers to protect everything for a few weeks. As far as injuries went, it was pretty simple.
Easy night.
He scoffed, finishing off the third shot before reaching over himself to put the cup on the table so he didn't crush it when the manipulation happened.]
Not much of a story. Guy couldn't get it in so he poured like three shots of vodka down my throat and some poppers up my nose. It worked, but I can't tell you what hurt more, him or puking after he was gone. I made that two hundred bucks last as long as I possibly could before I went out again.
Haven't been able to touch the stuff, since. More of a whisky and a tequila guy, me. The better stuff is downstairs. This is for shit like this.
[ He was right. He didn't want to hear it. They're lives were divergent enough to be wholly different experiences. But under all of it, it was still the same. Heartache and survival. He popped the knuckles back in place first as Other Jason talked, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He'd never really had to go to those kinds of extremes.
The mob was kind enough to not bash his head in for operating in their territory. Stealing and running guns were enough to survive on. Enough until he met Bruce and got his shit fucked up. He's almost certain Jason doesn't want to hear sorry or pity or any of that. It is what it is. ]
Gotham's gravity at work.
[ He gets ready to squeeze those broken bones back into place. ]
[Falcone hadn't been so welcoming in this world. Even if Jason had been willing to follow in Willis' footsteps as a henchman, no one would have taken him. He was tiny, malnourished and stunted. He was also younger than his counterpart had been. No one, mobster or otherwise, wanted to send a nine year old out with a package they couldn't protect.
He hadn't always prostituted, he did whatever little odd job he could find, but it was always a back up plan with a high chance of a payout. That said, the other was 100% correct in that he didn't want pity. He did what he did, he survived it and clawed his way up from the muck with Bruce's help. He survived. That was enough.
He grunted when his fingers slid back into joints with a wet sounding pop, but he didn't raise the fist he had curled at his side.]
Nah, I'm good. Just do it, get it over with.
[His hand didn't move under his counterpart's grip, but the rest of him writhed like a feral thing when Jason worked his bones back together. Without the tequila dulling his senses, he no doubt would have come out of the chair swinging....but as it was, he kept his fury contained enough to simply bare his teeth and let out a long string of very impolite words and suggestions in Spanish.]
[ For this Jay? Willis wasn't a henchman. He was a waste of space. An addict who tried to sell his newborn to the mob to pay his debts. And when it didn't work, he was an abusive piece of shit. Giving them up had been easy. Maroni had done him a favor the day he put a bullet in him and Cathy. He settled back in to work those bones into place, staring hard to make sure he got it right. He probably didn't need that much concentration, but it made it easier to talk.
When he wasn't looking his counterpart in the eye. ]
I...Guess life is shit for us wherever we are.
[ It's obvious that isn't what he wanted to say. It didn't seem fair he'd learned something new about Jason when he's still only had the cliffsnotes version about him. He liked it that way. Wanted to keep it that way. It was safer. ]
[Talking was hard with iron hot needles shooting all the way up to his elbows, but he tried. Bared his teeth and glared at the ceiling and tried to talk through the pain. It took him twice before the words came out in English, but they did. Eventually.]
Sucks to be us, I guess. Gotham always tries to eat her young. The ones that survive are better for it-[His words cut off in a half strangled yelp, followed by another very rude suggestion of what Jason could go do with himself in Spanish.
When it was over, he slumped a little in his chair, breathing hard as he stared at the Gotham lights danced over the pollution fog through the skylights.]
'Swhy I'm here. Why I stayed. Help people like us.
[ The work is done, except the cast. He doesn't have much of an excuse not to look at his counterpart now and he does. Maybe for a second too long. Like he was trying to see if he could tell what made this Jason so different? He hadn't gave a single shit about the people like him when he came back to Gotham. He rolled in with tanks and an army and chased people out of their homes with fear gas. All for a chance to put a bullet in Bruce's head. Stuff that if he had told Bruce would have gotten him thrown into Arkham for sure.
This one stayed? This one helped? How did it all get so skewed for him? How off kilter had the Joker really made him? ]
Guess we're not as alike as Bruce thought. [ He gets up to get the supplies for the cast and sits down again. ] I came back to Gotham with an army. Some help I turned out to be.
[The cast was the easy part. The least painful part. The cast meant that Jason could stay slumped in his chair and snort a small laugh up at the layer of smog that was supposed to be a sky.]
I said 'that's why I stayed, not 'why I came back'. I came back to kill him and Tim both. I didn't have an army, Talia wasn't willing to spare any of her people, so I made one of my own when I got here. I killed a lot of people. Started a gang war that killed more. Forced Black Mask into breaking Joker out of Arkham, releasing him back out onto the world. All just to get my hands on him and to force Bruce to break his stupid fucking rule.
Didn't work, of course. He saved Joker, slit my throat, the whole apartment building blew up. I nearly died, again.
[He reached up, hooking his fingers into the high neck of his underarmor to pull it down enough for the other man to see a bit of the thick scar that bit into his neck.]
[ The cast is the easy part. It gives him something to focus on again. ]
Joker was already dead by the time I came back. So Bruce was my sole focus. I teamed up with Scarecrow and the others. Penguin, Dent. All of them. They were going to wear him down. Make him weak. Scarecrow wanted to break him.
[ He finishes with the cast and sits back in his chair. ]
[He sounded a little tired after all the pain of having his hand wrangled back into place, but he still had enough energy to reach over to pour himself another splash of alcohol. He'd say it was from the pain, but the truth was that he was still having trouble wrapping his head around the idea of a world where Joker was actually dead. It made that wave of bitter resentment roll unpleasantly under his gut. He wanted nothing more than to take a rusty dagger to that particular life cord...and he had a feeling that the other would, too.
While that shorn head bowed to wrap the resin covered fiberglass over the padding on his arm, Jason carefully reached out to lightly touch the pale patch that had started the whole shitshow.]
We could always kill mine. Bruce sure as hell isn't gunna. He made his choice.
[ He doesn't know what to make of that. For years there'd been a festering hatred inside of him for Bruce. Hatred because he never came to save him. Hatred because he let Joker take him in the first place. Hatred because of what he had endured for all that time in Arkham's walls. And then Bruce replaced him as if he'd never mattered.
But even after all of that, Jason would have hated him more if he'd been responsible for the Joker's death.
A TN-1 overdose hadn't been Jason's idea of justice if he got his hands on the clown. But it's enough that Bruce didn't kill him. Jason wanted that honor himself and neither of them had it. He could live with that.
He's quiet as he feels Jay's fingers against his scalp. He's starting to like the way it feels. ]
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no subject
I'll just steal some more from B.
[ He doesn't believe for one hot second that Bruce is dead. So what if his house exploded on the evening news? He's been through worse. Jason's put him through worse.
There's some amusement coming through the modulator in his helmet. Jason could probably tell this one is grinning a little bit. He can't help himself. ]
Dunno. Seems a little understated. Could always kick him out a window to make sure.
no subject
So how had a few short weeks suddenly made the idea of going back to a quiet apartment so unappealing? Even now, with his hackles still raised and his hand starting to throb, he heard that grin under the modulator and gave one of his own. He still wanted a fight, still wanted to go nine rounds with his heavy bag before passing out in bed...but it was better. More controlled. And yeah, he'd learned how to be better and more controlled, but he'd never backed down from a full episode like that before.
It was probably why his guts were twisting in all different ways.]
I put a rocket through his office window once. Wasn't aiming to kill him, but I needed him to think I was. Used him to get Joker out. Plan worked....up until B fucked it.
[The grin was gone by the last word, but they were already downstairs.]
You take my bike. I'll make the run home. [He lifted his wounded hand as if to use it as an excuse as he tossed his keys over to the other man.] Don't forget the biometrics or you'll BBQ yourself and I'm not scrubbing piss out of my seat.
no subject
But there's something about being around the other that makes staying bearable. Maybe even worth it.
There's no trust. Not yet. But there is understanding. And maybe that's good enough. ]
Niiiice. I'll have to keep that in mind next time I see him.
[ He grows quiet at the mention of Joker. It's hard to ever know what to think about that freak. He'd sank his long fingers deep into Jason's brain, poked and prodded and pushed and pulled until something broke under the pressure of it all. Sometimes he wants to shoot him. Shove the business end of his rifle right down his throat. Other times he...he doesn't know. He just doesn't know.
Maybe he never would. He's thankful when they hit the streets and he can shift his thoughts away from Arkham for a change. ]
Don't worry, babe. I won't scratch the paint either.
[ Jason can probably tell his counterpart is grinning again as he trots over to the bike and gets it ready to ride. ]
See you at home, dear!
no subject
But it didn't really matter. Same as it didn't really matter that the other didn't know his own story. Not completely. The roughed in basics, the Reader's Digest version, but not the specifics. If he had known the specifics, he never would have dyed his hair like that, no matter what Bruce said.
Bruce. The anger welled up quick and hard at the thought of the man manipulating his other into doing something so stupid. He bared his teeth at the inside of his helmet, hiding the worst of his turbulent emotions as the other swung his leg over his bike and coaxed her to life with a throaty roar like she belonged to him. And she did, in a way. He was him, after all. The biometrics proved it. He was him and Bruce had pitted them against each other like dogs.]
Don't wait up, sweetie. I'm gunna take the scenic route.
[His hand throbbed and his anger swirled and Jason bared his teeth at the night as he fired off his grapple in the opposite direction of his apartment.
It was almost sunrise before he made it back to the little space he'd built for himself in the Bowery. He didn't look that much worse for wear, though his left glove was tight around his swollen hand. It was going to have to be cut off. Especially after he'd put that same fist directly into Bruce's teeth not an hour before. A cheap, surprise shot that had hurt like a fucking bitch but had been so unexpected that it had actually landed. Bruce would be sporting that split lip for at least a few days and a little bit of extra pain had been worth it.
Still, pain and the exhaustion that always came after an episode made him clumsy as he let himself into the gutted roof level apartment. No doubt the other would be able to hear his boots from the apartment below, but he didn't really care. If he was still awake, he could come up to investigate. Until then, Jason was content to peel off his gear, one handed and slow.]
no subject
It didn't take the World's Greatest Detective to figure out Jason hadn't been exactly forthcoming with the details of his torture. Why would he? He lived with it in his head everyday. And he sure as hell never wanted anyone else in there ever again. Not the Joker and especially not Bruce. It's self preservation, plain and simple. Maybe one day he'd tell his counterpart the truth. Maybe when he gave up why he got so defensive about that white patch of hair.
Speaking of...He takes the time he's riding Jason's bike to decide exactly what he's going to do about his hair. He could dye it back, sure. But by the time he reaches the apartment, he's made up his mind. He wants to buzz it off. It's simple. Clean. Starting over. And just one more thing to set them apart. He's looking at himself in the mirror, rubbing a hand over the fine hairs he's left himself when the other Jason comes
homeback. ]I'm thinking pizza for dinner.
[ He takes the stairs up into the loft two at a time and stops at the landing when he sees his counterpart. ]
Shit. [ Mutters it quietly before he crosses over to him, offers to help him get some of that gear off. ]
What the hell happened?
no subject
[He rolled his eyes, but it was a fond expression, one that turned a little shocked when he turned to finally see the other man. He hadn't been expecting all that hair to just be gone. Sure, he'd been pissed, but he still hadn't expected the other Jason to buzz it all off. As soon as the other man was close enough, he reached up with his good hand to lightly run his fingers over the short, fine hairs. His fingers lingered over where the hair was still a little lighter, but it was much less noticeable now. Easier to ignore.
To forgive.
After a moment, his fingers slipped down to lightly touch the bruise that was already forming where he'd clipped the other's jaw. One small brush, then his hand was falling away and back to wrestling with his holsters one handed. His guns were heavy enough to make the process cumbersome.]
Just gave the person who actually deserved it a bloody lip, that's all. Used the hand that was already fucked up so I didn't just break both.
[He shrugged like it was no big deal.]
no subject
Most days he never wants anyone to touch him ever again. Not ever.
And then there are rare days like this one, when that's all he wants. Just a hand over his own. Something quiet and steady. Simple. Something that makes him feel human again.
So he doesn't pull away when Jason touches the bruise. Instead, he leans into it. Just a little. The answer to his question does draw up a smirk and for a minute he forgets all about that don't touch me thing and reaches for Jason's holsters. ]
Let me do this you dingus.
no subject
No one could hurt him more than himself.
So the fact that he let undamaged hands strip him of his weapons, stepping quietly out of the holster rig with his good hand resting on the other Jason's shoulder, was just as much of a nod as the one before.]
Dingus? Really? You're a dingus.
[While the other dealt with his weapons, Jason started to work a solution soaked wipe around the edges of his domino, peeling it away bit by bit as the glue dissolved until he could pull it off entirely. His skin was a little red under it, but his eyes were the same piercing, almost colorless blue.]
Next time you see him, look for the split. Lower left side. He'll have it covered up, of course, but you should be able to see it if you know where to look.
[He flashed a grin, pulling the sap glove off his uninjured hand with his teeth.]
Gunna need a pair of shears for the other one, I think. Damn. Gunna have to break in a new pair of gloves. [There was a pause, then more. Soft, like he almost wasn't going to say it.]
Thanks. Sorry I freaked on you.
no subject
He snorts as he clicks the case shut. If he wasn't so sure he'd punch the other side of Bruce's face, he'd make a special trip to the manor just to admire that fat lip in person. He'd have to settle for Jason's description for now. It's almost as satisfying.
He finds the shears next in a stash of tools and makes his way back over. ]
Don't worry about it. I'd feel the same way if you'd—you know. [ he gestures vaguely at his face. That thing he wants to forget is there, but can't. Anyway.
He snip-snips the shears and offers Jason a lopsided grin. ]
So do you trust me enough for this part?
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Easy there, hot stuff. We should be ready to wrap this bitch as soon as you're done setting it so it doesn't have a chance to swell more.
[Apparently, not only was he going to trust his counterpart with cutting the glove off, but he was also going to trust him to intentionally hurt him. He didn't want to acknowledge that part, though, so instead he busied himself with digging through a cabinet to pull down the first aid kit that had his casting supplies. He didn't ask if Jason knew how to cast something. All Robins were given the crash course and he didn't think it would have been that different even in another... world? Timeline? Dimension?
Fuck, he was too sober to think about all that shit. Speaking of... He grabbed a bottle of tequila off the top of a locker, plonking it down next to the kit before hinting around until he found two plastic water cups. Only then did he sit down and lay his arm out on the table.]
Go easy on me, baby. It's my first time.
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Here he felt needed and that was. Nice.
Tequila procured. Arm laid out. Jason rounds the table to get to work. He inspects the glove, to find a good spot to start cutting. ]
I'll go slow. Make it last.
[ He makes the first cut, glances up at his counterpart and winks. ]
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He threw back both before the glove was even halfway off, the heat simmering in his belly spreading to numb some of the pain. The second round he poured didn't immediately get slammed, though, and he set the bottle down before picking up his drink to sip at it.]
Mmm...needs lime, but it's just what the doctor ordered.
[He made a face as Other Jason worked, but he didn't so much as twitch.]
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The armor gave under each cut, bending back under the blades. He stopped when he reached the fingers and took the tequila to throw it back in a single gulp. Then he picked the shears up to start working again, snipping carefully around each finger. ]
Careful with that. You might say something you'll regret.
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Bruce had heard most of his stories.
Not that it fucking mattered.
He hissed when the glove finally came off, his jaw tightening as that rush of flight or fight surged back up from his guts. He was able to keep it in check, but it made his next sip bitter and he grimaced as he laid his head back against the chair.]
Fuck, this is gunna hurt like a bitch...
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And yeah. It was gonna hurt. AJ would try to minimize as much as he could, but there would be no getting around it completely. ]
Okay so tell me the vodka story.
[ If it'd help keep his mind off his hand getting manhandled back into place. ]
TW: Story of past Child SA. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat
All in all, his hand could have been worse. Most of the damage, thankfully, was a pair of dislocated knuckles. Easy enough to pop back into place with application of precise force. The only outright break he had in the bone was in the two long metacarpus that were attached to the dislocated knuckles. And those weren't severely out of place. Just a little squeeze to put them back where they belonged and then a cast that went up to just under the first bend of the fingers to protect everything for a few weeks. As far as injuries went, it was pretty simple.
Easy night.
He scoffed, finishing off the third shot before reaching over himself to put the cup on the table so he didn't crush it when the manipulation happened.]
Not much of a story. Guy couldn't get it in so he poured like three shots of vodka down my throat and some poppers up my nose. It worked, but I can't tell you what hurt more, him or puking after he was gone. I made that two hundred bucks last as long as I possibly could before I went out again.
Haven't been able to touch the stuff, since. More of a whisky and a tequila guy, me. The better stuff is downstairs. This is for shit like this.
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The mob was kind enough to not bash his head in for operating in their territory. Stealing and running guns were enough to survive on. Enough until he met Bruce and got his shit fucked up. He's almost certain Jason doesn't want to hear sorry or pity or any of that. It is what it is. ]
Gotham's gravity at work.
[ He gets ready to squeeze those broken bones back into place. ]
Want another drink before I do this?
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He hadn't always prostituted, he did whatever little odd job he could find, but it was always a back up plan with a high chance of a payout. That said, the other was 100% correct in that he didn't want pity. He did what he did, he survived it and clawed his way up from the muck with Bruce's help. He survived. That was enough.
He grunted when his fingers slid back into joints with a wet sounding pop, but he didn't raise the fist he had curled at his side.]
Nah, I'm good. Just do it, get it over with.
[His hand didn't move under his counterpart's grip, but the rest of him writhed like a feral thing when Jason worked his bones back together. Without the tequila dulling his senses, he no doubt would have come out of the chair swinging....but as it was, he kept his fury contained enough to simply bare his teeth and let out a long string of very impolite words and suggestions in Spanish.]
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When he wasn't looking his counterpart in the eye. ]
I...Guess life is shit for us wherever we are.
[ It's obvious that isn't what he wanted to say. It didn't seem fair he'd learned something new about Jason when he's still only had the cliffsnotes version about him. He liked it that way. Wanted to keep it that way. It was safer. ]
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Sucks to be us, I guess. Gotham always tries to eat her young. The ones that survive are better for it-[His words cut off in a half strangled yelp, followed by another very rude suggestion of what Jason could go do with himself in Spanish.
When it was over, he slumped a little in his chair, breathing hard as he stared at the Gotham lights danced over the pollution fog through the skylights.]
'Swhy I'm here. Why I stayed. Help people like us.
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This one stayed? This one helped? How did it all get so skewed for him? How off kilter had the Joker really made him? ]
Guess we're not as alike as Bruce thought. [ He gets up to get the supplies for the cast and sits down again. ] I came back to Gotham with an army. Some help I turned out to be.
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I said 'that's why I stayed, not 'why I came back'. I came back to kill him and Tim both. I didn't have an army, Talia wasn't willing to spare any of her people, so I made one of my own when I got here. I killed a lot of people. Started a gang war that killed more. Forced Black Mask into breaking Joker out of Arkham, releasing him back out onto the world. All just to get my hands on him and to force Bruce to break his stupid fucking rule.
Didn't work, of course. He saved Joker, slit my throat, the whole apartment building blew up. I nearly died, again.
[He reached up, hooking his fingers into the high neck of his underarmor to pull it down enough for the other man to see a bit of the thick scar that bit into his neck.]
....you're helping me. That's not nothing.
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Joker was already dead by the time I came back. So Bruce was my sole focus. I teamed up with Scarecrow and the others. Penguin, Dent. All of them. They were going to wear him down. Make him weak. Scarecrow wanted to break him.
[ He finishes with the cast and sits back in his chair. ]
I just wanted him dead.
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[He sounded a little tired after all the pain of having his hand wrangled back into place, but he still had enough energy to reach over to pour himself another splash of alcohol. He'd say it was from the pain, but the truth was that he was still having trouble wrapping his head around the idea of a world where Joker was actually dead. It made that wave of bitter resentment roll unpleasantly under his gut. He wanted nothing more than to take a rusty dagger to that particular life cord...and he had a feeling that the other would, too.
While that shorn head bowed to wrap the resin covered fiberglass over the padding on his arm, Jason carefully reached out to lightly touch the pale patch that had started the whole shitshow.]
We could always kill mine. Bruce sure as hell isn't gunna. He made his choice.
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But even after all of that, Jason would have hated him more if he'd been responsible for the Joker's death.
A TN-1 overdose hadn't been Jason's idea of justice if he got his hands on the clown. But it's enough that Bruce didn't kill him. Jason wanted that honor himself and neither of them had it. He could live with that.
He's quiet as he feels Jay's fingers against his scalp. He's starting to like the way it feels. ]
If you mean it, I'm in.
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