Chapter Text
“This isn’t a punishment, Jason. I love you.”
“This is me saving you from yourself.”
“I can’t change your personality, but I can add to it. A small thing: your failsafe.”
Fear
Jason woke up screaming. He tumbled out of bed and reached for the knife he kept hidden under his pillow. He hissed sharply at a sharp and unexpected pain flaring up against his palm. He yanked his hand back and dropped the knife on the floor, blade shining in the pale sunrise wet with his blood. Blood also coated his arm and the pale blue sheets. He couldn’t worry about that right now. He needed- needed to calm down… ground himself, calm his emotions… breathe…
In…
Out…
I can’t lose you again, son.
Anger
Jason gasped as the flooding anger warped and changed into fear. Paralyzing, mind consuming fear. In an act of pure desperation he clenched his wounded hand tightly and grunted at the resounding flare of pain. It cleared his mind enough to push Bruce- that man’s voice out of his head.
Jason groaned and let his head droop down. He wanted to clutch at the headache pounding at his head, but his hand was still bloody. The gash was throbbing in time with the pain in his head. In an active effort to keep from spiraling once more Jason took stock of his surroundings. He flicked on the lamp next to his bed despite the early sunbeams peeking in from the window. He just- he needed to see. Everything. It was one thing he could control.
The apartment was small, one of Jason’s smaller safe houses, but homey. It had one bedroom, one bathroom, and a small kitchen. The bedroom had a twin bed (which his feet hung off of) a bedside table currently housing his lamp, two guns, and the alarm clock he never used, and a larger table that held a laptop and some papers. A small rolling chair was stuck in front of it.
Jason stood up on shaky legs and stumbled through a small pile of empty beer bottles to get to the table. His mission reports were all still there, gathering dust.
He slumped in the chair and spun around to look closer at the rest of his room. He always had to do that, to know that he was safe, after- after-
“I had to heal you.”
Nononononono-
Jason forced his brain to focus on the menial task of evaluating his room. He listened to the quiet whistle as air blew through his cracked walls, felt the building tremble as the person in the apartment below him moved around, he watched as the dusty air swirled and danced in the sunlight, and he breathed. Again. And again. And again.
There was no one here but him. No bats, no robins, and no clowns. Exactly the way he left it. Jason sighed and leaned back in chair. He let his head thump against the headrest and stayed there until the blood from his hand soaked through his sweats. He’d have to wash them and the sheets soon if he didn’t want any stains.
It had been years since he grabbed a knife from the wrong end. He was slipping. But, he had a good reason. It had only been three weeks since Bru- since Batman had fixedhim.
“I love you, but you’re a murderer, Jason. I had to heal you.”
A wave of rage washed through Jason. He gasped and shut his eyes, waiting, waiting, there.
Fear replaced the anger once adrenaline was introduced to the mix of emotions. It was so much worse than fear toxin. Knowing it was Bruce who was responsible made it sting all the more.
A knock at the door helped him grapple with his mind and stop the thoughts from dragging into an endless cycle. He had to keep a tight rein on his emotions and that was much harder than he expected.
The first week after… that was awful. Every time Jason’s thoughts even flicked to Bruce for a moment a wave of anger and fear would consume him. The emotions had spiraled. He would get angry, his body would release adrenaline, and then Batman's failsafe would kick in, shooting fear into his veins. That in turn would lose more adrenaline and more fear until Jason couldn’t move. Too scared of what lay beyond his dingy bed. He had been stuck in that constant loop of fear and rage for the entire first week before he finally gave in and drank himself unconscious.
He drank a lot these days. Needing to rely on alcohol scared him. After what happened with his Mom… well he didn’t want anything controlling his life. Not drugs, not alcohol, not people, he didn’t even drink coffee unless he was up for more than 24 hours at a time. And yet he still had to kick aside empty beer bottles in the mornings.
The drinks numbed his mind, stopped his thoughts, and the hangover‘s proved to be a good grounding point, much like the knife cut. He wasn’t proud of it and didn’t want to make it a habit, but it was the only thing he could think of to get rid of the fear. He’d gotten better at avoiding anger, stress, or excitement, but… It wasn't easy.
Jason stumbled to the door and looked through the peephole. He groaned when he saw none other than Dick Grayson. How’d he even find this place? Why would he come? Jason had made it very clear he wanted no bats around for a while.
Jason sighed and opened the door. Dick wouldn’t leave until he got what he wanted. He was a lot like Bruce- nope. Ending that thought there. “What do you want?” Jason asked. He tried to keep his voice calm and bland, but he couldn’t stop a little wobble left over from the attack leaking in.
Dick actually flinched back. He was dressed in civilian clothes and looked… awful, like he hadn’t slept in a month. Sharp blue eyes flicked up and down, most likely searching for weapons and injuries. They hesitated briefly on Jason’s still bleeding hand, before meeting his eyes. “I know what Bruce… did… to you. Me and the others were getting worried and-”
“You and the others?” Jason laughed. Dick fell silent. “What others? The Demon Brat and little Timmy? You think I believe they’re worried about me? Sure.” He tried to shut the door but Dick stuck his foot in the apartment.
“Wait! Jason, please! You haven’t been out lately, day or night, and I- I just want to talk. Make sure you’re alright.”
Jason froze. Alright? Alright!? “You came here to make sure I’m fine? Well I am. Just dandy, in fact! Good bye.” He took a deep breath, forcing the frustration and anger down. Reached for calm. “I can’t do this with you, Dick. Not anymore.” He tried to feel guilt at Dicks heartbroken face but couldn’t. He was too spent from trying to feel nothing.
“Please, Little Wing. Just five minutes. I need to make sure you’re not- that you’re ok.” Dick pressed, pushing on the door a little harder. Jason caught the slip and held back another groan. He stepped back and let Dick stumble through the door.
“Fine. Five minutes, and I’m not hurting myself. This was an accident.” Dick nodded eagerly and shut the door behind him.
“Let me help with that.” Jason waved off Dick’s attempts at older brother-ing, and wrapped up his bleeding wound with gauze from the first aid kit he kept near the door. When he finished he gestured for Dick to sit on the apartment's one couch while Jason took the love seat across from it.
“Five minutes starts now. Go.”
Dick shuffled around and began to mess with the cuff of his sleeve. “Well, Bruce told us what happened, why it happened, but I wanted to hear it from you.” Oh, that’s what this was about. At least Jason had one bat who would get both sides of the story.
You’d think that as a family of detectives they would reach out to both sides, but with Jason it usually ended in a fight first, talk later situation. So it was a surprise that Dick was here. He probably still felt bad about Jason’s death and missing the funeral.
“What do the others really think about it?” Jason asked. “I won't answer until you tell the truth.” Dick-undercover-as-a-cop-Grayson was a fantastic liar, but Jason knew him before he was good at lying. He knew Dicks tells. More importantly, Dick knew that Jason knew.
“Well… Damian agrees with Bruce- but this shook him up. Badly. Steph is furious at Bruce, Cass is unsettled, and Tim… I’m not sure about Tim. He hasn’t spoken to any of us about it.” Dick laughed without mirth and leaned onto his knees, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he wants to figure out how Bruce did it more than anything.”
Jason hadn’t had the greatest relationship with any of the family for a while now. Dick and Alfred were the two closest but he only saw them when either Dick needed help in the night, or an occasional Tea Party with Alfred when Bruce was gone. “And… Alfred?”
Dick smiled softly at that. “He’s not happy. Bruce hasn’t had a home cooked meal for three weeks.”
Jason felt a small warmth grow in his chest. He would need to up their tea days to twice a month. “That sounds like good old Alfie.” He took a breath and tried to act like this was a mission briefing. Nothing personal. No emotions. “Fine. I’ll tell you.”