[ he's too off-balance to correlate hanging up on superman with the knock on his window and jerks up with a knife drawn, reacting to the noise like a threat, pulse pounding and eyes wild. he's not crying. he'd spent every possible tear in arkham.
[ jesus christ someone's going to see this and then he'll have to move apartments again. he stalks over and hauls up the window so clark can stop hovering outside the building like a massive alien mosquito. ]
No one is 'all right' right now, and 'good' is a pipedream. But 'stable' isn't happening any time soon, 'well' is beyond their scope, and 'functional' isn't really his objective.
Do you see me bawling my eyes out? I'm fine. He lied about something important, what the fuck else is new.
[ he says, like his hands aren't trembling, like his heart isn't pounding and making him sick with adrenaline. he wants to hit something. he wants to destroy something. ]
He floats in, and he keeps his expression mild, but it says quite clearly that he can see and hear and even feel that everything isn't 'fine' and lying to him is more than a little pointless. His feet touch the ground and he takes a look around, concerned about the living area that Jason's been in. Does he even have food in here?
"Quickest way over," he explains slash apologizes.
[ of course there's food, there's some bare bones non-perishables and a takeout box in the otherwise empty fridge, but it's clearly a safehouse masquerading as a starter apartment. no personal touches except for what the place had come with, nothing but a few pieces of scattered equipment laid out on towels on the counters and table that could be gathered up quickly. the bedroom and extra rooms are completely untouched, but there's a bedroll on the floor of the living room in the corner. it's so sterile one could easily imagine that jason goes around in surgical gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints.
(he doesn't, but he'd thought about doing so when he'd first arrived. now he's learned no one gives a shit how many apartments he breaks into and occupies and disappears from.) ]
Don't worry about it. I'll clear out when we're done.
Because that was not the first thing he'd thought when he'd apologized. Why would Jason move out? No one in this city cares. And of the people who do, well... Clark can find him. Bruce could certainly find him. He's not sure about the rest of them but it's not reason to leave his home. No one's going to do anything that will put their deal in jeopardy unless Jason does something exceptional and so far, he hadn't.
Because you've been here and I'll always know you've been here.
[ clark's right, it is ridiculous in a place where no one cares, but it's what his paranoia demands. he needs at least the illusion of some safe haven, a place where he can keep tim away from other people (or at least present the fiction that he's keeping tim away from other people). ]
[ his tone is low and vicious, as much of an attack as if he'd actually gone for clark with that knife. ]
You wanna talk about how it felt when you found he'd just gone and done something you thought he'd never do, because it would be a betrayal of your trust, and you get to find out months after it's already done?
"Of course I'm going to forgive him. Because I love him. And the last thing I want to do is come to him in anger."
He pushes away from the counter.
"What part of making him feel worse is going to help him see a way out? What part of my rage is going to convince him that he's not just saving me the trouble of putting up with him for even longer?"
You're assuming you can convince him to change his mind at all. I mean, he's already done it. The world that Dick goes back to? Doesn't have a Bruce Wayne in it.
[ doesn't have a batman. no one had stepped up to it, not even dick. not even himself. ]
"It won't be the first time he's died," Clark says dispassionately, "and it won't be the first time it's been reversed."
He looks over at Jason.
"There's things that he and I have experienced that we've never told anyone about. Trust me when I say... time, and reality, aren't nearly so simple as that."
[ that hurts to hear, somehow. he draws in a sharp breath and has to turn away, furious at himself for reacting, furious for caring. tim had said darkseid killed him, or they'd thought he was dead. there've been other near misses. disappearances.
no more batman. he doesn't know why it makes him shake, why it turns his voice unsteady. it's all he'd thought about for the years he'd spent planning his revenge. ]
He told me that my death wasn't enough to make him stop being Batman. I talked to him and I thought, maybe he was right, what would I do if I had the Joker in my head and he was taking over and I couldn't trust anyone to-- to save me-- [ and his voice cracks ]
...would I pull the trigger myself? I'd try. I understand that.
But then he said it wasn't because of that. It was because he'd lost control and he'd killed. He'd gotten people killed.
He thought he got me killed and that didn't fucking matter enough to even pause, but jesus fucking christ, it happens to anybody else and he's-- lining the mansion with explosives, he's all fucking set to pull the trigger, and Alfred...
[ he stops, chest heaving, dragging his hands through his hair. ]
"It didn't happen to someone else," Because that needs to be dealt with right away. "He directly acted to cause the death of another person."
He steps forward.
"He didn't kill himself because he was just that sad, Jason. Bruce doesn't work like that. His entire life has been about loss. Think for a moment."
He closes his eyes for a moment, breathes in for a moment, and opens his eyes with more clarify.
"He killed himself because he thinks he's become the very thing he's spent his life fighting against. " And he wants to be kind, he wants to leave it alone, but he can't. "And because his failure resulted in one of the sons he'd taken in becoming that too."
Another step closer.
"He killed himself because he believes he's tipped over from giving to the world to taking. And he can't live that way."
[ he flinches. violently. and when he finally drags his head up and sees that clark has moved closer, he backs away, irrational panic suddenly flooding through him. ]
[ every instinct is screaming at him to run, but he can't, because that's superman, and he's trusted superman since he was a snot-nosed little brat running around the neighborhood pretending he could fly. he'd trusted superman even when he'd told himself he hated bruce.
maybe all clark wanted was his hand, but what he gets is jason taking one wobbly step like a dazed baby animal and then throwing himself forward, clinging with all the fierce desperation of a fifteen year old boy.
the mostly incoherent words underneath his ragged sobs are 'I'm sorry,' repeated over and over. ]
[That was actually a million times better than he'd ever hoped for.
[He'd expected a hand, maaaaaybe. He'd more expected a knife. Possibly more skittering. He'd been expecting to hit a wall again...
[Instead, he gets this. And while he hadn't expected it, he's ready for it. He's been ready for it since day one.
[Because if anyone understands the difference between damage and damage, between what you could do and how much you could do and how broken you were inside--
[He understands more than he doesn't. And that's why the arms are solid and warm and accepting. Why he runs his hand up and down Jason's back and holds him like he's that snot nosed kid without an ounce of propriety or fear or shame. There's no pride here. There's no anger here. There has been so much hate and so much fear and so much terror and there's guilt and there's blame and all those things are still there but they're not here because human beings can only take so much]
Shhh, it's all right. It's all right. I've got you. I've got you, Jason.
[ it's everything that had been building up inside him since that halloween night; the nightmares, the guilt, the betrayal. he'd spent a long time in the dark crying for his heroes. for someone to catch him when he collapsed on the bloodstained concrete every time joker cut him down.
it's selfish that he's back to his own trauma and unable to even consider bruce’s, except as something to beg for. if he was sorry for what he'd done, if he promised to be better, maybe none of it would be true.
he cries until he can't speak, racking, tearing sobs that hurt his throat and his chest, until breathing hurts and every inhalation is a ragged gasp. he cries for a long time, exhausting himself. when he's finished he's still clinging, face buried against clark's chest like that will somehow hide him.
all that bravado and bitterness is somewhere else right now. the fact that they're in one of his burner apartments, the fact that this isn't even his clark, the fact that he'd only ever been a furious asshole to him, the fact that technically bruce and alfred are already gone are just set aside for the moment. all he can think about is rescue. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
text | private
how could he leave
how could he abandon me again
[ and that's about all the texting he can take, he throws his phone across the room and buries his face in his hands, shaking. ]
action
action
when he sees who it is, his face contorts. ]
Go away.
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What.
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No one is 'all right' right now, and 'good' is a pipedream. But 'stable' isn't happening any time soon, 'well' is beyond their scope, and 'functional' isn't really his objective.
"May I come in?"
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Do you see me bawling my eyes out? I'm fine. He lied about something important, what the fuck else is new.
[ he says, like his hands aren't trembling, like his heart isn't pounding and making him sick with adrenaline. he wants to hit something. he wants to destroy something. ]
Get in here before someone sees you.
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"Quickest way over," he explains slash apologizes.
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(he doesn't, but he'd thought about doing so when he'd first arrived. now he's learned no one gives a shit how many apartments he breaks into and occupies and disappears from.) ]
Don't worry about it. I'll clear out when we're done.
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Because that was not the first thing he'd thought when he'd apologized. Why would Jason move out? No one in this city cares. And of the people who do, well... Clark can find him. Bruce could certainly find him. He's not sure about the rest of them but it's not reason to leave his home. No one's going to do anything that will put their deal in jeopardy unless Jason does something exceptional and so far, he hadn't.
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[ clark's right, it is ridiculous in a place where no one cares, but it's what his paranoia demands. he needs at least the illusion of some safe haven, a place where he can keep tim away from other people (or at least present the fiction that he's keeping tim away from other people). ]
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"I was concerned. You didn't sound... good. And trust me, I'm not exactly at my best myself."
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[ his tone is low and vicious, as much of an attack as if he'd actually gone for clark with that knife. ]
You wanna talk about how it felt when you found he'd just gone and done something you thought he'd never do, because it would be a betrayal of your trust, and you get to find out months after it's already done?
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"If you like."
And his voice is... utterly blank. Not calm, not gentle. Just... blank.
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He pushes away from the counter.
"What part of making him feel worse is going to help him see a way out? What part of my rage is going to convince him that he's not just saving me the trouble of putting up with him for even longer?"
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[ doesn't have a batman. no one had stepped up to it, not even dick. not even himself. ]
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He looks over at Jason.
"There's things that he and I have experienced that we've never told anyone about. Trust me when I say... time, and reality, aren't nearly so simple as that."
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no more batman. he doesn't know why it makes him shake, why it turns his voice unsteady. it's all he'd thought about for the years he'd spent planning his revenge. ]
He told me that my death wasn't enough to make him stop being Batman. I talked to him and I thought, maybe he was right, what would I do if I had the Joker in my head and he was taking over and I couldn't trust anyone to-- to save me-- [ and his voice cracks ]
...would I pull the trigger myself? I'd try. I understand that.
But then he said it wasn't because of that. It was because he'd lost control and he'd killed. He'd gotten people killed.
He thought he got me killed and that didn't fucking matter enough to even pause, but jesus fucking christ, it happens to anybody else and he's-- lining the mansion with explosives, he's all fucking set to pull the trigger, and Alfred...
[ he stops, chest heaving, dragging his hands through his hair. ]
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He steps forward.
"He didn't kill himself because he was just that sad, Jason. Bruce doesn't work like that. His entire life has been about loss. Think for a moment."
He closes his eyes for a moment, breathes in for a moment, and opens his eyes with more clarify.
"He killed himself because he thinks he's become the very thing he's spent his life fighting against. " And he wants to be kind, he wants to leave it alone, but he can't. "And because his failure resulted in one of the sons he'd taken in becoming that too."
Another step closer.
"He killed himself because he believes he's tipped over from giving to the world to taking. And he can't live that way."
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Don't. Don't.
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Jason? You know I'd never hurt you.
[He reaches up and straightens his hair. Straightens it a very specific way.]
Jason...
[And he holds out his hand.]
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maybe all clark wanted was his hand, but what he gets is jason taking one wobbly step like a dazed baby animal and then throwing himself forward, clinging with all the fierce desperation of a fifteen year old boy.
the mostly incoherent words underneath his ragged sobs are 'I'm sorry,' repeated over and over. ]
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[That was actually a million times better than he'd ever hoped for.
[He'd expected a hand, maaaaaybe. He'd more expected a knife. Possibly more skittering. He'd been expecting to hit a wall again...
[Instead, he gets this. And while he hadn't expected it, he's ready for it. He's been ready for it since day one.
[Because if anyone understands the difference between damage and damage, between what you could do and how much you could do and how broken you were inside--
[He understands more than he doesn't. And that's why the arms are solid and warm and accepting. Why he runs his hand up and down Jason's back and holds him like he's that snot nosed kid without an ounce of propriety or fear or shame. There's no pride here. There's no anger here. There has been so much hate and so much fear and so much terror and there's guilt and there's blame and all those things are still there but they're not here because human beings can only take so much]
Shhh, it's all right. It's all right. I've got you. I've got you, Jason.
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it's selfish that he's back to his own trauma and unable to even consider bruce’s, except as something to beg for. if he was sorry for what he'd done, if he promised to be better, maybe none of it would be true.
he cries until he can't speak, racking, tearing sobs that hurt his throat and his chest, until breathing hurts and every inhalation is a ragged gasp. he cries for a long time, exhausting himself. when he's finished he's still clinging, face buried against clark's chest like that will somehow hide him.
all that bravado and bitterness is somewhere else right now. the fact that they're in one of his burner apartments, the fact that this isn't even his clark, the fact that he'd only ever been a furious asshole to him, the fact that technically bruce and alfred are already gone are just set aside for the moment. all he can think about is rescue. ]
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