Chapter Text
Jason sat on the couch behind him. Finally disappearing into the cushions, instead of being shrouded by other people. He was alone, for the first time since it all happened. He noted that the walls were thicker than he remembered. Sounds couldn't traverse as easily through them, and in particular approaching footsteps. Jason had become accustomed to living alone, so to find himself surrounded by others, was a hard thing to adjust to. Even harder that the company, wanted to be with him at all times. So when a knock sounded at his door, he ignored it. Hoping that the person responsible would leave him behind. He glared over as the knock tried again, then again. Until it was non-stop. He pressed his fingers into his palm, and tried once more to ignore it. He slowed his breath down, then his heart, then the rest of his movements. It was going rather smoothly, until a foot kicked at his leg.
"You're not dead again are you?" Dick pouted, then poked at Jason head. He didn't give a response, as one wasn't needed. They both knew he was alive and — sort of well. Well enough. "Kind of surprised Bruce isn't here."
"Yeah right." Jason spat. "We both know that you kicked him out for me."
"You're welcome." Dick planted down beside Jason. "Is it still strange?"
"What do you think?" Jason asked from beneath his hand. The first gift Bruce had given him; were bandages for his new burns, then ointments for his joints, moisturiser for his scars and finally, specialised hearing aids. Jason never realised just how much he was able to tune out before, until he was wrapped in metal that reverberated every single sound around him at the same exact volume.
"You can take them out if they are that bad." Dick offered, he almost reached to do so himself but stopped short.
"It's only bad when I can hear your voice." Jason retorted back — still smuggling his face within his palms.
"Wowww." Dick stretched out the word, but unintentionally tuned Jason's headache from a solid 4 to a 6. He wanted to get used to them, but maybe a break might be the best option. So he took them off, and felt as the world escaped back beneath his senses. There was a slight ringing sensation that still lingered, as did the pain, but he tried to massage that way.
"Where-" Jason began, but his voice felt weird in his head. It was different, after hearing it with the aids. It was less mechanical, and had no technological echo anymore. It never used to have that, but after having that for a couple of hours, it felt almost empty. Just as empty as Jason was perhaps. He definitely did have a headache, but that was now a sensation that pounded against an abandoned brain with no thoughts at all.
"He's downstairs." Dick said. "He was giving you time to adjust. It took him a little while at first too."
"I'm fine." Jason pressed as he got up. His balance faltered, so Dick joined him in the incline, but was pushed back down. Jason didn't need the help. He opened the door, then shut it promptly. He knew his way around, didn't he? So he just wandered in any direction he could. He heard footsteps, or at least felt the pressure of the floor boards giving way beneath him. He heard crows lurch against the windows nearby, as well as dogs barking at them. Then the sound of doors opening to others hoping to utilise the hallway, so Jason ducked into a nearby staircase, and fled. But he made a mistake, as he heard wrong. The door wasn't in the level he was just on, it was now in front of him. And he knew this, because an old man stared kindly back at him.
"You alright Master Jason?" Alfred asked as he carried a mug holding a wonder woman symbol.
"I'm fine." Jason responded shortly. He nodded towards Alfred, then ignored how the world collapsed sideways with it. He continued down the hallway, now with a pair of beady eyes planted on his back. This time, he couldn't hear any of his own movements. Rather they cut in and out, imitating the way a dying speaker would produce music before the battery puffed out. He brushed his hands through his hair, plastering his cleanly cut fringe away from his forehead. He continued forwards, despite the lack of sensation in his ear drums. Eventually, he reached a large blue carpeted lounge, spaced with couches all lined up in rows, and a large screen in the front. The screen itself, plastered out two brightly coloured race cars travelling around a track with large cartoon characters throwing items every so often. He spotted two heads, talking to each other. One had to be Damian, and the other was, who was it?
He started to move forwards, if he couldn't remember who that was, then were they a threat? Was Damian alright? He couldn't determine that without a clear visual right now, so he kept moving. Until he reached the two of them who were arguing incessantly about… something. He watched the unknowns lips scrunch, then mouth "Are you alright?". He ignored the pressing question, and left. Damian seemed happy enough there, so Jason was going to leave him be. Or just stand in front of them? He wasn't sure exactly where he was right now. He felt the urge to leave the room, and could visualise doing just that. But had he? Had he left? Or was he still awkwardly in front of them? The anonymous boy mouthed the words again, so did Damian, and Jason never could form his reply.
He clocked his head away, and instead pressured his limbs to move. To escape. He pushed past the couches, then out of the room, and into the now empty cold hallway. He kept moving. He needed to. He needed to get out. To breathe. The walls were caving in. That's why he couldn't hear the outside world. Why his limbs couldn't move more than an inch without painstakingly hitting something. Why the world pressured him to fall. Why he- why he couldn't see. Why he couldn't feel. Why he was back in that god forsaken coffin, dragging his own corpse out.
Jason awoke to find himself tucked deeply into a small closet, with Damian vehemently arguing with the other side of the door. He smashed his hands against the wood, which caused a broom to fall on Jason's head. Damian then turned back as Jason blinked like a frog. He was so apologetic, swinging his hands around and instantly pushing all of the fallen cleaning products aside before hugging Jason. He could feel the vibrations of speech crying into his chest, and Damian's small fingers twisting tightly into his shirt. But he couldn't hear it. So he just held onto him. Letting the tears run into his clothing, as the pressure of his own heart beat matched Damian's. He started to try and look at Jason's face, to check him over, but Jason held his head against his own chest.
He didn't want him to see how blank he was. How truly empty. How not even his ears could intercept anything anymore. One too many explosions Alfred called it. Bruce said it was overworking the organ to exhaustion. Dick made the joke that his body was finally giving up, but caught himself before finishing it as that was a bit too on the nose for someone who had died. Whereas Tim just stayed silent. Oh. That's who that was. Tim. Jason's mouth wrapped around that word, but he couldn't tell if he had actually said it. But the way the door, shimmied, it seemed as though he had. He tried to tell them to leave, and that he's fine. But he could feel Damian shake his head no. He lifted himself out of Jason's arms, only to yell at the door, then look meekly at Jason — who blankly stared back. Jason wrapped his hands around his ears, then removed them. The difference, was nothing. He did it once more, and the only sensation that changed was the feeling around his fingers. But even that was barely anything.
He glanced down at the bandages that spun around his hand. He was so fragile, but was glad that it was him that had these injures, and not Dick. Jason had managed to take the brunt of the flames, even if Dick fought to be in front the entire time. Jason had taken that position. He could withstand the heat better than Dick could — even if he didn't know it at the time. He just knew, that he couldn't let another person fall prey to an explosion. Even if at that point, he was incredibly confused, and didn't fully conceptualise that he had truly died in the same circumstances he was in then. It was instinct, and if it ever happened again, he would do just the same. Self-preservation be damned.
The door slowly opened up, as Dick peeked around it. Damian started berating him with light punches, then went for the broom to wack him, but Jason grabbed at it before he could. He looked up at Dick, who worriedly said something to him, but Jason didn't have the mind to lip read it. His sentence was mute, and even more so than Jason was right now. The only thing Jason could do, was sigh, and expel air that never even attempted to reach towards his ears. Damian looked back and inadvertently matched Dick's worry with his own, so Dick started to try and regain his composure. He said something to Damian, which caused him to respond, until the back and forth was impossible for Jason to decipher any longer. They kept talking, with Damian constantly trying to push Dick out, and Dick continuing to refuse to do so.
He eventually completely entered the small closet, and shut the door behind him, which turned Damian's face red with anger. So Jason started to pull him away, and back against his chest. He could once again, feel that Damian was talking, and this time he was yelling. As his tiny body puffed out all it could in Dick's direction. Jason eyed the older man, who looked solemn now, but thankful to have the tiny boy no longer shouting in his direction at least. Looking at him now, he also resembled how Bruce gaped at Jason. Worry the only thing on his face, with past grief featuring and anger at themselves. So Jason scowled a little, and felt his blank expression dissipate.
"Can you hear?" Dick signed — shuffling down to sit tightly in a ball. Jason shook his head, but kept up his hold of Damian. He had finally calmed down a little, but was still talking — presumably to Jason. "He's telling you it's going to be alright." Dick thought for a moment, then kept translating. "Saying that he'll kill whoever dares to cross you." He looked off the side, then came back. "He's telling me to-" He stopped himself short and frowned. "Well I guess I know who he gets his potty mouth from now." Jason sighed again, this time with a little more force. He tried to lower his shoulders to relax, but they were still stuck. Dick looked up at the ceiling then the walls. "Do you need to leave?"
Jason nodded. He very much did, but how did Dick know that? He ignored that burning question, and instead kept up his hold of Damian, as Dick helped him to his feet. He then opened the door for the two of them, gesturing with his hand for them to go first. Jason took his time walking, making sure his first foot was planted fully before trying to move the other. Damian wriggled out from his grip, then landed on the floor and grabbed at his hand. He stared deeply at Jason's feet, nodding at each step he got correct. Then gave a thumbs up when they finally reached the same blue lounge they were in before. Damian guided Jason down to a chair, then sat down right next to him. He crossed his arms disapprovingly as Dick sat on the other side. This time however, he offered a mug. A wonder woman one to be exact, with warm tea sitting inside. Jason took a sip, hoping for the taste to hit his tongue, but it never quite reached it. He pretended though. That his mouth worked fine, as did his ears and the rest of his body — like he once had believed wholeheartedly. But this time, instead unknowingly doing it for himself, he did it for Damian.
Damian seemed to settle a little at the sight of Jason's supposed enjoyment of the tea, and nodded back at Dick. He was restless though, and stood up to survey Jason from another side. He then climbed the seat, and tapped at Jason's ears. He must have asked Dick something, as he stood up and left the room. Damian then fell into Jason's side in a heap, and Jason offered up his tea. So he took a sip, then Jason did, and the two of them kept swapping it until there was none left. Damian shuffled around, grabbing at the remote, then pointing to each button at Jason. He yawned, then sat back next to Jason. He must have been too tired to remember he could sign, as the moment he hit the pillow, he was out cold. Jason looked down at the remote, and chose to leave it. He let his head fall back, then watched as Damian's eyes closed, his arms wrapped around Jason's, then he himself finally fell into deep sleep. Or at the very least let his eyes close over, causing the world to no longer exist at all. For no sensations could reach him.
Jason's eyes bleared first, sauntering in all of the light that had befallen the room. The curtains that once hid them, were open and shining in the suns brightest gaze. He had somehow gone to sleep shrouded in the darkest part of the manor, but awoke to it changing into one of the lightest possible places. He breathed out a sigh, expecting to hear the breath rasp, yet it never did. Damian was pressed into his left side, so he felt his ears with his right hand. Empty. Nothing. He clicked once. Still nothing. Or maybe he couldn't click? He looked back down to find the bandages a little dirty. The tiniest bit of blood had seeped through, but it was mainly just dirty from something like dust. But what had he touched? He wasn't outside. Was he?
He was. Inside. Yes. There was a ceiling above him. Yes. He looked in front of him, and saw the screen once again blaring the cars racing along a track, but this time it was only one big one, instead of two. Then he saw the head — the head? Who's head? Tim. Tim. Yes. Jason blinked as his hand fell back down to his side. The sound it made, must have been loud as Tim's eyes peaked over the chair, and glared over at Jason. He immediately bobbed down, then reappeared on the other side of the chair walking away. Jason watched blankly as he left the room, leaving his car to crash into a wall repeatedly as the other drivers surpassed him.
Moments later. Dick arrived with a tightly wound Bruce— who had a new bruise. Jason could tell because there was something taped around his neck, but it was hidden beneath his suit. He tied on his cufflinks, then turned to Jason and tapped on his ears. A question. But what was he asking? Jason's mouth curled around the words, "I don’t know what you want." but he couldn't tell if they ever exited. Dick and Bruce both shared two confused looks between them, but Tim stepped in and seemingly repeated Jason's sentence for them. So Bruce grabbed something out from his pocket, then offered it up to Jason. He stared down at the small box. He was so tired. So unusually tired. So, wrong. So gross. He was cleaner than normal. A hot working shower and a haircut would do that. But he still felt awful. He felt so god damn wrong.
His scowl deepened as Bruce opened the box, to reveal a brand new set of something. What was it? The word was right there, on the tip of his tongue. But he couldn't name it. He couldn't think of it. The whole idea was impossible to reach or even just purely conceptualise. So his scowl continued to grow, or at least it felt like it did. He wasn't sure what was shown on his face currently, all he knew was he couldn't hear. Oh. It must have been hearing aids. He looked back up at Bruce, to watch him point at his own ears, then Jasons. Again he was asking, but this time Jason knew what it was. Bruce made another hand movement, but that was too much to process so Jason just nodded and hoped he chose right.
Bruce hesitated for a moment, before slowly pressing the technology against Jason's head, then wrapping it around his ears. There was a click, as it tightened in place. Then the sounds started again. Fidgeting through his ears, and warping themselves with static not usual. It was quiet still though. He could hear his breaths, his heart beat and the sound of the cushion beneath him moving slightly. Then the footsteps of those in front of him. All at the same volume, as if each one was just as important as the last. His eyes tinged, as the sounds kept bellowing out from the technology to the natural drums within his canals. It was too much. All of it. These people, the knowledge he now had, and this new supposed home. He was sick of it.
This place was full of the near constant familiar feeling, yet now he knew why. He had been here before, but not only that, he lived here full time. He also knew who the Batman was, who Nightwing was and the new Robin. As well as the fact that the last mantle had been his previously. He knew now he had searched for his birth mother, and died trying. That's why he ached so. Why he had memories of falling deep into the ground, only to scrounge back out. Why his body could never truly exist without chronic incisions. Why he had keloid formations. Why he had that god forsaken white fringe as a constant reminder, that he couldn't escape that fate. Why he couldn't look Bruce in the eyes, why he couldn't take any physical touch from him. Because that was the last ever sensation he felt, before finally falling.
"ArE You AlriGHT?" Dick asked, as the hearing aids buffed out the sounds, still attempting to calibrate itself.
"I'm fine." Jason responded — at least he hoped he did. He closed his eyes, trying to cut off some of the overzealous sensations he had. Something fell down at his side, so he opened them again. Bruce had a pair of keys in his hands, and Jason knew exactly what they were for. He stood up, then immediately left. This time, he managed to avoid every single person who followed him. He didn't know if they did that on purpose, and knew he wanted to be alone, or if he truly avoided them himself. Either way, he was grateful. The halls were long, but Jason's headache was far longer. It was now stretching deep into his neck, and down his chest. His hands formed fists, as he finally ended upon the large doors that held out the air to the outside.
They had been repaired since the incident, and at an incredible speed at that. The wonders of having money. Jason propped himself against one, and pushed. But instead of the fresh air of nature, he spilled into an array of reporters all taking pictures at such fast speeds that his eyes could only fuzz out intensely. He flicked his arms out in front of him, hoping to help his optical nerve relax a little, but someone pulled him out from behind. And the door clicked shut once more. He looked up, to find Dick starting down the staircase, which meant that it wasn't him who moved Jason. He was too far away to have done it. So who was it? He turned to look out a nearby window, and found Bruce bristled with anger. He wasn't Brucey Wayne — the playboy everyone had come to know, who was goofy and careless impersonated. He felt more like a destroyed father fighting for any solace for his family. He instantly started shouting at them all to leave, and swung his arms around to pretend as though he was drunk. The final detail to his disguise, was a half empty vodka bottle. The media would believe it. Hell Jason almost did too if he hadn't seen him just moments before.
"Why are they here?" Jason signed, he couldn't bear to hear his own voice grate against his teeth. Dick patted his shoulder, which caused him to flinch, so Dick moved a step over before answering.
"They're here for you." Dick said, he stood in front of Jason. Annunciating every single syllable possible. It was strange, the way his mouth moved so intentionally. It almost made Jason forget the content he had said.
"Why?" Jason repeated.
"Rumour has it, a dead son returning is great news." Dick explained. "Even better than the fake rumours we tried to dredge up."
"What?" Jason signed again. He wasn't following, not one bit. Dick's words made sense, but that didn't mean they made sense to Jason.
"Maybe you should sit down?" Dick asked — starting to chauffer Jason to a nearby bench. They both sat before he began again. "After you — you know, the media spun all sorts of stories. Some were close to what actually happened, but none included that you were Robin." He cut himself off, thinking about the best way to say it. "Everyone thinks you are dead Jason, so to see you reportedly at a party years later, with the Joker breaking out of Arkham the same night — they think there's a story there."
"There is." Jason replied — fists still balling.
"We know, but they don't have to." Dick explained. "They won't know." He repeated as he grasped his hands in his lap, letting them rub together nervously.
"How can we get rid of them?" Jasons signed again, one spoken sentence was enough.
"Bruce is already on that." Dick said, as they heard from the door someone belch out a violent vomit. There was echoes of disgust and 'ews', followed by an intense amount of camera clicks and flashes. Then it all slowly dissipated, as another voice kicked in — Alfred. He was shouting something, but Jason didn't know what. It made Dick snicker though, as the doors opened wide to let a dishevelled looking Bruce back in, and an even madder looking Alfred. Bruce dusted himself off, then tore away a cord attached to his suit. It wasn't a bruise on his neck after all, rather it was the packet to make the artificial vomit.
"Good thinking Master Bruce, hopefully your vulgar display of anger and alcohol will distract them for at least a couple of days." Alfred grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped a little bit of dirt off Bruce's suit.
"Can I leave now?" Jason signed to the floor.
"I want to check your wounds first." Bruce said blankly. He glared at Jason's hands covered in bandages that trailed up both his arms. They felt better now, but the image of bleached red fabric didn't cause any confidence in the room.
"Fine." Jason spat back, a little more angry than he thought he was. He wanted to leave. And so desperately. This much company was consuming, and all of them were acting like everything was so normal. But it wasn't. And never had been. Jason got up, following as Bruce led them down the hall. Dick followed too, but Alfred nodded to them and left down another room. Eventually they reached an office space, where the entrance to the Batcave was. "No." Jason said suddenly, surprising even himself. Dick looked back at him, thinking over what Jason could mean, as Jason did the same. Why did he not want to go down that tunnel? Why did he not want to see the circles of bats creeping in the corners? Or the vehicles that positioned themselves egotistically below? The costumes he knew were lined up in glass containers. Why?
"I need to check your vitals with our systems down there." Bruce started to walk back towards him, encasing Jason with his presence that he hopelessly needed to escape. "I'm sorry Jaylad."
"Don't." Jason irked backwards. "Don't call me that." He hadn't heard that nickname in years, and instead of filling him with warmth, or love. Or kindness. It was putrid. Disgusting. Gross beyond compare. He hated it. He hated everything about this. He suddenly pushed back further, to find that Damian had taken his hand. When did he get here? Was he here this whole time? He started to walk towards the tunnel, and Jason absentmindedly followed. He was thinking too much. So much. It was all confounding him to nothing. To the emptiness that he couldn't subside. So Damian walked through it with him. Like he always did. Like he shouldn't have to do.
Jason had a few missteps, and his legs creaked more than he cared to admit. But each time they did, Damian slowed and matched his pace. Jason couldn't feel much, the bandages subsided the sensations within his hands and arms. The ointments made his joints feel like oil. Yet, the pressing glares behind him were always there. Whether they were Alfred's, Dick's, Bruce's, or the cackles. He hadn't been alone since arriving here. He expected to leave immediately with Damian, but that didn't happen. It couldn't.
He had grasped at Damian as soon as he found him, listening on as his flesh sizzled amongst the flames still burning within him. Then his lungs started to give, as if the smoke still piled around him. His muscles pretended that they no longer worked, as the fire ripped them apart. And his bones sanctioned the space to be free, and fled outside of him. As he toppled over, then it all went black. He could remember those same arms with the symbol planted behind, lifting around him, but this time instead of waking up on his couch in the apartment — it was a hospital bed.
He was wrapped in wires, covered in bandages and a gown that bled the green colour more so than blue. He could hear a monitor play a sound in tandem with every heartbeat he had. It rose as soon as he opened his eyes. Then grew even faster as he ripped himself out and ran. There was someone at his bedside though. A person who was strong, and yelled for help immediately. The help that came, was a needle full of bile that shunned Jason back to his deepest nightmares — or memories now it seemed.
He saw flashes of being in an alleyway, as a figure behind him snuck through. Another of a person falling in front of him, launching themself off the building, only for someone else to scream in his face. He saw arguments between two well intentioned people, who both blamed themselves more than the other. Then he saw car rides, that he stuck his head out even at the high speeds they went. He saw himself in bright colours. He saw himself in those same colours, covered in redden liquids that fell from himself. He saw, the blonde flush — his mother die before his very eyes, only for himself to follow that same fate.
"Are you alright?" Dick broke in.
"I'm fine." Jason retorted. He rubbed at his eyes, finding himself to be attached to similar equipment as last time, but this was much more high tech. He was in the cave. Screeching animals flew in the distance, as water fell behind them. Bruce was locked into the monitor, swiping rapidly through information that Jason never had the time to read. "Where's Damian?" Dick pointed downwards, and Jason followed the direction. He could see Damian sitting right beside him, still holding his hand. But where was the sensation of that? Where was the warmth from Damian's hand? He looked to be sad, but Jason couldn't tell why?
"His heart rate still hasn't started." Bruce whispered to Dick — who was standing next to him.
"I can hear that, you know." Jason spat. But his heart was still going, wasn't it? He tried to feel for his pulse in his wrist, but none came so he switched to his neck, but that was also empty. Yet the instruments last time picked it up, didn't they? Or did he just imagine that? "What's wrong?" He spurred, moving his focus back down to Damian who — was gone. He lifted up his hand, then started searching the bed side. Where? Where was he? He stood up quickly, causing the wires around him to go taut. "Damian?" He called, but he couldn't hear if it ever left his mouth. He checked his ears, but he had no sensation. He was stuck wrapped in fabrics and wires that never wanted to let go. But he couldn't feel them. Nor his body. Or the people supposedly around him.
He started to walk into the distance. Blankly following the nothingness in front. Carving his way through it as if walls and floor existed below. But they didn't. And perhaps never had. He was still trailing along, as he fell. Deep into it all. Gone. Where was he though? He felt around for his chest that was pounding out his heart and blood, but when his hand reached it, there was nothing. No sensations, no heart, no lungs, no bones, no skin above that. Nothing. For Jason was just as empty as his surroundings. The only thing he could see, was a glass encased brightly coloured outfit. His outfit. One that still had remnants of blood upon the curves and divots. The outfit, he had died in.
He had to get that. He had to destroy it. He couldn't bear to look at it. Not one bit. His first punch smacked back at him. The second bled. And the third finally made it all crumble back down. The words "A Good Soldier", were sitting below him in the wreckage, but he ignored that and tried his best to get the costume. To remove it from his head. To stop this pounding headache, to get rid of the memories he was blinded by. To stop it all. Yet he couldn't. And never was capable of doing so. He knew that. And he knew that so well, but still tried. Even as the bandages he carried soaked themselves wet, and the muscles beneath beckoned him to halt his eager movements. He kept going. Until it all cut out. Just as his nightmares always did.