( he can spit it out with so much venom his words bite. yell, scream, tell bruce every way he fucked up and make it hurt. throw it at him harder than he could throw any blade. bruce weaponizes fear, jason weaponizes his own trauma.
it's the quiet retellings that always hurt him the most. because it's not yelled, it's not in the middle of a fight, when he's hurting bad enough to be angry all over again. he's throwing it at bruce, but the ricochet comes back just as hard. and jason falls right back into it, hears the joker's laugh, feels the impact of the crowbar as it slams into his skull. remembers the livestream joker had done here when he'd had tim tied up, beaten and bloodied. the one goddamn thing jason wanted his death to prevent: more kids getting hurt. and yet.
his voice betrays the hurt, cracking around the edges. )
I woke up in my grave--who knows how long after. Used what little air was left to call for Batman, an' no one came. Dug my way out with a belt buckle. Everything between that an' getting dunked in a Lazarus Pit's real fuzzy, probably 'cause how fucked my head was. But I remember the EMTs, too. I remember calling for B. ( the tone shift again, a softer B. jason doesn't give a shit about giving his name, he's used to it meaning nothing. no one looks for a dead kid under a mask. they might look for bruce wayne. ) They'd asked who he was. I told them my father--but no one came for me. No one saved me even after I'd died. If Talia hadn't thrown me in that damned Pit and driven me half-mad, who knows where I'd be.
( hands clench tight at his sides, shoulders tense. )
And Joker's still alive. I am no one to you. We're keeping it that way.
no subject
it's the quiet retellings that always hurt him the most. because it's not yelled, it's not in the middle of a fight, when he's hurting bad enough to be angry all over again. he's throwing it at bruce, but the ricochet comes back just as hard. and jason falls right back into it, hears the joker's laugh, feels the impact of the crowbar as it slams into his skull. remembers the livestream joker had done here when he'd had tim tied up, beaten and bloodied. the one goddamn thing jason wanted his death to prevent: more kids getting hurt. and yet.
his voice betrays the hurt, cracking around the edges. )
I woke up in my grave--who knows how long after. Used what little air was left to call for Batman, an' no one came. Dug my way out with a belt buckle. Everything between that an' getting dunked in a Lazarus Pit's real fuzzy, probably 'cause how fucked my head was. But I remember the EMTs, too. I remember calling for B. ( the tone shift again, a softer B. jason doesn't give a shit about giving his name, he's used to it meaning nothing. no one looks for a dead kid under a mask. they might look for bruce wayne. ) They'd asked who he was. I told them my father--but no one came for me. No one saved me even after I'd died. If Talia hadn't thrown me in that damned Pit and driven me half-mad, who knows where I'd be.
( hands clench tight at his sides, shoulders tense. )
And Joker's still alive. I am no one to you. We're keeping it that way.