metalogs | i was born to hold my hands up (open)

Don't bother. I don't need them.

( he goes and leaves the kitchen then, heading throughout the place. expecting jason to leave himself. figuring this is over and done with. )

( bruce goes out of sight, and jason--rolls his eyes, before he's scooping up the puppy in his arms and following after him.

he's already here, he may as well make a nuisance of himself. )

Where'd the new car come from?

( why is jason following? he expected him to take off with some flippant remark thrown at him. that's more in par with jason todd and how he seems to be a lot of the time. )

I won it.

( he doesn't bother to look back as he goes down one of the hallways, heading for the large room at the end of it. )

( he's following in part to figure out what bruce is up to in here. what he's been putting together, what he's working on, why he's working on it. this isn't his first time in bruce's makeshift cave, but it is his first time up here. he figures, if bruce isn't getting bitchy at him wandering around in his space, he may as well take advantage of it for now.

also, he likes the puppy. so he follows, holding the dog and memorizing the path they're taking. )

Yeah? From who?

( stepping into the large room, it's clear it's a bedroom — bruce's bedroom. at least, that he's using while he's here in this place.

it not only looks lonely, but feels lonely, too.

the duffel bag (which has his suit) is dropped to the large bed in the center, his hat tossed down with it as he unzips his jacket and pulls his banada off from around his neck. moving over to the dresser there, he grabs the makeup remover and a cotton pad, dabbing it on as he starts to rub at his eye. )

Do you want something?

( he asks while looking to himself in the mirror as he works on his other eye. emotional walls up. )

( he didn't really come here needing something from bruce, just wanted to make sure the guy was still alive. that he was around, that he hadn't disappeared or gotten batnapped by the joker, or anything else like that. bruce is here, he's fine, he's clearly getting himself into shit and having a good time doing it if his new ride is anything to go by.

bruce is cleaning himself off, and jason's standing a good several feet behind him, in clear line of the mirror itself. he rolls his eyes, cradles the puppy in his arms while scratching under his chin. lets the puppy chew on him a little. )

My B has a dog of his own. German shepherd, named Ace.

( just filler commentary. a sentence to give him a little more time to think about what he's actually saying in response to bruce. )

I got what I wanted already. You tryin' to kick me out?

( the little half-smirk on his face is playful enough, but it doesn't reach his eyes. )

After I came all this way to check on you?

I'm not your B.

( but they look for their bruce in him and, sometimes, he gets tired. of expectations and being a sort of emotional punching bag for the other him.

dropping the dirty cotton pad down, he removes his shirt, tugging it up and over his shoulder, revealing new and old scars and bruises littered across his back, arms, and chest. something they probably all share in that regard at least. )

So you don't have to check on me.

( his jaw clenches tight, while he listens to bruce. expression darkening, teeth grinding together for a moment before jason's pulling in a deep breath and letting it out. tries to let out the tension, even if it doesn't quite work for him. he still feels it in his shoulders, in his neck. )

If you were my B, I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't be checking in on him.

( the hand petting the puppy moves up to press against the side of his neck. rubs his palm against it. )

'cause he's an asshat. A manipulative piece of garbage. The only good things he has going for him are the people he manages to pull in.

( tell him how you really feel, jason.

quiet, it's only after a long moment that he goes about slowly descending upon the bed, sitting there on the edge of it, back to jason and the pup.

fingers gently feel the cool sheets beneath him and they slowly curl into them as blue eyes stare down to the floor, then over to the half-open duffel bag there where he can just barely see some of the batsuit in it. )

Until they're gone, too.

( this is about bruce being self destructive. this is about him pulling himself apart. jason sees it. he sees it because he does it, too. takes everything he has and destroys it the moment he starts feeling shitty about himself. tells off everyone, everything, until there's nothing left and all he's left with is his own regrets. jason sees it, understands it, and he could comment on it but he knows damn well that's not going to get them anywhere, so instead he takes a step closer to the bed. puts down the puppy on the mattress, but stays up on his feet. )

My Bruce broke my arm last time I saw him. Broke several bones, bad enough it would've taken me months to recover. Hell, my dad'd hit me around when I was a kid, but it wasn't ever that bad. My Bruce, when I came back from the dead, when I gave him the choice of killing Joker or watching me kill him--he threw a goddamn batarang at my throat instead. When Joker blew up the building, he didn't even look for me in the rubble. I was there, I was alive. Instead he went for Joker. I had to pull myself out while I bled out slowly. He never looked for me after either. My Bruce, when Damian died, asked me to help him on a job. Took me to take out some thugs, an' I thought we were--figuring shit out between us again. But you know what he did? He drove me right to the place where I'd died, asked me to try an' remember what happened when I died, if I could think of anything that might've helped me come back--because he wanted to watch his little boy grow up.

( maybe bruce deserves to lose the people in his life. his bruce. this kid--he's still learning, he's still new. he doesn't. )

When you pull the I'm not your Bruce bullshit--I know. I know damn well you aren't. I told Tim I was done with him, an' I meant it. You're not him. You're better than that.

( with the pup there on the bed now, he sniffs around a bit — tail wagging away as he does, and bruce just sits there, staring still at the way the batsuit peeks out at him from the shadows of the duffel bag. fitting, he thinks.

as jason speaks — as he lingers there close to the bed, he doesn't look to him, but he hears him. he does. it shows in the way his eyes soften some, the way his brow gently furrows a bit, as if trying to imagine being in the shoes of the bruce wayne that jason and the others know and have. he can't imagine breaking jason's arm — can't imagine hurting someone like dick jr. or tim jr. his mind tries to piece together why. if he'd become so far wrapped up in being vengeance, that it's all he knows now. all he can understand. all he can relate to.

there's a moment, fleeting as it is, where he wonders if that's where he's headed as well.

then jason goes and says he's better than that and that has bruce slowly look over to him and there's a heaviness there in his eyes that goes beyond exhaustion. it's a man just barely hanging on, part of him wanting to let go.

a glance to the pup there who's flopped themselves down on the bed, he looks back to the duffel bag. )

Alfred's in the hospital because of me. ( the words are soft. heavy. ) The Riddler wanted to kill me. To kill Bruce Wayne. But Alfred was the one to suffer. I don't know if he's going to pull through or not. Because I'm here and I don't know what to do with being here.

( so he does what he does with the guilt he carries for his parent's deaths. goes out looking for a fight. a distraction from that pain and anger. and wears scars and bruises as a sort of reminder of that guilt. of that failure. )

Edited 2023-08-28 16:16 (UTC)

Alfred's tough, moreso than anyone else we've got. He'll pull through. An' even on the off-chance he somehow doesn't, he wouldn't want you moping around being a dick to everyone just 'cause he got put in the hospital.

( alfred would want bruce to figure his shit out and keep going. wouldn't want him falling into grief again over losing yet another parental figure. or jason assumes, because he doesn't know this bruce's alfred, but he knows his own well enough to count. jason knows it's--complicated, that it hurts because he can't even imagine how bad the pain would be if he were to lose alfred.

jason turns around on his heels, slowly makes his way back to the door. he's gotten enough out of this. )

Don't know what the hell I'm doing here either, y'know. Everything's a mess, there's so much crap going on and 's all out of my league. If one more thing falls apart I'm gonna lose my shit and start setting everything on fire.

Edited 2023-08-28 17:57 (UTC)

( as jason moves to head to the door, the pup gets himself up and walks over on the bed. tail wagging, mouth hanging open. wondering where the person who'd spoiled him with pets is going, probably.

bruce, on the other hand, just keeps staring to the duffel bag. )

Jason.

( he stops. just inside the door still, not quite going out of it but ready to turn the corner the moment he feels the need to run. but he doesn't. just tilts his head to the side so his chin's almost even with his shoulder, so he can look at bruce behind him.

raises a hand to press his palm against the door frame. )

Bruce.

( jason speaks and the pup gives a happy little bark, tail wagging away, small paws touching down the side of the bed as if wanting to jump down but not.

like jason, bruce tilts his head just enough to barely look back to him over his own shoulder. )

No matter what happens, I got your six.

( he doesn't move for the longest time. stays right where he is, hand still on the doorframe. breathes deep enough it causes his shoulders to raise along with the movement, lets it out slow. )

Next time, check in. I'll make sure you're added to the group chat.

( or he'll make a new one for conversations they don't mind bruce seeing, either way. jason doesn't wait for an answer, and instead just lets himself right on out. he'll take his bike back out of excelsior, ask strange for a lift back to the east coast. )

i was born to hold my hands up (open)

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