metalogs | ( closed ) twisted steel beneath my knees

( the world goes to shit. or at least - moreso than it usually does. everything's a mess, and jason's exhausted. tired after the bullshit he pulled with bruce, earlier. tired after getting kidnapped and spending a shitton of time looking out for all the kids who'd ended up there along with him. tired after pulling himself together for yet another battle after they'd gotten back to the chaos.

tired still, with bruce pulling a page straight out of his book (well, bruce's book, jason's just borrowing pages) and fucking off because he's being an asshole. jason doesn't have the advantage of being able to teleport himself wherever the hell he wants to anymore, but he uses the teleporters the guilds have opened up between arcadia and everywhere else to assist in their aid efforts. pulls his bike straight on through to washington, and heads right on through bruce's chosen city.

jason's not being coy about it; there's a red hood pulled up over his head, red lacing his arms, the red half-mask on under the hood, and he's intentionally gaining the attention of nearby ruffians. his efforts don't go unnoticed: jason's in an alleyway, bike turned away from the dead-end to instead face the small gathering of gangsters who had been out breaking into unguarded cars before jason'd pissed off a few cops into chasing him straight through to their area. they'd all scattered; these guys just happened to scatter in the same direction jason had - and 'cornered' him. a few are wielding tire irons, a couple others some nice, shiny knives.

and jason's sitting on his bike still, head tipped back to look up towards the rooftops of the two office buildings he's between. )

You gonna lend a hand, B, or are you just gonna watch?

( batman's stealthy, but jason knows his tells well enough. )

( since coming back to excelsior, he's kept to himself mostly — busied himself with work and things so as not to let his own anger and frustration overwhelm him any more than it already has when he's out and about like this. one step forward, two steps back. it's something bruce is known for.

something he and jason have in common.

he'd spotted jason zipping in on his bike earlier and while he hasn't gone out of his way to speak to the other — he hasn't gone out of his way to speak to any of them — he's been keeping an eye on him. right now, that is. in the darkness of the streets, from the rooftops he hides upon. perched. like a gargoyle.

jason calls him out like he does and he's not surprised. if he really wanted to, he could have remained completely invisible. but he'd allowed for very fine tells of his presence nearby from the moment he'd zipped into excelsior. yet even as jason offers the olive branch to take part, bruce denies it as bruce often does.

with silence. making it seem as if jason is merely talking to himself and the shadows of darkness around. )

( no response from bats, but the idiots who're surrounding him keep coming closer, even if some of them had opted to look up too, just in case someone was up there. given the lack of response to jason and lack of movement - well, they're pretty sure he is just talking to himself. maybe he is.

the sigh jason gives is purposefully audible, even though the mask he's got over his mouth. )

Ah, well, I needed the warm-up anyway.

( his thigh swings over the bike to get himself off of it, and jason moves his fists out in front of him, cracking his knuckles first, and then his neck. )

A'right. You'd better all come at once, I'd hate to finish you off too quickly.

( thug number one swings in a tire iron, spitting something out about his ego - and jason grabs onto his wrist, yanking him forward so the metal slams into thug number two's skull. thug number two's knife misses entirely and clatters to the ground, and jason's twisting thug number one's wrist to loosen his grip on the tire iron, just as he's twisting around so thug number three's choice of weapon slams into thug number one's back. )

( initially, he leaves it. he knows jason can handle himself — knows he's more than capable of taking down a group of thugs even with weapons on them. but judging how their little exposure therapy went recently, he doesn't slip away further into the shadows. doesn't head back to his place and leave jason to it all on his own. even if some part of him wants to.

he figures jason knows there's another coming for him from behind, but. without really thinking twice, bruce— batman drops down from the shadows behind the thug and is slow in the way he rises from his crouched stance. dark. intimidating. the shadow of bat bleeding across the brick behind him as he rises, a trick of the darkness he's capable of manipulating to instill fear and intimidation into the very hearts of others.

when the thug swings at him, bruce evades it. effortlessly. a sharp elbow to the nose of the thug, he's grabbed and brutally thrown to the side, narrowly avoiding the armored fist that comes for his face, hitting brick instead. )

( jason can handle it just fine, even if he had been after bruce's attention. he drops the thug he's been dragging around, lets him fall to the floor. there's thug number four, who jason knew was behind him but given the distance between them, figured - hell, he can worry about that in a minute.

a minute that never comes, because bruce has it handled. so jason's attention turns back to thug number three, who's coming in for round two. he could take his time, but instead jason's raising one a gun, aims and fires it at the guy's gut where he knows it'll bleed plenty to stop him, but won't kill him as long as he gets it tended to within a reasonable amount of time.

and once he's keeling over, arms wrapped around his gut, jason turns his attention back to bruce.

rests the barrel of the gun against his shoulder. )

Three an' one. You'll have to jump in sooner next time if you wanna win.

( the second the gun goes off, bruce turns and catches what's happened. jason hasn't killed the guy, no. but he still doesn't approve of the methods done in taking him down and it shows in the scowl on his face and the sharp way eyes pierce jason through the smeared paint across his eyes. )

Don't.

( the word is harsh, like his gaze on jason and he grabs the one closest to him by the collar to throw down to the ground. )

Your car carries more ammo than I've got on me. Your goddamn batarangs do more damage. You know that, right?

( he's rolling his eyes, but whatever. jason holds up the gun, flicks on the safety, and puts it back in its holster. drops his hand down onto his hip instead, and sidesteps when another thug tries to come at him from behind. lets him stumble forward towards bruce instead. )

( it doesn't matter. he doesn't like guns.

when the thug comes stumbling into him, he grabs him by the collar, stares him down sharply, then throws him to the ground with his buddy. the way the shadows grow and stretch behind him, it doesn't take him needing to say anything for them to get to their feet to take off and it's just as well, bruce figures.

of course, that leaves him almost glaring back to jason before he begins to turn. )

What do you want?

( why are you here? )

( he almost, almost starts going on a tangent akin to: your parents got shot to death, so what? but manages to stop his mouth long enough to run through how that'd go: the comparison between bruce's tragic backstory to jason's parents and how jason responds to people doing the same shit that got his killed and decides - you know what, it's not worth it. especially when bruce is out here trying to be scary with the local thugs. and it's not as if it's been so long that jason doesn't remember why he'd gone for dual pistols. partially because - he's got great aim, but also because he knew it'd piss off his bruce. )

Just checking in. Since you took off again.

( as the resident ghoster, it's very rude of bruce to be trying to take jason's thing. )

I'm busy.

( which isn't a lie. he has been busy. working on his bike, on adrenaline shots he's attempting to manipulate, his suit. the bulk of his things are still in excelsior due to his not having found anything he likes in terms of a batcave in central yet, so. he's out here. being purposefully busy.

and he'd told diana where he was going this time, so.

his cape flows through the breeze that comes, turned and facing away from jason as he goes, steps heavy from the boots. he's absolutely walking away. absolutely giving a cold shoulder of sorts. absolutely pissed about something and keeping it to himself. )

Uh huh.

( jason knows better. he knows bruce makes things to keep himself busy, that he has a never-ending to-do list he can go through and call it being busy. jason knows, because he has a never-ending to-do list he also uses to keep himself entertained - especially given the severe lack of his usual brand of shit to get involved in. it's junior's turf in central, he's still got his place out in nyc, but he doesn't spend as much time there as he would need to if he moved his operation out that way.

instead of pointing it out, he just kicks up his bike's kickstand and pulls it along with him as he follows after bruce. )

I've got somethin' for you, if you've got somewhere private we can go for a minute. 'll leave you alone after.

( for a minute anyway. )

I'm not in the mood to throw hands with you.

( because a punch to the face? sounds like something jason would have for him. )

( the eye-roll might not be visible under the mask, but the way he rolls his head at the same time probably makes it obvious what he's doing. )

If I wanted to start a fight with you, I could've done it from three hundred miles away. I didn't need to come all the way over here for that.

( he's about to say something — or maybe not. who knows with bruce sometimes. but he turns to glance back over his shoulder and that's when he catches sight of the thug behind them with a gun aimed at jason's back. he's at a distance — it's not point blank. but it would still injure him if he shot. something that bruce doesn't let happen.

swiftly, a batarang is thrown out from under his cape and bruce is right there with jason. arm up. posture slightly turned. a means to serve as a human shield of sorts for the other. despite the batarang thrown, the shot gets fired right as the 'rang thunks it out of the guy's hand, and bruce takes the hit the shoulder. his suit can handle it. but the impact still hurts and he grits his teeth in anger at that, huff under his breath. )

( bruce's reaction would have been entirely fair, if jason wasn't wearing his gear. sure, his shit looks. . . thinner than bruce's. less obvious armor, more ab-fitting rather than i built my abs onto this. and there's the whole - jason knew that guy was lurking around being sneaky, he was just waiting for the right time to turn around and fuck him over.

instead, bruce beats him to it, because of course he does. and jason idly turns around to face him. resists the urge to roll his eyes yet again. )

Before I bitch at you for being a dramatic asshole - you want me to get him, or do you want him? Since you've already put yourself between us an' all.

( it had been a kneejerk reaction. something maybe some part of him had wished he'd done for his parents. he was only a child, there was nothing he could have done, he's heard it plenty of times from alfred. but that doesn't make one stop thinking about what they could have or should have done. even if it made no sense. even if it would have been stupid. those thoughts never really go away. not when you're carrying the sort of trauma and survivors guilt bruce carries.

again, there's a sharp look from bruce at jason and rather than give an answer with his own words, he knocks his shoulder roughly against jason's. moves past him. guess that means he'll handle it himself.

like a creature of the night, he stalks towards his prey. steps heavy, shadows stretching behind him. the guy is reaching for his gun — for another shot to take and bruce moves with a swiftness, cape flowing behind as he does. he's angry, he's bruised, and he's fed up with being shot at tonight. or at having one of his shot at.

before another shot can be taken, he barrels into the guy, knocking him back, and they both fall into a pool of black ink — a shadow — that appears behind, disappearing within it. the slick looking shadow disappearing as well.

shadows are what bruce and jason are capable of moving through, so it's not a jarring sight to see. even if that particular shadow did look a little different than usual.

one, two, three, four... five seconds tick by before the guy falls out of another shadowy pool a few feet away. as before, the shadow disappearing. or maybe closing. like a door. bruce nowhere to be seen.

he's coughing, stumbling about for a second before he's reaching for his gun and pointing it at jason. hand a little shaky, but he gives a laugh. throws jason a he's dead. killed that sonuva bitch and you're next! before a shaky hand shoots at jason. )

( bruce is in a bitchy mood, and jason knows better than to get in the middle of him and kicking over assholes when he's like this. it's the look bruce throws jason - eyes visible in a way he's not quite accustomed to yet, but it also means the fuck off and let me handle it is right there, visible in more ways than just the way he shoulders his way on through.

they've both got some control over shadows, but jason's never leaned into it as hard as bruce is. he recognizes it when it's bruce versus just the trick of a light though; notices the inky black shadows expanding under them that aren't natural. doesn't say a word, when bruce and the guy fall through them.

because bruce is plenty capable of taking care of himself, jason doesn't need to go in after him even if he's got no idea where the hell he'd dropped himself off at. he's limited to the shadows he can see, what's visible right in front of him. bruce's line of sight doesn't give him much advantage over jason, so he should have popped up - somewhere around here. he doesn't, but the thug does.

jason doesn't blink. he pulls a bruce: lets the shadows consume him where he stands to take the impact of the bullet, before he's idly raising a throwing knife, and aiming straight for the guy's eye socket. there's none of his usual bravado, no snark, he's just - waiting for the guy to double over himself with a choked out curse before sauntering his way on over. lowers a hand to grab onto the guy by the back of his head, fingers twisting painfully into his hair to pull him up as jason leans down, closer. )

You wish it was that easy. If it was, I'd've killed him several times over.

( he's laughing again, knife still in his eye socket - up until jason reaches out with his free hand to yank it out. doesn't mind the blood and gore as the guy screeches, fingers grasping at the remnants of his eye, and instead pulls him down further so jason can shove a knee right into his sternum.

drops him to the ground after, letting the shadow suck the guy straight through it. it drops him off on the sidewalk, at a distance far enough away from jason that no one's going to be looking his way just yet as the guy screams.

which is good. because jason's not going anywhere. instead, he's wiping his knife off on his pants, and tilting his head back to look for mister bitchy. )

B.

( closed ) twisted steel beneath my knees

» dirty my hands, steady my feet

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject