To (Not) Love And To Have Lost.

Sticks And Stones May Break My Bones But...

Whumptober Day Three: Taunting | Insults | "Who did this to you?"

[Jason Todd & Dick Grayson]

-!!!-

   Jason wasn't supposed to be in Bludhaven, but he wasn't supposed to be alive. He had stopped questioning how his life went awry ever since that timer ticked down to an agonizing zero. Instead, he learned to accept what he got, despite being a prisoner to the emerald chains in his head. He adapted. Evolved. Survived. Prevailed.

But why did he feel so empty when he saw the photo of Nightwing hopping from train-to-train with a faint blur of red, green and yellow on his heels? Why did he feel like he was eight, gripping a cold wrist and begging Catherine – his mother – to come back? Or ten, freezing on the streets in a little red hoodie, begging for anyone to save him from the white snow that piled up on alleyways.

He felt lost, longing for something he couldn't have.

Dick never really loved you, the Pit coaxed, He hated you. Why are you here?

Jason wished he could give the voice a straight answer, but he didn't know himself. What he did know, however, was the fact that tomorrow night he was making an appointment with the Gotham's underworld and introducing his beautiful blade to some necks. His joyride to 'Haven could send all of that spiraling.

Yet he pushed up the window to Dick's apartment, feeling something churn in his gut at the lack of security. Even when he flipped a light on, there was no sight of his 'brother' amongst the mess of the place. Even his Nightwing suit was lazily discarded, a myriad of gadgets and two escrima sticks weren't even hidden.

Worry stirred as his heart skipped a beat because Jason did not like this one bit.

Scouting the place, he noted the discarded cereal boxes and the ceramic shards on the ground, along with the slightly opened refrigerator. Closing it with his foot, he glanced to see if Dick was home and frowned as there were no light seeping through the gap under doors.

Sleeping, Jason hopefully though, He's just sleeping.

Maybe Dick hated him, but if something happened to him it would be bad for the plan.

That explained why he could barely breathe and his intestines doing hopscotch with his stomach.

Totally.

Cracking the door open by a bit, he froze on the spot. There was a bundled lump on the bed, wrapped like a caterpillar in a cocoon. Through the little light of the moon, he could see the bundle shivering, curled and contorted in a way that only a Grayson could.

What made time stop were the barely audible sniffling coming from his, the way it heaved and sounded so tired.

Dick Grayson was always so perfect, but now he was just like Catherine.

Sliding through the room, he pushed his hoodie down and prayed that the acrobat wouldn't freak. "Dickface?" He called out, scared to come closer to the bed.

The heaving stopped, although there was one long sniffle. "Not now," he croaked, sending pangs into Jason's heart, "I can't do this now."

"Do what?"

"You, Little Wing. I can't – I can't handle you seeing me like this."

Jason's heart skipped a beat, along the pulsing how does he know? screeching into his ear. "What," he licked his lips, "What do you mean?"