Angel Antithesis || REDHOOD

three|bleach and the search for god

"Are you some sort of prostitute?" Slade Wilson asked me this as I was at Jason's bedside, tracing his arms and neck as he laid asleep. It did look like some kind of foreplay without context.

Thankfully, it wasn't. I learned that babies tend to grow faster when touched, and I figured the same would apply to Jason. Well– he was not a baby, but it's been five months since resurrection, and he has already grown from his previous emaciated form.

Unfortunately, he was rarely ever awake. I wouldn't call it brain dead– more like an involuntary excuse for actually living. While I had taken advantage of my disposition, he was a different story. In the periods where he actually talked in full sentences, they were cryptic. Like a mute dog, he only took orders.

Pulling my shirt collar down, I revealed the scar of the hole in my chest where my heart had been taken and given to the League. "I guess I have been actively selling my body, if you can call it that."

"You can actively sell yourself in another room."

"No, thank you. I think he is fine with just me right now." Slade had always scared me. He had been training Damian and Jason for the past five months, and his harsh methods shaped them into talented fighters.

The same could not be said for me. Unlike them, I had no previous fighting experience, so I just overall sucked at everything. I had tried training with them, but then I would just end up on the ground, my whole body aching in pain. Apparently, this ache was supposed to motivate me to train more, but it just made me humiliated for even trying.

I figured I would just act as a hired psychologist for the time being. But most of my conclusions were, Holy crap, these people are insane. No one would let me help them since they were so emotionally repressed, except for Jason. So until Jason was trained enough to go back to Gotham with me, I was sort of his only emotional support.

This really sucked since I'm technically the one who put him in this position, but oh well. I just have to keep denying that for the time being.

The salt colored man brushes his beard, "What he needs is training. You're not doing him a favor by coddling him."

"Yeah, and then he'll have another episode and you'll be begging for me to help."

The room was tense, and every interaction with this guy was so painfully awkward.  Between his unnecessary times alone with Jason, and assuming they were a prostitute, he was the definition of a creep.

I didn't feel like arguing and left the room for him to do whatever he wanted.

-

The room I'd been stuck in for days felt like a prison. No phone, no music, no AO3—nothing but the sound of the wind outside. Bored out of my mind, I wandered outside and stumbled across Dami and Jason sparring near the edges of the outdoor patio. They'd been at it since noon, each move sharp and deliberate, but I could tell they needed a break. Or at least, a distraction.

"Guys, I'm so bored. Can we go huff paint fumes?" The words spilled out before I thought about how insane they sounded. Recently, I'd taken up a questionable new hobby to pass the time.

Dami rolled his eyes, his face twisted with annoyance. "I did not think it was possible to become an addict in such a place, but you seem to find a way to make anything possible."

"I'll take that as a no—and a compliment." I glanced at Jason, hoping he'd indulge me. Instead, he just stared at me, eyes heavy with something I didn't want to interpret. Sometimes I worried he'd start to piece things together—remember me from that night when we both died.

"Jason, you're not allowed. I fear your mind would regress back to Month One or something."

"It's fine," Jason said, his voice groggy and indifferent. He sounded used to disappointment, even if the disappointment in question was not getting high on paint.