Second
Title: Second
Fandom: Batman
Verse: Beloved
Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne
Summary: “He feels bad about stealing one of the motorcycles in the cave.”
Notes: Follows Beloved, Unloved, Confused, Lost, Alone, and Wounded.
Warning: Includes oblique and not so oblique references to non-graphic sexual abuse of a minor, parent-child incest, underage, screwed up ideas of love and intimacy. Read at your own risk. Seriously.
This part also includes gratuitous swearing. Because Jason.
***
He feels bad about stealing one of the motorcycles in the cave. He’s driven it before. He knows how even though he shouldn’t. Even though he doesn’t have a permit or a license. It hadn’t mattered…before. But he no longer has the right to even look at the vehicle. He knows this. He does.
But he needs to find the Second Beloved. Needs to stop this pointless fight. Needs to bring the Second Beloved home to Bruce.
There is no other option.
He flies down darkened roads, speeding toward Gotham.
He doesn’t know where the Second Beloved is, not exactly. But he had used the batcomputer to run a few analyses, so at least he had an idea of the Second Beloved’s usual haunts.
He drives and drives until he’s in the midst of the forest of buildings he has come to know so well. Gotham, at least, hasn’t changed. He makes a circuit through the areas the Second Beloved is most likely to be.
But there is nothing. He feels like he’s going around in circles. It makes him sick. He finally skids to a stop in an alley, parks the bike behind a dumpster and then makes his way up to the rooftops. Using the zip line is a lot harder than he remembers, but soon enough he’s standing on the roof of one of the taller apartment buildings in the area.
Gotham stretches out before him and he sweeps the city first by sight and then with binoculars.
But there is nothing there.
His stomach churns. This was a bad idea. A really bad idea. What had he been thinking? How could he find the Second Beloved? The Second Beloved was brilliant and talented and good. What hope did he have of finding Bruce’s dearly mourned Beloved?
“Well, well. What do we have here?” A voice rings out in the night.
He turns, his body automatically sliding into a defensive position.
There. Leather jacket, red helmet. Everything the files said. Right in front of him.
The Red Hood.
The Second Beloved.
Perhaps he isn’t a complete failure after all.
“Did Daddy Dearest finally let you out of your cage, Baby Bird?” the Second Beloved asks, voice low.
The Second Beloved looks and sounds so different from what he remembers. Darker, angrier. But. It’s still him. Still Bruce’s Second Beloved. The one who would be forever mourned and never forgotten.
He licks his lips, opens his mouth and tries to make himself speak. Nothing comes out. His throat is dry and he suddenly wonders when the last time he spoke was. He can’t remember. There has been nothing to say. But now -
Now he needs his voice. Why won’t his stupid body work?
“Seco- ah, J-Jason.” He stumbles hoarsely over the words.
“Oh, so you know who I am?” It’s a snarl.
“Of course.” How could he not? The Second Beloved was everything he wishes he could be.
“Really? Well, I know all about you, Timothy Drake. My Replacement.” The last word is spat like a curse.
He flinches slightly at the tone. He doesn’t understand. He’s upset the Second Beloved already. Why is he such an idiot? What the other must think of him. What can he -
But no. The files said the Second Beloved might not make sense. He cannot get sidetracked. He came here for a reason.
“I came to bring you home,” he says.
The Second Beloved snorts. “That’s funny, Replacement. Just precious.”
“I’m not joking. Br- Batman needs you.”
The Second Beloved stiffens. “Yeah. He needs me.” The words are mocking. “Needs me so much he fucking replaced me. With you. How many hours after I was cold in the ground did he bother waiting before giving you Robin?”
“He didn’t,” he falters, unsure of how to continue, of what words he should use. Why can’t he think? “He was lost without you. Dangerous. I. I tried to get the First- to get Nightwing. To come back. But he wouldn’t. Bruce needed someone. I - ”
And then he can’t say anything else because he’s dodging backwards, trying to avoid the Second Beloved who is suddenly right in front of him. But his body is sluggish and disobedient. Most of the Second Beloved’s strikes hit hard.
“Please, Jason,” he says between gasps for air as he struggles to stay on his feet.
“Shut up.”
“No. Come home. Please. Batman- ” he says.
The Second Beloved snarls. “Batman what? Loves me? Yeah. Sure. That’s why the bastard that put me down is still walking free. Still killing innocents. If he really loved me, he’d avenge me. He’d bring that bastard to justice.”
“That’s not justice,” he argues. The words are coming easier now. He manages to dodge a few more punches, land a few blows of his own. “He wouldn’t.”
“Oh look at you. A sweet little parrot. Pull the other one, Pretender. We both know that if Goldie were the one the Joker offed, there’d be nothing left of that fucking clown. Don’t try to tell me the Bat wouldn’t. You know he would.”
That’s…probably true, he concedes. The First Beloved is special. But so is the Second Beloved.
“Please,” he says. “This won’t make it better. You can’t fix it. Not like this. Just, just come home. Batman will take you back. He won’t hesitate.”
“He has a new Robin now, doesn’t he? What does he need me for?” the man snarled.
“He’s always needed you. He never stopped. You’ll be Robin again,” he says in case it isn’t obvious. “It’s yours. It was never not yours. Just say the word.”
“And what about you?” The Second Beloved kicks him in the stomach, sending him flying backwards. He lands awkwardly on one of his ankles, but ignores the pain. “Where does that leave you, Replacement?”
“What do you mean?” He doesn’t understand the question. Where does he enter into the equation? He’s nothing more than a placeholder. He would simply be returning the suit to its rightful owner.
“Are you stupid?” the Second Beloved demands, stalking toward him.
Yes, he doesn’t say. But he’s getting distracted. He needs to remember why he’s here.
“I’m not Robin,” he says instead, refusing to back up.
The Second Beloved stops. Laughs. The sound rings harshly in his ears. “That uniform says otherwise.”
“It’s not mine. I. It’s yours. It’s always been yours. I. I just came to bring it back.” His voice wavers, but he keeps going. He has a mission to accomplish. Success is the only option. He can’t falter.
“And was this a Bat-approved decision?” the Second Beloved asks, but leaves no room for a response.
The Second Beloved’s knee slam’s into his stomach. An elbow jabs into the back of his neck and then he’s being shoved and falling. He hits the roof. Hard.
“No. He, he,” he struggles to speak. But he can’t breathe. Can’t see. His vision darkens dangerously and then the world tilts on its side as he’s jerked roughly to his feet by the back of his cape.
“Ja-Jason,” he gasps.
“Pathetic,” the masked vigilante sneers. “I can’t believe he replaced me with you. He must have been desperate if he settled for a helpless little shit like you.”
It’s true. But he cannot let the Second Beloved speak about Bruce that way.
He lurches forward. Throws a punch.
The Second Beloved catches his hand and pulls.
He flies through the air and hits the ground.
Again, he is pulled to his feet by his cape.
A fist smashes into his face before he can regain his bearings. A leg sweeps him off his feet. And a heavy booted foot stops him from getting up, pressing down on his stomach.
It takes too long for his brain to catch up, to realize where he is. Once he does he starts to struggle. The boot bears down, unmovable. All of his training disappears. He claws at the boot as fear finally sinks into his brain.
The Second Beloved laughs again. “I’d be doing him a favor by killing you.”
Of course. Of course. Bruce would be so relieved not to be burdened by him. And then Bruce and his Beloveds could live in peace. Of course. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? He could have saved them all the trouble. He could have -
But. But he doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t. Even. Even if he is Unloved. He doesn’t.
His hand moves before he can think about it.
The Second Beloved shouts in pained surprise.
The moment he is free from the boot, he scrambles to his feet, reaching for his staff. He should have been using it from the beginning. Stupid.
The Second Beloved curses and pulls the batarang out of his calf muscle. The bloody weapon clatters to the floor.
“Heh,” the masked man says. “You’ve got spunk, kid. Too bad that isn’t going to save you.”
“Please,” he says. “Bruce needs you. Just. Just come home. We can work something out.”
“This isn’t a fairytale, Replacement. There are no happy endings. Not for me. And certainly not for you,” the Second Beloved snaps.
And then there isn’t any time for talking, because the Second Beloved is on him, a blur of fists, feet, and an unnervingly sharp knife.
The bo staff is familiar in his hands, even if his body can’t seem do anything else right. His heart pounds in his chest. Faster. He needs to be faster. The knife gets too close again and again, a nick here and a nick there. The Second Beloved is playing with him, he realizes even as he focuses on keeping the blade as far away from him as possible.
Finally he clumsily manages to knock the knife out of the Second Beloved’s hand.
A mistake. The next moment his bo staff flies out of his hands and he hits the roof. He automatically tries to get back up, but he can’t. The Second Beloved is there. Right on top of him, hands pressing down on his arms, legs pinning him in place.
His wrists are roughly dragged above his head and pinned in place, freeing one of the Second Beloved’s hands. The hand reaches up, removes the red helmet and tosses it aside revealing a face he knows better than his own.
“You are so fucked, Baby Bird.”
That familiar face leers cruelly down at him, but he’s suddenly painfully aware of how close the Second Beloved is to him. The hands holding him in place. The body crushing him to the roof. It’s warm. So warm.
The Second Beloved is different now, he realizes. So much stronger. Older. More powerful.
The Second B- Jason. Jason isn’t Bruce. Isn’t kind. But. But he’s family. And. And he can’t be picky, can he?
It’s been so long. And maybe. Maybe Jason will want him.
Maybe Jason will make him Beloved again.
He looks up into that well of unconcealed fury and feels his body relax automatically.
It will hurt. He has no illusions about that. It won’t be nice like he’d hoped it might be with Bruce, but that’s okay. It doesn’t matter. As long as he can be Beloved again. As long as someone wants him.
He tilts his head to the side. Exposing his neck. Hoping Jason will understand.
Jason falters, pushes down harder on his wrists and legs. He doesn’t react. He knows the rules. He can be good. He can. He can make up for his mistakes with Bruce.
Fingers grip his chin and forcefully turn his face.
He can work with that.
He shakes his head sharply. Jason’s grip slips enough that he can twist his head just enough.
He manages to capture two of Jason’s gloved fingers in his mouth. The gloves taste like leather and gunpowder and blood, but that doesn’t matter. He closes his eyes and sucks. Runs his tongue over the material as he does his best to get Jason’s fingers as far down his throat as he can manage. He’s out of practice. But he can do better quickly. He knows he can. Just -
The fingers are yanked abruptly from his grasp, slipping out of his mouth with a dull pop.
He blinks slowly and flexes his suddenly free hands. Sits up. Looks at Jason who is standing a few feet back, clutching his slick, black gloved hand close to his chest.
“The fuck is wrong with you, Pretender?” Jason demands, voice a little too loud.
But moments later Jason is shaking his head, laughing. “You clever little shit. That was good.”
He frowns, confused. Why is Jason laughing? Is he that pathetic? He ducks his head and bites his lip. He’d been doing a good job. Hadn’t he? He’d thought -
But. Maybe he isn’t being clear enough.
He tips forward onto his hands and knees and begins to crawl across the roof toward Jason.
The other continues to laugh. It’s a nicer sound now. Not so angry, no longer grating against his ears like broken glass. Maybe Jason will be kind after all.
He finally reaches Jason. He sits up and back on his heels and is relieved that Jason isn’t wearing a spandex uniform. He reaches up and begins to undo the other’s pants.
Jason stops laughing and grabs hold of the questing hands.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Replacement?” Jason growls.
He bites his lip. He isn’t supposed to talk. Jason was once Beloved, so he would know, even if Bruce does it differently. Is this some kind of trick?
Or, or maybe Jason just doesn’t want him.
His stomach sinks.
Maybe, maybe he isn’t trying hard enough?
He presses his face against Jason’s crotch. He hasn’t done it quite like this before, but he can learn if this is what Jason wants. He opens his mouth and -
“Fucking hell!” Jason curses and knees him in the chin.
He tastes blood, but doesn’t have long to think about it because Jason is shoving him away, sending him tumbling backward onto the ground.
Close. He’d been so close.
Why does he keep screwing up?
He chances a look up at Jason. The vigilante is staring at him with the strangest expression.
“What was that?” Jason demands. “Well? Fucking answer me.”
He licks his lips. He isn’t -
But he’s supposed to obey.
If he’s obedient maybe -
“I was trying to help,” he says.
“Help? That’s your idea of help?”
“I. I want to be useful. I. Br-Batman - ”
“What!”
He shakes his head. He can’t. He can’t talk. He’s making such a mess of things. Such an awful mess. This is why he isn’t supposed to speak. He ruins everything. He’s no good. No good at all.
He begins tugging at his belt and the hidden fasteners on his uniform. If he’s good and just takes it, it won’t be a problem. He can be Beloved again. He can. He just. He just -
Hands grip his wrists, stopping him from presenting himself properly. He struggles weakly.
He’s trying. He’s trying. Why -
“ - did he do to you? What the fuck did he do to you, kid?”
He realizes that Jason is speaking and stares up at him with wide eyes.
Jason’s face is so close and so angry. “Did he touch you? I never thought he’d - I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking kill him.”
He doesn’t understand what’s going on. What has he done wrong now?
“He didn’t. B-Batman doesn’t want me,” he tries to explain. But his mind is such a mess. Just like everything else. “I’m bad. I. Not good enough. I tried. I did. Please. Please. I’m sorry. Please. I just want to be Beloved again. Please. I’ll do anything.”
The anger on Jason’s face flickers. Jason opens his mouth, but before a sound can leave his lips a low gravelly voice interrupts.
“Let him go, Jason.”
Jason’s hold tightens on his wrists. “Why the hell should I? What have you done to him?” Jason snaps.
He is silent. He wants to die. To sink into the shadows and never reappear. Bruce is here. Bruce will be so angry with him. Bad. So bad. And stupid. He disobeyed direct orders. And spoke to the Second Beloved like he had a right to do so.
“Not nearly as much as I should have,” Bruce says. “And it’s none of your business, Jason. Leave him out of your vendetta. He’s been through enough.”
“He came and found me all on his own, B. What, the locks on his cage not secure enough?”
But. But what if Jason wants him? What if Jason keeps him? Makes him Beloved?
“He. He’s not in his right mind at the moment.”
But Bruce. Bruce came for him. Probably only to punish him. But you don’t punish someone you don’t care about. Punishments make you better. Don’t they? Maybe. Maybe Bruce will finally let him -
“No shit, Sherlock. And you’re not answering my question,” Jason points out.
“As I said. It’s none of your business.”
And then Bruce, Batman is there. Right in front of them, plucking him out of Jason’s suddenly slackened grasp.
His body melts into the warm arms surrounding him. He cannot remember the last time someone held him like this.
It’s -
It’s nice.
That’s all he can think as Bruce enfolds him in Batman’s black cape and bounds away into the night.
Fandom: Batman
Verse: Beloved
Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne
Summary: “He feels bad about stealing one of the motorcycles in the cave.”
Notes: Follows Beloved, Unloved, Confused, Lost, Alone, and Wounded.
Warning: Includes oblique and not so oblique references to non-graphic sexual abuse of a minor, parent-child incest, underage, screwed up ideas of love and intimacy. Read at your own risk. Seriously.
This part also includes gratuitous swearing. Because Jason.
***
He feels bad about stealing one of the motorcycles in the cave. He’s driven it before. He knows how even though he shouldn’t. Even though he doesn’t have a permit or a license. It hadn’t mattered…before. But he no longer has the right to even look at the vehicle. He knows this. He does.
But he needs to find the Second Beloved. Needs to stop this pointless fight. Needs to bring the Second Beloved home to Bruce.
There is no other option.
He flies down darkened roads, speeding toward Gotham.
He doesn’t know where the Second Beloved is, not exactly. But he had used the batcomputer to run a few analyses, so at least he had an idea of the Second Beloved’s usual haunts.
He drives and drives until he’s in the midst of the forest of buildings he has come to know so well. Gotham, at least, hasn’t changed. He makes a circuit through the areas the Second Beloved is most likely to be.
But there is nothing. He feels like he’s going around in circles. It makes him sick. He finally skids to a stop in an alley, parks the bike behind a dumpster and then makes his way up to the rooftops. Using the zip line is a lot harder than he remembers, but soon enough he’s standing on the roof of one of the taller apartment buildings in the area.
Gotham stretches out before him and he sweeps the city first by sight and then with binoculars.
But there is nothing there.
His stomach churns. This was a bad idea. A really bad idea. What had he been thinking? How could he find the Second Beloved? The Second Beloved was brilliant and talented and good. What hope did he have of finding Bruce’s dearly mourned Beloved?
“Well, well. What do we have here?” A voice rings out in the night.
He turns, his body automatically sliding into a defensive position.
There. Leather jacket, red helmet. Everything the files said. Right in front of him.
The Red Hood.
The Second Beloved.
Perhaps he isn’t a complete failure after all.
“Did Daddy Dearest finally let you out of your cage, Baby Bird?” the Second Beloved asks, voice low.
The Second Beloved looks and sounds so different from what he remembers. Darker, angrier. But. It’s still him. Still Bruce’s Second Beloved. The one who would be forever mourned and never forgotten.
He licks his lips, opens his mouth and tries to make himself speak. Nothing comes out. His throat is dry and he suddenly wonders when the last time he spoke was. He can’t remember. There has been nothing to say. But now -
Now he needs his voice. Why won’t his stupid body work?
“Seco- ah, J-Jason.” He stumbles hoarsely over the words.
“Oh, so you know who I am?” It’s a snarl.
“Of course.” How could he not? The Second Beloved was everything he wishes he could be.
“Really? Well, I know all about you, Timothy Drake. My Replacement.” The last word is spat like a curse.
He flinches slightly at the tone. He doesn’t understand. He’s upset the Second Beloved already. Why is he such an idiot? What the other must think of him. What can he -
But no. The files said the Second Beloved might not make sense. He cannot get sidetracked. He came here for a reason.
“I came to bring you home,” he says.
The Second Beloved snorts. “That’s funny, Replacement. Just precious.”
“I’m not joking. Br- Batman needs you.”
The Second Beloved stiffens. “Yeah. He needs me.” The words are mocking. “Needs me so much he fucking replaced me. With you. How many hours after I was cold in the ground did he bother waiting before giving you Robin?”
“He didn’t,” he falters, unsure of how to continue, of what words he should use. Why can’t he think? “He was lost without you. Dangerous. I. I tried to get the First- to get Nightwing. To come back. But he wouldn’t. Bruce needed someone. I - ”
And then he can’t say anything else because he’s dodging backwards, trying to avoid the Second Beloved who is suddenly right in front of him. But his body is sluggish and disobedient. Most of the Second Beloved’s strikes hit hard.
“Please, Jason,” he says between gasps for air as he struggles to stay on his feet.
“Shut up.”
“No. Come home. Please. Batman- ” he says.
The Second Beloved snarls. “Batman what? Loves me? Yeah. Sure. That’s why the bastard that put me down is still walking free. Still killing innocents. If he really loved me, he’d avenge me. He’d bring that bastard to justice.”
“That’s not justice,” he argues. The words are coming easier now. He manages to dodge a few more punches, land a few blows of his own. “He wouldn’t.”
“Oh look at you. A sweet little parrot. Pull the other one, Pretender. We both know that if Goldie were the one the Joker offed, there’d be nothing left of that fucking clown. Don’t try to tell me the Bat wouldn’t. You know he would.”
That’s…probably true, he concedes. The First Beloved is special. But so is the Second Beloved.
“Please,” he says. “This won’t make it better. You can’t fix it. Not like this. Just, just come home. Batman will take you back. He won’t hesitate.”
“He has a new Robin now, doesn’t he? What does he need me for?” the man snarled.
“He’s always needed you. He never stopped. You’ll be Robin again,” he says in case it isn’t obvious. “It’s yours. It was never not yours. Just say the word.”
“And what about you?” The Second Beloved kicks him in the stomach, sending him flying backwards. He lands awkwardly on one of his ankles, but ignores the pain. “Where does that leave you, Replacement?”
“What do you mean?” He doesn’t understand the question. Where does he enter into the equation? He’s nothing more than a placeholder. He would simply be returning the suit to its rightful owner.
“Are you stupid?” the Second Beloved demands, stalking toward him.
Yes, he doesn’t say. But he’s getting distracted. He needs to remember why he’s here.
“I’m not Robin,” he says instead, refusing to back up.
The Second Beloved stops. Laughs. The sound rings harshly in his ears. “That uniform says otherwise.”
“It’s not mine. I. It’s yours. It’s always been yours. I. I just came to bring it back.” His voice wavers, but he keeps going. He has a mission to accomplish. Success is the only option. He can’t falter.
“And was this a Bat-approved decision?” the Second Beloved asks, but leaves no room for a response.
The Second Beloved’s knee slam’s into his stomach. An elbow jabs into the back of his neck and then he’s being shoved and falling. He hits the roof. Hard.
“No. He, he,” he struggles to speak. But he can’t breathe. Can’t see. His vision darkens dangerously and then the world tilts on its side as he’s jerked roughly to his feet by the back of his cape.
“Ja-Jason,” he gasps.
“Pathetic,” the masked vigilante sneers. “I can’t believe he replaced me with you. He must have been desperate if he settled for a helpless little shit like you.”
It’s true. But he cannot let the Second Beloved speak about Bruce that way.
He lurches forward. Throws a punch.
The Second Beloved catches his hand and pulls.
He flies through the air and hits the ground.
Again, he is pulled to his feet by his cape.
A fist smashes into his face before he can regain his bearings. A leg sweeps him off his feet. And a heavy booted foot stops him from getting up, pressing down on his stomach.
It takes too long for his brain to catch up, to realize where he is. Once he does he starts to struggle. The boot bears down, unmovable. All of his training disappears. He claws at the boot as fear finally sinks into his brain.
The Second Beloved laughs again. “I’d be doing him a favor by killing you.”
Of course. Of course. Bruce would be so relieved not to be burdened by him. And then Bruce and his Beloveds could live in peace. Of course. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? He could have saved them all the trouble. He could have -
But. But he doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t. Even. Even if he is Unloved. He doesn’t.
His hand moves before he can think about it.
The Second Beloved shouts in pained surprise.
The moment he is free from the boot, he scrambles to his feet, reaching for his staff. He should have been using it from the beginning. Stupid.
The Second Beloved curses and pulls the batarang out of his calf muscle. The bloody weapon clatters to the floor.
“Heh,” the masked man says. “You’ve got spunk, kid. Too bad that isn’t going to save you.”
“Please,” he says. “Bruce needs you. Just. Just come home. We can work something out.”
“This isn’t a fairytale, Replacement. There are no happy endings. Not for me. And certainly not for you,” the Second Beloved snaps.
And then there isn’t any time for talking, because the Second Beloved is on him, a blur of fists, feet, and an unnervingly sharp knife.
The bo staff is familiar in his hands, even if his body can’t seem do anything else right. His heart pounds in his chest. Faster. He needs to be faster. The knife gets too close again and again, a nick here and a nick there. The Second Beloved is playing with him, he realizes even as he focuses on keeping the blade as far away from him as possible.
Finally he clumsily manages to knock the knife out of the Second Beloved’s hand.
A mistake. The next moment his bo staff flies out of his hands and he hits the roof. He automatically tries to get back up, but he can’t. The Second Beloved is there. Right on top of him, hands pressing down on his arms, legs pinning him in place.
His wrists are roughly dragged above his head and pinned in place, freeing one of the Second Beloved’s hands. The hand reaches up, removes the red helmet and tosses it aside revealing a face he knows better than his own.
“You are so fucked, Baby Bird.”
That familiar face leers cruelly down at him, but he’s suddenly painfully aware of how close the Second Beloved is to him. The hands holding him in place. The body crushing him to the roof. It’s warm. So warm.
The Second Beloved is different now, he realizes. So much stronger. Older. More powerful.
The Second B- Jason. Jason isn’t Bruce. Isn’t kind. But. But he’s family. And. And he can’t be picky, can he?
It’s been so long. And maybe. Maybe Jason will want him.
Maybe Jason will make him Beloved again.
He looks up into that well of unconcealed fury and feels his body relax automatically.
It will hurt. He has no illusions about that. It won’t be nice like he’d hoped it might be with Bruce, but that’s okay. It doesn’t matter. As long as he can be Beloved again. As long as someone wants him.
He tilts his head to the side. Exposing his neck. Hoping Jason will understand.
Jason falters, pushes down harder on his wrists and legs. He doesn’t react. He knows the rules. He can be good. He can. He can make up for his mistakes with Bruce.
Fingers grip his chin and forcefully turn his face.
He can work with that.
He shakes his head sharply. Jason’s grip slips enough that he can twist his head just enough.
He manages to capture two of Jason’s gloved fingers in his mouth. The gloves taste like leather and gunpowder and blood, but that doesn’t matter. He closes his eyes and sucks. Runs his tongue over the material as he does his best to get Jason’s fingers as far down his throat as he can manage. He’s out of practice. But he can do better quickly. He knows he can. Just -
The fingers are yanked abruptly from his grasp, slipping out of his mouth with a dull pop.
He blinks slowly and flexes his suddenly free hands. Sits up. Looks at Jason who is standing a few feet back, clutching his slick, black gloved hand close to his chest.
“The fuck is wrong with you, Pretender?” Jason demands, voice a little too loud.
But moments later Jason is shaking his head, laughing. “You clever little shit. That was good.”
He frowns, confused. Why is Jason laughing? Is he that pathetic? He ducks his head and bites his lip. He’d been doing a good job. Hadn’t he? He’d thought -
But. Maybe he isn’t being clear enough.
He tips forward onto his hands and knees and begins to crawl across the roof toward Jason.
The other continues to laugh. It’s a nicer sound now. Not so angry, no longer grating against his ears like broken glass. Maybe Jason will be kind after all.
He finally reaches Jason. He sits up and back on his heels and is relieved that Jason isn’t wearing a spandex uniform. He reaches up and begins to undo the other’s pants.
Jason stops laughing and grabs hold of the questing hands.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Replacement?” Jason growls.
He bites his lip. He isn’t supposed to talk. Jason was once Beloved, so he would know, even if Bruce does it differently. Is this some kind of trick?
Or, or maybe Jason just doesn’t want him.
His stomach sinks.
Maybe, maybe he isn’t trying hard enough?
He presses his face against Jason’s crotch. He hasn’t done it quite like this before, but he can learn if this is what Jason wants. He opens his mouth and -
“Fucking hell!” Jason curses and knees him in the chin.
He tastes blood, but doesn’t have long to think about it because Jason is shoving him away, sending him tumbling backward onto the ground.
Close. He’d been so close.
Why does he keep screwing up?
He chances a look up at Jason. The vigilante is staring at him with the strangest expression.
“What was that?” Jason demands. “Well? Fucking answer me.”
He licks his lips. He isn’t -
But he’s supposed to obey.
If he’s obedient maybe -
“I was trying to help,” he says.
“Help? That’s your idea of help?”
“I. I want to be useful. I. Br-Batman - ”
“What!”
He shakes his head. He can’t. He can’t talk. He’s making such a mess of things. Such an awful mess. This is why he isn’t supposed to speak. He ruins everything. He’s no good. No good at all.
He begins tugging at his belt and the hidden fasteners on his uniform. If he’s good and just takes it, it won’t be a problem. He can be Beloved again. He can. He just. He just -
Hands grip his wrists, stopping him from presenting himself properly. He struggles weakly.
He’s trying. He’s trying. Why -
“ - did he do to you? What the fuck did he do to you, kid?”
He realizes that Jason is speaking and stares up at him with wide eyes.
Jason’s face is so close and so angry. “Did he touch you? I never thought he’d - I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking kill him.”
He doesn’t understand what’s going on. What has he done wrong now?
“He didn’t. B-Batman doesn’t want me,” he tries to explain. But his mind is such a mess. Just like everything else. “I’m bad. I. Not good enough. I tried. I did. Please. Please. I’m sorry. Please. I just want to be Beloved again. Please. I’ll do anything.”
The anger on Jason’s face flickers. Jason opens his mouth, but before a sound can leave his lips a low gravelly voice interrupts.
“Let him go, Jason.”
Jason’s hold tightens on his wrists. “Why the hell should I? What have you done to him?” Jason snaps.
He is silent. He wants to die. To sink into the shadows and never reappear. Bruce is here. Bruce will be so angry with him. Bad. So bad. And stupid. He disobeyed direct orders. And spoke to the Second Beloved like he had a right to do so.
“Not nearly as much as I should have,” Bruce says. “And it’s none of your business, Jason. Leave him out of your vendetta. He’s been through enough.”
“He came and found me all on his own, B. What, the locks on his cage not secure enough?”
But. But what if Jason wants him? What if Jason keeps him? Makes him Beloved?
“He. He’s not in his right mind at the moment.”
But Bruce. Bruce came for him. Probably only to punish him. But you don’t punish someone you don’t care about. Punishments make you better. Don’t they? Maybe. Maybe Bruce will finally let him -
“No shit, Sherlock. And you’re not answering my question,” Jason points out.
“As I said. It’s none of your business.”
And then Bruce, Batman is there. Right in front of them, plucking him out of Jason’s suddenly slackened grasp.
His body melts into the warm arms surrounding him. He cannot remember the last time someone held him like this.
It’s -
It’s nice.
That’s all he can think as Bruce enfolds him in Batman’s black cape and bounds away into the night.