FIC: Stuck in the Game... (Bruce/Jason)
FIC: Stuck in the Game with the Weak One
by eggblue
Date: April 17, 2005
Rating: R (whiny angst, implied underage)
Pairing: Bruce Wayne/Jason Todd (Batman/Robin II)
Summary: This is sort of a skeleton of a story, thinking of the Bruce/Jason dynamic a different way. Where Roy fits in. Maybe a little AU? Works best if you think of Jason as a young punk teenager. Not especially good, but there needs to be more Jason fic, always.
Disclaimer: Batman and characters belong to DC, not me.
*
I met him a long long time ago when I was five. The Joker kidnapped me, called me “son” I think, and… I don’t remember a lot. It seems like a dream most of the time. I don’t really have any proof or anything. I mean, who would want it to be real, right? But just… these thoughts keep coming back to me like all the time. In everything bad, I see it. It goes back to that night that may or may not have ever happened. I mean, I don’t think I’m the Joker’s son. But I still try to keep from laughing. Maybe he never wanted me. Maybe no one ever did.
Then what does it all mean? I don’t know. But I remember that he rescued me. You know… after. And I can’t shake that feeling. I *know* how he held me against the suit, under his cape to keep away the rain. I *know* how he looked down at me, and all that he wanted to tell me with that look, about strength and safety and survival. Love. I know it. Even if it never happened.
But it did, right? Because of how much it means to me now. And don’t get me wrong. I mean, Bruce is maybe a little crazy and a lot of troubled. He’s kind of a loner, like me, but he’s not close to anybody because he’s smarter than like everyone. He really knows how things *work*-- like no one I’ve ever met before. And he’s so strong. I mean, the whole world is practically against him and he’s still standing. I just love that, you know? It’s the only way to be.
I liked living in that house with him too. It was a real home, and it was just ours. And Alfred, who really did a lot for me. Our lives were all about each other every day. It was so great, man, I can’t tell you. On the good days, it was the best. And I wouldn’t give up any of that. It was all I had, it was what I needed. I didn’t like to need things, really. But once you’ve had something like that, it’s kind of hard to give it up.
Bruce was great, most of the time. He used to go out with society girls sometimes and he’d come home and we’d laugh about it because he could tell a really funny story when he wanted to. We’d sit in the kitchen and eat some of Alfred’s sandwiches and I felt great, like this was all Bruce needed and I was a part of it.
But it’s hard to admit when I’m wrong. Because sometimes we can’t stand each other. But then it’s so easy for Bruce to throw me a smile or a crumb and I love it and it makes it so easy for me to change my mind and things make sense again and maybe Bruce really does want me. And then he’d find a girl and bring her home, close and loud and I could *hear* it, as if he’d meant me to, as if he needed to show me just how wrong I was.
That’s hard. Real hard. It makes me mean like my dad, and real bitter like my mom. And I say things to Bruce and to Alfred and to anyone that comes near and it comes out bad and wrong. They lose patience with me all the time. And I lose it with them. But you gotta know I’d lose that battle. They don’t need me that bad - they can always find another Robin. But there’s only one Batman.
And times like that I miss my friends a whole lot. Most of them are dead or gone. We used to fight too, all the time. We just couldn’t believe in each other that much, you know? We didn’t have a lot to offer. We all knew too much about how it goes. We acted like the people we knew, and the people we knew were all those who didn’t give a shit. So we didn’t either. Like our parents. But at least we were young and we didn’t believe in abandoning people. Now, it’s just like waiting for the other shoe to drop. There’s no avoiding it.
Roy is a friend of mine. He really really liked me, I think. We used to talk about all of this shit cause he understood it too. I used to go to him the first chance I got after Bruce had brought a woman home. And I could suck him off and he loved the way I used my mouth and it was almost like old times again when I was younger and I didn’t have anything to lose. But it’s spoiled from the start because it’s really not that way. I was so messed up -- I was just using him to give me that feeling that all of it was just some sick game. Then I could laugh again at myself and at Bruce and yeah, I guess at Roy too, and the worse it got the worse I needed it because finally I was right about something, even though it was really really wrong. And that kept it going, kept me in the game with Bruce and we all got sicker slowly. As if sick shit and *wrongness* was the only thing I believed in. And you know sometimes it really was. Cause I didn’t make the world, but when I get that feeling… I think I kinda understand the person who did, like our minds are the same, and I suddenly know and understand *everything*.
Sometimes I think that all Bruce wanted was for me to learn from him and leave, but I never could do that. Bruce gets jealous and Bruce has a temper and Bruce can be cruel. He doesn’t like to show it and he doesn’t like to admit it. I always wanted more though. I wanted his sex, his attention, his faith in me. I wanted him to remember why he rescued me, all the time. Maybe even if he never did. But he’d never asked me to feel this way. And now I have dreams all the time that I can never leave the house, never have Bruce, and I’m so angry, so angry, and so alone, it never stops, and I think I’ll never find a way out, I’ll be here in this place forever…
Maybe it would have been different if that night had never happened. One time, Batman and I were bringing down one of Ivy’s operations. Before we got out of there, Batman had gotten blown on one of Ivy’s poisons. I had to drive the Car home with him shaking beside me. We’d gotten as far as the Cave entrance when he threw on the secondary brakes, stopped the car and fucked me hard in the costume, there in the seat. He was really turned on because he made it really hot, touching me all over and talking in my ear about how tight I was and how big hard and ready he was to fuck me and how much he wanted me, had always wanted me, and he gave me *orders* and it didn’t sound like Bruce Wayne, Playboy, at all, it sounded like *my* Bruce, who didn’t care about hurting me or consequences, just that sick feeling (but oh so real) that we were the masters of the world and what a cruel place it was for anyone who wasn’t us. And we *believed* it, and it gave our lives sense and brought us to the edge and over again and again.
But Bruce never touched me after that. He got different, changed. And it never went back to the way it was, even after he came and got me in the desert. After the explosion.
You know… after.
He’d felt really bad about that night after Ivy, but I just told him it was ok. He’d felt really bad about the day I died, but I tell him that was ok too. I still clung to some truth of what had happened, even if it was all a lie. And maybe I was wrong in mistaking Bruce’s kindness and control for some useless kind of desire. It feels sour, so fucking sour. Love feels like a lie that even Dick knows about.
I was thinking about that as the Joker (not a nightmare this time) brought the crowbar down towards my head. I’ve been thinking about it a lot ever since. As I watched Bruce build the plaque and remember me as “A Good Soldier”. As I watched Bruce build the Case and put the remains of me in it as a warning sign, a monument to my stupidity. As he trained the next Robin, whose coldness he craved and is grateful for. And yeah, I feel like the biggest fool of all time.
But sometimes he cries. And then…
Maybe I was wrong. Because Bruce was so strong, *is* so strong. And to make him cry, well… that has to mean something right? Because Bruce was the strong one, and I was the weak one, wasn’t that it? That’s what it amounted to. That’s what my life means now.
This whole thing is just so ugly I really really want to burn it all.
But sometimes, sometimes I really understand that it was the best I’d ever had. Sometimes when Roy *still* defends me to Batman and I see his hatred clash against Bruce’s cold denial. Sometimes when Alfred opens the door to my old room and sits on the bed and just weeps. Sometimes when Dick has nightmares about me and his sympathy is so tense and aching, and I know he really did understand me, of course he did.
Then it makes me want to start again and get my head together. You know, really study and learn things and know the right things to do. Get to know people. And I can get out of here and get, I don’t know, get *real* again and maybe leave Gotham for the summer. Though I got so many things to prove to that city… But nah, man, you gotta move on, you gotta move on sometime…
The End
by eggblue
Date: April 17, 2005
Rating: R (whiny angst, implied underage)
Pairing: Bruce Wayne/Jason Todd (Batman/Robin II)
Summary: This is sort of a skeleton of a story, thinking of the Bruce/Jason dynamic a different way. Where Roy fits in. Maybe a little AU? Works best if you think of Jason as a young punk teenager. Not especially good, but there needs to be more Jason fic, always.
Disclaimer: Batman and characters belong to DC, not me.
*
I met him a long long time ago when I was five. The Joker kidnapped me, called me “son” I think, and… I don’t remember a lot. It seems like a dream most of the time. I don’t really have any proof or anything. I mean, who would want it to be real, right? But just… these thoughts keep coming back to me like all the time. In everything bad, I see it. It goes back to that night that may or may not have ever happened. I mean, I don’t think I’m the Joker’s son. But I still try to keep from laughing. Maybe he never wanted me. Maybe no one ever did.
Then what does it all mean? I don’t know. But I remember that he rescued me. You know… after. And I can’t shake that feeling. I *know* how he held me against the suit, under his cape to keep away the rain. I *know* how he looked down at me, and all that he wanted to tell me with that look, about strength and safety and survival. Love. I know it. Even if it never happened.
But it did, right? Because of how much it means to me now. And don’t get me wrong. I mean, Bruce is maybe a little crazy and a lot of troubled. He’s kind of a loner, like me, but he’s not close to anybody because he’s smarter than like everyone. He really knows how things *work*-- like no one I’ve ever met before. And he’s so strong. I mean, the whole world is practically against him and he’s still standing. I just love that, you know? It’s the only way to be.
I liked living in that house with him too. It was a real home, and it was just ours. And Alfred, who really did a lot for me. Our lives were all about each other every day. It was so great, man, I can’t tell you. On the good days, it was the best. And I wouldn’t give up any of that. It was all I had, it was what I needed. I didn’t like to need things, really. But once you’ve had something like that, it’s kind of hard to give it up.
Bruce was great, most of the time. He used to go out with society girls sometimes and he’d come home and we’d laugh about it because he could tell a really funny story when he wanted to. We’d sit in the kitchen and eat some of Alfred’s sandwiches and I felt great, like this was all Bruce needed and I was a part of it.
But it’s hard to admit when I’m wrong. Because sometimes we can’t stand each other. But then it’s so easy for Bruce to throw me a smile or a crumb and I love it and it makes it so easy for me to change my mind and things make sense again and maybe Bruce really does want me. And then he’d find a girl and bring her home, close and loud and I could *hear* it, as if he’d meant me to, as if he needed to show me just how wrong I was.
That’s hard. Real hard. It makes me mean like my dad, and real bitter like my mom. And I say things to Bruce and to Alfred and to anyone that comes near and it comes out bad and wrong. They lose patience with me all the time. And I lose it with them. But you gotta know I’d lose that battle. They don’t need me that bad - they can always find another Robin. But there’s only one Batman.
And times like that I miss my friends a whole lot. Most of them are dead or gone. We used to fight too, all the time. We just couldn’t believe in each other that much, you know? We didn’t have a lot to offer. We all knew too much about how it goes. We acted like the people we knew, and the people we knew were all those who didn’t give a shit. So we didn’t either. Like our parents. But at least we were young and we didn’t believe in abandoning people. Now, it’s just like waiting for the other shoe to drop. There’s no avoiding it.
Roy is a friend of mine. He really really liked me, I think. We used to talk about all of this shit cause he understood it too. I used to go to him the first chance I got after Bruce had brought a woman home. And I could suck him off and he loved the way I used my mouth and it was almost like old times again when I was younger and I didn’t have anything to lose. But it’s spoiled from the start because it’s really not that way. I was so messed up -- I was just using him to give me that feeling that all of it was just some sick game. Then I could laugh again at myself and at Bruce and yeah, I guess at Roy too, and the worse it got the worse I needed it because finally I was right about something, even though it was really really wrong. And that kept it going, kept me in the game with Bruce and we all got sicker slowly. As if sick shit and *wrongness* was the only thing I believed in. And you know sometimes it really was. Cause I didn’t make the world, but when I get that feeling… I think I kinda understand the person who did, like our minds are the same, and I suddenly know and understand *everything*.
Sometimes I think that all Bruce wanted was for me to learn from him and leave, but I never could do that. Bruce gets jealous and Bruce has a temper and Bruce can be cruel. He doesn’t like to show it and he doesn’t like to admit it. I always wanted more though. I wanted his sex, his attention, his faith in me. I wanted him to remember why he rescued me, all the time. Maybe even if he never did. But he’d never asked me to feel this way. And now I have dreams all the time that I can never leave the house, never have Bruce, and I’m so angry, so angry, and so alone, it never stops, and I think I’ll never find a way out, I’ll be here in this place forever…
Maybe it would have been different if that night had never happened. One time, Batman and I were bringing down one of Ivy’s operations. Before we got out of there, Batman had gotten blown on one of Ivy’s poisons. I had to drive the Car home with him shaking beside me. We’d gotten as far as the Cave entrance when he threw on the secondary brakes, stopped the car and fucked me hard in the costume, there in the seat. He was really turned on because he made it really hot, touching me all over and talking in my ear about how tight I was and how big hard and ready he was to fuck me and how much he wanted me, had always wanted me, and he gave me *orders* and it didn’t sound like Bruce Wayne, Playboy, at all, it sounded like *my* Bruce, who didn’t care about hurting me or consequences, just that sick feeling (but oh so real) that we were the masters of the world and what a cruel place it was for anyone who wasn’t us. And we *believed* it, and it gave our lives sense and brought us to the edge and over again and again.
But Bruce never touched me after that. He got different, changed. And it never went back to the way it was, even after he came and got me in the desert. After the explosion.
You know… after.
He’d felt really bad about that night after Ivy, but I just told him it was ok. He’d felt really bad about the day I died, but I tell him that was ok too. I still clung to some truth of what had happened, even if it was all a lie. And maybe I was wrong in mistaking Bruce’s kindness and control for some useless kind of desire. It feels sour, so fucking sour. Love feels like a lie that even Dick knows about.
I was thinking about that as the Joker (not a nightmare this time) brought the crowbar down towards my head. I’ve been thinking about it a lot ever since. As I watched Bruce build the plaque and remember me as “A Good Soldier”. As I watched Bruce build the Case and put the remains of me in it as a warning sign, a monument to my stupidity. As he trained the next Robin, whose coldness he craved and is grateful for. And yeah, I feel like the biggest fool of all time.
But sometimes he cries. And then…
Maybe I was wrong. Because Bruce was so strong, *is* so strong. And to make him cry, well… that has to mean something right? Because Bruce was the strong one, and I was the weak one, wasn’t that it? That’s what it amounted to. That’s what my life means now.
This whole thing is just so ugly I really really want to burn it all.
But sometimes, sometimes I really understand that it was the best I’d ever had. Sometimes when Roy *still* defends me to Batman and I see his hatred clash against Bruce’s cold denial. Sometimes when Alfred opens the door to my old room and sits on the bed and just weeps. Sometimes when Dick has nightmares about me and his sympathy is so tense and aching, and I know he really did understand me, of course he did.
Then it makes me want to start again and get my head together. You know, really study and learn things and know the right things to do. Get to know people. And I can get out of here and get, I don’t know, get *real* again and maybe leave Gotham for the summer. Though I got so many things to prove to that city… But nah, man, you gotta move on, you gotta move on sometime…
The End