Ficlet: (Un)Bound | DCU | Jason(/Bruce), Alfred | R | 1/1
Title: (Un)Bound
Fandom: DCU
Characters/Pairing: Jason(/Bruce), Alfred (sort of)
Rating: R
Word Count: 740
Prompt: For 50_darkfics: Bound; For hc_bingo: Multiple Personalities: Sudden Onset
Summary: Jason isn't sure how long he's been in the cave.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own it all. I own nothing. Darnit!
Author's Notes: Side/pre-series ficlet in the (Un)Familiar-verse. Preceeds (Un)Leashed. Also, Jason POV, so, unreliable narrator.
(Un)Bound
Jason isn't sure how long he's been here.
It has to be years, but he just doesn't know. Every shift seems to wipe out most of what came before, his memory like a sieve, holding very little between periods of humanity, for whatever that state is worth these days. He knows he's grown since being brought here, but how much, he can't quite tell. He knows his fur has gotten darker, but that, too, means nothing.
His surroundings don't tell him much, either, beyond being most of the way to ruin.
The mattress on the floor beneath him might have been clean once, but since he's been living here in this... cave... it's been more-or-less stained by his own bodily filth and what smells like dried blood. The plastic dinner dishes on the matching tray are scratched all to hell, and there are grooves in the floor where he's sure he's been pacing, claws out. Even the thick leather collar around his neck is almost worn through; one of these days he'll get the damn thing to snap, and that'll be it, he'll be free and out of here, wherever the fuck here is.
The thought once crossed his mind-at least, he thinks it might have-to ask the old man how long it's been and where they are. But since that first time the stiff-backed Brit tried to clean his bedding when Jason was too addled from shifting to understand he wasn't a threat, he hasn't come back when Jay's been awake. Probably.
Whatever. It's for the best, anyway. The old man with no scent is better off not associating with a freak like him, that can't even hold on to human for long enough to figure out much of anything beyond whether or not he's hungry.
And the other guy... well, he at least knows why the crazy man that wears symbol of the Bat brought him here. He can read the haze of lust and darkness all over him. Can't so much say he doesn't get dazed in return by the waves of sex pouring off the guy, but he won't admit it out loud. Not in earshot. And the Bat-man doesn't so much speak to him, anyhow, so what's the point in trying to get answers from him when he can't exactly hold a fully-awake conversation himself?
As it is, the damn shifting keeps him out of it enough that he can't tell the days. He only occasionally knows the general hour by whether the Bat-man is in the cave and if the old guy has brought him a meal. Not so helpful when he wakes up all muzzy-headed, his breath reeking of meat probably eaten days before and his body covered in sweat, grime, and loose fur.
Not knowing how long the shifts will last or what came before is a bitch.
But not knowing why he has this sense of impending doom pressing on the insides of his skull is worse. There's something coming, and the vague scent of danger on the cave wind-not the bat shit or the sludgy river he thinks passes somewhere out of sight-keeps him on edge, waiting for the time when he can control the shifts just so he won't be chained to the damn floor when whatever it is comes.
If only he could find some clue how long how long he's been here, how many years, he'd know how long he has left until the Bat-man removes his collar and takes him upstairs, as promised. He did promise, didn't he? It has to be soon. Any day now, he'll be free. Free and unbound, and ready to carve his way through the Bat-man to get the hell out of here, out of the way of the coming darkness.
Assuming his own lust doesn't get to him first. He can't be sure he's not lost to it, already, but what good will it do him to try to fight the sex-starved Wolf? He'll probably wind up killing the Bat-man in the process, anyway, whether he takes him as a bond-mate or as dinner.
If only the bastard would talk to him! If only he'd tell him how long he's been here. Why won't he tell him!?
But suddenly it doesn't matter. His current count of three hours as a human is about to be lost, as he feels the tension begin to build in his muscles, the fire in his brain ignite, and another shift begin.
~*~*~*~
Fandom: DCU
Characters/Pairing: Jason(/Bruce), Alfred (sort of)
Rating: R
Word Count: 740
Prompt: For 50_darkfics: Bound; For hc_bingo: Multiple Personalities: Sudden Onset
Summary: Jason isn't sure how long he's been in the cave.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own it all. I own nothing. Darnit!
Author's Notes: Side/pre-series ficlet in the (Un)Familiar-verse. Preceeds (Un)Leashed. Also, Jason POV, so, unreliable narrator.
(Un)Bound
Jason isn't sure how long he's been here.
It has to be years, but he just doesn't know. Every shift seems to wipe out most of what came before, his memory like a sieve, holding very little between periods of humanity, for whatever that state is worth these days. He knows he's grown since being brought here, but how much, he can't quite tell. He knows his fur has gotten darker, but that, too, means nothing.
His surroundings don't tell him much, either, beyond being most of the way to ruin.
The mattress on the floor beneath him might have been clean once, but since he's been living here in this... cave... it's been more-or-less stained by his own bodily filth and what smells like dried blood. The plastic dinner dishes on the matching tray are scratched all to hell, and there are grooves in the floor where he's sure he's been pacing, claws out. Even the thick leather collar around his neck is almost worn through; one of these days he'll get the damn thing to snap, and that'll be it, he'll be free and out of here, wherever the fuck here is.
The thought once crossed his mind-at least, he thinks it might have-to ask the old man how long it's been and where they are. But since that first time the stiff-backed Brit tried to clean his bedding when Jason was too addled from shifting to understand he wasn't a threat, he hasn't come back when Jay's been awake. Probably.
Whatever. It's for the best, anyway. The old man with no scent is better off not associating with a freak like him, that can't even hold on to human for long enough to figure out much of anything beyond whether or not he's hungry.
And the other guy... well, he at least knows why the crazy man that wears symbol of the Bat brought him here. He can read the haze of lust and darkness all over him. Can't so much say he doesn't get dazed in return by the waves of sex pouring off the guy, but he won't admit it out loud. Not in earshot. And the Bat-man doesn't so much speak to him, anyhow, so what's the point in trying to get answers from him when he can't exactly hold a fully-awake conversation himself?
As it is, the damn shifting keeps him out of it enough that he can't tell the days. He only occasionally knows the general hour by whether the Bat-man is in the cave and if the old guy has brought him a meal. Not so helpful when he wakes up all muzzy-headed, his breath reeking of meat probably eaten days before and his body covered in sweat, grime, and loose fur.
Not knowing how long the shifts will last or what came before is a bitch.
But not knowing why he has this sense of impending doom pressing on the insides of his skull is worse. There's something coming, and the vague scent of danger on the cave wind-not the bat shit or the sludgy river he thinks passes somewhere out of sight-keeps him on edge, waiting for the time when he can control the shifts just so he won't be chained to the damn floor when whatever it is comes.
If only he could find some clue how long how long he's been here, how many years, he'd know how long he has left until the Bat-man removes his collar and takes him upstairs, as promised. He did promise, didn't he? It has to be soon. Any day now, he'll be free. Free and unbound, and ready to carve his way through the Bat-man to get the hell out of here, out of the way of the coming darkness.
Assuming his own lust doesn't get to him first. He can't be sure he's not lost to it, already, but what good will it do him to try to fight the sex-starved Wolf? He'll probably wind up killing the Bat-man in the process, anyway, whether he takes him as a bond-mate or as dinner.
If only the bastard would talk to him! If only he'd tell him how long he's been here. Why won't he tell him!?
But suddenly it doesn't matter. His current count of three hours as a human is about to be lost, as he feels the tension begin to build in his muscles, the fire in his brain ignite, and another shift begin.
~*~*~*~