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autisticrosewilson · 8 months ago

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Feel Better

Connected JayGrant pieces from an AU where Grant moves to Gotham after he runs away from home. Content warning for implied/mentioned death (Felipe Garzonas, Jason's, and Grant's), Needles, drug use??? It's Grant taking the super soldier serum but the parallels are there, Grant has some mildly sexual/possessive thoughts about Jason, nonsexual intimacy, angst because what else do I write, and very vague timelines. Mentioned JadeRoy/Jade is pregnant. Roy's addiction is also mentioned in passing. Underage drinking + Grant trying to initiate things while he's drunk but Jason doesn't let him. @perseus-jackass IT'S DONE I'M FINALLY DONE

"Thank you, Miss Montoya." Jason grins, the polite fake one he wears at parties that make all the old ladies coo and pinch his cheeks.

Grant tries to keep his focus on not putting too much of his weight on Jason, lest they both fall over.

Jason seems to have no such problem, dragging Grant along with an ease that he might have questioned if he were sober. As it stands, he thinks it's really hot.

"I'll make sure he gets home safe." Jason promises, still sweet talking even though they're off the hook, have been since Jason strided over with that pinched expression and started scolding him about being out so late.

It's amazing how much preconceived notions can affect your judgement, how quick the officer is to glance over all the signs that Jason had certainly been at that party too.

He doesn't blame her, Jason is a very good actor. Fuckin' nerd.

They're far enough away now that Jason has dropped the ploy, although he still seems a little annoyed. Grant wants to kiss the pout off his lips.

"What part of 'Scatter! The police are here!' didn't occur to you?" He complains.

"Was tired," Grant whines, "'sides, you saved me. It's all good baby." He grins, goofy and delighted.

Jason's cheeks flush the same way they always do when Grant calls him one of those "cliche" pet names he always complains about.

"Well, next time I might not be there to save you." He huffs, mostly giving up on scolding.

Grant hums, puts more of his weight on Jason that his boy just takes, rests his cheek against Jason's curls and tries not to make the fact that he's definitely smelling his hair obvious. Seems to fail by the sound of Jason's put upon sigh.

Grant wants to hear him make those noises for other reasons.

"Course you will," he lets his voice drop to a lower register, bites back a grin at the little shudder it earns him, "m not lettin' you go anywhere. You're stuck with me." He promises, leans down to press kisses to the parts of Jason's face he can reach. His forehead, the curve of his cheek bone, the corner of his lips.

He wonders if he could taste the rum and coke he'd managed to coax Jason into sipping, wonders if he could make Jason taste like fireball just by kissing him. Wants so bad to try but Jason cups his face gently, brushing a thumb over his jaw to stop him.

"You're drunk, Grant." Jason tries to convince him, firm but not unkind.

"And?" Grant says distractedly, wrapping his arms around Jason's waist to pull him in.

"You can't...make decisions right now." Jason tries again, squirming against him to try to escape the hold, doing the very opposite of making him want to let go.

Grant thinks that's a moot point. He always wants Jason, he thought he was pretty clear on that front. Maybe he needs to show him? He leans down to pull Jason into a kiss that tastes like cherry coke and bubble gum, chases it with his tongue to work cheap vodka into the mix, almost falls over when Jason detangles them.

"Time to get you home." Jason insists.

Oh right, Jason doesn't like when Grant tries to get them a public indecency charge. The press would explode if they caught Gotham's golden boy swapping spit with a nobody degenerate like him.

He huffs, let's Jason heft him along, doesn't realize he's scowling until Jason is pressing sweet little kisses to his jaw and nose and forehead. He melts, losing his previous train of thought immediately as he tries to chase after Jason's mouth. Jason swats him away with a laugh that Grant wants to taste. A cycle that repeats all six blocks back to Grant's apartment.

Jason gets in easily and Grant doesn't even wonder how he got a key.

"You comin' to bed, honey?" Grant teases sweetly, crowding Jason against the door the second it closes.

Jason fixed him with a fond, stern look, and ducks beneath his arm. "Go change, I'll bring you something to eat." He urges.

Grant strips to his briefs and goes starfish mode on the bed. Jason snorts when he walks in, water bottle in one hand and a bowl of fruit in the other.

Jason hand feeds him, at Grants insistence, he smacks Grant lightly whenever his tongue darts out to catch the juice on his fingers, looks a little more like he wants to smother Grant's unrepentantly salacious grin with every passing second.

Grant could definitely make an innuendo out of all this, but Jason might actually leave.

Instead he catches Jason's hand gently and presses a kiss to his palm, bringing it down to splay on his chest so Jason can feel his heartbeat. Watches how Jason softens and gives to the pull, climbing up beside him to replace his hand with his head, arm thrown around his waist.

"Don't suppose you'd be willing to strip too?" He murmurs.

"Maybe tomorrow if you ask real nicely." Jason snorts.

"I ain't good with manners." He doesn't care to keep the southern drawl out of his voice, mentally notes the way it makes Jason's breath hitch.

There is a silence where Jason's lips are pursed so tight Grant knows he's keeping back a remarks that wouldn't befit Jason Wayne.

"I'll be here when you wake up, if you need to be taught." Is what he says eventually.

Grant grins tangling his fingers in Jason's curls, resists the urge to pull just to hear the sounds he'll make.

"Love you too, Jace." He mutters and can't help the laugh at the way it makes Jason bury his face in Grant's ribs to hide the flush that's creeping up to his ears.

He's not gentle, but he could be.

Grant thinks he is, and Jason hopes he never figures out the truth.

So he smiles placidly when Grant offers him the cigarette, "I don't smoke." The anymore goes unheard, because Jason Wayne would never smoke, or draw blood with his teeth or try to steal the tires from the Batmobile.

Grant doesn't know about Jason Todd, not entrenched long enough in the socialite circles of their peers to know anything about Jason's before. This is a mercy, rare as those are. There is nothing to obstruct the sweet, dull thing that he has made of himself.

"Course you don't," Grant grins, crooked and mischievous and nowhere near as sharp as he pretends it is, "the world might stop turning if Gotham's golden boy was caught doing something so uncouth." It's more self-deprecating than mocking, convinced that he's the worst thing Jason has ever done. It's cute, but mostly sad.

Jason stays quiet, let's Grant believe that he's the bad boy between the two of them. Hides his sharp teeth behind a soft smile, keeps all the molten anger that coils in his gut at bay, where it can't hurt anyone.

He's not soft, or sweet, or good. But he wants to be, and he's done a good job playing the part so far.

Grant blinks awake to the sound of his window sliding open, immediately on high alert. The person enters gracefully, if panicked, and the first thing his sleep blurred vision makes out is the bright yellow cape falling over their shoulders, the second are the blank white lenses of a domino mask.

Robin, undoubtedly. Although Grant can't fathom why he'd be here.

He's never actually seen the hero up close before, although he swings past Grant's window every night and he's on the news often enough.

He'd always looked small next to Batman but on his own- well he's still pretty small, surprisingly scrawny too, with dark hair that curls.... distinctively.

"Grant..." Robin trails off and he knows that voice, although he's never heard it sound so small.

"Jay?" He scrambles out of bed, sheets tangled around his legs as he struggles to get across the room. Jason doesn't look hurt but that doesn't mean anything. He could be- Grant doesn't even know. Jason is Robin, he faces Gothams worst every fucking night.

First things first, getting Jason out of the rain soaked Robin uniform. He must be freezing, it's amazing he hasn't caught a cold yet in those tiny shorts of his.

He could have internal bleeding or broken bones or he could be dosed with something or, fuck, what if there's magic involved? Grant doesn't know how to handle that. But Jason came to him and he'll be damned if he doesn't try.

(Grant will shove all the feelings that come with thinking about them down very far for as long as he possibly can.)

"Are you hurt?" Seems as good a place as any to start.

Jason shakes his head despondently. Grant vaguely knows that look, the same one Joey had when he woke up in the ER, dissociation the doctor had said.

"...Is someone trying to hurt you?" Grant keeps his breathing even, tries to keep the anger that sparks at the very notion out of his expression.

(Jason can probably see it anyway though because he's fucking Robin, holy shit.)

Another shake of his head that has the tension reluctantly bleeding from Grant's shoulders. That will need to be good enough for now.

"Okay- fuck, alright. Uh, let's, let's get you a bath and then into some dry clothes." He breathes, tries to keep all of the many, many questions at bay. Guides Jason to the bathroom with a gentle grip on his hand.

First he peels the wet gloves off, they're not as rubbery as Grant thought they'd be and the pads are rough, probably for better grip. Then he unlatches the ridiculously bright cape and lets it pool on the floor, soon joined by the red tunic and the surprisingly heavy utility belt, until Jason is just in those little green shorts that Grant is still definitely not thinking about. They quickly join the pile and it's easier than he thought to avoid looking at anything below the waste because-

Jason has so many scars. Maybe more than Grant himself. He probably should have suspected that, but the idea of anything getting close enough to hurt Jason, to dig into his soft skin and leave a mark, still sends a wave of revulsion rolling through him that steals his breath away. His breath catches and he practically picks Jason up to settle him gently into the tub, still only a quarter full of water. He makes the executive decision to squeeze half the bottle of vanilla honey bubble solution into the water, watching the foam build and spread.

Jason brings his knees to his chest, resting his head atop them as he levels a blank look at the tile. Grant swallows thickly trying to blink away the image of a different boy, scrawny and despondent with tear rimmed eyes.

He makes a mental note to introduce Joey and Jason one day, can't help but think they'd like each other.

He cups his hands beneath the water, brings up a handful of suds that he lets cascade down Jason's back and shoulders, presses a kiss to the back of his neck at the visual shudder that wracks his body.

Even the rain water in Gotham is tainted with murky pollution that tints it slightly. Grant rakes a washcloth down Jason's arms and is reminded of those dish soap commercials with the baby birds after oil spills. Has to bite back the grin that threatens to quirk his lips at the thought because Jason might think he's laughing at him.

Grant hadn't even realized when he stopped making jokes at Jason's expense, when he stopped using jabs just a little too mean to be friendly to protect himself. When he'd stopped making jokes about him and started making jokes for him, because his smile drives the Gotham smog away in an instant and his laughter rings like birdsong and church bells.

The realization makes his hands shake but he doesn't stop the easy, repetitive motions. Gently coaxing Jason out of his ball so he can work away at the grime with gentle scrubbing.

"I killed someone." Is the first thing Jason says to him after going on 20 minutes of silence.

Grant's breath hitches, mind scrambling over the words, before he exhales. Thinks of how to comfort someone whose hands have just been soaked in blood for the first time. Metaphorically. He chances a glance back to the Robin uniform, still clean aside from the rainwater.

"I don't regret it." He adds absently, still staring at the wall. "He deserved it Grant." Jason finally looks him in the eye, fierce conviction and panic, but no guilt, no shame. "He- what he did- they just let him go! And she couldn't even- sh-she-" he breaks off into sniffles, eyes becoming glassy and cheeks flushing with distress.

Well, there goes that issue. Idly, Grant thinks that Jason is pretty when he cries. Feels a flare of jealousy that it's because of someone else, breathes past the possessive anger. Acknowledges the guilt all of this brings and then promptly shoves it all down.

He's not important right now, Jason is.

"I believe you." Is what Grant says out loud, steady and firm. Jason isn't who Grant thought he was, but he'd still like to think he knows him well enough to know that he wouldn't do something like this if he didn't think it was necessary.

Jason looks at him, analysing, searching, with the kind of intensity Grant used to brush off. (He wonders what Jason knows about him, how much he's seen because Grant didn't know how much he had to hide.)

He seems to find what he was looking for, he sniffles and then lets himself lean into Grant. It's a little awkward with the cold edge of the tub between them, wedged in their sides, but Grant doesn't mind.

...Does Jason need help hiding the body? Did someone see him? Is someone looking for him? Does he need somewhere to disappear-

"What do you need from me, Jay?" He murmurs, chin resting atop Jason's wet curls.

Jason shudders, stays silent for a moment. "He won't let me be Robin anymore." Jason whispers eventually. "He- B won't- he'll kick me out."

The root of the problem then. There's a lot of implications there that Grant can't hope to unpack right now. "Do you wanna stay with me?" He's already thinking of the logistics, would Batman try to put him in jail? Grant doesn't think so, that would put his identity in question. So he can probably keep going to school without worry but just in case Grant should probably work on a new identity for him, not that he thinks for a second Batman would be fooled. He's fucking Batman.

"...Just for the weekend?" Jason asks, as though he's worried Grant would turn the request down.

Honestly, he's more upset that Jason is planning on leaving than he would be if Jason told him he was moving in tonight.

"Whatever you want." Is what he voices instead, because Jason has never done well with being ordered around.

Jason relaxes with a bereft sigh, tension bleeding out as he trusts all his weight to Grant. He takes it, pays no mind to the water seeping through his clothes, continues his task of washing away the gunk that Gotham has left on his boy.

"My mom's alive." Jason repeats numbly.

Grant stares at him blankly, still clutching the bowl of cereal that's already starting to turn soggy. "...is that a good thing?" He squints at Jason like the action will let him read him better.

"I don't know." He admits. "She's not- not the woman who raised me. I don't know her name but it starts with an S. Found my dad's phone book. Apparently he...knew a lot of interesting people." He explains.

"Are you going to find her?" Grant guesses, he doesn't look particularly happy about it.

"Hopefully. There are three potential candidates but them being in my dad's phone book doesn't really mean anything." He shrugs. "It's the best lead I have though." He tries to sound a little more determined than he feels.

"and if you don't find her? If it's a dead end?" Grant urges, fingers curled tight enough around the bowl Jason worries for a moment it will break.

"Then I come back here." He swallows thickly. "If you'll let me." He can't bring himself to meet Grant's eyes.

The bowl gets set down on the table and Grant closes the distance between them. He intertwines their fingers, brings the back of Jason's hand to his mouth to press a kiss there that makes something hot and fluttery squirm in his chest, makes his face flush and his eyes dart up to Grant's.

"I'll leave the window unlocked." Grant grins, sweet and promising. A safe place to land.

"I'll be home soon." Jason promises.

Grant can't look at the picture of him and Jason together. Happy and together and alive. They'd gone to the arcade that day, Jason had ditched his uniform and was dressed down in baggy jeans and a metal band T-shirt Grant had been surprised he listened to. A surprisingly good imitation of street wear, Grant had thought.

He has to shove the picture face down. Jason doesn't need to see this.

Deep down, Grant knows Jason wouldn't want this. Might actually hate him for it. But he's not here, so Grant searches for the right vein and pushes the needle through, keeping still even as the cold liquid flows through his veins, leaving a faint burning. The injection spot will hurt for a few days, and when the ache stops he'll know to use the next dose.

He'd been hesitant to follow so close in his father's tracks, but Grant knows what he's doing. The Joker will pay, and inevitably so will Batman. He'll make sure of it.

There's a knock at his bedroom door. He lives in a new apartment now, somewhere in Jump far from the dregs of Gotham and Jason's tainted memory. Jade is leaning against the frame when he looks up, eyebrow raised and lips pursed in disapproval that reminds him too much of his mother.

Cheshire is an unconventional roommate, but a good ally, and occasionally a decent friend. Now is clearly not one of those instances.

"You're an idiot." She tells him conversationally, still somehow intimidating with cookie monster pajama pants and a baby bump.

"Right back at ya." He deadpans, packing away his little kit.

"That shits gonna kill you one day." She scolds. "Something tells me your boyfriend wouldn't be keen on you joining him so soon."

It's a low blow.

"Don't talk about him like you knew him." He grits. "You don't know what he'd want." It's a weak argument, even to him.

"I know that you loved him, and he probably loved you. And you don't want to see the people you love deteriorating on the other side of a needle." She vivisects him with her eyes, dark and brown and so similar to Jason's that he can hardly stand to meet them.

He knows she's speaking from experience, and not for the first time he wants to punch Roy Harper.

"it's not the same and you know it." He argues.

"Isn't it? You look like shit. You get worse every week. The last time you used your stupid fucking powers you passed out mid battle and I had to drag you out." She hisses.

"I know what I'm doing." He insists.

"I might not be there to save you next time." She rolls her eyes, sends him one last look he can't quite decipher, and leaves.

"I know what I'm doing." He repeats, quieter, reassuring himself or maybe Jason. He doesn't really know anymore.

Kentucky is dry and hot, but after spending so long in the desert it hardly bothers him anymore. He gets odd looks from the passerby, he can't blame them. He's a lot bigger than he used to be, broad and scarred and just a little uncanny to look at.

This is a small town, barely 200 people and mostly made of suburban neighborhoods as far as the eye can see.

He doesn't plan to be here long.

There's one cemetery in the town, it's been there about as long as the town itself and there are rumors that the groundskeeper might be immortal for how long the lady has been tending to it.

The grave he's looking for is on the far right, as far away from the graves of Slade's parents as possible.

The marker is slanted, paradiso granite with zinnias carved into the corners.

Grant Wilson

•Son• •Brother• •Friend•

It hurts to look at. Steals his breath away and makes something deep in his chest ache like a bruise that's been pressed too hard. He has to take a minute to breathe past the grief that's festering behind his ribs.

He crouches down in front of it when he's sure he won't lose his balance and curl up on the dirt. He has a death grip on the bouquet, mangling the poor stems.

"Grant you idiot," Jason sniffles, "you couldn't've waited just a few more months?" He huffs, it's wet and sounds as pathetic as he feels.

They could have put the clown down together, and Grant would've never been anywhere near that fucking cult.

He sets the colorful bundle down with shaking hands, pansies and hyacinths and Cyclamens that Jason had only just managed to pick out through his blurry vision.

He doesn't know how long he's been sitting there when the presence makes itself known. Long enough for his knees to sink into the soft dirt and the sky to darken with incoming rain. He's been aware of the eyes on him but he hadn't really cared.

Slade doesn't say anything for a while, just stares at the grave.

"How did you come back?" He doesn't pull his punches, when he finally speaks.

"I don't know." He shrugs, the same answer he's given every league doctor and magician that interrogated him. "I crawled out of my grave catatonic six months after I was buried. Talia found me, tried to heal me naturally and when that didn't work..." He trails off thinking of the burning green that had stolen death from his clutches.

"The Pit." Slade finishes for him. "It didn't bring you back?" It's as desperate as Jason has ever heard Deathstroke sound, and he can't even bring himself to enjoy it.

"I'd already be digging if it could." Jason admits, focusing on the plaque and not the dirt under his nails.

It's not your grave, he reminds himself. It doesn't help.

(He almost wishes it was)

"You still planning to get revenge on the Bat?" Slade cuts to the chase. At Jason's suspicious look he shrugs. "Talia said you're looking for teachers."

Of course she did.

"Batman doesn't know what he's doing. Gotham needs someone who can do what needs to be done. I intend to be that person." He confirms.

"And that means you have to be better than the Bat." Slade follows the logic. "I can help make that happen." He mutters almost to himself. "Are you gonna kill him?" It's mocking, a subtle dare. It reminds him of Grant, and that's the only reason he hesitates.

"No," he says eventually ignoring the inelegant snort from Slade, "someone else would just take his place. Dick or one of the new kids. If I want them out of the way I'll have to make their alter egos inaccessible. I've got a plan though. It'll take some time, a shit ton of undercover work, but I think you'll enjoy the amount of explosions." He finally pushes himself up to stand, ignoring the ache in his knees.

Slade hums consideringly but seems to agree. He turns his back to Jason without another word, clearly expecting him to follow.

What Talia probably left out is his penchant for killing his teachers. It's times like these having friends to keep him in the loop might be helpful, but Slade is always so keen on pushing others away. It's a weakness Jason was banking on when he booked the flight to bumfuck nowhere Kentucky.

Something he'd never told Grant was that sometimes it's better to be underestimated. To let people think that you're soft and sweet and gentle. If you hang your head in deference no one thinks to look for your teeth.

"You got something you wanna call yourself?" Slade asks as he starts the car.

"Shrike." He grins, as the car starts and they leave the cemetery behind.