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ghostf1ux · 18 hours ago

Text

Going for the Throat

Day 1: Vocal Cords

Word Count: 3.4k

TW/CWs: Bad Dad!Bruce, me projecting onto Jason and Bruce's relationship

Part 1 || Part 2 (here)

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Rain and thunder pound against the abandoned apartment building where two men face off.

“It's me or him. You have to choose!”

Jason watches with wide eyes as Bruce– no, Batman– turns around, as if he's ignoring a petulant child. He turns his gun from the Joker's head to Batman's.

“Choose!”

In a whirl of motion, he turns and flings his arm out. Laughter– maniacal, cackling laughter– echoes in Jason's ears. A bolt of lightning reflects off a dark, moving shape, the metal glinting dangerously.

He watches it fly towards him in slow motion.

He's too slow.

Too slow to move out of the way– to slow to process–

Before that batarang is slicing his throat open into a cavernous ravine.

He drops the Joker. The Joker laughs. Jason clutches at his throat– rivers of blood slipping between his fingers, filling up his throat, and he gasps but no air comes.

He stumbles back, hand slipping off the wall, slick with his own blood. It pitter-patters against the ground in time with the rain. Green light– the color of Joker’s hair, the color of acid, the color of toxicity and pain– filters in through the windows, the little room where Jason drowns in his own blood starts to fill up with it. It pulls his limbs down, tearing and scratching and burning–

Jason shoots up with a choked gasp, skin slick with sweat. His blankets are strewn haphazardly around him, twisted in his limbs. His breathing is heavy and labored, heartbeat pounding in his ears as he takes in the unfamiliar dark room.

Right.

He’s hiding out in a club’s back room while Bruce is conducting his investigation or whatever.

More accurately, he’s hunting Jason down while Tim does the actual investigation.

He drags his hand down his face as he gets his breathing back under control, scrubbing the last dredges of sleep from his eyes before rolling over to sit on the edge of the bed. He rests his elbows heavily on his knees, rubbing at the new scratches he’s made over the scar on his neck. Swallowing feels like rubbing sandpaper over a road rash, so he opts to stop doing that.

Only a moment later, there’s a soft knocking on his door. His immediate reaction is to point the gun he keeps under his pillow at it, slowly, soundlessly prowling closer. It’s probably just one of the girls, but his paranoia has been at an all time high these past few days he’s been staying here.

He cracks open the door, body taut with anticipation.

The soft, makeup-painted face of Kat looks back at him, those doe-eyes that make her customers swoon glancing over him. He sighs, leaning against the doorframe and opening the door a little wider.

“What’s up, Kat?” Jason asks tiredly, scratching his forehead with the back of his gun. She raises an eyebrow, though whether it’s because of the gun or because his voice sounds like it’s been through a paper shredder, he doesn’t know.

“The little one came back. Said the Bat has requested your presence.” She toes the door open a little further, just the few inches Jason will allow her to before stopping it with his foot. “Are you okay?”

Jason just grunts a vague affirmative, not quite meeting her eyes. She watches him idly rub at his neck, covering the raised scar standing out against his tan skin.

“Right, well, if you’re going to go, take a shower first. And leave the door unlocked so we know. He said he’d be waiting in the back.”

With that, she casts one last glance back at him before he shuts the door and she leaves. He sighs, the sound coming out more clipped and rough than normal.

Fuck. Of course this is the day this shit decides to act up.

Begrudgingly, he cleans up the room from his stay. He has half a mind to just let the little demon wait outside and never go to meet him, but that would just lead to him being annoyed by his siblings until he finally did listen, so it’s best to just get it over with now. The faster he can get Bruce off his back and go back to patrols, the better.

Over the next half hour, he takes his time putting the room back together, taking a shower per Kat’s suggestion, and getting back into his suit, sans helmet or domino, seeing as he hasn't been to any of his safehouses since B started hunting him.

He takes the back exit, avoiding anyone who may question why the Red Hood is in the back of a strip club without all of his gear on.

Then again, pretty much anyone who’s here knows the vague idea of what’s been happening the past few days so they probably wouldn’t question it all that much actually.

As soon as he pushes the door open he sees Damian waiting, passively listening to the girls on break with his arms crossed, resolutely ignoring the way they’re clearly whispering about him.

He snaps to attention when he sees Jason, straightening up. “Akhi. Father has–”

“Requested my presence, yes,” Jason finishes dryly, muttering the words once he’s closer so he doesn’t have to irritate his throat any more than needed. Damian still pauses when he hears the words, squinting at him.

“What is the matter with your voice?” He asks sharply. Jason brushes past him, waving the girls off as he takes the tarp off his motorcycle he retrieved yesterday. They head back inside, leaving the two vigilantes alone. “Answer me.”

“Nothing's wrong,” Jason huffs, wincing slightly at how the words crackle in his throat. Damian stares at him pointedly.

“Tt. You can't truly expect me to believe such an obvious lie–”

“Just drop it, Damian!” He finally snaps, taking a deep breath and pinching the bridge of his nose while resolutely ignoring the stab of guilt in his gut. “...Bad day.”

“I… see.” Damian turns to his own bike, throwing his leg over. Jason takes a moment to steel himself before doing the same, pushing through every instinct and every thought protesting the idea of returning to the manor to do just that.

The ride there is hot and dry, even with the summer wind whipping Jason's face. It almost feels dusty, or maybe ashy? There was a big fire somewhere in the city the night prior– not anywhere close to the club he was laying low at– but the effects from a fire like that would be felt city-wide. Must've been put out, if Damian is here to pick him up and now that he thinks about it, was definitely smelling of smoke. Really, the whole city does right now.

Aka, literally everything terrible for his throat that can happen right now is happening right now. All he's missing is actually being in the fire.

Well, the day's still young, the sun just barely cresting the horizon. There's a nonzero chance he ends up in one.

This is Gotham, after all.

Anxiety twists his stomach into knots as they roll into the secret entrance to the Cave, motorcycle engines roaring quite a bit louder now that he doesn't have the helmet to muffle the sound echoing in the tunnel. Once it opens into the cave, he's almost surprised to see the whole family there until he remembers they probably just returned from patrol. Based on the fact that everyone's still in their suits, he'd wager he's right.

Jason parks his bike in his usual spot, which also happens to be the closest spot to the entrance. The Cave, usually smelling of bat shit and the cold, thick scent of cave water, now seems to be choked with the residual smells of the fire they were surely fighting just an hour prior.

Awesome. Great. Amazing. He can already feel it clogging the back of his throat, sending his ability to speak even further out of reach.

Surely he won't need it for a fucking conversation, right?

Right.

Jason struts over before Damian can, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow expectantly at the various sets of eyes on him.

“Well, I think it's clear we found the culprit–” Tim starts, before Jason raises a hand, turning his glare to the group of Bruce, Dick, and Cass.

Dick clears his throat. “I think it's safe to say an apology is in order,” he begins. “I'm sorry for jumping the gun, little wing. We should have listened to you.”

Cass nods in agreement. “Yes. I am sorry. Too fast. Ignored words.”

Jason watched with scrutiny, looking for any sign of a lie. When he finds none, he turns his glare to Bruce…

…who isn't even facing him. He's faced towards the Bat Computer, typing away at something on the screen. Jason's jaw ticks, watching the man quietly click away with laser-like focus for a solid thirty seconds before he turns to the rest of his family incredulously. Sparks of anger start to overpower the nauseous anxiety from before.

After another bit of waiting Jason loses his patience and flicks the gun with live ammo out of its holster– levels it at the screen– and fires off a shot. Cracks spider web across the monitor and it goes out, the lack of blue glow making the cave that much darker.

All this before anyone can move fast enough to stop him.

The silence of the normally cacophanous family following the resounding gunshot is heavy. Bats flutter and chitter overhead, leathery wings flapping indistinctly. Steph, Tim, and Dick watch with wide eyes as Bruce spins slowly in the chair. Cass and Alfred watch impassively, seeming unfazed, or, more likely, too good at hiding their true feelings. Damian is the same, but Jason doesn't miss the way his shoulders stiffen and his posture straightens. Everyone is tense, ready to interfere if necessary.

Maybe that should say something about the situation.

Jason dismisses it, just like he dismisses the lingering pain from the injuries he got during that chase and the way his heart climbs into his throat as Bruce slowly stands, glaring at him.

“That was an expensive monitor,” Bruce growls, all Batman in anything but mask. Jason just scoffs, holstering the gun and resuming his previous stance, keeping most of his weight on his toes, just in case. “You will pay for the replacement.”

Jason just raises an eyebrow, humming a sarcastic agreement that makes it very clear he will be doing no such thing. Hums are safe enough, he thinks. They hurt his throat like hell but they sound normal enough.

Bruce seems to accept it, because he continues to talk. “With the chaos of the fire, Firefly got away. You will be relegated to finding her. Once you do, call for backup prior to engaging so we can ensure another large fire is started before she is apprehended.”

Jason blinks.

Blinks again.

Then barks out a laugh.

It's loud, and painful, and cracking, and doesn't carry a single ounce of humor. He doesn't miss the way several of the surrounding audience members flinch at the sudden

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jason practically wheezes, barely louder than a whisper in his bafflement.

“What was that?”

Bruce's voice distracts him from his moment of sheer incredulity.

“I said, are you fucking kidding me?” Jason repeats louder, forcing the words out despite how it sends stabs of pain through his throat. His scar itches uncomfortably under the skin-tight turtleneck shirt he wears.

Bruce's eyes furrow, but it's Dick who speaks up. “Are you okay?”

“Fucking peachy,” Jason grinds out. “I'm here for the apology, old man. Get it over with so I can leave.”

“I summoned you here to coordinate your efforts to help the city with ours seeing as the suspect proving your innocence was apprehended.”

“Oh, that's just fucking rich.” His head snaps to Steph, who approaches him with a water bottle like she'd approach a wounded animal on the streets. He glances down at it, then at her, before forcefully relaxing his shoulders and taking it with a grunt of thanks. She nods, clearly trying to hide her concern and failing miserably. He appreciates it nonetheless.

Bruce turns back to the Computer, looking at all the other monitors. “I recommend starting in the Diamond District. That's where she was last seen. Oracle will send you the coordinates.”

Jason savors the last sip he takes before responding.

“No.”

Even the bats go quiet. The silence grows heavier, tension so thick you could cut it with a fucking butter knife.

“I gave you an order,” Bruce growls. Jason bristles, hands clenching at his side instead of twitching for his trigger like they want to.

“I'm not your good little soldier, B! I'll do what I want, whenever the fuck I want, because you don't fucking control me and you need to get it through your thick fucking skull!”

His voice grows to a hoarse, crackling crescendo before it finally breaks and sends Jason into a violent coughing fit that wracks his body, pulling at the stitches he so carefully sewed into himself. At some point someone– Steph, he thinks, by the purple fabric swaying on the edges of his vision– comes over to rub his back and takes the water out of his hand so he can rub his scrubbed-raw throat.

“Okay, I think we need to bench this conversation for today,” Tim cuts in, closer than Jason last remembered. Huh.

“No,” Jason croaks, glaring briefly at the small splatter of blood on his hand before wiping it away.

“Seriously, Jay, I think we need to get your throat looked at–”

Jason just growls his dissent, and woo that did not help.

“If you are to work with this team, you will listen to the orders you are given.”

“Fat fucking chance,” he hisses, something metallic making a small pool below his tongue.

“Okay, no, you're getting your throat checked out,” Dick cuts in, getting between Jason and Bruce to put his hands on the farmer's shoulders. “Little wing, what happened? I know we didn't do that.”

Jason laughs, the sound grating on his throat until a little blood dribbles out from his lips. “You wanna know what fucking happened? He slit my fucking throat, that's what happened, Dick! He slit my throat with a goddamn batarang and he left me to fucking die! He took the Joker and he ran without so much as a glimpse back at his supposed “son”!”

He falls into another coughing fit after that outburst that makes him fully double over, various bodies helping keep him up while trying not to encroach too far into his personal space. He takes the water from Steph's stiff hand, chugging it once he has the breath to do so.

“I'm done, Bruce. I'm done with you. So you can fuck right off with your orders and all that bullshit. From now on, I'm cleaning up Gotham in a way that actually fucking works.”

There are a few moments of silence, where no one seems to know what to say.

“...Is that true?” Tim finally asks quietly, so painfully genuine and so close to the edge of scared. It almost makes Jason regret saying what he did.

“Father?” Damian prompts, voice so steely he knows the boy is hiding his true emotions behind a well-built wall around his heart.

Jason glares at Bruce, who simply looks back with a stone-cold expression of… disappointment? The resounding silence is telling.

“Babs, find the cowl footage,” Dick orders, grip turning tight on Jason's shoulders. Whether that's in an effort to keep Jason there or to keep himself there, he doesn't know. “Sound off.”

It's only a minute or so later the video is pulled up on the second biggest monitor (seeing as Jason shot the first one). Jason keeps his (no doubt glowing) gaze on Bruce, watching for any sort of tell, any sort of twitch that betrays his emotions.

It's also so he doesn't have to see the Joker or his own pathetic face staring back at him. He doesn't want to know what Bruce saw.

When the others gasp, stiffen, or have some other sort of outward reaction, he knows they've seen it. The moment Jason still has nightmares about and is the predominant reason he wears turtlenecks whenever he goes out.

Meanwhile, Bruce remains stoic. Silent. Stony, cold, and not a hint of fucking remorse.

Dick shakes, Jason suddenly notices. Not with fear, not with sobs, but with rage. A type of rage Jason has seldom seen on his golden-boy face. His breaths are controlled, but heavy, and– oh shit.

In a flash of movement, Dick is in front of Bruce and cracking his knuckles across the man's jaw– no one moves to intercept him. Bruce crashes to the ground under the force of that one hit.

“You could have killed him! You nearly did!” Dick shouts, all rage in his taut-as-a-bowstring form. “He is your son! I know you're an emotionally repressed piece of shit but what the absolute fuck was going through your head?!”

Bruce rubs his jaw before answering. “He was supposed to drop the Joker to move out of the way, so I had the opportunity to catch him off guard to apprehend him.”

Dick takes a deep breath. “What then, Bruce? You just cart your own son off to Blackgate? Arkham? Would you stick them in the same transport truck too? Just put your son– my little brother in the same place as his killer?” He scoffs out a laugh, more out of disbelief than anything else. “Of course you would. Because the mission always comes first. I should have fucking guessed something happened that night when you came here and scrubbed the footage from the main uploads.”

Jason watches the interaction with wide eyes, something warm curling inside him. Shit, maybe Dick actually did mean what he said before.

“I do not wish to reside here any longer,” Damian announces, though not nearly as dramatic as he usually would. He sounds disappointed. He sounds betrayed. He sounds a little more like the kid he should sound like at his age. “Someone who would so callously throw away the life of his son is not one I can trust in the field or in my own home any longer. Thus, my home shall be elsewhere.”

“Yes. You have broken trust,” Cass finally pipes up, looking down at Bruce from her perch.

“Yeahhh! Fuck Batman!” Steph cheers in vindication. “You always were an asshole, old man.”

Tim shoots her a little grin, before turning back to Bruce. “This isn't your city anymore, Bruce. I don't think it ever really was. Not after this.”

Jason looks around in wonder at his siblings all standing with him. Tears prick the corner of his eyes. He looks back down at Bruce, who, with the threat of Dick Grayson still standing over him, hasn't moved to get up. Unfortunately, that doesn't seem to stop him from speaking.

“Operating outside my purview will be grounds for me to apprehend you,” he warns. Jason grins, all sharp teeth and malice.

“I ran circles around you for months back when I was seventeen. Between all of us, you'll be lucky if you even get a glimpse.”

“And don't think I'm on your side with this either,” Babs chimes in from the Bat Computer speakers. “This is vile, Bruce. You broke your rule on your own son. Good luck attempting to even leave your cave.”

“I'll be back to pick up Dami's and Tim's things. If you want to walk around with that playboy face you so cherish, I don't suggest showing it while I'm here,” Dick snarls before turning around. “Alright, everyone, let's get going.”

Together, they pile onto their various vehicles, but Jason hesitates when he sees Alfred waiting by his bike.

“I am sorry, my boy. I… I was not aware of what had occurred that night,” Alfred murmurs. “To think we came so close to losing you again…”

“It's– it's fine, Alfie,” Jason whispers, no longer willing to force his voice into anything louder. Alfred offers him a small, pained smile, handing him a small box.

“Drink this when you return home. It will help your throat.”

Jason smiles something genuine at that, nodding. “I'll keep in touch.”

“Indeed. I would expect nothing less.”

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