WARNING: This chapter contains vulgar language and conversation. It includes drugs, rape aftermath, and mentions cutting.

Just One More Taste (Again)

By: Cas

Beta'd By: Leradomi

For: Trunksblue … Don't blame her for this poorly written story, just accuse her of being an awesome friend to grow up with (in the fanfic world). May she and I always text while she paints and I shovel gravel. ;)

Chapter Seven: Grote Puinhoop

"All my new friends, we smiled at party-time, but soon we forgot to smile at anything else." AJR

The first week went far too slowly for Jason Peter Todd.

Dick stuck to his room almost exclusively, but when he did appear it was with a new look: a baseball cap or hood pulled up, allowing him to avoid eye contact with others. Alfred had been disgruntled at first, trying to force Dick to show his face, but after awhile just resigned to telling the older teen how much he missed seeing his eyes, like that might be enough to lower the physically created defenses.

It never was.

In fact, it usually made Dick instantly grumble and leave the vicinity.

Jason hated when that happened. Alfred would smile and quickly turn away, his sadness palpable, even while unspoken.

Alfred spent his time preparing for the next weekends fundraiser. The butler was constantly on the phone, arguing the fine points of the party. It was impressive; the amount of detail the British man poured into such a frivolous affair. Catering, cleaning, guest lists, valet parking, deserts, music, clothing, press, drinks, seating - the list was unending, and there were times Jason would sit at the island in the kitchen and just listen.

There was a kind of comfort knowing Alfred was in control.

Though, that comfort evaporated each night when Jason was forced to a sit-down dinner with Richard Grayson. Alfred had insisted, brokering no argument. The first night had been awful. The two teenagers were still overly sensitive after their most recent fight, and neither had wanted to make peace quite yet.

Dick had made his first appearance with a ball-cap that night. He wore it like impenetrable armor, but as soon as Alfred appeared with their plates the argument began.

"No hats at the table, Master Richard."

Utter silence was the (overly-loud) silent response, accompanied by hidden blue eyes. The pang of hurt that crossed the butlers face was enough to make Jason angry, and he didn't hesitate to make it known. "You don't talk to him like that!"

Dick, who had been slouched in his chair, shifted to appear taller. "I didn't say anything."

"Exactly, you ignored him. He's talking to you!"

"What?! You just told me not to talk to him, like – you know what, forget it," a stuttering, unintelligible break, "just forget it! I'm not hungry anyhows." Dick slammed backwards in an attempt to leave, but Alfred was speaking in staccato, forcing the two to listen.

"You will both finish your meal, be it in friendly conversation or silence. Otherwise, Master Bruce will be told of your inability to coexist. No doubt, I imagine, he will issue a collaborative punishment wherein forced team work will be necessary."

Dick had tilted his head back and flicked the rim of his ball-cap up to momentarily meet Jason's eyes; a hushed, non-verbal agreement in play.

Alfred glanced between the two, aware of their silent communication. "You will act the part of gentlemen at my dinners, understood?"

"Yes, sir." Dick muttered, tugging his hat back over his eyes. "I apologize."

"You're still wearing the hat, mofo," Jason hissed under his breath as the butler disappeared back to the kitchen.

Dick momentarily stilled, his fork raised toward his mouth, and for a moment something hung in the air – an anger inner twined amidst something inconsolable. But then the eighteen-year-old returned to movement.

He said nothing.

He did nothing.

And the hat stayed in place.

After that, when Dick passed Jason in the hall, the fourteen-year-old made a point to offer obscene gestures, all of which were ignored. That had pissed Jason off, so he'd resorted to running his mouth, saying every filthy thing he could think of. It had almost been enough to make him happy, but Dick finally got fed up and started throwing his own slurs and insults.

The two teens really did create a potent potpourri blend of offensive language and remarks.

Alfred had caught them at it twice, and the second time he followed up on his threat to tell Bruce.

That had sucked because they were both assigned to learn Dutch, and every night Alfred would quiz their progress. Though, it hadn't been all bad and turned into a kind of game. Now, when they passed in the hall, they'd toss out newly acquired words, trying to arrange insults but usually just making each other laugh. So, by that Friday, they had started to collaborate and learn the words together.

Their favorite insult they'd come across had been: Grote puinhoop (big mess), which Jason had found strange considering the amount of cursing both did in English, though maybe that's what made it so humorous. That and the pronunciation. One of them would mutter it under their breath to either Alfred or Bruce and the other boy would dissolve into laughter.

It wasn't until Jason overheard Alfred telling Bruce that learning the language had brought the two 'boys' closer that Dutch became a drag to learn yet again.

Thus, that Sunday, ended the short run of 'grote puinhoop'.

Jason had been allowed to start back at a new school that Monday, and it had been hard on both teens. Jason was buried in work as he tried to catch up in his new classes, so much so that his language punishment had been lifted, leaving Dick to study alone. The eighteen year old hadn't liked that, so he'd stopped as well, and instead lay in bed binge watching TV shows on his iPad. That had pissed Bruce off, but the man attempted to to be civil whereas Dick was simply obstinate.

Which made dinners painful.

Tuesday's Dinner:

"Learn any new words today, Dick?"

"No."

"Well, it will be a great asset to your skill set as Nightwing."

Wednesday's Dinner:

"Learn any new words today, Dick?"

The Romani had just lowered his head, allowing the brim of his ball-cap to cover his eyes, ignoring the question.

"No? Ok, well what did you do?"

"Nothing."

"I see ... let's make a plan for tomorrow."

This had earned a groan that Bruce pretended not to hear as he rattled off three simple tasks for Dick to accomplish before the following dinner. 1) Learn five new Dutch words 2) Work out in the gym for thirty-five minutes 3) Sort through his old boxes in the attic for donations.

Thursday's Dinner:

"Alfred said you didn't do anything on the list we made?"

"You can give all my old shit away. I don't care, so technically that's one thing off your list."

"That's unacceptable."

"No, it's a grote puinhoop."

"Richard-."

"Jesus, would you give it up? Maybe if you let me go back to my place I wouldn't fucking ignore your stupid lists and sage advice."

"Three hours. You have three hours to finish that goddamn list. And lose the hat!"

"And if I don't?"

"You get to accompany me to work tomorrow, and I plan to be there all day."

Dick had the list done in under an hour; but he'd kept the hat.

This led to the here and now of Friday's dinner. Jason was standing in front of Dick's door, hands deep in his pockets, using his foot to kick-knock. "Dinner, Dickhead." There was the sound of someone getting up and the door opened, showing a newly awoken Dick Grayson. He stepped into the hall, tugging the hood on his zip-up to cover his head and shield his eyes.

"Please tell me Bruce isn't home."

"Think so. Sorry," Jason said as they started to walk. "It sucks." He meant it too. Bruce might be attempting the 'understanding' attitude, but it still was pretty horrific. Honestly, Jason thought if Dick would stop being such a little asshole, things could go smoother, but he knew better than say anything.

"When I was a kid I loved the nights he'd be home for dinner. Now it's a punishment."

"You're not the only one suffering."

They were almost to the dining room, so Dick curbed his reply into a simple statement: "Eet smakelijk." The fact that Jason had no idea what he said, save that he'd spoken Dutch, caused a small flutter of hope. Maybe dinner wouldn't be a game of tug-of-war mixed with shadow-tag.

Then again, this was Dick. Just a few days ago the Romani had displayed his advancement in the language. It'd been after school, and the two had taken half an hour for Xbox.

Jason had made a simple tease, trying to incorporate their new language. "Hold on to your 'broekies'!"

Dick had stilled, thumbs pausing for only a millisecond as he easily translated. "You're the only 'rookie' I see here." He'd then directed the onscreen player to use a combination of a freeze bomb, 25 percent burn explosive, and a few well planted weight traps to effectively drain Jason's character's health.

Jason's grip on his controller had tightened in anger at the loss of the game. "Fuck!" A few moments later he had been relaxed enough to question Dick's comment. "What do you mean rookie? I said 'broekies'."

"You mean 'broek', which means pants. 'Broekies' means rookie, kinda like how it sounds. You're Americanizing it, trying to make it plural when it already is, or can be - depending on the sentence structure."

That was Dick, an expert in gaming, languages, and straight up perfect. He probably knew more than enough to blimp off Bruce radar, but for whatever reason he wasn't doing so, and it was wearing thin on everyone.

Jason entered first to find Bruce already seated and scrolling through his phone, only looking up to access before looking returning his attention. Dick took a chair, avoiding eye contact, and began to eat as quickly as possible. Jason never understood this tactic, but the Romani tried it every night and had yet to succeed.

"How was school?" Bruce usually started this way, and Jason tried not to blame Dick for the nightly inquiry. It was really getting old, and the good old days of eating in silence seemed like a far off dream.

"Fine. I'm all caught up. Nothing really to talk about."

"Socially?"

Ok. Maybe Jason did hate Dick a little and blame him a lot. The very idea that Bruce was trying to force this conversation caused hackles to rise. Jason forced a passive expression and shrugged. "A wellspring of options. Some good, some bad, but to answer everyone's underlying concern: No. I'm not getting into any trouble."

Dick had already began chuckling and tried to divert to his milk instead. As to why the eighteen year old found anything humorous was beyond Jason. So, he ignored it. There was the clatter of utensils on plates for awhile before Bruce went to phase two. "And you, Dick?"

"You already asked Alfred about me. So, why even bother getting it from the horse? Horse source."

That had Jason crack a grin. "I believe you mean paardmond. Or as we Americans say, 'horse's mouth'."

"'Demond van het paard' is a better translation. But then again, what do I know? It's not like I've been tasked to learn frickin' Dutch."

Jason thought that, perhaps, Dick was taking it too far, so he just rolled his eyes and focused on dinner.

Bruce was quiet, taking another bite of his salad as he considered a reply. "Thank you for accomplishing everything you set out to do."

When Dick muttered: "Everything you set out for me to do," everyone heard and wisely ignored it. Jason actually thought they might get through the night unscathed, but then Alfred came out into the room with the pretense of checking everyone's drinks. "I trust you two gentlemen remember tomorrow nights fundraiser?"

The question had clearly been directed at Bruce and Dick, but the eighteen year old just looked between his guardian and Jason, waiting for them to respond.

"Yes, thank you," Bruce said, pushing away from the table and pausing as Dick remained silent.

"Jason?" Dick pressed, polite as all get-out. "They want an answer."

"Yeah, but not from me, Dickhead!"

"Well, they aren't talking to me, and see Alfie? Right there, he called me Dickhead, I told you he's still doing it!"

Bruce seemed unsure of himself when he spoke, probably because he knew where it would lead. Currently, the eighteen-year-old wasn't know for his clear thinking or smooth transitions between moods, and challenging the Romani was like more like Russian roulette than a civil conversation. "Dick, you're attending, not Jason. I told you last week. It's to help smooth over your reputation in the media."

Every ounce of humor was wiped from Dick's face at the statement as the color in his cheeks rose. He shook his head, fumbling with his hands as he shoved them into his sweat jacket. "So, you want me to attend as the friggin' sideshow entertainment to give your 'high society friends' something to gossip about? I am not going to your self-serving political gala, Bruce."

The collective sigh was silent, but Jason felt it released all the same.

"Master Richard, you know we're only trying to help you-."

"Then why make me go, huh? It's not for me, none of this is for me. It's all about making sure the Wayne family doesn't lose face. Same as always. It's all Bruce cares about, and it's all you care about too, Alfred."

"Richard," Bruce warned, but Alfred held up a hand that instantly silence the billionaire.

Jason decided that he wasn't going to sit around for the millionth argument of back and forth that no one seemed to win, so instead collected his place setting and vanished into the kitchen, ignoring Alfred's bereaved remarks on how improper it was for him to clear the table.

That night, Jason suited up with Bruce and the two headed into the city. Neither spoke of the past days, dinners, or of Dick. It was a welcome change of pace, and when they finally pulled back into the cave, those the early hours of Saturday morning, Jason couldn't stop a sigh. He showered, dressed, but then hesitated before retreating up the stairs. Instead, he walked over to the batcomputer. "I don't want to go to my room."

Bruce, who had been dictating, paused to glance over.

"Dick'll hear me come up," Jason explained as he tried to push away conflicting emotions of guilt and annoyance.

"Ah."

"Do you think you could ease up? Hell, just let him go out as Nightwing every now and again. That might help? He's probably restless."

Batman simply stared, holding the teen in his sights. "He's been banned by the JLA, so he needs Diana and Kal-El to agree – which they won't. It's far too soon."

"But-."

"He's got an indoor pool, a gym, and acres and acres of land … He's not restless, he's depressed."

"Well, clearly, but-."

"And I assure you, nobody has been hard on him. Dick has three things he's been assigned each day. Alfred and I are giving him space before pressing for him for more. The ball, as it were, is entirely in Dick's court." The answer sounded harsh, but it was anything but. "If he's complaining too much, you should tell him that."

To this, Jason made a face, "Right, and then he'll be mad at me and have nobody to talk to."

"That will be on him. He shouldn't put everything on you when he has other family available." And just like that the Dark Knight returned to his dictations.

So, the fourteen year old went up to his room, deciding he'd tell Dick off if need be. He was tired and only wanted to crawl into his warm bed and snuggle down under soft covers with nothing but the ceiling fan to accompany the silence. He'd worked hard this week to catch up in class. He'd sat through awkward family dinners. And he'd listened to a never ending list of complaints from Dick each night. Yes, last weekend they'd had fun, and that had been enough for Jason to be compliant, just not tonight.

Tonight he was going to sleep.

He dug into his nightstand and pulled out the flat-head screwdriver he slept with each night. His mother had given it to him a long time ago, utterly stoned, and told him he had to learn to take care of himself or he'd die. He'd been six. Six, surrounded by rotting food and hands that offered kindness one second and abuse the next.

Jason had learned, pretty quick, that the flat head was near pointless, yet he kept it near. Under his pillow, the protection of his parents was always close by. Mostly useless, yet comforting all the same.

He was hardly in his pajamas when his door banged open and Dick entered, iPad in hand and hood over head. "Look at this," the Romani said as he jumped onto the bed, landing on his knees before twisting to sit cross legged. "Some guy caught you and Bruce on his camera, made a short video."

Interest peaked, Jason walked over and sat beside the other teen, their shoulders bumping together. He watched a 5 second clip of Batman and Robin swinging between buildings. The most impressive part was the guy freaking out like a fanboy. "That guy's got issues," Jason muttered as he stood and went to the other side of the bed to pull back the covers and crawl in.

Dick, oblivious, continued to search for other things online. Jason was almost asleep when Dick's voice cut in, forcing him back to unwanted awareness. "Bruce is making me go tomorrow," he began, self pity seeping into every word.

The groan Jason emitted was purposeful. "Dick, I'm sleeping!"

"Sorry, it's just … I'm going to have to, you know, socialize."

"You love talking, Dickhead, you'll be fine."

Dick shuttered, hunching over the electronic in his lap. "I don't want to go, but Alfred just said that 'we all have to do things we don't want to', as if that's any help."

"Well, we do. It's true. That's true. Es verdad and so on. Buenas noches."

"Currently I'm only doing things I don't want to."

"Oh, for Christ-sake, Dickie, you're such a whiny bitch. All you do is sleep and fuck around on your iPad." Jason knew he was being far too harsh, but tonight had made him realize how much Dick had been getting on his nerves. "Your biggest problem is learning a few words and some chores. I'd say you've got it pretty fucking good."

Dick hadn't turned to face him the whole rant, but now that the silence fell he retorted: "You're right, I've got it made. Hope patrol was-."

"Don't try it! Don't make me feel guilty 'cause I can still go out. You were snorting and drinking like you'd been born to it, and since we're being honest, I think you deserve everything Bruce has dished out. So maybe-."

"Fuck off, Jason. You don't know shit."

"You need to learn how to save yourself, Goldilocks. You might have grown up as Robin, and I'm aware you saw some fucked up shit, but at the end of the day you had a fucking 'daddy' who held you, tucked you in, and made the monsters go away. Lots of people don't have that, they don't get the luxury of being dragged home and protected." Jason flexed his fingers, feeling his screwdriver and conviction. "We have to learn to do it ourselves."

Now it was Dick's turn to be angry. "You don't know my life, so stop thinking I'm this spoiled, pampered rich kid!"

"But you are!" Jason sat up and glared at the eighteen year old sitting on the bed beside him. "You so fucking are. Your parents died, and yeah, there was your stint in juvie, but lets face it – you went from parents who loved you, to Bruce and Alfred who love you exactly the same! I don't feel bad sayin' it; you've been loved and wanted your entire life! Any problem you've ever had is magically cured."

It was untrue, it was untrue and too much to hear. Dick twisted off the bed, angry and indignant. Jason didn't have a clue. Jason just assumed he knew more because he grew up poor. "I'm sorry you were born in Crime Alley, but you stack up your own misery and use it as a podium to preach from. You're right, I've got Bruce and Alfred, but that doesn't mean I don't go through the same shit as you. Besides, aren't you a tad hypercritical? Look who adopted you without a second thought. You think I got that?"

Jason simply smiled and shrugged. "You love to be hurt by that fact, you selfish prick. Yeah, sorry your daddy adopted me. I'm sorry you've been forced to share for the first time in your perfect princess life."

"Share? You seem to forget that legally I don't have parents, you do! So don't-."

"If that were the case then why are you still hanging around? You spend all your time bitching about how unfair Bruce is, but you never leave."

"He won't let me!"

"You won't let you! Last I checked Bruce wasn't the kind of guy who held people against their will. You're still here because of one simple truth: your dad gave you an order and you can't bear to disobey."

"That's not true. You know that's not true."

"Then why are you here? You say you want to leave, so what are you doing sticking around?" Jason slowly got to his feet. "You're eighteen, he can't do anything. I mean, what the hell? You afraid he'll drag you back and send you to bed without supper? You're eighteen, grow a pair! If you hate it, do something. Otherwise stop complaining so fucking much."

"Shut up!" Dick snarled as he felt heat rise in his face. Jason had a point, Bruce really couldn't do anything. So, why was he still here? He forced the question away, too perturbed to focus.

"See, where I'm from, we get beaten, stomped on, and then we turn around and love those people because more often than not loyalty is the only redeeming quality we have, unquestioning loyalty, like a pissed on dog that just keeps coming back for more." Jason snatched up his screwdriver, brandishing it so Dick could see. "I learned to sleep with this as a kid. You? You learned to sleep being tucked in with stuffed animals. When scary shit happened to me, I had to either fight or shut-up and accept it. You? You just run down the hall to Bruce."

Dick's heart had already been thumping too fast, now it seemed to pick up all the more. He didn't want Jason to be right, he didn't want to even consider the possibility that yeah, he was super lucky and had no right to complain. "I'm sorry your life sucked, but I think if an alley kid ever saw you, they'd think the same damn thing."

Jason nodded, unexpectedly. "I am well aware. But I don't moan and bitch, do I?"

"No, you get off on making everyone around you feel like shit. No doubt you learned that from your fucked-up family. You're right, I do hate that Bruce adopted you, but I can't even imagine how hard it is for you-."

"Oh, for fucks sake," Jason snorted, rolling his eyes. "Here you go again."

"-All you do is say that I've no right to complain, that I've had it 'oh-so-good,' and you're right. My parents loved me. Bruce and Alfred love me. But you-."

"I swear to god if you say I'm unloved, I'll laugh. At you. Hard."

It was Dick's turn to smile now as he prepared to land a low-blow; to end the argument and win. "Your mother chose to be blasted out of her mind instead of loving you. Your dad only noticed you when you were in the way, then he'd just shove you aside. Now you're here, and seeing me must be torturous. The knowledge that nobody's ever picked you first, that you were only adopted because I was gone. But I'm back now, and you're scared as shit because you're afraid you'll wake up, one day, all alone. You'll realize it wasn't that nobody wanted you. It's just that you're fuckin' unlovable."

"RICHARD JOHN GRAYSON!"

Dick flinched and instantly ducked his head, his face turning all the more red. How long had Alfred been there? Jason's face was unreadable, as if he didn't care one way or another, though Dick doubted that was true. Slowly, he made to turn and face the butler.

"And I want to feel something again. I just want to feel something again." AJR

To be continued…

DUTCH WORDS: (I don't speak Dutch, some of my family does ... but my siblings/myself never were forced to learn, so excuse my translations. They're correct while not being spot on. It made more sense to use the words and sentences I know, than researching for the correct translation. Nobody perfects a language instantly.)

Eet smakelijk: eat well, let's eat, eat in good taste …basically something you say before a meal.

Broek: pants

Broekies: rookie

Grote puinhoop: a big mess

If there are any Dutch-Americans who read, hit me up. We'll talk about banket, stroopwafel and getting chocolate letters for Christmas. What up, Almond paste. ;)

Thanks to Justnaomi for corrections!

1. Konohaflameninja is to thank for starting this chapter. Jays vs. Dick. ;)

2. I can't promise this story will continue. I realize people do this as a ploy, mine is more due to personal issues. Im working a shit-ton. Hard labor, the non-stop-moving kind. Posting this is already eating into my sleep. I just have to focus on making life work. I'll still write, the intervals will be like they were this last time. Thanks for being cool. CAS