{the despairing bird}

-He who loves perceives a decline in his happiness-

In all of his wildest nightmares, he had never concocted this situation. He had never thought once that maybe his past would be dredged up by the ghosts of the children he had left behind. He remembered. He saw their gaunt faces as they sat around him, looking to him for some semblance of support. But he had none. He had nothing to give them. He had been just as lost and terrified as them, and there was nothing the broken could do for the broken.

The pain of standing upright was a startling rush of agony that sped throughout his body in the form of waves crashing against nerves. He shook as every moment sent a sharp jolt of agony through him, stabs of pain pushing him to the point where his mind was running rampant and wild and all the words in the entire world were pouring into his head and his thoughts were fervent screams that could not be discerned. Years of pain from a missing limb came tumbling back to him, smacking him with a fist of fury. He was crying before he knew it, stumbling against the walls as he toppled into a bathroom and collapsed onto the cool tile floor.

Is this my punishment, he wondered, for surviving?

Pain was no stranger to Jason Todd. It was more like a despicably close acquaintance that followed Jason at his back, waiting for the opportune moment to strike at him from behind. There was agony in existence. And Jason's existence was an unfortunate one.

He lay in that position, his body curling against the shudders of sharp pain that rolled through him, sending him into shock. He hadn't expected it to hurt so much. He thought he could handle it. It looked so easy. It seemed so easy to believe that he could stand on his own, when everything in the entire world was crashing against him and pinning him down. Tears stung his eyes as he trembled biting against his knuckle to keep himself from screaming.

"Jason!"

Jason closed his eyes, flinching away as Tim's face floated worriedly above his. Through the pounding of his heart in his head, he heard the door click closed. There was a trickle of relief and shame that toiled with the immeasurable agony, but the horror of the pressure upon his stump was too heavy.

"Hey," Tim whispered, touching Jason's quaking shoulders gently. "Jay…"

"Don't," Jason spat, curling into himself.

"You're… so stubborn," Tim sighed, pulling Jason upright. He couldn't help but gasp, choking on the pain that clutched at him. He opened his eyes as Tim propped his body up against the wall beside the sink. The boy smiled wanly, his blue eyes sad as they searched Jason's face. He had grown up so much, and yet nothing seemed to have changed at all. Jason saw the curious child that he had befriended within the framework of sad blue eyes, and calmly curled lips, and delicately furrowed brows. He saw that stupid boy he had mistakenly advanced on, and his tears of pain turned to tears of shame. It made him sick to think of how awful he had been to Tim Drake.

Jason was still awful to Tim Drake.

"I can't," Jason said. He was desperate. He was scared, and desperate, and he was choking on memories.

Tim sighed again. Jason couldn't help but watch his lips as they parted every so slightly. "I know," he said, staring straight into Jason's eyes. "You're scared, and you're hurt. I get it."

"No," Jason whispered, shaking his head sharply. "No, you don't, okay, just stop. Stop talking about it. Why did you say anything, Tim, why the fuck would you do that? Why can't you just leave that shit where it belongs."

"Where does it belong?" Tim asked gently.

Jason breathed in sharply. The air caused his head to spiral, and stars dotted his eyes as tears flooded against his cheeks.

"With me," Jason said, his voice quivering, "in a grave."

"Jason, no."

"No?"

"No." Tim stared at him, and his eyes kept flickering over Jason's face, searching for something that Jason could not relinquish. "I know it hurts. I know you don't want to remember. But you need to try. Just the place, Jase, not the people. Just remember the place."

"I told you I can't." Jason matched Tim's stare, tears burning against his flushed cheeks. Sweat was building at the base of Jason's neck, and he had to take a deep breath. He could feel Tim, and he was close enough that his breath was mingling with Jason's, and he could taste its sweetness. "Fuck, I-I… I don't even—"

Jason's words became a muffled rising of his voice as a pair of soft lips stole his words from him. Tim had slipped his hands behind Jason's head, cupping his neck before dragging his head away from the wall. It was surreal, the tenderness of the kiss as lips lingered together hesitantly, uncertainly. Tim's eyes were open, and so Jason stared into them, the question burning inside his gaze. The pain was still horrifyingly present, and tears were still pooling inside his eyes.

Tim moved, his head tilting as his lips parted, his tongue slipping against Jason's teeth. And Jason couldn't believe it. It was unlike any kiss Jason had ever had, in that it seemed so innocent. Tim kissed him tentatively. Every move he made, it was a question uttered from lips to lips. Is this okay? Are you okay? Jason could taste his concern as it bubbled over his mouth and into his own, bitter and stinging against his tongue. Jason remained very still as one of Tim's hands trailed from the nape of Jason's neck to resting against his cheek.

The kiss was returned with a mixture of confusion and desperation. Jason's arms were hooked around Tim's waist, dragging him closer without hesitation. Tim's body easily maneuvered around Jason's legs, careful not to sit on them, and so instead he sort of just straddled Jason's waist, their chests bumping against each other. Jason's eyes widened as Tim winced, and he broke the kiss with a breath.

"Are you—?" Jason asked.

"Fine," Tim breathed. He smiled as Jason's thumbs found their way around the loop of Tim's belt, tugging at him gently. "You know, you're pretty needy."

Jason responded with his teeth catching Tim's lower lip, toying with loose skin as he caught a taste of blood from an earlier cut. But Tim was still smiling, and there was a brief period where they sat like this. Jason's back pinned against a wall, Tim's hips digging into his own, his lips matching the pace of Jason's. The moment Jason's hand slipped beneath Tim's shirt, his fingers tracing the muscle around his ribs, was the moment a third person appeared in the room.

The door had not opened, but there had been a burst of air, a gust of wind from nowhere. Immediately Tim and Jason broke apart, and Tim twisted his body around to face the astonished Bart Allen. There was a blush creeping up Tim's neck, red and warm and embarrassed, and Jason felt the urge to kiss it. Tim's chest was heaving beneath Jason's fingers, and his heart was pounding viciously.

"Um…" Bart said weakly, his eyes large and round and alarmed. He looked up at the ceiling as he bounced fast in place. "Um…"

"Spit it out," Jason snapped.

"Okay," Bart said, blinking rapidly. "Sorry, I just didn't expect that."

Join the club, Jason thought, his eyes trailing to Tim's face. He was facing Bart, his expression inscrutable.

"What is it, Bart?" Tim asked, unwinding his legs from Jason's waist.

"Deathstroke," Bart said, waving his arms wildly. "He's coming here, like right now!"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Jason blurted. He groaned, and smacked his head back against the wall. "I want to go back to sleep."

"Shh," Tim hissed, pressing a hand to Jason's chest. He never looked at him, though. "Okay, Bart, we'll be right out."

"Yeah, sure." Bart flung his hands into the air, eyes still stunningly wide. "I'll knock next time!"

"Good idea," Tim sighed.

Jason watched as Bart phased through the door, leaving behind only a blur of yellow. He felt Tim take a deep breath, his skin pulling taut around his ribs. It was warm. Jason bent his head, his lips connecting with flushed skin of Tim's throat. His body went immediately rigid upon contact.

"Jay," Tim whispered. "We have to go."

Jason pulled back, and he rested his forehead against Tim's chest. "Yeah," he said, closing his eyes. "I know."

Tim's fingers rested against the top of Jason's head, while the other hand rubbed his back hesitantly.

"Hey," Jason said, "Tim?"

"Yeah?"

His mouth tasted bitter.

"I know a Catwoman play when I see one."

Tim jolted back immediately, and he grasped Jason's head, pulling it up so that they were eye level. "No, that's—"

"Don't fucking lie to me," Jason snapped.

Tim stared at him. He stayed utterly silent, and Jason watched his lips press into a thin line.

He took a deep breath, and pulled his hand out from beneath Tim's shirt. "It was an old train station converted into a hotel that closed forever ago," Jason said distantly. "It's in Crime Alley. I don't know the name, but it leads right down into the underground tunnels. That's where they keep the kids they kidnap off the streets."

"Thank you," Tim said quietly. He was staring down into his lap. "Jason, I…"

"Don't apologize," Jason said. He slumped, his head resting back against the wall behind him. There was an odd numbness to every move he made. "It's not like I've never been used before."

"No," Tim gasped, reaching out and grasping Jason by the front of the shirt. "Oh, god, no, Jason, that's not it at all. Listen to me—"

Jason grasped Tim's hands, and stared into his sad blue eyes. "I'm not angry," he admitted, his brow furrowing. "I don't know why, but I'm not. You… made me feel a lot better. You make me feel a lot better. And, if it's any consolation…" Jason smirked at him, and his hands slithered from Tim's fingers to his wrists, yanking him closer. "You can use me any time you want."

There was a strange mixture of horror and shame and embarrassment that crowded Tim's flushed face. But there was also something glinting beneath it all that Jason had learned at a very young age to spot right away. Desire. So Jason smirked a little more, and he kissed Tim one last time— quick and chaste, his lips pressing softly against the sweaty skin of his forehead.

Tim helped Jason to his feet, slinging his arm over his shoulder and holding him tight around the waist.

"I wasn't using you," Tim said as they moved toward the door.

"Oh, don't feed me that shit," Jason grunted, wincing at every movement. "You can tell yourself you weren't, and you can even convince yourself that it's true. But give me a little credit, kay? I've had experience with this kind of thing, and I know."

"You're talking about it so openly," Tim said slowly.

"Am I?" Jason, of course, had noticed. But it was a sudden feeling of total apathy toward the entire subject. Yes. He had once been a prostitute. Yes. It had been so excruciating that it was easier to accept the fact that he had been comatose for four years rather than dredge up those memories. But Jason was twenty years old now. Those painful memories were so far away, and he was alive. He was free. And he had a home to go back to, a home that was safe and warm and loving.

And he also had Tim. As manipulative and sad as he was.

And Jason found himself loving him a little more for that very reason.

I finally get why you're never over Selina, Bruce, Jason thought, carefully holding himself against Tim's body. They walked in silence. There's fear in loving something volatile. But there's comfort too, because at least you're aware of the danger.

They stepped into the living room, and found it empty except for Bart. Jason stared at him, his fingers tightening against the fabric of Tim's shirt as the boy sat on the floor, broken glass and cold coffee spilt around him. Jason was stunned. The table was shattered, splintered wood strewn across the floor, and Jason realized that someone had been thrown atop it. How had they not heard that?

Bart was hugging one leg to his chest, his knuckles white as he clutched his shin. His head was bowed, and his shoulders were shaking. The window was open beside them, and frigid winter air was spilling into the room, capturing their breaths and freezing the tears on Bart's cheeks.

"What happened?" Tim gasped, craning his neck to look around the room.

Bart looked up. There was blood dribbling down his cheek from a narrow little cut that graced his cheekbone, and tears splashed into the open wound. How could this happen? Jason wondered, gritting his teeth. We were only gone for a few fucking minutes, how…? And then Jason heard a string of shouts that rustled in the distance, battling against the wail of wind. Hesitantly, he peered out the window.

On the roof of the building across from them, a blur of human shapes moved fast as they bounced off each other. Jason recognized Deathstroke, who was standing on the ledge of the roof, watching with his arms folded behind his back as two small girls battled in the barren whiteness of winter. The inky blackness of Cassandra Cain's hair was stark against the gray and white around her, and Jason watched her dodge as Stephanie Brown attacked with a shocking amount of malice.

"Tim," Jason said, tugging on Tim's shirt. The smaller boy turned his head to peer out the window. It took a matter of moments for his expression to crumple.

"No way," he breathed. His eyelids drooped, and Jason watched as his sadness seemed to escalate and pour from his skinny body, bursting across the air and igniting the coldness around them. "She wouldn't!"

"She kicked me into the table," Bart said quietly. "I-I think my leg's broken."

"Fuck," Jason snarled, running his fingers through his hair. His knees buckled as some amount of pain came creeping back into his stump, smacking him hard. Tears stung his eyes, and he fought them back. "We should have seen this coming."

"No," Tim blurted. "No, give her the benefit of the doubt."

Jason looked down at him, and he slipping his fingers into Tim's hair, grasping it tightly and jerking his head in the direction of Bart's tear streaked face. Tim buckled a little at the force Jason used.

"Look real hard, Timmy," Jason hissed.

"I'm looking," Tim retorted, "and I see that she didn't kill anyone."

"Tim's right," Bart said, looking up at them both desperately. "Steph's nice, and… and I don't think she meant it. I think she was trying to protect us."

"She broke your leg!" Jason snarled.

"She stopped Deathstroke from blowing us up!" Bart cried, looking like a small child as he held his shin. Upon closer inspection, Jason saw that Bart's shin looked awkwardly bent inward. "We have to believe in her, okay? We have to let her explain!"

"I'm going to talk to her," Tim said, turning to Jason. "Will you be okay?"

"No." Jason was enraged, but he had to let reason take over. He didn't want to believe that Stephanie was evil. She was sweet, and he couldn't help but empathize with her. He knew what it was like to be forced into something despicable, without a clear way out. It was wrong for him to blame her. "But I'll live. Go."

Tim stared at Jason for a moment, and then he smiled. He rested his forehead against Jason's cheek, and then left him sitting on the couch as he spun away. "I'll be right back," Tim swore, pulling his hood up over his head so it shadowed his face.

Jason sat quietly as Tim disappeared. He slumped, and twisted his head to look out the window. Cyborg and Helena were now on the roof as well. It was a funny sight, since Helena and Cassandra were still in their pajamas. Jason couldn't help his concern as he recalled that Cassandra was only wearing a sports bra and sweatpants.

Bart was wiping at his face with his forearm, and Jason turned back to look at him. He wondered where Barbara had gone, and he rubbed his hands together as he tried to keep himself calm. Bruce, he thought hopelessly. Come on, Bruce, come home, we need you.

"Sorry I walked in on you," Bart sniffed, peeling back his cowl. His eyes were red-rimmed and glassy.

"It's okay," Jason lied, resting his cheek against his knuckles. "It was important."

Bart smiled wanly. "You know," he said, setting his chin down on his knee. He still held onto his shin for dear life, and Jason wondered if it hurt as much as his ghost of a leg did. "I'm really, really glad that I'm here."

"Um," Jason said, his eyebrows rising. "Why? You just got punted into a fucking table by someone you thought was a friend."

"Yeah!" Bart beamed up at Jason, and he shrugged. "A friend! I've made so many new friends over the past few days. And I'm really happy about that."

"Did you miss the part where she broke your leg, or…?"

"I really don't think she meant it," Bart said earnestly. His eyes were glowing brightly, and his breath hung in the air as the cold drifting from the window captured the warmth in a mist.

"What if she did?" Jason asked, his voice quiet as he stared at Bart's face. The boy stiffened a little, his smile faltering. "What if she was just playing us the entire time?"

"Then," Bart said softly, "we've lost a little, and gained a lot."

"What exactly did we gain?"

Bart laughed in spite of his pain, and Jason wanted to throttle him a little. "You and Tim!" Bart said, grinning broadly. "Duh!"

Jason struggled to understand his optimism. And he had no time to dwell on it.

A gunshot cracked across the air, booming through the open window and causing two battered boys to jump upright in spite of their pain.

makeouts

i don't have the next chapter finished so this might be

the last update for a while

i can't promise anything tbh i'm sorry D=

shout out to vic hugo: why is a copy of the man who laughs so hard to find?