jason todd. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
reneger) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
singillatim2025-01-09 04:16 pm
reneger) wrote in singillatim2025-01-09 04:16 pm
Entry tags:
( closed ) worse than you've ever been
Who: jason todd & misc
What: a catch-all
When: january-march
Where: milton, mostly.
Content Warnings:
What: a catch-all
When: january-march
Where: milton, mostly.
Content Warnings:
no subject
"If the animals are gone, then it was planned. The departure. Because Damian wouldn't leave them behind. But if the pets are still here..."
If there's rust-red on the pines around them and hoof tracks, signs of snow plowed through with the deep and brute force of a heavy panicked animal, if there's the spotted hide upturned and the black unmoving against the endless white ahead of them... if. If. A lifetime can come and go and If will remain as stalwart as this snow. Tim rubs at his forehead- presses a knuckle of a closed fist against it.
He's not paranoid, he's...
"I don't have a runny nose."
Tim Drake isn't paranoid, just confused. (Or: paranoid, and confusing.) He peers against the glare of daylight, and thinks he heard himself whine with his last words like some overtired toddler would. He thinks about--
he needs to know, though. About Damian. And then he'll figure the rest of it out. And then he'll gnash his teeth and dare Jason to lay finger on Kate. Or maybe he'll deny her and surprise himself and not feel bad about it.
But Tim is whistling in his breathing, and that can't be great. And the dog has his binoculars. And he tried to move his left leg first, to clamber forward and to Jason, but it doesn't move how he wanted it to now that its wet and feeling heavy, so Tim starts forward with his right leg.
A piggyback ride.
Tim grunts- linking his hands loosely across the expanse that is Jason takes a coordinated effort he does not have in him. But he has to know- has heard it twice now from Jason and only three times said aloud-- mumble blessedly distant to his own ears, "How do you know my spleen got kebobbed out of me, anyway?"
no subject
And once Jason's back up on his feet, they're taking off deeper into the forested areas around the town. He'd found Damian somewhere around here when Jason had first appeared, hadn't he? Maybe if they're lucky, they'll find him and his damn dog napping in one of the trees. It sounds like something he'd do.
Jason whistles down to Bitewing, getting the wolf's attention enough he turns his head towards them to see Jason holding out a hand for the binoculars. There's a few teeth marks from where canines had dug into them when he offers them back to Tim, but nothing terrible.
"You keep a lookout, and Grayson Jr here'll hunt. If Batcow or one of his brothers're out here, he'll find him."
Hopefully.
If they're lucky.
Another whistle, and Jason nods his head forward, sending the pup off. It'd be easier if Jason was down on four legs too with a nose that'd pick up anything off, but he's not showing off that particular trick yet. There's a benefit in keeping some things quiet, and he can always come back out here for another look later.
no subject
Feels like that overused, dystopian sci-fi trope: big guy straps little guy to his back and, together, Brains and Brawn plot for world domination.
"Do you... talk Dog to him?" Tim asks, like he doesn't know, because while this is a stupid game to play it is working to settle his skin and make it feel less like it's trying to crawl off of his person. Tim never knew Jason to be an expert animal trainer. "Two barks is a Left, th-three is a Right. A yip means This Is How You Cook Your Red Meat To The Appropriate Temperature?"
It could be an unfunny dig at Jason smelling like something that's not Irish Springs 15-In-1 wash. Or an uncreative way to ask, what the hell inspired the Dog Whisperer arc speedrun.
If they don't find the kid (they won't), then Tim can at least rest easy (he won't) having let Jason know that... he knows. A petty, simple thing.
It makes Tim feel better, despite knowing he's dyin'. (Out here, they're all dying.)
no subject
But it doesn't stop him from rolling his eyes at the stupid comment.
"I had a dog when I was a kid." Entirely different than having a wolf puppy, and it wasn't as if Jason was allowed to keep Sparky around for all that long. Dog food is expensive, and spending time on a living being wasn't either of parents' idea of a good time. "And I don't have anything better to do out here. He's the only one I keep 'round most the time, so we've got an understanding."
The being able to shift into a wolf helps that some. And it's not as if Jason's crap at teaching others things, he just - chooses not to.
smol animal injury sorry u__u
"I always wanted a dog," he murmurs. It's every bit as doleful and irrelevant as when he'd said so to Catman with a raging concussion. Wild that Catman learned this before his brother, but it wasn't Tim's fault that he and Jason weren't trading piggyback rides back then.
Back then, Damian wouldn't give a flying fuck about cutting the line to his grappling gun--
which reminds Tim--
he ducks his head, scrambles to hide behind the collar of his own coat, which means he has to lean back to make it work. He coughs, and doesn't stop coughing, and if Jason loses balance or dumps his butt in the snow then Tim won't blame him but... at least he didn't get spittle all over the guy. There's the wheezing again and the nausea of suffocation again, and Tim stops himself from heaving.
Or maybe Junior (no- Scrappy Doo) makes that decision for him, because when Tim lifts his head again and blinks into the painful glare of white, he has to focus the binoculars. Bring them up to his eyes, and he raps them against Jason's shoulder with a stoic urgency they all know:
"Dog."
Timothy Drake could not be stupider if he tried.
"Dog at-t-- 4 o'clock, one red p-paw-"
Which means
standing on hind legs
reaching a window
broken glass
rearing back
calculating, making a jump
no other observable injuries
broken windows
the storm
jumping back out
"The cabin, just head to the cabin."
The cow would be there.
how dare you
Tips his head enough so he can look to where Tim is directing him: 4 o'clock. By the time he turns his head, Jason notices the cabin, but not the dog. Not until he jumps back out when Jason's still got his eyes on it. He doesn't waste time calling his own dog back; Bitewing will find his way regardless, and Jason's more concerned about the red paw comment. Because red generally equates to blood.
"Yeah. I got it." No need to be bossy, Tim. But Jason leaves the sass out of the conversation, because they've got more important crap to deal with currently. His boot sinks into the snow when he takes a step forward, and Jason starts off about as fast as he can with as much snow as there is.
no subject
He feels like a chicken because of it.
He should be watching on, taking note, finally getting that lukewarm and bitter satisfaction of knowing an answer is just up ahead. But throwing up on Jason would just delay the inevitable, and it's Time that they're up against.
The wolfdog: Tim's seen this one... once or twice. Smaller than Bitewing or Merry with a more wolfish head and expression. Dirty white camouflages well, and a splash of gray hides it in plain sight even in broad daylight. A wily and wild one, always wary- like it's human. Which makes this sight all the more concerning.
The Dog pays them no mind. It knows they're there. But it isn't stupid enough to risk another injury and it circles to another low window that was also broken in the storm. But the glass is strewn less erratically here. With a trail of bright red, Dog leaps into the hall.
Damian's unofficial bedroom would be the second door down.
"Put me down," Tim rasps. He feels something like the suffocating dread he felt with his dad- feels like a coward- knows that they're not going to find anything good in the cabin.
Mostly he wants to throw up.
no subject
But now that he's gone missing? Jason doesn't hesitate to walk himself right up to the door, turning the door knob once before he just shoves his shoulder right into the door and lets them in. With Tim still on his back, he pauses just inside the door, looking for wire or any other boobytraps that might trip them up on the way in. The dog ignores them; Jason assumes Damian had already gotten her used to their scent, given his tendency to train his pets into vicious sidekicks.
"I don't feel like it." In response to Tim's clear request to put him down. He could, but considering there's nothing sharp and pointy being thrown at him, Jason's anticipating bad news going into this - especially given the broken windows, the blood, and what had happened during the storm a while back. And, well, Tim's a little easier to contain if he's stuck against Jason's back. Instead, Jason steadies Tim with both arms, and takes a step inside.
no subject
People do that when agitated. Some holdover from their time as chimpanzees. Flail arms, kick up dirt, hoot and holler and then make a dash into the brush to hide.
Tim wants to think he's only letting Jason know: he's going to hurl.
(Of course there's no booby traps- none left by him because that would be irresponsible. And none by the brat because, if he camped here for the blizzard, then there was no way of knowing if some other person would be scrambling inside for safety at the last minute.)
"Robin!"
It's not even Tim's bark. Or Red Robin's. Or Robin's, when he entered his brownstone home and knew he would find himself turned into this monster like... no, it's a Bat's voice. That snarl that demands answers even from the dark itself.
The type of shout all of them are conditioned to respond to.
There's silence.
Tim kicks, voice thick when he seethes to Red Hood, "Put me down."
Damn it man, he's going to hurl.
no subject
But he yells Robin in the same tone they've all heard directed towards them, the kind of growl that pulls in every Robin, and it's enough that Jason - stiffens his shoulders some even though he knows it's not directed towards him. But nothing happens. Damian doesn't come trudging into the cabin, bitching about them being in his space without an invite. There's no sword or other sharp pointy objects being thrown their way, there's just - nothing.
The kind of nothing that says nothing good.
"Don't go anywhere." It's growled low, more a warning for Tim than anything else, before Jason's unzipping his jacket enough to loosen it and dropping his arm from under Tim. It gives him plenty of space to escape, and Jason waits for Tim to slide loose before he's taking off to search through the place.
no subject
but it's so new to think of Damian as his brother.
And it's too late now, isn't it?
There's stale silence. Tim knows the sound when there's only one person moving through a furnished house, the wheek of a door swinging open to a previously lived-in bedroom. It's different from the quiet of stalking through a warehouse or drug den. Maybe something about the upholstery affecting acoustics. Maybe it's all in his head. Then there's the click-clack of dog paws. And a whine.
Tim's in the kitchen sink and dry heaving, mouth coated thick with saliva, but he thinks that the whining is from the white dog.
Damian's dog.
Like with his passing chat with Bigby, Tim can't think of what he can do that'll help. Not when there's such few options to begin with... and at least he didn't throw up on Jason. He runs faucet and doesn't think he's thinking much at all. That's alarming.
There's cotton in his ears. Can't hear the dog anymore. He smells-- barf. But not blood. That's good. Right-?
Christ.
Tim reaches to turn on the faucet and it's already been turned on. So he sits at the table in the kitchen and can't even help look for his brother's body, or his brother's cow, and he's-- seldom felt so--
eventually, when he trains his eyes on Jason again, Tim just stays quiet. There's an expectation in the glossy eyes of his. But it's not a good one.
Another death in the family-?
no subject
Each door is opened, each room is searched through, every closet or hiding space Damian could have wormed his way into is opened, checked through, destroyed in some cases in Jason's attempt to find the brat. Houses are replaceable, brothers are significantly more difficult to find replacements for. Maybe he'd wormed his way into the walls during the storm earlier, and just - hasn't managed to get himself back up. Maybe he's alive but injured, quietly hiding away and waiting for them to find him. It doesn't matter, Jason's intent on searching every damn inch of the place.
He's not quiet about it either.
There's always the chance he'll find a body, rather than the boy himself. But it's not one Jason dwells on, because it's Damian and there's no way in hell he'd let a goddamn storm take him down.
Instead of a body or an injured boy, he finds - nothing. Damian's been here, but not recently. There's no evidence of an injury that could have taken him out, no blood trails through the cabin, just nothing.
He returns to Tim in the kitchen, exhausted in more ways than Jason could articulate. Rather than look to Tim, Jason drops down to a crouch and reaches for the dog Damian'd left behind, offering a hand out to the whining pup. Doesn't bother looking up when he says, "Nothing."
Which is better than the alternative, even if Jason's tone is rather grim. At least there's no body.
no subject
It's the dog that solves the mystery.
"When people are taken away," Tim says with the feverish tint that begs for rest, "their belongings... stay behind. If they were from this world to begin with."
The pirate had left his friends his precious items.
Ruby's scythe was nowhere to be found.
Claudia's card game had been left spread across Louis' dining room table.
The theory is as weak as a theory can be. Tim isn't for fantastic thinking for the sake of sparing heartbreak- but as weak as the connection is, it is a connection nonetheless.
Lowering his head into his folded arms, watching as the Dog pants in that way that means distress, he feels sure of what he says. Maybe that's the compounded effect of illness on top of illness on top of his own distress.
"That wolfdog was raised alongside Batcow. Pack instinct wouldn't let it leave one of the family behind. That means Damian and his pet are gone. The dog was born in this world. It stays in this world."
Back home, is the theory. But there's no proof, no reason to think it's so. So Tim doesn't voice it.
His vision swims.
"It doesn't get to go where they went."
no subject
It's a mistake he won't make again.
Not after this.
Tim talks, and Jason distracts himself by turning attention to the wolfdog, kneeling down close beside them so he can reach towards the dog and scritch behind their ears. He'll need to go call Bitewing later, make sure he's okay, too, but - well. He's a smart dog, Jason doesn't anticipates him getting into too many shenanigans out there by himself.
"You think he went back?" It's a theory, one Jason's certain Tim was already implying, but one he wants confirmation for regardless: they both want Damian to be okay, but neither of them has any proof. It'd be nice to just - have the illusion of it.
no subject
But all Tim does is swallow, again, to keep from forgetting to breathe altogether. All he does, having readied himself to break the news that No, he didn't mean going back because he could have just as easily meant that Damian had been taken to the yawning grave-- is close his mouth with a surprised, painful clink of teeth.
Because
actually--
"Lieutenant La'an Noonien-Singh."
There's reverence dripping off that name.
Much to Tim's shock, he thinks:
Yes, Damian must have gone back... home.
And maybe Jason doesn't understand, but it's another moment before Tim, with another shudder, gets his mouth to cooperate.
(The Dog doesn't care for this show of affection from the human; its ears twitch back. But it also won't bite. For a second there's apprehension in the golden eyes and then it relents. Help? The Dog paws at Jason. No touch. Not like that. Help?)
"It's happened before. The Aurora brings the Interlopers. There's several... ways that they can leave. But it's happened before, when people leave. If they come back... they'll have gone back home. Lieutenant La'an Noonien-Singh was one of t-them. You can ask."
It's true.
Tim... left out some details, it's true, but...
"Sometimes they're just gone. There is no foul p-play. They can go back home."
no subject
Luckily for everyone involved, Jason habitually carries around a small first aid kit with enough supplies in it to keep him (or anyone else) from bleeding out until he can get somewhere safe, so he drops down to the ground and pulls it out of his jacket, dropping the kit down onto the ground beside him while he reaches for that paw to check over the injury. At minimum, he can bandage it up. If need be, they can hope Tim's weight is enough to keep the dog down on the ground while Jason stitches it up.
"No need." To ask around, anyway. Tim may be a great liar when he wants to be, but he's got no reason to lie to Jason about something like this.
But he'll remember the name. Just in case details come up later.
"We'll get Junior here patched up, then head out. There's nothing else for us here."
no subject
He thinks.
He has the presence of mind to turn over one hand and note the color of his fingernails after he clumsily peels off his glove. There is no acute cyanosis. There's just also no hope that he's going to agree to a trek back to Milton-- and besides, he doesn't want to go. His brother- and Robin- should be occupying his thoughts still and Tim tries. But his head is in his arms and he's slumped over the kitchen table and all he can think is,
"I'll... keep him. You already have a dog."
It should be sounding alarms.
He's frowning, and hears himself mutter, "'sides, I always wanted a dog."
Because, no, he hasn't said it before and some petulant levity is... good. Maybe. He doesn't ask, Can I help because Tim knows the answer. So it's weird that he's decided that doing nothing is acceptable. (Again.)
He looks at the white dog and thinks, he understands. He gets it. Breathing is hard.
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The dog isn't objecting, so Jason yanks off his gloves. Runs his thumbs over the wound to look for glass pieces that may have embedded themselves into it and when he comes back with nothing, opts to gently wrap it so it's not exposed. Figures, that's good enough for now. They can clean it properly when they're not out in the middle of fucking nowhere.
Hands press against his knees, and Jason pulls himself up to his feet just in time for him to catch the sound of another wolfdog howling outside. His head tips towards the noise, but he doesn't respond to it. Instead, he shoves his gloves back on. Walks back over to Tim.
"Time to get going. Get up."
He can't leave Tim out here by himself, but he can't stay longterm either.