( closed ) worse than you've ever been

[reneger]

Who: jason todd & misc
What: a catch-all
When: january-march
Where: milton, mostly.

Content Warnings:

Comments

[reneger]

The flailing and kicking doesn't bother him any. Tim doesn't have the leverage to kick him hard enough for it to be bothersome; there's plenty of other crap he could to do get Jason to let him down, but considering he's not, Jason's going to assume it's due to Tim not being all that determined to get down.

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.

[ployboy]

"Oh, shut up," he snipes. It's wholly unwarranted and a symptom of the thick tension, and entirely (if he dares be so bold) uncharacteristic of any good soldier. Tim could feel the white-hot stab of Jason's words as physically as he now feels the smooth hardwood underneath. He has never left his brother-

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-?

[reneger]

Jason makes quick work of searching through the cabin.

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.

[ployboy]

Tim shivers and it's not from the revelation. The revelation itself isn't... a happy feeling, or even a relieved one, but it's not a type of darkness either: Tim can't word or categorize it, how he feels when he looks at Jason. Jason, who had worried and who had lost a brother.

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."

[reneger]

Poor dog sounds like shit, but Jason - gets it. If he weren't Jason, he'd likely be showing more obvious signs of his own distress right about now: Damian is gone, and there's nothing he can do about it. There's nothing he has done about it up until now, either. He should have reached out to the kid more. Stuck around him more often. Should have been there for him and his animal hoard, yet he - wasn't. He wasn't there for Damian during the storm, wasn't around to ensure he was alright, didn't even notice he was missing until he and Tim here went looking for him.

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.

[ployboy]

It's impossible to think when the next time Tim's chest expands with a breath, he feels the rattling of something broken and the constriction of a survival instinct turned on its head: his body is trying to kill him.

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."

[reneger]

At least the dog is a better communicator than Damian. Folded back ears are enough of a good sign for Jason to remove his hands from the pup, and when it paws at him, his attention turns to the injured limb. Right. That thing.

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."

[ployboy]

"His name's... not Junior," Tim frowns, because it's violently and suddenly the most important thing he doesn't know. Having his head in his arms has always been a dangerous thing for Tim Drake and now is no exception. He feels like the Dog, breaths coming in shallow and quick bouts, but at least he isn't as loud.

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.

[reneger]

"You can barely keep yourself alive, Timmy." It's not telling Tim he can't, because Jason - well, he wouldn't. Honestly, the dog'll probably be good for him. A reason not to just half-ass his way through keeping himself in one piece, as opposed to whatever state of existence this is. Damian'd probably bitch and complain, but he's not here to voice the sentiment - and he'd get over it when he figured out Tim's not doing a completely shit job of taking care of his little guy.

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.