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:
( tim ) you're getting better all the time
considering the storm, jason doesn't regret that choice. he had full intentions of roughing it out away from the crowds because fuck 'em. bigby had other ideas, instead opting to scruff jason and drag him inside despite his bitching. he'd have fought back with a little more enthusiasm if he didn't recognize it for what it was: concern, rather than a need to control. the former, he's not all that adverse to listening to. the latter - it's not hard to recognize how having a guiding hand shoving jason along would cause him to riot against anyone trying to lead him along.
but it does leave him trapped inside the community hall with a shitton of other people, and the lack of an easy way out of a crowded room is enough to leave him antsy. he paces, wrings his hands, finds loose threads on the jacket he'd picked up before and starts yanking them loose, finding every little thing he can do to keep himself from sitting still, because being still and quiet is only going to encourage him to get lost in his own damn head, which is never a fun place to be.
until the dog catches his scent, tail wagging and giving a soft yip to grab jason's attention and pull it towards him and - tim.
see, he knew tim'd at least get the dog somewhere safe.
the antsy energy doesn't dissipate, but jason does his best to cover it by being an ass as he saunters towards tim and the dog, then drops himself down to a low crouch so he can put both hands on each side of bitewing's face and pull him in to press the tip of bitewing's nose to the bridge of jason's own. )
Good boy. Knew I could count on you to keep Tim from keeling over in the snow. Did you drag him here all by yourself?
no subject
So he doesn't try to figure them out.
The people in the Center move around him like the tides. The constant is Bitewing, and the way Tim will rest a hand in the thick fur of the dog's shoulder or neck when everything becomes too quiet save for the storm.
And then the puppy up and leaves and wow okay screw you too.
Tim is antsy and restless and so damn antsy he has to dig through his backpack, fiddle with a panel of a Polaroid camera that he can't open without better light to ensure he doesn't lose anything. So that's how Jason (you asshole) finds him, hunched over on one corner of the cot. Fidgeting.
Tim thinks one of the many (many, many) muddy strings moves with Jason's rough hands over his puppy. Hell if Tim's gonna pay attention to which. Or why. Or-
ow, goes the little electrical shock.]
He ate my good gloves. You owe me new ones.
no subject
he has a collection of threads, but they're mostly ones he's opted to ignore: countless black threads tying him back home, a few mostly-golden ones with flecks of black, and an even rare-er couple golden ones that are purely gold, without even a fleck of black in them at all. there are the - couple red-gold strands, one tying him to a girl here and another that feels like getting sucker-punched right in the face.
and the muddy-gold one leading straight to tim. jason doesn't pretend to be the world-class detective tim or bruce are, but he's not an idiot either. he can figure shit out for himself. but it doesn't get much of his attention currently; there's more important crap to worry about right now. )
Sounds like a you problem. Who left the gloves where little Gray here could get them?
( gray as in, short for grayson, since it's clear as day who jason opted to name his dog after. there's a grin on his face as he goes back to addressing the dog directly, rubbing their noses together. )
Were they tasty? I bet they were made from the nice leather.
no subject
Tim feels the mud-thread pulse gold.
It's stupid as all get out.
It's true that Jason hadn't exactly enacted violence (with extreme prejudice) against him, and it's equally true that Tim himself has been running out of ways to make it happen. It's true that Tim doesn't-- can't-- about Bruce, not anymore. But when had Jason gotten to the point where...
Where he names a puppy after his brother? This rowdy, affectionate, cute... and Jason's been toting him everywhere.
(Somewhere between calling Tim cat-barf after Tim had foolishly left the gates to jail well and open for Jason, figuratively, and learning to not only do but talk like this brotherly-whatever is important. Somewhere in that time that Tim doesn't have.)
Tim's looking at his camera like it's a Motherbox, holding all of the answers to all of his questions.
Stupid dog.]
The gloves were on my hands, for your information.
[And,]
But he's a good hunter. So it's fine. Don't worry about it. He met some of his brothers, by the way. Got to play a little.
no subject
( he's still holding the pup's face between his hands, and jason gently turns him enough for tim to get a good look at his face, before the dog starts mouthing playfully at jason's hands. there's a soft grin on jason's face; it doesn't meet his eyes, but it doesn't look disingenuous. there's layers: the dog is great, watching tim fumble with his camera as if he's trying to find something to keep him busy is entertaining, the snowstorm outside is fucking horrifying, and if jason has to spend too long thinking about the intangible threads coming off of him he's going to lose it.
instead, he's shoving a hand down against the dog's head, ruffling fur. )
He's got the same dopey smile as Grayson himself. I'd say they match pretty well.
( his hand raises, leaving the puppy to instead shove down against tim's head, ruffling his hair. )
You good?
cw, deaths
But he puts the old Polaroid down beside him on this rickety old cot and then thinks, no actually, letting Jason blow up would be very bad. So when Jason rubs his freaking head like it's supposed to be a pat, Tim's noggin is still (finally) processing the notion that huh Jason and Dick must have been getting along. His head bobs a little with the (hella annoying) gesture of... affection?]
Are you?
[Because, like, is it still some mystery that Tim's past the phase best described as unraveling at the seams? He's the human equivalent of a ball of yarn that the cat tangled up and then set on fucking fire. Tim cannot, with any semblance of a straight face, have any sort of response at the ready for you good?. But he doesn't need to.
Because he's still processing the fact that of course Dick and Jason would get along.
Like,
yeah, Tim knows one of them is gonna blow.
But-- there just hasn't been any bloodspill so far.
And it has to mean something.
No, of fucking course he's not good. Tim doesn't say it. He picks at a stray thread on his sleeve. Where Bitewing had taken a chomp when Tim had tried to leash the wild thing.] I mean, I get it. This happened before, the blizzard. Waiting is the worst part.
When we get out of here, there's going to be some people that will be dead. And I told Chloe to use up the gasoline cans at the farm for the greenhouse. We could'a used that to thaw out the ground faster. To bury the bodies.
[Tim's body screams at him to move. His hand twitches and he wants to reach out for the pup, but the pup wants Jason. So Tim folds his hands in his lap. Forces himself to still.
Illogically, he thinks- this anxiety can't be all his.]
I know there's going to be bodies and I just said that the waiting is the worst part of these storms. I don't think I know what's 'good' anymore.
So- you? Are you good?
no subject
and it'd be so much easier if tim would just lie to him, say he's alright even though neither of them are, and they could just pretend their lives weren't as fucked as they are.
unfortunately, tim opts to not give him that reprieve, and jason - well. digs his teeth into the inside of his cheek until he can taste blood.
tim is waiting for jason to lose it. to prove that he shouldn't trust him. to give him good reason to go back to doing crap how he had been before, and jason has been trying so damn hard to not lose his shit. )
No.
( he's watched tim fake his way through being okay countless times before. it's not a talent jason has. not anymore. )
I haven't been good in a long damn time.
no subject
Then he shifts a little, positions himself at the edge of the cot and he leans forward. Just enough to show that Jason is his intended audience and that he's not interested in bringing other people and their gossiping selves into this mess of their's.
Tim thinks, it might strike a nerve, maybe, but that's not what he means to happen. What he means is,
(no shit, sherlock, of course nobody is good)] We're stuck here. It sucks and it's going to get worse. How can I make it suck kinda less?
[--Tim gestures, small and private, to one of the sleeves of Jason's jacket. He sounded dumb, but, listen,]
You were the one who picked at the threads of that thing, right? It's going to be a pain in the neck to mend.
no subject
eyes look down to the sleeve of his jacket, to where some of the threads are torn and in need of repair. the i was on my own for years, i can handle shit myself comment stays on the tip of his tongue, but he manages to keep himself from barking it out.
this can't be just his anxiety. his frustration.
what a shit time to get stuck in a small space with everyone else. )
Maybe I should snag some of D's hoard of pelts and make a better one. Think he'd notice a few missing?
no subject
What is simple and easy is warning Jason away from stealing from Damian because in what world is that a good idea.] He's probably got them counted.
[This is as level as he's ever kept his head around Jason.
It's weird.
Weirder still is the electric thrum of concern over Damian and his hoard of pelts; the brat was too attached to animals (who knew) and it can't be easy to... well. Well, anyway,] I know the names of some guys who apparently know what they're doing with thread and needles.
Or you can wait until next year and ask the Pig for another jacket.
no subject
( it's the point of the thing, which also brings him to the whole, ) Y'know, you could've told me about the Pig. I thought I was hallucinating and asked it for a bazooka. What the hell am I going to do with a bazooka way out here?
no subject
--wait.] What do you mean I could have told you about the Pig?! [squawks the indomitable spirit of a younger brother who, even still, cannot believe that this other man thought he was responsible for telling the big tale of the Boar!
Which
oh, duck
aw fuck, maybe it had been an oversight... but...]
How did you not know about the Pig. [Comes the frazzled, hurried whisper.
Because, now that Tim thinks about it (and how he hates thinking about it) yes, it would kill Jason to be social, or to so much as pretend to be social.]
Oh my god.
[A bazooka.
Tim stares.]
no subject
( so, yes.
a bazooka. or more accurately, a recoilless rifle, which isn't all that much different, except the one jason asked for just happens to be a little more difficult to transport.
and is a little more accurate. plus, has better range. overall, not a shitty item to have around in case they need it.
but also:
a bazooka. which they don't need, unless they've got something big to hit. )
So this's your fault.