– ꩜ ARKHAM KNIGHT: HOLLOW . by @cinder-rxse / 〔 SERIES MASTERLIST 〕 〔 PREVIOUS CHAPTER 〕
꒰ CHAPTER FOUR ꒱ WINDOW TO ARKHAM (2.3k) – It seems as though one small confession has led to another. Slowly, you're getting Jason to talk about the horrors he'd experienced.
It'd been about an hour. Lying here, waiting for him. You wondered if maybe you did something wrong? But you couldn't have done anything wrong; he was obviously satisfied by the end.
Jason had numerous scars on his body. You knew that from the times he'd change shirts in the darkness of your shared room, not knowing that the moonlight accentuated every embossed, jagged line and mark. Not aware of the silent tears that fell out of your eyes at the sight. You knew the Joker had done some really fucked up things in Arkham – Barbara gave you access to an audio recording once, and you couldn't listen to it all the way through.
But what was that scar? The one in a place so deeply intimate and vulnerable to a man? What did it mean? What the fuck happened?
You felt him get under the covers, mattress dipping under his weight. Once he'd settled, you turned to face him. He was simply staring up at the ceiling.
You opened your mouth to ask something when he stopped you, "If you're going to ask if I'm okay, I'll put a bullet in my brain."
You huffed, fine.
"How're you feeling?" You said instead, knowing it was basically the same question.
He scoffed, flicking his eyes over to you, "Smartass,"
You hummed a barely-there smile. His eyes went back up to the ceiling.
"Was I... alright?" You mumbled awkwardly.
"Yeah," He raised his eyebrows when he said this, making it seem more genuine, "You were... really good."
"Then why do I get the sense that something's not right–"
"Just stop fucking prying into my life." He said, sitting up, then facing his back towards you, feet planted on the cold wood of the floor next to the bed.
"Prying into your– Are you serious?" You said in disbelief, propping yourself up on an elbow as you stared at the back of him, "Jason, I'm just making sure you were alright after–"
"I've told you not to do that."
"Told me not to what? Suck you off–"
"I've told you not to ask."
"What, so I'm not supposed to care?"
"No. You were never supposed to care,"
You were quiet for a moment before pushing your hands into the bed and sitting up properly, still under the sheets.
"Why do we always do this?" You murmur, looking towards your legs under the sheets.
He groaned at that and stood up, spinning to face you, "Because I'm not okay. Okay?" He said, eyes wide awake with anger, "I'm not fucking okay. I haven't been, for three fucking years. But that's something I have to live with, and it's not for you." He takes in a quick, sharp breath, "What happened to me in..." he started, cursing under his breath as he tried to articulate himself without being too vulnerable. "What he did to me I..." He trailed off again, "Fucks sake."
He stared at you like you were expecting something from him, like you were judging.
You smiled a sad smile, "Come back to bed."
His jaw twitched. He took a step towards the bed, then got under the covers again, back against the headboard. You decided you were too far away; you weren't going to let him shrivel into himself. Into his own self-loathing. You shifted so that one leg was on either side of his waist. He looked at you, this time completely unguarded. It was jarring. It almost made you want to look away. Because he looked so broken. You'd never seen him look like this. Never.
"He..." Jason trailed off again, searching your eyes frantically as if begging you to tell him to stop talking. He then murmured so quietly, "I don't know why this is so hard to say out loud. I think about it all the time," He said, obviously growing frustrated with himself.
"Because saying it out loud makes it real," You spoke evenly, bringing your hands to either side of his face. He sucked in a breath at the contact of your hand to the branding on his face. But this time he didn't say anything, didn't stop you. Although you might say you don't, you wanted to know what happened in there. If not all of it, just a little. You knew that was selfish, but you wanted to be close to him in a way others weren't. Wanted him to let you in, in ways he hadn't ever done with anyone else.
"Tell me something," You whispered.
"What?" He said quietly in surprise.
"One thing. Just one thing that happened."
"You don't know what you're asking–"
"I do." You said, as your fingers brushed over the 'J' on his face.
You saw him thinking for a second, going back into the memories he'd filed so far away. He was sorting through the worst ones, trying to find at least one thing that wasn't absolutely humiliating or dehumanising.
"He'd..." Jason breathed out shakily. Christ, this was sad. "He bathed me. Once."
"Pardon?" You heard come out of your mouth as your jaw went slack. He cursed himself internally. Why the fuck would he choose this story?
"Right before he shot the last video," He let out a dry chuckle at the irony of the word 'shot'. He then shut his eyes, "He'd said he..." another breath out, "He didn't want Batman to think he was mistreating his new sidekick."
"Jason–"
"He didn't... He didn't ever touch me." He blurted out, eyes opening, as if he could read your mind, "I mean, of course he touched me, but... not like that. Not really."
Dread shot throughout your body as he said – not really.
"He bathed you–"
"Yeah, but he didn't– he didn't do anything, he just sort of..." He shrugged, his face getting a little more animated. "I had a lot of open wounds. I was covered in shit and piss and blood. The psycho even cut my hair to make me more... presentable." You felt his hands come up to your bare thighs, fingers running over the skin as he stared towards them. "The fucked part is... I actually thought he was being nice. I thanked him – I always had to thank him – but I meant it." You noted that – always having to thank him. Maybe it was something Joker was insistent on (a rule?), but you wouldn't press on that. He continued, getting angrier before calming himself a little, "But I quickly realised it was just another form of torture. He scrubbed so hard that he reopened any wounds that were closed and made the fresh ones so much worse..."
You watched his face as it fixated on your thighs. He was now tracing patterns on them with his rough fingers.
"And he was singing, the whole fucking time. Like it was just some chore he had to do. Washing his bird." You moved your hands away from his face as he kept going, now on his shoulders. "And yeah, he washed me. All of me." His eyes flickered to yours, then back down at his hands on your thighs. There was silence. Just him, tracing shapes on your thighs, you looking at the way his eyebrows twitched when you could see him reliving a memory. "You said these were mine to play with, Jason. Your words," He mocked Joker's voice, face hardening.
"My God–"
"Yeah, well, when a madman has a scalpel to your balls, threatening your entire future bloodline, you'll say pretty much anything." He sighed.
You brought your hands around to the back of his neck, in shock but trying not to show it to not scare him off, "So that's what that was." His eyes caught yours again, confused, "I felt it before, a scar."
He gave you a nod, a single nod.
You hesitated, debating whether or not to ask again, but because you felt like being selfish again (which was honestly deserved after everything he'd done to you).
"So does that mean he did–"
"No, I've told you already," And you thought he meant he was done talking. Well, at least you'd got a part of him to yourself now. But he surprised you. "He just washed me very... thoroughly." His hands came up to your waist. "Something faded in me when he wrapped the cloth around me like that. It was the one place he hadn't dared to go. The one dignified part of me left, and he just–" Jason looked away from you entirely, turning his head to the left wall. "He hollowed me out, and filled me up with hate and..." He was spitting out the words as if they physically hurt to say.
You took a deep breath, bringing your hand to his chin, making him look at you. His eyes met yours, and he looked so boyish, frightened.
"I am... so sorry, Jason," You said. He shook his head at you, "No, no. You need an apology. Don't tell me not to apologise."
"You didn't do anything," He mumbled.
"Yeah, that's the problem. Isn't it?" You brought your hands up the back of his neck to play with his hair as you spoke.
"No, you weren't supposed to find me. You couldn't have," He put his hands under your shirt, skin to skin. "It was supposed to be him."
Bruce.
There was silence before you spoke again, "Thank you for that."
"For what?"
"For giving me that little part of you," You smiled, but it didn't reach your eyes.
He eyed you a moment, "What are you? My shrink?"
You chuckled, "How would you know? You'd always refused to see one."
He huffed a small smile, which made you feel like you'd won the lottery, "Ohh, so we're doing that now, are we?"
"Only if it means I get to see you smile like that," You smirked.
He stopped smiling, "Shut the fuck up. Fucking weirdo,"
You laughed and leaned forward to hug him, your chest pressed to his, your head in the crook of his neck. His hands are on your lower back.
It felt like you'd gone back to a time before all the pain. Even though this was most definitely not permanent, it'd been the first time you'd felt like he did feel something for you, except for resentment.
You stay there for what feels like half an hour before you pull back. Then he leans forward, connecting your lips in a kiss. His hands tighten on your waist as he deepens it. You know where this is going. He then uses his hands that were on your lower back to grab your hips, shifting you down onto him.
You pulled back, "You're going to injure yourself."
"I'll get over it," He crashed his lips back onto yours the minute the last word left his mouth.
His tongue was tangled with yours as he kept using the friction of your hips grinding against his to try and help himself get hard. And although it must've felt somewhat good, he wasn't getting any harder.
Now another half an hour had passed. A few clothes have been discarded – your tank top, your shorts, leaving you in your underwear. He was still pretty much fully clothed; you figured it was probably something to do with his scars.
You brought a hand to one of his hands that was forcing your hip movements, his lips on your neck.
"Honey, it's okay. We don't have to keep going," Your voice was breathless. The friction felt nice for you, but you could tell he was forcing this on himself.
"No, I want this. I really fucking want this," His voice was laced with confusion towards himself as he whispered into your neck, going back to sucking on it straight after.
"Please, don't make yourself do this," You spoke as he tried to speed up your hips. You were growing frustrated with him, "Jason,"
"Mm," He hummed into the soft skin that connected your neck to your shoulder.
"Jason, just–" You winced as he brought your hips down on his so hard it actually hurt, "Fuck. Just stop."
And he did. He pressed his forehead to your shoulder, "No, I... I want this."
"So do I," You say, "But we've only just had our first kiss in almost three years, not to mention what happened after. I think that's enough firsts for one night,"
He gives a tiny nod against your shoulder. You kiss his head, then get off his lap and walk over to the dresser. Your panties were a little damp from your own growing arousal. You took off your panties and changed into a new pair. You turn to get back into bed, and he's staring.
"I think I'm ready to go now," A ghost of a smile on his face as he eyed you up and down.
You shook your head at him and got back into bed. He shuffled down, lying on his back. You got close to him, slowly, as if approaching a wild animal.
"You're good," He said quietly. It felt like something had shifted between you two. That you'd finally got through to him that you weren't here to harm him, and he'd finally believed you.
You settled your head onto his chest, along with your hand tracing circles in between his clothed pecks.
"God, I missed this," You sighed.
"Just..." He stopped himself, "Just don't get your hopes up, okay? I'm... all over the place."
You positioned your head so you could look at him, but he was looking away. You crawled up a little, bringing his face to yours as you kissed him, soft, comforting.
You pulled back, "I'm not going anywhere,"
You placed a kiss on his cheek before going back down to lying on his chest. His breathing evened out after a while. Finally, he was getting some sleep. There was a certain level of satisfaction that came with knowing his first full night's sleep in a while was with you in his arms. But he was right. He's a mess. There's no telling what tomorrow will look like with him, and there's still so much you don't know about him.
But for now, you'd take this. Sleeping in his arms.
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