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Jason sat up when he heard the heavy metal door opening in his cell. Footsteps descended the stone stairs, echoing with each step.
They were light and brisk, not the heavy footfalls of one of the Wildebeests. There was no familiar stench or those signature grunts made from flaring nostrils. His deliverer had a plastic plate in his hand and a water bottle, easy enough to make out from the sounds of sloshing liquid and dull clanks. He also wore a cape, and Jason could hear it billowing as his captor stepped off the last of the steps.
The newcomer bent down, pushing the food and water in Jason’s direction. Jason ignored it.
Do not throw yourself into danger without backup. That was the wisdom that Batman and the Titans had nailed into Jason’s head.
Jason had abode by it, keeping it in mind during missions and patrols. He had lived by that code, making it the law he always followed whenever he could. But sometimes one could act without plans, when one knew lives were in danger, when one wanted to prove oneself—when one was young, reckless, and desperate to be a hero—one acted without thinking.
And Jason had been just that. Young. And reckless. And he still had the scars from a crowbar to prove it.
“Eat,” a voice commanded, raspy and calm. It did not belong to anyone Jason knew. “Eat and stay alive.”
Jason glanced over at the voice. Unable to see through the dark, he hissed, “Fuck off.”
It was a trap set for him that had led him here. Only for him. For Robin, and no one else. Now, Jason was here, as bait to use against the Titans.
His captor coughed. He didn’t sound angry when he could finally speak.
“Starving yourself is not going to help.”
“It certainly doesn’t help you.”
Jason squinted his eyes. The cell was not just dim—it was pitch black, and he could see nothing. Not the smooth, featureless walls and floor, not the chains that fastened his wrists to the hooks nailed into the cement. Not even his own body, aching from his injuries and the incisions where his captor had cut away his trackers. Jason was stripped and bare, powerless here.
Jason didn’t know who his captor was. They called him the “Dragon,” and Jason only found out after his capture that this man was the true leader of the Wildebeests—used to be known as a single, bovine entity, but was in reality an entire society full of physically identical criminals.
But the Dragon differed from the rest of them. He carried himself with grace and spoke like someone highly sophisticated, educated, and alluring, though Jason had never seen his face.
“What’s happening with the Titans?” Jason asked, eager to find out more about outside events that happened during his isolation.
“They are safe. So far.”
“Do you keep them in cells like this, too? Is Starfire here? Cyborg? Beast Boy? Jericho? Wonder Girl?”
The Dragon paused slightly.
“No,” he said. “Only you.”
“Why me?”
“I need the Titans as vessels. You—your purpose is different.”
Jason felt his scalp tingle. Vessels—what could that possibly mean?
“How?”
He tried to make the best of his predicament, to gather information whenever he could, even in this state, vulnerable and in his captor’s mercy. He might not know what the Dragon had planned, but there might come a time when his knowledge would become useful in helping his… predecessors.
His predecessors. Cause that was what the Titans were. They weren’t his team—Jason highly doubted they considered him that. And Jason suspected they would laugh at the notion of considering a feckless kid like himself as their friend.
Jason thought about the Joker and shuddered.
“Eat your food,” the Dragon repeated, then coughed again. This time, the bout was strong enough that he bent down slightly, covering his mouth with his palm. Jason heard something light and feathery fluttering to the floor.
“What are you going to do if I refuse?”
His captor did not answer. He turned and left, almost fled, footsteps marching up the stairs in rapid succession as he continued to cough into his hand, before the metal door finally clanked shut behind him.
Curious, Jason reached over his plate to touch the floor where the Dragon stood. His chains were short, and he had to stretch for it. His finger felt a single fan-shaped object lying there. Soft, smooth, and sticky with blood.
A flower petal.
⁂
Sleep wasn’t dreamless. It hardly was, these days.
Jason had used to dream about Joker nightly even before his capture. Now, those dreams intensified. When his vision was denied, and he was surrounded by darkness, nightmares dominated Jason’s brain.
Jason couldn’t tell dreams from reality sometimes. He’d wake from a nightmare, only to wonder if he was still dreaming, with the pitch darkness of the cell carrying the images from his dreams to his physical existence. His bones would ache, and Jason couldn’t tell whether it came from the fight that brought him into captivity, or from the ghost of a crowbar still hitting his body.
In his mind, Jason still heard Joker’s laugh and saw his mother’s cigarette smoke rising to the ceiling of the warehouse. He could still recall Bruce and Alfred’s concerned faces, and Dick’s seemingly apathetic one. He could recall everything, as if they were happening before him, like a movie playing in an old theater.
Sometimes, Jason would dream of the Titans, of the few times he’d spent a mission with them. He would dream of Cheshire and the words she had used to taunt Speedy with, or Brother Blood’s murderous convent. He’d dream about the team—about Donna, Kory, and Garfield—but in most cases, he’d dream about the mute boy they called Jericho, with eyes like the morning forest and hair like the sunlight. Someone who never spoke with words, who always seemed like a mystery to Jason.
When Jason was awake, he sometimes heard the Wildebeests talking as they brought food to him. The lower-ranked members were much more careless than their leader, and Jason had heard all manners of events from their lips. They talked about how they’d picked up the Titans one after another—Starfire from the streets, Jericho from a party hall, and Beast Boy from an opera house—and soon, they were all put under the Society’s control. All except Nightwing, it seemed.
But it was Donna whom their leader really wanted, and she was still out there, out of the city with her fiancé and out of their reach.
Jason was their bait. He was the prize they dangled in front of the Titans’ faces like a carrot, using promises of his whereabouts to lure them away from their team to be subdued and captured. The Titans had cobbled Jason ever after his incident in Ethiopia, and the Dragon knew their weaknesses. Jason was the source of their downfall.
Today, however, it wasn’t a ‘beest who visited his cell. Today, he got a special visit from their leader.
Jason felt a presence when he woke from another nightmare.
Jason jerked his eyes open, body covered in a cold sweat. He’d dreamed about the Joker again… and the crowbar. It was the music that had saved him. Whenever Jason found himself lost in that warehouse, he would picture the image of Dick’s blond friend playing on the piano, fingers dancing over the keyboard with such dexterity one might almost mistake him for someone possessed.
He heard breathing beside him. Someone sat there in the dark and watched as Jason slept, motionless. It wasn’t one of the ‘beests. The Wildebeests stunk, and this visitor didn’t. His breathing was even and light, not heavy and frequently interrupted by loud grunts. Jason knew it was the Dragon watching him.
He didn’t sit up or make any sign that indicated his wakefulness. Jason stayed still with his eyes open, waiting for his captor’s move. His heart thundered in his chest.
“We have Donna now.”
That was the first thing Dragon said. But of course. He knew Jason was awake. Why wouldn’t he?
Now with no reason to pretend, Jason sat up, cautious. His chains clinked on his wrists when he pushed his palms against the cold floor.
His blanket fell from his naked body. Small mercies that his captor allowed him this little comfort and modesty, not allowing him to sleep naked on the floor. The cell smelled vaguely of urine and blood, and Jason was going insane in the dark.
“What?”
“We have Donna,” Dragon repeated. “She was captured just earlier today. Her body was perfect for our purpose, and now our plan can finally proceed.”
Jason tensed. He couldn’t discern any emotion from the way Dragon spoke, which made him even more nervous.
“And what is your plan, exactly?”
Jason tried to keep his voice calm, thinking up a million scenarios this conversation could lead to. What could Dragon possibly want with Donna? Or any Titan, for that matter? Why tell Jason in the first place? Jason realized he still knew nothing about his captor except his voice. He hadn’t even seen his face.
Dragon watched Jason through the darkness. He was studying him or musing.
Then, another bout of cough. It was so strong Dragon doubled over where he sat, his hands flying up to cover his mouth.
“What is it with you?” Jason asked, his jaw tense.
His captor coughed some more without answering. A moment of silence, then he straightened.
“What makes you so special? What’s worth all this pain for? I don’t understand him.”
“Who?” Jason’s head throbbed, confused by Dragon’s meaningless muttering.
Dragon didn’t answer. He had stopped coughing, then paused before he uncrossed his legs and rose to his feet. He approached, a tall figure looming over where Jason sat.
On instinct, Jason shuffled back. His pulse quickened, chains scraping against the floor.
Dragon kneeled in front of him. So close, Jason could sense the air from his breathing. He tried to pull back when his captor snatched his hand from the floor, pulling it up despite Jason’s protests. Unrelenting, he pulled it against Jason’s struggle to his lips, planting a lasting kiss over the piece of skin on Jason’s inner wrist, just above his shackle.
Jason was tense through it, ready to defend himself any time. The kiss was just a kiss, though—gentle, soft, even passionate—and it did not contain any dark intent before suddenly, Dragon reached over, grabbed Jason’s shoulder, and pushed him against the wall.
Kept nude, Jason felt every bump on the wall against his marred skin. His blanket fell, kicked to the side.
“My love,” Dragon uttered. “My downfall.”
His hand caressed Jason’s cheek even as Jason tried to twist his head away from him. He screamed, kicked, and beat on Dragon’s chest with his fists, but all his efforts turned out to be futile when his captor simply ignored the fists landing on him. He grabbed Jason’s ankles and yanked his legs apart before kneeling between them.
“Let me go!”
Jason struggled, trying to push using the base of his palms, but Dragon grabbed them and pinned Jason’s hands on either side of his head.
Dragon started inclining until they were in such proximity that Jason could hardly breathe with his captor’s chest pressing against his. He could feel the silky texture of his captor’s shirt against his own naked skin, his heart pounding against his captor’s chest when Dragon leaned toward his ear. Jason could feel every inch of his body, just as Dragon could feel him.
He burns just like a dragon. Scorching, almost.
“What is it that’s worth such suffering?” Dragon said. It was not a question addressed to Jason, more like to himself. “Why? Why go the distance?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Jason gasped when he felt a hand release his wrist before reaching between his legs, fingers coated in an oily substance. Jason let out a sob when they found their way to his taint, rubbing there, producing a thrill of pleasure before they moved down to his entrance.
“No, please—”
Jason arched into Dragon’s fingers when he entered him, hips jerking upward. Dragon let go of Jason’s other wrist and stroked his body, producing electricity wherever he touched, feeling the crisscrossing scars over that naked skin left there by Joker’s crowbar.
The fingers poked inside Jason, then paused as their owner coughed over Jason’s shoulder. Sharp air hit Jason’s ear, and a few petals fell over his hair.
The fingers shuddered and left. When they pulled out of Jason, Jason involuntarily clenched around them, as if not ready to let go.
A few coughs and Dragon was silent again. He leaned against Jason’s head, sighing wistfully, and before Jason could say or react, he felt Dragon’s hardness pressing against his thigh. It probed there and entered him with one stroke.
Jason gasped and whimpered, squirming under his captor as he captured both of his hands, pinning them above his head. Jason sobbed at the sudden entry, the cock tearing into him.
“No,” he said, shaking his head as Dragon pecked kisses onto his cheek.
“You’re taking it so well for him.” Dragon sank to the hilt before pulling back. He started thrusting his hips and settling to a rhythm, ripping into Jason painfully with every stroke, jerking Jason’s body against the wall and cutting off his cries of discomfort. “You take it so well, Jason. I can see why he loses his mind… why he’d rather decay than just let you go…”
Jason winced from the pain. He couldn’t hold himself whole, biting his lip bloody just so he wouldn’t give his captor the satisfaction of hearing him cry.
“W-who?” he found the strength to ask.
Of course, his captor would not answer him. He took him apart, broke him into pieces. He took Jason again and again on that cold cement floor of his cell, in pitch darkness, Jason’s whimpers and hisses in tandem with his labored breathing, his hands twitching and grasping in his captor’s grip.
It hurt. It hurt so much—and it hurt, even more, to think no one was coming for him, and he would not come out of this on his own. Jason flashed back to his capture in the hands of Joker, flashing crowbars, and a stuffy warehouse in Ethiopia, and it became too painful to endure.
So, Jason dissociated, staring blankly ahead of him at nothing, his head blanking out at the assault. There was just the motion of his captor pushing against him in numerous ways. Jason tried to imagine someone else, anyone else. He imagined it was Dick at first, then imagined it was one of the other Titans. He imagined the faces down the line of his idols until he fixated on one with golden hair and intoxicating green eyes. Eyes that could speak for a pair of lips from which his sound was forever torn. Eyes that could capture one’s body with one single, coal-tinted stare.
Jason’s ass was eventually covered in a sticky substance that he did not want to name. In fact, he didn’t know it was cum or blood, or a mixture of both. He tried to ignore it, forcing himself to deny his tormentor’s existence.
But his captor was unhappy about his apathy. It wasn’t satisfying enough to be doing this to a mindless doll, after all. So Dragon tried to get Jason to react, whispering soft, threatening words in his ear as he assaulted him, pinching his nipple painfully between his fingers to get a raw reaction out of his captive. He came in Jason too many times to keep count, and once he exhausted himself, Dragon pulled back, only to stuff his cum back inside with a plug. He brushed his fingers against the base of the plug and Jason’s stained cheeks, mesmerized.
This, Jason had all endured with relative apathy, and he kept himself from making more sounds than necessary. But he couldn’t help it when Dragon fixed his mouth on Jason’s cock next—already mostly rigid from the repeated stimulation on his prostate and taint—sucking until he got him to full hardness. Jason sobbed when he came into Dragon’s mouth as if it was the first autonomy he took away from him. When he finally finished with him, Jason trembled under him, wishing for it to be over and for his captor to dress and just leave him alone.
But Dragon wasn’t finished.
Dragon blindfolded Jason with a piece of clothing he tore off, tying it well and firm so Jason couldn’t wiggle his way out.
Then he detached Jason’s chains, lifting his torn, abused body into his arms. Jason was too exhausted and hurt to resist, so he let his captor carry him upstairs and out of his cell’s door. Dragon walked with Jason in the long corridors until he stepped into a bathroom, freshly scented with bleach and floral air fresheners.
The bathroom had an enormous tub. Dragon drew a bath and filled it with bubbles, lowering them both inside.
The water stung Jason’s body, making him clench around the plug in his ass. But the temperature was just right, and Jason was so exhausted, that he found the water welcoming.
Jason had no strength to protest when Dragon insisted on washing him, cleaning the blood and cum from his body with a loofah, and massaging his bruised skin. He even took off Jason’s blindfold to shampoo his hair, Jason’s head pushed toward the bathroom floor, seeing only the white, clean tiles, misted over by steam and adorned by fallen red petals, stained with specks of blood.
Dragon did everything for him—dried him with a towel, dried his hair. He brushed Jason’s hair carefully, combing through every knot until it was shiny and neat as if nothing sinister had happened… as if appearances could undo what he had done.
Dragon did not carry Jason back to his cell. As his last act of mercy, he carried Jason yet upstairs again, placing him in a soft, king bed. A large, warm hand brought pieces of meat and fruits to Jason’s mouth, and to Jason’s surprise, he opened up willingly to eat, perhaps too exhausted to resist.
“Sleep,” Dragon’s voice spoke before he paused and turned away to cough as if he could still conceal his illness from his captive.
Jason forced himself to stay awake and, when his captor was turning away, lifted his blindfold to look.
Sitting on his bed, crouched over, was his captor in a nightshirt. There was something familiar about his form, and Jason could see the petals falling over his palm. Red petals. Carnations, Jason thought they were.
“Who caused it?” Jason asked, too curious to stop himself. He was still in a haze, as if he lived in someone else’s body, and perhaps the lack of self-preservation resulted from his earlier dissociation. He knew about the disease. The one that caused one to cough up flowers until one died, cursed by whoever they had involuntarily fallen in love with. Jason knew there was no cure except the object of their desire’s affection.
It was silly to ask. If Jason had never known Dragon, what were the chances he would know his love?
Before Jason could react, or have a better look, Dragon turned over and covered Jason’s eyes with his palm.
“Good boys don’t peek.” His voice was icy, sounding even darker with the rasp of the illness. “Now, go to sleep.”
And, as if on cue, Jason’s eyes fell shut.
⁂
Jason slept for a long time. He was exhausted, bruised, and abused. He dreamt about Joker again, except this time, the clown’s features blended in with Dragon’s blurry, almost familiar face when Jason had glimpsed him. The man was coughing up flowers. Red carnations.
Jason tried to remember where he’d seen those features before, but before he could, he was lulled into the land of nightmares once again.
When Jason finally woke, days must have passed. His throat was dry, and he felt his body rocking softly. In his ears, Jason heard the call of the birds and the sloshing of water. The occasional sound of a fish breaking to the surface.
“Do you know the language of red carnations, Jason?”
That voice again. Jason tried to move his hands, only to find them bound behind his back. His eyes were blindfolded, but there was something clipped to his hair. Jason smelled the sweet scent of a fresh flower.
A waterbird called in the distance. Jason realized where he was—he was on a boat, in the middle of a lake. His captor sat behind him, watching him. Jason slowly opened his eyes, but he could not see through the thick, black cloth, his hands struggling uselessly against the ropes. His body was sore from the abuse he had endured before his slumber, and Jason had to keep himself from shaking.
“It means ‘my heart aches for you,’” Dragon said behind him. “The most pathetic of poetries.”
“Where is everyone?” Jason asked.
“Do you care?” Dragon paused. Jason did not respond, so he said, “They’re gone. All left while you were sleeping. Nightwing organized the assault on my forces. Deathstroke was there, too, hired by Dayton to find his missing kid. It’s only a matter of time before they find you now.”
“Why did you take me here, then?” Jason could not help the relief in his voice. He could almost hear Dragon’s displeasure at his words.
Jason shuddered when he felt Dragon’s hand caressing the back of his neck.
“Sit up, and I’ll tell you.”
Jason did as he said—he was too curious to make it difficult. It wasn’t a simple task with his arms bound and the boat rocking over the water, but Jason was determined. Dragon’s hand never left his neck this entire time, squeezing a little over the flesh when he finally managed.
“Good boy.”
“Tell me,” Jason said with his back facing his captor. “I want to know everything, including who you are and why you did everything.”
“I am Dragon. That’s my name. And when you slept, I performed a ritual that had bound you to me. We are soul-bonded now, and one cannot live without the other. We are married to one another.”
Jason felt himself choking.
“W-why? Why did you do it? Are you using me to protect yourself when they come for you?” And why me? He wanted to ask.
“I had to make sure I did it before they found you. I know Dick, and when he turns the table, he’ll never give me another chance to get the better of them.”
“I don’t understand.” Jason’s shoulders shook as he forced himself to stay calm. “I have no powers, no special background that’d make you want to fixate on me. I don’t understand why you would—”
“But I do,” Dragon answered. “It’s not your fault. It’s his.”
“Who? Dick?”
Jason did not expect the name that fell from Dragon’s lips.
“Jericho.”
Jason’s breathing stopped in a moment of confusion, his perils forgotten for a brief second.
“...Joey?” he choked out.
The hand on his neck flew up fast and tore the blindfold off of Jason’s eyes.
“Turn back and face me, beloved.”
Jason kept his position for a little longer, bracing himself. He shifted, nervous about what he was going to see when he finally turned back, facing his captor for the first time since his captivity.
There he sat—the face Jason did not want to admit to recognizing, belonging to the blond, mute son of Deathstroke the Terminator, a core member of the Titans. He sat on one of the thwarts at the back of the traditional wooden boat, a pair of paddles on either side of him.
He was still wearing his Jericho suit, with loose sleeves and billowing cape, looking more like a prince from a fantasy tale than a villain. His sunken green eyes were intense, his face unnaturally pallid. Those gorgeous features were now sullen between the frames of his beautiful golden curls. On one side of his hair, he also wore a fresh carnation, blood-red against the pale backdrop.
“J-Joey? How?”
Joey couldn’t speak. That had been his most defining feature. Dick had told Jason once that his friend had been kidnapped as a child by one of Slade’s enemies to use against his father. His throat was cut as a result. Joey was mute. Jason had never heard him speak, and he thought he never would.
“‘Joseph’ was a weakling,” Joey—no, it was Dragon speaking now—said. “He was a no-good, self-sacrificing martyr, always putting others’ needs before his own, and so his own desires festered and rotted in his heart until even he could not contain it. And it manifested into me.”
“But… how?”
Joey—Dragon—sat a little closer, placing his elbows on his knees.
“Don’t you get it, Jason? I helped heal his childhood wound. I blessed him with the ability to speak, finally express himself, and show the world what they owe him. He should thank me for all that I did for him—and yet, all he gave me was this… damn illness, which spread and ate away my health. He cursed me to die.”
And, as if on cue, he coughed into his hand. Petals fell from his mouth, a handful of it, building. Petals of red carnations.
“So it’s revenge that you were after,” Jason said, trying to keep a cool voice. He was still processing the information. The betrayal. “Why me, then?”
Dragon burst out laughing as if Jason had just told the most amazing joke. He halted, coughed some more, then laughed again, a lot more bitterly this time.
“You still don’t get it, do you? It was you, Jason! You were his object of affection. You cursed us with—with this!” He threw his arms out and let the petal fall into the water, stressing his point. “All because of Joseph’s love for you, he’d rather die than let anyone else know. He hid it from Raven, from Dick—hid from him his affection for his best friend’s little brother. Do you think I’d sit back and let him destroy me? If he won’t do anything, then I will. I will take control, and he will lie dormant until I find us a new, healthier body—a new host that can sustain us without this illness numbering our days. It was Donna I had my eyes on. If I wanted to switch to a new body, I might as well make it the body of a goddess.”
Jason stared at him, incredulous, at a loss for words to say.
In a moment, Dragon pushed up against Jason, clutching his jaw in his hand and pulling him forward.
“But now, everything is ruined. I failed, and I was going to be riddled with this dying body. There is no other way to save us.”
“The… the so-called marriage,” Jason breathed.
“That’s right,” Dragon whispered the way one did to a lover. “Now, it’s your turn of the deal, Jason. Make this right and say your vows. Do it now and do it quickly—no one can save you. We are on the water, and you have nowhere to run. Say your vows and bind us together forever, cure this illness, and deliver me from pain, and then I will take you away on this boat, spirit you into the ruins of a dimension with a doorway they shall never find… It will be just us. You and me, and no one else.”
Jason closed his mouth, swallowing.
“Where is the real Joey?” he asked instead. “What did you do to him?”
“He is dead,” Dragon said coldly. “He will lay dormant for the rest of his days. You will never hear from that coward again.”
“Then I won’t do anything you asked! Let Joey be free, or you can forget about it.”
Jason watched as Dragon’s face twisted into one of fury, ready to rain hell on him for his impudence.
“You do not want to deny me,” Dragon said. “There are two ways to free us. You submit, or you die. And I am not soft like Jericho. I do not care if you lived or not.”
“Then kill me, you coward,” Jason bit out. “What are you waiting for? You’ll never get what you want.”
There was a pause as if Dragon was weighing his options. Jason wondered, briefly, if he was really as cold and heartless as he claimed.
Then Dragon moved, pulling a dagger from his back. The cold blade shimmered in the soft morning light as it slid out from its sheath.
Jason gaped at Dragon’s face. Such graceful features that he used to love—even though he never gained enough confidence to admit it—etched into the face of a ruthless, hideous imposter.
The dagger inched close to Jason’s throat, straining against his skin. The tip pierced his flesh, drawing a drop of blood as red as the matching carnations in their hair.
Take one last look. This may be the last time you will ever see him this way.
The ropes behind Jason loosened from his meticulous work. He reached up and grabbed the handle, wrestling his captor for the knife.
Jason was not nearly as strong as Dragon, but he caught him by surprise, and the moment of uncertainty was enough for him to turn the point around until the tip pierced Dragon’s chest.
Dragon’s eyes widened with disbelief, too shocked to slap the living hell out of his captive. The wound was not lethal by any means—only skin-deep, and would not have made any lasting damage. Yet Dragon did nothing when Jason clenched the handle and pushed it in a little deeper.
Dragon finally caught on, and wrestled Jason’s hand for the handle.
“Let Joey go!” Jason screamed in his face. Tears streamed down his face, shocking his captor. “Let him go or you die!”
Dragon’s expression turned up into a bitter laugh.
“He is already dead, kid.”
Devastation stabbed at Jason’s heart, and his hands failed. His grip loosened over the handle, but before he could drop it, another, larger hand reached up, fingers long and bony like those of an artisan’s, clutching his own with it.
Jason looked up, shocked.
Joey was smiling back at him, aching and sorrowful.
Not Dragon—Joey. The real Joey.
Nothing could deceive Jason—Joey’s smile was unique and unrivaled.
“Don’t give up to him,” Joey whispered. “Do it. Destroy him, Jason.”
Jason’s lips trembled, his eyes filling with tears.
“I-I can’t.”
“I can’t hold on for much longer. He is trying to take control of me—this is the only way to keep him from hurting you ever again.”
“But I—” Jason looked down, whimpering in a voice that was barely heard by anyone else—“I-I love you.”
The words fell like petals, drifting and carried away by the wind. It led its way to silence. Silence, perhaps, of bitter realizations.
Yet, when Jason looked up, it wasn’t the person he had confessed to looking back. Joey’s face had twisted back into Dragon’s hateful one.
“Ungrateful little bitch!” he screamed at Jason’s face, trying to pull the dagger away. “I’m going to kill you—”
But then the hand shook, as if the two personalities were battling within the same body to take control. Eventually, Joey won, and he slowly dragged Jason’s hand back, making the dagger sink further and further into his chest.
Jason cried, trying to pull the dagger back, but to no avail. Joey was stronger than him, and when Jason looked, Joey was smiling the most beautiful smile, full lips curled up in a most heartbreaking arc, melting and shattering Jason’s heart.
“It’s okay, Jason,” he said even as he coughed some more, carnation petals flying in the air. “It’s okay.”
Jason shook his head. No. Nothing was okay. Nothing about this was okay—
The dagger sank all the way. Jason did not know whether it was him or Joey who had finished those last few inches, intent on murdering that malignant personality, even if it destroyed him whole. Joey’s body fell limp, and Jason moved fast to hold him tightly, refusing to let him go. He cradled him even as the flower in his blond hair fell and broke into pieces, turning into blackened ash.
Jason sat there in the boat, with Joey’s body cradled in his arms, until the loud clapping of a helicopter’s blades approached, stopping somewhere above the lake.
A rope ladder dropped. Jason ignored it.
Someone came down from the ladder, then stopped when they stepped into the boat. Jason did not look back.
“Oh, my God,” Jason heard Dick say. “Robin—”
He held Joey tight, rocked him, not letting him go even as more Titans descended from the helicopter, either flying close to the lake’s surface or hanging onto the ladder.
Let them think it was Jason who killed him. Let them think.
Jason took the flower from his own hair and braided it into Joey’s long, blond curls, rocking him some more until the helicopter drowned out everything.
⁂
It turned out that Jason had not killed Joey, but the personality that had taken control of him.
No one could explain it. Joey was breathing when they took him to the hospital, and the doctors chalked it up to something akin to divine intervention.
Like a phoenix, Joey was reborn out of Dragon’s old ashes with shimmering wings. But was it really Joey who had survived, or someone much more malignant?
Jason became voiceless afterward, almost mute as Joey had been once. He never spoke to anyone, sitting with his friend in the hospital as he recovered from his stab wound. On days when Jason felt particularly energized, he might read to his patient, but on most days, he simply sat there silently to keep him company.
Dick and the Titans had visited. So did Bruce, a few times, when he realized his Robin would not come home after the Titans had rescued him from their latest distress. When Deathstroke insisted on visiting his son, Dick only allowed it on the condition that a Titan had to follow him wherever he went, monitoring him to make sure he wouldn’t try hurting either Jason or Dick’s friend.
Not that it was necessary. Jason had never seen another villain looking so forlorn beside someone’s hospital bed.
The doctors had confirmed that Joey’s illness was cured, almost like he had never had it. They couldn’t figure out why, once again blaming it on some miracle, but Jason thought he had an idea.
Jason seldom left Joey’s bed as he waited for him to recover, braiding his hair, and arranging the flowers the Titans brought. He never once told anyone what really happened between them during his captivity, neither the rape nor the marriage. They all thought better than to push, anyway, and they were just relieved Jason was back.
It was a load off their shoulders, knowing Jason was safe.
At first, Jason was seriously concerned about whether the one who survived was his friend or some other entity. But no one looked at Jason how Joey did, no one who could convey so much with his eyes.
Jason had felt Joey’s fingers in his hair one day and looked up to see the Titan’s bright, guilty smile. He smiled back, surprised and exulting in the fresh development as Joey signed with his hands, thank you.
Jason’s eyes filled with tears at those words. It wasn’t an apology he wanted. It was everything else.
At that moment, Jason felt a million emotions running through him. Relief, exhaustion, affection, and a desire to be held. A desire for his nightmares to cease and for the clown’s laughs to stop tainting his dreams.
So, in a moment of impulsiveness, Jason climbed into Joey’s hospital bed, pulling the curtain shut behind him.
Behind the curtain, he attached his lips to Joey’s and let the Titan’s hands roam his body. He positioned himself underneath the blanket, snuggling up to his secret love… his secret husband, as his heart pulsated with electricity that proved the existence of a soul bond between them. Dick would be horrified if he found out, and Bruce would be livid.
No one needed to know what happened behind the curtains. No one needed to find out. No need for Bruce to know, or for Dick to realize what had been happening between his younger brother and his friend. What happened between them could stay a secret inside this hospital bed until later.
And Jason let himself get lost in that auspicious moment, never wanting to let go.