(no subject)

[prodigaljaybird]

Jason's barely set Tim's feet in the direction of the Compound before he's off again, flying through the trees with his tail between his legs.  He almost falls more than once, too much anger, too many rattled nerves diverting his thoughts from where they should be, and by the time he reaches Bucky's hut he's carrying another set of cuts and bruises.

He doesn't feel them beneath the sting of the mace, and between the swollen, chemical red painting his features and his own angry flush, they're nearly invisible on his skin when he lands, walks the short distance to Bucky's porch and slumps down.

He hadn't made a conscious decision to come here, but he leans against the support post easily enough, comforted by the fact that while Bucky will probably bark at him or make him run some more, he can't make his face hurt any worse than it already does.  Sanctuary thusly claimed, Jason settles in to lick his wounds, rubbing his aching eyes until a fresh stream of moisture helps to flush the last of the mace away.

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[onlyapassenger]

"So you two didn't have the easiest relationship, is what you're getting at," Bucky surmises, dragging over the other chair with his foot before he sits down in front of Jason, shoving a damp cloth into the kid's hands. He can wash up himself, he doesn't need Bucky hovering over him like a fretting mother.

"Why were you replaced?" he asks. "You died, I get that, but why did this Batman guy need another Robin? Were you even the first, or is it a... Legacy?"

[prodigaljaybird]

Legacy. Jason understands the word, and maybe it applies to Robin in some ways but it doesn't feel like it. Bruce is the legacy, the Batman is the legacy, the one who'll endure no matter what.

"I was the second Robin. Dick moved on - " Courtesy of Bruce's boot in his ass on the way out the door - "But he...Gotham is Batman's city, you know?" says Jason. "There are other capes, but Batman, he's it. He's what holds the criminal element at bay, he needs back-up. He needs a Robin."

He's still holding the wet cloth in his hands, and Jason presses it to his face. The worst of the sting is long gone, and he's surprised to pull it away and see a few spots of pink. He'd hardly felt the tiny scrapes beneath the mace, but there they are. Jesus, Tim got him but good. "I thought I'd be the last one," he says, more quietly than before. "When I knew I was dying, I thought I'd be the last."

[onlyapassenger]

There's a part of him that wants to ask if Jason's predecessor was named Dick, then why the hell did he get so much flack for being called Bucky, but he bites back the impulse. It's not the time, and he's capable of keeping his smart remarks to himself.

"So you're jealous," he says instead, a flat statement -- hell, a forgone conclusion -- rather than a question. "The guy took your life... One you didn't give up willingly in the first place. Gotta be salt in the wound that he's gone and kicked your ass, too."

[prodigaljaybird]

"I - "

Tim hadn't kicked his ass, not really. He'd waited Jason out, he'd contained him, and then he'd let Jason do what Jason does best and lose another battle to his own endless rage.

"Yeah," Jason exhales, and it isn't this fight that he minds losing, not in the grand and terrible scheme of things. It's the one he lost to Bruce, the one he'll probably never win, even if he goes home. "He never kills. Batman. He never kills, not even when it's his - " Jason's throat closes up, and he'd blame the mace, but he knows it's not to blame. "Sidekick - " Son. " - that's fallen. I thought he'd change when I died, want revenge or something? But he just..." Jason pulls the towel away, blinks out of eyes that are fine now, just red. "Keeps on, same as always."

[onlyapassenger]

I never understood those in our line of work who don't kill. You have the chance to stop a problem once and for all, you take it, through whatever means necessary. There are people I regret having killed... People I regret having needed to kill, or having been forced to kill, but it's a burden I'm willing to bear. Those are sins for which I'm willing to seek redemption. As for the others... I have to believe it was worth it, to protect innocent people from dangers they lack the capacity, even, to understand.

Bucky doesn't say anything right away, instead taking a moment to mull over the scenario's Jason's presented him. He tries to picture it in his head, piecing together the information he's learned over the past few months, about Jason and his life before he fell out of the goddamn sky, cut open and bleeding. Anger threatens to take hold of him again, but Bucky buries it, knows it's useless when they're just sitting in his house. He swallows, thickly.

"I would've," he murmurs, eyes flicking upwards to catch Jason's gaze. Maybe it won't be much of a comfort, so far removed, but it's a truth he's inclined to share. "Killed the son of a bitch who did you."

[prodigaljaybird]

Bucky's voice is so soft. It feels like...it should be louder, the way those words beat into him, break him right open and trickle down, deep into places Jason's given up on ever being free of pain. He looks up, can't look long before his eyes squeezed closed again, and there's no lie in Bucky's eyes, no lie in the set of that mouth that's just offered Jason everything he's been aching to hear since he was fourteen years old.

"You - " he says and stops, pushes his hands over his eyes and mouth, but he can't hide the way his breath hitches. It's too damn much, it's everything when Jason hadn't had time to expect it, unprepared for the way he starts to shake. Bucky calls him kid, but Jason's supposed to be a man, has tried so hard to be, and he's crying like a child, can't even open his mouth to explain what that means to him, that it's not the promise of one soldier to another, that it's the first damn time he's ever been told his life is worth that much to anybody. "S-sorry."

[onlyapassenger]

In the face of Jason's tears, Bucky's expression is a mask, utterly unmoving; there's no judgment, barely a hint of surprise. Instead he just stares, and nods his understanding. He's seen men -- boys, really -- in rougher shape than Jason is here today, but even so, his heart goes out to the kid. Having only the slightest inclination of what he's just given him, though, in speaking what, to him, is a plain and simple truth, he can't help but think there's not much else for him to say, let alone do.

Steve, he thinks, would know. He'd know what to do and what to say, but Steve's not here, and maybe he never will be. When Bucky took on the mantle of Captain America, though, he vowed to do it his own way, and in this, too, he has to strike out on his own, follow his own instincts.

"You're moving in before the end of the month," he says, finally, and he stands. Clapping a hand to Jason's shoulder, he gives it a reassuring squeeze, then pulls back, lets it drop down to his side. With a step towards the door, he makes to leave, intending on giving Jason some space to pull himself together, as much a sign of respect as anything else. "Make your arrangements."