![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
follows the Timeloop of Bucky Barnes
Feb. 25th, 2011 08:03 pmJason doesn't remember the first six months following his resurrection. He has pieces, fragments with edges too smooth to catch onto, snatches of cold and endless hunger, before everything tipped into warmth. He remembers Talia in brief, kind touches, fingers on his shoulders, his cheek. Knows that he fought a little, when the al Ghul's first took him in, but knows they never actually hurt him.
Not until the Lazarus Pit.
They'd washed him in fire and water, sent his consciousness screaming back whole and raging and thrust him into the night, naked as a jaybird and twice as terrified.
He hadn't been angry. He still isn't, not at them, hadn't remembered to be angry until he read the paper and discovered just what Talia meant when she told him, You remain unavenged. Clear as newsprint, black and white, the Joker alive and unpunished, and Bruce...Bruce abandoning Jason to his fate. Unavenged, unloved, unwanted.
He'd killed two people before he came back to himself that night.
He doesn't feel like killing anyone now. It's different, somehow, Bucky riding away from him and Bruce turning his back. It hurts the same, but it doesn't make him angry.
He's a messy crier, always has been, wet and loud and shaking all over, and Jason's chest aches with the force of it, but by the time he realizes the truth, by the time he realizes Bucky's not coming back, he's already exhausted, tears cutting jagged lines down red cheeks, spilling over a jaw he can't seem to steel no matter how he tries.
Jason makes it to Tim's porch in relative silence, not even breathing when he sits down. There are a couple places he could've gone. To Lux. To Katniss. To Boyd, even, but he doesn't want them to see him cry.
Tim's already seen the worst of him, and Jason rests his head against the porch support, pushes a tired hand over his eyes and doesn't open them.
The sobs, when they return, are quiet.
Not until the Lazarus Pit.
They'd washed him in fire and water, sent his consciousness screaming back whole and raging and thrust him into the night, naked as a jaybird and twice as terrified.
He hadn't been angry. He still isn't, not at them, hadn't remembered to be angry until he read the paper and discovered just what Talia meant when she told him, You remain unavenged. Clear as newsprint, black and white, the Joker alive and unpunished, and Bruce...Bruce abandoning Jason to his fate. Unavenged, unloved, unwanted.
He'd killed two people before he came back to himself that night.
He doesn't feel like killing anyone now. It's different, somehow, Bucky riding away from him and Bruce turning his back. It hurts the same, but it doesn't make him angry.
He's a messy crier, always has been, wet and loud and shaking all over, and Jason's chest aches with the force of it, but by the time he realizes the truth, by the time he realizes Bucky's not coming back, he's already exhausted, tears cutting jagged lines down red cheeks, spilling over a jaw he can't seem to steel no matter how he tries.
Jason makes it to Tim's porch in relative silence, not even breathing when he sits down. There are a couple places he could've gone. To Lux. To Katniss. To Boyd, even, but he doesn't want them to see him cry.
Tim's already seen the worst of him, and Jason rests his head against the porch support, pushes a tired hand over his eyes and doesn't open them.
The sobs, when they return, are quiet.
