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bakerstreet2023-01-14 08:38 pm
fleurmortelle) wrote in bakerstreet2023-01-14 08:38 pm
Entry tags:
JAN WA
Word Association is a common word game involving an exchange of words that are associated together. The game is based on the noun phrase word association, meaning "stimulation of an associative pattern by a word" or "the connection and production of other words in response to a given word, done spontaneously as a game, creative technique, or in a psychiatric evaluation." ~ our lord and saviour wikipedia GUIDELINES
② include a word of your choice and optionally the definition in the body of your comment. -- visit the random word generator if you need help! ③ other characters will reply with the first word their character associates with the one you chose. ④ continue back and forth until one of you just has to know the story behind an answer. |
no subject
now that Nothing is this much closer, Jason wishes he could see their face. ]
We can get paints, that's no big deal. Paints and brushes and whatever else you need. It's cool. Bruce gives me a ridiculous allowance.
[Jason knows exactly what it feels like to have nothing. before Bruce took him in he was living on the streets, eating out of dumpsters. he couldn't afford a single damn thing, but now? now he can afford to get some paints.]
no subject
Jason wouldn't find what's under this helmet. Nothing is, at best, plain. It knows this well.
Its' first thought is but don't you need that money before it remembers Bruce is loaded beyond imagination. For once, there's no shame in taking an offer for help because there's no way for that to backfire on the person offering it. Nothing swallows, though, surprised by the offer. People offer up vital things like a coat or food, when Nothing has saved their lives. People don't offer up something personal without any reason to.]
I - I'd like that. I'd like that a lot, honestly, I just... I just hope I can do something for you, someday. You deserve it.
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It's cool, don't worry about it. But maybe you can answer some questions for me.
[he hesitates for a moment, then asks.]
Like... why do you cover your face? It would be real nice to see it.
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I... it's complicated. There's a lot of reasons. I don't want to have my secret identity compromised, for one, but for another, I know how cops work, especially in the shitty part of town I'm from originally. If they knew I was black, I would not be getting to explain myself to them or make citizen's arrests or hand over tips this freely. I'm not like Batman, I don't run around the whole city, I work on a local level, mostly against gangs and drug pushers and domestic abusers. I can't afford anything that might undermine that work. Other people matter more than I do. And, well. It's not just cops, is it? That's the thing, I got used to being treated better than before, and now it feels uncomfortable not to have this on. People listen to me now. [There's a hint of despair there, a mix of exasperation that this is what it took to be treated well and a nagging fear that people, once they know what's under the mask, won't continue that treatment.] People talk to me like I'm not inherently too dumb to understand the books I namedrop or the artists I like and... and people don't misgender me as much. They're more likely to listen to me when I say what I prefer if I'm like this.
I feel more confident like this. I know that's messed up. I know it's stupid. It's just... it's just how I am. I'm sorry.
no subject
it makes him angry to hear that cops are even a single part of the reason why. he hates how true it is too. the same goes for people, treating someone like Nothing badly. it's bullshit, but it's real. and still, it's upsetting to know that Nothing hides their entire identity away because of reasons like that.
but he also realizes that there are pieces of information about Nothing that he gets to have, even if they're small. Nothing is choosing to share this with him, and he doesn't take that lightly. ]
It's not stupid. I get it. Not in the exact same way, but... when I was on the streets I was treated like garbage too. Piece of shit cops love to beat on street kids, you know? And I get the whole mask thing. Putting it on, knowing you can do so much more behind it. The cops that used to beat me? I beat back now and it feels fucking good.
I wouldn't treat you any differently though. Mask or no mask. You know my secret identity too.
no subject
Batman saw Nothing unmasked, but between being drugged and having its' hair mussed by a trafficker who thought Nothing looked younger that way, it isn't sure if Batman knows its' actual identity. If he does, he's never said anything. He's also never said anything about Nothing's race to anyone else, including Jason, which is appreciated. He did insist on buying Nothing a burner phone, which was too practical to turn down, even if Nothing half-suspects the thing was bugged.]
I know. Cops don't touch kids in my neighborhood and I don't touch them in return. We reached an understanding around the second police cruiser I totaled. They may not care about kids, but they care about cash, and cruisers are expensive. It's not much - I'm not saving everyone, I know that - but it's better than nothing. I try. And somehow, somewhere along the way, after years of doing this and not showing my face to a single person, this, [it gestures to the mask with its' free (visible) hand,] started feeling normal. It feels comfortable. I kind of forget I have it on, sometimes.
I know you wouldn't treat me differently. You give off the vibe of someone who'd punch the cops from my old neighborhood directly in the face. But I feel better this way. I see my own face so rarely I don't... I don't really identify with it, if that makes sense? It's my face but it doesn't feel like mine. And my superpowers have changed it. My eyes aren't the same as they used to be, and that's... [awful. disgusting. impossible to look at for great lengths of time] hard to take.
It's not you, it's me. You haven't done anything wrong.
no subject
but Batman? yeah, Batman knows Nothing's identity. he's Batman. he has every piece of information at his fingertips, but he'd never say a word. not to Jason, not to anyone (maybe to Dick Grayson, but that kinda thing is always in Jason's head too. never good enough. never Dick Grayson. but that's a whole other self esteem issue.) ]
Batman does a similar kinda thing with the cops. I don't agree with it... only in the sense that they should all be fucking totaled, but I catch your vibe. I'd definitely punch em right in the face, though. I have. And I do my best to protect my neighborhood.... not this one, but deep downtown Gotham. The Narrows. Nothing good ever happens there.
[Jason looks down at their hands, sliding his fingers through Nothing's.]
Maybe if you let someone else look at it who would like it, it might start feeling like yours again.
...I've never liked my eyes either. They look like my dad's. But you think they're beautiful, so... maybe I could think yours are too.
no subject
Batman has wisely not breathed a word about anything he's dug up and that's very much the correct move given Nothing's mental health hasn't always been the best. If he said anything that indicated he knew, Nothing would never work with him again, and given how badly things tend to go when a hero strikes out solo so young, that could end up having lethal consequences. He's made the correct move. Jason, though, Jason asks for things not because he wants Nothing's identity, but because he wants to see it.
Someone wanting to look it in the eye is such a foreign concept that even replying is difficult.]
I can't spend all my time fighting the police. I've got too many other problems to deal with. I'd love to punch them, but I don't have the time. Things get dark all over this city. Between trying to protect the homeless and monitoring the three gangs in my neighborhood and getting somewhere warm for the runaway kids on the street to stay that isn't a shelter, sometimes I don't even sleep. I just keep pushing until the work is done.
[Nothing turns its' head away, distinctly uncomfortable, shoulders tensing.]
I... it's been four years. I need time. Not now. I can't.
You're not the only one who looks like someone you don't like.
[They're not getting into Nothing's family life. Ever. But there's a heaviness there that implies there's a shared root of the problem, there. The changes that came with powers didn't fix the face it was stuck with, the same face as its' brother. No. You're not part of that family now. That's not your brother. He's a stranger. You're nothing to him. It's fine. It's better that way.]
no subject
What, like I don't have problems? I'm trying to do the same thing. I'm doing the same thing. I can punch the fucking police just as much as I can protect the homeless and monitor three gangs in my neighborhood and get the kids off the street so they have someplace warm to stay. You're not the only one, you know. Why do you think you're here.
[he can try to understand everything else. but that part? clearly Nothing isn't a one person mission around here and it's kinda shitty for them to assume they're the only one holding down the fort. Jason's from the streets. he lived the life that Nothing is trying to protect those kinds from. he knows it more than anything else he's ever had.
he tries not to let it get to him, though.]
It's okay. It's alright. You don't have to.
It's totally alright if you don't show me your face right now. I get it. But the self righteous attitude? We're all doing our parts here. We're all fighting tooth and fucking nail for our city. I don't sleep either, but I'm not gonna stand here and tell you that I've got too many other problems to deal with.
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Jason, I didn't say you didn't have problems. I didn't imply it. I didn't talk about you, I said that I don't have as much time to dedicate to fighting the police as I'd like. I don't know why you're taking my failings as a personal attack on you. The fact that I don't get nearly enough done eats away at me daily, I know I'm not doing enough and I know I don't have a good excuse for it. None of that has anything to do with you, it has to do with me being a shitty excuse for a superhero when this city deserves better. If you want to be angry at me, be angry at me for being a failure, not for admitting to it.
no subject
You implied you had bigger things to deal with. Like I was fucking around with the cops instead of doing all the other things I need to do to protect this city.
[pulling their hand away, stepping back, thinking of what Jason says as drama instead of really thinking about it- yeah, Jason's used to that too. he's tired too. it's fine.]
You're not the only one here, protecting this city. The whole fucking thing doesn't rest on you. You feel like a failure, why? Cause you're not doing it all? Well guess what, we're doing it too, so you don't have to.
I grew up on those streets. I'm not superheroing. This is my life.
I apologize for this moody teenage bullshit
I never said that I was the only one protecting this city. I never said the whole thing rests on me. I said I want to do more because maybe, just maybe, it weighs on me when people die and I could have stopped it, when someone innocent goes down who could've had a future if I hadn't been sitting on my ass, when some something goes wrong and it's not something that can be fixed! Maybe I don't like it when I see people die because people matter and there are no unimportant people or roles in life and every single one of them that dies leaves behind family, friends, classmates and whoever else who have to try to pick up the pieces and go on when they've lost someone they loved! Maybe I try to do it all because all people are worth saving.
I don't have a home. I don't have a family. I gave up home, family, friends, my education, my name, everything for this in the hope that I could make a difference and I barely have. For the past four years I have lived every second of my waking life devoted to helping others and still failing them constantly! Is knowing other people are out there doing the work supposed to be comforting when I see a quadruple homicide done by someone on PCP who never meant to hurt anyone? Is knowing you're out there supposed to make it not hurt when I tell the cops hey, that ten year old you were looking for threw herself off a building, the body's in the alley? Is Batman's existence going to bring back the three kids who got smothered to death by their mother in a bout of postpartum depression? That's how this week has gone for me and maybe it makes me a shitty person, but no, knowing other people are out there doesn't make it hurt less because they're people and people matter.
If you don't like my attitude go find the asshole who gave me these powers - which I never asked for or wanted and begged him to take away - and get him to reverse it if you're so pressed about it! I hate me too, but this is my life and until my powers get yanked or I die I'm going to be doing this and, offensive as it apparently is, yeah, I'm going to be upset when I can't do something and I'm going to hate it when people are mistreated or abused or killed.
You got me. I am in fact still upset about crime and death even when other people are out there trying to help. You win. You're better than me. I don't know why this makes me bad to you. Or why you're so keen on reading into everything I say. But just say the word and I'll walk. I've been alone for four years, I can do another four solo, no problem.
[Nothing. Not human. Not a person, not someone, thus not capable of being hurt when yet another person hates it and discards it and finds it tiresome. Infinitely capable of enduring and surviving regardless despite never wanting to be in this position, despite nights spent begging God to please, please take these powers away. Nothing is a concept. A concept can't hurt or break or be defeated or stop. Concepts just exist. Nothing as a concept only arguably exists. It shuts its' eyes and takes a deep breath.
When it speaks, its' voice is low and monotone again, as if all the emotion that was just displayed never existed.]
You're free to stop associating with me at any time. I apologize. I know I'm not pleasant to be around. Just let me know and you will never have to deal with me again. You have my word.
[This is a very healthy, normal way to deal with things, clearly.]
lol have you met Jason Todd? xD
You're here, with me, with Batman and you really don't give a shit, do you. You don't care that we're working together. It's still all on you. I mean wow, holy fuck. It weighs on your when people die, when you see quadruple homicides and suicides and the rest of us, well golly fucking gosh. Never seen anything like that in my life, huh? Didn't live with that shit day in and day out. Like my week wasn't full of the same thing.
But I guess it only gets to you. You're the only one out there. Fuck us trying to work together, huh? You don't get it, do you. You really don't get it. You're just talking and talking and not listening to a single word coming outta your mouth.
If you wanna walk away, go ahead. It would really fucking suck, but you're not even trying to see it any other way. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and open up your fucking eyes. The city is hurting, we're all hurting. We're all trying to do what we can to help. If you wanna walk away from the thing that'll help you do more? That's your choice. Just get your head outta your ass.
Maybe you're failing for a reason. You're not the goddamn Martyr of Gotham City.
These two need therapy. Also hope this minor time skip is okay?
[There's no emotion there, no recognition of how ridiculous these baseless claims even are. Doesn't matter. Let him hate who he wants to hate for whatever he's convinced himself has been said. Let me write novels worth of fiction in his head. In the end, this is just one more person who views Nothing with contempt. Or in other words, this is just a hater. Not a potential friend, not something more, just anger and bile and hate as well-known as the sky's color or the crunch of gravel under its' boots.
It patiently waits through Jason's tirade, then simply nods once, politely, as if agreeing to disagree, as if it hadn't taken a word of that emotion onboard or processed it.]
Noted. Please text me the next time you require my assistance.
[The best thing about the telekinetic vectors is that, unlike actual arms, they have the kind of reach where Nothing can simply exit the room, make a beeline for the door and then use them to climb up onto the roof. It doesn't even have to wait until it has a free hand to check its' phone for other matters to attend to, which it will probably have time to manage before further services here are required. The night air is cold and clarifying. This will pass. Jason will get used to working with something he hates, Nothing will get used to giving up before it starts and not talking in the future, and they can work together functionally.
That's the best that can be hoped for. Hoping anyone could like or empathize with it was a mistake. Who could care about or feel anything about nothing?
Being a person would be a hard burden to bear in this line of work. Fortunately, each day, that load lifts a little bit more, becomes a little lighter. The sharp edges of sentience are getting worn away, replaced by this almost foggy, emotionless frame of mind. Functional. Useful. That's all that's required. Emotions are not merely unnecessary, they are actively a detriment to this line of work.
And that's why Nothing spends the next three days working without saying anything more than 'yes' or 'no', even to Jason, even in the field.
Nothing more is required.]
yeah, sure!
[ it's fine. Jason's used to people dismissing his words. used to being underestimated in every single way. he's used to people like Nothing. cops, social workers, politicians, superheroes, all with their sob stories and their failures, because they can't see past themselves. Jason shoves all of that away on a daily basis. he goes out there and does what he needs to do and doesn't drown himself in self pity. he gets it done, and does it again and again, and again.
he feels it so deeply that if he stops to think about it, he'll drown in it. but he can't afford to do that. he isn't going to monologue about it, though. he just moves forward so he can survive.
Nothing really doesn't think about what they're saying, though, do they. it all just comes out without thought. maybe Jason should be emotionless about this too, but he thought... well. it doesn't matter what he thought about Nothing. clearly they're writing him off. not even giving a moment to think about the truth of Jason's words, or what he's trying to say.
the sad part is, all Jason had been trying to do was empathize, and Nothing took it to a whole other place. maybe that's what happens when you can't look yourself in the eyes.
it's fine. everything's always fine, he tells himself, over and over again. sometimes Jason wishes he could be emotionless. he tries hard, but he can't be. he feels too much, he cares too much. he hates it. he's pretty sure his emotions are his biggest weakness.
so it gets to him when Nothing barely speaks to him after that. it's not like this is a new thing, though. people often discard Jason easily. they don't like the truth being spoken to them so bluntly, and he can't really change. he knows he's a mistake, his parents always told him so, but things like this really make him feel it.
and yet, he goes to an art store and asks around for the best kinds of paints, brushes, a few canvases to start with. he leaves them at the console where Batman usually has Nothing working at when they debrief. he figures they'll probably be ignored, but maybe... maybe Nothing can use them to paint something else. someone else. whatever. ]
no subject
For a moment, Nothing forgot it wasn't a person. It let its' guard down and vented about feelings as if a thing were entitled to feel anything at all. It acted as if these things effected it, as if it had the right. Nothing can effect Nothing. Nothing can mean anything to it. It is self-righteous and self-important and self-aggrandizing to speak as if it were a person. It is not. Jason knows it. Jason saw through the act, this facade of humanity, and reminded it exactly how little it was worth. Everyone has problems. Feeling anything about its' own is pathetic and selfish.
Everyone has it hard. There is no reason to be upset. Nothing is not important. You do not matter, it writes in the notebook it keeps in its' pocket, repeatedly, again and again, when it starts to drift into other trains of thought. You have never mattered. You will never matter.
So it works. It gets injured and works while injured. It spends its' small amount of spare money on energy drinks and does not sleep more than two hours a night, if that. The books it collected are put in boxes and donated to a thrift store. The piano is exchanged for less than half its' value price to someone who is thrilled to have it. That money will keep caffeine pills well-stocked on Nothing's person for a long time. (It does not hurt. Jason was right. It is stupid and self-centered and it's better if, for everyone's sake, it quit pretending there's anything left of the person it used to be in the hollow shell that has become Nothing.) It shuts its' fucking mouth and tries harder because this is the only thing it has ever been good for/good at. At some point it goes down hard and its' ankle cracks and swells, so it forces itself to lean on a telekinetic vector rather than putting weight on that and keeps working.
Not once does it complain. Not once does it react to death or violence with anything other than exactly what is necessary to respond to the situation. Feelings are for people, not for concepts.
It stares at the supplies Jason brought with uncomprehending eyes when it sees them. There is no reason to buy it anything. There is no use to art. The only thing worth doing is working. That is the only thing it exists to do. Complaints, interests, hopes, ideas, disappointments, those are all outside of what Nothing should or could have. However, leaving these here without a word would only further anger Jason, and an angry Jason is not conducive to work, which is the only thing that matters.
Nothing leaves Jason a small sticky note on the console:]
I apologize for everything.
I have sold the piano and donated my books.
Please give these supplies to someone who will utilize them properly.
[That probably won't go over well, either. Very little does, with Jason. Nothing does not intend to stick around to find out. It simply takes what it needs from the medical supplies here to wrap its' ankle, trying to force the injury into submission so that it can be ignored while Nothing works.
That's how Jason finds Nothing: wrapping its' ankle in an Ace bandage despite the fact that it's twice the size it should be, dried blood from a nosebleed on the neck of its' shirt where the blood slowly dripped down from the helmet and soaked into the fabric, dizzy from lack of sleep and limited food, running a fever it refuses to acknowledge. It flinches when Jason comes into the room, but does not retreat. This needs to be taken care of. Crime won't stop just because Nothing is so ridiculously self-centered it can't work with a sprain. It needs to get its' head out of its' ass and get back to the only place it doesn't fuck up.
The silence would be tense were two people here. Fortunately, there's only one. Only one and nothing.]
no subject
they really, really don't even think back to Jason's words, huh. there's no self reflection there. no thought about thinking outside of themselves.
Nothing really hated Jason, didn't they. that's what this has to be. there's no other explanation for the way they're thinking about him. the way they're going about everything now. Jason would be floored if he knew.
maybe it's pathetic of him, but he still would have tried to help. he still would have gotten those art supplies, even knowing Nothing hated him, because he felt something there. something between them. he can't forget that, even with how fucking shitty Nothing had been to him... has been to him the past few days.
Jason pushes himself too. he gets hurt, he gets injured, he keeps going, much like they all do. Batman does the same, pushing himself to the brink. Jason's pretty sure he should sit the next night out, but they can't. there's a lot going on in the Narrows. he tries to stay as alert as he possibly can, cause Bruce and Nothing don't seem like they're at the top of their game. he covers for them and jumps in without a second thought when compensation needs to be made. that's just what they do. it's survival, it's helping the city. it's Batman and Robin and Nothing, apparently, even though they won't say a word to him.
he's not surprised to see the sticky note with the message on it, along with the supplies. it twists inside of him either way (much like Nothing is twisting everything Jason said to turn themselves into even more of a martyr) but he won't let the hurt get to his heart. not even this is ok. nothing he does is ever good enough, ever ok. it's fine. everything's fine. he's so goddamn lonely. it's fine.
(Nothing has food of course, Bruce makes sure of that every single day since working with them, same as those medical supplies he's working with.)
Jason is so tired, on the verge of tears when he walks past Nothing bandaging up their ankle in the Batcave. he stops, torn between wanting to help, but remembering the note and the supplies, and how fucking unwanted he is. he has proof of this by Nothing's actions, unlike whatever the fuck is going on in Nothing's head.
and yet again, Jason can't seem to walk away. of course he can't. he rubs at his tired eyes, letting out a soft sigh before coming over. there's no silence here, tense or otherwise. ]
I know you don't want me here, but I can probably help with that. If anything, I can get it done faster so Bruce doesn't see.
no subject
There is no point to thinking through words and resolving interpersonal issues when there's only one person here. Eventually, the same magic that gives Nothing its' powers will completely destroy its' body. That's what happens when eldritch magic is introduced to a human body without any intervention on the eldritch being's part, and the source of Nothing's powers doesn't have any investment in keeping it alive. Seeing it break down is fun for him, entertaining, even. He laughed at the idea like a child about to see a good movie unfold. Nothing isn't sure how much sand is left in that hourglass, how long it will get to try to do something to save people. What it does know is that there's no time for personal connections or personal feelings or personal relationships. Every second spent selfishly talking to someone else is one second less devoted to helping others.
It wonders sometimes if Bruce will turn the corpse it leaves behind over to its' former family. It hopes not. If what's happening to parts of Nothing's body already is any indicator, the results will not be anything anyone wants to look at.
Eating is a struggle when in work mode. Caffeine pills and energy drinks are better in terms of space taken up and return on investment. Bruce has tried to engage Nothing in fragments of conversation. Something is wrong, though, something inside Nothing's mind has broken and isn't clicking back into place. There's no more chitchat about the neighborhood Nothing guards or the people it knows. No more moments where Nothing answers with something approaching friendly neutrality. Now everything is cordial and to the point, distant. Be of use and then be out of the way. Stop talking. You only ever make things worse. Just stop making things worse for once.
Nothing blinks up at Jason. Was the time he seemed okay with it even real? Was that an embellishment made up by Nothing's mind as magic continued to warp its' grip on sanity? It's hard to imagine that anyone could ever have willingly touched it for reasons unrelated to work. It stares at him. Want? A concept cannot want anything. However, having this fixed would make returning to work easier.
It removes the poorly-applied bandage and nods, too tired to even come up with something to say, polite, rude or otherwise. Sometimes it genuinely can't even remember what being well-rested felt like. Nothing thinks about trying to explain the state of its' body, but there's no explanation that wouldn't just turn into a monologue and a long story is the opposite of what either of them have the energy for. So it just lets the reality of its' disfigurement sink in.
The skin from Nothing's knees on down and elbows on down is black as pitch, not a naturally occurring shade but something caused by magic. The first hints of it started in the center of the hands and feet, then spread over the last four years, slowly but surely. The color is so dark it absorbs light entirely, swallows it up, even as tiny flecks catch the light. Bruising on it shows up as a lighter color rather than a darker one. Nothing holds out the bandage to Jason with hands equally dark, ungloved in order to ensure sufficient precision movement, for all the good that's done it.
Somewhere out there, there is an amateur superhero with the same encroaching coloration in crimson, who is also African-American, who also knows French and plays piano. No one has ever put the dots together. Nothing has never let anyone see its' skin and given anyone the chance to realize its shares a power source and family of origin with the Crimson Condor. And since Batman saw Nothing's skin prior to the rot really setting in, he doesn't have the dots to put together in the first place. Even detectives can't operate without clues.]
I apologize for inconveniencing you like this. Imposing was not the goal, here.
[God, it's tired. And hot. Hopefully that's not a sign of infection, although with the luck it's been having, that's not out of the question.]
no subject
if the smallest inconvenience sets them off like this, then it was never going to work out with Jason anyway. he's far more complex than this black and white world that Nothing wants to squeeze themselves into.
Jason is passionate to his core.
Nothing won't be the first or last person who hates him for it, though.
he comes over when Nothing actually nods, shoving down his surprise. if he can help, that's good. he's on Nothing's side. ]
It's cool. I was just...
[he starts, then stops. Nothing doesn't give a shit what he was doing, so he just shakes his head and sits down in front of them, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his arm again before taking the bandage from them and looking at their hands, their leg. pitch black, but oddly so. Jason doesn't know what to make of it.]
I'm gonna touch you now, is that ok?
[he asks before he even starts, wanting to make sure. he remembers. he knows. he understands, even if Nothing doesn't think he does.]
no subject
Nothing doesn't hate Jason. But people and things are fundamentally different in ways that render them incompatible. There's no salvaging that. He deserves to be with someone. That's just not something that should be compromised on.
Everything is better this way. Everyone is happier this way. And this way, it won't hurt anyone when Nothing dies, either from magic overuse, violent removal of magic, or from its' brother striking it down before it can tattle on him to Batman. If Batman knew Crimson Condor is getting his power via continual murder, he'd be on the case in a heartbeat. Right now, the game plan is to try and find the artifact that gave them both their powers and destroy it. Burn them both down, take them both out in one shot, instead of letting things escalate into an all-out violent confrontation that could kill others en masse.
Everything is better this way. Everything is fine. Everything is going according to plan.
It mistakes the trailing off for Jason catching sight of its' skin, and instinctively draws shadows down around the exposed skin to obscure it for a moment before sighing and resigning itself to letting its' disgusting discoloration be seen.]
Go ahead. I apologize for how it looks. If I take a pumice stone to all of it I can regrow normal skin, but it doesn't last more than a few days before it ends up like this again, so I usually don't bother.
[The one thing that will prompt Nothing to talk, even in the depths of a mental health episode? Sheer disgust for itself. Unfortunately, there's no way to do this without Jason having to come into contact with that, and worse, he has to touch the off-grey and silvery bruised patch, which is arguably the least human-looking bit. The fever Nothing's been running doesn't make anything more appealing.]
no subject
if Jason had more details, he'd try to help too. he's getting to be a much better detective than anyone thinks.
at first it seems like Nothing might not want Jason to touch him, so he doesn't, waiting for the ok. he takes it slow- in his movements, in his touches. he can be a shithead most of the time, but the way he touches others is always with great care. he knows what it's like to feel nothing but pain in touches. he doesn't ever want that for anyone else.
he doubts Nothing gives a shit about that either. Jason's pretty sure he's nothing in Nothing's eyes at this point. ]
It's ok. You never have to apologize for what you look like. It doesn't bother me.
[Jason takes note of the different colors, only so he can properly wrap Nothing's leg. even with different shades and contrasts, he can tell bruising and swelling, and where to start the wrappings and twist them around to be the most effective. he's seen this all his life.
the swelling is bad, but Jason's not sure if Nothing will let him do anything more to help than this, so he wants to be efficient with what he can do, wrapping it expertly, nice and slow.]
When I was little, I wanted to fly. I wanted to go up and up into the stars and the black of night.
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The thing that calls himself a god, the strange entity that doles these powers out, needs to be stopped permanently. And with the stakes this high, any unnecessary risks gambles with people's lives. Nothing was fourteen and homeless when it got handed this problem. It hasn't handled it perfectly, but it's trying.
The way Nothing tenses at being touched probably doesn't help the ongoing vibe of tension between them, but it can't help it. Something that came with the change of color was a heightened level of sensitivity. If it's psychological or physical, Nothing can't tell at this point. Biology textbooks hardly cover this, after all. As much as it isn't comfortable with the initial touch, though, Jason doesn't do anything actually hurtful. Apparently bruises still function enough like normal human ones that all the old rules about handling them still apply. Nothing tells itself that's reassuring and that this is fine, this indicates things aren't as far gone as it had thought, and almost manages to believe it.
It nods at being told not to apologize. The idea that anyone could stomach this is hard to believe. Jason's seen a lot of gore, though. Maybe that's why he can push aside the weirdness of it. Nothing tries not to think of the fact that this is the longest willing contact anyone has had with it in years. It tries, but...
But then Jason says that and Nothing shuts its' eyes hard. This is not the correct time to have feelings return. This is the worst possible time. Tears well up in its' eyes and it tells itself it's just the ankle. Why is an ounce of kindness its' fucking kryptonite? Do not reply to that. Do not say something stupid Do not-]
When I was little I wanted to be an artist. I painted on every tile on the kitchen floor once, one by one, all three hundred and twelve of them. Different patterns on each, all warm colors in one corner and then cooler and cooler colors in another. I think I was... I couldn't read yet, so I was three or four.
My dad yelled at me. I don't remember all of it. Just him saying art was useless and he didn't raise a pansy and I needed to do something useful with my life. I had to clean all the tiles with bleach. Mostly I remember him telling me, again and again, "I didn't raise a lazy little baby. Do something useful with your life. I didn't bust my ass to immigrate so you could color." But I still did. [It still fucked up, even when explicitly told something was a fuck up and not to do it. Nothing struggles to stay monotone but just ends up quieter and quieter and increasingly defeated sounding, even as it chokes back tears mostly successfully.]
I'm sorry I'm like this. I don't know what's wrong with me. I don't know how to be a person. I don't think I ever learned it right. I didn't mean to hurt you.
[Fuck, none of that is eloquent or well-worded or intelligent sounding. It probably just sounds crazier than ever, now. Shit.]
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if only Nothing could trust that.
Nothing tensing up doesn't make things worse, but Jason does keep an eye on them, does keep things slow. if Nothing wants to pull away or tell him to stop, he will. but they don't, so Jason keeps wrapping up the incredibly swollen ankle. he understands this too. he's been out there so many injuries, pretending he's fine, pushing through.
he wants to say more, but Nothing finally grabs onto something Jason says, and so he lets them talk, telling him important things. he's still wrapping their ankle, but he slows down a little.]
That sounds really fucking cool. I would've loved to see it.
[maybe their dad didn't, but dads are shit. they shouldn't even matter.]
It's cool. It's ok. We all have shit we get riled up over. Guess it wasn't so cute that time.
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None of them can know exactly what kind of fire they're playing with until they're close enough for it to burn. Better to die attempting to destroy it and leave Batman all its' notes and research into the Scarlet King than bring Batman in for the initial attempt. Content with the idea Nothing was, as always, acting alone, the smug bastard would see no need to relocate. The last notes would name a location. Then he would be the one with his guard down, and this would finally be over.
Unless Nothing doesn't find him before its' time runs out, of course. It has, what, three years left? Maybe four? Is that time enough?
Nothing wonders if this matters, if talking and rambling as if anything it says makes sense is even worth it when it can tell that it's having a bad mental health episode. But for once it manages not to offend Jason, so there's that, at least. At least it hasn't made one person angry. That's about as good as it gets.]
Maman told me not to think about it. Not to think about anything. Ne pense pas, sois bon.. Just do what I was told. So I did. And I do. I just... slip out of myself and do things, whatever the right thing seems to be, for a while. It got worse as I got older. It really got bad after I got my powers and ended up on the street. I don't even remember most of that year clearly, it was that bad.
[Fuck it. It's dying in a few years anyway. Even if Jason does piece together who Nothing used to be, it doesn't matter. And it's so good to finally say something to someone who doesn't automatically take its' dad side. God, that was exhausting, growing up. 'Your dad works hard to provide for you' 'your dad's an immigrant, you don't understand' 'he had to work since he was your age' - never anything to the effect of 'what you did wasn't wrong, actually', let alone praise for an idea. Nothing's shoulders slump, suddenly utterly drained.]
I was better in middle school, when I could stop it from happening mid-anxiety spike, but Ativan's expensive. And a controlled substance. And I doubt Bruce would want to work with me if he knew I'm unstable like this. I... I don't know how to fix myself.
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but that gets lonely and sad and along with all the other fucked up things in Jason's head, it doesn't leave him in a very good mental health place either.
he could never vent like this, but he's glad Nothing feels like they can, even if his own words are mostly ignored. it sounds like he really needs this, so Jason listens as he continues to wrap up Nothing's leg.]
I think Bruce probably knows by now. Maybe that's why he's trying to help you.
[of course Bruce knows and it's part of the reason he's keeping Nothing around. he knows the kid needs help and here's Jason, a fucking mess of a kid too. maybe he was hoping the two of them could help each other. but Jason's volatile too. he's pretty sure Bruce hasn't yet figured out that he's pure poison.
or so he thinks.
he slides his hands up and gently curls his fingers around the pitch blackness of Nothing's skin. it really is something else, feeling skin against skin.]
Things don't gotta be that way, N. You don't gotta slip outside of yourself. I know... I know how that is. I used to do that sometimes too. My dad... he used to tear into me just about every night. He'd beat me bloody and throw me in the closet, locking the door. Sometimes he'd forget I was even in there. I bet there are still marks on the inside of that door. I'd slip outside of myself every single time... but it got harder to come back each time too. I could feel myself breaking. That was an even scarier and more fucked up thing.
But everythings different now. I survived and so did you. And you're here now. You made it all the way here and we can help you. Let me help you.
[he's even willing to give up pieces of his past to help. he's never told anyone these things either.]
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