Fic: "Hapless Sons"

[buggery]

I'm trying to work on -- *wanting* to work on -- two of my WIPs. (This one and this one, for those of you playing the home game.) So of course I wrote another, unrelated story, in its entirety, this afternoon.

::facepalms::

I blame Te, for asking a question that led to this. And jamjar for inspiring the question.

Contains content that may not be appropriate for all readers. Also contains giant woobie.


Hapless Sons


He knows it's late. He'd done a partial patrol in the City before (giving in and) driving (home) to Gotham. So, expecting to arrive at the Manor not long before dawn, he'd made the drive in civvies, his costume in a duffel slung over the back of the bike.

Now the bag is on the bed in (what used to be, once upon a time) his bedroom, and he's heading down the (*The*) stairs. Alfred keeps his old room as freshly-aired and dust-free as if Dick still lived here, only the lack of yearbooks from later than the year he'd graduated or any current music giving away that the room was now more a (monument, a) museum piece than anything. These stairs are much the same, for all that they *are* used daily; there's never bat guano on them, or even dust, despite all the stone that's been ground away down here over the years.

So it's easy for his descent to be soundless, even though Bruce usually -- somehow -- hears (or senses) him if he's already down in the Cave.

A laugh echoes up from below. Jason. Well, he can't pretend that's surprising. Back when he was Robin, he'd often be at work alongside Bruce till nearly dawn, too, even on school nights.

He rounds the last curve of the stairs, and stops, one foot hanging above the next step.

Bruce is in the big chair by the main computer. He's in the suit, the cowl pushed back, and Dick can see (can't not see) that the tights and trunks are pushed down, too, just enough to expose--

Jason is in (*on*) Bruce's lap. Bare legs spread, and Dick can tell the shorts are somewhere else, because he can see the pale curves of the kid's equally (obscenely) bare ass around the dark shadow of Bruce's still-gauntleted hand. His other hand is on Jason's shoulder; both of Jason's hands are clenched in Bruce's hair.

Bruce is pulling Jason into his lap (over and over) in time with flexes of his thighs that shift him almost off the chair's seat. Jason's legs are flexing, too, and his arms, his whole body, working with Bruce's movements -- not against them.

That's something. Dick doesn't know if it's better or worse, but it's something.

Jason's head shifts, or both of theirs do, and there's a faint wet *smack* like a kiss ending. It's Jason's jawline against Bruce's mouth now, and the kid laughs again, head tilted back, and pants, "oh, *yeah*, yeah." Bruce grunts, and even at this distance it's no sound Dick has ever heard him make (just imagined it, so many)--

He nearly falls when he tries to get both feet on solid ground, his body having forgotten it was on a staircase.

He doesn't (can't) look back down across the cave.

It's weirdly tempting (in a way he doesn't want to examine) to try to make noise as he goes back upstairs. And pointless, on top of impossible. Alfred does his job too well, Dick has been trained too well, they all have their roles (functions) in this life.

When he gets back to the study and closes the clock behind him, (he's surprised that) his hands are steady (and by how much he's sweating). The room is empty. (He's alone.)

He's alone.

On his way (to his room, not his room anymore) to pick up his duffel, he meets Alfred, coming in the opposite direction. Alfred (looks at him for just a moment -- but it's enough, and he doesn't know whether it's worse that Alfred knows that *he* knows now or that Alfred must have known already -- and) only asks, "Would you care for a light breakfast before your drive back, Master Dick?"

Getting the food down (even keeping it down) won't be a problem. It's just that he knows he won't (enjoy) taste any of it, and that would be a disservice to Alfred's cooking.

But it will make Alfred (think he's made Dick) feel better.

"Sure, Alfred," he says. "Thanks."

At least there will be nothing for either of them to explain while he eats.

end.


Title from taken from "Love Not" by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton, courtesy of bartleby.com.

Thanks to Te and Mary for audiencing; and, to borrow a phrase from cereta, elynross made this better.


Happy early birthday, Jason.

other DC-comics-based writing by Jack
fanfiction by the Jack (all fandoms)

Comments

[elynross.livejournal.com]

Now, of course, I want to see the one where it's evil mind control! And Alfred knows nothing, and Dick doesn't find out about it right away because Bruce doesn't know he saw and awkwardness ensues and.

Well, okay, it's probably more unkind to Bruce to have made him do this under mind control than voluntarily. But DICK!!! Poor woobie!!!!

[brownbetty]

I love the way you make it hurt. The way everything Dick leans on is tumbling down around him and he's still managing to not make a *fuss* on autopilot. No screaming arguments, just quiet exsanguination.

[derryderrydown.livejournal.com]

*whimper* Oh, Dick. I love the echoes of honesty and self-delusion in this. So often brackets break up the flow of a sentence but you just make it so that one sentence is actually two sentences, and they each make perfect sense and, yeah, flailing.

Diiiiiiick! Run away and let Roy shag you better...

[jamjar.livejournal.com]

Ouch, poor Dick. Really not the best way of finding out. I do like the use of brackets here. It's very effective.

[flying-anteater.livejournal.com]

Oh, Dick! * cuddles him * He’s so stoic, it’s painful. He needs to run off and find a Timmy to make it all better.

[ratcreature]

Wow, woobie indeed. Poor Dick.

BTW don't feel bad about taking a break from your WIPs as long we readers get such other cool stories out of it. ;)

[(Anonymous)]

:Is sad:

[thete1.livejournal.com]

Oh owww woobie woobie WOOBIE. *SNIF*

GOOD job, Jack.

[metron-ariston.livejournal.com]

Oh, WAH. *flail* This story makes me need to have a long cry.

[cosmicastaway.livejournal.com]

Ack! Poor Dick!

I really liked what you did with the brackets. I had to reread them all to see if they all worked. This was very good.

[rubynye.livejournal.com]

Ow... ow... perfect.... ow....

[burntcopper.livejournal.com]

...:thud: that is all.

[petronelle.livejournal.com]

Oh, *kids.*

I am glad -- a little -- that Dick is hurt enough to leave, here, rather than kick up a fuss. Neither solution would actually solve anything, after all.

[cheshireempress.livejournal.com]

Oh, wow. I could completely visualize this happening as I read it, which is unusual for me (I tend to process words as words rather than images). And the images flowed and connected remarkably well-- everything filtered beautifully through Dick's perceptions, but it struck (at least for me) exactly the right balance between the stream-of-consciousness narration that puts your reader into the action and the more distant perspective that allows readers to look intellectually as well as emotionally, which really helps to make Dick's oh-so-carefully-controlled reactions seem like the necessary conclusions, the actions anyone would take in his place.

And as if that weren't enough, you then used such a distinctive style-- I have to fourth or fifth the praise for your use of brackets. Overall, this was a completely wonderful, believable piece. Thank you for posting it!

[chalcopyrite.livejournal.com]

This is just -- so very Dick. The way -- well:

But it will make Alfred (think he's made Dick) feel better.

Another round of applause on the parenthetical (not really) asides. They worked really well for me -- they translated into a low mutter at the back of my head, underlying what was around them. They start out so reflective, and then really underline Dick's shock in the Cave.

And. Oh gods. Alfred. Being all silently-understanding and -- ack. Definitely ack. ::whimpers::

[the-dystopian.livejournal.com]

Oh. Oh, ow. I hope you'll forgive me for wandering in here unannounced, but I'd like to thank you for traumatizing me in exactly the way I needed.

What works in this is that everything is so tactile, and tactile precisely because of the lack of melodrama that simultaneously mutes and magnifies everything Dick's feeling. (Am I making sense? No.) The basic physical details (where Bruce's hands are, where Jason's mouth is) and the tilted perspective (looking into the Cave) have a strange sort of snowball effect, like a gallery of too-bright, sordid photographs -- culminating in a feeling of outsider-ness that is completely overwhelming, completely... Oh, Dick. Never what Bruce needed. Wanted --

The stairs, and Alfred's meal. I don't know why that bit affected me so much. Just. The familiarity of it, as well as the shock that's pervading Dick's system at the time. It's that sort of sensible, understated reaction to a horrid situation that people tend to have, even though stories tend to make bad experiences far more dramatic.

It's just...

Life tends to land silent punches, sometimes. You get that. This story gets that.

Thank you.

[wikiprostitute.livejournal.com]

This was AMAZING. I'm pretty sure I'm dead now.