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titans, disassemble

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It’s an adrenaline crash, Dick tells him, and...whatever. Jason’s dealt with adrenaline crashes, he’s dealt with pain and fear and all that shit. He’s not a little kid, he’s not a little kid, but Dick’s eyes are misty and Jason’s tired and--


“Don’t let bird brain off the hook so easy,” and it’s Hank, or some distant version of him. 


Jason’s turned away from them, sat down in a chair on Dickface’s orders, and it hurts. 


But he’s Robin, he’s invincible, don’t they know being Robin gives him magic? Doesn’t Jason know? Robin shouldn’t be on the verge of tears, Robin shouldn’t be bawling at one traumatic event, an insult, a comment--


In the side of his vision, Dick crosses his arms, jaw set, and Jason just wants to tell him to drop it. Leave it alone, let them think what they want to--they’re right. Dick can parade the guilt on his shoulders like he’s the one who fucked up, who fucked everybody up, who fucked the Tower up, but everybody knows it’s Jason. They pin it on him, dig at him, and he can take it. Maybe he didn’t do all that soda bottle shit, but bringing Deathstroke to their door?


He keeps falling. 


“Leave Jason out of this.”


Jason closes his eyes to get away from the way the buildings are moving just outside the window, but the sensation of dropping never leaves. His two feet nailed to the floorboards can’t even convince him he’s on solid ground. 


“You’re playing favorites,” Rachel accuses. Favorites? “He drew crucifixes on my mirror!”


“Whatever happened, it wasn’t Jason, it was--”


“Let him speak for himself,” Hank says, and Jason looks back at them in time to see Dawn rest a hand on his chest. 


Dick opens his mouth, but Jason beats him to it, his throat scratchy and unfamiliar. “I didn’t do it, asshole.”


Donna scoffs. “Oh, great, the attitude is sure convincing.”


Jason digs his teeth into the scabbed split on his lip. He knows, he knows-- he knows how he looks, a moody teenager, all of the “I hate adults” bullshit written right on his face, and he doesn’t know how to turn it off. 

“Can we all just stop, calm down a minute?” Dick snaps. There’s a shuddery breath and a sharp intake and Jason knows he’s responsible for putting this whole burden on him-- “It’s okay to be upset--we’re all wound up, but you’re adults and we’re a team--


“No, no, no, we came back to tie up some loose ends and head out--I’m not sticking around to play your little game, to be a teen fucking Titan--”


The whole living space is a mess of stringy noises that barely fit together in sentences. Or maybe that’s just Jason’s head. Bits and pieces floating in one ear and out the other, but then there’s a Jason, and a rooftop, and jumping, all hushed and mumbled like he’s not meant to hear it. He does. 


A glass of water jolts him, barely a slam, but his nerves are grating and he almost chokes on them (or are those tears?).


Kori pushes it toward him. “Just me.”


It’s a ruckus in the background. He wonders how pinched Rachel’s face will look when she catches Kori scraping a chair against the floor and sitting down next to him, a delinquent worth, like, one fourth of a dime. Probably a penny. 


He doesn’t meet her eyes, doesn’t try to--he wants to lock himself back in his room, but Dick’s paranoid and Deathstroke’s--


“--in the tower,” one of the noises finishes for him. 


“Hey, back to me,” Kori insists, and draws his attention, and it hurts . He doesn’t want to be an open book to her, to anyone. She takes in his face with a tilt of her head. “This wasn’t your fault.”


“Yeah, I already fucking told everyone.”


Sorry, but he doesn’t bother with it, knows it won’t matter coming from him. 


Kori reaches out for his curled fist--and he pulls back, an instinct--and then there’s the sound of a fist on flesh and yells and Kori stands so fast her chair falls back and it’s tense and bitter and Rose is leaving and--


I’m going with you, but it never leaves his mouth, but he wants to get out of here, he knows he’s not wanted. 


He doesn’t even realize they’ve all left until it’s just Gar with tears in his eyes and Dick with a bloody nose and Kori with the chime of her phone--and then she’s gone, too, an apology to Dick and a hug to Gar and a hand pressed to Jason’s head like he’s a little kid. Dick hangs his head and it’s a small, that’s fucked up, Dick, but none of them make a move to leave and...Jason doesn’t think he could, if he wanted to.