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When Jason comes back to himself his head feels hazy, dragging and slurring with thoughts unable to connect one to the other. His limbs tingle and his body whole feels as though it's trapped beneath heavy chains. He senses the heavy ache then, a weight on his lower back, the pressure of bruises on his cheek, his hips and ribs.
Then he sees the bed, white sheets and covers scattered around with yellow and red stains, the stench makes him gag, the impulse from his own body reviving the pain, flaring white hot from his insides. Memories of last night flash to his mind, images of a body over his; heavier and bigger than his, pushing their wight down on him, inside of him tearing him from deep within.
His hands are trembling. His cotton white shirt is ripped from the collar, falling gracelessly to his torso and exposing his nipples to the cold and humid air, his jacket, pants and boxers are nowhere to be seen.
He starts hyperventilating before he can think to stop himself, his eyes scan the room; there's no one with him. He's momentarily grateful for it, not a threat, not anyone he knows that could see him like this. Jason swallows thickly, gathering his thoughts to see what he'll do next. He doesn't recognize the room he's in. It's someone else's room, not anyone he knows. There are posters of alt bands, a bunk bed on the other side of it, various items, empty cans of beers and energy drinks and other trash on the floor. What did he do last night? How did he end up there?
With great effort he manages to pull himself from the bed, the feel of his feet on the rough carpet has him exhaling, the torment is yet to crash on him. He knows what happened, from the pain and the stickiness in between his legs, the pounding in his head. He doesn't want to think about it, not when all he knows is that he needs to get out of there.
Last night. Last night there had been a party, a small get together that soon had too many teenagers in a house meant for a nuclear family. There had been too many people, too much booze, Jason doesn't remember drinking all that much, he had been with Artemis and Bizarro at some point, Artemis had ended up in an altercation with another member of the Amazons; Jason had been with them, not wanting to miss it.
...Then what?
He shakes his head, he'll think about it later, he stumbles his way up to search for his clothes, the hiss and the wince in his face that came with every movement are involuntary.
His pants are on the floor, by the end of the bed frame, as careful and quick as he manages he puts them on, after a quick scan he gives up on his underwear, reluctant to find more physical evidence of what happened the night before.
He rushes to the door, turns it in a swift motions and goes out. He's met with the same hallway from the night before, seldom the other people and their chattering and the echo and bass of the loud music from downstairs. Photographs and frame are crooked in place, some crashed on the floor, there are stains of vomit and some other substances on the lower walls.
Jason has yet to see anyone. Although, there are voices coming from the living room.
He walks down carefully, each step down the stairs is painful and it makes something gross and sticky ooze from between his ass cheeks. Jason could puke, he needs a shower immediately.
When he steps on the lower floor he sees hears commotion coming from outside. He peeks from the hallways, there are red lights swiping and flicking from where he can see from the main door, visible even against the tentative light of Gotham's sunrise.
Technically Jason is of legal age to drink, doesn't mean he's ecstatic about the police being there, the last thing he wants is more trouble than he already he's in.
Dread makes his stomach drop when he sees a familiar sleek, black car. Bruce's black car.
He stands there dumbly for a moment, was Bruce searching for him? Jason was supposed to come back home early enough, he didn't expect to end up black out drunk and miss several rules and curfews he's managed for Bruce to look past over the years, easier to achieve with the arrival of several younger siblings he didn't expect.
The thought, somehow is reason enough to propel him forward, despite the pain, the ache and the shame and dread he's been pushing down. He's not sure he wants Bruce to see him like this, but he also knows he doesn't want whoever did this to him to find him first.
There's an ambulance outside, a police car, and Bruce's.
The first people he sees is Tim's friends; Kon, Bart, and Cassie all huddled together, postures drawn together and tense by the ambulance. Jason turns on his heel, going around the house where more chatter is coming from.
Then Jason sees the blood, on one of the corners of the house's pool. A stark scarlet spot on the bright blue borderline of the pool.
Then the dread bubbles up to his throat with worry and anxiety because he hasn't seen Tim yet. Jason moves automatically.
Jason knew Tim was at the party, he had seen him, they have gotten different rides to get there. they weren't together, they had different group friends, Jason had gotten there later at night too. His quick panting comes back but he's able to wrestle it into steady breathing as he keeps looking for familiar faces.
Paramedics are moving around, police officers are exchanging words on their radios. There's worried chatter coming from adults near the pool. Jason hears the words "under age drinking, an accident, a kid fell on his head," thrown around casually, as though it was just another weekend. And it was, Jason has seen worse, worse than some kids being reckless while drunk and getting seriously injured for it.
Tim was seventeen. And there where times where he was such an hypocrite about drinking and using. Tell him he's wrong, tell Jason he's getting it wrong and it isn't his little brother's blood and tissue splattered by the pool.
This couldn't get even worse but then again he could always prove himself wrong.
He felt a weight off his chest when he caught a glimpse of Alfred, the older man would tell him what was going on.
"Alfred," Jason called, his intention was to yell loud enough the old butler would be able to hear him even among the chatter and movement but his voice came out hoarse like gravel and too weak to actually be able to form the words.
So Jason headed to the old man, arms tight around his frame to fight against the chill of the morning. Told himself it wasn't because he was trying to hide himself, his uncovered chest or the nauseating scent that must be oozing from him.
"Alfred," he tried once again after clearing his throat forcefully. Alfred had an exhaustion weighting down on his features, he honestly looked quite like crap, it felt wrong to see him that way. "What's going on?"
Alfred turned to him, the recognition of his face returning some firmness over the line of his shoulder, Jason felt equally relieved to see him.
"Master Jason," Alfred greeted, his voice as prim as always, "It seems to be that Master Tim got involved in an accident."
The confirmation of his fear made Jason's step come to a halt. His heart dropped.
But then he was close enough to the old man.
"My goodness, my boy," Alfred said, a sharp exhale of scandal in his tone, "Whatever happened to you?"
A sound he never wanted to hear again called for his attention, a gurney, with old wheels squeaking as they made way towards the ambulance, there Tim was unconscious with his head wrapped in bandages.
Jason felt his stomach hollow and heavy.
Then he saw Bruce at the side of it, worry and helplessness in his otherwise often concealed expression.
Just for a moment they met gazes, he wished the distance in between them would shelter him from his father witnessing the way he looked, from Bruce really seeing him and assuming the worst of what happened with a look alone. Keep the older man from detecting the trails of disaster that Alfred was able to decipher in an instant, but he knows Bruce, Jason knows him well enough to see the twitch in his eyebrows and the crook in his lips to the sight of his son with his clothes were in disarray and his skin pale as a ghost underneath visible bruises.
He could think Jason got in a fight, he could think Jason chose to sleep with someone particularly rough. Jason desperately wished for that, he didn't need to pile other problem to Bruce's plate for the night.
But then Bruce was heading towards him, with an honestly sudden stride that had Jason both tense in trepidation and clench his fists with anxiety.
"Jay?" Bruce said, worry warming his words, "Sweetheart, what happened?"
"What happened to Tim?" Jason croaked, his voice was still a mess, and it hurt to speak but he had to know.
His garbled words make Bruce frown, and again, Jason hoped he concluded it as an inappropriate hangover but he knew better.
"He fell by the pool," Bruce explained, "Kon said they've been drinking and a kid got too close and Tim tried to help, there was a fight going on."
Could it have been Artie? There were too many clues he was missing. He hated not knowing.
"We're heading to the hospital," Bruce said. If Jason had seen his father's hand coming to rest on his shoulder he would have tried to stop himself from flinching. He couldn't.
And Bruce's expression was already worried, right then he looked haunted.
"Come with me," he said in a tone that left room for no objection.
It was a blur but they hurried to their car, he was distantly aware of how Bruce had asked Alfred to join Tim in the ambulance, how his dad got behind the steering wheel and had Jason joining him to his side, on their way he started asking question. Jason was glad he didn't have to see his face for this.
"Tell me what happened," Bruce said, his voice was that harsh tone that Jason thinks he was making an effort to soften, not that he was really successful. "I thought you were with your friends."
"I was," Jason answered, then closed his eyes. The way Bruce stomped on the brakes to rush to the hospital right by the ambulance's heel was making him dizzy. His stomach was churning, "I was. I don't really remember when we got separated."
Bruce doesn't answer immediately, then...
"You were supposed to come home before two."
A knot formed in Jason's throat, making him unable to answer.
"Jason," Bruce pressed.
His voice is thick when he answers. "I know."
"How did you get hurt?" Bruce asks, softer this time.
But Jason doesn't remember, he doesn't remember getting in the middle of a fight, he doesn't remember leaving his friends for somewhere private where someone could have the chance to take advantage of him.
Jason dry heaves. His hand goes over his mouth as result.
His dad's hand flies to his thigh squeezing reassuringly, Jason thinks it might have bothered him would have been anyone else. Would have him feel irritated and angry, sensitive and vulnerable as he felt.
He wasn't planning on telling anyone, let alone his dad but the words spill before he can stop them.
"I woke up in a room, upstairs," he croaks, tears smearing his cheeks, "I don't remember how but— I was naked and there was blood and..."
He can't bring himself to continue, it was easier to pretend whatever happened in that room simply didn’t happen, easier to pretend it wouldn't affect him. But he wouldn’t be the only one affected, the only one who’s life would change after it. Judging by the creaking of the steering wheel by how hardhis dad was gripping it.
“Who were you with? Do you remember anyone?” Bruce asked seriously. "Anyone suspicious?"
Jason squeezed his eyes shut, wanting to remember but simultaneously not and dreading the very idea of it. His tongue felt heavy and stuck to the roof of his mouth.
"No— I uh...last thing I remember was me and Biz chasing after Artie and..."
"Call them," Bruce commanded. Jason felt his father's hard eyes swiping over his hunching form. It felt heavy, beyond what he felt he could endure. He was already exhausted. "Ask them what they remember."
"I..." Jason said as it dawned on him, "I don't have my phone on me."
Silence blanketed around them, traffic lights and signs and cars of all colors turned into messy scenery.
Jason wasn't one to just lose his own things, expensive things Bruce paid for.
After a another moment he heard his dad say; more to himself than for Jason to hear: "They should have been with you."
Jason doesn't know what to say to that.
The car came a screeching sound as it parked at the hospital.
"Jaylad, listen to me," Bruce said, turning to Jason "You're getting checked as well," Bruce said,
"I'm fine," Jason protested, then a little hysterically he added, "Tim is the one who split his head open on the freaking pool."
"Have you seen your face?" Bruce asked with urgency, "It's bruised all over, and your clothes, Jay."
Jason was petrified by the tone on his father's voice. He knew it was bad but hearing Bruce of all people so scandalized was jarring.
"Come on," his dad said, gently coaxing him towards his own door, opening and closing the front door swiftly behind himself to meet him outside.
For a moment too long Jason just sat there, not being able to connect one thing to the other.
Checked for what? Jason has definitely had worse.