The Vents

his heart starts beating out of his chest, his thoughts begin racing at a million miles a minute, all begging variations of the same anxious question— where the fuck are you? 

in the seconds it takes for him to jump out of bed and reach for the gun he keeps tucked safely underneath his pillow, he spirals.

were you taken? are you hurt?

did you leave?

that last thought gives him more panic than he likes to think about— you leaving him in the dead of night, without a word. his special brand of love not being enough for you, the safety you give him disappearing in the blink of an eye. 

you wouldn’t do that. you’re too good, too considerate. you couldn’t. 

right?

he tries not to dwell on it. instead, he quietly leaves the bedroom, searching through your shared apartment like it’s a crime scene, clicking the safety off of the gun when he clears the living room. its when he turns to the kitchen that he feels a cold, achy draft, and smells the smoggy gotham air leaking into the living room. 

his eyes dart to the window. it rests half open, curtains blowing with the wind. he blinks, approaching while trying not to think about the what ifs. what if someone broke in? what if someone took you? what if you finally packed up and left? 

what if he has to be alone again?

his grip on the pistol tightens, and he silently moves closer to the window before he hears it— sniffling. 

he pauses, barely a yard away, listening to you crying through the wall. he frowns, setting the gun down on the edge of the windowsill, climbing through the window. 

you’re curled up on the fire escape, staring out at gotham’s skyline, tears streaking down your face, soft wet lines reflecting what little moonlight bleeds through the stairs that hang above you, all of this signaling some sort of problem you didn’t trust him enough to fix. 

“baby?” he asks, sliding through the gap in the window. you glance up at him, wiping away your tears and sitting back up. his heart breaks, right there, in his chest, the pieces swirling through his bloodstream like explosives of guilt and fear. the way that you’re staring at him, trying to hide how your lip quivers and how your hands shake, trying to fake a smile and pretend that you’re okay— it shatters him. 

he sets himself up on the small platform so he’s sitting across from you, his legs shifting against yours. he wants to give you a little space— that would be good, right? he isn’t sure what to do here, he can’t think of a time he’s ever seen you like this. he can’t recall if you’ve ever even cried in front of him. 

shit. 

“what’s the matter?” he asks. you just shake your head. you don’t think you can speak without breaking down into sobs. 

you are well aware of everything jason has been through. what he puts himself through, day-to-day, as a victim his own of endless selflessness, his compulsions to fix all that is broken and that is suffering. you spent a lot of time being his rock, trying to coax everything out of him he was willing to share so he could feel safe and supported, so that he knew it was okay to struggle. 

but sometimes you struggle too. and you didn’t die, you weren’t forced back into a body that was too small, you weren’t part of a mission that gave up on you. you’re just… you. you struggle with the mundane, with the thoughts that swirl in your own head, it’s just the little things that break you down. 

you don’t like to bother him with stuff like this. 

you just aren’t ready to. 

“m’fine.” you lie, forcing yourself to look at the ground. if your eyes meet his there’s no way you can hold it all together. 

you can feel him frown, you can feel the intensity of his stare burning into your head. you just don’t have the energy to look up at him. you can’t seem to find it in you to do anything but pretend that you’re okay and reassure him that you’re here and you’re safe and everything is just fine. 

he turns himself around, shifting until he’s right next to you, wrapping one arm around your torso and using the other to tug your head into the crook of his neck. he doesn’t know what to say— how to ease the pain you keep tucked away behind your heart. he hates that you can’t tell him what plagues you. he hates that he can’t be for you what you are for him: warmth, comfort, and understanding. 

you lean into him, letting his warmth envelop you, letting your sorrows get devoured by his gentle touch. he holds you like you’re something fragile, like he’s afraid if he squeezes you too tight you’ll shatter into a thousand pieces and he won’t be able to fix it. 

“you don’t have to tell me,” he says, quietly, his fingers playing with the hair atop your scalp. “but i’m here no matter what.”

that soft whisper into your ear, combined with the way he cradles you against him, it all just about undoes you, unraveling the tightly wound ball of sorrow and fear that you’ve been carrying inside of your chest for a lifetime. 

maybe you’re too tired, or too overwhelmed to keep holding everything back, maybe jason just caught you at such a bad time you can’t care to raise up the floodgates that block the harsh waves of all-consuming emotion this time. maybe this is just a moment of weakness, when your jaw unhinges and spills out every tragic secret you’ve kept from him, letting him stroke your hair until you run out of reasons to cry into his shoulder. 

but it feels different— like catharsis. like you are never going to feel the need to hold back the little things that tug you down from jason again. because this night, one that is so random and unimportant in the scheme of things, has changed both of you. it’s made you realize that you don’t always have to be strong for jason, and it made jason realize that he can be strong to you. 

you’re not sure how long it is before jason gently pulls you back inside, his touch not leaving you for a second while he guides you back into bed, holding you so close and so tight all you can think about is how overwhelming his warmth is. how much you love him. 

you miss the breath of relief he lets out once you’ve fallen back asleep, snoring into his chest like a little angel. he takes absolute solace in the fact that you’re okay, that you’re safe and breathing and you didn’t run off into the night. that you’ve finally had the courage to show him the broken and the ugly about you, what he had feared you would have never revealed had he not found you this evening, shaking on the fire escape. 

jason never thought love would find him. at least, not like this. he was sure he was destined for the kind of love that had fashioned him into a weapon in the first place— conditional, harrowing, given and taken on a whim. but you? you give it to him like it costs you nothing, like its the most natural thing in the world. so for him to have an opportunity to hold you like you hold him, to help you like you help him? 

he’s never felt so lucky.