#arc four.

things have been bad for a while, but never this bad. he’d had injuries that stopped him from being all that mobile in the past, but he’d never really been in hospital for those other than directly after nightwing, had never faced the slow and painful recovery process. this was especially different, the injury not one that was as visible to him, the boy not fully processing that he had a head injury, that it was serious. he wants to be fine, and in the past he’d pushed himself beyond the limits of sore limbs. but this isn’t as simple, this isn’t just a little pain that he has to push through. and yet he’ll try, pushing himself up off of the hospital bed, barely getting one step before his head is spinning and he’s collapsing to the floor. its barely been two days since he woke up, he knows he shouldn’t be trying to walk on his own, but he doesn’t know how to handle an injury when he’s given the freedom to heal, when he isn’t on a strictly enforced timeline. he doesn’t hear them rush over, they’re positioned on the wrong side for it. so when hands find his shoulders kurt jumps, quick to shrink in on himself. he trusts them, he does, but he’s still full of adrenaline, his brain still stuck in the fight or flight he’d been surviving in for his entire life. “‘m fine.” whispered, barely audible. he’s not fine and he knows it, making no move to get up off of the ground because he knows he can’t do it on his own, he just doesn’t want to have to admit to as much.

he jumps at the sound of noahs voice, immediately freezing in place as if he wasn't in an entirely compromising position. its very clear what he's trying to do. he groans, steps away from the door. he sees where his dad gets it from, this entire damn family seemingly hyper aware of when someones sneaking out. he's certainly not about to tell him that he was planning to go get high. "nowhere." said with a groan, well aware he's been caught in the act.

     “you cannot sleep?”

“You sure you’re not smoking something, right? Find my old stash or some shit?” He teases, lightheartedness plucking away at his features to brighten him up. After his recent relapse, he’s been clean about a week, and he’s been very busy at... ‘work’. Explaining to her that he has two jobs now wasn’t exactly easy. Especially after getting clean, he’s sure she worries. 

he has to avoid the urge to touch the side of his face, has to remind himself of the stitches, remind himself that picking at it could make things worse. he feels like such a spectacle, even when he’s hidden from the prying eyes of reporters. “really?” it’s impossible to hide his surprise, even the most basic acts of kindness are so unfamiliar to him that they’re shocking. he never expects kindness from anyone, not even those he’s closest to. though, perhaps it’s not so surprising anymore. now that the entire world knows about how violent his mother can be, perhaps kurt’s a lot easier to read than anyone ever thought before. “i wouldn’t blame you if you did. i think i’ve seen it a thousand times by now.” it’s hard for him to avoid, but even if he had more chances to avoid it he likely wouldn’t. there’s something about watching it that feels important; be it a way to punish himself, or a way to remind himself of who his mother really is. “i think a lot of people like to see a rich kid get taken down a peg.”

« no. » not physically, at least, not really. the emotional pain is inescapable, the mental torment constant. head tilts to get a better look at the scar in his reflection, though he quickly regrets that. it’s too prominent, makes him feel sick every time he sees it. he’ll never be able to forget, never be able to be normal again. head quickly turns away, a little too quick as the pain rushes to his head. it didn’t hurt when he could ignore it, but that wasn’t always an option. « only sometimes. » a better answer, though he doubts it’d comfort her much. he turns completely away from his own reflection, avoids any sight of just how pitiful he’s become. he’d struggled with his self perception long before this, only getting worse as time goes on. « i don’t think i need the meds. » but he knows even as he says it that heather won’t let that slide, that she’d make sure he took every dose he’s prescribed, that he works on this in the right way. « it only hurts if i move too fast. »

that’s  not  the  response  he  wants.  he  wants  cosmo  to  yell  and  scream  at  him,  to  get  violent,  to  fight  him  with  all  hes  got.  he  knows  cosmo  can  fight,  he  knows  cosmos  capable,  and  jasons  been  thriving  on  the  idea  of  a  fight.  he  wants  to  feel  the  pain  of  a  punch,  wants  the  angry  screaming,  for  everything  to  finally  bubble  over  and  cause  even  more  chaos  than  before.  he  wants  to  be  hated,  wants  to  burn  every  bridge  and  leave  himself  entirely  alone.  that's  how  it  was  in  the  days  of  the  lab,  some  part  of  him  yearning  for  that  feeling  again.  so  with  a  grunt  he'll  shove  cosmo  backwards,  or  at  least  he  tries  to.  cosmos  got  a  foot  of  height  on  him  and  jason  knows  he's  strong  enough  to  withstand  a  shove  from  an  eighteen  year  old  with  a  substance  problem.  but  still  he  tries,  even  goes  in  for  a  second  shove.  ❝  fight.  ❞