#main (3).

she's not the only one who can tell. truth is, despite his best efforts, the consequences of the nightwing massacre are written all over his body. from the struggling to walk to the occasional haunted look in his eyes, the boy is far from a pillar of strength. he's already ditched the cane he'd been given, despite clearly still needing it. if there's one thing kurt horton will do, it's put himself through pain and suffering in an attempt to appear healed. the limp is visible, as is the wincing when he walks too quickly or moves too much, but kurt has been living in a bubble wherein he believes his trauma is hidden, unidentifiable, some kind of secret. but it doesn't take much looking to see through his act. when it's all so publicized, when the entire world is narrowing in on trying to work out the mystery of why tommy did what he did, no stone remains unturned. it's only a matter of time before everything kurt's been holding in comes spilling out.

"yeah, well, newsflash: it's none of your business, okay?" snide remarks remain his only form of defense, falling back into the role of entitled sunnyvaler in an attempt to keep the unsightly parts of himself buried. he doesn't have the luxury of letting people in, can not run the risk of requiring emotional support. the entire structure of kurt's life relies entirely and unfalteringly on the idea that he can handle this along. physically, mentally, emotionally. it all has to be on his own shoulders, gluing up the cracks in his facade to make sure that his supposedly impeccable reputation remains intact. he knows he can't hide from her the way that his face scrunches at any twist of his body, can't hide the hand that keeps returning to his side, almost looking casual but always just stiff enough to be obviously holding an injury. he can't hide that, no matter how much he wants to, no matter how much he tries. he is forced to bear the burden of victimhood, forced to sit under the weight of distress. he will do this on his own, no matter what it costs. he has to. and that belief that he has to look after himself, his refusal to let people in, is the exact reason why everyone is so quick to demonize him, to treat him as the absolute worst sunnyvale has to offer. it may not be who he really is, but if its all he ever allows anyone else to see, at some point that just becomes him. what's on the inside doesn't matter if no one ever gets the chance to see it.

he’s visibly excited, like a kid on christmas. childlike grin can almost make you forget all that he’s been through, the weight hanging on his shoulders. but the scars are still prominent, scrunching and moving with his face, coating his hands like gloves. physically the trauma is always there, but for once jason isn’t thinking about all that he’s been through. the only thing he can think about is the raccoon in front of him, the excitement running through him. he’d already gotten the talk from his dad, the same one you give to a kid meeting a puppy for the first time: be gentle, don’t pat without asking, the works. it’s almost hard to believe he’s as old as he is, looking much more like a kid than an eighteen year old. the giddiness is the most childlike thing, but his size doesn’t help him much. barely a foot taller than the raccoon, closer in height to rocket than to his own dads.