Chapter Text
Jason's heart had never pounded as hard as it had when he murdered Bruce Wayne. He'd seen death; he'd seen what corpses looked like when the mob had left them in alleyways; he'd even picked their pockets. Somehow none of it had prepared him for watching the light fade out of the bastard's left over eye. Blood was warm, sticky, and it smelled terrible. The old man's bowels had emptied. Nothing about the situation was what Jason would consider good, he just couldn't take it anymore.
Dick. Jason was sure Dick was going to kill him anyways, and maybe that would have been better for him, dead on the bed, but he wasn't-hadn't. He was just blabbering like the old fuck was somehow worth crying over. Jason wouldn't shed a tear for him. Just like before, he was a survivor, and when he realized Dick was far too checked out to even notice him, he went to work.
Money. Bruce was loaded, and his wallet was full of cash. Dick was going to be one wealthy fucking had-been slave, but if Jason stuck around he was going to get hung. That was what he heard they did to slaves who killed their masters in Gotham. They made them pay with their lives-examples to keep the rest of them in line. Once bitten-twice shy. He could hide, he knew how to hide. It wasn't like they had any good pictures of him anyways and the bastard had nabbed him out fast the second he saw him in the gutter slaveyard before they could take many more.
Clothes. He didn't need a lot, but he couldn't run around covered in blood forever. He dried off his hands and ran into the room Bruce had made for him. There was enough to shove into a backpack-like he'd ever go to school. He kept the knife on him, deciding he'd need it till he got far enough away. Once his socks and shoes were on, he raided the kitchen for sandwiches and bottled waters from the fridge and bolted.
The forest. That's where he ran off into the night. Freedom was in his hair, against his speckled dirty skin, rustling his clothes. It wasn't that he was scared of the looming trees and branches clawing at him, but his heart wasn't calming down. He nearly twisted his ankle on a root, collapsing down in the dirt in a huff. There in the darkness all alone he finally felt the finality of it all. Doomed as he was to live as an outlaw, he wouldn't trade it for a night back in a golden sick cage.
Going back to Gotham was going to be a mistake, and heading north would be a disaster. Killing that man had only solidified the likelihood he couldn't gain asylum in Canada; no, south was probably the best option. Maybe he could hide out in the woods forever. He'd heard stories of the Appalachians being secluded. With a plan in his head, he set out running as fast as he could again. He needed space between him and what his hands had done-space between Dick's wailing cries and the smell of shit.
When he came along a stream of water he changed, washing himself free of the blood using a stone for friction. He'd seen it on a T.V. show once, and it hurt worse than they'd led him to think it might feel, but once he was free of all that blood, he finally felt like he could breathe.
For the first time in months, his lungs were light, full of air and his mind whirled. It was over for now. No more being pushed around. No more being forced to get on his knees for some piece of shit. He shivered and quickly dressed in a pair of jeans and a red hoodie. It wasn't exactly camouflage but it'd have to do, and though he knew it was dangerous to be running around in the woods at night, he needed to get as far away from that fucking mansion as he could manage.
Maybe it was hubris to think he could be an outdoorsman with shitty T.V. shows as his guide, but it did give him the basics. He made shelters with trees and branches and even managed to start making fires after the first few nights. But the food and water didn't last, and as he stood on the sidelines of a yard, his stomach growled. He wasn't above stealing to survive either. These people looked like they were well off enough, a little boy not much different than him-like they couldn't afford a robust security system, or didn't really need one. That's the life he should have had. Parents who cared, parents who didn't go to prison or die on him.
The thoughts were pushed away as quickly as they were summoned. He didn't have time for pity, not when the owners were piling into their cars and driving off for the morning. Fast like lightning, he ran to their backdoor. He tried it, but of course it was locked. Their back window however was easy to break open.
Rabbit fast, his heart was in his ears as he glanced around. No one came running and he clambered through the window, careful not to snag himself on the broken glass. Inside was nice, orderly, and though he felt a little guilty about invading their space, he was too hungry to really care. He immediately went to the kitchen and grabbed the loaf of bread on the counter. A slice was shoved into his mouth, practically inhaling it. He closed his eyes. It was refreshing to have the fresh soft sweet flavor on his tongue, and he slowed his chewing, savoring it. There was a lot to choose from in the fridge, a rare soda and he grabbed it, relishing the crack and fizzle that came when he opened it. He washed the remainder of the bread down with the sugary beverage and let out a satisfied breath of air.
With careful planning he began to rifle through all their cabinets and pantry. Not much of it he could do anything with on the run, but there was enough to get him by for another week or so if he really was sparing with eating. He washed his hands when he noticed how dirty they were leaving dusty little trails here and there. Suddenly gaping with realization that his finger prints were all over things, he hurriedly began to wipe them all off with his sleeve. That was the one thing he knew he couldn't hide, and only when he was absolutely positive he wasn't leaving anything incriminating behind, he took his stash and exited out of the window again.
He wasn't even sure just how far south he'd come but the sprawling suburbs had kept him heading further southwest. He had to move at night, staying mostly hidden during the day. At first it'd been difficult to sleep, the bastard's face haunting him, but once he'd gotten a routine down, and he felt like he might actually have a chance, he began sleeping like a log with a blanket he eventually stole from another house.
Sleep, move, eat, steal-it was all he knew for months on end. He could see the mountains looming over him, calling him, but he wasn't sure he could survive without stealing. He was going to try though, and with a determined set in his shoulders, found himself a place within the forest and built a shelter for camouflage.
He was proud of it, small as it was, and he tried laying traps for food. He wished it would have stayed that way, but after a few mismanaged attempts at eating berries, and a weeks worth of stomach pains and barren traps, he finally had to admit he was going to die of starvation if he didn't do something. He wandered the mountain side, looking for trails, hiding from people, picking through scarce garbage bins, but unlike the suburbs, there wasn't anything for him to even steal.
"Figures," he moped, tired foot after tired foot placed in front of the other. It was the end of the line, just another casualty-a statistic of the system. Some day they'd find his body and say he got what he deserved. He leaned up against a tree and let out a pained huff of air. Bone weary and done, he let his eyes relax, and wondered if he curled up right then and there, would it all be over in a few days.
In the distance he heard something move. Long since giving up fear of noises in the forest, he was only mildly curious when he looked up. It wasn't the deer that was catching his attention however, but a cabin. A surge of hope rushed through him and he pushed himself forward towards it. It wasn't exactly shabby, but it wasn't something like a full house, and when the door opened without a hitch he couldn't believe his luck.
Inside was dark save for the little bit of light streaming through two windows to either side. It was a big room with only what looked like a bathroom attached, but there was a kitchenette, a bed, a stove, and shockingly, a sink. He tripped his way over to it, tattered backpack on the ground and he greedily drank the water up. It was cold and refreshing, and before he'd realized, he'd drank too much. His stomach lurched, mouth retching out all the water with a little bile. His body shook from the excursion, but he waited patiently for it to subside before he tried again, drinking slowly this time.
Little bit by little bit he felt more human, felt like he could make it. And with his spirits rallied, he started a fire in the stove pot belly and closed the door. There wasn't much to eat immediately, the kitchen's pantry boasting mostly jerkies and beans. He didn't really remember how one made beans but he imagined as dry as they were they needed water. He found a pan and filled it with a small amount of beans, water, and placed it on the stove.
Time was something he'd grown used to. Time with his thoughts, time with his body. He couldn't admit he was lonely, but he could admit that he was bored after so long in the fringes of society. The cabin itself was fascinating, filled with all kinds of guns, knives, and traps. Whoever it belonged to clearly liked hunting, a few trophies on the wall, but it also looked like they didn't live there normally. As he chewed on a little jerky he came to a small bookshelf, happy to find a few novels and field guides. It was invigorating to have something to occupy his mind with, to have names for the things he'd seen in the woods, and before he knew it the beans were soft and edible. He even drank the water, slowly of course, not wanting to upset his stomach any more than he already had by simply putting something in it.
It was amazing living in the cabin, somewhat derelict, but warm, dry, and slowly he began to explore, making a little map in the back of the field guide with a bit of charcoal. Eventually he found a small little town, one he could sneak about at night in, and before he knew it, he was living his life. No one in the town seemed to mind his midnight escapades that happened every so many weeks that it would take him to get there and back, and maybe it had to do with the money he left behind, but it was a quiet and peaceful existence.
It was his.
One day he found a newspaper, and was happy to see it'd been six months since he'd managed to get away from the bastard. Six months on his own. All he had to do was make it just a little longer. Maybe that's when he should have realized that it was too good to last, but it wasn't until one early afternoon when he heard a car coming up the drive that he realized he'd grown too soft and accustomed to living there.
He heard a door slam, and out the window he tried to make it just as the door opened. Over his shoulder he could see an older man, maybe in his late forties or early fifties, jacked to all hell and back, and most notabily, a fucking patch on his eye like he was some pirate.
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, jumping down with a thud.
"Who's there?" The husky low voice came, but Jason was too busy booking it to care. He knew the woods like the back of his hands and decided hiding out near the little sleepy town would be the better option. When he heard the thunderous steps behind him he glanced over his shoulder, shocked to find the old fuck was hot on his trail. He doubled his efforts, adrenaline rocketing through his system like a lightening bolt.
He hadn't run in a while, and he cursed himself for growing soft, growing easy, and fuck if he didn't start screaming the second he was pulled by his fucking hoodie. He lashed out, kicking and punching, biting and clawing. Anything to get away from the iron grip, but he was overpowered like he weighed nothing, and maybe he was paper thin these days, but the old fuck was something of a beast, wrenching him down until he was pinned and stuck.
"Well well there," huffed the old man, a fucking grin on his face of all things, "what do we have here?"
"Nothing! Let me go, asshole!"
"Not till you tell me why you were in my cabin."
"Didn't look used to me!"
"You're old enough to know that's not how it works, kid. Common, what's a little wildling like you doing out here? Where's your parents?"
"Fuck!" Jason howled, trying to headbutt the man. It only just connected before he was able to worm out from under him, but the man's hand was grabbing him by the ankle and dragging him back over the fallen leaves. This time the old man was less forgiving, wrenching his arms behind his back and pushing them up so hard he thought they might snap.
"Owww~!"
"Calm down." The command was said like the man wasn't used to hearing no.
"Fuck you! Fuck you!"
There was a huff of disappointed air behind him, and it took him a moment to realize a belt was coming off.
"Don't you fucking touch me, you bastard!"
"What's with all the theatrics, kid?"
"Let me go!"
"I'll let you go when we get you back to your parents, but first we're going to figure out just what the hell you've been doing in my cabin."
When the belt went around his arms he began fighting to free them, but the pain of the position kept him from doing much more than squirming like an idiot. He cussed under his breath and finally dropped his forehead against the forest floor. The smell of dirt and damp leaves grounded him, familiar and yet, now he knew this was going to be it. It was over. He ruined it all.
He was pulled up, his legs shaking slightly now that the adrenaline was seeping out of his bones, and he grimaced as he was pushed forward, arms secured behind him. Back inside the cabin he was shoved down on the only armchair in the room and the old man stood in front of him, arms crossed like his figure alone would be intimidating. Jason glared at him-like he'd be intimidated by an old pirate fuck.
"Where's your parents? Back in town?"
"No."
"They hunting?"
"Fuck," he muttered, looking away for a moment. Maybe he could get away with a lie, "my dad is."
"Was that so hard?" the old man said, uncrossing his arms. "Now, what're you doing here and not out with him?"
"I was pissed alright! I didn't want to go fucking hunting so I just started walking around and here I am."
There was something a little disconcerting about the way the old man's eye seemed to sharpen. Suddenly he felt like he was being stripped, bared and open. He didn't like the sensation at all.
"Just let me go and I'll get out of your hair. He's probably fucking pissed and looking for me."
"You know these woods?"
"Yah, sure. We -uh-come all the time the last few years."
"These woods?"
"Yah, these woods, what you got cotton in ya damn ears?"
Jason kept his stare level. It was hard enough changing his accent to match the T.V., to not sound like he was just a city rat, but he just slipped. He slipped and the old man was suddenly grabbing him by the chin and yanking his head up.
"Well, I'll be damned."
"What?" Jason spat, trying to hide the trembling building in his body. The man looked like he'd fucking hit paydirt and Jason didn't like that at all either.
"You're Jason Todd. Bruce Wayne's murderer."
Jason froze. They stared at each other. A good liar would have denied it, but the way the old man's face looked, he doubted he could convince him otherwise. His stomach was twisting up in knots, and he couldn't take it anymore.
"So fucking what?!" He spat finally, jerking his chin out of the calloused hand, "so fucking what?! That bastard deserved it after what he was doing!"
"Oh?" the old man started chuckling, like it was some fucking joke.
"Ya, fuckin' bastard was fucking-literally-fucking his slaves, fucked up so much, with a fucking creepy ass dungeon and everything!"
The old man regarded him for a while before he crossed his arms again. "Doesn't matter much, does it?"
That caught Jason off guard, and he huffed, trying to read the austere expression on the man's stern face.
"You see, I don't give a shit what he did to you, and I don't really give a shit that you killed him."
Somehow that gave him a little hope before he wised up. No, this guy looked like a bastard too. He started trying to get his arms free as sly as he could, "then what do you give a shit about?"
"There's a bounty on your head, didn't you know? You're the one that got away, and boy do they not like that you killed some 'Prince of Gotham'. Not just in the news but on my board for months now."
"Yah? So that's it huh? Gonna fucking turn me in for some money?"
"I am a bounty hunter, kid. Didn't think someone like you would just fall in my lap on my vacation, but I'll be damned if I let you go now. Your pretty little payday will set me up for a long time."
The old man leaned down and took Jason by the hair, jerking his head back as he got in close, "don't even think about trying to get away. I don't have to take the likes of you in alive to collect it either."
Jason swallowed, defiance in his eyes, but he didn't want to think about how easy it'd be for the man to kill him in the state he was in. If he couldn't outrun him, and he couldn't outfight him, his only choice was to try and get in the vehicle outside. He'd never driven one before but he didn't think it would be so hard to figure out. He'd watched movies.
"Alright. First things first-"
"Wait!" Jason said, just as the old man was letting go of his hair.
"What?"
"I'll…I'll let you fuck me if you let me go."
The old man's gaze turned different, the hard stoic gaze slipping into something predatory, "think I'll let you kill me too?"
"No-no. I'll do it. However you want," Jason said, swallowing and licking his lips. This was it, wasn't it. The only thing he really had left.
"So I get a shitty lay and let you go? I don't think so," the man smirked, letting go of Jason's hair with a push.
"I'll make it good. Don't you know, that's why Wayne spent so much on me," Jason lied smoothly. Despite feeling like he'd shake away, he turned his head and looked up at the man from the side, baring more of his neck, "said us street rats have experience those proper little shits never had."
"That so? Well my name's Slade."
"So what?"
"I want you to remember that, because that's the name you'll be calling out."
Jason tried not to tremble, his chest heaving up and down. The old fuck didn't look like he'd go easy on him, and his gaze went to the door before it went down to where Slade's pants were.
"It'd be better if my hands were free."
"Prove it, first."
"Prove it?"
"Yah, show me you mean it and I'll untie you," Slade replied darkly, hand gripping himself to make a point.
Jason glared at him for a moment before the old man quirked a brow. It was a stand off, a real one, and he got off the chair, keeping his knees down on the floor before he came over.
"A little help, since you won't untie me."
"I guess I'm feeling a little generous."
Slade unbuttoned his pants and unzipped his fly, pushing his jeans down till they fell at his feet in a puddle. The old man was confident, and Jason was not surprised to find that the anaconda snake in his fucking briefs was likely the cause of it. Fuck-he'd hoped for a pencil dick.
"Mouth at it first," Slade said, putting his hand on Jason's head. He hated it, having half a mind just to bite the damn thing and be killed, but now that he'd tasted freedom, he wanted more of it. He closed his eyes, arguing with himself back and forth before Slade jerked him by the hair.
"Don't even think about biting me, kid."
Jason met his gaze with a frown, but didn't fight against the hold. If he didn't resist as much, he knew it wouldn't hurt as much. He just wanted it to be over already. Just get it over with, he told himself, pushing forward to mouth at the girthy length. It was hard to not smell the older man, his scent was mostly clean but musky. The cloth on his tongue was unpleasant but he'd played this stupid game before and tried his best to spit it up while he breathed hot and heavy.
As if it was impossible, the damn thing grew more, and Jason felt a shiver run down his spine. He knew from experience this was going to fucking suck-hurt-maybe even break something. He knew what to do, and he moaned, playing into the old fuck's ego.
"Like what you see?"
Slade's voice had turned low and gravelly, clearly enjoying himself, and Jason nodded his head, purposefully moving along the length of it. He was pulled away by his hair again and Jason panted lightly, because no, he didn't like what he saw, but Slade didn't need to know that.
When his hair was let go, the old fuck pushed his briefs down, letting the heft of it spring up. The fat tip of it was already leaking and Jason hoped it meant the fucker was going to come fast and he could steal the asshole's keys. He kept reminding himself of how nice it'd been to live alone, that all he had to do was this.
He glanced up, a mistake, the leer in the blue eye reminding him too much of Bruce. He wanted to gag, but he swallowed it all down, and brought his shaky gaze to the cock in front of him. He could do it, he could do it. Just do it. Just…just do it.
He leaned forward and licked the head, the salt exploding on his tongue not completely unpleasant. It's not like he didn't like…aspects of sex, he'd just rather never have it with other people, but Slade was encouraging his head forward for more and he licked up its length before sucking against the side back down.
It's a popsicle. Just a meat popsicle. Just slobber it up, he told himself, and so he did, finally sucking it into his mouth. And fuck was it difficult, his jaw pushed down wide and already without much effort it was at the back of his throat, threatening to really make him gag. At least Slade wasn't pushy, wasn't forceful…hadn't hit him already. Maybe he could take comfort in that much, and he began to suck more diligently, thinking he could end it fast if he did it right and good. With all his efforts he began to really try, tongue sliding on the underside, and Slade was moaning, stroking fingers through his hair almost like he cared.
It was hotter than he expected, drawing more deep raspy moans from the old man, and maybe it was because his didn't taste like old cheese, or soured salt, and maybe it was at least nice that it was on his own terms for once, but knowing he was making this person fall apart suddenly felt just a little bit like it was going to his head. Before he could really bring things to a finish, the old man pulled him off his cock with a jerk of his hair again.
"Not yet…You said I get to fuck you."
"Yah," Jason replied breathlessly. If he was already that close…freedom loomed in the doorway and he nodded, "and you let me go."
"I'll let you go." Slade's mouth curved into a wicked smile and he pulled Jason up off the floor by his arms.
Jason expected his arms to go free first, but Slade was pushing him down onto the bed after kicking off his own shoes and clothes. He pulled his shirt off next, exposing white burly chest that was no less ripped than the rest of him. Jason wasn't sure what to do except take what was given and he laid back, chest heaving as he looked up at the formidable frame.
"So like, want me on my back or my stomach?"
"It's cute you think we'll only do one position."
Jason swallowed at that, but he ultimately thought it was all talk, "yah, sure, old man. Let's see what you've got."
He tried not to think about his pulse when Slade pulled his shoes off, or his pants, and he had to admit he felt a little ridiculous being half dressed and half nude. He wasn't afraid of his body, but he didn't like seeing the way the older man licked his lips, and he just wanted his hands freed already.
"It's my turn for a taste."
"Whatever," Jason said, as if he was used to any kind of reciprocation. In fact, it startled him to suddenly have a mouth around his own cock, sucking him in without warning. He let out a startled moan, and began to gasp, head falling back. Fuck, fuck, he hadn't thought it would be something good like this. He also didn't want to cum like a fucking idiot just because his dick got wet. He was better than that, better than them. It was hard, it was so hard though, his body tensing up and his voice pitching higher.
"What the hell?!" he cried out, gasping when Slade's mouth popped off him.
"Say my name when you cum."
Jason scoffed, but Slade's mouth was already back on him, drawing him down to the hilt. He was drowning in the sensation of wet heat, legs tensed as they pulled against the side of the bed for purchase when he suddenly came. Intense as the head had been, he cried out, not willing to say the old bastard's name after all as he came down his throat.
He sagged, loose and spent and Slade looked angry, but not so much that it shocked him when he was grabbed by the throat.
"I said, say my name."
"Ugk!" Jason sounded without meaning to. He could barely breathe, much less manage a thought in his head. The pressure was immense and suddenly gone. The world was brightening and he didn't even realize he'd been losing consciousness at the time.
"Now, when you cum this time, you'd better say my name. Do you understand?"
"Y-yes," he croaked, taking back every little good he'd thought might come between them. He was left dazed and confused, especially when the old fuck left the side of the bed and went into the kitchen. It was really only when a bottle of oil was brought back that it clicked in his head. Of course there were no fucking condoms in the middle of the fucking forest and he started scrambling up.
"Where you going?"
"Nowhere, what's that for?"
"You'd rather me take you without something?"
"Yah but like, don't you have a condom or some shit in your wallet?"
"Why the hell would I keep that around? You think people just show up in my cabin trying to fuck me everyday?"
Jason was grabbed by the foot, dragged back down to the edge of the bed and he let out a yelp, "hey!"
"You changing your mind now, kid?" Slade asked, poised to stop, but even Jason could see that it was all pretense.
He looked at the door again, clear as day projecting his desire. He shook his head and looked up at the ceiling, trying not to think about how fucking stupid he was being when Slade rolled him over and pulled him to the edge.
He gasped when a finger touched him below, something he'd never gotten to experience before-a softer touch. Oil followed almost immediately, a little massage before the intrusion. It wasn't ever going to be enough to calm him, and he groaned, hiding his face in the comforter on the bed. It burned a little, too fast for him to really adjust when another finger was worked in.
The tremors in his body didn't stop the old fuck, and he could feel the sheen of sweat on his skin, uncomfortable as he was pulled apart wider. There'd been all kinds of stories on the streets, all kinds of information dolled out, but nothing had really prepared him for something like this. Those had been violent and fast, this was slow and methodical, like what he presumed someone did when they weren't practically raping someone.
It hung in his throat. What Bruce had done was painful, quick and dirty, and yet, this wasn't. Could he call it that? He said he'd do it…did deals not count? Before he could ponder the mystery of it, something magical happened in his body. He spasmed and cried out, gasping for breath.
"What'd you do?!" he asked, feeling himself hardened where he'd been trapped against the cover.
"Never played around before? You are pretty damn tight. With all that talk, I figured you'd be a little loose."
"Fuck you, I-I'm no fucking -ah~" the feeling expoloded inside him again.
"Someone's really going to have to do something about that mouth of yours," Slade said, clearly repeating whatever action he'd been doing before.
It felt like electric pleasure, dousing him before going away. His body betrayed him, squirming for another hit of it, and Slade didn't deny him, hitting the spot until he was a panting mess of bundled up nerves. When he pulled his fingers free, Jason could almost cry from frustration, robbed of the moment just a little bit too soon.
"Don't worry, baby, I'll make sure you get some more."
Jason felt humiliated and he squirmed his arms, trying once more in vein to get free, "I'm no one's fucking baby!"
A slap to his ass caused him to gasp. It stung hard.
"Watch your mouth. I'm done listening to you cuss."
"I'll fucki-ah!"
Another smack and he shuddered hard, panting against the sting of pain. It was so at odds from the pleasure he'd felt before and he felt like he'd be bruised by the sheer weight of the hand that slapped his backside one last time for good measure. He didn't want any more of it, but he opened his mouth again, ready to smart off.
Slade took the opportunity to press against him, cutting off Jason's words with a startled noise. There was no way it'd fit, no way it-
"Fuck~" he groaned, but Slade wasn't interested in slapping him now, too busy working his way inside him. Jason panted, trying to take the intrusion as calmly as he could, and it felt like an eternity before it was all the way in.
Puffs of heated breath washed over his sweat slicked back, and when Slade's calloused hands gripped Jason by the hips, he squeezed his hands closed with another panting moan. Slow was the drag out and in, not nearly enough prep having gone into it, but he was also made aware that whatever Slade had been doing with his fingers before, the beast in him was dragging across it on every pass.
It was a strange pain pleasure thing, something he didn't exactly hate, but he buried his face and tried to calm himself when the old fuck began to pick up his pace. Pain and pleasure, pain and pleasure, pain and pleasure, Jason's mind couldn't be made up, cycling between wanting it to continue and wanting it to stop immediately. His body was moving against his will, seeking and retreating, angling itself so that the pleasure was more than the pain. If he just breathed a certain way, if he just loosened or gripped with his muscles, he couldn't be sure. It was erratic, but Slade wasn't stopping or slowing, instead taking his movements like permission to go harder and faster.
He began to moan in a steady chord, almost like he was singing in a damn choir, punctuated by every damn slam that was taking him. He gripped at his own arms harder, needing something to hold onto against the onslaught, but it did nothing. Everything was going out of control in his body, spasms and coiled heat and tension until suddenly it was all washed in blinding white unlike anything he'd felt before.
Sobs ripped from his body, not forgetting himself, "Slade~Slade~Slade~!"
And just like that, the older man was pulsing in him, slamming his hips and driving him into the bed. He couldn't control himself, sobbing out of sudden oversensitivity as his arms were freed. His brain couldn't keep up as he was left empty and flipped over and entered in another fell swoop. The hand on his cock was pumping him, drawing out more sobs, and he looked up at the man above him through the haze of tears in his eyes.
"Good boy, saying my name. I think you deserve another round, don't you?"
"Please~" he sobbed, not knowing what Slade meant, not caring. He just wanted to be done, the sticky reminder of his emission against the small of his back.
"Almost there, baby, almost there. Be good for me, you're almost there," Slade said, hips pistoning.
It felt deeper than the other angle had been, and far more raw, building up in him something dark and heavy, like acid in his veins with ripping tension. He couldn't, he couldn't anymore, there was nothing left in him but his body was trying, seizing up as he tried to cum and-
He wasn't sure how long he laid there in a daze. It was all over and his body was cooling down, his breath steadying out, and there was nothing but an empty vessel left behind. His soul had floated away, he was sure of it, and even while Slade cleaned him up, he didn't move himself, didn't protest, something akin to a lifesized doll. That was what he was left with until at last the thread of knowledge came into his mind.
I'm free.
He'd done it! He'd gotten through it! Now he could get out of there and live his life and never think about it again. He sat up with a start before the pain shot up his back. It drew a gasp from him, and the old fuck had the audacity to laugh. He shot him a dirty look and got out of the bed and started getting dressed. It wasn't like he felt refreshed, but Slade had wiped him down enough that he didn't exactly feel…dirty. He'd felt that way with Bruce, no-no he didn't want to think about that either.
He got on his shoes and shoved things into his backpack, ready to go when Slade beat him to the door. Somehow the world was still alive around him, but inside him something had changed, something different and new but not quite right.
Jason was a little leery, following Slade out of the house. He shut the door behind him and came down the little porch. His backside ached, making each step jolt pain through his body. As if it wasn't bad enough, he felt sick to his stomach, but this was it, he was going to be free of them all. Just a little longer.
"I'll drive you to town."
"I can walk."
"Can you?" Slade asked with a smug smirk. "Common, my treat."
Jason looked out to the forest, and considering he didn't have anything on him, aside from his back pack of a few clothes and some jerky, he had to admit it'd be nice to get a ride there.
"Fine, but straight to town."
"Cross my heart," Slade said, though his words unsettled Jason more than they helped.
They were silent-seatbelts put on-truck rumbling to life. Despite the hiccup, Jason thought he could still live a good life in hiding; he just needed to be smarter about it. The trees began to pass quicker as they came out onto a paved drive, and Jason didn't realize they were headed in the wrong direction until the mountain was looking smaller behind them.
"Where are we going? You said you were taking me to town?"
"I am taking you to town, just not the town you thought."
"Let me out you fucking bastard," Jason yelled, reaching for the wheel.
"You crazy!? You'll kill us both," the old man griped, fighting the wheel for control. The truck swerved right then left again, causing a litany of car horns to go off. It wasn't until he saw stars that he realized he'd been sucker punched hard and he blacked out, unaware of the blood dripping down his nose.
When Jason began to stir again, the world taking shape in his mind's eye, the truck was lurching to a stop. His mouth barely worked as he mumbled, "where are we?"
"Home."
"Home?" His mom's smile flashed unbidden, her sweet voice calling him in his daze.
"Well, it's your home now," the old man replied, his door slamming shut.
Jason's eyes rolled in his head as his door was opened and the fresh cooler air hit him. He shivered and blinked, barely making out the brick building and parking lot. It was no home he'd ever seen, and it wasn't until he'd been pulled inside a building, hardly able to walk that he found himself cuffed with two guards at his side holding him up.
He started coming to, waking up to the nightmare and gasping in air. It couldn't be.
"What the fuck! We had a deal!"
Slade barked out a laugh and looked down on him. It was as condescending as any expression Jason had ever seen before, "we never said when I had to let you go, Jason."
"You fucking piece of shit! Fuck you!" Jason screamed, kicked at the man as he was pulled away by the two guards. His head throbbed, and despite all his thrashing about, they dragged him further and further from the smug bastard until was thrown in a cell to calm down.
"Pipe down kid," the one guard said, "you're not going anywhere anytime soon."
"Shit, think we'll be on the news?" the other was saying as they began to move away.
Jason huffed in the cell, looking around before he threw his hands into his hair and screamed at the top of his lungs in frustration. There was nothing to destroy, no one he could take his rage out on, just concrete and steel and a toilet. It took hours for him to calm down, hours for him stewing in his rage before he'd come to a visceral conclusion.
He'd kill that bastard too if he ever got his hands on him again.