j_todd (j_todd) wrote in nowhereisland, @ 2018-12-25 20:51:00 |
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Entry tags: | henry mitchell jr (henrymitchelljr), jason todd (j_todd) |
Characters: Jason (Open to Henry)
Location: Jason's Place
Time: Evening of 25th
Warnings: None at this time
Summary: Jason is haunted by memories, and does a stupid thing.
Wake up, it's Christmas mourn,
Those loved have long since gone.
The stocking are hung but who cares?
Preserved for those no longer there.
Jason drew his knee up to his chest, sighting down the scope, eyes fixating somewhere other than the portrait at the other end, mind a million miles away, a danger for someone such as himself, but he couldn’t stop it, not tonight.
”Come on Bruce, just one more…”
“We have a job to do, Jason.”
“It’s Christmas, what freak it going to be out tonight?”
“You’d be surprised…”
The sharp clang of metal against metal banished the memories from his head and Jason set the cartridge next to him, reaching a gloved hand up to unscrew the scope from the riffle. He set the riffle across his lap, picking up the white cotton cloth on the arm of the chest, slowly and carefully stroking it over the metal and glass, meticulously cleaning every inch of the scope.
”Give it back, Dick!”
“Come get it, Jay-bird!”
“Boys!”
“Sorry, Alf...come on, Dick, give it back!”
“It’s just a stocking, Jay...it’s not like it’s important!”
“But it’s mine...Bruce gave it to me!”
“...sorry. Here.”
Setting the now gleaming scope aside, Jason started pulling the barrel free of the weapon, picking up the pipe brush and oiling it, the familiar scent filling his nostrils, grounding him, dredging his mind from the past and back into the present. He breathed heavily through his nose, turning the barrel slightly so that he could start cleaning the inside, more than sure he wasn’t aiming at anything other than the wall.
”Now, now, that wasn’t a nice thing to do to uncle Joker...let me tell you one thing, this is going to hurt you a lot more than it’s going to hurt me…”
A cry wretched itself from Jason’s lips and he threw the barrel across the room. It was a freak moment of chance, the barrel rebounding off the wall, before slamming into the butt of the rifle in his hands…
..a rifle that still had a bullet in it, even if he had cleared the rest of it. Jason cursed, holding his shoulder, the rifle parts and cleaning supplies falling from his lap as he slid from the chair, breathing hard.
Just his luck, he was going to fucking bleed to death on Christmas.