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Jason stood idly by the window, watching the stars glimmer as he waited for a shooting star.
In a book that he had read recently, he learned that wishing upon a shooting star could make miracles happen. While it was childish, the boy was barely 7 years old. He could dream if he wanted.
And so, he waited and waited, the clocked ticked past one in the morning. He hung onto the window frame, which were covered in dust in grime— sometimes Jason could swear he saw something crawl.
The walls near it had cigarette stains, well, it was better than the piss stains in his room.
After what felt like forever of waiting, he heard a 'click' from the front door, meaning either his father had come back or there was an intruder.
So, the little Jason vigilantly hopped off of window frame from which he hung, making sure not to make a sound as he first examined his mother— who slept like a log on a mattress on the floor with messy bedsheets and some needles spread across.
He sighed as he looked at the front door, it was indeed his father.
He spent almost the entire day just trying to convince his mother to sleep— he knew sometimes his mother would be jittery, too energetic to sleep and would stay up nearly all night. Then, his father would come back past midnight, the two would fight. It would be loud, irritating, unnecessary and maybe even terrifying. Sometimes in his head, he would compare it to crows cawing at random and unnecessary times.
Which is why, he would try to get his mother to sleep before midnight. But that didn't stop his father.
Sometimes his father would stumble back drunk and immediately grab his mother, he would hit her or yell at her straight away.
Other times, he would clasp a thick palm over her mouth and drag her into another room. Little Jason would lean his ear against the door, he would sometimes hear screaming or metal falling against the floor— something akin to a belt or jewellery. Other times he would try to peep through the cracks of the door, he'd see his mother beat or stripped to nudity.
It was unfamiliar.
Baffling.
Sickening.
While Jason was a child, he was by no means unaware. He absolutely knew what it meant when his mother was stripped.
She was being hurt and his father was happy for once.
Was it wrong? Was it right? It would sometimes make his father pleased enough to not yell for a few days, but it would also end in his mother sticking more needles in her skin as if letting a snake intentionally stick it's fangs into her skin, or shove enough pills down her throat that she would vomit all over the kitchen dish and the already dirty dishes.
Either way, he hoped his father would just pass out on the couch and leave him and his mother alone.
But as Jason tried to move back to his star gazing and wait for a shooting star, a thick hand gripped on his shoulder— his father's. Willis'.
"Hey, Jay. Whatcha doin' awake so late? Your mom kept you up again?"
He spoke, god, Jason could smell the shit ass cheap booze in his breath and the sweat on his skin.
As much as he hated it, he froze in fear and uncertainty. Too scared to look his father in the eyes and as he atleast tried to turn to face the man's body.
"Damn that woman. I told her she wasn't ready for kids, but she just didn't listen! God... I'm pent up, y'know that, Jay? Work was horrible."
Work? What work?
All that bastard did was pit pocket and dance around some low-tier goons.
"mom's fine. Just go rest 'f you're so tired."
Jason replied in a much smaller voice, he looked up at Willis, who had the messiest and most drunken look he had seen in a while. It was gross, honestly.
"I wouldn't be so tired if you went out to help me, you little shit."
Willis replied, in a dazed tone as he went ahead and sat on the couch.
Oh, good, he was probably going to pass out and not bother anyone.
"I told you I don't wanna do that!"
Jason spat back, he hated stealing, hate taking from people who were just in as much of a desperate need as he is. But he knew it was necessary if he wanted atleast something to eat tomorrow.
"Then starve! You're sometimes just like that bitch.. god. Least you're not as useless as she is."
Jason bit back his tongue, literally. He felt blood pool in his mouth as he bit down on his tongue, he felt a level of anger and defensive instincts that he didn't even know how to put into words.
He clenched down his fists, he genuinely just wanted to punch the life out of his so called "father".
"Fuck are you so mad for?"
His father asked, swinging a leg across the couch, seemingly getting comfortable."
"You—"
"Yknow what? Just c'mere. I don't wanna fight, I'm pent up enough. Shit, I just wanna sleep."
Before Jason could speak, Willis had already cut him off, And for some reason, his body moved on it's own– he didn't know if it was out of fear or because he was two steps away from beating the shit out of him. But he moved forward anyways.
Jason stood infront of Willis, and before either of them could say anything, Willis had already grabbed Jason by his wrist– pulling him onto the couch within seconds.
"I don't wanna argue, son. As much as I'd love to get your mom up, I don't wanna see her face. So, you help me out a little, yeah?"
Jason froze, again.
He wanted to throw up.
He knew of this little... Routine him and his father would fall into occasionally. His father said it made him feel good, and eventually it would make Jason feel good too.
Jason was clueless about it back then, but all he knew is that it would stop Willis from hurting his mom.
Now, he just felt disgusted by himself, but he knew he had to for his mother.
And just like that, his ears began to ring. he heard willis unbuckle his belt as stayed still.
Then, Willis undid his pants and underwear.
Jason's vision began to blur, but his body moved on it's own as he began to reach for his father.
Before he could, he felt worms on his hands, alongside centipedes and god knows other bugs. He gasped for air, it was too dark.
He was in dirt.
He was buried again.
He tried to crawl his way out, again, but he felt as if he were going to vomit, he felt worms all over his body, inside his mouth and ear, over his skin and clothes.
He gasped for air, he knew he had to get his breathing under control or else he would be a goner.
But did he want to live? Did he want to go through this again?
Just as he was about to reach for the light, He woke up.
Jason wheezed as he clawed at his skin, he could still feel the worms, he could still feel his father's hands.
"Get off, get off, get off—"
He coughed as he quickly but clumsily hopped off his bed, head to a nearby cabinet where he immediately banged his head against the wall.
"FUCK!!"
Jason screeched. His gun, he needed his gun. He usually had it by his bedside but had been too tired from a patrol and tossed it somewhere.
Before long, he found it laying sadly beside his bedside cabinet. Jason reached for it, his breathing erratic from that god awful nightmare.
He rolled his fingers around the trigger guard and sat beside his bed. His grip on the gun was strong, concerningly so.
It was stupid.
Was it a panic attack? Jason wouldn't say so, his shock was short lived.
Even after years of everything he had been through, he still found himself panicking over stupid dreams. Dreams! He almost felt like a child who was too scared to go to bed because of a nightmare.
Regardless, the nightmares just came and came. Never waiting, Never stopping. Because of that, Jason had grown accustomed to these "Shocks." He knew what to do whenever he had one, he'd reach for his gun and grip onto it like his life depended on it.
He felt his face goes cold, and then he felt his eyes water.
It was hilarious, truly.
Red Hood, Crime lord, crying over a fucking nightmare. It was pathetic, all he did now was chuckle.
The next thing he did was check the time, he reached for his phone with shaking hands— '2:50am' it read.
It wasn't so late out, well, atleast for Red Hood.
So he decided he would go on a patrol, to ease his mind and to watch out for the citizens of Gotham– either way, he already reached for his mask and left his apartment.
Even with the wind blowing on his (masked) face, the city's light flickering, he still felt the dirt above him and the worms on his skin.