"Stupid Layla, what does she know?" You mumbled to yourself, walking home out in the dark. You knew better not to take dark alley shortcuts, especially through crime alley. but at this point you didn't seem to care. You didn't care if you got threatened or not, you were having one of those moments where you didn't give a rats ass what happened to you because you were so clouded with anger.

Kicking rocks down the road, and pulling Jason's old jacket tighter around you. You wore a white and blue striped T shirt on under it, with some baggy jeans and a pair of beat up sneakers. the jeans weren't exactly your favorite, but it would do.

Your lip quivered a bit as you walked, tightening your fingers around the denim fabric around your shoulders and back. What if Layla was right? What if you were just being selfish when it comes to Jason? You did give a damn, and you wonder if Jason's picked up on any of this. Does he know what's going on? Yeah, he's got his own problems. But he isn't letting anybody in when it comes to giving him any help.

You walked through Gotham's dark alleys with ease, the biggest threats being the rats that hide in the dumpsters. You weren't jumped, you were harassed, you werent threatened. Nothing like that. you even walked past a group of shady adults that didn't even turn to look at you.

You saw a gas station in the distance, and only then noticed how hungry you'd been. The rumbling you tried to ignore through the entire day, your mouth was even dry. When was the last time you ate something? Drank something other than just a few sips from a water fountain? You didn't remember, and you didn't really eat school lunch either very much or often. You've had to stay home because of it, giving you a really sick stomach bug. So you made a habit only to eat at home. And since you started staying at the school often, it became a habit to skip food without even noticing.

You rummaged through your pockets, moving the flask and holding it upside down with the lid off. empty. Jason poured it out last time he saw it, and you haven't had the chance to refill it. He smoked, and you drank. As much as you tried to get him to quit? The same amount of times he'd try to get you to stop. It was a habit for the both of you. His was much worse though, not that yours was better by a long shot. He smokes sticks of cancer while you drink flasks of liver failure. What fucked up lives as children have the both of you got? Lots.

You scoffed, smiling to yourself in a pathetic way. This was all so damn shitty. You got angry with yourself as you stood in the last foot of the dark alley, little to no light illuminating your way at all.

"Damn this." You mumbled, gripping the black leather covered flask in your hand before reeling your arm back and chucking it at a brick wall.

"Damn this!" You screamed, watching as the metal collided with the brick wall and bent upon impact. You reached your hands to your hair and pulled at thick (h/c) strands, tears threatened to fall from your eyes. You gritted your teeth as you turned your back to the wall and slid down, letting your body sit against the ground. This was all so stupid, here you are. A teenager with a drinking problem, crying to herself in a dark alley while screaming and pulling her own hair. That would be you.

You remembered how it felt, that burning in your lungs. That fire that went down your throat, that sensation of pain that emulated from your mouth at the beginning as it made it's way down. Feeling that burning sensation in your core. Only to exhale the smoke slowly like a wash of stress was leaving your body, leaving you with a feeling of relief that would only last for a little bit. You understood why Jason smoked, all of that pain just for a touch of relief. The gross taste of tar and burning smoke in your mouth, the smell of nicotine in the air after an exhale. Like a kiss from poison.

You know how it feels though, only differently. The burning in your throat after chugging half a bottle of whatever, the sickening feeling in your gut the morning after, the warm feeling your body felt when you were drunk. How carefree you were in the moments at it's best, all the things you would say to yourself, you were happy when you were drunk. Jason's been around you at your worst, well to you it was at your best.  And he ignored every little word you've ever spoken to him while you weren't sober. The peaceful smile that would grace your features, the smirk you'd gain every now and then when you looked at him in a certain way that made his stomach do flips. He knew it wasn't you. Or that he didn't know it's the best you'd ever feel.

You'd know the feeling in the morning, the raging headaches, the teetering pain, the nausiating feelings in your gut. The endless vomit, the forever feeling that your stomach is always being emptied, being unable to keep anything down. Regretting the cheap beers in the morning, regretting the disgusting whiskey, the hard vodka. Only to toss away that regret for the temporary feeling of fake happiness that would last only a couple hours.

You sighed out angrilly, letting the tears that fell from your face continue their drift down your chest and sliding down your chin. You held handfuls of your hair, shoving it out of your face and leaving the locks and strands messed up and untidy hair on your head. You sighed, trying to calm down. wiping your tear stained face with the old jacket, you rubbed your eyes one last time before gaining your strength to stand back up.

You slid up the wall, pushing yourself up. You wiped your nose one last time before finding the wads of cash in your pocket, making your way to the gas station. Leaving the broken and dent flask in that alleyway.

*

Jason stood on the roof by himself, in Robins attire. Bruce, as Batman, had left to go deal with something. Making him stay in this spot. So he wouldn't run away. Jason felt that Bruce didn't trust him as much, like the excitement he got on his first time adorning the Robins suit, the R on his chest, wearing that red domino mask? He didn't feel like it was the same anymore, that much of it had been gone. Had been removed. Bruce left, to go do something. To get something from Alfred that he had dropped off for him at A.C.E chemicals. A long wait.

So he sat on the rooftop, legs crossed and elbows on knees. His chin resting on both hands as he huffed, moving dark brown hair that was almost basically black out of his face. He sighed to himself, his eyes beneath the white lenses of his red domino glanced down to the ground in the alley below him. He could have been with you right now, could have been with his best friend. Ever since he took up the mantle of robin, his grades have been ever so slightly, just barely slipping. He even quit track, because Bruce told him it would be close to impossible to do both at the same time. Jason hates it, remember the expression on your face when he told you. He felt so damn guilty, because it was suppose to be something important to the both of you. something the two of you held as a personal bond thing, a friend thing. Something to keep the two of you from falling apart even more so than you already are.

He heard screaming below, snapping his eyes to the end of the alley. Bruce told him to stay still, but when he heard girlish screaming he got up from his spot and ran to the off end side of the roof, hearing the sound of clattering metal made his heart race as he peered down to see-

Just a girl. Alone. Nobody with her.

He was about to turn away, to go back to his place, but the moment he realized that the girl was you? He jumped down off from his spot, and grappled down behind you, behind the dumpster. Being silent and leaving you unaware as you exited the alleyway near the gas station.

He followed you, out of curiosity. But the events that took place after is what caused him to stay and take care of an issue at hand, the man who had entered the gas station behind you? He had a gun. And a need for the money behind the counter.

More of a want.