Jason swung his legs as they dangled over the edge of the doctor’s table, humming softly under his breath.

It wasn’t the first time Jason’d gotten picked up by CPS and sent to be checked out at the hospital. Far from it. This was, what, the fifth time?

The neighbors, teachers, even complete strangers around Jason were nosy, sometimes, and Jason hadn’t quite figured out a way to hide the worst of his bruises enough to keep people’s noses out of his business and himself out of talking to boring people about his “home life,” or whatever.

It was fine, for the record. Jason loved his mommy, even if she wasn’t all there all the time, and his dad was… he was only too mean when he got too drunk or when Jason was bad. And so what?

Jason knew lots of kids who had it worse than he did.

And he knew he’d be back home soon. He hardly ever stayed at foster homes for longer than a night, mostly on account of him stealing whatever expensive-looking things he could find when he stayed longer than that. Apparently, those rich Gothamites disliked it when the stray kitten they picked up was less sweet than they wanted. Whatever. Jason needed the money he got from fancy gold bracelets and electronics, he did not need their approval.

Point is, he’d be home soon. He was confident of that. He just had to… deal with the doctors, first. They’d probably prod at him, examine him, ask him too-personal questions. ”Are you scared at home? Do you like being around your parents? What sort of punishments do you get?” Etcetera. Jason’d heard it all before.

Even still, even if he knew what to expect, he still… just disliked hospitals. He hated the bright lights, hated the constant sympathy, hated the smell of disinfectant, hated the way grief seemed to haunt the halls.

The door creaked open, and a clipboarded doctor stepped in, all gentle, pitying smiles that made Jason’s heart clench slightly.

“Hi,” He mumbles, politely, legs stilling as he glances down at the clean white linoleum, anywhere but at the doctor. This is awful, he thinks to himself. The pity is always the worst part.