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Jason had been poisoned.
His breath tore from his throat in hoarse gasps and the stairs rolled beneath him. He swallowed and grimaced at the taste of bile souring his mouth. He was almost there, just a few more steps.
He gripped the wall and forced himself forward. The chipped paint bit into his fingertips as he staggered to the apartment door.
It had been a while since he’d entered this safehouse through the front door in full gear. If someone heard him in the corridor now they’d be in for a treat.
Red Hood incapacitated, wounded, poisoned, a voice in his head spat the word.
At least the last time he died it was in an explosion. He’d take a bullet to the head over poison. He’d take a crowbar to the ribs over not keeping an eye on his food. When had he eaten anything?
He dug into his pockets with trembling hands. Where had he put his key?
Slowly, his search became frantic as his chest tightened- and tightened- and- Was he even breathing?
His fingers closed around the key and he tried to swallow but the saliva caught in his throat. He choked on it like a harsh, dry sob. The key clattered from his shuddering hands with an echoing clang.
He crumpled to the floor after it, his vision too blurry for him to do anything but pat the cold concrete blindly.
He searched to no avail and he curled up against his door, defeated. His armor was uncomfortable. It chafed against his skin but he ignored it in favor of making himself smaller. He squeezed his eyes shut.
His breath ripped from him in harsh pants that brought tears to his eyes and oh-
He was going to die.
A sob choked him. He was going to die in the dingy corridor of a rundown apartment complex.
Fitting, something in the back of his mind snarled, this is exactly what you deserve.
Shaking, he reached up to flick a switch on his helmet, and the comm line fizzed to life with a low buzz.
His mouth couldn’t form words but he knew that if anyone was listening they’d hear the gasps tearing from his throat and they’d help him.
Would they? All you’ve done is hurt them-
They would, he cut himself off. If they could hear him they’d help him. They wouldn’t let him die… again. A pathetic whimper fell from his lips.
The buzzing reverberated in his skull like a taunt as the comms remained silent.
No one was there. No one was coming.
He was going to die alone and it felt like penance.
Behind his clenched eyelids, he could see dark, billowing smoke, he could hear the whistling of a crowbar and loud, splitting laughter.
Tears streamed down blotchy red cheeks and he had to remind himself that there was no fire.
This time, he was dying on a cold floor in an empty stairwell.
He wondered who would find his body. Would he have another funeral? Would anyone even go? His chest constricted and his heart spasmed painfully.
If Dick was here he'd hold him close without hesitation and his arms would be warm and soft.
The replacement - Jason convulsed in pain and guilt twinged in his stomach - Timothy would figure something out. The kid was clever, he’d know how to save him.
Bruce would read to him while he recovered and Alfred would bake chocolate chip cookies and-
They wouldn’t, his mind hissed, Dick stopped trying to talk to you after you shot him, the blood still drains from the kid’s face whenever you're near despite your apology, and Bruce- Well, you burned that bridge the minute you started putting bullets in people’s heads.
The thought made his stomach churn but he swallowed and ignored it. These were his last moments and he was spending them however he wanted.
He thought about the Manor and its library and Dick, Tim, Alfred, Bruce- He could practically feel soft hands carding through his hair and thumbs wiping his cheeks. His lips wobbled and his eyes watered and then-
Then he could breathe again.
Slowly, his throat relaxed and his body fell slack. His chest still heaved and his head pulsed like he’d been beaten repeatedly with a metal pole (he’d know) but he could breathe.
It took a few tries but he managed to yank his helmet off, greedily gulping in as much air as he could manage. Gradually, his mind cleared and he scrubbed at his cheeks, confused.
His patrol had been uneventful. He’d stopped a robbery and helped the store owner set up a security system (truly, it was Robin behavior and it almost made him roll his eyes, but he couldn’t just leave them defenseless, especially when the father had looked so desperately concerned for the safety of two daughters). They wouldn’t have poisoned him.
He opened his eyes to reveal the cold, dead hallway and relished in being able to sigh, long and hard. His vision was still blurred with unshed tears and his body ached but he wasn’t suffocating anymore. He wasn’t dying.
His expression hardened. Not poison then…his blood ran cold-
Drugs.
Same difference, his brain scoffed.
So, he’d been drugged with something slow-acting and debilitating but what was the point? No one had attacked him while he was down and he hadn’t eaten since-
He shuddered like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. He fumbled for the key, stumbling to his feet urgently. The door swung open and his apartment whirled around him as he staggered over to his kitchen.
Without hesitation, he grabbed a garbage bag and began emptying his cupboards. He put plates in the sink and soaked the counters in bleach. Who knew what they’d contaminated?
He wasn’t sure who had managed to get at his food - whether they’d broken into his safehouse or gotten to it before he’d even brought it home - but the thought that someone had managed to drug him made the green inside of him fizz.
He almost growled.
Whoever it was had a slow and bloody death to look forward to.
He glared mournfully at the bag of food and sunk to the floor, letting his head fall back against the counter, exhausted.
Eating was out of the question (despite how furiously his stomach grumbled) so he tucked his knees up to his chest and let his eyes flutter closed. He’d figure it out in the morning.
That was the first time it happened.
The second time it happened he was at a food truck.
He’d just unwrapped his burger and taken a large bite when he felt something tug at his jacket. Instinctively, he spun around, his hand flying to his belt only to remember that it was daytime and he was dressed in civilian clothes.
He looked down to see a boy staring up at him with wide eyes.
‘You’re really tall,’ the boy murmured in awe.
Jason’s shoulders untensed and his mouth twitched.
‘Yeah, kid. I guess I am.’
‘Will I ever be that tall?’
The corners of Jason’s lips turned upwards as he looked down at the tiny boy. He was as thin as a twig and, even with his sticky-up hair, he didn’t reach Jason’s mid-thigh. He crouched down so that they were eye-level and grinned.
‘That depends,’ he took another bite of his burger and the kid looked at him expectantly, ‘on how tall your parents are.’
Speaking of, he looked around in concern. Where were this kid’s parents? Stranger danger and all that shit.
The kid’s eyes widened and he practically bounced with excitement,
‘Your dad must be super tall.’
The food lodged in Jason’s throat and he spluttered, his mouth running dry.
‘I am so sorry,’ a woman appeared in front of him suddenly, she was wearing a long flowery dress and she had kind brown eyes identical to the kid’s, ‘I keep telling him that not everyone wants to have a long conversation with a five-year-old.’
The kid whined and Jason struggled to swallow, giving her a strained smile.
‘I- It was no bother,’ he managed hoarsely.
She apologized again before taking the boy’s hand and tugging him away softly.
Jason could still hear their voices as they left-
‘Remember how we decided we were going to eat healthy foods, Honey?’
The kid pouted, ‘but I want to eat what he eats. Did you see how tall-’
His blood pounded in his ears and his vision spotted. The burger tumbled from his trembling hands and he stumbled away. Pushing himself forward until he reached an alleyway and crumpled to the floor. The gravel bit into his palms, his body shuddering with every heaving breath.
Soft hands. A caring voice. Your dad must be really tall, the words rang in his ears. He bit his lip hard to stop a sob from escaping him. His chest - his ribs were crushing him. Everything felt tight and his heart stuttered.
Soft hands. Soft hands tugging the boy away-
It took a while for Jason’s breathing to even out enough that he could pull himself up.
When he finally managed, his hazy brain could only form a single thought-
What the fuck?
The Cave was empty when he turned up and Jason thanked the gods for that small mercy. He’d been fairly certain that no one would be there but with Bruce’s penchant for adopting strays who knew who could be hanging around.
The soft whirring of the centrifuge permeated the air and he tapped the desk impatiently. It had barely been an hour since he’d been at the food truck and he was still jittery. If there was anything in his system he was about to find out exactly what it was.
He flicked through the papers on the desk with a bored moan. He’d checked his saliva first and that had come back clean. It was disheartening but he wasn’t surprised, it was easy to miss things in saliva and Bruce’s medical facilities were geared towards analyzing a more comprehensive liquid.
So, with a deep and reluctant sigh, he’d bypassed pissing into a cup and skipped straight to blood.
Self-administering the blood test hadn’t been enjoyable.
In fact, it had been a lot of deep breaths and sharp pinches that made his eyes prickle. He’d even covered the little hole in his elbow crease with cotton wool and a band-aid because seeing the puncture wound made him feel nauseous. He didn’t want to risk seeing it when he was having one of the attacks or-
The door opened and Jason startled.
The kid didn’t even look up from his phone as he wandered over to a lab machine and started pressing buttons. Jason stayed silent, watching him from the desk until-
‘Alfred wants to know if you’re staying for lunch?’ Tim asked, adding a chalky powder to whatever liquid was in the test tubes.
Jason opened his mouth to respond and then closed it again. Perhaps his entry to the Cave hadn’t been as stealthy as he’d thought.
‘I - No,’ he coughed, ‘things to do and all that.’
Tim just nodded and Jason turned away, letting him do whatever it was he was doing in peace.
He wandered over to the training mats and ran his finger across the array of sparring weapons, humming gently to himself. He paused when he noticed something blue and plastic, buried beneath everything.
Surprise colored his expression as he dug through the box and pulled out the cheap toy lightsaber with a breathy laugh. How the hell was this still here?
He placed it to the side and dug further into the box. He didn’t even try to hide his laughter when he pulled out the second one, bright red with a dent in the handle.
He remembered Dick’s awed shock when Jason had hit it hard enough to dent it. He’d insisted that Jason had almost broken his fingers and Jason had shrugged it off with a quip about defeating the dark side.
He weighed the toy in his palm now and almost snorted. Dick might’ve had a point. It was definitely heavy enough to break someone’s fingers.
He put the lightsabers back in the box carefully and tried to ignore the way that his delight had shifted into something sad and aching.
‘This is clean by the way-’ Tim’s voice echoed through the Cave and Jason's heart kicked into overdrive as he bounded back over to the lab, the toy lightsabers forgotten.
Clean? What? No. It couldn’t be clean.
‘-you can put it through the immunoanalyzer or spin it again but I doubt you’ll find anything new.’
‘How can you tell?’ Jason asked, his voice tinged with desperation.
Tim just shrugged, ‘it looks normal to me. But you can wait for the cycle to finish and check for yourself if it makes you feel better.’
Tim brushed past him, gathering up some of the papers on the desk and Jason watched him in stunned silence. It couldn’t be clean, he must have missed something-
‘What are you looking for anyway?’ Tim tried to sound casual but he couldn’t completely smother his curiosity.
‘Thought I’d been hit with something new on patrol,’ he lied easily, ‘I must’ve waited too long to check.’ That lie tasted bitter in his mouth. It had been an hour. If there was anything in his system he’d be able to detect it for at least twelve.
Tim hummed but Jason didn’t miss the way his eyes narrowed skeptically.
‘What was it like? Maybe we can look out for it?’
Jason sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face.
‘No need, Replacement. It was probably just some Scarecrow wannabe messing around,’ he paused, ‘I am gonna wait and double-check though.’
Tim’s expression was impassive as he headed towards the door.
‘Be my guest,’ he said and Jason listened as the door shut behind him and his footsteps receded.
Clean. The word rang in his ears and he slumped against the desk. How could it be clean?
Part of him wanted to be relieved that no one had managed to drug his food. That he didn’t have to move to one of his lesser maintained safehouses because someone had been breaking in and messing with him.
Instead, he just felt dumbfounded. He’d been so certain and yet-
The machine beeped, interrupting his thoughts and he walked over to it shakily.
Perhaps the kid’s wrong, his brain supplied as he placed one of the thin strips into the sample and watched it change color, how would he know what clean blood looked like, anyway?
He compared the strip to the chart and almost sighed. Of course, the kid wasn’t wrong, he was a fucking genius.
He heard the door open again and switched off the machine with a groan. What was he supposed to do now? A breathalyzer test? What good would that do if blood couldn’t even-
‘Find anything?’ Tim asked, his mouth full of what looked like a sandwich. They’re allowed to eat in the cave now? Jason made a face, incredulous.
‘Nope, clean as a whistle,’ he crumpled the strip in his fist and trudged towards his bike, trying his best not to look dismayed.
‘That’s good,’ Tim offered.
Yep, absolutely fucking perfect, Jason didn’t say. Instead, he just hummed in response, pulling on his helmet as he straddled his bike.
‘Here, Alfred wants you to take these,’ Jason looked down at the foil package Tim was holding out to him.
His mouth twitched.
‘Let me guess,
-cucumber sandwiches?’ they said the words in unison and Tim snorted.
‘Of course.’
Jason almost grinned back as he took the package and put it carefully in his inside pocket. Sure, they’d get a little squished but it was the best he could do.
‘Tell Alfie I said thanks, baby bird.’
‘Sure,’ Tim tried to sound blasé but his cheeks flushed at the nickname, ‘and I- I’ll keep an eye out for that toxin knockoff.’
Jason averted his eyes and nodded stiffly.
He managed a strained, ‘sounds good’ before peeling out of the Cave, fast and loud.
The cool wind whipped against his skin and his heart hammered in his chest. He gripped the handlebars tightly.
Clean.
His blood was clean.
He gulped.
Jason glowered at the little orange bottle on his counter like it had personally offended him.
Which, if he was being honest, it kind of had.
He’d woken up that morning suffocating. His skin had been feverish, his throat tight, and the sharpness of his breath had brought tears to his eyes.
That had been the limit for Jason.
The minute he could move he’d tugged on his clothes, flattened down his hair (as much as he could manage), and marched from his apartment with conviction.
If he couldn’t figure out what was in his system and how it was getting there then he was going to find someone who could.
He did exactly that and now, the little bottle was taunting him to the point that he was starting to hate orange more than he hated green.
Leslie had given him the pills and suggested that he talk to someone. Get to the root of the problem and figure out how to live with it from there, she’d said.
Apparently talking therapy was the best way to ease the symptoms of a panic disorder long-term.
And, well, Jason had almost growled at that - long-term… disorder, he scoffed, he wasn’t going to learn to live with anything, was the Pit not enough? - as he stormed out with the bottle pinched between his fingers in disgust.
Thinking about it made the green inside him spit and fizz. Because it wasn’t poison. Nor drugs. It was just… him.
And that was a lot harder to deal with than putting a bullet in the brain of someone messing with him.
Ironic, he barked a laugh, now he was supposed to take the drugs voluntarily.
‘Remember they’re fast-acting,’ Leslie had called after him, exasperated, ‘but they’re also the drowsy kind and that alongside exhaustion from the attack could wipe you out for a few - I - are you listening to me? - just - be careful!’
Jason couldn’t risk drowsy. Not on patrol. Especially not tonight while he was assisting the Bats.
Usually, shutting down a trafficking operation would thrill him, he’d be bouncing on his toes, craving the rush satisfaction that came with making traffickers bleed.
But, as he yanked on his boots, he felt nothing but tired. His chest ached beneath his armor and Jason was certain his face was sickly pale beneath his helmet. He couldn’t wait to get back into bed and hopefully sleep without feeling like he was being strangled.
He gave the bottle one last glare before brandishing his grappling hook and heading for the window.
He paused with one foot out of the frame.
No, he took a deep breath. He was right, he couldn’t risk drowsy on patr- fuck!
He growled and spun around, snatching up the bottle and shoving it into his pocket before grappling towards the warehouse.
He’d take drowsy over looking weak. He’d take drowsy over feeling like he’s dying, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered.
He pushed it down and tried to ignore the dread that churned in his stomach at the thought of having another one of the attacks ever let alone around the Bats. He took a breath.
He’d done this a thousand times, it was routine. He was going to be fine.
Sure enough, the mission went smoothly.
He arrived at the warehouse on time, did his part, teased Robin over comms, and relaxed enough to poke fun at B until he heard Nightwing snicker.
He holstered his guns and relished in stepping on one of the trafficker’s hands until he heard something crack. He hadn’t killed anyone but he felt at ease.
For once, seeing the blood that wept onto the warehouse floor and hearing pained groans from the lowlifes it came from was enough to satisfy him.
‘Right,’ he clapped his hands together, ‘I’m out-’
A loud groan sounded through the comm line,
‘Hood, you’re not leaving-’
‘Yeah, you made most of the mess-’
He chuckled to himself and rolled his eyes but he headed to the stairs nonetheless. If he was helping with clean up he certainly wasn’t doing it up here alone.
‘That, baby bird, is because I did most of the work. Surely, I deserve some kind of reward for that?’
‘Hood, come help me with the kids. Rob, find B and tell him we’re calling the GCPD. There’s no way we can find these kids’ parents alone.’
‘I’ll show you a reward,’ Robin grumbled and Jason laughed, delighted,
‘I’d like to see you try, little one,’ he grinned taking the stairs two at a time, ‘I’m on my way, N.’
‘Fuck you, Hood. I’m not little.’
‘Thank you,’ Nightwing interrupted Robin and the softness of his voice took Jason by surprise.
‘I’d say no problem but that would be a lie-’
‘No, I mean for being here.’
‘Well,’ Jason smirked, shivering involuntarily at how his mechanized voice echoed in the stairwell, ‘that genuinely isn’t a problem. I’m always happy to make some gang leaders bleed.’
‘I know,’ Nightwing continued warmly, ‘it’s just- it’s nice having you here-’
Jason froze and there was a fake gagging sound-
‘N, I swear if you carry on I’m gonna throw up.’
‘Don’t worry, Robin. I’m happy that you’re here too.’
Their voices rang in his ears and he swayed on his feet. Suddenly, the stairwell felt a lot colder and the voices a lot further away.
There was another fake retch,
‘Shouldn’t you be focussing all this soppy, sentimental shit on the traumatized kids?’
‘You’re right, Baby Bird. I’ll just have to give you a big hug when we get back to the Cave-’
Jason’s breathing caught and his chest swelled. He stumbled out of the fire exit and flicked off his comm with shaky hands.
Trembling, he fumbled for the bottle and it took him more than a few tries to twist the cap. Was he supposed to take one or two? Why didn’t he listen?
He wrenched his helmet off and swallowed two of the pills dry. Instinctively, his hand flew up to clamp over his mouth. He couldn’t vomit. He wouldn’t vomit.
His eyes streamed and he fumbled with his grappling hook. This is dangerous, his brain insisted as he hurtled away from the warehouse, you can hardly see.
Dumb, stupid, you’re going to die, the words rang in his ears like a litany and he almost smashed the window to his safehouse when he reached it. He staggered and fell onto the carpet, a sprawled out heap of shaking limbs.
He ripped his armor from his chest and tried to calm his breathing. What was it? In for four, out for four? Five? He could still hear their voices echoing in his ears - the playful tone, the softness - and it made his throat constrict.
He curled into himself, shuddering violently.
So, the mission had gone well, and yet, here he was, crumpled on his safehouse floor, dying.
Tears leaked from beneath his closed eyelids as, slowly, the medication kicked in and his body relaxed.
He was almost asleep when his frustration finally managed to break through his hazy thoughts, alongside a niggling worry about how much of an asshole he must seem for not helping with clean up.
Nothing new there, a voice in the back of his mind supplied and he collapsed further into the floor with a loud groan. Clearly, he was useless now. Useless, exhausted, weak-
On the plus side, he’d gotten to the root of the problem:
(Icy cold dread curled in his stomach and he whimpered.)
He wanted to go home.
The door knocked and Jason groaned from where he was sprawled out on the couch.
‘S’open,’ he called from beneath his duvet, ‘can’t you just bring it in?’
His eyes snapped open when he remembered the electrified doorknob and the tripwire.
‘Wait, no! ’ he stumbled out from under the duvet, ‘forget I said that! One second.’
He tried to untangle himself, knocking pillows onto the floor and banging into the small coffee table in the process. The motion knocked over a soda can, flooding his table with bright orange liquid.
‘Fuck!’ he fumbled around, rescuing his book and some papers from the spill.
The door knocked again.
‘I said one second!’
He grabbed a towel from the bathroom and used it to mob up the soda, wincing at the stickiness that covered the bottom half of his duvet. The door knocked a third time and he leapt over the armrest-
‘I’m coming. I’m coming,’ he disabled the safety traps and opened the door, slouching against the frame as he tried to catch his breath.
To his credit, that was the most he’d moved all day. Leslie hadn’t been wrong. The pills combined with the panic attack had totally wiped him out.
‘You- You-’ he panted and gestured to the doorknob, ‘didn’t touch that did ya?’
The delivery guy - kid - shook his head tentatively and Jason sighed in relief before pulling way too much cash out of his pocket and handing it to him.
Delivering to Crime Alley must be terrifying.
Especially when the Red Hood was hiding in his apartment instead of patrolling.
‘You gonna be alright?’ Jason asked, taking the bag of fast food, ‘getting back and everything?’
The kid gave him a weird look, ‘what? ’
‘I- Just- Crime Alley,’ he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and the kid just looked at him as if he’d grown a second head.
Of course he’ll be alright, his brain scoffed, this is his job he’s probably here all of the time. Besides what are you doing? You’re supposed to be a civilian, why would you ask a delivery-
‘Y’know what, nevermind- fuck it- thanks,’ he shut the door and fell back onto the couch. The kid would be fine.
He wrapped the duvet around his shoulders tightly and started eating his fries. The television had been buzzing quietly all day and Jason had turned the heat up so high that he was starting to dread seeing his electricity bill at the end of the month.
Still, he couldn’t bring himself to turn it down. Even now, clutching the warm food in his palms, he was shivering.
He’d woken up earlier that afternoon, stiff from sleeping on the floor and chilled to his bones. With difficulty (and way too much effort), he’d dragged himself to his feet and showered until the water burned his skin.
He’d put on sweater after sweater and made himself scalding hot tea, but somehow he’d still felt colder than when he’d woken up inside of his grave.
Too tired to do anything else, he’d collapsed onto the couch with his duvet and a book before going online and ordering several blankets because why the fuck didn’t he own one?
He’d also googled panic attacks and breathing techniques because it had been a while since Jason had felt like he was breathing fully and he missed it.
With a frown, he lounged further into the couch, covering himself in salt and narrowly avoiding spilling his ketchup.
It had taken a few hours of deliberation but he’d eventually googled treatments for homesickness only to find out that most of them involved going outside or cooking some kind of meal and Jason could hardly keep his eyes open.
So, he’d resorted to ordering takeout and suffering beneath layers and layers of comfy clothing.
Impressively, he managed to unwrap his burger without spilling anything onto his sweater.
He knew that he couldn’t go home, (even so, the thought made his eyes prickle and his food lodge in his throat) but what he wouldn’t give to bury himself in the soft pillows of his old bed and eat Alfred’s chocolate chip cookies.
A tear trickled down his cheek and he scrubbed at it with an annoyed groan.
Sure, the drugs had helped much more than he was willing to admit - he definitely preferred exhaustion to suffocating - but he didn’t like how useless they made him feel.
He could hardly move without his heavy limbs protesting and, even when he wasn’t panicking, thinking about the Manor, Bruce, Dick, Tim, Alfred- still made his heart ache and his chest tighten with longing.
He sank further into his hoodie and reopened the tab on his phone, the brightness of the screen nearly blinding him.
Pathetic, his mind snarled, are you seriously learning how to breathe?
He shoved a handful of fries into his mouth with a scowl.
He wasn’t dumb. He knew they’d never let him - a murderer - go back to the Manor.
Still, when he patrolled the next evening his shots were suspiciously lousy.
And every non-lethal takedown made something hopeful bloom in his chest.
‘What was that?’
Jason tried to ignore how the growl made his skin crawl.
‘That, old man, was me saving your life. Something you should be familiar with by now.’
The mission had gone well. They’d incapacitated the gang leaders, found the drugs, and defused both of the bombs in shipping containers on the lower levels. Jason had taken out everyone on his floor impressively fast and he’d moved up a level to help Batman with his.
What followed had been instinctual, muscle memory, a habit.
He’d opened the door to reveal one of the thugs pointing a gun at Batman and well, he’d done what he’d had to.
He’d shot him in the head, sure. But it wouldn’t be fatal so long as they called an ambulance. He knew what he was doing. He hadn’t killed anyone in weeks.
‘How many times do I have to tell you that we do not kill-’
‘He’s alive,’ Jason nudged the man with his foot and he gave a pained groan response.
Batman made a dangerous sound low in his throat and Jason raised his eyebrows.
‘A simple thank you would suffice,’ he said flatly.
‘Reckless,’ Jason couldn’t help but shiver at the snarl, ‘and careless. You’re lucky he’s not dead.’
Jason’s hand twitched towards his gun. Lucky he’s not dead? It wasn’t luck. If Jason wanted him dead he’d be dead.
‘And what if he was?’ Jason sneered, ‘what then? Should I be scared?’
Somehow, the warehouse grew colder and the shadows darkened.
‘You will not work missions with us if you are going to behave like an irresponsible child. If I can’t trust you then having you here is more of a hindrance than an advantage.’
Jason stiffened, his muscles going rigid and his eyes flashing. He clenched and unclenched his fists-
‘Well, the bombs are well and truly defused and the other shipping containers are clean so-’ Nightwing bounced into the room with Robin at his side.
They paused abruptly when they noticed the tense silence.
‘Hood-’ Nightwing’s voice wavered and trailed off. The silence stretched until Jason couldn’t stand it and-
‘Fuck this,’ he held his hands up in defeat, ‘I guess I’m done,’ his voice was flat and cold, ‘next time you need help call someone better than me, someone you can trust to help you. Maybe they’ll let you get shot. Fuck, I wish I did.’
He turned on his heel and walked away, his heart pounding and something green bubbling in his stomach. He took a deep, calming breath.
In. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Out. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
‘What the hell did you do, B-’ he heard Nightwing’s voice, low and furious before the door swung closed behind him and he all but sprinted to the roof.
In the last few weeks, Jason had been anything but reckless, and hearing the disappointment in Batman's voice felt like being stabbed repeatedly in the chest.
He sighed deeply and fumbled with his grappling hook.
His heart was in his mouth and something had started to ache in his chest and all he wanted was to get back to his safehouse, warm up the stew he’d made earlier, and pretend that nothing had happened.
‘Hood,’ a soft voice interrupted his thoughts and his breath caught.
‘Don’t worry about it, Dick,’ he said gruffly, ‘you know what he’s like. It’ll blow over and I’ll be back on missions before the month is out.’
But maybe he shouldn’t be. If he left feeling this hollow and ashamed perhaps he could do more good alone. That way he could ignore the heartache that made his eyes sting and-
‘I know but-’ Dick hesitated like he was afraid to say the wrong thing.
He probably is, his brain supplied, you did shoot him.
‘You know that you did nothing wrong, right? We needed you tonight and you came so- thank you.’
‘You don’t have to keep doing that,’ Jason muttered, checking that his guns were holstered securely, ‘I don’t need a thank you every time I help out. I wasn’t going to leave you vulnerable, you’re-’ family.
You’re family.
His voice trailed off and his mouth ran dry.
‘I know,’ Dick murmured and a tentative hand came to rest on Jason’s shoulder.
Jason’s brain faltered.
Even through his jacket and his armor, the touch felt nice, warm, and he leaned into it with a sigh. How long had it been since-
Dick shifted and instinctively Jason’s hand flew up to grip his wrist, holding him in place, he wasn’t ready to lose the warmth yet. Who knew when he’d feel it again?
Dick gasped in surprise, moving closer to him and Jason hung his head in defeat.
‘Don’t-’ he hoped Dick couldn’t hear his voice crack through the modulator, ‘just, don’t’
He didn’t think he could handle a hug. If he let Dick hug him he might never be able to let go.
Fortunately, Dick got the message and just tightened his grip on Jason’s shoulder, rubbing soothing circles into his jacket with his thumb.
It was nice.
It was painfully, tear-jerkingly nice.
Jason couldn’t help the appreciative sigh that fell from his lips at the feeling and Dick made a soft, wounded sound.
‘Little wing,’ he choked on the words.
Jason hummed in response, leaning further into the touch before snapping back to reality with a jolt.
‘I- It’s- I’m fine,’ Jason stuttered weakly as he stumbled away from Dick and towards the edge of the roof, a not-small part of him mourned the contact. He wasn’t weak. He didn’t need soft, warm affection. He wasn’t touch-starved like the kid.
‘I’m okay, Dickie. Just tired and sick of the old man.’
Dick didn’t say anything but his cheeks shone in the moonlight, wet with tears.
Breathe, he reminded himself.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
He fired his grapple.
‘You best go save the kid. You know what B’s like when he’s in a mood.’
Jason didn’t wait for a response before grappling away, relishing in the lingering warmth on his shoulder and trying to ignore the sinking pit that threatened to consume him from the inside out.
The further away he hurtled the more his anger kindled in his stomach.
Reckless. Careless. Irresponsible.
He snarled furiously and, when he reached his safehouse, he slammed the window so violently that the frame splintered.
That’s what you get for trying.
The next evening, Jason went back to putting criminals in the morgue.
The Gotham hospitals were overcrowded anyway.
Pathetic. That’s what this was. Pathetic, miserable, and bordering on sadistic. What the hell did he think he’d get from this absurd form of self-torture?
Because that’s what it was, torture.
Was he trying to give himself a breakdown? Did he want to feel pain? Because Jason could name a thousand easier ways that he could hurt himself from the comfort of his own hom-safehouse.
And yet, he was fairly certain that none would be as effective as this.
He was stood in the Manor gardens, meticulously concealed behind the trees and the shrubbery.
He’d been careful not to trip any alarms and he’d parked his motorcycle in the middle of a field, five minutes down the road.
No one would know that he was here, nor would they find out that he’d ever been here (part of him was disappointed at that. The part that had pushed him here definitely wanted to be caught and dragged inside and-).
He was close enough to see directly into the kitchen and he watched with wide, bright eyes as Alfred prepared vegetables. Carrots, onions, potatoes- Perhaps he was making a pot roast, or a stew or-
Jason’s mouth watered when Alfred pulled a tray of freshly baked rolls out of the oven because of course. It was a Thursday and Alfred made soup on a Thursday. Soup with warm, homemade bread.
A wave of longing washed over him and he swayed with the force of it. He gripped the tree hard enough that the bark stung his fingertips.
What day had he died on? Was his last day in the Manor a Thursday? Or perhaps it was a Tuesday. Jason wasn’t sure. Was his last meal at the dining table soup? When had he last eaten at a dining tab-
A gust of wind broke Jason’s train of thought, (his poisonous, torturous train of thought) and he shivered.
The leather jacket was great when he was wearing his armor and moving. Not so much when he was dressed in casual clothes and standing stock-still in a cold, dark garden.
Something shifted in the room and he bit his lip, staring intently. The door opened and Tim appeared, chatting animatedly about something that Jason couldn’t make out. He inched over to the rolls only to be batted away by a frustrated Alfred.
Jason watched the kid’s face melt as he was scolded, his whole body drooping like a sad puppy. Alfred turned back to the window, a tired expression on his face, and the kid - a smile ghosted on Jason’s lips - the kid used that moment of distraction to sneak one of the rolls.
Jason could remember the triumph of stealing the freshly baked foods from under Alfred’s nose. He could hear the butler’s stern but faintly amused reprimands ringing in his ears and he could feel the too hot crust burning his fingertips.
The memory made his knees feel weak and his throat tighten.
He slumped to the ground beside the tree and buried his face in his hands with a groan. What the hell was he doing?
He felt like a hollow monument staring into the glowing yellow windows of a dead boy’s past.
This wasn’t his life anymore. This had never been his life. This was the life of a bright-eyed child who thought Batman was a hero and believed that cages felled monsters more effectively than bullets (they didn’t).
This was Tim’s life and Jason didn’t want it. He didn’t want the life- the suit- Bruce- He didn’t- He-
He wanted to know what his life would be like if he’d never died. If he’d never gone to Ethiopia. If he’d woken up in his bed on that Friday or Wednesday or - whenever - instead of waking up in his cold, damp grave.
He didn’t want Tim’s life. He wanted his.
Tears tumbled down his cheeks and they felt like grief.
For who? His mind screamed, For yourself? You’re alive, for fuck’s sake. And you have the nerve to call Dick a drama queen-
He reached into his pocket for his medication and unclipped his water bottle from his belt. He was getting better at catching the attacks before they became too bad (he even carried water around with him now so that he didn’t have to take the pills dry).
Leslie had praised him when he’d gone to see her last. She’d said he was doing well.
He clutched onto that praise as he shakily took the pills and tried to ignore how his heart hammered in his ears. He was doing well.
Curling up tighter, he focussed on his breathing, his surroundings, his clothing. Your sweater is soft. Your leather jacket-
The Manor door opened, illuminating the garden in light.
Fuck. Jason could hardly think and he needed to be quiet and his breathing shredded his throat and-
He could hear voices.
‘It was probably just an animal, Master Bruce.’
A deep sigh.
‘I thought Tim turned down the sensitivity?’
‘He must have forgotten-’
Jason could practically see Bruce’s skeptical expression and his hands came up to press against his ears, effectively cutting off the conversation.
He couldn’t watch- he couldn’t listen as they got closer and closer to finding him curled up pathetically at the edge of the gardens.
Slowly, tears started to leak from behind his clenched eyelids because of course, he’d set off alarms. They had alarms that he didn’t even know about now. He swayed, nauseous.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, eyes closed, ears covered but when the pills finally kicked in and he calmed down enough to peel his eyelids open, the door was closed and the light was off.
They hadn’t found him.
As fast as his clumsy limbs could manage, he stumbled out of the gardens and away from the Manor, deliberately walking in the opposite direction of his motorcycle.
He wasn’t stupid. He knew it was safer spending the night in a field than if he attempted to drive it right now. He didn’t want to add a totaled bike to his never-ending list of things to deal with.
Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait for long until he heard the telltale spluttering of a Gotham night bus.
He raised his arm to shield his eyes from the bright headlights and the driver hardly gave him a second glance as he paid and staggered down the aisle.
With a deep sigh, he sunk into a seat and pulled up his hood, letting his eyelids flutter closed. Your sweater is soft. Your leather jacket is rough. The bus vibrates as it moves.
His head lolled gently against the bus window.
Your sweater is soft. Your leather jacket is rough. The bus vibrates as it moves.
He took a shaky breath and gripped the armrest with weak, trembling fingers.
Your sweater is soft. Your leather jacket is rough. The bus vibrates as it moves.
You’re okay.
You can breathe.
Jason looked like shit.
He was wearing sweatpants and worn-out trainers and his hoodie didn’t completely hide his messy hair. There were dark circles around his eyes and a cut that his teeth had worried into his bottom lip. He licked at it routinely, focussing on how it nipped in response to help him keep his eyes open.
He’d woken at around midday but it was early evening before he’d summoned enough energy to get out of bed.
Then, he’d dragged himself to the kitchen, gulped down two cups of water, scarfed a share-sized bag of Doritos, groaned at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, and reluctantly trudged out of his safehouse to collect his bike.
He really hoped that it hadn’t been stolen.
At some point since last night, he’d lost his phone - he wasn’t stupid, he knew it was probably in the Manor gardens but there was no way he was going back to get it - and he didn’t think his heart would be able to handle it if he suffered through this journey just to find the field empty.
That might break him.
Slowly, the sky shifted from a muted blue to a soft pink and Jason shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, trying to ignore how every step made him wheeze for breath.
It was pretty - the sky, the trees, the rows of hedges - not pretty enough to justify being out of bed (the bike might be the only thing that he’d ever fight this kind of exhaustion for) but pretty nonetheless.
Twigs crunched beneath his feet as he moved away from the trail and into the clearing, following the tire tracks he’d left there yesterday. Please be there. Please be there. Please be there-
He almost sighed in relief when he rounded the corner and saw his bike sitting exactly where he left it.
His relief rapidly morphed into tired confusion when he saw the kid standing next to it dressed in civilian clothes. His eyes narrowed.
Next to him stood a fully suited Nightwing and crouched down beside the bike was Batman, cowl and all.
They had their backs to him but Jason could hear tense murmuring and his eyebrows drew together in confusion. He traipsed closer, fiddling with a loose thread on his sweatpants.
‘Bit early isn’t it?’ he asked once he was in earshot and instantly the three of them spun around to face him. The intensity of their stares startled him somewhat.
‘For patrol,’ he continued, ‘or Halloween. You guys know there’s still a month to go until-’
He was cut off abruptly by arms flinging themselves around his neck and his eyebrows flew up to his hairline in surprise. Hesitantly, his hands came up to wrap around the kid and he tried to ignore the way his heart hammered against his chest.
Instead, he focused on how Tim shuddered against him and his hands tightened protectively.
His eyes hardened as they flickered between the two frozen vigilantes, their expressions the picture of dumbstruck.
‘If someone doesn’t tell me what’s going on right now, I’m going to fucking lose it,’ he tried to sound authoritative but the words came out weak and pleading.
Tim’s hair tickled his chin and he buried his face into it gently. He rubbed his back in a way that he hoped was soothing.
‘Now,’ he ordered hoarsely, trying to ignore the way that the contact made warmth bloom in his chest and behind his eyes.
Tim peeled himself away and stumbled back a few steps, his eyes watery and his face flushed with embarrassment.
Jason tried not to react to the loss of warmth.
‘I-’ he sniffed before steeling himself and responding steadily, ‘we found your bike abandoned and thought that something had happened. We tried to call but you weren’t picking up and Dick’s contact said that he hadn’t seen Hood in Crime Alley for at least two days.’
Dick seemed to snap back to reality then as he jumped towards Jason, arms outstretched only to falter awkwardly when Jason stumbled back a step. Something akin to hurt flickered across Dick’s face and Jason swallowed remorsefully.
He hadn’t meant it like that- he just didn’t think he could handle another hug without breaking down or something- He was too fucking tired and emotional and miserable for this-
‘Why can’t you just answer your phone?’ Dick masked the hurt in his expression with exasperation.
Jason shrugged and picked at his sleeves.
‘I called you repeatedly-’
‘What happened?’ Batman - Bruce - interrupted Dick and the softness of his voice made Jason yearn for him to take off the cowl. It had been a lifetime since Jason had seen that kind of softness on Bruce’s face.
‘I went out last night, left my bike here, and now I’ve come back for it,’ he answered simply, ‘I wasn’t aware that was a crime?’
There was no bite to his words but he saw Tim wince anyway. It made Jason’s shoulders slump further.
‘I was tired when I finished. I didn’t want to total it.’ That technically wasn’t a lie.
‘I thought you said you could ride one-handed in your sleep,’ the kid quipped and Jason fixed him a glare.
‘Well, excuse me for being responsible. Sorry for the inconvenience. Next time I’ll get myself killed.’
Tim flinched violently, Dick’s jaw clenched and Jason cursed the guilt that twinged in his stomach.
He was beginning to wish that he’d just left the bike another day. His head throbbed and his hands trembled and he wanted nothing more than to be back at his safehouse.
‘You’re coming back to the Cave,’ Batman stated firmly, ‘Alfred will check you over and-’
‘I’m fine, B. Seriously,’ he gestured to his uninjured body with aching arms, ‘I don’t need-’
‘I understand. But you’ll let Alfred check. For my benefit.’
Jason took in his stiff posture and strained voice before sighing in defeat. He didn’t have the energy to argue only to lose anyway.
‘It better not take too long because I have an appointment with my bed and way too many episodes of Selling Sunset.’
Jason paused, his expression pinched as the three of them shared a look.
‘No patrol tonight then?’ Dick asked after a moment.
Jason groaned and scrubbed a hand down his face, ‘Jesus fucking christ. Get off my back will you?’
Three sets of eyes burned into him as he approached his bike and he swayed with the weight of it. He gripped the handlebars to keep himself upright.
‘No,’ Batman said decisively, ‘Dick will ride the bike to the Cave. You and Tim will walk. I’ll-’ he glanced down at his suit in what Jason was certain was annoyance, ‘I’ll take a different route. We’ll meet at the Manor.’
Jason's throat felt dry and his tongue heavy but he nodded, moving away from the bike with a sigh. His vision fluttered with the motion and he took a breath to steady himself.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
‘Yeah, he’s not okay,’ someone murmured.
‘He’s letting Dick ride his bike. Dick.’
He ignored the muttering and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes as Dick straddled his bike.
‘Any last words?’ Dick joked.
Jason groaned, throwing his head back in silent prayer, ‘just- one piece- please .’
‘Me or the bike?’
‘Both,’ Jason croaked and Dick’s eyes softened.
‘You got it, Jaybird.’
The motorcycle roared to life and Dick sped from the field. Jason stared after him mournfully.
‘Ten minutes,’ Batman fixed them a look before disappearing in the opposite direction.
There was a moment of silence before Jason nudged Tim and motioned for him to move. Instantly, Tim reached forward to support him but Jason brushed him off with a glare.
He’d made his way here. He’d make his way five minutes down the road.
They walked in silence. Jason in front and the kid one step behind. Every so often, Jason glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.
Tim’s face was sickly pale and his eyes were red-rimmed and vacant. Jason swallowed the lump in his throat.
‘You alright, kiddo?’
Tim nodded and his mouth opened and then closed into a thin line. A minute passed and then-
‘I thought you were dead,’ his voice cracked and Jason shivered, ‘and my parents- Bruce- I couldn’t do it again.’
‘Not dead,’ Jason breathed tiredly, ‘at least I sure hope not. I was promised I could sleep when I died.’
Tim chuckled weakly before sobering up, ‘I thought- I thought it was my fault. Because- that day in the cave I knew that something was wrong and I didn’t say anything or- tell anyone-’
Jason inhaled sharply, ‘that road leads nowhere good, kid.’
‘I should’ve done something,’ he insisted, ‘I knew you were lying about the- the toxin- I should’ve said something I- you were missing and- and-’
‘C’mere,’ Jason murmured and draped an arm around Tim’s shoulders, his voice firm, ‘it’s not your fault.’
He squeezed gently.
‘S’not your fault at all, baby bird.’
Jason stumbled and his vision swam dizzyingly.
‘I’ve got you. I have you,’ Tim reassured him, putting an arm around his back to support him as they entered the Manor gardens.
‘I’m just tired,’ Jason whispered but he didn’t bat Tim away this time. He leaned into him wearily as they climbed the steps to the front door- the front door?
Jason’s heart rate surged.
This wasn’t the Cave- He was about to go into the Manor- Actually inside- Tim had keys in his hand- The door was opening-
He stepped onto the hardwood floor and it rolled beneath him. His breath caught in his throat and he dug his fingertips into Tim’s shoulder as they walked forwards.
The kid was saying something but Jason couldn’t hear him over the sound of his blood thundering in his ears.
There was a gentle breeze coming from the open windows and with it came the smell of fresh flowers and laundry detergent and coffee grounds-
Jason felt his eyes widen as his chest constricted.
When they turned into the kitchen he was assaulted by the aroma of something homemade and savory.
Alfred was by the sink. There were fresh oranges on the table. Bruce and Dick were sat either side of it in normal clothes, no masks-
‘Took you long enough,’ someone said and Jason’s throat closed up.
He stumbled and the room - the beautiful, painful room - whirled around him. His legs wobbled and he crumpled to the floor with a wheeze.
He was breathing fast now. His vision was spotting, blurring at the edges. It was all he could do to squeeze his eyes shut.
He could hear people moving around him and he knew they were talking to each other- to him- but the words sounded garbled to his ears.
With trembling hands, he reached into his pocket and fumbled with the bottle cap.
Your sweater is soft. The floor is hard. The room smells like… home. The room smells like home. The room smells like home. The room-
‘Water,’ he managed weakly.
He wasn’t sure who gave it to him but seconds later someone thrust a glass of water into his hands and he took the pills shakily. Water dribbled down his chin and onto his sweatpants.
Someone took the glass away and someone else had their hands on his shoulders, his hair, his neck, his pulse? His whole body wavered.
Slowly, he sunk further into the floor. He curled up on his side and pressed his warm cheek to the cool surface.
The voices were getting frantic now, rising in pitch but he couldn’t- he couldn’t-
Your sweater is soft. The floor is hard- cold- home- was he breathing?
He knew that he was losing consciousness before it happened. Pointless fighting it, something exhausted in the back of his mind whispered, and for once he agreed.
White spots appeared behind his eyes and something inside of Jason melted in relief. Too much. This was... too much. His head pulsed, his chest burned and everything felt heavy.
He deserved to sleep. He deserved to rest-
Was Alfred making focaccia?
Was that the smell?
Jason blacked out.
Jason woke to hushed voices and hands carding gently through his hair.
His head was cushioned by something soft and, despite the awkward position his arm was elevated in, he enjoyed the way that a thumb brushed against his knuckles soothingly.
Every so often the hand would travel down to his wrist and press against his pulse before returning to its comforting caress of his fingers.
‘-pass me one of those.’ His cushion shifted.
‘We’d have to go and pick that up. They don’t come all the way out here.’
‘Have you asked Alfred about any of this?’
‘Yes,’ there was the gentle tapping of laptop keys, ‘he said it’s fine because we missed yesterday night because of Jason. Dick, what do you want? Usual?’
‘You know it. Plus garlic knots-’
‘And I suppose I’m picking this up?’
‘C’mon, Bruce. Dick will go with you.’
‘Boys, I’m not sure leaving-’
‘We can check in with Leslie on the way.’
There was a deep sigh.
‘I want zero arguments about pineapple. Zero.’
There was a triumphant sound and Jason buried himself further into the duvet. It was warm and soft and it smelled faintly of shampoo.
The hands in his hair felt nice and he nuzzled into the touch with a content hum. They paused briefly before continuing.
‘Jay,’ Dick’s voice was tender, ‘you awake?’
The room fell silent.
‘No,’ he croaked back honestly.
His thoughts swam and his whole body was cloaked in warmth. He didn’t think he could rip himself away from it. He didn’t want to rip himself away from it.
‘Jason,’ the hand holding his let go and he moaned in response, ‘you need to sit up and drink something.’
The hands left his hair, moving to support his shoulders and he peeled his eyes open.
He was in the family room. Bruce was leaning over the back of the couch, his hand still outstretched towards Jason’s and his expression pinched with worry.
Dick had one hand on his back while the other bumped a glass against his lips.
A few steps away, Tim was sat cross-legged on the carpet, the laptop in front of him ignored in favor of watching Jason.
Jason sipped the water.
‘You’re lucky,’ Dick quipped, ‘Bruce was about ten seconds away from making Alfred set up a drip.’
‘I was going to wait the full twenty-four hours first.’
‘Yeah and you’ve been insufferable since twelve,’ Tim rolled his eyes, ‘Jason, do you want pepperoni or BBQ or should I just add both?’ his voice was hopeful.
Jason blinked and scrubbed a hand down his face.
‘How long did I sleep for?’ The jury was still out on whether he was awake yet.
‘It’s Saturday evening now so-’
‘Twenty-one hours,’ Tim interrupted Dick, ‘but with the medication that’s not necessarily unusual.’
With the medication- Jason squeezed his eyes closed with a groan before letting his head slump back into Dick’s lap. The hands returned to his hair and he almost purred. His frustration melted away.
‘Yeah, that’s- that’s s’longest-’ he yawned, ‘but it tracks.’
He’d had two panic attacks and taken two sets of pills in under forty-eight hours. Jason was surprised his mouth could even form words.
The room was silent for a few moments and Jason’s eyes blinked open, suspicious. Sure enough, he found the three of them having some kind of silent conversation above his head. His mouth soured.
‘How long?’ Bruce squinted at him, ‘The medication. How long?’
Jason made a non-committal sound and shrugged.
‘Couple of months. Half a year.’
‘Jay-lad…’ Bruce murmured mournfully and a lump formed in Jason’s throat.
‘You should’ve said something, Little Wing.’
Jason opened his mouth to snap a protest but Dick pulled him closer and Jason couldn’t help but bury himself into the embrace.
‘I’m fine. Doesn’t matter,’ Jason rubbed his eyes, ‘have to learn to live with it. Get to the root of the problem.’
His Leslie impression was average at best but Tim snorted anyway and Jason’s lips quirked upwards at the sound. He jolted in surprise when hands gripped his face, tilting him upwards until he was staring into furious blue eyes.
Jason swallowed.
He didn’t like being on the receiving end of the Nightwing glare.
‘You’ve been suffering. You are suffering,’ Dick said flatly, ‘stop deflecting. It matters.’
He might’ve continued if Bruce hadn’t interrupted.
‘The root of the problem? And what might that be?’
Jason clenched his jaw and Dick, albeit fiercely, tightened his hold.
His hands rubbed circles on Jason’s back and he was murmuring something low and unintelligible - Jason might have caught the words self-preservation and hypocrite but he couldn’t be sure - and it felt nice. So nice.
His whole body loosened.
‘Missed this. Missed here,’ he sighed wetly, ‘I tried to be- I tried- I tried- ’ his voice trailed off into an incoherent mumble and he pushed his head closer to Dick’s hand.
His words sat in the silence, strained and sad. Jason stifled a yawn-
‘My phone is somewhere in the Manor gardens by the way.’
‘What? Why?’
Jason didn’t respond but he watched with weary eyes as pained realization dawned on Bruce’s face. He looked anguished.
‘It was you,’ he croaked, ‘you set off the alarms.’
Jason's cheeks burned and he averted his gaze. Somehow, admitting to it made him feel like a child, pitiful and pleading for attention. He hadn’t even managed to sneak in successfully for fuck’s sake-
When Jason finally met Bruce’s eyes they were shining with sadness. They flickered between him, Dick, and Tim, and his expression contorted like he was being tortured.
It made something in Jason’s heart ache. Instinctively, his hand twitched forward but he paused when Bruce hesitated.
‘Jason,’ he started slowly, ‘this is your home. You are always welcome here. Inside. Outside. The Cave. The Manor. ’
Jason choked on a weak scoff.
‘I don’t need your pity. I don’t- I can’t follow your rules. I can't- I-' he took a deep breath to steady himself, '-Victims need to feel safe and criminals have to die for that to happen. I’m just a reminder of your failure. Why would you want that here?’
‘You are my son,’ Bruce reached forward and squeezed his hand, ‘this will always be your home.’
‘I’m not- I’m not that kid anymore.’ the words tumbled from Jason’s lips almost frantically, ‘that kid died. I’m just- I kill people.’
Bruce didn’t even wince and his thumb resumed its caress of his knuckles.
‘I realize that I haven’t said it since you returned and that is my mistake. But Jason you are my son. No matter what you do or how much we disagree. This is your home. I will say it as many times as you need me to. Do you understand?’
Jason stared at Bruce. His face was resolute and it made Jason’s heart race with something hopeful.
Jason swallowed the lump in his throat before flipping his palm over and lacing their hands together.
He squeezed firmly.
‘BBQ,’ he stated, falling back into Dick’s lap, ‘I want BBQ, baby bird.’
Tim winced, ‘whoops’
It took a moment for Bruce to stop staring down at his encased hand with wide-eyed wonder but eventually the words registered and-
‘Timothy, I told you we did not need both,’ he couldn’t quite keep the fondness out of his voice.
‘I didn’t know which one Jason wanted-’
‘You should have waited for him to answer!’
‘I was hungry-’
‘Me too,’ Dick grumbled and Jason smiled faintly.
The lightness of the argument was soothing and it made up for the slight disappointment that he wasn’t going to be eating any of Alfred’s cooking.
‘What are we going to do with that much pizza?’
‘Alfred will have some.’
‘He will not and you know that.’
Tim drooped like a scolded child, his expression so reminiscent of Dick that Jason snorted.
‘Anyway,’ Tim continued meekly, ‘you'd better get going unless you want it cold.’
Bruce fixed him an unimpressed look that would’ve scared even the fiercest of criminals. Tim, however, just batted his eyelashes innocently and Dick snickered before easing Jason up.
Jason shivered at the loss of contact.
‘Tim,’ Dick near barked, and before Jason could complain they’d swapped places.
Bruce released Jason’s hand with a reluctant sigh and Jason had to smother a laugh at how petulant he looked. Bruce raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment before muttering something about keys and leaving.
‘We’re swapping again when I get back,’ Dick gave Tim a stern look before bouncing after Bruce.
Jason heard the front door click shut behind them and he relished in the quiet. He was warm and safe and there were small, gentle hands twisting through his hair.
He sighed contentedly and watched as Tim turned on the television and flicked through Netflix.
‘Stop,’ he ordered suddenly and Tim groaned.
‘Seriously? I thought you were joking yesterday.’
‘I want to catch up before the new season. I don’t want to miss it.’
‘And what if you do?’ Tim teased but he pressed play anyway.
‘I would rather die again,’ Jason retorted, deadly serious.
‘Master Jason,’ a voice interrupted them and Jason twisted around, wide-eyed.
‘Alfie,’ he breathed.
Somehow, seeing him in the Manor felt different to seeing him in the Cave. It felt like coming home after school to a plate of snacks and a warm mug of tea.
Speaking of, Jason’s eyes drifted to the plate Alfred was holding-
‘Before dinner?’ Jason gasped, awe-struck.
This had to be a dream.
‘Well, Master Jason. I’d say it’s somewhat of a special occasion,’ Alfred’s eyes twinkled, and Jason’s chest swelled. He didn’t know what to say and his eyes felt warm and-
Fortunately, Tim spoke before Jason could do something stupid like cry,
‘Woah,’ he took the plate of cookies, ‘Bruce always said you were Alfred’s favorite but-’
Alfred cut him off with a light swat to his hair.
‘I don’t have favorites, Master Timothy. Master Bruce likes to be dramatic.’
Even so, his hand came to rest gently on Jason’s shoulder and Jason swallowed the lump in his throat.
He picked up a cookie for lack of anything better to do but he’d forgotten how good- he’d forgotten how perfect- he took a large bite and moaned in appreciation
‘Always knew I was your favorite, Al,’ his words were light but they dripped with sentiment and Jason hoped that no one had noticed his watery eyes.
‘Thank you,’ he added softly.
‘You’re amazing, Alfred,’ Tim agreed earnestly.
The butler chuckled under his breath. Jason met his eyes and the familiar exasperated fondness swirling in them made him feel lightheaded.
This was more than he deserved and it couldn’t be real- It had to be a dream- And oh god Jason was going to wake up alone and suffocating-
‘Jason,’ Tim sounded concerned, and Jason realized that his whole body had tensed.
‘Catch me up on the show? I’ve never seen it?’ Tim asked gently.
Jason took a deep breath and relaxed with a shudder before nodding. If this was a dream he might as well make the most of it.
When Bruce and Dick returned they’d eaten well over half of the plate of cookies and Jason had made himself at home in Tim’s lap.
Not to mention that Tim had stolen half of the duvet and twisted so that Jason could hold him close. Jason had huffed something about sharing and attention but obliged nonetheless.
Dick raised his eyebrows and stole a cookie from Tim’s hand making him pout.
‘Are you sure you missed us Jaybird or did you just miss the food?’ he teased as Bruce put down the pizza boxes.
Jason’s lips twitched upwards in response, ‘Definitely just the food.’
Dick handed him a pizza box before squeezing himself onto the couch and making Tim grumble in the process.
‘Pass me mine, please, B,’ Tim whined, shooting Dick a pointed glare.
Either Dick didn’t notice or chose to ignore him because he focussed on settling against Jason’s side and Jason leaned into him with ease.
‘I have to say I’m a little disappointed that we ordered takeout,’ he stated before taking a large bite of the pizza (making sure that it was cool enough first after watching Tim burn his mouth), ‘do none of you appreciate Alfred’s cooking?’
‘Shut up, Jason! We can have Alfred’s cooking whenever we want but we only get takeout once a week.’
‘Yeah, Little Wing. I have to agree with Timmy on that one. Don’t take this away from us.’
‘Okay, okay,’ Jason held up his hands in mock defeat, ‘It’s no wonder I’m Alfred’s favorite. I actually look forward to his cooking.’
There were protests from either side of him about Alfred having a favorite but Bruce just gave him a small smile from where he was sat on the rug.
‘I guess you’ll have to stick around then, Jay.’
Jason’s mouth felt dry and his eyes warm and Tim was yelling at Dick directly into Jason’s ear. It all hurt in the best way possible.
‘Yeah,’ he replied softly after a moment,
‘I guess I will.’