Chapter Text
If Jason had known what a goddamn shit-show the bi-annual theatre production at Gotham Academy was going to be, he would never have been sucked into auditioning. But, come on, they were doing Much Ado About Nothing. That would break even the strongest of men.
He ended up auditioning, after nearly two weeks of tossing the idea up. That was his first mistake. Because apparently, in a school where money got passed around so quickly and so easily it might as well have been mono, there really wasn’t much point to auditioning. If you wanted a part you just had mommy and daddy buy it for you.
Jason did not subscribe to this blatant elitism, and had therefore been relegated to Watchman, an almost non-verbal part that had him loitering in the background while Charles ‘Call me Charlie-boy’ Whitmore swanned about as Benedick with absolutely no clue what he was doing.
It was now opening night and everything had—inevitably—gone to shit. Their director was a hot mess who got stage fright, something that really should have been mentioned and planned for before she was vomiting in the wings, so she’d been basically useless all night. Also, despite having paid for their parts, the leads hadn’t taken the time to learn their lines, and clearly didn't give a shit that they were making a fool of themselves, so they kept breaking out into giggles in the not even funny bits.
They had finally reached intermission, and Jason was just about done with the whole thing. The first three Acts had been nothing short of torturous. Jason was ready to venture out into the city and piss off the first Rogue he saw just to have an excuse to flee the building before the next Act started.
As it was, he fled the auditorium as soon as the curtains closed. He couldn’t be in close quarters with these people anymore. He’d made it through eighteen months at Gotham Academy without punching anyone, a real achievement, which had come at great emotional labour, but his restraint was really being tested tonight.
Jason stomped across campus to the furthest building from the auditorium—the new science and tech wing—and holed up there for a few minutes, taking some deep breaths. He knew he was being a bit ridiculous, that it really was just a school production and not worth the coronary he felt like he was on the verge of. Even Mr. Fulton, the drama teacher, had given up trying to wrangle the unruly cast. The last time Jason saw him, he’d been sat off to the side in the audience, slouched in his seat with his airpods in.
The bathrooms in the tech building were the nicest on campus, so Jason wandered to them, determined to splash some water on his face, pee, and pull himself together enough to get through the next forty minutes of crimes against good literature.
He was at the sink, his head practically in the basin, rubbing water over his face. It served the dual purpose of calming him down and waking him up. He and B had been out late. He should have gone home from patrol when B said, but they were part way through a trafficking case and making real progress, so he’d hung around longer than he should have and now he was paying for it.
There were hushed voices in the stall behind him, and in the mirror he could see two sets of shoes from beneath the door. Jason turned off the taps and wiped his face with a paper towel.
He was about to leave the bathroom and give them their privacy when there was a loud thud.
“Fuck…” someone muttered, “Will?”
There was far too much panic in the words to have anything to do with what Jason assumed they were doing in the stall. He darted back.
The stall door flew open and a body literally fell out. William Davenport hit the tiles hard. He was spasming, his eyes rolled up into his head and body twitching. Drew Hollingsworth stumbled out of the stall after him, eyes wide.
Jason’s robin training kicked in hard. He was on his knees at Will’s side in seconds. Drew stayed in the stall door, gaping.
“Will?” Jason called, yanking off his hoodie and tucking it beneath the boy's head before it could hit the tile again. “Can you hear me?”
Will didn’t respond. The seizure continued. Jason started clearing the space around him, pulling him away from the sinks.
A stall further down the bathroom opened and a kid stuck his head out. He looked too young to be in high-school, so he was likely here to see the play. His icy-blue eyes shot straight to Jason, and then fell to Will, who was still seizing.
“What the fuck is happening to him?” Drew screeched.
“I don’t know,” Jason snapped, fighting to keep the hoodie between Will’s head and the tile as he writhed. “He’s your friend.”
Jason didn’t know either of them outside of the dirty looks they gave him in the cafeteria and the rumours of what each of them thought about a ‘street’ kid in their classes.
The kid from the stall darted to Will’s other side, hands hovering awkwardly over the boy.
“Don’t hold him down,” Jason said, crouched by Will’s head. “Just let it happen.”
The kid backed off a fraction but stayed close. He looked spooked to hell but was holding it together better than Drew.
“He’s going to bite his tongue off!” Drew shrieked, hysteria setting in.
“No, he won’t.” Probably. Jason wasn’t really sure, he just knew shoving anything into his mouth was a bad idea. The risk of choking was far higher than the risk to his tongue.
“Do you have your phone?” Jason asked the kid.
He nodded.
“Call 911,” Jason ordered. The seizure hadn’t hit anywhere near the five-minute mark yet, but it was better not to take any chances when they didn’t know the cause. It could be anything. Epilepsy. Head trauma. Diabetic emergency.
“Wait–no–” Drew said, finally stepping out of the stall. He didn’t reach for his friend. He hovered over the kid’s shoulder, looking ready to snatch his phone right out of his hand. “Don’t—do we really need to?”
“Jeez, I don’t know,” Jason said. Will was still seizing, making horrible gurgling noises that had Jason leaning close to monitor his airway. “But I’m leaning towards fuck yes.”
The kid had already dialed and was speaking to an operator.
“I just mean–” Drew looked properly stressed now. He swiped a hand beneath his nose. He was trembling. “Like, he might just come out of it right? Maybe we should wait.” He wiped his nose again.
There was powder on his collar.
Jason’s vision went white. And then red.
Drew noticed his stare and looked down, spotting the stain. He blanched and wiped it away.
“Are you fucking kidding me,” Jason yelled. Will was still seizing—it had to be getting close to a minute now, which was not good. Jason couldn’t see Will’s eyes, but Drew’s pupils were blown so wide there was barely any iris around them at all.
The kid started, shooting Jason a wide-eyed look. He kept speaking to the operator, quickly and concisely outlining the situation. It was a good thing too, because Jason wouldn’t have had a hope of explaining anything. He was too busy trying to heave in small breaths around the painfully familiar lump that was forming in his chest.
The tiles beneath him were swimming. He felt too hot and too cold all at once, and every time he blinked there was a different body beneath his hands. She was small, too. She always had been. Nothing more than bones and soft skin even when she was clean and they could afford more than a single meal a day.
When she was sick, her skin was always dry. It would crack and bleed sometimes when Jason ran a wet towel over her sweaty hands, hoping the cold might bring her round.
The next time he blinked, his eyes were wet but it was Will under his hands again.
Drew was looming over the kid now, arguing with him.
“–just tell them that he collapsed,” Drew said, hands balled into fists at his sides.
“They’re asking what happened before that,” the kid pressed. “If there was anything–”
“Nothing happened!” Drew snapped. He grabbed a hold of the kid’s jacket. “Tell them nothing happened–”
Jason abandoned Will for just long enough to reach over him and shove Drew away from the kid. Drew stumbled, so out of it he couldn’t get his feet under him before he hit the stall and slipped. He landed hard on his ass, with a surprised shriek, and toppled onto his side.
Jason turned back to the kid. “Tell them he’s taken something.”
The kid scooted back a full foot as soon as Drew let him go. He still had the phone pressed to his ear, and Jason could hear the operator on the other side.
“No–” Drew cried, fighting to get his legs under him.
“Shut up!” Jason roared. His voice echoed through the bathroom. Drew, startled, fell back onto his ass.
The kid scooted another inch or so away, this time from Jason.
In any other moment, the sight of a kid cowering from him would have sent Jason into a full on spiral, but considering he was already tumbling head-first down a rabbit hole of the worst moments of his life, Jason didn’t have it in him.
“Tell them!” he barked at the kid.
The kid nodded, relaying it all to the operator.
Jason kept falling.
His mom had been starting to get cold by the time he got through the bathroom door. She’d locked it, and Jason was so hungry that it was an effort to stand, so beating down a door had taken nearly twenty minutes. The wood was rotted, and the lock already rattling, but in his panic he had no idea where to land his kicks and shoves. In the end he’d just been throwing his entire body against the door, screaming.
She hadn’t heard him.
The body under his hands felt cold. Jason knew he wasn’t—he could see that Will was still seizing, and that meant he was still alive, if nothing else—but no amount of logic was enough to tell his brain that the body below him wasn’t the corpse of his mother.
Jason’s next breath caught in his throat and stayed there. He was openly crying now, he could feel the wetness on his cheeks, but nothing would make them stop. He couldn’t breathe—he couldn’t breathe, and he was back on the bathroom floor, and she was—she wasn’t moving. She wasn’t—
He couldn’t do this.
He couldn’t—
It was more instinct than choice to reach into his sweats and pull out his phone. When Bruce first gave it to him Jason had snorted and asked him who he was supposed to call. No one he’d known on the streets had a phone, and anyone who did was a criminal. Bruce had smiled gently, and perhaps—looking back on it now—a little sadly, and said that Jason could call him. He had saved his number at the top of Jason’s ‘favorites’. It was still there nearly two years later.
Bruce answered on the second ring.
“Hey, Jaylad,” he said, his always slightly scratchy voice—Alfred kept telling him the ‘Bat’ voice was going to strain his vocal cords beyond repair someday—was warm. “We’re just at the snack bar, did you want anything? Dick’s happy to sneak it back to you—”
“Help me,” Jason gasped into the phone. He wasn’t sure what he needed, but he knew he needed help. He couldn’t breathe, and his mom wasn’t moving, and someone was yelling. “I need—I need help.”
He couldn’t do this.
Bruce’s voice sharpened in an instant. “Where are you?”
“I—I,” Christ, he didn’t know. He couldn’t think straight—he couldn’t breathe let alone remember how he got here. “I don’t—”
“The second floor bathroom,” the kid across from Jason said quickly. He said it again, louder and leaning towards Jason’s phone when Jason just stared at him. “In the tech wing.”
“We’re coming,” Bruce said. Jason could hear him moving, which—if he had been a little more aware—would have been all the evidence he needed to know that Bruce was absolutely legging it across campus.
Sometime, during Jason's freak out, Will had stopped seizing. He now lay mostly still on the tiles, gasping softly and moaning. Jason dropped his phone and shifted so he could roll him into the recovery position. The kid, when he realised what Jason was doing, helped. He grabbed Jason’s abandoned hoodie and tucked it back beneath Will’s head to keep his neck supported.
Will was breathing fairly well, his gasping seemingly more sobs than respiratory issues. His pulse was fast but steady as well, and he moaned pitifully when Jason rubbed his knuckles over the idiot’s sternum. Responsive, then. Likely not dying from an overdose today.
Drew, who had finally made it back to his feet, took one look at his sobbing friend and sprinted out of the bathroom.
Jason took that as his cue to absolutely nope-out. The next couple of minutes passed in a blur. The kid was still on the phone with the 911 operator, who was asking him questions that had him checking over Will. Jason should have been doing that. He knew what the paramedics would need to know, and how to check, but everytime the daze he’d fallen into started to lift it washed right back over him when Will moaned again.
He didn’t—not here on the tiles—she was already so cold, and the paramedics weren’t doing anything to keep her warm. They wouldn’t even let Jason bring her a blanket. They kept him out of the room, leaving her in there all alone in the cold—
“Jason–”
Bruce’s voice broke him out of the haze. He had Jason in a tight grip, large hands gripping Jason’s shoulders. He was leaning in close, watching Jason with every bit of the Bruce-intensity he’d come to realise was just…worry.
“You with me, Jaylad?” Bruce asked.
Jason nodded shakily.
There were more people in the bathroom now.
Dick was there, pressed close to Jason’s side. He was knelt almost over him, like he could use his body to cover Jason from his own freak-out. He was rubbing a hand up and down Jason’s back, and it kind of made Jason want to cry. He pushed that down. There were tears still clinging to his cheeks.
Mr. Fulton was there as well. He was leant over Will and speaking quickly with the kid. He had the kid’s phone and had taken over with the 911 operator.
All in all, the situation was in hand.
And Jason wanted the fuck out.
“I want to go.”
He’d barely muttered the words before Bruce was heaving him up, an arm tucked under Jason’s back to keep him steady. He was pulled tight to Bruce’s chest and practically carried from the bathroom.
“You’re okay,” Dick said. He was still at Jason’s side. “We’ve got you.”
Bruce slid an arm behind Jason’s knees without warning, lifting him clean off his feet in one controlled motion. He carried him the last few steps into the hall and set him down against the lockers, steadying him for a moment before letting go.
“I have to go check on the boy,” Bruce said, ducking to look Jason in the eye. “Dick is going to stay with you.”
Jason nodded. Dick dropped to his knees at Jason’s side. He pressed a hand to the back of Jason’s neck and squeezed, which again, had Jason nearly in tears.
God, he wanted this night to be over.
“When the paramedics get here, we’ll go,” Bruce promised. “Alfred is bringing the car around. He’ll meet us at the door.”
“Just go,” Jason said all in one breath. It took all the air he had left.
“Jay.” Bruce set an open palm on Jason’s heaving chest. “Breathe.”
“I am,” Jason snapped. He pushed Bruce back. “Go make sure the idiot didn’t actually kill himself.”
Bruce’s jaw tightened but he left, pausing only to share a quick look with Dick. Dick moved into the space he left.
“I thought you made a very convincing Watchman,” Dick teased, plucking at Jason’s costume.
“Fuck off, Dickface,” Jason grumbled. Even to him it sounded pathetically weak.
Dick’s grin faded into something more real. “Shit night, huh?”
Jason laughed, hard and loud and more than a little hysterical. Dick pulled him in until he was pressed tight to his chest, Dick’s octopus arms wrapped around him impossibly tight.
“I don’t know what he took,” Jason said, clinging to Dick. “I—I didn’t even ask. I should have asked. But Drew ran off and—” there went the single breath he’d been able to take. “I’ve heard that he sells to kids. I didn’t even think to look into it, and I should have done that too. Someone told me he even sells to the middle-school kids but I didn’t believe them—”
Jason choked on another breath, his heart stalling in his chest.
Dick pulled back. “Jason?”
Jason shoved off the floor so fast the lockers rattled. He was on his feet and running before Dick could reach out and stop him. He sprinted back into the bathroom, skidding on the tiles as he pushed through the door.
The kid was there, just off to the side. He was watching Bruce and Mr. Fulton hover over Will. He looked ridiculously small, pressed into the wall and wringing his hands.
Jason grabbed the kid by the sleeve and yanked him into the hall.
The kid shrieked.
Jason kept a tight hold of him until they were both back by the lockers, a very confused looking Dick hovering close.
“Jason, what—” Dick started.
Jason pushed the kid up against the lockers. “Did you take anything?”
Large blue eyes blinked at him. “What?”
It took everything Jason had not to shake the kid. “Did you take anything?” he said again. “Did Drew sell you anything?”
“No,” the kid hurried to say.
Jason really did shake him this time, just a little. His heart was eating its way up into his throat. The kid was tiny, like a bird, if he’d taken whatever Will had it would hit him even harder.
All of a sudden it wasn’t his mom on the tiles, it was Blackjack Benny. The kid had been small even for a ten year old, and the mobs loved him for it. He started out just hanging around the Blackjack tables in the back room of O'Malley's, where people paid him to sneak a look at cards. From there he started running packages. No one looked twice at a kid that small. Rumour had it, they paid him with smaller packages of his own.
He’d been even smaller the last time Jason found him. They left him out with the trash. His small body curled inwards, like a dying spider, and his eyes wide and vacant. He’d been so stiff Jason couldn’t even pull his arm up to check for a pulse. Not that he needed to. Benny was so cold it hurt to touch him.
Jason had made an anonymous call to the cops to tell them the body of a ten-year-old had been left in the dumpster behind O'Malley's, and then he’d hung around to make sure they took him away.
No one had come.
“You can’t lie about this kind of thing,” Jason said, getting right into the kid’s face. “Okay, you can’t—” Benny had lied to Jason so many times about how often he was using. “You have to tell me—”
The kid was shaking his head. “I didn’t take anything.”
Dick was gently trying to peel Jason off the kid, “Jay, ease up—”
Jason doubled down.
“Then why were you up here?” he demanded.
The bathrooms weren’t even in the same building as the auditorium, which was why Jason had sought them out. He hadn’t expected anyone else to be there. Definitely not a middle-grader.
“The show was boring and kind of bad,” the kid said all at once, “I snuck out. I was in the computer lab and I’ve had like three Red Bulls today so I really needed to pee—”
Dick gave up trying to dislodge Jason’s grip on the kid’s jumper and just pushed between them instead. “Okay, we all need to take a breath—”
“No!” Jason was crying again. Benny was so small and they had left him there— “He can’t—he can’t–”
“Jason, look at me,” Dick said. His voice was as serious as Jason had ever heard it. “Let go. I can’t help him if you don’t let go.”
“You need to–he—” Jason gasped. His head was pounding and the hallway was starting to sway.
He should have been outraged by how easy it was for Dick to grab him under the arms and swipe his feet out from beneath him, but he was too dizzy. Dick settled him back on the floor, leant against the lockers, and pushed his knees up.
“Head down,” Dick ordered. “Breathe.”
“He–-I need–” Jason tried. His vision was really fading out now. Black spots were blotting out a lot of the hallway.
“I’m going to check on him,” Dick promised, still leaning over Jason. “I’m going to make sure that he’s okay, but I can’t do that until I know you’re okay, Jay. So put your head between your knees and breathe.”
Jason did what he was told.
Dick was going to take care of the kid. He wouldn’t leave Benny there. He’d help.
Jason took a breath. And then another.
“Good. In for four, and hold,” Dick coached. He had one hand wrapped loosely around Jason’s wrist, fingers pressed to his pulse. “And out for four.”
Dick talked him through several more breaths, and with each Jason’s head started to feel a little clearer. When he finally lifted his head, Dick was knelt in front of him, still holding his wrist gently. He smiled when Jason met his eye.
“There you are,” he said, softly. “You’re okay.”
The kid hovered where Jason had left him, wringing his hands again.
Now that Jason’s brain was semi-back online, he could see the kid a bit more clearly. He didn’t look like he was tripping. He looked stressed-out and like he might need to sit down right next to Jason and take a few deep breaths, but he didn’t look high.
Still…his mom hadn’t all the time either.
“Dick…” Jason breathed, not taking his eyes off the kid.
“I got him.” Dick finally moved away from Jason, though only really to spin on his knees and look at the kid with a bright smile. “Hi kiddo, I’m Dick.”
The kid just stared at him. Okay, that is something a high person would do. But also, Dick’s ability to go from serious to a thousand-watt smile could sometimes be startling.
“Hi,” the kid squeaked.
“Is it okay if I take a quick look at you, just to make sure you’re okay?” Dick asked.
“I’m fine,” the kid said quickly.
The lump in Jason’s throat started to build again.
“I’m sure you are,” Dick agreed, easily. “But it’d make us feel a lot better to be sure. I’ll be super quick, and then we can get you back to your parents, no-fuss.”
The kid looked between Jason—still on the floor and heaving in breaths that did very little to settle his racing heart, but at least he didn’t feel like he was going to pass out anymore—to Dick, who was waiting for his answer without a hint of frustration.
Dick was good like that. He always asked and he always waited. He took the time to explain what he was doing as he did it.
Bruce could get too hyper-focused, especially when things were going to shit, and just act before he explained what he was doing. It had resulted in Jason freaking out more than a few times. The most memorable of which had been only a few weeks into being fostered with the Wayne’s. He’d been eating breakfast when a chunk of wheaties got stuck in his throat. He’d only panicked a bit, trying his best to stay silent and swallow the mass of gluten lodged in his esophagus, while not interrupting Bruce’s morning routine of scowling at the newspaper. When Bruce had looked up, asking if he was alright, Jason had nodded silently, not daring to breathe in case he broke into a coughing fit at the table. That had apparently been his mistake. When Bruce asked again, and Jason still didn’t make a noise, Bruce was behind him in an instant. He hauled Jason out of his chair and locked one arm around his waist. He formed a fist just above Jason’s navel, clasped it with his other hand, and delivered a series of quick, sharp upward thrusts. Jason coughed the wheaties up pretty much right away. And then nearly choked on his own spit as he promptly freaked out and tried to shove Bruce away. Bruce, confused and still worried Jason was choking—a fair concern, in hindsight, considering the terrified wheezes Jason was making—kept a firm hold on him. Restraining him just enough to keep him from thrashing so Bruce could properly check his airway. He didn’t let go until he was sure Jason was actually breathing.
It was good that Dick was patient and not trying to freak the kid out. The issue was, Jason was already freaking out and kind of wanted to grab the kid, Bruce-style, and shove him into Dick’s waiting arms.
Thankfully, after a couple of seconds, the kid gave a tiny nod.
Dick slid forward, still on his knees, which left him at about the kid’s height. “I’m going to ask you a few questions, okay, and I need you to answer them honestly.”
The kid nodded again.
“What’s your name?” Dick asked.
“Tim.”
Dick took the kid’s wrist and set his fingers on his pulse. “Are you feeling dizzy, sick, or like anything’s not quite right in your body right now, Tim?”
The kid shook his head.
“Can you answer out-loud for me, bud,” Dick pressed.
“No,” Tim said, quickly. “I feel fine.”
“Can you breathe okay?” Dick asked. The kid opened his mouth to answer right away, but Dick cut him off. “I want you to take a moment and really think about it.”
As the kid thought, Dick pressed one hand to his chest and the other against his back, measuring the rise and fall of his chest. “Take a deep breath for me, kiddo.”
The kid did. It seemed kind of shaky.
“And another,” Dick said.
The second breath was more steady.
“Good,” Dick smiled at the kid. “How do you feel?”
“Fine,” Tim said. “I can breathe fine.”
“Great,” Dick said. “One last thing. I’m going to shine a light into your eyes for just a second.”
Dick slid his phone out of his pocket, turned on the torch, and waved the light across Tim’s eyes. His pupils contracted quickly, equal on both sides, and returned to normal just as fast when the light moved away.
Jason’s next breath came much easier.
“You look all good,” Dick said, giving the kid another smile. He turned back to Jason. “Yeah?”
Jason nodded shakily.
Footsteps echoed down the hall. Mr. Alvarez and two paramedics appeared around the corner, a gurney piled with medical bags between them. They weren’t running, per say, but they were hustling.
“In there,” Dick pointed at the bathroom door.
They disappeared inside.
Dick slid across the floor to Jason. “How are we doing?”
“I’m good,” Jason muttered. His head ached something fierce and his chest still felt tight, but there was nothing Dick could do about either of those things. It was up to Jason to pull himself together.
Bruce came out of the bathroom. His eyes shot to Jason first, then to Dick who was back at Jason’s side. Only after scanning them both did he look down at Tim, who had shuffled closer to the lockers since Dick let him go, and now looked like he wanted to disappear inside them.
“Here you go,” Bruce said, handing back the kid’s phone. “You did really well calling them and keeping them informed. They were really impressed.”
The kid looked ready to pass out again.
“Thanks,” he squeaked. He looked between Bruce, Dick and Jason. “I–I should go. My parents will be looking for me.”
“I can walk you back,” Dick offered, pulling away from Jason.
Bruce slipped into the space Dick left, kneeling and leaning in close. He rested a hand on Jason’s chest. Some of the tightness eased. It left Jason feeling worn out and dangerously close to breaking into sobs. He swallowed hard, fighting desperately to keep his eyes dry.
He already looked pathetic enough.
Bruce rubbed his chest softly and a single, strangled sob tried to break loose. Jason caught it in the back of his throat.
“No, I’m okay, you don’t need to do that,” Tim said, backing away. His eyes skipped from Dick to Jason. “I hope you feel better, Jason.”
With that he turned and quite literally ran away, disappearing around the corner at the end of the hall.
Bruce’s brow wrinkled in concern. “Is he okay?”
“He’s not on drugs,” Jason said. Saying it out loud made him feel a little better. Especially because neither Bruce nor Dick disagreed. “I think he’s just weird.”
Dick shrugged and nodded.
Bruce turned back to Jason. “Are you ready to go?”
“Fuck yes.”
It was a testament to how shit Jason must have looked that Bruce didn’t even call him out for his language. He just scooped an arm around Jason’s back and guided him to his feet. Dick hovered close.
They started the trek down to the smaller parking lot at the rear of the building.
“Is Will going to be okay?” Jason asked.
He was pressed to Bruce’s chest, with Bruce’s arm wrapped tight around him. It was probably both to comfort, and to make sure Jason didn’t take a header down the stairs. Which was kind of fair. He had his legs under him, and was walking under his own steam, but he was definitely still shaking.
The closeness meant he felt, more than heard, Bruce hum. “He’s going to be fine, chum. You did a good job.”
“Drew ran off,” Jason told him. “He was definitely on something too.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Bruce said, giving him a soft squeeze.
They made it to the car park. Dick had run ahead and was with Alfred by the Bentley, they were murmuring to one another when Jason and Bruce came into view.
“An excellent performance, I must say, Master Jason,” Alfred said, stepping away and opening the back door of the Bentley for him. Dick had already raced around the car and was sliding into the front passenger seat.
“It was shit, Alfie,” Jason huffed.
Bruce kept an arm around him all the way to the car, and then went as far as to try and help him into his seat, reaching to buckle Jason in. Jason slapped his hands away. He might have broken down pathetically and nearly fainted for no good reason at all, but he wasn’t actually a toddler. He could fasten his own goddamn seat-belt.
“You were a shining light in an admittedly sub-par production,” Alfred assured.
Jason laughed.
Bruce slid into the backseat beside Jason and pulled him in close. Jason, who would usually shove him away and tell him to go find Dick—the human version of a heat-seeking-missile—collapsed against him without argument.
Alfred got into the driver’s seat.
Dick turned in his seat as they started out of the parking lot and headed towards the school gates.
“So, not to make this all about me,” he said, voice already whiny. “But B and I never made it to the front of the snack line and I was promised hot pretzels.”
“Suffer,” Jason murmured. The more distance they put between them and the school, the easier it got to breathe. The sudden return of very welcome oxygen was making his eyelids heavy and his body heavier. There was a very real danger of him falling asleep on Bruce. “Your fat ass is fat enough.”
Dick gasped in a way that should have earned him a leading role in the next thespian play the Academy put on. Jason couldn’t see his face though, because his heavy eyelids had won out and he surrendered to them with little fuss.
Dick’s whining kept on until Alfie—with a sigh that also should have earned him a role—turned off towards the nearest Annie’s. Bruce kept silent, his chin resting atop Jason’s head and his body swaying gently with the car.
Jason was definitely in danger of falling asleep.
It should have frightened him, to be so vulnerable. So should Dick’s whining, because he knew this weird family well enough now to know that all Dick’s bluster, and even Alfie’s, were a show for his sake.
After Jason’s dizzy spell, they would want to get some food in him. Dick would no doubt make a show of picking the most toxic looking soft-drink in the dispenser and daring Jason to drink it—which worked more often than not, because Jason wasn’t a pussy, or lactose-intolerant like the idiot in the front seat who was addicted to malt thickshakes—in an effort to get some sugar into him.
It was all a production to take care of Jason, and that should have infuriated and terrified him in equal measure.
It didn’t.
It would in the morning, when Jason woke up and sheer mortification of his wild over-reaction to a really not-that-serious medical event settled in, but right now Bruce was warm. And Dick was loud. And Alfie was taking them home.
His mom and Blackjack Benny had been cold and quiet and gone.
“I want cinnamon,” Jason murmured into Bruce’s side.
Bruce pulled him closer, wrapping his arm fully around Jason’s middle. “Cinnamon it is.”