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“Jason?”
Jason jerks violently, almost jumping up from the doze he’d finally found himself in. He weakly lifts his head to gaze at the tall, dark, all too familiar silhouette that soundlessly slips into the room from the now opened window.
“B…?” he murmurs drowsily. “What are you doing here…?”
The sudden flash of the bedside lamp has him grunting in complaint, shutting his eyelids tightly for a moment. When he opens them again, it’s to gaze at Batman peering over him. His eyes drop from Jason’s bruised upper arm and bare torso to that deep wound placed at his lower side.
“You’re hurt,” Bruce observes softly, running fingers down his ribs and stopping right before he touches the cut. “What happened?” he then demands, a little more sternly.
Jason huffs a breath. “Some goon with a freaking long sword got lucky, that’s all. Don’t worry, old man, I didn’t kill anyone. I might have broken some jaws, I’ll admit, but it’s the cops’ problem now.”
Bruce hums. “It needs stitches.”
“Bruce, seriously, I…”
Jason turns his head. He only gets a glimpse of the cowl disappearing around the corner of the room and then falls back against the pillow, rolling his eyes, too tired to do anything else but surrender to Bruce’s ministrations.
He comes back carrying the medical kit (Jason internally wonders how he instantly knew where to go to get it) and removes his gloves and mask. Jason sits mostly still and quiet while Bruce patches him up, only once or twice unable to choke back a few pained, angry sounds through clenched teeth. Bruce thoroughly cleans the wound soon after, and then presses a pad over it.
“I’m fine, alright?” Jason reluctantly mumbles instead of a simple thank you, awkwardly shifting to lay on his back (that shit really hurts).
A hand instantly shoots up to run fingers through his strands. Jason forces himself to look at Bruce in the eyes, and realizes that he’s starring at him intently, his expression being… calm an unreadable. Serene.
“So… what are you doing here, old man?” he hurries to break a silence that’s becoming increasingly intense to him. “What happened?”
Bruce’s eyes move to the alarm clock over the bedside table. It informs anyone interested that the time is 4:41 am. “It’s August 16th,” he simply says.
Jason blushes, cursing himself over the reaction. “Oh,” is all he’s able to mouth. “Uh, yeah, it… it is.”
Bruce gazes at him for another long second, before his hand drops from Jason’s hair, coming to cup the side of his face, thumb stroking over his cheek. He then leans over him and presses lips on his forehead, in a manner just as tender and caring as Jason remembered from his early years with him. Back when everything was so simple, no shadows or ghosts lingering over them.
“Happy Birthday, son,” he says, voice warm and low.
Jason, despite himself, feels he’s melting inside. He focuses on keeping his eyes dry, and the effort renders him unable to form any words in return. He settles for gripping Bruce’s other hand that’s resting on the bed beside him, hoping that he gets everything from the gesture. His face when they part, that phantom of a smirk over his lips, says that he does. Soon after, Bruce reaches into one of his belt’s pockets and brings out something, holding it up for Jason. It’s a shiny black and silver thing, with a glimpse of red in it.
“What’s that?” Jason asks, taking it in his hand.
Now that he has the chance to examine it from up close, his question answers itself. The Corvette logo stands proudly inside a circle at the upper part of the car key, and Jason realizes, in a wave of nostalgia and awe, that he knows exactly what car this particular key unlocks. He’d spent so much time examining it, dreaming about it, anxiously waiting for the day that he’d finally get his hands on his learner’s permit, so that he could drive it even outside the Manor’s general area, like Bruce (who would let him drive the Batmobile, but nothing else without supervision, for some reason) had promised…
“I can’t,” he murmurs through the lump blocking his throat, extending his hand back toward him.
Bruce doesn’t make a single move. “You know where it is,” he says calmly. “Whenever you feel like, come by and get it.”
“Bruce, no…”
“You were supposed to get it long ago. I would have… let you into it, long ago,” he says blankly, and Jason feels numbness sink into his bones. “Either you get it,” he insists, “or no one ever drives it again.”
Jason thinks about that stunning, gorgeous red girl siting all virgin and untouched in that garage, next to all her experienced brothers and sisters, and frankly, it breaks his heart a little. No, no, he can’t leave her like this. It’d be a crime, a sin!
He retracts his hand, swallowing, and then wets his lips. “Th—thank you.”
Bruce nods. “Alfred is going to call you, in the morning,” he then says, “to wish you happy birthday, and invite you to the manor. He’s preparing a cake for you, and… not… exactly a party… A small gathering, I suppose. Tim and Damian will be there, naturally, and maybe Dick, Barbara…”
“It does sound like a party, and it also sounds like you’ve ruined Alfred’s surprise,” he faintly smiles.
Bruce inhales deeply. “I was afraid that… perhaps, when you got there, and see all of that you’d feel forced to stay and celebrate with us. I wouldn’t want you to feel that way,” he clarifies, and then, after another inhale, “I’d love to know that you’re there, with us, in this day, not because you have to, but because you want to.”
Jason looks away from him for a while. “I’ll come,” is what he eventually rasps.
Bruce smiles, delighted and relieved. He opens his mouth again, looking like he’s preparing to say something more, something difficult to be said, but he doesn’t get the chance to even start.
“Heeeey, Haaaappy Birthday, little—oh! Oh, FUCK!”
They both instantly turn their heads to where Nightwing so clumsily lands on the floor, after having just invaded in the room through the window.
“What a fucking idiot!” Jason starts laughing, unable to help himself.
“Language, Jason,” Bruce says, and then, turning his gaze to Dick, “You alright?”
“No!” he groans, picking himself up from the floor his hand pressing at his head. “Oh my God, I’m dying!”
Bruce rolls his eyes, and smirks down at Jason, who barely holds back from bursting.
“You removed the little table from under the window!” Dick accuses Jason, stumbling toward the bed, still rubbing at his head.
“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t ask for your permission to change things in my own apartment, you drama queen!”
Dick scoffs in disapproval, throwing his mask over the bedside table. “Make room,” he demands, lightly pushing him to lie himself beside him on the bed.
“Yeah, sure, be my guest. Lie down on my clean sheets while on your filthy suit, after you’ve dragged it to every single roof in Gotham,” Jason growls.
Dick profoundly ignores him, sighing deeply as he lets his head fall against one pillow. “Bruce, I’m dying.”
“Yeah, I can see that.”
Jason grins, nudging Dick with his elbow. “Hey,” he says, holding up the Corvette’s key. “Look what B gave me.”
Dick takes it from him, his eyes narrowing, and then going wide-open as he gasps. “You gift him with a car?” he exclaims. “You give me money!”
Bruce first lifts an eyebrow, then frowns and nods. “You’re right, Dick. Thank you for pointing that out,” he says, and then turns to Jason. “Jason, I’ll write you a check as well.”
Jason laughs, while Dick pouts, eyebrows knitted. He turns to lay prone and burry his face in the pillow. “You’re all so mean to me!” he’s kvetching, voice muffled by it.
Bruce gets up. “I’ll get you some ice,” he says.
Dick silently gives him thumbs up, but as soon as Bruce walks out, he picks his head up and smirks at Jason. “Hey, Jay? Jaybird?” he’s whispering. “I am so, so drunk!”
Jason raises his eyebrows in surprise, examining him. “You are?”
Dick vividly nods, bringing his index finger to his lips in the classic ‘quiet!’ gesture, giggling quietly. “That’s why I thought I’d crush here, I couldn’t get back in the m—manor like that, Alfred would instantly know! The hell’s B doing here at this hour?”
Jason just smiles. “How did you get drunk, anyway?”
“There were four guys robbing a bar downtown and I took them out, and then the owner insisted on getting me at least one drink before I go, you know? But then—then all the people around came along, you know? And—and they all waned to get me drinks, and woo-hooo… you know? I couldn’t, like, disappoint them, right?”
Jason huffs, the air he exhales pushing back a strand of hair falling over his forehead. “How come you stumble into the best stuff, I’ll never know, goldie.”
“Hey, now though, since you’re legally allowed to drink from now on, I think…” Dick starts saying, but he’s cut off once his eyes set over the pad on Jason’s side. “Oh—Hey, wait! You’re hurt?!”
Jason grimaces. “It’s nothing, just a few stitches.”
Despite his reassurance, Dick’s expression still goes to being unbearably sweet and affectionate, before he basically attacks him, falling back down and hugging Jason’s stiff and reluctant form tightly to him. “Ohh, my little wing! In your birthday…!”
“Get off of me, you idiot!” Jason angrily yelps, trying (not-so-eagerly) to escape the embrace.
Dick ignores him, hugging him tighter still, lifting his head to press two kisses on his face. Jason gives up and sighs, as Dick buries his head into Jason’s bare shoulder. “My poor little wing, I will take care of you… just…” he yawns deeply, before nuzzling at his shoulder once more. “… ‘ll jus’ close my eyes… jus’ for a second…”
Within the next ten to twenty seconds he’s basically snoring, still clinging to him tightly, and that’s how Bruce finds them once he returns in the room.
“Yeah, he’s wasted,” Jason growls, shamelessly ratting him.
Bruce rolls his eyes at the obviousness of the thing. “Yeah, like I couldn’t smell it.”