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Jason draws in small, frantic breaths, unable to handle this painful agony. Knowing that he has no other choice but to keep going.
He has to move. He just has to. If he stays there too long, Roy will come back and… and he can’t… he can’t let Roy see him like this. He’s burdened him enough already. He hates having to trouble him any further. He needs to start taking care of himself once again, on his own. He needs…
He can do this. He can.
Jason sucks one last, shaky breath, clenching his teeth, one hand tightly clasping against the wall, and forces himself to move forward.
The pain kicking at his ribs is blinding. He manages a few quick steps before he sees the world spinning around him, dark spots blooming everywhere, and he’s got no other choice but to rest his back against the wall and slide over to sit down. If he doesn’t want to fall and crush his goddamn, stupid head in some corner, that is. And god knows, last thing he needs is more blows over there, just so that he ends up completely dysfunctional.
He closes his eyes.
He’s doing well. Totally well.
He just needs to rest for another minute.
“Motherf—!”
Roy’s panicked hiss brings him back into the world. Jason, disoriented, has a sense of strong arms around him, pulling up to his feet –that he could swear are currently made of rubber- but not letting him go. Roy snakes one arm around him, being very careful not to hurt his injured side. He takes Jason’s good arm and passes it around his shoulders.
“You’re the personification of stubbornness, you know that?” Roy growls, but there are no angry notes in his tone. Merely deep-rooted annoyance and concern. “Tell me you didn’t rip any stitches open, at least.”
Jason snorts, but says nothing. He’s lightly gripping at Roy’s t-shirt with his fist, a bitter feeling of relief running through him, and Roy’s holding him a little closer.
He’s frustrated at how close to the bedroom he’d actually managed to get. Roy helps him back to bed and forces him to lay down with a single pouty look. Despite Jason’s assurances, he still checks all the remaining stitches before sitting down beside him on the bed and proceeding to judgmentally stare at him.
“In what language do I have to spell it out to you that you need to lay low, Jaybird? At least for the week, you need to…”
“I can do basic things on my own,” Jason says in a low voice, facing away from him.
He can’t see him now, yet he feels his stare burning him during that long, awkward pause. “If you need something,” Roy keeps this going, “why don’t you just say it? Shout for me, or use the intercom…”
“I don’t want to fucking shout for you every time I need to use the fucking bathroom!” Jason suddenly bursts.
The silence this time is heavier. Lasts longer. Jason swallows. His hand clenches into a fist over the sheets, already regretting having yelled at him. Yeah, good call, genius Mr. Todd. Go ahead and shout at the very last person in the world that, somehow, still puts up with your shit. The only one you’ve got left.
Now, there’s Alfred too, of course. There’s always Alfred. But Roy is… Roy.
He’s far too many things for him.
“Caused you enough trouble already,” he murmurs, voice a little hoarse.
There’s a touch of fingers at his chin. They gently take a grip and turn his face toward Roy. The archer’s expression not only isn’t angry, but actually deeply affectionate, which only makes Jason feel even guiltier over the outburst.
“If you don’t stop acting like I’m some kind of stranger that you’re not comfortable with, Jason,” he says, stroking along his jaw, then at his swollen-shut eye, “I’ll punch your other eye shut as well.”
Jason might have scoffed, if he had the strength.
Roy retracts his hand and exhales, eyes always on him, and Jason wishes he doesn’t start a conversation right now. Not about anything regarding the almost two-week-old events that had brought him to this state. He’d managed not to think about anything regarding his last time in Gotham today, and he intends to keep it that way.
“I have something for you,” Roy informs him instead, a sudden spark in his eyes as he gets up. “Just, you know… try not to get up this time, please? See, see how good I am? I even said ‘please’!”
“Not promising,” he murmurs.
Roy frowns. “Jason, I’ll strap you down on that bed, seriously,” and then adds, smirking a little, “And let’s not pretend we don’t both know that you’d like that, at least one tiny bit.”
Jason doesn’t argue with that.
Roy returns, maybe ten minutes or maybe an hour later -Jason’s still too dizzy to be able to parse time. He’s holding a cup cake, covered in chocolate frosting and colorful smarties, with a single, red birthday candle on top.
“What’s that?” he asks, not trying to hide his confusion.
Roy approaches and settles by his side again, smiling faintly. “Pfff. I really know y’r head’s wrecked when you don’t even remember what day it is.”
Jason freezes, instantly realizing what he means by that.
Roy is… right. He truly hadn’t counted the days ever since the incident. Didn’t even care to. He’d completely forgotten about it.
The numbness must be quite obvious in his expression, since Roy clears his neck to gain his attention once more. “So…?” he urges him, approaching even more, and holding the tantalizing cupcake closer to him. “Blow your candle?”
Jason swallows, taking a short breath. “I really don’t want to be doing this right now, Roy,” he says -almost pleads- quietly.
Roy lifts one red eyebrow and draws back, but doesn’t nearly lose his spirit just yet. “Okay then. I’ll blow it. I’ll even make a wish for you, on your behalf.”
Roy looks up at the ceiling, thinking, and then smiles and closes his eyes. The flame dies out in the small wave of air he exhales. He then leans over him and nuzzles his face at his hair, leaving behind a small kiss, before he withdraws.
“And, of course,” Roy adds with a wide grin, “you can’t eat that while you’re on your concussion medication, so, basically, treat’s for me,” he sings, taking a huge, purposefully slow bite, his nose getting buried in the frosting.
Jason pouts, and Roy almost chokes himself trying to chew through the rush of laughter suddenly coming over him.
He terribly, desperately misses Kori. He’s so very deeply worried about Artemis and Bizarro. It aches him, thinking about Alfred, or Tim. A burden instantly sprouts over his chest at any thought of Dick. He even wonders, in slight nostalgia, how the demon brat’s doing these days.
And there’s also the thought of another. The thought that makes him both want to break anything he could get his hands on, and curl up in some corner and cry his eyes out like a damn baby.
“What did you wish for?” he asks Roy. It’s a wish for him, after all. He’s almost regretting skipping the chance. He wants to know, at the very least.
Roy says nothing. He’s just gazing at him, smiling, chewing patiently until he eventually swallows. “You know the rules, Jaybird,” he then says. “If I tell you, it won’t come true.”