Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

So, this is bad. Jason knows it’s bad. There's nothing he can do right now but pray that detective Harper and the Wayne kids, all actors in this play, will tell no less nor more than the strict and honest truth today. After all, in truth, Jason did nothing wrong. He was at the wrong place at the wrong time, is all. The truth paints him okay, but as for Cassandra Wayne... now, that's more complicated. It’s a gray area, a matter of opinion and, probably, of what Harper will say. It’s where lies might appear and in lies, Jason might not be painted okay.

There’s some mess on Montoya’s desk where Jason was told to wait while the officer helps record Dick Grayson’s statement. There’s a bit of dust, too, especially on the lamp. It’s nothing significant, but Jason is worried. Stressed. He starts rearranging pens and pencils and even some notebooks that he deems crooked, all with one hand only since the other one is currently busy pressing an ice pack against his left cheek. 

The punch he took was brutal. Even as someone familiar with beatings, Jason gives this one a solid 8 out of 10. He’s surprised nothing appears to be broken, as per the assessment of the first aid nurse downstairs. He thought detective Harper would have him checked in the ER, but ironically, it’s the dude who punched him who is being checked there right now. It’s most likely warranted.

The story goes like this: Jason was walking home from his weekly authorized trip to the library, when two men in their twenties landed on his path and started taunting him for wearing a purple Wonder Woman t-shirt. Jason knows to remain calm in such situations; he’s a foster kid, he has a record, and most importantly he'd seen two police officers walking further down the street. It wasn’t a busy street but it was a busy time, so other people were here. Jason thought nothing of it.

He ignored the remarks and tried to carry on with his journey, except the men blocked his way again. Jason was holding a smartphone and of course, they needed this phone. Eventually, and just as Jason noticed the officers making their way toward them, one of the dudes finally lost his temper and punched him straight in the face. Jason accidentally dropped the phone on the ground as a result, where it cracked on impact. Next thing he knew, someone was punching the guy back, hard, making him fall on his ass. 

There was this small girl in front of Jason at that moment. A boy and a man were standing right behind her, and the officers were sprinting fast toward the group while the second bad guy had already run away. Jason was too disoriented to run. He recognized Dick Grayson immediately, because the guy has been in the media a lot these past couple of years. As it turned out, the other two were his younger, less publicized siblings. 

Unlike what Jason had imagined, being Wayne brats didn’t result in being able to avoid having to give official statements. The teen and the siblings were quickly asked to climb aboard two different police cars and later brought into the nearest precinct, him for hell knows what and the Waynes for interrogation. 

First end of the story.

It’s not a good story.

Jason wishes he’d have run away, but there were good chances it might have made things worse in the end. Not that they’re looking great right now, either. He can’t find even one good reason to tell himself it will all be okay. He prays that Derek will be understanding (he usually is) and that they can pretend the incident never happened. 

He wants to forget about today. He changed his bed sheets this morning. He studied until late, yesterday. He’s longing for some sleep.

He stops cleaning. He knows it’s weird. His hands are full of bad patches of skin and tiny cuts from the chemicals and the amount of useless scrubbing of the floor and furniture in his room. He’s in public here, so he should really refrain from all this. At least one officer is staring, his arms crossed, his frown visible from where Jason sits. The boy has no idea what emotion is on display here—is it concern? disgust? Cleaning might have indeed been a bit rude to begin with. 

Jason straightens up the last remaining pens by the small scanner on his left, which is tedious work with his right hand, before he gives one last swipe to the chrome around the lamp. He then throws the tissues in the trashcan on his right and looks up to find that Montoya is being handed some papers by detective Harper. She takes it, thanks her colleague, says quick goodbyes to the Waynes and finally starts walking back to her desk.

She sits in front of Jason again and sighs. She seems chill, maybe bored. Teenagers caught in street fights they didn’t start are likely not as exciting cases to deal with than finer mysteries. She reads from the papers in her hand, picking up a pen and playing with it for a bit. If she notices the little cleaning session Jason performed, she doesn’t mention it. She speaks kindly enough that the boy doesn’t think she has a bad view of him. “How’s the cheek?” she asks.

Jason shrugs. “Numb enough.”

“Good.” She leans forward, puts the pen down, and starts typing on her keyboard for a minute. Jason hopes that she’s writing something akin to ‘incident over, everybody go home’. Montoya almost grants him this wish. “Their story validates what detective Harper reports she saw. You’re not in trouble. None of you.”

“Cool.” Jason drops the ice bag on the desk and makes a move to get up. He has to leave. He must be back by curfew. He just had a bad day and anxiety is high. Too high. And he knows he’s a minor and that they’ve probably notified Derek by now, but it costs him nothing to try. “Can I leave?”

Montoya half-stands up too, places her right hand on Jason’s shoulder, and gently pushes him back into the chair. “I’m afraid not,” she replies. “You’re a minor, there are rules. Your social worker will be here soon.”

Jason’s blood pressure goes awry; he’s panicking. If Waylon and not Derek was called, then yeah, he’s in trouble. Big trouble. Derek is understanding and would see the incident as something that befell Jason, but Waylon?

Waylon is tired of Jason’s shit. He told the boy so himself, the last time there was an incident with a foster family and Jason only narrowly avoided juvie again. Not that he was even at fault, but people do tend not to stand up for him. Waylon placed him in the group home with little hope that he would stay there long, what with the strict rules of the place.

But it’s been half a year now, and Jason has held on. It’s really not been easy, more like a constant state of stress. One bad brush with the police and it’s back to emergency homes, juvie or the streets, to spaces where Jason would likely get his heart and body broken some more, left dry and cracked enough to never feel the same again. 

He's been there. He’s done that. He’s too old for good homes and his record isn’t stellar. He knows he only has this one last chance before he finally ages out, before things start to become even more complicated and tiring, one last shot at keeping an environment stable enough so he can graduate high school if that’s the last important thing he’ll ever be able to do. 

So he’s been good. He’s been kind. He’s done everything in his power to avoid being thrown out, been fighting hard to stay where he is now because it’s decent, better than juvie, better than the streets, noisy and stressful but a roof for when it rains. He even gets along okay with the other boys. They don’t fight very often, they don’t ask many questions. They have their own problems and they all know to stay away from everyone else’s business. Jason almost likes it there. He enjoys Derek’s company and doesn’t complain about chores. He’s stirred away from outside trouble at every single turn in the hope of a future where he could breathe and sleep better.

Yet, to his dismay, his efforts might have encountered a premature and brutal end today, all for his mighty crime of walking on the street while wearing a damn shirt.

Jason feels so worn out and oh so, so angry. Why him? What kind of joke is this? Montoya is typing some more on her keyboard, the erratic rhythm making it difficult for Jason to concentrate on his next move. Should he run now? Later? Should he wait? He catches himself thinking that maybe nothing too drastic will happen once Waylon will be there. After all, Jason did not initiate the fight, nor did he entertain it. This could be his saving grace. Granted, if Waylon listens to him. (No one ever listens to him.)

“Listen”, Montoya says, making Jason flinch. “I have to leave, so one of our lieutenants will take over the paperwork. All we need is your social worker’s signature, and you’ll be free to go. It will be okay.” She emphasizes the last word so much, her eyes so kind when they look at him, that Jason has to believe her. He wants to believe her. He thinks he can, though it’s not enough to calm his fears for good. 

Montoya peers above his shoulders, appears to make eye contact with someone, and gestures in the direction of the small hallway on Jason’s right. She then gets up and silently encourages the boy to follow suit. “Come on, let’s get you settled. Mr Jones is on his way.”

She leads Jason into the hallway and points towards the four chairs resting two by two against each wall, feet away from a closed door on which Jason can read Lt. Sawyer. 

“Pick one,” Montoya says. When Jason hesitates a second too long, she pats him on the shoulder and gently pushes him forward. “Just be patient, kid. Be patient.”

Jason inhales sharply before he moves to sit on the nearest chair on his left. He hears Montoya leave, and she’s already disappeared behind the wall when he glances back toward the main room. Finally alone with himself, he half-relaxes his posture and sighs a bit louder than initially intended. 

It’s quieter here. Not quiet enough to think, but enough to momentarily lull Jason into a calmer state for now. He knows he needs this. His cheek is still aching from the punch, his throat and mouth dry from thirst and the subpar A/C. He hopes that nothing else will come up before Waylon can sign the papers that will allow him to return to the group home.

He prays he can go back there.

After a few minutes spent waiting in vain, Jason starts to twist his fingers. It’s a bad habit. He shakes his head and squeezes his hands into fists to prevent it from happening, before he suddenly hears footsteps stopping near his personal space. He throws his head backward, his eyes locking with those of the person before him. It’s Cassandra Wayne.

“Hello,” she greets. “We’ll wait here with you.”

Her smile is sweet as rain, the blue of her jacket donning green tones under the yellow lights. Jason nods in agreement. A low ‘hey’ escapes his lips, the roughness of his voice making it near silent. He’s not even sure Cassandra heard him at all.

She comes and sits on the chair in front of him, her brothers following behind her mere seconds later. Dick Grayson tells the younger boy—Jason forgot his name—to take the seat next to their sister, while he himself remains standing. Shooting a quick glance at the open end of the hallway, Jason can see an officer come and post himself there, his back to the wall, looking at the young group intently, maybe expecting a fight. 

Now Jason feels utterly uncomfortable. This is far from an ideal situation to have them all parked here, although he guesses it’s more efficient for the GCPD. The boy in front of him offers him a smile he doesn’t return; later, he’ll blame fatigue. Cassandra pulls out her phone from her tiny green bag, then sets to distract both her brother and herself with something playing on it. Dick Grayson, towering over them, is staring at Jason as if trying to dig up answers to questions unasked. 

If Jason is honest, the man’s eyes show no hostility per se. He seems protective, is all. He’s a eldest sibling of four.

The tension is more about a clear power imbalance. Right now especially, Jason is small and cornered, sitting on this chair and with so much more to lose than any of the Waynes. Worse, through their number and name alone, they could potentially put him in deep trouble, were they to file any complaint against him or a perceived behavior. It might not even need to be true, at this point. Jason would not admit it out loud, but fact is that he’s too scared to free the slightest amount of  time or space to allow rightful anger between the cracks, because who knows where that could lead.

(He knows too well where that could lead.)

To his surprise, however, Dick soon reports his attention to the one chair left on Jason's side. “Do you mind if I…” he trails off, his voice even. Jason nods automatically in response. 

Dick walks over and sits down, flashing the boy a small smile. At this, Cassandra and her brother stop whatever they are doing on the phone. They both look at the older man and smirk, which earns them an eyeroll and a grin. 

Jason has been gawking, and that is wrong for sure, but he’s an only child and the ways siblings act are still odd displays to him. These three seem close. He wonders if it would be easier or worse in his situation to also have a sibling, but he guesses he’ll never know, so there’s no need dwelling long on this impossibility. 

“Hey,” the boy in front of him calls, waving in Jason’s direction. “What’s your name?”

Jason knows he has no obligation to answer. He thinks they already know his name, actually, that they’ve heard it around the precinct or saw it written on this or that piece of paperwork. It’s likely not a real question, just a polite conversation starter. Jason doesn’t want to talk with them, since he’s busy panicking and all, but if it’s only his first name they‘re curious about, then he can give the Waynes that much.

“Jason.”

“I’m Tim.” The boy makes vague gestures toward the two others. “This is Cass, and that’s Richard.”

“Okay.” 

He doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t mean to be rude—he just really doesn’t know. They don’t have much to share and will part soon enough, them back to the castle and him back to the pit. What else is there to say?

“I take it these men didn’t like your t-shirt,” Dick muses. Jason turns slightly in his direction, unsure how to interpret the tone. Turns out that although the dude’s body language is still somewhat reserved, his eyes and his smile are kind. 

Jason shrugs. “Guess not.”

“I like it,” Cassandra offers. Tim half-represses a laugh, then nods in agreement. Jason thinks it’s all ridiculous, but if anything, it amuses him.

“Thanks,” he answers. “And thanks for earlier, too. You punch nice.”

She beams at him again. “Anytime.”

Dick groans. “No, not anytime!”

This makes Tim and Cassandra chuckle, which somehow annoys the cop at the end of the hallway. “Quieter,” he spits, looking at them with a disapproving scowl. 

Jason can’t wait for it all to be over. He tells himself ‘anytime now’ and lets it echo on a loop in his head, almost like a lullaby. Silence around the Waynes only brings him added stress, and it comes to him that the light talk he just had with them was actually quite nice, relaxing even. 

So when the cop gets distracted and takes six steps away to exchange a few words with a fellow officer, Jason takes it as the opportunity to ask no one in particular: “Your dad coming?”

He’s not sure whether Dick Grayson actually calls Bruce Wayne his dad. They don’t even share a family name. 

Still, it’s him who answers, with a simple “Yes.” He sinks deeper into his chair before he adds: “Well, he doesn’t come for me, I’m an adult. But these two…”

“Shame you couldn’t sign for us,” Tim mumbles.

Jason wonders what it will be like to meet a maybe billionaire, and how well or long he’ll manage not to punch the guy. His thoughts are interrupted when Dick asks him a question of his own: “What about you? Who’s picking you up?”

Jason grits his teeth. “Social worker.”

Not that he planned on giving the Waynes this info, but after all, they were all kids in the system at one point themselves. While he can’t remember Cassandra’s case, he has good memories of Dick’s situation. He never learned how Tim got added to the bunch but he assumes it was bad too. 

So yeah, all three, they’ve once been where Jason is. They won’t think him weird for this.

“Are they chill?” Dick asks. Jason discerns some guard in the tone.

He shakes his head.  “I don’t—“

There’s no time to finish this thought. Somewhere in the main room, Jason hears Waylon give his name to an officer, and that’s enough to make the teen jolts up on his feet, bracing for emotional impact. There’s nowhere to run for now.

Seconds later, Waylon stands in front of the group, too close to Jason foe comfort. He seems short of breath, some sweat on his forehead, his professional badge hanging backward from the left pocket of his grey shirt.

He is upset.

“What did you do?” he grunts. He is looking Jason in the eye and it is nothing if intimidating. Jason is tall, but Waylon is so tall, the teen feels like he’s suffocating in fear of an attack his rational side otherwise knows will never come.

“Nothing,” he whispers.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Now, that rubs Jason the wrong way. It’s a memory, one he hates, one that rings like a threat. It’s a fight or flight button. 

And Jason, too, is angry now. “I’m not a liar!”

The hallway cop comes closer again, another one approaching as well. Waylon doesn’t even flinch.

Now, the thing is, Jason isn’t stupid. He knows that letting his anger and frustration out in the open will get him nowhere today. His muscles are aching from the buzz in his head, from the rage setting his chest and cheeks on fire, but he retains some sense of reason and reality in there. He’ll definitely have a lot of aggression and tears to part with once the opportunity will present itself, and he’s worried about what that will be like.

Still, at this very moment, the quiet side of him knows that he should only focus on not getting evicted from the group home, a plan that starts with not punching anyone—let alone Waylon, much less so right here.

He hears the Waynes get up and thinks that at least one of them will back him up, but before anyone can say anything, a tall silhouette appears. Jason can feel the blood drain from his face. Waylon shoots him a weird glance and is about to say something, when—

“Excuse me,” Bruce Wayne says. “You’re blocking the path to my kids.”

He sounds pissed off. He is scary. His fitted black suit and the cold shade of his eyes give him the sort of aura Jason tends not to challenge.

But Waylon isn’t impressed. He turns around to face the guy, then spits: “Excuse me, but I’m not done talking to mine.”

The words spark something rotten in Jason’s bones, as if making them porous and pouring poison in the holes. It is liquid anxiety and his mind is oh so drunk on it. “I’m not your kid,” he growls—tries to growl—but it’s barely a whisper. It’s all the energy he has left. 

If he could cry, he would.

Waylon turns back to him, but where Jason expected wrath, he finds an apologetic look and what could very well be pity in the man’s traits. 

And Bruce Wayne is watching Jason, too. His scowl is not unkind, only intimidating, his gaze piercing and curious.

The teen isn’t in the mood to entertain a staring contest. He is starting to seriously consider making a run for it when suddenly, behind Bruce Wayne, another man appears. The glasses on his nose are a bit crooked, right hand holding a tablet and a digital pen, left hand carrying a small, worn leather briefcase. Jason can sense the Wayne kids shift behind him, relax even. The stranger offers them soft smiles and when his gaze lands on Jason, this kindness doesn’t falter. Jason isn’t sure why, but it’s almost as if the air has just become more breathable.

Shortly, Bruce Wayne averts his eyes. He then turns to Waylon again and extends his hand for the social worker to shake, breathing out a barely audible ‘Bruce Wayne’, as though his face and name aren’t common knowledge in Gotham.

Waylon, his back to Jason again, takes the hand offered. “Waylon Jones,” he mumbles. “We met once or twice during your foster parent training.”

Bruce Wayne shrugs. “Sorry, I don’t recall.”

The man behind him rolls his eyes almost comically before he staree at the back of Bruce Wayne’s head with a hint of disapproval.

Maybe Jason is wrong, but he believes what he sees in this stranger’s mocking smirk to be fondness unbounded. 

He doesn’t have much time to wonder who the man might be, because not three seconds later, a door opens behind him. Lieutenant Sawyer, papers in hands, surveys the little group. The flat tone of her voice says a lot of her irritation. “Mr Wayne. Mr Jones.”

Bruce Wayne nods. “Lieutenant.”

Waylon groans in lieu of greetings. “Look, can we speed this up? I have other cases to deal with.”

That hurts. Jason doesn’t even know why it still hurts to know he’s nothing but a number, a file, an inconvenient piece in the overcrowded puzzle that is the foster system. He’s temporary. He’s not worth much time. 

He doesn’t even know what to make of his indignation about Waylon insinuating that he was his guardian or father not even a minute ago, now that this new pain has replaced that. The conflict and the fear, this ever-growing fear, are filling him with dread everywhere he can still feel. 

“Of course,” he hears Sawyer reply. She takes a step aside, after what Bruce Wayne and Waylon quietly step into her office. The third man creeps a couple feet closer to the young group, stopping right by Cassandra who immediately gives him a half-hug. Jason still doesn’t move. He hears Sawyer’s voice again. 

“Ten minutes. You four behave, okay? Mr Kent, how does babysitting sound?”

Mr Kent smiles politely. “Like no trouble.”

“Great.”

With this, she closes the door.

The echo bounces in Jason’s ears like the announcement of a threat now entering full speed mode, coming straight at him, and there’s nowhere left to hide. Ten minutes to impact. Jason doesn’t know why he’s still standing up. The cops around might not like it, might see it as bad intentions. He knows this. He understands. His body, however, isn’t ready to comply.

He takes a deep breath. He can do this. There’s still a chance the incident will be brushed off, so he should focus on that. Close to him, Mr Kent and Cassandra are making light conversation, soon joined by Tim when the man crouches down to hear Cassandra better and put his tablet and pen inside the briefcase.

From the corner of his eye, Jason can see Mr Kent glancing at him in every five seconds or so, as though studying him or waiting for something. Anxiety is pooling in the teen’s guts as he tries to figure out what it is he should do now, until out of the blue, a hand lands on his back. The touch is gentle and light, here for comfort, and it stays. Jason doesn’t immediately register it as Dick’s hand. 

“You should sit,” he hears. “Ten minutes is a long time.” Jason knows he’s right, he does, but he can’t bring himself to move immediately, too busy holding onto the warmth of the touch so not to fall apart again. A brief moment passes before Dick quietly adds: “Bruce knows you did nothing wrong. He won’t ever let them say otherwise.”

Jason shivers and turns around, breaking contact, searching for a possible lie in the way Dick is looking at him.

But the guy seems serious. He even sounded confident. Although it appears he calls his adopted father by his first name, there’s no doubt he carries at least some trust in the man.

Jason doesn’t carry that. He doesn’t know Bruce Wayne. He doesn’t trust people like Bruce Wayne. He would have much preferred never meeting Bruce Wayne.

And yet, what choice does he have but to hope that Dick is right? This isn’t fair. Nothing is fair. Jason wishes he could run away, like he’s done before. He knows the streets, he’s survived there. He’s six months away from adulthood, what’s the system gonna do? They might as well thank him for freeing some space, this time. He’s not fifteen anymore. Not worth saving anymore.

To Jason’s grief, though, he’s in a police station, and at this point there’s no way he’d manage to get out before being made captive again. He’s a bird trapped.

Not to mention, he doesn’t want the Waynes to understand exactly how small he is, how lost he feels, or how desperate his heart grows.

So Jason doesn’t run. He exhales slowly, then does as suggested. The chair creeks under his weight. Tim, who had disappeared from his line of vision for a while, gives him an earnest and encouraging smile. Cassandra and Mr Kent also stop their conversation. This is too quiet now, to Jason anyway. 

In front of him, still crouched by Cassandra, Mr Kent beams and holds his left hand out for Jason to shake. “Hey, I’m Clark.”

The boy doesn’t move. He doesn’t know why the idea of punching this dude so vividly crosses his mind. Not like Clark has done anything to deserves this, but... but who knows. Jason never knows.

Seeing the lack of reaction, Clark drops his hand. Not his smile, though. “That was your social worker, right?” he continues. “Is your guardian coming soon?” No answer. “Foster parents?”

“Got none.”

Jason doesn’t want to talk, only wants him to stop. Because maybe Clark means well, maybe he’s being kind, but it doesn’t feel that way. He’s causing pain. He must see it too, because his expression finally becomes grave, and he examines Jason with a concern the teenager finds absolutely unbearable. 

Jason doesn’t think he can restraint himself from punching Clark much longer. He prays that Waylon will be done with the paperwork as fast as possible, and that his fate will be known within the hour. He has hit his limit.

“How old are you?” Clark asks. It’s irritating, but perhaps it’s safer to entertain him just once more.

“Seventeen and some.” This time, when the man frowns and opens his mouth to speak again, Jason is quick to trail off: “Listen, I don’t…”

There’s no end to this sentence. Don’t need any. To his credit, Clark gets it. He acquiesces and keeps his mouth shut, at least for now. It is evident that he wants to ask more. His gaze starts to travel from the main room full of cops to Jason and back, several times. He looks increasingly worried as he gradually gathers the entire extent of the problems the boy might be facing shortly, regardless of whether he is guilty or not. 

Jason really wishes they could ignore each other.

“Sorry about your lunch,” Tim says to break the silence, thankfully getting Clark’s attention away from Jason.

“No, it’s okay, don’t worry about it. We were almost done anyway, just had to miss out on the cake. I might convince him to order another later.”

“We baked one,” Cassandra tell him.

Clark chuckles. “Did you?”

Jason stands silent and still. The words don’t exactly register in his mind, but the tones do. They’re all very familiar with each other, open and kind in their interactions. 

He isn’t envious of such things anymore, or at least he doesn’t think he is. It’s more a longing than some sort of jealousy. He will probably let himself feel bad about that later, in private, away from anyone’s judgement, perhaps his own judgement even. For now, he tries to tune it all out. 

Problem is, the way Clark is staring at him again doesn’t allow Jason to build himself a bubble. This man is persistent. He doesn’t give off dangerous vibes—far from it, in fact. But Jason has no interest in being civil when he can barely hold his sanity together at the moment. He doesn’t need pity. He doesn’t need help. 

(He will tell himself so until it becomes true.)

But Clark makes it difficult. “Are you in a group home?”

Although Jason does his best not to engage, his body betrays him, so he ends up automatically nodding and mouthing a low ‘yeah’. Clark considers it for a moment. Cassandra and Tim do, too, by the understanding looks they are now sending Jason’s way. Have they been in group homes before? That’s entirely possible. Dick might have gone there as well, but Jason already has three pairs of eyes examining his every disadvantages right now, so he’d rather not find out for sure about a potential fourth. He doesn’t need the added stress.

“I see,” is all Clark eventually answers. 

Not that this reaction is reassuring or clear, but it’s enough for Jason to relax a little. He has to breathe, after all. 

Likely tired of squatting, Clark finally rises on his feet and takes support against the wall. He lets his gaze linger on Jason’s face again, just a bit longer, before he gives up and fishes a cellphone from the inside of his briefcase. He unlocks it when something else catches his interest.

And Jason can see what does. It's his hands. The state of his hands. The way he’s twisting them now. 

He knows what the blemishes look like even though it’s not what they are, and he’s not sure that what they are is much better than what they look like. He knows it’s lame. Quickly, he hides a hand under the other, the right under the left, the most visible shame under a vain shield above. 

Jason prepares himself for yet another question from Clark. To his surprise, however, Dick is the one who speaks first.

“Did you tell Duke what happened?”

Clark turns to him and nods, happiness evident. Jason’s heart almost hurts at the softness of that smile. 

“He asked to hear all about it tonight. He called you bad influences and wants you all to know that.” 

Dick snorts in amusement. “Alright.”

Jason has no idea who Duke is, but he can take a guess. Whoever he actually is, Cassandra and Tim are visibly happy with the news that they’ll be meeting with him soon. 

The way Tim stares at Jason a moment later, though, is conflicted and urgent. There’s something he wants to say. Something important he doesn’t let escape yet, like a secret of sorts. Jason doesn’t know whether to be curious or annoyed. When Clark clears his throat, his body betrays him again, because he’s exhausted and ten minutes is a long time, so Jason ends up raising his chin to be able to look the man in the eye.

“Duke is my foster son.” 

Jason has a thousand angry replies to this information. Ten thousand pleading ones, too. He feels entirely empty in a second, like smacked too hard, unable to decide what to do or say. Good for Duke. Good for Clark. 

Fuck Jason’s soul.

“Listen,” Clark carries on, his tone more pressing now. “We have a room—“

“Stop talking.” 

The vague burning sensation over Jason’s bruised cheek worsens now that he’s maybe about to cry, the tears blurring his vision and making him short of breath. He can’t think. Doesn’t want to think. Has it not been ten minutes? Is Bruce Wayne not in a hurry? Don’t they all have some cake waiting to be eaten somewhere? Waylon can be angry; Jason won’t care. He wants it to be over and he wants to know where he’ll sleep tonight, if he’ll sleep, what to tell Derek. He has homework to do. He needs a new phone. He owes Kyle a thank you text.

He’s not sure what to pray for anymore by the time he hears his name spoken out loud to his left. The sound of it drags on in Jason’s ear, and when he turns his head to face Dick, he is confused to find something that looks like hope in the gravity of the man’s expression and tone.

“I think Clark meant to say that there’s space for you in his home.”

Jason blinks a few times. A couple of tears gather on his eyelashes. When he looks at Clark again, it’s with apprehension. He doesn’t dare hoping nor can he find within himself the right kind of anger to answer potential rejection after such comments were made. It’s gonna be all or nothing, and Jason doesn’t believe he could handle this nothing.

In front of him, Clark goes back to a squatting position again. He stands lower than Jason, like this. It’s by design. It’s voluntary. Jason feels like a kid. 

The man then nods repeatedly, as if agreeing with Dick. His frown betrays both his difficulty finding the words he wants to say and, from this close and now that Jason is paying enough attention, his age.

The door to Lieutenant Sawyer’s office opens before Clark can add anything to this mess. In an instant, all five of them gathered here raise on their feet.

Bruce Wayne is the first to exit the room. He shakes Lieutenant Sawyer’s hand over the threshold, whispers some parting words to her, then takes a step forward to face Tim and Cassandra. He seems perfectly calm. “Let’s go,” he sighs. 

But the three Wayne kids glance at Clark and Jason instead, hesitant to comply.

Now, Jason is on alert. He can’t think. He must think. Waylon is exchanging words with Lieutenant Sawyer, so there’s barely a minute left. Jason can’t speak. He must convey. He can read Bruce Wayne’s surprise when no one is hurrying up to move, catches the moment the man quickly studies him before his gaze falls on Clark. 

And there, in a second, it's clear that Bruce Wayne understands. 

Not even Jason understands.

He knows he is part of what is happening right now, however most of it is escaping his grasp. He is grateful—frightened, but grateful. He doesn’t know what else to do but to look at Clark in a way that he hopes isn’t too pathetic, a way that doesn’t exactly say save me, that starts with a maybe before allowing it to be followed by a please he is failing to vocalize. It’s not entirely his fault; no one’s ever given him a choice. He's has never felt this power nor this kind of fear before. He doesn’t know where it lasts. He is afraid to fall harder.

After Waylon has said his goodbye to Bruce Wayne, he focuses on Jason. Although he is not so angry anymore, he doesn’t exactly exude reassurance either. He hasn’t even yet made two steps in Jason’s direction when Clark takes the initiative of shifting his body to stand in the middle of the hallway, raising his left arm like a shield and keeping Jason behind it.

The boy cannot recall anyone ever taking such a protective stance for him.

“Mr Jones? Clark Kent. I am the foster parent of a teenage boy not attached to your care.”

He extends his right hand, which Waylon doesn’t take. Jason stares at his feet. He knows Waylon, so he knows that by now, the man knows. Might be glad, even. One less case. One less Jason. One less problem.

Clark withdraws his hand, shrugs, and in a quiet voice he states: “We have some room to spare.”

Chapter Text

There are birds chirping nearby. They just came home for the spring. The parking lot by the ice rink in North Gotham is almost empty now that the sun is falling behind the skyscrapers. Waylon is looking at his watch every thirty seconds or so, the furrow of his brow making him seem almost threatening. Jason is repressing a cough.

He’s a bit cold right now (should have worn gloves and double socks) and still in disbelief about where he’ll soon be going. It’s a lot to process. He doesn’t have much time. 

Following the encounters at the police station, Waylon had moved him to an emergency placement for two nights right after another brief meeting in his office with Mr Kent. The Wayne clan had come with on the road and waved Jason goodbye at the bottom of the building, not even exiting the car. Next thing the boy knew, Waylon and Clark were already discussing bedrooms and license checks and school districts and whatnot.

In that office, Jason tuned them out. He needed some space. Later that night, he barely managed to say goodbye to half of the other boys at the group home, as he quickly gathered his meagre property in a sport bag. He was worried Derek would be disappointed, but as it turned out, the man was happy for him. He gave Jason a quick hug at the front door, wished him well, and waited until the teen got inside Waylon’s car before he returned back to work. 

One more closed and done chapter of Jason’s life.

He wonders how long a wait would be alright before he visits there again, spells out a louder ‘thank you’, and offers whatever help he can. He has so many things to do. He wonders if the birds, too, are on edge. He can’t stop scratching a patch of irritated skin on his left index and it looks like it’s about to bleed again. He tries and fails to calm down. He’d fight for a cigarette.

“You ready?” Waylon asks him. “Excited? How are you feeling?”

Jason thinks it’s the first time in months that Waylon has spoken so quietly to him. Not that it’s really the man’s fault, of course; Jason is a handful. He knows he is. He’s working on that. He turns his head to look the social worker in the eye and finds genuine curiosity there. 

Still, he has no good answer to give. He puts his hands behind his back and shrugs, not wanting to keep Waylon hanging. “It’s a foster home”

“Your last foster home.”

“I guess.”

“What’s wrong? Planning to run?” 

Waylon’s tone indicates that is only half-joking. Jason glowers. 

It’s not that he has not considered running away again, yes, okay, alright. But no. He won’t. Not this time, not so close to some of his goals. Sure, he’s a hothead and a mess, and maybe he’ll fuck this up. But even so, it won’t be without having tried hard enough to avoid it in the first place.

Before Jason can reply as much as simple ‘no’, Waylon adds: “You should trust yourself more. You’re not a bad kid, you know?”

That leaves the boy perplexed. Why is he telling him this? Why now? He sounds sincere and that makes it all the more surprising. To say that Jason is a bad kid would indeed be a stretch, however there’s no denying he has bad moments and has made his fair share of poor decisions, these past thee years. Hell, he might be making another big mistake right now.

After a short silence, Waylon lets out a sigh. He pats Jason on the shoulder and tells him, chuckling for a second: “Well, sometimes you’re not.”

Jason lets out a snort. “Gee, thanks.”

Though they’ve rarely seen eye to eye, now that their time together appears to come to a near end, Jason has to hand it to the man: he tried. The system sucks. Waylon works hard, overtime, underpaid, and for every instance of him yelling at foster kids, he’s yelled at judges and shitty parents twice more and three times as loud.  

He suddenly taps Jason on the arm and points somewhere further on the boy’s left. “There he is.”

A gray car is driving toward them, with Mr Kent behind the steering wheel. The man stops the engine a few feet away from Waylon and Jason, exits the vehicle, and jogs to them quickly. His smile is shy today.

He greets Waylon and Jason, exchanges a handshake with the social worker, gives him a file, and encourages Jason to hop into the car. Before the boy does so, he says his goodbye to Waylon, who extends his hand. Jason hesitates, then shakes it firmly. The contact hurts where his skin is torn. 

“Thank you,” he whispers.

Waylon nods. He looks far less scary now. “You stay out of trouble this time, alright?” 

Jason can only hope the rushed ‘yeah’ he mumbles in response will end up a promise and not an impending lie.

The ride between the ice rink and Clark's house is longer than Jason thought it would be. To his relief, though, it’s quiet. He lets about five minutes pass before he stops so intently staring through his window. Gotham is dull around them. It might very well rain tonight.

Uncomfortably moving around in the passenger seat, Jason is all too aware of his guts twisting from the anxiety he can’t shake off, the feeling glued to his every nerve like a recurring nightmare. 

He knows he can’t escape conversing with Clark eventually. After all, they’re going to spend half a year under the same roof. There’s no hiding for that long. It sucks that he hasn’t had a functioning phone for the past three days because yeah, otherwise, Jason might've googled the hell out of Clark Kent. Knowledge, power, the usual. The fear as well, of course. As it is, the teen only knows the man’s name, that he’s a journalist, and that he knows the Waynes. All information that scares him already.

Be that as it may, he'd really like to start this new life on the right foot. He can’t give any hint of dysfunction yet — any further hint, more like. After all, Clark already knows some of his past and about the state of his hands, perhaps enough to already think that there’s something rotten somewhere in the boy’s mind.

So Jason has to try. At least once, if anything. In an effort to let Clark in, build a narrow bridge and maybe woven some trust, he chances a glance in the man’s direction when the car stops at a red light. 

Clark catches this. His neutral expression morphs in an instant, his smile now eager and soft, the wrinkles around his eyes more evident under the city lights. “Are you alright?” he asks. He sounds worried, and that doesn’t sit right.

Jason averts his gaze, acquiesces, mumbles: “Yessir.”

“Clark is fine.” The traffic light turns green again. Jason doesn’t know what to say. Clark drives in silence for a bit, until he eventually muses in a hushed voice: “You look like you’re expecting some lengthy line of questioning.”

“I am.”

“Ah.” The man chuckles. Jason isn’t certain of it, but he thinks Clark sounds embarrassed. “Well, I already know you don’t have any substance abuse problem, only some anger issues in the past, but…” Another red light. Clark stops behind two cars, sighs, then turns to Jason. “No incident in half a year, right? I take it you’ve grown calmer.”

Now, that’s not what he expected. He can’t really say why, but it makes him half-grin back. Bitterly so.

“Something like that.”

“The system is draining, I understand. I don’t blame you for feeling bad.” 

There’s no trace of humor nor fake intonations in that. Clark knows exactly what to say, and the boy isn’t thrilled about this fact. He’s almost scared, in a way. This dude is good at reading the part of him Jason would much rather keep under wrap. More radically, that’s not his idea of his ideal foster parent—one who’d remain indifferent, like a roommate, cordial but not involved.

Clark is definitely not gonna be the type. “That being said,” he continues, “Dick teaches his siblings gymnastics and boxing on his off-time. They have their own teachers too, but he’s the one they prefer. On those days you might feel like punching something or someone, perhaps you should consider giving him a call instead. He’ll be happy to teach you too.”

Jason guesses it’s useless to try and assess the truthfulness of Clark’s positive words today. He will need some more time. When the cars in front of them start moving again, he coughs a little, then answers flatly: “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Alright.” Five o'clock beeps on Clark’s watch. He looks around the street they’re on, still surrounded by too many cars. His eyes briefly meet Jason’s before he focuses on the road again. “Are you hungry? We’ll be eating dinner in a couple of hours, but if you need a snack now, we can stop somewhere.”

“I’m good.”

Clark’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. Jason can see it, and it gives him chills. Perhaps this last short answer was one too many for today, and Clark is finally about to snap. The boy holds his breath for a few seconds. He braces for the hurt.

Eventually, though, all Clark tells him is: “It will be quite a change for you to be with us, so… You tell me when it’s too much and we’ll give you some space, okay?” 

Jason’s heart is still racing from the fear. Not good. But Clark’s words were—good. They seem to always be that way, and it’s frustrating somehow, because Jason can’t let his guard down now. His time is running out. His nerves are giving out. The tightness behind his shoulders is making him choke a bit on the breath he painfully, silently exhales. He coughs again, exposing his hands when he brings them to his mouth.

Nevertheless, he knows to once again feel grateful for what Clark just said. It’s normal stuff for many, perhaps, but the bar has been dropped so low by unwanted people in his life, Jason is always impressed when someone raises it above toe height in terms of sincerity and tact.

For this, he offers Clark a small smile. “Thanks.”

Clark lets out a quick laugh. “Got it. Not talkative.”

“Give me a week.”

“Looking forward.”

The rest of the ride is more of the same, although Clark makes a point to talk less. Once they leave the main grounds of Gotham, they soon find themselves in the nicer parts of the city, condos and private houses and pretty gardens around it, the pink and red sky above Gotham easily visible now that the tall buildings are gone. 

Jason has a hard time hearing Clark over the growing chatter of a bitterness he prays will go away soon enough. He gathers that Duke has been living with him for quite some time, two years or so, and that a dog is waiting them ‘at home’. 

Clark calls it their home. Jason chews on his tongue.

It’s almost five thirty when they finally cross an open gate to the driveway of a small house surrounded by a somewhat kept garden and falling ivy branches. Jason tries to take it in already. Two stories, end of the street, partially hidden behind pine trees, dog toys left in front of the door. Clark makes a turn to the left and parks under a wooden roof. A bicycle and a motorcycle, the real and big kind, are already parked there.

As soon as Clark stops the engine, Jason quickly unbuckles his seatbelt and steps out of the car. He needs some air and private time.

He takes a few steps so to exit the covered space then allows himself to look at the sky for a moment. It seems different than that of the Gotham he knows most. He can recall coming this far on the outskirts of the city three or four times, via subway, a couple of years ago, in attempts to make breathing easier. There’s a particular struggle in being here now that it’s only part of a choice.

This whole thing is a lot. Jason feels like he’s not much. 

His mind is simultaneously blank and drowning in saturated noise. The familiar mix of anxiety and panic spreading all across his body and clawing at his bones is here, it’s always here, it’s here more than usual. It sucks.

Jason’s thoughts are cut short when he hears the soft sound of a car door being shut behind him, the trunk door opening and closing too, all controlled disturbances made to be as quiet as possible. Clark is giving him an encouraging smile as he comes closer, a bit too close, and slings Jason’s bag over his left shoulder. He then nods in the direction of the door.

“Ready?”

Jason is scratching his hands again. Clark notices, of course, but doesn’t say anything. Ashamed, the boy drops his arms on each side of his body and shoves his fingers in the pockets of his jacket. He avoids looking at the man any more as they walk to the door and stop in front of the two steps leading to it. Faint barks can be heard behind it, giving relief to Jason’s heart.

“It will be okay,” Clark tells him as he gently pushes him forward. But before either of them can even reach it, the door opens from the inside.

Clark and Jason are immediately greeted by a large, happy looking beige lab, who jumps around the two of them and surprisingly obeys when asked not to bark anymore. Jason wastes no time kneeling down to pet the animal. He already knows who will become his confident in this house.

He hears someone laugh in front of him and raises his head in the direction of the sound. A young man—Duke, he assumes—is standing in the doorframe, a smile on his lips and a yellow jacket hanging on his left arm. 

Jason gets up just as Duke offers him his right hand and leans in closer.

“Hey! I’m Duke. So nice to meet you.”

“Hi. Jason.”

“And this is Krypto,” Clark says, scratching the dog behind the ears. “She’s a bit clingy.”

Jason snorts. “Yeah, I won’t mind.”

Clark invites him inside and instructs him to discard his shoes on the rack by the entrance. Here, Jason discovers a brand new pair of slippers with a post-it glued to it, and his name written on the paper. He puts them on and sheepishly finds them too fluffy to bear. He’d thank Clark for the gift, but the man is busy talking with Duke outside.

“Going somewhere?”

“Yeah, sorry, a book I reserved for school just arrived at the library. I thought I’d also stop by the bike shop on the way so they can repair my bell, since tomorrow is so busy. Is that okay?”

“It’s fine, but please be back by six thirty, alright? Do you have your phone with you?”

“Always.”

“Okay.” Clark pats the teen on the shoulder. “Come back safe.”

Duke beams at him and starts putting on the yellow jacket. “Will do.” He pets Krypto as a goodbye and then looks at Jason. “Let’s talk later, yeah? It’s great to have you here.” 

He sounds as sincere as Clark. Jason won’t admit it out loud, but he hopes Duke and him will soon become friends, just in case. For safety. “Good to not be alone.”

With this, Duke leaves. Clark gets into the house and closes the door behind him. Krypto whines a little, but cheers up when Jason crouches to give her attention again. Along with the small peace this contact gives him comes a vivid wave of fatigue. He’s barely slept since he’s met Clark and the Waynes and had to deal with the police, unable to relax in the emergency homes, walking on eggshells even when standing still.

“So... Welcome to your new house,” Clark says while taking off his shoes. “You’re probably tired, so how about a quick tour, then we’ll rush the evening so you can rest soon?”

“Sure.” 

They leave their jackets and Jason’s scarf on the hooks above the shoe rack. There are stairs in front of the entrance, but they start with the ground floor first. Overall, Jason thinks the house seems very cosy, the decor rustic and warm. 

He follows Clark to the kitchen and living room combo, on the right from the entrance. Two stair steps down separate the living room space from the kitchen where a table and six chairs are, the appliances standing well behind it. The place is fairly large, beige and dark brown furniture and hints shades of blue on the pillows and tablecloths, wide windows from which Jason can see a yard with unkempt bushes and trees. There’s a good amount of pictures framed on the walls around the living room, some pinned letters on a wooden board too, above a small bookshelf and right by a larger one. Jason recognizes the Waynes on a few of the photographs.

“The kitchen is always open,” Clark informs him. “We don’t do soda, however we have plenty of snacks, and you’re welcome to two of them a day on top of meals. More if fruits.”

Jason nods absently. He watches as Krypto goes to her bed, on the farthest corner of the living room area from the kitchen, where she sits and starts playing with a stuffed penguin. 

“Sorry, I… where’s the guest room?”

“The guest... you mean your room?” Jason nods. Clark’s face is unreadable, though his tone remains calm. “Guest room is downstairs on the other side of the house. Your room is upstairs, as are Duke’s and mine. Follow me?”

Jason refrains from any comment on this. He wouldn’t even know what to say. He climbs up the stairs a couple of steps behind Clark and feels as if it’s not him here, not him doing that, detached from his skin. Even his cough doesn’t feel his. It’s not the first time it happens, and although the kid usually fears this state, maybe it makes things easier today.

There are indeed three bedrooms upstairs, two on one side and Clark’s on the other, next to a bathroom. The room further from the stairs is the one Clark points Jason to as his. Seeing that the boy hesitates to visit it first, Clark pushes him forward lightly, opens the door for him, and flicks the light switch on.

The space is decently sized, with a single bed placed under a window framed by blue curtains, a desk right by the bed and a wardrobe and mostly empty shelves on the opposite side of it. Some comics and manga have been left here. The desk is busy, with pens and notebooks and a lamp and even, to Jason’s surprise, a laptop still in its box.

Clark walks into the room. “Duke and I assembled all the furniture yesterday. I wasn’t sure about your style, so this is basic, but… we can always change it later. The curtains too, the cot as well, anything really.” He looks at the shelves by the desk and inside the empty wardrobe, then adds: “We’ll fill these up.” 

Jason hums noncommittally. There’s no point protesting now, it’s too late in the day and too early in his stay. He is grateful for the offer, of course. It’s not about that. He hopes Clark knows it’s not about that. 

He revels in the short silence they share, reminding himself why he’s doing this, why he’s not running this time, what it can mean to finish school and how quick his pit stop here will be. Six months, tops. He just has to bid his time. It’s a bonus if he gets along well with Clark and Duke, for sure, because Jason is tired of conflicts and knows he should rest while he can, make rational decisions while he can, keep his anger in check while he can.

Clark’s glances betray his worry, his frown aging his traits. Jason dodges a staring match by focusing his eyes on the box on the desk instead. He expected access to the Internet, sure, but a laptop for him alone? Is it what it is?

“For you,” Clark says. “From Bruce.” He takes a step forward to get closer to the desk, resting a hand on the top of the box, the other motioning toward Jason’s space. “It’s brand new. I left the WiFi password on your desk too. It has no tracker on it or anything, but listen, I’m a concerned parent, so if you watch porn, there’s a twenty percent chance I will find out.”

Jason groans. “Gross.”

Clark snorts and chuckles. “To you and me both. We have a Netflix account, I’ll give you the login, please try watching this instead.”

“Will do.”

“House rule is laptops on the counter downstairs at 10 PM Monday to Thursday and not in use before school, unless it’s an emergency or you have that much homework to catch up on. We spend most of our weekends at the Waynes’ but the same weekend rules apply both here and there, and state that you can use the laptop at any time between Friday night and Sunday 10 PM, but none of us can miss breakfast, lunch, dinner, or agreed upon occasions. No laptop then, and no phone at the table. Phone is 24/7 though, no internet or data restriction. Just one less screen. Sounds fair?”

“Yes.” 

No. The weekends at the Waynes’ part sounds unfair and unwanted, for Jason as much as for this family who didn’t ask for this. For him. It’s a dance the boy dreads and connections he doesn’t see working, be it now or anytime in the future. 

But he knows better than to speak about it now. No need for right-of-the-bat conflict. He favors deflection instead. “It was stricter at the group home. No laptop to begin with. Less phone and internet access.”

“Enjoy some freedom. This is really yours, by the way, not mine and borrowed by you. Bruce called it a welcome gift.” 

Jason elects to ignore this. Frankly, he’s exhausted. This is one of the longest evenings of his life, and many an evening has scarred him in the past. His hands are itching. There’s wood dust on the floor.

“Now, about the phone. You’re on my plan, and we’ll get you a new one tomorrow. You must keep it with you at all time, it’s important, I won’t track you but I expect updates on your way home from school. I also might need to tell you and Duke if my job is keeping me late some evenings, if not all night.” A pause, then: “We’ll discuss it more in-depth when and if it happens.”

“Alright.”

Jason’s not sure why Clarks hesitated, though he’s not entirely stupid. He knows it’s likely the man was told not to leave him alone, or even with only Duke as company. His long and repeated history as a runaway isn’t exactly a secret for anyone involved in his life.

Clark and him share a knowing look, and that ignites anger in Jason. He's seventeen, for fuck’s sake, he can take the truth. He expects it. 

He’s still amazed to receive it. 

“I’m not supposed to give you much unsupervised time during the day, and none at all during the night, but I think it won’t do you any good to only be at school and at home, so let’s strike outing deals as things come up and when you need air.”

At that moment, it hits the boy tenfold: Clark is too soft to understand. For Jason to understand him, and for him to understand Jason. There’s no doubt he’s capable of anger, he’s human, however it’s both a consolation and a fear to find that it doesn’t appear to be his default setting.

A consolation, because Jason could live with not having to deal with someone else’s anger for once, will always welcome peace, and is tired of fighting.

A fear, because dealing with people’s anger is what Jason knows to endure best, to internalize most, and to resonate with close enough to hold onto the certitude that angry people get him, that there’s a link there, perhaps a tiny fraction of mutual expectations.

But Clark is not like this. Jason smiles at him and pretends he’s not drowning. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Clark stays quiet for a bit. Crosses his arms. “Okay, last few rules. You get weekly pocket money to spend almost however you want, but should you need anything for school or for the house, please tell me, and we’ll go shopping together. No food or hot beverages in the bedrooms. Dating rules are that going out with someone your age is allowed, but be reasonable.”

At this, Jason scoffs and smirks. “That chill, uh?”

“I draw the line at alcohol, drugs and cigarettes.”

“Right.” 

Right. Jason hopes it sounded neutral enough, or at least not too suspicious. The last time he snuck out to smoke was in December, three months ago, and Derek almost caught him then.

Judging by his tone, though, Clark is very serious. Whatever. Six months—Jason can deal. He’s got a more pressing concern. “School?”

Clark blinks. “Yes, of course. You’re going to a nearby high school, the same one Duke is attending. You start on Thursday, I’m sorry it’s not earlier, but the administration still needs some time. They’ll process your file and decide on your schedule soon, they’re on half-break until Tuesday and have a sport day on Wednesday. We must be patient.”

“Will they…” Jason shivers. He’s shoved this worry to the back of his mind for the last two days, but there’s no escaping it now. “I was attending extra classes here and there to catch up on some stuff so I’d graduate this summer. Can I do this there too?”

“Well…” Clark’s expression falls. “I’m sorry, but I’m not sure. They do have some summer school programs, though, so you might still graduate then. Let’s discuss it with them after we know your situation for sure.”

“I can’t not graduate,” Jason stresses, his voice trembling a bit. (He’s scared. He’s angry. He’s scared.) “I’ll be eighteen in August.”

“You…” Clark searches for his words. He seems concerned, and Jason knows it’s because he can’t hide his bad physical response to this potential bad news. It takes a lot from him to not scratch his hands again, he needs to settle down. There’s wood dust on the floor. 

He crosses his arms, and at the same time, Clark reaches out to him and squeezes his right shoulder. “I understand,” he says. “We’ll figure it out.”

Jason nods. He is searching for lies in the man’s gaze, but again, there is none. Sure, he could be reading this wrong, however there’s not much more he can do than trying not to fall for obvious baits or botched truths.

A shudder passes through him and makes him feel othered from his own body again. He’s tired. He thinks he’s gross. Clark’s watch beeps; six o’clock. He clears his throat.

“Okay, so here’s the plan. I’ll work from home this week so I can stay with you until you can go to school. We can get to know each other better, go somewhere, or… anything. All up to you.”

“I won’t be a bother.”

Clark sighs. “Now, kid... It’s not a bother having you here, it’s a choice. I chose to take you in, if you wanted me to, and really I’m relieved you took me up on the offer.”

Each extra minute with this man leaves Jason with more and more reasons to run away; he can’t deal with kindness. He doesn’t know how. He doesn’t trust it, it never comes for free, and he’s so damn broke of money and mind, he can’t afford to rack up a tab.

Clark makes a first motion toward the door, but stops midway. “Before I forget, do you go to church? Or somewhere else? Any worship?” 

“No.”

“Okay. I attend church services on main occasions, but you don’t have to come with. Duke usually doesn’t. We’ll sort things out in the moment.”

Jason nods. Clark studies him one last time. “I’ll go do some chores and prep dinner now. Is chicken filet okay? I’m afraid I don’t qualify as a chef.”

“Anything is fine. Always happy to eat.”

“Great.” He is smiling again, though it’s a little strained. “I’ll call you when food is ready. You can relax for now, take a shower, read, set up the laptop… all up to you. Duke will be back soon, we’ll sit down to eat then. There are towels and other things in the bathroom for you, we labeled your shelf, so you’ll find it easily. If you’re missing anything, please ask, and I’ll provide.”

“Thanks.” When Clark starts walking away, Jason hesitates a second, then calls, making the man face him again: “Eh. Really, I mean it. Thank you.”

Clark’s grin is soft. It reaches his eyes. “It’s good to have you with us.”

Jason possesses a grand total of one jacket, one scarf, one winter cap, one backpack, two pairs of shoes, two pants, two sweaters, two pajamas, four tops, five pairs of socks, and seven undies. The shoes, the jacket and the scarf were left downstairs, and the rest is barely fitting in the sport bag on his bed. Most items are dirty and rest in a plastic bag, separated from the clean side. Jason forgot to ask about the laundry, or Clark forgot to tell him, so the teen doesn’t know what to do of it just now. Can he even wear pajamas in the evening? Should he stay in normal clothes until he goes to bed? What are the rules for this?

He takes a deep breath. A second one. A third. It’s pretty useless stress.

He guesses that eventually, he’ll find out. He’ll ask at dinner, be told, and will then see if he can clean at least some of the dirty clothes tonight. In the meantime, he leaves them in the sport bag, puts it at the bottom of the wardrobe, and sorts the last few pieces of clothing on higher shelves for a better reach. 

He longs for a shower. A second one today. Since he knows he can go, he grabs his last clean t-shirt, a clean boxer and his tiny essentials bag, then scurries to the bathroom.

It’s well lit and not as cold a space as Jason thought it would be, and the lock on the door, to his relief, seems reliable and sturdy. There’s a sink on the right side of the room, a mirror glass double-door cabinet above it and a blurred dormer window standing even higher, almost to the ceiling, as well as a large closet against the wall adjacent to the door. On the farther right side of the room, behind the sink, three towels are hanging from wide holding hooks with names on each of then. The shower is not delimited by any sort of platform, only separated from the rest of the space by an opaque, white curtain that circles the farther left corner of the room, while the floor inclines slightly toward that same corner to let the water escape through a grid Jason almost doesn’t notice at first. 

And perhaps it’s silly, paranoid, a very unhealthy thought and a bad habit to have, perhaps it should tell him that he has a problem, but Jason does it anyway—search for cameras. Goes around the room twice. Opens the cabinets, the closet. Fears seeing someone behind him when his eyes flick to the mirror. Worries about the glass of the dormer window.

It takes him several minutes to calm down. He moves things around the sink, reorganizes them by theme.

His heart rate runs too fast. The three shelves inside the cabinet above the sink are clean, with name tags on the side. Jason’s is at the bottom, full of brand new essentials, but there’s no common organization to the items stored there, no symmetry. He corrects this.

Should he take this shower hot or cold? The inside of the closet is mostly clean and neat, however the home pharmacy supplies on the middle right shelf are a mess. Jason sorts it by type of care.  

After a lot of minutes, and although he’s still not entirely convinced there’s nothing fishy around him, he takes off his clothes and wonders if he can drop his top and undies in the dirty laundry basket he found on the lower left side of the closet. Can he mix his stuff with Clark’s and Duke’s? Again, he could just ask. The answer will likely be yes—come on now, would they separate everyone’s things for half a year? (Though it wouldn’t surprise Jason too much, on reflection.)

In the end, he decides to leave his top and underwear on the floor by the door, hangs his toiletry bag, pants and sweater on the side of the sink, then steps under the shower head. He pulls the curtain around him and tries to understand the way the shower works. As soon as he does, he opens the faucet.

He sets the water on hot, too hot maybe, burning against his skin. It doesn’t bother him much. There are several bottles of shampoo hanging from a steel basket screwed into the wall; once Jason feels more relaxed, he turns off the water, then picks the most neutral-looking bottle. The blemish on his left index, the one that’s been slightly breaking all day, stings and starts itching again at the contact with the chemicals.

Jason turns the water back on and wonders how long he can stay under this warmth before only cold water is left, leaving Duke short on comfort. A bit more? Maybe just a bit more. He needs be here a bit more.

He inhales and exhales deeply a few times, coughing in the process, trying to decide what he should process or at least reflect on first. It comes to it fast, of course—the Waynes. The whole situation with them. It was clear right from the start, at the police station, that Clark and this family are close, alright, but to learn that he and Duke actually spend ‘most’ of their weekends with them…

This is really close. Suspiciously so. Jason can’t decide whether Clark, being a journalist and all, covers up enough shit on Bruce Wayne’s behalf to be invited to Saturday dinner, or if these two are fucking and this is a much different mess altogether.

Jason thinks it’s option two. Has to be, because the other one... he doesn’t want the other one. He won’t ask Clark directly, he wouldn’t even know how, however he does hope to uncover this over dinner. After all, if he’s gonna live here, he’d rather know. 

Would they even tell him if that were indeed the case, though? They could be thinking Jason would run to the press and spill the beans to make some money, or something of that type. Frankly, he likely would, so he understands the doubt. 

Anyway. Six months. Maybe he can shut up for that long. Still, he wants to know. To plan. Because the thing is, these two being together would make those shared weekends far less likely to avoid, and that in turn would mean for Jason to have to mentally prepare himself for it all, for yet another temporary family, more people and more trouble.

He turns off the water, steps out of the shower space, and wraps himself in the surprisingly giant towel Clark has left here for him to use. 

There’s a lot on his mind. There’s nothing in his stomach.

He is sitting on his bed, has taken the wood dust off the floor, and is now trying to set up the laptop when he hears Duke come home and go straight to the shower. Ten minutes later, the teen walks back to his room. Ten minutes after that, Clark calls them both downstairs for dinner.

Jason is on his feet in a flash. He’s not that hungry, but he doesn’t want to upset anyone. Failing to comply in a second to adults’ orders has never really ended all that well for him. He reaches the living room quickly and catches glimpses of Krypto running after something in the garden, where lights have been switched on. He observes her before he climbs the stairs to the kitchen area and starts looking for any help he could give. But Clark, busy mixing a salad at the main counter, has already set up all that’s needed for tonight.

“Jason, hey. How was the shower?”

“Good. Setting up the laptop now.”

“Good.” He gestures toward the table. “You sit where you want. Duke and I will be fine.”

He has arranged the plates so that two are one on side and one on the other, center to the plates on the  opposite side. Jason is closest to the lone plate. The one he doesn’t want. Being alone on one side will feel like an interrogation. He’d rather not go through one. 

He sits down on the opposite side, left plate, just as Clark brings a large salad bowl and a pan full of slightly burned chicken pieces to the table, and Duke climbs the two steps to the kitchen. Jason looks up to meet the other boy’s eyes, but the odd glance he receives in return makes him feel instantly uncomfortable.

“Eh,” Duke starts as he takes the seat behind the lonely plate, “did you move things around in the bathroom?”

Jason’s face and ears are burning. Oh no. “Just… straightened up some stuff.”

Duke doesn't comment on this. He sends a quick look in Clark’s direction, then brings the chair closer to the table before he finally replies with a simple: “Okay.”

“I won’t...” Really, Jason doesn’t have much of an excuse. He hates himself.  “Sorry.”

Clark hums and sits next to him, a basket of cut bread pieces in hand. “You’re quite organized. It’s a good trait.” He leaves the basket on the table then gives a soft pat on Jason’s shoulder as he adds: “But let’s keep everyone’s mess separate, shall we?”

Jason nods. He worries this means a false start with Duke, but the boy is pretty chill after that, relaxed and smiling and already acting like he has put it behind him. He did sound annoyed, though, so Jason will try to make it up to him later. He knows he fucked up.

Once food is on everyone’s plate, Clark and Duke start asking Jason basic questions, nothing too invasive. If he’s ever left Gotham (no), his favorite school subject (social studies), favorite color (red), what food he doesn’t eat (garlic)… Jason takes this opportunity to ask about the laundry, and Clark tells him that of course he can mix his with theirs, they’ll be going shopping for more clothes the next day (worrisome), and yes, he can already clean some clothes tonight, the machine is in the bathroom by the guest room downstairs.

Although Jason also wants to ask whether he can get a part-time job now or a full-time job in the summer, because he must definitely try and save up a bit before he hits eighteen, he doesn’t dare doing so just yet. Next week, maybe. Or next month. As soon as he will have the reasonable belief that Clark trusts him enough for this and will go kind of over authorities about what Jason can do, where he can be, whom he can be with. It won’t be easy. It’s not for today.

He stays silent, save for his cough. Duke soon starts discussing plans for his own eighteenth birthday, which Jason is informed will happen in late April. Upon hearing this, the question ‘what then?’ becomes a scream in the boy’s mind, though he knows not to ask. It’s none of his business, to start, and Duke’s apparent happiness hints at the fact that it doesn’t look like a source of stress for the guy. He probably has good enough a relationship with Clark by now that he doesn’t need worrying about being thrown out once that day will come.

Must feel great. Must be nice. Might be an act.

Jason is almost done with his plate (second serving, alright) and still unsure of when and how to approach the topic of this family’s relationship with the Waynes, when Duke makes mention of plans to go to some 90s style arcade with Dick, Tim and Damian, who Jason assumes is the name of baby Wayne number four, before the winter break ends.

Jason decides to dive in carefully. “You see the Waynes often,” he muses.

Duke raises an eyebrow. His surprise is genuine. “We… do?”

“Bruce is my partner,” Clark states. “Boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Option two. Alright. “Congrats?”

Clark seems confused, but takes it lightly. “Thanks, I guess.” 

The teen thinks about this info in silence. He didn’t know for sure, only speculated, so he still hasn’t adjusted to the news. It’s fine. It’s stressful. But it’s fine. 

Still, the way Duke stares at him tells Jason that he probably doesn’t appear all that fine.

Clark clears his throat. “If you really don’t want to go to theirs, I can—“

“I won’t mess up any more of your plans.”

“It’s not…” Clark pauses, searching for his words. “You’re part of our plans and we care that you’re comfortable.”

“Yeah,” Duke agrees, a small smile now back on his lips. “It’s a lot of new people and a special situation, true… But they’re cool, you know? All of them. Even Damian has good days, though he’s a gremlin most of the time.”

Clark snorts before he winces. “Duke!” 

Duke chuckles. “A lovable one,” he amends. “Anyway, don’t worry, they won’t step over your personal space and time. It’s pretty chill. We don’t do anything special, just homework, baking, volunteering, playing video games, taking naps… normal stuff. Family things.”

“It’s not ideal for you, Jason, I understand.”

The boy shrugs. “Known worse.” And hoped for easier. “You’ve been dating him long?”

“About… four years?”

“Four years?” Now, Jason is too shocked to be nervous. Four years is a long time. His life four years ago was... it doesn’t matter what it was. It was different. Much so. It’s such a significant chunk of one’s life in Jason’s mind and it gives so many weird signals about this situation, he can’t stop himself from wondering out loud: “Why don’t you live together?”

Duke grimaces briefly, while Clark’s half-laughs, half-sighs. Although the tone isn’t exactly bitter, it’s clear he would have liked it had Jason not asked him that. “It’s not so simple,” he replies.

“Now this welcome dinner is turning a little sad,” Duke remarks, and it’s not mean or accusatory, only here to defuse the tension. Jason mouthes a penitent 'sorry' when their eyes meet. Duke grins in return.

“Well, at least, there’s ice cream for dessert.” Having said that, Clark starts collecting everyone’s plate. “Jason? What do you eat for breakfast?”

“Whatever there is to eat.”

“Then you are in luck, because we have that. Tea and coffee too. Orange juice as well. Hot cocoa is always an option, morning and evening alike.”

“And there’s marshmallows in a jar, right behind the cocoa box.”

“… if Duke hasn’t eaten them all.”

“Look who’s playing innocent…”

Jason watches the scene unfold without a word. He’s getting lost in thoughts, perhaps too tired after this day to stay put on conversations.

And Clark notices this. He looks almost worried. “Does it sound good?” he asks.

Jason wonders if he’ll ever be as relaxed in these two’s presence as they are in each other’s, if he’ll ever find it in him to let Clark be his temporary dad or anything of the sort, like Duke seems to be doing now. 

And then Jason wonders why he’s concerned about it at all, because he knows it’s not for him, it’s not his thing, it’s never been. He won’t have that. They will all be cohabiting together for a while, sure, but that's not the same as a family. It’s not. Probably not. Jason thinks it’s not. He was never close enough to anyone in the system to see this type of relationship ever becoming a reality for him, and today is no different. The whole new, supportive, permanent family shit happens to other people only. He’s stopped hoping for this.

“It sounds great.”

After they’ve put all the dishes away, Clark shows Jason how to operate the washing machine, then leaves the boy alone for the night. Duke mentions having some homework to do, so all three of them end up splitting in different parts of the house. Jason takes care of his clothes, finishes setting up the laptop (he wants to contact a friend) and, an hour and a half later, goes back downstairs to hang his laundry to dry.

He finds Clark in the room, doing exactly that. He doesn’t want the teen to be overwhelmed tonight, or so he says; it sounds silly, really. Of course Jason is overwhelmed. Everything here is overwhelming.

He bids Clark good night and is met with a kind smile and the same wishes in return. It’s only about nine o’clock, but Jason is exhausted. The climb back upstairs is tenuous. He stops by the bathroom to brush his teeth, hurrying the end of the day. He doesn’t know if the 10 P.M. rule applies also now that it’s a school break or if they are in weekend mode, so just in case, he connects on Twitter and sends Kyle a quick DM about his situation, tells him he’ll get a new phone soon, and asks him not to worry. He doesn’t wait for an answer. He unplugs the laptop, makes his way downstairs, leaves it on the counter, then returns to the room.

He changes into his pajamas, turns on the lamp on the desk and turns off the light on the ceiling, grab a manga from the shelf, and goes to lay above the covers for some quiet pre-sleep time. But fifteen minutes later, when fatigue overwhelms him and he’s about to truly call it a day, a knock on the door startles him.

“Yeah?” he calls, which makes him cough again.

The door opens slowly. It’s Duke. “Hey… may I?” Jason nods. Duke takes three steps inside the room, not letting go of the door handle. “I came to call dibs on the shower tomorrow. I leave early, Dick is teaching me moves at the gym, so…”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Are you okay?” When he asks this, Duke pushes the door so it’s almost closed again. His voice is lower too. “I’ve been there, I know it can—they can—be overwhelming at first. Clark and Bruce. The whole Wayne clan too. But Clark first.”

Jason makes a face, one that he hopes is straight-up telling Duke ‘you don’t say’. “Yeah.” He sighs. “I’m okay. Promise.” Duke smiles but makes no movement to leave. Jason takes this opportunity to connect. “You’ve been in the system long?”

“Two years and some. I’ve spent most of it with Clark.”

“Then where to?” He sounds warier than he wants Duke to know he is. It’s not great. 

But it doesn’t seem to bother the other teen. “College. You?” 

Jason shrugs. “Wherever. Work, I hope.”

“Okay.” Duke glances at the door. He keeps his left foot pressed against it, so although it’s still technically open, they have some privacy here. Perhaps he doesn’t want Jason to feel trapped, but also doesn’t want Clark to hear? Whatever that boy is thinking, Jason is fine with.

“Do you have any family?” Duke asks.

“No.” Jason’s heart beats fast again. He doesn’t want to remember. He needs to change the subject, bring it back to Duke instead. “You do?”

“Yeah, a cousin. Same name as yours, in fact. He wasn’t even nineteen when I entered the system, he was and still is on a college scholarship in Central City. His family is in Canada, my mom was originally from there too. When she and my dad died I didn’t want to mess up my cousin’s plans, and DCFS probably wouldn’t have let me go with him anyway, so... Yeah.” He stays quiet for a moment. It’s hard to know what he might feel. After a sigh, he continues: “Jay is still good to me though, swore he’ll move to Gotham as soon as he’ll graduate and pursue something here. We talk daily. We’re pretty close.”

“Sounds nice.”

He needs Duke to leave. He likes the guy alright, or well, he doesn’t know him yet. But sure, Duke seems chill, friendly, someone with whom Jason doesn’t mind sharing a house. It’s not about that. It’s the anxiety.

And it only grows when he realizes that Duke is staring in a way that tells Jason he’s being seen, that this guy knows what’s up with him, at least enough to make Jason curl his hands into fists so tight, he’s pretty sure he’s gonna leave some scratching marks inside his palms.

But Duke is very calm when he rests his whole body against the door. He’s not judging Jason. His voice is quiet, loud enough only for them to hear.

“Look, I know it’s difficult to trust people around here, but I want you to know: Clark is a good man. He has his moments of course, like everyone does, and he can win yelling matches alright, but he’s not like that. There’s no string attached when he does things for you, he only wants to do it and tries to follow the cues. He’s observant and sincere, so you can always go to him with your problems.” 

He stops here for a moment. Jason unclenches his fists. 

Did Clark send Duke to tell him this? Unlikely. Jason doesn’t get that vibe from him, from either of them really. The way Duke speaks is flowing, his body language is natural, tone emotional… the whole nine yards. He’s either not lying or an incredible liar. Jason is cautiously ready to believe it’s the former. 

Though what he hears Duke add right then makes him tense up in a second again.

“And Bruce is kind too and a good man in his own right. Different demeanor, though, he can be a bit intense. It takes some getting used to.”

“Do I have to?” Jason snaps. 

He regrets it instantly. It’s the worries. It’s the stress. He’s not proud of his reaction, of the anger, and it’s not because he doesn’t feel this way (he does) but because his words hurt Duke, visibly so, and that wasn’t the plan for tonight.

He gets up from the bed to apologize, stumbles on his words. “Sorry, it’s…”

Duke’s frown deepens. He sounds almost agitated, all of a sudden. “It’s not because they’re both men, is it?”

It’s not... oh. Of course. Jason hadn’t thought of that. He blinks in surprise. “No, not at all.” He looks Duke straight in the eye. He needs him to know he’s telling the truth. “It’s not it, I swear. I’m sorry, I’ve had a long week.”

Duke’s expression softens. It’s not completely back to what it was, but it’s a start. “It’s okay, I understand.” They stay silent long enough for them both to let the tension in the room calm down. Duke soon shows Jason this face people make when they suddenly remember a message they forgot to deliver. “Ah, yeah, by the way, Tim and Cass asked for your number or social media handles. If that’s alright with you?”

“Uh...”

Is that alright? He kinda liked Cass. Tim seemed okay too. He’s bound to meet them again, at one point or another.

Still, Jason can’t find this energy right here. “Maybe later. I won’t have a phone ‘til tomorrow, so…” Half a lie. It’s not the reason. It’s a problem, sure, but… anyway. Not the reason.

Duke looks like he knows it’s not. But he doesn’t address it. “Yeah, I get it.” He smiles and rolls his shoulders. He’s tired too, and it shows. He turns around and releases the door from his hold. “I’m beat, I’m gonna go—“

“So will I.“

“Good night?”

“Thanks, and same. See ya.”

It takes Jason a long time to fall asleep after that.

The following day, Friday, is a partial blur. Jason argues with Clark for the first time in the mall. It’s nothing too serious, a mere difference of opinion regarding how many new outfits is too little or too many. Jason caps it at three. Clark believes it should be ten. They compromise on five and a new pair of shoes. His new phone is much nicer than what he’s used to, which makes him feel bad somehow. Also, and he isn’t sure how, but he ends up getting a new backpack thrown on his lap when they go back to the car.

By the time they make it home, Jason must look thoroughly worn out, because Duke snickers when he sees him and pats his arm in sympathy. They eat pizza for dinner. Kyle has replied to Jason's last brief online messages with about a thousand words and too many question marks. Jason can’t really find answers to most of the content. He gives his friend his new phone number and proceeds to mute his notifications for now. Before he sleeps, he cleans the bathroom sink twice and folds his laundry three different ways, four times.

On Saturday morning, Duke invites him to the arcade. It’s the plan he mentioned, the one with Dick and Damian. Jason doesn’t want to bother them. He declines, and thankfully, Duke understands without him needing to explain. Perhaps he too, at first, has been where Jason is now. Between himself and a lack of space. Shortly after Duke leaves and Clark retreats to his home office for a while, Jason finds a sponge and some soap under the kitchen sink. He cleans up the counters and wipes barely-here dust off the chairs and the cupboard for thirty minutes, then hangs out with Krypto in the garden until lunch time. Duke comes back then, and that afternoon, Clark takes them to the movies and to an ice cream shop. It’s so cliché, but if he’s honest, Jason doesn’t really mind it.

He takes two showers on Sunday because he needs to cry twice.

Duke comes back home almost thirty minutes after curfew on Monday, and although Clark reprimands him sternly and grounds him for a week for it, at least neither of them is yelling. Still, Jason shivers. The whole time. The diner is tense but by the end of it, Duke apologizes and Clark gives him a hug in return.

Jason isn’t convinced that he didn’t imagine the scene. He has trouble falling asleep, again, and when he goes back downstairs at nine thirty for a glass of water, he finds that Clark is already here, leaning back against the kitchen counter, reading notes and drinking tea. The man takes one look at him before he offers to make him a mug of hot cocoa. Even though his mind answers ‘yes’, the boy hears himself say ‘no’. He misses Kyle. He quickly climbs back upstairs without having drunk anything at all, and goes to sleep parched.

On Tuesday morning, before leaving for school, Duke gently reminds him that Tim and Cassandra, and apparently Dick as well now, would like to get his phone number or SNS handles so they could chat a bit before they meet again. Jason is too tired to welcome this stress. He just shrugs and wishes Duke a good day, which is met with a worried look, a small smile, and a low ‘thanks’.

The thing is, Duke has had Jason’s number since Saturday, so that means he hasn’t shared it this entire time. Jason is grateful for this, for sure. It is always a relief to know he has this kind of ally here. Duke is easily in the top three best foster brothers he’s ever had. That afternoon, while they’re binge-watching a show, Clark offers again to make him some hot cocoa, and Jason doesn’t turn it down. The marshmallows in it are the sweetest he’s ever tasted. 

Things take a turn on Wednesday.

Jason is awaken too early by knocks on his door and Clark calling his name. He springs into a seating position in a flash, his respiration strained. He doesn’t even have time to tell the man to come in before the door opens, and Clark stands right there in what vaguely looks like a complete outfit already. Jason’s eyesight is still too poor. Clark’s hurried speech doesn’t help the situation.

“Hey, I’m so sorry, but can you be dressed and ready to go really soon? Don’t worry about breakfast, you’ll get it in forty minutes or so.”

It’s still so dark outside. Jason’s brain fog is slow to disperse. He aches from the interrupted sleep, and to his frustration, the mention of having to be ready to go sends him on an emotional ride rilled with panic and worry.

“What’s wrong?” he croaks.

“Wrong? Oh.” Clark raises his hands in front of him. “No, please don’t panic, it’s just work. Something urgent came up, I must be there quickly and I can’t leave you here alone.” Jason shoots him a glance that he hopes won’t be seen as too hostile, prompting Clark to clarify: “I’m sorry, the rules—“

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, I know.” The teen switches on the lamp on the desk, then rubs his cheeks and his eyes a couple of times. He’s feeling lightheaded, as expected, but he thinks he can do it. After all, he’s used to emergencies by now. He’s even mastered pretending that he’s not affected by it anymore. “I’ll be downstairs in ten.”

“Thanks.”

When the door closes, Jason takes a deep breath and presses the side of his head against the wall. It helps him settle down. His heartbeat is still set on awry and his lungs are struggling to wake up. It hits him that he’s either gonna have to go with Clark to wherever the man is working today (and he’s fine with this) or that it will not be possible so instead he’ll end up with some babysitter somewhere (and he’s not fine with that).

The thought that said babysitters could be the Waynes crosses his mind, and then it stays. It stays. It stays. It’s still here when he gets up, his legs wobbly and his arm weak. It’s still here when he drags clean clothes to the bathroom. It’s still here when he cleans up, it’s still here when he gets dressed, when he realizes he won’t see Duke leave for school. It persists when he goes back to the bedroom to prepare his bag with books and his phone charger. It’s the reason he forgets his phone upstairs and has to run from the car to there and back to retrieve it, confusing Krypto in the process. It’s giving him shivers when he fastens his seatbelt, when Clark starts the engine, when they leave the garden.

He has to know for sure, fast, so as soon as they’re on the street, he asks: “To the Waynes, uh?”

Clark frowns. “You… yes.” 

Jason audibly breathes in and out and sets on staring at his window. He doesn’t want Clark to see just how bothered he is, how scared really. Angry too. Frustrated. So many things.

“Sorry,” Clark continues with a sigh. He does sound apologetic. “There’s no other place I can drop you off for the day. I can’t have you tag along with me on the field. The kids have school and Bruce has to go to work, though, so technically you’re having breakfast with the Waynes, and after that you’ll be alone with Alfred, the butler. He’s everyone’s favorite and will be good to you, I promise. I’ve sent him a text, they know to expect you. You can play video games all day if you want, I won’t mind. I feel guilty to have to send you there alone, but...”

“I know. Rules.” Jason doesn’t mean to be difficult so early in the morning. Sometimes, he’s all these things he hates. All these feelings he can’t help. He’s already twisting his fingers too much and haven't even been up for an hour. He doesn’t need anyone to hate him more than he hates himself. “It’s okay.”

“You’re short of breath. It’s not okay.” 

They don’t speak for some time. Jason doesn’t want to talk. Traffic is fluid around them, though it gradually gets more dense. Soon, they cross the river and arrive in a less residential area, scarcer and bigger houses standing almost outside Gotham city. Clark slows down the car then. “Listen, I’ll be back around two or three this afternoon, before most of the household, and we’ll go straight back home then. I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

This kindness again. It stresses Jason out, making him too wary to avoid mumbling: “Fuck’s sake...”

“Language,” Clark scolds him; however, four seconds later, he amends: “Though I guess I’ll give you a pass today.”

“You don’t have to sound so worried all the time.” Jason is more alert now. He looks at Clark when he speaks. He sees the grief in the man’s frown and hears the nuances in his tone.

“I… Right. You’re right.” Clark sighs again. “It’s just not exactly the first week with us that I’d envisioned for you.”

“Yeah, well, life’s a mess.” Jason inhales sharply. “I’ll be alright.”

“I trust you will.” 

The road gets narrower there, the gardens taller. It’s six thirty-four and Jason assumes they’re about to reach their destination. Clark slows their speed again. He has more to say. 

“So... the Waynes. You already know Tim and Cassandra, and Dick is living on his own closer to the campus, so he won’t be here today. You’ve met Bruce, albeit briefly. That leaves Alfred and Damian.”

“The gremlin.” 

“Jason...”

The tone doesn’t sound all that disapproving, rather a mixture of annoyed and amused. Jason shrugs. He tries not to read into this too much, but to be privy of a family inside joke makes him feel included, more relaxed in a way. A few yards in front of them, on the right, stands a gray and gigantic house barely visible behind equally tall trees and a secured black gate. Clark sighs.

“Look, it’s true that Damian can be… difficult. His tongue is sharp. But he’s very sweet of heart, don’t get it wrong, we all love him and he loves us back.”

He makes the turn to the right, briefly stops the car in front of the gate, grabs an electronic key from behind his sun visor, brings it to the door log and types in an additional code on the numerical pad. Jason follows the movements and waits for whatever else Clark is about to say. The guy looks almost sad, all of a sudden, when he restarts the car and enters the property. 

“Still, the thing is, there’s a high chance he’ll reject you today, and not kindly at that. Should this happen then I want you to remember that this is nothing personal. It’s not you. He has good reasons, and Bruce and I will do our best to manage that, but as it is… Well, it should get better. Give it some time. He’s just a kid, and a brilliant one. If it can help you connect with him at all, he likes animals.”

“I get it, it’s fine. Good demon, can be bribed with cats.”

Clark‘s chuckle is shaky. “He could be, alright.” He parks the car quite close to the main entrance of this ridiculously large, slightly eerie building. Jason doesn’t even attempt to take in the size and neatness of the garden and instead stares at Clark, who asks: “Feeling ready?”

“Dunno.”

“Ah.” He seems taken aback, but that’s it. No fuss. He gives Jason a reassuring smile, unfastens his seatbelt and opens his door, all while enjoining the teen to do the same. “That’s fine. Let’s go greet them together.”

They exit the car and walk up a small flight of stairs. Before they can even reach the top of it, the wooden door opens. An old man emerges from it, dressed in a suit and beaming at them. He seems kind enough, at least for now, from what Jason can see. Two large dogs, a great dane and a german shepherd, dart toward Jason, whom Clark protects from their enthusiastic jumps. The boy pets them once or twice before they obey Alfred’s command for them to go run elsewhere in the garden. Clark goes to greet the butler with a close handshake.

“Good morning, Alfred.”

“Good morning, Master Clark. It’s always good to see you.” The old man then turns to Jason and offers him his hand. “And you must be Master Jason. It is lovely to meet you.”

Jason blinks. The whole Master thing makes him freeze in place for a second. He  shakes the butler’s hand, barely managing a quick ‘hello’ at that time. Duke had warned him, of course. It’s only surprising hearing it in person. Jason can’t fight this, he’s been told, so he lets it go.

Alfred invites them inside, but Clark declines; he’s already late, he must leave. They exchange parting words and Clark gives Jason some last minute encouragements. The boy waits until the car has left his line of sight before he walks into the house.  

The butler asks him boring questions (Jason only half-answers) and informs him that everyone else in the house is upstairs, waking up just now or getting ready for school and work, soon coming downstairs for breakfast. He also tells Jason that he can dig in before they arrive, it’s fine. After all, he must be hungry. (He is now.)

Jason tries not to see everything around him. He doesn’t know how to process it. When they enter the kitchen, it’s the most standard and somewhat normal sized part of the house he’s seen so far. Alfred points to a chair between two others, the back of it to the stove, and starts listing everything Jason can have to eat and drink. 

But all of this... no, it won’t do. Jason would feel awkward sitting here on his own and getting served breakfast by a butler. It’s not him, so instead, he asks if he can help setting the table. Alfred hums, as if thinking about it, before he thanks the boy and accepts his offer. 

He instructs Jason on where to find what, how many plates to bring, what milk they take in the morning. There’s a narrow service door in one corner of the kitchen, and the dogs soon come to beg for entrance back into the house. Alfred lets them in. Jason plays with them for a minute, until the german shepherd goes to sit under the table and the great dane trots away to somewhere else in the house. Behind him, the butler turns on the coffee machine and the electric kettle.

Jason is washing his hands in the sink when he hears voices getting closer. He recognizes them even before Bruce Wayne and Tim get through the door. The german shepherd goes to them instantly. 

Tim, sporting what looks like a school uniform, is the first one to come greet him. His excitement is sincere, something Jason doesn’t understand, given the phone and SNS debacle. Why is this still a thing even, anyway? Why not give ways to contact him to people he’ll often see? Jason forgot. Maybe he had a rationale at first, but it’s escaping him right now. He knows it’s stupid. He should correct that. 

While Tim goes to greet Alfred and waits for bread to be ready in the toaster, Bruce Wayne, dressed all in black again, sends the dog back under the table. He approaches Jason and quietly wishes him good morning. The teen is glad to be busy drying his hands a second time, because it gives him something else to focus on than his heartbeat racing again.

He knows he’ll have to get used to this man’s presence somehow, used to speak his name, used to foster some degree of connection with him. Sure, Jason could probably limit seeing him a little or a lot, if he only asked, but he doesn’t want to break this family apart. To break Clark’s heart. These things aren’t his, so he can’t. He’s wrecked enough stuff as it is in his seventeen years of life, and that is enough. More than enough.

“Hello,” he replies. “Thanks for having me.”

“No trouble at all.”

Bruce walks past Jason, grabs a mug, and pours hot water in it. He sits on the chair in the corner opposite to where Alfred told Jason he could sit. The boy is fine with that. He seats down and waits for the rest of the family to arrive. Tim comes to sit by his side, right in front of his dad, who smiles at him and is almost immediately distracted by the buzzing of his phone. It’s a call, so he walks away to answer it. Jason starts buttering some bread. 

“I’ll give you my phone number,” he tells Tim.

“You don’t have to, that’s fine. But how about I give you mine? You can get it from Duke. You start the conversations.”

Tim is serious. Jason wasn’t expecting this. He’s about to reply something, he doesn’t yet know what, when the great dane comes back and runs through the kitchen, going to lay under the table too. Jason worries he’s gonna kick either or both dogs by accident now.

He doesn’t have time to worry so much about it, though, because a small kid gets into the kitchen at that moment. He’s wearing the same school uniform Tim sports, is visibly grumpy, and looks at Jason with a level of wariness the teen had thus far thought he’d only ever find in his own eyes.

Damian doesn’t make a single move toward Jason, so Jason makes one first. He gets up and extends his hand above the table for the child to shake.

“Hey, I’m Jason.” 

But the kid doesn’t move. His frown is too serious and hostile for that of someone his age. Jason now gets the gremlin thing. 

Whatever. He doesn’t want conflict and he doesn’t need the approval. The kid will have to speak to him eventually anyway. Jason can wait until it happens. 

He sits back down and shrugs. “Alright.”

“Damian.” Bruce Wayne is back in the vicinity. He scowls and stares at his youngest son with narrow eyes, though his tone is not as harsh. “Be polite and kind. Jason has done nothing to you, he’s here to share our breakfast today and will be part of our lives for now. I expect you two to get along. Apologize.”

Alfred puts a pot of coffee on the table, loudly enough that the impact has to be intentional. Damian hesitates, but eventually locks eyes with Jason. His voice is raspy from sleep.

“I’m sorry.”

“No worries.”

“Jason,” Tim cuts in, “do you drink coffee or tea?”

“Coffee.”

“Rule here is only half a cup if you’re not eighteen yet.”

“I can live with that.”

“Milk?”

“No thanks.”

Damian carries a mug of hot water to the table. To Jason’s surprise, this kid sits in front of him and doesn’t stare while he picks and tears a tea bag from a bowl left in the center of the table. Bruce types away on his phone, puts it back in his pocket, then comes to sit back on his chair, right by Damian. He squeezes the kid’s shoulder and asks him to eat something too, not just drink tea. 

Cassandra enters the room just as Jason finishes both his bread and his coffee. She is wearing an uniform quite similar to those her brothers wear, and is carrying her phone with her. She smiles at Jason and waves her left hand in greeting, before she shows her phone to her father.

“Dance club meeting at three,” she says. “I'lll be home around four.”

Bruce frowns. “So will Tim, right?” Tim nods. Bruce hums and whispers to Cassandra to get started on breakfast, as it is getting late. When she sits down on the other side of Damian, Bruce gets the kid’s attention by lightly poking his forearm. “Since neither of them can drive back with you today, I’ll ask Clark to come collect you from school around two. I’ll drop you off myself this morning.”

Damian nods and gulps his tea. “Very well.”

“You can pick the music.” 

Bruce’s offer makes Damian smile. A real big grin. Jason much prefers this aura from him to the one he had before, but just as he thinks this, the kid’s gaze falls on him and the hostility is back. Great. Jason tries not to care. He feels Bruce’s stare on him as well and returns it, unintentionally pushing back on his chair. 

“You’re welcome to stay for supper too. Clark and Duke wouldn’t mind, they’d likely join us in fact.”

Jason misses a breath. “Thanks, but…” But what? Plenty of reasons to choose from. Jason doesn’t know which one would be both the most truthful and acceptable enough. He ends up saying nothing at all, his mouth sewn in a tight line, and the silence sucks. The billionaire’s presence is putting more pressure on him than the boy thinks he can stand.

Alfred’s voice, in this moment, sounds like a miracle. “Children, quickly now. Time is running out. You all came downstairs a tad late today again, you really need to be more mindful of this. Five more minutes for breakfast, five extra upstairs to gather your things, then all of you should go.”

Jason catches that the old man also includes Bruce in his statement. This is confirmed by the brief and apologetic smirk that appears on the man’s lips, soon replaced by an expression most neutral. Cassandra and Damian pick up the pace a little, while Tim serves both Jason and himself a glass of apple juice.

Shortly, Alfred starts putting away dirty dishes and utensils. His speech gets more urgent. “Master Tim, please don’t forget your vitamins. It’s also colder today than it was yesterday, shouldn’t you add an extra layer before you leave? You too, Miss Cassandra, please take gloves with you at least. Master Damian, have you fed your dog?”

“And the cats, yes.”

Bruce instantly looks interested or shocked to hear that. “Did you say cats? Plural?”

Damian gawks at his father in disbelief. “I can’t let a stray die if I can help it, can I?”

“You…” Bruce doesn’t finish this sentence. Instead, he lowers his head and sighs. “Okay, upstairs. The three of you, upstairs. Everyone hurry up now.”

Tim doesn’t even bother concealing a breathy laugh. He gets up from his chair and taps Jason’s shoulder in acknowledgement. Cass finishes her tea and she and Damian get up from their respective chairs at the same time. The dogs follow them all in the hallway as they disappear to their rooms.

Bruce sits further back in his chair. “It’s probably calmer at Clark’s.”

“We’re not as many.”

Bruce grunts in response. He looks older than his lover, not by a lot, but older enough for someone really two years younger—Jason had asked Duke about their ages. He only relies on Duke’s words about them. Still no Google searches he really wishes to work through. 

Alfred finally pours himself a cup of hot water. He sits down where Damian used to be and takes his time choosing a tea. Ho opts for lemon in the end. “I hope to be of good company today, Master Jason. I look forward to getting to know you better. What would you like to do? Touring this place might already take us some time.”

The boy shrugs. “I’m not high maintenance. Anything is fine.”

“Very well, then.” 

“I must go.” Bruce gets up and takes his dirty mug to the dishwasher. “I’ll try to be back before five. Perhaps I’ll see you then, Jason.”

“What of the stray cat?” Alfred asks.

Bruce groans. “Well, Damian has a point, and I’d hate to upset him when he’s doing something good, but… We have enough cats and dogs, I’m afraid. I’ll figure something out.”

Alfred sips on his tea, asserts: “Surely your animal-hugging son will understand if you tell him you want the cat to get more attention and care somewhere it won’t have to compete for it with five other pets.”

“You’re right. As usual.” Bruce takes a peek at his phone again and puts it back in his pocket one last time before he takes his leave. “Have a good day, you both. See you later.”

“See you.”

“Be careful on the road.”

Jason recalls Clark saying something similar to Duke. Alfred might indeed be what Bruce has left that’s closest to a parent. The teen starts on this thought for a minutes or so, but them it hits him suddenly that he might have missed his chance to say goodbye to the Wayne kids before they leave for good.

Alfred seems, again, to be reading his mind. “Shall we see them out?” he asks.

So they do that. They get to the wide lobby behind the entrance just as Damian is crossing it, his last glance in Jason’s direction far from the picture of peace. When he opens the door to leave, he tells the great dane behind him to stay put, and Jason is impressed to find that the animal obeys the command. A minute later, Cassandra and Tim are coming down a long flight of stairs from the upper level of the house. They both say goodbye to Jason in kind manners, and in turn, he asks Cassandra for her social handles. She stays behind for a minute to enter it in his phone, then scurries to join her brother. Bruce and Damian exit the property in a black car at the same time.

Spending the day with Alfred turns out to be a calm affair. The butler hooks Jason up with video games, movies, books, and a bowl of chocolate snacks (“Master Clark insisted”), all in a room downstairs that appears to be some sort of entertainment space for the Wayne kids. Everything here is shiny and expensive, however not in a way that is remotely enjoyable in Jason’s mind. He manages to ignore this feeling after about an hour, but even then, it’s only because he’s anxious enough t the idea of needing to create some bonds with the Waynes, or because he’s spamming Kyle with memes and receiving silly videos in return. He hurts his left pinky by twisting it weird. He doesn’t report it to Alfred.

At ten o’clock, the butler offers to play Mario Kart on the Wii with him. Jason keeps his comments to himself, and rightfully so, because Alfred ends up winning gold with full points in the three cups they play in mirror mode. 

At noon, while the man’s homemade lasagna finishes cooking, Jason and Duke exchange several messages. Duke wants to know that the other teen is fine and, in particular, asks whether Damian has cursed him already or if they’ve gotten along okay enough so far. Jason tempers his concerns. He tries to do the dishes once they’re done eating, but Alfred politely reminds him that there’s a dishwasher in the room. Jason has no argument against this and is not about to tell the truth to a virtual stranger. It’s odd to need this, he knows. So he goes back to the game room.

He’s reading comics on a sofa when he almost falls asleep from the lunch and his exhaustion. He wakes up from it startled, because sure, he could use a nap, however not here. Not alone. Not now. Maybe it’s silly, whatever, but it scares him really. Luckily, Clark will be back soon. Until then, Jason will strive to stay wide awake. He’s craving cigarettes again. He wants to go to school. He wishes to be home, any home, a mere house will do. 

He can’t stop feeling tired so in an effort not to collapse, he goes to find Alfred in the garden and asks if they could do a basic tour of the house. The butler seems surprised, but agrees. With commentary and frequent breaks to pet the cats upstairs, it takes them about thirty-five minutes to reach the second floor. Jason barely registers the rooms they pass by and hears without listening what Alfred is telling him about the place and the shrubbery.

Clark comes back at two fifteen, Damian right behind him at the door. He greets Jason and thanks Alfred, telling them both to wait a few minutes while Damian retrieves a few things upstairs for him. Jason doesn’t attempt any form of interaction with the child. He is relieved to see Clark here, he can’t care about anything else.

“We’re going back to your place, right?”

He can tell Clark doesn’t quite like this wording; though his smile is still here, some hurt is in his eyes. Jason feels guilty—didn’t think he‘d ever feel guilty over something like that. But it’s done now.

“We are. And we’re taking the cat. Krypto could use a friend.”

Jason raises an eyebrow. Alright. So Bruce did figure something out. Damian comes back downstairs with one of these travel crates for cats, a small folded bed, and a couple of toys.

“Can I come see her sometimes?” he asks. He sounds softer than he did this morning.

“Of course, kiddo. You know you’re welcome anytime. And don’t worry, we’ve had a few cats on the farm along the years. We’ll all take good care of her.”

Jason sees in the look Damian gives him that the kid doesn’t believe in this ‘we’ if it includes anyone else than Duke and Clark. When the two told Jason this one might be difficult to approach, it was the euphemism of the year.

Clark transfers the accessories to the backseat of the car and gives the cat to Jason. They agree he can carry the crate on his lap during the travel. It takes him and Alfred five good extra minutes to convince Damian that it’s alright, he can let go, Clark knows what he’s doing and this cat will be safe and grow up strong. Eventually, it works.

Jason says goodbye to Alfred, who tells him that he’ll be glad to see him again with ‘the whole family’ one of these weekends. Jason smiles, but doesn’t reply. Really, he wants to scream. He says goodbye to Damian too, and to his surprise, the kid acknowledges this with a nod and a low ‘bye’. Clark waves in Alfred’s direction and opens his arms to hug Damian who, bewildering Jason further, happily accepts the gesture. This kid will be a nightmare.

They get in the car and drive away from the property. Jason can finally breathe. He holds the cat crate closer, listening to the soft meows coming from.

“How was it?” Clark asks. He sounds cautious.

Jason sighs. “It was alright.”  

“I see.” Clark doesn’t believe him. He sounds and looks uneasy. “Sorry, Jason. I take you in to reduce your stress, but all I’ve managed to do so far is… not it. I’ll do better.”

“You don’t…” 

Jason doesn’t know what to say after this. He’s got so much to tell Clark, many words of anger and many others leveled enough that he believes it might make for a productive conversation. But he doesn’t have the strength today. The breakfast alone drained his entire social reserve for the week, and he has to go to a brand new school tomorrow. He doesn’t know how he’ll cope. (That’s untrue, he knows how. It just sucks. It will hurt.) 

He bargains without belief. “Can I get one more weekend with just you and Duke at home? Then I’ll follow your usual schedule.”

“Of course,” Clark agrees. It’s unexpected. “By the way, in April, my mother will come to visit us. She normally comes later in the year, but she is excited to meet you and there will be Duke’s eighteenth to celebrate. She’s not the overbearing type, so don’t worry about your personal space, she’ll respect that. She only wants to catch up with us, celebrate Duke, and wish you welcome.”

Jason isn’t sure he enjoys the idea, but what can he say? It’ll happen anyway. He can always retreats to his room for two days if it gets too much, right? He hopes so. His number one fear here might be to mess up their relationship. He keeps this concern under wrap. “Sounds nice.”

They both stay silent for a minute. Jason receives a message on his phone, judging by the buzzing. It’s probably from Kyle. He’ll check it out later. 

When they cross the river again, Clarks quietly says: “It’s as good a time as any to tell you I was adopted.”

Chapter Text

Jason surprises himself nine days later, for the first time in a long time, when he wakes up no earlier than when the alarm on his phone rings. Only, it’s not a good surprise. It rather terrifies him. 

He’s become sloppier. It’s not that he trusts more, or that he feels safe—nothing of the sort. He still thinks Clark might snap at any given moment, that Duke could stab him in the back, that someone is going to make him trip and fall again. He always thinks these things about people, at least most people, at least most of the time. He knows it’s a bad habit but it’s not what makes him lose vigilance. 

The house seems a bit more familiar by now, is all. It’s almost breathable in there. 

And this isn’t good at all.

Jason gets up quickly. Still dizzy from the rush, he grabs the outfit he'd laid on the back of the desk chair last night, and heads to the bathroom. His knuckles ache from the finger twists and friction movements he’s been doing too much lately. He cut his left thumb on a piece of paper yesterday, and because he’s been picking at it so often and badly, the wound has grown bigger now than how it started. For now, he chooses to ignore it. 

He walks silently and presses the clothes too tightly against his chest, like a secret or a shame. But it’s his heart he tries to hide. 

The bathroom is warm and the floor is still wet from the shower Clark took, like every morning, about half an hour ago. The cabinet above the sink was left ajar, something Jason sees as a dull sign. He checks twice to make sure the lock on the door is in place before he closes the cabinet and quickly cleans the mirror, dirtied by fingerprints between yesterday night and now. Only when it’s done, he strips, throws his pajamas into the laundry basket, and steps under the water spray.

His anger is complex and neatly wrapped around his skull, the ache deep in every bone. It burns, it’s buzzing, and the thing is, Jason doesn’t want to feel like this. It’s not even rage: it’s panic. He knows it’s panic and has no energy for this. It sucks. His life shouldn’t be so difficult all the damn time. 

The boy closes his eyes, inhales and exhales as slowly and steady as possible so to lower his heart rate and clear his head from the fogs of sleep and worry combined. Though it takes him longer to do so than he hoped, it eventually helps him achieve some rational thoughts. Cracking his neck, he relaxes his spine. 

Perhaps it’s alright if he sleeps until his alarm rings; there’s no doubt he needs the rest, he’s too often exhausted. He’s grown unhealthy and useless from a long-standing lack of sleep in the past, so he knows that isn’t something he’d want to deal with ever again. Besides, who knows if he’ll even be able to sleep as much, if at all, after the system spits him out? Nothing is certain. Nothing is stable—well, maybe here is stable. For now. Maybe Jason wants it to last.

Maybe he feels under attack.

Clark speaks softly, this morning; day two with a sore throat. Duke is still half-asleep during breakfast, with his head dangerously dangling above his cereals. Krypto is playing outside already, while Robin the kitten is trying and failing to jump on the table. Jason is out of sync. 

He never remembers which brake stops the front tire. It’s been years since he’s owned a bicycle. He’s not even sure he can really call this one his. Only thing that’s for sure is that Duke is more agile and pedals much faster than him, but also has the thoughtfulness to slow down every now and then, so Jason still catches up in the end. 

It’s bothersome, of course. Duke used to leave for school later up until a week ago, before he had to show the way to the new kid and wait around for him often enough to reasonably fear being late. 

Jason hopes that he’ll soon be able to recognize the road better, that he’ll hesitate less and bike faster as well. There’s a twist of guilt in his guts every time he lags behind and the clock doesn’t stop ticking. He knows it’s a hindrance. Duke not openly showing annoyance doesn’t mean that he’s not in fact annoyed, deep down, that he’s getting less sleep lately. 

“You can go right ahead,” he tells Jason right after they’ve reached their destination and parked their bikes on the rack near the cafeteria. “I’ll lag a bit behind, I’m meeting Isabella. See you at lunch?”

“You don’t have to eat with me.” 

It’s been bugging Jason since day one, though he’s made a point not to vocalize it until now. It wasn’t worth the fight and maybe it’s still not worth it now. But it’s out there, finally, and it’s the truth: Duke shouldn’t have to play babysitter all the time. He should eat with his friends or do whatever it is he wants to do of his free time. Besides, it’s not like Jason needs him; he’s seventeen years old. He’s survived on the streets. He can take care of himself. 

Duke seems taken aback. “What, you don’t want me to?”

“It’s not it.” Jason adjusts his backpack and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He doesn’t know what else to say, just wants to get to class already and escape the situation. He makes sure he locked the front tire of his bike then asks, like every morning so far: “Do you wait for me tonight?”

Duke groans. “Ah, no, you’ll have to wait for me…” He looks contrite. “Sorry, I forgot to tell you, I’m staying longer with a study group for a lab project… I guess until about an hour after your tutoring session ends? I’ll try to hurry, promise.” 

Jason doesn’t reply immediately, since he’s trying to quickly work out in his head where he could go for an hour to be left in peace while he waits for Duke. The delayed reaction seems to give his foster brother worry. 

“You’ll be okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

What else can Jason say? He will have to make do. He can’t go home alone and that’s not even a location problem, only his life stuck on restricted mode. Not to mention, he’s bothering Duke again. This realization makes him feel dizzy with anger once more, his chest heavy and his throat almost closed. It’s ten seconds of pain. Seven seconds too much.

He walks away from the scene and makes a beeline to the gate and into the lobby. The place is loud and busy, still full of students at this time. Jason doesn’t have a good grasp on his feelings toward this new school yet, though if he had to have one, neutrality would be the word. If it can help him graduate, then that’s enough for him. He’ll think about this time of his life—and how much he misses Kyle—at a later date.

He’s memorized the layout of the place quite well by now and, as such, is quick to make his way toward his group’s morning assembly point. He’s about to enter the classroom when his eyes catch sight of Harper, a friend of Duke’s and the second person who showed him around the school on his first day. The scene makes Jason pause. 

Harper is standing further down the hallway and carrying what appear to be heavy carton boxes, one by one, from a pallet on the floor to a storage closet behind them. They’re doing this task alone, and it seems like a lot, between the number of cartons still left to transfer and the student’s wobbly movements. Jason debates it for a moment, but eventually, he walks toward them. 

Thing is, so far, Harper has been chill and helpful to him. Jason wants to be chill and helpful too. 

“Need a hand?” he asks. “The bell will ring soon.”

His classmate looks up and grins. “Thanks.” 

Jason leaves his backpack on the floor, lifts a box and passes it to Harper, who drops it on a shelf to complete the chain. The two work like this in silence, the pace increasing, for a couple of minutes. When most of the boxes are transferred, Jason asks: “What’s in there?”

“School supplies. That’s what students left in the hallway dropping points alone. We were right to install so many donation bins around the school, people really came through… That’s a lot of stuff. Artemis is taking care of what was dropped at the gym and the nurses’ office right now. We’re splitting storage until tomorrow morning, when we’ll deliver it around town.” 

“You two did this?” Jason didn’t mean to sound so surprised. Really, he’s kind of impressed.

Harper shakes their head. “No, we’re a small club here. We organize stuff like this as often as we can and it’s been quite successful so far, though a bit outside our resource budget. You’re welcome to sign up by the way, we wouldn’t turn down help.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Though it’s the standard acceptable answer here, Jason is actually entertaining the idea—more or less. Of course he wants to help, always. But he’ll probably be a hindrance to the group.

For now he focuses on the fact that he’s quite relieved to see that Harper can ask for things and be received favorably. Jason couldn’t block out hearing derogatory comments toward the student while they were showing him around the school last week, so he’s glad to see those were apparently not the opinions of a majority here. He also briefly met the girl Harper mentioned, Artemis, because she came up and chatted for a minute with them in the hallway that day. What Jason recalls most about her is that she is taller than him, a junior, and speaks with a marked accent that hints at her not having lived most of her life around here. 

“Say,” Harper begins, commanding Jason’s attention. “You know the Narrows?” Their tone has changed a little, as has the atmosphere. 

Jason tenses up. If the conversation just entered private territory for Harper, it did so for him as well. “Lived right by there for a while.”

Harper hums and nothing more. Maybe they caught on the boy’s hesitation, or they simply never meant to follow this up with anything in the first place. Jason doesn’t take this silence personally; rather, he welcomes it. This is not a part of his life he wishes to discuss.

He hands over the last of the carton boxes to his classmate, smirking as he hears their sigh of relief. “There.”

“Thanks again. I owe you one.” Harper grabs a key from the back pocket of their jeans and locks the closet. “Eh, you wanna come with us distribute it to schools and tutoring centers tomorrow? It might take several hours, but…”

Jason’s heartbeats speeds up a little. Stress or guilt—whichever fights best right now. “Sorry, I can’t.” He feels bad. He really does. He’s tried to ignore the Waynes as a concept and more so as people, but it’s not working. They don’t cease to exist. Although they’ve only been nice so far, or at least not threatening, Jason can’t shake the uneasiness he feels whenever he thinks about them. It’s not healthy, he’s not healthy.

But he can’t tell Harper that. He doesn’t want them to think that he is bailing without a good reason, either. “My foster family has weekend getaway plans,” he explains.

“Oh.” Harper frowns. There’s a pain in there, though Jason can’t pinpoint what. “I see.”

“Raincheck?”

“Sure. I mean, I hope.” 

They sends Jason an exaggerated glare and crosses their arms for maximum effect. The boy would find it funnier if his brain wasn't so foggy for no reason in that moment. He catches himself picking at the skin around his nails. 

He is about to step away but is interrupted by a high-pitched voice coming from behind him and calling Harper’s name. The students both look toward the source. A girl with long blond hair and dressed in a very 90s jeans fashion outfit, with a green messenger bag in her left hand and her phone clenched in the other, is trotting toward them from the end of the hallway. She sounds a bit out of breath. 

Harper chuckles. “Did you run here?” 

“Just jogged from the bus stop ‘til the gates and then some more afterward. Really thought I’d be late.” She smiles, scrunching her nose. She shoves her phone in her pocket then immediately gives her attention to Jason, holding up her free hand for him to high five. He does. “Hi! I’m Stephanie.”

“Jason.”

“Duke’s foster brother, right?” The boy tilts his head reflexively. Stephanie smiles in response. “We’re friends. He told me.” She seems about to elaborate, but the school bell startles her before she can. “Ah, well…” She turns to Harper. “I’ll be busy at lunch time today but I wanted to tell you in person: I convinced the rental company to lend us an extra van for free. Just gotta bring another driver with us so we can pick it up tomorrow morning.”

Harper sighs happily, adjusts their backpack and goes on to give the girl a hug. “That’s it. You’re amazing.”

“Thanks.” When Stephanie pulls away, she scrunches her nose again and waves them goodbye before trotting away. “See you around!”

Both Jason and Harper return her parting gesture. They then walk away together and split at the end of the hallway, with Harper needing to speed up to join their classroom by the time the second bell rings. 

Jason struggles to concentrate on anything after that. His head is a sea of tangled thoughts. He can’t differentiate his stress about the nightmares, about the Waynes, about Clark being sick, about Duke possibly not eating lunch with him ever again, about eating at all. Come lunchtime, he avoids the crowd and feels full only munching on bread. When Duke texts him, he answers back that he’s okay, yes he ate, he’s just catching up on homework now. Half a lie. Jason is exhausted. He wants—needs—a cigarette. He can’t go see the Waynes. His guilt over not being able to help Harper is glued to him tight and will not let his skin go. He won’t let his skin go. 

Kyle hugged him last. That was ten weeks ago. Jason would welcome a hug from near anybody right now.

He visits the bathroom attached to the library once his tutoring session ends. It’s nothing he didn’t know today, so there is that. He’s yet to decide where he will go and wait for Duke to be done for the day when, right as he finishes washing his hands for the second time, he unexpectedly receives a text from Clark. Though it gives him a bad feeling, Jason reads it right away.

‘Did you have a good day? I’m waiting for you outside.’

The boy recoils. Is he in trouble? Unlikely. He’s been good. Not very social, but not rude either. He’s not skipped school, he’s done his homework, his room is clean and he eats his veggies. It’s not it and that means the most credible reason for Clark being here is that the guy doesn’t trust him to wait for Duke without causing problems. 

Maybe that’s worse than being in trouble. 

Jason scratches the inside of his left wrist too hard and pinches the tender flesh around the base of his right thumb by reflex, then twists all his fingers together trying to stop this nervous streak. His nails are too long. His breath is a bit short. Still, he manages to calm down as he walks through the hallways then steps outside the building. His first instinct is to go visit the bike rack where he left his, so he can retrieve it before joining Clark on the parking lot. 

But, as it turns out, Clark himself is already standing there and staring at the many vehicles lined up in front of him, seemingly trying to pick out Jason’s among these. He looks like he’s freezing under his coat, despite his wide frame. When he raises his gaze toward the teen standing mere feet away from him, he puts on a sheepish grin, something guilty almost. 

Jason can’t help but find the situation a little amusing, if only for the fact that he’s not the one caught in this position this time. “Stealing, are we?” he teases.

“And what if someone hears you and starts thinking that I am truly a thief?”

“Doubt they’d call you out, really. You’re huge.”

Clark snorts. His voice sounds as strained as it was in the morning, if not more. His smile still harbor an air of reprimand. “Let’s not steal anything today.”

Jason unlocks his bike and pushes it toward Clark’s car. Though he’s trying not to let the situation eat at him, he figures today is still not a good time to talk about being allowed to find a part-time job. If Clark doesn’t trust him to wait one hour around the school, he won’t trust him to be away from home several hours a day, several days a week. Not that Jason could even healthily fit this into his schedule, but well—he’d do it anyway. He has to. Life sucks.

He helps Clark attach the bike to the carrier behind the car. He’s never done this before. The base of his right thumb is still showing red spots and Jason feels the urge to graze it against the spikes one of the many metal pieces in front of him. It’s a thought he hates to have.

Once in the car it’s a battle between him and his sharp tongue, a fight he loses as soon as Clark gets them outside the parking lot.

“I could’ve waited.”

Clark hums low. He doesn’t seem to have much energy in him, just enough to navigate the heavy traffic slowly. “I know. But you looked very tired during breakfast, so I figured we could both be tired at home instead of at work or school.”

Jason doesn’t know how truthful that is, if it’s the real reason, what Clark told Duke, or anything much. He guesses the best move is to move on. He’s not sure he can do it just yet.

They don’t speak a lot until they reach home, where they are greeted by Krypto in the lobby and Robin in the living room. While Clark takes care of the litter box, Jason feeds both animals and takes the opportunity to pet and hug them for a while. It calms him down to have them here. 

He wagers that it could make Damian hate him less tomorrow if he takes a picture of the kitten today and sends it to Timothy for them to see that Robin is doing well. But thinking once again about having to see the Waynes is bringing Jason significant anxiety, so creating bonds with them… it’s a whole other story.

Still, after pondering the idea for a minute, he decides to take and send the picture in the end. The last few texts he’s exchanged with Tim were trivial at best, however courteous. Maybe it’s not as bad as he imagines. Unable to come up with anything, Jason doesn’t add words to the picture.

He scrolls though the few messages Kyle has sent him in the last hour. They all speak of a potential meeting in person soon, which isn’t new. Jason has been ignoring this all week. He’s not told Kyle about the Waynes yet, not told him about what happened on the street, not discussed the return of his physical impulses. He really doesn’t want to hurt Kyle. He knows not answering hurts them both.

“Jason?” Clark calls from the kitchen where he is standing near the boiler. It sounds painful for him to speak. “Can you come closer?”

The teen complies, going to stand by the table. His heartbeat is tumbling fast. Are they going to talk? About what? He quickly hides his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “What’s up?” 

“It’s about this weekend.”

Jason takes half a step back. He can’t help it. Clark pretends not to see.

“We won’t be visiting the Waynes,” he sighs. “Sorry for the late notice, Bruce and I agreed on it over lunch today. Damian and Cassandra have been sick since Wednesday, Alfred is following in their direction, and with my throat in this state… It’s best we don’t exchange the sicknesses we’re all carrying right now.”

“Okay.”

Not okay. Not okay. Clark doesn’t understand: Jason has tried and prepared for days, emotionally, regardless of his persistent fears. He’s worked hard on the idea and has already drafted dozens of texts intended for Kyle in case he cannot sleep. He told Harper he couldn’t help them tomorrow and now this has become a lie. He’s had nightmares about the Waynes, he’s given Tim his phone number. Both of his thumbs hurt. He can’t go through these emotions again for another week, worrying about it like this, because each day brings new problems and Jason is only one man with one heart, one brain, and too much stress. 

He takes his hands out his pockets and it’s a struggle not to bring them together to direct his anxiety somewhere. To raise them between him and Clark. To burn bridges. To punch.

But of course Clark is staring at him, and it’s clear that he knows what’s happening, so Jason can’t let himself lose control. He’s got to be cautious. Because he can’t ignore the aching of his nerves, he decides to step in front of the sink and washes his forearms under lukewarm water, using as little soap as is acceptable for this task. He doesn’t want to waste anything. 

Clark keeps quiet until Jason turns off the tap. Although his tone is gentle, the words make the teen shiver. “Do you have a problem with germs?”

For some reason, this surprises him. “Germs? No.” He really doesn’t. It’s not it. But he knows where this is going. He doesn’t like where this is going.

And he hates Clark for going there.

“Can we talk about your hands?” 

Jason glares at him. In any other circumstances, he’d get in trouble in a second. He hates Clark. He hates him. He can’t do anything about it now, though, so he chooses to bite his tongue and avert his eyes. He can’t do this. He starts to leave.

Clark catches up on him in three steps. “Jason, hey, no.” He puts a hand on the boy’s left shoulder, though he at least knows better than to squeeze. “Come on, it’s important.”

“I don’t wanna talk.” Jason turns around and, before Clark can say anything else, pushes the man away. “Let me go!”

Clark looks hurt and concerned, but he complies, putting his hands up as a sign of peace. Jason couldn’t care less. He doesn’t believe it.

He climbs the stairs as fast as possible and takes refuge in the bathroom. There’s no lock on his bedroom door and he couldn’t deal with any intrusion right now. He is growing terrified. For some reason his first realization once the lock is in place is that he’s left his school bag in the lobby downstairs, an oversight that means he might have to face Clark sooner than during dinner with Duke as witness by his side.

But perhaps it’s not so important a priority for now. Jason knows he was unkind. He knows there’ll be consequences. He’s fighting and fighting not to scratch and twist his hands again. He wonders if a warm shower could help him relax. (It might.) His forearms are still wet. He’s not sure why he’s not run away from this place already. He remembers what he promised Kyle he would do, and it pisses him off even more. He prays Clark will not beat him up but realistically, he doesn’t think the man would ever do that. He’s not like that—Duke was right. So why is Jason even thinking these things? Okay, maybe he knows why. And it’s not healthy. Jason is in panic and knows he can’t trust himself when he’s like this.

He has to calm down. It’s always the first step. It’s no use letting panic win. 

He sits with his legs crossed to increase his grip on gravity, stretches his arms forward, spreads out his fingers, and silently counts to ten. Twenty. Forty. He breathes, in and out, in and out, ‘til his vision gets cloudy. His lips are dry. They hurt.

He stays like this for some time, his back against the door and his hands now flat on the floor, palms down. He lets himself grow still. When he can finally detach one thought from another with clarity again, he gets up, strips down, and hops under the shower head.

He’s turned off his mobile phone and is letting it charge on his desk. He’s seating on his bed with his laptop resting against his thighs, keeping himself busy with homework. He’s surprised to find that the internet hasn’t been cut off. Clark must have some other punishment in mind.

Jason is calmer now, though he still hasn’t retrieved his bag. It’s around five thirty. Duke must already be back by now. Krypto hung out in the hallway for a while, Jason heard her, but she did not bump into his door—her usual way to ask to be let in—so he didn’t go check on her. He’ll make it up with a treat and some pats later tonight.

He is almost done with his current assignment when he hears steps climbing the stairs. He tenses up. He can deal with Clark at dinner because it won’t be just the two of them there, but if it’s him now… then what? What will Jason say? What apology would work? What will the weekend be like? Will Clark tell him to move away? Those might be stupid thoughts. Clark seems difficult to anger this much. Jason tries to rationalize the situation once again, but the mean voice in his head refuses to shut up. It’s talking to him constantly.

The steps stop in front of this door and as predicted, Duke is knocking and asking to be let in. Jason takes a moment to feel relieved, then answers: “Come in.”

Duke opens the door and greets him quietly. He is carrying Jason’s schoolbag and holding it out for the other boy to come and get. Jason shuts the lid of his laptop and places it on the desk before he crosses the room. He takes the bag and lets it fall gently under the empty bookshelves.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” 

Jason invites Duke inside the room with a quick hand gesture, but the boy declines in the same way. 

“I’ll go clean up a bit and charge my phone before dinner,” he says. “Clark started to cook, but he doesn’t feel well and we don’t have anything pre-made, so we’ll be eating take out tonight. He’s ordering right now.”

Jason tenses up. “I could have…” he begins, but he doesn’t have the energy to finish his entire thought. There are many things Duke doesn’t need to know. “Take out is expensive.”

“It is, but don’t worry. Clark isn’t hurting for money. We’ll be okay.” 

When Jason shrugs but fails to keep a poker face, Duke takes it as his cue to finally accept the invitation and take a few steps into the room. 

Jason can’t say for sure yet whether he finds their good nonverbal communication irritating or not. Were his and Duke’s roles reversed, he wonders if he’d do the same for this boy—stay and listen to his problems, help when he can, support him always. He likes to think he would. He’s worried he wouldn’t.  

“You alright?” Duke‘s voice leaves no room for doubt about his already knowing at least part of the true answer.

Jason sighs. “Yeah, sure.” He nods in the direction of the door. “We fought.”

“He’s not angry,” is all Duke replies. And he sounds sincere too. 

Jason doesn’t know why he trusts him, but he does. Maybe because there’s no reason for Duke to lie. This isn’t a house of conflicts, Jason has come to realize, and this scares him somehow because conflicts are the tongue he speaks best. He’s troubled without it. 

“Eh, do you like laundry?” Duke asks. “I don’t. Chore swap?”

“What did I… oh.” Jason scowls. It was his turn to set up and later clean the table. Duke is becoming more difficult to dislike by the minute. “If I can do it tomorrow, then yes.”

“So long as it’s dry by Monday morning, Clark won’t care, so it’s alright. And thanks. I’ll sort and take out the trash tonight too, to make it fair.”

“Deal.” 

They fist bump in a light motion. Duke’s gaze lingers on Jason’s closed fist a moment too long, however he doesn’t comment on anything he sees there. 

Jason has another concern on his mind. “You heard about this weekend?” 

“Yeah, I did.”

“Are you sad?”

Duke raises an eyebrow. “No, not sad exactly. Our group chat is very active, so it’s not like we’re not keeping connected. You’re still invited to join, by the way.” Jason must be making a face, because his foster brother quickly grins and adds: “No pressure.”

“The gremlin scares me.”

“As if.” Duke’s laugh is mocking. Nothing mean, though. He nods before he leaves the room. “Dinner in thirty.”

“Aight.”

Jason closes the door. He stays behind it for a while, stares at his hands, finds it more difficult than before to pick out the skin around the cuts he sees there. 

He exhales.

Chapter Text

Clark’s health worsens overnight. By lunchtime already, he can barely function. After they’re all done eating and he’s loaded and switched on the dishwasher, cleaned the table, and asked Duke and Jason to kindly do their homework, not fight and stay inside, Clark retreats to his room. He looks about to pass out.

Jason tries and pretends this doesn’t weigh on him. His shoulders are too tense to feel anything sometimes.

He leaves Duke to his studies and goes to the laundry room to fulfill his part of their chore deal. It’s still about five minutes until the clothes in the machine are clean, but that’s fine. Watching things work helps him relax. When the cycle is done and Jason collects the damp clothes, the smell of detergent starts sending his thoughts adrift.

There was struggle, there always was, but perhaps some freedom as well in the three months he spent unattached, on the run, between the cold of the streets and the warmth of Kyle’s closet. The warmth of Kyle’s clothes. Kyle on his side.

Each of the eleven nights Jason had wound up in the guy’s bedroom, he’d woken up to cleaned clothes neatly tucked into his bag, a mix of old and new ones. They never talked about it. Since hosting fifteen years old runaways with criminal charges wasn’t exactly on the Rayner household’s agenda, the pair had to be sneaky and lie. It worked in their favor that Mrs Rayner’s shifts would often be at night. Jason would help Kyle with homework and chores, take a shower, and then while he’d be catching up on much-needed rest, Kyle would stay up for hours, trying to find solutions to Jason’s problems.

Jason’s breathing is harder now. It’s probably stress. He leaves the wet clothes alone for a minute, clasps his hands, closes his eyes, and inhales deeply.

He broke Kyle’s heart. Not always, not at once. Fact is that there never was a solution to these problems, none that would involve the cops, DCFS, juvie or ruining Mrs Rayner’s already poor situation. There was no safe way out and Kyle only got sadder by the week trying to find one regardless. His concern increased. His sleep depleted. He still graduated, but barely. He still worries so much.

Jason should have cut ties.

But Jason is a coward.

He takes care of the remaining laundry and turns off the water pipe before he sits on the floor. Just five minutes. Ten. Krypto joins him at one point, so he pets her for a while.

The afternoon is uneventful, if a little long. Clark’s coughing fits are many, hard to ignore, and regular enough that it keeps Jason on edge. He struggles with homework for unrelated reasons, though he eventually manages to wrap up his most urgent assignments.

A chill runs down his spine each time he remembers that his school credits count is unlikely to catch up with his wishes before the spring semester ends. He likes to study, it’s not the problem. He skipped the first grade but had to redo the tenth, it was a bad moment for him that turned into bad years, and now frankly, he’s overwhelmed. The growing certainty that he won’t graduate in a few months is hard on his mind and harder his body, all things tense and hurt and worried so much that vertigo is an increasingly more commonly experienced part of his life. Even the possibility of summer courses taking him where he needs to be right around the time he’ll turn eighteen doesn’t quite comfort him by now.

Fuck Kyle. Fuck promises. Jason just wants a job, some place to call home, maybe an adult life.

He gets frustrated with a physics assignment and throws in the towel around five. Robin comes clawing at his door soon after, so it seems like a good time for a break. He takes the kitten with him downstairs. They find Duke sitting at the kitchen table, busy proofreading of English homework. Jason fixes them some packaged snacks and waits, browsing on his phone in the meantime.

Duke soon closes his laptop, stretches and yawns. Jason snickers.

“Need a nap?”

Duke grins in response. He finishes his plate and plays with Krypto for a bit. Jason doesn’t feel like doing anything, so when the other boy goes to sit on the couch, turns on the TV and starts browsing a streaming app, he follows. Krypto climbs on the couch too and claims the cushion between them. Robin is wandering by the windows and jumping on the furniture.

Around six, Clark walks downstairs and offers to make tea for the three of them while he considers their dinner options. Jason takes in the man’s tired state, his slow movements, his cough and labored breathing. Clark is in a bad shape and it’s unlikely that mere days will be enough to heal that.

He puts water in the boiler, gives Krypto some attention, glances at the TV and the boys. “Homework?”

“Done.”

He smiles, puts his phone on the table and mutters a simple ‘okay’. Jason pretends to care about the TV again but discreetly keeps an eye on him. Dude looks about to fall asleep right here in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter with his eyes half-close and his head hanging low. His black t-shirt seems a bit snug, too dark for him too, maybe not his at all. When the boiler beeps, he shivers visibly. Three minutes later, when the tea is ready, he pours it in four cups and finally walks back upstairs with two of these for himself, one in each hand, Krypto climbing after him.

Jason finds it weird that the guy so readily trusts them about the homework thing. Granted, they’re not lying. Maybe Clark can tell. Maybe he’s too sick to care. Jason gets up and takes his and Duke’s cups, brings it to the small table in front of the couch. Too hot to drink yet. They’ve lost sight of Robin.

Later, when Jason makes his way to the sink so he can get a glass of water, a short and buzzing sound startles him. Clark forgot his phone on the kitchen table. Jason isn’t sure how to proceed but before he can overthink it, he hears the buzzing again—long vibrations, repeated this time. A call. The boy takes the device and hurries up the stairs.

The door to Clark’s bedroom is half-open so he stops in front of it and takes a look inside. Clark is sitting with his legs crossed on the bed with a book on his lap. He’s drinking his tea and petting Robin. He raises his head when Jason walks in and thanks him when he sees why. The phone stops vibrating before it can change hands. As soon as Clark’s attention is on the screen, Jason exits the room, leaves the door how he found it and goes back downstairs. Robin follows him.

Duke has shut off the TV and is typing on his phone. “Who was it?” he asks.

“Uh… Lois…?”

“Lane.”

“Yeah.” Jason takes a seat at the kitchen table. “Name’s familiar.”

“She’s a journalist, you must’ve heard of her. True ace at her job. She and Clark used to work together in Metropolis before he moved here. She visits sometimes.” When Jason inadvertently groans at the idea, Duke chuckles and teases: “Dude, relax! She’s great! You’ll like her.”

“Clark sure gravitates around special people.”

Duke thinks about it for a moment. “You mean Bruce, I assume. The Waynes. You okay with next weekend?”

“Sure, I feel great. All good. Not at all going to hang out again with a billionaire.”

“He’s not a billionaire,” Duke states not as loud now, as if in confidence. “The Waynes used to be, but he… well. He didn’t lose it, Wayne Tech is still worth billions per se, but he doesn’t really…” He pauses. Can’t find his words. “I don’t know the full story.”

Jason is most surprised by this ending than with the info itself. Really, he finds it funny. “So you bring up this big thing only to leave me like this? Hanging? Dude.”

Duke represses a laugh and smiles apologetically, moving on the next second. They don’t discuss it further. Their phones are distracting enough, for one, and frankly Jason isn’t sure that he cares. It doesn’t change things much really, Bruce Wayne is still Bruce Wayne, still has more money that anyone could need, still looks and acts the way he does, still makes him feel unsafe, it’s best Jason stops thinking about it altogether because it’s driving him insane.

About half an hour passes in near silence until a food delivery woman rings the doorbell. She’s carrying two heavy bags Duke happily accepts while Jason restrains Krypto behind him in the lobby. A copy of the delivery receipt reads well wishes from Alfred. Clark comes downstairs to eat with the boys and gives them his dessert donut to split, citing his health. Afterwards, Jason retire to his room for the night, while Duke is soon picked up by his girlfriend and her family on their way to the movies. When he returns, around midnight, Jason is still wide awake.

The three men move differently on Sunday. Jason, for one, wakes up feeling achy, his breathing slow, his nose runny. Some symptoms of Clark’s plague. Said man is still in the same shape, give or take. Duke gets up around eleven and, upon seeing how his foster father and brother are faring, takes it upon himself to cook lunch for everyone. Good rest between study sessions and ingesting some medicine thankfully help Jason feel better by early evening, when he opts to assist Duke in preparing supper (veggie soup and burnt spinach puffs) while Clark is folding cleaned bedsheets elsewhere and regularly getting annoyed at phone calls he’s receiving about some work emergency.

When they all sit down to eat, he lightly teases the boys about burning the food, but also praises and thanks them for their diligence. He promises them their favorite dishes as soon as he’ll be healthy again. He asks Duke about his lutz and worries that Jason might have caught his nasty cold.

And it doesn’t feel alright. The calm, the friendliness. It’s not that Jason doesn’t want this, no; it’s that he doesn’t trust it and can’t let his guard down now. They still haven’t resolved the fight they had on Friday. Clark still looks at Jason’s hands with what the teen interprets as a blend of upset and disgust. It makes him want to scratch harder. Maybe he did this all day. Maybe his left forearm is red and has hairless patches from that. Maybe he plans to steal cigarettes again, very soon.

And it’s best if Clark never learns any of that. He already sounds worried enough. “If it comes back tomorrow, you shouldn’t go to school.”

“I’ll be fine. It’s very mild, I rarely get sick anyway.”

“But if you do…” A coughing fit stops him mid-sentence. Not a time for confrontation.

“Yeah, okay. If I do, then I’ll tell you.”

They finish the food, sweep the kitchen, and all go their separate ways again. Minutes after Jason has closed his bedroom door, Clark knocks on it. He’s carrying fresh laundry, half of it Duke’s and the other half Jason’s, the latter which he drops in the boy’s hand. It’s already folded, although not the way Jason likes. He thanks the guy nonetheless and closes the door after a quick ‘good night’. It’s not lost on him that Clark might have hoped to talk more.

But silence is easier. Jason dumps the laundry on the bed and proceeds to fold it again. He’s streaming some funny movie review on his laptop but can’t really focus on whatever it’s saying. Always much on his mind. The tiny wounds on his hands are numerous, as usual. He’s not sure anymore where half of these come from. He thinks two of them will scar. Not that he’ll do anything about that.

He’s used to people in his life dismissing his pains and illnesses as mere attention grabs or a way to access drugs. They think of his parents and they believe he’s the same. They don’t see him as a person. His body hasn’t been his alone in a long time, couldn’t be his alone anyway anymore. Jason is used to this; he’s given up. Adults always know better, always remember better, always make the final call on things he’s not allowed to define outside the words they’ve decided to assign to his physical history, his reactions and his pain. He knows he has to block many memories because letting himself think about these things is making him want to puke, right here and now. It often does.

It wasn’t always bad, only not good nor safe. Clark’s concerns for him would be heaven-sent were it not for the fact that it’s too late, it’s been too long. Jason isn’t in the right place for any of this anymore. It’s likely years before he could be there again, if ever he can breathe.

And he gets it, yes, he gets that Clark is doing his best and that there are real issues here, issues to address, solutions that might exist. But Jason is a passenger; he never takes ground. He’s become his own roots and made himself easy to move. There’s no room nor time yet to let this tree of his grow. He splits his clothes in two locations as usual, because some are his—the old, thrown inside his backpack—and some are not—the new, folded in the closet. This house is another rock, he’s just waiting for the next wave. There’s no one he calls family. He’s outgrown some of Kyle’s shirts.

Duke and Clark have hurdles in their communication too. On Tuesday afternoon, they’re barely home from school when Jason hears a dispute between the two other men, all the way from upstairs to the kitchen where he stands. He has no idea why things escalated so fast. He can’t make out the words but the tones paralyze him enough.

It doesn’t last long before someone loudly slams a door shut. After that, Jason still has to count under his breath to regulate his breathing for a while. He decides to avoid his room until he can assess the vibe of either or both of his housemates. They probably need time to cool down. He settles on the couch and starts reading for homework. He’s too stressed to absorb any info but it’s better than letting his thoughts shape-shift into torments.

Later, Duke’s steps are unusually loud against the stairs. He’s in a foul mood. Jason tries to imagine himself in this situation and elects not to push too many buttons at once. He’s often one for a fight and he’d probably have left the house entirely after something like that—rules be damned, cops be damned, safety be lost. He’s not great with anger. Duke seems more gracious in that aspect, although the way he grabs a glass, fills it with water and drinks it with his back still turned to the living room, is stiff enough to shows his vexation.

He stays in the kitchen a bit longer then comes sit down on the couch too. Jason doesn’t have the energy for a conversation, however he can’t leave things as they are either, for it’s starting to get to him. To distract himself he gets up, turns on the Switch and retrieves two controllers. “Wanna play?” he asks. He’s still shaking a little and would rather not dwell on why.

They pick a Mario Kart tournament and play in silence for a while. During the second race, Duke sighs and asks: “You heard us?”

“Bet I did. Couldn’t hear all the words, though.”

Duke doesn’t fill him in. Maybe there’s no need for that. When they finish their game, Jason goes to blow his stuffy nose and then visits the bathroom. On his way he can hear Clark walking down the stairs, which makes him tense, walk faster, bite on the sides of his tongue the whole few minutes he’s away, and brace for the next shouting match.

But nothing happens. Or at least, nothing loud again. When Jason is done he comes back to the other side of the floor and peeks into the living room, where he sees Clark and Duke share a small hug. They both apologize to each other and exchange further words Jason doesn’t care to listen. He’s clenching his jaw too tight. His headache is growing.

Duke calls Krypto for a walk before the clouds outside get a chance to erupt in rain. On his way to the lobby, he lightly punches Jason’s left shoulder and flashes him a small smile. It’s not as endearing as he likely envisioned that, and he’s is putting on his shoes, Clark gets closer Jason. He’s still a bit sick so keep keeps some distance. He holds his left hand clasped over his right forearm.

“I’m sorry, Jason. I shouldn’t have yelled, you must have worried.”

“I’m fine.”

Not the loudest fight. Not the worst outcome. (Jason is trembling.)

He can’t sleep again. Can never sleep really. After the apology, the evening was alright, but the fight keeps playing in his head again and again and again. The shouting. The danger. It didn’t involve him but it sure involved his nerves. It pierced him too deep, too quick, and fact is that Jason isn’t exactly the best at tending to this kind of things.

He wakes up several times, the third of which he can’t avoid having to visit the bathroom. He’s also out of tissues and his nose is runny again. His whole head is hurting. The light of the lamp is too much for his eyes. It’s barely five o’clock so he hopes not to disturb anyone, for their sake as much as his. He doesn’t know how his body would react if Clark suddenly appeared in front of him in the hallway. His anxiety is high. His limbs are weaker than usual.

He tries to make himself lighter as he hops outside his room. Only after he’s closed the bathroom door does he allow himself to cough as quietly as he can in the collar of his sleep shirt. When he’s done relieving himself and he can’t find another pack of tissues in the cupboard where there once was a small stack—Clark’s doing, he assumes—he washes both his hands and his face twice. And he cries. It’s just ripped out of him, in a second, angry tears and his shoulders shaking off the tension his muscles have stored since he heard Duke and Clark shouting match.

It doesn’t last. He doesn’t feel better. He’s angry enough as he tries to muffle his sniffles that he’s hurting his hands and jaw from the pressure and the trembling. His skin, his bones, his breathing… his face hurts. He bites on his lower lip several times, sharp little jabs, scraping the skin above until he tastes blood again. He fails to close the doors silently behind him on his way back to bed. The air is colder now.

When he gets to the breakfast table around seven, already dressed up and with his backpack hanging from his shoulder, he finds only Clark there. Duke went downstairs as well a bit earlier, of that Jason is certain, so he reasons that the guy is likely in the bathroom or walking Krypto around the block. Whatever it is, he hopes Duke hasn’t left yet. Dealing with Clark alone is not on Jason’s preferred agenda.

He greets the man and receives a smile in return. There are three ten dollar bills on the table and Clark gestures toward it, encouraging Jason to take it.

“Pocket money. Sorry it’s days late.”

The boy takes note of the blue business suit, the empty coffee mug, the fact that Clark shaved. He lets his backpack slide by the chair, puts his phone on the table, pockets the money and walks to the counter to get some cereals. “Thanks.”

“Don’t buy cigarettes, okay? And don’t use it on clothes, I can get that for you.”

Jason hums in response. It’s better to keep quiet. He sits opposite of Clark as is his table habit now, and starts to eat without a word. His mouth is numb. Cassandra sent him a song around six, which he saves in a playlist before he sends back a recommendation of his own. Damian once again texted him thanks for a picture of Robin. Duke just now shared some news article in a random group chat Jason finds himself in, and the person who answers first appears to be Stephanie. The boy doesn’t know who any of the other four are. He chooses not to interact, though he’ll probably read the article later. He leaves Kyle and Tim on read.

Duke still hasn’t come back yet, though Jason hears Krypto run near the laundry room. He mindlessly picks on the thin skin above the bite on his lower lip, the same spot where it bled last night—and many other nights before, weeks ago, months ago, years ago. Another bad habit. He continues eating his cereals to distract himself for a minute. When he’s almost done with it and right as something drops somewhere on the other side of the ground floor, Clark clears his throat to get his attention.

“Duke has ice time tonight so it will only be us two here for dinner. He won’t be back before nine. Something special you want to eat?”

“Anything’s fine.”

Jason keeps his tone in check but his vocal chords are shaky. Uneasiness travels from his throat to his stomach. He was not expecting Duke to be gone all evening tonight, for the three times he’d left home for the rink so far, it had only been for a couple of hours. Manageable. Jason doesn’t know how things will play out with Clark if he’s alone with the guy for this long. How many questions he’ll have to dodge.

Again he can’t help but touch his lower lip. The wound hasn’t reopened yet, but the gesture gets Clark’s attention. It’s hard to tell whether he’s staring at the barely healed cut here exactly or at the bruises on Jason’s hands. It’s all the same either way. It sucks.

“Does it hurt?”

“No.”

Half a lie, a full escape. Jason is scratching his left index too hard under the table. One of his nails is too sharp, his anger is rising, his focus is too thin.

And Clark doesn’t let up. He sounds more and more serious, in fact. “Did you have a bad night?”

“No.”

Jason’s movements are slowly escaping his control. Lying fills him with guilt. Guilt fills him with anger. Anger tends to reach the surface, to make him react, make him lose his worth. His legs are shaking now and his fists ready to fly, the buzzing behind his skull louder and louder as seconds tick.

Clark is studying him with care. There’s no question that he can feel how much pressure is building, and when Jason realizes this he takes a deep, deep breath. He has to manage this. Himself. Clark. Everything. It’s on him, it’s always on him.

“Look,” he mutters, “this—me being here—it’s only ‘til August, and then I’m gone. That’s all. I appreciate what you’re doing for me, I really do, but I’m not…” He pauses. Too many ways to finish this. Clark is still staring at him and listening closely, so closely, Jason can tell as much. “It’s none of your business.”

“You’re a hundred percent my business.”

“Fuck’s sake…”

“Jason—”

“Let it go!”

He slams a hand on the table, gets up and pushes his chair back in the process. His head is spinning. He’s hurting himself by biting on the inside of his cheeks again. He’s too angry to be scared. Clark doesn’t break eye contact.

Steps are heading in their direction quickly, cutting the confrontation short. Duke is nothing but annoyed.

“Geez, so early…”

He sits next to Clark. He looks about done, ready for school already, his expression sour. He starts talking about snacks and blade sharpening and skate guards, and could someone please come pick him up by car on Monday because otherwise it won’t work out, also can he go with Damian to the arcade tomorrow? Some forms need filling out. Krypto is running out of treats.

Jason goes and stands by the sink, his back turned to the table. He finishes the last seven pieces of his cereals and washes the bowl clean immediately afterward. He then reaches inside the dishwasher, grabs a plate from it and cleans it as well. When it’s done, he does it again; takes something from there, cleans it, dries it. Repeat. Repeat.

He hears Duke and Clark agreeing on a pick up time on Monday evening but tries to shut down their voices in his ear as soon as Bruce Wayne is mentioned. The digital clock on the microwave indicates 7:04. The anger level in Jason’s chest is going down, unlike his rising stress. It’s good enough a trade for now.

Duke gets up and comes to stand by Jason, whose upper right arm he gently pokes before he speaks. “Hey. You ready to go?”

“Yeah, mostly, lemme just brush my teeth…”

“Duke, don’t forget the notice of leave for next week. I signed it.”

Jason doesn’t mind Clark ignoring him for now. He turns off the faucet and rushes upstairs to finish getting ready. He doesn’t want to make Duke wait.

He brushes his teeth for the second time in half an hour, fast and precise, eyes on the mirror while his thoughts wander elsewhere. He went too far. He will be punished. His grip on his phone is tight, the muzzle on his pain tighter.

By the time he’s back downstairs, Duke is waiting for him outside. He’s left the entrance door half-open and Jason, while putting on his basket shoes, can hear him talking to Krypto and calling out Robin’s name a few times. When he’s done tying his shoelaces he looks around, but can’t find his schoolbag. He’s left it by the table. He curses under his breath and hears Clark sigh: “language.”

Jason stands up straight and turns to him. Clark’s got his backpack. It’s hard to say what he’s thinking, what his expression means, or what will happen tonight. For now, when presented with it, Jason takes the bag and thanks him. No need to make it all worse.

At that moment Krypto runs back inside, followed by Robin. Jason hears Duke calls for him twice.

“Go,” Clark tells him. That’s all.

Jason and Duke ride to school in silence. They’ll arrive early since they left early, which Jason suspects is Duke’s way to mitigate the toxic vibes they’ve left at home. He feels bad about this. Bad and irritated. Duke deserves calm mornings and Jason doesn’t need anyone to fight his battles, he’s fine, he can do this.

Still, he shouldn’t have snapped. It turned the house into a battlefield again, and the consequences waiting for him later might be beyond what he’s already imagining. Clark would have all the reasons to give up on him. What would Jason do if thrown out? Run away, probably. He always wants to run away. Wants to yell at someone. Beat up someone. Doesn’t matter the person.

The boys park their bikes on the rack closest to the school gates. A fifteen minutes difference shows in the free spaces there. Since it’s near only them here at that very moment, Duke finally speaks after he’s looked around to make sure no one will eavesdrop.

“Okay, spill. What happened with Clark?”

Jason grits his teeth. His jaw hurts. “Mind your own.” He locks the security on his bike, sensing Duke’s stare on his shoulder the entire time. His anger hasn’t yet entirely died down. “Dude… I don’t wanna fight.”

“Eh, we all live in this house. If you and Clark are at odds, it’s not just you two walking on eggshells and feeling the tension.”

“The fucking nerve,” Jason breathes out. He’s seeing red. “And where exactly do you think I was yesterday, Duke? Tell me. Or would you rather shout it?”

Duke looks hurt. That makes both of them and it sucks, it wasn’t supposed to happen yet it’s happening all the same.

Other students starts arriving. Jason uses this as an opportunity to walk away. He can’t tell how he feels but he hates it enough to wonders if he’s not finally fallen sick. He’s been sniffling for days, nauseated too—but is that it? Or is it stress? He can’t trust his body. Can’t trust his mind. He’s so damn useless he doesn’t even know himself. He makes his way to the bathroom where he washes his hands twice and considers his options for the day.

To leave. To stay. To leave. To call Kyle.

He stays. He regrets it. He can’t concentrate on anything, he’s falling behind with his notes and realizes that he forgot some graded homework due all too soon. By lunchtime, his headache and panic are impossible to ignore.

Walking with him toward the cafeteria, Harper notices his stress. “Something wrong?”

“No.”

“You don’t lie well.”

Jason feels the effects of that reply immediately and quickly brings his hand over his mouth. Nausea. Too heavy. There’s a bathroom half a hallway away and he hurries there, initially to wash his face and hands and to get it together but ultimately, he loses this battle. He rushes into a stall right before he throws up bile.

Not his favorite day so far.

He cleans himself up while a few students come and go. Soon, he receives a text from Harper, who tells him they’re with Stephanie and wondering whether Jason should go to the nurse. He avoids the question, only takes off and joins them by the cafeteria. Duke is here too.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“Nothing. All better now.”

It’s not that Duke believes him, that much is clear; but he lets it go. Neither of them brings up the fight they had. Perhaps they’ll deal with it later, perhaps they’ll pretend nothing happened. For now, the four eat lunch together. Duke even sneaks lollipops to all of them for dessert. When Harper and Stephanie mention a donation drive next Thursday, Jason offers to help. He still feels bad about the weekend past.

“Glad I’m done with the day,” Harper groans. “I’ll stay here to study though, I’ve got a paper due tomorrow but I work all evening today.”

“Where?” Jason asks. He tries not to sound overly interested, except he is, so there is that.

“Post office, the one three blocks away. I’ve got an hourly contract with them so they call me when they need me. I prep stuff for late night shipping, check proper stamping, handle walk-ins—things like that. My shift starts in three hours.”

“May you sleep enough before morning,” Stephanie mumbles before she yawns. “Me, I’ve got three periods left, then rugby club until six.”

“Two more for me then nothing, but I have ice time tonight. Jason?”

“Three, and you don’t have to wait for me, it’s fine. I know the way.”

“Okay.”

They split soon after that. Jason doesn’t feel much better once left with other students he doesn’t know well. He spends all of Health class wondering if he should actually have asked first for Clark’s permission to go home alone. They never discussed that because there never was an assumption that Duke would always wait around, or at least on Jason’s part there was none. He thought it would be alright. Besides, if Duke sees no problem in leaving earlier without Jason, then it’s unlikely there’d be a scolding waiting for him at home. Maybe it’s not worth bothering Clark again.

Jason would rather not have to speak with him more than necessary today.

He checks his phone again after last period is over and finds that only Cassandra has sent him something. It’s a group selfie of teenagers in dance gear, with her on the left holding the phone, the text box over the picture reading ‘Spring recital in two weeks!’

Jason feels uneasy, though it’s not because of her. He thinks good things of Cassandra, he has not reason to dislike her. She saved him that one time. She complimented his shirt. They exchange music. She told him she likes girls. He’d go and support her for the recital if she asked him too, he still owes her for that punch, but to be there with her siblings and father...

He doesn’t message back. He rides home quickly, not stopping anywhere despite his cravings for burgers and cigarettes. He’ll push his luck another day. He doesn’t know if Clark is home yet but on the off-chance he is, now is not a good time to add any fuel to the fire they’ve started in their shared living space. But Jason only sees Duke’s bike in the driveway when he arrives. He breathes a sigh of relief that turns right back into a heavy weight on his shoulders; the fallout is only postponed. No way to avoid it once Duke is gone.

Jason enters the house and finds Duke in the lobby, crouched right behind the door and busy checking the content of his sports bag one last time. They exchange trivial words before Duke has to leave to catch his bus a few streets down. Jason bids him goodbye and stays downstairs for a little while to pet Krypto plenty enough, look for Robin (they find him under the couch), eat an apple and, finally, refill the dog’s water bowls.

Even though he’s alone here he barricades himself into his room to study. He is late on everything and he wants no one to know that. He still has a lot of courses for a senior and as if that wasn’t bad enough, he’s failing his one lower level class so far. He hopes that he can correct this during finals. His struggles this morning also mean that he needs to make sense of messy or absent notes now before he can move on, and that’s on top of the homework he has. He knows he could ask Harper for help but he doesn’t exactly wants them to work even more than they usually do. He’d also hate to be seen as a burden.

He can’t figure out how to calculate something and when he tries his luck looking for help on the internet, it confuses him even more. He’s not breathing well again—panic, anticipation, will to escape. His room is small all of a sudden. He switches to trying to brainstorm on physical paper but even this doesn’t help. He crumples the sheet. The room is very small. He hears Clark enter the home.

He gets to the window and opens it slightly. He needs air. He needs to calm down. He inhales deeply and rotates his head to relax his neck, which cracks. He opens his hands wide and presses them against the windowsill. Not working. His hands are cold. He turns around.

He hears steps up the stair and knows just what’s coming. He invites Clark in as soon as the first knock hits his door. Clark is visibly surprised to find him with his back against the wall near the window instead of on his bed or sitting behind the desk.

Jason shrugs. “Hi.”

“Hey kid. How was your day?”

“T’was okay.”

“Great.”

Clark steps further into the room and takes a look around. He seems back to his usual self, relaxed and positive. Jason remains alert. He can tell when Clark sees the messed up homework and the open tabs on his laptop. He doesn’t know why, but it makes him want to cry. Those would be angry tears again.

“Trouble with homework?”

“Yeah.”

“If I can help...”

“It’s fine.”

That came out curt. Trouble. Clark gets closer to the desk and tilts his head so he can read Jason’s notes, the Physics book, what’s on the laptop.

“Duke and I suffered through this last year, it’s okay, I can—”

“It’s fine,” Jason repeats, more forcefully this time. He’s tired. He’s got this. He wants to lay down. Clark’s got to leave. “I’ll figure it out.”

The man takes a deep breath and it’s never good when adults do that. It’s often meant hurt. Yelling. Dismissal. But this time all it appears to mean is Clark thinking in silence for a moment, then dragging the chair back to create extra space between it and the bed, sitting on it, and gesturing at Jason to come sit on the bed so they can talk. Because Jason feels unsafe, he follows this order. He has nothing much to say.

“About this morning…” Clark begins. His voice is quiet. “I understand it’s difficult for you to deal with adults, and I get that you weren’t so fine after Duke and I fought. To yell was a big mistake on my part, I know it affected you too. I heard you get up last night.” Jason stands still. Clark let out a sigh. “But even then, even now, you can’t yell at me.”

“If it’s an apology you want, I’ll give you one.”

“What I want is for you to be healthy or to tell me when you’re not, so I can help you get there. Can you understand how seeing you collect bruise after bruise is concerning? That it worries me?”

Jason hates him right now. It’s this feeling again, the overwhelming one, the kind that won against him in the bathroom last night, the same tears blurring his vision. Anger. Anger. The yearning to let the walls down against the memories of what it’s caused before, the scars Jason has, the sleep he can’t find.

This time it can’t stay private and given Clark’s expression, it shows. Whatever. Jason averts his eyes. The man in front of him sighs. “Jason… listen. Listen to me. For the time being, you’re my responsibility. Maybe to you it means shelter and food alone, but I don’t see it that way. I didn’t offer you to come here only so you’d have somewhere to sleep. It’s more than this. I can do more.”

“I don’t need you to.”

“You don’t have to need—“

“I don’t want you to.”

It’s frustrating. For them both, evidently, it’s frustrating. Jason can’t stand himself most days and that’s another one of these.

Clark considers his answer for a bit before he asks: “Then what do you want?”

If Jason doesn’t give him anything, this conversation won’t end. But it has to. Truthfully, the boy can’t pretended there’s not at least one thing he wants in that instant, though he feels silly to ask. Lesser of two evils. He glances and gives a head nod in the direction of the homework. “Can you help with this? Please?”

Clark looks at him the same way he did back at the police station. The same eyes, the same frown betraying how intensely he’s thinking about this, if it’s a good idea, if it’s chaos in the making, if Jason is worth it—worth anything at all. In the end, he takes the course book and points at a number on the page.

“You start here.”

It takes some time to get through the explanation and the homework itself but by the end of it, Jason groans in genuine relief. His body is tired now that there is less stress to keep up with. Clark left midway to work on some project and cook dinner, though he is running late tonight. Jason is starving. He is called downstairs around eight and he cannot get to the kitchen fast enough. Burgers are waiting on the table, two put aside for Duke later, a copious amount of fries up to grab in a large bowl on the counter.

They don’t talk much. Clark is in a playful fight with Robin who as always is trying to steal food from the table. Krypto knows better and only waits for it at their feet. Jason’s mind wanders. Kyle’s birthday is in two days and it will be the first time in six years that they won’t meet up to celebrate it.   

“What’s on your mind?” Clark asks.

“A friend.” He replied without thinking. He doesn’t want to elaborate. Perhaps he can tease Clark and get him not to ask anything else. “Also cigarettes.”

“I’ll allow your friend to sleep over for a week if you don’t smoke for a year.”

Jason snorts. “No deal.”

“Jay…” Clark winces. Jason lets the nickname slide. “You can’t smoke, you’re a child!”

“Best time to commit crimes.”

They banter for a while until their plates are empty. Clark clarifies that Jason really can invite a friend over sometimes or see them somewhere else for a couple hours with loose supervision. Jason couldn’t be more relieved to hear this. Kyle is busy most days with school for now but perhaps they could meet once his midterms are over. Clark’s stare on him gets Jason out of his thoughts, and he finds that the cause of this attention is his absentminded picking at a cut on the first phalange of his left ring finger. It’s reopened a little, not enough to bleed, only to look red. It’s shameful. He stops there.

They clear up the table. Clark disappears elsewhere afterward for a bit. Jason prepares and pours Assam Grey tea in two cups for them, first time he’s trying this. He’s allowed to take it upstairs if cold so that’s what he plans to do, except Clark comes back before the teen can exit the kitchen. There’s a first aid kit in his hands and he asks Jason to take a seat. Instead, the boy recoils.

“I don’t need this.”

“Sit. Please? I won’t touch, only clean up.”

He won’t let it go. Jason knows he won’t. He is starting to think dating Bruce Wayne will do that to a person. He doesn’t really know Bruce Wayne but he gets that vibe from the guy, he remembers Duke calling his demeanor intense, can still feel on his skin the pressure of the air in the rare times he was in the man’s presence. And Clark is up against this by choice. He is unyielding. Jason must compromise to win.

“I can do it.”

“If you want, yes, as long as you patch up well.”

He gestures to the chair again. There’s no dodging this either. Jason complies, takes the kit, looks for disinfectant and band-aids. He stopped using the latter most of the time because contrary to Clark’s hopes, he will keep up with his bad habits, just take off the band-aid because he’s an idiot or create chaos elsewhere on his body because he can’t help it. Doesn’t find the strength to help it. He tells his brain to stop and his brain laughs at itself. Same routine every day.

“Would you go see the school counselor for me?” Clark asks him. Jason doesn’t answer, only glares. He won’t. He doesn’t have time, no energy either, he might do something like this one day but that day is not in sight. His priorities are elsewhere and they’re not it. Not himself. Clark smiles sadly when he meets Jason’s eyes. “I wonder who you’d be willing to talk to about this.”

“Myself is fine.”

“Ah, well…” The man chuckles. There are shadows to it. “No offense to that young man, but I think he needs help too right now.”

Jason refrains from commenting. Instead, he sprays the eighth and final round of disinfectant over a superficial scratch on the side of his right wrist—Robin’s doing this time. It’s been here for a week. Jason has made it worse by picking on it since it got here, so it stayed.

Clark is thinking hard. His face says as much. “We’ll figure it out,” he says, though Jason can’t tell what exactly he is talking about. “Not sure about your lip…”

“It will heal on its own.” He closes the kit and hands it back to Clark. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” A pause. “You’re calmer.”

Krypto is whining in the lobby. It’s nearing the time for her evening walk, she might want it earlier today maybe. Jason gets up and takes his tea, ready to take his leave, but Clark stops him again. He is grinning this time. “Want to take Krypto out for a walk to the dog park and back?”

Jason raises an eyebrow. “Not scared I’ll run away?”

“Why, you wouldn’t separate a farm boy and his dog, would you now?”

Perhaps not. Jason leaves the cup on the counter, goes straight to the lobby and puts on his shoes. Krypto is happy to see this and even brings her own leash to him. He’s never walked her alone before and he can’t wait to do so now, not for the walk really but because he wants to be alone with his thoughts and the night for once. It’s been a while. He grabs his keys, tells Clark he’ll be right back, and steps outside.

To his surprise, Duke is standing by the gate and maybe the real reason Krypto was impatient to get out. They expected him back later. He’s typing on his phone, his rink bag at his feet, raising his head when he hears the dog bark. Jason lets the leash go so she can run to him. He follows. He thinks the guy looks a bit sad and maybe he cares about that.  

“You ok, man?”

“Yeah, just needed… space.”

He needs not say more. Jason gets it. “We made up. Me and Clark.”

Duke sighs. “Good.” He helps retrieve the end of Krypto’s leash and gives it back to Jason. He groans and closes his eyes when the dog bumps into his left knee, a painful sound that doesn’t scream fine. “I was shit on ice today, my jumps were awful, I couldn’t go on.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“You ever tried? We should go some time.”

“Sure, why not? I’m years due for a broken bone.”

“It’s not that dangerous.”

“Allow me to doubt.”

Duke smirks. By the quick looks he give to his phone, to Krypto and the house, by the way he shifts on his feet, something is up. Something private.

Jason isn’t one to pry. “You coming with?” he asks. “To the park and back, or we can run away. Whichever you like.”

“Alright.”

They don’t run away. Duke is not the type.

Jason has another bad night full of headaches and intrusive thoughts, his body restless and his mind longing for something—could be someone—could be rest. His nerves are unkind. It’s stress, it’s all stress. But he thinks he’ll manage.

Wayne Manor is barely in sight when Jason’s entire system starts sending him strong signals not to try and perform anything close to family vibes in this space. It’s Saturday now, Kyle’s birthday, lunch and dinner with the Waynes, hopefully some sleep, breakfast, all done then in theory. Maybe they could leave in the morning but if they don’t, it’s fine. Jason is prepared, he thinks. Worse case scenario he can stay glued to Krypto, the two other dogs, or even the cats.

Damian is the first after Alfred to greet Clark and come closer, almost immediately asking: “Where’s Robin?”

Clark hugs the child tighter and laughs. “In Jason’s arms. He’s quite fond of him.”

“Why?” Damian mutters. It’s cute in its own right.

Jason shields Robin closer and tilts his head to look straight into this child’s eyes, all grin and no care to give. “Because I’m not a gremlin, for one.”

“Boys,” Clark chides.

Duke laughs. So does Tim. “Hey there, Jason. Good to see you again.”

“Likewise.” Jason gives Robin to Damian, whose murderous stare softens the very second his hands make contact with the cat. “Here’s your baby, child.”

“Thank you.”

Well, that’s unexpected. Alright. Now what? Jason is out of place. He feels trapped. Things around him are moving and he’s missing the change in motions. Duke and Tim are discussing college options behind him, soon walking away together in the direction of what Jason remembers to be a dining room of sorts. It seems they won’t be eating lunch in the kitchen. Damian leaves in the opposite direction Duke and Tim did, muttering something to the cat the whole time. Alfred asks him to be quick and join them to the table when Robin is settled.

“His cats tend to stay in the patio when it rains,” Clark tells Jason. “Robin might make friends today.”

“Or enemies.”

“Now, Master Jason,” Alfred scoffs. “No enemies in this house. Or, well…” He sighs. “There’s this owl.”

“That owl again?”

“Kept me up all night. Master Bruce is insensitive to my plight and refuses to let me capture it or take it down.”

“I’m afraid I’ve got to side with him here, Alfred. Hurts me as much as it hurts you.”

“I heard that.”

Jason shivers. Bruce Wayne’s voice has an odd rumble to it always; it’s like a storm about to come. He is walking down the stairs and reading something on his phone, his expression neutral as usual. It doesn’t change much when he faces Jason and greets him politely, however his sudden and soft grin, the moment he looks at Clark, speaks a whole other lexicon.

“Welcome back,” he says. This time, he sounds relieved.

Clark’s smile is true and wide.

The dining room has been set up buffet style with plenty of space to navigate, small tables to occupy, couches and chairs on which to sit. Jason picked an armchair in front of a low table, facing a couch and a wall, and was soon joined by Alfred on the chair on his left and, much to his surprise, Damian on the couch in front of the old man. Twice the latter must be told not to sit with his feet on the cushion. Alfred suggests he just be careful and keep his plate above the couch to eat. Jason finds it endearing.

“And where’s Richard?” he asks.

“In Star City until Monday, celebrating his birthday with college friends. His real twentieth is on Tuesday. He will also be out of town for a competition next weekend so we will have a special dinner later, soon as we can all convene.”

Damian hums, then whispers: “He doesn’t live here anymore.”

Ah. There it is. This, Jason gets. Frustration, bitterness, longing... he can spot these things. He almost feels for that kid. Alfred, too, seems sympathetic.

“What can I say, Master Damian, your brother is an adult. They leave the house eventually.”

“Then good thing Tim is soon eighteen.”

“You will miss Tim,” Cassandra tells him. She is carrying a pitcher of lemonade that Jason helps her with while she arranges her plate and utensils on the table. Bruce comes to hand them four glasses and reminds Damian not to let the cats back inside later without towel drying their paws first. He also informs Cassandra that a certain Ilya called, she can go there (wherever that is) on Monday. He then asks Jason if everything is okay.

“Never better,” he answers. The blue of Bruce’s eyes looks just like steel in this light.

“Glad to hear.”

He walks back toward the main table, leaving the group to themselves. Jason pours each of them a glass. Cassandra thanks him as she moves toward the middle of the couch, right by her brother to whom she signs something quick. Damian glowers at first, but fails to repress a grin.

Jason doesn’t know if it’s worth trying to develop good speaking terms with this child. Texting about Robin is their only common ground so far. That and anger. It’s not enough positives, really. They’re far apart in age and farther apart in lifestyles. Jason doesn’t even think he is going to have any further contact with the Waynes after the summer anyway, though he’s starting to accept that cutting ties with Duke might not be so easy anymore now that their social lives are starting to overlap. Besides, maybe he likes Duke—for now. It’s hard to tell. If things go wrong Jason can always rely on the fact that he’s always been good at ghosting people and disappearing in the past. He’s avoided a lot of troubles, dangers and heartaches like this, and he’s done so alone. Worse comes to worst, he’ll find a way. He always does.

A clock somewhere strikes two right as Duke and Tim guide Jason up the stairs to the second floor and into the library. It’s not so luminous today because of the weather, but it’s a beautiful room, very spacious. One of Damian’s kittens is sleeping on a cushion near the heater. The teens pick one of the two round tables and settle here to do their respective homework, of which they all have a fair load.

The so-called family is separated right now. Cassandra is on a group call in her room with her dance mates to discuss the upcoming recital. Damian left with his father and Clark to attend some art lesson in town. Jason figures the two men will use this time for a proper date, for as far as he knows, they haven’t seen each other in weeks. After lunch Alfred promised to text them all when the scheduled afternoon collation will be ready to serve and eat, which he estimates to be happening around four. It’s unclear yet who will really be here then.

Jason tells himself to chill. From time to time he hears Duke and Tim discuss a mystery, something he gathers Duke is writing but the plot comes for Tim. Krypto and the other dogs come and visit them at two thirty, and the one named Ace stays.

“That’s Bruce’s dog,” Duke states. “He’ll be thirteen this year.”

Jason can’t hide his surprise. He turns to Ace and scratches him behind the ears. “So you’re a grandpa, uh…”

Tim half-chuckles, half-winces. “Don’t remind Bruce of this fact.”

That sounds strange. To Jason’s ears anyway. It is strange. He would have thought Tim would be calling the guy ‘dad’, for various reasons, among which time and what seems to be Tim's personality from what he knows of it by now. But... well. Nevermind. It doesn’t matter to him, he won’t mention it and he won’t ask.

He finishes the most urgent tasks but as usual finds himself stuck on the bigger projects, the lessons to remember, the formulas and the stories and the dates and the things he’s missing. He knows he should reach out for help, talk to his tutor more, tell Clark… no, not Clark. He helped him once this week already and Jason has felt like shit ever since. The initial relief of a work done and a lesson learned slowly turned into a shame that locks his chest too tight at night, made him rip off the second wave of band-aids around his hands before he even fully realized that he had done so and why, the whole thing—the bad kind.

He meets Tim’s eyes, piercing as ever, the boy’s frown deep and knowing. “You alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Jason closes his laptop and his books, returns his pens in the pencil case. “All done. Now what?”

“Well,” Duke starts. “If you have time, I could use more feedback on my new story for the school paper.”

“Sure, I can do that.”

“Great! Thanks.” He gets up and lifts his laptop in the process. “I need a break, I’ll be right back.”

He drops the machine in Jason’s hands before he gets out. The teen immediately starts reading the open document. He admires how good a writer Duke is, something he first learn from Stephanie and later heard be praised by Clark. This short story proves no different. It’s a mystery without a twist yet every sentence is interesting. Jason can only find two typos and there’s but one part somewhat unclear. He points these out to Duke and tells him it’s good work. He doesn’t know how to craft a proper or more interesting praise, so he leaves it at that.

Cassandra drops by to study around three. Alfred calls them all downstairs at four twenty-five. Damian is back and so are Bruce and Clark. When Jason sees the two men near the window in the room where they’ve all gathered, they’re not looking at him or anybody else, only talking quietly with each other. They’re standing so close, their shoulders touch. Soon, Clark takes Bruce’s hand. It must feel warm. Jason shuts out again.

His agitation grows the more nighttime draws close. He knows he doesn’t hide it well because Clark and Alfred come sit with him during dinner, this time taken in another room on a long dining table, and don’t even try to engage with him much for most of the affair. Cassandra and Duke ask him whether he is coming to see their upcoming, respective competitions, and the boy answers yes because he figures Clark will go which means Jason will have to go. It’s not like he’s free of movement, or even free to have active interests. But that part, he keeps quiet. A ‘yes’ is all he says.

Bruce Wayne often looks at him and thinks. That’s only it—thinks. Jason hates not knowing what about. One time the man smiles at him, his expression soft and calm, as if inviting. They’re too far apart to converse. Jason prefers it this way.

“You can call it a night anytime,” Clark tells him after most of the dishes are gone and only Alfred, Damian, Cassandra and them two are still at the table. The siblings are sitting together at one end, watching a muted video on Cassandra’s tablet. Alfred on Jason’s right is reading a British newspaper off his phone. Clark is waiting for the tea to cool down so he doesn’t burn his tongue on it again. Duke, Bruce and Tim went somewhere else to test… who knows what they want to test. Jason vaguely heard them talk about modus operandi and characters and a cow, so his best guess is that they are trying to solve a crime. The dining room is quiet now.

Jason considers Clark’s offer. It’s bothering him. He stops pinching and picking at an already rough patch of skin at the base of his thumb when he notices that the man is watching. Maybe Alfred saw this too. Clark doesn’t even look angry, but his shoulders drop in what’s likely relief as soon as Jason stops, as though tension finally leaves him. To have been the cause of it before… it’s frustrating. Humiliating.

Jason pretends it’s not happening. “You sure it’s okay?’

“Yes, it’s alright. Apart from Alfred and I, the others are soon going to look at the stars for a bit and then pick a movie. You’re invited to join them of course, on my end I have too much work to catch up on, and Alfred will be elsewhere doing whatever secret thing he does.”

“Catching the owl.”

“Disappointing his son.”

Alfred snickers while Clark fakes an eyeroll and laughs. Jason pretends not to get who the son is in this case; another thing for another time.

“Anyway, Jason, feel free to tag along, we’d love to have you with. But you can also be on your own if you’re beat. We understand.”

“Where will I sleep? A couch would do.”

“This house has bedrooms.”

“Less and less so, these days,” Alfred muses. “But I quite enjoy the mess.”

“You do?”

“Where then?” Jason asks. He’s nervous. Doesn’t know why. He thanks his lucky star that neither man seems phased or too displeased with his poor tone right now. Alfred might simply be a saint.

“Well, I thought it would be lonely in the guest rooms downstairs, so I put you up in the same wing where everyone else but me sleeps. It’s on the third floor, above the library, you must have seen a small staircase there. Your room is at end of the hallway, next to Richard’s, so very quiet. I’ve left clean toiletries and a new toothbrush for you in the bathroom as well. Give me a moment and I will escort you there.”

“Thanks, Alfred. Is there a specific time for breakfast?”

“No, come down whenever. Appreciated if before ten.”

He wonders if the rules in both households are similar by design, by accident, or by habit. He’s been suspecting for a while that Clark and Bruce did live together at one point, which explains the bad reaction the former and Duke had when Jason asked about it the first night he spent with them. But as it is, he isn’t sure it’s what happened. He might be way off base. Regardless of what the truth is, it wears the shape and caution of forbidden lines one must not cross. Jason can respect that.

He stops thinking for a second when he feels Alfred’s hand on his shoulder, a brief but firm squeeze. It startles him alright, maybe he is truly tired—more than he thought, more than yesterday. His jaw hurts, his fingers hurt, the vertigo returned.

It’s all stress. It will pass.

Alfred gets up and Jason starts following him after exchanging good night wishes with everyone. (Damian doesn’t answer.) He realizes he might not have the chance to say it to Duke, Tim or Bruce Wayne, unless they stumble upon the group on the way there. There’s always future Saturdays.

Jason reminds the butler that his backpack is still on a sofa in the lobby, which is apparently not a problem since they have to go back there first to reach the room anyway. This house is a maze. Jason hangs the backpack on his shoulders and expects to have to climb a fair share of stairs before he can rest, however Alfred has other plans.

“Spare my bones,” he grins. “Let’s take the lift this time.”

He points at a narrow space near the stairs that Jason had sort of noticed before, but mistaken for a closet of some kind. The mechanism is newer that the rest of the manor, though its wooden exteriors don’t clash too much with it all. They let it take them to the third floor. Alfred pushes Jason toward the left when they’re there, straight toward a long hallway where the lights have been left on. Duke emerges from one of the rooms right at this moment, in the middle of the hallway, Ace and Krypto in toe and a light coat in his arms. The dogs instantly rush to Alfred and Jason to demand pats and attention. They also quickly make their way between the open doors to the lift. Alfred sighs.

“They equally enjoy and fear being in there. We might never know why. There’s no getting them out unless we operate it now.”

Jason smirks wide. “Then let’s not deny them a ride. Don’t worry about me, Duke is here, I’ll manage.”

“Well, if you’re certain…”

Alfred leaves with the dogs, not without smiling kindly at the boy once more. Another soft soul, that one. There’s several texts from Kyle that have been waiting for answers for hours. Jason should get to that.

The hallway is not exactly what he imagined. It is more cross-shaped really, with an intersection that leads to two smaller hallways, one on the left one on the right. The main one has but four doors once passed the intersection. The branches both have two doors, one on each side, and at the end of the one on his left, Jason can see the high point of the staircase he saw back in the library. Interesting access.

Duke waits until he walks closer to ask: “Looking for your room?”

“Indeed. End of the hallway?”

“Yes, this hallway, second door on the left.” He points to it, then at the door nearest to them. “And that room here is mine, so if you need anything…”

“I’m good.” The air between them is weird again. A fight could happen, they’ve never really discussed the previous one, it’s still around. Jason doesn’t want things to go awry. “Bathroom?”

“The door opposite yours.”

“Thanks.”

“If you change your mind and wanna go stargazing with us, message me. I’ll come collect you in the kitchen. We won’t be out there too long, we’re watching a movie afterward and Damian still has a bedtime.”

“Guess so do I today.” The hints Duke drops suffocate him. It’s a poison. The guy means well, of course he does… but what if he’s enjoying this? Watching Jason’s hurt grow? Such an ugly thought to have. Duke really isn’t the type. Another shame Jason blames on — on what? Fatigue? The system? Himself? It’s all him. Always him. It’s all-consuming. “Enjoy the stars.”

“Eh, you okay?”

Don’t do this. Not now, not here.

Jason half-laughs in anger, “Not again…”

“Jay...“

“Don’t.”

The air is weird. Weird and sour. They’re facing off again and though it’s less intense this time, it doesn’t mean it’s better because it’s a pattern. Jason wants to break it but he doesn’t know how, doesn’t know if Duke wants to break it, where to starts or if it’s even worth it. He’s hurt by Duke sometimes and he hurts him back always. They’re both searching for words, both frustrated, staring at each other and fidgeting. Jason walks away.

It takes him long minutes of manual breathing and a few tears again to calm down enough to think. The bed is quite comfortable, the room simple and well furnished. He’s only left the lamp by the bed on by now, the main light too bright for the headache he feels. The heavy window only opens a few inches, but it’s enough to let some fresh air in.

It’s been a long day. Jason can’t do this every week.

He’s got his laptop with him but forgot to save the wifi login back in the library. He feels like an idiot now. He would feel worse to ask. Luckily his phone has data and he’s downloaded some podcasts to listen to the past few days, things that calm him enough to sleep or at least rest his nerves. He asks Kyle if he’s free to talk and this idiot texts back: ‘Driving’. Jason misses him. Misses tobacco, misses the streets. He knows he doesn’t really miss the streets, it comes to him sometimes is all, whatever it is and which he cannot name. He’s too tired. Between this and the anxious waves in his ribcage, he’s fading.

He moves to sit in the very center of the bed, above the green blanket. Opens his hands wide. Palms down. More breathing. Back straight. Shoulders relaxed.

It’s working. He’s been better at it, lately. He’s had to do it more too.

It is barely eight thirty but he could use laying down. He slept three hours at best last night, worried as he was about this visit to the Waynes. He played scenario after scenario in his head until even the nausea and the trembling disappeared, replaced come morning by a constant headache and a fair bit of distance between his body and himself.

He lays down. He’ll visit the bathroom later and find put his backpack against the door inside. If he attaches his key a certain way on the handle, they’ll wake him up if someone enters. He’s done so many times. He keeps the light of his laptop on a minimum and starts playing a podcast series on cheap domestic hacks. He must prepare for after. Must find a job.

He forgot most of the first episode although he already listened to it some days ago, so he starts it again. He’d wear his earphones to maximize the chance of the sound not annoying anyone else nor having him be scolded, however weighting it against his need to keep his ears wide open so he can prepare against any threat in the hallway, he elects to position the sound bar where he believes a good compromise is. Besides, there’s no one on that side of the hallway tonight, since Dick Grayson is out of town. Jason doesn’t care that people hear him listen to the things he’s downloaded.

He browses social media on his phone, asks Kyle if he’ll be free soon, reads the news, forgets to listen to the podcast. But the voices and the low music help him remain calm. The house creaks at time, he knows it’s not to be feared but it still make shim shiver each time.

At nine fifteen, he visits the bathroom with pajama pants and a big t-shirt in hand. The place is more cramped than it thought it would be. He finds the toiletries and toothbrush left for him on top of a drawer, again accompanied by a post-it with his name.

He checks the whole room. The mess. He wants to organize all that, wants to create peace, instead a breath catches in his throat when he sees something he mistakes for a microphone. Turns out it’s just some make-up tool. He looks for cameras, holes in the wall—anything. He won’t change in the room, he has the same fears there than he has here except the space is bigger, has a window to the outside, no lock… there is a rationale here. Jason has his reasons.

He brushes his teeth, washes his face, and changes into his night outfit. In the reflection the mirror brings, the bags under his eyes and the scraps on his lower lips add years to the image of himself he has in mind. It’s conflicting alright.

Back to the room again, he slips under the cover, turns on the laptop and plays the podcasts back. He also decides to try and message Duke, doesn’t matter about what. He unlocks his phone and sees that Kyle answered him with potential dates to when they could meet, there are four options so far, Jason will have to discuss it with Clark. To know this meeting is soon happening makes him feel a bunch of ways. It’s homesickness, or something like that

He opens his conversation with Duke and thinks about what to say. He isn’t good with these things. There’s only one thing he thinks to ask, at this point that might be slightly better than nothing.

‘How was space?’

‘Vast. You’d have liked it.’ A minute, then: ‘Can’t sleep?’

‘For now.’ Jason hears another noise, normal stuff in normal houses; but this is not a normal house. ‘We sure there’s no ghost here?’

‘Call me if you see one.’

He hopes not to need that. Enough problems with the living. He considers it for give or take five minutes and ultimately sends Tim a good night message. He’s do the same for Bruce, but he doesn’t have his number. He’s not sure he can have his number; again, this is Bruce Wayne. Jason ignores what it means most of the time and how he got himself tangled in this strange spot in life, yet reality remains. And it terrifies him so.

Still, it’s impolite not to thank a host. Jason wants no problem with the Waynes, with anyone really. He texts Clark to ask him to transmit a goodnight message to Bruce, and after that turns off the sound and data off his phone for the night. He’s too tired to fight. He shuts off the lamp and unplugs his laptop so it can die in a couple hours on its own. He falls asleep in no time.

The night isn’t without instances of Jason’s nerves jolting his body awake. He goes through a nightmare at one point, a scene in which he can’t move and can’t save a woman calling his name before everything turns to flames. He can’t recognize the voice, he forgot what his mom sounded like. Four o’clock on his phone. He wants to visit the bathroom but holds this silly conviction that as soon as his feet will touch the floor, something or someone will grab his ankles and never let go, this will be it. His eyes can’t even see the room well at this hour, save for the phosphorescent strap on the side of his backpack that tells him this hasn’t been moved since Jason placed it there before going to bed. It comforts him a little.

Twenty minutes later, phone in hand with the light function on, Jason locks himself in the bathroom, washes his hands twice, brushes his teeth again. The big-ish wound above the knuckle on his right major finger is glistening and wet. Must have been scratched it in his sleep. He now isn’t so annoyed anymore that Clark had the idea of sneaking band-aids and a travel-sized bottle of disinfectant into his backpack, yesterday morning, before they got in the car.

He sleeps back some, not much at once, three hours in small parts. He hears several doors open and close between six fifty and seven forty-five, however his curiosity is low here and his legs, lazy for now. Clark wrote him back with wishes of good night and good dreams from both himself and Bruce. He also attached a number there. Best to ignore this. Tim wrote back as well and promises Jason that today, he’ll team up with him in the videogame tournament Damian and Duke have planned. Jason finds it frustrating that he and Tim have had kind of a good relationship so far, yet neither of them know how to develop it well. Perhaps they just need time. He accepts the offer.

He gets up at eight thirty. Bathroom again. Washing his hands. Can’t leave the mirror as dirty as it is right now. He walks through the manor in his pants, a fresh top, a gray sweater and two pairs of socks. In the morning light and this calm, he almost feel like a prince. Not exactly his thing.

He expects several people in the kitchen, Alfred at least, the animals perhaps. It’s not who he finds there.

“Good morning, Jason.”

“Mister Wayne.”

Bruce is sitting at the end of the table, toast on a plate and jam right by it. He is wearing a beige long-sleeve shirt and He is sipping on black coffee and reading a brochure of sorts.

“Did you sleep well?”

“I did. Alfred made the room cosy.”

Bruce puts on a grin. There’s a glint in his eyes. “He sure works miracles. He even caught that owl…” At this, he grimaces briefly. Jason can’t help but imagining something grim, something that in his mind does not seem Alfred-like. Bruce takes one look at him and raises a hand to calm him down. “He released it in the forest. I’m doubtful this will be the end of this story, but… we’ll see.”

Jason lets out a breath of relief and starts looking for something to drink. First, water. Then… coffee? Half a cup here. He’ll put milk for the other half. Bruce or someone else has laid out cups on the counter. Jason grabs one and hopes it doesn’t belong to anybody in particular. Bruce opens the jar of jam.

“I’m afraid I must work today,” he states, “but I’ll join you all for lunch and tea.”

“Copy that. I’ll stay out of your way.”

Bruce ticks at this. He seems confused. Jason shrugs and turns his back to him. He’ll hear if the guy gets up, he’s close to the door, it’s okay. His escape route is safe. He pours coffee in the cup and takes milk from the fridge to get a full drink. The milk might make it too cold, though, so Jason decides to use the steamer attached to the coffee maker.

“Everything okay at Clark’s?” Bruce asks. It’s difficult to judge his tone.

“It’s fine. It’s not for long.”

“It’s not?” This time, surprise slips through.

Jason is the one confused now. Of course it’s not for long, he’s close to being eighteen. Could Bruce not know this? Does he think Jason is younger? Most unlikely. Choosing caution, the teen turns around and asks: "Why would it be?”

Bruce doesn’t answer, only stares at him. Because he isn’t watching closely as he extracts it from the jar, he drops jam from the spoon and onto the back of his right hand. Nothing to fuss about, still quite inconvenient. Also unfortunate. Jason bites on his lower lip lightly so he doesn’t smirk nor reopen the cut there just yet. Instead, he focuses his attention back to his cup. He’s never used a steamer before, but Alfred showed him how to operate it last time. He thinks he can do it right.

Behind him Bruce gets up and comes by the sink to wash his hands. Jason ignores him at first. He dips the end of the steamer into the coffee and rotates the mechanism just like Alfred explained. It works. Thirty seconds. Though he knows he should keep focusing on this, to see from the corner of his eye Bruce push both his sleeves back and put soap on his hands before putting them under water has Jason a little intrigued. He steals a glance at Bruce’s hands; quickly, he finds himself staring.

There are marks on Bruce’s forearms, healed cuts here and there, scars Jason can see. His hands are fine. The rest, it’s unclear. He never wants to speak about any of this.

The moment passes fast, ten seconds at most. By some good luck, despite the inattention, Jason’s drink is alright. Bruce doesn’t appear to have noticed Jason’s indiscretion. He is sitting back on his chair and keeps on reading the brochure. His toast are getting cold.

The bowl full sugar pieces isn’t on the table nor on the counter. Jason asks where it could be and Bruce tells him it’s maybe in the cupboard upper left from where he stands. It’s not.

“My bad,” the man sighs. “I don’t use sugar. Try the right side?”

It’s in there indeed, however right after Jason lets a piece fall into his cup, he hears a cat—Robin?—meow in what could be panic in the next room. He gets there at once.

It was Robin, this tiny goof. Jason finds him at the bottom of a very deep vase, unable to get out. He helps the beast up of course, teases him and hugs him afterwards. His heart is still beating fast and it’s not because of the cat and the small panic he caused.

Duke enters the room and, noticing them, makes a beeline toward the pair. He’s still in his pajamas under an open blue cardigan. He looks almost happy to see them. “Good morning.”

“Hey. I’m sorry.” Jason doesn’t know what to add.

Duke squints. “For?” Jason hesitates. Getting closer to him so to be able to give Robin scratches under the chin, Duke smirks and whispers, eyes narrowed and playfully imitating Jason’s voice: ”For being a pain.”

“I’m gonna fight you again.”

“Okay but after breakfast. I’m starving, man...”

Jason indulges him.

Chapter Text

Kyle’s hair is messy. It usually is. It’s not dirty, only a bit wild, made unruly by the wind and always four or six weeks potentially due for a trim, so it starts curling oddly a little here and there. Jason can barely recall a handful of times he’s seen his friend actually care enough to spend more than thirty seconds in front of the mirror in order to tidy up his bangs.

If Jason wasn’t such a coward, he’d pass a hand through Kyle’s hair. As it is, however, he was so happy and also so anxious to see him after all these weeks spent physically away from each other, he almost forgot to return the quick embrace the guy gave him when they finally met up again in front of some Wayne Enterprises offices Clark chose as their drop-off place.

The man is meeting someone or has some errand to run there—either way—so after he’s made Jason and Kyle promise not to leave the coffee shop on the other side of the road, he allows them privacy for an hour or so. He and Jason will then have to go pick up Martha Kent from the airport.

It will be a long two weeks streak again. No break, no motivation, everything suffocating. Kyle picks up on Jason’s bad thoughts easily, as he always does, so they’re both set at a table with beverages and a slice of cake each in front of them, he comments: “Your foster family seems very busy.”

“They are, yeah, but I still have some free time. It’s fine.”

“What about the summer?”

“Dunno. A job would be nice, not sure I can get one though. Or if I won’t need summer school.”

Because they’re in contact daily, they have no real news for each other. It’s all a little act. Jason just wants them to be closer again, wants to hear Kyle’s voice again, to understand his words better again now that he can take in his body language as well, can see those bright brown eyes staring at him once more.

There’s one question they’ve avoided online so far and Kyle jumps into it as soon as he’s done devouring his cake. “You’re moving in with me? In September?”

“Won’t you be in California then?”

“Only if the school accepts me.”

“And why wouldn’t they? They will. Can’t make the mistake of rejecting you twice.”

Kyle clicks his tongue and playfully kicks Jason’s leg under the table. “You ass—must you say it like this…” Jason titters, but he doesn’t push. He might have messed up here. Though Kyle’s outrage is fake, his smile and tone are stiff. “I rebuilt my whole portfolio, I think it’s better this time… but who knows. We’ll see.”

Jason nods and takes a sip of his latte. Kyle sounds nervous. He used to have more assurance, nothing cocky but less fear than this. Jason doesn’t know when this decline started; he wasn’t there. It hurts in many small ways. “They’ll take you in,” he insists. And that’s not a lie: he truly believes in Kyle. He’s never believed nor might ever believe in anyone else as much as he believes in Kyle. There are many reasons for this and that sweet grin on the guy’s face is not even half of that.

“You sap,” Kyle croons.

Jason can’t stand him.

There is not much to say but they say it anyway, they say it again, they repeat things they’ve written yesterday and many days before that because hearing it in person is different. It feels different.

It makes Jason calmer. Kyle is kind to him, always kind to him, and maybe their time together is running out since he might be leaving Gotham soon, so Jason takes in everything he can today. Every second, every breath, the different inflections Kyle puts on his name when he speaks it, the New York accent he never shrugged off, the bites he steals off Jason’s cake, the near-invisible beauty mark below his left eye, the lights from the outside and those from the café coloring his cheekbones in different yet equally perfect ways.

Jason won’t say out loud what he thinks. He calls Kyle a dork. He laughs at his jokes. He prays for his friendship. He pretends not to want to grab his hand and run away, already struggling with shutting up the voice inside that reminds him how badly and often he wishes he could follow this man to Los Angeles in a heartbeat—follow him anywhere—even off-Earth if needed.

He knows it’s not thoughts he’d have for a simple friend and he’s fine with that now. He knows and accepts it about himself. But he has to move on.

Clark eventually sends him a text asking him to be back in the car within ten minutes (and this, with a ‘please’ on top) so they won’t make Martha Kent wait after her plane lands. Jason sighs before he breaks the news to Kyle. They hurry the end of their date. It’s too soon. There’s a drizzle outside and a wind that makes Jason shiver under his coat. When he turns to Kyle to inform him that Clark has given the green light for them to hang out together at the house some time or organize more outings like this in the future, he is met with a grin and the offer of a hug.

He accepts it at once. Kyle is shorter than him now. He’s got a new shampoo. A new scarf. New piercing in his ear. Jason wraps his arms around him and squeezes. Squeezes tight. Maybe too tight right before he lets go. He doesn’t care much if so.

He takes off his fingerless gloves as soon as he’s situated and buckled up in the passenger seat. Kyle never mentioned these to him in the café, probably because he knows what’s underneath and he likely doesn’t want to see. Jason. Following Clark’s suggestion, Jason has taken to wearing these gloves more often to help him mitigate the harm he too often brings to his hands. But it’s not been working well. It only delays worse. And he struggles taking them off each time.

Clark observes the scene but refrains from commenting. Jason has been itching to pinch and roll the muscles around the base of his left thumb. It’s making him stressed and somewhat angry that Clark is staring, so he waits. The car starts. Soon, the man’s eyes are on the road. Jason holds off for a minute before he presses and tugs at the skin and a scratch a few times.

Clark doesn’t even pretend not to see this. Though his grip on the wheel doesn’t change, the flow of his voice is hastier than before. “Did you have a good time?”

Jason wonders. He shoos some bad thoughts away, crosses his arms and replays in his head his brief moment with Kyle. All of it. All of the good. His feelings. His lips curl into a grin. “We did, yeah. Good cakes too.”

Clark looks pleased with this answer. “Glad to hear,” he smiles.

His driving is smooth as always despite the troubles of the city. They are unlucky with red lights and might arrive late, but he doesn’t risk driving faster to catch up. Perhaps he will do so on the freeway later.

Jason is worried about what will and won’t be difficult while Martha Kent will be around. She is supposed to stay a week, maybe more, enough time that can bring up enough things and Jason doesn’t know what’s off-limit. Truthfully, he wants to know how much this woman knows about Clark’s situation more than his own. It’s impolite to ask but he doesn’t quite care about this anymore. So he asks.

“Say…”

“Mh?”

“Your mom’s fine with you being gay?”

Clark sends him a pointed glance. Nothing hostile, just uncertain maybe. His eyes are back on the road in a second. His tone is cautious.

“Well, I’m actually bisexual… but yes, she’s fine with that. It’s still fairly recent to her, because aside from some flings in college, Bruce is the only man I’ve ever actually dated. My previous two serious relationships were with women, so it was a late reveal of sorts. When I came out to her, I was thirty-seven.”

Jason’s brain freezes, and he repeats in a whisper: “Thirty-seven?”

That’s information he cannot process nor actually believe right now; thirty-seven sounds so late. It’s twenty years away for him, more than double his age, a literal lifetime again and some extra years to spare. It’s a long road to walk with a big secret on one’s shoulders. Jason doesn’t think he could keep such important things about himself quiet for so long. He already can’t stand to be doing it right now, and it’s still somewhat new a fact in his mind because he likes girls too, likes anyone really, he’s still got a little crush on Harper so there’s that.

But on second thought, he gets it. He understands that Clark might have had his reasons. For instance, he doesn’t talk about his dad. All Jason knows about the guy is that he’s dead, so it’s not much to go by. Was he hard to talk to? Was he homophobic? Did they have a falling out?

“That old, yes,” Clark chuckles. “Things were different before.”

“Bad different?”

“No, just different. I didn’t spend years in shame, if that’s what you’re wondering. I was fine with myself, even if I didn’t understand it well back then. There wasn’t any reason for me to come out to my mother until I started dating Bruce, is all.”

Jason feels oddly relieved to hear that. There was projection in his concerns.

Still, when Clarks speaks again, he looks and sounds a bit sad. “I only regret not having been able to tell my dad, though I guess it’s not like I knew this about myself when he was still alive. College flings did not give me a sense of identity at the time.”

“When did he die?”

Maybe it’s not right to ask this question. Jason might want to take it back. But Clark is patient.

“Long ago,” he replies. “I was twenty-five. It was sudden, so I couldn’t…”

He doesn’t finish this sentence, but Jason gathers that Clark would have told his dad. That it wasn’t a secret withheld as much as a missed opportunity to share it.

He doesn’t know what to follow this with. He is twisting and picking at his fingers again. They are arriving at the entrance of the freeway, and before they go in, Clark smiles to himself as if remembering something. “He was a good dad,” he says. He is almost back to a cheerful self, even laughing a little before he adds: “Not sure he’d have liked Bruce as my partner, though.”

“Does your mom like him?”

“I think she does, yes. She likes the kids too. And she’ll like you.”

“Great, no pressure…”  

Clark walks fast once inside the airport. He is happy and it shows. Jason is here and not here at the same time, watching this scene unfold from a few steps of distance. Obviously he had a very different relationship with his mother figure, growing up, and given how it ended he’d rather not think about it any more than necessary—that is to say, as little as he can. He misses parts of her. He’s angry at her bones.

When they reach the arrival gates, someone calls Clark’s name. Jason sees Martha Kent walking toward them, all smiles and cheerfulness, a large bag hanging from her shoulder and her open arms calling for her son to come to her. Clark is there in a flash.

He takes her bag and immediately they starts exchanging words with an excitement such that it makes Jason tune out all the sounds but that of his heartbeat. He wishes Duke would be here too (he’s at the rink again) so he’d have company instead of looking like a lost kid in the crowd. Lucky or unlucky for him, he soon finds himself the center of Martha’s attention. She peeks in his direction, beams at him, and waves for him to get closer. He does as he’s asked.

“Hello, Mrs Kent.”

“Hi, Jason, it’s so good to meet you! Please call me Martha? Aren’t you tall…”

She takes a step closer and motions for a hug. Jason would rather not, but dealing with the potential falling out of his rejection might not be worth the assertion, so he lets her embrace him.

For the journey back home, Martha rides in the passenger seat at the teen’s insistence. She and Clark catch up on life news while Jason stays silent on the backseat and fumbles on his phone. He doesn’t listen in on their conversation, instead he texts Kyle, check up on Harper, sends what he assumes is a funny figure skating meme to Duke, temporarily ignores Damian’s request for cat pictures, and asks Alfred if he can teach him how to cook the mushroom soup the old man served them after they came back from Cassandra’s recital.

It’s like a ritual, these days. Contact friends. Contact his roommate. Contact a Wayne. Tasks on repeat.

Stress-induced—and perhaps traffic motion aided—nausea hits Jason again, because this newfound phone habits almost feel right some days, feels like that’s where he fits in the puzzle of Gotham; except soon, all will be gone. It will be him and no one else. Maybe Kyle too. Maybe not.  Jason is lost and annoyed, the shiver crawling from the bottom of his spine to his fingertips nothing but fear in that instant. For sure, his mood is soured. He feigns taking a nap for the last leg of the drive.

Martha Kent isn’t invasive, thank goodness. She asks about his private life too much for Jason’s very low tolerance of such things, but she also knows when to quit it. Jason can appreciate that. He always stays polite.

Duke, like Clark, is clearly happy to have her here. After two years in the family, it makes sense that they developed a bond. On the third evening of her visit, a Tuesday, and while Clark has to work all night again, the two leave for the rink and invite Jason to join them. He declines, they don’t push it, all is well. Clark stays in and orders take out for them both. It’s possible they’re abusing this service.

Jason restarts the laundry in the washing machine a second time as soon as Martha and Duke are gone, and when Clark asks him about it half an hour later when the food is here for them to share, the boy shrugs. He stopped justifying things for which he has no real justification and he is grateful that Clark stopped prying if there was no immediate danger or wrong doing in progress.

Jason comes back to the laundry room after dinner, where he brings his History notebook to study while he waits for the rinsing cycle to end. His sleep has been okay this week and his hands are somewhat better-looking than they were a month ago, so all in all, he takes the win.

His phalanges and knuckles still ache a lot, though, and as a result the next day when he comes back from school, he can barely fold the clothes and the bedsheets once before his fingers are too numb and tired from hours of efforts. In frustration, he shakes his left hand too close to a wall. The back of his palm hits it with violence. Perhaps it’s not on accident.

He hopes no one will ask about it. Hopes that it won’t show. He doesn’t want to bring suspicion upon it by wearing the gloves too much, so instead for dinnertime he wears his largest sweater, the red and blue one with the long sleeves to cover half of his hands without it seeming weird. He can call it fashion. He gets away with that.

He jinxed it, he thinks, cursed the good rest he was starting to build up, because after this event he sleeps badly for two night straight. Unrelated to this, on Friday after lunch, Jason receives some grades back from tests he took the week before, and his panic shots up. C- in Chemistry and a D in History… he can’t explain either. He doesn’t know what went wrong, sure he thought it didn’t go as well as it could have in both cases but he didn’t expect such low scores. He studied for these. He put in the effort.

Sometimes he thinks he gets so anxious so often, nothing sticks around in his brain long enough to become knowledge. Or it’s something else, a lack of focus maybe, looking at the questions he got wrong Jason chides himself because he knows these things, he sees the right answers now, he has no particular reason not to have seen these back then... and yet, he messed up. Some of his courses are As and Bs, the rest are usually passing Cs, he’s not a bad student as such, just late completing all the credits that he needs because his life is fucked up and it’s hard to catch up when previous years were a mess. He tries his best, he swears. But it never seems to work out.

It’s school policy that grades below a C have to be signed by a parent or guardian, so as soon as Jason reaches home and since there is no way to avoid it, he goes straight from leaving his shoes in the lobby to knocking on the door of Clark’s home office where he knows the man is working today. Invited in, he comes to sit on the empty chair near the desk, extracts the papers from his backpack and gives them to Clark. He expects a scolding.

Clark sighs. His frown and tone are hard to read. “Tough grades,” he comments, already reaching for a pen.

“Yeah. Both require a C.” Jason doesn’t have to say that; it’s obvious. It’s just that he doesn’t want Clark to believe he doesn’t have ambition or that he’s not taking it seriously. Of course he takes it seriously. “I’m sorry.”

Clark looks him in the eye. It’s hard to say what he feels, maybe something at the crossroad between worry and disappointment. He skims though the first paper once more, signs it, mumbles “I wonder…” and leaves this thought at that for a minute. It’s only after he’s assessed and signed the second paper that he speaks again. “I know you’re doing your homework and studying a fair amount.” It’s not a question, let alone an accusation; he is being genuine.

Jason has nothing to lose in telling him the truth. “It doesn’t stay. I forget things. Or I overthink answers, and then…” He’s getting frustrated, not sure with what exactly but it’s here and it’s rising. He hates it. “I’ll work harder.”

“That’s what I worry about, Jay. You already work hard, I think you need to rest. If you’re too tired, these issues won’t improve. It’s useless to put in more hours gathering information if you’re not in the condition to receive it in the first place, or weren’t taught a good method to retain it.”

So now Jason is frustrated with Clark. Great. He’d have preferred a lecture. He whispers a low “Aight,” because what else can he answer here?

Of course Clark is right. Of course he cares.

It’s exhausting.

He gives the papers back to Jason. “Should we read these lessons again?”

“No, I know the answers. It’s the problem.” He shoves the papers in his backpack then leans deeper into the chair. “Pisses me off…” He feels a bit dizzy all of a sudden, likely too tired or angry again. His back is jello, his eyes unfocused, his legs tense and heavy. He longs for his bed. “I don’t know what happened.”

“Try and rest well before finals, you should be able to raise these grades then. If you think you’d feel better with a new tutor’s help, then ask. I’ll hire you one.”

Jason has to level his breathing through conscious effort. He understands that Clark’s academic expectations for him are low, and in a way it’s nice to know that his current safety in the man’s house isn’t tied to any grade, but right now it’s not helping. Not sure what’s not helping. Or why. Not sure of anything.

Jason could use a screaming match right now.

“Are you okay?” Clark asks. He’s very quiet.

“I’m fine. Just wanna pass all my courses.”

“And you will, you can do it. There’s always summer school, nothing wrong with taking advantage of that.” Jason must be grimacing despite trying not to, because Clark adds: “What is it?”

“I have to work in the summer. To save money. I’m gonna need my own place this fall and these don’t come for free.”

“You know the rules…”

Jason doubts he still knows the rules. They’ve been blurred many a time lately. Sure, he knows he can’t be alone much but would a job even go against this? He’d likely have a supervisor or someone like that around at all time, given his inexperience. What he wants is savings and the beginning of a work history that’s legal enough to put on paper. He’s got hopes, yeah, but above all he’s got fear. Perhaps he’s a bit too prideful too. He gets an extra sense of that when Clark presumes out loud, “You won’t accept money from me, will you?”

“Glad we got to know each other so very well.”

Clark isn’t too amused by Jason’s sarcasm. He groans low and stares at the boy with an intensity that reminds that of Bruce’s. There’s something like rebellion or defiance in these eyes, something new Jason hasn’t seen before. At least his words still sound true. “Focus on school for now, I’ll argue with Waylon. And if rules are against you then know that Bruce and I are on your side no matter what. We’ll find something.”

“Thanks.”

“We also need to look into some grants you might be entitled to once you’ll be out on your own and coming from foster care. It’s not the best state for this, but who knows… It costs nothing to try.”

“I doubt they’d give out help to people with no plan.”

“Community colleges will take your registration at any time. There could be grants for that.”

Jason will ignore this. He has no idea what to do with his life and Clark doesn’t get that. Never could get that. There’s nothing to discuss because they don’t speak of the same thing.

Clark fidgets with his pen. “Besides, if you don’t finish highschool this year, you can still get support from the state until you do. It would take you another year at most regardless, so really—“

“No way.” Jason’s heart rate spikes. More highschool isn’t the issue, being dependent of and controlled by the state is. By habit, Jason grips his left hand with force, nails digging in the skin. It’s the anger again.

“I hear that,” Clark concedes, separating the boy’s hands with gentle motions. “We can talk more about these things later, Jason, it’s alright. Take a break now? My mom made apple pie, it tastes amazing, you should go grab a slice and rest until dinner. It will be a bit late today, no idea what we’ll eat though.”

“I vote pizza.” Jason is only half-joking. He’d never say no to pizza.

Clark seems to find that funny. “Ah, well… Must’ve been a while since my mom had one. Let’s do that.”

Jason nods, lets out a breath and gets up to leave. Clark accompanies him to the door. “Aim for Bs next time?” he suggests. No trace of a demand in there. Jason acquiesces.

Now that he’s tasting it, he can concur: that pie is really nice. Pear bites and strawberries with chocolate melts here and there seemed an odd choice, especially since he expected something simpler and more traditional like an apple pie, but he is far from complaining. There’s still three slices left in the fridge and he hopes they will find a way to split them in four for dessert after dinner.

As he is finishing the last spoonful on his plate, he hears someone—Martha—walk down the stairs. She comes to the kitchen and greets him when she sees him with crumbs of the pie on his plate.

“How was it?” she asks.

Jason snorts. “Pretty great, thanks. Gone in a flash.”

Martha crunches her nose and smiles brightly. While she goes to open the sliding door for Krypto who is asking for it behind the glass, Jason moves to the sink and starts gathering the pile of extra plates and cutlery left on the side, all things that couldn’t fit into the dishwasher earlier. He needs to clean that.

The dog comes to greet him briefly before wandering off in direction of Clark’s office. Martha gets closer too, perhaps alerted by the sound of the water Jason starts to let run in the sink. She pats his forearm.

“There’s no need for that, we can leave it to the dishwasher later.”

“It’s cool. I don’t mind.”

He feels her questioning stare on him and it’s uncomfortable. But at least, she doesn’t argue. She hovers for a bit before she offers to dry the clean plates to save time. Jason agrees because why not, and she takes this opportunity to tell him stories from Clark’s childhood. The first time he saw ocean fish, the first time he beat his dad at hide and seek. The third time he became a spelling bee champion and decided to retire so he could focus on helping the local pet refuge. That morning when, at age four, he wrote his name in sharpie on his sleeping father’s arm, because his father was his and he was his father’s child.

She doesn’t tell Jason about when or how they told Clark about his adoption. The boy knows from Clark that his biological parents are unknown, he was taken in as an infant, but he’s never spoken of how he came to know all that, and neither does Martha now. Maybe she would, if only Jason asked.

He doesn’t ask.

The signed tests on his desk are like a cold shower waiting in his room. Talking with Martha, these escaped his mind. Ten minutes of peace. But it’s all gone now.

Robin is meowing behind him, asking for entry in the bedroom, and of course Jason answers that. He needs a friend right now. He feels bad because playing with the kitten means scratches, and it’s entirely possible there’s a part of the boy looking forward to this in a twisted manner that makes him feel sick to his stomach and hate himself a lot more each day.

Because if it’s Robin doing it, it’s not a failure. Failure can come later when Jason will inevitably pick at the scratches, make it not better if not worse, and will hate himself all the same. Then it will be his fault. For now, it’s the cat’s.

He pushes away the thought of calling Kyle for a minute, but eventually it overcomes him. He figures it’s fine. He wants to see the guy and he hopes Kyle wants to meet up too.

It takes two rings for him to answer. “Yeah?”

“What are you doing?”

“My best?”

Ah, Jason hates him.

“And right now?”

“Reading a book. No longer human.”

“Doesn’t sound like something you’d get.”

“Are you questioning my reading habits or giving me a compliment?”

“Either or.”

“Jerk.”

“Yeah.” Jason exhales. His shoulders relax. He pushes Robin outside and closes the door before he asks Kyle: “Wanna go skate?”

“Skate… in a park?”

“Ice rink.”

“Oh.” There’s shuffling on the line. Paper and glass. “Well, we never went there, so… I guess? Could be fun. When?”

They discuss logistics but don’t get very far. It’s fine for now. Jason still has to ask for permission anyway, Kyle isn’t sure of his upcoming work schedule, there are factors to clear up here. It doesn’t matter. Hearing Kyle’s voice and knowing that the guy genuinely wants him in his life is enough for Jason tonight. Graduation is drawing near. Adulthood is drawing near. He can hang on until then.

Duke and Cassandra, Jason finds out, wear matching black and yellow dance practice outfits when they train together. He thinks it’s cute. It never occurred to him until now that the Waynes would have a whole, wide room with small windows, a stereo and another heavy sound system on the floor in a corner, and barres fixed against two walls, all dedicated to dance. But it’s logical really.

They have about two hours before Dick is scheduled to arrive so they can belatedly celebrate his birthday. Following Clark’s advice, Jason has left non-urgent homework at home and is trying to relax. It doesn’t work of course, because this is not his house, nowhere is his house in general but that place even less so, though he figures that he could always play videogames after the party to help his mind wander elsewhere. Maybe Alfred would join him then.

Duke turns eighteen in two weeks. He is stretching calmly in the middle of the room and his tone is playful when he asks Jason: “Do you want to try too?”

“Sorry, I forgot my leotard.”

“But Jason, dancing is fun,” Cassandra chimes in. She is sitting on the floor and stretching in a way that makes Jason’s bones ache just by looking at her. “It’s good for focus. And for your core.”

“I bet.”

“Jay?” Tim calls from the hallway. He’s wearing a grey jogging ensemble that doesn’t suit him well and a devious smile that looks more like his style.

Jason excuses himself from the dance room, not without encouraging Duke and Cassandra before that, and walks toward the younger boy. He lets the use of a nickname go; they all tend to call him that, these days. Maybe he’s fine with it. “What’s up?”

“There’s another room you’ll like more.”

There aren’t many hallways and floors Jason hasn’t seen in the Manor by now. Between the tour Alfred gave him and the three weekends spent here before, he has to guess Tim is leading him to some sort of basement.

And he does. It’s not really a basement because it’s on a half level or something like that, with small windows on the wall opposite to the door opening to the inside patio. Tatami floor and handheld weapons on hooks and displays are what he discovers in there.

It’s a martial arts room.

“Oh fuck yes,” Jason breathes out. He starts walking around to take in all the space and accessories around him, from how soft the floor is to the locks on some weapons and the wears on others. There’s no irony in the excitement he feels. “Where has this been all my life…”

Tim hums happily. He is standing on the opposite side of the room and holding a long staff in his right hand. He twirls it with ease.

“Been training long?” Jason asks.

“Ten years.”

“Starting to look dangerous here.”

“And you look like someone who fights.”

“Why, thank you.”

Jason kind of likes Tim. He’s been thinking so for a while and every time they interact, it’s clearer. There’s an edge to the younger teen that helps them find balance despite their very different lives. It’s as if they intuitively know how accommodate each other despite having never discussed anything of deep substance.

“What’s your preferred style?” Tim continues. “Boxing?”

“Anything that lands enough kicks and punches to win. I never learned formally, only basic self-defense… YouTube videos…”

Jason leaves out some things here. Leaves them up in the air. He thinks Tim might be getting it and then he knows Tim is getting it when that boy calmly presses, “Street fights?”

“I plead the fifth,” Jason grins. He finds Tim’s smug expression amusing. “You think you could take me.”

“Oh, I know I’d win.”

“Cocky, are we?” Tim barely conceal a chuckle. Well, it’s unlikely he’s wrong. Jason can give him that. “You probably would, though, yeah. You can brag.”

“Let us see.”

Now, that raises alarms. “Dude, seriously? I won’t punch you.”

“Well, you’re right about that…”

Tim is enjoying this. Jason, not so much anymore. He’s been working out less since he’s landed at Clark’s, but between P.E. and the mass he’s built up before so he could stand a chance in fights, he’s not a small guy. He’s quite bigger and taller than Tim alright. What if he accidentally manages to get a punch in? What would Bruce Wayne say? What would he ask for? Jason shivers at the thought. Tim is very relaxed though, it’s obvious he thinks such scenario is out the realm of possibilities. That doesn’t even make Jason mad—hell, he’d be relieved to have his ass handed to him in this situation. Is he overthinking this?

Tim takes off his slippers and walks toward the center of the room. Jason follows him. He still believes it’s a bad idea, but he’s too curious for his own good. He gets a bit lower on his knees and answers Tim’s sign to come close by charging forward.

He’s on his stomach and pressed against the floor not even five seconds later. He thinks he can’t breathe. Tim is heavier than he looks. Fast, too. Luckily, he’s not cruel, so he releases Jason almost immediately.

The teen rolls over and groans. “And they let you outside?” He feels himself grinning. Maybe that was fun. Maybe he’ll win next time. “You’re a menace.”

“You should see my siblings. Or worse, Bruce. He taught all of us in parallel of formal courses. Clark is also well versed in boxing, you’ll want him with you in a fight.” Tim helps him back on his feet and Jason realizes then that he’s not hurting any more than usual. This Wayne kid knows what he’s doing. And he’s generous, too. “Why don’t we train together?” he offers. “I can teach you.”

“You mean now?”

“On days off, in the summer… when we’re free. It’s useful skills out there.”

Tim speaks Jason’s language sometimes. It’s peaceful when he does.

Later when they go and meet with Clark and Martha before the party starts, Jason is trembling and struggling not to mentally drift away because memories of other fights are scratching under his skin hard enough that the hurt leaves room for panic and anger. He doesn’t tell Clark about it. He pretends that his phone needs charging and starts walking toward the room he’s staying in once again.

Dick is here already, earlier than planned, waiting in his own bedroom and typing on his phone. Jason sees him there as he walks in front of the open door. They exchange a glance so of course it would be impolite not to greet the birthday boy now, though in the end it’s him who greets Jason first.

“Hi there!” He leaves his phone on the desk nearby and motions for Jason to come inside the room so they can be closer. His hair is longer than before, his smile kind, his tone cheerful. He seems far more relaxed than when they first met at the police station.

“Hey. Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.” Dick holds his hand up for a high five. He is a bit shorter than Jason, who answers his gesture, remembered from their initial interaction. Regardless, he still has this same protective presence to him. “How is it going?”

“All good, I guess. Clark and Duke are alright.”

“That they are, yeah.”

Dick’s gaze travels from Jason’s face to some spot on the right side of his hips, then to the visibly marred skin around the boy’s wrists. Jason pushes down his sleeves. They’re strangers, there’s nothing for them to discuss surrounding this. Best to pick a diversion. “How’s college?”

“Busy. Very busy.” Dick sighs, but it’s not sad or anything. There’s a happy glint in his eyes. “It’s a change of pace but I’m enjoying it. I’m rooming with friends and it’s been great so far.”

“Missing your siblings?”

Jason never knows how to address the Wayne kids when it comes to their adoptive father, what relationship they have, if they call him dad, stuff like that. It varies between them, be it consistently or from one day to another, with Tim being the most common offender in the latter case. Not that it’s Jason’s business. He’s not in their position, he doesn’t get it, frankly he doesn’t care to understand. Not his mess to untangle. All he can say for sure is that these siblings are close, regardless of their quarrels, so asking about them alone is safer than including Bruce Wayne in the equation.

And Dick’s soft expression right now is telling Jason as much. “Sometimes, yes, but we still meet fairly often and we all have phones this year, it’s made the transition smoother. Of course it’s an adjustment for us all but we’ve always known these days of separation would eventually come.”

Jason nods in some sort of understanding. He doesn’t see Duke as a brother proper, he tries to detach himself from that, yet every time he thinks about summer and closer even, the guy’s birthday, it results in him growing bad butterflies shifting in the pit of his stomach, crawling along his spine, restricting his breathing. He doesn’t even know why he’s so sensitive to Duke moving out soon, he’s not even been told that Duke would be moving at all but he assumes he will because it’s like Dick says, it’s something bound to happen and Jason doesn’t know why it stresses him so much all the time.  

“How’s Damian with you?” Dick asks. It’s too flat to be as disinterested as he tries to make it sound.

Jason can’t help but smirk, although there might be some annoyance here. “Well, we’re sharing custody of a cat for now, so he plays nice.”

“He is nice,” Dick smiles. “I swear he’s nice. He just struggles with showing it.” Jason is about to retort that he’s met feral raccoons with more chill than this child, when Dick’s phone buzzes and takes his attention away. He curses before he says, apologetic: “Gotta fetch something from my car real quick. I’ll see you at the party? Though it’s more like a normal late lunch around here.”

“Sure thing.”

They both exit the room. Dick locks it with a key for some reason, then takes off down the stairs. Jason gathers himself for a moment before he enters his temporary room, closes the door behind him and cracks his neck. It’s as cold as ever in here (in spirit only; Alfred would never let anyone, not even Jason, freeze in any part of the house) and that’s perfect because he wants to be alone with himself right now. No attachment nor interesting things to deal with.

He’s instinctively twisting and pinching his hands and he notices this, he does, he tries to stop but if he stops then it eats at him even more and his thoughts are a mess. Now is not the time. He needs to control this. It’s the usual ritual, fingers extended, palms open wide and pressed against the floor where Jason sits. Slow breathing, shoulders down, lips parted so he doesn’t nib at them. Always the same. Shame is the same too. Anger is becoming multiple and malleable.

True to what Jason was told, the party in itself is pretty lowkey. Had this not been branded a party from the start, it could indeed pass for a standard buffet style lunch time at the Waynes’, with the promised addition later of a cake and twenty candles.

Jason learns from Alfred that this is what Dick requested for the family side of the affair, having already had a much different time for it with his friends some days ago. Not that Jason would complain about something discreet. He’s not big on parties or crowds or being the odd one out anywhere, so he welcomes the fact that there’s no pressure nor big names or whatever of that kind around the Manor today. It’s only people he knows. People he can deal with for a day and a night and a morning, and then he’s out. Ace and Titus are also nearby. There’s one big table set out in the middle of the room this time, while the food sits on another one pushed against the wall. They will all be sitting in the same place for once.

Damian and his father are the farthest away they could be from Jason in the large ballroom, knelt on the floor near another entrance, a medical kit next to them and a cat trying to escape Bruce’s hand. It looks like the animal needs disinfectant on a wound. Pet ownership is tough. Alfred is talking with Tim as they adjust some of the dishes on one of the tables. Dick isn’t back with them yet, and neither are Clark and Martha. Perhaps the three of them are hanging out somewhere else for now.

Duke and Cassandra soon appear behind Jason. They’ve abandoned their practice outfits and are back in standard clothes. Duke exchanges a few words with the other boy before he makes his way toward Bruce and Damian.

Cassandra is wearing a Wonder Woman sweater and Jason thinks it’s some pretty funny shit right here.

“Cool sweater, Cass.”

She grins wide. “Thank you. I have a song for you, Damian was listening to it this morning…”

“Sure.” He lets her search through her phone without a word for a bit and feigns interest when she shares the song link with him. His mind is elsewhere. He wants to bite his tongue but he also wants to ask her something he’s been delaying asking since the second time they met, and it’s a battle he now loses against what could be his best interest. He has to know. It’s been bothering him, though he doesn’t exactly care. “Eh, so…” he starts, and she looks up to meet his eyes. “Why did you tell me you like girls?”

Okay, he cares. But not like… cares. Once again it’s none of his business, but she told him this clearly and unprompted so he’s been wondering ever since. Did he send wrong signals to her? To anyone else? Was it a boundary? A test? Should he have asked about it right then instead of ignoring it and pushing it away until now? Now is the wrong time for this discussion, Jason realizes that. He regrets asking already. He didn’t really react the first time, only texted back a quick “oh, ok” and then sent her a video of Robin. It’s all he thought to say.

Cass shrugs. “I told the family,” she states. “Everyone knows. I thought you should know too.”

There’s nothing Jason thinks to say now. He’s got feelings about this but he cannot name them. He’s glad she trusts him but he still wonders why. She lumps him under the family umbrella but he doesn’t want to be there. He’s relieved she’s so calm but he can’t tell her about himself. Wants to tell her. Doesn’t want to tell her. Would be nice to tell someone. He needs to call Kyle.

“Do you mind?” Cassandra sounds wary now. Not good.

Jason tries to correct course. “No, not at all. Just wondering.” He smirks before he asks her: “Got a girlfriend?”

She winces and so, between two lighthearted chuckles, Jason apologizes for the emotional trouble caused. He’s got no girlfriend—nor boyfriend—either, he gets it. Better times later. Maybe when he’s not questioning anymore, when he stops and thinks long enough about this instead of… of everything else. Everything else is too heavy for now. It takes up so much space and time. It’s all Jason can focus on these days and still he doesn’t even sort anything out really. He drowns, resurfaces, drowns, repeat cycle.

Cassandra seems more adjusted. “I’d like to invite a girl to prom,” she says.

“I’ll try and find the best one for you.”

She laughs and pokes his forearm. Jason can’t remember who else did that to him before, from whom she first saw this gesture to replicate, if it was an older sibling or Clark or even Alfred. Before he can solve this mystery however, he sees her observe something in the corner of the room where Bruce, Duke and Damian are, and then she nods and starts signing something. Jason looks at the group over there too and finds Bruce signing something back and walking away from the room in haste. Damian is standing now, speaking to Duke and cradling the cat.

Jason didn’t ask Cassandra this before but since today is a day of answers, he figures one more question won’t hurt. “When did you learn to sign?”

The girl looks a bit confused. “From birth. My left ear is bad, I'm hard of hearing.”

She pushes her hair behind her ear and points to a small device in there. It closely matches her skin tone. Jason completely missed it before. He’s not sure what to reply so he goes with a simple: “I see.”

She hums quietly. She’s remembering something. “English was difficult at first, I came here at twelve years old… and Chinese sign language is different from ASL, so I’m still learning. The family is learning Chinese sign too.”

Jason feels bad that he doesn’t know either of these. Alfred and Tim get closer and, soon as they’re caught up on the conversation, ponder if they’d still have beginner ASL books and resources to give Jason if he’s interested. While they do so, Cass teaches Jason various ways to spell her name, his name, and then her family members’ names. She even includes the pets. Clark and Dick enter the room behind her right after she’s done demonstrating the short spelling for Krypto. They’re busy discussing some gymnastic competition with an enthusiasm Jason didn’t think Clark would have for this sport, seeing that when it comes to it he only ever mentions football and ice skating events. Duke and Damian walk toward the group together at that moment and join in on both conversations.

Soon after, completing the gathering, Martha and Bruce stroll in from the other entrance. She is teasing him about some unflattering picture she saw in a magazine recently and praises Clark when he offers his service as distracting eye candy next time Bruce needs one on his arm. She then hugs the kids one by one, even Jason, adding an extra squeeze and congratulations for the birthday boy, whom she embraces last.

Jason finds a place at the long table between Martha and Alfred. Clark, who is sitting on the other side of Alfred, quietly encouraged him to go sit closer to the younger group right off the bat instead, but now that Dick is here the air in the house is new. Everyone is obviously happy to see him and of course it’s his day today, so the attention buzzing in his vicinity is high.

Jason finds Dick and Bruce more comfortable around each other today than they were last time, though there still is some sort of barrier between them. Perhaps it’s all in his imagination, or only visible in comparison to how so open the other Wayne kids are with their father. It could also be a personality thing, as the two give out very different vibes. No doubt they might clash often. As usual Jason is entirely removed from the history on display there.

And Damian, sitting between Clark and Richard, act a little territorial with the latter. He drags him away from conversations from time to time and is sitting quite close to him. It doesn’t appear to bother Dick, who answers him always and often manages to redirect the kid’s attention to his plate or the cat.

Jason doesn’t know if that’s usual for youngest and oldest siblings, what’s the dynamic here, if it’s normal or carries extra baggage. He’s bothered because the tablecloth won’t stay flat on the left side of his plate. It’s beige, a bad idea today, it will be a pain to wash. He smoothes it over several times.

“You’re right, dear, this needs ironing,” Martha remarks gently. She helps Jason with his undertaking the fourth time he goes for it. “Getting sloppy, Alfred?”

“I’m afraid age is catching up on me. Everyday is but another step toward the bad side of it all.”

“Oh come on now, we’re not that old!”

Jason listens to the two laugh quietly, to Tim telling Duke about another story idea he has, to the sounds of cutlery and the beating of his own heart, to Bruce advising Dick to take the summer off and go travel somewhere. He sees Cassandra pay close attention to this conversation and Damian adjust the wounded kitten on his lap so he can still cut up and eat his food without the animal falling or trying to snitch it from him. He observes as Clark is sharing his focus and speech equally and easily between all the conversations happening around him.

There’s a shift in gravity when Jason’s anxiety manifests louder for a second or two. Before it can consume him whole, the boy quickly puts his fingers under his plate so he can feel a warmth that’s different from that of frustrations all mixed up and the will of running away. He can’t with this place. He’d kill for a cigarette.

He sings happy birthday with everyone else when Bruce brings in the cake and presents it to his eldest in a fashion so serious, it doesn’t fit the kind and proud smile he wears for the occasion. He sees the flames dance before they’re gone, hears Dick’s half-mocking ‘yay!’, makes light conversation with Alfred on one side and Duke and Martha on the other while eating a piece of the cake. When lunch is over and everyone is encouraged to do whatever they want, Jason’s breathing gets easier. Lighter. Everything gets lighter. A heavy rain is falling outside, its pitter-patter on the windows like white noise, the warmth inside safe and calm. Robin makes an appearance. Krypto is still wandering somewhere else.

Later, Jason finds himself sitting on the couch in the same video game room he visited the first time he came to the Manor, weeks earlier. It’s Dick who suggested they hang out there until supper, not just Jason and him but whoever wants in. Might as well do just this.

While birthday boy is chit-chatting half with Jason, half with himself, setting up the Switch and checking all the controllers, Damian enters the room and comes to sit on the couch as well, right in the middle. He is still carrying the cat around, which Jason finds adorable enough to want to play big brother for a minute. Teasing Damian (and also this time, the kitten) in good spirit is always fun.

“What’s up, toddlers?”

“Is it how you’d wish fans of yours would call themselves?”

“Oh my… god, Damian.”

“It’s a rhetorical question. No way you’d ever get fans.”

“You’re so bad. Really bad. Give me that kitten, he’s too cute for you now.”

“Sure! here. Her name is Nina.”

Jason doesn’t get this child. It’s not new, he always thinks this, thinks that there’s something here that isn’t where it should be and that at the same time, there’s—well—a child.

Because Damian is who he is, yes, but (or perhaps in addition to this) he’s ten. It’s a nowhere age. He’s living away from where his mother is, where his life once was, he speaks another language here, he shares his father’s attention with several siblings, he’s got no peer his age, and there’s Clark only vaguely in his life, like an uncertain clog in the system. It sounds kinda shitty overall and yet, this kid seems to be managing fine. Maybe it’s all an act, Jason can’t tell. There’s credit to give here for sure but he isn’t sure how or for what.

Again, Damian is ten. Doesn’t matter how he behaves or how many grades he’s skipped or how not like most ten years old he acts and speaks. Jason can’t talk to him in the same terms he’d use with an adult, can’t deal with his snark the same way, won’t even consider it. There’s a positive influence to be had in their fickle relationship, somewhere; he’ll focus on that instead.

“Why Nina?”

“Like DECO*27.”

That explains nothing. Alright.

“You take good care of the pets. Is that your goal in life? You wanna be a vet or somethin’ like that?”

“If I can choose, yes.”

“Of course you can choose,” Dick sighs. He climbs on the couch too and ruffles Damian’s hair. “Ready for defeat?”

Damian pouts. “What if I’m paired up with you? We have to win.”

“Go easy on me, kid.”

Jason mentally steps away from the conversation. He’ll talk to Damian later. Taking care of someone else’s problems is exhausting, yes, but it’s one of the rare things for which he feels useful these days.

He holds Nina close to his chest and she purrs quietly, looking a bit drowsy. Damian suggests they lets her on the floor now so she can try to walk on her own again. Although she is shaky on her legs, she soon finds her way outside the room through the half-open door. Dick texts the rest of the group to join them.

One by one, everyone but Bruce and Clark arrive, ready to play. Jason doesn’t question where the two men went or what it is they are doing. Alfred has made more tea and brought in chocolates for the occasion. After birthday boy has chosen one of the hidden colored carton strips they’re using to randomly form pairs for the Mario Kart tournament, Jason is offered second pick. Martha matches with him.

Her game skills are terrible. They lose almost all the races and finish before-last overall, barely above a computer controlled pair. But Jason is having fun the whole time.

He wakes up minutes before seven. Even now, four mornings in, it takes him a few minutes to situate himself well enough when he sleeps in this room at the Waynes’. The chair he props behind the door handle helps him not panic too much until then.

But he can’t help the hand thing. Never can. He forgot when it started, it’s been years, it’s part if him. It wasn’t so bad before, only a scratch here and there, a pinch a day, for punishment or the dire need to stay level-headed. Not sure why punishment. Not sure he’s not going insane.

Sometimes, as is the case this morning, it takes him a while to realize he’s doing this. The twisting is whatever and he tends to block it out, his nails are too long today though. So he notices. It’s like someone else is doing it, like it’s not him, something done to him and giving him poisoned satisfaction. He’s picking at dried skin around cuts and that’s not good. It’s what leaves marks. He’d like to have prettier hands but that’s probably not in the cards anymore. The way he scratches his forearms isn’t as bad these days as it used to be before, however he still does it and can see the white and red scratches and spots there. No hair near these either. It’s uneven. It bothers him.

He pushes his hands flat on his stomach under the blanket, breathes in deeply and tries to empty his head. The mild, usual panic when he wakes up and the frightening haze of sleep are slowly shedding their hold on him. He can control his impulses better now, even though the itch is here. Always the itch. He often gives in to it, he knows, he should stop that. He tries.

He has to use the bathroom so that forces him to leave the warmth of the bed. He guesses barely anyone, if someone at all, will be up at this time. They didn’t call it a night late yesterday but so far, each Sunday Jason has been here, only Duke, Bruce and Alfred have gotten to get up before eight. Clark has been the one sleeping in the longest every time, which was surprising at first considering how much of an early bird he can be at home.

Jason gets up. The light from the hallway that he sees from under the door, and the light from the outside that peaks through the slightly open blinds, give him an okay view of his surrounding, enough that he can see the empty glass on his bedside table and remembers that he’s thirsty. He has to bring the glass back to the kitchen downstairs but could already get water from the bathroom for now. He decides to do so and grabs it with his left hand. The way the door is placed, he must use this same hand to open it, so he transfers the glass  to his right hand without looking before he pushes the chair out of the way and presses the door handle.

The hallway is bright, as expected. Like a revelation, Jason thinks about bringing his mobile phone and checks on Kyle’s messages while he’ll be brushing his teeth, so he glances back to search for it on the bed where he left it. He feels a cold and wet small something on his hand and looks down, expecting water.

There’s blood there. It surprises him, not that it should really because he was doing bad shit earlier as he usually does… and yet. It does. He drops the glass in his half a second of confusion. It’s still intact when it first bounces on the hard floor but shatters in many pieces on second impact. Wonderful. And loud.

Jason curses under his breath. The cut is nothing, a centimeter at most, reopened from an old one Robin gave him at some point. He wipes it off against his shirt then carefully gets on his knees to gather the shards. He hears steps coming in his direction and he prays it’s not Bruce, except of course when the person stops at the door, he knows it’s the guy. It’s always him. Today’s not Jason’s day.

“Are you okay?” Bruce asks. His voice is quiet. He gets on his knees as well and starts helping Jason out. His hair is wet and he smells like raspberries, dressed in black jeans and a blue sweater. Jason is a hundred percent sure that sweater belongs to Clark.

He only briefly meets Bruce’s eyes before he shrugs and resumes gathering the glass splattered around. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

“Your hand—“

“It’s just a cut.”

“I can see that.”

Jason ignores him. Of all the people he’s ever met, that man ranks among the last ones with whom he’d ever wanna discuss his personal problems.

Bruce extracts a clean handkerchief from his pocket and lays it down on the floor to serve as receptacle. They both transfer the shards there. The glass hasn’t exploded in too many pieces in the end, so they’re done with the clean up fast. Bruce stands up, walks to the other side of the room and throws the shards in the trash can by the desk near the window.

Jason stands up as well. He wants to leave right now. The bleeding has stopped, it was nothing really, but he still needs to use the bathroom and he’s still parched and he’s still scared. Not sure why he’s scared. Pretends he’s not scared. It’s a shame the cups by the sink are in plastic; he could use another glass to break.

“Let’s find you band-aids,” Bruce says.

“I know where they are, I can do it myself. You don’t have to stay and watch.”

“I want to speak with you.”

“Suit yourself.”

Duke once called Bruce ‘a bit intense’ and Jason has been questioning the other teen’s judgement ever since. He grabs his phone from near his pillow and walks away from the room without another word. Bruce doesn’t follow him—thank goodness. Right after Jason has entered the bathroom and locked the door, he hears the older man step  down the hallway, the sound fainter and fainter until it disappears.

Jason lets out a slow breath. Does what he has to do. He even slaps a band-aid above the cut for good measure in the end, it’s useless but he’d prefer not to have any wrong attention brought up around this later. Bruce is a worrier, of that much the boy is sure. There’s something off about that man but it’s not a lack of care or kindness. It’s unclear what it is, really, however it throws Jason off all the same and makes him defensive to the max constantly. It’s a reflex.

He opened the door and steps into the hallway. He hears steps further down, coming toward him, and as expected it’s Bruce walking back. He’s got a small packet in hand. Jason might not be able to avoid talking to him. He should have stayed in bed.

“There’s something I thought you could have,” Bruce begins, holding out the packet.

Jason intends to decline politely but hears himself groan instead. “You don’t have to give me things.”

“It’s to help with your hands. It’s wool.”

“Wool?”

Now, Jason is intrigued. What’s the game here? He takes the package. There’s soft material inside, a book, and the outline of tools of some kind.

“It’s a crochet kit,” Bruce explains. “There’s still several full wool samples in the bag and a booklet that teaches you basic finger knitting patterns. Alfred introduced it to me long ago, when I started cracking and twisting my fingers constantly whenever I was under stress. He was hoping to redirect the energy elsewhere, frankly I was always bad at it and dropped the idea quickly… so I don’t know if it will help you, it never worked well with me. But it might this time. You could try.”

Jason barely listened to half of this. He’s too dumbfounded. “You want me to knit?”

“I want to keep your hands busy. There are a lot of videos about it online, these days. Many tutorials on how to knit animals.”

“Are you implying I’m a child?” Jason snaps. He doesn’t know where that comes from. Bruce is confusing him too much this time. It’s stressing him out.

“No, not at all. But I’m thinking Clark would enjoy a knitted penguin.”

“Then why don’t you make one? He’s your man, not mine.”

Bruce brings a hand to his chin as if thinking it over for the first time. After a pause, he concedes: “You’re right.” And he leaves it at that.

Jason doesn’t know where to begin with all this. The glass, seven in the morning, Bruce here again (Bruce is always here, does he even sleep? Is he tracking Jay? What’s up with that?) and now a crochet kit. He wants to go back to bed.

But he’d be unjust if he said that a part of it, tiny but very real part, is somewhat touched that instead of judgement, someone came to him with a potential solution. Of course he’s annoyed, he’s very annoyed, he’s tired and his life isn’t his. He’s a mess. But still.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Bruce makes no move nor gives any indication that he’s about to leave, so Jason does. He goes back into the room, fits the crochet kit in the empty laptop pocket of his backpack (not that he thinks he’ll ever use it), gets dressed for the day and opens the blinds of the window fully. His eyes search for the glass shards in the bin.

He wants to take one and use it to cut his thighs somewhere. He doesn’t know why. He feels shame.

He fights against the thought because he has to. That’s all. And it’s not that he wins in the end; he files it for later, considers how easier it would be to go back to doing it there instead of on his arms, except then something would be missing in his life—something he shouldn’t miss but that he isn’t ready to let go just yet. Should be letting go. Should work toward that. He bites once, not too hard, at the flesh between his index and his thumb. His mind quiets down.

He’s not entirely himself yet when he gets out of the room again and gets ready to go get breakfast. Bruce, Martha and Cassandra are up too and chatting in low voices near the stairs. Krypto, here as well, trots to Jason in an instant. He pets her absentmindedly then joins the little gathering, greets them first and half-answers Martha’s questions about his night and the glass incident.

Soon, Clark approaches them. He looks more asleep than awake, and unsurprisingly, when he gets close enough he simply lets himself be held by his boyfriend. He rests his head on Bruce’s shoulder. The man urges him to go back to bed before he kisses his forehead, bringing Clark closer in the process and muttering something audible only to him afterward. His smile is true and soft. Jason watches as Clark is holding onto Bruce’s shirt so tight, his knuckles turn white.

It’s the last week with Martha here. They’ve all known from the start that she can’t stay until Duke’s birthday because of important business back in Kansas that she can’t reschedule without trouble. She’s very distraught about that, even though Duke reassures her several times that he understands, he doesn’t hold it against her, she’s always been as involved as she can so he knows it’s not personal. As a sorry, during breakfast on Monday, she insists he lets her take him to a bakery in the evening and gets him whatever food he wants after ice time. Duke accepts and they invite Jason again, who declines (also again).

Fact is, he’s not recovering well from the weekend at the Waynes’. Or from anything. His mental health is shot, he knows this, he’s tired to know this, it’s a downward spiral, the webs dragging him down are too numerous these days and getting stronger somehow. There’s the issue of his grades too, which wounds him a lot more than he lets it show. He can’t have to repeat a course next semester, he has to pass it all no matter what. He understands most of the material, he does, swears he does, except something unknown is holding him back. He needs a miracle. He’s close to hourly prayers.

On Tuesday at lunch, Stephanie asks him for help in English and ends up giving him solid tips for a Chemistry thing he doesn’t quite understand instead. They solve her issue over text later that evening. After last period on Wednesday, he uses some of his allowance on a bag if cookies for her as a thank you and sorry for having derailed the conversation toward his own problems at first. She shrugs and snatches the package with a grin and a wink. Jason doesn’t think he’s seen someone that delighted about sugar in ages.

Because Harper misses school three days in a row, on Thursday morning before first period Jason texts them again and more forcefully to ask if they’re really doing alright out there. Their answer is slow to come, albeit mostly positive. Extra work, extra pay, own home responsibilities over school work. Some bad mental health thrown in the mix. Jason is stuck between worry and guilt, but he gets it. He reacts to the messages but doesn’t know what to reply, so he waits.

Duke is informed by the vice-principal right after lunchtime that he is still short twenty hours of volunteer experience outside school in order to graduate. Jason is exceptionally exempt of this requirement but is, of course, sympathetic. They still have a fair amount of school weeks left so it’s not panic level of urgent.

Still, Duke jumps into action immediately. He scrambles for half a day of mild stress and phone calls here and there before being set up by the ice rink as an extra teacher for a beginner skaters group for a few weeks. It’s a relief and exactly the job he was hoping for over the summer for special camps and such, so if he plays his cards right, he’ll be all set. Jason envies him a little. His own situation is complex in that regard, he still doesn’t know if he can work at all and that’s yet something else on his mind he wishes to live without.

Duke isn’t insensitive nor avoidant to these moods by now. Jason can’t say he likes that. It’s weird and embarrassing enough that all he wants to do is physically kick the guy out of his room after Duke comes to give him the news about the ice rink thing. But once again, he doesn’t. He congratulates him and shares his relief. He smiles before he finds himself taking off the fingerless gloves he’s starting to wear more these days, and he starts pinching his skin. Duke sits on the chair behind the desk.

Jason is exhausted. Frustrated. For once he won’t turn down this opportunity to vent. “Don’t get me wrong, man, I’m happy for you. You wanted this, so it’s great. ‘S just that I still dunno about my own stuff with jobs and school and DCFS and whatnot. Got things on my nerves, is all.”

“You do know that if you just ask for it nicely, Bruce will give you a summer job at one of the Wayne offices, right?”

“I won’t beg him for one.”

“I said ask, not beg. ‘Sides, think about it, if the issue is supervision, then what better place than where Clark can know for sure where you are and what you’re doing? There’s always students working as extras in data entry and at the food corners there in the summer. Ask Bruce. It’s fine.”

He’s right, Jason could ask. He doesn’t want to, he’s got trust issues and shivers all over. But he could ask. He needs to discuss it with Clark first, though, check with the school as well, again it’s fucking unfair and he wants to quit it all and run, run, run. God, he misses Kyle. He’ll call him later tonight. He’s got other things to discuss right now.

“You turn eighteen in nine days,” he states, like he’s giving Duke new intel or something. “You ready for this?”

The young man’s smile is blinding. He’s clearly excited. “More than ever, yeah! Bruce promised not to go overboard with the party, but I have a feeling our definitions of overboard might differ, so I have my doubts about that. Not to mention, Clark was also here when we discussed it but he did not promise anything of the sort. He can be sneaky when he wants to be, believe me… He’s preparing something.”

“But are you okay with this?”

“Oh yeah. Sure am.” Duke’s expression softens. He’s lost in thoughts for a moment before he admits: “It’ll be weird not being his foster son anymore. Those were good two years.” He reflects in silence for a bit, then inhales and exhales deeply. “With that said though, I’m not out of the house yet. Don’t get too comfortable.”

“Fuck,” Jason fake-complains.

“Yeah. There’s graduation, then summer, then I move to the Gotham U dorms…” A pause. “Then I come back here anytime I want, or so Clark says.”

“Wait, so you’re not actually leaving?”

Duke chuckles, his tone low. Jason gets the feeling that while the remark he blurted out has thankfully landed okay, he should back off this topic right now, because there’s a shadow in Duke’s reaction and it isn’t a small one. It’s a conflict and it sounds whole. He doesn’t know how much of it he can or will understand, if it can help, or anything. Their respective past, present and future situations are sometimes too different, and Duke’s words do nothing not to once again convince Jason of this.

“I’ll still be around, I guess, got no reason not to after all. Clark and the Waynes… they’re family, you know? I wanna live on my own of course, and I’m glad to be leaving the system, but I don’t wanna leave them. It’s complicated.”

Jason nods without breaking eye contact. Not sure exactly what for, or if there’s a meaning to it at all. Maybe he just hopes that the gesture will say that he heard what was shared with him, that he listened to it, that he understands. He gets what Duke meant. (He wants what Duke meant.)

Duke shrugs. “Anyway, these are my plans. My cousin is also coming here to celebrate the weekend after my birthday. We’ll be roaming the city and do whatever, he’ll stay in the guest bedroom or in mine. He wanted to come to the party and he was invited, obviously, but as he learned some days ago it now conflicts with something super important for one of his courses, so he can’t avoid delaying his visit. We told him we’d postpone the whole thing, it’d be no problem, but he was adamant we maintain it on the exact day or he would feel guilty.”

“Sorry to hear.”

“It’s cool, no worries. Not like he’s not coming here at all. Good thing too is that I’ve saved up for a car since I’m supposed to get my license next month, so I’ll have time to visit him more in the future.”

“What car do you want?”

Duke grins. Jason sucks when it comes to talking about blood family, he doesn’t want it, his body doesn’t want it, he can’t, it’s visceral. He forgets not because he wants to forget, but because he has to. He’s chewing on his lower lip again and he still hasn’t parted with the image of glass shards slicing against his thighs, like a fitting punishment for who he is and all his crimes.

Duke gets up from his chair and comes sit with him on the bed, then starts showing him car models and ads that he’s saved on his phone. Jason doesn’t know much about cars, he’s a motorcycle kind of guy, he’s got nothing of substance to say, his focus is not completely here. Still, he gives some vague input here and there because he wants Duke to know that he cares. About him. He cares.

Martha joins the conversation some minutes later when she comes to the room to fetch them for dinner. She sits on the other side of Duke on the bed and checks out the chosen models as well. Eventually she tells the boys about the truck she got for Clark’s sixteenth all those years ago, the one he later crashed into her scarecrow in the garden because he was drinking in a field with friends and strange fellows, breaking the law and his curfew by several hours in a time where cell phones were not yet common place. She left the bedroom door wide open so Clark hears all of that somehow, yells from down the stairs that it did not happen, drinking is very wrong, besides he’s never owned a truck ever and has seen exactly zero scarecrow in his entire life.

“Oh, it happened alright,” Martha whispers so only Duke and Jason can hear. “Jonathan was furious and we grounded Clark for two months after that. They got over it fine, my scarecrow however…”

Jason thinks it wasn’t so bad having her here. She’s been kind to him her entire stay and while he’s not much for more people to disappoint in his life, he already knows that he’ll miss her, miss her anecdotes, miss the pies and above all miss her quiet acceptance and support of these weird things he does so he doesn’t crumble and can still more or less function.

She smiles at him a lot during dinner. She also smiles at him at the bottom of the stairs the morning after, at five thirty on the dot, when she has to leave to catch her plane and the boys are up exceptionally early to see her one last time before Clark drives her there. She gives Duke a present for his birthday and calls him her grandson when she tells him she’s proud of him. She hugs both teens a longer time that Jason would normally allow, but maybe he’s fine with that this one time. She wishes him good luck for his exams and tells him that once the restrictions upon his life are lifted, she’d love for him to come visit her farm. He tells her he’ll think about it. He doesn’t know if it’s a lie.

Harper returns to school later in the day after missing first period. Jason shares his notes with them and gets another hug in return. Artemis, Isabella and Jason’s chemistry lab mate Miguel join the two of them for lunch; Stephanie is home with a cold. Duke finishes everything he has to do by fourth period and texts Jason that he’s going to go home right away, crash on his bed and take a long nap. Neither of them went back to bed after Martha left and before they had to leave for school, so Jason is all for meeting his bed again really soon as well. Two periods to go. He wishes Duke well.  

Bruce, Tim and Damian are away in Metropolis for the weekend and Cassandra is sleeping over at a friend’s house, so instead of going to Wayne Manor, the Kent household agrees to invite Alfred for dinner on Saturday night. Before that, in the afternoon and after Duke has left the house to go on a date with Isabella, Clark sits down with Jason at the kitchen table and they go through the boy’s school work together, an assignment he missed, the threat of two courses he has a very real likelihood of failing not from lack of good grades now but overall missed assignments and lessons in the past. He will barely graduate or not at all, there’s no wiggle room here, he hates that. He wants out.

He gets so frustrated and lost in his own head in the middle of their study session that he gets up abruptly, ignores Clark’s worried calls, and walks upstairs and straight into the bathroom. He needs a shower. He locks the door more violently than he would like but he couldn’t care less about any reprimand that might come up for that. He strips fast and gets under the splash of hot water, nibs at that ever-same cut on his lower lip, claws at the skin of his arms and prays that it won’t leave marks once the tenderness of the water above it will fade.

As luck would have it, he trimmed his nails short last night because he was trying, honestly and wholeheartedly and desperately trying, to limit the damage he can do whenever he loses his mind. It’s much harder to dig into the skin this time. On the downside of this foresight this bad coping mechanism isn’t enough anymore to get rid of his anger (not like anything ever entirely is) and next thing Jason knows he’s pressing both hands together against his mouth to muff screams already lacking in power. It’s like no sound wants to come out.

After a minute Jason closes his eyes, breathes deeply, focuses on the faint throbbing of the reopened cut on his lip as a way to block out everything else. He then counts to ten in a whisper and opens his eyes again. He puts himself in a squatting position so not to hurt his knees again, and once more, though it’s losing its power over time, he brings his hands flat above the water accumulating around the drain, starts slow breathing exercises and tries to carefully listen to all the self-soothing thoughts that echo in his head.

He snaps out of it soon, like he always does and then he feels awful for all the stupid shit he did while under stress. He can’t even find consolation anymore in the fact that at least, he didn’t punch anyone. He’d have to run away if he did so he tries not to think about it much, because it’s tempting. Always tempting. He hates that he hasn’t stopped doing it because he’s a good person or whatever, but because of convenience. He hates his own guts. He really wants a smoke.

It’s an adjustment to return to a calm state after a storm. It almost feels like danger. If Jason lets his guard down, what will attack him the ? It’s not that he believes anything or anyone in this house would. Well, maybe himself. But it isn’t new, he’s prepared. He doesn’t do much about it because he’s tired, bone tired, it’s more than fatigue, it’s a curse within his flesh.

He presses a tissue to his lips for the several minutes it takes him to pick up new clothes. It stops bleeding in the end. Jason can’t remember the last time it healed for more than a week, which sucks yet also tells him that Clark probably won’t make a scene that it’s been cut open again. It happens so often, it’s nothing special at this point. But because Jason doesn’t want the guy to look at him too closely or ask any loaded question, he decides to put on a short-sleeved tee, one of Kyle’s, as a sign of good faith that he didn’t do anything too bad. He just took a shower, he bit his lip, it’s what it is. He’s fine. It’s chilly in the hallway, though, so before he goes down the stairs he grabs a hoodie and carries it to the kitchen.

Clark made tea in his absence. He left a cup for the teen on the table and is seeping on his own mug while reading Jason’s Algebra II course book. He raises his gaze to meet Jason’s when he hears him approach. He details Jason’s arm, his face, his hands. He seems worried for a moment but relaxes somewhat afterward.

The scrutiny, although expected, makes Jason sad and nauseated. He knows Clark is justified, yes; he’s responsible for him. Whatever happens to Jason in his care could impact his and Duke’s and the Waynes’ lives significantly, even taking into consideration all the liabilities the state agreed to carry given Jason’s case.

And Clark is good to him. Jason often thinks that. He knows anyone else would have used him again or shipped him off elsewhere at the first outburst or for the state of his hands or his inconsistent grades or the everything else, the everything on top of that, things that getting locked up has never solved nor could ever help.

Not that Jason knows what could help. He’s got too many issues. Perhaps he’s too stubborn. Maybe no one’s listening. “Sorry,” he says before he sits down. “Needed to clear my head.”

“Are you feeling better?” He smiles in relief when Jason answers ‘yes’. It’s swiftly gone however, replaced by a frown as soon as he notices the cut as he tilts his head to detail the boy’s face once more now that they’re closer. “Your lip again…”

“It’s fine, it doesn’t hurt. It’s always like that anyway, I’m sure you saw. One bite and it splits.”

“I see.” He keeps his eyes on Jason as the teen is putting on the hoodie, and after a long silence followed by a questioning look from the teen, awkwardly suggests: “Try not to bite it?”

“No shit?”

Clark brings a hand to his mouth as his cheeks and ears turn pink. He is smiling, but it’s very stiff and nervous. He’s embarrassed. He apologizes a couple times and it sounds sincere.

The scene is sort of amusing to Jason, erasing the instant of sharp annoyance he felt upon hearing Clark’s stupid request. That’s not an ignorant man, he can and should expect him to know better than this. But he can also give him a pass this one time. “I’m already trying,” he replies, though there’s no need for this.

“I know.”

“I trimmed my nails yesterday. Though I think I overdid it.” He’s not clear on why he tells Clark about that. Justification? Small talk? Need for praise? He stares at his hands. The water has rendered some of the dead skin softer and lighter. Instinctively, he reaches to the tip of his left thumb to pull at the mess, commenting under his breath: “Makes it hard to pick at the skin.”

“Now, that’s nice to hear.”

Clark moves Jason’s offending hand away from the other and pushes the full tea mug in the teen’s palm instead. Redirection. Some days Jason wonders where the line is between what’s good for him and what makes him feel like people think he’s a child.

Nevermind this today. He’s got bigger knots to untie on the rope of his life. He takes the Algebra book back from Clark and starts reading what he needs to understand to finish an assignment. For about half an hour, that’s all he does. Clark spends it checking Jason’s English homework and circling some things here and there. He brew more tea but doesn’t drink it.

Jason is almost done with Algebra woes, it’s usually a somewhat easy course for him, except there’s one section on the homework he doesn’t think he understands. He believes he gets it one minute and goes to complete it, but then he doubts himself and things stop making sense. The explanation book doesn’t help him at all, it’s confusing. His legs are restless. He’s frustrated.

He stops himself right before he’s about to either bite or twist his right hand. Not in front of Clark. It kills Jason from the inside because it’s not that he has to do these things specifically, it’s that he has to do something to exteriorize all this shit inside his head, and right now he can’t do anything. It’s hard. Jason wishes Clark could be anywhere but here right now… for a minute. He appreciates Clark being here and he knows that technically, if he decided to move to his bedroom to study instead of staying here with that man, there wouldn’t be a problem with it.

So yeah, Jason doesn’t know why he stays. It pisses him off, that’s all he knows really. Things piss him off. And he doesn’t get this part of the homework so if he has to be frustrated, he hopes that at least Clark can help. “I don’t get this,” he tells him, bringing the book and the instruction sheet between them and pointing at the section causing him trouble.

Clark reads it and frowns. He seems devoid of all happiness in this moment. After a minute, he lets out a deep sigh. “You know what? Neither do I.”

The tone makes Jason feel a bit guilty because he senses something sad in it, maybe shame even. It’s silly, he thinks, because Clark is a successful man. Highschool was more than two decades ago for him, it’s fine if he doesn’t remember stuff like that. He might not even have completed more than minimum math at the time—Jason doesn’t know, he thinks he should have asked, he’s not sure how to respond to Clark’s emotions to all that.

The man pushes the book and homework sheet back toward the center of the table. He then leans back against his chair, rubs his eyes, and puts back on a small smile. “Should we get started on dinner? Don’t worry too much about this yet, Alfred might know how to explain, we’ll ask him when he’ll arrive. A break won’t hurt either of us now.”

Jason agrees. He hopes Duke comes home fast.

Alfred arrives around six with dessert and calm conversation. Jason asks him to come to his room to help with Algebra, and after ten minutes or so of explanation, he breathes out in relief. Alfred knows how to explain things to him. He also doesn’t mention the crochet kit and the yarn on the side of the desk; it’s not hidden anywhere, Jason has even started a little bunny project. All he hears from Alfred is praise for how clean the room is and concern about how full his second backpack looks.

When they go downstairs after that, Duke is in the lobby. Krypto could not be happier to see him, she prefers him to go on strolls out of all of them. The boy greets Alfred then walks right out for a bit, leash in hand and dog trotting ahead of him. Clark is finishing the last touches to his beef and potato dish.

They end the dinner around eight, after which Alfred stays half an hour more to have tea before he leaves. The rest of the evening, Clark is still not entirely back to his usual self. There’s a sullen shadow to him. Duke notices it too and asks about it, away from the man’s ears, but Jason isn’t even sure what happened that created this situation. Might be nothing, even. They all had quite a series of events in the past few weeks, after all, so perhaps they deserve not to be questioned for one day or one night of brooding.

At two o’clock on Sunday, Jason is reorganizing the laundry room while waiting for a load to finish washing, and when it does, the sudden noise reduction echoes Clark’s voice from the home office. Jason can’t make out words except “Bruce” and “you don’t know” and “please”. He’s torn between trying harder to eavesdrop because it stresses him out that Clark is still in an odd mood today, and closing the laundry room door completely so he doesn’t invade the guy’s privacy. He sets on making more noise than necessary when he takes out and then hangs the laundry.

He finishes this task within minutes. Silence has returned. Duke is studying upstairs and Krypto is asking for attention. Jason settles with her on the couch and watches two anime episodes before he decides to make coffee, for himself first and foremost and also to have a reason to enter Clark’s office. It bothers him.

He knocks and Clark’s voice is small when he grants him entry. At first glance already, it’s obvious Clark cried recently. His eyes and the faint redness across his cheekbones betray this. He’s smiling when he spots and then takes the coffee, and though that doesn’t seem fake, Jason has his doubts. Is it his fault? The algebra thing? Did he hurt Clark another way? He receives a “thank you” and asks in return: “Eh, are you okay?”

Clark stares at him carefully. “Of course I am.” Jason’s face must betray that he doesn’t quite believe him, because right after that, Clark leaves his coffee mug on the desk and gets up on his feet. Still smiling, he brings one hand on Jason’s shoulder, and squeezes. “I’m okay, Jay.”

Jason groans. Whatever that means. He doesn’t know what to say.

Clark moves his hand up to mess the boy’s hair. “Thanks again.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

They exchange some more words before Jason turns around and leaves. Back upstairs he immediately gets into the bathroom and washes his hands, moves the window cleaning products and some clean wiping sheets stored here into his room, washes his window thoroughly, washes his desk, washes his hands again, is then called by Duke from the hallway with an offer to take a videogame break downstairs. Jason says yes. Always says yes. He left his coffee on the counter earlier so it’s no surprise that it’s cold now. He drinks it anyway.

All through the night, he doesn’t sleep well. He remembers his father.

He has a rough early Monday morning and it gets even more challenging when he goes to the kitchen for breakfast and finds Clark in the lobby opening the door to Bruce, who enters the home in haste and is happily greeted by the pets. It’s raining outside, his coat is soaked and his hair isn’t dryer. He is carrying two bags wearing the logo of that fancy bakery Duke and Jason pass by everyday on their way to and back school. Jason bids good morning to both men in front of him then focuses on the bags, if only to focus on something.

Still, he doesn’t miss the way Clark is holding onto Bruce’s shirt the whole time the man is untying his shoes and placing them on the rack, doesn’t miss Clark’s glossy eyes, the crooked smile that makes light of the mixture of relief and sadness he’s feeling. When Bruce turns around, he is the one who kisses Clark and brings his body closer, and when their lips part Clark breathes in relief, closing his eyes for a moment. Bruce smiles at him kindly, but the crease of his brow tells Jason that even so, that man is worried. Worried for Clark. Something did happen. Jason hates not knowing.

He hears Duke coming down the stairs behind him and greets all three of them downstairs with excitement. Bruce hands the bags to them, tells them it’s breakfast and joins them with Clark at the kitchen table after the two talk some more, very quietly, low enough that Jason can’t hear. Duke also seems to be trying to eavesdrop, to no avail. Robin once again attempts to convince the household that it’s a fine idea to attack the boiler before it gets too hot.

Jason blocks everything else. Feels nothing. It’s better afterward, when he has lunch on his own near the bleachers. He tries to think happy thoughts because he might have aced his English test today, and when the day is over he finds Duke waiting for him by the bike racks, so they ride back home together. It’s all quite brotherly.

On Tuesday, around noon, Kyle sends storms upon Jason’s hope.

The clock in the living room quietly strikes two thirty. Jason ignores the fact that it’s technically Thursday. He would be wondering why Clark didn’t stop him going downstairs past midnight for much longer than the act of grabbing a glass of water, were it not for the fact that his anger is immense and cancels everything. His fear is everywhere. He can’t put words on his sadness.

He is done cleaning the plates and everything else from the kitchenware cabinet by now, so he moves to start to cleaning the cabinet itself. It’s dirty, it’s all dirty. Jason’s vision is dirty. He sees black and grey stars everywhere because he is exhausted and upset and he hasn’t turn on the lights in the kitchen, only in the lobby. He’s had to fight way too hard not to pass one of the knives through his flesh the whole time he’s been cleaning stuff in the sink until now, so there’s that and the shards of glass and the razors in the bathroom and his teeth and the walls. He is keeping Krypto away in the laundry room like they usually do when they vacuum the place, except it’s not for it this time, rather because he’s a terrible person. He sucks. He’s ready to break.

Fuck Kyle. He hates Kyle. He could kill him. He’s so proud of him. He wants to see him.

“Jason?”

The clock strikes three. Clark is either worried or scared, from his tone lone Jason can’t exactly tell. For sure, he’s not angry. He gets closer to the teen, who is fully dressed at this ungodly hour, kneeling on the floor in front of the sink and washing the lower cabinets with soap. Everything dirty. It’s not about dirt or germs. There’s no order inside, best make order out there. The soap gets into wounds Jason dug back yesterday and the day before, all since Kyle left him.

Well, Kyle hasn’t left him yet. But he will. They both know he will, and he should, he’s worked for this, it’s where he should be.

Jason is selfish. He knows he’s selfish. He sees Clark fumbling with the idea of whether or not he should flick on the kitchen light and eventually deciding against it. He looks older tonight. Tired, in the dark, towering over Jason like he has power over him (he does) and he must watch over, else something bad will happen (it might).

He takes a deep breath. “Right. Alright. Please stop cleaning, Jason, that’s already… it wasn’t even this clean when we got it new. It’s okay, everything is fine. You’re not in trouble, please stand up and talk to me.”

He grabs Jason’s arm and it’s not good. Doesn’t feel good. Clark probably means no harm by it but the way he hoists him upward sends Jason in panic response. He quickly grabs a glass from beside the sink and squeezes it so much his hand hurts, saving him from the grave mistake of swinging it against Clark but not hurting enough that his anger gets relief.

Jason throws it hard on the floor behind him. It shatters loudly. Pieces bounce back everywhere, at the hem of his pants, at his feet, one against his hand. He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t wanted this since the glass incident at the Waynes. It’s not good. He’s trembling.

Clark is eerily quiet, his grip on Jason’s arm growing stronger. It’s painful. Jason doesn’t dare facing him, he keeps his head turned away and his eyes on the debris. He’s so tired. Desperate. He feels like he lost a lifeline but he can’t talk about it because he’s told no one about Kyle. Not in the right words anyway.

And maybe not all of this is even about Kyle.

“I’ll clean up,” he says. He sounds weak. Feels weaker.

Clark also sounds different than usual. Terrifying. “No, I will. Get on the couch. Calm down.” A pause. “Where’s Krypto?”

“Laundry room.”

“Go get her.”

Jason moves. He still won’t meet Clark’s eyes. Krypto is happy to see him, she was resting on the dog bed where he left her and she follows him back to the kitchen and then the living room eagerly. He sees Robin on the way, trotting from Clark’s office to the shoe rack in the lobby. Jason sits cross-legged at the end of the couch at the same time as he hears Duke calling from upstairs, which prompts Clark to stop the floor sweeping for a bit and go reassure his foster kid in a voice so low that Jason can’t hear. Whatever is said makes Duke stay upstairs.

Jason isn’t surprised; after all, he’s done it again. He fucked up, he’s dangerous. He hurts himself and worst of all, he hurts others.

Bad habit. Bad temper. Bad everything. Bad child.

Krypto sits in the middle of the couch and rests her head on his lap. He pets her as he tries to diminish the pulsating he feels in his temples, the loud thump of his heartbeat, his labored breath. It’s a challenge. He wants to move to the floor because he needs grounding in a more literal sense, but the dog has made herself comfortable here and while Jason didn’t hurt her, since of course he never would, he still feels guilty for having put her in the laundry room outside of cleaning hours. So, he keeps her near him. She seems content enough.

Clark finishes cleaning the floor and discards the broken glass pieces in the trash bin under the sink. Jason can’t even find the strength to worry about what’s to come. His time in the house might have come to an end. His vision is blurry, he doesn’t know if it’s because of fatigue or stress or whatever else it is that he’s feeling. It’s a lot and nothing at the same time. He recoils when Clark starts walking in his direction, though he’s accepted his likely fate.

Krypto raises her head from his lap and asks for Clark’s attention. He pats her head and lets her lick his hand before he gently pushes her back against Jason. Instead of seating on the other side of the couch he comes to kneel on the floor right by Jason, a hand still on Krypto’s stomach, eyes on her alone for a while. Jason looks away when eventually, Clark stares at him. He is ashamed and exhausted. He has nothing to say, not even a sorry, because sorry means that he knows where to begin but fact is, he doesn’t. He wants it to stop. He wants Clark to be quick with it, to reject him in one go. He wants to cry so badly. (He does.)

“Calmer now?” Clark asks. He speaks softly, Jason can’t tell if it’s a ruse or not. Normally he would agree that this isn’t a dishonest man; Clark has never been anything but caring, even in their fights. Still, everyone has a limit, and the teen thinks he hit it this time. Pushed his luck too far. He can’t stand himself. He freezes when Clark puts a hand on his forearm and questions: “What’s going on, Jay?”

Krypto moves up such that more of her body weight shifts on Jason’s legs now. She’s warm. The boy uses his free hand to scratch her head then wipe away tears on his cheeks. He is biting his tongue, it hurts, it’s not any better when he grinds his teeth. Best to speak. He wants to speak. But he’s not sure it’s a fair truth.

“Kyle is moving to L.A.”

“I see.” Though Clark’s grip isn’t firm, it’s getting heavy. “Sorry to hear.”

It’s a strange thing for him to say. Jason doesn’t know what Clark is sorry about in this situation exactly, let alone if he gets what it means—what Kyle means. There is a history that no one except them two know. There were hopes Jason had. Not to mention, this pain brings back to him a question that has remained unanswered since he’s first asked it, the very day he arrived in this house. It’s been bothering him, sure it’s not his business, but he doesn’t want to talk about his business. He’s upset.

“Why aren’t you living with the Waynes?”

Clark is patient, Jason will always give him that. It takes a patient man not to beat him up or yell at him when he fucks up like this. Or in general. Jason trembles at memories he doesn’t even have to replay in his mind; they’re blended in his skin. They taste bad on his tongue and obstruct his lungs and throat. Always, it’s an always thing, it’s part of how he breathes and how he wakes up and how he evolves in the world. It sometimes replaces him.

He’s drowning. Clark moves his hand away for a second, though he places it back on Jason’s arm again afterward. The teen risks a glance in his direction to see that Clark’s gaze is unfocused. It’s late and it’s dark. He looks so tired, tense and preoccupied. There’s grey in his hair, this and his irises reflecting the light from the lobby. His tone is still calm.

“This isn’t what would work best for us for now. But we’re talking about it.” He looks back at Jason. “Soon.”

“You mean after Duke and I will be gone.”

It’s really none of Jason business, he knows that. He knows. It makes him angry and there’s bile in his throat, a nausea he can’t explain. It bothers him. Unknown feelings. It sucks. He averts his eyes.

“I don’t mean that,” Clark replies. “It’s between Bruce and me alone, it’s not that we don’t want to live together. But there’s more at stake to it than that.” He pats Jason’s arm and moves his head in such a way that indicates he wants to see the teen’s face. Jason doesn’t turn around. It’s shame again. Always shame. But Clark doesn’t seem all too deterred by his avoidance. “Were you planning to go live with your friend this fall?”

Jason hesitates. He’s too tired. He wants to tell Clark because he needs to tell someone outside strangers on Twitter, tell someone who will hear him saying it out loud and—yeah, okay, fine—hold him together if he breaks. “He offered.” 

“And what did you answer?”

It’s going nowhere. Clark doesn’t know enough, that’s on Jason, he’s kept secrets. Thing is, it’s not secrets he thinks he has to tell. They’re his. He’s not even certain what words would express them. He just cries. It’s pathetic.

Clark stands up. The loss of warmth where his hand used to be makes Jason glare at the spot then raise his eye to meet Clark’s. The man gestures at him to stand up too. Krypto obeys the suggestion faster than Jason, though she immediately wanders somewhere else on the ground floor. Maybe she, too, is tired.

Jason stands up. Part of him still worries about punishment.

Instead, Clark offers him a hug, left hand on Jason’s shoulder and right arm wide open in an invitation. Jason takes it. He thinks he’s losing his mind. Clark’s breathing is slow so he tries to sync with it, but it’s too hard. He rests his forehead on Clark’s shoulder and wait. The world is spinning a little and for a second, Jason wonders if he’s about to vomit or to pass out, or both. If his hands were listening to the good side of his brain for once, they’d move and take Clark’s clothes into their grasp. They’d express what he can’t say. They’d ask for help. He’s unsteady.

Clark exhales deeply. “You look exhausted. And this…” He takes a step back and put distance between them so he can look at Jason’s hands. The fingers and the palms… it’s bad. Even by Jason’s standards, it’s bad. “Don’t say you’re fine.”

He won’t say it. He isn’t. He feels another spell of dizziness and he wants to puke so badly. He takes Clark’s hand, he’s too harsh maybe, yeah he’s too harsh, he has to be. He slides on the floor, his back against the couch. Clark calls his name, his tone alarmed. Jason gives him a sign that’s supposed to tell him not to worry, but looking at the man’s face, it’s not working. Clark is too close. It’s suffocating. The walls are also too close, the air is too thin.

Jason can’t say whether this is panic or anxiety. It doesn’t matter. He leans back against the couch and is relieved when Clark appears to understand the situation and sits in front of him, further than before. Jason nods and mouthes “thanks”. He can’t help a lot of blinking: his eyes want to stay close. He needs to go back to bed but he can’t do that as long as he’s in this state and that Clark hasn’t decided on his verdict.

He chooses to rest his eyes for a minute and crosses his legs loosely to relax his posture. He spends this moment listening carefully for any movement he should fear and picking at the blemishes on his hands. Every day, every day he does this. It’s bad. He feels ugly. There’s a particular cut that’s actually two of these, at the junction between his index and major fingers. The original one he made accidentally while cooking. The other, he’s not sure how, but it comes for the thin pink wool Bruce gave him. Jason has trouble with that particular yarn. It’s thinner than the others, not as fluffy, hard on his skin.

He opens his eyes. Clark is lost in thoughts in front of him, looking away, his arms crossed and his shoulders hunched over. His frown predicts nothing good, or at least nothing easy. Jason doesn’t think that he cares anymore.

“Your man gave me wool,” he says.

“He told me, yes. Does it help?”

“My bunnies all look like they went through circles of hell.”

Clark chuckles in silence. It’s all silly and aimless. Jason’s batteries are far from refilled, still all he wants for the moment is to steady his heart rate.

The movements never change. Hands flat on the floor, body as weightless as possible, breathing slow and focusing on the next step alone. It works fast this time, thankfully, which Jason attributes to the fact that his body is begging for him to go to sleep. Krypto walks back into the living room, and in seconds, she sits by Jason and places her head on his lap again. He smiles at this goofball.

Clark brings a hand between Jason’s on the floor. “How well are you able to calm yourself like that?”

“Depends on the day.”

“Does Krypto help?”

“She does sometimes, yeah.” Jason straightens up his back and moves his hands to the dog’s fur. He scratches her stomach. He doesn’t know whence what he says next come from; maybe once again he needs to tell someone else than Kyle about a secret goal he has, and Clark happens to be right here. “Gonna need a place where I can have a pet and then get an extra job to pay the vet bills for them.”

“Let’s search for both these things for you, then.”

Jason expected Clark to ignore or mock him. He doesn’t know why he keeps on reading this man so badly and negatively. It’s cruel. Jason is cruel. He can’t stand it.

Clark demands his attention with a cough. Everything about him right now speaks of his discomfort. “Say… can I see your arms?” Jason freezes again. He first thinks he imagined that. A betrayal like this. But Clark doubles down: “I need to.”

And Jason is more sad than furious, so much so that all he can do is stare at him in defeat. He wants to run, there’s no way to run, he has nothing to hide, it’s the implications. It’s his mother. On the floor. The nausea again. Anger, pleading, anger. Jason must stay calm, understands that now more than ever since he’s arrived here, he must keep a low profile.

But how can he? He’s crushed. He didn’t expect this. At least his fatigue is such, he doesn’t have the strength to stand up and punch Clark. Levelheaded him would never want to do this... well, not usually anyway. Right now though… right now is unclear. Jason’s vision is blurry again.

Because there’s nothing to see here and Clark won’t let it go otherwise, the boy grits his teeth, shoots the guy a glare, then rolls up his sleeves past his elbows before his hold his arms in front of him.

Clark is taken aback for some reason. He looks embarrassed again. He inspects Jason’s skin for a bit and after that lets out a quiet: “Thanks.”

Jason pushes his sleeves back above his wrists. He gets it, he’s a son of addicts, he’s a bad child himself, and Clark cannot trust him. He hurts himself and he broke a glass today. He always picks at his skin. He wants to change these things, he does, but he doesn’t have the power to do it, doesn’t have the time, he has to graduate and he has to find a job, legal or not it doesn’t matter, he must survive and move on. Wants to move on. Wants to be stronger.

He’s furious again. Silent—exhausted—so angry. He is angry so often, he worries that one day he will stop being able to distinguish between this monster inside and who he might be. Who he could be.

Clark raises a hand and brings it front of him, like a call for peace. “I only meant to check for cuts, not… I wasn’t thinking...“

“Save it.” He hears his own hurt. It’s misplaced. But Jason never found out where is the right place to put it so it doesn’t kill him, and now it’s become too painful to handle. He is scared, alright? He doesn’t think he can do it. He wonders everyday if or rather when something in his heart will snap and he’ll become his father, or when one thing too much in his mind will break and he’ll become his mother. He despises the idea even more than he fears it, and he fears it very much. His tears are but companions to his bile and hatred. “I’m not like them. Never.”

“I know, yes. I’m sorry it wasn’t clear, I didn’t mean…”

Jason shakes his head. God, he itches for a fight. A different kick. A smoke. For Kyle holding him tight and telling him it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.

“In for five, out for four,” Clark mutters. It’s breathing instructions. Jason is more awake now somehow, he wants to hide in his bedroom, get his belongings sorted out, know where he’ll be sleeping tomorrow. He wants to bid a proper goodbye to Duke and give him his birthday present before he goes, if he goes. Clark is cruel to make him wait for his fate. Cruel to speak so kindly. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“Are you sending me back?”

“No. No way.”

No way. What a lie. Jason tries to believe it, he really does, but all he wants to do is run away. If he runs away then Clark can’t send him back, so Jason’s heart won’t break. He’s too stressed in this position, he told Kyle about it so many times and yet, he stays in foster care.

He is fucking stupid.

Clark leans in and touches the boy’s left shoulder softly, barely a touch at all. He repeats: “In for five, out for four.”

“Eight and six.”

“Eight and six it is.”

It takes a minute or two, as usual. Jason stretches when it’s over. His head is clearer, he’s not sure why. He still doesn’t believe Clark.

“Better?” The man asks, receiving only a shrug. Good enough an answer for him, it seems, for he speaks of something else right after that. “We can’t let things go on like this, kid. You need help and you need it quick. Some therapy again.”

“No thanks.”

“Why?”

“Leave it alone.”

“I can’t.”

“I won’t go.”

“But why? Are you scared? I know you’ve had bad experiences but—”

“I said no!”

Krypto gets up abruptly. She’s scared, Jason scared her, he hates himself, he hates himself so fucking much it hurts over and over and all over again. He hides behind his hands. So tired. Still shedding tears. It’s the frustration, not the sadness anymore. He thinks. He’s not sure. Not that he wants people to speak for him ever again seeing how it always ended up working out for him in the past. He can’t tell why it reminds him of foreign hands on him. If he doesn’t hurt his then he can’t recognize it for sure, and it’s important really, because he has to be sure. Sure it’s his. It’s stupid.

“It’s late,” Clark comments. There’s no emotion there. He stands up and gestures in encouragement for Jason to do the same. “Come on. Let’s go back upstairs.” He offers his hand in help.

Jason doesn’t openly reject it but he doesn’t take it either.

Clark waits until Jason is sitting on his bed, legs under the cover and door left open, before he sends Krypto there to watch over him the time of a bathroom break. It doesn’t bother Jason much. Now that he has some time and space to himself to replay the events of the night, he can tell he is so very damn lucky that Clark is letting him stay.

He is also mortified because Duke heard the commotion and might be feeling unsafe now. Another person Jason hurt. Best case scenario, because Jason and Clark kept their voices low, he found sleep again after the talk in the stairs. Jason has no doubt that he owes his foster brother an apology. He takes his phone from the desk, discards notifications from Kyle and Miguel, then types up a short message with a promise of in person apology over breakfast, which he immediately sends to Duke. He doesn’t receive a read receipt so he supposes sleep indeed came back to the other teen.

The relief is temporary. Jason will have to do quite a lot of damage control, he knows, between regaining the trust of the living beings in the household and finding peace in his own decisions. Running away would be smarter than pushing through highschool and dealing with the system and the potential punishment Clark will put in place. Or maybe it’s just easier for now, not for later, not in a smart way. Jason forgot.

Clark enters the room. He tells Krypto to go to bed herself, which she does after getting some more pats on the head and trotting down the stairs. The lamp on the desk is burning brighter than necessary, even more bothersome once Clark flicks off the light from the hallway. Jason dims it a little.

“Came to sing me to sleep?” he teases. Maybe not the right time for a joke.

Regardless, Clark’s grin is painful but real as he silently and near-completely pushes the door so their voices won’t carry to Duke’s bedroom too much. “Neither of us would want this.” He walks closer to the bed and quietly moves the chair before he sits on it. “I’m sorry I didn’t react more clearly any sooner. From now on I’ll make myself more available and try to play a more active role in preventing… this,” he points at Jason’s hands.  “It must hurt a lot.”

“‘S’alright these days.”

If Jason ever had to describe Clark as a parent, unavailable would be among the last words coming to him. He figures the man must mean more present physically, though he’s already here a fair amount. Perhaps he means more close monitoring, like he did on Saturday. Jason can’t decide how he feels about it.

His phone flashes. It’s nothing important and thankfully it’s not Duke, still no read receipt, still probably sleeping. Good. He puts the phone back on his dest, between the bunnies and the lamp.

Clark follows his movement with his eyes, finding the bunnies there too. He touches the wool on them and turns some around to detail the designs and the work. They look awful, as Jason told him. But it appears Clark disagrees.

“I quite like them.”

“Then take one.”

“Thanks, I was looking for a keychain.”

They’re dancing around it. They avoid what happened. They stay in uncomfortable silence like this for long enough for Jason to be split between his dire need for sleep and a surge of high energy in case he has to run away before dawn.

In the end, Clark breaks the silence. “Are you listening?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Alright.” He crafts the words in his head first. His frown pairs with his serious tone. “I know the state failed you with this three times and it’s not your fault at all, and I don’t want you to think about it as punishment for tonight or anything of the sort…” He speaks as slow as his voice level is low. Jason listens without looking. “It’s not only that you need it, it’s that we must find you a therapist.”

“Can’t afford it once I’m out.”

“But it could help in the meantime. We could also try and find one you could keep up with later too.”

“I don’t…” Jason finds it hard to explain. The financial cost of it alone is enough to deter him, it’s logical, he can’t do this without material means. But more than that, he wishes Clark would read between the lines. Since it’s not happening, he spells it out for him. “I don’t wanna talk about anything that will burden me after it’s out and left unchecked. And I don’t wanna have to trust someone I won’t see after four months of all of this coming out and no way for me to get out of whatever mess this will create.”

“The goal isn’t to hinder you.”

“You don’t get it.”

“You don’t let me try.”

“It’s not happening.”

“You’re not reading this well: we’re not negotiating. Don’t you see that I’m covering up for you right now? Do you think I haven’t been given directions on what to do if I witness outbursts like this?” 

“Then do it!? Fuck’s sake, just go ahead and do that. The hell is it to you?”

Whisper-yelling hurts Jason’s throat. The panic spark is like a wave in his chest, nothing but poison and fear. Clark’s quick glance toward the door shows that he, too, is concerned they will wake Duke up again. It sucks.

And that man is losing patience, Jason thinks. He’s scared of what it could mean and he wants to avoid this blowing up, obviously, however it’s so late and he’s tired of it all. Tired of not being heard, tired of Clark not understanding him and the reality he which he lives. Tired of spending every day convinced he’ll soon be discarded. “You don’t have to deal with me.”

“I’m not dealing with you, I’m fostering you.”

“If you wanna play family so badly then I’m sure Bruce could always get you an easier child.”

Truly, Jason hates that he can be so cruel. He hears himself say these things and he gets the vague desire to die. The strong desire to hurt himself. His hands again, always, the usual. And other place. Seeing the pain written all over Clark’s face and is another stone to the mountain of self-hatred Jason sees rising. “Sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

Clark acquiesces, either dismissal or acknowledgment. It is clear he’s examining his options and deciding his next move, staring straight into Jason’s eyes. It takes him another half a minute to come up with something, after which he raises his right index finger. “One session. You and me, if that’s what will make you go willingly. You don’t have to tell a lot, just enough so that a professional can get a scope of some of your triggers and reactions, and help you learn healthy coping techniques to prevent things from spiraling.”

“I can’t do this.”

“You’re gonna have to do something, Jay. It can’t continue as is. I don’t want it to get so bad that you would…” He doesn’t finish this sentence. Doesn’t have to. Jason gets it, prays he will erase form his memories the frightened and not-there expression he sees on the man’s face right now.

“I won’t off myself. I swear.”

Clark shudders. Maybe he doesn’t believe it. “Very well,” is all he says. He shifts on his chair and crosses his arms really close to his chest.

Jason’s guilt is without bonds right now. He’s is telling the truth, he doesn’t know how to translate it for Clark but he’s telling the truth. And he knows he’s backed into a corner this time. “You’re not dropping the therapy thing, are you?”

“No, I’m not. I already told you that for me, this contract we made—not with the state, but you and me, this unwritten thing—it’s not about a room and food and that’s it. I want to actually help you.”

“I can get by just fine.”

“I’m sure you can survive on your own and that you’ll find your way in life. I don’t doubt that.” Jason waits for the objection to come, what with Clark searching the words. When it comes out it’s not as violent as he expected it to be, though it stirs up something awful deep within him. “But don’t you want to get better?”

“I want to get out.” He sounds near-pleading. Things still suck. “I’ll get better after.”

Clark remains quiet for a while again, his eyes and small smile kind. “I can understand that,” he concedes. He isn’t lying, it sounds like he is beginning to get it. He will not let go of his request, however. “One session,” he repeats. “To manage for now.”  

“With you?”  

“If you want me there, yes. I want to know what’s up inside your head and what I can do to help you as well. Like a team effort. But if you’d rather be alone then it’s alright too, I’ll get counsel on my own. It’s no trouble.”

“I don’t wanna talk.”

“Then I’ll be your mouthpiece.” Clark is unwilling to let Jason’s answers and feelings go nowhere anymore. It’s overwhelming. “It’s only for tips and quick fixes, the rest… Well. You know I can afford it, I’d even pay for sessions after you leave if you’d let me.”

Jason groans. “So close…” He chuckles darkly. He’s might soon be crying again. .

“Shit,” Clark sighs. “Did I blow it?” Though he tries to put on a light tone, it falls flat. He is still sad, still upset maybe. He lets himself look like it when he explains: “I guess I wish you’d stick with accepting help for as long as you need it and as often as you can.”

“You wish wrong.”

Clark doesn’t wish wrong; Jason is only trying to avoid them having this talk. Truth is that he wishes the same things the man does, wishes for help, for calmer days, a quieter life. He’d beg through tears and hurt for his body and mind to feel like home someday, even just once.

But he doesn’t trust anybody enough with his secrets and his fears and his memories and his love in order to reach this point, or rather he doesn’t feel okay burdening his friends with any of it at all. He also can’t afford people whose job it is to be burdened with finding solutions and relief for these feelings, be it for or with him, and to be honest he doesn’t think he’d be ready to trust these people either anyway. Doesn’t trust himself most of the time. He’s not ready to reach out yet, he feels stuck. He misses talking sessions at the group home because Derek was chill and the boys weren’t mean. He can’t move on from how burnt he was time and time again in the past with state mandated doctors and he doesn’t believe that he is stupid for thinking that. He’s got too much baggage. He prays for a way around this.

And perhaps yes, maybe, maybe Clark could be his way around it. Jason rationalizes that worst case scenario, going there and talking the bare minimum about his problems should be enough to give Clark more assurance about what to do to avoid or power through the boy’s crises, helping them both in the process. Best case scenario, Jason will take away new techniques to be more himself than this monster consuming him, so he won’t completely lose it before the day he’ll reach a positive place in life.

Clark is still staring at him. He looks so exhausted. Jason can give him this victory. “Fine.”

The man’s smile is wide, yet he still seems sad. The night took a toll on him.

Jason can’t escape this guilt. He sees butterflies again, the vertigo striking back, the tiredness of his bones and the soreness of his muscles set afire again. It is very late.

Clark gets up from the chair. It appears they won’t discuss any further details for now, at least if Clark intents to ask anything about Jason’s preferences and schedule. It’s all stressful again. Maybe it sounds bad and maybe Jason should face the unknown or whatever it is people believe is empowering, but there definitely are things he doesn’t want to cope with. It upsets him to think about that.

“I’m gonna sleep here,” Clark states. Not a question. “I have a futon.”

A panic pokes at Jason nerves instantly. “You don’t need to…” No. He wants to say no. But then he sees Clarks’s gaze and it’s the same one than that he wore when he was in that other place in his mind in which he imagined Jason hurting or killing himself. It’s haunting.

He’s about to speak again when Jason stops him with a wave of the hand. The boy tries and thinks of ways to compromise with this. If anything, he’s so tired, he’ll probably fall asleep before dread settles in. Or he’ll wait until Clark passes out. He feels awful for thinking bad things, he’s very ashamed, it’s not personal, it’s everybody. He’s the one with the problems. “Can we leave the lamp like this?”

“Of course, yes. Or maybe… the hallway?”

“Lamp is better.”

The light from the hallway, when burning alone, brings shadows inside the room, real and imaginary alike. At the simple thought Jason already knows that he won’t be able to fall asleep for a while, in the end.

Clark drags his futon and his phone inside the room, then lays down near the door, which he leaves half-open. Jason forces himself to battle sleep until he finally hears quiet snores, slow and steady, and sees Clark’s face relaxed in slumber. The alarms on their phones are set to ring all too soon.

Chapter Text

Jason will probably not remember Duke’s eighteenth birthday. He hasn’t been able to remember many things since his episode in the kitchen. It’s coming back to him slowly, just as he is rebuilding mental strength again, but it’s still fragile and fleeting.

When Duke comes downstairs for breakfast, the first thing Jason does is wishing him happy birthday and handing him his gift; it’s homemade pancakes. He will also help Alfred with a two tier cake for the party this afternoon. Duke looks happy with the attention and even compliments Jason’s cooking. A minute later, he jokingly struggles to extract himself from Clark’s embrace. It must be a strange day for them.

Bruce kept his promise and did not plan an extravagant party, though he does give Duke an extravagant travel gift. According to Cassandra, it’s a family tradition. Jason doesn’t see what Clark has for a gift, figures that it was given in private, and chooses not to comment on it. He forgets most of what happens next. The cake, the singing, everything. It’s not so different from Richard’s birthday party—and Richard is even here for it as well—except Damian is very quiet. Eerily so. He looks gloomy and almost sad. A few times, Jason thinks about talking to him. But he’s not privy of the kid’s problems. They all go to sleep around eleven. By then, Jason is drained. He passes out fast.

In the morning he meets Cassandra in the corridor, and on their way to the kitchen they find Clark and Duke talking to Damian like one would to a small child. Quietly, kneeling at his level, a reassuring demeanor. It hits Jason that for Damian, or at least in the kid’s mind, this might mean the end of his already unclear familial link with Duke. Perhaps he is scared to lose him. Jason isn’t stupid, he’s understood by now that something like this must have happened in the past for Damian not to want to get attached to foster kids. But he doesn’t worry much today. Duke and the child exchange a long hug, so it should be fine. They sit together for breakfast. Bruce runs to work for an emergency before ten o’clock strikes. Clark sleeps in until twelve.

Duke is on a special study leave between Monday and Wednesday, so he and Clark can make sure everything is in order. It’s not the first time they’re doing this of course, but now that it’s real, they probably have a lot more things to double-check. They come home exhausted and not too motivated, especially Duke who still has to volunteer on Monday night. Jason tells himself it will soon come back to how it was around here. He understands it’s another world now, one in which Duke is here because Clark lets him be here. It’s a new relationship for them, in many aspects. It must feel misplaced.

Jason tries not to think about it too much. He fails.

Thursday night leaves him weak. At around three thirty he wakes up startled and in paralysis, unable to remember the dream causing this, and even after he manages to move again he can’t breathe well, his chest tight and all his nerves ablaze. His throat is dry and heavier than usual.

He visits the bathroom in a haze, wobbly on his legs but quiet all the same. He washes his hands twice and avoids his reflection. He then comes back to his room and ditches sleep for a bit because his chest is vibrating in anxiety or panic, so while he waits for it to pass he decides to reach to the desk, turn on the lamp and grab the new yarn Clark recently bought for him. He sits above the cover with his back against the wall, the position made to appease the spells of vertigo and unknown anger now hitting him at once.

He knows by heart how to make bunnies now. Bad bunnies. He’s trying to get better at this, not that it matters much but it would be nice and all. He breathes slowly, manually. His phone is within reach but no one he can contact is up at such hour, so he gives up on the idea. He focuses on the wool.

His hands look better than they did a week ago, or at least so it seems to him—though the bar is so low always when it comes to this, Jason can’t tell for certain. He also can’t point exactly at what is maybe making it better. He hates to think that the improvement could be a bad thing, a calculated dodge, nothing more than a subconscious attempt to hide what he can from the therapist when they’ll meet. So, perhaps it’s this. Or it could be the constant ache of his fingers and the tense muscles at the base of his thumbs, or the roughness of his skin.

Or perhaps it’s the finger knitting. Truth is, it’s starting to help in other ways, such as focus. Multiple times this week, Jason has caught himself knitting aimlessly while watching videos or studying. At first he only meant to hold the yarn in his hands to have something else than the skin of his fingers to pick at and squeeze, but now that a knitting pattern has become so easy to him, he can do it without looking nor thinking. It offers him some peace. Jason doesn’t use the hooks because even if they’re soft and made of plastic, he doesn’t trust himself with not finding ways to make it hurt somehow; but it doesn’t stop his craft.

He considers giving Bruce Wayne thanks. Giving him a bunny. He doesn’t decide for or against this right now because he’s tired, he’s not logical enough, and frankly he still hasn’t found a common ground with that guy. There’s a disconnect too deep, a guarded vibe between them, like a forever divide.

There’s the scars on Bruce’s arms. Jason often wishes he could forget about that.

He forces the memory to die for the night and, minutes later, when he starts struggling to keep his eyes open, he leaves the yarn back on the desk and crawls under the blankets again. He is out soon enough.

On Friday after last period, Duke almost needs coaxing for him to release cousin Jay from the hug they share in the school parking lot, where Clark drove to collect the boys after a pit stop by the airport. It’s a surprise Jason was sworn not to divulge, since Duke expected to see his cousin only later that evening. They’ll order takeout for dinner.

Jay is not dissimilar to Duke when it comes to his personality, although he seems more inclined toward space and machinery than prose. Still, he listens to the younger man talk about his ongoing story with patient interest. He is also very chill around Jason, who answers him in kind yet frankly feels like the worst host, because he cannot concentrate on this connection at all. He is too trapped in his own head. Thankfully, Duke has a lot planned for the weekend almost right from the moment cousin Jay enters the house. They are gone all evening.

Jason spends this time obsessing over saying the wrong things in therapy. He doesn’t know anymore if having Clark there with him is a good idea or not. He doesn’t want to disappoint him. He doesn’t want to be alone.

All through the night he wakes up regularly, every two hours or so. Every time it’s a panic, a quick check of his phone to look at the time, another bad thought and the dreaded return of the hand twisting and scratching. It’s the stress.

Come morning, Duke and Jay finish eating breakfast around eight thirty, then leave already for a full day of sightseeing. Jason deliberately keeps away from Clark afterward by hiding in the laundry room to clean white linen and handwash the winter blankets they don’t use anymore now that warmth is coming back. It’s quite unimportant and not at all urgent. Robin and Krypto drop by periodically to ask for attention, while Clark politely avoids the room and conflict. Maybe it’s stressful for him too.

They leave home by car around eleven. Clark informs Jason the ride will be quick and that they’ll be picking up food on the way back. He then tries to engage in light conversation, but the boy doesn’t respond. It’s not entirely deliberate and it’s that Jason doesn’t want to go, no, it’s a grey area on his list of yes/no things and it’s forty minutes, only forty minutes, he tells himself that he’s endured far longer beatings in the past, be it physical or figurative. It’s not the worst he’s gone through. He’ll speak to the therapist of course, he promised, but right now he stays silent because he has nothing to say. He chews on his tongue. He forgot his gloves. For most of the drive, Clark fumbles with the radio. Jason focuses on the road.

They stop in a private parking and enter its nearby residential building, one of these recently renovated ones with fancy but small apartments within. They climb to the third floor where Clark rings the bell by the door at the end of the corridor after checking the time. They’re four minutes early. The small plaque on the wall reads Dr Dinah Lance.

She seems nice. She asks basic questions and Jason answers, nothing too deep or personal. Nothing he hasn’t told Clark. Thing is, it’s not in defiance; he simply doesn’t know how else to explain things. She probes him about the same problem and he has no other answer than those he’s already spoken at least once or twice before. He’d rather not think of other ways to describe his feelings because he might stumble upon something he doesn’t want to find. He gets that it’s the point of therapy, yes. But he doesn’t want to do this right now.

Even the minimum exhausts him. After twenty minutes or so, the therapist starts asking Clark questions more than she does Jason, and the boy can’t tell if it’s normal or if she notices his mind is starting to shut down. At least they have the courtesy not to talk about him like he’s not here.

The coffee mug he was given, now empty, has dark spots at the bottom. Maybe the coffee spilled before she gave it to him. Clark answers questions about what he hopes for Jason and his role in all this, and it’s all of the same things the teen already knows. Though, he’s surprised to hear that Clark takes a lot more blame for the recent situation than would be fair to himself. Jason doesn’t mention this.

When the shrink asks him what happened to his hands, he doesn’t have a good answer.

“It’s always been like this,” he says. It’s not a lie; he can’t remember how it started or when. As far as he’s concerned, it’s just who he is. Though he knows it to be untrue. If he focused longer than a minute on the subject, deeper than the surface memories he uses as shield against others, he’ll surely find where it started.

And it’s unlikely he’ll ever come back from this unharmed.

He listens to Clark trying to get him to talk about his compulsive cleaning. He doesn’t even make it sound bad. Jason has to explain again it’s not about germs, he just like order and thinks it’s stupid to live in disorder when he battles two demons at once by cleaning as much as he does. The therapist refrains from commenting. She only asks him if it hurts his hands to clean, and when Jason doesn’t answer because he doesn’t like the truth, she gives him a small smile in understanding.

The stain on the mug bothers Jason. Bothers him so much. It’s irrational. He just wants an out. It’s been thirty-two minutes.

“Clark,” is all he says. He’s not even looking at either of the people here with him. There’s a bird outside on the windowsill.

Clark asks what’s up but it’s the therapist who gives Jason a better alternative.

“The bathroom is on the left of this corridor, just after the kitchenette and before the entrance. Just… don’t leave the flat alone?”

He hesitates. Gets up. Like an automatism, he grabs his mug and Clark’s (empty as well) before he walks down the small hallway. He can sort of hear the two adults speak after he’s arrived by the sink, but they do so very quietly, so he can’t make out the words. Whatever. He visits the bathroom, cleans his hands only once, represses a groan when he notices dirt on the mirror. He tells himself the shrink likely doesn’t live here, it looks like a giant office really, it makes sense not everything is spotless. He lets it go.

When he gets out he doesn’t rejoin the conversation. Instead, he cleans the mugs. He is too frustrated to think clearly.

Clark and the therapist walks back to him shortly after. He ended up cleaning extra dishes that he deemed poorly dried on the rack on the left of the sink. All the therapist asks is whether he feels better now. Fact is, he does. He tells her this. She seems happy enough to hear it.

For the first few minutes in the car after that, until after Clark has picked up yet another takeout dish, the two men don’t speak. Jason is slowly realizing that maybe, he fucked up. He didn’t stay long enough to ask for any advice, he wouldn’t have found any right way to ask for advice in the first place, he wasted ten minutes of Clark’s time. He also cleaned a stranger’s dishes, which he has been told a few times is not quite polite. But this, he doesn’t feel too bad about.

“So…,” Clark finally starts. “Any comment?”

“Coffee tasted fine.” It’s all Jason can say for sure. Everything else, it will have to wait. “We didn’t talk much, so… I dunno. She seems alright.”

“I’m glad you think that.”

“Are you mad I walked away?”

“No, don’t worry. She encouraged you to do so for a reason. You looked faint.” Jason looks at him for a lie. But Clark is serious. He has this expression again, a mix of worry and determination. It’s still overwhelming to take in. “Can’t say I didn’t appreciate being able to chat a bit with her alone.”

“Did it help?”

Maybe it’s not the time for jokes. Maybe it’s not a joke. Maybe Jason really wants Clark not to feel bad, even less so if that’s on his behalf. He truly hopes it helped.

“It did,” Clark confirms. “I can come back in with you next time too, though I think it might be best if it’s just you and her.”

“I didn’t agree to a next time.”

“Well, it’s booked anyway. On Wednesday—not in four days—the one after.” Jason doesn’t argue, doesn’t make any snide remark, doesn’t say anything at all. He is chewing on his tongue. Clark, as expected, doesn’t let things go. “Look, I won’t drag you up there, it’s your choice in the end. Think it over, I’ll drive us in the area regardless because I have errands to run two streets over that day, and you can decide then whether or not you’ll speak with her.”

“Will you be mad if I don’t?”

“No, of course not.”

It might not have been the right question. Clark might not be mad, but he’ll be sad for sure. He cares for Jason more than Jason wants him to care. Not in a bad way, but… yeah, it’s a bad way. Bad for Clark. He’ll end up sad.

Jason picks at his hands again. The improvement was good while it lasted. Clark gets suddenly closer to him and it startles the teen a little, but all the man does is open the glove compartment and take a full ball of yarn from it.

He gives it to Jason and says: “We didn’t speak about it, so I’ll tell you this myself: you can be proud of the small things you do to get better, be it trimming your nails or knitting more bunnies. You’re not letting bad feelings take you down without a fight and you try not to take it out on others. Me, I’m proud of you for this.”

“That makes one of us,” Jason mumbles. He is already starting a small pattern on three fingers with his left hand. He still lacks coordination here. And he thinks Clark lacks clarity about the situation. “It’s all temporary, Clark, you don’t have to be so nice to me or worry like this. I just need more freedom and then I’ll get better, don’t think I reject help, it’s not…” Ah. So now, he speaks. Words come to him and he speaks. He needs to say these things. Not sure why. It’s Clark so it’s fine, somewhat fine, it serves a purpose at least. They live together after all. “People keep on trying to make me normal but no one allows me to live a normal life or to tell them how I feel without them manipulating my words or choosing how I feel instead. It’s bullshit.”

“A solid point,” Clark agrees. “I’d hope being with us is close enough to normal—whatever that word may mean. But I hear you and I agree. Like I said, this isn’t some in-depth thing you have to dive in immediately. Of course you can do it too, I’d encourage it, but it’s up to you how much you want to give and take. Be honest and take all the tips you can so when you’ll be on your own, you won’t be without resources. It’s interim care.”

“I get it,” Jason sighs. This habit of Clark has been bothering him always. “You repeat yourself often.”

“I’m nervous. And I want to make sure you hear me.”

“I hear you.”

Clark thinks for a minute before he asks, his tone apologetic: “It’s how I contribute to your stress, isn’t it?”

“This and thinking I’m gonna break or something. I’m doing better than that.”

“I see.” He exhales, a long breath. He must have been holding it for a bit. “I’ll try not to do it so much. And to worry less.”

“Thanks.” A pause. “And thanks for going with me.”

Clark glances at him and smiles. He changes driving gear. They’re out of the smaller streets. “No problem. But eh, you’re telling me these important things now instead of while we were with her?”

“I’m telling you this. Not anyone else.”

Clark doesn’t reply. He stays silent the entire drive after this. But the way he gently squeezes Jason’s arm when they stop at a red light, and later at home the quick half-hug he gives him, they all tell Jason he said something that matters.

Duke flies above the ice, twirls fast counterclockwise a few times and lands neatly on his left foot. Jason is mesmerized. It’s not the first time he sees Duke do that, but it’s once again a thrill. He’s never really paid attention to ice skating before—doesn’t watch it on TV, never thought more than once or twice about going to a rink… it was never on his radar. It’s a new world. Duke makes it look freeing.

Jason watches from the middle section of the seats where Kyle and him went to take off their borrowed skates. They need to rest their feet, sore after not even one hour of poor and slow movements on the ice. They barely managed two turns each without a fall or near accident. Jason needs to work on his balance. Kyle needs to look in front of him when he walks. To skate takes a greater effort than the boys expected, so for the next half an hour, they’re quite content with watching others do that.

Duke is still going strong, at home on the ice, showing his cousin as much of his new skills as he can. There are only ten other people or so on the rink right now, which leaves him plenty of space for complicated jumps. Even from this distance, cousin Jay looks impressed; he’s not the only one.

“Man, Duke is so good,” Kyle lets out.

“Right? He’s won trophies and all.”

“I’d break three bones per jump like this.” He counts the spins out loud for the next jump (which Duke messes up a little, using his hand not to fall on the ice in a motion that seems dangerous in itself) and nods his head in admiration. “I wanna draw that,” he whispers. “You think he’d let me hang out during a lesson or something?”

“You’re gonna have to ask him. Lessons might be private but maybe if you pay him with money or food, he’ll come back here with you.”

“I’ll give him all my three dollars.”

They set the skates aside and stay silent for a minute. Jason watches Duke without really seeing much. His mind is still mud from the aftershock of whatever it is that was set alight within him yesterday. It’s not good, he thinks. Or it will be good later but at this moment, it burns.

Kyle gets closer. Their arms touch and his warmth is the only heat Jason wants to feel right now. Wants to feel always. It overpowers the bad one long enough for him to relax a bit. Even the charged question Kyle asks doesn’t make the calm falter. “So are you staying here? In Gotham?”

“Can’t imagine living anywhere else.” Jason thinks about the truthfulness of this answer. It came to him naturally so it’s probably high up there, quality wise, but it’s not the complete truth and he’s talking to Kyle. It’s only them on these seats; he can speak freely here. “Can’t imagine the future for sure, really. I don’t know what I wanna do, what I can do… it’s a blank state. It’s too big for me.” He leans fully into the seat. The deep sigh he lets slip then is nothing but frustration. “And all these people in my life telling that I have to know, I need a plan, there must be something… fuck this. I don’t know.”

“Yeah, well…” Kyle gives him a light shove. He sounds a little sad despite his smile. “That’s fine.”

“You think?”

“Sure. You live fast and shaky but not by choice, it’s always been like this and it’s never been fair. Of course it’s easier to make plans when you know what comes next and what kind of money there’ll be and where to sleep and so on. You don’t have these things yet but that doesn’t mean you’ll crash. You need more time, that’s all.”

“Why,” Jason teases, “maybe I should have you by my side constantly so you can tell people this.”

“Anytime.”

Jason’s heart is beating fast again. It’s always in part not a surprise that Kyle gets him so well and defends him always, and in part disheartening not to be able to give anything back in return or to do something as small as being honest with him. Though Jason doesn’t fancy himself a liar, when it comes to his feelings he’s become quite skilled at collecting excuses.

Kyle pokes him in the upper arm. “But for real,” he insists, “I get it, and maybe one day they’ll get it too. It’s not unreasonable and it’s not who you are. They don’t know you like I do.”

“No one knows me like you do.”

It was spoken low. It was spoken at all. Jason hates that he’s too tired to stop it.

At least Kyle finds it endearing. He coos: “Aww,” except it’s not mocking or sarcastic. If anything, he looks a bit flushed. “Sucks to be everyone else then.”

Jason instantly disconnects from the conversation for a few seconds that last eternities. It’s too much for him, they’ve always been like this and it used to be fine. But it’s not so fine anymore. Maybe he’ll focus on this next time Clark drags him to therapy, because that’s the only thing he feels he could manage eventually. Everything else is too monstrous, too close, too long, too much dust in his throat. That part of his life however, this side of his heart, whatever he’ll call this link, it’s still salvageable. He thinks. In front of him, close to the board, Duke lands a forward facing jump.

“Besides,” Kyle adds, his brows furrowed like he’s going through a sudden realization, “graduating highschool and ditching college to go to work instead is not having no plan. Plenty of people do it.”

Jason shrugs. “Guess some have more family support.”

Kyle makes a strange noise in response and puts a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Dude,” he sighs. “What am I?”

After cousin Jay leaves on Monday morning, Duke is standoffish at school the whole day; not even a terrible rendition of Romeo and Juliet by Miguel and Stephanie during lunch break manages to cheer him up. Back home around five, Clark recruits Jason as co-chef to bake Duke’s favorite beef dish and a chocolate cake for dinner. It doesn’t have the full expected effect, but at least, Duke really enjoys the food. His cousin calls him around eight thirty to tell him that all is well and he can’t wait for them to meet in the summer, and so come morning, Duke is happier again.

He skips school on Wednesday as planned beforehand to attend some writing workshop followed by an award event, both held in another part of the city. Clark promises to attend the ceremony and even plans to write about it in the paper he works for. Jason leaves for school alone after wishing Duke good luck.

He’s still struggling with schoolwork. It’s a balance problem. Some things he aces, other things he fails despite trying. He forgets a lot in the moment and then hates himself because it’s things he technically knows. He wants to blame his stress but that only makes him even more frustrated and full of guilt.

He doesn’t find his lunchtime friends where they would usually be, which he figures isn’t too surprising given how beautiful the weather is today. The cafeteria is offering lunches to go now so students can eat anywhere they want, so maybe the group went outside without him. Or it’s not so nefarious and Jason is the first here for once.

He has a free period after that so he’s not in a hurry. He waits. Soon, Artemis texts him from Harper’s phone that they’re both eating in the small room that serves as main base for the volunteer club, where he is welcome to join. Jason doesn’t question the phone switch. He takes a lunch to go and moves to his friends’ location.

When he opens the door he finds Harper asleep on the floor, laying on a closed sleeping bag and with a coat thrown on their back, their head resting on Artemis’s legs. Two lunch bags are still packed, seemingly full, on the table. Artemis looks at Jason she and some hand signs that he understands as “come in and close the door quietly”, which he does. Far from him the idea of waking up Harper.

He greets Artemis and she does the same, all words whispered almost lower than the chatter still coming from the hallway. Harper is either a deep sleeper, deeply tired, or actually awake but resting their eyes. Their breathing makes Jason believe they’re still asleep, though, perhaps struggling to wake up. He drops his bag on a chair and notices a phone near the lunch boxes.

“Can you give it to me?” Artemis asks. “I don’t wanna move and wake ‘em up.”

Jason grants her request and hands her the phone. He then sits on the floor near the two. “Is Harper okay?”

“Yes, don’t worry. Night shift yesterday.”

Jason thinks about it often, how Harper is here by day and working long hours after. They’re living alone, been living alone for half a year, got rent and bills to pay. They told him so privately weeks ago, in half words, told him about being out of foster care since October, now working to afford a bigger flat so they can take their former step-brother in as soon as he will age out as well in a few years. Jason isn’t certain he understood the details, mostly because there weren’t many. He always makes sure to take good notes in class and have these ready just in case Harper needs it, because it’s all he can do. But as far as he can tell, Harper is fine on their own.

Jason starts and almost immediately stops reaching for his lunch bag when he sees Artemis move and hears Harper groan and stir. Nap time is under threat.

“Need more rest?” Artemis asks.

“A bit,” Harper mumbles. “Hi Jay.”

“Hey.”

Jason watches them settle back into half-sleep. He’s wondering where Stephanie is, he sends her a message but doesn’t expect an answer. They don’t speak by texts as much as Jason does with the others. If she wants to be alone of course it’s fine too; they all need their own time. What he needs is a cigarette, something he keeps thinking about. He doesn’t crave it like a craving really, he can go without and not get annoyed by now after a few months, it’s more… it’s something else. He doesn’t know what.

Artemis pets Harper’s hair softly with one hand and scrolls through her phone with the other. She soon sighs and tells Jason: “We both have three periods left, maybe we’ll skip the next. You?”

“One study period, then Algebra, then done for the day.” He pauses. Takes his shot. “Say, Artemis? Do you smoke?”

She looks taken aback. “What? No. And neither should you.” She doesn’t sound too serious or judgmental. It’s her usual wisdom. She doesn’t dwell on Jason’s question and instead looks at her phone again, her face soon showing signs of concern. Her voice betrays it too. “Have you seen Stephanie?”

“We were together in first period but I thought I’d find her here with you now.”

“Maybe on the bleachers?"

Harper hums, whispers: “Yeah, she’s there.”

“I’ll go see her,” Jason decides. He gets up but not before bending down and lightly kissing Harper’s forehead. It’s not out of nowhere, Harper did the same to him a while back as a thank you for picking up a book for them from the library. Maybe it’s the relationship they share. “Clark gave me the okay to stay behind on Friday, I’ll help you all with loading the vans and stuff.”

Artemis smiles at him. “Thanks.”

He nods then retrieves his backpack and his lunch, bids his friends goodbye and heads to the sport field.

He finds Stephanie at the near top of the section overlooking the casual portion of the tracks. She is busy taking off her sweater when he climbs the stairs to potentially join her for lunch—if she’ll have him. From the looks of it, she accidentally dripped her right elbow into her chips dipping sauce. Some days are difficult. She greets Jason with a wide grin and calls him up. He gets closer to her but stops walking for a second when the sight of her now bare skin shows him some of the nastiest bruises he’s ever seen, running across her upper left arm and into the crook of her elbow in three distinct parts.

He moves to sit two seats away from her so there is space for the food between them. He also doesn’t want to be too close in case it would scare her or something. It’s messing with his head to see these bruises here, he’s not sure how to address this.

And if people feel like this too when it comes to his hands, then he hates himself for it even more.

Stephanie quickly finishes wiping the sauce from her sweater. She glances at Jason and her relaxed demeanor changes in a second when she meets his eyes. He can’t hide his discomfort. There’s no way to avoid it so he just jumps into the problem, vaguely gesturing at her arm.

“Did… your parents?”

She is confused at first, looks at where his movement points, and her expression shifts again when she gets what he means. “Ah! no, no. I was in a fight! It sucks, it’s so visible…”

Jason thinks he heard this incorrectly. Did she say fight? So casually? Is she talking wrestling or octagon or on the street? That only calls for more questions, some of which Jason won’t ask because he doesn’t think anything else but an iron bar or something like that could have produced such bad impacts. No human punch, no full contact either; the shape is distinct. He could be wrong. He hopes he’s wrong.

Stephanie scowls. “What?”

“Nothin’.” Jason hears something he doesn’t like in her tone. It hurts him somehow. “How do you fight?”

She smirks. There’s sadness in that. “With all I have.”

“Wrestling match?”

She studies him for a bit before she answers, voice quiet and eyes cast down on her food: “No. Outside.”

That makes Jason sit straight, ready to listen to what’s bothering her. He’d rather not speak to shrinks but he can listen to friends. He values their safety. He doesn’t know where to begin in asking about what really happened so he doesn’t say anything, choosing to let her talk on her own terms. He opens his lunch bag and notices her stare on his hands. Not the first time she does this. He never mentions it. He doesn’t want to explain or justify anything, he’d rather people pretend not to see.

He gets the hypocrisy here. He’ll deal with this guilt later.

“You keep secrets?” Stephanie asks.

“Always.”

“Figured.” She takes a deep breath, lets out an even deeper one. “It’s not a bad neighborhood I live in, but my dad has always been into crime small and big so he has enemies, and now that he’s in jail they sometimes come and annoy us instead. Me and my mom.”

“Fuck,” Jason sighs. “I’m sorry, that sucks.” He sees her grin again, still painful, her eyes glossy. She may have won the fight but she looks so tired. Jason tries to redirect the conversation elsewhere, but there’s no telling if he’s truly going in a better direction. “What’s your mom like?”

Stephanie hesitates. She drops the empty food wrappers inside her paper bag from which she extracts a plastic cup full of fruit bits. “You wanna hear this?”

“I do, yeah.” Jason unpacks his grilled chicken sandwich. “What’s she like?”

“Better now. She used to abuse pills, she’s been clean for a year but before that, it was…”

She doesn’t finish her sentence. Her small smile is forced, her gaze lost somewhere on Jason’s left but likely not seeing anything. Nothing in the present anyway.

Jason is no stranger to life with addicts and the memories of it. He’d much prefer never remembering it ever, but right now, Stephanie could be needing him to take a trip down that lane for a minute. Just a minute. It’s also possible he’s wrong and she doesn’t need this from him, but Jason is selfish. Maybe he wants to tell someone else than the people who know simply because the paperwork told them about it, like Clark and Waylon and such.

Fact is, Jason can’t remember the last time he actually had a choice in telling someone about what his parents were like. It’s weird. He couldn’t tell the hurt of this until this very instant and he’s not sure what to make of it. Word vomit is as good as it gets.

“Yeah, I get it,” he says. “My mom was an addict too, though she fancied hard drugs more. It killed her.”

“OD? I’m sorry.” She is genuine. She looks like she’s not entirely here again, like stuck in-between worlds. Jason watches her closely instead of dwelling on her answers. There will be another time for that. “That was my nightmare as a child,” she confesses. “It comes back sometimes. Overdose or driving under the influence and dying… I had to beg her so many times not to get out of the house when she was loopy, but you know how addicts get.”

Jason acquiesces. He has no good formulated reply to this, he knows what she means, he’s been at the end of this. He doesn’t tell her he’s the one who saw Catherine overdose because his friend doesn’t need this burden. It stays in his throat. He’ll keep it there a lot longer, as long as he can, he doesn’t want to tell anyone. He thinks Clark knows (again, from paperwork) and he hates it. He hates it. It angers him.

But Stephanie needs him more right now. It might only be the excuse he uses to shoo away the feeling, but even then he doesn’t care. It’s best for everyone involved. He observes as Stephanie picks at some fruits in her bowl and nods to nothing and no one, as if she’s settled an argument within herself. Her body language is more relaxed now.

“Anyway,” she shrugs. “That was then. These days she’s trying really hard to be a good mom, and she’s been quite good at it, so you know… I’m quite hopeful and all.”

“Glad to hear this.”

He has nothing much to add. He could talk about his dad, sure, he was in jail too and that’s something else he didn’t expect to have in common with her; but Willis is dead. Died in jail, had enemies. It’s unlikely Stephanie would welcome this information well, she has enough worries as it stands. So Jason shuts up.

He finishes his sandwich and starts eating his yogurt while Stephanie clears up her bowl of fruits and gathers up her trash. She receives a message and starts typing and scrolling on her phone. When Jason is done with his food as well, he merges their trash to make the disposal of it easier. A cold breeze passes them by; Stephanie shivers. She puts her sweater back on, and in the process her t-shirt rises a little bit. Jason doesn’t mean to look, he’s not like that, but his eye catches on another bruise here. Though not as impressive as those on her arm, it makes him angry all the same.

She sees his eyes on her and checks where he’s staring out, groaning when she realizes what he saw and tucking back her t-shirt inside her pants. Jason lets out a heavy breath.

“Damn, Stephanie…”

“You have bruises too,” she spits. Now, she is angry.

Maybe Jason misread part of her cues. He doesn’t want it to be where they leave this. He also doesn’t want to talk about his hands nor to cross her boundaries. It’s complicated. They’re getting side-tracked. “It’s different,” he says. Automatically, his hands find each other and it takes an effort to stop the bad side of his brain to push him toward picking at the skin or whatever other shit it feeds him on the regular. Stephanie doesn’t need to see that. Or, well, she’s probably already seen that. The glance they exchange gives Jason this impression. Redirection, once more, is all that comes to him. “Your dad’s enemies… they seem dangerous.”

Stephanie relaxes. Her lopsided smile accompanies her patting Jason’s hands. She shrugs. “Nah, don’t worry, we’re not home for now anyhow. Mom is staying with a friend while we look for another flat, and I’m staying with Harper to be closer to school. We’re safe.”

Jason still worries, of course. His friend was roped into a fight, it sucks, he fears the wrong people will go after her again. But he tells himself that if Stephanie says she’s safe, then she’s safe, and he needs to learn to trust this.

He takes their trash and goes to put it down the nearest bin. He climbs back up then to sit a bit longer in the sun and not forget his backpack. Stephanie stares at him like she has questions to ask. He’s fine with that.

“What is it?”

“It’s just, your mom’s death… is that why you’re in foster care?”

“This time, yes. Third stint, also the last obviously. Can’t wait to be out.”

“I see.” It’s all she says, thankfully. She doesn’t ask him to elaborate on his slip of the tongue. Jason wishes they had talked about these things sooner.

“What about you? Ever been?”

“Briefly, as a child. But I stayed with my aunt and uncle, not with strangers, so it wasn’t a big change. After that I flip-flopped between their house and my parents’ for a few years, depending on the vibe and stuff. And on where my dad was. Since mom got clean I’ve been staying just with her.”

An alarm rings on her phone. Jason is free an hour longer, but she might not be. She gets up and he follows. “Well, that’s it on that,” she says, pushing Jason so he’ll get down the bleachers ahead of her. “Sorry I told you all this, you’re not my therapist.” In a whisper, she adds: “Should get myself one of these…”

“We’re friends, Steph. It’s fine.”

“Friends, uh?” Jason turns around to find her faking surprise. She’s a couple steps up from him, so for once, she stands above him. Her smile is sweet, though still not fully true. “Then answer my texts more often, will you?”

“Will do.”

They walk back in direction of the main building. Stephanie keeps quite close to him. Jason feels bad for maybe pushing her too much so he silently offers to put an arm on her shoulder. She chuckles and leans into it.

“So what’s your plan for prom?” she suddenly asks.

“Asking me out, Brown?”

“Oh no, I’m going with someone else.”

“Pity,” Jason sighs dramatically. He’s joking of course, he likes Stephanie but not like this. He hopes she hears the teasing in his tone, and while he’s at it, he might tell her the whole truth. “I’m not going.”

“Why? No date?”

“Don’t wanna go. Also no date.”

“Mmh…” They arrive near the door. Stephanie untangles herself from Jason’s grip. Her eyes darts around them, checking the area. There are some students around, but not close enough that they can speak privately. She signs for Jason to get even closer then informs him: “I may know someone who wants to ask you out.”

“Then tell them I’m flattered but my heart is taken and my plan is to rest.”

“You don’t assume it’s a girl?” Stephanie sounds surprised. Jason mentally slaps himself.

“No, that’s…” To tell her? Yes? No? She’s not homophobic, that much he knows for sure. Today also appears to be the day for secrets shared and burdens let go. It’s something else Jason never told anyone in person, in plain words. He doesn’t want the shrink to hear it first, and he wonders how it will feel to share it with someone kind to him. It’s not as if he’s ashamed anyway. “I wouldn’t care if it’s a girl or not, it makes no difference to me. Dating wise, I mean.”

“Oh! is that so? Got it.”

“Keep it secret, yeah?”

Stephanie agrees and makes a zip motion above her lips. “Of course. Thanks for telling me.”

“Yeah, well…” Jason has no clue how to answer this. Maybe next time he’ll know. He’ll be prepared. “I’m still not going.”

“A waste of youth,” she sighs, patting his right arm. “Tragic.”

Jason grins at her silliness. She gets lost in thoughts for a moment before she offers him a hug. He takes it and squeezes her tight, making sure to avoid her bruises.

Later, in the shower, he struggles with deciding whether he made the right decision telling her all this. He feels out of place in every way. He doesn’t regret coming out to Stephanie as such, it’s not her and it’s not that. She would have known eventually. Maybe. They’re friends after all, he thinks. The more he hangs out with the group, the less he wants to cut ties after highschool. But he still wonders if he should have told Kyle first instead of her. If he even needs to tell him. He guesses he could tell Clark because Clark is like him, or at least somewhat like him. Still, Jason makes no plan to tell either men about it. He doesn’t understand it himself.

He doesn’t sleep well once more. His thoughts are full of images of the woman he used to call his mother. He remembers when he learned he wasn’t biologically hers. Remembers when he was ten years old and she dropped his birthday cake, the many times she woke him up in the middle of the night because she was bored, the thousands of fights she had with Willis and the very few times she apologized to Jason for letting him witness that. She was the better parent of the two. Jason refuses to remember his dad.

The rest of his week is slow. On Wednesday night, he wakes up from a nightmare, shaken and prey to visions of the past again. He can’t breathe. Panic attack. He manages to power through it alone and later drags himself to the hallway. It’s early again, five thirty or so. Of course Krypto comes as soon as she hears the door open, and Jason couldn’t thank her enough. He sits on the floor to pet her and asks for her help to calm down enough to sleep a couple extra hours. They keep as quiet as possible, yet Clark, constantly on higher alert these days, comes see what the noise is about almost immediately. He crouches by the pair.

“Are you alright? What happened?”

“Nothing new. Anxiety. It’s gone, I just needed to get out of the room for a bit, and I’m thirsty. I’ll go back to sleep soon.”

Clark doesn’t look any less worried but still hums in agreement. He leans in and half-hugs Jason, a gesture still rare between the two. He would normally know better than to initiate it, were he more awake than he is right now. Jason lets it go.

While Clark visits the bathroom, the teen brings Krypto with him to the kitchen where he gets a glass of water and hands her a treat. Robin is lazying on the table but by some miracle finds the strength to come closer and demand a treat too. Jason hands it to him in exchange of a quick embrace. He then walks back upstairs where Clark is waiting for him to return to sleep.

“You sure you’re alright?” He asks.

“Promise. See you in two hours?”

“Sure. Text if you need me.”

Jason knows he won’t do that. He doesn’t tell Clark he won’t. He goes back to bed and manages to fall asleep somewhat fast. It’s still not deep enough a slumber.

On Friday afternoon, while helping Artemis, Stephanie and Harper charge vans with supplies and non-perishable food, he learns that Harper too will skip prom. They’re scheduled to work that day, on top of not being too interested. Stephanie thinks it’s a shame but comes up with the idea of having a make-up party with friends during the summer. She invites Jason too. He accepts because what else is he supposed to do? It’s not like he dislikes these people. It’s complicated.

Back home in the evening, he completes all his assignments except two bigger ones he struggles to even start. His mind feels on overdrive after dinner, even more so when he sees the beginning of a moldy spot on the floor near where the shower curtain ends, which prompts him to fill a bucket with water and a strong disinfectant after he’s sorted out the laundry in separate baskets. He gets downstairs, grabs the disposable sponges, climbs back up and starts using the cleaning solution on the walls and the floor. He knows he should use gloves, that the product will eat at his skin, that it’s silly not to wear any. He thinks he’s punishing himself though he doesn’t know what the punishment is for. He feels stupid as hell.

When Duke visits upstairs he jokingly asks Jason if it’s some crime scene he’s clearing out, but when no answer comes because Jason is too angry or too lost or too whatever to speak, for no reason he can name, the other boy asks instead if everything is alright. He walks closer and Jason shrugs it off, says he’s just cleaning, it’s fine.

Moments later, probably alerted by Duke, it’s Clark who comes by to see what’s going on. He carries gloves with him, thick and red, the proper ones for cleaning. Jason puts them on; he’s in no mood for a fight. Clark doesn’t ask questions but he still waits by the door and observes the situation until Jason is done.  

The teen’s mind gets quieter toward the end. For closure, gloves off, he takes one of the small wipes he keeps in the lower cabinet and takes a minute to clean the mirror. Only then does Clark attempts a conversation.

“Was it that dirty or did you just need… something?”

“Needed to think.” He discards the used cloths. “Now it’s better.”

“Good to hear.”

It doesn’t matter much that Clark doesn’t sound convinced. It’s almost nice, really. For all he hates in his life, Jason can’t pretend that the man hasn’t been helpful or accepting of his quirks, can’t pretend either that he doesn’t get Clark’s point of view and the line drawn in the sand when it comes to these quirks becoming too much, turning hurtful, this nasty part of Jason’s days.

They go to bed after watching a boring action movie, during which Clark dozes off a couple of times while Duke and Jason clear out the cookie tray. Duke will be away with rink mates for some ice skating thing all weekend. Jason hears him leave a bit before six o’clock. Krypto barks at something shortly after.

At breakfast, around nine, Clark comes and asks Jason if he’d be fine spending the day with Alfred and Tim at the Manor, because there’s some place he wants to take Bruce for a few hours on a date. Of course, Jason says yes. He doesn’t even question where the other Wayne kids are. He’s still not exactly happy about the back and forth between the houses, but he’s noticed how much calmer and happier Clark is in Bruce’s vicinity.

It’s logical, sure, they’re boyfriends or whatever it is that they call themselves. The thing is, though, Jason feels guilty because he believes he’s hindering this relationship by simply existing. It’s obvious that before his arrival, the two households would merge more often and the two men meet a lot more. Clark’s mention of their plan to move in together soon also indicates that there’s something holding them back right now, and it certainly can’t be money or feelings. Jason doesn’t care much about other people’s love life and tribulations in normal circumstances, however because it’s unfair and unkind to Clark and his fault, it bothers him.

The instant relief on the man’s face tells him enough. The worry that comes right after is expected as well. “Are you sure?” Clark presses.

“Why wouldn’t I be? Alfred and Tim aren’t gonna eat me.”

“We’ll be back here tonight so we can have a quiet Sunday. Promise.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

It’s about yesterday. They still don’t speak about it. They leave an hour later and all Jason does is scroll on his phone. Cassandra and Tim still text him daily, but for some reason, Damian has stopped altogether. That’s fine. Jason doesn’t expect anything from anyone, let alone a child.

As predicted, all goes well at the Manor. Tim teaches him some new moves before lunch, and after that Alfred alternates between checking on their homework and encouraging them to take videogame breaks. He also bakes cookies for them to share, with an extra batch made specifically for the pets. Jason really needs a dog. He deals better with animals than he does with people. He wonders what kind of dog he should adopt.

It’s quite uneventful. Jason learns that Damian is visiting Dick for the day while Cassandra is away for a friend’s birthday. He is also informed that Damian will not be here in the summer, he’s never here on the holidays normally, it’s how the custody agreement works for him. Jason tends to forget there’s a mother in the picture. He could ask Damian about that later, sure, but given their recent lack of communication, maybe it’s best he ignores it. Again, it’s none of his business. He wonders when he started to think of Kent and Wayne affairs as something he has to keep up with. The push and pull effect of his living with Clark and all this family stuff around them is getting to him in ways he doesn’t particularly enjoy. Perhaps he’s just bitter.

Clark and Bruce come back at six thirty, close enough to dinner time that Alfred insists Jason and Clark stay. However, true to his word, the older man politely declines and takes Jason home with him.

On Tuesday, Duke and Jason split course on the way back home: Jason on the usual path, Duke toward the cycle park from where he’ll take a bus. It’s his volunteering hours at the rink and he’s as happy going there as Jason has seen him get when they discuss writing. Having two passions like this where people support you and that could be your profession is far from something Jason can even imagine.

His room is too small again.

The tip of his right thumb is hurting a fair deal. In the bathroom, Jason keeps it pressed between the sink and a towel to ease the pain. The problem is the nail, of course, he bit it so much and it’s so short now, the top split to the flesh. The side of it is a mess of cut, red blood and dead skin. It will be days before it heals and in the meantime, he’ll needs to keep pressure on it. He knows the drill. He remembers. He wraps a band-aid—his last one—around it, tighter than he normally would so it stays in place and glued against the nail hard enough to control the pain level a bit.

He wonders if Clark will notice. He knows Clark will notice. There’s no excuse left these days, nothing Jason can cook up that will not end up with another label painting him like a problem. It’s the usual. He misses Derek again, he’s been missing him since the therapy session. Dude was no psychologist but when he’d let Jason talk, he’d really listen to him. Jason misses the group home. Sometimes. Misses the boys. Misses Kyle. God, he misses Kyle. And it’s only been a week.

His limbs are restless. He moves downstairs to complete a long, mandatory career questionnaire that Clark has to sign. It’s weeks late, in fact he didn’t receive it earlier at all—an oversight—but the school is lenient with Jason on some aspects. He has no idea what he’ll even write on it. His entire ambition is to survive and to help. Not sure whom, not sure how, not sure why. Nothing for sure.

“We’re out of band-aids upstairs,” he tells Clark, taking a seat at the kitchen table in front of him.

“Okay, no worries. I’ll buy some more.” He checks Jason’s hands as he always does. And he notices. It’s an unusual place for Jason to need a band-aid, not to mention the soft part of it on top of the finger instead of the inside. “Your nail?...”

“It split.”

“How?”

“Whatever.”

He’s got nothing to say, there’s no deep story here. Same shit always. He starts filling in the questionnaire while Clark boils water to make tea. For a while, they exist in the room in content silence. It doesn’t last of course, and right after he’s given Jason a mug full of green tea, Clark performs once again a rendition of his best worst quality: not letting bad things go.

“What happened to your nail?”

“I bit it.”

“Jay—“

“Not on purpose.”

Today again, Jason is tired. Tired of Clark. Tired of himself. But he can’t lose control because he’s on very thin ice all the time, if he has another episode then who knows where Clark will send him. Away, for sure. He’ll kick him out. Jason takes a very long breath and chews on the inside of his cheeks not to say things he’ll regret. He knows the bar is low but he still believes it’s a miracle that Clark put him at the end of a beating yet. And he knows that if he defends himself from such beatings, then everything becomes his fault. He’s the bad apple. The bad guy. Hopeless child.

Clark doesn’t know all this. He lives in another world. “Frustrated again?” he probes; and in response to Jason’s scoff, he adds: “You can get angry.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because if you get angry you’re human, but if I get angry, I’m a problem.”

It’s hard for Jason to says things so that Clark will understand. It’s stuff he doesn’t want to have to explain, except he must do that or they end up going nowhere, and in the end even then he believes it’s useless. He only feels worse. Right now, his vision blurs, between tiny white lights and a darkness he attributes to the rising anger inside him. Again anger. It’s all he recognizes and yet, it’s what he can map the least. Fuck, he could cry.

Clark doesn’t hide his worry. He never does, lately. Maybe he’s caught on to how important honesty is to Jason. Maybe he’s tired as well. He pushes himself forward on his chair so he can close the gap between them, even if only a little. He waits until Jason’s eyes meet his before he asks: “Who told you that?”

Jason leans back. Away from this man. Sometimes he thinks it’s a mistake to have let Clark into his life, to have told him important things, to let him help again and again and now it’s unsure whether doing things on his own would ever go half as far as it’s been going lately.

And still, Clark doesn’t get it. Nobody told Jason anything; it wasn’t words. Barely any adult in his life talk to him, no, they talk at him, however they know how to measure their sentences so it appears okay on paper, then it’s in actions and stolen feelings and blown up freedoms that they show Jason exactly who they believe he is. Who he is forced to be. The lines are narrow and any excess, no matter how tiny, is seen as a deliberate attack against whatever authority people claim over him. They break him, push him to trip over himself, and when he inevitably can’t tiptoe on their narrow line anymore then Jason takes all the blame, and they hinder him further.

He wants to run away. He always wants to run away. He’d prefer open danger to insidious power plays.

Clark can’t understand that. He can try, but it falls flat. He waits for an answer and when it doesn’t come, he reaches out to move the questionnaire closer to him, too far for Jason to be able to. He sighs in frustration—toward Jason? Himself? Something else? He has the same vibe he wore the night Jason broke a glass and it’s a side of the man that Jason knows to watch with attention.

He stays perfectly immobile when Clark gets even closer, as close as the chair and the table allow, and starts talking in an even tone.

“Jason, listen. Listen carefully. If you’re angry, then you come to me, and we’ll find ways to exteriorize that without you hurting yourself or others. I don’t care if it’s boxing, running, art, videogames even, or one of these places where they rent you a room, give you a baseball bat and let you break whatever you want. I don’t care. Just get this aggression out.”

“What for?” Jason retorts. “So you can hold it over me?”

Clark frowns. He seems hurt, his tone upset. “Do you know me at all? I’d never think any less of you because you’re angry, nor will I ever see you as a problem. You have the right to this anger, it’s about how you express it. I get that if there’s no room for you to do it, then it’s expected to explode when you can’t contain it anymore. And I get that people might have told you—and forced you—to repress it too much in the past.”

“It’s not that.”

Jason can’t fathom why he insists. It’s like part of him doesn’t care that Clark doesn’t understand him, it’s what it is, it doesn’t matter, in a few months they’ll be nothing to each other. But then there’s this other part of him that wants Clark to understand, that wants to speak with him, so unload a bit of his problems into this man’s hands so he can catch a break while things are held together by someone other than him, someone who has his life more together than Jason might ever achieve.

What ever could he tell him, though? It’s too important to share. Too many memories, the reasons Jason pukes randomly from the stress it causes, the cries behind his sleepless nights. Truth is that he doesn’t even know anymore why he’s angry most of the time. He used to know it but it’s in the past. He tried telling people, long ago, but they didn’t want to listen or they only threw pulls at him and told him to be quiet and kinder, so he tried being kinder and all he got in return for this was two extra foster care placements and his body taken away from his emotional grasp. He got denied decisions and he got denied anger. It’s overflowed everywhere; it has no home, it’s not static. He doesn’t know how to approach this.

“It’s not only that,” he amends.

“Would you tell me what else it is?” Clark almost pleads. But Jason shakes his head. So the older man insists: “Will you tell the therapist?”

“No, why?”

“Why not?”

“I don’t trust her.” Jason feels unfair. It’s not the shrink’s fault he’s defensive like this, she might be great, he doesn’t know. He should give her a chance—give himself a chance. He doesn’t want conflict with Clark. “But I’ll go.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, don’t want you to go cry about me to Bruce Wayne or some shit.”

“Much appreciated.”

The tea is getting cold. Clark doesn’t touch his. Jason drinks up in one go to try and get rid of the lump inside his throat. It doesn’t work. He’s not sure how Clark is feeling now and he wonders if he’s angry. Doesn’t look like it, but who knows. Perhaps he masks it well? It’s not like Jason has nothing to ask him. Clark is not an angry person but the way his anger manifests, it seems strong enough under the leveled expression of it that he suspects the man is actually angrier than he lets on. He figures it’s as good a time as any for this little chat.

“What do you do with anger?” he asks.

“Me personally? Not much. I don’t get angry often and it tends not to stick to me. I yell sometimes, as you know, but these are more mistakes than justified explosions. Otherwise I try to be more solution-oriented, or I reach out to others who can help me. There’s always a riddle to anger.”

“A riddle?”

“Well, it usually stems from either fear or injustice. When we’re scared or backed into a corner, we lash out. When something is unjust or we are attacked in some way, we react. And it’s often justified, don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I want you to not be angry. You have full right to it and to any emotions, all the good and the bad. It’s not unhealthy as such but it must be exteriorized and dealt with carefully, lest it will only fester. The difficult part is to sort out its urgency, level, and best expression for it.”

“Is this what you talked about while alone with the shrink?”

Jason didn’t mean to ask that so plainly. He’s been wondering, is all. His spontaneity betrays him.

Clark smiles and leans back into the chair. “You’d be half-right to think that. I did talk about it with a therapist, yes, but not with the one we saw.” Jason must look a bit surprised or unsure, because Clark then shrugs and explains: “I was an angry teen. Identity problems. Though I’ve always had more freedom to express it without punishment than you’ve been allowed for years.”

“I guess.”

He tries and reaches for the questionnaire, which Clark gives back with a quick apology. Jason fills the papers halfway before his curiosity mixed with anxiety push him to ask: “What did you talk about with her?” He figures Clark knows who he means.

He does. “My shortcomings as a father.”

“Duke thinks higher of you than this.”

Jason ignores the look Clark sends him. He doesn’t have the energy anymore.

He finishes up the questionnaire and pushes it back in the middle of the table. “Done.”

“Great,” Clark comments. He doesn’t look at it yet, instead he gets up and goes to throw his tea in the sink and puts his mug in the dishwasher. “Go relax upstairs, I’ll get started on dinner. I’m not sure how long it’ll take, we’re having my ma’s beef stew tonight and it’s my first try, so…”

“So maybe takeout again,” Jason teases.

Clark snorts. He’s either amused or offended. He pats Jason’s arm and sends him out of the kitchen.

Jason goes back downstairs after he’s watched an anime movie online with Kyle and Harper. He thought the food would be ready, but it’s still on the stove. Jason is starving. He looks for a snack in the fridge but nothing really stands out.

Duke enters the house again at this moment. Krypto greets him instantly, and because he has nothing else to do, so does Jason. He finds his foster brother exhausted and looking pissed off. He’s also holding a box, one from some pastry shop, which Krypto tries to get but he hands it to Jason, who takes it to the living room and sits on a cushion on floor by the low table. When Duke is done taking off his shoes and coat, he walks to the couch, sits here unceremoniously, and starts massaging his feet. His expression still sour. The box, Jason finds out, contains a dozen of cupcakes. Now he is really hungry.

But he holds off eating because first things first, he wants to know what’s up with Duke. He doesn’t even have to pry; his foster brother appears to need to talk.

“Man, I swear, I love the job but I hate the job. I fell in front of the kids when I swerved to avoid crashing into one of them during warm up, and after that they all mocked me for the entire lesson.”

“Harsh,” Jason comments, scrunching his nose. Perhaps it’s a good day to get them both in innocent trouble. “A cupcake for your pain?”

“Yes please,” Duke sighs, holding out his hand to take one. Surely he saw the food on the stove. Whatever. Jason takes a cupcake too, he’s hungry enough that he might even have another one after eating two servings of the stew—or whichever takeout menu they might have to get. In the meantime, he listens to Duke whine with his mouth full. “Kids are so mean, those little shitheads… I put three of them in time out but all they did from the seats was encouraging others to fall as well.”

“Was Damian there?”

“Dude,” Duke coughs, smiling wide. “Damian is super nice compared to them. He skates better too.”

“You taught him?”

“You bet.”

“Boys?” Clark calls. He finds them seconds later and groans at the vision that greets him. “Cupcakes now? Really?”

Duke shrugs and swallows a last bite of the chocolate frosting. “We’re teenagers, Clark, we can eat whatever all day! Smells nice in here, by the way.”

“Why, thank you. Now how about you two wait ten small minutes, then come taste the food in the correct order? Dessert last, salad first.”

“Duke hasn’t washed his hands yet,” Jason snitches quietly, like it’s some sort of grand secret. He receives a pillow in the head and finds it all quite endearing.

Wednesday morning, Jason is up at six. Not by choice. He is failing History for nor apparent reason, and three other courses are not looking any better. He doesn’t have much remedial choice at this point, so close to the finals, he caught up on a lot of assignments but the problem is the same. If he fails, he fails. He doesn’t know the policy for summer school in his current highschool but in his last, he would have to enroll already due to the size of classes. He also wouldn’t be able to do this because he has too little money and it came at a cost. He can’t ask Clark for this, or he can but he won’t. He is trapped and the stress only makes him even less able to perform well on tests or keep calm during oral exams.

He is trapped. He messed up. He gets downstairs when he knows Clark is there and it makes him feel like a scared child. It’s ridiculous. He’ll be an adult so soon.

Clark wastes no time pretending he doesn’t see the dark circles under Jason’s eyes, the stubble he hasn’t shaved, the way the teen looks at him. He jumps into action. “Okay, let’s do this.” He takes a seat and encourages Jason to do the same, three times, until the teen agrees. Clark then takes out a small notepad from the pocket of his jean, one of them cliché journalist things Jason cannot believe are actually a thing. “Problem solving,” Clark states. “What you tell the therapist tonight is your business alone and I won’t ask either of you anything, but what caused this, I want you to tell me. Let’s tackle it together.”

“What? No.”

“Jason.” He raises a hand as if telling the teen to stay put. He seems more annoyed than angry. Could be because it’s early. “You haven’t slept and I know—because you told me—that you don’t trust anyone else enough to speak about too meaningful things. Whatever it is that kept you up, it’s clearly meaningful.”

“You already know what keeps me up.”

“What? No I don’t. There’s a lot you don’t tell me and I’m not about to take paperwork at face value. It’s happenings, not how you feel. I don’t know what did this this time, so I need you to tell me.”

“Clark,” Jason sighs. Man, this guy knows tenacity… “Why are you like this…”

“Bruce enables me,” he answers, like that’s a normal thing to say. Though it is most likely the truth  “Please tell me now?”

“I don’t…” Jason doesn’t have to. He can keep his mouth shut and what’s Clark gonna do then? Ask again, yeah, probably. They could go on for quite some time like this, they’re both stubborn. Maybe this trait of character in the man is what makes Jason angry: he knows what it means. What it does. He knows he himself wouldn’t back down, and Clark is the same. It’s not as fun when it’s someone else. Jason might need to be a better person for a minute. For himself. He’d be lying if he said he doesn’t want the guy’s help. Again. Just once. “Fine,” he concedes. “I promised someone important to me that I’d graduate no matter what, then I promised myself the same. Neither of us wanna see me slacking.”

“Slacking,” Clark sighs. He sounds pained. “You ought to give yourself a break.”

“I just want to get that one thing. For myself.” It’s only half of whole truth. There’s something else that pushes him away from an extra semester or even just summer school. Before Clark investigates that one, it’s better to be upfront. “And the other options aren’t safe.”

“No? How so?”

Jason picks at his hand near-instantly. His nerves are on high alert. Clark avoids looking at it and doesn’t ask questions yet. At least that’s something.

“If I delay these courses, it might just be delaying failure, and as for next term…” Jason pauses. He doesn’t think he has to spell it out, however with Clark, it’s tends to be necessary. Jason can’t say for certain that he knows how to formulate his fears best, but he also has very little to lose. “Next term, I don’t know where I’ll be living or what kind of time I’ll have. I can’t trust it.”

“Then let’s talk about a time where you’ll be here and during which I promise to feed and house you as best as I can.”

Ah, there he goes again. Saying the right things. Jason hates this man. He’s glad to be living with him now but really, he hates this man. His heart is growing too fond of whatever it is they share. He can barely calls it an understanding, he doesn’t know what this connection is. He’d never call this man a father.

“I know what your hopes for the summer are,” Clark says, “and I wanted to hold off that info a couple more weeks because I’m still figuring out some details, but… well. I spoke to Waylon and when he gave me the green light, I spoke to Bruce. He’s setting aside a part-time job for you, starting end of next month.”

Jason didn’t expect this. His voice is tones higher from the shock. “He is? Where?”

“I believe it’s some archival task, I may have let it slip that you’re exceptionally good at arranging space and objects. Very organized.” Clark smiles fondly as he says that. Jason blocks how it makes him feel. “But that’s not a topic for today, we’ll talk about it more with you later. For now, focus on your finals. And on what you must do.”

“You want me to go to summer school,” the teen surmises. It’s maybe the fifth time they’re having this conversation, Clark has made his position clear.

“It doesn’t matter what I want, it only matters what you need. Less stress and more time seems like a good place to start to me.”

Clark separates Jason’s hands. He does it regularly now and Jason lets him. That doesn’t help him decide on the best course of action, though. Of course he knows Clark is right. Could it be a pride problem? Jason has too many issues to count. Whichever is holding him back about this, it’s hard to tell. He would think deceiving Kyle would be number one on his list of concerns going through with this, but that’s simply unfair to Kyle, who’s never done anything but support him. He would never hate Jason for this, especially if it is to improve his sleep and health. Jason is still not convinced.

“What even would I abandon now and retake then? I’d only get one chance, places are in too high demand. Not to mention, I don’t have that kind of time or money.”

“I checked already and it would make most sense to ditch History. You will need it to graduate, it’s mandatory, but it’s the one you’re most likely to fail right now. It’s only draining your time as it stands, let it be a summer problem and focus more on the other courses you’ll need to pass. There will be space for you for it, it’s not a remedial course taken as often as others there. Your work hours can be arranged around it, and as for any potential fees, that’s not for you to be concerned with, only for me to pay. Consider it an early graduation gift?”

Clark thought it all out. Of course he did. Jason tries to tell himself that it’s normal because the guy is always like this, always going that extra mile and it stresses the boy out so very much. It’s scary because it could be a deceit, something that will blow out eventually.

But it’s not. Clark is kind, and that’s all there is to him. Jason’s rational brain knows this. There seems to be more disconnect between it and his actions than he already thinks there is.

“You know,” Clark muses, “I can tell now when your brain makes you see the worst outcome only, so allow me to talk over it and state obvious things to get you out of the mud.”

“How kind of you,” Jason mocks. He feels a strong pinch of panic when he realizes Clark is actually about to go through with his announcement. “Clark,” he sighs. “I get it.”

“There’s nothing shameful about this.”

“You don’t know what’s shameful for me.”

That came out much stronger and spiteful than Jason thought it would. Comes from deeper. Deep within. He is ashamed, he sees all these people with more problems than him graduating on time and with better GPA, he doesn’t have anything else to do but school these days and even then, he’s failing that. Well, part of that. Still the whole in the end. He won’t graduate this Spring and intellectually, he knows it’s fine. He’ll do it eventually and it’s all that matters for what he plans to do after.

Still, it hurts. The shame, the broken resolve. He is his biggest enemy in too many ways to count.

Clark reaches out and separate his hands—again.

“That’s true,” the man admits. “My advice stands.”   

Duke’s footsteps can be heard from upstairs. It’s his shower time, soon he will be here too. Whatever private thing Jason and Clark have to work out, it has to be now. Lucky for the journalist, Jason has long understood that overthinking decisions had never lead him far at all. He is terrified by this leap of faith but if he doesn’t take it, he faces the same problem—failure. Always failure. So he might as well try it all.

“I think I need your official permission for this,” he says.

“Oh, right. I’ll call the school this morning to set up a meeting for as soon as they’ll see me. And I’ll tell Waylon too. I’m sure nobody will mind, what matters is that you graduate as soon as possible and in the best conditions. I’ll help you with it.” Jason doesn’t react to it. He doesn’t know why, and besides, he’s exhausted. There’s a vague vertigo coming in waves to him constantly since he woke up. Of course, Clark picks up on this. “Shouldn’t you skip today? We can call Alfred—“

“I’m gonna need you to stop treating me like a kid or a ticking time bomb.”

Well, that finally came out. About time. Jason stares at Clark and finds apologies in his eyes.

“Pushed you too hard, hm? I’m sorry.”

“You say you argue for what I need but how do I know it wasn’t all about what you wanted?”

“Can’t it be both?”

It can. Sucks that it can. “I’ll go to school,” is all Jason says.

Clark smiles at him again. It’s a little tight, like he’s not entirely satisfied with what they’ve just decided. Maybe he hoped for more. Jason can’t give him more. He’s already actively hating himself in that very moment for things he knows he shouldn’t be ashamed of, yet thus is his life. Sue him. He’s weak today.

Duke comes downstairs for breakfast soon after and judging by his small cough and flushed cheeks, he might have caught a cold. He still argues toward going to school today because he has his last test before finals coming up in Calculus, so he wants it over with. Clark makes him promise to text if he needs an early lift back home. He then calls for their attention by placing his hand between them all on the table.

“Now, for unrelated news: we’ll be having another small celebration at the Manor on Saturday.”

Jason growls, suddenly wide awake. “Again? What for?”

Duke snickers. Clark’s grin is a bit strange.

“For my birthday,” he replies. He then leans forward and whispers happily: “It’s today.”

Jason hides behind his hands and groans in embarrassment.

Chapter Text

Duke doesn’t break a bone landing yet another jump on the ice, however he twists his ankle badly during one of the ballet courses he still takes here and there. It doesn’t look good. He calls Clark to ask him to come pick him up from the nurse office at the dance academy and go with him to the ER, and it does something cruel to Jason’s heart to hear just how distressed the request sounds. Duke is not the type to whine or panic but to have his access to skating restrained, even temporarily, must be messing him up.

Thankfully, nothing is broken. It’s still nasty enough that they have to stay and wait for a while, the time needed for final assessment and a proper prescription. Jason hates hospitals and if he were a bit bolder or a bit more desperate, he’d ask Clark if he could go wait in the car. He still thinks about asking after one hour is gone, but the thing is, Duke seems very upset. It pains Jason to see this. He stays.

Nausea, vertigo and fear start to grow inside him again, gradually at first, then all at once when a woman visibly under some sort of influence starts yelling and getting closer to them while harassing a nurse. Clark physically shields Jason behind him, left arm thrown back in a protective gesture. He’s not stupid, he knows what experiences the boy went through with people like this. He doesn’t move until the woman is escorted to a separate room, and afterward, he asks Jason if everything is fine.

Jason shrugs. He’s not here for himself.

Duke is released an hour or so later, sent home with ice packs, painkillers, some cream, crutches, and a strict four weeks minimum of no sport whatsoever. He will need ten or so physiotherapy visits thorough and after, and can only start walking with a boot after two weeks—carefully if so, maybe still with the crutches.

Back home, he barely talks. Jason deems it safe to assume fear and anger are behind this. Clark spends some time with Duke upstairs to talk about immediate plans and how the injury will impact them, which allows Jason to spend time to cook in near silence, Krypto and Robin in the kitchen with him. He uses this moment to try and clear his mind from the lasting bad feelings born during the incident with that woman in the waiting room. It doesn’t leave him. He burns one side of the steaks. Clark teases him gently about it while Duke still doesn’t talk much during dinner. Jason has to force himself to eat.

Shortly before bedtime he passes by Duke’s open bedroom door and catches him crying a little. He doesn’t think twice and goes to sit on the bed as an invitation to talk. He thinks it’s the third time in total he’s set foot in Duke’s bedroom. It’s much busier than his.

“Fuckin’ hate this, Jay… What if I lose the job?”

“Can you teach from the boards?”

“I dunno.” Duke wipes away his tears. It’s the first time Jason sees this mix of hatred and begging in his eyes. “I’ll try and plead for it, I’m done with the hours for school, now it was supposed to be… well, you know. The job. It’s what I wanna do.”

“You mean… for life?”

“Sure, why not. That and writing.” He takes a deep breath and stretches his shoulders, letting the bones crack. His mood shifts now that they’re talking about these things, but somehow, he looks almost resigned now. “It’s not very ambitious.”

“You kiddin’, right? Neither of these are easy and you’re doing both already.”

“Barely.”

“For now.”

It’s not just about reassuring Duke, no; Jason really thinks these things. He admires people who make the best of what they’ve got and stand steady in their effort. He’s not good at this himself.

It’s not lost on Duke that it’s at least about reassuring him. Jason hopes the guy can also hear he’s being sincere.

“You want me to bring Robin to you?” he asks. “If you keep treats with you, he’ll stay.”

“Oh, bribery,” Duke chuckles. “Yes please.”

Jason can see it’s still not all good in Duke’s mind, that Duke is hurt and he’ll be hurt for a while. All they can do is wait and hope that it doesn’t compromise his plans too much. From what Jason knows, his foster brother is well appreciated at the rink, so he doesn’t quite believe they would not find accommodations. But perhaps his view of the man and of the situation is biased. He goes to fetch Robin, some treats, and a pack of cookies. He brings it all to Duke upstairs before going back to study in his own room.

Dropping one class doesn’t solve all of his academic problems, but it certainly helps some. As per Clark’s advice, backed by the guidance counselor, Jason focuses only on the courses he’s not a hundred percent certain he can pass. Less than two weeks until finals start. He still worries about it but not as much as before. He tries his best, does his last homework, wraps up some lose ends. He celebrates Duke’s relief that the rink staff is keeping him with them, switching his role to ticket sales and backseat coaching until he can skate again.

The decrease in academic worry however comes with more space in his head to remember and hear the echos of yelling fits past. His sleep is erratic. He doesn’t tell Clark about it and he doesn’t tell the therapist either. When he saw her last week, on Clark’s birthday, they discussed Jason’s immediate hopes once he ages out of foster care. She gave him practical tips, especially regarding flat applications and regulating emotional spending, so that was nice.

The third time, tonight, she tries to discuss his two earlier stints in foster care, but Jason really doesn’t want to talk about that. He refuses and doesn’t budge. Instead, because he actually wants advice about it, he tells her that he gets frustrated sometimes due to Clark’s view and expectations of their relationship being always too different from his.

She hums quietly, then frowns. “Have you told him that?” she asks.

“Not plainly.”

“Why?”

Of course she presses for why, he expected it. Thing is, Jason doesn’t like the answer he has to this. He knows there’s nothing wrong with it as it is, but it makes him feel powerless. Angry again.

“Jason?” Dinah calls. She points at his hands. He’s twisting them again. “Do you want something to hold?”

He grunts in annoyance. He’s tired of holding things. Tired of the bunnies. He almost doesn’t care to sound stupid about what he needs. “Do you have dirty dishes laying about again?”

She cringes. “Well, I’d feel bad for you to do them… but if it’ll help?”

Jason thanks her and gets up. He goes straight to the kitchenette with his own mug in hand and counts four others in the sink. He finishes the last gulps of his coffee in one go and glances at Dinah, who followed him, for permission to open the dishwasher. She allows it with a sign of the hand and a small smile. There’s not much in there, two plates and a glass, a few utensils. Jason puts it all in the sink and starts running the water. The sponge on the counter is brand new.

Dinah watches him in silence for a moment and waits until he starts actively cleaning the mugs before she repeats her question. “Why don’t you tell Clark about this expectations thing?”

Jason sighs. “Because he might think I’m ungrateful for this. He took me in, I know that doesn’t mean he owns me or gets to dictate how I feel, but…”

This time, he feels stupid. He knows better than what he said and he knows that it’s not right, but he’s been at the end of problems before when he’s tried to make it all right. For himself. It stayed wrong. He thinks Dinah can read into what he’s saying and she quickly confirms that she does. He only feels somewhat okay with this.

“Did people punish you in the past for not conforming to what they thought you should be feeling about them? Called you ungrateful?”

Jason shrugs. It doesn’t need an answer and he knows where she is going. He thought about it himself, he’s decided on an answer, he’s still not sure but he thinks he’s fine with that one. It feels different when spoken out loud. She makes it sound different.

“Do you think Clark is like this?”

“I don’t.”

“Then you know what to do.”

Jason doesn’t answer, he focuses on the mugs. His chest is a bit lighter, nothing significant, just a tad more room to breathe. He doesn’t have anything to say but that’s okay, because Dinah does.

“I also don’t think you’d be ungrateful to want to clarify where your boundaries are. You obviously care about each other in your own ways, maybe it’s only a matter of miscommunication. What your mutual contract entails is respect and a safe cohabitation, everything beyond that is up to you—and by this I mean you personally. Clark’s role is to help you define who you are and to nurture you so you’ll be strong enough on your own the day you’ll leave the nest, not to rule over you through fear.” Jason tenses up. Not certain why, memories maybe. Or shame. Perhaps she notices. “Does he do this?”

“No. Doesn’t even try.” Jason washes the last utensils. He thinks about how weird it is for Clark to have been so gentle right from the start. He gets that it’s the man’s nature, of course, but with a history such as his, he always expects people to treat him roughly—and most of them do. They’re wary, they don’t have much hope. Clark is the opposite. “Maybe he’s naïve,” he sighs, more to himself than as something for Dinah to hear. He rinses the sponge and the sink before he closes the water flow and turns around to face her. He still has doubts. “I don’t wanna upset him.”

”He can take it, Jason, he’s a grown man who knows what he signed up for as a foster parent. Foster kids come and go. It’s his emotions to sort out.” Jason thinks about that for a minute. He doesn’t leave the sink. Dinah takes a step closer and asks: “Do you feel safe sitting down and discussing it with him? I can help if you want.”

“It’s fine. I’ll talk to him.”

She acquiesces and invites him back to the main room. He leads the way. The other sofa, not the armchair where he sits, has pillows thrown on it haphazardly. He noticed them when he first entered earlier, noticed the fallen books in the small kids’ bookshelf too. He decides to forego thirty second of shame, and goes and arranges the pillows and orders the books properly. He finds a toy dropped on the right side of the shelf and brings it back to the toy bin in front of the sofa. Only then, he comes back to his seat. He hates feeling relieved by his actions right now and he gets that Dinah might find it rude.

But if she does, she hides it well. She smiles when she guesses: “I take it it wasn’t very orderly in your parents’ home.”

Jason snorts. “Don’t think you’d need a diploma to figure that out.” He jokes, of course he does. It’s partly a defense and partly because it’s true, it’s plain to see. Still, it worries Jason sometimes, because Clark is worried and for all her efforts to appear neutral right now, Dinah gives out worried vibes too. Maybe that’s something he can try and make peace with. “You think it’s bad?”

“The cleaning thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Mmh…” She hesitates. Jason has to force himself not to join his hands. He feels tense. Finally, she says: “If it hurts you in any way—be it physical, social, anything—then yes. If it helps you, then no.” Jason doesn’t answer. He knows it’s both, she knows it’s both. She gives him a moment to reflect on this before she offers: “How about we try and find some balance so you can get rid of the bad but keep the good in that?”

He agrees. Really, that sounds like a better use of these sessions for him, rather than the option of taking a deep dive in anguish about things he doesn’t want to remember and of which he prefers not to speak.

They start a pro/con list they don’t have time to finish and will continue later, though Dinah asks him to think about it before then, and to apply it in his head each time he goes and cleans something in the house. She reminds discuss boundaries with Clark, and when they part, her smile and her gaze are nothing but kind and warm. Jason takes home some peace.

Come Saturday, right as the Kent household is waiting for the Waynes to come to them this time, Waylon calls to inform them that he’s sent Clark the transition plan checklist they have to assess, fill out and bring along with a new version of his formal proposal to their common meeting on Tuesday morning. Jason already made a first draft of the proposal while at the group home back in January and was almost wondering lately whether that could have been enough before entering the meeting and updating it for good, what with Waylon not sending any update about it earlier. But of course, it is a known problem how overworked the man can be.

Jason doesn’t hold it against him. Although it’s now so close to the meeting date, he is confident he can write a decent enough proposal over the weekend. For the first time in a long time, he knows what he wants and where he could be going. And it’s not like they’ll actually check his living situation then.

He is relieved to hear (again) that Waylon has all his important documents; everything needed that’s not from Jason himself is already on file, and what is missing can stay in the planning stage until late July. The physical and dental checkups Jason passed in February will need renewal, he is on the waiting list and should be able to get them toward the end of June. There’s the matter of his graduating highschool at all, but Waylon reassures him that it’s what he assumes will happen, so it can be included in the plan no problem. Same for the job, for which he’d however like to see a formal, signed contract already now or as soon as possible. At this, Clark starts typing on his phone. Contacting Bruce, probably.

Waylon finishes the call telling Jason to think about living arrangements one last time and to start apartment hunting now if that’s still his preferred option. The teen confirms it is before hanging up the phone.

Clark hears this, of course, he’s right here. Jason stares at him and he must be looking uneasy, because Clark gestures for him to go upstairs and asks Duke to relax on the couch and keep an eye on the driveway for five minutes. Duke accepts without comment. He likely picked up on the tension. Clark and Jason land in the teen’s bedroom.

The older man stays by the door while Jason gets near the window. He always does this, it’s a reflex. The other escape route. “I’ll leave after my birthday,” he states.

“I know.”

“Then can you stop offering me to stay?” He doesn’t mean to be unkind. He thinks he kept his voice quiet enough but Clark seems taken aback. Confused too. “I get it, I know I can. And I’m grateful for the offer,” Jason insists. He is grateful. Please don’t think he’s not. “It’s just that it sounds like an expectation.”

Clark gets it. He frowns in mild shock. “It’s not, I swear it’s not. I support whatever choice you make, I don’t expect anything. Promise.”

Jason believes him. He sounds sincere and he’s protected him since the very day they met. He’s still wary because he’s always wary, he knows better than not to at least imagine the worst and design an escape plan should things go wrong. But today, he can breathe. He thinks he can. Clark looks contrite.

“Sorry I put that pressure on you,” he says. “Do you want me to assist with apartment hunting after finals are over?”

“That’d be helpful, yes. Thanks.”

The Waynes arrive a bit late. Bad traffic. Clark is still upstairs, taking a call from work. Alfred isn’t with them and when Jason wonders why out loud, Bruce grins and answers: “He deserves to have the house all to himself from time to time.”

Cassandra and Damian baked a pear pie for dessert. Tim gifts Jason collected editions of comicbooks the boy mentioned liking, he doesn’t say why aside the fact that he thought about Jason when he saw these in the store. Jason doesn’t know what to say. Duke calls Damian to the couch where Robin is hiding.

Clark comes downstairs visibly stressed and sorry; he has to leave for the day, who knows for how long, they’ll have to play it by ear. He asks Bruce to stay, kisses him and whispers sorry again, demands two minutes of the man’s time in the lobby. He doesn’t have time to eat anything else but one of the quick snacks they keep in the pantry. Damian pledges to keep a slice of pie in the fridge for him. Clark walks to him and hugs him close, then does the same with Cassandra and Tim, both squishing him at the same time. All five kids bid him goodbye before he disappears in the lobby with Bruce following him.

Jason tries to focus on Damian interacting with Robin and on Duke and Cassandra trying to convince Tim to watch a sci-fi series with them. He can’t exactly eavesdrop, what with Clark whispering low and the buzzing around him.

But it’s fine. He knows the drill. Clark will be gone for however many hours he’ll be on duty, then if it seems that it will be an overnight thing, Jason will be sleeping over at the Waynes’, or perhaps today they might even stay and sleep here. It would be a first for Jason to see but Duke told him a while ago that it in fact wasn’t that rare.

The front door closes behind Clark, and Bruce walks back to the table. He tells the children they should start eating lunch and smiles when he sees Jason go and secure the animals in the laundry room so that they won’t bump into Duke’s leg accidentally under the table while they eat. He then brings the two main plates in the middle of the table—braised chicken with carrots and veggie sweet potato croquettes—as well as the salad bowl Clark prepared, and a large quantity of freshly cooked rice in a separate pan. He lets the kids take whatever they want and serves himself last, listening in on their conversations while he waits.

Jason is sitting in front of Damian and left side of Cassandra. It’s become normal for him to seek out this corner of the table, near Cass so he can discuss various things with her between plates and near Damian because this child is the calmest during meal times on the days Richard is not here. This lunch goes almost as it usually does.

The main difference, aside from the two or three missing souls, is Bruce’s demeanor. He seems guarded here, as if a little lost. Jason rationalizes that it might just be because it’s not his home, something basic, however he wonders if it’s not the lack of Clark in itself that is throwing Bruce off more than the location. He doesn’t know why he cares. It’s not even his fault this time that they won’t spend the day together, and as usual with the Waynes, it’s not his business. Well, not really his business. Perhaps. It’s complicated, it’s becoming complicated.

He wants to pass out right now and wake up no earlier than Monday.

Instead, they finish eating while listening to Tim describe his new robotics passion project, after which Duke tells them all about some of his most recent misadventures around the ice rink thanks his injury. The pie is delicious, they all compliment it, and Cass and Damian high five across the table. Bruce asks them all to pretend like he’s not having another cup of coffee today, which is met with enough teasing and protests that he gives in and allows them all—except Damian—to have half a cup of it if they wish. Tim and Duke pass on the offer. Cass and Jason take it.

The rest of the afternoon, Jason spends it between teaming with a too quiet Damian to do the dishes, then studies and games with Cass, Tim and Duke in the latter’s bedroom, checking once on Damian and Robin downstairs where Bruce is also working from the kitchen table, and retreating to his bedroom around three thirty to start and type up his transition proposal. He leaves the door half-open so not to be impolite.

The proposal comes together somewhat easily with the help of the checklist Waylon sent and the fact that they’ve been working on gathering most of the pieces months ago already. What is missing is speculation about his living arrangements and his upcoming work contract, which Jason heard Bruce will be bringing with him on Monday after he chauffeurs Duke to and from the ice rink.

But it’s not the only thing missing, another line Jason skipped last time or chose to ignore is a contact section for at least two trusted adults, which the list precise should preferably be above twenty-one years old. Jason knows adults, sure, and he knows Clark will be on this list, but that’s about as far as he’d say he trusts an adult. Derek and Waylon can’t be counted in this equation, it’s external parties only. Kyle and Harper are nineteen, technically not children but not yet at the desired age. Duke just turned eighteen.

Jason could ask Alfred, yes. And he could ask Bruce too. He thinks of the logistics of asking someone he doesn’t know and he wants to keep at a distance. He thinks of the possible backlash of asking Alfred—would Bruce be mad? Disappointed? Would it create conflict between him and Clark? It’s giving Jason headaches.

He figures that worse comes to worst, he can always negotiate that these two people will have to do. Not exactly his fault adults in his life have not proven trustworthy. The thought makes him angry. He scratches his left forearm compulsively, then clenches his right hand too tight to make it stop, bumping it into the desk, bringing back the regular hematoma-like pain and discoloration on the bending of his middle finger. He sucks.

Tim knocks on the door after an hour or so. Jason invites him in and closes the laptop. He needs a break.

“You want to come with me and build Krypto’s new house in the yard?” he asks.

“You know if we don’t invite Damian for this, he’ll be feral all day.”

“I tremble with fear.”

They go downstairs and inform Bruce of their plan, for which he offers a hand should they need it. Damian is more than ready to go outside with Krypto and Robin. Jason reminds him the cat still tries to wander about so they must keep a close eye on him always. He hears Tim and Bruce talk behind him while he helps Damian locate a lost toy mouse, and this time the boy calls the man dad.

This larger part of yard is visible from Duke’s and Clark’s bedrooms, and as Duke left his window ajar for fresh air, Cass hears the commotion the three other boys and the pets create outside. She asks what they’re doing and when they tell her, she replies that Duke and her will be down shortly. Jason and Tim look over the building plans left with the wooden kit Clark bought last week. It’s a cabin style dog house with two doors and a small elevated deck, the building manual gives it around six hours of work and requires a few power tools. Jason debates asking Bruce about operating them—not that he himself doesn’t know how, he substituted art for a carpentry course in his second sophomore year, he’s no stranger to tool safety. He’ll let Timothy make this call.

Cass joins them alone; Duke is tired, the sprain hasn’t let him sleep too well at night, he’ll be resting for a while. The three teens get to building while Damian does a good job distracting the pets and keeping track of Robin, who tries to escape the yard a couple of times. They don’t want to keep him from going there as such, it’s just that he’s still little, still a kitten really, so for now they’d rather he stays, grows more, and learns more tricks before they let him wander alone. Damian doesn’t mind the work. Jason enjoys himself a lot.

They’re half-done with the project by the time Bruce comes outside, informs them that Clark won’t be back until late or early morning so they’ll all be sleeping here tonight, and asks them if they’ll be fine with sandwiches for dinner. They all answer by the affirmative.

Jason’s hands are shaking from a nauseating feeling he can’t shake about Clark being away and Bruce and the Waynes being here. It’s different than when he’s at theirs’, it’s his place, where normally it’s only him and Duke and Clark and the pets. The weird and bad vibe slowly enveloping him seems toxic. He tries to ignore it and instead asks Cassandra what the plans about clothes and such are for them, since the stay was not planned in advance.

“We keep clothes and toothbrushes for each in the guest bedroom,” she replies. “Normally I sleep there, then the boys split the two bedrooms upstairs. Now one bedroom is yours, so I don’t know.”

Jason nods but doesn’t answer. Bruce is on the other side of the yard with Damian, Tim back inside to get some water. Cassandra goes back to aligning wood pieces when Duke finally emerges in the yard. Jason scouts closer to pull out a chair far away enough from the garden table for his foster brother to sit on.

“Aw,” Duke chuckles. “Thanks.”

“No problem. The Waynes are staying the night.”

“Bruce told me, yeah. You okay with it? Normally Tim and Damian or Dick and Damian would be sleeping in your room, but that’s different now. If you want I can be the one sleeping there and they can take my room.”

“Why, do you wanna babysit me, Duke Thomas?”

“Someone has to,” he snorts. “Besides, I’m older.”

Jason’s emotions are starting to disperse—he recognizes the signs. The odd vertigo, the urge to scratch his arms til it hurts, the tingling at his temples, the vibrations in his ribcage. The picking at his hands. That one he could control, yet he doesn’t and that sucks. He thanks Duke but tells him that it’s fine, surely Tim would be a chill roommate and Damian would likely ignore him so either way, it will be peaceful enough. Duke doesn’t insist.

They work on the dog house some forty minutes more before they call it a day and postpone finishing it to the following morning. They spend the first part of the evening playing a Smash Bros tournament all together, Bruce included. He is really bad at this but his kids and Duke look happy to have him in the game regardless. Jason doesn’t approach him about the contact stuff. When they switch from games to watching a Ghibli movie, he retires in his bedroom on the pretext of needing to continue organizing his post-foster care plans. Bruce wishes him strength and luck.

Jason goes through several breathing exercises and resorts to calling Kyle when these don’t work. It makes him feel better to hear his voice. As usual they make loose plans to meet up, this time to celebrate Jason being done with finals, maybe a half day at the aquarium. Jason lets Kyle do most of the talking. He doesn’t question the location choice or the legitimacy of the celebration, doesn’t wonder if it’s the real reason, it doesn’t matter at all. Kyle could take him by the hand and drag him anywhere for anything on any day, and Jason would thank him for it and rest his heart in the moment. Kyle always handles it with care.

At nine o’clock he gives up and asks Alfred if he’d be willing to be his second trusted adult contacts. He joins a picture of the checklist for context and insists that it’s only formalities, he doesn’t actually want to burden him with this. It feels weird. The old man answers almost instantly, positively, asking for extra details on how he can make it happen. Jason isn’t sure. He texts Duke and asks, is told a signed letter and a copy of Alfred’s ID will be enough, his social worker will confirm it over the phone if the man can’t be here, it’s all fine and not so strict, not an oath. Jason thanks him for the info and forwards his reply to Alfred, who in turn texts back a thumb up emoji.

Jason remains anxious for some time. He takes a quick shower and brushes his teeth, then tours the house to say good night to everyone, and settles in his bed around ten, phone in hand, listening to music and browsing flats in areas he knows best. Tim knocks on the door and enters shortly after, Clark’s futon in hand, ready to sleep as well. He takes Jason’s hints of wanting to be keep quiet and spends the next hour reading some of the manga from the bookshelf. Jason feels drowsy, though too stressed out to sleep. When Tim yawns twice in five minutes and asks him if it’s alright to turn off the light, he agrees and shuts off the lamp, though he stays on his phone a little longer.

He reads Stephanie’s draft for a fanfiction and understands nothing of the characters. Harper, Duke and Miguel are in this brand new group chat as well. Only Miguel seems to know what the context is, Duke is offline, Harper is slow to answer due to being at work. Tim is fast asleep on the floor. Jason corrects typos here and there in the text, until eventually, he can’t keep his eyes open.

He wakes up startled later, not sure how much later, to the sound of heavy steps and Krypto’s paws on the floor in the hallway. A whisper to calm her down. Clark. Jason exhales.

For breakfast, Damian soaks slices of bread in milk and eggs, fries it in a pan, and makes some sort of pancakes out of it for everyone. Jason puts chocolate and cinnamon on it, and soon, his mind and taste buds are blown. He wants to hug this child for ten minutes or more in gratitude and appreciation, though he doubts this would be received well; so instead, he sticks to messing up Damian’s hair. The boy groans in response, though he still grins at Jason’s praise. Bruce has to drive Tim to a martial art thing at ten. Clark isn’t awake yet.

They finish building the dog house before lunchtime. Duke stays on the ground and secures the small deck. Krypto and Robin seem impatient and destructive in the house, so midway through the task, Cass goes to play with them. Robin tries to escape again and again and again. Clark greets them from his window around eleven, thanks them for their work, then comes downstairs to cook lunch. Bruce is back by the time they sit around the table. They eat while listening to the details of the news piece Clark worked on, a political scandal mixed with an environmental catastrophe, a story Lois Lane has been working on for weeks. He left to lend her a hand.

The Waynes take off afterward. Clark apologizes to Duke and Jason, especially Jason, for the sudden change of plans. When Isabella arrives for a visit at three and she and Duke settle on the couch for an afternoon of binge-watching series, Clark takes this opportunity to speak with Jason in private.

“You sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, it was fine. Tim’s a quiet roomie and Damian didn’t plot my demise. He made us bread pancakes?...”

“French toasts? Lucky you,” Clark laughs. “Good to hear.”

“I’m almost done with the proposal for Waylon. I also asked Alfred to be my second post-care contact since I needed another adult on file beside you. He’ll write a letter.”

Clark lets his surprise show for a second. He then masks it under a smile. “That too is good to hear, one less worry.” He pauses a moment. “I need to check something, let’s talk tomorrow about the flat situation. Let’s also check the proposal then?”

“Sure, okay.” But Jason isn’t all okay. He thinks Clark is secretly upset with him, let down even, perhaps he expected Jason would ask Bruce to be his other contact. His decision compass tilts toward asking instead of speculating. “Did you want it to be Bruce?”

“What? No, why? I mean, of course, he was the last minute emergency solution in my mind, though I’d assume you’d ask your new adult friends first, maybe Duke even. They’ve stopped refusing proposals with at least one adult over twenty-one listed, they don’t have the resources to do so anymore, and it’s not that important in the end. What’s asked of you is a plan to show that you know where you stand in life on your way out, not to pledge things that must happen once the system releases you out there or you’ll be in trouble otherwise. Please don’t stress too much about it.”

Jason chooses to believe him. He hears at dinner that Duke and Isabella, who stayed, will both be taking the next week off school to focus on last minute studies for finals, however he himself prefers to go study in the support groups organized there. It’s not only for the focus, but also because he knows Clark has been bending rules left and right for him so often, it might be best if he at least gives him a break during the day.

He contacts Harper after dinner with screenshots of his transition plan for review if possible. They went through it, it’s known waters to them. Hopefully no bad memories. Jason waits for an answer while starting a second load of laundry and folding the previous one neatly on the drying rack. He thinks it’s more good than a problem and files it in a corner of his head so he can tell Dinah in a few days. Harper texts him back that the document seems fine, remarks that it’s even more detailed than theirs was, (and they barely followed it in the end) then brings up the possibility of Jason coming to live with them for split rent, joking about bunk beds for the sole room there.

Jason wants to refuse. He thinks they’ll get along very well, it’s not the issue, he almost wants to say yes. He also believes Harper and the fact that it would help them save a couple hundreds a month is brought up, and he wants to help Harper if he can, knows it would be much cheaper for him too to move in with them, but it’s just… who knows. He doesn’t know. Maybe he’ll try and untangle this later. He thanks them and texts back a cowardly maybe, a thanks, a let’s have lunch tomorrow. He hopes they won’t speak of it again.

While Duke is teaching, like every Monday, Clark calls Jason to the kitchen table. He’s dragged a chair so they can sit on opposite side of a same corner, closer than usual. He is holding a thin folder and his face betrays that he’s not preparing for a pleasant talk. There’s a lot of doubt here, as if he’s bracing himself for something grim or unpredictable. The atmosphere isn’t great.

“Did Duke tell you what I gave him?” Clark begins. “For his birthday?”

“I figured you told him not to.”

“At the time yes, that is correct. I didn’t know how to speak about it with you when you arrived, and then closer to his birthday, you weren’t in the best place.”

He leaves this hanging there. It feels incomplete. Jason doesn’t even wish to comment on the content of the answer itself; he doesn’t think it’s unwarranted, it’s not mean either, there’s no reproach in the tone. Clark believed he was doing best. Maybe it’s what is backfiring here.

Jason’s nerves are all tense. He knits faster. “Big cliffhanger,” he remarks. “Sounds ominous.”

Clark half-sighs, half-chuckles awkwardly. “It’s not.” He places a hand on the table, close to Jason, commandeering full attention. “I will be gifting you the money paid to me for your care.”

Jason’s mind goes blank the time of a flash and a vertigo spike. He feels paralyzed. Can’t even tell if he’s angry. “What? No. No way. That’s not mine.”

“That’s your point of view.”

Clark knew this would happen. That Jason would refuse. He prepared for the worst, for an outburst, that’s why he’s like this and this—the assumption—that actually upsets Jason, it’s what pains and frustrates him the most here, the one violence from which  he wants to run.

God, he wants to beat Clark up. Wound him in kind. He needs a fight. Needs to cry. He tugs on the wool so strongly, the base of his fingers hurt enough that his vision blurs with tears. His breathing is ragged. His heart beats too loud.

And Clark knows it’s happening. He’s attentive, he cares. “Jason,” he tries, his voice appeasing. “Come on, you see all this?” He waves vaguely toward the living room, then toward the lobby. He means the house. “I’ll be fine. It’s all paid out, I don’t make bank but it doesn’t hurt me to have you with us. Duke is living here entirely for free right now and it changes nothing for me. I can support both of you just fine and I want you to have a safe and stress-free start of your adult life. It’s not even much money, barely enough for first, last and a couple more months of rent, decent furniture, and opening utilities. You will soon need a second part-time job to support yourself in this city or you’ll have to find a full-time one, and until you do that you’ll need some extra cash on hand. When you’ll apply for flats, landlords will be concerned about your earnings, they are quite low for now so having savings worth several months of rent could make them more at ease. Please let me do this.”

Jason listens to this spiel, he listens carefully. He tries and looks for where he can attack and he finds nothing, nothing in his favor anyway.

It’s anger that makes him cry. Not the pain, not his fingers, not the reopen cut there, not the tension in his chest. It’s anger and frustration because Clark isn’t lying. At the rate he’s paid to keep Jason here, for five and a half months that’s barely above three grands, added to the meager thousand or so Jason has in his saving account and the one and a half to two grands he can save over the summer, that won’t bring him too far. The first month alone, granted that he finds a studio for himself, Jason knows he’ll be lucky if he manages to keep costs around two thousands. That’s not even mentioning furniture and insurance.

It would be really tight without Clark’s help but Jason can do it. He knows he can, he’s good at math, he’s calculated this. He doesn’t deny the advantages but it makes him want to puke. He just might. He doesn’t feel well.

Clark clears his throat and takes a paper from the file. He slides it to Jason and points at the text here. “This is a statement similar to the one I joined to Duke’s own transition plan, and like I did for him then, I’ll transfer the money to your saving account tonight so Waylon can check that this part is in order.” Jason doesn’t react. If he would, he’ll be sent away. Straight up. He kinda want to. Clark leans in and tells him: “Put yourself in my place and tell me that granted the safety that I have, you wouldn’t do the same.”

“It’s not it, you don’t understand.” Jason brings his right hand above Clark’s. He wants to hit it, make it hurt, he is so angry and it’s not leaving him. He clenches his fist instead. Brings it close to his chest. His body hurts so fucking much. “I wanna make it on my own.”

“And you will, I don’t doubt it.”

“Then let me!”

He gets up. It’s abrupt, he has no plan, he’s too angry to think. The yarn falls to the floor.

Clark’s doesn’t move. His stare on Jason is an odd mix of severity and compassion, something Jason doesn’t know how to apprehend. His hands hurt, he’s twisting them again. He knows he must calm down before it escalates, he wants to stop Clark but he thinks about Kyle and how heartbroken he would be if he ever learns that Jason had the chance to start off his solo flight with a safety net, but instead he turned it down for—for reasons. He has reasons. It’s not unfounded.

Clark’s whisper is low. Very low. It’s hard to map the emotions here. “Sit down. Please.”

Jason breathes out slowly. Doesn’t help much, he still feels nauseated and angry. He sits down. Clark is not unreasonable, he knows, maybe he only needs to explain. The man finally notices a cut reopened, it doesn’t bleed much if at all, still he gets up and goes picking up disinfectant and a bandaid for Jason.

It distracts the teen enough that he can catch his breath and stop the tears. He feels so stupid. So angry. So unheard. “Sorry I didn’t say thank you.”

“I don’t do this for thanks.”

“Exactly, I don’t know why you do it.” Jason goes to rest his head between his arms on the table. He’s so exhausted suddenly. “No gift is without hidden agenda or clause.”

Clark sighs in defeat. “You’re right indeed, my hidden agenda of keeping you off the streets.” He brushes Jason’s back with his fingertips, as if unsure he can comfort him fully yet. There’s no mocking here, nothing funny in the tone really. He sounds sad. “I’d do the same for a son.”

“But I ain’t your son.”

Jason regrets saying it. It’s the truth, of course, but some truths can be unsaid. He sits back up and the first thing he takes in is that Clark has this same haunted look in his eyes he had before he decided to spend the night in the doorway of Jason’s room. The teen wishes he could never see this again, wishes Clark would never feel like this again. Especially not because of him.

He doesn’t hate Clark. Far from it. There are complicated feelings and being compared to a son doesn’t help one bit in all this.

And it’s not the only thing hurting Jason either. “You’re gonna do something anyway ‘cause you’re a stubborn man and I hate this. I know you mean well but it fucks with my head a lot and I’m just so tired.” He lets out a long breath. It’s shaky. The tension in his chest will take a while to be gone. “And I hate that you’re right about rent and whatnot.”

“That doesn’t discount your hurt.” This time, Clark places his whole hand on Jason’s shoulder. His face is unreadable, which means nothing good. Jason knows him well by now. He feels guilty. “No way I’m leaving you homeless,” Clark says.

“We’re not even sure someone will be willing to rent to me.”

“You focus on finals and let me investigate this. We’ll find you something, we won’t stop searching until we do. That’s what my role to you here is.”

Jason nods. He still thinks he has to throw up. So much stress. He can’t let the money transfer happen, though, or so he thinks for a second and then he imagines the stress he will give to Kyle if he struggles, he thinks about the streets, he remembers his parents. He’s so conflicted.

Clark takes a deep breath. “You might want to consider sliding in your proposal that you can continue living here once you age out. Paying rent,” he quickly adds. He knows what to say. “I’ll testify toward this.”

“I don’t want the money, Clark.” Jason pushes himself back into the chair and massages his temples. They hurt, his whole body hurt. It’s the stress. “But if I don’t get it, people will be worried. I barely have anyone left.”

Clark gets closer. Jason doesn’t recognize his own voice when he speaks. It’s probably because the tears are back again, because his chest feels like a cage, because his throat is burning. It’s because he is scared.

“Fine,” Clark caves. “Let’s compromise then.”

“What are you thinking?”

“First and last month rent? And a bed. Where you can sleep.”

Yeah. Maybe. There’s no best answer, Jason still feels bad about it, still infantilized, other negative things. He knows kids with decent parents get these advantages, he’s well aware, for fuck’s sake he knows the Waynes now, he’s not even bitter about it. He was sincere when he spoke about hidden agendas, he knows why he believes that, it’s not something he—

“Deal,” he agrees. His vertigo is frightening. He stares into Clark’s eyes like they’re anchors helping him stay in the present, helping him escape his demons. He lets Clark squeeze his hand because he needs this warmth. “Thanks.”

He ends up puking five minutes later, upstairs. He doesn’t know if Clark heard. He doesn’t know why he’s angry that Clark didn’t try to go for one of their sort of half hugs after the conversation stopped, he’s frustrated over this for no reason other than his mind making no sense. If his brain stays so mushy during finals, no way it will work out well. He must get together. He tries.

He passes out on the bed while watching videos. He wakes up to a knock on the door, an hour or so later. He expects Clark to be behind it but he is mistaken; it’s Bruce. Jason stands up in a hurry, groaning at the backlash it gives him.

“Hi,” Bruce greets. He’s dressed all in black again, his thin reading glasses on his nose. “Sorry to wake you. Can I?...” he starts, before flicking on the light switch on. “I have copies of your work contract here and a statement Alfred wrote.”

“Oh,” is all Jason finds to say. Compelling stuff.

He invites Bruce closer to the desk so he can sign what needs signing and file Alfred’s later with the other papers ready for tomorrow morning. Bruce goes over the terms of his contract, his pay, his hour range, other insurance and union matters. Jason doesn’t register half of it, he’ll have to read more attentively. Clark signed it as his guardian already and the teen has to believe that is because the terms are fair. They seem fair to him too, not much option for the moment anyway, this will have to do for now.

He signs the copies and gives two back to Bruce, keeping two for himself. “Thanks again for this, it’s… Thanks.”

“No trouble at all.”

Bruce’s smile is always reserved around Jason, lately. It’s not certain, but the teen thinks it used to be more carefree at first. He believes it’s either because Bruce understood his fear or because he hates Jason for what  Clark goes through while fostering him. Maybe both. Jason accepts this, at least Bruce doesn’t seem to want to impose on him beyond his presence, something Jason can’t fault him for since he does exactly the same here by being the complicated responsibility of the guy’s boyfriend. They’re in each other’s way, basically. They keep it civil though.

Bruce notices the yarn animals on Jason’s desk. Those are more recent, Jason finally added a butterfly to the collection. Bruce grin and comments: “You got better at knitting,”

Jason rolls his eyes. He finds it almost funny. “You saw the one I gave Clark,” he guesses.

“He showed it to me, yes, he was quite proud of it.”

Now is when Jason has to make a choice; there’s a bunny he made for Bruce, dark grey wool and blue eyes, a silver key chain attached to it. (He bought a box of key chain kits with his pocket money, it was his only expense last month. He gave bunnies to his friends. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.) The pattern is denser than that of his usual plushies, the girth of the wool smaller. Jason had to knit it as close at possible to the tip of his fingers, more patiently and through a higher number of errors in the trial. The whole process challenged him. Can’t say it wasn’t some kind of fun.

Jason opens the drawer under the desk and gives Bruce the bunny. The man takes it and studies it. There’s a fond light in his small smile and his blue eyes, a soft tension that accentuates his wrinkles, paradoxically making him seem younger.

“My thanks for the kit,” Jason explains.

“Thank you, it looks great.”

The whole thing is awkward but thankfully, it doesn’t last. Bruce soon leaves the room.

He stays for dinner. Then he stays for the night. Clark is off the entire time, no doubt the reason of Bruce’s definitely unplanned stay, and Jason’s guilt is ever-growing. Tim texts him later and asks if all is well. Jason doesn’t want to lie and he doesn’t know what to answer about Bruce or Clark or anything that he can only guess, so he tells the other teen about his worries regarding the upcoming meeting with Waylon instead. Tim sympathizes and wishes him good luck, tells him to call if he wants to talk. Jason didn’t expect this. He goes to sleep early.

The meeting with Waylon goes fine. It’s shorter than expected, at home, more laid back than the last. Duke politely eclipses himself upstairs while it lasts. Clark and Harper were right, once passed the check of all the papers Waylon had already gathered and filed for Jason for safe keeping, everything else goes easy and fast.

Waylon hasn’t changed. He states that he’s satisfied with Jason’s motivated involvement and accepts Clark’s pledge about rent and his words concerning Jason’s basic life and housekeeping skills, but he says all that without a smile or anything. His tone is pleasant though, for Jason that means it’s all good. He knows this man well enough.

Clark prints and signs some papers upon request while Waylon reminds Jason that he still has to keep in contact with him until his birthday, especially when it comes to sending him a copy of the final school transcript. The medical and dental checkups are tied to the department so there is no need for Jason to follow up personally. The rest of their talk is a refresher of what he told Jason in January about health insurance, available resources, possible housing benefits. Nothing exciting. Still no space open in transition housing. Jason doesn’t mention the offers made by Kyle and Harper; what he has on file already is more trustworthy in the eyes of the state. Fine by him.

In closure, after nearly an hour, Waylon enlists Clark’s help to avoid having to schedule another meeting by giving copies of all the extra pamphlets and documents regarding various resources, asking him to read these with Jason carefully when they have a moment.

“But that’s a good track, Jason,” he notes. “Didn’t know you had such surprises to offer.”

Jason scoffs. He’s not bothered one bit. “You should quit your day job.”

“You sure made me wanna quit.”

“You’re welcome for the push you need.”

“Are you two always like this?” Clark wonders. He sounds almost worried.

Waylon shrugs. “He knows what I mean,” he answers. He seals again the two folders he took with him and shuts down his laptop. He then locks eyes with Jason, and tells him: “Good job.”

Jason nods in response. He won’t admit it, but he’s really touched. It’s best he stays quiet.

He sees Dinah in the evening. They finish the pro/con list and Jason agrees to try and refrain from cleaning practices he knows to be harmful, though she reminds him to be kind to himself and allows it to be a process. He doesn’t think he can do this, but he keeps this for himself. He also doesn’t answer her questions about the meeting and his feelings now that he’s reached this stage on his journey out of foster care.

In exchange, he tells her about his biggest problem of the week, the one he noticed during the Waynes’ visit and that needs addressing quickly. His limbs are restless again. He never came down from any of the anxiety attacks he’s had since he and Dinah last met.

“Breathing exercises didn’t work well this weekend.”

“Was it the first time?”

“Not really, no. It’s been harder lately.”

“You might need new ones. Trick your brain a bit.” She considers options in silence. Jason twists his fingers gently—it’s a knitting motion. It’s part of his new attempts not to pinch and pick at his hands too much, something less marking, less painful too. It inspires Dinah. “Let’s try with the yarn.”

She sits closer to him and they try and define a way to link breathing with yarn patterns. Jason tells her he has to focus more and be more careful with smaller threads, else he messes up the row or end up with his fingers red. Against what he expected, she encourages him the use these smaller threads then, so he can both learn to slow down and holding back on hurting himself. He promises to try. They won’t meet for two weeks, courtesy of finals.

Time goes by in a flash. They choose to stay home for the weekend, last minute studies and all. Monday afternoon to Thursday morning are gonna be very tough. Duke has no exam on Tuesday, but he has one on Monday morning.

Clark picks up on Jason’s stress on Sunday morning and intercept him on his way to cleaning the laundry room, offering to clean it himself instead and for the young man to read his notes quietly nearby if he could feel better overseeing the affair. Jason doesn’t know how to react. He delays processing this. In the end he stays on a cushion by Krypto’s bed, the dog coming to rest too eventually, while Clark takes care of the laundry, reorganizes the supplies laying around, and cleans the product compartments and dust collectors in the machines. He quizzes Jason from time to time, to keep him engaged, and suggests that he should stop studying after lunch so his mind can rest for twenty-four hours before the first exam starts. Jason follows his advice.

He erases the memories of the next four days as they come. Exams done. Head empty. Nerves on fire.

Jason is lost.

He’s trying and failing to relax in his bedroom with the door half-open since Robin has come and gone all morning, when a loud crash downstairs, the sound of something shattering, jolts him more awake than the nightmares that plagued his night. His heart rate spikes. He hears nothing after this and that makes it so much worse. Clark is supposed to be down there.

He leaves his room on his trembling legs and goes downstairs with no idea what to expect. He wonders where Clark is. He reaches the bottom of the stairs and turns toward the kitchen. Stops before even taking a single step in.

There’s glass and porcelain everywhere on the floor, the colors helping Jason identify this as the large vase that was once sitting and collecting dust inside the larger bookshelf. Clark did mention earlier than he wanted to clean it and there are other smaller trinkets waiting on the kitchen table. But he doesn’t care about that. He doesn’t care about anything. He can’t think. He sees Clark on the floor, legs across the stairs between the kitchen and the living room, his upper body hidden from Jason’s scope of vision.

He steps forward. His body steps forward. His mind is in another place, another time, in urgency. He is thirteen years old. He hears Clark call and reach for Robin under the bookshelf in an annoyed tone and sees the man’s legs move and realizes what really happened but by the time he does, he can’t breathe. He’s powerless again, scared again, scared always. He hates Clark in this moment and he hates his mother and he worries for them to degrees too high to process, to depths too low not to crack on impact when he falls.

And he falls. He is physically here, standing between glass and porcelain, two pieces stuck under his sock-style slippers and the glint of all in the light like reflections of his faults. Clark stands up in front of him with Robin in his arms, tells Jason to be careful and scolds the kitten for his mistake. Then he looks up. Sees his foster child.

Jason is paralyzed. Vision blurred with tears. He is here, he knows, but then he’s not here anymore, as though in-between worlds. He focuses on Clark and the immediate, extreme concern on his face. He is angry and sad and he can’t get a word out. When the man steps forward, he recoils. Feels the table behind him. Panics even more.

He cries. He raises his arms against his chest like a protection for something, no sure what, he forgot his phone and he might need it soon. Need to call 911. No reason this time, no need to rush, doesn’t matter if he’s late. He was late once. It never left his bones.

He fears Clark. Fears his reaction. He wants to control himself because he wants to stay. In this house. He’ll make it on his own later, he wants help now. He wants help. And he wants it from Clark, Clark who is looking around as if looking for something, maybe a phone, maybe to call Waylon, maybe to get rid of Jason.

“Don’t do this,” Jason pleads. His body pleads. His heart is shot. “Don’t send me away, I’ll calm down.”

Clark clearly doesn’t know what to say or do. He watches as Jason starts to pick and scratch at his hands again, searches for answers on the teen’s face, turns around to drop the cat on the sofa, then climbs the stairs cautiously. Jason is trapped between his fear and the table. Clark avoids the shards and steps closer to the entrance of the kitchen, on the right side of the teen, to whom he extend a hand.

“Come here,” he calls. He grabs Jason’s right forearm gently, like it’s precious, and brings him away from the main site of the shattering.

Jason isn’t feeling well again. At all. He doesn’t know what to do, he gives in and takes a step aside, and next thing he knows he’s crying on Clark’s shoulder with the man embracing him in a bear hug, protective and patient. Jason exhales between sobs. He barely has any tears left, he’s just struggling to breathe. He feels one extra spark of panic strong enough to make him back away so he can check the inside of Clark’s left elbow, the skin open for view, and he doesn’t know why he does this and he perfectly knows why he does this. He soon lets the man’s arm go and feels simultaneously more guilty and endlessly relieved when the hug resumes in an instant. He grips the back of Clark’s t-shirt with weak hands.

He is aware that Duke has arrived down the stairs as well; they heard the one crutch he still uses. Jason moves his head to face him. Meets his foster brother's eyes.

He burdens everyone. It’s the third worst day of his life.

He quickly buries his face in Clark’s shoulder again. “I’m sorry,” he mutters.

“It’s alright, Jay.” Clark’s voice is steady. He’s very calm. “Robin broke a vase, that’s all. I’m fine.”

“It’s just…” Jason can’t say. He panicked. He’s losing his mind. He’s too weak. His voice is small. “Fuck you, why were you crawling like this….”

“I’m sorry.”

Jason feels like shit for what he said, even worse when the answer is so soft. Clark draws slow circling motions on his back. Krypto barks from the yard, behind the doors, asking access to the house but the house is unsafe. It’s full of sharp things. Duke closes the distance and puts his free hand on Jason’s shoulder. He doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t apply pressure.

Jason doesn’t find a way out of this loop in his mind. If he opens his eyes, he thinks he won’t be here anymore. He’ll be elsewhere. He’ll be back. He’ll be broken. He does so anyway because he has to believe Clark could hold him together. He has no other choice.

Clark loosens his hold while still keeping the teen close, then pushes him to take a few steps together toward the counters and turns a chair around so Jason can sit at the other end of the table, away from the shards. He tells him it’s alright, he’s right here, he just needs to take care of Krypto, he’ll be back. Jason doesn’t find an answer. Duke fills up a glass of water and brings it to him, makes sure Jason is holding it despite his trembling hands, and sits down on the chair next to him while Clark opens the door to the dog and guides her to the laundry room by the collar for safety. Jason would think Duke to be cold and annoyed in the middle of this mess.

But he’s not. He’s brotherly and kind, same as always. Only more concerned this time. “Are you feeling better?”

Jason nods. “Yeah,” he croaks. He stares at the water for a moment before he drinks it. His throat is strained, he doesn’t swallow easily. He thinks he owes Duke an explanation because it’s unfair for him to have to be here and be worried and maybe be scared. It’s unfair.  “I thought Clark was hurt.”

Duke smiles in reassurance. “He’s fine. It’s all fine.”

Jason knows this. He knows. It doesn’t make it better that he knows, his body still reacts. It’s all reaction, no thought, some illusions. He’s left pieces of himself in the dark. He can’t find them.

Clark comes back and after checking on Duke, he crouches in front of Jason. He doesn’t ask anything, he appears to be looking for what or how to ask. Jason doesn’t think he can leave Duke like this, wondering what really happen, if this near eighteen year old kid really just worried about a vase. Not that Duke would think this. He’s too smart, he gets it. Clarks knows already, it’s in the file, it’s words on paper, it has no memory so he likely made it his. Everyone makes it theirs. This even is not just Jason’s anymore, it has a life outside him. He doesn’t recognize it.

He’s only mentioned six times up to now what he wants to tell Duke in plain words, what he wants Clark to hear without a file giving it too light a weight. Four of of these six times, it was used against him. But he believes in Duke. He believes in Clark. He is terrified still.

He looks Duke in the eye. It’s easier to tell him, he’s read it nowhere, he doesn’t know this. Jason needs him to know. “I saw my mom die.”

Duke doesn’t break their contact while he processes the information. He is visibly emotional and Jason hates himself more. Clark remains quiet. Duke whispers that he’s sorry then brings Jason into a half-hug, holding him close. Jason lets him do this. Lets his head rest in the crook of Duke’s neck. Lets Clark hold his hands.

He wakes up again to Clark calling his name and poking at his arm. The man is kneeling by the bed. It’s been several hours, the dread is still vivid, the anxiety too. But enough of it and of the sadness have gone since, and Jason is angry. So angry. It’s the same thing as always, all he is is anger, he doesn’t wanna be it. He wants to be what people he loves say he is. He can’t even care anymore if it is but a deceit.

“I’m gonna have to parent you for a bit,” Clark tells him. It’s unwritten code between them, it means that Jason will have to do something he most likely doesn’t want to do, but Clark has to make him do it anyway because he’s a parent. The boy braces for the worst. In normal time, it’s alright stuff. Right now, he’s not certain. “I called your therapist, she has one free slot very soon today. We’re going to see her.”

Jason acquiesces. He’s relieved. Not that he wants to go, not right now anyway, but he’s fine with this. He doesn’t trust her yet but he thinks that if Clark is here, then he can speak better. “Together?”

“You and me at least. Duke says he’s okay, but he’ll come if you want to.”

“I’ve hurt him enough.”  

“He’s not hurt, Jason. He saw you crying and of course, he wanted it to get better. He cares about you like you care about him, that’s what friends do.”

Jason gets what Clark is saying. He still feels so wrong. “I’m sorry.”

Clark gives him a tense smile and reassures him: “Nothing to apologize for. Other seventeen years old have crying fits too, especially when things change or they think a family member is injured. Emotions have been high lately for you, what with exams and the shift in speed in your foster care plan. I get it.” He smoothes the blanket at the end of the bed. He’s not looking at Jason. The volume of his voice decreases ever slowly. “But far more than reassuring me and appeasing my worries there, what I really hope and want is for you to part with even as little as one piece of the things that prevent you to sleep well.”

Jason nods. He can’t tell for sure that Clark saw it. It’s weird to hear comforting things like these because what happens most often is that he will show emotion, and people will attach a pathology to it instead of letting him be sad or angry or scared like a human being. Of course Jason will admit that there’s something deeper here, something evident and plain, a trauma he must untangle. He isn’t unwilling.

He wants to speak to people without fearing his emotions be detached from who he is and be given faults and names before they can even take form.

They don’t speak for most of the drive to Dinah’s office. The roads are not busy yet, the rush hour however waiting for them on the way back. Jason’s thoughts wander a lot. He has questions, a bunch of it, mostly for himself. One for Clark as well. “Does Bruce talk to you about his parents’ murder?”

“Not really, no. He did once and that’s it.”

Jason wonders why that is; they’re not strangers. It’s not unknown. But then he remembers how many things he’s never told Kyle and perhaps he gets it, it’s difficult. Some feelings are too much. Too ugly. Unlovable.

“You want to speak with him?”

“No.”

They don’t exchange any further until they park in front of the building. Clark unbuckles his seatbelt immediately, they are in fact pressed for time, only twenty-eight minutes remaining. Jason hesitates. He tries to picture himself telling her everything that happens and he wouldn’t know where to start, it’s too fresh, the events are both clear and unreal in his memory. He only feels. Doesn’t remember.

“Should we go?” Clark presses.

“Can you do most of the talking?”

“Sorry, I doubt I can. I’ll come with you, of course, but I can only speak of what happened. I don’t know how you were feeling.”

“It’s fine, yeah, just tell her everything else.” Frustration. Like anger,  sneakier and hard to conceal. Jason takes a deep breath. Releases it. Tells himself he’s safe. “I’ll tell you how I felt.”

And if Dinah listens in, it’s fine as well. Jason doesn’t care. He won’t be alone there.

Clark describes today’s situation so fast, Jason is convinced he rehearsed it in his head during the entire drive. It’s best like this. Dinah gets it, she tries to engage Jason in the conversation but it’s hard to begin. Clark encourages him and tries to give him starting points, but none feels right. More and more, Jason is overwhelmed. Again between worlds. Both Clark and Dinah let him breathe for a minute when they notice his bad state. Clark has to separate his hands a few times and Jason ends up holding three different toys in ten minutes. He feels stupid and misplaced.

Eventually, Dinah asks him if there is anything he thinks he did wrong the day his mother died. This question, unlike others, is easy to engage; he’s long poisoned himself on the answer.

“I think I called for help too late.”

“Could you have done it earlier?”

He’s never really thought about it. He was doing homework, he heard something weird, he went there. Maybe if he had done his homework at the kitchen table, then it would have been different.

(She would have died in the bedroom then. She never shot up in front of him, never even smoked a joint near him. It was one of her pride points.)

“Maybe not,” Jason admits. “But I could have thrown the drugs away, I know where it was kept.”

“Or,” Dinah interjects, her voice lower, “she shouldn’t have bought and used them.”

He can’t help it, he knows his stare on her in unkind. He’s angry. Protective. Protective of someone he hates and who isn’t even here to receive his ill wishes, someone he can’t talk about with shrinks because they keep on telling him to forgive her, forgive her always, he hasto forgive her, she raised him, it’s his mother, forgive her, forgive her.

But he doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want it. Everyone who heard his story has told him that he’s wrong and he will never heal like this, and yeah okay alright he gets it, this is it, it’s the path he’s chosen and now he can’t complain about it. He can forget healing since apparently it can only happens on other people’s terms. It’s been years, he resists. He knows what his position is. She doesn’t deserve forgiveness.

“Are you angry at yourself?” Dinah enquires. She won’t let up.

“No shit.”

Clark stiffens. Jason tells himself that he has to focus on this man, that he’s not here for Dinah, he’s not here for his sake, he’s here because Clark deserves to get to know the ghosts in waiting in his own home, because he deserves closure about today. He can take another hit.

“But I’m more angry at her,” he confesses.

Clark puts a hand on Jason’s back again. “And you have every right to be.”

“I don’t wanna forgive her.”

“Then don’t,” Dinah says. “You don’t have to, that’s okay.” Jason stares at her. Listens closely. “Forgive yourself instead.”

Chapter Text

Jason will remember tonight. He knows he will.

He wants to.

Prom should be over soon—maybe—he’s not sure. Duke is spending the night at a friend’s, so they’re not waiting for his return. Clark texts him regularly for updates and, at home, makes a point to order Jason’s favorite food and to bake enough donuts for days, lets him choose something for them to watch on the TV, and takes a keen interest in the teen’s quick stitching of black jeans he ripped while on a walk with Krypto.

“Who taught you?”

“Nobody.”

“Looks good.”

Jason hums. Pricks his fingers with the needle when he is sure that Clark isn’t watching. That’s how most of their conversations have gone since the broken vase accident: loose ends and bad habits.

It’s awkward but it’s quiet. Only two and a half more months to go. Only so much. (Only is tough.)

Still, sometimes, something slips.

Like earlier in the day, for example, when Clark started nagging Jason with a gentle reminder not to forget an alarm for work come Monday morning, and even suggested bringing cereal bars to munch on all day in case stress would make the boy hungry. To this, Jason ironically replied “Sure, dad”, after which he dreadfully noticed Clark’s uneasy smile and averted gaze. The idea of his words being interpreted as anything other than a joke has been plaguing his thoughts since.

Back to the present, he retreats to his room early while Clark is in the bathroom. His clock reads nine thirty-seven. There’s a toxic grip tugging at his guts and claw-shaped feelings fidgeting all around his chest. In hopes to alleviate this, he texts Kyle about it. But that message goes unread.

He considers a run to the park to ease some of these nerves, but at this time of the night, he’d have to sneak out for it.

Well, he could. Hell, he might.

He’s (allegedly) about to do so when the vague idea of texting Harper about his anxiety crosses his mind and sticks in there three seconds enough to take spark. Harper, who’s not at prom either, stuck at work or already back home and asleep. Harper, who reads the message instantly. Who soon replies: “I’ll be right here”.

So it’s ten o’clock now and Harper is making their way into the yeard.

Jason wants to remember that.

Clark gives both of them juice boxes, either as a joke or because he’s impossibly awkward sometimes. He insists that he’s happy to let them hang out for a while, and even goes as far as to tell Harper that they can crash on the couch if they’re too tired to drive home afterward. It wouldn’t be the first time the teen spends the night here; Duke had organized sleepovers with friends in the past.

Jason and Harper thank Clark for the juice boxes and mutually agree it best to converse on the porch instead of inside. The night is mild, the sky too grey to see stars. Harper’s bike is gorgeous, a project they’ve worked on for months from scrapping stuff here and there. Jason really hopes to get a ride that sweet some day.

“Dude,” he sighs, “your bike…”

Harper grins. “I know, right? My joy and pride.”

Jason lends an ear as his friend recalls out loud where they got or found this or that part over the past year, what was done with it, the names of garages who accepted to help for free. When the explanations die down, so does the conversation. The two quietly listen to the night afterward, sipping juice from the tiny straws stuck in their respective boxes from time to time.

Jason can’t decide whether he’s calmer because he is outside or thanks to his newfound resolve about the accommodation problem is numbing his mind for now. Either way, he exhales.

“Who else skipped prom?” he wonders.

“No one I know of.”

“But why didn’t you go? You could’ve changed your shifts, right?”

“Could have.” Harper doesn’t elaborate for a bit, tightening their grip on the juice box in their right hand, fiddling with their bike keys in the other, staring at the night sky with tired eyes and a pout. Eventually, Jason hears: “No date.”

“I could’ve been your date.”

What he could be is smarter. Jason’s a flirt sometimes, he knows this about himself, and normally that’s chill and all but with Harper, it’s different. Sounds different. He doesn’t have this kind of interest about them much anymore, or rather he tries not to. He wants a friend.

But Harper’s smirk is so sweet, the joking tone endearing. “Oh, you’d gone then?”

“No.” Jason feels very much stupid. When Harper tilts their head, he groans and amends: “I swear that wasn’t a pick-up line or anything.”

“Don’t stress about it. I mean, in the end, we are spending prom together, so… yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Krypto is barking in the yard. Clark’s light scolding that follows might be even louder, and as Jason hears the man laugh right after, he feels himself smiling.

Only two months. Time running out.

He must build strength again.

“Still offering me to move in?” he asks Harper, tone uncertain and gaze wandering around the closed gate at the end of the driveway.

His friend hums happily. “Sure, of course. I got it all planned out.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, see, you’d cook and clean for me, I’d kick your ass to bed when you need rest…”

“What a deal,” Jason quips.

“I know. You should take it.”

“I should.”

There’s been something growing in Jason’s mind ever since he’s seen Clark on the floor and wrongly believed that he was losing someone yet again. Something like an urgency.

He’s been counting minutes more, been self-harming less, cycling faster on the way to school and walking slow on the way back. He still hasn’t gone back to see Dinah after eleven days, but Clark didn’t even insist on Wednesday, just half-hugged Jason longer than usual when came time to go to bed. Part of Jason’s heart wished for this man to push him to go then. To take charge—like a parent—like usual. But lately hasn’t been usual. Things have been weird, unfulfilled, miscommunicated. Even Kyle has been quieter, busy, putting distance between them.

Jason misses both men even when they’re right in front of him, even when they’re speaking kindly, even when he could reach out himself and say please and extends his hands for them to grab and hold tight.

He doesn’t want to have to be missing anything else.

Harper nudges his side. “So you’ll move in?”

Jason breathes out. His shoulders relax, his jaw unclenches. “Yeah. If you’ll have me, yeah.”

Clark calls them back inside.

The job is easy enough, no colleague to deal with on his assigned side of the archives except for drop-off and pick-up, some physical strain and problem solving effort to design. Nothing that Jason can’t handle four days a week. On Wednesdays and Thursdays for a month starting the last week of June, he will be at school to complete History, so he’s glad to have something else to do of his time and only his Sundays free to spend entirely at home. More than this would give him not enough money, yet too much time to think. Too much time with Clark too. He wants time with Clark, it’s… it’s complicated. He wouldn’t call it growth.

As agreed right from the start, the man drives Jason to work every morning and, if he can, also drives him back in the afternoon. On this first Friday, he can’t, so Jason navigates the bus system. He believes it’s sort of against the rules but no one in the household has been caring much about these for a while. Or ever. Jason smiles at the thought.

In the evening, while they’re preparing dinner, Duke tells him about the last details of his imminent graduation weekend plans, talks about his outfit and his shoes and the pictures he wants to take and the desserts he hoped Clark got for him, and Jason is grateful for this. Everyone else walks on eggshells about it around him, be it his friends, Clark, the Waynes when they text him… It’s frustrating really. He’s a big boy, he can handle things not always being about him.

There’s still a little guilt to him, though. “Know what?” he sighs. “I got you no gift.”

“I’m wounded.”

“But I’ll make you breakfast?”

“Will you add flowers to the tray?”

He groans as Duke laughs. Clark comes home later than planned, but in great spirits this time. Robin brings them two dead mice. Martha calls after dinner to congratulate Duke and tell him to watch the mail carefully in the next few days.

Some hours of rest later, Jason does gather wild flowers while on a very early morning walk in the nearby park with Krypto and Clark, and indeed puts these on the tray he presents his foster brother with for breakfast.

(He needs no reminder that Duke is technically his foster brother no more. He knows. He doesn’t care.)

Clark kindly stares at him from across the table—at both boys, then again just at him—and that’s what gets Jason through this long day and the many people moving around them, the many flashes, the strangers and the friends he ignores or congratulates, until the clock strikes five and both the Kent and Wayne households drive to Wayne Manor together again for the first time in two weeks.

Cassandra, Alfred and Clark regularly gravitate toward him from the moment they all settle in the morning room for tea and the usual party buffet. It’s a chill celebration again, one Richard happily arrives for right before six o’clock strikes, his hands full of cute gifts for Duke and enough sweets for days. Even Damian has a present for graduation boy, a whole drawing notebook of things, something Duke raves about and hugs the child for in gratitude. Tim also brings to the gift corner a box that Jason is sure is full of books.

It’s seven or so when Jason realizes he hasn’t talked to Bruce for more than a quick greeting for the entire day, hadn’t felt the man’s eyes on him since, that they’ve mutually not stepped into each other’s spaces until this very moment, when they’re reaching for the same apple in the fruit bowl on the buffet table.

“Please,” Bruce politely gestures, “take it. I’ve got coffee on my side.”

“Sounds like a bad trade-off,” Jason mocks, taking the apple as offered. “Thanks.”

“How’s work been for you so far?”

It’s awkward that this guy is his boss. Like, his super-boss. Jason is in contact with maybe ten different people a day at work, sometimes the same people twice or thrice and only for a few minutes each time too. Outside these meetings, he’s organizing shelves or doing some data entry and stuff. He never meets Bruce there, he probably never will unless the man seeks him out personally for matters that would most likely be equally personal.

But it’s still awkward because Jason already doesn’t know how to best interact with Bruce in a casual capacity, and now even less so in this new dynamic of theirs.

Maybe he’s overthinking this. After all, dude won’t eat him, right? “It’s good,” is all he says. He wants to join whatever conversation Alfred and Ace are having right now, but before he can move away, Bruce hums low to get his attention.

“I’ve asked Clark and Duke if they’d like to spend the summer here, like they did last year, but I haven’t asked you yet.”

Jason’s brain stops for a second. He’s been wondering about this possibility for a while, yes, but to hear it plainly now is more mixed emotions than he thought he’d get if ever asked. Not that Bruce actually asked, though. This, Jason finds amusing enough.

“Well?” he teases, “are you? Going to ask?”

Bruce grins sheepishly at that, clasping his hands in front of his abdomen like a child caught red-handed fishing in the cookie jar. It’s not the first time Jason sees this side to the man, of course, so he’s not surprised per say. It still helps him feel calmer. Less afraid. Not that he has a reasonable reason fear the man by now, he knows, but… yeah. Anyway. It helps.

“You don’t have to say yes.”

“I go where Clark goes. It’s fine.”

“Alright.”

It’s not fine. There’s no choice. Clark will be happier here, Duke too probably, and Jason… maybe Jason could be happier too, all things considered. Less alone time with Clark, more fun with the Wayne kids, less worry about cooking and more pets to love on. Maybe Jason kind of wants this.

(Okay, he does. He wants this. Some last bits of childhood.)

“I miss you.”

Kyle’s voice is cracking. He’s tired, he just moved in his new flat, he doesn’t even have a mattress yet. Jason is laying on his back above the covers of the bed in the room he’s been given at Wayne Manor. The family calls it his by now; but Jason, he’s not there yet. He tries not to be.

He stares at the ceiling in the dim light of the lamp on his bedside table, and tries to commit the imperfect spots to memory. There’s not much to see. Three tiny phosphorescent stars have appeared on it near the door since last time. He wonders who stuck these there and why. He won’t ask.

“Jay?”

“I heard. I miss you too.”

He does. He misses Kyle. His heart can’t let him go.

“It’s weird, being so far away from you.”

“Eh, you moved.”

“Because I thought you’d follow me.”

Jason thinks it’s Damian. The stars. He remembers now, he saw this constellation in the past in a book, and the only Wayne kid he’s ever seen reading from a star map was this kid. Not that the two of them are any closer now than before, so there wouldn’t be much reason for Damian to do something nice…

Jason sighs. He wants to cry. It’s not about the child.

“Why would I follow you?”

“I thought… I don’t know. You and I, you know?”

“You moved,” Jason repeats. He’s angry. He’s unfair. Kyle had to move, he deserved it, he’s worked so hard, he’s done nothing wrong.

“I had to move, Jay.”

“I know.” He pauses. Wonders. Wonders about the truth. “Me too, I thought… I though I’d follow you.”

Kyle chuckles. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

There’s more he could say. The full truth, to start. Things they’ve been dancing around for years and it’s stupid, it’s pointless, it makes neither of them happy. It’s never made Jason happy.

And yet, he won’t change this. Won’t say. Can’t. He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s not ready to let Kyle go after all, or because there’s no one and nothing to let go to begin with. Maybe he imagined it all. All of Kyle’s gestures, their meanings, the weight of his touches, the words spoken straight to who Jason is rather than what others know of him. What Jason knows of himself.

Or maybe it’s pride. He’s prideful. He wants Kyle to say these things first so he can hear it first, so he can taste it longer, so the shape the words might take in his heart would fit right, perfectly right. If Jason were the one to speak, the words might be too small, or oversized, or out of place. Misshapen and unfit.

So, Jason doesn’t speak. He waits half a minute, but when Kyle still doesn’t tell him anything either he hangs up, puts his phone on mute, then chokes on air. He’s so angry.

He cries.

Clark watches as Jason is sitting on the floor and putting together a travel bag bigger than usual for their longer stay in Wayne Manor. They’ve talked about it twice, they agreed, they’ve already planned the whole work and school schedules and transportation for the Kent household men for the weeks on/off they’ll be splitting between the houses. Still, Clark looks worried.

“Did you say yes because it’s fine or because you thought I’d be unhappy with you otherwise?”

“You’re unhappy when you’re not with him.”

It’s weird talking about this type of relationships with Clark. Jason isn’t a fan. At least, he knows for sure that he’s got a point. He’s always been perceptive of Clark’s poor moods when Bruce hasn’t been around for a while, he’s heard the wet whispers from behind the office door a couple of times in as many weeks, he’s seen the red eyes and read through a bunch of deceptive smiles. What’s more, Jason has even caught Bruce holding onto Clark’s entire body with trembling hands, leaning heavy against Clark’s chest, the embraces looking like the man was afraid to let go. Unable to let go.

They’re complicated men; Jason’s always known as much. He knows more now, is all.

He is struggling to make fit his current knitting project and all his balls of yarn in the bag.

Clark sighs and comes to sit on the floor too. “I wouldn’t put it in these terms. Or on Bruce alone.” He reaches out for Robin and holds him close before the kitten can disturb another of Jason’s shirts for the third time tonight. “But you’re right, I’m happier when I’m with all the people I love. Obviously.”

“You really should move in with them.”

Clark leans back and stays silent for a while. Jason waits, glancing at him sometimes. He might have fucked up again. Nagged too much. He thinks he’s gonna get scolded but when Clark finally speaks, the smile on his lips is sincere. Very calm. “I will.”

Jason shivers. He gets that he shouldn’t have even commented on this, they already had this discussion before, more than once at that. It’s bad territory. Well, it used to be.

What changed?

He’s knitting. He sees that he’s knitting. It’s an automatism, a necessity, something he’s able to base his breathing on with ease by now, a habit he’s still not admitting to loving as much as he does. He’s making his first sweater, he wants to learn to make these fast. It will help him in the winter. He’ll soon knit one for Harper too.

He is itching to pierce through his palms with the needles.

“How much have you told?” he asks Clark without looking at him. He must focus on the knitting. He could discard it, he will, one more row and he will. It’s an exercise in resilience. He’s not good enough at this yet.

“Told?”

“About me.”

“To the kids, nothing. To Bruce and Alfred, only enough so that they could help you in bad cases when I’m not here.”

It hurts Jason sometimes when Clark doesn’t believe him able to overcome things alone. Though the boy knows that neither his own history nor the short one they share are on his side, he had different hopes. He wanted to prove things. To this man. Not to himself, not really, not so much. Not always.

He’s knitting fast. Faster. Another row.

Clark’s right hand comes hover close to where the needles meet.

“Jay,” he calls. He lets his hand cover more and more of the wool until Jason gives clear signs that he’s listening to him. “If you get overwhelmed, tell me, and we’ll be right back here. The Waynes are family, you know this, being away from them for a few days won’t change that. I’ll hug them tighter the next time we meet and that’s it.”

“I’ve heard you cry in your office.”

Clark stops speaking. Jason stops knitting.

He stashes the needles and the yarn in his bag, fixes his posture, and averts his eyes. He can’t look at Clark now that he’s hurt him. He has to, he knows, but he’d rather not. He’s equally ashamed to be putting the guy in this position and frustrated with the guilt he carries about his stupidly high contribution to the unrest in this household.

“I have bad days sometimes,” Clark replies like it’s nothing, like it’s normal, like Jason isn’t at least partially to blame for these. “Adults have problems too, it’s not your fault when I get sad.”

Jason doesn’t answer. He’s got nothing to say. He finishes packing while Clark keeps Robin busy and appears to be patiently waiting for the teen to be done with the task.

And indeed, only when Jason closes his bag one last time and sighs in relief does Clark muses out loud: “Maybe you should see Dinah before we get there? Or we could see her. Your call. We don’t have to leave tonight, it can be in a few days.”

Jason lets out a long sigh. “Clark…” He locks eyes with the man. “It can wait. I’ll be fine.”

“Promise?”

Jason chuckles. He doesn’t know why, it’s very brief, he got caught off-guard. Yeah, that’s it. Clark caught him off-guard. “Yeah.”

Clark nods, his lips tilting upward in a small smile. After a dragged out silence, he gets up and helps Jason stand back up too. The teen feels dizzy. Clark’s hand is too warm in his. There’s a weird feeling in his guts as he realizes once again he’s becoming too comfortable in the man’s presence, too quick to look for it, too willing to see him happy and proud.

Dinah would say it’s good. Jason might even agree.

He’s too confused to be upset this time.

“I’ll go see if Duke is ready. If it’s alright?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll be downstairs in five.”

He wishes he could call Kyle.

The first three days at the Waynes’ go well. It’s nothing Jason didn’t expect.

He spends most of his time at work on Monday and Tuesday, and come the evenings, he is invited to play video games or to train in martial arts with the other teens there. Duke is gone longer, his working hours are different, he visits Isabella more. He still comes back both evenings before eight o’clock rings. Bruce is nowhere to be seen between the moment breakfast ends on Monday and around 10PM on Tuesday. Damian seems to be going out of his way to avoid Jason outside dinner and breakfast, save for thirty minutes before bed on Monday when they team up to find Nina. (She was stuck at the top of the laundry room door. Again.)

On Wednesday, in the afternoon, Jason goes to see Dinah as agreed and informs her of his decision to move in with Harper. She sounds excited for him, though she goes straight for the question he hoped she’d skip.

“Have you told Clark?”

“Not yet.”

“Why?”

He can’t tell her about Kyle. He doesn’t know how to say it. It’s a strange reason, he knows, he is a hundred percent set on his decision but if he tells Clark about it, he thinks he’ll break down and confess to the man what’s actually been up with Kyle, with him and Kyle, and that hurts. Jason’s become easy to bruise, or so he thinks. He doesn’t really want to test this theory.

“I’ll tell him. He likes Harper, I’m sure he’ll be happy.”

“Hence my question: why?”

Jason snickers. He feels tired. “Heart affairs, or something.”

“Or something,” she repeats.

He shrugs. After a short silence, he tells her about the job, talks briefly of his sadness of not being able to take in a dog due to the rules in Harper’s residential complex, then speaks of nothing of importance.

Clark bought him donuts for the drive back.

Thursday starts lonely. Clark is out on an assignment he might not come back from until late, Duke is splitting the day between work and a writers’ association, Bruce is busy on errands with Cassandra and Damian, and Tim has some day-long event going on at school. Even the pets are low on energy for some reason.

“Master Jason,” Alfred scolds him, around eleven thirty. “Will you spend the whole day playing games?”

“Alas,” the boy jokingly whines. “Much child neglect in this house, so only games can comfort me.”

“Is that so? What if I had the means to convince you to step outside?”

“Sounds awful, but what for?”

The butler’s smile betrays mischief. “Why, young man, so you can learn to drive.”

Jason is gonna need more lessons. Many more.

His prerequisite homework for summer school arrives in Clark’s mailbox on Saturday morning. Jason works until three thirty. Tim and Duke have declared the library off limit, something Alfred takes seriously and enforces with the others. Cassandra teaches Jason stretches so that he can slowly start and build his way up to a full side split. Bruce and Clark spends the evening tidying up the patio, though the kids end up catching them there in the middle of a kiss right before dinner, so not much effort seems all that required for their chore. Damian falls asleep on Jason’s shoulder half-way through the movie they all gather to watch after dinner.

Four forty-eight. Jason wakes up. He’s paralyzed.

It’s anxiety. Of course it is. It will go away, he knows, he tells himself it will go away because it always does. He tries to relax using combined breathing techniques and it works a little, at least until he can taste blood on his lips and sliding into his mouth. He’s reopened the cut. When, he’s unsure. But it’s bad again now.

His body is back in motion later, too late, enough minutes for him to remember what got him into this state. What might have, anyway. It’s never clear.

He goes straight to the bathroom right across his—the guest room’s—door, takes one glance in the mirror and winces. Not good. His blue pajama top is stained at the top. It looks more impressive than it actually is, and Jason notices that’s because the cut is bigger. He’d rather not dwell on that.

He takes a minute to wash his face, use the toilet while holding his pajama top against his lips (it’s already ruined for now anyway), back to washing his hands twice, and finally scrambling to find gauze or cotton. Except, the pocket pharmacy here is empty. He emptied it. By habit and accident, he bites into the wound again. Scratches his arms roughly to divert the pain. He is starting to think that the self-harming hasn’t actually been getting better, rather he believed it did because he’s become better at ignoring it. It’s so early, he barely slept, he’s exhausted. It’s all bad thoughts.

He lets it stick to him. Lets it follow him all the way to the closest next bathroom at the other end of the hallway, where he is worried Damian, Bruce or Clark could hear him. He finds gauze in the cabinet and presses it against his lip to stop the blood from oozing out. He can’t hold tears back long.

He’s fucking up big time.

He tries to keep quiet. He left the door slightly open because he worried that the clicking sound would definitely wake up those sleeping nearby, but now, he’s not sure about that. It all goes to waste anyway, because he soon hears a door opening and closing, the sound followed by that of footsteps Jason’s now learned to recognize.

Bruce looks at him through the now fully open door, takes in the spectacle, Jason’s angry tears, the gauze pressed against the wound, the blood.

Bruce looks, sees, and stays. He stays. He steps forward and comes to sit down on the side of the tub, right by the door, and he waits. That’s all he does for a while.

Jason waits too. He waits until the blood stops coming out of the gush, he waits for Bruce to leave, he waits for Bruce to speak, he waits for Clark to wake up and find him and tell him everything will be fine. Then he waits for his hands to stop trembling. That takes a minute.

“Is work stress causing this?” he hears Bruce ask.

“No, it’s fine, my lip just… It splits opens a lot.”

“Because you bite it.”

Ah.

This again.

“No fucking shit? You think?” Jason groans between gritted teeth. The cut hurts. “Thank you, detective.”

“You’re most welcome,” Bruce shrugs. “A problem identified is a problem half-solved.”

“Are you…”

Are you serious, are you gonna leave now, are you always this much of an insufferable dick… There’s a lot of ways Jason could finish this sentence. Were it not for his anxiety making him panic enough to leave him vulnerable, he’d ask all that. As it stands, he has bigger worries to clear out. At 5am on a Sunday. Right now.

“Are you mad at me for what I’m doing to Clark?” he mutters, turning his body toward Bruce as he speaks.

The man is visibly confused. “Sorry, what are you doing to Clark?”

“Stressing him out.”

“Oh. Well, you’re his child,” Bruce answers matter-of-factly, not leaving room for Jason to retort afterward but instead raising his left hand before he adds: “legally. For now. It’s normal that he worries.”

“Don’t see why he would. We’ll part ways soon enough.”

“But soon enough isn’t now, is it? That’s also not how Clark works.”

Jason grunts. He throws the gauze away but gets some more as he needs it, and wets it a little under the faucet to wipe off blood from his chin and neck. “And how does Clark work?”

Bruce thinks of his reply, looking like he’s weighting his options. In the end, he settles on: “He’s very kind.”

That’s not new. That’s not enough. Jason wants to go back to bed. He thinks he could sleep right now.

“To your question,” Bruce continues, “no, I’m not mad. I know that you’re working hard.”

“Yeah, I need the money.”

He’s not stupid, no; he understood what Bruce meant. But he doesn’t want to talk about that and so it’s best to feign ignorance. Bruce sees right through him, Jason thinks, and it’s only because that man knows to be gracious on occasion that he doesn’t point it out nor start an uneven fight.

Jason breathes deeply. In and out. He truly is tired. His eyes wander on Bruce’s bare arms and again, even in this white light, he can see the scars. It bothers him. Not sure why. Bruce is forty years old, that’s so many more years of life than Jason can imagine, more than twenty-two years to go before he catches up with that. He doesn’t want the scars to stay. He prays they won’t. But he thinks some on Bruce’s arms look too clear to be some teenager shit.

“You can ask,” Bruce offers.

Jason looks him in the eyes. The man did mean this about the scars. For the first time since they met, there’s a sadness to Bruce’s expression that is foreign to Jason. The boy isn’t sure, but it feels like he’s seen the same steady gaze on someone else, the same false smile too.

(Kyle. He’s seen it on Kyle. He’s never understood it.)

“I’d rather not,” he first answers. Then he thinks. Thinks. Breathes. “When was the last time…?”

“About three years ago.”

Jason is shocked. He can’t hide it. He raises three fingers instinctively and mouthes the number back at Bruce for confirmation perhaps, for quicker processing maybe. The man only nods. He doesn’t break eye contact but in a second, his smile entirely disappears. It’s clear that he knows what Jason is going through in his mind. The calculations, the connections. The children. Clark.

Jason smiles. He can’t help it. He’s crying again, a few tears only, the last one he’s got strength for. Bruce’s got a family. He is forty years old. “Right. Okay. Right.” Jason’s breath is rushed. “So it doesn’t go away.”

“It does. It can.” Bruce stands up. Jason feels small. He’s taller but he feels small. Even more so when Bruce tells him: “Some things take time, don’t get so frustrated over the details. How’s your big picture?”

“My…?”

Jason considers it. Big picture—memories versus perception of the now, everything he hates. But he tries. He tries.

He can admit he has moved forward since… some moment in the past. Perhaps. It’s hard to say really, some seasons blur together in one event, one fight, one scream, one touch that makes Jason want to leave his body behind. Big picture. Always something to hold him back, someone messing with his heart, words and acts holding him down. But. Big picture.

“Yeah,” he answers. It doesn’t make much sense, he realizes, he’s still arranging the pieces.

Bruce nods and crosses his arms. “Is it getting better?” he presses.

Jason relaxes. A yawn overcomes him. Is it better? Big picture, where his life is, where it’s going, what was it like before. Before Clark.

Jason wants no memory of anything before Clark. Not even of Kyle. Maybe one. One memory of Kyle. The warmth of his hand. Nothing else than that.

“I guess, yeah.”

Bruce smiles wide. His blue irises reflect the white lights from the ceiling, the grey from the cupboard. They look like the sea like that. “Then it can be fine.”

He guides Jason back into the hallway and starts escorting him to his room. They’re halfway there when Clark whisper-calls for them from behind. The boy is too tired and shaken to focus much on the sentences the men exchange.

When Clark comes closer to have a look at his cut, Jason gives him a quick hug instead, or what he thought would be quick. It’s not. He holds on. Clark lets him.

Chapter Text

Life at the Waynes’ is routine. Most of the time, when he’s home, Jason stays with Cassandra and the pets. He’s so busy anyway, when Clark proposes they return to his house for a week if his boys so wish, Jason doesn’t even begin to feel half the energy he’d need to go back and forth. He’d rather stay—and so would Duke.

So they stay. Alfred teaches Jason how to drive a motorcycle. Bruce, homebound more for now, can often be found napping on sofas or on Clark’s lap in one or the other common area, mostly the patio. Damian finds and adopts a hedgehog. Tim helps him build a little enclosure for it in the garden patch between the morning room and the swings.

Jason still struggles. He doesn’t knit as often this week as he did the last. Instead, he paces too much, and now his thighs are tense. His lip is near completely healed. His anxiety comes and goes. To Alfred’s dismay of sort, there’s never a load of dirty laundry that needs attending in this house anymore, since Jason has taken hold and temporary ownership of the washing room and appliances. The boy has even gone through washing the curtains. All the curtains. He thinks the carpets are next.

His hands have seen worse and better days. It’s whatever. The skin hurts. The muscles are fine. His fingertips are scratched white from the cleaning products he uses without gloves unless someone is physically standing over him and forcing him to wear some. Jason knows he should wear them. Must wear them. He gets that. He’s tired.

He finds himself puking first thing in the morning on the fourth Monday of June. It’s bile, it’s stress, it’s remnants. Vague emotions. They falter within minutes, thankfully, breathing exercises help. By the time he drags himself to the kitchen for breakfast, numbness brings him comfort. Seeing Clark alone there is another relief.

The man greets him and frowns. Maybe some things are too obvious. “Are you sick?“

“Nothing physical,” Jason mutter. “Just a bad dream. I can’t remember.”

“You won’t see Dinah for another week….” Clark sounds worried. As sweet as it seems, it  irritates Jason. There’s no need to be worried; it doesn’t help. Not immediately. Nothing immediate helps this stuff. It will have to pass on its own for now we everything else is worked on piece by piece, one gran of good in the crack after another, then another, then another, then one and a thousand more. Jason knows this and he wishes Clark would know too—not vaguely know, not sort of know, but viscerally know. Know it all by heart.

Bruce knows. Always did know. Too bad he’s still asleep right now.

Jason’s next night isn’t better, rest wise. He’s sure he looks awful. He is, however, in high spirit. No real reason why. He finds Duke and Clark alone in the kitchen when he arrives here and for some reason, that makes him feel quieter. It’s never been just the three of them lately, what with this house being full of other people too. It’s more peaceful like this. It does things to Jason’s heart. He stops himself from pinching his hands.

“Should I sleep in the L aisle or the Z one?” he jokes as he’s sitting down, a full coffee cup in front of him on the table.

Clark snorts. “Neither.”

“Or both,” Duke supplies.

“Neither,” Clark repeats. He is clearly amused. “But I’ll come deliver a real good lunch for you later. To you too, Duke.”

Jason coos. “So kind. So full of time.”

“It’s like he never works, these days,” Duke fake-whispers.

“Right?”

Clark hums. “I’m on leave, actually.” To the interrogation in the teens’ eyes, he adds: “A little burnt out.”

Jason’s left hand twitches. “Are you downplaying that?”

“I’m not. It’s alright.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. All alright.” And he smiles. It looks true. His tone sounds true. His reason is so him. “I want to be at home more while you two still live with me full-time.”

Later, Jason cries in between shelves. Just a minute. A swift something. Seventeen tears.

Clark burned the chicken a little but the lunch he just brought him still tastes great all the same.

When the last week of June comes, Jason finds his way to school again. Stephanie is taking the same History class, she’s already here when he arrives. He is only mildly surprised that she never mentioned it before.

“You keep secrets well.”

“I know, right? Next thing you know, Miguel will be here too.”

And it’s true; Miguel is here too. It’s a bit awkward for five minutes between them because as it turned out, it’s Miguel who had wanted to invite Jason to prom. It’s been two weeks the info is out, they haven’t talked much since, they greet each other quieter than usual today.

But they’re mostly past the confusion, it seems. Miguel doesn’t mention it, Jason doesn’t mention it, they trade energy bars after the lesson ends and before all three teenagers start heading to the library to study. They compare notes. Miguel explains that he’s here because he wants to graduate early. Stephanie wants to get a couple courses out of the way so she can work and save some money during her senior year. Jason doesn’t need to tell them why he’s here.

Plans in the Wayne household change suddenly at noon on Thursday while Jason is in class, something he learns by text from Alfred. The old man and Bruce will be traveling that day to the funeral of an acquaintance of the butler’s, Cassandra will be sleeping over at a friend’s, and Clark might be late for school pick-up due to Krypto needing an emergency vet visit after she stepped on something in the forest that cut her front left paw deep. Only Tim, also going to sleep over at a friend’s, and Damian, on the account of being ten, see their schedules unchanged.

Clark is only one hour late picking up Jason from the school library, and quick to reassure him about Krypto; but Duke also has a change of plans of his own. He comes by Jason’s room soon after the teen is back home and joins him on the bed where they both sit up straight to talk.

“Is it cool if I leave you here alone with Clark and Damian? There’s somewhere I wanna invite Isabella for breakfast tomorrow, but it’s much closer to her place, so I’ll be sleeping there.”

“Sure, yeah. You go out.” Jason then smirks playfully. Teasing Duke is fun sometimes. “Use protection.”

The teen laughs. “Rude!” He leans forward and gently punches Jason in the arm. They stay like this for a moment, Duke obviously pondering a question Jason waits patiently for him to ask or give up on. In the end, Duke asks. “Anyone you like?”

Jason sighs. “Yeah, there’s someone. Doesn’t like me back, though, so...”

“Oh, you asked?”

“No, but I know.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“That I am.”

They don’t talk about these things in general. Duke has always been with Isabella for as long as Jason’s known him. He’s been either polite or uninterested enough to avoid talking about Jason’s love life thus far. He doesn’t know much. Jason isn’t sure he wants to say much, either. But maybe he wants to say a little. “You’re straight, right?”

Duke takes in the question, eyebrows raised. His grin is a bit off. “Am I the one you like?”

Jason snorts. “You wish.” He waits for a reply. Studies Duke’s face. Sees confusion here this time. “No!” he insists. He then grabs his pillow and throw it straight into the other teen’s face, earning a laugh as he groans: “Nevermind. Go be gross somewhere else.”

“Again, rude,” Duke smiles. “I’m straight, yes.”

Jason didn’t have to ask, he thinks. On intuition. He’s not even sure anymore why he asked this specifically, how it relates to what he might want to say. It’s not important. He made Duke laugh, he’s hinted at something—that’s as much as he can hope for a conversation with his foster brother today. Jason feels oddly satisfied. “Alright.”

“That’s it?” Duke whines, surprise in this voice. “That’s all I get?”

It’s Jason’s turn to laugh. “For now.”

Duke leaves shortly after that, not without Jason reminding him loudly and with tears in his voice to at least use a condom. Clark pretends not to hear, heading straight to the top of the staircase and calling out for Damian to bring all his important document downstairs now that his trip abroad to his mother’s is approaching fast. But Duke hears Jason alright. He flips him off when he reaches the gate where Isabella waits for him in her car, then smiles big and sends Jason a heart sign before he takes off for the night.

Thirty minutes later, Clark has to take a call from his mother, so he asks Jason to help supervise Krypto’s escapade in the garden with Damian. The dog’s paw is still in a little cast, but the veterinarian recommended some morning and evening walks on three legs for now.

So Jason goes outside with Damian and it’s awkward. They still barely talk. Krypto cannot run as she usually does, making their walk slow and even more boring like this.

Quickly, Jason reasons that it’s on him to change it. He’s the older one here, and worst case scenario, Damian is short. His little kicks should be somewhat easy to dodge. “So,” Jason starts. “You’re gonna see your mom soon, yeah? Are you happy?”

Damian shrugs. He doesn’t look the older boy in the eye. His tone is devoid of joy. “I am.”

“Shit,” Jason scoffs. He tries to keep it light. “What was that?”

“Shut up.”

It’s a bad word. It’s a mumble. Jason holds off answering for a second when he notices Damian glancing briefly at the house. It’s empty of his family today. Well, Clark is here, but still. Jason understands. Damian is young and between worlds, after all, and despite everything, he loves his father and siblings and Clark and all the pets. He’ll miss them.

“Right, right. Sorry, kid, that’s rough.” He pats Damian’s hair and messes it up, by habit or because he wants to annoy this child enough to cheer him up. But he meets no resistance. It’s strange.  “When do you come back?”

“First day of August.” Damian steps away to get out of Jason’s reach. “Will you be gone?”

“Sorry, not yet. But soon after, yes.” Krypto is whiny, probably in pain. Robin, who might have been wandering nearby for hours now, snuggles near Jason’s legs, so the boy lifts the animal in his arms to pet him for a bit. “I’m still gonna expect pictures of Robin after I’m gone, though,” Jason tells Damian. “Maybe you could be the one sending these to me.”

“I won’t.”

Charming kid. The usual.

Clark is still on call when they return to the house. He’s also still a bad cook. Jason takes initiative and guides Damian to the kitchen then starts offering either chicken or some leftover bacon as their main dish for the night. Damian seems taken aback, frowning and looking at Jason and mouthing an almost interrogative no. That’s when Jason realizes. “You don’t eat meat?”

“I don’t. You never noticed?”

“Guess I did here and there but didn’t connect the dots. I do now.”

Well. That’s on brand, it makes sense. Jason will adapt. He looks through the fridge again and makes a mental note to look up more vegetarian recipes later.

(Not that it’s urgent or even expected, really. There’s only two or three weeks left for him to share with that child, and after that… who knows. It’s stupid. But it can’t hurt.)

“Aight, so what do we make? Fried tofu and veggies? Looks like we have portobellos too…”

Damian inspects the dry pantry. “Are those burger buns?” he wonders out loud after a moment, and Jason hears interest here.

“You want this?” he asks. “Tofu and mushroom burgers?” Damian hesitates. Asking anything from Jason might appear like it comes with some string attached, for example conversation or something. Jason gets the defensiveness here; he’s a prime offender. He lets it go. “Sounds great, let’s do it then.”

The stars on his ceiling were Damian’s doing indeed, as Jason suspected. He knows it’s the case because one minute he parts ways with the kid in the corridor and tells him he’ll be taking a bath, and an hour later he’s back in his room and more stars than before have appeared in a definite pattern right next to the others.

Jason turns off the light after he sees this. It’s early, too early maybe, but he already puts on boxers and an old t-shirt, lays down on the bed above the cover, turns his phone to silent mode, and stares at the stars until their glow dims. Soon enough, he falls asleep like this.

Bruce comes back to Gotham on Saturday afternoon, close to when Jason’s day at the office ends. The boy learns of this return not by text, but because the man comes visit him at his station.

Now, it’s certainly possible that Jason played a little prank on Damian and replaced the content of the lunchbox the kid takes with him to art class with little bunnies Jason spent all of yesterday night knitting half for this reason, half just because. Maybe he did that. Maybe Damian (who he might add, has access to a credit card and cash and food vending machines where the lessons take place) tattled and frankly… Jason doesn’t care. He thinks he’s funny. He thinks Bruce would find it funny.

He grins in fake shyness when the man draws closer to him. “Came here to scold me?”

Bruce looks confused. “Why would I? I hear good things about you still. Or mostly good things.”

Jason snickers. “Yeah?”

Bruce rolls his eyes. But he’s grinning.

He knows.

He hands over a list to Jason and asks: “Could you find these for me?”

Jason can. He does. It’s contracts, some printed statements, signatures galore, important stuff. He’s quickly learned not to get curious else his supervisor might scold him if she hears that someone looked at something for more than a handful of seconds. She brings in mean cupcakes for the team to share sometimes, though, so Jason likes her well enough. She still calls him Jake but really, what can one do.

“Here you go.”

“Thank you.” Bruce peers around. There’s no one here. “Damian told me he liked your burgers.”

Jason laughs. He didn’t expect that one. “Oh yeah? Did he sound upset when he told you?”

“He sure did.” Bruce lets his gaze fall on Jason’s front pockets. “How are your hands? Your lip healed.”

Jason tenses. “We’re at work.”

“We’re family. Also, I own the place.”

“Nepotism? In this fine household?”

Jason heard, yeah. Heard what Bruce said alright. He heard and he listened and he understands what Bruce implied, what Bruce meant, what he himself finds harder and harder to reject and run away from. He heard but that’s too much for now, it’s always too much, it’s an adult Jason problem. So for now, while he still can, teenager Jason plays along. What else can he do? There’s nothing else he wants. It’s not something he can have. “I’m okay.”

“Good.”

“Are you?”

Bruce is taken aback. Does no one ask him? Jason is sure Clark does. Maybe his children learned not to. Maybe he’s overstepping. No apology seems necessary, though; Bruce doesn’t appear too phased or uneasy anymore, seconds later, when he answers: “I am.” He takes his phone in hand and gives it a quick look for the time. “I’ll see you at home. Tomorrow. Late meetings.”

Jason nods and watches him go back to the elevator, the man’s steps heavier than usual.

Dinah is covered in several layers of clothes today. Jason thinks she’s got a cold. Even her voice is strained, and she didn’t protest when he insisted on him handling the coffee machine for them. Or perhaps she has her own problems too. Either way, Jason is back here and unsure of what to say. What is important these days? Not sure. Nothing, everything. It’s a waiting game. It’s got his ups and downs. “I think Bruce Wayne and I are getting along lately.”

“Sorry to hear this.”

“Thanks. It’s tough.”

She lets out a quick chuckle. That’s one less worry on the list. “How’s school?”

“The same. Easier. I found out who wanted to invite me to prom back then.”

“And?”

Jason doesn’t understand the question. “And?” he repeats.

“Does it make you happy?”

Does it? He didn’t ponder that all too much. He got the info, thought it was sweet and was flattered in a way, but also worried in another. He’s still between hearts and it sucks because he’s got no time for this these days. Truly wishes he had more time, more space, a bubble for that set aside.

Maybe he does. He overthinks a lot.

“The boy is fine,” he shrugs. “I’ve blocked the one I like from contacting me, though.”

“You did? Why?”

“It was harder to talk than not talk.” And to dance around it all. Danced around it for years. It’s exhausting. He’s exhausted and he thinks Kyle is exhausted too. They need this time off, perhaps. A clean break. Temporary. “Is it selfish to want to focus on me for now?”

“You sure are gonna need all the support from yourself you can gather in the upcoming weeks, so there is that.” She inhales and exhales deeply, just once. “But if you’re avoiding these relationships because you don’t think you deserve them, then it’s another problem.”

“And here I thought you being sick would make you kinder to me.”

She snorts. “Nah.”

Well then. Fine.

He’ll try and figure it out.

It’s hard to see Cassandra cry. It’s harder to see Damian cry. The former is easier to console for Jason, easier to get along with, more frank and tuned-in with nuances in her expression of this or that feeling washing over her at any given time. But Damian… well. Damian.

Damian is ten years old.

At least Tim and Duke aren’t crying, and neither are the adults. Jason feels some selfish relief in this, for he can only see so many people cry before he becomes a whole other person he’d rather not display in the open now or ever, probably ever.

But truthfully, it still hits him hard. He’ll miss Damian, it’s only a few weeks but he’ll miss him. He got rewarded with more stars for the bunny prank, with more salt in his food too because all harmless fun is fair in siblings quarrels. They voluntarily teamed up for videogame night yesterday. They won. Damian gave him a high five.

So, it’s hard. Damian untangles himself from Cassandra’s embrace, signs something to her, then goes to Tim for a hug, muttering things to him nobody else can hear clearly. In turn, the teen nods and whispers something back. It’s the same with Duke, though this time Jason is close enough, next in the line, so he can hear that it’s about not leaving for college before Damian comes back.

When it’s his turn to say goodbye, Jason holds out his hand for the boy to shake, likes that first time they met and it didn’t go so fine. But Damian hugs him instead. Jason is quick to return that. He even pats Damian’s head, he knows the boy hates that but this time again, no word of protest comes.

“You’ll take care of Nina?” the kid asks.

“Sure will, yeah. I’ll spoil her so hard.”

“You better.” And with this, Damian steps back. “Bye.”

It’s several hours later when Clark, Alfred and Bruce return from the airport. Though it’s already near midnight, nobody is asleep. Damian’s absence is too loud.

Jason feigns not to see that Bruce’s eyes are red. He and Cassandra keep themselves busy by planning and preparing a makeshift camping ground in the living room, blankets and pillows thrown around for a movie night that will surely bleed into the long Sunday of missing they will have afterward. Clark, Duke and Alfred spend some time in the kitchen, fixing up sandwiches for everyone. Tim and Bruce search and find the original cuts of the first Star Wars trilogy. Nina, Ace and Robin wander around a lot. They might be looking for Damian. Krypto doesn’t leave Clark’s side.

The woolen bunnies are nowhere. Damian took them all with him.

It’s Tuesday after work and they’re in Clark’s car when a little bombshell is dropped on Jason. “My mom invited us to visit her for a weekend next month.”

“Next month?”

“After your birthday.”

Jason’s heart rate shoots up. His hands start to knit on their own, on nothing. He’s out of a kit here, he needs a new one, he forgot to tell Clark.

“You won’t have to remain in this state anymore,” the man continues. “You can fly out.”

“I assume you mean she invited the family.”

“She did, yes. And she mentioned you by name. She liked you.”

“I liked her.”

After this, it’s silence. Jason doesn’t know what to say. What to think. He hates that he didn’t want to mention this to Dinah last time because he needs help. He knows what he wants, he doesn’t know how to get there. If he’s already there. If he has a right to be, if he can take this right by force.

Clark pats his arm when they stop at a red light. “Take your time,” he says.

But they don’t have it. Time. It’s running out. They count it in weeks now. Weeks. Weeks are nothing. Soon it will be days, just days, mere days. Days are worse. Days are terrifying.

In his room, Jason drops his jacket and his bags, then looks up. Looks at the stars. Something overwhelms him and so he leaves this space, rushes straight to Tim’s room. He enters without knocking. He’s rude. He doesn’t say hi, he doesn’t ask anything, he says: “I need to find some stars. In the sky. Your telescope.”

And Tim, empathetic Tim, sweet little brother Tim he doesn’t want to part with, nods and helps him with this.

Chapter Text

It is the last day of July when Jason welcomes Harper’s final text about when he can move in, what he’ll need there, and the formalities attached to it. He sighs in relief.

They followed through. There’s a contract, it’s all official, he won’t be homeless right out of foster care. There’s already a spare bed waiting for him, empty shelves for his clothes and belongings, even a cute mug with his name on it in the cupboard. Stephanie got it for him when she heard about the plan. Jason is yet to find how to thank her for it.

August 19. Three weeks.

Three ragged breaths later, anxiety hits him. By the time he goes to bed he feels hands on him everywhere.

The tiles on the floor are different in the downstairs bathroom at the Manor, rougher on the skin with their sort of sand effect on top. Jason doesn’t mind it.

He tries. He really tries. He wants to stay calm. He knows he’s just spent too much time in here in front of the sink, the door locked behind him, the tap still open slightly, first so he could splash water on his face and now serving as humming noise in the background.

He needs these things. Needs the feel of the floor under his palms, back again in this squatting position with his palms flat on the hard surface, his head lowered, his eyes opening and closing depending on whether the waves in him command to look at his fingers or not. It’s as silly as ever, routine, uncertain comfort, everything he knows.

But it works. A bit. The burn in his legs is painful enough that it grounds him even more somehow.

Duke soon knocks on the door. “Jay? You okay in there?”

“Peachy.” Jason brings his hands close to his chest in a praying motion. They’re cold. Tingling. “Need another minute.”

“Clark will turn to villainy if you break.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Duke chuckles. He still sounds worried. “They’ll be back soon. Tim is setting up the table, Alfred is pacing around… Help me with the pets?”

“Sure.” Jason stands up. So dizzy. His legs hurt. He closes the tap and waits until his vision stops swimming before he leaves the room without looking more than half a second at his reflection in the mirror. Duke is waiting for him, of course. His smile is sincere. “Why,” Jason smirks. “Happy to see you too.”

“I’ll keep that in mind in case Damian winds up not happy to see us.”

“How dramatic, I’m sure he missed you… I mean, hell,even I missed him.”

“Told you he’d grow on you.”

Jason shrugs. He expects Duke to move, they’ve got things to do after all, but to his surprise nothing is happening. He sends his friend a questioning look but when it’s answered by a pointed stare downward, he gets it. “My hands are fine. See? The usual.”

“Mmh.” Duke mentally details the fading scratches and those that might never go away too. It’s like he’s trying to remember the patterns. Would he know what changed? The thought brings in wrong feelings.

In the end, Duke lets it go. Jason shrugs and starts leading their way toward other parts of the house. It takes them almost fifteen minutes to gather all the pets in the lobby, and it’s lucky it’s no longer than this because right as Jason finally finds Nina taking a nap on Cassandra’s windowsill, he peers outside and sees Bruce’s car crossing the property gate.

Damian is home.

And Jason tries. He really tries.

At the welcome party, in the evening during videogame night, right before bed, in prayers at night… he tries. But Damian avoids him. The distance is immense.

The kid had hugged Jason upon arrival, even exchanged greetings and info about how both boys are doing, how the pets are doing, normal stuff if a tad too formal and dry. Better than their first encounter anyway. Since then though, it’s been silence growing ever more sinister between them.

It takes four days before they find themselves completely alone in the kitchen. Damian is usually an early riser, but with the time difference still messing up with his sleep and the school year not starting yet, he follows Alfred’s advice not to force himself adjust back at once. Jason slept a couple hours more after spending half the night worried and awake. His jaw and lips burn from the gnawing. It’s a day off for him, nearly everyone else is already out of the house.

So. Damian. Jason watches as the kid looks up his bowl of cereals and gives him a nod as greetings, looking instantly irritated. Jason greets him verbally and starts fixing himself some breakfast in silence. He sits not quite in front of Damian, so it won’t create unnecessary conflict. For a while, they eat quietly, focused on their respective phones. That is, until Jason speaks.

“Eh,” he calls. Damian has the politeness to stare at him and listen. “Talk to me?”

“Why?”

Why? It’s not easy. Jason has no time to ponder this, but even if he did, he’s not sure he’d ever find the correct answer. There might not be one. “‘Cause we live together?”

“You’re going to leave us.”

His hands. Twitching. The urges. Jason chases it away by keeping a sigh hidden down the bottom of his throat, his gaze avoiding Damian’s so not to let see his own hurt. “I’m staying in Gotham,” he says.

But that doesn’t sway the kid. “You’re leaving the family.”

His hands. Twitching. Jason lets his phone fall on the table so his fingers are free to overpower his will to stay calm and non-destructive.

Damian’s voice is so steady. Always steady today. Resigned.

Things Jason is not.

“Damian…”

The kid gets up. The creak of the chair dragging backward against the floor gives Jason goosebumps. A terrible sound. “Leave me alone.”

It shouldn’t bother Jason nearly as much as it does. It’s Damian, after all. Just a kid. Jason shouldn’t care about a kid, he’s met many in foster care, for a minute or a year and then never by his side again.

Never by his side again.

Two days of drifting, maybe three if tomorrow is the same. Tomorrow will be the same—Jason just knows it. Clark too, it seems, because when he comes and softly knocks on the teen’s bedroom door, he doesn’t wait before entering quietly. He’s usually good at waiting. He must be too concerned to care.

“Should we go see Dinah?” he asks after he’s sat down on the edge of Jason’s bed, looking briefly at what game the boy is playing on his phone. No comment about that.

Jason sighs. “No. S’okay, just…”

That’s it. That’s all. Jason doesn’t say anything else, Clark doesn’t ask, and Krypto makes her way into the room the second the older man opens the door again. He brings Jason food five minutes later. Lunch was an hour ago.

It takes less than a day afterward for Jason to become sociable enough again that Clark stops worrying, and then another week of avoiding each other before Damian and Jason finds themselves alone again.

August 14.

Time running thin, like shreds in his hands.

And as if these troubles weren’t enough as it is, Jason’s heart finds itself seized by shock at the sudden vision of Damian perched on a shaky stepladder placed above the teen’s bed so the boy can reach the ceiling. Almost reach the ceiling. He’s on his tippy toes. Focused. Small white stars in his hands. Another constellation.

Jason groans in frustration as he gets closer to the scene. “You’re gonna fall,” he grunts, holding onto the stepladder to try and keep it still under the kid’s feet.

Damian spares him a glance before he returns to his task. “Never have.”

“Shit, Damian… like this? dangerously? the whole time?”

“I’m fine.”

There’s no arguing any of this. No fight worth its while. It’s a kid. It’s Damian. Jason makes his grip on the stepladder a bit tighter and that’s it, that’s all he can do, eyes up to see what pattern this reckless child finds so important to put up there that he’d risk injury again and again to have it protecting Jason from above.

Damian takes his time. His hands are small. “Clark says he thinks you’ll stay. He told Alfred.”

“Eavesdropping, weren’t you?”

Jason isn’t stupid. Damian isn’t stupid. They know where they stand here, nestled in this non-answer.

It’s only a moment until the kid is done with his task. He then falls back on his heels and inspects the pattern one last time, looking almost satisfied, and finally climbs down the steps.

Jason lets out a breath. It’s shakier than he hoped. He distracts them both by nodding in the direction of the ceiling and asking the kid: “Now what’s this one?”

“Carina.” Damian stays on the bed, just standing here, eyes looking deep into Jason’s. There’s no sternness there anymore, no despair either. He almost seems hopeful. His voice isn’t steady anymore. “Will you stay?”

Jason smiles at him.

He’s not sure why.

He knows it looks sad. Feels so. Feels much.

He signals for Damian to get closer, either for a hug or at least get down from the bed, and the kid obeys without a word. He chooses the hug.

Jason tries not to squeeze this small body too strongly because Damian is fragile, vulnerable right now, and tiny for his age. He counts to thirty-one in his head, he’s not convinced he was exact on the lapsing of each second, but maybe that’s alright anyway. When he breaks the hug, he does so with regret.

“Aight, kiddo.” He messes Damian’s hair and chuckles as Damian scowls. “Let’s move this ladder back.”

Jason wants to stay.

Of course he wants to stay.

It’s 11:47 in the evening, August 15, he’s sitting alone in Clark’s car and he wants to stay.

He could go. He took Bruce’s copy of the car keys on the way out, tied around a loop hanging from the bunny Jason had gifted the man all these weeks ago. Nobody stopped him on the way out. Did they notice? Maybe. Some lights are on behind the windows here and there. The open garage light is motion sensitive, it flashed bright when Jason walked here. Blinded him. Probably woke up all the pets.

Least discreet non-escape ever.

Jason is not even sitting behind the wheel. Doesn’t want to. He’s here to knit really, and that’s what he does. The glove compartment is full to the brim of his stuff, far more of it than he’d ever need for the next three days or thirteen minutes he’s gonna be here. He was in this car a week before, but barely anything was left here then. It’s recent. It’s hopeful.

Clark looks exhausted when the motion controller lights turn on again. The top and bottom of his pyjamas don’t match and he’s not even carrying keys, but he’s not running at least, so that could mean he knows. Knows Jason won’t escape.

Maybe knows the kid wants to stay.

He opens the driver’s door without haste and comes to sit down the same way. Steady. Jason could swear the man is genuinely amused. Clark’s tone soon confirms his assertion. “That passenger seat making me think you’re either really bad at cars or not planning on running away.”

“Maybe I wanted a chauffeur.”

“Well, I could drive you anywhere…” Clark reclines the seat. “But I’d rather you stay.”

For a while, they listen to the noises around them in silence. 11:50. Jason’s heart beats off-rhythm.

“I’m scared,” he concedes. He’s sure Clark understands.

“So am I. I get it. Change can be a pain.”

“Won’t miss your cooking, though.”

“So rude. Rude child.” Clark playfully pats Jason’s shoulder. His touch is so light, as though he thinks he could break something otherwise. Break promises. Jason takes it all in. “You’ll always be welcome to dinner, you know. Anytime.”

“Text me on days you’ll be ordering takeout.”

Clark laughs. It’s fainter than usual. He’s wondering, and Jason wonders as well. Has pondered it all. Still can’t find an answer.

He wants and wants and needs but to say it or take it is somebody else’s story.

It’s 11:53 and they’re sitting quietly again when Bruce emerges from the house with two coffee mugs in hand. His pyjamas display a bat print so cute and childish, Jason wants to tease him about it for days. He’s not sure where Bruce would fit in the equation of right now, but thanks to whatever star above, the man merely places the steaming mugs on the hood of the car and waves them goodbye before he quickly retreats back into the house.   

Jason exhales. All the things. So much. Everything. It’s overwhelming but at least, he knows where to start. It’s all he knows, really. All there is. The start. “Thank you for stepping in. For me. At the station.”

Clark smiles. He’s tired. He speaks gently. “Anytime, kid. Anything.” After a pause, he adds: “I’d do it again.”

And Jason believes him.

It’s fine if it’s a lie.

He wants to believe it.

11:56. Clark points at the mugs. “Shall we?”

“Not yet.”

They wait. The coffee will soon be cold. Jason does and undoes his knitting thrice, there’s no real plan here, it’s not about completion. Not about anything.

11:59. He closes his eyes.

12:00. He blinks at the clock.

August 16.

Clark’s voice, like an anchor.

“Happy birthday.”

Jason can’t help but smile.

Chapter Text

Life gets busy. So busy. Jason moves in with Harper, shares a chore chart with them, has ups and downs when it comes to not treating his hands and entire body like battlefields. 

He misses Clark. He misses Dukes. Misses Krypto and Robin. Misses Cass, Tim, Damian, Dick, Alfred and Bruce.

He misses home.

Clark moves in with the Waynes in September so the house he, Jason and Duke lived in is now empty of life most of the time. No one is in a hurry to transfer anything over to the Manor yet. In fact, even Jason still has the house key.

Could he just go? Sleep in what used to be his room? What was once his bed is still there. Would he be an intruder? Would the cops be called? Perhaps if he texted Clark beforehand, he'd get the reassurance that the alarm code is the same, and it wouldn't cause trouble to sleep over here and there.

Jason scratches the inner part of his left elbow til he bleeds at the mere thought. Stupid thought.

He's aged out of care now, so he's aged out of the house. On a particularly bad night, he drives to the river and throws away the key.

Still, he's invited often. At the Manor. All the time. Every weekend, they ask if he'll be here, and sometimes he says yes. Of these times, sometimes he goes. Others, he flakes. They never mention it negatively and it becomes harder for him to just show up, because he doesn't know if he should apologize for being absent or apologize for being present. 

It doesn't help this incertitude that they treat him no different, welcoming and warm. Damian is less happy with his presence after a weekend of false promises, but by the end of the visits, he tends to be in a better mood. Jason deeply dislikes who he can be to this child. He never spends the night anymore.

He texts Duke everyday, texts Clark nearly daily. Wants to call the older man "dad" so badly.

His work at Wayne Inc stays the same. He asked for and got approved for extra hours, which isn't yet enough to make ends meet comfortably, so in October he accepts Miguel's offer to come work with him cleaning offices a couple nights a week. 

He knows he could ask for a full-time position at the company. He's a decent employee, they'd say yes if he asked. But he doesn't. Maybe he's stubborn.

Maybe he misses Bruce more than he'd like, and seeing the man more often, or at least risking so, feels like more things he wants but doesn't think he's allowed to have.

Being apart from Duke is the hardest. They're brothers, after all, that much is clear in Jason's mind. He'd never see it any other way. They call each other a lot. 

"It's crazy." Duke fake-whines on the line, one day in November. "All I wanna do is skate and write, yet here I am... paying bills, cooking chicken Alfredo, overboiling the pasta."

"Can't be worse than Clark's attempt at margherita pizza."

"You'd think that." Duke laughs at the reminder, then offers: "Come by and taste it?"

"Is that a threat?"

"Yes."

Jason does make the trip all the way to Duke's dorm. There, he hugs the guy tight til neither of them can breathe. Duke lightly teases him about it, about his hair getting too long, about the nail art he had let Stephanie practice on him... Jason welcomes it all. The Alfredo chicken pasta isn't the best but even so, to him, it's perfect as it is. He cries a lot on the way back. Harper later teases him too, sibling-like, before comforting him.

In early December, Clark messages him to asks if he can stop by the apartment. Jason accepts, of course, and what comes with the man is a giant care package. A blanket, food, sweaters, leg warmers, candles, things Jason hasn't asked for but his former foster father insists he keep and use as Gotham gets colder and ever so dark.

Jason sighs. It surprises him that there's a hint of laughter in the sound. "Still worried about me?"

"What's a parent not constantly worrying about their kids?"

Jason tunes him out.

Embraces it.

His ribcage is too small.

"A chiller dad," he replies.

Clark sighs. He sounds apologetic. "I trust you. You're an adult, you can do this. This is for me, it's... Is that alright?"

"It's fine. Thank you for this, and for stopping by." What else can Jason say anyway? The truth is bigger than that. Too big. Too early. He's hungry. "Lunch?"

"On me. Wherever you want."

Jason picks a cake buffet. Clark will never stop worrying.

After this, in December, Jason skips on invitations again. He doesn't like times of festivities. He still sends handmade gifts (he's gotten pretty good at knitting) to the entire family, doing so through Tim whom he meets up with for coffee on a colder than usual Wednesday. 

He welcomes the new year quietly and with Harper and Stephanie a little away from Gotham, a car ride that gets them where they can see some stars among the clouds as the clock strikes midnight. The faint colored lights of distant fireworks can be seen in the distance.

In early January, he goes with the Waynes to a park outing further North where the snow has taken hold. Duke and Dick join them there as well, even Alfred comes with. It feels nice being with the whole gang again.

Jason can't sleep for days afterward. Again. Always. It's like his mind is a house so empty and yet so full, fires break out in strange places and there's no space left for reason between the cracks.

It's feelings he's got no shelves for.

He calls Clark a week later at nearly 4AM while a little drunk on alcohol and entirely consummated by doubt, standing outside their apartment so not to wake Harper, barely dressed and freezing out there.

And maybe right now Jason's not very coherent and anything could soothe him at this point of distress, but Clark is patient with him yet again, and after a good fifteen minutes of reassurance, Jason stop crying and rambling doom in vain. He falls asleep on his bed immediately after telling Clark he'll try to do so. Wakes up to a message from the man asking him to come spend some extended time at the Manor.

And Jason rejects it, but dares asking if they could spend a night in the old house instead. He's surprised with how quickly Clark agrees and tells him to get there the next day. He's even more surprised when the mab and Duke indeed show up as agreed, Krypto and Robin also exiting the car as soon as it reaches the driveway.

It's a quiet evening. All feels normal again. They don't talk about too important things. The next day, when they part ways to return to their respective affairs (job for Jason and Clark, visiting Isabella for Duke), the air feels breathable again.

At the end of January comes Cassandra's birthday. Jason wouldn't miss it for the world. 

This time, he spends the night. Sleeps in. Dick and Damian are off somewhere for an art thing when Jason ventures downstairs to meet Tim and Cassandra for a late breakfast. The three of them elect to spend the day inside, playing videogames until Jason has to leave for his cleaning job. He hears Alfred lament his absence before the door even closes behind him.

February is more of the same. Almost a year. Bruce's birthday. That punch Cass threw and that started it all. A year of temporary family. Maybe simply family.

Jason has trouble sleeping and not hurting himself again. It's routine and it's exhausting.

He considers not attending Bruce's birthday party in a week or so, and to only contact them all once March comes. However, like clockwork, Damian has other plans. It's Thursday, four days before that anniversary, when the kid calls Jason just as the man is done with work. He knows it's not a coincidence.

"Can you come by?" Damian grumbles. His voice is a little heavier than before. He's growing up.

"Today? Why?"

"Nina misses you."

Jason can't help but smile. Same Damian, in the end. But he called. He lies to Jason and knows Jason knows it's a lie. That's where their relationship is, no "I miss you" no "be my brother for a bit". Nina misses Jason. Who is he not to run to her?

"I miss her too."

"So? Will you come?"

Jason agrees. He doesn't work tomorrow, so he could even spend the night. He messages Alfred, Clark and Bruce to ask if he can stop by, maybe until morning, just an hour if not. They all take less than a minute to tell him he's being silly and of course he can stay the night, more than this even, and does he needs a ride? Has he eaten well?

They're too much. He loves them.

He gives Nina some cuddles (she only wants to run off to her cat activities, but still) and watches as Damian keeps his distance yet stays in the same room as he is, and later wherever he goes, like a shadow. Like Jason's gonna run away if Damian averts his eyes. Turn to silence again. 

Can't fault the child.

Jason and Alfred are soon setting up the plates for the evening while Cassandra and Damian take care of preparing tea and desserts. Jason takes this opportunity to apologize for the last minute plans and the strain it might have put on dinner. 

Alfred shakes his head. "No, nothing of the sort. After all, I always include your plate in my calculations. You always have a place at this table and on my mind." Lower, closer, out of protocol, he adds: "You're family, Jason."

The young man keeps his mouth shut tight.

The stars on the ceiling of the guest room, his room, have changed shape. He only hopes Damian has asked for help reaching up there and not endangered himself like he had done the last time.

He wakes up around 6. A little early. He needs fresh air to reboot his brain after strange dream or maybe nightmare he just had that he can't recall but can feel has left him a little restless. 

He picks the back, closed terrace as his destination for until everyone will start waking up in half an hour or later. He dresses warmly enough, even carries a large shawl he'll wrap around his shoulders once outside. He meets Ace and Krypto on the way and lets them out of the house through the terrace door, watching as they start running fast into the garden. It's still dark outside, so Jason turns on the lights around him. There's fog hanging all around the scenery and oddly, it's comforting. Jason sits down on the beige sofa from which he can stare at the garden and think.

To stay. To go.

One year in, he still wonders. A hundred hugs in. A thousand tears later. The many times he thought, "I'm home".

Nothing ever sticks.

After a while, he hears small sounds coming from around the house. The Manor comes alive as its inhabitant slowly emerge from sleep, the garden a bit brighter now that more curtains are open and the light filters through the windows. It's a work and school day, everyone will all be up in no time. 

It doesn't surprise Jason much that Bruce is the one joining him on the terrace, or that he's carrying two cups of hot cocoa.

It only surprises him that the man is already dressed in a too expensive suit which, for once, is a light shade of blue with buttons shaped like leaves.

"What if people see you like this and believe you more approachable than before?" Jason grins. 

Bruce smirks in return. "Confusion is part of the plan." He hands Jason one of the mugs (the one with more beverage inside) and comes sit next to him. The smell is sweet and familiar. Jason sighs contently.

"Cheers."

"You're welcome."

For a bit, they don't speak. The usual. Jason takes a sip of the cocoa (too hot) before he breaks the silence with a question they both understand and know will be devoid of an answer in full truth.

"How's Clark?"

Bruce thinks about it for a bit. He doesn't seem fully awake yet. "Clark... he's busy. He works a lot, these days. Maybe he'll slow down next year."

Jason snorts. "Yeah, right. Sounds like him."

They both know what he meant. Bruce won't say anything, but Jason needs this worry out there. Needs someone to know he's not just a selfish jerk who avoids them and then feels no remorse about it. He's nothing but remorse. And wants. And fears. And needs.

"And how are you?" he then asks Bruce. He's not sure why. He avoids thinking about the man's scars as much as he can. It's hard. It reflects things, shapes that look like him, things he worries will bind him. Things he worries will take Bruce away from him.

But when their eyes meet, the man's smile is true and soft, and he simply replies: "I'm alright." 

Jason expects the same question. He can come up with an answer, sure, something flat that's not a lie. But Bruce never lets him live that easily. He puts his still nearly full mug on the table and asks Jason: "Having a hard time?"

It's ridiculous. He's a ridiculous man. Jason jokes: "A hard life."

A hard life. It hits him. Falls on him. His shoulders tremble, his fingers hurt. Bruce is staring straight at him and he can't escape it. Doesn't want to. Wants to be seen for once. "It's been hard," he admits. It's overwhelming. "It's hard."

He cries. Bruce takes the mug away from Jason's weak hands, places it next to his, and wraps himself around the teenager for comfort. Jason holds on to him. The tears don't seem to stop. He doesn't know how long they stay like this, maybe a minute maybe two maybe five. For a while it's only his sobs, Bruce's heartbeat, and the silence.

He prays for Clark to come and of course, the man does. Jason feels it more than sees it when Clark grabs his hands and helps him stand up on his feet, before he replaces Bruce in giving Jason a strong and shielding hug. So tight. So sincere. Jason doesn't want to let go.

He hears Clark ask: "Did you make my kid cry?", and Bruce quietly answer: "I guess I did. My bad."

They're not fighting. It's all love and tones that scream I know, I understand. 

Almost suddenly, Jason stops crying. He lingers against Clark for a moment and reaches out to squeeze Bruce's hand once.

The two men soon coax him to follow them to the kitchen. There, the smell of food and coffee brings Jason back to a state of relative peace. Alfred and the cats are arguing by the stove.

A little after seven, one by one, Cassandra, Tim and Damian also enter the kitchen. Their greetings differ. Their uniforms are spotless. They bicker, though it's nothing unkind. They're late for breakfast, for school maybe. Again. Clark and Bruce lightly tease them about it, offer Jason more food, plan the week in half-words. When they all leave for the day, Jason stays.

He'll wait for them today. He knows they'll wait for him always.