Chapter Text
Jason startles awake and for a long moment his mind draws blank.
He waits for the aching pounding of his heart to calm from whatever horrors he had dreamt about, but the familiar surroundings—his bed, his desk, his shelf of trinkets and books, because they were all his, right?—don't seem to have any effect on him. In fact, the sight somehow makes him feel even more sick, wrong, and Jason sits up weakly in his bed trying to catch his breath as if he had just run ten laps around the manor. He glances around the dark room wondering when he had cleaned his clothes off the floor, and isn't that the stupidest thing to think about given he feels like shit and shitshitshit I'm having a fucking heart attack. His whole body seems to contract in on itself and all he can do is sit stiffly, hunched over the nauseatingly fresh bedsheets and fearfully wait for his stomach to upturn itself.
At some point, the bedroom door swings open silently, spilling a crack of light across the floor. Jason's pulse was pounding in his head and he doesn't even acknowledge as a silhouette slips in. After a pause, the shadow seems to notice Jason's predicament with a remarked, "Oh dear..."
Cautiously moving to his side (the word carefully didn't seem right, as with everything else in that moment), the figure leans towards him but keeps a distance, making sure not to crowd his space.
"Master Jason," Alfred started. Jason noticed how the old butler's watery eyes were surrounded by more worried wrinkles than normal. "No matter what terrors you see, no matter what shadows you fear, I promise that you are safe."
Jason could almost believe that, so he let the earnestness in the older man's voice comfort him a little. He says nothing though, not trusting his voice to stay under his control through his suffocating gasps for air because there just isn't enough of it in the too small room and Jason can't fucking breathe. The elderly man took a handkerchief and gently dabbed the sweat from his forehead before it dripped into his eyes.
His ears felt bloated, hearing echoes of nothing as if his head was submerged in water, and Alfred's voice echoes to him distantly when he continues, "If you would follow my lead, Master Jason—take a slow breath and hold for a pause before exhaling, long and slow on my count. Understood, sir?" Jason nodded his head weakly in response. "Very good, now breathe in—"
Jason took in a sharp, stuttering breath, too quickly.
"Hold—"
The muscles in his throat tightened compulsively, but he was already letting go like an untied balloon before Alfred commanded, "Exhale... 5... 4... 3..."
And Jason was back to hyperventilating again, looking wearily at the butler as if to say, I'm a lost cause.
"No need to be disheartened, sir. We shall try again, as many times as is necessary. You will be all right." Alfred gave him a worried, but reassuring squeeze of his shoulder.
Half an hour later, Jason was finally breathing on his own with some semblance of control, his wracked body feeling like a well-beaten sandbag and his head throbbing. His muscles had uncoiled themselves and the pulsing in his ears had stopped. Alfred poured a glass of water from the pitcher next to the bed and handed it to him along with a sleeping pill.
"Thanks, Al," Jason croaked, grateful for for the offer of mind-numbing sleep as he took the glass and pill with small hands. He swallowed the drug and downed the water in nearly a single gulp, feeling the cool liquid relieve his parched throat.
"You are very welcome, sir. Now, I believe it is due time you retired for the night."
Jason didn't protest when the butler took his empty glass and tucked the blankets comfortably around him as he lay back down. Satisfied that Jason was settled in, Alfred straightened his posture to take his leave.
As Alfred turned around, Jason had a sudden, irrational fear of being left alone in his familiar room with his familiar things that didn't seem to comfort him at all. He hesitated before quickly muttering under his breath, "Will you wake me up if I have bad dreams again?"
Alfred froze, eyes widening slightly in surprise.
Jason squirms nervously under the butler's appalled gaze and he almost wants to ask, what's wrong? before he regretted the question from ever leaving his mouth. He still felt uncomfortable about sharing his demons openly, as if speaking of the blood, the pain, and death would make them real. Even if his most recent nightmare had been one of the worst he's ever had, Jason wasn't a snot-nosed baby that needed to be coddled. Yet, as much as Jason learned to rely on himself since he was practically in diapers, a small part of him acknowledged the kind butler's attentive care and consideration while intuitively respecting his privacy, never lecturing him or raising a hand at Jason's unhealthy habits, such as stashing junk food in his closet, or going to bed with the same clothes he'd worn during the day—even Jason's smoking habit, although he was currently trying to quit cold turkey for the other's sake. It meant a lot to Jason that Alfred was patient with him (because Jason wholly and sincerely wanted to change), and knew deep down that he could grow to trust the elderly man as a friend—someday. Jason figured all he needed was to give the butler a chance.
So when the man regarded Jason's brief moment of vulnerability in surprise, Jason felt relieved that the glistening at the corners of his aging eyes wasn't a trick of the light, and neither were they filled with pity.
Alfred regarded his young charge fondly, one hand patting his arm underneath the covers and another giving a gentle caress through his hair, an uncharacteristic break in his usual distant politeness.
"... Always, Master Jason. Always." he finally says quietly.
At the door, he turned around once again as if to make sure Jason was still safely where he should be and gave one last smile.
"Sleep well, Master Jason."
Jason closed his eyes and felt himself drifting into unconsciousness. He slept like the dead until morning.