Chapter Text
Jason Todd doesn’t do emotions. He doesn’t like affection. And never, ever, does he get ill. Or at least this is normally the case.
December is always the month that gets him. It’s as if every virus that’s occurred over the last year is put on the back burner, and when December rolls around, they fight over who gets to attack him the worst. It also doesn’t help that December is a busy time for shifty business to happen (more so than normal in the grimy streets of Gotham, if you can believe it). Every criminal tries to run an operation whilst city officials and residents are distracted by the celebrations and harsh chill in the air. Perhaps they’d be more successful, if it wasn’t for Batman and his vigilantes.
This year, it was Penguin who’d tried to ‘do the worst’, so to say. Nightwing had caught wind of a human trafficking operation being run through the Iceberg Lounge. They’d set out to take the operation down with as little attention being brought to it as possible; six months ago a similar operation was run by Falcone, the last thing they wanted to cause was another panic with the citizens. That plan and all discretion had gone out the window the moment they’d seen the victims of the operation. Most of them were barely ten.
Thankfully they’d managed to stop the operation in time, and whilst his time in Arkham would likely be short lived, that’s where Penguin was sent. Jason had told him to think of his broken bones and missing teeth as him getting into the spirit of the season. It’d have been much worse if it wasn’t just over a week til Christmas.
That, along with the fact that just before he’d delivered his final blow, there was a small tug on his trousers. With the collar of Penguin’s shirt in his hand, covered in blood, Jason had turned his head to see a little girl with mousy brown hair and scared eyes. She’d told him she’d lost her way looking for her bear (now tucked tightly under her arm), and needed help finding them. Jason called Duke over to handle Penguin, before seeing to the little girl.
All plans of her walking with Jason went out the window when he realised she was barefoot (it was a miracle that she’d managed not to sustain any injuries with the state of the club). Hesitantly, she’d agreed to let Jason pick her up, and was asleep within minutes. Jason was glad that her chin was resting on his shoulder; if he had to look at her again, he’d show Penguin no mercy.
It was a long night working with Jim and Barbs to work out who the children were and where they’d come from. Normally Jason doesn’t stick around once the police are involved. But this was different. This included children, specifically the one still asleep in his arms. He needed to know they were all going home - to safe, good homes nonetheless.
It took well over twelve hours, but eventually, they were all united with their families. Some were picked up whilst others, those who lived outside of Gotham’s walls, had transport arranged. Jason didn’t like the idea, but Barbs assured him she’d run every background check possibly on the drivers, and Jim, Duke and Cass volunteered to chaperone.
The little girl in his arms was the last to be picked up, her parents over an hour away but refusing to send her on transport when they had a ‘perfectly good car’. Jason’s eyes were having difficulty staying open for the most part, so for both his sake and her’s, he’d spoken to her when she’d finally woken. Her name was Milly, whilst her bear was Moon, due to the large white patch on his stomach. She was six and could count all the way to one-hundred and seventy. Her older sister had taken her to the park the day she was abducted, and the more she spoke about it the more upset she got. Jason changed the path of conversation, the police having already taken her statement, and somehow that lead to Milly giving Jason a makeover. Including but not limited to plaiting his hair, and colouring the white stripes of his hair with a pink highlighter (Jason pretended not to see Barbs taking photos).
The moment Milly had seen her parents, she’d jumped off Jason’s lap and ran straight to them. The relief on her parent’s faces and the tightness of the hug was enough to briefly warm Jason in the stone cold station. They’d thanked Jason and even offered him money as a thank you. He’d pushed it away and said there was no need, before escorting them to their car and waving goodbye, watching as Milly waved from the back until she was no longer in sight.
By the time he’d gotten back to the manor, he was freezing. Despite the anti-freeze technology of his suit and the jacket he patrolled in as Redhood, the cruel winter of Gotham had seemed to outsmart it. After accepting a cup of tea from Alfred and giving Bruce a rundown on what happened at the station, he’d gone to the spare bedroom, his teeth chattering and goosebumps having surfaced over every inch of his body. He’d gotten into bed, thankful for the glass of water Alfred had left him on the nightstand amongst Jason’s books, and pulled the covers tightly over him. A little sleep and he’d be fine. Right?
Two days later, he was proven very much wrong. As soon as he’d woken up in the spare room two days ago it’d hit him like a brick; he was ill. He’d tried to play it off and likes to think it was going well, until he’d all but fallen into Duke’s arms at the bottom of the stairs. Duke was having none of his excuse (“I tripped over the bottom step” said with a thick voice and feverish red to his cheeks), and with Tim’s help, he’d been put back to bed.
The biggest issue with being ill wasn’t being sick itself. It wasn’t Bruce’s constant check-ins, or Damian sitting half way across the room because it’s the only room quiet enough to let him paint peacefully, and it certainly wasn’t Alfred’s rotation of hot water bottles and medicine. No, the worst part of it was Dick’s need to (s)mother him. It’s the main reason Jason does his best to stay healthy - Dick is a smotherer through and though, and despite the fact that Jason has literally died and come back, Dick fusses over him every time he falls ill. It’s insufferable.
“You checked my temperature this morning.”
“I need to take it twice a day.”
“It was barely five hours ago.”
“I’m being consistent.”
“You’re being a-” Jason’s sentence is cut off by Dick sticking the thermometer in his mouth, softly closing his mouth with his hand. His fingertips are icy against Jason’s flushed skin, so Jason decides not to fight against it.
“It’s barely gone down,” Dick says after almost a minute, taking the thermometer out of Jason’s mouth.
“That’s probably because you’ve got three blankets and a duvet wrapped around me,” Jason points out, though makes no effort to get out of them.
“You need to sweat the fever out,” Dick explains, as if Jason doesn’t know that. He gets the water from the side table, “Do you want a drink before I go?”
Jason would deny the offer… but his arms are very comfortable under his four layers, five if you include his pyjamas. With a flush on the apples of his cheeks that aren’t from his fever, he nods.
Dick is gentle as his hand cradles the back of Jason's head, lifting it up just enough to access the glass in his hands, and not at an angle that risks the water spilling over onto him. “I’ll be back in a few hours,” he tells Jason when he’s drunk enough.
More like an hour, Jason thinks. He’s been half awake a couple of times when Dick’s poked his head in under the illusion Jason’s passed out. “Okay,” he says, eyes suddenly heavy again after the small amount of moving he’d done. “Whatever,” barely has the chance to leave him before he’s unconscious.
This routine continues over the next two days. Dick smothers him, Damian sits half way across the room painting (and sometimes taking over Alfred’s duties of changing his water and hot water bottles), and Bruce checks in on him in the morning, and before and after patrol each night. The night of the fourth day of his flu, Steph and Cass take him hostage in his own r- in the spare room and force him to watch Pitch Perfect , whilst eating chicken soup.
“Dick is a horrendous cook,” Steph protests, having only managed a couple of spoonfuls of soup. “Why did Alfred have to pick tonight to go food shopping?” She gets comfortable on the bed, tucking her legs up to her chest, on the right of Jason.
“It’s not too bad,” Cass replies, trying to be optimistic, despite her expression giving her away every time she has a mouthful. “Maybe I’ll let it cool down though…” As soon as it’s put on the nightstand, Jason knows she isn’t going to pick it back up.
Jason, finally feeling well enough to sit back, comfortable against his headboard, between his two sisters. “I don’t know what you guys are on about,” Jason says, practically shoveling his soup into his mouth as the characters on the flatscreen begin to sing. “I like it.”
“Your tastebuds clearly haven’t come back fully,” Cass replies.
The next day, Jason gets out of bed with reason besides going to the bathroom. He’s far from one hundred percent again, but he’s better. His fever’s no more and he can walk without dizziness or the need to sit down immediately. Of course, this doesn’t go well with Dick. He all but spits out his cup of tea when he sees Jason in the kitchen, and if it weren’t for Jason having some of his strength back, Dick would have tackled Jason back into bed.
“Relax,” Jason says, though his small cough doesn’t help his case. He pushes Dick’s hand away from his forehead, accepting Alfred’s cup of coffee. “I’m fine.”
Of course, Dick takes no notice. He all but follows Jason around the manor to ‘ensure his health’. It would annoy Jason more if Dick wasn’t running around for him as well… he’ll allow it, he guesses.
That night, after patrol, they all gather in the movie room to watch a film of Alfred’s choice (Jason’s forgot the name, but it’s good). Although he’s feeling better, his head began hurting a few hours ago, and he’s found himself wrapped up in another blanket. Everyone’s eating takeout apart from Jason and Dick, who’ve got more of Dick’s chicken soup. Jason shifts in his seat before eating another spoonful, warm against Dick’s side, barely noticing as his older brother pulls him closer.
“You good?” Dick asks quietly, so Damian doesn’t tell him to shut up again.
“I’m good,” Jason replies. He eats another spoonful of soup. He doesn’t know what Cass and Steph were on about, the soup is good. Very good. And maybe it’s comforting too, maybe it reminds him of when they were kids and Dick would make them food.
Jason feels his eyes closing softly, and before he can even think about the bowl in his hand, it’s taken off him. He hears a hushed “I’ve got you” before getting pulled closer to Dick, eyes now completely shut.
There’s a loud noise from the film and a chorus of gasps, but sleep has mostly claimed Jason. Against his oldest brother, Jason lays comfortably.
Secretly, he’s glad Dick makes a fuss.