Chapter Text
They're in the kitchen, or rather, Jason's in the kitchen —making a god-awful racket at butt-fuck am in the morning. Jay was woken up by the said god-awful racket.
"Whatcha makin' ?", he's leaning on the counter. Because it's the ideal place to poke a reaction out of Jason. And not because he hasn't put his ankle brace on. Nope.
Jason doesn't look up from where he's kneeling in front of the lower kitchen cabinets.
"Kheer"
"Gesundheit"
Jason throws him a dirty look and gestures towards a tattered piece of paper lying on the counter, "Rice pudding, brat" — and resumes looking for—whatever he was looking for.
Kheer, he hasn't had Kheer before. He grabs the yellow paper and skims through it. The dish is Southeast Asian in origin, there's loopy calligraphy in what he's pretty sure is Urdu, detailing the recipe. It's ..... a pretty rich dish, even by Jason's standards.
Jay's sure Bruce had a butler, back at the manor, but he died before Jay was adopted. He also remembers being told that the butler was distinctly British.
Jason's butler wouldn't have made this. And Jason seemed fairly familiar with the directions. Friend? Neighbour? The Bats don't usually operate out of Gotham, much less out of the states. It could mean a lot of things, but there's a high possibility that—
"You've been with the League?"
Jason looks up at him ,and his face does the weird thing it does whenever he thinks Jay did something to be proud of.
"Kid, the League practically raised me—"
"From the dead or—"
"Both, bud, both"
Jason continues as if he hasn't just thrown his brain into the biochemical equivalent of a blue screen.
"Talia Al Ghul's like—",—he winces and then amends "— she's my mom—", —as if the lack of that particular definitive has had repercussions.
And then refuses to elaborate.
Jason's finally found whatever pot he was looking for and has started washing it in the sink.
"Could ya' grab the milk for me?"
Jay forces his brain to reboot ,"Sure "
Jay grabs his crutch and hobbles over to the refrigerator. His good foot makes a soft thump as he does. Jason's hearing picks it up immediately. He calls from the kitchen.
"Jay ,put your brace on"
"Okay ,mom"
He doesn't have to look at Jason to see his face spasming.As far as he knows —Jason deserves it. Since he's basically him. Karmic justice and all that.
He pauses infront of the refrigerator.It's only a few months old .But the door's already covered by a multitude of obnoxious Power Puff Girls' stickers and magnets Jason's obsessed with. And bomb schematics in gel pen.
He really doesn't have the room to judge after the last Cabinet Incident™. He winces. Maybe if he stashed the tuna in a cooler this time—
Hold the frickity fuck up, those are his scribbles, stuck under the Mayor of Townsville. That he scribbled —in pink gel pen—in a sleep-deprived haze.
Jason catches him staring at them and becomes defensive instantly, "Whatcha looking at."
Jay just presses his lips together and hopes Jason can't see his ears reddening in the dark.
"The milk, Jay", there's mirth bleeding into his voice . Asshole.
Stupid pseudo-parental alternates with stupid magic-gooey-enhanced vision.
Suddenly, out of nowhere ,Jason grabs him from under his arms. And moves him out of the way to grab the milk. As if he weighs nothing. He can feel the blood rushing to his ears. There's laughter bubbling up his throat. That he staunchly refuses to let out.
"Put me down, Asshole, I'm not a fucking kid", he tries to sound severe ,but there's no heat in his words. So Asshole doesn't. He carries him absently. With a straight face. As if he's forgotten Jay's there. The sight makes him crack up —for some damned reason —and he laughs.
He doesn't know who's more surprised at the sound. Jason's face lights up. He doesn't put him down until they're in the kitchen. He puts Jay on the countertop. So Jason's face is in full view. His face is flushed with suppressed joy , it spreads across his cheeks and makes his nose stand out. That —alongwith Jason's hair sticking up in all directions—makes the image of a reindeer rise— unbidden— in his mind. And Jay cracks up again. And then Jason laughs too.
Jason pulls him into a hug and he feels the sound rumble in his chest. His cheeks hurt from grinning so hard. Jason's shirt smells of Neem body wash. There's so much warmth buzzing under his skin. And his fists clench trying to expel the energy.
Jason notices and starts shifting his weight slightly. Back and forth. Running his hand through his hair.Inhale and exhale. Like he's a precious thing. Back and forth. In and out.
They're like that for a long time .Jason's the one who pulls away. Only to lean down and kiss his hairline. Like he's a fucking kid. Like he's lovable. And he feels as if he's so full of warmth that it's oozing out of his pores.
Jason's still smiling when he looks at him. The skin around his eyes is pinched. Duchenne marker. Jason's happy. Jason's happy for him. Jason cares about him.
He doesn't deserve this.
And suddenly the spell's broken, and he feels his grin falter.
Jason notices. Because of course, he does. And pulls him in a hug again. The warmth's gone, replaced by a gaping hole in his chest.
(He thinks he was a broken thing, long before the Joker got his hands on him.)
He's the one who pulls away, "I'll do the rice"
Jason looks at his face, searching for something, Jay shifts his gaze to his shirt so quickly it gives him whiplash—so he doesn't have to see what Jason finds.
"Okay, baby bird, the blender's in the second cabinet, rice's in the red bowl ", Jason presses a kiss to his forehead again. And then steps away to resume cooking.
Jay slides off the counter and grabs the rice sitting in the bowl. And shuffles to the cabinets to blend them. The rice make a satisfying thop sound as he dumps them in the jar. He tries to press the buttons. But his crooked fingers decide to not cooperate at the moment. It's either from anxiety or the early onset of Parkinson's. Moments like these make something in him itch to accept Jason's offer of getting himself checked over.
Right before something starts curling underneath the scarring on his temporal bone—evidence of an attempted lobotomy.
The thing is—Jason nonchalantly offers to look up specialized doctors, —almost every week. As if he hasn't vetted and revetted a list of psychiatrists and therapists. And dentists. And physiotherapists. And whoever else is required to unfuck everything that's gone wrong with his body.
"—let's see what's in that big noggin of yours—"
—And listed them alphabetically and hidden them in the upper compartment of his mattress. Right underneath a copy of all his medical files.
"— Now, now tell me when it starts hurting, and I'll stop —"
He knows Jason won't let anything happen to him. He hasn't let anything bad happen to Jay. He's promised to not let anything bad happen to Jay—
It hurts, it hurts so badly. He opens his mouth to beg. No sound comes out. His tongue just sits in his mouth, fat and fucking useless.
Something soft hits the back of his head, "The rice, kid"
He realizes he's been staring at the blender for a long time.
He pointedly does not turn. He doesn't want to see whatever stupid expression his alternate is wearing. And just jabs his thumb into the stupid button. He almost jumps when it starts blending the rice. The noise makes him want to claw his skin off.
Stupid fucking blender, stupid fucking fingers, stupid fucking—
He turns and almost walks into Jason's broad chest. And would've landed on his ass if not for Jason grabbing his arms.
"Jay ?", his voice is all soft and stupid, even over the loud noise. He hates it. But doesn't move to shove the arms off of him. Jason reaches out behind him to turn the blender off.
"Bad day?"
He doesn't trust his voice to remain steady if he answers. So he nods.
"Okay"
"Do you want to help me out? With the kheer?"
He taps twice on Jason's arm. Yes.
"Okay"
And that's that. And it should have stopped there. But something stupid and ugly starts writhing in his chest.
Jason rests three fingers on his shoulder. Is this Okay?—He's asking –Can I pick you up?
Jay is incapable of protesting against affection from Jason, so he doesn't shrug the fingers off, but he barely has the time to puzzle over it before Jason grabs him from below the armpits and swings —swings him so he's seated on the counter. An undignified sound escapes him. The asshole has the audacity to be smug about it too.
Jason smirks and hands him a wooden spatula, "You can stir the kheer, don't scrape at the sides or the bottom."
He dumps the rice into the mix. And then resumes dicing the almonds.
(As if he isn't lovingly tracing the fissures running all over him—before wrenching him apart)
The handle is thick and bulky, it isn't hard to wrap his fingers around it. He stirs in circles. It's almost meditative. It doesn't take long for the mixture to thicken.
Jason takes the spatula from him and dumps the almonds into the mix. Placing a lid on the pot so only half of the viscous ,white mixture is visible. It's starting to bubble.
Jason then hands him a weighed bowl and spoon. They're Wonder Woman-themed and filled with warm milk and raisins.
(And it feels as if the cracks are slowly giving away to wide chasms)
The thing writhing in his chest is starting to push against his rib cage. It's one of his favourite treats —why the fuck is there moisture building in his eyes.
He looks down quickly so Jason can't catch it —even though he knows that Jason knows. Because Jason's pit-enhanced hearing can track his heartbeat from a good few feet. Because he can see his body angled towards him, by just a few degrees. His posture is drawn up, to face a non-existent threat, index finger twitching from where he reaches out to ruffle his hair.
Because Jason's right in his orbit, gravitating towards him and yet keeping his distance. Because that's how Jason is, acting as if Jay's the centre of his world.
He needs to stop fucking thinking so much. He tells his stupid brain to shut up. And wraps his spasming fingers around the contoured handle —and makes the mistake of glancing at it, it has the "W" logo, painted —he can feel the texture of acrylic—across it
Wonder, Power, Courage
(The chasm is so wide and gaping and so fucking empty underneath.)
Moisture drips onto his hand and he realizes his eyes have finally betrayed him. He shoves the emotion deep down from where he doesn't have to deal with it. And shovels the raisins into his mouth.
Jason's moved on to shelling the pistachios and walnuts now. Jay tries to make himself focus on the motions.
Jason sets the walnut on the countertop and strikes it with a small hammer. It just makes a tiny, underwhelming thump. He strikes it four times, once over the top, then the sides. Finally, the shell cracks open, revealing a perfectly round seed. Jason picks it up and takes the quarters apart. Removing the thin husks. And then deposits them in a tiny bowl.
The sun is starting to peek through the chipped window pane. It drizzled last night so the ever-present smog is somewhat tame today. Reluctantly letting bits of the sunlight in.
It's such a pretty day.
The rays catch on the transparent bowl, casting curves of soft-golden refracted light. It curls and then merges right before his leg —something from a long-forgotten science textbook reminds him. Caustic Network.
A car honks, somewhere in the street.
Jason deposits freshly peeled pistachios in the bowl and the patch flickers.
Rays are catching on Jason's body. Illuminating the runaway wisps so they're casting a soft halo around his bedraggled hair. The white tuft is barely distinguishable, tangled in a mess strangely reminiscent of a rat's nest.
He's so caught up with trying to distract himself from the stupid clusterfuck of thoughts —so that Jason wouldn't notice him losing his shit— that he doesn't realize he's been staring right at him.
Jason's looking at him, eyebrows drawn in.
" Jay?", Jason's voice is so soft and filled with concern. He hates it so much it's making him nauseous.