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Jay was dreaming.
"Wake up, baby bird, today's a big fucking day"
The words would've been more effective if they hadn't been said in a tone so benign, one'd think it was mid-day. And not 2 a.m. in the morning.
He groaned. There was a hand brushing his hair. He didn't open his eyes—wanting to steal a few more moments of bliss. There was a soft chuckle. Jason played along.
He was swathed in a multitude of blankets. Including his beloved Green Lantern one—which was almost falling apart. He wouldn't let Jason throw it away.
Jason hadn't made him. Jason didn't make him do anything he didn't want to do.
After almost two years. He'd think he'd be used to it. But he wasn't. He doesn't think he'll ever be.
Jason's humming a song. A lullaby of all things.
The hand follows the same soothing pattern it has been ever since he's allowed himself to be soothed by it.
From the back of his head ,to the parietal, then over the temporal, then tracing the healed-over scar that hadn't ached for months.
It was his eighteenth birthday.
He hadn't expected to get this far.
"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine."
Jason's voice is low. And so warm. It's accomplishing the opposite of what Jason's trying to do. He wants to fall asleep. He wants to keep dreaming.
"You make me happy when the skies are grey."
Jason doesn't sing a lot. It's a gift for him. And he couldn't ask for anything else. Just five more minutes. Of warmth. And the feeling of being cared for..
Fuck, Jason would sit beside him forever—if he asked for it — carding his hair and singing until his larynx fell apart.
Because that's how Jason is. He gives and gives and gives.
He's long since learned that he couldn't get him to stop if his life depended on it. So he does the next best thing.
He tries to give some of it back.
It's Jason's birthday too.
"You'll never know dear, how much I love you"
He's got a mug sitting right underneath the bed. It's a strange, ugly thing. Painted in a hodgepodge of colors. With shitty acrylic despite what it said on the box. It wouldn't have mattered, because he can't paint for his life.
His dexterity is way better now, after four corrective surgeries. So it's not hard to parse out.
"Worlds' Best Not-Dad"
The W is slightly chipped ,from where it got banged around in the box.
It's fucking corny and cheesy and stupid in the exact ways Jason would love. He's a sucker for shoddy, damaged things.
A chipped mug, indecipherable scribbles there—taped to the fridge, a torn blanket here—mended meticulously to avoid any suspicion.
A child too hard to love.
He's not a child anymore. But it doesn't stop Jason from being Jason. From caring about him. As if he's a precious thing.
"Please don't take my sunshine away."
It's a damaged child. It's a chipped mug.
It's a question. It's a declaration.
He's the one to break the charade.
"Any reason you're being a creep at ass o'clock in the morning?"
Jason's still in his gear. He's recently gotten back from patrol. He just chuckles. The hand in his hair doesn't cease as Jason reaches for something on the floor. He sits up.
"Close your eyes, Jay."
The hand's on his face now. He can feel the calluses trace the scar that'll soon be gone.
Something's put in his lap. Something heavy.
"You can open your eyes now."
A part of him thinks he might just wake up if he does. Back on the cold floor of the Asylum, drugged to the gills.
"Jay?"
He opens his eyes.
It's a helmet. Not one of the prototypes either. He can already tell it's a titanium-weave, beautifully encasing the sturdy alloy—judging by the weight—not too heavy despite the promised reliability. It's a sleek thing, with strokes of black and red and blue. He doesn't have to try it on to know it's been contoured to perfection. The moonlight reflects off it, giving it a ghostly sheen.
He was promised that he'd be allowed on the field when he had recovered. He knew Jason didn't want it. Wanted him safe.
But Gotham was in his blood. And Gotham was bleeding.
It's not just a helmet. It's Arkham Knight. It's Jason's blessing.
He's eighteen now. But he feels sixteen when he speaks. His throat is hoarse with tears. His vision's going misty.
"Thank you"
Jason pulls him in a hug and holds him for a long time. As if he's afraid he'll lose him if he lets go.
Like he's sixteen again.
"Happy Birthday, Jay"
Jay was dreaming.