Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Patrolling when he’s feeling like this, when his body doesn’t feel his, when his mind can’t stay in one place for longer than a second一 it’s hazardous, Jason’s aware of that.

But he can’t allow himself to take the night off, not in Crime Alley, not when he’s the only one allowed to patrol the area. He knows that he’s the one that explicitly forbids any other bat from coming into his territory, he knows the others would come in swinging a second after being called if needed.

But he doesn’t need them, Jason doesn’t need them.

Except, maybe, he does, now. 

He can’t put his finger on what exactly is bothering him, but he does feel like he’s dying all over again, unironically.

Jason squats down when his head spins too fast after barely climbing a fire escape, and he automatically presses two fingers to his wrist, then to his neck, under the helmet, feeling for a pulse一 it’s there, barely, slow and weak, but it’s there and that’s all that matters.

His helmet doesn’t detect any other source of body heat, so he rapidly takes it off, careful that his domino mask’s still in place, and gulps like a fish out of water, the harsh, freezing November air rushing into his lungs. It’s agonising, it burns, and Jason’s vertigo worsens for a moment, overwhelmed by the sudden change of temperature. 

He gasps, a hand on his heart, the other clutched in a fist on the ground, holding himself up as he pants. 

Fuck, he can’t breathe.

Jason’s not sure how long he stands there, vulnerable, open, but he’s not so out of it not to hear someone swiftly approaching him, the breathing and walking pattern all-too familiar. And still, he flinches hard when the voice speaks to him.

“Hood.”

The man closes his eyes, blinking the tears away一 he hates crying in domino masks, it’s so hard, the tears just pool there, making it look like an even more pathetic scene than what it actually is as he lifts it for a second, letting the reflex tears drop and scrambling to dry his cheeks.

“To what do I owe the honour?” he says, standing on shaky legs.

Nightwing chuckles. “What? Crime Alley starts almost half a mile away, I’m right where I’m supposed to be. You, on the other hand…”

The youngest’s hand hovers close to his gun, although he has no real intention of drawing it against his brother.

“So you came all the way from Blühaven to lecture me, dick?”

Nightwing rolls his eyes, arms crossed, “You can do better than that. Anyway, no.”

“Let’s cut this short. Did anyone die?” Jason asks.

A shake of the head.

“Is anyone fatally injured?”

Another shake of the head.

“Do you need me to kill anyone?”

“You already know the answer.” Dick sighs. “No. You see, I was swinging by, and witnessed your一” he gestures vaguely with his hand “whatever that was. A chase? You looked like a battered kid running after the bullies who stole his lunch.”

And Red Hood’s now tempted to draw his gun, after all. He looks at Dick, eyes squinting behind the mask, breath short already.

“Yeah well, hope you enjoyed the show. Get lost before I deal with you my way.”

“Colour me stoked, your answer’s unexpected, really.” he steps closer, not a hint of fear as he does so.

He similarly scans Jason’s face and body, looking for any injury or sign of illness that might justify the terrible, pathetic performance he’d witnessed一 because Dick knows that Jason’s highly competent, and he knows that despite being a suicidal maniac, he’s doesn’t think so lowly of himself to let some mediocre criminals get the upper hand.

“What一”

“Jason,” and, oh, he’s using his real name during patrol? “Are you alright?” Dick shifts, uneasy, “You look like you’re about to topple over. Maybe you should come to the M一”

“No.”

“Jason一”

“Can’t you let me be?”

There’s no heat behind those words, which is honestly more alarming than Jason’s bad landing, more alarming than the subtle but persistent shivers that rock his battered body.

Dick frowns, playing with his own hands, looking for words that might convince his brother to please come home, because the family can’t一 he can’t lose Jason again.

Nobody would ever forgive themselves for letting Jason die again, from something that could’ve been prevented, like whatever sickness he’s battling against.

They all know, they’ve become borderline paranoid when it comes to Jason’s health一 and of course, about everyone else’s, too, but especially about Jason’s.

And Tim’s, although, the kid doesn’t actively try to die by avoiding his family when sick.

He’s reluctant to ask for help, stubborn and proud, but when someone picks him up at his safe house after twenty-four hours of radio-silence, or when he gets sick all of the sudden.

It is unsurprisingly common for Tim to victim of the least threatening infections of all, an infection that anyone with a spleen would be able to fight off with a cup of warm tea一 he doesn’t run off in those situations, he lets his family fuss all they want.

But Jason’s case is different.

All of them, Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Barbara, and even Tim, Damian, Steph, Cass and Duke一 all of them worry, all of them know just how annoyingly stubborn Jason can be.

The thought of Jason being sick and alone again, it hurts, it hurts beyond words一 it’s scary, it’s mortifying.

So they hover, constantly, and it doesn’t matter how many times Jason tells them to get lost already, it doesn’t matter that every single time they ask him to come home, it ends up with them fighting, with him saying that the Manor is not his home, with Jason shutting everyone out until the next patrol where they involuntarily stumble across each other.

It’s never a coincidence, really, because even if Jason’s thoroughly removed all trackers that Bruce had planted on his clothes and gear and helmet, he lets Barbara know his location and health condition. Nothing too detailed, just body temperature and heartbeat, because she deserves to know if he’s okay, Jason doesn’t want to put her through any more suffering.

Barbara only, and only after praying to her to just ignore it unless he’s in immediate, impending, inevitable danger, unless a certain clown in a bright purple suit decides to hunt Jason down or breaks loose because daddy won’t just kill him, not even after all he’s done to his son and to Barbara.

And now, although he really doesn’t want to admit it, now it’s one of those times where Barbara should be allowed to look at his locations, to access his vitals through the sensors installed in his helmet.

Jason glances at Dick, who’s still standing there, arms now crossed, head slightly tilted. 

“Why are you still here?” Jason asks, defeat in his tone, tiredness taking over. He puts his helmet back on.

The other man shrugs. Dick doesn’t want to resort to the guilt-tripping card, not necessarily, but he does anyway.

Jason flinches as Dick opens his mouth. “I guess there’s really no way of talking you out of disappearing for a few days, then.”

The eldest sighs. “You know, I’d promised Alfred to bring you home tonight, he’s making chilli dogs for all of us because he was so sure you’d visit. Maybe we’ll just feed the chilli dogs to squirrels, whatever. Although, you better enjoy the man’s food while he’s still active enough to cook.”

Jason stills, clenching and unclenching his fists, and Dick doesn’t know if the movement indicates that his brother’s readying his fists to attack, or if he’s just trying to restart the circulation in his hands.

He can read his own body temperature in his helmet, a shy 94°F, too low for comfort, too low for someone who’s not buried six feet under, too low for someone who hasn’t just crawled out of a fountain of eternal life, tailored black suit drenched.

Dick doesn’t need to read his temperature to know that his brother’s cold as ice, shivering, the sound of chattering teeth audible through the helmet.

“一Hood? Jase?”

Jason swallows, his vision focusing back on his brother’s face, features knitted in worry, a hand gripping Jason’s shaky upper arm一 the fact that he can’t feel the touch should be worrying, but it’s not, really.

He’s used to his body and mind going numb, he’s used to his breath hitching, to his heartbeat slowing down so drastically that he sometimes finds himself sprawled on the freezing tiles, clutching the shirt drenched in cold sweat that’s plastered to his chest, just above his heart, mouth gaping as he regains feeling in his body. 

Jason shakes his head and weakly wiggles his arm, struggling to free it from his brother’s firm yet light grip. Dick’s guts twist.

“Please,” he whispers, voice barely audible.

Then, “Let Alfred feed you some chilli dogs and check you over, alright? Aren't chilli dogs your favourite? You should come. We’d all like to hang out with you, it’d be weird not to have all the family there. You一 you don’t even have to play cards with us all after, just, spend the night at the Manor, just until you’re feeling better, at least.”

A moment of hesitation, eyes shifting in and out of focus as he glances at his boots. 

“Fine. Just一” he swallows, throat dry, “I’m only staying one night. I’m leaving at dawn.”

The eldest smiles, soft, and yet, Jason can’t tell if his brother’s expression is sincere一 it looks off, it looks like he’s close to burst into tears, even behind the domino mask, Jason can tell that tears are shining in Dick’s blue eyes.

He knows that face too well, that pitiful glance, looking at him as if he were a lost cause, a mangled puppy that can’t be left to die alone in the streets. His brothers一 the others, the others have been looking at him like that ever since he came back.

He snorts innerly at his own thoughts.

Came back, as if he’d been studying abroad, or gone on a cruise, definitely not dead, definitely not buried deep, definitely not left alone with his cruel thoughts, definitely not at the mercy of his mind that screamed at him to grab a thick splinter and use to pierce his veins, dragging it from his wrists and up towards the elbow.

The others一 they don’t need to know about any of that, anyway. Jason wouldn’t be able to stand their pitiful gaze.

He doesn’t even realise he’s walking, with Dick’s hand back on his elbow, guiding him as they walk across the dark alleys undisturbed一 everyone in Gotham knows better than to bother the bats

. They cross a few people who immediately avoid their gaze and change paths, and although Jason would rather die again than admit it, he’s actually not a fan of scaring others, he hates that, despite all he does to protect kids, they still scramble if he walks by, guns still in their holsters, safety on.

He doesn’t like being scary. 

“Get in.” Dick hums, softly opening the door of the Batmobile一 when did they get there?

Jason obeys, like a puppet, too exhausted to put up a fight, not even willing to give his brother the finger. He flops unceremoniously onto the sit, and lets his mind drift, eyes fluttering close.

There’s no need to check where Dick’s taking him, there’s no need to listen to his paranoid mind screaming at him to check if they aren’t really on the road to Arkham, because Jason knows every turn Dick makes, every pothole, every hump the tires bump into on the way back to the Manor, the road so familiar, and yet, anxiety-inducing.

Jason always has a feeling that stepping into that house means trouble, and it actually does, more often than not.

Lots of fighting, lots of screaming, a punch thrown here and there, someone grabbing him from behind and pulling him away from whoever is in front of him. 

Bruce, usually. 

Tim, too, sometimes. 

Although, Jason has nothing against the kid, not anymore, anyway. The days of him plotting against his replacement are long gone.

The rage dissipated the moment Tim came home missing his spleen; he can’t get mad at an immunosuppressed kid, there’s no fun in fighting against a child who can’t even take a little stab wound without contracting whatever weird infection lingered in the air, on the blade, or on his attacker’s hands. 

Besides, Tim had first become Robin to help Bruce find Jason, hadn’t he? And Jason knows that, now. There’s no more need for violence against Tim.

He wishes the Pit understood that too. Sometimes, Jason gets lost, gets lost in whatever the Pit wants him to experience, physically, mentally, in his dreams, while he’s patrolling, while he’s playing with Lian.

It doesn’t matter what he’s up to, it doesn’t matter that he’s calm一 he’s never calm, never, but he’s not always as disturbed, to put it in layman’s terms一 the Pit always craves blood.

His, someone else’s, it doesn’t matter.

And tonight, the Pit’s craving Jason’s. He knows how to recognise the symptoms, he knows, he’s familiar with it.

But no matter how often he finds himself in the throes of the Pit, he can never shake the feeling that this time, this time it will win, that this time it will claim his life again, that the resurrection will fail, that he will suffer atrociously just like he did when he died, that the Pit will eventually be the very cause of his death一 of his second death, that is.

The car turns left, and Jason’s eyes instantly blink, dread setting in, guts turned into ice as Dick parks in the Cave, humming something that Jason doesn’t quite pick up.

He gets off the Batmobile, helmet tight in his grip, legs shaky一 Dick notices, but Jason pretends not to see his brother’s gaze, and instead walks towards the hidden passage that leads from the Batcave to the Manor.

He’s careful to take his boots off, to hang his jacket一 everyone else’s here already, by the looks of it.

Jason distinctly recognises his siblings’ coats and scarves, before even noticing their shoes, all lined up. He briefly considers putting his boots next to the others’ too, but decides against it eventually.

He doesn’t belong there, there’s no more space for his boots now.

“Aren’t you going to take that off?” Dick says, startling him.

Jason turns around, and the other punctuates in sentence by nodding his chin at Jason’s whole self.

Ah, right.

There’s no need to wear his armour indoors, no need to wear the domino mask.

Jason slowly makes his way back to the Cave, and takes everything off, setting the holster in the same exact spot Bruce used to make him put it whenever he stepped into the Manor uninvited, warmongering.

He looks around, almost lost, not realising that he’s walked up to where he used to set his civvies back when he was Robin and needed to change before going upstairs. But that drawer can’t belong to him anymore.

Except.

“What are you waiting for? Go change.” chirps Dick, careful not to stand too close, since his brother’s not facing him directly.

Dick knows he can’t approach Jason from behind, he knows he can’t tap his shoulder unless Jason’s directly looking at him.

He’s not to blame, Dick knows that, everyone does一 they know how guilty Jason felt when he’d broken Steph’s index and ring finger after she inadvertently touched his back from behind to get his attention while he was lost.

He apologised afterwards, of course, but not before running away from the Manor, still elsewhere with his mind.

Nobody blamed him, not even Steph, but Jason has never forgiven himself. He still struggles to look at her sometimes, too afraid to meet her gaze.

“Jase?”

“I一 I don’t have a change of clothes here.”

Dick raises an eyebrow, as he slides a fresh pair of sweatpants on.

“Of course you do, it’s where you’ve always kept it.”

Jason hesitates. Slowly, he extends his numb hand, opening the drawer, expecting it to be empty, or filled with someone else’s clothes. But the red shirt and dark grey sweatpants in there are his, and so are the Red Arrow-themed socks. His breath hitches.

“Come on, dinner’s almost ready!” Dick smiles, giving his brother some space as he changes. 

Jason’s quick to wear his fresh clothes despite the haze taking over his body and mind. His body aches, and he’s far too tired to even bother to hide it, as he winces and groans when his muscles scream in agony, when his heartbeat’s so erratic that the room seemingly spins.

The two make their way upstairs, and Jason’s not at all surprised by the chaos that’s taking over the house.

Duke and Tim are audibly talking about what Jason identifies as nonsense, something tech-related, or so he thinks.

Barbara and Damian are joining forces to pry a once-pristine pillow from Titus’ bite, screaming at him to let go, while Steph and Cass snicker at the scene before their eyes.

Alfred’s not in the room, and neither is Bruce一 Jason’s almost relieved. If he shrinks enough, he hopes the others won’t be able to notice him, won’t force him to join in whatever activity they’re taking part in. 

Dick snorts, “You might want to put your helmet back on, Jase, you don’t want to risk losing your hearing in here.”

Jason smiles.

It’s refreshing, for once, hearing loud noises that aren’t gunshots or murder threats.

“Where’s…” he clears his throat, “Where’s B?”

“Oh, he’s coming. Something came up, but he should be home soon.” Dick reassures. “Say hi to everyone in the meantime. Given the quantity of people in this room, it might take a while.”

“Er, pass.” Jason says, firm, “I’m gonna go help Alf.”

And so he leaves, ignoring Dick’s disgruntled expression, ignoring how everyone glances at him while he exits the room, his fists resting in the empty pockets, back slightly hunched.

He breathes, deep. 

I shouldn't have come.

His family一 the others can really be overwhelming, with their laughs and hugs and those stupid eyes that stare at him all the time.

Soon, he finds himself on the kitchen threshold.

“Hey, Alf.”

The old man turns, a smile immediately appearing on his face as he sees Jason standing there, alive and whole.

“Master Jason, it’s nice to have you here tonight. How have you been, my boy?” he says, approaching him and laying a hand on Jason’s bicep.

And Jason lets him, he’s got no problem with Alfred touching him. 

“I’ve been better.” he smiles, weak. “Just so you know, I’m only here for you and your chilli dogs.”

Alfred grins, “I’m flattered. So, while you’re here, how about you help me out? I won’t be here forever, you need to learn how to make your dear chilli dogs, lad.”

“Don’t joke like that, Alf, we all know you’re immortal.” Jason says, huffing a laugh.

And as he does, a weak cough escapes past his chapped lips, then another, and a stronger one, forcing him to double over and place a hand above his chest, lungs suddenly feeling full, copper in his mouth.

Oh, he realises, it’s just the Pit. 

“Master Jason,” calls Alfred, rubbing soothing circles on the man’s back, bending slightly, “Are you alright, my boy?”

He doesn’t sound worried, which is how Jason knows that the man is. He knows that Alfred’s tone is well-practised, contained. He’s heard this tone far too many times to be fooled.

But Jason nods anyway, clearing his throat as the bout ceases, straightening up.

“Sorry, spit went down the wrong pipe.” he lies, “So, chilli dogs, let’s get down to business, I’m starving.”

Cooking’s cathartic.

Jason’s always interpreted food as a metaphor of love. Catherine used to cook for him, when she wasn’t too out of it to stand.

They never had much, but even Mac and Cheese can be the best dish ever if made with love, that’s what Jason’s always thought.

Catherine一 she wasn’t the best mother ever, but she was a good mother to Jason, better than Sheila, anyway.

Well. Can’t be that hard. 

Despite her addiction, despite not having much, or, anything at all actually, Catherine loved Jason more than his biological mother ever did, and he loved her一 he still does. Jason misses Catherine, she’s the woman that he will always refer to as his mother.

It’s silly, really, to think about the fact that he almost bursted into tears during a drug bust held in a local record shop when he’d spotted a Janet Jackson vinyl一 he used to listen to Together Again with his mother all the time. He’s not sure if that was her favourite song, but it probably used to be his.

Ah, he’s lost in thoughts again. 

“Master Jason, be a dear and wash those for me.” Alfred says, kind, grounding. 

Jason’s quick to grab the plates, nodding slowly as he stifles a yawn and turns the faucet on.

“Are you tired, lad?”

“I’m alright, Alf.” he smiles, weak, “There’s no getting out of this, is there?”

“I’m afraid not. Your siblings and your father won’t allow you to miss this dinner, and neither will I, not when we haven’t been all in one place in such a long time.” Alfred hums. 

Jason shrugs, defeated, but not annoyed. He has a feeling that being alone with himself right now wouldn't be any better, not when he’s losing track of time, not when he’s moving on autopilot, nothing but despair behind his eyes一 not green, not green.

He knows he needs to rest, he knows that his family doesn’t want to see him like this, so vulnerable and unsteady, unprepared for whatever’s to come.

Bruce will have his head if he sees him patrolling in his current condition.

Jason curses under his breath the moment he realises that he’s forgotten to tell Dick about not mentioning how the two met earlier in the night. He prays that his brother’s smart enough not to bring Jason’s subpar performance up, not tonight. 

“一son, Master Jason!”

Alfred’s hands grab at his wrists and snatch them away, gripping tightly, pupils pinpoint.

“What on earth are you doing?!”

Jason blinks.

He doesn’t understand. Glancing at his hands, he doesn’t notice any blood, any new scars. Although, now that he thinks about it, his hands are uncharacteristically red, steaming. 

It looks like it hurts.

Oh.

Oh.

Alfred swiftly frees one of his own hands, grabbing both of Jason’s with one, an awkward but firm grip, as he extends his free hand and turns the water to cold, letting it run for a second before he plugs the sink and lets it fill with cold water. 

“I’m一” Jason swallows, “I didn’t realise, it wasn’t on purpose, I swear.”

His throat itches, dry. He really didn’t mean to do it, he didn’t even feel the scorching water burning his skin, he still doesn’t feel anything in his hands if not Alfred’s hold, not as tight as it looks一 maybe it’s just him, maybe it’s just the fact that his hands are too burnt.

“I sure hope it wasn’t, dear.” Alfred says, voice more even, but slightly frantic nonetheless. He slowly dips Jason’s burnt hands in the cold water, meeting his eyes一 trying to, at least.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, “Can you wiggle your fingers a bit?”

And Jason obeys without a problem, thoughtless, almost vegetative. He can’t feel his hands, can’t feel his fingers, and it’s almost surreal how his brain can somehow send signals to parts that don’t feel attached to his body.

“Sorry, Alf.” he mutters, absentmindedly.

A shake of the head.

“It’s okay, Master Jason. Although, I would be happier if you’d just let me take a good look at you in the medbay. Five minutes, that’s all I ask for, if you will allow me.”

And Jason一 he really doesn’t want anyone to touch him like that now, he doesn’t want to be prodded at, but he can’t say no to Alfred, he doesn’t want the old man to stay up all night with an ear plastered to Jason’s room’s door. So he nods, reluctant.

Five minutes, he can take that, if he breathes deep enough, if he squeezes his eyes shut, he can handle anything.

“Thank you.” 

Jason hates how the old man’s voice is barely a whisper.

“Now, I believe dinner’s ready. The table should be set already, and if it is not, I will personally allow you to terrorise Master Timothy and Miss Stephanie.” Alfred says, winking, and Jason snorts, albeit lightly. 

It’s not until they’ve reached the dining hall that Jason realises that he can’t feel his legs up to his tailbone. It doesn’t hurt or anything, but he can’t feel anything below his waist. He’s not sure how he’s still walking, still moving.

He carries one tray per hand, not feeling those either, and he knows too well what’s coming, but even if he’s familiar with it, even if it’s not his first time, he’s scared, more scared than ever一 that’s what he thinks every time, so he should be able to quell his anxiety, he thinks, but it’s never easy.

Chapter Text

“I don’t even have a glass! Drake!”

“Wh一 Steph was in charge of the glasses, I was on cutlery duty!”

“Cutlery? For chilli dogs?! Tim!”

“Alright!” Bruce booms, pinching the bridge of his nose from where he’s sat, “Damian, you know where glasses are, get yourself one, and Tim, please pay attention to the menu before setting the table.”

There’s groans and defeated sighs, and Jason has a hard time pinpointing who they belong to.

He’s sitting between Cass and Barbara, Bruce directly across from him. He doesn’t remember sitting down at all, but whoever assigned the seats tonight must have done this on purpose, both putting him in front of Bruce of all people, and sitting him between his sisters, calming presences.

“So,” Bruce says, almost as if on cue, “quick debrief. How have you all been?”

He looks at Tim. 

“Good, all things considered. Got a cold, almost died. Obviously didn’t.” he chirps, mouth stuffed, “Ra’s一”

“No work talk at the dinner table.” Alfred rumbles, sipping a glass of fine wine, “And don’t talk with your mouth full, young boy.”

Tim rolls his eyes and swallows. “Right, sorry Alf.”

“How’s Bernard?” Barbara asks, a soft smile on her face.

He beams. “All good. Oh, he’s coming over for dinner tomorrow night, if that’s okay.” Tim says, looking at Bruce, who nods.

“Do you wish for me to cook you anything, young sir?” Alfred asks, looking at Tim.

“Uh,” Tim hesitates, pensive, “honestly, I was thinking about ordering take-out.”

Duke leans forward from the other side of the table, trying to catch Tim’s eye, “Oh, you gotta try that new Thai place near the bank, their gaeng daeng is out of this world!”

“I've been meaning to go for a while, thanks Duke!”

“So I assume you wish for the rest of us not to participate?” Alfred asks, and there’s something that screams hurt in his tone.

Tim raises his hands slightly, “No, it’s not that一 I just didn’t want to bother you guys.”

“I should manage to be home by six.” Bruce hums, more to himself than anything, “I think it’s high time we properly greet this Bernard, don’t you agree, Tim?”

A pause.

“Unless you want us to stay out of your hair, in that case一”

“No, no, it’s not that either一 God, stop misinterpreting every word I say. You can all come if you want, just don’t overwhelm him like you always do with the people we bring home.” Tim exclaims, exasperated. 

It should be funny, Jason thinks, but right now he’s only half there, physically sitting at the table, a glass of water in his shaky hand, but his mind一 it’s somewhere else entirely, trying to put the words he hears together, trying to make sense out of what he’s listening to, to assign a name to each and every face in front of him.

His heart hammers, chest seemingly hollow. He knows them, he knows them all, he knows their names and faces and aliases, so why, why is he struggling, why一

A hand lands on his, the one that’s holding the glass in a tight, too tight grip. Jason flinches and immediately withdraws from the touch, glass halfway cracked, but nobody seems to notice so he plays along.

Barbara glances at him, her hand back on the table, curling into a fist. She eyes her brother, his features tight, eyes foggy.

“一nt me in, I’ll be there.” Dick chirps.

“Well, I have important business to attend to, do not count on my presence.” Damian mutters, taking a bite of his tofu chilli dog.

“Wasn’t even thinking about inviting you, Damian.” Tim hums, a grin on his face that screams provocation.

Damian squints his eyes, knife in hand. “Good, because I have no intention of coming anyway. And because I do not want to, not because you are forbidding me from coming.”

“Oh, someone’s offended一”

Bruce slams a hand on the table, just to get his kids’ attention before they jump at each other’s throats. “You two, stop it. Cass?”

Cass seems happy, a tranquil smile on her face. “I’m doing good.” she signs, “I finished reading Jane Eyre this morning. Then I beat Duke’s ass in training.”

Duke’s chair slides back as he stands, frantic, “I gave you a headstart!” he says while signing simultaneously, “And did we not agree not to talk about that?”

“Did we?”

“You一”

“Alright!” now’s Dick that’s trying to maintain a semblance of peace, “Duke, how’s school? How did that biology test go?”

The guy crosses his arms, leaning back in his chair with a sly grin. “All good. I got 100% without even trying, as usual.”

“Cocky.”

“I’m not looking at you, Cass. As a matter of fact, I can’t even see you out of the corner of my eye, how unfortunate.” he mocks, physically shielding the side of his face with a hand.

“Asshole.” Cass signs, kicking his chair, and Duke just ignores her一 getting beaten in front of everyone doesn’t sound appealing, so he drops it.

Alfred clears his throat, “Let’s pretend I didn’t see any of that either.”

Everyone snickers. 

Everyone but Jason. 

He’s trying, he’s really trying. He’s trying really hard to understand, to be involved, but his guts are ice, twisting, knotting painfully.

Jason shakily brings a hand up to his opposite wrist, feeling for a pulse, gulping when he doesn’t feel one.

But it can’t be, can it?

He’s there, sitting at the table, nibbling at his now-cold dinner, listening, breathing, blinking一 he can’t be dead, his heart must be beating, right?

Cass looks at him. She’s sure he would’ve at least hinted a smile at the mention of one of his favourite novels, although, Cass isn’t sure that he even saw her signing the name.

Jason had lent her that book last month一 to get her to leave his safehouse where she’d showed up uninvited, that is, but he really doesn’t mind lending books to the others.

And he secretly takes pride in knowing that his recommendations are useful, even if only Cass and Damian seem to be interested in his taste in books.

Of course, Alfred and Bruce read too, they’re the ones who bought him the vast majority of the novels he still treasures dearly, but he’s not sure of how to just randomly bring book-talk up, not with them, not with Bruce, especially.

Cass is still looking at him, eyebrows drawn together as she struggles to see behind Jason’s clouded eyes.

“And that’s what I said, but no, he wouldn’t hear it!” Dickー Jason registers absentmindedlyー says while throwing his arms up in the air.

“Now, hypothetically, if your best friend were to ask you to take him around the world and you were the fastest man alive, you’d find a solution to bring him with you, wouldn’t you? But Wally’s against all of that一 apparently I might disintegrate, or whatever.”

Steph nods. “What kind of person wouldn’t want their best friend to disintegrate before their eyes? Wally’s definitely being unreasonable.”

A pause. Dick crosses his arms. “You make my reasoning sound dumb.”

“It is dumb.” Damian and Barbara echo.

A hand comes into Jason’s vision, fixed to the table.

It’s Cass’ now.

He follows her hand as it moves down, under the table. 

“U O-K” she finger-spells, to avoid indiscreet eyes. 

Jason raises his gaze, meeting his sister’s, warm, welcoming despite everything that’s been said about her. He puts a thumb up for a split second, a pathetic attempt at a smile crossing his face for a brief instant. 

Cass doesn’t add anything; Jason knows there’s no fooling her. Not even the best actor on the planet would be able to make Cass misread their body language, and Jason’s no actor, not when everything about his posture and facial expression scream agony.

“一ason, what about you?”

Jason turns his gaze towards the other people sitting at the table, overwhelmed by the several pairs of eyes looking in his exact direction.

He feels naked without his helmet, naked under everyone’s eyes, scrutinising him, every little scar suddenly throbbing, cheeks flushed despite his whole body feeling icy. 

“What一” he clears his throat, “what was the question?”

Something shines in Bruce’s eyes一 worry, or annoyance, Jason can’t tell.

“How have you been?” his father repeats, calm.

A shrug. “I一 good, I guess.”

A pause. Bruce fumbles with his own hands, “Thank you for joining us tonight. It’s nice having you here, all of you, and一 it’s nice that we got to be all together on a random Thursday night. I wouldn’t have wanted to wait until Christmas. Speaking of which,” he looks at everyone, then back at Jason.

“I hope you join us on the twenty-fifth, at least. Of course, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like, but if you don’t want us around, having you here at least for lunch would suffice. It’d make一 us all, happy. Very happy.”

Jason doesn’t look at him. He plays with his own fingers, hands resting on his lap, numb. 

“I’ll一” he clears his throat, “I’ll try.”

It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate it. It’s not that he hates them. It’s not that he hates Bruce.

The thing is, his whole body hurts, even the limbs he can’t feel, his guts, his head, even his eyes throb.

Plus, doesn’t he have anything planned out with Roy and Lian?

He can’t remember now.

He’s sure一 Roy always starts to bring up Christmas in October, early enough so that he can trick Lian into being good, or, better than usual.

She’s such a great kid, Jason’s never doubted it, but looking at her father, he admits that her behaviour is definitely an unexpected outcome.

His stomach churns. Why can’t he remember now?

There’s eyes on him, piercing his gaze as he desperately tries to avert it, staring at his own socks, hands folded in his lap, a slight tremble running up his spine.

Jason’s not the only one who’s silent一 but nobody else looks as weirded out, not even Damian. But, at least they’re not looking at him anymore, back to their jokes and digging into their food. 

“Master Jason,” says Alfred, loud enough that Jason can hear him, but not so loud that others turn around, “would you like me to heat up your chilli dog? It must have gotten cold by now, I’m afraid.”

“It’s fine, Alf, thanks.” Jason smiles, weak, picking the food up and taking a big bite. He instantly regrets as bile rises up to his throat, but he swallows it down along with the cold food.

It’s soothing, to finally have a full stomach after a full day spent running on empty. It’s not that his safehouse isn’t stocked, he’s always very careful to have enough in the fridge to at least feed little Lian, were she to stay with Jason while Roy’s away. 

But he’s not been able to keep anything down ever since the previous night一 Pit side-effects more ravaging than ever, or so he thinks.

Alfred seems at least content with the fact that half of Jason’s chilli dog’s now gone, and the latter tries his best to have some more, at least another bite, no matter how tiny, but he can’t, he can’t. 

Duke pours him some water, and Jason panics for a moment, convinced that the kid knows how he’s pathetically choking on his own vomit, but then he sees him pouring some into Cass and Barbara’s glasses too, and takes a breath of relief.

He drinks the water, slowly, avoiding to attract any unwanted attention一 but he’d love nothing more than gulping it all down in one sip.

The cool liquid soothes his aching throat, the coppery taste on his tongue momentarily gone.

“So,” Barbara says, looking at him from his left, “how are you, really?”

“I’m not up for a third degree, Babs.” Jason replies, eyelids heavy, breath slow.

She tilts her head slightly. “The sensors in your helmet sent out a distress signal for bradycardia and mild hypothermia earlier tonight. I know something’s up. Honestly, I wish you’d just let us help you, Jay.”

He sighs. “Some jerks got the upper hand and I took a swim in the Gotham Harbour, ‘m fine.”

“That’s a lie, and you know it.” Barbara presses, still whispering. “Listen, I don’t have access to your cowl footage, but I can get my hands on it if I want to. Just一 don’t make me.”

Jason cocks an eyebrow, bemused. “Are you threatening me, Babs?”

“If threatening you can knock some sense into that stubborn head of yours, then yes, I am.” 

Jason averts his eyes, but Barbara’s piercing gaze penetrates into his soul, sending shivers down his spine一 he blames it on the fact that his temperature must’ve dropped even lower than before, he’s not scared of her, he’s not scared of any of them.

“Jas一”

“I had an off day, is that so hard to believe?” 

“Yes.” she seethes, not angry, but certainly bothered by Jason’s lack of self-preservation. “You look awful. Let Alfred一”

“Yes, yes, everyone keeps telling me the same thing. Let Alfred take a good look at you, I get it!”

Cass turns, and so does Bruce, tension in the air so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Barbara extends a hand towards Jason’s forehead, but he’s quick to grab her wrist, gently lowering it.

“Just一 let me be, Barbara, please .”

Desperation and defeat edge in his voice, watery, whispery.

Barbara’s eyebrow arch, worry edging in her features. “You can talk to us, to any of us. You know that, right?” 

“I一” He doesn’t. “Yeah, fine, whatever.” 

He gets up, slow, trying to blend in while the others busy themselves with whatever task at hand. He slides his chair back under the table, careful not to make any noise that might attract any attention, and grabs his dirty plate and glass, headed towards the kitchen.

“Master Jason,” Alfred calls, right behind him in the corridor that leads towards the kitchen, “you do remember our promise, don’t you, lad?”

He doesn’t turn, but nods, hoping the old man will catch that. Jason heads for the Cave, absentmindedly wrapping his shaking arms around his torso and一 fuck, has it always been this cold in there?

Jason shivers, hard, almost getting sent to his knees if not for the wall he manages to lean against, desperately trying to get a hold of himself as his teeth chatter.

The Cave’s dimly lit, neon-lights still burning his orbs as he squints, a hand shielding them as if he were in the sunlight. Jason squints, trying to remember how to access the Cave’s bathroom and一 he shouldn’t have to try to remember it, he should know, he’s been there countless times, that’s his home, or, what it’s supposed to be. 

It can’t be his home if he visits maybe three, four times a year, without counting the times when he wakes up to the scent of antiseptic, neatly tucked in, with no memory of ever accepting the bats’ help, or when the green fog in his mind takes over and redirects him right there, gun safety off, blind rage guiding his every movement, every word that he speaks, every punch he throws. 

It happens against his will一 the others all know一 but Jason has a feeling that nobody wants to deal with a homicidal maniac on a random afternoon, with no memory of recently upsetting said homicidal maniac.

“一er Jason?”

He whirls around, a scream caught in his throat as he instinctively reaches for his gun and, oh, his holster isn’t strapped to his leg, he’s indoors, he’s at the Manor, he’s not allowed to keep his guns with him.

The man一 Alfred, that’s Alfred, just Alfred一 takes a few tentative steps forward, not in a way that denotes fear of what’s in front of him, but as if he were stepping towards a deer in the headlights. 

“Master Jason.” Alfred calls, kind.

“I’m一” Jason shakes his head, eyes closed. It helps, marginally. “You startled me.”

The old man’s features soften for a moment. “I’m sorry, lad. I will try my best to be more careful next time.”

Jason’s about to say something, not sure what, but something, when Alfred comes even closer and gently, oh-so-gently leads him to a cot.

“Five minutes?” he asks, and to Alfred he sounds so young, so little, so much like he did when he was the scrawny, little kid that Bruce brought home one day.

The man’s eyes threaten to water at the thought of a young, significantly less-traumatised Jason. 

“Five minutes.”

Alfred immediately gets to work with the little time he’s got: a tiny needle sinks into Jason’s calloused thumb for barely a second, and he doesn’t even feel it getting it and out, nor does he feel Alfred dabbing at the tiny wound with a cotton ball drenched in disinfectant.

The butler then swiftly checks Jason’s blood pressure, oxygen saturation, temperature, pupils, reflexes一 Jason’s not sure of what exactly he’s looking for, but he lets the man work.

The blood test comes back normal一 as normal as a zombie’s blood test can be.

“Can I go?” he asks, almost shy.

Alfred looks at him, looking gobsmacked almost as he nods.

“You appear to be in good health. But I suggest we keep an eye on your temperature一 94°F is seriously too low for comfort, my boy. That must be what’s affecting your heart rate and incapacitating your eyesight as well.”

Jason’s shoulders sag.

He wasn’t expecting Alfred to tell him that he’s dying, but deep down, he wishes someone could give him a thorough explanation as to why this keeps happening to him already.

It’s the Pit, he’s sure of it, but the reason behind his symptoms still eludes him. He’s got the hang of it, after a lot of time spent dealing with whatever the Pit has planned for him, struggling, day by day, facing something that he can’t see, something that can’t be stopped. 

Roy’s usually the one that finds him passed out on the floor, or twitching in agony in the throes of the Pit. He’s never asked questions, not when it’s clear that Jason doesn’t and won’t talk about it no matter what, but it’s clear to Roy that the reason behind the fainting spells, near-heart failures, pink-tinted vomit and empty eyes is strictly linked with Jason’s resurrection.

So he doesn’t bother Jason with his own anxieties, and helps him ride the attacks out instead, staying by his side, murmuring words of comfort that he’s not sure Jason can hear, keeping throw blankets and pillows in every room一 he even bought an electric water boiler to make tea faster for the aftermath. 

And Lian, too.

Lian knows一 not the details, nothing related to Jason’s death ever escaped neither his nor Roy’s lips in front of her.

But she knows that he sometimes falls, and that when he does, she needs to turn Jason’s head to the side and call her dad immediately after, or dial the numbers written on a little piece of paper on the fridge until someone picks up if Roy’s not available.

Lian never had to do that so far, and Jason’s explicitly forbidden her from calling any of those numbers, but as much as he hates to admit so, she obviously listens to Roy first, he’s got no power against him.

Jason is shaken out of his thoughts when a thick blanket is gently wrapped around his shoulders. He blinks, and the fog in his eyes doesn’t go away.

Oh.

He gets up, stumbling despite the fact that he’s gripping the cot’s edge for dear life. Jason blinks, and the fog still won’t fade.

“Maybe you should spend a night here where your condition can be monitored.” Alfred hums, and it’s more of a plea than a suggestion.

But Jason一 he doesn’t want to wake up to the medbay’s blinding lights, he doesn’t want to stay where sick people are supposed to be, because he’s fine, he’s not sick. 

What he has, what happens to him一 it’s not an illness, it’s not an injury, it’s the direct consequence of coming back to life the way he did.

“I’d r-rather not.” he stutters, cold, exhausted, and fading一 he just wants out.

Alfred doesn’t speak a word, and instead simply squeezes both of Jason’s biceps, nodding solemnly as he leads the younger man back towards the dining hall.

And Jason’s so out of it already that he doesn’t have the strength to protest while he’s being led towards the living room and not his own bedroom一 is it still his, anyway?

He vaguely makes out the outline of the living room, the others sprawled on the admittedly-huge couch. 

Oh, no.

“Oh, finally, Jay!” calls Steph, startling him, “Quick, Twilight or The Maze Runner? Duke and I just need a third vote to win, pick one! ”

“I’m not watching either of those.” starts Damian before Jason can even comprehend anything, “As a matter of fact, I am not watching any movie that Brown and Thomas pick. Ever.”

Steph gasps, outraged, grabbing Damian’s shoulders and shaking him hard, “Oh come on, it’s peak American cinema, please!”

Duke is right behind her, dragging his hands down his face, eyes rolled.

The kid tuts, averting his gaze. “No.”

“So wait, what’s wrong with the movie I picked?”

“Sharknado II, Dick? Really?” Tim cocks an eyebrow.

Barbara shakes her head, “Yeah, that’s a new low, even for you.”

It looks like Dick’s trying to find something to say, mouth gaping, a finger in the air, but he ends up shaking his head, shoulders sagging as he mutters something to himself.

Cass signs at a speed that Jason’s too tired to pick up, but everyone around her seems to understand as they argue even louder.

He staggers, catching himself against the wall before anyone notices anything.

His room’s too far and there’s absolutely no way he’s making it there without collapsing in a heap on the stairs, so the couch, unfortunately, is his only option一 can’t be more than ten, maybe fifteen steps, but he’s not sure his legs can take him that far.

A shiver rattles his spine and he tugs at the blanket on his shoulders, trying to cover himself as much as he can while the ever consuming ice in his veins takes over.

“一ay, you comin’?” 

And, oh, they’re talking to him, he’s Jay, right.

“I assume you will all do your very best to get along.” rumbles Alfred from behind him. “Have a lovely evening, everyone.”

And he opens his mouth to thank him, he does, but nothing comes out, aphasia setting in一 luckily, everyone else loudly expresses their gratefulness so Jason’s missing voice isn’t as noticeable, it may have just been drowned out, that’s what he hopes Alfred will think.

A steady hand’s suddenly on his wrist, and guides him towards the couch where he’s carefully sat, between Dick and Tim. 

“I一” he tries, and truly, he’s not even sure of what he’s trying to say.

Thank you? I’m sorry? Leave me alone? I don’t feel good? What, exactly, is he supposed to say一 Jason’s not sure.

“Rest, my boy.” Alfred prompts with a warm smile, and gently tucks him in, doing the same with everyone else as if they were little kids getting ready to catch some sleep on a school night.

“All of you, get some rest, please.”

More noise, more thankfulness, a fight for the remote, a pillow that flies一 Jason doesn’t quite comprehend most of it, but he’s got no choice but staying there, propped up between his brothers, their warmth comforting.

“So,” Tim says, loud enough that Jason can hear him despite his fading hearing and the chaos, “are you really alright?”

He can’t even manage a nod. “M’fine. Jus’ tired.”

“Okay.”

There’s a pause.

Tim looks at his own fists curled in his lap, then back at Jason一 he looks like he wants, no, needs to say something more than that, but the words don’t come, and Jason understands that feeling all-too well.

“Okay. Just rest, then.” 

“Hnn.”

“You’re cold, by the way.” Tim adds, tentatively touching Jason’s hands and recoiling almost immediately. “Really cold.”

“M’fine, not sick.” Jason hums, low, slurring all the way through the sentence. “Pr’mise. Not s-sick.”

“That’s一 it’s not that, Jason. I know you wouldn’t willingly compromise my fucked up immune-system. Or, would you?” 

It’s a joke, really, because Tim knows Jason wouldn’t, but to the latter, the remark hurts.

He knows he was awful to his younger brother not too long ago, he knows Tim used to be afraid of him, always on the defensive, hand hovering dangerously close to his bō whenever Jason stepped inside the same room, flinching whenever Jason spoke up during a debrief or while discussing with the others after everything settled, when everything went back to normal.

“S’rry.” is all he can say.

He blames the tears on the blindness. 

Tim doesn’t respond. He himself isn’t sure what to say. Tim’s not sure if saying anything at all can be of any help, he’s not sure if he should just change the subject or insist on how he’s already forgiven Jason after learning that he was Pit-mad when he struck.

The movie starts, or so Jason thinks when his siblings go quiet and the lights in the room go off. 

His eyes flutter.

“ーcame up, I’m needed at the WatchTowerー”

“ーback before morningー”

“ーsay bye to Jason for me, tell him toー”

Someone murmurs something to someone else, at his side, and he feels someone else getting up from the far end of the couch.

Jason, admittedly, is not sure of how much time passes, but soon another blanket’s on him, gentle hands tucking it behind his shoulders, guiding him into a more upright position. 

There’s a hand delicately carding through his hair, careful not to pull any strands.

Jason blinks his eyes open, inhales, and closes them againー keeping them open is pointless, he can’t see anything beyond a vague outline of what’s in front of him, peripheral vision fully gone, too.

And maybe, just maybe, he should warn them. Jason knows how they are, he knows how they fuss over him if he even dares getting a scratch, and from what Roy told himー even if Jason never explicitly asked him just what happens when his mind goes blank and his body failsー it’s not a pretty sight.

Truth is, Jason doesn’t mind when it happens, not past the general sense of impending doom that takes over his fogged psycheー he doesn’t mind, because he doesn’t dream.

Too often he wakes up with a scream caught in this throat, nail indents in his palms, sweat-drenched shirt and bangs plastered to his boiling body.

And too often he gets up on shaky legs and wanders around his safe house, headed for the kitchen window from which he leans forward, a cigarette gripped between strong, shaky fingers as he smokes, a pathetic attempt at calming down, at focusing on something that isn’t the nightmares that plague his existence.

And his nightmaresー they get worse, day by day. It’s always the Joker, the sound of his own skull getting shattered by a rusty crowbar, the fire from the explosion engulfing his already dying body, and Sheila, standing in a corner as the Joker murders her son, beats him to a pulp, in cold blood, mangles the body of a starving, lost child who just wanted to know why, mom, why did you leave?

And the Pit, too.

He dreams about the Pit every night, sometimes even during the day, while he’s up and about. Sometimes, the memories linger, sometimes they don’t leave for days, sometimes Jason sends out Roy as Red Hood to cover him, just for a couple of hours, on tranquil nights when no violence is needed, because he can’t let the others know, he can’t let Baー Bruce know.

They’d all hover, forcefully making their way into his safehouse the second he’s late to patrol.

When the Pit claims him, it’s not always yelling and throwing objects and murdering. Most of the timesー at leastー it’s despair that takes over, more than anything.

Instead of finding himself in the Cave, a knife held to Tim’s tender throat, Jason finds himself in front of the bathroom mirror, door shut so that nobody sees him, gripping a razor blade so tight that it cuts into his calloused fingertips.

But he can never bring himself to do it, he can never bring himself to slither the sharp blade across his forearms. 

He’s tried, a couple of times. He really wanted to. He was close to. But something, something at the back of his mind, familiar voices calling his name incessantlyー he couldn’t.

When it happens, Jason’s body stills, similarly to when the Pit decides to target the flesh and not the brain. It takes minutes, maybe hours, to move, to drag himself out of the bathroom and into someone else’s room, if someone’s at home, that is.

And now, now Jason is fine. He doesn’t feel like he wants to die, but his body has other plans. He’s used to it, although, it doesn’t mean that it’s okay for him to be accustomed to such torture.

“ーfalling asleep, I thinkー”

“ーhim rest, he’sー”

Voices fade in and out, and Jason can’t quite place them, but again, his mortal vessel is being claimed by death, and there’s nothing that can be done.

“Hnn.”

“Oh, you awake?” Jason knows this voice, he knows this person. 

He coughs, weak, leaning to his side, against a scrawny shoulder. “Hnn.” he tries again. He must tell themー he’s not sure why, he can’t remember, but it’s important.

“Shh, rest.” another voice soothes.

Fuck, he hates it when the aphasia sets in, when his voice doesn’t come out and not due to his sliced-up trachea or broken jaw.

Blinking is pointless, and so is movingー he’s nothing but dead weight, now.

And so he drifts off, the dreamless oblivion claiming him.

Later, then.

Time stops.

Maybe it doesn’t.

But to Jason, time is not important now. He’s suspended, body so heavy that he can’t feel it, mind empty, his own name eluding him.

Tim glances at him from his left, Jason’s head lolling against his shoulder. “I think he’s asleep.” he whispers, “We should move him to a bed.”

Dick doesn’t speak. Instead, he presses his palm against Jason’s forehead, fingers then brushing against his scarred cheek. “He’s cold.”

“He was cold before, too.” says Barbara, “At dinner, I mean. He was shivering.”

“I attributed his shaking to pent-up stress and to being in Father’s proximity.” hums Damian, “But Todd does look pale.”

“Didn’t he look off to you guys?” Cass signs, cocking an eyebrow. “Lost.” she says.

Dick’s the first one to nod, followed by the others. 

“But Pennyworth checked him over, didn’t he?”

“Yeah,” hums Steph, “maybe Jay’s just exhausted. I mean, Dick told you guys about this evening, didn’t he?” 

“I bumped into him this morning, too.” Duke says, glancing at Jason, “Which is, you know, weird, but he wasn’t doing much. Justー brooding, I guess.”

“At the Gargoyles?”

“At the Gargoyles.”

Dick hisses. “Fuck. Something’s wrong, then.”

Nobody speaks. The movie plays in the background, forgotten. Tim wraps his arm around Jason’s shoulder, bringing him slightly closer to share some body warmth. Dick, on his other side, does the same.

“Let’s justー let’s focus on the movie, for now.”

And so they do. Or, try to. Nobody really pays attention to the screen. 

At some point, someone lowers the volume too, because it drowns out Jason’s breaths and they need to hear it, they need to know that it’s there.

Nothing happens.

Not for a while.

Everyone drifts off, still in their same spots, credits rolling. 

Timー he’s the first one to rouse from his anxiety-induced nap. Jason’s still there, still propped against his shoulder, head tilted back, resting against the backrest, mouth slightly agape, stillー

“Guys.” 

“Wha’?”

Tim swallows, thick. “Jason’s not breathingー”

In that exact instant, there’s a horrifying gurgling sound that fills the room, air stillー and Dick is quick to jump out of his seat and shove a finger inside Jason’s mouth, prying it open and swiftly unlodging the huge clot of blood and mucus at the back of his brother’s throat. 

The man promptly guides Jason’s head forward, tipping his chin down as blood-tinged vomit sludges from his mouth and nose, thick, putrid.

“What theー”

“What’s going on?!”

More vomit comes out, and Jason barely spasms, involuntary contractions imperceptible as he sputters helplessly. Teal eyes roll behind trembling eyelids, and there’s nothing behind that lost gaze.

“He’s turning blue!”

Tim immediately grabs Jason’s face, tilting it to check the back of his throat and nose, but except for the caked-up blood, his airways seem free. 

“No obstruction.” he mutters, guiding his chin back down, and oh how he hates when he has to speak as if he were on the field, forcedly controlledー he hates to do it when it’s his brother that’s dying on their damned couch on a regular movie night, not on patrol, not by the hands of some criminal, not by his own hands like all of them feared Jason’s own life would end. 

Barbara, dragging herself across the couch, quickly brings two bare fingers under Jason’s nose, frowning when no hot air whatsoever comes out of it, not in three, ten, fifteen seconds. “Dick, he’s not一”

“Shit.” Dick urges, gently but decisively shoving Tim and Steph aside as he kneels in front of Jason, between his legs. The eldest is quick to check Jason’s pulse, first from his wrist, then from his neck.

No. No no no no no 一

Except.

“Dick, fuck一”

“Graysonー”

“He’s got a pulse.” There’s an uncharacteristic edge in his voice, something that the others only hear when one of them gets seriously hurt on patrol.

“Cass, get Alfred. Duke, oximeter and rebreather are in the medbay. And一” he swallows, “epinephrine, too.”

Cass and Duke leave the exact second Dick ends speaking, frantic.

Tim’s kneeling too, now, prying Jason’s eyelids open一 his pupils are rolling, up high in his head. “Fuck. Jason? Jay?”

Tim pats his cheek, frantic. “Come on Jason, come on, come back to us.”

Damian stands still, fists clenched. “What’s wrong with him? What’s wrong with Todd?” 

“I一” Dick swallows the lump in his throat, “I don’t know, Dami.”

Horrible seconds pass, Dick’s fingers plastered to Jason’s wrist, Barbara’s fingers still under his nose, and sure, Jason’s heart is beating, his lungs are pumping, but it’s all too slow, too shallow.

Steph smooths his hair back, white streak damp, and stills when her hand registers the temperature of Jason’s skin, or, the lack thereof. 

“Guys, he’s cold.”

She shakes the unconscious man’s shoulder, a vice grip on it, “Jason, can you hear us? Jason?”

“Call Bruce.” 

Damian falters, and he’s just a kid, just a child, the last thing he’d have to witness is his brother fighting for his life, cold and pale andー

“Damian.”

“Father’s headed to the WatchTower, he’s probably in space alre一”

“ Damian, go.” and Dick’s somber tone is enough to make the kid scramble. 

“88°F.” Steph says, voice shaky, “He’s too cold.” 

And so she leaves, searching for blankets, coats, fresh towelsー whatever she can find close enough so that she can wrap Jason’s too still body. Barbara scoots closer, offering her own warmth, rubbing Jason’s legs vigorously, feeling the lack of heat even through the thick sweatpants. 

“This isn’t in his records.” 

“We’re his family, we should’ve known.” retorts Dick, and Tim doesn’t even have the heart to reply. 

The eldest’s free handー the one that’s not checking Jason’s pulseー moves to his brother’s ashen face, lacking colour, warmth. He caresses his hair, hand bumping into Barbara’s for a second.

“Come on, Little Wing. Don’t go scaring us like that.” and his voice is soft, feeble, yet Dick’s lips are quivering dangerously as he fights back a stifled sob.

“Whatever this is, hang in there. We’re all here, Little Wing.”

Steph comes rushing into the room, throwing two weighted blankets on Jason, careful to cover every inch of his skin up to his chin.

She also slides a pair of wool socks on his feet and gloves on his hands, her own trembling making it harder than what it should be. Barbara resumes rubbing at his legs, trying to restart some circulation, and then moves up to his back, also feeling for a heartbeat, for the ribcage expanding under her touchー it’s barely perceptible. 

“What on Earth is going on?”

“Alfー”

The old man basically bolts across the room, taking Dick’s place as the latter is basically shoved aside.

“I told Master Jason that he should have stayed in the medbay for the night. I was reckless to allow him to go instead, this is all my fault.”

“Alfred…”

The butler rapidly checks Jason’s pulse, breathing and pupils, taking the matter into his handsー and the others might take offence at that, might assume that Alfred doesn’t trust their skills, but they don’t.

“Has anyone alerted Master Bruce yet?”

“Damian’s trying to get in contact with him.” Duke supplies, fanned, hands full of the required equipment. 

He’s fast to set up the oximeter, while Barbara moves on the oxygen, adjusting the mask on Jason’s pale face. 

“Forty-three? That’sー no.” hums Duke, more to himself than anything as he checks the oximeter once again, adjusting it because that can’t possibly be right, can it?

Barbara inhales sharply, eyes wide. “Forty-three? It’sー that’s impossible, Duke.”

Dick readjusts himself next to Jason, sneaking his own hand inside the blanket cocoon and grabbing his brother’s wrist, fingers skillfully finding the right spot within a couple of seconds. 

“How long has it been since it started?”

And, frankly, Dick’s not sure what it means.

A seizure? Some kind of episode? An old injury acting up? Poison?

“A little over three minutes.” supplies Tim, eyes glued to his watch. “I thinkー fuck, guys, I think we should call an ambulance. This goes beyondー”

“No. He’s going to freak out if he wakes up in one of those surrounded by strangers.” signs Cass, then “No hospital. Scary for Jason.”, out loud.

“I-I don’t think we have a choice here.” Steph cuts in, rubbing at Jason’s arms over the blankets.

“Come on, Jay…”

“Leslie’s clinic then.”

“Cassー”

There’s a cough, weak, and everyone's head snaps towards the source of the noise. It’s horrifying, rattled and airy, but it’s also the best sound any of them has heard so far.

“Jason? Hey buddy, you wakin’ up?” 

Tim slides the thermometer under his brother's armpit, not struggling despite the cocoon. 

Dick pats Jason’s face, and for a second he believes that his cheeks look a little less pale, a little less dead.

“Jason, Little Wing, hey. Can you hear us?”

But Jason’s eyes still won’t open, fluttering but never parting past a sliver. 

Alfred adjusts the oxygen mask, glancing at the oximeter. 

“Fifty-six.”

“Andー” Tim extracts the thermometer, “90°F. He’s getting warmer.”

“Father is on his way!” yells Damian as he speeds through the corridor and into the room, “He should be here within a few minutes. Superman, heー he’s dropping Father off at the Cave.” he adds, quieter.

Then, “How’s Toー Jason. How’s Jason doing?”

He looks better, admittedly. His lips don’t have that blue hue that screamed death anymore, and his skin in general looks like it’s regained some colour, at least. 

“His breathing is getting better.” hums Barbara, “Seven breaths per minute now. Shallow, low, but it’s a start.”

“Oxygen levels are going back to normal, as well.” says Alfred, “Hopefully the worst of it is finally over, lads.”

And as he says so, he gets up, gathering the bloody pillow. “I’m going to retrieve some wipes and make chamomile to warm Master Jason up once he awakens. I reckon you all have some, too.”

He leaves, swift, and they all pretend not to notice how the old man’s clutching at the pillows teeth biting into his bottom lip so hard that it might draw blood.

And Jason is still unresponsive.

“Time?”

“Four minutes, twenty seconds.”

A hum.

“Okay, alright.” Dick runs a hand through his own hair, now sweaty, “Okay. Look, if he doesn’t wake up within a minute and a half, we call an ambulance.”

“Dickー”

“I know, Babs, I know. But Tim’s right, this goes beyond our knowledge. Jason needs a hospital.”

Tim nods, “We could go with him, or, one of us at least, maybe twoー like, take turns.”

“You can’t do that to him.”

“He was throwing up blood, Cass.”

She gets up, fists tight before she unclenches them to sign.

“He’s going to get scared and freak out and hurt himself. Isn’t he traumatised enough already? He’ll never want to be with us ever again.”

Dick shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Believe me, I know, I know! But I’d rather he hates us for eternity than die like this.”

“Not fair.” she hums, wobbly. “Jason is scared. No hospitals.” Cass furiously rubs at her eyes, willing the tears away.

“Cassandra, we have to.” and no, Dick’s not crying, his voice isn’t hoarse because he’s choking back a sob. “He’sー”

“N-no hosp’l…” 

Everyone stills.

“Jason?”

“Hnn.”

He slips under again. Jason doesn’t particularly appreciate the fingers that forcibly lift his eyelids, but it’s protocol, and he’s beyond exhausted. 

“ーpupils look normalー”

“ーstill hypothermic, butー”

The fog in his vision is almost gone, and so is the aphasia, by the looks of it. But Jason’s not dumb, he knows that it’s going to take him at least a couple of hours to get back on his feet, to speak a sentence without slurring and stuttering, not to talk about the headache that he knows for a fact will keep him up at night. 

“C-coー” he groans, “cold.”

He lets his eyes drift shut once again, struggling to keep them open for longer than a few seconds, the light from the TV blinding.

There’s hands on him, gentle, affectionate as they caress his bundled up body and hair, his face, stroking delicately across his now-warmer cheeks, kissing the top of his headー he hears sobs and whispers and prayers.

“M’... s’rry. T-tr-tried t’... warn… y’...”

He doesn’t hear what’s said after that. At some point, Jason is aware that his body is being lifted, still wrapped in the blankets. They climb some stairsー going up, strangely enough. But he’s not awake when they reach the destination.

Minutes pass, hours, days maybe. 

Jason doesn’t know.

He doesn’t want to know.

He’s tired of this, tired of being tired, useless, broken. 

A thumb drags gently across his cheek and oh, is he crying?

“Jaybird, sweetheart?” 

Jason stills.

He came..?

He blinks, eyes watery. “Br-Bruce?”

Opening his eyes takes energy, energy that he doesn't have now. But he has to check.

The man moves from the chair set up next to Jason’s bedー it’s his bed, he’s in his bed, they didn’t take him to the medbay, they didn’t take him to the hospitalー and carefully sits on the mattress, careful not to pull at the IVs and wires.

“Bruce, d-dad.” He doesn't care that he sounds vulnerable, desperate, because Bruce is there, his dad came for him.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” and, has Bruce been crying too?

Jason shifts, wincing as his body aches. “M’ f-fine.”

The man nods, somber. “Youー we thoughtー”

“M’sorry. I know.”

Bruce brings a hand up and gently cradles Jason’s hair, staring in a way that Jason hates, the way you stare at something that might break any second. 

“Ifー” Bruce starts, “If you’re feeling up to it, Dr Thompkins is coming to check up on you in a few hours. It’s, huh, almost five in the morning, she should be here at ten, but we can reschedule if you’re not feeling up to it.”

A pause. Jason doesn't speak.

“So, huh, I know you don’t like hospitals, so I hope you don’t mind that I let Alfred set up a make-shift infirmary in your room. Your temperature is back within the acceptable range so we opted to let you stay in your own bed.”

Glancing around, Jason notices the IVs in his arm and hand, just saline, probably, and slowly realises that ECG electrodes are prickling at his chest. 

Jason inhales, then exhales, slow, deep. It feels good to be able to breathe again.

“I don’t th-think it’s n-n-necesー fuck.” 

Fists tightly grab onto the sheets as he tries to move into an upright position, Bruce standing suddenly, hands hovering, uncertain. 

“Jayー”

“It’s the f-fucking Pit.”

“...Oh.”

“Y-yeah.”

Silence follows, pregnant with unasked questions. 

“How long have you been experiencing these episodes?”

Jason’s gaze is low, pensive. “R-Roy keeps tr-track of ‘em.”

“Harper knows?”

A nod. “I m-meant to t-t-tell you all, butー”

“But you’re never around.”

Tim stands in the doorway, arms crossed, leaning against the frame, in full Red Robin uniform. 

Dick and Damian stand right behind him, suited up.

Jason isn’t sure he can decipher their expressions. Rage? Frustration? Sadness, maybe?

“I’m… n-never around, yeah.”

He lowers his gaze again, vision foggedー exertion tears, surely.

“L-look, guys, I’m sー”

Suddenly, innumerable pairs of arms wrap around his body, almost knocking him over.

“Todd, you idiot.”

“We’re so glad you’re okay.”

“You scared us, Little Wing.”

The hold tightens. Jason blinks the tears away, pupils pinpoint. “Y-you’re n-not mad?”

“At you, for always ditching us? A little.” Dick hums, no harm behind his words, “At you for not warning us about your whatever-that-was, also a little. But other than that, no, we’re not mad. How could we?”

They all pull away, Tim sitting on the bed, opposite to Bruce, Damian and Dick standing at his sides. 

“I tr-tried to tell you b-before I p-p-pー”

“It’sー yeah, we figured. You did say something but we couldn’tー we didn’t understand.”

Everyone looks mortified. Jason’s heart falters, cardiac monitor beeping next to him. 

“S-sorry.”

“Apologise again and I will personally give you a reason to beg for forgiveness.”

“S-sure thing, k-kid.” Jason smiles.

“So, I don’t want to be that guy, but I think we deserve an explanation.” Tim speaks, and yes, they do deserve one, Jason’s aware.

He breathes in, slow, shaky. “It’s th-the Pit. Some-sometimes it f-fails, o-or something, I think. I p-pass out andー I’m n-not sure wh-what happens n-n-next. I w-wake up s-sore and sweaty b-but it u-usually lasts f-five minu-minutes only.”

“How do you cope when you’re on your own?”

“Harper.” Bruce supplies.

“Roy knows?”

A nod. “My same reaction, exactly.”

Jason snorts. “N-now y-you know t-t-too. Justー” he pauses, trying to regain his breath, exhaustion taking over once more, “jus’ turn m-me on my s-side and let it p-p-pass.”

He’s shaking again, and Bruce is quick to guide him into a supine position, back slightly elevated so that he’s not entirely horizontal.

The others shift, hesitant.

“Th-this sp-speech thing is going t-to pass, too.” he says, because he can read in everyone’s faces that they’re not satisfied with the little information he’s provided. “Jus’ need s-some re-rest.”

“Rest, then.” Tim says, and Jason can distinclty remember him saying the exact same thing a few hours prior.

“Dinner is at eight, Bernard’s coming. Don’t miss it. Everyone will be there.”

Jason’s lips quiver into a smile, not malevolent, not sly. “B-Bernard, huh?”

“You’d know if you came by more often.” Tim bits, not harsh, and Jason snorts again.

“The girls and Duke wanted to be here when you woke up, but couldn’t stay.” Dick says, smoothing Jason’s hair back delicately, “Still, they should be able to stop by at lunch, so do your best to get better in the meantime, alright, Little Wing?”

A nod, then a yawn.

“And that’s your cue.” Bruce mutters, noticing Jason’s fluttering eyelids, “You guys go, he’ll be fine.”

“It is remarkable that you are willingly staying at home instead of joining us, Father.” Damian notes, head slightly tilted.

Bruce smiles, ruffling the kid’s hair, “If you’re ever going to have children, you’ll understand.”

“M’not a ch-child. G-go.”

“To me, you guys will always be children.” Bruce says, rubbing Jason’s palm, still mindful of the needles. “My children. I’m not going to leave, not until you’re better and kick me out of your room.”

“S-so I c-can’t kick y-you out now, huh?” Jason huffs, no real annoyance in his tone. 

A snort. “Not a chance.”