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"Jesus, fuck, kid," Jason hisses. Tim gives a pathetic whimper from where he hangs limply on Jason's shoulder, one that twists Jason's heart strings and ties his stomach up in knots because the last time he heard Tim like that he was donning a new, red, helmet, and Tim was still Robin, cowering in the corner of the Titan's Tower -
No. Don't think about that. Get the kid safe.
Jason practically shoves him into the decontamination shower, ridding his skin from the golden dusts spread thinly over everywhere. There's no way that he's going to be completely pollen-free - Jason's not fast enough for that, he wasn't fast enough, he's never fast enough - but that'll at least mitigate the damage. Tim gives another wheeze under the shower - Jason towels him off quick and changes him into the most comfortable clothes he can find because he knows how Tim gets when he's on toxin.
God. Cuddle pollen and fear toxin. Hopefully, they would cancel each other out, and Tim would just spend the night in the Cave shivering through it.
Jason's never been hopeful.
He doesn't dare to try and use both antidotes at once, that just seems like another ingredient to add to the already disastrous recipe, so he settles for wriggling out of the bulkiest of his armour, carrying Tim to the cots.
Halfway there, Tim whimpers out a small, "No," and Jason freezes.
His brother's eyes are wide open, those baby blue eyes that pin him in place with the tears inside and the sheer desperation Jason can see inside them. "H - Hood, ple - " Tim breaks himself off with a sob, and then another gut-wrenching cry. He twists in Jason's grasp, this way and that, and Tim's always been a slippery one so Jason forces himself to steel his heart and continue moving, keeping his grip iron on Tim's shoulders.
"No - don't - "
A small scream. Jason curls his arms tighter around Tim. His steps have slowed, he realises, becoming stiff. His shoulders match the action.
"Jason - "
And Jason's grip falters.
Tim uses it, kicks out with the kind of strength that only comes from panic and with bony elbows that slam into Jason's gut. He gasps for breath - Tim scrambles away and he's not even two steps before he crumbles to the ground like a recreation of 9/11, writhing in agony, almost seizing as he tries his best to curl up into a ball and fails.
"Please, no," Tim gasps, as Jason regains his bearings and stands upright. "Please, Hood, I'll do whatever - "
He's cut off with another whimper as Jason picks him up, not as smooth as he could probably be because his fingers are shaking and his muscles are locked with tension and he's grinding his teeth so hard they're going to break. He maneuvers them onto one of the cots, setting up the rails with one hand, keeping the other arm wrapped securely around Tim's back. The kid's curled up into a ball for real now, sobbing into Jason's undershirt ad Jason's heart aches.
"Jason, please," Tim begs, and Jason nearly loses it then and there.
He curls the free hand into a fist and lets it out, places it on Tim's back and tugs him impossibly closer because Jason doesn't deserve to get angry. He doesn't deserve to feel bad because he caused this. His name should never be said that desperately, that despondently, because that's the tone you use when you just want someone to stop, please, and Jason knows because he's used it.
No brother of his should ever use that tone, and yet here Tim is, trying to simultaneously get away and towards Jason, chasing his body heat and yet pushing himself away. Jason lets him, those little gestures as he raises his head like he's trying not to drown, because Tim always curls back up towards him, unwilling to let the empty, yawning void consume him whole.
"Please, enough, don't - " Tim screams, small, and something in Jason shatters as he has to firm his grip on Tim, prevent his spindly limbs from getting free.
"I'm right here, Timmy," Jason whispers, and he sees the way Tim stills at that, at the sound of his voice. The efforts to get away double, scratching, kicking, sobbing, and Jason just holds him with the blankest expression he has on his face as his arms start bleeding red. It doesn't stop the tears. I'm right here. That's the whole goddamn problem.
He's already pressed the emergency signals on Tim's suit, but he's too far away from the Batcomputer to see who's coming to save him. Or more accurately, save Tim. From his worst nightmare.
Jason doesn't need to look in the kid's face to see what he does - green eyes, red helmet, sadistic grin. And the worst part - the worst part is that it's entirely possible. Because a year ago, Jason would have done anything to Tim - would have tortured him, maybe stuck a few bullets or crowbar dents in his head, all to send a message to Batman. Because Jason could still do that.
"Jason, please, you've had your fun - "
Jason laughs wetly, holds Tim tighter and pretends that one day they won't be this fucked up. "It's just until the pollen wears off," Jason promises, and it sounds weak and thin. He can't see beyond the blurriness in his eyes and the guilt that washes to the forefront of his vision, drowning out the green. "I can't - I wish I could leave, baby bird. But it'll just hurt more."
"No," Tim whispers.
"No?"
"Fuck you," Tim hisses, and Jason wholeheartedly agrees. But he burrows deeper into Jason's embrace, muscles giving up on holding him as far away from Jason as possible while still close enough for the pollen to retreat.
"You're not my brother," Tim says, dripping with venom, and the rest of Jason's heart shatters.
"Yeah," Jason agrees. "I know."
He tugs Tim closer, throws a blanket over them both and traces circles on his shoulder where he grips the boy. Tim doesn't seem to be trying to escape, which is good, but then -
The screams start up again, and all Jason can do is close his eyes and whisper promises over and over again, it'll be over soon, I'll be gone, you're safe, you're in the Cave, baby bird -
It's all he can do, and Jason does it, and he still feels so helpless to the demons in his brother's Tim's mind.
***
Tim stirs sometime into hour five. Jason's stayed awake for each of those hours, watching the clock and wondering where the fuck the rest of the family was. He had exhausted himself into sleep about thirty minutes into their stay, and since then Jason's taken off his jacket and draped it over Tim because the kid is still shivering like crazy - pollen troubles for touch-starved kids, two times the damage and two times the recovery - shifted positions in order to drape himself over Tim as much as he can, ending up hugging the kid with his leg thrown over Tim's.
The kid squints up at him - no longer fog-filled blue, but sharper, though still groggy. "'ason?" he mutters, and Jason nods, swallows the lump in his throat.
Tim stills for a second, before relaxing completely under Jason's body weight. And Jason - he doesn't want that. He doesn't want Tim to feel like he has to be comfortable around the man who tried to kill him.
"Pollen?" Jason asks, voice hoarse and raspy and he knows Tim takes a good look at him because the kid's expression changed from sleepy to alarmed, then to one of something indecipherable.
Tim flexes his fingers, detaches himself from Jason and nods. Jason nods back, moves to his feet, pins and needles running up and down his arms. He grabs the nearest wall and traces his way to the bathroom.
Then he promptly loses his dinner in the toilet bowl.
He hears footsteps behind him, tiny pitter-patters, then a glass of water is offered to him through a too-large leather sleeve. He takes it and downs a gulp, leans back against the wall and closes his eyes to escape the quiet gaze of Tim staring at him opposite.
"You good?" Tim checks when he doesn't say anything. Jason laughs.
"I should be asking you that."
They both know how bad it affects Tim - Jason had lived in the worst parts of Gotham, exposure to the chemicals wasn't uncommon, but Tim had lived in isolation and hadn't had his first taste of Ivy or Scarecrow until thirteen.
"I'm fine," Tim says carefully.
"Bullshit," Jason calls, low.
Tim levels him a Look, unflinching. "Likewise."
Jason concedes the point with another tilt of head, and finishes the water in another two gulps.
"It's not you," Tim says quietly, those eyes tracking him. "You know it's not you. You're not responsible for my hallucinations. I've hallucinated my dad, Bruce, Dick, Damian - "
"It's different," Jason rasps. "You know it's different."
Because Jason would have, and he can't - Tim can't just skip past that -
"I forgave you for that."
I haven't forgiven myself. For hurting you. For hurting a kid. For losing control.
Tim sighs, one of those weary sighs that Alfred always lets loose when they're being particularly stubborn Bats. "Wanna make it up to me?"
"Of course," Jason says immediately. He wants to take it back, if he could. But he can't, so he's going to do anything, everything, else to make it up to him. Tim smiles, half-lip quirked up.
"Stay the night?"
***
Jason ends up on the couch. Avatar: The Last Airbender had been pushed aside in favour for a day where they wouldn't fall asleep and actually watch it properly, so Sofia the First is echoing in the background. Tim and him are on both sides of the couch, Tim sprawled out with his legs on Jason's lap, and Jason trying to take up as little space as possible.
After twenty-five minutes of Sophia's voice, Tim shifts so that his head is on Jason's lap instead. Jason can barely breathe. He tries not to move, tries to stay as still as possible to not disturb the rapidly falling asleep kid.
"Really?" he whispers. "Couldn't've chosen anywhere else?"
Tim snuggles up to him and whispers back, "Nope." His voice is entirely too cheerful. Jason's eyes don't leave him, his too-small frame, curled up to Jason for some reason. "Deal with it."
It's another ten minutes and Tim is fast asleep. Jason looks down at him, perfectly content, still wearing Jason's jacket which is too big for him, and thinks, I don't deserve this.
He's so fucking glad he's got it, though.