Chapter Text
Jason navigated the gala with the kind of polished grace that years of practice demanded. The grand hall of Wayne Manor was awash in opulence, every inch of it gleaming with wealth and power. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm, golden light over the crowd, while laughter and the clinking of glasses filled the air, a symphony of high society’s excess.
Jason lingered at the periphery, an outsider looking in, his sharp eyes taking in the room while trying to remain unnoticed. His suit, tailored to perfection, hugged his frame like a second skin, yet it felt more like a disguise than an outfit—a costume he was obligated to wear. The fabric, smooth and expensive, was constricting, like a reminder of the role he was expected to play tonight.
He had always detested these events. Galas were a breeding ground for pretense, a playground for Gotham’s elite to flaunt their status and wealth under the guise of philanthropy. To Jason, it was all a hollow charade, an exhibition of everything he had grown to resent about the world he had been thrust into. And yet, here he was, playing the part of the dutiful son, offering polite smiles and nods as he mingled with people who spoke of matters that felt trivial, meaningless.
His eyes scanned the crowd, searching for an exit, a momentary escape from the charade. That’s when Dick appeared beside him, holding a glass of lemonade. Jason had noticed that his older brother hadn’t strayed far from him all night, shadowing his movements with a subtle, almost protective vigilance.
"Hiding over here in the corner, Little Wing?" Dick’s voice was light, but Jason could sense the underlying concern.
Jason accepted the lemonade with a faint smile, the edges of it not quite reaching his eyes. “Not hiding, just avoiding the crowd,” he said, his tone equally as light, though it lacked the usual humor he might have injected into such a reply.
Dick’s presence, while comforting on some level, also felt smothering tonight. Jason couldn’t shake the feeling that his brother wasn’t just keeping him company. It was more than that—there was a watchfulness in Dick’s eyes that suggested something else entirely, something Jason couldn’t quite put his finger on.
Before he could dwell on it further, Bruce joined them, his expression unreadable, though his presence only heightened Jason’s unease. Both Bruce and Dick seemed… anxious, almost as if they were expecting something to go wrong. Jason’s mind raced, searching for an explanation. Were they concerned about a potential threat? A kidnapping, perhaps? It wouldn’t be the first time such a thing had happened in this family, though it hadn’t been a concern for years. Or maybe they were worried about someone tampering with his drink? But that didn’t quite explain the overprotectiveness that seemed to be focused solely on him.
"That better not be wine," Bruce said, his tone mildly admonishing. The comment was innocuous enough, but Jason couldn’t help but feel a pang of irritation. They all knew he didn’t drink, not after everything he had seen alcohol do to his biological father, Willis. The man’s drunken rages had left scars deeper than any physical wound ever could. Hell, as a kid, Jason had been so terrified of becoming like his father that he’d refused to use mouthwash, scared it might somehow turn him into a monster.
Jason swallowed a bit too quickly, causing the lemonade to go down the wrong way. He coughed, more out of surprise than anything else. “I don’t drink,” he replied, the words coming out harsher than he intended. The bitterness in his tone was unmissable.
Bruce’s demeanor softened, and for a moment, Jason saw something close to regret in his father’s eyes. “I know, I’m sorry,” Bruce said, and before Jason could respond, Bruce stepped closer, his hand reaching out to touch Jason’s forehead.
Jason recoiled slightly, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Bruce—?"
“How are you feeling? Nauseous? Feverish? Chills?”
Jason blinked, taken aback by the sudden concern. He pulled back, a frown creasing his forehead. “I’m fine, Bruce,” he said, the words tinged with exasperation. The real question burning in his mind was, ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ But he bit it back, sensing that pushing the issue would only escalate things.
Bruce nodded, his expression apologetic, as if he knew he was being overprotective but couldn’t help himself. There was an awkward silence, one that Jason couldn’t stand for another second.
“Um, excuse me,” Jason muttered, slipping away from both his brother and father, needing space—desperate for it. The gala felt suffocating, the weight of everyone’s expectations pressing down on him. He navigated through the crowd with practiced ease, making his way toward the double doors that led to the balcony.
Stepping outside, Jason was immediately greeted by the cool night air. He took a deep breath, savoring the chill as it filled his lungs, offering a brief respite from the stifling atmosphere inside. The city stretched out before him, Gotham’s skyline glittering in the darkness like a sea of stars. It was a beautiful sight, one that had always brought him a sense of calm, but tonight it did little to ease the turmoil brewing within him.
He leaned against the stone balustrade, his mind racing. Something was wrong. It wasn’t just the gala, or his family’s odd behavior; it was something deeper, an unspoken tension that had been gnawing at him for weeks. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it was there, lurking in the back of his mind like a shadow he couldn’t shake.
The faint hum of music from the gala drifted through the open doors, but out here, the quiet was almost soothing. Jason closed his eyes for a moment, trying to push the unease away, but it clung to him, stubborn and unrelenting.
“Tired of the party, too?” a voice said from behind him, accompanied by the soft sound of the balcony door opening.
Jason turned slightly, recognizing the woman who had joined him. Lydia? Lucinda? No, but something with an ‘L.’ She was the daughter of one of Bruce’s old business associates—he couldn’t quite remember which one. They had been introduced earlier in the evening, but Jason hadn’t paid much attention. His mind had been too preoccupied with other things.
“Yeah, not my crowd,” Jason admitted, offering a half-smile that felt more like a grimace. “And my family has been a pain.”
“I feel you,” she replied, leaning against the balustrade beside him. “I’m the youngest of seven brothers, so I know all about family dynamics and unwanted attention.”
Jason glanced at her, his curiosity piqued. “That sounds… intense. How do you manage?”
She chuckled softly, a sound that held a note of weariness. “I don’t. I just survive.”
Jason couldn’t help but laugh with her, the shared humor easing some of the tension in his chest.
“They mean well,” Jason sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Especially after the ‘accident.’” Everyone in Gotham knew about his head injury.
“Yeah, I heard about that,” Lucinda—yes, that was her name—nodded sympathetically. “That must have been awful, especially since you had just woken up from a coma a couple of weeks before that.”
Jason’s heart skipped a beat. A coma? He turned to her, his eyes wide with confusion. They had never mentioned a coma.
“And the media had that terrible rumor saying that you were in a coma due to a drug overdose,” she continued, oblivious to the shock that was now coursing through him.
Jason felt the world tilt on its axis, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. He stared at Lucinda, the gears in his mind grinding to a halt as he tried to process what she had just said. A coma? Drug overdose? The words echoed in his mind, each one more impossible than the last.
“A… coma?” he repeated, his voice barely more than a whisper. He had no memory of being in a coma, let alone the circumstances surrounding it. They had told him about the head injury—an accident during a mission, they’d said. But no one had mentioned a coma, and certainly not a drug overdose.
Lucinda’s expression shifted, her frown deepening as if realizing she had touched on something she hadn’t meant to. “Oh… I’m sorry, I thought you knew,” she said, her voice hesitant, laced with genuine concern. “The media can be so cruel, spinning all kinds of stories. But I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Jason forced a tight smile, though his mind was reeling. “No, it’s fine,” he said, though nothing felt fine at all. “I guess I just… wasn’t as aware as I thought I was.”
Lucinda nodded, looking a bit relieved that he didn’t seem too shaken. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I knew that those rumors were plain nonsense.”
Jason nodded along, but the words didn’t bring him any comfort. His thoughts were already spiraling, a whirlwind of confusion and doubt.
After the gala, when everyone had finally gone home and Bruce was out on patrol, Jason found himself alone in the manor, the oppressive silence pressing in on him. He knew he wouldn’t be able to rest until he found answers. Something wasn’t right, and he had to know what it was.
He made his way to the Batcave, the cavernous space empty save for the distant hum of the Batcomputer. He logged in, his fingers moving almost automatically as he navigated through the system. He pulled up his medical records, his breath hitching as he noticed something strange.
There were two files.
One was the official record, the one he had seen before, detailing the head injury and the recovery process. But the other... The other was hidden behind layers of security, requiring a different code to access it. Jason’s heart pounded in his chest, they clearly didn't want him looking at that, his suspicions had a bit right, they were hiding something from him.
"What the hell..."