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"Where the fuck is the pan?!" Jason yells through the ship, frowning and irritated and so fucking warm. The kitchen is practically on fire with the oven on and the heat sweeping in through the open doors, the sea breeze doing nothing to cool him. No, it only blows out the fire on the gas stove. The pot of boiling water has taken thirty minutes longer than it needs to because of the wind but having the door closed makes it boiling in here, and Jason can't stand being too hot right now.
"Why the fuck are you in here? No, get out!" Roy barks, swinging into the kitchen from a far away room. He's got grease on his forehead, as well as his hands, and Jason swats his hands away from touching the bowls he's got on the counter. Roy hovers over him, coming closer and closer, trying to pry him away from the cabinet he's currently searching through. "Jason, fuck off!"
"Roy, get your grubby hands off me — why the fuck is it in the dishwasher?!" Appalled, Jason turns to Roy, lifting up the still wet frying pan. Roy takes a step back when he whirls around, cautious of the frying pan, but he's still frowning and throwing around his hands while he speaks like it's going to make his point land any harder.
"I don't — why can't it go into the dishwasher?!"
"Because of the fucking metal, it rusts, you greedy goblin!" Jason turns again and tosses it into the sink, getting ready to wash it by hand. The dishwasher wasn't done when he opened it and it's a colossal fuck up on his part because getting it to work on the island is nearly impossible, to the point that Roy is now muttering and grumbling under his breath about having to fix it over and over again, because assholes like him keep breaking it.
Something whistles on the stove and Jason drops the pan again to go turn off the gas, twisting the knob too roughly. It pops off into his hand and he throws it down onto the counter, feeling sweat slide down his back. It's way too hot in here and his potatoes are now going to be overcooked because the gas isn't turning off. And his arm hurts. It hurts like a motherfucker and the strap is digging into his arm, his shoulder, his chest.
Jason reaches up and tries to take off the sling, grumbling and shaking his head, breathing harder and harder, but Roy stops him at the last second — grabs the fabric and tries to wrestle it back onto him while shouting that he needs it to stay on otherwise he'll be another one of those washed up vigilantes or mercenaries (whichever he feels like on the day) that can't shoot for shit anymore. He manages to get it on him but since Jason's other hand is wet and he started trying to fight him off, he left wet handprints all over his shoulders and back.
"Just — calm the fuck down. Your pan will be fine, I'll fix the dishwasher and the knob, thanks for that, and everything will be fine. Keep the sling on, though." Roy's not yelling anymore at least. Neither is Jason. Sometimes it's so hard to breathe in this place, on the island where it's only himself and Roy at the moment, because of things he left behind in Gotham. Instinctively, Jason reaches for his back pocket to grab his phone but it's empty. Right. There's no cell service here anyway but the fact it's completely gone frustrates him.
"Don't put it into the dishwasher anymore," Jason mumbles and glides past, turning off the oven as he goes. Just because the potatoes will be a little over done doesn't mean the beef has to be either. He spent a long time, too long given he should have it down but he's only got one fucking hand, seasoning it and then putting it into the roasting bag. Jason wanted to do something nice for Roy, since he's taken him in and is practically taking care of him, but it went all to shit the second he realised he really did need two hands for the recipes.
Leaving the room, he ignores how his friend sighs and hangs his head, arms only barely reaching out for him, and heads down towards the beach. Now that he's outside of the metal ship, somehow, the heat seems to lessen. He swears, up and down, that Kori's ship is trying to cook them. Roy and Kori both disagree but they're used to the heat. Gotham only gets two weeks of heat in a year and, it's true, they're suffocating weeks where the heat is like a blanket laying down on everyone and applying too much weight. Those two weeks are a distant memory the second they pass, the night bleeding back into its frigid temperature that everyone is comfortable with.
He's stressed. There's no other word about it, no way to beat around the bush or obscure what he's feeling. Being cooped up has never served him well, even if he's got an entire island at his predisposal. It doesn't change that he's not being allowed leave since Roy and Kori both made the executive decision to lock him out of the transport system. Add onto it that he's injured, long term this time, and he's beyond impatient.
He wants to be healed. He wants to be healthy already and out there, helping people. He's left the Alley behind to be here, all because he needs "help" and "time to heal properly". He's put everything on the line to be here and he's not sure it's paying off.
Jason sighs and walks further down the beach, not even hungry anymore. The sand squishes and falls into his shoes as he walks but Jason's too annoyed to take them off. It takes him nearly five minutes anyway because he's got laces on all his shoes. Walking closer to the ocean, he breathes in the salt water and tries to calm down. Usually the sound of the waves slapping against the sand calms him down, makes his heart settle, but today all it does is make it pump faster, adrenaline surging through him.
His arm hurts.
Jason refuses to take pain killers.
He can't believe Bruce did that to him. All his talk about being the bigger person, and having the moral superiority, and not killing — and he nearly sent Jason into a coma for shooting a blank . The Penguin hadn't even died and Bruce got so riled up about it, so righteous. He'd done it for a reason and if Bruce had let him explain, maybe he wouldn't have liked it or agreed with it, but at least Jason would have gotten the chance to explain himself.
Jason's not afraid of Batman. He never was, truth be told. When the man was an urban myth for a poor kid living on the streets, he was in a realm far away from Jason. He felt untouchable by the man, like all his crimes would go unnoticed because, well, there was no one there to notice him. And as Robin, there wasn't even a chance for fear to sink in; they'd been so close, and Bruce had seemed so kind. Those memories where they were together were some of the best of his life, for a time.
When Jason woke up in his coffin, he'd only been afraid for himself. He worried that Bruce would never find him, and he'd die again, and he worried that he'd be alone forever. The time after he crawled out and got hit by a car is muddled and out of his reach, but he remembers vague feelings; anxious, hurt, mad. He doesn't remember much after the Pit either, only being sent away to train with Ducra and then so forth. Talia was distant and he felt... not mad or angry that she was so far away, but resentful he was a pawn in her game to be closer to Bruce. It wasn't hard to see the signs when he looked, untrusting of her and her advice.
For so long, he'd believed Bruce was the centre of his universe — a constant, warm presence that would draw him back, over and over again. He was the gravity for Jason in a way given he always returned to Gotham with the intent of having Bruce notice him. More accurately, he wanted Batman's attention — but they were one in the same these days.
He's not too sure who's at the centre now. Maybe Roy, or Kori, but they're the only people he interacts with. He doesn't dare think of the rest of the family, of Dick who gave him multiple chances despite how he continuously failed, or of Tim who forgave too easily and never forgot. Carefully, Jason avoids the landmine that are Cass and Damian, both so strong in their morals now that it almost blinds him. Their similarities are scary and the fact that everyone else is blind to it even more so.
The sun wafts over the clouds, shining brightly down onto the ocean. He sits down, ignores how sand somehow makes its way into his pants, and leans his arm up onto his knee. Sometimes, he thinks the ache is more psychological than anything. Some of Kori's alien technology could heal him but Jason worries the ache would never go away. What if it is all in his head? What then? He'd have a perfectly normal hand that would be sore all the time for no reason.
His thoughts race in circles, caught between being upset at his entrapment here and his dislike of going anywhere. Here, he gets to relax all day and make whatever food he wants for the garbage disposal that is Roy. Besides, baking helps him think but his thoughts are being recycled more and more the longer he stays here. It's useless, at this point, to try and avoid thinking of Batman. And his failures.
After enough time has passed that Roy isn't mad at him anymore but isn't worried for how long he's been gone, Jason stands and wipes himself off as best as he can. He heads back towards the ship, worried about how his vegetables turned out with Roy behind the stove. The beef will be good, at least, given he slow roasted it for four hours before he turned the oven off, allowing it to rest in the heat for a while.
Given the wind has taken a harsher turn, the doors and windows are closed and the curtains have been drawn. For a tropical island, it can get surprisingly cold during the night. When he gets inside the light in the kitchen has been turned off and the one above the stove has been turned on, putting a gentle yellow light over the pots and pans. The one he had such a fit about is clean and dry on the stove, and Jason nearly cries when he thinks about Roy washing it after he had a hissy fit. About a pan, of all things.
He leaves the kitchen for the second time today, frustrated beyond belief at how he's been acting. It's not really cool, is the thing, and Jason likes to believe he's gotten over this whole attitude he's got. Apparently not, given he had an episode or something today. Time to go apologize, again, and hope Roy forgives him. One of these days, he won't, and Jason's not sure how ready he is for that day to come.
When he finds him, he's got his head in his hands. He's trying to fix something on his work table, an old record player he thinks doesn't play music anymore — or it is that it does play music but Roy wants it to be able to flip the vinyl without him having to do it himself? That sounds a bit more likely.
"Hey," Jason says softly and leans against the door frame. It tries to close automatically but the sensors pick up that he's there and it gives a slow whir, getting ready to close when he's gone. He stays leaning against it, not sure if he's allowed in or not. In the same sense that Roy respects his room is his room, and that he's not allowed in until Jason says so, he tries to do the same to all of Roy's personal spaces.
"Hey," Roy says, surprised, "hi." He's turned in his seat to stare at Jason and his hands have dropped down onto his knees. His face is a bit red and Jason feels another bit of guilt rise in him, he knows Roy's been crying. "I thought you'd go to your room, to be honest. I was going to, um, leave you to do your thing."
"I wanted to apologise," Jason gestures to the seat beside Roy and he nods, scooting back in his chair a little to allow him a better view of Jason. When he sits, it feels like rocks have weighed him down, and he's stuck to the seat. There's a blanket not too far away from him, pink and hand knitted, and he remembers Roy making it while he was still bed bound after the fight. "It's not fair that I yelled at you because I was — am stressed and, um," Jason trails off, looking towards the ground rather than Roy.
"It's okay, Jaybird, I get it."
"No, it's really not okay. I'm just... hurt, I guess, and I'm taking it out on you because you're the only person around and I don't want to do that. That's what B does, what my dad did, and I don't want to be like them." The conviction in his voice only gets stronger as he speaks, more sure of himself and his belief that he's doing the right thing and saying the right thing. Roy nods along with him, something Jason appreciates because otherwise it would look like he's not paying attention at all. Weird, that Roy noticed Jason likes that. "I'm angry and confused and hurt, but none of those are your fault and I should stop acting like it is."
If Roy's impressed, he doesn't say it. Jason got, embarrassingly enough, a self-help book in the mail the other day. It said not to blame other people for his problems but also to be aware that others can influence his mood and his reactions, or something like that. Basically, be aware of yourself and how you react to other people is what Jason got from it. He stays silent though and Jason feels pressed to continue.
"I don't like yelling, to be honest. It makes me feel really bad about myself."
"Jay," Roy whispers softly and leans forward to grab his normal hand. His fingers aren't soft, per se, but for an archer there's not that many calluses or scars. Roy's good at his job, Jason thinks, and twists his hand around to hold his as well. The blanket is calling out to him because it was so warm and soft when he was in bed, thinking about everything that's wrong with him, but moving feels impossible. He doesn't want to let go of Roy. "It's really okay. You know, Ollie and I aren't the best either."
Jason casts a sardonic look down towards his arm and feels the new scar above his eyebrow pull, ugly and red now but ultimately closed. Roy sighs and nods, sending a half-pleading, half-caustic look towards the ceiling.
"Okay, not as bad, obviously , but it's not great. He's — trying, and that's all I can ever ask for, but when I'm around him, it all comes falling apart for some reason. I get into this bad, ugly headspace, like I'm using again or like I'm a kid again, and Ollie gets so not affected, it kills me. Sometimes, I can't be around him and that's fine. I need to move past our issues because, mostly, they've been fairly one-sided for a long time. He's apologised, I've apologised, and that's all that can be done right now.
Jason, all you can do is apologise and move forward. With Bruce, he'll never listen and, sure, then it's useless. I'm not telling you what to do but I am telling you that sometimes, it's okay to let it go. If you need time away from Bruce, then it's fine. No one will judge you for it, especially considering what he did to you was, like, actually unhinged. "
Jason nods, feels like he's going to cry a little bit, and tips forward. Roy catches him easily enough, just like he always does, and rubs a soothing hand across the back of his neck. The way his fingers catch on the rough skin there, scars and skin tags, make him go nearly boneless in his hold, tilting his head to press closer. A small part of him is trying to mould himself together with Roy, he thinks.
After a while, when his stomach rumbles from hunger and his head hurts from almost-crying, Jason lifts himself up and slaps his hand down on his thigh. He's a lot less pent up, he thinks, and maybe Dick is onto something when he says talking about your feelings is a good thing. Roy stands up with him, warm and comforting still, and stays close when they leave. Jason picks up the blanket as he goes, wraps it around himself, instantly feeling warmer.
"I'm keeping this, by the way," he mentions offhandedly, wrapping it more surely around himself.
"No, you are not," Roy barks, trying to lightly pull it off him but doing it more for show than anything, "I put my blood, sweat, and tears into that thing; you don't get to take it for no reason!"
"Um, as far as I remember, I was the one bleeding and sweating and you were the one knitting like my grandma."
"Are you not wearing it? Are you not loving it?"
"I am! That's why it's mine now." Jason nods to himself, final in his decision. Roy laughs a bit and when he opens up the blanket for him to curl up under Jason's arm, a bit of a stretch for Jason given Roy is that much taller, he sidles in and takes the other edge to bring it around them both. Depending on how nice to him Roy is, he'd be willing to share the blanket.
"On the topic of things being yours," Roy starts cutely, and Jason's hackles immediately rise, "those vegetables you were cooking earlier? Yeah, I burned them. Sorry." Jason groans and throws his head back, mind already racing towards what he's supposed to do for dinner. If the potatoes and the vegetables aren't good anymore (he'll use them for a soup, if any of the vegetables can be salvaged), he'll have to make something else with the beef. Sandwiches? Maybe tomorrow. Today, he might pull it apart and make a small sweet noodle dish with it.
"Just don't fuck with my pan," Jason mumbles and they move together into the kitchen where he makes them dinner. They eat together at the table outside of the ship, ankles pressed together underneath it, and Jason pokes and prods at the record player Roy's building. He was right, earlier on, Roy is constructing an arm to come out of it so change the vinyl when he asks it to, as well as a small AI program to answer him. Jason feels better, all things considered, and hopefully Roy isn't as mad at him anymore.
Setting the table is a calming thing for Jason.
He likes to put the forks in the right place, the napkins where they belong, the place mats in exactly the centre of the setting. Kori brought back these alien flowers from her mission and they're resting in the middle of the table. The neon colours are bright and obstructive, pinks and greens and purples bleeding into each other. She said that they'd never die, not as long as they felt love around them. Jason had the negative thought that they'd decay within three days of being around him.
He's putting together a nice meal, just for Kori coming home. His arm is fine now, no longer in the sling and his face doesn't hurt as much every time he frowns or laughs. He finds himself doing a lot more of the latter rather than the former, which is fine, maybe a little better than fine. Even though he's healed, totally and completely in a hundred percent health, he still hasn't gone back to being the Red Hood. Something about it is too daunting, too much a strain, that the hood has remained in the back of his closet.
(Roy keeps stealthily slipping new costume designs into his things, little drawings he's done that might have a matching one for himself and Kori or it would be completely on its own. Some of them are bird themed, some are not. Jason is partial to the ones that are not given he's trying to avoid giving Dick any more ammo to solidify himself as Jason's family when they see each other again, and naming himself after a bird would not help. He did like the bluebird and the sparrow designs, though, he'll never tell.)
The fork is off centre on Roy's place mat. Jason winds around the table and fixes it, lifting it and putting it in a new place over and over again until he thinks it's right. Once Jason is satisfied with the table, he takes out the hoover and does a quick once over in the room. There's some gentle music playing over the record player, old and softer than what he listens to, and Jason feels a bit better every time the song skips over and it doesn't get interrupted.
Roy is with Kori, both of them getting her settled back into her room. Her room had lost power while she was gone, the ship trying to preserve it, and for some reason when she came back, it never clicked back on. Roy's trying to fix it and he's been a real handyman lately but the ship is alien and he needs her help to read the labels and lift things. Kori is pretty good with the metal work as well, given all she's got to do is heat her finger up a little and drag it down the place that needs to be welded.
When he gets back into the kitchen, Jason washes his hand before reaching into the drawers to grab a pair of tongs. Opening the oven, he flips the ribs in there, making sure none of the sauce drips down. It's a bitch to clean, when the sauces get stuck onto the metal and then cook to a crisp while the oven is still hot and Jason likes to avoid it as much as he can. The risotto only needs a couple more minutes, but he adds a touch more lemon juice and quickly cuts the rinds off the used ones, tossing those in as well. It tastes nice enough.
Jason could do better, though, and he feels a bit awful that he's making ribs and risotto for Kori coming home. She asked for them, sure, but it doesn't feel fancy enough.
The record finishes and it's only a couple of seconds before a new one starts. Just to himself, Jason smiles. He makes sure the plates are clean before he places them on the table. Alfred said that charger plates are important for every meal that has value, and he busted them out on Jason's birthday and Dick's and when they got adopted. Jason liked seeing them, the gold ring around the edge that Alfred swore up and down was real gold. Jason didn't believe him then but he just might now.
His own charger plates aren't as fancy. They've got a band of black ceramic around the edges, a thin line of paint on the inner ring, but other than that they're pretty basic plates. They match the low bowls he'll be using later and then the dessert bowls. There's a cheesecake chilling in the fridge for them, made with Oreos because Kori likes them and Roy didn't want the originally planned lemon one. He said one lemon dish was enough and Jason had to agree.
"Hello," Kori suddenly appears behind him, wrapping him up in a hug while Jason startles a bit. He's getting rusty. "I missed you."
"I missed you too," he mumbles, turning over in her hold so that he can lift his arms and hang them loosely around her neck. She tugs him closer, holds impossibly tight, and he relaxes into it. There is very little stress in his life, yes, but having all his friends around makes it that much easier to breathe. He was worried for her, that's all, while she was alone in space. It's a very big place to get lost or hurt and he's been holding onto a favour from Kyle for too long to use it now.
"Dinner smells good," Kori smiles at him, warmth seeping into his every pore. "When will it be ready?"
"Soon," he promises and leads her over to the chair at the head of the table. They had toyed with the idea of getting a circular one, so that all of them were equal, but Roy made a joke about how since she was a princess, she needed to be above them at the head. Kori, forever smug and lording her title over them all, agreed and got the square one. It had more room anyway. "You sit here, princess, and I'll go get the other slave for you."
Kori's laughter follows him out of the room they've dubbed the dining room, loud and boisterous. He really did miss her. The ache in his chest seems lighter now that she's around and biting at his mood and trying to tug it free, proverbial teeth snapping as he moves quickly around it and avoids it. Jason follows the vague sounds of noise as he moves deeper into the ship, going over the time of his dinner in his head. Timing is perfect, as per usual, but when he knocks on the door that Roy must be behind — it's where the noise is coming from — it takes a moment for an answer to come.
"Sorry, I'm a little busy, Jaybird, maybe later," Roy says distractedly when Jason walks in. He's typing on a tablet, looking between it and a computer. Jason rests his hand on the back of his chair, leaning down to see it. He's working a case and Jason sees "Nightwing" and "Robin" before he stops reading it, twisting a little so that he's leaning down and facing Roy rather than the screen.
"Dinners ready." Roy lifts his head up, nearly head butts him, and then closes his eyes with a sigh. Jason reads the lines of stress in his face, the way he's frowning, and decides to throw him a bone even if it'll make Kori a little upset. "I can plate it and bring it to you, if you'd like."
"No, no, it's fine, it's okay," Roy mutters and stands, "I'll message him and tell him I need a few minutes, is all." Jason nods and picks up his stuff so that he can move it into the sitting room, knowing that Kori will bring him in there to work later. She'll bully him into doing it and working there, will probably help him work through it and ask Jason vague questions while he works on stuff for the Alley. He needs to make an appearance there soon, his second in command is freaking out because Black Mask is getting too confident and toeing the line of Jason's territory.
Roy follows him into the kitchen, typing with one hand and not looking at where he's going at all. Jason steers him around the edge of the counter top, and then further into the room to head towards the dining room. He hears Kori's loud greeting and then her asking what he's doing but the oven beeps, so Jason goes towards it and puts on the oven mitts. His hands are scarred to shit anyway so it doesn't matter much, but the burn cream isn't worth fishing out.
Three bowls, three ribs each, and then a serving of the risotto. He takes his time serving it up, nervous for some reason, and then pours a pitcher of the juice Roy likes and another of water with lemons and limes in it. The pitchers of water go out first with the glasses, Roy and Kori thanking him automatically and absentmindedly, and then he puts the plates out. He gave Kori a bigger serving, of course, but he doesn't think Roy has eaten since breakfast and so he got a bigger one as well.
The sounds of forks clinking against the low bowls and pork being torn from the ribs fills the dining room, too caught up in eating dinner. Jason's thoughts drift again, going far away from him as he stares down at the bowl. There's a slip of sauce along the edge that he didn't notice until right now. If he had a tea towel or a rag, he'd get rid of it, but he's only got napkins that would smudge the sauce and crust onto the bowl.
Nightwing needs help. So does Robin, and as far as he knows, the kid is Robin right now. Tim might have moved onto a new name, something that matches with the brat of a boyfriend he's got. Not a bad thing to do, given they've been together for a while now, but matching a name with a Super? A little weird, a little difficult. Jason doesn't have room to judge though, given the whole history behind the name "Red Hood". So, Dick and Damian reached out to Roy and asked for help.
Where's Batman? Or the other kids? Stephanie, Duke, Cass? Are they too busy or does Dick just need a specific type of help from an old friend?
Jason's not — he's not jealous. He understands that Roy was Dick's friend first, that they have a level of experience together Jason won't ever reach, what with the Teen Titans, the Outsiders, the Titan's and many more team ups behind them. Himself and Roy have been friends for a third of the time. It makes sense that if Dick reached out, he'd go to Roy first.
"Jason!" His head snaps up, looking across the table at Roy. He takes in both of them, they're empty plates and the folded cutlery across the bowls, and looks down at his mostly full one. "Dude, I've been trying to get your attention for a hot second. You okay?"
"Yeah," he rumbles, lower than he means to, "fine. Thinking about Gotham and, um, all the troubles that await me." Jason smiles, only a little mordantly. He really was thinking of Gotham but not his little area and Black Mask, which means he's not technically lying. He's holding back the truth, a little, is all, and there's nothing wrong with that. "What's up?"
"If I asked you to look at a type of shell casing, would you be able to tell me the type of gun it came from? I can't make it out."
"Case work? At the table?" He could, he supposes, check over the shell cases. He doesn't really want to think about where the pictures are coming from but with Roy working a case for Dick, and only having pictures of it and not the actual shells, he can guess who it's really for. If Dick and Damian can't figure the shell out, then it's probably hand made or someone deep into the community. They don't have the best access to it given Batman's general aversion to guns is such a wide spread knowledge that any time a Bat tries to make their way in, it's too hard.
"Roy's insisting," Kori says with a shake of her head. Jason takes a second to think it over and then nods, holding his hand out for the tablet off to the side of the table. Roy bites his lip but eventually shakes his head, mumbling about finishing dinner first.
"How was your trip?" He asks Kori instead, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. Jason waits for a second, to make sure that Roy's not going to double back and ask him to do it now, before taking a bite of his dinner. It's not the best ribs he's made, which is not good for his mood, but it's good and Kori seems to have enjoyed it. She reaches out and holds his wrist for a second, still talking to Roy about an ambassador that she met and got the chance to beat into a pulp. Roy laughs half way through but Jason's not listening very well.
He cleans up after dinner as well, griping that no one else puts things away in the right place, and puts the leftovers in containers for the fridge. Kori will probably snack on them later, when everyone else has gone to bed and she's still awake (she needs a little less sleep than them and uses that free time to have her alone time or work). The kitchen is quiet this time around and Jason doesn't bother to put on any music, instead letting the small sounds of his scrubbing and ceramic tapping off each other lull him into relaxation.
Thinking about Gotham, and everyone in it, made him so tense during dinner. He couldn't even really taste his dinner, to be honest, and it all felt bland to him when it was so rich and full of flavour earlier on in the night.
Kori comes into the kitchen while he's cleaning but doesn't do anything but hover around him, hook an arm around his neck and let him drag her around the place. She tends to do this when she comes back, hanging around them for hours on end even if they don't talk much, but he's got a feeling she wants to talk anyway. He might procrastinate a little bit to get out of it, try and wait her out, but she wins in the end, as she always does.
"How are you feeling? I heard of what happened. I'm sorry I wasn't there."
"It's okay," he says because it's true. Roy has seen him at his worst anyway but something about Kori seeing him when he'd have horrible nightmares and flinch at shadows, break down at random times of the day because of his embarrassment over the whole event makes him feel the slightest bit ashamed about himself. He's supposed to be better than that, he thinks, still falling into it with Bruce. And, maybe, a small part of him doesn't want her to know that he hasn't gone back to Gotham yet for more reasons than one, which she'd immediately sniff out when he explains what happened. "It was a while ago, anyway."
"Still," she insists, twisting over in the air to face him properly. Since she's still flying, he's got to look up at her a little more than usual, but she smiles down at him and holds his face in her warm hands. Her finger grazes his eyebrow, hot and probing, and he sighs. No getting away from it, he guesses. If it's not Roy, it's Kori. "It must be hard, not having permission to return to your home."
"How do you—" Jason starts and then sighs, sending a useless glare towards the door where Roy is. "I'll go back anyway, I don't really care what he thinks." Kori nods along, even though Jason knows she doesn't believe him. He's not sure he believes himself. He tells her he'd like to not speak about it much more because it's in the past now and she relents but looks hesitant. Jason sighs and waits, letting her find her words for what she wants to say.
"I've had trouble with Bruce Wayne in the past. We have disagreed many times, either in combat or how he approaches his children. Of course, it had been about Dick at the time, but now I disagree with him because of you as well. You are one of my closest friends, Jason, and it pains me to know you have been hurt by a man you once trusted. This is why, I will only half-joke in a way Dick did not appreciate but I'm hoping you will, by promising you this."
It's one of the only times that Jason doesn't mind being compared to Dick, with Kori. They've had sex before, of course, but it's an affair long since over and it's not because of her past relationship with Dick. Jason doesn't think he's in the right place for a relationship, and given his past relationships, he's taking a small break from dating/sex. What this is to say is that, Kori has never compared them maliciously — she does it to show her affection for him, that even if she's still in love with Dick, it doesn't change her love for him. It's only a different kind, is all.
"If you so wished, I would kill him for you." She says it so seriously, with wide trusting eyes that blaze with fire, and her hands grasp him a little tighter when she promises it. Jason can picture her promising it to Dick, a bit younger, maybe a bit fiercer, and it makes him laugh a little. He's not sure how Dick would react, honestly, it would depend on how old he is and if they're in the middle of a fight. He knows his own reaction though.
"Thank you," he says sincerely, "I appreciate it. I don't think about it much, to be honest, so putting a hit out on Bruce is a bit far away from me, right now." Kori nods anyway, bringing him in for a hug. He stays there for a moment, enjoying her warmth and the pressure she applies, but Jason lets out a strangled yell when she picks him up. She tuts and brings him into the sitting room with Roy, muttering about how gravity centred humans are and that life is better higher up, and sets him down beside him.
He does end up helping Roy with the shells, in the end. They're from an old friend, actually, who likes to hand craft his bullets to make the kill more intimate. He brands them, with a little circular dragon on the side of the bullet, and he saw the imprint of it on the shell casing. It's for a sniper rifle, he tells Roy, and then the make of it — as well as the fact that the maker is already halfway across the world, taking another hit in Türkiye. Best to let it go, for now.
Roy sends it on and Jason ignores how his new phone buzzes with a message from an unknown number later in the night. He doesn't want to know who it is and what they're saying. It's not important to him anymore.
"I'm dying."
"You're not."
"I literally am."
"You're literally not," Roy drawls from beside him, tinkering with a gift for Oliver. It's the guy's birthday soon, apparently, and Roy is making him a little light in the shape of an arrow. It's not a big thing, it's got a battery in it that would need to be changed after fifteen years, and the bulb still needs to be made but it's coming along well He's got a screwdriver in his hand, fixing some of the looser screws that don't need to come out again to fix the wiring that blew up last week.
Jason sighs. The nearly warm rag on his face is leaking water down to his ears and soaking into his pillow, which is frustrating him. Every time he tries to remove it, Roy slaps it back onto his head. He turns over and subtly tries to take it off, and maybe remove the one resting on his chest that's been strapped there, but Roy keeps a hand on it. Jason sighs again, more aggravated this time.
"Keep it there, numb skull."
"It's warm now!" Jason wishes his skull was numb. It's probably being cracked open right now, given his brain is swelling from heat. The ship has never seemed so hot and even with a fan blowing straight onto him, Jason's entire body feels tight and drawn in, sweat sliding across his skin. The one across his chest has also been rubbed with something Roy called "Vicks", a rub that's supposed to help his nasal cavities from closing and killing him from a snotty land drowning.
"It's still doing its job, Jay," Roy intones, struggling only a little now that he's down to one hand. He shifts around, tucks his feet further underneath Jason's duvet cover he's tossed to the end of the bed. Roy might be cold but Jason hasn't asked him to sit down in bed with him while he waits for the grim reaper to arrive and take him away again, he's decided to foolishly keep him company.
"How? How is it doing its job of keeping me cold if it's warm?" Jason's so hungry but also not because nausea has been rolling through him at random intervals ever since yesterday morning, and all he can keep down is a couple slices of toast with butter. It's not even real butter either since Kori went to the mainland to buy some but since it was night time at the time, all she could find was the plant based kind. It's not that bad, he supposes, but. It's not real butter.
"Because it still is cold, hon, you're just too warm."
Jason scoffs and closes his eyes. He's tired. For a while, he tosses and turns fitfully, drifting in and out of sleep. He doesn't dream, too awake for that, but he loses time for a while. It's way too warm in his room, his skin is practically peeling off, and his stomach cramps every now and then. Jason ends up lying down in the foetal position, hands tucked over his face to keep the light out, and the smell of the vapour rub on his chest is making his eyes water even after hours of putting it on. It burns, just a little, but Roy had said that was normal.
He's vaguely aware of people coming in and out, of Kori taking up Roy's space when he leaves. The room gets considerably hotter and he shies away from her skin but when her hand starts to card through his hair, gently pulling apart the curls that have tangled together, he leans into it. With her doing that, he sleeps a bit better and doesn't turn as much.
Jason has always been like this when he's sick. He complains a lot, exclaims numerous times that he's on death's door when in fact he's probably getting better, and tends to prefer being left alone. He doesn't eat much and drinks loads of water, tries to shower every now and then to at least be clean outside and not smelly but sometimes he fails. Once, he passed out in the shower and Alfred had to drag him out, naked as the day he was born. That was so embarrassing Jason never told him when he was sick again.
He never liked when Bruce stayed home. It meant he was missing work or patrol, things that needed to be done and a regular part of Bruce's day. He tried not to put him off too much during those weird times but because Jason didn't get sick that often, it didn't matter. Bruce would come in before he left for work, call at lunch time, and then check on him periodically while he was home before going on patrol. Jason often was awake when he came home as well.
The thoughts of Bruce are unbidden and unwelcome. They're tinged with a foggy sense of longing, memories twisting and fading faster than he can recall their truths. The time before his death is a twisted thing, locked away in the depths of his mind, but they resurface at the most inopportune times. Jason's got a vague sense he may have let Bruce stay home, just one time, feeling too ill to stop him but the memory doesn't come to him no matter how he tries and he gives up in the end. It must have been a dream, he decides.
He liked to read, though. The words would, from time to time, spur a migraine or start a new fit of coughing but Jason enjoyed it nonetheless. Still does, of course, but most of his books are in Gotham and the things he does travel with are too important to taint with his sickness. What if his coughing ruins the pages or they start to dent inwards from his clammy hands?
He picks at the meat on his thigh, the press of Kori's leg behind him reminding him not to pick too hard otherwise she'll tie his hands up in cotton or something, and thinks about going back to Gotham. He really has to eventually. Having someone else dress up in the hood isn't the same as being there and somehow, the Rogue's and gangs know it. There's rumours of Black Mask plotting to worm his way back into the Bowery and Jason is not having any of it.
Does he want to go back, though, is the question. On the surface, yes. It's his home, it's where he grew up, it's all he knows in a way. There's a simple pleasure of being in Gotham that Jason hasn't figured out yet but he thinks it's something everyone feels who lives there. There's nothing like the stink of their streets, the blood that permits the walls and the bars, the way certain places have been open for decades but other shops fail after weeks. It's a carnivorous city deep down to its core but Jason thinks he chews through the city at the same pace it does him.
On a deeper level, he's not so sure. Gotham brings him a lot of pain. Having to avoid Batman, because he would have to avoid him given he'd be back at the Red Hood and after being gone for so long, he'd have to kill a few people or lightly maim them, would be a pain. His little Robin's, even more so. Black Bat would be on him in a second, he thinks, and being tossed out again isn't in the cards for him. Aside from Batman, though, all the Rogue's have a general distaste for him and the mobsters have a couple hits out on him.
Once he enters the city, he's got a target on his back that will never shake off, no matter how much he changes. No matter what he does, he'll be the outcast in some way shape or form and he's... not willing to do that anymore. After being here with his friends and being so readily accepted for all his parts, god or bad, it would feel too much like whiplash. He wouldn't be truly comfortable.
It has so many repercussions, though, like who would take over his patrol if he leaves? Tim, probably, or the gremlin. And the drug trade would go back to shit, traffickers would get over confident again, and the police academy would be full of mobsters and goons and evil, awful people who wouldn't lift a finger to help the city.
His brain is too much like liquid right now to think of a way to fix it though, and with a lingering thought of changing his costume to something more practical, Jason tries to think of anything else but Gotham and Bruce.
(He doesn't think about how he's always been afraid of change — how he's afraid of finally leaving Gotham and all her misery behind. For so long, he built his life around Bruce and what he thinks of Jason, but he's getting too old for that now. He preaches, night and day, that Bruce isn't God but what does it matter if that's what he's made him? If he leaves Gotham, then he leaves his religion behind, and that's a big change for his weary soul. Instead, he thinks of Catherine, an old but comforting wound.
She used to do up his laces before school, place his bag securely on his back, and rub his cheek fondly before setting him off. It wasn't that far of a walk. She'd do... whatever it took to keep them there, safe and in the apartment, while he was gone and when he got back, she'd let him crawl into her bed and talk for hours. She was like a balm, he thinks, for the wound his dad going to prison left behind. When her "special medicine" kicked in, and she would go far away, Jason would sit for hours beside her and do the most mundane things; his homework, read a book, colour. Things kids do.
He gets like this when he's sick too. Melancholic, too sad for his own good, wistful for times since passed. He thinks of his family and their absent presence in his life, the oxymoron that they are, and then he thinks of Catherine and Willis. They had dreams, he supposes, that never happened. He feels bad, in a way.)
"Jason?" Kori whispers, rubbing a hand down his cheek. Leaning into it, he hums and looks up at her, feeling no better but no worse as well. She smiles down at him, kind and soft, before setting her hands underneath his armpits and lifting him up the bed. He's surprised by it but doesn't bother trying to stop her, figuring they need him up for something. "Roy's brought you something to eat."
It's true. He hadn't noticed Roy at the side of the bed, perched there with a tray in his hand. It shakes a little, either Roy's unsteady balance (for anything but archery, for some reason) or he's been awake too long. The spoon clatters against the knife and once he's situated properly, Roy puts it on his lap and reaches towards the bedside table.
"We should build a house," he slurs, head leaning back against the headboard. Roy turns towards him, eyebrow raised, but sets the bottle of water down beside his hands anyway.
"Why's that?" He asks, sharing a fond look with Kori. She's still rubbing his cheek, grazing her knuckles across the high point of his cheekbones, featherlight.
"To make a home. My mom wanted a house for me because she said that," the exact words run away from him, her blonde hair becoming a wispy thought that dances away even after all this time, and he sighs, waving a hand around. Roy nods like he gets it, taking the spoon and setting it in his hand.
"We'll do that, then. Here, on the island, yeah?" Jason nods and dips the spoon into the soup, bringing it up to his mouth. It's probably vegetable, Jason's favourite, and Roy's made it the way he likes as well. Smooth, no chunks, with a load of peppers thrown in. 'Roy tears apart a slide of toast, letting him dip it in, and so very slowly, Jason eats the bowl of soup. They stay close the whole time, telling him to take his time, and more than once, Kori has to reheat the bowl with her hands.
Jason feels awful outside but warm inside. They're taking care of him and making the food he likes and staying with him. Everybody leaves him except for his friends and while he's not too sure what to think of the parental figures he's had in his life, he knows that these two fools would be with him forever. When his stomach is full and his throat hurts less, Jason waits until Roy has put the tray on the ground and lets him poke and prod at him for a bit. His temperature hasn't risen, in fact, it's fallen and he doesn't need the wet rag across his head anymore.
He gratefully throws it across the room, listening to the wet slap of it hitting his floor, and doesn't think about how he will definitely have to clean that up later. Once he's not wet anymore, after rubbing his forehead and his ears with the duvet cover, he tugs Roy down beside him and moves over to make room for him. Kori laughs, just a little bit, and wraps her arms around him. Screw it, he's sick and he gets to be clingy. Roy pulls the cover up and tucks them all in, resting his head against Jason's.
With a click of a button, a hologram appears and plays 'Lilo and Stitch' . Eyes watering, Jason tries to remember when he told him that was his favourite movie to watch when he wasn't feeling well but finds that he never did. Another little thing they picked up on that he never had to verbally say, his actions did. When Lilo proclaims she'd like a friend at the beginning of the movie, Jason feels himself puff up a little with joy. He had asked for a friend, a very long time ago, and was granted two of the best in return.
In the end, he never goes back to Gotham. He was right and, after a year, Tim stepped in and took care of his patrol routes. His second became the leader and dealt with Mask swiftly and dangerously — killing him. It puts a target on her back but most of the Bowery believes that the fault of Red Hood leaving rests solely on Batman's shoulders, and has since stopped caring about his little morals.
Jason built the house on the island. It takes a while, and he does it mostly by himself. Roy and Kori eventually return to Superhero work, keeping the Outlaws name prominent but doing more and more team ups with the Titans and, at times, Young Justice. They never bring anyone back to the island but he's sure the Bats know he's there. It's a kindness they never arrive, he thinks, because if they did he may just drown himself in the ocean.
It's a nice house, with shutters on the windows and curtains that billow in the breeze. It's on top of a hill, surrounded by fields of grass on one side and a thick forest on the other. It's got two levels and only four bedrooms; one each and then a fourth, just in case. The kitchen is large and homey, steel countertops he's made from spare parts of the ship and wooden furniture made from trees. They bought a few unavoidable things on the mainland; a TV since the holograms need to be connected to the ship, a few lamps, mattresses, sheets, cutlery.
He spends most of his days learning new things — carving, welding, carpentry, knitting, cooking, tailoring, a few instruments, and pottery for his ceramics. The days pass slowly but the years go quickly. He makes new charger plates and paints them with gold circles. The decking, made by Roy actually, had got cute little fairy lights in the shape of fireflies. They were the last thing to go up, made by Roy and Kori in the ship. They spend most of their days here, in the house, but frequent the ship for work. It's become their sort of office.
He thinks of it, sometimes. Going back, even for the odd case. He's not against it, would be willing to help with technical stuff and detective work, but the physical aspect of it was too tough on him. He's been a fighter, a brawler, his whole life and it's exciting to see what it will be like when he's only backed by his friends and a desire to learn. He writes, a little. Only small stuff, plays and poems, but every time he finishes one, Roy beams like they're the best things in the world. More than once, he's seen him take a picture of a poem and smile at it.
Maybe it's the Pit or his brain filing away things that don't seem as important to him anymore but, just like his adolescence, Batman fades into a wispy memory until the legend is gone and all he remembers is Bruce's loving face on a single reel, right beside Catherine and Willis. He thinks of him rarely and when he does, some of that anger has faded; only a wistful desire to see him happy again. He doesn't ask Roy and Roy doesn't tell him how he's doing.
Taking a sip of his coffee, Jason looks across the ocean from his deck, and leans back in his chair. He feels good.
He's got to make breakfast for his family but he's got time. He takes another languid sip, closes his eyes, and feels the sea breeze lick along his skin and caress his face. He might make pancakes for breakfast today.