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"Shit—" Jason stumbles back, reeling from the punch to his helmet. The glass of his visor cracks hard enough to affect his line of sight, and he tosses the whole thing to the side. "Fuck."
Scarecrow isn't usually the violent type, not really— preferring to let his henchmen and chemicals do the hard work for him— but tonight the man is a caged animal, rallying against the corner Jason's backed him into.
"Come on, man," he complains, surging forward to try and tackle Scarecrow to the ground. "I got shit to do tonight. Can you just—"
He doesn't see Scarecrow pulling on the mask until it's too late. The fear toxin smacks him right in the face and the coughs that follow wrack his body hard enough that he thinks he might crack a rib.
Scarecrow is gone by the time he looks up— still coughing, but less so— and Jason curses, tapping on his comm. "Crane's gone," he grunts. "I'm dosed. Headed back to the cave now."
"Hold position," Batman's growl comes low over the comms, cutting through the loud, worried voices of his siblings. "Nightwing is en route. Red Robin— find Crane. Robin— with me."
A flurry of voices call out affirmatives, and Jason lets himself slump against the wall. He can already feel the effects of the fear toxin, crawling up his throat and pressing deep into his lungs. Choking, freezing—
(Burning, like being caught in a warehouse while the fire from a bomb washes over him and the smoke fills his lungs. Like rubble crushing his ribs to dust and puncturing his lungs. Like a manic laugh and Sheila Haywood's muffled pleas for help while Jason's body was broken over and over under a bloodied crowbar.)
"Hey, little wing," Dick's voice snaps him back to the present again. Jason is shivering, teeth chattering and nails digging into the palms of his hands. Dick approaches him like a wounded animal, hands raised and voice low. His head is tilted to bare his neck. "You alright?"
"Peachy."
He sees his brother's shoulders relax at the response, giving a deceptively light laugh as he leans in to help Jason up.
(Jason's not a baby. He's the Red Hood, and he's ridden out fear toxin on his own enough times that he knows he doesn't need this. But—)
(But. Dick is warm against his side, chasing away the chill of the toxin and forcing his brain away from the feeling of the crowbar beating against him.)
"Are you up for a bike ride?" Dick asks, tugging Jason out of the warehouse and towards a familiar motorcycle. "I can probably get B to send the Batmobile, though—"
"Bike's fine." Jason doesn't want to wait for the Batmobile to get here. He wants to go home— sleep this off in a house that still has regular heating and enough blankets to build a nest out of like he's a little kid.
The ride back to the cave fades in and out of focus. He knows he only stays on at all because Dick managed to buckle him down with a rope or— something. The cold wind whipping against his face isn't helping, even with Dick's body warm against his chest.
Jason only comes back to awareness when he's tucked in his bed, wearing Bruce's clothes and buried under a mountain of blankets with Dick tucked up against his side.
"'s too heavy," Jason huffs, shoving at the blankets. The weight on his chest— the sky? There's something above him, peeking out between the cracks in the rubble pressing against his ribs. He can't breathe. Why can't he—?
The weight shifts, and Jason gasps in a desperate breath.
"Hey, hey—" Dick runs a hand through Jason's hair. "Shit. Sorry, Jay. I forgot. Alright?"
"'m fine," he mumbles, leaning into the touch. "'m good. Keep talking?"
"I can do that."
Jason goes limp, letting his eyes slip shut as Dick starts rambling— about his day, about plans for a meetup with Kori and Donna later in the week, about trying to play matchmaker for somebody that Jason can't quite remember. It soothes the scared animal part of his brain that continues to insist he's buried under a warehouse in Ethiopia instead of safe at home.
Cass joins them later, curling up on Jason's other side and signing against his chest where he can feel it— it's barely understandable with his eyes closed, but he's able to make out the word safe pressed over his heart well enough for a rush of fondness to overtake him.
Damian follows suit. He doesn't crawl into bed with them, and instead curls into an armchair next to Jason's bed. When Dick's voice starts to waver, Damian picks up and starts reading out of an animal care book he picked up a few weeks ago.
Tim and Bruce are the last ones in the room— freshly showered and changed into softer clothes after patrol. Jason's eyes crack open long when he feels Tim's hands against his arm, tugging it into place just long enough for Bruce to inject the antidote for the fear toxin.
Even as it starts to work, the flashbacks don't leave. They never do.
"Stay," he murmurs, barely audible over Damian's reading. Bruce and Tim both freeze in place, just about to walk out of the room and leave Jason alone. Again.
(Not alone now, not really, but without Bruce. Jason needs his dad here now. Who else is going to pull him out of the rubble when the ceiling collapses in on him again?)
"Of course, Jaylad," Bruce sits on the edge of the bed, running a hand through Jason's hair and leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. "You're safe now. Sleep."
Tim still hesitates on the edge of the room, ready to start edging out the door, before Damian lashes an arm out to drag him closer— right into Bruce's grabbing range and then into the bed with the rest of them. He doesn't even have time to get a protest out before he's passed out.
"Fuckin'— you gotta get him checked for somethin'," Jason's voice slurs as the antidote works through him enough for the exhaustion to peek through. "How's he sleep like that? Fuckin'— weird-ass kid."
"Sure, Jason," Bruce snorts. "Go to sleep."
"No," he wants to say. He doesn't think he manages to get the words out, though, because his tongue feels heavy in his mouth and too thick to speak. He's out before he can remember to worry about the ceiling again.