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Headlights.
Screeching tires.
Ice cold.
Thwank .
Searing pain.
He’s pacing back and forth, though he doesn’t realize it. Everything keeps playing in his head in slow motion. The headlights. The screeching tires. The ice cold. The thwank . The searing pain. All of it, repeating over and over in his mind in exact detail, focusing on every flaw, every mistake he made, anything he could’ve done better(right) to prevent…this.
He doesn’t want to think about it, but between pulses from the headache he has, he’s seeing the accident. The accident he caused. Because he wasn’t paying attention. He wasn’t paying attention and nearly got Dick killed.
He nearly killed his brother.
--
They’re fighting Mr. Freeze in Gotham because Batman is off world with the Justice League. The villain’s stolen a refrigerated dairy truck for reasons Jason isn’t sure of. Freeze usually works alone, but for some reason he’s got lackeys helping him that the Titans have to fight. Jason takes down one of the lackeys with a non-lethal shot to the chest. It’s a few inches below the breastbone, so the guy will have a bruised rib or two, but he won’t die. Jason steps away to let the team know he’s taken out the goons around him and he doesn’t notice the headlights coming toward him until it’s too late.
“Jason!”
Dick shoves him out of the way of the truck Freeze is driving manically toward him, tires screeching as he swerves to avoid his “help”. Jason falls directly onto his wrist, bending it in an awkward way. Freeze had given his minions cold guns, so the entire area is covered in a thick layer of ice that Jason slides across. He hits his head on a lamppost hard enough to make a sound, and his vision gets spotty. When he finally manages to clear the spots and sit up, he’s met with something he never wanted to see and never wants to see again.
Dick is laying in the street, a pool of blood around him. Jason shakily rushes toward him, trying to find where the blood is coming from so he can stop it. But he can’t find one singular place. There are gashes all over Dick’s body, each spilling blood at a steady rate. Jason tries to stop the blood, but it’s coming from everywhere and he doesn’t have enough hands.
“Dick, nonono. You’re gonna be okay, Dick. You’re gonna be okay,” Jason frets. “Call an ambulance! Call Alfred! Call Barbara! Call someone !”
In his panic, Jason forgets about codenames. He doesn’t care, though. He just needs to save Dick. He needs to save his brother.
***
Barbara hacks into the Batcomputer and sends the Batmobile their way and Jason stays with Dick the whole way back to the Batcave. Jason’s fingers stay on Dick’s pulse point the entire time, making sure the older is still alive. Dick’s pulse is weak, but there and Jason thanks whatever higher power for small miracles. When they get to the Cave and Alfred comes to get Dick, Jason is reluctant to let go. He has to make sure Dick is alive, that he’s gonna be okay. Alfred has to practically pry Jason’s fingers off of Dick’s suit.
“He’ll be alright, Jason,” the butler assures. “But I need to patch him up.”
Jason nods absentmindedly, releasing his grip on his brother. “Right, right. Yeah, of course.”
--
That was an hour ago and Jason still hasn’t left the area, staring down the hallway to the med bay in between bouts of pacing. He hasn’t changed out of his costume, his wrist hurts, and his vision keeps swimming, but he can’t leave. Not until he knows Dick is alive. Until he knows his big brother is safe.
“Jay?” Gar’s voice is gentle. “Hey. You okay?”
Jason can’t find the words to say, so he just shakes his head and keeps pacing arms wrapped around himself. His whole body feels numb and like it’s on fire at the same time. He can’t shake the feeling that if he just…
“Jason, breathe, man. It’s okay. You’re okay.”
Jason realizes belatedly that he’s having a panic attack. His hands shake at his sides and his chest feels tight and his skin feels like it’s trying to crawl away from him and his clothes feel wrong. He’s still got Dick’s blood on him, though it’s long since dried by now, and his suit feels heavy and itchy. There’s too much weight on his chest and he can’t breathe, cant think, can’t…do anything right. Everything feels wrong, his head, his wrist, his feelings. He can’t figure out how he’s supposed to feel, or what he’s supposed to do. He can’t think beyond the voice screeching in his head. You’re not good enough. You’re doing it wrong. You should be better.
Gar’s voice breaks through his thoughts. “Jason, you gotta breathe, man. Breathe with me, please.”
Jason tries to focus on Gar, but it’s hard when there are two of him. So Jason closes his eyes and puts a hand on Gar’s chest and tries to match his own breathing to that of his friend’s. It takes a few moments, but Jason feels his panic receding. When he opens his eyes, there are still two of Gar, so Jason shakes his head to get rid of one of them.
“I’m fine,” he manages, though his voice is raw.
“Jay, your wrist is hurt and you probably have a concussion. You need to get checked out.”
The too goes unsaid, but hangs in the air like fear toxin. Jason reaches a hand up to feel the back of his head and hisses when he touches an open wound. His hair is matted with drying blood. Still, Jason shakes his head.
“I’m fine.”
“Jay…”
“I’m fine.”
It’s all he can say and he’s not sure if he’s trying to convince Gar or himself more. He has to be fine, because if he’s not fine, if he’s hurt, he’s useless. The Titans will see he’s not good enough, that he’s nothing but a worthless street kid.
“Jason, listen to me. Dick’s gonna be okay. He’s been through worse than this and Alfred is great at patching heroes up. Dick will be fine,” Gar assures.
The words bounce off Jason’s brain, not actually sticking. He hears them, but he doesn’t process them. His brain is filled with too many other thoughts right now. Thoughts of Dick, of what happened, of his worth as a Titan, all swirling around in his head, bouncing off the walls of his brain and slamming into each other like bumper carts at a carnival. They make him dizzy, though that could just be the headache. Manic laughter echoes in his head as every negative thought he has grows bigger and bigger, beating against his skull and continuing to grow until the pressure in his head reaches a boiling point.
And then everything goes blank.
When he comes to, he’s laying on a cot and it takes him a moment to realize he’s in a room in the med bay. There’s a black and red cast on his right wrist, the one he landed on, and a wrap around his head. He tries to sit up, but his head pounds and he lays back down.
“Hey.” Gar speed-walks over. “Don’t sit up. You’re hurt.”
“Yeah,” Jason rasps, closing his eyes to block out the harsh med bay lights. “Gathered that.”
Gar notices and flicks off the lights. “Your wrist is broken, you have a good sized gash on the back of your head, and I think you have a concussion.”
“How’s Dick?”
“He’ll be fine. Couple broken bones, a lot of cuts and bruises, a few bruised ribs, and a collapsed lung. Alfred fixed him up and he’ll be just fine. If you want, I can ask Alfred to move him in here,” Gar offers.
Jason just shrugs, not wanting to admit he won’t be able to sleep properly until he knows that his big brother is okay. He’s been more vulnerable lately, but a large part of him won’t allow himself to admit he needs any help. Gar understands, though, and wordlessly leaves the room. A few minutes later, Gar comes back in, Alfred in tow, wheeling Dick’s bed in, too. Jason sits up as much as he can to look at him, ignoring the pounding in his skull.
“Is he okay?”
Jason knows that Gar said Dick will be okay, but he needs to hear it from Alfred. Alfred makes sure all the monitors are hooked up before turning to Jason.
“He’ll be just fine, sir. You both need rest, though. I’ve already let Mr. Wayne know the situation.”
Jason panics. “Is he coming back?”
Every neuron is firing rapidly in Jason’s brain, trying to figure out if Bruce is going to be disappointed in him or, worse, mad at him. He has half a mind to sneak out before Bruce gets back, but the way his head throbs and his wrist aches tells him he’s not going anywhere for a while. He’s had concussions and broken bones before, but this is different. Plus, he can’t leave until he knows Dick is okay. He wishes the man would wake up, even just to tell him it’s okay.
Alfred’s words pull Jason from his thoughts. “Unfortunately, he’s very busy with his mission and won’t be back until next week.”
Still, Jason feels like he can’t relax. He has 7 days, 168 hours, 10,080 minutes until Bruce eventually kicks him out for getting Dick hurt. He’s been a terrible son, a terrible brother, a terrible friend. He can’t fathom even being here when Bruce gets back and sees what he’s done. He can’t stand the thought that Bruce, his pseudo father will hate him. Every bone in his body, every fiber of his being screams at him to leave, to get the fuck out before he can hurt someone again(before Bruce can reject him).
“Jay, are you alright?” Gar asks.
Jason nods absentmindedly, trying to bring his mind back to the matter at hand. Bruce isn’t here yet, there’s no proof that he’ll be upset with Jason. Besides, Dick is fine. Like Gar said, he’s been through worse.
Gar kneels next to him. “Jay, I’m gonna ask you a question and I need you to answer honestly, okay?” Jason nods, brain foggy. “When was the last time you took your meds?”
“I…don’t know. A…a couple weeks ago, I guess.”
If Jason thinks about it, which hurts, it makes sense that what’s happened can be tied to not taking his meds. He’s been completely unfocused, overly tired, and more unhinged than even before. But he keeps forgetting to take the meds he knows he needs, excuse after excuse piling on top of each other.
Gar sighs. “Jay, you know you have to take them every day, man.”
It’s not scolding, it’s concern. Jason and Gar have both shared apprehension about being scolded or talked down to.
“I know, I just kept forgetting.”
Gar waves a hand. “We can talk about it later. You should rest now.”
“Are you gonna stay?” Jason asks, trying to keep the worry from his voice.
Gar smiles. “Of course I am. Someone’s gotta look after your accident-prone ass.”
He settles into a chair at the edge of the room and Jason huffs in fake exacerbation. It’s not his fault shit keeps happening to him. Gar cards a hand through Jason’s hair, careful of the bandage around his head.
“Sleep, Jay. I’m right here. I’ll wake you if anything happens to Dick,” Gar soothes.
Jason’s eyes start to droop, feeling comfortable next to his two favorite people. His mind finally settles, recognizing that he’s actually safe, that no one’s gonna hurt him. He falls asleep, thoughts finally shutting up.
When he wakes up, Gar isn’t there, but there’s a note saying he went to have dinner and will be back in an hour. The timestamp tells Jason that was only 15(?) minutes ago. He’s not really sure, because the clock is blurry and keeps moving.
A groan sounds from his left and Jason immediately turns toward it. The action sends shots of pain through his skull that make him wince.
Another groan. “You okay, Jason?”
It’s Dick. Dick is awake. His big brother is awake!
“I should be asking you that. You’re the one who got…”
Jason trails off, because he’s not really sure what happened to Dick. He was too busy worrying about himself to know what happened after he fell. Did Dick get hit by the truck? Did Freeze run him over? Jason doesn’t know because he never thought to ask.
“Hit by a refrigerated dairy truck driven by one of the League’s many cold-based villains? Yeah, kinda feel like it.”
He tries to joke, but Jason can’t laugh. Dick was hit by a truck(a dairy one, but still) because of him.
“Woah, Jaybird, what’s wrong?”
Jason doesn’t realize he’s crying until Dick says something.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Jason blubbers. Gods, he’s pathetic.
Dick sits up, groaning. “Jason, you have nothing to be sorry for. None of it was your fault, okay? It was mine. I saw the truck coming at you and I just…reacted. I couldn’t let you get hurt. Not again.”
Jason doesn’t know what to say. No one’s ever not wanted him to get hurt. It wasn’t like they purposely hurt him(aside from one foster family, but he tries not to think about that), but they never cared if he got hurt. Most of the time, they claimed he was the cause. He was klutzy and tripped down the stairs, he was provoking someone and got a black eye for his efforts, he wasn’t wearing a helmet, so the gash on his head was his fault(it didn’t matter that he was 8 and Ray refused to buy him a helmet). No one, not even Bruce, really, ever cared if he got hurt. Batman uses Robin as a distraction, a child human shield. If Jason was ever hurt, Bruce would send him to Alfred to get patched up with a curt “be more careful next time”.
Noticing the far off look in his brother’s eyes, Dick tries to bring Jason back to the present.
“Jason, I’m okay.”
There’s a long silence and Dick isn’t sure if Jason is still awake, since he’s sore all over and can’t turn to look at the younger. Finally, Jason speaks, though it’s so quiet Dick has to strain to hear him.
“Promise?”
“What?”
Jason sighs. “I know…I know Gar said you were gonna be okay and Alfred said you were fine, but I just…I can’t believe it. My fucking brain won’t let me. I fucked up again and you got hurt. I can’t forgive myself for that. But if…if I know you’re okay, if I hear it from the source, I think it’ll stick. I know that it’s shitty to ask you to make me feel better, but…”
“I get it,” Dick interrupts, knowing Jason’s spiraling. “I promise I’m okay, Little Wing.”
Jason quirks an eyebrow. “Little Wing?”
Dick shrugs. “Thought I’d try it. I won’t call you that if you don’t want me to.”
“I don’t hate it.”
Dick smiles. “Good to know. Y’know, we have matching casts.”
And he’s right. When Jason looks, Dick’s left arm is wrapped in a black and blue cast, matching Jason’s own red and black cast. Jason chuckles, of course Dick would notice that.
“They match our suits,” Jason adds.
“Yeah, I guess they do.”
***
He’s falling. He’s falling again. Every floor of the building flies by, blending together in a blur of lights. But he doesn’t hit the ground, instead sinking through it into the next nightmare. The truck is flying toward him and this time it hits him. He’s sent tumbling backward, smashing into the next nightmare. His bones shatter and his skull caves in, the steel splitting his skin every time it’s slammed down onto his body. Manic laughter echoes around the empty area, combined with the mechanical sounds of the clown animatronic. Every part of him hurts and he feels his consciousness slip from his body.
And then he’s falling.
Dick watches helplessly as Jason tosses and turns in his sleep, deep in the throes of a nightmare. Jason’s whimpers break Dick’s heart and he can’t take it anymore. He carefully climbs out of his bed, taking all the equipment he’s hooked up to with him and climbs into Jason’s bed, wrapping the younger in his arms.
“Shh. I’m here. You’re ok-you’re safe, Little Wing. I’ve got you. You’re safe,” Dick soothes.
Jason calms, though his body still shakes slightly. Dick cards a hand through Jason’s hair, continuing to whisper sweet nothings to him. Jason wraps his arm around Dick and cuddles closer and Dick squeezes him tight enough to comfort, but not to hurt either of them.
“You’re a good big brother,” Jason mumbles and Dick’s heart swells.
***
That’s how Bruce finds them, wrapped in each other’s arms and sleeping soundly. He almost doesn’t want to wake them, but Alfred was vague with his details, just saying both Jason and Dick got hurt while fighting Freeze. Bruce had finished his part of the mission and headed back to Gotham early, citing a “family emergency” when the League asked and telling them they could contact him if they needed. And only if they needed.
Right now, the people who need him are his sons, curled together in one bed in the med bay, various casts and bandages covering their bodies. Dick looks physically worse, but Bruce knows Jason didn’t walk away unscathed. He’s already got so much repressed trauma, every bad thing that happens just piles onto that.
“Bruce?” Dick asks, peeling his eyes open to look at his guardian.
Bruce walks closer to the bed, nodding. “Yeah, it’s me. How are you feeling?”
“Fine.” At the look Bruce gives him, Dick backtracks. “Sore, but I’ll live.”
“That’s good. What happened? Alfred didn’t give many details.”
“We were fighting Mr. Freeze and he drove a truck toward Jason. Jason wasn’t paying attention and I didn’t want him to get hurt, so I pushed him out of the way,” Dick explains.
“And took the hit of the truck yourself,” Bruce adds.
Dick shrugs. “Yeah. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Wish there wasn’t a first time.”
Dick shrugs again, though he really shouldn’t, his whole body hurts. “Part of the job, B.”
Bruce sighs, knowing it’s his fault Dick is so flippant about his own safety. Since Dick was 14, Bruce has trained him to fight, to be an emotionless, analytical, crime-hating vigilante. Bruce realizes he’s never let Dick be a kid, never comforted him over his parents’ deaths, never tried to connect with him outside the masks. Bruce has failed him, failed both of them and that’s none more apparent than when Jason wakes up.
The fear in Jason’s eyes when he sees Bruce shatters the man’s heart. Bruce doesn’t want anyone(aside from criminals) to feel fear when they see him, especially his sons. Usually, Batman sparks hope in the citizens of Gotham, but how can he do that if his own son is afraid of him.
The minute Jason wakes up, he sees Bruce and his brain short-circuits. He knows Bruce is going to yell at him, berate him for not being good enough. Jason thought he had a week before Bruce got back. He was supposed to have seven days, but those seven days apparently whittled down into a mere…five hours. He can’t cope with the fact that his time to figure out what to do has been cut by 90%. His time to prepare himself for a lecture was too short and he knows he won’t be able to deal with that, not from Bruce. So he lets himself dissociate, retreating into his mind like he used to every time someone yelled at him or hit him or whenever he’d find his mom…
“-son? Jason?”
Dick’s voice brings him back to reality. Jason blinks a couple times, realizing both Dick and Bruce are staring at him, concern written all over their faces.
“Huh?”
Dick pulls him closer. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Jason doesn’t understand why they’re staring at him so intently.
Dick explains. “You were just staring off into space. We thought you were having a seizure.”
It makes sense, he did take a blow to the head earlier.
“No, I’m fine. I guess I just tune out when people yell at me,” Jason tells Dick, trying to avoid Bruce’s eyes.
“Jay, no one’s yelling at you. Bruce is concerned about you. About us,” Dick assures.
Jason isn’t sure he believes it, but Dick wouldn’t lie. Omit, gloss over, sure, but he’d never outright lie, especially not to Jason. Slowly, Jason nods, taking in Bruce’s face, his eyes, and his body language. Not a single one reads angry, rather worried and upset.
Jason feels his body untense and he doesn’t realize he’d been clenching his fists until they relax, stiff fingers spreading out under the blanket. He’s still curled up next to Dick, but he doesn’t feel embarrassed. Instead, he wants to sink into the warmth and comfort he feels from his older brother.
“Are you okay, Jason?” Bruce asks, stepping a little closer.
Jason nods, trying to keep his brain present. “I’m fine. It’s just a broken wrist.”
That doesn’t seem to assuage Bruce’s fears, as concern fills the man’s eyes. Jason doesn’t know how else to word it. He’d gotten his fair share of broken bones both in foster care and while living on the streets. There’s almost nothing Jason didn’t experience after Ray died, but he knows he can’t tell anyone. They’ll think he’s a charity case or a dirty street kid. He doesn’t need their pity or disgust.
Bruce sighs. “This means neither of you can patrol or go on missions for the next six weeks, at least.”
“We can still help, right?” Dick asks, sitting up a bit.
“From HQ, yes. But no going out into the field until you’re fully healed.”
Jason rolls his eyes, but for some reason, he doesn’t feel talked down to or patronized. He feels…cared for? Cared about? And he’s not sure if he understands it. There’s been no parental figure in his life that actually cared about him. He’s always been an obligation, so he doesn’t know how to react to the genuine care and concern in Bruce’s eyes and voice. But there’s still a question that rattles around in Jason’s brain. Before he can stop himself, words are tumbling out of his mouth.
“Why aren’t you mad at me?”
Bruce falters, stares for a moment before clearing his throat. “What do you mean?”
Jason can’t meet his eyes. “I fucked up again. You should be mad at me.”
“It’s not your fault, Jason. It’s not either of your faults. When you fight a villain, especially one like Freeze, things happen and nobody but Freeze can be held accountable for this accident,” Bruce assures. “I’m just…I’m glad you’re both alive. That you’re able to recover from this.”
It’s the most emotion Bruce has ever shown and, again, Jason isn’t sure how to react. But Dick, ever the eloquent one, speaks for the both of them.
“We’re okay, B. We’re gonna be fine. We’re strong guys.”
And Jason couldn’t have said it better himself.