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jason's pretty sure he can feel his brain melting.
he's so tired he's dizzy, nearly falling asleep standing in the middle of your living room, helmet in his hands and suit still on.
and there you are on the couch, with a smile so soft and inviting— warm like candlelight, safe like his favorite blanket— that it almost distracts him from the way you are absolutely scrutinizing him.
but he knows you. and you know him. so the question you're about to ask is probably more for show than anything.
"hey," you offer gently, setting your phone aside and pushing up out of your seat. "y'alright?"
"yeah," he answers, nodding slowly and wondering for a brief moment if it's worth trying to mask what you've already seen. but then you step into his space and beneath that loving smile is a sharp eye and a sharper mind and the answer is no, it's not even close to worth it. "tired as hell."
"bruised, broken, bleeding?"
"yeah, no, and... probably not."
some of the intensity fades from your eyes. some of it. a little. "i'll take it."
"could be worse."
you hum, knuckles coming up to brush against his cheek. "hungry?"
"only if i can eat in my sleep," he mumbles wryly, not fighting the way his head tilts towards your touch.
"not recommended, no," you say, brushing a curl of hair back from his face. the warmth of your fingers feels like gravity, tugging him home to solid ground as you trace down the side of his face and along his jaw. "but you can wash off while i heat up leftovers."
jason nods again, too tired to come up with something witty and definitely too tired to argue with you, and slides forward in your grip to kiss the heel of your palm in silent appreciation.
silent appreciation isn't even close to enough, he decides. not when he steps out of the shower to find the fluffiest towel you own ready and waiting, right next to a neatly-folded change of clothes. not when he stumbles out of the bathroom to the smell of re-heated soup and freshly steeped tea. not when he drops into his unspoken-but-claimed chair at your table and you step into his space like it's second nature, hands finding his shoulders and gently kneading through the stubborn tension there.
nowhere near close to enough, he thinks.
when he's conscious enough to think about more than the way his bones ache and the way your lips feel against his head, he'll make it up to you. for now, he watches— lagging, sluggish, he so needs to be asleep— as you take the bowl he's working up the nerve to go wash out.
"hey—"
"don't even," you say evenly, cutting his protests short without so much as a glance backwards. "bed time."
if there is one thing jason todd knows, it's the importance of picking his fights. he doesn't always do it, but he does now.
he lets the dishes go.
instead, his rebellion is to stay seated while you wash them off. he stubbornly waits, ignoring the pointed glances you throw him, until you're drying your hands off and turning off the kitchen lights.
"any particular reason you're rotting at my table instead of getting some rest?" you ask dryly.
a breath of laughter warms its way up his throat, and he lets his head fall back against the back of the chair. he lazily watches you approach him, weighing his options.
the truth is, he has exactly zero faith in his ability to stay awake once his head hits the pillow, and the only thing he wants more than to pass out is to pass out next to you.
but i don't want to fall asleep before i can hold you feels… a bit much. even in the face of the overwhelming way you're just taking care of him like it's the easiest thing in the world.
"just enjoying the view." hitting on you is hardly the thank you you deserve, but it comes much more easily than the proclamations and gestures and romance you should be getting.
he's working on that.
you shake your head, your look of begrudging amusement making the already-huge ball of love in his chest swell even larger. "well, show's over, mister. bed time."
"who made you boss, huh?" he murmurs up at you. because he's an idiot.
which is partly because it makes you cock your head a little and look at him like you're dealing with an unruly but amusing puppy.
which… should probably bother him, considering he's a full grown man with a body count and not a little yappy thing on four legs.
it doesn't, though. you're too cute for it to bother him.
"i did," you murmur, leaning forwards so that your head is over his and you're looking down at him. he can smell your lotion like this, and he tries to be subtle about the breath he takes in. "because when people don't take good care of the things i love, it's time to take over."
things i love.
yeah. okay. when he can feel his brain again, he's going to… he isn't even sure what. do something amazing. take you to a beach somewhere or something.
in the mean time, he needs to be clever. funny. he needs to say something to make you smile down at him again and make it a little more worth your time to look after his sorry ass.
"you're the thing," you whisper conspiratorially before he has the chance. "before you start talking about how the helmet's in perfect condition or whatever, it's you. i'm talking about you, and you need rest."
…well.
he's not even bothered that you know where that joke was going. honestly, there's something nice about it— someone knowing his next move should feel deeply, deeply wrong, but when it's you…
well.
honestly, it just makes him want to kiss you.
lots of things just make him want to kiss you.
"fine," he relents instead, sighing tiredly. "bed time."
"attaboy."
he follows you like a puppy.
somehow, he can't manage more than a mild sense of indignation about it.
he leans against your bathroom counter and brushes his teeth while you brush yours, and he rests his head against the doorframe as you rinse both brushes out and put them away, and he only moves when you turn to leave.
jason, clean and fed and comfortable and cared for, follows you right into your bed.
he doesn't curl up into you, not like when you lay together before getting up— instead, he lays on his stomach and buries his face in one of your pillows and drapes an arm across your waist. not to contain you, not enough to make him worry about squishing you, just enough to feel you close and sync his breath to yours.
for about a minute and a half, before he's sound asleep.