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Jason woke with a gasp, wide eyes staring at the blank white of his ceiling but still seeing the afterimages of green and purple stained with red. He was cold, despite the sweat-damp sheets and the wetness between his legs that made him worry it was something worse. He was shaky, flashes behind his eyes every time he blinked, and his hand twitched absently across the bed-
No. He didn’t need it. He didn’t need it, he was fine.
He pushed the blankets back, stumbling slightly as he got up and discovered one leg had fallen asleep. He rubbed at his face, tears dripping down his cheeks as every shaky breath forced tiny sounds out of him. He reached for the bedside lamp, finching at the feeling of something soft against his wrist as he turned the switch. He sighed as the room was lit with warm light, though he still eyed the darkened corners warily as he padded towards the dresser.
He stripped out of whatever t-shirt and shorts he’d dressed himself in, he couldn’t remember right now, and tossed them at the laundry chute. He didn’t want to go over and check that they made it in. He took a shaky breath, still whimpering every few seconds as he forced himself to look up at the mirror. God, he looked like a mess. He couldn’t get it out of his head. That laugh…
He whined, shaking his head and pulling open the top drawer. Instinctively his hands landed on something soft, and he froze. He didn’t need it. He didn’t. But they were just pajamas. Adult pajamas, made for adults, even if they were soft and hero-themed. He didn’t need it. Wearing these didn’t mean he did. He just wanted to sleep comfortably. It was fine. He just needed clean pajamas, that was it.
He pulled them on with careful movements, sighing at how loose they felt around his hips right now, before realizing what he was thinking. No. He did not need that. He didn’t. He was fine. It was just a stupid dream and some tears, he just needed to get out of his own head and go back to sleep. He was fine. He was.
Once he was dressed, he padded back across the thick carpet, feeling the soft fibers squish under him. It was familiar, he remembered how novel it was when he first moved into Wayne Manor as a kid, how it felt like the height of luxury. He’d been so young back then, so little and carefree, and if he had nightmares like this he’d just-
No. He wasn’t going to think about that. He wasn’t a little kid anymore, he didn’t have nightmares, just stupid dreams. He didn’t need to go to his dad’s room for snuggles. Hell, he hardly wanted to see Bruce at all right now. He just needed to stop thinking about that fucking clown and go back to bed. He needed to stop fucking crying.
Somehow that thought just made the tears come harder.
He turned around and boosted himself up onto the mattress, feet dangling just enough for his toes to brush the carpet. His hands curled up by his chest, over his sternum, breathing shaky as fresh tears dripped down his cheeks. His shoulders trembled and he bit his tongue, yet failed to muffle the whine that spilled out. His hands moved to clutch at his arms, nails digging into his skin as he fought through a wave of soft cries. By the time they tapered off to sniffles and quiet tears, his stomach hurt, and his nails had left behind half-moon shaped marks. He sighed, shaky and as quiet as he could manage, and drew his legs up too, hugging them to his chest and hating the way something settled when his arms curled around them. This was stupid, so stupid, he wasn’t some dumb little kid.
He ignored the Wonder Woman plush on the nightstand taunting him, and rolled onto his side, trying not to think about it. He pulled the blankets up over him and curled up, rolling back onto his back after a few moments. He stared up at the empty white ceiling again and tried to fall asleep, but he just couldn’t stop crying. The tears still dripped down his cheeks and his chest ached with something empty, like a black hole eating away at his insides. He just wanted to forget and go back to sleep. He didn’t need it. He didn’t need it. He just needed to calm the fuck down and close his eyes.
But every time he did, he saw it again.
Green and purple and red muddled together in every dark corner, laughter still echoing in his ears like the world’s worst earworm. Afterimages of metal and blood and the flash of explosions looped in his head and he saw it when he closed his eyes. The phantom pain, body braced for blows that weren’t going to come, was his own personal hell. Couldn't he just forget it, like he forgot so much of everything else? Couldn’t it have gone away with the pit? Why did he have to keep suffering for that stupid decision, wasn’t being tortured and dying already enough to atone?
He burst into tears again, sobbing into his hands then clawing at his arms, scratching red lines into pale skin, ones that faded like they were never there. He was forced to sit up and lean back against the pillows just to get a breath between painful gasps, digging his nails in harder. He wished he didn’t heal so easily, that the Lazarus water didn’t still live in his blood like both a blessing and a curse. If he could just draw blood at least once then at least there would be proof of the pain, maybe that would be enough to atone, if he could just make himself scarred again. Maybe God needed proof of his suffering. Maybe then it would stop.
The door to his room creaked open.
His head shot up at the sound, hands yanking away from his arms like a child caught touching something weren’t supposed to. He didn’t know if the marks were still visible. Damian was standing in the doorway, arm wrapped around a stuffed bear in a way that made Jason’s chest ache. He didn’t want it, he didn’t. He was fine. He didn’t need to hold something. He just needed to calm down and go back to bed. It was fine.
“Akhi.” His voice was calm, which was weirdly reassuring, and he held out a hand. Jason just stared. Where had the kid even come from? Was he just wandering around? Why was he up this late?
“You’re up late,” he mumbled.
“You are too,” Damian retorted, and made the gesture again.
Jason only tilted his head. ‘Did I wake you?” He hoped not, he didn’t want to be so loud. What if someone else heard him? Dickie, Bruce, worst of all Tim. He tried to sound more apologetic than ashamed. Maybe he could play it off. It would be fine.
Damian shook his head and gestured more insistently. Jason didn’t know what was going on. The boy sighed and rolled his eyes, making his way to the bed with a sureness that just made it even more confusing. He grabbed the plush off the nightstand and pushed it firmly into Jason’s chest, then grabbed one of his hands and started pulling. “C’mon.”
Jason blinked, instinctively grabbing the plush to keep it from falling as he was urged out of bed. “Kid, what?” He wrapped his arm around it, holding it against his chest in a mirror as Damian’s hand curled properly around his. “What’s going on?”
Domain shook his head. “You are being stubborn, akhi. You do not need to fight so hard. A dream is just a dream.”
He was still completely calm, almost weirdly so - Jason was certain he’d heard the crying, but there was no fussing about it or pressing Jason on the details. He was just fine. It was almost soothing, being treated like nothing was happening, like Jason hadn’t completely embarrassed himself. He looked around, half-recognizing the path but still just fuzzy enough that it wouldn’t register.
“What’re you doing?” he asked, hugging the doll a little tighter against his chest, still tracking the shadows.
“Father’s room is down the hall,” Damian said, and jason froze.
“Wait- what?” He stopped, shaking his head as he tried to pull his hand away. ‘Dami, I’m fine, I don’t need to see him. He doesn’t want me waking him up anyway, c’mon, it’s fine. I’m fine, just go back to bed-”
“Quiet, akhi,” Damian interrupted, and tugged sharply at Jason’s wrist to make him stumble and fall into step again. “Don’t fight so much. You’re too stubborn. Father will not mind, it is not something to worry about. He knows you stayed tonight, yes?”
“... Yeah?” Jason swallowed, heart beating faster, he didn’t want to see Bruce, not now, not like this. But Damian was so insistent and despite the years he couldn’t fully resist his prince’s commands. “I don’t- it’s fine, Damian, I don’t need to see him. Even if he doesn’t care. You don’t need to do this.”
“Hm.” Damian just kept walking, and Jason couldn’t bring himself to really pull away.
He sighed softly, breathing still just slightly shaky, though the confusion of Damian’s appearance had shaken him out of it slightly. Tears still dripped down his cheeks every few moments, even though he wasn’t crying really, just… teary. He hated it. Why couldn’t he just calm down? And now his arms were all scratched up (or they had been), and he had to face his dad after all of it. Ugh. He didn’t want to see Bruce right now, not like this.
Damian’s hand tightened on his, and he squeezed back, taking a deep breath and letting his shoulders drop. He felt so tired, his chest felt emptied like someone had hollowed him out with a shovel. He drooped forward, shoulders sagging and head tilting down as he let Damian lead him along. It felt familiar. He stared down at the wooden floor, breathing growing heavier as the feelings set in again. It was so much, he was so tired, and the tears just kept coming. Damian’s hand was warm and he tried to focus on that, anchoring himself to his prince’s touch.
“Just a little longer, rishti,” Damian murmured, his voice dropping softer, warmer in the wake of Jason giving in. His thumb traced the back of Jason’s hand in soft patterns, a familiar touch, something to keep Jason calm until they got to their father’s room. “It’s a quiet night. There is nothing to worry about.”
Jason nodded softly and lifted his head, trying to straighten up a bit and keep himself steady. The shadows were still so dark, but he was safe with his prince, and soon he would be even safer. Nothing could get into Wayne Manor, no matter how much his brain kept screaming. He just wanted it to be quiet. Couldn’t it just be quiet? He didn’t want to hear the laughing anymore.
The wood floor was cold under his feet. He wished he’d grabbed those nice soft socks that Dickie had got for him. The ones with the little birds and the toes that looked like clouds. They were cute. And warm. He tried to ignore the discomfort though. It was just a lot on top of everything. He just wanted to sleep and for his head to be quiet again…
The door was in front of him suddenly. This time, Damian knocked. It didn’t take long for Bruce to push it open, still half asleep.
“Father, I had a nightmare,” Damian said, his voice still calm. “I brought akhi as well.”
It was an obvious lie, with Damian standing there calm as can be, and Jason still snifffling; he almost wilted under Bruce’s gaze.
But Bruce didn’t call it out. “Alright,” he said instead, ‘well, you better come to bed then, before Alred catches you up past bedtime.” A soft pat on Damian’s head and he gave Jason a smile. ‘C’mon, you too, Jaylad. You wouldn’t deny him after a nightmare, would you?”
Jason shook his head, taking the excuse and slipping into the room. Damian let go of his hand he nearly whined, but then Bruce’s hand was on his back and it was okay again.
“Father,” Damian called out again, climbing into the bed and sitting on the edge. He paused for a second. “... I believe I require some extra protection tonight. But I will only do it if akhi agrees as well.”
Jason flushed. God, how was this kid so good at reading him? Well, he knew how. But it was… It was such an obvious lie and yet so sweet and so much. Damian hated when he needed to wear diapers, he’d always resist until he got too little. Jason had actually been the one to originally convince him it was okay. And now here he was, pretending to need them so Jason didn’t have to be embarrassed.
Bruce gave him a knowing look and he ducked his head. He took a breath and faked it, walking over to ruffle Damian’s hair and sit down as well. “Fine, fine, demon brat. But only this once, you hear me?” But his voice came out soft, too soft, rounded at the edges and his bravado unconvincing.
Damian nodded and gave him the smallest smile. “Of course, akhi.”
When Bruce came back from the bathroom, Jason shifted up out of the way, letting Bruce put the changing mat down. He pretended to grumble as he situated himself on it next to Damian and closed his eyes. Bruce’s hands were warm and gentle as always, lifting his hips and sliding off his pants and boxers. He could hear Bruce toss the boxers somewhere, and then he was being lifted again. A warm wipe was run over his skin, followed by a little bit of lotion and baby powder, his thoughts drowned by Bruce's soft humming. The thick padding of the diaper was gently placed under him and he was laid down on top, the front folded up careful. He could hear it being taped shut and then the cold was chased away by his dada’s hands pulling the soft pajama pants back up.
“There we go,” Bruce murmured, patting Jason’s head. “Why don’t you lay down now, Jaylad?” Then, turning, “are you ready, habibi?”
Jason blinked, eyes fluttering open again. He pulled himself off the changing mat and crawled to the other side of the bed, crawling in under the blankets. He watched quietly as Bruce changed Damian too - his diaper was a lot thinner, though still soft. He was cleaned and lotioned and powdered just the same, and then dressed back up and let go. He rolled off the mat and sat up as Bruce folded it up and carried it back into the bathroom. It was only once he’d disappeared through the door that Damian shifted and crawled over to Jason, slipping in beside him. He curled up against Jason, snuggling up into the warmth of Jason’s body, and Jason relaxed.
“Goodnight, akhi,” Damian murmured, warm breath against Jason’s chest, hands clutching at the fabric of Jason’s shirt. He pressed his face into the space of Jason's collarbone, humming contentedly.
Jason smiled, curling up around the smaller figure, wrapping his arms around Damian in return. The warmth of Damian’s body, how calm he was, pulled up something deep inside Jason’s mind. Damian was safe and calm, and that meant Jason was safe as well. “Night, ‘amiri.”
The blankets were pulled back again, the bed dipping under familiar weight as Bruce slipped in with both of them. One arm draped loosely over both of them, warm and solid, with enough weight to reassure, and Jason sighed in relief. Bruce’s free hand rubbed at his face, brushing the tears from Jason’s cheeks and lashes, and Jason couldn’t help but lean into it, chasing the old, familiar feeling. He hadn’t felt this in a very long time. “Let’s hope there’s no more bad dreams tonight, yes?” A soft hum left him, brushing fingers up through Jason’s hair. “Maybe in the morning, Alfred will bring you breakfast for your troubles.” A considering hum. “And maybe a nice warm bottle for the little one.”
Jason snuggled in, feeling Bruce press a soft kiss to his forehead, hearing him do the same to the top of Damian’s head. “Night, dada.” He barely caught the nickname spilling out, flushing when he realized what he’d said. But he was far too sleepy to make a fuss about it, especially when Bruce pulled him in closer until they were all pressed flush together, and everything was warm. He remembered when he was small enough to be the one in the middle, with Dick behind him and Bruce in front, a protective cage to keep the nightmares away. Maybe next time he should have Dick come with them and they could all have a cuddle pile together…
He could practically hear the smile in Bruce's voice when he replied with a soft, “goodnight, boys.”
When morning came, Jason would be the one needing a change, sniffly with embarrassment and teary-eyed. But Bruce would brush away his tears again and get him nice and clean and dry, and the bottle on the breakfast tray would be full of warm cocoa. Maybe Dickie would come in with a nice warm hoodie and those soft socks and a kiss for his baby wing. Jason didn’t know, but right now, everything felt so warm and safe, and he couldn’t bring himself to worry. He was excited for maybe having waffles in the morning and Alfred patting his head and maybe sneaking him an extra cookie because he had a bad dream.