Archive of Our Own

"He needs help, Bruce," a harshly whispered voice cut in from a distance. It was meant to be softer, whoever the man was, obviously not intended for him to hear, but they must have thought he was sleeping. His eyes were closed, granted, but he'd long since woken up in the strange room. 

"He needs a doctor-" another male's voice followed.

"A psychiatrist, more like it," softer, feminine.

"Does it matter?" curt, cruel maybe.

He knew there was a voice missing, someone who would be very opinionated on this particular topic, but they were either being quiet, or they were missing. Maybe it was because of the time. It didn't really matter what any of them said though, it changed nothing. He was free again and none of them were going to want to help him-a reminder of monumental failures.

"I'm going to bench him." 

This voice sent a shiver down his spine. If he could remember why, he was sure he'd have a lot of reasons that made him uneasy, but as he was now, he wasn't really sure. After the statement was made, the others all started talking at once. Some were familiar enough voices all in all, ones that had been there the first few times, but the newer ones were foreign and he finally decided to slip away before they decided to do something much worse to him than leave him alone in a cot.

"I can't believe you'd think that this is any kind of solution!"

"We've all had our moments, Jason, Tim's is just a little more…on the surface. We shouldn't-"

"And you all considered me the family threat when I came?"

"We don't know that he'd harm anyone this time, Damian. There's no reason to jump to conclusions until we know more."

"There's got to be at least one sane voice in this conversation. A psychiatrist-"

"He's not going to go for that, who the hell do you think messed him up in the first place?!"

"You don't have to yell."

"Apparently I DO!"

He wasn't interested in hearing anymore of the conversation; the bed only protested slightly under his weight as he moved off it. He was taller now, legs lankier, and muscles far more developed. They bent and moved with more grace too, softer and quieter. It was cold on the floor, stone, some kind of polished rock, and he glanced around his surroundings as he looked for an exit.

The others devolved into heated debate, and while he knew he was the topic of discussion, he couldn't help but find it ironic that none of them included him in it. While he could recognize that he was in some kind of medical bay, and his side ached enough for him to know he was pulling on something like stitches, he couldn't explain how he knew just how to slip by the others, how he knew what step to take, what turn, and when he'd gotten all the way down a little tiny trail in rocky caves, he came to a drop off.

It was in that moment when the little voice inside him had another answer, and it was always a leap of faith to trust it, especially given the little voice always wanted to be the big voice. But this time it didn't betray him as jumped down and landed in a puddle of water. He laughed a little before putting his hand up to his mouth. Oops, he should be quiet until he's well away. He didn't mind the wetness that clung to the bottom of the pants he was wearing, feeling his way forward until the moonlight bathed him. 

The stone turned to dirt then grass, far more comfy to walk on. He didn't know where his shoes-boots-had gone, but it didn't really matter anymore. He had places to go and things to do and the forest was just sparse enough he could find his way through it. Branches attempted to grasp at his bare chest, his pants, boney little fingers dragging against flesh. They were little tiny reminders the body was his, and he pushed through the bramble until he'd finally made it to the edge of the forest.

The cityscape was glittering in the night sky in the distance as he started down the road. Gotham was filled with all kinds of people, evil and good alike, and while he knew picking up a half dressed stranger out in the bougie north was unlikely, he tried it anyway, thumb out every time a classic car passed by. He'd padded all the way up to the bridge when the first car stopped. He bent over as the window rolled down and heat radiated out of the warm interior.

"Young fellow! You'll catch your death out here! What seems to be the–"

He was only smiling, but the car pulled away, and he sighed. It seemed like it was going to be feet all the way. To where…he wasn't sure. At least there wasn't much glass to avoid in the nicer part of town. The wind whipped hard on the bridge, whistling through the beams and in his ears. He pulled his arms around himself to try and stave away some of the cold. The bridge was nearly empty and given the late hour, it was hardly a surprise, but the roar of a motorcycle came in behind him, a familiar rumble that told him he probably should run. Which he did, little voice hadn't led him astray too much. Their goal was the same. Get out of there. He heard a yell, another rev, and to his side he could see the gleaming red shining under the street lamps, but the man on it wasn't someone he recognized, nor the bike.

He came to a stop, arms falling and breath ragged. So did the man, bike parked just a little ahead. The man got off it. Big man. Strong man. Little voice didn't have anything to say about it so he looked around cautiously before starting to approach one little step at a time.

"You look like you could use a ride."

He did, at least, he thought he did. He needed to get away. He stepped closer and nodded, a hopeful smile creeping on his lips.

"Got a destination?" The man asked as he pulled off his red helmet. Strong man was good looking even with the scar running down his face and strange white tuft up in his hairline. Scars were pretty, he thought. So was white. Lots of white. White and green and white, white, white! He realized the man was looking at him strangely, and he didn't feel so calm anymore.

"Downtown?" he said, testing his voice. It was lower than he remembered, ragged from running.

"Sure, we can head that way." 

Strong man held out the helmet and he took it. It'd be strange to put it on given his chest and arms were exposed anyways, but he didn't complain, dropping it down on his head to the sound of old music. It was still warm and it smelled of gunpowder and spice. He found he rather liked it and after strong man got on his bike, he hopped on the back. There was nothing but warmth to be had when he wrapped his arms around him, feet instinctively pulled up on the metal spokes. He must have known it from little voice.

Nostalgia ran over his skin, the icy current reminding him of bathing in ice. Papa had put him in it again and again to where he didn't even notice it so much, even while his body responded with shivers and shakes. He could tell his skin was turning icy by the way everything was turning numb, and when the bike finally came to a stop near a dank building he could hardly slip off. The ground was even colder, wet sopping at his feet and he took off the helmet with a little regret, but it wasn't his, and when strong man took it, he couldn't help but smile again.

There was a moment they stood facing each other, something like pity in the strong man's face, and he hated that more than anything, but he couldn't stop smiling even when it began to hurt. The sky opened up and little tinks and splats began to sound off around them. He looked up to face it letting the little freezing speckles hit his nearly numbed face and chest.

"You got a place to stay?"

His eyes snapped back down. The question was filled with pity too, just like the man's face, but he had to admit that even his body had limits despite the new body being so much stronger. He didn't have anyone. Papa and Mama were dead, Papa…papa…He reached up and grabbed his head, laughter starting to spill out of his throat. He had no where to go, that was right, no where to be.

"At least let me get you some food, some clothes, and warm you up."

His laughter cracked and he looked up, seeing the repulsion in the strong man's green eyes.

"Where?" he finally asked, willing to at least entertain the idea.

"Here, actually. I brought us to my place."

It brought another litany of laughter out of him, to think someone so repulsed would still want to give him somewhere to be, even if for a moment.

"It's this way, if you want to come," the man said, helmet dangling in his hand as he walked towards the rundown building.

He followed curiously behind, wondering just what kind of place he was heading towards. Was strong man a good man? A bad man? Only crazy people followed crazy people into their homes in Gotham, at least that's what little voice said when he walked up the grimy steps. Inside was just as spectacular as the outside, black and grey stains on walls that maybe had been a lime green at some point, and the floors, he had to be careful where he stepped to avoid the debris of papers and sludge.

Pressure was building in his head, and he reached up, pulling on his hair, shh shh shh, he coaxed, shh shh shh. Strong man looked behind him for a second but didn't stop, taking him up so many flights of stairs before they'd gotten to a drab brown door with an off place 'A' next to the number 42. Little voice chuckled, he chuckled, 42.

Strong man opened his door with a key, and despite his feet being dirty, didn't stop the invitation, door wide open. He glanced side to side, a mostly quiet hall where someone's television prattled on in the background but if he was going to die in strong man's house, and least it would be warm. He stepped in and closed the door, eyes darting around to take in the apartment. The floors were wood, brown, walls a mixture of brick and stucco white, nothing much on them in way of decoration. There were plants in places, green that splashed against little potted holders and a kitchen that was opened to the living room where a big couch and tv sat facing sideways to the windows along the wall.

When the lights flickered on he flinched, knees bending and arms coming out for a fight, but no one was attacking him.

"Let me get you something for your feet. Stay there?"

He slowly brought his hands in and nodded, shivering against the heat. The air was like fire to his limbs once he began warming up, and the chattering noise that had been following him every so often was discovered to be his own teeth. It amused him, but not as much as the strong man returning with a hand towel over his shoulder and a chair. On its seat, balanced, was a plastic bin with a rag hanging over the side. Strong man set it down and moved the bin, motioning to the chair.

"Sit, I'll wash your feet before you track Gotham onto my nice clean floors."

He looked down, his feet were very dirty, looking a little blue at the toes, but the other man's feet were socked. He hadn't noticed when he'd taken off shoes, and he looked at the chair before finally sitting down. He knew how to take orders if they were reasonable. Mama's orders were always the nice ones anyways. Papa…well Papa wasn't giving bad orders any more, no siree.

"What's your name?"

He looked up, noticing that strong man was looking at him differently this time, green blue eyes less pitiful and more curious.

"Jayjay," he said and strong man took his feet one by one and set them into the bin. It stung hot and he hissed, earning a little sorry before the rag was picked up. It didn't take long for the water to turn as dirty as his feet had been, and when it seemed his benefactor was satisfied, he pulled his feet out one by one and dried them. During the whole ordeal he'd been studying the little white fluff, wind whipped and stuck up and out with curl to it.

He remembered his own hair didn't have curl, and he reached up to confirm it, confused by how long it was.

"What's wrong?"

"My hair."

"Looks fine to me, but we can wash it."

"No! No it's long! Too long!"

That seemed to perplex the man, but he picked up the bin as he got to his feet.

"We can always cut it."

Little voice didn't like that answer even though he did.

"Yah…?"

"Whatever you want," the man said as he went into the kitchen and set the bin down, "but you should rest first before we do anything else. Are you hungry?"

He moved off the chair, curiosity drawing him into the kitchen. He wasn't sure if he was hungry, touching the cold skin of his stomach. It must have been a long time since he ate given how empty it felt and he nodded, watching as the man set to work. There wasn’t much to talk about between the two of them, and the man didn’t stop him from wandering around, looking over every little thing.

The world had changed, he could tell, since the last time he’d been out, but there were also very familiar things. The television was not as thick as they used to be, the couch thicker and plusher, thick plush rug he wondered what it would feel like. He slunk down onto the floor, spreading his hand through the green when a sudden thunderous roll startled him. The flash of lightning that followed had his breath catching before it came fast and sudden. Papa’s laughter was in his head, rolling around and little voice was nowhere to be found.

He wasn’t sure when he started laughing, or when there was water leaking out of his eyes, but the strong man was there, putting a blanket around him and drawing him close. It felt good to be squeezed, pressure just enough to help when the next clash of lightning lit the room up. Shadowed patterns stretched and pulled, just like Papa’s did when the lights crackled and popped. The building was shaking, and the strong man kept him from falling over.

“It’s going to be okay, Jayjay,” the strong man said, his voice calm. There was no pity in it now, only care, a caress in his long hair and while it felt nice and soothing, his mind was still full of laughter, and it spilled out of him from time to time in the worse of it.

They sat like that until the lightning stopped, when the sky flashed further and further away and all that was left was the sound of pattering rain on the metal grating outside the window. By then he’d worn himself out, laying against the strong man’s slow steady and rising chest feeling like a husk. If strong man was bored or tired, he didn’t say, and in the end, he wasn’t sure how much time had passed, only that the laughter had died down and the tears had dried up. There was a small rock to his body, and he looked up, finding the strong man’s gaze on the window, soft and patient.

“Hungry.” 

The ache in his throat was evident in the way he rasped as he stilled. Strong man slowly nodded before looking down at him. 

“I’ll finish it up. I’ll come back if you need me to.” 

It took a moment to pull away, the warmth and gravity of the strong man too monumental to ignore, especially with how kind he was. He didn’t remember kindness, though Mama had something sort of like it. While he was left to himself in the darkened livingroom, his gaze followed the back of strong man. He’d taken off his jacket, little soft slivers catching in the light of the kitchen. More scars, more scars just like his own.

He dropped the blanket off his shoulders, rising to his feet. Everything was safer, warmer, and though his muscles protested, he was drawn to the kitchen, drawn to his side to touch at the man’s skin.

“Burns.”

“Yah,” the strong man confirmed, turning just a little to give him more  of his arm.

“Knife.”

“And a bullet right there,” strong man said, finger pointing to the little divot next.

“More?” he questioned, pushing up strong man’s shirt without warning. It didn’t seem to bother him though as his pale fingers splayed across his stomach to a scar that made him shiver. It was thick, rolled right up his center mixed in the black hair trailing down.

“You want to know?”

“Autopsy…?”

“Yah.”

“Papa…” the words slipped out before he’d known them, but they were true, Papa had done it. He could feel it deep inside like a glow of knowledge that told him strong man had been hurt; deeply, irrevocably, changed and yet alive all the same.

“My name’s Jason,” strong man suddenly said, drawing his attention away from his stomach, an expectant look in the green blue hues.

“Jason.” The word didn’t feel familiar, but it was a fun one.

“Yah, Jason.”

“We match,” he said with a smile, dropping his hand away, “Jay and Jayjay.”

“Yah, we do, don’t we,” Jay replied with a little smile, but soon the sizzling food took his attention, like a warm lamp redirected away and he fell back a few steps, not wanting to interfere. He slipped back further and further, wondering why he was feeling the way he was about strong man. His mama’s voice was in his head, whisper and calling for Mr. Jay. He moved out the kitchen, and almost to the door when a hand grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t leave,” Jay pleaded, “stay. You really need to eat.”

“I-”

“At least, and some clothes-it’s cold out there.”

He looked down, remembering he was half naked, his pants more like a thin mesh of material. No wonder he’d been so cold. The outside weather was unforgiving, and he glanced up at Jay again who had been only trying to help. He wasn’t like Papa. He was like him. Broken and sad and not wanting to be alone. Slowly he nodded and let Jay lead him back into the kitchen, where the smell of braised onion likeness and buttered garlic was in the air. 

When his hand was let go, Jay clearly needing it to address the pot he was cooking in, he began to rock. It was soothing, the gentle motion of back and forth and back and forth. It drew a momentary glance but he didn’t want to stop, not when it felt like it was draining out all the bad things. Things that he didn’t even know was stirring around in him like bubbling acid. He didn’t want to remember things, and little voice was suddenly back again, interested in the smell.

Safety

That was it, wasn’t it? Safety? Strong man-Jay-felt safe. Why? He didn’t know, but little voice seemed to think so. Little voice who barely could make out words in his head since the lightning, was also rocking with him. Rocking together, together and that’s how he wanted it. Always together. But there was someone else to be together with it seemed at least for the moment, and that someone was giving him food and shelter and warmth, and something that smelled heavenly with a growing mix of seasoned vegetables and potatoes. There in the pot was cream being added too, the fragrant flavor rich and he didn’t notice he was drooling until it slipped out his lip.

“Your fav-” Jay had started to say when he noticed the drool, but stopped, worry setting in his eyes but he didn’t know if it was his favorite or not. He shrugged, and wiped his mouth. Either way, little voice was eager for it too. Patience and waiting wasn’t what he was good at though like little voice was, and Jay was already moving elsewhere to pull out a hunk of bread. He scurried closer taking a piece of bread when it was pulled off and Jay laughed.

The sound was like a cascade of warm water on skin, enveloping him and making little voice louder. He didn’t want to go away and he shoved Jay hard, backing up with confusion and hurt.

“Don’t laugh at me!”

“I-” Jay seemed off footed, a little hurt too, but he shook his head a little, the white of his hair bouncing. “I wasn’t laughing at you.”

“I don’t-I don’t like it. Don’t like you laughing at all!”

“Okay, Jayjay, I won’t laugh at all.” Jay went back to cutting the slices, glancing over from time to time as he smeared chunky butter on them.

His heart started beating as he nibbled on the soft bread in his hand. Little voice had quieted down again, almost gone, almost alone, and he didn’t like that either. There was no way to navigate and he began to rock again, skin feeling itchy. He wanted to move, wanted to run, wanted to rip off his skin and he dropped the bread in favor of it, scratching down his arms.

“Jayjay?” Jay asked, immediately putting the knife down out of sight and came over but didn’t touch yet, “what’s wrong?”

“Itchy-itchy itchy, need-” he shook his head violently side to side, tearing at his biceps.

“Here, here-rip it.” Jay had grabbed a paper out of an envelope and held it out to him, confusing him with the request.

He yanked it away and ripped it. It was satisfying as the paper tore apart while he bobbled back and forth, and he ripped it again and again and again and again until he was finding those pieces on the floor and ripping them up too in a crouch. Another paper was handed down and he ripped it to pieces too, colors of white and black ink, little red letters dancing around every so often, another with cream and another that was blue, and by the time he’d found all the confetti scattered in front of him he looked up with a heaving breath.

“Do you need more?” Jay asked, lifting his head to look around.

“No-no-no…hungry,” he said, picking up the discarded bread and nibbling on it again. 

 “Food’s almost ready.”

Jay turned around and began to work again, the smell of butter and garlic toast filling the air minutes after. He watched with wide eyes, noticing the flex and bend of the strong man, the way his feet scattered a few more pieces of paper like it didn’t matter if it was all over the floor. Little voice was quiet again while he began to stand up again, legs protesting from having been in the crouch for too long. The pot was being pulled off the burner and he shuffled back when Jay got close to him, moving into the cabinets to get out two bowls and two little plates. The soup was ladled out and bread put together on the plate.

“Common, let’s sit at the table?” Jay asked, slowly leading him towards the small wooden table to the side. It only had two seats and he put a foot in the chair before slinking down into it, knee up next to his body. It smelled good, better than anything he ever remembered having before, and he quickly took a sip with his spoon.

“Ouch!” he hissed, dropping the spoon when the molten liquid burned him.

“Give it a moment to cool,” Jay cautioned, coming back with his own serving and sitting down. “Like this.”

Jay lifted his spoon and blew softly on the creamy liquid before he then took it into his mouth. 

“I’m not a child.”

“Okay,” was all he got in response and Jay went back to eating a few more spoonfuls.

He frowned, but he copied him anyways, taking his time to blow on it. It was rich, tasty, potatoes and something. Leeks, little voice said. It went down easy, warming his core even more. He watched Jay dip his bread in before he copied him that way too, but he didn’t care for it as much as the satisfying way the toast crunched on its own. He started to bob back and forth again, pausing only enough to take in another sip of delicious soup or hold his bread in for a bite. 

The city was alive for them as they ate, the sound of car horns, ambulances, police, or just general yelling. It was like there was a constant hum of noise in the distance always adding to the room, like a hum of appliances, and the drone of it carried all the chaos down into nothingness. Meaningless things that drifted away from his attention as he simply ate and existed.

“I have some things that might fit you,” Jay said when they’d finished their food, “if you’re really set on leaving.”

“Don’t have anywhere; Papa and Mama are dead.”

There was a pause, a moment where Jay didn’t move while he rocked and gazed out at the window. The city was big, there were holes he could hide in.

“You could stay here if you want.”

He stopped rocking, looking up to meet Jay’s gaze. It was beyond nice of a stranger, but it did keep him from being cold. He glanced in the kitchen where the knives were before he looked back up with a growing smile.

“Are you gonna cut me up when I’m not looking?”

Jay gave a little snort and shook his head, “and get my floors dirty?”

“Why?

It took Jay a moment to realize what he was asking and he shrugged, standing up tall with the dishes in his hands. “Because I know what it’s like to be down and out and have no where to turn to. People take advantage of that, and I’d hate to see you taken advantage of, Jayjay.”

He wasn’t sure he believed him, laughing a little at the idea. If anyone should be afraid it was others. Papa and Mama made sure he knew how to fight dirty. He slowly got to his feet and his laughter spilled out a little unhinged, “okay.”

“Alright then, clothes first.”

Jay led him past the living room into a darkened door. He paused, unwilling to enter until Jay had reached over and flipped a loud switch. The room flooded bright before popping back into darkness a few times and he squinted against the flickering fluorescent light as he approached the door to see inside. Every few seconds he could really see, a nice bed with end tables and a dresser. Modest and nothing matching the other.

Jay looked slightly annoyed against the occasional splash of darkness, but didn’t stop to do anything about it, instead opening a few drawers to pull out some clothes. They weren’t his normal colors, no flair or gloves to be had, but the large red shirt slipped over his shoulders easily enough and the pajama pants fit him perfectly in comparison. Jay had turned away while he changed, giving him full view of the muscled back and little voice wanted to touch it-to hug-but he couldn’t do more than grab at the fabric instead.

“Done.”

“Yah? Common, lets go sit down on the couch.” Jay led them out, flicking off the light before leading him into the living room.

The older television was warming up, the screen finally filling with its picture in color. That was new, and exciting. The last screens he’d seen were all in black, white, and greys, so different from the wonderful splashes of colors that had been all around him. He didn’t mind the blanket put on his legs, nor the variety of shows as Jason showed him how the remote worked.

“Watch some T.V., I need to make a call,” Jay said as he stood up, setting the remote down on the couch next to him. He picked it up and examined it, the clunky device changing channels like he’d been shown. He flipped through them, never quite finding something to settle on until he noticed that Jay had been gone for a little while. He slipped off the couch and slinked to the wall, coming in closer and closer.

“What do I do, Dinah?” Jay was saying, whispering in his darkened room. 

He leaned in and crouched at the base of the doorframe.

“Oh…what’s that mean?”

…

“So you knew this happened before too?”

…

“Well color me shocked, because I would have expected him to deny it was even happening to begin with by the way he acted tonight-no no-I won’t hear it. He thinks just giving Tim light duty is going to solve everything.”

…

“Fine, but send me the details, I want to know more about it-” Jay turned at the creak of the floorboard and came to the door to find him, still crouched. 

He grinned really wide, staring up from the ground until Jay looked a little uncomfortable.

“I’ve got to go-” Jay said, abruptly hanging up the corded phone on the wall.

“Who was that?” he asked, curious as he was about whatever it was they were talking about.

“A friend.”

“Who’s Tim?”

“An even better friend.”

Little voice seemed to both like and hate that answer. Curious that little voice would have an opinion on it at all. Jay held out his hand and he took it, lifting up to his feet.

“We should get ready for bed, follow me.”

Jay led him into the bathroom, opening the little mirror thing before he could even see himself. It was filled with random bottles, a few things like razors and lastly a tube. It was familiar, and Jason then opened the cabinet door below and pulled out a brightly colored rectangle package.

“Here, one for you,” Jay said, unpacking a new green toothbrush and putting it down on the sink. There were two others, red and yellow, and he stared down at the third like it was foreign. Little voice whispered what it was for, directing him to the toothpaste and water before he brushed them. Jay brushed his own next to him, demonstrating a few techniques he followed, especially with the tongue scrubbing and a little smile in his eyes, and he flashed his teeth with an all too easy wide smile at the end of it.

“Looks good,” Jay said, lifting a hand to ruffle his head. He immediately stepped away, heart pattering. Little voice liked it but he wasn’t so sure. It reminded him of Mama, of her hands in his hair, holding him back.

“Sorry.” Jay apologized nicely, scratching the back of his head before he finished up and put his toothbrush in the cup. “You can put yours there too once you clean it out.”

He nodded slowly and carefully approached again, hand slinking closer to the water before he turned it on and rinsed out the bristles just like little voice told him. He plopped it in the cup, looking at them all side by side with an eerie sense of deja vu. He backed away, catching sight of himself in the mirror again. He was pale, but not as pale white as he knew he should be, real skin on a real boy and he reached up touching and poking and prodding and sheepishly realizing Jay was watching the whole time.

“Ready to hit the hay?”

He started to laugh, all too easily picturing them hitting hay, but following Jay anyways into the bedroom. It was quieter in the darkened room, the windows covered in black that seemed to keep not just the light away and Jay was pulling back covers and fluffing up a pillow before he backed away from the bed.

“I’ll go sleep on the couch. Just let me know if you need something.”

“Okay,” he said, crawling onto the mattress. It was more comfortable than the hard table Papa and Mama had him on, more comfortable than the floor, and he settled in and drew up the covers. He was also afraid the more he laid there, eyes lifting to the imposing figure overhead.

“Anything, alright?” Jay said once more before heading out the door and closing it to just a crack. He laid stiff in the bed, heart thudding a little too quickly to fall asleep right away, but eventually his eyes grew heavier and heavier until at last he succumbed to the darkness.

He’d never slept before, and when his dreams went from warm potatoes to white. He began to toss in his sleep. There were vials, syringes, and so much pain, so much pain he whimpered in its wake, and when the loud bang of his gun went off in his hands, he screamed, matching its intensity before his eyes popped open in abject terror. He scrambled to the headboard, sweaty and covers pulled up tight. He couldn’t get his bearing until the door was opened and the now familiar shape blocked out the light streaming in.

“Jayjay? Is everything okay?” Jay asked, moving to the side of the bed quickly. He was inconsolable, caught in the hellish way the nightmare continued before his eyes like he’d been transported back to the chilling day it all started. He barely felt the dent in the bed, Jay’s knees touching down and moving the blanket.

“It was a nightmare,” Jay said, voice soft and knowing, like he understood exactly what kind of dream could clutch the heart so tight it felt as though it would burst. Jay drew him into his arms and held him so that his mind could work past the fear. Jay was warmth, comfort, and protection from the dream’s wrath that reminded him so closely of Papa’s electric love. He buried his face into the soft fabric at his chest, grasping on for dear life. He wanted to pretend it was just another noise in his ears, but it was too close to the crackle, the smell of burnt skin and hair strong in his nose.

“It’s okay, Jayjay, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” Jay whispered soothingly despite all his panic, despite the fact that he had no reason to want him there. Little voice was crying for him; everything so loud and he started to cry too, body wracked in pain as every little inch of his skin crawled with the reminder. There’d been nothing but pain and pity his whole life, and yet Jay held him like he was something precious, like something no stranger had ever done for him. They always wanted-always talked to little voice, and here, Jay was talking to him, holding him.

His cries renewed, tension flooding out of him he didn’t know he had in himself as he sobbed, wetting the shirt with snot and tears. It lasted well past the the last BANG, his hiccups taking over, little bubbles of sobs, but Jay didn’t seem to mind, fingers caressing through his hair until dreamless sleep finally overtook him.

When the early morning light streamed in he noticed he wasn’t in control anymore, but he wasn’t gone either, something new inside them. Little voice was big voice now, yawning and drawing Jay-Jason-in close for a kiss when he yanked back a little. He’d never done that before when being little and big voice seemed a little dazed.

“Morning,” Jason said, blinking his eyes free of the clinging sleep.

“Morning, ” big voice said, reaching up to touch Jason’s face. It was shaking just a little before it settled. “Did I pass out after I got shot, skunk boy?”

“You don’t remember last night?” Jason asked, looking him deep in the eyes.

He felt suddenly alive, vibrant, Jay was talking about him. He somehow seemed to know, to understand, and when big voice hummed out “A little, sorta. It’s a little hazy but…I don’t know how to explain it.”, he smiled wider as Jay petted their hair and touched their cheek.

“Don’t worry…”

Big voice began to breathe a little heavier, seeming to settle in on the reality that he was still there still seeping in and out of his consciousness.

“Is it-Is it okay?” Big voice said with a waiver to his voice.

“Yah, of course baby bird. I met him last night. He wasn’t bad, you’re not, and I don’t think he is either.”

Big voice was upset, it stormed inside with rejection before he desperately crawled back out, not wanting to disappear. He clung onto Jay, clung on hard with shaking hands.

“Jay-don’t let him-Jay!”

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s going to be alright.”

“But what if-what if I disappear again?!

“Don’t worry, Jayjay, I’ll always be right here looking.”

He blinked back his tears, falling away as big voice took over, startled and scared himself.

“Jason? Jason-I, I feel like i’m going insane-”

“I know, a part of you you’ve buried deep inside is coming out, isn’t it?” Jason said softly, trying to calm big voice down.

“I-its not me, Jason!”

“I know. The others told me last night.”

“A-and you’re okay with it?” big voice was shocked, disbelieving.

“I didn’t understand it at first, but I think I do now. I think I get it.”

Big voice was more confused than ever, “how can you get it when I don’t?”

“I talked to Dinah last night, she said this wasn’t uncommon after what you went through. It's not that different from what I went through after the pit. You still loved me through it all, didn’t you? Even after I made that mistake?”

“I told you to never bring it up-we’re past that!”

“Exactly, exactly,” Jason said, cupping their face, “and now it's my turn to show you that this doesn’t change anything. I still love you, baby bird. I’ll love you even when Jayjay’s here.”

Their heart warmed, their eyes reaching for clarity in Jason’s eyes.

“It’s okay, really, I’m not going anywhere, no matter what happens, okay? 

“Yah?”

“Yah, baby…I see you. I see you both.”