Chapter Text
The front of Jason's shirt is absolutely soaked in Tim's bright red slushy. It's the first thing he notices when his eyes finally focus and feeling returns to his body.
"Holy shit, Holy shit! Jason, are you okay?" Tim rambles, silhouette outlined by the bright but muggy sky. Jason Scowls at the light that causes a zing through his skull, and drags his gaze to collect his surroundings. He's propped up against the brick wall of the downtown Taco Bell. That explains where Tim had gotten the slushy from. His scalp stings where it rests against the brick. Something wet and sticky trickles down his neck. Slowly, he brings his hand back to assess what the hell had happened to him. His hand comes back a dark red; he only has half the mind to wish it came from the slushy.
"Jason, say something," Tim demands, way too loudly. He holds a finger under Jason's nose, likely to check his breathing. Jason swats it away. "Can you tell me what day it is?"
"What the fuck, Tim? Did you shove me?"
The colour Jason hadn't realized was missing from Tim's face quickly comes back in a bright red flush.
“I- You shoved me first!” He yells, pausing when he notices Jason flinching. He apologizes under his breath and moves to bring napkins to Jason's pink-tinted shirt. Right. Jason had shoved Tim. He’s not exactly sure why; it's as if every time he tries to reach back for a memory of the moments leading to his stay on the ground, a jackhammer interrupts it.
“Are you five?” Jason shot back. He looks back to his bloody hand and wipes it against the concrete. Tim watches in horror, though he doesn't move to help. Some hero he is. “You're the one still standing at least. Didnt even say sorry.” Jason groans as he tries to shove himself off the ground. Tim pushes him back down lightly.
“Sorry. Sit down.”
“Move.”
“No, what do you think-” Jason shoulders him away, standing on wobbly legs. Between one blink and the next, Tim is by his side, hovering his hands around Jason's shoulders. Part of Jason wants to shove him and tell him to go fuck himself. He goes to do just that when, opening his mouth, a wave of nausea rolls through him.
“Oh- I’m gonna-” Tim seems to get the message, immediately maneuvering a stumbling Jason to a nearby trashcan. The second Jason leans over and begins to empty his stomach, he hears a collection of gasps.
“Shit, Jay,” Tim winces. There's rustling, and then Jason feels something pressed against the back of his head. It stings and clings to the injury, causing Jason to flinch and gag once more. He wacks his arm back, trying to shove whoever is attacking his poor skull to no avail. “Jason, I’m— he’s fine! He’s fine, back up please. Jason, I'm calling Bruce.
A surge of panic rushes through Jason. He opens his mouth to object but is cut off by another round of vomiting. This is the worst. He can't exactly pinpoint why that makes him so on edge, but this is still the worst.
“I'm calling someone!” The shrill voice says.
“I've got it already, thank you.” Tim placates what Jason assumes is now a small crowd. Jason wants to tease Tim for his “Wayne” voice. Though, at this point, Jason can't do much more than catch his breath and try to keep the stomach churning at bay. Now standing, Jason can feel how dizzy he is. His thoughts feel as though they are spinning along the inside of his head.
A hand on his shoulder pulls him back from the trash can and politely lowers him back to the ground. Jason slumps, his head dropping forward like a newborn baby. He's so tired. Like really tired. He doesn't even mind the fact that his bed is concrete, his pillows are brick, and his blanket is… he doesn't have one. That's okay, he’ll manage just fine how he is. He slumps even further, trying to get comfortable, eyes drifting closed. Before he's being shaken lightly again.
“C’mon, don't fall asleep; Bruce will be here in a minute.”
“Go away,” Jason glares. This guy has caused so many problems already. Jason can't even fathom why he’s hanging out with him in the first place.
“Hey,” The annoying guy… Jason just had his name. Tony? Tyler? “Will you tell me if your head starts feeling worse?”
Jason blinks owlishly. It does feel worse. Everything feels worse. He wants to tell the guy that. Instead, he tries his best to nod without jostling his brain any further. Why is he so confused? He had a better grip on what had happened just seconds ago.
“Jason?” Jason snaps his head up at the sound and regrets it immediately. The sun pierces his eyes sharply, and he has to hold back a sound as he squeezes his eyes closed. The brightness disappears from behind his eyelids, and Jason carefully opens them to see a man standing in front of him. “What happened, Tim?” The man addresses the guy. Tim! That was his name.
While Tim rambles on and on about an argument and Jason shoving him first, the man manually holds Jason's eyelids up. It's uncomfortable and annoying, but Jason can't do much more than glower. The conversation starts to flow above his head, just out of reach.
“Jason?” The man addresses him.
“Mm?”
“Are you having double vision at all? Any nausea?”
“Um…” It takes him a minute to process the question. “No double vision. I threw up earlier though.”
The man worries his bottom lip with his teeth, brows furrowed in a harsh line. Bruce Jason's mind whispers, and with that comes a wave of irritation. Jason chalks it up to the fact that his head is killing him.
Bruce stands, knees cracking as he goes. “Right, we're going to the hospital.”
Jason grimaces. “It's probably a concussion.”
“Obviously,” Tim scoffs, causing a pointed look from… Jason can't keep forgetting people's names.
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The car ride is relatively quiet. Jason's glad his injury excuses him from small talk. Tim and Bruce, who Jason concludes must be his dad, go back and forth in the front seat, hissing at each other until Bruce raises his voice and Tim goes silent. Tim is a relative too, Jason decides. Might even be a brother, given there's no way Jason would choose to hang out with him without some familial ties in the picture.
The emergency room is worse than the concrete floor was. Too many voices travel around the area. The lights are a stark white that ever so slightly twinges and flicker out of the corner of Jason's eye. Jason sits in the corner of the lobby with Tim, who is texting nonstop. Jason wishes he could look over at his screen without his eyes feeling like they're being pressurized from the inside.
He studies the other patients instead. The kid across from Tim and Jason holds a limp, slightly crooked arm close to his chest. He seems to be about 13, sniffling and wiping his eyes every couple of seconds. A man next to him tries to rub his back, but the kid shoulders his hands off him and glares. A small smile tugs at Jason's lips. He knows that exact feeling, break and all.
…Right?
Jason frowns as he tries to recall where he knows it from. When he tries to reach back for the memory, it turns up blank.
“Jason Peters?”
Jason doesn't react. Still caught up in his blank mind.
Tim looks over and nudges him. “Jason, it's your turn.”
Jason blinks, “Oh.”
He stands, making his way over to the nurse. He pauses for a moment and looks back at Tim and Bruce. They both look confused for a moment, glancing at one another. A surge of annoyance runs through him when Bruce stands and begins to follow the nurse with him. Right, Jason doesn't like people coming back with him when it comes to medical appointments. He knew that. He doesn't have the energy to fight Bruce and tell him to sit back down, nor does he feel like confusing the people around him.
Cleaning the wound sucks almost as much as receiving it. He bites the inside of his cheek to try not to react to the sting of the alcohol and staples landing themselves on the back of his head.
“Took that like a champ!” the nurse says, placing the skin stapler down on the supply tray. She peels off her gloves, tossing them in the trash before beginning to wash her hands at the sink. “The CT results should be back in about 30 minutes. In the mean time im just going to perform a regular checkup. Can you tell me your name?”
“Jason Peter,” Jason replies, mouth moving around muscle memory. He glances over at a sigh of relief Tim seems to let out.
“Alright, and can you tell me who's with you today?”
Jason spares a glance over to Bruce. “My… Dad?” Bruce looks surprised but doesn't correct him. Jason lets out a sigh of relief.
“Good. Can you tell me your date of birth?”
“August 16th, 2004.” Which means he's 21. He makes a mental note to keep that in mind.
“Oh, that's coming up! Happy early birthday!”
He frowns. Was it coming up? The nurse seems to notice his confusion, her smile faltering ever so slightly, though she quickly recovers.
“And can you tell me what the date is today?”
He worries at the dead skin hanging around his nail. “I– Um,” He glances over at Bruce, whose face remains stony and blank. So much for his help. Jason lets out an embarrassed laugh. “I know it.”
“Okay,” the nurse replies patiently.
“I just— I have a headache.”
She nods along, waiting.
“It's… Monday.” He guesses. The nurse sighs and turns around, quickly jotting something down on a clipboard.
“Don't worry yourself over it. Concussions commonly cause confusion and disorientation.” She says this more to Bruce than Jason, who just hums and checks his phone.
After collecting more information on Jason's medical history (which Bruce goes strangely pale at), the nurse leaves Bruce and Jason alone. It's awkward and silent for a moment. Jason shifts uncomfortably.
He leans back against his arms, careful to keep his head from touching the bed. "My head feels like soup.”
“Hn,” Is all Jason hears from Bruce. Not much of a talker, he guesses.
The nurse returns with the CT results. To no one's surprise jason has received a concussion along with an obvious scalp laceration.
“Nausea, fatigue, sensitivity to light, all that fun stuff is extremely common after a concussion. Avoid screens while you can and while you’re at it try—”
Jason nods along like he's listening. He's mostly focused on trying not to throw up again. The nurse goes on for a while. No alcohol, no driving, no screens, no breathing, no eating, no functioning, no—
“Ready to go, Jay?” Bruce asks. Jason blinks. He'd been staring off into space so long his eyes water as he rapidly blinks, trying to rewet them.
“Um, yeah,” He shifts and coughs slightly. “Can I have one of those?” He makes a grabby motion in the air as if he's trying to catch the word itself. “The um, the puke bag thing?”
“Absolutely!” The nurse says.
____________________
Tim doesn't talk much when Jason and Bruce return. He keeps his eyes down right until he plants himself in the passenger seat of the car. The ride is mostly silent, only interrupted by a small murmur every so often.
Jason leans himself heavily against the car door, forehead pressed into the blissfully cold window. Colours of the city blur into a myriad of shades of gray. He closes his eyes and sighs, the movement of the car threatening to lull him to sleep.
“Jason?” Bruce speaks up. Jason scrunches his nose and turns to glare at the front seat. “I know this isn't ideal, but we're taking you to the manor, alright? You aren't really supposed to be alone right now.”
Jason frowns. “What manor?”
Tim whips around from his seat to stare at Jason in disbelief. “What?”
Jason blinks, peeling himself from the door and sits up a little straighter. “What's the manor?”
Tim pauses and then laughs bitterly. “That's not even funny.”
He's not trying to be funny! He reaches back into his mind, waiting for something to click. Nothing does.
“Jason? Do you know where you are?”
Jason swallows, glancing back to scan the city blurring outside the window. It looks familiar. Kinda. There are skyscrapers and a river just ahead of them where a bride stands over. There are trees and so many people. He knows what a city is. He’s just not sure he knows what this city is. His stomach sinks.
“I’m sorry.” He says. He doesn't know what else to say. From the mirror, Bruce's frown deepens. Tim peeks over his shoulder once more to look at Jason.
“There's— You don't have to be sorry. Do you not know?”
Jason looks down to his lap and shakes his head.
“Do you know who I am?”
Jason looks back up. “You’re my dad?” Immediately he's embarrassed. Almost annoyed. He can't pinpoint why.
Bruce frowns and glances over at Tim, who turns to face Jason more fully.
“What about me?” He asks. “Do you know who I am?”
Jason once again tries to grasp onto details and memories and only comes up with wisps of general knowledge. “You're— I mean everyone has been calling you Tim. I’m really sorry, guys. I’m really confused right now.”
The car goes silent. Jason's cheeks flush in embarrassment. He would love to say this is one of the most uncomfortable moments of his life, but he can't quite find anything to compare it to. He brings his hands up to rub his temples, trying to soothe the aching behind his eyes.
“I’m sorry.” He mutters again, tears beginning to prick at his eyes.
“It's okay,” Bruce says. “It's okay, we're going to take you home and get it all sorted out.”