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It started during a sparring session with Gar.
He went down heavily after missing an easy block and got a hit to the side with enough force to send him rolling. Rather than moving with it and springing up like he usually would, his body decided to just…stay on the mats where he’d landed.
Gar was beside him in a flash, mumbling apologies and offering him a hand up, but Jason just lay there, chest heaving, limbs fucking heavy and aching. He’d felt a little off all morning and had dismissed it as an incoming cold from some of his late-night explorings of the city. He’d taken much worse hits so he shouldn’t be this winded.
He realised Gar was trying to talk to him and sounded a little distressed, so Jason tried to move his own hand up to meet the one over his chest. Gar grasped it and he was being gently pulled into a sitting position, a supporting hand on his back. A bottle was then placed into his hands, and he drank several gulps of cool water that soothed his throat; he hadn’t even realised how scratchy it felt.
“Are you okay?” Gar asked, his brow furrowed in concern.
“Yeah,” he breathed, clearing his throat, and wincing at the spike in ache that radiated through his body. “Just…let me catch my breath…and we’ll go again.”
Gar shook his head. “I think we should stop for today. You clearly need to rest.”
“I’m fucking fine,” Jason tried to snap back, but it didn’t come out with much heat behind it. They’d barely been going for ten minutes, he could (and he had to) go for longer.
Gar flashed him a nervous smile, the kind that meant he hated being the one to speak up in fear of reprimand. “You don’t look like it, man.”
Jason huffed, resigned, and tried not to cough again. Gar wasn’t trying to be a dick, he genuinely cared with that heart of gold of his, and it was hard to ignore the fucking plea in his eyes. He offered out his hands.
“Help me up.”
Gar was silent as he did as he asked, and Jason almost fell over as the head rush hit him hard and caused him to stumble. Luckily Gar had anticipated that and thrown an arm around his waist.
“Yeah, you’re really not fine. Let’s go!” Gar stated firmly, starting to lead Jason out of the training room.
“Where are we going?”
“Bed!”
Jason did not, in fact, go to bed.
Instead, his stubborn ass persuaded Gar he’d be fine in the common room, claiming he’d still be resting by sitting on the couch. Gar deposited him there before disappearing off to…wherever and Jason flipped through the channels on the TV until he found one showing the Fast & Furious movies.
He barely lasted ten minutes before his head was hurting enough to cause him to cover his eyes. Without bothering to take off his shoes, he tried to lay himself down on the couch, shielding his eyes with his arms, groaning in relief as it seemed to ward off the worst of the pain.
He flinched when he felt a blanket being draped over him.
“It’s just me, Jason.”
Gar was back.
He chanced moving his arms away from his face to see his friend standing by the couch blocking the too-bright too-flashy TV. Sighing in relief, Jason scooted backwards a little, so he was sitting against the arm, enabling him to accept the coffee cup Gar offered him. It wasn’t coffee or even hot chocolate though. It was some sort of soup.
“You need to eat something, but this is kind of all we have until Dick and Rach get back from grocery shopping.”
“Thanks,” he mumbled, taking a sip. It was chicken soup and it was heavenly on his throat. Gar was still staring at him like he wanted to say something so Jason gestured with his head and eyes as if to ask, What?
“Do you want me to take your shoes off?”
Jason just shrugged, yawning, and then coughing, trying not to spill any of the soup all down himself. As well as completely bone tired, he was starting to feel cold too, and the soup was providing some vital warmth inside while he was nestled in the thick blanket on the outside. Once Gar had carefully pried his sneakers from his feet, Jason curled up more and continued to sip at the soup. His head was feeling less painful and more fuzzy, and God was he so fucking tired.
Gar was sat on the floor on his phone, and Jason’s stomach jolted upon realising he was probably texting Dick to let him know Jason was sick.
Fucking great.
He finished the soup and put the cup on the floor, then readjusted the blanket so his arms were underneath and scooted himself down so his head was cushioned on the arm of the couch.
If he was perfectly honest, he felt absolutely fucking shit. It had been a good year since he’d last been badly sick, his scrawny body recovering well from his traumatic childhood once Bruce Wayne had taken him in.
The first week he’d spent with Bruce at the Manor, his body had rebelled against the brand-new experience of safety. He’d been mostly bedridden for a week, swallowed up amongst the many blankets and pillows of the king-size bed that was fucking huge enough for the entire Justice League to sleep in. Sleeping and tossing and turning and crying and trying to force down what Alfred fed him, and that was if he didn’t immediately throw it back up again.
It had taken several days after he was better for Bruce and Alfred to convince him he didn’t owe them anything. Over the following months, his Robin training and Alfred’s delicious food enabled him to build up some muscle, even if a growth spurt never materialised.
Back in Crime Alley with his mom, if you got sick you either had to steal the meds you needed, or you had to simply wait it out, as going to a hospital or doctor’s office was out of the question. When he was out on the streets, he’d nearly died of hypothermia twice, saved only by the kindness of the working girls in the Bowery. That and his talent for boosting cars sometimes gave him enough money to grab a warm bed for the night in a shelter and an extra set of clothes.
At least here and now in Titans Tower, he didn’t need to worry about staying warm if he got sick, though he fucking loathed the idea of being smothered. With the others gone, Dick was the only original Titan here, with three teens under his care. He already went fucking ballistic whenever Gar or Rachel so much as sneezed or got bruises in training. With Jason coming down with something that was probably flu, Dick was going to be unbearable.
Jason groaned, yanking the blanket over his face.
He wasn’t aware he’d fallen asleep, but he was roused back to consciousness by a deliciously cool hand on his forehead. He tried to move into it, but the deep ache was back, and he moaned as his body protested the movement.
“Jason? Hey, can you hear me?”
That was definitely Dick’s voice. He’d obviously been asleep for a while, and he hated knowing Dick would have found him out for the count on the couch when they returned. The whole point of him being here in San Francisco was to prove himself to Bruce, and Dick by extension. Getting caught out sleeping when he and Gar were supposed to be training was hardly getting into anybody’s good books.
But he was so damn tired. He tried to tell Dick to fuck off and leave him alone, but his mouth said something more along the lines of, “F’off.”
Oh right, yeah, he was sick.
Fuck.
“You’ve got a bad fever, buddy. Guess who’s on bed rest for the next few days.”
Jason groaned, burrowing himself back into the blanket both in childish denial at Dick’s words and because he’d started shivering.
“Rach, you okay to finish off with Gar while I get Jason to his room?”
Jason didn’t hear Rachel’s reply as Dick was trying to coax him into sitting up which wasn’t fucking fun in the least. The world started spinning and Jason wanted to throw up.
“I got you,” Dick said softly, and he must have mumbled that last thought out loud as his head was between his knees and a hand was gently rubbing his back. “Try and breathe for me, Jason.”
He tried to breathe through his nose but all that did was make him cough due to it being partially blocked and streaming. He sniffed and tried to instead breathe through his mouth, as steady as he could as Dick guided him through it. Urgh. This was so fucking miserable.
“Can you stand up?” Dick asked, a hand grasped gently but firmly around his right arm at the ready. Jason sniffed again and nodded, wanting so much to scream at him of course I can stand, dickface, leave me the fuck alone but he couldn’t muster up the effort. Dick automatically snaked the supporting arm around his waist as Jason stood, wincing as the head rush returned. It wasn’t as bad as in the training room, but it was still unpleasant.
“I’m going to get you back to your room and then I’m going to call Bruce,” Dick said as they walked. Jason tried to protest but Dick interrupted, “I just need him to sign off on any meds I give you, that’s all, I promise. You’re staying here.”
Jason didn’t have the energy to pick apart what that last part meant. Dick said the words with such firm conviction suggesting he was on Jason’s side though, and it was comforting all the same. Even if he couldn’t comprehend why.
When they got to his room, Gar and Rachel were there. They’d changed his bedsheets, set up a mountain of supplies on a coffee table next to the bed, and Rachel was finishing stuffing some cold packs under the sheets, while Gar was preparing an IV.
“N’drugs,” Jason said sternly, glaring at the pole and shaking his head. He wished he could be so much more coherent right now.
Dick must have sensed his panic though as he turned to look him right in the eyes, hands on his shoulders. “This is just electrolytes for hydration, Jason, that’s all. We’ll put in some antiviral once I get the okay from Bruce. It’ll help you feel better faster, okay? It’s nothing that will hurt you.”
He wished Dick would stop talking to him like he was some wounded fucking puppy. Last time he checked he was an adult, not a helpless minor.
“Part of the deal of having you here at the Tower was that I have to keep him updated,” Dick replied and damn Jason’s mouth for speaking without his permission.
“Hand,” he spat out in response, and he didn’t miss the understanding look Gar gave him. He hated that. He didn’t need anybody’s pity. He wished people would stop reading him so fucking easily.
Speaking of, he deliberately avoided looking at Rachel. He didn’t need her fucking voodoo act messing with him.
Dick asked if he wanted to change out of his clothes and Jason dismissed that immediately, wanting to get into bed and just pass out by that point. The smothered feeling was settling in his chest, and it was as uncomfortable as the flashing cold and hot prickling his skin.
The cold packs were both heaven and hell as he rolled into bed, and under the safety of the covers, he managed to tear off his sweatpants and socks to lessen the burning sensation, freeing his legs to the delicious coolness of the sheets.
He barely noticed Gar prepare and insert the IV into his hand, but he sighed in relief at the cold compress applied to his fiery forehead a few minutes later. The conflicting shivering cold and stuffy heat his body was putting itself through was starting to get really fucking old.
“Sleep, Jay, get some rest. We’ve got you.”
Jason didn’t need telling twice.
He was grateful for the mountain of supplies when he next woke up. His stomach wasn’t rumbling with hunger, but he felt that weird nausea associated with lack of solid food. Not too long ago associated with home, it was a tell-tale sign now that he was coming down with something. But the thirst to prove himself useful as Robin had overtaken the instinct to rest up that morning. Stubborn asshole as ever. And then he’d stopped Gar from bringing him straight to bed which he regretted only as it had led to Dick and the others fussing over him.
Seeing as he’d slept… however many hours, he’d no doubt missed a meal, if not two. He hadn’t had much for breakfast as he’d already been feeling off, and he could practically feel the soup Gar had made earlier sloshing around in his stomach. His head felt somewhat clearer though, and Jason put that down to the drip in his hand.
As he finally moved, being careful not to pull on the thin tube connected to him, he cast his eyes to the supplies on the coffee table within arm’s reach. There was an assortment of crackers, pretzels, bananas, ginger snaps, and Jell-O; Gatorade, juice boxes, and a Thermos which probably held more soup. Next to those were packs of tissues, some hand sanitiser, some cough drops, and a bowl of water with a cloth resting on the edge. He wouldn’t put it past them to have placed a sick bowl on the floor too.
Okay, there wasn’t a sick bowl but there was a trash can next to the nightstand.
Still, overkill much.
“Hey, how’re you feeling?”
Jason jumped, not expecting to see Dick sat on a chair at the other side of the bed. He’d been reading something that was now in his lap.
“Like shit,” Jason croaked back, coughing as he carefully sat up. “I’ve not been this sick for a while.”
Dick rounded the bed and helped prop up his pillows, passing him a glass of water from the nightstand that Jason hadn’t even noticed. “Yeah, Bruce said as much. I guess your immune system isn’t used to flu shots yet.”
It was said with levity, but Jason felt himself flushing with embarrassment and he glared back. Like he needed the reminder of the countless shots and boosters Bruce had sent him to the doctor’s office for after his first medical. It was yet another reminder of how the rich and privileged of Gotham lived, with their healthcare needs on fucking speed dial.
He took a few sips of water which helped soothe his throat. “Thanks,” he said flatly.
“Do you want something to eat? When Gar told me you were sick, Rach and I made sure we got as many things as we could think of to give you some choices. I wasn’t sure what you liked. Gar made you some more soup too.”
“Food is food.” Jason shrugged and he saw the guilt flicker across Dick’s face. “Thanks, for this though,” he said awkwardly. He could practically see the thoughts of Jason’s past spiralling in Dick’s head.
“It’s nothing like Alfred’s standards, I know, but it’s the best we could do.”
Jason nodded, grabbing for the nearest bag of crackers. He’d nibbled on three when his body reminded him of its… other functions.
“You okay?” Dick asked.
“I need to use the bathroom,” he replied, already trying to shuffle off the bed. There was no fucking way he was using a bedpan. Dick was quickly hovering by his side, ready to provide support if he stumbled, and Jason grumbled under his breath that he was fine.
“You need to take the pole with you, and I don’t want you falling flat on your face.”
“Whatever, asshole, just get me to the bathroom.”
The transition from being sat up to stood up didn’t give him another head rush as expected this time. Instead, he felt his stomach churn accompanied by a crashing wave of nausea, and he only just managed to make it to the trash can near the bed before he was losing what little he’d eaten and drank.
Fucking hell.
Dick had a steadying arm around his waist, the other gently rubbing circles on his upper back.
Jason’s eyes were streaming when he stood up again, and he quickly wiped a hand across them. He fucking hated that Dick was seeing him like this and wished he could be back in Milwaukee beating the shit out of the cops, because at least that was a demonstration of his strength. Being ill like this was just more weakness.
“Bathroom,” Jason wheezed, and Dick didn’t argue with him, taking the IV pole and starting to wheel it towards the door. Because of course he had to exit his room to get to the one down the corridor he shared with Gar. Why the Tower couldn’t have private bathrooms like Wayne Manor, he had no clue. It wasn’t like Bruce couldn’t afford it.
“The only room that has an ensuite is the infirmary, but I didn’t think you’d want to be in there,” Dick apologised.
“Nope,” he snapped back. He would rather sleep on the balcony than in the medical bay. “You’re carrying me next time though.”
“Sure,” Dick said through a laugh. They both knew he was joking.
When they got to the bathroom, Dick stayed outside while Jason did what he needed, including rinsing his mouth out to get rid of the taste of his own bile. The room suddenly felt too small, and the fever sweat was making his hair stick to his forehead. As he splashed some cold water over his face, neck, and hair, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. His eyes had the expected bright glaze, and his skin had a dull fever flush that made the rest of him look even paler.
He tried to take a few deep breaths but that just made him cough and he grimaced as he felt the nausea return. He was on his knees in a heartbeat, barely remembering to drag the IV pole with him.
At least the toilet was better than a trash can.
Dick had the courtesy to knock before bursting in, having obviously heard Jason retching into the toilet bowl. He did the same as before, staying at Jason’s side and rubbing his back.
When Jason was done, which had ended in mostly dry heaving, he felt utterly spent and ended up sat on the floor against the sink trying to get his breath back.
Dick was messing around out of his eye-line for a minute or so before he was trying to get Jason to drink more water, dabbing his forehead with another cold facecloth. The smothered feeling was returning.
“I got it,” Jason insisted, snatching it out of Dick’s hands and laying the cloth over his forehead as he leaned his head back against the sink where he sat. He just needed to sit for a bit. The floor was cold to his bare legs, the sink was cold against his back, and the bathroom itself felt a few degrees colder than his bedroom. Probably because of the lack of blankets.
Seeming to guess Jason wasn’t ready to move just yet, Dick sat himself down opposite him, his arms around his knees and his head resting against the bathtub.
The silence was nice. Jason hadn’t bothered to turn the light on when he came in and Dick had only turned the bathroom mirror light on whilst he was helping Jason. The room wasn’t pitch black, but neither was it unbearably bright to exacerbate his headache.
Dick broke the silence.
“Bruce asked to come and see you.”
Jason winced. No doubt Bruce wanted to tell him personally that he wasn’t living up to expectations and then drag him back to Gotham. No doubt Dick “Golden Boy” Grayson was raring to send him back. Jason had barely a year under Bruce (under Batman), whereas Dick had had most of Jason’s life. Of course, he wanted to go back to Gotham eventually, Batman needs Robin, but hanging out with the Titans was also pretty fucking sweet and he didn’t want to leave yet.
“What did you say to him?” Jason braced himself for the inevitable.
Dick took a breath. “I said no as you hadn’t asked for him and you were asleep when we spoke. You’re an adult, not a helpless minor after all.” Jason tried to laugh but ended up having a coughing fit instead.
“Funny,” he said after he recovered, taking a few more gulps of water. Circus Boy could joke all he wanted. Jason could take it.
“If you want him to come, that’s okay.”
“No-” Jason began.
“I just wanted it to be your decision.”
“Why do you even fucking care?” Jason snapped. “Just do whatever you think is best and I’ll obey like a good fucking soldier.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Why not? The only reason I’m here is because you’re Bruce’s Golden Boy and he thinks you can do a better job at making me like you than him.”
“That’s not true-”
“Bullshit. We both know it. I’m a worthless street rat who only got the Robin gig because it was either he took me in or hand me over to the fucking cops.”
Jason absolutely hadn’t meant to be spilling all of this to Dick Grayson of all people. Fucking fever. He grabbed the compress from his forehead and squeezed it in his hand. He’d throw it if he wasn’t so fucking tired.
“Jason-”
“It’s been the best thing to ever happen to me, bro. Robin is magic, okay? I need Robin.”
“No one is taking that away from you.”
“Don’t you get it? I get everything taken away from me.”
His whole life consisted of him getting punished in one way or the other. Whether it was Willis taking his anger out on him, the universe taking his mom away from him, or his foster families stealing his med scripts, his whole fucking life was just Jason losing everything he ever had. Even when Batman had caught him stealing the hubcaps off the Batmobile, he’d taken away Jason’s chance at getting a good sum of money for them that would have meant maybe an extra coat.
As it was, Batman, Bruce, finding him that night had turned out to be a fucking miracle, and Jason’s life had changed for the better. Robin had changed Jason’s life for the better, giving him purpose, a chance to hit back at all those who wronged him.
He couldn’t lose that.
Dick was prying the compress out of his hand and Jason let him, closing his eyes, and breathing as Dick moved about above him. Jason sensed when he was back in front of him, muscle memory kicking in, rigid and ready to strike. Ready to defend himself.
“It’s just me, Jay, you’re okay,” came Dick’s soft voice as he worked the compress back over his face and neck before dabbing it back over his forehead. “I won’t take Robin away from you.”
Jason scoffed. “Yeah, but Bruce will.”
“Robin isn’t Bruce’s to take away.”
Jason just looked at him. “What are you talking about?”
“The Robin mantle; it comes from me,” Dick said. “I created it, not Bruce. Those ‘lame colours’ you wear are my family’s. That Flying Grayson’s poster in your bedroom? It’s there to remind us of where Robin came from.”
“So, Bruce won’t take Robin away from me?” Jason pleaded, ignoring the dig Dick had taken at him by referencing the first time they’d met in Chicago.
“I won’t let him.”
Jason let it sink in and found himself relaxing more as Dick kept making sure the compress was keeping him cool.
“Thank you.”
The next time he woke up someone was reading to him.
“Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously.”
He was pretty sure he knew those words from somewhere, but his sleep and fever-addled mind were not quite allowing him any coherent thought yet. The voice was nice though, soft, and melodic, engaged in the story they were telling.
“A person may be proud without being vain.”
Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us, his brain supplied.
“Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us,” the voice reading echoed.
Wait.
No.
NO.
“If I were as rich as Mr. Darcy-”
“Stop!” Jason yelled, sitting bolt upright, and looking towards the source of the voice, eyes focusing enough to recognise Gar sat next to the bed, looking like he’d just jumped out of his skin in fright.
The book clutched in his hands.
“Woah, Jason, it’s just me. Are you okay?” Gar said quietly, looking at him with concern, assuming maybe that Jason had just awoken from a nightmare.
“Where did you find that?” Jason demanded, eyes fixed on the well-loved copy of Pride and Prejudice in Gar’s hands. A book that was supposed to be in the locked box beneath his bed, amongst his most treasured possessions.
Hidden. Safe.
It felt violating to see Gar with the book in his hand. Had they been through his stuff while he was asleep? Or when they were prepping his room earlier?
“On the nightstand,” Gar replied simply. “It was there when we came in to prepare your room, so I assumed you were reading it and thought maybe you’d want me to read it to you while you’re sick.”
Jason’s panic didn’t fully vanish, but it didn’t overwhelm him like a few seconds previous. Relief flooded through him as it registered that none of the Titans had rooted through his things out of curiosity while they had access to his bedroom. It was his own stupidity to blame, leaving the book out on the nightstand in full view rather than locking it away where it belonged. Being sick made him careless.
He cleared his throat. “Thanks. It’s just…important to me.”
And it’s going straight back under the bed after this conversation.
“The book? Did it belong to your parents?”
Jason almost laughed. “No, that’s my copy from Wayne Manor. I meant I don’t like people to know I read.”
“Why not?” Gar frowned.
Jason sighed. “Because it’s one of the few things that I enjoy, and that makes it a weakness. People knowing what you like, just makes you a target and gives people leverage over you. And in Crime Alley you learn to keep shit secret.”
Like locking away the few personal belongings you have away from easy prying eyes. Even in a place as huge as Wayne Manor, but especially in Titans Tower.
“You thought I went through your stuff,” Gar guessed, and Jason avoided his gaze. “Jason, I would never do that. We would never do that. I’m sorry you thought that. It was left out on the nightstand, I swear.”
“I know, it’s okay. Just, don’t tell any of the others anything if they ask.” Jason felt himself wince as he said it. God that sounded so fucking pathetic.
“Jason, man, it’s okay if you’re a classic literature nerd. Look at me, movie and video game geek, out and proud!”
Jason groaned and dragged the blankets over his head. God forbid they ever found out he was a fucking Thespian.
“Do not tell anyone!” he grumbled from under the sheets. Then his body thrust a yawn at him, and it kept on coming, stretching his jaw until it was almost painful. Feeling suffocated, he threw back the blankets and reached for a bottle of Gatorade and a tissue. Blowing his nose and coughing some more, he took a few sips of the blue sugary drink before putting it down and settling back on the bed, hugging one of his pillows and being careful not to dislodge the IV in his hand.
He sighed and sniffed, meeting Gar’s eyes who was looking at him questioningly, holding the book up.
“Fine,” Jason muttered, yawning again before burying his face into the pillow.
Gar carried on reading and soon enough, Jason drifted back off to sleep.
There was nothing solid he could sense about his surroundings.
Only vague impressions.
Fire and ice and weightlessness.
Buzzing and beeping and bouncing.
Aching and itching and burning.
Like some weird floaty dream.
Like he’d been chucked into the Gotham River.
With concrete blocks.
He wasn’t even sure he was awake.
Batman would save him.
“Jason?”
A somewhat familiar antiseptic smell hit his nostrils and he felt himself stiffen on reflex, gasping in pain as his body protested. Confirmed by the accompanying background beeping and the plastic feel at the edge of the cot.
He was in the medical bay.
Fuck.
“Jason, can you open your eyes?”
And that was Bruce.
Oh, he was so fucked.
He felt a hand touch his arm and he jolted, trying to sit up but his body ached and then the hand was on his chest keeping him down and he started to panic.
“Jason, it’s just me. I’m sorry for scaring you.”
Of course, he knew it was Bruce, but Jesus fuck he wasn’t expecting to wake up and find him by his bedside.
“What are you doing here, Bruce?” God his throat felt dry.
“Here.” Bruce pushed the control on the bed so he was more upright before handing him a cup full of water with a straw. He sipped until it was empty, and Bruce placed it back on the table. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine. What are you doing here?” he repeated, suddenly afraid that this was it. The last straw.
No more Robin.
Bruce eyed him with a steady look. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Bullshit,” Jason shot back. “I don’t need anything sugar coating so just give it to me straight, old man. I’m such a fuck up that not even Golden Boy Dick Grayson can fix so you’ve come to take me back to Gotham and give me up to the cops where you should have fucking sent me in the first place.” His voice threatened to break on those last few words, but he swallowed it down, and tried to look Bruce in the eye but found he couldn’t bring himself to do so. It didn’t help that the man was silent for what felt like a very long time.
“No, Jason, of course not. I would never do that to you,” Bruce said softly, his voice thick and rough like he’d swallowed a Batarang. Jason flinched when he tried to put his hand on his arm again.
“Why? I’m sick and I’m not useful to you or Dick like this. I’m weak and I can’t fight, and neither of you thinks I’m good enough to be Robin; Dick treats me like I’m a beginner but I’m better than that, I should be better than that! How can I prove myself if I just end up getting sick and you can’t use me?”
God how he wished he had better control of his mouth, he hadn’t meant to say any of that, especially not to Bruce’s face.
“Jason, Jason! Breathe. Okay, good. What’s brought this on?”
Jason took a deep breath and leaned back against the bed. “Fucking fever apparently,” he grumbled, wincing before saying, “sorry. I didn’t mean any of that.”
A soft and warm hand gently brushed his hair off his forehead and Jason breathed shakily, leaning into the touch despite everything he’d said.
“Jason, look at me.” The voice was as soft and gentle as the hand and Jason hated it, but he listened anyway. “It’s not your fault you’re sick. It happens to all of us, including me and Dick. It doesn’t mean you’re weak, it means you need to listen to your body and rest and allow yourself to recover. There’s no shame in that.”
Jason scoffed but let a smirk escape his lips. “Do you know how ridiculous you sound saying that to me? The Batman resting and recovering after an illness or an injury? I have never heard of that one before.”
The hand was back in his hair. “You nearly died, Jason.”
So that was why he was here, on the off chance that he’d have to arrange a funeral. Fucking awesome. “Dick called you to handle me instead, huh? Nice.”
“That is a grave misinterpretation, Master Jason,” came Alfred’s soft yet stern voice from the doorway, walking over to them with a tray in his hands. Jason immediately felt guilty in a way that only Alfred could manage, looking away as the butler set the tray on the moveable table beside Jason’s bed. “Master Dick cares a great deal about you despite what you may think. When your fever spiked, he called Master Bruce in quite a state, and rest assured we were on our way before the call ended. His two other young charges, Miss Rachel and Master Garfield were quite distressed at seeing Master Dick so out of his depth, but they refused to leave neither his side nor yours for the past few days.”
“Wait, days? How long was I out?” Jason demanded, noting that the other three weren’t in the room but, knowing Alfred, he would have insisted they look after themselves and wouldn’t argue if they knew what was good for them. Alfred could get Bruce to sleep during long cases in Gotham.
“Four days, Jason,” Bruce said solemnly. “We almost sent you to the hospital, but Dick insisted on keeping you here. We only agreed because the Tower’s infirmary is fully stocked with rehydration solutions and Tamiflu.”
“Which, naturally, will need restocking immediately. Not at all a problem, I’ll see to it as soon as possible,” Alfred said. “Meanwhile, you’re staying here in this bed for at least another day, my boy.”
Jason groaned, dragging his hands over his face before accepting the cup of soup passed to him and he muttered a thanks to Alfred. He was feeling somewhat better, but he could tell his body had put itself through hell, a bit like a bad hangover. After a few sips, with both men staring at him in silent messages to drink it, Jason felt himself needing to ask one more time.
“Do I have to go back to Gotham with you now?”
Bruce stroked a hand through his hair again and Jason wanted to fight it, but it felt good, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever get this again. “Only if you want to, but I have a feeling Dick won’t want to let you out of his sight just yet.”
“But, what about Batman and Robin? You’ve already been missing several days-” Jason began to protest.
“Barbara’s handling things for the time being, Gotham won’t fall just because Batman took a few days off. She sent you some books, by the way, a get well soon present. Promised to also let you pick the movie next time, even if it’s a musical.” Bruce quirked an eyebrow at him as he placed a paper bag onto the bed that must have been down by his feet on the floor.
Jason grinned as he opened the bag to find some play scripts of his favourite Broadway shows, as well as some Portuguese translations of several Shakespeare plays. He made a mental note to text her a sincere thank you. While he’d been fearful of the Titans figuring out his love of reading and theatre, he’d never been able to hide it from Barbara Gordon, the woman was practically a walking library herself.
“Master Jason, please don’t feel you’ve disappointed us in any way. Your training here is invaluable to your experience as Robin, a rite of passage if you will. You will stay here until either you or Master Dick feel you have learned enough. That is not to say you don’t have to stay here if you do not wish it, but may I also remind you of the certain actions you performed whilst home alone in the Manor which constituted this visit in the first place. While it may not be so much of a punishment, I would advise you to make the most of your time here. It will most certainly do you good.”
“Thanks, Alfie,” Jason said sincerely, sniffing a little but putting it down to his lingering flu symptoms.
Bruce placed a hand on his arm. “As Alfred said, Jason, we want the best for you and for you to want the best for you. Getting sick isn’t any sort of weakness, and you’ll never be punished for that. It doesn’t change our love for you. All I ask is that you always try your best.”
“So, I’m still Robin?” he asked tentatively, finally getting the real worry off his chest.
“Yes, of course, Jason,” Bruce replied, before standing up and leaning forward, gently planting a kiss on Jason’s forehead. “Now get some rest, son.”
Alfred gathered the gifts off the bed and deposited them on the table, swapping them out for the tray he’d brought in.
“Rest well, Master Jason. Do not hesitate to press the buzzer if you need anything.”
Jason thanked him as he left, shuffling around in the bed to get comfortable, trying and failing to stop the tears from falling. Sheer relief, comfort, and love. Jason hadn’t quite felt like this since the days when his mom would hold him and whisper how much she loved him.
Alfred and Bruce and Dick loved him, in their own ways.
Jason could get used to that.