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As Jason laid coughing out blood on the sidewalk, all he could think was, This feels so familiar. And also, Shit.
It was clear that this stab wound went just a bit too deep. Which was not great for his whole, you know, being alive thing.
Jason tried to muster up the voice to call for help to any of the Bats still in battle about ten feet away, but all he could do is weakly cough. More blood spattered from his lips, staining the snow-covered ground around him.
At least this time I died doing something right, he thought distantly and shivered. Something Bruce will be proud of.
A child, maybe 5 or 6-years-old at the most, had cried out as they were grabbed as leverage by some goon. Jason dropped whoever he was fighting to vault over there and handle it. It was a struggle, but he was able to get the kid out of their reach.
He could still hear the shaking sobs of the child, but he knew that they were safely within their mother’s arms, who was hopefully taking them far, far away from this mess. Bleeding out from a stab wound was certainly worth that. But maybe he wouldn’t have to if he could just cry out for… oh, wait.
His shaky hands fumbled while reaching for his belt pocket. He failed to unlatch it once, twice, and, just when he thought he’d die before he got it, his third attempt was successful. A panic button the size of a quarter spilled out onto the ground. Victory. Clumsy fingers grasped it, pulling it up towards his face. He almost smiled.
They surely wouldn’t notice the pinging noise from their communicators until the battle was concluded, at which point it would almost certainly be too late for Jason, but at least they’d know that he tried. His heart ached almost as much as his side as he wished he could say goodbye, but this would do. They’d know he didn’t want this fate, and that he tried to fight it; it was as close to an “I love you” as he could give.
He pressed down on the button as hard as he could, then it clattered to the ground once more. All his fight was gone. Another pang in his chest, and darkness took him over.
-
Consciousness came back in pieces. Frantic voices, but he couldn’t quite understand the words. The familiar pinch of an IV in his arm. A blinding light above him.
“Remember, he needs a higher dose—”
“Already got it.’
“Why didn’t he just—"
“Not now, Dami, we have to—”
“Here, help me move him to the cot.”
Warm hands were moving him, gently, onto a soft surface. He couldn’t open his eyes or say anything, he knew, but he tried, for a second, to move. Hands pressed him down, flat on his back, and his eyes snapped open.
He was in a dark box. Of that much he was certain. He could reach up and feel the silk encasing him in his little prison. His stomach turned. Was this a joke? It wasn’t funny. He couldn’t even remember where he was before the box. Who could have put him here?
He pressed on the lid, first hesitantly, then harder. The expected light did not come in. Instead, a cascade of dirt trickled inside. Panic bubbled in his throat, and it was all the sudden much harder to breathe. Someone buried him.
He was going to die soon. Maybe he already was. A choked sob escaped his throat as he pounded on the wood above him to no avail. That’s when he started screaming for—
Voices overlapped with his memories.
“What’s happening—"
“No, no, get your hands off of him! He can’t be on his back—"
“I don’t—Why is he having a panic attack?”
“He can’t be on his back; we have to move him.”
“He can’t be on his side right now, Tim, he needs—”
“I don’t know! Can we…”
A shuffle of discord surrounded Jason and drowned out the voices as he stared at the ceiling, trying in vain to reach up with his limp arms. He was fairly sure that he was in the Cave at this point, but he needed to feel the space above him, because how else could he get his breathing to slow down? He needed proof that he wasn’t caged.
Arms pulled below his shoulders, gently, and he felt pillows propping him up into something closer to a sitting position. He lets out a shaky breath. He couldn’t be upright like this in the—when he was underground. Thus, he was safe.
Jason’s body went limp, satisfied that the perceived danger had passed and finally giving up on staying alert. His eyes drooped closed as he could feel whatever drugs they had pumping into him taking root. He could still hear the people around him getting medical equipment ready, but he couldn’t seem to care about that. For now, he was safe, and that meant rest.
-
A hand carded carefully through his hair.
He almost kept his eyes closed and went back to sleep, relishing in the touch, but he knew whoever was petting his hair had probably already realized he was waking up.
“Jaylad?” a voice said softly from beside his cot. Theory confirmed. Living in a house full of detectives was seriously overrated. “Are you with me?”
Jason made himself force his eyes open with no small effort. He met Bruce’s familiar gaze and instinctively relaxed, eyelids already falling closed again. Testing out his vocal chords, he hummed a response.
“How do you feel?” Bruce asked, hand still brushing through Jason’s hair. Jason silently begged him not to stop and cleared his throat.
“Shitty.” He immediately winced at his sore throat, proving his point. Bruce chuckled slightly.
“I won’t tell Alfred you said that, considering the circumstances.”
Jason nodded, which tired him out way more than it should have. I’m never getting stabbed again, he thought. Got a No-Stab Policy starting right now.
“Hurts,” he admitted after a second, cracking his eyes open. “Everywhere.”
Bruce’s hand paused in Jason’s hair and a look of consideration passed over his features. “I’ll see if we can up your dose. You should get some rest.”
Jason hummed an assent and let his head drop to the side. The hand in his hair resumed its gentle motions and he sighed in contentment.
“Stay,” he mumbled before letting sleep take him again. He couldn’t hear Bruce’s response, but he could probably guess it anyways.
-
Jason groaned as he opened his eyes. Still in the Cave. Still in a hospital bed. Still had a stab wound. Judging the state of his thoughts and the searing heat on his side, it’d been a while since his last round of painkillers. Ugh. He was grateful for the clarity, but the accompanying pain was not fun.
This time, the Cave was full to witness his discomfort. More or less, at least. Crowded around his bed like he was a tuberculosis patient circa sometime-during-the-Civil-War was the usual suspects: Tim (hunched over sleeping), Bruce (staring only somewhat creepily), Damian (glaring at nobody), and Dick (suspiciously teary eyed). A typical Tuesday. Jason could hear thudding from the other side of the Cave that he knew was Cassandra kicking the shit out of a punching bag. Good for her, he thought distantly.
“Jay?” Dick said hesitantly. Jason forced himself to make eye contact.
“Yeah, Dickie?” he croaked. He half-expected his brother to flop dramatically onto his bed and cry, but Dick just gave a watery smile instead. It almost hurt worse, to see him holding on like this. Jason knew it was for his benefit.
“Don’t do that again,” Dick said sternly. Jason would’ve laughed if it he didn’t know it would cost him. Bruised ribs were no joke.
“Wasn’t planning on it. Got a whole new No-Stab Policy to roll out,” he said. “I was going to give the pitch later.”
Dick huffed a laugh, but his face schooled quickly. In fact, everyone at the bedside looked quite somber for being by the side of an alive person. Jason was about to ask who (else) died, but a realization dawned on him.
“You can ask, you know. I mean, did you not interrogate Timbird over there?” he asked, gesturing to the slumped figure at the edge of the bed. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the way they all tensed, but it was a close thing. A family of detectives, and yet they were dancing around his freak-out like they were in one of Cass’s ballet recitals. Then again, he reminded himself, I’m not exactly known for my composure.
Bruce had the grace to look vaguely embarrassed. “He said it was your story to tell.”
“Aww, he does care,” Jason said, nudging Tim with his foot half-heartedly. He didn’t stir. “Doesn’t make it any easier for me, but still. When he wakes up someone tell him he moved up to favorite brother.”
Dick scoffed indignantly and Damian looked vaguely offended. Jason let out an amused huff, and then gathered his courage. No point in beating around the bush, at this point. He avoided all their gazes.
“So, um. I can’t wake up on my back because it reminds me of when I—when I came back to life. I didn’t wake up in the Lazarus Pit,” he explained, forcing himself to look up at them. The Cave was dead silent. Confused looks came from all angles. His gaze caught on Bruce’s tense expression, and he took a deep breath. “I just… woke up, one day. Exactly where I was.”
Realization dawned on Bruce’s face, swiftly followed by horror. Jason’s eyes darted to see similar expressions all around. A tray clattered from beyond Jason’s vision, and he winced. He didn’t realize Alfred was down there.
“No, no.” Dick visibly shook. “Little wing, tell me you didn’t... Please.”
Jason cringed at how his brother’s voice broke on the last word. “I, I had to dig…” he trailed off, unable to form the words. What he said was enough to confirm Dick’s fears, though. His face crumpled.
Jason chanced a look at Damian, trying for a safer target, but his baby brother looked downright murderous as he pushed away the chair he was in and stalked off. Bruce was still frozen, a statue. In another context, it might’ve been funny. As it was, it was unnerving.
“You couldn’t have known,” Jason said softly. It was something he came to terms with a while ago; how much they just couldn’t have known. Bruce was obviously still coming to terms with it if his clenched jaw was anything to go by, but he looked at Jason, which felt like a good sign.
“I’m so sorry, Jaylad,” Bruce said, gripping Jason’s hand. Even he sounded a little choked up. “I’m. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
Jason said nothing. What could he? He instead stared, tears welling up in his eyes. A part of him really wished Tim had just told them while he was out, but then he thought about seeing them around his bedside with that look on their faces and was very glad that he left it to Jason.
A clatter and gentle touch on his other side made him tear his gaze away from Bruce’s. Damian had returned to his seat, still looking vaguely murderous but at least a little less on edge. It seems that Damian had fetched Cass if the sudden weight of her arm on his shoulder was anything to go by. She crawled deftly onto the bed beside him and leaned her head on Jason’s.
“You’re safe,” she said very quietly. “Here, with us. We will be sure that never happens again.”
A few tears escaped his eyes. He knew, logically, that that was impossible; they couldn’t have known then that he would just wake up, and they wouldn’t know either way if, or when, he died again. But, against all odds, he believed Cass. She sounded so sure.
In the future, his family would need explanations and reassurances and probably a couple calls to Talia. Right now, though? Cass was leaned against him, Bruce had one hand gripped tightly in his own, Dick had the other hand in a similar vice grip, Tim was safely asleep at the foot of his bed, and Damian was watching over him like he would personally dismember anyone who even stepped into the Cave with ill intentions. Jason felt the safest that he had in years.
“Sorry about the tray, Alfie,” he called out, eyes already closing. Emotional confessions are almost as exhausting as being stabbed.
“Nonsense, lad,” came the response a few seconds later, and despite himself, Jason smiled.
His family was here. They had come for him. And that was more than enough.