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Jason wasn't even supposed to be here; the injuries he'd gotten for the night were so minor that he could've just headed home, taken care of it himself. But no. The Big Bad Bat had decided he actually cared about Jason's well-being this quarter and had dragged his ass, kicking and screaming (only metaphorically, despite what everyone thought; Jason could actually control his own emotions now), into the Batcave to get checked out.
Stupid was how Jason would have described the feeling of Bruce's thumb brushing over his cheek, shining a pen light in his eyes to check for signs of a concussion. His heart was pounding in his chest. He tried to control it as Bruce moved on to other areas of concern on his bruised and aching body. His cheek was still tingling, faintly, from Bruce's touch. There was nothing to get excited about, just having Bruce touch him and having it not hurt.
They were all right; he was fucked in the head. But they didn't know why. The why was so simple that it was stupid. It was that Jason loved Bruce, that there was a part of him that would get down on his knees the moment Bruce asked, that would ask how high if Bruce told him to jump. That part was still that stupid little Robin, who didn't know he was dead, and blown up and forgotten. Who only cared that Bruce cared.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
"Are you all right, Jay?" Bruce asked, eyeing him doubtfully.
"Yeah," Jason said, sliding out of Bruce's grasp like a fish getting off the fisherman's hook. "Got a clean bill of health now, haven't I, old man?"
That last part was unnecessary, but it made Bruce compress his lips in disapproval and agree that Jason was good to go. And Jason went, hurrying out of there like he could outrun his own stupid, dizzying feelings. Damn. Well, maybe he was actually concussed after all.