1 2 3 4 5. He counted again to satisfy his mind. And again. He took a deep breath. Tried to calm his mind. He could feel the thoughts rushing through his head, turning over in his mind, almost engulfing him.
“Jason, are you okay?” A voice broke him from his thoughts.
“I’m fine.” He shook his head, pushing away the thoughts for now. “What did you need Bruce?”
“I asked if you wanted to help on this case. I know you were about to leave, but I can really use all the help I can get.”
He walked to the table in the cave (where he had been after just finishing patrol) where everything was laying out.
It was a mess and he hated it. It was entirely unorganized with everything just thrown on the table. Bruce lead him to the computer and he tried to ignore the mess behind him. As Bruce droned on and on about the current case, he could feel the tug to fix it.
As Bruce finished droning on, Jason fixed the papers to make them a perfect stack. He didn’t notice Bruce giving him a strange look.
“You don’t have a preference for specific numbers?” Jason raised his eye brows.
“...No?” Dick frowned. “Do you?”
“Yeah.” Jason rolled his eyes, like he thought Dick was the one being unreasonable. “I prefer threes, fives and seven, but tens can work if I’m desperate.” Jason said, pooping some toast in the toaster.
“Okay...” Dick looked at him. “I didn't know you had such strong opinions on numbers.”
“Of course I do.” Jason took the toast out of the toaster. “Even numbers are disgusting and I don’t care for them at all.”
“Right.” Dick was throughly confused. “And what brought this up again?”
Jason looked away from his breakfast and said, “You were fine with turning the temperature to 72 degrees?”
They quietly ate their breakfast until the others came down.
“Todd, what are you doing here?” Damian said, frowning at him. “Hello Grayson.” He nodded at Dick.
“I’m eating breakfast. I’m about to head out anyway.” Jason turned to Dick. “Keep the temperature at 73 or 75 degrees please next time. Or at the very least don’t tell me.”
Damian nodded. “I agree. Even numbers are atrocious.”
Dick raised his eyebrow. “You have favorite numbers too?”
Damian rolled his eyes. “Everyone knows odd numbers are better Grayson, it’s the one thing Todd is actually right about.”
Jason threw his hands up. “Thank you!” and walked out the door.
“It’s the most bizarre thing. Jason ways talking about how even numbers are bad or something and what was even weirder was that Damian agreed with him.” Dick said to Tim as they parked at the restaurant they were meeting everyone at.
“Damian agreed with him?” Tim turned to him. “Now I am concerned.”
“That reminds me of the other day when we grocery shopped.” Tim said as they opened the door and walked in the restaurant. “He grabbed a thing of milk, and all the other products, from the back. And he was careful enough to specify that it had to be third or fifth one in the row.”
“That is weird.”
“He said it was gross to get the first one, plus ‘we don’t know what happened to the first one Tim, it could be poisoned or something.’ Was his response when I asked him why.”
“Do you think that Jason has some form of OCD?” Dick frowned.
“Maybe. I mean coming back to life when you were literally dead in the go round had to be traumatizing, and you can’t expect him to abound back in perfect health.” Tim mused. “Aside from PTSD, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had something else going on too.”
“Should we talk to him about it?”
“Not yet, he might get defensive about it, so let’s wait and see.”
They saw that everyone else was arriving so they switched their conversation to work related topics, well, non-vigilante work that is.
Jason was frustrated. He knew that it ultimately didn’t matter, but his brain was screaming that there had only been two, and there needed to be three. He could feel the air of anxiety closing around him, making him tense up.
If you don’t do this now, the bad thing that will happen later will be because you didn’t do this. His mind said to him. He knew it was illogical, but it didn’t mean he didn’t believe it.
He hated that he had to do things once, twice, three times, before his brain calmed down and shut up.
It was frustrating, and he was annoyed at having to explain his mannerisms to the the rest of them. He knew it didn’t make sense and that it was an irrational behavior and/or thought, but that didn’t mean he could stop thinking it.
“But why?” Dick asked the next day, when he told him about this, after he had brought it up.
“I don’t know! Why do I just want to punch you in the face sometimes, even when you haven’t annoyed me, or shove Tim even though we’re literally just having a random conversation.”
Dick shot him a look. “You want to hurt us?”
“No, I don’t.” He looked at Dick. “It just pops in my head, I don’t want to think it, but it just appears.”
“I know it doesn’t make sense, but maybe it has something to do with me being resurrected via the Lazarus Pit.”
“Maybe. Let’s talk to Leslie and see what she thinks.” Dick says.
Jason eyes the prescription pad with the two medications on it, along with an appointment next week for therapy. He’s not entirely unhappy. At the very least it will help get the action (compulsions as they are called) under control.
He’s unsure of the medications, so he pushes that off to the side for now
He sees Bruce and sighs, this will be fun to explain, he thought to himself.
He takes a deep breath, steels himself and says, “Bruce, we need to talk.”