Chapter Text
Tim wakes up to Jason looming overhead, a shadowed outline against the darkness of night. His arms are tucked delicately against his chest and his wide shoulders are hunkered down, all as if to hold himself together, and Tim waits patiently; he knows Jason sometimes needs time to gather his thoughts or to execute an action. Sometimes Jason just needs a moment to remember to move. So Tim waits. He had tried helping Jason out before in these lapses, but that resulted in a screeching, kicking Jason Todd and many bruises to Tim’s body. Jason still doesn’t much like touch even when he’s catatonic; he still prefers to initiate it, initiate a hug from Dick or a cuddle from Bruce. Since the incident these have become more common, but it still has to be on Jason’s terms. So Tim waits.
Four minutes and thirty-three seconds later, Jason tentatively leans against the mattress and Tim takes that as his cue to shift over and lift the covers in invitation. Jason still hesitates for just a moment before crawling beneath the warm covers and curling to face the third Wayne boy; Jason is still a cautious teenager, probably more so than ever before. Tim figures it’s a safe move to put an arm over the older boy, and he does so with only a minor growl from Jason that settles into a contented sigh soon enough. Tim reasons that the cause of Jason’s visit has something to do with either his insomnia or a nightmare, both equally unpleasant; but Jason seems happy to finally fall or merrily return to sleep. As they settle down for the rest of the night, the eldest lets out a whine and burrows closer to Tim.
And that’s when Tim notices that something is wrong.
Because while Jason initiates more affection, he does not appreciate cuddles from Tim. Damian hypothesizes this is so because the first time Jason tried to nuzzle Tim after the incident, Tim went so stiff with shock he was unresponsive to reciprocate the affection; so now Jason goes to those who actually hold him, ie Dick and Bruce.
(It’s, of course, not Tim’s fault he was so shocked; Jason had always been jealous of Tim when Tim had arrived at the Manor. No longer was Jason the youngest who could throw a tantrum and get the attention he wanted. Now he had to share with Tim. And of course there was the fact that Tim was remarkably smart, so Jason could only view him as a danger to his own position in the family; a better child inadvertently meant Jason was no longer needed, or so Tim assumed was the other’s thought process. With this jealousy came rivalry and distance between the second Robin and third, so physical affection from Jason was rare if none existent.)
But now for Jason to willingly nuzzle closer is an indicator that something is wrong; that, and the heat steaming from his back where Tim’s hand rests. It’s a cold night and Jason must have been out from beneath any sort of warm covers for a while; a tank top and sweats aren’t enough to battle the chill. In all logic, Jason should be cold. But he is not. He is warm and yet he shivers. Tim shuts his eyes tight in hopes of gaining the strength to deal with a sick Jason; he will need patience and acceptance that he has been awoken at four in the morning to deal with this.
Dick is in Bludhaven and won’t be back until Friday night, three days from today, working on a police case and doing his own nightly routine; Bruce is on patrol and will be unavailable until further notice (Scarecrow and Killer Croc are still lose in the city since last Wednesday). Tim knows his duties: watch after Jason, keep all knives and sharp objects away from Damian, help Alfred around the house when possible, and make sure everyone’s homework gets completed. Watching after Jason and Damian is tiring enough as it is without adding illness to the mix. Well, they are his duties now and he’s always been serious about completing his duties.
Tim goes up on his elbow, brushes some hair from Jason’s face, and tries to ignore the white strip that falls over his forehead. “Jay, are you sick?”
The older boy doesn’t say anything; Tim didn’t expect him to.
He checks the other’s temperature to his own; yes, Jason has a fever. He will need medicine and fluids and rest; first things first is medicine. So Tim goes to climb over Jason to get the medicine from the medicine cabinet in the hallway bathroom; Jason bats at him for disturbing his rest, but Tim extricates himself without any more abuse and scampers off to the bathroom. The light he clicks on his blinding and he squints as he shuffles around in the medicine cabinet. He finds Tylenol at the back, reads the instructions carefully, and hurries back to his room after shutting off the light. He checks in on Damian quickly and finds the boy clutching Titus like the animal is a plush toy; he grins and returns to Jason.
Tim keeps a glass of water on the nightstand that he changes out every night before going to bed; he puts the Tylenol bottle besides the glass and sits on the edge of the bed. He clicks on his bedside lamp which causes Jason to moan in aggravation. One breath, two breath, three and Tim feels ready to coax Jason into a sitting position. First thing to do is tug the blanket from the red head’s death grip; Dick showed Tim pointers in how to deal with Jason and a major lesson was how to get Jason up when he didn’t want to.
“He hates to be poked; so just keep poking him. He’ll do most of the work for you, squirming and flailing and stuff. You just gotta rile him up some and then run like hell.” Dick had grinned at Tim’s horrified look. “Or rile him up and when he tries to strangle you tell him breakfast is ready; he’ll forget about you waking him in a little bit.”
That had been before the incident, but the poking still helped. So Tim jabs Jason in the shoulder; the hand relaxes long enough for Tim to put his Red Robin reflexes to good use and snatch the comforter away. Jason glares at him over his shoulder; it’s not as fierce as before, though Tim knows he is still very capable of eviscerating Tim. So Tim ignores the glare and shakes the pill bottle.
“Sit up, Jase; you need to take some medicine.”
Jason doesn’t like medication. But he must be feeling like crap because his eyes stay fixated on the bottle and he rolls onto his back; he goes no further than that. Tim bites back a sigh, puts the bottle down again, and fits his hands under Jason’s pits, readying to bodily pull the other into a sitting position. When did he ever become the big brother?
Probably somewhere between the warehouse and the crowbar; or maybe it was the crowbar and the bomb. It very well could have been between the bomb and Batman rescuing him, because Batman found Jason beneath a sheet of roofing tin that had been stored in the warehouse as if he had used it to shield him from the bomb’s blast. That had to indicate Jason had still been aware before the bomb went off. Well, the tin had done its job well, allowing Jason to be breathing today with only minor third degree burns; but Jason had never been the same. The Joker had done a number on Bluejay, beating him to near death with a damn crowbar before leaving him locked in the warehouse with a bomb; Jason had been fifteen.
Now he was sixteen and scarred, maybe for life. His skin was pinkish where the burns had been, and he really didn’t like to be touched in those places. (But it was hard when the boy was a walking scarred meat suit; everywhere, it seemed, he was pink with raw skin of varying shades.) Sure, if someone’s arms were to cover those scars during a hugging session, he tolerated it, but a hand to get his attention that just grazed the new skin set him off. Stiffness would set in and he’d go unresponsive for hours. The bruises and broken bones had healed far better than the burns and his limp was barely even noticeable; but he was broken in more than body.
The psychologist Leslie had referred to them to had said he was probably suffering from immense PTSD mixed in with catatonia. So they took him home and made sure at least one person was always in charge of watching him; Bruce had set up security measures to ensure Jason couldn’t wander into the Cave at any point in time, and Dick had started coming home more often. Damian still called Jason names, but Tim felt it was more out of frustrated confusion than actually animosity towards their brother. The youngest Robin just couldn’t quite comprehend why Jason had become so unresponsive, despite everyone having tried to explain it to Damian in the simplest of terms; Tim chalked his confusion up to Damian’s childhood with Talia. A person should not be weak and if they were they were disposed of, end of discussion.
Jason actually swallows the pills rather easily, with only minor coaxing on Tim’s side and hardly any spilled water. For that, Tim is grateful. He gets Jason lying down once more and heaps any extra blankets over him before crawling into the bed as well. He manages to get an arm around Jason again and Jason ever so gently grips his small wrist. Tim keeps a loose grip on the other boy and waits until he falls asleep before following.
The morning will bring more troubling issues to conquer, but Tim would like to worry about those later. For now, he will sleep with Jason breathing softly beneath his arm.
The clock reads out four thirty-two.