Chapter Text
The Gotham night was cold enough to see your breath, which wasn't helping Jason Todd's already miserable condition. He'd been fighting off what felt like the world's worst flu for three days now, but patrol didn't stop for a runny nose and fever. At least, that's what he kept telling himself as he perched on a rooftop overlooking the warehouse district, trying not to shiver too obviously.
"Red Hood, you copy?" Oracle's voice crackled in his ear.
Jason cleared his throat, hoping it didn't sound as rough as it felt. "Yeah, I'm here."
"You sound terrible."
"Thanks, Babs. Really feeling the love tonight."
"I'm serious. Are you sick?"
"Just a cold," Jason lied, even as his head pounded and his muscles ached. "Nothing I can't handle."
There was a pause. "If you say so. I've got movement in warehouse 4B. Looks like Scarecrow's crew setting up shop."
Jason's jaw tightened. Scarecrow. Great. Just what he needed when he could barely think straight. "On it."
He should have called for backup. That was the smart play, the family play. But Jason Todd had never been particularly good at asking for help, and he wasn't about to start now just because he had a fever. Besides, it was just recon. He'd scope it out, report back, and be home in bed before anyone knew he'd been running patrol while sick.
The warehouse was dark except for a few work lights set up in the center. Jason counted six of Scarecrow's goons moving crates, probably fear toxin components. Scarecrow himself stood near a makeshift lab setup, his burlap mask somehow more unsettling in the dim light.
Jason moved along the rafters, silent despite the way his head swam with each step. Just get close enough for photos, he told himself. Evidence for the GCPD, then out.
He didn't see the loose bolt until his boot hit it.
The metallic ping echoed through the warehouse like a gunshot. Every head snapped up.
"We have a visitor!" Scarecrow's voice was delighted, theatrical. "How wonderful. Seize him!"
Jason ran, but his reaction time was off. Just a half-second too slow. Bullets pinged off the metal rafters as he dove and rolled, his body protesting every movement. He made it to the ground level, heading for the exit, when Scarecrow stepped directly into his path.
"Red Hood," the villain crooned. "You don't look well. Allow me to make it worse."
The spray hit Jason directly in the face before he could dodge. Even through his helmet's filters, he felt the toxin seep in through the gaps, burning his sinuses and throat. His already compromised immune system had no chance.
Jason's fist connected with Scarecrow's jaw, muscle memory and rage overriding the panic starting to claw at his chest. He didn't wait to see the villain fall. He ran, crashing through a window and hitting the fire escape hard enough to knock the wind from his lungs.
"Hood? Hood, report!" Oracle's voice was sharp with concern.
"I'm—" Jason gasped, forcing his legs to move even as his vision started to blur at the edges. "Compromised. Fear toxin. Direct hit."
"Oh god. Jason, where are you?"
"Getting clear." He stumbled into an alley, ripping off his helmet to vomit. His hands were shaking. The fear hadn't hit yet. The toxin usually took a few minutes, but he could feel it coming like a storm on the horizon. "Don't— don't tell Bruce."
"Jason—"
"I mean it, Babs." He wiped his mouth, forcing himself upright. "I can handle this. I've been dosed before. I just need to get home and sleep it off."
"That's not how fear toxin works and you know it."
"I'll be fine." The words came out more desperate than he intended. "Just... give me a few hours. If I'm not better by morning, you can send in the cavalry."
Another pause. Then, reluctantly: "Six hours, Jason. That's all you get. Then I'm calling Bruce whether you like it or not."
"Deal."
Jason made it back to his safehouse on autopilot, every shadow seeming to writhe and reach for him. The toxin was starting to work now, turning the familiar streets into something from a nightmare. He saw the Joker's face in every window, heard his laugh in every siren.
Not real, he told himself firmly. None of it's real.
But his hands wouldn't stop shaking, and the fever was getting worse. By the time he stumbled through his door, his temperature had spiked to the point where he couldn't tell what was toxin and what was delirium.
He needed to get to the Manor. Alfred would know what to do. Alfred always knew what to do.
Jason didn't remember the drive. One moment he was in his safehouse, the next he was pulling into the Manor's garage, his bike somehow parked (badly) near the entrance. The walk to his room felt like miles. He passed Dick in the hallway— or thought he did. Everything was getting fuzzy around the edges.
"Jay? You okay?"
"Fine," Jason managed. "Just tired."
He made it to his room and collapsed onto the bed fully clothed, boots and all. The ceiling was spinning. Or maybe he was spinning. Hard to tell.
Sleep, he thought. Just need to sleep it off.
But as his eyes closed, the nightmares were already waiting.