Chapter Text
Jason Todd-Wayne finds his way home to Wayne Manor deep into the night in the first week of December. The first true snow of the season has begun, flakes clinging to his hair and packing into the tread of his boots. His ragged, labored breaths are visible in the air, puffs lit up by the street lamps he passes by.
He stumbles not unlike a newborn deer up the staircase leading to the manor. Tripping a few times, catching himself on the steps with the hand not clutching desperately to his ribs, pain sparking white-hot and furious. The cold breeze stings at his eyes, forcing him to squint against the chill. Jason’s hand fumbled to slap his palm against the doors and the call button, making a feeble attempt to call out to someone – anyone – that might answer him from inside.
It may have only been moments, or it could have been hours, before the door swung open. Jason hadn’t really known. One eye swollen shut, mind delirious, pain fogging his concept of time and slowing his movements. He looked up (when had he fallen to his knees?) at the motion and laid gaze upon Alfred at the door, whose eyes were alight with worry, or perhaps it were fear. Hands reached down towards him and Jason recoiled. A whine of pain clawed its way out of his throat with the sudden movement. He couldn’t tell where the pain had come from.
“Master Jason,” said Alfred, breathy and disbelieving, kneeling now in front of him. “Let’s get you indoors. I will help you, are you capable of standing?”
Jason blinked, muscles spasming beneath his skin with the anticipatory effort to rise from the snowy doorstep. The temperature of the frozen ground was seeping through the fabric of his suit, stinging his knees. He braced himself without answering, and grabbed for the doorframe to hoist himself up. Alfred made a sound of surprise and acted swiftly, bracing Jason’s frame with a hand beneath his extended bicep and the other holding the opposite elbow. An attempt at contact points that would hurt him the least. With the strain, Jason could only whimper in his agony, voice too far gone to do much else. His eyes watered and bottom lip trembled, stumbling over himself, Alfred having to compensate for his off-balanced weight without complaint.
Alfred managed to haul Jason inside and close the door behind them, and Jason found himself struggling not to slump in response to the sudden warmth. He could only focus on so much, and everything else only came through in blurred images and information that was thrown from his memory just as quickly as it was processed. Alfred was speaking to him, but he couldn’t register most of the words coming his way, though he knew somewhere that it was intended to soothe.
For a split moment, Jason had thought to curse the expansive floorplan of the Manor, every step angering injuries and exhausting his breaths. Each inhale and exhale was taken open-mouthed in the strain of it all, air catching and rumbling in his lungs. A mixture of blood and snow and whatever-else made a trail on the marble floors beneath him. Exhaustion was beginning to drape over his mind and body.
“I will bring you to the medical bay, we will get this sorted.”
“No,” Jason replied, head shaking, one bleary eye finding Alfred’s face. His voice came out faint and hoarse. But he was determined.
“Master Jason, I cannot in good conscience–”
“No. Up– upstairs. I have’ta… upstairs. Alfred.”
In this moment, speaking between almost-gasps, Jason removed himself from Alfred’s helping hold and had begun moving alone and unthinking. Autopiloting towards the elevator that would take him up. Alfred nearly squawked in his surprise, trying to gently wrangle him back in to redirect. Jason refused, not rudely, insisting upon his path. He could do it. He just needed to stay upright long enough.
Again, he stumbled, grappling at the air to prevent himself from falling, and his hand was met with Alfred’s arm. “At least allow me to assist you, if you must go upstairs.” Which Jason was grateful for, and hooked his elbow back in with Alfred’s as he led the way.
The elevator had let them out on the floor that housed the primary bedroom, to which Alfred granted the kindness of not questioning. Jason let himself be supported through the french doors and into Bruce’s cavernous sleeping quarters, body working its way towards his bed without need of his mind’s direction. Jason was in pain. Deep, agonizing pain that threatened to split molars with the force he had been gritting his teeth through it. All he wanted was to lie down somewhere safe. Somewhere warm and protected that would welcome his abused and neglected frame, and allow him rest. The Batman was out tonight, but it only meant that Bruce Wayne would be the one coming home by sunrise. As far as Jason’s subconscious was concerned, there was no safer place in the world than his father’s bed.
Alfred allowed Jason to sit on the edge of the mattress, pulling back the blankets when Jason had begun to try and yank them free himself. Jason did not fight his boots being undone and taken off, but shrugged off the attempts to remove his battered suit, not ready to face the way it would reveal what true extent of damage had been done to him. He slowly shuffled his way beneath the covers and towards the middle of the mattress, trying as best he could manage not to enrage the injuries he had sustained. Alfred had calmly shushed his pained noises, nearing dog whines by this point, petting his hair back off his sweating forehead as he helped tuck him in. Pillows fluffed, blankets soft and warm, being engulfed by the plushness of everything and the scent of his father.
“There you are, dear boy. It’s alright, you’re home now. You can rest here.” Home. Jason had come home. Even if only for this feverish dreamlike event, he was safe at home.
There, in his father’s bed, Jason simply could not fight the call of sleep. It came stronger than the pain in his body, and the worry of this all being an elaborate hallucination in his mind. The drowsiness came in one last calming wave, and Jason fell into it.