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Everything fucking hurts.
It hurts to the point that he can't move at all. He doesn't think he can, either. He feels paralysed, stuck in the position because he can't move. He can't move.
Jason should've known this would happen. He’d slept terribly last night, his death haunting him in his dreams. He didn't know why he expected to be okay.
So now all he can do is lie in bed and wait for the pain to fade. It’ll take minutes, sometimes hours— and Jason has a feeling today might be the latter.
And he's supposed to meet up with Dick today. He promised. He knows how Dick will react when he stands him up— be an asshole and not visit for months.
Usually, Jason wouldn't mind it. Anything to get Dick off his back. But Bruce might try to find Jason and annoy him instead since his favourite son isn't in town.
Jason tries to reach out for his phone, only to gasp in pain, his eyes squeezing shut. His entire body trembles, and even that feels painful.
“F-fuck,” he grits out, his fingers twitching.
But before he can ask Siri to call Dick, the window to his room slides open. Well, speak of the devil and he shall appear.
“Jason?” Dick glances over his body. Curse him and his ability to read Jason like a fucking children's book. “Are you okay?”
“Hurts,” Jason manages.
Dick’s eyes sharpen at that. “Where?”
“E-Everything.”
Dick straightens up almost immediately, his hands hovering over Jason. “What happened? Can you move?” He pulls the blanket off, carefully checking for injuries before crouching in front of Jason. “You’re not bleeding or anything.”
“C’n’t move,” Jason says, his voice hoarse. He tries to reach out to his brother, but the pain only flares. “It hurts— m’ke it stop. Please, D’ckie.”
“I don't know how to help you, Jay,” Dick whispers frantically, running his fingers through Jason’s hair. Jason bets it's damp with sweat now. “Do I get you to a hospital? Do I call Bruce? Alfred? Leslie?”
“N-no— just stay,” Jason all but pleads.
“You’re not dying, are you?” Dick blurts out, his fingers moving almost hysterically in Jason’s hair now. “Please tell me you’re not dying.”
“No,” Jason grunts, the single word taking more effort than he likes. “But I feel like ‘m dying again.”
“I don't fucking know if that's a good thing or not right now, Jay,” Dick mutters. “Should I get an ice pack? Maybe some painkillers? Or— do you have chronic pain? I can help you—”
“I don't,” Jason rasps, his eyes fluttering shut. “Just… stay, D’ck. Gimme few hours and I’ll be ok’y. Promise. J’st— don't try to m’ve me.”
“Okay,” Dick breathes, his other hand scrubbing his face. “Okay, okay, okay. I trust you. Try to… get some sleep? I’ll be here when you wake up.”
If Dick says something afterwards, Jason doesn't hear it.
The next time he wakes up, he’s on his stomach, his head under his pillow. He groans softly, shifting just enough to catch a glimpse of his window— it’s already dark outside.
“You awake?” Jason turns his head to find Dick sitting beside him in bed, reading a book. He didn't know Dick reads— let alone could read.
“You better not be dog-earing my pages,” Jason grouches, reaching over to check the title. Internally, he breathes a sigh of relief when he realises he can fully move again. “‘m not done reading this yet.”
Dick hums. “I’m not that evil.” Then he puts the book aside and looks at him. Jason hates that look. “Are you feeling better?”
Jason sighs, rubbing his eyes. He briefly looks away from Dick, slightly ashamed that Dick had to see… that. “You weren't supposed to see that. Why the fuck were you here?”
“We agreed to meet at twelve,” Dick reminds him. “But you weren't answering. It was three when I found you, and now it's midnight.”
Jason blinks dumbfoundedly. “Oh.”
Dick studies him. “You said you didn't have chronic pain.”
“I don't,” Jason murmurs.
“Then what was that?”
“You interrogating me now?”
“I’m not—” Dick sighs, rubbing his face. “You said everything hurts and that you couldn't move. So forgive me for being damn worried about you.”
“It’s nothing.” Jason pushes himself off the bed, scratching at his jaw. “You didn't really have to stay, y’know. There’s people that need you.”
“Yeah, like you,” Dick shoots back, his arms folding across his chest. “You asked me to stay, and I did. I promised. I’m not leaving you alone when you’re suffering, Jay.”
Jason stares at him for a beat before shaking his head. He walks out of the bedroom, desperately trying to avoid Dick. “I need a fucking cigarette.”
“No, you need to talk,” Dick presses, and Jason doesn't need to turn to know that Dick is following him. “I’m just trying to understand what happened—”
“It happens, alright!” Jason snaps, whirling around to face Dick. “It happens when I don't sleep right. My entire body just fucking hurts like I was back in Ethiopia and Joker was caving my skull in. Like I’m being fucking exploded again.” He exhales slowly. “It happens, and it’ll happen again and there's nothing to prevent it. But it’ll go away eventually.”
“And you just—” Dick gestures vaguely at him. Jason can see the pain in his eyes as his brows furrow. “Go through it alone? Why didn't you tell me? Or— anyone?”
“Because I’m supposed to move on from my death,” Jason hisses as his hands curl at his sides. “Isn't that what everyone expects from me?”
Dick immediately falters at that. He opens his mouth, then closes it like he doesn't have the right words to say. Maybe he doesn't.
“No one expects you to move on, Jay,” Dick eventually says, his voice almost a whisper.
“I’m not the only one who died before— Cass, Damian, hell, even you did but you all somehow managed to get over it so—” Jason’s voice cracks. “So why can’t I?”
“Jason…” Dick’s voice softens, his hand reaching out for him. But Jason moves away to avoid it, and Dick lets it drop to his side. “You were young when you—”
“And you’re saying Damian isn't?” Jason interrupts with a scoff. He crosses his arms in front of his chest, digging his nails into his biceps. “He died way younger than I was.”
“Damian was an assassin. Death isn't something new to him. He has family with access to the Lazarus Pits,” Dick reminds him like Jason needed the reminder. “But you don't. You were just… a normal kid. A kid trying to do good.”
“And it got me killed,” Jason laughs, a hollow, bitter sound. “Tried to save my biological mother and look where it got me— six feet in the fucking ground.”
“You died doing good,” Dick insists. “And I don't think you have to get over your death. Everyone is different— so it's okay that you haven't moved on.”
“But I want to!” Jason yells, his hand flying to his hair, tugging on it. “I want to fucking move on. I want to stop being fucking terrified when Joker breaks out of Arkham. I want to sleep peacefully at night knowing I’m safe. I want my fucking body to forget about the pain.” His breath stutters as he shakes his head. “Is that too much to ask for?”
“Oh, Little Wing…” Dick whispers, almost solemnly. He takes a step closer, gently pulling his hand away from his scalp. “You don't— you never deserve that. None of you should've died in the first place.” He holds Jason’s hands in his, and Jason barely has the strength to pull away. “But you should never feel like you have to move on. Death isn't something you get over easily. It either takes time— or it doesn't at all.”
Something in Jason finally breaks.
His knees buckle beneath him. Dick catches him, only to go down with him a beat later because— well, Jason’s bigger and heavier than him.
“Hey, hey,” Dick murmurs, kneeling in front of him. He grabs Jason’s hands again, squeezing them gently. “You’re shaking, Jay.”
Jason tries to pull his hands away, but the exhaustion is weighing him down more than he expects. “I’m fine.”
“Didn't we just establish that you aren't?” Dick tuts.
“I’m just—” Jason glances away from Dick, staring blankly at the floor. “I’m just so tired, Dick. I just want to stop feeling like this. I feel like I’m—” He cuts himself off with a sob. “Like I’m being punished for doing good.”
This time, Jason doesn't fight when Dick pulls him in for a hug. He only sags in the embrace, not entirely relaxing in it, but just enough to make the tension in his shoulders fade slightly.
“You’re good, Jay,” Dick affirms into his hair. “God— you’re so good. You always have been. Don’t ever think you’re being punished for doing good.” He holds Jason a little tighter. “I’m sorry you felt this way. That you had to go through this alone because no one saw how much you were hurting.”
Jason doesn't say anything. He simply lets himself be held by Dick, barely registering the wetness on his cheeks.
Eventually, after what felt like hours, Dick pulls away, if only to tug him up. Jason follows pliantly, staggering to his feet like a newborn giraffe.
“C’mon,” Dick says softly. “Let's get some food in you. Then we can either watch a movie or go straight to bed again. Whatever you're feeling up to, Jay.”
Jason shakes his head, feeling numb. “Wanna sleep again. You can leave after.”
“Yeah, sure, I’m totally leaving you after watching you go through an episode and break down. Sure,” Dick mutters sarcastically, and if Jason had the strength to punch him, he would've.
“Fuck you,” Jason counters weakly.
Dick only shoots him a smile as he drags Jason to the kitchen instead of bedroom, pushing him down onto a chair. “I’ll whip something up while you stay here. You’re not going to bed hungry.”
Jason sighs, rubbing his cheeks with the back of his hand.
He lets himself be taken care of for the first time in a long time.