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Jason didn’t wake up like he did ordinarily, no. He woke up with a throat ache and a stuffed-up nose. Which was a problem because if it weren’t for his sniffy nose, he would have smelled the burning in the kitchen.
He stared at the deep brown toast topped with mashed avocado with an occasional big chunk neatly spread across it. He took the plate from Tim’s hands. Tim looked at the ground patiently. Before Jason opened his mouth to speak, he swallowed first. A dull ache reverberated all through his throat. It wasn’t exactly pain though. He swallowed again, summoning more saliva than last time.
OW.
Fuck.
Yeah that hurt.
He sighed and turned his attention back to the toast, poking it with a finger.
“I didn’t want to bother Alfred,” Tim jumped to an explanation, mistaking his silence for puzzlement. “He needs sleep. I thought I could do everyone a favor and make breakfast because that’s the very freaking least I can do for you.”
Jason resisted the urge to sigh again.
“Alfred’s currently trying to mitigate the… the damage I caused. Bruce is… uh, I actually don’t know where he is. Dick is trying to help Alfred.”
Jason looked back at the sorry mess of an avocado on toast.
“That was all I could salvage after demolishing everything,” Tim mumbled, keeping his eyes trained on the ground and his hands behind his back.
Jason had no idea what the hell was going on, but he had his big brother instincts to steer his stuttering cogs. His nose was completely blocked so he could barely smell the toast, and his throat felt so thick and full of mucus that he was afraid to open his mouth. Nonetheless, he smiled and took a bite of the toast.
As soon as he swallowed it, he reflexively spit it back out.
His throat hurt. Like it was wedged with shards of glass all being pressed together.
“Ow,” Jason croaked, clutching his neck. “My throat.”
He cleared the remaining saliva and swallowed that too, just to get it out of the way. When the pain faded away, he opened his eyes only to see four figures at the foot of his bed, staring at him wide-eyed. Whomst had summoned the other three Bats so quickly?
“Uh… hi?”
“Your throat has gotten worse, I’m afraid,” Alfred tutted seriously.
“I thought you said that you were “fine” last night?” Bruce grunted.
“Clearly he was lying,” Dick rolled his eyes.
“You should have listened to Alfred, Jason,” Tim said.
Jason exhaled in self-pity, “Please don’t guilt-trip me now.” Then he winced because he spoke too many words.
He sniffed to try and clear his blocked nose, but that failed too. I hate everything, he thought to himself.
“You do know what this means, don’t you, Master Jason?”
Jason set his jaw and let out an involuntary whisper of “no”.
“Yes, Master Jason. If you want your sore throat to cease, you’re going to have to do it.”
Jason frantically shook his head.
“Yeah, good luck with that, Little Wing,” Dick grimaced.
“What? What is it that he has to do?” Tim asked, looking worried.
“Gargling salt water,” Bruce replied.
Tim blinked up at him, then turned to Jason and blinked at him too. Then he smiled, shook his head pitifully, and reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. “Poor Jason.”
Dick stifled a giggle and put a hand on his other shoulder. “Poor Jace,” he agreed.
The two giggled and Jason scowled. “I’m gonna cough on you,” he threatened, hiding a wince. That just made them giggle harder.
“We can try other methods first, Master Jason,” Alfred said, going through his closet and picking a lighter pair of pajamas. “But it is the fastest way.”
“Trust Alfred, Jason,” Tim told him, grinning. “You didn’t last time, and now look what happened.”
“No,” Jason snapped. “No salt water. Soup?”
Alfred arched an eyebrow. “Very well. We can start with some hot soup.”
--------------------------------------------------
Jason stared at the tomato soup in front of him. He leaned down and sniffed the warm steam, clearing his blocked nose a little. He sniffed again and the block in his nose disappeared, leaving it feeling raw and wet, but breathable. He threw the scrunched-up ball of tissue in the wastepaper basket.
He was confined to bed until further notice. Alfred had brought a tray with a lone bowl of soup on it. The others were shooed away from his room lest they caught his infection.
Of course, that didn't stop melodramatic bat, Bruce Wayne.
"How are you feeling?" Bruce asked from beside his bed, startling Jason who managed to steady the tray before he flipped it off.
"Warn a guy, will you?" His voice wasn't exactly hoarse, but it pulled the muscles in his throat and made it slightly hurt to talk. I hate everything, he thought to himself again.
"Sorry," Bruce apologized. "Is there anything you need?"
"For this infection to go away, yes."
Bruce smiled. "Drink plenty of warm water, you have the thermos right here. And finish that soup before it turns cold. Alfred will complain if he has to reheat it."
"Yes Dad," Jason rolled his eyes.
Bruce went rigid but offered another small smile. "Rest up, chum. Try to get rid of that sore throat before you have to gargle salt water."
"Don't remind me." He scooped a spoonful of soup, made a face, then swallowed it.
Nails scraped down, spreading a wave of pain up and down his whole throat. Jason squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth, forcing the soup through the thick swamp of pain.
When it finally went down, and the pain receded, he opened his eyes and found Bruce staring at him with worry. "Hurts?"
Jason considered whether or not nodding would make his throat hurt, in the end, he decided to lift his head up, then bow it down once. Thankfully, it didn't tingle.
Bruce considered for a bit, narrowing his eyes at a distance and looking lost in thought before nodding in decision. "Can you finish your soup?" he asked.
Jason shook his head once.
"How about a few spoonfuls? I'll drink the rest so Alfred won't know."
Jason raised an eyebrow. Was he really considering going against Alfred's orders? That was riskier than going against Bane defenseless.
"You can sleep after that," Bruce offered.
Jason shrugged. It was his funeral.
He lifted the spoon once again, feeling the cold metal under the grip of his fingers warm a little after ladling a bit of the hot soup. He didn't bother blowing on it before stuffing it into his mouth and swallowing. Barely stopping, he scooped another spoonful and gulped that down too.
He repeated it two or three times, ignoring the mountain of hurt sprouting in his throat more and more. After swallowing the sixth time, he put it down, pushed the tray away, then curled into himself under the blankets, trying to think of anything but the agonizing ache deep in his throat.
A tremble went down his spine and he clutched his throat, tearing up at the pain. He wished for nothing but to rip his trachea out.
A hand slipped into his curls and gently pulled his hair back, fingers against his scalp.
Jason concentrated on the repeated, soothing movements until the ache hid itself again. Then, he opened his eyes and weakly looked up.
"Why?" he mouthed.
Bruce pursed his lips, shifting a little from where he was sitting in front of him on the bed. "It might be from the drowning last week with Luthor."
Jason made a face.
"He's still in prison, chum," Bruce said grimly, trying to reassure, but failing. "He won't be out just yet."
"Three more days," Jason said without sound.
Bruce looked pained. "We'll deal with him whenever he manages to break out—or bribe his way out. Clark will make sure of it."
Jason lifted his shoulders in a shrug and closed his eyes.
"Go to sleep, Jaybird," Bruce whispered, close to his ear, but not too close.
The hand in his hair disappeared and he mourned at the loss of it but didn't complain out loud. He heard his bedroom door open, then close, and watched the blackness behind his shut eyes.
The blackness is actually called eigengrau, Tim's voice entered his brain.
He smiled and drifted off.
------------------------------------------
His nose was blocked again, and his throat was still the same. It still ached whenever he tried to swallow. Which sucked because all his saliva had to go somewhere.
I hate everything, he grimly thought.
A shout from outside his bedroom drove away the sleep drowsiness and he fully sat up. That sounded like Tim and Dick. What was happening? Should he investigate? Was everything okay?
He looked around wildly and landed his eyes on his phone. He picked it up and texted Dick.
Jason <11:22>: What happened?
A few seconds later, Dick texted back.
Dick <11:22>: Tim’s tryna sneak into ur room
Ah. That made sense.
Jason <11:23>: Why not let him in?
Dick <11:23>: Cuz then he’ll get sick, dumb dumb. His malnourished ass cna catch ur ew germs real easy
Jason <11:23>: U cant stop him
Dick <11:23>: Thanks J. The last time rlly cudnt have convinced me
Jason smirked, remembering the time Tim pulled an Uno reverse card and drugged Dick when the man was trying to drug the kid to keep him from sneaking out.
Jason <11:24>: Im bored
Dick <11:24>: Hold on, im coming in
Jason <11:24>: U wont get sick?
Dick <11:24>: Nah, ur puny germs cant stop me
Jason rolled his eyes.
Exactly ten seconds later, Dick entered his room. “How’s the throat?” he asked.
Jason opened his mouth to reply, but then remembered his damned throat. He looked back to his phone and texted.
Jason <11:25>: Shitty. It hurts when i swallow
Dick <11:25>: Im jus gonna sit… here… far away…
Jason looked up to see Dick settling down cross-legged right in front of his bedroom door on the floor. (He generally kept his room clean, a stark contrast from his street heritage, but who cared? It was his room. He would decide. Alfred at least appreciated it.)
Jason <11:25>: Im booored
Dick <11:25>: Hi bored, I’m Dick
Jason didn’t hesitate. He immediately grabbed the pillow from behind him and threw it at Dick’s face.
Dick laughed just as the pillow made contact with his ugly head. Even then, as he threw the pillow back, he was still chortling.
Jason <11:26>: NO dad jokes
He put the pillow back under his head again.
Jason <11:26>: Or else i will murder u
Jason <11:26>: Batman be damned
Dick <11:26>: Ok fair, but someone has 2 make up 4 the lack of dad jokes bruce makes
Jason <11:26>: He should get a parenting book on that
Jason <11:27>: Dad jokes for newbies
Dick snorted. Jason grinned at him.
Dick <11:27>: U need anything rn, little 🦋?
Jason <11:27>: What the FUCK is that Dick?
Dick <11:27>: Little wing!
Jason <11:27>: What is that mf butterfly?
Dick <11:28>: It has wings!
Jason <11:28>: ur a damn weirdo, yk that?
Dick <11:28>: 😇
“No, seriously,” Dick said out loud to him. “Do you need anything?”
Jason didn’t know what he needed. Everything hurt. All he wanted was for this to be over. At least it was summer break. He shook his head.
Dick cocked his head to the side. “Throat really hurt, huh?”
Jason nodded. His nose was a problem too. He grabbed a fistful of tissue and blew hard, trying to drive all the disgusting snot out, but that was only temporary.
“Should I get Alfred to bring you some NyQuil?”
Jason considered. Maybe if he got knocked out and let his body fight the germs, then he could wake up feeling slightly better. He nodded.
“BRB then,” Dick said, getting up from the floor and quickly leaving the room.
Jason sank back into the pillows and stared at the ceiling.
Of all the things, why a sore throat? Just why? He would rather it be a stuffed-up nose. Even a cough was better than this.
No, wait— coughs were worse. At least the ones with phlegm. Dry coughs were better than the wet ones.
Or wait— dry coughs would just be irritating and a scratch in his throat. Even if he coughed on purpose, the annoying itchy scratching would still be there and there would be no purpose to them. Wet coughs on the other hand would at least have some phlegm removed.
Ugh, that was disgusting. He didn’t like either of those coughs. In fact, the only cough he preferred was when he choked on water. He would much rather choke on water than lie in bed with a fucking mess of a throat and a bullshit-filled nose.
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Alfred entered, trailed by Dick.
“Gotcha some NyQuil,” Dick announced cheerily. Jason wanted to punch him in the face. He really wasn’t in the mood for cheer or happiness.
Alfred presented the small lid with the bit of liquid in it.
Jason took it and swallowed, ignoring the humongous thorn of pain that brought. He gave it back to Alfred and settled down in the pillows and closed his eyes.
----------------------------------------------
It did not get better.
On the bright side, it didn’t get worse.
He sighed and looked up at the ceiling, blinking away the last of the sleep. What time was it?
He checked the clock. 5:30 pm. Wow. He had been sleeping the whole day. Patrol would start in a few hours. Pity that he was going to be stuck home with his son of a deer tick throat.
“Wow,” Jason exclaimed with a whisper. Deer tick? Tim’s method of swearing was rubbing off on him.
Speaking of Tim, where was the little microbe?
He sat up and looked around, expecting the tiny figure to be watching him owlishly from a perch. When he found no such figure, he sagged back into his blankets and pillows.
This was all Luthor’s fault. If it weren’t for his robots drowning him, this wouldn’t have happened.
It was your fault too, said a voice in his head, if you had just listened to Alfred yesterday and didn't concentrate so much on being a bother, you wouldn't have ended up here.
Jason sighed. He blew his nose again then rolled off the bed, landing on his ass, then stood up and sluggishly walked to his bookcase.
A sudden dizzy spell hit him, and he steadied himself. He was hungry. He hadn’t eaten much except for the few spoonfuls of soup in the morning. It was hard to eat with his throat this way. Nothing sounded appealing either. His nose was blocking all the delicious aromas.
He grabbed a random book off his shelf and hurried to the bed before collapsing. Lying still to steady his head, he groped around for his phone. When the cold case touched his hand, he grabbed it and raised it up. Brightness filled the dulled lighting of his bedroom, and he immediately squeezed his eyes shut.
Ouch.
He cracked his eyelids open a little and lowered the brightness to fully dim. Then he texted Alfred. He put his phone down and raised the book he had grabbed.
The Fault in Our Stars by John Green. He groaned. His brain felt thick and like mushy peas. He was pretty sure he could only consume children’s books now. Anything else seemed like too much of an effort.
“Master Jason?”
Jason dropped the book. “Alfie?” he croaked.
The old butler came into view with a glass on a tray. “I had lemon, honey, and ginger warm water prepared. Drink up, my lad.”
Jason sat up with great effort and accepted the glass. He took a tentative small sip. It burned his tongue and ran a dull ache at the back of his throat, but not too intense.
He put the glass down to let it cool for a little bit more.
Alfred spotted the book. “I do not recommend reading in your state, Master Jason.”
Jason suspired, letting out extra air to convey submission. “I know that now, Alfred.”
Alfred smiled. “I do recommend having someone else read it out loud to you.”
Jason smiled back. “Care to do the honors, Alfie?”
“With genuine pleasure, Master Jason.”
He brought a chair in front of his bed and picked up the book. “It’s best if you drink that right now. Before it cools a little too much.”
“Mhm.” Jason took the glass and gulped a long sip, making sure that it wasted no time on his tongue and went down straight to his throat. The hotness and soury, sweet, and burning taste warred with the pain in his throat and won. It felt good, the warm water washing down his phlegm-filled throat.
“Ready for me to read, Master Jason?” Alfred propped the book open on one hand.
Jason nodded, taking another gulp from his glass.
The evening went on, with Alfred reading and Jason soothing his throat with warm water.
When Alfred finally stopped after a few chapters, Jason worked up the nerve to say, “My throat still hurts.”
“I know, Master Jason. It will keep hurting for a few more days.”
“How long?”
“Three more perhaps, judging by how severe it is.”
Jason groaned, dramatically twisting into a grieving maiden position on the bed, with the blanket twisted around him.
“It’ll be two if you do the salt water gargle.”
Jason widened his eyes in horror and covered his head with the blanket. “No.”
Alfred sighed. “I shall fetch some hot coffee later. Try to relax, young master.”
Jason didn’t come out of his blanket cocoon until he heard his door close. He peeped, only pulling it down enough to uncover his eyes, then decided to pull it back up. His nose felt slightly better that way.
Man, he hated all this so much. Someone ought to discover a more permanent cure to colds. Mr. Freeze maybe?
---------------------------------------------------------
“I was wondering how long it would take for you to get in,” Jason grinned at the 12-year-old figure wielding the coffee mug.
“They won’t let me see you!” Tim exclaimed, putting the mug on Jason's nightstand.
Jason sat up and cleared his throat (then stopped because it made his throat feel weird). Tim recognized the gesture and complained, "My immune system's not that bad! You don't have to make another set of rules."
"Shush," Jason scowled. "You're a reckless, malnourished, survival instincts-lacking microbe. You are also a wonderful, astounding genius, Timmers, but you're in dire need of protection." And adoption, he added silently.
Tim rolled his eyes. "Even while sick you act like a mama bear."
Jason raised an eyebrow. "And who told you that phrase? Dick?"
Tim grinned sheepishly. "Alfred."
Jason was slightly taken aback, but recovered quickly. "Okay… First rule, you keep at least three to four feet of distance between me."
Tim sighed and rolled his eyes again, but scooted his legs backwards, measuring exactly three feet.
"Two, you do not come near me even if I'm dying. Call Alfred or Bruce or Dick."
"Your sickness isn't that bad. It won't affect me that badly either. It's just a sore throat."
Jason glowered. "Just wait till your throat feels like a box full of bouncing thorns. Then we'll see if it's "just" a sore throat." He made air-quotes around the word 'just'. "Rule number three, you sleep in your own room. Do not sleep here. There are germs everywhere."
"Okay, Dad." Tim sat down on a beanbag near his study desk.
A thought entered Jason's mind. "Do your parents forbid you from sleeping in their room too?"
Tim stopped wriggling around on the beanbag and turned his eyes to Jason. "Sort of."
"What do you mean by sort of?" Jason narrowed his eyes.
"I'm too big to sleep in their room, okay? And why are we talking about me? We should be talking about you. You probably had worse times out in the streets in the winter."
Jason took the steaming mug of coffee from the stand and raised it to his lips. He took a long sip, making sure that the hot liquid washed straight down to his throat and basked in the temporary comfort. Comfort that he didn't have just a couple years prior. There was a reason why he was so graciously accepting whatever means of relief everyone offered to provide.
"You're right, Tim," he said before taking another sip of the coffee and training his eyes on the near-black liquid. "I shouldn't try to pry into your life. It's just… I care. About you. I want to know what happened to help you. But it's totally up to you whether or not you want to part any information to me."
There was no immediate answer.
Jason looked up to see Tim laying on his side and drawing circles on the beanbag cloth.
"Okay," he said. "I'm sorry too, Jason. I didn't want to pry either."
"So we're even?"
Tim turned to him and nodded.
Jason sipped his coffee again. "How were you allowed to come up to my room anyway?"
Tim grinned. "I'm not. Alfred mentioned making hot coffee for you. A couple minutes later, the doorbell rang and he went to answer "
"Who was it?"
"Bruce and Dick. They're trying to catch a mouse that accidently got loose in the manor."
Jason took a breath, trying to keep his laughter down before it pulled his throat muscles. "Where did you get a mouse from?"
Tim smirked. "You remember that hologram technology you and Dick showed me during the official Batcave tour?"
Jason couldn't help it, he burst into laughter. It hurt his throat in a way a drilling machine would dig, but he couldn't stop.
"You're— you're going to get in so— much trouble wh— when they find out," Jason wheezed.
Tim laughed back.
----------------------------------------
It was time for patrol and Jason was grumpy.
Correction: he was sick and grumpy.
"Even Robins need rest," Dick said, holding a squirming Tim as he carried the kid under his armpit to his room.
"Am I still patrolling with you?" Tim asked, trying to push Dick's arm away.
"Well… since your armor was made a couple days ago, I guess so. But—oh God, Tim, stop moving—but you gotta come back early since Jay's sick and there aren't the usual number of people watching over you."
Tim brightened up, but took one look at Jason's grumpy face and stopped squirming. "Jason, I can stay with you if you like?"
Jason raised an amused eyebrow and shook his head. "Go," he croaked.
"You sure, Jay lad?" Bruce asked, handing him a Strepsil. "I can stay with you."
"Penguin smuggler deal tonight, right?"
Bruce nodded.
"Then go."
"An admirable statement," Alfred said, prompting him to start sucking on the Strepsil by tapping the lamp table. "Now I do insist that you three leave. The room's overcrowded."
Bruce ruffled Jason's hair and exited the room. Not before he caught Tim from Dick's arms and used a fireman's carry to get him out the door.
Jason smiled before painfully swallowing the Strepsil-flavored saliva.
"I know you've been resting the whole day, Master Jason, but I encourage you to rest or relax some more."
Jason nodded.
Alfred lifted his lips fondly and ruffled his hair too, a little politer than Bruce. Then he left as well.
Jason regarded the ceiling again, sucking on the medicine. He vowed to decorate it with glow-in-the-dark stars later. Dick and Tim won't be allowed though. Dick would stick it randomly. And Tim would obsess over constellations. As much as Jason liked the little mafia boss' enthusiasm for constellations and facts, he did not want to stare at the fake version of Ophiuchus the Serpent Bearer while falling asleep. He would customize it. Make his own universe. His own Krypton, his own Earth, his own Mars, his own Thanagar. A little universe for the daydreamt characters in his head. That would be nice.
Unfortunately, that would only be possible when he didn't have a sore throat.
Jason had been pondering on it since Tim had entered his room and they had talked about John Green's statements as Tim read the book out loud to him.
"Some infinities are bigger than other infinities?" Tim had wrinkled his nose. "What does that mean?"
Jason had replied, "It can mean a lot of things, baby bird."
Right now, for him, it meant that infinity could be in a stretch of time. And he was not about to have this sore throat and be left out of the fun for an infinity.
Yes, that meant that it was salt water gargle time.
He grabbed his laptop and accessed the cave's cameras. Alfred was in the Batcave, prepping Bruce, Dick, and Tim.
Well… it was really just the three adults hovering around Tim as the kid exasperatedly tried to fit the armor on by himself.
Jason started to laugh, but then stopped when he recalled Tim's words of him being the most obnoxious hoverer. He pursed his lips instead.
He waited until they left the cave and Alfred situated himself in comms. Since they were all preoccupied now, he could do the salt water gargle on his terms. No need for Bruce to hold his head steady and for Alfred to pour the water in his mouth. He would hold it and pour himself.
He slipped into slippers and put on the coat Bruce had accidently left in his room for extra warmth (even though it was hot outside, the manor was built to keep cool). The sleeves fell past his hands. He didn't bother rolling them up.
He then silently creaked the door open and tread through the hall. He slid down the banister of the stairs and pattered straight to the kitchen.
Quickly, he grabbed a saucepan and filled it with enough water for a full glass. He then put it on the stove on full flame.
He retrieved the salt jar from the shelf and measured two spoons into a glass. He closed the lid, but paused. Biting his lip, he opened the jar again and added a quarter spoon for extra measure. He forgot how much Alfred used to add.
The water was nearing boiling point, so Jason switched off the flame and poured the water into the glass containing the salt. He mixed the salt in the water with a spoon. He rinsed the spoon and saucepan, dried it, then put it back in its place to avoid suspicion. He didn't want to give anyone the satisfaction of using up the salt water idea.
Alfred wouldn't be down here for ages, but Jason felt compelled to hurry. Time was of the essence.
As soon as his palm touched the glass, he recoiled back with a swear full of passion. “Fucking dagnabbit!” He used the long sleeves of Bruce’s brown jacket around him to hold the glass and hurry back upstairs quickly.
He dashed to the bathroom and set the glass down. A quick change into a spare set of pajamas, and a towel covering his chest area, he was ready.
He looked into the eyes of the Jason in the mirror. “You’re doing this,” he said firmly.
The reflection gave a determined frown.
He picked up the glass again, it was slightly cooler than before but still spiking hot. He tilted his head up and poured the biggest gulp of salt water.
Pure flames lashed around his whole face, but more so in his throat. The gag reflex immediately made him spit the water out into the sink, but something else was spat out too.
Something greenish and gooey and icky.
Phlegm.
Jason grinned and tilted his head up again. It was working.
He repeated the process three more times. Burning, forcibly gargling, gagging, coughing, spitting. In that order.
It was hell. It was paradise.
It was pain. It was euphoria.
It was working.
Soon, the glass was finished, and the bathroom was a mess.
Jason lazily grinned at the reflection in the mirror. His nose was unblocked now too. Perfect.
—--------------------------------------------
Jason moaned lowly before stirring and waking up.
His throat felt scratched. And his nose was rubbed raw.
He pulled the blanket down a little to see where the light was coming from. Oh, it was from the window.
“Morning?” he slurred, twisting to his other side, away from the sunlight.
“Yes, it’s morning,” Bruce’s voice drifted into his ears.
“Mm.”
“How are you feeling?”
Memories of salt and boiling water flashed in his mind and he gave a small smile. “A bit better.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“Mhm. No salt water. It’ll go away on—” A strange hacking sound interrupted and he flipped the blankets over and rushed to the bathroom.
He coughed some more before…
Wait. Was that… Did he just…
“What?” he asked out loud,
“Ah,” Bruce appeared in the doorway. “You acquired a cough now.”
Jason turned to him in horror. “WHAT?”
No. Not again. That was even worse.
Another bout of coughs erupted from his mouth and he turned to the sink again.
I hate everything, Jason thought as he spat the phlegm out.