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Jason didn’t want to attend family dinner at Wayne Manor. He really didn’t.
In fact, it had taken about a month of convincing on Dick’s part to get Jason to even consider the proposal. But, with the mention of Alfred’s famous baked mac and cheese and the assurance of being allowed to leave as soon as dinner ended, Jason reluctantly agreed.
He showed up to Wayne Manor on his motorcycle fifteen minutes early, which just made him feel ridiculous. He didn’t want to seem too anxious so he paced outside the front door for quite some time before finally ringing the doorbell.
Ringing the doorbell on what was supposed to be his own home. Oh my god.
Alfred ushered him in and the night chugged on without another thought. Something warm and sweet like honey must have fallen over the Waynes that evening, for each and every one of them was in a disgustingly happy mood. As much as Jason wanted to fight it, he too laughed at Tim and Damian fighting over who gets the last cookie or Bruce accidentally snorting white wine up his nose while laughing.
As much as Jason had dreaded coming to Wayne Manor tonight, he actually had an amazing dinner. He finally felt like part of the family again. Dare he say he felt like Jason again. He swore to himself as he watched his family with a small smile that nothing, nothing , could ruin this night for him.
When dinner ended, the entire family gathered in the living room to watch a movie. Jason was about halfway through his goodbyes when he was interrupted.
“Come on, Jace. You’re not really gonna leave, are you?” Dick poked him in the side with a smile.
“Yeah, you should stay and watch the movie with us,” Tim agreed from the couch. Jason sent him a glare and he turned back around.
“I don’t know, Dick—” Jason tried to excuse himself with an anxious hand on the back of his neck, but was interrupted before he got to the (bullshit) excuse.
“Nope. It’s decided. One movie won’t kill you.” He grabbed Jason’s arm and practically dragged him over to the couch. Jason pretended not to see Bruce smirk.
Jason and Dick settled on the couch opposite of Tim and Alfred, while Damian opted to sit on the expensive rug with his mutt. Bruce, of course, sat back in his wel-used armchair with a heavy sigh.
They settled on the movie “The Crow” because, apparently, they’ve been meaning to watch it for ages but have been “waiting for Jason to join”.
Of course they had. Just a nice little touch to make Jason feel even worse about ignoring his family.
But the thought was swiftly wiped from his mind as he turned toward the movie he had never heard of.
Jason didn’t care much for the movie, he discovered, and turned his attention to those around him. His family had all their eyes glued to the screen, looking content with life. Jason felt content with life as well.
That was until the sudden squawking of a crow startled his attention back to the screen. Boy, and thank god he started paying attention so he didn’t miss the enthralling scene of the man digging his way—
Digging his way out of his own grave.
The television played a scene of the man looking up through the dirt of his plot into the light as he dug and crawled and scraped his way out of his tomb.
Jason didn’t need a movie to play that scene for him. Not when he had done it himself, scraped out himself, been caught and choked by the layers and piles of dirt thrust on top of him, weighing and crushing him back into the ground where he belonged. Where he belonged.
Jason could feel his throat tighten and pulled at his shirt collar to try to ease the lump forming there. He shut his eyes for just a second to recollect himself. To try to stop himself from thinking about the time he dug—
No. That’s enough. You are done thinking about this. You’re going to open your eyes and finish watching this movie with your family. Don’t be a fucking coward.
Jason wasn’t sure how long he had his eyes closed, but when he opened them again the movie had progressed much further. He spared a fleeting glimpse across his family’s faces and none of them seemed to take note of how he was chipping at the edges.
Good.
He turned his attention back to the screen and it took every muscle in his body to stop himself from jumping up and sprinting in the opposite direction.
The man, the Crow, now appeared on the screen with white face paint and long, thin black clown lines on his eyes and stretching from his mouth. They looked like—
The lines on his mouth— they looked like scars.
Like scars that belonged to a different clown. A different clown with the same haunting white face and black pits for eyes.
He was wearing a black trench coat as well. Black, not purple . Jason assured himself. It didn’t do much to stop the shaking in his hands and the trembling in his knees. He felt sweat gathering on his skin as he clasped his hands together tightly to try to ease the shake there.
Every second Jason stared into the face of the man on the screen, the more it transformed into the face of Jo— the man he knew. Jason could see the similarities in the nose, in the dead eyes, in the mannerisms. It was him . There was no other possible explanation for how similar they were. It was HIM.
He was here, right in front of Jason, taunting him. Taunting and flaunting right in front of him to remind him that he couldn’t run, he couldn’t escape, he couldn’t even breathe.
He can’t breathe.
Jason can’t breathe.
His breaths were escaping his lungs in short, shallow gasps that left his throat feeling raw and his chest aching. Every blink of his eyes felt like an icepick to his head. A bash upside his temple. A long, metal rod hitting him again and again and again and left and right and again.
The man in front of Jason laughed. Laughed. A sickening, high pitched laugh that takes a whole chest of air to get out and another to take back in. The laugh of the—
“I have to use the bathroom,” Jason whispered suddenly to Dick, who sat next to Jason, oblivious to the panic setting deep in his gut.
Jason got up and tried to walk away calmly to avoid raising suspicions. But, as soon as he hit the hall, he sprinted down towards the bathroom, slammed the door behind him, and locked the knob.
For a moment, Jason stood there, hand on the knob, sucking in shallow breaths of toxic air. Air that melted his brain and burned his throat. His ribs hurt with each inhale, reminding him of another kind of pain. A pain that followed him into death and now lurks behind him in life.
I’m having a panic attack, Jason concluded.
No— fucking— shit.
He slowly lifted his shaking hand from the doorknob and took an unsteady step towards the bathroom vanity. He turned the sink on and let the water gush until it ran hot enough to steam from the tap. Sticking his hands under the boiling stream, a rush of feeling coursed through his body.
Warmth. Warmth was good. Warmth meant that he wasn’t underground and covered in frozen soil and—
Jason cupped his hands together and rinsed his face with the hot water, rubbing the vision out of his eyes. He let out a shaky exhale and looked up to face himself in the mirror.
He looked awful. His face, now dripping with water, was bright red in the cheeks from the boiling heat but pale everywhere else. His lips had turned the same pale beige color as the rest of his face, making the dark circles under his eyes stand out. Seeing himself in the mirror made his vision sway and he raised his fists back up to his eyes to rub it out.
His breaths were short and choppy, but he couldn’t figure out how to help himself. He rubbed his eyes until they hurt and finally removed them to look back in the mirror.
When he opened his eyes, the Joker was standing behind him. Jason locked eyes with him as he was bent over the sink, water dripping from his face and gushing from the tap. The Joker was splattered with blood, seeming to stem from the rusting, heavy duty crowbar dangling from his hand.
He smiled at Jason. A big, toothy grin of blood and malice.
Jason ran and dropped in front of the toilet, emptying all the contents of his stomach into the basin. He tried to look to see if the Joker was there, watching him with that- that smile, but all that was there was a blue wall and towel rack. Jason heaved into the toilet.
His sweaty, shaking hands grabbed each side of the basin as he dry heaved, all the nutrients in his body already laying in a heap in the toilet. He had nothing left to give but bile, which is exactly what he did. His whole body trembled and twitched with each heave. He tried to suck in deep breaths in between vomiting, but all he got was the scent of his own mess.
His lungs and eyes and throat burned. They burned .
He laid his forehead on his own arm and held himself above the toilet, trying desperately to breathe. Tears had already started to free flow down his cheeks and into the basin. Sweat caked in Jason’s hairline and soaked the back of his shirt.
He tried to close his eyes to achieve some relief, but all he was met with was the eyes, the smile, the makeup, the coat, the gloves. The Joker.
Jason can often forget his face and the crack of his voice, but his body will always feel his selfish hands on him.
Jason threw up one more time.
He picked himself up with great challenge and flushed his mess.
He ripped one of the plush towels off the rack and used it to wash the sweat off his face and the back of his neck. His body was on autopilot and he rinsed out his mouth with cold water.
I have to get back to the family. We’re finally having a good time together and I refuse to ruin it. I have to pull myself together. I have to get back, I have to get back.
Jason didn’t bother to spare one last glance in the mirror as he straightened his spine before unlocking the door and leaving the bathroom. He sucked in a deep breath while standing in the hall, which was barely enough to carry him back towards the living room. By the time he finally reached the end of the hall that opened into the foyer, he was back to gasping in shallow breaths.
He never did fix that whole breathing problem.
His vision swam and he felt like his lungs were collapsing. All he had to do was cross the foyer over to the living room. It was easy, wasn’t it?
Jason couldn’t even move from where he stood. His feet were cemented to the ground as he propped an arm against the doorway. Jason turned his head toward the floor, meaning he didn’t notice the figure approaching him until they were right in front of him. They may have called for Jason’s attention, but Jason couldn’t hear through the layers and layers and layers of dirt he must’ve been buried under. Why else would he be struggling to breathe so much?
The figure reached out and place a soft hand on Jason’s shoulder, snapping his eyes up to meet theirs. The touch stung Jason’s hot skin and burned a hole through him.
Dick. It was Dick. He asked something and was waiting for Jason’s response. Jason just shook his hand off his shoulder and pressed past him.
He was fine. He had to get back to his family. He was completely fine.
“-please tell me. Are you okay?” Dick was asking more questions.
Jason didn’t have the air to answer them. He tried to communicate that to Dick, but all he did was shake his head viciously and start climbing the stairs.
“I just—” Jason struggled with the words, “I just need space. I need- I need space, Dick. I just have to get some air.” Jason climbed the steps two at a time and ignored Dick as he called out after him.
The floor was sinking behind him as he rushed up the grand staircase and into the hall above. The sound of his bare feet echoed off every wall and pounded in his mind. The eyes, the smile, the metal, the rust, the touch. His senses flooded with all of Him . Jason needed to escape.
He pushed through the door at the end of the hall and stumbled in. He tripped into the corner and pushed his back as far as it would go into the wall, no matter the pain it caused him.
He wrapped his arms tightly around his knees and buried his face in his legs.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathebreathebreathe. God, why won’t you breathe?
Why wasn’t air entering his lungs?
Jason clenched and unclenched his fists, hoping to ease the tension in his body. It did not. He could still feel the Joker’s dirty, greedy hands on him as he hit again and again and again. Laughing. Joking. When does it end?
When does Jason get to end?
“Jason, can you hear me? Jason, it’s me, Bruce.”
Bruce? No.
That’s Dad.
He was here. Bruce wasn’t there when Joker was. Bruce wasn’t there when Jason was six feet under. But, Bruce was here.
Where Bruce is, safety is. Jason had to be safe. Safe enough to try to breathe.
Jason choked in a deep breath and shakily released it. He did so, again and again and again. It got easier the more he did it.
He was breathing and the air wasn’t toxic. It didn’t burn his throat and the pain in his chest subsided with each inhale and exhale. He was breathing.
“That’s it, Jay. Keep breathing, you’re safe here.” Bruce assured softly.
Safe.
Jason picked his head up from his knees just enough to gaze into Bruce’s concerned eyes. Bruce looked at him with so much fatherly care and adoration, Jason thought he might vomit again.
“Dad, He was here,” Jason croaked out.
“He wasn’t, son, I promise. You’re safe here at home and he is nowhere near here. I promise.”
Jason nodded and let his head drop back onto his knees. He heard Bruce shuffle to sit next to him and wrap a firm arm around Jason, softly rubbing his back.
The touch didn’t sting.
Jason let out another deep exhale and turned his head to face Bruce.
“I’m sorry I ruined tonight. I wanted everything to go well because everyone was so happy and it was perfect and I was finally catching back up to you guys and I just—”
Bruce cut Jason off, “Jay, you have no need to apologize. You didn’t ruin anything. I’m glad you stayed so we could be here to help you through this, rather than you handling this alone.”
Jason had nothing to do but nod.
“If I’m not mistaken, there are warm blankets and cookies waiting for you downstairs, if you’d like. We can sit outside on the swing in the garden. How’s that sound?”
Jason couldn’t help but give a tired smile to Bruce.
“That sounds great, Dad.”
Dick was standing outside the room with a blanket for Jason, looking like a kicked puppy.
“Little wing, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have made you—” It was Jason’s turn to cut off Dick. Jason collapsed into Dick’s arms and wrapped around him tightly, just like he did when he was younger. Dick barely hesitated before burying his face in his neck and hugging him back full force.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” Dick whispered carefully to Jason and he nodded in return.
Jason was the first to let go, gratefully accepting the blanket from Dick’s arms and wrapping it around his shoulders.
Bruce and Jason sat outside together on the wicker bench swing, staring out into the lush garden in front of them, a small plate of cookies on Bruce’s lap. The fresh air felt good in Jason’s lungs and it felt like he was being cleansed of any toxins. Bruce made sure the blanket hung around both their shoulders stayed that way as Jason laid his head against his shoulder.
The soft summer breeze and the crickets of the night lulled Jason as he let his eyes flutter shut. He didn’t realize how tiring total exhaustion could be until it swept through his body.
Bruce smiled as Jason drifted off to sleep.
“Night, Dad.”
“Goodnight, Jay.”