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“Hey, Jay?”
Jason made an affirmative grunt.
“Wanna tell me why you’re lying on the kitchen floor?”
It was five in the morning, and Dick was still half asleep himself, but he could have sworn Jason was intentionally sprawled on the kitchen floor, facedown, within a few feet of the refrigerator.
Jason rolled his head around so he was facing Dick. His eyes were closed. “Hot. Kitchen tiles are cold. So’s the fridge.”
Dick cocked his head. “The fridge is closed.”
“It was open,” Jason mumbled. “Guess ‘t shut.”
Dick crouched next to him. “I’m going to guess that you’re not feeling well, huh?”
“’M fine.”
“Sure you are.” Now that Dick was closer, he could see the flush of Jason’s cheeks. Sunken eyes. Hair plastered to a sweaty forehead. “You look feverish.”
“’M not.”
Dick dropped his hand against the back of Jason’s neck and hissed. It wasn’t just warm– it was scalding. “Little Wing, you’re burning up.”
Jason didn’t reply. Dick wasn’t sure if it was because he was falling asleep, passing out, or being obstinate. Knowing Jason, all of the above was a possibility.
This situation was now officially above Dick’s pay grade. “I’m going to get Bruce.”
“’M fine,” Jason whined. His voice cracked at the end and he started coughing. It was a sharp, rattling noise. Like glass shards in a blender. It was the sort of cough that did nothing to convince Dick that Jason was in any way, shape, or form fine.
“I don’t think you are.”
“D’n’t need B.” Jason coughed again and Dick felt a sympathetic pang rumble through his own chest. Just being near Jason felt like it was going to give him second degree burns..
“I’ll be right back.”
Even though leaving Jason laying there on the kitchen floor physically hurt him, Dick knew this was a Real Adult Needed (TM) situation. It was time to involve Bruce. (After all, Dick used to get sick all the time as a kid and he lived to 19. So, clearly, Bruce knew how to keep Robins alive in the long run.)
After the tough mission two nights back– it involved small kids– Dick figured Bruce’s insomnia was probably acting up again. Hell, his insomnia was acting up and Dick was much less prone to bouts of sleeplessness than Gotham City’s favorite nocturnal vigilante.
Sure enough, when Dick reached Bruce’s office, there he was, wide awake and working on a spreadsheet.
“Dick?” Bruce looked up, squinting in confusion until he caught onto Dick’s embarrassingly transparent body language. He closed his laptop with an audible snap. “What’s wrong?”
Dick tried to school his expression. There was no reason to panic. Twelve-year-olds got sick. It was just a fever. “I came downstairs for a glass of water and I found Jason sleeping on the kitchen floor.”
Bruce stood up abruptly, knocking a teetering pile of papers off his desk. He swore, but left them there, beelining past Dick for the kitchen.
“Yeah,” Dick confirmed. “That’s about how I felt, too. I think he’s running a fever. Scratch that– he’s definitely running a fever. He said he was lying on the floor because it was cold and that was… not a great sign?”
“I’ll go check on him.” Bruce grimaced, dragging a hand down his jaw. His face was still a mask of indifference and exhaustion, but Dick could tell from how quickly and purposefully they were walking that Bruce was worried. “You can go back to bed.”
“Nope,” Dick replied. “I’m coming with you.”
Dick was even more worried when Bruce didn’t argue with him. He just mumbled his customary “hn” and kept walking.
When they reached the kitchen, Jason was right where Dick had left him, limbs sprawled across the kitchen tiles. His bright purple fuzzy socks and matching Teen Titans sweatshirt and sweatpants looked familiar now that Dick was paying attention.
Jason definitely had taken all of them out of Dick’s dresser.
With visible effort, Jason cracked his swollen eyelids open. When he spotted Bruce, he blanched.
“Dickface,” he rasped. “I tol’ you– ‘M fine.”
“You’re not fine,” Bruce chastised. Carefully, he knelt down and dropped the back of his palm to Jason’s forehead. He winced. “You’re sick.”
Jason didn’t dignify that with a response. Just let his eyes drift closed again and used a damp sweatshirt sleeve to wipe his runny nose.
“Dick, get me the thermometer.” Bruce’s eyes had gone hard. By Bruce standards, that meant that he was panicking.
This was not helping Dick keep his own anxiety at bay.
“Dick?” Bruce repeated.
“Yeah– sorry.” Dick riffled through the pantry until he found the old school glass thermometer. Just holding it brought back memories– sniffly weekday mornings with endless cartoons and a stuffed animal under his arm as he nestled against Bruce’s side.
He shook himself out of his reverie and handed it to Bruce. “Here.”
Bruce squeezed one of Jason’s shoulders. “I need to check your temperature. Can you put this under your tongue?”
For a few seconds, nothing happened. Jason just lay there, his labored breathing making both of them increasingly unsettled. Oh God, maybe Dick needed to be dialing 911. Jason was so pale and–
Finally, Jason cracked open his chapped lips and let Bruce place the thermometer under his tongue. The fact that he let Bruce do it without protesting about being “babied” sent a fresh pang of dread zinging through Dick’s nervous system.
They all waited for a beat.
Bruce pulled the thermometer free and smoothed his palm between Jason’s shoulders, unbothered by the dark patch of sweat covering most of Jason’s– Dick’s– hoodie.
“102,” Bruce said, squinting at the tiny numbers in the dim kitchen light. He held it out to Dick. “Can you confirm? I’m not wearing my contacts.”
“You wear contacts?” Jason asked, his words startling them both enough to make Dick jump. His voice sounded even more garbled than earlier.
Bruce opened his mouth to reply and Dick cut him off with an energetic arm wave and a grin.
“Please don’t,” Bruce sighed.
Jason frowned. “Please don’t what?”
Dick didn’t care. He was going to say it anyway. “Let’s just say Bruce is blind as a bat.”
Jason groaned and Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose.
Oh, whatever. He was hilarious and they were all lucky to have him.
Dick snatched the glass tube from Bruce’s fingers and tried to gauge which little number the mercury was touching. “B, this thing says 103. Isn’t that high?”
Bruce flinched, his hand freezing on Jason’s back. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” Dick’s blood went cold. “Is that bad?”
“It’s high.” An unspoken too high echoed between them. “Let’s get you back upstairs to sleep this off, Jaylad. There’s Tylenol for the fever in your bathroom.”
Dick watched Jason struggle to move and felt his hands twitching to help, to do something. “Here, let me–”
“I got it,” Jason gritted out. “‘M fine.”
Dick wanted to grab him and shake sense into him. Fine? He was not fine. Why wouldn’t he just let them help? Why did everything with Jason always have to be a fight?
With a wince, Jason got his arms under him and pushed himself to his knees. He tried to stand on his own, but tipped forward, and would’ve cracked his forehead open on the tile if Bruce hadn’t caught him under the arms.
“Slow,” Bruce ordered. Jason swallowed and nodded, his whole body shaking as Bruce helped him up off the floor.
Once he had his feet under him, legs shaking beneath his weight like a teetering newborn foal, Dick took one side while Bruce took the other. It would be so much easier for one of them to just pick him up, but Dick understood that Jason wouldn't let them.
Bruce took Jason’s arm in one hand, firmly grasping him under his bicep for support, while his other hand sent out a rapid fire text.
“B,” Dick started, trying not to scowl. How could he even think about texting right now with Jason like this? “What could possibly be so–”
“Dr. Thompkins,” Bruce replied. Before his new doctor, Bruce would’ve snapped back at Dick. Met his accusation with a defensive, cold tone. Now, he sounded calm and matter of fact. “Just in case.”
“No doct’rs,” Jason insisted.
Bruce pocketed his phone and turned his full attention back on his son. “Not yet, Jay.”
Dick secured his grip on Jason’s drenched arm and they slowly walked toward the stairs.
Every step was painful and stilted. When they finally made it to the stairs, Bruce’s lips were pressed thin and Dick was tempted to throw Jason over his shoulder and just apologize later.
Sweat poured down Jason’s face from the fever and exertion. His breaths came out in ragged gasps. He was barely upright, even with both Bruce and Dick holding most of his weight in their hands.
Just watching was turning Dick’s stomach.
Jason began to list sideways into Dick, and Dick looped his brother’s arm over his shoulders, slouching down to make up for their height difference.
“I-I can… do it… just…” Jason’s forehead fell against Dick’s shoulder. “Catch… my… breath.”
“Take your time,” Dick assured, his hand falling against Jason’s steaming lower back.
Bruce’s pinched expression worsened when he caught a glimpse of Jason’s eyes as he pulled away from Dick to square up for the staircase ahead. They were glassy with fever, almost delirious.
“Are you sure you can… ” Bruce began, watching with fear as Jason tackled the first step, his lethargic progress painful enough to elicit a sympathetic wince from Dick.
“Yeah,” Jason croaked. Dick could see his knees trembling from the effort it took to stay standing, but Jason was as stubborn as they came and he wouldn’t budge. He was going to walk up those stairs if it killed him. “I made it down here by myself. I can make it back on my own, too.”
——
Jason did not make it back upstairs on his own, even with help.
Even with Dick and Bruce propping up most of his weight, Jason only made it up ten steps before he went crashing to his knees and yelped in pain.
“Please,” Bruce begged, “just let me–”
“Fine,” Jason snapped. Furiously wiping his face with one of his sleeves before Bruce could see the tears of frustration.
Dick noticed, but didn’t say anything. Jason was clearly embarrassed. It would just upset him more if he knew Dick could tell.
Wordlessly, Bruce picked Jason up off the stairs and carried him the rest of the way.
When they made it to Jason’s room, his bed was an absolute mess. The pillows were scattered across the floor, his comforter tossed off the bed, and a large sweat stain soaked the center of the sheets.
Bruce and Dick shared a look. Dick nodded and peeled the sheets off, tossing them into the hallway while Bruce held Jason’s slack body tight to his chest.
Dick remade the bed with fresh sheets in record time and threw all the pillows back near the headboard. “Anything else?”
“Tylenol,” Bruce said, gently settling Jason onto the edge of the mattress. “There’s some in his bathroom.”
“I just want to sleep,” Jason whined. He was shivering. Hard.
Dick grimaced. “I know, Li’l. I’ll be right back.”
Jason’s en suite bathroom was just as big of a mess as the bedroom. There was another set of “borrowed” clothes from Dick’s dresser strewn across the floor. Even from the sink, Dick could smell the stale sweat they were drenched in. He kicked them behind the toilet. They could deal with it later.
The Tylenol was exactly where he expected it to be. He tipped the pills into his hand and filled a cup of water from the sink.
“Two fever reducers for the reluctant patient,” Dick quipped, “coming right up.”
Bruce gave him a look and a terse shake of the head. A not now. His hands were taut on Jason’s arms and it was clear Bruce was the only reason the boy was still upright.
“Open up, Jay.” It felt strange, but Dick dropped the pills right onto Jason’s tongue and carefully brought the cup up to his cracked lips. Held the back of Jason’s head as he took a large sip of water, swallowed it wrong, and coughed all over them.
“Easy, chum,” Bruce whispered, patting his back as Jason caught his breath. “You’re alright.”
“No,” Jason protested between coughs, “‘M not.”
At least he’s not insisting he’s fine anymore. Dick ran a hand over Jason’s dripping hair and his little brother flinched. He drew his hand back. “Sorry, did that hurt?”
Jason shook his head and dropped his chin so he was looking down at his lap. “No, it’s… I’m gross.” He shivered. “You don’t want to… It’s gross.”
Bruce frowned. Dick jumped in before he could. “Hey, no one smells great when they’re sick. It’s part of the process.”
Jason tensed up.
Now it was Dick’s turn to cringe. “No– you don’t actually smell. Sorry. I was trying to be funny and it wasn’t funny. Jay, you’re fine, okay?”
He mumbled it so low that Bruce and Dick barely caught it. “Dirty, little street rat, huh?”
“No,” Bruce growled just as Dick insisted, “I didn’t say that.”
The vehemence Jason spoke with had already caught them off guard. Was he parroting someone? Had someone called him that?
Neither of them were prepared for Jason to burst into tears.
“Oh, Jay.” Dick tried to reach out and hug his little brother but Jason pushed his hands away.
“Don’t, Dick.” Jason brought a trembling hand to his eyes and bit back a sob. “Just– leave me alone. I can’t even–” Jason’s voice still rasped and caught on every other word but he barreled along anyway. “My whole … my fucking bones hurt. My muscles ache. I feel like I’m boiling alive and freezing and… and…” He groaned. “I want to take a shower, because I can feel the layers and layers of sweat, but I’m too dizzy and...”
Dick sat down next to Jason, ignoring his halfhearted protests, and pulled his little brother onto his lap.
“Dickface, no, I’m–”
“Shut up,” Dick whispered and gathered Jason up in his arms and held him tight. Jason’s skin burned against Dick’s– hot enough to feel caustic– but he didn’t care. Jason was upset and he was going to hold him, dammit. “You’re going to be okay, Little Wing.”
Jason cried harder and curled into Dick’s chest.
“But it’s not okay now,” Jason whimpered. “It’s not.”
“I know,” Dick said, his voice apologetic. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry– you’re right. Everything about this sucks.”
Dick was so distracted he didn’t notice that Bruce had left. Now, he was back, holding out a wet washcloth. “Here.”
“Thanks, B,” Dick replied, gently taking the cloth and wiping at Jason’s forehead, cheeks, neck. “How does that feel?”
“Better,” Jason sighed, the relief clear on his face.
An idea came to Dick. It might be a horrible one, given how weak and borderline delirious Jason was, but it was worth a shot. “How about a bath? Cleaning all the sweat off might help you feel better.”
Jason shook his head and buried his face into Dick’s shirt. “Can’t. Dizzy. I’ll drown.”
“I’ll help you.” Dick offered, his voice soft. “I won’t let you drown, Li’l.”
Jason’s body was weak and limp on his lap. Dick felt like a hole was being singed in every spot where Jason’s skin touched his, even through the clothes.
“Dick,” Jason mumbled. “I’m–”
But Jason cut himself off. Dick saw it. His lips pursed to speak but he bit his cheek instead.
“If you say no, I’ll drop it, Dick said. “But if you’ll let me, I want to help.” Dick glimpsed Jason’s tear-stained face and shivered. “Please, Jay. Let me help. I need to do something to help.”
Jason’s eyes cracked open again– when did he close them?– and he fumbled around with one hand until he found one of Dick’s arms. Squeezed. “You don’t need to help.”
Dick knew it was selfish to make anything in this situation about him. He hated that he could even consider his own feelings with Jason burning like a smouldering fire in his arms. But his eyes watered anyway. He saw Bruce stiffen across the room. “I do. I… please, Jay. Just tell me what I can do.”
Jason rolled his eyes. Squeezed his arm again, fingers like a firebrand against his sleeve. “‘M not dying, Dickface. Just sick.” He coughed, the action rattling his entire body. “I’ve b’n worse. J’st need sleep.”
Dick shook his head. He was aware the dam had broken and tears were falling off his nose and chin onto Jason’s torso. He felt one of Bruce’s hands on his shoulder. Firm and grounding.
“I trust you,” Jason whispered. His hand fell off Dick’s arm, hung limply against the bed. “You can…” He swallowed again. Coughed into Dick’s shirt. “Don’t let me drown.”
Dick nodded desperately. Pulled Jason up out of his lap and against his chest so his head was resting on his shoulder. “Of course. I promise– it’ll help.”
Jason shivered and Dick didn’t know if it was nerves over what was coming, or the fever. Maybe both. Maybe neither.
“B, can you get the door?”
Bruce opened the bathroom door, and caught Dick’s eyes as he walked through. “Thank you.”
Dick nodded back brusquely.
Jason was completely limp in his grip, the fever having worn him down to little more than a floppy doll.
Bruce turned the bathroom light on the dimmest setting. Started running warm water to fill the tub. Disappeared to grab fresh clothes.
Dick carefully set Jason down on the bathmat, his back propped up against the wall. Despite his nerves, Jason was barely conscious. His head lolled to the side and Dick caught him before he could fall over.
“Stay with me, Jay,” Dick begged. He needed him to stay awake. “Just a few minutes.”
“‘M so hot,” Jason whined. “Like ‘m melting.”
“I know,” Dick said, pushing Jason’s wet hair back from his forehead. “This’ll help. Trust me.”
Dick stuck a hand in the spray– the water was warm enough to be comfortable but not hot.
Bruce came back with the clothes and a cold Gatorade. Dick had Jason take a few sips until he coughed some of it up, the blue drink spilling down his neck.
“Sorry,” Jason gasped. “Wrong… way.”
Dick rubbed his hand over Jason’s sternum while he caught his breath.
“I’m here if you need me,” Bruce reminded them from the doorway, his eyes worried as he watched Jason cough hard enough to hit his head on the wall. With another quick tap of affection on Dick’s back, Bruce disappeared, and then it was just them.
“Are you ready?” Dick asked. The dimmed lights made him feel like he should whisper, even though the water from the faucet was roaring in their ears.
Jason’s eyes opened, a single tear falling down the slope of his nose. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” Dick wiped it away with his thump.
“Needing help like this. It’s… fucking embarrassing.”
“This is what big brothers are for, Little Wing.” Dick dropped his forehead against his little brother’s burning one, his hands cupping the sides of his face. He could feel the thoughts swirling under the feverish skin. “You’re not a burden.”
Jason muffled a sob under Dick’s hands, and tears trickled between Dick’s fingers. “But–”
“No buts.” Dick pulled back. Locked eyes. Steady cerulean on shaky aqua. “You’re not a burden.”
Jason’s eyes fell closed. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
It took him a few minutes, and Dick had to keep catching him when he lost his balance, but Jason managed to get out of his sweatshirt and sweatpants without getting up off the bathmat. Dick helped him out of his t-shirt and socks. Tossed all of it in a sodden pile behind the toilet with the rest of his soiled clothes.
Jason’s arms cinched around his bare chest, the cold air sudden and startling. He was just in his boxers now.
With anyone else, this would be a fight or flight moment. The rules of Gotham City’s streets were clear. Never let anyone get you alone. Never let them get you alone behind a closed door. And never, ever let anyone see you undressed. Especially if you’re a street kid and they’re not.
Six months ago, anything like this would’ve made Jason panic and start swinging before he could process a single rational thought. But now, all he could think about was how big and strong and safe Dick’s arms felt when he scooped him up off the floor and carefully set him into the water.
Jason was so feverish he couldn’t actually feel the temperature of the bath, but he knew it was warm. It was the same temperature as Dick’s skin.
“How’s the water?”
Jason sighed, tension melting from his shoulders, his stomach, his fingers. “Nice.”
He remembered bath time as a kid. His parents would bathe him inattentively. Willis would be on the phone, a hand halfheartedly extended in case he fell over and needed to be set upright. Jason still remembered the terrifying moment of slipping under the water, breathing it in, only for his dad to pull him up by an arm and hold him there, suspended, until he stopped coughing. No comfort, no words– just the utilitarian grip of an elbow until he was steady again.
His mom didn’t remember to shower herself, let alone make sure he took one. Honestly, she was probably more likely to accidentally drown in the bathtub than he was.
None of it was like the heartwarming scenes he saw on cable commercials– filled with bubbles and rosy-cheeked giggles and big, toothy smiles. Happy kids having the time of their lives.
This- what was happening right now- wasn’t like that, either. The fever was addling his brain. Time wasn’t supposed to move in fits and starts like it was. His whole body was trembling and sore. He couldn’t keep his eyes open.
But, for once, Jason understood why so many people had fond memories of bath time as kids. It was warm, sure. But mostly, it felt safe. Like... Well, like for once, someone else was going to be the adult. To worry about things like how high the water would go or to if it was too hot or too cold. He could be the kid today. Jason didn’t have to worry if he would accidentally slip under the water this time.
Dick was nothing like his parents. He cared. He would take care of them both.
Dick was gentle as he used a soapy cloth to wipe away the sweat and grime from Jason’s skin. The evidence of a full night sweating away in bed and then on the kitchen floor, gone, in minutes.
The relief of being clean again made Jason sag against the porcelain, his whole body unwinding. His fever-riddled mind was fully spiraling. He could tell. Even as he fought the thoughts, they snuck in. Is this what it felt like to be someone’s child? Not a kid they had by accident, but the child they wanted? The one they never forgot at school. The one they made school lunches for. The one they held just because they wanted to, not because they felt they had to.
This was stupid. Dick wasn’t his dad. He wasn’t his kid.
Was this what it felt like to be part of a family?
Jason couldn’t help it. He was in pain, deliriously feverish, and weirdly emotional because of all of it. He started crying. Again.
“Jay,” Dick whispered, dragging his knuckles down Jason’s cheek. “It’s going to be okay.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
Dick couldn’t possibly know, but Jason wasn’t sorry because he was crying. He was crying because, for the first time in his life, he actually, fully, knew that Dick meant it. And he was sorry for not believing it until now. All those times Dick had said he loved him, or that they were brothers, or that he cared about Jason.
He had meant it.
Because no one was watching. Dick didn’t need to do any of this to maintain his golden boy status with Bruce. Bruce wasn’t here. Jason was so incoherent that even he wasn’t entirely here. There were no credible witnesses around.
Dick was doing this because he cared.
Simple as that.
“Hey, hey,” Dick whispered, his hand back on Jason’s cheek. “It’s alright. I promise. It’s going to be alright.”
Jason’s hand came up out of the water and grabbed Dick’s, holding it there against his cheek. “Don’t leave. Please.”
Why’d he say that? God, he sounded desperate. Desperate and crazy and weird and-
“I’m not going anywhere,” Dick said. “You’re stuck with me.”
Jason took a deep breath. Held onto it, and let it go. “You promise?”
“I promise.” Dick’s hand fell away and the soapy cloth was back, running over his skin. “Do you think you can sit up long enough for me to wash your hair?”
Jason tried to open his eyes but it was too much effort. He nodded and felt Dick’s hands slip behind his shoulders, pulling him up until he was shakily sitting on the porcelain.
One strong arm was wrapped around his torso, propping him up. The other hand began to work through his hair, tugging and massaging as the smell of jasmine and tea tree filled Jason’s stuffy nose.
He’d never had his hair washed before. It was nice.
“Just stay awake for a little bit longer. I’m almost done.” Jason hummed in response and Dick laughed. “I guess you like this, huh? Now we know.”
Jason didn’t know what Dick meant but his hands came up to clutch at Dick’s arm, the one that was keeping him from cracking his head on the bottom of the tub. His wet fingers felt wrong against Dick’s dry arm, but he didn’t care anymore.
He wanted to hold onto him, so he did.
“Close your eyes,” Dick told him. “I’m going to rinse the soap off.”
Jason did, and the water poured down. Trailing off his ears, his nose, the curls at the base of his neck.
Dick had been right. He felt so much better already.
“Thanks, Dickie.”
Dick’s hand smoothed over his freshly washed hair. “Always, Little Wing.”
Then, the water was draining away. His soaking wet boxers clung to his inner thighs and turned cold. Dick wrapped him in a fresh towel and scooped him up and out, setting him back on the bath mat.
Placed a familiar fold of fabric into his hand. “I’m going to turn around while you change into those. Let me know when you’re done or if you need help.” Another hand on his shoulder and then it was gone.
Jason struggled to get out of the wet boxers but he managed. Getting into the dry ones was easier. Once he finished, he whispered, “done,” and Dick helped him dry off. Climb into a fresh shirt. A fresh pair of pajama shorts.
“B said you can’t bundle up again like earlier,” Dick explained when Jason made a disappointed noise and ran his hands over his exposed calves and arms. “Something about the layers insulating your fever.”
“Fuck that.”
Dick laughed and pulled Jason into his arms again.
He was airborne and then he was back in his bed. The mattress dipped beside him and a cool hand caressed his forehead. Lips pressed into his wet hair. “Good night, Jaylad. Feel better.”
The weight disappeared and he could hear “you’ve got him?” followed by “yeah, B, I’ve got him.”
The mattress dipped again, and there were arms around him. Warm and strong and safe. A cool sheet draped over both of them.
“Get some sleep.”
He was barely awake enough to say, “Night, Dickface.”
A soft chuckle. “Good night, to you, too, asshole.”
Jason smiled.
This was the feeling he had glimpsed in those cheesy commercials.
It was called home.