Archive of Our Own

Mama wasn’t always high.

There were times when she used to smile with her whole face. Times when her eyes would clear and focus on Jason as he read his book aloud, waiting patiently for him as he sounded out each word. She would kiss his forehead before bed and sneak him bites as she cooked. Jason loved his mama when she was smiling because of him. 

But then there were times when she wasn’t. Jason got used to recognizing the signs. Her smile would start to slip and her hands would start to tremble. She would respond to him with her soft voice, but her eyes would be darting around the room. Jason used to read just a bit louder, his motions larger and more enthusiastic than his racing heart would be feeling. He just wanted her to be his for a little while longer.

But eventually she would kiss his forehead and stand up. She would walk to the kitchen and pull out the metal box on the top shelf. This is when Jason would know that their time together was over.

Mama loved him, but she loved her pills more. 

—

Jason is out of the school building by the time the bell rings. He heaves his backpack higher on his shoulders and turns the corner down the street in the wrong direction.

He had lied to Bruce that morning. He waited until breakfast had long since started and kept his voice as disinterested as possible. Bruce was curious about his request to go to the old library in the Narrows, but the look on Jason’s face must have dissuaded him from asking. Jason was sure that theories were running wild through his brain, but that was part of the plan. If Bruce was distracted with his detective-ing, it would take him a while to notice that Jason never intended to go to the library. 

It took a bit of convincing to get Bruce to agree to let Jason walk there himself instead of allowing Alfred to drive him, but he got his way in the end. As he walks through the streets of his old neighborhood, he loosens his posture. Head back, shoulders back, hands hidden in his pockets. He still recognizes some of the faces that pass him by. His feet carry him down the streets like muscle memory. 

He hears distant voices as he gets closer. They yell out and laugh, unapologetic to the passing strangers. Jason feels a tug on his heart. It’s nostalgic now, and that hurts. Nostalgic means that it wasn’t his anymore.

The boys look up as he approaches. They don’t stop their loud argument, drawing him in with an arm around his shoulders and yelling at him to pick a side. He doesn’t and they don’t care, moving onto the next topic as if the argument never happened. 

Not much has changed since he left. Not that it mattered much, when he sneaks out every once in a while to come back here.  He knows Bruce wouldn’t mind if he knew. He would probably drive him here himself, maybe even offer for his friends to come visit him at the manor. 

But Jason will never tell Bruce. For a short moment in time, this was his. He could pretend like nothing had ever changed, like he could head down the street any moment and walk into his familiar shitty apartment.

Like he could call out for his mama and get a response. 

—

Jason didn’t like it when his dad would come home, sometimes. He was usually gone, off working as some goon for a new Rogue. Sometimes, Jason wondered if he really was working when he left. He wondered if maybe he left because he couldn’t stand to come home anymore.

That was okay with Jason. It meant more time alone with Mama, time they could pretend like there was nothing else in the world but them and their tiny apartment baked in warmth. Nothing but the two of them curled on the couch, taking turns reading with silly voices.

Until his dad came home.

He would trudge through the front door, dropping his bags heavy on the ground. Jason would perk up from what he was doing, looking over at Mama.

Sometimes, she would have a smile on her face. She would stand from the couch and draw his dad into her arms, all gentle like she would do for Jason. They would whisper to each other low enough that Jason couldn’t pick out the words, but he would see the tension leave his dad’s shoulders as he sunk into Mama’s embrace. 

Sometimes, he would come home and find her slumped on the kitchen floor.

He would curse in a way Jason wasn’t old enough to repeat yet and throw his stuff on the ground. He would scramble into the kitchen and check her nose and her throat, pressing his fingers against her skin. When she would just continue sleeping, he would curse again, muttering under his breath as he dumped his stuff in Mama’s bedroom. Then, he would grab his gun and his wallet and leave again.

On those days, Jason would sit on the floor with Mama until she came back. She would groan and stir next to him until her glassy eyes finally opened. Sometimes, they would land on him and she would give him one of her smiles. Jason liked times like that, when he could catch a glimpse of Mama as she had always been. They would sit there on the floor until the sky turned dark and the front door would open again.

This is when Jason didn’t like his dad being home. He would disturb the peace settled around him and Mama. His too loud steps would awaken the house into a bed of tension, drowning all of its occupants. Mama would hear his dad come home and shoo him off to bed as she scrambled to stand up, leaning heavily against the countertop behind her.

He knew Mama just wanted to protect him. But the walls of the apartment were thin and the doors thinner, so he would hear every word as their voices grew louder and louder until the walls seemed to shake from it.

“What’s the point of working all day and all night just to come home to you wasting all our money on your fucking drugs?” his dad would shout, slamming his hand against the countertop.

“I need them, Willis, you don’t understand,” Mama would plead. “I need them for the pain, you know that.”

“It’s been months, Cathy. There’s no pain, stop lying!” his dad would roar, “You’re just another fucking junkie lying to yourself like all the rest.” Mama would sob as his dad’s footsteps would lead into the bedroom.

Then, Jason would open his door quietly and slip out into the kitchen. Mama would still be standing on shaky legs, sobbing into her hands. He would wrap his arms around her as tight as he could.

“Don’t worry, Mama. I don’t think you’re a liar. I believe you.” She would wrap her arms around him and bury her hand in his hair. He would grip her tighter. “I believe you, I promise.”

—

Jason stays with the boys even as the sun sinks closer towards the horizon. He knows he’s pushing it, and sooner or later Bruce’s latest attempt at giving Jason freedom will succumb to his ever-present overprotective tendencies. He knows this, but something about the feeling of the concrete steps beneath him weighs his heart down to his feet until he can’t move anymore.

He settles into the chatter around him, the soundtrack of Park Row humming in the background. He’s being quieter than he usually is, and the boys must notice, but they say nothing. They’ve all had days where words don’t come as easily, where the air feels a bit thicker than usual. It was comforting knowing he didn’t have to explain himself or deal with constant questions about his wellbeing. Nobody in Crime Alley asks, “what’s wrong?”

Well, nobody except his mother. But she doesn’t count, and either way she’s dead now anyways. He doesn’t need anyone trying to comfort him again.

It’s when the voices around him quiet that his attention comes back to reality. The boys are gathered around Paulie, who’s holding his backpack open for them. Jason stands up to peek inside. The setting sun drew shadows over the bag, but Jason can make out a few plastic bags stuffed in the bag. Before he can reach in and grab at it, Ricky snatches one up. He holds it up high, and the volume grows as everyone scrambles to snatch it.

In the flickering streetlight, Jason can see the bag better. Inside the crumbled plastic bag was a handful of white round pills. Maybe ten of them, rattling together as the sway in the chaos around him.

Jason froze. He knew those pills. He’s seen them in flashes, being hidden away from prying eyes and rolling between knobby fingers. He’s seen them scattered on the floor through tears clouding his vision and bone-deep grief clouding his mind.

A rage flares up deep in his chest. His vision starts to turn red as his eyes start to burn. These pills were the cause of everything. They took everything from Jason. They took his mama’s smile, and her singing, and the warmth of her arms around him. They took her away from him, and now they waved tauntingly in front of him. His fingers tingled and he clenched his hands into fists. The cause of all his suffering, and it was right here in front of him.

As quickly as it came, the rage fled him. He felt numb with the force of his emotions, his hands dangling loose at his sides again. This is what his mama loved more than him. This is what she chose over him. She would have rather let these pills take her from him than leave them behind to stay with Jason.

What was so great about these pills? His mama loved him, but she left him for these, why? She loved him, he knows she did. She wouldn’t have left him alone for anything.

Something clicks in his mind. He has to know. His hand reaches out towards the scramble. Instead of reaching for the bag still getting tossed in a wild game of keep-away, Jason grabs the backpack and pulls out another bag. The same pills stare back at him, maybe five of them total. Paulie was wrestling with the other boys until he noticed Jason and the bag in his hand.

“You interested?” Paulie asks. Jason looks up at him. “I’m supposed to be working the corner outside the pump tomorrow, but as long as you pay, I don’t think Tony will notice anything.”

Jason holds the bag closer to his face. He’s never considered it before. He avoids drugs as much as he can with his extracurricular activities. Pain can be fought through, there’s no need to rely on meds for that. He can tell Bruce disapproves of his commitment to no pain meds, but he’s haunted by the knowledge of what too much pain relief can do.

Or maybe he’s haunted by what he’d turn into.

Jason grips the bag harder. “How much?”

The other boys ooh. Paulie smiles. “What’s Daddy Warbucks giving you in allowance these days?”

Jason rolls his eyes, but pulls out a fold of cash. It’s tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket, hidden from view but kept safe on his person. He’s been saving as much cash as he can without Bruce noticing. He has to spend some to keep him off his scent, but the stack has gotten thicker slowly but surely.

Jason makes sure to only grab the top few bills from the pile. It’s roughly around a hundred dollars. The boys ooh again, pushing at Jason’s arms. He knocks them off him and stuffs the bills into Paulie’s still-open backpack.

“There,” he says, tucking the plastic bag into his pocket.

Paulie sticks out his hand with a dopey grin. “Nice doing business with you.”

Jason swats it away. “Fuck off,” he says to their laughter, and starts walking away. “I’m heading home. See you next time, losers.” They shout out incoherent goodbyes, the volume not decreasing as they go back to their previous rowdiness.

Jason lets his feet lead him as his mind shifts to the pills gripped tightly inside his pocket. He can’t imagine what B would do if he knew what Jason was up to. He felt the phantom vibrations of his phone ringing, Bruce calling to yell at him for taking street drugs. But Bruce wasn’t calling. He wasn’t there.

Without thinking, Jason found himself in front of a familiar apartment building. Jason stared at the foreclosed sign across the front doors, the police tape keeping anyone from getting in; anyone, but Robin. He snuck through without a sound, wandering the echoing hallways until he found a familiar doorway. The painted on ‘#8’ was almost illegible, and the door creaked loudly as he pushed through.

The apartment is unchanged from the last time he’d come here with Bruce. A layer of dust is settled over everything, making everything seem dream-like.

Jason feels like he’s dreaming. His body is moving on its own, while his mind goes blank. It was as if a cloud was covering his brain, allowing no signals in or out. Jason knows he’s supposed to feel scared right now, but it’s like nothing can get past. His skin itches like his bones are trying to escape his body.

Is this how his mother felt when her hands would start to shake and her eyes would start to wander? Did her skin feel like a prison around her body?

He blinks to find himself sitting in the corner of the kitchen, his back against the cabinets. The bag of pills is still gripped in his hand. He opens it up and dumps a pill into his hand. It feels weightless and yet his hand trembles with the weight. He can’t remember how many his mama would take. Was it two, three? Does it matter?

He dumps two more pills in his hand and shoves them in his mouth. They taste bitter going down and he wishes he had thought to grab his water bottle. Instead, he slumps back against the counter.

He looks up at the floating cabinets above him. The handle was used so often the paint was completely chipped around it. He stares at the cabinet and he thinks, Mama.

Then he thinks, I’m sorry.

—

He had only seen Mama truly mad at him once. It was towards the end, when Mama’s smile was getting dimmer by the day and his dad had stopped showing up.

Jason tried to distract them both with his books, reading to Mama as she lay slumped across the couch. She no longer followed along with him, or did the silly voices. On good days, she would lay still with a ghost of a smile on her face as he read. She would seem content, letting out small hums when he called her name. Sometimes she fell asleep like that, still smiling. Jason would read a little quieter, so she wouldn’t wake up.

That day had been a bad day. He had found her laying on the couch, eyes closed, as usual and came up to her with a book in hand. It had been early enough that he still had hope that she would smile back at him like she used to. It had been months since she had seemed herself, and Jason found himself missing her even when she was right in front of him.

He clutched the book to his chest and reached out a hand, calling her name. She’d groaned and pushed him a step back. “Not now, baby,” she’d said, rolling with her back to him.

An ache had settled in his chest and he sat on the ground with his back against the couch. He cracked open the book and started reading quietly. As he read, she made noises and shifted around like she was uncomfortable. Jason wanted to help, but he was scared to touch her again. He didn’t want to make her feel worse. 

His eyes burned as he kept reading. His voice was wavering around the words, but he tried to keep it as steady as possible. Mama had told him once that she could listen to him read for days, his voice was so soothing. He kept going, hoping it would help and she would settle, but she just seemed to be getting worse.

Then he had a realization. The meds made Mama feel better, he just needed to her the meds. He knew where they were, and the counters were tall, but he knew how to climb on from the chairs.

With a plan in mind, he scrambled to his feet. He had to move quietly so he wouldn’t disturb his mama, but the chair was too heavy for him to lift. He shifted it as quietly as he could over and checked the couch again for movement. He waited a few moments, but he was safe.

He climbed the chair and grabbed onto the countertop. He pushed himself up until he was on his feet. He refused to look down. In front of him was a well-worn cabinet. He grabbed the loose handle and pulled it open, almost swinging himself off the counter with the effort, but steadying his feet.

The box Mama used was still above his head and shoved back on the shelf. He clung to the shelf below it for leverage as he reached up for the box. His fingertips grazed it, and he took another blind swat at it. It came closer to the edge. Jason grinned, excited his plan was working.

His excitement made him overconfident though, as he reached for the box again, trying to get his fingers around it but failing. He watched in slow motion as the box tilted over the edge of the shelf and hurled towards the counter. It hit the surface with a loud bang, and he knew without looking that Mama had woken up.

She gasped loudly from the couch like he had startled her awake and stumbled to her feet. Jason turned around and felt his blood freeze. Mama took in the sight of him on the countertops with pills rolling around the counters and floors. Her face twisted with anger, her eyebrows scrunched and her lips curled. Her eyes were still glassy like they always were then.

Jason tried to get off the counter, but Mama got to him first and pulled at his arm roughly until he was jumping down onto the chair and then onto the ground. Her grip didn’t lighten once his feet hit the ground.

“Jason Peter Todd, what have I told you before?” she’d asked, voice rising in volume, “Do not go near my medications, don’t even look at them. Look at what you’ve done, look at the mess you’ve made.” Jason’s eyes brimmed with tears, his lip wobbled against his will. He’d never seen Mama so angry, her lips curling into a snarl. His chest stuttered with the start of a sob. He just wanted to help.

She let go of his arm, pushing him off to the side as she collected the loose pills that had found their way around the kitchen. Her hands moved desperately, pushing stuff aside roughly to check below for lost pills.

Jason wanted to reach forward and help her clean up the mess he’d made, but fear kept his body in place. He didn’t want to move, in case it reminded her that he was still there. 

She crawled on the floor to grab the ones that had rolled down, her legs unsteady as she bent down and rose up. She locked all the pills back in the box, shutting it with a firm click. Then, she bent over the box and rested her forehead against it. She took in a deep breath, and then another. Jason held his.

Finally, she turned to look at him. He was frozen in the same place she’d left him, his fingers tangled in his shirt. With her attention on him, he noticed the tear tracks leaving paths of chills on his cheeks. He didn’t remember crying. His breath came out short and stuttered, catching more air in than out.

Her face softened as she looked at him, the anger leaving and being replaced with sadness. Jason felt worse. All he wanted was to make Mama feel better, and he couldn’t even do that. Even worse, he’s made her feel sad. His eyes started to burn again.

She reached out for him and pulled him into her arms. She squished his face into her shoulder and said, “I’m sorry, baby. I shouldn’t’ve yelled. It’s okay, everything’s okay.” The dam broke, and his tears flowed freely. Unrestrained sobs teared from his throat as he clutched her back with as much ferocity as he could.

She brushed her hand through his hand, shushing him quietly as he let it all out. When his breath started to come out even again, she pulled him away from her shoulder and wiped at his wet cheeks with her thumbs. Her fingers left paths of warmth against his face, softening the tension that had built up in his body. His body swayed towards her.

Her face was still pinched in sadness. He reached up to hold her face like she was his. She leaned into it for a moment. “Jay, you have to promise me, okay? You can’t go near mommy’s medication. Never, no matter what. Can you promise me that?”

Jason nodded. “Okay, Mama. I promise.”

—

Jason doesn’t know how long he sat on the floor of his old kitchen when he heard his phone ringing. It was in his backpack that he’d dropped in the doorway of the kitchen. He listened to it ring and ring before falling silent again.

It was probably Bruce, finally letting the overprotective side win out. The room was completely dark except for the lights coming in through the windows, so it was way past his curfew. He should head back soon. He knows he should.

But he feels so tired.

His body feels weighed down. Not like before when the numbness spreading through his body kept him anchored to the sidewalk, but like his limbs didn’t want to listen to his brain anymore. His eyelids feel heavy, and he lets them close for a second. But as soon as he closes them, he feels like he’s on a rollercoaster, his body swirling around in circles. Lights seem like they’re flashing behind his eyes. His eyes spring open and he throws his body to the side as he violently throws up on the floor. Tears start to pour down his cheeks.

Something’s not right. He feels it clawing through his stomach into his lungs, making each breath difficult to grasp. Something’s wrong, something’s very wrong. He feels fear crawl up his throat, or maybe it’s his stomach, as he throws up again, nothing but bile coming out.

The world is still spinning around him. Lights flash in front of his eyes and make the world blur. This isn’t what he wanted. It isn’t supposed to feel this way. His arms tremble with the strength to hold himself up, but he’s too scared to let himself fall. He knows that if he falls, he’s not getting back up.

Through the ringing in his ears, he hears it. The phone, someone’s calling him again. Jason’s suddenly overwhelmed with loneliness. He wants someone here, he’s scared. Scared that no one will find him, that his arms will give up strength. More than anything, he’s scared that the phone will stop ringing, and he’ll be left here all alone.

He pushes on his hands, dragging his body closer to the bag. His legs won’t listen to him anymore, and his arms barely support his weight. He wants to drop to the ground and lay against the cool tile. He wants to let the cold penetrate the heat and pain coursing through his body.

He shakes his head at himself, pausing as the dizziness and nausea increase. He pushed forward another step. His phone is ringing again, having cut off and come back on. He needs to grab it before they stop calling.

He doesn’t want to be alone anymore.

His hand moves forward and brushes against fabric. He lets out a sob of relief. He can’t see through the spinning and the tears clouding his eyes, so he scrambles blindly through his bag, chasing the vibrations of the phone.

Finally he clutches it in his hand and flips it face-up. The bright light makes his head bloom with pain and he has to squeeze his eyes shut. He groans loudly.

“Jason? Jason!” He hears someone yelling his name. He groans again, the world spinning too fast. The voice keeps talking, and Jason can’t hear the words, but he recognizes the voice.

“Bruce?” He can’t control his mouth well, and his voice comes out slurred.

“Jason, what happened? Where are you?” The lights behind his eyes are getting brighter, and the pain in his head is ratcheting up. It hurts so bad. Make it stop, please, make it stop. “Make what stop, Jay? What hurts?”

“Bruce,” he groans out, “B, I’m sorry.” He gags as his stomach rebels. He can taste acid in his throat and it feels like it's going to melt right into his lungs. His breath catches in his throat. “I just wanted to—wanted to know what it…feels like.”

He hears weird noises coming from the phone, or maybe coming from the apartment. He opens his eyes, he doesn’t know when he closed them. He looks around the kitchen, but his vision is too blurry. Even his Robin training feels out of reach right now.

Bruce is talking again, but the words sound like they’re coming through water. He can’t make sense of them anymore than he can make sense of his body. His face feels like it’s burning. He reaches a hand up to try and cool it off, but he forgot it was holding himself up with that hand. His body drops to the ground with a thud, pain ricocheting through his body from the impact.

The voice gets louder in his ear. “Jay, Jay! What was that? Jason!” Jason groans in response, his mouth feels too heavy to move. The pain is still echoing through his body as the world spins around him. He chokes on a mouthful of bile, spitting it onto the floor beside him. It dribbles down his cheek.

Someone must be here with him. He can hear a voice speaking, he doesn’t know where from. Why aren’t they helping him? They left him all alone again. He doesn’t wanna be alone. He can’t survive it, please. Why aren’t you helping me? Where are you?

He wants Mama. He wants her warm arms around him, lifting him off the floor. He wants her lips against his forehead and her hand in his hair. He wants her soft voice telling him how much she loves him and would never leave him.

His body isn’t his anymore. He can’t even get his eyes open. He’s scared, in a way he hasn’t been since he found his mama on the kitchen floor. He isn’t ready to die, not yet. He just finished his training. He’s supposed to be Robin. 

He’s supposed to be magic.

He doesn’t feel magic. His thoughts feel as slurred as his words. There’s an odd chill working its way up his body, starting at his fingers and toes. He’s scared what’ll happen when it reaches his heart. His head feels cloudy. He’s going to lose consciousness, he can feel it.

In his last awake moment, he feels his mama’s arms pull him into a hug.

—

The first thing he notices is the warmth. His feet aren’t chilled anymore, and his heart doesn’t feel in fear of freezing. In fact, his hands feel the warmest of them all. At least, his right hand does. He tries to squeeze his fingers shut, just to see if they’ll respond. All he feels is the smallest twitch, but it was movement at least.

His exploration gets cut short when he feels the warmth in his hand squeeze back. “Jason, are you awake?” He knows that voice.

Jason tries to speak, but all he can manage is a weak groan. Feeling limited, he tries to open his eyes. Tries being the keyword, since his eyes don’t even fully open before he’s slamming them shut again. Intense lights flicker behind his eyelids and a wave of dizziness starts up again.

The light behind his eyes fade all at once. “Try again, Jay,” Bruce says. Jason listens, opening his eyes slowly in anticipation of the pain, but the room is covered in only dim lighting. “There you go. How do you feel?”

Jason lets his head flop on its side to see Bruce better. He’s sitting at his bedside, hand in his. When Jason meets his eye, he reaches with his free hand and runs his fingers through Jason’s hair. Jason leans into it. He clears his throat and tries to speak, “What happened?”

His voice comes out a wreck, stuttering pieces of words forming vague approximations of what he wanted to say. Bruce seemed to understand though, pulling away to grab something from the bedside table. He comes back with an ice cube. “You were out late last night. I got worried, so I tracked you and found you at your old apartment. Do you remember being there?”

Jason hums and closes his eyes, swirling the ice cube in his mouth. His memory feels far away, like there’s a cloud blocking his view. Except no, his head felt cloudy before, and it hadn’t felt like this. Why had his head felt cloudy before?

Bruce seems to realize that Jason wasn’t fully there. He ran his fingers through Jason’s hair again and said, “Get some rest, Jason. We’ll talk more when you’re better.”

Jason peeled his eyes open. “But…” he trailed off, unsure what he was going to say. He looked at Bruce, taking him in for the first time. His hair was scattered like he had just taken his cowl off, and his face looked paler than usual. He caught Jason’s eyes and gave him a weak smile.

“Sleep, Jay. I’ll be here when you wake.” Jason finally closed his eyes and let the exhaustion take him.

—

Jason wakes the second time with all of his memories. He can almost feel the tightness in his chest, the ice slithering up his limbs, the nausea in his throat. He wakes up with a gasp that turns into a coughing fit. He tries to turn on his side, but his arms are too weak to support him. He gasps for air.

As he struggles to pull in the next breath, he feels arms reach around him and pull him upright, pounding solidly against his back. He sucks in the next breath, holding it so his lungs can have it. Finally, his breathing is stable enough for him to focus on opening his eyes.

He looks to the side and sees Bruce holding him up. The memories of yesterday flash behind his eyelids and he finds that he can’t meet Bruce’s gaze. Jason knows Bruce is looking at him, but he keeps his eyes on the bedsheet in front of him.

Bruce breaks first. “How are you feeling?”

Jason shrugs. “Fine.” His voice breaks halfway through the word, and a flush rises to his cheeks. Bruce sets him back against some pillows and goes across the room. Jason looks around. He’s in the Batcave infirmary, laying in one of the patient beds they have. It’s only him and Bruce in the room.

Bruce comes back with a cup of water and a straw. “Drink slowly,” he says, handing over the cup. Jason reaches for it, but his hands are too shaky to grab it. Bruce doesn’t say anything and helps bring the straw to his lips. Jason wants to reject the help, but his throat burns from the coughing and probably from the vomiting too, so he swallows his pride and the water.

When he’s had enough, he asks, “What time is it?”

Bruce sets the water down on the bedside table. “It’s 10 pm. What do you remember?”

Jason keeps his eyes on the bedsheet. He doesn’t want to answer. He doesn’t want to admit to what he’s done. His non-answer is enough of an answer for Bruce.

“Jason,” he says, leaning forward to try and catch Jason’s eyes. “What happened?”

Jason shrugs and doesn’t say anything. He can’t see Bruce, but he knows that pissed him off.

“Jason, I need to know what happened. You don’t come home, and I see you all the way at your old apartment. I call and I call, and when you finally pick up, you’re on the verge of an opiate overdose.” Jason flinches. Bruce continues, “How did you even get those drugs? What were you thinking?”

Jason feels the burn in the back of his eyes, but he just shrugs again. He clears his throat and says, “It was nothing, it was stupid.”

“Which one was it: nothing or stupid?”

He grips the bedsheets tighter. “Both, I don’t know. What’s it even matter? I know it was dumb, I’ve learned my lesson. Can we just let it go?”

“Let it go?” Bruce is standing next to the bed, casting a shadow over Jason. He feels small, consumed by the shadow. “You almost died, Jason. You weren’t breathing when I found you.”

Jason sniffs quietly. The burn is extending from behind his eyes into his throat, but he refuses to cry. He keeps his mouth shut.

Bruce looks at him a bit longer, no doubt analyzing everything about him. Then, he sighs deeply and drops into the chair. “You worried me, Jay. You picked up the phone and you were barely responsive. I didn’t know what had happened, or if you were alone, or how hurt you were. I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I need to know this won’t happen again.”

“It won’t.” It was only two words, but they came out so wobbly they were almost unintelligible.

Bruce reaches for his hand again. It feels so warm compared to the phantom chill he can still feel. He loses the battle to his tears. He feels the air hit his cold cheek. Bruce squeezes his hand. “What happened, Jay?”

“I just—” Jason sniffs loudly, “I wanted to know what it felt like.”

“What what felt like?”

Jason’s voice dropped to a whisper. “The pills.”

“Why?” Jason shakes his head, prompting more tears to fall. “Jason, why did you want to know what the pills felt like? You’ve never even wanted pain meds for your injuries.”

“I know, and I still don’t. But it’s just—” he pauses. He can lie and just say he was curious. That he saw a junkie on patrol the other day and it sparked an intellectual curiosity. He can say that it was a mistake taking too many and he actually got a bruise in sparring the other day that really hurt. He can spin this and lie and deflect until Bruce drops it altogether.

Bruce reaches up and cups his face, gently brushing the tear tracks from his wet cheeks with his thumbs.

Jason breaks. Heaving sobs tear from his throat, so strong he hunches forward from the power of it. He pulls his knees up to bury his face in and cries like he hasn’t since he’d found his mama on the kitchen floor. The same kitchen floor he almost killed himself on. The thought brings more tears to his eyes. The reality is finally setting in. He can’t breathe. He almost died. He almost followed his mother to her grave.

His breath catches in his throat. Bruce’s arms go around him, one hand on his chest and one on his back. He’s taking exaggerated breaths, counting for Jason to follow. The air is still catching in his throat, but he leans sideways to rest against Bruce’s chest. He can hear his heartbeat this way. He’s still alive to hear his heartbeat.

The tears slow, and his breathing starts to deepen. Bruce isn’t counting anymore, but he’s still taking slow breaths for Jason to copy. He closes his eyes and rests against Bruce’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice catching in his throat a bit. “I didn’t mean to worry you, I swear.”

“That’s not the part I’m upset about, Jay,” Bruce says, but he softens it by lifting a hand to run through his hair.

Jason sighs and leans deeper into Bruce. “I didn’t really mean to take them. I mean, I didn’t go out planning on taking them.” Bruce hums. This is it, the truth. “I didn’t go to the library. I went to meet up with my old friends from the neighborhood. We were hanging out and one of them had goods he was selling the next day, and he showed us, and I just thought, ‘I want to try this.’”

“Why, Jason?” Jason shakes his head, throat closing up. “I just don’t understand. You don’t want to take any meds, whatsoever. Not even tylenol. And now you’re chasing the same drug that took your mother?”

Jason flinches. It hurt to hear, but it was true. It did take his mother. And she let it. “That’s exactly why I had to try it. I had to see what all the hype was about. I mean, it must be pretty good, right? It must be. Otherwise why would…”

“Why would what, Jay?”

“Why would—why would she have chosen it over me?” His voice breaks, and the tears that he thought he ran out of slipped out of his eyes. “I mean, she let it take her, Bruce. She knew what it was doing, she knew it was inevitable. But she still let it take her, and she still left me all alone.” His voice was rising, he knew, but Bruce swept his fingers through his hair and he took a deep breath.

“Jason. She didn’t choose the drug over you. She was addicted. She had no choice, not without help she couldn’t get.”

“But what about me? Was I not good enough? I looked after her and read to her and cooked for her when she couldn’t get up anymore. Why was I not enough to fix her?”

“Because you were a child, and she was your mother. You weren’t supposed to fix her.” Jason let out a weak sob. “There was nothing you could do. But, Jason, she didn’t pick it over you. She loved you.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because I can see her in you, Jason. I can see how sweet and gentle and good you are. I see you stopping to help out people struggling on the streets during our patrols. And I see how you treat me and Alfred. She raised you to be good, Jay. And you are. You’re living in her memory every day that you’re yourself.”

Jason reaches around to hug Bruce tightly, feeling his arms return the gesture. “But I miss her so much.”

“I know, Jay. I can’t say that goes away. But think about how you can honor her memory. She wouldn’t have wanted you to go down the same path she did, would she?”

“No,” he sniffs, “She made me promise to never ever go near her meds.”

“She wanted better for you, Jason. Just like all mothers do. That’s the most important thing you can do for her.”

Jason sobs again, but this time it feels like a release. Like something inside of him is finally free. He melts into Bruce and lets him hold him up. It isn’t the same feeling of his mother, it never would be again, but it’s just as safe. Bruce was right. His mother had loved him, he knew that. All the memories he held of her are a part of who he is. Wrapped in tight arms, he can see his mother’s smile behind his eyes.

I’m okay now, Mama, he thinks, and he can imagine her smile going wider. Thank you for protecting me. I’ll always love you.