Chapter Text
Jason surfaced from sleep slowly, as if through thick water. The light filtering through the curtains was soft and gray, telling him it was later than he usually allowed himself to sleep in. He should've been up already, showered, maybe coffee, maybe something to keep his hands busy in the cave.
But the thought of moving felt... impossible.
His limbs were leaden, his chest heavy in a way that went beyond the oxygen tubing resting there. Even his eyelids resisted staying open, drifting shut again despite the nagging awareness that the day had started without him.
Somewhere downstairs, the faint clink of dishes reached him, muffled through the manor's walls. He should go join them. Say something sarcastic at breakfast. Pretend he was fine.
Instead, Jason lay still, the quiet hiss of the oxygen his only companion. The blanket was warm against his chilled skin, and the ache deep in his muscles told him that even sitting up would cost more than he had to give.
He hated it, hated this weakness gnawing at him but he didn't have the strength to fight it today. Not this morning.
So he stayed where he was, listening to the muted life of the house moving on without him, and tried not to think about how much harder getting up might be tomorrow.
-
Jason must have drifted off again, because the next thing he registered was a soft knock against the doorframe and the creak of it opening.
"Master Jason?" Alfred's voice was quiet, the kind of gentle that usually came when someone was sick as a child.
Jason didn't answer partly because it felt easier to keep still, partly because words seemed too heavy in his throat.
Footsteps padded closer, deliberate but unhurried. The familiar scent of Alfred's aftershave mingled faintly with the starchy smell of his suit. A cool, careful hand rested briefly on Jason's forehead, then moved to straighten the oxygen line where it had shifted near his ear.
"You've been asleep quite some time," Alfred murmured, his voice more observation than chastisement. "I thought I might come check on you."
Jason stirred faintly under the touch, his head turning just enough to acknowledge him. His eyes cracked open halfway, unfocused at first, before finding Alfred's face.
"M'fine," he rasped, though it sounded unconvincing even to himself.
Alfred's thumb brushed a crease from Jason's blanket, lingering for a moment. "Of course you are," he replied softly, the hint of worry still there beneath the calm. "Rest, then."
Jason let his eyes close again, the comfort of Alfred's presence enough to let the pull of sleep take him without protest.
Jason's breathing was slow, a faint hiss of oxygen mixing with each exhale. Alfred stayed seated on the edge of the bed for a while, one hand resting lightly on the blanket near Jason's shoulder. He didn't speak again, didn't try to coax him awake, just stayed there, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, as if measuring it against memory.
Jason shifted once, barely, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wanted to say something but the weight of exhaustion kept it locked inside. His fingers curled weakly against the sheets, and Alfred reached down to gently ease them open, his touch warm and careful.
"You needn't worry about anything today," Alfred murmured, though Jason was already halfway back in dreams. "Everything is taken care of."
The young man's brow smoothed slightly, and Alfred waited another moment, making sure the sleep was deep and undisturbed before he finally stood. He moved quietly, the way only years in the manor had taught him, pausing at the doorway to glance back.
Jason looked younger like this, even with the oxygen tubing and the faint lines of strain at the corners of his eyes. Alfred closed the door softly.
Down the hall, his pace quickened just enough to be purposeful as he sought out Bruce.
He found him in the study, papers spread across the desk. Bruce looked up immediately at Alfred's entrance.
"How is he?"
Alfred didn't answer right away. His lips pressed into a thin line before he said, "He's weaker. Slept most of the morning. I... don't believe he could manage to get out of bed even if he wanted to."
Bruce's jaw tightened. He set the pen down, leaning back slowly in his chair as if bracing himself for something heavier.
Bruce didn't speak, didn't even nod, just pushed back from the desk and made his way out of the study, his footsteps quiet but deliberate. Alfred followed him only to the base of the stairs before stopping, letting Bruce go alone.
The hall was dim, blinds half-closed against the morning sun. Bruce paused outside Jason's door, listening. The faint sound of breathing reached him, steady, but thin.
He eased the door open.
Jason was curled slightly on his side, the blankets drawn up but still leaving the oxygen tubing visible. The sharpness that usually lingered in his features, even at rest, was dulled. He looked pale, lips faintly chapped.
Bruce stepped inside, his boots silent against the rug, and came to stand beside the bed. He didn't speak right away, just studied Jason's face as if trying to commit every detail to memory.
One hand hovered for a moment before settling lightly on Jason's arm, careful not to wake him.
Jason stirred faintly at the touch, blinking groggily. "...Bruce?" His voice was rough, almost a whisper.
"Yeah." Bruce's tone was quiet, stripped of the usual weight it carried. "Go back to sleep."
Jason gave a tired half-smile, though it faded quickly. "Didn't mean to... sleep all day."
"You needed it," Bruce said, and something in his voice made it sound less like permission and more like a plea.
Jason's eyes drifted closed again, his breathing settling back into its slow rhythm. Bruce stayed there a while longer, hand still resting lightly on his arm, before finally stepping back.
He left the room without another word, but his shoulders were tighter than before, and Alfred could see it when he passed him in the hall.
-
It was past midnight when Bruce pushed open Jason's door again. The hall behind him was dark, only the low amber light from the bedside lamp casting a faint glow across the room.
Jason was asleep, turned toward the window, the slow rise and fall of his chest barely visible under the blankets. The oxygen tubing curled loosely along his cheek, catching a glint from the lamp.
Bruce crossed the room soundlessly, pulling the desk chair closer to the bed. He sat, elbows on his knees, his eyes never leaving Jason's face.
There were no monitors here, no readouts or stats to watch, just the quiet and the too-soft sound of his son's breathing. Bruce had spent a lifetime learning how to read danger in silence, but this was different. This was a stillness he couldn't fight, couldn't train against, couldn't outthink.
Jason shifted in his sleep, a small crease appearing between his brows. Bruce reached out, smoothing it away with the lightest touch to his hair, fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary.
"You're going to be fine," Bruce murmured, so low it was barely sound. But the words felt hollow in his mouth, meant more for himself than for Jason.
He stayed there for hours, unmoving except for the occasional quiet adjustment of the blankets when Jason shivered. When dawn finally started to grey the edges of the window, Bruce still hadn't left.
From the doorway, Alfred paused, watching them, one man keeping vigil, the other fighting an unseen battle in his sleep. He didn't speak, just stepped away and left them in the quiet.
-
The manor felt heavier in the daylight. Not quiet exactly, there was still the clink of cutlery in the kitchen, but there was a weight to the air that hadn't been there before.
At breakfast, Bruce was in his usual seat at the end of the table, but his plate sat untouched. His coffee cooled in front of him, forgotten. His gaze kept drifting toward the doorway that led upstairs, as if expecting Jason to appear at any moment.
Damian noticed first. He didn't comment just followed Bruce's eyes and frowned, his own fork stilled.
When Alfred returned from checking on Jason, he set a fresh mug in front of Bruce without a word. Bruce didn't drink it.
"You were up late," Dick said finally, leaning back in his chair. It was casual, but the glance he shared with Tim wasn't.
Bruce only shrugged, the kind of non-answer that wasn't really meant to hide anything. His silence was almost louder than an explanation would have been.
They didn't push it. But as the morning went on, Bruce lingered on the main floor more than usual, always in earshot of the stairs, always stopping mid-conversation when he thought he heard movement from above.
By noon, it wasn't just Bruce who kept listening for footsteps that never came.
-
The sound of footsteps on the stairs was barely audible, but it caught every eye in the room. Jason appeared in the doorway, moving slower than usual, as if gravity had gotten heavier overnight. His skin was paler than anyone remembered, and his eyes, once sharp and defiant, now seemed dulled by exhaustion.
He didn't bother with a forced smile or any pretense of normalcy. His shoulders slumped slightly as he stepped into the room, the weight of his own body seeming to drag him forward. He barely acknowledged the quiet glances exchanged across the table.
Dinner was already laid out, but Jason's appetite was gone. He picked at the food, pushing peas around his plate more than eating them, and when someone asked if he wanted more, he only shook his head, voice weak and hoarse.
"Not hungry," he muttered.
No one pressed him.
His hands trembled as he reached for the glass of water, and when he drank, it was slow and deliberate, like every movement took effort.
Dick caught Bruce's eye across the table, a silent communication passing between them: concern, helplessness, fear.
Jason's presence filled the room in a way words never could.
-
The morning light spilled weakly through the curtains, but Jason didn't stir.
He lay beneath the heavy blankets, motionless except for shallow, uneven breaths. His face was pale, almost translucent, and the usual tension in his jaw was replaced by a fragile slackness.
Bruce entered quietly, followed by Alfred, each moving with a gentle purpose. They exchanged a glance before Bruce pulled the covers back just enough to check Jason's forehead cool, but clammy.
Alfred listened closely to his breathing, then pressed a hand lightly to his wrist.
"Very weak," Alfred murmured, his voice low, carrying a weight beyond simple observation.
Bruce nodded, eyes dark with worry but steady. "Call Leslie."
Alfred hesitated only a moment before stepping toward the, his hands steady as he dialed.
The room fell into a heavy silence as they waited, Bruce watching Jason's pale face, Alfred standing by with quiet resolve.
-
Leslie stepped inside, her expression composed but tinged with concern. She moved with purpose, carrying a medical bag that seemed almost too heavy for the weight of hope it bore.
Bruce and Alfred met her at the entrance, guiding her swiftly but gently through the hallways to Jason's room.
Inside, Jason lay still under the covers, the faint rise and fall of his chest barely moving. The oxygen cannula framed his face like a delicate lifeline, fragile and vital all at once.
Leslie knelt beside the bed, her eyes softening as she took in the sight. She reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from Jason's forehead with a tenderness that felt almost sacred.
"Jason," she said quietly, her voice a calm anchor in the storm of silence. "We're here now. We'll do everything we can."
Jason's eyes fluttered open briefly, meeting hers with a flicker of recognition before closing again.
Bruce stood nearby, fists clenched, but Leslie's presence seemed to ease some of the tension in the room.
"We'll need to adjust his treatment," Leslie continued, pulling out her charts and equipment. "His body is weakening faster than expected. We'll do what we can to make him comfortable and support him through this."
Alfred offered a small, reassuring smile. "He's a fighter, Doctor. We all are."
Leslie nodded, but her eyes betrayed the weight of what lay ahead.
-
Bruce's hands were steady as he slid an arm behind Jason's shoulders, easing him upright against the headboard.
The movement was slow, deliberate, as though any sudden shift might shatter something fragile.
Jason let out a thin breath through his nose, leaning heavily into the pillows Bruce adjusted for him. The oxygen tubing shifted slightly, and Bruce carefully made sure it sat comfortably again.
"Better?" Bruce asked quietly.
Jason gave the smallest nod. "Yeah."
It was barely a whisper, but it was enough.
Alfred moved next, setting a tray on the bedside table, not a full meal, but a mug of tea, a small bowl of broth, and a couple slices of bread. "When you feel up to it," he said gently.
A soft knock came from the doorway, and Dick slipped inside. No mask, no suit just an old hoodie and a careful expression. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed loosely.
"Hey, Jay," he murmured, like the words themselves were something precious that might get lost if spoken too loud.
Tim appeared behind him, laptop hugged to his chest. "I, uh... thought you might want someone around while you eat," he said, not quite meeting Jason's eyes.
No one pushed conversation. They just... stayed. Dick settled into the chair in the corner, Tim sat cross-legged on the floor, Bruce remained close enough to steady Jason if needed, and Alfred quietly busied himself with the tea.
The silence wasn't uncomfortable, it was steady, grounding. The kind of quiet that said we're here without needing to spell it out.
Jason didn't eat much, but his hand lingered around the warm mug, soaking in its heat as if it was the only thing keeping him tethered. He didn't say it, but the way his eyes softened told them all he knew exactly what they were doing for him.
-
The next morning, Jason didn't even try to pretend he was fine.
His legs felt heavy, his chest tight every movement a negotiation with his body. But he made himself get out of bed. He shuffled slowly to the kitchen, his oxygen tank's crossbody strap weighing against his side. Alfred was already there, standing at the counter with a mug of coffee and a watchful eye.
"Morning," Jason rasped.
"Good morning, Master Jason," Alfred replied, voice warm but steady. "Sit."
Jason didn't argue. He slid into the chair, elbows braced on the table. Even that made his shoulders sag. He glanced at the toast Alfred set in front of him, broke off a corner, but didn't eat more than a few bites.
Bruce came in briefly, still in his shirt from patrol, hair mussed from the cowl. He paused when he saw Jason. There was no comment, no scolding for being out of bed, just a hand resting on Jason's shoulder for a quiet moment before he continued upstairs.
The rest of the day blurred in and out. Jason drifted between short naps on the couch and stretches of simply sitting there, watching the clock or the rain tap the windows, oxygen tubing curling loosely around his face.
By evening, he was still pale, still tired but something in him lit up when he overheard Tim asking Dick what movie they should watch that night.
Jason's voice cut in before either could answer. "If you two clowns pick some boring crap, I'm taking over the remote."
They turned, surprised. Jason was already pushing himself up, moving slower than his words suggested, but with a spark they hadn't seen in days.
By the time the movie started, Jason was curled up on the couch with a blanket, making dry commentary at every plot hole and bad line delivery. His laugh came easier than it had in weeks, real, unrestrained, the kind that made Dick grin, Damian scowl and Tim roll his eyes in mock annoyance.
And for a while, it was easy to believe he was just fine.
-
The night rainfall tapped gently against the manor windows, but in Jason's room, the air felt too still.
He lay on his back, propped slightly by pillows, but even that position seemed to take all his strength. The cannula tubing looped pale against his skin, his breaths shallow and deliberate. His eyes were half-lidded, gaze unfocused, like keeping them open was a battle in itself.
When Bruce stepped inside, the shift in light from the hallway made Jason blink sluggishly, as though surfacing from deep water.
"Hey," Jason rasped, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Hey," Bruce said quietly, moving closer. He kept his tone calm, steady. "How are you feeling?"
Jason's lips twitched, not quite a smile. "Like someone... tied weights to my arms. Can't lift 'em. Can't even—" He made a faint motion, trying to shift his hand, but it barely moved an inch before falling back against the blankets. "—lift my head."
Alfred was already there on the other side of the bed, quietly checking his pulse, his forehead, his breathing. His normally sure hands lingered a little longer, the lines in his face deeper than usual.
Jason's chest rose and fell slowly, his eyes closing for longer stretches. When he did open them again, they went straight to Bruce like he was grounding himself there.
"I'm just... so tired," he murmured. The words sounded heavier than exhaustion.
Bruce sat on the edge of the bed, resting a large, steadying hand over Jason's forearm. "Then rest. We've got you."
Jason's throat bobbed like he wanted to say something more, but all that came was a soft, shaky exhale.
Jason's breaths stayed shallow, each one pulling at the silence in the room. His fingers twitched weakly against the blanket, and for a moment, Bruce thought he was trying to shift position.
Then, without opening his eyes, Jason murmured, "...B..." His voice cracked, the sound more air than words.
Bruce leaned closer. "I'm here."
There was a pause the kind that carried weight, before Jason's voice came again, small and quiet, almost embarrassed. "Can you... just... get up here? With me?"
Bruce froze for a moment, not because he didn't want to, but because Jason almost never asked for comfort so openly. It was a request that stripped away every defense Jason usually kept in place.
He didn't answer verbally, just shifted, toeing off his shoes and carefully climbing onto the mattress, mindful of the tubing and the oxygen bag at Jason's side. He settled himself slowly, easing back so Jason wouldn't feel crowded.
Jason's eyes opened a sliver, glancing at him like he needed confirmation Bruce was really there. Then, with what little strength he had, Jason shifted closer until his head rested against Bruce's chest. Bruce's arm came around his shoulders instantly, pulling him in, feeling the too-prominent bones beneath the thin shirt.
Neither spoke. The steady thump of Bruce's heart filled the space between them, and Jason's breathing, though still shallow, fell into sync with it.
Bruce stared at the ceiling, his jaw tightening against the helpless ache in his chest. He wasn't sure if Jason was still awake until he heard the faintest whisper, muffled into his shirt.
"Don't... go."
Bruce's arm tightened. "I'm not going anywhere."
Jason didn't respond. His body relaxed further, and Bruce could feel the way his breathing stuttered every so often, the quiet stretched on, the only sounds the low hum of the oxygen and the faint rasp of Jason's breaths.
Bruce thought maybe Jason had drifted off until he heard him speak again, voice fragile and threaded with memory.
"I... I loved being Robin," Jason murmured, almost like he was telling Bruce a secret. His tone was faint but certain. "But... I didn't love it as much as being your son."
The words hit like a punch to the chest. Bruce's throat tightened, and he blinked hard, but the burn in his eyes was relentless. A tear slipped down before he could stop it, then another. He brought his free hand up, brushing at them quickly as if Jason wouldn't notice.
But Jason noticed. His eyes cracked open, pale blue meeting Bruce's damp gaze.
"Please don't cry, Dad..." Jason's lips curved in the faintest, most tired ghost of a smile. "...it's okay."
Bruce couldn't speak. His only answer was to reach for Jason's hand, his large palm closing gently around fingers that felt far too thin. He held on like it was the only thing tethering them both in place.
Jason's hand twitched faintly in return, his eyes slipping shut again, still wearing that soft, resigned expression.
Bruce sat there in silence, the weight of Jason's words settling deep in his chest, knowing they'd stay with him for the rest of his life.
Jason's eyelids grew heavy, the oxygen mask slightly slipping as he shifted against Bruce's chest. The world felt soft around him, the harsh edges of pain and struggle fading with each breath.
In his mind, he stood in a bright, sunlit street familiar but impossibly calm. He was running, effortlessly, feeling strength in his legs he hadn't felt in years. Every wound, every ache, even the sharp sting in his chest... it was gone.
People he loved were there, smiling at him. Dick clapped him on the shoulder with a grin that was wider than any memory he had. Tim waved from somewhere ahead, laughing, Damian with Titus, Alfred with his sparkling eyes, and even Bruce... Bruce's expression was lighter, softer, full of pride.
Jason took a deep, unlabored breath, feeling warmth flood him. For the first time in a long time, he felt whole, capable, alive. "I'm okay," he whispered to himself. And in that moment, the pain, the sickness, the Lazarus scars... they didn't exist. He was free, happy, safe.
-
Morning arrived slowly. Light filtered through the curtains of Jason's room, pale and quiet. Bruce stirred, still holding Jason against him from where he had stayed awake all night.
At first, he thought Jason was just still sleeping. But when he shifted closer, brushing hair from his face, he realized Jason was cold.
Bruce froze, his chest tightening as reality sank in. The soft rise and fall of Jason's chest was gone. The warmth of his body fading.
"Jason..." he whispered, voice breaking. He pressed his hand to his neck then against his son's chest, hoping, wishing, but knowing.
Tears fell freely as he lowered his head to Jason's, holding him closer than ever, the sunlight falling across them both. The dream Jason had been living in last night, the hope of healing and freedom... it had been his final peace.
And now, Bruce Wayne was left with nothing but the weight of loss, the quiet of a son who had passed in the night, still in his arms.
Bruce whispered, just to himself, just to Jason, "I'm proud of you. I always will be."
And in the hush of the manor, love lingered, imperfect, powerless against death, but undeniable. It didn't fix everything. It hadn't brought Jason back. It mattered, and it would continue to matter, long after the pain.
The End.