Chapter Text
Jason sat down on the bed, elbows resting on his knees as he ran a hand down his face. His eyes closed on their own, frustration pressing at the edges of his mind, but the moment he let himself slip into the darkness behind his eyelids, a memory surfaced.
It was after a mission—some gang bust Batman had orchestrated, nothing Jason particularly cared about, but he’d still lent a hand. They stood on one of Gotham’s rooftops, the city humming faintly below, still alive even at this hour. The air was thick with adrenaline wearing off, their breaths still just a little too fast, their bodies aching in that way that came with a fight well won.
For once, the tension was low. The others—his brothers?—were laughing. Even Damian had the ghost of a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth, his usual scowl softened by the afterglow of success.
"Man," Dick breathed out, shaking his head with a grin as he clapped Tim on the back, nearly knocking him forward. "I swear, you kids keep growing up. I remember when you could barely throw a punch without falling on your ass. My baby brothers have grown"
Tim groaned, rolling his eyes. "Thanks for that, Dick. Real confidence booster."
"Just saying!" Dick grinned, gesturing between him and Damian. "Even you, Dami—look at you, cracking smiles and everything. Guess you’re finally learning to enjoy yourself."
Damian scoffed but didn’t argue, crossing his arms as he huffed.
Jason felt himself smirk slightly, the energy infectious. Something about moments like these almost let him pretend things were different. Almost.
He rolled his shoulders, standing a little taller as he added, "Been grown for a while now, Goldie."
The laughter didn’t stop immediately, but there was a shift. A slight pause. A flicker of something Jason caught before Dick covered it up with an awkward chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.
Jason’s stomach twisted.
"Right, yeah," Dick said, still smiling, but it was off now—like something forced into place too quickly. "I guess—"
"Tt," Damian cut in, unimpressed as ever. "He wasn’t referring to you, Todd."
And there it was.
The laughter died completely now, Tim pressing his lips together, looking away, and Dick throwing Damian a disapproving glance, though it was weak at best.
"Damian—"
"What?" Damian said flatly, shrugging. "I only spoke the truth."
Jason knew that Dick’s weak reprimand wasn’t disagreement.
Because Damian was right, wasn’t he?
The rooftop was quieter now, the laughter fully faded. Jason kept his face neutral, biting back the simmering bitterness that curled inside his chest. His face hidden behind his helmet.
Dick, ever the golden boy, had already moved on. With a forced grin, he hooked an arm around Damian’s neck, ruffling the kid’s hair despite his protests. "Alright, demon spawn, you had your fun. Let’s go before B gets here and chews us out for loitering."
Damian scowled, shoving at Dick’s arm. "Unhand me, Grayson!"
But Dick just laughed, dragging him toward the edge of the rooftop. He didn’t spare Jason—or Tim—a glance. Busy with the youngest member.
Jason clenched his jaw, but before he could dwell too much, there was a slight shift beside him.
Tim.
The younger boy had moved closer, hesitant but deliberate. Jason turned his head slightly, eyeing him, noting the way Tim fidgeted with the strap of his glove.
"I, uh…" Tim started, then stopped, his shoulders stiff like he regretted even speaking. Jason almost scoffed at how awkward he looked, but then—
"I noticed you’ve been using less lethal force," Tim muttered, voice careful, like he was treading on thin ice. He wasn’t looking at Jason, instead staring out over Gotham’s skyline. "I know you probably don’t care what I think, but… I appreciate it. I know it’s not easy for you."
Tim hesitated, then shifted closer, the movement small, almost uncertain.
Jason stayed still.
He and Tim weren’t exactly the closest. Their history was... complicated.
He let out a small huff, not quite scoffing, not quite humored. “Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.”
jason watched as the boy fidgeted a bit more with his gloves, glancing around the rooftop, unwilling to meet his eyes for a minute before he eventually did.
"You, uh… shouldn’t let Damian get to you. Not that I have much room to talk." Tim let out a small, humorless chuckle, glancing away. "I feel left out most of the time too. Guess I’m not as good at hiding it as you are."
Jason’s gaze sharpened, watching as Tim gave a wry smirk, voice dipping into something self-deprecating. "I mean, let’s be honest—Damian’s the entire family’s favorite. That’s just a fact at this point. Being the traumatized assassin son who needs their full attention and all.” He chuckles a little rubbing the back of his neck nervously, a line of tension in his shoulders.
Jason exhaled through his nose, watching him. For a second, he almost stayed silent. Let the weight of everything settle.
But then—maybe because Tim was trying, maybe because it was rare for either of them to acknowledge this kind of thing—Jason shifted.
forcing himself to relax his stance. Slowly, he reached out, ruffling Tim’s already-messy hair with a teasing shove.
Tim stiffened, surprised, but Jason just smirked down at him. "I don’t give a shit what Dick or Damian think." Then, without thinking too much about it, he added, "And Damian’s not the entire family’s."
Tim blinked at him, confused. "…Huh?"
Jason shrugged, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets as he leaned back slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit. "If I had a pick, of who my favorite is out of all of you, it would be you, Replacement."
Tim’s mouth parted slightly, caught between shock and something unreadable. He didn’t answer, but Jason caught the way his ears turned just a little red.
Jason rolled his eyes. "Relax, don’t get a big head about it."
Tim scoffed, but there was something lighter in his expression now. Something that made Jason feel… less alone.
Jason blinked his eyes open, the warmth of the memory fading as reality settled back in.
A knock on the door.
"Breakfast is ready," Bucky’s voice came through, steady and even. No pressure, no expectations. Just a statement.
Jason exhaled sharply through his nose, dragging a hand down his face. His chest still felt too tight, his ribs still caging something heavy and unwelcome. He tried to shove the memory of Tim away—the quiet warmth it had given him back then, the way it felt like, just for a moment, he belonged.
But time had a way of twisting things.
Tim hadn’t helped him in the end. None of them had.
Jason sat up, rolling his shoulders, trying to shake off the stiffness that came from days—weeks—without proper movement. His body felt wrong. Tense. Unused. He hadn’t fought, hadn’t trained, hadn’t even let himself move the way he was used to.
He needed to fix that.
Standing, he stretched his arms behind his back, hearing the faint pop of joints before pushing himself toward the door. His steps were careful, hesitant, but he forced himself out into the kitchen.
Bucky was already at the table, the plates set.
Eggs and bacon.
No stupid animal-shaped pancakes this time.
Jason wasn’t sure why that made him feel a little disappointment.
Wordlessly, he dropped into the chair across from Bucky, resting his arms on the table, his muscles still coiled too tight beneath his skin. He glanced at the food, then at Bucky, whose expression was neutral as he started eating.
Jason picked up his fork, rolling his shoulders again.
The clink of utensils against plates was the only sound between them. Jason sat hunched over the table, shoveling scrambled eggs and toast into his mouth with the kind of efficiency that came from years of needing to eat fast or not at all. Across from him, Bucky ate slower, methodical, almost mechanical. His face was blank, but Jason had been around enough emotionally constipated people to recognize the faint undercurrent of discomfort. Awkward silence practically clung to the air between them.
Jason wasn’t sure if the tension was because Bucky didn’t know what to say or because he did know but didn’t know how to say it. Either way, Jason wasn’t going to be the one to break it. He stabbed at a piece of bacon, chewing noisily just to fill the space.
Jason was almost done with his plate when he heard the scrape of Bucky’s chair against the floor. He didn’t look up—just kept eating, pretending the movement hadn’t made the hair on the back of his neck prickle. A few seconds later, Bucky returned, his heavy boots a muted thud against the old wood floors. Jason figured the guy was just grabbing seconds for himself, but then—
A fresh pile of eggs and bacon landed on Jason’s plate with a soft thunk.
Jason blinked, his fork freezing mid-air. He looked down at the food, then up at Bucky, who was already sitting back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest like nothing had happened.
"You—you know I’m not starving, right?" Jason asked, a faint edge of disbelief in his voice.
Bucky’s face didn’t so much as twitch. "People your age need food to develop."
Jason frowned. "Develop? What, you think I’m still a teenager or something?"
Bucky didn’t respond right away, just looked at him, gaze even and unbothered. If Jason didn’t know better, he’d think the guy was waiting him out.
Jason sighed, setting his fork down. His appetite despite being big most days wasn’t up for the mountain of food in front of him, and if this was going to stop, he’d have to say it. "I’m twenty," he said flatly. "Not eighteen, not nineteen. Twenty."
Bucky blinked. Once. Then he gave the faintest shrug, like that information barely registered as important. "Still young," he muttered, leaning back in his chair and picking up his fork again.
Jason stared, incredulous. "That’s it? That’s your reaction?"
Bucky just grunted, already halfway through his next bite of bacon.
Jason hesitated, torn between frustration and resignation. Finally, he gave up and started eating again. It wasn’t worth the fight—especially since the bacon was good, and the eggs weren’t bad either.
Jason’s fork clinked softly against the plate as he finished the last bite of eggs. He set the utensil down and pushed the plate aside, rolling his shoulders back in an attempt to shake off the tension that had built up from sitting in the quiet for so long. He was used to eating alone, so the silent, almost stoic atmosphere with Bucky—though not unpleasant—was beginning to feel a little suffocating.
When he looked up, Bucky was staring at him. Not in the way someone stares when they're admiring something or even in a way that’s hostile—just… blankly. But Jason wasn’t sure what Bucky was thinking, despite being able to recognize some moods, knowing the thinking process of someone he didn’t know was entirely different. He glanced down at his plate, picking at a stray piece of bacon, feeling the weight of Bucky’s gaze. It was unnerving. And judging. Probably judging, is he judging? Jason feels judged.
"Something wrong?" Jason muttered, half-snark, half-wariness.
Bucky didn’t respond immediately. His brow furrowed ever so slightly as if he was trying to figure out the right words, which, from what Jason absorbed so far, was never easy for him. It wasn’t hard to guess that Bucky’s mind was working overtime. The guy had a way of calculating every word before it left his mouth. Jason could practically hear the wheels turning in Bucky’s head, trying to piece together the words.
Jason shifted uncomfortably in his seat, picking at the hem of his jacket sleeve, his fingers restless. The silence stretched between them, and Jason’s thoughts began to drift, but he caught himself before his paranoia could kick in. He couldn’t let himself get too lost in that headspace. not now. Not with Bucky, who he didn’t quite trust—he didn’t! Jason is sure of it— but who also wasn’t giving off the kind of vibes that screamed danger. Not yet, anyway. Still, Jason’s back was tense, his legs slightly spread out under the table, ready to move whenever. His gaze flicked to the door as though he were already scanning the space for exits—despite knowing there is none, or possible threats.
And then—finally—Bucky spoke, breaking the silence with his usual gruff tone, but this time it was laced with hesitation that is barely detectable.
"So… what do you want?" Bucky asked, his voice sounding almost like he was testing the waters. "I mean, other than the obvious answer of wanting to get back to your own universe." Bucky flicks his eyes to his now empty plate “something that would make your…stay, more comfortable”
Jason blinked, unsure whether he should be annoyed at the question or genuinely surprised that Bucky had even asked. It wasn’t like people often gave him the chance to say what he wanted, not that he was in a position to ask for much. But still, the fact that Bucky was asking him instead of assuming… that was new. It threw him off for a second.
He didn’t know why though, hadn’t Bucky already done that a few times now? Jason shook his head to clear his train of thoughts.
He leaned back slightly in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he tried to keep his face neutral. The gears in his mind started turning too, calculating the possible answers. He wasn’t stupid. He knew what he wanted: his gear back, access to the Tower’s sparring and training area, and a little bit of freedom. But he wasn’t about to ask for his suit or his weapons. He wasn’t a complete idiot. Stark wouldn’t allow it, and Jason was smart enough to know that Bucky probably wouldn’t either, at least not without a fight.
So, the usual stuff—the stuff that wasn’t unreasonable, at least in Jason’s eyes—was what he needed to focus on. He could deal with the rest later. He just needed to figure out how to phrase it without sounding like he was asking for too much.
After a long pause, Jason finally spoke, his voice steady but guarded. “I want access to your sparring and training area.” He met Bucky’s gaze, his expression unreadable, though the slight tension in his jaw gave away that this wasn’t the easiest thing to ask for. “No interference. I want to be left alone when I’m in there.”
Bucky didn’t react immediately. His eyes narrowed slightly, the barest hint of a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t disbelief, though. It was more like he was trying to decide if this request was something he can fulfill. Finally, after a beat, he nodded.
"I’ll see what I can do," Bucky said, the words clipped but not dismissive. “It might take a minute, but I'll talk to Stark, see if we can make it work.”
Jason nodded back, though his thoughts were already drifting again, the flicker of a new request forming in his head. It wasn’t the first thing on his mind, but it was a close second. Since the phone from the security guard he had…burrowed during his escape was no longer with him, he needed a new one. His skin prickled at feeling out of the loop, with news, social media and everything happening in the world in general, he needed a way to connect to the outside world.
“I also need a phone,” Jason added after a moment, his voice a little sharper now. “No trackers. No listening devices. You can tell Stark I’ll find out if there’s anything planted in it.”
Bucky’s eyebrow twitched, but he didn’t flinch. Jason wasn’t sure if Bucky was surprised by the request or not. Either way, he didn’t care. A phone was a basic request, but it was one that had to be handled carefully. Jason wasn’t about to let anyone monitor his calls or messages, especially not while he was stuck in this weird version of the world where was still new to him.
For a moment, Jason hesitated, chewing on his bottom lip as he thought through the rest of what he could reasonably ask for. He wasn’t going to push it. Asking for his gear would be pointless, and the last thing he wanted was to give Bucky any reason to think he was pushing his luck. He was smart enough to know that this wasn’t the time to press too hard.
Instead, he gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug. “That’s all for now.”
Bucky nodded slowly, his expression still unreadable, but there was something almost approving in the way he held himself. Jason wasn’t sure if it was because Bucky had been able to get through that conversation without any major awkwardness or if he was just relieved that Jason wasn’t demanding anything too extreme.
"Alright," Bucky said, voice steady as ever. "We’ll figure it out."
Jason gave him a look, one that said more than he intended. He didn’t trust easily, but Bucky was being... weirdly reasonable about all this. At least for now. And Jason figured that was something he’d just have to take at face value.
Or maybe he just found it weird because no one had taken his request into consideration in any resealable way before, but Jason wasn’t going to think about that now, he will have a mental breakdown about it later, preferably when alone.
he will find a free time slot for that in his schedule, he’s sure of it.
___________________
Bucky stood a little stiffly as the elevator (newly repaired after Jason’s little adventure) hummed its way down, the familiar weight of his own thoughts pressing against him like a constant force. He’d just come from a tense conversation with Stark about Jason’s request—one that had included a lot of back and forth, and, to be honest, some heavy sighs from Tony. But in the end, Bucky had managed to swing things in Jason’s favor. The kid was getting access to the entire training and sparring floor for a few hours, without anyone else poking their noses in. He didn’t know what Jason planned to do with the time, but Bucky had a hunch it wasn’t going to be a casual walk in the park.
When the elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, Bucky was about to say something—anything—when he noticed the shift. Jason had been quiet, a little off-kilter before, still holding that cautious, almost defensive air about him, but now? Now, the kid—can he still think of him like that, now that he found out he is twenty?— was different.
Jason’s posture had changed completely. Where he’d once held himself with a sort of perpetual tension, shoulders stiff and back rigid, there was a surprising lightness in his step now. His hands weren’t clenched at his sides anymore, and the scowl that usually seemed glued to his face was gone, replaced with something else—anticipation.
Bucky couldn’t help but notice the subtle shift, how Jason’s eyes were just a little more alert than usual, his gaze flicking toward the hallway where the training floor was. There was a bounce in his step, the kind Bucky had never expected from the kid. It was as if the weight of the world had lifted off his shoulders, even if just for a little while. And Bucky hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected Jason to be so... excited about the training space.
A part of Bucky was glad for the change. Jason was far more at ease now than he’d been since Bucky had first met him, and it felt like a small victory. Maybe giving the kid—he can’t help but think of him like that, despite Jason’s age— space to do his own thing was the right call. Maybe this was the first step in getting him to settle in.
"Hey," Bucky spoke, his voice a little softer than usual, but still low. "You okay?"
Jason shot him a quick, almost surprised look, like he hadn’t expected the question. He was still visibly relaxed, his shoulders less hunched than they’d been, though his gaze was still quick to dart around the space. Paranoia wasn’t gone entirely, Bucky could tell, but for the first time since they’d started interacting, the kid didn’t seem on edge.
"Yeah, just—" Jason broke off, looking down at the floor for a brief second before his focus snapped back up. "Just ready to get moving. Haven’t had a chance to work out like this in a while." His words came out with a kind of quiet subtle eagerness Bucky hadn’t anticipated. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but it was there. The kid was genuinely looking forward to it.
Bucky watched Jason for a moment longer, arms still crossed, but his stance loosening a little as he studied the younger man. There was something oddly gratifying in seeing Jason relaxed, no longer carrying the weight of constant suspicion in his body language. It made Bucky think that maybe this whole arrangement wasn’t as impossible as Stark expected.
He nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching into something close to a smile or at least resembling it. "Alright, well, you’ve got the whole floor to yourself. Don’t hold back."
"Trust me, I won’t," Jason muttered, already stepping out the elevator and onto the training floor, his pace quickening. It was like he couldn’t wait to get started, like this was exactly what he needed to burn off whatever was simmering inside him.
Bucky watched him go, feeling a quiet sense of something—satisfaction? Relief? He wasn’t sure.
Though as soon as Jason stepped into the middle of the spacious training area, a smooth, calm voice filled the air, catching him off guard.
"Hello, Mr. Jason," JARVIS said in a tone that was formal yet polite, almost too proper. "I am JARVIS. I will be watching over you during your sparring and training sessions. Please don’t hesitate to ask me anything I am permitted to answer you about."
Jason stopped in his tracks, his body tensing as he immediately scanned the room, trying to identify where the voice was coming from. His eyes darted to every corner, expecting to see someone else in the room or some sort of hidden speaker. But there was nothing.
His brows furrowed in confusion, a flicker of annoyance already bubbling up in him. He hated being caught off guard like this, especially with someone—or something—watching him.
Bucky, noticing the confusion on Jason’s face, stayed back by the elevator. "It’s an AI," Bucky explained, his voice calm and steady. "JARVIS. Stark insisted on having it monitor you while you train. He wouldn’t have let you use the floor otherwise."
Jason’s gaze shifted back to Bucky, his expression unreadable for a moment. But inwardly, he was reminded of Alfred—at least the way the AI spoke with its polite formality.
"An AI," Jason repeated, his voice low, trying to process it. His irritation was clear as he muttered, "Great. Another thing to keep an eye on."
Bucky gave a small nod but didn’t seem phased. "It’s not a big deal. JARVIS won’t interfere unless you need something or if you’re about to break the place."
Jason huffed, his body language tense again as he crossed his arms. "I wasn’t planning on breaking anything," he grumbled, but he knew the idea of having a constant observer wasn’t going to sit well with him. He gave a small, dry laugh, though there was an edge to it. "Just don’t start giving me orders."
"I will not give orders unless it is necessary, Mr. Jason," JARVIS added promptly, and Jason shot an irritated glance at the empty space around him.
"I can already tell this is gonna be fun," Jason muttered under his breath, before turning away to start his warm-up. Though it was clear he didn’t like the idea of being watched, at least it was something he could ignore for now.
Bucky lingered inside the elevator, watching Jason with a quiet sense of concern, but didn’t push it. Instead letting the door slide closed, leaving Jason to his own devices.
________________
Jason exhaled slowly, dragging the back of his wrist over his forehead before reaching for the towel he’d tossed aside earlier. He wiped the sweat from the back of his neck, relishing the dull ache in his muscles—the good kind of ache, the kind that told him his body was getting back to where it was supposed to be.
It had been a week since he started training here. A week of pushing himself, of moving through drills and sparring routines, of letting his body remember what it was like to be strong again. And, maybe most surprising of all, a week of getting used to the quiet routine he and Bucky had fallen into.
Jason didn’t know when it had started feeling normal, but at some point, the tension he carried—while still there—had loosened, just a bit. Enough that he could go through his training without constantly looking over his shoulder. Enough that he didn’t always feel the need to keep himself coiled tight like a spring, ready to snap.
His stomach grumbled, reminding him he needed to eat. That was another thing he hadn’t expected—Bucky’s cooking was annoyingly good. Jason had been skeptical at first, but after a few meals, he had to (very reluctantly) admit that the guy knew what he was doing in the kitchen.
Breakfast and dinner had become part of the routine too. No real conversation, just the two of them eating in mostly comfortable silence. Jason had never been great with small talk anyway, and Bucky didn’t seem to mind the quiet. It was... weird, in a way, but not bad.
Still, Jason wasn’t about to say any of this out loud.
With one last stretch, he let out a slow breath and tossed the towel onto the floor. Time to go see what was for dinner.
Jason rolled his shoulders, feeling the tension ease slightly as he paced the edge of the training floor, waiting. Bucky would be here soon to take him back—Stark had made it clear he wasn’t allowed to roam the tower on his own, which was just fantastic. Not that Jason had expected any real freedom here, but still, it rubbed him the wrong way.
His thoughts drifted as he absentmindedly flexed his fingers, rolling out his wrists. He hadn’t seen Steve in a while. At first, that didn’t seem odd—Jason wasn’t exactly looking for the guy. But now that he thought about it, Steve’s room was in the same apartment as his and Bucky’s, yet he hadn’t crossed paths with him once in the past week.
His and Bucky’s apartment.
Jason frowned slightly, the thought catching him off guard. He hadn’t really considered it before, but his first instinct had been to call it his apartment too. Like he actually lived there.
The realization made his chest tighten, though he wasn’t sure if it was irritation or something else. He didn't like the idea of getting comfortable here, but… hell, he had been. At least a little. Enough that the routine didn’t feel like a cage anymore.
Jason exhaled through his nose and shook his head, pushing the thought aside as he waited for Bucky to show up.
Jason had just started reaching for his phone, figuring he’d kill some time scrolling through whatever news or headlines he could find—not like Stark let him make a social media account for anything. He could look, but not participate, which was just another way of keeping him contained.
Before his fingers could even unlock the screen, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. A cold prickle of instinct shot through his spine, the unmistakable feeling of someone there.
Jason stiffened, muscles coiling tight as his fingers went slack, letting the phone slip from his grasp. By the time it hit the floor, he was already moving—his hands came up, body twisting as he swung his fist toward the shadow behind him.
Whoever it was dodged, moving fast, their body shifting just out of reach before lunging forward. Jason barely had time to register the momentum before they tackled him, forcing him back toward the ground.
The training floor was dim, lit only by a few overhead lights that left most of the space cast in deep shadows. He couldn’t see who he was fighting—not fully—but he could feel their weight, the way they moved, the sheer intention behind the attack.
Jason gritted his teeth, instincts taking over as he braced himself, ready to counter before they could pin him down.
Jason twisted mid-fall, shifting his weight and using the momentum to roll through the tackle. His back barely hit the floor before he kicked up, flipping over and landing on his feet in one smooth motion. His breaths were sharp, controlled, but his pulse pounded in his ears as he immediately dropped into a defensive stance.
The figure moved fast, but Jason was faster. His mind worked through the details even as he kept his body primed to react—whoever this was, they weren’t as heavy as he expected. Lighter, but not weak. A woman, then. That much he could tell from the way her weight had felt against him.
His eyes flitted across the dimly lit training floor, trying to get a clearer look at her. But the sparse overhead lights barely cut through the deep shadows, leaving most of the room cloaked in darkness.
Jason’s heart was hammering. It had been weeks since he’d fought someone in a real, direct fight—since he’d had to react like this. Sparring was one thing. But this? This was sudden. Unexpected. And it set every nerve on edge.
He forced himself to take a slow breath, steadying the adrenaline spike. His fingers curled into loose fists, his weight balanced and ready. Whoever she was, whatever this was—he wasn’t going down easy.
The next hit came out of nowhere. Jason didn’t see it, didn’t even hear her move.
Suddenly, his head was yanked back, sharp pain flaring across his scalp as fingers tangled in his hair and pulled. His breath hitched, and his hands nearly flew up on instinct to pry her grip away—but he forced the reaction down. He wasn’t some panicked rookie.
Instead, he twisted his body, using the pull to his advantage. His muscles coiled tight, and he drove his fist into her ribs with a sharp jab, aiming to knock the wind out of her and break her hold in one go.
Jason heard the sharp crack as his fist connected—solid, forceful, meant to hurt. The woman let out a quiet grunt but reacted fast, springing away from him with practiced ease.
Now that she was out of the shadows, he could actually see her. Fiery ginger hair, an all-black, skintight outfit that barely made a sound when she moved. Black Widow.
His mind clicked through the information quickly—he remembered reading about her, but he hadn’t paid much attention at the time. Too focused on digging up whatever he could about the men he’d actually encountered—Steve, Bucky, Stark.
But now? Now she had his full attention.
His blood was rushing, adrenaline making his body feel hot, alive. His teeth bared slightly, his fists clenched tight, muscles coiled and ready to spring.
Jason barely had time to react when JARVIS's calm, measured voice cut through the tension in the room, the words like a sudden cold splash of water.
"Mrs. Romanoff, please refrain from engaging in combat with Mr. Jason, as he is a guest."
It was a second too long—a split-second of distraction—and in that moment, Natasha moved.
Before Jason could even think about getting back into the fight, she yanked his arm, spinning him with expert precision. His feet left the floor, and before he could brace himself, his back hit the ground hard. The breath was knocked from his chest, pain flashing through his spine, forcing his eyes to snap shut in instinctive reaction.
She was fast, efficient—too efficient. Natasha’s weight pressed down on him, forcing his face into the cold, unforgiving floor. He could feel the cold tip of a dagger just inches from his skin, pressing against his cheek, and his heart pounded in his chest as he froze, his body stiff and tense beneath her.
His pulse was roaring in his ears. His breath came out in sharp, ragged bursts, teeth clenched in a mix of rage and panic.
“Get the fuck off me,” Jason snarled, his voice a low growl as he fought to keep his breath steady. Every muscle in his body was screaming to move, to push her off, but the sharp edge of the dagger kept him in check.
He hated this. Hated being pinned like this.
Jason’s mind suddenly supplied him with an unwelcome memory—the weight of another woman pinning him down. Talia.
His body tensed involuntarily, the memories crashing in with a force he couldn’t control. Fear gripped his heart, sharp and cold, and a choked sound escaped him before he could suppress it. His chest felt tight, like the air had been sucked out of the room, his pulse racing as his vision blurred for a moment.
His eyes prickled with the threat of tears, but he quickly blinked them away. The last thing he needed was to show anyweakness. The weight of Natasha’s body on top of him was just too familiar, too close to that feeling, the memory of Talia’s hands—Talia’s touch—lingering in his mind.
But Jason wasn’t about to beg.
He wasn’t that person anymore. Not ever again.
Instead, something snapped inside him. The violent edge in his chest flared to life, sharper than before. The words that left his mouth were filled with rage, his body fighting against Natasha’s hold despite the dagger at his face.
“Use more fucking force if you’re gonna keep me down, bitch,” Jason spat, his voice low and dangerous, filled with venom as he glared up at her. He was out of control now, pushing against her hold, straining with every muscle, desperate to move, desperate to make the memory of Talia vanish.
But Natasha—Romanoff—wasn’t someone he could easily break. And that thought only made him angrier.
The elevator dinged, the sound cutting through the tense silence like a knife. JARVIS’s voice followed almost immediately, his tone perfectly calm and matter-of-fact despite the situation unfolding.
“Mr. Barnes has been notified of the situation, along with Mr. Rogers and Mr. Stark.”
Jason didn’t have time to react, his heart still pounding in his chest as Natasha’s weight pressed harder against him. But then he heard the sound of boots hitting the floor, followed by the sharp hiss of the elevator doors opening.
Bucky stepped out into the dimly lit space, his expression one Jason couldn’t quite see—his face still pressed against the cold floor. But Bucky’s presence was unmistakable. The air seemed to change, the temperature dropping as Jason’s senses screamed that things were about to shift.
Bucky’s metal arm glinted in the low light, a deadly contrast against the dark room, and his voice rang out, low and commanding.
“Natasha. Get off him. Now.”
The threat in his tone was clear, like the steel edge of a knife, sharp and unyielding. He wasn’t asking. It wasn’t a suggestion. Natasha had no choice but to comply.
As Natasha moved off of Jason, the dagger disappearing from view with a practiced fluidity, Jason stayed on the floor for a long moment. His mind wasn’t catching up to what had just happened—the fight, the sudden memory that came crashing through, the overwhelming panic and anger mixing together. His breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling too fast, and the ache in his muscles from the workout earlier still burned through his limbs, slowing his body down.
He didn’t know how long he stayed there, unmoving, disoriented.
But then Bucky was there—right by his side, his presence blocking Natasha’s view as he moved with surprising speed. Jason barely registered it before Bucky’s hands were on him, lifting him up with a gentleness that didn’t match the intensity of his aura. His touch was light, careful.
Jason found himself standing, the sudden movement making his head spin for a moment. His legs were shaky, like they were struggling to keep him upright.
Bucky’s voice cut through the haze, a low question, full of concern—more than Jason was ready for.
“Are you alright?”
Jason didn’t answer immediately. His jaw clenched so tight that his teeth ground together, the tension in his body speaking volumes. He didn’t have the words for what he was feeling—didn’t have the patience to process the mix of rage, fear, and humiliation swirling inside him.
But Bucky didn’t need an answer. Jason’s silence and the tight set of his jaw gave him all the answer he needed. Jason wasn’t okay. And right now, he didn’t want to be.
Bucky turned to face Natasha, his expression hardening into something cold and demanding. His voice was low, barely controlled, as he spoke.
“What the hell were you thinking, Natasha?”
Natasha didn’t flinch, but her eyes flickered momentarily toward Jason, assessing him. Her gaze lingered a little too long, and that simple shift was enough to make Jason’s skin crawl.
Her eyes.
The instant her gaze landed on him, something inside Jason snapped. The flash of Talia’s face, the memory of her cold, controlling touch, hit him like a wave, and he couldn’t stop it. He felt the suffocating pressure of it again, the overwhelming weight of being trapped and exposed.
Without thinking, Jason moved. He instinctively stepped back, seeking the cover of something—anything—to block out the feeling, to hide. Without even realizing what he was doing, his hand shot out and gripped the back of Bucky’s shirt, clutching it like a lifeline.
His eyes were on the floor, humiliation creeping up his neck, making his heart race faster. He hated feeling this way—pathetic. Like he was weak, vulnerable. He hated it more than anything, but it didn’t matter. The sensation wouldn’t leave.
Bucky immediately sensed the shift, and his body moved as if it was an instinct. As soon as he felt Jason hiding behind him, he stood straighter, his shoulders squared, creating a physical barrier between Jason and Natasha. He turned to face her fully, blocking her view of the younger man.
Natasha crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing as she took a moment to watch Jason, who was still hidden behind Bucky. Her voice was calm, but there was a bite to it.
“Steve’s not exactly fond of the kid,” she remarked, glancing toward Bucky. “And that’s putting it lightly.”
Bucky stiffened, his jaw tightening. His expression became serious, cold. His tone was sharp when he responded.
“Is that something Steve said, or something you deduced?”
The question hung in the air for a long moment, and Natasha stayed quiet. She didn’t look away from Bucky, but her silence was telling enough.
Finally, she spoke, voice laced with something that bordered on indifference.
“Steve didn’t have to tell me. It’s obvious the boy did something. Since Steve wasn’t willing to tell me anything, I decided I’d find out myself.”
Jason’s muscles tensed at her words, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. The mention of Steve—not liking him—didn’t bother him as much as it should have. It wasn’t exactly a new thing. People had always found reasons not to like him. But hearing it spoken so plainly, in Natasha’s sharp voice, made something deep inside him tighten.
He stiffened further, instinctively shifting closer to Bucky’s side, as if the proximity could protect him from the sting of Natasha’s words. His grip on Bucky’s shirt tightened in a near subconscious move.
He cursed himself internally, the same thoughts racing through his mind. Pathetic. Weak. He was twenty—an adult, but moments like these always made him feel smaller, like the years hadn’t really mattered. His age, his size—none of it mattered when he was standing here, feeling like this.
though in these moments he never had anyone to really hide behind, not after he crawled out of his grave.
Jason’s kept his eyes on the floor, trying not to react much. but inside, it was a different story. Another name. Another person on the long list of people who didn’t like him. He was used to it, really, but that didn’t mean it didn’t sting. Just a little. Just enough to make his chest tighten.
Bucky’s voice was low, cutting through the tension that hung in the air like a thick fog.
“You had no right to put your hands on him,” he said, the words sharp and direct. His gaze didn’t leave Natasha. “If Steve didn’t tell you something, it’s for a damn reason.”
Bucky’s grip on Jason’s arm was firm, though not harsh. He gently pulled him towards the elevator, the action quick but not rushed. He reached down to pick up Jason’s discarded phone, relieved when he saw it wasn’t cracked, and slipped it into his pocket.
“This isn’t over,” Bucky said, his tone hardening again as he glanced back at Natasha. “We’ll address this as soon as I make sure Jason’s okay.”
Natasha didn’t respond immediately. She just tilted her head slightly, shaking it with a raised eyebrow, as if she didn’t quite understand why Bucky was making such a big deal out of it.
Jason, not wanting to meet her gaze, kept his eyes focused on his feet, his movements stiff as he followed Bucky toward the elevator. The anger and frustration still boiled inside him, but he wasn’t ready to deal with it—especially not with Talia —no it wasn’t Talia, just stop—watching him. He just wanted to get away.
The short trip back to the apartment was silent.