Chapter Text
Jason Todd had never experienced sickness like this in his life.
Not even during his time in the streets, the cold nights, the harsh dirty rooftops and alleys, eating expired mouldy food had ever left him feeling like this. The sort of sickness that leaves you delirious and rasping for breath, his body was burning with fever; every muscle throbbed, every joint ached. His stomach twisted in sharp cramps that made him double over even while laying crumbled in a tight ball in his bed, his breathing so hot and dry it felt like a punishment. Normally, Jason could push through pain, through exhaustion, through hunger, but this—whatever this was—seemed to pierce through every one of his defences.
He was sweating so much through his hoodie that the cheap mattress of his safehouse was soaked through making the experience even more uncomfortable. His hands trembled slightly as they brushed over his stomach, over his chest, the same ache following his neck, hips and thighs and the most painful to admit between his legs. Something about his body felt… different. His skin tingled in those places, extremely sensitive and sore in ways that he had never experienced before. The focus of the pain crushing his lower stomach like a boulder, his abdomen ached with a strange, cramping rhythm that made him hiss through gritted teeth. There was a strange energy drumming inside of him, he could almost feel his blood bubbling and hissing, a strange sensation that was extremely painful but also filled him with fear, it felt like something fundamental was changing, like his very DNA was shifting, a strange tension that was building and building into something truly terryfying.
For nineteen years, Jason had known himself in one particular way: strong, sharp, independent. The word Alpha even coming to mind. That’s what he had always believed he was—or at least, that’s what everyone had believed. That’s what he had needed to survive. In the orphanages, in the cold apartments he scavenged through, in the alleys and rooftops ,and even later in the league , he had learned to mask any softness, anything that might give someone leverage over him- Jason liked to ignore the blip in his life where he felt safe enough to trust, in soft bottomless beds, warm tasty food that was always at his disposal, large strong hands scenting him, a little robin clutching a dark cape seeking comfort . Whatever hidden vulnerability or softness was kept locked deep inside of him. Because soft meant weak. Weak meant prey. Weak meant death. Sometimes it meant even worse than that.
Yet, lying here in his feverish haze, the truth of the matter was becoming unavoidable. Jason was many things but he definitely wasn't stupid. Somewhere deep inside, a latent force—years of latent biology he didn’t know existed—was claiming him, changing him, unravelling him. Jason was unpresented. His body had never been properly “activated,” never been given the hormones, the instincts, the scent glands that defined an adult in their world. No desire, no cycles, no scent, no secondary traits. However, while he wasn't stupid he was stubborn and possessed the ability to dig himself deep in denial and stay there. So no, Jason was not going through a presentation rut or coming off the sickness of a presented beta. Because of this, he had been refusing to call for help, mainly because of stubbornness but also partially because of his recent fight with Bruce.
It had all started weeks ago, subtle at first. Exhaustion that sleep could not fix. Cravings he could not name. Sudden irritability, a flicker of weakness that made him snap at the nearest shadow. He thought it was stress. Food poisoning. Maybe just the consequences of too many nights in the city, too many fights, too many near-death experiences taking a toll on his body. It had taken a boiling point while on patrol with the big man and his bratlings, while him and Bruce had come to a truce and he could speak to the man no problem, mostly in costume since he refused to step foot in the cave and even more in the manor - no matter how many awkward invites from Bruce he got for family dinner he can most definitely say that he would rather claw his own eyes out.
They had just been about to finish up and he was eagerly looking around to escape from the debrief to avoid questions from stupid worrywart siblings and disappointed lectures from dear old dad about his subpar performance , his sickness had only seemed to increase from the past few weeks and had annoyingly decided to act up on the night he was teaming up with the bats for a big mission following numerous stakeouts. He had been sluggish during the fight, making stupid mistakes because his fever wasn’t allowing him to think fast enough or use his body to the fullest, he could feel piercing looks from Red Robin trying to figure out what was wrong and worried angry glares from Nightwing- stupid big alpha brother always thinking he could tell Jason what to do, still treating him like the little Robin he mentored and cuddled when he ran to his room after a practically horrible nightmare- that he was trying his hardest to ignore.
He's just about to sneak out when suddenly a large presence steps in front of him.
Bruce’s voice cut through the night, sharp and unforgiving. “You can’t go out like this. You’re a liability to the team.”
The words landed like a blow. Jason's immediate defensive reaction translating the words to you're weak. Useless. A burden. His teeth clenched and the fever pounding in his skull only sharpens the edge in his tone.
“If l am such a liability why do you keep calling me to work with you,” Jason snaps, shoving his helmet under his arm jerkily, his shaky muscles uncoordinated now that the adrenaline has crashed, the fever working overtime to completely humiliate him in front of the bat.
Bruce’s mouth was a hard line, eyes shadowed under the cowl. “Because l trust you enough to know your limits and to be a responsible part of this team, clearly l was wrong. If something is wrong you call it in not put the rest of us at risk.”
Jason gave a bark of bitter laughter that held no humour. “Guess it’s easier for you if I just sit at home and play dead again, huh?”
Bruce’s reply came flat, almost mechanical yet he somehow he still managed to sound dismissive in that way that always managed to fill Jason with uncontrollable rage. " Hood, stop being dramatic, come to the cave so Agent A can check you over, enough of this."
Jason’s chest tightened, panic setting in at the idea of being frog- marched back to the cave, and he spat back before he could stop himself. “Go to hell, B .” Then he was gone, cutting into the night before Bruce let out anymore words dripping with cold disappointment that would crush him.
By the time the rooftops swallowed him, he was already thinking of the one safehouse nobody else, not even Oracle, knew about—far away from Bruce, from the Cave, from anyone who thought they had the right to tell him what to do anymore.
The whole thing still filled him with bitterness so he refused to crawl back to Bruce for help, no sir, he would rot here in his safehouse first.
Jason hadn’t actually planned on holing up here for days , but the fever refused to burn out. If anything, it was digging deeper. His safehouse stank of sweat and something like metal, stale air clinging to him. When the cramps hit full force, he doubled over, biting the edge of his pillow hard enough to split the seam. It felt like something was clawing through his insides, pulling him apart molecule by molecule. The pain was so sharp he felt bile rising in his throat. He got up on shaky knees, basically crawling to his tiny bathroom, the cold tiles digging into his hands and knees, his blurry eyes only seeing the white light of the bathroom through an out of focus lens. He barely reaches the toilet before he started retching, vomit bursting out of his mouth making his throat hurt and eyes blur even more.
When he finishes, Jason rests his forehead on the cool feeling of the toilet seat and breathes out, his shaking body crumbled across his small bathroom. His body felt sticky and sweaty all over so that’s probably why he didn’t feel it while lying in bed, but here in his cold bathroom he suddenly realised his pants where soaked with a sticky substance. Confused Jason lifts his sweaty heavy head of the toilet seat and stares blurry eyes to his crotch. At first Jason just stared blankly, his brain lagging, because surely not, maybe he was hallucinating and he had just pissed himself, his blurry eyes mistaking why the entire crotch area of his sweats was stained a dark red.
Blood
His heavy breathing and the clock ticking was the only sound he could hear for a minute as he just stared, his thoughts rushing rapidly.
Internal bleeding. An organ failing. Maybe the Lazarus was unravelling and Jason was about to die here, in his lonely tiny safehouse, bleeding out in the bathroom floor. There was another option, an option truly terrifying that Jason refused to consider , because it was truly laughable to even think about, there was no way, no. Jason stared for what felt like hours before he finally took a deep breath and got up, he braced both hands on the sink, jaw trembling as another hot shiver wracked through him. Panic was starting to set in and it was not a good feeling with the state he was in, this was officially out of toughing out territory, Jason was stubborn however he was not suicidal, or at least not anymore. With shaky feet he rushed to the kitchen widely looking around, breathing turning erratic as true fear set in his chest like a brick.
His phone lay abandoned on the counter. For hours he had stared at it between bouts of fever dreams, refusing to touch it. He wouldn’t crawl back to Bruce. Wouldn’t give Dick the satisfaction. Wouldn’t hand Oracle a reason to start breathing down his neck again. But there was one more person he was willing to try, one who had never betrayed him and he knew he could always call for help. He never did, unless the situation was dire, like right the fuck now, he hated asking for help, hated leaving himself vulnerable in front of anyone, and right now, he was truly fucking vulnerable.
But Leslie… Leslie wasn’t them.
His hand shook as he snatched the phone up, thumb clumsy on the screen until her name lit up. He almost hung up before it connected, panic choking him worse than the fever.
When her voice came through, calm and steady, his throat closed around the words he’d wanted to let out. What tumbled out instead was ragged and unguarded:
“Leslie—something’s wrong. I’m bleeding. I think—I think something’s really wrong with me.”
The words left him raw. He pressed his palm to his stomach, heat radiating from the bone-a horrible deep ache, and shut his eyes tight against the rush of vertigo that had suddenly overtaken him. For once, Jason Todd didn’t have a plan. All he had was the phone and a voice on the other end telling him to hold on.