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Jason groans into the chipped tabletop, his head pounding, his memories…fuzzy. He doesn’t like it when his memories get fuzzy. He despises anything that messes with his head like that. He keeps his eyes closed and his forehead pressed into the table as he takes stock.
His hands are shackled together by high quality cuffs, their weight betraying tech that’s probably meant for metahumans, and his wrists are pinned together instead of giving him range. He’s not strapped to the chair, thankfully. There’s the soft buzz of lighting, but faint, so good bulbs then. He shivers, the air conditioning turned down low to try and make a perp uncomfortable.
Guess he’s the perp in this situation, huh?
The table might be chipped, but it seems not quite right. Like this isn’t how this room is normally used. His hood is still on, the fabric casting a comfortable shadow for when he finally opens his eyes, it’s still attached to his half-mask. They haven’t bothered taking that off even a little bit, re-clasping the two together is a pain in the ass if you don’t know what you’re doing – that means they care more about what Red Hood is doing than who Red Hood is.
Hm, that’s interesting. New too. Normally if someone catches Red Hood, they want to do a little torture as their interrogation. This isn’t exactly the set up for something like that, not with his legs free and while he might be shackled, he’s not attached to the table itself. He nudges an experimental foot. The table shifts ever-so-slightly – table’s not even welded to the goddamn ground.
Who are these amateurs that, for some reason, have meta dampening tech?
Jason risks shifting – no one’s come in yet so either they aren’t watching or deem him not a threat, which fuck you – and bites the inside of his cheek when his ribs protest the movement. The complete right side of his body is finally waking up to let him know with a horrible, awful wave of agony that they had fun last night – or whenever the fuck this happened. He feels like he’s been tackled by a linebacker high on venom or by…
Or by Superman.
What the absolute fuck?
Because that doesn’t sound so ridiculous in his head. Snatches of memories come back to him – pieces and bits with fluttering red and dark blue, of a disappointed blue gaze that should’ve not made him feel small but definitely did. Really, Superman? What the fuck was he doing anywhere near Jason? What had Jason done to get his attent…attention – ooooh shit. Shit. Fuck. God-fucking-damnit. Motherfu – He’s running out of expletives.
This can not be happening. But it is, because of course it is. Jason Peter Todd-Wayne, the unluckiest bastard in the universe. No, in the whole goddamn multiverse. Tim is either going to skin Jason alive or make Superman’s, and probably every single Justice League member’s, life absolutely miserable. He can’t make Jason’s life miserable because his presence alone already does that, and Tim knows he’s immune to the bastard’s everything.
There goes six months of international undercover investigation. He’d been so close to the top even. Probably only weeks away from becoming the keystone. And then all he had to do was deliver the information to Tim, remove himself from the arch, and let it all crumble to pieces. Weeks, goddamnit.
But there we go. International being the keyword. Red Hood still widely known as a crime lord who’s decided to go for bigger, brighter things. The way they worked in Gotham meant no one knows Red Hood as a vigilante and sometimes hero. Take off the bat symbol and he’s an affiliation-free anti-villain who cuts off people’s heads when they get in his way.
And now he’s caught by the Justice League. He’s – Where is he? Jason squeezes his eyes tighter, evens out his breathing. The sound of his heartbeat. Blood rushing in his ears. The buzz of lighting. He slows down, pulls on everything he’s learned from Bruce, from Talia, from the All-Caste, from every single one of his teachers. Like lining up a sniper shot, waiting for that perfect moment. The silence before the All-Blades appear in his hands.
His heart fades away, his blood quiets. The sound of his shackles click and whirl. This room isn’t soundproof, he can hear footsteps and low voices. Probably not all of what’s going on out there, but he’s catching some of it. Then – there. The vaguely familiar hum of the Watchtower.
He’s only been here a handful of times, all entirely without permission and usually on some sort of ill-conceived adventure that the hellions that are his siblings thought of. Really, people think he was and is the menace of this goddamn family and he calls bullshit. At least he wasn’t planning a murder at age nine! At least he wasn’t stalking the Dynamic Duo across Gotham before he hit double digits! Stephanie was a teen vigilante before she even met Batman! That’s not even half of them. Fuck everyone.
Hm. Anyway.
He’s caught by the Justice League and he’s on the Watchtower. Not ideal. This makes escaping ten times more difficult than it should be. Don’t get him wrong, he can still escape. They don’t know this, but every Bat has access codes to their Zeta system. Nightwing, Robin, and Batman are a given, but Oracle and Red Robin were very adamant that they all have access and since Bruce Wayne helped fund the Watchtower and Batman helped design the damn thing, no one noticed.
God, he really loves his family…sometimes. Definitely only sometimes.
Jason’s so caught up in his thoughts and this new, unfortunate revelation about his location, he misses the sound of footsteps getting closer. He absolutely catches when there’s a beep and the door slides open, a rush of air making him shiver. He keeps his face pressed to the tabletop and his breathing as steady as he can make it through the pain.
“We know you’re awake.” Well, okay then. Jason looks up and smiles his best Robin smile at Wonder Woman even though she can’t see it. Damn, she can’t even see the way his eyes charmingly crinkle at the corners because the black portion of his mask covers them. Shame. “The question is, how long?”
He scoffs. “Why would I tell you that? Why would I admit to anything? Big Blue over there cracked at least three of my ribs, he might’ve even broken one of ‘em.” Superman winces from where he stands behind Diana. Good, Jason thinks with some satisfaction. He loves Clark and everything, but damn, he didn’t have to tackle him so hard. “Come on, boy scout, do your x-ray thing and tell me I’m right.”
Clark’s shoulders sag like a kicked puppy. “Four cracked ribs and, yes, I broke one. I’m very sorry for that.”
Jason sniffs haughtily, something he learned from Bruce and perfected from Damian. “Damn straight you’re sorry. So much for not using excessive force.”
Diana frowns, a strange combination of exasperation, frustration and…concern on her face. “You resisted arrest,” she informs him. Now Jason frowns, he has no memory of this. “Force was needed to bring you in. We apologize for your injuries, but it would have been easier if you had come quietly.”
He has no coherent memories of last night – because it had to have been last night, or at least a couple hours ago. If he’d been unconscious for any longer, he would be in a med bay instead of what…looks like a breakroom. Did they seriously stick him in a breakroom?
“Am I seriously in a breakroom right now?” he demands incredulously. “What kinda superhero group are you runnin’ here that you’re stickin’ me in a goddamn breakroom? I’m insulted. Offended, actually. You break my ribs, and this is what I get for it?”
“Hood,” Wonder Woman snaps. Jason clicks his mouth closed as the Amazon looms threateningly. He’s gotten over Batman’s looming but Wonder Woman – fucking Wonder Woman – is a completely different matter. “I do not know how you normally operate concerning Batman, but you are not here to banter or make friends. This is serious.”
Oookay, they know he’s from Gotham. No surprises, he did make the headlines when he originally returned. And while people like to talk about Wonder Woman and Superman as more brawn than brain, they’re no slouch in the information gathering department even if Batman is better. Tim and Barbara must’ve done a stellar job making his cover story. No doubts, but damn, nice.
Jason waves his shackled wrists, wincing when it makes the pain in his side spike. “Yeah, kinda figured that. I still don’t know why you think I’d tell you anything. I know jack shit.”
“Now that’s a lie,” Clark says, smiling serenely in a very disturbing way. Jason blinks at him, he never wants to be on the receiving end of that smile ever again. “Because your buddy says otherwise.”
…Buddy?
“’Buddy?’” Jason echoes out loud. He doesn’t even bother hiding his confusion.
Damn, he wishes he could remember more before he became a Kryptonian landing pad. He doesn’t even remember what country he’d been in because they’d just moved a significant route from Madrid to, to somewhere. For the most part he was in charge of at least a dozen groups and while he had lieutenants, he wasn’t particularly close to them. Their names were intel only, not something he set himself up to memorize for a day-to-day basis. The only person who might even come close to being a ‘buddy’ or who’d be physically close to him is Zoya Yeprem, but why would she…Oh that bitch. Sure, yeah, sell him out, that makes sense.
Unfortunately, it makes perfect sense. Zoya hates him and loves him. There’s a certain flavor of misogyny in the weapons smuggling circles and even though she’s been in the game longer than him and is a scarily powerful meta, Jason still got ahead of her. They bonded over various weapons, despaired over the lack of use concerning more ‘unique’ ones (a kusarigama should be used significantly more often than it is, it’s so fucking cool), but that wouldn’t be enough to erase the justified rage at him sweeping in and stealing her prospects.
It does explain why he’s locked up with meta dampening cuffs. They must think they’re both metas.
“Everything she tells you is a lie,” Jason says.
Diana grins. “That’s what she said about you.”
Fuck.
There’s only two ways out of this. No, three. There are three ways out of this. One, he lies through his teeth until Zoya decides to cause chaos and use that as a distraction to fuck off to Gotham. Two, he spills everything like he really is a criminal and is trafficking stolen alien tech. Or, three, he admits he’s undercover and maybe make Clark cry out of pure guilt for hurting him and then happiness because Jason is alive and, whoops, did we forget to tell the Justice League?
He closes his eyes when pain skitters across his chest and burrows into his side. It travels up his spine and sits at the base of his skull, slowly enclosing his whole head with aching pain. Jason can’t help but sway, just a little – and he frowns. Four cracked ribs and one broken one. Why is he in so much pain? He’s worked with worse and all he is, is sitting here. And, pressingly, and getting more pressing by the second –
Why can’t he remember anything from last night?
“Hood?” Clark asks softly after he stays quiet for too long. He shakes his head, breathing shallowly for a moment.
Jason sighs gustily – then regrets it because ow. “I’m good, Supes.” He’ll keep the fact he knows their identities close to his chest for a while longer, a trump card if you will. “Thanks, though. Nice to know you really are a boy scout despite the heavy handling. Why am I in the Watchtower? Where’s Batman?”
Wonder Woman crosses her arms. “How do you know where you are?”
He raises an eyebrow, that much he knows they can see. “Thanks for confirming. I was just throwin’ it out there. That was kinda sloppy, TBH.”
“Did you really just say TBH out loud?” Clark asks dryly. Oh, that’s right, he’s got kids. Conner and Jon. Why did he let Tim and Damian be such terrible influences on his children? Poor parenting choice right there.
Diana brushes that attempt at distraction away by slamming her hands on the table. Jason leans away from it before it can bounce back to smack him in the chest, his other eyebrow joining the other up on his forehead. “We do not have time for this,” she snarls. Oh. Oh. He doesn’t like that. “Tell us when the next shipment will reach planet side and we will cut you a deal with the council.”
“That’s not real appealin’,” he points out. Wonder Woman leans in closer, and he leans even further away even though it’s hell on his ribcage. “I think I want Batman in on this.”
“Tough luck, you get us,” she responds.
“Maybe I don’t want you,” he quips.
She lifts her hands like she wants to strangle him, and he realizes that her temper is unusually short. There must be something going on hero-side he doesn’t know about; it’s been a couple weeks since Tim was able to give him any information. Jason sighs and rubs a hand on his mask over where his mouth is, it does nothing to ease his nerves. This whole thing is very nervous-making. He doesn’t like any of it.
“You are a Gotham villain,” Wonder Woman says slowly, like it’s a dawning revelation. It’s not. They all know it’s not. Jason’s stomach swoops like he’s free falling. Good cop, bad cop. The easiest act in the world. She better not – . “You are remarkably sane for being a villain produced by that city. If you cooperate, I will recommend Blackgate instead of Arkham.”
Oh, she did not.
Jason bares his teeth behind his mask, rocking his chair back. Clark tenses behind Diana, as if sensing Jason’s less than jovial mood. “That’s low, Wonder Woman. Real fucking low. Do you know the type of people they lock up in fucking Arkham?”
She eyes him up and down, slow and lingering like a predator who caught their prey. She set a trap and Jason just walked right into it. He’s a goddamn idiot. “I do, actually. I believe one of them has something in common with you, Red Hood.”
He lurches to his feet and they both settle into defensive stances. Jason ignores them and paces to the opposite wall of them and the door in an unsteady line he barely notices. Fuck. How long is it going to take Zoya to figure out these cuffs? He’d like a distraction now, not tomorrow. He doesn’t even care if she comes gunning for him – because that’s what she’s going to do. She can’t escape and she doesn’t know he can, so she’s going to use this as an opportunity to put him six feet under even if that gets her locked up forever.
Jason whirls around. His vision speckles black briefly. “I ain’t tellin’ you shit,” he snarls, “until you get fuckin’ Batman in here. I’m only tellin’ him what I know.”
Bruce should be here – he’s in charge of large-scale investigations like this, it’s why Jason’s involved in the first place. Did they go behind his back? Did Batman get injured in some way that kept him Earth-side?
“Despite you resisting arrest, we were lenient on you because of your demeanor at the time,” Wonder Woman says, calmer but sounding less than friendly than when she first walked in, and she didn’t even sound that friendly then. “You have now lost any and all mercy I am willing to provide.”
Something about that rings bizarre. “My ‘demeanor?’” he croaks out around a suddenly dry throat. The world spins and – ha, he’s not even on a world, how can it spin – he spreads his feet to keep himself standing. “What do you mean by my ‘demeanor’?”
Clark steps forward slowly, hands out as if he’s showing that he’s unarmed. Fucking hell, he’s an invulnerable alien with super-strength, he is a weapon. “Hood, maybe you should sit down. You’re pale.”
Jason opens his mouth for a snarky remark, but his teeth water and he very quickly snaps it shut in favor of swallowing down the nausea. He stumbles towards his abandoned seat, slumping in a way that makes his chest scream. He covers his face with both hands, breathing filtered air in through his nose and out through his mouth.
For a moment, there’s an all-encompassing silence that smothers, that wraps gently around his throat and strangles him. Jason closes his eyes and focuses on the clicks and whirls of his shackles. He’d been so focused on trying to remember last night and figuring out where he is now, that everything else fell to the wayside. His ribs had grabbed his attention and made him forget to catalogue the rest.
Like the muted, dull throb in the meat of his bicep.
And the slow, steady creep of sickness.
Now he knows why he can’t remember last night. Why he feels so awful .Why his ‘demeanor’ had been off enough to make them lenient on him despite their rough treatment.
Jason’s been poisoned.
By Zoya, no doubt. She poisoned him and two-thirds of the Trinity interrupted what would’ve been a spectacular fall out the next day of him dying in his sleep. She’s smart, she’s tricky, something public wouldn’t have been the way to go, so she didn’t.
“Fuck,” he breathes out loud with feeling. So many feelings.
Clark is suddenly too close. “Hood, what’s going on?” he asks in a too soft tone. Jason groans and shoves his hands further on his face. Any day now, Zoya, he thinks.
As if something that really hates or really loves him heard, there’s a boom! next to them and the room shudders violently. He lurches away from Superman’s attempt to shield him, scowling through the wave of more intense nausea.
“Don’t,” he snarls weakly. Clark backs off warily. Diana already has her sword out, heading towards the door. “That was Zoya. I hope you have somethin’ that will work against kryptonite.”
Superman’s eyes widen in alarm. “What?” he demands.
Jason ignores him. They took most of his tools, but his mask and hood are strategically lined with lead to keep certain people from just looking and discovering his identity. He slides out a couple lock-picks from the fabric and flips them with sluggish fingers to jam them into a weak spot on his cuffs. There’s a sharp bzzpt sound and sparks sting his fingers. He jams them harder, gets zapped again, but this time the clicks and whirls stop. He twists at an angle, and they open with a hiss.
The cuffs drop to the ground with a heavy thud as he rubs feeling back into his wrists. Superman stares at him, expression comical.
“I’m not a meta,” he offers. “Nice try, though. It would’ve worked if we hadn’t reversed engineered those almost a year ago.”
‘We’ are the Bats in that scenario. Bruce made them all blind dismantle them as some sort of demented bonding activity. Unfortunately, it fucking worked. He’d never seen Tim and Damian get along so well when it came to Bat-stuff. Normally their attempts at actual brotherhood involve photography, art, and bullying him and Dick.
If Clark and Diana really did their information gathering properly, they would know Red Hood wasn’t on the trafficking scene until six months ago and should piece it together if given enough hints.
Jason slides a small box from the collar of his hood and tosses it to Superman. “Don’t open it,” he warns. “That’s my supply of kryptonite. If you couldn’t find it on me, you wouldn’t have on her. Her meta-ability is force fields that are powered by kinetic energy. Are there anymore Leaguers on site?”
Clark looks back and forth from him to the lead box and back to him, brows furrowing. “Why are you giving me this information?”
Wonder Woman yells a war cry in the hallway and the room shakes again as Zoya retaliates. Jason winces and grabs the back of his chair, breathing shallowly.
“You’re a smart man, Supes, I’m sure you can figure it out.” He instinctively smiles and it comes off weak.
Suddenly he’s very glad for his mask. His jacket is long sleeved even if the hem is cropped shorter than he’d normally go for – thank you, Stephanie for your ability to strong-arm even the most stubborn wills. That is entirely sarcasm. – so the only skin visible is his forehead and what’s exposed by his fingerless gloves. Superman can see the sweat on his forehead and the paleness there, but he can’t see how bad off Jason actually is.
“Leaguers?” Jason prompts.
Clark shakes his head. “Canary is on monitor duty, but she’s the only one.”
He groans. “Great, four brawlers and someone who produces kinetic energy by screaming. Perfect match up.”
“No one’s called me a brawler before,” Clark says with a grin. He usually just punches people until they stay down, people haven’t called him a brawler to his face before. Jason glares intently at him and he just shrugs in response. He can read Jason suspiciously well and that doesn’t help his nerves. “Are you up for a fight? You don’t seem well.”
“I’m fine.”
“Uh-huh. Sure, Hood.”
Jason scowls and leads the way out of the room, following the destruction with wavering steps. He ignores Superman almost literally hovering at his side way too close like he’s going to collapse or something. He’s not. He can still walk, can still fight. This is nothing compared to his dance with the Joker, either times – at least the second time he didn’t die and got to watch the Joker get beat up by a tiny Asian woman.
Knowing his shitty, shitty luck, this poison and it’s dosage is supposed to kill him a lot faster than it actually is going to. Zoya didn’t, couldn’t, take into account his built-up resistance to most poisons and the mild regenerative factor the Pit gave him. It won’t be enough to clear it out of his system. Hell, he still might die from it. It’s just going to take longer. Much, much longer.
Dinah has already joined the fight by the time Jason and Clark find them. Ah, seems they figured out the kinetic energy bit. He’s seen Zoya fight before, has fought her before himself, and her skill alone with defensive shields is enough to make people falter. Her ability to use them offensively? Well, that’s certainly giving two experienced Leaguers a run for their money.
Jason does the smart thing and steps back behind Clark. “Her piece of kryptonite is small, but that doesn’t mean it won’t pack a punch,” he warns. “It shouldn’t drop you, and it shouldn’t hurt…much.”
Superman eyes him carefully. “What are you going to do?”
He grins sharply and sweeps a hand towards their setup. His arm shakes. “Call in reinforcements, duh.”
“That’s going to make it harder for you to escape.”
“Yeah, well.” He shrugs. “Sometimes there’s worse things out there. I personally think letting Zoya back Earth-side is a stupid fucking idea.”
“Because she’ll interfere in your climb to the top,” Clark says slowly, frowning. A considering expression flickers across his face, but Jason doesn’t see it as he’s already headed towards the computer. “Don’t do anything stupid, Hood.”
Jason rolls his eyes. “Break a leg, Supes.”
He lets the sound of fighting become background noise as he focuses on the computer in front of him. Jason’s pretty sure Superman assumed he wasn’t going to be able to access the system in the first place which is why he’s free to muck around – probably also assumes the three of them can take on Zoya. He’s probably right on that front, he’s completely wrong on the access part, though.
The computer accepts him easily enough and he pops the drive into the system, hands shaking as he types out codes and commands. He briefly leans against the station, closing his eyes, as another wave of nausea crests and engulfs him. His lungs quiver and now, instead of just nausea, he can feel acid climbing up his throat. He swallows compulsively. The screen flickers and Oracle’s ominous insignia pops up in front of him, she probably saw the drive insertion notice.
O: What are you doing on WT?
Jason grimaces, he’s going to get such an earful after this – if he survives this. Which will be nothing compared to what Clark and Diana are gonna get, ha. He ignores her message, and the next, as he punches in delayed overrides. His body is sagging more and more until the console is taking most of his weight, his vision blurring.
“Hood!”
He ducks and rolls just as a sharp force field tears through the metal with a screech. It lets out a high-pitched beep and starts smoking, sparks flying everywhere. Jason is stuck on his hands and knees, panting shallowly as Zoya comes hurtling towards him, the air around her shimmering with one of her thickest shields. Something grabs the back of his jacket and yanks him out of the way. He bites down on a yell, lets the momentum pull him into an ill-advised flip to change his trajectory and prevent him from landing harshly.
Thing is, he still lands harshly. His ankle rolls and he staggers into a wall. He smacks his hands against it to prevent himself from sliding down further, the cheek of his masked pressed to the cool metal that he would give anything to actually feel on his overheated skin. Jason groans audibly, head lolling until he can see the fight out of the corner of his eye. Thanks, Wonder Woman, glad you don’t hate me, but fucking ow.
The fight is a stalemate. Zoya’s skill, meta-ability, and kryptonite is more than a match for the three Leaguers, especially since she doesn’t care about tearing the Watchtower to shreds and they most definitely care about that and her life. She keeps trying to get around them too and it takes him an embarrassingly long time to realize she’s aiming for him. Yep, that tracks.
Jason is full of smart ideas, and stupid ones. He’d planned this originally as a smart one, but maybe he’ll have to get stupid for it to work efficiently. He’s got about…twenty minutes before at least one Bat arrives after hacking through the lockdown destroying the computer caused.
He straights up, tests his ankle, and casually strolls into the battlefield. The Leaguers falter at his appearance, but Zoya just gets more enraged, her shields going from beautiful, graceful things to ragged, sharp weapons.
“You,” she snarls. She shakes, sending her shields in every direction, making them dodge or get gutted. “You stupid, fucking, son of a bitch. I’ll kill you!”
Jason shrugs. It throws his body off balance, and he has to spread his feet to keep from toppling over. “You’ve already tried that once,” he says, faux patient. “I don’t think a second attempt is gonna work.”
She’s tired and injured, her self-control is fraying bit by bit – that’s the only excuse as to why she lets out an inarticulate shout and lunges towards him. Jason dodges like hasn’t been poisoned, turns heel, and books it down the corridor; ignoring the Leaguers’ shouts, focused entirely on the way Zoya gives chase without a second thought. Wow, he really pissed her off.
He leads her down in a zig-zag pattern as she throws shield after shield at his back. It’s only by the fact he’s fought her before that saves his life. She might’ve held back then, but he knew she was holding back, and that makes all the difference sometimes. A flat shield nicks his side, cutting through his body armor like it’s butter and he throws himself in that direction as another comes up on the other side, having expected him to move away from the danger. She swears violently in French, and he smirks.
C’mon. C’mon, where are – there. The panel is flashing a red warning light. Perfect.
Jason slides in front of it, turning to face the enraged woman. She skids to a halt, a shield pulled up in front of her, crackling with energy. If she slams him with that, his bones are gonna be dust. He doesn’t want his bones to be dust.
“You didn’t have to poison me,” he says, stepping back. “I would’ve let you take the spot.”
Zoya sneers. “’Let’ me? Fucking ‘let’ me? I’m going to kill you slowly, Hood, and enjoy every minute of it, fuck trying to be discreet.”
She charges, braced with her shoulder. Jason doesn’t hold his breath, doesn’t count. He keeps his eye on the distance and! – he drops, ramming his own shoulder into the bottom lip of the shield. It crackles and burns through his jacket; he bites his cheek until it bleeds to keep from screaming. She goes up and over his head, the shield smacking into his back.
This time he does scream, hitting the ground hard as energy crackles over his body. Zoya laughs and that gets cut off as she goes sailing into the holding cell and the door slides shut between them. Jason breathes heavily through his nose until he can’t anymore then he’s gasping for breath, curling into a twitching ball. She shouts, slamming her fists on the door, but the cell is lined with absorption pads, she’s just charging up the Watchtower at this point.
Jason can barely think. Every breath is agonizing. Every involuntary movement sends shockwaves of pain throughout his body. Blood floods his mouth, drips from his nose. He hears faint footsteps over the buzzing in his ears. He peeks from under his hood to see the Leaguers finally arriving – wonders if Zoya did something to delay them.
“Holy hell,” Dinah breathes out.
Clark drops to his knees at Jason’s side, hands hovering helplessly over his body. “We have to get him to the med bay. This is bad.”
He chokes on a laugh then starts frantically clawing at his mask, fingers uncoordinated as he tries to find the clasps. Finally – fuck. It clatters to the ground. He heaves and vomits. There’s nothing much in his stomach, but what comes out is tinged pink. Oh, fuck, please be from his mouth. Please be from his mouth.
Superman heaves him into his arms – hey, no. Where’s his dad? His dad is way more comfortable than this. Jason pauses, wonders where that thought came from. It’s not normally a thought he allows himself to have and, okay, he might be a little worse off than he expected. He doesn’t have the energy to protest, though, something in his chest giving way every time he breaths.
The Zeta-tubes beep and flash just as they’re walking past and a blue-and-black clad figure appears, escrima at the ready. Nightwing falters when he catches sight of them, the domino over his eyes moving to accommodate his wide-eyed expression. He puts his weapons away and hurries over, lips already twisting into a concerned scowl.
“What happened?” he demands. Clark stops as the vigilante starts checking Jason over. Dick cups Jason’s jaw and he can’t help but lean into it, his next breath his shuddery. “Are you poisoned?” he asks, voice pitched low and angry.
Diana visibly startles. “What?”
Jason grins his ‘ little shit’ smile, it’s weak but something in Dick’s expression eases. “Technically,” he rasps out. His skin is covered in sweat, everything aches. But that’s okay because his big brother is here. “If it makes you feel better, I definitely would’ve died from it if those two hadn’t picked me up.” He nods towards Clark and Diana and, whoa, that was a bad idea. He closes his eyes, brows furrowing.
“No, that does not make me feel better,” Dick says, but it’s faint and echo-y like it’s coming from down a tunnel.
He loses time and the next thing he knows he’s in one of the Watchtower’s med bays, feeling awful but loads better than he did before.
There are no Bats in the room with him and his stomach sinks, a thousand different thoughts whirling in his head – No, that’s not right. Nightwing was here. Oracle talked to him. There should be Bats and there probably are Bats.
Just outside because Wonder Woman and Superman are in here with him.
Jason stares at them then blinks slowly. He so doesn’t have the brain capacity to deal with this right now. But just as he’s about to escape by falling back to sleep, Clark notices him awake and perks up like an over-grown puppy.
“Jason!” Oh, shit. There are tears in his eyes. Jason had totally been kidding about Clark crying over him. “I’m so happy you’re awake. You gave us quite a scare, kid.”
“Not a kid,” Jason croaks out. He grimaces, it feels like he’s been gargling glass.
Clark laughs wetly. “You’re always going to be a kid to me.” He reaches out, hesitates, then smooths a big hand over Jason’s forehead into his hair. Jason will never admit to leaning into the touch, but his hand is cool against his overheated skin. “Why didn’t you just tell us who you were?”
“Didn’t want to jeopardize the mission,” he mumbles.
Diana scoffs. He peeks at her through his lashes, and she looks angry, in a worried way. “Why did you not tell us you were alive?”
Jason shrugs awkwardly. “Sorry.”
Her expression softens and she perches on the edge of his bed, hand wrapped around his wrist with a thumb pressed to his pulse point. His heart is still thready and rapid, but he doesn’t feel like he’s actively dying anymore, so win.
“Bruce has given me first scolding,” she announces. He groans and she cracks a smile. She leans in a presses a kiss to his forehead, soft and chaste. Tears prick the corner of his eyes. “Welcome back, little one,” she whispers into his hairline.
Jason smiles, small and shy because this is Wonder Woman¸ his favorite hero and honorary aunt tied up into one badass woman. “I missed you, Aunt Di.” His gaze flickers to Clark and he’s overwhelmed by the fondness in his eyes. He hadn’t realized he was missed this much. “You too, Uncle Clark.”
Clark’s mouth wobbles and he smooths his hand through Jason’s hair again. “Welcome home, Jason.”
And he’s been home for three years at this point but – but something he hadn’t been aware about eases in his chest. There's a faint, warm memory of back when he was thirteen and meeting them as his dad's friends first and then again as heroes. It's good to be back.