"You did some pretty good damage to your ankle, Jason. I've done what I can, and though it'll take a bit longer than your other bones to heal, you'll still be able to walk on it – eventually. Though I doubt you'll ever be able to do so with as much ease as you had nine months ago."
Dr. Leslie glances over the top of her glasses at Jason, who is watching her with a sullen expression. Alfred and Bruce stand on either side of Dr. Leslie, with Alfred's eyes holding much more blatant sympathy in them than Bruce's.
Dr. Leslie pushes her glasses back further up her nose as she continues to read from the clipboard she's holding. "Your fractured hip also took some further damage from your fall. I've treated that as well, but – as I said – it may never fully heal back to its original strength." Dr. Leslie's eyes lock onto Jason's, whose gaze wavers for a moment before holding steady against the doctor's. When she speaks next, her voice is firm. "You are not to leave this bed for at least a full week. If after the first week of bedrest passes and Bruce allows it, you may use a motorized wheelchair to move around the Manor; a regular wheelchair would be too strenuous for your hands to maneuver. Due to your broken wrist and fingers you are not to use crutches for at least five weeks. Do not disobey these rules, or you will cause permanent damage to your body."
As Dr. Leslie speaks, Jason seems to shrink in on himself a little. It's barely noticeable, but Bruce can hardly believe his eyes. The Jason Todd he knew before would never allow a simple verbal lecture to beat him down. He would've fought back in some way, either with his own sharp retorts or at least a harsh glare. But as Dr. Leslie lays down the rules for Jason's recovery, Jason's shadow of defiance he had been holding onto earlier seems to seep out of him, and he seems…smaller. This subtle change from the Jason Bruce had known nine months ago unnerves him a bit.
"Do you understand me, Jason?" Dr. Leslie asks.
Jason bites his lip. "Yes," he mutters.
"Good." Dr. Leslie circles something on the documents clinging to the clipboard before hanging them from a hook on the wall. She picks up her bag and slings it over her shoulder. "Call me if you need anything," she says, addressing Bruce and Alfred. Alfred nods in response, and Dr. Leslie excuses herself from the room.
Bruce turns back to Jason, frowning slightly. "Jason, what you did was incredibly dangerous. You could have done some severe damage to yourself. You risked permanently laming yourself – and you know all of this. This information should not come as a shock to you." Jason shoots Bruce a glare, which only makes Bruce's frown deepen. "If you try to leave this bed again, I will be forced to have someone watch you around the clock. Be it myself, Alfred, Dick –"
"Dick's here?" The question holds both surprise and disgust in its tone.
Bruce's lips press together. "Yes. He's been here all week – ever since I brought you back. And he has no problem watching you if I ask him to."
"Of course he doesn't. As long as the order comes from you, he'll do anything." Jason makes a disgusted noise. "Why don't you just strap me down to the damn bed and be done with it? I've become pretty used to being tied down and forcefully injected with drugs over the past nine months."
Alfred shifts uncomfortably at that. Bruce stiffens, his fists clenching.
"We only want what's best for you," says Bruce. He gives a small sigh. "Jason, what were you doing? What could possibly have made you try to leave your bed?"
Jason tightens his jaw, scowling at he avoids eye contact with Bruce. Neither Bruce nor Alfred speak, allowing the silence to continue as Jason debates whether or not to answer.
"It's stupid…" Jason finally mumbles. "Doesn't matter."
"Of course it matters, Master Jason," says Alfred, his tone noticeably more soothing than Bruce's.
Jason gives his head a small, frustrated shake. He glances over at the window – where the curtains are still drawn. Alfred and Bruce follow his gaze, and understanding seems to spark in both their eyes at the same moment.
"Why don't we let in some light?" Alfred suggests, keeping his voice bright and pretending as though the idea is unrelated to the matters being discussed. Not waiting for an answer, he swiftly walks over to the window and pulls back the curtains.
The whipping of fabric rustles through the tension strung between the three of them as the curtains are tugged to either side of the window. It's mid-afternoon, and sunlight streams through the glass panes, casting a warm glow across the floor and onto the edge of Jason's bed. The branches of a large tree dip down into the top right corner of the window, their bright green leaves standing out against the pale blue sky.
Jason flinches at the initial brightness of the sunlight, but he quickly recovers and finds that all he can do is stare. It's as though he has forgotten how to speak or move; he doesn't do anything except silently take in the sight of the sky and sun. He eyes are shining with unshed tears and he swallows hard, trying to rid himself of the lump in his throat.
Alfred places a gentle hand on Bruce's shoulder. Bruce, who had been watching Jason, reluctantly turns to look at Alfred. An understanding is shared between them and they quietly leave the room, shutting the door behind them.
Completely unaware that he's been left alone, Jason continues to gaze out the window. He leans back against the pillows propping him up and doesn't move until much later, when he finally falls asleep.
/
The next morning Alfred leaves a remote of sorts on Jason's nightstand for him to use. It has two buttons and a speaker on it. One is to call Alfred if Jason needs anything – similar to a walkie talkie. The other is an emergency button. Jason doesn't like the idea of calling Alfred with a remote – it makes him feel as though he's reducing Alfred to a servant. So he never uses it. Besides, what would he call him for? It's not like Alfred would forget to bring him his meals. Besides that, there isn't much else Jason needs to bother Alfred for. Or at least, that he wants to bother Alfred for.
Because in truth, he's incredibly lonely lying in the guest room for hours on end, day after day. There's a TV where he can watch anything he wants, but he grows tired of it quickly. He wants to ask Alfred to pull some books from the bookshelf for him, but even that's difficult for him to request. He hates that he needs help with the simplest tasks, so he doesn't ask.
Despite his insistence that he needs nothing, two days later Jason wakes to find a neatly arranged stack of books on his nightstand.
Yet not only is he restless, but – and he would never admit this – he desperately longs for frequent company. If he sits alone for too long his mind begins to wander. And where it wanders is never good. The chill of Arkham's damp air sinks back into his body, the sound of a crowbar scraping over concrete echoes in his head, and a too-wide grin flashes in front of his eyes.
When he talks to someone – preferably Alfred – he's distracted from all of that. Even a fight with Bruce would be better than being alone. But he rarely sees Bruce, as Bruce always seems busy with something, be it Wayne Enterprises or the Batman. Not that he minds of course; the less he sees of Bruce, the better.
Dick visits him on the second day after Dr. Leslie's visit. Jason is reading, sunlight streaming through the open window onto his book, when a tentative knock sounds at the door. Frowning slightly, Jason lowers a rather worn copy of Les Misérables, reluctantly turning his attention to the door.
"Jason? You awake?"
Jason doesn't bother to hold back his groan. Fantastic; just who I want to see right now. Deciding not to respond, Jason lifts his book back up and continues reading.
Another knock.
"Jason? I know you're awake. Alfred just came down from bringing you the entire batch of chocolate pudding."
Jason smirks, glancing at the nightstand where a rather impressively-sized bowl of pudding sits.
"…Jason?"
Emitting an irritated grunt, Jason slams the book shut. "Fine."
The door immediately opens, and Dick sticks his head in. He looks rather unsure of himself at first, but when he catches Jason's gaze a small smile spreads across his lips. "Hi."
Jason frowns, his eyes narrowing slightly.
Dick runs a hand through his hair awkwardly, glancing about the room. "Can I…come in?"
"You've already bothered me, so you may as well."
Dick doesn't seem deterred by Jason's cold tone and comes in, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him. He takes the chair Bruce sometimes sits in, seemingly now at ease as he settles into the seat.
There's a moment of silence.
"I see you've got some light reading material," Dick jokes, nodding at the thick book lying on Jason's lap.
Jason shoves the book off of his legs and out of Dick's line of view. "Why are you here?" he asks, irritated.
Dick shifts in his seat, suddenly looking rather out of place. "I came to check on you. I wanted to see how you were doing."
Jason snorts. "Well thank you," he says sarcastically. "It's nice to know that in order to receive attention from you I only have be a guest of the Joker's for nine months to get it."
Dick winces at the sharp words. "Jason –"
"Dick, you didn't give a shit about me when I was Robin," snaps Jason. "All I wanted to do was try to be as good as you had been, and you treated me like some inconvenient annoyance. And that was during the rare times you even had been around. So fuck you and your sudden, newfound concern you have for me."
Dick has the grace to look abashed, averting his eyes from Jason's as he decides best how to respond. "Jason," he says. "I know that I wasn't a good brother –"
"We're not brothers," Jason grinds out.
Dick clenches his fists, struggling to keep his tone level. "– before all of…this. I recognize that I should have been around more, I should have tried to connect with you more. But I didn't, and now I want to make up for that."
"How generous of you," mutters Jason.
Dick sighs. "Look, Jason, I just want you to know that I'm here for you. If you need someone to talk to or –"
"Right. Like I'm going to talk to you about what happened to me."
Dick's eyes momentarily rest on the bandage covering Jason's left cheek. It last hardly longer than a second but Jason immediately turns away, his face taking on a subtle reddish shade. "Just go away," he says, his voice suddenly small and low.
Dick hesitates, clearly wanting to stay. But he decides better of it and stands, solemnly making his way over to the door.
"You know," he says, his hand resting on the doorframe. "That remote calls Alfred, but if you ever do want to talk, just tell Alfred to get me. I'll come whenever you need me to."
Jason doesn't respond. His hand curls around his book, ignoring the pain in his fingers as his grip tightens. He refuses to look in Dick's direction, and only moves again once he hears the reassuring click of the door shutting.
/
The following morning there's another soft knock. Jason knows exactly who it is; only Dick knocks in such an annoyingly hesitant way.
"Jason? Look, all I'm doing is bringing you your breakfast. Alfred is busy stitching up a bad cut Bruce got on patrol." A pause. "Can I come in?"
"…yes."
The door opens and there's Dick holding a tray laden with oatmeal and a small bowl of plain apple sauce. Jason wants to groan at the sight; all he's had since he was brought back to Wayne Manor was various degrees of liquid food, since his stomach can't handle anything else at the moment.
Dick carries the tray to Jason's bedside and sets it on the nightstand. He looks like he wants to say something, but then he taps his hand against his thigh in frustration and shakes his head. "Okay, well, I guess I'll leave then." He turns to go.
"Hey, Dick?"
Dick spins around almost too fast. "Yes?" But he keeps his tone impassive, as though he really doesn't care to talk to Jason when it's so obvious to Jason that he does.
Jason waits a moment, wondering if this was the right time for it. But then he thinks, to hell with it. "I'm just wondering when you and Bruce were going to tell me about your new Robin."
If he wasn't so pissed, Jason would've laughed at Dick's face. His expression falls to one of disbelief and panic so fast that Jason is rather proud that he's able to get such a reaction from him.
"What?" Dick breathes.
"The new Robin," Jason repeats. He keeps his voice even, though there's an underlying layer of acidity that Dick easily picks up. "The one that's been running around with Bats for months now. The one that replaced me. Ring a bell? Or maybe you just ignore this one too."
Dick's muscles are tense and his jaw tight. He's nervous, and that fact makes a rather smug Jason feel much more in control of his own emotions.
"Jason, how did you…?"
"Oh, I've known about him for a long time," Jason says. "Joker would decorate the walls of my cell with pictures of him and Batman."
Dick's face pales slightly at that.
"Joker loves to belabor a point. And he just couldn't get enough of the fact that Batman replaced me so quickly after I had gone missing. He thought it was hilarious. I didn't agree with him."
Dick swallows slowly. "Jason, it's not as simple as I'm sure the Joker made it seem…"
"Really?" says Jason. "Because I'm not quite sure how else it can be explained."
"Look, Batman needs a Robin, and –"
"And finding the current Robin would've been too much of a bother for him, right?" Jason says, his voice steadily rising in volume. "Bruce saw an opportunity and he took it. He finally got rid of this gutter rat screw-up, and decided to bring in someone better for the job."
"Jason, that's not –"
"I hope Bruce trained him better than he did me, because if Joker lays his hands on him, he's all on his own to get out that fucking situation," Jason continues, his voice nearly reaching shouting level at this point. "Or maybe not. Bruce will probably come rushing in to rescue that piece of shit replacement, whereas he felt I needed a good nine months to rot before he decided to come save my sorry ass!"
"Jason –"
"What's going on here?"
Jason and Dick snap their heads towards the doorway, where Bruce is standing. He's wearing sweats and a plain undershirt, from which beneath a bandage wrapped around his shoulder is visible. Bruce looks between Dick and Jason, his gaze questioning. There doesn't seem to be any anger, more cautionary suspicion than anything else.
Dick is the first to speak. "Bruce, it's – well, Jason –"
"I know about your new Robin," spits Jason. If Bruce is surprised by this information, he doesn't show it. He glances over at Dick, who raises his hands in defense.
"I didn't –" Dick begins.
"He didn't tell me," Jason interrupts. "Joker did." He gives a bitter laugh. "He told me over and over and over again. It was his favorite fucking thing to tell me."
Bruce stiffens the tiniest bit.
"So how long were you going to wait till you told me?" asks Jason. "Or were you just never going to tell me at all? Maybe you're just waiting for me to heal up so you can finally kick me out once and for all." He pauses, waiting for Bruce to speak. He doesn't. "Come on," Jason shouts. "Say something!"
Bruce is completely still, his expression unreadable. Finally, after catching Dick's pleading look, he answers. "Jason," he says, carefully. "I was going to tell you when the time was right."
Jason scoffs. "What does –"
"Let me finish," Bruce says darkly. Jason's mouth shuts, but his expression only grows in fury. "I didn't want to burden you with unnecessary stresses while you were recovering. I thought it best to let you heal first, and then I would introduce you to Tim."
"Tim." Jason says the name with the manner one has after discovering a particularly disgusting thing left rotting in a trash bin. "Well I hope he's all that you want in a Robin, Bruce. Seeing as you couldn't wait to replace me with him."
"It wasn't like that, Jason."
"No?" Jason laughs harshly. "What was it like then, Bruce? Come on, I'm dying to hear your excuse." He gestures down at his bandaged body. "I pretty much have."
Dick's hands tighten on the edge of the chair he's sitting in. Bruce merely glances at the rest of Jason's body before matching the furious boy's gaze again. "Jason, Tim did not replace you. He came to me because I needed the help. He's extremely gifted, and was a valuable asset in the search for you. He –"
"Obviously is a much better Robin than I could ever hope to be," Jason finishes. He sinks back against his pillows, his rage dissipating with almost concerning suddenness. Now weariness is what clings to Jason's voice. "I get it. Just…" He looks away. "Just leave me alone."
"Jason –" Dick says weakly.
"Just get out."
Dick looks up at Bruce, whose face is now completely emotionless. Dick starts to open his mouth, but Bruce turns and leaves the room before he can get a word out. Casting a final glance back at Jason, Dick stands and quietly follows Bruce, shutting the door gently.
Once their footsteps fully fade, Jason punches one of his pillows with a grief-stricken cry of rage. Pain shoots through his hand but Jason ignores it, striking the pillow over and over again. Tears blur his vision and dry sobs rack his body but he does not – cannot – stop himself. Only when his hand finally refuses to work, due to the agonizing throbbing in it and the exhaustion pulling at him, does he finally stop.
He's abandoned you…thrown you away like an unwanted puppy.
And Jason screams.