Title: JayLad
Words: 12694
Rating: T
Fandom: Batman
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Richard Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, and Alfred PennyWorth
Summary: Jason gets sick, goes out and fights -I know, D U M B- but he runs into the bats. Jason is pretty young in this story and he is still recovering from the after effects of all that happened with him and the pit. And, I may have thrown canon right out of the window from a plane down into the recessing pool of ocean... What I'm saying is that Jason gets a hug from his FREAKING Dad. Okay. Imagine that. Happy Ending.
Chapter 3: "They have their Exits and their Entrances"
Summary:
Panting heavily, he hoped he currently wasn't throwing up on someone's head. That would be something he could never live down. The conversation following such an occurrence was rather unimaginable too. 'Sorry' certainly wasn't going to cut it.
❤ ... ...
Waking up with a pained gasp, a tugging at his stomach caused him to hurriedly kick off his 'covers' scattering them to the side. Charging his way to where the broken window was, he cupped his hand over his mouth in fear that he wouldn't make it. Moaning, a pinch from the corner of his stomach regrettably reacquainted himself to last nights dinner just like the splattering of paint onto the sidewalk below him.
Ugh, great.
So many colors... Yes his brain definitely needed to vocalize those thoughts.
Surely ones insides couldn't be that colorful ya know. Stupid granola bars. Freakin' toxic. No more Trix cereal bar's for him... Fan-fudging monstrositys.
Thinking grimly, he thought about how the golden boy's insides must be caked in this sort of garbage.
Also with an added dash of #$% and sprinkles, it matched his personality per- "Urgh." he moaned while his stomach swished with a rising tide ready to knock Aqua man out.
Cringing, another twinge hurriedly caused him to empty the remaining acid in his stomach.
Blerugh, this was awful.
There went his two dollars down the drain. Or that was more so onto the sidewalk. Second to worse thing he had ever spent two dollars on. The first being a ham sandwich from a gas station. Now that led to one full week of food poisoning. At least the Gas station bathroom had nice cold floors. Right now he was just hot.
Leaning heavily against the window pane, he tried his best to avoid the splintered glass as more swells of queasiness hit him. That was a terrible dream wasn't it? Probably gonna dream that til' the day he died. With his track-record as of the moment that wouldn't be too much further away. Again not wishing for death, just seemed to follow him.
Panting heavily, he hoped he currently wasn't throwing up on someone's head. That would be something he could never live down. The conversation following such an occurrence was rather unimaginable too. 'Sorry' certainly wasn't going to cut it.
Smirking at the situation he was placed in. It reminded him of how Pigeons would leave their 'presence' all over the city; particularly on cars and on rooftops. Well here he was now, a former bird, leaving his presence in the form of a puddle of sick spewed down from a two-story building. It was almost assuredly not the first time. Probably wouldn't even be the last time.
Oh my, just look how far he has come.
If had a quarter for every time life had #$% him over, well he would have enough money to buy Wayne manor and burn it into the ground. Right into the ashes that place belongs.
Speak about life blowing him over, living with Bruce really did a number on him didn't it? Bruce, filling him with hope. The sadistic #$%.
Looking up towards the sky he could see that it was well past noon.
" #$%. It's late."
Eck, throwing up was the worse.
Rubbing his eyes, he knew that it was unlikely for anyone to be looking this way. However it would be best that he quickly duck in, he did not want to be assumed as some random drug addict. That's definitely not a title he wanted to be known as. This guy will be remaining clean thank you very much.
Nevertheless, a pain killer wouldn't hurt right about now. Also maybe some water, he was as thirsty as Tim when he was being salty as a GothDonald's fry. Seriously, the kid without his coffee was terrifying.
Closing his eyes, the cold air washing over his sweaty face felt nice. As his stomach continued to roll he pinched a face.
Oh for #$% sake, this was just miserable. This reminded him of the 'I'm food poisoned' days. Now he sticks to only packaged foods by the way.
Sighing, he swayed slightly on wobbling legs. With his stomach grumbling - from both discomfort and hunger - he knew he probably couldn't keep it down, but Alfred's chicken soup sounded really good right about now. In fact any decent food sounded really good right now. Though, his stomach was as empty as his pockets at the moment. Hence why he was currently being a rabbit throwing up Trix cereal. Huh, guess Trix was just for kids. Maybe that's why Dick still ate them.
In the recent months of his uncertain employment -mostly due to the cold weather-, he had lost some weight. Of course not skeletal by any means, thank goodness. However, he was definitely at the bar of 'underweight.' In addition to losing weight, he had lost the entirety of his additional muscle mass since returning to Gotham. That could in part be from the lack of food, but it was more so by the lack of supplementary steroid's Talia had been sneaking in his food. Which, he was livid to find out about.
Let's just say that, that was never happening again. Just thinking about the withdrawal symptoms were bad enough. That was definitely worse than the 'food poisoning days'.
However, he did miss his lanky frame being bulged with muscles that made him look anything but the age he was.
...
Great! Well Anyway.
Of all the time's in his life to be sick, did it really for #$% sake have to be now?
If he didn't stop the weapon traffickers here and now, who knows if he would ever get the right sources again to stop them. Just thinking about all those lives that could potentially be killed by the hands of other people if this one measly shipment didn't get canceled made his furious. Groaning, his temple throbed in frustration. It wasn't like he could ask anyone to cover for him. He had no one. Downsides of being a one man band.
...
Yes, 'mayonnaise' was indeed an instrument his feverish brain seemed to pop out of no where. Out of all the decency in life no one can convince him otherwise. Almost laughing, he wondered briefly what Damian's reaction to that would be. That little vermin would probably stick his nose all haughty like and insist that he, 'Todd' was being foolish.
Brat. The little twerp doesn't know the life lessons that Sponge Bob provides. Dick is probably forcing him to watch The Little Pony.
...
Shrugging back to reality, he moaned. The only good thing about being sick was that at least he wouldn't be so flipping hungry. Nonetheless, that came with a side of it's own consequences.
Standing there, his stability was steadily draining and the pressure in his stomach was increasing more by the minute. Also, he was #$% hot, like super warm. How could it be so warm when there was literal snow frost sitting on his bare skin?!
This surely couldn't be the flu could it?
" #$%"
A wheeze escaped his lungs as he slid to the floor with a thud. Leslie had insisted that he take a flu shot, and that he did. Nonetheless, that meant near to nothing in Gotham now did it? Mostly because Gotham was a filthy murk of nastiness, particularly in the side of Gotham he was in. Who knows what he gets exposed to on a daily basis during his 'heroic' duties?
Yet, this was either a beginning taste of one #$% flu, or something more deadly.
A Gatorade sounded lovely right about now.
Taking a deep breath, he sighed. He didn't really want to do this, but suspicions needed to be confirmed.
Probing the area where his stomach hurt the most, he folded over in blinding pain as the pain increased tenfold. Okay. Yep.
"Oh #$%!"
Seething, he rolled his eyes. "Well that's just great..."
He was expecting pain, but this? This wasn't good. Wasn't good at all.
There was no time for this.
Plus he was not stupid ya know.
...
He knows where an appendix is located.
Ok, he had a couple of more hours until he needed to go get serious help. By 'serious help' he meant going to Leslie's for antibiotics. Definitely could make it. Just needed to work the timing out that's all. A bed sounded nice for a change.
Guess he would just have suck it up till then.
Plus, he hadn't expected the Lazarus Pit to have literally regrown his freakin' appendix. What's next his tonsils? His appendix had been taken out years ago with,..wi- 'him'. Actually it had been the first time witnessing Bruce so frantic. Looking back on it, it was quite the hilarious experience. Nonetheless, one that he wasn't looking to reliving again.
Not the smartest of plans granted. Leslie was definitely going to kill him if his appendix doesn't burst first. Nonetheless, it was the only plan he had at the moment considering the fact he had unfinished business to attend to. He just hoped that the stakeout wouldn't be too long. The tolerance he had for these cramps was steadily draining. However it was only forty minute's until patrol considering how late he had arrived at Ms. Megreger's house. So, he was close to going on patrol, beating some bad guys, and going to Leslie's. It was actually nearing on midnight, so it was definitely dark outside. Fortunately, he had hid his helmet and jacket in the nearby hollow of a tree so that he didn't have to waste time going back to his 'den'.
He was not looking forward to wearing his leather jacket. It was so #$%- #$% hot.
Upon arrival, it made him feel terrible when he saw that Ms. Megregor's bulky frame was shivering while being wrapped in a heap of sweaters. She had been waiting all this time for him to come and fix the stove! His creditably had definitely been diminished considering all this woman had as a heater was her stove! It would be fortunate if she ever hired him again, especially so in knowing her personality. Fortunately, when he had told her of his situation with sleeping late she seemed to understand by telling him to get to work.
Death in a controllable situation by his own hands, didn't frighten him. In fact, right now it was quite welcoming as he was kneeling on the floor fixing Ms. Megreger's stove. It seemed as though his stomach had swelled to the size of a balloon in the last couple of hours since he had woken up. That couldn't be good.
Tinkering with the last bolt on the stove he jumped in surprise -ouch- when a hand brushed over his face.
"You ta have a fever." The Scottish Lady tsked in disapproval.
"Its not surprising." He mumbled gently pulling away from her hand.
He rather not be mother henned at this point. It would be all too easy to slip into the haze of pain, nevertheless he had a job to do. A job that he would rather get done quickly. Very quickly.
"You should aye be in bed resting dearie." She pushed on forward, now slipping a container into his hands.
Looking down, he saw that it was a container of soup. Wincing at a stomach cramp, he inspected it even closer. It looked like potato and leek soup.
"Ms. Megr-"
"No, I insist. Go mi'love, and get a bit wee of rest. I wouldnae letcha a come with such a terrible cold." She said shuffling a fifty in the palms of his hands.
Gawking at such an amount, he was shushed and then promptly shuffled out the door. Not until of course he was donned with an extra scarf around his neck much to his unusual displeasure at the warmth.
"Tis is chilly tonight." Ms. Megregor said with a wave as he walked out of her sight into an alley way to the ports.
Now, he had work to do.
OK.
Left kick.
Right kick.
Left kick.
Right kick.
Right kick? NO! Left kick!
Jason you can do this.
Definitely could do this.
Come on. Keep going!
Groaning, he almost threw up mid kick.
Ok, maybe a little less confidence and a lot more fighting.
As more chumps slithered their way from outta nowhere he cursed. Man, where do all of these #$% keep coming from?
Okay, since when had he swallowed the football of all Mother footballs. He would like to know so that he could return it.
Oh shoot, no time for distractions.
Throwing an oblique kick, he brought two thugs to their feet as another one approached him with a baseball bat.
Oh #$% it was so hot for it being... what? The thirties?
Jeez, with this shipment of guns. Ya'd think that these guy's would use some them. Fortunate for him, he's dealing with a whole lot of dolts.
Swinging a roundhouse kick he knocked the bat out Mr. Fathead's hand. Then taking him by surprise he punted the guys peanut brain with his foot.
A lot of strong dolts, but stupid nonetheless.
Rubber bullets had been used, but they hadn't been enough. These guys had eaten em' up like they were candy. It was going to be a #$% of a time procuring new bullets.
He really didn't want to continue fighting one on one with these guys. Up till this point he had been ignoring the pain in his side. Nonetheless, it had gotten worse and he was quivering so badly that most of his throws were lopsided. If he misses that's the end of it.
Arriving just when the shipment cargo was being loaded unto a flatbed truck didn't help matters either. However, there wasn't much to be done when he had been hobbling at the rate he had been walking.
So far he had taken down at least twenty guys, but they kept on coming.
Gasping for air, his lungs constricted. Ducking behind a vehicle he wheezed and threw up on the ground.
Blood?
Jeez, these people sure were brutes.
Taking a breather, an onslaught of more thugs passed his way. Probably on the lookout for him.
Great whether he liked it or not 'one on one combat' here he comes.
Sneaking from behind, he pulled at least five guys back one by one without suspect. They were rendered perfectly unconscious without a problem. That was until the other five took note and began to charge him.
Well great scott of all #$%!
Grimacing at every lunge, kick and punch he threw there way, a voice interrupted his charade.
"Hey, Lil Wing. Don't often see you on this side of town."
In shock, he got sucker punched right in the jaw. Great. How lovely. He can be expecting a nice shade of green to accompany his eyes.
"See I told you he was useless." A demon in the back whispered while he regained his balance.
Smattering the jerks face with a hooking punch, he watched as the beast went down.
"Well ya see no one #$% asked you ya spawn." He retorted as blood dripped onto his hand.
#$%, he bit his lip.
"At least he doesn't try to kill you Hood!"
Looking over he could see the replacement using his baton as an effect thug swatter.
"Well what the #$%! Are all of you rodents here?" He griped while punching another guys teeth out.
Oof, he hoped the guy had some dental care. If not, his new nicknames 'Gummie'.
"Technically bat's aren't rodents Red..." He heard 'Mr. I wear spandex with no shame' yell over his way.
"Well I don't give a #$% c-"
"Furthermore, were Bird's. We aren't even b-"
"I don't care!" he griped as he soccer kicks a guy in the ribs.
Umpfh, these kick's are really working that building nausea... Watch out Superman, didn't think the man of steel could even hold back the geyser of puke incoming.
"Come on Jay! Just having some fu-"
"Nightwing names!" A grumbled bat echoed.
Oh boy. It was 'Mr. I support Party city' himself.
So, the whole bat-gang was here, huh? How, delightful...
Oh, why was everything looking just like a blob of jello right about now? Maybe that was just from his shaking legs. Also, had he noticed it before? It was stinking hot... Like SUPER hot.
Fighting a few more rounds with sweat dripping down his face, he brought down a few more thugs when a Macho man sauntered his way towards him. Oh #$%, was this like one of those Mafia leaders or something. The man did surely fit the bill and all, with the gold rings and a billed bowler hat. Was it the 90's or something? Was he and Bruce shopping at the same store? Anyways, this guy, he had a good bit of brawn on him. He didn't think that he could take down such a big guy by himself so easily on a good day, but on a bad day... No way. Heading for the guys head he was stopped as the goon hit him right in the abdomen.
Holy #$%!
This guy apparently had a good eye for weak spots.
Crying out, the guy kept hitting and kicking him slurring out a string of profanity that was making even him blush.
Trying to get a grip and fight back, he swung wildly at his perpetrator. This only proved to make him angrier. Who figured?
Jeez, this guy was #$%, and drunk too. Him being here had evidently ruined his night. The guy also seemed to think that he had brought the bats with him. No, ya big dummy they just follow him. Unfortunately...
Man, he wished he could use rubber bullets right now. His fighting skill weren't top notch at the moment.
Trying his best to stay upright, he was finding it difficult to take a breath in.
Oh shoot. Oh #$%. He couldn't even see. Jabbing the perpetrator in the head, he was taken advantage of and shoved backwards. Therefore causing him to-
Sink?
Oh #$%! He was sinking!
He didn't think he was that close to the edge!
Splashing blindly, he pushed himself up to propel himself out of the water. Nonetheless, he was being held down by something.
Gasping for air, he instead got an inhalation of cold icy water.
Oh #$% he was drowning.
He was going to die.
He was going to turn into a freakin' ice cube!
Reaching his arms up, his stomach twisted causing him to lose connection between the mind and body.
Having his limp arms swatted away by that impermeable force, his helmet slowly began to fill with liquid.
Shoot. He knew he should have waterproofed it.
...
Oh for goodness sake... he was dying... And the day had started out so great too.
