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It all started with a photo.
Tim had excitedly run into the family room where they were hanging, a folder clutched in his hand. "Look what I found!" he exclaimed as he dropped to his knees by the coffee table, his grey wings flaring behind him. Jason clicked his phone off, leaning forward like everyone else to get a better view.
Pictures. Dozens of them. The coffee table was soon covered as each of his siblings grabbed them at random. Pictures of sunsets, of skylines, of local wildlife. Of Batman and Robin. "I thought I had lost this memory card," Tim explained as the family started pawing through the papers, sounds of delight and approval falling from them.
"How did you even get this one?!" Dick exclaimed as he held one up. Jason looked up from a pigeons photo (flying rats, but somehow Tim managed to frame them to make them look beautiful - fucking wizard) to see what treasure Dick had found. And felt his stomach drop.
It was of him. Not as Robin, or at any official Wayne event. But a candid shot of him doubled over in laughter in his school uniform, his creme wings splayed out behind him. You couldn't see what he was laughing at in frame, but the joy on his face shown through.
Dick quickly handed the photo to Jason as Tim's ears turned red. He mumbled something that had the rest of the family screaming stalker, but all the noise faded into the background for Jason. He stared at the photo. More specifically, at the creme colored wings he used to have.
Almost self conscious, he tucked his red wings further behind him, hiding them between his bulk and the back of the couch. He didn't think about the color of his wings often. Part of him was almost grateful for the color change after his death and resurrection. Creme wings had always been a pain to hide on the streets - to the point where he would smear them in mud to camouflage better. As Robin, he used paints along with Nightwing and Batman to differentiate them from their civilian personas. And now as Red Hood, he didn't even need to do that as he didn't have a civilian life in the spotlight.
But now his eyes were locked onto the snapshot of his younger self. The boy in the picture looked happy. That boy had laughed and loved and lived. Tim may not have captured what he was laughing at and Jason didn't remember, but it was clear that the boy in the photo was happy.
He jerked as the couch shifted beside him. Cass tucked herself against his side, her flight feather twining with his as she tilted her head back to look up at him. "Little Brother?" she said hesitantly as her brows pinched together.
Jason forced a smile as he set the photo aside and tossed an arm over her shoulder, his wing extending to cover her back. "What did you find?" he asked as he gestured towards the pile of photos in her hand.
She studied him a second more before she started holding up photos for his approval. He hummed and ooed with her over their little brother's photos, enough that Tim tried to snatch them back. But it was too late at that point. The flock scattered with the photos they were able to grab, Steph and Dick in particular sprinting out the door.
Jason left the room with only one in his hand.
That should have been the end of it. After all, it was only a photo. Several of them were turned over to Alfred to be framed, others appeared in their bedrooms, taped or thumb tacked to the walls. One even was set as the Batcomputer background, making Bruce chuckle and Tim leave the cave exasperated.
Jason guarded his photo, keeping it tucked into the drawer in his bedside table. He didn't even look at it again. And for most of the time, he was fine. But every once in a while, late at night before he fell asleep, the photo haunted his thoughts. A happy boy with pale wings. A boy who was innocent. Who was loved and loved in return.
He wanted to go back. Back before Red Hood. Before the Joker and Garzonas. Before him and Bruce started fighting. It was not an uncommon thought. There were other photos of him around the same time hanging in the manor. Hell, a photo from the day he was adopted still hung in Bruce's study. But there was something about this one that made him feel his loss like none of the others had.
There would be nothing special about the night it happened. No triggering event, no fight with any of his flock mates. Bruce had even given him a word of praise after they got back to the cave. But in the dark of his bedroom, a thought formed. A need arose. It was so strong it felt like someone had electrified him.
He couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned for an hour - the need filling his body and mind. It was dumb. He knew it was dumb. But his own mind refused to listen. It had found a solution to everything. And Jason was helpless against the need.
So, in the middle of the night, he crept from his room to the cleaning closet and grabbed the bottle of bleach.
The internet provided a few details about how to bleach feathers. Most of them pushed specialty products and tried to recommend certain brands. But Jason didn't have time for that. He needed his wings creme now. So he followed the instructions as best he could with the cleaning bleach. He'd even diluted it before applying it to his feathers in the common bathroom.
After 30 minutes, he carefully removed the foil…to see red feathers underneath. He froze, then rushed to his phone. All the sites said that after 30 mins, his feathers should at least be lighter. But they looked exactly the same.
Maybe the bleach needs a higher concentration? Maybe I diluted it too much. Jason re-diluted with bleach with less water, applied it, then sat to wait again. By this time, the sun had started to rise. The light peeked under the bathroom door as Jason waited. He waited longer this time, hoping more time would do the trick. After his timer went off, he eagerly removed the foil and…
Nothing.
His wings were barely any lighter. He wanted to cry, to scream and thrash and throw his phone. But before he could, a knock sounded at the bathroom door.
"Jay?" Dick - that was Dick's voice. "How much longer are you going to be?"
Jason swallowed his tears and fought to speak around the lump in his throat. "A bit, Dickie. Sorry."
Dick sighed and groaned. "Don't know where you got a cleaning bug from, Little Wing. But you might want to hurry up. The others will wake soon and you can smell the bleach from down the hall."
Dick's footsteps faded and Jason fought his panic. He was running out of time. He grabbed the brush and this time dipped it directly into the bleach bottle. The skin under his feathers looked red as he placed bleach directly on his feathers, a small zing of pain lancing up his wing as he applied the bleach. But he could withstand a little pain.
His wings burned this time during the wait, growing with each minute that passed. He simply gripped the side of the tub and waited. Compared to the warehouse and LOA training, this was nothing.
Jason startled as another knock sounded at the door. His wings flared instinctively to re-balance him and Jason gasped as pain radiated along them. There was a pause before Damian voice spoke. "Todd? You have been in there a significant amount of time. It is unjust to hog the bathroom to yourself when others are in more urgent need of it."
Jason tried to form words, tried to think around the burning of his wings. He was out of time. He staggered to mirror and started removing the foil, barely noticing the patches of skin that came off with each one. The door knob jiggled, Damian saying something else - no doubt insulting his bloodline this time - but Jason couldn't hear him.
His wings could maybe be described as light red, but it would be a stretch. The color had stuck through multiple treatments, barely budging. Jason couldn't hold back the sob this time. The door stopped juggling, a hesitant "Todd?" coming from outside.
Jason didn't care. He couldn't care! Images of creme wings filled his thoughts. Of happy days, of carefree joy, of- of- everything.
Another voice had joined Damian's calling through the door - Tim? - but Jason again didn't listen. Didn't listen as he climbed into the tub and upended the bottle of bleach on his wings.
The pain blinded him as he screamed.
More voices outside the door, but it was all secondary to the agony he was enduring. It wasn't just burning this time, his wings were on fire. White-hot needles stabbed him from all angles. It felt like…it felt….
Jason screamed as the Joker drove a knife through his wing, pinning it spread out against the wooden crate. A red grin floated above him as another knife was pulled from somewhere. "Now, let's see just what it will take to clip this little bird's wings."
Someone was screaming. Someone besides Jason. Or maybe it was Jason? After all, the Joker liked his screams.
Twin knifes slashed down his wings, cutting through feathers, skin, muscle, and bone. The scream was pulled from his throat as he watched the blood bubble from the wounds, staining his wings red.
There was a crash, the sound of wood splintering. Jason- he couldn't move. Couldn't uncurl from the fetal position.
"Jason!"
Bruce?
He opened his eyes, expecting the metal walls of the warehouse. But he was in a bathroom, tucked into the tub. Above him, Bruce loomed, barely more than a collection of colors in Jason's tear-blinded eyes. Jason tried to sit up as Bruce crouched beside the tub, but more pain flooded him as his wings moved to help and he collapsed back to the floor of the tub with a cry.
A hand on his shoulder, "Don't move Jay!" Bruce's commanded as he leaned over the lid of the tub, his eyes flicking over Jason's body.
Another blurry form stood behind Bruce. "Oh my god!" Tim exclaimed, "what did he do?!"
"Dick!" Bruce called as he reached over and turned on the shower. Jason couldn't help the sob as the water fell on his wings. "Help me get him up."
Bruce stood as Dick took his place, another hand - this one covered with latex -rubbing his shoulder. "You're going to be alright, Little Wing," he whispered as Bruce stepped over the ledge and into the tub.
"Alfred, get Leslie on the phone," Bruce commanded as hands tucked under his arms. Another set settled on his wings, keeping them pinned as he was hauled to his feet. Jason groaned and leaned against his father. Bruce spoke again, "Cass, please…"
Jason had no idea what Bruce was asking, but several bodies disappeared from the doorway. Jason leaned heavily against Bruce, trying to shift away from the stream of water that was hitting his back and wings. "Shh, baby," Bruce murmured at his whimper, "we got to wash the bleach off."
"Bleach?" Jason murmured. Wasn't it knifes? Where did the knifes go?
He tried again to move as Dick - it must be Dick - slowly spread his wings and maneuvered them under the spray. The water burned where it landed. "His feathers," Dick's voice wavered. That was weird, Dick was never anything but confident and in charge.
"Wait," Bruce's chest rumbled as he spoke. "We can ask Leslie. But we don't want to removed them in case it breaks his skin open more. We just focus on the surface bleach for now."
Time became meaningless. Hands held him up and manuvered his wings, coating him in water, making sure not to touch individual feathers too much.
A new voice, this one overlaid with static, "Talk to me Bruce."
Jason cracked an eye open. Alfred stood outside the shower, a phone held in his hand. The other reached forward and rested against Jason's cheek. Bruce spoke above him, "Massive chemical burns along Jason's back and wings. Feathers are cracking and falling off and there are multiple large open wounds, probably from popped blisters. We've been under a cool shower for about twenty minutes now. Jason is currently non-verbal and is slipping in and out of consciousness." Bruce paused before adding, "There's an empty bottle of bleach in the bathroom."
"Shit!" rang out over the phone. Jason huffed a laugh, never thought he would hear the good doctor swear. "Make sure you get all the bleach off, then move him to the medbay. I'm on my way. Alfred, prepare a saline drip with pain meds and an anesthetic. We're going to have to put him under."
Alfred's hand left his face as the butler exited the bathroom, talking with Leslie as he did. Dick's breath hitched behind him and Bruce murmured,"Dick?"
"I- I should have come in sooner...should have stopped him hours ago..."
"Chum, this is not your fault." Bruce's voice dropped lower where it could barely be heard above the water, "We can talk more later, but right now," Bruce shifted his arms to crush Jason against his chest, "you're going to have to double check under the feathers."
A hand gently ran through his hair, "I'm sorry, Jay. I love you." Fingers carded through his feathers, tugging and pulling them. Jason didn't even know if he screamed before he blacked out.
When he opened his eyes next, he was face down on his bed. His wings felt stiff, simultaneously lighter and heavier than before. There was a pinch on the back of his hand, a line that let up to a saline bag.
He shifted, about to crane his head to try and see his wings, when the keyboard clacking that had been filling the space stopped. "Jason?" Tim- that was Tim's voice. There was a slight weight by his legs and then Tim appeared in his vision. His little brother's face was paler than usual as he spoke again, "Are you awake?"
"No, I'm dead." It felt like his throat was cracking with how dry it was.
Tim's face pinched, "Not funny."
"A little funny," Jason retorted before attempting to shift again.
Tim's hand shot out, bracing against him. "It's probably best that you don't move for a bit," he said as he pulled out his phone and shot off a quick text.
Jason groaned, "Who the hell have you summoned?"
"Oh, everyone. We've all been waiting for you to wake up."
A straw appeared before him and Jason drank greedily before squinting at his brother, "How long?"
"About 12 hours since the anesthesia was stopped."
"God, no wonder I have to pee." Then the rest of Tim's sentence registered, "Wait, why was I put under?"
Tim bit his lip, his wings tucking closer to his body, "Standard procedure for debridement with the extent of your injuries."
"Debridement…?" Jason trailed off as he again twisted to see his back despite Tim's protests. Where he was used to seeing red, it was a sea of white. Massive bandages were draped and secured over his wings, but they looked weird. They didn't match the size of his wings. He tried flexing one out to get a better view and gasped as pain shot down his wing.
Tim jumped to his feet with a cry, "Don't! Please don't try to move them." The movement though caused a part of his wing to poke out from beneath the bandages and Jason wanted to throw up. Where are his feathers?!
Jason locked eyes with Tim. "Tim," his voice seemed so small, "what happened?"
"Jason?" Dick appeared at the door before Tim could answer. Jason only had a moment to prepare himself before Dick was falling to his knees by Jason's head, hands reaching and running through his hair. "Jay! You're awake!" Dick's wings flared up and around them, cocooning their heads.
Jason slowing brought a hand up, mindful of the pain lancing through him, and grabbed one of Dick's hands. Dick paused as Jason licked his lips, "Dick, what the hell is going on?" He could feel some of his control over his panic slip, his voice rising an octave. "What happened to my wings?! Why-?"
"Jay, little wing, breath, please." Dick cupped his head. "You're going to be okay. Doc is positive the scar tissue isn't going to be too bad and your feather will grown back."
Jason jerked back, causing more pain to spike through him. "Scar tissue? Dick, please!"
Jason was about to start pleading for someone to answer him when Bruce appeared at the door. "Dick!" his voice seemed to echo in the room. "Give him space." Dick almost immediately withdrew, a guilty look crossing his face. "Jason," Bruce's eyes turned to where Jason basically huddled on the bed, his face growing softer, "do you need anything right now? Before I send them away?"
He wanted answers. He wanted answers now! But… he also didn't want them with an audience. So he took a breath then said, "Bathroom and more water."
Bruce nodded as he stepped up to the bed. "Dick, go get some fresh ice chips from Alfred. Tim, you and I will help Jason to the bathroom." Dick looked like he wanted to protest, but a glare from Bruce had him hurrying out the door.
Using the bathroom was hell. Not only did he have the shame of Bruce and Tim waiting on him, he also kept trying to use his wings to balance, causing flares of pain the entire way. They were moving away when Jason laid eyes on the tub. He froze, his breath picked up and his vision tunneled. But…why?
He didn't have time to ponder as Bruce forcefully pulled him away, causing Jason to stumble and fall into him. Bruce's arms wrapped around him, supporting him while he found his feet. He could feel himself shaking. Whatever happened, it wasn't going to be a happy story.
Soon, he was settled back on his stomach on his bed, a couple of ice chips in his mouth, as Bruce gently but firmly ushered his brothers out the door. His father made his way back to the bed after closing the door, slowly sitting in the arm chair Tim had vacated.
Silence stretched, only punctuated by the sound of crunching ice. Eventually, Bruce spoke, "What do you remember?"
Jason swallowed the ice, "We were patrolling on the 9th. Typical patrol, nothing really special. We came back, had our usual banter about me spending the night." Jason gave a small smile, "You complimented me about a fight." Bruce's breath caught, but he offered a small smile in return. Jason's face pinched as he focused, "Then, I went to bed. Don't remember much after…"
Creme wings. A bleach bottle. Tin foil from the kitchen.
"Jason?"
A white bathroom. A paintbrush. Gentle precise strokes.
Hands on his head and shoulder, "Jason, I need you to breath with me."
Desperation. Liquid pouring down his back. Fire and water.
"Jason! Focus on me. Focus on my breaths!"
He felt his stomach heave. The hands left and a waste bin replaced them. Jason curled over the edge of the bed, spewing bile and water. Bruce's hands returned, gently rubbing the back of his neck. Carefully avoiding his back. His back that he poured bleach on! Another wave crested in his stomach, but there was nothing more.
He collapsed shaking on the bed. "What did I do," he whispered in a horrified voice. "Oh god, what did I do?!"
Bruce moved the waste bin to kneel besides his head. Gentle fingers brushed the tears from his eyes. "Jason…" Bruce whispered in return.
"What happened to my wings?!"
"Second degree burns over 70% of your wings. First degree over the rest and on parts of your back. Most of your feathers had to be removed from damage by the bleach." Bruce's voice dropped to a whisper, tears appearing in his eyes, "They were… they were falling out in droves." Bruce took a few breaths as he grasped Jason's hand in both of his and brought it to his forehead. "Dr. Thompson believes they will grow back despite the scar tissue, but your wings will always be patchy. She even believes you will fly again at some day." Bruce's voice broke at that, the tears he was fighting finally falling. "What- what the hell were you thinking?"
Jason hiccupped through a sob, clutching back at Bruce's hand. "I- I don't- I don't think I was," he forced out. "I don't even know why…" but that was a lie, wasn't it?
He tugged back on his hand and Bruce let him go as he started fumbling at his bed-side table. Bruce leaned forward and placed a hand over his, stilling it. "What do you want?"
"Photo," Jason gasped around his sobs, "in the drawer."
Bruce nodded and opened the drawer. He held out the photo to Jason, and he could hear his father's breath catch in his throat as Jason ran a finger down the creme wings of his younger self. "Jaylad?" Bruce's voice was a whisper.
"I- I want to go back." Jason started petting the wings in the photo with his fingers. His sobs started to feel like they were pulled from his chest with a meat hook. "Most days it doesn't bother me. Most days I'm fine…but sometimes…" he couldn't get the words out around his sobs.
Bruce threw an arm over his shoulders, bringing his wing up and over Jason's now destroyed wings. "Jaylad," Bruce's voice broke again as his tears soaked into Jason's hair, "why didn't you say anything?"
"Be- because it's dumb. Of course I can't go back. And most of the time, the thought passes quickly. I don't- I don't know what happened, don't know why it was different last night." Jason dropped the photo and hid his head in his arm, "Oh god, I've ruined everything….again."
That final word reverberated around the silent room. Then Bruce was jerking away, moving to cup Jason's face while leaving his wing spread over Jason's back. "No! Do not say that. You've ruined nothing, Jason." He combed his fingers through Jason's bangs before gripping his face again, "Nothing".
"But- my wings…"
"Will heal. And if they don't, then I will search the world to find someone to help. You haven't ruined anything, Jay. Not your wings, not our family…not even yourself." Jason buried his head into Bruce's chest his sobs shaking his whole body as his father held him like he was the most precious thing in the world. "You're going to be alright, Jason. We're going to be alright. That I promise you."