#lee!jason

Jason and Bruce’s mouths snap closed at the British Cough™ that sounds through the Batcave. Their eyes swivel to Alfred, looking down his nose at the pair of them, polished shoes glinting in the eerie light from the computer dominating the far wall. He studies them intently, in the way only wizened gentlemen dealing with rambunctious children could. 

The pair of vigilantes had only just pulled up in the Batmobile, and judging by the tension pulling on their mouths, they’d been having this argument the entire ride home. Bruce seemed fine, just a few bruises here and there, typical after a night of fighting Gotham’s dark underbelly. Though his weight was distributed slightly to the left, barely noticeable, and obviously trying to keep it quiet in favour of whatever Jason had been through that night. 

Jason’s whole form was tense, agitation tugging at his shoulders to make them curl inward. Though from years of experience, Alfred could also see it for what it really was: a defensive hunch to protect a vulnerability. Goodness knows, Dick did the same thing when he was trying to prove himself and didn’t want either of the older men to see an injury he’d gained accidentally. You had to learn the tells to call young heroes out on their bullshit.  

Boys will be boys, testing Alfred’s patience. 

“Masters,” Alfred says, both as a greeting and a reprimand. “If you are quite finished butting heads, I believe there is ice upstairs for your leg, Master Bruce.” 

He didn’t even acknowledge the man’s surprise - a minor twitch of his shoulders, so overdramatic - before he was turning to their resident Robin, who looked far too smug at his guardian being chastised.  “If you don’t mind, Master Jason, I would like to check over any possible scrapes you received tonight. It would be quite unfortunate to have to miss school due to injury.”

Jason blinks up at him, lips parted. Then he grumbles and slinks forward like a pissed-off cat, heading for one of the cots Bruce had set up in the corner of the Batcave. Bruce follows, tugging the cowl off. 

“It was an ambush from Penguin, Jason got outnumbered and sustained a few-”

Jason rounds on him with a growl. “As if you were doing any better, I handled them.”

“After I got you an opening with a Batarang. Jason, if I hadn’t-”

“That is quite enough!” 

It was remarkable, really, how his voice was enough to shut both of them up in a split second. Alfred took the cowl from Bruce’s hands with a decisive tug and leveled him with a flat look. “Upstairs, Master Bruce. You are tired and likely high-strung from the testing events of tonight. Let me look at the boy before you lecture him.”

Bruce opened his mouth, then promptly closed it when Alfred didn’t waver. He sighs, deep and heavy. A glance at his sidekick makes something tug his mouth down further. Before Jason can say anything to add fuel to the fire, he turns on his heel and stalks out of the cave with a whirl of his black cape, disappearing into the elevator shaft. 

Alfred sighs, depositing the cowl and approaching Jason, who’s glaring after his adoptive father. “It was a few lucky punches. I had it under control.” He grouched. 

“I have no doubt you would’ve,” Alfred appeases him, tugging the tray of medical supplies closer, and pats the bed. “Up on the cot, if you please.”

Jason moodily hikes himself onto the mattress, his boots dangling far from the floor in all his 4’6 glory. The stark reminder of just how small the boy was had Alfred mentally add more to Jason’s future diet. His growth had been stunted horribly from his time on the streets, and Alfred was doing everything in his power to encourage the boy’s body to continue growing. 

“He should trust me.”

The sulky words pull Alfred from his thoughts. “He does, Young Master. Possibly more than you think.”

A scoff. “Then why does he act like I’m just a kid? I can handle myself.”

Alfred caught the slight note of insecurity that hid in the corners of the bitter words, tucked close to the edges like it could blend in and be written off as annoyance. Like it wasn’t a desperation that ate away at Jason’s confidence like rot, making his rough edges sharper, and his drive for improvement to turn to tunnel vision. It was an unfortunate family trait that ran through each of his family members, regardless of blood relation.

“Well, you are in fact still young, Master Jason,” Alfred says gently. “Much younger than I, but I could not hope to achieve what you do out there. There is something to be said about youth and capability, but your skills are not within that realm of questioning.” 

Jason stays quiet at that, fiddling with his gloves to avoid looking at the butler. That was alright, Alfred knew the boy struggled to answer with genuine approval or recognition for his skills. Another thing his boys shared in common. 

While he stews, Alfred leans over to tend to the mask on Jason’s face. The adhesive comes away with a few dabs of a cotton ball soaked in rubbing alcohol. Jason screws up his nose at the smell; he always did during post-patrol check-ups. Though, whether that was due to the reminders of Crime Alley or Willis was unclear. Regardless, Alfred made sure to be quick. 

With careful hands, he pulls the mask away from the boy’s face, a small smile lifting his lips at the sight of the familiar blue eyes. “There you are,” he says, the cadence of his voice gentle and warm. 

Jason rolls his eyes, but the small smile on his face undermines whatever aloof persona he was attempting to put up. “Never left, Alfie,” he mutters. 

“And thank goodness for that, you’d take all of Bruce’s talkativeness with you.”

Jason snorts hard enough to rock himself, only to wince and press a hand to his lower ribs. Alfred zeroes in on it like a hawk with prey. “That would be the ‘lucky punch’, then?” He asks, clear of any emotion to avoid raising the boy’s hackles. 

“...Yeah,” Jason concedes hesitantly. “Don’t feel any breaks though.”

“Well, small mercies, indeed.” Alfred carefully unclasps the cloak and lets it pool around Jason, allowing him to check his torso unhindered for any bumps or bruises.  “Does anywhere else feel tender?”

“No. Just my ribs.”

“Hm. I might do a full check of them then, if you do not mind.”

“...Okay.”

A smile lifts the butler’s lips, and he sits on the edge of the cot. “Thank you. Could you please turn to me a bit?” 

Jason complies, lifting one leg to cross in front of him while the other dangles off the edge. Alfred immediately recognizes the defensive position - one leg ready to kick and the other poised to run, should it call for it. His heart squeezes, but he refuses to show it on his face.

Bruce and Alfred learned to be careful when touching Jason early on. The boy had far too many unpleasant experiences from his time on the streets, and reintegrating him back into a world where touch doesn't have to hurt was still an ongoing mission. Bruce had made some progress with hair ruffles and shoulder pats, just testing the waters and taking it slow. Alfred’s time baking with the boy and being the designated Manor Medic had also helped bring down Jason’s self-instilled survival walls. Allowing a full check of a vulnerable area was most definitely solid proof of their combined efforts, but he was still understandably wary. 

Just to ease him into it, Alfred carefully probes around Jason’s collarbone and shoulders, listening for any hisses of air that might escape the boy. Thankfully, Jason seems alright, nothing strained or bruised.

“That’s… not my ribs, Alfie.”

“Oh my, you’re right.” Alfred responds with a feigned air of surprise, “Apologies, my boy.” He moves his hands down Jason’s arms, pressing gentle thumbs into his inner elbows.

Jason raises a brow. “Alfred.”

“Yes?”

“I do want to get outta my costume sometime tonight.”

“I am being thorough.”

Jason huffs, his amusement breaking through. “Right. You sure you don’t need to take an anatomy lesson?”

Alfred hums, pleased to hear the boy sounding genuinely at ease. Not a trace of apprehension within his voice. Trusting. It reassured Alfred to raise his fingers to carefully press into the boy’s lowest ribs, feeling for anything that could allude to something worse than bruises. Immediately, Jason tenses under his fingers, like Alfred worried he would, a small hiss escaping.

“No cracks that I can feel, seems to just be some minor bruising as you said.” He speaks gently, hoping that voicing his actions would help keep the boy’s anxieties at bay. His fingers come away from the bones and settle on his own lap, giving the kid plenty of space. “I would like to check your back ones as well, if that is alright?”

Jason hesitates, biting his lip, then hesitantly nods. His hands curl into his discarded cape, with enough distance between his arms and torso to allow Alfred access. It made the man’s heart warm to see the trust Jason put in him. Such a far cry from the bristling kid who kept his back to the wall and refused to let anyone close. 

“Thank you, Jason,” Alfred says warmly. He makes sure to keep his movements slow, reaching around the sides of the boy’s ribs to press gently at the ones in his back.  

Jason’s leg twitches, his eyes firmly on the cape coiled up in his hands. For a bizarre moment, Alfred thinks he sees his lips tick up.  

“You’re alright there too,” Alfred encourages. “To save us both time, I think it’s best if I simply do both sides at once. Do you think that would be okay, Master Jason?” 

Jason swallows. “Y-Yeah.”

The slightly strained stammer gives Alfred pause, worry prickling through him. Jason hadn’t moved, though, still sitting in front of the butler. If he really was uncomfortable, he’d leave. Or bite. Whatever came first. Alfred takes his permission and carefully shifts his hands, his thumbs on the front bones and fingers on the backs. He gently rubs into them, feeling out for anything of concern. He reports their fit condition, then moves on to the next. And the next. And the next. Each admission remains the same.

He’s halfway up the ribcage and is just pressing in when Jason flinches hard. A small noise gets past his tightly sealed lips, and his shoulders start shaking. 

“Jason?” Alfred freezes. Jason’s hands have come up to clamp onto the man’s wrists, not shoving him away, just keeping them in place. It didn’t feel like a breakage or fracture on either side, but with how badly the boy winced- 

“S-Sohohorry-”

Alfred stares, appalled.

Jason peeks up from under his hair, the curls having fallen into his eyes from his hunched position. The butler is surprised to see an embarrassed grin on the boy’s face, and indeed, small snickers are tumbling free despite the teeth hanging on to his bottom lip to keep them in.

Ah. Well, that is a new development, indeed. 

Alfred finds his own smile pulling at his mouth. “Master Jason, I cannot complete this injury check if you are hanging onto me.” 

Jason nods, fingers flexing on Alfred’s wrists - yet every time he starts to let go, a new surge of snickers takes over his diaphragm and his grip tightens once more. His panicked fight or flight response was way too keyed up to let this ‘threat’ go unattended. Jason knew it wasn’t a threat, though; it was just Alfred. Apparently, his nervous system didn’t get the memo. 

Alfred huffs, a fond laugh somehow making it through his attempt at remaining neutral as not to scare the boy off. “Master Jason.” 

“I'm tryihihing-” Now that he had begun laughing, it seemed the valve had been turned all the way, and now he couldn't seem to stop. 

It must've tickled from the very first set of bones, Alfred thought, rather amused. He’s been trying to hold it together this whole time. 

Somehow, Jason manages to shakily remove his hands from Alfred’s, dropping them to ball into his cape once more. He watches the man's fingers with a giddy trepidation, beginning to curl in on himself despite those fingers not moving an inch. 

“Do you think you can hold still for another minute or two?” Alfred asks, not condescending at all; he was genuinely curious. 

“Yehes.”

“Positive?”

“Alfred.”

It wasn't quite whiny, but goodness, it came close, and that was the best thing Alfred had heard in some time. Whiny meant Jason was being childish. Whiny meant he felt safe enough to do so.  

“I'll try to be quick,” Alfred promises, then massages his thumbs in again. 

Now that the apparent ‘secret’ was out, Jason couldn't help himself. His foot dangling off the side of the bed swung back to hit the frame, a squeaky noise pushed out of his throat that was quickly followed by giggles. Giggles. 

“Alf- Alfihihie!” Jason squirms in place, fingers curled tight within the cape to stop himself from latching on again. He didn’t want to stop the man from doing his task, but god, he hadn’t been tickled in so long that his body wasn’t sure what to do. And Alfred hadn’t even been trying to tickle him. Oh god, was this how all rib check-ups were going to be now? No one put that in the vigilante pamphlet when Jason signed up. Dick could’ve put it in the Robin pamphlet. What the fuck, Dick? Are you a team player or not? 

“Is this why you insist on taking care of rib injuries yourself?” Alfred says to himself in amusement, unsure if Jason was paying attention to him with all that giggling. His fingers shift up a set of bones and gently push into Jason’s back, checking just under his shoulderblades. 

“ALFREHED!” Jason’s legs jolt with the instinctive need to curl into a ball, only held back from following through with the twinge in his lower ribs. “N-Nohohot thEHEere!” 

A gentle tut. “Careful, Jason, you do not wish to aggravate your injury with all that squirming.”

Jason lets out a groan that blends with his giggling. It was Alfred’s fault that he was squirming to begin with! He couldn’t properly roll away as Alfred’s fingers were planted firmly around his ribs. Leaning back would push into them, and it was the same story leaning forward. 

Jason Todd, survivor of Crime Alley and Batman’s sidekick; defeated by a medical checkup and stupidly ticklish ribs. 

The papers would go mad. Reddit would be worse. 

Alfred hums in thought, interrupting Jason’s mental eulogy for his pride. “If it helps at all, Master Jason, Master Dick was twice as bad when it came to rib check-ups. The boy could barely sit still, and if memory serves, he could laugh at frequencies that only the bats could hear.” 

Alfred’s fingers rubbed into Jason’s shoulder blades properly, and it was over. Jason couldn’t help the cascades of tumbling laughter that fell from his lips, the buzzing over those bones making his brain fuzzy and incoherent. “AHAHALF!” His voice cracked embarrassingly in the center, but he was too busy laughing to care. 

Jason wasn’t sure if he could carry on with the injury check for much longer. If he has a cracked upper rib, so be it; he didn’t think he could handle it being checked. Besides, it's not like he wouldn’t feel it twinging with how much he’s laughing-

…Wait.

The realisation makes Jason tip back on the bed, hands jumping from his cape to close around the wrists by his ribcage. “Alfrehehed! I’m gohohood! Nohohothing huhuhurts!” 

Alfred pulls his fingers away, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “I did wonder how long it would take for you to realise. I was quite content to keep going up.” One of his fingers reaches over to poke at Jason’s shoulder blade, and the boy yips. “Though I’m not sure the bats would have appreciated the noise.” 

Jason grumbles under his breath, but his face is flushed too pink, and his smile is too genuine to take seriously. Alfred plucks a small bottle from his tray of supplies and hands it to the boy.

“Arnica,” he says as an explanation. “Take two tablets: it should help speed up the healing for those bruises.” 

Jason took the medicine without complaint or suspicion, and if that didn’t just warm Alfred’s heart further. “Take two more tomorrow at breakfast. For now, I’d say a shower and some hot chocolate are also fine remedies for your escapades this evening.”

To his surprise, Jason didn’t immediately spring up to follow through with the gentle instructions. Instead, the boy’s gaze had swivelled to the elevator, something lurking behind his eyes. There was something still eating away at the boy, despite the moment of levity and the butler’s words of encouragement earlier. Alfred takes a gamble. 

“You are still upset with Master Bruce?” 

“I’m not upset.” There’s a frustrated sigh, boots lifting off the bed to swing idly in thought. “I just wish he’d stop acting like I’m helpless out in the field,” Jason admits.  

Alfred smiles at the absurdity of that statement. “When you first met, you stole his tires and struck him with a tire iron.” 

Jason’s lips twitch even as a sheepish look washes over his face. 

“You are the furthest thing from helpless, Jason. Even before Bruce started training you, you were a wildfire. I’m surprised you weren’t running Crime Alley with your tenacity.”

Jason grins up at him, though it flickers out as he speaks. “...So, why does he keep acting like I’m incapable?”

Alfred heaves a tired sigh, silently regretting not getting a handle on Bruce’s emotional constipation before it could take root. It was leaving him with far too many miscommunications to clean up. “Master Bruce is not treating you as though you are incapable, Jason. He is treating you like his son.” 

He says it gently, yet Jason still flinches like it had been shouted. “He worries for your safety, and that one day he may not be fast enough to reach you should you be in imminent danger. It may feel stifling at times, or perhaps discourteous to jump into fights you can handle, but he is simply trying to protect you. Just because you have survived worse in the past does not mean you have to endure anything that plagues you now. Master Bruce struggles to put it into words, but he really does care for you, my dear boy.”

Alfred’s little speech left Jason looking firmly at the floor, his shoulders once more raised to his ears. His face has taken on a darker shade of pink, mouth screwed up in an attempt at a scowl when really, his eyes were alight with something that made Alfred’s heart seize painfully. This poor boy. Did he really not see how endeared this family was to him?

After a few moments, Jason hesitantly lifts his head. “...I should probably go apologize for snapping then, huh?”

“I do not think you should apologize for stating your displeasure with his habit of running into your battles, but yes, the snapping was rather ungentlemanly."

Jason snorts, this time only with a minimal wince from his ribs. “Ungentlemanly’,” he repeats with a small snicker as he slips off the cot. “I’m from Crime Alley, Alfie. Not exactly ‘Silver Spoon’ material.”

“Never too late to pick up some manners, Master Jason. And besides…” He gently scuttles two fingers along Jason’s shoulder blades and smiles at the squeak that gets out. The boy clamps a hand over the area and glares up at him, his face even pinker. “I now have some motivation for you to remember them.” 

________________

“Master Jason.”

The horrified tone makes Jason whip around, halted in his trek through the Batcave. Alfred stands near the base of the stairs, a stack of towels in his arms for the training area, staring at the boy in blatant shock. 

“Oh, hey, Alf.”

Alfred places the towels down on a nearby table, eyes never leaving him. “What in God’s name did you do to yourself?” 

Jason glances down at his clothes. “Ah. ...If it makes you feel better, most of this blood isn’t mine.’’

Alfred purses his lips, then lets out a steadying breath. “It may surprise you, Master Jason, but I am not comforted by such a claim.” 

Funny, Bruce usually was. 

Jason shrugs. “No one died, and some scum won’t be causing harm for quite a while. Job well done.” 

He continues with his mission of getting to the manor kitchens. Alfred always had the best quality flour, and Jason was in a baking mood. No one else was in the house, so it was a safe bet to use the space now. As he walks, however, his gait is interrupted by the slightest limp. Barely perceptible, but to Alfred, it’s all too obvious. 

“Are you injured?”

Jason reaches the stairs. “Not anything worth worrying about.”

“I worry, Jason.”

That takes the wind out of Jason’s aloofness. He goes quiet, looking at the butler who hasn’t broken his gaze away. Jason heaves a breath, cursing himself for being able to be brash with everyone except this old man. Too many golden memories linked to him or something mushy like that. 

“It’s just a scratch,” he says.

“Master Tim once described a lethal stab wound in such a way. I will feel better looking at it myself.” 

“Alfred-” 

“Master Jason. Cot. Now, please.”

Jason winces, his thirteen-year-old self immediately crumbling and tugging on his legs to get moving.  “Fine, if it makes you feel better,” he grumbles, acting like he isn’t hightailing it to the bed in the corner. 

Alfred is all business. Immediately, he strides to the cupboards tucked into the dark encolves of the Batcave, and pulls out the medical equipment available. Jason shucks off his blood-stained jacket preemptively, knowing damn well the butler would insist on having a ‘proper look’. He tried not to feel too exposed with his protective layering gone. 

“You’ll do me the favour of telling me what hurts, won’t you?” Alfred asks dryly, popping his supplies on the trolley by the bedside. “Or will I need to play a most testing game of “Find The Wound?” 

Jason, despite his begrudging attitude, lets out an amused huff at that. He concedes, “Right calf got nicked by some lunatic with a metal bat, so that’s smarting a bit.”

“Oh, just a metal bat? Nothing to fret about then.” Despite his dismissive words, Alfred is quick to crouch by Jason and roll up the pant leg, observing the skin that’s already starting to bruise around the swelling. “Nicked?”

Jason makes a so-so gesture and avoids eye contact. ”More like a lucky swing. It’s not too bad.”

“...Good Lord.” Alfred heaves a long-suffering sigh and plucks some ointment from his collection. 

Jason winces when fingers touch on the injury, but Alfred is careful. He always has been. He’s quiet as the older man gently applies the salve to his calf, trying not to acknowledge the warm swell of appreciation he has. Even the coolness of the cream is helping the flares of pain that’ve been pulsing through his leg for the last hour. He’d been planning on dealing with it eventually, but after the whole fiasco with those goons, he really just wanted to unwind with a bit of stress baking and sleep for fifteen hours afterwards.

Being taken care of… it wasn’t exactly something Jason had allowed himself the luxury of since he got back. He’d forgotten it was something he could rely on now. Not that it crosses his mind much, he’s still not exactly in a good place with all of the family. A certain bat is at the top of the list of his reasons. 

“You are lucky it didn’t break the bone,” Alfred murmurs, twisting the ointment cap back on and wiping his fingers off on a cloth. He then turns a scrutinising look at Jason, who definitely does not hunch in on himself. “Anywhere else?”

Jason hesitates. 

Ah, what the hell. In for a penny, and all that jazz. It’s not like there was anyone home to see him be vulnerable for five minutes. 

“...I think my back was nicked too.”

“Nicked as in ‘mildly agitated’, or as in ‘lucky swing, and am currently dying’?” 

Jason snorts at the dry humor and surprises himself with the genuine grin he sends Alfred. “Mildly agitated,” he says as the butler walks around the cot to stand behind him. He pulls off his shirt so the man can get a look. 

Alfred notes the slight red abrasions on the young man’s spine and lower back, a frown pulling his mouth down. “Do you know what you were struck by?” He asks.

“Didn’t get a good enough look, electricity-based weapon, I think.” Jason thumbs at his shirt in his fingers to distract himself from Alfred’s disapproving eyes raking over his scarred skin. He isn’t exactly self-conscious, but he isn’t loving his tapestry of past fights being stared at like he’s a museum piece. The sooner Alfred deals with it, the quicker he can escape into the kitchen as he planned. He hears a cap being unscrewed, and a minty aroma penetrates the air. 

“This might be a bit cold, Master Jason. I do apologize in advance.”

Jason lurches forward before he even properly registers the sensation ghosting over his spine, an aborted sound squeezing his diaphragm. He’s fast to snap his head over his shoulder, eyes wide and body hunched protectively on itself as the tingles dissipate from his skin.

Alfred looks just as surprised as Jason, though his moustache wiggles the barest margin as he tries to tamp down a smile. Eventually, after a few beats, he says, “Ah. I had forgotten about that.” 

Heat crawls up Jason’s neck, and he grits his teeth against the groan that threatens to come out. Whether from annoyance or embarrassment is anyone's guess. “Not a word,” he grouches, forcing his gaze back to his shirt despite his fight or flight response yelling at him to keep facing this threat. 

Alfred hums, amusement far too evident for Jason’s liking. “I will be quick.”

Jason gets flashbacks to that exact phrase being used during post-patrol check-ups and braces himself instinctively. Regardless, tensing doesn’t matter. The moment Alfred’s fingers touch down on his spine, he flinches and grips his shirt tight in an effort to stay put on the cot. The ointment is cold, but that isn’t the problem. Despite the years passing, his back continues to be his Achilles heel. 

Soft, ghosting tingles crawl across his skin, light enough to raise goosebumps, kickstarting his need to laugh almost instantaneously. It’s mortifying. His face feels like it's on fire. He breathes slowly through his nose, mouth clamped shut to prevent anything else from slipping out. If he can get through this without laughing, he might just be able to get out of this without losing all of his street cred.

“Whatever you were hit with, the abrasion has stretched itself out, Master Jason,” Alfred says, his tone neutral despite the warmth blooming in his chest from seeing the boy’s ears slowly going pink. “I’m afraid I’ll need to apply some ointment to your ribs as well.”

Fuck.

“Cool.” Jason grits out.

Fucking fuck.

Alfred’s fingers return to his back, increasing pressure to hopefully avoid Jason’s nerves freaking out. It doesn’t help. Jason’s heel slams into the cot just as his shoulders jump to his ears. An embarrassingly high-pitched grunt squeezes out of his tightly pressed lips, which barely contain the snickers building behind them. The jerky movement is so painfully familiar to his youthful days. Kicking or slapping at surfaces was both a way to cope with the ticklish sensations and also because he had no idea how to fend them off. 

Fingers rub into the grooves between his ribs, and Jason can’t stop the snort that manages to weasel out, a hand shoving over his mouth as if that could cover the sound. He prays Alfred will move on, but those fingers just kept massaging into the bones, and Jason was only a man; he couldn’t hold out forever. It was when Alfred’s fingers moved upwards into the next set of bones with that methodical massage that he cracked. 

“Fuhuhucking- shihihit!” Jason gasps, his boot kicking the base of the cot once more as his laughter finally spills out, breathy and whole. It’s the best thing Alfred’s heard all day.

“Swear jar, Master Jason,” Alfred answers primly, his fingers reaching out just enough to scrape along the sides of Jason’s torso as he draws his hands away. 

Jason jerks like he’s been electrocuted and bunches his shoulders tighter around his ears. “I’m ihihin my twehehenties!” He tries to growl, but it gets tangled up in a series of snorts when those fingers return to his back with a fresh dosage of ointment.

“So is Master Dick, and yet he pays the same toll.” Alfred returns to Jason’s ribs, following the curling trail of inflamed skin that trails across his back. “Master Bruce is nearing forty, and he, too, follows this rule.” 

Jason stopped listening once Dick was brought up. Too distracted by the ticklish sensations climbing all over his ribs in an endless pattern that keeps him giggling. He didn’t think he’d laughed this much since he came back. 

Alfred’s fingers curl close to his armpit, and Jason can’t stop the giggly whine that slips out, barely resisting driving an elbow into his side to block the area. “A-Alfrehehed, c’mohohon!” He hates how whingey he sounds, but damnit, he was out of practice with this, and Alfred felt safe enough to actually let his younger instincts take the wheel on this one. 

“I am almost finished,” Alfred reassures gently, fondness intertwining with his voice despite his efforts to remain indifferent to save Jason further embarrassment. His fingers move up to rub the ointment into Jason’s shoulderblades.

“GoHOHODAhamnit!” Jason’s voice pitches up in a squeak, his body instinctively tightening itself into a ball, and only exposing his back fully to Alfred with the stretch. He shoves his face into his knees, able to feel the heat radiating from his skin even through his pants. He tries not to think of how visible his blush probably is. “Alfihihie!”

It takes all of Alfred’s resolve not to melt on the spot, because that wasn’t Red Hood talking, that was thirteen-year-old Robin in all his glory. Jason’s breathy cackles light up the space of the cave, a sound dearly missed when he departed from their family too soon. As loath as Alfred was to relinquish the sound, Jason never could handle his back being tickled for an extended period of time - unless it was the softer kind, of course. Though that was probably still a few months out from being acted upon, Jason had only trusted Bruce with that privilege afterall. 

“There we are, all done.” 

Alfred removes his hand and has to stop himself from laughing when Jason yanks on his shirt in a split second, turning on the cot to keep his back from the butler’s reach. His face is flushed a healthy pink that threw Alfred back to when the boy was still new to the manor. Easy to aggravate, and even easier to fluster with sincerity. Adorable, if Alfred did say so himself.

“I will not need to apply this again unless it becomes worse, Master Jason.” Alfred wipes his hands off once more, allowing the boy to recollect himself after being inadvertently tickled to bits. “So make sure to rest it, yes?”

Jason nods, his lips still caught in a smile despite the glare he was attempting to project. Some things really did never change. Alfred packs up the last of the equipment and is about to offer to accompany Jason upstairs when the young crime lord grumbles. 

“I thought I grew out of this.” Jason’s face is still pink as he growls out the words. It’s about as intimidating as a kitten spitting defensively.

Alfred wisely keeps his amused chuckle quiet, seeing past Jason’s prickliness to what it really was: the kid was flustered. “I wouldn’t have expected you to grow out of it. Master Bruce certainly hasn’t.”

The silence was deafening. 

“What?”

The awed, and more importantly, menacing grin on Jason’s face gave the old man pause. Bollocks. Bruce was not going to be happy about that Freudian slip. “...Ah,” Alfred presses his eyes shut for a moment before fixing Jason with a slightly sheepish smile. “Let’s keep that between us, shall we?” 

Jason’s grin was twice the size, a gleeful laugh leaving him in a bark. “Not even on your ancestors' crumpets, Alfie. That is too damn good to pass up-”

“Need I remind you that Master Bruce is all too aware of your own sensitivities, and if the bear is poked, it will attack?” Alfred interrupts, but he can practically see the gears turning in Jason’s head. There was no stopping this now. 

After a moment of pondering the warning, Jason proves Alfred’s hunch in two seconds with a smirk. “Think Dickie and TimTam will help?”

The butler tries not to look too exhilarated by Jason suggesting something so domestic to do with his adoptive father and brothers. They’d been taking small steps on fixing things, but this would be a leap in the right direction. 

---

The hum of various appliances and LED lights in the extensive horror hotel map droned on, as quick footsteps thumped against the floor. The tapping against kitchen tile, the slight creak on wooden floors, and the soft padding against brightly patterned carpet were just natural for any chase. Even more so for Jason, who was used to hunting people down to the last of their stamina, given the absence of ranged attacks in his arsenal.

His first target, Noob, hadn’t really gotten much of a head start as they were taken by surprise while doing a generator. As a result, the masked killer had made quick work of the poor survivalist. Just one more hit, and they were done for. 

He was about to finish them off, lunging to swing through one of the doorways, when someone from the side of his vision quickly invaded his space. An armored hand reeled back, before throwing itself forward. Guest 1337 had caught him halfway through a machete swing with a powerful strike, effectively stunning the killer. Noob looked back slightly to give a desperate thankful look, before booking it away. Hopefully to get a medkit.

However, Guest’s hand hadn’t only collided with Jason’s head, but it also smashed against his machete on the way. Notable for a couple reasons, one being it was a complete accident, something that would be pretty hard to replicate on purpose. Two being that despite the death grip on the weapon, the action violently ripped the blade out of the killer’s hand, sending it flying straight into Jason’s face. The machete ended up ricocheting off the top of his plastic mask, flinging surprisingly far away from the two of them up into the air.

Unrealistically far. 

Strangely.. Far?

… Is it going to come back down??

Even Guest paused for a moment to watch the weapon disappear over one of the tall rock walls while Jason was stunned. “What the hell..?” Certainly not the strangest thing that’s happened here, though. He quickly recovered as an active chainsaw was swung at him, to which he dodged and promptly ditched the scene.

It took a bit for Guest to lose chase, but a lot less than normal for some reason– Jason seemed much less confident without his main blade. However, when the killer left to go find a different victim, 1337 returned to stalk a bit behind. He did that on the norm, because it made it simpler to assist others when they started getting chased. Now though, the soldier was thinking a bit ahead. The chainsaw was all the mute killer had left as a weapon… aside from their hands, theoretically. But still, it would be a lot easier for the other survivors to, well… survive, if Jason was completely disarmed. And he was carrying the chainsaw on his back, so he could probably just… take it? 

1337 wasn’t the type to act on impulse, but once he committed to something, he didn’t back out. So after constructing a rather simple plan, he crept up behind the killer and yanked at the weapon. Jason quickly swiveled around, swinging an empty hand on instinct. Without the blade in it though, Guest just caught it and finished the job of taking the chainsaw off, tossing it to the side before harshly shoving Jason forward.

The veteran didn’t pay attention to the way the killer stumbled back into a wall, slightly cowering for a second. Guest didn’t really know anything about chainsaws, but he figured if he stomped on the chain and landed a good kick on the entire handle area, it would do something. So he did, and… somehow, it actually worked? The chain came off around where he struck, rendering the weapon practically useless. If Guest had been given any more time, he might have considered how strange that was. But he only looked back at Jason to see what the next move was. The killer showed clear hesitation, before stepping forward and trying to attack with his bare hands. Guest swore he could see fear, even with the mask covering Jason’s entire face. Nonetheless, he struck back significantly harder, throwing Jason onto the floor. 

The killer didn’t get up.

Were sentinels.. always this scary? Not having a weapon in his hand gave Jason a strange, unnerving sense of clarity, like Guest’s expression actually registered in his head. It was a determined, yet apprehensive look that made him feel uneasy. Something tugged at the back of his mind to get up and fight again, but every time the killer shifted on the floor, the sentinel tensed and his fists rose. It frightened him, enough so that he moved back, away from the sentinel. 

Looking down upon the unusual sight, Guest was torn between running away again, and staying to reason. He didn’t even feel like he was looking at a killer anymore. Though, it could be a trick to get him to come closer. Maybe the killer had a spare blade somewhere in that coat. Then again, if he did get stabbed once or twice, he could probably take it.

He wasn’t even sure yet what the whole deal with the killers was, even less about Jason himself, but as far as he knew they were probably experiencing a similar situation. Most of them gave ‘free rounds’ every once in a while, or seemed awfully disconnected from reality for actively participating in murder. Like the killers weren’t willingly there half the time– with some exceptions, of course. 

Being forced to kill people when you didn’t really want to was something Guest hadn’t quite come to experience himself, but he certainly wasn’t foreign to the idea, and couldn’t help but feel a little bad.

But his mind was mostly on helping the team. If he could convince Jason to stop completely, that would be the best for the survivors…

“H-hey. Just…” 1337 exhaled, taking a step closer. “Calm it, would you? You know, we… Don’t have to fight, since you don’t have a weapon. And I won’t punch you anymore, if you stop. I mean… wouldn’t a break be nice?”

Silence. It was expected, obviously. Although, Jason did look up at the soldier hearing the offer. Was that.. always a choice? The majority of his decisions during rounds– well, he thought they were his, but still– they were more about ‘go this way’ or ‘cut them off there’. But now he saw himself thinking a lot farther than he was used to. Clearer.

Just as the veteran was coming to terms with how hard a one-sided negotiation was going to be, Jason slightly nodded.

“.. Oh. Really?” The simplicity of the bargain caught Guest slightly off-guard. If only the people in his past had surrendered like that– or maybe even the other killers. But that was just plain unlikely– this probably only happened because he managed to disarm the other. Well, hopefully disarmed, anyway. He’d have to check.

“Okay then. You… are just going to stay here. And we’re going to wait out the timer.” Guest hesitated for another second, before fully approaching and going on one knee in front of the killer. “Hold still for a second.”

The masked killer moved back again at the sudden movement, ignoring the request.

“Hey, hey. Just need to frisk you real quick. Gotta make sure you’re not going to pull another blade on me while I’m not paying attention. Oh, and keep your hands up where I can see them?” Although Guest was a soldier, not a police officer, he wasn’t foolish enough to take easily avoidable risks. So he waited for Jason to do what he asked.

Again in the back of Jason’s head, something angrily yelled at him to not do it, to not listen to a ‘pathetic’ survivor's request. Something other than the normal encouraging voice that normally followed him around anytime he was in a round.

… But he complied with Guest anyway, and after that, the nagging disappeared. Like ‘it’ gave up, or something. Talk about pathetic.

1337 hummed in approval, before beginning to move his hands along the killer's jacket. He was quick to realize it was pretty thick, and by extension heavy. Even though he knew he wouldn’t receive a response, Guest still remarked his thoughts out loud. 

“How you carry a chainsaw and a heavy jacket around while still managing to be so fast is beyond me.. It’s impressive, to say the least.”

Both the amount of pockets Jason had and the thickness of the jacket made it inconvenient to search the killer, especially since Guest hadn’t ever searched someone before. He ended up having to roughly double check a few of the outside pockets because he wasn't sure of his work, although that didn’t end up being the main problem. The entire process wouldn't have taken more than twenty seconds if Jason didn't shift away every five, bringing his hands to where Guest was searching and making the soldier flinch back. 

The veteran’s hands were invasive, although not necessarily unwelcome. Jason wasn’t trying to interrupt him on purpose, but it just felt strange– familiar in a way, yet completely foreign to how he was used to being touched nowadays. Without the intent to hurt, but with enough roughness to earn something other than the knowledge his pockets were empty; he felt himself smile slightly underneath the plastic mask. And then immediately fought to remove it, wondering why it was there.

After giving a prolonged glare, 1337 moved the killer’s hands away to resume his search, completely unaware of what he had just caused. “.. Don’t really appreciate you spooking me like that. So if you could just. Not do that…”

Jason ended up repeating the same action only ten seconds later, but this time Guest didn't jolt away. Instead, he instinctively closed his fists like he would to prepare for a punch, significantly tightening his grip around Jason’s waist pockets.. and also his torso. Guest removed himself from Jason’s side right after, standing up and grunting out an annoyed response. 

“acK- Can you no-” The soldier was going to complain again, but quieted right after looking at the killer. His eyebrows raised at the sight.

Jason had brought his knees closer to his chest, and held the area around where Guest had been frisking him. Confusedly rubbing at the spot.

Ah.

By then, he had finally figured Jason’s pockets were empty, but another question– well, more of a rhetorical excuse– had made itself clear. This was quite the opportunity, one even 1337 knew not to pass up. He wasn't really a boastful person, but the other sentinels would definitely be jealous if he pulled something like this off without getting stabbed. Well.. most of them, anyway.

Looking off to the side for a second, Guest briefly smiled before dropping the look and facing Jason once more. He kneeled back down, reaching out his arms and leaning over a bit. “... Move, I’m not done.” It was a lie, and despite requesting it, he didn’t wait for Jason to move his hands before running his own around the killer’s waist. And this time, he kneaded into his sides a lot more intentionally so it would still have the desired effect despite the jacket. “You know, this is taking a lot longer than it needs to, since you seem so insistent on squirming away from me.”

Only then did Jason finally recognize what that feeling was. However, he was a step behind, just a little too late to stop the soldier before he started. 

The most of the noise in the killer’s response was the shifting sound of coarse fabric, because once he was aware the sentinel was no longer just searching him, he didn’t stop himself from writhing. While only evident from his shoulders, Jason was definitely laughing, and although practically silent, it occasionally caught in his mouth and turned into a quiet snicker. The sensation didn’t feel natural whatsoever, but somehow reminded him of something that was. Or used to be. At least this was different– better, than the last time he remembered being handled so roughly. Anyways, what was he even supposed to do? Fight back?

Jason tried. Emphasis on tried, because Guest just took one of his hands and pinned it to the ground.

The veteran couldn’t help but smile again, strategically squeezing around the other’s midriff with his free hand. Score. “I’m just searching your pockets. What, got something to hide?”

Jason shook his head as his other arm waved around. The ‘no’ gesture was to both discredit Guest’s claim and deny the question, but it didn’t really matter. One thing he had learned about the sentinels is that they were extremely stubborn, even in death.

“No? Hm.. not sure I believe that.” Guest thought for a second, searching for an excuse. “Oh! Maybe you've got something underneath the coat.” 1337 brought his hands back around to the killer’s front, dipping them into where Jason’s jacket was open and repeating the same kneading motion directly on his shirt, just a bit gentler. He didn’t even try to hide the fact that the only thing he was ‘searching for’ at this point was a reaction. Guest didn’t even consider that revenge was an option, but it honestly serves Jason right. Always using heavy attacks whenever he missed his block…

The masked killer froze up for a split second, before practically losing it. Not used to this, at all. He tilted his head back, but still no real noise came out. His breathing was a little more obvious though.

The sentinel chuckled, casually speaking as he unpredictably alternated between soft and rough prodding. “... Alright, let’s be ‘serious’. You are… a little ticklish, for a ruthless murderer.” He was interrupted as Jason unsuccessfully tried to throw him off. “And squirmy.” 1337 took Jason’s other hand, and without being able to use it to balance himself upright, the killer fell on his back. It made Guest let go, but the veteran just quietly sighed and adjusted forward a bit.

Jason’s chest heaved. “Hey, look at me.” Guest brought his hands near the killer’s stomach to catch Jason’s attention, who looked at his hands instead. He didn’t even try to push at the veteran, in ‘fear’ he would be pinned again. “Actually, that works even better.” 1337 suddenly poised his hands, making the other jump, and then did nothing.

“This is how I feel trying to predict your attacks, by the way.” Halfway through the sentence, the soldier resumed poking and scribbling somewhere around the killer’s lower stomach and hips. He wasn’t paying attention exactly where, his eyes too busy attempting to glimpse at Jason’s through the small eye holes in his mask.

Jason did not think it would get worse, to say the least. The survivor kept stopping at random intervals and faking him out, both annoying him and making him jump every time 1337 actually resumed. So the screeching and laughter he heard the other day in limbo wasn’t over exaggerated...

“Difficult, right?” To the sentinel’s surprise, Jason nodded on top of his wriggling. Guest’s smile widened– he was actually listening. This would be quite the story, and he was thankful it would be him telling it. Anyone else in the cabin wouldn’t have a chance to be believed for this type of thing.

But of course, good things don't typically last forever. 1337 was almost too focused on the moment to notice the glint of metal that suddenly appeared in his vision. He quickly withdrew his hands, and then moved back– the machete had reappeared, resting on the killer like a twisted invitation. Jason’s hand instinctively twitched, feeling the metal against him, and he sat up. Since Guest had stopped, he picked the weapon up even though his hands were a bit shaky.

And then he realized he didn’t actually want to do anything with it. His mind finally felt clear for once, and he didn’t feel like losing that, as temporary as it probably was. Unsure of what to do with the blade, he carefully turned it in his hand and handed it to the survivor on the handle side. 

That was single-handedly the most surprising thing that had happened to Guest ever since he got put into this realm. But while he still had the chance, he quickly snatched the blade. Jason regretted it halfway through the motion, because he realized he just handed a weapon to someone he’d been stabbing in rounds for months. Nothing bad happened though, and he tilted his head curiously as 1337 turned and stood up, walking to an entryway to one of the more open spaces.

“Thanks.” Guest said simply, before chucking the weapon. Whatever caused the blade to spawn back would probably be a little mad about that one. “Sooo.” He did a 180, walking back. Jason had gotten up during that time, but didn’t run away. He crumbled slightly just looking at the sentinel. Still intimidating.

“Let’s wrap this up, yeah? We’ve got about… three minutes, I think.” Advancing quicker than the killer was ready for, the soldier quickly found where he’d left off. Although, he didn’t do any more squeezing, just soft, erratic little scribbles wherever he felt like. Each twist Jason did in attempts to get away made him feel just a little bit better about getting slashed at so many times.

After another minute or two, he stopped. “Not even sure if you understand how much this matters, by the way.”

And even through the aftermath, Jason most certainly did understand. Unfortunately.

. . .

It took a while to coax an answer out of Jason, but the two who noticed the strange nature of his return got it eventually. Neither made fun of him.

“Hah. Really hope they don’t attempt something like that on me. Would not end well.” Doe remarked, before jokingly nudging 1x.