Honeybee || Jason Todd

Chapter 3

"Jay"

"Jason, wake up-- please."

The first thing that registered in Jason's mind was the humming of an engine and Dick's sickening overly-concerned voice.
Then came the searing hot pain that made him shoot up and the nauseating feeling bubble in his stomach. Or, well, he at least tried to move up. All Jason did was breathe out a large gasp that made him wince and the sharp pain flare up even more intense than it had already been.

Was this just another nightmare? And why the fuck can't he get himself to calm down? His breathing was rapid and intense, Jason was feeling light headed. This felt too real to just be another one of his nightmares. So what had happened?

There was a hand on his forehead. It was rough and calloused, but at the same time it was also soft and warm in a way. He almost closed his eyes again.

"Little-wing?"

Yep. Definitely Dick. With that nickname and holy shit-- was that Dick's hand on his forehead? Who was driving then? Jason opened his eyes halfway. Through his blurred vision he could make out that his head was rested on top of Dick's lap in the backseat, but he couldn't make out the two figures in the front.

"Where-" he opened his mouth but was greeted with violent coughing-- it felt like someone was repeatedly dragging a sharpened chisel down his throat. And was that blood? God, Alfred was going to kill him for staining the seats. Thank God they weren't driving the Bentley.
He heard Dick's distressed voice instructing him to breathe. Which is awfully hard to do when someone has copious amounts of blood nestled in their throat.

What had happened, and why was he being coddled in the backseat of the Batmobile by Dick-fucking-Grayson?

When the coughing fit died down Jason made a mental note to not talk when you had blood bubbling in your throat. So he opened his eyes fully through the drying tears, and was greeted with the darkness of Gotham's night outside and the soft glow of the LEDs that the Batmobile contained.

Dick was in his Nightwing suit, his domino was still on and Jason looked through the white lenses, trying to focus on something that wasn't the blossoming pain searing through his chest or the screaming thoughts in his mind telling him to run. Dick frowned, swiping away Jason's bangs that hung down infront of his eyes.

His vision moved towards the front seats. In the driver seat was none other than Timothy Drake, driving at speeds they'd all get a few points on their licenses for. And beside him, riding shotgun, was Damian Wayne.
Jason wanted to know whose bright idea it was to put them side by side in a car that was going far too fast for them all to survive, if either decided they wanted to have one of their arguments at that moment.

Jason now found himself frowning, looking back at Dick. He'd never seen him so dishevelled, his cheeks were blotchy and red, his domino was crooked, and his hair was all over the place. He wondered what the hell kind of situation he had gotten himself into this time.

Well, he didn't have to, Dick answered for him, seemingly sensing his discomfort.
"We found you near the docks, Oracle tapped into your helmet and tracked you down to that location. Jay-" his voice cracked. Jason almost winced.

"You-- when we got there, you were unconscious, with copius amount of blood pooled below you. You were so pale and-- God, I thought I'd--"
He sucked in a sharp breath. God, just spit it out.
"Your pulse was faint. I thought I'd lost you again."

To that Jason almost opened the door and threw himself out into the on going traffic. He was not listening to this tonight. Not a chance. Right now he was going to rest his eyes, they were stinging like a bitch.
But he couldn't. Dick's expression was so sombre, Damian and Tim were dead silent-- and then it hit Jason.