Jason's dozed, slipping in and out of wakefulness a few times already. The headaches almost gone, but he's thirsty as fuck and the glass someone so graciously left him has been empty for at least half an hour. He hasn't thrown up again thank fuck, but the nausea rolling his guts is telling him that the possibility hasn't been entirely tossed out yet.

When Jason had been a kid, he hadn't understood it, and now, with what he was experiencing he understood it even less. How did people drink when they knew what would happen? Being drunk hadn't even felt that good; the little he remembered of it was going to haunt him for life. God, he thinks he was even crying.

The Tylenol that dimmed down his headache can't erase that memory, no amount of Tylenol ever will.

Stupid, stupid. He should have just stayed dead, if he ever finds the thing responsible for undoing that he's going to kick the ever-loving shit out of it.

The pillow he's been pressing his face into doesn't even smell like lavender anymore, it reeks of sweat and the gross sweet smell that's been clinging to him probably since the night before.

He wouldn't pass up the chance to kick the ever-loving crap out of something 'right now' if he gets the chance. As if he's just delivered a signal to some pan-dimensional being, hands wrap around his ankles and Jason is yanked out from his dark sanctuary. Figures he doesn't have the energy to curse them out, he can't even stop his shirt from riding up his chest in his scramble to protect his eyes from the light he'd been hiding from in the first time.

It takes a second for him to realize there's a shadow over him and Jason cautiously moves his arms from his eyes to see Bruce's huge figure silhouetted by the dull lighting from the window. His eyes aren't exactly happy with it, but Jason doesn't feel like he needs an exorcism either, so there's that.

Jason doesn't know what to say, doesn't know that there's anything left to say, and Bruce doesn't offer any conversation starters, and just looks down at him, expression hidden by the halo of light surrounding him. He remembers being carried from the batplane, carried up to bed, and he feels his face burn, and he can only guess at the color in his cheeks, fat chance he has of ever convincing Bruce of anything now that the man's seen him in that state.

"Fuck off." Jason demands, finally kicking his ankles loose of Bruce's hold, Bruce releases them without complaint, then he moves, and Jason's sun shield is gone. Jason swears again, and he's about to make for the bed again, when some cool fabrics are deposited on his chest. "Try to take me anywhere now and I'm jumping out the car." Breaking open his skull on the side of the street couldn't possibly be worse than being forced to move so much as a muscle now.

"You've been under there for hours Jason, it's been long enough." Bruce says, his voice betraying not a smidgen of the overflowing emotions Jason feels in his own chest. "Go take a shower, we'll talk after lunch."

Jason doesn't want to talk, in fact, he can't say that he ever wants to talk to anyone ever again in his life, but as much as he dreads moving his too heavy body, a shower is way too tempting to pass up. So he nods wordlessly, gathers up the bundle and forces himself to his feet, using the bed for support.

The last of Bruce he sees before he closes the bathroom door, the man is looking out the window, his arms folded loosely behind his back.

The shower helps, a lot, so does the gallons worth of water he drinks before he gets in. Once he doesn't smell like alcohol anymore, he can actually steer his mind to some kind of rational thinking.

He can't believe Dick brought him to the manor, or, well, let him be brought to the manor. If he'd considered this a possibility at all he would have just left the whole thing alone, not gone anywhere near New York. Now Bruce is probably waiting right outside that door for him, is going to be watching him for however long he's stuck here and then… Then what? Where are they going to put him?

With a sigh, he rests his head against the wall, letting the manor's endless supply of warm water fall over his shoulders. The vacant apartment he'd been 'borrowing' in New York hadn't had hot water; he might as well take advantage of this while he can.

There's no way he's going to get out of the manor without someone noticing and coming after him, he can't take on both Dick and Bruce at the same time, even if there was a weapon in sight, he's screwed and he can't even begin planning for what they do with him until they've done it.

His best bet is actually staying in the shower forever, then he'll never have to either see or speak to any of them ever again, it's a good plan, the best plan. It would be even better if there's even a fraction of a chance that they'll let him.

"Fuck it." He's been in long enough already. Jason gets out and dressed in the Hudson University shirt and loose sweats in under a minute, then slams open the bathroom door, ready to confront Bruce.

Only, Bruce isn't there. There's a breeze coming in through the window, making the curtains billow out, and aside from Jason, there's no one.

It would have been perfect, but Jason's looking for a fight now and he's going to find one. He knows Bruce wouldn't have left the manor with Jason still here, and if he's still in the manor, there's only one place Jason needs to look.

The manor's familiar, too familiar, it's worse than the anger he's been holding on to from that night, that the embarrassment clinging to him from showing up like he did 'last' night. The prickling of the old hall carpet against his bare feet, the indentation on that one floorboard where he'd dropped a bowling ball. His old bedroom is so close, just turn down there and open the third door.

It's not sudden, it builds on slow and he tried to break it down, replace it with the anger, the bits of green that refuse to cover over him the way they're supposed to. He tries, and for a while it works it can explain his heavy breathing, he barely notices the rekindled nausea or the piercing ache in his chest, but it doesn't work for very long. Before he's even reached the study all the green's been broken off and replaced by black curling at the ends of his vision.

"Heeeey, Jason." A hand slaps on his shoulder and his first instinct is to lash out, his foot coming an inch from slamming into his assailant's gut. "Whoa."

"Dick?" It takes a few blinks for Jason to really see the person in front him, but once he does, he can feel the anger come rushing back to him and he welcomes it. "Negotiations not over till I buy you a drink too!?" He basically spits the words at the older man, his hands balled into fists at his side so tightly he can feel his nails are near splitting his skin. "You couldn't leave it the fuck alone when I tried to leave, could you!?"

"When you tried to leave drunk off your ass, I wasn't gonna be the one who called Bruce and told him they found your body in a ditch Jason." Dick jabbed a finger in his direction. "And let's not pretend that one, drinking was your idea, and two my equally drunk ass got dragged back here too, and I 'didn't' get to spend the morning curled up under my bed."

Shit, he did, didn't he? Jason can't remember, but he knows he tried to make sure he consumed only as much as Dick, and Jason was bigger than him so… Jason was still thinking on it when Dick started steering him away from the study.

"Where's Bruce?" If Jason can't be pissed at Dick, he's damned well going to be doubly pissed at Bruce. He hadn't had the right to just drag Jason back to the manor, prison or the GCPD, sure, but not here. It's kidnapping's what it is, Jason doesn't remember telling Bruce he could bring him here, he knows he wouldn't have.

"Come, on, I feel just as shitty as you do right now, Alfred's got lunch ready, you wanna at least see him before you start picking fights, right?"

No, Jason doesn't want to pick fights before he see's Alfred; he doesn't want to see Alfred at all. The open window in his… the room he'd woken up in is seeming very inviting right now. He'll take whatever traps they put in place to keep him from using it, as long as they leave him in no state to go anywhere near the dining room. But then, there's no guarantee Alfred won't see him after that.

Jason doesn't know whether it would be worse to sit through a lunch or be stuck in bed with a broken limb for weeks, where Alfred can get easy access at him.

He hasn't had enough time to sort through the options by the time he and Dick reach the dining room; the decision's been made for him.

Bruce is sitting at the head of the table, right where he'd sat almost every breakfast and dinner when Jason had been a kid. The man looks up from a tablet when they're close enough for him to take note.

"You didn't get lost again did you?" Bruce asks, lifting the steaming mug at his elbow.

Jason's across the room, his finger almost touching Bruce's nose in a couple seconds. "First of all, fuuuuu…"

"'Master Jason'." The curse is cut short by the voice coming from just outside Jason's field of vision. His whole body freezes up and he's unable to turn so much as a degree, even when the measured steps get closer. "You'll remember such language is 'not' permitted in the manor, certainly not during meal times."

Jason swallows dryly, his dehydrated state really not helping with that, and shakes his head. There's the clinking of dishes and a chair being pulled out, maybe Dick sitting down, Jason's too busy watching an imaginary spot on the tablecloth – Alfred would never allow for there to be a real one.

"Good." Alfred's right beside him now. "Now if you'll be so kind, turn around and greet me correctly."

Jason does so numbly, drawing up from the bent over position he'd taken to yell at Bruce, but not quite rising to his full height. "Hi, Alfred." He brings up his eyes to meet the butlers.

Alfred gasps, a shuddery thing that comes from deep in his chest, and he lays his hands on Jason's shoulders and locks eyes with him. Jason feels exposed, vulnerable in ways he hasn't in what feels like forever. There's a reason he never made contact with Alfred, aside from the books, but right now, he can't bring himself to remember what that reason was. It's not because he thought it would hurt more than Bruce, even before 'that' he'd know nothing would ever hurt that much, but there was some…

There are arms wrapped around him now, and Jason's head drops almost mechanically, Alfred feels so small, it's at once just like when he's been a kid and nothing like that at all. The conflicting emotions it sparks inside him threatens to tear his chest apart in the short time before the only man pulls back. All his hair is completely grey now.

"I must say, your timing is impeccable." Alfred says, his hands sliding from Jason's shoulders down to his elbows. "This family's been in sore need of a miracle."

Jason can't take the look in his eyes, hopeful and sad and awed, so he turns away. "Have it on good authority 'ts more of a curse."

Alfred doesn't make a sound, but Jason hears something from behind him, he doesn't know whether it's from Dick or Bruce, it takes a quick glance to confirm Alfred's stunned expression before the old man wipes it away.

"There'll be no such talk at this table." Alfred demands, something close to fury peeking through his proper lack of expression. He doesn't let Jason respond, and Jason's glad for that, he has a pretty good idea of what he'll say, just pulls out a seat and beckons for Jason to sit beside Bruce.

There's fresh from the oven bread and salty slabs of cold cuts that will go a long way in dealing with Jason's lingering hangover. And juice, so much juice, and coffee, he's so fucking thirsty.

"We'll talk after lunch." Bruce says again, resting a hand on Jason's arm, not looking angry, or stony like Jason had been expecting. Really, Jason can't place the emotion he reads from Bruce, he's not sure he dares to.

Jason nods once and draws his glass closer while working on fashioning himself a sandwich with as many varieties of meant he can squeeze between the bread while still being able to fit it in his mouth. Dick's trying to finish off the turkey, Jason's got to be fast to make sure he gets at it first.