A/N: A leftover idea I got two days before Christmas last year that was put on the back burner in favor of "Peppermint Winter" and "Baby, It's Cold Outside," and then this year for "Home is Where the Heart Is." Finally got around to finishing it! Yay! :D

Just a little piece of fluff (angst) to wrap up the holiday season.

I know it's a few days late, but Merry Christmas! Hope you all had a blessed holiday!

(Short epilogue incoming. Just because ;D)

As always, enjoy :)

For the record, it was all Dick's fault.

If Dick hadn't convinced him to go to this stupid Christmas party, Jason would never have left the (theoretical) safety of his apartment. If Dick hadn't signed him up for the family Secret Santa exchange, Jason wouldn't have left half an hour early to purchase wrapping paper on the drive over. If Jason hadn't had to stop for that paper, he would never have conveniently roared up the street at the same moment as two runaway bank robbers squealed around the corner, guns a blazing. If Dick hadn't decided to live up to his namesake by pestering Jason until he agreed to stay over for Christmas, Jason wouldn't be bleeding out from multiple lacerations and a freaking bullet hole in his side in a filthy Gotham alley on the other side of nowhere.

Not to mention the multitude of broken ribs and other important parts of his skeleton (his leg, for example) from that little meet-and-greet his motorcycle had had with the wall.

So, yeah. This one was on Golden Boy.

The pain had dulled to a low throb ages ago, along with the rest of the nerves in his body. He supposed the numbness probably meant he was going into shock from the cold and blood loss.

He was long past the point of caring.

Stupid pavement had smashed his phone on impact. Jason knew he should have put the fragile device in his left pocket. (Stupid smartphones and their skinniness; he should've invested the extra money for an Otterbox case.)

Now he was left sprawled awkwardly on the pavement, unable to move because in some last ditch effort at life his handlebar had decided to stab him in the side, and without any way to call for help.

Perfect.

Well, no one could fault him for trying. 'E' for effort, and all that garbage.

And yet...in his mind's eye, he could practically see Dick's expression as he waited in Wayne Manor, brilliant blue eyes still alight with hope beside the Christmas tree even as his family exchanged resigned, knowing looks behind his back.

Because Jason wasn't coming. Of course he wasn't. But not for the reasons they probably suspected.

No one was coming for him.

He was alone. He was going to die. Again.

Which…should probably terrify him. And it did, in a detached, "my life is about to end and there's nothing I can do about it" kind of way.

But you know. Been there, done that, right?

Not to mention it was kind of hard to feel when he could barely recognize the fact he still had a body in the first place.

Ha. Feel, feel? Emotions, body? There's a double meaning to that. (Shakespeare reference for the win.)

The worst part, Jason decided, was the waiting. Knowing he was a goner, unable to lift a finger to prevent it, and just…lying in a pool of his own blood. Waiting for an end he still wasn't quite ready for. Just like the first time.

You'd think five years and a second chance would prepare a guy.

...Nope. Still terrified.

So much so, he was almost grateful for the bone chilling cold that kept him numb enough to not really process that emotion in its horrific entirety.

Because Jason was dying. Again.

He wasn't stupid enough to think it wasn't going to happen eventually. He had just hoped it would be quietly in his sleep or something, when he was old and fat and bald.

Like that was ever going to happen with the kind of life he led in the first place.

The best part? He wasn't even in costume.

Jason was so absorbed in his own bubble of misery and self-pity that it took him a moment to realize the alley wasn't exactly silent anymore.

The sound of a motor roared from the street, coming closer. A…motorcycle? Brakes squealed, a headlight flared across the shadows and grime. The vehicle idled, then shut off.

Footsteps echoed as if from a distance; so quick and so sudden, Jason wasn't sure he was imagining it. Someone gasped. Then, a breathless, "Jay," and snow crunched by his ear as someone knelt by his side. Jason couldn't even gather the strength to flinch as feather light touches probed along his abdomen in search of the source of the sticky puddle of blood he felt spreading beneath him.

"Perv," Jason managed, prying his heavy, frozen eyelids open. The blurry figure beside him started in surprise.

"You're awake," the person—Dick, he realized as the man's face swam into focus—breathed. "Thank God. Where?"

Fumbling for the right word, Jason struggled to get his swollen tongue and stiff lips to cooperate—it was freaking cold outside: "Side."

A rustle of fabric, then a harsh tearing sound echoed next to his ear. Fingers prodded around his waist, and he hissed in pain as a sudden hard pressure rekindled the damaged nerves around the wound, sending fiery signals to his brain.

"Sorry, sorry," Dick babbled. Then, "I'm calling Bruce."

Before Jason could mouth out a big, fat, "No," a beep sounded as Dick pressed a button on his phone. The Golden Boy still had the Bat on speed dial. Cute.

There was a short silence. Then, "Bruce!" the eldest yelled, hand shaking against the makeshift bandages on Jason's torso. "Bruce, it's Jason. He's been shot, there's blood everywhere, you gotta come quick, I can't move him…"

It was all Jason could do not to black out as Dick rattled off an address, barely able to focus on his predecessor's (blurry) panicked expression.

Wait…why was he here again?

Oh yeah. Because Dick was a… You know what? It wasn't worth the effort to finish that overused sentence.

"Oh no no no," Dick was suddenly saying, shaking Jason and sending a flutter of agony through his abdomen. "Eyes open, Jaybird. Help's on the way, you don't get to go now. You gotta talk to me, okay?"

A pause. A lick of chapped lips. "What happened, anyway?"

"Some trigger happy bank robber," Jason admitted. Too tired to be annoyed, or even embarrassed at the admission. "Fired a shot off...hit me, then I lost control of the motorcycle and introduced it to the wall. Turns out…he'd been crushing on it for quite a while…judging from how fast it hit. Love at first sight. So eager, they nailed a piece of me between them."

Dizzily, Jason lifted his head, staring mournfully at the scrap metal all around him. "My poor, stupid bike."

"I…can't decide if you're hallucinating, or if your sarcasm has taken on a whole new level of weird."

Jason smirked, raising an eyebrow (at least he thought he did; his forehead was too numb to tell). "Wouldn't you like to know."

The older man sighed. "Only you would ride a motorcycle in the middle of a snowstorm," Dick chided; almost fond.

"Hypocrite," Jason snorted.

Grinning faintly, Dick shrugged. "I guess we're both idiots. And car-less."

Jason barked a laugh, cutting off short at the sudden pain flaring through his torso. Gasping in surprise (he hadn't felt anything that sharp for an hour), he grimaced, arching weakly as tendrils of agony wound through his nerves from the holes in his abdomen.

"Sh," Dick soothed, though Jason could hear the slight tremor in his voice. "It's okay, Li'l Wing. We're going to get you home, okay?"

Something in Jason cracked. Pressure built behind his eyes. Ugh, why did dying make him feel suddenly sentimental? He'd done this before. (Maybe because this time he might actually be able to say goodbye…)

"I meant…to come," Jason managed, swallowing a sob (he would not cry). "I swear...I really did this time."

There was a short pause. Then, "I believe you, Jay," Dick whispered. "And tell you what, when this whole mess is over, we can throw a whole 'nother party. Just for you. How's that sound?"

"Mm. Rather stay home."

"Introvert."

"I prefer to think of it as...'choosing my company.'"

"Of course."

Jason managed a smirk. Without really meaning too, flopped back against his predecessor, head curling against his chest. (It was stupid cold out, Dick was warm, and Jason's neck muscles just gave out, okay?!)

Which didn't exactly justify the words that spilled out of his frozen mouth: "M'so tired, Dick," he sighed.

Arms squeezed him tighter, a shaky breath ruffling his hair. "I know, Jay," Dick managed eventually. "Just…just stay awake. I need you to stay awake. Can you do that?"

"Whatever...Dick."

He was rewarded with a faint chuckle from his predecessor.

And it was getting kind of hard to breathe, but Jason elected to ignore it. Unfortunately, hitched breathing was pretty much impossible to hide.

Noticing Jason's struggle, Dick's eyebrows furrowed in worry. "You okay?"

"Jus'…fine."

Crap. He couldn't even talk right anymore.

Well. Better now than never.

Ignoring a wave of dizziness, Jason nodded weakly in the vague direction of the remains of his bike. "I got...you. For that…Santa thingie. Gift's in there somewhere."

"Aw, Jay," Dick choked, and Jason could hear the tears pressing at the back of Dick's throat.

"S'that...stupid video game...you've been...clamoring about for ages. Do you...realize how expensive that thing was? Not that...it matters. M'dying. Again. N'dead people don't need money. I should know."

"Don't say that," Dick snapped, though the anger was lost as the last syllable cracked with fear. "You're going to be fine, Jaybird. I promise."

"Don't make promises…you can't keep," Jason growled, harsh. "I'm not...stupid, Dickiebird."

Swallowing visibly, Dick hesitated; leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Jason's forehead.

Which…wasn't as awful as Jason would have expected. Still, "Ew." He wrinkled his nose. He had a reputation to uphold, after all. "M'not…Tim, Dick. I'll still…kill you for that."

Dick smiled. "Sure you will."

Fuzz edged in the corners of Jason's vision.

Yeah, there was no ignoring that.

Dimly, he heard a tearing sound. Cracking his eyes open (when did they close?), Jason squinted up at his predecessor. Just in time for an inferno of pain to rocket through his torso as Dick piled on the pressure on that stupid bullet hole.

All of the energy left in his body went to a single twitch of his left foot in response.

And Jason was well-acquainted with what that meant.

"Hey…tell…Replacement…I don't actually hate him," Jason managed. "And…demon's…not too bad neither. Just…anger issues. Like me."

"Jay."

Jason ignored him. "Tell Alf…miss 'im. Always did. Even…even when I was dead…first time."

"Jay, stop."

"And B…isn't always a jerk…every blue moon."

"Shut up, Jason—"

"And you…aren't a half bad…big brother. Y'know…when you put your mind to it."

"You're not going to die, Jason."

And…Jason was too tired to contradict him. Directly, anyway. "Least...m'not 'lone...this time. Thanks...for that."

"Don't you dare, Jason," Dick threatened, tears leaking into his voice; onto Jason's face. "Don't even think about it. Bruce and I would never forgive ourselves if you...if we couldn't save you again."

Jason's head lolled against Dick's chest in a vague attempt at a head shake. "You...tried. S'all...that matters."

With a sigh (not a girly one), he closed his eyes and sank into blackness, vaguely aware of the roar of an engine echoing over Dick's frantic cries.

I'm sorry, Bruce.

One would think waking to the sound of a heart monitor wouldn't be considered comforting, let alone normal. Welcome to the Batfamily, where it was lucky if you ever woke up to that sound at all.

Jason's first thought: He ached. Everywhere. Which was…a not entirely unfamiliar situation. It was a dull ache, though; hazy and confusing through the cocktails of painkillers he was probably on.

The cold was new, though. Bone deep, unwavering despite the layers of blankets he could feel draped over his body. A cocoon of warmth that only seemed to brush the first few layers of skin, doing almost nothing for the flesh beneath.

Wait. Ache. Feel.

He wasn't numb anymore.

Then his sluggish, drugged brain finally drew the conclusion the clues were trying to tell him: I'm not dead.

That thought really shouldn't be as novel an idea as it appeared in his mind.

Blearily, Jason forced his sandpaper eyelids open, squinting against the familiar harsh light of the Batcave's infirmary. On instinct, he moved an arm to block the glare…only for pain to flare through his ribcage and abdominals before his arm rose three inches.

"Ow," he grunted.

Just like that, the LEDs were blocked as a raven-haired head poked entirely too close to his own face for comfort, brilliant blue eyes blinking down at him.

Dick Grayson's expression lit up, stupidly cheerful grin stretching across his features. "You're up."

"It would seem so," Jason managed drily; which wasn't hard, considering his throat was killing him…

"Whoops, here..." Dick dropped out of his line of vision, returning holding a glass of water with a straw hanging over the lip.

Whatever little dignity Jason had salvaged from the previous night's (at least, he thought it was last night's) little heart-to-heart was lost as Dick helped prop him up and raised the straw to his lips so Jason could reach it.

It was totally worth it, though, as the cool liquid was heaven against the parched tissue in his mouth and throat. All too soon, Jason had drained the glass. He frowned. "How long was I…?"

"About 24 hours," Dick said casually. The twist at the corner of his mouth gave away the worry. "You crashed once. Leslie got you back."

Jason shivered. Decided to blame that on the cold. Speaking of… "Why's it so cold in here?"

Dick winced, sympathetic. "Well, you kind of have hypothermia… Probably should have mentioned that. And we couldn't really move you upstairs until you were stable, so…"

Jason huffed. "Typical."

"Yeah." Dick paused. Brightened. "You up for some company?"

"What…?"

"Awesome." Dick shuffled to the edge of the infirmary, pulling back the curtain and calling: "Hey, guys! He's awake!"

And Jason must have blacked out or something, because he barely blinked and next thing he knew he was surrounded by people.

More specifically…family.

All of which were holding colorful packages in their arms, under their elbows, balanced on their heads (Dick), and grinning like the cheerful idiots they all became around the holiday season.

For a moment, no one said anything. Just stared at each other. Batgirls and Robins. The Bat himself hovering on the outskirts, unsure.

Then Damian stomped right up to Jason's bedside, cobalt eyes so like his father's glinting sharply. "You're an idiot, Todd," he announced without preamble.

That seemed to break whatever dam was governing the silence of the rest of the family. The resulting confusing tidal wave of words was enough to make Jason's head spin.

"Oh my gosh, Jason, we were worried sick—"

"Do you realize how much of a drag it would've been if you'd died on Christmas?"

"Thought B was gonna have a heart attack…"

"He almost gave me a heart attack watching him."

"Does this mean we can open presents now…?"

Through all the chaos, Cass' lithe form wove to the front of the crowd, perching gracefully on the edge of the med cot. She gave Jason a small smile. "Home," she stated; simple, sincere.

And maybe it was the spirit of the season, or the crushing (uplifting) realization that he wasn't dead; but as Jason watched his, dare he say, family clamoring over his head…the comfortable ache of something other than hate swelled in his chest.

"Yeah," Jason agreed, ignoring the telltale pressure rising behind his eyes. "Home."