2014-03-31 - The Awakening: ...Only Pieces Remain.

When Jason was shown in the wee hours of the morning his old room; he paled even worse than he already was. It's obvious he never expected his childhood things to be there, untouched. He didn't say anything; he explored his old memories in there, and barely slept a week whenever he was checked on every three hour mark. He was a wreak.

Still, Jason didn't come down for lunch with the others. He remained locked away, purposely isolating himself.

It is just a little after lunch that another delivery arrives from a different private carrier service. This one, Jason had forgotten about in all the commotion actually. It is that brown cardboard tube with the white plastic cap ends, except this time it is addressed to Alfred. When pulled out and unrolled, it reveals a colored drawing of when Jason was young and Alfred was caring for him.



On the back there is only Jason's scratched words:

'...Only Pieces Remain.

I'm sorry.'

There is no way Jason could have arranged for this to arrive on this particular day unless it was before he faced Batman.

The cardboard tube was received, silently, by the person it was intended for. In the kitchen, besides the tray specially prepared for the Manor's latest arrival, the tube lies open. The drawing laid upon the countertop.

Blue eyes, showing only the faintest hint of the exhaustion Alfred must feel, shift to the drawing, stealing glances at it while the servant prepares the meal. There is only silence from the man, but the eyes, should one actually have been there to see, soften. They are caring eyes, the same as are depicted in the drawing.

With the tray prepped, delicate hands gently roll the picture and return it to the container. The tube is tucked under one arm, as the tray is lifted with one hand. Quietly, the thin figure leaves the kitchen, walking briskly to Jason's room. There is no deviation...no side-ward glances. For the moment, all attention is for the troubled soul on the other side of the door.

There is a gentle knock at the door. "Master Jason? May I be permitted to enter?"

There is silence at first, but finally there is a deep voice that says, "Enter Alfred."

Jason showered at some point, cleaning up. Though washing his hair was fun considering he had to be careful of the stitches. He wears a pair of sweats that Alfred likely got him, perhaps from Bruce or Dick, though Bruce's be slightly loose and Dick's just be slightly tight. He is sitting cross-legged on the floor as if he was in meditation. "You know you don't need to troub...," but Jason doesn't finish his words as his eyes move toward the cardboard tube and he winces slightly. He...totally forgot!

If the wincing was noticed, there is no visual response from the man bearing lunch. Alfred enters the room in a practiced manner, placing the tray bearing the prepared lunch neatly upon a table by one of the windows...the same table he has always set when Jason was younger. As he does so, he speaks, facing away from Jason while preparing the table. "I know, sir. However, you know that I must."

As Alfred turns to regard Jason, that cardboard tube remains tucked neatly under his left arm. Heels together, those blue eyes flicker, noting the fit. "Regrettably, I hadn't had the time to fetch some proper clothing for you. I do hope that Master Bruce's exercise garments are suitable for the time being." The tube is placed down, besides Alfred, but in front of Jason, as Alfred steps away, circling towards the back of Jason. "If you would permit me to inspect your stitches..." Of course, Alfred is going to check whether Jason likes it or not, but at least he has the common decency to ask first.

"They are more than enough," Jason states. He unfolds himself, a little stiffly because of the brusing beneath the clothes. He stiffens at the mention of his stitches. Jason apparently has not let go of his dislike of someone standing behind him. But he forces himself to relax, and to flop in the chair by the table, "I guess," seeming to suddenly look uncomfortable or embarrassed. "I was careful not to get shampoo in it I think." Maybe.

When Alfred gets a look at the wound, he would notice it healing surprisingly well, which...is odd, since it isn't twenty-four hours yet. Still, it appears to be on the mend as swelling has faded greatly.

The touch is delicate, barely noticeable and quick, as Alfred brushes aside the wet hair just long enough to inspect the head trauma. There is a slight pursing of the lips, just a faint hmm as Alfred notes the rather fast healing, but nothing more. He steps out from behind, sidestepping the cardboard tube still standing on its end, emerging in front of Jason. The elderly face is...smiling? A slight smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"You did well, Master Jason." Wait, is Alfred talking about the shampoo? No, that can't be it. Not something that trifle. "Thank you. Both for bringing Master Bruce home. And, for your gift." At the word 'gift', a hand leaves from Alfred's side, indicating the drawing, tucked away safely in its protective case.

There is a moment of silence. A moment where both men look upon each other, as if seeing which one will speak first.

Jason blinks at Alfred, then says quietly, "You are a strange one Alfred, always were." He glances away at the food, never much for talking about his feelings, in a very productive manner anyway. He picks up a fork and pokes at his food, unsure what to say. Communication never was his strong point.

Still, for Alfred? He says quietly, "I'm glad you like it." He...actually sounds sincere about that. The boy didn't really draw before his death, it must have been something he picked up afterwards. "How...how is Bruce?" Yep, that communication thing, showing he cares, it's really hard for him to do. But Alfred won't tattle on him, right?

"Master Bruce is stable. He took the brunt of whatever explosion you and him were close to." Alfred may not be a master detective, but he knows shrapnel patterns when he sees them. "He will recover and return to his usual form in time." There is a slight roll of the eyes as Alfred comments. "Of course, that will not be quick enough for Master Bruce. Restraints may be necessary." A joke. Or, at least Alfred's form of one.

Then, after the snarky comment, a moment of truth. "He grieved for you. We both did. It was a dark time for him....struggling with his conscious, his actions that led to that day. I haven't seen him like that since after the death of his parents." Alfred pauses, as if searching for the words. Or, perhaps, simply to let Jason take in what he said...giving him time to process.

"You two are alike in more ways than either of you realize. He has a hard time opening up, too."

A snort, "I suggest duck tape," is Jason's response. Hey, it's tougher to get out of than rope! Though at the talk of Bruce grieving, he says, "Don't try Alfred. He has pictures of his mom and dad up, a painting, but me he has a damn empty uniform that says 'A Good Soldier', and got a replacement. I don't know what his game is, but missing me wasn't top of his list." The bitterness is still there, the hurt and pain.

Jason even had difficulties with Dick at first, fearful that Dick would reclaim the Robin uniform, fear of measuring up to who Dick was, and such. He was never comfortable in his own skin, and the Robin position meant a lot to him. He's also poking at his food rather than eating.

Alfred's response is steady...firm...measured. "Forgive me, Master Jason. It was not my intention to upset you. I merely sought to tell you the words that Master Bruce would, if he allowed himself to." The blue eyes shift, away from Jason, towards the door of the room and beyond. "As I mentioned, you two are alike. You both are afraid of getting hurt and do what you must to not feel that sort of anguish again."

A glance is stolen, focusing on the cardboard tube before returning to Jason. "Permit me one more indulgence, then I shall speak no more of the matter, Master Jason." Alfred hesitates, for the briefest of moments, before he utters three words. Three little words, but each word spoken with the truest sincerity.

"You are forgiven."

But can Jason forgive Bruce for not killing Joker? He...doesn't know. However, Alfred works hit something deep in the man and the fork clatters as he stops even pretending to be eating. He swallows hard, and he has to raise his hands to hide his face, elbows on the table. It's better this way, he...doesn't want his face to be seen, he wishes he didn't blow up his stupid helmet now!

It takes a few moments before Jason speaks, his voice rough sounding, "I don't know about forgiving or forgiven. I don't even know if I want forgiveness Alfred. Everything is upside down, sometimes I still hear screams in my head and I think they are my own, echoes of what was," his voice breaking with emotion ranging from pain to self-bitterness, to anger. "It wasn't pleasant, learning to live again...it was a nightmare, and I'm not sure I ever woke up from it."

But Jason's voice breaks again, "I want to wake up..."

"One cannot take forgiveness. It can only be given and accepted." The words from Alfred pierce through the darkness. "The same can be said of assistance. It can be given and accepted. Never taken by force."

Footsteps sound in the room, first leading towards the spot where the package stood, then away, toward the bed...in particular a nightstand close to the headboard. As the footsteps sound out, Alfred's voice can be heard. "If you will allow it, we will make things right." Then, noticeably, Alfred switches, his next words definitely meant to be from him alone. "I will be here to wake you...to chase away the nightmares, as I always have."

Should Jason look up from his hands, he will catch Alfred looking away, for just a moment, adjusting something upon the nightstand. As he steps away, Jason would find that Alfred placed a teddy bear turned upright upon the nightstand....the very same teddy bear depicted in the drawing that is, once again, tucked under his arm.

Jason does lower his hands from his face. No tears, but his expression is strained and painted. "It isn't that I don't trust you Alfred...," but he wouldn't be surprised if Damian tried to stab him to get him out of the house. "I can't stay here," bitterness there. "Even without everything else, I screwed things up with Damian...he hates me. The way he attacked Dick...I didn't expect that. He really hates me." And that actually hurts Jason.

So badly right now, Jason just wants to act like a kid, climb into bed, and let Alfred tuck him in and turn off the light and pretend everything will be alright after a few hours of sleep.

Jason moves to stand finally, "I made my bed, now I have to sleep in it, though...not literally."

The young man moves closer to Alfred, but when he does he goes to pick up the teddy bear. He smirks a bit at it. "Stuffed animals. I didn't even know what to do with this when it was given to me. They were for kids, right?" Jason never got rid of it though, and was secretly attached to it. A symbol of normalcy. A normalcy that he felt a little bit with Alfred. "Thank you," he sends quietly, his words ringing sincere. Whatever happens, he is thankful to Alfred, deeply so.

The older gentleman looks up, offering a nod to the taller Jason. "You are very much welcome, Master Jason." The look lingers, just a hair longer than normal, the expression very much grandfatherly. The eyes drop to the stuffed animal, and that slight smile returns, albeit fleetingly. "And...thank you again, for allowing an old man to say his peace."

With that, the heels click together and a slight bow is offered to Jason. "Now, if you would excuse me, Master Jason, it is time for me to make my rounds." He glances back towards the plate of food, just shuffled around and uneaten, then back to Jason. "Please feel free to stay as long as you wish."