Fic: Taking Charge
Title: Taking Charge
Prompt/Challenge: Crack!fic…at least that what it was supposed to be, it ended up more of a torment-poor-Jay fic.
Characters/Pairings: Jason, Alfred
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Warnings: Whiny Jay, foul language, self-betaed
Word Count: 864
Disclaimers: Don’t own, not making any money.
Summery: Jay is sick and Alfred swoops in.
Acknowledgements: Thank you
genclay for giving me something to focus on.
Author’s Notes: I am SICK as I write this so if it makes no sense or sucks ass, you know why ^_^;;
The polite knock on the door reverberates through his skull and it hurts to pulls the covers over his head as he tries to hide from the noise. Why can’t they just let him die in peace?! Better yet, why couldn’t then just kill him and get it over with?
He’s already chased out Goldie. And the Replacement. Not with fists mind you, he didn’t have the energy for that. But he did take some perverse pleasure in knowing that his foul mouthed whining had such a wonderful effect.
Dick looked pained as he’d bitched every time his older brother tried to touch him, finally departing. After the touchy-feely bastard gave him a kiss on the forehead of course. New Kid on the other hand had raised an eyebrow and shrugged before taking off with the cryptic threat of, “Someone will have to take care of you.”
So whoever is on the other side of the door must be that intended person. Who the hell would the brat send? Not Bruce, though if that happened, he’d probably get his wish about being killed. It wouldn’t be Babs, since his building isn’t wheelchair friendly. That batgirl chick? He isn’t sure how he feels about THAT idea. She cute enough and all but is almost as creepy as Tim.
“Go away,” he growls out from under his nest of blankets on the couch. Since he doesn’t actually own a bed, he’s been discovering that maybe he should really change that, given that his back is now killing him on top of the usual flu induced muscle aches.
He hears the door open and a disdainful little sniff. “I should think not, Master Jason. You clearly need some assistance in returning yourself back to health.” Oh no. This is worse the Bruce. MUCH worse. He turns his back to the door and pulls the blankets tight around him. If he ignores that man, maybe he’ll go away.
Maybe hell will freeze over.
The next thing he knows, the comforter is being pulled from his nerveless fingers and a cool hand is pressed to his burning forehead, followed by the clucking of a tongue. “Honestly. You of all people should know better. Now, sit up,” Alfred instructed.
Jay didn’t think about it beyond the fact that it hurt to move. He sat up because this is Alfred the only person alive who can cow the Bat, let alone a sick former vigilante. So when the next order of, “Open,” came he did as told and discovered a couple of pills deposited on his tongue and a bottle of water in his hand. Dutifully he swallowed them and sipped at the water, making a face and praying the nausea would hold off.
The proper Englishman looked him over appraisingly and nodded to himself. “What have you eaten?” Jay felt himself turning green at the very mention of food. “I see.”
He doesn’t remember closing his eyes, but there is a hand cradling his own and something is being pressed into it. Cracking an eye open he glanced from the digestive cookie to the butlers stern but kindly face. “Fuck! Are you TRYING to make me puke?!”
The man just looked down his long nose at the unwilling patient. “Language, Master Jason. While you undoubtedly feel quite miserable, that is no reason to be uncouth.”
Jay wilted at the rebuke and muttered an apology. Except that Alfred is still standing there, looking at him expectantly. Oh, right. He brings the cookie up to his lips and nibbles it tentatively. It actually tasted pretty freaking good and he had to work at not bolting it down. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until that moment.
Where did Alfred go? Looking around his dingy little squat only served to make his neck scream at him. He briefly considered getting up but…uh, no. Not going to happen. There is the sound of a toaster popping, wait, he had a toaster? It’s possible, given the mess he lived in.
Alfred comes back into view bearing a plate of dry toast and another bottle of water. “We are just waiting for the ginger ale to go flat, then you will have that also,” he announced, handing Jay the plate.
“Yes mommy,” the second Robin muttered resentfully, but he took the plate just the same. It’s probably just as well that he didn’t see the indulgent smile on the man’s face.
“If you behave, there are some popsicles in the freezer.” Alfred then turned on his heel and began picking week old dirty clothes off the floor. He wrinkled his nose and acted as though he is handling toxic waste, which may not be far from the truth. Jay could only groan…again.
House keeping isn’t high on his priority list, and the mess had tripped up his idiot brothers in the past so…
He didn’t even try to argue with Alfred. One look at his baleful expression of distain is enough to make Jason concentrate very carefully on eating his toast and think about having a popsicle in the near future. He’d be a good boy, really. Honest. At least until he was healthy again.
Prompt/Challenge: Crack!fic…at least that what it was supposed to be, it ended up more of a torment-poor-Jay fic.
Characters/Pairings: Jason, Alfred
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Warnings: Whiny Jay, foul language, self-betaed
Word Count: 864
Disclaimers: Don’t own, not making any money.
Summery: Jay is sick and Alfred swoops in.
Acknowledgements: Thank you
genclay for giving me something to focus on.
Author’s Notes: I am SICK as I write this so if it makes no sense or sucks ass, you know why ^_^;;
The polite knock on the door reverberates through his skull and it hurts to pulls the covers over his head as he tries to hide from the noise. Why can’t they just let him die in peace?! Better yet, why couldn’t then just kill him and get it over with?
He’s already chased out Goldie. And the Replacement. Not with fists mind you, he didn’t have the energy for that. But he did take some perverse pleasure in knowing that his foul mouthed whining had such a wonderful effect.
Dick looked pained as he’d bitched every time his older brother tried to touch him, finally departing. After the touchy-feely bastard gave him a kiss on the forehead of course. New Kid on the other hand had raised an eyebrow and shrugged before taking off with the cryptic threat of, “Someone will have to take care of you.”
So whoever is on the other side of the door must be that intended person. Who the hell would the brat send? Not Bruce, though if that happened, he’d probably get his wish about being killed. It wouldn’t be Babs, since his building isn’t wheelchair friendly. That batgirl chick? He isn’t sure how he feels about THAT idea. She cute enough and all but is almost as creepy as Tim.
“Go away,” he growls out from under his nest of blankets on the couch. Since he doesn’t actually own a bed, he’s been discovering that maybe he should really change that, given that his back is now killing him on top of the usual flu induced muscle aches.
He hears the door open and a disdainful little sniff. “I should think not, Master Jason. You clearly need some assistance in returning yourself back to health.” Oh no. This is worse the Bruce. MUCH worse. He turns his back to the door and pulls the blankets tight around him. If he ignores that man, maybe he’ll go away.
Maybe hell will freeze over.
The next thing he knows, the comforter is being pulled from his nerveless fingers and a cool hand is pressed to his burning forehead, followed by the clucking of a tongue. “Honestly. You of all people should know better. Now, sit up,” Alfred instructed.
Jay didn’t think about it beyond the fact that it hurt to move. He sat up because this is Alfred the only person alive who can cow the Bat, let alone a sick former vigilante. So when the next order of, “Open,” came he did as told and discovered a couple of pills deposited on his tongue and a bottle of water in his hand. Dutifully he swallowed them and sipped at the water, making a face and praying the nausea would hold off.
The proper Englishman looked him over appraisingly and nodded to himself. “What have you eaten?” Jay felt himself turning green at the very mention of food. “I see.”
He doesn’t remember closing his eyes, but there is a hand cradling his own and something is being pressed into it. Cracking an eye open he glanced from the digestive cookie to the butlers stern but kindly face. “Fuck! Are you TRYING to make me puke?!”
The man just looked down his long nose at the unwilling patient. “Language, Master Jason. While you undoubtedly feel quite miserable, that is no reason to be uncouth.”
Jay wilted at the rebuke and muttered an apology. Except that Alfred is still standing there, looking at him expectantly. Oh, right. He brings the cookie up to his lips and nibbles it tentatively. It actually tasted pretty freaking good and he had to work at not bolting it down. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until that moment.
Where did Alfred go? Looking around his dingy little squat only served to make his neck scream at him. He briefly considered getting up but…uh, no. Not going to happen. There is the sound of a toaster popping, wait, he had a toaster? It’s possible, given the mess he lived in.
Alfred comes back into view bearing a plate of dry toast and another bottle of water. “We are just waiting for the ginger ale to go flat, then you will have that also,” he announced, handing Jay the plate.
“Yes mommy,” the second Robin muttered resentfully, but he took the plate just the same. It’s probably just as well that he didn’t see the indulgent smile on the man’s face.
“If you behave, there are some popsicles in the freezer.” Alfred then turned on his heel and began picking week old dirty clothes off the floor. He wrinkled his nose and acted as though he is handling toxic waste, which may not be far from the truth. Jay could only groan…again.
House keeping isn’t high on his priority list, and the mess had tripped up his idiot brothers in the past so…
He didn’t even try to argue with Alfred. One look at his baleful expression of distain is enough to make Jason concentrate very carefully on eating his toast and think about having a popsicle in the near future. He’d be a good boy, really. Honest. At least until he was healthy again.