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He couldn’t remember a time in his life where he hadn’t coughed up flower petals. Ever since elementary school, he had flowers in his lungs. Purple lilac for the girl he had a crush on. Yellow roses for his few friends he had. When she was alive, yellow azaleas for Catherine and when she passed, dark crimson roses. Even the occasional marigolds for her. The moment he knew he was dying, he spit out white poppies and cyclamen, both stained dark red.
When Jason dug himself out of his grave, one of the few things he remembered was the bright purple hyacinth he pulled out of his mouth.
When Talia pulled him out of the pit, he hoped - prayed - it would be fixed.
It wasn’t. If anything, it got worse.
Red carnations, magenta zinnias, pink camellia. He didn’t know who they were for. He didn’t even know what his condition was called until Talia told him. He thought he was the only one for the longest time.
“It’s called hanahaki, Jason.”
“What is?” Jason asked, confused. She caught him off guard, he had no idea what she was talking about. Talia gave him a sad smile, before delicately coughing into her palm. She revealed a single, stained red carnation.
There was no cure, apparently. Not for Jason. Figures even for some deadly disease, he would be the exception.
For normal people, their lungs would fill up with flowers until their love was returned, often for a lover (Like in Talia’s case). For Jason, it was different.
He still had love for his dead mother, Catherine. She couldn’t return the affection. He still had love for Bruce, and look how that ended up. Everytime he even thought about the older man, he coughed up dark red roses, darker than the blood that stained every last petal. He coughed up flowers that signified love for people Jason had no idea who they were. He wasn’t aware he had any romantic love for anyone, which kind of sucked considering he kept coughing up red rose and carnation petals.
How could he heal the deep, aching wounds in his heart filled (quite literally) with roots if there was no one to return his affection?
Talia stopping trying to manipulate him into getting revenge against Bruce. Even she knew Jason wasn’t going to last that long. Before he died, he coughed up maybe one or two petals a day. Now, he was coughing up full flowers by the hour. Jason couldn’t take a full breath in, thorns pricking the inside of his lungs. On bad days, he only coughed up dead leaves and withered roses. On really bad days, ones where he felt like he was suffocating, poppies and cyclamen.
He made Talia promise she wouldn’t resurrect him with the pit if he suffocated in his sleep. She readily agreed, face pinched.
At first, Talia may have been indifferent to the teenager she resurrected, originally just a plot to get back at his adopted father, but knowing a child, and he really was a child, was suffering from the same condition as her made her grow affection for him, which terrified her. She had shown him the flower for Bruce but not the yellow azaleas for Damian, nor the purple hyacinth she found one morning that could only be for Jason.
The purple hyacinth had to be for him. When he finally had his memories returned, he broke down sobbing, piles of bloody petals surrounding him. He thought he was finally free from the horrible disease that was plaguing him and instead, he had to live another day, coughing up flowers that were slowly killing him. Talia regretted it as much as she didn’t.
As time passed, Jason grew weaker. Cyclamen frequently joined the crimson roses and dead leaves. Ra’s remained oblivious to Talia and Jason’s plight.
One day, Jason let out a weak laugh. He was writing in an old leather notebook Talia gave him. When Talia gave him a questioning glance, he explained he died by smoke inhalation, it was only right he died by suffocation this time. Then he gave her his notebook.
It was mostly a journal, Jason logging the different flowers he coughed up, notations about each flower’s meaning highlighted. Some of the pages were stained with flaky brown spots. Others had interesting petals glued inside. The page he was working on had a drawing of a pair of lungs, overrun with flowers.
“That’s what I think my lungs look like. Prob’ly not too unrealistic, huh?”
He refused her offers for medical assistance. There were some medications that would help the roots die out or postpone the growing. By now, she had accepted that she liked having Jason around, only about at the time where he was beyond saving, even if he wanted help. He didn’t.
“I’ve been dyin’ for ages, T. I dunno know how B didn’t know I was patrollin’ with lungs fulla flowers, but it’s not worth tryin’ ta stay alive anymore.”
When he grew too weak to stand on his own, Talia made a decision.
“I’m taking you to Gotham,” she announced one day. Jason pulled a stained marigold from his lips.
“Why’s that?” He asked, taking a sip of water. It had been three years since she pulled him from the swirling green waters.
“Did you not say you wanted to be buried there?”
She didn’t tell him about her secret hopes he might reconcile with his family. He knew anyway.
“T, they’re not gonna recognize me and I don’t want ‘em ta have ta lose me all over again.”
In the end, she convinced him to at least travel with her. She did have another reason - she needed Damian to be safe with his father. Jason only agreed to see his family if he was disguised as one of Damian’s guards. That meant a cloak with their family crest embroidered on the left breast and a hood trimmed with gold fabric. Talia gave him a new set of daggers as well. Jason pretended not to like them.
The moment the trio stepped across the Gotham border, Jason felt a shiver go up his spine. Talia gave him a questioning glance, ruined only by her gently pulling a withered leaf from her mouth. He shook his head. Let’s just go, he mouthed. They continued through the shadows. It was dusk, so it didn’t look incredibly suspicious. They ignored the blaring sirens, the screams, the gunshots, continuing onwards to the manor.
In the end, Talia was the one to knock on the door. The main entrance door, might he add. Their order was as followed; Talia, standing half in front of Damian, with Jason half a step behind both, quietly choking. He spit out a few dark red rose petals. Great. He tucked them into his pocket.
Alfred Pennyworth answered the door, looking unsurprised by the visitors. A mild expression set firmly on his face. Jason resisted the urge to cough again.
Pennyworth ushered the trio into the formal parlor. Talia and Damian sat down on one of the couches. Jason stood behind them, blankly staring at the floor. There was a splotch stained on the wood. Brown. It looked like dried blood. Jason looked away.
Soon, Bruce appeared. Jason tried his very best not to flinch. Judging by Talia’s glance back, he didn’t succeed. Bruce didn’t acknowledge him or Damian.
“Talia.”
“Beloved.”
When the silence got too awkward, Jason tapped on Damian’s shoulder. Three pairs of eyes shot up to his covered face. Thank God for the hood on the cloak. Jason inclined his head, not trusting himself to speak. With one hand, he signed; explore? in ASL, something he learned during his Robin days. Bruce’s lips tightened, but allowed the two boys to slip away.
Jason nodded solemnly to Alfred, who was politely lurking outside. Library Jason signed, after the man made an aborted move to stop them. Alfred paused and pointed (unnecessarily) down the hall. Jason nodded gratefully. Damian watched the whole exchange silently.
When they were down the hall more, Damian whispered to Jason in the League-dialect.
“Ahki? Where are we going?” Damian didn’t know the American sign language, only Arabic sign language.
“Library.” Jason’s throat was killing him so he was reduced to as few syllables as possible. If Jason hadn’t known him for as long as he didn’t, he wouldn’t notice Damian’s growing excitement.
When they reached the library, both searched the perimeter before they did anything else. Part paranoia, part Jason-didn’t-want-to-see-anyone-else. When the coast was clear, Jason walked calmly (hurried over) to the section that used to be his favorite. It looked untouched, save for one missing book. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy was the last book Jason remembered reading. It must still be in his room, assuming his room stayed the same.
He ignored Damian’s confused noise behind him, gently pulling one of the fragile spines from the shelf. Anne of Green Gables. A rush of memories flooding his brain left him breathless.
Bruce gifting him a first edition copy for Christmas, along with one with pretty cover art that was worth way less.
Jason staying behind from patrol to read it for two days, rushing through his homework so he could get back to it.
The first time he got sick, forcing Bruce to read it to him and bawling his eyes out when Anne got sent back to the orphanage.
Those memories and more returned as he merely touched the spine. He coughed up a marigold. Damian continued to watch him silently.
“Ahki, sit down!” Damian’s voice ordered, making Jason realize he was practically swaying. He sank down in the nearest chair, a soft, leather one. Damian, after a second’s hesitation, curled up on Jason’s lap.
Damian usually didn’t initiate physical touch, but he seemed to realize that Jason wasn’t going to be alive for much longer. He shoved his shoulder underneath Jason’s arm, positively dwarfed by Jason’s broad frame. Jason didn’t mind at all.
“Mrs. Rachel Lynde lived…”
Although his throat was scratchy and he had to pause to cough out petals every few minutes, Jason read the first few chapters to Damian, stopping when the boy fell asleep. They were both drained from traveling and being on-guard for hours. Jason slowly felt himself drifting off too. They were across the room from the fireplace, close enough to stay warm but far enough that they wouldn’t overheat. It was nice.
Hours later, Talia found herself trailing after Bruce, trying to find her (their) two sons. They came across the library, and when Bruce made a move to walk away, Talia stopped him silently. She crept closer to the doors, nudging them open.
The sight made both of them stop.
Jason was curled up around Damian, squished into an armchair. Damian was clinging to his neck. Even in his sleep, Jason’s lower face looked pinched. His hood covered the top half of his face but Talia could imagine the crease between his brows. When she glanced over at her beloved, his face looked concerned.
“Are they alright?” She didn’t know which one he was talking about.
“Who?”
“Either. Both.”
Talia sighed.
“They will be.” She left off the part where his son - Jason was still his son as much as he was her own - was dying from the same disease she was. He didn’t know she had it either. She also left off the part where, without Damian, both her and Jason would be weaker, both mentally and physically.
They didn’t stay at the manor. Talia knew Jason wouldn’t be able to sleep through the night there. He had awakened only a few minutes after she and Bruce walked in, though he pretended to stay asleep until they left.
When they arrived in their hotel room, Talia made to check the perimeter. She had only taken a few steps when she heard the thunk of someone hitting the ground and Damian's shriek of surprise. She whirled around, expecting an attack, only to see Jason kneeling on the ground, hands around his neck. Normally, Talia would have tried the Heimlich but that would potentially tear open his throat if the stems or thorns got caught.
If felt like ages before Jason sputtered, a full, stained pink mum falling from his mouth. His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he looked at Talia. Damian looked horrified.
“T? I- I don’t-” he stuttered. The pure, unadulterated fear in his eyes made Talia hold back a sob. She never intended to get attached to him, never even intended to be a mother, but now she knew what Bruce must have felt when he lost Jason the first time.
Talia gently hushed Jason, gathering him up in her arms. He refused to cry in front of Damian, something he told Talia one night, and Talia didn’t intend for Damian to see it now. She helped him off the floor, carefully depositing him into her room. She had gotten a hotel room with a separate one for herself, but by now she assumed Jason would be taking that room. If he passed tonight, they both didn’t want that to be the first thing Damian saw in the morning.
When he was situated on her bed, eyes half-shut, she eased the door closed. Damian still stood, frozen.
“Damian, go wash your hands,” she instructed him kindly, grabbing a tissue to pick up the bloody flower.
All three knew what mums signified. They were funeral flowers, after all.
Jason survived the night, somehow, but his energy was vastly depleted. He insisted on joining them at the manor, hood pulled over his head. Talia noticed he didn’t bring as many weapons as he had earlier - either from the feeling of security at the manor or the weight being too heavy, she did not know.
Bruce was the one to answer the door this time, leading the trio into a dining room. Talia wasn’t stupid to think this was the only dining room they had, but it had a certain homey feel that she did not think typical guests got to see. It was also smaller than any formal dining room she had been in before. Bruce sat at the head of the table, Talia at the foot. Jason sat next to Talia, putting Damian between him and Bruce. The two place settings across from them remained empty.
Their meal was quiet but not awkward. Damian and Bruce were engaged in a conversation that resembled more of a two-way interrogation than normal conversation. Jason sat silently, picking at his food. Pennyworth raised an eyebrow at that, but when Talia made a motion to her neck, he nodded and brought Jason some tea. Jason’s hands trembled ever-so-slightly when he reached for the cup. Talia stayed silent, watching her beloved and second-born son converse.
Abruptly, Jason pushed his chair back, nearly knocking it over. He disappeared through the door, ignoring everyone’s concerned voices.
Talia was the first to find him, hunched over a pile of blood and petals. Pennyworth and Damian simultaneously let out horrified gasps. Bruce hurried away, only to bring some dark colored towels and a bucket. Jason was wheezing for breath by now, shaking from sheer exertion alone. When Bruce went to lift Jason’s hood, Talia reached out.
“No, beloved. Please,” she pleaded. She got Jason into this mess, it was only her right to protect his wishes. And Jason really, really didn’t want Bruce to know he was alive.
Bruce looked at her strangely but nodded sharply. He handed her a towel, before helping Pennyworth clean up the flowers and blood on the floor, dropping everything in the bucket.
Jason choked.
“Talia, I’m, I’m dying, I think,” Jason gasped in League dialect. Talia set her mouth.
“What does it feel like?” She asked, pressing a hand to his cheek. He panted, a tear running down his face.
“Poppy. Lots of them.” He said this in English, heavily accented. Everyone made wounded noises, surprisingly Bruce was the loudest.
“Can we take him to the hospital?” Bruce asked, frantically. Jason shook his head.
“No, no. Please, no,” he begged.
“Let’s take him to the medbay then. Please, let us help.”
Bruce ended up carrying Jason down the stairs with Talia flitting about anxiously. Damian was in a state of shock. Pennyworth was hurrying ahead to prepare the medbay.
They reached the medbay too late. Jason was no longer breathing.
“Can’t we resurrect him? Talia, please!”
“He didn’t want to be resurrected, nor put in the pit. I’m sorry Bruce.”
“Can’t I know what he looked like?”
“...No. I’m sorry.”
That’s how Nightwing and Robin found the fiv- four of them. Richard found them first.
“B? Where are y- Oh my God. Tim, stay where you are.”
Talia didn’t look up from where she had sank down on the floor, the cold seeping into her legs from the concrete. Damian was crying silently, small hand clutching Jason’s. Talia knew his hands were cold, he always felt like a corpse, even before she put him in the pit, but it had to be bone chilling by now. Bruce was collapsed in a chair, processing the events from the past two days. She didn’t know where Pennyworth was.
“What’s wrong, Dick?”
“Tim, do not come over here-”
Richard hurried away, gagging once. Talia let herself break. She sobbed, hiccuping to hide the deep crimson rose petals that came up. Damian looked torn between staying with his brother and comforting his mother. Bruce made the decision for him, hugging Talia’s lithe frame tightly to his chest.
“Who was he to you?” Bruce’s voice rumbled. Talia, on her life, would never admit how much comfort it brought her.
“My son,” she gasped, shaking.
“He was my son and without him, I don’t know what to do. Bruce, beloved, please. You must keep Damian safe. I’m dying too.”
“Talia, wh-”
"Forgive me, beloved."
To make sure Jason didn’t get resurrected again, Talia had him cremated. Jason didn’t care if he was buried or cremated, he just wanted some part of him in Gotham. On good days, he would joke about which limbs he wanted Talia to put where. She spread a third of the ashes over Catherine Todd’s grave and a third into the harbor. The last third, she split in two, giving one small box to Damian and selfishly keeping one for herself. The last thing she did before she left Gotham for good was place a single black rose on Catherine’s grave.