Chapter Text
The door of Jason's bedroom opened. He sat up, preparing for an attack, a fight. Instead, it was Talia, still in her day clothes.
"Go to sleep." Jason groaned, lying back down.
Talia sat on the edge of his bed. "Jason. You're leaving tomorrow."
Jason bolted upright. "What? No. No, I'm not." They'd talked about Jason leaving, going back into the outside world, but not yet. Not yet.
"You don't have any choice. You're going back to Gotham."
"What? You're sending me away and forcing me to go back... there?" Gotham held too many old memories. He planned on going to Europe, maybe Latin America, somewhere out of the Bats' jurisdiction. Not right under his fucking nose.
"Jason, this isn't just about you."
"Really? Because it sounds like you're kicking me out." He said bitterly.
"Jason, Ra's is planning something for Damian."
"What?" It could be anything, a new sacrifice, a new training regime, some damn punishment even though the kid did nothing wrong because Ra's was a sadist.
"I don't know, but I'm tired of seeing my son suffer at his hands. You are leaving tomorrow, and you're bringing Damian with you."
"And you want me to go to Gotham because...?"
"So Bruce can take care protect you."
"Right, right. Last time he tried to take care of a kid, the kid sorta died, so, I dunno, maybe not the best idea?"
"You don't have to live with him, hell, I don't want you or Damian living with him, but I just... want him around, to protect you. Am I understood?"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Now let me get some sleep, will you? Gotham drains a hell of a lot out of a person." Jason grumbled as he laid down.
"Jason." Talia said, a mere whisper. Jason hummed. "Protect him, okay? No matter what."
Jason looked up at Talia. He knew he'd miss her. She'd been the best parent he'd ever had, aside from Alfred, maybe. She was the first person in a long time to actually give a damn about him, and as much as he'd rather stay in Nanda Parbat with Talia, letting her wake him up by running her hand through his hair, he knew he would always prioritize Damian over himself. And, truthfully, he wasn't sure how many more torture sessions he could stand before the Pit took over and Jason ripped Ra's' face off.
"Promise me." Talia ran a hand through his hair.
Jason nodded. "I promise."
Talia paused, then slowly leaned over, pressing a kiss to Jason's hair. "Thank you, habibi."
"Sure, Ma."
++--------00000000--------++
Damian sat up from where he was hiding under a blanket. "We're far enough." He said, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders.
"Yeah, until your grandfather sends assassins after us."
"He will." He said, running his finger across the scar on the back of his hand.
"How's your," Jason ran his finger across his own cheek.
Damian wrinkled his nose. "It will heal. Possibly, it won't even leave a scar."
Jason hummed.
Damian put his feet up on the dashboard. "What is my father like?"
"An asshole." Damian had asked the question before. Jason gave the same answer every time.
Damian groaned. "No, but like what was he like? How did he act? Before you died, did you like him?"
Jason's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Yes."
"Was he kind?"
"For a dad, I suppose."
"Well, what does that mean?"
"It means, I've never had a father that didn't let me down. Bru-"
"No. Before you were angry with him. How did you feel about him?" Damian was getting frustrated with him.
"He was... we... he gave good hugs. He went to all my school events. He tried, I guess."
"Mother says she wrote to him telling him about me, so he is ready for our arrival. What do you think he'll think of me?"
Jason looked at the kid out of the corner of his eyes. He was curled in on himself. At some point he had grabbed a knife, and was currently twirling it. Jason pointed at it. "He won't like that."
Damian stopped twirling the knife. "What do you mean?"
"He's not into murder, or knives. And he was really overprotective."
"I'm not going to hurt myself." Damian said, as if it was completely ludicrous.
"He doesn't know that. You're ten."
Damian set the knife down, and Jason saw him immediately tense. He was nervous, and needed something to do with his hands. Jason sighed, and handed him the knife back. "But, lucky for you, the old man isn't here, so you can play with all the sharp objects you like. And I think Bruce will love you, and be proud of you."
Damian took the knife again and began tapping it on his knee. He paused, then turned to Jason. "Is it true that American children play a game where they try to stab each other?"
Jason spluttered. "I'm sorry?"
"I believe it's called the knife game?"
He held his hand up, spreading his fingers out and stabbing the knife in the gaps between his fingers. Jason laughed.
"Oh, yes, the knife game. I never played, but I wouldn't be surprised if other children did, especially in Gotham."
Damian lowered the knife but kept his hand up. "I think I would be good at that." He tilted his head, as if inspecting his hand, wiggling his fingers.
"I wouldn't doubt it."
Damian dropped his hand and looked over at Jason. "Will I go to school?"
"Possibly. Probably. Education is important, you know."
Damian nodded. "I know, but I'm plenty educated already."
"I know. But... you could also make friends." He says, trying to remain peppy.
"I will not be making friends."
"Awe, why not?"
"Friends are distractions which can be used against me."
"Yeah, well, I mean, so am I."
"But you can take care of yourself."
"Okay... so... no friends. Got it. Sports?"
"I am much more athletic than the average child my age. They would slow me down."
"Right, right." An idea came to Jason, and he grinned. "Drama?"
"Excuse me?"
"You know, theater? Musicals, plays, entertainment!"
"I am not a piece of entertainment."
"No, no, of course not. But, you know, a lot of rich folks are entertainers. It's a very successful profession."
Damian looked at him suspiciously. "Did you do theater in school?"
"Why, yes, in fact, I did."
Damian snorted. "Were you any good?"
"I was told I was." He smiled smugly.
"Hm. Perhaps you should pursue a career in theater. Mother's money will only last us for so long."
"Well, I figured your father could catch up on child support."
"We should not rely solely on him. For money or for protection. I know mother trusts him, but I do not. Nor do I want my livelihood in the hands of a stranger."
"Yeah, good point. I don't know what I'm gonna do for work once we get there."
"I would think in a city as crime ridden as Gotham, crime would pay well."
Jason laughed. "So, what? I'll go work for the mafia?"
"You're a decent enough fighter, you're legally dead, and you have access to a lot of money. You would be useful."
"I ain't working for those assholes."
They fell into a comfortable silence for a little bit, when suddenly the car jolted, swerving out of control.
"What was that?" Damian yelled.
"If I had to guess, Ra's." Jason pulled Damian into the driver's seat, grabbing his gun and rolling down the window. He shot at the car behind them, but it gained on them regardless. "Go faster!" He yelled at Damian.
"I can't reach the pedals!" He said angrily.
"Shit. Okay, um, shit. Switch." He pushed the gun into Damian's hands and sat back in the driver's seat.
Damian shoots at the car behind them. He fires two shots. "I took out the tires and incapacitated the driver. Would you like me to kill them?"
Jason shakes his head. "Naw, that's fine."
Damian nods, sitting down and rolling up the window. "I detest guns, you know." He throws the gun into the back. "They're a coward's weapon."
"You sure are a good shot, though."
"Of course I am." He lifts his chin proudly. "Oh, also, we are rapidly losing air in the tires. They shot them."
Jason sighed, his lips pressed into a thin line. "Oh, yeah, thanks for the heads up." He said sarcastically as he slammed on the breaks, sending Damian lurching forward. "I'll go change them. Stay here. If shots are fired, drive." He slides the seat forward.
Damian slid into the driver's seat, gripping the steering wheel tightly. He heard the back door open, then Jason rummaging around. It was quiet for a while, before Jason threw the tools back into the truck, slamming the door closed. Damian returned to his own seat as Jason opened the door. He was pressing the gas practically before he was even fully in the car.
Damian put his feet back on the dashboard, leaning back and looking up at the roof of the car. Jason reached over and placed a hand in Damian's hair. Damian flinched, ripping away so hard he slammed into the window.
"Woah, kiddo, you okay?" He placed a hand on Damian's shoulder.
"Yes." He said, feeling Jason's hand leave his shoulder. He cringed, wishing he hadn't flinched; he liked it when Jason or Mother ran their hands through his hair. He closed his eyes, slowing his breathing.
"Woah, hey kid. I need you to stay awake, okay? At least until we get to the plane. Then you'll get like fifteen hours to sleep. I promise."
Damian pried his eyes open. "How much longer until the airport?"
Jason checked the GPS. "About thirty minutes."
Damian nodded. "I can stay awake until then."
"Good."
"What is Gotham like?"
Jason chuckled a little. He narrowed his eyes a little, looking intently into the distance. He looked sad, in a way. This was the only type of sad Jason ever showed to Damian. He had never seen Jason cry, or heard his voice waver. He was only ever angry, and if he wasn't angry, he'd get this far away, glazed look in his eyes. Damian wasn't sure what it was, really, but it looked like sadness.
"Gotham was... well... it depended on where you were from, really. In Bristol, where Bruce lives, there's lots of space between the houses. Wayne Manor was surrounded by a forest. The lawn was always green, and there was a lot of pretty flower bushes everywhere. Alfred took really good care of the lawn and gardens. I think... I think the garden was Martha's- your grandmother's- before she died. I remember most of the flowers were some of her favorites."
"Perhaps Father's father took charge of the gardens, and dedicated it to her."
"Yeah, maybe. Thomas was a bit of a romantic, from what Alfred told me."
"What about where you grew up?"
"Huh?"
"Before Bruce adopted you. Where were you? What was it like?"
"I lived in Crime Alley. I mean, technically it was called Park Row, but I didn't even know that until I was like, twelve, so.... It was... the Alley was a shithole, to put it lightly. Everyone was a criminal, or had some kind of record. I... for a while I hung out with these kids. They were drug dealers, pickpockets, the works. They were nice enough, as long as you didn't bother them. I was only allowed to hang around for so long because I didn't complain, and it was easier to get away with shit if there was a little kid around. When I was about eight, the leader got busted for grand theft auto or something. I remember my d- Willis was really pissed about it. He wasn't concerned for the kid or anything, he was just mad he didn't have anyone to babysit me for free. After my dad got put in the slammer and my mom died, I ended up on the street. That was hell. I had to... I did a lot of things I'm not proud of. On the streets I didn't have anyone to look out for me, except for the occasional prostitute. I probably almost died at least a dozen times."
Damian stared at him. He tried to imagine Jason, not as the tall, strong, stubborn boy he was now, but as a little kid. He couldn't see it. He couldn't imagine Jason being small, or weak, or powerless. Jason was like a constant in life, strong and tough and reliable. It was strange to know that he had not always been like this.
Jason kept his eyes forward.
"Jason?"
"Yeah, bud?"
"I'm glad you didn't die. In the streets, I mean. I think I would have missed you."
"Awe, it does care."
"'It' does, despite it's better judgment."
"Well, if it comforts it to know, I care about it too."
"It knows. You're horrible at hiding it."
Jason laughed, shoving Damian into the window.