Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jason was a little in over his head, he had to admit.

He wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but as he collapsed to his knees, his hands putting frantic pressure on the fresh gunshot wound to his side, he was running out of options.

Glaring at Black Mask was one of the few things he could manage as he tried to catch his breath.

Catch his breath while he couldn’t even get a full breath in…

Fuck.

Did it nick his lung?

Shit he was in deep.

Think, Todd.

Black Mask was holding his stupid piece of alien tech he swore was a time travel device. He’d purchased it with the sole purpose of going back in time and murdering Jason, long before Jason even met Black Mask and fucked up his grand plans.

Jason could laugh, if his side didn’t hurt so much. He’d been murdered before. Clearly that strategy didn’t work, when it came to keeping Jason out of people’s hair.

“Why not kill me now?” he asked, putting more pressure on the wound. It was leaking blood at an alarming rate. If he got away from Mask, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do.

The hospital would just hand him right over to GCPD, unless he managed to ditch his Red Hood gear, first.

But realistically, he had minutes, not hours before he needed medical attention.

Leslie maybe? Leslie would help him, no matter how much she hated what he was doing. Leslie helped everyone.

“I just did,” Black Mask scoffed, and he was probably right. Jason didn’t see an easy way out, “but you’ve already ruined so many of my plans. This,” he held the device in his hand up for emphasis, “will fix everything.”

Jason shifted, pulling one of his legs out from under himself in a failed attempt to get up. He groaned, doubling over on his stomach, before he lifted his face and forced out, “Yeah, right. You don’t even know where—where to find me.”

In all honesty, Jason didn’t even know where to find Jason, for a good several years of his childhood. And even before he was homeless, his parents got evicted so often, he’d lived in dozens of apartments. Tracking him down was going to be impossible.

“I have my ways. Besides, Batman is bound to be by your side.”

“Right,” Jason exhaled, blowing a puff of air up into his sweaty bangs, his helmet having been removed ages ago. Not that it mattered, somehow Black Mask knew his name was Jason.

He was fairly certain Mask didn’t know who Batman was, though. Other than to know he’d adopted Jason. But how would he connect Jason to Jason Todd? Dead son of billionaire Bruce Wayne?

Not that it even mattered. Mask said he was going back ‘ten years,’ and Jason definitely wasn’t with Bruce then... But why tell Mask that?

Rule number one in warfare: never interrupt your opponent while he’s making a mistake.

Black Mask flipped the device over in his hand, and pressed one last button on the back. The whole thing lit up, and started making a strange, whirring noise, as the lights around them flickered.

Jason hadn’t believed it would work as advertised, but shit it might.

Even if Jason was dead, that didn’t mean Mask should be allowed to go back into the past and terrorize them.

Past Batman wouldn’t be prepared for Mask. Wouldn’t be prepared for half the villains he dealt with now.

“Fuck,” he panted, as adrenaline rushed through his body. Just enough that he was able to push himself back to his feet and lunge over at Mask.

Villains during Dick’s tenure as Robin were much more tame. Much more lame. Mask did a lot more murder than Dick and Bruce were used to.

Mask could cause a lot of damage before Bats took him down.

The struggle for the device was rather pathetic, if Jason said so himself. He grabbed onto it, trying his best to get a grip on the slick, smooth surface to pull it away from Black Mask.

But all Mask had to do was press one last button, and the whirring turned into loud buzzing, bringing all the lights in the room up brighter as a shot of electricity ran through Jason’s body.

And as the lights in the room blacked out, so did Jason.

Chapter Text

When Jason woke up, everything felt off.

And he meant everything.

For one, his stomach was gnawing at him in a way he hadn’t felt in years. It was the kind of feeling that travelled through his whole body, leaving everything feeling floaty and weak, especially his head.

Fuck he was hungry.

The next thing he noticed was how weak he felt. His arms particularly. Lifting one of them from where he’d been clinging to his stomach took so much effort and hurt. All he wanted to do was rub at his face. And maybe all the spots on his body that hurt from whatever hard surface he was on.

The ground probably. Jason woke up on the ground way too often.

Why didn’t his side hurt, though? Hadn’t he just been shot??

Finally Jason forced his eyes open, and couldn’t help but blink at what he was looking at.

A… blanket? Draped over a pipe, or something? It kind of looked like a makeshift tent.

Like… his tent. That he used to set up. When he was a kid.

“What the fuck,” he said, and immediately slapped his hand over his mouth.

Because what the fuck.

With shaky arms, Jason held them out to look at and What

The

Fuck.

He was scrawny.

He was, like, four.

Okay, okay. Not four. Just. Tiny. In his tent. On the roof of some building, most likely.

Fuck that machine didn’t send people back in time. It put people in their past selves, didn’t it?

“I hate it here,” he mumbled, as he pushed himself into a sitting position. He had to suppress a whine, because his whole body protested. Everything hurt, his arms worst of all, almost as if he’d had to use too much of himself recently.

He’d probably had to run from someone. Climb up a fire escape thirty floors or something crazy, if his sore muscles were anything to go off.

Slowly stretching out each one of his muscles, Jason tried to think.

More than anything, he needed to figure out where he was. Or… when he was, he supposed.

Why was time travel like this just… expected? He used to read sci-fi stuff and never found the time travel tropes believable.

Yet, in his profession it was just…Tuesday.

Okay, maybe not that common, but it was still not completely out of the ordinary.

What the fuck kind of time travel thing did Black Mask have? How the fuck did it send Jason back into his old body???

And was Mask in this time period, too?

Fuck he hoped not. He was fucking helpless like this.

“Focus, Todd,” he whispered to himself. He needed to figure out when he was.

Turning around, Jason inspected the rest of his little tent, and found the backpack he’d been using as a pillow. He’d had many backpacks throughout his homeless days, just because they tended to get lost or stolen, while he was running from people or hiding. Most of the bags he’d stolen himself, but a couple had been given to him. The contents were almost always the same, though.

He pulled the backpack toward him and unzipped it, and had to pause.

Because… because.

Inside was his teddy bear.

The one his mom had bought him when he was a toddler.

“What the fuck,” he whispered, as he pulled it out, giving the thing a bewildered look. Absurdly, he almost wanted to hug it.

A freaking teddy bear.

Under the bear was a picture, too. Of him and his mom and his dad.

He’d— he’d only had this stuff when he was little.

Like, fresh on the street little.

This shit had been taken from him by his second foster family, after the cops caught him not even three months into living on the street.

“Fuck.”

He was tiny.

Under the picture was his usual supplies. An extra pair of clothes, some socks, an empty plastic bag, and a pack of wet wipes he’d probably stolen.

No money, no food.

Great. Just like every day of his life there for three years or so.

He could handle it.

Time to get to it, he told himself, before pushing up to his knees. He peeked outside his little tent to see the sky dark and the roof around him quiet.

Staying still was the worst possible thing he could do. Mask said he ‘had his ways,’ and Jason hoped more than anything he didn’t have some sort of magic tracker to find Jason.

If Jason could just keep moving, he’d be fine.

Probably.

No, definitely. He’d be fine. It would buy him time to figure out how to fix everything, too.

Carefully but swiftly, he pulled the blanket down and rolled it up tightly so he could shove it down to the bottom of his bag. Having a blanket was a life saver, back when he was little, so he wanted to make sure he kept it. 9-year-old Jason would probably appreciate it, once 19-year-old Jason went back to his normal self.

He hoped that would be what happened… and not Black Mask finding and killing him.

With his stuff packed up, Jason went to try the stairwell door. It was, of course, locked. Which meant little him had probably got to the roof via the fire escape.

That explained the sore body…

Roofs were often the safest place to camp out for the night. If he found a roof where the tenants didn’t use it, and if it was difficult enough to get up no one thought anyone would try. Cops didn’t patrol the roofs, traffickers didn’t check the roofs, and other homeless people didn’t bother with the climb.

He crept over to the edge of the roof and looked over the edge. Down below, the town was just as silent as the roof. It was probably around 3am, if he had to guess. 3 or 4.

Sure, the city was never truly asleep, but it was pretty dead quiet at 3 or 4. Around 5 commuters started moving around, and until 2 or 3, drunks and partiers were out and about. But by 4, everyone was asleep, and Jason was most easily able to move around, undetected.

There were several fire escapes around the building, of course. All the apartments needed fire escapes, but the escape on the east side of the building, facing the alley, rather than the streets, appeared to be the most clear, so Jason hauled himself up over the wall of the roof and carefully lowered himself as far as he could. Then he let go and dropped about five feet down to the first platform.

How had he got up there in the first place??

Little him was insane.

Little him was resourceful, he reminded himself. He had to be.

Half way down the fire escape, Jason jumped when someone shouted, “I see you kid,” out a window on the floor he was passing. He picked up his pace and practically jumped down the stairs to the next level, cringing at how loud the reverberation of the metal platform was when he landed.

“You stay out of my shit,” the man yelled, now sticking his ugly stupid head out the window and glaring right down at Jason.

“I didn’t touch your shit,” Jason shouted back, sliding down the banister of the next set of stairs. He didn’t actually know if little him had done so, but considering he had no money or food or anything on him, he highly doubted he’d robbed this dude. Jason was never stupid enough to rob someone and then stick around. He only did his thieving far away from his sleeping spots.

The man made an outraged howl as he screamed, “I saw you,” but Jason only had two more floors to go, so he jumped down the last two landings, then vaulted over the railing of the final platform, straight down to the ground twenty feet below.

He rolled his landing, and couldn’t help the whiny groan that escaped his mouth when all of his muscles protested. But he pushed himself to his feet and started running, anyway.

It was a little clunky, his run. He was tiny, his legs shorter and slimmer than he was used to. But it wasn’t unfamiliar, either. He did used to be this. Did used to be tiny.

He was Robin when he was tiny. He’d had extensive training in how to use his small limbs, his low body weight. Adjusting was like riding a bike. It all came back pretty immediately.

Jason cut through a couple alleys, and rushed across a side street, trying to put as much distance between him and the window asshole as he could. Through one more alley and he found a main road, with actual cars passing by, so he tried his best to stick to the shadows as he slowed down and made his way down the road.

Where the fuck was he even going??

Food.

That was probably a good spot to start. He needed food.

Just thinking about it made his head hurt worse.

Stealing from a convenience store was probably too obvious. If he walked into one at whatever-am it was, they would probably call the cops immediately, even if they weren’t accusing him of stealing. Just because of the unaccompanied minor thing.

Way too many times had he had to run, just because some well-meaning adult called the fucking cops on him.

Jason wandered for seven blocks, as he tried to reacquaint himself with the Gotham of his childhood. The changes appeared subtle, but were actually massive. He’d completely forgotten about the restaurant that single handedly got him through the winter, back when he was eleven. It’d closed down when he was Robin, and he’d cried about it.

Cried.

Right in front of Bruce and everything. But the owner had been retiring, so not even Bruce’s wealth could save it.

He’d liked it so much, though, because they always threw their left overs out in take out boxes with forks in each one. Then stacked them up neatly at the very top of the trash each night, making it exceedingly easy for people to snag a box and eat.

Jason hadn’t always been there early enough to get a box, but he scored food there enough that he didn’t starve.

It was good food, too. Pasta or rice with meat and veggies.

So Jason hopped across the street and rounded the little building, back to where the dumpster was, praying that there was some left.

Or that it wasn’t too early in the timeline for the owner to be doing this.

He hadn’t discovered it until he was nearly eleven, after all. And it was likely April or May, when he was still nine, well over a year before.

But Jason ran into a slight snag, when he got to the dumpster.

It was the type that had swinging doors, up at the top, and required someone with height to reach them and lift them up. There were no empty boxes around for him to climb on, and usually when Jason had been there, there had been a homeless adult or two around, who took pity on him and handed him a box.

There were no adults around now, and nothing to climb on.

Being little sucked. How did he fucking deal with this every day?

“Hey kid,” someone said, in a low gruffy voice from the entrance to the alley behind Jason, and Jason’s blood ran cold.

Who the fuck, he thought, as he whirled around to get a good look at the dude.

“What?” he demanded, gripping tight to his backpack straps as his skin started to crawl. He took half a step back, and watched attentively as the guy smiled a sly smile.

Jason had always relied on his intuition. His sense of character was good, he had to admit. He could usually just tell if someone was good or bad, just by looking at them.

And this guy?

A fucking creep.

“What are you doing out here all alone,” he asked, his voice a shade lighter than before.

But Jason wasn’t fucking falling for it.

“I’m walking my dog,” Jason deadpanned, cutting his eyes around him. Checking to see if the back alleys were clear, so he could fucking book it. “He got away from me. Here, fido.”

“Right, kid,” the guy said, through a snort, but Jason didn’t give him even an inch.

Because the second the guy’s leg twitched, Jason took off.

“Hey,” the guy shouted, “Get back here. Don’t make this hard.”

The chase lasted forever, it felt like. Jason’s legs were on fire the further he ran, but he was so little, he had to keep going full speed to keep ahead of the man’s massive gait.

Jason ducked behind buildings, between cars, and even over a few fences as he tried to get away from the guy. It wasn’t until Jason recognized a building, though, did he find an escape.

Because the building was his. 19-year-old his. It was where he lived, and he just so happened to know the building had a weird ‘fire escape’ door in the back, that was almost flush up against a freaking fence.

There had to be some law against it, but somehow the building had escaped notice. Actually didn’t make Jason feel any better about the fire safety of his building, but he hadn’t exactly picked the building for how nice it was. In present day, someone had slashed a hole in the fence, so if the tenants did need to escape, they’d be able to.

It didn’t seem like the past-fence had such a hole.

Which only worked in Jason’s favor.

The fence was only about a foot away from the building’s back, just wide enough that little Jason could squeeze right through, only his backpack snagging some as he did.

“You fucking brat,” the thug snarled, as he slammed into the fence and clearly got stuck trying to chase after Jason.

Jason half expected to get shot, now that he’d gotten out of reach, but not out of sight of the asshole, but instead the whole fence rattled as the guy jumped it.

The vines on the fence kept Jason from tracking the guy very easily, but he picked up the pace more to the middle of the building, where the fire door was.

And, just like in his time, it was left unlocked.

He pushed the door open as quietly and quickly as he could, carefully closing it behind him, hoping the thug didn’t notice.

Up four flights of stairs was a broom closet, too, that maintenance never used, so Jason rushed up on silent footsteps and slipped into the closet. Happy to see the exact same empty bottle of floor cleaner and dried up mop that still sat in the closet in his time.

No one would find him there, because no one was looking.

He’d sank down to the ground, and hugged his knees tightly to his body as he focused on breathing.

Breathing and thinking.

But his breaths were coming in raspy gasps, the more he tried to think about calming down. The harder he tried, the faster his breaths got.

It was just making it worse. Because it was loud and someone was going to find him.

And if someone found him, it was all over.

Jason sat there, in the dark closet, for an eternity trying everything he could think of to calm down. Finally he remembered some of the calming techniques Bruce had taught him, when he was 12 and having a meltdown, and tried to focus on timing his breathing, and only timing his breathing.

It took probably twenty minutes for him to regain control and get his heart to stop racing, but finally he was able to open his eyes, take a deep breath, and think.

Where the fuck could he go?

He was nine and tiny and so damn sore.

And, and. Hungry.

How had he survived feeling so hungry??

Or, or how had he defended himself from all the random thugs out there?

He’d just barely escaped that creep. He’d been there five seconds and had already encountered what was probably a human trafficker.

Human traffickers were pretty common, when he was little. He did remember that. And they were hard enough to avoid. He’d run into a homeless shelter once, out of desperation, just to get away from a group of them. He’d willingly turned himself over to CPS by doing so, and took half a dozen beatings from an asshole ‘foster dad’ just to avoid being trafficked.

He… he didn’t want to do that. He never wanted to feel that helpless again. To feel like… like he was at the mercy of some drunk asshole.

At the mercy of all the adults around him.

He was the Red fucking Hood. He was not helpless. He protected the helpless.

But, but. He—

Jason ran a shaky hand through his hair and tried to keep his breathing stable.

He was that helpless again.

He was.

Because he was tiny and he was nine and he was so. hungry.

If he couldn’t even defend himself against some random no-name thug, he was going to be completely useless against Black Mask.

Completely.

Mask would take pleasure in murdering him, and what exactly would Jason do?

Bite him??

Jason’s arms hurt with how tight he was hugging his knees, now, and he cursed at himself.

Because there was only one real option he saw…

And as much as Jason hated to admit it, Batman would protect him. Batman wouldn’t beat him up for random shit. Or at all, probably. Not as a nine-year-old, at least. And Batman wouldn’t starve him. Or lock him in closets or scream at him and threaten to kill or sell him, like foster families would. Or do anything like that.

Batman would protect him. That’s what he did.

He helped. As big of an asshole as Bruce was, he’d help.

And it wasn’t like he knew Jason yet. Didn’t know what Jason became, or how big of a ‘failure’ he was as Robin. As a soldier. There was no baggage between them yet, so he wouldn’t be all judgey like ‘you kill people you’re a disgrace, I should send you to Arkham.’

Right now, he’d just see a little nine year old kid.

A nine-year-old kid being chased by Black Mask. And if Mask did, indeed, go straight to Batman to look for Jason, it wouldn’t matter.

Batman would protect Jason, and would never leave an ‘untrained’ nine-year-old to face a super villain by himself. He’d lock Jason down in the cave, or in the fucking panic room, just to protect him. And it would work.

Because Mask couldn’t take Batman. Not when he was busy protecting people.

Jason took a deep breath, then just… collapsed his head down into his knees.

He hated it, but it was settled, then. There was only one option.

He had to go to Batman.

Chapter Text

Jason went back out after sunrise with a plan.

He exited right out the front door, a little skip in his step as he started his walk down to the neighborhood school. There were a handful of other kids on the sidewalk, all headed toward the same place, so hopefully he could blend right in with them all in his tattered sweatshirt and backpack.

It worked well, because the closer he got to the school, the more children converged onto the path, none of them giving Jason much of a weird look.

Much of one.

New kids were a normal thing, after all, in the schools of Gotham. Families came and went constantly. And a kid who was clearly very poor wasn’t at all unusual.

A little girl with her backpack half unzipped and a little flowery wallet sticking out… that was unusual.

Usually kids were way smarter about that.

But this little girl was wearing $120 shoes, and Jason hated himself for even knowing that.

Children of privilege were often less cognizant of the harsher realities of Gotham.

Jason felt kind of bad that he had to teach her about them.

But an easy target was an easy target, so Jason rushed to catch up with her and opened the sleeve to his sweatshirt wide so he could snatch the wallet out with one hand while he zipped the bag up.

“Your bag’s unzipped,” he said, as he quickly grabbed the second zipper with his now free hand, the wallet safely stuffed down inside his sleeve, “Your shit’s gonna fall out.”

“Oh,” she said, startling a little, but not enough to make her stop walking alongside her friend. She gave Jason a strange look when she caught sight of him, but smiled and said, “Thanks.”

Which just made him feel even worse, because she was actually nice.

But it was necessary.

If there was contact info in her wallet, he could make Bruce pay her back.

With a tight smile, Jason finished passing by the girl, and went straight on down the road, rather than turning the corner toward the school. He ducked into an alley only a few blocks further and looked inside the wallet.

The girl had, indeed, filled out the little ‘if lost’ card, so he committed her information to memory as he unzipped the coin pouch and pulled out the cash.

$22 and some change was all she had. Not quite enough for a cab to Bristol, if he remembered right.

“Shit,” he mumbled, as he shoved the cash into his jeans pocket and tossed the wallet into the open dumpster in the alley.

The next target was just as easy, to Jason’s relief. Even if it did make him feel almost as bad.

As he walked past a little bistro, there was a well dressed idiot wearing a suit that probably cost three grand, because Jason, unfortunately, recognized a Zenga when he saw it. It wasn’t the suit that made him an idiot, though, it was the fact he had his wallet sitting on the table in front of him, a newspaper between his face and the wallet.

It took no effort at all for Jason to swipe the wallet as he passed, not even earning a glance from the idiot as he did.

He was teaching lessons, he told himself. At least he was putting the money to good use, and not spending it on drugs.

Plus, a guy who could afford to leave his wallet sitting out of sight could afford to replace whatever cash he’d had inside.

$47, that was. The guy had had $47. Way less than Jason expected, but it was enough to get him to Bristol with change left over.

Jason dropped the otherwise untouched wallet in the first mailbox he saw, then walked three more blocks and turned a corner before hailing a cab.

Two taxis passed right by him before the third finally stopped. But the driver rolled down the window and asked, “Where you going, kid?” before Jason even got in.

“Bristol,” Jason said, after he slipped into the backseat, anyway. Like fuck was he letting this guy drive off before Jason got in. He knew what he looked like.

“Right,” the cabbie snorted, “Why? If you think I’m taking you out there so you can case—“

“My dad lives out there, asshole,” Jason snapped, shifting his accent to a Bristol one, to the best of his ability. He hadn’t had to use a Bristol accent in years. “I’m going to see him.”

Bruce might object to the term, and Jason definitely did, but some random cabbie wouldn’t feel better if Jason said he was going to technically a complete stranger’s house for help.

“Oh yeah?” the cabbie challenged, turning around fully to face Jason, “The fare’s going to be around $60, you got that?”

Jason pulled out the stack of bills from his pocket and waved them in the direction of the cabbie, scowling harshly as he said, “I got the cash, just take me there.”

The cabbie turned around, and Jason finally looked down to read the guy’s name was Gregory. He didn’t pull out, though, he seemed to think for a second and asked, “What’s a kid like you doing in this part of Gotham, by yourself? If your dad really lives in Bristol, why are you here? On a school day? And why do you look like that?”

“That’s none of your business,” Jason snapped, turning his scowl into a glare. It wasn’t anyone’s business why Jason looked how he did. No one’s.

Especially not some random cab driver who was supposed to be taking him to Bristol so Bruce could help.

If he was his regular self this asshole wouldn’t even be talking to him.

“Listen kid, if you think I’m gonna buy—“

“I ran away, okay?” Jason cut in, “And it sucks out here. I’m gonna get shit from my dad you don’t gotta lecture me, too. Are you gonna take me to Bristol or not?”

Gregory looked at him for a long moment before he heaved a heavy sigh. “Twenty up front,” he said, holding a hand backward and wiggling his fingers.

Begrudgingly, Jason smacked a $20 in his hand and sat back into the seat, crossing his arms tightly.

“And fasten your seatbelt,” he added, finally shifting the car into drive.

Jason obliged, with a massive eye roll, and rattled off the address of a drugstore near the manor.

The ride passed in silence, all forty minutes of it. Even though they were going against the rush hour, it was still massively annoying how long it took to go through each light.

It just gave Jason plenty of time to contemplate all the millions of ways his meeting with Bruce could go.

One very possible outcome, his brain reminded him, was Bruce would completely ignore him and send him off with CPS.

Jason knew he was Batman, though. Surely he would listen.

Hopefully.

“This is a Rite-aid, kid,” Gregory said once he pulled off near the address Jason had given.

“Yeah,” Jason snorted, as he held out the rest of his cash. The fare ended up being just under $64, so Jason had cut it really close with what he had, “Like I was gonna give you my home address.”

Gregory took the cash and hollered after Jason, as he was sliding out of the cab, “I can’t just leave you here—“

Jason stuck his head back inside the cab and said, “If you follow me I’ll tell my dad and the cops you kidnapped me,” before slamming the door and heading toward the back of the drugstore.

If the cab driver had anything to say in response, Jason didn’t hear, and wasn’t followed, either.

He kind of wished he’d had cash left over to get a snack from the store, but it was probably best he didn’t. The cashier would definitely call the cops if he stepped foot inside, because he did look pretty… pitiful. Especially for Bristol kids. He’d seen his reflection. He would be concerned, too, if he was his normal self and saw a kid like him.

The walk took well over an hour. By the time he turned onto Mountain Drive, the familiar road Wayne Manor was located off, Jason’s body burned.

He was so fucking tired, all he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and sleep for about twenty years.

But then he crested the final hill and could see the manor on the horizon and managed to find another burst of energy.

Just a little further and he was there.

As long as he could get Bruce to believe him, everything would be fine. Or, at least he’d get food and a safe place to sleep, at the very least.

Jason paused, once he reached the closest point of the Wayne property.

How was he going to get in?

He had no doubt if he walked up to the gate and hit the buzzer, he’d be completely ignored. Or Alfred would simply call the police and have the Bristol PD come pick him up.

Bristol’s social services might be slightly better than Gothams, he didn’t know, but he wasn’t willing to find out. He was too fucking old to have to deal with any of that.

When Jason was a kid and living at the manor, he snuck out all the time by simply jumping the fence. So theoretically, the security should be less than it was during his time there, right?

Carefully, he inched up to the fence and placed a hand on it, looking around for any hidden cameras or sensors. With none in immediate sight, he quickly scaled the giant iron rod fence and jumped over it, then made his way right up to the front of the manor.

And before he could psyche himself out, he climbed up the familiar steps and hit the doorbell.

There was almost nothing he could do about his appearance, though he did try to brush some of the dirt off the front of his sweatshirt, anyway, as he waited. It didn’t do much, obviously, since he still looked like a homeless child, but maybe it would help his case?

He knew there were alarms going off because of the doorbell.

Maybe not, like, actual ones, but alarms in the heads of the residents. Because no one should be able to get to the doorbell, much less ring it.

But regardless, after only a minute or so, Jason heard the locks slide open, and then the front door swung open and one Alfred Pennyworth stood just inside, looking as stately and proper as ever.

Jason couldn’t help the breath he sucked in.

He hadn’t seen Alfred in… not since before. Before he died.

Alfred was— Jason already knew how Bruce felt. How Bruce and Dick and everyone had faked everything, he couldn’t handle it if Alfred hated him now, too.

Which he probably did.

Or if he had been faking it the whole time, too.

“Can I help you, young man,” Alfred asked, clearly ignoring how Jason totally jumped the fence to get to the door.

But it probably had something to do with the barely masked concerned look he was shooing Jason’s way.

Jason could cry from relief. He was going to listen.

“Is Bruce home?” he asked, trying, and failing, not to sound too desperate, “I have to speak to Bruce.”

Alfred frowned, and asked, “Is Mr. Wayne expecting you?”

“No, but I really gotta talk to him.”

“I’m afraid he’s busy at the moment,” Alfred said primly, he shifted, though, as he looked around and asked, “Where are your parents? Did you come here alone?”

“No, what?” Jason stammered. What did it matter. “That doesn’t matter. I really have to talk to Bruce.”

“I’m afraid—“

“I know, I heard you,” Jason cut in, a horrifying little whine mixing in with his voice, “but it’s really important. Only Batman can help me.”

Alfred furrowed his brow, briefly, and asked, “What’s the matter, lad? Are you in danger? I can call the police for you.”

“No,” Jason exclaimed, taking a step backward on the porch, “No cops! I need Batman, please.”

He knew Alfred wouldn’t, like, immediately be like ‘oh Jason, I know you,’ but surely since Jason just said he knew Bruce was Batman???

But apparently Alfred was going to continue playing dumb, because he said, “I’m not sure how we can help you with that, lad.”

“Please Alfred,” Jason nearly cried, bordering on begging. Alfred was supposed to listen and help him.

If he called the cops and Jason ended up at the police station, he had no clue what he was going to do.

Black Mask would find him and kill him and then what would happen? The whole fucking timeline would be messed up.

He didn’t want to die again. He was finally figuring out his life, he didn’t want it to end now!

“Please,” he continued, “If you don’t let me talk to Bruce I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m so fucking useless like this and I can’t do anything and I’m tiny and I feel like I haven’t eaten in a week which might be true cause I didn’t eat hardly ever the first few months I was on the streets and when Black Mask finds me he’ll snap my head right off, I’ll have no chance and I don’t want to die again it fucking sucks and getting revived sucks more and—“

“Lad, lad,” Alfred cut in, which was good because Jason was running out of breath and was maybe crying a little.

Alfred stepped outside the house and knelt down in front of Jason, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Lad, I cannot understand you, take a deep breath and try to calm down.”

“I can’t,” he cried, “You’re going to call the cops and they’re gonna stick me in a foster home and he’ll find me and I’ll be dead and—“

“Lad,” Alfred cut in again, squeezing Jason’s shoulder, “We don’t need to do that immediately. Why don’t you come in, all right? I will fix you a sandwich while you focus on calming down.”

Jason sniffled, but nodded. He was so pathetic.

Why the fuck was he crying?

He didn’t cry.

Anymore…

19 was far too old to be crying about random shit.

“How old are you, lad,” Alfred asked, as he led Jason by a hand on his back toward the kitchen.

Jason scrubbed at his eyes and mumbled, “Right now I’m nine, I guess.” He was certainly acting like it.

“And what is your name?”

“Jason.”

Alfred motioned at the island once they reached the kitchen, so Jason climbed up on a stool and watched as Alfred went about putting together a sandwich.

He had managed to stop crying, but was still sniffling like a freaking baby.

“I know you don’t have a reason to listen to me,” Jason tried, after a moment had passed, “but please, Alfred, just let me talk to him.”

“I’m afraid Master Bruce isn’t home at the moment,” Alfred said, not even turning around from where he was slicing a couple pieces of bread off the homemade loaf.

Jason hadn’t had Alfred’s bread in years.

Years.

At least there was one good thing coming from all this nonsense.

“Is he at work?” Jason asked, scrubbing his face completely clean, “Will he be back later?”

If Bruce was out of the country, or worse, off planet, that could really throw a wrench in everything.

Alfred turned around and gave Jason a critical look as he said, “I think we should discuss how you got here, first.”

“I took a cab, Alfred. I know you won’t believe me, but okay. Listen.” Jason took a deep breath, and rushed it out, “My name is Jason Todd and Bruce adopted me when I was 13 and I lived here for a couple years, and now I’m 19 and Black Mask is trying to kill me cause I fucked with his illegal kryptonite purchase and he got his hands on some weird alien tech that shot me back in time somehow and now I’m here but I’m nine and pathetic and helpless and he knows that and is trying to kill me! I need Batman.”

“That is quite the story,” Alfred said, without missing a beat.

“Alfred,” Jason whined. He hadn’t expected Alfred to believe him, but maybe at least listen, “When is Bruce getting back?”

“I’m not sure,” Alfred said, pulling some veggies and stuff from the fridge.

So Jason just groaned and collapsed his head down onto the counter.

Apparently Alfred would not listen.

At least Jason would have listened if some little kid ran up to him and called him by name without introducing himself and said he’d been adopted by his sort of son in the future.

Right??

Maybe not…

“Wait,” Jason said, sitting back up, “What about Dick? He still lives here, right?”

Alfred raised an eyebrow, but turned back around to finish the sandwich as he said, “Master Richard is at school.”

Okay, okay. Think, Todd.

Jason could deal with this. Dick could help, right? He might be easier to convince, and then Dick could convince Bruce and Alfred.

Maybe.

He wasn’t really sure. How old even was Dick presently? 14? 15?

Shit.

Dick might not be helpful after all.

“Why do you not believe the police would be of help?” Alfred asked. He’d finished making the sandwich, but was now placing other things on the plate, and Jason’s stomach was not happy about the prolonged wait. But Jason was choosing to ignore it, for the time being.

“Why do you think they will,” Jason shot back, “You know how corrupt the GCPD are. If whoever shows up doesn’t traffic me, the social worker might.” And just because the Bristol cops would show up immediately didn’t mean they wouldn’t just hand him over to Gotham.

That was where he’d run away from, after all.

“We will ensure that doesn’t happen,” Alfred tried to promise, but Jason cut him right off.

“Alfie please,” he cried, resting his chin back down in his arms, “out of everyone in this stupid family you were always the one I knew cared. It wasn’t about Robin or feeling like you were helping someone who needed it. It was, it was. I thought—“ Jason had to stop, because he was crying again.

What was wrong with him???

Alfred’s face shifted, though, and Jason felt like he was maybe finally listening. So Jason sniffled and tried his best to pull it back together. He wiped his face clean with the back of his hand and said, “The summer when I was 14 we read through all of Shakespeare’s works. All of them. We would discuss the day’s reading over tea each afternoon.”

And Alfred would always let him eat as many cookies as he wanted while they shit talked the works.

“It was so great,” he whispered.

And, and.

Jason had forgotten about that.

“Please, Alf,” Jason said, looking back up at Alfred. He’d walked over, and was standing across from him at the island, but was just staring, his mouth in a thin line. “You gotta believe me.”

With a sigh, Alfred rounded the island as he said, “Jason, you said it was?”

“Yeah,” Jason said miserably.

He kind of wished he didn’t remember the good things, ever.

It was way easier to deal without those memories.

Alfred’s hand landed on Jason’s back, then, and started rubbing a slow circled as Alfred said, “It’s all right, lad.”

But his words were hallow, Jason just knew.

Nothing would be all right. Never again if he couldn’t get help.

“Why don’t you believe me?” he whispered, trying hard not to cry more.

Alfred’s hand didn’t leave his back, but his voice nearly hummed as he said, “What you are telling me is quite difficult to believe.”

“I know, but…” Jason said, turning his head over so he could look up at Alfred, “You’re Alfred. You were always on my side.”

The hand on Jason’s back paused as the fingers curled into a ball. Alfred pat Jason a couple times before he sighed heavily and said, “I believe Master Bruce will be home with Master Richard in a couple hours.”

And all Jason could do was slump over further in sheer relief.

At least he was being given a chance.

“Now,” Alfred said, patting on Jason’s back as if asking him to sit back up, “What did you say about not eating in a week?”

Jason sat up, scrubbing at his face again as he shrugged. “I don’t know. I feel that way, but I’ve only been here, like, eight hours.”

“Who is taking care of you?” Alfred asked, walking back over to the plate he’d been preparing.

“I take care of myself.” Both back then and now.

He was perfectly capable.

Usually.

Alfred clearly didn’t buy it, because he asked, “Do you now?”

“I try okay?” He was doing pretty fucking good at 19, if he said so himself. Little him, though? “I tried my best. I was little.”

“Much too little to be taking care of yourself,” Alfred agreed, finally walking the plate over to Jason. He sat it down right in front of him and it took all of his strength not to devour the entire plate in one bite. He didn’t even care that it was a turkey sandwich, his least favorite meat, with sliced veggies on the side.

“Go slow,” Alfred chastised, when Jason took two bites without even swallowing.

With a nod, Jason tried to remind himself about all the upset stomachs he’d had growing up, when he suddenly had food and tried to eat all of it. Especially once he’d first moved in with Bruce and Alfred.

The food wasn’t going anywhere, so he needed to eat it slowly.

Alfred didn’t talk much as Jason ate, and Jason was too damn tired to try to start up a conversation with his long lost-not yet met grandfather slash parent slash butler person. But as soon as he was done, Alfred ushered him upstairs to a guest bathroom to ‘get cleaned up,’ before ‘Master Bruce gets home.’

With an old set of Dick’s clothes in hand, Alfred ushered Jason to the bathroom and started explaining where to find stuff, but Jason cut him off.

“And there’s soap in the cabinet behind the mirror,” he said, after Alfred explained where the towels were, “I did used to live here, Alfred. Or. I guess it’s technically I will live here, in three years.”

Somehow Alfred didn’t find it nearly as amusing as Jason, because his mouth didn’t turn up from the flat line it’d been in. He hummed noncommittally and said, “Toss your clothes out before you get in the shower, and I’ll wash them along with your other things. Then come back to the kitchen when you are done.”

With a nod, Jason finally stepped into the bathroom and shut the door. He did as Alfred asked, trying not to think too hard about how tiny he was.

Or about how much he’d just cried in front of Alfred.

Or about how bad he looked in the mirror.

Holy fuck no wonder the cabbie was so damn worried about him. And Alfred…

Jason would be fucking concerned about himself. Even moreso than he’d thought earlier.

Like. Jason would be shooting-dozens-of-people pissed if he’d seen a kid like him.

But that didn’t matter. Jason was okay now. Alfred fed him and Bruce would figure out how to fix everything, he was sure.

So as Jason let the hot water relax his muscles, he tried not to think about anything.

Nothing but feeling safe and calm for the first time in a while.

Chapter Text

Alfred kept himself busy in the kitchen all afternoon, washing dishes, then baking bread and cookies and who-even-knew-what-else.

At first, Jason thought it was just so he could keep an eye on Jason. Keep Jason in the same place, away from the rest of the manor. At nine, Jason was a little thief, so he didn’t quite blame Alfred, but when Jason started dozing off with his head rested on the counter, Alfred ushered him off to one of the sitting rooms.

“Stay in here,” Alfred had said, when he directed Jason to one of the more comfortable couches in the whole manor, “Master Bruce will be home soon and I’ll send him in to speak with you.”

No one had to tell Jason twice. He was exhausted.

But despite that, he couldn’t sleep. He wished he could nap with his entire being, that’s all he wanted. To be better rested when he had to face Bruce. Even curled up tightly on the couch, as he was at that moment, he could not get his heart-rate to slow. Couldn’t get the thrumming under his skin to go away.

It was just Bruce, he tried to tell himself. Bruce of ten years ago, who didn’t know him and was just going to see a tiny little child that needed protecting. There was literally no reason to be all nervous about anything.

And yet… that was how Jason stayed. Anxious as fuck, laying on the couch, and staring out into space when he heard clear as day Bruce’s footsteps come down the hallway.

Those same footsteps that used to scare the crap out of him as a kid, when he was still new to the manor and had really no clue what to expect from Bruce. Whether to be scared or not, when he was misbehaving. Disobeying and sneaking around.

He’d only ever had experiences with Willis, and if he was doing shit Willis didn’t like when his footsteps came down the hall.

Jason tensed, and tried to steel himself for the confrontation.

Not that he thought Bruce was gonna do anything to him. He never did. Not when he was a kid, and not really even now. Every time they got into fights, now, Jason provoked it.

Which, admittedly, was most of the time they saw each other anymore.

But Jason wasn’t allowed to get mad. Not this time, not like he normally did. Whenever Batman confronted him anymore, anger was always Jason’s first defense.

But if he got pissed off, if he started yelling and cussing and carrying on, Bruce wouldn’t listen to him at all.

Bruce never even pretended to listen to him when he was a kid and already mad about something. Not once. He was an asshole like that. Bruce was allowed to be mad and growly about stuff, but if Jason was angry, it was ‘attitude’ and ‘back talk’ and ‘I’m not your father, Jason, I don’t need your teenage rebellion.’

Jason clenched his teeth and took a deep breath. He was fine. It didn’t matter, anyway. All that was in the… in the future.

It hadn’t happened yet.

When Bruce reached the doorway, Jason sat fully up and reluctantly looked over. And kind of just… blinked.

Because.

Bruce looked so young, first off.

He was missing the gray specks of hair he’d had even when Jason first met him, all around his temple that had now taken over, sprouting out to his entire head. And he was definitely missing the crows feet on either side of his eyes Jason had only seen a few times, but so strikingly… there, each time Jason had seen them.

His Bruce was getting old.

Even thought he was only, what….? 38? 39?

But second… second was the lack of… of anything. There was no glint of anger in his eye. No disappointment set in his jaw. No… anything.

Because of course there wouldn’t be any of that. This Bruce didn’t know him yet.

“Hi there,” Bruce said, a little awkwardly. He looked incredibly lost, staring at Jason, but Jason couldn’t mistake that underlying look of concern he had, either.

That same look he’d given Jason way back the first night they met, when Jason jacked his tires.

“Alfred tells me you wanted to speak with me,” Bruce continued, and Jason merely nodded.

“Yeah,” he managed, unable to stop himself from outright staring.

He hadn’t actually… actually seen Bruce. Just Bruce since… since…

Since before.

Only Batman came out to see Jason. Only Batman confronted him, yelled at him, fought with him. And, sure, sometimes he took his cowl off while they fought, but he was still Batman.

“Well, what can I do for you?” Bruce asked, crossing the room to sit in one of the armchairs opposite Jason.

Jason’s eyes followed him, completely bewildered by everything. He wasn’t even feeling the underlying spike of irritation seeing Bruce’s face usually gave him.

Whenever Bruce took his stupid cowl off, it usually just pissed him off more. Because it was always Bruce trying to yell at Jason, as Bruce, rather than Red Hood as Batman.

Not that Bruce did that often.

Because Bruce had given up on Jason ages ago.

And, now, seeing Bruce…

He didn’t know.

It almost felt like there’s a huge gaping hole in his chest, where his anger usually sat.

Jason swallowed, and tried to shake himself of… whatever this was. He wasn’t there to get all… this. He was there because he needed Bruce’s help.

Only Bruce could help him, could defend him against Black Mask. And Bruce needed to know about Black Mask, needed to know about the damage he could cause to Gotham, because Mask could do a lot of damage before Batman even figured out what was going on.

Bruce’s eyes didn’t leave Jason, although the longer Jason was silent, the more concerned he looked.

“I need your help,” Jason finally managed, breaking his eyes away from Bruce, and down to the hem of the worn jeans he had on. His mouth suddenly felt dry, and he didn’t even know why. He was supposed to be angry. Supposed to be fighting with himself over being angry.

And yet…

“What is it you need?” Bruce asked, his tone so gentle.

Bruce hadn’t been gentle with Jason in years, not even before he died. They’d done so much fighting and arguing and all anger.

Jason just wanted to… he didn’t even know. Go home and have a drink, maybe.

Or ten.

What was happening, he thought, a little hysterically as he pressed his hands into his eyes.

This was so stupid.

“Lad?” Bruce asked, and that was all Jason needed. He couldn’t keep this up. If Bruce thought he was just yanking his chain, or was actually a nine-year-old child, he’d never listen. Never help him figure out how to fix all this. He’d end up at the police station, with social services breathing down his neck, and Black Mask would find him and kill him with ease.

He growled at himself, very quietly, and shook his head, forcibly making his brain shut up. He could cry over his feelings later.

“Protection,” he told Bruce, “Black Mask is after me and he’s trying to kill me.”

Bruce’s eyebrows raised, and for a split second Jason thought he was actually listening, but then he asked, “Why did you come to me? I think the police are much more suited—“

“No,” Jason whined, collapsing backward into the couch cushion and turning his eyes up to the ceiling, “I thought Alfred would have told you.”

He should have just started from the top, anyway.

“He told me some,” Bruce said softly, slowly, in the same tone he always fucking used when he was treading carefully, trying to prevent Jason from having a full blown meltdown. “He told me you said you were from the future.”

“That’s because I am,” Jason exclaimed, nearly shouting. It was clear Bruce didn’t believe him, so he wasn’t even going to entertain Jason might be telling the truth. And with that being the case, Jason would have to shout. “I can prove it, too!”

“Okay,” Bruce said, with a touch of challenge in his voice, “Then prove it.”

“I—“ Jason paused, the fight falling out of him in a rush. So Bruce was listening? “I know you’re Batman.”

Bruce snorted, but before he could speak, before he could tell Jason how silly that was, Jason kept going.

“I know that because you told me after I stole the tires off the Batmobile. You tried to help me get off the streets for a while as Batman, after that, but kept fucking everything up so you brought me here one day and ‘dropped me off with Bruce Wayne,’” Jason made air quotes, rolling his eyes dramatically. Because Bruce was a friggen idiot, doing that when he’d meant to keep Jason the whole damn time, “and then you told me a few days later when I tried to leave that you were you and you thought I’d make a good Robin, if I wanted it.”

And he had wanted it.

Badly.

What a fucking idiot little-Jason was.

“You’re creative, I have to give you that,” Bruce said, and Jason could just see how he’d completely closed off. He wasn’t really listening. Wasn’t really giving Jason a chance, here.

Probably couldn’t believe he’d ever let another kid wear his precious golden boy’s cape, probably.

That was probably exactly what it was.

Well fuck him, because he had.

“Fine,” he snapped, untangling his legs so he could scoot off the couch and hop down, “Then I’ll show you.”

Jason stormed right out of the living room, and didn’t even stop when Bruce called after him, “Son, where are you going? I think we need to talk about—“

Nothing, Jason thought to himself. This was what they were going to talk about. He made his way to the study, Bruce following him, but not nearly as quickly as Jason would have thought, since Jason immediately pushed open the door to the study and stomped inside.

He stood by the clock, waiting for Bruce to catch up, and was just silently glad the study door hadn’t been locked. Clearly Alfred hadn’t believed Jason one bit, and thought Jason was just saying shit to get inside.

Whatever.

Bruce finally stepped inside the room, and said, “Wandering off in a stranger’s home—“ before he cut himself off.

Because Jason had stood up on his tippy toes and reached up to the clock face. He could just barely reach it, because the damn thing was taller than Bruce, but somehow he managed to move the hands to 10:48.

“The time your parents died,” Jason said, as the gears behind the clock clicked into place, “You morbid freak, use that as your passcode to a lot of shit in the batcave.”

Finally, the ancient clock swung open, revealing the firemen poles straight down to the cave, and Jason shot Bruce a smug look and asked, “Believe me now?”

“I believe you’re more than a homeless child knocking on the door for a warm meal,” Bruce said, staring at the open cave entrance with a touch of shock there.

“But not that I’m from the future,” Jason concluded. So, what? Did Bruce think he was, like, a spy or something?

Actually sending a pathetic-looking homeless child to his house to spy on him would be the best fucking plan a villain could ever come up with.

Because Bruce would fall for it hook, line, and sinker.

“You’re nine,” Bruce deadpanned.

And what in the ever-loving-fuck? Hadn’t he explained this to Alfred? And Bruce and Alfred were infuriating and always shared everything Jason ever said to them in confidence with each other.

“Yeah, now,” Jason said, “But future me is nineteen. I don’t know why that stupid device put me in my past body, but it did. So I’m nineteen-year-old me in nine-year-old me’s body which means Black Mask is also here in his past body, but Black Mask ten years ago was still an adult! I’m this,” Jason motioned to himself, “I can’t defend myself against the fucking traffickers, much less him, but he can do anything and—“

“Okay, okay, slow down,” Bruce interjected, holding out a hand like he wanted Jason to stop, “Who is Black Mask.”

Oh. Yeah. Bruce probably needed to know that.

“His civilian name is Roman Sionis.”

Bruce furrowed his brow, and looked honestly baffled when he asked, “Son of Charles Sionis?” Because, right. They’d known each other.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding, “they owned Janus Cosmetics. But now Mask runs a criminal empire and hates me because I keep fucking up all his plans. He tried to buy a bunch of kryptonite recently and I stole it. He’s not happy with me.”

“Why does Sionis need kryptonite,” Bruce asked, like that was even a fucking question.

“Why does anyone need kryptonite,” he shot back, “He’s evil. He’s trying to take over the world or something, I don’t know.” Jason hadn’t exactly asked for details, and Mask wouldn’t exactly share. “Gotham, at least.”

“I don’t understand,” Bruce said, taking a step further into the room, his hand still resting on the door’s handle. His grip tightened, and he said, like he was in a daze, “They own a cosmetics company, Why…”

Jason paused, and actually took a second to think.

He’d done a shit ton of research on Mask, when he started fucking with all his shit. He’d even hacked into the Batcomputer to do it. What year had Mask even started…?

“Oh,” he whispered, because duh. Mask had first appeared when Jason was Robin. He knew that. “Are his parents even dead yet?” he asked, “Does he still have a face?”

Would Jason even recognize him, with one?

Fuck that would be terrifying. Getting murdered by a dude who didn’t even look like Mask.

Although, getting murdered in general was terrifying, Jason knew that.

“He lost his face?” Bruce asked, somehow sounding even more dazed, “Like Harvey?”

“He does doesn’t he?” Jason whispered, “Holy fuck. And no, not like Two-Face. Mask lost his whole face.”

“Okay, okay,” Bruce said, reaching up and rubbing at his temples for a moment. He paused, for a long moment, then opened his eyes and looked up at Jason. “Why don’t we go downstairs. I need you to start at the top.”

“Top of what?” Jason asked, watching skeptically as Bruce crossed the room over to the cave entrance, “Mask’s origin story or…”

“Let’s start with yours,” Bruce said, stopping just in front of Jason and holding an arm out, motioning for Jason to go through the clock door first, “Then we can talk about Mask and all that.”

“You believe me?” Jason asked, trying his hardest not to look too hopeful. If Bruce didn’t believe him—

“I think so,” was Bruce’s response. He motioned once more for Jason to enter the cave, and as they descended the stairs, because Bruce made a no sound at him when Jason reached for one of the firemen poles, he added, “I want to hear your story first, though.”

And Jason could deal with that. Bruce was giving him a chance. That was all he needed.

Chapter Text

Jason started from the top, right where Bruce wanted him to.

He told Bruce all about how he’d stolen the tires off the Batmobile, and had almost been successful. Had he just stopped at three, he would have gotten away with it, too. But, of course, Batman caught him when he was pulling the last wheel off.

“Why were you stealing my tires,” Bruce had asked, sounding more baffled than anything else. Which just proved to Jason that this really was Bruce. His Bruce.

Because his Bruce had been just as baffled, way back when Jason did it.

So Jason responded the same way he had, back when he was twelve, “To sell them, duh.” What else would a kid do with wheels? Decorate their penthouse? Please.

“And how old were you?” Bruce asked, through a sigh.

“Twelve,” Jason said easily, as he climbed up onto the desk under the Batcomputer’s screens, next to Bruce’s keyboard where he had sat down to start taking notes.

“And you’re nine now,” Bruce said slowly, clearly trying to wrap his head around the whole thing, “Did you spend three years on the streets?”

Oh. Or he was trying to figure out Jason’s timeline.

Whatever.

“Yep,” Jason said, pulling his legs up to cross them. He readjusted his sneaker, so it wasn’t digging into his leg as bad as he added, “Well for the most part. I spent a few weeks here or there in foster care, and the whole winter when I was ten because it was fucking cold outside.”

He’d figured out how to keep warm the next year, mostly by finding abandoned buildings with decent enough insulation and setting up camp in them. Blankets and layers of stolen clothes was what it’d taken.

Even then it hadn’t been pleasant.

The silence stretch, so Jason looked back up to find Bruce staring blankly at him, almost like a part of him had shut down.

He looked so… upset. In a way Jason hadn’t seen in… since before.

Back when Jason would tell Bruce stories, and he’d look genuinely heartbroken over some of the stuff Jason said.

At first it had always annoyed him, Bruce getting upset whenever Jason talked to him, but once he figured out it was because Bruce was upset for him, and all the things he’d been through, he’d maybe started eliciting the reaction on purpose… Whenever he was feeling upset himself. Sometime seeing Bruce look that way always made him feel better.

Because… because it had always been a reminder that Bruce actually cared. About him. Or, if not him, at least about his living situation. And safety. And happiness. And education. And all those things that had been too far outside of Jason’s reach for the years after his mother died.

Jason had forgotten all about that.

Had Bruce been faking that, too? His reaction? And heartbreak? And if he was, was this Bruce faking it?

Why would he be? Jason was just some crazy kid to him, at the moment. Not an adopted son he had to pretend to love because the law said so. A son he only adopted because he needed a new Robin.

This Bruce didn’t need a new Robin. He still had Dick.

Bruce cleared his throat and looked back up at his computer, as he started typing up stuff a mile a minute. Jason had to crane his neck to look at the screen behind him, but couldn’t quite read the words at the weird angle, so he turned back around as Bruce asked, “Is that why I adopted you? To get you off the streets?”

“No,” Jason said honestly, suppressing a snort. Bruce had sent him to boarding school to get him off the streets. It just hadn’t ended well. And Jason had seen Bruce get numerous kids off the street after he took Jason in. It never involved adopting.

No.

“You adopted me because you needed a new Robin.”

Bruce furrowed his brow and turned back toward Jason, giving him a truly puzzled look as he asked, “What do you mean I needed a new Robin?”

“Well, Dick moved out so you didn’t have a partner anymore,” Jason said with a shrug. Or a little puppy to follow all his orders, which was what Bruce really wanted.

Although, being honest, Jason didn’t always follow orders, either. Even if it was what Bruce wanted. One couldn’t be Robin and be perfectly obedient, because sometimes Batman was wrong.

“Why does that mean I needed a new Robin,” Bruce asked, more baffled than critical, “That’s Dick’s vigilante name, how can there be a new one? We aren’t like Dr. Fate, passing the helmet on to a new person every few decades.”

No. They passed the Robin cape on every couple of years, at the rate they were going.

“I don’t know,” Jason said, shrugging, “You told me, ‘I have an opening,’ when you invited me to live with you and then trained me to be Robin.”

“Ah,” Bruce said, nodding and turning back to his typing, “That was how I convinced you to stay, wasn’t it?”

“What? No,” Jason said, scowling hard at Bruce. He hadn’t needed Robin to stay. He would have stayed without Robin, too, had Bruce offered.

Right?

No, right. Bruce had never sat him down and been like so I want to adopt you as my son and keep you here for the rest of your childhood where you’ll be safe. He’d just…

Well. Jason wasn’t sure what he’d been doing. It had been so hard to figure out Bruce’s intentions at the beginning. He could never tell if what Bruce was saying was real, and what it really meant.

A rich dude being actually nice was, like, impossible in Jason’s mind.

“I never set out to create a partner for Batman,” Bruce said, still looking at his screen as he typed up his report about Jason, “I set out to take Dick in, a child I saw who needed people in his life who understood him and his pain. It was never about making him a superhero. I would have been perfectly happy had he just been a normal kid, going to school and playing basketball, or whatever he wanted. But he couldn’t have been happy.”

“He’s such a goody-good,” Jason grumbled, “the perfect little Robin, just loves being a hero.” Why did every-fucking-thing have to be about Dick Grayson when it came to Bruce?

Bruce frowned, but said, “He is a good kid, yes. But in the beginning, it hadn’t been about being a hero for him. He kept sneaking out of the house, at the age of eight, to try and get revenge on Tony Zucco for his parents’ deaths. He had such a deep, dark anger in him, driving him, he hadn’t needed a normal childhood at that moment. He’d needed someone who understood that pain, too, to take him under their wing and teach him how to use that fire for good.”

“I did not make him Robin for me, I made him Robin for him.”

“What,” Jason scoffed, “Are you saying you didn’t make me Robin for you, but for me? You weren’t even there dude. Not yet.” So how did Bruce even know?

He didn’t, that’s how.

“You’re right,” Bruce said, “I don’t know for sure what will be going through my head when I make that decision, but my guess is if I decided to put another child out on the street, I had a damn good reason for it. This job,” he gestured to the cave around them, “is not a safe job. I would never put a child in harm’s way like this for no good reason. Were you sneaking around already? Out on the streets, were you putting yourself in dangerous situations you didn’t need to be in, without backup or training?”

Jason’s scowl only deepened, because fuck Bruce for even knowing that. How the fuck did he know that?

“You were, weren’t you?” Bruce asked, a slight smirk on his face like the asshole he was.

“Okay,” Jason whined, “but had you told me you actually listened when I told you about some thugs who were gonna hit up a museum, I wouldn’t have been there. I didn’t know you were actually gonna stop it because you acted like you were ignoring me.” And sure, it was like, the fifth thing Jason had tipped Bruce off about and Jason was probably super annoying, but he shouldn’t have pretended to ignore him.

“You were homeless, taking care of yourself and probably fending off gangs and traffickers and hunger, and you still tried to stop a museum heist? That’s how determined you were to do right in the world?” Bruce asked, a slow smile forming on his face that was so, so fond Jason stuttered to a fucking stop.

Because. Shit.

What was even happening??

“You’re supposed to be helping me not get killed by Black Mask and get back home,” Jason grumbled. Not… doing whatever this was.

Getting fond over Jason?

Had his Bruce been like that, over that whole thing?? Sure, he’d taken Jason home for the last time after that, but he hadn’t, like, said anything. It wasn’t until he told Jason about the opening did he even make it clear Jason was welcome there forever.

“Sionis won’t be killing you,” Bruce promised, refocusing on his screen, “right now he’s on a hunting trip in the African Safari. He wont’ be getting back to Gotham for at least a day or two, at the earliest.”

“Oh.”

“Does he know I’m Batman?” Bruce asked.

And Jason was relieved to be talking about business again. “I don’t think so. He knows my name is Jason, but I don’t think he’s connected me to Jason Todd, your late kid. Like, why would I be him? No one knows I’m back but you, Dick, Drake, and maybe Alfred.” He wasn’t 100% sure on Alfred. Although he’d be impressed if Bruce kept it secret.

Bruce froze, his fingers hovering over the keyboard for a solid three seconds before Jason realized his mistake.

He probably shouldn’t have said that.

Maybe Jason shouldn’t be spoiling the future for Bruce.

Shit.

That was rule number one of time travel, wasn’t it?

How could he have forgotten??

Now he was ruining everything.

Shit.

Shit shit shit shit.

“My late son?” Bruce asked, his voice hallow before he whispered, looking Jason right in the eyes, “You died?”

“I’m not supposed to be spoiling everything,” Jason said hastily, “I forgot.” How could he have forgotten about the most important rule?

Was his time even going to be intact when he got back? Was Bruce even going to adopt him? Why would he take Jason in if he knew Jason was just gonna fucking die on the job??

“What happened?” Bruce demanded, “How are you back?”

But Jason couldn’t tell him more. “I shouldn’t tell you stuff,” he whined, pressing his hands into the sides of his head. He didn’t want to be not adopted. Even if it’d been fake, and even if he’d died, it had been the best fucking thing that had ever happened to him. He didn’t want it to not happen.

“Jason,” Bruce said, sternly. But Bruce and his stupid authoritative tones hadn’t worked on Jason ever.

“Can’t we just… talk about how to get me back? I don’t wanna be nine again forever.” Doing his whole fucking childhood over again would suck ass.

Bruce kept staring at him so long, Jason had to look away. Because he couldn’t even figure out what Bruce was thinking.

He didn’t look mad, or even particularly upset with Jason. He just looked… very lost maybe. Jason wasn’t sure.

All he knew was he didn’t want to keep talking about shit. He just wanted to go home.

Where… he was bleeding out on the floor of Mask’s office.

Jason crossed his arms and slumped forward. There really was no winning with this at all.

Maybe they could figure out how to send him back to himself, like, ten minutes before Mask shot him. That would be ideal. He could just shoot Mask first and avoid the whole thing to begin with.

“Did your Bruce remember you coming back in time like this?” Bruce eventually asked, slowly turning his attention back to his computer.

But Jason merely shrugged. Because he didn’t know.

“I doubt he did,” Bruce mused, “The moment you came back here the timelines split. Telling me things won’t affect your past one bit.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. Was that true? “So… Mask wouldn’t have helped himself at all by killing me?”

“No. Even if time travel worked the way he wanted it to work, he’d just be creating a paradox by killing you. You disrupting his plans is what made him go back in time to kill you, but with you dead and not disrupting his plans, there’s no reason to go back in time, so he doesn’t and you don’t die, and so on. Besides all that, I won’t let him kill you.”

Nodding, Jason sat up a little and asked, “But you can send me back, right?”

“I don’t know,” Bruce said, “We need to figure out how you’re here first.”

Right. That was probably a good spot to start, actually.

Jason wasn’t even sure how he’d gotten there.

“How do we do that,” he asked, curiously. Without the device, Jason wasn’t even sure where to start.

“We need to run some tests,” Bruce said, as he stood and motioned for Jason to follow.

“Sure thing, boss,” Jason said as he hopped off the desk. He stuttered in his step, briefly, but pushed himself forward so not to completely freeze.

Because.

This Bruce wouldn’t even know what that meant. What… calling Bruce that had always meant. Jason hadn’t really meant to let it slip out.

What was happening?

Bruce didn’t seem to notice, either, which was good. Because he stopped at the med bay and pat at the table as he said, “I want to know if magic is involved, or if there is any sign at all that you are not actually a nine-year-old child. That will inform our next steps.”

“Right,” Jason said, as he hopped up on the table. And then they could call Zatanna or whoever they needed, to deal with the magic.

“It could have been alien tech,” Jason said, holding an arm out when Bruce motioned to take his blood pressure, “It was pretty weird looking, and Mask was into that kind of shit.”

Maybe if it was alien tech, Clark could help. Or Martian Manhunter, even.

“Okay,” Bruce hummed, as he took the cuff off Jason and pulled out a stethoscope, “Why don’t you walk me through how it happened, maybe we can get some clues from that.

So Jason did.

Bruce kept taking all his vitals while he listened to Jason talk

It was weird, taking to Bruce and having him actually listen. But he did, and even asked questions, proving he was actually hearing what Jason was saying, too, and thinking about it.

And the longer he talked, the more relaxed Jason felt.

Past Bruce wasn’t near as big an asshole as present Bruce, that was for sure. And Jason had kind of forgotten about that…

Obviously past Bruce hadn’t been an asshole, because Jason wouldn’t have stuck around had he been.

Past Bruce had been… a lot of things. A lot of things Jason had hated, at the time, but he’d been a lot of good things, too.

Like this. An adult that listened to him. And took him seriously.

Why… why did Jason forget about that?

Chapter Text

“Was the building you woke up on in the 700 block?” Bruce asked, narrowing his eyes to try and make sense of the map in front of him. He discovered a strange readout logged in his Gotham monitoring equipment from about the time Jason said he appeared in this timeline, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was.

It was a signal of some sort, or a disturbance, more accurately, emanating from the roof of a building in Crime Alley. It almost looked like… like a teleportation from a zeta tube, but also nothing like it. Bruce had never encountered anything like it before.

“Jason?” he asked, finally tearing his eyes away from his computer to the little boy, sitting in the extra chair a few feet away. Jason had just been talking to him, explaining to him how, specifically, he’d tracked down the Black Mask to intercept his kryptonite shipment. Really, anything to keep the kid talking and calm. He seemed to like to talk about cases over pretty much anything else, and Bruce had to admit he preferred dealing with a calm 9-year-old than one on the verge of panic or tears.

Even if Jason claimed to be 19. Bruce probably believed he was, too. But that didn’t change the fact that the body, and therefore the brain, of the kid sitting beside him was 9. And 9-year-olds weren’t well known for their emotional control.

And considering a whole topic Jason could talk about was his death. Well. Bruce didn’t blame him for not being able to control his emotions well. Bruce wasn’t sure he’d be able to stay calm and collected while discussing that topic with him, either, and he barely knew the child sitting beside him.

The mere thought that one of his children dies in the future…

Bruce clenched his jaw and shook himself of that though, before looked back at Jason to really look at him. As soon as he caught sight of the tiny boy, he let out a small sigh.

Because Jason looked absolutely out of it. He’d curled up in the chair, his arms crossed over his knees and his head resting down in them, his eyes shut.

How kids could sleep in such weird positions, Bruce had no clue, but he wasn’t about to wake the kid up. Jason had to have been exhausted. He’d looked like death warmed over from the moment Bruce first laid eyes on him, and it hadn’t improved one bit, not even after Bruce gave him protein drink, in hopes of getting more calories and electrolytes in him.

He had deep, dark circles under his eyes, and a ghostly pale complexion to match. He looked like he hadn’t sleep well in weeks, and he probably hadn’t. How could a child sleep soundly, while fending for themselves on the streets of Gotham? No way was Bruce going to interrupt even a moment of sleep.

He didn’t need Jason to answer every question, anyway. At this point, Bruce really needed to get outside help. Opinions, at least, from the few League members he knew that had vast knowledge about aliens and alien tech that Bruce didn’t. It wasn’t often Bruce needed to know much about aliens, so thus far he hadn’t spent too much time researching any of it.

After firing off a couple emails, Bruce glanced back over at Jason’s sleeping form, and quietly rose from his seat. Tucked away in the med bay was a soft blanket, technically there for if they ever have to spend time on the cot in there. Dick had pulled it out enough times on chilly nights that its main use was to keep children warm when doing research on the Batcomputer. He grabbed it and carefully draped it around Jason, in hopes it would help him sleep longer.

Heaven knew the kid deserved a little bit of comfort.

How did a child of Jason’s age even end up homeless? And how did Bruce apparently completely miss it, for three whole years?

If Jason’s story was true, and Bruce really had no reason to not believe it at the moment, that was utterly unacceptable. How many homeless children were there? Had Bruce been seeing them all this time, and just assumed they were impoverished kids, and not full on homeless children? Why hadn’t he noticed?

That question was what Bruce spent the next few hours trying to answer.

- - -

The afternoon stretched on into evening and Jason did not stir. Bruce had grabbed him a pillow after an hour, and Jason had eventually uncurled and found the pillow, settling down against it much more comfortably looking, all without waking.

Dick came bounding down the stairs, with shouts of, “Bruce, Alfred says dinner is ready and both of you have to come upstairs and eat it,” a quarter after 7. And even with the noise, Jason still did not wake.

Honestly, it was starting to worry Bruce.

“All right, Dick,” Bruce said back, closing out of his notes and research. He’d come no closer to answering the why he didn’t notice question, but he had found how was it being hidden quite easily.

No wonder Jason had absolutely no trust in Gotham’s police or social services.

Dick finished his trek down the stairs by jumping the last several, and Bruce turned his back to him to get a good look at Jason.

Who was still absolutely passed out, curled up against the pillow in the chair.

“Jason,” Bruce murmured, after scooting his chair over the few feet between them so he could tap on Jason’s shoulder. For as jumpy as Jason seemed earlier, he would have thought that would be enough to wake Jason up.

But apparently not.

Because all Jason did was hum something and curl up tighter, pulling his blanket up to hide his face.

Just like a kid would do when being woken for school. Five more minutes, Bruce, Dick often said.

“Jason, lad,” Bruce said, tapping Jason’s shoulder again, “It’s dinner time, you need to eat.”

“Not hungry,” Jason mumbled, his eyes still defiantly shut. He didn’t stir any further, and Bruce wasn’t even sure if he was conscious or not.

He’d had plenty of arguments with Dick, while Dick was deeply asleep.

Frustratedly, Bruce huffed out a laugh and looked over at Dick, who was just hovering near the edge of the desk. Staring at Jason curiously.

“He’s so tiny,” Dick said, his eyes flickering to Bruce for half a second, before he inched closer to Jason.

Which… wasn’t entirely helpful, but it was a true statement. “Yes,” Bruce agreed flatly, “which is why he needs to wake up for dinner.”

Jason probably shouldn’t skip a single meal for months, if he hoped to recover from the obvious malnutrition he was suffering.

How had he survived, originally? Without a steady source of food for three years? Had he found a steady supply? Sometime after this point in his past?

Bruce sure hoped so. Because if not, 19-year-old Jason had to be tiny. There was no way a body could recover from three years of such severe malnutrition and not be horribly stunted in growth, among many other problems it could cause.

“I don’t get why you guys thought he was dangerous,” Dick said, and Bruce could groan.

At least Jason was asleep, and not hearing this conversation.

He hoped.

“We didn’t know whether someone had sent him,” Bruce said. Dick knew that, he knew Dick knew that. Dick was a smart kid, there was no way he hadn’t run through every possibility for himself.

But with everything Jason had said, along side the strange readings Bruce found, there was pretty much no chance Jason was some sort of spy, there to infiltrate.

If Jason was a pawn of someone else, it wouldn’t change anything for Bruce. That someone deserved jail for life for doing this to a child, and Jason would still deserve safety and comfort and food.

But with as much as Jason knew about Bruce and the family, Bruce just couldn’t see that being what was really going on. Really, Jason telling the truth was the only logical explanation.

“I think we can trust him, though,” Bruce said, as he knelt down in front of Jason’s chair and and shook his arm again, “Jason, buddy. I need you to wake up so we can go upstairs.”

Jason didn’t respond, so Bruce heaved a heavy sigh.

Kids were so frustrating.

Then again, Jason probably needed the sleep. If he didn’t wake up in the next few minutes, Bruce could just make sure he got food as soon as he did wake up. Whenever that would be.

He couldn’t stay in the cave, though.

“Okay,” Bruce said, placing a hand on Jason’s shoulder and leaving it there, “I’m going to carry you upstairs, then.”

When no protests came, Bruce stood up and gently moved Jason, so he could get his arm behind his back and under his knees and lift. Still no protests came, and in fact Jason shifted in his sleep, and leaned his head right up against Bruce with a content sigh.

Just like how Dick always reacted, when Bruce did this to him. Although, with Dick at 15 now, he hadn’t carried Dick up to bed in a couple years.

Bruce really had adopted this kid, hadn’t he?

“He trusts you,” Dick observed, as he grabbed the slack from the blanket and placed it on top of Jason, so Bruce wouldn’t trip over it as they climbed the stairs.

With a nod to the stairs, Bruce started walking, letting Dick go on ahead of him as he said, “He says I adopted him when he was 13. Took him in the year before, apparently.”

Dick nodded, but being ahead of Bruce on the stairs, Bruce couldn’t read his face. After a silent second, Dick looked back and said, “But he’s nine now.”

“Yes. It’s a strange concept to wrap your mind around.”

“For sure,” Dick said, cracking a smile before he bounced up the stairs further. Once he reached the top, he turned around and asked, “Do you think you’ll be able to send him back? His… mind, or whatever? Soul?” Dick paused for a second, then mused, “Did this just prove souls exist?”

“His consciousness,” Bruce said, because he wasn’t prepared to touch that at all. He’d need to do much more research, and fully understand what had happened in the first place, before he could even theorize on the topic. “But maybe,” he added.

As for whether they could send him back… Bruce wasn’t sure. ”I’m waiting on a reply from J’onn J’onzz or Hal Jordan. I’m hoping one of them can identify the tech and give us next steps.” J’onn had already sent back a quick ‘I’ll look into it,’ so at least he knew J’onn was working on it.

Hal, on the other hand… Bruce wasn’t sure how high to hold his hopes.

“And when we send him back,” Dick asked, “what are you going to do with 9-year-old Jason?”

Bruce ducked through the clock’s door, then watched as Dick shut the door behind him as he said, “I haven’t specifically thought that far ahead.”

“Okay, but vaguely, what have you thought? Are we keeping him?”

With a laugh, Bruce readjusted Jason in his arms, and finished walking him down to the living room with the comfortable couches. Dick followed close behind, and just watched as Bruce laid Jason down on a pillow, and tucked the blanket back around him nicely.

Jason rolled over, and pulled the blanket back up to his face as he buried it into the couch back. Now that he was stretched out, he looked far more comfortable than he had been downstairs. Bruce probably should have brought him up hours ago.

Bruce watched him sleep for a moment, before he looked up to where Dick was, standing behind the couch, and asked, “Would you be against it, if we did?”

What exactly would they be keeping Jason from, if they did just keep him?

Homelessness? Starvation? Abuse?

If Jason was destined to be part of their family, where was the harm in making that happen sooner? Well… there could be harm.

Harm apparently happened in the original timeline, after Bruce adopted Jason.

Bruce needed to get the story out of Jason, to find out how he died. Because if taking him in sooner would cause that to happen, then Bruce would find another way.

Or find a way to make sure it didn’t happen.

“I’m not sure how I could be against it,” Dick finally said, stepping forward so he could look down at Jason, “he needs help.”

“He does,” Bruce agreed. He just hoped they could provide it. In all the ways Jason needed it.

Chapter Text

Jason came to slowly.

The blanket twisted around him was thick and cozy. Thick and cozy and warm.

A little too warm, actually…

Jason was hot. Hot and sweaty in the way only a deep, long nap did to him. It was a little miserable feeling, but damn if he didn’t feel refreshed.

So refreshed.

He rolled onto his back and blinked open his eyes as he freed his arms from the blanket. He tried to remember where he even was as he squinted at the ceiling above him. It was what he could only describe of ornate, and it starkly reminded him of the ceilings in Wayne Manor. Painted tin tiles, just like the one in some of the living rooms.

The Waynes replaced the original plaster some time ago, Alfred had once told him, and had metal tiles fashioned to match the original design. Metal is fireproof and it lasts longer.

Jason had always thought they were really stupid, and a total waste of money, but he supposed that had been the point originally. And maybe even now. To show off how much disposable money the Waynes had.

“Morning, sleepy head,” someone said to Jason’s left. He jumped, and quickly had to catch himself from falling off the edge of the couch he’d been on.

…the couch in the living room of Wayne Manor.

Because he was in Wayne Manor.

In the past.

As a nine-year-old.

He cursed and sat up to shoot baby-Dick a good glare.

Not that it likely looked anywhere near threatening, with how tiny he was.

It struck Jason just how young Dick was, too. They were both tiny. This Dick was lanky and all arms and legs. Fifteen, most likely.

Jason hadn’t met Dick until he was already eighteen and had started filling out his adult body. He was barely beefier now, at 25, but eighteen-year-old Dick was way larger than fifteen-year-old Dick.

“Did you have a good nap?” Dick asked, apparently completely ignoring all the death wishes Jason was telepathically shooting his way.

If only Dick knew how capable of murdering him Jason was. He’d do it, too. Ya know, if necessary. He would.

Rolling his shoulders back, Jason turned around so he was sitting more comfortably on the couch and asked, “How long was I out?” asked instead of answering Dick’s question.

It had to have been a long time, if he completely lost track of everything in his nap.

He hadn’t slept that deeply in years…

“Over seven hours,” Dick said, “I was starting to think you were out for the night.”

It had to have been late into the evening, then. If not already 10 or 11.

He didn’t even remember falling asleep. Just sitting with Bruce in the cave, going over every detail of his arrival in this time… or universe. Whatever it was that happened. Then nothing. Just waking up here with a kid-Dick already annoying him.

How had he fallen asleep? “Did Bruce tranq me?” he asked. Bruce had kept pushing a gross protein drink on him, and water, and a couple meal bars. Jason had just assumed it was because he looked like he was on the verge of starving to death, but maybe Bruce had been trying to drug him to sleep.

Why Bruce would do that, though, was anyone’s guess. Jason wasn’t that annoying.

Right?

“No,” Dick said indignantly, “Why would he do that?”

“I don’t even remember falling asleep,” Jason shot back. That only happened if he was drugged.

Although… he didn’t feel the typical sluggishness that came with being drugged. He felt like he’d sleep nice and hard. Drugged sleep was always light and surface level, forced and never refreshing.

And he was so refreshed.

Dick snorted, and leaned back further in the armchair he was perched in, across the coffee table from Jason. “Bruce said you fell asleep mid-conversation, you were that tired.”

With a roll of his eyes, Jason said, “Yeah right. How’d I get up here?”

“He carried you,” Dick said, scowling again, “We tried to wake you but you were out.”

“Yep. I was definitely drugged.” Like hell did he actually sleep through Bruce picking him up.

No way.

“You were not!” Dick shouted, “Why would you even think that?”

“I’m not a heavy sleeper,” Jason said, as he stretched his arms out in front of him, starting to stretch out each muscle all along his arms and shoulders. He was completely unfazed by Dick’s anger. Because, well. He was Dick. And also a baby.

Plus all the shouting was bound to summon Alfred.

Dick scoffed, then smirked as he said, “You looked like a heavy sleeper to me.”

Jason rolled his eyes and collapsed back against the couch, turning his gaze back up to the painted tiles. He’d spent so much time tracing the lines of each curve and loop and dot with his eyes, back when he was little and bored.

Usually sick.

Because Bruce always made him sleep on the couch when he was sick, so he and Alfred could keep a close eye on him.

“Maybe not, but I could tell you trust Bruce completely,” Dick said, “That makes it easier to sleep deeply for sure. I could sleep that deep on a roof in Gotham if I knew Bruce was sitting next to me.”

Jason scoffed. As if.

Bruce being around was more reason not to sleep.

Well. When he wasn’t nine. Because he had to admit, “Bruce is Batman. Protecting kids is kind of his whole thing.”

It was adult Jason Bruce wouldn’t protect. He’d do quite the opposite, actually.

“Yeah,” Dick agreed easily.

“What time is it anyway,” Jason asked, looking back over at Dick.

But Alfred answered, from the door, “It is just past 10 pm, young sir.”

“Alfred,” Jason said with a grin. He sat up and watched Alfred round the couch, a tray in one hand with a folding tray stand slung over the other arm.

“Wow all that for me?” he asked, as Alfred set the stand up and placed the tray down in front of Jason.

“I thought you might be hungry when you woke,” Alfred said warmly, “so I saved you a plate.”

Jason grinned, because Alfred had made his absolute favorite dish ever, what Alfred always called ‘roast dinner.’ Roast beef, potatoes, carrots, green beans, and a lovely gravy over all of it. And Jason was hungry.

Alfred was seriously the best in the entire world.

“You seem to be much more chipper now,” Alfred observed, as he poured Jason a cup of iced tea, “I take it you slept well?”

“Yeah,” Jason exhaled, “I feel so much better.”

Alfred moved the tray over enough so it was right in front of Jason, then held a fork out, handle first, for Jason to take. “I am glad,” he said warmly.

The best.

And all it took was one bite of the roast potatoes on his plate for Jason to absolutely moan, “Alfred I have missed your cooking so much.”

He’d been taught how to cook as a young teen, of course. Alfred had always been eager to teach, but it’d been years at that point. And Jason hadn’t been able to call Alfred up to ask questions. Instead he was left to google things whenever he tried to cook for himself.

Sure, the food he made was edible. It might even be described as good. But it was never anything near as good as Alfred’s cooking.

“Do I not cook much in your time,” Alfred asked. He stepped back away from the tray and clasped his hands together.

Jason paused, and blinked up at Alfred.

He was so bad at keeping his mouth shut, wasn’t he?

What was he even supposed to say? Alfred probably did still cook a lot. Just as much as ever. He had Drake to cook for, after all. And Grayson was around way more than he used to be. Way more than he was when Jason was around…

Plus Bruce. Obviously.

“I’m… not around much these days,” Jason decided on saying. It wasn’t a lie, “Too busy.” That wasn’t a lie either.

Technically.

Nodding, Alfred said, “Ah. I take it you live out on your own, if I’m not able to take you by the ear and drag you to the dining room.”

“I’ve seen you do that to Bruce twice,” Jason said, grinning again. It had been absolutely hysterical both times. Because Bruce could have easily broken out of Alfred’s hold, obviously. But he didn’t. Instead he followed Alfred up the steps and into the dining room, bent over and complaining, “Alfred, I get it. I’m coming,” to an uncaring and not-listening Alfred.

It took a lot of bullshit to make Alfred snap like that.

“I’m sure he deserved it a dozen times more,” Alfred said, smiling warmly. After a beat, he added, “I believe I speak for your Alfred when I say, you should visit more often. It is always a pleasure to cook for the Wayne Family.”

Jason’s smile faltered and he quickly shoved another bite of carrots into his mouth to try and hide it.

Would his Alfred really say that?

His Alfred was probably extremely disappointed in him… if he didn’t outright hate him like Bruce.

It likely didn’t matter if Alfred wanted him there or not, anyway. Bruce would never allow it. He’d freak the fuck out if Jason showed up at the Manor, no matter the reason.

“Do let me know if you need anything,” Alfred said after a moment. Jason nodded, so Alfred excused himself from the room, leaving Jason alone with baby-Dick again.

Dick looked up from his phone, his ancient phone, and offered Jason a half smile. He pocketed the phone and said, “So. If you’re nineteen in your time, I’m, what, 25?”

“Yeah, somewhere around there,” Jason replied.

“Wow,” Dick said, sitting back in his seat, “I’m so old.”

Jason snorted as he cut off a piece of beef. “You’ve always been old.” The beef basically fell apart under his fork, and it was literal heaven to eat. Absolutely incredible.

“Well you’re a literal baby, of course you’d think that.”

“Don’t be jealous,” Jason said, but his smile died on his lips.

He and Dick used to go back and forth like that, once upon a time.

Now Dick just growled at him.

“Well,” Dick said, after a moment, “Tell me about me. How awesome am I? Did I go to college? What’s my job? Am I still Robin?” By the end of it, he was shooting the questions off rapid fire, and Jason couldn’t help but make an annoyed face at Dick.

“It’s illegal to spoil the future,” he said, with a mouthful of beans, “hasn’t Bruce taught you anything.”

Dick scoffed. “Yes,” he said, indignantly, “he taught me that time travel doesn’t work that way. He said our timelines diverged the second you got sent back, you’re basically from a different world, so it’s totally fine to tell me stuff.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Bruce can’t be sure about that. He doesn’t know everything, you know.”

“Well duh, but he sounds pretty right about this.”

“You just hope he is,” Jason shot back. He thought it was super weird how both of them were so insistent this was how it worked.

How did they even know? It wasn’t like they’d time travelled before.

“Don’t you?” Dick asked, “If he’s wrong, doesn’t you coming back absolutely ruin everything in the future?”

Jason deflated, slumping his shoulders a little as he leaned over his tray of food.

He probably had ruined everything, regardless.

Unless Bruce could figure out how to send him back to before he’d got sent into the past. Then it wouldn’t have happened, and nothing would get ruined.

Maybe.

Paradoxes were a thing, though…

“Well,” he finally said, “I ruin less by keeping my trap shut.” At least by doing so, Bruce and Dick won’t try to change literally everything on purpose.

“I just have so many questions,” Dick exclaimed, as he slumped backward, almost like he was melting in his chair.

Jason turned his attention back to his food and mumbled, “Well keep them to yourself.”

Dick, thankfully, did keep them to himself and let Jason eat in peace for a few minutes. He was typing away on his phone again, and Jason was actually a little curious to, like, look at the phone.

It was crazy how much phones had advanced in nine years. And it wasn’t even like Dick had a flip phone, because he didn’t. But it was a small phone. Small and thick and probably heavier than Jason’s current phone.

“Bruce says he’ll be back in a bit,” Dick said, when he looked up and saw Jason staring at him.

“Where’d he go, anyway,” Jason asked, trying his best not to be annoyed that Dick was clearly texting Bruce about him. It wasn’t like he cared. As long as Bruce was working on his case, and letting him hide out from Black Mask, Jason didn’t care.

Actually, the least amount of time he spent with Bruce and Dick, the better.

“The signal was lit, he had to run out and deal with that,” Dick said.

“And you didn’t go with him?” Jason always demanded to be included in those meetings, back when he was Robin. Bruce didn’t always allow it, but Jason wouldn’t have been himself if he hadn’t tried to force it, anyway. He’d always thought Dick had been the same way.

But Dick simply shrugged, and Jason understood.

“He told you to stay on me, didn’t he.”

“Not on you,” Dick shot back, “with you. You’re his future son! He doesn’t want you to feel abandoned.”

Jason snorted so hard he choked on a bite of his chicken, making him cough for a good ten seconds straight. “He doesn’t even know me,” he bit out, before chugging some of his tea.

Making Dick watch him made far more sense than making Dick keep him company.

“Yeah, but you said he adopted you, so that means you’re his son so obviously he’s gonna—”

“Okay,” Jason said loudly, cutting Dick right the fuck off, “just be quiet, I get it.” He didn’t need to hear anyone else tell him how they think everyone should feel about him.

They were so wrong. And Jason didn’t want to have to explain.

And… what would they even think? Once he did? Probably no good things.

Would it make Bruce not want to adopt him in the future?

Bruce had to adopt him in the future. He had to.

“I don’t get you at all,” Dick bemoaned, “You make zero sense.”

Jason shoveled another bite of food as he said, “What’s not to get.”

“You say Bruce adopted you, but you act like you hate him or something, I don’t know! You think he’d drug you for no reason and, then you keep telling me to shut up when I suggest he might care about you even an ounce and you don’t even go home ever? Not even to see Alfred? That makes no sense, dude. None.”

“You didn’t go home hardly ever when you were my age,” Jason shot back. Not even to see Alfred.

“What,” Dick exclaimed, “Why not?”

Jason paused, and cursed himself. He should just lock himself in a closet until Bruce figured out how to get him home, so he quit having to talk.

Talking was obviously not his strong-suit presently.

“When is Bruce getting back,” he asked evenly, turning his attention to what was left of his dinner.

Dick, clearly, was not happy with Jason’s topic change because he scowled and said, “I told you, in a bit. Are you gonna answer anything I ask you or just keep sharing little tidbits you don’t elaborate on like a jerk.”

“The second one,” Jason said easily.

He was nothing if not an asshole, he would freely admit that.

“Fine,” Dick said, with a humph, “but like, Bruce adopted you. Why wouldn’t you want to see him?”

“Who says I don’t want to see him?” Jason never once said that.

Besides, it was Bruce that didn’t want to see Jason.

Bruce was the problem here. Had he not been a lying liar Jason would have never had a problem with him in the first place.

And Dick wasn’t a fucking saint, either. At least he’d had the decency to mostly dislike Jason from the start and never pretend.

“Please,” Dick said, “It’s kind of obvious. Plus, you said you don’t go home.”

“Neither did you!”

“Why not!” Dick shouted, nearly jumping up out of his chair. Jason just glared at him, so he sat back down and said, much more calmly, “Do I at least visit now?”

“I assume so,” Jason said, with a shrug, “you really like the new brat.” And Jason was absolutely not at all jealous of that.

Not one bit. How could he be? Drake was a disaster.

“Drake is so damn needy, I bet you spend a lot of time at the Manor because of him.”

“There’s another one?” Dick asked. Jason couldn’t tell if Dick was distraught or curious, though, just looking at the almost concerned face he was making.

But Jason had already said too fucking much.

Because he was an idiot.

“Stop talking to me,” he said. He had three bites of food left, he was going to eat them, then he was going to lock himself in a closet.

Or maybe a bathroom.

“Did he adopt the new kid too? Or just you?” Dick asked.

Jason couldn’t help but look back up at Dick and furrow his brow. Because, “Why wouldn’t he adopt the new one,” he asked. That made no sense. Obviously he’d adopt the new ones. It made making them Robin so much easier.

Before he was adopted the fucking social worker stuck her nose in everything way too much.

“Why did he adopt you!” Dick shot back in response.

Which.

Made even less sense.

To be Robin, obviously.

Even if this Bruce disagreed, that was the reason.

But Jason needed to seriously keep his mouth shut about that, and not antagonize this Dick too much. Jason being Robin had always been a touchy subject with Dick.

He could antagonize him a little though.

“What, are you jealous?” Jason asked in almost a sweet tone, “It hasn’t even happened yet, save it for in three years. You still get to be an only child for a while.”

But Dick didn’t respond to that. Instead, he just sat there, staring at Jason expressionless for a good few seconds before he rolled his eyes and sank back down into his chair. He pulled his phone back up to his face and got busy typing again, completely blocking Jason out.

Shrugging, Jason went back to eating, and finished his food in silence.

It was good to know Dick was the same ol’ Dick he knew.

True to Dick’s word, Bruce showed up not long after, still dressed as Batman, sans the cowl.

Jason braced himself for the anger he knew was coming, when he heard Bruce’s footsteps walking down the hall and into the living room. He turned to look at Bruce and… it never came.

His eye lifted to Bruce’s face and… he smiled tentatively.

Because there was no explosive spark. No irritation. Just… nothing.

No feeling at all.

Actually, there was the opposite of anger in his gut, when Bruce returned the smile and said, “Good to see you awake, lad.”

Jason couldn’t quite identify what that feeling was, but it was warm and it was a little squirmy.

Dick stood up abruptly and announced, “I’m gonna go get ready for the night.” He didn’t wait for anyone to answer, because he booked it straight out of the room.

And Jason could not believe he was already jealous.

It wasn’t like Jason ever replaced Batman’s golden child, even if he went by Robin out on the streets. Dick had no reason to be jealous ever.

Ever.

But Jason rolled his eyes and scraped up the last few drops of gravy on his plate and licked his fork clean. Alfred’s cooking was just that good.

“Are you still hungry?” Bruce asked, walking up to right beside Jason, but still behind the couch so he could lean over it, “Do you want any more food?”

“I’m stuffed,” Jason said honestly. Because he was. He was actually surprised he hadn’t made himself sick.

“Okay,” Bruce said, “Please let us know if you’re ever hungry, okay? Or help yourself to the pantry.”

“I’m good, really. I’m not gonna starve to death in front of your eyes, I promise.” They’d already fed him, like, five times since he got there, and it’d not even been a full day yet.

Bruce’s mouth turned into a thin line, as he did his version of a frown, but he hummed and said, “I haven’t found any real leads yet on your case. J’onn emailed me back telling me he’s looking into it, but he didn’t have an answer off the top of his head.”

Jason merely nodded.

He supposed he couldn’t expect anyone to just know how to fix everything instantly.

“Are you tired?” Bruce asked, looking down at his watch.

After sleeping all afternoon? Jason started to respond, but he stopped and thought for a second. Because… he could sleep a little more. He could also stay awake for twelve more hours and be perfectly fine.

“A little bit, but not like, horribly,” he settled on saying.

Bruce nodded. “I figured you’d need a lot of sleep. You looked like you hadn’t slept well in weeks.”

“Yeah, probably hadn’t,” Jason admitted, “I only slept for maybe a couple hours at a time in the early days on the street.”

“That’s horrible for a young boy’s development.”

Jason shrugged. “It was either that or die, so.”

With a sigh, Bruce set a hand on Jason’s shoulder and squeezed and said, “Well. Alfred set you up a room earlier, let me show you it.”

Quickly, Jason chugged the rest of the tea Alfred brought him and set his dishes neatly on the tray before he hopped up to follow Bruce.

Bruce, annoying, set a hand on Jason’s back as he led him out of the room, but Jason was choosing to ignore it.

“What was the signal about,” he asked, as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his borrowed pants. He looked up at Bruce, and was once again struck by just how little he was.

He forgot what it was like to be so small.

What did Bruce see when he looked down at Jason? What would Jason see, looking down at a kid his size?

It maybe sort of made sense, Bruce being so protective of him…

Bruce smiled and said, “Gordon handed me a cold case to solve.”

“Oh yeah? Give me the facts.” He loved the cold cases. They were always so fun to solve. The most complex puzzles not even the best cops could figure out. The best kind of challenge.

Chuckling, Bruce pat Jason on the back then motioned for him to go up the steps first as he said, “Ah, I already gave it to Dick. He’ll get mad at me if I let someone else work on it. You should ask him about it.”

But Jason just sighed.

“Dick loves solving cold cases,” Bruce said from behind Jason on the stairs, almost sounding apologetic.

“I know,” Jason grumbled. And Dick didn’t usually like Jason helping.

Didn’t like Jason at all. And this Dick didn’t seem any different.

“I like cold cases, too,” Jason added, as he hopped down the hall a little ahead of Bruce.

“Yeah?” Bruce said.

“Cases in general,” Jason said, “they’re like puzzles. There’s a thrill in figuring them out.”

“No wonder you became Robin,” Bruce said. He stopped outside a bedroom and opened the door. “This is the room Alfred set up for you, is it okay?”

And Jason just froze in the doorway and looked in.

“Something wrong?” Bruce asked.

“This is the same room Alfred assigned me when I moved in.”

Bruce smiled a little more as he said, “Then is it good?”

“Yeah,” Jason said, after a brief hesitation, “It’s fine.”

It was fine. It was just a room. Not even his room. Not yet. Just a guest room, that looked nothing like his room. Probably.

He stepped inside to see it looked exactly like his room did. When he was twelve and new to Wayne Manor. Old paisley sheets, dated hand woven rug, and absolutely ancient furniture.

Jason had loved the makeover Bruce did to his room for his birthday, after he got adopted. It made the room look completely different, and had included floor to ceiling bookshelves filled with books.

One day he was going to have bookshelves like that again.

Once he got himself a permanent place. It just wasn't worth it in his temporary safe houses, now.

“Do you need anything else?” Bruce asked. He walked around Jason to step into the bathroom and flipped on the lights in there. “Alfred put towels and soap and such in here,” he said, before stepping back out and checking the dresser, next. “And some changes of clothes in here. He said he’ll go shopping tomorrow if needed for stuff more your size.”

Jason let his shoulders relax as he forced a smile on his face. At least Alfred was still exactly the same. “Good old Alfred,” he said, as he sat on the bed, “No, I don’t need anything. This is plenty.”

Bruce nodded and said, “Okay. I’ll come get you if I get any leads tonight, but otherwise we usually have breakfast around 7 if you want to join us. Dick has school tomorrow he can’t miss, but feel free to sleep in and eat breakfast later. It’s up to you.”

“I’m sure I’ll be awake long before 7,” he said. It was highly unlikely he’d sleep more than another three or four hours, really. He’d maybe be able to doze for a couple more beyond that, but he doubted it.

“Okay then,” Bruce said. He rubbed the back of his neck, but he turned and reached into the bathroom to cut the lights back off, then made his way to the bedroom door. “Good night, Jason,” he said, a little awkwardly from the doorway, “I’m glad you found us for help. I promise we’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah,” Jason said, nodding. He was glad they were actually helping him, that was for sure. “Thanks. Night, Bruce.”

And.

He was glad that Bruce was exactly as he had been, way back in the beginning.

So… kind. And careful. And worried.

Gentle.

Sickeningly nice.

Jason sort of missed that.

Okay. Jason missed that a lot.

He… hadn’t even remembered those moments. All he ever thought about was… was the bad. But.

But it wasn't all bad.

It wasn't even mostly bad.

Bruce nodded, then stepped outside and shut the door behind him. Jason fell backward on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, and nearly cursed when he had to blink the tears back out of his eyes.

What was even wrong with him? was his first thought.

And his second was, Why couldn't his Bruce be like this? When did his Bruce change?

Chapter Text

Just as he expected, Jason woke up around 4am and was unable to sleep any longer. He had somehow managed to get a grand total of over twelve hours of sleep, after all. And Jason figured that was probably plenty. Even for little nine-year-old-him’s body.

But. That meant it was still only 4am, and not even Alfred was up yet. Probably. When Jason was a kid he never could figure out when Alfred slept. He was usually awake when Jason was sent to bed and already awake when he woke up. Jason had finally figured it out when one stormy night, he’d had been completely unable to sleep and hid out in the kitchen. It was just after 5am when Alfred sauntered into the kitchen still in his pajamas, startled to see Jason awake.

It was only a few years before that, so it was pretty likely Alfred’s schedule was the same, right?

Jason could go hang on in the kitchen again, but this Alfred would likely be extra startled to see Jason now. Since, well. Jason didn’t belong there.

The library had always been his favorite room, anyway. And if he was being forced to spend some time in the manor, well. He couldn’t think of a better place to do it.

And that was exactly where Bruce found Jason over an hour later, snuggled up on his favorite couch thumbing through the first book off present-him’s to read list he saw.

“The Time Machine, huh,” Bruce said as he leaned up against the doorframe, “That’s apt.”

Scowling, Jason sat up and said, “Shut up. It was the first book I saw. Pure coincidence.”

Bruce smiled a tired smile and said, “There are thousands of books in this room, and that was really the first you saw?”

“First off my to-read list,” Jason grumbled. He’d already read many many of the books in the room already, anyway. He straightened up and added, “I’ve been meaning to read through H. G. Wells’ works.”

Bruce merely hummed, so Jason scowled and asked, “Why are you even up? It’s too early for you.” Alfred usually had to drag Bruce from bed to get him up in time for breakfast with Jason.

Although, when Jason actually looked at Bruce, he saw how absolutely exhausted Bruce looked. Deep, dark circles under his eyes betrayed the fact that he likely hadn’t slept a wink in nearly 24 hours.

“I heard back from Hal Jordan,” Bruce said, crossing his arms and leaning further into the doorframe. Jason perked up as Bruce said, “It’s Kumiraian technology.”

“Ku-what now?” Jason asked. He was 99% sure he’d never heard of that. Alien? Sounded alien.

“From Kumirai. Jordan tells me it’s a planet in sector 770. I haven’t done any research into their people yet, I read his email and came up here to tell you.”

“So does that mean Hal knows what the device was?” Jason asked. This was good. Hopefully they could fix it before Mask found his way back to the US.

“Yes,” Bruce said, “He said he’s dealt with the technology before, but he wanted to do some confirmations before he told us. He’s confirmed it now.”

“All right,” Jason nearly cheered, “So now what? What’s the next step? Can we send me back? Can we fix this?”

Bruce shifted and said, “Well. The good news is, it’ll return you to your time the exact second you got sent back.”

Jason bobbed his head up and down as he thought. That could be helpful. He at least knew what he was dropping in on, the situation. Though it was a little inconvenient, the way he was… maybe sort of bleeding out.

“Any way we can adjust that a little?” he asked. Moving back in time, like, an hour would be even better. He could redo the entire Black-Mask-confrontation thing and not get shot this time.

Or sent back in time…

Paradoxes…

“Why?” Bruce asked.

“Well,” Jason said, dragging the word out, “I might have been a little bit shot a minute before that. It would be cool to not get shot.”

To Bruce’s immense credit, he paled at Jason’s words and gave him a deer-in-the-headlights look before he demanded, “How bad is it?”

Protective Bruce.

His Bruce could never.

“Eh,” Jason said, as dismissively as he could muster, “Nothing I haven’t had before.”

“You’ve died before,” Bruce said sharply.

“Yes.” Jason couldn’t dispute that. He might be dying again soon.

How soon?

“So compared to that,” Bruce stressed, “How bad is it?”

Jason scowled. It wasn’t exactly Bruce’s business, now was it?

Also, obviously, getting shot one time in the stomach was nothing like how badly Joker had done him back before he died. Jason curled his fingers around his book as he braced himself for the familiar rage he always felt, when thinking about that bastard and that day.

But yet again, other than a small spark of irritation… he felt nothing.

Bruce sighed and turned toward the doorframe to rest his head on his hand. After a second, he banged his head against his hand a couple times before standing back up and saying, “Okay. Unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do to change when you get sent back. I’m sorry about that, but I will help you develop a game plan to deal with that before you go back.”

Jason merely shrugged. That was the best they could do. He already had ideas. “When do I go back?” he asked. Clearly Bruce thought they’d have time.

“That’s the bad news,” Bruce said, but then laughed awkwardly, “Or, that’s what I thought was the bad news for you. The device is designed to send someone back in time for exactly one week… On Kumirai.”

“How long is that on earth?”

Bruce hesitated, but finally sighed and said, “Ten days.”

“Ten days,” Jason exclaimed, jumping up from the couch, “I’m going to be stuck here for ten days?”

“Nine days now, you’ve got one behind you already,” Bruce said, but it didn’t fucking help.

Jason tossed his book at the couch next to him, then collapsed backward back onto it. “This sucks,” he grumbled. Because he was going to be stuck for nine whole days. In the past. Talking to these people.

Who were doing nothing but, but, confusing him.

“But, I was right about how the time-stream will react,” Bruce said, and Jason could just see the smugness all over his stupid face.

Even if he did still look tired… and a little pale.

“How do you figure,” Jason asked dully.

“This is a device used frequently in their culture,” Bruce said, as he shifted and crossed his arms, “It’s often used when someone is on their death bed, to go back in time and change one thing about their life. It never changes their life, but gives the them of another timeline a second chance. So your life as you know it, in your time, won’t change. But the life of this Jason here will.”

“Where’s the consciousness of this Jason?” he asked. If he was going to wake up the instant he got sent back, it wasn’t like little nine-year-old Jason was stuck in the future bleeding out.

That would actually be really awful. Maybe there were small mercies in the way this worked… even if Jason had to suffer through talking to Bruce and Dick.

Because he was suffering.

“He’s basically just asleep, as far as we know,” Bruce said, “He’ll wake up after the nine days and just feel like he’s been asleep for a while.”

“Like a coma?” Jason asked, “Will he remember any of this?” That would be super weird, if he did. Would he remember it as if he was just a spectator of everything happening, or would he remember it as if he actually did all this? Even though he hadn’t been in control?

Bruce bounced his head back and forth and said, “It might be like a coma, I don’t know. But I do know he won’t remember. The way it works on Kumirai is the past person doesn’t remember anything, but everyone around them does, and that’s how the change is made.”

“Okay,” Jason said, as he looked off, away from Bruce to think a moment. “If I’ve got nine days, I could probably find a way to make baby Jason’s life easier.” At least then he wasn’t completely wasting all his time. Jason was stealing ten whole days from the kid’s life, the least he could do was, he didn’t know. Strategize for him. Help him collect useful things.

“Yes,” Bruce agreed, but he said it slowly, and like he was unsure.

Jason didn’t pay him any more attention, though. He needed to start making his list of things little-Jason needed. Supplies for living on the street.

Maybe some notes, too. A how-to guide for things like how to stay warm, where to get food, where to sleep.

How to avoid cops!

Jason could definitely make the first year way easier on little-him if he wrote him a survival guide.

“I’m going to take a nap before breakfast,” Bruce said, “Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m fine,” Jason said distractedly, as he got up in search of a notebook, “Thanks for the update.”

“Okay,” Bruce said, “I’ll see you at breakfast then.”

With a nod, Jason said, “Sleep tight,” as he opened the door to one of the cabinets under the main desk in the library.

Alfred always kept spare school and office supplies in there, for any of “the boys” to use. Meaning him, Dick, and Bruce. Thankfully, that seemed to hold true in this time, too, because there was a whole stack of notebooks and journals in a wide range of style. Jason flipped through them and settled on a leather notebook that had a clasp closure.

It wouldn’t be waterproof, but it was most likely to survive a backpack for a few years. There should be plenty of pages left over for little-him to add his own notes, too. Jason would have loved something like this, when he was nine. He grabbed a stack of loose note paper, too, just so he could organize his thoughts before wasting pages in the nice notebook.

In the drawer, Jason found a nice felt tip pen and went back over to the couch to work. For the next couple hours, until Alfred collected him for breakfast, Jason wrote up everything he could remember about how to survive on the street.

- - -

Breakfast eventually rolled around, and Alfred ushered Jason off to the kitchen to join Dick. He left his notes and notebook in the library, though. Just to avoid getting them messy at the kitchen table.

Too many times as a kid had he spilled his orange juice or dripped syrup on his books, even when he was trying very hard not to mess them up. Eventually he learned his lesson and just didn’t bring paper to the table at all.

Well. He was usually reading a book when he ate now, as an adult, but he was an adult. And didn’t eat at a table anyway.

When Jason stepped into the room, Dick looked up from his phone and scowled for half a second before closing his eyes and saying, almost pleasantly, “Good morning, Jason.”

“Morning, Dick,” Jason said with a smirk. Because he was, in fact, the real dick between the two of them. If he was gonna suffer for nine whole days with these people, he was going to have a little fun.

And there was nothing more fun than getting on Dick’s nerves.

Dick didn’t rise to the bait, though. He looked back down at his phone and asked, “Did Bruce tell you what he learned earlier?”

“Yep,” Jason said, as he took his seat across from Dick, so Bruce would be on his left at the head of the table. If he woke up in time for breakfast. “Looks like you’re stuck with me for another nine days.”

“Joy,” Dick said sarcastically, and all Jason could do was grin.

Dick looked back up at Jason sharply and said, “Are you going to answer my questions now? Bruce said the timeline for us is changing but not for you so it’s totally fine. You won’t be ruining anything.”

“It’s probably better you don’t know every twist and turn in your life, don’t you think?” Jason said. He knew he wouldn’t want to know every single thing that was going to happen to him in the future.

But Dick seemed to disagree, because he rolled his eyes and said, “Well you told Bruce that you became Robin, which means that I’m not Robin in the future.”

Jason faltered, but said, “So?”

“You wouldn’t even answer me when I asked if I was! I asked and you wouldn’t tell me!”

“It’s none of your business,” Jason said easily, though he couldn’t stop his smirk as he did.

“Does future me think you’re infuriating, too,” Dick asked, as he slumped forward in his chair and pouted into his hand, right back to messing with his phone.

“Future you hates me,” Jason said, “So yeah.” It was why it was so damn fun to mess with him.

Not that Jason got the chance to mess with Nightwing much anymore.

Dick looked up at Jason sharply and said, “What?”

“What?” Jason repeated. He hadn’t said Nightwing aloud, right? Yeah, no. He hadn’t.

“I hate you?” Dick asked, somehow sounding even smaller than he was.

Why did Dick even care? Jason certainly didn’t, so he merely shrugged.

“Why?” Dick demanded.

Jason scowled and asked, “Why would I know that?” And why would he care?

“You never asked?” Dick exclaimed, and Jason had absolutely no clue why Dick cared. Future Dick clearly didn’t, so past Dick shouldn’t either.

All Jason did was shrug again. He actually didn’t fully know why his Dick hated him. Or, well. He knew now. Red Hood messed with him and Drake and Bruce a lot…

“But…” Dick mumbled, “but I don’t hate people. I don’t hate anyone.”

“That’s not true,” Jason replied, “I can think of at least one person you hate.”

Dick look truly offended when he scowled and snapped, “Zucco doesn’t count! And why would I put you in the same category as him? Did you kill someone I love too?”

“Nope,” Jason said. Because he hadn’t. Sure, he’d tried, but had he actually tried for real, for real, Bruce would be dead. Duh. And he’s only beat Tim up a little.

Besides, Dick hated Jason long before all that, anyway.

With a loud sigh, Dick sank back down in his chair before asking, “How old were we when we met?”

“Uh,” Jason said, “I was twelve and you were eighteen.”

“Was I still living in the manor?”

Shaking his head, Jason said, “Nope. You had run off before I got there.” Which Jason never understood why, not now, and definitely not at twelve. The manor was awesome.

At least. It had been. Back then. Even if Bruce could be infuriating, Jason wouldn’t have just run off and cut himself off like that.

He would have definitely gotten college out of the whole living-with-the-riches-man-in-Gotham deal. So what if Bruce was faking caring about Jason? Money still worked whether it came from someone who loved you or not.

Besides, maybe he wouldn’t have figured out Bruce was faking on his own, had he not died and saw Bruce’s true colors.

Dick sat back in his chair and stared down at the table in front of him, his phone completely abandoned on the table. Jason thrummed his fingers on the table when Dick didn’t say anything further, and thankfully only had a wait another minute for Alfred to come in with two glasses of orange juice and a mug of hot coffee.

“Good morning lads,” Alfred said, as he placed the juice down in front of him and Dick, and the coffee at Bruce’s place, “I will be out with breakfast momentarily, but I must fetch Master Bruce. It seems he wasn’t able to rouse himself this morning.”

Jason smirked and said, “Yeah figures,” and gladly took a sip of his orange juice. Freshly squeezed, of course.

Seriously, Alfred was a treasure. And he was who Jason missed the most.

Maybe. Maybe he should, like. Ask. If his Alfred hated him now.

Although, if Alfred said yes to his face, Jason really wasn’t sure how he would react. He didn’t want to get upset and hurt Alfred. And he also didn’t want to get upset in general.

At least if he just didn’t know for sure, he could ignore it all and pretend everything was fine. Or just not think about it.

“Why did I leave at eighteen,” Dick asked, startling Jason from his thoughts, “Was it to go to college?”

“Uh,” Jason stammered, “No comment.” He was pretty sure Dick tried college for, like, a semester then quit.

“Did Bruce kick me out?” Dick asked.

“Why would Bruce kick you out,” Jason shot right back. There was no way.

Dick was Bruce’s golden child. His oldest and most favorite. And Bruce moped around like crazy when Dick wasn’t around, even in the height of their fighting.

“I don’t know,” Dick exclaimed, “I can’t figure this out! Why would I leave?”

With a shrug, Jason said, “I guess you’ll just have to find out in a few years when it happens.”

“Ugh,” Dick complained, as he collapsed down, resting his head in his arms on he table before lamenting, “I don’t want to be estranged from Bruce and Alfred.”

“Then don’t,” Jason said easily, “It’s literally your choice.”

Unlike Jason. Who died and wasn’t wanted back.

Assholes.

Bruce finally came trudging in after that, and he looked like he was still completely asleep. He sat down and pulled the coffee up to his face, and basically just slumped over it.

Which. Mood. Jason was actually a little impressed he got up to have breakfast with them at all.

Or that Bruce always got up to have breakfast with Jason every single morning when Jason was a kid… even if he only had an hour of sleep in the previous 24 hours…

Why would Bruce do that if he’d been faking?

“You look like death warmed over, bossman,” Jason said before taking a sip of his juice, trying to dislodge that thought from his head. He wasn’t analyzing this shit. He wasn’t.

Bruce froze for a second, but cut his eyes up at Jason and smiled slightly. “I’ll nap after I drop Dick off at school.”

Jason was sure that was the usual pattern for his Bruce, too. Back in the day.

Maybe even now. He had Tim, after all.

Alfred came in with a magnificent breakfast. Omelettes with sausage and homemade danishes. Jason indulged himself on three danishes and ate quietly right along with Dick and Bruce.

It took Bruce two cups of coffee before he woke up enough to turn to Dick and ask, “What’s your day look like?”

Dick pushed around the bite of eggs he’d been playing with for, like, five minutes, as he said, “Test in history and turning in my essay in English.”

“The one I read?” Bruce asked. When Dick merely nodded, Bruce asked, “What time am I picking you up today?”

“2:50,” Dick replied, “No basketball today.”

“You play basketball?” Jason asked. How did Jason not know that?

He’d heard all about how Dick had been a mathlete, or whatever, but nothing about actual athlete.

“Yes?” Dick said, looking honestly confused, “Do I not in the future?”

Jason shrugged and said, through a bite of his fourth danish, “I don’t know what you do.”

“Right,” Dick exhaled, looking back down at the bite of egg that apparently was poison or something, with how adamant Dick was to not eat it.

“Do you do sports or anything, Jason,” Bruce asked.

Jason looked over at him, but had to immediately look away just because of how attentive Bruce looked. “I, uh, stopped school in 10th grade, so.” He couldn’t exactly do any extracurriculars now. Or go to college and do them there.

Plus Bruce hadn’t allowed Jason to do any extracurriculars…

Bruce nodded slowly, but his face slacked into a thousand-yard-stare that Jason also didn’t want to look at.

But Dick squinted at him, and Jason didn’t like that either.

“What do you mean? Bruce let you quit school?”

“No, I died.” Didn’t Bruce tell him that, too?

“What?” Dick said, startled. He looked over at Bruce and frowned.

Jason actually felt a little panicked when he saw tears well in Dick’s eyes.

Tears.

From a kid who already didn’t like him. And didn’t even know him.

“I hate the future,” Dick pouted, before he sniffed once and wiped the evidence of tears out of his eyes.

“I know, chum,” Bruce said. He looked at his watch and added, “We need to get going or you’ll be late.”

“Okay,” Dick agreed, still sounding bummed out. He stood and looked at Jason as he said, “See ya later, Jason.”

“Bye?” Jason said.

Dick officially didn't make sense at all to Jason.

He was supposed to not like Jason. Not… be nice to him. Jason certainly wasn’t being nice to him.

Bruce pat Jason on the head as he walked by and said, “I’ll be back in a bit. Let Alfred know if you need anything.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jason said, as he finished off the danish he had.

There was still one more on the table, and Jason was tempted. But he knew he had already pushed it. His stomach was not happy about all the sugar he’d just eaten.

Instead, he finished off his eggs as Alfred came in and cleaned up Dick and Bruce’s dishes.

“Can I help you,” Jason asked, once his plate was clear and his glass was empty.

“If you so wish,” Alfred replied warmly.

And Jason did. So that was how Jason’s morning went. He helped Alfred with the dishes and cleaning the kitchen, before Alfred challenged him to a game of chess in one of the living rooms. And unlike the other two assholes in the house, Alfred didn’t ask Jason a single question about the future. Instead, they spent the morning talking literature and theater and everything not Jason.

It almost let Jason completely forget all his problems. If it weren’t for how badly it made him miss Alfred.

Maybe he should just talk to his Alfred…

Or he could just enjoy nine more days with this Alfred, and call it close enough.

Jason… would have to think on that more. For the moment, though, he was definitely going to enjoy Alfred.

Chapter Text

Bruce came back after dropping off Dick and took his nap, as promised. But not long after that, Alfred excused himself to ‘get some work done,’ leaving Jason to himself again.

With nothing better to do, Jason found himself in the library again, this time sitting at the table as he kept working on his survival guide for baby-him. So far he had a good ten pages of notes all written up, though his thoughts were all over the place.

He was probably going to have to rewrite the notes twice, just to get them into a coherent manner for little-him to understand. And then, the biggest problem was convincing little him to listen.

Knowing himself, he really wasn’t sure if little-him would read the notes and take the advice, or think they’re highly suspect and ignore all the advice, maybe even do the opposite.

Jason faltered. He looked back down at the last page of notes, then jotted down another line. Write an essay to convince baby Jason he should listen to the advice.

He wasn’t quite sure what he could say to convince himself, though.

He was so untrusting when he was little…

And now. Maybe.

Okay, definitely. He was a skeptical SOB and it usually kept him alive. The one time he trusted blindly, he died. So he definitely was justified.

Jason sat there, hunched over his papers, tapping his pen against the pages as he tried to think. There had to be something he could say to little-him to convince him.

“What are you working on,” a voice said behind him, and Jason jumped sky high.

He dropped his pen, actually, he jumped so hard.

“Fuck, Bruce,” he cursed, “Don’t do that.” Everyone knew better than to sneak up on him.

Everyone.

Well. He’d never shot at this Bruce before, so he supposed he didn’t know yet.

“Sorry,” Bruce said quickly, holding both his hands up as he came around the table so he was beside Jason, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Jason grumbled, as he pushed all his papers together and made them into a neat pile.

Bruce pulled the chair next to him out and sat down, then nodded toward Jason’s papers and asked, “What is that?”

“Oh, it’s just, you know… Notes. For little me.” Jason said, hesitantly. He didn’t really want Bruce to have anything to do with it.

But… Jason was the stupid one to work on it right where he could see.

“May I?” Bruce asked, hovering a hand over the stack of papers.

And Jason wanted to say no, and fuck off, but he knew if he said that, Bruce would just sneak it later. And Jason didn’t have the energy to get pissed off and fight him over that. So he sighed heavily and motioned for Bruce to have at it.

With a gentle smile, Bruce picked up the stack and started working his way through it. He furrowed his brow half way through the first page and didn’t stop looking… a mix of confused and critical the whole time.

“I just thought,” Jason stammered, for some reason feeling the need to defend himself, “life would be easier for him if he got some helpful advice.”

Bruce nodded absently, but flipped on to the final page, where Jason had scribbled down notes on how to convince baby-him to actually take the advice.

“This is just my notes,” Jason explained, “I’m going to write it up special for him in a coherent manner.”

“That makes sense,” Bruce said slowly, but he didn’t sound like he thought it made sense. He straightened the papers back up then set them back down on the table in front of Jason. After a moment he rested one arm on the table, his hand on the side of his face as he turned to Jason.

“Jason,” he said simply, but didn’t elaborate.

And Jason hated his tone. It was definitely his I can’t figure out how to tell you this big thing you’re gonna hate tone. “What?” he demanded.

“I-” Bruce started, but he sat back and crossed his arms, looking vaguely uncomfortable. It took him a solid twenty seconds to finally spit out, “I don’t think you need to worry about nine-year-old Jason’s future.”

Jason had to pause for a second. “You’re keeping him?” he asked. Why would.. How would…

But.

“Unless you are adamantly against it,” Bruce said seriously, “but I can’t in good conscious turn this child out onto the street to be homeless and starve nearly to death for three more years. If you were in my shoes, would you be capable of letting a small child to back out into harms way?”

All Jason could do was stare.

Because.

He didn’t even know what to think.

Why didn’t he even consider this possibility? Obviously Bruce would do this, right?

Because. It wasn’t even a guarantee that little Jason would one day steal the Batmobile wheels again. Everything was going to change now. Everything.

But. He wanted little-him to be adopted. He did. It was the best thing that ever happened to him, even if it led to his death.

And… if it could have happened to him immediately, at nine, that would have been great.

Fantastic.

But.

But Jason became who he was on the street. He was a street kid. It defined him.

Even if he didn’t want it to define him, sometimes.

“This will change everything,” he whispered.

Because, beside all that, Bruce was right. No, he would not be able to turn nine-year-old him out onto the street, himself.

“Is that bad?” Bruce asked, turning toward Jason and putting an arm up on the chair behind him.

Jason looked up and stammered, “I-I don’t know.” He had no clue who he would become, without his time on the streets. Would he still be Jason? A kid from Crime Alley. Or would he be-would he be—

A Bristol kid.

“Are you willing to let this Jason find out?” Bruce asked gently, “I promise we will protect him and care for him.”

“I know you will,” Jason said numbly. Because for all Bruce had and had not done, the one thing he always did was make sure Jason was safe, fed, and taken care of.

Maybe he wouldn’t turn into a spoiled brat Bristol kid, though. Because he still had the foundation his parents gave him. Catherine and Willis.

For all the good and bad that was… It was impossible to forget where he’d come from, and how hard one has to work just to survive outside of Bristol. Even when Bruce gave him a credit card with no limit…

“You can still write this,” Bruce said, tapping a finger against Jason’s notes, “but I think your time will be better spent figuring out how you are going to survive when you get back to your time.”

Jason took the papers and clutched them in his hands for a few seconds, but managed to shake himself of the freeze enough to nod seriously.

Bruce was right.

He was in quite the pickle back home.

“Okay,” Bruce said, standing, “Why don’t we go down to the cave and you can tell me everything that happened leading up to you getting sent here, so we can figure out where you go from there.”

Jason jumped up after him and said, “Okay, but you aren’t allowed to be mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad at you,” Bruce asked, as he motioned for Jason to exit the room before him.

Heading down the hall toward the study, Jason said simply, “Because I use guns.” His Bruce was still livid about it, after all. And brought it up every damn time they saw each other.

Every. Time.

Bruce’s steps faltered, but he clearly pushed himself further so he could catch up with Jason as he said, “Okay then. I will not be mad.”

Jason smiled slightly, then skipped the rest of the way into the study, beating Bruce by a couple steps.

If Bruce was capable of doing this for him, little Jason would be just fine, he was sure.

His Bruce could never.

Downstairs, Bruce had Jason sit next to him at the Batcomputer as he opened up a blank document to take notes into. Once it had it all ready, he said, “Okay. Walk me through your encounter with Black Mask.”

So Jason did. He started at the beginning of his Black Mask saga, telling Bruce all about pretending to work with Mask, schmoozing him, having dinner with him, and then fucking him over time and time again.

Really, Mask was dumb for even talking to Jason anymore.

But Jason quite enjoyed listening to his outrage every time he found out Jason ruined another plan, so Jason would definitely continue entertaining all of Mask’s musings.

Or. Well. Maybe not anymore after this. This was a little much for Jason.

Mask had almost won this time…

“Describe the wound,” Bruce said, still typing a mile a minute, even though Jason had quit talking.

“It’s about two minutes old and in my right side. No exit wound that I noticed. I was having a hard time getting a full breath in, but I couldn’t tell if that was because of the GSW or because I was panicking.”

He tended to panic sometimes… he knew it wasn’t good for working in the field, but he also wasn’t sure what to do about it. Typically he could work through it and get what needed to be done, done. Or he’d get pissed off and let the anger wash over him, overriding all his other emotions.

That usually made stuff much easier.

Even if he didn’t exactly… fully control himself then.

It was fine.

“Show me exactly,” Bruce said, and he legit made Jason point where on his own body the bullet entered.

With a roll of his eyes, Jason did. Luckily, he could still feel where the bullet entered. Even if, obviously, he couldn’t actually.

Bruce pulled up a model of the male human body on the computer and placed a marker where Jason said, then asked about the angle of the shot. It took them several minutes to get it right, but Bruce ended up being able to show him what, exactly, the damage most likely was.

“The good news is, your lung is likely fine,” Bruce said.

Jason didn’t even have to ask him what the bad news was. He could see it for himself. “But I’ll need surgery,” Jason said. He’d bleed out internally, otherwise.

Although, for a gunshot wound, he already knew surgery was highly likely.

With a grim nod, Bruce flipped back to his notes and typed everything up, then asked, “How much blood do you think you’ve lost?”

“I’m not sure,” Jason said honestly. The whole panicking thing. Kept him from thinking logically and keeping track of everything. “But I was starting to feel light headed already.”

“And when you wake up, Mask will also be waking up at the same time,” Bruce said, still focused on his notes, “Since you were both touching the device, you’re close.”

“Correct.”

That was going to be fun to wake up to. Mask would likely be pissed he wasn’t able to find baby-Jason and murder him as planned.

Really, Jason was pretty sure he was just screwed. At least baby-Jason would get a second chance at life.

Or would it be a third chance?

Bruce finally stopped typing and used both hands to rub at his temples as he stared at his notes for a long moment.

“Okay,” he eventually said, turning toward Jason, “You have the upper hand here. You know you’ll be waking up that instant. You won’t be as disoriented as him.”

“Right,” Jason said slowly. He hadn’t thought about that, but Mask would have spent ten days in this time, and wouldn’t even know he was going to pop back up in their normal time. Clearly he had no clue how the device worked, because if he had, he would have known he couldn’t go back in time and kill Jason and have it actually matter for him.

“So,” Bruce said decisively, “you’re going to retreat. Fast.”

“Retreat?” Jason echoed, “You want me to run?”

“Yes. As fast as you can.”

“Where to?” Jason asked. He was in Mask’s office. And he was hardly in any shape to jump out a window ten floors up.

“Anywhere,” Bruce said, spinning back toward his computer, “We can pull up the building schematics to find a good hiding place.”

“You want me to run and hide,” Jason said incredulously, “I’ll just bleed out.”

“While you’re running,” Bruce pressed, acting like Jason interrupted him, “You’re going to call me on your comm.”

Genius plan, Jason thought with a roll of his eyes. “You won’t answer.”

“Of course I will,” Bruce said, and Jason wanted to laugh at his naivety.

His Bruce didn’t give two shits if Jason was in trouble. Actually, Bruce probably wished he’d never come back at all. Him being gone would be way easier on him.

Which, Jason sort of understood. He was messing with him a lot lately. And had really been a nuisance there for a while. Even though he’d definitely chilled out on that lately.

“No, you won’t,” Jason said forcefully. Jason probably wouldn’t answer his own distress call, if he was in Bruce’s shoes.

Maybe.

…okay that was probably a lie. If Tim freaking Drake called him in distress he’d probably respond. Then hold it over his head for the rest of his life about how he saved his life that one time.

Jason was a different kind of asshole from Bruce.

“Am I out of town?” Bruce asked, his full attention on Jason now.

“No,” Jason replied, looking Bruce dead in his stupid calculating eyes, “But we are kind of fighting right now. You don’t want to hear anything from me.” Jason wouldn’t be shocked to learn Bruce figured out how to block his comm frequency, so he didn’t have to even hear it.

Really the only reason Jason had a comm connected to their network was so he could avoid them. Sometimes he passed something off to Oracle, but she always gave him attitude when he did.

Bruce spun back around in his chair so he was fully turned toward Jason. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees and basically got right up in Jason’s face. “You’re telling me,” he said slowly and firmly, almost like he was angry, “I’m going to ignore the call of my son when he tells me he’s been shot and is bleeding out, because I’m mad at him?”

“Basically,” Jason said defiantly, crossing his arms. He’d reflect Bruce’s energy right back at him.

“I don’t think so, Jason,” Bruce said.

“Well I know so.” He knew exactly how that conversation would go. If Bruce didn’t outright ignore him, he’d accuse Red Hood of trying to lure him into a trap, and tell him to stop clogging up the line with his nonsense.

With a heavy sigh, Bruce sat back up and stared at Jason for a few seconds, before he said, “That’s not how this work. That’s not how this relationship works.”

“I think I know how the relationship works better than you,” Jason snapped back, “you weren’t even there. You don’t have the full story.” Jason was willing to bet money if he walked Bruce through their entire history together, Bruce would end up siding with himself, since he is him.

He’d probably also reconsider adopting baby-Jason. So Jason definitely wasn’t going to do that to little-him.

Bruce crossed his arms and said, “You’re right. I don’t have the full story, but I do know what it’s like to care deeply about a child who puts his life at risk. No matter how angry I am with Dick and how badly we are fighting, I would never, never ignore his calls for help. In fact, I force my help on him even in the middle of fights, when I think he needs it. There is nothing he could do to change that.”

“Well, you’re not like that with me. It’s not true for me,” Jason grumbled. Dick had always been the favorite, even when he was being a little bitch to them all. Obviously Bruce would do all that for Dick.

Jason wasn’t Dick. He’d been reminded of that thousands of time in his life.

“I don’t believe you,” Bruce said simply. As if that was even an argument.

“I don’t care if you don’t believe me,” Jason snapped, “that’s how it is.” Bruce had made it explicitly clear on a number of occasion how difficult Jason was. And considering all he ever did these days was growl at Jason, obviously any sort of positive feelings he’d ever felt about Jason died years ago, maybe right alongside Jason.

But probably even before that.

How else could he just replace Jason within a few months?

“Jason,” Bruce said, squinting at Jason in disbelieve, “There is no way this is the truth.”

“It is-” Jason tried, but Bruce rose his voice and talked right over him.

“I adopted you. I raised you. And you’re telling me I would treat you worse than I would any random thug on the street?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” Jason yelled at him. He stood up from his chair and stomped off away from Bruce and his stupid face.

“How does that make any sense to you,” Bruce said, his voice lower now but still just as firm.

Jason felt like he could explode. How-fucking-dare Bruce question him like that. It made sense because that’s how it was.

“It doesn't matter if it makes sense to you,” Jason screamed at him, “it’s how it is. You hate me. I’m not Dick, I’ve never been Dick, and you’ve never cared about me the way you care about him. I was just a poor substitute for him when he was pissed at you for a few years.” And there was literally no other way for him to interpret everything Bruce has done since he died.

If Bruce had actually cared about him, he wouldn’t have put another child in the Robin suit. And he would have done literally anything to let Jason know he was glad he hadn’t stayed dead.

But he wasn’t glad. Because Jason was only a thorn in his side, and he’d probably been relieved when Jason died, and he quit being a problem for him several years before he would have naturally been kick-out-able.

Past-Bruce sat stoically in his seat for a solid minute, just quietly watching Jason stomp back over to his chair and fling himself back down. Jason crossed his arms and glared at him before Bruce finally responded.

“If you believed all that,” Bruce said quietly, “why did you come here for help yesterday?”

Jason… didn’t really know how to answer that.

Obviously, it was because he knew past Bruce would help. He had no clue who Jason was, there was no history between them. He’d just see a little kid in need of help, and help.

“Okay,” Bruce sighed, “We are going to table this discussion for the day.” He turned back to the Batcomputer and typed up a few more things in his notes. “I want you to think hard about that question, and if after a day of reflection, you still believe I won’t help you, I want you to figure out a list of people you can call.”

Jason rolled his eyes. Like there was anyone on that list. He had no friends, and Bruce had him cut off from the superhero community pretty solidly.

“Such as Dick,” Bruce continued, “Or whoever this ‘new kid’ is you’ve mentioned a few times. Or any other hero out there. Superman is an option. He owes you a bit of debt, I would guess, with you having foiled Mask’s kryptonite plans.”

Jason couldn’t help the faint smirk that crossed his face. “Yeah, he does,” Jason agreed. And he hadn’t exactly thought about that.

But how would he contact Superman in the brief minutes he had? Would Clark be listening for the Red Hood to be shouting for him? Jason just outright shouting would give away his hiding spot.

Could Jason hack the Justice League comm system in mere seconds? As Robin, he could… but it had been years. And he had no clue if the security had changed.

“Okay. Think on that,” Bruce said, as he saved and closed out his notes, “Now. Do you need to take a break, or would you like to move on to tracking Black Mask in present time?”

“Tracking Mask,” Jason said without hesitation. Taking a break suggested going somewhere else to think, and Jason preferred to keep moving rather than dwell on unpleasant thoughts.

He’d have plenty of time to contemplate Bruce’s stupid naïve opinions later.

Because that’s all Bruce was. Naïve.

His Bruce wouldn’t even entertain Jason’s call for a second.

…right?

No, right. And Jason wasn’t going to waste a single moment rethinking that.

Chapter Text

Somehow, Jason and Bruce wasted the entire afternoon away in the cave. They discovered Mask had bought a plane ticket back to the US, but the plane didn’t take off until tomorrow evening. Then with it being a sixteen hour flight, he wouldn’t be back in Gotham until the following morning, at the earliest.

So Black Mask wasn’t going to be a problem for them for at least two days. And considering Jason was safely at the manor, it wasn’t like he expected Mask to find him at all.

“He may mistake Dick for you,” Bruce had said, “but we’ll be on the lookout for that, and Dick and I will take extra precautions to protect him for the week he’s in Gotham.”

After that, Bruce had Jason help him with a handful of cold cases he’d found. It wasn’t the case he’d given Dick the day before, but it was still pretty fun sifting through evidence and looking for patterns on each case. He’d helped Bruce write up at least one lead for each one, and on several, they’d come up with multiple leads. One, Jason was pretty positive he’d solved. But Bruce would need to follow up.

And, miraculously, Bruce didn’t ask him one single question about the future the entire time they worked together. It was, Jason dared say, relaxing. Working with Bruce.

Two days ago, he would have never thought he could possibly sit next to Bruce, much less work with him, and feel relaxed. But there he was.

“Okay lad,” Bruce eventually said, unfortunately putting an end to their peaceful afternoon, “I have to go get Dick from school, why don’t you head on upstairs. You’re of course welcome to anything in the house to entertain yourself, but I’ll ask you please stay inside.”

“Sure thing,” Jason said easily, as he pushed himself up from his chair. He didn’t really want to go outside, anyway, but he knew it would be easier on everyone if Jason wasn’t seen out and about the manor.

“Another thing we need to talk about tomorrow is the plan for making younger Jason permanent here,” Bruce said as he shut the screens off and stood, himself, “We should get that process going as soon as possible.”

“Right,” Jason mumbled. That was another topic Jason didn’t want to talk about. They had eight and a half more days. They didn’t need to talk about everything right away.

If they could talk about some things never, that would be fine with Jason.

Then again, social services were slow as hell…

With a sigh, Jason made his way upstairs. In the meantime, he was perfectly happy to spend his time in his favorite room on the planet while he had the chance.

The Wayne Manor Library.

Jason, sadly, only had about forty-five minutes of peace though. Because his nemesis Richard Grayson appeared.

Fine.

They weren’t nemeses. And Jason still felt a little bad for upsetting him at breakfast.

But he wasn’t gonna admit that. And it didn’t mean he wanted Dick there. In his space.

Instead of even acknowledging his existence, Jason completely ignored Dick as he trudged over to the table and dumped his backpack out on top of it. Dick, thankfully, also ignored Jason as he started doing his homework.

And they sat like that for an hour, just quietly existing in the same room. Which was also peaceful.

Somehow.

If only Dick in the future could be this chill. Although Jason wasn’t sure when they’d ever both just be in the same room like this to sit quietly. One of them would have to break into the other’s place for that to happen. And already that would be stressful as fuck.

Eventually, though, Dick seemed to figure out Jason was actually in the room.

Because he started staring directly at Jason, without saying anything.

He was just staring, like a freak.

Jason wasn’t doing anything to him. He’d been reading his book quietly, only mildly aware of what Dick was doing, but of course Dick had to ruin it.

“What do you want?” Jason snapped, scowling over at Dick.

“I’m trying to figure you out,” Dick said, as if that was even a valid reason for staring at someone like a wannabe serial killer.

“Well stop staring” Jason said, as he held his book up higher to block Dick out of his vision, “I’m not staring at you.”

Dick was apparently unbothered by Jason not wanting to talk to him, because he said, “I’m not convinced you’re from our timeline.”

With a dramatic sigh, Jason slammed his book shut and set it down next to him as he said, “Well apparently I’m not now.” If little him was staying there, nothing would be the same.

Nothing.

Would he even become Robin? Or would he have a different name? Or… would Bruce not let him out at all? Thinking that would keep him from dying.

Jason… wasn’t sure if he was for or against that idea.

“Don’t you have homework to do,” Jason grumbled.

“I finished it,” Dick said, waving a hand at Jason, “But are we sure our timelines sync up to this point? Like, was I adopted in your timeline?”

“What?” Jason said, furrowing his brow, “What kind of stupid question is that?” Jason had already told him he existed in Bruce’s family in his timeline. Obviously he’d been adopted.

Dick scowled back at him and said, defensively, “Well, you said you were adopted by Bruce, so I was wondering if that meant I was adopted in your timeline, too.”

Jason had to sit there for half a second, just staring at Dick, almost uncomprehending. Because it almost sounded like Dick was saying…

“Are you saying you’re not adopted in this timeline?” he asked. How the fuck did that make any sense?

But.

It made sense why Dick was so damn fixated on Jason being adopted. And annoyed by it. If Bruce hadn’t adopted him yet.

“No,” Dick exclaimed, “So it’s different in your timeline? I am adopted there?”

“Yes?” Jason shot right back, “Why wouldn’t you be adopted. Why aren’t you adopted now?”

Bruce loved Dick. He’d told Jason that much earlier that day! Almost in those exact words! Which, Jason was pretty sure his Bruce was allergic to saying that. Although, when he was little, Bruce definitely came close to saying it a lot. So.

Maybe not allergic. Just weird.

“I don’t know,” Dick said, still way too worked up, “I didn’t know Bruce wanted to adopt.”

“So what are you? Like, how are you here?” Jason asked. Because if he wasn’t adopted, what the hell? How was he Robin if he wasn’t ‘forever.’

“A ward?” Dick said, “Like. Bruce has permanent custody of me. I’m not a foster kid or whatever.”

Ward.

“Oh,” he whispered. Because.

Because Bruce used to call Dick his ward. It was never ‘my son Dick,’ it was always ‘my ward Dick.” Even back when Jason was already adopted, and Dick was ninteen or twenty years old. Bruce always said ward.

And.

“Oh,” he repeated slightly louder, “Is that why you hate me?” Jason looked up at Dick and couldn’t help but stare, a little bewildered. Dick was returning basically the same look, so at least they were on the same page there.

If Dick had never been adopted, everything suddenly made sense. Everything.

“You’re jealous?” Jason asked, his voice a little louder, “Like… for real? You and Bruce kept fighting and you moved out, and then he adopted some kid that tried to rob him, but not you.”

Dick’s face crumbled at that, and Jason suddenly felt bad for every single scathing thing he’d ever said to Dick, back in the day.

“Did he really do that?” Dick asked, his voice small.

“I… I don’t know,” Jason admitted. Even though Bruce was a major asshole, it just—

Would Bruce really do something like that? Dick was his favorite. Bruce never shut the fuck up about Dick, when Jason was little. Everything Jason did, Bruce compared to how Dick did it. Everything.

And this Bruce had just told Jason how much he loved Dick. And cared about him, and how that would never change forever.

How could this Bruce not have adopted Dick yet?

“BRUCE,” Jason shouted, as loud as he could. Dick jumped, but Jason completely ignored him as he hopped to his feet and stomped over to the door to the library. “BRUCE,” he shouted again, out into the hall. Bruce was probably in his study, so there was no way he didn’t hear Jason.

Bruce, apparently, was not in his study. Which was weird, but he heard Jason just fine, because Jason heard him holler down the hall from the kitchen, “What’s wrong?”

Jason waited for Bruce to make his way down the hall and around the corner, then scowled and yelled, “You,” as he spun around and retreated back to his couch.

Once he was in the room, Bruce paused at the door and looked back and forth between Dick and Jason. Dick, for his part, was sitting at the table looking incredibly uncomfortable, but Jason didn’t care. Bruce had to answer for this.

“What’s wrong,” Bruce asked again.

“Nothing,” Dick said quickly, but Jason snapped at him, “You,” again.

“Me?” Bruce asked, clearly completely lost.

But he shouldn’t be. He should have known this was coming.

How could he do this to Dick?

“You are an asshole,” Jason seethed.

“Okay?” Bruce said, still looking absolutely confused, “I’m not following.”

“How the hell is Dick not adopted,” Jason demanded.

“Jason,” Dick whisper-shouted at him, and Jason didn’t even feel an ounce of regret for bringing this shit up.

Bruce needed to hear it.

He was an asshole.

“Uh,” Bruce stammered, looking between Jason and Dick like a deer in the headlights, “It’s, uh, not something we’ve discussed.”

“You’re such a jackass,” Jason shouted at him as he jumped to his feet, “How could you not adopt him? No fucking wonder he hated me from the start. He’s your favorite but you adopted me first? What kind of cruel joke is that? Were you ever gonna fix that? What the fuck Bruce? Did you ever adopt Dick? Is he adopted now at 25? Did you kick him out at eighteen? The second you didn’t have to support him, you just kicked him out?”

No. There was no way that happened. It couldn’t. Bruce was so…

But Dick and Bruce were fighting bad. And Dick was always so… stressed. When he had to be around Bruce, back in the early days.

And.

Jason… kind of felt exactly how Dick always looked, when he had to be around Bruce now… And Bruce didn’t want him around now…

And Bruce handed Robin off to another kid, without consulting Jason. To replace Jason, almost immediately after Jason died.

And Dick had been furious Jason was Robin, at first.

Jason had thought it was because Dick didn’t want some street rat being Robin, but if Bruce took Robin away and gave it to Jason…

“Did Dick even choose to stop being Robin or did you fire him?” Jason asked, more quietly before Bruce even had a chance to respond to all of Jason’s shouting, “Were you always a major asshole right from the very second I met you?”

Here Jason thought there had been good times.

But it had all just been a facade. A game. Fake.

The entire time.

Bruce held his hands out, like he was trying to placate Jason or something. Jason was tiny, it wasn’t like Jason could hurt him. But when Bruce spoke, he was looking over at Dick. “Look, I don’t have the answers to any of that,” he said, “I don’t know what future-me is thinking, or what I did, or why. I don’t. But, this is a conversation we should have in private, I think.”

“We don’t have to,” Dick said meekly, “Jason’s just being a jerk.”

A jerk, Jason wanted to shout at him. Jason was fucking helping him. He’s welcome.

“Yes,” Bruce agreed, “but he might be right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Jason shouted, “I’m right about everything, including how current you won’t—”

“You are not right about that,” Bruce boomed, cutting Jason right off. He paused to take a breath, then said calmly, “Jason, go take a break in your room and calm down. Let me talk to Dick.”

“Calm down,” Jason parroted, “You can’t send me to my room.” It wasn’t even his room. This wasn’t his time. This wasn’t his Bruce. And, most importantly, Jason was an adult. Bruce could not send him to his room like a nine-year-old child.

“Jason, please,” Bruce said, “you need to calm down.”

“I’m perfectly calm,” Jason snapped. He wasn’t anywhere near angry. Bruce wouldn’t be saying shit to him if he knew what Jason looked like angry. But, mostly importantly, Jason added, “And you can’t tell me what to do. You are not my dad.”

Even when he had adopted Jason, he made it painfully clear he wasn’t Jason’s dad. And he couldn’t have this both fucking ways. All the obedience with none of the responsibility. Fuck him.

“Jason,” Bruce boomed, “Enough. You’re in my house, you will listen to me. Go to your room.”

Clenching his teeth tight, Jason considered snapping back at him. But he also didn’t care that much. He’d already said his piece to Bruce.

Maybe Bruce would fucking fix it with Dick, now.

Besides, Bruce’s face was annoying, and Jason hated looking at it.

“Fine,” he spat, as he turned to leave the room, “I’ll leave. But you better fix this.”

“Don’t forget your book,” Bruce said, as he stepped over to the couch and picked up The Time Machine off the cushion.

Jason scowled at him and asked, “What, are you going to lock me in my room for the rest of the day?” Make him stay there for the whole ten days, just so he didn’t have to deal with Jason anymore?

“No,” Bruce exasperated, “but I have a feeling reading will help you relax more than sitting and staring at a wall.”

All Jason could do was scowl harder. Bruce didn’t even know him. How could he possibly even know that? He turned around and snatched the book from Bruce’s hand, then stormed out of the room, grumbling, “I’m not at all jealous of little-me. He’s gonna have to put up with your ass for three extra years. I can’t wait to get out of here.” He slammed the library door behind him and made his way down the hall to the stairs.

But he paused at the bottom and reconsidered going up to his room.

Bruce could kick him out of the library, fine, but he couldn’t tell Jason what to do or where to go. Jason was an adult. And he was going to spend his time where he wanted, not where Bruce wanted him.

So he, much more quietly now, so not to tip Bruce off, made his way through the labyrinth of halls that was Wayne Manor until he found the quiet parlor he was looking for. One never used by anyone in the house, except Jason. When he moved in.

In this time, it was still covered in dust cloths, just as it had been the first time Jason found it, so many years ago.

Alfred had removed all the cloths and freshened up the room so it would be more comfortable, once he realized Jason liked the room. Did Tim use the room, now? Or had Alfred covered it back up again, now that Jason wasn’t around to use it?

Jason closed the door behind him and moved one of the cloths off his favorite couch, then settled down on it.

At least he’d been right the whole damn time. Bruce was fake. From the beginning to end, that’s all he was.

Now he needed to figure out who he was calling when he got back, because it definitely wasn’t Bruce.

Chapter Text

“I don’t know what to do,” Bruce lamented to Alfred, where he’d joined the old man in the kitchen for afternoon tea. It wasn’t something they did often anymore, but when Bruce got home from picking up Dick, Alfred had practically dragged him in there and made him sit down.

Alfred always seemed to know when Bruce needed to talk through something. Even though Bruce never wanted to talk through things.

“He thinks I hate him,” Bruce continued, “The boy died and is miraculously alive again, and he thinks I hate him.” What could Bruce have possibly done to make Jason think such a thing?

Taking a sip of his tea, Alfred merely hummed. He was sat back in his chair across the little round table from Bruce, and looked the most relaxed he ever looked. Somehow, it wasn’t calming the turmoil inside Bruce.

It usually did.

Bruce sighed, and said, “He thinks I never loved him from the start. That he was a, and I quote, ‘a poor substitute for Dick’ when Dick and I were fighting.” That right there was what hurt the most.

He’d taken a boy in, three years in the future, and loved and cared for that boy for several years, at least, and somehow, that boy thought he was just, what? A placeholder? Someone to keep him company while he missed his first kid? How had Bruce gone about adopting Jason? What sort of conversation did they even have, if Jason could have possibly come away from adoption thinking Bruce didn’t want him?

“I- Alfred,” Bruce stammered, “What did I do? How could I— What went wrong to make a child I adopted think that?”

“I’m not sure,” Alfred said, as he sat forward in his chair to lean on the table, “obviously we don’t have the full story. And we don’t know Jason’s full story, he’s been rather fickle since he showed up here.”

Bruce nodded. Obviously he knew that. He knew he didn’t have the full story, and Jason was most certainly not interpreting everything properly.

But how had he come to these conclusions in the first place?

“However,” Alfred continued, “Foster children often have trust issues, and I imagine a child with Jason’s background as a homeless child doesn’t lend to being very trusting. Even now, he is only nineteen-years-old. He may claim to be an adult, but he is still a teenager, and one that has been through quite a bit of trauma, I’d wager.”

“So what, you think I never earned his trust?” Bruce asked. He found that hard to believe as well. Jason clearly trusted him on some level. He felt safe under Bruce’s protection, and had come to him in the first place for help.

“Either that, or you never solidified it,” Alfred said. He paused to take a long sip of his tea, and set the cup back on his saucer without a clink before continuing, “You tend to let your actions speak for you, and never verbalize what you are actually feeling. I can see a child with trust issues not picking up on the true meaning of your actions.”

“Actions speak louder than words,” Bruce parroted. Alfred had said that exact phrase to him a million times as he was growing.

Besides, he highly doubted he never told Jason anything. How did he adopt Jason? Did he seriously just do it without having a conversation? Was that even legal? A thirteen-year-old is old enough to have a say in all that.

“Yes,” Alfred said, “but if you are not using words at all, your actions alone might not be enough. Master Richard seems to hear your unspoken words just fine, but he had a loving home before coming here. He was never homeless, nor did he spend much time in foster care.”

Bruce nodded. He supposed it made sense, but they didn’t know for sure this was the problem.

Maybe Jason did something.

Though… Bruce couldn’t imagine a single thing Dick could do to make Bruce act in a way where Dick would think Bruce hated him. And after only knowing Jason for two days… he could see himself loving Jason that much. He was looking forward to meeting nine-year-old Jason.

But speaking of Dick. “Somehow, Dick and I have a falling out, too.” So maybe his lack of words was causing problems.

“Well then,” Alfred said, “perhaps you should begin practicing verbalizing your feelings.”

The mere thought of trying to get those sort of words out of his mouth made his stomach churn. “Alfred,” he said, slumping down over his tea like a little child, “You know I’m no good with words.”

He supposed it was a trait he’d gotten from Alfred, of all people. He didn’t remember his father being so scarce with his words.

Actually… he remembered both his parents tucking him in each night and telling him….if they were home.

Alfred hummed disapprovingly at him, and Bruce braced himself for whatever was going to follow.

“Then,” Alfred said, not quite as sharp as Bruce expected, “are you just going to sit back and allow your boys to drift from you, with the assumption you don’t love them and they mean nothing to you, because you find it hard to speak?”

Bruce leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. He could not allow that to happen.

Not if it led to the disaster that was Jason was sharing with them.

How did Jason die? That was another thing he wanted to know.

Was all that somehow related to this? Had Jason gotten in trouble, and refused to call him, thinking he wouldn’t answer? Just like he was hell bent on doing now?

God, he hoped that boy called him when he got back. He’d need to ask Jordan if there was a way to contact someone in the future, or that timeline’s future, to see if Jason made it. He wasn’t sure how he was going to live with the worry and uncertainty gnawing at him.

“Bruce,” he heard Jason shout faintly, from in the library where he and Dick were currently. He really hoped those two weren’t fighting. Dick had been so upset on the way to school, and Bruce hadn’t been sure what to say to make it better.

He figured there would be a lot of fights between those two, in the coming years…

That was how being brothers worked, right?

“That boy is going to be a handful,” Bruce sighed, as he got to his feet. Despite everything, Bruce couldn’t help his fond smile.

“I believe he will fit in quite well, then,” Alfred said, with a similar smile.

Bruce hollered after Jason, “What’s wrong?” but received no reply.

Well, other than Jason shouting, “You” at him, when he rounded the corner.

Which made no sense to Bruce. Him? He was what was wrong?

Obviously he knew Jason was mad at him, but that was future him Jason was angry with. He’d proven that afternoon that he could easily separate future-him from present-him. Otherwise, how could they have worked so well together, going through cases?

Stepping into the library, Bruce looked between Dick and Jason—and clearly something was going on between those two— he asked again, “What’s wrong?”

Dick looked at him, startled, and quickly rushed out a, “Nothing.” Which definitely didn’t ease Bruce’s mind at all. Whenever Dick said that, there was most certainly a lot wrong.

Jason just shouted, “You,” at him again.

“Me?” he asked.

“You are an asshole,” Jason sneered at him, and really, it did nothing to clear anything up.

He was already well aware of what Jason thought of him.

“Okay?” he said, “I’m not following.” Why was this something Jason felt the need to summon him to the library to share?

“How the hell is Dick not adopted,” Jason demanded, and Bruce felt like someone threw cold water at him. He didn’t even have time to process that statement before Dick was chastising Jason, in a whispered voice. As if Bruce wouldn’t be able to hear it if he whispered.

“Jason,” Dick whispered, looking just as frantic as his voice sounded.

“Uh,” Bruce stammered, “It’s, uh, not something we’ve discussed.” He didn’t think they needed to discuss it. Did they need to discuss it? Dick told him years ago that he didn’t want to be adopted.

“You’re such a jackass,” Jason shouted at him. He jumped to his feet, too, and honestly looked like a tiny ball of rage with how red his face was, and how deep his scowl was.

“How could you not adopt him?” Jason continued, without taking a breath, “No fucking wonder he hated me from the start. He’s your favorite but you adopted me first? What kind of cruel joke is that?”

Bruce stared at Jason, wide eyed, as he listened to his rant.

There was so much to unpack, and Jason wasn’t even done. Jason thought Dick was the favorite?

Did Bruce have a favorite? Wasn’t that… wasn’t that bad? For a parent—or guardian—to favor one child over the other? Why would Jason think that? What had he done to cause that?

“Were you ever gonna fix that? What the fuck Bruce? Did you ever adopt Dick? Is he adopted now at 25?”

He hadn’t even been aware there was anything to fix. A quick look over at Dick, and Bruce saw the boy looked ghost while. And maybe a little nauseated.

“Did you kick him out at eighteen? The second you didn’t have to support him, you just kicked him out? Did Dick even choose to stop being Robin or did you fire him? Were you always a major asshole right from the very second I met you?”

Whoa whoa whoa, hold on.

“Look,” he said, holding his hands up. He hadn’t done any of that. There was no way. No way. He can’t imagine kicking Dick out.

“I don’t have the answers to any of that,” he said, “I don’t know what future-me is thinking, or what I did, or why.” There had to be more to the story.

No, scratch that, he knew there was more to the story.

Jason himself admitted he didn’t know why Dick ‘hated’ him, not that Bruce believed that, either. So this was all speculation.

One thing Bruce knew for sure was Dick was clearly upset by all of this.

Turning toward Dick, Bruce added, “But this is a conversation we should have in private, I think.”

Because clearly they needed to discuss it.

Alfred might be right…

“We don’t have to,” Dick said, more meek than Bruce had seen him in years, “Jason’s just being a jerk.”

“Yes, but he might be right,” Bruce said. He definitely had a lot of it wrong, but he was right on a few points.

And, most importantly, Alfred was completely right. Really, the more Bruce thought about it, the more sure he was. There really was no way he could doubt it.

“Of course I’m right,” Jason shouted at him, all spitfire and sass, “I’m right about everything, including how current you won’t—”

“You are not right about that,” Bruce cut in, raising his voice loud enough to speak over Jason. He hated raising his voice to children, but Jason wasn’t showing any signs of letting up.

And he’d been doing nothing but shouting at Bruce.

Bruce took a deep breath and pushed all frustration out his nose with a steady exhale.

Or at least, he tried.

Honestly, he could not believe Jason seriously thought he’d just let him die.

“Jason,” he said calmly, “go take a break in your room and calm down. Let me talk to Dick.” He could go talk to Jason more after he took a step back.

Besides, Bruce should probably just nip this right in the bud, and handle whatever it is Dick was upset about. If he really was upset Bruce hasn’t adopted him…

He would have adopted Dick the second he met him, if that’s what he thought Dick needed or wanted.

Couldn’t he see it? Couldn’t he tell?

Bruce loved him more than anything in the world.

It took arguing back and forth with Jason to get him to finally leave the room and take his book with him. Bruce wanted him to actually calm down, not just simmer and stew in his room.

As Jason stormed out of the room, Bruce couldn’t help but massage his temples. Jason definitely got red hot when he was angry, but he at least could still see reason. Bruce would be able to work with that.

But Jason definitely grumbled something about not being jealous of little-him, which made Bruce’s heart squeeze a little.

Because it made him think Jason had been thinking about being jealous of ‘little-him’ before, but now that he was angry, he changed his mind.

Maybe he’d be a little premature, when he said Jason could see reason while angry…

“Look, Bruce,” Dick said, as he got up from the table and started to walk toward the door. He paused a few steps in front of Bruce, though and continued, “we don’t have to talk about anything. Jason’s just being a little jerk. He clearly likes to stir drama.”

“We can talk about this,” Bruce said, holding both his hands out to his side, ready to reach out and grab Dick if he tried to actually leave.

But Dick stayed standing there. He crossed his arms and looked off to the side, but didn’t offer anything else.

And.

This was… this was a major problem. Because Jason was right, wasn’t he? Dick was upset about this.

Did it really cause him and Dick to become estranged? Bruce most certainly didn’t want that. He couldn’t imagine ever being so deep into an argument that he’d not want Dick. Or Jason. But Jason seemed to believe that was the truth.

It couldn’t be the full truth. He’d give anything to talk to himself in ten years, to see what the full story was. And knock some sense into himself, if he honestly wouldn’t answer a distress call from his son.

“I just, didn’t realize this was something we had to talk about,” Bruce said, as he took a step forward and placed a hand on Dick’s shoulder. Gently, he turned Dick toward the couches, and led him over there.

“We don’t,” Dick snapped, even as he let Bruce sit him down, “I’m fine.”

“You aren’t,” Bruce said simply, as he sat down next to Dick. He put his elbows on his knees, and leaned forward, turned toward Dick. But all Dick did was cross his arm a little more defiantly, and turn his head away.

With a sigh, Bruce looked down at his hands and said, “You’ve been very upset since learning I apparently adopt Jason in the future, and I couldn’t figure out why. But.” It made sense. He just had no clue Dick wanted that.

Dick had been clear at the start, he didn’t need a new dad.

Still adamantly refusing to look over at Bruce, Dick uncrossed his arms and picked at the hem on his short for a moment before saying, “I’m not. I was just… surprised.”

“Surprised,” Bruce repeated. Bruce had also been surprised to learn he adopts another child in the future, but it wasn’t a bad surprise.

The way Dick was acting, he most definitely saw it as a bad surprise.

“I’m not upset about that,” Dick insisted, finally turning toward Bruce, “I’m upset that you apparently kick me out when I turn eighteen and then give Robin to Jason.”

“We don’t know that’s how it—” Bruce started, but Dick cut him off with a near-shout.

“He says I never came home!! Why would I never come here if it’s not because you don’t let me home?” Dick paused, taking a steadying breath before saying much more quietly, “I love it here. Why would I not want to come back?”

Maybe Jason made it hostile, Bruce thought to himself. Then instantly hated himself for it. Jason clearly cared about Dick, even if they likely had a strained relationship.

“I don’t know,” he said, “but I can’t imagine ever telling you you aren’t welcome here.”

“Well,” Dick said, looking away from Bruce as he crossed his arms again, “Maybe you didn’t have to say it.”

Bruce sighed and leaned forward, hiding his face into his hands for a moment.

Because Alfred was right. He was absolutely, completely, 100% right.

“Like I said, we don’t have to talk about it,” Dick said, as he started to push himself up from the couch.

But Bruce held an arm out to keep him from standing. “We’re talking about it,” he said.

Dick scowled, but sat back and waved a hand out as if saying well then say something.

“Okay,” Bruce said, sitting up. He rubbed his hand against the side of his face while he tried to think.

How did he even start this conversation? He didn’t know what to address first.

Although, maybe he should address the biggest problem they had, first.

“How many sides of a story are there,” he asked. Jason and his one-sided stories were the biggest problem.

Dick sighed heavily in lieu of answer.

“Come on,” Bruce said, “We’ve been over this.”

With a roll of his eyes, Dick said, “At least three. His side, her side, and the truth.”

“And how many sides to this story do we have?”

“Just Jason’s,” Dick admitted, slumping back in his seat a little more.

“Right. So we are missing your side to the story, and my side. The truth is somewhere in the middle of those three. We know Jason doesn’t have the full story, and we can’t rely on every word he says to be truth.”

Dick nodded.

“But we can work off what he has told us, and try to glean the truth from what he says. He’s obviously hurt at the moment, and seems to be in a fight of his own with both of us.”

“He thinks I hate him,” Dick said quietly, which just made Bruce nod.

“See, and that’s why I know he’s unreliable. You wouldn’t hate him. Even if I was exactly as horrible as he’s painting me and I threw you out on your butt the second you turned eighteen, you wouldn’t hate Jason. He’s just a kid. It would be me you’d hate.”

Nodding, Dick sat silently for a long few seconds before he said in a tiny voice, “Please don’t do that.”

Bruce put his arm back behind Dick on the couch and asked, “Why would I do that?” Again. He couldn’t think of a single reason why he’d do something like kick Dick out.

“I don’t know,” Dick said, leaning his head back against Bruce’s arm, “Why did you adopt Jason immediately but never me?”

“I didn’t think you wanted to be adopted,” Bruce said simply. He’d told Bruce as much.

That made Dick look up at him, his brow furrowed. “Why?” he asked.

“You’ve never told me you did.” Never once had Dick told Bruce he’d changed his mind about whether he wanted Bruce as a dad.

“How am I supposed to tell you that,” Dick nearly exclaimed, “That’s like—it feels like asking the richest man in the city to put me in his will. It’s tacky, and I was—”

Dick abruptly cut himself off, his eyes wide as he quickly looked away from Bruce.

“You were?” Bruce pressed.

“I was scared the answer would be no,” he whispered.

Bruce let out a breath. How long had Dick even been thinking about this?

And, more importantly, how had Bruce missed it.

Until basically now, he thought they’d been good.

He dropped his arm down around Dick’s shoulders and pulled him to his side. Dick only mildly objected with a “Bruce,” but he didn’t pull away in the slightest.

“Dick,” Bruce started, though he couldn’t really figure out the right words to say. “The answer would have been ‘yes, absolutely,’ just for the record,” he settled on saying. Because it would have been.

It was hard to guess how he would have reacted, but had Dick come to him a week ago and flat out asked ‘Would you adopt me,’ Bruce knew in his heart he would have said yes.

Because “For the record,” he said, “you’re already in my will. So it’s not asking for that.”

“I-what?” Dick asked, twisting in Bruce’s hold enough to look up at him again, “Since when?”

“Since you were nine,” Bruce replied simply. Basically since it was clear Dick was with them to stay.

“What?” Dick asked, sounding more shocked than confused.

“Look,” Bruce said, as he squeezed Dick’s shoulders slightly, “It doesn’t matter what term the government uses for you, whether it’s ward or son. Or what term you use for me. I see you as my son, and that’s that. I never— I didn’t think you saw me as a parent.” Dick most certainly never acted like Bruce was the parent. Alfred was the one he looked to for parental guidance.

Or… so Bruce thought.

“You act more like I’m your friend, or older brother. And that’s fine.”

Dick looked away, but he nodded slightly.

When he offered no comment, Bruce asked, “What is it you want?”

“All I want is not to be kicked out,” Dick whispered, “or forgotten. I love it here.” He paused for a long few seconds before adding, even quieter, “I love you.”

Bruce swallowed, trying to clear the lump in his throat that had all his words stuck.

Obviously he knew Dick loved them, but something about hearing it… He squeezed Dick tighter, and wrapped his other arm around him to make it a proper hug. Dick returned it the best he could, from the sideways angle Bruce had him trapped at, as Bruce finally said, “That won’t ever happen, I promise.” He’d never never kick Dick out. Or forget him.

It didn’t even matter what they fought about.

“I don’t know what happens between us in a few years,” he added after a moment, “but now that I know it’s possible for us to have such a bad fight, I’m going to be very, very careful about what I say to you when I’m angry.” Because he knew, sometimes, he could say boneheaded things when he’s angry. And he should know better than to say some of those things to his kid. He doesn’t know what he says or does in the future, but it had to be bad. If Dick left and it caused them to be estranged for years.

Dick slumped in his arms, as if Bruce didn’t say the right thing.

Or. Maybe. He wasn’t saying enough of the right things.

Alfred told him, he had to say it.

Bruce had to take a deep breath, then another as he finally forced himself to say, “And please, always remember, no matter what we’re fighting about…”

Dick looked up at him, his eyes shining, and Bruce could feel the words getting stuck, getting lodged. Right there in his throat, right where they always stayed. But with another breath, he closed his eyes to try and force them.

His father said it freely. His mother said it frequently, every day.

And Bruce was being incredibly unfair, by not saying it.

His boy thought he didn’t. His boy thought it was possible he didn’t.

“I love you,” Bruce heard himself say. He felt nearly detached from himself, but he meant every word when he finished, “more than anything in the world.”

“More than Alfred?” Dick whispered.

“Yes,” Bruce said, and he knew it was true. Losing Alfred would be one of the hardest things he’s ever experienced, right up there with losing his parents. Maybe more painful than losing his parents.

But losing Dick?

Bruce honestly couldn’t even fathom recovering from that. He really wanted to talk to Jason more about his current fight with future-him. Because if he felt even a fraction for Jason what he felt for Dick, which he knew is the case, because he could already feel Jason wedging himself right there next to Dick in his heart, he couldn’t imagine the pain he went through losing Jason.

How long did he think he was dead? How did Jason die? How did he come back? How long did it take for him to come back?

And, most importantly, how could he prevent it from happening again?

“Do you want me to adopt you,” Bruce asked.

Dick twisted in Bruce’s hold, and returned his hug for real as he rasped, “I don’t want to change my name from Grayson. It’s all I have left.”

Bruce set his chin on top of Dick’s head as he said, “I wouldn’t ask that of you.”

“Then,” Dick said, as he pulled away from Bruce, making Bruce let go of him and sit back up, “Then, yes. If you want to.”

“I would be honored to,” Bruce said, “I’m sorry I haven’t offered before.”

Dick simply nodded, so Bruce gave him another quick hug, and kissed him on the side of his face. Finally, Dick smiled wide, so Bruce returned it and said, “Okay. I’ll contact the lawyers on Monday about it.”

Finding Jason after he finished talking with Dick proved to be much harder than Bruce anticipated.

Because Jason wasn’t in his room. Bruce hit his head against Jason’s doorframe, because of course Jason wouldn’t go where he told him to go.

Of course.

He should have seen that coming a mile away.

After hunting each of the normal rooms Dick might spend an afternoon, Bruce found Alfred still in the kitchen to see if he knew where Jason went.

Bruce was honestly starting to worry Jason left. Since he didn’t actually have to stay…

That would be a nightmare. Trying to hunt down a little nine-year-old boy, especially if he stayed hidden long enough to return to his own time, before they had the opportunity to figure out how to incorporate nine-year-old Jason into their lives.

He still wasn’t sure how that was going to look, but he had some ideas.

“I believe he’s hiding in the formal parlor just past the ballroom,” Alfred said, and Bruce could sigh a breath of relief.

“Thanks, Alfred,” he said, as he turned on his heel to head in that direction.

Why on earth had Jason chosen there of all places? There were hundreds of places to hide in the Manor.

When Bruce knocked on the door and poked his head in, Jason absolutely scowled at him.

“Stalking people is illegal, you know,” Jason said. He was laying on the couch, holding his book up in the air over his face where he’d clearly been reading.

And hopefully calming down.

Bruce wondered how he could possibly be comfortable reading like that for an extended period of time, but kids…

“I talked to Dick,” he said. Maybe Jason would be able to forgive him for his future actions, if he saw Bruce was willing to fix them before they became problems.

Became bigger problems.

“Good for you,” Jason said, still not looking over, “go away.”

So Jason was still mad with him. “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he said, “but you needed to calm down.”

“I’m not going to be calm if you stay here,” Jason quipped.

Bruce wasn’t sure if he should smile or sigh.

“I wasn’t even angry,” Jason continued, dropping the book down onto his chest, “I get so angry I can’t see, and I wasn’t even shouting. I barely felt irritated. So you’re just stupid.”

“You get so angry you can’t see?” Bruce asked, furrowing his brow.

That… wasn’t normal.

Or good.

Bruce had been angry in his life, but never to that point. Would that be the point of completely losing control of oneself?

That was a good tidbit of information to have, considering he was about to raise Jason. What caused his anger? Could they do something to help?

“Little me didn’t,” Jason said, rolling his eyes dramatically.

“Has it been since you died?” Bruce asked, furrowing his brow further. He could imagine dying could cause drastic changes like that.

Or perhaps it had something to do with the method by which he was returned… He still was aching to know how that happened.

Jason paused, but nodded. “Yeah. You provoke me most of the time. Or Joker.”

“Joker?” Why Joker? Why not Two-Face? Or Bane?

“I’m not talking about it,” Jason said, crossing his arms over his book.

“Okay,” Bruce said slowly. He really couldn’t keep track of what Jason was and was not talking about.

Especially since he kept saying that, then continuing to talk.

“Is the anger perhaps artificial?” he asked, “It seems strange to me to have such explosive anger only after you’ve been resurrected. How were you resurrected?”

Jason looked over at him, then looked up at the ceiling as he stretched his arms up over his head and behind him, watching his arms the whole time, instead of looking over at Bruce. “Huh,” he eventually said, but he didn’t actually answer Bruce’s question.

Bruce shifted from foot to foot. “I want to talk to you at some point,” Bruce started, but Jason cut him off.

“I’m not talking anymore today.”

“Okay. That’s fine. We can do it tomorrow,” Bruce said. They’d probably talked plenty for one day, anyway. “But we need to talk, because I feel like there are a lot of misunderstandings happening here, and we need to sort them out.”

Jason rolled his eyes, crossing his arms again. “You aren't even my Bruce, you wont fix anything.”

“Perhaps, but I’m going to try.”

Jason rolled his eyes harder, but picked his book back up and started reading it again.

“I also want to talk to you about getting this Jason placed with me legally. Are you still in favor of that?” Maybe he could get Jason to talk to social services before he went back to his time.

That would make it much easier. Rather than having a nine-year-old with no memory of how he got here having to talk to social services….

“I never said I was in favor of it in the first place,” Jason said dully.

“But you didn’t have objections,” Bruce countered.

Jason huffed, but then said, “Ask me tomorrow.”

And all Bruce could do was smile. “Okay, I’ll do that,” he said. He turned to leave, but paused and said, “We’ll have dinner in about half an hour. Please, could you try not to put every one of Dick’s buttons this time around?”

“Only if you promise to adopt him and stop being an asshole to him,” Jason replied, still reading his book.

Or at least appearing to read his book. He turned a page, and his eyes kept going from left to right, as if he was reading.

“Dick and I talked,” Bruce said.

“That better mean ‘I told him I love him and he’s my favorite child and I will adopt him like I should have done five years ago.’”

Bruce smiled faintly and said, “Parents aren’t supposed to have a favorite. I guess that means I need to be more explicit with my Jason about how I feel about him, too. So he doesn’t think I have a favorite.” He absolutely would make sure his Jason didn’t think that.

This Jason dropped his book again and dropped his head to the side, so he could give Bruce the dullest death stare he’d ever seen. “Would you go away now?” he asked.

“Okay, fine,” Bruce said, smiling again, “But you and I are talking tomorrow.”

Eight more days with future-Jason.

He had so much ground to cover with him.

But… it didn’t feel like an impossible mountain to climb, either.

Chapter Text

In the morning, Bruce didn’t try to talk to Jason about anything. Not immediately at least.

Jason was a little suspicious of him. But when Jason came down for breakfast, he found Bruce sitting at the table with Dick, just chatting like it was a normal Friday. And when Bruce said, “Good morning, Jason,” when Jason sat down and didn’t follow it up with any questions, he couldn’t help but narrow his eyes at him.

At least Dick seemed more upbeat, now, with his bright grin he shot Jason’s way. So maybe Bruce did talk to him and told him exactly what Jason told him he needed to tell him.

Really, Jason was really starting to question whether this was even his Bruce.

Because all throughout breakfast, Bruce and Dick kept up the casual conversation, and tried their best to keep Jason engaged. And they weren’t even talking about anything.

It was weird.

Where was his Bruce, ready to interrogate until he got all the information he wanted? Had his Bruce ever been this patient??

Really, it just left Jason feeling… he didn’t even know. He tried to wrack his brain for any proof his Bruce was like this, but his memories were murky. He’d never really noticed, how cloudy his memory was. How difficult it was to think back, and remember the time before his death.

It wasn’t like he tired to think back much, anyway. What was even the point? He only ever found pain and anger back then, so he tried not to dwell on it.

All the memories this Bruce kept dredging up weren’t matching up with what he thought, though…

After breakfast, Bruce had to drive Dick to school, so Jason made his way to the library to hopefully spend the entire morning alone. Not thinking about things.

He had a ton to think about, and absolutely no desire to actually think about anything.

But of course, he had implied to Bruce he’d talk today, so it came as no surprise when Bruce appeared in the library doorway, an hour or so later.

Jason resisted the urge to melt down into the couch and completely hide from Bruce’s stupid face. But instead of literally anything Jason expected, though, Bruce asked, “What are you reading?” as he walked into the room and sat down, in an armchair adjacent to Jason’s couch.

“Still The Time Machine,” Jason mumbled. He was almost done, at least. He would have been long done, had he been able to focus better.

But the whole not thinking plan wasn’t working as well as he wanted it to.

“You know, Clark has a story he tells about meeting H. G. Wells,” Bruce said casually, as if that was a casual statement.

Why hadn’t he ever heard this story?

Or… had he heard this story before, and forgot? This was just the kind of story he can’t imagine himself forgetting. Maybe his Bruce just never told him because his Bruce was an asshole. And Jason never spent a ton of time around Superman. Not as much as Dick did.

Probably that.

“Did he travel back in time or something?” Jason asked.

“I personally think he’s full of it,” Bruce said with an easy smile, “but he claims that H. G. Wells has a real time machine and he was taken captive by some villain who was trying to kill Clark as a baby.”

“So what,” Jason said, “This book isn’t fiction?”

All Bruce did was shrug, so Jason said, “Huh. I’m going to ask him.” If he did decide to call for him, he’d probably have a chance to talk to him.

If he didn’t just drop him off at Blackgate once he was all stitched up…

That probably wouldn’t happen. Clark would drop him off in the cave, and let Bruce handle him, he was sure.

Which at least meant he wouldn’t end up in the hands of the GCPD.

“Do you like reading?” Bruce asked, after a moment had passed.

“Yep,” Jason said, sinking down into the couch further. Obviously he liked reading, and Bruce might as well know so he’d know what to get little-Jason for entertainment. Because Jason knew for a fact that little-Jason wasn’t going to outright tell Bruce about things he liked. Not for a long while.

He’d always been terrified that Bruce would take away things he liked, just to hurt him. Just like his foster parents did.

“I was starved for books, when I was a kid,” Jason offered, “but didn’t tell you. Took me forever to find the library and realize it was available to me.” He’d been so convinced, when he first found it, that if he touched a single book Alfred would appear out of no where and tell him to get his filthy thieving hands off the clean books.

The first book he’d read he’d snuck out of the library under his hoody. It wasn’t until he’d read three books like that, keeping them hidden in his bedroom under his blanket as he read, did Alfred let Jason know he knew with a simple “How did you find Great Expectations? That is one of my favorites.”

“So I should introduce nine-year-old-Jason to the library quickly, then,” Bruce said with a knowing smile.

All Jason could do was shrug. He tried to imagine how he would respond, as a nine-year-old on the brink of starvation, waking up in the richest man in Gotham’s house one day without warning. Probably with outright terror. He’d woken up in the hospital, once, with a social worker sitting by his side, and that had been terrifying enough. That hadn’t felt like being trapped, not as badly as this probably would.

He actually felt kind of really bad for little-him… having to go through that. Would being shown the library help? Jason could honestly see it going either way, either Jason would be blinded by the library and forget to be scared, or his terror would increase with the thought they were trying to buy him off. And then he’d refuse to use it.

“What sorts of books do you like to read?” Bruce asked.

Jason considered him for a long minute, before he dropped his shoulders and actually answered.

Either they could talk about books, or they could talk about actual things, and Jason would much rather go off on a rant about Pride and Prejudice than think about anything.

Somehow, he and Bruce passed the entire morning that way, going back and forth about books. He’d heard a lot of Bruce’s arguments before, a lot of his opinions. The more Bruce talked, the more Jason remembered. Hours upon hours spent, on these very couches, debating the finer details of whatever literature kick Jason had gotten into that week.

If Bruce didn’t love him, why did he do that?

Then again. Why was this Bruce doing it?

And. He wasn’t really sure how to feel about that, what to feel about that. Nor did he want to think about it.

Eventually lunch came around, and Bruce said, “I told Alfred I’d handle lunch today. What do you want?”

“I don’t want you to cook,” Jason said easily, scowling at Bruce a little. He’d much rather starve.

Or, to be actually serious, he’d rather just eat a bowl of cereal than whatever Bruce managed to whip up.

But Bruce laughed, his easy smile a little startling to Jason. Because.

It was all too familiar.

“The plan was to get something from somewhere,” Bruce said, “Is there anything you’re partial to?”

“Burgers,” Jason said quickly.

“I can do that.” Bruce pulled his phone from his pocket, to presumably order from some fancy-ass restaurant that was going to charge a million dollars for a burger.

So Jason added, “From Batburger.” Bruce hated Batburger in his time. Hated it. It was always an accomplishment when they convinced him to go there.

Bruce shot him an unimpressed look, but then paused for a moment and knocked his head back and forth. “I might be able to swing that,” he said.

“You might?”

“I’ll call a courier,” Bruce said, as he tapped something on his phone then held it up to his ear.

“Of course you will,” Jason mumbled. He really wasn’t sure whether he actually wanted to go out to Batburger.

Mask was still stuck in Africa, so he wasn’t worried about that, but the world didn’t know Bruce had another kid. So it was probably best they stayed inside, just like Bruce had asked of him.

Bruce spent a minute talking to whoever he’d called, whatever courier service he used, then turned to Jason and asked, “What do you want?”

“A batburger with a large fry and coke,” Jason said easily. He paused for a second, then added, “And a chocolate milkshake.”

“Can you even eat that much,” Bruce asked, but before Jason could do more than scowl, he smiled fondly and repeated Jason’s order to the courier. He asked for a salad for himself, because of course he did.

Half an hour later, Jason found himself sitting at the dining table as Bruce unpacked the bag the courier brought them. He’d already set the milkshake and coke down in front of Jason.

“This is what you got me the night we met,” Jason said, as he unwrapped his burger. It smelled delicious. “Well, except the milkshake.”

He couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d had a batburger. It was probably before he died…

“I remember you telling me I bought you a burger,” Bruce said, as he set the box of fries down on Jason’s burger wrapper. He took one and ate it, but then pulled his salad out and sat down in front of it.

Jason scowled at him for stealing his fry and said, “If you wanted fries you should have ordered them.”

Bruce didn’t react other than to smile, so the two of them settled into a comfortable silence as they began to eat. It only lasted a couple minutes, though, before Bruce spoke up and asked, “What is your favorite meal?”

“Now? Or when I was nine?” Jason asked.

“Both. Is it different?”

Jason picked up a fry and dipped it in his milkshake while he thought. Finally, after he’d eaten the fry he responded, “Alfred’s pot roast is my favorite meal now. With the scalloped potatoes he does. Fantastic.” He kind of wanted to get Alfred to make it again for him, before he returned back to his time. He’d not had it in years, obviously. Before getting thrown back in time. “I’m also quite partial to his french toast.”

“He does make a mean roast,” Bruce said.

“Ugh, I know,” Jason nearly moaned, “His brisket, too. The one he smokes out back? Amazing.”

Honestly, he really wished he could eat Alfred’s cooking more often. Maybe he could get recipes from Alfred? Would Alfred even talk to him? Would he share? Maybe Jason should just ask this Alfred for recipes. He could memorize them and then write them down as soon as he got back. Like… if he survived.

“Before Alfred’s cooking, what was your favorite meal?”

Jason bit the side of his cheek as he thought. Food was… complicated. When he was little. He’d not really had much space to have a favorite food. Especially not when he was on the street. Before that, though, when he was living with his parents…

Food was what it was. It was what his mom or dad put in front of him, and he had to eat it. Period. Not that he ever refused to eat what they gave him.

“Well,” he said slowly, “I loved chili dogs.” He’d always been excited when his dad said ‘Come on, we’ll go get dogs for dinner.’

“Uh,” he continued, “My favorite meal my mom made was chicken rice.”

“Chicken Rice?” Bruce asked.

With a shrug, Jason said, “I’m pretty sure it was just baked chicken with rice cooked in the chicken juice. Sometimes she added carrots.” It had always been warm and comforting, when she made it. And very filling.

It would have been cool had the time machine had sent him back just one more year further… or maybe two. So he could talk to his mother. To-to Catherine. He could have asked her, then, about the whole adoption thing.

Or he could have just had ten more days with her, and not taken them for granted.

Maybe when he got back, he could snag the device before whoever he’s going to call can get him.

Would Superman answer him…? Out of all the options he could think of, Clark seemed the most promising. He would be able to be there in an instant, after all. If Dick was in Blüdhaven, then he wasn’t going to get to Jason in time, anyway. And Jason kind of had a feeling Dick would be less likely to answer his call than Bruce.

This was all assuming Clark even heard Jason shouting his name. Clark must hear random people shouting ‘Superman’ all the time. So there was no guarantee he’d recognize Jason’s voice as his, and then care enough to check on him.

Assuming he even knew Jason was alive.

“I’ll be sure to let Alfred know,” Bruce said after Jason had been quiet for a minute, and Jason merely swallowed the bite he’d been absently chewing on.

Because.

Because he knew Bruce meant it.

And. He doesn’t even know why he cared that Bruce cared enough to make sure little-Jason got to eat his favorite foods. But he did. And he knew, Bruce took that kind of thing seriously. He always had.

“Have you ever had Alfred’s chicken noodle soup,” Bruce asked.

“Well yeah,” Jason said, “Alfred makes it every time one of us are sick.”

Bruce nodded and smiled as he said, “I’m glad he still does that. That is my favorite meal.”

Jason furrowed his brow, then asked, “Really? But it’s so… basic.”

“And?”

“I don’t know,” Jason exclaimed, “I thought you’d have like, some ridiculous rich person food as your favorite.” Bruce was ridiculous about literally everything else.

Bruce chuckled as he asked, “Like what?”

“Salmon en croute or, or,” Jason said, wracking his brain for the most ridiculous meals he’d ever been served at Wayne Manor, “roasted duck.”

All Bruce did was shrug as he said, “I’ve never been a fan of duck. Too greasy.”

With a huff, Jason smirked and said, “I guess I was expecting too much from a man who would rather eat protein bars and drink raw egg and spinach shakes all day than sit down for a meal.”

“Now you sound like Alfred,” Bruce said, clearly fondly, before he took another bite of his salad. Once he finished it, he added, “A diet like that has all the nutrients necessary.”

“It does not,” Jason shot back, “I’m tall you know, in my time. I’m as big as you are, and just as active, and I know that I feel much better when I’m eating real protein and real carbs.” The energy he got from that food lasted much longer than the energy he got from random crap or the fake shit protein bars gave him.

“Just like Alfred,” Bruce repeated, but his smile was full on fond now. Jason grumbled as he picked his burger back up.

Bruce had been kind of a little right. There was no way he’d finish all his food.

That didn’t mean Jason wasn’t going to try, though. Little-him needed the calories.

“So,” Bruce said, once Jason had slowed down significantly and was just staring at the half-a-box of fries left in front of him while sipping at his coke.

Jason raised an eyebrow, and just waited for Bruce to talk.

“Are you for or against me taking in nine-year-old Jason?”

Slowly, Jason set his cup back on the table, then just stared at the condensation collecting on the outside for a long moment.

He really wasn’t sure if he actually had any say in it, because what would even the other options be? It was hard to deny that his life would have been much, much better, had he not spent three years homeless…

“What would you do with him, if I was for it?” he finally asked.

“Well,” Bruce said slowly, “I’d give him a safe place to live and whatever support he needed.”

Jason just stared up at Bruce, waiting, so Bruce nodded and kept talking.

“He’d have his own room, of course, with whatever things he wanted or needed. Clothes, shoes, toys, books, all that sort of stuff. He’d go to school. I’d like to send him to Gotham Academy, but I’ll let him have some say in which school exactly.”

“He’d choose Gotham Academy,” Jason whispered. He’d been beyond ecstatic to attend, back when he was twelve.

Bruce nodded, and kept going. “And I’d be there to support him, however he needs. Alfred would make sure he’s fed, of course. I would adopt him, if he wants me to. I’ll let him settle in and decide for himself.”

Jason looked back down at his cup and reached out, so he could drag a finger across the little bubbles of condensation on it.

Logically, he already knew all this. He knew Bruce was going to be great to little-Jason. He’ll be great and fantastic, until he’s not anymore. And then the switch will be flipped, and it will suck for little-him.

Although, maybe if this Jason didn’t become Robin, there wouldn’t ever be a problem?

“Would you make him Robin,” Jason asked.

“Dick is Robin,” Bruce said simply.

“Right. But when Dick stops being Robin, will you make him Robin?”

Bruce shifted in his seat, then said very carefully, “I would not encourage him to go out in a mask, no.”

All Jason could do was stare at him, absolutely baffled.

Wasn’t that what Bruce wanted out of kids?

Putting a hand on the back of his neck, Bruce let out an awkward laugh as he said, “I actually am not in support of children being vigilantes. Not fully. I-I will help a child hellbent on being one anyway do it safely, and with my protection and guidance, but no. I would not encourage him to become a vigilante, be that Robin or some other named endeavor.”

Jason slowly picked up one of his fries. It was cold and stale by then, but he chewed on it mechanically anyway as he tried to gather his thoughts.

This wasn’t his Bruce at all, was it? If it was, how did that explain him getting Tim Drake? Or him starting with offering Jason Robin? If he just wanted Jason safe, wouldn’t he have just offered that?

He’d never offered that first. Not. Not as a permanent, thing. He’d temporarily let Jason stay in the Manor, before he offered Robin.

Right?

Or had Jason honestly misunderstood?

“Okay,” Jason finally said, “What about—what if he starts getting angry a lot. Gets into fights at school. Fights at home. He starts giving you a lot of attitude all the time and-and he says stuff like he hates you, and you suck, and—” Jason cut off. It wasn’t like he could say and started getting more and more violent while on patrol. Because.

Well.

If that wasn’t going to be an issue…

Jason really wasn’t sure if he would have chosen to be Robin, without Bruce encouraging it. And without spending three years on the street, seeing the worst side of Gotham on a daily basis. Living the worst side of Gotham.

“Then,” Bruce said slowly, when Jason didn’t continue, “I’d pray the Lord gives me strength as we weather the very normal teenage rebellion phase.”

“You don’t believe in God,” Jason deadpanned, giving Bruce an unimpressed look.

Bruce smiled and said, “Dick does those things sometimes, you know.”

“Yeah I know. But I’m not Dick.”

“You’re right, you’re not Dick,” Bruce said, “but that’s not a bad thing like you’re implying it is. Yes, your relationship with me will be different, because you’re a different person, but that doesn’t make it lesser. I will raise you from the time you are nine-years-old. You cannot sit here and tell me that when you are thirteen, fifteen, nineteen-years-old I will somehow hate you. I’ve found it impossible to spend so much time with a child, raise a child and see them flourish and blossom, and then somehow lose my adoration for them just because they’re moody and fifteen.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m different,” Jason grumbled, as he sank down into his chair.

Bruce didn’t even know how old he was when he died, right? Jason hadn’t told him jack shit.

So how did he know?

“You are different, but that much, Jason,” Bruce said.

“Well maybe I am.” Obviously he was. Otherwise Bruce wouldn’t have done everything he did.

I’m not your father, Jason, I don’t need your teenage rebellion.

He’d never had a single ounce of patience for Jason. Not a single ounce.

“I gather you have problems with anger,” Bruce said, sitting back in his chair as he crossed his arms, “You told me as much yesterday.”

Jason just shrugged, as he sank even lower in his seat. He did, but also he didn’t want to talk about it. Or think about it.

He’d been fine the past few days. Ever since he got sent back… And. He didn’t want to mull over why that was. Because it just made him think about the Lazarus Pit, and he didn’t want to talk about that.

And.

He’d had angry fits as a kid, too. It wasn’t like anger was new to him. Just. Maybe the intensity of it…

“We can work on that, Jason,” Bruce said seriously, “I will work on that, how’s that? I promise you, today, that I will research how to help children with anger and I will do everything in my power to help you in those moments. Even if I’m frustrated. I am capable of shelving my frustration to help people, you know. I’m sure you’ve seen me do that hundreds of time, while out as Batman.”

“You never could with me,” Jason mumbled. He crossed his arms tightly and looked off toward the ground, under the table. Again, Bruce never had a single ounce of patience.

“Now that I know this is a problem, I can work on it.”

Jason sort of forgot how… optimistic Bruce was. How optimistic he could be. He never saw optimism in him anymore. Only pessimism. Bruce only ever expected the absolute worst from Jason at all times, no matter what. No matter what Jason did, Bruce just jumped to the worst conclusion, and acted like it was fact, whatever his conclusion was. Oh, Jason shot someone? He must have been trying to kill them because he’s an evil cold blooded killer who went after the innocent who were just out grocery shopping.

“What else?” Bruce asked, “What else do I need to do to make you comfortable with this?”

Was Bruce seriously offering Jason concessions? Was he actually bargaining with Jason?

For what?

So he could adopt little-him? Why did he even care that much?

And. Was it even going to last?

Bruce held a hand up and made a come on gesture at him as he said, “Lay it on me. What are your gripes with how I raised you?”

“Uh, well,” Jason said slowly, trying to think up every complaint he’d ever had, “Oh. Let me—him. Let him do extracurriculars.”

Furrowing his brow, Bruce asked, “Do I not let you do them? Or. Did I not?”

“No,” Jason said, shaking his head numbly. And he’d forgotten how much it hurt, back then. To be told no.

Especially now knowing that Dick got to do whatever-the-fuck he wanted. Basketball.

“Why not?” Bruce asked, looking genuinely confused.

“You said it would get in the way of being Robin. Get-get in the way of Batman and Robin, of training, and I need to train, and practice, and—. Theater would get in the way. It was either theater or Robin.”

So why the fuck did Dick get to do basketball? Shouldn’t it have been basketball or Robin?

Just more proof that Bruce did see Jason very differently than he saw Dick. Dick was his son, Jason was just a sidekick.

“And that didn’t feel like much of a choice, did it?” Bruce asked, frowning.

“No,” Jason said numbly. The only reason Bruce even took him in was to be Robin.

“You thought I only took you in so you could be Robin, and so when I told you it was theater or Robin…” Bruce said. Jason looked up when he trailed off, and saw he looked mildly sick at the realization.

If Jason had chosen theater over Robin… would Bruce have even kept him? Sure, he’d been adopted, but that didn’t mean Bruce had to keep him. This Bruce obviously thought he would have, but would Jason’s Bruce? If Jason went and asked, would Bruce even give him an honest answer?

“I’m sorry, Jason,” Bruce said, “That wasn’t right of me. Of course you can do theater, or whatever else extracurricular this Jason chooses. I’ll make sure of it.”

Jason nodded. He believed Bruce, too. Because… this Bruce was clearly a different Bruce from his.

“What else?” Bruce asked.

All Jason could do was look up at him, wide eyed. He wanted more? He’d do more?

Just to get to keep Jason?

“I-I don’t know,” he stuttered.

“Well, what are your other grievances with me? Come on, I can take it. Just lay them all out.”

“Um,” Jason hummed, wracking his brain for more, “I guess. Tell me about my birth mother.” Really, that was the only other thing he’d wished his Bruce had done differently.

Maybe had he told Jason, Jason would have never…

Bruce faltered and asked, “Tell you what about her? I’ll admit I don’t know much beyond her name.”

Figured he’d already know, Jason thought. He nodded and said, “But I didn’t know about her. You knew, but didn’t tell me.”

“You didn’t know her name?” Bruce asked, his face going completely blank.

“I didn’t know Catherine wasn’t my birth mother.”

“Oh,” Bruce said lamely, “Okay. I will tell Jason about that very soon.”

It was sort of maybe a little nice, to see Bruce had simply assumed Jason already knew and likely wasn’t keeping it from Jason on purpose. His Bruce hadn’t outright said he’d already known, but it came as no surprise to him, when Jason told him about Shelia. At the time, Jason had just assumed he kept it from him on purpose…

“Is she someone you-he would want to meet?” Bruce asked slowly.

“No,” Jason said quickly, sitting up again. He gave Bruce a serious look as he said, “I mean yes, he’ll want to meet her, but trust me. Do not let that happen.”

“Okay, do you want to tell me about that?”

“No,” Jason said. He sat back again, but added, “She’s evil. That’s all you have to know.”

Both Jason’s mom and dad were shitty people. No wonder his Bruce expected nothing but bad from Jason.

“Okay,” Bruce said absently, nodding. Jason could see the gears turning in his head, see all the dozens of questions he was likely squirreling away to research later, but he thankfully didn’t voice any of them when he nodded again. “Okay. Anything else?”

“You want more?” Jason couldn’t help but blurt out. He took a second, then finally decided, “Pay for my college.”

“Of course,” Bruce said instantly, “Please don’t tell me future me isn’t paying for your college. Or—” he paused, and his entire face fell, “I guess if you didn’t finish high school…”

“Yeah. I dropped out.” No college for Jason.

He wasn’t going to dwell on that, either.

“You should get your GED,” Bruce said.

“I don’t know.” Doing that would require getting an identity, or legally resurrecting him, and he was sure Bruce wouldn’t be willing to help. He could probably create his own identity by himself, but… He didn’t know. He’d never really wanted to make up a fake identity. He wanted to be himself.

But he was dead. And no one cared.

“Think about it,” Bruce said, “Then ask me, future me, to pay for your college. I’ll do it.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” Jason snapped, scowling hard, “My Bruce won’t remember this conversation.”

“Jason, just last week Gotham Academy called and asked if I’d sponsor a child to attend for the next ten years. I said yes and wrote a check. I’ve never met the kid and probably never will, don’t even know his name. Why would I say no to my son?”

“I’m not convinced you’re even my Bruce,” Jason said, still scowling hard. His Bruce had already made it clear he cared more about random people he’d never met than Jason, anyway.

“Jordan was very clear on how the tech—” Bruce started, but Jason cut him off.

“Yeah, but I don’t think he can be so certain about this. You aren’t acting like my Bruce. My Bruce wouldn’t make concessions to me. For any reason, at all, ever. It’s his way or the highway.”

Then again, maybe Bruce was just saying all this to convince Jason to help him, then once Jason returned to his time and little-Jason didn’t remember anything, Bruce would go back on any promises he made.

It wasn’t like any of these promises were being made in front of anyone but Jason. Little Jason wasn’t the one Bruce was promising anything to, and Jason couldn’t go check to make sure Bruce was doing what he was supposed to do.

Bruce sat still for several long moments, so long, actually, Jason started to get uncomfortable under his gaze. He kind of wanted to get up and leave, but he also had no place to go. Not really.

He could go back to the library, he supposed, but Bruce could just easily follow him there, too.

Finally, Bruce said, “Was there really no good times?”

Jason frowned. He really wasn’t sure how to answer that. Or if he even wanted to.

“Was your time in my house this awful?” Bruce asked after another moment had passed.

“No,” Jason replied, reluctantly, “It wasn’t.”

Because it wasn’t.

It was present Bruce making everything suck. Present Bruce and parts of past-Bruce. The parts that were fake.

“I don’t understand then,” Bruce said, “What have I done to make you feel this vehemently?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jason grumbled.

“Well I do,” Bruce shot back, “I want to make sure I never do whatever it is I’ve done to make you feel this way.”

“How am I even supposed to trust that?” Jason exclaimed, “My Bruce wouldn’t make concessions to me, and no one’s here to hear you make these promises. For all I know, you’re just saying whatever I want to hear so you can make me help you pull the wool over social services’s eyes so you can keep little-Jason without problem.”

“And why would I do that, if I didn’t care about Jason?” Bruce asked, his voice devoid of all emotion.

Fuck him and his shutting down his emotions when dealing with Jason’s temper.

Jason wasn’t even angry yet.

“You don’t care about me,” Jason shouted, “You don’t even know me.” And the Bruce that knew him sure-as-fuck didn’t care.

Because his Bruce did nothing but fight him. Yell at him, scream, hit him, push him around, and-and. Even if they didn’t start off fighting, he got that hard look in his jaw, whenever Jason appeared. Like he was just waiting for Jason to do something to retaliate again. Like he expected Jason to fuck up somehow, so he could start yelling.

Dick was a major asshole, when Jason first moved into the manor. He was angry all the time, and got into shouting matches with Bruce, but Bruce never jumped straight to anger with him. Not like he did with Jason.

If Dick appeared during one of their cases, Bruce just accepted the help. If Jason appeared, it was an instant “What are you doing here Hood?”

Because Bruce didn’t want him around.

At all.

Ever.

“You never saw me as a son,” Jason snapped, “I was just a soldier in your crusade. Maybe if you see him as a son like you say you will, there won’t be a problem, but my Bruce never did and still doesn’t.”

Bruce nodded slowly, still projecting his emotion-less face that just made Jason want to scream louder. He bit his tongue, though, and waited for Bruce to say, “But he adopted you. Why would he—”

“He told me himself I’m not his son,” Jason cut in, his tone sharp, “You talk about teenage rebellion, but he told me he didn’t need my teenage rebellion because he wasn’t my father. Stop assuming you know more than me.” Jason was outright shouting by the end, but he didn’t even care.

He deserved to be angry about this.

“How old were you?” Bruce asked, quietly.

So Jason spat back, “Fifteen.”

Bruce inhaled a sharp breath, almost like someone had smacked him, but all he did was nod. “Jason—“ he finally started, but Jason cut him off again.

“No,” he said, standing up and letting his chair scrape noisily against the floor as he did, “I don’t want to hear it.” He pushed the chair back in and gripped onto the back as he said, in a semi-calm voice, “I’ll help you get little-me placed with you, but only because here is better than out on the street. A lot of shit happened to me out there, and if I can protect little-me from it, I will, but it’s not because I think you’re a good parent. I think you’re a shitty parent, and if there was literally any other option out there, I’d take it. But there’s not. Stop trying to convince me of things I know aren’t true, and I’ll let it all drop.”

“Okay,” Bruce said, but Jason didn’t even care. He’d already turned and started to leave the room.

Because at the end of the day, he knew he couldn’t convince Bruce of anything. Bruce was never one to just admit he was wrong about something. But he also knew that this was the best place for little-him to grow up.

Now that Bruce knew to tell him about Shelia early, and knew not to let him go meet her, and also wasn’t going to make him Robin, well…

Maybe now little-him wasn’t doomed to die at fifteen-years-old. And even if Bruce was a major asshole, he’d still give Jason the best education money could buy. And he’d give him a chance at life. A chance he didn’t have, presently. Not as a homeless orphan.

It was possible Dick was going to be way nicer to little-him this time around, at least. Now that he was getting adopted and didn’t have any animosity toward him.

Having a loving older brother might just make it all worth it…

If Jason called Dick upon his return, would Dick maybe contact Superman? Or the Flash? To help Jason out? He could always call him and start off with apologizing for getting adopted first. Maybe that would make Dick listen for half a second…

Besides, it was probably perfectly clear to Dick, now, who the favorite child was, and it definitely wasn’t Jason. So there was no reason to be jealous anymore.

Just angry… at Jason. For being an ass to Tim.

Maybe he should apologize for that, as well. He was kind of a little sorry.

Jason sighed heavily when he reached his room. “His” room. He wasn’t even sure why he’d gone there, but he collapsed onto his bed once he did and decided to actually think about things.

He pulled his notebook out from under his pillow, where he’d stashed it that morning, and decided to start writing up something new.

His plan for when he returned. Little-him was going to be fine, so now it was time to worry about big-him. Him him. So he started with writing up a list of anyone he could possibly contact within two minutes of returning home. That needed to be his top priority.

Dying a second time really wasn’t something he wanted to do.

Chapter Text

Saturday and Sunday passed by quietly. Black Mask made it back to Gotham, but he was seen out with his parents Sunday afternoon, then at a party that evening. Batman hadn’t caught a whiff of him out and about, doing anything more nefarious than that. Jason dared say he was starting to relax.

Especially since Bruce left him alone. He didn’t try to make Jason talk about anything ‘important’ the entire two days, other than to update him on Black Mask when he had updates.

Dick didn’t leave Jason alone, which was kind of annoying, but also kind of not. Because, well. It was sort of neat. Jason had rarely got to actually hang out with Dick, back in his time. There had been a couple times they actually felt like brothers, but it was rare. Jason got to ask Dick questions about his life at the Manor he’d never been able to ask his Dick. And Dick seemed to really enjoy spending time with Jason, if him dragging Jason all over the place to play games or watch movies was any indicator.

Both nights, Dick dragged Bruce into the theater to watch movies with both of them, too. Which was nice, Jason supposed. Bruce kept up friendly conversations, and even though it was awkward as fuck, he tried his best to keep Jason engaged in conversation, too.

Monday morning, though, Bruce had Alfred drive Dick to school so he could sit Jason down and go over the game-plan for tricking CPS.

Jason rolled his eyes a lot at Bruce, but he had to admit… the story he came up with was plausible.

Sort of.

He really hoped little-Jason went along with it, once he woke up and learned everything. Bruce said himself he was torn on whether he was going to tell little-him the truth, and Jason honestly wasn’t sure which option was the best.

But just a few short hours after the ‘strategy meeting’ with Bruce, Jason found himself standing in the formal parlor, face-to-face with ‘his’ social worker. Bruce was quickly shooed out of the room, leaving just her and Jason.

If he’d been actually nine-years-old, that would have terrified him, him being alone with the social worker so suddenly. He’d have to tell Bruce that, later.

Then again, little Jason didn’t trust Bruce yet. So maybe he would have just been terrified in general.

“You’re not my social worker,” was the first thing Jason said to her. He vividly remembered his social worker, a nasty older woman named Cheryl who called him a troublemaker and told him he was telling stories when he tried to tell her about how awful his first foster family was.

This was a younger woman, probably in her late 20s at the most. He’d seen his file from this time, too, so he knew this Jason had the same social worker he’d had.

Because he was this-Jason. Supposedly.

The lady sighed, and sat down on one of the couches. She pulled her skirt toward her knees then set her clipboard on her lap before looking back up at Jason and smiling. “My name is Paige. I’m your new social worker,” she said, “Bristol isn’t in the same jurisdiction as Gotham. Usually, we would return you back to Gotham for them to handle your placement, but Mr. Wayne said you’d made it clear if he returned you to the authorities there, you weren’t going to stay where they put you.”

“I won’t go back to Gotham and you can’t make me,” Jason said, crossing his arms. He needed to act as ornery as possible, since little-him was going to be a little brat, he knew.

Present-Jason was a brat, too. It was one of his strengths.

“I won’t make you go back to Gotham,” Paige said, “You’re officially a Bristol child now. Gotham transferred you to us.”

Huh.

How much money had Bruce had to throw at Gotham and Bristol to make this happen?

And how much had he thrown at Gotham, the first time around, to make Cheryl “place” Jason with Bruce. Or was Gotham CPS allowed to place kids with people outside the city? Jason honestly had no clue how it worked.

“So you’ll let me stay here?” Jason asked skeptically. Was it actually that easy?

Bruce definitely bought them off.

Paige grimaced, and Jason felt himself go on edge as she said, “If here seems like a safe place, and you seem to be here by your own free will, then I will allow it, but—”

“But nothing,” Jason cut in, scowling hard, “no one can make me be anywhere I don’t wanna be, and I want to be here.”

With a nod, Paige motioned for the couch across from her as she said, “Then let’s talk about how you got here. Come sit down.”

Jason rolled his eyes, but stomped over to the couch she pointed at and flung himself down. When he was little, he gave his social worker attitude every single time. Once she told him she wouldn’t believe a word he said ever, he’d lost all respect for her and never once said a single nice thing to her.

He imagined little-him wouldn’t show this social worker any respect, either, once he woke up and met her.

“How did you meet Mr. Wayne,” Paige asked, after just observing Jason pout for a few seconds.

“I tried to rob him,” Jason grumbled. Bruce’s story had been sort of ridiculous, but also not. Real Jason wouldn’t have failed to notice Dick Grayson sitting in the car, but for the story…

“Can you elaborate?” she asked, so Jason rolled his eyes and uncrossed his arms.

He sat up and said, exhaustedly, as if being forced to repeat this story was the most annoying thing on the planet, Jason repeated Bruce’s story. “He was parked on the street and I was going from car to car checking for unlocked ones. People are stupid. His was unlocked, because he’s stupid and there was a couple twenties in the cup holder, so I reached in and grabbed them. But then his stupid kid was sitting in the backset and he yelled at me, so I tried to run but when I turned around he was there.”

“Did he do anything to scare you?” Paige asked.

“Well yeah, you saw him, he’s massive. I tried to give the money back but he refused to take it back. He said clearly I needed it more than him. I still got it.” Jason reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out the small wad of cash to show her. That had been a little fun to make Bruce give him. When Bruce was going over the story with him, he’d held a hand out and said, ‘give me sixty bucks.’

‘What?’ Bruce had responded, definitely confused.

‘Sixty bucks, give me. I’m a starving homeless child, I’m not giving up that money. It’s staying in my pocket for the next six months until I trust you won’t kick me out. You know how much food sixty bucks can get me?’

Bruce had frowned, and definitely looked pained, but he’d reluctantly pulled his wallet out and handed Jason three 20s.

He hoped little Jason felt more secure with the cash in his pocket.

Paige smiled at his showing, then asked, “How did that turn into you coming here?”

“Well he asked if I wanted some lunch because him and his kid were about to eat at the bistro there and I don’t turn down free food. Then, I dunno. We sat there for like, two hours, chatting and I dunno. He seemed actually nice. He listened to me when I said I’m not gonna let him turn me over to the cops. He said he could help me find an actually safe place to live, without the cops then. And. I dunno.”

Jason scowled when Paige gave him a critical look. “I’m not stupid,” he snapped, “I don’t get into cars with strangers, but. He seemed real. I can tell if someones a creep, and he isn’t one. He was treating his kid real good and his kid wasn’t acting all weird like he was trying to fake it, you know? Also he’s famous, so if he’s lying and is a creep I can just go tell the newspapers and they’ll tell everyone on him. So. I’m not worried.”

“If he does something bad,” Paige said, “You can tell me, too.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jason said dismissively. He knows for a fact little-him won’t. He learned his lesson the first time.

His foster ‘dad’ beat the shit out of him for telling the social worker he smacked Jason around.

Paige sighed, as if she just knew Jason wouldn’t be telling her shit ever. But she said, “Okay. How many days have you been here?”

“Three.”

“And how has he been treating you?”

“Good,” Jason said easily, allowing a small smile onto his face, “Alfred makes real good food and they don’t care how much I eat. I’m allowed to get snacks whenever I want. And he hasn’t hit me once.”

He remembered being twelve and absolutely mystified by that. Living with Bruce, pissing him off, and then not getting smacked.

If only present Bruce could remember his promise to Jason…

Then again, Jason usually threw the first punch, so he supposed he wasn’t really one to talk.

“That’s good,” Paige said, “He shouldn’t ever hit you.”

Jason shrugged and said, “He said he won’t. I never met an adult like that.”

Paige frowned hard, just like Jason knew she would. He’d known exactly how a comment like that would land, and it took a bit of effort not to show his pleasure for how well it worked on his face.

“And he said he’s gonna send me to Gotham Academy,” Jason said, now grinning wide at her. That had been another thing that really got him excited at twelve. “That’s the best school in the country. I want to go to college one day, you know, but I can’t do that if I don’t go to school and all and he said Gotham Academy.”

“Did he now?” Paige said, returning his smile with a small one of her own. She looked down at her clipboard and started writing a few notes.

Jason nodded eagerly. “Dick goes there already, and Bruce said as soon as the placement is finalized he’ll sign me up and I can start immediately. And did he show you the library?”

“Gotham Academy's?” Paige asked, giving him a quizzical look.

“No, Wayne Manor’s.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Want to see it?” Jason asked, doing his best to be cute kid.

He’d learned how to be a cute kid when he was homeless. It got him out of a lot of shit. At least, it worked on people who weren’t of the less-than-savory variety.

Paige nodded and let Jason lead her down and through the halls until they reached the library. She smiled at him fondly when he opened the doors and held his arms out in a behold sort of gesture.

“Bruce said I’m allowed to read anything I want. This library is mine now.”

“That’s great,” she said, “I take it you like to read?”

“Yeah.”

After that, Paige asked Jason to show her his bedroom, which he did while talking up how huge the room was. When they got upstairs, he opened the bedroom door and gestured for her to go inside.

“Wow, this is large,” she said, as she walked inside and started checking the closet and windows.

Jason stood in the doorway and watched her as he said, “Yeah. My last home made me share a room with two other boys and it was the size of my closet here.”

“Is that why you ran away,” she asked.

Which just made Jason scowl at her again. “No. That’s a stupid reason.” If the only thing wrong with that house had been the sleeping arrangements, he would have gladly stayed.

“Then why did you?” she asked. She looked down at her clipboard again and wrote several more notes, then she opened the final door in the room and found the bathroom.

With a shrug, Jason leaned against the doorframe and said, “I got tired of being a punching bag they kept around for the state money.” Which was mostly true. They’d also been starving him, and screaming at him over everything he did, and Jason had never been one to put up with that shit out of anyone.

Except his dad…

At least his dad wasn’t always bad. He still loved Jason. His foster parents didn’t. Jason definitely liked Bruce better as a dad, though… When Bruce was being great to him.

“So you chose the street over that? Why didn’t you tell your social worker?”

Bristol must be much nicer than Gotham, if this woman honestly was asking such a question.

Jason’s scowl deepened as he snapped, “She didn’t listen to me. She said I was telling stories. I had a fucking black eye but I was telling stories. And have you ever been a punching bag? I was my dad’s before, it sucks. I’m sick of it. On the street no one can push me around. If someone tries, I can just run. Gotham is huge. Plus the barely fed me, I knew I could probably find at least that much food on my own, and maybe more.”

He couldn’t, he didn’t say. Not when he was nine, but she didn’t need to know the gory details of his life on the street.

His appearance kind of told the story for him, anyway.

Paige gave him a tight look, but after a second she sighed and asked, “But you’ll stay here?”

“Yeah,” Jason said easily, dropping the scowl, “I told you, Bruce and Alfred are nice and they feed me. And Bruce said he turns down the state money when he fosters. I never heard of a foster parent doing that. Aren’t they all in it for the money?”

That had been fascinating to him at twelve, too. The idea that he wasn’t just a means to make money to Bruce. He was the opposite, and Bruce wanted him anyway.

“Oh honey,” Paige said. She crossed the room back to where he was and crouched down in front of him, so she was looking up at him, “I’m sorry you’ve had such a bad experience with the foster care system so far.”

Jason shrugged again and looked away from her actually kind-looking face.

Where had this woman been when he was actually a nine-year-old foster kid? And was she still a social worker in his time? Because if she was for real and actually cared about the kids she was in charge of…

He really wasn’t sure, but she probably deserved a raise or something.

“That’s Gotham for you,” Jason said, “Will you let me stay here?”

“Yes,” Paige said, nodding seriously, “but only if you promise me something.” She waited until Jason’s eyes found her again before stressing, “If things turn bad here, you’ll tell me so I can help you. I don’t want you running away again, it’s very dangerous out there and you could get hurt or worse, and I don’t want that for you. I want you going to college one day, too. I promise I will listen and believe you if you ever tell me Bruce does anything bad, including hit you just one time.”

“I will, I promise,” Jason said. He was serious, of course. He just hoped little-him got the same read on this woman, when he meets her for the first time whenever the next check-in would be.

Maybe he’d write some notes in the notebook for little-him about how Paige seemed nice.

She smiled kindly at him then stood and said, “Okay sweetie. I’ll talk with Bruce about setting up a check-in schedule.”

“He’s probably in his study,” Jason offered as he turned around to leave the room. He led her through the house and down to Bruce’s study where he was, in fact, sitting and staring at his laptop screen. Then he just lingered in the room as the two of them talked shop and put together the rest of his care plan.

Because apparently little-him had a care plan now.

Jason followed along as Bruce walked Paige out, making sure he put on display how comfortable he was with Bruce, but without making her think he was knowingly doing that. Bruce had one month to make little-him comfortable in Wayne Manor, so she wouldn’t be suspicious of anything.

Sending him to Gotham Academy was definitely going to go far in little-his book.

And feeding him.

Once they got to the door, Paige turned to him and smiled. “I’ll see you next month, Jason. I hope to hear all about your first day at Gotham Academy.”

“Okay,” he said brightly, smiling at her again. He knew for a fact past-him would voluntarily tell her all about that, even if he couldn’t remember this conversation.

Bruce shut the door once Paige walked down the steps and waved at the two of them. He turned toward Jason and opened his mouth to say Jason-didn’t-care-what.

“Tell little-Jason about Gotham Academy and the library immediately, and let him know he can eat anything he wants,” Jason cut in, “And you’re welcome.”

“Uh, thanks,” Bruce stammered.

“Good. Now that that’s settled, leave me alone,” Jason said with a nod. He turned on his heels and stalked off toward the stairs, and couldn’t help his smile when he heard Bruce sigh deeply behind him.

Maybe Jason could use some of the rest of his time writing up ‘things to remember’ for little-him in that journal. Things like Paige said to tell her if Bruce hits me and Alfred said I could eat anything I wanted from the pantry.

A pros/cons list was probably the best way to write that down. Make it look like Jason was working through whether it was worth it to stay with Bruce.

Yeah.

That’s what he’d do, then.

Chapter Text

Bruce left Jason alone as requested.

For one whole day.

But after lunch on Tuesday, Bruce cornered Jason and said, “Could we have a chat in my study?”

“Haven’t I talked to you enough?” Jason drawled, as he set his plate down in the sink. Alfred had made him a panini, at his request, and it had been delicious.

“Jason, please,” Bruce said, his voice so close to pleading that Jason actually had to look up at him, “We only have so much time together left.”

Three more days, Jason thought. The exact time he would return back was 9:12 AM on Friday. And he was so ready to be done with being in the past.

Well. Kind of. He wasn’t too eager to go die.

But he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. He’d call a bunch of people until someone helped him. It would be fine. He could even call the Justice League and just turn himself over to them, he was sure they wanted him over the whole, heads in-a-duffle-bag thing. After they kept him from dying, he could just run off. No big deal.

“Please, Jason,” Bruce repeated.

All Jason could do was roll his eyes dramatically, but he did gesture for Bruce to lead the way, and followed him down the hall and to the study. He plopped down on the couch without prompting and crossed his arms tightly.

Bruce walked over to his desk and leaned back against it and crossed his own arms. Then he seemed to think for a second, and uncrossed them and awkwardly put his hands behind himself on the desk. Jason raised an eyebrow at him.

“I have a lot I want to say to you,” Bruce said, “and I’d like for you to please listen and hear me out before commenting.”

Jason shrugged. He’d had plenty of chats with Bruce where he wasn’t allowed to talk back.

Well sort of. He’d been told a lot of times to be quiet and listen. Jason was never one to actually obey, though.

And if Bruce started spewing bullshit now, he wasn’t gonna sit there and take it.

After a deep breath, Bruce started his little speech. “I understand I’ve said things in your time to really hurt you. Words… words isn’t something I’m good at. I’m sure you know that. The other day Alfred was pointing it out to me, again, and asked me if I was willing to let my boys become estranged from me just because I’m afraid of saying ‘I love you’ to them. And. I decided I’m not.”

Jason rolled his eyes harder and said, “I don’t need you—”

But Bruce cut him off by holding up a hand. “Please let me say my piece, then you can say whatever you have in response.”

“Fine,” Jason grumbled. But he didn’t need past Bruce telling him I love you.

That didn’t matter one bit, not at all. Jason didn’t care what past-Bruce thought.

With a nod, Bruce continued on, “I also know that I tend to say things I don’t mean, things I regret when I’m angry. For example, a few months ago, Dick was really trying my patience about what he and the titans are allowed to do. I ended up getting frustrated with him arguing back to me and said ‘Fine, do whatever you want, I don’t care anymore.’

Jason furrowed his brow.

So… when Dick ran away at eighteen… had Bruce said something like that? Had he said something like I don’t want you here anymore? Because…

He never thought Bruce would say something like that to Dick, but…

“Obviously that’s not true,” Bruce continued, “I do care, because I love him, but I was frustrated and let my anger get the best of me. And then… and then I never apologized for saying that.”

Bruce looked pained, and ran a hand down his face before he continued on, “I’ve always been someone who tries to convey through my actions how I really feel, and I think Dick for the most part hears my unspoken words. But Dick is an exception to that, and clearly he doesn’t always. Most people don’t hear my unspoken words, and it’s clear you don’t either.”

Right, because Jason was dumb and not nearly as good as Dick was. Figured Bruce was already comparing Jason to Dick. That was a point in Bruce’s favor, for him being the same Bruce as Jason’s Bruce.

What an asshole.

“So,” Bruce said, obviously completely oblivious to how done with this dumb conversation Jason was, “I know I can’t really apologize for future-me. I can’t apologize for things your Bruce said to you over the years, but I will say, I know for a fact he regrets saying things like I’m not your father to you, and he probably thinks about the fact he said that once a lot. Especially if he said it, and then you— and then the worst thing imaginable happened.”

Jason couldn’t help but roll his eyes again.

If Bruce regretted it, why didn’t he ever say so? Instead he acted like Jason being alive was an inconvenience to him and kept acting like they were enemies.

Yeah, maybe Jason kept starting shit, but Bruce hadn’t once said ‘Jason? I’m happy you’re alive.’

“And if you told him how hurt you are by that,” Bruce said, “I bet he’ll apologize in an instant for saying it. Because I promise, he sees you as his son, and he loves you dearly.”

Bruce paused for a good minute, and Jason really wasn’t sure how to respond. Because.

Well.

He didn’t know.

On the one hand, he shouldn’t have to tell Bruce something he said was hurtful. Bruce should just fucking know. Jason had been a kid. It wasn’t his job to moderate his father’s actions and words.

But, on the other… Jason had to admit he sort of understood. He definitely did shit while angry he wasn’t exactly proud of. And then after he’d done it and calmed down, he’d always been maybe a little too proud to apologize for it, too.

Like when he beat Tim up, when Tim hadn’t done a damn thing to him…

Bruce shifted against the desk, and crossed his arms again before saying, “It’s wrong of me to use my words to hurt my kids, and I have no excuse for doing it. I promise to you, today, I will work on that and I will do everything in my power to not use my words to hurt Dick or Jason ever again. And if I do mess up, I’ll apologize for it and make sure they know how I actually feel. Do you want me to go get Alfred so I can make that promise in front of him, too? You know he’ll hold me to it.”

“No,” Jason mumbled, “I believe you.” For one, he didn’t want to live through that awkward. And two… he did believe Bruce. He sounded so… serious. And every single time Bruce had dragged him into the study to have some sort of long conversation…

Well. Bruce had always meant every word he said. Jason just knew Bruce had been working on this script for days.

Jason… Jason was kind of a little jealous of little-him.

Just a little.

If Bruce was willing to… he didn’t know. Try harder for him.

Bruce nodded, then pushed himself up off the desk. He rounded the little coffee table in front of the couch and sat down right on top of it, so he was sitting immediately in front of Jason.

Jason sank backward on the couch and looked away from him. He didn’t have anything to say in response, and he just knew whatever else Bruce wanted to say, now, was gonna be even more awkward.

It always had been when Bruce felt the need to get on his level.

“Jay,” Bruce started, and Jason snapped his eyes to him.

He was already calling him Jay, he thought with a shock. He’d not said a single word about Bruce calling him Jay. Not a peep.

Bruce took a deep breath and asked, “When you get back to your time, would you please give me a chance to respond to you?”

“But what if you don’t,” Jason shot back, though his voice sounded a little rougher than he wanted, “what if I’m right and you don’t respond. I’ll die.”

“I know,” Bruce said somberly, “So. Could you call me first and give me fifteen seconds to respond? Just fifteen seconds. You have a comm on our network, right?”

“Yeah,” Jason rasped. And Batman knew Jason had that comm, too.

“Okay, then call me on the comm. While you’re waiting, you can get the phone call to whoever else you’re calling ready. You can call me while you’re escaping from Mask, maybe. That way—that way you still have time to go to the next person on the list. But please. Please give me the chance.”

Jason swallowed. He really… wasn’t sure what to believe. Himself, or this Bruce. This Bruce that was so damn optimistic and hopeful.

Just like how Jason remembered his Bruce being, back when he was a kid.

And. And this-Bruce was right, in his comment that he’d help random citizens and even his villains… if they needed it. And. Jason was kind of one of his villains right now, but also not.

And. Jason would answer Bruce’s call for help, even though he was pissed and angry. If he found Batman bleeding out in an alley, he wouldn’t just let him die.

But… Jason wasn’t really sure if he could handle it. If Bruce didn’t respond to him.

He-he. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, believing this optimistic Bruce, and then get back to his time and get let down. Again.

Then again, if Bruce didn’t respond, he could use it as the reason to forget about him entirely. Cut him completely out and start ignoring the bats altogether.

After he called up Dick, maybe. Because it was possible Dick would be responsive to Jason’s call. He still had Dick’s phone number memorized. At the very least, Dick wouldn’t know it was Jason’s number calling him, so he might answer it just because he wouldn’t know not to.

“What are your thoughts on all that,” Bruce asked, when Jason failed to say anything for a full minute.

“I don’t know,” Jason rasped, “I have to think about it.” He just. He couldn’t commit, yet. He still had three days to decide, so.

There was something he could do for little-Jason, though.

Jason cleared his throat and sat up before he looked Bruce and said, “Can I give you a word of advice?”

“Of course,” Bruce said instantly, nodding seriously as he did.

“Don’t compare little-Jason to Dick. It’s all you ever fucking did, and it drove me up the wall. Made me feel like I could never live up to Dick.”

Bruce’s face went blank as he said, “And you felt like a poor-replacement for—”

“Yeah,” Jason said.

“Okay,” Bruce said, blinking the blank off his face and refocusing back on Jason, “Easy, done. No comparing.”

Absurdly, Jason’s eyes decided to tear up. He swallowed thickly, and tried to blink it away without giving it away to Bruce. “Man, I really hope you are my Bruce,” he said with a laugh, trying to steady himself again.

Of course Bruce saw right-the-fuck-through him, because he leaned forward and put a hand on Jason’s knee as he said gently, “I am, I promise.”

Jason really wasn’t sure if he could handle it, if he believed Bruce and then it turned out to be wrong.

Or if his Bruce had just given up completely on him, so it didn’t matter anymore, anyway.

All Jason knew for sure was, he was maybe a little more than a little jealous of this Jason.

He hoped—he hoped Jason understood how lucky he was. In a few months, of course, after he stopped freaking out.

“Little me—” Jason started, but he had to pause to clear his throat again. Once he felt like his voice was going to be steady, he tried again and said, “Little me is going to be so untrusting of you.”

“I know,” Bruce said softly, “I understand.”

“He’s—he’s probably going to think you’re a horrible person who wants him for very bad things.”

Bruce nodded seriously.

“And. And he might even yell those sorts of things at you, scream that you’re a pedophile or-or a child murderer. Or he’ll ask if it’s his organs you want or something, I’m not even sure. But—” Jason stopped, and really wasn’t even sure where he was going with that.

“But he’ll come around,” Bruce asked, “if we’re patient?”

“Yeah. I did.”

“We’ll be patient with him,” Bruce promised, “We all understand where he’s coming from, and we all know he’s going to be worth the time and effort. You’re a great kid, Jason, and I am looking forward to getting to know younger-you.”

There were those damn tears again, and this time Jason couldn’t blink them back easily. He had to use his damn sleeve to clear them away.

How dare Bruce just say stuff like that.

“Can I give you a hug?” Bruce asked, and he still had his stupid hand on Jason’s knee where he was squeezing it gently, and Jason kind of did want a hug from Bruce.

And he kind of really hated himself for that.

“Fine,” he said, as he scooted forward so Bruce could reach him, “but only because little-me won’t let you for, like, a year.”

Bruce leaned forward and wrapped Jason up in his massive arms, and it once again struck Jason just how tiny he was. Just how tiny he’d been. Bruce could crush him, break him right in half without any effort, and yet his massive arms were so gentle in how they pulled him close and held him tight.

And.

Well Jason was maybe actually crying a little, but Bruce didn’t say anything about it, just held Jason for a moment while he tried to get himself back under control.

He couldn’t even remember the last time Bruce had hugged him, that was the worst thing about it. He didn’t know when the last time he had. They’d been fighting so much in the weeks leading up to his death.

Had Bruce hugged him after he died?

Would Bruce now? If Jason stopped fighting him?

“Please call me,” Bruce whispered, his voice sounding just as rough as Jason’s had a moment before, “Please promise me you will. I’m going to worry to death about you after you go back to your time, please at least give me that promise.”

“Okay Bruce,” Jason rasped, “Okay.” Maybe. Maybe Bruce would answer.

Maybe.

Oracle would hear him, even if he didn’t. So maybe it would turn out okay, anyway.

Bruce squeezed him one last time then let go. “Thank you,” he said, once he’d sat up. He put a hand on the side of Jason’s face and brushed his thumb under Jason’s eye.

Jason pulled back and scrubbed his face with his sleeve, and felt his face flush. He was going to blame his nine-year-old body for all the crying. Yep. That’s all that was.

“I can’t imagine myself not loving you,” Bruce said after a moment. His voice was rough sounding again, and just that threatened to make Jason start crying all over again.

The whole Bruce-being-emotional-thing.

Bruce never let himself be emotional.

Except when he did.

“Okay,” Jason said, “I already said okay.” Bruce didn’t need to keep saying stuff like that.

Bruce smiled at that and sat back up while Jason scrubbed his face again. Then he said, “Would you like to come downstairs with me and work on some more cases? I’ve found two new cold cases.”

“Yes please,” Jason said easily. Anything to get his mind off this stuff.

And.

It would be a little nice to spend just a bit more time with this-Bruce. Just in case his-Bruce wasn’t the same.

But.

Jason wasn’t sure anymore. All he knew was he really hoped they were the same.

Chapter Text

Time was flying by, Jason thought. He and Bruce spent the whole afternoon in the cave, working on random cases.

Black Mask was an idiot, Jason had fully decided. He hadn’t even tried going after Jason yet.

Either he didn’t know he was being sent back Friday, or he hadn’t even tried to find him. Jason was definitely going to taunt him after he got back to his time.

And, like, after he recovered from the gunshot wound. He wasn’t gonna tempt fate by taunting Mask while vulnerable. Obviously.

He and Bruce managed to come up with leads for three new cases by the time Bruce had to leave to get Dick from school.

“Come with me,” Bruce had said, as he stood up from the batcomputer, “You’re with me officially, so it’s no problem if you’re seen out in public. We can get ice cream with Dick.”

“What if Black Mask notices Bruce Wayne suddenly took in a kid named Jason,” he replied. Mask knew his name was Jason. Mask also knew that he was Batman’s son.

Giving him the ammo needed to connect Batman to Bruce Wayne was just the worst possible thing they could do. Mask would return to their time with that knowledge.

Bruce thought for a long moment, then said, “Okay, then come with me and we’ll get ice cream through the drive thru. No one has to see you.”

Jason smiled slightly as he said, “You’re just using me as an excuse to get ice cream, aren’t you?”

“Isn’t that half the point of having children?” Bruce asked with a smile of his own.

And, well. Jason couldn’t find it in himself to decline the offer.

He rode in the back seat, safely hidden by the definitely-illegal dark tinting Bruce had on his Rolls-Royce. Not even Dick knew he was there, but when he opened the backdoor and saw Jason sitting on the other side, he grinned wide.

Jason decided to ignore how warm it made him feel, to see Dick be happy to see him.

“Guess I’ll have a little buddy to ride home with soon, huh?” Dick asked, as he buckled his seatbelt.

“Yeah,” Jason replied, “little-me would be in, what, 4th grade?” Little-him wasn’t going to have a major gap in his education like Jason did.

And if little-him never becomes Robin, there was a chance he would actually graduate high school one day…

He was sort of very jealous of little-him. Too bad he couldn’t just… stay here.

But that wouldn’t be fair to this Jason. He deserved to live his life. Jason didn’t want to just snuff him out of existence just because he was jealous.

Maybe. Maybe he could go back to his time and get his GED…

Dick grinned somehow even wider as he said, “I’ll have to walk over to the lower school and wait with him, since Bruce is late all the time.”

Jason smiled a ghost of a smile. His Bruce had been late for pick up a lot, too.

“I’m not late that much,” Bruce protested, “and it’s never more than ten minutes. I blame the long pick-up line.”

“He was always late picking me up, too,” Jason said, grinning at how Bruce sighed in response.

“Do you two want ice cream or not?”

“We definitely want ice cream,” Dick said.

Despite acting annoyed with them, Bruce got them ice cream as promised, and parked away from everyone else so the three of them could enjoy the treat. They didn’t talk about much, in the grand scheme of things. Dick went on and on about what happened at school that day, and Jason just sat there listening.

He could picture this being his life. This being little-him’s life. Sitting in the car after school, eating ice cream, and enjoying time spent with his dad and brother…

Little-him better appreciate everything Jason got set up for him.

- - -

Wednesday came and went, Jason felt like. Bruce dragged Jason along to drop off and pick Dick up again, and they got treats after each thing. After drop off they got coffee, or, hot-chocolate for Jason, and donuts. Then at pick up, all three of them got smoothies.

Jason was trying not to feel anything about how clear it was that Bruce and Dick wanted to spend time with him. Nineteen-year-old him before he got sent back to his time.

It was really making him start to want his Bruce and Dick to want to spend time with him…

And wonder if he stopped fighting with them and doing stuff to piss them off, would they? Had he just… gone home when he got back to Gotham, would they have just opened the door and let him in?

Why… why hadn’t he even done that?

He’d been upset. Yes. He’d been very upset about how Bruce hadn’t done a damn thing about the Joker.

And.

Jason wasn’t feeling the familiar spike of rage at that thought, he always had anymore. He was definitely starting to wonder if that was actually him or not. If those emotions were his or if they were artificial.

It did make him mad, that Bruce hadn’t seemed to care. He hadn’t done anything to stop the Joker.

But.

Bruce also didn’t kill. He just didn’t. That’s his line. And. Even if Jason disagreed with that line, disagreed with the idea that every person was worth saving… he did begrudgingly have to respect the fact Bruce had a line and stuck to it.

Jason wasn’t really sure who Bruce would even be if he didn’t stick to his morals and values that strongly. What kind of Batman he’d be.

Why… why couldn’t Jason think this clearly in his time? That was another thought really plaguing him. He felt like his mind was clear all of a sudden. The Lazarus Pit was the answer that kept bouncing around at the back of his mind…

It would also help explain why he got so angry he couldn’t see anymore… Bruce had said it was strange he had such explosive anger all of a sudden. Jason had never even thought about it, because his anger always felt so justified.

But he couldn’t square up in his mind his actual actions with what he’d been upset about. Like how Bruce made another Robin after he died.

Bruce absolutely should have retired the Robin name 100%, there should have never been another child to put on the costume after one died brutally in the costume.

…but why did that mean Jason had to beat Tim up? To scare Bruce again? He hurt a kid who was just a kid, to scare Bruce.

Maybe he should have just kidnapped him and kept him really well hidden, but not hurt him or anything, to scare Bruce. That probably would have been better than beating up an innocent kid. Jason wouldn’t have been deserving of Dick beating him up when Bruce gave Jason the Robin suit without Dick’s permission, after all.

Out of everything he’d done, that was probably the worst. And Jason was kind of a little scared of going back to his time, and learning whether that action was forgivable.

He was definitely going to apologize to Drake, though. He was.

As long as he could keep his head on straight enough to do it.

Maybe he should tell Bruce about the Lazarus pit, and see if he was willing to help him with it.

- - -

Thursday came, and this time Dick stayed home from school. He said he wanted one last day with his future little-brother, when Bruce tried to tell him he had to go to school.

Bruce had folded like paper when Dick had said little-brother, though, then Dick grinned when he realized he won.

They spent the morning playing board games in the living room, then the afternoon in Jason’s room, getting it all set up for little-Jason.

Jason helped Bruce pick out books to put on his bookshelf, as well as one to set on the bedside table, to make it look like he’d been reading something.

Bruce also managed to dig up some more photos of Willis and Catherine from Jason had no clue where, so they got those printed out and framed. Jason set one on the beside table, and the other three on the dresser.

Alfred let Jason organize all the new clothes he went out and bought for him, too, so they would be in some sort of order little-him might like.

Obviously he could reorganize all this stuff on his own, but they all wanted little-him to believe he’d been there for several days. Bruce had decided they’d keep the time-travel stuff a secret from him, for now. Until at least he was settled enough that he wouldn’t just assume them all crazy and trying to trick him.

Basically they were going to gaslight little-Jason.

Too bad for them Jason had written down in his pros and cons notebook, which he hadn’t told Bruce about, that Bruce was Batman. So there was a secret they would not be keeping from little-Jason.

Jason knew for a fact little-him would understand how important it was to keep that secret. It would also make him relax, a little, once he realized he’d somehow gone home with a man he didn’t know. Going home with Batman was definitely different from going home with some random rich guy.

And considering Jason had given his second foster family a chance, a chance they had blown to hell, successfully killing any ounce of trust Jason had left in him back then, he was fairly confident little-him would give this house a chance, too. Once he calmed down and thought for a second. And with how hard everyone was working to make sure he’d be comfortable, he wasn’t at-all worried little-Jason would run away.

Once they’d gotten Jason’s room pretty well done, Dick went downstairs to set up another game for them to play while Bruce stayed behind with Jason to finish with any last touches Jason wanted to do.

He walked Jason through the rest of the plan for once little-Jason woke back up, letting Jason stamp off on everything.

Really, Jason couldn’t complain about any of the plans. Not even the gaslighting, he supposed. He wasn’t sure if telling him the truth would help at all. Actually, telling him you came here voluntarily because future-you was in control of your body for ten days might make him think they were all crazy. Or trying to brainwash him.

Or, funnily enough, he might accuse them of trying to gaslight him if they told him the truth.

Bruce promised if Jason didn’t seem to be accepting of the false story, they’d quickly tell him the truth, though. Along with video evidence to help back it up. Jason wasn’t worried. Little-him would see reason and realize the manor was a fucking-awesome place to live.

Little-Jason’s life was about to be amazing.

“Is it weird to be jealous of little-me?” Jason asked with a laugh, once Bruce finished reviewing everything.

Bruce frowned, from where he was sitting on the foot of Jason’s bed, watching Jason fiddle with all the little things he’d strewn around the bedroom. He stared over at Jason as he straightened up the books on his bookshelf.

He’d put his absolute favorite books there, even though little-him hadn’t read any of them yet. He knew little-him would love every single one of them, though.

“What?” Jason asked, when Bruce didn’t stop staring. He felt the tips of his ears redden, and he wasn’t really sure if he was up for another long conversation with Bruce.

Whenever Bruce frowned like that, he was busy coming up with the ‘right way’ to say something he felt important.

And, yeah. Jason wasn’t up for it. He had less than 24 hours left in this time. He wanted to enjoy it.

But Bruce finally said, “You don’t need to be jealous of past-you. You can have all this in your time, too.”

Jason scoffed, and turned his back to Bruce, looking at the books again as he said, “Sure. There’s a wide chasm between won’t let me die and welcome to live in Wayne Manor, you know. I probably believe my Bruce will respond and make sure I don’t bleed out, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be allowed to come upstairs and attend family game-night.”

Jason didn’t have to turn around to know Bruce’s frown deepened. “Listen,” Bruce finally said, when Jason refused to turn around, “I have known you for nine days. If I feel like this after this little time, I can’t imagine a possible way your Bruce hates you. I don’t think it’s physically possible.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t know all the shit I’ve done,” Jason mumbled. He’d not told them a single word about any of the stuff he’d been doing, since he became the Red Hood.

And.

He didn’t want to tell them. Because he didn’t want it to reflect on little-Jason.

“Maybe so,” Bruce said, “Maybe it’s possible you’ve done things to really upset me out in the field, but I guarantee you that Bruce and Jason has nothing to do with Batman and whatever you call yourself now, since I know it’s not Robin.”

“Of course it has to do with it, we’re the same two people,” Jason protested. Bruce called him Hood regardless of everything. He’d basically written Jason off. Or at least he acted like he did.

“Yes, but no,” Bruce said slowly, “Bruce and Jason is unconditional, and always will be. That’s how the father-son relationship works, end of story. And the only way the civilian relationship is related to the vigilante one is in the fact that Bruce will always care for Jason, no matter what he is doing to irritate Batman.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Jason said, tracing a finger over the words of Pride and Prejudice.

He wanted to believe that. He did, but he just hadn’t seen much evidence of that.

Then again… did his….clear-mind problem affect this too? Was he even remembering everything correctly?

Bruce was silent for a long second, then he said, “Remember what I probably taught you at some point? How many sides are there to a story?”

“Three,” Jason mumbled.

“Right,” Bruce said, “And all you have is your side. You’re merely guessing what my side is, you don’t actually know it. Why don’t you take a little bit of time to ask your Bruce what his side is. Then try to figure out what the truth is from there. Use Alfred if needed, if I’m having trouble swallowing my pride to talk.”

“I don’t know,” Jason mumbled, pushing the books back further on the shelf one by one.

“When I come and get you after you call me, that will be the perfect time to ask. Just ask me point blank whatever it is you want to know. Whatever the issue is.”

“Bruce—“ Jason started, rolling his eyes and turning around, but Bruce cut him off.

“No, Jason,” he said, almost admonished, “swallow your pride for ten minutes and make me swallow mine if necessary. I know if my son were estranged from me, I’d want to hear him out and figure this out.”

“Well you’re nicer than my Bruce,” Jason mumbled, averting his eyes. And he didn’t have all the information.

He didn’t know Jason used his guns to kill. And he didn’t know Jason had beat up his precious youngest son.

“I am your Bruce, just younger,” Bruce insisted, “And—I haven’t lost a child.”

Jason frowned. What did that even have to do with anything. Clearly that hadn’t affected Bruce as much as Jason would have thought.

But Bruce said, haltingly, in his way he always spoke when trying to stay level, “I know what it’s like to lose parents. But—it wasn’t my job to protect them. It’s my job to protect you. I imagine—” Bruce paused and took a deep breath, “I imagine that it is not something easy to recover from.”

Jason found himself unable to look away from Bruce’s face. His very open face that looked absolutely devastated.

Had his Bruce been devastated? This one felt it just at the thought it might happen in the future…

His Bruce actually lost Jason.

And. Admittedly. Jason didn’t know what happened between the time he died and when he came back. Just that Tim Drake became the new Robin a mere six months after Jason died.

But. What had happened in those six months? Why was Drake even Robin?

“Are you sure you won’t tell me how?” Bruce asked after a minute, “Everything else is changing for this Jason.”

“Bruce…” Jason said slowly. He wasn’t too eager to talk about it.

He—he wasn’t sure if he’d ever talked about it.

Had he talked about it yet? He definitely thought about it every single day.

“Jason, please,” Bruce pleaded, “Let me protect him. Let me protect you.”

Somehow. Somehow that was all it took. Because Jason wanted Bruce to protect him. He did.

Thats… that’s all he’d ever wanted, he thought with a pang. That was what having an adult to watch after him was supposed to mean.

“I—“ Jason started, but took a shuddery breath. He crossed his arms tightly and looked away, trying to think of what to even say.

“We,” he continued, after a breath, “You and me, we were fighting. We were fighting a lot, actually. It’s all we did anymore. And. You made it clear you weren’t my dad, and—”

Jason paused again, and cut his eyes up at Bruce from where he’d been studying the carpet to see Bruce already looked upset. Jason cut his eyes right back down at the ground.

He couldn’t do this and look at Bruce looking upset.

“And,” he went on, “I found out my mom—Catherine—wasn’t my birth mom. My brith-mom was named Shelia Haywood, and she was still alive.”

“You didn’t know before then?” Bruce asked.

“No,” he said, shaking his head, “So I tracked her down to doctors without borders in Ethiopia. And you—you ran into me there.”

“Ran into you?” Bruce asked, “Was I following you?”

Jason swallowed, but shook his head. Bruce had been so shocked to see him. And. For good reason. There was no damn reason for Jason to have gone overseas by himself. That never should have been allowed.

“You were tracking the Joker,” he said, “And, well, our cases were connected, but we didn’t know it at first. We figured it out…”

Far too late, of course. Maybe had Jason realized how connected to Joker Shelia was, he would have done everything differently, but.

He didn’t know. He could only hope by telling little-Jason about Shelia way earlier, he wouldn’t get it in his head to go after her at fifteen.

“Okay,” Bruce said slowly.

“Shelia told me Joker was gone,” Jason said, as he felt a fat tear slip down his face. He hadn’t even noticed his vision blur up, but once he blinked, he couldn’t make it stop. He tried to take a deep breath, and pressed on with, “You had to go warn some people about something, but there wasn’t room in the helicopter for me, so you told me to stay put and wait for you.”

And Jason had never had any intention of doing that. And Bruce should have known.

That was his mother that was in trouble.

“Shelia told me,” he cried, as he uncrossed his arms to press his hands into his eyes. It did nothing to stop the sob that escaped him next before he said, “She said Joker was gone. I believed her. She was my mother.”

Bruce slipped off the bed, so he was kneeling on the ground a few feet from Jason. He held an arm out toward Jason, as if he was going to snag Jason’s elbow and pull him closer, so Jason took a step backward toward the bookshelf again.

“I believed her,” Jason cried, “I believed her and I followed her right into a trap.” His crying turned into full on sobbing, and he could barely get enough breath to keep going. “I tried so hard to fight. I tried but she sold me out. And she just watched as Joker. As—as he—”

“Jason, “Bruce cut in, when Jason wasn’t able to get a breath enough to finish that sentence, “You don’t have to—”

“She just watched,” Jason yelled over him, “I thought—I just wanted—”

He just wanted a parent to love him and want him. That’s all he fucking wanted. He’d been fifteen and young and scared that he’d ruined every single relationship he had with every single adult who had ever liked him even a little. And there was his mother, someone he didn’t know he even had. A chance to have someone.

And.

And even she’d been a terrible parent.

“She just watched me get murdered,” he sobbed. He had his face completely buried in his hands now, and he tried to ignore how Bruce had inched closer to him.

He… he’d never cried over this before. Not once. And. Maybe that was not a good thing.

“Jay,” Bruce whispered. When Jason peeked through his hands to look, he saw Bruce holding an arm out again in offering, and this time Jason accepted. He stepped forward and let Bruce pull him close and hug him tightly while Jason completely lost it.

He’d never cried over his death before, not since he was actually dying. And.

The only reason he’d even gone out to Ethiopia in the first place was to maybe find a parent who wanted him. But Bruce had wanted him. Bruce had loved him. He just—he was just an asshole.

“I’m sorry, Bruce,” Jason cried into his shoulder, as he finally wrapped his arms around Bruce’s neck to return the hug.

Bruce sat back, picking Jason right up off the ground as he did. He squeezed Jason tighter and said, “You have nothing to be sorry for, lad. It sounds like I failed to protect you, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Jay.”

Jason shook his head against the crook of Bruce’s neck, but couldn’t find the words to say it’s not your fault.

“I love you, Jason,” Bruce croaked, “I know future me loves you, and your past Bruce loved you, too. I’ll do everything in my power to protect you this time around.”

Nodding, Jason squeezed a little tighter before he whispered, “I love you, too.”

He always had. Even when he hated Bruce, he’d still loved him. And. And that was the worst part about it. The worst part about them fighting.

That was why fighting had hurt so much.

Was Bruce hurting, too…?

Bruce set Jason back down on his feet, and pushed him back so they were face-to-face. “Tell me that,” he said, placing his hands on either side of Jason’s face, using his thumbs to wipe away the tear tracks there, “I guarantee you, I don’t know it. I am not good with this. I can’t tell. Just ask Dick how bad I am at this.”

Jason laughed, a watery laugh, but pushed forward back into Bruce’s arms so he could cry a little longer.

He really wasn’t even sure how his Bruce would react to that. And Jason wasn’t sure if he could even just… do that. Unprompted.

“I’m sorry for everything little-me is about to put you through,” he finally said, after he’d just about cried all the tears his little body could produce. He felt fifty pounds lighter, just for crying.

Maybe nineteen-year-old him should have cried years ago over this.

“Gaining my trust was—is extremely difficult.”

“I understand,” Bruce said, as he let go of Jason so he could stand up. He smiled and brushed Jason’s curls off his forehead and added, “It’ll be worth it.”

Jason nodded, but really wasn’t sure what to say next. He kind of wanted to take a nap. A very, very long nap.

But they had less than eighteen hours left.

“Tell your Bruce everything when you get back,” Bruce said, “Call him immediately, tell him you need a medivac, and when he gets there, tell him.”

“Okay,” Jason said, “I will.”

“You promise?” Bruce said, “You aren’t just saying that to be agreeable, right? You swear.”

“Yes,” Jason said, smiling shakily, “I swear. I’ll call you and tell you everything.”

With a single nod, Bruce said, “Okay. Come here lad,” he held an arm out for Jason, so Jason stepped back over and let Bruce pull him to his side, “You’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jason said.

And.

Somehow. Jason knew deep in his core that that was true. Bruce was going to answer him. If Bruce was out as Batman still, and Jason knew Batman had been out and about before he went over to Mask’s, then Bruce would answer and come get him.

And even if Batman wasn’t still out, Oracle or Nightwing or Superman would help him. Someone would help him. And then he would go home, and he’d make everything right with his family.

Because. This Bruce was right. And Jason had just been blind this whole time.

Chapter Text

Bruce and Jason ended up sitting in little-Jason’s room for another half hour past their conversation. Jason kept getting up and fussing with things, trying to make everything just right for little-him, and made Bruce order several more things on Amazon for little-him. Like a book light so Jason could read under his blankets, and a new hoodie, to make him feel more secure. He already had three hoodies, from Alfred, but he just knew little-him would want a red one.

The time spent with Bruce was downright peaceful. Jason was trying not to think much about it. He didn’t have time to think about things.

Eventually Dick came back upstairs, though, and asked them what was taking so long. He apparently read the room, and paused at the doorway to ask, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Jason said quickly, nodding, “just got distracted. What game are we playing?” Dick didn’t need to know anything. Nothing.

And Jason wasn’t going to talk about anything now. He’d told them everything they needed to know.

“Mouse trap,” Dick announced, and all Jason could do was groan.

“Isn’t that for babies,” Jason grumbled, but he pushed himself to his feet to follow Dick downstairs. He could hear Bruce do the same.

“You are a baby,” Dick insisted, “we have to play age appropriate games.”

“I’m literally older than you,” Jason shot back. He was nineteen and Dick was only fifteen.

Despite that, he went ahead and played mouse trap with Dick and Bruce.

He’d always liked that game, anyway…

For dinner, Alfred made another pot roast for Jason, with the scalloped potatoes he liked best. Bruce went and told him, of course, so Alfred was sure to make it one last time for him.

Then Alfred sat down with them, and Jason had to blink his vision clear. It was so rare for Alfred to eat with them, when Bruce was home.

“What do you want to study in college,” Alfred asked, partway through the meal.

Jason shrugged and said, ‘I’m not going to college. Don’t even have a high school diploma.”

Plus. He didn’t really have time for school.

Or a reason for it.

Even if it would have been fun…

“Yes,” Bruce said, “but you should get your GED then go to college. You said you wanted to go to college.”

“I don’t know,” Jason mumbled, “Too much has happened.” He wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to sit through class, even if he found it enjoyable. He got antsy, sitting still. Especially when he wasn’t home. Especially in crowds.

“If you were to go to college,” Alfred amended, “what would you study?”

“Well,” Jason said, looking down at his plate as he thought, “When I was a kid, I wanted to study literature. I wasn’t really sure what I’d do with that, though.” Now Jason was basically a crime lord and made money off that, so he supposed it didn’t matter if his degree earned him money.

And it probably hadn’t mattered back then, either, when he was a kid. Since he had Bruce to support him even after he grew up…

“Maybe you could audit a class,” Bruce suggested, “See if you think it’s worth your time to pursue something.”

“I’ll think about it,” Jason mumbled, as he pushed the roast vegetables around on his plate.

He wondered if his Bruce would be in support of him going back to school. If his Bruce even cared….

If this Bruce and his Bruce was the same person… he imagined he did.

After dinner, Jason helped Alfred clean up, despite the man’s protests. But eventually, after much pestering, he sighed and let Jason carry the plates to the kitchen to set in the sink.

As he was placing the silverware in the sink, too, Alfred reached out and set a hand on Jason’s forearm.

“Lad,” he said, as he squeezed, “I want you to speak to me in your time. Whatever quarrel you and Bruce are having has nothing to do with me. Master Bruce could disown and kick out Master Dick, and Dick would still be welcome at my table every evening, no matter what Bruce’s protestations were. You are the exact same as Master Dick in my book.”

Jason had to blink hard to keep the tears back.

Because.

He believed Alfred, he did.

But Alfred didn’t have the full story. So he couldn’t even know if that was still true.

“What if—” Jason started, then paused.

Did he even want to know? Did he… did he want to see Alfred’s face, when he realized how badly Jason had fucked up?

Yes, he decided. He needed to know.

Averting his eyes from Alfred, Jason asked, “What if I beat up another kid in the house really badly for no good reason? A little fifteen-year-old that Bruce adopted. And. I didn’t kill him, obviously, he’s okay now, but I hurt him pretty bad and…” he trailed off, and dared to cut his eyes up at Alfred to see him frowning at him slightly, but still with his clear, kind eyes.

“Would I still be welcome?” Jason rasped.

“Are you sorry for it,” Alfred asked, “Do you regret your actions?”

“Yeah,” Jason exhaled, “I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know why I did. I was angry, but… it wasn’t justified. He’s just a kid. He didn’t do anything.”

Alfred smiled softly and squeezed Jason’s arm as he said, “Then yes.” He moved his hand to the top of Jason’s head and pulled him closer in a half-hug as he said, “You would still be welcome. We all make mistakes, forgiveness is always an option when we are remorseful.”

“Thanks, Alf,” Jason whispered. Alfred hating him was the one thing Jason wasn’t sure he could handle.

Alfred pushed him back gently and said, almost admonishingly, “But you better apologize to that boy.”

“I will,” Jason promised, “I was already planning on it. His, uh. His name is Tim Drake. I don’t really know what his story is, why he’s with Bruce, but Bruce adopted him. So. He must have needed it, right?”

Alfred nodded. “Drake, as in Jack and Janet Drake?”

“Yeah. Um. I guess I’m just telling you so you can keep an eye out for him. I didn’t tell Bruce his name. He was twelve or thirteen when Bruce got him, I think.”

“Thank you,” Alfred said, nodding again, “I will be sure to watch out for him.”

“Jason,” Dick exclaimed, poking his head into the kitchen before Jason could respond, “Let’s watch one more movie tonight.”

With a watery smile shot toward Alfred, Jason turned toward Dick and said, “Okay, but not Disney.”

“Oh come on, you’re a literal baby,” Dick exclaimed, “We have to watch age appropriate stuff, and Disney—”

“Shut up,” Jason groaned, as he skipped out of the kitchen to follow Dick down the hall, “You’re such an ass.”

Dick wrapped his arm around Jason’s shoulders and said, teasingly, “You still love me, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Jason nearly whispered. Dick was his older brother. Even when they were fighting and only growled at each other.

And… Jason missed that. Missed this.

Once they reached the living room, Dick squeezed Jason tighter, then let go so Jason could drop down on one of the couches.

“You know,” Dick said, as he jumped over the couch and landed in front of the DVD collection under the massive TV in the theater, “I probably don’t hate you in your time. I know you said I did, but I don’t think I do.”

Jason merely hummed. He’s talked too much that day. He really doesn’t want to talk more. Or think about it.

“I don’t,” Dick insisted, “I promise.”

“Okay,” Jason said. He wasn’t quite sure. Dick had asked you didn’t kill someone I love, did you? And while Jason hadn’t done that, he’d certainly tried.

Or. Well had he really been trying he would have been successful. He most definitely had come close. And proven he could do it.

“You should come talk to me,” Dick added.

Sighing, Jason shifted so his legs were up on the couch and said, “Even if you don’t hate me, you’re mad at me.”

“Why?” Dick asked

“I… I’ve been a jerk,” he decided to say. He wasn’t sure if Alfred would tell Bruce and Dick about Tim, but he didn’t want to go spilling all the gory details anyway. Little Jason deserved to live without the shadow of the Red Hood lingering over him.

Dick considered him for a moment, then shrugged. “I’ll probably forgive you if you say sorry.”

“Probably,” Jason repeated. Which meant Dick knew there was reasons why he wouldn’t forgive.

And Jason had probably found one of the reasons.

“I will forgive you,” Dick amended, “You said you didn’t kill someone I love, and short of doing that, I don’t see why I wouldn’t forgive you.”

“Okay, Dick,” Jason sighed. He supposed Jason would just have to find out…

He’d find out whether he wanted to or not. Dick was never one to not say what was on his mind, and if Jason got taken back to the cave where Tim Drake was, Dick was bound to show up. Even if just to make sure Jason didn’t look at Tim too funny.

“You’re my little brother,” Dick said.

“Yeah,” Jason agreed. Even if future-Bruce hadn’t adopted Dick, that was definitely the relationship Jason had always thought they had. Dick had called him little wing, after all…

Why would Dick have done that, if he hadn’t considered Jason a little brother?

Dick nodded to himself, then said, “Yes. Then I love you, I’ll forgive you.”

Jason nodded absently. He was anxious to find out. Dick was easy to piss off, but he was also fiercely loyal, Jason knew that.

He just wasn’t sure if he was still deserving of that loyalty.

“What should I do to make baby-Jason feel more comfortable here?” Dick asked, after he hit play on Pocahontas. Because he was a bastard.

“I dunno,” Jason said with a shrug. It wasn’t like Dick was there when Bruce first got him, so he really wasn’t sure what Dick could have done differently. “I guess be nice to him. He’s gonna be scared. It’ll take him a while to realize you aren’t gonna harvest his organs.” Or whatever he’d think.

Dick nodded seriously.

Jason sank down into the couch more and looked at his own knee as he said, “And. My first foster family… they were awful. Really, really awful, and he’s going to assume this foster family will be the same way. Once he realizes he won’t be starved or beat every day, he’ll relax more.”

“I’ll be sure he gets lots of snacks,” Dick said with a gentle smile.

Jason smiled back faintly. Him and Dick had acted like brothers a few times, when he was a kid. And… every time they did. It was nice. Little-him was going to really enjoy having Dick as an older brother.

“Doing stuff like this was always fun, when you came to visit.”

“Yeah?” Dick asked, his smile morphing to a grin.

“Yeah,” Jason said, “One time you came to babysit me while Bruce and Alfred went away for the weekend. We camped out in the theater and ate only ice cream and popcorn all weekend long.”

Jason blinked.

He’d forgotten all about that. But. It had happened. And.

He had to take a slow, steadying breath. Because. Dick might see him as a little-brother, after all.

Dick grinned even wider. “Great,” he said, “Then I’ll make him watch every Disney movie in order.”

“He’ll like you faster if you show him slasher horror films,” Jason said. Dick was always the one to bring the R-rated movies with him, and then watch them with Jason while Bruce and Alfred weren’t around to see.

For some stupid reason, Jason could help fight crime on the street and see real violence, but watching violence on the TV was somehow something he was too young for.

Dumb.

“He's nine,” Dick shouted.

Jason just grinned.

Bruce eventually joined them for the movie marathon, because they ended up having a marathon. Batman didn’t even go out that night, and Jason knew that for a fact, because all three of them ended up falling asleep in the living room, watching the movies Dick picked out.

They didn’t talk much, but they didn’t really have to. Jason felt relaxed, just being.

In the morning, Alfred woke them up when he came into the room and said, “I don’t wish to interrupt sleep when you lads are getting it, but it is 6am and we have much to do before our young Master Jason returns home.”

“Thanks, Alfred,” Bruce mumbled, as he ran a hand down his face then sat up. Jason just knew he had a crick in his neck, from how he’d slept basically sitting up.

The number of times Bruce had done that, slept right in that exact chair by Jason’s side, when Jason was sick or injured…

Bruce looked over and smiled when he caught Jason’s eyes, but then his smile faltered and he sighed slightly. “Well,” he eventually said, “We should make sure your room is just right for nine-year-old Jason.”

“Master Dick,” Alfred said, as he crossed the room to where Dick was still asleep. Jason tried to suppress his grin, and got up to follow Bruce upstairs, while Alfred continued to rouse Dick.

Upstairs, Bruce helped Jason mess the bed up a little, so it looked liked Jason had slept in it, then made it back up himself. Other than that, Jason couldn’t think of anything else to do that he wanted Bruce to see.

So Jason decided to take a quick shower and get dressed, too, letting Bruce do the same in his room. Little-him would be more comfortable if he woke up in one of the nice hoodies Alfred had already got him. Waking up in pajamas in a strange house would be absolutely terrifying.

At least if he was dressed, he wouldn’t feel quite as vulnerable.

Bruce came back into Jason’s room after he’d shoved the 60 bucks in his right pocket, and was sitting on the floor, lacing his new pair of sneakers up.

Little-him would likely keep shoes on in the house for a while, just in case he had to run suddenly.

When Bruce frowned down at him, putting the shoes on, Jason said, “Trust me. He wouldn’t walk around without shoes on.”

Bruce looked sad at that, because he’d likely already put together why, but he nodded and said, “Alfred said breakfast is ready.”

“Okay,” Jason replied, “I’ll be down in a minute.”

Jason thought there for a second Bruce wouldn’t give him another minute alone, but Bruce reluctantly nodded then turned back down the hall.

He looked around his room and nodded to himself. It looked perfect, honestly. Like Jason had just barely started to settle down, like he was starting to think he’d be allowed to sleep in the room again tomorrow night, but was still afraid of getting too comfortable.

It… definitely made sense why Bruce got sad all the time both now and when Jason was little. It was sad. Jason—no child—should ever be homeless and so untrusting.

But this-Jason was going to be okay, he knew. He looked around the room once more, then grabbed his teddy off the nightstand and sat down on the bed with it.

His mother had given him this bear, back when he was a toddler. Well. Catherine had given him the bear. Perhaps that timing made more sense now, too. Knowing that Catherine had met him when he was a toddler, and not when he was born. To her.

She’d clearly always loved him, at least. And this teddy was the proof of it.

And. This Jason was going to keep it, forever, he just knew it. Jason had lost the teddy as a child, when his second foster family took all his stuff and destroyed it as a ‘punishment.’ Jason never did figure out what he’d even done, to ‘earn’ the punishment.

Jason gave in to the deep desire he’d had, ever since he woke up in this time and saw the bear in his backpack, and gave the bear a tight hug. It wasn’t quite hugging his mother, but it was the closest he’d ever get.

Breakfast was still waiting for him, so Jason reluctantly got up and set the bear against his pillow. He pulled the notebook he’d filled with a few little notes about the manor and his pros and cons list out from under the pillow, so it was just barely poking out, so when little-Jason picked up the bear, he’d see the notebook.

Once he read the notebook, Jason was positive he’d understand that here was the best place for him.

With one last glance around the room, Jason shut the door and made his way down the hall.

Little-him would be fine.

Dick and Bruce were both sitting at the table when Jason got down to the dinning room. As soon as he pulled the chair across from Dick out to sit, Alfred walked in with french toast.

“You are my favorite person in the whole world,” Jason said, as Alfred set it down.

Alfred smiled fondly and served Jason two slices. And it was heavenly.

Breakfast passed by mostly silently. Jason didn’t really know what else to say to Bruce and Dick, and he assumed they were the same way.

Besides, the closer to 9am it got, the more antsy he started to feel. And he’d never been very good at conversation when he was antsy.

Before he knew it, the clock rang for 9am, and he had twelve minutes left.

His stomach was rolling in anticipation, and he felt shaky all over. Nervous energy he wanted to waste on something, but he couldn’t. Because little-Jason would be waking up in twelve minutes. Instead he sat down on a couch in the living room where he, Bruce, and Dick had relocated.

Dick wordlessly turned on a movie and fast-forwarded through some of it, while Jason settled back. They were going to make it look like they’d been watching a movie and Jason fell asleep, after breakfast.

Bruce sat down next to him and wrapped him up in a hug without even asking, but Jason didn’t mind.

He really wasn’t sure if his Bruce was going to behave the way this Bruce thought, and he was tired of trying to figure it out.

He had twelve minutes left, and then he’d simply find out.

“Call me,” Bruce said as he held Jason, “immediately.”

“I will,” Jason promised, as he brought his arms up to return the hug. Since Bruce wasn’t letting go.

“What is your list of people,” Bruce asked, “in order, just in case?”

See, Jason thought, even Bruce is doubting himself.

Jason answered him by saying, “You, then Babs, then Dick, and only in that order because Babs lives in Gotham and Dick doesn’t, then I’ll scream for Superman while I try to hack into the Justice League channel.” He’d been able to do that when he was fifteen.

Bruce nodded and squeezed Jason tighter before finally letting go. “I’ll come for you,” he said, “I know I will.”

“Yeah,” Jason whispered.

Before Jason could even sit back up, Dick bounced over and asked, “I get a hug too, right?”

“Sure,” Jason said, as he let Dick wrap him up.

“Come talk to me, little brother,” Dick said as he let go.

Jason smiled a ghost of a smile and said, “You always called me ‘little wing.’”

“Little wing?” Dick questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s a play off your new superhero name,” Jason said simply. He internally grinned at how Dick’s face flashed with several emotions, ending with annoyance.

Because he definitely already knew Jason wasn’t gonna to tell him didly-squat.

“What is it,” Dick demanded, and Jason’s grin turned external.

“You’ll have to get it the natural way, otherwise it isn’t meaningful.”

“Fine,” Dick said through a heavy sigh. He straightened up, though, and said more cheerfully, “You take care of yourself.”

“I will,” Jason said, “you guys don’t gotta worry about me. I’m too stubborn to die to Black Mask.”

Like hell would Jason give that bastard the satisfaction of killing him. No sir.

Bruce smiled and placed a hand on top of his head for a moment. Then he reluctantly got to his feet and motioned for Dick to follow him to the other couch. They had already discussed where each of them would be, and what they would be doing when little-Jason woke. And none of them wanted to be crowding little-Jason. It was important he didn’t feel cornered when he woke up.

Jason lay down with his head against the pillow, so he was stretched out on the couch.

“Bye guys,” he said, as he squeezed his eyes shut and felt a tear slip out. He wiped it away quickly, so little Jason wouldn’t feel like he’d been crying.

Little Jason needed to feel safe. He needed to feel like he’d felt safe moments before, at least.

“We’ll see you in a few minutes, Jay,” Bruce said softly.

Yeah. In just a few minutes.

“See you soon, Dad,” he whispered, just as his vision went bright white.

Then completely black.

Chapter Text

Jason stumbled as his vision cleared. He was still on his feet, and he was definitely still in Mask’s office.

His helmet was heavy on his head. His gear was heavy. His arms were heavy.

And. His side hurt.

He still had the device in his hands—the Kumiraian device he and Mask were both grasping. Jason gripped the slick metal tighter with his gloved hands and yanked.

“What?” Mask muttered, as he lost his balance and stumbled back and into the wall behind him. His eyes went wide and he demanded, “What did you do?”

Instead of answer, Jason took the device and slammed it right into Mask’s stupid head. Jason couldn’t even appreciate how it knocked Mask out cold, because his side hurt and his breathing was shallow, and he felt a little dizzy.

“Bastard,” Jason muttered, as he pressed one hand into his side and turned around, to start limping out of the room. He had to get to a safe spot.

Get to a safe spot, so Bruce.

So Bruce could.

Jason brought his other hand up to his head, but between him holding the device still, and the helmet on his head, he wasn’t really sure what he was trying to do.

His head felt. Murky.

He had to call Bruce.

Down the hall was the stairwell, so Jason lumbered into the door, pushing it open, then started climbing the steps as he finally activated his comm. He listened for a second, but didn’t hear any chatter on it.

Which wasn’t unusual. If Batman and Robin were together, there was significantly less chatter.

“Batman?” he said, once he turned on his mic. His voice was a little shaky, but he wasn’t sure if that was because he was running on pure adrenaline, or because he was still losing blood.

Or the, uh, being scared.

He forced himself up two flights of stairs, until he saw the attic access door in the ceiling. Using his grapple hook, he got it open then hauled himself up inside, trying his best not to stretch his side too badly.

It still hurt like a bitch.

“Oracle,” he grunted, once he collapsed down on the floor, next to the access door. He did his best to pull the door up behind him, so maybe no one would follow him.

Really, he wasn’t sure how many of Mask’s men were around. And if they even knew the Red Hood had run off, yet.

He also didn’t know how many seconds had passed since he called for Batman. He was supposed to only wait fifteen.

“Anyone?” he said into the mic. He tapped at the button on the side of his helmet, to make sure his mic light did indeed turn off and back on. So his mic was on. And he was looped into the Bat’s network…

“It’s Red Hood,” he said, “I need medical assistance.”

Maybe Jason had been right all along. He grit his teeth and set the time travel device down so he could fish his phone out of his belt. He had to call Dick.

Jason was not dying.

“Hood?” Batman finally replied gruffly, “What’s the situation?”

And Jason outright collapsed backward onto the floor under him.

“Gunshot wound to the abdomen, losing blood,” Jason said in a breath. He tapped at his wrist to activate his GPS tracker, then said, “I shared my location to your network.”

“I see it,” Batman said slowly, “Why should I trust you?”

Why should he—?

Was he seriously going to say I don’t care even after hearing Jason had been shot?

“Bruce, please,” Jason pleaded, “I can’t-I don’t know what else to do.” And he had said.

Past-him had said. Had promised.

“Describe the wound,” Batman said.

Jason raised his head shakily so he could look down at his abdomen, where he was still applying frantic pressure with his right hand. “It’s about five minutes old, in my right side. No exit wound. Missed my ribs and lung, I think.”

Every second that passed, Jason could feel his focus slip. He was starting to feel more than light headed, and his shallow breaths were not helping one bit.

If Bruce didn’t come…

“Batman?” he asked, and if he were any more coherent, he’d be embarrassed by how small his voice sounded.

“What am I walking into,” Batman asked in response.

Jason could cry.

“Black Mask is here,” he said, “downstairs. But I got away. I’m in the attic, I don’t know if they know where I am. Mask was unconscious when I last saw him.”

Several more seconds passed in silence, and Jason could feel himself slipping. If Bruce didn’t come, he was out of time to call Dick. He couldn’t even get his glove off to dial Dick’s number, because that would require taking his right hand off his wound.

“Please,” he nearly cried, “I don’t want to die again.”

“If this is a trap,” Batman said warningly, but his voice wasn’t near as hard as Jason expected. It actually wavered, a little.

“It’s not,” Jason rushed out, “I promise. I swear on my first edition Pride and Prejudice. If—if you still have it.”

“I still have it,” Bruce replied quietly, just as Jason heard a window be forced open, across the little attic space.

Jason lifted his head to see Batman slip inside.

Batman did a sweep of the attic as he quickly made his way to Jason, and all Jason could do was follow him with his eyes. Once Batman knelt at his side, Jason’s head thudded back onto the floor under him.

“Let me see,” Batman said, as he tugged at Jason’s right hand until Jason let go of his wound.

Batman sucked in a breath, but quickly pulled gauze from his belt as he ordered, “Robin, help me get him sitting up.”

Jason looked over at Tim, who hesitated for a second, before he snapped into place at Jason’s side and helped Jason sit up.

“Talk to me, Hood,” Batman said, as he started wrapping Jason’s abdomen tightly, so the gauze would stay in place.

His vision was going spotted, and, distantly, he felt searing hot pain in his side every time Batman added more pressure to the wound while wrapping it.

Also his helmet was still very heavy.

“Jason,” Batman said forcefully, and Jason blinked up at him.

“Wha?” Jason asked. Or. Slurred. His speech was slurring. He needed help, he thought fleetingly.

But just as fleeting, he remembered that he had help. Batman was helping him.

“We should get him to the cave,” Robin said, “he’s lost a lot of blood.”

And Robin. Robin was there, too. Jason looked back over at Robin, who seemed to squirm a little.

“Sor-y,” Jason mumbled. He wasn’t sure what he was saying that for, though.

“Come on, Hood,” Batman said, as he squatted down next to Jason and guided Jason’s arm around Bruce’s shoulders, “Up. We need to get out of here.”

“Bruce,” Jason cried, as the pain in his side got closer. Or. More. He didn’t know.

He was on his feet before he realized it, and Batman was dragging him out the window.

Ow.

“Shh,” Bruce said, “Come on, we need to get you to the car.”

Jason blinked, and the next thing he knew, he was laying on his back again, looking up at the ceiling of the Batmobile. Actually, he was looking at Robin’s face, as he shown a penlight in his eyes.

His helmet wasn’t heavy anymore.

Also his arm felt stiff. He looked down and saw a needle in the crook of his elbow, and Bruce’s hand tightly gripping around it. Keeping him still.

Just like he used to do, when he was little and had meltdowns over blood draws.

Why would they be drawing his blood?

“Bruce?” Jason asked.

“Hang in there, Jay,” Bruce said, “We’ll be in the cave in a few minutes.”

Nodding, Jason leaned back again and closed his eyes.

“You came,” he whispered, as he let the sounds of the Batmobile’s engine lull him to sleep.

- - -

The next time Jason woke, he was laying on a cot in the cave’s medbay, wearing only a pair of sweat pants.

That was something obvious to him, because his upper body was freezing. He was freezing. It was very possible he’d freeze to death, actually.

“I can get you another blanket,” someone said.

Jason blinked, and looked over, across the bed, to see Dick standing up from where he’d been sitting at the foot of Jason’s bed.

Dick was there.

Probably just to make sure he didn’t beat Tim up.

“Jay,” Dick said, a deep frown on his face. He opened a cabinet and pulled a thick blanket out, the super fuzzy one Jason always loved when he was little and had to spend any amount of time in the cave’s medbay.

It was bright pink, which always confused Jason, why they even had a bright pink blanket, but it was so fluffy and warm, it was the absolute best blanket they had in the cave.

And Dick was tucking it over Jason’s upper body so his bare skin was better covered.

“You just got out of surgery,” Dick said as he gently tucked the blanket under Jason’s arms, careful around his left one, due to all the tubes stuck in him. Jason looked over at the tubes, and tried to figure out what all he was on.

“You lost a lot of blood, and we put you on antibiotics and some pain killers,” Dick continued, “Alfred was able to get the bullet out while he was fixing the internal damage. Recovery is going to suck, but we think you’ll be okay.”

“Bruce?” Jason asked. He wanted Bruce there.

“He’s taking a shower,” Dick said gently, “he’ll be back when he’s done. Can you tell me what that device is you had?”

“Ask Jordan,” Jason mumbled, as he shut his eyes. Hal Jordan knew more than him.

“Jordan?” Dick asked, as if he didn’t even know who Jordan was.

“Lantern,” Jason mumbled. He was asleep again before he heard if Dick responded.

- - -

The next time Jason woke, his mind felt a lot clearer. There was a buzzing back in the very back of his head, but it felt familiar. It’d been a while since he felt it, though.

Bruce was sitting by his side, too. In a chair next to his bed, leaning over a laptop he had balanced on his knees. It took him a solid minute to look up and notice Jason staring at him.

“You’re awake,” Bruce said, as he stood and set the laptop on the chair behind him.

“Yeah,” Jason said.

“How are you feeling? Any pain?” Bruce asked, as he put his hands on the railing of Jason’s bed. He looked Jason up and down, as if scanning Jason for any further injuries or something.

They probably knew Jason’s injuries better than he did, he was sure.

“My side,” Jason mumbled. Actually his whole body felt kind of stiff, but there was the definite pain in his side. His mouth was a little dry, too. But not terribly.

“How bad?” Bruce asked. When Jason merely shrugged one shoulder, Bruce added, “Give me a number.”

Just like he always did when Jason was little and complaining about pain. Or, more concerningly according to Bruce, not complaining about pain.

“Four,” Jason said, after a moment of contemplation. Really it was only an annoyance. If he had something to do, he’d be able to distract himself easily enough. “It mostly just feels numb.”

“Good,” Bruce said. He turned toward the IV still hooked up to Jason and fiddled with it, then settled his hands back on the railing as he stared at Jason.

Jason really wasn’t sure what to say.

“I called up Hal Jordan,” Bruce said after a few seconds passed, “I assume that’s what you meant when you told Dick we should ask Jordan.”

With a nod, Jason said, “Yeah.” Jordan was the one who told them what it was in the past, after all.

“He identified the device you had,” Bruce said, “Where did you get it?”

“Mask got it, not me,” Jason said. Jason wasn’t a supervillain with weird-ass plans.

But Bruce must have expected that to be the answer, because he nodded and asked, “Did he use it?”

“Yeah. Sent both of us back ten years.”

“Into your nine-year-old body?” Bruce asked, a frown settling on his face.

“Yeah and it sucked,” Jason said, “Can I have some water?”

“Oh, yes,” Bruce said, startling a little before he spun around to grab a paper cup and fill it with some cool water from a bottle from the little fridge they kept on the counter next to the bed.

Gently, Bruce helped Jason lift his head enough and held the water for him to take a few sips.

Once he felt better, he laid his head back again and just looked over at Bruce. “I went to you, you know. For help.”

“When you were nine?” Bruce asked, as he set the empty cup down on the little table next to Jason’s bed.

Jason nodded. “Yeah,” he said, “you’re adopting me early in that timeline now.” And Jason was trying not to be jealous.

Bruce’s lips upturned just slightly, at that, which only made Jason’s heart clench.

“Mask didn’t do jack shit,” he said, looking away from Bruce. He couldn’t think about past-Jason. Or past-Bruce. He was too damn tired. “He’s such a moron. I don’t think he knew how the device worked.”

“What was his plan for it?” Bruce asked.

Shrugging one shoulder, Jason said, “He said he was gonna go back in time and kill me before I could mess with his plans. I ruined his world domination plan, you know. Or whatever-the-fuck he was doing. Intercepted his kryptonite shipment.”

“I did know that,” Bruce said.

Jason snapped his eyes back on Bruce and stared for a solid second. Maybe Bruce didn’t ignore Jason as much as he thought…

With a shaky smile, Jason added, “He’s dumb. How was he going to find a homeless nine-year-old kid? The cops couldn’t even find me back then.”

Bruce frowned at Jason, then asked, “Did he know you’d be…” he trailed off, though, so Jason just shrugged.

“I don’t know how old he thinks I am, so dunno.” Mask had to know Jason wasn’t that old, right? He knew Batman was his dad…

Every time he said it, Jason would protest. Or just roll his eyes. But.

It was true.

And. Considering Bruce was still standing by his side, looking down at him with his exhausted face. Well. Bruce probably thought of Jason as his son still…

Why else would he sit up by Jason’s side after what had to be a completely sleepless night…

“You should rest, Jason,” Bruce said, as he reached forward and put a hand on his head, “We can talk more later, when you’re feeling a little better.” He pat Jason’s head once, then readjusted the fuzzy pink blanket draped over him still. “I sent Robin and Nightwing to investigate Mask a little, but he doesn’t seem to be up to anything further right now.”

Jason smiled slightly as he relaxed backward onto the cot. “Probably has to lick his wounds and cry about his failed plans for a while. Curse my name. That kind of thing.”

Bruce returned Jason’s smile with a ghost of his own, and said, “Rest, Jay.” He pat Jason’s arm, then turned back toward his chair and picked his laptop up.

As he was sitting down, Jason asked, “Are you gonna stay there?”

Pausing for a second, Bruce asked carefully, “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Jason exhaled, as he shut his eyes. It was more than okay. Just like past-Dick had said, he could sleep more deeply with Batman watching over him.

- - -

The next time Jason woke up, Bruce was gone. But in his place was Dick, sitting with his legs up over the arm of the chair, a book in his hands.

Jason felt more awake than he had last time, so he tried to sit up a little.

“Jay, stop it,” Dick said, as he jumped up, “What do you want? I’ll get it.”

“To sit up,” Jason grunted. He had to stop, though, because his side had burst into flames.

Who knew trying to use his abs would hurt so soon after major abdomen surgery…

Dick grabbed a remote off the table next to Jason’s bed and put it in Jason’s hand as he said, “Then use this.”

Jason looked down at the remote, then pressed the sit up button. “Fancy,” he said, as the bed slowly moved into a sitting position. It still made his side hurt, but not nearly as bad. “Fuck,” he said, as the pain lingered. He lifted his blanket to look down at his bandages. They were still very white, so he probably hadn’t fucked anything up.

“You got shot, you have to be careful,” Dick said, as he lowered himself back into his chair.

“I remember, Dick, I was there,” Jason drawled.

Dick sighed, but it was in the same way Bruce always did. In that faux exasperated tone, that said he was actually slightly amused.

“Are you hungry,” Dick asked, “Alfred made a meal for you I can heat up.”

“Alfred’s cooking?” Jason asked. He wasn’t very hungry, but he’d definitely eat Alfred’s cooking. There was no telling how long he’d be allowed to stay…

“Yeah,” Dick said, “It’s soup.”

“Chicken noodle?” Bruce’s favorite, he thought. Had Alfred let Bruce have any, or had he made a pot just for Jason?

“I think so,” Dick said, rubbing at his face, “it’s in the fridge over there.”

“Yeah, I want that.” He wasn’t sure how many bites he’d get down, but he’d try for sure.

Would Alfred come see him? He kind of hoped so… Past Alfred had said…

Dick nodded, then pushed himself up to his feet. “I’ll be right back,” he said, “Don’t be stupid and try to get up.”

“Come on now,” Jason said with a lopsided grin, “When have I ever done something stupid?”

It took Dick several minutes, but he did come back with a steaming bowl of soup. He set it down on the little rolling table that he could push over to Jason’s bed, so Jason could eat in bed. Dick grabbed a full bottle of water from the fridge, too, and set it down next to the soup.

“Thanks,” Jason said, as he stared down at the soup.

His stomach actually wasn’t feeling like food at all. But it smelled fantastic.

“You don’t have to eat much,” Dick said, “but it will probably be good for your stomach to put a little something in it.”

Shakily, Jason picked up the spoon and slowly brought some broth up to his mouth. After blowing on it, he really only had enough to barely get the taste into his mouth, but it was good.

He looked over at Dick, to see him sitting in his chair again, just staring at Jason’s bowl.

“Why are you even here,” he asked, as he refocused on his soup, to get another spoonful of broth, “Did Bruce tell you to stay on me?”

Jason would not be at all surprised if he wasn’t allowed to be left alone. Since he was dangerous, or something. To make sure he didn’t do anything to Tim.

Although he wasn’t sure anyone thought he could do much, in his current condition.

“Not on you,” Dick said, “With you.”

“Why, so I won’t be lonely?” Jason asked with a laugh, to cover up the deep ache in his chest that response caused.

Was it weird he missed baby-Dick? Baby-Dick and this Dick were the same person…

“Well, yeah,” Dick said, furrowing his brow for a second. His face smoothed out as he said, “Medbay is too bright and cold, no one likes being in here alone.”

Jason swallowed, then tried to eat the next spoonful of broth. This time he got enough to actually eat, and his stomach rolled a little as it settled down in there.

“I met little-you,” he said, conversationally, after he’d managed to get a couple more bites down.

Dick had gone back to his book, but it was clear he wasn’t actually reading. “You did?” he asked, “Fifteen-year-old me?”

“Yep,” he said, nodding, “You kept making me watch Disney movies. Said I was a literal-baby so we had to be age appropriate.”

From the corner of his eye, Jason saw Dick grin brightly, for a split second. “That sounds like me.”

Jason tried to eat one of the noodles in his bowl, but the second his teeth sank into the soft pasta, his stomach nearly revolted. He took a minute to chew it so his stomach would calm down enough to swallow it.

He set the spoon down. That was enough of that.

Gently he pushed the table to the side, then leaned back against the bed, letting his head roll so he was looking at Dick, who was pretending to read his book again.

“I finally understand you,” Jason said. Thanks to baby-Dick.

Dick furrowed his brow, and shut his book as he looked over. “What do you mean?”

“You know, like, why you hate me.”

“I don’t hate—” Dick started, but Jason cut him off.

“Shut up, let me talk. I’m trying to be nice here.” He had to explain everything.

Motioning for Jason to continue, Dick shut up and sat back in his chair.

“I always thought you were just a little bitch,” Jason said, “jealous just because you suddenly weren’t an only child. And, like. I get it, and obviously we didn’t always have beef.”

“I’m not sure how this is you being nice,” Dick cut in.

Jason scowled and said, “Be quiet.” He wasn’t done.

“Fine,” Dick grumbled, crossing his arms in a pout.

Because Dick was a child. A 25-year-old child.

“But there were definitely good times. Between us,” Jason said. When Dick nodded, Jason asked, “Were you really not adopted back then?”

Dick’s face sobered, and went almost blank. A skill he definitely learned from Bruce, because Jason had gotten that face from him a hundred times before.

“Had Bruce not adopted you, when we first met?” Jason clarified. Just based on Dick’s reaction, he already knew the answer. The thrumming in the back of his head got a little stronger, and Jason had to ignore it.

But Dick slowly shook his head anyway.

“Are you at least adopted now?” Jason asked. He could feel the anger back there, in the thrumming, and he knew he didn’t need it.

“Yeah,” Dick said, “He adopted me last year.”

“Last year,” Jason scoffed. Leave it to Bruce to be that big of an asshole. Was that after he’d adopted Drake, too?

Jason sighed deeply, as he took a second to let the anger subside.

He’d never noticed how… present that was. All the time.

At least now he knew to look out for it…

“I’d be pretty jealous too,” he said, once he’d calmed a little, “if the guy acting like my dad didn’t even suggest he wanted to adopt me suddenly took in another kid and instantly adopted him the moment I turned eighteen.”

“It was… upsetting,” Dick said, slowly, “to put it mildly.”

“I had no clue,” Jason said, “I thought you were just a total asshole to me about me being adopted because I was street trash or something.”

Dick frowned deeply. “I never once thought something like that.”

Jason knew that now, of course. But twelve-year-old him was insecure and didn’t know Dick well.

“Did you ever ask Bruce ‘what the fuck?’ Little you kept asking me why I didn’t ask you stuff, so I figured you must have asked, right?” Jason asked. He imagined Dick asked why pretty early on.

“Yeah, I asked,” Dick said.

“What’d he say?”

Shrugging, Dick replied, “He said he didn’t think it was something I needed.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Jason demanded. He felt that familiar spike of irritation, but he squashed it back quickly.

Bruce had already fixed it. So there wasn’t much good yelling could do.

Dick merely shrugged and said, “It doesn’t matter. It’s in the past now. Bruce and I have made amends. Sorry I took my anger out on you, back then. You didn’t deserve that. I am glad that Bruce adopted you.”

Jason’s shoulders slumped as he relaxed backward again. “Me too,” he whispered. He cleared his throat, then said, “Little you didn’t get mad about it. He was annoyed with me, but I was being annoying on purpose. He also said there was no way you hated me, because he didn’t hate people.”

“I don’t and I don’t,” Dick said decisively.

“And when I went off on Bruce,” Jason continued, “about the adoption thing, he instantly asked Dick if that’s what he wanted.”

“Did he?” Dick asked, “Or, I guess, did I?”

“Yeah,” he replied, with a small smile, “I mean, Bruce kicked me out of the room so I didn’t get to listen to the conversation, but the conclusion was Bruce submitted the paperwork.”

Dick smiled slightly and said, “So all I had to do was ask Bruce to adopt me?”

“Apparently.” Jason shrugged. He couldn’t imagine how that sort of conversation would go, though. “But that shouldn’t have been on you to do.” Bruce should have stopped being an idiot and just asked Dick.

Dick nodded slowly. He stared at Jason for a moment before he said, “But Jason. I don’t hate you. I’ve never hated you. I am here because you are my brother, and you got hurt, and I was worried about you. Not because I’m afraid of how you’ll treat Tim. I assume you’ll be cordial with him.”

“Yeah,” Jason whispered, averting his eyes from Dick. He wasn’t gonna do shit to Tim, obviously.

Didn’t mean he wanted a lecture about it, either.

Besides, he hadn’t even seen Tim yet. Not since the Batmobile. He wouldn’t be surprised if Tim was banned from being anywhere near Jason, while Jason was stuck there recovering.

“I’ll admit,” Dick said, “I’m furious with you for all the bullshit you’ve been putting our family through lately.” His voice sounded annoyed, but no where near angry.

Jason couldn’t help his faint smile, anyway. He’d been fucking with Bruce lately, just for the fun of it. Nothing harmful, just dumb little pranks.

But yeah, he’d also done some shit he shouldn’t have done.

Dick rolled his eyes so hard his whole head rolled. “And you’re proud of yourself, of course you are,” he scoffed.

“I’m proud of some of the things I’ve done, yes,” Jason said, grinning over at Dick, “Thanks for noticing. Pretending to be Nightwing in New York was pretty fucking hilarious.”

“You’re a psychopath,” Dick grumbled, but Jason knew there was no heat behind it.

“Yeah, well,” he said anyway, “You get murdered then tossed in a Lazarus Pit and then come tell me you’re the picture of perfect mental stability.”

Dick leveled him such a heavy look, Jason had to look away again.

“Jay,” Dick said softly, as he leaned forward in his chair. He reached out and grasped Jason’s hand with his own, “I’m so glad you’re alive.”

Jason couldn’t look over, because his vision blurred up a little, and he didn’t want Dick to see. But he squeezed Dick’s hand in response and said, “Me too.”

“I’ve missed you, little wing.”

“Fuck, Dick,” Jason said through a watery laugh, as he used his free hand to wipe the tear that escaped away.

He hadn’t expected to cry while talking to Dick.

But. Even with all the beef between them, Dick was still there. And he still cared. 

And. Jason couldn't think about any of that, or he'd start crying for real.

Dick squeezed his hand again, but thankfully didn’t say anything about it as Jason finished wiping his face clear.

“Want to watch a movie?” Dick asked after a minute had passed, and Jason had finished his little episode, “I promise I won’t make you watch Disney movies.”

“Yeah, that’d be good. I’ll probably fall asleep, though.” He could feel the exhaustion creep in on him.

He didn’t expect he’d been staying awake for long stretches for at least a couple days. That was always how his body responded to major injuries. By making him sleep a lot.

“That’s fine,” Dick said, as he hopped up and went and turned one of the screens towards Jason’s bed, then flipped it on and booted up Netflix.

Back in Jason’s time, those screens only showed x-rays and other medical stuff, projected by the medbay’s computer. He’d used it to watch youtube once, and Bruce had fussed at him for misusing the equipment.

He wondered who had made this change to the TV.

As expected, Jason fell asleep not even twenty minutes into the random comedy Dick had picked out, but he didn’t care enough to try and stop it.

It was nice. Spending time with present-time Dick for once… as brothers.

Because they were brothers.

Chapter Text

Jason woke up alone for the first time the next morning.

It’d been more than 24 hours since he got shot, he was pretty sure, he’d just slept through most of the day after his surgery. Time was meaningless when trapped in a hospital bed. Or. A Batcave medbay bed.

He wasn’t really sure what to think of being alone, though. On the one hand, it meant they trusted him a little, right? But on the other…

As Jason reached over for the remote on the bedside table, he froze. Because he wasn’t alone.

Tim Drake was sitting at the Batcomputer, a couple dozen feet from the threshold to the medbay. And he was staring over at Jason, now that Jason was moving.

So he wasn’t alone. He was still being babysat.

And Tim wasn’t banned from the cave, or from being near Jason.

Well. No real telling, there. Maybe Tim had to retreat, now that Jason was awake. They all knew Jason wouldn’t be able to get up fast.

Slowly, Jason pressed down on the sit up button, and tried to stay relaxed as he sat up. He looked up at Tim, to see him still staring.

“Hey, kid,” he said, loudly, trying his best for nonchalance. As if it was totally normal for he and Tim to be alone.

“Hi,” Tim said back, slowly, almost cautiously. He stared for a few seconds longer, then looked back at the computer and went back to typing.

Yep. Totally normal.

Jason looked around the medbay and noticed someone had put a small stack of books and his phone next to him.

Which was good. He already knew he was going to be awake for a while, this time.

He couldn’t imagine Tim would be much of a conversationalist, with him, either. Though he knew he had to apologize to him. Maybe right that minute. Because. He didn’t know if Tim would stick around long, now that he was awake. It was very possible he was only babysitting Jason until he woke up.

Especially since Tim started closing out of everything on the computer and pushed back from the desk. He looked awkward and nervous, but he slowly turned toward the medbay and took the dozen or so steps to the threshold. He rocked back on his heels, one arm behind his back, gripping onto the elbow of his other.

They stared at each other for a solid ten seconds before Tim opened his mouth.

“Alfred—” he started, but Jason cut him off.

“I’m sorry for being a dick to you,” he rushed out. Before he could chicken out. If he chickened out, he might never say it.

A million emotions flickered across Tim’s face before he settled on a frown and said, “You could choose a different word, you know.”

“I know,” Jason said, a hint of a grin on his face. Jerk was a perfectly acceptable word. But that’s what Jason was. So obviously.

He dropped the grin as he ran a hand through his hair. “I was treating you the way Dick treated me in the beginning, except way worse because I got physical. That was shitty of me. Sorry.”

“Um, okay,” Tim stammered. He averted his eyes away from Jason for a second, but then said, “Apology accepted?” as if it was a question.

Jason felt the tension rush out of him as if he’d been a balloon poked with a needle. “Okay, cool,” he exhaled.

Maybe. Maybe that would be enough.

He doubted it…

“So,” Tim said slowly, dropping his arms and taking one step further, “Alfred told me to get him when you woke up, so he could make you breakfast. Are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” he said. So he’d been right. Tim was just there until he woke. Maybe now that he’d apologized, those rules would be changed…

“He’s also going to move you upstairs today,” Tim said.

Upstairs? he thought to himself. He was allowed to go upstairs?

“If,” Tim stammered, “you’re okay with staying longer, until you feel better.”

“Yeah,” Jason said numbly. He was okay with staying longer…

Would they kick him out the second he was better, though? Or the second he was able?

Or did they already know he wasn’t going to do shit to Tim? There had to be some trust if they were letting him upstairs and letting him be alone with Tim?

Maybe Tim wasn’t even alone, maybe Dick was hanging around somewhere. Or Oracle was listening in. Or Tim had a panic button in his pocket.

“Okay. I’m gonna go get him, then,” Tim said, shifting from one foot to the other, “Uh, yeah.” He nodded, then spun on his heels and went straight toward the steps, leaving Jason definitely alone in the medbay.

Jason knew for a fact he was alone, too, because when he reached out for one of the books, he realized he really needed to pee. So he flipped the blanket off himself, and no one came running to yell at him as he slowly turned so his feet were dangling over the side of the bed.

Carefully, very, very carefully, Jason pushed himself off the bed until his feet were touching the ground, and he held his breath as his side protested loudly at all the movement.

It was fine. He’d literally walked up two flights of stairs and then used a grapple when the bullet was still in him. He was fine.

Someone please tell his side that, he thought, as he slowly limped over to the bathroom, adjoined to the medbay.

Technically speaking, it was easy to do, since he was no longer hooked up to things. They didn’t have the heart monitor or IV or anything on him. But practically speaking.

Well.

Jason may have made a mistake.

And that was exactly what he was thinking after he’d finished his business, and was faced with the fact he had to walk back across the room, without the handy sink and bathroom wall to lean heavily on.

All thoughts left his head, though, when he opened the door to see Alfred standing near his bed, leveling him the most furious-Alfred look possible.

“Master Jason,” he snapped, “I wish you would have waited for help getting up, are you out of your mind?”

“I was careful,” Jason shot back, but he couldn’t do anything else. Because his death grip on the doorframe was literally the only thing keeping him upright.

Alfred seemed to sense that, because he was at Jason’s side in an instant, gently taking Jason’s left arm and wrapping it around his shoulders, so Jason could lean on him for support.

“Alf,” he said, and it surprised even him how broken it sounded, “I-I’m—”

He had no clue what he even wanted to say. The only thought circling his mind was Alfred’s here.

“Hush, boy,” Alfred said softly, “Let’s get you back in bed.”

Nodding, Jason let Alfred help him back across the room and into bed. The effort was exhausting, but once he was leaning back against his pillow, he felt himself relax a bit.

Alfred pushed his table across his bed and in front of him, then lifted the lid off his plate to reveal what he’d made Jason for breakfast.

And it was french toast.

It was french toast because Alfred remembered. Alfred remembered and he always used to say he liked making things for Jason that he liked.

And.

Jason’s throat felt like it was closing up on him, as he picked up his fork and stared down at the three pieces of toast.

Alfred stepped to right beside Jason and placed one hand right on top of Jason’s head. Jason looked up at him, and saw Alfred looking at him with those same clear, kind eyes past-him had given him, when he promised he could forgive him.

This Alfred already knew everything Jason had done, and yet there he was.

“Oh my boy,” Alfred said, as he leaned forward, dropping his arm so it was down around Jason’s shoulders, “I never thought I’d have this honor again.”

Tears welled in Jason’s eyes as he leaned his head sideways against Alfred’s chest, letting Alfred simply hug him.

“I miss you, Alfred,” Jason whispered, his voice still just as broken sounding.

Alfred hummed, but didn’t let go as he said, “I am right here, lad, all you have to do is come visit.”

Jason laughed, through his silent tears. As if it was just that simple.

…was it that simple?

“Now then,” Alfred said, patting Jason on the shoulder before he let go and straightened up, “You eat as much as you can, but if it’s too rich for your stomach, I do have some oatmeal as backup for you.”

With a nod, Jason leaned back against his pillow and picked his fork up again.

“I’m going to get everything together for moving you upstairs,” Alfred continued, “Is the guest room on the first floor okay with you? I would rather you not do stairs for at least a week.”

“That’s fine,” Jason said, with a sniffle. He took another deep, steadying breath, and finally directed his attention toward actually eating.

His stomach wasn’t being as mean as it had been the day before, but he still felt queasy.

Probably the pain killers, actually. He never did well with pain killers.

He’d like to be off them as soon as possible.

Alfred busied himself up with placing things in a box he pulled out of nowhere. The books that had appeared at his side, a bunch of meds, and all the things needed for changing Jason’s dressings all went in the box. He also folded up the pink blanket, and put that in the box, too.

Meanwhile, Jason managed to eat half a piece of toast, and three strawberry slices. Which was way more than he thought he’d be able to get down.

“I’m going to prepare a protein shake for you later” Alfred said, as he cleared the plate off Jason’s table. “I know your body needs more than this to keep going, and perhaps a drink would be easier on your stomach.”

Jason nodded.

“Now then,” Alfred said, as he got something from behind Jason. He wheeled it over and Jason saw a wheelchair. “Lets get you into this so I can get you upstairs.”

“I can walk,” Jason said. Lied. Right to Alfred’s face and everything.

“You most certainly cannot,” Alfred chided instantly, because he always saw right through Jason’s crap, “you’ve already done more walking than I wanted today.”

But Jason was a stubborn ass, and couldn’t go down without a fight, so he protested, “Alf—”

“No, Master Jason,” Alfred cut in harshly, “you will sit in this chair, no arguments.”

“Fine,” Jason grumbled.

“Okay then, come here lad.” He stood by Jason’s side, and helped him slide his legs off the side of the bed, then slowly get to his feet. The instant pain right in his side made him thankful Alfred had demanded he use the wheelchair.

Because he was an idiot for even suggesting he could do this alone. What if Alfred had agreed?

With an oof sound, Jason collapsed into the chair and leaned his head back. “You were right,” Jason said, reluctantly.

“I usually am,” Alfred replied. He picked the box up and asked, “Do you think you can set this on your knees, or will that be too much?”

“I can do that,” Jason said. And he could. Because the box was light, and when Alfred gently placed it on his knees, leaving a good eight inches between his stomach and the box, Jason could put just his left hand on the edge of the box to keep it in place.

Alfred wheeled Jason to the elevator, because the cave had an elevator now. That hadn’t been there during Jason’s time as Robin.

He imagined that was for Babs…

It let out on the ground floor of the manor, behind a bookcase in the main hall that also hadn’t been there in Jason’s time.

“That’s handy,” Jason said, when Alfred hit a button for the bookcase to slide back into place.

“It’s quite useful,” Alfred agreed.

He moved Jason into the guest room, as promised, and Jason felt all his energy leave him in a rush the second he laid back on the bed.

“This bed also has an adjustable base, so you can sit yourself up in it when you desire,” Alfred said, showing Jason a remote wired to the headboard.

“Fancy,” Jason mumbled, as he settled back into the pillow, laying flat on his back.

Alfred spread the pink blanket out on top of him, and Jason was out before Alfred even stepped back.

- - -

When Jason woke, he wasn’t alone. Bruce was sitting in the room with him again, this time just sitting there, probably napping himself.

Sitting just how past-Bruce had sat. All night, on Jason’s last night in that time…

Just like he’d always sat, every single time Jason had got hurt or sick, and had to spend the night not in his own bed.

And just like every time before, Bruce woke the instant Jason shifted.

“You’re too old to sleep sitting up like that,” Jason said, as he reached out for the bed’s remote.

“Im not that old,” Bruce grumbled, “I’m not even 40.”

“Barely,” Jason shot back. Bruce was 39.

“Thats still less than 40.”

Jason rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, faintly.

“Do you need anything?” Bruce asked, after smiling himself for a split second, “Food, a drink?”

Jason looked at the glass of water sitting on his bedside table, sitting next to the pack of crackers, and shook his head.

He’d try to eat those crackers in a bit.

Bruce just sat there, staring.

Actually, he looked a little constipated. Like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the words to do it.

It was making Jason tense. Because. He wasn't sure what Bruce even wanted to talk about. To lecture him on.

He was kind of a captive audience.

And if Bruce tried to hash out one of the half a dozen things he always tried to lecture Jason on.

Jason clenched his fist and took a deep breath. He wasn’t going to make himself mad before Bruce even spoke.

Past-Bruce told him. He promised him that Bruce loved him. He-he. Yeah. It would be fine.

Probably.

“Why did you wait so long to call me,” Bruce finally asked, when Jason looked back over at him again. He was looking at Jason carefully, but also with a blank face. The one Bruce probably thought none of them could read, but he would bet all of them could read it just fine.

The face said Bruce was afraid of Jason’s answer, and was going to be hurt if Jason said what he thought Jason was going to say.

Jason just wasn’t quite sure what Bruce was afraid of.

He could be afraid Jason would say because I hate you and don’t want to be near you, because past-Bruce said this Bruce probably didn’t know that Jason doesn’t hate him. Not-not completely

He definitely hated him a little. But it was different. Complicated.

Clearing his throat, Jason said, “I didn’t think you’d come.”

And. Well. Before he got thrown back in time, he had admittedly not even considered Bruce.

But that was because Jason thought Bruce hated him. And would be happy if Jason died again. He could go back to being the good little soldier who died in the line of duty, in Bruce’s mind. Not the pain-in-his-rear Red Hood constantly fighting with him.

Bruce sighed a deep, heavy sigh. He looked up and locked eyes with Jason, then looked away.

And.

Jason just saw… Bruce. Old bruce. Bruce with wrinkles at the edge of his eyes. A little fleck of gray at his temples. More flecks in his five o’clock shadow. Bruce leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his fingers interlaced. He was looking down at his hands, not up at Jason.

And really, that right there just told Jason exactly what Bruce was afraid the answer would be. And Jason had given it.

“Of course I will come,” Bruce finally said.

But Jason scowled, just slightly. Because, “You almost didn’t come,” he said, “I had to beg.” There for half a second, he’d been fully convinced he was going to die, because Bruce didn’t trust him.

“No, Jason,” Bruce said, his eyes instantly locked with Jason, “I was coming the instant you shared your GPS. That very second I turned the car toward you. Ask Tim, he’ll confirm.”

“You kept questioning me,” Jason said anyway, despite Bruce’s eyes looking so genuine, “you thought it was a trap.”

“Do you blame me?” Bruce sighed, “Even if it was a trap, I was still going to come. Just to make sure.”

Jason swallowed. He couldn’t deal with everything loaded in that small statement.

So far. Every time Jason had set a trap for Bruce… Bruce had sprung it.

Knowingly, too.

Because.

Would he seriously always come?

“Past you-Past you said I should call,” Jason said, “He ordered me to call you, the second I got back. He said-he said you’d want me to call you.”

Bruce nodded. “He’s right.”

Jason laughed at that. At the absurdity of the statement. “You just said you were right. But in the third person.”

Bruce smiled a ghost of a smile. “I think you’re doing a lot of boneheaded things right now,” he said, his face turning serious, “you’re getting yourself hurt, you’re hurting others, and yesterday you almost died because of it.”

Jason looked away, that familiar irritation spiking in the back of his head. He didn’t want a lecture. He didn’t need a lecture.

This was the Bruce he was used to. The I’m right and you’re wrong and dumb, and listen to me and do as I say or I’ll ignore you.

“Again,” Bruce added. And Jason had to sharply look back over because Bruce’s voice caught on that word.

Bruce never got emotional.

Bruce wasn’t looking at him anymore. He was studying his hands like it was the first time he’d ever seen them, and he was committing every line and bump into memory. Jason recognized the technique he was using, in regulating his breathing, too.

It was the same technique he’d taught Jason, when he was twelve. To get control of his emotions.

Jason found he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“You are my son,” Bruce finally said, “I will always answer your call, no matter how badly we’re fighting, or how angry I am with you.”

At that, Jason had to look back up at the ceiling. He could feel past-Bruce’s arms around him, as he hugged Jason tight. I love you, he’d said.

But then he remembered his past Bruce. Bruce of four years ago. I’m not your father, Jason. I don’t need your teenage rebellion.

Past-Bruce said he would regret saying that, but past-Bruce hadn’t said it. So he couldn’t be sure.

“You told me you weren’t my father,” Jason said, after a beat, his voice far more accusingly than he meant, “back when I was fifteen. You said—”

“I know what I said,” Bruce snapped, cutting in, “I have replayed that memory in my head a million times.”

Jason stared at Bruce with wide eyes. Had past-Bruce really—

“That was— I.” Bruce paused. He started to breathe again, in the same technique, but it wasn’t working as well, because Bruce leaned back and looked up at the ceiling himself, and Jason could see the glint of tears in his eyes.

“That was probably the worst thing I’ve ever said to anyone,” he said, still looking up, “I-I was angry, and I was frustrated, and— I have no excuse. You have no idea how badly I’ve regretted that statement. Regretted saying that to you.”

Bruce’s eyes flitted down to Jason, but he quickly looked back up at the ceiling, as the tears welled more in his eyes.

“Because it’s not true,” he said in anguish, “If only I had told you. Had-had let you know how much—” he cut off with a sniffle.

A sniffle.

“Fuck,” Bruce whispered, as he sloppily wiped his eyes with his hand.

Bruce Wayne was crying right in front of him.

Jason was too shocked to even chide language at him, like Bruce did every single time Jason had said that word in front of him.

He’d never seen Bruce so… disheveled. So… not put together.

He’d never seen Bruce cry.

“Jason,” Bruce said, looking down at Jason, making direct eye contact despite the tears still in his eyes, “I love you so much. I-I— You, you’re my son. You’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me and— I am so sorry if- if I’ve made you feel like you’re not.”

Damn you Bruce, Jason thought, as he draped his arm over his head to hide his face in his elbow.

Past Bruce was his Bruce, he thought hysterically.

He was right. About everything.

Everything he said was true.

Bruce stood up. Jason could hear from the scrape of the chair, and he flinched when he felt Bruce lean over him. It hurt in his side, the flinch. But he was too distracted by the fact that Bruce wrapped an arm back behind him and pulled him closer, clearly trying his best not to aggravate Jason’s side too badly.

Jason let out an audible sob then. He couldn’t hold it back anymore. Not with Bruce hugging him.

And all Bruce did was put his other arm around Jason’s back, his hand on the back of Jason’s head, holding him close. Jason couldn’t do anything but move his arm and return the hug, burying his face into Bruce’s shoulder.

“Please,” Bruce whispered, “Please let’s stop—I want you to come home.”

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” Jason said, trying his best to stop crying. He was so tired of fighting. He thought he’d been having fun messing with Bruce and Dick, but.

It wasn’t worth it. Not if it meant he didn’t even get to talk to them.

“I don’t either,” Bruce replied, still holding Jason tightly. He pulled back, then, laying Jason back down. “We-we’ll have to talk about some of your methods—”

“I’m not giving up guns,” Jason said instantly. He could feel that thrumming at the back of his head, and he didn’t want it.

But if Bruce was going to start this.

Bruce clenched his teeth, but he said, “I’m not talking about that.”

“I haven’t even killed anyone in a while, Bruce,” he said, collapsing completely back against his pillow. It wasn’t even for any reason, him not killing. He just… hadn’t seen the need in a while.

But still. He hadn’t.

“I know,” Bruce replied.

“Then what?” he asked, feeling almost desperate, “I can’t—I can’t. Don’t make this conditional, Bruce. I can’t do it.”

“No,” Bruce said instantly, “That’s not—I’m not talking about Bruce and Jason. That’s unconditional, I promise. I’m talking about Batman and Red Hood.”

Because Bruce and Jason was separate from Batman and Red Hood.

Like past-Bruce had said.

“Like, on your team?” Jason asked, unable to keep the whine out of his voice. He was trying not to keep crying.

Besides, on top of that, he felt dizzy at the idea that Bruce just instantly wanted Jason on his team again.

“Yes,” Bruce said, “I don’t like you being out there alone. At the very least, I want you on the network all the time. I want you to be able to ask for help. But. I can’t have someone on my team killing. I just-I wanted to make sure it wasn’t on the table for you, anymore.”

Dazed might be a better way to describe how Jason was feeling. He felt dazed.

How had they gone from do you blame me for not trusting you to I want you on my team?

And.

Did Jason want to be on the team?

He-he’d definitely shifted, lately, toward more vigilante type activity. Anti-hero, maybe. And.

It was nice, he had to admit. Having a network behind him. And maybe not getting attitude, whenever he tried to report something to Oracle, for Batman and company to deal with…

But was killing off the table?

Not… necessarily.

“When,” he said, slowly, “When I do that. I’m—I’m not exactly in control.” It wasn’t like he chose to kill people… often. He’d definitely chosen a few times, and he didn’t regret it. He wasn't killing innocent people. He was taking out people who were making the lives of everyone around them living hell.

Bruce sat back down in his chair, and furrowed his brow. He gave Jason a calculated look for a long moment before he said, “Explain that.”

“Not right now Bruce,” Jason sighed, “I’m tired.” Way too tired to fight the thrumming in his head as hard as he knew he’d have to, to talk about that.

“We will table this discussion for another day, then,” Bruce said, and Jason felt a pang.

It really was his Bruce.

They were the same exact person.

“Bruce,” he said shakily, after a moment, “Just so you know, I’m already always listening in on you guys, on the network.”

“I know,” Bruce said, smiling slightly, “Oracle gets a notification whenever you turn the comm on.”

“What?” Jason asked, legitimately startled. He thought he’d programmed it not to do that. Hours. He’d spent hours on that code.

“She’s very good at what she does,” Bruce said.

“Apparently.”

Now Jason wanted to go through his code, and see if he could spot the problem.

Bruce looked over at the shelf next to him, then reached out and picked up a book Jason hadn’t even noticed before.

“You asked if I still had this,” he said, holding the book out toward Jason, “I still have all your stuff.”

Jason reached out and gingerly accepted the first edition Pride and Prejudice from him.

It had been his prized possession, at fourteen, when Bruce gifted it to him for his birthday.

“I couldn’t bear to get rid of a single thing,” Bruce said.

Not a single thing.

Because.

Because Bruce.

Jason clutched the book close and nodded. “I love you too, Bruce,” he whispered.

Bruce stood up again, and stepped over. He held an arm out, as if asking permission this time.

So Jason leaned forward enough so Bruce could wrap his arms around Jason’s back.

“I’ve missed you, Jay,” Bruce whispered, squeezing Jason tightly, but not hurting his side at all.

Jason was way bigger now, but his arms felt exactly the same as past-Bruce’s arms.

And Jason definitely felt Bruce shake, but it was okay. He wasn’t going to mention it.

As long as Bruce didn’t mention Jason shaking with sobs, either.

All he had to do was go home.

Chapter Text

Jason spent the next day mostly sleeping. Alfred, Dick, and Bruce took turns sitting with him, when he was awake, but thankfully they started leaving him alone some, too.

He was getting a little antsy with so many people around him.

But on his third day upstairs, Jason decided he’d had enough of the stupid guest room with the stupid floral wallpaper and the stupid stack of books someone had picked out for him.

He’d read all those books before, and he was bored.

Really, he was almost ready to go back home.

But. Also. He didn’t want to go back home. Not yet…

He definitely knew he needed to recover a little more before he could, anyway. He wasn’t stupid.

Then again… he’d recovered from pretty bad injuries on his own several times already. And it’d been fine.

It was just… easier when there were people around to bring him food, and help him get up.

Which was exactly what he was thinking to himself, when he slowly pushed himself up to his feet sometime after lunch. His legs were fine, so it was so dumb of his body for protesting standing up. It was just his side and stomach that hated moving around.

But if he sat in that room any longer, he would do something more drastic, and outright leave. So. Yeah. He was doing the better thing, and just leaving the room.

Slowly, Jason made his way down the hall and around the corner, and surprisingly didn’t run into anyone. No one came running, no one yelled. It was just Jason, as he slowly shuffled his way down the hall, trying his best not to engage his core as he walked.

He wasn’t really sure where he was going, but on auto-pilot he found himself stepping into the doorway to the kitchen, where Tim and Alfred both were.

Alfred was in there, clearly baking cookies. He was scooping cookies out and placing them out on a cookie sheet when he turned around to see Jason.

“Master Jason,” he admonished, as he set his scoop down and quickly crossed the room, “What on earth are you doing, sit.”

“I was going crazy sitting still, Al,” he said, as he allowed Alfred to place an arm on his back as he led Jason to one of the stools around the kitchen island, “You know I don’t sit still.”

Alfred sighed heavily, but once Jason was sitting down he said, “If just one of you boys could learn to be patient with your body.” He then went and got a plate out of a cabinet and started loading some of the already-done cookies onto it.

“Being impatient would be leaving and gearing up for patrol,” Jason said.

With an exasperated look, Alfred turned around and set the plate down right in front of Jason. Before Jason could do anything, Alfred set a hand on Jason’s forearm and said, "I am so glad you are here, lad.”

“Thanks, Alf,” Jason said thickly. He smiled shakily when Alfred set a glass a milk in front of him, and gave him a fond look, before he went back to working on his cookies.

Tim was sitting at the island, catty-corner from Jason, and Jason was trying his best not to look over and stare. Tim, similarly, had a plate of cookies, and was pointedly looking down at his phone, typing.

Probably complaining to someone about how Jason had just ruined his nice peaceful time with Alfred.

They hadn’t talked again since Jason woke up, being babysat by him. Jason hadn’t even seen Tim again, since then. And no one had mentioned him while they were sitting with Jason, either.

Really, Jason was surprised Tim hadn’t run off the second Jason sat down.

Jason turned his attention down to the cookies in front of him, and picked one up to take a bite.

They were cranberry macadamia nut cookies, which was something he’d never even heard of before moving into Wayne Manor. But they were pretty good.

Nothing beat classic chocolate chip cookies, though.

He sat quietly for several moments, just simply observing Alfred work. It was nice, actually. Reminded him of back when he was little, and he’d sit with Alfred on Sunday mornings, as he prepared bread or cakes for the week.

Back then, Alfred had been eager to teach Jason what he was doing. But back then, Jason hadn’t been trying to memorize everything in order to recreate it at home. Maybe Alfred would teach Jason a few things, before he went back home?

“Alfred,” Jason asked, after Alfred had got the next batch of cookies in the oven.

“Yes, lad?” Alfred turned toward him, but only for a moment before he busied himself clearing off the cookie sheets with cooling cookies on them onto the cooling racks.

“Would you be willing to teach me how to make some of my favorite meals of yours?” he asked. He felt Tim’s eyes cut over to him, but when Jason looked over, he was hunched over his phone again.

Alfred, on the other hand, absolute lit up as he said, “Of course! Does that mean you’ll be visiting more often, then?”

Jason hadn’t specifically thought ahead to after he recovered enough to leave, but he ducked his head and said, “If I’m welcome.”

“You are always welcome in this house,” Alfred said decisively, “and in my kitchen, regardless of what Master Bruce says. Once you are more healed, I’ll be happy to show you how to make those potatoes you were always so fond of.”

With a smile, Jason picked up another cookie and said, “That’d be nice. And pot roast.”

“Of course,” Alfred replied, “I plan on making that for you tomorrow, anyway.”

“You’re the best, Alfred,” Jason said, grinning, “Past-you made me that twice, just because I said it was my favorite dish of yours.”

“I’m sure I’m quite pleased, in that timeline, to get you three years early.”

“I have to admit,” Jason said, “I was a cute nine-year-old.” Once one looked past the emaciation, that was.

He really hoped little-him was doing all right. That he woke up and wasn’t so terrified he ran. Although, since that was in the past, he supposed that Jason was already nineteen-years-old. If Bruce was able to keep him from dying.

So. Jason hoped little-him had done all right. And he was happy and maybe in college.

Jason kind of wanted to ask Jordan if there was a way to contact the other timeline. Just to check in, satisfy his curiosity. He’d love to tell that Bruce he was okay, too. Bruce had been very worried about him. But, again, it’d been ten years. And if it hadn’t turned out okay for him, Jason wasn’t sure if he even wanted to stir up memories.

Did they take Tim in still? Even if Jason didn’t die?

He still didn’t know Tim’s story, but. If Bruce adopted him, he needed it. So. Jason hoped they did take him in.

And. This Tim right here deserved to feel comfortable in his own house. And. Maybe Jason should make sure he was okay with Jason being around.

“Tim?” Jason asked, finally looking over at him.

Tim startled hard at his name, and looked up sharply at Jason with the most bewildered look on his face.

Not scared. Not annoyed. Bewildered.

“What?” Jason asked. What had he even done?

“Nothing,” Tim said, after shaking himself of whatever. He picked his phone back up and said, “I just didn’t know you knew my name.”

Jason furrowed his brow. “Obviously I know your name.” How the hell would he not know Tim’s name?

“Yeah well you never use it,” Tim mumbled, “It’s always kid or pretender or, whatever.”

This kid was ballsy, that was for sure, Jason thought as he suppressed a smile. “Yeah, I’m an asshole, I know,” he said.

Tim smiled briefly, before he seemed to catch himself and his face went blank again. “What did you need?” he asked.

Right. Because Jason had been wanting to ask something…

After a breath, Jason looked away and stammered, “I was just wondering, if you were okay with me being around more. Since, like, you live here and stuff.”

Jason looked back over when Tim didn’t respond. Tim was just staring at him, like he was trying to figure out what his own opinion even was.

Or. If he felt safe sharing it, maybe.

Actually Jason had no clue what was going on in Tim’s mind. Since. Well. Jason didn’t know Tim very well.

“Bruce adopted you, right?” Jason asked after a long moment had passed in silence.

“Yeah,” Tim replied, “earlier this year.”

Earlier that— Jason cut that thought right-the-fuck-off.

He didn’t want to think about it. Though he knew for a fact Tim had been Robin for three years.

“Then I guess we’re brothers,” Jason said, looking back down at his plate to pick at his last cookie, “So. I should stop being such an ass all the time.”

Tim looked over at him, so Jason looked up to meet his eyes and kind of hated how hopeful Tim looked…

“Look,” he said, “I am sorry. I—at the tower. That wasn’t really me. I mean, it was, but also…”

When Jason trailed off, Tim spoke up and said, “You were thrown in the Lazarus Pit, I know.”

All Jason could do was blink. He hadn’t even known Bruce knew that.

“I’ve been studying it,” Tim said slowly, “After you attacked me. Because, why the heck would you do that, right? And. Yeah.”

Jason swallowed, then asked, “Do you know how to, I don’t know, counteract it? Or something. I didn’t exactly… realize.”

“I don’t, no,” Tim said, “But I can try and find a cure, if that’s something you want.”

Nodding, Jason said, “I don’t want it controlling me anymore.”

“You seem to be doing an okay job this week,” Tim said, as he set his phone down and picked up one of his cookies. He kept his eyes on Jason as he spoke, “I mean, you’re sitting in this room with me and you haven’t tried to stab me yet.”

“I haven’t tried to stab you ever,” Jason drawled, “Plus, I haven’t been that triggered by you in a while. I kind of realized it wasn’t you I was mad at.”

Tim nodded, as he ate his cookie. He didn’t seem to have anything else to add, so Jason continued.

“I don’t actually know how much of it is me and how much of it is it. And. I’d like to know, you know?” he said, “Because there isn’t much I regret exactly, but I also am not sure if I chose to do some of the things, or if… I don’t know.”

“Yeah,” Tim said thoughtfully, “It’s worth figuring that out.”

Jason merely nodded. He really didn’t think the pit had made decisions for him. Not, like, exactly. But also, he was certain it had been… amplifying his emotions. His anger, more specifically.

And. Well. He wanted to know if it had. It would be one thing had he attacked Dick like he’d done Tim. Dick was a grown-ass-adult.

Tim was just a kid. Regardless of everything, he was a child. And generally Jason didn’t mess with kids.

So.

Yeah. He wanted to figure all that out.

With a shrug, Tim said, “Yeah, I’m fine with you coming around. I forgive you for being a jerk.”

All Jason could do was nod again. If he thought too hard, he knew his eyes would tear up, and he wasn’t going to be doing that. No sir.

Alfred walked over, after the silence stretched for a good minute. He put two more cookies on Tim’s plate, then two on Jason’s, and didn’t say a single word.

But Jason heard his approval none-the-less.

“Thanks,” Jason mumbled, looking away from the fond smile Alfred gave him in response.

“You know,” Tim said after another moment had passed, “I didn’t set out to become Robin.”

Jason tensed, and could feel the thrumming in the back of his head.

“And I never thought for a second I replaced you,” Tim continued, but Jason cut him off.

“Tim,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Jason said tersely. They’d been doing good. He wanted to keep it that way.

“Okay,” Tim said easily, “But when you’re up for it, I’d like to tell you the story.”

Jason hummed noncommittally.

He’d listen one day, sure. Just. Not any time soon.

They sat there for another few minutes, just eating their cookies in comfortable silence, before Bruce’s footsteps could be heard coming down the hall. Jason had to remind himself not to tense. He wasn’t going to tense when he saw Bruce.

He and Bruce were getting along.

Bruce froze, though, when he walked through the door and saw Jason and Tim sitting there. He looked back and forth between the two of them, but didn’t say anything.

It was clear to Jason, though, that Bruce didn’t want them together.

“Hey, Bruce,” Tim said cheerfully, before Jason could offer to leave.

“Hi Tim,” Bruce said slowly. He stepped into the room further, and sat down in the empty stool between Jason and Tim. “How are you doing?”

“Good,” Tim said, grinning, “Alfred made my favorite cookies.”

“I see that,” Bruce said, as he turned to Jason, “How are you today, Jason?”

Jason blinked, but then said, “Fine. My side hurts, but, ya know, that’s to be expected.”

Bruce nodded, and smiled when Alfred set a plate of cookies in front of him, but overall he looked incredibly lost.

Maybe Tim hadn’t told anyone about how Jason apologized to him…

“Jason and I were just talking about the Lazarus Pit,” Tim said, “And its side effects.”

Bruce turned toward Jason and furrowed his brow as he said, “Is that what you meant when you said—”

“Yes,” Jason cut in. And also he didn’t want to talk about it.

“Okay,” Bruce said, nodding absently, “Good to know.”

“I want to lay down,” Jason announced, as he pushed back from the counter a bit.

“Do you need any help,” Bruce asked, as he jumped to his feet. Jason batted his hands away when he tried to touch him, though.

“No,” he said, “And I’m not going back to the guest room. The wallpaper is driving me insane.”

“The wallpaper?” Bruce asked skeptically.

“Yep,” Jason said, as he gently slid off the stool onto his feet, “You know, the wallpaper. It’s boring staring at it.”

Bruce furrowed his brow, but didn’t try to touch Jason again.

“I’m going to watch TV in the theater,” Jason said, as he started to hobble off toward the door. His guest room didn’t have a TV, and while he didn’t usually watch TV, he did prefer doing that when he was laid up in bed.

“Do you want company?” Tim asked.

Jason paused at the door and looked back at Tim as he said, “If you really aren’t scared I’m gonna murder you.”

Tim considered him for a second, then smiled almost deviously as he said, “I think I could take you right now.”

Jason snorted. He probably could, honestly.

Maybe.

But he motioned with his head for Tim to follow, and started making his way toward the theater.

Bruce hovered at the island, but didn’t end up following them. Which was good, right? That meant Bruce trusted him.

Or he just trusted Tim to handle himself.

Either way, he let Tim follow Jason to the theater, where Jason promptly collapsed down on his favorite recliner. He was so glad Bruce hadn’t changed the furniture since he was a kid. He put the footrest out and leaned it back as far as it would go, and only winced once when his side protested a little.

Tim crossed the room over to the basket of blankets and grabbed out two. One he dropped on top of Jason, still folded, as he passed by him and over to another recliner a few over from Jason.

“Thanks,” Jason mumbled, as he put the blanket behind his head. He wasn’t cold, but he did like to have a little more support behind his head.

After Tim leaned back in his chair, he flipped the TV on with the remote, then looked down at his phone. “Dick wants to join us for a movie,” he said, as the TV was loading.

Jason groaned, but it was half hearted, he had to admit. He really wasn’t sure how Dick was even still there. Didn’t he have work?

“I get to pick the movie, though,” Jason said, instead of agreeing outright. He would just move to a different room if Dick came in and turned on Cinderella.

He would.

Tim’s thumbs flew across his phone screen and a second later he grinned. “He said deal.”

Dick popped into the room less than a minute later, and he immediately made his way over to Jason’s recliner. He leaned over from behind and grinned at Jason, saying, “Jay.”

“What,” Jason asked, scowling up at his brother’s stupid face. He needed to go sit down so they could start the movie.

“I need your number,” Dick said, instead of go sit down.

Rolling his eyes, Jason said, “I don’t believe you don’t have my number.” For one, they were all stalkers in this house. And for two, they’d had his phone. He’d not seen it until his second day in the medbay. If they hadn’t known his number before, they definitely pulled it when they physically had his phone hostage.

“Okay,” Dick said easily, “Then I need your permission to text your number.”

Jason sighed heavily, but said, “Fine.”

With another grin, Dick dropped down in the recliner next to Jason as he typed away at his phone.

A second later, Jason’s phone buzzed in his pocket, so he pulled it out and saw the new text from Dick. It simply said, hi, and was in a new group chat.

“Now I can text both of you at the same time,” Dick said.

“Neat,” Tim replied in the group chat.

Jason stared down at both the numbers, but eventually sighed and added both of them as contacts.

His two brothers.

That. That was a weird thought to have.

“We’re watching the Equalizer,” Jason said, before Dick could hijack.

“Oh, I like that one,” Tim said, as he picked the remote back up and started navigating to the movie.

Dick didn’t say anything, but he did recline his seat back.

Jason didn’t make it through the movie, of course. He fell asleep about half way through, but when he woke a few hours later, Tim and Dick were both still there. And Bruce had joined them at some point, sitting in the chair between Tim and Dick.

There also was a blanket spread out over Jason, which he definitely hadn’t done himself. He pulled it up over his arms and snuggled back a little more, then looked at the TV to see they’d continued on with the movie series while he slept.

It was weird, how at peace he felt. But. He remembered having this same feeling, every time he fell asleep in this very chair, as a kid. Falling asleep and then waking up, his dad or brother still in the room with him. Just. There. Safe, is what he always felt like. Safe and at ease.

He definitely wasn’t going to complain about feeling it again.

Never in a million years would he have expected to have this again.

This… family.

But. He liked it.

Getting shot back into time was seriously a good thing, wasn’t it?

Mask was going to be so pissed, when he found out.

Chapter Text

Jason came to slowly.

He was warm, and laying on something soft that he just wanted to burrow into further to sleep longer. His head felt clearer than it had felt in a while, and his muscles didn’t have that familiar ache he’d come to expect every moment of every day.

And a TV was running in the background.

No cars honking.

That was what made Jason snap his eyes open.

He looked around the room frantically, and his eyes landed on two people sitting on another couch across the room. Because Jason was laying on a couch.

Under a blanket.

How had he even gotten there? He—he didn’t know. And he didn’t know these people.

The man was looking at him, frowning, and Jason scrambled to his feet.

Jason was out of that room before the man was even to his feet. He heard the kid exclaim something, but Jason ran.

But he had no clue where he was. The house he was in was massive.

MASSIVE.

He was hoping to find a fire escape and get out, but it became immediately clear he wasn’t in a high rise. So Jason opened a random door and slipped inside.

The room looked to be another living room. A parlor, his brain wanted to call it. A fancy room with fancy, uncomfortable furniture, and very ornate rugs and stuff.

He stood there with his body against the door for a solid minute, trying to calm down enough to think.

Where was he? How had he got there?

His eyes were drawn to the massive windows across the room, and Jason found himself crossing the room to look out them with wide eyes.

All he saw was green. Trees, bushes, flowers. The..the grounds of this estate had to be massive.

Jason was on an estate.

Where the fuck was he???

Looking down at himself, Jason did an inventory. He could swear he’d put on a little weight, which was weird. How could he put on weight? How much time had he lost?

Because obviously he lost time, right? How else could he explain going to sleep on a roof and waking up… here? Under a blanket on a couch? With people who clearly weren’t surprised he was there?

Jason looked at his shaking hands and turned them over. His skin was a much fuller color than it had been, recently. It had been worrying him, actually, how pale he was getting.

Well. Pale, where there weren't bruises.

Pushing the sleeves of his hoody up, Jason looked at his arms, and was a little shocked to see no bruises there. None. There was a single faint green bruise, right where he’d been grabbed by an asshole when he tried to lift his wallet from his pocket.

As far as Jason remembered, that had happened two days ago. But this bruise looked almost two weeks old.

And nothing on his body hurt.

Nothing.

Jason couldn’t remember the last time he’d had no pain. It. It hadn’t been since before his mom died, that was for sure. He had to do so much running these days, his legs always hurt.

The clothes he was wearing were completely new, too. The hoody was nice, it was warm and obviously brand new. And his sneakers were still white on the toes, and actually fit his feet well. He could feel nice, clean socks on his feet, too. No holes in them anywhere.

Really, Jason felt fantastic. And. He was scared to learn what the cost of all this was.

He didn’t have his backpack on him, though. And he had no clue where it was. But. Maybe it was somewhere? If he had nice, clean clothes on, maybe he had a bed somewhere and the backpack was there?

If he had a bed, why was he asleep on a couch?

Maybe it had been in that room he woke up in?

Next he checked his pockets, and outright gawked when his hand came out of his right pocket with sixty dollars in it.

Sixty Dollars.

He could eat for weeks on that kind of money.

Where had he got sixty dollars, what had he done for it, and was he going to need it? He was in a house??

Jason jumped sky-high when someone knocked on the door to the room and he quickly shoved the cash back in his pocket. He tensed when the door slowly creaked open and the kid from the other room poked his head in.

“Jason?” he said, giving Jason a concerned look, “Can I come in?”

He had no idea what to say or do. He shoved his hands in his hoody pocket and just watched wide-eyed as the kid came into the room and shut the door behind him. How did the kid know his name? Had Jason been there for some time?

How much time?

And what was the kid’s name?

Where was he??????

“Uh, are you okay?” the kid asked, as he started taking a few steps forward. Jason mirrored the steps backward, but ran right into the window behind him. The kid froze, and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Where am I?” Jason asked.

“You don’t remember?” the kid asked.

Jason shook his head. What was he supposed to remember? The last thing he remembered was setting his tent up on that roof and trying to get some sleep.

“Do you remember anything from the past week? Since you got here?” the kid asked, his brow furrowed. Like he was trying to solve a puzzle or something.

“I don’t remember getting here at all,” Jason replied. Nothing. He’d definitely remember going to some rich guy’s house, since that was clearly where he was.

“Okay, hang on,” the kid said frantically, as he turned around and rushed to the door. He opened it and stuck his head outside as he yelled, “BRUCE!!”

“What’s wrong,” Jason heard a man say, the man he assumed. Bruce?

He had no time to react before the man was suddenly in the room, and the kid was saying, still just as frantic, “He said he doesn’t remember anything. He doesn’t even know where he is!”

The man—Bruce?—snapped his attention to Jason, and took two long strides into the room. He froze, too, when Jason tried to back up further.

“It’s all right, lad,” the man said, “you know I won’t hurt you.”

Jason scowled at that. No he didn’t know that. This man was massive and Jason was apparently in his home.

That, quite literally, was all it took for him to get to hurt Jason all he wanted.

“He doesn’t remember anything,” the kid stressed, “Nothing from the past week.”

Past week, Jason thought to himself. A whole week????

“He doesn’t remember us,” the kid added, and he sounded so upset about it. Jason looked between him and the man, but he couldn’t figure out what was even going on. Was the guy his dad? Was this a new foster family? What was happening?

“Lad,” the man said, as he took a slow step forward, “I need to look at your eyes and check your head. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Jason just stood there. He couldn’t really say no. The man was massive and Jason was apparently in his house.

The man slowly made his way across the room, and knelt down in front of Jason. Jason was outright shaking when he did, but Bruce didn’t say anything about it. Didn’t start screaming about how Jason was clearly scared after he just told Jason not to be.

Actually, Bruce looked sad, and… Jason wasn’t totally sure.

Determined, maybe.

Bruce gently put a hand on the top of Jason’s head as he pulled something out of his pocket. It looked like a pen, and for a terrifying second, Jason thought he was about to stab Jason in the eye with a ball point pen. But then he clicked it on, and it turned out to be a penlight.

The light shown into Jason’s eyes a few times, as Bruce looked for Jason had no clue what. Jason just kept still and stared right at Bruce’s face with his too-wide eyes.

“Do you remember falling off the trampoline yesterday,” Bruce asked him.

“No,” Jason replied immediately. Because he didn’t. Actually, he didn’t remember ever playing on a trampoline in his life ever.

Bruce nodded, then sat back, taking his hand off Jason’s head. “Yesterday you and Dick were playing on the trampoline and you fell off. The doctor said you had a concussion.”

“It was an accident,” the kid said quickly. Dick? Was that his name? Like… short for Richard, right?

Jason wasn’t sure he’d ever met someone not 90 years old called Dick.

Dick also exclaimed that like he’d already exclaimed it was an accident fifty times.

Had it really been an accident? Or had Dick pushed Jason off?

“I’m getting a new trampoline with a net,” Bruce said, after ignoring Dick, “so you two can play on it again once your head is better.”

“If that happened yesterday,” Jason said slowly, trying to gauge how mad Bruce would get at being questioned, “Why can’t I remember since then?” Shouldn’t he have only forgotten before the injury? Wasn’t that how head injuries worked?

Bruce didn’t seem mad at all at Jason’s question. He frowned a little, but said, “I was reading about concussions last night, and I saw that memory loss can happen beyond when the actual injury occurs. So this isn’t too unusual, but I’ll call the doctor to make sure. Does your head hurt?”

“No,” Jason said. His head didn’t hurt at all. He wasn’t sure he’d ever had a concussion before, but weren’t they supposed to hurt?

Or were brain injuries not like that? Did his brain even have… nerves? Or whatever it was that made his body feel pain?

Bruce nodded. “Any other symptoms? Can you see okay?”

“Yeah,” Jason replied. His head felt clearer than it’d felt in a while. Probably. Probably because he didn’t feel hungry.

He didn’t feel hungry.

“Okay,” Bruce said. He pat Jason on the top of the head as he stood to his feet.

Jason just stared up at him uncomprehendingly.

So what was going on???

“Uh,” Bruce stammered, “So you don’t remember anything since you got here?”

“No,” Jason said simply.

“Okay,” Bruce repeated, “Well. I’m Bruce, you can call me that. I’m your new Foster Dad. That is Dick,” he stepped aside, and pointed back at the kid, who was hovering behind Bruce about ten feet, “my son. And Alfred is around, he’s our butler. He’s fixing lunch right now, I think. Uh. Here, let me show you the kitchen so you know where to get food if you get hungry.”

Jason paused. Bruce turned to leave the room, but Jason just stood there.

Was he allowed to just… eat if he was hungry?

Bruce turned and shot Jason a quizzical look, so Jason jumped and started following him.

“How much can I eat?” Jason asked. He might as well know, and if Bruce was going to get mad about questions, it was good to know that too.

He still had no clue what was even happening??

“As much as you want, lad,” Bruce said, as he hovered a hand behind Jason’s back to lead him out the room. Dick skipped ahead of them.

When Jason looked up at Bruce, because what did he mean as much as Jason wanted, Bruce added, “The rule in this house is: if you’re hungry, you eat.”

“Oh,” Jason whispered. He checked his stomach, but he actually felt pretty full. Like he’d just eaten. Which. Made since, if he had actually put some weight on. He had to be eating a lot to do that.

What kind of foster parent didn’t care how much their foster kids ate?

The kind that had a butler, Jason supposed…

“Are you hungry right now?” Bruce asked.

“I don’t think so,” Jason responded, as Bruce led them around a corner. The house was massive.

Bruce nodded as he put his hands in his pockets. He hadn’t actually touched Jason, but he’d been keeping his hand behind Jason’s back, and Jason kind of really hated it.

But he hadn’t touched him, so he couldn’t say shit about it.

“We just had breakfast a couple hours ago,” Bruce said, “you ate three pieces of french toast and quite a lot of bacon.”

“Oh,” Jason whispered again.

They finally stopped outside a swinging door, and Dick pushed it open and held it for Jason and Bruce to follow through.

“Did you gentlemen need something,” an old British man asked, who was currently kneading dough, or something. Jason wasn’t actually fully sure. Most notably, he was dressed up like a butler. Because apparently Bruce had an actual butler.

This had to be Bruce Wayne.

“No,” Bruce said, “Jason woke up from his nap and doesn’t remember anything from the past week. I’m showing him around again.”

“Oh dear,” the old guy said, Alfred probably. He looked at Jason with what could only be concern as he asked, “Is it your concussion? Are you all right, lad? Feeling nauseous or dizzy or anything?”

Jason shook his head.

“Here, let me get you some water,” Alfred said. He walked over to the giant fridge and got out a big glass jug of water and poured it into a sparkling glass.

When he handed it to Jason, Jason hesitantly took a sip. He really wasn’t sure what they could possibly do to water, but maybe they’d drugged it. He had no clue if he could even trust these people.

But the water tasted fresh and clean, and had a hint of something pleasant in it. Everyone was staring at him, so he swallowed a mouthful then asked, “What is that flavor?”

“Cucumber,” Alfred said with a smile, “Do you like it?”

It did taste nice, so Jason nodded.

“If you ever want something from the kitchen, please don’t hesitate to ask,” Alfred continued, “And if you can’t find me, help yourself. Come over here.” Alfred motioned for Jason to follow him into another room.

Jason cut his eyes up at Bruce, who was standing awkwardly next to him, but he didn’t look like he had any opinion at all on what Jason did, so he followed Alfred into what turned out to be a pantry.

A pantry the size of his mom’s entire kitchen.

“All the snacks are over here,” Alfred said, pointing to a lower shelf right at the entrance to the pantry, “help yourself whenever. If there’s a specific snack you ever want, let me know and I’ll get it.”

There were, quite literally, two dozen different snack options on the shelf. Basically anything Jason could ever want was there. Cookies, crackers, chips, jerky, granola bars…

Literally everything.

What was the catch? There definitely had to be a catch, right?

Was Jason actually there through foster care? Like had nasty Cheryl really placed him here? What happened to his last family? He thought if he got picked back up by social services he’d be put back when them.

“We mean that, Jason,” Bruce said, once Jason turned around and left the pantry again, at Alfred’s prodding. He considered grabbing something to keep in his pocket, but literally everyone was watching him.

“You are allowed to eat whatever you want whenever you want,” Bruce pressed on, “I promise.”

“Okay,” Jason said, just because he wasn’t sure what else to say. Bruce seemed to want an acknowledgement. He just. He wasn’t sure he actually believed it yet.

Why was he there?

“I’ll show you to your room,” Dick announced, after Jason had just stood there awkwardly in the silence for way too long. “You probably need to rest and maybe you’ll be more comfortable in there. You spent a lot of time in your room this last week.”

“Okay,” Jason said again. He didn’t really have a choice, but if they were going to leave him alone, he’d gladly go to ‘his’ room.

Dick grinned and skipped out of the room, motioning for Jason to follow. He looked up at Bruce, who smiled encouragingly at him, so Jason followed after Dick.

“I know you don’t remember,” Dick said, as he led Jason down the hall and to a stairwell, “so I’ll say again. Bruce can look scary, but I promise he’s super nice. But if he ever does anything that’s scary, you can tell me and I’ll yell at him for you.”

“You’ll yell at him?” Jason asked skeptically. What would that even do, except make Bruce madder?

“Yep,” Dick said cheerfully, “he listens to me. And you’re my little foster-brother, so I’m gonna look out for you, okay?”

That was not how ‘foster brothers’ had ever worked for Jason, but Jason was willing to feel it out and see.

He did have sixty bucks in his pocket, so if this place turned freaky, he could run. They probably weren’t watching him every second of every day, right?

Jason tried to get a good look at Dick, as he followed the kid upstairs. He was wearing shorts and a t-shirt, so Jason could see his arms and legs, and he didn’t look all beat up. He wasn’t holding himself all weird, either, like he hurt anywhere.

And. He had called for Bruce. No kid who was scared of an adult would call for them to help, right? At his last foster home, none of the kids ever sought out the foster parents for anything ever. They could be literally dying and they wouldn’t have bothered those two assholes.

Then again, Bruce said Dick was his son, not foster son, so maybe it was different anyway and Jason shouldn’t even bother reading into that.

Dick led him down a hall, once they were at the top of the stairs, and he pointed to Bruce’s room and his own room as he passed. So Jason had to walk past both of them to get out of the hall, he observed as he followed. But then Dick opened a door just past his and motioned for Jason to go inside.

“And this one is yours,” he said brightly, “If you want anything for your room, you just have to ask and we’ll get it for you. Bruce already ordered you stuff that I think gets here today, I don’t remember.”

Jason looked around the massive room, and really wasn’t even sure what to say.

“I’ll leave you alone, then,” Dick said, “but if you want or need any of us, just come find us!”

“Okay, thanks,” Jason mumbled, as he stepped further into the room. Dick gave him another bright smile, then shut the door behind him as he left.

The door didn’t have a lock on it, Jason noticed immediately.

Which was good.

He didn’t like being locked in his bedroom to starve.

There was also a tree right outside one of his windows, which meant escaping would be easy, if he ever had to.

“Okay,” he whispered to himself, as he made a second sweep of the room, this time looking at all the stuff.

On the dresser was a couple photos of his parents that he’d not seen before, and inside the drawers were a bunch of clothes that all fit him.

There was also a bookshelf on the wall behind him, next to a desk, and on the bookshelf were over a dozen books.

Jason quickly read over the titles, and most of them he’d never heard of. They almost all looked up grown up books, though. His last librarian hadn’t let Jason check out the books from the older section, and made him check out the chapter books. Which were fine, he supposed, but he really wanted to read the older fiction books. He’d got his hands on a few books just from dumpster diving, and he’d loved how much more complex the stories were.

But he’d been ‘only eight’ and the librarian made all the kids stay age appropriate when they checked books out. It was the dumbest thing but Jason couldn’t argue, either.

Which book did he want to read first, was was he was wondering, as he turned around and inspected his bed, last.

Right on top was his teddy bear, and Jason was relieved to see it. Right out in the open, too, which meant Bruce and Alfred didn’t care that he had it. Jason jumped up on his massive bed and grabbed his teddy to hold onto for a moment, just as he thought over everything he knew so far.

Once he took the bear, though, he saw a little notebook peeking out from under the pillow, so curiously, Jason pulled it out and opened it.

Inside was his handwriting, so they weren’t lying when they said he’d been there a whole week and forgotten. Because he definitely hadn’t had this notebook on the street, and how could they fake his handwriting?

The notebook had a pros and cons list on the first two pages, and now Jason knew for sure he’d written it. His 3rd grade teacher taught him how to do these, and when he’d finally decided to run away from his last foster home, he’d made one up. He hadn’t had paper to write it out, but he’d done it in his head.

He’d written at the top, across both pages, the question ‘Should I stay here?’ and on the left page was the cons list, and on the right the pros.

Jason read the Cons list, first.

1. I have to listen to Bruce and Alfred.

2. I have a social worker

3. I have to rely on Bruce for food.

4. I’m not in Gotham anymore.

Jason looked the list over again and frowned. It wasn’t very long, but he also couldn’t think of anything else right off the top of his head, without knowing everyone in the house better. The possibility of Bruce being abusive or Dick being a total narc would be a con, but he didn’t know if they were or not. Surely he would have known after a whole week staying here, though, right?

And. Why would Jason play with Dick on the trampoline, if Dick was an asshole?

Also. If he wasn’t in Gotham, where was he?

If this was Bruce Wayne’s house, though, he had to be near Gotham. Jason wasn’t sure where Bruce lived, but he did know it was somewhere just outside Gotham.

Next he read the pros list, which was about twice as long as the cons, which made Jason frown just immediately. How could that even be possible?

1. They said I can eat whatever I want whenever I want.

2. Bruce said he’d pay for Gotham Academy.

Jason paused, then reread that pro. Really??? He kind of wanted to jump up and go ask Bruce right that second if that was true, but surely Bruce would bring it up again on his own, if it was true.

Right?

3. Bruce said he’d pay for college.

Jason. Jason would definitely put up with nine years of bullshit if that promise proved true. Gotham Academy and college?? He wasn’t going to school at all out on the street.

4. Bruce said he never hits kids.

5. My new social worker seems ok.

He had a new social worker? Is that why he’s not back with the last family?

6. They don’t watch me all the time.

7. There’s a library.

Jason definitely wanted to know where that was.

8. Dick acts like everything Bruce has said is the truth. He’s not scared of Bruce.

9. I get my own room.

10. Bruce doesn’t take state money, he’s not fostering for money.

“Okay,” Jason whispered to himself. If all this proved true.

Well.

He might have hit the jackpot somehow.

There had to be a catch. Maybe. Maybe Bruce was just doing it because it made him feel good to do charity, or something. And Jason was just a charity case?

He. He would be okay with that, maybe. Just a little. If he got college out of it. And food. And Bruce really didn’t hit him all the time.

There was one last thing written under the pro column that took up three whole lines it was written so big, and it made no sense. Jason had to read it four times before his eyes went wide.

Because.

If it was true.

Holy

Fuck.

There, in big thick letters was the sentence:

BRUCE IS BATMAN.

Absurdly, Jason wanted to bring his notebook to Bruce to ask about that, but he also didn’t want to show Bruce the notebook. There was a reason he had it hidden under his pillow, right? Bruce really didn’t need to know he had a contingency plan.

Right? Yeah, right.

But.

If Bruce was really Batman…

Maybe Jason didn’t need a contingency plan.

Jason was going to just… watch. Watch and see. If Bruce was Batman, then he wouldn’t be home at night, right?

And if Bruce was Batman, did that mean Dick was Robin? Probably, yes? Jason could definitely see that. He’d seen Robin once. Just in passing, but he’d got a glimpse of him swinging between buildings, and Jason could definitely see Dick fitting into those tights and jumping from building to building. Jason wasn’t even sure why, but Dick definitely hit him as way-too-energetic for his own good.

Just like Robin.

Jason startled so hard he dropped the notebook when someone knocked on his bedroom door.

“Jason? Can I come in?” Bruce asked, from the other side. Jason hadn’t even heard him come down the hall.

Which.

Was a point in Batman’s favor.

Quickly, Jason shoved the notebook under his pillow then said, “Yeah.”

The door slowly creaked open, and Bruce stepped half a step into the room before he said, “I just wanted to tell you I called the doctor, and she said we should just keep an eye on you, but memory loss is normal. If you have any questions for her, let me know and I’ll ask them.”

“Okay,” Jason said. He didn’t feel like it was normal to just lose memory like that, but Bruce was super rich. He probably paid for the best doctors in existence. And obviously a doctor knew better than a dumb nine-year-old.

Plus. If all this was true…

Bruce definitely had the build of Batman. He was massive, and clearly absolutely stacked.

“Also, Alfred wants you to know lunch will be at noon,” Bruce pointed to the clock on Jason’s bedside, “So you can come down then. Do you remember how to get to the kitchen?”

“Yeah,” Jason said, nodding. It was down the hall, down the stairs, then down and around the one corner. Easy.

“The dining room is connected, that’s where we eat at. I’ll see you then, if you don’t need anything else. If you do need me before then, I’m in my study, which is at the very end of the hall when you turn right at the bottom of the stairs.”

“Okay,” Jason said again. He wouldn’t need Bruce, but it was nice of him to offer, Jason supposed.

Bruce nodded, but then frowned and asked, “Are you okay, lad?”

“Great,” Jason replied, forcing a smile.

It wasn’t even a lie, if his notebook was right.

For the first time in Jason’s recent memory, everything was great.

But. Jason didn’t want to get too far ahead of himself. He’d just wait and see it out.

“All right,” Bruce said, “then I’ll leave you be. You know where to find me.”

Jason watched as Bruce left and shut the door behind him, and he could hardly believe it.

Looking at the clock, he saw he had two hours until lunchtime, so instead of sitting there thinking himself to death, he decided to get started on one of the books. And right on his nightstand was a book with a bookmark right in the middle, so he figured that was the best place to start.

Artemis Fowl, he saw on the front, as he picked the book up. He’d never read it before, but he’d heard of it. Opening the book to the bookmark left Jason absolutely lost. He had no clue who any of the people were, and he didn’t remember a damn thing.

He didn’t remember anything.

So with a sigh, Jason flipped back to the first page and started over.

And as Jason sat quietly in his room, completely undisturbed as he read in peace, he started to let himself hope the notebook was true.

How had this even happened?

Chapter Text

Jason decided to just bide his time and see how everything shook out.

He spent the two hours before lunch reading Artemis Fowl, then went down to the kitchen just before noon. True to everyone’s word, Jason got to sit down at the table with Dick and Bruce and eat as much food as he wanted off the table, serving himself seconds and everything.

Because of that, actually, Jason might have eaten too much. He wasn’t really sure what to think about that…

Bruce and Dick were super nice all lunch, too. They chatted away, and kept trying to get Jason to join in, but Jason mostly just sat there quietly listening to them instead. Dick mostly just talked about what was happening at school for him. Apparently he had skipped school that day to stay home with Jason.

Jason wasn’t sure why, but maybe if Jason got hurt while playing with him, it sort of made sense? But he hadn’t even tried to spend the morning with Jason, so…

It was confusing.

Once they were all done eating, though, Alfred came back and started to clear the table. He smiled at Jason as he took his empty plate and asked, “Did you get very far in that book, lad?”

“Which one?” Jason asked, toying with the hem of his sleeve. Had he already talked to Alfred about books? Obviously he had to have told someone he liked reading, if he had so many books already…

Really, he wasn’t sure what to think of that. Him just… telling them what he liked. It wasn’t always smart to tell adults things like that. Taking away things he liked would be the first thing they did, if they wanted to hurt him…

But Alfred said, “Artemis Fowl,” with a smile, “I suggested it to you yesterday. I think you’ll enjoy the precocious main character in that one.”

“Oh,” Jason said, “I don’t remember… so I started over. I like it so far.” He wasn’t super far into it, but it had been fun so far.

“Do you remember where the library is?” Bruce asked, from where he was still sitting at the table, to Jason’s right. Jason had been placed right across from Dick, both of them on either of Bruce’s side, where he was sitting at the head of the table.

It made Jason feel a little antsy, how close he was sitting to them. But so far they’d been nice. And Jason didn’t exactly expect Batman and Robin to be not nice, but still. He felt antsy.

“No,” Jason responded. Because he didn’t remember anything. Actually he was kind of annoyed with how many times they kept asking do you remember…

He didn’t remember anything.

The library was definitely something he wanted to remember, though.

“Come on,” Bruce said, as he stood up, “I’ll show you.”

Jason only hesitated for half a second before he pushed himself back from the table. He definitely wanted to see what the richest man in Gotham called a personal library.

Especially if he was going to be allowed to use it.

Bruce led him down the hall toward where he’d said his study was, then showed Jason some ornate french doors. “Here it is,” he said, as he pushed the doors open and then motioned for Jason to go inside.

And.

Jason couldn’t help but gawk.

“Wow,” he said. Had he been this impressed the first time around? Maybe he should have definitely noted that it was a giant library, with probably at least a thousand books.

At least.

Then again. Why would he even think he could possibly forget?

Bruce chuckled and said, “I love how much you enjoy reading.”

“What’s the catch here,” Jason asked, not letting himself think too much about that comment. There definitely had to be a catch.

But Bruce said, “There is no catch.”

As if that was even possible.

“Okay,” Jason said slowly, as he stepped further into the room, unsure of where he wanted to look first, “But. How did I even end up here? Did the cops catch me? Were you just like, legit open to fostering some random kid you never met?”

Jason was not lucky. He was actually the opposite of lucky. If something bad could happen, it would happen. So. He didn’t believe he just got caught by cops and then a social worker was just like ‘good news! The richest man in Gotham has an opening so you’re going there.’

There was no way.

Also why would Batman just take random kids in? Wasn’t that dangerous? Some of the kids in foster care were in gangs. They could out Batman.

“Well,” Bruce said, earning Jason’s attention instantly.

So there was more to the story.

Bruce rubbed the back of his neck and looked uncomfortable, but then he motioned to the sitting area right in the middle of the room.

After eying it for a moment, Jason reluctantly followed direction and sat down on one of the couches, then watched as Bruce sat down on the couch across from him.

“The cops didn’t catch you,” Bruce finally said, “I caught you.”

Jason tensed up. Did Bruce mean he kidnapped Jason?

Caught Jason doing what?

“Last week,” Bruce explained, “I took Dick out to lunch and parked on the street near Crime Alley. I stepped away for a minute, but didn’t lock the doors because Dick was still in the car. You said you were checking cars for unlocked cars, and you found my car unlocked so you took the cash I had in the cup holder.”

Jason nodded slowly. He definitely had done that a few times already. …but during the day? Maybe. Maybe he’d been really hungry. He'd been scared, lately. He wasn’t finding enough food.

He didn’t want to die.

But trying to steal from cars during the day was almost suicidal.

“I caught you,” Bruce said, “when you turned around I was behind you.”

Just thinking of a situation like that made Jason’s stomach churn. Terrifying was what that was.

“You tried to give me the money back,” Bruce continued, “but I told you to keep it, then invited you to join me and Dick for lunch. We ended up spending the day together, and Dick and I convinced you to come home with us. I promised you I would get you a good social worker and make sure you could be safe, even if it meant taking you in myself.”

“Oh,” Jason whispered. Is that how he got 60 bucks?

How did he figure out Bruce was Batman, though?

Unless… unless Batman had actually caught Jason stealing from someone else at night.

That made far more sense.

No way in hell Jason would just get into the car with a strange man. Especially not a rich man, who had people talking about how he took Dick Grayson in for bad things.

But Batman? He’d believe Batman if he promised he’d make sure Jason would be okay.

“Okay then,” Jason finally said.

“Okay?” Bruce repeated, clearly confused.

Jason nodded. “So. Does that mean you took me in, then? Like…”

“Yes,” Bruce said quickly, “I’m your foster parent and agreed to foster you for the rest of your childhood, as long as you are still okay with us.”

Nine years was a long time. Jason was only nine. And. It definitely scared him the thought of spending his whole life in this place when he didn’t even know it.

But. Dick seemed happy.

“How long has Dick been here?” he asked. He knew Dick was a foster kid, too. That was what people said, New Jersey just let Bruce foster a kid so Bruce could fuck him.

Jason wasn't fully sure what that meant, but he knew it was bad. His dad used to complain about it. Fucking pedos, he’d say, they should just all die.

“About seven years,” Bruce said, “since he was eight.”

Jason nodded. So Dick was still happy after that many years. So. Jason probably could be too, right?

As long as the rumors were all false…

“You’re not a pedo, right?” Jason heard himself asking. He felt himself flush immediately after.

He didn’t mean to just ask that.

“No,” Bruce said instantly, “I’m not. I promise you, you are safe in this house. No one will hurt you in any way, ever.”

“Okay,” Jason said again, nodding. He’d expect as much from Batman, after all.

Bruce looked at Jason like he was still seriously confused about something, but Jason wasn’t sure what. And also he didn’t care.

“Can I take books to my room from here?” he asked.

“Yes, of course,” Bruce said, “you can even keep them in your room if you’d like to keep them. If theres a book we don't have, just tell me and I’ll get it for you.”

Jason smiled at that. He definitely had a list of books in his head he wanted to read. “Do you have Harry Potter?”

Bruce returned the smile and said, “We do,” he got up and walked over to one of the dozens of shelves and pointed to the entire series, “right here. Dick loves these books, so I’m sure he’d love to talk to you about them. He’s got his own copy in his room.”

“I’ve never read it,” Jason admitted, jumping up to go look, “but I want to.” His neighbor used to tell him all about it, the few times Jason ended up walking home from school with her and her little sister. But Jason hadn’t been allowed to check it out from the library yet.

“Feel free, lad. This library is yours now, every single book.”

Jason grinned and pulled the first book off the shelf. “Can I go to my room,” he asked.

“Of course. We’ll have dinner at 7 if I don’t see you before then. If you want a snack before dinner, help yourself.”

“Thanks,” Jason said, unsure of how else to respond.

Jason had to be dreaming, he’d decided.

Although he wasn’t quite sure why his brain would decide Bruce Wayne was Batman. That little detail was the only reason he was inclined to believe this was real.

- - -

Time started to pass, and Jason felt no less dazed by everything.

Bruce signed him up to attend Gotham Academy, just like his journal promised.

He actually went to the school the Monday after he woke up, right at the end of the day for an admissions interview.

Dick and Bruce walked around with him and the headmaster on a grand tour of the school, and he got to meet his new teacher and hear all about what the school offered. There were so many extra curriculars, and Bruce told him he could do anything he wanted. If a club sounded cool, he could sign up for it.

There were a lot of cool sounding clubs, so Jason was going to have to really think on that one. He couldn’t do them all.

The headmaster also had Jason take some tests, which he’d told Jason was just to tell them if he would need any extra support. Jason had been scared they’d turn him away for being too dumb or something. Too uneducated, at the very least, due to his crappy schooling so far, but by the time Jason was done with the testing, he’d been placed into the gifted program.

Jason Todd, street rat from Crime Alley was in the gifted program at Gotham Academy.

Jason definitely didn’t stop smiling, even after Bruce and Dick took him out for ice cream to celebrate.

- - -

The first day of school was surreal.

Jason had to wear a tie. He had no clue how to tie a tie, so Bruce taught him, knelt down next to him in front of a gigantic mirror in Bruce’s room as he slowly walked Jason through each step.

They practiced for a good ten minutes, and while Jason’s knots didn’t look great, he was confident he could maybe fix it, if he had to take it off during the day.

But then Bruce taught him how to take it off and put it back on without untying it, and Jason was definitely confident he’d never have to tie his tie ever again.

Once they got to the school, they dropped Dick off at the high school, then Bruce parked next to the lower school and walked Jason to his classroom. He had butterflies in his stomach as he stepped away from Bruce and walked into his classroom, where the other kids were all settling in for the start of the day, too.

Ms. Sorrentino, his new 4th grade teacher, smiled wide when she saw him. “Jason,” she exclaimed, “It’s so good to see you. Come on in, let me show you your desk.”

Jason turned around and gave Bruce a small smile, before he followed his teacher into the room.

His class seemed okay. The kids all looked at him nicely when Ms. Sorrentino called him up to the front once the bell rang, and at lunch the boys invited him to sit with them. Then they all played kickball at recess, and Jason had a blast. His team kept saying how fast of a runner he was, which was true.

He didn’t tell them it was because he was used to outrunning people after he robbed them, of course. Rich kids didn't need to know that. They might accuse him of trying to steal from them, now.

Jason didn’t have to steal from anyone anymore. He had plenty of food now.

After lunch they had literature, and Jason could hardly contain his excitement.

They actually had a class called literature.

The teacher set a book down in front of him, The Bridge to Terabithia, and said they’re on chapter four, but it was okay since it was his first day. He could catch up over the next week, but he’d just smiled up at her.

“I’ve read this,” he said.

“Have you?”

He nodded.

She smiled and said, “Well, don’t spoil the ending for the others,” with a wink, then went up to the front of the room and started going through the homework worksheet with everyone.

Even though he hadn’t done the worksheet, Jason raised his hand twice and was able to answer two questions correctly, and his teacher smiled brightly at him each time.

After school, Jason went out to the pick up area Bruce had pointed out to him that morning, and Dick found him pretty quickly.

Because Dick wanted to wait with Jason for Bruce each day, after school.

“How was your first day?” Dick asked, and Jason couldn’t help but grin wide.

“It was great.” He loved this school.

Dick smiled brightly at him, and it struck Jason that it was the best smile he’d seen from Dick. All warm and all happy.

Then when Bruce pulled up and stopped in front of the school, Dick opened the back door for him to slip in first, then slid in next to him. Bruce asked him all about his first day as he drove them home, and Jason couldn’t help but answer all the questions with excitement.

He had no idea what even happened, how this happened.

But.

It was good. It was so good. He knew it was good.

And he could hardly believe it.

- - -

Time kept moving. It was crazy, actually, how fast time moved, and how normal everything started to feel.

In the first several weeks, Jason spent a lot of time in his bedroom. No one ever bothered him in there unless it was important, but then a month in, Bruce surprised him with a cell phone.

He wasn’t even ten yet, and he had a cell phone.

Once he had that, Bruce never bothered him ever, but instead would just text him to tell him stuff.

It was neat.

But eventually Jason started exploring the rest of the manor. Dick invited him to movie nights or board games all the time, and he found a game room and several living rooms he liked to watch TV or play playstation in by himself.

Somehow, he started finding himself sitting with Bruce places, watching TV with him, or playing chess, or Mario Kart.

And.

Jason liked it. He really, really liked it.

Bruce was great. Dick was great. Alfred was great. Alfred was really fun to play cards with, and twice already Alfred had asked Jason to help him make cookies or cupcakes, which was awesome. Jason kind of wanted to ask Alfred if he could help cook more…

But none of them ever brought up the fact that they were Batman and Robin. Not once.

And Jason was absolutely, positively sure they were. Because neither Bruce nor Dick were ever home at night. Dick often got home first, but it was never before midnight. Never. Jason had checked, several times.

Once, almost six months after he woke up in Wayne Manor, Jason accidentally actually found Bruce in his room when he went to check at about 10pm. Usually he went to check and found the room empty, then he went down to the kitchen to sneak a snack ‘after bedtime.’

But this time, Jason pushed the door open, and was immediately met with Bruce’s eyes snapping to him, from where he’d been sleeping. In his bed.

Jason panicked, but Bruce snapped Jason out of it instantly when he asked, “Jason? Are you okay, what’s wrong?”

“I—“ Jason started, but he couldn’t tell Bruce I was checking to see if you were out as Batman before I sneaked chocolates.

They’d been telling the truth, all the times they told him he could eat whatever he wanted whenever, but candy wasn’t really included in that. So. He wasn’t sure how Bruce would react to him sneaking some…

But also they were lying to him by not telling him about Batman and Robin, so Jason didn’t feel bad sneaking candy, either.

“Did you have a bad dream?” Bruce asked, now sitting up.

“Yeah,” Jason stammered. A bad dream. Yep. He definitely went and woke Bruce up because he had a bad dream.

That was definitely a thing Jason would do.

Not.

Bruce rubbed at his eyes as he pushed himself up to his feet, then he walked across the room and set a gentle hand on Jason’s back as he led him back toward his room. “It’s okay, lad,” he murmured, “it was just a dream.”

Jason just assumed Bruce would make sure Jason got back into bed before telling him to go back to sleep, but instead Bruce had sat on the edge of Jason’s bed as Jason settled back down, and talked to him for a while.

How often do you have nightmares, was one thing Bruce asked, to which the honest answer had been sometimes.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bruce had asked next, but Jason just shook his head. There wasn’t anything to talk about, after all.

“Do you want me to read you a story? To get your mind off it?” Bruce then asked, and Jason stilled.

“You’d do that?” he whispered.

Instead of answer, Bruce had twisted around to look at Jason’s current book on the nightstand and picked it up. “This one?” he asked.

Jason simply nodded, then laid back against his pillow and just watched as Bruce started reading right from Jason’s bookmark. Jason didn’t even know if Bruce had ever read the book before. Did Bruce have any idea what was even happening in the story?

He hadn’t even had a nightmare, he wasn’t even scared or upset about anything. But. Bruce still took it super seriously.

His dad used to roll his eyes and tell him to get over it whenever Jason complained about nightmares. Because he wasn’t a baby, and only babies were bothered by nightmares. It had never even crossed his mind to go to Bruce over one.

But there Bruce was, losing out on rare sleep just to make sure Jason felt safe and okay.

Once Bruce finished reading the next chapter half an hour later, he’d replaced the bookmark and set the book back on the nightstand. “You okay now,” he asked, not getting up yet, “Think you can sleep?”

“Yeah,” Jason said. He was exhausted, so sleeping would be simple.

“Okay,” Bruce said, as he stood up. But then he turned around and helped Jason settle down under his blanket and then tucked him in. “Good night, lad,” he said, handing Jason’s teddy to him.

Because apparently he thought Jason slept hugging onto it, or something.

Which. Jason didn’t always do. But the bear definitely at least sat next to his pillow at night.

“I love you,” Bruce then said, and all Jason could do was watch with wide eyes as Bruce leaned over and kissed him on the forehead, before he stood up and left the room.

“Night, Bruce,” Jason mumbled, really unsure what else to say.

“Sleep tight,” Bruce said, as he got to the door, “You can wake me up again if you have another one, okay?”

All Jason could do was nod.

What even was his life?

- - -

The Batman secret didn’t last forever. Jason didn’t think it would, but he kind of expected Bruce or Dick to, like, tell him, right?

But no. That didn’t happen.

Instead, six months and two weeks after Jason found himself living with Batman, he finally got tired of them dancing around it, and just told them he knew.

He didn’t really get why they hadn’t told him already, especially since obviously he’d known, before he got his concussion. But. He also kind of understood. Secret identities were a big deal.

But it was weird to tell a kid I love you and then lie to him, too. But whatever. Jason wasn’t taking it personally.

Then one day, Jason skipped into the living room where he, Dick, and Bruce were going to play a board game and instead found the TV on and tuned to some news report. Dick was watching it attentively, and Bruce was standing behind the couch, on the phone, also staring at the screen with a serious face. The screen said something about aliens invading in Chile.

Bruce looked over at him, when Jason stepped into the room, and his face went blank, but he nodded and said into the phone in a deep voice, “Understood. I’ll be there in ten.” He quickly pocketed the phone and turned toward Jason.

“The Justice League will be responding,” the news reporter said, “we’re expecting them any moment.”

Before Bruce could open his mouth and make some lame-ass excuse for why he couldn’t play monopoly with them, Jason asked, “Are you going to fight the aliens?”

Fighting aliens was pretty damn cool, actually.

Bruce blinked at him, then furrowed his brow and asked, sounding honestly shocked, “You know?”

“Yeah,” Jason said, rolling his eyes. He stepped around Bruce and collapsed down on the couch next to Dick, ready to change the channel once Bruce and Dick left.

Or. Well. Would Robin go, too? Probably not, actually. Jason was pretty sure Dick didn’t go on League missions. He’d never seen Robin in pictures with the Justice League.

So maybe they could still play monopoly, just without Bruce.

“You remember,” Dick exclaimed.

“No,” Jason said slowly, “but, uh. I had written it down in my notebook, so…”

“Your notebook?” Bruce asked. He walked back to the back of the couch, and Jason could feel as he put his hands on the cushion behind him, but Bruce wasn’t touching him or anything.

“I found a notebook under my pillow with notes I took before I got hurt,” Jason admitted. Jason had basically told Bruce everything he’d written in there, anyway. So it was fine if he knew about it. Jason was confident Bruce wouldn’t care.

So far Bruce never got mad at him, ever. Annoyed a few times, sure, but never mad. And every time Jason thought Bruce would be mad about something, he’d always been totally fine with it.

It was weird.

Nice, though.

He’d even told Bruce he had a run away plan, just in case, a few weeks before. Bruce had smiled at him and said, “I’m glad you have a contingency plan. Do you think you’ll need it?”

“No,” Jason had responded, ducking his head back behind his book, so Bruce couldn’t see his cheeks turn red.

Bruce rounded the couch and stopped, right in front of Dick and Jason, and smiled at Jason fondly.

That always made Jason squirm, a little. How just… fond Bruce got. For no damn reason. But. Jason also liked it?

Yeah. He liked it. It was nice, having a guardian actually like him.

“I have to get going,” Bruce said, “but we can talk more later.”

Jason nodded, then watched as Bruce offered an arm to Dick, so Dick jumped up and let Bruce wrap him up tight.

“Stay here,” he said, a little forcefully, as he still had Dick trapped in the hug, “You need to keep Jason company anyway. I’ll call you with updates.”

“Sure thing,” Dick said, returning Bruce’s hug with a smile, “Don’t worry about us.”

Bruce then turned toward Jason and offered an arm to him.

Jason considered it, but shrugged and got up, letting Bruce wrap him up, too.

So far Bruce had hugged him a couple times. But not, like, big hugs. Just quick, unexpected side hugs that always caught Jason off guard. The first time Bruce had done it, he’d immediately apologized to Jason. Because Bruce cared if he made Jason uncomfortable.

But. Jason didn’t mind.

And this hug felt nice. It felt really really nice and warm and strong and.

Jason still wasn’t sure how this was even his life, but he liked it a lot.

“I love you boys,” Bruce said, as he let Jason go and stepped back, “I’ll see you when I get back and we’ll play a game then.”

Jason merely nodded. He still didn’t really know how to respond. How was someone supposed to respond when Batman tells him he loves him?

Dick, however, seemed to know exactly, because he said, “Love you, too, Bruce. Stay safe.”

“Yeah,” Jason agreed. Fighting aliens was probably pretty dangerous, even for Batman.

But Jason wasn’t worried about it.

“Want to watch a movie,” Dick asked, once Bruce finally left.

Jason grinned and dropped back down on the couch as he said, “Yeah, but not Disney.”

He was so over all the stupid Disney movies Dick kept making him watch. Just when Jason thought they had to have seen all of them, Dick somehow found another animated musical, and Jason was going mad.

Why couldn’t they just watch a funny non-musical movie for once?

Dick looked over at Jason sharply, and Jason wasn’t even sure why, but then Dick grinned wide and said, “Fine. Just this once we can watch something not Disney.”

As Jason settled down into the couch, right next to his brother, he had to admit.

He actually kind of loved his new life.

Chapter Text

Ten years went by in a flash.

In the early days, after little-Jason woke up in Bruce’s home with no memory of how he got there, Bruce had thought of future-Jason often. Every day, even. He wondered how future-Jason made out, what he was doing, and if little-Jason was on the path to turn out just like him. Did future-Jason do the same things little-Jason did? Did he have the same thought processes? The same interests? Or had this Jason’s life been drastically changed, just by being taken in at nine?

Bruce had been convinced everything was changed, when little-Jason didn’t even seem phased that he’d been suddenly placed with Bruce. Sure, when the lad woke up, he’d been outright terrified, and put that fact on full display for Bruce when he ‘checked his concussion.’ But then he’d spent a few hours in his bedroom alone, and everything had seemed to change. He didn’t seem scared anymore.

And sure, he was shy. It took coaxing to get him to talk beyond answering questions. He was unsure of himself, and often uncomfortable with the people around him, but it was clear to Bruce he was no longer scared. It almost seemed like he took Bruce at his word, and actually believed them when they told him things.

Which was the exact opposite of how future-Jason said the first little while would play out. He’d been absolutely sure it would be a steep, uphill battle to convince little-Jason to stay with them.

It hadn’t been until years later had Bruce’s Jason even explained his thought process, why he had shifted so drastically during that first day.

“It was my notebook,” he’d said, “the pros and cons list. I had it nicely laid out why living here was the best option. Obviously I’d thought it over pretty good before I got hurt. Plus, since you were literally a superhero, I knew you couldn’t be that bad.”

Bruce was grateful to future-Jason for many things, but he was eternally grateful that the boy had known exactly what to do, to make his past-self feel safe.

As the years passed, Bruce held his breath for the day Jason would ask to be Robin. Dick had eventually moved on to his new vigilante persona, Nightwing, and had made it clear to Bruce he’d be okay with Robin being passed down, just as future-Jason had said happened, but their-Jason never expressed any interest.

Instead, he kept himself busy with school. The boy crammed his schedule with every single club and activity he could, and often lamented to Bruce about how he couldn’t fit in another thing. It was amusing. It also made Bruce’s heart clench, a little, just thinking that future-Jason hadn’t been allowed to explore his many interests. Why on earth had he done that, the first time around? The only reason he could come up with was a poor-attempt at making Jason quit Robin, voluntarily.

If only he could have spoken with future-him.

Jason still sometimes came downstairs, though. Bruce often walked downstairs to find Jason sitting at the Batcomputer, going over case details with Dick, offering his theories or simply acting as a sounding board for Dick. Bruce enjoyed it when Jason did that with him, too. But every time he got nervous it was just the first step.

Then Jason graduated high school, valedictorian. Because he passed right by the age fifteen without even a close call with anything. Bruce would be a liar if he said he didn’t spend that entire year nervous something would go wrong.

But he’d sat Jason down at the age of ten and told him about Catherine and Shelia. Jason had been distraught, at first, and locked himself in his bedroom, but once he’d calmed down he demanded a visit with his father, at the Federal Penitentiary the man was being held in for life, so he could, as Jason said, “ask him what the fuck.”

To this day, Bruce doesn’t know what Jason and Willis talked about that afternoon. The meeting had lasted hours, from the start of visiting hours until the end of them, and Bruce had spent the entire time across the room, just waiting. When Jason walked back out to the car with him, the only comment he had was “I missed him.”

That was the start of Jason’s monthly visits to his dad. At least, monthly until Willis was murdered in his jail cell when Jason was thirteen. It wasn’t until that happened was Bruce allowed to adopt Jason. Bruce still felt bad how his first thought, when finding out Willis had died, was finally he’d be able to adopt Jason. Especially since Jason was devastated, when Bruce had to tell him.

It had taken another six months before Bruce even broached the topic of adoption. Jason mourned his father pretty hard, after all. But Jason had smiled wide and instantly hugged Bruce tight when offered, and smiled even brighter the day they stood before the judge.

Now, it was Jason’s nineteenth birthday. He was finally nineteen, the same age future-Jason had been, and Bruce had to admit, the young man right in front of him was vastly different from the young man he’d met all those years ago.

Most notably, this Jason was in his second year at Princeton. Bruce was dreading sending Jason back to school, just a week later, but he couldn’t be prouder of his boy and how well he was doing at Princeton, studying Literature and education.

Bruce had pushed for Yale, since that was his alma mater, but Jason had insisted on Princeton. It wasn’t until he got accepted did Jason even share why. “Willis told me I should go to Princeton,” he’d said, as he held back tears while re-reading his acceptance letter, “He told me that had always been his dream for me. Princeton.”

“I know he’d be insanely proud of you,” Bruce had responded, wrapping an arm around Jason to pull him into his side, “I definitely am.”

Princeton was still a good school, so Bruce gladly wrote the check for tuition. Not that he would have withheld that, no matter where he wanted to go. Even if he’d chosen Harvard.

Thankfully Princeton was only two hours away from Bristol, so Bruce was able to see Jason frequently throughout the semester, but still. He missed Jason when he was away. Texts throughout the day and the occasional phone call wasn’t the same as seeing Jason every day.

So Bruce was thankful for the opportunity to sit on the patio with his boy, just the two of them all evening on that beautiful August 16th.

He did have something he wanted to tell Jason. Ten years, and they had never actually told him how he ended up at Wayne Manor.

Jason had invented a very plausible story all on his own, and had asked a few months after he admitted he knew Bruce was Batman, “Did you catch me stealing as Batman? Is that why I knew?”

“Yes,” Bruce said said immediately, because it made sense, “And you agreed to come with me when I promised to help you out. No nine-year-old should be homeless. But we told Social Services the lunch story.”

The then-ten-year-old had nodded absently a few times before he smiled wide and said, “I’m glad you caught me, then.”

Bruce had wanted to tell Jason many times over the years, but the moment never felt right. And, quite frankly, Bruce was a coward.

Future-Jason had called it gas-lighting, and Bruce was nervous telling Jason they’d been lying to him the entire time would permanently damage their relationship.

But. On the other hand. Jason deserved to know.

So as Bruce sat in one of the patio chairs next to Jason and sipped at the fresh lemonade Alfred had served them a few minutes prior, Bruce finally worked up the courage to say, “Jay, I have a confession to make.”

Jason smirked and said, “You’re madly in love with Selina, we know. You should just propose already.”

“What?” Bruce sputtered, turning to look at his son. He and Selina weren’t even dating. And why would Bruce even bring that up to his son? Also, “Who is we?”

“Everyone,” Jason said, his smirk now an outright grin. Because he was just making fun of Bruce, at that point.

Bruce rolled his eyes fondly, and felt a touch of his anxiety ease. It was so easy, talking to Jason. “That wasn’t what I was going to say.”

“Okay, sure,” Jason replied easily, “Then what?”

“I haven’t been honest with you,” he admitted.

Jason frowned slightly and asked, “About?”

“About how we met.”

“What do you mean?” Jason asked, as his face sobered the rest of the way. It killed Bruce, a little, to see.

He hoped Jason would take the news well, but the doubt was back. Bruce had been lying to Jason for a decade, now.

Bruce took a deep breath, then looked right at Jason and said, “We told you we met when you tried to steal from me.”

“Right,” Jason said slowly, “but then you admitted that Batman caught me stealing from someone else.”

“That was a story you came up with yourself,” Bruce said, carefully, “and I went along with it to not invite further questioning.”

“Okay,” Jason said, as he sat back in his seat and looked straight ahead, out toward the Manor grounds. He took a sip of his lemonade then said, “I’m listening.”

“Our meeting involved time travel.”

Bruce wasn’t entirely sure what he expected Jason’s reaction to be, but bursting out into laughter was not it.

Jason turned back toward him and his face instantly sobered again as he asked, “Wait, you’re serious?” When Bruce nodded, Jason said, “Okay, lay it on me. What’s the story then.”

With a breath, Bruce launched into the story. “Nineteen-year-old you from what is now another timeline got caught up with a super villain who got his hands on some Kumirai technology.”

“So what,” Jason cut in, “I was like you guys? Actually out in the field?”

“Yes, in a way,” Bruce said. He never did fully know what Jason did, after he’d quit being Robin, but clearly he was still acting as a vigilante if he was able to stop a villain from acquiring kryptonite. Bruce had kept his eye on Roman Sionis, but for whatever reason he never did become Black Mask, in this timeline. So Bruce hadn’t needed to keep an eye out for the kryptonite purchase, or whatever else Black Mask did in Jason’s timeline.

“Interesting,” Jason said thoughtfully.

“The device worked so it would send the consciousness of the person back to a specific point in time set on the device for ten earth days,” Bruce continued, “So nineteen-year-old you got sent back ten years into nine-year-old you’s body.”

“So,” Jason said, furrowing his brow, “I lost ten days of memory because of that, not because of a concussion?”

“Yes,” Bruce said, nodding, “That was part of the lie. We had Leslie stamp off on that, so Social Services wouldn’t question it either. Future-you had the initial meeting with Paige for you, so we could get the placement finalized before you woke up, and we had to explain away why you wouldn’t remember that meeting.”

Jason nodded and turned back toward the grounds again. “Okay,” he said, “So what happened exactly?”

“The villain wanted to go back in time to kill you specifically, because you really screwed up his evil plans.”

Despite everything, Jason snorted at that and said, “Clearly he did an excellent job.”

“Yeah,” Bruce agreed with a small smile, “He probably didn’t realize what ten years in the past meant for you. He definitely had no clue how to find you, and never got near you while he was still back in time. But nineteen-year-old you didn’t know for sure he’d never find you, and being that he was in his homeless nine-year-old body, he came here for help.”

“So did I know you in the future,” Jason asked, “I mean, I guess I probably did if I was a vigilante.”

“Yes,” Bruce responded, “I took you in at twelve in that timeline.”

“Okay.”

“He said we met when he stole the wheels off the Batmobile, and I caught him. I ended up taking him home and adopting him after that, and he became Robin.”

“That’s weird,” Jason said, furrowing his brow again, “Like. Instead of Tim?”

Bruce shrugged. “He was very difficult to get details out of, but from what I could tell, you were Robin between Dick and Tim. He kept mentioning a kid named Drake, and did finally tell Alfred about Tim before he returned to his time.”

“Huh, okay,” Jason said again. He was starting to sound like a broken record, but at least he didn’t seem angry about anything. Bruce still felt like a ball of nerves.

That is, until Jason said, “So you liked him so much you kept me.”

Bruce couldn’t help his fond smile. “I got a glimpse of my future son, and couldn’t in good conscious just turn you out onto the street to hopefully meet you ‘naturally.’ Once I knew I had a son, I couldn’t wait to meet him.”

Jason smiled himself, and Bruce felt the final knot inside himself untangle at the sight.

“Did I turn out like him?” Jason asked.

Bruce considered him for a long moment, then said, “I can see a lot of him in you. He was funny. Clever and quick with a comeback, and so funny in how he sniped back. Sarcastic to an extreme—”

“Sounds like me,” Jason cut in, grinning wide.

Nodding, Bruce continued, “And I could tell he was brilliant. You’re a lot like him in those regards, just with different life experiences now. But, because of his experiences, he was so… jaded.” And out of everything he’d been able to do for Jason this time around, Bruce was most thankful that his Jason hadn’t ended up jaded at all.

Jason frowned, but didn’t say anything so Bruce explained, “He spent three years on the streets fending for himself, and then I made a lot of mistakes with him in his timeline. A lot. And he was rightly bitter about a lot of things, and very angry with me.

But,” Bruce said, pausing for a moment to look over at his Jason, “He told it to me straight. He showed me how poorly I was doing as a parent to Dick, and how badly I’d done with him, and it let me figure out how to do it better.”

Dick had never run off, in this timeline. He’d gone off to college, sure, but Bruce saw him on breaks and eventually, when Dick had dropped out, he moved right back in with Bruce. They argued sometimes, sure, but never did they have nasty fights, and never did they have a falling out.

“You’re the best dad I’ve had,” Jason said.

Bruce smiled, but held back a comment about how it wasn’t too difficult to be better than a man who used to beat Jason when he was in a bad mood.

Jason’s relationship with Willis Todd was complicated, and Bruce didn’t like disparaging the man straight to Jason’s face. Especially since he’d been able to have a couple good years with Willis, there in the end. When Willis was quite literally unable to become violent. Although Bruce suspected alcohol or drugs often had a say in whether Willis reacted violently to things.

After a moment, Jason said, “So you met a kid who said you’re his dad in the future but he hates you, and you decided to keep him anyway?”

“In ten short days with that spitfire, sarcastic child,” Bruce said with a fond smile, “I realized I wanted to know him. At nine, and ten, and fifteen, nineteen, forty, I wanted him in my life, and I’m so glad you are.”

Bruce didn’t want to rush time, but he did look forward to seeing the man Jason became. He was already a wonderful young man who had done so much good already.

He’d convinced Bruce nearly five years ago to found a new charter school in Crime Alley, and they’d had their first graduating class the year before, filled with kids who had attended all four years of high school there. More than 70% of the graduates had gone on to college with full ride scholarships. A drastic difference from the failing public schools in Crime Alley, which saw less than 15% of kids go on to college.

Park Row Academy, the school was called, an academy for 3rd-12th grade. Only children with addresses within Park Row could attend, and it was completely free to them. Wayne Foundation kept the school afloat with generous donations given at the annual Park Row Academy Gala, that Jason spoke at every year.

Already it was one of the best schools in Gotham, rivaled only by a handful of the elite private-schools.

Jason’s goal with college was to get a teaching degree and go teach at the school, once he returned to Gotham, to inspire the children from his old neighborhood to love literature as much as he did.

“What made you decide to lie to me,” Jason asked, “That could have backfired majorly.”

“I know,” Bruce said solemnly. He’d worried for years what sort of damage it would do, if Jason found out they’d been lying to him. “But nineteen-year-old you warned us how untrusting you would be. We figured you’d be more likely to stay if we told you the story we did than if we just told you the truth. I mean, would you have listened if we told you you’d come to us on your own, because future you was in control of your body?”

“No,” Jason said with a laugh, “You should insane.”

“What do you think,” Bruce asked, “Was it worth me lying to you?”

Jason looked away, back out into the yard as he sipped the last bit of his lemonade. After a long moment, he said, “You gave me the best childhood I could have ever asked for. I’m going to Princeton. I didn’t think I’d even get to finish high school when I was a child. Hell, I nearly dropped out in fourth grade never to return again, had I stayed out on the street.”

“Which would have been a tragedy,” Bruce said, “because you’re so smart and have so much potential in you.” He did hope future-Jason took his advice and got his GED in his time, so he could go on to college, too. Every Jason in every timeline deserved to fulfill that one greatest desire of his.

“See,” Jason said, smiling softly, “Yeah, it was worth it. Thanks for lying to me, Dad.”

Bruce looked over at Jason, and couldn’t find the words to say anything for a solid minute. Jason didn’t call him that often, but when he did…

It might have made Bruce feel like a mess inside. A happy mess, but a mess nonetheless.

The sound of the patio door swinging open snapped Bruce out of it, so he blinked back the wetness in his eyes and turned to see Tim skipping out to where they were.

“Bruce, there you are,” he exclaimed, “I’ve been looking everywhere.”

“What’s up, Tim?” Bruce said, as he leaned back in his chair and finished off his lemonade, too.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but Gordon is trying to get in touch with you.”

“Ask him what he wants,” Bruce said dismissively. His biggest mistake in life was giving Jim Gordon a cell phone number to contact Batman.

Jason snorted, but Tim frowned hard and said, “I did, and he said ‘no offense kid but I need to talk to Batman.’”

With a heavy sigh, Bruce pushed himself to his feet and paused next to Jason for a moment. He placed a hand on Jason’s shoulder and squeezed. “Good talk, Jay, and happy birthday. I’m so grateful to have another year with you.”

Jason clapped a hand over Bruce’s and said, “Thanks, Dad. Tell Gordon I said ‘hi.’”

“I will not,” Bruce shot back, as he freed his hand and started toward the door. It’d been a long running joke, Jason telling Bruce to tell his villains or his allies he said hi.

As far as almost anyone was concerned in Batman’s life, he had no sons. So there was no reason to do that. The last thing Bruce wanted was for Jason to become a target. Or Dick or Tim, anymore than they were, as protégés of Batman’s.

“You should,” Jason called after him.

As Bruce paused at the door to set his glass down and slip his shoes back on, from where he’d kicked them off near the door, he heard Tim ask Jason, nervously, “Did I ruin a moment?”

“Nah,” Jason said, with a laugh, “Moment was over before you got here.”

“Oh.”

Jason stood and slung an arm around Tim’s shoulders and said, “So. Tell me what case you’re working on tonight.”

Bruce could hear the wide smile in Tim’s voice as the two of them followed Bruce to the cave, as Tim said, “Okay, so there’s this lady who went missing…”

Tim had only been living with him for about a year at that point, but he’d been the absolute perfect addition to their little family, and it always made Bruce smile to see his boys get along so well. Jason always knew exactly what to say to cut through Tim’s anxiety and make him feel welcome and loved, and Bruce would never tire of it.

There was so much Bruce was grateful to future-Jason for, but the list of things he was thankful to his-Jason for was growing longer and longer.

Ten years had flown by in a flash, and he was already looking forward to the next ten.