Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jason came to besides an open grave, covered in mud, the world around him dark except for the faint light of a waxing moon that was partly covered by clouds. It was silent around him, almost eerily so, and cold. There were no other people, only the silhouettes of gravestones and trees and bushes. Puddles shimmered on a slightly overgrown path that sneaked around the grounds. Their surfaces rippled in the cold breeze that had Jason … surprisingly not shivering. He felt cold but he didn’t even have goosebumps.

He- he didn’t know how he’d gotten here.

What … what had happened? Why was he here? Where was ‘here’? He looked down at his hands, streaked in dirt and full of wooden splinters that weirdly didn’t hurt, his nails chipped and broken, some even missing. And why did he look like he just crawled out of a-

Oh god.

Jason’s breathing picked up and his legs suddenly refused to hold his weight as his gaze strayed to the open grave again. Though calling it ‘open’ was maybe a bit too generous. It had a hole in it, sure, but otherwise didn’t seem new. It looked more like someone had decided to dig into the earth with his hands-

He fell onto his knees harshly, mud squelching, as it dawned on him, staring in horror. Jason hadn’t even noticed he’d been standing up in the first place.

No. That wasn’t possible.

“Wha-“ he croaked out, his voice cracking midway and sending him into a coughing fit. His throat was dry and it felt like he hadn’t spoken in a while. Which added up if- but, no, that was impossible-

“What the fuck,” he whispered into the silence, still staring at the partially collapsed hole in the middle of the grave. It almost looked like … someone had dug his way out. Like the person in the grave had woken up and decided to take a walk. And-

Jason was covered in mud. His hands were hurt like he’d- like he’d scratched and banged against something wooden, like he’d tried to break a board with his bare fingers and even succeeded.

Like he’d woken up in a coffin and fought to escape it with all his strength.

A cold feeling settled in his chest as he stared and stared, unmoving. His hands trembled. Actually, his whole body started shivering. He was probably in shock.

Had- had he been the one to come out of the grave?

Jason slowly lifted his eyes and tried to read the words on the small headstone that was on the other side of the hole. It was a simple, roughly hewn thing with moss growing in several patches like no one had been taking care of it for a while. The moon provided enough light to barely make out the letters.

John Doe. Died 2022.

That was all it said. No ‘in loving memory of’ or ‘rest in peace’. There were no flowers on the grave, either. It looked overgrown and uncared for. And also at least several years old. Which couldn’t be right, because the gravestone said ‘2022’ and- and that was the current year, right?

Right?

Jason desperately tried to remember where he’d been last. What had happened before this. But everything was blurry in his memory. It had been January. January 2022. And- and he’d been squatting in the abandoned building across from the old movie theater. Yes. That sounded right. He’d even managed to scrounge up a dirty blanket from somewhere to keep him warm.

But- it had been cold. So cold. Jason instinctively shivered more at the memory. It had snowed outside but at least the walls and boarded up window had sheltered him from the worst of the wind. And then-

His breath hitched. Then, some random evening, four other teenagers had discovered his hideout. They’d been a few years older than him, probably around seventeen, and thrown him out after soundly beating him up. Fuck. Fuck. Jason remembered now. Everything had hurt and he’d been so cold and had stumbled around outside, desperately searching for some other shelter. The snow had quickly soaked through his worn-out jacket and hoodie – they’d taken his blanket as well – and the wind had robbed him of any warmth he’d still had. It had already been dark.

Jason’s hands fisted the fabric of his jeans, knuckles white. He trembled harder; couldn’t control it. He’d been so cold and afraid he’d actually considered going to one of the homeless shelters even though he’d known that he’d almost certainly be snatched up and trafficked if he went there.

But he hadn’t even made it.

Gotham’s winters were harsh and it had been an especially cold night. From how it felt, Jason would have guessed the temperature to be around five degrees. The next shelter had been seven blocks away.

He’d slipped on a patch of ice underneath the snow halfway there, in some random alley. Had landed hard on his side, his head whacking against the cold ground with a sickening crack. He’d barely felt it- had barely felt any of his injuries anymore at that point. Everything was cold and numb. And- and Jason hadn’t been able to get up again. His limbs just hadn’t moved the way he’d wanted them to. And the snow had continued to fall on him, thick snowflakes that seeped away any remaining strength he’d had-

Oh god.

Jason dry heaved, the sick feeling in his stomach suddenly intensified thousand fold. He made a sound that was a mixture between a groan and sob and aborted scream.

He’d died in that alley, hadn’t he? Frozen to death.

Try as he might, Jason couldn’t remember anything after that alley. He’d laid there, numb and limbs heavy and unnaturally tired, and then he’d woken up here. In this cemetery. Next to a grave someone had apparently just crawled out of, streaked in dirt, with broken fingernails. Alone.

He couldn’t deny it any longer. He’d died.

Jason’s thoughts were a jumbled mess of fear and confusion and desperation. He hysterically wondered how long it’d taken them to find his body in that alley. The snow had probably obscured him and stalled any smell. No one had been looking for him and the streets had almost been empty in the bad weather, so there’d probably been no witnesses of his fall. Depending on how long it had been until it thawed again, he might have laid there for days until some poor soul stumbled about him.

Jason heaved again, bending over and supporting himself on trembling arms. Nothing came out of his mouth.

John Doe. They’d never identified him. Of course not. There was no one left who knew him, his parents were dead and he hadn’t had any documents with his name on him. Jason’s fingerprints weren’t in the system as after his mom had overdosed he’d run away before he could be taken into foster care. They probably hadn’t bothered to look any further, considering he’d just been one of the many dead homeless people in Gotham. Just tossed him into a cheap grave and called it a job well done.

Oh god.

Maybe he should be grateful they’d most certainly opted for the least expensive coffin on the market, Jason thought numbly and looked at the wooden splinters in his hands again. Plywood was probably easier to break through than solid oak or some shit.

Break through. Because Jason had somehow … come to life again?

It didn’t make any sense. Nothing made sense.

And then, suddenly, a wave of calm swept over Jason out of nowhere.

He blinked, the fear and confusion gone from one moment to the next. His mind was blissfully silent. Slowly, he righted himself up, climbing to his feet again. His head turned into a certain direction almost of its own, and the rest of his body followed.

Nothing was important anymore as he started to set one foot in front of the other, one foot in front of the other, walking into the direction of the cemetery’s eastern gates.

Nothing, but the absolute certainty that he had to go to Wayne Manor and that this was the right way.

When Jason came to a second time, he was sitting on a couch in what seemed to be a posh living room, still covered in mud. He blinked as the artificial calm that had wrapped around his mind slowly trickled away, leaving him aware and in charge of his own actions again. Dumbfounded, he took in the expensive-looking furniture around him, everything illuminated by a fucking chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Its light was reflected by large windows which where framed by heavy velvet curtains. It was still dark outside. There was also a huge fireplace, though not lit currently.

The most alarming thing, however, were the three other people that sat across from Jason on a similar couch, the only thing between them a low wooden table that was covered in haphazardly strewn around documents and notes.

What the hell-

“What?” a confused voice said to his right and Jason flinched, turning around and hastily getting up and backing away from the unknown person right next to him. Unfortunately, there seemed to be another person he hadn’t registered until now who’d apparently been sitting on his left side, as he stumbled over two legs that shouldn’t have been there and fell backwards, flailing.

He shouted in surprise and braced himself for a painful impact when suddenly, two strong hands caught him by the shoulders and steadied him. “Careful,” someone said in a calm voice and turned him around before Jason could react, “Are you alright?”

He found himself face to face with an older man in what looked to once have been a nice suit with coattails but was now torn and dirty. He had gray hair and sported an impressive mustache, his forehead set in a frown as he studied Jason. Jason stared back, frozen, before ripping himself out of the man’s grip and backing away once more, away from the sitting area so he had every of the strangers in his sights.

The older man let him go without a fuss, his gaze flitting over the other people in the room as well. Jason belatedly realized his face was streaked with mud, similar to what his own face must have looked like. Actually, now that he took note of it, every person here except one looked like they had crawled out of a grave prior to this, their clothing ripped and muddy.

Where the fuck was he? Why had he walked here? Who the fuck were these people? What the fuck was going on? Jason’s head spun and he started to feel faint.

“This- what is this?” the person who’d spoken first continued, sounding on edge. It was a teenager, maybe sixteen or seventeen, with black hair, blue eyes and tan skin. He was wearing a simple t-shirt and flared jeans and looked beyond freaked out.

Jason could relate.

“Who are you?” Jason’s head swiveled around once more – he’d get whiplash at this point – to look at the man who’d spoken this time. It was the guy who wasn’t covered in mud, which made him the outlier here, and he had an intense and threatening look on his face. He’d jumped up from where he’d been sitting on the other couch, his body in what seemed to almost be a fighting stance. His blue eyes studied all of them with mistrust, sweaty black hair plastered onto his forehead. He looked weirdly familiar.

Jason also noticed two things that had him suck in yet another shocked breath. One, the guy’s hands were very bloody, like he’d just murdered someone, and two, he was wearing a black outfit with a bat symbol on his chest. Which Jason recognized. Sure, the cowl was missing, but was this-

It seemed one of the little kids next to him – and yeah, there were two kids as well, what the fuck – had clocked in on the same thing Jason had, as at that moment, he said, in an awed voice: “Batman?”

The man in the Batman suit flinched and opened his mouth, presumably to deny the question and demand answers once more, but they grey-haired man interrupted him. “Everyone calm down!” he said in a loud voice that sounded used to giving orders and having them obeyed. Jason noticed he had a British accent.

The other man – Batman? What even was Jason’s life? – looked at Moustache with a startled expression, mouth falling shut with an audible click. The kid followed his example, staying silent and looking at the oldest, as did the teenager who’d spoken first.

The man clasped his hands in front of his muddy suit. The posh gesture was so at odds with the sorry state of his appearance that Jason had the hysterical urge to laugh. He swallowed it down.

“Thank you,” the old man said in a slightly quieter but still authoritative tone. Then he looked at them all with a serious expression. “Now, we seem to have quite the situation on our hands. It seems we’re all very confused and looking for answers, me included. So I suggest we sit down, take a breath and try to make sense of all of this in an orderly manner.” He pointedly sat down on the couch again, looking at them expectantly.

Jason found himself nodding, almost automatically following the suggestion and sitting down on the floor right were he stood (he was closest to the door this way and could flee quickly should it become necessary). It sounded like a good idea. He fucking needed answers right now and if this man helped him get them, great. The other occupants of the room also complied, though Possibly-Batman narrowed his eyes and only sat down reluctantly after a second.

There was a moment of tense silence as they all studied each other. They were six people, Jason noted, though only two seemed to be adults. On the one couch, the one Jason woke up on, was Moustache, who was maybe in his late sixties, and next to him the teenager. On the other couch across from them sat Possibly-Batman and the two kids. The child in the middle, who’d spoken earlier, had blue eyes and black hair as well – which weirded Jason out because he also had black hair and blue eyes and that seemed to be a pattern – and looked to be around eleven years old. His clothes consisted of a long-sleeved shirt and jeans. The last person was an even younger child, Jason guessed about seven years old, with darker skin similar to the teenager and green eyes. As far as Jason could tell, he’d remained frozen the entire time, observing them all with a blank face that seemed somehow wrong on such a young face. And his clothes-

Jason did a double-take. Yep, the boy was wearing a dark gray vest over a (formerly) white shirt and similar dark gray pants along with black shoes. Around his neck was a brown tie. He looked like he came out of the 19^th-century-novels Jason liked to read before he became homeless and didn’t have the chance anymore.

Nothing made any fucking sense.

Moustache finally cleared his throat and spoke up. “Again, thank you. I believe it is in all of our interests to clear things up as fast and calmly as possible. We should start by establishing who we are and what we currently know about … this situation. Does anyone have objections to that?”

Jason remained silent, same as the other minors present. He didn’t trust anyone here as far as he could throw them, least of all the adults, but he was secretly glad that the man had decided to take charge. He felt lost and confused and scared and just wanted this nightmare to end.

Possibly-Batman made a face and glared Moustache with distrust, but ground out: “Fine.”

“Excellent,” Moustache replied and sat up even straighter. “I shall start, then. My name is Alfred Pennyworth and I’m the butler of the Wayne family-“

The other man hissed. “Liar,” he said accusingly, standing up again and looming over Moustache threateningly, “I think I would remember having a butler and I certainly don’t remember you. What is this? Are you responsible for all of this-“

Pennyworth lifted an eyebrow at the interruption and mirrored Possibly-Batman in standing up. “I’m sorry, who are you exactly? I can assure you that I’m telling the truth. I’ve served the Wayne family for almost ten years now-“

Possibly-Batman scoffed derisively. “Bruce Wayne. As it happens, the only living member of the Wayne family.”

Pennyworth stopped short, his eyes widening. “Excuse me?”

Bruce Wayne – and holy shit, that was why he’d seemed so familiar, he was Bruce fucking Wayne – smiled coldly. There were a few specks of blood on his face which made his expression even more unsettling. “What? Upset that your ruse is up? You should have expected to run into me when kidnapping children and bringing them to Wayne Manor of all places. Did you research the Waynes at all?”

“Research? I don’t have to research them, as I said, I have served them for a long time. You can ask any of the household members. As it happens, I don’t remember any Wayne called ‘Bruce’. I’m afraid it’s quite hypocritical of you to call me a liar.” Pennyworth stared at Wayne with hard eyes.

“But he is Bruce Wayne and he lives here!” the kid next to Wayne, the one with the blue eyes, suddenly piped in, sounding confused, “I live next door and I’ve seen him come and go from my window! He isn’t a liar!”

Jason didn’t say anything but he was with the boy here. This was Bruce Wayne and he was the last member of the prestigious Wayne family, richest man on the East coast and known playboy. Even he knew that and he grew up in Crime Alley and was homeless.

He’d expected Wayne to look smug now that someone had corroborated his story but instead the man turned around to the child, confusion on his face. “I don’t have any neighbors,” he said, brow furrowed, “The last ones were the Drakes and they moved out over a year ago so-“

“Actually, the Wayne’s neighbors are the Crownes-“

“What?! No, we still live there! My parents were at your gala just a few months ago-“

“Isn’t the Wayne guy called Patrick?” the teenager asked, sounding confused.

“Tt. You are all wrong,” the small child had apparently decided to join the conversation as well, “My father is called Solomon Wayne, son of Charles Wayne-“

Everyone was talking at the same time and their voices pounded in Jason’s head. He grit his teeth and stood. “Shut up!” he snapped loudly, and when no one reacted, repeated even louder, “Shut the fuck up!”

Silence.

Everyone turned to look at him, varying expressions on their (mostly) mud-streaked faces. Pennyworth especially seemed taken aback by Jason’s choice of words. Hah. Old posh man wasn’t used to swear words? Not his fucking problem.

“Clearly,” Jason said, “Everyone has different opinions here. Still, I’d like to move on and find out what the fuck happened. I don’t know about you, but before I came to this place I woke up in a graveyard next to something that looked like my own grave which I apparently crawled out of. And judging by your looks,” he gestured at everyone but Wayne, “you had similar experiences. Does anyone happen to know anything about that?”

No one said anything. Wayne stared at him with a shocked expression. “What? What do you mean you came out of a grave?”

“Well,” Pennyworth piped in, voice forcedly calm again, “We all did, it seems. Like this boy said,” he gestured to Jason, “I woke up in Gotham Cemetery next to a grave with my own name, looking like this.” He indicated his muddy clothing. “And then, all of a sudden, I just knew that I had to go to Wayne Manor. It was like-“

“Like someone else was controlling my feet,” the tan teenager finished, voice slightly trembling now. “Yeah, me too. I- god, I woke up in Robinson park next to a hole in the ground, and- and the last thing I remember is bleeding out from getting shot by one of Zucco’s men- I- did I die? Did someone bury me there?” he sounded horrified, his breaths getting faster.

“I awoke on the Drake estate grounds,” the eleven-year-old boy said slowly, ignoring the teenager’s words, sounding like he was trying to solve a puzzle, “Also next to a hole. And- I remember tripping on my blanket while going down the stairs, I think I fell- Wait.” He was completely still for one second, his hand briefly going to his throat, then over his heart. “I- I don’t have heartbeat,” he finally stuttered, pressing down his palm harder like he could force it to appear, “I don’t have a heartbeat!” Panic seeped into his voice.

Jason’s hand flew to his wrist, pressing down on the pulse point. He frantically waited for the tell-tale thump-thump as his blood was pumped throughout his body. Sure, he’d woken up next to his grave, but he was standing here, talking, he was obviously alive-

There was no pulse.

Jason didn’t have a heartbeat. His chest was horribly still, something he only recognized as wrong now that he was paying attention to it. He didn’t have a fucking heartbeat. He’d crawled out of a grave.

They all stared at each other with mounting expressions of horror as it became clear that, apparently, every single one of the people in this room was dead.

Three hours later found Jason curled up on one of the armchairs that stood next to the couches they’d woken up on. He felt very, very tired. His head hurt. (And wasn’t that unfair – he was dead but could still get a headache? Honestly, what the fuck.)

The last hours had consisted of several panic attacks and shouting and – after the aforementioned chaos had somewhat calmed down – trying to gather the facts. Pennyworth had at some point taken charge of the conversation again and had had each of them explain what they remembered.

It was a fucking mind-blowing mess, in Jason’s opinion. Looking at the people around him, exhaustedly sitting on the couches, they all could agree on that. And they weren’t even finished yet! Currently, Damian – the youngest child, whose full name was apparently Damian al Ghul – was in the middle of telling his story. He sounded overwhelmed and like he was trying very hard not to cry, putting on a tough front but steadily failing at it. The kid had been only nine years old when he’d died (though he looked like seven, slightly emaciated and tiny).

According to Damian, he was the illegitimate son of Solomon Wayne, who in turn was the son of Charles Wayne, head of the Wayne family in fucking 1860. Damian’s mother Talia, originally from the Ottoman Empire, had worked as a servant in the Wayne household and had had an affair with Solomon which had resulted in Damian, who was born in 1851. While Solomon wouldn’t marry Talia – snobbish, racist prick – he’d at least had the decency to let Damian live in Wayne manor with his mother. Though both still had had to work, of course, never mind that Damian had been a small child. (If you couldn’t tell, Jason didn’t have a very high opinion of this Solomon Wayne.)

“Several of the servants got sick,” Damian explained just now, voice getting thicker though he tried to hide it, “It was a fever and it was very bad. Mother called it ti- tiph-“ he stuttered.

“Typhoid fever?” Pennyworth suggested in a soft voice.

“… Yes,” Damian stated, nodding at the man but avoiding his gaze, “Exactly. Well.” He breathed in deeply. “I contracted the disease as well and mother tried to care for me but-“ he shuddered. “I don’t remember. Everything hurt. I was so, so tired and thirsty and too hot and cold and-“ he broke off. “Seeing that you all died before this, I seem to have perished due to the fever as well. Mother must have buried me on the grounds of the estate as that is where I came to.” Damian tugged the blanket Wayne had gotten him earlier tighter around his shoulders, looking away from them. He was blinking very quickly and pressed himself back into the couch cushions like he wanted to disappear into them.

They all silently decided to leave the boy be for the moment. Jason would have liked to say he tried to comfort him but honestly, he was too preoccupied with coming to terms with his own death and apparent resurrection and the fact that Damian had apparently been born and died in the 19^th century. Sue him.

Everyone’s gazes wandered to Bruce Wayne, who was sitting in the only other armchair. The man had so far been the most silent, only grunting then and now, occasionally asking sharp questions and in some rare display of emotion getting up and wordlessly handing everyone a blanket from a nearby closet. His brow was set in a permanent frown and Jason wondered if he had a headache too. He certainly looked like it.

“It seems it is your turn now, Mister Wayne,” Pennyworth commented, “I’m sure we’re all eager to hear your side of the story. Especially as you don’t seem to have come out of a grave as we others did.”

The older man was right. Jason was very curious to hear what Wayne had to say, seeing as the allegedly airheaded playboy was wearing the Batman suit sans cowl and covered in blood. He was dying to hear it, so to speak. Hah.

Not that the others’ stories had been boring. No, there’d been plenty of shocking revelations tonight. Jason didn’t even know where to start freaking out about.

Pennyworth had apparently really been the Wayne family’s butler – it just turned out that that had been in the fifties. He’d been with the British intelligence during World War Two, it sounded very important and very secret, and had decided to retire after that to lead a more quiet life. Thus, he came to the US where he eventually started to work for the Waynes. The last thing he remembered was being in his bedroom in Wayne Manor and a sudden pain in his chest. Heart attack, most likely, considering the next time he’d woken up was in Gotham Cemetery nearly seventy years later.

The teenager’s name was Richard Grayson, ‘call me Dick’. Jason had snorted at that one. It hadn’t surprised him to hear that Dick had been born in 1960 when that nickname had been much more popular and less … associated with other meanings. Dick told them that he’d grown up in a circus, traveling throughout the US along with his parents who were trapeze artists. Until they’d come to Gotham where Dick’s parents’ ropes had snapped during a performance and they’d fallen to their deaths. Dick, only eight years old at that time, had been shoved into Gotham’s foster system which was abysmal nowadays so Jason didn’t want to know what it had been like in the sixties for a Romani kid whose first language wasn’t even English. Suffice to say, it must have been very bad.

Dick’s story took a surprising turn when he explained how he’d secretly investigated his parents’ deaths over the next years and finally found out that they’d been murdered by a mobster called Tony Zucco because the circus had refused to pay protection money. He told them how he’d painstakingly tracked Zucco down and tried to confront him, only to be shot multiple times before even getting through the entrance to the criminal’s hideout. The last thing he remembered was bleeding out on the ground of some abandoned building in South Gotham. Zucco’s men must have buried his body in an unmarked grave in Robinson park after that, considering that was where he woke up. He’d been seventeen at the time of his death.

The other kid, who’d claimed to be Bruce Wayne’s neighbor earlier, was called Timothy Drake but insisted on being called Tim. Wayne had shown uncharacteristically much emotion after the boy had told them his name, shocked and looking mildly sick. Apparently, they really had been neighbors a few years ago, though Wayne had failed to notice that the Drakes were criminally neglecting their own son by leaving him home alone for months at a time once he’d turned nine (not that Tim had worded it that way but Jason could read between the lines). Tim had died the same year Jason had, 2022, at the age of eleven, having walked down the stairs in Drake manor with a blanket around his shoulders because the heating had broken down earlier. His feet had gotten tangled in the fabric and he’d stumbled, crashing down the stairs, not being able to remember anything after that.

Wayne had then informed them with an unreadable expression that the Drakes had never announced their son had died. In fact, they’d told everyone who wanted to hear it how Tim was in some boarding school for gifted kids in Europe.

In reality, Tim had been six feet under, buried in the Drake estate’s garden without even a headstone, probably by his parents who must have had discovered his body when they returned from their travels. They had moved out six months later, relocating their company to the West coast.

It was a particularly horrifying story considering it had been Tim’s own parents who were indirectly responsible for his death and directly responsible for hiding their son’s body in an unmarked grave before fleeing the scene of the crime forever. Jason felt ill.

At some point, he’d told the others his own life story as well. It seemed only fair though that didn’t mean that Jason liked recounting his tragic backstory of landing on the streets even one bit. He hated thinking about it. His father had kicked the bucket during his third stunt in prison (good riddance) and then his mom had overdosed when he was eleven. Two years later found him trying to survive alone in Crime Alley when the stuff with the snow and being kicked out of his hideout happened. He ended his monologue with a court “And then I froze to death and woke up in the cemetery with a headstone that said ‘John Doe’”, trying to ignore the pitiful glances he received from the other occupants of the room. Not that they’d much room to talk, considering most of their deaths were every bit as tragic as his own.

Well. That was that. Now, Jason was very curious about the obvious outlier’s recounting of what had happened. He looked at Wayne expectantly.

Wayne didn’t seem to like all the attention and twitched in his seat, avoiding their eyes by looking into his lap where his bloody hands were clenched. Eventually, he grunted. “Alright.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “It seems this are extenuating circumstances anyway and it’s not like you haven’t seen my suit.”

Jason leaned closer. Holy shit, Bruce Wayne really was Batman, wasn’t he?

Wayne grunted again. It sounded vaguely unhappy. “I’m Batman,” he said curtly without looking up. Tim made an excited noise and Jason internally patted himself on the back for guessing right. Before the man could continue, Pennyworth cleared his throat.

“And would you care to expand that statement for those present that didn’t live in the twenty-first century?” he asked, painfully polite as seemed to be his standard setting.

Wayne’s face twitched though as always, Jason found it hard to tell what he felt. The man was harder to read than Shakespeare’s ‘Hamlet’. (Jason was one of the few people who actually liked that play but it had still been difficult to understand when he was ten.) “Right. Well … to start at the beginning. I’m the son of Thomas and Martha Wayne. My father’s father was Patrick Wayne, whom two of you should be familiar with.”

“Ah,” Pennyworth said, sounding sad, “Mister Wayne’s wife Elizabeth was with child at the time I … died. Was that-“

“My father was born in 1960, so the timeline seems to fit,” Wayne replied, “You said your death happened in 1959?”

Pennyworth sighed. “So it seems.”

“Right. To continue-“

He was interrupted by an exciting sounding Dick Grayson. “I knew Patrick and Thomas Wayne as well! Well, I mean- I knew of them,” he amended, apparently glad he could finally contribute something to the conversation, “Thomas was the same age as me and he and his father often appeared in the newspaper.” He trailed off as everyone’s eyes landed on him. “… That’s about all I know about them, I guess.” Dick cleared his throat. “Sorry for the interruption.”

Wayne grunted once more (though it didn’t sound annoyed, Jason was slowly getting the hang of this). “Yes, I suppose you’d have heard of them.” He closed his eyes, like it hurt him to say what came next. Jason knew why. “My father and mother were shot by a mugger in an alley when I was eight years old, that was in 1997.”

Pennyworth sucked in a shocked breath. “Oh dear. That’s- for Mister Wayne’s child having died so young, and his wife as well- I’m really sorry, my boy.” (He’d said similar things to all of them when they’d told their stories, but seemed even more affected now. Probably because he had a personal connection to the victims. Also, it was hilarious that Pennyworth suddenly called Wayne ‘my boy’, came with the territory of finding out the man in front of you was your late employer’s grandchild, Jason supposed.) “Who took care of you after that?”

Wayne was still looking at his hands, knuckles white. “My uncle, Jacob Kane. My mother’s brother,” he said, “Though I didn’t see much of him, seeing he was busy running Kane Industries. I was raised here, in Wayne Manor, by multiple caretakers he hired, though they changed often. When I was sixteen, I ran away. I wanted to make a change in the world, to fight crime and prevent tragedies such as my own parents’ death from ever happening again. So I left Gotham and started traveling the world, to learn the skills necessary to do that.”

Jason gaped. “That’s why you ran away? Everyone says you eloped with some girl and lived a wild live in Vegas until you returned!”

Wayne actually looked up and gave him a deadpan look. “Yes. That’s what they assumed while I was gone, especially because I’d taken a good chunk of cash with me. I fed into those beliefs when I came back; to further discourage anyone from making the connection to me being Batman.”

That … made sense. Jason had to give it to Wayne, the man certainly had fooled everyone very thoroughly. It was clear by now that he wasn’t an airheaded playboy at all. Really, he was a fucking genius actor if this was what his real personality looked like.

Wayne looked back down. “I trained with various teachers all over the world, martial arts, crime solving, handling different weapons, technology, and other things. When I thought I had sufficient knowledge and skills twelve years later, I returned to Gotham. There I took on the mantle of ‘Batman’, fighting crime anonymously at night, trying to make Gotham a safer place.”

“That’s so cool!” Tim said loudly in an awed tone, then shrank in on himself when the rest of the room turned to him. “Erm, never mind,” he cleared his throat, obviously trying to sound professional and less excited, though he failed, “Please, continue.”

And Jason could barely believe it, but for a moment he thought he saw Wayne’s lips twitch up into an amused smile. Wow, what was more likely? That he’d started hallucinating or that Bruce Wayne showcased actual Positive Emotions^TM? He wasn’t sure.

“Excuse me, but do you mind me asking why they called you the ‘Batman’?” Pennyworth asked, lifting one eyebrow and looking like the picture perfect example of polite curiosity (if you ignored the mud that was still on his face).

Jason couldn’t resist. “That would be because he dresses up like a giant bat to fight crime, with bat ears on his cowl and a cape and symbol and everything,” he piped up, trying to look innocent but internally laughing at the way Wayne cringed at his explanation.

Wayne grunted. “… Yes,” he admitted, looking at Pennyworth and sighing when he saw the older man’s incredulous expression, “It’s a long story …”

“- and then one of Black Mask’s goons got a lucky shot that hit my thigh,” Wayne said, unhappy frown deepening. He was almost at the end of his lengthy explanation if the timeline was anything to go by. Apparently, it was currently November 2024 and he was recounting what had happened two days before. (And fuck, Jason had lost almost three years, though he supposed he couldn’t complain with Damian, Pennyworth and Dick in the room. It still felt wrong though and left him reeling.)

Wayne absentmindedly laid a palm over his right thigh, presumably where he’d been shot. Now that Jason knew, he could see the way the black fabric of his suit was colored darker there, probably due to blood. The stain seemed concerningly large.

“I managed to call the Batmobile and escape the situation, and I tried to take care of the wound, but once I was back in the Batcave I’d lost a lot of blood,” Wayne continued in a somber voice, “I went to the medbay-“ Didn’t he mean the ‘Bat-Medbay’, Jason thought sarcastically but managed to keep his thoughts to himself, “and tried to stop the bleeding. It was hard, I suspected that a major artery was hit. Apparently, I lost consciousness at some point. I … must have bled out, considering my heart doesn’t beat either anymore. There’s no way for me to have survived the wound without help at that point.” Wayne sounded uncharacteristically shaken during the last part. Which was fair, he’d died.

At least this explained the blood on his hands and face. Jason was glad the man hadn’t murdered someone. In fact, as far as he knew, Batman made it a point to never kill. He’d overheard several gang members talking about it once. It made him relax slightly (not that anything bad could have happened, Jason was already dead, but still).

“So that’s it,” Dick concluded, frowning as well, “You died, too. And then? We all just decided we had enough of being dead and got up the next night?”

Wayne’s lips turned downwards even more. “I don’t know. I’ve encountered a few mystical things during my travels, some of which could even be described as magic, but to my knowledge the only way to bring back the dead is by exposure to a so-called Lazarus Pit. And that’s clearly not what happened here, as we all woke up in different locations. Also, using a Lazarus pit comes at a cost, and no one here seems to be displaying the side effects.”

“Which would be?” Pennyworth asked like it was totally normal to discuss ways to raise the dead. Just your typical tea time conversation. Really. What was Jason’s life. (Or un-life? Undead life? Death?)

“Mostly uncontrollable anger and, during that, green glowing eyes. Problems to think rationally. I think it’s safe to say at this point that doesn’t apply to anyone here,” Wayne said and Jason had to agree. They’d sat here for several hours now and no one had displayed green-glowing eyes or seemed angered beyond reason. Mostly, they were all in various states of exhaustion, disbelief and resignation at being dead.

Jason looked around the room, apparently a living room in Wayne Manor, one of the few rooms Wayne was actually actively using. (He’d explained that he lived alone, not trusting anyone being in the house unsupervised with him being Batman and his secret at stake. The man was definitely very paranoid.) “We’re in Wayne Manor,” he stated, “And we all woke up and then for some reason came here shortly after your death. It has to be connected. Before you died, none of us came back, even though some of us had been buried for decades.”

“And why us?” Tim added, voice thoughtful. He looked more like nine than eleven, huddled in his blanket as he was, and Jason’s heart briefly ached at the fact that he and Damian had to cope with all of this at their age. Had died so young. At least he had (barely) grown up to be a teenager before kicking the bucket. “Why no one else? At first I thought maybe it’s because of a connection to the Wayne family, but even if you count me into that as a neighbor, which is a far stretch, it wouldn’t explain Jason’s and Dick’s presence. So, why us?”

Tim had barely finished speaking when suddenly, something swept over Jason’s mind in a similar way than at the cemetery. Only this time, instead of getting up and walking somewhere, his head was suddenly filled with images and impressions. Emotions. But they weren’t Jason’s, they felt old and powerful and different in a way that had him instinctively knowing they didn’t come from anything human.

Jason couldn’t move as he watched what the entity apparently wanted him to see. A feeling of pride washed over him as Batman grappled through a nightly Gotham at a fast pace, occasionally stopping to prevent muggings and drug deals. Satisfaction filled him as the vigilante saved countless lives, fought mob bosses and rogues successfully. Hope sang in him when watching saved victims return home to their families, shaken but still alive. It was like he was seeing all of it from every angle at once, no certain vantage point discernible, like Jason was the city, every building and street and corner. It was indescribable.

But then the scene changed and the positive feelings were replaced with deepening concern. Jason looked at Batman as he fought what appeared to be Black Mask and his men while trying to stop a weapons’ shipment. As he got shot in the thigh, briefly crumbling but standing up again, slowly retreating with clenched teeth. Finally, the Batmobile arrived and he managed to get in, the car driving away at record speed. Bullets ricocheted off its rear and the shouts of Black Mask’s goons rang in Jason’s ears as it brought Batman to safety.

The scene changed again. Now, Jason was in what he could only assume was the Batcave, though he didn’t have time to look at it too closely as the entity was focusing on a hurt Batman that stumbled out of the Batmobile. He’d taken off his gloves, his hands red as he desperately pressed down onto the gunshot wound. A tourniquet was in place above it as well, but blood still seeped through his fingers at a concerning rate. Somehow, he made it to what looked like the medbay and collapsed onto the gurney there, pained grunts escaping him the whole way. Batman took off his cowl with a shaking hand and tossed it aside, Bruce Wayne looking down at his thigh with a determined expression, reaching for something on a table next to him while pressing down on the wound with his other hand.

Wayne’s trembling got worse, though, and just as his fingers closed around something, he swayed. The thing clattered to the ground as his hold lightened. Jason watched Batman lose consciousness, slumping on his side, limp. His hand fell away from the wound, bright red blood continuing to gush out. And then, a few minutes later, Wayne’s labored breaths stopped after one last exhale, his chest no longer moving.

He was dead.

Horror filled Jason, and a deep feeling of loss. This wasn’t right! His Bat was supposed to help him, to fight the rot that seemed to grow in every corner! To save his people and make them feel safer again! To make him feel more hopeful and lighter than in decades! Grief and disbelief permeated through him for an unknown amount of time while looking at Bruce Wayne’s unmoving body lying in its own blood.

Then, suddenly, the feelings changed once more. Determination and refusal to let this be the end of the Bat rose up in him. He just knew that there would never be anyone else capable of what Wayne did. No one who’d be willing to go to such lengths to fight crime in Gotham who also had the means and skills to make his vision reality.

This wouldn’t be the end. Gotham – and he was Gotham, Jason suddenly knew with absolute certainty – wouldn’t allow it. She wouldn’t. So she thought of a plan. She’d revive her Bat, keep him alive with her own energy which would also solve the problem of him being so frightfully vulnerable and mortal. But that wouldn’t be enough. She knew that her Bat had died tonight because he’d been alone, had had no one to help him. And even before today, his health had been steadily declining, physically and mentally. He’d become worn down, lonely and broken by what he had to see every night but couldn’t talk to anyone about.

No, if Gotham revived him, she’d make sure he had all the things humans needed to thrive this time. She didn’t have much experience with human needs but throughout her life had catalogued the most important ones: Her Bat needed to be able to socialize without having to hide his secret; needed support and positive feelings to outweigh the bad things he faced daily. He needed proper sustenance instead of the things he heated up in his microwave and ordered to be brought to him. He needed someone who could treat his injuries when he couldn’t do it himself.

Gotham thought about it for a while and came to a conclusion. Most humans had those things because they were part of a so-called family. From what she knew, family members took care of each other; provided each other with protection and meals and company and love. If she gave her Bat family members that were suited to his needs, she’d solve most of the issues he’d had before dying.

So, she’d get her Bat a family. She had no power over the living, only over those who’d died within her borders after several years of living there, and only if their remains were still within her reach, so she’d work with that. She briefly thought about just bringing back her Bat’s original caretakers who’d died when he was young but they’d only ever known him as someone helpless and in need of protection. There was the risk they’d discourage her Bat from his endeavor of helping Gotham because of that and that would go against the purpose of reviving him in the first place. So, not them.

Quickly, Gotham went over her other options and eventually found a good candidate. An old caretaker of the Wayne family who was not only able to prepare nutritional meals and had medical knowledge, he also could fight if necessary and had experience with working in difficult situations. Perfect. Who else?

Most human families also had children, young humans not yet fully grown. They seemed to bring joy to their caretakers and Gotham wanted her Bat to be happy, so it was sensible to include those as well. In many cases, the children were related to their caretakers by blood, but it wasn’t a set requirement. Nevertheless, Gotham chose a young boy who had Wayne blood in him and added him to her mental list.

She was unsure, however, if that would be enough. The boy was very young, not even ten years old, and wouldn’t ever grow up like normal humans did. Human families, however, had children whose age changed over time. Which age was the correct one to make her Bat the happiest?

Gotham couldn’t decide. Well, no matter. She could just add more children with varying ages to be on the safe side. Idly, she looked through her options again. She found no more fitting children with Wayne blood but that wasn’t mandatory anyway. Eventually, she settled on three more children who possessed physical similarities to her Bat and, just as the first boy, seemed like a good fit personality-wise – smart, determined, curious, loyal. The qualities she valued in her Bat.

One last issue remained, though. Gotham knew from her research that even families could fall apart and cause more sadness and anger than joy and love. She couldn’t let that happen here. Luckily, due to the Bat and his family being alive through her power, it would be possible for her to influence their minds to a certain extent. She’d simply erect some boundaries there so they’d be unable to betray or leave each other. Problem solved.

Gotham no longer felt sad, instead she thrummed with excitement, eager to begin her work. This would be perfect! Her Bat would come back stronger and happier and with more support than ever! And she’d continue to have a protector against the rot of crime and cruelty that had threatened to overwhelm her before her Bat came along.

Happily, she got to work.

Jason gasped as he was suddenly back in his own body, the image of a motionless, bloody Bruce Wayne vanishing from his sight. His fingers buried themselves in the soft cushions of the armchair while he panted, reeling from what he’d just experienced, a vague echo of Gotham’s satisfaction and eagerness still reverberating in his head.

What the fuck. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck-

“What the fuck,” Jason finally voiced his thoughts, voice faint and disbelieving, trying to get his breathing under control. “What the fuck.”

“I second that,” Dick stated, sounding as rattled as Jason felt. It seemed he hadn’t been the only spectator to whatever he’d just seen. If he had to guess, Gotham had shown it to all of them. Because apparently a supernatural entity that was the personification of the fucking city of Gotham had gotten attached to a certain vigilante and didn’t want to lose him. And Jason was a component of what she deemed necessary to keep ‘her Bat’ healthy and happy so he could continue to fight crime.

This was so ludicrous and absurd that it couldn’t be anything other than the truth. Jason wouldn’t be able to come up with this shit himself in a million years.

“I- it seems we just received an answer to Mister Tim’s question,” Pennyworth said and even he sounded shocked. Jason glanced at him, his breathing only slowly returning to normal. The older man’s eyes were wide open, staring at Wayne disbelievingly. “Gotham was the one to bring us back and together. I- I assume we all saw … that?”

Wayne himself seemed to be at a loss for words. His face was a complicated mix of horror, disbelief, incredulity and realization. He remained silent, his jaw set and looking at the ground.

Tim nodded where he sat on the couch; the only one out of them who somehow didn’t seem too put out about the entity’s machinations. If anything, he sounded relieved when he spoke, like he’d just received good news. “Yes! I can’t believe it, Gotham is real! Of course she wouldn’t want to lose her protector, it only makes sense-“

“Sense?!” Jason didn’t mean to interrupt the kid but something in him balked at his words. “This doesn’t make fucking sense!” he repeated, angry, getting to his feet. His hands formed into fists at his sides. “Gotham has no idea how humans really work and decided on a fucking whim to throw us all together because she didn’t want to lose her toy! We were all just conveniently there and fit into her schemes so she revived us. Well,” he took a deep breath, “I, for one, have no fucking intention of being part of Batman’s emotional support family because the man didn’t manage to take care of himself properly!” He glared at Wayne, who winced slightly but still didn’t say anything.

“Mister Jason-” Pennyworth started, but Jason didn’t let him finish.

“No! I don’t care! I have a life” – okay, he didn’t, he’d died, but that was besides the point here – “And I refuse! If you want to play happy family with Wayne and Gotham, be my guest, but I’m out!” Jason took a step into the direction of the door.

And froze as an overwhelming sense of dread suddenly swamped his thoughts. His breathing hitched.

What was he thinking? He couldn’t leave his family! They were all he had! Something terrible would happen if he did this! Something terrible. Too horrible to imagine. He couldn’t. He couldn’t.

Jason remained were he was, unable to take another step. He stood there, emotions warring inside his head, horrible fear and shame clashing with common sense. He knew these sudden feelings weren’t really his but induced by Gotham to stop him from leaving. But that didn’t make them go away. It didn’t make them feel any less real.

Jason couldn’t leave. Even thinking about it felt wrong. He just couldn’t.

The second Jason decided that he wouldn’t leave, the artificial feelings vanished like they’d never been there. His knees wobbled and he collapsed, exhausted and horrified beyond belief at the implications of what just happened.

“Jason!” Wayne’s deep voice sounded out over the ringing in his head. Before he could collide with the floor, strong arms were suddenly around him, steadying him and helping him back to the armchair. Jason obeyed numbly, sinking back into its soft cushions, cradling the blanket he’d left there when he stood up with unfeeling fingers.

Wayne let go of him but continued to hover nearby. “What happened? Are you alright?”

Jason couldn’t help it, he bit out a bitter laugh at that question. “Sure, I’m perfectly fine! Just peachy! I just died, got revived by some fucking eldritch entity, forced into a random group of people and can’t even think about leaving without getting a panic attack!” He took a second to gasp for breath, then gestured at the six of them. “We’re all fucking prisoners! Gotham won’t let us leave or go against her plan, she’s fucking with our heads! I- we- we’re stuck here-“

“Deep breaths, Mister Jason,” Pennyworth said, coming closer and carefully placing his hands on Jason’s shoulders, “You need to calm down. This is much to take in and I believe no one here is happy about it. But losing our heads now won’t help. Deep breaths. You’re safe for the moment. We’ll sort this out.”

“But- I- Gotham can’t just-“

“Breathe. Everything will be fine.”

Jason very much doubted that.

Chapter Text

They ended up turning the living room into a makeshift resting place (hah, did it count as a cemetery now that the dead were resting in it?). After Jason's breakdown had proven that none of them could actually leave (at least not with the intention of leaving their 'family' behind for good), Pennyworth decided that they could try to figure this out after they'd cleaned up and recuperated from the shock of ... well, everything. No one argued with him.

Jason wished he could have taken a photo of Wayne's face when the butler asked him about the guest rooms and the billionaire had to sheepishly admit that no one had used or cleaned those in years as 'the only guests he had over usually stayed in the same room as him'. At Pennyworth's disapprovingly lifted eyebrow when he heard of the the state of the rooms, Wayne looked like a scolded kid. Pennyworth just had that aura, Jason guessed, even when the recipient was Batman. (That solidified Jason's feeling that Pennyworth really was no one you wanted on your bad side. Ever.)

Wayne also explained that he was only actively using one bathroom in the manor, excluding the one that apparently existed in the 'Batcave' downstairs. As the man was still very reserved about more details on his vigilante identity's base – and the rest of them were in no hurry to go there, as well, Wayne had fucking bled out there barely two days ago – one bathroom it was. (At least for now. Pennyworth gained a weirdly determined expression on his face the more he learned about the manor's current state.)

Thus, only one of them could clean up at a time. Jason was very eager to get a warm shower as he was still covered in grave mud and hadn't had much opportunity to wash even before his death, but he didn't protest when Pennyworth decided they'd take turns based on their (physical) age, starting with the youngest (who, technically, was around 160 years old at the same time. Again, what the fuck was Jason's life).

Jason felt a twinge of guilt when all of them looked at Damian at that and realized that despite everything, the kid had fallen asleep where he sat on the couch, probably due to pure exhaustion. The boy hadn't said much the whole time they'd been here, so Jason hadn't even noticed until now. Even Pennyworth seemed surprised and he’d have pegged the butler as someone who normally knew about everything that was going on. (To be fair, they all had a lot on their plate right now and Pennyworth had just awoken from being dead for 65 years. Everyone was allowed to feel a bit off kilter after that.)

"We died and don't have a heartbeat but we still need to sleep?" Tim mumbled, evidently also very tired and fucking pouting. Clearly, the kid had skewed priorities. Jason had other concerns, however, when, upon seeing Damian, Wayne and Pennyworth jolted up in worry almost as one and hurried over to where the boy was lying.

"He's not breathing," Wayne stated and quickly knelt down besides the boy, feeling for his pulse, "Still no heartbeat, either." He sounded grim. Pennyworth mirrored his expression, standing just behind him.

Jason stared at Damian's prone, too-still form in mounting dread. Now that he knew to look for it, he noticed that Damian’s chest wasn’t moving. Ice seemed to trickle down his spine as he realized what the two adults were saying. Was- was the kid dead again? And none of them had noticed? And- would it happen to all of them? Were they in the room with the body of a child right now? He felt ill, his thoughts racing. What had happened? Had Gotham decided her plan wouldn’t work, after all? Was it Jason’s fault? Why-

At that moment, Damian suddenly startled awake, opening his eyes and flinching away from Wayne's touch. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked in a wary tone, quickly righting himself up and straightening his spine. He glared at Wayne. "What are you doing?"

They all breathed out collectively. Holy shit. Damian was still alive. (Well, he wasn't, but he was still ... undead.) Jason's knees went weak in sudden relief. He- for a second he'd been afraid he'd be dead again soon, and-

He'd realized he really, really didn't want that.

Being undead beat being dead by a lot. Jason might not like this situation, being the plaything of an eldritch being, but at least he was ... aware again. There. Maybe he should feel less resentful towards Gotham. (Then again, the creature was also brainwashing him into not leaving, so maybe not. Jason had to admit he didn't fucking know what to feel. Sadly, he doubted a quick Google search would help. Their situation wasn't exactly ... common.)

Wayne had a complicated expression on his face and was looking at Damian without answering, apparently unsure what to say. ('Oh, we just thought you were dead for good again and wanted to check.' Yeah, that sounded bad and would probably upset the kid even more.) Luckily, after a moment, Pennyworth cleared his throat where he stood a few steps away from the boy.

"Mister Damian, it appears you fell asleep and due to our ... condition, we don't seem to actually need to breathe. You had stopped doing so. We were concerned that something was wrong." Thank god for the butler and his way with words. (And also his competence in general. Jason had a feeling that without him, they'd still be running around panicking like frightened chickens.)

"Oh," Damian said, sounding slightly mollified but also unsettled, "I … see.” He briefly looked down at his lap and when he lifted his head again, almost every trace of vulnerability had vanished from his expression. It was eerie. “Well, I am perfectly fine, so you can retreat." He looked intently at Wayne while saying the last part and the man took the hint to slowly withdraw his hand from where it was still outstretched into Damian's direction.

"Sorry if we scared you," the billionaire said slowly as he proceeded righting himself and standing up, "We were just ... worried." He was clearly telegraphing all his movements, probably to not upset Damian any further.

The young boy just sniffed in reply. "As you can see, there was no need. Though I suppose you are excused this time as you couldn't have known. You are forgiven. Rest assured that you didn’t scare me."

And- Jason almost snorted despite everything. This wasn’t funny but, really, he’d never heard any kid talk as posh as Damian sounded. Like he’d come directly out of an Austen novel. His amusement lasted approximately one second until he remembered once more that Damian actually had been born in the Victorian era, not that long after Austen’s books had first been published. A little boy, forced to work for pretentious rich people that didn't really accept him as an equal and member of their family despite their relation. The kid had probably tried to prove his worth for his whole (short) life, to fit in with those snobbish pricks, only to be rejected again and again.

Assholes. Jason’s hands balled to fists as he thought about it.

“Well, now that that’s settled. We were just discussing cleaning up ourselves,” Pennyworth said gently to Damian, “There is a bathroom down the corridor and we decided that you should be the first to get to use it. Would that be alright with you?”

Damian stared at the butler with a surprised expression. “I- I suppose I can agree to that,” he finally replied, then added, a bit hesitant, “Is the well still in the same location?”

Jason blinked. The well? What did that have to do with anything? Then it dawned on him. Oh. Right. They probably didn’t have running water in 1860, not even people as rich as the Waynes. It would have had to be carried in from outside. God, Jason was thankful to have grown up in the 21^st century, no matter how shitty his childhood had been.

Pennyworth seemed to come to the same conclusion as Jason. “Oh, there’s no need for you to go to the well,” he said after a short pause and smiled slightly at the boy, “I suppose finding yourself in the future can have its advantages. Wayne Manor has been fully outfitted with indoor plumbing since the nineteen-twenties. Am I correct to assume that’s still the case?”

The last question was directed at Wayne, who seemed to understand what Damian had meant at that moment. “Oh,” he exhaled, then cleared his throat. “Erm. I mean, yes. The manor has running water. You can even choose if you want it to be warm or cold,” he continued, looking at Damian, “You just have to turn on the faucet and- wait, did showers even exist in the eighteen-hundreds?”

Damian started to look slightly overwhelmed. “But how would you get the water to heat when it comes out of a pipe? And what is this ‘shower’ you speak of-“

Pennyworth seemed to sense the boy’s growing distress and smoothly cut in. “Perhaps it would be best if one of us showed you how to use the bathroom and helped you clean up, Mister Damian. I’d gladly volunteer, but only if you’re comfortable with that, of course.”

Again, thank god for Pennyworth. Wayne seemed to be way out of his depth in dealing with children and Jason and Dick weren’t any better while Tim was still a child himself.

Damian hesitated but shot the butler a relieved look, relaxing his shoulders slightly. “I … that would be acceptable and much appreciated. Thank you.”

Pennyworth smiled kindly. “Of course, my boy. Believe me, you’ll feel better once clean and in dry clothes.” He turned to Wayne again. “Do you think you could provide us all with clothing from your closet? It seems to be our only option just now, even if it won’t fit very well. Though I’ll be glad to laundry our current clothes later. Do people still use washing machines? I assume there have been quite a few technological developments I’ve missed.”

Wayne nodded. “I have a washing machine, I’ll show you later. And I think bathrooms in general haven’t changed that much over the last sixty years, so you should know your way around there.”

“Wonderful, thank you. Now then, Mister Damian, no time like the present. Should we get going?” Pennyworth asked the boy and indicated to the door that led to the rest of the house. Damian nodded.

Jason watched them as they left the room, the boy from 1860 and the butler from the 1950s, both covered in mud, and once again wondered absentmindedly how the hell his life had come to this.

The hot shower was amazing.

Jason wasn’t sure how much time he spent in Wayne’s fancy bathroom, just standing there and letting the warm water flow over him, enjoying the feeling, but it was a lot. He lathered himself generously in the various soaps the billionaire had and felt like a new human being when the last bit of mud and grime finally washed down the drain. There were even shampoo and conditioner, separate. Jason didn’t think he’d ever used anything but the cheap five-in-one-crap before. He might be dead but after he stepped out of the shower, his hair felt softer and smoother than ever. The irony.

He dried himself with a very fluffy towel that still smelled faintly like detergent (Jason had to hand it to Wayne, at least the man knew how to do his own laundry) and then slipped into the way too big t-shirt and sweats he’d been handed earlier. He grimaced when his gaze fell on his own clothes that he’d left discarded in a corner, torn and muddy. Pennyworth might have promised to wash them but, really, Jason wasn’t sure if they could still be saved. Nevertheless, he picked them up and threw them into the hamper which already contained Damian’s and Tim’s clothes along with old laundry Wayne hadn’t gotten around to washing before his death.

He also brushed his teeth courtesy of the many guest supplies Wayne had in stock for his infamous number of one-night-stands and brushed the tangles out of his hair (and holy shit his hair now felt like what he imagined silk to feel like). Jason couldn’t help but be in a better mood when he finally left the bathroom, clean and warm and dry. He’d already peeled the wooden splinters out of his hands before he showered without any pain and the wounds still hadn’t started hurting or bleeding, so that was a plus as well. (He ignored that that was probably due to him being dead and tried to concentrate on the positive side.)

Coming back into the living room, he was surprised to see flames burning merrily in the previously cold fireplace. Dick (looking happy that it was finally his turn) informed him that Pennyworth and Wayne had managed to find some old firewood in a garden shed after the butler had been horrified to hear that Wayne hadn’t used any fireplace in the house in years.

The two adults also had cleaned up as good as they could by the kitchen sink before leaving to peruse the guest rooms for mattresses and pillows as the couches and armchairs where not ideal for sleeping and also very dirty after they’d all sat on them earlier. Apparently, they’d already readied one makeshift bed on the floor, and Jason couldn’t help but smile when he saw Damian and Tim lying on it, huddled in fresh blankets and out cold, their faces softly illuminated by the flickering fire. It looked … peaceful. Nice. (If you ignored the way neither of the kids were breathing, which Jason determinedly did.)

Someone had closed the curtains, probably because the sun had already risen by now. The dirtied furniture had also been shoved to one side of the room to make space for more mattresses. As Jason was finally clean, he didn’t really fancy sitting on the former, so he plopped down onto the floor in front of the fireplace instead, grabbing himself a new blanket from the stash the adults had collected and throwing it over his shoulders. He briefly entertained the thought of going to look for Pennyworth and Wayne to help them with the beds, but he had no idea where they were in this ridiculously big house and was also tired.

So, Jason stared into the flames instead, lost in thought and enjoying the warmth they provided. By now, he was too tired to think much about the current situation, which was probably just as well as doing so would only stress him out. No, it was much better to just sit here and let his mind wander into half-dreamlike state.

…

Jason’s head snapped up from where his chin rested against his chest when two sets of steps entered the room along with hushed voices. He blinked, disoriented for a moment before realizing he must have fallen asleep. Quickly, he stood and turned to Wayne and Pennyworth who were carrying a mattress between them, careful to not get any dirt or blood on it. He automatically looked around, assessing how much time had passed. Tim and Damian were still sleeping and Dick wasn’t there, probably still in the shower, so it couldn’t have been too long.

“You need help?” he asked the two men who were now in the process of laying down the mattress next to the kids’ bed, voice quiet as not to wake them.

“It’s quite alright, my boy, but thank you,” Pennyworth replied and Wayne made a grunt that sounded vaguely agreeing. They finished their task and Wayne briefly vanished again to return with a white bedsheet and two fluffy pillows that he handed to Jason.

“You should lie down, too,” the billionaire said in his gruff voice, “You look exhausted.” And wow, was that slight concern that Jason heard? He blinked. When was the last time anyone had cared about how Jason was feeling? It was surreal, especially coming from Bruce Wayne, who Jason knew by now was actually really shitty at displaying emotions.

Nevertheless, he took the offered items and half-heartedly spread the sheet over the mattress before throwing the pillows on there and climbing onto it. He was really too tired to give much of a fuck about anything right now. Really, he just felt thankful that someone had decided to take care of the logistics because he felt too overwhelmed and way out of his depth as well as exhausted. He managed to mumble a “Than’ you” before laying his head down and closing his eyes. He was out in a matter of seconds.

Jason woke up an undetermined amount of time later, lying on the soft mattress and still huddled into the blanket. He felt more well-rested than he could remember being in a long time and his head was finally pain-free. And he was so warm. He instinctively tugged the blanket tighter around him and pressed his head deeper into the pillow without opening his eyes. This must be what heaven felt like. He wanted to keep lying here forever.

Still, he knew he couldn’t. He needed to get up, take stock of his surroundings and face the giant clusterfuck that was his current situation. Fuck. Jason really, really didn’t want to. He decided to allow himself a few more minutes of blissful rest. That wouldn’t hurt, would it? He was dead, he had all the time in the world (probably).

Leaving his eyes closed, he snuggled deeper into the cushions. He could hear faint voices from another room and … was that food he smelled?

That had him perk up, finally opening his eyes and shifting into a sitting position, blanket drawn to his chest to not lose its warmth. He looked around the living room, noting that the mattress Tim and Damian had slept on besides him was now empty. On his other side, a third mattress was laid out, an asleep Dick Grayson on top of it. It was still creepy that they didn’t breathe when they were sleeping but knowing they’d wake up again made it at least easier to ignore.

Jason noted that there weren’t any more beds set up in the room. Had Pennyworth and Wayne slept at all? He could hear them talking, intermingled with the kids’ voices. Slowly, careful not to wake Dick, Jason stood up and made his way to the door that led into the hall, blanket around his shoulders. (He didn’t want to let go of the warmth it provided. It made him feel safe. The last thing he remembered before coming to in the graveyard was freezing to death because someone had stolen his shelter and blanket, so he felt he was entitled to some comfort. Sue him.)

He followed the voices and eventually found himself in a large kitchen, Damian and Tim sitting at a table while Wayne and Pennyworth stood at the stove, talking. A glance out the window revealed that it must be late into the day, the Wayne Estate’s grounds only illuminated by dim light that was already giving way to darkness. Everyone looked at him when he entered.

“Master Jason, good evening,” Pennyworth smiled at him, though he looked very tired, and gestured to the table, wooden spoon in hand, “I hope you slept well. Take a seat, if you wish to. The pasta should be ready to eat soon.”

Jason was slightly caught off guard by the domestic scene in front of his eyes. Also, why the hell did the butler call him ‘Master’ now? That was fucking weird. “Erm. Yeah, good evening to you too,” he managed to get out, trying to be polite as it seemed the man valued that very much. He came to a stand in the middle of the room, hesitant to sit down. “Do you- can I help with anything? And please just call me Jason.”

“Well, then I must insist on you calling me Alfred,” the older man replied and smiled again. When Jason nodded he turned back to the pots on the stove, stirring the contents of one. “I took the liberty of preparing a meal – in the hopes we can still eat, of course – though I admittedly didn’t have much to work with, seeing the desolate state of the pantry.” The last sentence sounded slightly reproachful.

Wayne cleared his throat where he stood besides Alfred. “I’ve explained before, I’m not much of a cook and it was easier to just-“

“Eat pre-cooked food you bought at the supermarket or had delivered? Yes, you said. And I reiterate my point that that cannot be healthy, no matter how many vitamin supplements and servings of that ‘protein powder’ you take.” Alfred’s voice sounded insulted by the very idea. Wayne grunted unhappily but didn’t say anything else.

God, the man was the textbook example of introvert and ‘socially awkward’. How the hell had he ever fooled the world with his fake playboy personality? Comparing the airheaded billionaire Jason had heard of to the man in front of him was giving him whiplash. Which was probably the point. Wayne acted like he did in public to stop anyone from connecting him to Batman, after all.

Because Bruce Wayne was Batman. Yeah, Jason was still reeling from that one, never mind everything else that happened.

He decided to remain where he was as he didn’t feel wholly comfortable sitting down when Alfred and Wayne were still standing. It would also put them closer to the door than him. Jason was pretty sure by now that the two men were trustworthy – Wayne was Batman and neither of them had done anything malicious while they’d been asleep – but old habits died hard. (Hah. Died. And yeah, Jason liked to cope with hardships through sarcasm.)

So, instead of going to the table, Jason crossed his arms. He was still holding the blanket, though, so the gesture probably didn't make him look as serious and mature as he hoped. Unsure of what to say, he then let his gaze wander through the room, surveying the situation.

Alfred seemed indeed in the process of cooking something and it smelled fucking great. Jason couldn’t remember the last hot meal he’d had so he really, really hoped they were still able to eat and taste things. It was strange seeing the butler in a plain white button-down, black slacks and black socks, the garments not really fitting and probably belonging to Wayne, but Jason was glad he’d apparently had the opportunity to fully clean himself up as well. He was already feeling bad that the two adults apparently hadn’t slept.

Wayne had obviously showered too, hair still slightly damp. He was the only one who didn’t drown in his clothes, considering they were actually his own and bought to fit his large, muscular frame. In contrast, Damian and Tim looked even smaller than they already were in the way-too-large t-shirts they were wearing. Jason’s heart twitched when he studied the two kids. They both had their blankets around their shoulders as well, too-bony arms visible as they looked at the room with big eyes. (Seriously, anyone would have the same reaction upon seeing them. The looked like two hurt puppies or kittens. Only psychopaths wouldn’t get the urge to bundle them up even more and feed them something at that image, Jason was sure of that.)

“So, what’s the plan?” he eventually asked, looking back at Wayne, “I assume you two didn’t only discuss your inability to cook?” Jason hoped so, at least. Because he himself didn’t have any idea what to do and desperately needed someone to tell him how to solve this mess. Not that he’d ever admit that out loud.

Wayne sighed. He sounded very tired as well. “Alfred and I did talk about our situation, yes. We thought we could discuss it with you all when everyone’s present, if that’s alright with you.” Besides him, the butler nodded, confirming his words.

As much as Jason hated it, it made sense to wait until Dick was up too so they wouldn’t have to repeat anything. Thus, he reluctantly nodded. “Alright,” he said and tried to ignore the relieved expressions on the men’s faces. He could be reasonable when he wanted to, thank you very much.

Waiting for the other teenager to wake up proved to be awkward, though. No one really knew what to talk about after they'd agreed to discuss their current situation later. Like, what was Jason supposed to ask? 'Hey, what's your favorite color?' or 'Do you like video games?' Never mind that two of the five people present didn't even know what video games were.

So, Jason mostly just listened as Tim tried to explain various modern inventions to an increasingly disbelieving looking Damian, as did Alfred and Wayne, the former also keeping an eye on the simmering pasta.

"So you truly have these lamps that can be lit in just a few seconds in every room? And they just keep burning without fuel as long as you want?"

"Well, as I said, they do need electricity, otherwise they'll go out. Electricity is-"

"Tt. I know what electricity is. Father had a Ruhmkorff coil installed in his study. His guests were always appropriately impressed."

Jason had no idea what an 'already-forgot-the-name coil' was supposed to be. It seemed Tim didn't have the same problem, though, as the kid gasped. "Really? That must have cost a fortune back then!"

Damian seemed pleased with the reaction. "It did. But father wanted to show that Wayne Enterprises was future-oriented and going with modern times."

The second sentence sounded memorized; learned by rote. Jason wondered how much Damian's father had bragged with his ‘great coil’ that the nine-year-old could remember all these words but not the name of the sickness that killed him. It didn't paint Solomon Wayne in an any better light.

Thankfully, before Damian could sing his father any more undeserved praises, Dick appeared in the entrance of the kitchen. He smiled as they all turned to look at him, though the expression seemed forced (which Jason could understand). He was wearing a similar getup than him, a plain shirt and sweats, though they didn’t seem as big as they did on Jason. "Hello. It seems I'm the last to wake up."

"Yup," Jason said, eager to get on with the real issue, "But now that we're all there, we can discuss what to do. These two wanted to wait for you." He gestured to Alfred and Wayne.

Dick opened his mouth but Alfred beat him to it. "While discussing the future is important, the pasta is ready. Maybe we can further postpone the conversation until we've all had something to eat. I do indeed feel hungry, so I wager to guess we can still ingest it." At Jason's protesting expression, he added, "Experience serves that difficult topics are much better talked about when everyone has a full stomach."

Wayne grunted besides him, agreeing, maybe? He didn't say anything against the butler's argument, at least.

Ugh.

"Fine," Jason bit out while Dick nodded reluctantly, "Then let's fucking eat." His quick acquiescence didn't have anything to do with the fact that the enticing smell of the food had made him realize he was very hungry as well. Nope.

Alfred lifted a disapproving eyebrow at his language but didn't scold him. Jason took that as a win.

The pasta was delicious. After they’d all sat down around the table and Alfred had placed a plate in front of everyone (Jason guessed it was hard to let go of old butler habits, though it felt weird to be served the food like some rich fucker), they all started to dig in quickly. It was obvious everyone felt hungry, so Jason hoped Alfred’s theory that they were able to eat was right. He didn’t fancy throwing up later. (His not-beating heart and lack of blood circulation might be testament to the fact that his organs apparently didn’t work anymore but then again, why would he feel hungry if that was the case? He just tried not to think about it and enjoy the food instead.)

They didn’t talk much while eating. Alfred tutted about the ‘inferior quality of store-bought sauce’ and that Wayne hadn’t had anything else to work with, to which Wayne retorted that he only bought expensive, organic brands, at which the older man lifted a judging eyebrow in what Jason had already named ‘typical Alfred fashion’. It would have been funny if Jason wasn’t distracted by a) the first warm food he’d had in ages and b) the thought of the upcoming conversation.

He thought the sauce tasted amazing, anyway.

Tim, who sat on his right, was arguing with Damian about what to call the pasta. Apparently in the 19^th century every kind of pasta was just called ‘macaroni’ so Damian insisted on calling that the spaghetti they were eating as well while Tim tried to explain the expression ‘macaroni’ only applied to a specific pasta shape. Damian refused to acknowledge it. Honestly, Jason couldn’t care less what the kid called his meal, but Tim seemed oddly hung up on it. Children were weird, sometimes.

Finally, all of them had finished their plates. Jason was relieved that his stomach felt full but not uncomfortably so. Not like he had to puke. That was a good sign, right? Surely.

When it was clear everyone was done eating, empty dishes standing in front of them, Wayne cleared his throat. He looked like didn’t look forward to the conversation but knew they couldn’t postpone it any longer. All eyes immediately fixated on him and the two kids stopped debating about the correct way to address their food. A tense silence suddenly fell over the table.

Jason had a feeling he wouldn’t like what was coming, but he’d known that ever since his attempt to leave last night. Hell, since he’d woken up next to his own grave, even. Everything about this situation was fucked so he didn’t have high expectations. His hands formed fists in his lap, hidden under the table, while Wayne reluctantly began to speak.

“So. We, uh, should talk. About our … situation.”

No shit, Sherlock. How the fuck was this the same guy that made headlines in the tabloids for sleeping with the current Miss America and a former Mister Universe at the same time? It still blew Jason’s mind.

Wayne continued. “So. Alfred and I talked while you were sleeping-“

Dick scoffed. “Yeah? Is that how this is going to work? You two make all the decisions and we just follow your orders? No need to actually include us?” Wow, the other teenager had more spunk than Jason had originally thought. That was definitely a point in his favor.

Wayne looked at Dick with a weary expression and sighed. “I assure you, we didn’t want to talk over your head. We’re all in the same situation here. But you needed the rest. And as the adults-“

“I’m practically an adult! I’m almost eighteen! Hell, theoretically I’m sixty-four now!” Dick argued, sounding more and more pissed.

He earned a Look^TM from Alfred for that. “Master Dick, we all know that we weren’t aware or growing in between our … deaths and now. So, you are currently seventeen mentally and physically. Otherwise, young Master Damian here would be the oldest with a hundred and seventy-three years.”

“But-“

“I obviously am the oldest and therefore most mature one among us-“

Alfred lifted both of his hands in a calming gesture. “Please. No arguing. You know what I’m saying is the truth. For the sake of solving this mess, let’s not argue about that.”

Jason narrowed his eyes, as did Dick. He generally didn’t like adults telling him to shut it. But, he had to admit, Alfred had a point. Damian was still a nine-year-old despite his year of birth and Dick was obviously a teenager. And he also didn’t want to drag this out even more. Thus, he didn’t say anything.

Dick seemed to come to the same conclusion, pressing his lips together and looking unhappy. “Fine.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Then, talk. What did your two great adult-minds come up with?”

Wayne sighed again. “Thank you. Now.” Another clearing of his throat. “We all know our situation. Gotham is apparently a real … entity and liked what I did as Batman to the point of reviving me after my death. And because she thought I needed ‘more support in my life’” – he made quotation marks with his hands that conveyed his disagreement to that – “She also decided to revive you all as well, to be my … ‘family’.” Quotation marks again.

Jason scoffed quietly. “Well, she was right about your life being fucked up. You thought living alone in a giant mansion and going out in a bat costume at night fighting criminals was a good idea.”

Wayne gracefully ignored his comment, continuing. “We also know by now that she built in … certain measures to keep us from leaving this arrangement.” He grimaced and Jason did as well, his fingernails digging into his skin at the thought of his panic attack yesterday. It had been horrible. He really, really didn’t want a repeat.

“Alfred and I agree there is currently nothing we can do against that. We don’t understand Gotham’s powers or even what she is. At present, we have no way to counteract her actions.” Jason hated, absolutely hated that with every fiber of his being, but it was true. Fuck. “I will try to reach out to the contacts I mentioned yesterday, people that might know more about what we’re dealing with here. But,” and now Wayne looked like he bit into a lemon, “Even if we found a way to lift Gotham’s powers from us … shield us from her influence …”

Jason knew what he was going to say and he didn’t like it one bit. He didn’t want to hear it.

“We’re also only alive – or aware – right now due to her. If we went against her wishes, against what she intended, or if we cut off our connection to her – there’s a big possibility we’d just die again. Permanently.”

“Fuck,” Jason muttered and grit his teeth. Wayne was absolutely right but the truth hurt. It was fucked up. He wanted to continue to believe he wasn’t stuck here with these random people, that they could do something to lift Gotham’s curse. But, being realistic, taking away her magic or whatever would also take away what made them alive right now. They wouldn’t be prisoners anymore, but they’d also be dead again. And Jason didn’t want to be dead. He liked being aware, he liked that he could see the world move again, read more books, finish the ones he’d been reading before he died. He wasn’t suicidal. He wanted to live.

With a shudder, he recalled the moment of shock when they’d thought Damian had died again. He’d realized then that he really, really didn’t want this to be the end.

Fuck. Gotham really pulled all the strings here and they were powerless.

Alfred sighed, sounding more tired than ever. “As much as I don’t like your language, Ma- Jason, I’m afraid that I have to agree with you just this once.”

After they’d all let it sink in that they didn’t really have any other options but going along with what Gotham wanted, a somber mood settled over the room. The two kids huddled even further into their blankets as if they could just vanish into them and away from the situation. Jason really had to fight the urge to do the same, to gain at least a fraction of comfort from somewhere. But he was the older one. He had to appear strong. So, instead, he settled on pressing his nails deeper into his palms. (Though, no matter how much strength he used, it didn’t hurt or bleed. He could feel his nails where they met the skin of his hands but there was just- no pain. Another reminder that he was meant to be six foot under right now and only here due to Gotham’s whims. They were completely at her mercy.)

In a careful tone, Wayne and Alfred explained what they thought was their best option under the circumstances. Which was staying at Wayne Manor, living here, and going along with Gotham’s wishes to the degree that was necessary. All the while, they could try to make the best out of the situation and enjoy being alive (at least in a sense). Jason tried not to be angry at the adults as he knew it wasn’t their fault but he hated not having a choice. He hated that what they said actually seemed to be the best way to deal with this. He couldn’t think of anything else, at least. Fuck.

Wayne also assured them that they’d still research Gotham and her powers, even if they might never be able to use that knowledge. Which was at least something, if not much.

“You could treat it like a roommate situation,” Wayne was saying just now, sounding like he was trying to convince himself as well, “We may live together but we don’t have to be a ‘family’ like Gotham wants us to. No one can force you, us, to just forget our real families and replace them with strangers.”

Jason hadn’t had a ‘real family’ in a long time and he didn’t need one. He was just fine on his own. (He had died, a voice in his head whispered, he decidedly hadn’t been fine. He ignored it.)

“Oh,” Tim said, sounding oddly sad after Wayne’s statement. Like some of his hopes had just been dashed. The billionaire turned his head to him, surprised, and a few complicated expressions passed over his face before he settled on a slightly desperate one and looked at Alfred like he needed help.

After a moment, the butler cleared his throat. “What Master Bruce means, Master Tim, is that not everyone present may be comfortable with calling ourselves a ‘family’ in the traditional sense. However, that doesn’t mean we can’t be there for and support each other like family does, if that is what we want. I can say for myself that I’ll be glad to live with such a fine young man as you seem to be. I’d certainly be glad to have someone to drink tea or play some chess with, if you were amenable.”

Tim perked up like someone had just offered him the holy grail. His eyes practically sparkled as he rushed to say: “Yes, I- I’d really like that, Mr. Pennyworth!”

Alfred smiled genially. “Then I am glad. And please, call me Alfred, my boy.”

Tim nodded enthusiastically. “Thank you, Alfred!” His previous sadness seemed forgotten. Jason found it really fucked up that a child would be so damn happy just because someone had offered them basic human interaction but from what he knew about Tim, the kid hadn’t had much of that in his life. Really, if Jason ever met his parents, they’d better run fast because he’d love to teach them a lesson about childcare. Or several.

He was so lost in thought imagining punching two faceless adults that he missed the first half of Alfred’s next sentence. “-may all call me Alfred, if you’d like,” the butler was saying as Jason tuned in into reality again, “As I told Master Bruce before, I’d really like to continue my profession while living here. It would feel wrong to not be a butler in this house and care for its inhabitants. It … gives me peace, so to speak. Would you all be alright with that?” Oh. Jason hadn’t expected that. Though he understood the want of having some normalcy back in one’s life.

Dick was the first to reply, sounding hesitant. “I mean … if that’s what you really want. You really don’t have to work for us, we’re all equals here! But if it’s what you want, I have nothing against it.”

Alfred smiled. “I can assure you, Master Dick, that I do this of my own accord and because I like my profession. I know I don’t have to be a butler anymore, but I’d like to be, if you let me. Master Bruce,” he gestured to the billionaire next to him, “even insists on paying me a monthly wage and drawing up a contract about working hours and free days, though I told him that really wouldn’t be necessary in our current situation.”

Wayne grimaced. “If you insist on working here for us, I insist on that. It’s the least I can do. And I told you, you don’t have to do it at all-“

“-but I’d like to, Master Bruce, really. I thank you for your proposal and will accept it. We can work out the details later,” Alfred smoothly cut in, then looked at Wayne in that typical polite-judging way of his, “Believe me, after seeing the state the manor is in, I am very eager to start working.”

“… Hn.”

“Thank you.” Alfred nodded at Wayne like the man had used actual words instead of his weird grunting. “What about you, Master Damian? Master Tim? Jason? Would you be alright with it as well?”

Jason wasn’t completely comfortable with the thought of someone working for him, having a fucking butler, but if it really made the man happy … He nodded, though he quietly resolved that he’d offer to help Alfred whenever he could. He could do chores and cook, as well. He wouldn’t be like those rich fuckers that thought they were entitled to someone wiping their ass.

Tim also nodded and Damian said, after hesitating: “I … can agree to that. I can of course offer my services as a servant as well, though I fear I’m not accustomed to how things are done in this century.” He looked like he didn’t like the thought of being a servant again but didn’t think he had a choice.

Alfred opened his mouth but Wayne was faster. “Damian, you won’t be a servant here. You won’t be forced to work. You’re nine years old.” He sounded determined. “You’re supposed to be a child and you will be allowed to be one here. Actually, our current laws forbid child labor.”

Thank god they were all on the same page here. Jason would have taken the kids and run if Wayne had reacted any differently, Gotham’s curse be damned.

Damian blinked, seemingly taken aback. He looked at them incredulously. “It … it is? But then, how do children earn their living and support their families? And what- what am I expected to do here?” He sounded genuinely confused and unsure. Jesus, the 19^th century had been fucked up. (Sure, Jason and countless other kids in Crime Alley also had to work but at least they were the outlier in the US, not the standard. As far as he knew, anyway.)

Wayne’s face softened, as did his voice. “As I said, you can be a child, Damian. Play. Go to school. In this century, parents are expected to provide for their children, not the other way around.” He briefly looked to Jason. “It’s sadly not always the case, but we’re trying, however successful we may be in some cases.”

Jason huffed but didn’t say anything. After all, Wayne was one of the few who really did try. He donated generous amounts of his money to charity organizations and the Martha-Wayne-Foundation had often helped his mother and him in the past. Once she’d been dead, though, going there hadn’t been an option anymore as the workers were obligated to report homeless children. Stupid contradictory laws. They were supposed to help children but instead made it so they couldn’t get help. Great job.

Damian seemed even more confused. “Go to school? How would I even do that? People would surely notice that I do not grow after enough time has passed. And are you saying you will be paying for my education?”

Smart kid.

Wayne sighed. “That is a bit of a problem but we’ll work it out. There are options nowadays to visit school remotely … it’s called the ‘internet’ and it allows us to communicate with each other without being in the same room or even city or country. Like a …” he seemed to be searching for the right words, “erm, like an improved … telegraph? Your teachers won’t be able to see you if we don’t want it. And,” here he sounded surer again, “You’re all here because of me. Of course I will be covering your expenses. I certainly have enough money. It’s really the least I can do.”

Damian’s brow furrowed when Wayne tried to explain the internet and Alfred and Dick also seemed slightly confused. But at least the latter two knew what a telephone was. Damian didn’t even have that. Jason didn’t want to imagine what it was like to wake up 160 years in the future. How did you describe the internet to someone who was amazed by electric light?

“So you’d pay for us all to go to school?” Tim piped up and sounded relieved. Only then did Jason really register what Wayne had said in the second part of his speech. He’d pay for their expenses. He wouldn’t only let them live here for free, he’d actually spend money on them? Jason … Jason might be able to go to school again?

He held his breath as Wayne answered. “Of course,” the man repeated his earlier words, like it was nothing, “We’ll try our best to give you as much normalcy as possible. And education is important. You have a right to it.” He paused. “It won’t be easy to keep people from noticing us not aging in general, but we’ll figure it out. Alfred and I at least have more time until people will question it. Until then, we’ll have a plan.”

Jason’s mind was still hung up on the fact that he’d get to go to school again, just like that. Sure, remotely via online courses, but school was school. It seemed to good to be true. But Wayne seemed to be completely serious about paying for everything and yeah, he sure did have the money. Jason just hadn’t expected that that money would ever be spent … on him.

“Thank you,” Tim said and Jason could only nod along with it. Wayne smiled slightly, the expression unsure, like he didn’t do it often. “Of course,” he said a third time. He really seemed honest about it.

“So, we can’t leave the manor?” Dick suddenly asked, instantly ruining Jason’s improved mood, “Because people will notice us not aging? You want to keep us here while you can go out? Like prisoners?” It was a fucking good point and Jason narrowed his eyes at Wayne. Maybe it all was too good to be true.

Wayne’s eyes widened a bit. “No,” he rushed out, “No! Of course not! You’re not prisoners!”

“But we’re not allowed to leave the house?” Jason clarified in a distrustful tone. And to think he’d started to believe Wayne might not be so bad …

“No! I mean, yes, you are allowed to leave the house,” Wayne said, holding up his palms, “Of course you are! Just … we have to think about ways to do that without drawing too much attention in the long run. You understand that, right? Maybe with disguises. You’ll still be able to go where you want. And of course, there are the grounds around Wayne Manor, you can go there as much as you want without worrying.”

“… Right,” Jason said, eyes still narrowed but slightly mollified. Wayne had a good point and what he said sounded reasonable. (Maybe, he also wanted to believe Wayne was a good guy because the alternative wouldn’t be great and he’d be powerless to change it anyway. Maybe.)

Dick didn’t uncross his arms but slightly relaxed his shoulders. “Okay. Fine. So, we’ll be able to somehow go to school without actually going there and to leave the house but with disguises. Still. People will eventually notice you don’t live alone anymore. At least if you’re as famous as the Waynes in my time were.”

Wayne also relaxed at their acquiescence. He took a deep breath, gaze landing on his hands that were folded upon the table and staying there. “Yes. You’re right, eventually someone would notice. And it would lead to questions we can’t afford. We need to establish an explanation beforehand. Which is why-“ he hesitated, staring at his hands like he couldn’t believe himself what his next words were going to be, “… I’d like to offer you to adopt you. All of you.”

Silence. Jason stared at Wayne like the man had grown a second head. He’d expected many things, but not that. What?

Wayne cleared his throat awkwardly when no one said anything and quickly went on. “It would be your decision, of course. We can spin some backstories for you and I can bribe the right people for the paperwork. Then I’ll play the part of a bored billionaire who decided on a whim to do some good by taking orphans in. The press will suck it up and no one will question your presence here afterwards. And if I decide that I want to keep my-“ he broke off, then started up again, “erm, my … kids away from the spotlight and the press so they can have a normal childhood, well, the public wouldn’t be pleased but wouldn’t question it either. It would also make sense that I hire someone for the household after taking in four kids, thus explaining Alfred’s presence as well.”

Jason, Dick, Tim and Damian were still staring at Wayne, all with various expressions of surprise and disbelief. Bruce fucking Wayne had just offered to adopt Jason. Like, legally. Publicly. On paper and everything. He’d known them for less than twenty-four hours and just. Like. What.

Alfred spoke up from beside Wayne in a calm voice. “I discussed this possibility with Master Bruce earlier. We agreed it was the best option, the most believable story, but of course it is ultimately your choice. We can find another solution if anyone doesn’t want to. Please do not feel pressured to say yes.”

“I- yes!” Someone squeaked next to Jason and he flinched, head whipping around to Tim who’d jumped to his feet and had a huge smile on his face, blanket hanging askew from one of his shoulders. Then, suddenly, the kid seemed to realize his outburst and how everyone was staring at him and he shrunk back, clearing his throat and righting himself. His smile vanished, replaced by an eerily blank expression, while he primly tucked the blanket straight again. “I mean. I’d be delighted, Mr. Wayne. Thank you. So much.” He cleared his throat again and sat back down, avoiding everyone’s gazes. He probably would’ve been bright red if they still had blood circulation.

Jason took pity on him. To hell with it. Getting adopted by a billionaire? Why not. It would make Jason safer if him living with Wayne was public record, at the very least. And he’d never been fond of his father’s name, anyway. “Sure. Me too,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant, “It’s a good cover story.”

Wayne stared at him and Tim with wide eyes, seeming slightly shocked, like he hadn’t expected them to agree this fast to his insane plan. Which, fair. Jason hadn’t expected it either. It was insane. But he wouldn’t back down now. What was one more insanity in the clusterfuck that was his current situation?

“I- I’m glad.” Wayne cleared his throat again. “You can still change your opinion, of course. And please, all of you, call me Bruce. You-“

He was interrupted. “You would truly adopt us? Me?” It was Damian. The kid sounded uncharacteristically shaken, very different from his usual attempts at seeming confident. “You- but I told you, I am a bastard child. I am not a full Wayne. I do not-“

And Jason instantly hated the people in the past even more. Damian had been Solomon Wayne’s son but everyone had treated him like dirt because his parents hadn’t been married. And probably because of his skin color, too. To the point the kid would lose his cool not when he discovered he’d died and was stuck with strangers almost two hundred years in the future but when someone offered to legally accept him as their child. Fucking assholes, all of them.

“Damian,” Wayne – or Bruce now, Jason guessed – interrupted the nine-year-old carefully, obviously trying to find the right words and afraid of saying something wrong, “I don’t care about the marital status of your parents. No one here does. Actually, many couples with children aren’t married nowadays. It’s completely normal. And the term ‘bastard’ isn’t used like that anymore. So, yes, if you want it, I’ll adopt you. Gladly. You seem like a great child.”

Damian still didn’t seem able to believe him. His eyes were wide open and suspiciously shiny. (Great to know they could still cry.) “I- I could have the Wayne name?” he breathed like all his dreams had just come true and he was afraid to wake up.

Way- Bruce nodded slowly. “I mean. If you want to. You could also keep your current last name or hyphenate it, make it ‘al Ghul-Wayne’ …” He trailed off when Damian actually sniffled and quickly tried to wipe tears away from his eyes like he was ashamed to cry. The kid was nine.

“Damian …” the billionaire tried hesitantly, throwing a panicking glance at Alfred, “I-“

“I’m sorry,” Damian pressed out in between little sobs, “I’m- I’m usually better than this. I- I promise I will bring honor to the Wayne family name.”

“You don’t have to-“

“I will make- make sure you don’t regret your decision.”

“Really, it doesn’t-“

Alfred, like the angel he was, swept in again. “Master Damian, believe me when I say Master Bruce would be overjoyed to adopt you and very proud if you wanted to take his last name.” Bruce nodded quickly and tried for a reassuring smile (it only barely hid his panic at having to interact with a crying child but Damian didn’t seem to notice). “Now, I believe I saw some cocoa in one of the shelves earlier. How about I make you a hot chocolate? It works wonders on frayed nerves. You can watch, if you want, these modern stoves are truly a marvel.”

Damian looked up at the butler, eyes tear-stained but obviously glad for a chance to escape from the table. “I- yes. That would be … acceptable. I will gladly assist you in making hot chocolate.” He quickly got up and stumbled a bit but was luckily steadied by Dick.

Alfred smiled and stood up as well, rounding the table and holding out a hand to him. “Very well. I’ll be glad to have such accomplished help.” And they were off, Alfred walking the child to the stove and opening one of the kitchen cabinets. The butler was a godsend, honestly. Jason couldn’t repeat it enough.

There was a short pause at the table as everyone watched the child and butler rummage around in the kitchen. To be honest, at this point Jason hadn't even expected Damian to know what hot chocolate was. It seemed they’d had one good thing in the Victorian era, at least.

It was Dick who finally broke their silence. "Well, it seems I'm outvoted here," he said with what was almost a bitter laugh, obviously referring to Tim’s, Jason’s and Damian’s agreement to the adoption offer. And honestly, it didn’t surprise Jason that he wasn’t happy (or at least neutral) about the idea of getting adopted. Unlike the rest of them he’d actually had two great parents who gave a shit about him, from what he’d told them.

Bruce winced. "Dick," he started, but the teenager didn't let him finish.

"No, it's alright, Bruce," Dick interrupted him, emphasizing his use of the man's first name, "Sure. You can adopt me as well, I can see it's the most sensible decision here and let's face it: You adopt three kids but not the fourth one you decide to take in? That would seem suspicious and I get we need to lay low."

He held up his hand when Bruce tried again to say something, probably along the lines of 'you don't have to agree, we can find another solution'.

"Just know that I already had a family and parents and even though they've died a long time ago no one will ever be able to replace them. This is a cover story, nothing else. And," he paused, a determined look on his face, "I have a condition."

Wow, why hadn't Jason thought of that earlier? Was it too late to add his own conditions as well?

Bruce frowned. "And that is?"

Dick met Bruce's gaze like he dared him to defy his demand, the determined look still in his eyes. "You're going to continue acting as this 'Batman', right?"

Jason could see that Bruce was instantly on guard at the mention of the topic. A carefully blank expression settled on his face. "I do. I won't stop helping people just to spite Gotham. Why?"

Dick took a deep breath. "I want to join you. Go out there and fight crime as well."

Silence. Then-

"Absolutely not." Bruce's answer was delivered in a final tone, like this was all he'd say about it. If he was surprised about Dick’s wish, he hid it well under the stony expression on his face. Jason definitely was, though. Because ... this possibility hadn’t even occurred to him. Until now, he’d mostly thought about the stipulations that came with his new situation, not the … opportunities. Because Jason knew Batman’s identity, knew the man himself, now. And he was undead. That ... certainly were advantages when thinking about becoming a vigilante.

Dick seemed to think the same thing. "Oh, and why not?" he wanted to know in a defiant tone, "Are you afraid I could die?” Another short, mirthless laugh. “Too late for that, I'm afraid. But I'll be damned if I let guys like Zucco hurt any more people when I could prevent it."

"I- Dick, you're seventeen, and you could still get injured-"

The teenager huffed. "Yeah, but we don't feel pain, if you haven't noticed that by now. I think I broke my ankle last night while crawling out of my grave and it felt kinda wrong but didn't hurt. I was able to walk on it without problems. And now the injury is gone, no traces left."

What- really? Jason immediately looked down at his fingers which had been a wreck before and, sure enough, they looked completely normal now. No sign of scratches or missing fingernails. The nails weren’t even chipped anymore. Huh.

He'd honestly forgotten about the state of his hands after getting up due to the lack of pain. Seemed sleeping was good for something, after all. Maybe that was the reason they still could sleep? To heal? If so, that was incredibly convenient.

Bruce seemed stumped for a moment, blinking at Dick. Well, he hadn't had to dig himself out of the earth, he'd just come to in his Bat-Medbay. Assuming all their previous injuries had already been healed before their revival (Jason at least didn't look like what a frozen corpse should), Bruce wouldn't have had any new injuries. So he wouldn't have noticed.

After a moment, Bruce seemed to find his voice again. “But-"

Dick narrowed his eyes further, quickly interrupting the man. "And don't think you can stop me. I'll go out with or without you. Sure, being trained and having equipment would be nice but I don't really need it."

"Dick-"

"I thought we weren't prisoners and could go out in disguises? I’d say a mask is a disguise.”

“You know that’s not what I meant-“

“Well, I don’t care what you meant!” Dick bit out, glaring at Bruce. He stood up, chair scooting back with a screech. “I’ll go out and I don’t need your permission for it. The only question is: Will you support me or not? That’s final.”

Bruce was silent for a moment as he looked up at the teenager with a grim expression. His brows were pinched and his jaw tensed; his blue eyes unreadable. Jason followed the argument with interest, internally congratulating Dick in talking Batman in a corner. They weren’t babies and they sure as hell didn’t need Bruce Wayne ‘protecting’ them by ordering them around, pretending to care out of some weird sense of obligation.

If he was honest … helping and saving people sounded like a great idea. It would mean something. It would mean Jason’s existence wasn’t pointless. That his death hadn’t been pointless. If he could use his new ‘undead’-status to do good, it wouldn’t all have been for naught. If Jason could stop other homeless kids from getting banged up and freezing on the streets, his situation at least had a positive side. Even if it was too late for him, it wasn’t for all the others still breathing out there.

Determination flooded him. Jason could help. So he would.

Bruce eventually let out a frustrated sigh and pinched his nose, glaring at the floor for a moment before looking up at Dick again. “Fine,” he growled, not sounding happy in the slightest, “Fine. I know I’m not your parent and I do not want to keep you prisoner.” He emphasized the second part. “But. I have a few conditions as well and you will follow them.”

Dick huffed but looked pleased that Bruce had finally conceded. Slowly, his shoulders untensed a bit – not all the way, though – and he sat back down on his chair. “Which would be?” he asked in a wary tone.

Bruce stared him down. “One: We will patrol together. At least in the beginning,” he stated in his deep voice, “Two: If I give you orders in the field, you follow them. Without questioning. And three: You will train with me for at least a year before you go out.” When Dick made a protesting sound at the third point, Bruce held up a hand. “That is non-negotiable. I trained as well before I made my debut as Batman, and for several years. Just because we don’t feel pain and seem to heal fast doesn’t mean we can get reckless and endanger ourselves. We don’t know anything about our new capabilities. For all we know, a gunshot might still kill us. You need training.” Dick opened his mouth. Bruce was faster. “It will also help you to fight and take down criminals more efficiently. You need to learn how to incapacitate without leaving permanent damage and how to shield civilians from danger. You don’t want to accidentally hurt someone innocent, do you? Or fail to save someone because you were too slow in taking down a mugger?”

Dick closed his mouth again. He had a conflicted expression on his face. “… I guess,” he finally murmured, sounding unhappy. After a moment of silent contemplation, he looked up at Bruce’s face again, determination shining once more through his eyes. “Okay. Deal. I train with you for a year and then you give me the resources to go out there and stop criminals. I’ll be Batman’s partner or whatnot.”

“Hn,” Bruce grunted and it sounded vaguely agreeing despite him still looking dissatisfied with the arrangement. Dick seemed to take it that way, as he nodded and a sharp smile appeared on his face. “Great! That’s decided, then. Rad.”

Jason tried to not get distracted by Dick’s use of seventies’ slang and used the moment to speak up. “I want to go out there too! Help people and stuff,” he said and looked at Bruce determinedly. The man’s head whipped around to him, his eyes wide.

“Jason-“ he started, but Jason wasn’t having any of it.

“Nope,” he said, cutting Batman of, “I will. If Dick can do it, so can I. I’m undead, too. And I want to help. Make a difference. Save lives.”

“Me too!” an excited cry suddenly rang out from Jason’s left. Tim had a huge smile on his face and looked like Christmas had come early, practically vibrating in his seat. “I want to be Batman’s vigilante partner too!”

Bruce looked at him, face now an almost funny mix of being surprised, shocked and overwhelmed. “Tim. Jason. You don’t know what you’re saying. This is dangerous. You’ll see horrible things, fight with criminals. You’re still children.”

Jason scoffed, crossing his arms. “I’ve seen plenty horrible things in the Alley without ever being a vigilante. And believe me, I’d have given much for someone saving me, then. Helping me. And then I died.”

“And I died too!” Tim piped in, still sounding determined, “And this is Gotham! We’re used to bad things. Someone needs to stop them.”

Bruce pinched his nose again, looking very out of his depth. “Still. That you died doesn’t change your age. You’re too young to go out there.” Jason opened his mouth to protest but Bruce held up a hand, silencing him. “But. I can’t believe I’m saying this,” that last part was murmured, almost too quiet to hear, before he continued louder, “I can see that you’re both very determined. So.” He paused, looking at the table. “Hn.” Another pause. Then, finally, he got the words out. “I agree to train you. And when you’re at least mentally sixteen, you can join Batman out in the city – if you still want to by then. Not a moment sooner.” He crossed his arms as well, looking at Tim and Jason seriously. “That is my only offer.”

Jason didn’t like being forced to wait so long but he knew that sneaking out without equipment and training wouldn’t help people as much. On the other hand, being trained by fucking Batman to be a vigilante? With his own cool suit and everything? It wasn’t an offer he realistically could decline. It was Batman. Jason might not hero-worship the guy as Tim did but still. Batman.

“Okay,” he thus said, leaning back in his chair and nodding at Bruce, “You train me and in three years I get to go out with you and Dickhead over there.” Dick sputtered indignantly at the nickname which made Jason smirk. “Deal?”

Bruce grunted.

“Great!” Jason said brightly and relaxed. “Glad we could sort this out. Nice talk and all!”

“Hn.”

Beside Jason, Tim nodded as well. “I accept your offer, too,” he said in a carefully polite tone but his big grin betrayed his excitement. As did the words “That is so cool!” that he whispered under his breath after that. Jason’s lips twitched. That kid was sure something.

Bruce’s next ‘I-am-unable-to-communicate-properly-and-express-my-emotions-so-I-grunt-instead’ sound was interrupted by the clearing of a throat behind the man. Everyone’s eyes immediately settled on the two people standing there. Wow, Jason had almost forgotten about Alfred and Damian. The former was standing there with a judging expression, one eyebrow lifted and his arms crossed. There was no doubt he’d heard the whole conversation considering the stove wasn’t that far off from the table. He seemed far from pleased.

Alfred wasn’t the one who’d cleared his throat, though. No, that had apparently been tiny Damian, who stood next to the butler, his arms held behind his back. The kid lifted his chin when everyone looked at him.

“I shall endeavor to be a partner of Batman as well, to help the people of Gotham and honor the Wayne family name.” He nodded at Bruce before the man could say anything. “I accept your offer of training until I am of an age to fight by your side.” He looked like a miniature adult while speaking, his stance straight and what the people in Jason’s novels would call ‘proper’, though the oversized t-shirt ruined the impression a bit.

Bruce looked he was about to have an aneurysm. Good thing that they couldn’t die a second time. He stared at the nine-year-old incredulously. “I- Damian … you’re-“

“Tt. Do not say I am too young. Timothy is only two years my elder and I have clearly more experience in doing hard work than him.”

Bruce pinched his nose again (he was lucky bruises probably weren’t a concern anymore, either) while Tim silently said “Hey!” in an indignant tone, though the boy was ignored by the rest of the room. Finally, Bruce grunted once more, sounding weary and like he wanted nothing more than to escape this discussion. Hard luck.

Damian nodded, looking satisfied with the non-verbal answer. “Thank you. I shall not disappoint you or the family name. I look forward to training.”

“Hn.”

There was a short silence, Jason looking around the room and digesting the fact that he’d train under Batman and be a vigilante (even though he’d share the honors with two elementary schoolers and a teenager who still used the word ‘rad’). However, a polite cough from besides Damian quickly got everyone’s attention.

Alfred still had the judging expression on his face. He was looking at Bruce critically. “Well. It seems the children have decided,” he said, emphasizing the words ‘the children’. “I doubt I’d be able to change your minds, either, though I advise you not to follow Master Bruce’s example of being a vigilante.” He was right, he couldn’t change Jason’s mind. Dick, Tim and Damian didn’t waver in their determined expressions either.

The butler sighed, briefly closing his eyes. “As it is, I see that I will have to join this endeavor as well, if only to look after you. I won’t go out in the field, those days are behind me. But I’ll assist back in that ‘Batcave’ and ensure the wellbeing of the children who stay behind when ‘Batman’ is out and about.”

Bruce looked slightly relieved underneath his stony expression. “Hn-“

“And please use your words, Master Bruce. I’m sure you’re capable of it.”

Jason snorted. God, Alfred was awesome. (And from the smell now slowly permeating the room, he made great hot chocolate as well.)

The next night found Jason lying in bed in his new room in the so-called ‘family wing’ of Wayne Manor (because of course the huge building had different ‘wings’, what the fuck). He tiredly buried himself deeper in the blankets and soft pillow that smelled of lavender (apparently Batman used scented laundry detergent, who knew). Jason sighed when the new position failed to calm his thoughts, opening his eyes and blinking sluggishly at the part of the room that was visible from where he was lying.

The floor, wall and fancy furniture were all barely discernible in the faint light the waxing moon provided, shining through the gap Jason had left in the velvet curtains next to the bed. He hadn’t wanted to fully close them, feeling too trapped otherwise. He liked being able to see the outside.

His gaze glided over a dark wooden dresser with golden applications that was apparently his now and the door next to it, leading to his own fucking bathroom as he’d found out. He could also see the door in the adjacent wall which led to the hallway and the others’ rooms (with the exception of Alfred’s who’d insisted on staying in the servants’ quarters as he was accustomed to). As he knew, there was also a third door in the wall at his back, the entrance to a walk-in closet. He’d always thought that shit only existed in movies, because who needed something like that? Apparently, rich people.

Next to the closet were also two shelves. They’d contained what Bruce had called ‘standard guest room stuff’ – a few books, classics, which was great, and several revolting decorative pieces Jason had removed as soon as possible and stuffed in the desk drawer. Because of course rich guests also seemed to need a desk along with a fancy wooden chair, probably to fill out cheques or write down important contracts or whatever. The desk was situated next to the exit and only visible to Jason out of the corner of his eye. There’d also been an ugly painting of something resembling a vase but he’d taken it down as well.

Jason sighed again. His limbs felt heavy and he was tired but sleep didn’t come easy this time. The last hours had been busy and so much had happened in the span of two days that his mind was still unable to fully comprehend it all.

Jason had died and been revived by Gotham, then found himself in Wayne Manor with four strangers and Bruce Wayne who was Batman. He couldn’t leave, not fully, so he’d live here for the foreseeable future. Bruce Wayne had offered to adopt him and the other undead kids. And, oh, Jason would also be trained by (undead) Batman to be a vigilante and save people at night. During all this, he’d also had his first hot shower in ages, found out he healed inhumanly fast when sleeping and eaten pasta cooked by an undead butler who was insisting on working for them.

Jason groaned quietly and turned on his back, looking up at the shadowed ceiling.

He’d also had a heavenly hot chocolate after the discussion about Bruce training them all. Alfred was apparently competent enough to not only use a (from his point of view) futuristic stove after only one explanation by Bruce, but also to not let the milk burn while listening in to a tense conversation about children wanting to take up vigilantism. The butler’s many abilities were honestly a bit scary and Jason could imagine him really well as a British spy in World War Two, gathering information and using it to destroy his enemies, one eyebrow lifted judgmentally while watching his adversaries go down. Yup. Scary. Thank fuck Alfred was on their side.

When everyone had had finished their hot chocolate, Bruce had finally stopped the silent sulking he’d taken up after losing an argument to children and being reprimanded by Alfred. (They’d started to discuss their living arrangements again which seemed to be a topic he preferred over training undead minors as vigilantes.) The billionaire had offered them rooms of their own choosing in the family wing which they’d try to clean and make ready for use as soon as possible. He’d also conceded remarkably fast to Alfred’s reminder that the two of them hadn’t slept yet and that it would be foolish to start any new tasks without at least some rest – which had probably been testament to how exhausted he’d been by then.

Thus, Alfred and Bruce had taken their turn in sleeping in the living room while Jason, Dick, Tim and Damian remained around the kitchen table (after reassuring the adults that no, they wouldn’t cause havoc and were capable of being for themselves for a few hours, they weren’t fucking babies, and yes, Dick and Jason could look after Damian and Tim, again, they were not babies).

They’d chosen to use the chance to explore the manor, map out their new ‘home’ (at least for the time being). Jason was normally more of a loner but he didn’t protest much against the notion that they’d walk around together. The ostentatious building was slightly intimidating and the late hour didn’t help with that, though of course he’d never admit that out loud.

So, the four of them had climbed the stairs to the second floor and proceeded to snoop around. Damian especially had been slightly overwhelmed by all the changes in comparison to his time but Jason and Dick hadn’t done much better at seeing all the grandeur. Who the fuck needed so many guest rooms? And bathrooms? And expensive paintings and vases?

(Jason’s new room alone was the size of his and his mom’s whole apartment in Crime Alley before she’d died. He sighed and turned around in bed again, trying not to think about his mother too much. Longing for something he’d never have again hadn’t helped during his stint on the streets and it wouldn’t help now.)

Tim had seemed less impressed by it all, which made sense considering he’d grown up in a similar environment, but his excitement and awe at being in Batman’s house had made up for it. The kid must really have been a big fan of the vigilante before he’d died. Jason had clenched his teeth at that thought. Of all of them, Tim had had the most preventable death. If his parents hadn’t been absent, neglectful assholes he’d still be alive and growing up. He’d imagined a laughing Tim at high school, gushing about Batman to his friends. Something that would never happen now. All because two rich people couldn’t have been bothered to hire a nanny for their only son while they travelled the world, leaving him behind.

Life was fucking cruel, but that, Jason had reminded himself grimly, was something they’d all experienced, or they wouldn’t be here. So he’d shoved his thoughts down and tried to concentrate on the present.

By the time Bruce and Alfred had woken and trudged up the stairs to find them, the sun had been rising again. They’d already explored a good part of the manor and each decided on a room in what Damian had confirmed was the family wing, at least in his time. The kid’s eyes had been shiny at the realization he was actually allowed to live there and not in the servants’ quarters.

Jason had chosen the room closest to the stairs and Dick must have had the same idea as the other had opted for the room directly across from Jason’s. Damian had quickly claimed the room next to Dick’s and that had left Tim to pick the one besides Jason’s. There were still a few empty rooms down the hall, separating them from Bruce’s room (or what Damian called the ‘Master Bedroom’) which suited Jason just fine.

The rest of the day had been spent cleaning and dusting and doing laundry with Alfred who’d quickly adapted to using the modern-day washing machine and tumble dryer. Around noon he’d made them a lunch of grilled cheese sandwiches and the leftovers had served as dinner. Bruce had also retrieved a laptop at one point and ordered a load of groceries to be delivered to the manor the next day. He’d also promised that he’d order clothes with each of them once they were finished with the rooms. (Alfred and Dick had been fascinated by the computer and Jason was glad they’d decided not to show it to Damian yet, as the former two already knew what a TV was and were still transfixed by the screen and the concept of ordering something without a telephone. Damian would have been overwhelmed for sure.)

They’d only started to get tired into the early hours of the evening, even the younger children, so Bruce had theorized that they didn’t need as much sleep as, well, alive people. If so, that was as convenient as the healing, at least in Jason’s opinion. It would make being a vigilante much easier, that was for sure.

They’d finished the broad cleaning and airing out of the rooms around that time, so Alfred had decided everything else could wait until the next day and that they should go to bed now. Jason hadn’t protested because he’d craved some time away from the others after the busy day. He wasn’t used to interacting constantly with so many people. He’d needed time to think.

But that had been hours ago.

Now, Jason was lying awake in this huge bed – king sized, of course, what else – and couldn’t sleep. It was weird being in such a big room all by himself, surrounded by furniture that probably cost more money than a whole Crime Alley apartment building. He also wasn’t used to the quiet – in the Alley, there was always noise, be it arguing couples through the walls, criminals beating someone up, shots in the distance, drunks stumbling around back streets or rats and other vermin scattering about.

Here, in Bristol, there was none of that. The only sound Jason could hear was the wind brushing through the trees and shrubbery outside and the occasional calls of a bird, probably an owl. It was eerie.

He caught himself wishing to be back in the living room, lying next to the crackling fireplace and surrounded by the others, then promptly shook his head to dispel that thought. Ugh. Was he really that desperate for company? Or was it Gotham fucking with his head again? He couldn’t tell and he hated it.

Angrily, Jason turned one more time, now facing the dresser again. Maybe he should just get up and finally start perusing the (fucking awesome) library they’d discovered while exploring. Yep, that sounded good. He’d-

Jason’s thoughts were interrupted when the door to his room suddenly started to open. Instinctively, he bolted upright, right hand diving under his pillow to retrieve the knife he’d swiped from the kitchen earlier. With narrowed eyes and every muscle in his body tensed he watched as the door slowly swung inwards, revealing-

… Tim?

Jason blinked, hand with the knife sinking down. Yes, it was definitely Tim. The kid was peeking into his room with huge eyes, the oversized t-shirt hanging off his shoulders and the moonlight making him seem even paler than usual. He looked tiny and wary and slightly scared, especially when he saw that Jason was sitting upright in his bed. The startled sound he made upon seeing him would probably have melted even a stone heart. It certainly melted Jason’s.

Hastily, Jason shoved the knife under his pillow again and tried to look less tense. He didn’t know why Tim was here but he didn’t want to intimidate him further. “Kid,” he quietly said, his voice nevertheless seeming to ring through the silence. Tim flinched but at least didn’t bolt. “You alright?”

Tim’s eyes seemed to get even bigger, shimmering in the light. “I- I’m so sorry,” he finally stammered after a second of silence, still gripping the door knob with one hand, “I didn’t mean to- to disturb you, I just- I couldn’t sleep and- really, I’m sorry, I’ll go, I don’t know what I was thinking-“ He made to go backwards, starting to close the door as he went.

And Jason- well, Jason had a soft spot for small, scared children, he wasn’t a monster. Tim looked so vulnerable that it activated every protective instinct in his body. So, without even thinking, he called out: “Wait!”

Tim froze, staring at him like a deer in the headlights.

Jason cleared his throat. “I, erm, I can’t sleep as well. This room’s too fucking big for one person, really. ‘s too quiet. So …” he cleared his throat again, patting the mattress beside him, “Do you maybe want to-“

“Yes!” Tim interrupted him, sounding slightly desperate, and quickly darted over to Jason’s bed, climbing onto it. Before Jason could react in any way, the kid had crawled under the covers and snuggled against his side, hugging him with his too-thin arms. Jason blinked down at him, speechless.

“Thank you so much, Jason! You’re the best,” Tim murmured where his head was now pressed against Jason’s upper body.

That … had just happened.

Jason took a deep breath. He wasn’t used to sleeping next to someone or … or cuddle with them, but as he said, he wasn’t a monster. Tim was so desperate for human contact that he came into his room at night despite only knowing him for like two days. An it was obvious he was scared of rejection. His shitty parents had never been there for him. Jason wouldn’t contribute to that.

“Sure, Timmers,” he thus whispered and gave into the instinct of ruffling the boy’s hair, “Anytime.”

And maybe, maybe it was even slightly nice to not be alone anymore, okay? Maybe Tim’s presence would help him fall asleep, as well. Maybe. Though Jason wouldn’t admit it out loud.

He resisted the urge to sigh – he didn’t want to scare Tim away – and laid fully down once more, careful to not jostle Tim too much. The kid made a content sound and continued to snuggle against him like he was a lifeline. Jason closed his eyes and-

The door creaked again.

Jason’s eyes flew open and he lifted his head to look as his torso was still held hostage by Tim. The kid tensed and hugged him even tighter. A small figure was standing in the doorway, glancing into the room. Jason couldn’t see much but judging by the size it could only be-

“Damian?” If his voice sounded slightly incredulous, sue him. This was the second child in just as many minutes entering his room in the middle of the night. Did he have a sign on his door or something?

“Jason,” Damian’s voice replied, quiet but obviously trying to sound put together, “I am sorry for disturbing you. I heard steps in the hall and decided to investigate. When I saw that Timothy’s door was open and his room empty, I thought it prudent to check if he was here, to make sure he is not in danger.”

Uh-huh. Jason didn’t miss the way the nine-year-old glanced longingly at his bed where Tim was cuddling with him, now relaxed again.

“Sure,” he said, and, before he could change his mind, added, “If Timmers here doesn’t mind, why don’t you join us? This bed’s ridiculously huge anyway, way too big for one or even two people.”

“I don’ mind,” Tim mumbled at Jason’s side.

There was a moment of silence, Damian standing in the open door and looking at them. Then-

“Tt. If you insist.” And the kid quietly closed the door, entering the room and – at a much slower and more dignified pace than Tim earlier – climbed onto Jason’s bed and settled into it next to Tim. Jason waited but Damian didn’t say any more, just closed his eyes and surreptitiously inched closer.

Okay. Sure. Why not. Now Jason had two kids in his bed-

The door opened again.

“Seriously?!” Jason hissed and looked up again, narrowing his eyes at the new intruder, who, judging by his shape, was Dick. Bruce and Alfred were both taller than that.

“Sorry,” Dick whispered, drawing in a surprised breath when he saw the two children snuggled up to Jason’s side. “I just heard voices and-“

Jason rolled his eyes. This was getting ridiculous and he was starting to feel the exhaustion of the day again. “As I apparently have a sign on the door that says ‘free hugs’, feel free to join in too, Dickface. It seems nobody of us can sleep so we can at least be miserable together.”

“I- really?” The teenager sounded surprised but not opposed, “I really didn’t want to intrude, I just wanted to see what all the whispering was about-“

Jason groaned, exasperated, pressing his head into his pillow and closing his eyes. “Just. Come into the bed or go, Dickhead. I’m tired.”

Damian huffed as well from where he was pressed against a happy looking Tim now. “We all are. Come or go, Richard, but do not disturb us any longer.”

After a moment of hesitation, there was the click of the door closing, and then Jason could hear steps towards the bed. It dipped down when Dick climbed in next to Damian, drawing the (thankfully oversized) blanket over himself as well. He cleared his throat slightly. “Then I guess we can be miserable together. Thanks. This manor is just … so big. And quiet. It’s eerie. I’m used to sleeping in a crowded group home. This is … different.” There was a bit more shuffling before Dick seemed to have found a comfortable position.

Jason made an agreeing sound. “I get it, Dickface. I normally fell asleep to shouting and gunshots and rats looking through trash, so this is just weird.”

“Yeah.”

They didn’t say any more, both settling down. Jason breathed in the smell of the clean sheets and Tim’s shampoo (the same one he’d used earlier) and felt his eyelids getting heavier. Tim’s arms where still around his middle, and while they were not warm like a living being’s would be, they didn’t feel cold either as Jason was dead as well. As he’d observed earlier, it was almost … nice. To not be alone. Somehow, the presence of the three others didn’t have him on edge but calmed him. Made him feel less out of place in this big, rich house.

Jason’s eyes slowly slipped closed while his thoughts wandered. Maybe … maybe this second chance at life wouldn’t be so bad.

Maybe it would all be alright.