Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“What do you mean you're sending Damian here?!” Jason yells, flipping is Nokia to his other shoulder in frustration.
“It is no longer safe in the league; my father is not…himself at the moment.”
“Oh please, you never cared about that before! Talia—it's–it's not any safer here. The clown—”
“Will be the least of Damian’s worries,” Talia sighs, “I'll take care of the clown—just–promise me that you will look after your brother when he arrives, please, Jason.”

“...Alright,” A hand comes up to harshly scrub across Jason’s face, “Alright, fine–just–make sure the clown is dead and unrevivable before you let Damian anywhere near Bruce.”
“Jason—” Talia warns, anger tinting her voice.
“I'm not saying don't bring him to Gotham, I'm saying don't bring him to Bruce until the clown is dead. He can stay with me if you need someone to watch him while you handle it, but I don't trust that Bruce will be able to protect Damian. From the clown…or from himself.”

“What do you mean Jason.” Voice taut and brokering no argument.
A soft exhales pours from Jason’s nostrils, biting his cheek as he thinks for a moment, “...Bruce was great, he was a great father when he was around, but, Batman…Batman has a hard time differentiating what's best for his kids. We'll always be robin first and sons second to him.

It happened with Dick, it happened with me, it happened with that–uh–the–uh purple? one, hell if Damian's coming over, it'll happen to the replacement. Damian is so much like Bruce, and if there's one thing Bruce can't stand, it's someone who's Bruce instead of Batman. I couldn't tell you why; you'd have to talk to Harley to get any answers to that loaded question, but I don't want Bruce to fuck something up with Damian when the clown's around. Damian will try and prove himself to Bruce and the clown will use that to deal another blow to Batman.”

Silence echos on both sides of the phone line after Jason’s rant, only broken by their soft breathing and the hum of Gotham night life.

“I'm—I'm taking care of Zasz still. He'll be a bitch to deal with, but he’s the second biggest threat to robin. He'll be dead by the end of the week, just,...don't let Damian near Bruce until the clown is dead.”
Still silent, Talia takes a second to answer, voice carefully neutral, “And how will you watch Damian and take down Zasz? Do you plan on taking a robin of your own?”

Green blinds Jason’s vision, blood fills his mouth as his teeth pierce the flesh of his cheek, “No.”

“What then?”
“Anytime that I am can't watch Damian, I'll leave him with a close friend of mine. He's used to dealing with assassins, and he's got a kid of his own. I'll have to tell him I'm back in town, but, He's the only person I can trust right now that won't immediately turn him into Bruce.”

The other line goes quiet and Jason can imagine the way Talia’s mouth twists downwards as her green eyes harden like emeralds, glinting dangerously, “Leaving my son with a stranger–”
“He's not really a stranger, you've probably got a file on him somewhere, he was married to Cheshire for a little bit.” Jason interrupted.

“That does not put me at ease, Jason. Cheshire was loyal only to wealth and any associate of hers does not inspire my trust.”
“You’re not being fair–”
“Life isn't fair." Talia cut in with a steely tine, "This is the life of my son we are talking about, and I refuse to compromise his safety to give a stranger that was married to a traitor a chance at redemption. I will do what I believe is best for my son, whether you agree with it or not.”

“And I'll do what's best for my brother, whether you like it or not. You don’t have to trust Red, you just have to trust me. …Please, ʾUmmii, trust me.” Jason pleaded.
“...If he messes up even once, I will hold you responsible, Jason. I want you to monitor every moment that you leave Damian in that man's care and I want you to send me the live video feeds of the house. I will speak to him before I drop Damian off and you will be living with him rather than at your safe house.”

“But—!”
“yaSmutu, ash-shaqiyi, I am talking. Those are my conditions, you will either agree or I will send Damian to his father regardless of your wishes.”

Jason winces slightly, he doesn't think he's heard Talia call him a brat in any tone other than gentle or exasperated since he was fresh out of the pit, and even then, it had mainly been agitation. This was fury, cold, and burning. For once, Jason will follow the command given and be silent until Talia is done.

“After the clown is killed, you must take Damian to his father. I have kept him from Bruce for too long, and both parties are bound to be irate at my decision to do so. I do not care if you return to your father’s home, that is between you and my beloved, but do not use Damian as a pawn in your revenge against Bruce.”

Jason is kind of hurt that Talia thinks Jason would use Damian to get to Bruce, but he understands the concern, so he swallows down the instinctive defensiveness that billowed in his chest until it was nothing but a half-light ember, “Okay. I agree with your conditions, ʾum. Let me know when you're coming over and where we're meeting so that I have time to get everything ready.”

“Good. I'll send you the information later. Be good, yā aziyziyyun. ishtaqtu lak, shǎ guā, ʾuHibbuka.”

Jason rolls his eyes slightly at the nickname, “I miss you too, lăomā. Bye.”
“Good bye, my son.”

The call ends and Jason flops into the nearest comfortable surface with a groan.
Sprawled across his ratty couch, Jason tosses an elbow over his eyes and let's out a string of quiet curses.

Chapter Text

“Alright,” Jason mumbles, “that's enough of that. Guess I've gotta talk to Roy now. This is gonna suck.”

Getting up, Jason puts his gear on, better prepared than vulnerable after all, and leaves his safe house to where he's hid his bike.
It wasn’t too hard to find where Roy lived, which he would be changing immediately, seriously, huge safety hazard, and the journey to his apartment in star city is short.

Once in front of the door, Jason removes his helmet with a long, calming breath before knocking on the door.
“Coming!” Jason hears a clamoring behind the door as Roy clearly trips over something and slams into the wood before the lock let's out a click and the door opens, showing Roy, disheveled and smiling as Lian is heard giggling in the background.

Roy’s face is covered in makeup messily put upon his face. The colors are garish with a bright red is painted messily on his cupid bow lips, neon, sparkly blue eyeshadow powdered on his eyelids, highlighted by jagged lines of eyeliner underneath, and cheeks laden with dazzling pink blush.

A plastic, gold crown sits lopsidedly on his long, ginger hair that frames his diamond shaped face. The sight draws a small smile onto Jason’s face, even as Roy’s own falls.
“Can I help you?” Roy asks, clearly suspicious as he keeps one hand out of Jason’s sight, which Jason assumes is resting on an arrow.

“Yeah, actually, you can.” Jason replies, but does not elucidate any further. What can he say, he likes making people sweat a little.

“And what,” Roy’s voice is slow, as his jaw hardens and posture takes on a more threatening pose, which he's sure would look intimidating if Roy wasn't an inch shorter than Jason, “Can I help a fine gentleman like yourself with?”

Amusedly raising an eyebrow, Jason chuckles, which probably didn't put Roy at ease, but Jason thinks of it as payback for all the times Roy was an annoying shit.

With a low whistle, Jason places a hand over his heart, “You don’t recognize me carrot top? I'm hurt, truly wounded. I thought we had something special.”

A wry smile makes its way onto Roy’s face, pulled to tight at the ends as his eyes try and place Jason’s face, “Sorry, doll, can't say I recognize you. Mind giving me a reminder? I've been told I can be a bit ditzy.”
As he says this, Roy steps out into the apartment hallway, closing the door and slings his hands into his front jean pockets.

Jason should probably be worried, but the only thing he can think about is the fact that Roy, who had once claimed that Jason couldn’t scare a fly off of dung, is now standing, tense as a bow string, at his mere presence. It's kinda funny.

Keeping his posture relaxed Jason nods, eyes sparkling with humor, “Of course, hell, let’s make a game out of it. You get to ask me five questions to see if you can figure out who I am.”

Roy is quiet, posture tensing even further as he furiously meets Jason’s gaze, “...What do you get if I can't guess who you are?”

Lips lifting in a lazy smirk, Jason answers, “So sure you’ll lose? Alright, if you lose I get to laugh at you.”

Eyes widened, Roy’s posture relaxes slightly in surprise, “That’s it?”
Crinkles forming around his eyes, Jason agrees, “Yup, though, if you don't think that’s enough of a reward for me, I wouldn't mind twenty bucks to go with it.”

Roy’s mouth frowns in bewilderment, “And, what do I get if I win?”
Jason pauses at that, thinking of what to say. A friend? No, not only is that cheesy, they hadn't seen each other since before he'd died.
It takes a moment but eventually Jason settles on, “Information.”

Taking a moment to observe Jason, Roy hesitantly agrees, “Alright, Deal.”
“Cool, ask away.”
“Did I sleep with you?”

Immediately, Jason’s body posture changes, bent halfway over the waist as his arms clench his stomach and cackling laughter erupts from his throat.

Dazed, Roy took a step back at the sudden motion before hearing the laughter.
“It’s not that funny.” Roy crouches, crossing his arms. Clearly embarrassed and mildly offended by Jason’s reaction.
The laughter continues for almost a minute straight before Jason’s able to catch his breath, “Oh, oh, trust me, it is. The answers no by the way. Ask the next question.”

“...Who do I know you as?”
“Ah–ah, no direct questions. That's cheating, Roy.” Jason tuts, wagging his finger in playful reprimand.
“You never said I couldn't, that's on you. Answer the question.”

A chuckle bubbles up from Jason’s chest as he taps on the helmet clutched to his side, “Skip.”
“What? You can't do that–”
“I never said I'd answer your questions, just that you could ask them. Shouldn't have tried to be a smartass, Speedy.”

Roy stops for a second, once again roving his eyes over Jason’s relaxed form, “So you knew me when I was Speedy?”
“Yup, I knew you when you were Speedy, stupid hat and all. Three questions left.”

Roy’s eyebrows furrowed, “Who'd you know me as, generally, not just a name, but who I was to you and shit.”

“That's two questions.”
“No, it's one. ''Who'd you know me as'' could mean anything. So who did you know me as?”
“I could just answer with your name, y'know.”

Tilting his head Roy answers critically, “I don't think you will. You want me to know who you are.”
And for the first time since coming here, Jason stiffens. “I think,” pausing for effect, Jason continues with A drawl, “That you underestimate how much of a little shit I am. I knew you by your name, Roy William Harper Jr. and Speedy.”

“...”
“Two questions left.”
“How did we meet?”
“There ya go, carrot top, now you're askin’ the right questions. I met you on the job, the guy I replaced had big shoes to fill, and that's all anyone saw when they looked at me. But you were the first to see me as–well–me and not him.”

Thinking of another question to ask, Roy lets the air around them get quiet. Five minutes pass and still there is nothing. No questions, no answers, no barbs, no words, just the sound of quiet breathing and Jason’s fingertips drumming against the helmet clutched in his left arm.

“One question left.” Jason whispers, a demand and a statement wrapped in one.
“What, specifically, did I call you.” Roy asks, slowly, like he’s afraid of the answer.

“My name.” Jason easily responds.
“What else, any nicknames?” Roy questions.
“Your five are up. Do you have a guess?”
“You didn't answer my fifth. I asked what, specifically, did I call you. Your name is one, what are the others.”

“You already know.”
“I could be wrong.”
A lazy smile curls on Jason’s face, “Could be. Won't know ‘til you ask.”

“Jaybird?”
“Hey, Roy. Been a while, hasn't it?”
And Suddenly, Jason’s arms are full of a crying Roy Harper, helmet dropping to the ground as Roy’s plastic crown rubs uncomfortably at Jason’s neck.
Freezing, Jason’s hands hover in the air before coming to rest on Roy’s back, rubbing soothing circles into his spine.
“Who's the crybaby now, Roy?” Jason teases, tears of his own springing to his eyes.

“St–hic–ill you, hic-uh–asshole.” Roy hiccups, smearing tears, makeup, and snot on Jason’s shoulder.
“Hey! You’re getting your snot all over me!” Jason whines, though he makes no attempt to push Roy away.

“Serves you right! I thought you were dead. So, ...you a clone or did you fake your death?”
“Neither. Not a clone and I actually died. Woke up in my casket and dug my way out of my grave. Wasn't completely there though, so the league picked me up and Talia put me in the pit.”

“The league?”
“Yeah, the league of assassins. And now I need your help.”
“Anything. You know that Jaybird. I'd help you with anything. But why me? Why not Dick or–”
Muscles twitching in anger, Jason pulls away slightly, “I don't want to see them right now. My murderer is still alive because Batman refuses to kill him. And Dick would take me to the bat immediately if he found out I was alive.”

“They miss you. I missed you.” Roy murmured, face red, with running, smeared makeup and wet tear tracks staining his face. The bright pink blush that dusted his cheeks now smeared and muddy, tears lifting the caked on layers until Roy’s own flush skin is visible underneath, as the mascara and eyeliner framing his eyes runs down his cheeks in stained, black swirls.

The bright red lipstick he wore is smeared and glossy with spite. There are red teeth marks on the relatively clear patches of visible lip that must have been from Roy nipping his lower lip in an attempt to quiet his sobs. Jason says nothing at Roy’s remark, shakily jerking his head in response and wrapping his arms even tighter around Roy.

“C'mon, I have someone you should meet.” Roy says, pulling away from Jason as his hand latched onto Jay's wrist, dragging him into the apartment.

Walking towards a bookshelf, Roy gently pulls at one of the books until the sound of metal sliding against metal is heard. The book shelf moves, giving way to a long hallway.
“Lian! You can come out now! He’s a friend!”

Seconds later, the sound of toddling footsteps reaches their ears and a young girl flings herself into Roy’s arms as he crouches to catch her.

Letting out a soft ompf, Roy rocks on the back of his heels before picking Lian up.
“Lian, this is my friend, Jason. Jason, meet Lian, my little ray of sunshine.”

Slouching, Jason tries his best to make himself seem smaller and waves to Lian, which draws a snort from Roy.

“He may look big and scary, but he’s actually a massive nerd. He reads books for fun.” Roy reassures when Lian buries her face in Roy’s shoulder.
Slouching even more, Jason shakes his head, “I am scary. And what's so wrong with reading? Not all of us are stuck at a first grade reading level like you are Harper.”

Raising an eyebrow, Roy lets out a huff of amusement, “Uh, huh, sure. Real big and scary, seeing you sob over a book. You're right, absolutely terrifying.”

Rolling his eyes, Jason turns to Lian, “Don’t listen to a word he says Lian, I watched this man cry during every movie I've ever watched with him. Including the Twilight films. He was team Jacob because he couldn't look at edward without seeing my dad.”

“Hey! We swore!” Roy shouted indignantly, pointing his finger in mock anger.
“And I took that secret to my grave.” Jason joked.
Wincing, Roy clutches Lian a little tighter to his chest, kicking his leg out to hit Jason, “Too soon man.”

Better with written words, Jason’s only answer is to lean slightly on the side not carrying Lian, hoping that the steady pressure reassures Roy. Jason desperately wants his actions to convey the words he can't find himself to say, I'm here. I'm alive.

Roy leans back in towards Jason’s weight, his reply clear. I know. You're alive, and you're here, but you've been gone so long. Long enough for your absence to echo, still felt even in the face of your presence.

Unaware of this, Lian shyly peeks her head out from where it had been buried in her father's shoulder, “I like to read too.”

The words aren't said loudly, they’d be easy to miss if Jason hadn't been leaning against her father, but they still make Jason’s frame soften.
“Oh, yeah? What book are you reading so far?” Jason asks, voice equally quiet and gentle.

Visibly brightening Lian turns to more fully face Jason.
“I'm reading The tragedie of Macbeth with daddy right now.”
“Oh?” Jason replies, looking towards Roy in shock.

Roy groans, “Don’t even. Shakespeare was the only thing that gets Lian to sleep. She likes it, so I can't complain too much.”
Lian nods in agreement, “Yeah, I like it a lot. Your helmet’s cool!”

Jason flashes a dazzling smile, “Thank you! My little brother made it for me ‘fore I left home. He's real good with machines.”

Now it's Roy’s turn to look at Jason curiously, the question nothing more than a silent glance and raised brow.
So Jason continues, “His name is Damian, and he's eight. He turns nine in a couple of months though. He's with his mom right now, but he'll be moving over here soon to be closer to family.”

Lian nods in understanding, “Is it fun having a sibling?”
Biting back the instinctive no, Jason hums, “It can be.”

This goes on for a few hours, questions from Lian or Roy being answered in the relaxed environment of the apartment. Eventually, Roy puts Lian to bed and goes into the kitchen to talk to Jason.

Before he can get a word out, he is interrupted by a phone call.
“Sorry, I got to take this, I'll be back.”
“No problem, man, ‘s all good.”

Wait—was that the call from Talia? Should Jason have warned Roy about that? Oh well, nothing he can do about it now.

A text from his phone let's Jason know it was Talia, with a quick message on her begrudging approval of Roy as well as a date and time for her and Damian’s arrival.

Roy returns, paler and slightly irritated, “So, when were you going to tell me that you and your brother were moving into my house on Talia Al Ghul's orders?”

“Surprise? Technically, It's on my orders since I suggested that you babysit Damian while I take care of a drug lord in Gotham before I take him to his father.”

“Jason…” Roy says through gritted teeth, shoulders hunching as he scowls up at Jason.
“You said anything.”
Lips thinning, Roy glowers before finally sighing, long and low, “Fine. But! You owe me big time!”

Smiling brightly Jason nods, “Of course.”

Chapter Text

After crashing on Roy’s couch for the night, Jason wakes up, blearily blinking his eyes open, wincing at the bright rays of sunlight that sear through the apartment windows.

Checking the time, Jason let's out a tired groan as a hand scratches roughly down his chin. He had two hours to move all his shit to Roy’s apartment before he had to go pick up Damian.

“Morning, sleeping beauty! Lunch is on the counter if you're hungry.” Roy chirped from the kitchen.

“It’s too early for this.”
“It’s 2pm, Jason.”
“I know!” Jason whines, “And I still have to move all my shi–I mean–er–stuff into your apartment.”

An amused smile tugs at the end of Roy’s lips, twisting the ends with a pleasant softness, “Lian’s at daycare, you can swear.”
“Oh, thank fucking god!” Jason exhales, slowly sitting up from the couch, “What’s the plan for helping me move my shit here?”

“Who said I was helping?”
Confused, Jason turns to look at Roy, “Um, me? Talia? What do you mean who said you were helping? You agreed! Under threats of violence, but still!”

“Nah-ah! I said I would help babysit the kid and let you move in; I never said anything about helping you haul all your shit here. So the real question is how are you gonna move all your stuff here.”

“Roy!” Jason whines, tilting his head over the back of the couch to gaze woefully at his friend.
Rolling his eyes, Roy snorts, “Nice try, but puppy dog eyes don’t work on me, especially not yours. That kind of weakness gets beaten out of you when you have a trouble magnet for a kid.”

Forcing his eyes to water and widen, Jason looks at Roy with a pout, “Pretty please?”
With a look of horror Roy shakes his head, avoiding his companion’s tearful eyes, “God it got worse! I didn’t think it could get worse from your puppy dog eyes as robin but you managed. The answer’s still no, by the way, but it is terrifying that you can just do that.”

“Boo! You're no fun!” Jason groans, “Fine! I’ll call my goons and have them do that shit.”
“I’m sorry, goons? What are you, a rouge? Don’t you mean your coworkers?”
“Nope,” Jason states, popping the p, “You were right on the first guess, doll, I’ve become a big ole crime boss since my rebranding in Gotham.”

Roy laughs, “Hahahah! God! I missed your sense of humor, Jaybird! But seriously, who’s bringing your stuff? Uhaul? Recently adopted sidekick? Elusive contact that turns out to be a mutual friend?”
“You don’t think I could be a crime boss?” Jason asks in bewilderment.

“Not a snowball’s chance in hell would you ever be a crime boss, Jaybird. You’re one of the sweetest people I know. I’ve heard you apologies to Dent’s thugs as you were beatin’ their asses. Ain’t no way you’d be a criminal in any capacity if you could help it.”

Silently warmed by this declaration of his goodness, Jason paused, desperately trying to think of a way to bring up the fact that he’s the second biggest crime lord in Gotham, behind only Sionis, who he would be dealing with, very, very soon.

“Real glad you think so highly of me robinhood, but uh, I may have to take down that good ol’ boy scout, golden boy aesthetic you’ve framed me in. Because–uh–how do I say this? I’m not only a crime boss, I’m the second biggest crime lord in Gotham.”

“And I’m Judy Garland.” Roy says with an amused eye roll.
“Ya might wanna start stickin’ to yellow brick roads than, Royboy, ‘cause it’s the cold hard truth.”
“Oh, yeah? And what do you call yourself? Any good rogue’s got their very own, sometimes cool, but mostly lame, villain name.”

“Red Hood.” Jason says, eyes carefully cast towards the window as he sends off his last text towards his goons.
Roy stops laughing, all humor draining from his frame as he whips his head around to look at Jason. There is a tense silence that envelops the two like the jaws of a hungry beast enveloping its prey.

“...You mean to say, that you’re the same Redhood, that’s been puttin’ people’s heads in duffle bags?”
“Yup!” Jason replies awkwardly, dragging out his answer in a manner similar to how a cat stretches its back, slow and languid with an added little chitter.
“...You son of a bitch! You promised!”
Incredulous, Jason turns back to look at Roy, “What’d I promise?”

With a scoff, Roy angrily points at Jason, brows furrowed in a pinch, “Don’t pretend you don’t remember! We promised that if one of us became a villain, we’d either turn evil together or beat the common sense back into each other! So put your hands up, motherfucker! We’re duking this out, here and now!”

“Woah–Woah! Wait!” Jason dodges as Roy lunges at him, “Can’t we talk this out!”
“No! The talking it out comes before decapitating seven fucking people! Now, we beat each other up until one of us turns sides! We promised!” Roy yells, aiming a punch at Jason’s stomach.

“Roy, I don’t think this is a fight you can win.” Jason tries to dissuade, barely escaping the blow.
“What’s that supposed to mean?! Just ‘cause you shot up a couple inches doesn’t mean I can’t still beat your ass!”
“Roy, you haven’t been Speedy in years and I’ve been training with the league of assassins, there’s no way this is a fair fight.”

Trying to sweep Jason’s legs out from under him Roy mockingly responds, “Should have thought about that before becoming a crime lord, idiot!”

“I don’t want to fight you, Roy!”
“Sucks! Because I want to fight you! You died! Then, you come back and instead of telling your friends and family, you fucking decapitate people and topple the power balance of a crime ridden city, you douchebag! So I’m gonna hit you, at least once, so that I can get across to you how absolutely idiotic you are!”

Another punch is launched at Jason, nailing him square in the face with a harsh thwack. The force of the hit clips his head to the side, flesh easily yielding under the hard bone of Roy’s knuckles. Staggering back, Roy looks up at Jason, stupefied that his friend hadn’t evaded the attack.

There’s blood on Jason’s cheek, sluggishly mapping its way down the side of his face, catching slightly on some of the raised scar tissue as it does, the skin a bright red, and clearly on its way to becoming a nasty bruise.
The only sounds that echo through the apartment is Roy’s heartbeat and tired breathing as everything stops.

Head still in the same position it was knocked to, Jason whispers, “You done?”
Roy wants to be angry. He wants to scream that he’s not done. That he won’t be done until Jason understands how shitty it is that Jason came back to life and instead of immediately running towards the people closest to him, he fucked off to go play mafioso. He wanted to tell Jason how much that hurt, how much missing him hurt, and hiw much it hurt that the person Roy was closest too didn't turn to him when they needed help. But he doesn't.

“Were you even gonna tell me you were back if Talia hadn’t forced you too?” Roy’s muted voice questioned, laying heavy in the air like fog.

And Jason’s silence is all the answer Roy will ever need.
Biting his lip, Roy nods, “I’m gonna go take a walk.”
A wry smirk yanks at the corners of Jason’s mouth, pulling at the bruised flesh and small blood trail that decorates his cheek, “I thought you’d join me in villainy if you lost?
The tone is ridiculing, burgeoning on taunting and it raises the hair in the back of Roy’s neck at the challenge.

“From where I’m standing, it doesn’t look like I lost. I’m gonna take a walk before I do something else stupid. I’ll be back in around thirty minutes.”

Jason inclines his head, jerking it slightly in acknowledgment but still facing away from Roy.
Nearly out the door, Roy stops at the entryway, placing his hand on the wood to catch himself as he sighs, “You might wanna start icing now, the swelling will only get worse.”
Roy doesn’t turn back as he says this, eyes carefully glued to the halfway floor before he makes his way out of the apartment building, leaving Jason alone with his thoughts.

Dragging his feet towards the freezer, Jason rifles around for an ice pack, but all he finds are a few bags of frozen meats and vegetables. Picking up a frozen bag of peas, Jason sulks back over to the couch, staring at his phone as it buzzes.

His goons will be here in thirty minutes with his stuff, so hopefully Roy is out longer than that. And after that’s done, He’ll go and pick up Damian and debrief him on how this whole situation is gonna work. If it even will work. It’s gone better than Jason thought it would, but it still isn’t great.

Adding an eight year old assassin to the mix certainly doesn’t bode well for fixing the situation, but Jason doesn’t really have a choice. At least, not one he’d be comfortable with. Jason doesn’t really know how to fix this. He can sort of understand why Roy is so pissed, but still, it’s not like Roy died only to find out his father replaced him with a new kid immediately after he died.

Jason has every right to be angry about that! Though, maybe Roy’s right and becoming a crime lord wasn’t the smartest call. But to be fair, his plan is still working. Crime rates in Park Rowe have drastically decreased since Jason took over, and it has gotten Bruce’s attention. Which he definitely doesn’t need right now with Damian and Talia on the way.

…Fuck, maybe this was a bad idea. Shit…well, hopefully Bruce doesn’t focus too much on the truck or so of shit Jason is hauling to star city. The last thing Jason needs is Batman knocking on Roy’s door and punching first, asking questions later.

It should draw that much attention, people move out of Gotham city all the time! So there shouldn’t be too much attention on Jason’s goons. But still, you never know. Especially since Bruce is a control freak, with more paranoia than the ocean has water.

Whatever. He’ll burn that bridge when he get’s to it. Another text from his goons signifies their arrival, and Jason hastily fastens his helmet on before meeting them out front to help move his stuff inside. Today’s shaping up to be quite the hassle for him. Let’s hope that picking up the demon brat is relatively uneventful. Jason doesn’t know if he can take another taxing social situation right now.

After all his stuff is moved inside, Jason dismisses his grunts with a small inclination of his head and a few wads of cash. Shortly after Jason’s hench people had left, Roy had shown back up to the apartment with Lian in tow.

Keeping his helmet on, he greets them on the street, telling them through a crackling voice modulator that he was going to go pick up his brother. This gained a shy wave from Lian, accompanied by a soft bye, while Roy firmly bobbed his head in response. Hopping on his bike, Jason took off, weaving through cars and speeding towards the Gotham docks that Talia had decided to make the drop off point.

Jason thought that Talia was trying to force his hand with that move, afterall, there was no reason that Damian couldn’t be dropped off at Star city’s border. Regardless, Jason didn’t plan on catching the bat’s attention, and as much as Talia wants Bruce to know about Damian, she doesn’t want to catch his ire either.

If Jason had to guess, Talia was hoping that Jason and Damian would be stopped by Bruce on their way back to star city while she slipped away during the commotion. And if that didn’t work, Jason is sure she’d leave Bruce a cryptic message about leaving their son with a “trusted ally” near Gotham, inevitably leading to Bruce ordering a citywide manhunt for his biological son.

But what Talia does isn’t any of Jason’s business. Jason’s business, at least at the moment, is taking care of Damian while offing black mask so that he could send the kid to his father without Bruce ever knowing Jason was revived. And somehow managing to keep Roy and Lian out of the shit-tastic situations Jason being a crime lord and Damian being an assassin heir would surely bring.

Jason really had his work cut out for him.

Chapter Text

Damian was very excited to see his brother. He had gone from seeing Jason everyday, to not seeing him for months on end; and the sudden lack of his brother’s presence was quite upsetting to Damian.

For all that Damian will pretend otherwise, he has missed his older brother greatly. Damian missed his brother with such an intensity that the ache of his absence often felt like a stitched up wound, with every reminder of his brother causing a pull on the sutures with a dull, painful, throb.

Damian should be better than this. It is not the first time Jason has left for missions and communication has been poor, but still, contrary to all attempts otherwise, he misses his ahki. Despite this, Damian was not thrilled to be here. Gotham air quality was poor, its water murky and polluted, its buildings were crumbling, it smelled like piss and smog, and it was loud.

Horribly loud. The sound of the city was so cacophonous that Damian had reached his hands up to his ears to check if they were bleeding from the sheer amount of volume the city’s noise was dialed to.

Nervousness, longing, and excitement swirled in a nauseating mixture in his stomach, as his eyes gazed at Gotham’s skyline in search for the shrouded figure of his brother’s hulking form and bright red helmet. Originally, mother had told Damian that he would be staying with his father, but he had since been told that he would be staying with Jason to ease Damian’s transition into Gotham.

Damian cannot help but be relieved by this fact. Don’t misunderstand him, Damian is eager to meet his father, he’s heard many stories of his battle prowess and legendary intellect, but they are still strangers

. Damian isn’t sure he’d react kindly to being in a room full of strangers for days on end without knowing the rules and expectations he’d be required to adhere to. The very thought made his skin itch.

He already did poorly meeting grandfather’s expectations, he had no desire to fail at meeting his father’s, who at this point, had been built up into a god by the stories of his mother. Granted, his father seemed to be a cruel god, more akin to a Greek deity than any all-powerful, benevolent force.

Jason is living proof of that fact. His brother went unavenged and replaced as though he was nothing to his father. And if that was the price of failing The Batman's expectations…Damian would like a little more time to prepare before they meet each other.

He’d be able to learn from his ahki’s missteps as well as have a constant ally in Gotham if something were to go wrong. It was a pleasant safety net that Damian wouldn’t let anyone pry out of his cold dead hands. If his father didn’t accept him, if Damian didn’t meet his standards, he knew that he’d always have a place with Jason. Which is something he can’t claim for anyone else in his life.

Not even his mother, as much as he loves her, could earn that sentiment. Talia is always moving, such is the way of assassins, as they learn quickly that stagnation means death. There must always be improvement, an advantage, a new weapon or hiding space, in the world Damian lives in. Otherwise, your enemy will do what you cannot and overpower you as a result.

Due to this constant movement, this need for an advantage, Damian will always be the first thing cast off from his mother. Not because she is unloving, in Damian’s opinion, it’s much the opposite, Talia will cast him off because she loves him. His mother cannot fight while worrying for his safety. She was not raised to fight while having someone to care about, only how to win at a battle at all costs.

The league is not a team. Everyone is disposable if Ra’s says so and even his family isn’t safe from this statement. Damian’s mother occasionally speaks of her estranged sister and deceased brother, both of whom were discarded by Ra’s Al Ghul for failing him.

Mara, Damian’s cousin, was also discarded. She was treated as a failsafe; a replacement plan if Damian was unable to become the heir his grandfather wanted him to be.

Personally, Damian didn’t feel much of anything for Mara save for pity. Damian will never let himself lose to Mara. His survival depends on his success in fulfilling Grandfather’s desire for a perfect heir, and he will not put that in jeopardy because his cousin is vying to lift herself from the disgraced position her mother had gotten her into.

But Damian understood. He understood his cousin’s desperation, his grandfather’s desire for his continued survival, and his mother’s abandonment. That did not mean that he accepted it.
His mother was still leaving him, and a small part of Damian would always be hurt by that fact.

A hand on his shoulder shakes Damian from his thoughts, body stiffening minutely under the slim, calloused hand. If she notices Damian’s brief tension, she makes no comment, instead she stares into his eyes, green emeralds mirroring his own as she tilts her head slightly to the left, black hair swaying with the movement, and taps her ring finger three times against Damian’s shoulder.

A code he hasn't used since he was a baby floods back as he nods tightly in response. After Talia leaves Gotham, all contact with her will be down for three months.

Three months without knowing if she has survived and succeeded in her mission. Three months without her voice, her comfort, her active protection, or her affection.

The loneliness in Damian’s chest went from a small stream to a roaring river, flooding his heart and lungs with such pressure it felt like he would drown under its force.

The hand on his shoulder squeezes once at his confirmation, but it does not let go. It stays a silent reminder of his mother’s presence; a firm levee against the torrent of lonesomeness beating against his ribcage.

“Your brother will be here soon.” Talia whispers, voice softer than the harsh wind that threatens to spirit her words away, but no less strong.

Giving another nod in reply Damian swallows. He's unsure if he’d be able to talk at the moment, voice caught at the base of his throat like a bird ensnared in the coils of a snake.

For a second, Damian wishes he were two again, if only so he could twist his hand firmly into his mother’s clothing and hide behind her knees from the terrifying world around him.

Damian desperately wants to grasp his mother’s hand, to have her pull him close and shield him from everything that threatens to harm him. But Damian crushes those thoughts beneath his heel, stomping them into the deepest recesses of his psyche.

Again Damian’s eyes turn to the Gotham skyline.
“Damian,” Talia murmurs, moving her hand from his shoulder to gently cup the back of his neck, brushing her thumb softly against the side, “Promise me something?”

Focus now shifted back to his mother’s face, Damian waits, every breath adding to his anticipation.
When nothing is said, Damian responds, “Yes, mother?”

The hand squeezes gently, the slight push of her fingers against his skin before the feather light pressure is removed, “Promise me that no matter what, you will stay alive.”

Confused, Damian tilts his head, brows furrowed, and eyes alight with curiosity on what could have brought this about.

“This city will eat you alive, Damian. It has eaten your brother, and spat in out into my arms, it has eaten the parents of your father and turned him into a man more bound to duty than any other connection, do not let it eat you my son.” Talia continues, gaze pleading as she maintains eye contact.

“This wretched place has taken the life of your brother and he has gladly given it back despite its cruelty. Promise me, that you will place yourself above this place, my dear Alexander. Promise me that you will survive this hell. You are my only son, and I could not bear to lose you, Habibi.”

For a short eternity, there is only the sound of wind, as though even the city itself is listening in on their conversation with baited breath,
“I promise.” Damian answers, voice deafening in the sudden silence.

His reply earns another gentle squeeze at the base of his neck and his mother’s thumb tickling the side as it sweeps up and down tenderly.

And the sound returns, rushing back to fill in the gaps the bout of quiet left behind as once again Damian and Talia return their gaze to Gotham’s twinkling skyline.

But even as the noise returns, the weird heavy weight that sat in Damian’s stomach since the promise was proposed remains; a heavy, foreboding feeling that Damian can only compare to the sword of Damocles hanging heftily from a strained string that threatens to break at any moment.

As though something inevitable is laughing at someone's Sisyphean denial of its possibility.

A gleam of red draws Damian’s attention away from the sensation as finally his brother weaves his way through the cargo trucks that scatter Gotham’s docks towards the small boat Damian and his mother are perched on.

Longing to leap off the boat into his brother’s arms and convey every second that Damian had missed him in the tightest embrace he could muster as he buries his face into Jason’s collar and hides the tears that threatens to surface.

But Damian isn’t three anymore, and such behavior is unbecoming of an heir.
Instead, Damian clenches at the metal railing of the boat and sneers at his brother, “Tt. You're late, Ahki.”

A crackling laugh scratches through Jason’s voice modulator as he strolls up to the end of the dock, “ Haha! Nah, you’re just early, ayyuhā alḍḍʾīlu! I guess I don’t have to ask if you got any taller since I almost missed you peering over the railings. You in heels so you can reach, pipsqueak?”

With a scowl Damian glares at his older brother, “I’ll have you know that I grew three inches from when we last convened, shǎ​dà​gè.”
Tilting his head up slightly, Jason snorts, an obvious smirk in his voice as he teases, “The combat boots don’t count towards your height, bitsy.”

“Shut up, az-zuwmabiyyu! One day, I’ll be taller than you, and then we’ll truly see who the “tiny one” is!” Damian hissed, jumping down from the boat and kicking at Jason’s shin.

More crackling laughter claws its way through the voice modulator as Jason easily dodges the kick, placing Damian into a playful headlock and rustling his hair, “As if! The day you grow taller than me is the day pigs fly, shortstack!”

Nose scrunched up and mouth scowling, Damian tugs at his brother’s arms with a grunt, “Mother! Call off your shōu​yǎng!”

“Hey! Don’t bring mom into this! Where’s your pride? And who you callin’ a dog, bite-sized! ” Jason gasps dramatically, easily picking Damian up and tossing him over his shoulder, dangling Damian upside-down by his feet.

Talia looks on with exasperated amusement, a tiny small hidden behind the palm of her hand as her eyes sparkle with unvoiced laughter.

Jason and Damian continue to horse around, playful fights breaking out and filling the empty Gotham docks with boisterous laughter and light-hearted teasing.

Like all things, however, this joyous reconnection must end; giving way to a sorrowful goodbye that may last longer than either party is willing to bear.

“Kanūziyyin, it’s time for me to leave.” Talia says sadly, mouth melting from her soft amusement into bitter despair.

Breaking apart from each other, Damian and Jason turn to face their mother, the happiness they’d both felt quickly fading as they are forced to say goodbye.
Approaching the boat, Damian and Jason move closer to the end of the Dock where Talia stands, having drifted away during their play fights.

A hand comes to cup each of their cheeks as Talia leans in and kisses both of their foreheads, lips ghosting over their brows before pulling away and letting her eyes flicker between her two sons.

“Take care of each other, aḥbāʾī, and be safe. Wǒ ài nǐ wǒ dí háizi. Behave.” Talia murmurs, thumbs stroking the round cheek of her youngest and scarred, square cheek of her oldest before folding her hands behind her back.

Leaning into the hand before it’s pulled away, Jason mumbles a quick –“No promises, wǒ yě ài nǐ，māma. Takūnu āminatu, and intabaha.”

“I will.” Talia answers,
“Goodbye, Mother,” Damian says, shoulders stiffely squared as he hesitates before quietly adding on, “Anā ayḍan aḥabbuku,” shrinking slightly with each word.

Talia brightens, melancholy lifting ever so slightly at her son’s words as she gazes lovingly at her children, “Goodbye, my darlings. I’ll see you in three months' time.”

And Talia hops gracefully back on to the boat, sailing off deeper into Gotham bay as Jason and Damian watch until her boat is nothing but a speck on the horizon.

“C’mon Damian, let’s go. We won’t be staying in Gotham long.”
Confusion re-emerges onto Damian’s face for the second time this night, “Where will we be going?”
“Your mom has decided that it’s pertinent for the both of us to stay with a friend of mine until me and her finish up business in Gotham.” Jason replies, voice gravelly and filled with the harsh buzz of static from the helmet.

Head cocking slightly to the side, Damian asks, “A contact?”
Damian’s question draws a snort from Jason, who shakes his head slightly in response, “No, kid. An actual friend.”

Damian takes this to mean that whoever they’re staying with is a more permanent ally and nods in affirmative, “And where is he located?”
“Star city; he lives there with his daughter, she’s three.”

Nose scrunching slightly Damian is unsure what to do with this information. He’s only ever been the youngest, and the thought of a small child in his general vicinity makes his skin prickle uncomfortably.

What do you do with a child that young? Damian tries to think back to what his mother trained him to do at three so that he has some idea on how to interact with the child.

Ra’s made him climb a mountain when he was three and Damian broke his wrist, so he probably would not be doing that. Not like there were any mountains in Gotham or Star City anyway. By three, he had been at least a year into his training with a dagger, so maybe he could train her in that?

“Has she already begun her training with daggers?”
“I don’t think so? Her father’s an archer, so he’s probably teaching her that.”
Damian sighs in relief. He knows archery, he could definitely help train her in that…and train her in the ways to wield a dagger, afterall, Jason and his mother insist that every child should know how to wield a knife.

Behind a shipment container, Jason’s bike lays hidden underneath a tarp, which he quickly tears off, passing a helmet to Damian before climbing on, unaware of the tracker placed on the front fork of his motorcycle and the tired, curious eyes of a red, black, green, and yellow figure watching through binoculars in the distance.

“We’ll be there in around fourty-five minutes. They live in an apartment so don’t expect a huge compound or a manor or anything too fancy, princling.”
Damian nods, placing the helmet on his head and climbing on the bike behind Jason.

Around forty-five minutes later, they arrive at Roy’s apartment building and Jason parks his bike in a shrouded corner, covering it with a tarp, and full trash bags before pushing a dumpster in front of it. Trugging their way up the stairs, Jason and Damian eventually stop at the apartment door, with Jason raising a fist to knock.

Chapter Text

For a moment there is no answer, just a heavy, silence that itches slightly at Jason’s skin before a shuffle can be heard through the wooden door.

A steady tempo of nerves bundled up in Jason’s chest as his foot tapped in time to its quick paced rhythm, creating a hurried song of panic with his quickened heart rate and breathing acting as back-up instruments.

He hadn't seen Roy since he'd left to meet with Talia, and Jason was almost positive that Roy hadn't calmed down in the few hours he'd been gone.

The man could hold a grudge. Which was something Jason could appreciate...though he'd appreciate it a lot more if it wasn’t used against him.

The door is opened and Jason’s muscles lock up, freezing like a deer in headlights as he is confronted with Roy’s icy blue eyes. Yup, still pissed.

“Jason.” Roy states, stepping away from the entrance as his knuckles tightly grip the door knob.

Saying nothing, Jason crumples in on himself, swiftly entering the apartment with Damian in tow.

Damian looks curiously at Roy as he trails after his older brother, wondering how on earth this man could cause his brother to act like a kicked puppy with a single glare.

Inside, Lian sits at the kitchen island, happily eating machine and cheese as she doodles on a sheet of paper only partially covered in cheese and noodles, with a myriad of different wax crayons.

Upon seeing Jason, Lian waves enthusiastically, bouncing up and down in her seat as she calls out to him quietly, “Jay! Look What I drew!”

Thrusting the paper into Jason’s face with such joy that the edges of the drawing crumple slightly in her grip.

And something in Jason softens, a sort of nostalgic emotion that reminds him of when Damian was younger and gladly showed Jason anything that had caught the young child's fancy.

Jason nods his head, observing the scribbled lines scrawled across the paper. The picture seems to be of Lian, obvious from the short, black pigtails, an elongated Roy, based off his red hair and bow, someone who must any him if the red blob over his head was to be believed, and…an even smaller Jason?

“It looks beautiful Lian! Great job!” Jason smiles, softly.

Lian beams at his response, gently placing the paper back on the island counter and smoothing out its crinkles, “Thank you! I made it for your little brother so that he'd feel welcome. I didn’t know what he looked like, so I just gave him your helmet.”

That explained the smaller Red hood. Jason's heart was practically melting out of his chest at Lian’s thoughtfulness, and he briefly wondered how such a polite, kind person could come from the absolute disaster that is Roy Harper.

“I'm sure he'll appreciate it, sweetheart. Do you wanna give him the drawing now or later?” Jason asks.

Mouth twisting up in thought as her brows furrow, Lian nods once before saying, “Later. It's not done yet.”

“Alright,” Jason nods in agreement, “Would you like to say hi to him in the meantime?”

Lian’s shoulders come up to her ears as she gnaws on her lips slightly, unsure.Lian’s shoulders come up to her ears as she gnaws on her lips slightly, unsure.

“You don’t have to if you don't want to. Damian won't be insulted.” Jason murmurs, patiently. In fact, Damian would probably be relieved he didn't have to interact with any more new people. The kid was extremely socially stunted and hated interacting with anyone he wasn't familiar with.

“Later.” Lian whispers, going back to her drawing and mac and cheese.

Jason nods in affirmation, turning his gaze behind him towards Damian, who seems relieved at not having to talk to the child.
“Do you want to make introductions with Roy now or later, habibi?
Damian’s mouth twitched downward for a second in thought, “Now.”

It was clear to Jason that Damian wanted to get the conversation over with as soon as possible.
“Alright,” Jason says, bobbing his head, “Roy! Meet us in the living room for a second, please!”
Stalking off towards the couch, Jason heaves his body atop it. God he missed this couch.

Damian made a small tutting noise and Jason groaned as he scooched up a little bit, curling up due to the limited space, in order to make room for him to have a seat. Damian sits stiffly in the little space his brother made, legs crossed over one another as his hands lay folded across the top of his knees.

Roy’s footsteps make their way towards the living room as he comes into view, teeth clearly biting the inside of his cheek as he sits in a chair adjacent from the couch, arms folded firmly over his chest as he sits ramrod straight.

From where Jason’s face is squished against the couch cushion, he can see the nervous jump of Roy’s knee and the clenched lower half of his jaw, ginger hair long enough to frame his face in a bob. Roy should keep his hair long. It looks pretty like that.

Surprisingly, it’s Roy who breaks the uncomfortable silence, sighing agitatedly as he glances at Jason, “Are you at least going to take off your helmet? Or are you gonna hide behind it for this entire conversation?”

Read for filth in his own apartment. Well, I guess technically Roy’s apartment, Jason isn't paying rent. Though, he probably should. Would Roy accept Jason’s money? He seemed real firm on the no murder part so it was entirely possible Roy would sneer and say that he wanted nothing to do with Jason’s blood money.

Eh, he'd find a way to help pay rent anyway. Regardless of if Roy accepts his money or not. Whether that means getting a retail job to make Roy more comfortable accepting his money, or just stealthily paying Roy’s rent or maintenance expenses, didn't really matter.

But back to being humiliatingly exposed by his best friend for keeping his helmet on. That’s exactly what Jason had been planning to do and he didn’t appreciate Roy calling him out like this. But whatever. It was wishful thinking on Jason’s end that he’d be able to keep his helmet on to hide from Roy’s ire.

Grumbling as he tiredly reaches up his hands to undo the clasps of his helmet, Jason removes the metal hood from his face, dropping his arms off the side of the couch and placing it gently on the carpeted floor.

The bruise on Jason’s face is an ugly thing, already a horrible smattering of black, blues, and purples with the cut that accompanied it now scabbed over.
Roy’s eyes flicker to the bruising, softening slightly as they widen with guilt.

He reaches a hand to touch Jason’s cheek gently, but before he can make contact, his fingers twitch in hesitation, preparing to pull away.

Jason grabs Roy’s wrist, preventing him from going far, and pulls it flush against his bruised cheek, wincing slightly as the calloused skin of Roy’s palm meets his purpled flesh, before leaning into the touch with a sigh, releasing Roy’s wrist once his hand is firmly planted on Jason’s cheek, the cool skin soothing the agitated mark.

You’re forgiven. I forgive you. Jason tries to say this with his actions. And the light brush of a thumb against the contusion on Jason’s face answers. I’m sorry. The motion says. Even if you forgive me, I’m still sorry.

Damian watches this all occur in complete bewilderment. He had apparently severely misjudged what Jason had meant when he called Roy a “friend”. Eyes glued to the point of contact between his brother and this stranger, Damian grins, wicked and scheming.

“Ooohhhh~anta fī mushkilatin! Saʾakhbara ammī” Damian teases.
Snorting, Jason doesn’t even bother to open his eyes, “Telling mom what? I’ve got nothing to be in trouble for.”
Damian’s smile grows even bigger, eyes glimmering deviously, “ḥuṣūlaka alā ṣadīqin!”

Jason’s eyes snap open as his cheeks flush in embarrassment, “I did not! It’s not like that!”
Damian isn’t convinced, a smirk still firmly planted on his face as he continues, “Is that what you meant by a more permanent ally? Mother will be most displeased that she was not informed of your…zěnme shuō?... làngmàn jiūgé with jiàn nánhái.”

Instead of answering verbally, Jason kicks his leg out to push Damian off of the couch, “Shut up! You won’t tell mom shit if y’know what’s good for ya, ayyuhā alḍḍʾīlu!”
Scowling Damian shoves at Jason’s flailing legs, “az-zuwmabiyyu!”

Lifting an eyebrow, Roy flits his eyes between the two brothers in amusement, “You know it’s not polite to talk about people right in front of them, right?”
Jason made a noise akin to the sound of a dying cat as Damian’s face flushed red.
“He can understand us!” Damian squeaks, highly embarrassed.

Roy makes a so-so gesture with his hand, “Bit’s and pieces. I recognized jiàn nánhái, arrow boy, because Cheshire used to call me that. I also know zěnme shuō, because I’ve had to say it. A lot. I still have to say it a lot.”

Both Damian and Jason let out a small sigh of relief that Roy hadn’t caught on to the full conversation, glad that they were saved from the embarrassment of trying to explain that.

Clearing his throat, Damian turns to look at Roy, “Hello, Harper. I am Damian Al Ghul Ibn’Al Xuffash, heir to the Al Ghul family and The Bat. I hear you will be looking after me while my brother conducts business to ensure my safety in Gotham before he brings me to my father.”

Roy’s eyes fall on Damian in bemusement, though it lessens at the mention of Jason “conducting business”. Nodding, Roy answers the statement, “Yup! You got it, little guy. I’ll be watching you while your brother does…whatever he plans to do.”

Damian scowls, “I’m not little, jiàn nánhái. And my brother is planning to–”
Before he can even finish his sentence, Jason’s hand is covering his mouth, muffling whatever words were going to follow.
“Ex-nay on the an-play, upit-stay.” Jason hisses.

Damian glares at Jason, licking his brother’s palm in an effort to remove the hand covering his mouth.
Jason snickers, “Joke’s on you! I can’t feel that through my glove!”

Since licking didn’t work, Damian instead clamps his teeth into the meat of Jason’s hand, which causes his brother to release his hold with a colorful string of curses.

“Brat.” Jason mumbles, glaring daggers at a smug Damian as he clutches the bitten hand to his chest. It wouldn’t even bruise, Damian’s teeth hadn’t dug in enough for that. But it still stung like a bitch.

Damian stuck his tongue out at his older brother, and Jason maturely returned the gesture, gaining an eye roll from Roy, followed by a muttered “Real mature, Jaybird.” which Jason just shrugged at.

Glancing at the time, Jason picks up Damian and tosses him over his shoulder, “Alright bitey, it’s bedtime.”
“What! It’s not even nine yet!” Damian complains, attempting to wiggle out of his brother’s grasp.

“So? The adults need to talk, and you need a normal sleep schedule. Ergo, nine pm bedtime.”
“I had a normal sleep schedule!”

“That, my darling akhī alṣṣaḡīri, is a bold faced lie. You slept around midnight and were constantly interrupted by assasination attempts if I wasn’t on guard to ensure that they left you the fuck alone.”

Damian grumbles angrily, face twisted up in a pout, “I’ll just stay up till midnight anyway. You’re not the boss of me.”
“I am the boss of you, mom put me in charge. And, I have a trick to get you to sleep.”
“I won’t fall asleep.” Damian reaffirms.

“We’ll see.” Jason disagrees.
Before they make it to the guest room, Jason feels a little tug on his pants leg. Looking down, he is greeted with the averted gaze of Lian as she bashfully holds up the drawing for Jason to hand to Damian.

Picking it up, Jason hands the drawing to Damian with a soft “Thank you.”.
Upon receiving the drawing, Damian is silent until Jason pinches him, causing him to emit a quiet ow, as he scowls at his brother.

“What?”
“Say thank you, Damian.”
“...Thank you, Lian. It is a most thoughtful gift.”
Damian’s sentence earns him a shy smile from Lian as she runs off towards her father, and a pat on his back as Jason continues to carry him to the guest room.

Tossing his brother onto the bed, Jason collapses to the floor, resting his head against the mattress as Damian sneers at him.
“Alright, kid, get comfortable.”

Damian does nothing at first, but eventually, his brother’s patient stare causes him to roll his eyes as he gets under the blankets draped over the bed.

Nodding once in approval, Jason begins singing a lullaby Talia had taught him when Damian had been younger. The response is near instantaneous, with Damian’s eyes blinking tiredly as he squints sleepily at Jason.

“Not fair.” He mumbles, somewhat unintelligible as exhaustion begins to drag Damian under.

After a few moments, Damian is asleep and Jason lets out a sigh, softly petting his brother’s hair as he gets up and ventures back into the living room where he finds Roy already waiting.

“You wanted to talk to me about something?” Roy says, raising an eyebrow in question.
“Yeah.”
“...Well?”

“You were right.” Jason whispers.
“What was that?” Roy asks, not having heard him.
Gritting his teeth, Jason repeats the statement, “You were right.”

“I’m right about a lot of things, you’ll have to be more specific.” Roy replies smugly, mouth curling into a satisfied smirk.

“You know what I’m talking about, asshole.”
“Not a single clue.” Roy answers in faux innocence, batting his blue eyes for added effect.

“After I kill Sionis, I’ll tone down my fuckin’ violence. Switch out my lead for rubber bullets, get a high grade taser, hell, I’ll even fight using strong ass pepper spray. But I’ve gotta get rid of Sionis first. He’s the biggest physical threat to Damian besides the clown, and his mother’s already working on that.”

“Why not just lock him in Blackgate?”
Jason huffs angrily, “You know he won’t stay there even if we manage to put him in there, Roy. We wouldn’t even be able to get a trial.”
Roy nods once, bashfully rubbing the back of his neck as he aquiesse that point.

“Fine. But promise me that after Sionis, you’re done. No more heads in duffle bags. Deal?” Roy asks, holding out his pinky finger.
Laughing softly, Jason bows his head, intertwining their pinkies and giving it a soft squeeze, “Deal.”

Roy pulls Jason into a tight hug, burying his face into Jason’s shoulder as his hands grip at his friend’s scapulas, “I’m s’rry ‘bout yer eye. St’ll ‘on’t ‘gree w’th yer decisions though.”
The words are muffled by the force Roy’s face is smushed against his shoulder and the layers of clothing covering Jason’s body, but he still hears it.

Returning the hug, Jason runs a soothing hand up and down Roy’s spine, “ ‘S fine. I kinda deserved it. And I don't expect ya to agree. “S a choice I made, and I gotta live with it. We’ll probably always disagree on it.”

Roy purses his lips tightly but doesn’t continue, instead, he holds onto Jason a little bit tighter as he shakes his head.
They stay like that for the rest of the night, eventually heading towards the couch and falling asleep in each other's arms, emotionally and physically exhausted from the day they just went through.

Far away from this scene, sits a little bird, dawning colors of black, yellow, red, and green as he stares at a tiny dot flashing on his screen, wondering why on earth the famed Crime lord of Park Rowe is in Star city, and more importantly, why he’s at Roy’s apartment.

Dick’s gonna be pissed Tim tracked Red Hood on his own, but he can't really find it in him to care. Besides, Tim’s sure that a Crime boss with league training hanging out at one of Richard’s best friends' apartment is going to take up way more of Dick's attention.

Boy, is it gonna suck to deliver this news though. Tim can already hear the lecture. ...Maybe Tim can put off telling him? At least until tomorrow morning, before Dick eats breakfast. So that Dick will be too tired and hungry to understand what he's saying. That should give him a minimum of a five minute head start. Yeah, that should work.

For now though, Tim’s got to track if there's been any other league movement in Gotham or Star City. It can't be a coincidence that a new, league trained, vigilante shows up in Gotham, dismantles the power structure, and then fucks off to Star City, keeping relatively quiet. Yeah, somethings up, and Tim’s gonna find out what it is.

Chapter Text

Tim was wrong. Tim had been so, so wrong. Which was an incredibly upsetting surprise. Ask anyone, but mainly ask Tim, and they’d tell you that he is right around 98.99 percent of the time with a minor 2.01% failure rate that he will humbly admit to, mainly because that 2.01% is a result of his own hubris and ego getting his ass beat back into the ground, but still—the main point is that Tim is usually right.

But being usually right did not save him from the unrelenting fury and panic of a now fully awake Dick Grayson having a full on panic attack at the breakfast table. Yeah, that was his bad. Tim probably should have known better than to assume that telling Dick that one of his closest friends and his friend’s tiny child were possibly in danger with Gothan’s newest drug lord.

A bad decision on his part. Really, he should have thought this through more. But if ifs and buts were biscuits and crumpets we’d all be having tea.
“What the fuck do you mean Redhood has been spotted at Roy’s house! And you left him there? You didn’t call anyone the instant you saw that the 6’2, terminator drug lord with anger issues walked into Roy and Lian’s apartment!? What were you thinking?”

Tim opened his mouth to answer but was swiftly interrupted by Dick thrusting a finger against his lips and gripping Tim’s forearm with his other hand, “Nevermind, don’t answer that. You weren’t thinking. For someone with so much brains, you seem intent on making stupid fucking decisions!”

Rude. True, but still rude.
Dick sighs, Tim hadn’t even noticed that Dick had inhaled enough air into his lungs to do so, but he must have since the sound was there, however brief. A quick inhale that seemingly pulls too much air into Dick’s lungs as it results in a strangled wheeze before he looks back at Tim, opening his previously pinched closed eyes and looking dead into Tim’s.
“Listen–Listen–I’ll–huff–I need you to stay here. I need you to stay here and wait until I get back. If I’m not back in five hours, get Bruce and tell him where I went.”

“No, I’m not letting you confront a drug lord on your own, that’s stupid. I’m going with you!” Tim argued, latching his hand onto where Dick’s was clutching at his forearm like a lifeline.
Dick’s grip gets tighter, not painful, but certainly tight enough to get his point across as he knocks his head against Tim’s, bringing them forehead to forehead.

A dull pain radiates from the impact sight as Dick hisses, “Shut up! Shut–up! You are staying here! I don’t care if I have to tie your ass to your bed, you are not going with me to confront a league trained assassin that has inside knowledge of all of our tricks. You’re not. Do I make myself clear?”

Silence stretches as Dick’s icy blue eyes clash against Tim’s steely gaze, neither one willing to back down.
But finally, after what feels like eons, Tim huffs, shoving his hand into his hoodie pocket with a muttered, “Crystal.”

Dick’s shoulders sag in relief, tight grip loosening briefly as he drags Tim into a hug.
“Thank you. I’ll see you when I get back–just–please, promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”
Face just barely peeking over Dick’s shoulder, Tim’s reply gets muffled slightly, “I promise.”
They stand there like that for a while longer, before Dick reluctantly pulls away, heading towards the batcave, throwing glances behind his shoulder as he does so; as though he’s afraid that the second he takes his eyes off of Tim, he’s gonna run off after him despite their promise.

And Dick isn’t wrong. The second Dick disappears from view, Tim pulls his crossed fingers out of his hoodie pocket with a sly smile. Was it childish? Most definitely. But Dick tended to be less mad when Tim did something childish like this than if he full on disregarded his words. Waiting around twenty minutes, Tim pulls up the tracker and descends down the staircase hidden behind the clock as he rushes towards his bike.

Just as he’s about to hop on, a voice echoes through the cave, startling him off balance.
“And where do you think you’re going, Master Tim?” Alfred asks, one eyebrow raised in clear exasperation.
“Ack!” Tim shouts, crumpling to the ground in surprise, “Heeeyyy, Alfred! Whaaat are you doin’ in here?”

“Master Dick informed me of the situation. He told me that if you were to come into the batcave, that I should give you this note and send you back upstairs.” Alfred answered, handing Tim a folded piece of paper.
Hastily written in Dick’s messy handwriting are the words, “Nice Try.”
Grumbling, Timothy drags his feet back upstairs under the watchful eyes of Alfred. A minor setback. But even Alfred can’t watch Tim all of the time.

It took an hour and a half, but Tim finally escaped the manor. Though, if he had to guess, he was only able to do so because of Alrfed’s mounting worry over Dick than any real skill of Tim’s. Still, he’ll take it. Dick’s got a headstart on him, but Tim thinks he can get there before him anyways; Bart owes him a favor. And even if he didn’t, he’d probably still bring Tim if he asked.

Bart showed up during the call, there before Tim could even get passed the words, “I need you-”
“So, what’s up? What kinda trouble you get into now? Three amigos trouble? Or is it a dou-day?
Are we calling Superboy? Or am I reading this wrong? Is it a social call? Cause I’m sorry to say–”

“I need you to take me to Roy’s apartment in Star city.” Tim interrupts, knowing that if he didn’t, the speedster would go on forever.
“You got it boss,” Bart says, shouting Tim two quick finger guns, “Is this a need to know basis or can I ask questions?”

Rolling his eyes fondly as he clambers onto his friend's back, Tim sighs, “I don’t think I could get you to stop asking questions.”
Bart laughs, racing down narrow streets and avoiding pedestrians and vehicles alike in his journey towards Star city, “You’re right. Still, you gonna answer why we’re heading to Star City?”

“...A drug lord from Gotham is in Roy’s apartment and Dick went alone to confront him.”
“Yeesh, is it like–a drug lord-drug lord, or is it just Jason? Cause if it’s just Jason, I didn’t realize you guys were still on bad terms with him.”

“What do you mean is it just Jason?”
“Yikes, you must really be on bad terms if you’re that confused. Is this the timeline were he beat you half to death in titans tower? Cause that’s totally understandable if that’s the cause, I mean–if my brother-not that I have one, but still, if my brother-”

“Wait-Wait, what? Do you mean Jason Todd? Jason Todd is dead. You sure you aren’t thinking of some other timeline?”
“Nah, I’m pretty sure it’s this one? I mean, I was told that Jason went to the league of assassins before you guys finally made up with him but–Oh, shit! Too early! Shit! Totally not crash! Awh, man! Ignore that! I didn’t say anything!”

“Bart…Is the drug lord in Roy’s apartment, that just went to pick up a little kid from Talia-fucking-Al Ghul, Jason motherfucking Todd?”
“I plead the fifth.”

“That only works with the cops and court systems and seeing as I’m neither I advise that you answer unless you want me to tell Kon about that time you–”

“Alright, Alright! Fine! Yes! Jason Todd is dating Roy and staying in his apartment with Lian and your little brother Damian. Just don’t tell Kon about–”

“I have a little brother?” Tim asks, confused and somewhat excited.
“Shit! Oh, look at that! We’re here! Love to stay and chat, but I’ve got places to be, conversations to avoid, you know? The usu. See you later! Don’t tell Kon!” Bart rushes as he runs away, leaving Tim alone in front of Roy’s apartment building.

Well, if Bart wasn’t going to answer his questions, and Dick wouldn’t be here for at least another five minutes, then he might as well get answers from the source. Mind made up, Tim walks up the stairs until he’s in front of Roy’s door, hesitating briefly before knocking.

The sound is loud, echoing through the quiet hall like thunder in the otherwise silent space. Wincing, Tim waits a moment before knocking again, louder.
A heavy thump, followed by grumbles and the shuffling of feet can be heard on the other side of the door before it abruptly swings open.

There in all his 6’2 glory, stands a scowling Jason Todd, eyes a gleaming blue-ish green as he sneers down at Tim, “What?”

Mouth dry and hands lightly shaking, Tim looks up at the previously dead robin before squeaking out, “Jason Todd? I’ve got a few questions for you.”

Jason’s eyes narrow, giving Tim a once over that Tim can’t help but shrink from, before he snorts, “You with the cops or you selling something kid? Cause i don’t talk to cops, especially not 12 year old cops, and I won’t be buying anything but thin mints. Go home, kid.”

Flabbergasted, Tim stares up at Jason with wide eyes, “Wait!” He kicks his foot into the door before Jason can close it, wincing slightly when the wood slams into its side.
“You’re Jason Todd, aren’t you? The second robin? Bruce’s son?” Tim asks, hoping that he can make Jason curious enough to talk to him.

Unfortunately, though not clear yet to whom it’s unfortunate, Tim’s plan works.
“Why don’t you come inside?” Jason says, tone cold as ice and eyes glaring daggers into Tim’s skull as he steps aside. All traces of the tired but patronising person who opened the door are gone, giving way to the cold persona of Red Hood.

Refusing to show fear, Tim strolls inside, the door closing behind him for what he hopes isn’t the last time. Dick’s gonna be so pissed.

Chapter Text

There is a weight on Jason’s chest that further pushes him into the plush back of whatever surface he’s laying on. For a heart stopping moment, Jason believes the couch beneath him to be the plush interior of his casket and the weight on top of him to be an onslaught of dirt as he desperately tries to claw his way to the surface.

There is a harsh banging that rattles the wood of Jason’s coffin as he desperately tries to break apart the wood. The banging gets louder until the weight on his chest–warm?--why is it warm? The dirt should be cold–groans as a face nuzzles itself further into the side of Jason’s neck.

With a sigh, Jason’s body relaxes, muscles untensing as he recognizes the weight pressing into him as Roy. The peace doesn’t last forever, however, because as soon as Jason and Roy begin to doze back off, the door–that must have been the banging–rattles hard enough to shake the frame.

Roy releases another groan, attempting to shove his already smushed face further into Jason’s neck in an attempt to regain the sleep that is rapidly being pried from his tired hands.
They wait a few more seconds, desperately hoping that whoever is knocking on their door at four in the morning decides that standing out in their hallway, attempting to bust down their door isn’t worth it and leaves.

But they are not so lucky. The knocking only gets louder, much to Roy and Jason's agitation.
“J, can you tell whoever’s at our door to fuck off so we can go back to sleep?” Roy asks, breath tickling the side of Jason’s neck as his lips rub against the skin with every word.
Jason grunts, tightening his arms around Roy before letting go to scrub, harshly, at his face, “Why can’t you do it?”

Tired, watery, blue eyes gaze woefully up at Jason as Roy untucks his face from Jason. “Please?” Roy asks, voice taking on a slightly whiny quality that causes a bubble of fond agitation to pool in Jason’s chest.

“Asshole,” Jason mumbles, “Fine, unless you want me to carry you to the door with me to confront whatever douchebag is loitering outside our apartment, you should probably move so that I can get up.”

With a long, quiet whine, followed by a huff, Roy rolls off of Jason, burrowing deeply into the sides of the couch as Jason uses the newly freed up space to carefully extract himself from the plush cushions and make his way towards the door.

Wrenching the door open, Jason snarls out a quiet, angry, “What?!” as his eyes roam the hallway for the perpetrator.

Eventually, Jason’s eyes settle on a boy, maybe 13 or fourteen, with disheveled, windswept, black hair, pale blue eyes, almost translucent skin, tinted blue and green with his veins, and eyebags heavy enough to cause an added baggage fee on a flight. The kid’s wide eyes look up at Jason’s furious greenish-blues as he trembles slightly.

The kid knows his name, which isn’t entirely unusual. Jason hadn’t really wanted to go through the effort of going by a different first name, so he just spelt it Jayceson, changed his middle name to Austen and kept his last name as Todd.

Todd was a very common last name, and nobody would bat an eye that some random kid shared the name of Bruce’s dead kid.

It also helped that Bruce, or Dick, Jason wasn’t really sure, opened a shit ton of libraries and homeless shelters in Jason’s name after his passing. The popularity of the name Jason has greatly risen in Gotham as a result.

What was concerning, was the kid having questions. Jason’s first thought is that the kid is selling crack. What Jason is trying to figure out is if the kid is getting high off his own supply.

The kid, Jason should probably ask his name, is shaking, but that could be from the fear of having to face down a refrigerator sized man that is very clearly pissed, so Jason brushes that off.

The kid wears short sleeves, and Jason doesn’t notice any signs of needle usage. So Jason averts his attention elsewhere, eyes flickering to the kids red-shot eyes. The redness could be from a multitude of things, with exhaustion being the most likely, but still Jason tucks that information away.

Star city is usually a lot tamer than Gotham, and usually more discrete in terms of their drug trade. Plus, the kid sounds like one of those fat cats from Gotham.

Not like any of the wealthy crime families, but more like…mhmm…oh! More like the Drakes that used to live across from him when he was living with Bruce. Actually, doing the math, and really looking at the kid, it’s entirely possible that this is the Drakes kid.

Jason hasn’t seen the kid–Tim? Since the last Gala Alfred forced Jason to attend. Weird. Anyway, the kid doesn’t seem to be high, or like he’s going through anything other than sleep deprivation and caffeine withdrawal, so this is quickly becoming a later problem.

Making a dismissive comment about girl scout cookies, Jason attempts to slam the door shut, only for the tiny prick to shove his foot in so that it can’t close. Jesus Christ, this is the pushiest possible drug dealer Jason’s ever had to deal with.

Jason goes to kick the kid’s foot out of the entryway when he says something interesting, “You’re Jason Todd, aren’t you? The second robin? Bruce’s son?”

Shit. The level of importance of this interaction just skyrocketed and Jason is not pleased. Mentally saying goodbye to any potential sleep Jay was planning on getting after this interaction, he opens the door wider, gritting his teeth as he replies, “Why don’t you come inside?”

The kid’s body freezes for a second before he seems to steel himself and walks into Roy’s apartment. Mother of god, it’s only Thursday. I

It has been two, technically starting on three days now, and so far he’s had to tell his best friend that he’s alive and a crime boss, move into said best friend’s apartment, pick up his assassin little brother to hide him from both the league and their father, figure out how to kill black mask before Sunday, and now, Jason has to deal with a pipsqueak that’s probably gonna try and blackmail him. It’s been a long ass week for Jason.

Shuffling back over to the couch, Jason softly pushes at Roy’s shoulder, gaining a groan as Roy tiredly gets up, rubbing his eyes, “Hey, Tim. What’s up?”

Immediately, Jason’s posture changes. Gone are the rigid shoulders, glowing, lazarus green eyes, and imposing scowl, replaced by an almost…soft appearance. Jason’s shoulders sag, the tiredness re-enters his eyes as he slumps further into the couch, Roy flopping on top of him immediately after, getting a grunt from Jason as he sets a large hand in Roy’s hair and strokes it gently.

With a pleased sigh, Roy closes his eyes, humming when Tim is silent for too long.
“I–I’m–uh–I’m great, Roy. H-How–how are you?” Tim, apparently that was the kid’s name, stutters, clearly flabbergasted.

Snorting in slight amusement, Jason pulls lightly at a lock of Roy’s red hair, “Aren’t ya gonna introduce me, jiàn nánhái?”

Blinking bleary eyes, Roy lets out a small huff, “I’ve been good, Tim. Jason, meet Tim, Tim, meet Jason. There, introductions have been made, now can one of you answer why Tim was banging at the door at a time even the devil wouldn’t touch?”

Tim turns red, eyes casting downwards to the floor as his fingers pluck nervously at a loose strand of thread on his sleeve, “Well, you see–about that–um–so I mayhavetoldDickthattheRedHoodwasinRoy’sapartmentandhefreakedoutandnowhe’sonhiswayherebutwhenIaskedBarttogetmeherefirst,hetoldmethattheRedHoodwasJason,butDickdoesn’tknowthatsohethinksyou’reindangerandnowIapparentalyhavetwonewsiblings!”

Stunned, neither Jason or Roy can understand the word vomit Tim heaped upon the two sleep deprived companions.

“Alright, let’s try that a bit slower. What’s going on?” Jason asks, mouth twisting into a small frown as he tries to rewind the past ten seconds in an attempt to glean any information from Tim’s frenzied speech.

Taking a deep breath, Tim restarts his sentence, “Dick is coming over and he thinks that Roy is in danger because I told him that the Red Hood was in Roy’s apartment. I didn’t know that you were the Red Hood until Bart accidently told me on the way over here. If we don’t figure out a way to explain that his baby brother is not only alive, but also a crime boss and that he also has a new baby brother that’s also an assassin, then all of us are gonna be in some deep shit.”

“Shit,” Jason sighs, “Alright, I thought I’d have a little more time before Dickibird—Damian! No stabbing!”
The sound of metal sliding back into a hilt reaches Tim’s ears as he turns his head to look behind him.

Standing ominously in the shadows, a pair of gleaming green eyes stares daggers into Tim’s icy blues.

There is almost a hysterical quality to knowing that he’d almost been stabbed by someone who looks no older than eight without having been any the wiser until the metal had met flesh.

The comedy of the situation surpasses the fear as Tim lets out a maniacal little giggle while he raises an eyebrow in amusement.
The boy doesn’t answer Tim’s strange reaction beyond a sneer as he walks over to perch on the ledge of the couch's arm.

“Tt. He woke Lian.” The kid said, voice cold as his eyes never leave Tim.
Hearing his daughter’s name, Roy hums slightly, turning drowsily to look at Damian, “Is she okay?”

Still staring at Tim, the boy nods, “She is hidden. Why has the security threat not been dealt with?”

Roy doesn’t answer, already fading back into dream land as soon as he hears that Lian is okay, leaving Jason to answer in his stead, “Because apparently, the security threat is our brother, and our new brother accidentally snitched on us to our eldest brother and now where all gonna get so much shit for no fucking reason.”

Damian’s sneer morphs into a scowl, “The only brother I have is you, Ahki, who is this interloper that dares to claim such a title?”

Tim’s shoulders seem to shrink in on themselves, face falling slightly as he glances away from Damian; the nervous pulling on the thread of his sleeve getting worse at the eight year old’s words.

Snorting, Jason shakes his head and replying somewhat bitterly, “The “interloper” is Bruce’s kid. Guess he upgraded to a newer model when the older one bit the dust.”
Snarling, Damian unsheathes the knife that he had strapped back onto his waist, “So he’s a thief!”

Tim’s eyes widen frantically waving his hands in a no motion as he attempts to stumble out a response, “Thief? How can I be a thief? I haven’t stolen anything! I–”
“You stole ahki’s title!”

“Title–you mean Robin? The kid was dead! It’s not stealing if the person is dead!”
“Figures that’s what the son of two archeologists would say.” Jason chuckles darkley.

“How do you? Nevermind, unimportant, anyway! If I hadn’t “stolen” robin, Bruce would have either killed himself or someone else! And my money was on himself with the way he was drinking after Jason died. Seriously! I could never replace him!” Tim shouts before turning to look at Jason, “He loved you! Nothing I do could ever replace the place he put aside in his emotionally constipated little heart! He didn’t even want me at first! I had to blackmail him into it!”

Suddenly, before Tim can rant on any further, Jason’s body shakes.

At first Tim freezes as he watches Jason’s body shiver in what he assumes is rage before finally, a wheezing laugh tears its way through Jason’s throat.

Full-belly laughter richotches off of the apartment walls so loudly that it startles Roy awake, causing him to jump five feet into the air before glaring at Jason.

“Asshole.” Roy pouts, crossing his arms as he leans on the end of the couch furthest from Jason, who’s still hunched over with laughter.

“Ohhh~ boy! You blackmailed Brucie Wayne? Oof, I don’t even want to know what kind of bullshit you had on him to get that to work! Ha! Oh, man, that’s great! Nevermind! You’re clearly enough of a bastard to deserve Robin! Jesus Christ! I bet Dick loved that!”

Slightly miffed by Jason’s sudden change of heart, Tim sniffs, “He thought it was hilarious. Apparently, adopting three mischievous children and attempting to adopt a fourth chaotic kid means that Bruce is developing a habit.”

“He tried to adopt a fourth one? When?”

“My ex filled in for me as Robin for a little bit. I think Bruce was hoping that we’d stay together so that he could claim that he didn’t adopt Steph, but that plan kind of got ruined when we broke up. We’re still friends, but Steph kinda found out that she preferred women, so that kinda just, closed that chapter of our relationship. That and Bruce couldn’t legally adopt her, thankfully. Steph’s mother is alive and well.”

Not really knowing what to say Jason looks at Tim as though randomly glossing over how your adopted father was banking on your (most likely first) real relationship in order to indoctrinate your partner into your family wasn’t a normal thing.

Which Tim guesses it wasn’t, but neither is dressing up as a bat and beating up criminals, so Tim has learned to pick and choose his battles. It saves what little sanity he has left.
“Okay.” Jason says.

“Ahki, he’s a thief. Please stop indulging in our enemy’s delusions regarding his claim on the title of Robin.” Damian grits out, keeping his blade steadily aimed at Tim.

“Technically, none of us have claim to Robin. Robin was always Dick’s. Bruce is just an asshole who turned a nickname that Dick’s mother gave him into a fucking military position. Besides,” Jason rebuttles, casually reaching his hand out and gently grabbing Damian’s wrist, “Would you call me a thief since Talia adopted me? By your logic, I've "stolen" the title of son.”

“Of course not!” Damian shrieks, whipping his head around to face Jason, “That’s completely different! Mother gifted that title yo you! He just took yours from your grave.”

Jason gently removes the knife from Damian’s grasp before shrugging, “Meh, seems like he eventually got Bruce’s blessing. So it's not all that different.”
“I–you!” Damian starts before cutting himself off with a loud huff, turning away to sulk in a corner as he throws frustrated glares at his brother and Tim, “You’re insufferable.”

“Always,” Jason smirks, “But what else is new?”
Damian’s response is an eyeroll, “I’m going to check on Lian. I should inform her that there is no imminent threat before she uses the new knife lessons I taught her to accidentally stab our allies when they go to retrieve her.”

Upon hearing “Lian” and “knife” in the same sentence, Roy bolts up from the corner of the couch he had been nodding off on, “You gave Lian a knife!”

Nodding solemnly, Damian answers, “Of course, I would not leave her defenseless.”

Dumbstruck, Roy shakes his head before gathering whatever patience is left in his body, “Me and Jason will be discussing what is and is not appropriate to teach Lian without adult supervision later. For now, would you please lead me to my daughter so that I can tell her that everything is okay and retrieve the deadly weapon you left in the hands of a very small three year old child.”

Confused, Damian nods, “Isn’t Lian around the age where her knife training should begin? I was told you prefer arrows, but that does not mean that Lian should not learn other avenues of defense as a result. She should be well versed in all weaponry in the case of an attack.”

Nodding in clear anger, Roy hums out, “Me and your brother will talk about it later.”
Accepting that answer, Damian begins to lead Roy to where Lian is hiding, producing a series of knocks in a clear pattern before entering the room.

Still on the couch, Jason buries his head in his hands with a groan, “I’m in so much trouble. Jesus Christ this week has been awful…Alright, when do you think Dick is gonna get here? I wanna put my helmet on before that douchebag shows up.”

“You might just want to throw your helmet on now and hope for the best.” Tim answers.
With a heavy sigh, Jason retrieves his helmet and puts it on, the modulator warping his tired, agitated grumbles into menacing threats.

And with one of the few lucky breaks of the week, Jason manages to pull the metal helmet on before Dick is crashing through the door, form tense as he stands half crouched in the entry way as he glowered darkly at Jason.

“Hello, big bird. I think you’re missing a muppet.” Jason grunts, tossing a thumb at Tim.

Dick’s eyes narrow, not letting Jason out of his line of sight as he briefly flickers his eyes in Tim’s direction. In response, Tim waves nervously at his panicked older brother with an awkward smile, “Hi, Dick.”

Richard's eyes widen, mouth gaping open in surprise before his face quickly contorts into rage, “Tim.”

Sufficiently cowed, Tim hunkers into himself, desperately avoiding Dick’s furious gaze.
“We'll talk about this later,” Richard grinds out, “What do you want, Hood?”

“Nothin’ from you circus boy.” Jason replies, body posture deceptively relaxed even as his hand rests near the holster where his tranq-gun resides.
Dick’s eyes burn brighter as he prepares to launch himself at the Red Hood; muscles tightly coiled as he hunches low to the ground like a jungle cat about to pounce.

“Wait!” Tim shouts, “It's not what you think!”
“What else could it be Tim Tam? Certainly not a bar mitzvah. Which leaves only the fact that you both broke into my house at the ass crack of dawn for no fucking reason.”

“Your house–!” Dick yells, indignantly.
Swiftly interrupting what is sure to be an all out brawl, Tim intervenes, “He's Roy’s boyfriend!”

Chapter Text

Dick’s face freezes for a moment until his eyes widen, giving one shuddering blink as his mouth slacks open as his brain resets with the information given to him.

Jason, underneath the helmet is giving Tim a similar expression, eyes no longer a foxfire green, rather taking on a calm sea glass tone as Tim’s lie rings through his head. Boyfriend. Jason was Roy’s boyfriend.

At least, that’s what Dick now seemed to think. And if Dick thought it, then it was only a matter of time before Bruce learned of this information. Especially since the newest robin seemed intent on feeding them this false information. God, Jason was screwed.

Does this technically count as being outed? Jason never came out to anyone, but for some reason, this random fuckin’ thirteen year old clocked his ass immediately.

Jesus Christ, this is a shit show. Well, it could be worse. It could be so much worse. The only problem now is getting Roy to go along with it. Which shouldn’t be too hard as long as he tells him that it’ll upset Oliver.

Roy is usually on board with things that’ll upset his once foster father. Mother of Mary this isn’t how Jason wanted his first relationship to go. Goddamnit.

During this brief silence, Tim had covered his mouth with both hands as if he’d blurted out someone else's deepest, darkest secret, large eyes glancing back over to Jason before pinning themselves to the floor anxiously.

Finally, Dick sighs, body posture not quite relaxing, but definitely losing some of its tension as he surveys Jason with a new meaning, “Jesus fucking Christ, Roy has a type.”

Jason’s body remains frozen, the lenses of his helmet glowing eerily as they distantly focus on Dick.

Jason was Roy’s type? What did Dick mean? Jason knew that Roy dated Cheshire, but really, the only thing that Jason and Chesire had in common was the league of assassins…and having a family member on the young justice team.

“Don’t tell me you also showed up with Roy’s kid after years of no contact.” Dick groaned, palms pressing deeply into his eye sockets in an effort to soothe his growing headache.
Coincidentally, Roy, Lian, and Damian enter the room soon after Dick’s sarcastic remark, drawing out another look of bewilderment as he stares at the three new arrivals.

Tense, and more than a little uncomfortable, Jason shrugs and attempts to use humor to cope, “I mean, kind of? The kid’s not Roy’s though. He’s my little brother.”

Dick dramatically falls to his knees, masked blue eyes staring at Roy in a desperate attempt to get some answers as his hands gesture frantically in a “what the hell is all of this” motion.

Roy, not missing a beat, looks tiredly at Dick, his left arm full of Lian as he rests his right hand on Damian’s shoulder so that the kid doesn’t rush the new intruder, “Hello Dick, why are you at my house at the ass crack of dawn? Does the team need something or do I have the unfortunate displeasure of this being a social call?”

Still on the floor, Dick’s arms shoot out as his pupils dart between Red Hood and Roy, “Why the fu–fun are you dating Red Hood? I didn’t even know you liked men?”
Unperturbed, Roy stares down at Dick with an entirely unimpressed expression, “Why is that any of your business? Don’t tell me you came here to confess your undying love, because I’m sad to say that–”

Dick is quick to interrupt, “No! No! Don’t joke right not! This is not the time for jokes, you asshole! Wh–”
“Language.” Roy sighs, brows pinching as he thinks about all the bullshit he has to deal with this early in the morning.

“Shut up! Why the fu–funity fun fun are you dating the goshdang Gotham druglord that decapitated six people? What’s wrong with you!”

“As you so politely screamed, I have a type.” Roy deadpans. This response is met with Dick’s outraged screaming as Jason looks on in stunned amusement, shoulders shaking slightly with quiet laughter.

Covering her ears, Lian pouts angrily at Dick, “Uncle Dick, inside voices!”
Immediately, Dick’s screams of frustration are morphed into agitated humming before the noise eventually comes to a stop.

“Sorry, Lian. Your father is just a very agitating man that causes me constant stress and has taken years off of my life from all the worrying he’s had me do.” Dick exhales.

Lian seems to accept this answer solemnly, head drooping down to her father’s neck as her little arms try to wrap around his shoulders, eyes blinking tiredly as she mutters out something unintelligible.

Jason chances a glance at Damian, who seems to be trying to kill Dick with his eyes. Jason thinks the kid might succeed too, with how nasty a glare he’s shooting at the overdramatic man.

Taking long strides towards his little brother, Jason is quick to try and pick Damian up like a cat in air jail. But his rapid movements startle Dick out of whatever breakdown he’s currently going through as he launches himself at Jason, pinning him to the ground.

Jason lets out a small grunt, though the voice modulator forces it into a crackling growl. The thud of Jason’s body hitting the floor startles Lian from dozing off, as she starts to cry. Attempting to soothe his daughter, Roy brings his right hand up to wipe her tears as he bounces her gently against his hip, face furrowed with worry.

Seeing his chance, Damian darts forward, crashing into Dick’s side and sending his opponent sprawling to the floor a little distance away from Jason, slightly dazed.

Damian attempts to follow up with a knife attack, but is swiftly grabbed by Jason, Arm wrapping around the boy’s small frame as he pulls him close to his chest, uncaring of the way that the sharp blade of the knife scrapes against his armour.

With a slight jolt, and the high raise of his eyebrows, Damian drops the weapon in shock, hearing it clatter uselessly to the ground as he brings his hand to the place his knife had scraped against, checking panickedly for a wound.

Upon finding none, Damian’s expression morphs into a scowl, index finger coming up to jab Jason in the forehead area of his helmet as he curses him out in Arabic for being so stupid.

Tim, who had been slowly edging away from the mess of a situation, finds his arm grabbed before he can make it out of the nearest window.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Roy mutters darkly.

Shocked, and more than a little desperate to get away from this clusterfuck of a family reunion, Tim stutters out a half-assed excuse, “Uh–Well, I have school tomorrow so…I better get going–was great to see you though–gotta go–bye!”
Tim rapidly tries to tear his arm out of Roy’s grip, taking another half step towards the window as he does, but Roy’s grip remains firm.

“Richard! Take your brother home and interrogate us later! If you’re still in my house after five minutes, I’m telling Kory about that that time you–”

Faster than Roy could blink, Tim is out of his arms and into Dick’s, as Dick gives him a strained smile, “Thank you so much for your hospitality Roy! I’ve got to get this little one home for school tomorrow! I’ll be back later today so that we can finish this…conversation. Nice catching up, bye!”

After his rushed farewell, Dick runs out of Roy’s apartment, slamming the door behind him during his hasty exit.

Roy and Jason let out a sigh as they desperately tried to herd the kids back into their rooms to sleep. However, both kids are tightly wound after the situation, neither one wanting to leave the comfort of their family’s arms.

Jason’s eyebrow twitches, teeth grinding together as he tears the helmet off of his head.

His black hair, red roots peaking out, and white stripe in the front, stick up in every direction, letting out a faint zapping noise as static electricity clings to the strands. It was gonna be such a long week.

A massive headache pulsed behind Jason’s head as he lay in bed with Damian, Roy, and Lian; hand rubbing calming circles into Damian’s tense back as Roy cradles Lian against his chest on the other side.

With the kids taking up the center of the bed, and Jason and Roy taking up the ends, sleep evades the exhausted group until well into the morning.

They fall asleep around ten am, bodies finally giving out to fatigue as sleep drags them down into the murky depths of oblivion.

Across city borders, deeper in New Jersey, a man draped in black, with pointed horns adorning the dark cowl that hides half his face stares at the bloody remains of the Joker in Arkham Asylum.

The body is near unrecognizable, burned to a crisp with only the clowns gaping, twisted, yellow smile being the only clear source of identification.

Intelligent eyes take in the scene, as Gotham PD gleefully extracts the body from the cell, hauling the burnt corpse to the morgue to confirm the identity of the monster they once feared.

The cameras had shown nothing. Just a loop of Joker in his cell that would have remained uninvestigated if not for the smoke that had filled Arkham’s halls.

Someone had killed the joker, and Bruce was going to find out who.

Chapter Text

The cell was warm, the fire only having been recently extinguished had heated the surrounding area to near unbearable degrees. The floor where the body had lain is scorched in ash, melting the foam flooring into a crinkled, blackened goop that smelled of tar and burnt hair.

The walls and ceiling were grayed from smoke, the dark gray plumes of ash lapping hungrily up the sides of the room. The smell was intolerable, with the newer officers vomiting upon entry, adding to the horrible stench that clings to the air.

The more experienced officers were quick to put on their gas masks, slipping on gloves as they examined the seared flesh of what had been the Joker.

Gleaming white teeth glare mockingly at Batman as his lensed eyes scanned the room only to once more be drawn back to the mangled body in front of him. Even when he’s nothing more than ash, the Joker’s glinting grin still mocks Bruce.

Amidst the investigation, laughter can be heard from the officers in the room, their eyes shining as they stare at the ashen corpse of the Joker.

The officer closest to the body holds a pair of forceps, gleefully wedging them between the Joker’s teeth as he pries the charred jaw open, flickering his flashlight into its maw, “Ding, dong the witch is dead, hmm-hmm-hmm-hum-hummhmmhmm, ding dong the wicked witch is dead.”

The officer beside him, a young brunette with eyes like steel glare at her partner in agitation, “Be serious Johnson,” Her eyes never leave the body in front of her as her mouth remains set in a thin line, “If anything, this is like the wicked witch of the west’s death. Not the east’s. Get your wizard of oz references straight.”

Johnson laughs, head thrown back slightly with the movement, “you’re probably right about that Astrid. I guess it’d be more accurate to say he’d melted.”

“Damn straight,” Astrid snorts “I bet whoever caused this happy little accident drowned him in kerosine before lightin’ the fucker on fire. Good riddance.”

“You might be right about that Astrid; take a look over here.” Johnson chuckles, waving Astrid over. Crouching down, Astrid squats next to Johnson, peering inside the inside of the joker’s mouth.

“What the hell is that? Shouldn’t the fluids in the body have been evaporated by the heat?”

Johnson nods, “Kind’of. I bet there was still some moisture in a few of the organs. It’s more likely that the organs are half cooked at best whereas the skin and hair received the brunt of the attack. Same can’t be said of the eyes though. Those fuckers are long gone. My guess is that the fluid was placed post-mortem. I’d have to get him back to the lab to be sure though.”

Johnson flickers turns to face Astrid, “Looks like someone stuck a hose in him and filled the bastard like a wate balloon; all the fluid is pooled at the back if the throat. Can you hand my that vail? I’m gonna take a quick sample.

God knows that none of this is gonna be handled properly the second the body’s moved outta here, and I’d at least like to know that whatever was poured into this bastard isn’t capable of lettin’ the douchebag haunt us.”

“You believe in ghosts?” Astrid asks, amusedly.

Johnson shakes his head, carefully filling up the vail with the liquid, “Naw, not ghosts, demons. And if there were ever a demon, I swear to Christ that this man fit the bill. He done so much shit, I bet even the devil shudders at his name. Alright the vials filled. Let’s get back to–Owf”

Looming above Johnson, mouth set in a hard line, Batman glowers as Johnson bumps into his chest, “The vial.”
Shaking slightly, Johnson hands the vial over, stuttering a quick, “Of course Mr. Batman, sir, no problem!”

Continuing to stare, Batman’s gravelly voice practically rattles the bones of the two officers in front of him, “I’ll be back later for the autopsy reports.”

And before the officers could blink, the Bat disappeared.
“Jesus fucking Christ, I thought he was gonna kill you!” Astrid muttered shakily.

"No, no, that–whatever that was! That was the happiest I’ve seen the bat, and I’ve been working here for almost five fuckin’ years now. Jesus Christ, I almost shit my pants. That’s the closest I’ve seen to a smile since that-uh- one-kid, the bird before this one, the red head, disappeared. Jesus!” Johnson breathes, equally rattled, “Guy’s pectorals are the size of a fucking watermelon each, that shit almost sent me flying.”

Bruce clambers his way through the vents, leaving the stressed conversation of the two officers behind as he makes his way out of Arkham Asylum, “Alfred,”
“Yes, Master Bruce?”
“Prep the computer for a chromatography analysis.”
“Of course sir.”

Closer to the exit, Bruce pops open the vent and descends, landing softly on the tiled floors of the back exit. Halfway towards the Bat-mobile, a crackling can be heard over com before eventually, the clear voice of Talia rings through Bruce’s ear.

“Beloved, we have something to discuss.”

“Talia, what do you want?”
“Ah, you have such a way with words, Beloved. Can’t a woman have an amicable conversation with her ex-fiance?”
“Not when that woman’s you, Talia. Now get to the point. What do you want.”

“What any mother wants, I suppose. For a father to take care of his sons.”
“What?” Bruce growls, shock thankfully hidden behind the noise.

Talia laughs, the sound stirring up a fondness that Bruce had thought he’d buried long ago, “Eloquent as usual, my heart. It is as I said. I want you to take care of our sons. I have done as the eldest asked and eradicated the Joker. There shouldn’t be any push back from him from now on; in that regard, at least.”

“What does the joker have to do with your–our...kids. As far as I’ve known, the league and Joker have no current or past connection. Ra's believed him to be too much of an...unstable variable.”

“And for that you would be partially correct, however, my father has been…unwell these past few years, and has made a grave miscalculation as a result. His work with the Joker ended with a dead bird on your end and me having to use the pit on mine. Father was not happy, but I refused to leave my son in such a state.”

Bruce stood there, frozen. That man had cost him so much. The joker had cost Bruce a son, his relationship with Dick, anf the people of his city. And now, he's learning that the joker would have stolen another son from him without Bruce even knowing.

His child would have died believing that his father wanted nothing to do with him. That he had chosen Batman over his son. Bruce’s teeth grind, hands clenching in pained anger as he thinks of a young, broken body, being lowered into the wrathful, hissing, acidic green waters of the Lazarus pit.

Emerging from the scalding waters of hell knowing nothing but agony and anger as every tear, blister, bruise, and broken bone knit themselves back together as the water rushes to refill the depleted veins of his son's once dead body.

He would have never had the chance to know about he and Talia’s eldest child if she had not laid him in the pit. The joker had cost him the lives of two sons and the sanity of the one lucky enough to be reborn.

One final cruel trick that Bruce can hear the clown laughing at from hell. His enemy's wretched voice echoing off of the walls in the deepest pits of tartarus to fill his ears with mocking laughter.

Hatred seethed into every bone of Bruce’s body, causing an unearthly stillness not unlike the state of rigor mortis that paralyzed the Joker’s face into that unsightly, gleaming grin on his charred body.

Nothing is said for the next few moments. If not for the sound of a plane engine echoing in the background, Bruce would have thought that Talia had left him to deal with the repercussions of this knowledge alone.

“How old.” How old? What are their names? When are their birthdays? What do they like? Do they look more like Talia? More like him? Or are they a perfect mix of their features? Do you have any baby photos? Who are they? The questions go unasked but still Bruce is filled with a desperate need to know.

A desperate need to know every little detail about these children, his children. It settles like a stone in water, sending a sinking feeling of longing, dread, hope, and fear through every nerve in Bruce’s body. Have they heard of him? Do they even want to meet him? Is it too late to form a connection with them? Is it too late to hold them? To cradle them?

To promise them that they’ll be safe? Will they think that he’d abandoned them in the league? Do they know that if he had known that his children were in the league of assassins, that he would have done anything to get them out? That he would have torn apart heaven and hell just for a clue on their location? That the second he found out about them, he loved them? Did they know that their father, loves them? That there is nothing they could do to change that? Even if they've killed, Bruce would still love them. Though, his stomache swirls at the thought of his children having to kill another person.

What were they made to do? What hardships were they forced to endure? If they come to him less than whole...will he be able to fix it? Will he be able to provide the pieces necessary to fill the gapes in their psyche? In their hearts? Will he be able to give them a childhood? A real childhood?

Will he be able to give them the tools that they need to flourish? Bruce doesn't know. But how he craves to find out. How he wants, so intensely, to pull his boys close to his chest and whisper everything they need to hear.

To hold them so tightly, that he can feel theor heartbeats against his. A steady firm rhythm that reminds him that as long as that rhythm is felt, he has a chance at being with them. Whether it's as a father...or just as a trusted ally...Bruce will take whatever he can get. And if they don't want a relationship...if they don't want him as a father or ally or friend...then Bruce will be their shadow. Taking care of them in secret and catching whatever glimpses of them he can.

“The eldest turned nineteen in August. The youngest will be turning nine in December.” Talia replies, voice cutting through the haze of questions clouding Bruce’s mind.

19? Bruce had to have been around twenty one for that to be possible, that would have been near the beginning of Bruce and Talia’s relationship, “How long have you kept them from me?”

“Not nearly as long as you’re thinking.”
“Then how–”
“I was forced to accelerate their growth process. We both know the league is no place for children, Habibi.”

Bruce lets out a sigh, selfishly glad that he had not missed so many years of his children's life.
“Where are they?” Bruce growled, patience worn thin due to emotional strain.

“With a friend.”
“The league doesn’t do friends.”
“No, but your son does. Well, I guess “roommates” is the more accurate term at the moment.”

“Where are they?” Bruce asks again, the beginning of a headache forming at the front of his skull. Roomates, whatever meaning Talia has subscribed to that term, seems to be an important factor of his son's relationship to this unkown third party. Bruce shuffles the information away, placing it neatly behind the larger portion that's panicking over being an absent father to his two unknown sons.

Talia hums, seeming to debate the question before finally answering, “Star City. That’s all I can tell you. Our son will be quite cross with me as it is for telling you this much. And when his older brother is mad, my darling zuì xiǎo de érzi is as well. Two birds of a feather, our sons. Unfortunately, I have to go, but it was nice catching up. ʾIlaa l-liqaaʾ, ḥabībatī.”

Before Talia can disconnect from his com, Bruce asks another question, the desperation behind it barely masked through his hardened tone, “What are their names?”

The other side of the line remains silent, taking in the question with a hesitance that Bruce has never known Talia to have. Please, Bruce thinks to himself, please just tell me their names. Tell me the names of the children you have not allowed me to know.

Please let me know my children. Let me have something to call out go them when I extend my hand in greeting, in hope that they take it, in selfish desire to know them and know them fully.

To know how their names sound to my ears, for they must make the sweetest sound imaginable and I am bereft without the knowledge of that joyous sound. If you can give me anything, then please, give me this. I am a selfish man, and I want the children you have kept from me. I want to know what face they'll make when I call out to them by name.

Will they be happy? Angry? Confused? Whatever reaction, just please give me the sound of our children's names so I may morph my mouth to fit them with the affection each syllable deserves.

“...Our youngest is named Damian.” And with that, Talia ends the call, leaving Bruce to cling to her words with a feverish intensity.

Our youngest is named Damian. Though incomplete without the name of his other child, the sound is still beautiful. He repeats the name, over and over in his head, echoing it throughout the walls of his skull as the reverb picks happily at his sulcri and gyri of his brain.

Damian. Damian. Damian. The baby of the family, Damian. His youngest son, Damian. His baby, Damian. His children, Damian, Dick, and Tim. Damian and his brother, whose name Bruce still doesn’t know, are somewhere in Star City. Everything else can wait.

Damian, who is unaware of his father’s single minded focus, sneezes five times, startling the people around him.
“Jesus Christ, pipsqueak! God bless you! You sure you don’t have any allergies?”

Scowling, Damian sends a sharp glare at his older brother, “Yes, unfortunately I am quite allergic to imbecilic older brothers. Mother was unable to remove that particular SNPS from my genome. If you could keep your stupidity to a minimum that would be much obliged.”

“Fuck off!” Jason replies, flipping Damian off as he ruffles his baby brother’s hair, “If that was true, you would have sneezed up a storm the second Dick walked into the room yesterday.”
“Grayson isn’t the one who picked up an assassin mid knife strike. Nor has he done anything remotely brotherly in my general vicinity since our meeting.”

Jason shrugs, lightly brushing the hair out of his eyes as he glances over at Roy and Lian as they eat breakfast, “I mean, he was annoying. That’s a pretty brotherly thing to do.”
“If merely being annoying is enough to be qualified as a brother, I would have a lot more siblings.”

Jason snorts, “Don’t you worry, with Bruce’s habits, I’m sure the manor will never be an empty nest. You’ll have siblings galore. I bet you won’t even be the youngest for long.”
Brows cast in a deep furrow, Damian sneers, though it seems much closer to a pout from Jason’s vantage point, “Those words are not nearly as reassuring as you think they are Todd.”

Jason laughs, once again messing up his brother’s hair, “Relax, shortstack, you’ll have plenty of time with your father without any other siblings butting in. Two of us are grown and the other’s a teenager. If anything, you’ll be wanting to get away from his attention, since you’re the baby of the family. Enjoy your privacy while you can, small fry.”

Damian’s expression sours further, “I’m not a baby.”
Jason smiles, “Yes you are. You’re my baby. My baby brother. The babiest of babies. Just a little guy—omphf!”
Jason is quickly cut off by an elbow to the stomach, letting out a soft groan as he clutches the pained area.

Damian sniffs, haughtily, sticking his nose up at Jason as he watches his brother recover from the attack, “Could a mere infant do that?”
Letting out another groan, Jason replies, “Such a grumpy baby. Did you miss your naptime?”

Incensed by this, Damian playfully wrestles his brother to the floor, Jason happily going along with it. As they struggle against each other on Roy’s wooden floor, Lian turns to her father and giggles, “They're silly.”

Roy sighs, fond exasperation bubbling like seltzer water in his chest as he grumbles, “They’re something alright. Don’t copy their actions, they’re bad examples.”

Jason guffaws from his position on the floor, peeking his head up as Damian tumbles off his back, “I’m a great example!”

Damian nods his head as he recovers from his fall, “Yes, Jiàn nánhái, my ahki is a great example…of what not to do.”

Gasping in betrayal, Jason clutches at his chest, “Betrayal! By my own brother, no less! How could you!”
“Easily.” Damian deadpans.

Jason makes a wounded noise before turning an accusing finger on Roy, “You did this! You turned my baby brother against me! And for that you will pay!”

Roy places his head in his hands as he tiredly stirs his oatmeal, “You did that all on your own, big guy. I didn’t need to do anything.”

With a cry of outrage, Jason launches himself at Roy, frantically tickling his sides as Roy pushes at Jason’s arms.
“J! J! Sta–ap that! Hahahahhhahahh! Ahhahahha! Stop! Stop! Uncle! Uncle! I give! I give!” Roy cackles, trying to back away from Jason’s tickling hands only to meet Jason’s firm chest, preventing his escape.

Pausing briefly, Jason turns to Lian, “What do you think Lian? Has he had enough?”
Lian, sweet darling that she is, shyly nods her head yes, freeing her father from Jason’s grasp.

With a sigh, Jason stops, leaving Roy with his back pressed against Jason’s chest, panting for air as his hands grip at Jason’s forearms even as they lower, “Alright.”

Once Roy’s recovered enough that every breath doesn’t give way to a wheeze, he moves away, once again going to sit by his daughter as he glares at Jason, his smile softening the edges into a more joyous expression than he'd wanted.

“I guess it's fair, since I still have to punish the traitor.” Jason sighs, turning towards Damian.

Damian is swift to try and flee, dashing towards the bedrooms as Jason chases hot on his heels. Damian is quick, using his smaller size to gracefully evade Jason’s snatching hands as he makes it the bedroom door, only to find it closed.

The small moment of panic cost him, as Jason happily scoops him up in his arms, tickling down Damian’s sides as he thrashes in his brother’s arms. Wheezing laughter erupts from Damian’s lungs as he lets out squeals and shrieks of joy, desperately trying to twist his way out of his brother’s hold.

“You got anything to say now, punk?” Jason asks, smiling widely.
“Mercy! Ahki! Mercy!” Damian laughs, tears gathering at the corner of his eyes.

Jason hums, debating it for a little, hands never stopping as he does so, “What’s the magic word?”
Damian attempts to scowl, but the expression is quickly ruined by another bout of laughter, “Please! Please, ahki! Mercy!”

Finally, Jason stops, allowing Damian to catch his breath as he lays still in his brother’s arms.

After a terrifying night, Damian is happy to have this momentary distraction, where nobody but himself, Jason, Roy, and Lian exist. Damian clings to the moment fiercely, hooking his hands in like claws so that this fleeting joy doesn’t fade away. Here, with a brother he has known all his life and two people he's known for barely a day, Damian feels a sense of home unlike any way the league ever has.

The league was a place. It offered a sense of belonging and structure, but denied him the company of kindness for longer than his grandfather deemed necessary.

In the league, his mother’s love was a secret kept close to the cages of her ribs, wrapping tightly around her heart as his grandfather leered above them. His brother’s love was an open secret, never stated, but always pronounce, shown through every action he'd ever taken.

But love was a weakness in the league. Love was only ever used against you. But here, in this small apartment in a foreign city, love is no weakness, no secret, but rather, love is a loud, large beast that paces freely without any confinement.

It is the first thing this man, Harper, tells his daughter when she wakes up and the last thing she hears when she falls asleep. And a small, ugly part of Damian hates them for it. He sneers at every proud exclamation of their love, as if their care will not be used against them.

He clenches his fists at every forehead kiss and cradled figure with such jealousy and anger that the mixture makes him nauseous.

Love has always been a secret to Damian; sincere but never outspoken. Why do they get to have that? Why do they get to wear their love so proudly, when all that's ever done is gotten people hurt? Don't they know love is supposed to be a quiet thing? Don't they know love is a weakness others will use to hurt you?

Hidden behind the anger and the jealousy, Damian is terrified. Bad things happen when you’re loud with your love. It is a lesson that has been beat into the very marrow of his bones. Repeatedly. It is a lesson he was slow to learn.

And Damian is terrified that these people, who love so openly, who accepted him and his brother so readily, will be hurt because of it. Damian keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop; for someone to snatch one of them away and torture them as punishment for the others. For someone to die because they dared to love something and show it.

Last night was a horrible reminder that he wasn’t safe. That his brother and him, despite being well trained assassins, could still be ambushed at any moment. Still be hurt at any moment. Danger lurks around every corner, and now, it hunts these new people that Damian is growing annoyingly fond of.

The people who came yesterday, the people Jason claims are their siblings, crashed in so swiftly that it took the entire household by surprise. These strangers crept in while they were all asleep. And one of them had managed to catch Jason off guard.

Jason, who Damian has only ever seen toss his opponent's around like rag dolls, had been pinned by a man four inches shorter and maybe 80-100 pounds under his weight class.

Jason should never be vulnerable, not while Damian's around. Damian is his brother, and brothers are supposed to take care of eachother. Whoever these people are, regardless of what Jason thinks, they are not family. And they never will be.

These intruders hadn’t harmed them yet. But that’s the sad thing about yet, it always anticipates the action the past has denied. Damian isn’t safe here. Even with his brother and his brother’s…”friend”, Damian wasn’t safe.

The man that came before, Grayson, planned on returning. And Damian would do everything in his power to prepare for it.

There was not a single place in this apartment suite that did not have a weapon hidden for Damian to reach. Damian had even placed traps at the windows and front door in preparation of Grayson’s arrival. He had the time, and he'd spend it well.

He would not be caught unawares again. That is something Damian promised. So when he’s released from his brother’s hold, Damian walks to the kitchen island, eating the breakfast he’d been pulled away from as Jason follows slowly behind him.

Hours later, Grayson walks through the door, springing the trap Damian had left for the man much to the surprise of everyone but Jason.
“Damian.” Jason says, tone slightly disapproving, but mostly amused as he watches Dick dangle helplessly from a clear wire net.

“Yes, ahki?” Damian asks, imbuing innocence into his every feature.
“We invited Big Bird over to talk.”
Damian nods, “And I have left him perfectly able to do so.”

Jason snorts, muttering a quick, “Goddamn Kevin McCallister, bullshit,” before turning exasperatedly back to his younger sibling, “Can you let him out please?”

Damian shakes his head, “Unfortunately, I have forgotten how to release the trap. Apologies, but our guest will have to ask his questions from his current location.”

Dick looks at the kid in clear befuddlement, whispering a dazed, “What in the addams family type shit–” before he quickly cuts himself off at Roy’s glare.
“You have an eidetic memory…and you forgot how to release the trap that you set up.” Jason asks, tone clearly indicating that he’s never heard a more bullshit excuse.

“Yes, tragic isn’t it?” Damian says demurely.
Giving up, Jason turns to Dick, staring at him through the glowing lenses of his helmet, “Alright, ask your questions then.”

"What the fuck?" Dick whispers.

Chapter Text

“Is that your first question?” Roy asked, tiredly staring at Dick as he flailed in the net.
“Fuck off Roy!” Dick shouts, the noise muffled as he tries to knaw his way through the wire unsuccessfully.

“A wonderful example to children as always Dick.” Roy sarcastically replies, earning a scowl from Dick.
“Yikes, and I thought his temper was bad when he first started out as nightwing.” Jason muttered under his breath.
Damian’s nose crinkles in clear distaste as he gives the agitated man a once-over, “It is safe to assume that father’s ward is always this much of a cretin then?”

Jason huffs in amusement, the sound coming through like static with his helmet, tilting his head to the side as he does, “Not sure, could just be the circumstance.”
Damian’s lips curl in repulsion, “Your admiration for this man confounds me.”

Jason, blushing slightly in embarrassment hisses at his younger brother, “He was a lot cooler when I was a kid, okay!?”
Dick’s attention zones back into the rooms two other occupants, zeroing in on the red, reflective surface of Jason’s mask as he glares through the gaps of the metal thread.

“A fan? Can’t tell if I should be flattered or not that an upstart crime boss is a fan of mine. Out of the two options, I think I’ll go with not, no offense. Don’t really want bloodthirsty criminals in my fanbase. You understand, right?”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about me being a fan now, boy blunder, every second I’m in your presence is a strong reminder that you’re just as lame as you’ve always been.”
“Boy Blunder? Is that the best you can do? At least get some original material you Qimir wannabe looking ass.”

Jason says nothing, flat stare boring into Dick’s lenses as Dick seems to slump slightly in the net, “Seriously? Nothing for the Acolyte reference? What, not a Star Wars fan?”
Jason shrugs, “Haven’t seen anything since clone wars.”

“Seriously? Nothing? What are you a purist? Roy!? Are you dating a Star Wars purist! What the hell man!”
Roy, looking like he’d like Dick to be anywhere else, sighs, “I’m not dating a Star Wars purist, Dick. And even if I was, that wouldn’t be important.”

Dick gasps, “It would be incredibly important! For one, it would explain the dude’s psychopathic tendencies!”
“I don’t think my lack of Star Wars content is the reason for my homicidal urges.” Jason cuts in, voice flat as the helmet’s white noise buzzes underneath his tone.

“Can we please focus? Dick, ask your questions so that you can leave us the hell alone.” Roy barks, eye brows deeply furrowed as he scowls at Jason and Dick.
“Is that any way to talk to your best friend?”---“Is that any way to talk to your boyfriend?” Dick and Jason ask at the same time, mirroring expressions of faux hurt in their body language.

Upon realizing their synchronized speech, Dick and Jason shiver in disgust with Dick actually pretending to throw up.

Damian is very fed up with this bullshit, and quickly makes it known by holding Dick at knife point, “Listen here you miserable, moronic, wretch of a man, if you do not ask whatever foolish, mind-numbing queries you ambushed us for now, I will start asking questions of my own. And I think you’ll find my method of asking to be far less polite. I will give you until the count of three before I decide that the hospitality extended to you as Roy’s friend fades and your status as Batman’s attack chihuahua takes precedence and I start my own interrogation. One–”

“Fine! Fine! I’ll ask my stupid questions! No need to get stabby.” Dick pouts, crossing his arms, “But first–” Suddenly, the net holding Dick drops to the ground, wires falling slack as Dick gracefully untangles himself after having fallen flat on his face, “There. That’s better. Question number one, what are your intentions with Roy?”

Jason snorts, “What are you? His dad? Should I say marriage?”
“I think you’ll find that I’ll be much worse than Oliver Queen if you ever hurt my best friend. What are your intentions with Roy”
Jason sighs, “Nothing really. I guess my only intention with him is to share his company, I guess? And make him a glorified babysitter while I handle some shit for the pipsqueak before I send him to his dad.”

Dick’s face scrunches up slightly, “No backstabbing? No dating Roy in order to get close to a target then?”
Jason laughs, “He’d kick my ass if I did any of that. ‘Sides, I like Roy way too much to pull any of that shit with him.”

Humming slightly in disbelief, Dick chances a glance at Damian before his eyes flutter back to Jason, “Question two, are you and the kid escaped clones of Batman?”

Another loud cackling laugh erupts from Jason, the fuzz from the helmet making the sound a terrifying rasp that crackles and breaks with static, “Hahahaha! Oh god no! That’d sure be somethin’ funny though. Can you imagine? Naw, pipsqueak over here is Talia and Brucie boy's kid. Talia’s dealing with some shit back in the league so I’ve been given the pleasure of handing the kid off to his father.”

Dick’s eyes widen, neck turning to look at Damian so fast you’d think it would snap as he takes in the kid with this new information.

Dick is silent for a second before he finds his voice again, eyes never leaving Damian, “Yeah, well, I don’t think that’d go too well. I can take him to his father, and if what you’re saying is true, the kid,--- what’s your name, stabby?---will be with his father and you can fuck off back to Talia. Sound good?”

Shaking his head, Jason takes a hand and Pulls Damian slightly behind him, “No can do, bird brain. Shortstack stays with me until Black Mask and Joker are out of the picture. Otherwise, the only way you’re gettin’ this kid is by prying him out of my cold, dead hands. And I know for a fact you bats ain’t ones for killin’ so why don’t you do us all a favor and stand down.”

The end is practically said in a growl, Jason’s teeth grinding against each other as his eyes take on a greener hue. Damian is in a similar state, hand clenched into a tight fist as he grasps onto one of the gun holster loops at his brother’s thigh and glowers at Dick in anger.

“I don’t need to kill you to take you out.” Dick replied coldly, eyes finally leaving Damian to look at Jason.
“I’m sure if it were anyone else, that’d be true. But the only way you’re taking my brother from me is if I’m six feet under and even then I’ll still crawl my way outta hell to get him back. So rethink whatever the fuck you’re planning on doing before it ends up with the bat missing another bird.” Jason answered, words steely as his blue led lenses take on a more turquoise color.

“And what’s stopping me from knocking you out and dragging both you and the kid to Batman? I hope for your sake that you don’t say Roy, ‘cause, and I hate to tell you, he’d take my–”
“I’m taking Jayce’s side. Don’t do something you’ll regret.” Roy cuts in, having previously left to put Lian in her room when Damian pulled the knife on Dick.
“What! Roy! Bros before Hoes! How could you!” Dick shouts, dramatic gestures masking genuine alarm.

“Easily. I prefer this hoe to you any day of the week.” Roy deadpans.
“Very romantic, babe.” Jason says, sarcastically.
“You know me, a modern day Romeo.” Roy says, an equal amount of sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Tugging slightly on the holder that he’s grasping, Damian asks, “Ahki, why did he refer to you as a gardening tool? What is the significance of a hoe in this context?”
“Sonofabitch. Now look at what you’ve done Dick,” Jason scoffs, “He’s not referring to an actual gardening tool, he’s just insulting me based on my assumed promiscuity.”

Confusion gives way to anger as Damian puffs up in response, ready to make good on his threat to stab Dick...and probably say something that'd embarrass Jason...before a hand ruffles through his hair.
“I can fight my own battles, xiǎoguǐ. Don’t need you defendin’ my honor. Thank you though, bǎobao.”

Deflating, Damian let’s out a slight huff, but doesn’t put his knife away, instead, keeping the blade steadily trained on Dick as if to tell the man that he’s on thin fucking ice.

Dick watches the situation, eyes calculating before he seems to relax, muscles unclenching as he slouches down and raises his arms to appear non-threatening, “Alright, alright. I know when I’m beat.”

Contrarily to what Richard wants to happen, that phrase makes everyone in the room tense up. If there’s one thing Jason and Roy know about Dick, it’s that he never knows when he’s beat.
“What’s your purpose in Gotham?” Dick asks, keeping his tone soft as he splits his attention between Jason and Damian.

“Fix it.” Jason answers, gruffly.
“Bull. What’s the real reason.”
“To fix it.”
“You’ve got a funny way of fixing things.”

“I’m solving problems that the Bat puts temporary bandaids on. Next question.”
“What got Talia so worried that she sent you here with her kid?”
“Grandpapy took one too many dips in the mountain dew eternal youth pond and got crazier than normal.”

Dick lets out a wheeze at Ra’s Al Ghul being referred to as ‘Grandpapy’ while Damian rolls his eyes, clearly used to Jason’s mocking regards towards his grandfather.
“...How old is the kid?”
“Eight, turns Nine in december.” Jason states, arms firmly crossed against his chest.
“How long have you and Roy been dating?”
“None of your business.” Jason grunts.

Dick’s head tilts appraisingly, eyes flickering between Roy and Jason before seeming to resettle on Jason’s helmet, doubt clear in the movement.
“God, you're such a gossip, Dick. It’s new. We were old friends that reconnected and wanted to try something casual and it grew from there."

Dick seems to accept that answer, disbelief dimming slightly as he looks at Jason, “I didn’t know you had any friends named Jayce.”
“Yeah, well, you weren’t really here a couple of years ago. Not hard to believe you didn't know every single one of my friends, even if you are a stalker.”

Dick makes a disgruntled face at being called a stalker, but continues on with his questions, “What’s blackmask got to do with this?”
“He’s the biggest threat besides the Joker to the kid, and Talia already promised to take care of the clown, so I’ll be the one who gets the pleasure of doing Sionis in.”

“You don’t call Talia mom.” Dick asks, eyes never blinking.
“Is that a question or an observation?” Jason asked.
Dick says nothing, continuing to stare at Jason as the silence lingers.

“No. I call her ʾummii, but for the sake of a simpler conversation with you, I’ll stick to calling her Talia.”
“Why now?”
“I told you, Ra’s is crazy–”
“Ra’s Al Ghul is always crazy. What did he do that was so insane even Talia couldn’t stand it.”
“I didn’t ask. But it must’ve been something bad if she was willing to ignore how I felt about Damian coming here.”

“And how did you feel?”
“What are you a therapist? I felt pissed. Batman couldn’t keep one kid safe and now I’ve got to hand him my baby brother? No dice.”

Anger seems to ignite in Dick’s face before it is quickly buried beneath the cold mask of indifference he’s trying to maintain, the lines of his shoulders drawn tense despite his best efforts, “What’s Talia’s plan?”

“As far as I know, deal with Ra’s, then handle whatever power struggle the league goes through after and pick up her kid once it’s safe. Anything else? Or is twenty questions finally up?”
Dick opens his mouth to reply when he’s cut off by his phone ringing. Ignoring it, Dick tries to continue his interrogation, but is interrupted by his phone another three times before he finally gives in and answers, “What?”

“Dick! Why the fuck weren’t you answering! Where are you!”
“Kinda busy Tim. I’m at Roy’s, what’s the issue?”
“Joker’s dead and Bruce–”

“What?”
“Joker’s dead!”

Chapter Text

The Joker’s dead. The bastard that killed Dick’s little brother is dead, and this time, it wasn’t Dick that did him in. Relief rushes through him, the muscles of his shoulders loosening as his lungs let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. It feels slightly like he’s being melted by the sudden onslaught of giddy calm that courses through his veins.

But just as quickly as the relief appears, it is snuffed out. Overshadowed by a looming sense of dread. Hand tightening over his cellphone, Dick turns away from Red Hood and his little brother, nudging slightly past Roy as he rushes out into the hallway outside of Roy’s apartment.
“Where’s Bruce?” Dick asks, voice low and demanding.

“Shut up and let me talk! If you’d stop interrupting me, I would have told you that Bruce has been ignoring coms for the past hour! I haven’t heard anything from him since he asked me to tell him when the autopsy report for the Joker is finished! I had to meet commissioner gordon and some—mortician–alone to get the report because Bruce hasn’t been answering me!”

This was bad. “What was his last location?”
“Just outside Arkham. Oracle is trying to find out what happened after Bruce went dark. She says that Bruce got an encrypted phone call, that she’s trying to decode the location of, before he darted off.” Tim answered, quickly.

Bruce going dark isn’t uncommon, but it never means anything good. Usually, it means he’s gonna try and handle something without any backup, which the hypocrite is always on all of their asses for doing. Whatever lead Bruce is chasing, it’s bound to be a pain in the ass to deal with.

With a sigh, Dick continues, pinching the bridge of his nose as he slumps against the hallway wall, “What were the autopsy reports?”
“The…burning was done pre-mortem but doesn’t seem to be the cause of death. Both femurs, the patellas, the clavicle, ribs 3,4, and 5, as well as the nasal bone were broken while the temporal lobe suffered an impact fracture and the carpals suffered an oblique fracture.

The right lung was punctured by ribs three and four; the larynx shows signs of blunt trauma; and both the liver and kidneys show signs of scar tissue from previous puncture wounds that seem to have healed over. However, according to the joker’s medical files, there was no scarification on his organs prior to this event.”

Dick hummed, fingers tapping nervously against the inside of his wrist as he glanced, unseeingly at the end of the hallway, “When was his last medical examination according to Arkham files?”

“After a fight with Harley last tuesday. She gave him a concussion.” Tim replied, a note of approval in his tone.
“Good for her.” Dick says, lips quirking upward.
“But here’s the fun part, Joker’s been in isolation since that fight, meaning that no other inmates couldn't have caused and healed that amount of damage without notice. Even better, the scars on the organs suggest wounds as old as three years.”

“Any possibility that it’s from Gotham’s usual medical neglect?”
“I thought it might be that too, but according to Arkham files, Joker was taken for an ultrasound and full body x-ray upon arrival. They didn’t want to take any chances of him sneaking anything in via fucked up self surgery after last time. Both images came back clear. No issues. No scars. Just the usual bumps of old, healed bone injuries.”

Dick’s mouth morphs into a frown, fingers pausing their gentle tapping, “Theories?”
“The liquid found in the back of Joker’s throat was unidentifiable in the autopsy report. The labs could tell that there was some type of contaminant, but the coroner labeled it under the usual gotham contaminants when no match was found in their database. However, when I ran the liquid through the batcomputer, I found a match.”

“Get to the point, Tim. You’ve been watching way too much NCIS.” Dick gripes.
“Rude. Not like he’s getting any deader. You could at least let me have the satisfying moment of laying out all the pieces of evidence and explaining what I’ve been able to string together.” Tim pouts.

“Yes, yes, you’re very smart Tim. Great job at solving the mystery fluid. Now, what was it?”
Dick hears his name muttered on the other side of the line in what is clearly supposed to be an insult. With a huff and a roll of his eyes, Dick continues, “That’s my name; don’t wear it out. I’m already listening so there’s no need to call for me, just get to the point, Tim.”

“Douchebag.” Tim snips, fingers clacking against his keyboard on the other side of the com line as he changes Dick’s netflix password, “The liquid had traces of Lazarus water.”

Ears ringing, Dick places a hand against his chest as he feels his heart stop, lungs stuttering painfully against an aborted inhale as his eyes grow wide. Lazarus water. Someone had tried to revive the Joker. And they could possibly succeed. Why would the league care about the Joker’s death? Why would they care enough to help bring him back? This can’t be happening.

“Dick? Dick? Dick! You still there?” Tim asked, frantically chanting his brother’s name, worry coloring his tone.
Taking a deep breath, Dick releases a shuddering exhale as he answers, voice cracking as he does, “Yeah, yeah, I’m–I’m still here. What was the concentration of Lazarus water in the liquid?”

“Mild–like–real mild–like only trace amounts, around seven to eight percent. Not enough for a revival. The fluid only healed enough of the Joker’s body to keep some of his organs from completely cooking, and that was done post-mortem.”

That’s confusing, but it does change the previous question on who in the league wanted to help the Joker into who in the league wanted to torture the Joker. “Was that the only dose found in the Joker’s system?”

Tim hummed, “Mhmm, kinda. It was the only dose of the fluid left in his system. Though there appears to be a needle puncture mark at the external jugular vein, implying that something was injected into Joker’s bloodstream repeatedly.”

“You think it’s pit juice?”
“I can’t prove it, yet. But yes, I think whoever the assailant was, injected the Joker with pit water multiple times.”
Anything else about the autopsy?”
“Yeah, the Joker died from asphyxiation.”
“What?”
“Yup, and whoever did it didn’t use their hands to choke him out. The pressure trauma on the larynx suggests that something cylindrical and heavy was pressed against his throat rather than constant pressure from the attacker’s hands. The veins beneath the burnt skin suggest a tramline bruise. Apparently, whoever did this light him on fire, used some pit juice to keep the bastard alive, and then choked the fucker out with a dense, cylindrical object.”

“Talia.”
“What? What does Talia have to do with–”
“Talia killed the Joker. The people in Roy’s apartment are her kids, and the bigger one mentioned something about the Joker and black mask being the biggest threat to the younger one. Supposedly, Talia promised to deal with the clown, and Roy’s boytoy decided to deal with Sionis.”
“Shit.”

“Yup.”
“You think Bruce knows?” Tim questioned the sound of rustling fabric drifting over com as he shifts in his seat.
“Might be why he went a.w.o.l.” Dick affirms.
“This is gonna be such a shit show,” Tim sighs in frustration, hands rubbing angrily at his face as he resumes his furious typing, “I’m gonna try and locate B, I’ll let you know if there are any updates on his location. When I find him, keep him from doing anything stupid.”

“What makes you think I can keep Bruce from picking up his two kids? I can’t even get Bruce to stay in med bay and you want me to try and keep him from grabbing the kids he just found out he had? Do you hate me?”

“Yes.” Tim deadpans.
“Ouch.” Dick snickers.
“Whatever–just–keep him busy, or something? I don’t know. But nothing good will come from Bruce ambushing an extremely volatile family unit after you spent all night poking the bear.”
Dick nods, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, I guess, so your best will have to do. Bring your A game, ‘cause you’re gonna need it. I’ll let you know any updates I find, peace out.”
“Bye, love you.”
“Love you too. Bye.” Tim answers, disconnecting his com as he signs off.

Great, now Dick has to go back inside and warn anger issues one and two that their father might show up at Roy’s apartment to steal them away. He’s sure nothing could possibly go wrong with that. No, it definitely won’t end with some form of bodily harm upon his person. Why would you even think that? Dick thinks, sarcastically. Wherever Bruce is, Dick just hopes that he is far, far away from Star City.

Unfortunately for Dick, his hope was unfulfilled. Bruce was currently lurking in Oliver Queen’s arrow cave waiting for the man to get back. Usually, Bruce would disregard whatever boundaries his coworker’s set for their city whenever he was pursuing a case in their city, especially if it was Oliver or Hal, but unfortunately, Bruce knew that solving this case would go a lot faster with Oliver’s help.

Pride in shambles, Bruce glowers angrily at the approaching figure of Oliver Queen, who is blissfully unaware of his uninvited guest.

Just as Oliver walks past, Bruce steps silently out of the shadows, footsteps soundless as he stands behind his coworker. Still oblivious to this, Oliver continues his path, happily humming as he walks towards his destination.
“Your observation skills leave a lot to be desired, Queen.” Bruce growls, voice echoing throughout the cave.
With a yelp, Oliver jumps into the air in fright, spinning on his heel to face Bruce, an arrow already notched into his bow and pointed in Batman’s face despite his brief moment of shock.

“Jesus Christ, Bats! What the fuck are you doing here!? Gave me a damn heart attack showing up like that! God!” Oliver asks, hand resting against his heart as he lowers his bow.
“I need information.”
Smile slowly creeping onto his face, Oliver’s eyes gleam mischievously, “What’s that? You need my help? I thought Mr. tall, smart, and broody worked alone because he knew everything?”

Gritting his teeth Bruce grunts, “I do work alone. Unfortunately for the both of us, this would go a lot faster with the resources at your disposal.”
“Oh? And what resources do I have that you don’t? Money? talent? Handsome features?A sense of humor? Friends? A winning personality?”
“Intimate knowledge of everything that happens in Star City.”

“What do you need from Star city, Bat?” Oliver asked, arms crossed over his chest and mouth set into a scowl as his body tenses, “This turf, and I don’t want you sniffing around for funsies.”
“I need to know if there have been any league of assasin’s operatives seen in Star City recently.”

“Not that I can remember,” Oliver states, confusion taking over his features, “Why? What’s the loa want with Star City.”
Disheartened, Bruce remains silent, frustrated at how this visit has now cost him precious time that he could be using to look for his kids.
“Listen, if the loa is encroaching on Star City for something, I have a right to know for what. So I’ll ask again, what’s the loa doing in my city?”

“That’s on a need to know basis.”
“Yeah? Well, I’ve decided that I need to know. So start talking.”
Bruce says nothing and Oliver mimics his silence, glaring holes into the white lenses of Bruce’s cowl as he does so.
“...There would have been two operatives. Have there been any moving trucks in the area lately?”
Oliver scowls, “This is a city, dicknips, I thought you lived in one? There are constantly moving trucks.”

“This one would have been quiet about it. Avoiding cameras, unmarked vans rather than hired moving trucks, switched license plates, no main roads. Anything like that?”
“Not that I’ve noticed. But I’ve been a bit…busy lately.”
This was useless, “Does Red Arrow still live at the apartment he moved into last year?”
“Yeah, why?” Oliver asked, lifting an eyebrow in question.
Bruce doesn’t answer, instead, choosing to disappear into the shadows after the confirmation.

Standing alone in the arrow cave, Oliver stares in horrified befuddlement, “How the fuck did he do that! He was right in front of me! Jesus fucking Christ, I think Hal is right, maybe Batman really is a cryptid.”
“Dad?” A voice calls out into the cave.
“Yeah, coming Connor! Just wait a second and I’ll be right there! We might have to visit uncle Roy soon, so get ready!” Oliver calls back, “I’ll be damned if some asshole in a shitty fursuit tries to keep me out of the loop on my home turf.”

Chapter Text

Making his way back into Roy’s apartment, hand rubbing harshly at the headache forming between his eyes, Dick groans.

“Alright, Alright. New plan. You two,” Dick grits out, pointing two fingers at Damian and Jason, “Are going to stay here and not do, whatever it is you're up to. I don’t have time for your shit,” This time his finger is only pointed at Jason before it shifts back to Damian’s small form, “And I don’t wanna be stabbed or shot if I try and drop you off at the batcave without little red riding hood over there trying to put me six feet deep. So you're staying here–”

Damian scowls, “Tt. My decision to remain with my brother was already a well stated fact. I would not follow you even if it cost me my life. I would spit on you, but even my saliva is too good to waste on your half-wit form. So I suppose a gesture will have to do.”

Damian punctuated his disdain for Dick's suggestion with a flash of his middle finger, holding it proudly at Dick’s eye-level, or rather, as close to Dick’s eyes level as the small child could get, while the sneer on his face glinted with displeasure.

Staring wide eyed at the child, Dick tries his hardest not to coo…or laugh. This kid barely comes up to Dick’s knee and he's throwing out insults like a cat hissing to warn off an opponent. All Dick can really see when he looks at the kid, is Bruce, and seeing Bruce’s scowl on a chubby little face as it hurts out scathing insults is far more adorable than it is threatening.

Dick wishes he could pinch the kid's cheeks without receiving bodily harm. Just squish his cute little face like a stress toy, but alas, Dick’s cute aggression would have to wait. The kid would definitely try to gut him if he tried to so much as step near him, and Red Hood wouldn't be much better. The man's posture may seem relaxed, but Dick can tell by the way RH's body is turned that he’s more than ready to shoot Dick if he makes any movements towards his, younger sibling.

So instead, Dick just bulldozes right past the interruption, “So you'll both stay here until I can come back and deal with all this.”

No one says anything as Dick walks out the door, giving a hasty goodbye to Roy as the vigilante takes off.

In unison, Damian and Jason release a relieved sigh, bodies relaxing now that the threat was gone.

“Alright, now that that's over,” Jason grunts, moving around to pick up his gear from the moving boxes he'd stashed in Roy’s secret room, “I'm going out. Roy, watch the kid for me, please?”

“What?!” Damian gawks, eyes wide as he stares at his brother’s rushing form, “Where are you going?!”

At first Jason doesn’t answer, instead he fills his pockets with various weaponry and amo, cargo pants filled to the brim as he moves on to stock his utility pouches.

“Ahki!?” Damian shouts, tiny hands moving to nudge at his older brother's leg in an attempt to gain his attention.

Jason choses to once again ignore his younger brother, loading his firearms before moving over to Roy. Setting a hand on Roy’s shoulder, Jason leans in until his lips nearly graze Roy’s ear and whisper something that Damian can't hear.

Jason pats Roy’s shoulder once before Roy pulls him by the back of his neck until their foreheads rest together, cool metal meeting warm flesh that creates a dull ache in Roy’s skull.

Roy’s hand trembles, the fingers spasm an unsteady rhythm against Jason’s helmet before he crushes his nerves into a fist.

More soft words are muttered as Damian watches, green eyes large and panicked as his brother pulls Roy into a delicate embrace.
For the first time, Damian sees his older brother tremble with an emotion besides rage or laughter.

There are no harsh lines in Jason’s shoulders, nore do they shudder up and down with the force of restrained laughter, no, Jason’s posture is slouched, as if he can somehow curl his massive body into something small enough to wedge it's head beneath Roy’s head.

His head moves to bury itself into Roy’s neck as his arms clutch weakly at his “roomate’s” sides. Damian can't see his brother’s face, he can't even see the hard red metal of his older brother's mask, but there are quaking lines in his body and hitched breathes that come out distorted and angry through the voice modulator that let Damian know his brother is crying without needing to see any tears.

And Damian freezes. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know how to make it better. He doesn't know what Roy and Jason said to each other to cause such a reaction.

The only thing Damian knows is that his brother is crying into the arms of a stranger while the only thing Damian can do is watch.

Helplessness fills his lungs like sea water, shredding the delicate tissue as it robs him of the breath he so desperately needs while his brain spirals, frantically trying to find the surface.

One of Roy’s hands keep their soft, firm hold on the back of Jason’s neck, rubbing soothing circles at the base with his thumb, while the other snakes under Jason’s arm, wrapping around to place his palm on the center of Jason’s spine, as though that's the only thing keeping Jason from shattering like glass.

This is a weakness. His brother, the strongest person he knows, is vulnerable in the arms of someone Damian doesn't know and it fills Damian with dread.

Eyes darting around, watching every corner and glaring through every window, Damian finally manages to move his feet, walking up to Jason’s back with a grim expression.

Damian’s lips are tight, spread thin with fear as he fists Jason’s leather jacket firmly in his left hand, eyes peering up at his brother Damian scowls.

“nǐ bù shì yī ge rén, wǒ yu nǐ tóng zài. Suoyǐ bú yào zài kū le! Gàosu wǒ wèntí chū zài nalǐ wǒ huì jiějué tā! Nǐ xūyào shénme? Wúlùn nǐ yàoqiú shénme, wǒ dū huì dédào.”

Jason sniffles slightly, shaky breaths giving way to quiet puffs of unsteady chuckles, “méi​shuō​de, I’m fine. It’s just dust in my eye.”
Damian pouts, hand clenching tighter around Jason’s leather jacket as he tugs a little harsher on the fabric, “Shuō​huǎng​zhě! Gàosu wǒ wèntí shì shénme! Shì shénme ràng nǐ kū de?”

Another quivering sigh of amusement escapes Jason before he rests a heavy hand on Damian’s head, ruffling the hair softly as he speaks, “Everything’s alright; don’t worry. Just an eyelash poking me in my eye without me being able to wipe it, I’m fine now. Who knew you were such a softie? My xīn​gān​bǎo​bèi, if you get any sweeter, you’ll give me a cavity.”

“Then why won’t you look at me? Have I done something wrong? If it’s about trapping Grayson, I won’t apologize–” Damian yells, tears of his own brimming in his frustrated, distraught eyes as his fingers turn white with the strength of his hold on his older brother’s clothing.

“No! No, no, no, Máo​mao, you did nothing wrong.” Jason says, breaking away from Roy’s hold to kneel in front of his little brother, large hands grasping the tiny ones that once held on to his jacket, “Well–not nothing–but–you didn’t do anything I blame you for. I don’t expect you to apologize for trapping Dick, that bastard kind of deserved it for the scare he gave all of us last night.”

Damian turns his face away, tugging slightly at his held hands as he mumbles, “Then why won’t you look at me? What did I do?”
Jason hesitates for a moment, the firmness of his hold faltering before it resettles, “It’s nothing you did, kid. I’ve just got shit to do and I can’t take you with me.”

“Why not! I am a trained assassin! Heir to the demon’s head and to the mantle of the bat! There is no battle I can not fight, so why do you wish to keep me away from guarding your side!? Have I not proved through my training that I am worthy to fight by your side?” Damian asks, hair shadowing over his pleading green eyes as tears continue to build.

Jason’s hands squeeze Damian’s before they pull away allowing Damian to tuck his hands underneath his arms before Jason moves one of his hands to cradle his younger brother's face, thumb sweeping across his cheek in a soothing motion as he sighs low and heavy.

“It's not about being worthy, Habibi. You're plenty worthy. I know you're capable, I just–don't want to put you into a situation like this. I can't have you stealing my title as zombie, now can I?”

Damian’s lips curl into a deeper frown, “You won't die. You can't.” You can't leave me alone. I won't allow you to. Even if I have to follow you to hell, I'll take the journey without blinking. Damian thinks, angry and scared.

But Jason just sighs, sadder this time, “I'm only a man Damian. Men die.”
Damian stops his foot, teeth flashing with his displeasure, “No! You're not just a man, you're an Al'Ghul! Death is meaningless to us!”

Jason smiles, shoulders rising slightly with the movement as he stares sadly at his little brother, face still cradled in his hand even as it pouts, “I don't think Ra's will let me take another dip in his mountain dew bath water, kid. He wasn't exactly thrilled that it happened the first time.”

“Even more reason that I should accompany you. You'll need someone to make sure that you do not do something foolish.”

Jason places a hand across his heart, feigning naivete, “Who me? Do something foolish? Why I'd never! All of my ideas are great. I find your lack of faith disturbing.”

Damian is not moved, “Wherever you're going, take me with you. I demand it!”
Jason rises from the floor, knees popping as he does so, “No can do, small fry. ‘Fraid this is a solo mission. No amount of puppy dog eyes will change my mind.”

Ducking his head down, Damian let out a wobbly, “Please, ahki? Take me with you? Don't leave me alone.”

And for a moment, Jason falters, head swishing side to side as his eyes look between Damian and the door.

“No. You're staying here, Damian. I have to go. Be good for Roy.”

“Ahki–!”
But Jason is already halfway out the door, one foot out in the hallway while the other lifts slightly from the entryway of Roy’s apartment.

“Wǒ ài nǐ, gē ge.” Damian whispers.
“Wǒ yě ài nǐ, Băobèi. Good bye.” Jason replys, slipping out of the apartment as he rushes out of the building.

A new hand comes to rest hesitantly on Damian’s shoulder, this time belonging to Roy, “He'll be back Damian. He's like a damn cockroach; resilient as all hell.”

Shrugging the hand off, Damian settles his angry gaze onto Roy’s uncomfortable form, “You need to go with him.”

“What? No–”
Eyes steely, Damian restates his demand even harsher, teeth gritted as he hisses out the words, “No, you need to go with him! My brother is strong, but he’s also an idiot. If he believes that doing this will spare me from whatever imagined pain it is that his target will cause me, he will not hesitate to do whatever it takes to complete the mission. Including self-sacrifice. So I will say it once again, you need to go with him so that my brother doesn't get himself killed!”

“Someone needs to watch you and Lian! Otherwise I wouldn't hesitate, but–”
“–I am perfectly capable of looking after me and the youngest Harper. Now go before I make you.”

“Yeah, that's not happening. I'm not having an eight year old watch my toddler. Adult supervision is mandatory.”

“Then call someone you obstinate buffoon–!” Damian starts, before a knock on the door interrupts them.

“Roy? You in there? It's Ollie. I've got something to tell you.”

“Dear God, anyone but him.” Roy groans, burying his head in his hands.

“Who's that?” Damian growled, hand reaching to grasp at the hilt of his sword.
“That is Oliver Queen. Biggest pain in my ass as well as the world's biggest douche bag. Hopefully he'll leave if we ignore him.”

“Is he an adult?” Damian asks, staring calculatingly at the door.
Roy’s face screws up into a scowl, “I'm not leaving you with Oliver fucking Queen. Besides, Ollie just barely counts as adult supervision. I wouldn't trust him to watch a house plant, let alone two kids.”

Oliver knocks even louder on the door, rattling the frame as he yells into the apartment, “I know you're in there, Roy! Look–I–I get that you might not want to talk to me, but this is serious!”

“Go away, Ollie! I'm not helping you with whatever dumb vigilante shit you need my help for! I retired!”

There is silence for a moment, both sides reaching a stalemate as they glare at the door.

Eventually, a new voice breaks the silence, cutting through the tension, “Uncle Roy? I'm Connor, you don't know me, but I've heard lots about you from dad. Can you let us in? We promise that we're not trynna get into a fight. Swear! We just got somethings to talk about, that's all. So can you please let us in?”

Roy freezes, shocked at the sound of a new, younger voice on the other side of the door as his heart hammers in his chest. Letting out a breathless whisper of– “Jesus Christ, he reproduced?!”–Roy walks up to the door unlocking it as he stares at the face of an eight year old kid and Oliver Queen.

The boy's hair is blond, straight and short like it had been hacked off and only just started to grow back, with his bangs coming to about the corners of the kid's eyes while the sides seem sheared to peach fuzz.

The kid’s eyes are green, paler than Damian’s as they look hopefully up at Roy with a pleading expression.

“Fine. Come in.” Roy mumbles, blue eyes softening slightly at Connor before they re-harden into a glower when they meet Oliver’s.

Oliver and Connor walk in, stopping just after the door as Roy closes it behind them.
Damian stares curiously from his position in the living room. Standing straight up as his hand keeps its grasp around his swords hilt.

“What do you want?” Roy asks, agitated expression angled at Oliver.
“What no “hi's”? No “how are you's?” For your old pal? Seriously, you've been hanging with the bats for to long, it's really messed up your manners.”

“What do you want?” Roy asks again, voice tighter.
“Batman’s on his way here.”
“What?”

“Batman, you know? Big bat themed hero with biceps the size of watermelons and thighs that could crush skulls? He's on his way. He wants to know if anyone's moved into Star city recently and since I wasn't helpful, he's decided that he's gonna pay a visit here to check with you.”

“Fuck!”

Chapter Text

Jason’s blood hums. It bellows and chimes in great sweeping motions. It sings in a base deep enough to rattle him till the bone, vibrating the sound against the spongy insides as though his skeletal structure was the soundhole of a guitar, and his vein the strings. The low notes buzz like flies. A constant, pestering noise that sets his teeth on edge and his skin itch. It is a constant reminder that something is wrong. And indeed, something is very wrong.

This wrongness continues as he stalks silently across Gotham rooftops, hiding amidst the gargoyles and behind the horrible mash of gothic architecture, sky scrapers, and decrepit abodes that make up Gotham’s landscape.

The closer he gets to his target, the louder the hum becomes, until finally, that deep, thrumming base line becomes a terrifying staccato; sharp and shrill as anxiety pulls against his nervous system like a dog chasing a rabbit.

Jason’s heart beats in time with the sickening melody, going from near slow, painful squeezes, to frantic, rabbit-like pace that causes a well of nervous energy to pool at his core, overflowing the space until his panic breaches the barrier of its vessel to infect his entire system.

This continues, repeating this theme of A to B, B to A, until Jason arrives at a rooftop across from a large, imposing building. The rhythm ends, as his heart stops. There is no sound save for Gotham’s usual chattering; he dares not even breathe.

He stands entirely still amidst the stone-faced demons that perch with him atop the pillars of the building as they watch Black Mask through the glass windows that line the opposing structures sides. A breath, robotic in nature, refills the oxygen he’d deprived of his lungs as Jason slowly drops low, laying flat against the cement roof as he carefully sets up his gun.

The song has resumed, entering its bridge as the sound of a gun’s assembly joins the low thrum of his blood. This is stupid. Jason knows this is stupid.

He knows that coming here, without back-up, on such short notice with no concrete plan is beyond idiotic…but Jason will not get this chance again. There will be no final showdowns, no climatic plays orchestrated by his hand, no delightful games of riddles and mystery. Just him and all the gear he could carry on such a disastrous time crunch.

Jason can only hope that it will be enough.

There had been a time, while he was at the league, where Jason had thought of nothing other than revenge. It had been his closest companion, his most beloved confidant, and his sole reason for living.

He’d thought of his return. Of how he’d come back home and Bruce would welcome him back, sweeping him into his strong arms, holding Jason tight as he whispered sweet nothings into the red roots of Jason’s hair.

He imagined the things Bruce would say. If he’d tell Jason things like: “Welcome home”, “My son, look at how much you’ve grown.”, “My darling, jaylad”, “Where have you been? It doesn’t matter. You’re here now.”, “I missed you”, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry”, maybe even… “I love you” or “I’m glad you came back”.

Even while he was brain dead, Jason only ever thought of when Bruce would return. When his father would whisk him away, hiding him beneath his cape as he shepherded his weary son back home. But those thoughts were quickly crushed under the cruel heel of reality.

Bruce didn’t care. He didn’t even seem to care enough to visit Jason’s grave. Maybe if he did, he’d have noticed that his son had crawled his way through six feet of dirt and a thick wooden casket to return to the safety of his father’s arms. But he didn’t. Bruce didn’t care. Bruce didn’t care because Jason wasn’t Bruce’s son.

All because of an accident. Bruce’s love for Jason had vanished completely for Jason over an accident. Over a sin he hadn’t committed.

He had died without a father, and now he had to live without one too. He had to live knowing that the person who listened to him rant about his literature class and the new books he had read, had taken his dead body and buried it like a secret. Like a broken toy that he had to shamefully hide from Alfred until it was forgotten.

Jason’s first reaction was sorrow. Sadness bled through every pore of his skin, drowning him from the inside out as despair took the place of hope. This listlessness went on until news of his replacement reached Jason’s ears.

Then, all he knew was rage. Tears of heartache morphed into burning rivers of anger, searing the skin beneath as he began to court the idea of revenge. Jason had asked Talia to up his training after that. Desperate to begin planning his return to Gotham not as a prodigal son, but as a monument to Bruce’s failures.

Jason is ashamed to say that this had removed his attention from Damian. During this time, memories of Damian are sparse, as Jason focused solely on honing his skills. He became nothing more than a machine.

An automation of fight, eat, sleep in repetition regardless of the strain it had placed upon his body. There were nothing but green-toned visions and inky blackness that only occasionally gave way to a sweet, round face and a brilliant grin as a small voice called him ‘Ahki’ or ‘Gege’ with clear delight.

This state had continued until Talia had gotten fed up with Jason’s rage and Damian’s despondent air. She stationed him as Damian’s guard. The anger hadn’t left, not in the beginning. It festered like an infected wound, burbling and burning and oozing.

But with every gentle tug of his pant leg, every chiming laugh, every call for “gege” or “ahki”, every instant of a sleeping face smushed gently against his shoulder as drool marred the fabric of his shirt, gradually melted his rage into something far more manageable. But still, Jason had left Damian to pursue his revenge.

He'd left. Jason can’t say he regrets it.

Especially since Jason wasn’t willing to let Bruce make the same mistakes he’d made with him with Damian. Jason would never be too late to save Damian. It was a silent promise he’d made to himself the first time he’d seen his younger brother. A solemn oath he’d rather die than break.

Jason feels much the same as he did in those years distanced from Damian; just a machine going through the actions.

Only this time, there was no desire for revenge, no grandly orchestrated plan, just Jason and his weapons staring down at a threat he’s about to take out so that Damian’s risk of dying in Gotham drops 90%. Even Bruce should be able to manage that ten percent if Jason doesn’t make it out of this.

And if he can’t…well, at last Dick seems to be able to show up on time. If Bruce ever fails Damian, there will be no place that he can hide from Jason’s wrath. Even death will not prevent him from beating Bruce’s ass.

Staring through the scope of his sniper, Jason stares apathetically at Black mask as he talks to his second in command. The woman looks bored with the conversation, while Black Mask seemed closer, and closer to throwing a temper tantrum and killing one of his new subordinates for looking at him wrong.

Jason takes aim and fires five consecutive shots. Jason would love to say they all hit their mark, but that would mean he’d have to lie about how he broke two of his ribs, got a concussion, bruised both his kidney and ego(the ego hurts more, thanks for asking), fractured his ankle and broke three of his fingers on his left hand.

And Jason just doesn’t have the energy to try and lie that convincingly at the moment. Especially since he’s pretty sure one of his ribs punctured his lung.

One bullet had caught Sionis in the shoulder, the bastard had moved his head just in time, another grazed his side, and the rest got dumped into the underling Roman was using as a meat shield.

The deep, ever present hum of his blood once more resumed its nauseating, sharp staccato as Jason swore under his breath. He’d leapt from his perch soaring downwards and rolling to distribute his momentum as he ran inside the building.

The fight felt long, but that was probably because he got the concussion super early on due to a lucky shot by one of Black Mask’s henchmen. He’d jammed his elbow into the guy’s nose in response, which led to the goon immediately passing out, the wuss. But that’s besides the point.

The fight ends, Roman Sionis is nothing more than ash, blood, and a few chunks, that smatter the walls, ceiling, and floor of the stairwell, which is now also missing a good chunk of stairs. Throwing a grenade like a game of hot potato was not something Jason would recommend, but it was something he won at.

He chuckled dizzily, eyes staring unseeingly at the ceiling as the action sent pain throughout his body. He won. He’d won and lived. Granted, not as unscathed as he’d prefer, and if he didn’t get help soon the ‘and lived’ would turn into ‘and almost lived’ but Jason would take it.

Dialing Roy’s number, Jason slowly blinks plaster dust out of his left eye. His mask must have cracked during the fight, but Jason can’t remember when that had happened. He doesn’t really care either. It’s done. He just really hopes that this place didn’t have asbestos. That would suck.

The phone rings, the brick-like nokia thankfully unharmed as it eventually reaches through.
“Yo.” Jason grunts.
“Jason? Jason! What the fuck man! Where are you! What the fuck do you mean yo!? We don’t say “yo” after running a suicide mission! You lied, jackass! Damian just found out your crew wasn't told about your attempt at an early grave!" Roy yells, concern, relief, and panic painting a confusing picture from his tone.

Jason grunts again, slurring slightly as he rolls his eyes, the motion resulting in more pain that Jason grits his teeth through, “Yo, I need-an-uh–excration–er–mmh–ex–excra—extractionnn.”
Roy’s line goes silent for a second before it takes on a steadier, almost calm tone, “Location and Status.”

Jason moans painfully, “Mmmh. Status, ow. Big ow. Major ouch.”
“Location?” Roy repeats, voice struggling to remain somewhat level.
Jason dutifully lists the address and Roy lets out a hum, “I’m on my way. Stay on the line.”

Jason lets out another grunt, tiredly flopping an arm over his exposed eye as he screws them shut.
“Talk to me, Jaybird, what’s happening?” Roy asks, voice thin and high.

“Too loud.” Jason grumbles, desperately wishing he could curl into a ball and press his hands against his ears. Everything is too bright and too loud and he is too tired to deal with it.

Roy lets out a breath, shaky and almost relieved as something ruffles on the other side of the line.
Roy whispers this time, tone breathy and choked, “ETA five minutes, can you talk to me till I get there please? I need to hear your voice right now, Jaybird.”

“Too tired.” Jason slurs. He doesn’t think he’d be able to pry his eyes open if he tried.
“I know, I know sweetheart. But you need to talk to me. Why don’t you tell me about what Damian likes to eat? I was thinking that we could go out for dinner tomorrow.”

“Is he with you?” Jason asks, hopeful in part that his younger brother is there and not there. He wants to talk to Damian, but he doesn’t want his little brother to see him like this. The kid is a major mother hen and Jason would hate to worry him. It’s not Damian’s job to worry about him.
“No–no, uh–, I left him and Lian with Oliver and his kid,” Roy says, “Almost there, ETA two minutes.”

Jason lets out a confused rumble, “But you hate Ollie?”
“I don’t hate Ollie.”
“Yes you do, you can’t stand him. You get all quiet whenever someone mentions ‘im.”
“That’s because Ollie is a bitch. But I don’t hate him. It’s–It’s complicated–uh. Let’s just say that I don’t hate him.”

Jason hums a low note, wincing as it vibrates his chest, “I thought–that—that you didn’t wan’ Lian ‘round O-Oollie.”
“I didn’t. I still don’t really. But Tim’s on his way to the apartment, so all Oliver has to do is keep the kids alive until he gets there.”

“I’m sorry.” Jason mutters miserably, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

Roy lets out a wry laugh, “Only you would apologize for putting someone else in an uncomfortable situation while you’re in a life threatening situation, Jason. Don’t apologize. It’ll just be this one time. Afterwards, if Oliver tries to push his luck, I’ll have you stand behind me like a big, scary guard dog until he takes the hint. Or maybe I’ll just act all lovey-dovey with you until Oliver gets uncomfortable enough to leave. How do you feel about using PDA to get Oliver off my ass? Might as well show my “boyfriend” off to Oliver’s single ass as revenge for all the shit he’s put me through.”

Jason’s heart thumps just a little louder, speeding up from what had been a relatively sedate pace. Boyfriend. Roy was gonna show Jason off as his boyfriend. That’d be nice. That’d be really nice.
“I feel good.” Jason wheezes.

Roy lets out a disbelieving sound before Jason corrects himself, “I feel good about it. I just–mhhm–just think that we should kiss,” there is a brief silence before Jason’s brain catches up with his mouth, “--! Uh! Y’know, just to–just to really sell it. I think we should kiss. Preferably a lot.”

Roy laughs, “Tell you what big guy, you stay alive for me and we can make out all you want in front of Ollie. Enough to make the man green with envy. How about that? Can you do that for me, Jaybird?”

Jason moves to nod his head, wincing at the motion and letting out a pained noise before confirming, “Yeah–Yeah, I can do that.”

Jason can’t remember what else is said, it’s all a jumble. But what he does remember is that after a particularly long blink, Roy appears at his side, hands lifting him up gently as he swiftly moves towards what Jason later learns was Ollie’s jet that Roy had stolen in his haste to get to Jason.

Another blink ends up with Jason in the hospital, which he can only remember arriving at because he’d tried his best to bury himself into Roy’s chest to fall asleep despite the doctor’s prodding. He’d let out a particularly embarrassing whine when Roy had tugged him away from his position in order to keep Jason awake.

The next time Jason wakes up, a day has passed. He’s stable according to the doctors. But his hospital stay is gonna be a while so that they can make sure he doesn’t fuck anything up more than it already is. Jason can’t complain much about that, well, not right now, when Roy is sprawled out asleep in an uncomfortable plastic chair next to his hospital bed, clutching his hand in his even while sleeping.

There is a moment of peace, after the barrage of doctors and hazy wake-ups, there is a moment of relieved silence that encompasses the two before it is broken by the shrill call of a cellphone.

Jason whines pitifully as his uninjured hand behind him grasps a pillow and covers his face with it. Roy huffs, removing the pillow from Jason’s face with a quiet, “Stop that, you’ll suffocate,” before answering the phone and stepping out into the hallway.

When Roy returns, his face is ashen and his lips are twisted into an agitated, panicked grimace, “Bad news, Ollie’s an idiot.”
“Isn’t he always?” Jason asks, pouting at the interruption of their first moment of peace.

“Yes, but this time it's worse. Instead of leaving after Tim got there, the idiot stayed and got into a fight with Bruce. Apparently, Dick only managed to stall Bruce from showing up until about an hour ago. Now Ollie is in the hospital and Bruce knows Damian is most likely his. Your dad--"

"Not my dad." Jason huffs. "--broke Oliver’s nose, so nothing to serious. I guess Ollie tried to block Bruce from getting to Damian and Bruce full on punched him. Now, apparently Bruce's sending Alfred a dna sample he took from the bite wound Damian gave him when he tried to go in for a hug.”

Jason lets out a pleased noise at that, which Roy rolls his eyes at.
“I texted Damian which hospital we’re in while I was waiting for you to get out of surgery. Which means it's only a matter of time before Mr. “No boundaries, stalker tendencies” Wayne makes his way over here.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Jason groans, “This can’t get any worse.”
“Are you sure about that, Habibi?” A steely voice cuts through the conversation as Talia Al’Ghul stands, glaring in the hospital room entrance.

“Shit. Hey, Umm'i, fancy seeing you here?” Jason mutters.
Talia’s eyes narrow, “Your brother called. I asked you one thing, habibi. One thing. Keep my son safe. And where are you?”

That snitch.

“The hospital.” Jason mumbles, dejectedly, eyes downcast and away from his mother.
“The hospital! You are included as my son! I taught you better than to rush into a highly delicate situation with no plan! No assistance! Has the water in Gotham and Star City made you stupid? Have the doctor’s checked you for lead poisoning yet? Because I can think of no other reason why you’d do something so reckless!”

“Umm’i!” Jason laments, hoping his pitiful demeanor softens Talia’s rage. It doesn’t work. If anything, Talia seems more agitated. Damn.

“Don’t you Umm’i me! You’ll be lucky if I let you out of my sight without a babysitter after a stunt like this! Clearly you still need a nanny if you are so determined to pull ridiculous, moronic stunts like this!”

Talia walks briskly over, hands gently petting Jason’s hair before pinching Jason’s cheeks, “You will be the cause of my grey hairs. I should’ve asked Damian to watch over you, clearly he’s the more responsible one.”

Roy huffs out a quiet laugh, leading Talia to set a murderous gaze on him, “You! You were supposed to keep my idiot son out of trouble! Tell me why I should not separate your head from your neck for this failure?”

“Your idiot son left me alone to watch the kids while he went on a suicide mission, telling me that he would call his henchpeople for back-up. Jason makes it very hard to keep him out of trouble when he’s left your sight. Hell, it’s still a pain in the ass when he is in our sights.”

Talia seems to begrudgingly acquiesce this point, mouth set in a scowl as she once again turns her focus on her son in his hospital bed.

Talia’s eyes bore into Jason, green jade cutting sharply into Jason’s shrinking form before her head tilts slightly to the side, “Wonderful. Damian, come here and watch you brother. I’ll stall your father. Hopefully I can buy your boarheaded brother enough time that he’s at least out of the hospital before your father decides to corner him while he’s vulnerable.”

“I ensured that I was not followed, mother.” Damian says, walking into the room like a particularly disgruntled cat, Lian holding his hand tightly as they approached Jason’s bedside.

Lian lights up at the sight of her father, releasing Damian's hand as she rushes over to great him; offering a shy wave to Jason once she's settled in his arms. Jason returns the gesture with a small smile while Damian stands stiffly near the room's entrance.

Talia looks over at her youngest, eyes checking him over for injuries. Finding none, she beckons Damian to her side, running her fingers through his hair once he’s close enough, “I’m sure if it were anyone else, you’d have succeeded, habibi. But as it is now, your father is much more adept in subtly tracking his targets. It would not surprise me if he was outside the building right now.”

Damian pouts, crossing his arms and staring mutinously at the floor. Talia lets out an exasperatedly fond sigh, threading her hand through Damian’s hair one more time before she brings her arm back to her side.
“Watch your brother for me, xīn​gān​bǎo​bèi. Make sure he doesn’t do anything especially idiotic.”

Given a task, Damian straightens, meeting his mother’s eyes before nodding and turning his gaze to his bed-bound older brother. A harsh scowl etched into his little brother's face as Jason can practically hear Damian's silent degradation of his talent and intelligence.

Oh, the joys of siblinghood. At least Damian isn’t saying it outloud. He must of really took Jason’s, "if you don'thave anything nice to say, don't say anything at all" joke seriously. Though, Jason isn't sure this counts, since it's still glaringly obvious what Damian is thinking.

Jason isn’t to broken up about that though. It's better if his brother is honest about where he stands with people than if he's polite while quietly hating your guts.

At least Jason knows this is out of concern, rather than any real disparament towards Jason’s intelligence.

Talia nods in return, drifting out of the hospital room to guard the hospital’s entrances, preparing for the inevitable confrontation with Bruce that is sure to end in a myriad of uncomfortable conversations, innuendos, petty barbs, and most-likely violence.

In fact, Jason can hear the annoying, fake voice of Brucie Wayne down the hall. Normally, this would fill him with all sorts of fear and anxiety. But as it is, with the medicine he’s on and the pain he’s in, Jason is only tired. Talia must have succeeded in deterring him from entering though, as Jason does not hear from Bruce at all for the rest of the day.

It’s only until deep in the night, with Damian sat at the foot of his hospital bed, and Roy and Lian asleep in the chair, and Talia off doing god knows what(probably trying to ruin the life of a nurse who'd tried to deny her entry into Jason's room because they "didn't look related" and then proceeded to ignore Jason when he told her he was still in huge amounts of pain, despite the meds), that Jason hears the sound of a grappling hook hitting his windowsill.

Damian is alert in an instant, immediately going to investigate the noise with a small dagger in hand. Jason lets out a sigh. This is gonna be awful.