Chapter Text
Damian had been looking forward to seeing the new Art Gallery for months, ever since he first read about its construction. Art was his passion, and the Gotham Art Gallery was supposedly going to be one of the best facilities in the nation. He hoped, in a few years, he could volunteer as a docent. That would be amazing. For now, he would have to settle with simply visiting.
He had been dropping hints at Father for weeks about attending the opening. But the man always shrugged him off. Simply grunted and nodded or said something as infuriating as ‘that sounds nice, son’ without even looking up from his reading. Father never paid him attention.
So, of course, opening weekend came and went without such much as a second thought for Bruce Wayne. Damian tried to let it go. Father was busy, after all. He wasn’t clear enough about his desire to attend. That was probably all it was.
But, then again. His father never did anything he wanted. Never took him anywhere he wanted to go. It would be different if he ignored the others, too, but he didn’t. Last week Drake wanted to go see the latest Star Wars movie, so his father had taken him. The week before that, Grayson asked to go to the circus, so of course Father had dropped everything to go. But when Damian wanted to spend one lousy afternoon at an Art Gallery, where was Bruce Wayne? At home reading reports.
It ticked Damian off to no end. He was the son. Him. Bruce was his father, not theirs. Why did he care about them more than him? Why did he enjoy spending time with them and not him?
He even loved Todd more than Damian. Todd. The psychopathic teenager who had shot Damian. The one who constantly bashed Father and trampled on everything for which he stood. Even after insult after insult, Father would go to the moon and back without a spaceship if Todd wanted it.
It was maddening.
So, when he and Father got into yet another screaming match early one morning, Damian decided he had had enough. He ripped off his tracker bracelet, turned off his phone, and set both on the top of his bed, waiting as a present for Father to walk in and see them. Then, he made his way out of the Manor and off the grounds.
Surprisingly, the security system did not stop him. He just simply walked straight out the front gates and away from the estate. It took him an hour to walk down to the main road, where he was able to catch the bus into the city. He was going to see that damn Art Gallery and no one would stop him.
----
Damian had skipped both breakfast and lunch by the time he arrived at the Gallery. He didn’t much care. He had been trained to ignore his body’s weaker desires, such as the need for food or water, but he knew he should probably get a bite to eat.
After purchasing entrance to the Gallery, using cash, thank you. He was not going to tip Father off to his location by using his credit card, he went to grab a meal at the food court.
He had been living in the States for almost a year but was still not used to American food. Everything was fried, or horribly greasy. He longed for the flavors of home. Nothing in the states was seasoned enough. Everything was so bland. Bland and greasy. He wanted cumin. Baharat. Cardamom. Was any of that too much to ask? Everything was seasoned with salt and black pepper here. Even foods advertised to be “spicy” hardly held up to Damian’s standards.
As was to be expected, the food court consisted of a burger place and a pizza place. Damian hated pizza, so a burger it was. The menu was basically several different types of hamburgers, a chicken option, and a vegetarian option. He could get a side salad, if he wanted, or chips. Why Americans insisted on calling them ‘French fries,’ he would never understand. They weren’t even French. One American thing he had taken a liking to, however, was ranch dressing.
He ordered a veggie burger with a side of ‘fries’ and a cup of ranch dressing and sat with his meal in an empty corner of the seating area. The ranch went on everything. He put some on the burger, along with some ketchup, hoping the delicious tangy dressing would help cover whatever awful brand of vegetarian ‘meat’ the cheap restaurant was using. It worked.
The meal hit the spot and soon Damian was feeling much better. He might have been able to ignore the pain from hunger, but simply being hungry and slightly dehydrated always put him in a foul mood, even if he didn’t show it outwardly. He refilled his bottle of water at the fountain and shoved it into his hoodie pocket, hoping to keep it hidden from security. He would not open it in the Gallery, he was not suicidal, but he also didn’t want to just throw out a perfectly good bottle. It seemed like such a waste to use it once and then toss it. Besides, he could use a bottle of water when he walked home later.
When a hand settled on his shoulder twenty minutes later, he thought he had been caught sneaking the drink out of the dining area. He had been wandering the exhibits on the first floor, admiring the sculptures displayed in grand cases. Each one in this room had been made by a different local artist, and all were meant to depict what Gotham was to them.
Damian froze, waiting for the security guard to admonish him for breaking the rules. The voice that spoke up, however, was not one he was expecting. “Looks like the demonbird slipped the nest.”
“Todd,” Damian hissed, before spinning on his heels to face the teenager.
Todd grinned like the smug bastard he was. “Seriously, aren’t you a bit young to be out here all by yourself? Where’s your daddy?” The condescension in his voice made Damian want to scream.
Leave it to Todd to ruin a perfectly nice afternoon at the art gallery. What was the street rat even doing there? It’s not like he enjoyed civilized things like culture.
“My father is probably at home. I am not a child in need of supervision.” Damian moved to walk around Jason, but the teen side stepped and blocked him. He was beginning to feel like a cornered animal. He could take Jason, easy, of course. But… right now he was Damian Wayne and what would Father say if he found out he got into a fight with Todd in public in their civilian identities?
Jason smirked and crossed his arms. “Is that so? Brucie just lets his precious ten-year-old son wander Gotham all by his lonesome? Give me a break, kid.”
Damian was trapped between two exhibit cases. He could probably flip over Jason, but that wasn’t a skill he should possess. He was trapped. Stuck in this pointless conversation, that was likely going to end in Jason calling his father.
He glared at Jason. “What do you want? If your inferior mind needs assistance interpreting the art, that’s what the docents are for. Leave me alone.”
“I don’t want anything from–“ Jason’s words came out slower and quieter with each word, all while a startled expression caught on his face. He appeared to lose focus on Damian and shift his attention to something else.
Damian looked around but didn’t see any danger. Was this one of Jason’s little moments of insanity?
Before he could react, Jason lunged at him, tackling him to the ground. “Todd!” he screamed, just as his back slammed into the ground. Jason’s arms wrapped around him as his entire body went completely on top of him. Damian felt when Jason lost consciousness, likely from slamming his head into the wall behind them, because suddenly all of Jason’s weight was slumped on him.
Then the building collapsed.
Notes:
This takes place vaguely when Damian is 10, before his death. (Or, you know, we can pretend he never died because I still haven't forgiven DC.) Jason is 19ish and is trying to get into Bruce's good graces, but all his misbehaviors are still recent in the family's memory. Idk if Bruce ever actually 'died' for this timeline. I don't think it came up.
Chapter 2: Missing
Summary:
Figures Damian would run off before Gotham experiences a disaster. When Bruce finds that boy, he's grounded. Probably forever. Meanwhile, Jason wakes up and notices something's very wrong.
Chapter Text
“Sir,” Alfred’s voice cut in, interrupting Bruce’s work. He had been sitting in the study for a few hours at that point, going over paperwork. Wayne Enterprises had several major contracts up for renewal, and a massive board meeting the following week to discuss which to continue. Lucius had demanded he be well versed on the topic before the meeting, so he had spent most the day reading.
Bruce lowered the lid on his laptop and looked up toward the elderly butler, “What is it, Alfred?”
“You should turn on the news. It seems the new Art Gallery downtown has collapsed.”
That wasn’t something he was expecting to hear. Buildings collapsed semi-regularly throughout the world, but it never happened in Gotham.
The building in question had been five stories tall and a full block wide. That much steel and concrete was sure to cause a lot of damage, and probably kill many people out on the street. Not to mention any employees they had in the building. “Thank God it hasn’t opened yet,” Bruce said as he threw a live news feed up on the television.
Alfred frowned and stepped further into the room. “Sir, it opened last week. They are saying there could be as many as 1000 people inside.”
“What? Are you sure? I was going to take Damian to the opening, it’s on Saturday.” He opened his calendar on his laptop, “This coming Saturday,” he mumbled as he navigated to the weekview. He was certain. Yes. It opened in a few days, on Saturday. That was the day he put down on his calendar.
“I’m afraid so.” Alfred replied.
The news anchor repeated that as many as 1000 people could be trapped inside and Bruce’s stomach clenched. No wonder Damian had been so mad at him all week. The kid wanted one thing, to go see the Art Gallery, and Bruce had let him down. Dammit.
There was no time for beating himself up, though. There was a building collapsed in his city, and all emergency personnel would be tied up with rescue efforts. Leaving the rest of Gotham either unprotected or under patrolled by the police department. Batman needed to be out there.
A thousand people.
“Got it, Alfred.” Bruce stood and fished his communicator out of his pocket, “I’ll call everyone in. We need to get out there to make sure the rest of Gotham doesn’t fall with the building.”
“Very good, sir.”
Rescue operations were a League jurisdiction, but the majority of the Justice League was off world at the moment, dealing with some intergalactic issue. Well, those with powers that could actually be useful with a building collapse. So, it was going to be up to the city of Gotham to deal with itself, as it always did.
He tapped on his communicator to call in his boys as he made his way up to Damian’s room. After a moment, Red Robin and Nightwing both responded.
“The new Art Gallery collapsed downtown. We need to get out there to help maintain order while the authorities are busy with SAR.”
Both boys replied they understood and were on their way, just as Bruce got to his youngest son’s bedroom. He knocked once and opened the door. “Damian, Batman and Robin need to go-” he paused. His son was not in his room.
He flipped the light on and looked around. His son was nowhere in the room. Then he noticed them. The boy’s cell phone and tracking bracelet laying on the bed. “Dammit, Damian” he shouted as he grabbed the discarded tech pieces.
”What?” a voice on his communicator asked. It was Dick.
“Robin’s gone,” he growled, “He left his phone and tracker in his room, and he’s not here. Dammit that boy. I thought we were past sneaking out.”
“B, there isn’t time.” Tim spoke up, “He’ll show up eventually. Right now, we have work to do.”
Bruce threw the phone in his bedroom as he passed, not caring if he broke the damn thing. Why couldn’t the boy just behave? For one single day? He didn’t ask much of the child. “He thought he was in trouble before,” he grumbled. He was going to implant trackers in each of the boy’s shoes. He wasn’t leaving the Manor for a month, at least.
When Jason came to, there was murmuring. Chatter. Annoying, grating prattle. God his head was killing him. Had he left the TV on? Why wouldn’t it stop?
His head was killing him. How much had he had to drink last night? He’d never had a hangover this bad. He was dizzy, too. Even though he hadn’t even opened his eyes yet. Yep, he might hurl.
He didn’t even remember going to bed last night. Actually, he was clearly laying on the ground. It was too hard to be his bed. He must have been fucked up. He didn’t even remember drinking last night.
Actually, no. He didn’t drink last night. He went to bed like normal, after patrol. How did he?
Where the fuck was he? His eyes snapped open.
It was dark. Not the dark of his apartment, where the street lights, alarm clock, and various electronic gadgets with those stupid green LEDs silhouetted the furniture of the room. No, this was the total darkness of being underground, far away from any light.
Oh, God. He’d been buried. Again.
He couldn’t, he- Not again. Oh, God not again.
Stop.
Stay Calm.
Relax.
Assess the situation.
His head hurt, and it wasn’t a hangover. No pain in his chest or arms. His left leg was in excruciating pain. How had he not noticed that before? And his right leg no longer existed. He couldn’t feel it at all. That couldn’t be good.
The TV murmured again.
Wait, no. Why would there be a TV underground?
Turning his head made him dizzier and only worsened the headache. Why did his head hurt so much? Had he been drugged?
All he could see was darkness. Not good. He closed his eyes and tried to focus. Where the fuck was he?
“Todd,” the not-a-TV said, louder. Clearer. Jason knew that voice. It was a voice that annoyed him. “Jason, can you hear me?”
Jason? Something seemed off about that. That was his name, yes. He wasn’t that out of it, but it sounded wrong coming from that voice. The voice…. It was- Was it?
“Demon?” he moaned. He felt like shit. What was Damian Wayne doing there with him?
The art museum.
He had seen Damian at the art museum. Oh fuck, that sound. That horrible sound that is accompanied by–
The building collapsed.
Oh, God. Oh fuck, he was buried. He was trapped. Buried alive. He was going to suffocate. Die. He didn’t want to die. Not again. Not like this.
Steel and concrete couldn’t be punched through, not like wood and dirt. This time, his coffin would be permanent. No, no no no no. He was going to die. And Damian was there with him.
Damian. Fuck. Damian was just a child. A really fucking annoying child, but just a ten-year-old all the same. He was too young to die. And not like this, oh god no one should die like this.
“Todd,” Damian shouted. His voice sounded closer, like he was in his face. When had he gotten so close? “Todd, calm down.”
Jason gasped for air, trying to quell the panic he felt. “I- I- We’re-“ he choked out. He was dangerously close to sobbing.
A hand touched his chest. Gently. Jason relaxed ever so slightly. He wasn’t trapped alone. He wasn’t alone. He was okay. They could figure this out.
“Todd, are you with me?” His voice sounded weird. Was he worried? Of course the brat was worried, they were buried alive. It just never seemed like the brat could get scared.
“Yeah,” he forced out, trying to steady his breathing.
“Do you know where you are?”
He tried to sit up, but the demon pushed him down. All the same, the second his head lifted an inch, his nausea worsened. He did not want to get stuck with the smell of vomit, too. “The art museum. It’s- We’re-“
He could feel his heart rate rise again. This wasn’t good. He needed to get control of his panic.
Hands were on him again, one on each shoulder. “Todd, look at me.”
He opened his eyes and searched. He couldn’t see anything. “Can’t, it’s dark,” he cried. Why was he crying? Oh God, the brat was never gonna let him live this down. Not that it mattered. They were going to die. Buried underground.
“Jason!” Damian shouted. “You need to calm down.”
“Why-“ Jason took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice, “You never call me Jason.”
“You weren’t responding to ‘Todd.’” Damian removed his hands, and it sounded like he moved a few feet away. How big was the area they were trapped in?
Suddenly, Jason wasn’t sure if the brat was even still there. It was quiet. And dark. He couldn’t hear the kid over his own breathing. Oh god. Had he left?
He tried to get up again, but the headache was killing him. Also, it seemed that not only did his leg really, really hurt, but it was also stuck. “My leg,” he said, hoping the kid was near.
“Yeah, it’s trapped. I didn’t want to disturb anything trying to free it. Besides, it would be best for the emergency personnel to free you, in case you have crush syndrome.”
Crush syndrome? That’s the thing where people die within minutes of being freed from being crushed, right? If they don’t have a doctor there to help prevent it. “It’s that bad?”
“It’s bad,” was all the kid said.
Chapter 3: Scared
Summary:
Jason is terrified of the dark and Damian is so out of his element. He doesn't do this comforting thing.
Chapter Text
This was not how his trip to the Gallery was meant to go. How did five million-dollar buildings just collapse, anyway? Less than a week after opening?
Now he was trapped with Todd. And they were probably going to die. They were buried so far down. They had been on the first floor of the building. There had to be a good thirty feet of rubble above them. By the time anyone got that deep down, it would have turned from a search and rescue mission to a recovery one.
If they didn’t suffocate first, they’d die of dehydration long before rescue workers got to them.
Would Father miss him?
Damian hugged his knees. He felt like such a child. The argument they had that morning was so petty. Damian had accused his father of trying to control his life. Father wanted him to obey his every order. He was Robin. That’s what Robin was supposed to do, right? Why couldn’t Damian just listen and do as he was told? Father had only asked he not run off on his own during patrol. Maybe had he just obeyed and not run off, again, so soon after their argument, he wouldn’t be in this mess.
If Damian hadn’t been there, Todd would be stuck in the rubble alone.
Todd might not have been in this spot, either. Between two exhibit cases, which seemed to have held part of the rubble up and off the two of them. Father would be upset if Todd died. The only reason the teen was even in that spot was because he had tackled Damian. Why had he done that? It was almost as if he were shielding him.
From an entire building collapsing on him.
Was he actually an idiot? Damian often called the teen an imbecile, but he never thought he was this stupid. His body could not possibly protect Damian from that much weight.
Then again, it had. Jason had managed to get Damian tucked into a spot where he was safe and took the damage for himself. Why had he done that?
“Ow,” Todd moaned. He seemed to have calmed down a bit since waking up. That was a relief, Damian really didn’t know how to handle a panic ridden Jason Todd. “Whys my head hurt so bad? Did it get crushed, too?”
“No, you hit it when you tackled me.”
“Oh.” Damian could see Jason. Not entirely clearly, it was much too dark to make out details, but he could see the basic form that was Jason. He was laying on his back, one leg stuck under a piece of rubble, and the other bent awkwardly and similarly trapped. He had one of his arms draped over his head, as if blocking out reality.
Damian realized it wasn’t completely dark in their little prison. There was a small amount of light trickling down from above. There had to be, if he could see anything at all. That meant that they probably would not suffocate. If light was getting in, surely air was as well.
Great. He was going to watch Todd die while he slowly dehydrated to death. Wonderful. If they’re lucky the rubble above them will shift and finish collapsing on them, so the end could be quicker.
“Why did you do that?” Damian asked, trying to end the silence. He didn’t like the direction his thoughts were going. Besides, Todd must’ve had a nasty concussion, so he probably shouldn’t fall back asleep.
“What?” he said. Todd seemed to be having trouble focusing. They really needed help.
“Did you know the building was about to collapse?”
Todd took a shaky breath, and Damian feared he might be going back into a panic attack. “Yeah. The sound.”
Damian nodded and stared at the teenager laying a few feet from him. Todd had tried to protect him. Him. Damian. Immediately after he had called the teen an imbecile.
“Are you still here?” Todd asked, a hint of fear in his voice.
“Yes. It’s not like I can go anywhere,” he replied dryly while rolling his eyes.
“I can’t- I can’t. It’s too dark, I can’t see anything.” He let out a muffled sob. “I don’t do well in small dark spaces.”
That’s how Jason had woken up after his first death. Trapped in a coffin, six feet underground. He was probably having flashbacks.
With a sigh, Damian shifted his weight to his hands and knees so he could crawl. He moved to Jason and asked, “Is anything other than your head or legs injured?”
“No,” he whispered, “I don’t think so.”
Damian turned around to lay down, perpendicular to Jason, with his back resting against the teen’s side. Hopefully having Damian’s weight against him would help keep him calm. Grounded. Todd panicking was not going to help their situation one bit. If there was a limited amount of air, he was wasting it all with his ridiculous crying. “We’re fine. They’re up there right now working to free us.”
When had Damian become the comforting type? He spent too much time with Richard.
“Does Bruce know you’re here? He’s coming, right?”
Damian laid his head back and closed his eyes. No. His father did not know he was there and was not coming to rescue him. “Father is unaware of my location.”
He could feel Jason’s breath catch under his head as the teen struggled to keep his panic under control. “Can you call him? Does your phone work?”
“I left my cell phone at home. I did not want Father to track me.” Damian felt so childish saying that. How could he be so stupid? The trackers weren’t to keep tabs on his every movement, they were precisely for situations like this! They were so Damian could be located if he got into trouble. Now he had no trackers on him and no one knew where he was.
“Fuck,” Jason squeaked.
“What about your phone?” Damian asked. Maybe Jason’s phone worked and they could get a call out.
“Oh, yeah.” Jason took a slow deep breath. “It’s in my front right pocket. I can’t reach it around you.”
Damian turned and pulled out Todd’s phone. It lit up when raised, so Damian was able to ascertain which was the proper way to hold it.
“Oh, thank fuck,” Jason said, in a half-relieved laugh, half-distressed cry that made Damian uncomfortable. He had never seen his father’s adopted son like this. Completely vulnerable and absolutely terrified.
It took a minute for Damian’s eyes to adjust to the sudden onslaught of light coming from the cell phone. Once they did, he noticed a problem. “The screen is shattered.” He thumbed at it, trying to slide it to reveal the passcode entry page. Nothing happened. He pressed the home button. Again, nothing happened. It didn’t even offer feedback to acknowledge someone had pressed the button at all. “It’s broken, the touch isn’t working.”
“Fuck.” Jason’s heart started racing, and Damian wished he could sit up. He was entirely too close to the man, but he didn’t want Jason panicking any more than he already was. “Hey, Siri,” Jason suddenly said.
The phone lit up again and dinged twice in Damian’s hands.
“Call Bruce.”
They watched as the phone ‘thought’ for a minute, before finally saying it was unable to take Jason’s request at the moment. They didn’t have a strong enough signal to use Siri.
“You have Father’s number saved to your phone?”
Jason took the phone from Damian’s hands and laughed nervously. “We’re going to die down here and you’re upset I have your dad’s number in my phone?”
Damian frowned, not that Jason could see him now that the phone’s light wasn’t illuminating his face. “I was not upset about it. Only surprised. I thought you hated Father.”
“It’s… complicated.”
The sun set at 6:30. Why did the building have to collapse in October? The longer night meant the more opportunity the criminal element of Gotham had to capitalized on the city’s lack of law enforcement. Bruce hated every last person who looked at a disaster like what had happened earlier that day and thought ‘now’s my chance to rob the bank.’
It was all hands-on deck at ground zero. Bruce kept tabs on the rescue effort by listening to the police scanner. So far, they had rescued 114 people, and recovered nearly 200 more. With each passing hour, fewer people were being pulled out alive. Bruce wished the Justice League had been on earth so they could help rescue as many survivors as possible. His heart ached for the families just standing around, waiting to know whether their loved ones were among the living or dead.
Gotham had been through so much already. Its people didn’t need this.
As it neared 9pm, Batman realized his team could not spend the entire night out there. The rescue operation would take days, and they were not physically capable of defending the city that long. “We need to take shifts sleeping,” he said into his com. Robin still had not shown up, and Red Hood was conveniently missing, as well. Not that Bruce was ever sure which side Jason was on at any given time.
“Agreed,” Nightwing chimed in from across town.
“I’m good.” Red Robin said. Batman would have shot him a glare, had the boy been near him.
“Red, you take the first shift. Three hours of sleep, then relieve Nightwing. Nightwing, once you take three hours, relieve me, and we will continue the pattern. Understood?”
“Understood,” both boys responded.
“Any idea where Robin is? We could really use his help.” Nightwing sounded winded, like he was in the middle of a fight.
“No.” Batman grunted. He had no idea where Robin was, and every minute that passed without the child making his whereabouts known was just making his punishment worse and worse. Why a ten-year-old child thought it was acceptable to just run off in the middle of the day, Bruce would never understand.
What was he going to do with Damian?
Alfred’s voice cut in on the channel. “I checked the cameras, sirs, and it appears our young lad left the grounds at 9:33am.”
“Can you track him?” Red asked.
“I have been trying, with no success. I haven’t the slightest clue where the lad might have gone, so I am afraid I’m stabbing in the dark searching the cameras.”
“Red,” Batman instructed, “when you arrive in the cave, run a facial recognition search on the footage from every camera in Gotham starting at 9:45 and coming up to the present. If that boy is in the city I want to know where. Then go to sleep. I want two full sleep cycles from you.”
“Understood, Batman. I’m nearing the cave now. Red Robin out.”
Twelve hours. Damian had been missing for twelve hours, and it took him at least six to notice. Maybe the blame couldn’t be completely saddled on Damian’s shoulders.
Chapter 4: Human
Summary:
Apparently, Jason Todd was a person. And maybe smart. Who knew?
Chapter Text
“Todd.”
There was that voice again. Why wouldn’t he just shut up and let Jason sleep?
“I’m tryna sleep, twerp.” Jason mumbled.
The demon picked his head up and dropped it back down on Jason’s chest, causing him to flinch and aggravate his injuries. Owwwww. Why the fuck was the brat even laying on him like that?
Oh right. He’s buried. Underground. It’s dark. He’s- He’s trapped, and-
Calm down, calm down.
“You can’t sleep, Todd. You have a concussion.”
Right. Jason knew that. Fuck, why was it so hard to remember? His headache was dulling, but not much. Every ounce of relief he felt from that, however, just allowed him to notice his leg more and more. How long had they even been down there?
“Then-“ Jason started, “Then talk to me.” Did he really want Damian talking to him? Well, the alternative was thinking to himself, and that would likely just spiral him back into a panic attack. So yeah, listening to the pretentious brat be a fucking spoiled Wayne would probably be better.
“On what topic would you like to converse?”
“Why are you such a weirdo?” Jason felt Damian shift and wondered if he’d hurt the kid’s feelings or something. Did the demon have feelings? He felt so small and vulnerable leaning against his side. Had he always been that small?
“Read any good books lately?” Jason asked, hoping to get his mind off the present.
“I read The Great Gatsby yesterday.”
Jason scoffed, “I asked if you’d read any good books.” He remembered reading that book in 9th grade and hating it.
“I found it to be perfectly acceptable for American Literature.”
“Well you have bad taste. Why’d you even read it?”
“Pennyworth has given me a list of classic American novels to read. He insisted that by reading the same books as American public-school students I will better understand the culture as a whole.”
The kid had perfected his American accent so well, it was easy to forget he wasn’t American. Huh. Jason wondered what all Damian found difficult about living in New Jersey. Did he miss home? Maybe not everything about home, but the culture of home?
“What’s next on your list?”
“To Kill a Mockingbird.”
Jason nodded, before remembering that moving made his head hurt more. Also, the brat couldn’t see him, so nodding was pointless anyway. Once the sensation of the room spinning stopped, he said, “that’s a good one.”
“That is what Richard said.”
The conversation stalled. Jason hated the silence. All he could hear was his and Damian’s breathing, and it was awkward. “What kind of books do you read for fun?”
“What do you mean?”
He laughed. Of course, the child didn’t do anything ‘for fun.’ He was such a conditioned little brat. “You know, what do you read on your own? What kind of books do you gravitate to when you can choose anything to read?”
“Oh. I suppose I read History for fun.” Jason had to roll his eyes at the hint of condescension the demon put into his words.
“Really? That’s still educational."
"And?"
"Besides, you don't even have to read all of a history book to understand the meaning. It's all reading for thesis and the evidence to support it. Everything else is filler. It's boring."
"It is not 'filler,' Todd. The historian inserts himself into the narrative to explain his train of thought and research methods."
"Yawn. 'Once upon a time I was working at a National Park' or 'When I was a kid we passed a sign on the highway for an alligator farm.' Boring. Boring and pointless."
"Tt. You made those up."
"Did not," Jason replied, with a childish tone.
"Then which books are they from?"
"Well one is Sense of History and I don't remember the other. It's on my shelf in my apartment, though. I read about 20 history books in the span of a week while sick a few months back. Hard to keep them straight." He still wasn't sure what possessed him to delve into history that week. He had purchased the entire Lord of the Rings series and had intended on rereading it, but then for whatever reason he got sucked into reading about history. It had been fun, actually. Made him miss school. He was not about to admit it to the brat, however.
"You expect me to believe you read twenty books in a week?"
"The only parts of a history book you have to read are the introduction and conclusion, then the intro and conclusion to each chapter. Sometimes, you have to delve a little deeper into each chapter and read the first sentence of every paragraph, but not often. You can usually glean all the useful information from the book from just intros and conclusions. Easy to knock out a 500 page book in a couple hours."
"Don't be ridiculous, Todd."
Jason ignored the brat. He had made his point. "That is why history books are boring. You know what's not boring? Fiction."
"I would disagree."
"Yeah, of course you would. Fiction's great. You have to slow down and take your time. It draws you in and immerses you in a fantasy world. It's incredible. Read some science-fiction sometime, then tell me you disagree."
"Playing pretend is for children."
Jason rolled his eyes. "So says the 10-year-old. You know a good book to read? Well, an entire series, really.”
“Tt.”
“The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy.” Jason smiled at his memories of reading the series as a pre-teen. Bruce had caught him reading the first installment and suggested they watch the movie afterward. They cracked jokes the entire time and probably missed half the film due to their conversation. It had been an awful movie, but watching it was one of his fondest memories. It was one of the few times he felt like Bruce’s son and nothing more. Not Robin, not a street rat, not Jason Todd: charity case of billionaire Bruce Wayne. He was just Jason, Bruce’s son. It had been nice.
He really wanted to reread the series.
Damian shifted his weight against Jason, and it felt like he had turned onto his side to face Jason. He settled down and was using the teen’s chest as a fucking pillow.
Jason wanted to say something rude about it, but his eyes still had not adjusted to the darkness and he didn’t want the feeling of being alone to return. Maybe his vision was screwed up? Damian seemed to be able to see, at least a little bit.
He lifted his phone and let the light shine in their small space and confirmed that his vision was incredibly blurry. Maybe his head injury was worse than a concussion?
Fuck. He wasn't going to survive to reread anything. He was going to die. Deep underground. Completely buried, and no one knew-
“What’s so great about The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy?" Damian interrupted, as if he sensed Jason's impending panic attack, "It's sounds juvenile."
Jason took a breath, thankful for the distraction. “It’s hilarious. I swear Douglas Adams was tripping balls when he wrote the book.”
“Tt. That is not a positive review, Todd.”
“Have you read the book, twerp?”
“No.”
“Then don’t knock it ‘till ya try it, kay? It's a classic.”
Damian sighed and sat up. Jason quelled a momentary sensation of panic. Fuck. Why was he so damn needy?
“Are you thirsty, Todd?”
He let out a rough laugh. “Yeah. We’ve been trapped for how long? Four hours? Five?” Damn Damian and his change of subject. Jason had been so nicely distracted.
“It’s just past 10:30. We’ve been here for over seven hours.” He heard Damian shuffle around and move closer to his head.
“How do you know the exact time?”
Jason could practically hear the eye roll come from the kid. He was such a fucking brat. “You just checked the time on your phone, did you not?”
Oh. Duh. “No, I was checking my vision, actually.”
That seemed to make Damian pause. “What were your findings?”
“It sucks. I can’t see shit.”
“Give me the phone,” Damian demanded as he reached over Jason to pull the phone out of his left hand.
Jason winced and squeezed his eyes shut when the screen was suddenly stuck immediately in his face. “Ow, do you have to? My head is already killing me, Demon.”
“Open your eyes. I’m checking to see if they dilate.”
He relented and let the brat aggravate his headache further. Once he was done, all Jason could see was white. It was a nice change from the black he saw before, but it shifted to gray and then black again far too quickly. “Well?”
“They respond to light. You aren’t blind.”
“Thanks, doc. I could have told you that. I can see, it’s just super fucking blurry. And I can’t see shit without the phone’s screen on.”
“Tt. Can you sit up a little to take a drink? I don’t want you wasting any choking because you tried to drink while lying flat.”
Jason narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Wait. Do you have water?”
“Yes. Very astute of you. Now sit up and I’ll let you drink some. There’s only 24 ounces, we need to conserve it.”
“You have water.” Jason wasn’t sure how he felt about the revelation. It meant they wouldn’t dehydrate to death. Not so quickly, anyway. They probably still would, but it meant they’d last a bit longer. “Oh, fuck. I have a granola bar and stick of beef jerky. I completely forgot.” He fished the snacks from his pocket and held them in offering to Damian.
“You snuck food into the Gallery?” Damian asked incredulously.
“Excuse me? You had water!”
“Yes, now take my arm and sit up. I’ll help you. Try not to pull at your legs.”
Jason held his hand out and waited for Damian’s arm to find it. Once he had a tight grip, he began pulling himself up. Just as his head lifted off the ground, he felt the world spin. If it weren’t for Damian’s other hand quickly finding his back, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to steady himself.
“Are you okay, Todd?”
He grunted. He was not okay. He was dizzy as fuck, felt like he was going to puke, and no matter how hard he tried not to, he did jostle his legs. “Gimme… minute.”
Once he came to his senses, he noticed Damian had wrapped Jason’s hands around a bottle but was still holding it as well. “Okay. I’m good.”
“Drink six ounces,” Damian instructed. He let go just enough to give Jason control over the bottle, but kept his hand on it, steading it. That’s when Jason realized he was shaking.
He obeyed and drank what felt like six ounces. He really hoped he didn’t drink any more. Damian needed the water more than him, after all. He was just a little kid, and kids dehydrate faster than adults. Besides, he had a better chance at surviving this… and Bruce would never forgive him if he let the kid die.
Damian helped Jason lay back down before drinking his own portion of the water. He hoped they’d be rescued sometime tomorrow, so they wouldn’t need to drink more than twice. He was already feeling the early stages of dehydration. Thankfully, it wasn’t hot, so that would help them last a bit longer.
All they had to do was survive until help came. And help would come.
Right?
“Let’s save the food for the morning,” he decided. He had been hungry for a couple hours at that point, but he could hold off for the night.
“Yeah,” Jason sighed. He sounded calm. Or calmer than earlier, at least. Staying close to him had helped.
Damian had misjudged Todd. Their forced socialization had shown Damian that Jason wasn’t pure evil. He… he was a person, and maybe even a smart person. Despite the obvious delirium caused by his head injury, they had been holding a fairly intelligent conversation. Jason knew literature and liked discussing it. Perhaps he did enjoy culture, and that's why he was at the museum.
“I didn’t know you enjoyed literature,” Damian offered, attempting to continue the conversation.
“Yeah, well. We never really spent time getting to know each other.”
That was true. Every encounter they’d had always ended in either violence or them not speaking. Jason wasn’t always the one to instigate it, either. The others were right. He was such a brat. He couldn’t speak to any of them without lacing every comment with a scathing insult. Why’d he have to be so rude to them?
What if he died, and the last thing he said to Drake was to call him an unavoidable annoyance? And his last conversation with Father was screaming at him that he was a horrible father. Why had he never said ‘I love you, too,’ back to Richard? Instead he said ‘of course you do,’ when Richard said goodbye yesterday. Why did he have to be like that? No wonder none of them liked him.
After setting the water bottle, beef jerky, and squished granola bar next to Jason’s head, Damian flipped his hood up and settled back down against his ‘older brother.’ He was so tired. And cold. And hungry. Scared. If Damian let himself admit it, staying close to Jason was helping him stay calm, too. He would never admit it, though. He shut his eyes without realizing it and began drifting off to sleep.
“I’m sorry,” Jason whispered.
Damian startled. “Wha-“ he rubbed his face, trying to wake back up. How long had he been out? Surely only a minute. “What?”
Had Jason just apologized to him? For what? The unmistakable feeling of Jason’s chest heaving startled Damian more.
“Are you crying? Stop it.” There was more venom in his voice than Damian meant to convey. He had no idea how to deal with emotions. Why was Todd crying? They had been doing well just a few minutes ago.
“I’m- I’m sorry. Sorry,” Jason blubbered. Damian tensed when Jason’s clumsy hand smacked him on the back, then found his shoulder and squeezed. “I’m so sorry, Damian.”
“Jason, cease this at once. This is not your fault. We are going to be fine.” His voice cracked with the last sentence. Damian was having a hard time keeping himself collected with Todd falling apart in front of him. Or rather, under him.
“No.” Jason took a few deep breaths and, to Damian’s relief, stopped sobbing. “No. I meant, for shooting you. I- I was mad at Dick. I wanted to hurt him, and I hurt you to do it. I tried to kill you and I’m so sorry.”
Damian set his own hand on Jason’s shoulder and patted it. He was pretty sure that was a comforting gesture. “If you wanted me dead, I have a feeling I’d be dead.” Admitting someone could have bested him was not something Damian usually did, but Todd had managed to get a shot in at him, and Damian was well aware that Todd never missed. If he had wanted Robin dead, Robin would be dead.
“Damian, I-“
“I forgive you, okay? Just stop." He really did not want Jason crying anymore. It made him uncomfortable. "Besides," he mumbled, "after today I think we can call it even.”
“Okay.” The hand squeezed Damian’s shoulder one more time before letting go.
That was... unsettling. Damian tucked his hands back under his head and stared up at Jason. He really, really misjudged the teen.
Chapter 5: Family
Summary:
Bruce is exhausted and Jason considers what Damian is to him.
Chapter Text
By midnight, Bruce was exhausted.
He had busted seven different bank robberies, stopped looting of the stores in Crime Alley, and interfered in eleven muggings. Sometimes, he really hated Gotham.
Most cities banded together in the face of tragedy. Gotham, or rather, the criminal element of Gotham, turned on itself.
Gordon had assured him earlier in the night that he had as many cops as he could spare patrolling, but it was taking the majority of his force just to keep people away from the disaster site. Even with the emergency responders from neighboring cities helping out, there weren't nearly enough people working rescue.
Batman was sitting on the roof of a building eating a burger, looking out on his city. It was his first meal since the collapse and he couldn't help but miss Damian. The child wasn't the most chatty of children, but he was good company, nonetheless, and the longer it had been since Bruce last saw his son, the more nervous he felt about the boy's absence.
Damian had run away before, but it never lasted this long.
What if something happened? Had he been kidnapped? He wouldn't have returned to his mother, would he have? Sure, he said Bruce was a horrible father, but that didn't mean he no longer wanted to live with Bruce, right?
Red Robin came in over the coms, interrupting his thoughts, “Br- Batman. Batman, respond.”
Bruce frowned. Tim sounded incredibly distressed, and would have to be to slip up with names. That was so unlike Tim. What was going on? He wasn't out on patrol yet. The teen should have been just waking up from his sleep shift.
He tapped the communicator in his ear and said, “Report.”
His shaky breath could be heard over the channel, and Bruce braced himself. Whatever it was, it was clearly awful news. What had happened? “The computer found Dam- Robin.” Tim paused, “He was in the gallery. He was in the building.”
The world came to a crashing halt.
Damian was...he couldn't be.
The next thing Bruce heard was Nightwing shouting on the coms, "What!?”
Bruce shook his head to clear his momentary daze, “Are you positive, Red?”
Surely his son wasn’t actually in the building. Maybe he just walked by it. Or maybe it was a different child. It was hard to recognize Damian sometimes when he had his hood flipped up. Especially on grainy security cam footage. Damian wasn’t trapped in that rubble. No. He was at some friend’s house Bruce had never met.
Yeah. He was fine.
“Yes. I have watched the loop a dozen times it’s definitely him. He entered the building at 1:12pm and never came out.“
Bruce felt light headed. He looked down at the fry in his hand. There was no way he could finish his meal with his stomach doing flips like it was. “No,” he whispered. Damian couldn’t be- “I’m coming back to the cave.”
Why- why hadn’t he considered this possibility?
Pushing the Batmobile faster than he’d ever taken it before, he sped back to the cave. He nearly spun out on a turn and had to force himself to calm down. It would do no one any good if he crashed.
At the cave, he found himself staring at a loop of Damian walking into the Art Gallery. The camera from the coffee shop across the street had captured the moment, and while it was a blurry image, it was clearly Damian. He was wearing his favorite hoodie and bright red sneakers. Without his hood up, it was easy to see his signature spiky hair. Oh, Damian. Why?
“I- I should have thought of this sooner,” Tim croaked. “He loves art, I should have realized-“
Bruce put a hand on his son's shoulder. It wasn’t Tim’s fault. Bruce hadn’t thought of it, either. His son was in a collapsed building for over 9 hours and they had no idea. None of them had even considered it a possibility. On top of all that, Bruce had been angry with him. He had been contemplating all the ways the kid was grounded, and the whole time-
He-
Dear God.
If he had just taken the boy to the Gallery when it opened, he’d be alive right now.
No. He couldn’t think that way. He wasn’t dead. Not yet. There was still plenty of time to find him, and for all he knew they had already pulled him out. He was probably fine. He was fine.
Bruce couldn’t lose a son again.
“I- I have to get down there.” Bruce finally said. He had to go down to the collapse site himself. When he got there, he’d find Damian. Perfectly fine.
God, please let him be fine.
———
Bruce Wayne parked his car as close as he could get to the disaster site. From there, it only took five minutes of walking to reach the police line, where he was stopped from getting any closer. If he had gone as Batman, they would have let him walk right on past. But it wasn’t Robin that was trapped. It was Damian.
Red Robin and Nightwing had agreed to continue patrolling in Batman’s absence. Hopefully if they kept it up, no one would even notice the lack of Batman. It was good for at least some of them to have a distraction.
Bruce scanned the crowd of police standing around the triage station looking for a familiar face. “Commissioner!” he shouted, when he saw Jim Gordon sipping a coffee and talking to a paramedic.
Jim looked over and scrunched his face at Bruce. It almost looked like he was pissed Bruce was there.
“Mr. Wayne?” The older man walked closer and waved for the officers in front of Bruce to let him through. “Mr. Wayne, what are you doing here?”
“I- My-“ Bruce flushed. He had been pushing down his emotions for nearly two hours, but now, standing at ground zero, he couldn’t keep it together anymore. The building was in ruins. It looked like a pile of rocks and metal now. How was anyone alive in there? How could his son-
Tears welled in his eyes and no amount of blinking could clear them. “Damian was- he’s-” He looked back at the pile of rubble and lost it. His baby was somewhere in there, and he was probably dead. It was all his fault.
“Jesus Christ,” Jim said as he put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, “What happened?”
“He left yesterday morning and never returned. We figured he’d be back. He used to run off all the time, but he always came back. We had argued, and he was angry with me. He- He’s been looking forward to this Gallery for months, and I had promised to take him, but I messed up the dates. He was mad, and he- he might have-“ Bruce sucked in a deep breath. He couldn’t cry. Not in front of the Commissioner.
It was too late, he already was. He felt a dozen eyes on him, staring. He must look like a mess.
“Mr. Wayne?” the Commissioner asked, concern evident on his face.
“Oh god, Jim. What if he’s dead? What if he died thinking I don’t care? That I don’t want to see him? How could I say that to him?”
“Go to your room, I don’t want to look at you right now.”
Bruce would give anything to see him again.
“Mr. Wayne, are you saying Damian was in the building?”
“Yes,” he sobbed. His little boy was trapped. “He probably died thinking I don’t love him and am not coming for him. Jim.” Bruce wasn’t sure what he was asking of Jim, but he wanted it desperately.
“Christ, Bruce.” Jim removed his earpiece and radio and set it on a police car, then dragged Bruce away from their audience and out of earshot of everyone. “Bruce. Get ahold of yourself. Panicking will not help this situation. Damian is probably fine. They are still pulling survivors out. And there is no way he honestly thinks you don’t care and are not coming, so stop telling yourself that. He’s a Robin, and your Robins have always been confident in your ability to rescue them. Calm. Down.”
Bruce took a deep breath and wiped his face with his coat sleeve. Did Jim just acknowledge Damian was Robin? “Jim?”
“Plausible deniability just went out the fucking window. Jesus Christ.” The older man pulled a cigarette out of his coat and lit it.
It took a few minutes for Bruce to get his breathing under control. When he finally did, he said, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me.”
“Fear and grief got into you. It’s natural. Well, for most people it is. But listen, that boy of yours is a survivor if I’ve ever seen one. He’s quick and resourceful. Don’t count him out just yet, alright?”
Bruce nodded. “You’re right.”
After a long moment, Jim sighed, “You can’t call in your super friends, can you? We could use the help.”
“The League is off world," Bruce said, shaking his head, "They are due back later this morning. I left a message at Watchtower for Superman already requesting his immediate response as soon as he returns Earthside.”
“Will he come?”
Bruce nodded, his eyes still fixed on the rubble. “Of course. He knows I only request assistance when it’s an emergency.”
Clark was Bruce’s best friend. He knew the alien would come at a moment’s notice whenever he called, just as Bruce would do the same for him. He just hoped it wouldn’t be too late.
Jason was slowly coming out of the fog he’d been trapped under since hitting his head. He could think more clearly. Unfortunately, he could also feel all his pain more clearly.
Damian shifted against him and Jason realized the child was shaking. “Shit, kid, you’re shivering.”
“I’m fine,” the boy replied. He stuttered a little, betraying that he was not, in fact, ‘fine.’
Jason put an arm on Damian in a pathetic attempt to warm him up. “It’s got to be 40º in here.”
“It’s 47 degrees Fahrenheit.”
“Of course you’d fucking know that.” Jason felt for the kid. He had vivid memories of shivering through the night in the middle of winter, trying to stay warm enough to survive until morning. It was miserable, and Jason would not wish that on anyone. Especially not a little kid like Damian. Luckily, it wouldn’t get cold enough to kill them, but it would still be horribly uncomfortable. “Take my jacket.”
The brat shook his head against Jason. “I’m fine.”
“Damian, you aren’t used to Gotham winter like I am. You’re from the fucking desert. Take my jacket.” Jason began slipping his arms out of his sleeves but found it difficult with Damian lying on him.
“Contrary to common belief, Todd, it does get cold in the desert.”
“I know,” he replied impatiently, “I lived there for a while, remember? It’s not the same kind of cold. Take. My. Jacket.”
“No. If I take it, then you’ll be cold.”
“For Christ sake, then we can share it.”
Jason pushed Damian off and sat up enough so the kid could assist him remove the jacket, then he lay back and let Damian curl up into a ball at his side, his head and upper body on Jason’s chest. He draped the jacket over the two of them and wrapped one of his now cold arms around Damian.
“There, better?”
“Tt.”
Jason closed his eyes. He hadn’t gotten dizzy when he sat up. That was good, right? Maybe he’d be okay, after all. He was feeling warmer, too. He hadn’t noticed how cold he was feeling, himself, until the jacket started reflecting his and Damian’s warmth back at them. This was much better. Maybe he wouldn’t have nightmares of freezing to death like he always did as a homeless child.
“Todd?” Damian asked, his voice quiet and small.
“Hm?” Jason hummed. He was close to falling asleep, the rhythmic pattern of Damian’s breathing lulling him to it.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Lying here? I don’t have much of a choice, kiddo.”
“No, I mean. Being so… protective of me. This is the kind of behavior I expect from Richard, or possibly Father. Not you.”
Jason didn’t have a response. His behavior surprised even him. He already knew he no longer hated Damian. How could he hate the kid, anyway? Yeah, he was a spoiled little brat, but that wasn’t his fault. He had been raised by Talia-fucking-Al Ghul and then Bruce Wayne, and he was only ten.
“You- You sacrificed yourself trying to protect me from falling debris. You don’t even like me. Why would you do that?”
“You’re just a kid, Damian.” Jason scrunched his brow. Did Damian just suggest Bruce wouldn’t be protective of him? That he didn’t expect his own father to care for him?
“I am not-“
“Wait, what do you mean ‘possibly Father.’ Your Dad would cut off his right arm if it made you happy.”
When Damian didn’t respond, Jason wrapped his other arm around the child and tugged at him, trying to pull him closer, but there wasn’t really a ‘closer’ at that point. “Bruce cares about you. Don’t you see that?”
“I’m sure he cares. I believe even Mother cares. But that doesn’t mean anything.”
“Kid...” Jason began. Was Damian really questioning the worth of a parent’s love?
“I know Father cares about me, just as he cares for you, Drake, and Grayson. But unlike you three, he doesn’t like me. He didn’t choose to have me around. He doesn’t desire my presence.”
“What the fuck.” How could the kid think that? Bruce loved Damian in a way he had never loved his adopted sons. It was an instant bond, that much was clear, and Bruce overlooked so much in Damian he could never forgive in his other sons. Like murder. Damian and Jason had such similar backgrounds when it came to training and methods, and yet Bruce had forgiven it all in Damian and refused to in Jason. He had a feeling Bruce would go to hell and back for Damian.
The child took a deep breath and said, “Never mind. Forget it.”
“No. What the fuck, kid? How could you possibly think all this? Have you even seen the way Bruce looks at you? It’s with so much love and adoration. He’s so fucking proud of you. How could you think he doesn’t even like you?”
Damian shifted in Jason’s grasp and sniffled. “He ignores me and only ever yells at me.”
“Bruce yells because he’s scared, and he gets scared because you do stupid shit to almost get yourself killed. That scares him because he can’t bear to lose you.”
“You think Father will be upset when I die?”
“You aren’t gonna die, but yeah. He’d be devastated. He loves you.”
“Hm.” The way Damian melted and snuggled down against Jason made him smile. The kid was like a puppy. It was strangely refreshing to see him acting like a child for once.
“And for the record, I don’t not like you.” If he thought about it too hard, he might even find he loved the kid, too. They were brothers, after all. Even if Jason and Bruce weren’t on good terms.
“Tt. It’s probably safe for you to sleep now. I’ll wake you in a couple hours.” .
He rubbed the kid’s arm and then closed his eyes. “Okay.” Sleep would be so nice. So fucking nice.
“And,” Damian whispered, “I don’t not like you, either.”
Jason drifted off to sleep, a small smile tugging at his lips. If he ever saw Bruce again, he’d make sure to punch him. For Damian.
Chapter 6: Promise
Summary:
Unsure of what the future held, Jason and Damian needed to make some promises to each other.
Chapter Text
Heat was the first thing Damian noticed when he awoke. Everything was hot and he was sweating. Why was he so hot? He cracked his eyes open, expecting to see the sunlight shining in through his bedroom windows, but he was only met by darkness. Then he remembered.
The person he was lying on was the source of the heat. Not good. They really needed help, and soon.
“Jason?” he said, sitting up. He took the jacket they had been using as a blanket with him, hoping the crisp air would help bring his brother’s fever down. The air smelled fresh. Well, fresher than it had been smelling. Maybe the rescue crews were closer to them now.
Jason moaned in response to the sudden absence of heat on him, then cried out in pain when he tried to roll over. “Fuck,” he said as he rubbed his face.
“You have a fever.” Damian slipped his arms in the jacket and zipped it up around his knees. Without the 100 degree furnace that was Jason under him, it was incredibly cold.
“Figures. What time is it?” Jason said while stretching his arms. He knocked the bottle of water over, then scrambled to find it in the dark and right its orientation.
Damian frowned. “I estimate it’s nearing 7am, but I am unsure. Where is your phone?”
The teen groped around the floor to his left before picking up the small broken object. He lifted it and hit the power button. Damian saw him shy away from the light on his face while his eyes adjusted.
After another moment, Jason squinted at the screen then cursed. “I still can’t fucking see. It looks like a blue blob to me. Here.”
Damian took the phone from his brother and looked at the screen. “7:39am.”
“Heh. You were wrong.”
He looked back down at the screen and noticed it said they had one bar and 3G. The screen still did not respond to touch, however. “Hey, Siri.”
The phone didn’t respond.
“It’s locked to my voice,” Jason explained. Damian might have known that if he ever bothered to set Siri up on his iPhone. Before Damian could imitate Jason’s voice, the teen repeated, “Hey, Siri.”
The phone lit up and dinged twice.
“Call Bruce.”
Damian held his breath while the phone ‘thought.’ After what felt like an eternity, Siri said, “Calling Bruce Wayne.”
Relief washed over him. In just a moment he would be speaking to his father. Father would know where they were and come save them.
“Jason?” Father said. He sounded exhausted and confused.
“Bruce,” Jason said, at the same time Damian cheered, “Father!”
“Hello?”
He hadn’t heard them. Damian took the phone away from his ear and looked at the reception. No bars.
“Father,” he said again, this time desperation seeping into his voice.
Jason reached for the phone, which Damian handed over. “Bruce. Bruce can you hear me? We’re buried in the rubble.”
“Jason, I didn’t ca- that.”
Damian felt his cheeks turn cold, and he realized he was crying. He wiped his face and tried to calm himself. He was not a child that cried.
“Damian and I are trapped, B.”
“D-ian? ---as – th- -lery. Ja-, -e ne- -u.”
The call dropped.
A minute later, the phone lit up and Father’s picture was staring at them. Without a functioning touch screen, however, there was no way to answer it.
“Hey, Siri, answer that,” Jason said. When the phone didn’t respond he shouted, “Siri, answer that. Answer the fucking call. God you’re so fucking useless, Siri.” He smacked the phone down on the ground and continued mumbling about software flaws.
Damian buried his head in his knees. He hadn’t felt so helpless before, but somehow hearing his father’s voice and being unable to interact with it brought the feeling on in full force.
“Kid,” Jason said gently, “Hey, it’s going to be okay. They’re going to find us. Bruce is probably annoyed with me. He’ll get Tim to trace my phone’s location or something so he can come lecture me in person. We’re going to be okay. Stop crying.”
He hadn’t realized he was crying again. He sniffled and nodded his head. Of course they’d be okay. It had only been 16 hours since the collapse. Why was he acting like such a child?
Who were they kidding?
Jason had a fever and was badly injured, and they only had half a bottle of water, a granola bar, and a stick of jerky to keep them alive. They were going to die down there and Father didn’t even know where they were.
“I should have worn my tracker,” he cried. Had he just behaved and left it on, as Father requested he always did, they would have already been rescued. Father would have sent the Justice League, personally.
“Yeah, that’s true. When you get out of this, and you will, do me a favor.”
What did Jason mean when Damian got out?
“Promise me you’ll never go anywhere without telling someone where you’ve gone.”
“Jason,” Damian began, but was interrupted by Jason grabbing his ankle and shaking it.
“Damian, promise me. You can’t do this shit, okay? You're just a little kid and people care about you."
"I am not kid." Damian hated himself for saying that with a whine.
"Shut up and listen. I know you can take care of yourself and Talia expected you to do everything alone but that’s not how our family works. You have nothing to prove to anyone and Bruce would never expect you to handle everything alone. He doesn't even want you to do everything alone.”
“But-“ he tried to interrupt. This was sounding too much like a final request for Damian's comfort.
“No, listen. You have a family that loves you. Someone needs to know where you’ve gone so they know where to look when you don’t show back up because shit happens. Like this, right now. Or you could get kidnapped by a moron wanting ransom, or by a villain who's figured out your secret ID. If no one knows where you are, they can't save you in time. Promise me, Damian.”
Villains could kidnap him. That’s how Jason died, wasn't it? He went off without Father and the Joker caught him and killed him. Damian thought he was better than Jason. He’d never be as careless as Todd had been. He was better trained. More disciplined. Smarter. Superior in every way.
Yet, here he was, in a situation easily fixed had he just let Father know where he was. Had he just bluntly requested Father bring him to the Gallery. Or Pennyworth. Or even Richard.
Of course, it wasn’t his fault the building had collapsed, he couldn’t have controlled or predicted that.
Then again, it hadn’t been Jason’s fault the Joker set him up. Hindsight is always clearer than the view in the moment.
Maybe he wasn't better than Jason.
“I promise,” he whispered as he lay back down to let Jason hold him.
They stayed like that for a while, and that was okay with Damian. Two days ago, he wouldn’t have been caught dead lying like this with anyone, not even Richard, but now he didn’t care what others thought. It was comforting to know Jason was still there, was still alive.
Caring about someone was a weakness that enemies could exploit. That’s what his mother had taught him. He was beginning to see that maybe it was worth it to have such a weakness. Having people he loved who loved him back was a pleasant feeling. It made him feel less empty. Less alone. And having people on his side was a strength in itself. Maybe the loyalty of his family made up for the weakness it caused in him. Their strength filled in the gap.
“Hey kid,” Jason rasped, “why don’t you go ahead and eat the granola bar, okay? Then we can drink some water.”
Damian sat up and stretched. “Okay, you eat the jerky.” He didn’t really want to eat the dried meat, in all honesty. He would, if push came to shove, but the thought of eating an animal’s carcass revolted him.
"No, I'll pass."
"You aren't hungry?" Damian arched an eyebrow. How could he not be hungry?
“Not really. 'Sides, I’m afraid if I eat, it won’t stay down.”
What other symptoms was Jason keeping secret from Damian? He made a mental list in his head. Concussion, possible dizziness, vision problems, nausea, loss of appetite, crushed legs, fever. At least he didn’t seem as out of it anymore.
Damian frowned and located the granola bar. He forced himself to eat it slowly, one small bite at a time. He wasn’t afraid of throwing it up from eating too fast, he was just hoping that by eating it slowly, he could trick his stomach into thinking it had been fed more food than just a single granola bar.
After he was finished, he helped Jason sit up and drink six more ounces of water. He then drank three ounces himself and set the remaining three ounces near the beef jerky.
Jason didn’t lay back down at first. Instead, he leaned further forward and rested his head against the slab of concrete that was crushing his legs. “This feels nice. It’s cold.”
“Do you feel hot?” Damian asked while feeling Jason’s cheek to check his temperature.
“No,” he said. “Well, kind of. I feel both hot and cold at the same time.”
“Tt. Your fever is increasing.”
“Fantastic. How are you feeling? I never asked.”
“I am dehydrated, but otherwise fine.”
“Good,” Jason sighed as he lay back down. “That’s good."
Damian stared at Jason for several long minutes, contemplating.
“Jason?” he asked as he resumed his position against his brother.
“When did I become Jason?” the teen said with a sarcastic laugh. When Damian didn’t answer, Jason said, “Yes?”
“Don’t give up.”
Father would be upset if Jason died.
Damian felt Jason take a deep breath before wrapping an arm around him. “Damian, I-”
Maybe... he'd be upset if Jason died, too.
“Please,” he begged, “Promise me.” He squeezed his eyes shut to clear the tears. To deny their existence.
Jason sighed, “Okay." He wrapped his other arm around and hugged Damian tight. “I promise.”
Chapter 7: Alive
Summary:
They were alive. That was enough.
Chapter Text
Two hours after sunrise, Bruce found himself standing at the edge of the collapse site with Commissioner Gordon, drinking coffee. He had officially been awake for 24 hours but couldn’t find it in him to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he heard himself yell at Damian, then pictured himself holding his son’s broken body. It reminded him far too much of Jason’s death.
Why had he never told his son he loved him?
Bruce closed his eyes. Damian had been in his life for less than a year. It was too short a time. He should have known about the boy sooner.
He should have checked up with Talia within a year of their last meeting, just to make sure he didn’t have a kid. Damian was the way he was because Bruce had failed him. He stood by and just let him be indoctrinated by the League of Assassins. Had he just rescued his child when he was an infant, he could have spared him the brainwashing. The lack of morals. The heart wrenching need to prove himself at the cost of his own wellbeing.
That was the source of all their arguments, after all. Damian felt the need to prove he could do anything. It was like he felt his worth was measured by how well he performed as Robin. He pushed himself further than any child should, often to the point of injury, all to impress Bruce. He resorted to less-than-ideal tactics to accomplish his goals, with the attitude ‘the ends justify the means,’ and Bruce had no idea how to correct the behavior.
Maybe if he had just told Damian he loved him he wouldn’t have felt the need to earn it.
Now, it might be too late. He’d known his baby less than a year, and fate has ripped him away. It was too soon. There was so much they hadn’t done together. There was so much Damian hadn’t done.
He had dreamt of his youngest growing up. Going to college. Getting married. Having kids. An entire line of future Waynes, destroyed. Cut short. All because Bruce told Damian he didn’t want to look at him.
It wasn’t even true. He could look at Damian all day for the rest of his life and never grow tired of the child. He may never look at the face of his son again.
He felt so useless standing there. He wanted nothing more than to be out there helping. It was Gotham’s hour of need, and Batman was doing nothing. Abandoning her. But Damian Wayne was missing. Trapped. Possibly dead. And Bruce Wayne needed to be there, right there. He wanted to be there the moment Damian was pulled from the rubble.
How would Damian take it if Bruce weren’t there the moment of his rescue? How would Bruce?
Bruce heard the unmistakable sound of Superman arriving in front of him, then felt the rush of air caused by the boy scout’s super speed. He opened his eyes and was relieved to see his friend.
“Commissioner,” Superman began, “is there anything I can do to help?” It took Bruce a second to remember he was currently Bruce Wayne, and Clark had no idea Gordon knew he was Batman. Regardless, it would seem weird for him to fly in to a scene of a disaster just to speak to Bruce Wayne first.
Before Gordon could answer, Bruce interrupted, “Superman, Damian was in the building before it collapsed.”
Clark’s face went from the concerned League member he usually portrayed to horrified, before quickly shifting to a concentrated look. Bruce knew that meant he was using his super hearing to carefully listen to his surrounding, looking for a particular sound.
His children were like nephews to Clark. Damian wasn’t particularly fond of ‘the alien,’ as he referred to Clark, but that didn’t stop the man from caring about Damian. Clearly, Clark was familiar enough with Damian to identify him based off his heartbeat.
Bruce couldn’t breathe. It only took Clark a second to search the rubble with his hearing, but to Bruce it felt like an eternity. The anxiety in him gnawing away at every ounce of strength he had left.
“I hear him,” Superman said with a breath, “I hear him. He’s alive.”
Relief washed over Bruce. He stumbled forward and reached for Clark’s shoulders to steady himself. “Is- Is he okay? How bad is it?”
Clark grabbed his arms and looked toward the rubble. He squinted, then smiled. “That’s really cute,” he said, turning to Bruce. “He’s fine. He doesn’t appear to be injured, but Jason is.”
For the second time in a day, the world stopped.
“Jay-“ Bruce stuttered, “Jason?”
His second son was in there, too?
He just got Jason back. Even if the teen hated him and wanted nothing to do with the family, he was still Bruce’s son and he loved him. He couldn’t lose him again. Not so soon after getting him back. Bruce never wanted to bury a son ever again.
What was Jason even doing there? Bruce had no idea his two sons spent time together.
“Yeah,” Clark answered, “his legs are crushed, and it looks like his skull is fractured. He’s alert, though. They’re actually talking. And Damian is letting Jason hold him. I wish I could take a picture and show you.”
Bruce let go of his friend and took a step backward until he found the wall. He slid down to the ground “Jason,” he said, shaking his head, “I didn’t even think to check on his whereabouts. I- He. He called me. He called me an hour ago. Clark,” he shifted his gaze up to his best friend, “I could have lost two sons today and not even known it.”
Superman looked nervously between Gordon and Bruce, and Bruce snapped out of it. He just called Superman ‘Clark.’ Dammit. What was wrong with him? He had to get control of himself.
“Mr. Wayne,” Clark said, “I need to help with the recovery efforts. They’re okay. I need to prioritize those closest to death first, and thankfully your boys are not at the top of that list, but I will get to them as soon as I can. They’ll be okay, I promise.”
Bruce nodded. “Thank you.”
Clark gave a small smile before flying off.
They were okay. They were fine.
Gordon took a seat next to Bruce. “Would have never guessed ‘Clark.’”
“I can’t believe I let that slip. After all the lectures I’ve given on codenames, I was the one to slip.”
Jim grunted in amusement. “So,” he paused, “Jason Todd?”
Right. Jim didn’t know about Jason being alive. He knew of the Red Hood, but it wasn’t common knowledge that Hood was the second Robin. There had been a rumor, but not many believed it. The commissioner was probably connecting the dots between the Red Hood and Jason, but Bruce wasn’t going to ruin his ‘plausible deniability’ again. Unlike Batman, the Red Hood was a wanted criminal.
Bruce nodded as he pulled his cell phone out of his coat pocket. He navigated to Jason’s contact page and showed Jim the picture he had saved. “Yeah. He’s been back for a while, but we aren’t on good terms. He’s angry with me about his death and a whole lot of other things.”
The older man inspected the picture, then smiled. “He sure did grow up well. I don’t even want to know how someone comes back so they can be angry about their death.”
With a frown, Bruce tapped ‘call’ on the page and put the phone to his ear. He never called Jason, mostly because the teen never answered. Never wanted to talk to Bruce. He was still just thankful his son hadn’t changed his number the moment he realized Bruce had it.
Come on, Jason, pick up.
After seven rings, Bruce hit voicemail. “Dammit.” He pulled up their text line instead and typed out a quick message. ‘Superman is here. We are coming. Hang in there. I love you both.’
He pressed send and leaned his head back. Two of his sons. Two of his sons were trapped in the pile of rocks that sat before him. Two of them, and he didn’t even know it until hours after it had happened. It was going to be difficult to let either out of his sight for a long time.
Jason’s hatred of him be damned. Whatever Bruce had to do, he’d do it, if it just meant having Jason back. He couldn’t lose him again. Never again.
Bruce closed his eyes and let himself relax, just a little. It wasn’t over. Damian was okay, but Jason was badly injured.
At least he was still alive.
He and Damian would be fine.
They’d be fine.
Chapter 8: Death
Summary:
All Jason can think about is death.
Chapter Text
Jason was past the point of feeling his pain. He knew it was still there, it was like an annoying itch in the back of his mind, but it had been so constant for the past day, he was able to tune it out.
That didn’t mean he was comfortable.
He was anxious, restless, and felt like absolute shit in general. It didn’t seem like his fever had progressed to the point of delirium, but Jason wasn’t really a good judge of that. For all he knew, everything around him was a hallucination. Damian had been acting like an actual human, after all.
All morning the brat had been calling him Jason. What was that about? He had heard the kid call each of them by their first names once or twice, but it was always while insulting them. Damian was using his name like names were meant to be used. It was odd.
Maybe Jason was delirious.
“What time is it now?” he asked, hoping it was near lunch time. The faster time passed, the quicker they’d be rescued. Or just die. Either worked for him at that point.
Damian sat up and searched for the phone. When he found it he tried turning it on. “It’s not coming on. It must have died.”
“That’s great.” First the phone, next Jason.
“I am not as good as my father at measuring time, but I would estimate it’s been two hours since we woke up.”
“Ugh,” Jason complained, “This is literal torture.”
“I’m sure there are worse things,” Damian said dryly.
Jason laughed sarcastically. What a brat. Maybe he wasn’t hallucinating. “You aren’t as trapped as I am.”
He sighed and looked upward, pretending he could see well enough to stare at the ceiling. “I’m gonna sit up a while, I think.” Sitting up might help him feel a little less trapped.
Damian moved out of his way, so he sat up and stayed there for a moment to roll his shoulders and stretch his muscles. Eventually, he laid his head back down on the concrete in front of him, allowing his back to fully stretch. He was so stiff.
If he survived this, he had many months of recovery ahead of him. If he even got to keep his legs. He supposed if he lost his legs, he’d still have physical therapy. He’d just get to skip the months of healing and dozen surgeries it was bound to take to fix his bones.
Regardless, he was going to be stuck up in a hospital bed for a long, long time. He was already sick of it, and he hadn’t even made it to the hospital yet.
What was he going to do? He couldn’t continue as Red Hood in either circumstance. Would he ever be physically fit enough to continue as a vigilante? Who was he without his work? His entire identity revolved around being the Red Hood.
That was something to contemplate later. If he survived.
Did he really want to survive?
He remembered the first time he had mandatory bedrest to allow a broken leg to heal. He had been 13 at the time, and he thought it was the worst thing in the world.
Heh. Boy was he wrong.
Lying in bed for three weeks meant he couldn’t be Robin. And as bad as that was, it wasn’t even what he had been upset about. He was mad he was missing school. Yeah, his work was sent home so he could complete it, but it wasn’t the same. Not at all. He loved school. He loved sitting in the classroom, listening to lectures, and taking tests. Everyone thought he was crazy, but it was one of his favorite things, even if all the kids at his school were stuck up.
He missed it.
“I never finished High School,” Jason said aloud. He had been 15 when he died, in the 9th grade. He missed almost all of High School by dying. That was probably his biggest regret.
“Tt. School is pointless, anyway.”
Brat. He was homeschooled, he didn’t understand how great school was. Sure, the kid was getting an education just fine, but he wasn’t immersed in the atmosphere of learning. School was an experience, not just an education.
“I wanted to go to college,” Jason admitted solemnly. He did. He had dreamed of getting a degree in either English or Literature. Or perhaps both.
Then he died, and all those dreams died with him.
“Then go to college,” Damian said, a hint of his usual condescending tone seeping into his words. Okay, it was kind of nice to see him being himself.
“Dead kids don’t go to college.”
“You aren’t going to die,” Damian said forcefully.
“I already did, Damian,” he replied with a sigh, “Jason Todd died four years ago. I can’t just go sign up for college classes with a dead boy’s identity.”
Damian sighed and leaned up against Jason’s back. “Then have Father correct the records.”
Jason shook his head. “He wouldn’t do it. He can’t accept I’m his son. He still remembers me as a perfect little soldier who died at 15.”
“Tt. You’re an idiot, Todd.”
“Excuse me?” And Jason thought they had been getting along so well.
“Father already has a press release drafted announcing your return from the dead. He’s just waiting for you to want it. Father wants nothing more than to have you back.”
“He-“ Jason paused. Bruce wanted him back? Even after everything he’d done? Even after everything Bruce had done? “Are you sure?” he asked. That didn’t sound right. At all. Bruce had barely acknowledged him. They had done a fucking portrait sitting and he wasn’t even invited. How is that wanting Jason back?
“I would not have said it if I were unsure.”
“But…” Had he forgiven Jason?
Their biggest clash had been about Jason’s killing. He had been trying recently to not kill, simply for Bruce’s sake. But he still didn’t think it was wrong the way Bruce did.
“But I’ve killed. Dozens of times.”
Bruce saw the world in black and white. Everything was either right, or it was wrong. Jason knew better. He had seen far too much in his short life to be so naïve.
Damian nodded against his back. “As have I,” he stated.
The world was in color.
Sometimes, killing was acceptable. Necessary. The very existence of the Joker was proof of that. Had he just been killed years ago, after Batman’s first encounter with him, hundreds of lives would have been saved. Thousands spared the scarring terror the Joker inflicted.
“But I’ve killed after Bruce told me not to.”
Jason would have been saved.
Batman’s own son. Or so he had called him.
But Jason no longer faulted Bruce for any of that. Him and Bruce were different people. Perhaps Batman needed to have such strong convictions. Maybe he was right, if he crossed the line, he’d be just as bad as those he fought. He would have a hard time not crossing it again. Over and over. He wouldn’t be able to carry the burden.
“As have I,” Damian said again. “In front of Father.”
Jason, on the other hand, could carry the burden. He didn’t have a problem controlling the urge to kill. He didn’t really even have an urge. He saw it as necessary, sometimes. He wasn’t bloodthirsty. He took no pleasure in killing, but it did not bother him, either.
“But you’re his son.”
He had forgiven Bruce.
“Tt.”
Had Bruce forgiven him?
Jason sighed.
He sure didn’t act like it.
“Father adopted you, did he not?” Damian asked.
“He- Well. Yeah.”
“In this culture, that makes you his son. And as Father has pointed out numerous times, you three are as much his sons as I am.”
“Hm.”
If Bruce could accept Jason was never going to believe everything he did, never going to be just like Batman, he’d be willing to be his son.
“Move. I want to lie down.” He was exhausted. Sitting up, even the little he did, had worn him out.
Damian complied, and allowed Jason to lay back.
Being on his back, however, reminded him of how small the space they were in was. It felt like the walls were closing in on him, and he had to close his eyes to block it out.
If only Jason had learned all this about Bruce before the building fell.
Maybe they could have had a better relationship.
As strong as he tried to be, deep down he just-
He just wanted his dad. All he ever wanted was for Bruce to love him as a son.
He never thought he had that love before. Did he even have it now? Damian seemed to think so. Did Bruce know where Jason was? Was he worried? Would he be upset when Jason died again?
He was going to die again. And just like last time, Bruce wasn’t there. He wouldn’t get there in time.
He just wanted his dad.
"Tell-" Jason swallowed, "tell Bruce I'm sorry. For everything." For being a jerk. For shooting his son. For fighting him at every turn.
"Tell him yourself," Damian snapped, as he scooted closer.
Jason grabbed the kid’s arm and pulled him down against his chest. His eyes closed as he wrapped his arms tightly around his little brother.
He was going to die, and they both knew it.
At least this time he wasn’t alone.
He hated himself for doing this to Damian. After he had promised not to.
He let himself doze off to the sound of Damian's sniffling.
Just as he was on the edge of consciousness, he thought he heard crunching in the distance. He tried to stir, to investigate the sound further, but the silent darkness was too tempting.
He was much freer there.
Chapter 9: Rescue
Summary:
Hopefully the rescue didn't come too late.
Chapter Text
A loud creak startled Damian from his sleep.
Groggily, he sat up and rubbed at his eyes. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but his face felt puffy and his head hurt as if he had been crying.
Oh yeah. He had been.
He downed the last few ounces of water, hoping the hydration would help him feel better. He was pretty dehydrated already. Twelve ounces of water in a 24 hour period was not enough.
Another loud creak, and then he heard unmistakable sound of metal above him being moved. Finally!
“Jason!” he shouted, a wide grin forming on his face, “Jason, wake up.”
He turned and poked at Jason’s shoulder. The rescue crews were close. So close. They were going to be okay.
“Jason, wake up you imbecile, they’re coming for us.”
The teen didn’t respond. Didn’t even stir. The elation Damian felt from their apparent near-rescue drained, leaving him with a horrible pit in his stomach. “Jason?”
He felt for a pulse.
Nothing.
He repositioned his fingers, hoping he’d just missed the vein in the dark.
To his relief, he found a pulse. It wasn’t particularly strong, but it wasn’t concerningly weak, either.
“Jason,” he pleaded, “Don’t do this.” He began shaking at the teen’s shoulder, trying his best to get a reaction. Then he noticed how absolutely drenched his brother’s hoody was in sweat. He felt Jason’s forehead and realized his fever had increased dramatically. It was definitely above 104º at that point.
The sounds above him paused, and Damian perked up, listening closely.
Had they stopped?
“-ay down there?” a muffled voice hollered.
Were they talking to him? Why were they talking to him, they should be working to free them! Jason needed help yesterday!
“My brother is dying,” Damian shouted, internally pleading that they could hear. He sounded far too much like a scared 10-year-old for his liking.
“Lie back down and don’t move,” the voice shouted back.
Damian complied and laid himself back next to Jason, one hand grasping the teen’s hoody. “Please don’t be too late,” he whispered, as he heard more metal and concrete move.
Then there was a loud crash, and their ceiling shifted lower.
“Don’t crush us!” he screamed, slightly hysterical. They hadn’t survived for- Jason hadn’t suffered through the last 24 hours just to be squished five minutes before rescue.
More muffled noise, some hollering, then everything got loud.
Damian cracked his eyes open–when had he closed them?–and immediately shut them back.
The sunlight was blinding.
Sunlight!
“Damian,” a familiar voice said, gently.
Clark? No. It would be Superman right now.
“Damian,” Superman said again, “take this and drape it over yourself and Jason, then lie down and stay still.”
He opened his eyes to see a blue spandex covered arm reaching through a small gap a few feet from his head. Superman was holding out a heavy blanket, waiting for Damian to take it.
“Get us out of here,” Damian cried. Why was he crying again? And in front of Superman. Ugh. He took a deep breath and tried to steady himself.
“We’re almost there. Put that over you to protect from the sparks, okay? You’re okay, buddy. Just five more minutes, then you can see your dad.”
Damian nodded, knowing the alien could see him. Father had called the Justice League, after all. He knew where Damian was. It was almost over.
He complied with Superman’s instructions and draped the blanket over himself and Jason, then lay down next to his brother. He rested his head on Jason’s shoulder and wrapped his arm around the teen, trying to keep himself together.
He- He just wanted this to be over. For Jason to be okay.
He just wanted Father.
He wanted his dad.
Damian lost it. He began sobbing and was unable to stop. He buried his face in Jason’s hoody, and stayed there, even after everything around him grew silent again.
The blanket was lifted off them and fresh air hit Damian like a car. He gasped at the suddenness of it and turned his face further away from the light.
“There we go,” Clark said, so kindly. Normally Damian would scoff at being treated like a child, especially by the alien, but it was such a relief to hear Clark at all. “Come here and I’ll bring you to your dad. The doctors need to work on Jason for a bit.”
Damian nodded and stood to allow Clark to pick him up.
Superman lifted him bridal style and flew up and out of their hole. Damian had been right, they were at least 30 feet down. That’s when he noticed all the others who had been working to free him. There was a couple paramedics, someone with a blowtorch, and three other people without tools, all wearing harnesses. It looked like the tunnel had been dug specifically to rescue him and Jason. It must have taken hours, even with Superman’s help.
As they lifted into the air, the paramedics dropped into their former prison and began helping Jason. Damian watched them hook an IV up to his brother before they flew out of view.
“He’ll be okay,” Clark said.
Damian nodded and closed his eyes.
Yeah. They were okay.
Bruce stood next to the ambulance waiting for Clark. He hadn’t been allowed to accompany him and the rescue crew, and he hated it. At least Clark left his com on, so he could hear the rescue efforts.
It broke his heart to hear Damian crying the way he was. Bruce wasn’t sure he’d ever heard the child cry. It wasn't a sound he ever wanted to hear again.
His boy was so scared.
And he had called Jason ‘my brother.’ Damian had never once admitted Bruce’s other kids were his brothers.
His son must have been through hell in the past day to be showing so much emotional progress.
Clark emerged from the hole they’d dug to reach Damian, and Bruce sucked in a breath.
There was his little boy. He was okay.
He felt his legs start to give, and he had to fight himself to keep it together. He couldn’t fall apart. Not in front of Damian. He had to remain strong for his son.
He walked forward as Clark approached, and the seconds began to drag out. It was almost over.
Just as Superman landed in front of Bruce, the little boy in his arms opened his eyes and looked over at his father. Then, almost before Bruce could react, Damian leapt out of Clark’s arms and at his Father.
He opened his arms wide and caught the boy in a strong embrace. Damian wrapped his arms tightly around his neck and his legs around his middle and began sobbing.
“Damian,” Bruce choked out, he was on the verge of crying just as hard as Damian was. “I’m so sorry.”
His child shook his head against Bruce’s neck. “I’m sorry I ran off.”
“No. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’m sorry. I love you so much, son. So much. I'll never not want you around.”
Bruce didn’t realize Damian could cry harder until he was. He tightened his hold on the boy and kissed the back of his head, leaving his face buried in the boy’s hair. He smelled, well, awful. But it was Damian. It was really Damian, and he was alive.
“I love you, son. Please don’t do this to me again. I can’t lose you.”
“I won’t,” Damian replied between sobs, “I love you too, Father.”
It took several long minutes for Damian to calm down, and when he finally did, he didn’t let go of his hold on Bruce. Instead, he simply turned his head so his face was exposed to the world.
Bruce rubbed his back, similarly not wanting to let go of his son.
He never realized how badly he wanted a moment like this. It wasn’t worth the price, however. The terror his son had experience was not worth it. Plus, he still had another son trapped in the rubble. And Jason wasn’t going to come out unscathed like Damian. Jason might not come out alive at all.
The thought caused him to hug Damian a little tighter.
“Mr. Wayne,” a voice behind him said, “We need to check out your son.”
Bruce turned to see a paramedic motioning for the back of his ambulance.
He-
He didn’t want to put Damian down.
The paramedic smiled. “Just sit up here,” she said, motioning for Bruce to take a seat.
Bruce nodded and hopped up on the back of the ambulance, his legs dangling in the air. He helped Damian turn around, so he was sitting in his lap facing the paramedic.
They sat there for a while, Bruce with an arm around his son’s middle, and Damian resting his head back against his father, while the paramedics looked over Damian.
His blood pressure was fine. His temperature was fine. Oxygen levels were fine. Vision fine. Reflexes fine. Everything was fine. He just seemed to be a bit dehydrated.
It was an absolute miracle.
When the paramedic suggested bringing him to the hospital for an IV, however, Damian lost it again.
“No!” he shouted, “Not until Jason gets out. Father,” he twisted so he was looking Bruce in the eyes, “we can’t leave until they get Jason. We can’t leave him here alone.”
Bruce pulled his son’s head closer and planted a kiss on his forehead. He pressed their foreheads together and softly said, “Okay, we will wait until they pull Jason. Then we will go to the hospital.”
The paramedic frowned, “He needs an IV now.”
“Can you give him one here?” Bruce asked.
“I suppose.”
Damian and Bruce had to move to a chair set up under a tent for the IV. After a few minutes of cleaning Damian’s arm and setting up the IV, a needle was inserted into Damian’s arm while Bruce held it still.
He knew Damian could take the needle without fuss, but it was a comfort to him to be holding his son, and the paramedic had been the one to put Damian’s arm in his hand, so he wasn’t about to drop it.
His son was alive. Alive and well. Slightly traumatized, but okay overall.
Jason, on the other hand.
When a helicopter landed nearby, Bruce’s heart dropped. Was that for Jason? Had the doctors ordered an airlift for Jason?
“Superman,” Bruce said after tapping his com, “can you give me a report on Jason?”
After a moment, Clark responded, “The doctors are still with him. I’m working on rescuing other survivors. From what I’ve heard, he’s in a coma. His temp is 105.2º and his brain might be swelling. They have ice packs on him to bring his temperature down, but if it’s been high long, he could have suffered brain damage from it. On the bright side, his legs aren’t as bad as they originally looked, but they’re still pumping him with liquids to counteract crush syndrome. They’ll be ready to move him soon.”
“So, the helicopter is for him.”
“Yes. It is. They’ll be taking him to Gotham General.”
Bruce nodded and said, “Thank you,” before tapping off his com.
“Father?” Damian rasped.
Jason was in bad shape. “He’s uh,” Bruce cleared his throat, trying to hold onto his strength for Damian. “He’s in bad shape. They’re going to airlift him.”
“Where? We have to go with him.”
How? Jason Todd was dead, and without proof of relation to whatever alias Jason was using, there wasn’t really a way Bruce could just go visit the boy at the hospital. No doctor would give him an update on Jason, either, without that relation. He’d have to pull the information from the hospital’s database himself.
They watched as Jason’s immobilized body was slowly lifted from the rubble and moved to the waiting helicopter. He was too far in the distance for Bruce to make out anything, other than the fact he was already strapped down to a stretcher. It only took a few minutes for the helicopter to lift off and fly in the direction of the hospital.
“Father,” Damian snapped, “We cannot allow Jason to recover alone.”
“Only family can visit him in the hospital, Damian.”
“We are his family,” Damian shouted. “Tell them he’s your son and they’ll let us see him.”
“He doesn’t want me to be his father,” Bruce said solemnly. If Jason didn’t want it, Bruce was not going to force it on him while he was unconscious. The teen would never forgive him for blowing his cover like that.
Damian growled one of his signature angry snarls. “You two are ridiculous. He said the same thing about you.”
Bruce arched an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“He said you didn’t want him to be your son.”
“That’s not true.” That was the exact opposite of the truth. Bruce considered Jason his son whether the boy wanted it or not, but he wasn’t going to declare it publically without Jason’s permission. He held too much respect for the teen’s wishes than to do that.
“I told him that. Now you should tell him that, after we get in your car and go to the hospital to see him.”
“That still doesn’t change that I have no legal ties to whatever alias he’s using.”
Damian hopped down off Bruce and removed his own IV, then used his finger to stop the bleeding it caused. “Father. Where is your car? We are going to the hospital to see Jason Todd.”
“Damian-“
“Put out the press release that he’s alive, do whatever you have to do. I don’t care. Neither does he. Besides, I already told the rescue team he's my brother and they know his name is Jason. His cover is already blown, so let’s go.”
Bruce hesitated another moment, then stood to lead Damian to his car. On the way, he emailed his lawyers and PR team. He supposed if Damian was wrong in his confidence Jason wanted to be officially alive again, they could pretend he died in the hospital and Jason could go back to being legally dead. For now, however, Jason Todd was alive and Bruce was going to see him.
He took Damian’s hand, without protest from the child, and together they finished the walk to the car.
In spite of everything, Bruce smiled. They were going to see his second son, and for the first time in years, the world could know about it. The world would know about it.
He was well aware he had a long night ahead of him. Jason could die at any moment, but right then. Right in that moment, he was content.
Jason Todd was alive.
Both his boys were alive.
That was enough.
Chapter 10: Recovery
Summary:
Jason made it out of the rubble. Would he survive his injuries?
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Consciousness came to Jason in spurts. His bouts of wakefullness were like blinks. Short little seconds, spread out amongst hours of darkness. So brief, he wasn’t even sure if he had them at all.
…more time…
Snippets of conversations pushed their way through the heavy weight of sleep, but what was real and what was dreamt, Jason hadn’t the slightest idea.
..you hear me?
He was too tired to care. Too sluggish. Even opening his eyes took too much effort. Too much energy. He rarely stayed alert enough to investigate his surroundings.
...will wake eventually….
That was fine. The darkness was blissful.
..body is healing, give him more time…
Sometimes, when he opened his eyes, there was someone in the room with him. Usually he was pretty sure he didn’t know the person. A doctor. A nurse. Other times, Jason felt like he should know. It all seemed so familiar.
…Todd…
An angry scowl that didn’t belong on a kid.
…Jason…
Blue-grey eyes of a tired teenager.
…Jaylad…
The glare of a man.
…Little Wing…
A goofy grin.
…Master Jason…
The gentle presence of an elderly man.
He did know, he knew he did, but the fog in his mind was keeping the information from him. It was like someone had put a curtain over it. He knew it was there, all he had to do was move the curtain, but moving took so much effort.
----
Someone was touching his arm. That's what brought him to attention when he finally, fully, woke.
“Demon,” he mumbled. Why’d the brat have to wake him?
It felt like he hadn’t moved in weeks. He was so stiff. There was no pain, though, and he was definitely not trapped. His legs seemed heavy, but not stuck. And there was obviously light in the room.
The person touching his arm took his hand and squeezed it. What the fuck? Not the demon, then. “Hey, Little Wing.”
He scrunched his brow before opening his eyes. “Dickface,” he mumbled.
Dick smiled one of his bright smiles that always made Jason want to gag. He could never really tell if they were real. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
Jason tried to pull his arm away, but he was so weak he couldn’t get it free of Dick’s grasp. How long had he been out? “How’d you even get in here? Breaking into my room is a dick move.”
“I didn’t break in,” he said with a smirk, “I signed in at the front desk”
Jason glared and pulled at his arm again. Dick took the hint and let go.
“Come on, the hospital won’t stop me from seeing my little brother.”
“We are not-“
“Nu uh you can’t deny it,” Dick interrupted in a sing-song voice, “Little D already told me you admitted it.
“Brat has a big mouth,” he grumbled. He told the brat all that because he thought he was going to die. None of it counted now that he didn’t.
“Thanks to you he can still run it.”
What did that mean? How was Jason at all responsible for the kid being alive. “How is he?”
“He’s fine. He was a bit cuddly for a day, that was nice. But he’s back to his prickly little self. Thanks for taking care of him, Little Wing.”
Jason yawned and closed his eyes. “Yeah, well. Someone has to make sure the brat doesn’t get himself killed.”
He fell asleep before he could hear Dick’s response.
------
Jason felt the presence in his room before he opened his eyes. He silently groaned.
Couldn’t they leave him alone?
“Hey,” the presence said. Quietly. Confidently.
He opened his eyes and glared at the teenaged trespasser. “Can’t you see I’m sleeping, Tim.”
Tim moved closer, a small shy smile gracing his face. Jason hated that he wanted to return the smile, simply for the pure sincerity of it. The teen seemed honestly glad to be talking to Jason.
He wasn’t sure what to do with that information.
“How are you feeling?” Tim asked as he hopped up to sit at the end of Jason’s bed.
“Like a building fell on me.”
Tim snorted. “That was original.”
The silence stretched on until it was awkward. Jason wasn’t sure where he should be looking. At Tim? Not at him? Why was Tim even there?
Why had any of them come?
His gaze fell onto his legs. Both bandaged and in splints. A thin sheet draped over them. He could wiggle his toes, and figured his doctor was right. He would walk again.
“Oh,” Tim said suddenly, “here.”
A phone was thrust at him. It wasn’t his phone, obviously. His had been shattered. This phone looked brand new, and was in a protective case. One of those ungodly expensive ‘everything-proof’ ones. And it was bright red.
He looked at Tim questioningly as he pressed the home button on the phone to wake it. To his surprise, it unlocked with his thumbprint to reveal his phone. It was his wallpaper, his apps. His everything. His vision was still too blurry to make out the text, but it had been improving.
“I fixed yours enough to back it up,” Tim said, drawing Jason’s attention back to the teen, “then I restored it to a new one. This year’s model. It’s one of the 256gb ones.”
Jason rolled his eyes. “Why would I ever need that much space on a phone?” Leave it to the Wayne’s to go overboard.
Tim grinned. “You know, they once said that about computers.”
He looked back down at the phone and tried to find the sweet spot in his vision where he could read his notifications, but no matter where he held the phone, it was still just a bit too blurry. His vision had definitely improved, but it was nowhere near what it had been before the accident.
“Oh, here,” Tim said quickly, as he leaned over and tapped through a few screens. He started dragging his finger at the bottom of the screen and the text grew larger.
Jason batted his hand away and played with the slider himself until he found a size he could read. “Uh, thanks,” he said, before flipping through his notifications. He missed a few calls, acknowledged. A voicemail. He’d listen to it later. Had a couple emails. Marked as read. Some apps were updated. Clear. And he had eighty-five text messages. He opened the app to see if any were important but discovered most were from twitter. He opened and closed the line without reading the tweets to clear the notifications.
All that left was one text message. From Bruce, strangely. He tapped on the line to open it and discovered one lone text on the otherwise empty screen.
‘Superman is here. We are coming. Hang in there. I love you both.’
He- oh.
Superman had saved him. He already knew that, but he hadn’t been aware Bruce had known he was down there. He kind of assumed it was a surprise. This text was obviously from before he got pulled out.
I love you both.
Oh.
Jason sniffed and cleared his throat as he closed out of the textline. “I, uh. I think I’m gonna sleep some more, Tim. Thanks for the phone, I guess.”
Tim smiled again and said “Okay, sure. I’ll see you tomorrow,” as he left the room.
Once the teen was gone and the door was shut, he opened the text again and read it. Why had Bruce said that? He probably wanted Damian to know, and the only way to reach Damian at that point was through Jason’s phone. It would have seemed rude to text Jason “I love you, Damian,” so he decided to just say ‘both’ instead.
Jason frowned. That’s probably what happened. Bruce hadn’t even come to see him. Not since he woke up, anyway. He thought he remembered hearing Bruce’s voice while he was still in his coma, but the memories were so fuzzy.
Bruce obviously had only said it for Damian’s sake. Or possibly because he thought Jason was going to die and he was just doing the teen a favor. Otherwise, he would have come to see Jason sooner. Instead, he’s seen Dickhead and Timothy-fucking-Drake, a kid he’s tried to kill more than once, before seeing Bruce. He definitely didn’t love Jason. There was no reason to get all worked up about it.
He dragged the text line to the left and deleted it.
There was no sense in dwelling on it. He closed his eyes to forget it and tried to sleep
Just before he drifted off, the door opened once more and a short angry looking person walked in carrying a book. Jason watched through cracked eyes as Damian made his way across the room and over to his bed. After what seemed like a moment of contemplation, the child hopped up onto the bed beside Jason, kicked his shoes off, and made himself comfortable on the teen’s pillow.
Jason opened his eyes all the way and glared at the child. “Can I help you?”
“No.” Damian replied, as if he didn’t catch the sarcasm in Jason’s tone. He opened his book and flipped to the first page.
The fuck? Did the demonbird seriously just let himself into Jason’s room and climb up onto his fucking bed just to read a damn book? He was sure there were plenty of comfortable chairs elsewhere. Such as the couch. Sitting right there. Against the wall. Instead he had to crowd Jason.
"You know, there is a couch right over there,” Jason said, pointing to the piece of furniture. His room was actually a pretty nice set up. Must be expensive. Probably paid for by Bruce as a payment for ‘protecting his son’ or something.
The kid glanced toward the couch then raised an eyebrow at Jason, "Yes. I have seen it."
"So?" What the hell was happening?
“It is uncomfortable and far too low.”
What the fuck.
Damian cleared his throat, and then began reading, “Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral arm of the Galaxy-”
“What are you doing?”
The child scowled at Jason. “We are reading The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. I intend to show you why this is neither good nor a classic.”
Jason raised an eyebrow at the kid. “You know there’s like six books in the series, right?”
“You have several more surgeries, a couple months of bedrest, and then likely at least a year of physical therapy ahead of you and I,” he paused, “am homeschooled. I think we will have time.”
Jason laughed. Damian was such a brat. Smiling, he rested back against his pillow and gestured for the kid to continue.
Damian went on, “-lies a small unregarded yellow sun. Orbiting this at a distance of ninety-eight million miles- Seriously? You like this book? I’m only on the second sentence and it’s already tedious.”
“Keep going. It gets funny.”
“Tt. -is an utterly insignificant little blue-green planet whose ape-descended life forms are so amazingly primitive that they still think digital watches are a pretty neat idea.” Damian huffed what sounded like an amused snort.
“I heard that. That was a laugh.”
“You misheard, Todd. I would not laugh at such a childish joke.”
“Uh huh. Keep going.”
By the end of the prologue, Jason heard Damian snort twice more, and stifle a laugh once. He grinned and listened as his little brother read one of his favorite books. By the time Ford and Arthur were being read Vogon poetry, Jason had fallen asleep.
----
When Jason woke next, Damian was gone, but their book was sitting on the bedside table with a bookmark in it. Apparently, the boy wasn’t reading ahead. That was actually… nice of him.
Jason had no idea what to do with that bit of information.
He could get why Damian was being so nice. Maybe. They had kind of had a couple ‘moments’ while trapped together. But why were all the Wayne boys being so nice? Was it just because he ‘saved’ Damian. How had he even fucking done that? That’s what everyone kept saying, but seriously, how had he done that?
“Hey, Jason,” a gruff voice said, startling him from his thoughts. Dammit. He should have been paying attention to his surroundings.
Well, then again. He was the fucking Batman. Of course he could be all sneaky like that.
“Bruce,” Jason said, refusing to look over at the man.
Why was he mad at Bruce? Was he mad at Bruce?
“Hey son. How’re you feeling?”
“Why does everyone keep asking me that? I feel like a fucking building fell on me, but I’ve had worse.”
Bruce cringed and Jason immediately regretted his words. God, why was he like that?
After a few moments of tense silence, Bruce picked something up off the couch and handed it to Jason. “I got you something.”
Jason accepted the large book and inspected the cover. He couldn’t make out every word on the cover, but he could read ‘GED Test Prep.’ He glanced at Bruce questioningly, “What’s this for?”
“Damian said you wanted to go to college. You’ll need to get a GED first. I know you’re smart enough to pass as is, but there’s no such thing as being over prepared.”
Okay. Did the brat tell them everything he had said? Because if so, Jason might just have to kill him. “I’m having a hard time reading right now,” he said, flipping through the book.
“We have an optometrist coming by Friday to get you some glasses. Your doctors say your vision should return, though. Regardless, I’m sure any of us would be glad to help you out if you wanted to start studying before any of that happens.”
He stared at Bruce blankly. It almost sounded like the man was approving of Jason’s aspirations. Why the fuck should he even care what Bruce thought? Why did he even approve, anyway? Yeah, it’s college and Bruce has always been big on college. But neither Dick nor Tim have done the college thing successfully. Is he trying to get Jason to go so at least one of them does?
Does Bruce think this is a way to pull him out of the vigilante lifestyle? So he’ll stop killing?
“If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to. I just remembered how much you loved school, and Damian said-“
“No, it’s not-“ Jason sighed. “Thanks for the book.”
The corner of Bruce’s mouth twitched up in one of his weird smile things before his eyes settled on the bedside table. “The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy.”
“Yeah. Demon Brat’s never read it.”
“Hm,” he said, flipping through the book.
“Why are you here, Bruce?” Jason finally asked, slightly annoyed by the prolonged moments of silence.
Bruce simply frowned and looked up from the book. “Remember when you were a kid and we watched the movie?”
Jason arched an eyebrow. “Yeah. I remember.”
“That was a good night. We should do it again. I miss-“ Bruce paused and took a deep breath, “I miss you, Jay-lad.
He had to look away. He was too close to tearing up. How dare Bruce do this to him.
Bruce placed his hand on Jason’s arm. “I’m here because you’re my son. I know there’s been a lot happen between us recently, but it doesn’t change the fact that I love you. I’m sorry I never say it. I just want you back, Jay.”
“I’ll never be you, B. I’ll never-“
“I don’t want you to be me,” Bruce interrupted, “I just want you to be Jason.” His voice was so gentle Jason wanted to scream. Why was he doing this?
“I’m not the Jason I was at 15.”
“And I understand that. It’s called growing up. I loved you at 15, and I still love you now.”
Jason scowled. He knew how this would work. They’d all be nice to him while he was in the hospital, and possibly right on through his physical therapy. But the second he stepped back out as Red Hood and started shooting a gun again they’d all disappear. They’d pretend he didn’t exist any longer and be gone. He wasn’t about to let himself be played like that.
“You don’t believe me,” Bruce said with a frown. “I guess I’ll just have to prove it.”
Bruce ran his hand through Jason’s hair before he wished him ‘good night’ and left. Visiting hours were over.
Jason tossed the book at the couch and shut his eyes. He had no idea what to do with any of this information.
-----
The weeks passed while Jason continued to recover. Each day he was stronger than the last, until eventually he was sitting up on his own and staying awake all day. He began physical therapy for his upper body but had to wait until he was done with the series of surgeries required to piece his legs back together to begin PT for his legs.
Everyone visited Jason daily, much to his annoyance. After a while, though, it was kind of nice. They brought different things for him to do. Books to read. Games to play. Tim brought him an iPad so he could watch Netflix or Youtube on something larger than his phone. He began to enjoy the time he spent with each of his brothers. If forced to admit it, he was even enjoying Bruce’s attention.
Damian read a few chapters each day to his older brother. Once they had finished the first book of the series, Bruce came as promised with a projector and a copy of the movie.
The whole ‘family’ attended the movie night. Damian curled up in ‘his spot’ up on the bed, Tim and Dick sprawled out on the couch, and Bruce sat comfortably in the armchair next to the bed. They talked the entire time, cracking jokes and insulting the horrible CGI. Damian turned red from frustration at everyone’s outbursts, which just encouraged the other boys more.
By the time the movie ended and everyone started to leave for the night, Jason realized he was screwed. He had really enjoyed the night. The memory already ranked up in his top ten for his entire life. There was no way he’d come out of this unscathed. When they finally cut him off again, it was going to destroy him.
“Hey,” Dick said once everyone else had left. “We aren’t going anywhere. You’re stuck with us forever, got it?”
Jason nodded and watched as Dick left the room. Fuck him and his mindreading abilities.
-----
It took two months to finally be released from the hospital. Two months. And when he was, he realized he had a major problem.
He still couldn’t walk, and his apartment was not accessible. Not in the least.
Fuck.
He researched apartments in Gotham on his iPad in the days leading to his expected release, just to have all his plans thrown out the window when Bruce arrived to pick him up and bring him home.
“Home?” he asked, as he allowed Bruce to help him off the bed and into the wheelchair. He had braces on his legs to help keep them still while the bones healed. He couldn’t put any weight on the legs. Not yet, at least.
“Yes,” the man responded. Bruce grabbed the bag Alfred had packed full of Jason’s belongings he’d had in his hospital room and handed it to Jason. “Alfred set you up a room in the Manor.”
“I can live alone,” Jason said, a little too forcefully.
Bruce sighed. “I know, Jay. But humor me? I promise we won’t smother you, but I’d rather have you close.”
Jason wanted to fight. He really did, mostly to protect his reputation. But… he also liked the idea of being ‘home.’ This family thing was nice. A part of him was still afraid that the more time they spent with him, the less they’d want him around.
It was becoming easier to drown out that little voice, though.
----
One year after that fateful day at the Art Gallery, Jason Wayne, Sophomore at Gotham University, took his first steps.
It was exhausting. It was difficult. And it made Jason cry tears of joy. They were just small steps, but it was a sign that he’d be okay. He would recover.
That day at the Art Gallery had been horrible. He had faced all his worst fears in the 24 hours he spent trapped underground, but that traumatic experience gave him so much more in life. So much he hadn’t realized he needed.
Through it, he gained a family, aspirations for the future, and a new name. Bruce had been overjoyed when Jason asked permission to change his last name. ‘Todd’ connected him to his past. His previous, broken family. The insecurities that he was never loved. ‘Wayne’ was proof he belonged. He was chosen. He was loved.
And Jason? Jason loved them all, too.
The End.
Notes:
I will admit it: I wrote this entire story just as an excuse to get Damian to read The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy to Jason. That was the very first scene that came to me. I'm not sorry, either. lol
Thank you so, so much for reading this. I am so honored by the response to this. Having people say they enjoyed reading my work is such a great feeling, and I thank you for giving it to me. All your comments have been so kind and I've maybe sort of cried several times because of them. <3 you all.
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