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As Jason understands it, Bruce picked up the circus tickets from a Wayne Enterprises donor and gifted them to Damian as a peace offering after he more or less hijacked one of Nightwing’s operations. He’d probably assumed that Damian, an animal lover destined for vet school, would adore the circus.
Damian had accepted the tickets with stoic resignation while his partner Jon offered an immediate and emphatic no with none of his usual good-natured apologies. Jason later managed to pry the story out of him. The first and only time Damian and Jon went to the zoo together, they were twelve and thirteen respectively, and there had been an attempted heist after Damian became incensed with the state of the habitats. The only reason the trip hadn’t required a generous Wayne family donation to cover it up was the fact that it had been chaperoned by literal Superman who managed to catch the liberated animals before the debacle became a national news story.
Jason hasn’t cared much for animals since he was seven and some kind of Gotham-mutated super mutt almost took his arm off when he tried to pet it, but he does love watching train wrecks, so unlike Jon he’d grabbed a paperback and slid into the back seat of Bruce’s car. If nothing else, he figures he can win a couple of the skill games he always wanted to try back when he was on the streets and catch the trapeze artists, who are supposed to be even better in the air than Batman and Robin.
Naturally, as soon as they cross the threshold, Damian beelines for the animals, leaving Jason and Bruce standing alone by the entrance to the sideshow, watching as Damian disappears farther and farther into the crowd. Bruce’s arm in front of Jason’s chest stops him from following. After a second Jason spots why. There’s a line of clowns in baggy clothes with exaggerated face paint between them and Damian.
Jason…
Well Jason doesn’t love clowns, but he’d been at very least braced for them. Bruce on the other hand suddenly looks like Batman instead of Bruce Wayne and that’s potentially an issue.
“Dad,” Jason says slowly. “Did you not realize there were going to be clowns here?”
Bruce swallows. “There were no clowns in the promotional material.”
“It’s a circus.” Jason blinks. “I think the clowns were implied.”
Bruce doesn’t let his arm drop so Jason has to push it down. “Who would imply clowns in Gotham?”
“Joker’s dead, B,” Jason says. “It’s a reclaim the power thing, you know. Fuck the clowns.”
One of the clowns clearly hears, because he turns to Jason with an over-exaggerated frown, blinking his eyes imploringly.
Jason snaps, “My brother was killed by a clown you fucking asshole!”
The clown scurries in the opposite direction. Jason’s lost all ability to differentiate when it comes to clown, but it doesn’t actually seem like a sinister scurry. At least the confrontation appears to have shaken Bruce out of his paralysis.
“It’s occurring to me,” Bruce says faintly, “that this entire trip may have been a mistake.”
“It’s not like you brought Tim to the circus,” Jason counters. “But for the record, you did already lose Damian.”
Bruce squints in the direction of the enclosures, clearly trying to smooth the worry from his face. “Damian is an adult. He can handle himself.”
Considering Jason’s fairly sure he orchestrated the death of the last clown that crossed this family, he agrees. But, according to Jon, clowns aren’t the reason to worry about Damian at a circus. Jason plasters a look of innocence on his face and says, “Hey, did Clark ever tell you about the time he took Dami and Jon to the zoo when they were kids?”
Paling, Bruce goes back to scanning the crowd.
Jason laughs and pushes him forward. “Go catch up. Make sure he doesn’t start a stampede if the animals aren’t free range enough. I’ll meet you at the big tent.”
“It’s called a big top,” Bruce corrects.
A couple years off the streets and Jason’s still finding the weird gaps in his knowledge. “I hate that you knew that and I didn’t.”
“Only way to know is to learn,” Bruce recites. “You sure you’re all right on you own?”
“I’m fine,” Jason promises. “If it makes you feel better for the day, I’ll even consent to halving the time to tracker activation if I don’t answer your call immediately.”
Bruce nods and heads off in the direction Damian had left. Jason shakes his head and tries to imagine how much more intense his older brother would have been at twelve when he catches sight of a red hoodie out of the corner of his eyes.
Jason does a double take. It’s the exact Robin red Jason tries not to wear out of costume. The figure is slight and dark haired and close enough to Jason’s build that he could probably pass for the real thing. Especially considering his swiftness moving through the crowd.
Jason follows out of habit, trailing him through the maze of tends and then into a trailer that seems more business oriented than residential.
A knife whizzes past his ear and imbeds itself in the doorframe as Jason opens the door. Jason glances at it and then to the figure already flipping through an open filing cabinet. “You missed.”
“No I didn’t,” Tim Drake says blandly. The denial is as close to an admission of fondness as you ever get from Red Hood. “I don’t want you following me.”
“Then you shouldn’t have worn my costume.”
Tim closes the top drawer of the filing cabinet and opens the middle. “You don’t have a monopoly on red hoodies and cargo pants. In fact, that’s probably the easiest way to blend on with the majority of the population.”
Jason feels himself puff up. That was always the idea. A costume able to blend in with the locals. But also a costume that gives kids the chance to feel like they can wear the same armor. One that lets the street kids of Gotham stroll safely through Crime Alley because people think twice about attacking a kid that might actually be Robin.
“Damian hates me wearing red in public,” Jason admits. “I told him that was ridiculous.”
“I’m not taking sides,” Tim says. He’s definitely on Jason’s side. “In fact, I don’t want Bruce or Damian to know I’m here.”
“Tough shit. Dad’s gonna panic if I’m not where I say I am.” Jason throws an arm over Tim’s shoulder and pastes an obnoxious grin on his face. “Here, look non-threatening.”
He snaps the selfie before Tim shrugs him off. Photo Tim looks twice as uncomfortable as Jason, which will go a long way to assuring Bruce this isn’t a kidnapping. He tugs on Tim’s hoodie.
Tim whirls on him and pins him to the wall. “Why are you here?”
“Why are you here?” Jason retorts.
“Do you want me to shoot you again?”
“You won’t.” Jason keeps quiet about the fact that while the hoodie makes Tim look like Robin, his scowl is all Damian. “I’m your favorite brother.”
“It’s a low bar and I’m pretty sure I haven’t counted since I died.” Tim’s hand drops.
His voice is even, and it’s night impossible to earn anything but bland detachment from Tim. But…
Jason can at very least spot the places where he would hurt. “Aw, fuck. Dad didn’t invite you. Dad totally should have invited you.”
Tim scoffs. “The fact that anyone in Gotham attends a clown-themed nightmare is a sign of serious mental deficiency.”
“Ah,” Jason says. “I take it back then. Dad was right to tread lightly around your clown-themed trauma. A rare parenting win for B. He usually whiffs it with you.”
Tim’s already turning back to the filing cabinet. “He’s not my dad.”
“Whatever.” Jason definitely didn’t miss the lack of protest when he called himself Tim’s favorite brother. “Then tell me what you’re doing here.”
Tim’s fingers falter against the edges of the files before resuming their crawl. “Same as the rest of you, I expect.”
“Enjoying a Joker-free day at the circus?”
That actually drags Tim’s attention back to Jason. “Wait, you’re seriously at the circus for a Wayne family bonding outing?”
Jason settles on the edge of the desk. “Bruce got tickets for Damian because Damian likes animals. Damian accepted because he fully intends to break the animals out if he finds out they’re being mistreated. I’m here because I kind of want to know if I could one up the trapeze guys after a few years of grappling.” He pauses to consider. “I also kind of promised I’d film any carnage for Steph. Are you here on a case? This seems pretty wholesome for a front.”
“It’s a circus that’s still in business in the 21st century.”
Jason blows out a long breath, making the connection. “One who’s making bad business decisions like stopping in the city with the most clown-related trauma per capita in the entire world.”
Tim nods sagely. “You can’t trust a place employing this many clowns.”
“You tell ‘em dead brother,” Jason crows, delighted.
“Give me my knife back. I want to stab you after all.”
Jason turns, plucks the knife from the doorframe and hands it back to Tim, hilt first. Tim does not stab him, instead disappearing the knife into his hoodie as he plucks a file out of the cabinet. Without looking, he hands the file to Jason and the two of them spend the next half hour quickly and thoroughly going through the financials.
“So they’re fucking corrupt, aren’t they?” Jason says after a while.
“The most I can pin them with is debt,” Tim assesses. “Lot of smoke at least.”
“No fire, though,” Jason finishes. “You know, I bet the big guy’s records might help.”
“Pass,” Tim says.
Jason’s phone buzzes. A glance at the notifications says it’s Bruce.
Tim raises an eyebrow. “Curfew already?”
“You realize I’m the one babysitting you, right?” Jason pulls up the text. “Acrobats start in twenty and they’re supposed to be the main draw. You wanna come watch with the rest of us?”
Tim’s in the process of tidying up the efforts of their search, refiling the folders after taking pictures of the documents of interest, closing all the ledgers and returning them to the shelves. They’re not in chronological order, but Tim’s methodical enough that Jason’s sure this was their original position. Almost as an afterthought, Tim says, “Bruce doesn’t want me there.”
“Damian definitely does,” Jason puts in.
Tim fixes him with a glare.
“Fine, I want you there. You know how Dad and Damian get after they have more than twenty seconds of one-on-one times.”
Tim slips his phone back into his pocket and flips the red hoodie up into place, clearly ready to leave. Jason rolls his eyes and pushes the door open. Tim doesn’t like having people behind him. Jason doesn’t love it either, but he doesn’t have a stint with the League of Assassins to back up his paranoia.
After a few seconds walking, it occurs to him that they’re still moving in the same direction. He nudges Tim with his elbow.
Tim shoves his hands into his pocket. “I maybe met the little Flying Grayson kid earlier today. He said I looked sad so he was going to do a quadruple somersault for me.”
Jason stops walking.
Tim’s hands tense at his sides, which is almost definitely where he keeps his guns.
“That is fucking adorable,” Jason says. “We have to go now.”
“Jason.”
“No, you can’t break this kid’s heart. That’s illegal. Lethal force authorized if you fail him.”
“He was the one trying to cheer me up,” Tim says sourly.
But he lets Jason grab him by the elbow and pull him towards the big top with very little protest. Jason starts mentally crafting a triumphant text to Stephanie about how he’s roped Tim into a family outing. Bruce might still ruin it, but Damian has always been weirdly prescient about Tim’s hot-button issues.
This is going to work. This is going to be fucking great.
When they enter the big top, it’s easy to find the rest of the Waynes. Damian and Bruce are sitting side-by-side in the front row. Bruce’s suit is rumpled. Damian has a fresh rip in his jeans but appears more amused than angry.
Jason starts to make his way towards them, but Tim grabs the hem of his jacket to stop him. “Lights are out, don’t be rude.”
“You’re rude.”
But he gets it. No reason to distract any acrobats. They don’t have the same kind of iron focus Batman trains into you so you don’t miss a line when Poison Ivy tries to kill you.
Tim watches the scene with calculating eyes. “Something feels off in here.”
The ringmaster bellows, “And now, the people you’ve all been dying to see, performing their death defying stunts, all without the safety of a net, the pride of Haly’s circus, the world famous, Flying Graysons.”
“What do you mean, off?” Jason demands.
From his seat in the front row, Bruce nudges Damian and points towards the tent’s roof. Jason can spot a kid on a platform waiting for his cue. He’s dark haired and lean, the leotard shimmering faintly as the lights spin around him.
The other acrobats—the kid’s parents leap in tandem—reaching out for their son.
And that’s when a rope snaps.
Jason slaps a hand over his mouth to cover his gasp.
Bodies hit the ground with a sickening crunch.
Jason’s had nightmares about this kind of thing. What would happen if a line broke. If the grapple didn’t catch and he met the pavement falling.
The kid is still on the platform awaiting his cue, his hand outstretched.
Pandemonium explodes all around them, calls for an ambulance and a medic. Someone screams. There’s a chorus of children crying. Tim’s sharp gaze flickers between employees and oh, Tim had been expecting something like this. The circus’s debts mean they are probably in deep with creditors trying to keep themselves afloat.
“See anyone, Hood?” Jason asks under his breath.
“No one that concerns Jason Wayne,” Tim shoots back.
There’s already a doctor trying to attend to the Grayson. Damian leaps to his feet at the foot of the stands, stepping into the habitual crowd control role. That’s good. If this was sabotage to send some kind of a message, they’ll need to preserve a crime scene. Damian’s utter competence in a crisis like this is probably explainable if you know he’s trying to get into veterinary medicine. And Bruce…
Bruce is coaxing the Grayson kid down from the ladder, is standing in front of him and shielding him from the bodies, is putting a careful hand on his shoulder and folding him up in a hug when he starts to cry.
“Picture look familiar?” Tim asks.
Jason starts to snap that he’d never wear a leotard, but Tim knows the story about little Jason and his tire iron. Damian has always been tight lipped about his first few years at the manor, but Jon suggested there were katanas involved. It occurs to him after a second that Tim’s referring to an entire different picture of Bruce, one that is still semi-famous in Gotham. Tiny Bruce, shell-shocked in front of his parent’s bodies as towering Jim Gordon tries ineffectually to offer comfort.
Tim’s expression is strained around its usual placidity. “I think their trauma matches.”
“Cold, Timbers,” Jason retorts. “Those are literally cooling bodies.”
“The kid looks just like you and Damian,” Tim replies. “I think Bruce has got a type.”
Jason raises an eyebrow. Tim’s got a couple years on him, sure, but Jason’s last growth spurt left them more or less the same height and build. Add the hair and eye color, not to mention Tim’s Robin red hoodie and from a lot of angles, Jason looks just like Tim. “You know it only counts as pattern if we include you.”
“Fuck off,” Tim mutters. “If you don’t want a younger sibling, you’re going to have to move fast.”
Bruce thought Tim was dead when he found Jason. Jason would have taken it a lot worse that Tim did. Which is why Jason needs to do this a lot better.
“We can’t exactly let him stay with someone in the circus if this was a targeted attack on the circus,” Jason points out.
“I intend to solve that problem.” Tim waits a beat. “In the meantime, make sure Damian doesn’t fuck this one up.”
“I’ll text you any updates.” Jason holds out a fist. “Do me a favor and don’t kill any clowns.”
Tim turns away without returning the fist bump. “No promises.”