Chapter 1: deja vu.
Notes:
i have horrible ideas and there's not enough people to stop me from acting on them. I genuinely have no idea what is going to happen in this timeline, but i've been brainrotting about this for too long. and if anyone can tell me how to turn off ao3 autocorrect, that'd be lovely. my delusional ass also thinks Batman should be more caring for children and more optimistic. he is an optimist at heart, even if he's dark and edgy and brooding. I also think Jason should perceive him as a cryptid or monster at first. for fun!
undecided update schedule.
references to Jason, until he remembers his last name, will be referring to Grace 9/10 times unless otherwise stated to be Todd.
part of an au i have spoken with some friends on, called saving grace. dc/pjo crossover, yay!
I'm pretty new to DC. tips and info about it in a constructive manner are appreciated. + the only slang outside of my tiny californian corner I know is from the outsiders. I'm so sorry. cope. I'll probably regret posting in the morning. ouh im so tired my poor sleep schedule.
edit: by using the m/m I kinda made it seem like it's Bruce/Jason. nope. im tagging it m/m because there will be valgrace in the future. wahoo!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Today was bound to be horrible.
Days that started with him waking in an alley with no memories tended to be horrible. He felt like that was probably a bad sign. He couldn’t remember his name, either. Attempting to merely think about his memories felt wrong. The feeling settled under his skin, making him want to claw at his arms, which were only saved by a gray sweatshirt with an acronym he didn’t recognize. It didn’t make him feel better that he couldn’t remember his age, the date, the season, the city, or the country he was in, either. His memories were blocked with a solid white fuzz, like static, locked tightly in a space he couldn’t access. Which is fine , he thought. He was used to this. This had happened before. That, he could remember, even if the rest of his memories were ever so slightly, painfully out of reach.
He knew a few things. Very few, actually. He could identify objects, so he knew his mind couldn’t have been too thoroughly wiped. He knew this had happened before. And finally, he knew he needed a plan. He needed to figure out his location first. His environment might give him some clues, starting with things he could feel and see.
It was dark, first of all. He couldn’t pick out the moon from the dim sky above. Maybe it was a new moon, or maybe the light pollution was bad enough in the city to cover it. There weren’t any stars visible–a side effect of smog, likely–which meant that navigation via constellations would be impossible. He could feel glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, dirty and scratched, but still functional. Cold, damp concrete under his fingertips, dirt from the stone sticking to his skin. It seemed old, based on the cracks. There was a storm drain in the road near him, but it was blocked partially by fallen leaves and debris, slowing the stream of freshly fallen rainwater into a trickle. The buildings nearby were tall, covered in windows and unlabeled aside from addresses next to the doors. Probably an apartment complex. Writing would have been more helpful. At least then he could deduce the local language.
Nearly no lights were on inside the complex. The only light he could see by was the fractured street lights, flickering and sputtering with a weak, warm light that illuminated the cracked and peeling paint on the dilapidated buildings and shimmered as it reflected off of the puddle-ridden sidewalk. It seemed the alleyway he was in led to a fire escape for the nearest building to him, but one of the doors for it had the handle broken off, another chained shut with a heavy looking lock. That certainly didn’t comply with the fire code. The building didn’t seem very occupied, but that didn’t make it exempt from the law.
He shoved himself to his feet, resting calloused hands on the cold pavement to support himself. He doubted he’d find anything else notable from the spot he was sitting. There might not be hints to his identity, yet, but he could probably deduce his location. The night’s stillness was periodically interrupted by the noise of a sputtering lamp, or a passing car. Not loud enough to be a city, definitely. He lived in Long Island for 6 months–he knew what cities sounded like. Long Island. What could he remember from that?
"Ow–gods." The vocal reaction was instinctive, immediate. He curled in on himself, leaning on the wall for support and pressing the base of his palm to his head. Pain stabbed between his eyes. That was not a memory he was allowed to access, his body could tell him loud and clear. His own voice was jarring, unnatural on his tongue, and annoyingly harsh as it split through the nearly silent night.
No time for this, he scolded himself, pulling his hand away and pushing off the wall. He didn’t seem to be very kind to himself, but that was an issue that he could solve later. For now, the issue of fresh footsteps, steadily increasing in volume as they continued at a quick pace.
"Fuck," a voice whispered from the same direction as the steps. "Oh, fuck."
He wasn’t the best at hiding, but something told him he didn’t want to be seen by whoever that was. And, considering the time of night and the cluttered alley, it wasn’t particularly difficult to dip behind the stairs of the fire escape, effectively invisible in the dark.
"Fuck!" The voice was painfully clear as they turned the corner, running into the same alleyway as he was. A youth, in a stained hoodie and muddy shoes, dark backpack slung over one shoulder. School should have gotten out ages ago–why did they have that? The backpack slammed to the floor as the adolescent glanced between the entrance to the alley and the end of it, where he sat in the shadows. Dead end.
"I told you, you aren’t supposed to be ‘round these parts, kid." A new voice, which was oddly lowered, as two other teens rounded the corner after the first. The one talking had short cropped hair, with bleached blonde tips and a sharp grin like the flicker of light on a blade mid-swing. Narrowed, predatory eyes, as the new children inched closer.
The first one’s breathing picked up. Their fists closed around nothing, eyes wide and wet. "I just wanted out of Joker’s territory–toxin was getting to me. Just for one night."
Joker territory? Toxin? This was giving him more questions than answers, but he tried to keep his breathing quiet.
"And I told you what the price was, didn’t I?" The kid with the bleached hair’s voice raised an octave in the first half of the sentence, gradually lowering by the end. They seemed to be actively trying to keep their voice deeper. Their friend, taller and with longer hair and boots with red laces, set a firm hand on their shoulder.
"He did, didn’ he?" They asked. Their voice was thick and heavy, rougher than his by a long shot. They seemed decently strong, but not strong enough to quench the anger boiling in his veins with fear.
"I don’t have that kind of money right now!" The first kid threw their hands up, with the same position as one may hold around the police.
"We don’t want money, Xavier." Their footsteps were loud, almost loud enough for him to guess that it was intentional as it echoed through the alley. "Although, that’ll certainly be a perk." He ground his teeth together. Dylan kept glancing around, and their fists were balled up. They were looking for a fight. He was guessing the kid’s name was Dylan. They seemed like Dylan, the one he had met before. A mean kid, definitely. He didn’t know much, but he could tell he didn’t like mean kids. He rolled up his sleeves, painfully aware of how tense he was under the fabric as he pushed it past his elbows.
"What do you want?" Xavier, the first kid, managed to keep their composure surprisingly well. The slightest quiver bore its way into their voice, barely noticeable.
"This is your fault! Fucking rat!" Dylan threw themself at the kid. He barely had time to process what he was doing by the time he jumped in front of Xavier, taking the hit meant for them to the chest.
It didn’t hurt much. Dylan’s form was horrible. The fist hit his side, causing the slightest amount of pain to radiate dully from the area. The kid, who he could now tell was at least five inches shorter than him, took a large step back.
"First, you sell us out to the bat bitch, next you hire a bodyguard? Pussy." Dylan’s face twisted downwards into an angry scowl, glancing behind him at the shaking Xavier.
"I suggest you leave him alone, before I make you." The threat came naturally, too naturally. Practiced, maybe. He found himself internally cringing at his own voice, wrinkling his nose further. He didn’t want to hurt the kid, but he wasn’t about to leave Xavier to fend with the wolves. Neither were entirely just options.
"Yeah, real tuff, aren’t you?" Dylan puffed their chest out. "You think you can compare to the Bats, hotshot?"
The bats? Why would he need to be stronger than a flying mammal?
"Don’t know them." He cocked an eyebrow, balling his fists. Dylan glanced down, pushing up his sleeves.
The other kid took it as an invitation. They lunged at him in unison, Dylan hitting him with a failed attempt at a haymaker that knocked the glasses off his face. He shoved the nearest kid off, but white hot pain glazed over his already blurry vision as something slid through the fabric of his sweatshirt with the sharp sound of torn fabric ripping through the alley.
He slammed a fist into the other kid’s nose, a satisfying crack pressing against his knuckles, but Dylan was already getting to their feet. He had gotten into more trouble than he could handle, and the blur of motion told him that Xavier had already left the alley. No backup, no support, no plan. He was reckless. He should have taken more time, thought more about approaches, but he didn’t. Was it anyone’s fault but his own?
Warmth seeped into his clothing, and the edges of his vision were getting darker than the alley around them. He swung at Dylan, hitting their side, but not hard enough to down them. He was supposed to be stronger than this, he knew that.
Dylan pushed him to the floor, breathing heavily and one hand on their shoulder, the other arm limp. The other kid hadn’t yet gotten up from their place on the floor, their quiet groaning the only sign that they hadn’t been completely knocked out cold. His back slammed against the brick wall, sliding to the floor with one hand across his stomach, hot liquid slowly spreading and sticking to his skin.
"Fucking asshole–" they gasped, voice high and strained–"gonna make you wish you’d never been…" They trailed off, kicking his wound for good measure. A scream tore from his throat as he lurched forward, curling up tighter into himself.
"Rat… little snitch… who runs to Batman, of all vigilantes?" Dylan grumbled, kicking him again. "Boss isn’t gonna be happy… not again, no. I hate you. And Xavier. Man, I thought we were pals."
He squeezed his eyes shut, ears ringing and heart pounding, agony clouding his thoughts and senses. He had messed up. He refused to die like this, without even knowing his name. He couldn’t. He couldn’t, right? No deity would leave him like this.
He didn’t know how long it had been. It was hard to focus, mind slipping in and out of consciousness. It could have been seconds, minutes, or days before the kicking stopped, leaving him to sit in his blood and torment. It was sooner than that when something grazed his skin, pressing against his neck. Not like this, he thought, swinging a fist out to hit the creature looming over him, fist hitting some sort of smooth, impossibly tough fabric. The touch pulled back.
"Sit still." It–he?–they grunted, grabbing his wrist and shoving it against the wall. "Now, talk. What do you know about the Black Mask?"
The Black Mask? What did that mean?
"Ow–nothing! I don’t know anything. Anything! I don’t even know where I am." He dared to open his eyes slightly. A looming creature, ebony black and impossibly graceful. He couldn’t tell where the shadows started and the being ended, poised carefully in the alleyway. Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought that their grip loosened slightly at his confession.
"Gotham." They said quietly. Their voice was rough and rumbly, but steady, oddly calming. "You are in Gotham, New Jersey."
He could tell his breathing was heavy and unsteady, but the other’s reliable, quiet, and practiced pattern gave him something to latch on to, for comfort and something to match. "Far from home," he managed to mumble. "I-I’m from California. I think. Can’t… remember much." He admitted.
The grip loosened further. "You were stabbed," they said matter-of-factly. "Paramedics will be here soon."
He shook his head. "I can’t do that." He closed his eyes, focusing on matching their breathing.
"You will." They countered.
"I don’t even know the date." He slumped forward. "Let alone me . Or…"
"Name." The creature ordered, voice confident and strong. Authority. He needed that.
"Jason." He responded immediately, not letting himself think about the words leaving his mouth before speaking them. That seemed like an okay way to avoid the headaches. Jason. Like, from the Argonauts? The golden fleece guy? Huh. Cool enough name. "... You?"
Silence for a few seconds. Their grip dropped entirely, switching focus to reaching down and touching his side, tapping the dark liquid gently, prodding at the wound carefully and gently.
"Last name." They commanded, ignoring his counter-question.
"I don’t know." Jason said, opening his eyes now that he was content with his breathing.
"Age," they continued with the questions, only briefly faltering.
"I don’t know." He repeated.
"Emergency contact." They seemed to be collecting some of his blood, or something. Creepy.
"You’re probably getting tired of hearing this, but I don’t know." He forced a chuckle, wincing as he moved.
"I told you to sit still." The blank white lenses of their–mask, he thought?–bored into his soul, somehow conveying their emotions more clearly than even what normal eyes usually could . Their voice lowered as they rested a hand on his shoulder. "Describe what happened."
"I woke up in an alley, a kid got chased in here, and I ended up in a fight I couldn’t handle. I was stabbed, I broke a guy’s nose, I have no idea where Xavier ended up, and then you appeared."
"The fight. You interfered," they pointed out. "Explain."
"He was being mean. I don’t like mean kids. It was only right to stand up for the other guy. Seriously though, who are you?" He squinted at the being, who had pressed something to his side.
"I’m Batman." They didn’t even look up, continuing to speak with their steady, constant voice.
"That’s an interesting name." Jason decided. "What now?"
"Wait for the paramedics." Batman spun on his heel, standing fluidly. A cape billowed behind him, blending in with the shadows as though he was one of them.
"Wait–you’re the guy Dylan mentioned." He said quickly, scrambling to find a reason to get him to stay.
He glanced at him over his shoulder. "Dylan." He echoed. "What information do you have?"
"The guy. The one who ran after Xavier. He claimed that Xavier told you they were committing a crime, or something. Mentioned his boss." Jason rushed through his words, slurring some together by accident.
"His name is Alek, not Dylan." He replied, looking forward and continuing to walk away.
"I was calling him that because he seemed like the kid who bullied Piper and Leo." Jason muttered. Piper? Leo? The names sounded familiar.
He turned around, a blur of movement against the dark. "Your guardian’s contact information. Legal, preferably." He commanded.
"Would you believe me if I told you I don’t know?" Jason asked.
"Do you have one?" Batman questioned, rephrasing his statements into an inquiry for the first time in the conversation.
"Mother’s dead." Jason said, shaking his head.
The man hesitated briefly, reaching into his belt and handing over a slip of paper. "A friend’s number. Call him as soon as you can."
He glanced down at it. "I don’t have a phone." He admitted, which resulted in a weary sigh from the other.
"... Come with me." He relented, reaching down and picking him up with one arm, managing to avoid touching his wounds. He seemed inconvenienced, not annoyed, by Jason’s presence enveloped by his cape. Uniform pressure surrounded him, with soft, fuzzy inner lining. Who was this guy? Why was he here? Why was he helping?
He could wonder that and rest in the pure bliss of the body warmed cape at the same time, he decided. The stab wound was growing numb, which was either a bad sign or a good one, depending on what this weird Batman guy had put on it. He could tell the wound was–by sheer luck–nowhere vital. Nowhere pleasant, either–there wasn’t really a nice way to get stabbed–but nowhere vital, even if it was close, as long as it didn’t get infected. Which, yes, probably meant medical attention. The man carrying him was right about that, at least.
"Why are you doing this?" Jason eventually asked. He couldn’t tell where they were going, especially considering he also had no idea where he was before. "This doesn’t seem like something mortals do for fun."
Batman didn’t break his stride. "Justice needs to be served."
Jason tilted his head. "I understand that. Why is helping me a part of it?"
He wasn’t granted a response, as the man had already let go of him. He was dropped–albeit, not harshly–onto the pavement before a building. A quiet yelp of fear from someone in front of him alerted him of another’s presence. His vision was too blurry to define anything about their features.
"Stabbed. Wayne will pay his medical expenses." Batman turned on his heel, pointedly ignoring the calls of questions from the people nearby.
"Wait! Batman! You can’t just do that!" A voice shouted. Jason was more focused on the spinning of the buildings around him. How had no one else noticed that? The way the night was getting even darker, the bright lines of the light around him that streaked his vision becoming unfocused and dimmer, how had no one brought it up?
"Trauma code!" The same voice shouted, sounding distant. Hands gripped him by the shoulders, gently trying to pull him up. He knew a few things. Like how, normally, he would have tried to protest, but he didn’t get a chance to respond to the contact before the world suddenly tipped forward, and everything around him went pitch black.
He could have sworn he saw the flutter of a cape in a dim alleyway before it happened, though.
Notes:
hhhh hi guys i have no idea how to write fight scenes be kind to me i beg. also jason grace cant read english ive decided. this is MY au i decide canon. I'm good ish at description, at least! :D
I am so sorry about the summary.
batman will really see an orphan with vaguely sad blue eyes and go "is anyone gonna adopt that?" and not wait for an answer.
Chapter 2: shelter.
Summary:
It had registered in Jason’s mind a few hours ago that this was vaguely familiar. That specific type of pain, the feeling of the blade tearing through fabric, then flesh, that kept looping through the back of his mind. He almost wanted to look to see if he noticed any scars, but moving his body at all seemed like a horrible idea at the moment. For just being stabbed, he felt almost alright, but he didn’t want to try or tempt that at all. The staff had been rather confused at the quick healing at first, but they didn’t seem the type to argue with miracles.
Jason wasn’t either. When the friend Batman had told him to call had asked hardly any questions aside from his room number and anything he knew about himself, he hadn’t protested against it. He wasn’t the most trusting person, but if someone saved his life, he saw no reason to assume they’d harm him so soon after, even if it was something he would likely have been scolded for had he expressed it earlier.
Notes:
hi friends. i wrote a good chunk of this in my mother's womens studies class at her college. fun! sorry, this ones a bit boring, but necessary for the characters n shit. dont expect all my posts to be three days apart, my spring break ends on the 21st, and after that ill have to split writing fics and school, and state testing... sigh. im planning this out more thoroughly! woo! yay! hhh help me someone.
i also write drafts with `` instead of " because, uh, this is, um, i started writing because of roblox warrior cats roleplay. :CC luckily, i dont do *action* anymore, lol. the `` has not left me though. if you catch an ``, let me know, ill probably edit it.
ps: i did in fact watch the young justice show. i think the premise is fun. no, i dont support wonderbread flavored kon. i just think season three is cool, i promise. all jokes aside, this DOES mention metahuman trafficking and touch on the MHYC (meta-human youth center.) if you're uncomfortable with references to the trafficking (nx, in the show its similar to dog-fighting rings [which are still HORRIBLE :((]) ill mark when the mentions start and stop with *. theres also a perspective shift, marked with -. theres a 3 day time skip between this chapter and the last.
enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hospitals smelled odd.
Sterile. Very sterile. Faintly metallic, perhaps. The smell of rot and death was stale in the air, despite any attempts to cover it. Luckily for Jason, he could tell he hadn’t been in many over the years. There was an IV in his arm, the purpose of the fluid explained to him only after the first time he tried to pull it out. It was only uncomfortable when he focused on it. The light touch of the gauze grazing his skin was probably worse than the needle embedded in it, for now, at least.
Jason couldn’t move his arms too quickly, or far from the machine. That made him uncomfortable. If he got into a fight, the IV would be a liability. Although, so would the stitches on the left side of his abdomen. He was weak in the moment, and in no position to fight. Right now, no one would blame him for resting. Except him, of course. It was often like that. Most of the time, the worst judgement he faced was internal, picking apart his very being like a vulture at a carcass until he was nothing more than bones. Maybe it was just out of habit. Maybe he judged himself before others could, because they so often did. Maybe they expected things out of him–out of Jason, the original one. Not him. He didn’t know what he was like before. He could have been completely innocent, or the embodiment of pure evil. If he was himself in body, but not in mind, did that still make him Jason? Or was he something else, a mangled image of the man he once was, the man he was supposed to be? It was part of why he had refused to look in a mirror recently. He could not be sure the man he saw in the reflection was even him.
It was quiet in the hospital. Not silent–the soft hum of machines and the rumble of conversation in the halls seeped into his room. Nothing chaotic today–yet. He had been moved from the ER to here two days ago. He didn’t understand much of the procedure they had tried to explain–the nurse had pitied him and moved on when it was clear he couldn’t even focus on what he was saying, he was so tired–but he understood that it was probably going to be a day or two at the very least before he got permission to leave. Annoying. When he got stabbed before, he didn’t have to deal with this.
It had registered in Jason’s mind a few hours ago that this was vaguely familiar. That specific type of pain, the feeling of the blade tearing through fabric, then flesh, that kept looping through the back of his mind. He almost wanted to look to see if he noticed any scars, but moving his body at all seemed like a horrible idea at the moment. For just being stabbed, he felt almost alright, but he didn’t want to try or tempt that at all. The staff had been rather confused at the quick healing at first, but they didn’t seem the type to argue with miracles.
Jason wasn’t either. When the friend Batman had told him to call had asked hardly any questions aside from his room number and anything he knew about himself, he hadn’t protested against it. He wasn’t the most trusting person, but if someone saved his life, he saw no reason to assume they’d harm him so soon after, even if it was something he would likely have been scolded for had he expressed it earlier.
The doorknob clicked faintly. Shadows shifted behind the door window as it creaked open, which was odd, as he hadn’t heard footsteps. His hand shifted to the call button, just in case. Honor was important, but his life superseded that–for the moment, at least.
A tall man pushed the door open. He was older, it looked, with faint wisps of gray hair mixed with the black. Not quite salt and pepper–just thin strands, hardly noticeable, combed back. Hooded, deep blue eyes matched the blue and silver necklace resting on his chest, contrasting against the black turtleneck he wore. His expression was calm, as if Jason’s alarm and sudden alertness hadn’t likewise startled him.
"Good afternoon." The man smiled softly, glancing at Jason’s hand hovering over the red button, then back to him. The voice, he could recognize. His hand drifted away from the call button, back onto the tray in front of him.
"Good afternoon. Bruce Wayne, was it? Is this why you needed my room number?" He asked.
The man’s expression fell into a smirk, tilting his head along with it. "Why else?" He walked across the room, sitting in the chair next to his bed. He crossed his legs over one another, completely casual. Too casual. Was he really that confident? Or was it an act?
"What do you need? Why did he tell me to call you?" Jason questioned. The name of the man didn’t need to be said. It was already known, too notable of a presence to pretend it could refer to anyone else.
"I need nothing but information from you. And to answer your other question, Batman and I are old allies. You seemed in a state of distress when he interacted with you, so he sent me to you." He explained, vaguely gesturing with his hands as he did so. At this distance, Jason could clearly see the visitor tag on his chest, but the script wasn’t one he could understand. He recognized the letters, most of them, but not the words. His name, probably.
"I told you. I don’t have information. I shared all I knew of myself." Jason said, shifting his hand to the call button again. He didn’t want to deal with this. The only reason he hadn’t left the hospital against doctor’s orders yet was because he had nowhere to go. He didn’t need to let some random man distract him–he had to get more information, and a shelter of some kind.
Bruce cocked an eyebrow. "While I’m sure you’re a lovely young man, I actually require information on the hospital." He uncrossed his legs, tugging on his shirt collar to re-adjust it. "Do you mind telling me about your treatment here?"
Jason nodded. So, that was what he meant. Lovely, he had far more information on that. Alas, that wasn’t a very high bar. "I’ve been treated well. Better than I usually am, anyways."
"Usually," he echoed. "What makes this better than your usual treatment?"
"Three meals a day, shelter, water, and medical attention." Jason said. "Why do you want to know?"
Bruce lifted his shoulders briefly. "Can’t a man be curious?"
"Not if that curiosity pertains to medical information. Haven’t you ever heard of Pandora’s box? It isn’t healthy to act on your every whim." His fingers twitched, grazing the red plastic of the button.
"I donate to this hospital often," he cut in. "I want to know if they’re actually helping patients." Jason’s hand paused. He drew it back into his chest after a second of hovering over the button.
"I understand." He muttered. "I’ve been treated well. They gave me more blankets when I mentioned being cold, water if I claim to be thirsty, painkillers if it hurts too much. I don’t think they cared that I didn’t have a guardian or emergency contact to call–I’m not being treated worse than I would be if I had one. What other information are you looking for?"
Bruce frowned. "No guardian or emergency contact? That’s okay. Where would you normally rest? What’s your address?"
"Don’t have one. I can fall asleep pretty much anywhere though." He shrugged, trying to come off as casual as the other.
"And where do you plan to go after you’re released from the hospital?" He pressed, eyes narrowing.
"I’m… I’m trying to figure that one out." Jason admitted. How had he gotten back to sharing his personal information? The man reeked of old money, something that, while he was familiar with, didn’t tend to entail the smartest people. It was just as likely that someone like this, with access to Ivy League colleges and every tutoring service under the sun, would use those services as waste them. He was charismatic, though, certainly, to maneuver the conversation into what he wanted with such speed. That, Jason knew, was bred very thoroughly into such high class individuals. His father–
"Ow." He mumbled, moving far quicker than what was recommended with his current state and pressing a hand to his aching head. He should have been more ashamed of such an expression of weakness in front of a stranger.
"No home?" Bruce leaned forward, gently pulling his hand away. His hands were too calloused for a man who had, most likely, never worked any hard labor. In fact, as Jason tried to pull away from the touch, in the brief moment before he dropped his hand, he could tell that the man was stronger than his clothing made him look. It was a fair guess that he was muscular under his sweater, which he had brushed off as him just wanting to stay warm in the cold environment. Could there be an ulterior motive? He was trained to analyze and judge people based on their use, but also trustworthiness. But was this a secret, or just some millionaire deciding that he wanted to work out for aesthetic purposes?
"Jason, are you alright?" He held his fingers over the call button, inching ever so closer. Jason could just barely hear the strain in his voice as he said the name, hands twitching for the smallest of moments.
"I’m fine, sir." Jason shook his head, trying to rid himself of the last of the pain as it ebbed away. "Just… a headache. I get those quite a bit."
"Hn," Bruce’s response was minimal, deep blue eyes narrowing. "Do you mind showing me your injuries? I have training."
"Not more than a medical professional, I’d guess." Jason put a hand over his stomach, trying to not put pressure on the wound. It still hurt, even if it had partially healed.
Bruce nodded. "I understand. Do you have a potential timeline for when you might be discharged? I would not want to leave another teenager on the streets of Gotham. I could arrange a place for you to stay."
Jason shook his head. "No idea. I was told I heal unusually fast–I’m sure I would be well enough to leave today, if I so wished. I just–" he broke off mid sentence, squinting at the man–"how do you know my age? I don’t even know that."
The man froze. "I had assumed you had remembered. The amnesia was not a sign of a concussion, then?" He crossed one leg over the other. "Hn. Lucky guess, I suppose?" He winked, pulling his hands back to rest intertwined in his lap.
"I don’t believe that." Jason shifted uncomfortably. This was getting confusing. But if he knew that, maybe he knew more. "Any other information on me I haven’t learned yet?"
Bruce shook his head, laughing softly. Jeez, could he act any more rich? Even his laugh sounded aristocratic, the kind of sound you’d associate with clinking glasses and garages the size of a house for too many cars than any one person could ever use in their lifetime with absurdly frivolous features and zero functionality. The noise made him feel like he was having images of yachts and expensive watches psychically forced down his throat. "I guessed. You were wearing a sweatshirt with the name of a school on it, remember? You were correct, by the way. Edgarton’s Day and Boarding School is based in California. And, no. I haven’t found any other information."
Jason frowned. He had hardly paid the sweatshirt any mind–it was high time he started paying attention to his surroundings, and himself it appeared. "You’re observant," he muttered. Too observant. More observant than your average rich boy should be, or had to be.
"Thank you." His smile widened, the corners of his eyes crinkling. If Jason had to guess, the man was probably well into his 40s. Which made his strength even more odd, in his opinion. Surely he wasn’t doing it for a partner, right? Perhaps he was an actor, although Jason couldn’t imagine how successful his career must have been to acquire such status. "You mentioned being a quick healer earlier, no? Do you mind showing me the progress?" His voice was steady, much like his friend’s. Something reliable, even if Bruce’s was smoother and softer.
Jason found himself complying before he had even mentally registered the request. Wayne seemed like an authority figure, someone he was supposed to listen to, not someone to question. He pulled his shirt up, revealing the wound. How did he keep pulling conversations in the exact direction he wanted?
Bruce’s eyes widened slightly. "And this wound is three days old… odd, to say the least. Although, you were correct in your assumption that you were healed well enough to leave. Hn. What legal identification do you have?"
"I don’t have an ID." Jason sighed. This song and dance, again.
"What about a birth certificate? The hospital you were born in?" Bruce pressed.
"I don’t know." He shook his head. "I’ve said it a lot today, but I don’t know. If I did, I would tell you."
"I don’t doubt that." His brow creased, and his eyes locked onto Jason’s. "Regardless, finding you a legal place to stay will be rather difficult. There is, of course, the youth center in Taos…"
"Leo mentioned those." Jason mumbled. "Said he thought some were okay, before we were at the Wilderness School, anyways."
"Leo," Bruce repeated. "Is that a family member? Or a friend? Which Wilderness School?"
He wrinkled his nose. "No idea. Sorry I… spoke without thinking. I don’t know what I was talking about. Leo is a friend, I think."
Wayne nodded. He was still staring, studying. He reminded Jason of Annabeth–the same curiosity behind his eyes, almost as if he could see him filing his mental notes on the situation before speaking. "I can provide you shelter, for however long you may need it. You don’t appear to have many alternatives, although I will not force you."
"And what would I have to do to earn that?" Allowing a stranger to take him in, with no proof of their morals or motives, was not something he was inclined to do. He had, however, done it before. And if required, he was certain he could survive alone. But temporary, legal housing was not something he was going to turn down, given the circumstances.
"I can fill out the paperwork for you by nightfall. If you so wish, you may be discharged today." Bruce’s form shifted slightly, seeming rather relieved at the confirmation of his willingness to accept the offer. He was a man who held secrets, but they didn’t seem to be of any concern to Jason.
"Yeah," he mumbled, taking a deep breath. He was getting very tired of staying in one, vulnerable spot for so long. "That would be nice. Thank you, sir."
"My pleasure." Bruce uncrossed his legs, standing up in one fluid, graceful motion. "I will see to it that you’re put into safe hands soon. Rest." He turned on his heel, walking out as he walked in–confident, collected, and unfazed. Jason was convinced his shoes never made contact with the floor–too smooth and too quiet. Maybe his secret was that he was a spirit, and Jason couldn’t hear him because he was floating a centimeter above the tile.
The door shut with a soft click. The hum of the machines was the only noise vibrating through the room, yet again. They were annoying, but at least he knew that they were working. The command given was clear–rest. Jason wasn’t exactly opposed to that. Tired, starved soldiers never made a good fighting force. He let his head fall to the pillow. He could worry about this later.
His eyes had only just begun to drift shut when another voice joined the murmuring outside.
-
Bruce wasn’t going to let another kid be failed by the system.
The comm in his ear, disguised as a daith piercing, clicked softly, static radiating from it for a split second. "B, what are you doing?" Oracle’s voice was loud, compared to the soft murmurings of talking families in the hall.
"I told you about the kid." He had practice with this. Keeping his voice low, moving his mouth minimally, if at all. Covering conversations, occasionally in the middle of another. He had nothing but a neatly folded printout of the hospital layout for navigation, something he hadn’t even needed. He wasn’t a fan of how bright hospitals were–not enough places to hide, but he could make do, even in the fluorescent lighting.
"Which, you agreed to sending to Taos," she pointed out. "and now, you’re telling him that you’ll take him in. Change of plans?"
Bruce pressed the elevator button, mentally going over the hospital’s map again. "Yes." The elevator came to a stop, opening to let him on, joining a child and their parent. Visitors, clearly, as the younger was clutching a bag filled with treats.
"Is there a particular reason for that?" Her question wasn’t fully judgemental, but certainly more confident and more honest than most shared with him.
He glanced at the others within the elevator. The child was clinging to the rail on the side, and their breathing was shaky. Scared, on edge. Too vigilant for him to talk to Barbara at the moment, not without them noticing.
"Bruce, this isn’t the same situation as Dick, or Jason, and you know that. We can send him to Taos, and he’ll be safe." She hadn’t entirely said no to the idea–yet.
The elevator doors opened, and the kid’s shoulders relaxed, running outside and into the hallway. The adult followed, soon after, scrambling to catch up with them. Privacy. Finally.
The door shut. "The only powers he demonstrated were accelerated healing and endurance," he muttered, tapping the ground floor button. "neither of which need to be trained to ensure that he doesn’t injure others."
*
"And the tattoo he has? The MHYC was created to stop meta-human trafficking–not to train heroes. You said you thought it was a mark from a trafficking ring." The point was valid–that was his first assumption upon seeing the mark on Jason’s arm. Some sort of twisted ownership claim, reminiscent of things from a worst, past time.
"We have no proof of that." Bruce grunted. "And I won’t act on speculation."
"The lack of legal files. The boarding school he supposedly went to, with no record of any student named Jason in their recent files. I couldn’t find anything or anyone matching his appearance and name in my research. It sounds like textbook meta-human trafficking." Barbara said in his ear. "Minor, no legal guardian, homeless–a perfect target. This is what the Youth Center was made for."
*
"Jason already showed that he wants to fight for what he thinks is right. If we send him to Taos, he’ll try and become a hero on his own, and get himself killed in the process. He could be a danger to himself and others, if left alone. This is the only way to keep him safe–supervision and guidance." Bruce pulled the map out of his pocket, glancing at it for directions to the front desk as the elevator came to a halt.
"And you’re sure this isn’t because of Damian quitting to focus on his studies?"
His grip tightened on the paper, his feet landing harder on the tile. "Absolutely certain." He muttered. This wasn’t about Damian. No. She understood that. She thought this was about another, and he knew that. A chance he never got to make something right.
A chance to fix his greatest failure.
Notes:
uhhh sorry if hospital stuff or characterization is inaccurate, i have not read NEARLY enough barbara gordon comics, but im working on it i promise <333 and the hospital is based on my last visit like, a month ish ago to a childrens hospital for a friend.
hehe, jason doesn't think hes worthy of being called the man he used to be. he thinks hes an imposter. maybe a... jason.... fraud. *drum and cymbal fall from the ceiling, killing me instantly.*
ive appreciated the comments and support loads! >< ty for giving me more courage in my writing again!!! :DD
Chapter 3: memories.
Summary:
Jason was mostly right. Bruce Wayne did have a stupidly expensive car. He was also right that his cars had absurd and frivolous features.
He was not right on the functionality part. Jason didn’t know what the average car was like–which was odd, because he seemed to have maintained most of the “basic knowledge” category–but he could tell that this was far, far better. Everything about it was optimized for use and comfort, sleek black buttons that he didn’t dare touch littering the interior. He wasn’t sure why or how anyone would ever need this many buttons on a car dashboard, but he was sure that Leo would think it was cool.
---
Bruce was mostly right. Jason wouldn’t belong in the Meta-human Youth Center, he still stood by that.
He was not right on the powers part, as was so quickly proved to him. Bruce had trained a meta before. He could handle this. However, that meta-human had been fully aware of his powers. Jason didn’t even know his last name, and if he knew about the small electric sparks that came off of his fingers and how to use them, the fight that led Bruce to him would not have had the same results.
Notes:
here is a chapter! a bit late, split in half, posted at midnight, slightly short, but a chapter nonetheless!
tws: briefly implied alcohol use, implied car crash due to dui, implied child abuse/neglect (light, it probably will get worse in other chapters, I'll definitely warn you if it does) (thanks, beryl!)
pretty angsty. more serious than the other chapters. hallucination!Jason Todd is in the last few paragraphs ish. sorry!!!
pov is split with ---, scene changes are split with -.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Jason was mostly right. Bruce Wayne did have a stupidly expensive car. Cars, plural, actually; he had mentioned it while guiding his hand to sign the discharge papers. He was also right that his cars had absurd and frivolous features.
He was not right on the functionality part. Jason didn’t know what the average car was like–which was odd, because he seemed to have maintained most of the “basic knowledge” category–but he could tell that this was far, far better. Everything about it was optimized for use and comfort, sleek black buttons that he didn’t dare touch littering the interior. He wasn’t sure why or how anyone would ever need this many buttons on a car dashboard, but he was sure that Leo would think it was cool.
Bruce stared at him expectantly, pressing his thumb against a pad–was his car fingerprint locked?–but, despite the quiet buzz of the engine, he hadn’t yet moved.
After an exceptionally awkward period of silence, Bruce gestured above Jason. "Seatbelt."
Right. He pulled it across his body, a tiny, satisfying click sounding when he had successfully completed the task. "Sorry. I don’t go in many cars." Bruce stared at him for a moment longer, expressionless for a split second, before turning back to the road, checking the rearview camera.
"That’s alright." His voice was tenser than previously. Jason didn’t think it meant anything, though–maybe he was nervous Jason was gonna break his car, too. He certainly was. It seemed durable, but for all he knew, something was going to set off if he breathed on it wrong.
The car had only just started to move before the headache came on again. His memories had felt like they were on a shelf, just out of reach. One of those memories, it seemed, had fallen off.
-
He was small. Things were fuzzy, things were hard to distinguish, to understand. But now, looking back, the smell of aerosol was almost suffocating in the small car, only saved by the stale, thrift store smell coming from his sister. She had put him in the middle seat and strapped the too-big seatbelt over him. Mom had been too busy to do it for him, so the responsibility was on her. He was sitting on a pillow, because Thalia couldn’t find his booster seat, and Mom wanted them to go outside as quickly as possible for an “adventure.” Thalia didn’t trust it.
He didn’t know why, but her hands were shaking as she zipped his jacket up and rested her favorite stuffed animal–the bird one she had bought from a gas station on one of Mom’s special trips–in his tiny arms. There was jam smeared on her flannel, because she had worked too fast while making sandwiches. He was hungry, but crying for it wouldn’t help him. It rarely did, with Mom. Thalia had told him they were going to have a picnic, in the soft, caring voice she used whenever Mom got too sad.
It was cold. Winter, in California mountains, tended to be. It hadn’t snowed recently, but it was cold enough this morning that there was a slight sheen of frost against some of the ground. Whenever it got too cold, Thalia liked to play games. If Mom left the keys on the counter again, she would come out to the car with him and play pirates. She would hop out of windows at lightning speed, and teach him to flick open the child safety lock, shouting “Man overboard!” every time she ran out of the car. She said it was because the roads got slippery, and Mom wasn’t careful of the pirates in the other cars, so they needed to stay prepared in case they had to escape. Thalia used to make it sound fun.
She would also play the game when Mom was thinking about their father too much. Jason wondered, now, if she had learned to play that because she had to. Because of first hand experience, because of a time when she needed to, and didn’t know how. When he was younger, it was his favorite game. He didn’t think it was hers.
The car slowed to a stop in a dirt parking lot, isolated and abandoned. The only proof of recent inhabitants was a singular crushed soda can, sun-bleached and muddy to the point that it wasn’t clear if the original color was red, blue, or brown. Mom hopped out of the car, yanking the door open for the backseat.
Beryl was a pretty woman. Her eyes had grown duller recently, the stains on her fingers and teeth clearer and brighter, and she had lost weight, but she was still beautiful. Her hair was long and wavy, a natural platinum blonde that she pridefully announced he had inherited to anyone who would listen. Thalia said he looked like their mother, spare the eyes. She had told him that his eyes were big and shiny, in a way that made him look smarter than he was. She told him that he was going to be a cool teacher, one that didn’t pressure her to write about her family, or give Mom field trip permission slips.
She grabbed him, yanking him out of the seatbelt without unbuckling it. It was rather easy. She pulled him firmly against her chest, which he once loved. Being cradled, safe. She smelled strong, with undertones of the stuff in the purple bottle that Thalia used to clean his scrapes, but muddier. Not sterile, but something else, an adulterated and perverse version of something as familiar as his sister.
He–and he wasn’t Jason, not at this point–curled closer. Not to her, but to the bird stuffed animal tucked into his jacket. Thalia jumped out of the car, probably using the same skills she did during the pirate game, and reached for the trunk, where their lunches were.
Mom grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her along before she got a chance to. She glanced up, lip quivering. He could tell she looked sad–or nervous. She got like that when Mom was upset. Thalia took a deep breath, preparing herself to talk.
---
Bruce was mostly right. Jason wouldn’t belong in the Meta-human Youth Center, he still stood by that. He also still thought that he would do best with proper training.
He was not right on the powers part, as was so quickly proved to him. Bruce had trained a meta before. He could handle this. However, that meta-human had been fully aware of his powers. Jason didn’t even know his last name, and if he knew about the small electric sparks that came off of his fingers and how to use them, the fight that led Bruce to him would not have had the same results.
He pressed his tongue against his teeth, just as he did in fights due to his lack of mouthguard, trying to evenly divide his attention between Jason and the road. It wasn’t working very well.
He shifted his hand on the wheel, searching for the textured button on the back. One click, and Oracle’s voice filled his ears again.
"Bruce? Your indicators say you’re doing fine. Why are you patching in?" He could hear the quiet clicking of her keyboard in the background stop, which usually meant she wasn’t too worried about what was happening at the moment. Good.
"He has other abilities." Bruce pressed the gas pedal to the floor of the car, causing a warning to flash in the corner of the windshield. Speed not recommended for current road. "Override." He said, glancing at the empty road around him. He could slow down if there was anyone or anything he needed to worry about, but he needed Jason home. The sun was covered by overcast skies already, so the light was no worry of his–he had preferred the dark since at least 10, anyways. But there was a drug trafficking operation that he needed to deal with at nine. He didn’t have time for any of this.
"Will I be filling out the file, or will you be?" Her typing returned. "What kind of meta abilities?"
"Unclear. There wasn’t much data available. He doesn’t seem to be aware of it," Bruce looked at the boy next to him, who was sitting unusually still. He was keeping his voice low, and his sentences vague, but he was almost sure it wasn’t necessary. Jason was hardly blinking, expression blank. On the off chance that he was listening, though, he was sticking on the err of caution.
"Are you going to tell him?" Barbara questioned, the click of her keyboard ceasing again.
Bruce hesitated. Which was the moral option here? Not telling him, and forcing him to figure it out on his own, later? Or informing him, shattering his already fractured world and memory further?
"I’ll wait until I trust him enough." He said. Enough to tell him his secret identity. Enough to start training.
"Trust me enough for what?" Jason’s voice was tense, but still held steady. Most children would have cried at least a little by now–most adults, too–it was natural, for the pain and stress of the situation he had experienced. Bruce didn’t want to say anything, but it was very interesting in his eyes that Jason did not. A sign of previous, harmful training? Or just a reclusive boy, much like him as a young boy, hesitant to share after being hurt so many times? Was it him or his son, reflected back in that child’s sad blue eyes?
"I was wondering if I could walk with you publicly. I’m rather well known, you see." Bruce forced a smile, the lies dripping all too naturally from his tongue.
Jason frowned, brows furrowing together. He had small worry lines beginning to form. "No, thank you. I’ve dealt with that before. No matter how many people know your name, you end up alone. Unseen, unheard. You know?"
Bruce knew exactly what that felt like. One persona seen, one persona heard, and yet neither could ever be both. It was, however, noteworthy that Jason understood those emotions perfectly. Maybe some of his memories were still there. Other than that, Bruce’s mind kept circling back to the fact that his situation was almost identical to the description that Ra’s had provided him of Jason. The first one, and his second son. No memories, found wandering through the streets. A vagrant.
Maybe the only difference between the two was who found them.
Bruce Wayne’s biggest regret wasn’t Jason Todd. It was not what he had become, for he was a good man, despite their disagreements and differences in morals. He was proud of what his son had grown to be, even if he had only been at his side for three years, even if he had to do it on his own. His biggest regret was not being there–not getting to the warehouse at the right time, not finding him first, not taking him in and ensuring that what happened to him could never happen again. He had been mere seconds too late, but it had resulted in years of agony.
"You’re speeding." The boy next to him pointed out, tapping the speedometer with a bitten nail. "The limit is 65. You’re at 75."
"You are… correct." Bruce raised an eyebrow. He needed to remember not every city was like Gotham. Few Gothamites cared about traffic laws, and the ones who did were almost always criminals, trying to avoid being pulled over. "I appreciate that. Safety is important."
This boy sounded almost like a young Dick, reminding him to hold hands and look both ways when crossing the streets. He hoped this one didn’t throw grown men around like toys, or hang off chandeliers while he scrambled to call a friend to get his kid down from the ceiling– again.
Bruce eased some of the pressure off of the gas, forcing himself to slow down. Jason raised a hand to his head, rubbing at his temples. A tension headache, perhaps, as it wasn’t the same way he had before.
"Thank you," he mumbled. "most New-Yorkers drive like that, too."
Oracle snickered in his ear. "He’s not wrong."
"I am not a New-Yorker." Bruce smiled, answering both of them in tandem.
"Didn’t say you had to be." Jason tilted his head, staring out the window. He seemed curious, for a boy who had quoted Greek mythos against such a quality at him a few hours prior.
"I hear no defence against the bad driver comment." Barbara pointed out. Bruce could see Wayne Manor in the distance, peeking out through the foggy, overcast afternoon.
"Annabeth would like that place," Jason muttered. "she loves architecture. Roman, specifically, but that’s cool too."
"Annabeth." Bruce repeated, taking the turn to drive up to the manor. The gates opened for him, no doubt done by Alfred or Barbara. He wasn’t that old–he could deal with his own locks and safety measures alone–but he appreciated the thought regardless. "You didn’t mention her before."
"She’s kind of like you. Pretty smart, too. I think her dad has money. Not exactly sure how, but money." Jason paused his train of thought upon seeing the garage, frowning. "Called it." He mumbled, pulling the jacket Bruce had given to him closer. Bruce wasn’t sure what he had “called.” He also wasn’t sure he wanted, or needed, to know.
Jason stared at the car door, hands held awkwardly in the air. His gaze flitted to Bruce for a split second, pleading. "Thalia didn’t… teach me this."
"Thalia." Bruce mused, reaching over and opening the door for him. "Is she a friend, too?"
"Sister." Jason said. "Full, not half. Haven’t seen her in a bit. She’s older than me. She’s cool." He stepped out of the car, although he didn’t turn his back to Bruce. He thought he could see a little more of his son in him than himself, on a second glance. Mere children, with far too high of expectations placed on them. Jason seemed like a young Damian, if more hesitant. The same tense posture, perpetually waiting for the other shoe to drop. Damian had made progress–that was why he had resigned. He had wanted to focus on his medical studies, which Bruce thought was a noble cause, even if skipping school for it was a rather questionable decision.
"Your sister," Bruce frowned. That could provide legal complications. "How old is she, exactly?"
Jason glanced around the room, sighing heavily. "Great question. You’ll never guess my answer."
"You don’t know." Bruce muttered. He should have expected that. Memory loss, again. He pushed himself to his feet, keeping an eye on Jason as he led the way out of the garage and towards the foyer.
The boy’s posture slumped slightly. "That was out of line." He said. "I shouldn’t have behaved that way. I’m a guest. Sorry." Perhaps he was different from a younger Damian. Very different.
Jason kept talking after a small pause for acknowledgement. "I mean, I remember a few things. Like names. Friends. Some… fuzzy things, when I was a kid, about my mom."
"Can you explain that?" Bruce asked. Jason slowed down slightly, the gesture so tiny that it would be entirely invisible to the untrained eye. Just as incomprehensible as the tense of his shoulders, or the tightness of his jaw, teeth grinding. "If you feel comfortable, of course." Socializing had become familiar to him. The push and pull of conversation, teetering on the edge of boring and invasive.
"She was an actor." Jason shook his head, catching up to Bruce as he reached the doors. "Blonde. Tall. My sister said I got everything but her eyes."
"Interesting." Bruce frowned, mentally filing the hesitance to bring up her actions or personality. Maybe it was a coincidence. He would need more information later.
"Almighty gods–Annabeth would kill to see this place." Jason breathed, staring at the inside of the foyer with wide eyes. Bruce didn’t quite understand his shock, but he supposed it was the spirit that counted.
"This place is so cool!" Bruce couldn’t help looking at the source of the familiar voice. He knew it was wrong. Hallucinations, from stress. That didn’t make it feel less real, though. Sparkling blue eyes and a bright, lopsided smile, practically oozing excitement. "Bruce! Isn’t this cool?"
"This place is so cool…" The boy next to him mumbled. Not Jason. He couldn’t be Jason. Jason was gone. "I, uh, I appreciate the hospitality."
"You’re welcome." Bruce reached for the doorknob, to enter the hall, but another caught the handle before him.
"Alfred." He nodded, glancing at the child next to him, who was staring at the arches with genuine curiosity.
"Master Bruce," his friend returned the nod, although he did not seem entirely pleased with the situation. "I was not aware we were expecting guests."
"Hello, sir." The boy smiled, holding out his hand. "I’m Jason."
Alfred glanced at Bruce as he shook Jason’s hand, expression tightening for less than half a second. A half second that conveyed more than words ever could.
"We should talk about this sitting down." Bruce gestured at the hall behind Alfred, trying his best to avoid eye contact with the man. He was too persistent.
"Yes, I agree." He moved, holding the door open for the child to enter.
"Please stop, please. If you let me live, I’ll do anything you say. I’ll be your Robin!" Bruce clenched his jaw and forced himself not to look back, stepping inside after the other Jason. "Why didn’t you protect me?"
"Whoa…" He muttered, eyes blown wide with awe. Alfred stared at him, eyebrows twitching together in a frown for a moment.
"Welcome back, Master Jason."
Notes:
heyyy so this was... augh. agony to write. I'm back at school again! someone kill me now I have to wake up at 6AM. oughhh help.
chapters will likely slow down. this chapter was originally meant to be what is now the content of two chapters (memories and secrets respectfully) so meeting the rest of the batfam is pushed off to chapter 5 sorry :C
I am incomprehensibly sleepy. if there's an error, I'll find it in the morning. not now.
I added Alfred because I am in fact a coward, and while DC has let him stay dead for like, a year or two now, I won't. say hi to Alfred guys!!! Damian will be in chapter 4, after I read more comics on him.
sorry not sorry about hallucination!Jason Todd.
Chapter 4: secrets.
Summary:
By the time Jason had finished, the clock on the wall in the guest bedroom read 10:24. Well, last time he checked, anyway. The fort entrance didn’t face it, and he was more than happy to stay there forever. He had improved it since the last time he’d built pillow forts. Taking in mistakes, adapting, shifting. Always improving, ever-changing. Jason thought those were good qualities, and he felt like he mirrored them well. Things tended to change in his life, usually abruptly and violently. Settling down seemed pretty useless most of the time–he wasn’t going to stay long, anyways, even if he wanted to. His life went wrong all the time. So much for being the “favorite.”
He’d built proper forts before. Professional ones, for long periods of travel with groups. Sitting surrounded by fluffy white blankets, he could almost understand the preservation of the doodles. Childish things were kind of comforting, reminders of simpler times.
It was never that simple for him, though, was it?
Notes:
hey--*gets pelted with tomatoes.*
okay listen. this chapter is like, 6 days late. I have 3 excuses, who wants them? no one? damn, too bad. I had to do school one acts, and then ren fair, and then state testing. school is hard. I was suffering, people of ao3. please do not execute me. plus I'm a quivering pussy who apparently cant sustain themselves off of just monster energy and spite (loser behavior!!!) (joking, please don't do that.)
this chapter is *checks notes* around 5700 words as compensation. please don't murder me. not beta'd. high likelihood I mischaracterized someone. high likelihood there's, like, a gazillion spelling and grammar mistakes. ummm I don't think there's anything triggering in this? swear words? its a bit rushed? its probably pretty boring and doesn't make much sense? that's it?
scene change is -. there's just Jason pov in this.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Jason didn’t like secrets.
Hidden information and lies of omission were still lies. Jason could accept bluffs. He approved of suppression and self-control in terms of emotions. Not lies, however.
Execution, banishment, torture, and interrogation. Those were punishments one might face for lying. Jason would lie to protect a person, but he had a feeling that Bruce Wayne had other secrets. Secrets that weren’t anything like the things he had done for Reyna to protect her from punishment, even if it broke his own moral code.
The manor spoke of multitudes of generational wealth. Families like that always had secrets, no matter how well hidden they were. Whispers behind closed doors.
Doors that he, currently, was on the other side of.
Jason was sitting in a study filled with books he didn’t understand. Bruce had left under the excuse of “errands”, which he didn’t entirely trust. Who runs errands after the sun sets? Why couldn’t they wait until morning? He supposed he wasn’t one to judge for insomniac activities–he had spent too many hours filling out paperwork under the stars–but he could judge for suspicious activities. He had volunteered to go with and was immediately shot down. He had tried to ask where he was going, but Bruce was out the door by the time he had finished speaking. Alfred had left to get him tea, after that. Jason thought that timing was convenient, stopping him from following after Wayne.
The doors of the study creaked open, light from the hallway filtering in. A boy, who looked no older than 14, strolled in. He looked small, but certainly not frail. He had short, spiky black hair, and clutched in his arms were three books, proudly emblazoned with a caduceus each. A common mistake. People assumed the Rod of Asclepius and Hermes’ caduceus were the same–Annabeth had lectured him once on it. He didn’t mind that much. He liked listening to his friends talk. Leo rambled to him constantly. Even if he didn’t understand all of the words, he was willing to listen in.
The boy set the books down at a desk, his movements graceful, much like Bruce’s. Even the placing of the books was silent, and while he looked lightweight, he was sure that he had trained to walk that quietly. Why? Was this house dangerous? What would happen if he made too much noise? Did he need help? Jason didn’t have the number for CPS memorized. Leo probably did.
"Are you planning on continuing to watch me, or are you going to read?" His tone was dry–not exactly annoyed. Just very blunt.
"Sorry, man, didn’t mean to stare." Jason put his hands up, trying not to provoke the kid any further. He was hoping that he wasn’t actually glaring at him, and that was just how he looked. He doubted it. "I’m Jason."
"I know who you are. Barbara has already debriefed me on your situation ." He flipped to the next page–lots of words. He was a fast reader. Definitely faster than Jason.
"Barbara?" How much had Bruce forgotten to mention? "Am I supposed to know who that is?"
"Yes." The kid didn’t even bother to look up from his book. Jason was pretty sure he had messed this conversation up somehow–he was pretty sure he didn’t just look like that. "I had assumed Father had explained the situation previously."
"Okay…" Jason tilted his head, trying to come up with some sort of idea that could fix this. "I didn’t catch your name." Maybe he could salvage this conversation by doing what he should have at the start.
"I didn’t throw it."
Or, not.
Dead silence filled the study. Jason had definitely screwed that up. He turned around, trying his hardest to focus on anything else. The books weren’t something he could read–too long of words with too little spacing and too similar fonts. There were two desks in the room, and each had two plush chairs next to them. There were tiny scratches and doodles on the side of one of the desks, painstakingly preserved with what looked like some sort of varnish to stop them from being buffed out.
There was also a grandfather clock in the corner–Roman numerals. The clock read 9:47 , slowly ticking away. It didn’t click, though. Jason was pretty sure they were supposed to click. He reached for the wood, testing it. For what seemed like old, original upper-upper class Victorian architecture, with all the maximalist patterns Annabeth had ranted about before, it was surprisingly sturdy. Either well maintained, or a mimic of the original stuff. He pressed his hand fully against the wood, wrinkling his nose. Either he was going insane, or there was something in the inner mechanism broken, because he heard the soft click of metals tapping together as he applied pressure to the clock. Not the same rhythmic ones that grandfather clocks normally had–closer to gears being slotted together.
"Damian." The kid said, shaking him out of his curiosity. "My name is Damian Wayne."
"You’re Bruce’s kid?"
"Father has several." Damian replied. He was getting frustratingly vague.
"And where are they? " How many people lived in this mansion? It was certainly big enough for a large family–11 kids? Was Bruce married?
"Richard is in Blüdhaven. Drake no longer lives in the manor. Jason resides in an apartment by Crime Alley. Cassandra lives in an apartment by Gotham University." Crime Alley? Wait–Jason?
"He has a son named Jason?" Jason was pretty sure that would get confusing, especially considering that he didn’t have a last name, for now.
"Had." Damian glanced up from his book for a moment, making direct eye contact with Jason. His eyes were weirdly green, and it made him feel like the kid was planning on hunting him for sport.
"What does that mean?" Was that a threat? Jason was pretty sure that was a threat.
"Master Jason," a voice from behind him called. That accent was British. Leo and Piper did not like British people. Few people did–too many artifacts stolen and put in their museum.
Bruce’s friend–Alfred, he had called him–or sort-of-maybe father, set down two steaming mugs on the desk closest to Jason. Damian closed his book, standing to retrieve the one with darker contents.
"Thank you, Pennyworth." Both parties kept their expressions neutral. Was this what the Waynes were always like? Secrets and lies, perfect posture and subtle glances? What had Jason gotten himself into this time?
Alfred’s eyes shifted to Jason’s. It was like he’d sensed him staring–creepy. "I don’t believe you have been granted a proper tour of the manor, Master Jason. Please, follow me."
Jason didn’t see a way to argue. Sure, they were liars, but they had invited him in. He saw no reason to be rude and tell them no. His moral stance wasn’t going to turn these people into honest men, but his actions could still anger them.
He pulled his hand off of the clock, turning to follow Alfred. Perhaps the disappearing act that Batman had was contagious, because although he had looked away for mere seconds, Bruce’s son, Damian, had already vanished.
-
Jason still didn’t understand it.
He had tried–really tried–to listen. But by the gods, he was stressed. He had memorized the important locations, like shared bathrooms, the kitchen, dining rooms–which he was still confused about, who even needed more than one of those–but by the time Alfred had gotten to the second library and the ninth bathroom, Jason had spaced out completely. This place was too big. He needed a map for this stuff. Seriously. He wasn’t sure how Alfred–who he had just learned was apparently the butler–would feel about him requesting one. That felt a bit improper. Jason knew plenty about that–he was friends with Piper and Leo, of course–but he also knew that rich people cared a lot more about that kind of stuff than anyone he had dealt with in the past. Rules, rules, rules, when they can’t even follow the common ones provided by the people.
Jason did, however, have some information about the tour stashed in his mind. One: Jason the second–or maybe first?–and Dick’s–who names a child “dick”–rooms were both empty. Alfred had steered him far away from the bedrooms by Bruce’s bedroom, and he also now knew that butlers were apparently excellent at obfuscating and dodging questions. He was–
"Master Jason?"
"Listening. Yep, I’m listening." Jason smiled, praying he didn’t look as awkward as he felt.
"You appear very interested in that wall. I do believe I did well cleaning it, but perhaps not to such an enthralling extent." Alfred seemed proud of his work; and he was right to be so, even if Jason wasn’t actually interested in the wall–more so interested in the things that were on it. Ornate frames, delicately preserved details, with not a speck of dust on either of them. In fact, nothing in here seemed to have any dirt or dust on it. For such a crowded house, one would expect at least one stray hair, or the flipped corner of a rug from a child bounding too fast across it. It was highly suspicious that there was none, in Jason’s opinion.
"Who are they?" He squinted at the portraits. Two people, both with bright faces and clearly expensive clothing. The woman of the two wore the exact same silver necklace that Bruce had. She had the same eyes, too, but not quite as tired or worn.
Alfred hesitated for the first time in the conversation. Jason had found something important. Or, he was pressing on an old bruise. He wanted to tempt neither.
"I believe that is a question for Master Bruce to answer. Come along, I should show you to your sleeping quarters before it grows too dark."
Back to the information he had. Two: Everyone in this family was excellent at evading everything. Questions, the laws of physics, conversations, Jason, the floor, you name it. He was still convinced that their feet never made contact with the hardwood flooring. Even the dog he had run into–a German shepard or something–had made no noise approaching. It was weird , but not entirely useless. That would be a nice skill to have.
"This is the guest room. I apologize in advance for any mess. I had not anticipated your arrival." Alfred spoke very oddly, in Jason’s opinion. Way too formal, even for the divine. And apparently wrong, because he couldn’t spot a singular flaw with the room. The books on the bookshelf looked like they were color coded, for heaven's sake.
"Thank you, sir, again. You did not have to take me in, and you gained nothing from it, but you did regardless. I appreciate it." Jason was mimicking the people around him–again. He had started catching it when he did, and that had managed to stop some of it, but not all of it. People usually liked people who were similar to them, so maybe it wasn’t all too much of a bad thing.
"My pleasure, Master Jason." Alfred’s expression still didn’t change. Was he mad at him? He was decently sure that he hadn’t done anything wrong. Probably. Leo had told him rich people were weird. Other than Piper’s dad and his own mom, he hadn’t interacted with many. "It is rather late. Growing children require rest. I’d rather not have you follow after Master Bruce. I’d highly recommend you head to bed.” He phrased it like a suggestion, but Jason was guessing it wasn’t. Maybe. Jeez, would it kill anyone in this family to show their emotions when they spoke?
"Yeah. I agree. Thanks, again." Jason wasn’t that tired, in all actuality. It was probably best for him to go to sleep, though. Even if he wasn’t tired now, he likely would be in the morning.
"Very well then. Goodnight, Master Jason." The older man turned on his heel, fingers glancing off the edge of the bookshelf for a split second before shutting the door behind him. Weird. So they weren’t spirits. They could make contact with physical objects.
The bookshelf had far thicker books than he was used to. In English, at least. Children’s doodles were scribbled over the corners of the shelves, similar to the ones on the desk. Who made them? Damian? They seemed so… childish. Weren’t people usually upset about doodles like this? They were done in crayon, and seemed easy enough to scrape off, but the thin layer of varnish spared them. Intentional, no doubt. Why? He couldn’t imagine doing something like that.
Well, other than with pillow forts. Jason liked those. He wished they could stay the same forever, and they were pretty childish. Leo and Piper had made one with him, on their first day back at Camp. Annabeth had explained the structural importance of pillows. Jason thought it was similar to being squished between a bunch of warm, fluffy wolves, inside the fort. Annabeth said it was good to help new campers settle in. It worked on him, so he was guessing that was right in most situations.
Jason turned to the bed. Plenty of blankets, too many pillows. He was already getting ideas, moving closer to the unsuspecting bedding. Maybe pillow forts didn’t have to stay the same forever. Maybe he could replace and remake it again, and right this time.
-
By the time Jason had finished building, the clock on the wall in the guest bedroom read 10:24. Well, last time he checked, anyway. The fort entrance didn’t face it, and he was more than happy to stay there forever. He had improved it since the last time he’d built pillow forts. Taking in mistakes, adapting, shifting. Always improving, ever-changing. Jason thought those were good qualities, and he felt like he mirrored them well. Things tended to change in his life, usually abruptly and violently. Settling down seemed pretty useless most of the time–he wasn’t going to stay long, anyways, even if he wanted to. His life went wrong all the time. So much for being the “favorite.”
He’d built proper forts before. Professional ones, for long periods of travel with groups. Sitting surrounded by fluffy white blankets, he could almost understand the preservation of the doodles. Childish things were kind of comforting, reminders of simpler times.
It was never that simple for him, though, was it?
The door opened slowly, with hardly any creaks. The only indication he had that it did open was the movement of the shadows, and the quiet thump as it hit the door stopper. Jason had a feeling he was going to get a heart attack if he stayed in this household for too long–they were all so quiet.
"Jason." The voice wasn’t Bruce’s, thankfully. That would have been horrendously embarrassing. The kid, Damian. Jason pushed the blanket at the entrance out of the way, poking his head out of the fort. Damian was holding a new book. Thick, and with no symbols he could recognize.
"Hey," Jason smiled, fully pulling the blanket out of the way. "You can come in, if you want."
Damian glanced at the door, before his eyes darted back to Jason. "That would be… nice." He set the book into the fort, crawling in next to him. "The structural integrity of this is questionable. I approve of your design, however." He pressed a hand against a wall of the fort, testing how much pressure it could handle.
"What’s this for?" Jason picked the book up, squinting at it. He didn’t know those words, and that font was horrible.
"You said you liked Victorian architecture." Damian pushed it towards him. His eyes were sharp and analytical, and Jason felt like he was being studied under a microscope. What was he doing? What did he want? How did he go from threatening to giving gifts? Did his face really just look like that? Had Jason done something wrong? Why was he staring at him and the book, which he was pretty sure he couldn’t even read–
Oh.
Oh. He’s waiting for a response. Praise. For his gift. They were both searching for signs that weren’t there.
"Thank you. That’s really thoughtful, but, uh, I can’t really… read this. Sorry." Wow, could he be any more graceful and eloquent with his speech? He was so great with words.
Damian’s expression fell. Well, shoot.
"I’m, uh, not trying to be mean. Not my reading level, I think. We could pick out another one, together?" Jason offered. Maybe he didn’t need to worry about being stuck with this eerily silent family for too long, because he was probably going to get himself in trouble for being too rude.
"I am not 10. I can handle rejection, Jason." Damian replied, looking away from him to study the walls of the fort. Not quite a denial of the offer, not quite approval.
"So… Do you wanna go to the study, or…?" Jason had a feeling he was testing a loose dog, right now. Tempting fate with what was pretty much the equivalent of a dog treat, even if the kid acted a bit more cat-like from what he knew of him. His eyes flitted back to Jason, fingers twitching for a second.
Damian pulled the book out of his arms. "Yes." He hugged the book to his chest, crawling out of the fort. He managed to not knock it down as he did so. Jason did not.
A blanket fell over his face. Damian remained silent, but Jason could hear his breathing pick up. By the time he had wrestled the blanket off of him, the younger’s breathing had gone back to normal, but a hand hovered over his pocket.
"You okay, man?" Jason asked, pushing the mess of bedding into a pile.
"I will be fine." He paused, shifting slightly in place, before holding a hand out. Jason thought he was a pretty good kid, even if he acted pretty distant. Jason was pretty blunt at his age, as well. "You should not have been injured by that." He muttered.
"I’m tougher than that, don’t worry." Jason took the kid’s hand. He was deceptively strong, for such a tiny guy. As was his entire family, for some reason. What, did they spend every second of their free time working out? Was their secret some sort of underground nighttime fight club? Jason still couldn’t believe Leo had actually forced him to watch that, and worse yet, that it was a good movie even though the characters were a bit evil. Hopefully these people weren’t quite that evil. He didn’t want to imagine Bruce beating people up for entertainment. He was too smart for that, or, Jason hoped he was.
Damian was good at navigating the manor. He’d probably lived there for quite a while–another point to the ghost theory, because Jason was pretty sure he’d need to be immortal to have enough time to devote all of that to memory. Maybe Alfred was the only human in the family–which explained it, but Jason was pretty sure no amount of time could get him used to such a large space. He was still wondering if it would be disrespectful to request a map.
Damian set the book down on the desk he was sitting before when he entered the study. The second cup of tea, which Jason had just remembered he’d left, was no longer there. Good, probably, because he had forgotten where the kitchen sink was. Unlike Damian, who somehow had the locations of the books in the different bookshelves memorized.
Jason had no idea where to even start. Every font was the same, every letter was similar, every word blended into the next. The language was mostly foreign. Some of the letters weren’t even ones he recognized–who drew their I’s swoopy like that?–so he was pretty sure the book choice should be left to Damian.
Even if Jason couldn’t read the books, he could read Roman numerals. And the grandfather clock on the wall read 10:21, which it certainly was not. Jason didn’t like lying, regardless of whether or not the liar was a human or a clock.
"What time is it?" He asked. The clock was exposed, so he could probably fix it. There was no barrier between the face of the clock and his hands.
"10:46." Damian held two books, glancing between the two.
"Thanks. Your clock is off." Jason reached for the clock, but Damian had already caught his hand before he could make contact with it.
"Father likes it like that." Again, scarily strong grip. Plus, something he hadn’t noticed before, his knuckles were conditioned. Not to mention the tiny scars and nicks along his fingers and hands–maybe the fight club idea wasn’t too far off.
"Why?" Jason could accept the little doodles of animals on the edge of the desk, but why on Earth would anyone want to keep a clock at the wrong time?
Damian’s grip tightened. "It’s complicated." He slammed a book onto the desk in front of Jason. "Can you read this?" He questioned, dropping his hand.
Jason picked up the book, squinting. The letters spelled something, but he couldn’t figure out what. Frustrating. "I–ah–sorry, no." He handed the book back to Damian, who immediately slipped the book back onto the shelf.
"There’s more books in the library." He frowned, brow furrowing. Jason didn’t understand it, either. Who needed a library in their house?
"Maybe we could find something there," Jason turned back to the shelves, brushing his hand against a book with a cracked spine. "Do you like the Odyssey? That’s a cool book I read once. Was pretty cool."
No response from the child. Jason paused in the middle of pulling the book out, turning around.
"And he’s gone." He muttered, staring at the place the child once was. "Well, then." No supervision.
No one to stop him from fixing their unwise system. It couldn’t hurt anyone to fix the clock. How long had it been? One minute? Two? Jason pushed the book back into place, reaching up and moving the minute hand closer to 10.
A tiny, contented click from the clock as it hit 10:48. It swung out of the way, nearly hitting Jason in the face.
"Almighty–what the hell?" Who made a clock their secret entrance? Or–escape? Leo would have thrown himself down there by now. He knew about Pandora, and he knew that he probably should have just kept his mouth shut and pretended he didn’t know, but this made him so curious. He wasn’t sure how to get down there and investigate, though. There was a long fall in the hole behind the clock, and definitely no ladder. Just two poles, that kind of reminded him of firefighters. Jason had no training on how to catch himself using one of these, but seriously, how hard could it be?
Apparently, the answer was very hard. He had definitely gotten too cocky. He had realized that as soon as the clock-door locked shut behind him in the shaft.
The ground was rapidly approaching, and the speed of his thoughts–and heart–were as well. I’m a lunatic. I’m going to die. I’m an idiot Oh, my GODS–
Jason slowed to a stop just before he hit the ground, still clinging to the metal. How did he even do that?
Better question, what was this?
The–basement? Secret bunker?–something, was huge. It had an outrageous amount of stuff–was that a T-rex?–but the cavernous ceiling and sheer size of the place still managed to make it feel spacious and open. There was so much stuff, Jason didn’t know where to even look. It was so overwhelming, and–ohmygod, Leo and Annabeth would have a field day with that computer–would Hazel be able to understand this place better–why were those lights so bright and blue, and would Percy like that?
Why did Bruce even have all of this? What made this necessary? Just rich people stuff? That would be really dumb. He sure hoped not. It seemed a bit sentimental–outfits, items, weapons, a tooth for some reason, all displayed proudly in glass cases. Worktables, too, so maybe not all sentimental. Plus, there were other doors, and what looked like a sort-of-arena, so Jason might have even gotten the fight club idea right.
"Leo would love this place," he muttered. This cave-y spot reminded him of Bunker 9, where Leo worked on his projects. Maybe it was used for the same stuff. There were certainly a lot of high tech gadgets. His footsteps broke through the silence of the cave as he inched closer to the center of the room. Which wasn't a problem. Or, it wouldn’t be, if he was alone.
Bats spilled from the ceiling, awakened by his noise. Well, shoot. Screeching echoed through the cavern, forcing Jason to pin his hands over his ears. Horrible decisions. He should try being the one to bring a knife to a fist fight, next time. That would have stopped all of this from happening. And would have spared his ears from bleeding, goodness.
The bats slowly quieted down, settling on the ceiling again. Soft chittering and squeaks still happened, but nowhere near as intense as the ones they had vocalized before.
Jason took another step, trying to be as quiet as possible. Maybe this was why the Waynes were so silent, all the time. Trying not to awaken the bats.
Or, maybe no one actually cared about that, because the roar of an engine sounded in the distance, rapidly approaching.
Damn it. He was certainly not supposed to be here. He was doomed. Hiding seemed like the best option, and even then, that was probably unreliable. This wasn’t like the alleyway, but he tried anyways, dipping behind some case with a bright outfit inside. It reminded him of what Meg liked to wear, except a lot more flashy.
A car sped into the cave, skidding to a halt in the middle of what Jason now recognized as other cars. It was jet black, and rather sleek. Loud, too, but that was an aspect of many cars, unfortunately.
What surprised him was not the car, but the driver. A driver he had previously guessed was not even human.
Batman.
He stared with wide eyes as the man stumbled out of the car, bracing himself against the hood. His mouth was partially open, breathing heavy and strained. He didn’t know Batman could even get injured–he had assumed he was a deity or something. Maybe a monster. This was not what he had expected. Why was Batman in Bruce Wayne’s basement? How had he gotten injured? Did he need help?
Was outing his secret hiding spot worth it?
Jason was more than prepared to make sacrifices in order to help others. He ran out from behind the case, attempting to ignore the squealing from the bats above as his loud footsteps sounded again. He should try being more like the Waynes.
"Hey," He reached up to touch Batman’s neck; with the gloves, he doubted he’d be able to check his pulse from the wrist. He was decently sure he couldn’t with the fabric on his neck, either, but it wouldn’t kill him to try.
"132." He pushed Jason’s hand away, albeit not roughly. "Alfred said you were asleep."
"Change of plans. Is there any place I can get you safely patched up?" He asked. "I’m returning the favor."
Batman poked his head up briefly, pointing to a door. Jason didn’t want to get too confident again, but he was decently sure he could at least hold the man up long enough to get him to whatever place he was pointing at.
If nothing went wrong. Like Alfred walking in on him, or death, or dropping him. If. Because it did.
"Master Jason," A voice sounded from behind him. "I appreciate your concern, but I would rather be in charge of his medical care."
Woah! Jason guessed that right. What was he, a prophet? He guessed that first try–oh no, he guessed that right.
Alfred pulled Batman from Jason’s grip, holding him in something akin to a hug. The other’s gloves twitched, but refused to reciprocate.
"Dude, he’s pretty heavy. Do you want me to help?" He wasn’t sure how old this guy was, but he didn’t think carrying Batman would work out for him, unless he was, like, a sleeper agent or something.
"I will do fine." He said, somehow still keeping his voice calm as he walked closer to the room Batman had pointed at. How he was carrying such a heavy guy at such an old age was beyond Jason. He’d tried being old once, he was pretty sure, and he didn’t like it.
"I’ll keep my mouth shut about you having a secret clock basement, don’t worry. I promise I won’t tell anyone about this." Jason walked with the two, putting a hand on Batman’s back just in case.
Alfred reached the door, pushing it open. "Thank you for the reassurance, Master Jason." He was concerningly calm for a guy holding a man in full armor that seemed to be heavily injured. Jason didn’t know if he liked that. His own heart was pounding, and he could feel his hands starting to shake.
The med bay was almost as cool as the rest of the cave. Alfred set Batman down on one of the beds, turning to gather supplies.
"What happened this time, Master Bruce?" He asked, pulling down a needle and a vial of medicine. Maybe this had affected him, if he was calling a monster or deity the name of his friend. Maybe Batman was affected worse, because he responded to it.
"Bane." He growled.
"Did you forget you couldn’t be in two places at once again, Master Bruce?" For the first time, Jason could hear a hint of sarcasm in Alfred’s voice. Huh. Cool!
"I forgot it was a one person mission." He corrected.
Alfred reached out for Batman’s face. Jason’s first thought was that he was going to try to hold him still, or shine a light in his eyes to check for concussion, but he reached higher. He hooked his fingers under the black cowl and pulled it up, and off.
Maybe Alfred wasn’t affected after all, because he had gotten it right. Jason had thought that Batman lived in Bruce Wayne’s basement. He was wrong. It should have been obvious. Weird strength, knowing his age before he did, conveniently vanishing the second it got dark, same silent footsteps, same expressive eyes, he should have known.
Batman and Bruce Wayne weren’t just friends. They were the same damn person. Which meant that Batman was completely and utterly human. Which was, definitely, not at all concerning!
"I’ll get used to one person missions eventually. I hadn’t anticipated Damian quitting, but it was his choice. I won’t pressure him back into it if he doesn’t want to." Batman–no, Bruce–muttered. What about Damian?
Alfred flicked the syringe, squeezing out the air bubbles as Bruce pulled off his gauntlets. Had they just forgotten Jason was here?
"I–uh–do you need help? ‘Cause I can help, if you want. I have basic medical training." Jason offered. "Or, I know how hard quests are alone, I can join you." He could handle this. Everything was fine. This was not at all jarring. He was not internally panicking. He didn’t want to stress an injured person. It wasn’t lying, it was bluffing.
"I was going to offer that when I knew you were more trustworthy." Bruce raised an eyebrow at Jason, frowning.
"Lay down, Master Bruce. Do not worsen your injuries." Alfred used one hand to push him down into the bed fully, tone shifting into something akin to a parent scolding a child.
"I’ve done–" he gestured at the injured man–"things like that before. I can keep my promises." Jason hoped he wasn’t too eager. He felt like he was itching for a fight, after staying in one spot for so long. Even before, he could never escape from them. Fighting was laced into his blood, easier than breathing. He didn’t know how to do much else. He’d been doing it since he could walk–ow. Pain stabbed between his eyes, causing him to stumble.
"No." Bruce didn’t even wince as Alfred continued his ministrations, even when he nearly touched a bruise that was already beginning to turn purple.
"I know how to fight. I can help you." He pressed.
"You’re unreliable. Your memory loss makes you a danger." It was a fair counter. But Jason couldn’t just leave all of– this– and forget about it!
"There has to be something I can do to help."
Alfred glanced between the two. "Master Bruce…" He started. "Batman needs a Robin." A robin? More on the flying animal thing. Fun. Jason knew plenty about birds. He liked robins, he supposed. Pretty things.
"No, he doesn’t. I’m done endangering kids, I already told Dick–"
"I wouldn’t be in danger. I can handle myself. You helped me, so why won’t you let me help you?" Jason set his hands on the railings of the bed, squeezing the metal.
Bruce sighed heavily. "Sit down." He said, and while the words weren’t quite acceptance, they were as close as Jason thought he would get. He sat down in a chair next to the bed, hands rested in his lap.
"This offer, it wouldn’t be fun. It’s a job, and an important one. It’s a promise of justice, with grueling training and constant danger. You would need to learn how to make sacrifices, and put the mission first. You would need to earn not only my trust, but the city’s, too. This is not something to be taken lightly." Jason knew about promises. He kept his word. Well, most of the time. There was that one time that…
His chest hurt, right between the shoulder blades. He couldn’t explain it. The pain of being stabbed, but just barely duller, distant. A faded memory, instead of an absent one.
"Of course. I can handle that. I promise. What do you need me to do?"
Notes:
I was a girl in the village doing alright
Then I became a princess overnight
Now I gotta figure out how to do it right
So much to learn and see
Up in the castle with my new family in a school that's just for royalty
A whole enchanting world is waiting for me
i'm so excited to be
Sofia the first
I'm finding out what being royal is all about
Sofia the first
Making my way its an adventure everyday
Its gonna be my time to show them that I'm
Sofia the first!!!oughhhh I need a backlog of chapters in case of burnout.
hi guys. I realized I made a myriad of mistakes that I now regret (COUGH reviving Alfred even if he's a very useful plot point COUGH) I don't know how to write angst and I spent way too long trying to research these characters. I TRIED with damian, alright? he’s hard to write.
uhhh hope you enjoyed that? ohhh I need to sleep until I'm 40.
Jason: bro! dude! man! my guy! pal!
these fuckers, who are used to a very proper, English manner of speaking: ... i beg your finest fucking pardon???
my current motivation for writing is "even if it takes me a month to put a chapter out, at least im not using ai." yippee. do not expect consistent or quick chapters. help.
I was thinking of "Hatsune Miku does NOT talk to British people!" somewhere in here. you get a cookie if you can guess where.
Chapter 5: appearances.
Summary:
Dick read the article over again.
He was hoping he had missed something. Crucial evidence, some sort of proof that these claims were falsified. Proof that, after everything that had happened, he hadn’t lied. Not again.
Goddamnit, B.
Gotham Gazette. A, more or less, trustworthy source. Details, photos, proof matching dates and times that Bruce had mentioned. A gala, the one he had mentioned Damian sitting out from. Damn it, if he had paid more attention, if he had tried to reconnect earlier, maybe this wouldn’t be such an issue.
Maybe, if Bruce wasn’t such an asshole, this wouldn’t have happened in the first place.
A notification came across the top of his screen. Another link, from Tim. The Daily Planet.
New Wayne child threatens overcurious reporter.
Okay, maybe a lot could be done in 50 minutes.
Notes:
shitty rushed chapter. if all goes to plan this fic will be finished by 7/12! I'm so sleepy.
yawn! give me a gold star for doing a good job at planning please I'm begging you.
mentions of drugs/cocaine ahead (because its batman)
I lied you only get dick pov in this chapter. dick & Jason interaction will happen next chapter trust.
six month time skip lol having a lovely time over here in the writer box
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Dick knew better.
Six months. Six months without a Robin, or even a new Wayne. He should have checked in sooner. Bruce Wayne had only made the top lines for the press twice. It was too good to be true.
It was nearing dark when the article aired. It was barely a minute later that it was forwarded to him by Tim, and less than thirty seconds after that he had called out of work at the bar. It was still too slow. Two minutes and thirty-three seconds. That’s how long it took from the article being published, to Dick rushing out the door in his full suit.
He promised. Goddamnit, he promised. This is what I get for trusting someone with the emotional maturity of a toddler and the communication skills of a brick wall.
The Nightcycle was compromised after the last mission. Via public transportation, Gotham was nearly 50 minutes away, and the sun was already beginning to set. He didn’t have time for this, but he hardly had a choice. He sprung off of a building’s wall, landing on top of a train car and forcing himself to take a deep breath as the wind brushed through his curls. This was fine. Everything was fine.
Nothing bad could happen in 50 minutes, right? He wanted to believe that.
But Dick knew better.
- - -
Jason knew better.
Six months. Six months of training, six months to get used to this place, six months to get used to Bruce and all of his weird behaviors. Learning, adapting, growing.
And yet he still couldn’t do this last part of training.
"Fix your form." Bruce grunted, shifting Jason’s stance manually. "You don’t have enough time to aim like that during a fight."
"I know, I know." He tightened his gloved fingers around the trigger, waiting for just a moment too long. The bullet fired, making him wince from the noise even in the open woods. Curls of smoke swirled into the air. Jason’s first instinct was to blow them out, but then he remembered the mask. Bruce had claimed it was a modified version of another Gotham vigilante’s–Spoiler. It was sort of necessary, considering the fact that he had some pretty recognizable facial scars. He didn’t know what they were from. He didn’t know where a lot of his scars were from. That was a secret for the Jason he was, not the Jason he had become.
The target had moved. The bullet glanced off the boulder the whole thing was set up in front of and into the mulch, instead.
"You’re hesitating." Bruce pointed out, plucking the gun out of his hands and pointing it at the dirt. That was the first rule he had been taught with firearms–don’t point the gun at something you don’t want to shoot. "You can’t be scared of guns, Robin. You’re going to need to deal with them on the field, and you cannot let civilians die because of your own fears."
Sacrifices. Heroes made sacrifices. Jason knew that all too well. He grabbed the gun and pointed it at the target again, trying to find a balance between taking too long to aim and taking too little. He pulled the trigger, the bullet embedding itself in the chest of the target.
"Guns are… not my favorite weapon." He muttered.
"I’m aware of that. They’re a coward's weapon. We will not be cowards, but we should at the very least know how to deal with them."
"I mean, more than cowardly. Dishonorable. It’s far too easy to separate yourself from your guilt if no blood ends up on your hands."
"Fighting like this is not honorable. It’s simply necessary. If we succeed, it may someday not be." Bruce pointed out, brushing a gauntleted hand against the gun.
Jason had spilt blood before. His own and others. Enemies and allies. Relatives and strangers. He had to agree with that. Fighting was not honorable. It was gruesome, something he had watched cripple men far stronger than he was, over and over.
The pain between his shoulders returned. He handed the gun over to Bruce, stretching his arms, trying his best to ignore it. It kept coming back, more insistent every time. He hoped it would go away forever, this time.
But Jason knew better.
- - -
Bruce pressed a gun into his child’s hands for what was, unfortunately, not the first time.
Jason couldn’t seem to get this one right. He was shockingly adaptable–that was highly useful–even if he lacked some proper reading skills. But he did good in his literature classes–far better than he ever had with firearms. He had made good progress, but he was still nowhere near as good as Bruce would like him to be. It was better than when they had started, sitting next to each other as the boy stumbled through an alphabet book. It was Cass and Barbara who had really helped him, in the end. He could finish a passage of Jane Austen now, with assistance.
It was this one skill that worried him. Jason had done fine in other fighting styles. His wrestling was exceptional, and he certainly knew how to use most weapons in the most brutal and efficient way possible. He had done fine with archery, even with a crossbow.
Jason seemed content to take as long as necessary to master these skills, and Bruce was too, but the public wasn’t. Rumors had already spread about Robin being dead, or at least put on an indefinite hiatus. Articles about him supposedly starting a new hero career. Damian wasn’t. He was proud of that. One of his kids had gotten better, healed the bitterness within and moved on. He couldn’t do that, and he had accepted that long ago, but that didn’t mean his kids couldn’t.
Bang.
The gun fired, flickers of smoke coming off of the barrel. Robin stared downrange, breathing hard through his mask, before slowly lowering the weapon. He shook blond curls out of his face, looking to Bruce for what he assumed was approval.
"... Fix your form, next time." He put a hand over the gun. "You’ll hurt your shoulder like that."
Robin raised his hand to his forehead, sweat glistening on the small amount of skin visible with the two masks he wore. He hadn’t asked to tap out, yet. He wasn’t sure whether to be proud or annoyed at that–expressing his needs was important, but so was learning to endure. He was only halfway to reaching for his comm by the time that Barbara’s voice buzzed in his ear.
"Take a breather, B. At least 30 minutes. Just because you can’t bring yourself to pause for your own health doesn’t mean he shouldn’t. Get him some water. Or a snack. He’s about another shot fired from a heart attack." Intermittent clicks sounded between and over her words, paired with a quiet, very annoyed beeping in the background. Something he had made, specifically designed to alert if another's vitals went out of whack. Maybe he had gone too hard on him.
"You’re making us stop." He muttered. Jason immediately perked up, head snapping over to stare at Bruce intently. The lenses of the domino mask, paired with a kid who already seemed to forget he could blink sometimes, was a bit jarring, to say the least.
"For his own safety." She confirmed. "Or, I could call Dick and–"
"No, not necessary." He cut in, sighing. "I’ll make him take a break."
"Good. I’m keeping an eye on his vitals. I’ll let you know if they get too bad. Rome wasn’t built in a day, you know." Barbara had a point. Even if Jason had superhuman endurance, that didn’t mean he couldn’t get hurt from extraneous activity. It just meant it was far more difficult.
Robin lifted the gun again, hands shaking.
"Stop." He grabbed his wrist, holding it still, hopefully not enough to hurt. He reached into his belt, pulling out a protein bar. "Go sit down."
Robin tilted his head, grabbing the protein bar and slowly pressing the gun into his hand. Expectant. Waiting.
"You did well today." He pinned on, glancing downrange.
His eyes lit up, and Bruce had no doubt there was a bright smile hidden underneath his mask. "Can I hug you?"
He shoved the gun into his belt, now that it had cooled, silently opening his cape. Jason took that as consent, throwing his arms around him. He liked these hugs, even if he would never admit it. Jason was good at hugs.
He dropped the hug, curling in closer and sitting down with his legs folded underneath him. He had a tendency to use the cape as a sort of blanket, hastily unwrapping the bar and pulling his mask off as the fabric curled around him because of the wind.
Bruce stared at the target. He was sure, now. Hugs weren’t the only things Jason was good at.
The bullet embedded firmly inside the target’s heart was all the more proof of that.
- - -
Jason did not feel like doing this.
He wanted to build a pillow fort and hide in it forever. He wanted to go to sleep. He did not want to do all of this.
Alfred gently brushed makeup over a scar on his wrist, blending it into the rest of his skin. "If I may say, you look rather handsome tonight."
Jason liked that, at least. But throwing himself into the center of attention again, right in the paparazzi’s spotlight, after what his mother had done, was not high on his bucket list.
"Thank you, sir." He frowned at the mirror. He didn’t look quite like him. When Bruce agreed to let him officially become Robin, to appear in the public eye and work on an actual case, he hadn’t expected this. Neat suits, carefully perfected hair, and what he had now counted as almost 5 minutes straight of covering scars of unknown origin. A social performance. His orders were simple–be civil, introduce himself, and don’t stray off. If the press tried to talk to him, he was supposed to tell them his name was “Jason Wayne” and push as many questions off to Bruce as possible. It was for the case, he claimed, some sort of underground drug ring that had suspected upper class support due to unusually high grade shipping material and conveniently missing city records.
He had attempted a test run of the social interactions necessary for such a charity event, even a small one. He, rather quickly, realized that he wasn’t very good at it. Damian had very loudly pointed out that he neglected to cover his drink, which, frankly, Jason thought was the most polite of all of the things he pointed out. Posture, speech, slang, apparently even the way he leaned on things was “improper.” Bruce seemed mostly okay with his performance, but that man was also harder to read than Pride and Prejudice. He was struggling with that one. For all he knew, he was about to be disowned before even getting adopted because of being late.
"Jason?" Bruce’s head poked into the dressing room. "The event is in 20 minutes. I recommend you hurry, even if being fashionably late happens to be the new fad." Jason nearly wrinkled his nose. Why was he talking like that? He was usually more proper.
"Uh, sure. Alfred–"
"Already done, Master Jason." The man didn’t really smile very openly, but Jason thought he was proud. His chest puffed out ever-so-slightly, tucking his supplies behind his back. "Now, if only we had a way to cover the scar on your mouth. I’m sure I could find something waterproof, if required."
"No, no." Jason drew a hand up to his lip, touching the scar. "I like the scar." He already didn’t look like himself. Plus, Leo liked his scar, and so did Piper. Why would he have to cover it? "It’s special."
"If I may ask how you are so sure considering the fact you are not even aware of your last name?" Ah, judgement. His old friend.
"It feels special." Jason muttered, eyes locking onto the floor. "Uh, still, thank you, sir. Can I hug you? Do you like hugs?"
The briefest moment of hesitation passed between them, but it was gone in an instant. He wrapped his arms around the elder as he was enveloped in a soft hug, painfully aware of his strength as he did so. He just had to be gentle. Try to not squish him. He knew Alfred was strong, but his fears persevered through logic and reason.
"I was not aware I was made of glass, Master Jason. You need not be so cautious. Go along, now, you have a gala to attend." The comfort was gone as soon as it came. This house in itself had a sense of longing, of nostalgia and bittersweet memories. Jason didn’t think he had much of what could be called a family before. He didn’t think this was much better, but it was still better.
"Fix your collar." Damian reached up, appearing next to Bruce from behind the wall, smoothing the fabric down. He narrowed his eyes, staring at the scar on his mouth for a moment. "Don’t die. I would rather not deal with that paperwork."
"I hope I don’t?" Jason thought he sounded awkward. Leo and Piper were always better at jokes.
"Jason," Bruce tapped his shoulder. "Come on. We have a job to attend to."
"Yeah, yeah. I know. I promised." He ran a thumb over the cufflinks, cool metal against his skin.
It had been six months. Six months of training, leading up to this point.
All he had to do was not screw it up.
- - -
Dick read the article over again.
He was hoping he had missed something. Crucial evidence, some sort of proof that these claims were falsified. Proof that, after everything that had happened, he hadn’t lied. Not again.
Goddamnit, B.
Gotham Gazette. A, more or less, trustworthy source. Details, photos, proof matching dates and times that Bruce had mentioned. A gala, the one he had mentioned Damian sitting out from. Damn it, if he had paid more attention, if he had tried to reconnect earlier, maybe this wouldn’t be such an issue.
Maybe, if Bruce wasn’t such an asshole, this wouldn’t have happened in the first place.
A notification came across the top of his screen. Another link, from Tim. The Daily Planet.
New Wayne child threatens overcurious reporter.
Okay, maybe a lot could be done in 50 minutes.
- - -
Jason stared intently at his watch. The gala was supposed to start at 7:00.
They were two minutes late.
"Bruce, uh–"
"I know." Bruce cut in, not even speeding up the car. "Fashionably late. They know to expect this from me. You’ll be fine, kid."
"I don’t think we’re supposed to be late. Shouldn’t we be early? That proves respect, right?" He bounced his leg, trying and failing to regulate his breathing and heart rate.
"Calm down." He slowed down, if anything. "We’re not going in if you’re shaking like a leaf."
"Okay," Jason wasn’t sure what to make of that. Was it a gesture for him, or the public? Was Bruce trying to soothe his nerves, or improve his reputation?
Bright, flashing lights blinded him as they got closer. How they hadn’t crashed at this point was beyond him. He spared a glance at his watch again as they slowed to a stop in a crowd of ravenous photographers.
Two minutes and twenty-nine seconds late.
Bruce set the car into park, reaching up and adjusting his collar using the reflection of the window. The paparazzi scrambled and scattered for a chance for every possible angle, while the noise inside had almost come to a full stop.
Two minutes and thirty seconds late.
"If you need help, Jason, you can always call for me. If you catch a lead, mention it in the coms. There’s back-up recordings made for information storage, if required."
Two minutes and thirty-two seconds late.
Bruce was not permitted to unlock his own door, although he reached for the handle. A valet rushed over, opening the door for him. Jasonlocked eyes with them as they did so, and he swore he saw the exact moment their jaw went slack with shock. He reached for his own door, but they were already tripping over themselves to open it for him. Stepping out, and landing on the carpet for the first time.
Two minutes and thirty-three seconds late.
- - -
Bruce was used to galas.
Hands clutching at him, rabid, feral, and desperate. Questions barked by a cruel and unforgiving crowd, violent wolves snapping at the air from the very first scent of flesh. Bodyguards shoved them back, all too rough with the general public.
He gave them a perfect smile regardless, waving to the crowd. The cameras went into overdrive, flash after flash, microphones and recording devices shoved out of the way for the perfect shot.
"Who’s the new kid?"
"Can you address the rumors that you’re in a committed relationship with the Batman?"
"Is that your partner?"
Jason stumbled on the carpet next to him, pressing into his side and creasing the fabric there. Furrowed eyebrows, tensed posture, shaking hands, jaw clenched. Bruce had made a mistake, he was sure. Not enough training, not enough knowledge, and he’d dragged another child into the shark tank.
"Bruce!" A reporter waved at him from the edge of his vision, lanyard dangling from their neck. He clasped Jason’s hand within his, pulling the kid along with as much grace as he could muster. One foot in front of the other. "Can we get an introduction to your new friend?" Bruce knew this reporter–Gotham Gazette. More polite than the others, certainly.
"Jason." His breathing was starting to level out, thankfully. His eyes skimmed the crowd for a moment, shoulders squaring as he flashed them a smile as well. "Wayne. Jason Wayne." He pinned on, holding a hand out for the reporter to shake.
"Wayne? What's your relation to Mr. Wayne?" They leaned forward, more eager than they had been previously with Bruce.
"Adoptive son." Gasps sounded through the crowd, one of which he could barely pick out as “ Another one?”
"Brucie! Look over here sweetie, give us a smile!" He turned on his heel, obliging and giving the paparazzo an easy grin. Tall, dark, and handsome. That was what Harvey had called him, all those years ago. Children with too long of histories and too tired eyes.
"Hey, Brucie, long time no see!" A blond haired man waved him over, holding a glass of what he could only guess by his dazed appearance was an abnormally strong alcohol.
"Oh, really? Surely it hasn’t been that long, Bobby…" He reached out, tucking wisps of hair behind the other’s ear. The man hadn’t actually told him his name, but a quick search on the Batcomputer told him he was new money, a man named Robert Walton. The search had also told him that he had displaced an entire neighborhood for a factory that had at least three reports for human rights and health code violations in its young age. He’d forwarded the articles to Clark almost immediately. Brucie couldn’t write an article on unjust corporations, and Superman likely couldn’t either, but Clark Kent could.
"It has. " Walton groaned, leaning into the touch. "My company is doing horrible. Some falsified reports from some overzealous Daily Planet idiots… At this rate, I’ll have to start selling properties, or file bankruptcy."
So he wasn’t involved in the drug deal. Walton couldn’t have been, because he simply didn’t have the funds to. Bruce hadn’t intended to solve anything by shutting it down, other than improving the city, but with Clark’s efficiency and Lois’ intelligence working together, it had cleared his first suspect, saving vital time. He’d send an email about their commendable actions later.
"Oh, Bobby, I’d love to stay and dance with you, but I promised to talk to Ollie’s new friends." He reached down, running a thumb over the buttons on the other man’s jacket. Walton practically wilted, sighing heavily as he did so. Oliver would cover for him, most likely. He wasn’t dense. He’d be able to tell if he needed to lie for a mission, even if he hated going to these events. It was a charity event, technically. He wouldn't miss it, but he wouldn't be having anything that could be considered fun.
"Of course, Brucie. Call me. I can rent a penthouse for us, later…" He was never very smart with money, was he? Not very kind to his workers, either, so Bruce spared little sympathy for him.
"See you later, handsome." He separated himself from the drunken other, shaking his head.
Jason would do fine on his own. Bruce had a job to do.
- - -
Jason was not doing fine on his own.
Bruce was supposed to be next to him, to protect him. Jason didn’t know where he went. Last he saw, flirting with another, so jarringly different from the person he knew that he didn’t know what to make of it until the man had already disappeared into the crowd.
"Jason! Jason! Any comments on the housing crisis?
"Jace! Sweetheart, look at me! Give a big smile!"
"Why haven’t we seen you before now, Jason?"
"How do you feel in such a full house?"
Jason didn’t know what to do with the onslaught of questions and calls. He knew how to keep his mouth shut and flash people smiles against the glare of their camera. He knew how to make tough decisions, and how to lead confidently, even if he hated it. To cover emotions, to bluff.
He had no clue how to deal with a million and a half people shouting question after question at him.
So, naturally, he didn’t. He turned on his heel, following after where he’d last seen Bruce. Jason didn’t know where he was going, but if he had to guess, it was safer where his allies were.
The room was large, but certainly not as large as the cave. People had enough room to comfortably move about, especially considering many of them were in tight knotted groups, spare the wandering reporters and photographers allowed within the event. Warm lighting from the chandelier in the middle of the room illuminated the place, detailed and intricate crystalline features.
He took another step, shoes tapping softly on the wood, certainly not audible under all of the talking. Couples danced chest to chest in the center of the room, graceful and gentle, far more than he was. He scanned them, squinting.
There. That man was wearing Martha’s necklace. That was Bruce. Finally, he found him. Now they just had to find out who was up to–
Jason slammed face first into a reporter’s side.
In his defense, he hadn’t expected a Daily Planet reporter to have the same build and strength as a double fridge. The reporter snapped his head over, going a vibrant red as he scrambled to fix his glasses.
"I’m so sorry about that." He said, tucking his microphone closer to his body. His accent was southern, a faint twang under his nervous speech.
"I ran into you." Jason said lamely, glancing at Bruce for a moment. No, there was no help coming, clearly.
"You’re fine. Uh, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" He fished a few flashcards out of his pockets, holding out the microphone.
"Not at all." He smiled, edging closer to a table next to them.
"Oh, good, thanks! So, how do you feel about your fathers recent donations to charity?" The reporter held out the mic, eyes wide and excited.
"Uh… I’m not up to date with my fathers financial decisions." He shuffled in place as the other’s face fell.
"You’re right. These cards aren’t really fit for this occasion. I should make another deck." He laughed, flipping to the next card. "Lexcorp stock market crash… okay, I think I’ll make these up. Are you okay with that?"
"I’m fine with it." Jason forced a smile, tilting his head and trying to pretend he was at least mildly interested.
"How do you feel about the adoption process? Was it difficult? Simple? Do you think the convenience or lack-there-of depends on age or income?" He flipped out a notepad and pen, watching attentively.
"I thought it was convenient." He shrugged.
The reporter frowned. "Any other comment?"
"Nope." Why was he being so nosy? Bruce said to run for him if any paparazzi or reporters got too touchy, did this classify as that? He wanted to be nice to this person. They seemed alright. Still, too nosy.
"How do you feel in your new home?" The reporter inched closer. "How are your brothers?"
"I should really try to get back to my dad, right about now." Jason put his hands up, smile feeling more and more strained as he backed into a couples table. "Sorry." He whispered.
"Oh, no, I’m a friend of your father! Don’t worry, you don’t have to do that, kid."
That was a red flag. A major red flag. Bruce didn’t have friends. He glanced at the steak knife next to the woman's plate nearby.
"Leave me alone." His fingers twitched, nervous.
"I won’t hurt you, don't worry! I know your brothers, too, they–"
Jason lunged for the knife. It was at the older man's throat before the sentence was finished. Gasps from the table he grabbed it from, then the ones nearby. The camera clicks went silent for a moment. And then, they went into overdrive.
Chaos erupted. The woman clutched her purse close to her chest. Couples separated. One man dropped his drink and ran out the emergency exit screaming. The threatened reporter stared at him with wide, blank eyes. His heart pounded in his chest, breathing quick with adrenaline. The noise of shattering glass and discord blended into the background, muffled and muddled.
"Jason," a hand hooked around his arm, yanking the steak knife out of his hand. Bruce glanced between the two, deep blue eyes concerned. "I’m so sorry, Kent, but we should truly start going. Come along, now, Jason."
Bruce shook his head, knocking some perfectly combed back locks out of place. "We got what we needed."
-
The ride back to the cave was almost dead silent. Questions had been shouted at him, but he’d kept his head down and his steps quick. The worst political move he had ever pulled, certainly. He knew he could have done better. Another him, another Jason could have.
Bruce cleared his throat. "What happened today wasn’t entirely your fault." He said roughly. "And it didn’t fully compromise the mission."
Jason was guessing that was his version of an apology. He wasn’t sure he would get much better. He had already undone his cufflinks, and pulled his bowtie off, playing with the accessories in his lap.
"I was reckless." He corrected him. "And you were unwise to leave me alone, but you couldn’t have predicted that would happen."
"I didn’t think Clark would be that dumb, no. You defended yourself against a perceived threat. I cannot blame you for that." Bruce eased the pressure on the gas.
"I retrieved the information. Older man. Wearing gloves with trace amounts of cocaine on them. I collected a sample. We can test it when we get back."
"We?" Jason asked. "You’re letting me work on the case after that?"
Bruce sighed heavily. "Under heavy surveillance." He muttered. "And if I even suspect you plan on threatening another reporter, you’re being escorted to the cave. Immediately. "
Jason was okay with that. He got what he needed.
- - -
Another child.
Another child, who was most likely going to die, trying to meet a standard he set. Trying to fit a mold he made. Trying to use the title that he had first.
Dick was a natural born leader. This was his mistake. He should have known others would follow in his footsteps, that he would, intentionally or not, lead child after child to their death.
The promise Bruce had made with him was that there would be no more blood on his hands. That the title of Robin would be retired, because it had no use anymore. Because neither Dick nor Bruce wanted another child to fall in that costume.
It had taken about a month for him to break that, if he was considering training times.
The sun was setting. The moon was hardly visible tonight, a small sliver against the darkening sky. They would be going on patrol soon.
Dick was too late. His ETA was over 20 minutes. That was too much time. Too many chances. He glanced at his watch, then at the sky.
This new Robin, Jason. The name was a coincidence, he hoped. Still, he would make sure that this one stayed safe. He couldn’t keep Damian safe, but he could try with this one. Save one child, at the very least. He could do this.
Dick was going to keep at least one of his brothers safe.
- - -
"Stay close, stay alert." Batman growled next to him, perched on the edge of the rooftop.
Robin edged closer, the corners of his mentor’s cape wrapping around him in a tight embrace. "I know." He squinted at the dock as the ship got closer, carrying precious cargo in the form of what B had identified as what was nearing a whole ton of cocaine. Impure, sure, with some unknown chemicals that were still being tested, but still over 50% cocaine in the mixture. The stamps on the boxes were detailed, exactly like the ones that had been detained previously. He liked these domino masks. They were exceptionally convenient for missions at night, some sort of special lenses.
"Follow." Batman threw himself off the rooftop, using his cape to glide down safely. Robin grappled down after him, hitting the ground with a quiet thud. His feet went numb on impact, and he ran after the place his elder had disappeared in a dark alley. Whispers and mumbles were audible throughout the supposedly “abandoned” warehouse by the harbor, which was what they were exploring. Simple. Punch a guy, steal a larger sample of their drugs, get everyone off the drug shipment and wait for Jim Gordon to do his job. Nothing too complicated. This would be easy, hopefully.
"Robin," Batman whispered, peeking through the window. "I need you to leave."
"Why? What’s wrong?" He leaned forward, glancing through the boards too. There was nothing in there. Except, huh, some guy in a dumb green costume wig and a fashion design that would make the entirety of Cabin 10 want to start a fist fight.
"Robin, go. " Bruce’s breathing grew slightly strained, nervous.
The green haired man grinned, slowly turning towards the window. "We have some new friends!" He singsonged. "How lovely! A new birdie, just for me?"
Bruce pulled Jason closer, bringing the cape around him. The man stared at the place he was tucked, smile growing impossibly wider.
"Oh-ho-hoh! You and I are going to have so much fun."
- - -
It was well past dark when Dick arrived in Gotham.
He immediately activated his comm, running down the sidewalks as fast as he could. "Oracle, do you read?" His feet kept hitting the ground, but he didn’t know where he was going quite yet. Somewhere. Somewhere where he could contact Bruce and find a way to keep this new Robin safe.
"Nightwing," she said. Her typing was furious in the background, almost louder than her own voice. There was a faint, incessant beeping, too. He wasn’t sure what that was, but it couldn’t be good. "Jason and B are near Cherry Hills, at the port. An abandoned warehouse."
"How long have you known?" He asked, swiftly changing courses. That was relatively close. He had a chance to stop them.
"About the new Robin? Six months."
"Why didn’t you tell me?"
"It wasn’t relevant at the time. They’re in danger. Red Hood is unavailable. He’s with the Outlaws. Red Robin is too far. I tried contacting Spoiler and Orphan but they’re busy on a date. Their comms aren’t active. Which should really be something we fix. I get wanting a work life balance, but you don’t get the luxury of days off as a vigilante, and–" Dick wanted to listen to her, but his hands were already shaking.
"Oracle, what happened? Why are they in danger?"
"Jason wasn’t trained for this properly. I should have told Bruce to keep him home." Barbara sighed, her breath shaky. "He wasn't supposed to be there. It was supposed to be simple."
"Spit it out, please."
"The Joker showed up."
Notes:
god fucking damn it Bruce you did it again.
Bruce: if I had a nickel for every time I had a son named Jason with an alcoholic mother I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot, but its weird that it happened twice.
Chapter 6: confrontations
Summary:
He had promised. That was important, even if he couldn’t remember why. He clung to his sheets, craving something he couldn’t quite pin down. Someone. Someone who had been gone for a very, very long time. Someone he could never get back.
Jason buried his face into his pillow, trying to smother the tears starting to prick at the edges of his eyes. He wasn’t allowed to cry. He wasn’t supposed to cry. He wouldn’t cry. He could want to, but he refused to actually do it.
Jason missed Leo. And he wouldn’t be able to get him back for a very, very long time.- - -
Dick Grayson is not having a great time. Bruce Wayne is also, not having a great time. Not to be a one upper, but Jason Grace is probably having a worse time.
Notes:
i am sorry.
tws: known minor character death, gore, fire, explosions, graphic depictions of violence.
just.
sorry.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was almost impressive how quickly things could devolve into disorder.
Fighting was simple. Second nature to him. And considering how these people were behaving, it didn’t seem like they shared the sentiment. Robin was almost proud of himself–his training had clearly gone well.
His fist slammed into the chest of the man closest to him, knocking him to the ground wheezing. Wind rushed through his hair, touseling it playfully as he kicked the side of another goon approaching them. This was going fine. Why was Batman so nervous?
The older man was practically shaking in his suit, not even once turning his back to the weird clown guy despite the odd and improvised fighting techniques he had to use for it. The clown kept giggling, which Robin could admit was weird. This wasn’t a gladiator fight. It wasn’t supposed to be a show.
Something slammed into his back, and he stumbled forward onto his knees, choking. There was no way to prepare for getting the wind knocked out of you–it just happened, and it kind of sucked in his eyes. The goon who did it circled around, hands visibly quivering around the pistol they clutched, and breathing heavily. Terrified, pupils tiny and eyes wide. More notably, wearing a familiar stained hoodie.
"Xavier–?" He coughed, shoving himself to his feet.
Xavier yelped, swinging wildly at his face with one hand. From the noise that occurred when his knuckles made contact with Robin’s mask, he was guessing that he wouldn’t be doing that again anytime soon. "Fuck! Ow–How do you know my name?"
His breathing hitched, staggering back. He was not Jason. He needed to remember that. Robin didn’t know Xavier. He had to admit though, it was a decent intimidation tactic.
"Surrender. If you quit, you might have a chance at a good job. Wayne Enterprises is hiring. If you go there, you won’t have to keep running." He reached for his belt, pulling a batarang out. He didn’t want to use it.
He would if he had to.
"You’re lying. You don’t care about me." Xavier gasped, shaking his head vigorously. Locks of messy brown hair fell into his eyes from under the hood.
"You’d have a chance at an actual life." Robin bargained, running over the blade with the thumb of his glove.
Batman slammed into another criminal, a blur of black movement. A shout of anger as he was disarmed and handcuffed, impossibly efficient. More efficient than Jason, maybe, but if he could convince someone to quit the job for good, that would make it worth it. Xavier’s eyes darted between the batarang and the older man, grip on the gun tightening and lip quivering. He didn’t look any older than 16, if Jason was being honest.
"My mom told me I should stop. But she can’t work anymore, and she needs food, so–"
"I’ll take care of that." Robin threw the batarang, pinning another man to the wall by the fabric of his shirt. Close enough to the collar that he couldn’t immediately rip it, and digging into a crack within the concrete so he couldn’t pull it out. Maybe he was ready for this. Maybe his training had worked."I’ll make sure you’re safe, okay? Drop the gun."
Xavier stared at him, slowly beginning to raise his weapon.
"Promise?" He whispered, voice so soft he could hardly hear it.
"I promise."
The gun clattered to the floor.
"Thank you." Robin sighed, reaching for the others shoulder to hold. He looked on the verge of tears. A criminal, but still a child. He was still human. He deserved sympathy.
"Boooring. Where's the fun one, Bats?" The green haired man rolled his eyes dramatically, lounging on a drug crate behind the boy he was attempting–and failing–to comfort. "How about I spice things up a little?" He flicked a water gun out of his pocket, pointing it directly at him. A water gun? What was that going to do in a fight–
"Robin, get down!" Bruce barked. Xavier shifted, starting to turn. Directly into the line of fire.
The bang was deafening in such a small space. His ears rang, louder than his pounding heartbeat and the throb of his head. Louder than the cut off scream of the boy in front of him. Louder than the splatters of blood and brain onto his clothing as Xavier slumped forward, directly onto him before slowly sliding down to the floor with a trail of blood, flesh, and skull fragments.
The air was metallic and thick. It smelled like gunpowder. It smelled like blood, or maybe that was the dark scarlet clinging to him. The youth’s face was mutilated, a shot directly through one of his wide brown eyes. A shot meant for Jason.
He stumbled back, the stained hoodie the youth wore turning different shades of a pained red as blood seeped through the fabric. He didn’t hurt, yet. He felt numb. He felt like he needed to run, but his muscles were frozen in place.
"Oh, that's much better. Are you scared, little birdie?" The murderer cackled, swirling the gun on his finger. It had a bang flag painted onto the side, disrupting the neon polkadot theme. It didn’t look like a weapon. The man in front of him did not look like a murderer.
Maybe they weren’t supposed to.
"They don’t make Robins like they used to, do they, Bats? That’s okay. I’ll make sure you get a new one!" He giggled, raising the gun to point at the ceiling. Jason was petrified. He couldn’t move. Blood that was not his own stained his clothing, for once shed unintentionally. He was supposed to be stronger than this. His training–
His training didn’t mean anything, he quickly realized. Batman lunged for him, shoving him to the ground and screaming something desperate he couldn’t make out.
The building was engulfed in flames quicker than Jason could blink. He felt… numb. He could barely remember curling into a ball to protect his vital organs as the debris started to fall. After all of his training, his history, he should have known. They didn’t have to have an odd number of eyes, too many legs, or claws.
Monsters could appear human, too.
---
The building exploded before his very own eyes.
Dick had been mere seconds too late. If he had run faster, if he had gotten ready quicker, this would never have happened. He could have fixed it.
Smoke and flames billowed out of the half barricaded windows, cinders and debris following. He skidded to a stop in front of one of the doors, fishing out a gas mask.
"Nightwing. Nightwing, you need to find another way. You’re going to be burned. Firefighters are already dispatched." Oracle ordered. "Getting yourself killed won’t help them." He fitted the mask onto his face. He knew that, damn it. But if he was quick enough, he could catch him. He could give him what he deserved. Maybe trip him, watch him fall into his own flames. Beat him to death for the second time.
"Let Alfred know we’ll be in the infirmary soon. He should have time to prepare for our arrival." Dick rushed forward, searing heat engulfing him. His suit was heat resistant. He just had to tolerate this long enough, long enough to help. It prickled at his skin, no matter how much was covered, causing him to shiver.
"Nightwing–" The comm fizzled out, melting. Unprepared for such temperatures. He’d find a way to fix that, later. Right now, his primary focus was the piles of debris through the smoke and dust. Gloves scraping against concrete and rebar, digging through the piles for any sign of life. Too many people. Too many corpses.
He couldn’t find Robin. His heartbeat rose. If this motherfucker killed another one of his siblings–he couldn’t, no. Breathing should have been easy in the mask, but he found himself gasping for air. The pain became an afterthought. He needed to calm down. He needed to stay composed. He needed to find the new Robin, and then Bruce, and–
Dick’s glove made contact with something new. Moving, if barely. He shoved the concrete out of the way, lifting the child up.
The boy’s mask was cracked, revealing soft pink lips and a pale scar over his mouth. He had been curled up to protect himself–smart kid–and though he was big, he was certainly still young. His cape was bloodied and torn. What had happened to him? There was so much blood, all over the child. He needed to get him out, as soon as possible.
He pulled the boy against his chest, which was immediately met with a quiet noise of protest. "Get off of me." The teen whimpered, pressing a hand to Nightwing’s suit.
He nearly dropped the child, stumbling. Where on Earth or Mars had he hidden a taser? More crafty than he gave him credit for, certainly.
"Robin, I’m trying to help you." Dick cradled the youth, rushing for the door.
"I don’t need help–ow! Where’s–where’s B?" Robin stuttered. The cold night air outside was bliss. Sirens screeched in the distance, too late. Just as he had been.
"Here," Bruce dropped from the second story window, overdramatic black cape curling with vibrant orange flames. "I was looking for you. Robin, chum–" The boy shook his head, causing the older man to trail off. What was he thinking?
Robin sank to the ground, suit covered in burned and melted flesh. His shoulders were tense, jaw tight. He seemed reserved. Tense, maybe.
"I’m alright." He muttered as Dick reached for him.
"So that’s not your blood?" He tried to keep his tone light, smirking as he pulled the gas mask off.
"Criminal’s. His name was Xavier. Teenager. Was planning on quitting the job." He muttered.
Well, hell. First day, too. Luck was not on this kid’s side. Although, to be fair, luck had abandoned him the second he took this job. "We won’t be able to save everyone. I know how hard it is to come to terms with that, at first. Do you want help getting up? Where’s the Batmobile?" He asked, turning to Batman.
The man grunted, stomping the fire out from his cape. "Around a block down. Can you two walk that far?"
"I’ll do fine, B. Robin?" Rage boiled inside his veins, seething hot, more, maybe, than the fire next to them. He had recklessly endangered a child. Several. For the mission. He had been more distant recently, too. Months between calls and texts, even before the new Robin. He was quieter, and brooding even more than usual. It was already exhausting, and now Bruce had to start this? He had to start being reckless again, after they had gotten so close to bonding?
"I’m alright." The blond coughed, raising a hand to cover his mouth as he choked on the smoke. He had yet to raise his left hand the entire conversation. Favoring? Or coincidence? "I’m not dead. I’m fine."
Robin attempted to get to his feet, balancing himself with the palms of his hands. He winced as his left hand touched the concrete, but didn’t comment on it. Dick looped an arm around him, which the boy immediately shied away from.
He was injured and, probably, scared. Terrified, even. His first day on the job, covered in someone else's blood. Yet he didn’t cry or shake, even if Dick had expected him to. A child, thrust into battle for supposedly the first time. No one would blame him for being upset. And yet, he wasn’t Either this new kid was trained exceptionally well by Bruce, or they were exceptionally tough. Either way, it didn’t quell his anger.
Either way, Bruce had still hurt a child using a nickname that his mother had given him, which had so quickly become a curse.
-
Dick sat on the cot next to Jason.
He was starting to suspect that the kid had been trained for longer than the six months Bruce had claimed. He sat with perfect posture, zero comment as Alfred tended to his wounds. He was oddly stoic for a kid. Not like Damian, who was more violent and independent when they had first gotten him. Just blank, icy blue eyes, narrowed slightly in scrutiny.
"Who was that?" Jason’s tone was calmer than expected. Cool, composed. Had Bruce’s training worked that well? Dick doubted it. He trained ways to keep steady during a fight–not complete stoicism. And what was B even doing, not teaching him the major rogues? Villains he should have been wary of, ones he needed to know how to protect himself against. And how new was he to Gotham if he didn’t even know who the Joker was?
"An enemy." Bruce grunted.
"He’s not an enemy, he’s a monster." Jason countered. "Who is he? What is he?"
"The Joker." The name was sour on Dick’s tongue. The kid had his facts straight, at least. If he ever got his hands on him again, he’d–
"Kill him." Jason muttered. "I think we should kill him. I hope that fire did."
"Robin," Bruce whispered. "We can’t do that. We need to follow the justice system."
"He killed a teenager. The justice system can’t be this–this blind. Battles should be more honorable. He’s of no use or loyalty to us. If anyone had any sense he would be crucified and killed." Jason’s voice was passionate, more than he had expressed previously.
"Battles aren’t always honorable, kid."
"They’re supposed to be." He waved his right hand into the air–holding remarkably still as Alfred wrapped his left to set it, mind you–and Dick’s eyes caught on something he hadn’t seen before, A tattoo of some kind. It moved too quickly for him to see, but it was intriguing nonetheless. In most states, tattoos required approval from a legal guardian before 18. He doubted Bruce would sign off on that, considering how protective and paranoid he was of identities, so how had he gotten that? Were his parents alive, like Tim’s had been when he’d first become Robin? What happened?
"Your arm." Dick said before Bruce could respond to Jason’s comment. "What happened to it?"
"Explosion." He said dryly, gesturing at Alfred.
"The other one. Can I see it?" He stood, holding a hand out for Jason. The boy squinted further, scrutinizing him, watching with a gaze that made him feel like he intended to hunt him for sport, before slowly raising his right arm.
Some sort of tattoo, maybe. An eagle at the top, followed by the letters SPQR. Senatus PopulusQue Romanus . The senate and the people of Rome. How was that relevant? The Roman had been inactive recently. A plot by him? It hardly looked like a tattoo, either. A brand, maybe. What was this kid’s history?
"This looks like it was burned into your skin." He noted, running a hand over the mark.
"It was." Jason responded plainly, pulling his hand back. His fingers tightened into fists as Alfred continued his work, the slightest indication of pain.
Dick had seen it though. It wasn’t a trick of the light. It wasn’t something he’d imagined, even if it was only for a second. He knew what he saw. He knew what it was, what it meant. Tiny sparks, shooting off from closed fists. Jason wasn’t just strong, or resilient.
The newest Robin was a metahuman.
- -
Jason didn’t quite understand what he had done wrong. He thought this new person was interesting. He resembled Bruce, with the same gentle smile and caring touch. His hair was longer, and his skin was a bit darker, but they certainly looked like family. His name was Dick which Jason still thought was confusing, if a bit amusing,
"Are you feeling better?" Alfred had finished with his broken arm a while ago. Dick had run off before then, dragging Bruce with him. Jason was feeling better, but there was still a hollowness in his chest. Pain. Anger. The noise of the shot being fired looping over and over until he felt like he wanted to rip his ears off. The burns, now treated, made his body feel numb and all too warm. He wanted an Advil, or something. He wanted to hide in a blanket until he could forget the stinging smell and the feeling of the thick liquid clinging to his skin and costume, until he could forget the promises he broke and the pain between his shoulder blades.
"Yeah. Thank you."
Alfred tucked hair behind his ear. "Should I make you tea?"
The thought of eating or drinking anything at the moment nauseated Jason, even though he thought that Alfred’s tea was absolutely lovely. "No, thank you, sir. I’m tired."
"Is there anything else you need, Master Jason?" He seemed very paternal, caring. Jason absently wondered if he had kids. Alfred seemed like he’d be a good parent.
"Can you get me extra blankets? I don’t know where they are. I forgot."
- -
"You forgot."
Bruce sighed, looking away from his son for a moment. "I was busy."
"You were so busy that you forgot to tell me that you were adopting a new child? "
"I had a lapse in judgement."
"It wasn’t a lapse in judgement, Bruce, it was the kind of mistake that got Jason killed the first time. Not only that, but he’s a meta. You know damn well you didn’t have to take him in! You could have sent him to Taos, but you didn’t. Are you that desperate to throw children into the line of fire?" Dick dug his nails into the grain of the table. He was so smart, and so strong, but still so angry. And his words still stung, still hurt as much as they had when he was his Robin. He was right. He had endangered a child. It was his fault. If he had been more patient with his training, then this would have never happened. If he had been more honest with Dick, then they wouldn’t be here right now.
"I didn’t know he was going to be there. And don’t bring Jason up, you know this isn’t about him." The walls of the cave echoed his voice, making it seem louder than it was. Angrier. Bruce was angry , but not at Dick. At himself.
"Is it? Are you sure? Jason already forgave you! But you can’t mend those bridges until you forgive yourself. We can’t control your actions, but we can help those afflicted." He slammed a slip of paper on the work table, hard. "Tell Robin he can call that if he needs me, ever. If you try to call it, I’m blocking your number. You have other support, if you ever could bother to ask ."
His oldest had been angrier, recently. More arguments, even before the new Robin. He was louder than before. Why had Dick gotten like this? It certainly wasn’t a teenage phase–the man was in his mid twenties. What had Bruce done to make him so upset after they had gotten so close to bonding?
"Dick, I was trying to help him." Dick had already reached a motorcycle that was leaning against another workbench, one that hadn’t turned out how he had liked. He’d been planning to scrap it for parts, but it was complete. The engine started up. Bruce knew for a fact that he wouldn’t let him try to make him stay. It was a lost cause.
"You were trying to help yourself."
---
Sleeping was difficult.
Even wrapped up in three different blankets, Jason felt like there was a warmth he was missing, both inside and outside. His body should have been numb because of the medications Alfred had given him, but the pain through his chest persisted.
He had promised. That was important, even if he couldn’t remember why. He clung to his sheets, craving something he couldn’t quite pin down. Someone. Someone who had been gone for a very, very long time. Someone he could never get back.
Jason buried his face into his pillow, trying to smother the tears starting to prick at the edges of his eyes. He wasn’t allowed to cry. He wasn’t supposed to cry. He wouldn’t cry. He could want to, but he refused to actually do it.
Jason missed Leo. And he wouldn’t be able to get him back for a very, very long time.
Notes:
how are you feeling..? do you like the fic? are you tired of it? yeahhh sorry about that. buckle up.
I finished this in my class lmaooo sorry this ones only 3.4k words :CC. do I feel bad about Xavier? a bit. had to do it for the character development chat I promise I have so many plans. hey, at least it wasn't Jason though??
Chapter 7: copycat.
Summary:
"But I didn’t end up helping you or him. I broke my promise. I was too confident. I was reckless. Praising your soldiers for a bad job is wrong–you’re training your dogs wrong." He raised a hand to his mouth, tracing over the scar there.
Soldiers? Dogs? What did Jason see himself as?
"You were not my soldier. You were an ally. And you didn’t do anything wrong." Are. Not were, are.
"A hero is supposed to help people." Jason was still avoiding eye contact with him. His head was tilted ever so slightly, neck bared to him. Jason’s comparison of himself to a dog wasn’t good for his self esteem, but it seemed almost accurate. Loyal, and far too eager to please people.
"A hero tries for the betterment of the people and the world. We do not fight crime because we think we can make Gotham perfect–we fight because we can make it better. Saving one person is better than saving no one." He reached out, offering a hand to the boy. A re-assurance that Superman had provided him once, after a particularly tough mission. Not word for word, of course. Bruce didn’t need the affirmation. He appreciated it from his friend anyway.
Notes:
*cracks knuckles* its overused Jason Todd angst (ish) time, baby!
uhm. do I have a tw for this chapter. Bruce gets a gun pointed at him, which is shockingly tame compared to the last few chapters. I'm having a moment.
I was also informed that a friend at my school reads this + my shotty valgrace writing. Well, then. hi fella! hi ash! enjoy this I suppose lmaooo?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Bruce knew that Jason was awake.
Some may call cameras and vital monitors invasive. A breach of privacy, even. Bruce preferred to call them precautions. And, they were remarkably helpful for dealing with children, considering he didn’t have to guess if he was about to awaken a very tired, angry Robin or not.
With what happened tonight, he doubted that Jason would even be able to fall asleep. The vital monitors could help him detect nightmares, at least.
"Jason," He tapped on the door of the guest bedroom Jason was staying in. They hadn’t moved him yet. He already struggled enough with the layout. He didn’t need any other disturbances.
Soft shuffling from within, then the door creaked open. The boy did not look tired in the slightest, his eyes wide and alert, muscles tensed. There was a blanket wrapped around him, hair wild and messy. "Yeah?"
"I felt I should…talk to you about what happened."
Jason’s expression fell into something more serious. Upset, maybe.
"I didn’t mean to lie to him. I didn’t know what would happen. I should have been more careful, you’re right. I let my emotions get in the way, but it still wasn’t right that he wasn’t persecuted, and–"
"That’s not what I’m here to talk about." Bruce sighed. Self esteem was important. Understanding what it meant to be a vigilante was more so. "Your actions were… commendable. You tried to make things better." He looked away. "Even if you failed, even if no one recognized it, the important thing was that you tried. You weren’t there to punch someone. You were there to help."
"But I didn’t end up helping you or him. I broke my promise. I was too confident. I was reckless. Praising your soldiers for a bad job is wrong–you’re training your dogs wrong." He raised a hand to his mouth, tracing over the scar there.
Soldiers? Dogs? What did Jason see himself as?
"You were not my soldier. You were an ally. And you didn’t do anything wrong." Are. Not were, are.
"A hero is supposed to help people." Jason was still avoiding eye contact with him. His head was tilted ever so slightly, neck bared to him. Jason’s comparison of himself to a dog wasn’t good for his self esteem, but it seemed almost accurate. Loyal, and far too eager to please people.
"A hero tries for the betterment of the people and the world. We do not fight crime because we think we can make Gotham perfect–we fight because we can make it better. Saving one person is better than saving no one." He reached out, offering a hand to the boy. A re-assurance that Superman had provided him once, after a particularly tough mission. Not word for word, of course. Bruce didn’t need the affirmation. He appreciated it anyway.
"But I didn’t save anyone. That’s the problem." He whispered, shoving himself to his feet instead.
"You tried."
Jason looked back, tilting his head. "You’re not mad at me?" He asked, eyebrows drawing together. He seemed cautious. Scared, for just a moment. What had made him act like that? What caused that?
"No. You did…" He hesitated, searching for the word. "... good. " He settled on. He hoped the boy could accept that praise, at least. Jason stared at Bruce with wide eyes for a split second.
He lunged, tackling him to the bed.
Or, maybe that was an exaggeration. Jason couldn’t shove him around. But his grip was tight, body still warm from the blankets. He clung to Bruce with all his might in a hug, squeezing his eyes shut. He suppressed a flinch at the sudden contact, not yet reciprocating.
"Thanks." Jason muttered.
"Which is why I’m putting you off duty."
Jason let go almost immediately, taking a step back. "Wait, what? Why? I thought you said I did good!"
"I did. However, I clearly didn’t train you well enough. You froze mid fight. The guilt of the battle is still weighing on you, is it not? I will go solo again, and I can re-train you in the meantime." Bruce kept his voice neutral as he spoke. Jason didn’t need the news softened for him. He wasn’t ready.
"It was a mistake!"
"Mistakes cost lives." Bruce knew that all too well, how hard that was to understand at first. How hard it was to accept that, while Robin could make mistakes, they still had consequences.
"I made a promise to him. I promised I’d take care of his problems. I need to fulfill that promise. I need to stick to my word. I won’t make any more mistakes, just don’t force me to retire." Jason’s words were pleading, but his voice was demanding.
"And if your mistakes lead to the death of innocent people?"
"They won't. I won’t make mistakes this time. I’ll study harder. I’ll train more. But I won’t break my word."
Bruce sighed, reaching for his pocket. He always had to pick the stubborn ones, didn’t he? The ones with his mother’s same determined eyes and his fathers soft smile.
He slipped the folded piece of paper out. "Fine. But if you make a mistake, there won’t be a third chance. We can tie up his loose ends tomorrow. Go to bed. I certainly won’t be sending you out on an hour of sleep."
"I’ll make you proud." Jason grinned. The first time Bruce had seen him do that. By the minute, Dick’s comment was becoming more accurate. He could claim it was chance all he’d like.
His smile reminded him of Jason.
- - -
Jason’s chest hurt again.
He refused to break his promises. He refused to make mistakes. He refused to cry. He would be a good soldier, and he would ignore the pain piercing through his torso as he stalked towards the targeted apartment. He trailed after his mentor, night dimly lit by broken street lights along the sidewalk.
"Is this near where I got stabbed?" He whispered, trying to keep his voice as quiet as possible. The night air was mischievous, he thought. It stole his words and spread them as far as it could, as loud as it could.
"No. And it shouldn’t matter if it is." Batman replied coolly, slipping around the corner of a building. He did that a lot. He was different on patrol, in Jason’s mind. More… standoffish. Colder. Which was good, professionalism was important. Jason could understand the switch. Maybe he was too casual. He should work on that. But he could tell that Bruce Wayne and The Batman were two different people, even if he couldn’t tell which one was real.
They utilized the same skills, in different ways. Bruce walked quietly, avoiding waking other members of the household up as he worked early mornings or late nights. Batman walked quietly, avoiding alerting criminals of his presence. Bruce used his strength to pick up Ace or carry Damian to bed, but Batman used his strength to hold down criminals and protect children. Maybe neither was a mask. Maybe both were the same man.
Jason wasn’t sure if Robin was a mask to him or not. He stood for the same things, costumed or not. A costume did not give a man courage, and a mask did not provide him freedom of the consequences of his actions. Was Robin supposed to be a mask? Was he supposed to change?
Wind circled him playfully, tossing his cape up and down. It didn’t touch Batman, which was only a bit confusing. Maybe the other’s cape was heavier. He jumped over the broken front steps of a run down building, and although the sign had dirty and missing letters, he could still partially read it. GUN S SCHO L FOR BOYz. The last letter, which Jason was guessing was supposed to be an S, was graffitied over with a Z. He wondered if some of those letters were pulled off intentionally, some sort of weird joke.
"What’s that?" Jason gestured at the building, glancing into the room from the window. There were desks scattered around, anything more useful clearly picked clean, including a dust mark where a whiteboard probably should have been.
"Ma Gunn’s school for boys. Criminal front." Batman muttered. "Another Robin took it down."
" I took it down."
Robin whirled around, holding out a batarang to the new person’s face. It was swiped from his hand faster than he could even blink.
"Red Hood," Batman’s voice was as cold as the night around them, tight and forced. "Oracle informed me you weren’t back yet."
The man he spoke to was almost exactly Jason’s height, but far more physically imposing. A mask covered his whole face, a cropped leather jacket hanging from his shoulders. A gun was clutched in his right hand, the swiped batarang in the other. The air was thick and heavy around them, as if it too was bracing itself for what was to come.
"Plans change." He grunted dismissively, glancing down at Jason. "And so do you, clearly. You told NW that there wouldn’t be another."
"It was necessary." Batman growled, turning his head away.
"Like it was the last 7 times." The Red Hood muttered sarcastically. "Who’s he? And why are you coming over here again? Nothing new happened ‘round here in a while. Nothing noteworthy for you anyways."
"I’m Robin." Jason wasn’t sure how he felt about this new person. They were snarky and arrogant, as far as he could tell. He wasn’t the biggest fan of them, and they clearly had too much of a say over Batman’s emotions, which Jason had hardly thought he had on patrol before last night.
"It’s almost like I already knew that." Red Hood sighed. "What do you want, Bruce? I’m not a little kid anymore. You don’t have to watch over me."
Jason froze. Bruce? That wasn’t–how did he know that? He wasn’t supposed to know that!
"Case." Batman grunted, unaffected by the use of his real name. "Drug dealing. Suspected involvement from the upper class. Dangerous fillers mixed in."
"So you turn to me. What did I even expect?" Red Hood groaned, tapping on a holstered gun at his waist. It had little engravings on the side, not too different from the doodles that Jason remembered from the mansion. "Fine. I know a bit about this. A bit, so don’t expect me to do the case for ya’." He cracked his knuckles, digging in his pockets for a second before tossing a USB harddrive over. Batman snatched it out of the air smoothly, slipping it into his toolbelt.
"You expected this exactly, apparently." Bruce dared to even smirk at the joke.
"Well, damn. You got me there. I figured you’d be visiting. Stayed prepared."
"As I taught you." Bruce nodded in acknowledgement. So they were allies. That was… okay? They didn’t act like allies. They didn’t seem like friends, but Jason couldn’t even try to imagine them genuinely going for the other's throat. Weird. He thought allies were supposed to be something else.
"So, B, ready to tell me who the new Robin is? I know Dami retired, good on him, but you seriously couldn’t hold back for what, one month with that timeline?" Red Hood gestured at Jason, leaning forward. He didn’t seem like someone he’d want to team up with. Confident, which was good, but unpredictable and aggressive. Too cheeky. Too full of himself.
"His identity is his to reveal."
"I’m…" Jason’s eyes flicked to the security cameras hesitantly, pausing.
"They’re broken, kid. And they definitely don’t pick up audio. Still, if it helps, I can fix that for you." Red Hood yanked out his gun, not even pausing to properly aim as he fired two shots directly into the security camera, sending sparks flying. Disgusting. Bruce had tech designed, specifically to dampen things over a certain amount of decibels. The bang was still audible though, and the playful wisps of smoke curling around the gun were certainly clear. As previously assumed, unpredictable. And apparently, needlessly violent.
"Jason." Robin muttered.
Red Hood tilted his head. "I meant your name." He laughed, holstering his gun. Jason was guessing his belt was lined with some sort of fireproof material–not impossible, when Batman was involved.
"That is my name. Jason." He repeated. What was this guy even talking about?
"No, that’s my name." The Red Hood nudged him.
"Guess we share a name then." Jason didn’t see the issue. It was a pretty common name, he had to admit that.
"Your name is… Jason."
The alleyway went dead silent. The Red Hood stared at Bruce, who stared back with his jaw clenched.
"Like, the hero?" Jason clarified. Why were they looking at each other like that? What was the issue with the name Jason? "We’re name twins, or something." That was what Leo had called it with the other Jason from Cabin 10. Name twins. He thought it was pretty cool.
"You knew about that." Red Hood said slowly. "And you…"
"I wasn’t about to turn away an injured child because he shared a name." Bruce shifted slightly, avoiding eye contact with him.
"But–you didn’t even talk to me! Why can’t you just accept I’ve moved on? I don’t live for you, Bruce! I don’t fight for you! I fight for Gotham!" He seemed suddenly… different. Jason couldn’t pin it. Like… a mask. A mask that had just been violently ripped off.
"Jason. Calm down. I understand that, but–"
"No! You know what? Tell Alfred I hope he’s a good soldier. Get out of my alley."
"I didn’t choose him because of you."
"Like hell you didn’t!" The Red Hood yanked the gun out again, leveling it at Bruce. "Get out."
He was aiming for the bat symbol. That was the strongest part of his armor. He didn’t seem to want to hurt him, as far as Jason could tell. A shot there at point blank might bruise Bruce’s ribs, but he’d doubt it would do more.
Batman took a careful step back, turning away. Jason hardly had the time to look up as he grappled to the rooftop, moving far too swiftly. He really was like an actual bat.
"See you later." Jason offered awkwardly.
The other Jason pointed the gun at him instead. "I hope not."
Jason wasn’t about to fight that. He launched himself onto the rooftop and didn’t look back until he was sure he had caught up with Bruce, heart pounding as his boots slammed against the old concrete.
"Batman," he gasped, trying to level his breathing. "What was his deal?"
"Former Robin. Old ally. Ex-protege." Bruce kept walking. "It’s irrelevant. You promised to help that woman. Follow through with it."
Right, Xavier’s mom. He’d nearly forgotten. He had loose strings to tie up. Even though the thought hurt, a little. Broken promises always felt like a stab through the heart.
Jason’s chest hurt again.
- - -
"You didn’t tell me."
Dick had only just gotten back from patrol when Jason called him. He hadn’t wanted to pick up, exactly–his little siblings were awfully tiring–but he did anyway. He wanted to be there for them, if Bruce wasn’t.
"Tell you what, little wing?" He groaned, sitting up in his bed. Patrol hadn’t been particularly rough, but it was Blüdhaven– it was never easy.
"He got a new Robin." Jason’s voice was low, and clearly angry. "One with my name."
Dick sighed. "Jay, hate to tell you this, it was a coincidence."
"You seriously believe that?" Jason demanded, a sudden bang sounding on his line.
"Listen, I don’t know what I should believe, but don’t take it out on him. You can ask Bruce about the other Jason, I hardly know him."
"Do you even care that he broke the promise he made?"
Dick paused. Did he? Yes. His mothers nickname was already tainted with the blood of children, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t get worse. Even if, as a leader, the blood was on his hands if another followed his footsteps. That didn’t make it the child’s fault, though.
"I do care." He sighed. "Just don’t take it out on him. "
Silence from the other end for a few seconds, then his voice got quieter. "Fine, have it your way." A soft beep followed him as the call ended.
Dick stretched, setting his phone down for a moment. He didn’t tell Jason. He didn’t tell him what he was supposed to. What he had wanted to. The fact that Jason–the little Jason–was a meta. It would be fine. Big Jason could figure it out on his own, and it didn’t change his feelings anyways.
Jason still cared. He claimed he didn’t, but he did. He cared about his family, yes, but he also still cared about Bruce and his attention. Dick knew better than anyone how heartbreaking it was to see your name passed onto another.
Bruce cared too. He cared about the death, but more than anything not being there for his kids. He didn’t do as well of a job as hiding it as he thought he did. He cared about them, but he didn’t know how to express it.
Dick’s phone buzzed beside him, the screen lighting up with an unknown caller ID. He pulled it off his bedside, taking a deep breath.
"Hey," he offered as he answered.
"Hi. How does this thing work?" The voice was soft, nervous.
"Who is this?" Dick asked, raising a hand to the phone to twirl the cord around his hand–and promptly forgetting that cell phones didn’t have those.
"Jason." Shuffling from the other end, and something that sounded a lot similar to a coffee maker powering on. Babs’, maybe?
He frowned, confused for a split second. Ah, wait. The new Jason. This was going to get confusing, quick. "Hey, kid. You got a problem?"
"Small one." Jason paused, yawning. "Uh, who’s the other guy? Tall, buff?" The… other guy. Impressively vague statement for him to understand.
"The Red Hood? Yeah, Jason’s a lot. Although, if you buy him a book annotating kit or something, he’ll probably chill out with you." He sighed. "It’s four in the morning, Jason. I think you should head to bed."
Shuffling noises, again, then a few seconds of silence. "Ow. Burned my tongue. Damnit. Uh, no, I’ll be… okay. Uh, so, why does he have the same name as me? I mean, not like that's an issue or anything, but he seemed annoyed, you know?"
"He’s not on the best terms with Bruce. None of us are. Not to project or anything, but he’s kind of a dick." Dick reached for the light, turning it off. He wrinkled his nose at the realization he had to wait for his eyes to adjust–usually, the lenses in his mask did that on their own. He was too used to being out on patrol by now.
"Damian seems fine with him." Jason’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper. Definitely not quiet enough for the Wayne household, though. He clearly wasn’t used to it, quite yet, even if he was adapting remarkably well.
"He’s stronger than the rest of us, apparently." He dropped into his bed, pulling the blanket half over himself. "My apartment is open, plus any safehouses, if he gets too –" Dick fell silent mid sentence. Noise sounded in the background.
A very recognizable noise.
- - -
"Why are you up?"
Jason slammed the phone onto the counter, pressing his numbed tongue against the roof of his mouth. Oh, sweet father, did that man ever approach someone normally instead of appearing beside them? Bruce’s voice was low and gritty. Annoyed, probably.
"Shoot. Uh, I wanted to call the number you gave me." He gestured at the phone. It had taken way too long to figure out how to work that thing.
"And the coffee?" Bruce narrowed his eyes, pulling the cup out of his hands.
"I like it! That’s not a crime."
"It’s not healthy, either. You’re still growing. Get to bed. You can’t sleep in, but you won’t have patrols tomorrow night."
Jason’s heart sank. What? "But you said I wasn’t being put off duty! You said you didn’t need to re-train me!" Did he mean there was an event? Surely he wasn’t being so easily accepted into the public eye again after–
"Calm yourself. I never said you did not need assistance with your training." The man offered a smirk, sipping his coffee. "I have quite a few friends. You’ll be meeting one of them tomorrow. It will be useful for you. He’s very… bright. Go to bed. Some sleep is better than none."
The way Bruce said that concerned him. He said that like he was making a joke of some kind, which was already pretty spooky. He didn’t make many jokes. But knowing this was one of Bruce’s friends, and with his current track record with his acquaintances… goodness gracious.
What had Jason gotten himself into?
Notes:
Jason G.: I'm just like you!
Jason T.: What the fuck.
-
don't do what Jason, Bruce, or I do. please get sleep chat. speculation on who Bruce is talking about is invited. you get a cookie if you can name the character! I've done so much research on him please please please
posted this while listening to sparkbird, check them out.
byeee! if you post a comment I will sell my soul to you/pos, ty for reading! let me know how you felt about this chapter, because I was NOT confident with it lol.
Chapter 8: sunshine.
Summary:
"The patrol went amazing!" Jason beamed, sorting through the shards of glass on the broken phone. "I think we’re friends now. He was friendly, at least. Like, super friendly. Is he that friendly with everyone? He reminds me of my old friends. Especially the glowing part."
- - -
"The patrol went horribly." Duke groaned. "I’m pretty sure Jason II hates me. Definitely hates me."
Notes:
listen, I wasn't PLANNING on posting this until Saturday...
and then someone said it was their favorite Jason Grace fic, and another person included it in a list of fic recs, and well...
here's a generally fluffy chapter for you with Duke Thomas going on patrol with Jason Grace. this is compensation for whats gonna happen in the next chapter, sorry not sorry. also, when reading/sounding things out in your head, I've been reading Jason I and Jason II as Jason the first and Jason the second. that was too long to type out, even though I'm writing all of this lmao.
tw: there's a small amount of consumed cocaine in this chapter. also, metahuman trafficking is briefly mentioned. its marked with *.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The new guy was not what Jason was expecting.
He was expecting some sort of nerd. That’s what bright had meant, in his mind. A boy with books tucked close to his chest and piercing gray eyes that bored into your soul and made you feel like you were being studied under a microscope. That’s what he thought he was going to see.
Apparently, bright had meant highlighter yellow.
"Hey," he offered a gloved hand, brain working overtime to try and process the unexpectedness of the situation. "I’m Jason. You?"
The guy stared at him blankly for a few seconds. "No, you’re not. That’s so weird dude." He took Jason’s hand in his own. "I’m Duke. Uh, B, we gotta talk." He glanced pointedly between Jason’s mask and Bruce’s civilian clothing.
What a horrible time for a man to have an expressive face. Jason could practically see the emotions and thoughts running through his mind, even though he was notoriously horrible at reading facial expressions compared to Bruce and Damian–the test results did not lie.
"Why?" Bruce waved him over anyway, straying towards the study room.
"That kid’s not normal." Duke whispered as he pushed the door to the study open. Not normal? What did that mean? More secrets? Of course, this was getting annoying. He refused to be on the other side of the door again. He reached for the doorknob, closing his hand around it.
"Master Jason," Alfred hummed beside him. "If they had wanted you to overhear their conversation, would they have not had it in front of you?"
Jason jolted, cursing under his breath in a tongue that sounded almost foreign even to him. "No one in this family can approach people normally." He muttered to himself, pulling his hand back.
"That is true, sir. Tea?"
Every single time. Damn it, tea sounded lovely, he had to admit. "Thanks." He grabbed the cup offered–which was still steaming, meaning that at least Alfred was planning to make tea for a purpose other than as just a distraction–and immediately moved to blow on it. He tilted his head, squinting at the tea as the steam refused to move.
"I believe you have to remove your mask first." Alfred pointed out, taking a deep breath. A habit that Jason had learned to associate with suppressed laughter, within his case.
Heat rose to his cheeks as he yanked the mask off, this time able to successfully blow the steam from the cup away. It tasted annoyingly good, considering it was pretty much being used as a diversion. Which, he wasn’t entirely sure he cared about. It didn’t harm anyone else. He was used to being an outsider. He’d have to work his way into a position of trust to be able to involve himself in private conversations–for now, he could tolerate this, right?
Jason swayed softly, feeling the slightest bit of heat seep its way from the cup to his gloves. The mug was definitely warm–he was glad these gloves were insulated. If they weren’t, he’d probably burn himself. He turned, leaning up against the wall next to the study. What could this new guy teach him that Bruce couldn’t? He seemed young, but maybe he shouldn’t question his superiors.
He was just a fighter, after all. He wasn’t made to lead.
- - -
The new kid was not what Duke was expecting.
Normally, new Robins were itty bitty. Tiny. This new Robin was about his age, almost half a foot taller than him, with visible muscles under his suit. He kept staring him down like he was about to be hunted for sport. Which Duke would normally be okay with, because most bats looked like that as a default, but this kid turned it up to the next level.
Oh, and he was definitely a meta. Did he mention the meta part? Yeah. The guy was radiating electromagnetic energy five feet in all directions. Which, weird. Very weird. He wasn’t sure he was the biggest fan of that. Could Bruce have at least given him a heads up?
"Hey," the boy stuck his hand out at him. Duke could feel every wave coming off of him and practically hitting him in the face. The closest comparison there might have been was a very, very large antennae. "I’m Jason. You?"
"No, you’re not," was his first knee jerk reaction, out of his mouth before he could even process the words he was saying. "That’s so weird, dude." He grabbed his hand, which just made the energy ten times more glaringly obvious. "I’m Duke. Uh, B, we gotta talk." He attempted to subtly explain the situation, glancing between the two. With Bruce’s sigh, he was guessing he failed on the subtle aspect.
"Why?" Bruce waved him over, which Duke felt kind of bad about. They left poor Jason II all alone!
"That kid’s not normal." He shut the door behind them, locking it instinctively. "Like, not normal in the meta way. Like, really obviously meta. Where’d you even get him?"
"Alleyway."
"Of course." Duke groaned. "What did I even expect? Why couldn’t you have adopted a dog… Okay, man, does he at least know? Did you only call me over ‘cause I’m also a meta? Because I’ll still help him, but that’s fucked up."
"Language," Bruce scolded softly.
"Come on, I’ve got homework to do! I can’t always be the guy to talk to if you’ve got metahuman issues, have you tried talking to S.T.A.R labs? Is he one of theirs? The MHYC?" Duke was comfortable with being a safe space, with being a shoulder to cry on, but this was getting annoying! Couldn’t there be any other meta hero they could talk to? He had finals soon!
*
"We suspect he’s a victim of meta-human trafficking. Not that that changes anything, because he doesn’t remember it anyway." Bruce sighed. "Amnesia. I haven’t told him about the powers yet because he’s already worried as it is. I am trying to keep the variables to a minimum."
Duke fell silent. Metahuman trafficking. He’d heard about it vaguely from Dick, Tim, and Virgil. He’d visited Taos. Thinking about it made him almost sick to his stomach, and he could handle a lot. That was why the kid seemed so off.
*
"Oh. So you know about the–"
"Electricity powers? Yes. I’m well aware. There’s a section about it in his file. You can check it, if needed. The password is the day I found him, April 2." Bruce’s eyes flitted to the clock, ticking steadily. "Any other concerns, chum?"
"Yeah, one last question. Why did you need me if he doesn’t know he’s a meta? I mean, I’m pretty recently trained. What can I teach him that you can’t?" Duke didn’t wanna pry, but this seemed a bit odd to ask at random. "Why not Dick, or Cass? She’s stronger than I am."
"You’re a stronger role model than Dick. Cass would work, but I’m trying to help him get used to the city. It’ll be easier to make him familiar with the city when he can see it." Bruce grabbed a pile of books from Damian’s favorite desk, filing them away in their proper orders on the shelves. "He also needs someone to help him. If and when he discovers his powers, it will be far easier if he already knows where he can find comfort and support from people like him. People like you."
"So, this is a meta thing?" Duke squinted at the desk. There were new doodles and carvings on the side, next to the ones there before. The older ones were from Jason I–when he was Robin, at least–but he didn’t recognize the handwriting on the new ones. Goodness, though, it was bad. Yikes.
"Partially. Partially also because you’re a better comfort than the others. I’m sure he’s heard that I don’t allow metas in Gotham by now. I need you to prove that wrong." Bruce ran his fingers down the spine of a book. It wasn’t as neatly preserved as the others, but the cracks on the spine and tiny rip on the cover looked fresh. The Odyssey. Bruce’s copy of the book was entirely in Latin, which wasn’t Duke’s best language. Training made sure he knew some, but certainly not enough to understand that whole book without a translator on speed dial.
"Alright. Pretty sure he’ll come back with a fractured rib, but alright."
"Patrols end with those half the time. He’ll survive. Don’t do anything excessively dangerous. That includes, but is not limited to, jumping out of moving vehicles or off bridges. Use a grapple if you must."
"No promises!" Duke shoved the door to the study open and pulled his mask down.
Duke didn’t always want to lead, but he would. And if Bruce thought he could, he was going to do a damn good job at it.
- - -
"How is patrolling during the day any different?"
Jason wasn’t having a great time on day patrols. Night patrols were scary, but not as exposed. Anyone could see him here. Anyone could interfere.
"I deal with things differently than the other bats. I don’t run in and shut down a mission at its peak–I set parts in motion and stop criminals from getting and doing what they need to." Duke seemed awfully comfortable on the edge of the rooftop, walking casually and calmly. Jason had the sense to be more cautious, stepping beside him and further from the edge. At least that way he wasn’t flirting with death. "Or, they try to avoid the others by doing shady shit during the day. Then I get to punch them."
"You’re claiming you enjoy punching criminals at 7:00 in the morning while they’re still eating their Cocoa Puffs?" Jason hopped to the next building after Duke. He picked a pace and he stuck with it… which wouldn't have been a problem if the pace didn’t require a superhuman to keep up.
"Yeah, basically! Glad you understand, kid." Duke seemed to talk with his body a lot. Which was good, because while Jason wasn’t the best at reading facial expressions or tones, he could sure as hell understand body language. Casual. Happy. But his shoulders were tense, and he wasn’t making direct eye contact. Odd.
"Any other rules of the daytime, O wise one?" Jason sighed.
"Well maybe– don’t go there!" Duke tugged the back of his cape, yanking him close and holding him still.
Jason glanced at where he was about to step, then back at Duke. "... explain yourself, please." Rachel also did that. Warn people, and then spectacularly fail at warning people by not telling them what they were supposed to be afraid of. Unclear prophetic visions, or something… he was half sure she did it to mess with him, but he couldn’t be certain. Anyway, it made most campers paranoid. It wasn’t quite as bad as when Nico had dropped in on Will in the infirmary and point blank told a kid they were going to die in 30 days. Something about weird auras, he’d claimed.
"You were gonna trip." Duke pulled him upright. "Sorry, man, you spooked me."
"How could you know I was going to fall?" Jason brushed himself off, continuing to walk. Although, he did watch the floor he was walking on… just in case.
"Bruce told you about my powers, right?" He gestured for a stop on the edge of the building, kneeling down to inspect a window.
Powers? Since when did kids like him have powers?
"He didn’t. You have powers? What kind? Is there a file on them? Can I read over it, or is that private information? I think you should share that information with your team. Explanations prevent misunderstandings and distress."
Duke tilted his head, squinting at the window. "Yeah. There’s a file on it. It’s nothing private, nothing more private than what I already know about you anyway. Nothing more private than the info on anyone else, you know?" He reached up for his helmet, adjusting something.
"That’s good. You’re an oracle?" Jason reached for his domino mask, adjusting the lenses to zoom in on the window.
"Oracle? What does she have to do with any of this? She’s at her day job right now, man, you can’t really call her." Duke pulled his gloves up.
"Oracle, as in a prophet. An augur?" Jason offered.
"Jeez, man, you’ve been reading The Odyssey too much." Duke pulled something out of his pocket, aiming it at the next roof over. How did he know he read The Odyssey? Had he been stalking him? "Just ‘cause I can see a few seconds into the future doesn’t mean I talk to ancient gods or something. That’s more Wonder Woman’s kind of thing."
"Then what–hey!" He stood up sharply as Duke literally threw himself off of the gods' forsaken building in the middle of his sentence, firing his gun with it.
A grappling gun. Which, Jason probably should have clocked earlier. He braced himself against the edge of the building. He was less scared of heights than what came after the fall, so as long as he stayed straight…
I’m such an idiot, he thought, jumping off of the building after Duke and rolling in through the same open window.
"Fuck, kid, use your grapple next time. B would have a heart attack if he saw that, I’m telling you." Duke nudged him, seemingly trying to be playful? "You should delete that body cam footage, if Oracle doesn’t do it for you. Just so you don’t get benched, you know?"
"I know. Bruce will force me into a medical evaluation." Jason stretched, sighing as he reached up. Something felt weird, off as he did it. Maybe this place was new. Maybe he missed Leo’s jokes. "Maybe next time, don’t throw yourself off of a building mid conversation. You could have endangered yourself or a teammate."
"Hey, I was being practical. Not my fault you didn’t pick up what I put down." Duke gestured forward. "Since you were asking earlier, I’ve got light and shadow powers. It’s not too relevant for now. Come on, lets bust these guys."
"That seems very relevant, actually." Jason ran after him into the messy apartment, skipping over old wrappers and piles of dishes. "This reminds me of my home as a child. Almost. Different smell."
"Sorry about that, man. Wanna talk about it?"
"Hardly remember it. Pass." Jason stepped over what he guessed was formerly a fast food burger, quickly turning into a biology experiment.
"Yeah, it still sucked though, right? I read a psychology book that said it was called repression, or something. Said it was a way of protecting yourself from past trauma, forgetting everything, you know?"
"I said pass . Amnesia and repression are different." Jason turned into the hall of the apartment with Duke, sticking a few steps behind him.
"Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that."
Jason hesitated, pausing mid step and waiting for some kind of catch. It didn’t come, for some reason. A… genuine apology. He hadn’t gotten one of those since what, three weeks before Batman found him?
"Yeah. Thanks, I guess. Let’s change the subject. Why are we even here? Isn’t this breaking and entering?" Jason jogged to catch up with Duke, moving closer.
"Hey! The window was open, not broken, technically. Plus, they’re criminals. They’re involved in the drug case you’re investigating." Duke pointed out.
"How do you even know about that?" Jason frowned. "And, who gave you that tip?"
"I know a guy. Man who works for Ace Chemicals, saw them running straight back here with a package." Duke yanked the drawers of a dresser open, which fell straight off. "Now it's breaking and entering." He dipped his glove into a bag filled with powder that fell out of the drawer, pulling his mask up and touching it to his tongue. "Yep, that’s the coke."
"What–why would you lick that?" Jason wasn’t sure whether to be horrified or impressed that he could identify it based on that. Probably horrified.
"NW does it all the time. Or, he used to, or something. B stopped him after a while." Duke pulled his mask back down, sealing the bag again. "What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him, right?"
"You’re insane." Jason grabbed the bag, slipping it into his belt.
"Not according to B!" He laughed, putting what looked like a wallet into his own pockets. "Come on. I got another tip in another location."
"You can’t steal, you know." Jason tapped the pocket the wallet was placed in, raising an eyebrow.
"I’m not taking it for the money. It’s got fingerprints." Duke turned away, pushing the bedroom window open. "Follow me!"
"Please don’t throw yourself–" Duke launched himself out the window before Jason got to finish his sentence–"out of that… damn it." Jason groaned, following. This was a huge mistake. Duke was similar enough to Leo to endanger himself and similar enough to Will to have others follow him without a second thought.
He landed on the concrete, and, surprisingly, didn't break his legs, even if his heart was pounding. Nice. Duke was, however, staring at him. "You alright?" He asked. "’Cause you just threw yourself out of a window on the sixth floor and didn’t even try to roll."
"Yeah, I’m good." Jason sighed. "Next time, can you try sticking around for the full conversation?"
"Good! The tip is this way, come on." Duke broke into a sprint, turning around the corner.
"I’m telling B!" He shouted, running after the boy. It wasn’t too hard to follow him, considering the breadcrumb trail of glowing footsteps behind him, illuminating the walls of the alleyway he’d retreated to. Glowing footsteps. He’d mentioned light powers, but…
Jason slowed to a stop, taking a moment to study the footsteps. Warm light, glowing soft but steady. He looked back. Duke hadn’t left those before. He was doing that on purpose, for Jason.
Maybe he was a bit insane, too eager, and very headstrong, but he also seemed to care. A lot. He would have been useful had he known him previously.
Jason ran as fast as he could, following after the trail. Maybe pairing them up hadn’t been as bad of an idea as he’d thought it was.
"Is that another one of your powers?" Jason asked, laughing under his breath. "You’re a human glow stick?"
Duke shrugged. "Jason the first prefers to call me a flashlight, actually. Or Narrows. I call him a prick."
"I met a guy like that once. The flashlight bit, not the prick bit." Jason shook his head, fighting the urge to yawn. "Why can you do that? What are you, even? B mentioned that Superman was an alien, and that's how his powers work. What about yours? Are you an alien?"
"Nope." Duke began walking forward, sticking close to the shadows. "Some humans have something called a metagene. Mine got activated. I got powers. It’s related to the Nth metal. It's really complicated. We can probably talk about it off patrol, later. Bruce has a huge file on it."
Jason followed after him, starting to feel the adrenaline wear off. His entire body felt heavy, like he was filled with lead or something. "I’ll look into that. Metagenes. Are they rare?"
"Kind of. Normally meta-humans get sent to the Youth Center in Taos. B doesn’t really take many in, unless it’s a special circumstance like me." Duke pulled his grappling gun out, and this time Jason had the sense to mimic him.
"Youth Center? Taos?" He grappled up the wall, staying right by Duke’s side as he climbed through another window. The lights were all off, and there were blackout curtains over the windows. Suspicious.
"Meta-human Youth Center. Made for victims of meta trafficking. So you can learn your powers, and stuff. Gotham metas normally go there, because B doesn’t let many in his city. Weird territory thing." Duke didn’t touch the light switch, light beaming off of him. Jason could tell the wiring was busted, so good thing.
"So like Camp?" Jason asked.
"Camp? Yeah, ‘cause that’s the most clear definition ever. Everyone knows what Camp is, sure." Duke laughed. "Seriously though, what’s Camp?"
Jason paused. "I forgot. I normally say things and don’t really think about it." He shook his head. "Besides the point. You’re like Will, with those powers. They’re interesting, I guess."
"Thanks, dude." Duke shuffled through the belongings in the apartment. This one was cleaner than the other, but it smelled like his mom. It smelled like alcohol.
"Gross." Jason muttered, joining Duke to sift through the mess. "I hate that smell." He got a sympathetic head shake in response.
"Fuck, that sucks. You can filter things from your mask, you know. Want me to teach you how?"
Duke was annoyingly hotheaded, brash, and strong willed. But also, genuine. The sun could be blinding, but also a savior. Goodness, he really did seem like Will.
"Thanks, but I’m good. It's not important for the mission, and it would waste time. I’m not dead, I’m fine." Jason pulled open a cabinet, hopping onto the kitchen counter to study the contents.
"Glad you’re not as much of a dick as your namesake–pun intended." Duke chuckled at his own joke. "Red Hood is a bitch."
Jason reached into the back of the cabinet, tossing what looked like a broken burner phone down to Duke. "Don’t talk down upon your peers in the field. That’s how you get killed."
He tilted it up and down. "Not if I kill him first. We should drop this off at the Cave. Race you out!"
Duke had thrown himself down the fire escape before Jason could even respond, moving too quickly for him to track or follow with a chance to catch up. He groaned, opening the front door and walking down the stairs like a normal person who didn’t want to die.
"I need a cup of coffee."
- - -
"The patrol went horribly." Duke groaned. "I’m pretty sure Jason II hates me. Definitely hates me."
"... Elaborate." Bruce poured himself a cup of coffee. Duke wasn't sure they even had enough time for him to elaborate on all of the signs that he definitely, 100%, no doubts, hated his guts. The aforementioned Jason was currently in the room over, changing into civilian clothing, forcing a timer on their conversation.
"The entire time, he was hostile. I think he growled at me once? When I said I’d rather you adopt a dog next time, that wasn’t what I meant!" Duke pushed the evidence across the table. "I barely know how this hero thing works. You have like, way too much faith in me, my guy. I mean, I'm not complaining about it, but still!"
"Your mission was successful. Your perceived social acceptance does not change that." Bruce held the evidence to the light, which was kind of stupid, considering Duke was literally right there.
"Perceived social acceptance? B, that kid wants me dead. Like, co-sign my obituary type stuff. Not like that's permanent, but it's the thought that counts. I honestly think he wants himself dead, considering he kept throwing himself off things with no protection."
"He's more practical than that. If you’re that desperate to make friends with him, maybe you should try again." Bruce countered, then quickly paused and looked up. "Don’t. I didn’t mean it like that. I see that look in your eyes. You're too open. You’re not good at hiding your emotions."
"I’m perfect at hiding my emotions, actually." Duke grinned. He had a plan. According to Bruce, he was impressively determined when it came to things like this, proving himself. Jason might call him a stubborn asshole, but Jason was wrong half the time anyways, and those were practically synonyms.
Bruce sighed. "This was a mistake." He muttered under his breath.
"You won’t regret this!"
"I already do." Bruce picked up the evidence. "Go back to patrol. I’ll talk with Robin about his behavior… later." He shook his head softly, whispering under his breath.
"I need another cup of coffee."
- - -
"The patrol went amazing!" Jason beamed, sorting through the shards of glass on the broken phone. "I think we’re friends now. He was friendly, at least. Like, super friendly. Is he that friendly with everyone? He reminds me of my old friends. Especially the glowing part."
Bruce smirked, bringing a hand to his mouth to prevent it from progressing any further. "Why do you think you’re friends?"
Jason gently pulled the last of the protector case glass off of the phone, setting it down next to him on the workspace. "Because he talked to me. He didn’t try to put shaving cream in my jell-o or draw on my face either, which was a plus." He gently pulled away the touch panel off the phone, a tiny spark flying from the device as he did so. Technology really didn't like him, apparently.
"Your standards for what qualifies as a friend are remarkably low, sir." Alfred pointed out, setting a cup of coffee beside Bruce and a cup of tea beside Jason. He always remembered how he liked it. Tiny caring gestures, so small but so noticeable.
"They’re dead and buried by now, Alfred." Bruce took a sip of his coffee, switching tabs to seemingly busy himself with more file reports on the Batcomputer.
"Indeed," Alfred nodded, setting down a plate with a sandwich next to Jason. "Take care of yourself, child."
Huh. He’d never called him child before. It was nice, even if the other Jason’s comment still confused him. What had he meant when he said "a good soldier"? And why bring up Alfred specifically? Regardless, Jason wasn’t sure if he counted as a child. Had he ever really been one? Had he ever really been allowed to?
"I’ll… try, sir. Thank you." He pushed the evidence away from himself, grabbing the sandwich instead. He wasn’t about to contaminate it, after all.
Bruce did not have those issues. Jason wasn't sure if it was a skill he could be taught, or if he was just neater, but he didn’t move away from the Batcomputer, eating the sandwich that Alfred had given him–not dropping a single crumb, mind you–and typing at lightning speed with his left hand at the same time.
Jason folded his legs up in the chair, sitting criss-cross applesauce instead. "I’m glad we work nights." He muttered.
"Is that so? Why? I thought you got along with Duke." Bruce inquired. He didn’t sound judgmental. That was nice.
"Sunshine burns. The spotlight is nice every once in a while, but having eyes on you constantly… It's too similar to what I had before. And the night is easier to hide in, too. Not that I’d want to hide, but–"
"I understand." Bruce nodded.
Jason swallowed his last bite, turning back to his work. "Yeah."
"It’s important to understand that anonymity still has consequences. It can feel freeing, but it’s important to not let that feeling control you."
The cave fell silent for a few moments, spare the soft clicking of Bruce’s typing. He was a smart man, that was for sure. A natural born leader.
Jason was supposed to be as well. He just wasn’t sure if he could quite match him.
Notes:
ahhh chapter 9, patricide, is being worked on. tysm for all of the support!!! love you all :]]] I have no idea if I characterized Duke right. as far as I'm aware, he's very stubborn and headstrong, he has beef with Jason I, and he's kinda sunshiny.
Duke licking cocaine was a reference to a very early, discowing era Nightwing comic panel where he licks heroin and can identify it based on taste alone.
lmk if I got Duke right! :D I thrive off comments
Chapter 9: patricide
Summary:
There was a sort of bliss in solitary. Not isolation. But being alone, for just a moment. There was pain in it, too, but freedom overshadowed it. Jason shut his eyes, curling in closer to himself to conserve warmth.
Something fell from the tree above him, landing next to him with minimal grace. "Hey," he muttered out of instinct, and by the time he realized he was talking to a raven, it was far too late to back out. "how are you?"
The bird stared at him, wide-eyed and blank faced.
"Right. Bird. Well, I’m not doing great." He shook his head, leaves dropping down around him. "My dad is being stupid. And I know I’m not supposed to say that, because of the rules, but he’s being unwise. He’s gonna hurt himself."
The raven tilted their head, waddling closer to him.
"Don’t look at me like that. I’m better than he is." Jason glanced up, searching for the moon in between branches. "… I think. Don’t be rude."
Notes:
hey guys sorry this was nearly late i got into a fist fight at school and my arms and fingers were sore afterwards. my baddd!!! the curse... happy pride btw!!!
tw: dissociation marked with *. panic attack marked with #. both are based on my personal experiences of both events and may be inaccurate. um. half of this is okayishly fluffy and the other half is the horrors. have fun!
I know that this seems annoyingly angsty but honestly I'm writing as a way of coping and neither events are fun but I've been dealing with them far more often. the panic attack was unnecessary but the plot is moving regardless. it was for my own mental assistance, okay? writing my feelings down and projecting them onto my favorite might help.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Bruce had been working for too long.
He knew this because of Robin. Every Robin had their own little habits, signs of worry or distress. The first habit he’d noticed from Jason was pacing, but the second was what some may call “parallel play”. Jason, if he got scared about Bruce’s well being, insisted on sitting in the cave with him. It didn’t matter the hour, or if he had things to do or not. He’d also figured out that if he went down at a time he was not supposed to, Bruce would be forced to stop to escort him upstairs. Devious.
Currently, Jason was circling him. As he had been for the last hour and thirteen minutes, with 2 hours and fourteen minutes of sitting near or beside Bruce. He’d quit trying to keep his footsteps quiet within the first 45 minutes, and it showed. Every tap, every click of a key was matched with a fast and firm thud backing it.
"I’m almost done with this, Jason. I’ll be fine." He stood, reaching for the phone that he’d dismantled and organized earlier, grabbing the motherboard.
When he turned around, Jason had already taken his chair, sitting with folded arms and narrowed eyes. "You’ve been working since 8:00."
"I started late."
" AM. It’s like, 9:00 PM!" He threw his hands up, and for a moment Bruce couldn’t tell who thought they were the parent here.
"It’s 8:53. Be precise." He inserted the motherboard into a new device he had made, created after far too many situations where he’d had to slowly and manually take ones apart for their storage chips. He could remain busy without the chair, so Jason’s attempts to stop him were largely a failure.
"Do you plan on killing yourself working like this?" Jason gestured at the screen.
"I’ve been working like this since before you were born." He picked up the RAM chip, as gently as he could muster with injured hands. Usually, data would have to be transferred with a working device. Bruce had done this enough times to find ways to circumvent that.
"I don’t want you getting hurt."
"I don’t need you interfering."
Jason groaned. "You’re insufferable. How would you feel if I tried doing this?"
"You’re less experienced. Obviously I would stop you." He tapped Jason on the shoulder. "Get up."
"I’m not going to until you take a break." He muttered, gripping the chair firmly and drawing himself tighter.
"I said get up. You’re being insubordinate."
"And you’re being unreasonable! You care about Gotham but not yourself." Jason shook his head, tiny sparks flying from his fingertips. The shift was instant, the smell of burning sulfur permeating the air around him.
"I’m not being unreasonable. I care about Gotham, and so should you. Get up, now." His jaw tensed, uneasy with the change. Dick had once described him as a control freak . His eldest was always good at wording things. He had to be like this–if there was another mistake, another fault that ended in another Robin dead, he wasn’t sure he could handle it.
"I care about Gotham too, but I care about you. " Jason reached out, grabbing his wrist. "Please, dad."
"I have work to do. Leave before I tell Alfred you won’t rest again. You haven’t eaten dinner, either. Go." Bruce shook his grip free, which wasn’t particularly difficult.
Jason’s face fell. "But–"
" No. Leave. I’ll take you off duty if you don’t. If you can’t listen here, you won't listen where people could get hurt."
Jason stood and turned away. "I can’t help you if you don’t want to be helped."
"I don’t need to be helped." He muttered as Jason stalked out of the cave, tense. "I’ll talk to you when it's time for patrol." Bruce went back to his work, even if his head wasn’t fully in it. He was more focused on something else.
Jason had called him “dad” to his face for the first time.
- - -
Jason had been still for too long.
His friends called him restless. He’d woken them up while pacing in his room before. He had a specific schedule that he liked following–that wasn’t his fault. He bounced his leg against the floor, staring at his plate. Alfred’s food was good, and he was hungry, but he didn’t want to eat. He wanted to move, to run somewhere. Everything felt too calm. He didn’t like it. Too calm, too quiet, too perfect. Anxiety, creeping up his neck and wrapping hands around his throat. The feeling of something being oh so wrong pounding in his head.
He stood sharply, pushing his chair in. "I need to take a walk." He muttered. "I’ll be outside the manor if you need me."
"Of course. The gardens are lovely year round. I can escort you there, if required." Alfred was at his side immediately. He was so attentive, it was nearly uncomfortable. Jason was used to attention, but never so… caring.
Jason shook his head. "No. I don’t need assistance. I just… need a moment. I don’t know. Thanks for the offer." He turned, trying his best to suppress the urge to sprint across the manor. Every step felt too slow. He wanted to be a pup again, tumbling through the grass and sticks and mud without a care in the world.
A pup? His mind had wild ideas. A child. Although, he wasn’t sure about the careless or free part.
Jason reached the door, stepping outside and sighing quietly. The sky was beautiful tonight, stars peeking through despite the light pollution and soft swirls of clouds. It had been raining recently, even though winter had nearly begun. The air was thick and damp, filled with the smell of rain. He finally let himself run, sprinting through the mud and weaving through the garden to finally access what he was looking for.
Jason dove into the cover of the trees, rolling instinctively to avoid hurting himself with the force of the impact. Pine needles stuck to his hair, leaves and burrs clinging to his skin and clothes. He grinned despite himself. Bruce and Alfred weren’t going to be too happy about this, considering he was getting his outfit all dirty, but Jason certainly was.
He stood, shaking himself off and running further in. Sometimes he had the impulse to hide in the woods or the clouds forever, and simply never come out. But that would get boring, probably. He needed his friends there, too, but that felt selfish. For now, hiding in it every now and then was okay.
He couldn’t avoid every twig, every stick and fallen leaf that might crunch underfoot. But he could control how firmly he stepped, and he could memorize how well the rustling of ferns and bushes would cover his footsteps. The woods behind the manor were thriving, even as the winter came closer. He’d been here several times, but under supervision. This time, he could do whatever he pleased. Which, actually, wasn’t a lot.
Jason tossed himself into a larger pile of leaves under a tree. Here, the small amount of moonlight there was filtered out, hidden by the remaining tree branches and leaves, intertwined to make a canopy. The woods were better with his siblings. They would play with him if they saw him like this.
Siblings. That was an odd memory. He only had one biological sibling, Thalia.
Still, there was a sort of bliss in solitary. Not isolation. But being alone, for just a moment. There was pain in it, too, but freedom overshadowed it. Jason shut his eyes, curling in closer to himself to conserve warmth.
Something fell from the tree above him, landing next to him with minimal grace. "Hey," he muttered out of instinct, and by the time he realized he was talking to a raven, it was far too late to back out. "how are you?"
The bird stared at him, wide-eyed and blank faced.
"Right. Bird. Well, I’m not doing great." He shook his head, leaves dropping down around him. "My dad is being stupid. And I know I’m not supposed to say that, because of the rules, but he’s being unwise. He’s gonna hurt himself."
The raven tilted their head, waddling closer to him.
"Don’t look at me like that. I’m better than he is." Jason glanced up, searching for the moon in between branches. "… I think. Don’t be rude."
The avian took another step forward, blinking at him. He couldn’t describe it, but the way they looked at him seemed almost intelligent. Like they were judging him. You’re in no position to talk.
"Yeah, I know, both of us are bad, but he’s worse. You can both draw blood, but it doesn’t mean the cuts are equal." Jason reached up, attempting to pick the burrs out of his hair. The raven stepped forward, and he leaned towards it, letting it pluck out the debris instead.
"He works for 13 hours or more, at minimum, and I stay up a bit late. There’s no way that's just as bad. He acts like he’s invincible, but if he was invincible, he wouldn’t be scared of anything. And if he’s not scared, he can’t be brave, because at a certain point courage turns into recklessness and then disabandon and–" He sighed. "You’re not listening to me, are you? You know, Achilles didn’t fear anything. He was sure he was invincible. And then he died. I mean, I’m not scared of death, but I do fear some stuff. He didn’t."
The bird spat out a piece of bark from his hair onto the floor, twisting to preen itself instead.
Jason raised an eyebrow. "I bet you don’t even care about my Greek myths."
"I care about them."
Jason nearly fell over, scrambling for bearings in the dirt. Bird squawked in distress, flying off almost instantly at the disturbance. "Holy–hey, B." He breathed, staring up at the man glaring at him. He was still in civilian clothing, so he wasn’t rushing. Yet. "You’re scary. Why were you watching me?"
"Why were you talking to a bird? Why didn’t you respond to the calls or texts we sent you?" Bruce folded his hands over his chest. Calls or texts? His hand drifted to his pocket, noting the lack of weight there. Hell.
"It–It was a nice bird, okay? And what do you mean we?" He ran a hand through his hair, tearing out the last bits of leaves and twigs.
"We," another voice piped up. Cassandra stepped in front of Bruce, holding out a hand for support. She was strong, that was for sure. More than strong enough to pull him to his feet.
"Thank you." Jason spread his arms for her, letting her decide if she wanted to hug him or not. She couldn’t talk or write very well, but that was okay. He couldn’t either, at one point. He’d almost bonded with her while training with Barbara, not to mention the fact he understood where she was coming from with her language issues. Dyslexia could get difficult to deal with in fields like theirs.
Cass wrapped her arms around him, clinging to his body. She didn’t really have much of a concept of personal space, as far as he could tell. It was nice. It reminded him of old times with his mother, curled into his siblings bodies to conserve warmth.
And, there he went with the sibling thing again. That was a weird memory.
"So, what did you need?" Jason ruffled Cassandra’s hair as she backed away from him. She reached up, messing his hair up worse. An older sibling rite of passage.
"Mission. I couldn’t access you. You could have been in danger. Come on. Take a shower, change into uniform. Cass will be coming with us today. She did discover the mastermind behind the operation, after all." Bruce grabbed her hand, then his. It was impressive how easily he was forgetting the argument. He’d expected to be forced into repeating the same sentence one hundred and twenty times, or dunked into a river as punishment. He moved on too early.
"She did?" Jason looked at her. She was probably the second coolest sister ever, in his professional opinion. "Who?"
"Not someone we usually see in drug cases." Bruce muttered. "He sided with Joker because he wanted power, not because he agreed with his ideals. He goes by the name of Maxie Zeus."
- - -
The words were still itching in the back of Jason’s head 15 minutes later.
He scrubbed his hair dry vigorously, ignoring how frizzy it got. He was supposed to care for it, or the pack was supposed to help him, but that hadn’t been an option for quite some time. At this point, he’d resorted to ignoring it.
Maxie Zeus. Names had power, and power brought attention. Which, seemed to be what this person was looking for, as far as he could tell from the small bits that Bruce had offered him.
Jason pressed the warm, damp towel to his face, burying himself in the fibers for a moment. He liked the feeling straight after a shower, when his skin felt softer and his hair felt lighter. He also liked the smell, usually. He wasn’t the biggest fan of Bruce’s soaps, though. It was unnatural. Too odd.
He shook his head, trying to focus himself. Ignore the softness, the comfort. He’d ventured where others dared not step hundreds of times, he needed to get this over with.
The costume still felt off against his skin. Too constricting. It covered his scars, particularly the “tattoo”, though, so he supposed it had its pros and cons. He fitted his masks on, shaking his head to free the hair from them as he did so. He should cut it, soon. He hadn’t had it this long since what, two? Three? He should see how Leo felt about it. He knew Piper was better with fashion and hair, but Leo was better to ask, because–
Jason caught himself. Right. He couldn’t do that, not anymore.
"Robin," Batman called from the hallway. "If you’re not done in 5 minutes, we’re leaving without you."
Jason shoved the door open, shaking his head. "Ready. Sorry. Got… distracted. Do you have any weaknesses on this guy? What do we know about him?"
"Maxie Zeus. Somewhat of a cult leader. He’s also delusional, and Arkham refuses to send him to a higher security ward despite my protests." Batman adjusted his gloves and belt as he spoke, painstakingly arranging them.
"Delusional? How?"
"Believes himself to be the reincarnation of Zeus, willed by the gods." Bruce turned on his heel, walking with sudden purpose. He was forced to jog to catch up.
"That makes no sense." Jason pointed out.
Batman glared at him through the lenses of his mask. "The gods are there. Wonder Woman is–"
"No, I mean that Zeus isn’t dead. You can’t be a reincarnation of a living creature. It means to make flesh again. Not to decide you’re the flesh of another living."
"You say that rather confidently." Bruce noted. "Why?"
"I know some Latin, reincarnation isn’t that big of a word–" Jason started, but Bruce held up a hand, striding into the study and turning for the clock immediately.
"I meant about Zeus. Although…" He twisted the clock handles to a minute ‘till 10:49. "I never taught you Latin." Jason stared at him. He hadn’t? He could have sworn he remembered…
His hand slammed against the desk, clutching the wood with enough force to make his wrists hurt. His other hand dug into his head and hair, yanking hard until bursts of pain erupted from his scalp as they did from between his eyes. It had been too long without a headache. He should have expected it.
"Robin, report." Bruce pulled him closer, tilting his chin up to study his face. Which might have been useful, if he didn’t have both his domino mask and his face mask on.
"Headache. The same one I’ve been having. It’s persistent, that's-for-damn-sure." He dragged his glove down, rubbing between his eyes. "Ow, goodness… I’m okay. I’ll be fine. Can we just… go on patrol?" Two more gloved hands cradled his face, forcing him to open his eyes.
"Fine." Batman dropped him as Cassandra held him, concern written all over her face.
"I’ll be okay." Jason grabbed her wrists, separating her from him. "I’m not dead." He thought he was used to overprotective older sisters, and he was quickly realizing that he was not. Not to such a degree, at least.
Cass raised an eyebrow at him, unimpressed.
"Well, I mean, I was, but now I’m not, so it's fine–" Jason froze, realizing the slip immediately. No sooner had the words left his mouth had Batman’s head snapped towards him, pinning him down with a glare.
"What?"
- - -
"Do you remember anything else about your death , Robin?"
Robin let his legs dangle off of the edge of the roof, night breeze drifting across him. "You may be getting sick of hearing it, and I’m sick of living it, but no. I don’t know." He was getting tired of repeating himself. He was also betting that Bruce was just tired. He’d been at it for what, 15 hours now? And they weren’t planning on stopping any time soon.
"You cannot expect me to just move on ." Batman growled, kneeling next to him. Jason wasn’t sure where Cass had gone. He hoped she was okay. She was probably fine, considering how capable he was, but his mind kept flitting back to his older sister. Thalia. He hadn’t seen her in… what, a year now? And 12 years before that? They were supposed to be best friends, forever. Now he wasn’t sure if they were even friends. He didn’t know where she was, or if she was safe.
He wanted to make sure that would never happen to Cass.
"I don’t have any more information." Robin squinted, looking down into the alleyway they lurked above. A stray cat sprinted across the cracked concrete, covered in dust and mats. Following it was a burly man, carrying a box full of god knows what…
And wearing a toga, for no discernible reason. Incorrectly, too.
Batman tensed beside him. "Maxie has somewhat of a cult." He leaned closer to Jason, swaying slightly in hesitation before tossing his cape around his shoulders and looking away. Robin normally loved the feeling of the cape, but today it was more bothersome. It wasn’t a comfort. It was an attempt to hide him.
Jason hated being treated like this. Like he was made of glass, like he’d shatter at the slightest harm. He wasn’t used to it and he hated it. Passionately. He was supposed to be strong, self-sufficient, and capable. Bruce didn’t treat him that way. He treated him like he was a porcelain doll, something to be cherished and protected. Preserved and saved. And maybe that would be okay, if he protected himself as well.
Cassandra pushed up next to him, pointing down into the alleyway. "Duck," she whispered. A group of shadows? What could possibly be–
Robin shifted away at the last moment, crackling lightning flying past his face. Pale blue and purple light illuminated the alleyway, revealing a man within the shadows Cassandra had pointed at.
"I– Dad? " Jason stumbled back, squinting at the man. He clutched a weapon in his hands–the master bolt?–no. It wasn’t. Couldn’t have been. It was a fake.
"Robin," Batman pulled him closer, away from the edge of the roof.
"No–nothing–I’m fine. Promise." Robin wiggled out of his grip, leaning over the edge to look down upon him.
"My Lord?" The first man asked, looking up just as he moved back. "Is there something wrong?"
The fake Zeus frowned. "I saw something. Pitiful mortals, maybe… or my brother has returned."
"Brother?" Jason whispered in a panicked hush. "What brother?"
"That is Maxie. He believes me to be Hades." Batman responded, voice level. Jason had to stifle a laugh. Hades? Bruce was nothing like him. Maybe Batman was closer, with his ideal of justice. There wasn’t fair in the Underworld, only justice. "Black Bat, handle his henchmen. Maxie will be easier to contain. The bigger threat is Diana."
Cassandra nodded firmly, hopping off the roof. She vanished into the shadows, just as fast as she had before. Where had she even come from? He thought he was doing a good job at paying attention to his surroundings when she showed up.
Jason wrinkled his nose. That deja vu feeling was back again. He felt like he'd done this before. "Huh. This feels familiar." He muttered, mostly to himself.
"Don't let the missions blend into each other quite yet, Robin. You and I will take Maxie. Avoid letting him touch you with that rod, and–"
"I read the file. I’m aware." Robin straightened. This mission would go better than the first. He was more prepared, and no one would get hurt–
"Robin!" Batman shouted, grabbing him by the back of the cape and yanking him into his arms just as an arc of electricity flew centimeters from his face. He seemed scared. Paranoid, nervous. "Cass and I can deal with this alone. Head back to the manor. You’re not aware of your surroundings. Pay attention, or you’ll get yourself or someone else killed. "
Jason shook his head. "I’m fine!"
"That’s final." Bruce growled. "Run, Jay. If you need help, use your beacon or tell Oracle about the situation through your comm. Go."
"No, I–"
Batman reached into his belt, shoving a grappling gun into his hands without another word. None needed to be spoken. He was right. Jason wasn’t ready for this, the stress, the focus, the care.
Jason had always been enough. Even when he hadn’t been outstanding, he had at least been perfect. He was supposed to be. But Jason wasn’t enough for Robin. For Batman.
And, in a sick twist of fate, Jason wasn’t enough for his father. Again.
- - -
Batman twisted out of the way of another bolt, body growing tired despite himself.
Maxie Zeus had clearly updated his equipment since the last encounter. He was supposed to be prepared for such an event, of course. Dick had been scolding him for being more reckless lately. He was, of course, right. Unhealed injuries, worry for Jason, and an exhaustion filled haze mixing together, he’d completely neglected to ensure the material he’d made his newest suit from was insulated. He’d also neglected to update the comm technology and ensure it was immune or resistant to lightning.
A mistake he was never going to make again, likely because he wasn’t going to have a chance to.
Batman flipped backward, slipping away and trying his best to hide behind an electrical box. Blend with the shadows. He needed enough time to think, just for a moment, through the haze. He needed enough time to breathe. To have a moment where he could ignore the ache in his ribs from the last fracture he’d gotten, the small burns on his hands from digging through rubble searching for Robin mere days ago.
"Brother Hades! That behavior is for pitiful mortals. Come, face me, and we can battle as we used to!"
Bruce shook his head, attempting to clear it. Jason kept doing that and, while he knew it didn’t actually help, it was almost comforting.
He couldn’t get close, because of the metal rod that Maxie had. He couldn’t be within sight, because of the new ability to throw electricity. He would have to try an ambush. A silent take down. Robin staying quiet might have made that easier, but–
He rolled away, instinct taking over as the building was struck with a bolt of lightning, the concrete coated in soot and sulfur and ash. Clearly, that was no longer an option. Maxie was well aware of him by now. Too aware.
Batman braced himself, preparing to leap for the nearest building. Maxie was charismatic, but not quite strong or agile enough to chase him. He wouldn’t be a threat without his gang, which Cass would have no problem dealing with.
His feet had barely left the ground when the lightning struck him straight through the chest.
- - -
Jason was definitely fired after this.
Beyond fired, actually. He’d crossed that line half an hour ago. He was pretty sure he was getting disowned at this point. Or murdered. Or fed to wolves. Or smited.
He shook his head. No time for worrying about that. No time to worry, no time to think, no time to breathe. Terror motivated his movements and panic was the only thing keeping him alive.
In the middle of a cult’s base, no less.
Robin crawled through the air vents, squished between the metal. He didn’t consider himself a particularly claustrophobic person, but he wasn’t a big fan of being separated from the sky. Of being trapped. It made him feel like some sort of feral dog, pinned and terrified.
He reached the grate at the end, peering into the alley below. He couldn’t see Batman. Had B already left? Where was Maxie?
A man darted across his vision. Ah, there Maxie was. Except, then where was…
His eyes locked onto the man, kneeled in the dirt. Attempting and failing to shove himself to his feet, adrenaline keeping him alive but also clumsy.
Robin slammed the base of his palm into the grate, forcing it open. The metal snapped, rusty nails immediately breaking at the pressure. He lunged the second he had a chance to, launching himself out of the tunnel. He had no time to think. No time to feel. He hit indiscriminately, throwing his full force behind each punch. Reckless, stupid, insane. Maxie’s lightning rod dropped to the ground, stunned, confused, and struck dumb for a few moments.
Not long, unfortunately. Maxie hit back, causing Jason to stumble. Thank the gods for his training. Without the knowledge of his environment behind him he’d noted before, he probably would have fallen.
Each punch landed felt distant, the collision registering in his mind seconds too late. Each breath was fueled with nothing but adrenaline and a mind filled with fear. He didn’t think, just moved. He relied on instinct and ignored the pain in his fingers as he swung a fist across the man's perfect face, slicing his cheek open and spraying blood. Maybe ichor. The lighting was too dim to tell. His vision was tunneled. Fights like these were supposed to be easy, but not when there were lives on the line.
Batman’s life. Bruce Wayne’s life. His father’s life.
Maxie shouted in his ear, lunging for the bolt on the floor. Jason was seconds too late as it slammed into his chest, making his ears ring. His vision came into focus for the barest moment.
They were in an alleyway. There was a door, paint on it chipped to hell, labeled EMERGENCY EXIT. DO NOT OPEN. ALARM WILL SOUND but the alarm system seemed to be disarmed, as he had watched several men enter and exit the building just moments before. There were three heartbeats, in tune with their breathing within the alley.
One, Jason. Stressed, panicked breaths. Nervous. Scared.
Two, Maxie. Huffs of anger with groans of pain mixed in. Aggressive. Dangerous.
Three, Bruce. Agonized gasps, shaky as he tried to stand for the second time. Defiant, but injured.
Maxie pulled the bolt back, almost as if in slow motion. His muscles tensed, preparing to strike again.
Jason’s hands shot out like lightning, yanking the rod away and spinning it to face him at the same time. "That doesn’t belong to you!" He raised it high in the air, pointing to the sky.
And shoved it directly into Zeus’ stomach.
*
The scream was blood curdling, piercing his ears, but distant. The god dropped to his knees, toga stained a shade that Jason’s blurry and unfocused eyes couldn’t quite tell. Red, or gold? His heart pounded in his ears. He could no longer tell if he was moving. He could no longer tell if Zeus, or even Bruce were moving. He was supposed to feel something about this, right?
Pat-ri-cide. /ˈpatrəˌsīd/, noun. The killing of one's father. A sin of the highest order, something so vile and demented many in his youth refused to even say it in anything louder than a whisper. A crime of such a high offense that he had to risk not only his career, but his life in hiding it for an ally. The thought of committing such an act merely grazing his mind may have forced him into punishments and remedial training for months previously.
He had killed his father. He must have. The blood was on his hands.
De-i-cide. /ˈdēəˌsīd/, noun. The killing of a deity. Foreign, unheard of. Never spoken of, not even in soft whispers or notes, now long burned and gone, passed between children. An idea so confusing, disgusting and unnerving that the only time the word had even been mentioned in front of him was when he had just committed it the first time, and never again.
He had killed his father, Zeus. He must have. The ichor was on his hands.
Jason could vaguely tell he was running. He felt numb, mostly. His mind was hollow, no longer driven by adrenaline but something darker, more sinister. He didn’t feel in control of himself, a spectator rather than a participant within his own body. The world around him was unfocused, dull, and messy, changing too rapidly for him to process and too slowly for him to think.
His body might have collapsed somewhere along the way. He didn’t know where he was anymore, gasping for air despite its abundance. His head was filled with cotton, his thoughts were too slow and certainly not his own. He might have felt tired, but his muscles refused to behave and his eyes refused to close.
Gravel scraped the ground next to him. It must have been at least 5 seconds later–or, maybe, as time seemed to be more of a concept than a reality at the moment–that he could properly think enough to realize he was supposed to react.
Jason blinked rapidly, trying to come back to reality. He felt like he was dreaming within consciousness, awake but absent. His body was there, but he was not.
A hand landed on his head. Jarring. Terrifying. His vision came into focus far too quickly, lurching back to reality and nearly growing nauseous. Emotions rushed back, going from nothing to overwhelming in an instant.
#
Oh, gods. He was going to die. Everything was wrong. Everything was overwhelming. His hands still felt numb, but now he was shaking. Quivering. His breathing was too fast–was it always that speed?–and his heart was pounding in his head like a drum, calling him to attention and pleading with him to run.
Run. He needed to go somewhere. He wasn’t sure where, but not here. Anywhere but here. He was going to die if he stayed here, right? He was going to die if he stayed here and no one would notice anyways because they didn’t care. He was going to die alone and cold like he was always going to, he was going to die here and he needed to leave now, he needed to leave now, or maybe he needed to die. There was something wrong with him, choking him slowly. There was something wrong, deep within his bones and mind and body and soul and he needed to get it out, he needed it gone and he needed himself gone and, hell, he couldn’t tell if it was better when he couldn’t think or not. His vision was shifting, spinning and stretching and blurring and fuck he couldn’t calm himself down. He felt pathetic. He felt weak. He was overreacting, and damn it he knew it but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t fix himself.
After all his training, all 14 years of it, he wasn’t strong enough.
"Robin, report." A voice barked, far too distant to be next to be the hands on him and far too close to not be. A voice that he was supposed to respond to, even if the idea of talking right now made him want to throw up.
Jason curled into himself, placing his head between his knees. He was shaking, quivering like a leaf in the wind as his bloody hand shot out to give a pained thumbs up. He was fine, he was going to be fine, he had to be fine, and–
"Deep breath!" A different voice called beside him. That had to be the person touching him, right? "In, out."
He reached out, clinging to them with less force than he needed and more than he intended. The tips of his fingers dug into familiar fabric, feeling warm and numb as he pressed his nails into his own gloves.
#
"Robin," the other voice said, still shaking as he was. "we’re going home. The mission was successful. Maxie is fine. He’s being sent back to Arkham, within higher security."
Fine–Maxie?
Jason shook his head, far too violently. He should have hit the wall, if someone hadn’t tilted his face away. "He’s not–" he cut himself off, sighing heavily as he planted his face into her shoulder. He was so tired… he just needed to get himself together… Jason went back to feeling numb, eyes falling halfway closed, muscles that were not quite his own going slack.
"Home," Thalia echoed, hugging him back.
*
- - -
Robin had fallen asleep halfway through the drive.
Cassandra didn’t seem to care, sitting next to him in the cave, combing through the hair he had pulled out and twisted into knots before they had managed to find him. She seemed to feel guilt about not finding him earlier. She had refused to leave his–or Bruce’s, for that matter–side afterwards, throughout his soft whispers and stressed squirming within his nightmares. Bruce hadn’t known that Jason talked in his sleep before this, but he had more pressing worries for the moment.
Was he reckless, or courageous?
Bruce may have died if Jason had not stepped in to assist him.
Jason may have died by rejecting and ignoring his commands.
Who needed who to keep the other stable? Did Jason need Bruce, or did Bruce need Jason? Did Robin need Batman, or did Batman need Robin?
Bruce didn’t mind filling out files. It was tedious work most of the others complained about. Tedious, maybe, but necessary. Filling out this file, though, felt worse. The acknowledgement of a mistake, a fault he had not wanted to confront previously.
Bruce could not and would not be able to hide Jason’s meta abilities from him for long.
Abilities:
Notably enhanced endurance. → See entry for April 2nd.
Accelerated healing. → See entry for April 6th and November 17th.
Electrokinesis → See entry for April 6th, November 17th, and November 22nd.
Bruce stared at the screen for a long moment, stifling a sigh as he pressed the enter key.
Resistance or immunity to electricity → See entry for November 22nd.
Flight or levitation → See entry for November 22nd.
Notes:
Life and death and love and birth
And peace and war on the planet Earth
Is there anything that's worth more
Than peace and love on the planet Earth?I won the fist fight if you were worried about me. he was scrawny and being disruptive backstage during a show so I punched that bitch. fuck you dylan (sorry if your name is Dylan and you're reading this, you're probably better than him) anyways I'm weak as hell so my arms still hurt owwiieee :CCC
we are SO back. by the way, because so many people were concerned, its named patricide because Jason attacks Maxie wahhh he thinks he killed him, blah blah blah.
comment if you enjoyed that, ya sicko/j. (just kidding comment I beg you its all thats keeping me sane at the moment) its 11 pm, nearing midnight, and my chromebook is about to die (15%, aka like an hour of battery left) plus I'm sleeping on the floor (my own bad decisions) and I need to wake up at 5:30, good night chat.
Chapter 10: sparks.
Summary:
Jason paused, frowning heavily at Bruce. His eyebrows drew together, the small crease between them growing clearer. "Well, that too. Thalia is a pretty great sister. I mean, if she wasn’t with the Hunters–"
The screen flashed green, commands overridden by Oracle, no doubt.
"Batman," her voice announced from the computer. "Gotham has a problem. The Riddler escaped from Arkham, currently locked within the S.T.A.R labs building. Hostage situation. Two of them, a 20 year old female and a 12 year old male. Facial recognition scans say they come from opposite sides of Gotham, 20 year old from the Narrows and the 12 year old from the Upper East side, no notable connections."
"Did the facial recognition system find any names?"
"12 year old Caelum Toren and 20 year old Azura Raiden. Your suit needs to be insulated. He hacked into the electricity system within the building–announced it himself. Something about your newest Robin being more than he seemed." Barbara’s voice grew strained at the end, nervous.
Jason squinted. "What does that mean?"
"It means we need to hurry. Get into costume now, or I leave without you."
---
Jason notices something. He is officially the last to know.
Notes:
guys this is late I'm so sorry I genuinely don't have an excuse other than I was scared I was gonna be doxxed by someone for mischaracterizing the riddler :((
4 chapters left...
minor stephcass
tw: non-graphic crucifixation, description of a torture/execution method
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Jason had taken less time than expected to recover.
With all he had been through, Bruce had expected a day or two at minimum. He’d never seen such behavior, such panic and fear within Jason. He didn’t cry, but he was shaking and breathing hard when they found him floating in that alley. Harder than he’d seen before, even curled in a ball and slowly bleeding to death in an alleyway. Something had clearly gone wrong for his meta powers to activate unintentionally, some sort of fight or flight response that Bruce was planning on doing more research into.
Planning on, because he was forced to sideline it when familiar footsteps entered the room.
"Am I fired?" Jason demanded, voice hard and even. His hands weren’t shaking anymore, instead limp by his side. His unusual recovery times seemed to extend to mental healing as well. Good to know.
"No, you’re not. The mission was still successful, if your attacks were a bit excessive. Where’s Cass?" Bruce tucked his hair back as he spoke. It was getting too long, and he felt like he looked more like Dick by the day. He needed to trim it soon.
Jason frowned. "She uh, she said she was looking for “her awesome girlfriend!” and ran off."
Bruce tilted his head, fingers drumming against the desk. He knew who she was referring to, of course, just not sure she knew what it meant. Maybe she’d been watching too much of that witch show, or maybe Jason–Todd, not Wayne–owed Tim 20 dollars. "She’s finding Steph. It won’t take long. Cass is exceptional at tracking."
"Of course she is." Jason beamed, pride practically oozing from him. "She’s the best sister ever." His excitement faltered for a split second, visible in the way his smile suddenly dropped, not quite reaching his eyes. Microexpressions in his face alerted Bruce of something darker. Guilt, perhaps. Longing. The deep sadness that was always there seemed to grow stronger, something that Bruce was all too acutely aware of. "Don’t uh, tell her I said that."
"Why not?" He questioned, looking back at the screen. He needed to fix that sadness, to help Jason like he wanted to be helped as a kid. Save him.
"Leo says that I’ve gotta keep up the sibling rivalry." Jason shrugged off the question, choosing to pin the blame on another instead. Right.
"Leo. Right. This has nothing to do with your older sister?"
Jason paused, frowning heavily at Bruce. His eyebrows drew together, the small crease between them growing clearer. "Well, that too. Thalia is a pretty great sister. I mean, if she wasn’t with the Hunters–"
The screen flashed green, commands overridden by Oracle, no doubt.
"Batman," her voice announced from the computer. "Gotham has a problem. The Riddler escaped from Arkham, currently locked within the S.T.A.R labs building. Hostage situation. Two of them, a 20 year old female and a 12 year old male. Facial recognition scans say they come from opposite sides of Gotham, 20 year old from the Narrows and the 12 year old from the Upper East side, no notable connections."
"Did the facial recognition system find any names?"
"12 year old Caelum Toren and 20 year old Azura Raiden. Your suit needs to be insulated. He hacked into the electricity system within the building–announced it himself. Something about your newest Robin being more than he seemed." Barbara’s voice grew strained at the end, nervous.
Jason squinted. "What does that mean?"
"It means we need to hurry. Get into costume now, or I leave without you."
- - -
Jason didn’t know how to feel anymore.
He shifted his mask, suddenly feeling far too warm. More than he seemed. What could that mean? Jason was just, well, Jason. He was strong, but not stronger than Bruce or Cass. He was smart, but not smarter than Annabeth or Dick. He was decently certain he was exactly what he seemed.
Bruce seemed to think otherwise, though. His body language was clear, anxious. Every noise made him tense, every step had him on edge.
"Who are we waiting for?" Jason asked.
"An ally."
"Which one? You have a lot of those." Jason leaned against the wall. They’d been standing out here for at least 5 minutes, time those hostages didn’t have. Batman should have moved on by now, this was growing upsetting–
A person cloaked in purple dropped down beside him, cape fluttering. Bruce’s hand darted to his belt, but he didn’t grab a weapon. Yet, at least.
"Sorry for surprising you like that! Dreadful etiquette, I know." Their voice was feminine, but otherwise similar to the Red Hood’s. The same Gothamite accent, at least. This one, though, was familiar. Comforting.
"Spoiler," Batman greeted, turning on his heel and leaping off of the building.
Stephanie frowned. "Why does he always do that?" She asked, turning and jumping off after him.
- - -
"Did you know," The Riddler started, voice echoing through the building over the announcement system. The speakers crackled softly, sparks coming from their inner systems. "that the Ancient Romans put coins on the eyes of the dead to prepare them for the afterlife? They believed their loved ones had to pay the ferryman. What a delightful concept! Tell me, detective , do you have any coins on you?"
Bruce shook his head. "There will be no dead today–"
"The belief actually originated in Greece."
Silence overtook the weathered, abandoned room for a moment. Robin stood next to him, arms firmly crossed over his chest.
"... Cocky bird." Riddler whispered, the soft noise barely audible even over the intercom. There was something like amusement seeping into his usually charming tone.
"It originated in Ancient Greece. And the Romans put coins in the mouths of the dead. You got it wrong." Jason pointed out, shaking off the hand Bruce had planted on his shoulder.
"Trying to correct the rules of a game I made?" The Riddler mused. "Plucky. Although, I appreciate your feedback! Now, let's play another game!"
The speakers crackled with electricity again, sparks flying from the outlets around them. The air turned sour, sulfur and burning aluminum permeating it. Robin tensed, pressing himself closer to Batman.
"That’s not good." He whispered. He seemed to have a penchant for stating the obvious, it seemed.
"While we’re correcting things, did you know that bats seldom adopt other’s young? Non-kin relationships between pup and mother are almost unheard of." The Riddler said, joy clear in his tone. "Let’s fix that!"
Jason flinched back, moving away from him as the gate activated. A mimic of the ones in Arkham, electrically charged. Too strong for either of them to deal with, even with insulated suits. It seemed this was a larger problem than previously estimated.
If only he could figure out where Stephanie ran off to.
- - -
Jason didn’t like this game.
Jason liked games. He knew that. Night spent sitting on the floor of Cabin 10, passing cards and staying as quiet as possible as not to wake the other campers. Rolling dice, unnecessary competition, and stifled giggles that continued until the moonlight that filtered through the windows switched to sunshine.
This wasn’t a game like that. This was closer to the games he played with Thalia and Mama. Dangerous. Violent. Survivalism wrapped in a thin disguise of color and play. This reminded him of hiding in a closet and holding a blanket in his teeth to keep quiet while his mother sobbed in the kitchen, playing along with something he couldn’t quite tell wasn’t sincere at his young age.
Now, though, he wasn’t the one hiding while his sister defended him and tried to help their mother. He was the savior. His mission was not to cover himself, save himself, but rather to help others no matter the cost. After all, if a hero wasn’t ready to sacrifice everything for a greater cause, were they really ever a hero?
That sentiment was… familiar. Too familiar. Something he’d echoed before, he could tell.
"Did you know the Romans had three names? A prenomen, a nomen, and a cognomen. It was called tria nomina. In a way, you have three names too, Robin." The voice came on over the intercom again, loud and charming. Deceptively friendly.
"What does that mean?" Jason wondered aloud, turning down the hallway. Long, winding, neverending. Was this the gods forsaken labyrinth?
"You really don’t know? Goodness, little detective! I thought you collected smarter than this." The speaker was static for a split second, before clicking off.
"Pick the lock on the door to your right," Oracle’s voice announced in his ear. He knew better than to question her by now, and so immediately dropped to his knees. The tools in his belt would do just fine. He needed to get the hostages and stall long enough for Spoiler to infiltrate the room the Riddler was supposed to be in. He needed to get tension on the cylinder, but these locks were particularly hard to pick–there. Now he could–
"I loathe using henchmen." The Riddler sighed over the announcement system. "Their low intellects make them sloppy and careless. After all, you can only truly trust yourself. However, they are oh so useful for when a man cannot be in several places at once!" Jason froze, dropping the tools and spinning around as fast as he could. Not fast enough, it seemed.
He turned and found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.
- - -
Batman didn’t need to worry about Robin, it seemed. Today, at the very least.
Robin fought with surgical precision. Adapting, changing, fluid, instant. There was a gun on the floor beside him, discarded in the fight, but Jason didn’t need it and it wouldn’t help the henchmen, three of which were already on the floor. It took Bruce a moment to register that he wasn’t needed here. He needed to get back to his work, find the Riddler, and perhaps find Stephanie. It wasn’t like she couldn’t handle herself, rather that he would not be able to handle himself if another ally–let alone child–was injured under his watch. Knowing Stephanie, though, he wouldn’t have to wait long for an answer.
"He has more control than we thought," she chimed in over his radio. Right on time.
"Where were you before this? What do you mean, more control than we thought?" A henchman guard shouted, interrupting him in the middle of his sentence. He hardly had time to deal with that, sprinting past. Based on his knowledge of the building, and Barbara’s guidance, the control room should be right… there!
"He has control over the entire city block. Potentially more. Blackouts all across Gotham. My father and I are trying to find solutions for and evacuate people who need medical devices that rely on electricity." Oracle offered, clicking in the background moving faster than her words.
The Riddler was more prepared than he had assumed. "Try sending them to Metropolis." Bruce offered as the lock clicked open, offering little resistance. He opened the door slowly, carefully. He didn’t want to alert Nygma, cape brushing against the doorway as he stood.
Unfortunately, instead of finding the man he was searching for, he came face to face with a woman, 20 year old Azura Raiden.
Pinned to a cross in the middle of the room.
- - -
Jason’s heart pounded in his ears, breath heavy and head throbbing. The three henchmen were tied together by the ankles, unconscious. He could finally work on his real goal.
Getting to the Riddler.
It was a shotty plan. One Spoiler and he had composed within minutes, using Batman’s own codes against him. Designed for optimal efficiency within communication, completely silently. The Riddler obsessed over Bruce, analyzing everything. Almost as paranoid and observant as he was, making him the perfect foil. The microexpressions in his face, even from a man as well trained as he was, could give things about their plan away that would leave Edward at an unfair advantage.
That was, at least, if Batman knew the full plan.
Nightwing had texted him. Told him to do it, told him B would understand. Jason was hesitant at first–wounds from betrayals like that didn’t heal easily–but he knew that at some point, he had to put survival over feelings.
The lock came open, clicking quietly, tension releasing. For a moment, nothing happened, and Jason assumed he was safe to open the door, reaching for the knob.
Alarms blared throughout the room. Blaringly loud, crippling. Overlaying everything, making it near impossible to simply think through the pain.
Robin dropped to the floor, pinning his hands over his ears. He could feel the vibrations within every bone in his body, making him quiver. Every noise was piercing, every light blinding. His ears ached and throbbed, movement and words barely processed as he curled into himself. The Riddler was saying something, but he didn’t know how to process it, too loud, too distant. His gloves felt the wrong texture, clinging to his skin that was too hot, costume too constricting. What kind of torture was this?
He gasped, ragged and stressed. He felt like he was going to throw up if he tried to talk, but he just needed to force his way through this one word. Everything was too much. One word…
"Dad," he whimpered, forcing his eyes shut.
- - -
Bruce had just barely pulled the unconscious woman off of the cross when the alarms started going off.
Too loud, too high pitch. He could force his way through the noise, but it certainly wasn’t pleasant, and probably worse on the already stressed hostages. He pulled a small pack of ear plugs from his belt, originally retrieved for disabled children although they had proved useful for more, and pushed them into the woman’s ears. This was a dead end, damn it!
"I knew you’d try that. Children like that are often predictable, and blessings often backfire. Unfortunate! But I’m so glad you’ve graced us with your presence." The speakers chimed in again, oozing with pride. The beginning notes of Amazing Grace began to play alongside his words. "Now, let’s see if you can answer this one. I once flew bright, soaring high. Now, when I rise, I do nothing but sink again. A child of the sky comes to fall, a blade between my shoulders. What am I?"
Batman’s blood ran cold, freezing him in place for the barest of moments. He wouldn’t. Nygma would want to play with him first, there was no way…
He broke into a sprint, darting down the hallway in spite of the electric gates that sprung, forcing his way through them, through the pain. He knew the answer to that riddle. A dead bird.
He needed to get to Robin. Now.
- - -
Stephanie pulled him up when he was forced down.
Jason had to be forever grateful for her. She shoved a pair of headphones into his hands without uttering a word. He pressed them on, feeling instant relief. It wasn’t amazing. Just… less bad. Tolerable, but just barely. The feeling didn’t go away–touch and light was still too much–but he could handle this.
He nodded his appreciation to her, incapable of saying anything more quite yet. She wasn’t who he had asked for, but she was what he needed. He hesitated to reach for the door again, so she did it for him.
By bashing it open with her staff, of course. She wasn’t insane, good god! Opening the same trap twice, as if she’d free him from a beartrap and step straight into another? Outrageous.
Stephanie swung as soon as she stepped in, knocking out two henchmen guards at once. His goal was the Riddler. That was it. He just needed to get to him.
Robin lunged, throwing himself at the man. He didn’t hear a word the man rattled off, grappling with him. He was tall, lean, but not very muscular. A container of sugar cookies sat beside him, the kind you get at grocery stores around holidays with too much frosting. In Jason’s humble opinion, they tasted like playdoh and felt the same way.
Something pressed into Jason’s side, but he couldn’t quite tell what. Damn it, if he had to deal with another stab wound, so help him…
The Riddler’s outfit wasn’t as stupid as he’d assumed. The gloves were a little tacky as he rapidly pointed at the screen, struggling against the hold that had been placed on him.
Jason glanced at the screen. There was… nothing there except a mannequin in a cage filled with rocks. What was even the point of that? Stupid. The Riddler seemed shocked by it, as if he was finally surprised by anything that had been thrown at him today.
A batarang shattered the computer screen. In a flash of darkness, Edward was out of his hands. Bruce’s hands shook under his gloves, clutching the fabric of the man's suit as he took shaky, gasping breaths. He looked like he was about to hurt the man.
He grabbed his wrist, trying to stay gentle. "B," He mumbled, too quiet. He couldn’t control his volume like this. Everything was still so… off.
Batman looked up, and his expression almost softened, grip loosening on the man. Robin retrieved line from his own belt, the last of it, tying his wrists together in a knot. He knew how to tie knots correctly, but he also knew how to tie knots in a way that they weren’t coming apart unless cut with brute force. He just wanted to have this mission done already. He wasn’t sure he would even make it through the examination Alfred made him sit through after big missions like this without falling asleep.
The room became visually dull, lacking in movement other than the rapid rise and fall of the other’s shoulders. He reached up, pulling the headphones Spoiler had provided him off.
"Hostages?" Robin asked, voice scratchy even to his own ears.
Bruce glanced at Spoiler. "Azura is fine." He said, squinting at her. "What’s Caelum’s status?" He questioned as she reached for one of the cookies, slipping it under her mask. The Riddler grumbled quietly under his breath, seeming mildly annoyed by the theft.
"That was 5 dollars." He muttered under his breath. "And my favorite cookies."
Jason elbowed him, likely harder than necessary. Steph nodded.
"Riddle me this—" He tried to start off again, but she cut in.
"I prefer knock-knock jokes. Anyway, Caelum’s fine. He was in that weird Saw trap. I already got him outside the building. He’s with Commissioner Gordon." She announced, somehow speaking around the pure sugar she was consuming.
"It’s not a Saw trap, it’s a Roman execution method." Jason grabbed a cookie for himself, scrounging around for a napkin to wrap it in and set it in his pocket. Percy liked them–well, only the blue ones, but the frosting on the one he picked was blue, so that counted. "You fill the cage with rocks until they can’t keep their head above water and they drown."
Bruce turned to Jason. "That makes… a disturbing amount of sense. Are you okay? Did he injure you?"
"He didn’t touch me." Robin confirmed, rubbing behind his ears. "Just… was loud, I suppose. Far too loud. I’m not good with loud noises."
"Dogs rarely are." The Riddler pointed out.
"Mr. Nygma, I’d hate to discover that you’ve forgotten what animal young Robin here represents. Robins are avians, not canids." The police commissioner smiled wryly, spinning handcuffs in one hand and holding a pipe in his other. Jason suppressed the urge to wrinkle his nose, trying to stay polite.
"Old friend," Batman looked at him, posture relaxing just the slightest amount, the faintest of smiles gracing his lips. "It would, indeed, be a tragedy to discover that. Azura Raiden is in the furthest door down, to the right if you follow that hallway. It’s labelled as the janitor's closet. If I can disable the electric gates…"
Robin intercepted him as he reached for the control panel, slamming his fist into a button. The lights flickered for a split second, before powering all the way off. A total blackout.
"There," he declared. "problem solved."
"Ah, Robin, helpful as always. Although, I can’t help but think you might have overreacted. After all, we might have been able to–" Batman glanced at Robin, then Spoiler, as Jim turned to the monitor. The message was communicated silently but fluently.
"–use… that." Jim turned back, looking at the open window and the notable lack of Bats within the room.
He frowned. "Why does he always do that?"
- - -
Jason was just about ready to crash as Damian escorted him upstairs, talking about Alfred the cat. He felt like he might tumble forward and fall asleep right there on the floor at any moment, painfully aware of the exhaustion making his eyes so heavy.
"Alfred doesn’t like sleeping in the same bed as people, but tonight he laid next to me while I was researching the human endocrine system. I wonder why. Do you think it has to do with his recent diet change? He seems to be having a negative reaction to chicken as of late, and so I have requested his meals be adapted to such dietary requirements, but I’m unsure if this has affected his behavior in a negative or positive way." Damian questioned, cradling the cat in his arms. He walked beside Jason, setting a pace that he wasn’t sure was manageable in his current state.
"...Mmm, maybe. Or maybe he’s feeling better now, so he’s more sociable." Jason pushed the door to his bedroom open, rubbing his eyes.
Damian frowned. "You’re not in a good state, Jason." He set the cat down within his room, squinting. "Rest. We can discuss Alfred’s sleeping habits in the morning."
"Thank you," Jason sighed.
"This conversation is not over, simply put on hiatus. We need to resume this within the near future." Damian turned away, his cat following him. Jason shoved the door closed, groaning. He needed to sleep until he was 40. That was what he needed to do.
"Fuck," he mumbled under his breath, slumping into his bed. He didn't have the energy to rearrange his bedding, not right now. He could tolerate being uncomfortable. But his fingers tingled, which was a bit too bothersome for him to ignore. Annoying. He raised them to the sky, stretching. Maybe that'd make it go away, and he could sleep.
Something gave him pause though. Faint blue lines, crackling, darting between his hands like miniature bolts of lightning. Sparks, circling him playfully like he was an old friend. Jason squinted. That was odd. That wasn’t supposed to happen. He was sure of it. Something was deeply, deeply wrong.
He suddenly felt far too alert, hypervigilant of everything around him. If he could just focus…
The outlets in the room sparked, the electricity around his hands intensifying. Jason’s eyes widened at the sudden shift in environment, caused by him.
Maybe he was more than he seemed.
Notes:
my therapist told me my dissociation and adhd symptoms are getting concerning/neg
my nana is also reading this fic now! say hi nana! ^^
i live off of comments! let me know how you felt about this one! sorry it wasn't more Steph focused :CC
Chapter 11: outsider
Summary:
The Meta-Human Youth Center.
Jason had slept uneasy. He felt far too awake now. People left him. That was a constant, as self pitying as it sounded. His mom, his friends and legion, Leo, Piper. They had their own reasons, of course, but he didn’t need to give them a reason to. He didn’t know anyone near there, and Leo’s descriptions of youth centers and foster homes weren’t something he wanted to be involved in.
Bruce wouldn’t leave him if he found this, would he? The adoption papers had been signed, of course, but what would it take to disown him? He had a legal team and a PR team–people to brush an event like him throwing a child out under the rug. And maybe Bruce wouldn’t do that, but he never thought his mother had wanted to leave him either. Not until confronted with the evidence, at least. How well did he really know him? Would he try to protect Jason?
No. He wouldn’t. Jason hadn’t been protected since two, and he didn’t need it now. No one needed to protect him. He was strong enough to handle himself.
Notes:
my mom and nana are now reading. um! behave yourselves in the comments.
yes, this is probably bad. I do not care today unfortunately, it's important for plot.
very little action in this chapter. you'll get plenty in chapter 13, you're fine, hush.
edit: HEY GUYS HAHA FUNNY STORY I FORGOT. I FORGOT JERCY WEEK. YOU'VE GOTTA WAIT A BIT FOR CHAPTER 12 SORRY!!! oh maybe a bit longer if im doing valgrace week oughhh goodness
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The Meta-Human Youth Center.
Bruce had struggled through the exam. Alfred’s ministrations were calculated and gentle as usual, but his skin burned with every touch. According to Alfred, his actions were “impressively reckless for a man nearing 40” which was surprising considering he was certain this wasn’t even close to the worst things he had done, especially within his early years. But the pain from fresh wounds was the least of his concerns.
He couldn’t focus on the scolding Alfred gave him because his brain was zeroed in on something else. The Meta-Human Youth Center.
He couldn’t send Jason there. He couldn’t. But the files on Edward’s computer were too damning. He had two options left–tell Jason, and risk him endangering himself or others trying to test them out, or hand him over to someone else. Someone more qualified. It was too soon to give his child to another. He couldn’t hurt Jason like that. The kid was already hesitant to let Bruce go on his own patrols alone. Abandonment was not something he could handle.
So, Bruce had one thing left to do. Find a day to potentially ruin Jason’s life.
Good thing he already had someone to break the news for him. Someone far better versed with metas than he was.
- - -
The Meta-Human Youth Center.
Jason had slept uneasy. He felt far too awake now. People left him. That was a constant, as self pitying as it sounded. His mom, his friends and legion, Leo, Piper. They had their own reasons, of course, but he didn’t need to give them a reason to. He didn’t know anyone near there, and Leo’s descriptions of youth centers and foster homes weren’t something he wanted to be involved in.
Bruce wouldn’t leave him if he found this, would he? The adoption papers had been signed, of course, but what would it take to disown him? He had a legal team and a PR team–people to brush an event like him throwing a child out under the rug. And maybe Bruce wouldn’t do that, but he never thought his mother had wanted to leave him either. Not until confronted with the evidence, at least. How well did he really know him? Would he try to protect Jason?
No. He wouldn’t. Jason hadn’t been protected since two, and he didn’t need it now. No one needed to protect him. He was strong enough to handle himself, he knew that.
Jason pulled a sweatshirt on, shaking his head to free the hair that got stuck in the turtleneck collar. He really needed a haircut soon. But first, he just needed to figure out how to not zap things. Which he'd been doing for most of his life, right?
Or, actually, probably not.
He reached for the doorknob, which immediately connected to his hand in thin lines of glowing electricity. Like one of those stupid plasma balls, and it was painfully obvious.
Jason wrinkled his nose. Well, this was unpleasant. Was he only noticing it now because he knew that it was there? Aware of it only because of a previous perception? Some sort of Schrodinger's superpowers?
He opened the drawer, rustling around in it. He had to find a way to hide this. Then, figure out how they worked. He would tell Bruce… Well, eventually, at least. Just not now! Eventually. Yeah. He’d tell him at some point in his life. Or afterlife, actually. Bruce didn’t need to know, not right now.
Jason pulled on the gloves. He probably looked very silly, but he could just tell them he got cold, right? That would work in a family of detectives, totally…
He pushed the door open, finding what looked like a twelve year old on the other side.
Absolutely tiny. Smaller than Damian, even. On a guess, he had to say the boy was less than 5’6. He only came up to Jason’s chin, with a round face and button nose. Chubby cheeks, big eyes. Prepubescent, clearly. Curly black hair that just barely hit his shoulders, part of it landing in the hood of the jacket he wore. Dorky, but weirdly endearing. Definitely not a soldier.
"Uh… hey, little guy?" Jason leaned against the doorframe, trying to get on a more even level with him. Bruce stood behind him, so he was clearly meant to be here. Odd. "Aren’t you supposed to be in school right now…?"
"I–uh–I’m 18." The child said blankly, pigment rising to his cheeks. His speech sounded sophisticated, refined, and educated. "And I dropped out."
Or… not? Jason squinted, glancing between the kid and Bruce. He, somehow, highly doubted that.
"He’s telling the truth." Bruce sighed. "This is Tim. Your older brother." Older… huh.
"O-kay…" Jason nodded. That name had been mentioned before, he knew that at the very least. "And why, exactly, is Tim here?"
"I’m here to–" Tim was cut off by the faintest of movements from Bruce, leaning to one side and brushing a hand against his.
"We’re visiting Blüdhaven. Dick doesn’t want me coming alone, but he has information that's important to The Riddlers recent stunt. I figured I should bring you both to allow for some brotherly bonding." Bruce smiled, but Jason didn’t trust it. Brotherly bonding. Sure. In the six, nearing seven months that he’d been here, he had not once been told he needed to do any brotherly bonding exercises. Team bonds and unity were important, but packs and family? You weren’t given sanctioned time for it, it just happened. Which made the idea that Bruce was trying to force it almost… suspicious.
Tim stared at him with unnervingly blue eyes, shifting on his feet. "It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jason." He said, holding out a thin hand.
Jason forced himself to take it. He had no reason to trust this man. "... It’s a pleasure to meet you as well." He’d never told Tim his name.
Good thing Dick was there, because he wasn’t sure he thought this kid was trustworthy on his own.
- - -
Tim thought this interaction was going pretty well.
He and Jason were banished to the backseat. He wasn’t sure why Bruce hadn’t let him execute the purpose of their little bonding activity at the start, but spending even a few minutes with him told him exactly why; this kid was one of the most tense and anxious people Tim had ever seen. The interesting thing was that he thought he was hiding it, even within all of his anxious glances and nervous fidgeting.
He sipped the Red-bull he was holding, eyeing Jason from his peripheral. It had been 10 minutes since they’d last spoken, a conversation that Tim had been forced to initiate, and 18 since they’d gotten in the car. The boy had yet to move his finger from the child safety lock, seemingly fully willing to unlock it and throw himself out of the moving vehicle in the middle of the highway. He highly doubted that he was that intimidating.
Tim sifted through his bag, grabbing another drink for Jason. Weirdly, out of all the flavors he’d tried, his favorite remained the yellow edition. Tropical. He held the can out to the boy, a weak attempt at an olive branch. He didn’t want to aggravate Jason at all. He didn’t seem fragile, just… distrustful.
"No." Jason shook his head insistently. "I mean–uh–I don’t… drink that stuff. Too much sugar."
Bruce sighed from the front seat. "Jason, you drink Pepsi." He pointed out.
" Diet Pepsi. Also, energy drinks aren’t good for you." Jason shifted his hand away from the safety lock for a moment, studying Tim with eyes that held a little too much sadness for someone his age.
"Aspartame is potentially carcinogenic–and coffee isn’t good for you, either. You’re ruining your sleep schedule." Bruce chastised.
"You sound like Alfred." Jason declared, resulting in a groan from Bruce. He leaned forward, poking at the pins on Tim’s bag. "... Mythomagic?" He questioned, the faintest hint of intrigue entering his expression.
Mythomagic? That game was old. Did Jason seriously like it?
Tim opened a pocket within the bag, pulling out his deck. "You know what that is?"
"Of course I do. Nico adores it. He made me learn the rules with him–it was pretty fun. What cards do you have?" Jason’s other hand began to stray from the door handle, leaning towards Tim instead. He was still tense, but now he seemed very slightly excited. Nico? So he did have friends. Or, he had them.
"I have Zeus, 5000 defense and 600 attack points, I think he’s my favorite of the gods. Well, other than Hades, because that one's statistically the best one." Tim opened the card box, pulling them out. A small sheet of paper fell out with it, which Jason unfolded without hesitation.
"Huh. Fanart?" He asked casually, handing the paper back.
"Normal people ask before opening mysterious folded letters that fall out of others bags, but sure. It’s old." Tim started shuffling through the deck, looking at the cards. "I have Kronos, if that interests you."
Jason’s eyes went wide. "Woah. How many card packs did it take for you to get him? Nico says that one’s one of the strongest if you play it right. Even if he’s a bit of an asshole…"
"My parents got him for me. Birthday gift."
Jason nodded. "That’s nice. I’ve not played the game much, other than with Nico. He’s really good at it. Do you wanna play a round with me?"
Tim smiled. Maybe he was less anxious than he’d assumed. Maybe they were making progress.
"You’re on."
- - -
Jason thought this interaction was going horribly wrong.
They’d been silent for far too long, and the conversation they were having felt stilted and awkward. The game had seemed like a good idea at first, but it seemed like this kid was just insistent on not engaging in any meaningful conversation–just surveying him, which Jason had already decided was pretty odd.
"You’re really good at this," Jason praised. He’d won three rounds in a row and barely spoke more than three words at a time. He seemed much more focused on him, less focused on the game.
Tim shrugged. "Luck of the draw."
Jason frowned. "It’s a skill-based game. There’s no luck involved."
"I had the favorable deck." His voice remained calm, professional. Jason liked to think he was good at socializing and making friends, but this guy was getting on his nerves. "Rematch?"
He stifled a sigh. "No, thank you." He leaned closer to the car door again, placing his hand over the child safety lock out of sheer instinct. Thalia kept her hand there, why shouldn’t he?
Tim seemed awfully stubborn, though. "Do you want to play a different game, then? I have Uno." He shifted towards Jason instead, forcing the gap to stay the same.
"No, thank you." He reiterated. "I play that game with Piper and Leo only. " The car went silent for a split second as Jason opened the safety lock. Bruce only pressed down harder on the gas.
Tim shifted, moving into a similar position as Jason’s. Mirrored. "I like your hair, by the way. What do you do to it?"
That gave Jason pause. "I–uh–my hair?" He reached up, fidgeting with it in his fingers. He knew Leo liked it. Said it was nice and soft. He’d assumed it was damaged or something with how much Piper liked to dye it. He didn’t mind, but what on Earth did Tim find special about it? "I just use the products that B gave me. I guess it’s just genetics."
"It’s just genetics? That’s intriguing. Natural platinum blond? You’ve clearly lucked out. Do you think you got that from your dad, or your mom?" Tim asked.
Something had changed. Something was off. Suddenly, he was expressive, talkative, and, as bad as it sounded, almost likable. What had happened?
"Probably got it from my mom. Haven’t seen much of my dad as of late. Haven’t seen much of either, actually. You know how it goes." Jason didn’t move his hand from the lock. This was an odd, though not unwelcome, change.
"You haven’t seen either of your parents recently? I know what that’s like. Do you want to talk about it? It’s fine if you don’t, of course." Tim offered, flashing Jason a smile.
"No. I’d rather not." Did he like this? Maybe. This was better than what was happening before. What did he mean by that second comment? He knew what that felt like? How? What was his relationship with his parents? Was that too invasive to ask?
"The gloves are nice. Although, it’s warmer today. Why did you choose to wear them?" Tim’s eyes were still sharp and analytical. Studying him intently, aware of every movement.
"It’s none of your concern." Jason shifted towards the car door again, panic welling up in his throat. He needed to keep himself composed.
"I don’t see how it’s not–"
"Hm." Bruce muttered from the front seat. "That’s… upsetting. It was supposed to be sunny today."
Tim squinted at the sky, suddenly hesitant. "What do you think it is?" He asked, shifting his attention from Jason. Finally .
"Weather is unpredictable." He pointed out. "Most natural things are." Jason knew this well by now–natural things were up to the gods' whims. Fertility, tides, the weather, none of it was guaranteed.
"Tim, what’s your input?" Bruce seemed used to the area, as if he had it memorized or something. Just like he had his coffee order memorized–and Jason’s.
"Meta involvement?" Tim offered. "I don’t want to jump to conclusions. Weather is unpredictable, but rarely that fast."
Jason frowned. "Possible. I know some people who have weather related abilities. Actually–" He pulled his hands to his chest, pausing. The pain was there again. Faint. A warning. "–nevermind."
"You know people who have meta abilities?" Tim questioned. He seemed innocent, curious, but…
"It’s none of your business." Jason didn’t mean to sound so hostile, but the words were out of his mouth, and he didn’t know how to mend them. He didn’t need Tim to know anything.
Tim squinted at him, suddenly tense. "Uh-huh."
Jason stood corrected. This guy was intolerable.
- - -
Dick had been expecting Bruce and Jason.
He had not been expecting Tim, even though the addition was not unwelcome. He was still rocky with Bruce, and Jason hardly called him–he was pretty much a boomer with tech, and Dick had yet to find a way to explain to him he didn’t need to say “over” after everything he said on call–so neither of them were close.
They all had the same purpose, though. Retrieve the information that Dick had on the Riddler, and leave. Hopefully.
It wasn’t quite that simple.
It was starting to rain outside, so Jason had already gotten gloves slapped on him. Why the others didn’t think to get them was beyond Dick, but that wouldn’t matter inside, at least."Excuse the mess, I was working on the Nightcycle." He pulled his own work gloves off, stained with oil and dirt, setting them with the rest of his tools.
Which, of course, Haley took as an invitation.
"Don’t bite that," he scolded, pulling it away as she dug her tiny fangs into the rubber. "Seriously, that’s not good for you."
"You have a dog?" Jason asked, dropping to his knees immediately. Tim and Bruce stepped past him, ignoring his fawning over the pup.
"Her name’s Haley." He finally wrestled the glove away from her, and she tumbled over to drown Jason in drool. "I have wipes in the drawer if you need–" Dick paused mid sentence, cut off by a series of sharp barks from Haley. And, in an unexpected turn of events, a mirror response from Jason.
"Sorry, sorry, instinct." He flopped to his side, fully allowing Haley to jump on him. "They gave up on training me out of that." He scratched behind her ears, suddenly affectionate. He was acting differently earlier–what changed?
"You had training before this?" Tim asked, perking up.
Jason tensed, hands dropping to the floor. Haley paused, sitting down. Dick didn’t want to say she was confused, as he guessed dogs had different feelings than humans, but she definitely looked it.
"No, I didn’t. I don’t know what you’re talking about." Jason’s voice nearly dropped into a growl as he shoved himself to his feet, leaving Haley staring up at him, head tilted.
Dick frowned. That was odd, at the very minimum. Suspicious on a good day. "Really, now? I assumed that you’d gotten trained by someone else, with how you act. You can see it in your movements–those are practiced, and certainly not the way Bruce does it. Did you train yourself?"
"You assumed wrong." Jason muttered, staring at him intently. A tell, certainly. "I don’t know why you would think that." He was too confident. Too composed, something that people rehearsed in the mirror, rather than something genuine.
"Haley isn’t why we’re here. Dick, you said you had information." Bruce was demanding, as always. Tim seemed as lost as he was, shooting him a questioning glance. Dick raised an eyebrow, looking between the three. They were certainly acting unusually today.
"I have some stuff on the Riddler’s recent escape, sure. Come in."
- - -
"Is this blond Jason concerning you at all? He was acting shifty all day around me." Tim was still nursing the last of his energy drink, laying sprawled on Dick’s couch. He’d volunteered to bring the kid back home after Bruce and Jason left, and he wouldn’t be surprised if his little brother insisted on going patrol with him tonight. A sleepover, that was what he had called it in his Robin days. Ironic, because on patrol nights, neither of them were getting much sleep.
Dick shoved his hand into the container of Honey Nut O’s–pretty much generic brand Cheerios–and shoved the fistful he pulled out into his mouth. Alfred would probably consider it unseemly, but he preferred to call it convenient. "He normally acts odd, but he was acting weird today." Jason had been acting weird–weirder than weird usually was within this family, weirder than weird usually was for Jason.
"He gets aggressive when you ask him about the gloves, his past, his training. I don’t…" Tim hesitated, setting the can down. "Well–uh–I don’t want to jump to conclusions."
"About what?" Dick paused his snacking, waiting for Tim to finish the sentence. He was still a bit too worried and doubtful for his own good, but he normally kept talking if prompted.
"I’m worried that Bruce might be too trusting. I fear that Jason isn’t quite what he seems. We know he’s a meta, we know he used to have meta affiliations. I don’t mean to point fingers, but his story is convenient. No memory means no slating. No legal records means no history. What’s the chance a meta-human without memories or legal records–and apparently no prior training–ends up in Gotham?" Tim was known to obsess over small details in order to get an answer, yes. But he was also known to be right.
"I never thought about it like that." Dick mumbled. He should have. His priority should have been to keep the family safe. Jason’s story was flimsy. His defenses were weak and they didn’t line up. He didn’t want to think about his little brother like this, but…
"For a guy who knows nothing about his powers, he takes too many precautions to avoid them." Tim continued, drawing a hand up and tangling it in his hair. "The gloves, touch aversion, and he got anxious when I brought up metas. I tried using psychology to get him to like me so I could tell him about his powers safely, like B asked me to, but he just seemed more hostile. Like he knew what I was doing." He shook his head. "He knows more than he’s letting on. I can tell. I just need a way to prove it."
"Bruce told you to tell him?" Dick asked. That didn’t seem like him–he thought he’d want to do it himself. He was a bit of a control freak, after all. "And you agreed? "
"He–he bribed me, okay? He said I wouldn’t have to deal with Condiment King the next time he escaped if I told Jason. Safely. Duke is with his cousin, remember?" Tim scrambled for an excuse, face flushing red.
"That’s fair." Dick let himself smile, watching Tim stumble over his words. He was still worried about other things, though. He didn’t want to think about his little brother like this, but the evidence was overwhelming. He needed to keep watch on him, or something. The tracker he had planted was proving useful yet again, for an unexpected reason.
As much as he didn’t like to assume the worst of others, it was hard to argue with what was right in front of him; Jason wasn’t trustworthy. And, as the files he’d hacked from Bruce’s computer clearly showed, he was a clone. He only had DNA from one source–a famous actress with known, albeit estranged meta-human family. He was a double agent. An outsider.
A traitor.
Notes:
oh this now has the same amount of words as one of my favorite fics of all time. oh, this just got SERIOUS. oh good god.
I gave into temptation and listened to a sombr song, sigh. goodness, I need to lock in before pride month ends!! I'm working on jercy fanfiction okay guys :CC
lmk how you felt about that one! I thrive off of comments ^^
Chapter 12: named.
Summary:
Jason waited there for as long as he could muster, shivering against the cold wind that teased him, pulling at his curls. He was trying his best to obey the commands given to him, but it was difficult, especially considering his limited understanding of the situation. He was starting to miss his mom. He wasn’t usually a clingy child, but even then, the goodbye held a sense of finality that even he could notice. His mothers grasp was painful, but he preferred it to being alone. At least it was warm.
Eventually, he broke, wandering the shattered remnants of the once sacred place, calling out for his mama.
She never answered.
Notes:
*I attempt to lean casually on a desk. I miss wildly, crashing to the floor.*
hey guys
over the few weeks I skipped updates, I got a few new things!
- a binder (WOOO!)
- an adoptive brother (does he count as that) (I acquired him on the lovely warning time of 2 hours) that is somehow both shorter and older than i am (he gifted me the binder) (sorry ollie for disturbing you with my typing)
- an evil sunburn on my face (help me :[ )
- rib pain that is definitely 100% not in the slightest related to item one (am I good at lying yet?)
- POTENTIALLY a visit to a psychiatrist to get diagnosed with autism (quick everybody act surprised!) (who could guess that the teenager who spends his free time doing nothing but thinking about one specific fictional character is autistic?)anyways, here you go! this brings up what I started in chapter 3 (everyone forgot about that already) and part of it starts where that memory ends. check out what I did for jercy week! I'm still kind of working on it...kind of? i don't know if ill finish that, actually. I was procrastinating SO hard
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Bruce wasn’t meant to be up.
Alfred had asked him to go back to his quarters an hour ago–something about his work ethic being unsustainable and dangerous. Bruce had known that for years, but he wasn’t going to die because he wasn’t allowed to. Gotham needed him. There were still people hurt, dying despite his best efforts. People who slipped through his fingers, gone before their families had a chance to say goodbye. As long as they died, he would live.
This latest case was… concerning. The information from Nightwing gave him a lead, at the very least. The Riddler had hundreds of documents saved, from reports from insane “prophets” claiming to have seen the day the sky would fall, to insistent claims from children that they’d seen a flying boy within California. He’d been tempted to dismiss the latter as panic over supers, but the location had made him file it away for later. He was in the middle of writing an email to Clark about his whereabouts within the last 16 years or so when his emergency phone buzzed. The one that his children knew was only used for emergencies. The last time it had gone off, it was Jason–Todd, not Wayne–alerting him that the sewer systems beneath Gotham had all been laced with nearly 2 tons of C4.
Bruce grabbed it immediately, turning it on. He could feel himself tense involuntarily, bracing himself out of instinct.
Tim. No words, just two image attachments and a file.
Had he used the wrong number? Shouldn’t he have prefaced this with some kind of explanation? If it was so dangerous, then why didn’t he tell Bruce what the emergency was first?
Opening the file told him why. Tim had compiled every shred of data he had on the newest Robin, and then some.
DNA tests, studies on different brands used by metahuman fighting rings, histories of metahuman families, cloning equipment stolen from proper facilities.
Tim had been rather apprehensive about leaving Dick’s apartment today. He was a good, caring man, but he was too anxious. Looking at the data again, though, Bruce had to admit that it wasn’t exactly far fetched.
He’d done DNA tests on Jason before, but the clone aspect had hardly caught his attention. Had he been overlooking that on purpose? Was he so optimistic about his intentions that it had slipped into naïvety? It was a thin line he was balancing. The brand on Jason was also concerning–the aging and stretching of it made it look old. He was certainly not a troubled teen that had been forced into a ring. For all Bruce knew, he was born into it.
Bruce was a cautious person, but he knew all too well that he had a habit of being far too impulsive around hurt children and civilians. It had taken one wide eyed look from a broken and bruised Jason for him to break, abandoning his promise to protect another. In the process, though, he might have endangered others.
What would happen if Tim was right? If Jason really was a mole, and he would share the information that Bruce had so willingly given up to a group that could ruin the lives of everyone around him?
Bruce clenched his jaw. How could he solve this? Jason was still in need of help, and he was still Robin. He wasn’t going to hurt a kid over some suspicions.
Jason was still Robin. He was still in a position of power. He still had access to most Batcomputer files and far more information than he needed to know.
Bruce could get the information about his past from him–if he remembered it, or even knew if he was a mole or not. He wasn’t going to use truth serum, certainly–too dangerous, unpredictable, harmful. He wasn’t going to betray his adoptive son in such a way because he was paranoid.
He had to act. Except every action was the wrong one. He didn’t have enough information on this, he–
"You’re not supposed to be up at this hour."
Jason strolled into the cave, still in the clothes he wore to sleep, over-sized pajamas with wolf patterns on them–something he had insisted on, although Bruce wasn’t sure why. His glasses were askew, lenses smudged.
He had the tab switched the second the first syllable was out of his mouth. He closed the conversation with Tim, turning back to reading through the documents that the Riddler had saved.
"Nor are you, yet it appears we have both violated that particular rule." Bruce studied the images in the newspaper intently, trying to decipher what their original colors were through the poor printing of the original copy. Jason stood next to him, silently observing for a few moments. When it was clear he wasn’t going to speak on his own, he continued. "Is there a reason for your restlessness?"
Jason rubbed his eyes. "Nightmare." He muttered. "... Slash memory. My head hurts now. Do you have any Advil?”
"I try to keep it within arms reach." Bruce pulled open a hidden drawer underneath the Batcomputer, one of the many there, grabbing the properly labeled medication and handing it to Jason. "If you don’t want to take it dry, you can pour yourself a cup of tea." He gestured at the pot Alfred had made earlier. The man had finally had enough and decided that he did not, in fact, have to be awake at the same time that Bruce was. Good. He didn’t want anyone hurting themselves because of his bad habits. "Tell me about the memory."
Jason poured himself a cup of tea, holding the mug a little too tightly as he downed the pills. "It’s a… long story. You’re sure?"
"Nothing but time to kill tonight. Crime rates are normally lower directly after Arkham breaks and power-outs." Bruce was pretty sure the original image was gold and purple–if only he could decipher the code on the walls as quickly as that. Everything in this case reeked of E. Nygma, spare the color choices. Normally, he chose green. Perhaps he wanted to switch things up for once. It could have been a red herring.
Could have been. Bruce noted it down anyway.
"Fair enough." Jason took another sip of tea, trying to gather his nerves enough to speak.
"Talk when you’re willing." Bruce wasn’t really bothered by it. He wasn’t exactly on a tight schedule, anyways.
"I was abandoned at two."
- - -
Thalia stared her mother down, a challenging look flashing in her blue eyes. "I don’t trust you." She reached out, putting a hand over his. He giggled, grabbing at her hand with his own.
"Come on. It’s a picnic. We’ll have fun." Beryl’s voice was dry, tense. "You’ll be fine."
"If it’s a picnic, why did you stop me from grabbing the food?" She squeezed the hem of her flannel, nails barely blocked from digging into her skin by the thin layer of red fabric.
Beryl tilted her head, staring at the young girl with an almost confused look. "I did? Oh, dear. You should grab that. We can’t have a picnic without a picnic basket, after all!" If Jason didn’t know how this would play out, he might have believed her innocence as well.
"Mom, are you sure?" Thalia asked, dark eyebrows drawing together. Her cheeks were still round and soft, mannerisms still clumsy and childish, but there were already signs of stress on her. The darkness under her eyes, wrinkles between her eyebrows, and heaviness in her posture spoke wordlessly about what she’d endured already in her young age. "You can handle it alone?"
"It’s just five minutes, dearest." She leaned down, pressing a kiss to her daughter's forehead. " We’ll be fine. Go, go, grab the basket from the car, dear. We’ll be right here."
Thalia leaned over him for a second, brushing his feathery curls out of the way to look at him with her big, dark eyes. "Wait here. I’ll be back for you, brother. I’ll see you soon." She poked at his cheek, before turning back the way they’d come.
Jason knew she hated herself for that choice, now. It wasn’t her fault. It was Beryl’s. He wished he could prove that to her.
The boy laughed as his mother started to run for the forest, cradling him to her chest. The air was thick with a tension he couldn’t yet understand, as if the whole temple was waiting with baited breath. The click of her heels against the ruins was amusing to him, for now. It would make him flinch, when he got older. That noise still haunted his nightmares, right alongside what she had told him.
"My baby," she whispered to the baby, voice soft and shaking. "my little lightning bug. I’m so sorry." She swallowed back her tears, breath staggered and shallow. "She’s going to take one or both of you. I can only keep one. I don’t want to." Beryl clutched him desperately, colorful plastic bangles on her wrists cutting into his back.
"Hera," she called out. "You bring the monsters to my daughter. I know you want to hurt this one, too. What do you want from me?"
The forest didn’t respond, but Beryl must have heard one. Her grip on him tightened, messily painted nails digging into his skin. "I love you."
"Mama?" He squeaked out, helplessly wiggling against her hold. "It hurts."
Beryl took a deep breath, squeezing her tear-filled eyes shut before letting go of him, setting him on a raised pedestal within the cold stone ruins. "It’s all right, baby." She promised, tucking hair behind his ear. He knew it wasn’t, even at such a young age. "Wait here. I will be back for you, lightning bug. I will see you soon."
But Beryl never came back.
Jason waited there for as long as he could muster, shivering against the cold wind that teased him, pulling at his curls. He was trying his best to obey the commands given to him, but it was difficult, especially considering his limited understanding of the situation. He was starting to miss his mom. He wasn’t usually a clingy child, but even then, the goodbye held a sense of finality that even he could notice. His mothers grasp was painful, but he preferred it to being alone. At least it was warm.
Eventually, he broke, wandering the shattered remnants of the once sacred place, calling out for his mama.
She never answered.
- - -
Bruce folded his hands in his lap, staring at Jason as he finished the story with a mixture of respect and remorse.
"I’m glad you told me about that. Are you feeling better now? Comfortable enough to rest?" He turned back to his computer, working studiously to sort the files and images.
Jason contemplated it for a moment. Truthfully? Not alone. He could handle himself alone, but not comfortably. Not without the fear of nightmares taking him again.
"You can sleep in here, if required."
Jason’s eyes widened. Bruce tended to do that, almost read his mind for his every want and need. He understood him better than he was pretty sure he understood himself. "You would let me do that?"
Bruce grunted, zooming into an image with some sort of code on the wall. "Eyes on the… Hn. Of course. I wouldn’t recommend it. I would not be upset if you slept down here. I have, numerous times before. I have nothing against it."
Jason preferred sleeping in packs. They were safer. Someone to watch over and protect him while he was so vulnerable was ideal to him, and Bruce was plenty strong enough to defend them both. He’d struggled to sleep the first few weeks at the manor. He’d felt too exposed. Everything had felt like a threat. While he wasn’t still struggling so much, he couldn’t deny that the prospect of having someone to take watch while he rested was a very tempting idea. He wanted to sleep with someone close again, someone safe.
"What are you working on?" He asked instead.
"Riddler’s case. He has a collection of files saved, and I’m trying to figure out how, exactly, they’re connected." Bruce’s fingers moved as quick as lightning on the controls, inputting command after command to properly and efficiently sort every file.
Jason had never felt particularly connected to his dad. He’d gotten the impression that most of their conversations were pretty one sided–his father was often too busy with work to concern himself with the behavior of his children. He wasn’t very tightly knit with Bruce, either–surprisingly not the closest he’d been with someone he’d met six months ago–but he was certainly closer. Bruce listened to him. He cared about his interests. He treated him like an equal, something Jason had been deprived of throughout the majority of his life. If anyone had earned his full loyalty, it was him.
"Hey, can you look a little closer on that article?" Jason reached out to point closer at the screen. "I noticed something. That in the background–isn’t that one of Maxie’s safehouses?"
Bruce zoomed in closer to the image, pulling up a reference image of Zeus’ known safehouses. He paused, eyebrows raising. "Good eye." He commented absently, typing the location into the case file.
Bruce’s phone buzzed, and Jason instinctively reached for it. He didn’t get a chance to grab it, though. Bruce moved too quickly, tucking the phone close to himself as he read the message. He couldn’t have read it either way, since his glasses were too dirty, but the action still rubbed him the wrong way.
"Are you awake enough to do a recce mission?" Bruce asked suddenly, closing the file he had pulled up.
"A what?" Jason downed the rest of his tea, pulling his glasses off to wipe them with his shirt. He looked half-conscious–hell, he felt half-conscious. Still, the idea of a mission snapped him to attention, waking him up far more than even the hot tea burning his tongue.
"Recon." Bruce corrected himself, sitting up and fitting his cowl on. Of course he was working in costume. Why wouldn’t he? "The safehouse you mentioned seems to be a recurring theme in the articles. I hadn’t thought to look at the locations of the incidents. Maxie Zeus’ safehouse is what the Riddler looks for in a plot–thematically fitting, hidden well, a place no one would think to look unless he had already led them along."
Jason winced. It was almost 04:00, and he was still exhausted from the horrible sleep he’d gotten earlier. The idea of a mission, even a simple reconnaissance, nearly made him sick.
Batman glanced him over, studying him with that calculated look he so often held. "Do you need to skip this particular mission?" He questioned.
"Do you? How long have you been up?" Jason stretched, internally bracing himself for Leo to shout something beside him. He wasn’t sure why–it had been a year since he’d last heard that, since he’d last seen him, and the absence was still painfully obvious. "How many hours of sleep did you get last night?"
Bruce nodded towards the locker room. "Choose. Either you come with me, or you don’t." Jason gritted his teeth, cursing to himself in his mind. He was going to die acting like this.
He left to change into costume anyway.
- - -
"I hate this place." Robin muttered, staying pressed low to the ground in his hiding spot between crates. The place had the same eerie quality as the temple in his nightmares–something holy that had since been fragmented and left in ruin. Something that was supposed to be perfect, sacred, but it wasn’t. It seemed more familiar than even the place within his memories, like he could relate to it on a personal level.
"You have never been here before." Batman moved through the maze of items like he was born in it. His steps were like everything else he did, graceful and sophisticated. Which, honestly, made Jason feel like he was operating on idiot mode by comparison, but he was glad he was there to lead. Jason had tried leading before and…
He took a deep breath, trying to smother and ignore the pain stabbing between his shoulder blades.
…it didn’t work out.
He’d learned to associate a certain type of agony with a specific thought process. Headaches usually came with things he wanted or was trying to remember. The sort of pain that felt like he was being stabbed through the chest usually came with things that he really, really didn’t feel like thinking about. Things he wasn’t ready for.
Jason adjusted his domino mask, trying to focus his vision as the feeling slowly ebbed away. It took him a total of six seconds to realize that he was suddenly, jarringly solitary. He wasn’t really sure where Batman had run off to, but he certainly wasn’t nearby. Considering that man did pretty much all things with a level of silence, efficiency, and grace that he could only dream of–even on like, two hours of sleep–the chance that he could not only locate but catch up to that man was next to none. It was better to stay put, stay safe, and stay alive until Bruce found him and dragged him back home. He needed to find a hiding spot and wait for someone to get him home, and he needed to make sure he didn’t stray far.
A shout of alarm sounded from the other side of the warehouse, followed by a crash.
Robin ran straight towards the noise.
The safehouse seemed to go on forever. It was one of the larger ones Maxie had, but Jason hadn’t expected it to be this big. Phrases in Ancient Greek littered the walls and ceiling–he wasn’t sure how they got up there–each written in dark purple spray paint. He wasn’t particularly good with Ancient Greek, but he could decipher a few repeating ones as he ran past. EYES TO THE SKY was the one he saw repeated the most, almost twice as much as any other phrase.
The halls around him amplified the noise he was approaching. Definitely not Batman. Two men arguing–one Jersey, one Southern. He could barely distinguish what the Jersey man was saying–ranting too fast–but the Southern man was whispering harshly back to him.
"Bad idea," he whispered. "Real bad idea. We shouldn’t have ever joined this darn job. You just aren’t thinking about the big picture–can’t see the forest through the trees. We’ve oughta go home. I can’t miss these finals. My professor is gonna kill me."
Robin slowed down, peeking around a crate to watch them argue.
The Jersey man took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. "I told ya, he’s gonna fuckin’ kill us if we flake on him. Listen, we wait til the mornin’ comes, collect our check, and never come back here again. Got it? This cheap cash was your idea!"
"My mama’s dead, I don’t have people to pay off my loans like you do. That’s–" He sighed, lost for words. "What happens if the Bats kills us first?" The southern man grabbed the other by the wrists, desperate and pleading. His voice cracked with fear, eyes wide and sparkling.
"He doesn’t kill." Robin stepped out from his hiding spot. "You hardly have to worry about B."
He was used to people being scared of him. He was also, unfortunately, used to having things thrown at him because of that fear. Luckily, he had the sense to dodge the granola bar that was sent flying past his ear by a literally shaking Gothamite. Well–he doubted they were a native Gothamite. People used to the usual vigilante activities tended to be a lot calmer with their reactions.
He was also used to manhandling people his size or larger. Luckily, he didn’t seem to have to do that today, as both men were at least half a foot shorter than he was. The situation felt a little unfair, but he wasn’t supposed to care about that. He was supposed to be stronger than that. Cruel was a word invented by the weak, as he’d been told.
"Are those too tight?" Jason pulled on the line he’d tied around the mens’ wrists, testing the knot's sturdiness and how constricting the bindings were.
"No sir." The southern man was still shaking, holding himself together by some miracle of will and spirit. He had to admit, that was impressive. He’d make a good soldier.
"If you need help paying off loans," Jason fished in his pocket, painfully aware of how much time the conversation had taken up. He needed to find Bruce, and fast. "you can call this number. They’ll help you out." He slipped a piece of paper into the man's pocket, ignoring the questions shouted his way as he ran for the door they were guarding. The layout didn’t make sense, comparing the outside and inside. He should have known there was a secret area. It was a shame that Maxie, while rather smart with electricity, wasn’t particularly good at hiding things.
Robin shoved the door–which was barely camouflaged into its surroundings–open.
The area he was greeting with was jarringly different. Sparkling walls engraved with the same messages, paintings and small sculptures lining the walls. Images of planets, clouds, sketches of flying men all linked with mixes of gold and purple string, overlapping and tangling like a spider's web. The sculptures varied–wolves and hounds to young boys and even deities. They were all pristine, but carved from a rather non traditional material–flint. Jason could easily identify it, running his fingers across the smooth surface. All of them were perfect, except…
Except one. The very center of the room held a statue of what he thought was supposed to be Hera. He couldn’t be sure, though, as the goddess’ head had been broken off. Her hands were also tangled in purple and gold thread, dangling down to draw his attention to the floor. The way they were tied almost reminded him of marionette strings, as though she was supposed to be holding a puppet of some kind. He didn’t see one.
He did, however, notice a folded piece of paper under the goddess’ feet. He reached down to retrieve it, squinting at the writing hidden within the folds. Two, simple words.
Jason Grace.
- - -
"You left without my permission." Batman studiously typed each item's description into the file. He was efficient despite his clear fatigue.
"I got the information we needed." Jason cracked his knuckles, far more awake and alert than Bruce was. A name. He had a name. He finally had his name back. He could get himself back.
Bruce hummed softly. "Correct." He whispered. "I was watching you. Testing to see if you could hold your own without supervision."
Jason pulled the slip of paper close to his chest, something akin to pride welling up inside him. "I performed well?"
Bruce tapped the desk, once, twice, before finally answering. "Yes." He switched tabs, turning to Jason’s own file. He beamed as the last name was typed into the system, trying to contain his excitement. This was improper. He wasn’t supposed to be this excited over a name. He was supposed to be composed, after all. The perfect son of justice. He struggled with it, though, a smile coming onto his face regardless.
He finally had his own name.
Notes:
chokes and dies. anyone else post and their first thought is like "what if I wrote a racial slur in here and I forgot about it. I need to reread this entire thing for potentially offensive items." and its like no the hell you didn't what are you doing???
ty for reading! TWO CHAPTERS LEFT! TWO!!! that's wild! I'm so happy idek what to do right now omg omg omg
lmk if you liked that <3!!!
Chapter 13: lightning bug.
Notes:
coughs. chokes. dies. this is totally not a bit more than a week late, whaaaa what are you talking about haha what
sorry I had autism testing on the 25th and I forgot my birthday on the 24th so i've kinda been tweaking out recently. its so fine though I'm fine and we're gonna IGNORE the four different ocd tests they made me do, okay? and the behavioral tests that will end up labeling me as aggressive and unusual? right? right? yeah. yeah. okay nice. this is twice the length of usual chapters
COUGH COUGH DIES AUGH
I've also been procrastinating this because... after this one I have to wrap the stuff up. I've just gotta. until the sequel, at least... listen I HAVE A PLOT READY but also its GOING TO TAKE ME YEARS WHAT THE FUCKKK WHY HAVE I COMMITTED SO MUCH TIME AND ENERGY TO THIS AAA
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
- - - Grace.
Jason’s mother haunted his dreams. She was a ghost, after all. What else could he expect?
She was one of the less distressing parts of his nightmares–which was saying something, because he was pretty sure at one point her very name made him want to cry. He was more focused on the prophetic aspect, lately.
The thought upset him. Duke Thomas was a metahuman with prophetic powers, and his weren’t like this. Jason’s were different. Had he finally broken under the pressure? Was he just being superstitious? Or was this something else, something real?
Regardless, he had to hide it. Powers. Powers would get him sent away. Powers would make them leave him. That was their decision to make, leaving him or not. Was he taking away the information they needed to make that decision? He was doing this all for his own benefit. Jason tried to be a good person, to not be so selfish, but the thought of being alone again almost hurt him as much as the thought of hurting them. He didn’t want to choose to tell them yet. He would. Eventually. Not today. Today wasn’t a good time.
Jason didn’t move from his spot in his bed. He had woken up from a nightmare, but he was frankly tempted to go back to sleep. What was he supposed to do? Cry? His mama–not mother–wouldn’t let him do that.
He, honestly, didn’t want to sleep either. Her voice kept ringing through his mind, whispering in his ear. You died as you were made, Jason. Abandoned. Did his abandonment make him? He wouldn’t be who he was without it.
Jason’s hands shook, giving off a faint purple light–it kind of reminded him of those weird plasma balls he could never figure out. He knew what this was about. He knew why he took this job in the first place.
He liked helping people. That was good. He liked supporting people through difficult times.
He could help people in whatever manner he chose–and there were far safer occupations than this one, widely available. It was in the training and what Batman stood for, wasn’t it? He wasn’t treated like a god, not anymore. He was treated like, well… a person. Why was that so appealing to him? Why was the idea of being treated as mortal as he was so enticing? What on Earth had happened to him that he wasn’t allowed to know?
Jason sat up, the faint light he gave off benefiting him greatly as he found the door. He wasn’t sure where he wanted to go, but he wanted to go somewhere. Somewhere. Just not here.
He rubbed at the piercing in his ear, trying not to slip as he walked through the house–hardwood floors and socks don’t mix, note to self. He’d been hesitant to get it, but he wasn’t sure why now. He was worried, he supposed. About the future. About what might happen. It was a small silver stud, a communication device embedded within. Things only he could hear. It was useful on missions. Having to hold a radio got complicated fast.
It made a soft humming noise as he pressed on it. The piercing had been optional. Bruce had told him he didn’t have to get it, but Jason had figured it was convenient. It was plenty loud when it was–
"We have a major issue." Oracle’s voice cut through the soft buzzing, loud and screeching compared to the silence of the world around him. Jason nearly fell over, slipping and barely catching himself on the railing.
"Oracle?" Dick’s voice came in, followed by a series of loud noises, one of which Jason was half sure came from some sort of feral cat or raccoon. "Drop the purse. I will rock your shit if I have to. I’m busy . "
"It’s two in the morning." Jason whispered over the line.
"Crime doesn’t sleep, Robin." Batman barked. "Get into costume and get down here, now." Jason didn’t exactly need to be told twice. He managed to not trip rushing down to the study.
"Gotham and neighboring cities. We aren’t sure how far it reaches. November 27th. Power outages reaching at least 19 out of 24 Gotham city districts–as far as we know. Information routes have been practically shut off. An Arkham break happened around thirty three minutes ago, but police witnesses say power outages started sooner. We don’t know anything else about the situation. Can’t get anything in or out of any cities nearby other than on our local line."
"What criminals escaped?" A new voice demanded. Who the hell was–
"I’m leaving that information out on purpose, because I want us to fail, Red Hood." Barbara sounded almost amused with herself, managing to find a joke in the situation. Jason had to suppress a laugh, biting his tongue as he pulled his gloves on. He’d known plenty of people like her. They were useful–kept team morale up, even if it was sometimes only their own moods being boosted. Red Hood? He sounded different without a voice modifier. More… human, maybe.
The other Jason was silent for a few seconds, before sighing and giving up. "Fine. I’m sorry."
"Since Steph just reported an encounter with a neon green glitter bomb, it’s probably one of two people. Since it wasn’t filled with anything that killed her instantly, I’m guessing Edward." Oracle offered the information willingly the second Todd gave his apology–thank the gods. "He wants our attention. He wants us to find him, I think. Which would be a lot easier if he hadn’t destroyed the cell towers within the city, but he clearly didn’t think that far ahead. He’ll have to wait."
"Edward Nygma? I could have sworn you told me about Bruce breaking three of his bones four days ago. What changed?" Tim questioned.
"He’s learning from you. Broken bones don’t stop him anymore. They just make him want the job done faster."
Jason winced at the jab from Oracle, suddenly very aware that he had broken his arm ten days ago. He’d barely noticed it because, well, it just didn’t feel very important. It felt almost healed, at this point. He was… pretty sure it wasn’t meant to, though. "Mine was a small fracture. I’m not included in that group."
"You are now!" Dick’s end was painfully loud. He was very clearly in the middle of something and he was chipping in anyways. "Hold on–Batman broke the Riddler’s bones? I wasn’t informed of that."
"You were literally there." Jason pointed out.
"I was not–"
Batman’s mic must have been adjusted to be louder than everyone else's. The radio went silent when he started speaking–impressive. "Who here can make it to the Tri-Gate Bridge in 30 minutes? The Riddler wants us to find him. We will find him, just not on his terms."
A chorus of responses ensued. Jason wasn’t sure how Oracle understood it, but she somehow did. "Batman, Robin, Nightwing, Red Robin, Red Hood, Black Bat, The Signal, and Spoiler." She announced. "Eight vigilantes."
"Tri-Gate Bridge. Be there by 03:00." Batman added.
Jason fitted his domino mask on. Four days. It had only been four days since he had found out, and the guilt was already eating him alive.
He needed to tell them.
I’ll do it eventually.
He needed to tell them.
Now isn’t the right time.
He needed to tell them.
I’m not ready.
He needed to tell them today.
- - - Todd.
Jason figured he was probably supposed to apologize.
He’d been on shaky terms with his family for a while. Bruce had all but cut contact for months, which had made him a little more than nervous –a teammate trying to forge a letter from him just to get Jason to calm down was the final straw that made him go back to Gotham–and when he got back, there was a brand new Robin in town. Damian had told him he was dropping his hold on the mantle, but Bruce must have gotten Grace, what, a week after Damian quit at most?
Jason hadn’t meant to hurt Bruce. He wasn’t going to pull the trigger on either of them. The safety lock was on. He wasn’t violent. Bruce knew that, right? He just…
He wasn’t ready to talk. Not then.
He’d checked the other Jason’s file recently. A new name. Jason Grace. He’d called Dick soon after. He had intended it to be innocent, but Dick had gotten other plans.
He’d offered Jason a method to decrypt the actual file on Grace. Not the one Bruce had given him or Grace, but a secret one. Apparently, the kid wasn’t too interested in snooping around in encrypted files. Bruce was only showing Grace the first, innocent file. He was hiding things from him. Important things. Something really bad. Like, just as an idea, superpowers and DNA tests that revealed him as a clone of some actor slash failed popstar. Oh, wait, no, he’d actually hidden that. His mistake. He’d pick more outlandish hypothetical scenarios for Bruce to have tucked away from the newest Robin. Something dumb, like the kid being some sort of prince of the cosmos. Maybe Bruce would have the decency to not hide that from some child in the future.
Wind brushed past him, curling around his motorcycle as he drove down the Gotham streets. They were too dark for this time of night. Gotham was famously crime riddled, and the civilians couldn’t exactly see in the dark. In a higher income area of Gotham like the one he was driving through, he should have been able to see at least some lights on within the complexes. Maybe the occasional intact street light. Aside from the lights on his vehicle, though, the streets were pitch black. People ran in and out of houses, confused and disoriented. Parents collecting their children, attempting to soothe sobbing kids. The sight wasn’t comforting, but it did tell him that most civilians were at the very least breathing and relatively uninjured.
"Watch out for electrical fires." Barbara was typing rapidly in the background. "His goal before was just to get energy for attention. Now, he’s taking it for attention. He overloaded generators in some areas, just to make sure there’s no power. No lights anywhere either. We’re delighted."
It took a moment of silence and confusion before Stephanie started laughing. Jason took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. That was… kind of good. He could have sworn he heard Robin giggle before his mic was cut off.
"Now isn’t the time for puns, Oracle." Batman’s voice was tense, almost as though he was nervous about this encounter. Fair enough–normally, Gotham villains didn’t try to go outside of Gotham with their attacks. Normally. Barbara was usually more professional–as Oracle, at least. He was still struggling with the difference between civilians and superhero identities–he didn’t really have one himself.
"That was horrible. " Duke pointed out. "Do another."
"Hey, my puns aren’t horrible. Not all of them, at least. If you took all of my good puns and all of my bad puns, the good would outweigh the bad, and it’d average out okay. In other words, I may make terrible jokes, but I mean well."
Jason bit back a laugh, trying to compose himself. Barbara was creative with her puns, that was for certain. He thought he was pretty good with words with how much he read–still champion at Scrabble, eat that Duke–but she managed to mix some sort of quip into almost every sentence. How she’d fit another one into her response to Duke, he wasn’t sure. It was almost impressive.
Batman sighed heavily, but his voice was a bit lighter when he spoke next. "Very amusing. Robin and I will be arriving at the designated location soon. May I have reports on other vigilante’s whereabouts?"
"I’m–"
Jason couldn’t even identify who was talking before Oracle cut in. "Red Robin is at the location. Spoiler and Black Bat are both seven miles away, within Otisburg. Red Hood and Signal are going through Crime Alley, eleven and eleven and a half miles away respectively. Nightwing is the furthest, at eighteen miles, but at the speed he’s going, he should be there within nine minutes. Batman and Robin are two minutes away–three miles, roughly."
"Thank you for the help, Oracle." This Robin, just as his predecessor, seemed… surprisingly mature on the field. His file had only one reported incident of disobedience–and a minor one, at that, one he didn’t even orchestrate. Oracle did. She was posing as Dick to do it, but she was still the one to plot out the act of rebellion. Jason couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing yet. Grace would have to forge his own path eventually. He would need to step out of the den and make his own decisions, his own life. Every bird had to leave the nest eventually.
Jason felt like this was his fault.
Partially, at the very least. He’d made Robin a mantle when it was never supposed to be one. It was one of the things that kept him away from Bruce. The itching in the back of his mind, a question of blame that couldn’t be answered. For his own sanity. For Bruce’s sake. For this patchwork of struggling people that could barely be called a family.
The multiverse is complex. Jason couldn’t claim to understand it, but he hoped for one thing at the very least. In another universe, somehow, somewhere, there’s a change in events. An Earth where Jason never became Robin. A world where it wasn’t a mantle, but simply a name.
A better world.
- - -
Dick arrived last to the location. It wasn’t really his fault. He was thirty minutes away, usually, and he’d gotten here in 20. Twenty. Much to the complaint of Robin, who’d lectured him on speeding laws and fines for the majority of those 20 minutes.
Dick was trying to trust Grace. At all. It was… difficult, to say the least. The evidence against him was pressing. It wasn’t something he could ignore, even if Bruce really wanted to. He had a certain history with that, neglecting things that he certainly should not be.
"Hey, NW, high five." Spoiler held out her hand, which was still coated in green glitter. Also, seemingly, ice cream.
"We need to focus." He whispered… and, nope, he sounded like Bruce, absolutely not. "Don’t get that on me, so help me please. Last time you got glitter on me I was picking bits out of my hair for weeks. Haley even had some on her."
Robin immediately looked over, straightening up with excitement at the mere mention of Haley. He simply adored her. He’d called Dick about it soon afterwards, asking for some sort of meet-up where he could actually play with her, maybe have Bruce bring Ace along to a dog park. He wasn’t sure. Ace and Haley didn’t get along the best, and with the new information on Grace–that was what he’d been calling him after the last name reveal, and he seemed to like it–he kept thinking about some sort of ulterior motive. He’d washed Haley thoroughly after the information was brought to light, checking her for any sort of mic, camera, or tracker. None as far as he could tell, other than the ones he’d put on her.
What did Grace want? What did whoever controlled him want?
Dick wasn’t sure. He didn’t usually think about decisions this long, but…
"Follow me." Batman whispered.
"I can guide you all to Gotham Light and Power." Oracle submitted the information near instantly, the location popping up on his GPS for the Nightcycle. Her voice was always calming on missions–even through the puns, yes.
Batman paused, unsure for a rare moment. He enjoyed leading–enjoyed might not be the right word. Scratch that, he often assumed he needed to lead. For control. He’d been doing it since Jason–Todd, not Grace–first died. Some sort of compulsive need to make sure that didn’t happen again.
Dick really hated how much he saw himself in Bruce.
"Thank you, Oracle." Robin answered before Batman could, looking at the GPS for a split second before starting forward. Dick figured they probably shouldn’t be following someone who they were actively questioning the loyalty of.
He also figured he couldn’t go too far off without Oracle noticing, so he followed him anyway.
- - -
Robin started first but arrived last.
He’d insisted on falling to the back of the group. Dick wasn’t sure why.
It was a red flag. He should have known.
Gotham Light and Power was a beacon in the dark, the only building for miles with lights. Someone wanted them there. Er–someone s.
"Oooh! We’ve brought the whole family !"
Nightwing froze. It felt like someone had just pumped ice water straight into his veins. That voice. That voice.
"Was there a discount?" He continued, speaking over some sort of speaker system they’d linked to the building. Black Bat slipped a batarang out of her utility belt, fast as lightning. She rarely used such weapons, and she wouldn’t kill someone with that. Nightwing rarely had much impulse to kill people–rehabilitation was easier and better–but this man was an exception to that rule. "I should bring my Ma and Pa! You should too–whoops!"
"I thought it was going to be the Riddler." Robin hissed under his breath, mimicking Cassandra’s action.
"Tough crowd. Why are you all so serious today? Were you expecting Eddie? Eddie’s here!" The Joker broke into maniacal laughter. "Just busy!"
"I am, in fact, not." The Riddler chimed in. "Hello, Detective. Hello to your associates, as well. I know something you do not."
"There’s two of them." Red Hood muttered under his breath, followed by a string of words that Dick couldn’t even make out properly–he was guessing they were very stern and potentially colorful. Also, potentially, words that hadn’t been used since 1844. He would have to ask later.
"Uh, no." Signal whispered back.
"What–? Narrows, even Nygma has enough decency to not pretend to be him." Dick was pretty sure there was some sort of lasting grudge over that last scrabble game the two of them fought. It certainly sounded like it, with the way they spoke to each other.
"Hood, there’s a third one."
"There's what?"
- - - Grace
Jason didn’t like how this was turning out so far.
"I know something you don’t. Something you will never know without it literally ripping your entire life into shreds–I win." The Riddler bragged. Although, it didn’t really sound like a brag. He seemed almost disappointed. Like a kid who’d been forced to come home for dinner before he was done playing.
"There’s someone powerful in there. I put a tracker on a metahuman kid a few days ago–"
"You what?" Jason turned towards Duke, squinting even though he couldn’t see it under the mask. When had he gotten time to do that?
"–and it wasn’t working because we didn’t have any signal or electricity, but now it is, and that guy is totally working with them. Like, in the building right now. They’re trying to tag team us."
Also Jason–Red Hood, to be specific–tilted his head thoughtfully. Jason was impressed. How did he always manage to convey his emotions so well though the mask? Practice, maybe. "So we’ll need a strategy to get all three of them down. One of them is injured already…"
"Hey–hey! I’m monologuing here, can you at least look at me? Since when were vigilantes so disrespectful?" There were a few clicking noises, which Jason could only assume to be him trying to snap at them for attention. Whoops. "Listen–July 1st. It’s your deadline. Two-hundred and sixteen days. That’s all you get to fix this. The mess you’ve created unknowingly, basking in light and ignoring the shadows you’ve cast. The sins you’ve committed, blissfully unaware. Your mistakes are your burden to bear." The Riddler whispered. It sounded rehearsed. It probably was. Jason couldn’t judge, though. He had experiences with rehearsals. Repeating himself in front of the mirror, just to get his perfect persona right. Fixing posture, accent, stresses until he was molded into a leader. Someone who could handle the weight of the sky and still offer up a smile. He saw that reflected, partially, in his siblings as well.
" Yawn. " The Joker whispered into the mic. "How about we make this a little more… interesting?"
The Riddler coughed. "Our threat, right. Secrets are important, aren’t they? Everything’s whispered behind closed doors and encrypted files, hidden just under the surface. The Romans didn’t like liars–well, unless they were in their military, but that's hardly the point. Execution. Call them trigger happy, but it was certainly motivational. Do you fear death, Grace–whoops, sorry, Robin?"
Jason froze, feeling his blood run cold. He knew his name. What else did this man know?
"Secrets, secrets. For a man that claims to hate them, you certainly keep quite a few. Let’s play a game–you tell them the truth by sunrise, and I’ll give power back to the city. If not? The eight civilians in this building die and you’ll have to try and take that power back yourself by cracking one of my codes. Each of you has one to save. I’d recommend hurrying. My newest colleagues aren’t particularly patient. "
Jason glanced at his fellow vigilantes, heart racing. Nightwing nodded at him before rushing forward, darting towards the door.
Robin wasn’t about to question that. He followed after him.
- - - Grace.
Robin wasn’t sure how he felt about splitting up.
Generally, splitting up was the worst thing you could do in a horror movie. Leo told him about it before hiding under the blanket Piper had brought at movie night. It almost always got people killed. Except they didn’t have a choice.
Robin had gone upstairs in the building, using a flashlight to look around in the dusty building. He was half convinced that there weren't actually eight people, just eight hundred spiders. Pushing doors open, checking in the vents, listening to the tense voices across the comm. He’d fully checked two rooms before he saw anything suspicious.
When he’d pushed open the door to the third room, he’d immediately noticed something off. The entire room had a faint, green glow. It had less dust, too. Nothing else was too odd, except…
Robin knelt on the hard, rough floor. He gently picked up the small card, tilting his head at it. It had… a drawing on it? A drawing of a man. It was also glowing. Glowing green. Perhaps the doing of the Riddler? He looked up, using the small card as a replacement for his flashlight as he searched the room.
He was successful.
The boy that stared back at him was gagged and bound, zip ties digging into his wrists. He pinned Jason down with wide, terrified green eyes. His brown hair was messy, a bit greasy. He didn’t look like he took care of himself often–he was dangerously skinny, with deep bags under his eyes. How long had they had him here?
Robin pressed on his comm. "Found one." He whispered, pulling a batarang out of his belt and slipping it under the zip ties. They broke easily, and he could tell how hard the kids' hands were shaking as he pulled them away. He was decently covered–was that a bulletproof vest?–so he was most likely not cold, unfortunately. The kid was shaking from utter terror, even as he cut the gag off, pulling it away from him.
"Are you okay?" He asked, fishing for some sort of food in his belt pockets. Bruce always made him pack them, “just in case,” and Robin didn’t see a better way to use them than this. He pulled out a protein bar and juice box, offering them up to the freckled boy.
"You’re…" He stared back in confusion. "... not supposed to be helping me."
"Of course I am." Jason wasn’t sure that the hostage really knew what a vigilante was. Helping was kind of his whole thing. "Do you want a lollipop too? We usually keep them around for hostage situations–helps people keep calm when they have something to focus on. Can I get your name?"
The boy stammered for a second. "Give me that card back. He–it’s mine." He snapped. Fair enough–he was probably under a lot of pressure and stress. Robin handed it over without argument. "And–yes, that would be… ideal. Why don’t you hate me?"
Robin pushed the other three items into the hostages hands. "Why should I? We don’t know each other."
He tilted his head, expression changing into something that Jason couldn’t quite recognize. "My name is Alabaster. You–fuck it, step back."
Robin paused. "What?”
"I said step back." Alabaster repeated.
"I don’t understand–"
"Get back!" Alabaster barked, shoving Jason out of the vent. "Aufero meam sarcinam!"
Robin slammed into the wall, shards of green– something– pushing him back with near explosive force. His ears rang for a minute, vision going bright white for a split second. When he came to, Alabaster was gone.
And… the lights flickered on.
"–the fuck?" Jason only caught the second half of what was said on the speaker system, but it was easy to guess what was said. The shards around him faded, the glow coming from them slowly dulling. "How?"
"Powers back to the city." Oracle reported. "Communication is back up. I’m sending my father there as soon as he can manage. Robin? Robin, your vitals. They’re getting to dangerous levels. Are you okay?"
Robin pressed his comm. "Uh… yeah. Kind of. Do you have any Gotham residents named Alabaster? Freckled face, brown hair, big green eyes…"
"Not coming up in the system."
"I think I recognize him. We can talk after the civilians are safe." Duke chimed in.
"How many hostages have been saved so far?" Red Robin asked. "Robin said one, Hood and Nightwing both saved one, Black Bat saved two, I got one, anyone else?"
"I got one out of the building." Duke replied.
"I also saved one." Steph piped up.
Silence echoed through the building for a few seconds, allowing Robin to finally pull himself to his feet. He was shaking, barely breathing. He got why Oracle thought his vitals were growing distressing–he could feel his heart racing, threatening to pound out of his chest.
"Vigilantes," the Riddler sighed. "Exit the building, please."
Robin pushed open the nearest window, which had also been cracked in the blast, slipping out of it. The other bats were all already prepared by the time he got out. Except…
"Where’s Red Robin?" Jason could only count seven vigilantes including himself.
Nightwing froze. "Still in the building." He answered. "I’ll get him, I can–"
"Nobody move." The Joker still had his characteristic playfulness imbued into his voice, but there was something darker in him now. Jason didn’t know it could even get darker. "Or else my third little bird here gets to learn to fly! Do you want to fly, JJ?"
Robin wasn’t sure how they hadn’t seen him before. The Joker. He was standing on the bridge, holding that same BANG! gun he knew and hated to Tim’s head. Red Hood grabbed both Batman and Nightwing by the wrists, both of them tensing at the same time. " Don’t. Move. " He whispered. "We need to think this through, or else Red Robin gets hurt."
Maybe he wasn’t as impulsive as Jason thought at first. He appreciated the effort to at least try and think this through.
"Come here, little birdie." Joker dug the barrel of the gun harder into the side of Tim’s head. He hummed under his breath as Jason approached, something that sounded similar to that song he’d heard once–Pick Poor Robin Clean or something like that.
Jason got three steps away before the Joker held his hand up. "Ah-ah-ah," he scolded. "Careful now, or else your friend here will be taking a long walk off a short bridge!" He laughed. "Want to hear a joke? What’s the difference between Batman and a shoplifter? Batman can go into a store without Robin."
Silence for a few moments. Jason could have sworn he heard a few crickets–must have been paid actors.
"No one laughs at my jokes anymore." The Joker sighed. "You’re going to arrest me, aren’t you?"
"You shut off power to the whole city. Of course we will." Robin didn’t understand the question, and the poor attempt at “puppy eyes” from the grown man in front of him didn’t help the others case in the slightest.
"Before I even got my fun in. Aw, shoot."
Jason realized instantly. Had he been a second too late, it would have spelled disaster.
He lunged, slamming into the Joker’s side and forcing him to shoot for the skies as the man pulled the trigger. Tim didn’t get shot, thankfully. Robin had made a small oversight, though.
The gun wasn’t the only threat to Tim’s life there.
He was forced to watch as the man, who had only gotten halfway out of his restraints, tipped over the railing. Falling down, and down, straight towards Gotham river.
Jason wasn’t sure what possessed him. Stupidity, maybe. The ghost of Christmas future, present, and past. Probably his own idiocy. He didn’t really think until the last minute.
I’m an idiot. He thought to himself, jumping off the bridge after him.
- - -
Tim had tried his hardest to get out of the restraints. This was all his mistake.
He’d had the genius idea of checking through the building once more before leaving. He’d been dumb enough to turn his back to the exit. He thought he’d been well trained enough to handle this by now.
Apparently not.
At this height, hitting the water would be the same as hitting concrete . No video game logic applied here. He’d finally gotten out of the last restraints mid-air, and then quickly realized that, while a cool trick, it wasn’t going to help him in the slightest. It would take too long for him to pull out his grappling gun.
His vision was starting to black out. Death was… hopefully not permanent. It didn’t sound exciting, from his several siblings who’d experienced it. It sounded… distressing, at the very least. At least he’d pass out before he hit the water. Plunging, going lower and lower and lower until…
Tim felt like he was floating. Dizzy, disoriented, fuzzy. He had to admit, he didn’t expect this to be what death felt like. He could still feel the cold wind on his skin. There was no seven minutes. Just… floating.
… and someone holding him.
Wait a gosh darn second.
Tim opened his eyes, coming face to face with Robin. Out of all the people that he thought would save him, Jason Grace was not one of them. He had nothing against clones, but Grace was… suspicious. He’d had his worries about the child being a double agent of some sort for a few days now, and every day it felt like he got more evidence.
At least he wasn’t dead.
… Except he was flying. That was concerning. He’d had supers hold onto him while they flew, so he was at least semi-used to it, but he was being held by Robin. Not a super.
Supposedly.
Tim was roughly set onto the hard ground, scrambling to his feet. Okay, guess we’re doing this now.
Robin was still flying, hovering above the river. He wasn’t conveying any emotion yet. Yet. He looked back at the bridge, watching the others watch him. Except Nightwing. Dick was kicking… something on the ground. Joker, probably. No one was trying to stop him quite yet.
Tim was pretty sure he was having some sort of mental reaction to protect himself–perhaps shock–because he didn’t really have any thoughts or reactions to the situation at hand. The Riddler did, though.
"The cats out of the bag. The birds out of the nest. You told them the secret." He sounded… kind of remorseful? "If it helps, I didn’t know he’d do that. I did not intend that to happen. I suppose it's just what happens when you play with fire. You get burned."
Robin pulled off his domino mask, eyes filled with tears. He gripped the mask hard enough for it to crack, shaking hard.
Tim stepped forward, trying his best to offer some sort of solace. "Don’t panic. Come here, Robin. We can fix this." He spread his arms, trying to convey peace. His wrists still hurt, but he could ignore that to try and be compassionate for his ally–supposedly.
Black Bat joined him. "Down! Brother is safe! No family left behind!"
Grace dropped the mask, the fragments of which dropped into the water below. He landed slowly, stepping onto the land next to Tim. Thank goodness, he was co-operating.
Grace pulled one hand up to his face, wiping his tears. "I’m not supposed to…" He stared at his gloves like they’d personally wronged him. "I wasn’t ready." He choked out.
Batman approached him slowly, like he was trying to soothe a feral dog. As though he were pleading with a wild cat to not bolt before he got a chance to catch it and save it.
He wasn’t slow enough.
Grace ripped his face mask off, throwing it to the floor as he turned on his heel and sprinted at a near inhuman speed into the forest.
Oh, hell.
- - - Grace
Jason wasn’t ready.
He’d agreed to tell them today, but not like that. Not in that way, so far out of his control, so jarring and terrifying. He was just trying to protect Tim. He might have ruined his life in the process. He was glad he chose to save him. It was far better than letting him die. Still, there were better ways to do what he did, and his reaction to it just worsened the situation. He was crying. He hadn’t cried in front of people since–since what, six, with Reyna? Since six.
He ran through the forest, attempting and failing to get parts of his costume off as he did so. His hands crackled with electricity, no longer inhibited by the insulated gloves. He had no idea where he was going, but he just was. Leo said it was a good coping mechanism. Don’t let the pain catch up to you. Skip town on a bus and never talk to anyone here again.
Jason’s sense of duty wouldn’t let him do that. He’d need to come back eventually. He couldn’t really stop himself, though. He just ran. On, and on, and on, and on. Leaves crunched underneath his feet. He felt like a pup again, running from a danger he didn’t quite understand.
He wasn’t allowed to show weakness. He wasn’t allowed to cry.
He wasn’t sure how far he’d gotten. The voices shouting after him had died off a while ago. He’d ripped the comm out of his ear when he’d first started running–by now, the blood on his ear was fully dried and tacky. He would have to stop soon. Soon. For now, he just had to keep running. Keep ahead. He needed to plan something. He needed to go back. He needed to plan a way to go back, and–
He tripped forward, landing flat on his face in a pile of mulch. Pain shot through his leg, something tightening around his ankle. He tried to pull himself up, which just made the pain worse. It dug into his skin, slicing through with vicious and hateful precision. He tried to yank his way out of the trap, causing it to dig in further. He fell to the ground, gasping for air.
This was pathetic. Get up, he thought. No one is coming to save you.
And then someone did.
Notes:
"Was that a cliffhanger?" yes. yes it was. you get to have the continued thing at... next time I think its like... way too late. sorry mom for staying up again.
Chapter 14: family
Notes:
THEY BURNED THE LIBRARY OF ALEXANDRIA??? THE LOUD HOUSE FIC IS GONE??? TOWER 1 DOWN???
THEY HIT THE PENTAGON THEY HIT THE PENTAGON THEY HIT THE SECOND TOWER AO3 IS BANNED ON MY SCHOOL CHROMEBOOK NOW :[[[ ITS AN ARCHIVE! I THOUGHT THEY’D LET US HAVE IT CAUSE ITS AN ARCHIVE AUGH!!! but! i don’t write on ao3, i write on docs and share it to my phone. thank god man, i woulda died. no more late night posts, unfortunately, but probably early morning. idk.
The final stretch of this was done on my period and in the middle of an itty bitty mental break (violent mood swings followed by dissociative episodes for 24 hours straight! yay to my mental health!) AND in a heat advisory so i was dripping and lightheaded (yay summer) so im really just hoping and praying its semi-coherent. someone save me from this next school year… my arms are in pain from stimming (mental break) and my legs hurt like hell i hate having a uterus it is TORTURE also yes i am fine now and probably going to talk to my therapist about it next session. I was like halfway through writing a vent fic cause of my little mental break (which i didn’t register as a moment of mental distress at the time of writing) when I remembered this chapter so don’t mind how late it is. im not even sure i like it or not yet. could revise it later on though!
questions will probably be answered at the end notes, if you have any other questions ill try to respond to them in the comments!
no more rambling! here is the FINAL fall from grace chapter, chapter 14!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Dick wasn’t sorry about wanting to kill the man beneath him. He felt no shame in his urges, and this man felt no shame in his. No shame in slaughtering innocents. No shame in staining the streets with blood.
He cared about life. He wanted to preserve it. All of the chances this man had been given…
Killing this man would not make him a murderer. Killing this man would save thousands of lives. It wouldn’t make him the same as his parent’s killer, it would make him the opposite.
Black Bat grabbed his hand. Nightwing didn’t try to resist her. His gloves were already coated in blood. He had done enough.
Nightwing took a deep breath. The last time he had tried this, things had gone deeply wrong. The last time the Joker tried to kill Tim, things had gone deeply wrong. It was wrong for him to kill the Joker. He didn’t get to choose who lived, who died. He was going to kill a man, and he… didn’t even care. That might have been worse than being happy about it.
He was slipping close to the edge, nearing a situation he couldn’t back out of. He was as flippant and indifferent about the Joker’s death as the Joker was about killing others. Life was to be cherished. This was not how he was supposed to act.
"Robin’s gone." Black Bat whispered to him.
"Robin’s what?" Dick snapped his head up, still trying to catch his breath.
Cass covered her face with her hands, pulling them away and bringing them back. Like… peekaboo? Or–
Ah. A cuckoo clock. A disappearing bird. That actually communicated the situation… really well. Huh. She was definitely getting better with her communication skills. "Good job, Black Bat."
"We need to find Robin." Batman grabbed Dick’s hand, pulling him up with complete disregard of the fact that his gloves were… well, still very wet with blood. "We also need to bring the civilians back to safety. Red Robin, Spoiler, team up. Get the civilians back to safety as soon as possible."
Red Robin turned without waiting for Steph to follow–Dick kept forgetting how much more confident he was in his hero persona–and ran for the cluster of civilians–at least three of which were recording, so he already knew “Nightwing beats up The Joker!” was going to be a trending video for at least the next month.
"So," Jason nudged him. "did you not see that, or…?"
"Tim." Dick was trying to stay calm, but he was pretty sure he was doing a very bad job at it. "How did he survive?" He wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and he was glad Tim lived, but how was also an important question. That fall would have killed him. Mind games? Hallucinations?
"Robin saved him. No chance in hell that dude doesn’t know about his powers by now." Red Hood shook his head. "Oh, and he ran off into the forest. Duke’s already working on it."
"Split up." Batman muttered. "Black Bat, come with me. Nightwing, Red Hood–"
"Team up and search the eastern part of the forest along the river?" Hood offered. "Got it."
Bruce sighed. "Yes, that. Hurry. We can’t tell if his trackers will work through his powers."
Nightwing took a deep breath, the smell of burnt electricity lining the air around him. Missions could never be simple, could they?
- - - Todd
"He said trackers like he has several different ones on the kid. Has he gotten more paranoid since Dami?"
Jason liked the forest. Not enough to play in it for fun, but there was a kind of solidarity between him and each tree stump, each burnt growth that still had flowers budding from the ash. He liked nature, and he couldn’t really say sorry for each plant and bug crushed underfoot, barely visible even with the mask’s night vision through the softly filtered moonlight. Even if he couldn’t see the majority of it, he could see its beauty. It was still upsetting to know he was breaking it.
It made him angry, seeing snare traps and baits hooked throughout the forest. Snare traps had been outlawed in Gotham a while ago–a push that Bruce Wayne himself had made–and yet civilians still chose to use them. It wasn’t like drugs or alcohol, no addiction or need to use such cruel and violent traps. Just… the love of the game. A sick disregard for life.
"I placed a tracker on him, too. Also, slipped one into his water." Dick shook his head. "Checked them and they’re not alerting anything. Signal lost."
Jason was a step behind his older brother. "Same. Started making a game out of it. Neither of them noticed–I’m up to 12 trackers and mine have lost signal, too. Last signal was… here."
Dick turned to him, holding still in his spot. "I wish it rained more often." He whispered as though speaking too harshly would jostle something important, or ruin vital information. "Footprints would be convenient right about now."
Jason dropped to the ground, pulling a small emergency flashlight from his pocket as he studied something on the ground. "That explains the radio-silence." He held it as gingerly as he could, pulling it into the light. A tiny, silvery earring. The post was bloodied–must have been ripped out. In fact…
"Blood trail." He whispered. Usually, that wouldn’t be a good thing. Right now, it was the only good thing.
- - -
Bruce felt this was his fault.
Cass had long since outran him under his command. He was slipping through the cracks between trees, alone aside from the noise of shuffling creatures around him. Each boot planted into the ground reminded him of just how preventable this could have been.
Truth. If Robin had been told the truth from the start, he would have better control over his powers, a better understanding of himself and his mind.
If Robin had been told the truth from the start, he could have been in an even worse mental state than he already was. Bruce saw every comment, note, each nightmare in the system logged with clinical efficiency and automation as “episodes” in his sleep. Tossing, turning, crying when he thought nobody could see him. If that had been worse, Bruce wasn’t sure he would be able to trust him to complete his job as a hero.
Still, all of that pent up frustration and fear had to go somewhere. Apparently, that somewhere was the forest.
Bruce felt like he was running behind all the others, following in the footsteps of children that once followed his. Literally and metaphorically. They felt more mature than him, more often than not. He was proud of that. He was proud of them.
Bruce knelt down, gently picking up a familiarly colored green glove. The blood was concentrated on the fingertips, running down the index finger and dripping into the palm. It didn’t look like blood stains from attacking something, rather stains from an already open wound. Perhaps to apply pressure?
He zipped it into a bag of evidence, slipping it into his belt. Less than 15 feet away, a second glove.
Robin had given him a trail, intentional or not. He was determined to follow it.
- - -
Cassandra missed her brother.
Grace had sat with her through every lesson for months, helping her sound out words and use them in sentences. He’d even asked for her help for a book he was trying to read–apparently English wasn’t his first language. That was okay. It wasn’t hers, either. Her first language was violence. Body language after that.
She wished it wasn’t, but Jason always said he could relate to that. He was almost as patient as Stephanie or Barbara.
Batman had told her to run ahead, said she should catch up with Jason. She needed to catch up to him, make sure he was safe. He was family. The others didn’t trust him–their body language said that all loud and clear, nervous glances, shifting and uneasy. Cassandra trusted him. Nothing about him had told her he was lying to her.
Cass wished she could find the words to explain it. Anyone else could, but the idea of memorizing everything was… daunting at best. She wanted to understand like they did, but every time she spoke it came out wrong. Awkward, halted. When she rushed, it sounded broken even to her.
Poets worked their words perfectly, as fluently as she worked violence. Their tongues were weapons, not their fists.
When she first learned of them, she had wished she was a poet. She had felt jealous. Language was beautiful. Life was beautiful. War was just war. She would never be able to become a poet–she didn’t mind that now, not as much as she did before–but she had learned to appreciate the skills she did have. Her skills could be used like they used their skills. To help, not hurt.
Cass thought nature was beautiful, too. Jason loved it. Told her all about his favorite spots, even showed her a pond they could skip rocks in–she won that challenge, but he’d gotten close.
She could see why he ran here. He had the forests around the manor memorized. It wouldn’t surprise her if he also knew these ones. He loved exploring the wilderness–
She froze, dead still in an instant.
Whimpering, just far enough out of earshot that the untrained ear could brush it off as wind. Gasping, shaken breaths, shallow and panicked. Pained.
Most people would recommend you don't seek out mysterious noises in the forest. Too many vengeful spirits, angry ghosts with unfinished business. It was far easier to find a proper authority before seeking out such potential danger.
Cass was not most people. She turned and sprinted in its direction.
- - -
Duke was still determined to be friends.
Jason II didn’t deserve judgement. He deserved help. Duke had seen metahuman fighting rings–they were nauseating. He also deserved the truth, but he definitely found it at the wrong time.
He’d been plotting things to make them friends for a bit. He thought this might be a chance to do it. Then, well, everything happened and he didn’t really get a chance to ask to hang out in the middle of it.
Duke remembered finding out that he was a metahuman. It was alarming at best. Confusing on a good day. Finding out so suddenly… that must have hurt Jason quite a bit. Which was why it was so crucial that he found him as soon as possible, before anything could go wrong.
It wasn’t exactly hard to find him, with the electromagnetic waves coming off of him. Plus, it was easy for him to see in this forest. He could find Jason before anything went too wrong.
Duke nearly slipped in the leaf piles as he turned the corner of a large tree. He had school tomorrow, and he was supposed to wake up at 7:00. It was already 4:00 something, so he was off to a horrible start for today. He was probably going to fall asleep in math class, but the teacher was chill enough that she usually didn’t care. He was glad he didn’t have patrols today–that would have sucked.
It had only been what, five minutes since Jason bolted? What could happen in five minutes?
Duke was decently calm until–well–he saw exactly what could happen in five minutes. He was the first of many. The second he walked up to the limp form, two other figures rushed into view. Jason–the first, who he was currently in a mini-rivalry with after he beat him in scrabble–and Dick came in just before Cass and Bruce. The second their eyes landed on him, they froze, staring at the whimpering child for a few agonizingly long moments.
Apparently, a lot could happen in five minutes.
- - - Grace
Jason didn’t feel like this often.
Helpless. He felt like an animal caught in a bear trap. He couldn’t do anything but sit and wait.
It took him a few minutes to realize what it was. Not a bear trap, a snare trap. A broken one, at that, one that had fallen horizontal so it hooked around his foot. It was caught firmly around his ankle. Every time he moved, it dug deeper, cutting off circulation and slicing mercilessly through skin. They were outlawed in Gotham, and for good reason. They were inhumane. He wouldn’t have to stretch to call them a method of torture. They certainly felt like one.
His vision kept fizzing in and out, body overwhelmed. He could still see the faint glow he gave off from the electricity–honestly, he was worried about an electrical fire.
If only he could focus on that.
Jason really did feel like a feral animal. The second something touched him, all thoughts left his mind. He snarled, baring his teeth at the unknown threat. Mother Lupa wouldn’t approve, he was letting himself be endangered. Too vulnerable. Weak.
"Hold still."
Someone cupped his face, holding his head up and away from the dirt as the other worked on the trap. Someone came for him. Someone came to help him.
He didn’t remember anyone doing that for him before, other than…
"Dad," Jason whined. He didn’t know when he’d gotten so comfortable with the word. The pain in the wound felt… duller. More pressure, but certainly less pain.
The person touching his face picked him up, holding him like she usually held civilians. A hold she’d perfected to make sure she could transport people quickly and easily.
"I’m so sorry." He pressed his face into Cass’ shoulder. Thalia was okay with him crying on her. He had–once. Far, far away from the view of anyone else.
Cass hugged him. She was physically affectionate, just like him, and he was glad about that. Bruce would hug him, but not unprompted, and he was worried he was asking for too much far too often.
"Please don’t send me to Taos." He whispered. Abandonment. That’s all he could think about, such a betrayal just after he’d gotten used to this place. Such a violent change…
"Wait, what?"
- - - Todd
Jason was running out of patience.
All eleven of them–yes, eleven, Oracle, Damian, and Alfred the human joined in too–were in the medical bay, failing at attempts of strained conversation. Everyone knew what they wanted and needed to talk about, but no one wanted to start talking about it.
Damian’s medical training was doing well, at least. Grace didn’t seem to be in much pain as he worked, far less than he was. Barely coherent sobs and whines were all he could muster through his injuries earlier–and maybe that was also a side effect of being in shock–and now he was speaking in full sentences. Damian had insisted on helping with injuries. He didn’t want to be a vigilante, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t help them. Also real life practice was going to be a fuck ton of help to him later in his schooling, apparently.
Grace was the most injured out of them–other than maybe the Joker, but he was having trouble feeling sympathy for that–with Tim at a far second. His issues were mostly mental, other than the burns from the electrical fire that had started while he was taking the civilians back to their homes. Other than that, the stress of the situation had sent him into some sort of dissociative episode. He was slowly sipping the water he’d been given, staring blankly at no spot in particular. The kid seemed exhausted, too tired to even fake emotions. So, probably not the best state to argue in.
Still, Jason was itching for a chance to talk about it. Why the hell did Bruce tell Grace he was going to be sent to Taos? Why was Duke acting so shifty about it?
"Jason," Bruce said slowly. "I… already knew. I would not have sent you to the MHYC."
"You what?" Grace immediately moved to stand, but Damian pushed him back down. He wasn’t Robin anymore, but that didn’t mean he wasn't strong enough to manhandle metahumans like he used to. "You knew? Since when?"
"The first day he saw you." Dick answered for Bruce, filling in after the smallest of pauses.
Bruce looked away, refusing to make eye contact with him. "Second day. I had brushed off your tolerance as being the upper limits of human endurance at first."
"You entered his name into the Batcomputer’s files as a “potential metahuman” almost immediately after returning home, sir." Alfred corrected. "I do hope you don’t do that for every child you find on the streets."
"... tolerance?" Grace squinted at him, before scanning the room. He adjusted his glasses, tilting his head. "Wait, how much do you know about this? I thought it was just the whole electricity thing until like, an hour ago."
"Notably enhanced endurance, accelerated healing, electrokinesis, resistance or immunity to electricity, flight or levitation, potentially enhanced senses." Tim downed the rest of his water. "Previous, unknown training." Jason stared at him for a few seconds until he made eye contact with him. "I can feel again. Don’t feel great." He added.
"Wait–so, you knew about the… powers, and you didn’t want to get rid of me?" Grace slammed his hands down on the cot he was sitting on, much to his own–and Damian’s–distress, considering that sprained wrist he got. "I was worried over nothing?"
"You thought we would?" Dick seemed concerned. "Grace, that doesn’t matter. We would never harm you for something out of your control. You didn’t choose to be born like this. You’re family. You don’t deserve to be cast aside. I don’t know what you’ve been through, but the important thing is that you’re with us now. We’ll learn to support you like we’ve learned to support each other."
Jason agreed with the sentiment, but he also felt like it sounded less like something he’d hear from a “family” finding out that a relative was a meta and more like them finding out that relative was gay. He made the smart choice to not mention it.
"We are family." Cass agreed. "Family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten." Mimicry. She’d started doing it early, to get her points across like other people did. Lilo & Stitch felt like an appropriate movie for the situation.
Grace wasn’t the only one that was odd in this dysfunctional family. Everyone had their own habits, things that needed to be understood, not eradicated or shunned. They were all important to keep Gotham running.
Gotham wasn’t a normal city. It was fitting that its protectors weren’t normal, either.
- - -
Barbara couldn’t tell if she regretted this yet or not.
Barbara had volunteered to review the footage and sort out the majority of the files and reports. She had her particular things she needed done with them, and honestly it was easier to format them herself the first time than to fix another’s mistakes by hand. Okay, they weren’t mistakes, just… unique quirks. Like how she could always tell when Jason Grace had input a file because of the font he coded into it, which was a pain to take out.
She was planning on taking Duke’s files anyway. He had chosen to crash at the manor, because he had classes next morning–which it nearly was already, the sky just kept getting lighter–but he still needed sleep. He’d tried to take the burden of the files himself. She cared too much about his health to let him do that.
Barbara had also taken Grace’s work, because he was still injured and distressed by the situation that had unfolded. Who wouldn’t be?
Her, actually. She was not. She was very intrigued by the things that were happening in the criminal world. The Riddler clearly knew things she didn’t, and she was going to change that. He didn’t work with the Joker directly at first because of how unpredictable he was. He used Maxie as the middle man. Then Maxie was out of the picture because of the injuries given to him, and the Joker’s unpredictable nature was the exact thing that backfired on him, the thing he’d tried to plan around. Help from Gotham’s elite class, plus that unknown metahuman…
Alabaster. That was his name. He’d fixed the power outage almost instantly. Grace had given a shaky report of him, but considering the painkillers he was on to let him sleep, she was taking it with a grain of salt. She’d ask for a more in depth explanation later, when he was more, well, conscious.
It was nearly 6 AM. She needed to log off, just after she finished this last file. Also her last cup of coffee for the night.
It didn’t take her long. She was excited to sleep. That was going to feel great after this–
A notification popped up at the bottom of her computer screen. Did Bruce forget her computer linked to the Batcomputer again? Was he sending emails through it, again? Justice League work, she was betting.
Dear Bruce,
I would be glad to assist the newest Robin in understanding his powers. I believe it would be best if I came to Gotham, as it's far too difficult to get you into Metropolis. I’m available next week, which I hope is long enough for him to heal from his injuries. He’s not Kryptonian, but training would benefit him regardless of species, considering his powers. It's important to understand the limitations of one’s abilities, super or otherwise, in order to protect others. As always, I look forward to seeing you soon. In the future, feel free to message me instead of E-mail for personal work. I believe it would be easier for both of us.
Sincerely, Clark.
Barbara closed the tab. Snooping in Bruce's email had taken too much time. The clock was ticking away, and light was slowly coming in through the windows. She sighed, downing the last of her coffee. New morning, new day. No sleep for her. Too little coffee. Too much stress. Of course she had to work today. This was going to be a difficult Thursday. She technically didn’t know that yet, but come on, look at the circumstances!
Today was bound to be horrible.
Notes:
i wanna say how grateful i am for the people who have interacted with me and my posts over this journey. I am SO thankful for the support, and i know i say that in like every reply, but its cause i seriously am! I don’t think i say it enough for how thankful i am, honestly, i would not have been able to post this much without the support of the community. I kind of wanted to quit like three times, but the overwhelming support helped me stick to it! I never thought i’d get this far. I figured my ADHD would probably shoot me dead too soon. the hyperfixations may be a flickering flame but the autism is saving me with the jason grace special interest, currently annotating the lost hero specifically for his lines. im normal i pinky promise!
Is this the end?
Absolutely NOT! Saving Grace is the universe that the fall from grace into Gotham is set in, and that in itself is set in ANOTHER AU I made that I’ve been calling Ogygia’s host. The entire thing is a big plot to let me fandom hell Jason Grace and not have ANYONE stop me, because its MY au. Saving Grace is my main plot, and the one I have the most conviction and excitement about right now! I have at least 2 more multichapter fics planned, plus an unspecified number of oneshots that I can write whenever I have motivation. They’re split like this to better fit the plot, if that makes sense? Fall from grace has some action bits, but its mostly the start and preparation for the majority of the story, kind of like how The Lightning Thief has its own plot but it starts the rest of the plot? i think im explaining this right. The three long fics are:the fall from grace into gotham, which is 14 chapters.
a bird with broken wings, which will be 14-15 chapters
the day the sky fell (and storm fell with it), which has an unspecified number of chapters so far. cause… ive not planned anything yet. sorry.can you tell this is written by an overly ambitious teenager yet? anyways, im sorry i communicated this wrong and you thought this would be the final chapter that summed up all of the plot… sorry. It has a lot i still have to work on, but i PROMISE that you’ll get actual valgrace interactions soon. looking at planning… uh… late bird with broken wings timeline, but like, ill give you a oneshot between that for compensation, trust.
When will this be finished?
Loaded question. Listen, I can’t lie and say I’ll definitely finish this in 2026. Considering I took 4 months to write this? Yeah, maybe we can estimate that. It’ll probably take until 2026. The fun thing about Saving Grace is that I have a lot of timeskips. Places I can slip oneshots into. Hell, I could never STOP writing for this if I wanted to. This could be the project I play with for the rest of my life. Probably not, though. It’s a safe estimate that, by the time I get into high school (in a full year 3) this will be MOSTLY concluded. I might drop a oneshot later down the road, but probably not. Saving Grace’s main plot, not including oneshots? It should be done by 2026! I hope! I will be starting a bird with broken wings sometime into August though!
And heres a random fun fact around Saving Grace’s original planning.
- I originally planned it as having Jason’s powers being the catalyst for the story, rather than his kindness. My first idea was to have him be perceived as a villain and have less memory loss! Of course, he was still going to be adopted–my idea for this was having Bruce adopt him after successfully stopping him from nearly leveling the city with a hurricane–but I think this fits better. In the first version of Saving Grace, Jason wasn’t supposed to be Robin. He was supposed to be his own hero, which the public was going to name “Saving Grace” (hence, the name.) I think I prefer the new plot! It focuses more on Jason as a character rather than Jason as a weapon, which is already a statement about him in itself. This way, I get to focus more on Jason and his identity, how helping people is important and unique for him, and how he interacts with the people around him. The OG Saving Grace was going to be a bit more flashy and a tad shorter, but the new Saving Grace gives me the opportunity to play around with characters and my writing more! thank you to @moth-monarch on tumblr for the support through the planning for this! love ya moot/nx!
Again, thank you SO MUCH for reading! Let me know how you feel about Saving Grace so far, and if you have any questions about anything else I didn’t answer! :3
ps: my school also banned WIKIPEDIA? BUT CHATGPT ISN’T BANNED? WAS WHOEVER DID THIS BUZZED? CAN I HAVE WHATEVER THEY’RE ON? anyway anyone ever have italian cream soda? its sooo yummy go make some. Its sparkling water/club soda + flavored syrup + heavy whipping cream + ice (drink with a straw cause the cream will float and it tastes GROSS trust me) (alternatively skip the cream and its just italian soda but i like it with cream)
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