Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The cheerful ringing of Jason’s phone echoed across the dark apartment. Jason groaned and buried his head under his pillow, willing the noise to stop. It had been a long night. Not only had he spent most of his night attending his monthly meet-ups with the bosses and dealers to make sure everyone was following the rules, but he also had to stop the usual array of muggings, thefts, and assaults. Right when he was about to head in, he had been flagged down by Jasmyne, one of his favorite contacts and the unofficial leader of the working girls. One of the other girls had been brutally beaten and then dumped on the pavement by her john a couple hours before, and that shit didn’t fly in the Alley. It had taken a while to track the asshole down, and then a bit longer to make sure the message really sunk in. By the time the man was a moaning heap on the floor and Jason was stripping off his blood-soaked gloves and heading back to his apartment, the stars in the east had begun to fade. So he wasn’t feeling very cheerful when the phone woke him up what felt like minutes later.

Jason sighed in relief when the phone fell silent. It quickly turned to a growl as it started up again. He cursed roundly before pulling the pillow off his head and rolling out of bed. Ignoring a single call was one thing, but a second immediately after the first meant it was important. Someone could be hurt.

Jason stumbled out into the living room, barking his shin on the coffee table and cursing the world and himself for forgetting his phone in his jacket pocket. “What?” he demanded, snatching the phone up and stabbing the button with enough force to threaten the screen.

“Jason, thank God.” Dick sounded at his wit’s end and Jason was immediately on high alert.

“Dick? What happened?” he asked, hurrying back to his room and snatching a pair of pants off the back of a chair.

“It’s Damian,” Dick said, and Jason’s heart leapt to his throat. The brat was always running off into dangerous situations he couldn’t handle, trying to prove himself. It was going to get him killed someday, and Jason prayed today was not that day. He stuck a knife into his pocket and a gun in his belt and headed for the front door, stuffing his feet in his boots. “He has a half-day at school and-”

“What?” Jason said, pausing as he tied his boots.

“Damian has a half-day at school,” Dick repeated. “And I’m sick and Alfred can’t get him and Cass can’t drive and Steph is at school-”

Jason pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off both the headache that was beginning to throb behind his eyes and the anger that was beginning to rise in his chest.

“And both Tim and Bruce are at work and really Tim is not a good option anyway beca-”

“You need someone to pick up the demon,” Jason interrupted, voice dangerously calm.

Dick paused, apparently hearing the murder in Jason’s voice. “Yes,” he finally said.

“That’s why you called me.”

“Yes?”

Jason let out a slow, controlled breath. “You called me at,” he checked his phone, “10:32 in the morning and woke me up because the demon brat needs to be picked up from school.”

“Uh.” Jason waited. Dick apparently didn’t see the problem with this situation and finally settled on, “Yes. He gets out at 11:15.”

“I don’t give a fuck when he gets out,” Jason hissed. “I got home less than five hours ago, I do not give a fuck about anything that is not sleep.” To be fair, Jason could and had gone with less sleep in the past, but goddammit that was during missions and important stakeouts and undercover work. There was a mindset you slip into during missions like that, a constant buzz of adrenaline and focus that was better than caffeine. This was just a normal day and he wanted his eight hours.

“Why were you-?”

“None of your fucking business. Get someone else to pick up the brat.”

“Jason, I’m so hopped up on cold medicine I can’t drive, Cass definitely can’t drive, and no one else is available. Please, Jay? It’s Alfred’s day off and I don’t want to bother him but the school will call him if no one comes to get him and they won’t allow him to get into a cab.”

Jason’s mouth opened and closed several times. “Fucking dick move bringing Alfred into it,” he finally spat. He could tell when he was being manipulated, he wasn’t stupid, but he also knew Dick wouldn’t say that if it wasn’t the truth. It wasn’t like Jason had a great track record with his little brothers, and Dick tended to keep a close eye whenever he was in close contact with them. Jason couldn’t begrudge him that, and the scrutiny had dropped off a lot over the past months as the whole family got used to being around each other more.

“Thank you so much, Jay,” Dick said, apparently taking that as Jason agreeing to pick the brat up.

It pissed Jason off that he was right. “Fuck you,” he snarled, hanging up. He muttered angrily for a moment before sighing and running a hand through his hair. It was 10:45 and he had to get going if he wanted to make it all the way to Gotham Academy on the other side of the city. Jason groaned and dodged into his kitchen just long enough to grab a granola bar -- special recipe from Alfred, extra protein and nutrients, made and wrapped himself a week ago. He stuffed it into his mouth as he bounded down the stairs, pulling on his leather jacket as he went.

Thanks to driving like a maniac the entire trip across the city, Jason screeched into the school parking lot at 11:17 in a considerably better mood. Nothing like some near-death experiences to get the blood pumping.

There were kids everywhere, streaming across the sidewalk toward a collection of identical fancy cars with identical drivers wearing identical suits. Jason pulled his helmet off, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair. He craned his neck, looking for Damian, painfully aware of the attention his arrival and appearance were garnering. The drivers were maintaining decorum, but the collection of parents a bit further back were openly staring, and Jason felt his good mood draining away. He crossed his arms, hating the paranoid prickle at the back of his neck. Looked like some things didn’t change. He had gotten plenty of looks like that as a kid, and that was when he was wearing his immaculate uniform. He might as well have been wearing his ratty jeans and torn hoodie for all the neat jacket and tie had helped him blend in back then. Jason glared directly back at the closest cluster of parents. He had spent three years trying to blend in and not let these rich fucks get under his skin; he wasn’t going to pretend anymore. If they wanted to stare, they could deal with him staring back.

 After several minutes of kids slowly dispersing and no sign of Damian, Jason got sick of waiting. The sooner he dropped the brat off, the sooner he could go home and collapse. Maybe stop and pick up something greasy and delicious on the way. His granola bars may have been great, but he was getting hungry. Jason stuck his helmet on his handlebars and got off the bike, plowing his way through the middle schoolers. The kids parted like he was Moses, and he kept a sharp eye out for spiky hair and bad attitude. He made it all the way to the doors without seeing the kid, and a twist of anxiety was making an appearance in his stomach. Damian should have been out at the front of the crowd, eager to escape. If everything he had heard and seen were true, Damian hated school. He should have spotted Jason right away. He should have come storming over, managing to ask where Dick was and insult Jason in one breath.

“Hey,” he said to the teacher standing by the door. She looked taken aback, but no more than the other adults. “I’m lookin’ for Damian Wayne? Dick Grayson asked me to pick him up because he’s sick.”

“Oh yes,” the woman said, glancing at her clipboard. “Peter Johnson?”

“That’s me,” Jason said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Geez, he’d have to get Bruce to give this place a security overhaul, she had just tossed that identity right out there for him to grab. She should have made him say his name first, if she really wanted to test him. But Dick had neglected to tell Jason which identity to use -- maybe he really was knocked out on cold medicine after all -- so just this once he was grateful for the incompetence. “So, where is he?”

“I just saw him,” she said, looking around. Jason suppressed a groan. He had been hoping she would have sequestered Damian off in some room where he was easily accessible. “Ah!” the woman said, pointing. “There he is, over by the cherry blossom.”

Jason twisted to follow her finger and immediately zeroed in on the man talking to Damian.

“Oh, if you’re Mr. Johnson, who-?”

Jason didn’t wait for her to finish, taking off at a dead sprint toward Damian, because the man had just grabbed the kid’s arm and Damian’s entire body was screaming suppressed violence. Of course he was worried about protecting his identity. Standard procedure. Cooperate and don’t make a scene.

Fortunately, Jason didn’t have to suppress anything. He honestly wasn’t sure at that moment if he would have been able to. He slammed into the man with the force of a small truck, shattering his collarbone with a well-placed elbow. The man screamed and staggered, but Jason kept him upright with a fist in his collar.

“Who are you?” he demanded, hauling the man upward.

“Todd?” Damian asked, voice shaken, but Jason ignored him, shaking the man.

“Who are you working for?”

The attempted kidnapper just sobbed. Jason’s blood was singing with adrenaline and fury, and he slammed the man into the nearby tree. The man screamed and went limp, presumably passing out from the pain. Either way he was useless now. Jason dropped him, glaring in disgust. He shouldn’t have gone so hard off the bat; now the man would be in police custody and it would be a lot harder to get information. But the man had put his hand on Damian and the entire world had muffled, sharpening to a narrow point where the only goal was to get Damian away from him.

Jason turned, dropping to a knee and running his hands down Damian’s arms, his sides, searching for injuries. “Are you okay? Status report.”

Damian slapped his hands away, the shaken look morphing into his normal snooty expression. “I am fine, Todd.”

“Peter Johnson,” Jason corrected automatically. “You’re sure? He didn’t hurt you?”

“He hardly had the time, with the display you put on,” Damian said, but he followed it with a hesitant nod of thanks, and Jason forced a tense little smile. He was still vibrating with adrenaline, but Damian seemed to be telling the truth and he couldn’t find any signs of injury. Kidnappings were pretty much a part of life for anyone associated with the Waynes, so they had long-established protocols to follow. Though, come to think of it, Jason couldn’t remember if the brat had been kidnapped in his civilian ID yet. Okay, step one complete. Time for step two: get to a secure location.

Jason pushed himself to his feet and turned back to the shocked crowd of children, teachers, and guardians. He grabbed Damian by the loop on the top of his backpack and started towing him toward his bike. “Call 911,” he told the woman he had been talking to earlier. “Tell them you’ve got an attempted kidnapping. If they want to talk to Damian, they can call Bruce Wayne.” There was no way in hell he was sticking around for the cops to arrive. Jason knew what he looked like, and he knew that between him and the well-dressed man lying unconscious on the floor, he’d be the one that ended up in the back of a cruiser.

Thankfully Damian didn’t try to fight him, following along docilely enough. Jason figured it was part of the secret identity preservation, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. His blood was still pounding in his ears. He pulled out his cell phone and fired off quick texts to Bruce and Dick, letting them know what happened. His phone rang seconds later and he answered it while pushing Damian in front of him and digging out his second helmet.

“Hey B.”

“Jason, what happened?” Bruce sounded almost frantic. Jason couldn’t blame him, he was still jittery and he had Damian right in front of him.

“Dick asked me to pick up Damian. I get here and some creep is talking to him; grabs him by the arm. So I stopped him. Damian’s with me now.” Jason tossed the kid the helmet and made grabby hands for the backpack. “I’m bringing him to the Manor.” He bungeed the backpack to the back of the motorcycle and swung a leg over. “The teacher called the police and I told them to call you for questions. Figured it wouldn’t be the best idea for Peter Johnson to show up with Jason Todd’s prints.”

“Your prints aren’t in their systems anymore,” Bruce said absently, like he was thinking hard. “Thank you, Jason. I’ll finish up here and head back to the Manor too. Is Damian alright?”

Jason passed the phone to Damian and looked around, scanning the crowd for any more hostiles. Everyone seemed to be rushing to get out of there, though the teacher had asked a few people closest to the action to stay behind. Jason started up his motorcycle, prompting Damian to scramble up behind him, still clutching the phone. This was Gotham Academy, not some public school in the slums; police response would be fast.

“Goodbye, Father,” Damian said, and passed the phone back. Jason tucked it away and pulled on his helmet.

“Hold on kid,” he said, and gunned the engine.

Jason’s sole focus was getting Damian back to the manor, where he’d be safe, but as he navigated turns and wove their way through the busy Gotham streets -- a good deal slower and safer than how he drove previously, but still pretty fast -- he could feel how stiff Damian was against his back. The kid moved perfectly with the bike of course, that wasn’t an issue, but it was a pretty big clue as to how shaken up Damian really was. Unnatural stiffness was just as much of a tell as jitters, and was trained out of the League just as thoroughly. If Damian was really unbothered, he’d be more relaxed.

Jason sighed, grateful the kid wouldn’t be able to hear him through the helmets and the wind whipping around them. He wasn’t the person for this job. He was good with the street kids and the working girls, but that was because he knew how they thought. Damian? He hadn’t a clue. But he did know how difficult it could be to go from a stressful situation to a house full of mother-henning vigilantes. Sometimes you just needed some space to breathe.

Jason cut across the right lane of traffic, a minivan blaring its horn angrily, and pulled into Bat Burger. He pulled to a stop and cut the engine. Bruce and Dick could deal for a few extra minutes.

“What are you doing?” Damian asked, but he slid off the bike so Jason could get off.

“I’m hungry,” Jason said, sticking his helmet on the handlebars and waving Damian along as he headed for the doors. “Dickolas woke me up to get you; didn’t have a chance to eat breakfast.”

“And so you come to this...establishment,” Damian said scornfully.

Jason snorted. “Don’t even start, brat. I know you like the toys.”

As Damian spluttered incoherently, Jason strolled up to the line. Thankfully it was short, and by the time Damian took a deep breath in preparation for what Jason was sure would be a riveting rant, it was their turn. He held up his hand, cutting Damian off. “I’ll have the batburger deluxe meal, large, and whatever the kid wants.”

Damian scowled fiercely, but stepped forward. “I will have the medium killer moth wrap,” he said.

“Right,” the cashier said, tapping on their screen. “You wanna jokerize those fries?”

Jason grinned and Damian shot him a preemptive glare. “‘Course.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, pausing for effect. “They just don’t hit the same without it.”

Eh, not his best. But Damian was giving him a long-suffering look and his shoulders were noticeably less tense, so Jason was taking it as a win.

Their meals were out in a flash (“Heh, get it? Because the cook is dressed like the Flash -” “I understood the joke, Todd!”) and Jason hummed happily as he bit into his burger. He liked making his own meals, and nothing could compare to Alfred’s cooking, but sometimes you just really needed a greasy, heart-attack-inducing burger. Damian silently picked up his wrap, but it was a comfortable silence, and Jason felt the dregs of his own adrenaline draining away as they ate.

Halfway through their meal, Jason’s phone vibrated. He glanced at it, seeing Damian tense a bit in his peripheral vision. It was Bruce. Jason silenced his phone and tucked it back in his pocket, going back to leisurely eating his fries. If the kid needed some more time, Jason wasn’t going to rush him. It went against a lifetime of instincts that demanded he eat as quickly as possible, but he imagined giving Joker the middle finger with each one, which kept him entertained long enough for Damian to relax again.

Damian seemed to take Jason’s slow pace as permission, and he nibbled at his wrap. As he relaxed, his appetite began returning and he started taking larger bites, alternating with long sips of his iced tea.

“Ready to go?” Jason asked, once Damian had finished off his fries and taken the last, slurping gulp of his tea. Damian nodded and Jason slid out of the booth, finishing off his own drink and dumping their trash in the garbage. He sent a two-fingered salute to the cashier and leaned back against the door to open it, turning smoothly on his heel to head to his bike. “Okay, kid,” he said once they were both settled back on the bike. “My bed is calling my name, so let’s get you home quick, huh?” He kicked the bike to life. “Hold on tight.”

They screeched out of the parking lot and tore down the street. Damian was clinging tightly to Jason’s midsection, but it wasn’t that stressed tension anymore. As Jason took a particularly sharp turn, both of them leaning dangerously to the side to make it, Jason thought he heard a high-pitched laugh snatched away by the wind.

WAYNE KIDNAPPING FOILED BY MYSTERY MAN

DAMIAN WAYNE’S KNIGHT IN BROWN LEATHER

FAMILY FRIEND OR FOE: WHAT WE KNOW ABOUT DAMIAN WAYNE’S MYSTERIOUS RESCUER

Jason stared down at the magazines and newspapers spread across the dining room table, mouth agape. Honestly he probably shouldn’t have been surprised. He knew interacting with the Waynes was a surefire way to get the attention of the media, especially in as...flashy a way as he did, but for some reason he’d thought he’d get away with a few witnesses too rich and proper to ask Bruce outright. Clearly he was wrong. Bruce nodded, seemingly expecting his reaction. “It’s all over the internet as well,” he said, gesturing towards the laptop Tim had in front of him. Jason looked up just in time to see Tim spin the computer around and press play on a news report.

“An exciting new development in the Damian Wayne kidnapping attempt,” the reporter said, smiling at the camera. “Here we have video footage of the incident, which was posted to Mrs. Judith Crowne’s twitter page shortly after it occured.”

Jason stiffened. The footage was clearly from a cell phone, a bit shaky but with impressive quality. Of course, Jason didn’t expect anything else from the richest snobs in the city. God forbid they didn’t have 4K resolution for their stupid home videos. But...yeah, this was definitely a problem. The video showed him talking to the teacher and then sprinting through the crowd of children to reach Damian. It got a bit jerky after he hit the man, people moving into frame and Mrs. Crowne clearly moving around to get a good view, but it stabilized and showed Jason riding off with Damian. The reporter smiled blithely, unworried about the shit he had just landed Jason in. “Mrs. Crowne told us, ‘I didn’t like the look of him. He pulled in late on a motorcycle and was wearing a leather jacket. Certainly not the type I want around my children. So I recorded him in case I needed to make a police report.’”

Jason’s lip curled. Typical. Just typical. But bigoted assholes weren’t his biggest problem. She had managed to get a great view of Jason slamming the man against the tree, as well as the intense expression on his face as he towed Damian to the bike, and the news station blew those frames up and kept them on screen. They were really good pictures.

“Police confirm that they have a name for the mystery man but are unwilling to share it with the press at this time,” the reporter continued. “Bruce Wayne has yet to comment on the events of yesterday afternoon.”

The video ended and everyone turned to look at Jason. He buried his face in his hands. “Shit.” This was literal worst-case scenario. Not only was there a crowd of witnesses, but now every news channel in the city had crystal-clear images of his face.

“Don’t worry, Jason,” Bruce said. “If you want, I can just make a statement identifying you as a family friend.”

His voice trailed off a bit at the end of that sentence and Jason lowered his hands, sending him a narrow-eyed look. “Or?” he prompted suspiciously.

“Or,” Bruce said, carefully folding his hands on the table, “I could make a statement identifying you as our new bodyguard.”

Jason blinked. “What?”

“It’s something I’ve been thinking about,” Bruce said quickly, as if worried Jason wouldn’t let him get the words out. “Kidnapping attempts haven’t let up at all, and it’s an unacceptable risk. You’re all very competent, but we all know how quickly those situations can turn deadly. I would much rather you have a bodyguard who can prevent those situations entirely, but there is the difficulty of trust. A bodyguard would be around a lot and it would be very difficult to keep our work a secret from them. In addition, a bodyguard who is only in it for a paycheck is more likely to sell out. None of that would be a problem with you, though,” he said, looking at Jason. “We all trust you with our lives, you’re already in on the secret, and I know you’ll do whatever you have to to protect your siblings.” He gestured at the video. “You handled yesterday very well,” one eyebrow raised wryly, “though I would appreciate being informed when you choose to deviate from protocol in the future.”

Jason blinked rapidly, trying not to dwell on the warm feeling in his chest when Bruce said, “We all trust you with our lives” and “You handled yesterday very well.” He glanced around the table. The others were nodding along, not even hesitating to agree, and Jason took a sip of his water to hide the lump in his throat. He thought about the proposition, and squinted at Bruce.

“This is so you have an excuse to have me around more, isn’t it?”

“That would be a benefit,” Bruce said, looking pitifully hopeful.

Jason sighed and rubbed his temples. There were perks to the idea; he’d be able to spend time with his siblings out of masks, without worrying about some nosy paparazzi asking questions. It would give him something to do that wasn’t related to the Red Hood, which, now that he had a system in place and people knew better than to mess with him, was taking up less and less of his time. To be honest, he had been feeling kind of aimless lately, with long hours of the day after he woke up and before he needed to prep for patrol. It would be nice to have something to do. Not to mention, this would be the perfect position to troll his siblings from.

But there were definitely downsides too. If something came up with his Hood business, he could be tied up somewhere and unable to help. He’d be forced directly into the media’s gaze, at least until they got used to the idea of him, and he’d have to attend all the galas and stuffy parties he had hated as a child. Not to mention, his siblings were exhausting and sometimes he really needed a break from them. But this was more of a ploy than a real job, and Jason could just bully Bruce into giving him time off if he felt like it. Bruce was always trying to get them to rest, he couldn’t imagine he’d say no.

“Do I have to wear a suit?” he asked.

Bruce smiled.

Chapter Text

Jason tugged at his tie, grimacing at the mirror. One of the best things about being legally dead was not having to attend Bruce’s stupid rich-people parties. But in a moment of weakness and stupidity Jason had agreed to fling himself head-first back into the Wayne spotlight. Jason had half-expected to not be able to go anywhere for weeks, but the paparazzi had actually calmed down at the news that he was a bodyguard, which was a pleasant surprise.  While Wayne news was always big, people didn’t care about a no-name bodyguard. They had been much more interested before learning he was just doing his job in attacking that man. If Jason had gone with the other option of just being a family friend, it would probably have been a lot worse. As it was, he had needed to lose a few tails on his way back to his apartment, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.

But this was the first real event he was attending, and Jason fiddled with his sleeves, tugging them straight. He wasn’t in the spotlight, he reminded himself as he ran a hand through his hair. He just had to blend into the background and keep a close eye out. They had plans and ways to communicate, like they always did at these parties, and Jason just had to be there and not attract too much attention. That shouldn’t be too hard. The paparazzi may have been interested for a few days, but these people were too rich and snobby to show any interest in the ‘hired help’. For once their insufferability would work in Jason’s favor.

“Little Wing~” Dick called, opening the door with a grin. Jason glanced up, meeting his eyes in the mirror. Dick looked immaculate, of course, and Jason felt suddenly self-conscious in a way he hadn’t since his death. He tugged at his sleeves again and Dick walked up behind him. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” Jason said, trying to flatten his hair again.

“Great, then we’re just waiting for Bruce. He’s stalling again.”

Jason snorted a little. “Maybe he should have remembered how terrible these parties are before he went and styled himself a party-boy floozie.”

Dick chuckled. “You’d think someone as smart as him would have seen it coming. You look fine, Jay,” he added, grabbing Jason by the arm and tugging him out of the room.

Jason scowled but didn’t jerk away, not wanting to wrinkle the suit. It was cheap compared to the rest of the family, as would be expected from a bodyguard, but still expensive. Jason had whined about wearing a suit not being a requirement in his contract, but Bruce hadn’t budged. “You cannot wear a leather jacket to a gala, Jason,” he had said while the tailor measured Jason. “You’ll stand out too much, and you’re supposed to blend in.”

Jason had caved, but he had made Bruce buy him a fancy pair of Ray-Bans. If he was going to be a bodyguard he might as well look the part, and dark sunglasses were a must.

Damian, Tim, and Cass were waiting in the foyer. Dick let go of Jason to tug on Damian’s tie and tuck Cass’ hairpin back in place.

Tim glanced up from his phone to give Jason a once-over. “Looking good, Jace.”

“Indeed,” Alfred said, coming into the foyer with the keys to the limo in his hand. “You look very dashing.”

Jason looked down, cheeks heating. “Uh. Thanks.”

“Are we ready to go?” Bruce asked. Jason twisted to see him coming down the stairs, buttoning his cufflinks.

“Indeed.” Alfred ushered them all out to the car. Jason climbed into the passenger seat, pleased to be able to ride with Alfred. He stared out the window as they pulled out of the driveway and the manor lights disappeared, replaced by tree-lined roads. The party was taking place at Dumas Mansion, which was a good twenty minutes away, so Jason settled in for the ride.

“There is no need to be nervous, Master Jason,” Alfred said, and Jason realized his leg had been bouncing up and down. He flushed, stilling the motion. It was a testament to his trust in Alfred that he had been relaxed enough not to notice his own jittering. He considered lying and saying he wasn’t nervous, but Alfred would never buy it.

“I know,” he said instead.

“I have every confidence you will perform your duties admirably, if they become required. But in all likelihood, your presence will be little more than a formality.”

Jason nodded and tried to relax into his seat, but his brain kept throwing up memories of awkward conversations, uncomfortable staring, and the one memorable occasion when he had had a full-blown panic attack because some guy put a hand on his shoulder.

There was a moment’s silence before Alfred said, “Did I ever tell you of the time I forgot my lines onstage at the Boar’s Head?”

Jason perked up a little. Alfred’s stories of his acting days were some of Jason’s favorites, but he didn’t usually share the mistakes. Guilt reared its head at the knowledge Alfred probably wouldn’t volunteer this story if Jason wasn’t so on edge, but he squashed it down. Alfred didn’t do anything he didn’t want to do. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Well, it was a performance of King Lear, and as the titular character, I had quite a lot of lines,” Alfred began. Jason felt the tension leave his muscles as Alfred described the moment of panic, the stares of his castmates, and his final, desperate attempt to improvise. Alfred may have left the theater behind, but he was just as good a story teller as ever. “It was a complete wash, of course,” Alfred said, turning into the Dumas’ driveway and pulling in behind another limo. There was a long line up to the house as the cars slowly disgorged their passengers, and the gravel crunched as they inched forward. “My director was right miffed, and my castmates weren’t much better. That was certainly the last time I allowed myself to celebrate the night before a performance, no matter how well the previous show was carried.”

Jason chuckled, even as they moved up the line and the tension slowly oozed back. “At least you were supposed to be insane anyway,” he said.

“Quite. I believe that is what saved my reputation from certain disaster. As it was, it was a time before I was granted a role of such import again.”

Jason looked down at his lap, smiling, then looked up and met Alfred’s eyes. “Thank you, Alfred.”

“Of course, my dear boy.” Alfred pulled up in front of the steps and Jason slipped his sunglasses on, not wanting to be blinded by the flashing cameras. “And do try to relax.”

Jason shot him a smile and opened the door. The lights and shouting washed over him immediately, and he forced his face to remain neutral as he quickly scanned the reporters, looking for any threats. He pulled open the door and Bruce slipped out, sending him a small, warm smile before plastering his larger Brucie smile on for the cameras. Jason watched carefully as his siblings slid out of the car and followed them closely up the stairs.

Dick was smiling and waving, chatting with the reporters briefly as he passed by; a fish in water. Tim had a small, business-like smile on his face and continued determinedly but gracefully to the door, not stopping to talk but giving small nods. Damian strode along behind him, chin held high and eyes fixed front. The reporters didn’t try to ask him questions, knowing Bruce would sue their asses for harassing a minor without his guardian beside him, but they did call his name for pictures. Jason could see the tension in his squared shoulders, but Damian was doing a good job of hiding it. Cass graced the reporters with a small smile, her sapphire-blue evening dress swishing as she followed the others. She didn’t go out as much as her brothers and she talked to the press even less than Damian, without having the defense of being a minor, so all the reporters were calling after her for a statement. Jason watched her closely, looking for any sign of discomfort. Cass was a master at controlling her own body language, but she let a tiny hint of a hesitation slip through with her next step, and Jason slid smoothly next to her, shielding her from the closest reporters’ flashing cameras. He glanced down and she smiled up at him.

The rest of the family was waiting in the foyer for them to catch up. Bruce met both their gazes, a silent question, and Jason nodded slightly. They were fine. Bruce nodded and smiled, ushering them all forward toward the ballroom. Jason barely had time to breathe a sigh of relief that no reporters were allowed inside before they were entering the ballroom and the sound of hundreds of people talking crashed over him. He stiffened, torn between the desire to never go in the room actually, and the need to be in the front so he could make sure there were no threats in the room. His family were all very capable, but they were the Waynes tonight, and that meant it was up to him to protect them.

He slipped toward the wall as the family scattered, keeping a close eye on the lot of them. Dick and Damian stuck together, as did Tim and Cass. It was smart, pairing the more capable at small-talk and schmoozing with those frankly terrible at it -- Damian might have been raised to negotiate and rule the League, but he was also raised with the expectation of respect and deference because of that, and that was not a great combination with the Gotham elite, who loved to coo over his cute attempts to be grown up. Jason stood next to a potted plant and clocked the few other body guards scattered around the room. He could at least relax a little knowing no one was alone. No one except Bruce that was, but Bruce was Batman and notoriously good at ‘accidentally’ stopping dangerous situations before they even occurred. A slip here, a trip there, a mix up of drinks, and the threat was neutralized before they got the chance to do more than twitch. He’d be fine.

Jason slowly made his way around the room, checking exits and examining the faces of everyone inside as discreetly as possible. No one was catching his eye, and after a full circuit of the room Jason took up a spot next to one of the buffet tables. It was shaping up to be a boring night, which was the only good kind when it came to these parties, and Jason snuck a few hors d'oeuvres when no one was looking. One of the other bodyguards tilted his head slightly, a tiny smirk appearing on his face from his position on the other wall, and Jason raised his next tiny cracker in acknowledgement. Bodyguard solidarity wasn’t something he had been expecting to find tonight, but he wasn’t complaining. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to fight the guy.

Jason had passed from anxious paranoia to thorough boredom by the time the dinner and first few entertainment acts finished and the few people that had brought small children started to filter out. Jason was relieved on behalf of the kids; he had been watching one little girl’s head dip closer and closer to her plate of fancy pasta as time wore on, and no one wanted to deal with washing tomato sauce out of blonde curls at one in the morning. Also, that meant Bruce would probably let them leave after another hour or so. Damian was a great excuse for this kind of thing. The kid was probably aching to leave anyway, but he would be furious if Bruce tried to use him as an excuse to shuttle them all off with the toddlers. Jason would gladly be considered on par with a toddler if it meant he could get out of this infernal suit. It was tailored to fit him perfectly, of course, but that didn’t mean it was comfortable.

Cass drifted toward him as the live music finished their set and the MC hopped on the stage to start what promised to be a riveting auction. It made Jason twitch, hearing how much these people paid for random trinkets and chances to win a Caribbean cruise. At least it was for a good cause, as Bruce had continually reminded him throughout his childhood. It didn’t matter if the rich snobs were just doing it to show off their wealth or rake in those charity points; the money still went to the people who needed it.

“Hey Cass,” he said quietly as she looked over the table of desserts.

“Hi,” she said, sending him a smile.

“That finger cake thing is amazing,” he said, pointing the plate out. “It’s like chocolate cake and raspberry or something.”

“Finger...cake?” she asked, carefully picking one up and examining it.

“Yeah, ‘cause it’s shaped kinda like a finger, see?”

Cass looked at the dessert and then slowly raised her gaze to Jason.

“Okay, yeah, it doesn’t actually look like a finger. That’s just what they’re called.”

Cass pursed her lips and shook her head at rich people’s naming customs but took a bite. Her eyes lit up and she grinned at Jason, chocolate staining her teeth. Jason grinned back. “Told you.”

Cass nodded and took another one, turning around to lean on the table and surveying the room. “All good?”

“Yeah.” Jason folded his arms, sweeping the crowd. “No threats so far. Quiet.”

She smirked up at him from the corner of her eye. “Boring.”

“Hell yes.”

“Done soon. Bruce said.”

“Yeah, I figured. Looks like it’s just a boring night.”

“Sad?” Cass asked. Jason blinked at her. She looked up at him, the wicked glint in her eye belying her earnest expression. “That you can’t...show off...muscles?”

Jason let out a loud bark of laughter and immediately shrank back against the wall as a few people turned to look. “Don’t do that,” he hissed, trying to suppress his grin. “I’m supposed to be professional.”

“Big sister,” she said, as if that explained everything. Then she swanned off before Jason could reply. Jason stared after her, torn between being amused, annoyed, and impressed that she had managed to get the last word so effectively.

The hammer smacked the podium as some oil painting of what Jason thought was supposed to be a squirrel but looked more like a demon from hell was sold for some obscene price. The crowd applauded politely around their glasses of champagne and Jason counted off. Bruce at the front, accepting- of course he bought the demon painting, why not? Jason was sure it would look fabulous in the third dressing room, where it would stare at guests and make them uncomfortable. Dick was still attached to Damian, but they were sitting at their table, heads tilted together as they talked. Cass was making her way towards Bruce, gracefully slipping through the crowd. Tim was...talking to some old guy. He had a champagne glass in his hand that Jason was...90% sure was apple juice. Bruce was oddly strict about underage drinking at these things; probably because it increased the chances of getting drugged.

...And now that thought was in his head.

Jason squinted toward Tim, analyzing his posture. He didn’t seem to be swaying or disoriented at all, so that was good. But he was leaning back slightly, shoulders just a bit tense despite the easy smile on his face. The other man was leaning slightly into his personal space, and Jason was off the wall and slipping through the crowd. He stopped just behind and to the right of Tim, staring over the man’s head toward the auctioneer, as if it was simple coincidence that had led him there. His appearance clearly unnerved the man, and he quickly finished the conversation and melted back into the crowd.

Tim turned and looked up at him curiously, as if he had no idea why Jason was there. But his shoulders were loose, and his eyes tilted into an invisible smile. “What’s up, Peter?”

Jason bent his head down and said quietly, well aware that the people around them were listening no matter how engaged they looked in their own conversations. “Bruce wants to talk to you.”

As they moved back to the wall and then around to their table to join the rest of their family, Tim murmured, “Thanks,” out the corner of his mouth. “He was getting kind of pushy.”

“Of course,” Jason said, catching Bruce’s eye. The man neatly extricated himself from a boisterous conversation about his new painting and made his way over.

“Everything okay?” he asked, clasping a hand on the back of Tim’s neck. Tim melted into the moment of affection, and Jason looked away, rolling his eyes when Dick grinned at him and then held up the demon squirrel and made a hideous face to match.

“We’re fine,” Tim said. “Just Richard Toomes getting a little pushy.”

Bruce hummed, his sharp eyes skipping over the crowd before landing squarely on the man in question. “I see.”

“It’s really fine.” Tim led the way back to their table.

Bruce fell into step beside Jason. “Thank you for looking after him,” he said quietly. “I appreciate your discretion.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Jason said. Then he sent a quick flash of a smile Bruce’s way. “And I’m happy to do it.”

Bruce clapped him on the back, just a bit higher than usual, and Jason got the feeling that he had been going for another neck clasp and redirected at the last second. “Alright guys,” Bruce announced as they reached the table. Everyone perked up. “I think it’s just about Damian’s bed time.”

Damian grumbled obligatorily about the ‘infantilization’ but hopped up just as eagerly as the rest of them.

Of course, it took another fifteen minutes of conversation as they slowly moved en masse to the exit, but then they were finally in the clear. Only a few stubborn paparazzi remained, and they were easy enough to ignore as Alfred pulled up and they slipped into the dark, blessedly quiet limo. Jason closed the door behind Cass and then collapsed into the passenger seat.

“Did you have a pleasant evening, Master Jason?” Alfred asked as they pulled away.

It had been a long, boring night interspersed with moments of panic, but also with moments of whispered conversations and laughter, Cass dragging Tim onto the dance floor and Jason tricking Damian into trying caviar. Jason watched the lights flash past the window and turned to smile a little at Alfred. “It was okay.”