Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It wasn’t precipitated by any sort of big showdown, or high-stakes conflict, or poignant moment in the rain with the muted colors of the city in the background as Jason faced off against his family on the rooftop of a skyscraper.

No, it was a regular Tuesday, Jason wearily dragged himself out of bed, stumbled his way to go make breakfast, stared at his bowl of cereal, and suddenly, abruptly, desperately wished he could go home.

It was ridiculous.  It was everything he wanted.  It was stupid—he was nineteen years old, he’d already died once, he was a goddamn crime-lord-turned-antihero-because-it-was-complicated-okay, he didn’t need a group of misfit orphans with superiority complexes.

“They’re losers and I hate them,” he told his cereal.

His cereal blew a bubble at him.

Godfuckingdammit.

The worst part wasn’t even that Jason was a pathetic fool.  The worst part was that four months ago, he could’ve done it.  Just marched up to the Manor and knocked on the door.  Hell, he could’ve even done it three months ago, before the confrontation with the Joker and Titans Tower and burning his bridges so thoroughly that he had nothing but ash to attempt to put together.

Jason let himself feel sorry for himself for the remainder of the week before he got out of bed and decided to do something about it.  He was Jason Todd, the Red Hood, he’d died and come back to life, he’d stolen the Joker’s old identity and subverted the name and made it his own, and he was the fucking king of second chances.

He was going to do this, or die trying.

Who knew?  Maybe the third time would be the charm.

There were a lot of things he’d done, angry words and ruined plans and confrontations, and the sheer magnitude of how thoroughly he’d fucked up was actually a little disheartening, but if Jason was going to start anywhere, it had to be with the Replacement.

Beating up a fifteen-year-old was admittedly difficult to justify in any rational frame of mind, Robin didn’t really belong to Jason for all that he’d died in the costume, and the memory of Timothy Drake’s wide, terrified eyes before Jason knocked him out left a bad taste in his mouth.

He would apologize to the Replacement first.

…He should probably stop calling him the Replacement.

Robin was not easy to track down.  Robin without Batman hovering over his shoulder was even more difficult to track down, though Jason supposed that that was his fault.  Stalking him would probably send the wrong message—even if the kid had done it first—and Jason instead set his informants on high alert for mention of anything near the East End that the Bats would be tempted to interfere in.

It still took a couple of weeks before the lurking paid off—Jason startled out of his crouch in the rafters at the flutter of a cape, and the gang meeting below him kicked straight into a frenzy as a brightly colored teenager dropped in.

Jason took one second to check the shadows—no sign of Big, Dark, and Broody—before leaping into the fray himself.

It wasn’t like Robin needed the help, but something in Jason’s heart twisted at the idea of watching him fight alone.  Besides, Jason had trained with the Bat, he knew their moves, and it was easy to slip back into that style, taking the role of the heavy while Robin faltered, stared at him for a heart-stopping second, and then jerkily slid into the quick-footed distraction, careful never to turn his back to Jason.

Well.  At least he wasn’t running and screaming, or attacking Jason instead of the thugs.

The fight was over quickly, and Jason took a second to survey the pile of groaning goons.  A second that Robin apparently took to book it.  The cape fluttered, and Jason started forward a startled step before viciously killing the urge to reach out.  “Wait,” he called out instead, voice painfully high, “Robin!”

Robin paused at the door, staff out, silent.  He was breathing too fast.

“Wait, I—I wanted to talk to you,” Jason said awkwardly.

“Heard you loud and clear the first time, Hood,” Robin said, tone steady but fingers trembling and tight on his staff.

“That—I’m not—” Jason was losing the thread of the conversation, and Robin was inching out the door.  He needed to get back on track.  “I wanted to apologize.”

That froze Robin in his tracks.

“Excuse me?” he said, high and disbelieving.

Jason thought about taking a step closer, and decided against it.  “I wanted to—I’m sorry,” he said simply.  He’d written it down, everything he’d planned to say to Timothy Drake, but the words were all jumbled together in his head, and he didn’t think that Robin would stick around long enough for him to retrieve the paper.

“You’re sorry,” Robin repeated flatly.

“I’m sorry,” Jason scrambled for the right words, “I shouldn’t have attacked you at Titans Tower.  That was—wrong.  I fucked up.  I wasn’t—I took my temper out on you and I—it was wrong.  I shouldn’t have done it.  I—I won’t do it again.  I’m sorry for hurting you.”

Robin was still in his guarded stance.  Jason swallowed, and slightly rocked on his feet.

“You’re…sorry.”  Jason couldn’t read the tone of Robin’s voice.  “You tracked me down to tell me you’re sorry?”  Robin cast a glance around the room like he wasn’t sure what was going on.

“Yes?”  Fuck, that was too uncertain.  “Yes,” Jason said more confidently, “I—if there’s anything I can do to—make it up to you.  Let me know.”

Robin stared at him blankly.

Oh god, this was so awkward.  Jason regretted everything.

“I’m just,” he waved a hand in a random direction, “Going to—yeah.  Unless you want some help with them?”  The goons were still out cold.  “Or are you going to call the cops?”

“…The cops,” Robin said slowly, still not moving.  That white-eyed gaze was strangely unnerving.

“Okay,” Jason said, “Okay.”  He was such an idiot.  This was a stupid idea.  “I’ll see you around?”  Oh wow, way to sound like a threat.  “Unless you don’t want me too!  I—you know what, I’m going to leave before I—yeah.  Bye, Robin.  You fight well,” he tacked on awkwardly, before fleeing to protect what was left of his dignity.

He made it several blocks away before realizing that Robin hadn’t actually thrown the apology back in his face, which meant that Jason had a chance.  For however long it took Robin to recover from the shock, but still.  No punches, no sneers, no bullets.  It had gone better than he expected.

Tim skipped up to his doorstep, looking years younger than he actually was, and jumped forward to wrap his arms around Jason.  “I forgive you,” he said brightly.

“Uh,” Jason said, and patted him gingerly on the back, “What?”

“You can come home now!”

Jason could go home.  Home.  The Manor gates opened easily, and Bruce was smiling—smiling—and Dick was dangling upside down from a chandelier and Alfred had a table set full of his favorites.

“Come on, Jay-lad,” Bruce beckoned him towards the clock, “I have your Robin suit.”

Robin.  Jason could be Robin again.  He could be magic and light.  A protector.

The steps to the Cave wound down and down and down and he couldn’t see Bruce anymore.  “Dad?” Jason called out, and it echoed strangely back at him, “Tim?  Alfred?”

No answer.

The stairs were forever but the bottom was even worse.  Cell bars stretched out in all directions, and Jason was rooted to the spot.  Something inside him told him to run.

Before he could take a step, the laughter started.  The screech of crowbar across stone.  Jason didn’t want to turn around.  He couldn’t turn around.  He—

“What hurts more?”

No—

“Looks like I found a bird far away from its nest.”

No, he was in the Manor, Bruce was supposed to be here, he was home, Bruce was supposed to save him—

“But birdie, you’re already dead.”

Jason bolted upright with a gasp.

He was just.  Not going to psychoanalyze that one.  Thanks.

It took him three cups of tea to feel remotely human again.

You see, something dark whispered inside his head.  He liked to call it the Pit voice, as though the Lazarus Pit was a demon perched inside of his head instead of a bunch of chemicals that made it difficult to emotionally regulate rage, because it sounded better than ‘a collection of his darkest impulses’.  Either way, it was meant to be ignored.  You’ll never go home, it hissed, they’ll never really accept you back.

Jason politely told it to fuck off.

They’ll stick a knife in your back, it murmured.

Jason not-so-politely told it to fuck off.

You know it’s the truth, it coiled around him, you know what you are.  Hood.

Jason pressed his palms to his face and decided to go find a book to read.

It was another full week before Jason saw Robin again.  He was doing his own thing, minding his own business, taking out an uppity group of traffickers before they established a foothold in Crime Alley, the usual stuff.  He had cleared the top floor and was working his way through the second floor when there was a rustle behind him, and Jason spun, hyperaware.

He barely managed to stop himself from squeezing the trigger.

“Don’t do that!” Jason snarled, adrenaline spiking through him as he stared at Robin balancing on a railing.  “I nearly shot you!”

He abruptly remembered that he was supposed to be trying to be not-mean, but his heart was racing too fast to adjust.

Robin merely stared at him, and Jason scowled at the lack of reaction.  “What, did you show up just to give me a heart attack?” he snapped.  No.  That was too loud.  “Can I help you, kid?” Jason tried, lower, still thrumming with too much energy.

Robin considered him, and jumped down from the railing.  He didn’t run away screaming, so Jason took that as improvement.  “Here,” Robin said, stepping forward with a box in his outstretched hand, but stopping on the edge of comfortable reaching distance.

Jason slowly reached out to take it, like the kid was a skittish cat, and Robin immediately retreated three steps when Jason had the box in his hand.  “What’s this?” Jason asked, suppressing the urge to make a joke about bombs.

What it was, though, was pretty easy to figure out when he opened the box.  “A comm,” Robin said as Jason stared at the two communicators.  “For—if you’re operating in this city, it helps.  To talk.”  Jason looked up to stare at him.  “It doesn’t link to Batman,” Robin rushed to reassure him, “Just to mine.  If you ever need backup.  Or something.”

Oh.  That was thoughtful.

“Thank you,” Jason said, pocketing the comms, and Robin edged another step back.  “And, uh, it goes both ways?  If you ever want backup, just—let me know.”

Jason had broken at least two bones the second-to-last time he and Robin had been in a fight together, and skepticism was visible all over Robin.

Baby steps it was.

“Thanks,” Jason repeated, raising a hand in awkward farewell, “I’m just—do you want to help with the traffickers, or something—”

“You seem to be handling it,” Robin said, a transparent attempt to leave, and quickly vanished into the shadows.

But it was an olive branch, and Jason seized it tight with both hands.

Jason nearly startled off of his perch the first time the comm crackled to life in his ear.

“Hood, this is Robin,” came the slightly breathless voice, “I’m chasing the Riddler, and he’s headed into your territory.  Can I come in?”

“Sure,” Jason said automatically, before the question caught all the way up and he made a reflexive grimace.  He couldn’t take it back.  “Do you want an assist?” Jason asked, resigning himself to watching Robin from a distance and trying to tamp down on the irritation.

“No, I’ve got it.  Thanks.”

Jason ended up glowering on top of an apartment building while the Riddler was led into a cop car.  Robin paused while turning away, and scanned the rooftops in a circle before spotting Jason and raising a hand.

Jason waved back.  Baby steps, he reminded himself, but he couldn’t stop the tendril of hope.  It was actually working.

“Hood, you’re investigating the Giancarlo family, right?”

“Yes?” Jason dragged the word out, suspicious.

“Mateo Giancarlo just sat down at a table with the Penguin in the East End.”

“That little fucker—can you give me an update on what he’s doing?”

“Sure.”

“Hey, Robin,” Jason said into his comm, “Can you come down to the Bowery?”

“Hood,” Robin’s voice clicked on, “Is it an emergency?”

“Uh, no one’s injured,” Jason catalogued the set of scrapes and bruises, “But it is time-sensitive.  Sooner would be better.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”  Jason gave him the address, and turned back to the two kids huddled behind a half-broken dumpster.

“You heard that?” Jason’s native Gotham accent wasn’t much better that the voice distorter, unless he was dealing with Crime Alley kids, which these two were not.  They also didn’t trust the cops, but thankfully seemed willing—but distrustful—to go with Robin.  “Robin will be here in ten minutes.”

Jason kept his body language open and unthreatening.  He used to be good at talking to kids.  He used to be Robin.  Now, at six-two and all hulking muscle, the only kids that trusted him were inside his territory.

It made something grate inside of him.  He’d grown up on these streets and had promised that no one else would have to fend for themselves the way he had, and these kids wanted Timothy-fucking-Drake, who never had to worry about his survival a day in his goddamn life—

A flutter of a cape, and Jason looked up.  The Replacement was at the top of the fire escape, looking down at him.

No.  Robin.  He had to get it straight in his head.  He wasn’t allowed to get angry.  It was stupid and unfair but Jason was done railing at the injustice of the world.  It was what it was, and Jason had to work with it.

“Kids,” Jason waved a hand at the dumpster, “They wanted you.”

Robin crept down the fire escape, slow and wary, and some part of Jason seethed—did he really expect a trap?  Did he think Jason needed to trick him to take him out?  They could fight any day, Jason would prove—

“Robin?” one of the kids poked their head out, and Jason exhaled in a low rush.  Robin froze at the sight of actual children, and thankfully got over his paranoia.

“Hey guys,” he swung smoothly down to the ground, “What’re you doing down there?”

“Robin!” both the kids barreled out, and crashed into his legs, “The red scary guy said he would call you but we thought it was a trick.”

Jason forgot that he’d removed his helmet, and his consternation was clearly visible on his face.  Robin was struggling not to smile.  “Well, the red scary guy was right,” he chuckled, crouching to talk to the kids, “Now, how about I get you home?”

“How do you know him?” the smaller of the two asked loudly, like Jason had turned fucking invisible or something.

The elder one was quieter as he whispered, “He has guns.”

“He’s the Red Hood,” Robin explained, leading the kids out of the alley, “The protector of Crime Alley.”  At least the darkness covered his red ears.  “He’ll always help any kid who needs it.”

“But how do you know?” the older one asked, still suspicious.

“Because he’s my brother,” Robin said, and then went very still.

“Your brother?”

“I didn’t know Robin had a brother!”

“Huh.  You’re really short.”

“Working on getting those veggies in,” Robin’s laugh was too high and too short as he shepherded the kids away faster.  He didn’t turn towards Jason.

“Bye Mr. Red Hood!” both the kids waved at him.  Robin practically dragged them out of the alley and out of sight.

Jason lowered his hand equally robotically, still rooted to the spot.

He’s my brother.

Fuck.

Jason assumed that the kid was going to avoid him till the heat death of the universe.  He clearly hadn’t meant to say that, definitely hadn’t meant to say that where Jason could hear him, and Jason quietly mourned his plan as his progress crumpled like cardboard.

He’s my brother.

And Jason had beaten him to an inch of his life.

What the hell had he been thinking?  He couldn’t fix that.  There was no possible way to forgive something like that.  They were supposed to be brothers and Jason had attacked him.  Dick hadn’t been pleased that Jason had gotten Robin, but he had never beat him up for it, and hadn’t directed any of his anger towards Jason.  And arguably, Dick had had more right—Jason had died.  Of course Bruce would’ve replaced him.

Maybe starting with the Replacement first had been a bad idea.  There was no relationship to mend there, only a pit of bad first impressions.  Maybe he should’ve started with Bruce, just gathered up all his courage and talked to the Big, Bad Bat, even if he was terrified that Bruce was going to take one look at him and tell him to go die in a hole—

The comm crackled to life in his ear.

“Hood,” came the crisp, mechanized voice, and Jason startled violently.  “Do you read me?”

“Oracle,” Jason growled, “How did you get this line?”

“Who do you think got Robin the comms?” Oracle asked coolly, “And did you really imagine we would’ve let you talk to him without supervision?”

“Supervision,” Jason half-snarled—but he could remember the slackness of Tim’s face when Jason left his limp body on the ground, and he couldn’t exactly blame her.

“Robin wanted to give you a second chance,” Oracle said, “There were conditions.”

Of course there were, there were always fucking conditions, everything he’d had had been conditional and—

“I don’t have time for your pity party, Hood,” Oracle said sharply, cutting off his growl, “Robin’s in trouble.”

“What?” Jason bolted upright, already unhooking his grapple to head down to his bike, “Where?”

“Chinatown.  He went dark two minutes ago, I can’t reach him, and both B and N are out of town.”

“Give me the address,” Jason demanded, a familiar fear beating through his veins—no more dead Robins.

Not if he had anything to say about it.

Jason remembered reaching the basement Oracle led him to, remembered breaking the door down, remembered watching the gang turn to him in shock, remembered seeing Tim tied to a chair, bloody and bruised and—

That was when everything went green.

“Come on, baby bird,” Jason held Tim with one hand as he yanked at the Batmobile door with the other, “We’ll be in the Cave in no time, and you’re going to be just fine.”

“Hurts,” Tim’s voice was jagged and hoarse and weak, but his grip on Jason was crushing-tight.  Jason attempted to get in the driver’s seat, attempted to pry Tim off of him, and failed at both.  He finally gave up and set it on autopilot before getting in the back.

“I know,” Jason soothed, checking on the hasty bandage applied to Tim’s side and wincing as Tim’s hiss.  “I know, we’re going to get you home, and it’ll stop hurting, I promise.”

Tim made a wet, choked sound, and curled closer.  Jason kept up his litany of reassurances, mentally willing the Batmobile to go faster, and breathed a slow, relieved exhale when they hit the turnoff to the Cave.  Alfred was waiting when the Batmobile screeched to a halt, and Jason gave him a tight-lipped smile that Alfred—thankfully—returned with a fond expression.

“It is good to see you again, Master Jason,” he said, far warmer than Jason had expected, and Jason shoved down the surge of happiness to focus on the priority.  Tim resisted being handed over, stubbornly clinging to Jason, but he was weak and shaky and Jason could pry off his fingers.

“It’s okay, baby bird,” Jason hummed, “Alfred will check you over and I’ll go get changed, okay?”

“Don’t leave,” Tim pleaded tearfully, “Jay, please—”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jason promised, and Tim finally relinquished his grip.

Jason hurried through a shower—he was covered in blood and he didn’t particularly want to think about how he’d gotten it—and Alfred had finished the stitches by the time Jason got back.  Jason expected that Tim would’ve taken the break to remember who he was, and recall the destruction Jason had wrecked, but Tim immediately reached for him again.

“Jay,” Tim mumbled, eyes drooping as the drugs did their job, “Don’t go.”

“I’m right here, baby bird,” Jason promised, twining their fingers together, and Tim finally relaxed, slumping against the cot.  Jason took a seat, and rubbed his thumb over Tim’s knuckles, letting the action quiet the panic that had lodged into his throat.

“I see you two have made up,” Alfred said pointedly, and Jason flushed.  The man didn’t look upset, or angry, or disappointed, though he should’ve been all three.  Jason had left Tim in much worse shape than he was in right now, and Barbara was right.  They shouldn’t have let him near Tim again.

Unfortunately, no one seemed to have gotten that memo, least of all the Robin that had a death grip on Jason’s hand.

“I was—so angry, Alfie,” Jason’s voice cracked and his fingers were trembling when he reached up to gently brush a lock of hair out of Tim’s face.  “I was—I came back wrong.”

It was the first time he’d articulated it, and yet it felt so right.  The Jason that died would’ve gone home.  Wouldn’t have listened to the Pit—to yourself, it was always inside you, stop giving excuses—and wouldn’t have hurt an innocent kid.  The Jason that died was the Jason everyone wanted.

The Jason that had come back was holding the broken pieces and trying to put them together.

“I will not have that kind of talk in my house,” Alfred said sharply, and Jason jerked his head up in surprise.  A wrinkled hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed.  “You went through an immensely traumatic experience, and were left without support.  A man is not defined by his worst actions, Master Jason, same as he is not defined by his best.”

There was something stuck in Jason’s throat, and it was making his face prickle.

Alfred’s expression was both stern and fond, voice thick and eyes with a suspicious sheen.  “You have sought to make amends,” he said firmly.  Jason darted a quick glance at Tim, who was too unconscious to see his accusatory glare, did the kid tell everyone—“Master Jason, do you truly believe there is a single thing that happens under this roof that I am not aware of?”

That was—he had a point.

“You have sought to make amends,” Alfred repeated, softer, and his hand moved to grip Jason’s face, gentle and callused on his cheek, “I’m so happy that you came back, my dear boy.  I’ve missed my grandson.”

“Alfie.”

Jason wasn’t sure who moved first, but he was bawling into Alfred’s vest like he was twelve again, twelve and overcome by the notion that he was safe, that he would never go hungry and cold as long as Alfred had something to say about it, and in the shakiness of exhaustion and the aftermath of adrenaline, it was enough to unspool him.

 Alfred still smelled like cinnamon and lavender.

Jason’s neck hurt.  And his back.  And his shoulder was really, really sore.  He cracked open one eye, and then another, annoyance already filtering through at the clear sign that today was not going to be a good day.

It turned out that everything was sore because he’d made the incredibly stupid decision to sleep in a chair.  Jason stretched awkwardly, pushing himself upright and wincing as something cracked in his back, and squinted at his surroundings.

The Cave.

Why was he in the Cave?

The kid was staring at him.  The Repla—Robin.  Tim.  The gang.  Oracle calling for help.

“How are you feeling?” Jason rasped, dropping the kid’s hand in favor of scanning him for any signs of new injuries, “Stitches holding up?”

“I’m fine,” Tim managed a smile.  He was staring at Jason like Jason would disappear if he looked away.  “I—thank you.  For saving me.”

Jason blinked.  “Always,” came out hoarser than he liked, but the kid brightened, and Jason could see the nearly painful awe that had been there for two seconds before Jason had destroyed it with bullets and punches.

It hurt even worse this time, but Jason wasn’t going to ruin it again.

“Do you want to stay for breakfast?” Tim asked almost shyly, “Alfred’s making waffles.”

Stay?  Go up into the Manor?  Jason cast a look around the Cave, looking for a lurking shadow of bats and nightmares, but it was nowhere to be found.

The bubbling thing inside of him was hope.

Maybe today wasn’t a bad day after all.

“Sure,” Jason said tentatively—and then the rest of Tim’s words filtered through, “Alfred’s making what?”

Jason was not rescuing Tim only to subject him to the horror that were Alfred’s waffles.  It looked like he had to save breakfast too.

Chapter Text

“So,” said the purple-costumed baby hero that had popped up in the middle of Jason’s patrol, hands on her hips and chin jutting out challengingly, “I hear you make good waffles.”

Jason rested his chin on his palm, swinging his legs idly as he watched Robin and Spoiler take out a group of Two-Face thugs.  The man himself was groaning on the ground, courtesy of a brick to the face—here Jason thought he’d been special with the tire iron—and the kids were doing a good job at cleaning up the rest.

His comm clicked on.

“How’s it looking?” Oracle asked.

“Like you conned me into babysitting,” Jason grumbled.  Quips were flying faster than punches, and Jason could practically hear the Nightwing sass in their puns.  “They would’ve been fine on their own.”

“They’re fifteen, Hood,” Oracle said admonishingly, “We aren’t letting them take on Two-Face on their own.”  She didn’t say anything about conning him.  “Besides, you know how eager they are to spend time with you.”

Oh, Jason could hear the amusement in her tone.

“You mean, eat me out of my house?” Jason grumbled.  He still hadn’t figured out what to say to Bruce, so the Manor was off-limits as long as Batman was in town, and Tim and Steph had taken to hunting down his safehouses and breaking in.  Anyone would’ve thought that Alfred was starving them, the way they ate through all of Jason’s food.

“S likes waffles,” Oracle hummed.

“I know,” Jason growled, “Everyone knows.  I’m pretty sure a Rogue could go up to her and offer waffles and she’d follow them willingly.”

There was a telling silence.

“Please tell me she hasn’t done that,” Jason groaned.

“It’s a long story, but it’s fine, apparently Riddler is an old family friend, and the waffles weren’t even poisoned,” Oracle said brightly.  Jason groaned louder.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Jason accused, training his gaze back on the fight to make sure Two-Face wasn’t getting up with a plate of waffles, “Conning me into babysitting.”

“It’s a time-honored tradition,” Oracle said solemnly, “How did you think B got me to babysit you?”

Jason barely suppressed his squawk of outrage.  “I didn’t need babysitting!” he hissed into the comm, “I lived on the streets!  I survived perfectly fine on my own, and I don’t care what—”

“Mhm.  Remember the barbed wire incident?”

Jason swallowed, and double checked that he was on a private line.  “You swore you wouldn’t tell anyone, O,” he whispered, “You said you’d take it to the grave—”

“Technically didn’t specify whose grave.”  She was definitely laughing now.

Jason mustered as much outrage as he could summon when his heart was light and hopeful, and growled, “Then I’m sure Nightwing would love to hear about the time you—”

“Okay, okay,” Oracle said hastily, “No spilling of secrets.  My lips are sealed.”

Jason leaned back in satisfaction, and watched the two teenagers ziptie the downed goons as they waited for the police.

“Hood?” Oracle asked, her voice strangely hesitant.

“Yeah?”

She was silent for a stretching moment, and Jason straightened in trepidation.  “If you want to—stop by the library,” Oracle said slowly, “I would love to meet up in person.”  Jason stilled, his breath caught in squeezing lungs.  “I missed you,” she said softly, and Jason felt something inside him crack.

He could’ve had all this, if he’d just gone home.  If he hadn’t come up with a stupid, stupid plan to ruin everything.

Jason thanked whoever was listening that it wasn’t too late to get it back.

“Sure,” Jason said hoarsely, “I’ll stop by.”

Maybe he should just write a letter.  That seemed like it had less potential to blow up in his face.  Dear Bruce, sorry for attempting to make you an accessory to murder.  Or a murderer.  Which wouldn’t have been necessary at all had you just killed that FUCKING CLOWN—

Jason swept up the scraps of paper and threw it away.

Dear B, why didn’t you just—

Dear Bruce, he’s a monster and he deserves to die, don’t you dare tell me—

Dear Batman, I know, I know you have your rule, but we don’t live in a black-and-white world, and rules have to be flexible.  He killed me.  He killed me, and you still didn’t stop him, am I not worth enough to you—

Dear Bruce, you walked away, how could you walk away, I need you to kill him because I can’t, because I break down at the sound of that laughter, Dad please—

Dear Batman, I hate you and wish you’d never adopted me.

Jason made extra sure to shred this one into so many pieces it couldn’t be put back together.  And set it on fire for good measure.

“What, is there an interdimensional space crisis going on or something?” Jason asked, after he’d thoroughly checked the corners to make sure Batman wasn’t lurking in the shadows.  “This is like the sixth time in two months that B’s gone off to space.”

“Something about an alien empire that’s threatening to take over the galaxy,” Tim handwaved, like alien empire was a thing that could be handwaved.  “The Justice League’s taking point, so everyone else is on Earth duty right now.”

Jason opened his mouth, and decided he didn’t want to know.  He liked being able to sleep at night, thanks.

“Come on, Jay, you promised to show me that flip you did to kick in that thug’s teeth,” Steph waved him over to the training mats.  Apparently now that Barbara and Alfred had decided that Jason was an acceptable supervisory adult by their standards, he was supposed to keep the kids out of trouble whenever Batman and Nightwing were gone.

Jason squinted at the narrow-eyed black-haired girl standing next to Steph.  Were they multiplying when he wasn’t looking?  Jason suddenly felt a wave of sympathy for Dick.  “Who’s this?” he asked, nodding at the scowling girl.

The girl merely glared harder.  Weird.

“This is Cass!” Steph gave her a one-armed hug, “Otherwise known as Black Bat.  Bruce adopted her a couple years ago, so I guess she’s your…” Steph looked between Cass and Jason, “Big sister?”

Jason choked.  “What?  No,” he narrowed his eyes, “First of all, what the hell, did Bruce accelerate his adoption spree?  And second of all, you’re not my big sister, that’s not how it works.”

“She’s older than you, I’m pretty sure that’s how it works,” Tim inserted his own two cents.

“No.  No more older siblings,” Jason said definitively, “Also, is there something wrong with my face, because you’re staring at me like you want to punch it.”  It was making his thoughts sharper and deadlier, and it was difficult to break away from that intense focus when Cass was watching him like he was a threat.

“Red Hood,” Cass said, voice soft yet sharp, “Murderer.”

That was definitely a tinge of green.

“Aww, princess, did Daddy already indoctrinate you in his whole ‘no killing’ thing?” Jason asked, faux sweet, and saw Tim flinch back out of the corner of his eye.  Shit.  No.  He needed to get a handle on this—

“No.  Killing.”  Cass’s tone was firm and her dark eyes were flashing.

“I don’t give a shit about what Bruce says,” Jason snarled, trying to wrestle with his rage before he freaked the kids out even more than he already was.

“No,” Cass said, clipped and harsh, “I say.  No killing.”

Jason arched an eyebrow, his fingers already curling into fists, and saw Cass unconsciously move to match the stance he was shifting into.  “Make me,” he dared.

Thirty seconds later, Jason was staring up at the darkness that hid the Cave’s ceiling.

“Ow,” he said, for lack of a better word to verbalize the feeling of being blindsided by a train.

A pale face framed by dark hair popped into his field of view, the knee against his sternum digging deeper.  “Made you,” Cass said angelically, “Little brother.”

Jason thought about protesting, and decided that discretion was the better part of valor.

A blonde head also popped into view.  “Ouch,” Steph said sympathetically, “That looked like it hurt.”

“It did hurt,” Jason wheezed breathlessly, before Cass loosened the pin.

“It was immensely entertaining to watch you get taken down by someone half your size, though.”

“I hate you,” Jason grumbled, “And I hate Bruce.”

“How is it Bruce’s fault that you pissed off possibly the most dangerous person in this city?” Steph asked sweetly, and he glared at her.

“He isn’t supposed to adopt older kids,” Jason complained, “That’s against the rules.”  Cass made a high, tinkling laugh, and finally got off of him.

“It’s cute that you think Bruce has listened to a single rule about adopting kids,” Steph laughed at him, and even Tim was grinning when he extended a hand to help pull Jason up.

“Yeah, he’s adopted Steph and both her parents are still alive.”

“Not officially!” Steph protested, “He’s not my dad!”

“My parents are alive too,” Cass chirped.

“We don’t talk about your parents,” Tim said firmly.

“I guess he pretty much adopted you before your parents died,” Steph mused, giving Tim a considering look.

Jason stared between all three of them, bewildered, “I was joking about the ‘breaking the rules’ thing, but he seriously just started snatching children?”

“He’s got a problem,” Steph said sagely.

“Unbelievable,” Jason muttered, and rubbed the aching spot on his ribs.  Something inside his chest was squeezing painfully, and he forced himself to take deep breaths.

He has so many children, something in his head hissed, why would he want you back?  Murderer.

Jason didn’t have a good answer.

“I made something for you,” Tim handed him a case, and nearly vibrated in place as Jason opened it.  “I know you like using guns, and it’s difficult to make that nonlethal, but you can use less-lethal weaponry and be careful about where you aim.”

“Rubber bullets,” Jason said aloud, looking at the ammunition, “You made me rubber bullets.”

“No killing,” was Cass’s contribution.

“I’m not making any promises, princess,” Jason said warningly, but examined the bullets.  He wasn’t aiming to kill everyone he encountered, and it was always good to have a way to nonlethally take someone down.

Cass growled.  Jason met her gaze.  He wasn’t going to budge on this issue—some people deserved to die, and if being a killer meant he couldn’t rejoin the family, well.  It would hurt, but he was an adult.  He could pay the price of his own safety in order to give it to others.

“How about,” Steph said, bright and just a little too high, “We agree to disagree on that for right now?”

Cass narrowed her eyes.  Jason raised an eyebrow.

“For now,” Cass agreed.  She made it sound remarkably like a threat.

Tim groaned from his position flat on the training mats, and glared up at Jason.  “Up for another round?” Jason asked pleasantly.

“Why don’t you go spar with Cass?” Tim grumbled, “Don’t you want a rematch with her?”

“Nice try, baby bird,” Jason laughed, “But the Pit makes me angry, not stupid.”

They both cast an involuntary glance at Cass, who smiled sweetly.  “Ready for rematch any time,” she said.

Jason didn’t doubt it.

The letters weren’t working.  He tried plotting out his apology, like he’d done with Tim, but it either ended up in threats or tears.  After the third time Steph had asked when he was going to talk to Bruce and got snapped at, everyone gave him space, but that didn’t help either.

Jason felt like he was stuck in his coffin all over again, unable to take a deep breath, unable to do anything but sit there and suffocate, paralyzed by terror and indecision.

He couldn’t talk to Bruce.  The terrifying specter of Batman hovered behind him every time he imagined the conversation, and Jason was twelve years old and clutching a tire iron and he couldn’t.

He wanted Bruce back.  He wanted—he wanted his dad.  But he couldn’t separate him from the boogeyman in Jason’s nightmares.

Maybe—maybe this was good enough.  Tim had forgiven him.  He’d gotten two little siblings and two big sisters.  He’d gotten Alfred back.  He—maybe it was greedy to think he could go back to the Manor.  Maybe he should settle for what he had.

He was a shade, a ghost in a dead boy’s body, he didn’t deserve a family.

But he wanted one so badly he could scream.

“Kill him, or kill me,” Jason said defiantly, trying to keep his voice from wavering, too-shrill breathing echoing in his ears.

In reality, Batman had dropped the gun and walked away.

But in his nightmares, Batman raised his hand and shot.

He shouldn’t upset the boat.  He still had flashes of rage, though thankfully he’d only blown up around Cass, who was not shy about asserting her so-called big sister rights and pinning him to the ground.  He wasn’t sure what he’d do when he saw Bruce, so it was better to just…delay that for now.  He still hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to Dick, anyway, and Dick was usually the best judge of Bruce’s mood.

He wasn’t avoiding Bruce, he was just…preparing his strategy.  Yes.  That was all.

He just needed more time.

Of course, the universe had never just let him be, and it certainly wasn’t starting now.

Dread coiled down his spine at the sound of the phone ringing.  He did not want to pick it up.  He knew that he didn’t want to pick it up.  But he couldn’t stop himself from accepting the call.

“Jason,” Barbara’s voice was more rushed than usual, “Where are you?”

“At home,” Jason said slowly.  The shadows in the apartment looked darker.  “Is everything okay?”

The silence stretched.  Jason told himself that he was imagining the creaking sound.

“Barbara.”

“Just stay inside,” Barbara said, tone somewhere between pleading and worried, “Jason, please, just stay inside.”

“Why?  What happened?  Is someone hurt?  Babs—”

“Everyone is fine.  I just—I promise I’ll explain later, Jay, just please, please don’t leave your apartment.”

The silence after the phone clicked off felt tangible.  A heavy weight pressing down on him.  The apartment was abruptly stifling.  There was another presence inside, one Jason didn’t dare to name, but it rose up inside him anyway.

He needed some air.  Opening the window didn’t exactly get him fresh air, but it was something.  Night was just beginning to fall, and Jason stared up at the dark, hazy skyline as his heart beat faster and faster and faster.

The Batsignal was lit.

Deep breaths.  He had to remember the deep breaths.  Everything was fine.  Barbara promised.  She promised.

“Come inside, sweetie.  I promise he’s left.  It’s just us.”

Everything was fine.

That was when the laughter started.

Jason spun away from the window, but couldn’t move any further than that.  The stairs were creaking.  Someone was coming up.  He had to move.

“What hurts more?”

He had to tear his feet off the ground—his guns were in his room—

“Kill him, or kill me.”

He had to—had to curl his fingers into fists, but they felt laughably weak—

“Tell the big man I said hello.”

The creaks stopped.  Right in front of his door.  He didn’t know if the laughter had stopped or not, his ears were ringing too badly.

Knock-knock.

The sensible thing would be to run.  The reasonable thing would be to not answer the door.  But his feet were moving towards the door, his hand was moving towards the doorknob, he was screaming inside his head but he couldn’t stop, he was only a passenger in his own body as the door unclicked, and pulled back.

Bleached white skin, green hair, grotesque smile stretching wider and wider and wider until it was the only thing Jason could see.

“Hello, pumpkin.  Is it my turn now?”

Bed.  Pillow.  Sheets soaked with sweat.  Orange streetlight through the curtains.  Desperate, awful, gasping sobs.

The fucking door.  No.  No laughter, no Batsignal, no fucking way he was opening that door.

He needed to get out.  He needed—he needed—

He needed somewhere safe.

He was halfway to the Manor before rationality caught up.  He was shivering, wind whipping at his bare arms, his soaked clothes near-freezing as his fingers kept their clenched grip on the handlebars of the motorcycle.  He wasn’t even wearing shoes.

He couldn’t remember anything other than bone-deep terror, and he just wanted to go home.

Something inside of him told him he couldn’t, that it wasn’t his home anymore, but Jason was too exhausted to care.

He was going home.

Thank god Batman was still off-planet, Jason was going to have a breakdown if anyone stopped him from creeping through the empty corridors of the silent Manor.  He’d left the motorcycle outside the gates and used a path that bypassed the alarms to avoid alerting Alfred, and now he was shivering again as he headed towards his old bedroom.

But he didn’t want his old room.  He wanted—

He wanted his dad.

Jason poked his head into the room first, making sure it was empty before stepping inside.  Bruce’s massive bed hadn’t changed, and neither had the generic landscape art on the walls, but the photos on his bedside table had.  The one of Bruce and Jason at the baseball game was still there, but the one of Bruce and Dick and Jason and Alfred had been replaced by one with Bruce and Dick and Alfred and Tim.  There was a more recent photo of Dick laughing in the sunlight, head thrown back, and—

And a photo that had to have been printed off the security cameras, a slightly blurry still of Jason and Alfred in the kitchen with Tim waiting at the table.

Jason hastily set it down.  He couldn’t—he was aching and his sleep clothes were plastered to him with sweat and dust and Jason couldn’t listen to the voices in his head telling him all the ways this could and would go horribly wrong.  He changed into a set of Bruce’s sweatpants and sweatshirt—which fit him much better at nineteen than they had at fifteen—and crawled into the empty bed.

It still smelled like Bruce, like the fruity cologne Selina had gotten him once as a gag gift and that he’d used ever since.

Jason hugged one of the larger pillows and cried himself back to sleep.

He woke up exhausted, drained and aching as his mind insisted he get up and his body demanded more sleep.  His head was…staticky, too many thoughts and yet hollow, refusing to leave his warm little cocoon and face the real world.

The real world was for suckers.  Jason was going to stay here, buried in the blankets, with the soothing, soft strokes through his hair.

He was safe.  No one would hurt him here.  It was an understanding that went deeper than consciousness, even as reality slowly bled back in.

Jason made an automatic grumble as the stroking stilled, and it started back up again.  “Jay?” came the quiet voice, “You awake?”

Jason wriggled closer to the warmth and the soft, steady heartbeat.  He was not awake.  He was sleeping, and anyone who sought to change that would be growled at.

A low chuckle vibrated against him and Jason grumbled louder.  It didn’t stop, growing deeper and higher, until the laughter almost sounded wet, and disquiet made Jason crack open an eye.

“Hey, Jay-lad,” Bruce said softly, blue eyes wet.  He looked…older and more tired than Jason remembered, but the sleep-soft smile was the same.

“You’re supposed to be away,” Jason accused grumpily, but twisted his fingers into Bruce’s shirt just in case the man got any ideas about getting up.

“Got back a couple hours ago,” Bruce said quietly.  Jason thought about asking about the whole alien empire thing, but that was a Batman topic, and Jason didn’t want to talk to Batman.  He wanted his dad.

A callused thumb rubbed against his temple, and Jason let his eyes flutter shut.  “Bad dream?” Bruce asked softly, as though Jason had ever come creeping into his bed for any other reason.

“Joker,” Jason whispered to Bruce’s shirt, and the arm around his shoulders tightened with alacrity.

“Never again,” Bruce said hoarsely, holding him tight, “Never again, sweetheart, as long as I’m here, he will never get to you.”

It wasn’t a promise from Batman to the Red Hood, but from Bruce to Jason, and it made all the difference.

The Red Hood wasn’t scared of the Joker.  Jason was.  Jason didn’t need Batman to save him—he’d been disillusioned of that already.  He just wanted his dad.

“I’m sorry,” Jason forced out, choked, “I’m sorry for—for everything, I’m so sorry, B, please—”

“Shh, Jay-lad,” Bruce murmured against his hair, “It’s okay.  You’re my son.  We’ll fix it together.”

Jason was crying again, the tears of a boy that had woken up in his own coffin, a boy that had opened his eyes in a Lazarus Pit, that had spent too many years wanting to go home and went about it in all the wrong ways before—before getting what he wanted.

He was home.

“How about we surprise Alfred for breakfast, Jay-lad?”

“You’re going senile if you think Alfred hasn’t already figured out I’m here, old man.”

Chapter Text

The alien empire had been defeated, thankfully, and League members were slowly trickling back to Earth.  Dick hadn’t gotten back yet, but he would be home soon, and then everyone would be under one roof again.

Home.

Jason hadn’t officially moved back in yet—prolonged time with Bruce while awake was enough to restart their arguments, and having somewhere to stomp away in a huff was nice—but he was in the Cave the night they got the notification that the Titans had returned.

Jason leaned against the uniform cases as he waited, watching the zeta tube along with everyone else.  Something in his heart became lighter when the zeta chimed and a familiar blue-and-black figure stepped out.

He was too far away to hear what Dick was saying, but his laugh rang out clearly, and something inside Jason clicked into place with finality.

His whole family was here.  He was home.

Dick shrugged off conversation to head for the showers, and the little birdies dispersed, most of them heading up to bed.  Bruce stayed the longest, checking something on the Batcomputer, before he headed up too, giving Jason a small smile that Jason couldn’t help but return.

Everyone was home.  It wasn’t perfect, but it was a damn sight better than Jason staring at his cereal, all alone.

Dick took a long shower—Jason didn’t blame him, after being in space for weeks—and Jason was pacing by the time Dick finally emerged, dressed in loose fitting clothes, hair still wet.

Jason felt his throat dry up when Dick’s gaze landed on him.  “Hey,” he forced out, abruptly nervous, “Welcome back to Earth.”

Dick smiled, soft and tired.  “Thanks, Jay,” he said, and Jason hovered in place awkwardly as Dick finished a set of stretches and headed for the stairs.

It wasn’t that he was expecting Dick to strangle him in an octopus hug—except he kind of was, and Dick didn’t even pat him on the shoulder or ruffle his hair.  Jason followed him up the stairs, and slipped away while Dick greeted the others.

Dick was just tired.  There was plenty of time to talk and catch up.

Except Dick kept ignoring him.

At first it wasn’t very noticeable—Dick hadn’t been planetside in more than a month, and hadn’t visited Gotham in much longer than that, so he was mobbed by everyone.  They pulled Dick one way or another, and Jason was definitely not getting in the middle of that, so he hovered on the outskirts, waiting for Dick to notice him.

But Dick never did.  Oh, he noticed Jason, but he didn’t make any attempt to talk to him, and Jason could only hover so long before it got awkward.

Dick didn’t usually avoid emotional situations, that was more Bruce’s deal, but it was possible that things had changed.  Everything else had changed when Jason had died, he couldn’t cling to the distant but affectionate older brother he remembered, or even the cheerful, golden Nightwing that Tim and Steph described.

Or it was just Jason.  Dick had never been that enthusiastic about having Jason as a younger brother, and now he had so many other siblings.  Why would he want to talk to an undead murderer?

…Okay, so the self-pity had gotten slightly out of hand.

Dick had just defeated a galactic threat, he was back on Earth for the first time in weeks, and obviously overwhelmed.  He wasn’t avoiding Jason on purpose.  Jason had to calm down, and not feed the Pit.

He suited up earlier than the others.  Patrol would help calm him down.

Jason finished up a round past Robinson Park when he spied a flash of blue-and-black.  The patrol had helped—Jason had foiled a mugging, and the crunch of a nose breaking under his fist had been very satisfying—and he felt much less twitchy as he grappled to the nearest rooftop and let Nightwing catch up to him.

“‘Sup, Wing,” Jason said casually, crossing his arms and scanning his older brother.  He hadn’t seen Nightwing up close since the beginning of his entrance to Gotham, and it had been a while.

“Hood,” Nightwing replied levelly, “I see you’re a Bat now.”  Jason’s gaze automatically dropped to the red bat adorning his body armor—Bruce had given it as a gift, and it never failed to make Jason suppress a smile.

“Glad to join the team,” Jason said instead of something ridiculously sappy, thankful that his mechanized voice kept his voice even.

Nightwing snorted.

…It wasn’t a pleasant sound.

“You may be on the team, Hood,” Nightwing said, voice soft and sharp, “But you’ll never be one of us.”  Jason froze.  “The people who hurt my family don’t get second chances.”

Nightwing twisted on a heel and walked away, leaping off the rooftop and swinging across the park.  Leaving Jason stuck to the spot with a swollen throat and a prickling face.

You’ll never be one of us.

Fuck.

It was possible that expecting Dick, who’d held a grudge against Bruce for years, to magically forgive him for the crime lord stuff, for the Joker showdown, for attacking Robin, was…shortsighted.  Dick’s anger burned hot and deep, and Jason knew there was nothing that would raise his ire more than a threat to his family.

It felt a lot different on the side of the threat.

Instead of Dick avoiding Jason, it was now Jason avoiding Dick.  Jason was very thankful he hadn’t moved out of his safehouse, and made up some bullshit excuse to Bruce for why he wasn’t staying in the Manor.  If Bruce got involved, this shitshow had the potential to get magnitudes worse, because Dick did not appreciate Bruce telling him what to do.

It was fine.  Perfectly fine.  Jason knew he wouldn’t be able to move back into the Manor, and the kids would still stop by his apartment, so really, nothing had changed.  He should be grateful for what he had, and maybe one day—when hell froze over—Dick would forgive him.

Jason swallowed.  It sounded hollow to his own ears.

The Riddler was more an inconvenience than a real threat, but sometimes Jason still wanted to punt the man into one of his own death traps.  Now was one of those times.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Nightwing eyed him with distaste from the edge of the rooftop, “I don’t trust you.  I never will.  Luckily for you, I’m used to working with people I don’t trust.  Unluckily for you, I’m used to watching my back.  Try to double-cross me…” one escrima lit up with a crackle.  “Understood?”

Jason had to unstick his throat to growl, “Loud and clear, Dickhead.”

“Callsigns only,” Nightwing said flatly, like Jason hadn’t once spent a patrol with Nightwing coming up with increasingly ridiculous nicknames for Batman.

How dare Dick take the high ground?  After all the shit he’d done?  He’d never liked Jason either, never liked his replacement, and what, he turned around and pretended like he was the golden boy now?  The sheer hypocrisy was—

“I’ll take the west window, you go east.”

Jason bit back the curse about where Dick could stick his orders, and did as he was told, clamping down hard on the green.

Punching Nightwing would absolutely not help the situation, no matter how badly his fist was itching to mess up that sanctimonious face.

They got the job done, dismantled the trap and solved the riddle, and were even in time to save Black Bat from a large bucket of smelly goo.

Dick made no secret of how deeply he despised Jason the entire fucking time.

“Come on, Jaybird,” Dick was sitting on the trapeze platform, swinging his legs, “You really need me to explain it?”

Jason felt stuck in place, hands curled around the swing bar, looking across at his big brother.

“Look at you,” Dick gestured expansively, “The Red Hood, Jay?”  The way he shook his head was worse than the worst of Bruce’s disappointed looks.  “You took my name and threw it away for the Joker’s?”

“I—I didn’t mean—”

“How could you, Little Wing?” Dick’s expression twisted to anguish, “How could you hurt Tim?  He’s our little brother!”

“I’m sorry!  It—I’m sorry—”

“You died, Jaybird,” Dick said, and the nickname had never sounded so much like poison, “You shouldn’t have come back.”

The swing snapped, and Dick watched him fall.

Jason stared at the ceiling of his bedroom and struggled to remember how to breathe.

Another day, another fucking Arkham breakout.  This time it was Crane, and everyone had been ordered to the Cave for a pre-patrol briefing.  Jason stayed on the edge of the crowd, helmet on, and avoided Nightwing’s line of sight.

He wasn’t partnered with Nightwing this time, thank god, but Bruce definitely picked up on his tension, and Batman with a mystery was tenacious.

“You okay?” Bruce asked, concerned and so damn soft Jason couldn’t bring himself to snap back.

“Fine,” Jason replied curtly, “Just antsy about Scarecrow on the loose.”

“We’ll find him, Hood, don’t worry,” Bruce said, his expression crinkling, and gave Jason’s shoulder a squeeze.

It made some part of Jason melt—he hadn’t gotten the chance to spend much time with Bruce with Dick hovering in Gotham—until he caught sight of the flat line of Nightwing’s mouth.

The blue-and-black vigilante brushed past him hard on the way to the bikes, and Jason had to stop for a moment to push down the wave of green, nearly missing Nightwing’s muttered hiss.

“Wow, he really does have an adoption problem.”  Nightwing didn’t look back, but his words were calculatingly loud enough, “Maybe it’s time for an intervention.”

Jason was frozen in place so long that Tim actually came up to poke him about it.  Jason waved him off, but he could tell that Tim wasn’t buying it.

His voice distorter could only do so much, and his face was wet behind the helmet.

“What,” Jason growled at the shrimps standing at his door, “Are you three here for?”  Things weren’t green yet, but his irritation was boiling and he didn’t want to deal with anyone.  If Bruce was here, he’d probably have started shouting.

Cass just smiled at him and marched inside, trailing the ducklings pretending like they weren’t using her as a human shield.  Jason growled louder, but even the Pit knew when it was beat.

Jason had had three more rematches with Cass—well, she called them rematches, Jason called them ‘poor decision making under impaired judgement, ow, princess, get off my ribs’—and she held the undisputed crown.  It still wasn’t fair to adopt someone older than him—and that wasn’t a train of thought he wanted to go down right now.

“You are sad,” Cass said, keen eyes piercing right through him, and Jason scowled.

“Have I mentioned how creepy that mind reading trick is?”

“All the time,” Cass smiled, “And not mind reading.”

“You didn’t mind so much when she was reading Bruce and thrashing him at poker,” Steph pointed out, flopping down on the couch.

Tim, however, took a seat more carefully, blue eyes focused, “Are you fighting with Dick?”

“What gave you that idea, kid?” Jason rolled his eyes and went to go find the snacks.  It took two people to have a fight, and Jason hadn’t done a single thing to Dick.

Aside from attacking his family.

“He’s quiet whenever someone’s talking about you, he made an astonishingly ugly expression when I suggested inviting you for game night, and you were originally supposed to team up with Tim for Scarecrow hunting,” Steph listed them off on her fingers, her expression sharpening, “So, why’s he acting like such a dick?”

Jason paused.  All three of them were here, on his couch, for him.  It would be so easy to tell them the truth—Jason hadn’t done anything to Nightwing, unless you counted shooting at him once, and Tim wasn’t holding a grudge from the Titans Tower incident, or Bruce over the Joker thing and—and—

He wanted someone to tell him that Dick was wrong.  That Dick was being a dick.  That it didn’t matter what his sainted older brother thought.

But Jason didn’t.

Because Dick wasn’t wrong.

And he didn’t want the rest of them remembering it.

“It’s nothing,” Jason lied, staying out of Cass’s line of sight, “Long-running argument, it’ll die down soon.  The Pit made it a little worse right now.”  He came back with the crackers and dip.  “Now, did you come here just to eat me out of my apartment?”

Steph frowned, Tim pursed her lips, and Cass gave him an unnervingly intense look, but thankfully they all dropped it.  “Nah, we brought the game night here,” Steph drew a box out of her bag and Tim began moving the table into position.

“Monopoly,” Jason chuckled, “Fantastic.  I’ll destroy my relationships with all my siblings in one fell swoop.”

“Oh, no, you haven’t met Mr. Businessman here,” Steph said, setting up the gameboard as Cass chose tokens for all of them, “I guarantee you, I will not stop you from murdering him if he builds hotels on Boardwalk again.  Goddamn capitalists.”

“Steph, you’re aware that you’ve been adopted by a billionaire, right?” Tim raised an eyebrow.

“Not legally!”

“And yet I notice you haven’t given the credit card or the bedroom back.”

Steph screeched something incoherent, and both of them began squabbling.  Cass patted him on the shoulder, and dropped a Monopoly token in his hand.  It was the race car, and Jason huffed a laugh—someone had painted it to look like the Batmobile.

Jason rolled the piece in his hands.  He had a place in this family, no matter how many hissy fits Dick threw.  He had to remember that.

He didn’t know if one of the kids mentioned the Lazarus Pit to Dick or not, but Dick stopped looking at Jason like he was going to fly off the handle if someone said the wrong word.

Jason didn’t know whether to be grateful or insulted.

Things got easier.  Mainly because Dick went back to Bludhaven, and reclaiming the city after he’d been gone a month took a couple of weeks, so Jason didn’t have to deal with him until Jason stumbled out of his bed at far too early in the morning because there was an elephant crashing up the stairs.

He swung the door open and peered out—at a startled Dick, who was giving him a deer-in-headlights look, eyes wide and almost sunken.

Jason was too hazy to remember that Dick was mad at him.  “Some of us are trying to sleep, Dickhead,” Jason growl-murmured.

“Sorry, Little Wing,” Dick whispered back, and Jason glared at him for a second longer before turning around and shuffling back into his room.  He was out seconds after his head hit the pillow again.

In the morning, he was convinced it was a dream.  Dick ignored him all throughout breakfast.

The problem with Bruce-Batman-whatever new identity he felt like taking on, was that the man wasn’t emotionally dense.  Oh no, he recognized emotions just fine.  The problem was that he was emotionally incompetent, which was why Jason was staring flatly at Nightwing at the starting point of their joint patrol.

“I’m assuming you know the route?” Nightwing asked, voice perfectly even.

“If I didn’t, you think the paranoid guy in a furry suit would’ve let me out here?” Jason bit back caustically.

Nightwing didn’t rise to the bait, just aimed his grapple and jumped off the roof, swinging in a long arc.

Jason growled and jumped after him.

There were two problems with asking Batman to switch who Jason patrolled with.  One, it meant having to explain the whole thing with Dick, which Jason very much did not want to do.  Two, they actually fucking worked well together, which was so infuriating Jason wanted to scream.

Jason had been trained by Bruce, Dick, and the League of Assassins, and even with the guns, his fighting style was closest to Bruce’s.  Dick, who’d grown up fighting alongside Bruce, played the flying Robin to his Batman in a way that made Jason shudder at the thought of facing the original duo if they ever decided to partner up again.

“What’s that?” Nightwing asked the pile of groaning goons at their feet, “You’re going to have to speak up a bit.  I could’ve sworn that you said something about filleting me like a fish.”

“Now that’s just rude,” Jason drawled, ratcheting zipties on the thugs on his side of the room, “Everyone knows you’re a bird.”

“Indeed—now, deep frying, that’s something I can get behind.  Though probably a bake or a roast would be better.”

“Gotta watch that cholesterol,” Jason agreed.

“Are you calling me fat?” Nightwing said with perfectly tailored outrage, kicking a gun out of another thug’s reach.

“If the skintight suit fits, Golden Boy,” Jason chuckled.  He was a little preoccupied finishing tying up the thugs, so it took him a minute to realize that Nightwing hadn’t responded.

The vigilante wasn’t looking at him, and remained silent until after the police arrived to pick up their haul—at which point Jason found himself against a brick wall with an escrima in his face.

“Don’t ever call me that again,” Nightwing hissed.

Right.  Still hated him.  Jason had almost forgotten for a second.

He raised his hands in nonverbal acknowledgement, unsure if he could talk without his voice cracking, and Nightwing’s expression twisted further before he lowered the escrima and walked away.

They finished the rest of the patrol in silence.

Coming up on the two-month mark of Dick getting back planetside, Jason was aware that his excuses were running thin.  Bruce’s face had gone all pinched the last time he saw Dick glaring at Jason in the Cave, and Jason knew that Bruce was arranging some sort of intervention no matter how badly Jason wanted him to drop the topic.

Because things were getting better.  Marginally, but still.  Dick dipped into bantering with him anytime he forgot that he was supposed to hate him, and for all the avoidance and ignoring outside of the suits, Dick was scrupulously diligent in the field.

Bruce forcing them to confront the issue sounded like a great way to get Dick’s hackles back up, and Jason wanted no part of it.  Thankfully, Dick was back in Bludhaven, dealing with a minor gang war and on emergency call only.

Such as, for example, for an Arkham breakout.

“Didn’t we just put Scarecrow back in Arkham?” Jason griped as they cased the warehouse for the best point of entry.  Judging by Crane’s look of terror when Black Bat dropped in—and damn was that costume terrifying—he shouldn’t have been out and causing trouble for months.

“Since when does anyone actually stay in Arkham?” Nightwing murmured, squinting at the warehouse before sighing and straightening to his feet, “No movement, as far as I can tell, but there is a skylight.”

“Fantastic.  I love rooftop entries,” Jason said gleefully, and Nightwing snorted with about twenty percent less malice than usual.  Jason took that as a win.

Their rooftop entry sadly had to be stealthy and Jason couldn’t explode downwards in a shower of glass, but the sneaking almost made up for it.  “I feel like I’m in a horror movie,” Jason murmured into his comm as he and Nightwing split up to search the top floor, “Nothing but some ominous creaking noises and a looming sense of dread.”

“You certainly look the part,” Nightwing retorted, “You just need a chainsaw.”

Wow, that was almost a joke.  Dick was in a good mood today.

“You think Batman would let me have a chainsaw?” Jason asked, “Hmm, maybe if the blade was made out of foam or something.”

Nightwing muttered something too low for the comm to pick up properly, and Jason chose to ignore the probable insult.

“Floor clear,” Jason said, and Nightwing echoed it a couple seconds later.

The second floor was equally quiet.  “You know,” Jason said into the comms, trying to keep up the friendly conversation, “Maybe I could be that Jason guy.  The one with a hockey mask.”  Nightwing remained silent.  “Definitely pull off the zombie look.”

“And you’re a mass murderer,” Nightwing said bitingly, “Got that box ticked off too.”

Jason’s exhale was explosive, and he could practically hear Nightwing bristle.  “Really?” Jason said flatly, “Can you not pull the stick out of your ass for one fucking night—”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Hood,” Nightwing said condescendingly—Jason was definitely seeing green now—“We have a Rogue to catch.  So maybe if you could focus on the task at hand—”

“What the fuck is your problem?”

There.  He’d said it.  He was breathing too fast, his hands curled tight into fists, and thank god Nightwing was on the other side of the warehouse because Jason was perilously close to losing his temper.

“You hurt my family,” Nightwing said, razor-sharp, “You think you get a free pass now that you decide to play buddy-buddy?”

I am your family, Jason resisted the urge to scream, and instead snarled, “What do you want, an engraved apology?  I’m sorry, okay!  I regret it, I apologized to them, we got over it!  What the fuck makes you special?”

“It’s my family,” Nightwing said forbiddingly.  Jason’s definitely not polite reply was forestalled by the sound of voices from the ground floor, and their argument was tabled in favor of investigating.

Hurt him, the Pit whispered, before he hurts you, tear him apart, break him, you can do it so easily—

Wrapped up in trying to control his rage, Jason wasn’t paying as much attention to his surroundings as was healthy in a possibly fear toxin-infested warehouse.

“Hood!”

Jason turned, just in time to see the raised dart gun before his vision was obscured by black and blue.

Chapter Text

“Get off of me, get away, get away!”  Something in Jason’s heart finally cracked when the car door opened and Jason could pass a writhing Nightwing to Cass and Steph.  “Go to hell!”

Jason had to take a moment, leaning against the Batmobile.  His hands were shaking.  Fuck.  His ears still rang with Nightwing’s vicious protests.

His vision was blocked by black.  “It’s okay,” Batman said, removing the cowl to reveal pinched blue-gray eyes but a soft expression, “It’s just the fear toxin, Jay, you know he doesn’t mean it.”

“Right,” Jason said, the mechanized voice dull, “Just the fear toxin.”

Bruce frowned, which meant that Jason’s voice hadn’t even touched convincing.  Jason straightened up, and couldn’t keep from wobbling.  Bruce’s frown grew worse.

“I’m fine,” Jason said to forestall Bruce’s comments.

“Are you sure?  The fear toxin—”

“Didn’t hit me,” Jason said tiredly.  Nightwing had gotten in the way, his stupid savior complex rearing its head, and Jason had maybe had a very small meltdown and broken several bones—Crane certainly wasn’t going to be mixing anything with fractured wrists—before hovering over Nightwing.  “I’m fine.  Go check on Dick.”

Jason wanted to take the helmet off and collapse in peace, and forget his brother screaming at him that he wished Jason was dead.

He didn’t.  Jason logically knew that he didn’t, knew that Dick had been watching his back, knew that Dick deliberately put himself between him and the fear toxin, but it was hard to hear the vitriol with the churning fear that Dick wanted him dead and gone.

“You’re staying in the Manor tonight,” Bruce said, brooking no dissent, “Contaminant protocol.”  Jason didn’t get tagged, but Bruce’s expression was not conducive to arguing, and Jason was exhausted.

“Fine,” Jason gave in with ill grace, “Guess I’ll go use up all the hot water before anyone else gets a turn.”

He didn’t look at the medbay on his way to the showers.

The bad news was that this was a new batch of fear toxin, and the old antidotes didn’t work.  The bad news was that the synthesizer would only finish creating a new antidote after the toxin left Dick’s bloodstream.

The good news was that the toxin had no permanent effects.  If you ignored the screaming.

Jason punched the bag harder, desperate for something, anything to make the roiling inside of him stop.  The Pit demanded a target, but there was no target, Jason couldn’t fight Dick’s nightmares, so it simply swallowed him whole as he fought the training equipment like they were all wearing clown masks.

The toxin was cycling through fears, and Jason had deliberately stopped listening to the garbled words amidst the terrified shrieks.  Bruce was with Dick, and so were the kids.  Alfred and Cass had headed up after it became apparent that there was nothing they could do but make sure Dick didn’t hurt himself, but Jason stayed where he was, unable to leave.

This was his fault, after all.

He hadn’t seen the gun, he’d been too caught up in the Pit, he should’ve just told Bruce that he wouldn’t be able to patrol with Nightwing, he—

He’d failed again at keeping his family safe.

There were splatters of red on the punching bag, and Jason stared at the tape around his hand in distant surprise.  He’d split his knuckles.

Unwinding the tape was a slow process, he half-felt like he was moving through molasses as he headed to the bathroom to wash the blood off.  When he stepped back into the Cave proper, the desperate, wretched sobs hit him like a crowbar, and Jason had to stop in place and take deep breaths.

Footsteps headed his way.  Jason lifted his gaze to see Tim approaching him, expression exhausted.  “He’s calling for you,” Tim said quietly.

Jason focused on the noise—yes, that was his name.  “He doesn’t want to see me,” Jason replied, dropping his gaze to the scrapes.  With or without fear toxin, Jason wasn’t welcome.

“I know you guys are fighting, but please?” Tim asked pleadingly, “He’s hurt and terrified and he—he keeps thinking you’re dead.”

Jason highly doubted he’d be of comfort to Dick right now, but Tim looked a half-step away from bursting into tears, so Jason followed him.  Dick was strapped down to a cot in the medbay, struggling against the bonds, with Steph holding one of his hands and Bruce smoothing his hair back away from his face.

“It’s okay,” Bruce said quietly, “It’s okay, Dick, he’s fine, he—”

“It’s not okay,” Dick’s voice cracked and broke, and fuck, Jason was not prepared for his older brother to sound like that.  Jason stepped all the way in instead of hovering on the threshold, and Steph automatically moved to make space for him.  “He’s dead, he’s dead and it’s all my fault—I should’ve been there, he called me, no, Little Wing—”

“I’m here,” Jason said softly, unable to stand the anguish in his brother’s voice.  Dick’s gaze snapped to him, wide-eyed.  “Hey, Dickiebird, I’m right here, it’s okay.”

“Jason?” Dick asked tremulously, “Jaybird?”

Jason took a seat next to Steph and curled his fingers into Dick’s.  “I’m here, Dickie.  I’m alive.”  Not that you seemed to care, added the bitter voice in Jason’s head, but that wasn’t fair, not when Dick was looking at him like someone seeing the sun after a long winter.

“Jay,” Dick’s voice cracked on a wail, his fingers gripping Jason’s crushingly tight, and nearly flinging himself against the bonds to get closer to Jason.  “Jay, I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to leave you—I’m sorry, please, please Jaybird, I miss you so much—”

“It’s okay,” Jason was having difficulty keeping his own voice level, because fuck, this was what he’d wanted to hear from Dick the whole fucking time, and he was only getting it because Dick was twisted up from the toxin.  “I’m here, I came back, it’s okay.”

Enjoy it while it lasts, the too practical side of him said.  The toxin would wear off, and Dick would go back to the way he was, but—but at least this proved he did care.  Dick was angry, but one day he’d get over it, and then—then maybe Jason could have his older brother back.

“I’m right here,” Jason said over the sound of Dick’s sobs.

Bruce sent Jason up to bed when Dick dropped into an exhausted stupor and probably nightmare-filled sleep, but by that point, Jason could barely keep his eyes open, much less protest.  He didn’t want to leave Dick when Dick seemed to still give a fuck about Jason, but he was also falling asleep where he was sitting.

True to form, Dick ignored Jason at breakfast.  Jason was too tired to care.  No one was awake enough for conversation.  Jason made the executive decision that he needed several more hours of sleep before he went back to his safehouse—getting on his bike like this was a fast track to road rash—and didn’t flee the Manor.

Instead, he followed the gaggle of drooping birdies to the Cave after Dick and Bruce, who wanted to make sure Dick’s bloodwork was clean.  Steph and Cass got to the elevator before them, and Jason folded in the face of Tim’s puppy-dog eyes to give him a piggyback ride downstairs.

The kid was too good at trotting those out.  Jason was slightly concerned for the world if the baby bird ever decided he had greater ambitions than being Bruce’s emotional support Robin.

“Onward, noble steed!” Tim cried out when they finally reached the Batcave.

“Don’t test your luck, baby bird,” Jason mock-growled, “I can still finish you off.”  Bruce was at the Batcomputer, watching them with a smile, and Dick was leaning on the back of his chair.  Steph and Cass were sparring on the mats, so Jason headed for Bruce.

Tim laughed, and tightened his grip to rest his chin on top of Jason’s head.  “You would never,” the kid teased, “You looove us, Jason.”

“Lies and slander,” Jason retorted.

“Oh yeah?  Why don’t you—” the rest of Tim’s sentence was cut off with a loud thud, and everyone swiveled to see Dick sprawled on the floor, eyes blown wide.

“Dick?” Bruce said uncertainly as Jason moved closer, his heart stuck in his throat.  Tim slid off without a word and horrible scenarios rushed through Jason’s head—he’d missed Dick getting shot a second time, the toxin hadn’t disappeared, something was seriously wrong—as he knelt in front of his big brother.

“Hey, Dickiebird,” Jason kept his voice low and soft, “What happened?”

Dick was staring at him like Jason had two heads.  “Jay?” his voice went so high-pitched it nearly cracked into hysterical.

“Yeah?” Jason raised an eyebrow, “You okay?  Are you feeling dizzy?”

Dick didn’t answer his question, just stretched out a wavering hand.  Jason reluctantly suppressed the instinct to jerk back, and let Dick’s fingertips brush his face, at which point the older boy yanked his hand back like he’d been burned.

“Dick?” Bruce was crouching down on Dick’s other side, “Chum, what happened?  Are you still seeing things?”

“I thought his bloodwork came back clean?” Tim said, worried, but Dick nodded, pressing further against Bruce.  He was still staring at Jason, and Jason resisted the urge to feel his own face.

“What are you seeing, Dick?” Bruce asked gently, and Dick’s whole face crumpled.

“Jason,” he choked out in a sob.

Bruce blinked, and stared at Jason.  Jason raised his shoulders and spread his arms in an ‘I don’t know either’ gesture.

“Sweetheart, Jason is there,” Bruce said slowly, “What are you—”

“Jason,” Dick reiterated incredulously, scrambling away from Bruce, “Jason Todd.”

“In the flesh, Dickiebird,” Jason drawled, trying to keep his concern out of his tone.  Had Dick hit his head?  Amnesia?  Jason remembered reading something about some disorder where people couldn’t recognize faces—

“Jason,” Dick repeated, stretching an arm out again.  This time, he didn’t yank his fingers back when he touched Jason’s face, his hands settling on Jason’s cheeks.  “Jason.”  His voice was half disbelief, half wonder, and Jason stared blankly as Dick’s gaze dropped, his hands smoothing over Jason’s shirt.

“Uh…what are you doing?”

“You’re not bleeding,” Dick said in surprise.  Jason’s eyebrows raised higher.  “You’re—” the blue eyes snapped up to Jason’s face, “You’re not dead.”

“No?” Jason was extremely confused, but he didn’t get the chance to keep talking because he was being tackled.

Godfuckingdammit, Dick’s octopus hugs were just as good as he remembered.

Jason wrapped his arms around Dick’s back before Dick returned back to reality and let go, but something was still seriously wrong, no matter how nice it felt to have his older brother wrapped around him and squeezing tight.  “Are we sure his bloodwork’s clean?” Jason asked a bewildered Bruce over Dick’s shoulder.

Dick made a wet sounding laugh against Jason’s hair.  “I think that’s my line, Little Wing,” he murmured, “What—how—when did—what—when did you come back?”

Jason was beginning to wonder if he’d hit his head.  “To Gotham?” Jason clarified, “Like, months ago, Dickie, are you sure you’re okay?”

Dick’s grip tightened, and Jason had never felt dread drop so quickly in his stomach.  “Months?”  Oh, Dick was pissed.  Jason clung harder and pretended like he didn’t hear the thread of rage.  “Months, and no one let me know?!”

What.

Wait a minute.

“What the fuck, Dickhead?” Jason couldn’t stop himself, “We’ve talked a bunch of times.  Did you hit your head or something?”

Dick pushed free of the hug—Jason felt its absence like a gaping hole—but only retreated far enough to look Jason in the face.  He stared intently, raising a hand to tug at the single lock of white in Jason’s hair.

“…I thought you were a hallucination,” Dick said, slow and soft and sad, and before Jason could process that, Dick was hugging him again.

It—fuck, it made sense.  Why Dick ignored him most of the time, why he only acknowledged Jason if there was no one else in the room, why he’d never hugged him, why he’d never touched him despite Dick being the most tactile person Jason knew.  It made a lot of sense.

Except for—

“Dick, you’ve worked together with Jason,” Tim pointed out, half incredulous, “You saved him from a fear toxin dart!  Don’t tell me you thought that was a hallucination too.”

“What?” Dick said, confused, raising his head, “I didn’t save Jason, I saved—” Dick abruptly yanked back again, staring at Jason.  “You’re the Red Hood,” he said blankly.

Oh.

Jason was getting light-headed trying to track these revelations, and he sat there, frozen to the spot, as wildly ranging emotions crossed Dick’s face.  Surprise and bewilderment, shock and slowly settling realizations, confusion and irritation.  And rage.

Oh fuck no.  He couldn’t breathe.  Jason could feel his heart beginning to crack—like a glass heated up and thrust into freezing ice.  He couldn’t do this.  He couldn’t—he couldn’t face Dick’s fury again, and know that this time Dick knew full well who he was talking to.  He couldn’t go from the hugs back to the disdain, no, please no—

“We’re definitely going to talk about that later,” Dick exhaled, slumping back against Jason and holding tight, “But I’m so happy you’re here, Jaybird.”  His voice cracked, and the tears Jason had been trying to hold at bay burst through the dam.  “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Jason murmured wetly, burying his head against his older brother’s shoulder.  If this was a dream, Jason was going to murder someone.

But Jason didn’t wake up, and Dick didn’t let go.  He heard someone—Tim?—murmuring something, and Bruce’s voice shushing him and sending him away.  The footsteps completed a circuit, and Jason felt Bruce crouch behind him.

“Dick,” Bruce said, soft and firm, “How long have you been having hallucinations?”

Dick’s grip tightened.  “I don’t know,” he bit back, “How long did you fail to tell me that my little brother was actually alive?”

Bruce exhaled slowly.  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “You were in space when we first found out, and I didn’t realize that I hadn’t updated you.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”  Some part of Jason twisted at the sound of Dick’s anger, but Dick didn’t stop hugging him.  “It’s been months, Bruce!  When I was in space, fine, but what about when I got back home?”

There was a stretching silence.

“Chum, are you asking me why I didn’t tell you that your brother was real and not a figment of your imagination?”

Dick made a grumbling noise and ducked his head back against Jason.

“We’re not done talking about this,” Bruce said firmly, and Dick moved until he was firmly settled in Jason’s lap, clinging to him like a koala.  “Dick.”

“Shh,” Dick muttered, “I’m catching up on all the hugs that I missed while you lied to me.”  Bruce sighed, but conceded defeat in the form of a hug around both of them and a kiss to each of their foreheads before he got up.

Jason breathed slowly, in and out, listening to Dick’s heartbeat pressed against him, feeling the soft breaths whistling against his ear.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” Dick whispered, low and hoarse, “I—fuck, Little Wing, thank you for coming back.”

“I, uh,” Jason had to clear out his throat, “I’m not sure how much of a role I played in the matter, but you’re welcome.”

“You came home,” Dick murmured, “Nothing else matters.”

Jason was not sniffling.

“I’m sorry for the shit I said to—to you,” Dick said quietly, “I didn’t—I didn’t know it was you.  You are and will always be part of this family, Jaybird.”

Jason couldn’t speak, he could only press his face against Dick’s shoulder and struggle to draw in breath.

They didn’t get to enjoy their solitude for very long, though, because footsteps pattered closer.  “Oh, look,” Steph said, “We can finally have cuddle piles!”

Before Jason could protest, they’d been encircled by at least two different people, and he suspected one of them was Cass judging by the inescapable grip.  Dick made a watery chuckle as Jason cursed, and more footsteps echoed as the others joined the hug.

He continued hiding his face against Dick, but this time it was to conceal his painfully raw smile.

Home.  Family.  He—he finally had it all again.

This was where he belonged.

“Alright, when are you all getting off?  My legs are falling asleep.”

“Did you think I was joking when I said I’m making up for all the hugs I’ve missed, Jaybird?”

“…I changed my mind, I am a hallucination.”