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JayDick Summer Exchange 2021
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2021-09-03
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The Damned Prince's Bodyguard

Summary:

Jason, the Damned Prince of Gotham, has returned to stake a claim in the city-state's ever-fluctuating power struggle. The Bat King's court has been suspiciously quiet about this… but there's something familiar about Jason's newest bodyguard.

Notes:

dear elareine, I saw "bodyguard" and "royalty" and my brain went YES I GOT THIS and produced this thing that is probably not at all the kind of AU you were thinking of when you wrote that prompt. I hope you like this treat anyway!

Thank you to the mods for their stellar work making this exchange go! It's been a blast! And extra thanks to penta for helping me figure out a particularly tricky sentence, and to my beta reader DragonSorceress22 for helping me figure out ALL the sentences.

Work Text:

The Damned Prince of Gotham surveyed his domain with a great deal of satisfaction and a very small amount of champagne. He stood on a mezzanine in the ballroom of Gotham's best hotel, and below him Gotham's best people glittered and spun. He could see the eddies and tides of the Gotham social ecosystem easily from here: there, a deal was being made; there, an introduction; there, a threat.

Nowhere was there a Bat.

Well, that wasn't exactly true. The Bat King was not in attendance, but Jason hadn't expected him. B had snubbed him from the moment Jason had returned from exile, not even acknowledging him once the Oracle had verified his credentials for the public. He seemed intent on pretending Jason didn't exist, denying all requests for interviews and conspicuously neglecting to make any sort of media statement.

But that was a front, and the proof was standing right here on this balcony with him, just far enough back not to be seen from the floor: Jason's newest bodyguard, introduced to him by the handle Flamebird.

Jason knew this was a nick, a name people gave to be easily discarded and that supposedly couldn't be traced to any of their true names. Jason knew this because he knew two of Flamebird's real names. He knew his face, too, despite the deliberately cultivated stubble, the colored contacts, the shoes that gave him just enough extra height to look Jason directly in the eye, and the red half mask that all of Jason's personnel wore over the upper halves of their faces. 

What he did not know was why Nightwing was pretending like Jason wouldn't recognize him. Like his little undercover mission from the Bat could possibly succeed. But Jason was willing to play along until he found out.

Particularly if it meant seeing Nightwing in his colors. His bodyguard wore a finely tailored suit that mimicked Jason's own, though instead of a red shirt beneath the black jacket, Nightwing's uniform was just black and black and black except for the red of the mask. No hint of blue anywhere, not even in his eyes thanks to those ridiculous contacts.

"Expecting any trouble tonight, Flame?" Jason asked idly, still scanning the ballroom floor like he hadn't a care in the world.

"No, sir," Nightwing said.

"Could you even move in that suit if you were?" Jason asked. His suit was very finely tailored. Jason had made sure of that.

"Of course."

Jason finally looked back over his shoulder and grinned at his 'bodyguard'. "I’d like to see that." Nightwing met his gaze evenly and steadily, but didn't answer. Jason shrugged. "Well, time to make the rounds. I have a throne to secure, after all."

No change in expression at all. Jason could admit that Nightwing was very good. He'd altered his posture, his gait, even his speech patterns from what Jason remembered. It had taken Jason hours to figure out why his new bodyguard seemed so familiar when he'd first been assigned to his security detail a week ago. But however good Nightwing was, Jason was better. He'd get him. And he'd make Bruce regret this game.

 

The Damned Prince of Gotham dropped into the current of the party like a boulder into a stream. The flow of the crowd stuttered, then swirled around him, taking a new path, charting a course accommodating and incorporating his presence.

The word exile hovered in everyone's mind but rarely made it to anyone's lips. They knew he was one of the Bat King's princes; Oracle credentials were the gold standard and he wasn't hiding that part of his history. So they knew the story of how the Bat had taken him in, had given him the Robin moniker – a true name, but not his truest; that was for him to give out only to those closest to him – and that he had vanished. He'd been thought dead when anyone thought of him at all.

But now the rumors gathered in his wake like shreds of fog disturbed by a silent ship's passing. They said he'd been exiled after some unspeakable scandal; that he'd been sent to foster (with the Supers, with the Demons, with the Amazons – the suspected family got more outlandish the longer the rumor circulated); that he'd been kidnapped (by the Supers, by the Demons, by the Amazons…) and the Bat King had covered it up in order not to appear weak. The list went on.

Jason let them talk. Knowing something no one else did was power. The world had learned that the hard way after endless privacy crises in the past century, which was why the elite now had this complicated dance of names and faces. Masks and monikers were de rigueur; only those without reputation to trade on were forced to give personal information about themselves to get along in the world.

Jason was the Damned Prince to most of them, though it was a rare or foolish person who called him that to his face. To those he needed to fear him, he was the Red Hood. Those names weren't connected to each other, except by a very few people in the know, but both were true.  The Damned Prince wore suits and a sleek red domino. The Red Hood wore a full helmet and body armor. Both of them were taking large bites out of the Bat's territory, and the Bat was doing nothing.

Nothing except sending out his favorite pawn.

"Congratulations on acquiring the Cartwright," a young man said to Jason, strolling up to him with a practiced casualness. "Love what you've done with the place."

"All I've done with the place is throw a party," Jason said drily.

"It's an excellent start. Place used to belong to, what, the Penguin? It's about time someone did something tasteful with it."

The man was wearing a lacy wire mask over his eyes, with two curls stretching down his jawline. It wasn't the mark of any significant family, and Jason didn't know any of his names.

"Well, just doing my bit to thank Gotham for her warm welcome when I came home," Jason said with a winning smile. And to clean up the joint since B apparently doesn't care if Penguin runs a money-laundering operation right under his nose.

"I'll drink to that. Oh, yours has gone flat, allow me," the man said, smoothly drawing a fresh flute of champagne off a passing server's tray and offering it to Jason with a little bow. The server paused so Jason could have somewhere to put his warming (and indeed, flat) glass, and Jason accepted the young man's offering with an indulgent smile.

"Don't," Nightwing said from behind him.

Jason froze, the glass halfway to his lips.

"He dropped something in it," Nightwing said. He was closer than he usually stood now, just over Jason's shoulder.

"Did he now," Jason said, staring the stranger down.

"That's absurd," the man said. "I just took it from the tray. You saw me."

"I did." Jason held out the glass to the man.

"What?" the man asked.

"Drink it," Jason said.

The man's eyes darted to Nightwing's, then back to Jason. "This is ridiculous," he said, mustering a smile.

"Is my champagne not good enough for you?" Jason asked.

The man huffed out a breath, then downed the flute in one long drink. "Satisfied, oh Prince of Gotham?"

Not quite brave enough to put the damned in front of the title.

"Yes," Jason said. The man gave him a mocking bow, then turned on his heel and hurried away into the crowd. Nightwing started to stride after him, but Jason grabbed his wrist, pulling him up short. Nightwing shot him a question in a glance. "Not you," Jason said. He was already pulling out his phone. "You're staying with me."

"He could—"

"I'm taking care of it," Jason said. He called Artemis. "Hey, big Red. Got a situation needs looking after." He briefly described the guy and what had happened and security had the alert before he was finished talking. "Don't let him try to puke it up, and watch him to see if he like, keels over or something, okay? Thanks."

He hung up. Nightwing pulled his wrist out of Jason's grasp. "If that was poison, he could die," Nightwing said.

"Then he better 'fess up and request medical care," Jason said, and turned his attention back to the party. Nightwing wanted to say something else, Jason could feel it. He willed him to break cover and argue.

But Nightwing didn't. He faded back behind Jason and followed him into the crowd.

 

The party ended with no further incidents and Jason went back to the penthouse at his club. The report on the guy who'd allegedly tried to poison him was waiting and Jason flipped through it, casually interested in whether the guy had died and who had sent him, when he stopped dead and read the toxicology again, certain he'd read it wrong the first time.

"He… tried to roofie me?" he asked, so confused he said it out loud.

"What?" Nightwing demanded.

Jason sighed. He'd forgotten he was there for a second. And apparently Nightwing had forgotten his role, too, because the level of anger in his voice certainly wasn't professional.

"A benzo," Jason said, humoring him. "They caught him before he could get to a bathroom and watched him for a bit. When he started acting funny, they took a blood test. He roofied himself. But why would he…" Jason trailed off, reading the report more carefully. The guy had been handed over to the cops, but Jason had no idea as to motive. He wasn't with any of the major families as far as their preliminary investigating showed, but what could possess some rando to try to drug the Damned Prince of Gotham at his own damn party?

"Could be with media," Nightwing said quietly. "Hoping to get you to talk."

Surely the media hadn't gotten that brazen in Jason's time away, but then again if anyone would know about that, it'd be Nightwing. Still, that didn't really feel right.

"I'm turning in early," Jason said, dropping the folder onto the desk. He went into his bedroom without another word and closed the door firmly behind him.

 

Half an hour later, Red Hood had broken into the detention center where Champagne Guy was awaiting his fate.

"Says here your name is Jimmy," Red Hood said and Jimmy startled awake. It took him a second to realize who was talking to him, and when he did he scrambled up off his cot and backed himself against the far wall of the cell.

His mask was gone and they had recorded his birth name, which meant the guy really was a nobody, with nobody to protect him.

"What do you want?" Jimmy asked, not even trying to act like he wasn't afraid.

"I want to know how a nobody gets into the Damned Prince of Gotham's fancy party and has the balls to try and drug him. And I want to know why."

"I didn't do anything! And I want a lawyer."

"I'm not a cop, Jimmy," Red Hood said, letting his fingertips brush the gun in his thigh holster.

Jimmy was quick on the uptake. "That champagne must've already been drugged when I grabbed it! That bodyguard was lying."

"Unlikely," Red hood said, even as he considered it. It had never occurred to him to mistrust what Nightwing had said, and that was dangerous. But Jimmy was a nobody, so what did the Bats gain by framing him? It was very much not their style, especially not Nightwing. "Try again."

"Why would I drink drugged champagne?"

"Because you knew it was just a tranquilizer. Knew you'd be loopy for a bit and then be fine if you could get away before anyone noticed. So what were you after?" This time his fingers didn't just brush the gun, they rested there.

"I can't," Jimmy said. "He'll kill me."

"Now we're getting somewhere. Who sent you? Who are you trying to impress, little mouse?"

Jimmy's eyes darted to the camera pointing into his cell. Red Hood pointedly held up a small device and pushed a button. The red recording light winked out.

"Just the two of us, friend."

"Why do you care who's got a grudge against that guy?"

"Let's just say I like the Prince's plans for the city. Last chance."

"Black Mask," Jimmy whispered. "I'm not part of his court but he said— he said I'd have a place. If I proved myself."

"Well that was stupid," Red Hood said. But he took his hand off his gun. "Thanks Jimmy. If you're lucky I'll get to Black Mask before he gets to you."

 

Red Hood was so busy making his shopping list in his head (rocket launcher, C-4, gasoline…) that he almost missed his shadow on the ride home, following along from rooftops. When he noticed it, though, he grinned under his helmet. Only one person moved like that.

Red Hood continued on his way as usual for another block or so, then abruptly turned off course, taking a sharp turn around a tall building then another down a narrow alley, then cutting his engine and waiting.

Nightwing passed overhead and by the time he paused and doubled back, Red Hood had gained the altitude he needed to come up behind him. He waited until Nightwing was about to launch a line and attacked, driving his fingers into a cluster of muscles at his shoulder. Nightwing dropped the grapple with a cry as his hand suddenly opened without his permission. He spun, kicking out to back his attacker off, but Red Hood was already backing away, hands up.

"Oh, my bad," he said. "I thought you were some ne'er-do-well trying to follow me home."

"Hood," Nightwing greeted him, voice wary. Red Hood could see him flexing his fingers, trying to get feeling back in that arm. It would come; he'd feel pretty bruised tomorrow but the arm would be fine in like, half an hour.

"Don't you have better things to do?" Hood asked.

"Not really," Nightwing said.

"Well I do," Red Hood said. "Later." He dropped over the edge of the roof, catching himself on fire escape landings on the way down, then sprinted back to his bike, not displeased to hear Nightwing's annoyed shout float down behind him.

 

He led Nightwing on a merry, pointless chase around the city, finally losing him somewhere in Tricorner and then bee-lining back to the penthouse where he shucked his Red Hood gear in record time, threw on a pair of pajama pants, and burst out of the bedroom with a triumphant grin.

Flamebird was standing right where he'd left him, looking bored. "Something wrong, sir?"

"How did— no." He stared hard at Nightwing. How had he had time to put his contacts in? No, that was dumb, he probably hadn't taken them out. But not a button was out of place. "Couldn't sleep. Why are you still on shift?"

Nightwing shrugged – with his left shoulder. Jason had a wicked idea.

"Come on, then," he said. He shoved open the suite door and led Nightwing into the hallway and down to his private gym. "A little exercise should wear me out. You said you could move in that suit, right?" He stepped out onto the sparring mats.

"Sir, I can't—"

"So you lied?"

"No. I'm your bodyguard, so we can't—"

Jason launched himself at Nightwing, a broadly telegraphed right hook. Nightwing dipped out and around, dodging easily. Jason drove him onto the mats with similar attacks; Nightwing gave up protesting after the first two he dodged and then just focused on not actually fighting, his expression a very passable impression of someone who is exasperated with their employer but humoring them anyway.

Once they were on the mats, though, Jason focused. Nightwing's dodges turned to blocks, then eventually to strikes intended to give himself a little breathing room. He really could move in that suit. Jason managed to get a hand on the jacket and tugged, intending to flip Nightwing, but Nightwing spun and then Jason just had a jacket in his hands.

That would have been a good opportunity for a follow up strike, but instead Nightwing paused to loosen his tie and the top few buttons on his shirt, and to roll up his sleeves a bit. Jason tossed the jacket aside and decided the tie was next before remembering that there was a reason he was doing this.

When he attacked, he deliberately went after Nightwing's right shoulder. Nightwing was protecting it, of course, since it would be sore from earlier, but Jason was determined. He finally landed a hit, and in the moment that bought him he hooked Nightwing's leg and shoved him hard. He landed on his back with a whoosh of exhaled breath and Jason followed him down, straddling him and pressing one hand to his shoulder – not hard, just as a clear message to stay down.

Nightwing coughed and put his hands up in surrender. "All right," he breathed, then coughed again. "All right, Jason, enough."

Jason froze.

He hadn't heard his name in years. It… it was… nice.

"Obviously you've figured me out. So, cards on the table," Dick was saying, oblivious to the fact that Jason's brain had temporarily jumped the track. "Where's Bruce?"

That brought him screeching back. "What?"

"Bruce. Where is he?" Dick repeated impatiently

"How the fuck should I know?"

Dick frowned at him, consternation in his eyebrows and disbelief in the downturned corners of his mouth. "Get off," he said, patting at Jason's thigh in their old training tap-out pattern. "I can't think like this."

Jason backed off of him, too confused to insist on keeping Dick down. Flamebird's mannerisms were completely gone as Dick rose to his feet and yanked his tie off. "Are you telling me you don't know that Bruce is missing?" he asked, watching Jason intently.

"First I've heard of it," Jason said. Dick yanked off the red half mask and it joined the tie and the jacket in the corner. Jason realized he hadn't put on his own standard domino after changing out of the Red Hood outfit; he'd been thinking of Nightwing, not Flamebird. You didn't wear masks around people you— knew. Well. Dick had probably known the jig was up the second Jason had come out. That, or he'd thought Jason was about to make a very inappropriate suggestion to Flamebird.

"Well, he is. If you didn't have anything to do with it, what the hell are you doing with Black Mask?" Dick demanded.

"Um, destroying his empire one brick at a time?" Jason said. "Why would you think I was working with Black Mask?"

"Half your enforcers are false-facers!"

"Ex false-facers! I poached them! Hang on," Jason said. "Are you telling me you thought I had something to do with B disappearing—"

"Your whole thesis statement is 'fuck with Batman' so yes," Dick interrupted.

"I mean you thought I had something to do with B disappearing, and you still stopped that guy from drugging me?"

"What? Of course?" Dick said. "What does that have to do with anything? You think I'd let someone poison you?"

"It was a kidnapping attempt," Jason corrected instead of answering. "And Black Mask was behind it."

"Oh," Dick said. Then, "Oh."

"I haven't made any secret of who I am," Jason said. "And if Black Mask is out for a coup…" He trailed off meaningfully, gesturing to himself.

"Right. Okay. Black Mask." Dick ran his hands through his hair and took a deep breath. "I can handle that."

"We can handle that."

"We?"

"You've been investigating me this whole week, right? Which means that's how long B has been missing?" Jason prompted.

"Yeah. His court's been covering it up so it doesn't trigger a power struggle, but they can't do that forever."

"You definitely need my help."

"I'm not denying that," Dick admitted. "But I'm surprised you want to."

Jason opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again. He didn't want Bruce dead. It was hard to force a dead man to acknowledge you. But more importantly… "I just. Wouldn't let someone poison you, either, you know?" he said.

Dick frowned at him. Then he looked over at the jacket, mask, and tie tossed in the corner. "When did you figure it out?"

"What?"

"Come on. How long have you known Flamebird was me?"

"Geez, since day one. How could I miss it?"

"The whole time?" Dick said. His eyebrows made a slow ascent. "That was a very tight suit, Jason."

Jason shivered, but at the same time could feel himself flushing so he doubted he could pass it off as being chilly standing around with no shirt. "Stop that, Dick," Jason said, looking Dick in the eye and holding his gaze as he said his name.

Dick blinked at him. "Oh," he said, then paused. "How many people have you given your name to?" he asked, very quietly.

"Two," Jason bit out.

"Do you want me to stop using it?"

Jason gave him a helpless look.

"Do you want me to use it more?"

Jason's breath caught in his chest. "No," he said. "Not unless— no. Just drop it."

"Okay," Dick said. "If that's what you want. But if I do, you need to stop flirting with me. Because that's not fair, J— little wing."

"Flirting? I never—"

"You stare. You took every excuse to touch me. You walked around shirtless so often I started to think you were allergic to cotton – exhibit A," Dick said gesturing up and down at Jason.

"I was just keeping an eye on you! And it gets warm up here," Jason protested feebly.

"On Monday you ate a cherry popsicle so slowly I thought for sure it would melt, and it did. Right onto your shirt. Which you then had to take off. Do you act like that with all of your bodyguards?" Dick tilted his head and let a small smile pull at one side of his mouth. "Or was it because you knew it was me?"

Jason huffed and turned away, arms crossed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Jason," Dick said, his voice low.

Jason whirled and reached for Dick, curled one hand behind his neck to tug him close so he could crush his mouth to Dick's. Dick made a sound, something Jason felt in his own mouth more than heard. He lifted his face from Dick's so he could look at him, scanning for the hurt and disgust that would tell him that Dick finally understood what he was dealing with.

Dick looked up at him with his artificially brown eyes, and smiled. It wasn't a sweet smile, or a pitying one. It looked like victory.

"Jason," Dick said again.

Jason just stared at him, so Dick took matters into his own hands and leaned in, returning Jason's fierce kiss with a tentative one, soft at first, then harder when Jason didn't pull away. Then more.

Moments later they were back on the mat in a familiar position, Dick's shirt dangerously close to joining his other discarded garments. Jason broke away, desiring both to breathe and to resolve the question of the shirt.

"So," Dick said in that opportunity. "I think it would make a lot of sense to strengthen relations between your court and the court of the Bat."

"Yeah," Jason said, pulling Dick into a sitting position so he could get his arms out of his sleeves. The buttons were definitely out of place now. "I'm guessing you have someone in mind as an emissary."

"I'm so glad we're on the same page," Dick said. "So, how do we take out Black Mask and get Bruce back?"

Jason sat back on his heels. "Well," he said thoughtfully. "I have a shopping list."