Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bruce hated that Jason’s soulmark was on his shoulder blade.

It should be on his hands, his face, somewhere he saw constantly. Somewhere he couldn’t escape. Looking back at him from the mirror every morning. Dead and grey and still and a constant reminder of how he had failed his son. How his crusade had gotten Jason killed.

He’d thought about putting a memorial in the cave. Hanging Jason’s shredded suit as a constant reminder of what his failure wrought. Burning Jason’s soulmark into the wall.

He’d actually tried to set a picture of Jason’s dead soulmark behind the Batcomputer keyboard. Staring back at him every time he used the monitor.

Dick had taken one look at it, burst into tears, and screamed at Bruce in a way he hadn’t done since… Since he’d adopted Jason and given him Robin before he even told Dick what was happening.

God, he had failed both his sons so badly that time. Dick had at least had the sense to make sure Jason was nowhere nearby before he laid out to Bruce exactly how Robin wasn’t his to give away.

Bruce hadn’t known how to explain that it was the only way he could think of to convince Jason to stay. That he couldn’t let the boy go back onto the street and Jason was too guarded, too independent, to just stay because he was wanted. He wouldn’t believe it. He needed the idea that there was a reason why Bruce might want him.

He’d stumbled around the words for weeks while Dick gave him the cold shoulder. He was simply thankful that, in usual Dick fashion, his eldest had endeavoured to hide the frostiness from Jason. Bruce was pretty sure Jason had noticed, he was highly sensitive to negative emotions, but then Dick’s naturally loving nature had kicked in and quickly thawed him into genuine affection. Dick had always loved easily, giving his heart to anyone who needed it without expecting anything in return.

That had terrified Bruce as he’d gotten older. As Dick’s soulmarks began to bloom across the Justice League and throughout Gotham. Dick never seemed bothered by whether he got a return mark or not, although he reacted to every new mark on his skin as if it was his birthday and Christmas combined. But Bruce still remembered a circus where every member had Dick’s soulmark emblazoned on their forearm, where Dick wore his own emotions, and a heartbroken little acrobat with only two grey marks of his own.

Looking back most of their knockdown-dragout fights had been about soulmarks. Bruce could see now that he had been foolish, trying to protect Dick from heartbreak and making his son feel stifled in the process. All he’d done was make Dick feel self-conscious about his wonderful, open heart.

Jason, Barbara, and the Titans had saved him then, when he was failing Dick. As Dick thrived even as his world expanded Bruce began to realise that not only was his son capable of loving widely but he was loved back. Dick’s skin steadily increased in soulmarks as he got older, covered in symbols of love returned. The worry never went away but faith in his son’s ability to surround himself with those who deserved his love helped ease Bruce’s fears and loosen his grip.

There had been a couple of tense years, even if their marks had never faded, but they had recovered and Bruce thought maybe he had done alright with Dick. He’d been grateful for Nightwing still regularly fluttering to his side, light as a bird, secure in the knowledge Bruce wouldn’t try to clip his wings.

No-one had been there to save Jason from Bruce’s failure. Dick had been away in space saving other people and hadn’t even known there was anything wrong. By the time Bruce had realised just how wrong things were there was no time to even call the League. To call Clark. Alfred and Barbara were a world away waiting for him to bring Jason home.

If he just hadn’t left him alone. If he had permanently stopped the Joker any of their previous fights when he could. If he hadn’t driven Jason to run away in the first place. If he had just learned his lesson with Dick and not held so tight, trying to protect Jason from a cruel world he was terrified was strangling the life and light out of his son.

“Are you trying to torture yourself?!” Dick had demanded.

Of course, he was. What else could he do? What right did he have to be happy when his hubris and stupidity had cost his son his life? How could he ever let himself forget what his mistakes had wrought. He deserved nothing less.

But he hadn’t meant to torture Dick too.

The photo was gone by the time Dick finally dragged himself back to the Batcave a fortnight later. He’d brought photos of Jason the Titans had gathered as a peace offering, saying they’d created a little memorial at the Tower.

In the end Bruce hung the mended suit up. But he put it in the general line-up so it was less intrusive for Dick. Dick had vetoed Bruce’s more self-recriminating attempts at a plaque. In the end they’re agreed to “Gone Too Soon”.

Bruce forced himself to stare at the memorial. To remember Jason’s broken body as he had found it. But some days he simply couldn’t bear to tilt the mirror and expose the cold, dead soulmark forever branding his body with his loss. It made it hard to go down to the Cave and try to do what had to be done instead of just lying down on the cold tile of the bathroom like it was his son’s grave dirt and wishing to join him.

So he just stayed in the Batsuit, where he didn’t have to look, and went through the motions day after day.

* * *

Jason woke with dry, dusty air slowly shredding his raw throat.

That probably tracked. Last he remembered he’d been being tortured. Or… no there had been an explosion. Or he’d been drowning? Burning green water pouring down his throat as he struggled and tried to scream. Eyes staring into nothing but luminescent green that seemed to pour into him, passing through his skin, light searing through his pupils. Even now there was still a green haze to everything, not in his eyes but in his head. Sickly sweet and cloying against desert heat.

He was on his feet and didn’t remember getting there. His head swum as he struggled to get his bearings. He heard someone panting as if through a tunnel. Where – where was he? Where was Bruce?

Was he dead? Was that why Bruce wasn’t here?

“Calm yourself, child,” a melodic female voice soothed.

Jason jerked away from the potential threat. While much of his mind was still a swirling mess of thoughts and emotions that didn’t make sense, part of it sharpened into clarity like a honed knife.

Five figures. Four dressed in black and cowled. Two guarding the door, two a half step behind and to the sides of the leader in green – bodyguards. Based on silhouettes and weight distribution he thought they might all be female. The leader certainly was. Above average height, chestnut hair, green eyes, trained. She moved with the grace of a born predator, even in the subtlest shifts of posture. She was beautiful. And familiar somehow.

“Take a moment to centre yourself,” the woman’s English was flawless but had the lilt of an accent that seemed like it might be intentional. It gave her voice an almost hypnotic cadence. “All will be explained, Jason.”

“Who are you?” His own voice felt sluggish, heavy, and clumsy by comparison. “How – how do you know my name?”

His body wasn’t moving right. It seemed to jerk and twist, reacting too fast and then too slowly at the same time. His weight kept shifting forwards as if ready to lunge, throwing off his balance. Energy burned in the back of his mind, directionless but insistent. A part of him wanted to wrap himself in it, listen to those instincts licking at the edge of his consciousness, another shied away as if it was noxious poison infecting him. It made his head ache and spin. He didn’t even know what he wanted to do, his mind felt as slippery as his body. Or worse.

The woman’s face softened in a sympathetic smile, “I know your father, child. Or at least I did once. We were close.”

His father? Bruce? Willis? She was far too glamorous to have known Willis and far too… deadly to be someone Bruce trusted. He backed away.

If anything her expression just became softer. “I know this is all a lot to take in but you are safe here, Jason. Your disorientation will pass with time. And I will help you recover.”

“Where is here?” The words came out with a sharp edge. Anger began to bubble in his veins.

He didn’t want to be here with this woman. He didn’t want her help! He wanted to go home.

And then ice spilled through his veins. Bruce, his mother, the Joker.

He had promised Sheila – his mother, his birth mother – that he would help her. He had told her he was Robin! And she had – she had – He choked as the memory of the crowbar coming down flooded his mind. He could feel his bones snapping. See Sheila smoking as she had watched. Like she didn’t care. Like he had never meant anything to her.

He had run away, betrayed Bruce’s trust, and then given his identity (and maybe Bruce and Dick’s by association) away to a stranger who had sold him to the Joker to save her own skin (not that it had). And Bruce – Bruce hadn’t come.

He couldn’t breathe. His hands clasped desperately at his arms, his chest, feeling for shattered bones. But he was intact, unfamiliar clothes scrapping against his skin. How? He had tried – had tried to crawl out, broken body failing him. In spite of everything he’d still been hoping Bruce would come. That he’d save Jason before he was a crumpled corpse like Sheila’s bullet ridden body.

He had seen the bomb as he gave up on the locked door. Nine seconds remaining. He was already dead, just on a delay.

He’d only had enough time to wrestle his left sleeve up, exposing the only soulmark he had that he could see easily without a mirror. “Richard John Grayson-Wayne”, sky blue letters written in Dick’s open, friendly handwriting across his inner forearm, shimmering to just “Dick” as you tilted your head. Still there, stark against his bloodied, bruised, and swollen skin. Still marked firmly against his skin, telling him that even if Dick was somewhere in space, completely ignorant of what was happening, he still loved Jason. That Jason hadn’t lost one person’s love at least. He’d clung to that as the world exploded into fire.

“Breathe, Jason, breathe.” The voice seemed to come from far away. A hand was on his chest, forcing his lungs to depress. He struggled to pull back in air. To match the calming voice’s instructions of breaths in and out.

“The Pit’s effects will take time to fade. We will train you to use and overcome them,” the woman was telling him as her face spun back into his vision. “To become more than you were when you were abandoned.”

“I – I wasn’t –” Jason choked.

Bruce had been coming. He had been coming . He just… hadn’t gotten there in time. He hadn’t abandoned Jason. He wouldn’t.

Where was he?

The woman shushed him, gentle fingers tucking hair behind his ear and Jason hated that he couldn’t stop himself from leaning into the touch. Desperate for even the slightest comfort, the slightest kind human touch. He could still hear the Joker’s laughter echoing in his ears.

“Which hurts more, forehand or backhand?”

Both. They both hurt. Everything hurt. Somewhere deeper than the physical.

Why wasn’t Bruce here?! Why hadn’t his father saved him?! Why was he here with this woman?! This stranger – and then something sparked in his mind.

“Talia,” Jason choked. He’d seen pictures but he’d never actually met her.

Dick had and he hated her. Bruce got… wistful sometimes but also grim. When asked about her he would just say they had “irreconcilable moral differences”.

Talia. Ra’s. The League of Assassins. Jason’s breath hitched.

Talia shushed him, hands still gentle in spite of the blood that must have soaked them over the years. “You are safe here, child,” she assured him.

Safe? She was a killer.

But the League of Assassins... they had a code didn’t they? Something about killing evil to remove the rot of the world? That didn’t sound so bad at the moment. He wouldn’t have minded the Joker being killed before he’d ever gotten his hands on Jason.

A heedy green rushed through him, soothing some of the panic, replacing it with seething anger. The Joker had better be dead by now! After what he’d done! He deserved to die for any number of the things he’d done but Jason was Bruce’s son! He had to see no-one else was going to do it and he had to stop it now, right? After Joker had killed his son…

If Bruce still saw Jason as his son…

His hand came up over his shoulder unconsciously, grasping for the mark curling across his back that he couldn’t see. It had still been there. Even when he’d run away it had still been there. It hadn't faded. Not yet. Not before he’d…

“I died,” Jason said thickly.

Talia stared into his eyes for a long moment. They were so green but not the toxic radiation colour that seemed to fill him. A forest green that stood out against her warm tan skin.

“Yes,” she murmured. Jason couldn’t stop the hitched breath at the confirmation. He’d known. He’d known but – “We put you into a Lazarus Pit to bring you back.”

Jason stared at her. He’d heard about Lazarus Pits. They healed Ra’s – gave youth and vitality. But they didn’t resurrect the dead. Did they?

“Where’s Bruce?” the question burning in his head from the moment he woke up finally spilled past his lips.

Talia’s face fell and the pit of Jason’s stomach fell with it. “Oh, Jason, I am sorry.”

Jason couldn’t breathe. What – what had happened – had – had Bruce actually gone after the Joker and died? He couldn’t die! He wouldn’t! Couldn’t they just bring him back too?!

Or were they keeping him from Bruce? As a hostage maybe?

Or – or had Bruce just not –

“Love fades sometimes, child,” Talia told him with painful gentleness.

Jason was on the other side of the room from her before he’d decided to move. “No! That’s not true! You’re lying!” He yelled, trying to ignore the poison in his own brain insisting that, it made sense.

Talia shook her head slowly with that same sympathetic pity that made Jason want to punch her beautiful face in. “I am sorry, Jason, but I am not. I have seen your skin.”

Jason’s heart felt like it stopped. No. No, no, no, that couldn’t –

He wrenched back his sleeve, fingernails cutting into the delicate skin as he forced the black fabric up. She was wrong – she was lying – they wouldn’t –

His forearm showed bare, unblemished skin. No sky blue writing marking Dick’s continued affection. Jason choked.

Of all his soul marks he’d never expected that one to fade, much less vanish entirely. Dick loved so easily, so openly. No matter what happened Jason had expected Dick to keep loving him if only because that was who Dick was, heart unreasonably loyal, rather than it really having anything to do with Jason.

Talia merely stood watching him as Jason fumbled for his pant leg. He couldn’t find the room within himself to care that she was seeing him break down like this. They had to still be there. They had to be. He couldn’t have none.

His right ankle was equally bare.

As he straightened Talia silently inclined him to a small mirror on the wall of the bare, cell-like bedroom he had been given.

He ripped his shirt off. His scars were gone. The ones he should have gotten from his – his death – and the ones he’d had before. No cigarette burns on his shoulders. And no tightly cramped “Barbara Joan Gordon” in the same vibrant red-orange as her hair along the ridge of the muscle.

He didn’t want to turn around. Didn’t want to see his back but he had to know.

For one glorious moment he thought it was still there, dark writing flashing in the mirror. And then he realized it was the faded gray of his mother’s name on his shoulder blade. His real mother, Catherine Johnson Todd, the only reason he had hyphenated his last name when he was adopted. An ancient and faded mark of the long dead. Now raw and painful.

The space between his shoulder blades was blank. No dark writing curling around behind his heart. No indication left that Bruce had ever, ever loved him.

Something inside him shattered and the toxic green spilled into him to fill the spaces as he screamed.

Chapter Text

Dick Grayson was used to people staring at him. For any number of reasons. Because he was the ward of Bruce Wayne. Because he’d been a penniless orphan from the circus before that. Because he was the team leader. Because he was Nightwing leaping down from the rafters. Because he was, he was aware, quite attractive.

Tim Drake was giving him the same vibes he hadn’t been able to work out from Jason at first. He’d thought the intense stare was hostility. Jason had gotten this little furrow between his brows and pout on his lips when he was really concentrating that had been adorable and Dick had been sad to see it go as he grew up, even if it was good to see the intense wariness fade.

On Tim it was pretty obvious the kid was just plain fascinated.

“Jason used to stare at them too,” Dick murmured.

Tim startled as if he’d been electrocuted. “I’m sorry!”

“What for?” Dick glanced over at him. If he was worried about people staring at his soulmarks he wouldn’t have taken off his jacket after he’d set the car heaters blasting warm air – Tim had been shivering. He’d wear concealer to hide the ones it was hard to hide with clothing. As it was he had a myriad over his arms, collar, and face. He was aware he had an unusually high number so it was fair for people to be curious.

“It’s rude to stare,” Tim told his lap.

Dick forced a laugh. “Yeah, Jason was pretty rude.” His heart twisted even as he said it but he fought it down. He wanted to be able to talk about his brother again. To remember the good before the bad.

Tim went bright crimson, “I didn’t mean –”

Dick smiled gently and reached out to ruffle the flustered kid’s hair. “Relax, Tim, I’m just teasing. I don’t mind you looking.”

Tim peeked at him from under his bangs. When Dick just stayed focused on the road, his eyes cautiously returned to Dick’s arms.

“Are all of these from different superheroes?” Tim whispered, tracing the air near Roy’s deep, russet mark on his bicep.

“Well, that would be telling,” Dick grinned. Tim’s hands vanished back into his lap anxiously. “No, of course they’re not. I don’t only meet people when I’m wearing a domino mask,” he joked. He returned Tim’s tentative smile gently.

The kid was sweet and had been stubbornly determined back at his apartment but the moment Dick had said he’d drive him home Tim had gone quiet and shy. Well, after he’d tried to convince Dick he didn’t need to do that. As if Dick was going to let a kid wander around Blüdhaven alone at night.

Besides, what the kid said had made him think… maybe he should attempt another visit to Bruce.

Bruce didn’t like him visiting.

Bruce wanted him out of Gotham. Bruce didn’t want him to be Nightwing. Bruce wanted him wrapped up in gauze and hidden away safely where he couldn’t get hurt.

He wasn’t saying it so Dick wasn’t fighting it. Because he understood now. After Jason.

Bruce was better if Dick just came as his son, a civilian, rather than Nightwing. But sometimes Batman needed Nightwing, needed back-up he wasn’t capable of asking for. Dick kept tabs on him so he could just show up in costume if necessary. It was easier than coming to the Cave and having to fight past Bruce’s reluctance and fear.

Tim was right, Bruce needed a Robin. Bruce needed to stop purposefully punishing himself. It was obvious he spent his time around Dick filled with anxiety and guilt. It was a delicate balancing act that made Dick glad he had practice walking a tightrope. He got worse if Dick was away too long: paranoid, withdrawn, and unwilling to leave the Cave. But if Dick stayed too long Bruce’s self-recrimination would rise and he’d start hiding again anyway, as if afraid his mere presence would get Dick killed as well.

Dick tried to come at least once a week (not counting Nightwing’s back-up any time Barbara or Alfred or his own research told him Batman needed it). It at least seemed to be consistently good for Alfred. And that was good for Dick in turn. Besides he liked visiting Barbara, setting up her own comms and computer network since Bruce kept getting angsty about her making the journey to the Cave during a breakout.

All things considered he spent a lot of time in Gotham with his family. The rest of the time the Titans were tag teaming him to make sure he wasn’t left alone to wallow in his grief. It had taken months just to get back to regular Nightwing patrols with the lethargy, depression, and sudden, unexpected bouts of violent crying. He’d been more or less reliant on the Titans to make sure he ate and slept for a while there. He knew Bruce was worse.

He knew Bruce was self-destructing and it was at least half on purpose. But as he’d said to Tim, it wasn’t something Dick was capable of fixing. Because Dick being alive couldn’t help but remind Bruce that Jason was dead.

And it hurt. It hurt so, so much that he knew Bruce looked at him sometimes and just saw what he had lost. He knew Bruce didn’t mean to. Any more than Dick meant to look at him and see the man who hadn’t been able to save his baby brother.

Tim had cried once Dick had explained that to him. Dick didn’t know if that was because it was just so sad or because Tim was desperate to save Batman and this had been his best bet. The kid’s graphs and statistics had been impressive. There was something very Bruce-like about the child showing correlations between Wayne vacations and Justice League missions, Batman being in a bad fight and Bruce suddenly having gotten into some terrible accident. And then there was the quadruple flip thing. When he was nine . Bruce would love this brilliant little kid. If Bruce would let himself.

“Thanks again for the photo,” Dick said. He felt like he should fill the silence a bit to put Tim more at ease. He was obviously tense about putting Dick out after coming all the way to Blüdhaven for nothing.

“Th-that’s okay,” Tim said tentatively.

“It’s really nice. I don’t have many good photos with my parents. At least close up ones where I can see their faces, much less their soulmarks.”

Tim peeked tentatively at the grey marks on Dick’s inner arms. He obligingly turned the arm closest to the child outwards so he could see better, “Mary Lloyd Grayson”.

His parents had had each other’s soulmarks on their collarbones, visible with the low necks of their leotards. Dick’s had appeared on the opposite collarbones. The only other person it had appeared in that place for was Bruce. Most of the time his soulmarks showed up on inner arms like his parents’ on him. Jason used to say it was because he wore his emotions on his sleeve. Sometimes he forgot they hadn’t always been grey. They had been coloured in the photo, reflecting that once they had been vibrant and alive, sunshine yellow shifting to “Mami” and viridian green to “Tati” with the light – Robin’s colours. Dick had been pleased Jason had filled in the red. He bit his lip against the stab of pain reflecting all of them were dead and grey now.

“I’m sorry you had to see what happened to them,” Dick frowned. How traumatising must that have been for a two-year-old?

Tim startled and shook his head, “It – it was bad but it must have been so much worse for you. I’m so sorry.”

“It was a long time ago,” and Zucco was in prison without Joker’s issue of getting out. Dick flexed his hands on the wheel and suppressed the rage always waiting under his sternum now.

Apparently emboldened by the conversation Tim said, “I’ve never seen anyone with as many soulmarks as you.”

Dick ducked his head slightly in embarrassment. He was aware he was incredibly lucky. Once he'd had only had his parents’. Then Bruce and Alfred’s. Then Barbara’s. Slowly his skin had filled up. He was blessed by each precious mark that appeared on his skin and was grateful for every mark of his in return, marking a promise of his love and aid whenever they needed it.

“Is this Superman’s?” Tim tapped lightly, high up on his triceps.

Dick knew he’d be looking at the Kryptonian symbols that meant “Kal-El”. Clark’s soulmark was weird in that it was on two lines, his Kryptonian name appearing above “Clark Joseph Kent”. It was useful since it meant that there was some plausible deniability in saying they were two different, unusually close marks. Of course, when they both shifted to “Uncle Clark” it was more difficult, hence why Bruce tended to cover his. Normally Dick hid it too for the sake of Clark’s identity but his T-shirt sleeve had ridden up driving. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too obvious in the dim light of the car. Although he could always just say no and the strange alphabet was from somewhere obscure. It worked on most people but he wasn’t so sure about Tim.

“What makes you say that?” he teased, not eager to lie outright to the bright little boy.

Tim shrugged, “I don’t recognise the characters. Or the ones on your cheekbone.”

Kory was easier because she wasn’t fussed about her identity. “Kory Anders” mostly just existed to make getting modelling work easier, she wasn’t going to endanger a plethora of civilian family and friends if she was outed. Anyone with a grudge against her would have to trek to Tamaran or just attack the Titans, both associations that would only matter to villains who already knew about Starfire.

Dick huffed a laugh. “Yeah, the ones on my cheek are Starfire’s.”

“Really?!” Tim seemed to be most interested in Robin and Batman but apparently the Titans were also on the list.

“Yup,” Dick grinned. “Bruce and I had such a huge fight when it came in.”

Tim’s eyes were wide when Dick glanced over. “Why?! Doesn’t Batman like Starfire?”

It might be more accurate to say they didn’t really understand each other. Kory didn’t understand Bruce’s reticence and worried that he didn’t show enough affection towards Dick. Bruce in turn worried Kory was too reckless and passionate and might put Dick in danger or expose his identity.

In some ways the soulmark had actually soothed the tension (although they didn’t interact that much so it had hardly been a thing ). Kory had been entertained and yet somewhat approving when Dick commented that Bruce distrusted anyone who seemed close to Dick that he didn’t have a soulmark from. Bruce had in turn been soothed to see that Kory loved Dick and therefore at least wouldn’t intentionally endanger him.

No… that hadn’t been the issue…

“It wasn’t the soulmark itself so much as it’s placement,” Dick said wryly.

It wasn’t Kory’s fault of course. You couldn’t control where your soulmarks appeared. And it was hardly as if it was her fault her true name was in her native language. The same was true of Donna, Garth, and Raven. It was such a problem in the Justice League there was apparently a protocol because of course Bruce had made one. But only Kory’s marks had shown up on his and Raven’s faces.

Raven could hide it with magic but it had been horrible when Kory had abruptly realised that the marks she was so happy were appearing as reflections of her sense of belonging and family with the Titans were putting them in danger.

“Facial soulmarks only make up about zero point five percent of all soulmarks,” Tim remarked, apparently having that knowledge available off the top of his head.

“Yeah, they’re pretty rare, like hand ones,” Dick agreed. “Although apparently not for Tamaraneans. There it’s pretty normal to have a facial soulmark.”

“Really?”

“Mm hm, Starfire’s mother and brother both have them.”

“I wonder if that’s because of a cultural difference or if soulmark placement is determined by genetics. There’s a theory that default placement is something you just have a gene for and then they move if that place isn’t available.”

“I dunno, I’ve had mine appear in different places even if the inner forearms are available,” he’d been teased relentlessly for the one on Kory appearing across her ribcage, under her breasts. “And Starfire’s have been pretty variable.”

“I think the theory had something about some people just having random placements” Tim nodded, looking fascinated. “But there are lots of people who say their placement reflects something about your relationship.” Hence the teasing about the one on Kory…

“You do a lot of research into soulmarks?” Dick asked curiously. Tim’s were all hidden as far as he could tell.

Tim blushed, “I was just kinda curious about them.”

“Yeah?” Dick smiled at him.

“I… I don’t have many,” Tim said, apparently misinterpreting Dick’s look.

“I didn’t either when I was your age,” Dick reassured. “Neither did Jason. They often come in as you get older and form more lasting relationships. Besides it’s not like you need to have a lot so long as your relationships with those people are good, right? Not everyone likes meeting and interacting with lots of people.”

Or not everyone was a “super extroverted freak” as Jason had once described Dick.

“But Jason got more, right?” Tim asked anxiously. Dick’s heart ached for this kid who apparently cared so much about a boy he’d barely known and who was now gone. “He got yours and Mr. Wayne’s and Mr. Pennyworth’s, right?”

“Of course, he was our family,” Dick said gently. And God did it hurt. Tim’s eyes flickered to his arms. “Back of my right knee,” Dick told him, focusing on the faint amusement as he finally figured out why Tim had been searching. “Jason’s marks liked to go hiding.”

Tim giggled and then covered his mouth, looking mortified. Dick chuckled himself and Tim relaxed a little.

“Um, what happened with the argument about Starfire’s?” Tim hurriedly changed the subject. “I mean… you still have it visible.”

“Yeah… that was the crux of the argument. Bruce hated it appeared on my face and wanted me to use make-up to hide it even though he worried it’d still be visible or clear I was hiding it. I… didn’t want to do that.”

He’d already felt raw when he came home, after reassuring Kory he was happy to have her soulmark. After all, it curled neatly on his cheekbone so it was still hidden when he put on his domino. So long as it didn’t show up on both of his identities, he was pretty sure he could make it work.

Bruce had not agreed with this reasoning.

“Why not?” Tim asked.

“Because I’m not ashamed of it. I’m not ashamed of Kory and I’m proud to be marked with her love. I don’t want to hide her as if I should be,” Dick said, feeling a protective flare at the memory.

“But… don’t people ask?”

Dick shrugged. “I just tell them it’s some obscure dialect from a tiny Pacific Island whose name I can’t remember. Being Brucie Wayne’s ward means people kinda expect you to be a ditz.” Tim blinked at him. “No-one’s questioned it yet.”

“But Mr. Wayne doesn’t want the questions.”

“No.”

“How’d you convince him?”

Dick grimaced. The short answer was… he hadn’t.

The fight had just escalated until they were yelling at each other loud enough to scare the bats out of the Cave. It had been one of their worst fights and they’d just been getting into dredging up old resentments that had nothing to do with the current situation and really weren’t fair anymore anyway when they’d realised Jason was having a panic attack. After that they’d both pretty much forgotten about the fight.

“Jason… didn’t like us screaming at each other.” He should have taken the fight somewhere else. He’d managed to do that before fighting with Bruce about Robin and he’d been livid and had the kid right in front of him at the time. But somehow it hadn’t really occurred to him since the fight didn’t actually involve Jason. Dick hadn’t really registered that Jason had had a physically abusive father and lived on the streets for two years and might not respond well to Dick and Bruce getting up in each other’s faces screaming blue murder. “Honestly, I think he was afraid Bruce was going to hit me,” Dick admitted.

Tim startled.

“He never has,” Dick reassured hurriedly. “Even during training and sparring he always pulls his punches. But Jason was still pretty new then.”

“Did it get better?” Tim asked tentatively.

Once they’d realised they shouldn’t have screaming matches around Jason? Yeah. Also, they’d both felt ashamed enough about it, it had helped them reel it back a bit. Bruce had growled and grumbled but eventually told Dick to be careful nobody saw Nightwing with Starfire's soulmark and that was the end of it.

“Yeah. Yeah, it got better,” Dick said quietly.

“It isn’t fair,” Tim mumbled and Dick glanced over to see tears in his eyes. Tim sniffed, “He didn’t deserve –” He rubbed viciously at his eyes. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be making a fuss. I barely knew him, I shouldn’t be reminding you,” he said, looking miserably guilty.

Dick reached out and clasped his shoulder. “It wasn’t fair. And… honestly Tim, it’s kinda nice to be able to talk about him. To remember him.” He didn’t want to forget Jason. Even if he couldn’t say the name in a house already choked by his absence. “Maybe… I could tell you some stories about Robin another time if you’d like?”

Tim stared at him with huge eyes.

“Sorry,” Dick chuckled, removing his hand. “You probably don’t want to hang out with some random guy you barely know.”

“No!” Tim protested, then looked horrified at his outburst. “I mean – I do – want to talk, I mean. If – if you want to,” he mumbled, turtling up adorably.

Dick smiled. “I’d like that. We’re kinda neighbours after all,” he pointed out as he turned into the Drake family drive.

* * *

Talia had been surprisingly understanding about Jason attacking and laying out three of her elite guard. She’d also been rather disparaging about what that meant about his abilities, however.

“The Pit has enhanced your strength but it will fade. And you are undisciplined, poorly trained, practically feral,” she had told him dismissively.

Only the fact that she had had little trouble subduing him herself, as he lashed out in blind rage, stopped him from going for her throat.

He was angry but that felt like an understatement. It felt like he was more rage than a person. Like Jason Peter Todd -Wayne had been hollowed out and blinding green rage poured back into the shell. Apparently, the Joker hadn’t managed to keep the boy dead but the betrayal of his entire family had been much more effective. His vengeful ghost was going to make sure they regretted it.

He hated Bruce the most. Maybe in part because he had half expected it. Feared it.

Maybe because Talia had wasted no time in telling him that no, Batman hadn’t killed the Joker. In fact, the Joker was still alive and kicking and ruining lives as they spoke. That was another thing he’d have to fix.

But he hated the rest too. And he would take an unholy amount of glee in planning and executing strikes against every vulnerability, every deeply personal piece of pain he could cause them. To make sure they felt even a mere fraction of the agony he was currently in.

Really physical pain felt paltry in comparison to that. Talia had been insistent he was not even remotely ready to seek revenge and considering their own fight Jason had had to reluctantly agree. Turned out that pain and brutality were a regular component of League teachings.

He hadn’t been asked to kill yet, although they were no doubt building to that. Jason was filled with a mixture of giddy anticipation and sickening dread.

He couldn’t wait to break Bruce’s fucking stupid rule. To slaughter the people he had raged internally against for years. The injustice of their survival to continue to cause more death and pain while innocents died a constant thorn inside him. And he’d enjoy lording in Bruce’s face what he’d become. He’d make sure Bruce knew in no uncertain terms that Jason was a monster because of Bruce. Because of Batman. Because of his fucking crusade.

He might not care his son was alive but he was going to care very much that his son had come back wrong.

But then the doubts would creep in. The League would ask him to kill. He wouldn’t choose. Of course the League had their own goals, Talia had been explaining them. Cleansing the world of evil in fire. No half-measures like Batman. They would not ask him to kill anyone out of line with their goals. Jason wondered how he’d ever ended up with Bruce when he aligned so easily with the League. Maybe Bruce had only adopted him out of fear Talia would find him instead.

But he wouldn’t be choosing. He wouldn’t know what scum they were. That they deserved to die. He would be trusting Talia.

He didn’t want to trust anyone ever again.

And that was hard. Because he wished he could trust Talia.

She was kind.

The only person who was kind to him anymore.

The instructors were arguably trying to kill him as much as they were trying to train him. The other trainees were definitely trying to kill him.

Talia had given him a cell in an isolated part of the compound, where it was harder for the other trainees to get to him. And where it was harder for him to get to them. She said the green was the aftereffects of the Pit, that it enhanced not just his body but his mind. Amplifying it. Or at least it would once he could get the mood swings under control.

The green did sharpen his mind. He was better than ever at processing everything in a fight, knowing where to strike to inflict maximum damage. The ability to focus single-mindedly on a goal almost offsetting the nightmares that appeared every time he closed his eyes.

Unfortunately, sometimes the intensity was overwhelming and frustration at every delay, every injustice, would overcome him. That was what the meditation Talia did with him every morning was apparently for.

Jason didn’t want to meditate, he wanted to get this training over with so that he could rip his ex-family into tiny pieces and burn them! At least it put him in the right mindset to deal with the training.

League training was brutal in a way Bruce’s could only hope to be but he’d been beaten and exploded to death. Pain was irrelevant at this point. If anything it was welcome. Physical pain was a distraction from the agony inside him that not even the righteous fury could completely eclipse. Plus it fed the anger, the drive. He knew he was progressing rapidly, every fibre of his being turned on this singular goal. He was good at fighting. Like it was what he was born to do. Something Bruce had never appreciated in his endless lectures.

He could take whatever trainers, tests, and threats the League threw at him. He’d prove to Talia and himself that he was every bit the student Bruce had been. And then he’d prove it to his family ex-family.

Of course, like Bruce, Talia was full of cautions too. But at least hers were about practicalities, not meaningless moral quibbles like Batman.

“You’re being irrational, Robin.”

“You’re too reckless, Robin.”

“Don’t send the drug-dealing pimp into shock, Robin.”

“This is becoming unhealthy, you’re benched for the foreseeable future, Robin.”

Fuck Bruce. Fuck his conditional love. Talia didn’t see the need for kid gloves. Or code for: “I regret taking you in, you’re not my son, I’m trying to work out the least messy way of kicking you out, Robin.”

“Why are you helping me if he’s still your beloved?” Jason had demanded after a couple of weeks.

Talia had smiled ruefully as if the question didn’t bother her. “I fear your father will always remain the great love of my life. But he is lost and he has failed. You deserve to have revenge for his treatment of you. More than that he deserves to be taught a lesson about the realities of the world that he has wilfully ignored and we understand. I believe you are better suited than anyone to do so.”

Jason had appreciated the vote of confidence. It made something warm break through the painful knife edges of his sharpened thoughts.

He had to ask though, “And what if I just kill him?”

Talia sighed sadly. “Sacrifices must be made for the greater good. Some might even see it as a kindness.”

So, if you must. He’d take it. Besides, he wasn’t sure killing Bruce was quite what he had in mind. He’d died and the death part had been a relief.

Talia and the knowledge that eventually this would give him the tools to make Bruce suffer were the only things that made the League bearable.

His cell contained nothing but a hard pallet to lie on and another mirror gifted from Talia (he’d broken the last one). He slept only because of exhaustion and woke from nightmares. The air was hot and dry and the instructors often withheld water to provide motivation in training. The sand got into his clothes and the sun beat down on him, making his skin flake, peel, and constantly itch. The food was bland and tasteless. The company wasn’t even worth mentioning. He was quickly making back up the scars he had lost.

The pain helped. The exhaustion too. The constant struggle to survive training was something to focus on. And he couldn’t die. Not before he’d had his revenge. It drove him like a fire in his blood. Rage carrying him, helping him fight off anguish and betrayal. Like he was in a protective cocoon, untouchable so long as he could keep pouring that rage out at the assassins the League fielded at him. Blood spilling and bones snapping fed and sated it in equal measure. It was the only thing stopping him from trying to escape and enact his revenge now.

Days began to bleed together.

* * *

The Joker had almost broken out again. He always broke out. If Batman hadn’t been there dropping off Riddler – who had the gall to lambast Batman for not being “fun” anymore… Bruce was trying to completely overhaul Arkham so the Joker would stay in his cell and rot.

At least Dick and Barbara hadn’t been involved this time. They were still recovering from Joker’s return to the city four months ago.

Bruce had hoped the Joker was dead. That he would never come back.

He’d seen Joker going down in an on fire helicopter shot out of the sky and plummeting towards the ocean. Signs, or more lack of them, indicted Ra’s might have been cleaning up loose ends after his accursed alliance that had gotten Bruce’s son and Jason's birth mother killed.

There had been no body, although they looked. Of course there hadn’t.

It had been too much to hope for.

One day the city was relatively quiet and Bruce was using this as an excuse to urge Dick to stay in Blüdhaven. To stay away from Gotham and its monsters and Bruce’s poison. He never listened and Bruce couldn’t stop himself from being grateful any more than he could thank Dick and potentially encourage him to keep doing it. Keep putting himself at risk. It was all Bruce could do to not tell Dick to stop Nightwing altogether. It would make no difference and he couldn’t bear to lose his only remaining son. If he didn’t have Dick’s soulmark to check every day he thought he’d go completely insane.

The next the Joker was back, threatening to cover the entire city in radioactive waste as if he’d never been gone.

Barbara was barely out of recovery but she’d reached the Batcave in her wheelchair right as Bruce was suiting up and said she’d run comms in a tone that brooked no disagreement. Bruce had just been grateful Alfred had been standing at her shoulder and given him a nod when Bruce hesitated. Alfred would look after her.

Jim had been pale, drawn, and worried. No gentle attempts to suggest that maybe Batman shouldn’t be out, maybe he should be at home (grieving). As if Bruce had anything else left in his life. Just a brief, “Do this right, Batman.” Said in the tone of a man who wasn’t entirely sure of his own restraint if he came face to face with Joker.

Dick had shown up forty minutes after the news went out, white faced, grim, and silent. For once Bruce couldn’t say anything about how he didn’t need Dick. If Dick wasn’t there to temper him he didn’t know what he would do once he caught the Joker. And if Dick didn’t have him there and got to the Joker first who knew what he would do.

Bruce believed everyone had the capacity to kill. But he knew the impulse came more easily to him than it did to Dick. That it had come more easily to Jason.

He had been so afraid he was driving Jason down the path of his own demons when he made him Robin. Robin had let Dick set fire to the darkness, to be a radiant beacon of hope for an entire city instead of drowning in the blackness of his own grief. But for Jason it had only stoked his rage at the injustice of the universe. Of the seeming futility that haunted Batman sometimes.

Bruce had had years tempering himself before he exposed himself to that. Years to comprehend the depth of the promise he had made to his parent’s grave that he would stand between everyone else in the world and the senseless death that had befallen them. Bruce had only exposed Jason to more of the familiar darkness that had haunted and destroyed his childhood. Then pushed him away instead of drawing him close when he realised this.

But now, after Jason’s death, Bruce feared for Dick. Jason’s rage ran hot. Dick’s ran cold. And it ran deep and protective. Joker had maimed and killed his family. He didn’t want Dick to go down that path, to carry that burden.

Breaking his promise, losing sight of why he was Batman would destroy Bruce. He feared it would turn him into a monster. Killing wouldn’t make Dick a monster but it would scar him in a way that would never go away.

On a fundamental level Dick loved and cared for people with his whole soul. To take a life would be a wound to his very core Dick would carry forever. Bruce wanted to protect Dick from that, even if he could protect him from nothing else.

But if ever there was an exception to prove the rule about the value of life it was the Joker.

He’d been even more manic than usual when they’d finally caught up with him. At his most skin-crawlingly affectionate .

“Bats! I was beginning to think you weren’t coming! Did you miss me? Did you stare at my soulmark every morning in the mirror and think of me? They say absence makes the heart grow fonder but I was determined to make my big comeback worthy of the reunion so I hope you’ll forgive the wait!”

“You’re going back to Arkham, Joker,” Bruce snarled. Because this man had killed his son and had the audacity to still be breathing. To act like he was capable of giving anyone a soulmark. That he was even capable of an emotion as selfless as love.

“Aw, you always say the sweetest things! But I hope you don’t think I’m going to go back without some effort on your part.”

“Speaking of soulmarks,” Nightwing’s banter was cold and harsh compared to his usual light tone, “go through a break-up recently?”

Bruce had been so focused on controlling his loathing for the man waving a denonator (a detonator to a bomb just like the one that had killed Jason) that he had dismissed without a thought what Dick had immediately noticed.

The soulmark that had been plastered to Joker’s forehead for the last few years was gone. Bruce had registered its absence and merely further decreased the likelihood of Harley Quinn showing up as back-up but it had already been low. He hadn’t fully registered what that meant.

Joker had been alternatingly pleased and furious about Harleen Quinzel’s soulmark ever since it appeared.

Some days he’d smothered it in white make-up that always inevitably flaked away as his schemes progressed, other days it was on proud display. A reminder than even this loveless monster was capable of being gifted love by others. Whichever mood he was in, bringing it up was a sure way to distract Joker from whatever rant he was currently set on.

The Joker’s usual grin twisted into something even more psychotic than usual. “Jealous mine isn’t an ugly grey like one of yours?” he sneered. “Assuming the little brat even loved you at all. Sure, didn’t act like it. Terribly rude, never a good fit for a family if you asked me.”

Nightwing screamed and flung himself at Joker. Batman flung his own batarang, although Dick’s was already flying, to dislodge the detonator from Joker’s hand. It hadn’t pinged to the floor yet by the time Nightwing reached Joker. He dodged the spray of acid and swipe of the knife with ease and slammed the Joker into the ground. Within seconds his hands were bloody as he started trying to beat the Joker to death with his bare hands.

“Nightwing! Nightwing, stop! Dick!” Barbara begged in their ears, voice harsh and breathy, indicating she was inches from a panic attack herself.

The Joker was still laughing even as he choked on his own blood. Apparently this was along the lines of what he’d wanted from the reunion.

“Nightwing!” Bruce didn’t try to talk him down. If he had Dick in a restrained bearhug he couldn’t be breaking the Joker’s bones himself. He bodily dragged his son off the monster, kicking the detonator further away.

Dick writhed. Not so far gone he was trying to injure Bruce but he was an acrobat and natural born escape artist. His squirming kept Bruce busy enough.

“I’m going to kill him!” Dick screamed, voice hoarse with rage. “He killed Robin! I’m going to kill him!”

“Don’t. Please, Nightwing, don’t,” Bruce tightened his grip.

“He doesn’t deserve to live!”

“And you don’t deserve to have to kill him!” Dick stilled a little in Bruce’s arms. “Breathe, son. Just breathe.”

Nightwing’s screams choked off into sobs, going limp in Bruce’s arms. Bruce took the opportunity to bash Joker’s face into the concrete, shutting up his hysterical laughter finally. Dick had collapsed to his knees, shaking with sobs and crippling grief. Batman shackled Joker for the police, made sure the bomb and detonator were disarmed, and carried his living son out to the car.

“He doesn’t know anything about love. He doesn’t know what love is!” Dick sobbed, clinging to Bruce hard enough to be painful.

“No, he doesn’t,” Bruce murmured, pulling off the cowl once they were safely in the car and could hear the police scanner confirming GCPD had picked up Joker’s unconscious body. He allowed himself the weakness of burying his face in his son’s hair and breathing in the scent of his living, breathing child. Of feeling the heat of his body, even the shakes and shivers of his breaths.

The only thing Bruce could ever be grateful for about the Joker was that not once had anything that could even possibly be a mark from the man appeared as even the faintest trace upon his skin.

Chapter Text

Bruce had urged Barbara not to keep coming to the cave. The drive was dangerous when there was trouble and he’d rather her and Dick as far from his work as he could possibly keep them.

He’d thought, after what happened with the Joker and the panic attack Alfred had had to help her through, she might take some time off. She’d taken a couple of days but that was it. And apparently she was now setting up her own base in the Clocktower in Central Gotham. Which was not at all what he had meant.

And also caused the additional problem of giving Nightwing a base of operations in Gotham that wasn’t the Batcave. Not that he needed one to just show up but Bruce worried it’d encourage him to split even more time between Gotham and Blüdhaven.

He hated how much he wanted Dick around. How he craved Dick’s visits, found himself checking Dick’s soulmark more and more as days between them passed. Even though Dick rarely stayed away longer than a week. Even though Bruce never called to invite him. He just came and spent time with him and Alfred and then left again back to his life.

And Bruce couldn’t ask him to stay because then Dick might. Might start accompanying Batman more, putting himself in danger for Bruce more. But so many days all he wanted was to have his living son nearby.

It wasn’t fair to Dick. Pushing him away or pulling him close. And Bruce didn’t know what to do anymore. So he just let Dick dictate the terms of their meetings and tried to soak up his presence without giving in to the urge to grab him and ask him to never leave the manor again and just be safe.

Of course, that approach had come back to bite him fairly impressively.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about Tim!” Batman stormed over to Nightwing’s cycle the moment it stopped next to the Batmobile.

“Are you seriously lecturing me about keeping things from you?” he could feel Nightwing’s raised eyebrow even though the mask hid it. “And,” he continued when Bruce opened his mouth to retort, “I tried. Remember when I came round earlier this week and you were ‘too busy to talk’ because of a weapons deal. And when I called you three times and you ignored it?”

“You could have used an emergency channel,” Batman snapped. The flat look Nightwing gave him actually cowed him a bit. Okay, using an emergency channel because a thirteen-year-old who only wanted to help apparently knew Batman's identity was definitely a bit excessive.

Fuck.

He didn’t want this to be on him. He didn’t want to have been blindsided by someone who was barely a teenager and was almost as tiny as Jason had been when – he cut that thought off. He didn’t want another child dragged into this!

“Bruce. Tim’s right. You’ve been getting worse,” Dick pulled his mask off, showing shadowed eyes marking just how exhausted he was.

“You’re less violent and reckless when Nightwing’s with you,” Tim had announced.

Of course, he was. He couldn’t risk getting his other son killed. But now, seeing how tired Dick looked, he wondered if he was doing that anyway. If Dick had noticed the same thing and been burning the candle at both ends and the middle to make sure he helped Batman with every Arkham breakout.

“I am not risking another child,” Bruce hissed.

Dick’s eyes flashed. “You think I want you to?! The last thing I want is anyone else being at risk!”

“Then why –”

“BECAUSE I DON’T WANT MY FATHER TO FUCKING KILL HIMSELF!” Dick burst out.

Bruce flinched. He wasn’t – he was doing his job. He was keeping Gotham safe. But Dick was practically vibrating with emotion and his eyes were swimming.

The sound of another vehicle pulling into the Batcave stalled the argument. After a moment Dick hurried over to help Barbara set up her wheelchair so she could get out of the car.

“Bruce, we need to talk about this. All of us,” she told him.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Bruce snapped. “He’s staying out of this.”

“That is not your call to make,” Barbara wheeled after him.

“This is my cave!”

“Bruce…”

“I WILL NOT ENDANGER ANOTHER CHILD!” Bruce rounded on them, well aware Tim and Alfred were staring at him from the platform of the Batcomputer.

Dick’s shoulders slumped. “We’re not saying take him out on the streets, Bruce. Just let him sit on the comms and run cameras for you. He’s smart and he wants to help.”

“You think he’s safe here? The Cave’s been attacked.”

“Everywhere in Gotham has been attacked. Don’t pretend like the security systems here aren’t better than Drake Manor,” Dick retorted. He stepped closer and Bruce braced himself for a furious vigilante in his face but Dick’s voice dropped. “I’ve been talking to him, Bruce. He’s spent the last four years sneaking around Gotham taking photos of Batman and Robin and his parents haven’t even noticed. If you don’t let him help here, he’s going to be back on the streets, maybe in bright colours this time. You can’t monitor him twenty-four seven to make sure he doesn’t.”

The air had been knocked out of Bruce at the part about photos and four years. He would have been… what? Eight? Nine? No child should be running around Gotham alone at that age. How had he failed to notice?!

“You need a Robin. And – and it can’t be Dick,” Tim had come down the steps while they were talking. Christ, the child was quiet. “So… if there’s no-one else then it’s got to be me.”

“Absolutely not,” Bruce said, still clear on that one.

“Let’s maybe not get ahead of ourselves just yet, okay?” Dick said hurriedly, holding up placating hands.

“Gotham needs Batman and Batman needs Robin,” Tim said stubbornly.

The last thing in the world he needed was Robin. The last thing he needed was another child to fail, another child to ruin, another child to get killed.

“Bruce… I can’t cover here and Blüdhaven at the same time,” and Dick looked so, so tired. Barbara took his hand gently, his soulmark curling around her wrist like a bracelet. “I’ve been trying but you need someone for the Arkham breakouts and I can’t be here for all of them. I was barely able to get back in time today.”

And Bruce had been struggling. Fighting first Croc and then Grundy in a row was bad enough without having to try to stop Ivy from flooding the industrial district with swamp water. It had been… a lot. Nightwing coming in to get Grundy off his back had helped. More than he wanted to admit.

He didn’t want to need anyone. He wanted to keep them safe. Not have his son so worried about him he was killing himself trying to keep Bruce safe.

“You can’t do this alone, Bruce,” Dick said.

“I won’t –”

“I’m putting together a team,” Barbara interrupted. Bruce spun to her. “Black Canary, the new one, Huntress.” Bruce grimaced, he didn’t want her in Gotham. She was reckless and untested. But she hadn’t killed anyone yet so it hadn’t been a priority. “Maybe Lady Blackhawk. Point is, you won’t be alone on the streets. But if I’m running the Birds of Prey I can’t always do comms for you.”

“Alfred –”

“Would appreciate assistance,” Alfred finished for him. “There are only so many hours in the day, Master Bruce. It would be nice to have an extra pair of hands working on your cases.”

This was ridiculous. He wasn’t considering this. But… he couldn’t protect his family if they were killing themselves trying to keep him safe. And he needed to protect his remaining family.

* * *

Mr. Wayne had allowed him into the Cave to assist Mr. Pennyworth three nights a week with strict power of veto on which cases he was allowed to look at and the ability to set the comms dark.

It wasn’t perfect, Batman really needed a Robin in the field with him but they could work up to that. Tim thought knowing a child was listening was at least helping dial back the violence in Batman’s world.

Also, Dick had looked better when he’d come to visit the cave yesterday. Bright and sunny like he should be, not the drained husk he’d been when Tim had been trying to convince Mr. Wayne he needed a Robin. He’d helped Tim with some of the files and listened to Tim’s deductions and theories like he was actually interested.

He’d even started teaching Tim how to do safe falls on the training mats in preparation for flips until Batman had gotten back and become all growly. They’d had a hissed argument out of earshot. Tim wondered if they instinctively didn’t yell when there were kids around after Jason.

Sometimes it felt like Jason’s memorial with the suit and mask was watching them. Tim had taken flowers to the boy’s grave but it felt like his presence in the Cave was stronger. Batman stared at it a lot. Tim hadn’t had the courage to get too close yet.

He hoped Jason knew he wasn’t trying to replace him. Mr. Wayne, Mr. Pennyworth, Dick, and Barbara were a family. They had been Jason’s family. Tim knew that.

They all had each other’s soulmarks. He’d seen Dick’s on Mr. Wayne's chest (and Jason’s on his back) when Mr. Wayne had gotten shot in the arm and needed stitches. Barbara had Dick’s on her wrist and Jason’s on the back of her arm. Dick had shown Tim all of his – he’d been the only one Tim dared ask – Mr. Wayne's on his back between his shoulder blades, Barbara’s on his hip, Mr. Pennyworth's on his ankle, Jason’s behind his knee. The only one on Mr. Pennyworth he’d seen was Dick’s on his forearm when he rolled up his sleeves to stitch up Mr. Wayne but he didn’t doubt he had the others.

It was so obvious being around them that they were family. Tim had never really seen a family up close and it was mesmerising to watch.

Mr. Wayne's eyes followed Dick when he was around with silent longing that flashed into deep paternal pride. Dick seemed to understand fluently a silent language all Mr. Wayne’s own and had an uncanny ability to recognise when Mr. Wayne was capable of accepting affection. Barbara and Mr. Pennyworth tag-teamed as the voice of reason urging the others go to bed or find a different angle. Dick was always solicitous in aiding Barbara with her wheelchair but only so far as to make things easier for her, never in such a way it seemed like he thought she couldn’t do any of it for herself. Mr. Pennyworth was constantly plying them with tea and food. Mr. Wayne had apparently remodelled nearly the entire interior of Wayne Manor to accommodate Barbara’s wheelchair. Barbara would drop everything and look up anyone Dick or Mr. Wayne needed vetted without a moment’s hesitation.

They were hurt and grieving and didn’t always agree but the love between them was incredibly obvious even without seeing the soulmarks that bound them. It was beautiful but it made Tim feel like a guilty interloper.

He’d known that would happen and he’d done it anyway because Batman needed a Robin but he couldn’t help feeling envious watching them sometimes. Which was so stupid and selfish when he already had parents. Parents that were never there but he didn’t really blame them.

Tim had been born without soulmarks.

He hadn’t even known what they were during his early life until he’d started going to school. At first it had started with innocent questions. Where were his soulmarks? He hadn’t known what they were talking about and when he’d been shown theirs he hadn’t been able to tell them. Some of the kids had told the teacher and then there had been awkward questions and embarrassment for his parents.

They had been really angry after that and the teacher had been fired. She wouldn’t have been if Tim had just displayed soulmarks correctly.

He had a condition, his parents had told him. His skin couldn’t display soulmarks. But people assumed it was because his parents didn’t love him and were therefore bad parents, even when they provided for him and gave him their time when they could in their busy lives. Which was why Tim had to try to change in private, otherwise he would make his parents look bad.

Tim had been sad he couldn’t have soulmarks. He thought they were beautiful and wished he could see proof of his parent’s love on his skin like they had marks of each other’s love and his love on theirs. He was glad that he could still give soulmarks, at least. He was glad his parents could see he loved them.

In middle school he’d had to change in the main room because the teacher had gotten annoyed he always took too long and been angry when he found out that Tim always changed in a toilet cubicle. When the other boys had realised why they’d thought it was hilarious.

“No wonder you don’t have any, considering how annoying you are,” one had remarked.

Tim had tried to explain that he couldn’t have soulmarks because of a condition but they hadn’t believed him. One of them had even asked their gym teacher if that was a thing and he’d scoffed and dismissed the idea immediately.

That night Tim had gone home and done some independent research. He’d felt bad about doubting his parents but with the taunts burning in his brain he had wanted confirmation.

It was generally agreed that some outside forces could damage or remove soulmarks. Magic was one. Some alien technologies. There were suspicions about certain chemical combinations. As to whether you could be born that way, well many scientists thought soulmark behaviour had a genetic component so he’d seen some theories about it. No exact condition with scientific backing was listed but it was hardly outside the realm of possibility.

Besides, he didn’t need soulmarks. His parents provided him with everything he actually needed. They’d trusted him to be home alone with just some check-ins from Mrs. Mac since he was eight. They gave him food, shelter, water, power. He even had access to their credit cards so he could buy himself anything else he ended up needing. And they did all of that even though he embarrassed them with his skin that couldn’t display soulmarks. It was fine, everything was fine.

He was just glad the Waynes didn’t know. By the time he reached high school, having been bumped a few grades by his parents, everyone knew Tim was supposedly unlovable. Some people pitied him, others liked to mock him. It had made it even harder to make friends, ignoring the fact he was younger than everyone in his grade.

The Waynes would probably be worried if they knew. He didn’t want them to worry about him. Dick was already including him in his hair ruffles and Barbara kept offering to help him with any of the technology he had trouble with. Mr. Pennyworth refused to give him coffee (he was thirteen, what was the problem?) but he brought him tea and cookies like he did everyone else.

Mr. Wayne was the only one that was staying all business. Tim didn’t blame him, he felt bad enough that he’d forced his way into their family and the others were just accepting it. Mr. Wayne was probably still so angry about it, even though he didn’t show it. Sometimes he would even give Tim some stiff praise if Tim did a particularly good job noticing something on cameras or making a deduction on a case. Tim wished he hadn’t started to crave those little moments of acknowledgement.

This wasn’t about him. This had never been about him. He wasn’t their family, he was just a placeholder to make sure that Batman didn’t go too far. He shouldn’t treasure every tiny moment when the Waynes treated him the way they treated each other because he didn’t deserve it. This wouldn’t be forever and once it was over he needed to be ready to go back home and be the Drake family heir with everything that entailed.

* * *

Being called to Talia’s chambers was always a mixed bag. Sometimes she wanted to congratulate him and would eat dinner with him. Sometimes she wanted to lecture him about becoming impatient or sloppy in training.

Talia was normally seated and serenely unreadable when he entered. Today she was pacing, which threw Jason off. Normally she was unflappable and she looked… almost agitated.

“You wanted to see me?” he asked when she didn’t immediately acknowledge him.

Talia halted and then turned to him in a jarringly sharp motion. Jason stayed where he was, a good way to get her back up was to presume anything with her.

“Your instructors are satisfied with your progress,” Talia informed him.

Jason raised an eyebrow. Yippee for them.

“And I am satisfied with your breathing techniques, even if you are still too impatient for true meditation,” Talia continued, folding her arms sternly.

Jason shrugged. It wasn’t like he wanted to meditate anyway.

“I will expect you to keep practising in the mornings while I am gone.”

Jason’s insides twisted slightly. “You’re leaving?”

“My Father controls a global organisation that reaches into all industries and corners of politics. I am his second-in-command. You can hardly expect that I would spend all my time babysitting a teenager,” Talia snapped.

Jason almost flinched at the harsh tone. He hadn’t been – “I don’t need babysitting,” he snapped right back.

“Good. Because I am not your mother and it is not my responsibility.”

Jason felt like he had been mildly stabbed. He hadn’t had fantastic luck with mothers and he wasn’t stupid enough to think of Talia as a – a replacement.

Talia softened slightly and came closer. “The guiding principle of the League is to be what the world needs, Jason. That means we must all make ourselves essential to our mission. There is no room here for sentiment like your father courts. I would have thought you would see the wisdom of this.”

“I have never been accused of being sentimental,” Jason growled. Why was she saying this? He wasn’t – he hadn’t – it wasn’t like his soulmark had been about to appear on her or anything!

“Good,” Talia nodded briskly, stepping back. “I expect to be impressed when I next return. The League has no room for useless tools.”

Jason suppressed the flinch. Barely. Of course, he was just a tool. He’d never been anything else. He could live with that if it got him what he wanted. He’d done it for years.

“You are dismissed,” Talia turned back to the papers on her desk.

For a moment Jason was tempted to attack her from behind before he shook off the impulse. She was a tool for him. A tool to get revenge on Bruce, that was all there was to it.

“Jason,” he paused in the doorway and turned back frowning, “your lack of soulmarks is a strength, not a weakness. To be tied to others, to feel beholden to them, is a weakness. A weakness people like us cannot afford.”

Jason could have sworn all four of the places he had once been marked as loved, as valued, as something precious, throbbed at once in sympathy with each other. It caused him to pause for a moment and a flicker of movement behind the curtain at the back of the room drew his eye. Was that… a child peering into the room?

Talia was waiting, watching him carefully. He forced a sneer, “Damn right.”

Talia gave him a solemn nod and Jason left the room, letting the door bang behind him. As he walked back to his isolated corner of the compound, he promised himself every step of the way that she was right. That he didn’t care about the loss except as a representation of the hypocrisy and betrayal of those he had once trusted. That he wouldn’t do anything to get them back if he was given the chance.

It was only when he reached his cell that it occurred to him to wonder about the kid. About who they were. And whether they had Talia’s soulmark somewhere on their little body.

* * *

“Tim. Mats.”

Bruce needed to work out a better way to talk to Tim. His family was used to him being short and clipped. It always seemed to make Tim nervous. How had he talked to Jason when he’d first come to the Manor and been nervous and insecure? Or when Dick first arrived? Those memories didn’t make him shy away like they burned.

When Bruce had come back to the Cave to see Dick teaching Tim, he’d been livid. He had made it very clear Tim wasn’t going out into the field. Even after Dick’s hissed argument that Bruce was worried about Tim’s safety so maybe they should be teaching the kid how to defend himself – or at least take a fall – it felt like a gateway to more.

But after a few days of brooding about Tim’s safety he couldn’t deny Dick’s point. After all, the Cave had been attacked before. And even though he’d been hyper-vigilant for little shadows following him he wasn’t absolutely certain Tim hadn’t been sneaking out to take photos, like he’d apparently used to, on the nights he wasn’t coming to the Cave. Drake Manor had a disappointing lack of security cameras.

So fine. Training. But, if he caught Tim out in the city, he was dragging him straight back to the Batcave, no excuses, no exceptions.

“Are you going to train me?” Tim looked equal parts excited and nervous.

“You are not being Robin.” Best to make that clear immediately. Tim looked a bit mulish but didn’t say anything. “But you need to know how to defend yourself.”

Tim nodded eagerly. “I’ve been taking self-defence classes for a couple of years but I don’t know how much help they’ll be.”

Bruce decided to assess what he did know (and what he’d have to unlearn) first. All things considered Tim wasn’t bad. He knew the basics of throwing a punch or kick. It was stiff and stylised in the way of traditional martial arts that hadn’t been adapted to modern mixed martial arts and street fighting but it wasn’t bad. It was obvious Tim practised and put effort into trying to get the basics right.

In many ways Tim was a joy to train. He didn’t have the natural aptitude that Dick and Jason had had but he also didn’t have Jason’s impatience or Dick’s distractibility. Dick had always wanted to add flips and put his own spin on moves before he’d mastered them. Jason had insisted he knew how to throw a punch and always wanted to move on to the “cool stuff”. Tim might take longer to pick things up but he didn’t complain and he put in the effort.

Soon he was coming over five days a week or more and Bruce was putting aside time at the start of every evening, assuming there wasn’t an emergency, to work with him. Bruce wasn’t even surprised to come to the Cave on weekends to find Dick teaching Tim acrobatics.

It wasn’t until he was blearily trying to dress for a Wayne Enterprises meeting one morning – Lucius had insisted he be present for the finalisation of the deals to modernise and make more sustainable the industrial district – that he realised the consequences of working with Tim almost every day.

There, traced against his left lower ribs in a warm shade that would probably be red or orange when it fully came in, was the name “Timothy Jackson Drake”.

Chapter Text

Bruce didn’t know what to do.

He’d had a silent panic attack when he realised he had the mark. He was only grateful Alfred hadn’t found him as he was desperately trying to force air into his lungs. Eventually, he had stumbled downstairs, pretending everything was fine, and reluctantly accepted Alfred driving him since his hands were still shaking in his suit pockets.

He’d barely been present through the Wayne Enterprises meetings, thoughts entirely focused around the fact that he couldn’t be responsible for the love of another child. That he couldn’t have another child’s mark go grey and still on his skin.

His first thought had been to send Tim away. To refuse him access to the Cave ever again and send him back to his home. To his family . Then Bruce had remembered what Tim had been doing before he’d come to the Batcave.

The second idea had been to push Tim away. The mark was barely a hint at the moment, the bond still barely formed, plenty of time to discourage and push away such feelings. Then he’d remembered he was already being crisp and business-like with the child. Really he was doing nothing to invite such… loyalty from Tim. If anything his demeanour bordered on cold with him.

What more could he do? Be actively cruel to drive Tim away? Tim had done nothing to deserve that. He was just a kid. He was such a good kid. A clever, determined, kind, careful, meticulous, focused, brave kid. He was so, so good. Like Dick was. Like Jason had been.

With a feeling of dread sinking in his stomach Bruce had wondered if Tim was starting to have Bruce’s name darkening against his skin. How could he have let this happen?!

Tim had been waiting on the mats when Bruce came down to the Cave and all he’d been able to growl was a husky, “Not tonight,” before he suited up and fled the Cave.

Could he stop training Tim? What if the Cave was attacked? What if he went back on the streets?

Could he get Dick to take over? Dick was a good teacher, he volunteered teaching gymnastics and acrobatics on top of his job and everything else he was always doing. Dick would make sure Tim was safe. But Dick had only just started looking more alive since Tim started helping. Bruce couldn’t expect him to come and train Tim every evening and he could hardly send Tim to stay in Blüdhaven for days at a time. His parents might not notice him sneaking out but they’d notice that.

Parents. He could call Tim’s parents. Why hadn’t he thought of that at the beginning?! Acting like Tim was somehow his! Oh thank God, he could send Tim back to the people he should love and they could make sure Tim stayed safe and all of this would be over.

He stubbornly ignored the little hole opening up in his chest. It wasn’t like he didn’t have a gaping wound there that would never close already. What was one more?

He was so relieved he tried to call the Drakes at seven in the morning, barely awake and in desperate need of coffee, dragged out of sleep by the realisation. He staggered straight to his study and somehow managed to find the cell number Jack had given him during one of the endless galas they both attended. He only came back to his senses when it went straight to voicemail.

He shouldn’t do that to Tim. Blindsiding him like that. The boy deserved better. Even though he hated the thought of the conversation and the betrayed look in the boy’s eyes he should explain to Tim what was happening. He owed Tim that much.

And, if the sense of betrayal erased the mark lining his rib cage, so much the better, he told the puncture in his heart firmly.

The day passed in interminable anticipation.

“Tim, we need to talk,” Bruce told Tim as soon as the boy trotted down into the Cave.

It wasn’t even four yet. Tim had taken to going straight to Wayne Manor after school to work on cases and Bruce hadn’t done anything to stop him.

Tim blinked but came over to the computer chair promptly enough. It was clear from his stiff, still posture that he was nervous, however. Bruce suppressed a sigh. Best to just get it over with.

“You’re spending too much time here, Tim,” Bruce informed him bluntly.

The hurt was instant but quickly hidden. Bruce ruthlessly suppressed his immediate regret. “If you don’t want me here during the day I can just come to run the comms at night. I don’t want to be in the way. I can work on cases at home.”

Bruce frowned, “That’s part of the problem, Tim. My lifestyle isn’t healthy for a child.” It wasn’t healthy for him but that was beside the point. “I’m sure your parents must be worried about you constantly vanishing. You’re treating this like it’s your job. You should be spending time with your friends and working on homework, not risking your life on the streets trying to take pictures of Batman and Robin or staring at crime scene photos.”

Tim shifted, looking uncomfortable. “I thought I was helping.”

Bruce fought a sigh. This kid. “You shouldn’t have to, Tim. That isn’t your responsibility. You’re a child.”

“I’m thirteen!” Tim protested, sounding so like Jason for a moment it was physically painful.

“This isn’t up for discussion, Tim. I’ve allowed this to go on for too long already. If your absence continues your parents are bound to start asking questions, which could put all of us in danger. But I’m willing to risk that by bringing it to their attention if you try to start following me again. I won’t have you endangering your life.”

It was a low blow and he knew it. The reminder of Jason had made his voice harsher than he’d intended on top of that. But it wasn’t untrue. Bruce dreaded to think what Tim’s parents would think if they found out he’d been spending all his time in their adult neighbour’s basement, much less wandering the streets of Gotham alone at night.

Tim’s lip was trembling slightly and his eyes had a faint shine but he set his jaw stubbornly. “You can try to tell them if you want,” he told Bruce. “But I doubt you’ll be able to get in contact with them.”

“Tim…”

“They aren’t going to notice!” Tim burst out.

“Tim.”

“They won’t! They haven’t! They’re not even in the country!”

Bruce blinked. Wait, what? Oh right, the Drakes were archaeologists and travelled a lot. Sloppy, he should have looked that up. He should have been looking into every detail of Tim’s life the moment he showed up on his doorstep. There was something about the child that reminded him so much of Dick and Jason even though his personality was completely different. There was that same drive, that same desire to help . Bruce couldn’t keep treating this child as if he was his. Tim wasn’t and Bruce had been proven to not have any right to take care of children regardless.

“Your guardian then,” Bruce sighed. “Who is looking after you while they’re gone?”

“Mrs. Mac only comes a few times a week,” Tim mumbled, looking distinctly more his age than he usually did.

Bruce opened his mouth to say she was no doubt worried then. Then he really registered what Tim had just said and his mind ground to a halt. Oh. Oh no. This was so much worse.

“Tim… are you saying that most of the time you’re alone in Drake Manor?” Bruce choked out.

“I can take care of myself,” Tim sulked, arms crossed defensively now, “and Mrs. Mac comes in to clean and make sure I have food a few times a week. Besides my parents left me a credit card so I can buy myself anything I need.”

Company? Supervision? Attention? Love? Bruce thought somewhat hysterically.

Tim lived next door . How had he not noticed the child didn’t have a guardian while his parents were away?

Because up until about a month ago he had assumed that Tim went with his parents. And then he’d been too freaked out about a child being in the Cave again to really think about the fact he wasn’t. He’d assumed the Drakes were at least paying for a nanny or something! Tim was thirteen .

Wait.

“Tim, how long have you been left alone when you parents leave the country?”

“My parents know I’m responsible. They cut back Mrs. Mac’s hours when I was eight because they knew I could feed myself and get myself to school fine.”

WHAT?!

“So, it really is fine if I work on cases at home! No-one’s going to know! I can hide them when Mrs Mac comes in,” and then, misinterpreting Bruce’s thunderous expression, “or make sure they’re back in the Cave those days. I promise I’m not endangering your identity by being here! I’m really careful, no-one will notice!”

Bruce was pretty sure they’d gotten off the original topic of: Tim was thirteen and shouldn’t be involved in vigilante work, particularly at the house of his adult neighbour while hiding it from his parents. Of course, that was quickly becoming redundant because Tim was a child with no adult supervision !

He needed to get out of this conversation. He needed to get out of it and find out everything there was to know about the Drakes yesterday. He needed to put Oracle on digging up dirt on everything Jack and Janet Drake had touched in the last twenty years. He needed to call Dick here to take over emotional duties for the vibrating-with-tension child because Bruce definitely wasn’t qualified.

Damage control. If Tim was alone at home that reframed everything. At least if he was here Alfred could make sure he got solid meals in the afternoon and evening. At least Bruce could keep an eye on him to ensure he didn’t fall down the stairs and have no-one there to find him and call an ambulance. Even Bruce was better than no-one .

“If you’re sure it is safe for you to keep coming to the Manor that’s fine,” Bruce lied. It distinctly wasn’t but this conversation had completely changed shape about halfway through and his position completely reversed. “But you need to do any homework you have before you work on cases.”

Tim blinked at him, “Don’t worry, I’m staying on top of my studies.”

“Good. Those are more important than you taking on any extra responsibilities,” Bruce said, with the sinking feeling he’d had this exact conversation multiple times before.

Dear Lord, was he parenting Tim now?! That was the exact opposite of how this was supposed to go!

Tim seemed to have calmed at least and trundled over to the area by the training mats where he tended to work. Bruce could still see tension in his shoulders though. Fuck. This was a disaster. Against his better judgement he’d have to call Dick. He needed back-up to deal with this nightmare. The line was already connecting with Oracle as he signalled Alfred he needed him in the Cave.

* * *

Tim’s soulmark was tiny. Neat but in the same small, cramped, writing Tim used for all his notes. As if afraid to take up too much space.

It made him more anxious than it should have. He wasn’t surprised precisely; he’d basically automatically taken on a big brother role to the younger boy the moment it became clear the boy could desperately use some attention and affection. But he was aware that the love of a thirteen-year-old was very different than that of his co-workers or his team members. Love from a child desperately required reciprocation past a certain level.

Dick wasn’t worried about that emotionally. He wouldn’t be at all surprised if his own soulmark was already coming in on Tim. He was brilliant, sweet, funny, and easy to love. Not to mention completely adorable when flustered. Jason had never worked out that his embarrassment was, if anything, an incentive for Dick to keep showering him with affection. Besides any kid who could stand up to Bruce was Dick’s hero.

But there was the fact Tim’s parents would probably be freaked out by a random older stranger’s soulmark showing up on Tim. And it also meant Tim probably wanted more attention than he was currently getting, even if he would never ask for it.

Tim seemed pretty attention and touch-starved. Dick got the impression his parents were away a lot and formal when they were there. Plus it sounded like they cycled nannies often so Tim probably hadn’t had a lot of chances to form strong emotional connections. Dick didn’t want to discourage Tim from bonding with him after all of that. In terms of his desperation for human contact and inability to ask for it, Tim was just like Jason.

“Maybe I should move back to Gotham,” Dick sighed, flipping into a handstand restlessly.

Barbara startled and turned to stare at him in concern. “You once told me to hit you in the head with a plank of wood if you ever even considered doing that.”

“I was a melodramatic teenager! I’m serious.”

Barbara frowned and spun her wheelchair away from the wall of monitors to face him. “Is this about Bruce?”

“No. Sortof… he’s been… better.” Resigned rather than happy maybe but more willing to actually engage with Dick, to ask for help. Even if it was just advice on how to deal with a thirteen-year-old workaholic with a caffeine addiction. Dick thought that if he moved closer and started spending more time he might actually be able to get Bruce to open up a bit emotionally. To accept affection without acting like it was a shameful weakness he didn’t deserve.

“But it’s more about Tim.” Babs tilted her head. “He needs attention and it doesn’t seem like he’s been getting a lot of it. God knows Bruce isn’t up to offering much.”

“You love Blüdhaven. You’re going to feel guilty if Nightwing moves back to Gotham permanently. And you’ll miss the life you’ve built there,” Barbara said practically.

Dick sighed. “I know… but if my family needs me here…” He gave up on pacing on his hands and flipped upright.

Babs sighed with a rueful smile. “You’re always taking the weight of the world on yourself, you know that?”

Dick’s eyes swung to her massive computer set-up where she was monitoring all of Gotham. Usually most of Blüdhaven as well. Babs rolled her eyes.

“Okay well… maybe rather than leaping right into moving back to Gotham full-time we could work out a compromise.”

Barbara was already bringing up crime statistics. “Blüdhaven’s organised crime is centred around its port and thus is higher on weekdays. If you patrolled Monday to Friday in Blüdhaven, came to Gotham after patrol Friday, and stayed until Monday evening, you could probably split time between the two cities. Huntress has been chaffing at the bit to get some more independence so she might leap at the chance to help you cover Blüdhaven.”

Dick didn’t know Helena Bertinalli well but Barbara’s reports had been generally positive, even if she thought Helena was reckless. Dick had worked with Huntress once or twice when he collaborated with the Birds of Prey and found it a little like working with Roy – even if Roy would object to a crossbow being compared to a bow and arrow. She was angry, that much was clear, but she seemed to be keeping it in check.

“You think she’d be willing?” Dick asked.

“She’s more likely to bite if you suggest it instead of me,” Babs said dryly. “She has a bit of a thing with taking orders.”

Dick’s mouth twitched in amusement. Which was nothing like anyone else he knew.

Babs frowned. “Unlike Bruce you’re actually capable of asking for help. If you phrased it right, she’d probably jump at the chance to move across the harbour and carve out her own space.”

Dick shifted. He definitely didn’t object to extra help, Blüdhaven didn’t have a supervillain problem the way Gotham did but it was swarming with mob activity and really deserved another costumed hero or two. The only problem was that, with all the organised crime and corrupt police, it was constantly one match away from an inferno and he would want to bring up to speed anyone stepping in so they weren’t stumbling in the dark like he had been at first.

Babs sighed. “She wants acceptance. She wants validation. She wants trust and she’s well-aware she doesn’t have Batman’s.” Dick rolled his eyes. “Do not tell her I told you that though. If you can just treat her as a partner, someone you respect, she’ll listen to you.”

Well, it was worth a try at least. He supposed he wouldn’t really know until he talked to her. “Okay, get me in contact with her.”

“You going to be okay staying in the Manor more regularly? Bruce isn’t going to be happy you want to shift back to Gotham more.”

“Yeah, well, 'fuck him', as Jason would say,” Dick muttered and was rewarded with a laugh from Barbara.

Speaking of the devil, the monitors flashed with a call from the Batcave. Bruce normally didn’t call this early.

“What can I do for you, Batman?” Barbara said in her Oracle voice. Dick trundled over to look at the feeds curiously.

“I need you to find everything you can on the Drakes. Their movements, their financials, the state of Drake Industries, everything.”

Babs and Dick exchanged concerned looks.

“What’s this about, Bruce?” Dick asked. He’d thought Tim had been settling in well. Bruce had even conceded to training him.

“Nightwing, you’re with Oracle?”

“Yes.” Was there going to be another disapproving silence?

“Good. I need you to come to the Cave and keep an eye on Tim.”

“Why…?” That was unexpected. Had something happened?! This definitely had vibes of: I fucked up with the child, Dick, please come and fix them because I am emotionally challenged.

“I was concerned about the amount of time he’s been spending here and found out he’s been living alone since he was eight.”

There was definitely more to that story. Dick could read slightly guilty Bruce a mile away, even only via audio, but that definitely took a back burner to the other part of this information.

“I’m sorry, did you say eight?!” Babs gasped.

“But he has the housekeeper, Mrs. Mac, staying with him!” Dick protested. Tim had spoken of her affectionately and Dick had thought maybe it was a bit of a Bruce and Alfred situation, even if she was officially the housekeeper.

“She doesn’t live with him and she only visits three times a week,” Bruce was seething. “He hasn’t had a nanny since he was six. The housekeeper used to live in the house but she started just visiting five days a week when he was eight and it reduced to three when he was ten. It seems they thought more would be a waste of money.”

Bruce practically spat it. If there was one thing Bruce always wanted to spend more money on it was his children. To the point he’d had to dial it back it had stressed Jason out so much.

Dick and Babara exchanged grim looks. “Okay, I’ll come and check on him.” Probably a good time to broach the whole moving back part-time thing while Bruce was weak too.

“Thank you.” Huh, Bruce must be feeling vulnerable. “Oracle –”

“On it,” Barbara just gave Dick a nod as he squeezed her shoulder in goodbye and headed for the elevator. He’d been hoping Tim might be the only person in this family not horrendously damaged.

Chapter Text

The kid had been eating at him. What was a kid doing in the League of Assassins?

Were they Talia’s? If they were, was she enough of a hypocrite their soulmark was written somewhere on her skin and hers on theirs? Or had the child been born without soulmarks like Jason had?

He didn’t know which idea bothered him more.

Willis had always enjoyed rubbing his face in the fact that while most children were born with two, or at least one, soulmarks Jason had been born unloved. His mum, Catherine, had always looked drawn and upset by that. Jason had always wondered if she’d really wanted him before he was born, even if she had eventually loved him. He hadn’t blamed her, he wouldn’t have wanted Willis’ child either.

Now, knowing about Sheila, it made a lot more sense. His birth parents had never loved him. The only parental soulmarks he had ever had were from those who chose and then abandoned him. Either to the siren song of drugs or the whims of an insane clown.

His nightmares were worse than usual. Sometimes as the Joker beat him Sheila would morph into Bruce, smoking dispassionately as Jason begged for his help.

“Heard you screaming last night. Guess that must be why you’re stuck in the furthest corner of the facility, even if you are the Daughter of the Demon’s little pet.” His fellow trainee was half a head taller than Jason but after gaining several inches in the past months and 20 pounds of muscle, Jason definitely wasn’t small anymore.

The man gave off vibes of the villains who had sneered at Robin because he was smaller than them. Right before Jason had kicked them in the head and dropped them like a sack of bricks. Green flashed over Jason’s vision and he carefully tracked the man even as they pulled on cowls. Those who served the Demon were anonymous in training and eventually in life. But it wasn’t hard to track someone based on silhouette and gait. The man had a cocky swagger and he telegraphed his moves. Jason smirked behind his cowl.

“I can’t believe they expect us to train with a child that still screams for daddy in his sleep,” the man sneered audibly.

Jason’s vision flooded green.

He was better than the other recruits. He was stronger, faster, better trained, and a hell of a lot angrier. Something he had no problem demonstrating when they sparred. Or, more accurately, tried to murder each other. The instructors didn’t seem particularly concerned that they not infrequently lost trainees. There always seemed to be a steady supply. All as mediocre and interchangeable as each other. Jason didn’t bother trying to wipe out rivals, his goal wasn’t to rise in the League, but the brutal combat helped calm the gnawing pit inside of him that constantly hungered for anything to sate the rage that ran through his veins in place of blood. He threw himself into it with enthusiasm.

It was difficult to break a femur in hand-to-hand combat but with the aid of some stone steps he managed it. The asshole didn’t have much room to complain about Jason’s screaming after that. Okay, he’d also broken a few ribs. And a wrist. Still think Jason was a safe target because he was a “child” now?

“A very thorough crippling,” the instructor commented indifferently.

“He’ll heal,” Jason shrugged. Who did they think they were? Batman? Like they could lecture him. It wasn’t like he’d killed him ‘accidentally’ or anything.

“Recovery time of anywhere between three months and a year,” the instructor mused, looking down at the groaning asshole curled around his leg.

“Not my problem,” Jason snarled.

The instructor sighed. “He didn’t show that much promise,” was the only comment. The blade moved so fast as to be almost invisible.

Hot arterial blood sprayed across Jason from the severed head. Something in him purred as if he could feed off the blood and violence but it slid backwards as sheer shock sprang to the front of his mind.

He thought his face might have just frozen in whatever expression it had, thankfully hidden by the cowl. The part of him that sounded a lot more like a terrified child and less like the guttural adult whose voice had broken over growls and sneers, was freaking out.

The wounds would have healed. It was a clean break, not compound. Sure, it was the femur but it was unlikely it would have even given him a limp past a bit of physical therapy. They had the Pit for pity’s sake! That could have fixed him instantly! Jason had been pissed at the asshole, yes, but he hadn’t been going for lethal. He hadn’t intended to kill him.

Who cares? The bastard deserved it! The thoughts floated in an oily green tinge. If anything, he should have killed him himself.

Deserved it? For mocking him? Yes, he had been furious but still!

Oh, so maiming him for insulting you is okay but killing him is crossing a line?

Somehow a thought that had started out trying to justify the situation ended up turning Jason’s stomach more. He had broken the man’s bones… for mocking him. He had heard worse than that as offhand remarks at those stupid galas he’d had to go to.

He said I scream for Bruce!

Except… he did. Jason knew he did. He woke up from the Joker killing him again and again screaming for his dad to come and save him. For his big brother. For anyone. No-one ever came.

The instructor was gathering them back together and Jason wrenched his eyes from the severed head. It didn’t matter. He was dead now.

The face lingered behind Jason’s eyelids as they finished training. As they ate dinner. As he went back to his cell.

The dead man had always eaten dessert first. He ate hummus by itself, which was fucking weird. He liked singing in his room and he was completely fucking tone deaf and Jason didn’t know how he hadn’t been killed for that alone.

“Even evil people are people, Jason. It’s important to remember that, moreso for us than most,” Bruce’s voice said in his head and Jason barely fought back a snarl.

He was training to be an assassin! How many people would he have killed?! Jason snapped back at his mental concept of Bruce.

“How many are you planning to kill?” Jason physically flinched.

It wasn’t the same.

It wasn’t the same.

Why was he still thinking about this? He hadn’t killed the man. Why was he doing mental acrobatics to try to get rid of the rotting worm of guilt lurking under his ribcage? He hadn’t killed him. His actions had just gotten the guy killed.

By the people he was serving.

What kind of group did that to their own people?

It doesn’t matter. None of it does. The League of Assassins are a means to an end, he told himself firmly as he viciously scrubbed the blood off in the privacy of his cell.

“A means to an end you’re willing to kill for?”

With a barely contained scream Jason flung the bloody washcloth at the stone wall. Bruce had abandoned him! Had doomed him to a slow, agonizing, brutal death! Bruce didn’t care about him anymore! He hadn’t even avenged him! He shouldn’t still have this chokehold on Jason’s insides! Shouldn’t be the conscience lurking over his shoulder!

He deserved to be free of someone who was so clearly free of him!

Jason curled into a ball, trying to contain the anguish so he didn’t break his own wrist trying to destroy his room in a blind rage.

Talia’s breathing exercises were meant to temper the enhancements the Pit had given him. Currently they weren’t really working, he still felt like he was choking on his own impotent fury.

Rather than a snarl it was closer to a whine as he scrubbed his hands across his face, trying desperately, for just one moment, to suppress the sheer agony of his existence. He wished he’d never been brought back. He wished he’d just died knowing he was still loved.

Useless tears blurred his vision of the arms caging him in. They were a raw pink that was way too close to scarlet. Pink blurring with the hints of blue into a fuzzy tapestry.

Jason had almost reached the bucket, thinking maybe he’d just dump it over his head, when he registered that. Blue. On his arm.

My veins, he told himself even as he clutched at the arm as if maybe – just maybe –

His breath hitched and the tears spilled more freely, making it all but impossible to know – he scrubbed at them viciously, trying to clear his vision.

And there. Faint, as if it was brand new and just coming in, “Richard John Grayson-Wayne”.

Jason spent what must have been nearly a quarter of an hour convinced it was a trick of the light or he was seeing things, wishing desperately trainees were allowed fucking torches or electric lights, but as the moonlight came in the blue against pale skin became more obvious. He could track the pattern with his finger. See the slight shimmer as it shifted to “Dick” and back.

It felt like the world had fallen away and there was nothing left but those faint letters on his skin. Marking him as loved by his brother.

But – but how? Why?! Why had Dick stopped loving him and then started again?! He had been dead! He couldn’t have done anything to earn back Dick’s love! It looked brand new, as if Dick had never loved him and they had just started to form a relationship. It looked the same way it had in those early months in Wayne Manor when Jason had thought a roof over his head and three meals a day was all he was going to get and he was fine with that. Until one day Dick had arrived and done that weird ritual he’d been doing for weeks of checking Jason’s forearms (Jason had thought Dick was worried he was cutting himself) and positively beamed as he exclaimed, “It’s finally coming in!”

Jason still didn’t know how Dick could have been so confident that it would appear. How had he been so certain he already loved Jason after only knowing him a few weeks. A few months after that Dick had picked him up from school completely unexpectedly wearing shorts and incredibly eager to contort himself into truly ludicrous knots to show off Jason’s name at the back of his right knee.

Jason’s soulmarks had always been like that, hiding in places it was difficult for the person to see, as if they were embarrassed to be there. His mother’s had been along her ribs where her arm would normally hide it. Babs’ on the back of her upper arm. Alfred’s on the back of his calf. Bruce’s… Bruce’s had been on his right shoulder blade, where Jason’s mother’s soulmark was on him.

Were they still there? They would have to be right? He had died so they would have dulled and faded to grey, no longer showing the name he liked them calling him when he was no longer able to hear it, but they had to still be there. Marks of what he’d given them that his death made it impossible for him to ever take back.

Like they had taken their love back from him.

Except… except Dick’s name was returning. His arm was beginning to become sore from tracing the letters again and again in the moonlight streaming through his little wedge of a window. They were there, he wasn’t imagining it. They were there.

He stared up at the mirror on the wall. He looked like a wreck. His eyes were obviously red and raw even in the draining silver light, he was shaking, tears were shining on his cheeks, and there was still blood on his trousers.

But there were also marks on his arm. And…

Jason hiccupped, barely able to manage sound his throat was so clogged, and wrenched the mirror from the wall. Desperately trying to angle it so the light was in the right place… even darker marks caught his eye.

He near flung himself at the window, bathing his back in moonlight and hooking the mirror over his shoulder like a contortionist.

Even grey and faded his mother’s name was the easiest to read. But below and around it…

Jason dropped the mirror.

Dick’s soulmarks were sky blue. Barbara’s were orange. Alfred’s were the same yellow as the logos of the Batsuit. But Bruce’s were black. Even barely coming in they were still pretty damn legible.

And it was there.

Curving over his back – pressed to his heart but too embarrassed to be on the front, as Dick used to describe it. Jason grabbed the largest shard of mirror, not even caring as it cut his fingers, and struggled with his shoulder. He could see a hint of orange out of the corner of his eye. He was not imagining it.

It was faint and so, so hard to see in the moonlight but it was there. He was sure it was there.

It seemed too much to hope but he dragged his foot up onto the windowsill and pulled back the cuff of his pants, getting even more blood on them. If orange was hard to see in moonlight, yellow was near impossible but as Jason squinted and peered closer… he thought…

“Richard John Grayson-Wayne”. “Dick”.

“Barbara Joan Gordon”. “Babs”.

“Bruce Thomas Pennyworth Wayne”. “Dad”.

“Alfred Thaddeus Crane Pennyworth”. “Alf”.

They were back. They were all back. Barely there like the bonds were freshly made but they were there. They were coming back!

They – they loved him! His family still loved him!

Jason had learned as a very young child to cry silently but he was having to choke off wrenching sobs with both hands over his mouth as he struggled to process this.

It didn’t make any sense! How could all have them have stopped loving him and then just started again?! Had they all been so angry he had been such an idiot that he had run away and gotten himself killed?!

He was sorry! He was so, so sorry! He wanted to fling himself at them and beg them to forgive him, to not stop loving him, to please, please, please take him back. He didn’t want to be alone!

They still abandoned you, that cruel, oily version of his thoughts hissed at him.

The rage flickered again.

Bruce hadn’t killed the Joker. None of them had. They hadn’t avenged him! Had they been so angry they’d thought he deserved it?! And now they’d what? Decided to forgive his memory so that they could feel less guilty?!

The rage was familiar by now and eager, eating at his thoughts like a brushfire. But there were other emotions he was no longer able to suppress.

Longing. Intense loneliness. Sheer desperation to be held again, to feel safe again, to be loved again. Hope.

He missed them. He missed his family so much. The only way he had been able to cope with the pain of their loss had been in fury. And now – now maybe he could have them back. Suddenly that felt worth letting go of the anger strangling him.

How could he love me and not avenge me?! Jason just didn’t understand.

“My love language is physical touch! Let me express myself, Jay!” Of all things Dick’s voice abruptly rung in his head.

Dick had always been physically affectionate. He started with little clasps on the shoulder, hair ruffles, and hugs almost as soon as he got used to the concept that Jason existed. At first Jason had found it overwhelming, unable to prevent flinches when Dick reached out. Dick had been more cautious after that, careful to telegraph his movements and stopping if Jason moved away but over time Jason had gotten used to it. It was comforting, it made him feel safe. A constant reminder touches from Dick didn’t hurt and that he had been accepted as a younger brother.

Of course, he’d been a teenager and had inevitably ended up acting reluctant and embarrassed whenever Dick wanted to do a proper hug instead of just an arm round his shoulders. He’d always complained even as he was already leaning into Dick’s embrace. Dick hadn’t cared, had never pointed out Jason's obvious hypocrisy.

That was how Jason had heard about love languages, Dick explaining to him that different people showed affection in different ways. Jason had been embarrassed when Dick said Jason obviously favoured acts of service and told Dick that physical touch was the shallowest of them. Jason had never apologized for saying that to Dick. He’d done the maintenance on Dick’s Nightwing harness before he came down for patrol that evening and Dick had just smiled and given him another hug.

You couldn’t fake soulmarks. Sure, you could tattoo something like them on but you could never replicate their ability to both display the person’s full true name and also their preferred use-name from you as the light shifted. Jason found himself just watching Bruce’s name flicker between that and “Dad”, back and forth.

Dick always called Bruce “B”. The times he used “Dad” were few and far between but you would have had to be blind to fail to notice how much it meant to Bruce when he used it. It was that which had given Jason the courage to give it a go. He’d never had a father worth a damn, unlike Dick. He’d gotten used to calling Bruce “Dad”. Until they started fighting more and more and he’d moved back to “Bruce” and “B” in part just to hurt him because he was so angry. The use-name of Bruce’s soulmark had never changed.

Part of Jason hated that the mark had the gall to be there when Bruce hadn’t done anything to avenge the death of his son. That was what dad meant! And yet… marks didn’t lie. Bruce loved him.

“People show love in different ways, Little Wing.”

“You can’t always expect people to be exactly what you wish, Master Jason. But if you could they would not be the people you learned to love, would they?”

“I love my dad but sometimes we just don’t see eye to eye. You don’t always have to get along with Bruce, Jason, that doesn’t mean you love each other less.”

How had he not run out of tears yet?

Maybe… maybe Bruce thought that he was doing a better job honouring Jason’s legacy by not letting himself become a murderer than he would by killing Joker. Which seemed like a stupid thing to think but was also very Bruce.

Or maybe Bruce just couldn’t bring himself to kill. Maybe that was part of who he was, a part Jason didn’t necessarily like or appreciate, and maybe that still made Jason angry but… that didn’t necessarily mean he didn’t love Jason, right?

When Talia had said it, it had seemed like it couldn’t possibly mean anything else.

But with the words seeming to darken almost as he watched Jason thought that maybe, just maybe, she had been wrong.

Maybe… maybe he could just go home. Maybe he could scream at Bruce that the Joker didn’t deserve to live and kept getting out and he needed to do something about it dammit! Anything!

He could really use a Dick Grayson hug right now. He wanted the smell of Alfred’s baking. He wanted Barbara to tell him to get out of his stupid head already. He wanted Bruce to hold him when he woke up from nightmares that wouldn’t go away. He wanted to go home.

There was blood dripping down his wall. From where he’d thrown the washcloth he’d been cleaning arterial spray with. From the man he had gotten killed.

He sank down the wall into a ball unable to move. His family still loved him because they didn’t know what he had done. What he had become the moment he’d lost them. If they knew the marks would vanish again. He would be utterly alone without even their names to comfort him.

His despair was too all encompassing, too crushing to even let rage come back in and save him. He simply stayed curled in a ball, weeping without tears until night turned to day.

Chapter Text

The first morning of his staying in Wayne Manor Tim opened his eyes to writing crawling up his arm.

He blinked at it blearily – already thinking about how to somehow sneak coffee.

He’d been startled and then confused when Bruce had gone from – you’re here too much, go home and get out from underfoot – to – actually why don’t you just stay here full time. He’d tried to argue he didn’t mind going home each night. He was happy to just to trot across the lawns even – big lawns sure but still – Alfred didn’t have to keep driving him. Bruce had gotten this weird intense look on his face and started making a bunch of arguments about how it meant he’d be less tired for school and Alfred could make sure he got plenty of food and make lunch for him and Dick was going to be staying in the Manor some of the time anyway so it was no trouble to make up an extra room and Tim was practically living there already so why not make it official?

Tim had tried to apologise for overstaying his welcome but Bruce hadn’t even let him finish and then Alfred and Dick had weighed in saying they’d be very happy to have him staying with them.

He’d caved faster than he really should have. He knew he shouldn’t be staying here and acting like he was part of the family but Wayne Manor felt so much more lived in and alive than still and silent Drake Manor. Really it was more efficient he supposed. He just had to be careful to go home whenever his parents came back, which wouldn’t be much.

There was also the problem of Alfred’s ‘No Coffee For Minors’ rule though. He could get it out of the Manor but it was a pain and waking up was hard enough already. He was thinking about just sneaking a coffeemaker into his guest room.

Maybe Bruce would share his coffee. Bruce didn’t seem to have a no coffee rule. He’d seen Dick steal Bruce’s coffee from the Batcomputer. Batman was kind and shared his coffee. Because Batman wasn’t a heartless monster!

Tim shambled to the bathroom blearily, wishing he was dead as was typical of mornings, and trying to remember what case had distracted him so much he’d decided to write notes on his arm. That wasn’t good, he couldn’t let people see anything incriminating. He scrubbed at the writing as he splashed his face.

A few minutes later the writing was pale and not very obvious but didn’t seem to have actually cleaned off at all. Tim was starting to get a bit worried. His school blazer had long sleeves but he had gym today. He brought the now pink skin to his face to try to work out exactly how bad this was.

“Richard John Grayson-Wayne” stared back at him in friendly sky blue.

Tim sat down hard, almost bashing his head on the bathtub. That wasn’t – that couldn’t be – Even as he looked at it the words shifted to “Dick”. He thought he was going to throw up.

“Tim?! Are you okay?!”

“Yes, I’m fine! Just… dropped the shampoo,” Tim called back to a very anxious sounding Bruce. His room was a few down from Bruce’s, how had he heard?

There was a pause. “Okay. That’s good. I’ll just… see you at breakfast.”

Tim blinked suddenly watering eyes. The next moment he was stuffing his pyjama sleeve into his mouth to muffle crying.

He’d known. Of course, he’d known that his parents didn’t love him. That nobody did and the other kids were right. He knew that. There was no reason that he would be unable to have soulmarks. There were no proven cases of someone being born unable to form them. It was only rare sources that could even affect them.

Occum’s Razor, the simplest solution was probably correct. His parents didn’t love him, whether they knew it or not, and neither did anyone else. But to have it proven…

He curled up into a tiny ball, hugging his marked arm to his chest. He’d never thought he’d ever get a mark. He’d always just assumed that soulmarks weren’t something Timothy Drake was meant for. And for his first one to have been from Dick, from Nightwing! Was it really okay for Tim to have that? After he’d basically forced his way into the family? What would Jason think knowing Tim had his brother’s mark?

Would Dick regret the mark if he knew he was the only one Tim had? Would he realise Tim didn’t deserve it? The only thing worse than getting this confirmation of his parent’s lack of love would be losing it.

Bruce would be waiting downstairs. No-one would see it with the blazer and with some concealer if he was careful he could hide it on his arm. No-one needed to know. He splashed water on his face and hoped his red eyes would just look like typical morning bleariness. So long as no-one knew it didn’t matter, nothing needed to change.

Except he knew and it changed everything.

* * *

Jason wasn’t feeling entirely synced with his body. He’d thought that sensation had gone away after he’d first woken up; he’d settled into training easily. Currently he felt like he was steering a stinking, sore sack of meat between various deadly obstacles from a distance.

He thought he might be disassociating. It probably wasn’t good he’d been doing it for several days now. But he hadn’t died yet and it was a lot less painful when he wasn’t all there in his body.

The only thing he managed to make himself consciously do and care about was making sure that every one of his returned soulmarks was carefully hidden whenever he wasn’t alone. He couldn’t resist checking them any chance he got though. So far they had only gotten darker.

He never rolled up his sleeves, glad everyone here wore black, and he was always careful the cuffs were tight. As if the League might somehow find a way to take them away again if they found out they’d reappeared. He was fairly sure if they tried he’d just completely lose it and they’d have to kill him to stop whatever homicidal breakdown he had. Which was terrifying.

When he’d been angry the pain had helped. Helped distract him, helped feed the rage. Now his most encompassing emotions were depression, despair, guilt, and self-loathing. And some rage too for good measure. He had to deal with the bouts of fury pain caused less if he wasn’t all there in his body to feel the pain.

What did it matter whether his family would take him back or not anyway? He was trapped in the League of Assassins. It wasn’t like they’d just let him leave and run back to their mortal enemy.

He dreaded when they’d inevitably demand he make his first kill, even if he already felt like he’d more or less done that. But sinking the blade in himself… it would be different, he knew that.

There was something sick inside that wanted that. Craved it. Like bloodshed was his heroin or something. The things that most commonly dragged him back to his body were the thrill of causing pain and injury. Of feeling someone else’s blood on his hands. Before disgust and guilt immediately drove him back out.

He really had come back wrong.

He didn’t maim any of the other recruits. Even though now he looked at them and saw nothing but a death cult he’d been just as eager to join, consequences be damned, if it could just fill the hole inside him.

He was remembering more about the League of Assassins. Things he found it hard to understand he had simply forgotten entirely when he had been in that morass of anger.

Had Bruce seen this bloodlust in him before? How much he enjoyed hurting others?

Was this why Bruce hadn’t saved him? Because if Bruce had killed the Joker before he ever got his hands on Jason, Jason would have only been happy about it? Because Bruce knew he’d thought about killing Gonzales.

Bruce's work to get Gonzales' diplomatic immunity revoked, through elaborate political manoeuvring Jason wasn't allowed to be part of, took so long the man had a chance to flee the country before he could be arrested. By the time they caught up with him he'd been caught for other crimes involved in his escape attempt. They had considerably less long sentences than serial rape did.

Just thinking about it made rage burst under Jason’s skin, licking over his tongue like that green liquid burning down his throat and into his veins. Bruce and his fucking high horse (even if he had promised to continue to work on getting him extradited to the US and actually charged for his crimes). Gonzales could have still breathed without his genitals, at least.

Jason shuddered as his skin crawled and he desperately tried to redirect the fury. Inwards was working surprisingly well lately. Maybe Bruce had had a point. He was vicious, like a wild animal with sadism only humans could manage.

But it hadn’t always been like this! He hadn’t wanted to hurt Gonzales, hurt criminals, because he just wanted people to hurt. He had wanted to hurt them because of the people they had hurt! The things they had done! He had wanted to make sure they never did it again!

It was the Pit. It had to be the Pit. The choking, cloying green rushing over him, making everything sharper and somehow more real. But only the blood, only the pain. Talia had said it just enhanced what was already there within you.

Jason could tell Bruce had thought he was dangerous. That he was too brutal with criminals. Jason thought that if criminals were shooting at him he’d break their bones all he liked thanks. It wasn’t like Jason had broken Bruce’s fucking ‘One Rule’, as if that was actually the only rule he had. Even now it was a rule Jason didn’t entirely understand.

He’d once commented to Dick (he’d never dare to Bruce) that the League of Assassins being like Batman but with deadly force didn’t sound entirely bad. He’d half expected Dick to snap at him like Bruce definitely would have. But Dick had just heaved a resigned sigh.

“It’s not that simple, Little Wing. Maybe there are some people that the world would be better off without,” there was a brief pause and Jason had known they were both picturing Joker. Jason had also had Scarecrow, Zsasz, Black Mask, and Penguin spring to mind. “But Ra’s and Talia… they don’t only kill in the most extreme circumstances to try to save innocents. They believe that bloodshed is imperative to ‘cleansing’ the world. It might not be indiscriminate but it is extensive and ruthless. They’re as happy to kill innocents as criminals if they think it is necessary for their larger goals and it’s not like all those who commit crimes are beyond help either,” and Dick had smiled at him in a little inside joke and ruffled his hair. Jason remembered blushing. He’d definitely thought Batman might kill him after he’d caught Jason boosting his tires. “I will never understand what Bruce saw in that woman,” Dick had grumbled a moment later and Jason snorted. Thinking about Bruce dating at all was gross enough.

Maybe if killing for killing’s sake was something that became more appealing to you as you did it there was some degree of sense to Bruce’s stupid rule. Maybe he’d always known Jason was walking a fine line with sadism.

Jason had survived in the League of Assassins for several months propelled by nothing but anger and hate. He’d thought it was all he had left. It turned out that losing his targets had not so much taken away those emotions as redirected them.

He loathed the League almost as much as he loathed himself. So far it wasn’t as effective a training motivation as revenge had been.

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe you’ve never skateboarded!” Tim was nearly vibrating with enthusiasm.

“I have enough excuses for getting horrific injuries,” Dick teased.

“Car accidents and extreme sports,” Tim recited.

“Some of which I actually do,” Dick agreed. Speaking of, he missed sky-diving but he didn’t think Bruce’s heart could take that at the moment.

They climbed out of the car to the sound of laughter and exhilarated screaming. The skatepark was pretty busy but it was a nice day for autumn. Dick breathed in the crisp air, flooded with a sudden sense of melancholy. It had been… what? Nine months now? Nearly ten.

Four since Tim had come into their lives. Dick found himself wishing bleakly that Jason could have met him. He probably would have loved the shy, eager to please kid with the sneaky scheming streak stubborn enough to crack Batman.

“Dick?” Tim asked.

“Sorry, just enjoying the breeze,” Dick turned back up the wattage on his smile. “Come on, you know we’re only really here so you can laugh at me.”

“Not, only,” Tim protested and Dick laughed. The kid was finally teasing him back, which was a relief.

He wasn’t sure whether his mark had come in yet or not. Tim had a tendency to wear long sleeves. After his rocky start with Jason he’d figured Jason would never admit to his mark and so checked regularly. He’d been just as eager to show Jay the reciprocating mark, emphasising to Jason they really were family.

It could be awkward with soulmarks sometimes. Nothing was as uncomfortable as getting a soulmark from someone you knew didn’t have one of yours. And confessing you had someone’s soulmark often felt like asking someone out in reverse – so I noticed you love me… I… like you too, I think? He didn’t want to embarrass Tim by bringing up the soulmark on his rib cage.

He was perfectly happy just doing bonding activities Tim liked until it seemed like a natural time to bring it up. Besides, he was curious about skateboarding.

“Okay, I have got the balance down! It is everything else that is an issue,” Dick announced half an hour later while Tim giggled so hard there were tears in his eyes. “How do I make the board stick to my feet?” Tim just laughed harder.

“Timmy! I don’t think you are taking being my teacher seriously!” Dick complained mock seriously.

Tim heaved a breath and seemed to be attempting to offer a critique but it just came out with more wheezing. Dick pouted and wobbled the board in a wiggly line with his hips down the path. “I choose to take your lack of criticism as evidence I am ready for the turnpike!”

“You don’t need to wave your hands around so much,” Tim protested breathlessly.

“I’m a showman!”

“Geez, Drake, do you ever spend time around people your own age?” Dick frowned at the sudden attention of a group of slightly older teenagers.

The laughter seemed to wash off Tim’s face like water, leaving only dread as he turned to the kids. Dick hopped off the board and kicked it up into his hand as he made his way closer.

“Can I help you with something?” Tim demanded of the apparent leader of the little gaggle.

“Just wondering why you’re hanging out with some dude in his twenties when it’s not like you have anyone who actually wants to spend time with you. You paying him or something?”

Tim’s ears flushed crimson, “Leave Dick out of this!” he snapped.

The guy choked on laughter at that. Dick gave him a rueful smile. Yeah, yeah, he’d heard them all.

“Dick? Seriously? Little direct even for a hooker, isn’t it?” the guy jeered. Tim was vibrating with anger now.

“Eh, five out of ten. Randomly guessing at my occupation isn't exactly an insult,” Dick shrugged easily, deciding to just completely ignore the vile implications behind the suggestion. “Want to try again?”

The teenager blinked, a little nonplussed by the lack of reaction. “What, you his babysitter or something?” he mumbled.

Dick stiffened at the reminder Tim hadn’t had anyone since he was eight. Tim had fallen eerily still and silent. Hopefully he wasn’t misjudging this interaction.

“Nah. He’s practically my little brother,” Dick grinned, slinging an arm around Tim's shoulders and rocking the startled boy gently. “You friends of his from school?” He let his smile slide towards dangerous.

The leader recovered and snorted, “Tim doesn’t have friends.”

Dick frowned. That was concerning. Tim’s shoulders were slowly hiking up towards his shoulders. He didn’t like dropping the Wayne family name but if Tim was being bullied at school, as seemed increasingly likely, the connection could provide him some protection. Bruce could almost certainly buy and sell these boys’ families and, while he wouldn’t, the threat was still useful.

“Or family,” the boy added. “Or anyone.” Or maybe he could just pay these kids a personal visit as Nightwing.

“Shut up! I bet your family would be missing a few soulmarks of its own if your parents knew you sold prescription drugs from their companies to kids behind the gym!” Tim abruptly snapped in a vicious hiss. Dick blinked down at him. Should they be doing something about that? “Or would your dads enjoy being put under investigation and probably losing the right to practise medicine?” The boys looked stunned and the girls were beginning to giggle at their shocked expressions. “Why are you laughing?” Apparently, Tim wasn’t done. “Your parents earned their fortune laundering money for Falcone. How’d all those accounts being frozen work out for you? Your parents always circle their car through Bristol so it seems like you still live there even though it's obvious their car passes the bus stop heading in every morning.”

Damn, Tim was pretty terrifying once he got going. Dick was having flashbacks to Tim presenting his evidence that Bruce Wayne was Batman. The older kids had been rendered speechless.

Tim glared ferociously at them while unconsciously clutching his left forearm protectively. Dick smiled faintly. It had started coming in then.

“I don’t have to prove anything to you. Stay away from my family!” Tim snarled.

Dick decided that was their cue to leave and quickly drew the boy away. He tried not to let a bounce into his step that Tim had described them as family. It didn’t seem quite appropriate at this moment. He couldn’t stop the grin though.

Tim was staring at his shoes, face still burning. “I – I’m really sorry.”

“Tim, don’t be sorry, that was amazing,” Dick laughed.

Tim glanced up at him in surprise and flushed even worse before examining his shoes again. Dick sobered. “Are you okay?”

Tim nodded vaguely, “Sorry you got dragged into that.”

“Hey, Tim that’s what family is for,” Dick knelt so he could look Tim in the eyes and clasp his shoulders.

“But… I mean I’m not really…” Tim mumbled.

“You sure about that?” Dick tweaked his sleeve gently. Tim started and looked up at him with wide eyes. Dick gave him a warm smile. Tim’s wobbled. “Do those kids bother you a lot at school?”

“It’s okay,” Tim hurriedly swiped at his eyes. “It makes sense people would be annoyed they have to hang out with a little kid who skipped grades.”

“They should be grateful to have someone as brilliant as you in their class,” Dick said stoutly.

Tim shrugged.

“No seriously, Jason was super smart and good in school but a bunch of kids were always looking down on him because he was adopted. They weren’t so smug when Jay aced the year and all the kids he’d been tutoring got great grades while everyone else was way behind.”

Tim’s next smile was more genuine. He always seemed to enjoy Jason’s triumphs as if they were his own.

“They mock me because I don’t have many soulmarks,” Tim admitted in a whisper and then looked horrified he’d said it.

“Oh, Timmy,” Dick folded his little brother into a hug. “They’re idiots who are never going to understand why they can’t make new ones. No matter how many or how few soulmarks you have, Tim, you are worthy of them, okay? You are worthy of all the love in the world.” He kissed Tim’s forehead gently. Tim just clung to him harder.

“Why don’t we go get ice-cream to save me from cracking my head open and you having to dramatically call an ambulance for me. Huh?” Tim nodded against his shoulder. “Great!” Dick hefted Tim up easily and made for the car.

“Dick… Dick I can walk…”

“But you’re so cuddly!”

“Dick, we’re in public!” Tim whined.

Dick pouted, “None of my younger brothers ever want to be seen with me!”

Tim blinked wet eyelashes at him. “But you and Jason did lots of stuff together.”

“Hah! On sufferance!” Dick mock groused. “You know he once told me he hated me on sight because I had ‘a stupid crazy number of soulmarks and was clearly some kind of creepy weirdo’?”

Tim just gaped at him. “He didn’t!”

“He did! I was heartbroken!” Dick joked as if it hadn’t hurt like hell at the time. “And he said I was uncool and had terrible fashion sense. Which is just objectively false!”

“Well…”

“Et tu, Timmy?”

Tim giggled and butted his head against Dick’s shoulder. Dick laughed, trying to fight a sense of longing.

“Honestly, Tim, things were a bit rough for Jason and I at the start. What with the whole… Bruce giving some of my stuff to Jason without my permission and failing to mention Jason existed until I came home for the weekend thing.”

“You – you didn’t give it to him?” Tim stared at Dick, having picked up on the Robin inference.

“I did… but Bruce gave it first. And I couldn’t exactly take that back. I think… I really upset Jason at first. I wasn’t trying to give him the cold shoulder but I was upset and – and angry. About him if not at him…” He still felt shame thinking of that. An eighteen-year-old jealous of a twelve-year-old. “Jason was always really sensitive to negative emotions,” Dick opened the car door and set Tim inside before resting against the doorframe.

“I thought we were okay once we got to know each other a bit. And Jason… treated my stuff really well, so I just kind of assumed that things were good with us. I only found out years later that Jason always… always compared himself to me. He worried that I was disappointed in him, that I didn’t really want him in the family. Sometimes I just… really wish I could go back in time and reassure him that – that I was really happy he was… looking after my things. That I was blessed he was my little brother,” Dick confessed.

He couldn’t tell Bruce this. Bruce would blame himself. But Dick was so afraid that in his final moments Jason had doubted whether he had a big brother who would miss him.

“Sometimes I think that maybe if I’d been a better big brother he wouldn’t have run away and he wouldn’t have died,” Dick whispered, tears spilling down his face. “I wonder if it’s my fault.”

Two firm little arms latched around his waist. “It wasn’t and he knew,” Tim said fiercely.

“Timmy…”

“He knew because I know,” Tim said fiercely, drawing back to pull up his sleeve and show the blue of Dick’s soulmark. “Your – your marks are easy to see. So we know.”

Dick pulled Tim back into the hug, not caring if people stared. “Thank you, Baby Bird,” he murmured into Tim’s hair.

* * *

They both deserved ice-cream after the emotional rollercoaster the afternoon had been. They ditched the board and protective gear in the car and took their ice-creams to the park.

Tim watched in amusement as Dick ordered an elaborate concoction in a cone with extra sprinkles and whipped cream. He was satisfied with a scoop in a little cup. Well, Dick insisted on two scoops and on paying but still.

Tim was still reeling from Dick’s confession back at the car. Not to mention that kids from his school had nearly outed him about Dick’s soulmark being the only one he had. He hadn’t meant to show it to Dick but with Dick weeping, terrified his brother hadn’t known he’d been loved, well.

Dick always seemed so happy, like sunshine drawing the best out of everyone around him. It had never really occurred to Tim that at least part of that could be an act. That maybe Dick wasn’t coping with the loss of his younger brother as well as he seemed to be. How could he blame himself?! Tim had read the file. It hadn’t been anyone’s fault but the Joker’s. The Joker was the one who had killed a fifteen-year-old who had just been trying to find his mum.

Did Dick really consider them family? He’d seemed pretty clear about it at the skatepark. Tim didn’t want to presume… but if Dick was so terrified Jason hadn’t known maybe Tim should just take him at his word when he called Tim his little brother.

“Your ice-cream’s melting, Timbit.” Tim made a face at the newest nickname and drew his gaze back from the middle distance.

Dick had already finished, having to work fast to avoid it getting all over his hands, and was now idly swinging on the back of the bench. A moment later he did a flip into a cartwheel, ending with him walking on his hands.

Tim grinned. It was still amazing to see Dick so idly using his acrobatics. His shorts hiked up as his legs waved easily in the air. Contorting himself truly impressively, Dick craned his neck up to look at Tim behind his back and walked backwards over to the bench.

Tim looked idly at the soulmarks on Dick’s legs. He was still stunned by how many he had. That deep blue in foreign characters on his calf had to be Aqualad’s – sorry, Tempest’s. Amy Rohrbach was one of Dick’s co-workers back in Blüdhaven. He thought Daniel Chase was another Titan.

Dick’s legs straightened, as if Dick was stretching while doing a handstand, exposing Jason’s clearly. Even upside-down the handwriting was obviously neat and the grey almost looked warmer in the bright afternoon light; given a ruddy hue. Tim stilled, ice-cream forgotten.

“Dick?”

“Mm?”

“Was – was Jason’s soulmark red?”

“Yeah. Did I never tell you that?”

“No,” Tim said faintly. He hadn’t known how to ask.

“How’d you guess?” Dick grinned, craning to see him again. “He just sound like a red type of personality?”

Tim swallowed. “Um, could – could you just stand normally for a moment.” Dick blinked but obliged. “And um, turn around?” Still baffled Dick did as he was told.

Tim dumped the ice-cream cup next to him, bending closer to Dick’s knee. He then fumbled out his phone and switched on the light, shining it carefully against the back of Dick’s knee. He couldn’t be imagining this – could he?

“Tim?” Dick twisted, looking concerned.

Tim considered taking a picture but phone cameras were terrible about colour.

“Have – have you looked at Jason’s soulmark recently?” Tim asked tentatively. If he was wrong… no, even if he was right, how could he say anything? He had no idea what this could mean.

Dick slumped slightly, looking ashamed. “No,” he admitted. “It… still hurts sometimes.”

“I… I think you should look at it,” Tim said. That was neutral, wasn’t it? He wasn’t prejudicing Dick any particular way?

Dick stared at him but after a moment he – well, Tim wasn’t entirely sure what he did. Lifted his leg up to his shoulder in a vertical split and somehow twisted his leg around enough to give himself a view of the back of his own knee. He looked like a contortionist and more than a few people were staring.

A moment later Dick’s leg dropped and his face was white as a sheet. He looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“It – it isn’t grey,” Dick stammered after a moment. Tim shook his head.

It wasn’t red . It was a kind of dark burgundy, like red was slowly leaking through grey. As far as Tim could see it wasn’t moving but… it definitely wasn’t grey.

Dick looked like he was about to faint and Tim hurriedly stood to maneuverer Dick onto the bench.

“What – what does this mean?” Dick asked Tim as if he genuinely thought Tim might know. “It’s – it’s supposed to be grey. It was grey!” he insisted. And Tim nodded because he’d seen it. It had been grey and dead and horrible.

“I – I don’t know. I’ve never heard of a dead person’s soulmark…”

“Coming back?!” Dick asked, sounding somewhat hysterical. Then his face stilled, a wild hope sparking in his eyes. “It’s coming back…”

Tim gaped at him. He felt like he should deny it. Should try to prevent Dick from clinging to false hope. But that had been exactly what he’d first thought when he registered the mark’s colour.

It wasn’t possible. Was it?

Chapter Text

“I need to see your arm!” Dick burst in like he was being chased by supervillains.

“Dick, what on Earth?!” Barbara protested. She’d just been taking a break and hadn’t heard anything about an emergency.

Dick was a mess. His hair looked as if he’d been running his hands through it or maybe actively tugging on it, his clothes were dishevelled, and his movements were jerky and uncoordinated instead of his usual grace. Had he been drugged with something? A twitchy, anxious Tim hurried in Dick’s wake, looking equally disturbed.

“Your arm. Your right arm, I need to see it,” Dick insisted, taking the coffee mug right out of her hands.

“What is this about?!” Barbara protested, wheeling away from him angrily.

“Babs, please,” Dick met her eyes and there was desperate pleading there.

Barbara hesitantly extended her arm to him and let Dick take it. In a moment he was behind her and had whipped the sleeve of her blouse up to her shoulder.

“Dick! What is going on?!” That was where Jason’s soulmark was. What on Earth was he doing? Was this fear gas? Some sort of hallucinogen?

The choked sob that Dick made as he released her arm in no way reassured her. Tim scurried to Dick’s side even as Barbara tried to twist to see what on Earth they were looking at.

“It’s the same,” Tim whispered.

“What’s the same?!” Barbara demanded, starting to get really scared now and angry correspondingly. She was an inch away from calling Bruce.

“Do you have a mirror?” Tim asked. “A portable one?” Dick had his hands over his mouth and looked like he was trying not to have a panic attack.

“There’s one in the dresser,” she said faintly. “Dick, breathe!”

He dragged in one ragged breath, seemed to conclude that was sufficient, and covered his mouth again. He looked inches away from falling apart completely. While Barbara was still trying to work out if he needed a tox screen Tim came racing back holding the little hand mirror that had been her mother’s.

After a bit of awkward manoeuvring, he got behind her and angled the mirror.

“Yes, it’s Jason’s soulmark, I know it’s –” and then her voice cut out. Because she knew it was there. But it looked different.

It wasn’t grey anymore. Almost wine perhaps. It almost looked like it was flickering in the corner of her eye. It was a trick of the light. It had to be.

As if anticipating her line of thought Tim shone his phone’s torch on her arm, illuminating the mark with clean white light. That – that wasn’t grey.

“What is this?” Barbara whispered, feeling like she’d had all the air punched out of her.

“I don’t know,” Tim was shaking his head desperately. “I – I just – I saw Dick’s leg and –”

Dick provided her with his leg unprompted, laying it across the arms of her chair. Barbara was seriously concerned he was about to tip over. But Tim was right, Dick’s mark was the same colour. A colour that wasn’t a dead grey.

Barbara’s mind tried to spin through all the possibilities. Someone using magic to manipulate their soulmarks? When would they both have been exposed? Some sort of chemical? The chances it would only affect one soulmark seemed slim and again there was the question of exposure, not to mention side effects. A group hallucination? That was a likelier possibility. Or the idea she knew they were all thinking and she didn’t dare let herself hope.

“We need to call Bruce,” she said as firmly as she could.

Bruce was in another location, if they were compromised there was a chance he wasn’t. Assuming any of this was real of course. Dick just nodded silently and then folded to sit cross-legged on the floor, apparently unable to hold himself up anymore. A moment later Tim was next to him and the moment after that Dick had him tucked under his arm.

Barbara silently keyed in the Cave, unsure what she should be expecting or preparing for.

* * *

Tim was out with Dick.

That was good. Good they were bonding. Dick was good with emotions. Bruce… wasn’t.

He understood emotions, on a theoretical level. He had studied to read people, to understand their motivations. And yet he wasn’t good at expressing his own emotions. At explaining himself. Half the time it felt like he was just relying on the fact his soulmarks were indelibly visible on their skin to communicate what he was so bad at.

Did Tim have his yet? He almost certainly had Dick’s. Dick’s came in so quickly and easily. Bruce had actually had the disconcerting experience of having people apologise for having his son’s soulmark without Dick showing any sign of theirs on more than one occasion. Barbara had actually cried about it.

Jim had only taken a couple of months to receive one, even though they only met on rooftops and it was mostly the adults talking. That had been an awkward conversation Bruce had never mentioned to Dick. He’d suspected Jim had already inferred his identity but the awkward, “Mr. Wayne? I have your son’s soulmark, we should probably talk,” had not been the way he’d been planning to address it. Of course, they’d had each other’s too by that point but at least they’d actually met as civilians.

After that there had been a lot of fundraisers for Batman allies so there was at least some plausible deniability if more showed up. When Bruce had asked Dick about Jim’s soulmark the only comment had been, “Duh, he’s your friend, B.” As if that explained anything !

He was getting distracted. Lately he’d been spending a lot more time worrying about Tim and soulmarks than was really productive. He’d never seen a single mark on the child’s skin but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Most of Bruce’s were on his torso and wouldn’t be seen by anyone but his family. And he had a surprising number.

Like Clark who kept badgering him, he thought as a call came through. Probably another check Bruce hadn’t been up for forty-eight hours or something. He’d barely been up for thirty, it was fine.

Clark somehow always seemed to know the times Bruce was alone and brooding in the Cave and would just appear. At first he hadn’t said anything, he’d just be there for a while. Bruce had yelled at him to leave more than once in the early months following Jason’s death but Clark had kept coming.

Bruce hadn’t wanted to see him. Hadn’t wanted sympathy from someone who didn’t have a child and couldn’t possibly imagine what he felt. But he knew it was one of the few things that had grounded him those months. The knowledge he physically couldn’t hurt Clark (well, unless he went for the Kryptonite) making his presence almost bearable, unlike everyone else he loved and would ruin and lead to their deaths if he allowed them close.

Speaking of, apparently it wasn’t Clark attempting to mother him yet again. “Oracle, report.”

“Bruce…” Barbara paused.

She’d made it a video call, which she didn’t usually bother to do. And usually she was far better about not using names on comms than Dick or even Alfred. Bruce’s frown darkened as he realised Dick was there too, sitting on the ground behind Barbara looking pale and distressed. Tim was pressed to his side.

“What’s wrong? Are you in danger?” Bruce demanded immediately.

“I – we don’t know. We may have been compromised.” Bruce’s blood ran cold. “We don’t seem to be in immediate danger but… our sense of reality could be inaccurate; we all seem to be sharing the same delusion. I’ve locked down the Belfry just in case.”

Bruce hurriedly pulled up the cameras and sensors in the Clocktower, searching for anyone who might be inside the lockdown who could threaten his children. There only seemed to be three life signs.

“Bruce, I need you and Alfred to check something for me and not ask questions, alright?” If they were compromised Barbara’s eyes were still alert and she was projecting a – granted somewhat forced – calm.

“Have you run a tox screen yet?” Bruce demanded, buzzing Alfred automatically.

“Not yet.”

“Start with that. What are your precise symptoms?” Bruce demanded, already searching through Barbara’s various air filters to see if there was anything suspect being registered. So far the lockdown was holding.

They looked… steady. Not laughing, so no Joker gas. Unsettled, so maybe a new strain of fear gas but, if so, they were holding it together impressively well, even Tim. Mad Hatter was a possibility, some sort of psychic suggestion or hypnosis? For something this subtle maybe even Hugo Strange and the thought of that lunatic messing around with his children’s heads –

“Bruce,” Barbara insisted. “We are not sure we’ve been compromised. That’s why we need you and Alfred to do an independent test.”

Bruce frowned. If he put on the suit and took the Batmobile he could be there in twenty minutes. Of course, it was the middle of the day so it would hardly be inconspicuous. And he’d have to make sure he couldn’t be exposed to whatever was affecting his children. He could quarantine them back at the Batcave, where they would be safe .

“Master Bruce, you called?” Alfred appeared as quietly as usual.

“The Clocktower may have been compromised, I’m suiting up now,” Bruce said shortly, Alfred could keep the kids talking until he arrived.

“Bruce, no!” Barbara protested. “You don’t –” she paused, frustration obvious in her voice now. “I told you, I need you to just listen to me and not ask questions for a minute.”

If his children were compromised it was almost certainly dangerous to take them at their word. Whatever this drug or hypnosis might be suggesting to them –

“It’ll only take a minute, okay? Then you can come rushing in,” Barbara sighed.

“What do you require, Mistress Gordon?” Alfred asked her calmly.

“We just need you to look at a couple of things for us. It’ll only take a few seconds.”

Bruce hesitated. If it would keep them calm, perhaps it would be best to placate them before he came to extract them. But who knew what delayed symptoms they might begin showing, he was already too far away as it was.

“Dad. Please?” Dick spoke for the first time, voice plaintive.

If this was a villain’s doing Bruce was going to make them regret they had ever been born. His heart twisted in his chest, both at the aching vulnerability in Dick’s voice and what he had called Bruce. He hadn’t called Bruce that since Jason died. Jason calling Bruce “Dad” had encouraged Dick on occasion. Bruce had thought Dick might wish to never be reminded the man he’d once thought of as a father had gotten his brother killed.

He sighed, well aware he was crumpling like wet tissue paper. “Fine. What do you want us to look at?”

“Go somewhere with good lighting.”

Bruce objected to the idea anywhere in the Cave didn’t have good lighting but Alfred had already shifted obligingly to the medbay, speakers throughout the room making the conversation easy to continue, so Bruce stomped after him.

“We need you to take your shirt off,” Barbara informed him, crisp and professional, ignoring Bruce’s gimlet eye back over his shoulder, “and Alfred needs to look at your back.”

Not that the kids hadn’t seen him shirtless, he needed bandages or stitches on his torso every other week, but Bruce was still somewhat pleased he was out of the immediate range of the computer sensor as he shrugged his shirt off. It was a good thing he’d been wearing casual clothes in the Cave more often, getting off the top half of the Batsuit was a pain. That said, at least he could have left the moment this was over. Maybe he could start suiting up while they went through the motions, it wasn’t like the kids could see what he was doing anymore.

Alfred, as collected as ever, dutifully moved behind Bruce to examine his back. “What am I doing, Mistress Barbara? Other than admiring the tapestry of scars, of course.” Bruce huffed irritably. This was taking longer than a few seconds.

“Just… does anything look strange to you? Just – just take a moment to really look.” For the first time Barbara’s firm tone wavered into uncertainty.

Bruce drummed his fingers impatiently on his thigh, fighting the urge to fidget. Alright, they’d humoured whatever was affecting his children – time to get down to the Clocktower and –

Alfred gasped. Actually gasped. Aloud. It was like Alfred dropping a tray of food. It just didn’t happen. Bruce spun to try to steady his father in immediate fear.

Alfred didn’t look like he was about to collapse so that was good but he was pale. “Alfred? Alfred! What’s wrong? Are you injured?”

“No, no, my boy, I’m quite – oh my word,” Alfred said distractedly and a moment later he had perched on one of the beds and, of all things, was rolling up one of his trouser legs.

Bruce’s mind spun in confusion. What could he have – Jason’s soulmark. Alfred had it on his calf, Bruce on his back. The bottom dropped out of his stomach. No. No, no, no. It couldn’t – it couldn’t be gone . They couldn’t take even that from him, could they? Magic could affect soulmarks, if someone had erased Jason’s soulmark from him – from his family – no, they couldn’t have taken even his remembrance from Bruce!

Stupid, sloppy, he should have been checking the soulmark every day. Instead of being so weak as to hide it. Stupid cowardice trying to spare himself the pain. If it was too late to ever get it back because of his weakness he would never forgive himself.

Alfred carefully twisted to expose his calf and Bruce’s panicking thoughts cut off because he could see markings. It was still there. Thank God, it was still there. Had – had Bruce lost his? Dick and Barbara? Perhaps something they had been exposed to in their night life. Would Zatanna know how to get them back? She had to.

At least Alfred had his. At least one of the family still –

It looked wrong. It was… brighter than it had been. More obvious than a flat dull grey. If the light had been dim not blinding it would have looked like Jason’s living mark – red dulled by shadows.

“What – what does it look like?” Dick’s voice caught and now Bruce could hear the painful hope.

“What do you see?” Barbara corrected and suddenly Bruce understood her careful avoidance of biasing any perceptions. Because it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be.

It had to be some kind of drug or spell or something . Maybe Dick and Tim had spread it to Barbara. Grey soulmarks didn’t change. The love of the dead didn’t revive.

And yet – and yet. He needed outside confirmation. He needed to know this was all false, to crush the hope desperately trying to escape his chest, tangling his thoughts. He needed irrefutable proof that Jason was dead and never coming back.

He barely registered dialling the number with numb fingers. Didn’t even wait when the line connected for an acknowledgement. “Clark. I need a favour.”

Chapter Text

“You look like hell,” Talia told him bluntly.

Couldn’t really argue with that.

Jason couldn’t remember the last time he’d bathed, or more accurately sponged off with a bucket of cold water. Maybe when he’d been cleaning the blood off? Had he ever finished that? He was also a little vague on his eating habits. He knew he’d eaten, gone to the mess hall and eaten whatever was put in front of him without tasting it. He was just a bit vague on the when and what. He’d definitely torn a couple of muscles and had cracked ribs. He really should have been trying to treat that. He thought the aftereffects of the Pit might be dulling the pain and speeding the healing because they felt old and he definitely hadn’t had them before he’d gone fugue state. He was pretty sure it had only been a couple of weeks he’d been dissociating… That probably wasn’t good.

Rage hissed and seethed at Talia, plotting violence with every graceful movement. It dragged him back into his body and the here and now. His body felt weird. All jerky again. Like his soul didn’t fit his body quite right anymore. Maybe it didn’t have room with the Pit there.

Jason shrugged, “I’ve been training.”

Talia sighed. “If you want revenge on your father you need to care for the tools you will use. Your body is one of those tools.”

And what about my mind? Jason wondered. You didn’t seem to have any problem breaking that.

Looking at her now was like squinting through a sea of green. Nascent currently, waiting, but cold and vicious and cruel.

She had used him.

The worst part is she hadn’t even been that subtle about it. She’d made it pretty clear he was a tool.

But only after she’d soothed him, comforted him, given him sympathy, and acted like she cared. Made him feel special after telling him that everyone he trusted had abandoned him.

Looking at it now it just felt like textbook manipulation.

Because Bruce ‘deserved to be taught a lesson’. God, it was always about Bruce, wasn’t it? Jason was just an afterthought. A rescued street rat the billionaire could show off to prove his goodness. A useful weakness to be used against him.

Not to him. He wished he could feel his soulmarks, not just see them. Feel proof that he really was more than just a thing to them.

They loved him. Those marks meant they loved him. Maybe the old him before he’d become this fucking mess and maybe they were all myopic idiots half the time. But they were his myopic idiots and he liked them a hell of a lot more than he liked the myopic idiots of the League!

Now he thought about it maybe most humans were myopic idiots who never saw anything beyond their own shallow world view. That was certainly an accurate summary of him.

“You’re unusually quiet,” Talia commented and it was only the training that stopped Jason startling.

Damn, he’d been drifting out of his body again, trying to get away from the green. Stupid. As if he thought Talia wasn’t a threat. As if he still thought she had his best interests at heart.

“I thought you wanted me to be more ‘contemplative’,” Jason retorted.

Talia considered this, “Then you have given thought to more… realistic plans for your return to Gotham?”

Jason blinked. He… hadn’t really been thinking about that. Well, okay he’d been brooding about it. Mostly wallowing in how much better he seemed to fit in with cold-blooded killers than he ever had Bruce’s world and how maybe his family would have taken him back if he hadn’t gone full budding serial killer but now that was shot and he hated them for not loving him from the start and their love being so conditional and himself for not being worthy of love but especially Talia.

He hurriedly reigned it in. It felt ironic to use Talia’s own breathing techniques to prevent himself from trying to gouge her eyes out.

“I thought you said the Pit would enhance my mind, so far it has only been… distracting,” he said resentfully. Because seriously who had she been fucking kidding?

Jason was willing to admit he wasn’t exactly a model of mental health currently. But at least he was now aware he was a fucking basket case. Just thinking about the last few months made him pretty sure he belonged in Arkham because he’d been a raving lunatic.

Except… not Arkham. Please not Arkham. Somewhere else, there had to be somewhere else, right?

Talia’s head tilted, “You are concerned about the effects of the Pit?”

Yes! You should be too! Remember how easy it made turning a traumatized fifteen-year-old into an assassin to get back at your ex?! It was easier to frame it that way. That way it sounded messed up and he felt slightly less awful about himself. Instead of convinced that maybe he’d just been pretty broken already.

He shrugged. “It can be useful. It is… motivating. But if I’m going to get revenge on Bruce I need to be smart.”

Talia nodded, a small smile indicating approval. “I am glad to see you beginning to fully comprehend the undertaking you have embraced.”

It was like poker. Lie and manoeuvre while trying to see through the other person’s hand. Which… what were Talia goals exactly?

When he’d been… for lack of a better word, unstable, he’d just assumed she sympathised with him. Maybe even pitied him, which he hated but he could use. Now… was it really just about punishing Bruce through him? She acted weirdly fond for that.

“I need to figure out how to get the Joker out of Arkham,” Jason offered. Because that was something that still actually seemed kind of relevant.

He did not get Bruce’s damage about that man. Couldn’t the Joker be the exception that proved the rule? There was literally no reason not to kill the man!

This wasn’t Dent, who was literally lost in his own mind. This wasn’t Harley, a manipulated abuse victim for all her brutality. This wasn’t Ivy with understandable intentions if extreme measures or Freeze who wanted nothing more than to save his wife regardless of the cost. Hell, this wasn’t even like Killer Croc, who was violently misanthropic, or Scarecrow, who thought of other people as little more than lab rats, and they were both psychotic killers with barely a redeeming feature.

Jason wasn’t even entirely sure the Joker was human. He cheated death at every opportunity, sometimes seemed to have an almost preternatural ability to detect people’s actions, and as far as he could tell literally fed on pain, death, and misery.

A bit like him now.

Jason swallowed down his gorge and then had to fight the urge to strangle Talia. She’d brought him back in the image of his murderer! That was a special kind of sick!

Talia was discussing the benefits of stealth versus misdirection in terms of getting what he needed. Which did feel like something he should be paying attention to but he was a bit busy trying not to murder her.

“If you wish to set up this meeting between my beloved and yourself, in order to deal with the Joker, you will need to ensure that you have laid the groundwork to bring Batman to you by the time you effect an escape,” Talia told him.

Wait, what? Oh right, make Bruce kill the Joker or kill him. At the time it had seemed like a win-win.

Now with Bruce’s mark on his back he was figuring if Bruce wouldn’t do it out of love he probably wouldn’t do it for any other reason so what was the fucking point? Better to just put a bullet in Joker’s skull and be done with it. It was a more ‘realistic’ plan as Talia would put it.

“I want to learn to use guns,” Jason announced.

Really his current training was a bit redundant to the Occum’s Razor approach of: go home, punch Bruce in the nose, kill the Joker, beg forgiveness rather than permission. Not necessarily in that order.

It had about a… 50% chance of working? And if Bruce kicked him out he’d just go stay with Dick or Babs. They’d forgive him (so would Alfred but he lived in the manor). And maybe if Bruce really did love him he’d… understand, at least.

It still itched at him that the marks had vanished and were only now coming back. It fed the green. He was trying to hold to the fact that the new plan he’d just made up was at least less crazy (he thought) so that was probably an improvement?

“Your training will cover proficiency in firearms as it will all weapons,” Talia said dismissively. “Even if they are are loud, inelegant, and crude,” Talia continued. Jason fought not to roll his eyes. At least he got Bruce’s damage on the guns issue. The League was just still living in the time Ra’s had been born.

“Everyone uses them in Gotham. I’d rather actually be good, not just ‘proficient’,” Jason pointed out. Also, guns had range. He knew from experience that batarangs, shuriken, and throwing knives were slow and tapped out way before handguns, much less a sniper rifle.

Surprisingly Talia actually seemed to be considering it. “If you seek mastery… you know beloved did not only train with us. He wandered the world finding Masters of many forms of combat.”

“Anything Bruce can do I can do,” Jason told her. In part because he was sick of the wistful look she got in her eye talking about her ‘beloved’ even as she plotted to destroy him and in part because it was what she probably expected.

“Perhaps you could go on a similar journey…” Talia tapped her chin for a moment.

Wait. Jason’s brain screeched to a halt. Journey as in… not in the League? As in by himself? As in he could bugger off immediately and just fucking go home?!

“Slade Wilson has been known to collaborate with the League on occasion,” Talia dangled it like a lure. “There are other masters I could potentially convince to teach you after you finish your training with the League and prove yourself ready.”

Oh shit, right. He was still currently in a murder cult.

Jason had… after extensive consideration during his quasi-flirtation with stability, come up with two moral keystones he was pretty solid on.

Firstly, his family and innocents didn’t deserve to die. Secondly, the Joker definitely did. He was leaving everything else in the work-it-out-when-I’m-not-morally-compromised-by-radioactive-Mountain-Dew basket.

Which meant he wasn’t thrilled with the idea of wandering the globe killing whoever the League wanted him to. Well, part of him was but that was the emotionally-compromised-Mountain-Dew part, which he was trying not to listen to.

Now if he just had an excuse for not wanting to kill that wasn’t going to get him murdered again as a no longer a useful tool… Come on brain… It’d only been in multiple blenders recently, surely it had something.

“Do you have a kid?”

That was… not what he’d been hoping to come up with.

Talia froze. Jason had never seen her so thrown.

“Why do you ask?” she asked stiffly after a moment.

Well, he supposed he was committed now. “I saw a kid back there last time you were here,” he pointed. “Wondered if they were yours.”

Talia’s eyes narrowed. Yeah, it was definitely her kid.

Wait. Kid. In the murder cult. Fuck.

“Whatever you think you saw, it is hardly relevant to your mission,” Talia told him.

Oh, it was a mission not revenge now, was it? The anger was bubbling up again. He smirked, “Does your ‘beloved’ know you have a kid?”

“He would hardly have room to judge considering his own habits,” Talia snapped.

Jason’s grin broadened. “Aw, and here I thought you were coming around to me.”

Talia rolled her eyes. “You are a child. Finish the training your father did and perhaps you will be a man by the time you finally face him.” She waved her hand in obvious dismissal.

Jason gritted his teeth. If she thought he was letting the kid go she had another thing coming. It was only as he processed her words that his brain finally clicked.

“Anything Bruce can do, I can do,” Jason repeated, letting the green fury grasping for Talia slid into his voice.

“So you said,” Talia sat behind her desk.

“Bruce got through his training without killing,” Jason pointed out.

Talia looked up, startled. “His greatest failing,” she finally said.

“If he can do it, I can do it.”

Talia actually put her head in her hands. “Jason…”

“No!” Jason started talking faster. Shit, he had to sell this. He had to. If he could just get out of the League without killing anyone (directly... not thinking about that) he could escape and go back to Gotham, forget the rest he’d figure it out later. “I want him to know. I want him to know, I kill because I choose to. Because he’s wrong. Not because I had to so I could survive. Because he’s a failure and I’m going to prove it. I want to take his stupid rules and throw them back in his face as I kill for the first time right in front of him.”

Too much? Too irrational? That was really just on brand at this point.

Talia sighed and straightened. “You father fought 100 foes in succession without killing any of them.”

“I can do it,” Jason’s heart leapt.

“They will wake up. You will fight more than 100 battles.”

“If Bruce managed it I will.” If there was one thing Jason was confident he matched Bruce in it was sheer stubbornness.

Talia sighed, “On your head it be,” she shrugged.

Jason couldn’t prevent the grin of victory as he made for the door. Now all he had to do was survive until they let him into the wind. And so far he’d been too stubborn to stay in the grave long.

* * *

“I’m moving back to Gotham.”

Bruce startled at the announcement. They had all been drifting around the cave in a shell-shocked daze since Clark had called back saying the grave was empty. Jason’s grave was empty. Nothing but a mannequin Clark’s X-ray vision could instantly tell wasn’t a body.

They’d run tox screens. Three times. Nothing.

This was real. Jason’s body was missing and Jason’s soulmarks were coming back.

“No.” Bruce managed. “You need –”

“I need to find my little brother!” Dick hissed. He had no idea how long Jason had been missing. Had they even buried Jason? If Jason hadn’t come home that meant he couldn’t. He could be in the clutches of any number of supervillains doing any number of horrendous things to him. He could be lost and confused and needing help! They had no idea what state he was in. They needed to have been searching months ago. Dick did not have time for anything else.

Tim was already compiling a list of individuals who might have had access to the body over the last nearly eleven months. He’d been darting around nervously the whole afternoon, trying to provide everyone with whatever they needed until Alfred had stirred himself to take over tea pouring duties. Most of them hadn’t touched theirs. Eventually Tim had settled to laying the groundwork for working out what had happened to Jason since it was the only way to stop Bruce's manic energy at the Batcomputer.

They’d spent most of the afternoon in video conferences with various members of the Justice League and Titans. Any optimism about an instant solution had been rapidly dashed. Martian Manhunter’s telepathy didn’t extend far enough to be helpful and neither did Raven’s empathy. Even Superman’s hearing wasn’t good enough to pick Jason’s voice out on an entire planet of background noise (assuming he was on the planet but thinking about the alternative made Dick start to hyperventilate), most likely even if Jason was screaming Clark’s name at the top of his lungs. Dick had figured magic might work only to be stymied by the fact that Jason’s resurrection had probably been through magic. Which apparently affected your magical wavelength or whatever. Either that or whoever had him had magical shielding. Zatanna and a grumpy, hungover Constantine had tried (Zatanna without complaint) to find him using the resonances of his old things (Bruce had tried to offer DNA but apparently that was a science thing, not a magic thing) without any luck. Which meant they were most likely doing this the old-fashioned way – detective work. And detective work was slow and time consuming.

The list of suspects was a mile long. It could be literally any of Gotham’s supercriminals if they’d worked out Jason’s identity and where Robin was buried. Any enemy of Bruce Wayne with enough money, power, and lack of scruples. Maybe even any of the Justice League's enemies. Who knew what their motivations might be and how they’d – how Jason had –

“You’re needed in Blüdhaven.”

“I don’t care! Helena can take care of it, she’ll probably be glad to be rid of me. Even if she can’t they’ll have to survive without me! I am not abandoning Jason when he needs me again!” He was on his feet and screaming by the end of this and he knew he was being irrational but he couldn’t breathe thinking of Jason alone, knowing Dick wasn’t even trying to find him! “Not ever again,” Dick gasped.

He was surprised when instead of lecturing him in that infuriatingly calm tone or yelling back he abruptly found himself folded into a hug. “Dick, chum, you didn’t know,” Bruce whispered gently, stroking his hair like he was nine again and crying for different lost family.

“I know now,” Dick sniffed, feeling tears spill down his face.

“We’ll find him,” Barbara promised.

“We don’t know –” Bruce started to protest and Dick could hear the desperate hope he was trying to smother.

“Bruce. We’ll find him.”

“He’s alive,” Dick insisted, tightening his grip on his father. “He’s alive, B. We can bring him home!”

Bruce disengaged from him and Dick thought that was that. But Bruce kept a hand on his shoulder, staring at him as if he was something precious he couldn’t bear to lose. He hadn’t been able to meet Dick’s eyes in eleven months, always shifting away as if the sight of Dick pained him. Then his eyes swept over the rest of the family, Alfred coming to lay a hand on Barbara’s shoulder, Babs looking up at them with her face alight with determination, Tim glancing back nervously from the computer screen.

“Tim, come here for a moment,” Bruce rumbled.

Tim startled but shuffled over to perch nervously on the edge of their little group, looking at Bruce expectantly but with some degree of what looked like anxiety. Oh, his poor baby brother, he must be so overwhelmed by everything, worrying he didn’t have a place anymore now the Jason might be – was back.

Dick didn’t know if Bruce noticed that but he immediately tugged Tim in to his side, wrapping an arm around Tim’s slight form. Dick found himself tugged back in too and corralled towards Barbara and Alfred. A group hug was a bit difficult when incorporating a wheelchair but they made the best of it, particularly since Bruce was the one initiating it.

“We’ll find him and we’ll bring him home,” Bruce agreed. “Together.”

Chapter Text

Dick hated fighting Two-Face.

Hated it with the fiery passion of a thousand suns. Probably the only rogue he had more personal antipathy towards was Joker and he was in a league of his own.

For a start there was the fact that Dent had beaten him bloody when he was younger. Badly enough Bruce had nearly pulled him from the field then and there which had started the period of tense years when they stepped cautiously around each other and argued far more than they ever had before or since.

Then there was a fact that Dent had, like a bracelet circling his scarred bicep – the one he regularly didn’t bother to have a sleeve over, Bruce Wayne’s soulmark. Dick hated his father’s soulmark still marked the man, particularly since Dent’s mark on Bruce was barely there anymore.

That was always an awkward issue for Bruce and Dick.

Dick didn’t blame Bruce for still loving Dent. They’d been childhood friends and then Dent had been Batman’s earliest ally after Alfred, even before Gordon. He understood those feelings didn’t just go away even in the face of all evidence they should. Dent was never going to change, whatever little bursts of lucidity Bruce could occasionally draw out. All the mark was evidence of was Dent’s continuing ability to hurt Bruce. But Bruce’s love was as stubborn as the rest of the man.

By contrast Bruce felt terribly guilty the mark was still there considering Dent had beaten his child. As if love was an emotion you could rationally control. But then Bruce had always set unreasonable standards for himself.

Dick couldn’t help feeling that Two-Face breaking out a week after they discovered that Jason was alive was somehow a personal attack on his family. About ninety percent of his thought processes had been taking up with how he SHOULD BE SEARCHING FOR JASON AND DIDN’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS!

It had made him stupid and impatient and reckless. And he’d nearly gotten cut in half for his troubles. Dick was well-aware Bruce was beating himself up even more for winding up in that predicament with him.

Dick was mad at himself, sure, but he was particularly mad at Two-Face for a brand-new reason. He had almost killed Tim.

Bruce had seesawed between practically foaming with rage and deadly silent on the ride back to the Cave. Dick had a broken arm and a dislocated wrist from trying to get out of the death trap but was more concerned with making sure Tim didn’t bleed out or get a punctured lung.

Barbara was already there when they arrived and Alfred hurried to bring Tim to the prepared medbay, pale-faced.

“I was very clear you were never, EVER going to be Robin!” Batman roared, ripping off the cowl and flinging it away as he stormed from the car.

“Master Bruce, please,” Alfred sent him a look. Dick just climbed out of the car, swaying from exhaustion and pain, drawing Alfred’s concerned gaze. “Master Richard, do you require immediate assistance?”

Dick shook his head. “Just help Tim,” he rasped.

“You would have died if I hadn’t come!” Tim protested even as Alfred began examining his injuries.

“Then you let me die!” Bruce snapped. Alfred flinched minutely.

“Gotham needs –”

“I CANNOT LOSE ANOTHER SON!”

“YOU CAN’T DIE WHEN JASON NEEDS A FAMILY TO COME HOME TO AND DICK WOULD HAVE DIED TOO WITHOUT ME!” Tim shrieked back.

Bruce went completely white and looked for a moment like he was about to faint. Dick had a very childish desire to ask not to be put in the middle of this when Bruce’s stricken eyes flickered to him.

“I’m fine, Bruce,” he said instead, trying to ignore his limp arm.

Bruce’s face hardened again, “You will not –”

“Do not finish that sentence,” Dick snapped. He was not having this argument again. He knew Bruce was scared but he had to accept that he wasn't in charge of Dick anymore.

Bruce’s jaw worked as if he was fighting an internal war.

“Bruce, this isn’t helping,” Barbara said firmly. “You’re disturbing Alfred.”

After a long moment Bruce stormed away towards the lockers and showers. Dick breathed a quiet sigh of relief. That would earn them fifteen minutes before Bruce tore the Cave down at least.

Tim was white and shaking, Dick wasn’t sure whether from emotion or pain. Shit, he needed to be worrying about his little brother, not Bruce. They could discuss all the ways this evening had gone to hell once everyone was patched up.

“He might have a broken ankle, I’m not sure,” Dick murmured, coming to Tim’s side and holding his good shoulder.

“I’m okay,” Tim mumbled, a lot quieter now.

“He definitely has broken ribs, Dent shot him in the shoulder, and someone got him in the outer thigh with a knife too,” Dick continued listing even though he’d relayed all of this to Alfred on the way into the Cave. He needed something to do.

“Dick, sit down, you’re injured too.”

“I’m fine.”

“Dick. Sit.” Barbara ordered.

He sat but he didn’t let go of Tim’s shoulder.

The Robin costume was old. One of Dick’s. Before Bruce had added all the armour and padding. Before he’d insisted on pants instead of tiny shorts. Jason had had a lot to say about the shorts. No Kevlar to stop the bullet going through Tim’s shoulder.

With a shaky hand Dick helped Tim pull off the gloves. Barbara was gently working on the green boots to get a better look at Tim’s ankle.

“W-w-will he k-kick me out?” Tim asked around chattering teeth.

Oh God. Dick didn’t want to touch this mess with a ten-foot pole. “Alf, he’s going into shock. No, Baby Bird, of course he won’t. He’s just scared.”

“B-b-but I st-stole Jason’s costume,” Tim shuddered. He didn’t seem to even notice Alfred putting an IV into the crook of his elbow and beginning to run pain relief.

“Technically this one’s mine, Baby Bird, and I’m used to having it stolen,” Dick said with weak, slightly bitter humour. He wasn’t feeling charitably towards Bruce at the moment, sue him.

Tim flinched.

“Hey, hey, Tim, I’m not mad. Jason won’t be either.” At Tim anyway. Pissed he hadn’t been here to punch Two-Face himself maybe.

“I,” Tim gulped, “I had the costume already. I stole it. B-because Batman needs a Robin. I – I thought I could make him take me since there was no-one else. I didn’t – I didn’t know about Jason. I wouldn’t have if – I didn’t know – I swear I d-didn’t know.”

“Help me get this off him, Mistress Barbara,” Alfred said gently. Tim flinched as they began cutting through the shirt. “Master Richard, if you would be so kind as to fetch a blanket.”

Dick clumsily grabbed one from the shelves, trying to process that Tim had thought that going out by himself as Robin in a cape and prayers would somehow convince Bruce to take a new partner. True, Bruce had been getting better with Tim around but only slightly. True, he would have had to be more cautious if he had a Robin to think about. But to think Tim had been planning to endanger himself all this time in order to try to protect Bruce… The wonderful, loyal, conniving little shit.

“He’s going to hate me,” Tim sobbed.

“No. No, no, no, nobody’s going to hate you,” Dick tried to tuck the blanket around the unwounded parts of Tim – wanting nothing more than to fold him into a hug – and looked to Barbara for support. She gave him a somewhat desperate shrug. Great, all on him then.

“I’m sorry,” Tim wailed. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to replace him. I know I’m just a placeholder. But I couldn’t let Batman die! I couldn’t let you die!”

Dick got the impression a lot of different motivations and events were getting mixed together but one thing at a time. Had Tim really been thinking all this time that he was… a methadone substitute to Jason’s heroin to somehow get them through withdrawal?

Tim was right Bruce had needed someone. Someone to care for, someone who needed him, someone who would stand up to him and force him to care again. Maybe they’d all needed someone to drag them back out of the pit of grief they’d fallen into. But that just meant they had needed Tim, not that Tim needed to contort himself into whatever shape would plug the wound in their family.

“I’m getting blood on the blanket,” Tim whimpered, apparently going down an anxiety spiral at a rapid rate of knots. Barbara was currently holding gauze to his leg wound.

“That’s what they’re there for, Baby Bird,” Dick said tiredly, taking Tim’s chin with his good hand and tilting it up. “Tim, I love you. You are my baby brother. My littlest brother, completely separate from Jason. Okay? You are not a replacement, you are not a placeholder, and you are a part of this family because of you and only you, okay?” Tim was staring at him blankly with shimmering eyes. “And you scared the hell out of me tonight,” Dick breathed, letting his face drop so his hair tickled Tim’s forehead.

He couldn’t rest his head against Tim’s. Half his face was purple and his ribs were discolouring. The bullet wound gaped like a black hole in Tim’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Tim whispered. “I couldn’t let you die.”

Dick took Tim’s tiny wrist in his hand and gently traced his thumb over Tim’s inner arm where Dick's soulmark rested. “I’m sorry we scared you too.”

Tim sniffled quietly. “What if Jason thinks he can’t be Robin anymore because of me?” he asked thickly.

“Then we’ll explain to him and he’ll be grouchy and embarrassed he misunderstood. Then he'll probably feel kinda guilty about you and insist on helping you create your own superhero identity.”

Babs groaned. “He would too. Not until you are older, kiddo!”

Tim’s mouth twitched in what might have almost been a smile.

“I must concur, Master Timothy. You gave us all quite a severe fright when you snuck out and I would thank you to let all of our hearts recover before another scare,” Alfred said firmly.

“Bruce really won’t kick me out?” Tim asked after a long moment.

“It will be rather difficult when I lock you in a containment cell for the rest of your life,” Bruce growled.

“Bruce…” Dick sighed because Tim had flinched like he thought Bruce might actually be serious. Out of the suit Bruce looked marginally less murderous at least. He took one look at Dick’s still waiting arm and made for him. Dick grimaced, setting the bone was going to hurt.

“Are you aware, Master Timothy, that you have Master Bruce’s name clearly emblazoned on your back?” Alfred asked conversationally.

It was a good thing he’d finished stitching because Tim started violently. “What?!”

Bruce twitched and Dick smirked. He loved it when Bruce blushed, it was hilarious. Too bad Tim was too busy scrambling to try and see his own back to notice.

Alfred moved on to Tim’s thigh and Barbara wheeled around to grab a mirror from a bench. There it was, in the usual place for his kids, surprising no-one but Tim. Alfred had apparently neglected to mention his own mark running down Tim’s spine towards his tailbone.

“Mine always come in slowly,” Babs said apologetically. She was the opposite of Dick that way.

Tim gaped at her like a goldfish. Dick found himself thinking: I’m sorry, Tim.exe has stopped working. Would you like to contact customer support?

Tim was going bright crimson as he stared at the back of Bruce’s head. Bruce was trying very hard to focus on Dick’s arm instead of acknowledging the smirk directed his way. He got his own back by deftly relocating Dick’s wrist (careful to brace the broken bone) without warning. Dick grimaced.

“Where are your parent’s marks, Tim?” Bruce demanded in a gravelly but quiet voice.

Everyone who wasn’t Bruce startled. Dick hadn’t even… They obviously weren’t on his legs, chest, or face and from Barbara’s expression they weren’t on his feet or back. Maybe his hips or very upper thighs?

Tim’s eyes scanned everyone’s staring faces, looking trapped, and then burst into tears. Dick’s heart clenched. Theirs were the only ones he had, weren’t they? God, he had really hoped he was just being needlessly anxious when he worried…

That would mean that until a few months ago he hadn’t had any. Dick’s chest ached as he remembered Tim saying he didn’t have many. How could anyone know his wonderful baby brother and not love him immediately?! How could his parents not see what an amazing child they had abandoned?!

Alfred and Barbara were desperately trying to reassure Tim and Dick gave Bruce a look. If Bruce chose now to have one of his moments of saying all the wrong things, God help him…

Bruce turned to Tim more nervously than Dick had expected. Tim was now sobbing out apologies although Dick couldn’t for the life of him figure out why.

“Tim, Tim, look at me,” Bruce ordered, reaching out and gently cradling Tim’s face. His thumbs swiped away Tim’s tears as the boy tried to focus on him through swollen eyes. “We want you in our family, Tim. I promise we want you. We’re not going to leave.”

“That’s what these marks mean, Tim,” Dick said squeezing his wrist lightly.

Tim hiccupped and started crying again more quietly. Bruce gently cradled Tim to his chest. Dick closed his eyes and just breathed. When Bruce looked at him later, a dozing Tim still leaning against him and Dick’s arm now in a cast, Dick mouthed, “Good job,” and was shocked when Bruce managed a soft smile for him.

* * *

The plan was brilliant assuming his family didn’t take one look at him and conclude he was a homicidal zombie and want nothing to do with him. Killing the Joker probably wouldn’t help.

But he was not living in a Gotham where the bastard clown escaped every other month! And he wasn’t living somewhere other than Gotham because Gotham was his.

He distracted himself by exploring the compound as stealthily as possible, on the off chance he might run across the elusive kid. He was definitely curious about this mysterious child of Talia’s.

Also, thinking about what they might be doing to the kid filled him with poisonous green in a way he really couldn’t work out in training without getting someone else killed as too much trouble to heal. At least this way he could pretend he was doing something about it.

Technically, the innermost rooms, plus the dungeons where the Lazarus Pit no doubt was, were off limits. But Jason was running off the principle: “If the guards couldn’t spot me to tell me not to go in, it’s their fault.”

Talia seemed surprisingly okay with this.

He was interested in the Pit. If he could get a sample maybe he could figure out what was wrong with him. But it didn’t seem worth the potential murder by or attention of Ra’s al Ghul to push for it. So he mostly just idly explored, practising being a ninja and looking for a tiny kid. Everyone was always vague about when Ra’s was actually in residence and when he was out in the field or at other bases doing evil, immortal cult leader things but Jason preferred not to push it.

The general consensus back home had been that Ra’s was a lot worse than Talia. Considering what a manipulative monster Talia was, Jason didn’t think he would be able to keep himself together, even as much as he currently managed, if he met the man.

He’d at least found some good escape routes. Although the most promising had a gap Dick would probably be able to clear with his crazy acrobatics but Jason didn’t know if he could. Maybe with a bit more height and muscle for the jump… Good thing he was so familiar running around rooftops.

It was disheartening to realise just how much of a fortress the place was though. He’d been aware of how fortified Talia’s secret sanctum was but until he was looking for escape routes it hadn’t really occurred to him what that meant.

Parts of the complex were hidden underground but other parts were just camouflaged tan stone against an empty desert expanse. They were in the middle of nowhere. The centre was an actual fortress with the underground bunkers and Pit below. Then, once you got through the guards to the middle layers, there were courtyards and passages linking the buildings into one big complex. Which sat behind a wall. Which he had thought was the main barrier until he was climbing the roofs and realised it was an inner wall, beyond which was another one hemming in vehicles and absolutely swarming with ninja.

Talia just letting him out on his own was definitely staying as Plan A. Plan B: escape with a kidnapped child, was looking pretty ambitious.

It didn’t look like it would be soon though. First he had to beat a gauntlet of one hundred ninja without dying. Nice to have clear goals. But that probably wouldn’t happen until Talia had the time to watch and she left only a few days after she had returned.

Jason didn’t know if this was helpful or disheartening for the child search. After all she might be taking the child with her but if she wasn’t at least she couldn’t catch him looking.

As the weeks passed his soulmarks slowly became as dark as they had been before he died. He traced them whenever he was alone in his room. It helped with the green a bit. Not even his fear of what they’d think of him now could prevent the comfort of seeing visible proof that people who thought he was dead still loved him.

Which had gotten him wondering… had that been something to do with the Pit too?

Maybe one of his family could have stopped loving him in anger and then felt a resurgence of affection. Maybe. Jason had never heard of something like that happening when you weren’t seeing the person in question but it was probably possible. All of them being gone and then coming back at the exact same time? That seemed… unlikely.

But his mother’s had still been on his shoulder. He fingered it, staring over his shoulder into his semi-repaired mirror. Maybe dead marks stayed after the Lazarus Pit but not living ones? It seemed like a bit of a leap but the Pit had erased all his scars after all. Maybe it did the same with soulmarks.

That seemed so messed up. Erasing marks of love as if they were injuries. As if they were wrong.

Then again, everything about the Pit was wrong and he felt like an idiot for thinking that the level of rage he now felt flooding his veins could possibly be normal.

He’d always had problems with anger. But incredibly fucking pissed at Bruce and I want to torture and murder my entire family were very different levels.

He still felt shame every time he looked at his now dark, secure marks and thought of the things he’d been planning. The things he’d wanted to do. Could he really blame all of that on the Pit?

He had trouble sleeping at the best of times. Now he couldn’t sleep at all if he hadn’t checked all his marks we still there, touched them, examined them from all angles, every night.

He was staring at Bruce’s name and wondering how disappointed the man would be if he ever saw Jason again when he noticed a slight discolouration further down. Resting unobtrusively along the bottom of his rib cage where he wouldn’t see it sitting down. Which he tended to do since he had no reason to look lower with only his parents’ soulmarks on his back.

But when he edged closer to the cracked mirror it definitely looked like writing. Faint, as if it was newly coming in. What the fuck?!

Moonlight wasn’t enough to make out a name he was unfamiliar with in the dark. He’d need daylight. But he definitely wasn’t going to be able to sleep in the meantime now! He curled a hand around his waist to poke the small, cramped writing. He couldn’t even tell what colour it was.

He was up before dawn, only feeling slightly less rested than usual thanks to his constant nightmares, to examine the mark. It didn’t help much.

Who the fuck was “Timothy Jackson Drake”?

Chapter Text

Whoever had taken Jason’s body they were clever, they were connected, and they were ruthless.

After nearly a month of questioning anyone who might have had access to Jason’s body in both Gotham and Ethiopia, running background and credit checks, Cyborg and Oracle pouring over every scrap of video footage they could find, and following the flimsiest of leads, they finally had a solid starting place.

A pair of deaths. One the heart failure of a partner in the funeral home that had prepared Jason’s casket and held it overnight for the funeral. Another a gravedigger killed by a car crash supposedly caused by driving under the influence. There were nearly six months between the deaths. It almost might have been a coincidence.

Except that Jeffrey Mason, gravedigger, forty-three at the time of his death five months ago had very abruptly acquired and then lost an offshore account in the Caymans. An offshore account with half a million dollars wired into it. Before it had vanished and the records been scrubbed.

Not hide it from the combined forces of Oracle and Tim (who was picking up so many tricks) scrubbed but it was good.

Bartholomew Walters, funeral director, sixty-seven at the time of his death nearly eight months ago had been less suspicious. He had a history of heart problems and there hadn’t even been an autopsy. His accounts had looked legit at first too, he didn’t have mysteriously appearing-then-disappearing bank accounts. It had taken Bruce nearly a week of forensic accounting, combing through all the funeral home’s accounts as well as his personal ones, to notice some rather substantial payments for funerals that didn’t quite add up. In the end the irregularities started almost year ago and added up to nearly a million.

A starting place. A time period. Two men who had access to Jason’s body who had been paid off. One to disable the protections Bruce put within Jason’s coffin to prevent someone stealing the body exactly like this. Another to retrieve the body at a later point. Cyborg was assisting Oracle in examining all the video footage available from the corresponding times. So far nothing but endless instructions to hurry up and wait. It made Tim want to crawl out of his skin with frustration.

Bruce had gone over the coffin and mannequin replacement with a fine-toothed comb. His sensors to prevent this exact scenario had been expertly disabled so they always sent an all clear. The coffin was pristine. Traces of hair and skin cells but no rot or decay. Whoever it was must have done something to preserve the body while they were disabling the security measures. Bruce had some trace amounts of an unknown chemical composition – nothing so mundane as formaldehyde – but so little it seemed to have been injected. How it had been made to circulate throughout the body was a mystery. Whoever was responsible, they had access to funds, gifted engineers, and cutting-edge biochemical science.

Which narrowed it down to a concerningly vast number of supervillains and organisations.

Bruce had been brooding over it ever since. Also over Tim’s injuries. Tim hadn’t known it was possible for the man to get more overprotective but he was insisting on driving Tim to school now.

Tim had pointed out the magazines might hear about him being chauffeured by Bruce Wayne. Bruce had just shrugged and said he’d have to take him into the office from time to time to sell the internship cover story he had created.

As it happened, the magazines did notice and Tim got his first email from his parents in nearly three months shortly afterwards. It felt different now, knowing they didn’t love him. Knowing everyone knew they didn’t love him. They seemed… fond of him. When they remembered he existed. They’d praised his using the internship to get close to Bruce Wayne – urging him not to waste the opportunity or embarrass the family. The implications of their assumption didn’t really reflect well on their impression of Tim but he’d be lying if the approbation didn’t feel sort of nice. But it was also sort of… impersonal. Like having your hand shaken at an awards ceremony.

“Well done, Mr. Drake, you’ve done us proud. Now move along, move along, there are people coming up behind you after all.”

Bruce had reacted more strongly to noticing an A+ on an essay when he picked Tim up from school one time. He’d taken him out for ice-cream before they went to Wayne Enterprises. Then Dick had shown up and, of all things, suggested they play tag while they waited for Bruce to finish. Not for any reason, just because he wanted to see Tim.

The family were doing better as Jason’s soulmarks only continued to brighten. They weren’t vibrant like Dick said they had once been but nobody could ever mistake them for grey anymore. Tim had accidentally walked by Bruce’s bedroom, heard sobbing, and had to sneak away, only later discovering that Jason’s soulmark had started shifting to show his use-name. Tim thought Bruce maybe hadn’t completely believed it until then.

Would he maybe one day have Jason’s soulmark as well? They insisted he was part of the family but how would Jason feel to come home to a whole new kid he’d never met? Tim wouldn’t blame him if he was upset.

Tim would step aside if that would make things easier for Jason. Jason had been there first and the last thing he wanted to do was intrude. These last few months had been more than he’d ever imagined it could be like to have a family.

He would miss the Waynes, would miss this. More than anything. But he would be okay. He had been alone before. He just wished the hope in his chest that maybe Jason wouldn’t mind that much, maybe if he just still came over sometimes, wasn’t so persistent.

They hadn’t been quite what he was expecting. They were more… fragile almost, under everything. Maybe everyone was. Tim had thought Jason was a brilliant, cocky, vibrant, fearless hero. He’d never imagined he was insecure and had a temper and threw multiple tantrums during his tenure. He hadn’t expected that he’d stolen silverware his first week in Wayne Manor and then offered to help Alfred polish in an attempt to sneak them back.

Stories about Jason were more common now they knew he was alive. It was strange that even hearing all the ways Jason had been frustrating, intransigent, and just plain difficult didn’t make him like the boy any less. If anything it made the boy who had been nice to him at galas and saved him as Robin feel more real, more like a person he could actually care for instead of an idea to admire. He really hoped Jason didn’t hate him.

“Tim,” he straightened, ashamed he’d gotten distracted from the work he was doing. “I have a… mission for you.”

Tim blinked up at Bruce who looked like he had sucked on a lemon.

With Oracle and Alfred combing footage and Dick liaising with everyone from criminal informants to the Justice League, Tim was pretty much solo on all the ongoing cases to keep Gotham running. He wanted to be searching for Jason too but he had been the one to insist Gotham needed Batman after all. He’d downloaded the graveyard footage onto his upgraded laptop (curtsey of Oracle and his own growing skills) and he’d look at it when he inevitably got sent to bed. So far Mission Keep a Hidden Coffee Machine in his Room was working out pretty well. He didn’t think he’d find anything they didn’t but at least it made him feel like he was doing something to help.

Bruce was, as much as he was capable, phoning it in. His patrols were shorter and as far as Tim could tell he had stopped going to Wayne Enterprises altogether when he wasn’t taking Tim. Mostly he just poured over the unknown preservative or the coffin for the thousandth time. Luckily the city was staying quiet, maybe concerned Batman was about to go on another rampage over an injured Robin. Tim couldn’t be the only one who had noticed the trend.

“For me?” He was healing from Two-Face but Bruce had made very clear that was never happening again. Put new security on all the costumes and the Cave itself never happening again.

“Yes,” Bruce said, apparently regretting this already.

“How can I help?” Tim asked eagerly.

“Last night I met a new vigilante,” Bruce looked about as pleased about this as he usually did.

Tim perked up. He had prepped on this. He’d been interested watching the cowl footage yesterday. Because the new vigilante was a kid. She looked about his age, although it was obviously hard to tell with the mask and hood. Lots of purple, maybe she’d been inspired by Huntress?

Tim thought Huntress was pretty cool and Dick and Barbara seemed to like her. Tim wondered if she might even be growing on Bruce, at least he’d admitted it was good she was willing to take over Blüdhaven so Dick could dedicate his time to Gotham and the search for Jason.

“Yes, I looked her up. Based on your information it seemed like she had an interest in Cluemaster and when I looked into Arthur Brown I noticed that he has a teenage daughter, Stephanie Brown. She’d be about the right age, she’s fourteen.” Not even a year older than me, he didn’t add. “Information suggests she’s the right height and build. It looks like her mum tried to file a restraining order against her dad a couple of years ago but then it lapsed so maybe she’s trying to get rid of him by sending him back to jail?”

Bruce grunted. “I thought the same thing.”

Tim wilted slightly. Of course he had. He was Batman after all.

“Good work looking into it,” Bruce added more softly, which was nice of him.

“So… what do you need me to do about Spoiler?” Tim asked, since Bruce clearly didn’t need her identity.

“I want you to talk to her.”

“About what?” Not that he wasn't willing. She seemed really cool. Smart to figure out her dad’s clues before anyone else and savvy to be able to survive as a vigilante on her own. Plus she’d thrown a brick at Batman when he’d tried to get close and Tim had had to mute the comm to hide his laughter.

“About getting off the streets,” Bruce rumbled forbiddingly.

Right. Bruce had a thing about kids on the streets of Gotham since Jason. Tim had thought knowing Jason was alive might have helped but if anything it had made Bruce more paranoid. As if he thought getting one child back might be some sort of monkey’s paw wish that cost him another.

Tim didn’t want to second-guess Batman finally giving him a mission(!) but that also seemed like a really good way to get a brick to his own face. After all, if she wasn’t serious about the whole thing she probably wouldn’t be dressing up in a homemade costume and trying to bust her dad.

“I’m arresting Cluemaster this evening. Explain that to her and tell her I don’t want to see Spoiler again after this.”

“What if she doesn’t listen to me?” Tim asked.

“Find a way to convince her. I don’t care what you have to tell her, just get her off the streets.”

Well, that was vague. Tim thought he might finally be getting what Dick meant when he talked about Bruce’s approach to heartfelt discussions being the exact opposite of how he approached anything else. In other words, finding someone else to throw at it and running away.

* * *

The cut to his shoulder wasn’t that deep but it needed stitches. Stitches Jason had insisted on doing himself.

This was accepted because distrust was expected (at least among trainees, once you were a proper ninja you were meant to all be loyal to Ra’s without backstabbing Jason gathered) and Jason definitely didn’t trust them not to fuck up his shoulder. But it was also where two of his soulmarks were.

Barbara’s had the O of “Joan” sliced in two. Terrible luck since it was so central it also got the S of “Babs” when it showed her use-name. His mother’s had been sliced all the way across the top of Catherine. Also, the blade had been poisoned and he’d had to take an anti-toxin so that had been fun.

And now his mother’s mark was all messed up and missing the crossbar for the T because of the puckering of the stitches. Now it looked like it said: “Calnerine”. If he got a hold of the one responsible he was going to make them wish they had never been born.

Wait. The bottom dropped out of his stomach. Soulmarks didn’t distort. Babs’ still crawled over the raised skin perfectly legibly, only a little obscured by the material of the stitches. Soulmarks weren’t actually like a tattoo physically on your skin. They were a magical representation of love and could never permanently be damaged. If you burned off all the skin they were on they’d just shimmer on the muscle and bone or if you lost the limb it would vanish from the severed piece and move to another part of the body. They always seemed perfectly written even if they curved over scar tissue. Dick had several nasty scars that his marks just happily melded over. Bruce was even worse, some of his soulmarks were almost entirely on raised scar tissue and still looked perfect.

His mother’s name should still be obvious. The th should not look malformed, the C not be stretched upwards with the pull of his skin.

You couldn’t fake living soulmarks because they shifted between true name and preferred use-name. But the soulmarks of the dead were still. They couldn’t want you to call them anything anymore. They were nothing but memories.

A tattoo. They’d tattooed his mother’s soulmark onto his shoulder. Had they copied it from his dead body?! How had he not noticed?! Had his skin been sore when he woke up? He couldn’t remember, all he remembered was seeing Bruce’s gone. He was soon so tired and pained he never would have noticed the additional soreness of the tattoo healing up. Particularly if they’d kept him under for a bit before waking him.

It – it wasn’t his mother’s soulmark. It was just a copy. They’d wiped it off him like his others. The Pit, it had to be the Pit. It had taken his soulmarks as easily as it had his scars. As if they were something wrong, some illness, that should be wiped from existence! And his mother’s couldn’t come back because she wasn’t still alive to love him!

It was like drowning in the green all over again. Flooding his body, telling him to kill Talia al Ghul. Make her suffer for what she had done to him.

She had stolen his soulmarks from him, she had known it would happen. Faked his mother’s, which couldn’t have vanished without an outside source now she was dead, so she could tell him he had lost the others organically. She had lied to him to turn him against his family. And he had fallen for it!

He had wanted to hurt his family so badly for abandoning him when all along they – they had loved him, kept loving him after his death, and he had so easily believed they would all just stop he had been ready to try and destroy them!

Had Talia made him a monster or had he always been one?

“Your eyes are like grandfather’s.”

Jason halted as if he’d crashed into a wall. What had he – he distantly realized that he wasn’t in his room anymore. He was in the inner sanctum. Near Talia’s rooms. How had he gotten here?!

Vague memories surfaced of charging out of his room, avoiding observation on autopilot as he made a beeline for Talia’s chambers. The Pit driving his body, ready to kill her, kill her, kill her, for what she had done to him.

Talia wasn’t even in the complex at the moment he was pretty sure!

It was an immense relief to realise he’d at least shrugged his shirt back on as he went off to murder someone who wasn’t there in a haze of supernatural bloodlust. One small victory at least.

But he hadn’t tied the sash and it was falling off his injured shoulder. The shoulder with Bab’s soulmark. He hurriedly straightened it as he looked at the individual who had caught him.

Well, he could sneak past career assassins but a five-year-old was apparently beyond him.

The child was dressed a lot like Talia usually was, with decoration on his ceremonial (but no doubt functional) armour, as opposed to the plain black of the trainees. He held himself like he was a tiny prince, which if his grandfather was who Jason was thinking, he kind of was. His eyes were way too solemn for a kid.

Which was probably what made the resemblance so strong. He had a lot of Talia in him now Jason was face to face with the child he had been looking for. His skin and eyes, a certain something about the cheekbones and brows. But the chin, the nose, the grim mouth… that was all…

“Tiny Bruce,” Jason said blankly.

Chapter Text

Tiny Bruce was frowning furiously.

“My name is Damian al Ghul, Heir of the Demon and Son of the Bat,” he announced proudly. As if he expected Jason to bend a knee.

“Right, Tiny Bruce, what I said,” Jason agreed.

The kid was now making a pocket-size version of that expression Bruce made when he had been thoroughly flummoxed and was deeply offended. Jason kinda wanted a framed picture of it.

It was enough to briefly distract him from his main reaction. Which was, HOLY SHIT, BRUCE HAS A SON! Like a biological son! And it’s with Talia al Ghul of all people!

Dick was going to flip his shit.

“You are Mother’s pet project,” Damian seemed to have recovered. “Mother is not here. You do not have permission to be here.”

“No-one told me I couldn’t be here,” Jason said reasonably, still too amused and stunned to really get angry about the “pet project” bit.

“I am forbidding you!” Damian puffed up like an angry kitten.

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Yeah… you’re probably new to this but I’m not in the habit of obeying orders from baby brothers.”

Had the kid just pulled out a knife? That seemed dangerous.

“I am the Heir to the Demon! You will obey me!” The tiny demon lunged at him. “And I’m not your brother! Or a baby!” he added, as if he’d only just remembered to add these offences.

Jason might not be at Talia’s or Ra’s’ (or Bruce’s…) level yet but he could definitely take a barely old enough for school brat with a small knife. A small, sharp knife granted. The kid managed to nick his waist (which Jason was going to blame on his trying to not actually hurt Damian) before Jason neatly disarmed him and sat the kid down on his ass.

“This poisoned too?” Jason asked dryly. It would be just like Talia to give her kid poisoned knives. Good thing he’d already taken the anti-toxin.

Damian glared that him with all the force he could muster. It was a good attempt for a child but Jason had weathered Bruce’s death glares. “Mother will have you strung up when she hears about this.”

“Nobody likes a narc, kid,” Jason rolled his eyes, sticking the knife in his sash.

Confusion flickered across the kid’s face and it occurred to Jason he was probably more familiar with Arabic. Jason was still learning that though. He decided to just roll his eyes.

“So, Bruce definitely doesn’t know about you, huh,” he commented, eyeing Damian. No way would he let his son be raised in the League of Assassins if he did. Ugh, Bruce was so paranoid about everything but it had never occurred to him that doing the horizontal tango with an assassin might have unintended consequences? And now he was thinking about that and really didn’t want to be…

“Who is this Bruce you keep talking about?!” Damian was back on his feet and bristling. “I know no such unimportant person.”

Jason’s eyebrows rose involuntarily. Well, if this wasn’t enough drama to make him forget about his own issues for a hot second nothing would be. Talia hadn’t even told Damian his dad’s name. Sure, in theory he could be someone else’s son except that he definitely wasn’t and the fact he’d labelled himself “Son of the Bat”. That was a bit of a giveaway.

Jason was pretty sure that the whole League of Assassins knew Batman’s identity (fucking Ra’s) but he still did a quick check they were alone (although with assassins who knew) before saying, “Yeah… so unimportant you introduced yourself with a title referring to him. ‘The Bat’… Bruce…” He made a spinning motion with his hand to encourage Damian to put it together.

For the first time the kid’s aloof arrogance cracked and he very abruptly looked like an actual five-year-old child as opposed to a Bruce mini-me.

“You – you know my father?” the boy stammered.

“Considering I’m his son, yeah, kind of,” Jason said dryly.

I’m the disappointing, difficult one.

A veritable gauntlet of emotions followed that announcement. Confusion, dismay, disbelief, denial, anger, fear.

“You’re lying! My father has no other heirs!” Apparently denial won out.

“Oof, tell that to Golden Boy,” Jason grimaced. “Or Bruce,” he added, because he was pretty sure that would be news to the man.

Consternation. “Who is ‘Golden Boy’?” Damian demanded.

“Bruce’s other son. The oldest. So… logically the heir.” Although Jason only called Dick “Golden Boy” when he was feeling particularly jealous and insecure. He should probably feel worse about sharing his insecurities but he was too annoyed at Talia acting like he and Dick didn’t even exist.

Okay, Damian was definitely looking scared now. And he was too young to really hide it despite what seemed to be a pretty valiant effort. Jason should probably backtrack a bit.

“Relax, kid. He’ll probably love you. Bundle you up in hugs like you’re a plushie or something. See if he doesn’t.”

This didn’t seem to reassure the kid much. Although he also probably didn’t know what a plushie was.

“You are lying and when Mother hears of this she will make you regret shaming my father by implying he would ever have a son such as you!” Damian suddenly burst out before abruptly fleeing further into the complex.

Ouch.

The green flared for a moment and Jason had the brief idea to catch up with the kid and make him deeply regret implying he was unworthy of being Bruce’s son. Then resignation came back up from the depths along with disgust. It was hardly anything he hadn’t been thinking himself. Also, he was a magically unstable, homicidal lunatic. So… there was that.

Hopefully Talia wouldn’t be too pissed about the whole, outing her son’s dad to him thing.

* * *

Tim did, indeed, nearly get a brick to the face. He yelped and lunged out of the way before wincing and holding his still aching shoulder.

“Jesus, you scared me! Don’t go sneaking up on people like that!” Spoiler snapped.

“I wasn’t trying to!” Tim protested. She’d just been really focused on watching the warehouse Batman was currently in the process of infiltrating. He could already hear Batman’s lecture on situational awareness rambling in the back of his head.

Based on the tilt of the mask Spoiler was examining him. “Are you the new Robin?”

“No!” Was it already around the streets there was a new Robin?! Jason was going to be so upset when they found him! “Robin’s… on a sabbatical.”

Tim had the urge to bash his head into the side of the roof. Way to talk like a middle-aged man making small talk at a business meeting, Tim. He always defaulted to gala manners when he panicked.

“Wait, seriously? I thought he died!” Spoiler straightened. There was a hopeful note to her voice that Tim recognised as true of any Gotham kid who idolised Robin.

“Um, no, um, I mean he’s alive.” They were pretty sure.

“Who are you then?” Spoiler demanded.

“Um…” coming up with a call sign had been problematic. Dick insisted it should be a bird and when Tim had pointed out that a drake was a bird Bruce had vetoed it as his actual last name and Dick had protested drakes weren’t scary. Which robins definitely weren’t so Tim wasn’t sure about the double standard. “I’m a friend of Batman’s?”

There was definitely a sceptical eyebrow rising under the full-face mask. “Yeah right. You can’t be older than me, if that.” She folded her arms.

“He sent me to talk to you,” Tim said more firmly.

Spoiler vibrated and then there was the sound of shattering glass from the warehouse and she spun back around.

“Fine, whatever, Bat-Kid, talk. Just do it quietly, okay?” Spoiler said, crouching down and peering over the edge of the roof.

Tim followed after her and peeked over the edge. He was currently wearing a (Kevlar-polymer blend reinforced because Bruce was paranoid) version of the dark hoodie and jeans he’d worn when he’d been taking photos of Batman and Robin. The only real addition was the domino mask and tiny comm in his ear. Also, Bat-Kid wasn’t going to stick, was it?

“I should have brought my camera,” Tim mourned when a dynamic silhouette of Batman was thrown across the windows by a swinging light within.

“Too dark,” Spoiler said dismissively.

Tim made a disagreeing hum, “You just need to make good use of the ambient light sources.” He winced at a sudden round of gunfire. Bruce grunted on Tim’s comm but didn’t sound injured.

Spoiler glanced at him, “You serious right now?”

“I have four years’ worth of photos to prove it,” Tim asserted.

He suspected narrowed eyes were being directed at him but then someone screamed and attention redirected to the warehouse.

“If he’s not careful Cluemaster’s going to get out through the sewers,” Spoiler fretted.

“Covering the sewers. Thanks, B,” Nightwing said with somewhat caustic cheer in Tim’s ear. Tim winced.

“Sewers are covered,” Tim relayed. And the Cave was not going to be fun when they got back.

“I mean it’s not like I was in the middle of looking into whether anyone has been gathering and resurrecting dead bodies from Gotham cemeteries,” Nightwing continued rambling. “Definitely no chance of a freakish Frankenstein situation going on here that’s about to cover the streets. Geez, Robin would have loved that. And yes, I know Frankenstein is the scientist not the monster. And yes, I also know that Frankenstein actually kinda is the monster. I was given the lecture. Can’t watch one classic monster film in peace without a commentary track on how the book was better.”

“Nightwing… can this wait…?” Bruce sounded like he was straining with something. Or someone.

It definitely could. Catwoman (Tim really hoped Bruce would one day introduce him to “Selina”) had been networking – particularly with Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy – and was pretty convinced it wasn’t any of the Arkham crew who had Jason.

“I don’t know, could you have just blocked the sewer entrance beforehand?”

“He wanted you covering the sewers because he’s afraid Spoiler’s going to shiv me and wants me to have available back-up,” Tim groused.

“Saying shiv sounds really wrong with your posh accent,” Spoiler frowned at him. “Also, are you on comms with Batman?”

“Then why am I in the sewers instead of chilling on a rooftop enjoying the show?!” Nightwing demanded indignantly.

“Seriously, where are you from? Bristol?” Spoiler was getting up in his face, trying to find the comm. Tim batted her hands away irritably.

“Tell him that Cluemaster sent half a dozen of his thugs away on an errand and they haven’t come back yet,” Spoiler demanded.

“He’s in the middle of a fight.”

“Didn’t stop you!”

“I was talking to Nightwing!”

“Nightwing’s here too? Cool! Can he go after the thugs?”

“Yes! Yes, he can!”

“No!” Batman snapped. Apparently Cluemaster took this to be in reaction to something he had done and started cackling. A moment later a flashbang went off, followed by a shriek as someone’s bones snapped. “Cluemaster’s down. Oracle call the GCPD for pick-up.”

“Can I get out of the sewers now?”

Batman’s sigh was long-suffering.

“Your dad’s been apprehended,” Tim told Stephanie.

There was a pause then, “I’m sorry, who?”

Oh right, ‘secret’ identity. Oops.

“I know who you are.” No point equivocating. “Stephanie Brown, daughter of Arthur Brown aka the Cluemaster. Your mum’s probably worried about you going missing like this.”

“What and your parents aren’t?” Stephanie demanded instead of directly refuting him.

I could die and my body would be rotten before my parents could be contacted, Tim thought with unaccustomed bitterness.

Tim sighed. “I’ve got Batman and Nightwing looking out for me. You’re on your own. Does anyone even know you’re Spoiler?”

“You mean apart from nosy snoops like you?” Ouch. Not inaccurate though. “No. That’s the point of a secret identity.”

“So if you went missing nobody would even know where to look for you.”

“Stop acting like you’re so much more mature than me. You’re my age! And you already admitted to taking photos on the streets for the last four years.”

Oh. Oops again. Tim really didn’t want to mess up his first assignment from Batman but, the problem was, it wasn’t like the girl didn’t have a point. After all, what was the difference between her and Tim really?

Tim had been trained, was still being trained, but he hadn’t been when he was taking photos. He had back-up but no amount of back-up was going to convince Bruce to let Stephanie keep being Spoiler considering that Tim had only been allowed out to talk to her because they were the same age. The real difference was that Tim now had a family that worried about him constantly and was there to protect him. Even when Dick and Jason had been out as Robin they’d always had Batman watching over them and taking care of them. Jason had only died when he was alone.

“I’m not stopping!” Stephanie said stubbornly. “And you can’t make me!” It was eerie how much it echoed Tim’s own thoughts as he’d stolen the Robin suit because Bruce needed someone out with him. But that was before Jason turned out to be alive. And Cluemaster had been caught. They didn’t need to be out anymore.

This was probably the point at which Batman would start threatening to out her identity to her mother but Tim didn’t think that was going to do much other than further alienate her. Maybe he was going about this the wrong way.

“Have you been trained?”

“What?”

“Trained. To fight.”

She scoffed, “I grew up in Crime Alley, Bat-Kid. I know how to fight.”

“Okay, sure,” Tim was willing to believe that. “But there’s a difference between hit-a-mugger-and-run-away fight and can-take-on-someone-twice-your-size-and-win fight, right?”

Spoiler shifted. “I haven’t had any problems yet,” but she sounded a bit sulky.

“Batman’s been training me,” Tim told her, “even though he doesn’t want me on the streets yet. To fight like him and Nightwing and Robin.”

“Well, yippee for you,” Spoiler had crossed her arms defensively and was definitely glaring at him.

Tim sighed, maybe this was why he didn’t have friends at school. “I mean, if you promised not to go out on the streets for a while, I could probably convince him to train you too.”

Even with the mask it was obvious she was startled. Her hands dropped to her sides and Tim wondered if her mouth was open behind the mask. “Me?” she asked, sounding stunned.

“Tim…”

Batman had said to say whatever he needed to convince her. Tim surreptitiously scratched his ear and pulled out the comm.

“Why would Batman ever want to bother with training me?!” Stephanie Brown demanded.

Tim shrugged, “Why not? He’s training me. He trained Nightwing and Robin. You want to help too. So why not? And this way we can spar together. I’m sick of having Nightwing and Batman take it easy on me and still beat me.”

“You’re serious.” She didn’t sound like she believed him.

Tim fidgeted. Stephanie seemed nice, determined, maybe a bit like the stories about Jason he got told. He thought Bruce would like her if he could just get used to the idea of her. But he didn’t know how to explain that to her.

“Listen, I – do you have soulmarks?”

“No. Us poor kids can only afford one each,” she snarked. The weird thing was that Tim thought she might be telling the truth and using sarcasm to cover the vulnerability.

“Until a few months ago I didn’t have any.”

“What? Seriously?”

Tim nodded, repressing a flash of pain.

“But you’re… like… a rich kid.”

“Can’t buy love,” Tim said dryly.

He literally heard Stephanie’s mouth click shut. He was trying to shove away the instinctive hurt when she said, sounding uncomfortable but sincere, “Sorry. I mean – I know rich people can be shit to their kids too.”

Tim blinked. Right, she was doing all of this because of her dad.

“Listen, that’s not…” he sighed. “I have them now. And I’d do anything – I’d rather die – than lose one of them. I know because my – my new family, they lost someone. And it was like the soulmark became a weight they could hardly bear to carry. Most of them couldn’t even look at it anymore it hurt so much.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you’re right! I was doing what you’re doing and I figured if something happened to me nobody would be that upset about it. I was frustrated by my new family trying to stop me doing something I knew I needed to do. But I get it now because I’m scared of losing them. I’m sure your mum is scared of losing you.

“And I get it, you were trying to protect her by taking down your dad. You needed to do that. But Cluemaster’s in custody now. You don’t have to keep doing this.”

“So… what? Just quit? My dad isn’t the only shitty guy in this city. And it’s not like Batman has much time for Crime Alley. Much less the cops.”

“No! Come train with me! Help Batman behind the scenes! Just for a while, so that when you go back on the streets you’re the best prepared you can be. So you have the best chance of coming home to your mum in one piece!”

Spoiler was fingering her sternum which Tim guessed was where her mother’s mark was. She shifted uncomfortably. “Batman would really train me?”

“If he won’t, I will,” Nightwing announced his presence by flinging himself across Tim’s back in a hug.

“Ew! Nightwing! You were in the sewers!” Tim protested, crinkling his nose.

“If I have to suffer, you have to suffer, Bat-Kid.” Oh no… he really did not want that to be his call sign. “Big brother privilege,” Dick added softly, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. Tim hoped his embarrassed blush wasn’t obvious in the dark.

“You turned off your comm.” Tim flinched at Batman’s gravel. Spoiler jumped.

“It’s not off… it’s in my pocket.”

“You. Never. Turn. Off. Your. Comm.”

Tim retreated further into the safety of Dick’s embrace, smell or no. Dick’s grip tightened for a moment and then he abruptly shoved Tim over to Batman. Tim stumbled and then turned a betrayed look on Dick as Batman’s hand clamped on his uninjured shoulder.

“You don’t turn off your comm,” Nightwing told him flatly. Tim sighed and slumped as Bruce found it and shoved it back into his ear.

“You don’t turn off your comm,” an irritated Oracle informed him. Yeah… he’d got it.

“We’re leaving. Go home,” Batman ordered Spoiler.

“Bat-Kid said you’d train me!”

“Bat-Kid doesn’t have that privilege.” Tim wondered if being called Bat-Kid was Bruce’s punishment for him.

“My costume doesn’t even have a bat on it,” he protested even though no-one was listening.

“Oh, come on, B. It’ll be fun.” Nightwing grinned evilly at him, back to being amused.

Spoiler was moving closer to Nightwing as if recognising an ally. Tim could feel Bruce’s glare burning a hole in the back of his head.

“You said to convince her to get off the streets,” Tim sulked.

“If you’re not training me, I’m not stopping!” Spoiler leapt on this.

Nightwing was giving Batman a knowing look. Batman glared back.

“Don’t make me play the trump card,” Nightwing wheedled. Tim wasn’t sure what trump card he was talking about but evidently Dick claiming he had one was a serious threat because Bruce stiffened. After a long moment he said, “You know who would like her.”

Batman’s hand reflexively tightened for a moment and Tim held his breath. Things had been better since there was proof of Jason being alive but was it really okay for Dick to bring him up?!

“Meet us at the top of the carpark a block from your apartment at five tomorrow for pick-up,” Batman ordered Spoiler. “Do not be late. Training will not be easy and it will not be fun.”

“I’m not going to quit!” Spoiler snapped. Tim genuinely couldn’t tell if Bruce was trying to put her off or if this was reverse psychology to get her to commit. Either seemed likely really.

Chapter Text

Damian wished Mother would take him on missions. He was nearly seven and he trained hard. He was ready! But she always insisted he needed to focus on his studies instead of going with her.

And when she was back she was usually preoccupied with Todd. As if there was something special about him even though Damian couldn’t see that there was any significant difference between him and the other recruits. Other than that he was far ruder and Damian was still surprised he hadn’t had his tongue cut out for his insolence.

Mother said he was an ally who would help further the goals of their family but she wouldn’t tell him what her plans were. She would only say that one day Damian would be ready to step forward and take his place in them. He didn’t know if Todd would be involved in the future she had planned out.

Mother wouldn’t introduce them and Damian didn’t understand why. Todd didn’t seem dangerous. He was just another recruit like all the others. He hadn’t been trained from birth to be the al Ghul heir like Damian had. He was a servant at best.

Except Damian was beginning to fear that was actually Mother’s intent. It was easy to sneak past his current guards, they kept changing and they were carefully respectful, allowing him privacy in his own chambers. But he’d heard whispers Mother was training Todd to be his personal bodyguard. Todd was a stranger; Damian did not want to be shadowed by him.

He did not need a bodyguard. He was trained, he was strong! If Father came he would prove it! He didn’t cry in training anymore or make a sound when he was punished or ever drop his guard. He – he could kill.

The dog was haunting his thoughts.

It was weak and needed to be culled for the strength of the pack. Its mother did not want it and it would not have lasted long on its own anyway. But he had not wanted to kill it.

When it had been brought before him by his instructor, Damian had been confused. He had dutifully mimed where to strike it with his knife to end it quickly and mercifully. The instructor had frowned at him as he pulled back.

But… it was a dog. Dogs were useful. They were not like the rats his previous instructor had made him catch and snap the necks of. He had not liked killing the rats, fragile in his hands, it did not seem fair. But they were vectors for disease and contamination. The dog had not looked sick. Just… weak.

Damian had realised his mistake when the instructor had hit nerve clusters and dropped him to the ground in agony. It was good his new instructor knew nerve strikes. When his old instructor had to punish him Damian’s body was injured and he had to recover. Eventually Mother had dismissed his teacher for excessive damage to the Heir of the Demon, even if Damian knew punishment was necessary to learn.

When he was able to stand once more, he had been directed to kill the dog again. He had tried. But it was looking at him with sad eyes and he had hesitated. It took him five tries to kill the dog. By the end his body ached with phantom pain and it was all he could do to hold back tears as the dog’s blood soaked the sand.

He had been sneaking away from his chambers to find somewhere quiet where he could be alone when he noticed Todd. Todd only came to the inner rooms of the fortress in order to visit Mother. And Mother wasn’t here currently. Therefore, Todd shouldn’t be there and Damian had marched up to dismiss him.

And Todd hadn’t listened! Todd had actually ignored him!

Damian seethed with righteous fury. Did Todd think that simply because he was Mother’s pet project he could show him such disrespect?! When Mother came back Damian would tell her of Todd’s insolence and have her dismiss him! He could be just a meaningless recruit like all the others. Todd had no call on Mother unlike Damian who was her blood.

Except – except Todd said he was Damian’s father’s son. That couldn’t be true, could it? Mother had said he was Father’s heir. That was why he had to train and study every moment of the day and night. So that he would be ready when Father came to collect him. Father could not have another, older child.

A child that was capable of disarming Damian. That was faster, stronger, and bigger than him. Mother would not have lied to him.

“Todd disobeyed me!” Damian informed his mother when she returned from her mission.

Mother frowned. “I told you not to speak with him, Damian,” she said repressively.

“He was wandering the inner corridors. He should not have been here! Yet, when I ordered him to go, he ignored me!” Damian seethed.

Mother sighed, looking tired, and Damian felt a flicker of guilt. She was still worn from her mission. He wished again he could have gone with her so that he could have helped.

“Jason Todd might have some… ideas of why he doesn’t have to obey you,” Mother reclined gracefully on the couch. “Do not worry about him; I have him under control. You need not concern yourself about him, my son.”

Damian hesitated. That almost sounded like…

“Todd said we are brothers,” Damian tried to make his voice clipped and factual like Mother liked, instead of whiny and petulant. “He said that he was Father’s son! He should be punished for the presumption!”

Mother sighed and put a hand over her eyes. Damian stilled.

“Your father has a penchant for taking in strays, little one,” Mother said softly. “It is because he was denied a blood heir and so has sought weak alternatives. Todd presumes himself your equal because of your father’s charity. It best serves our purposes to allow him to continue this fantasy. I did not wish you to distress yourself by meeting him when he is beneath you.”

Damian felt like the ground was crumbling under him. “So – so Father does have other children?”

“No!” Mother said sharply and Damian suppressed a flinch. “He has charity cases that he uses to fill the space you were born for.”

But… if they filled that space then was there still room for Damian?

“Todd is devoid of soulmarks except for his dead mother’s,” Mother snapped, seeming to almost have forgotten Damian was there. “He was a filthy street rat who drew your Father’s eye via petty larceny and was never fit for the noble role your Father tried to dress him up as. You – you are a prince,” she stood and gently tilted his chin. “You have your father’s blood running in your veins, the blood of the mighty line of al Ghul, you will be heir to both our legacies and join them together, Damian. You will one day bring the world to its knees and usher in a new age of utopia. Todd, Todd is nothing but a stepping stone on your journey. Do you understand?”

Damian nodded mutely.

“Good,” she smiled and patted his head gently. “One day your father will be reunited with us and then you will be ready to fulfil your destiny. Do not trouble yourself with the riffraff in the meantime.” Mother stood and stretched. “Come, we will have dinner and you may tell me of how your studies and training have progressed while I was away.”

Dinner was delicious and Damian dutifully told Mother all the things he had learned and been practising. She had seemed interested until she had to leave because apparently someone from Gotham kept trying to call her private line even though Mother never took calls at her fortress for security reasons. Yet his mind felt like it was whirling far away.

Todd truly was his father’s child. Yet not his child. A fake child. A placeholder. Not of his blood.

Yet… yet Todd had met his father. Father had deemed Todd worthy of time and attention which Damian had not yet earned. He found himself going over every word Todd had said, trying to understand what was so special about the older boy. Trying to remember everything that had been said about his father.

“Tiny Bruce.”

Bruce. His father’s name was Bruce.

* * *

Seeing Bat-Kid actually dressed up in a bat costume and looking slightly sulky about it was well worth the price of admission. Even if she had had to wear a blindfold on the way to the ACTUAL LITERAL CAVE. There were bats and everything. And a dinosaur and a giant penny. What the hell?

“Old Two-Face death trap,” Nightwing said, following her eyes. He smelled better and his smile was less weaponised tonight. “Way more fun than his last one.”

“What was his last one?” Stephanie asked, following him over to the freaking HUGE training arena. Holy shit, were those trapezes hanging from the ceiling?! And... lengths of silk? What were those even for?

“Tried to cut us in half with buzzsaws. Wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Agreed,” Bat-Kid said glumly.

“Where’s Batman?”

“Sulking probably,” Nightwing shrugged, unconcerned. “Oh, sorry, when he does it it’s brooding.”

Bat-Kid actually giggled. Was making fun of Batman like a thing here? Because Stephanie could get behind that.

“Bat-Kid,” a groan, whatever if you didn’t come up with something you got what you got, “said Robin was on ‘sabbatical’?” Seriously, what the hell? Robin had been like fifteen last time he’d shown up.

Nightwing actually momentarily choked. “I forgot about that,” he chuckled.

“Is he… coming back?” Stephanie knew Bat-Kid had said Robin was… okay. But like… everyone had been pretty sure he was dead. Hell, the Joker had bragged about it when he got back. Maybe Robin had been really hurt and he was still recovering. She hoped he was okay; he’d been a Crime Alley kid like her. He’d been an inspiration for a lot of kids. For her.

Nightwing’s face was completely serious for a moment. “Yes,” he said firmly. Bat-Kid’s stance had gotten intense. There was definitely something more going on there.

Nightwing relaxed again after a moment. “Okay, let’s get you two warmed up and you can show me what you already know, yeah?”

Stephanie quickly learned the answer was: not much. She was a bit more flexible than Bat-Kid but Nightwing could literally fold himself in half. She’d never seen a man as flexible as him except maybe Olympic gymnasts. And he was fast.

She was pretty sure he was holding back and he was still easily dodging everything she threw at him, little shifts, grabs, and pulls knocking her off balance as they moved around the training mats. In desperation she ducked around Bat-Kid, standing on the side-lines, for a distraction and tried to yank the mat out from under Nightwing.

Nightwing somersaulted over Bat-Kid and next thing she knew she was on her back with Nightwing perched above her. He’d been careful to lower her slow enough she wasn’t hurt but she was a little winded. Nightwing was laughing. Stephanie felt her face burn in humiliation and fought off a sudden helpless urge to cry.

“You fight dirty. Robin did that.” She faltered at the amused approval in his voice. Next moment he was offering her a hand up. She took it cautiously.

“I thought you said Robin was alright,” she said.

Nightwing’s expression darkened and she was glad the mask hid her face. She hadn’t fucked this up already, had she?

“He is,” Bat-Kid inserted quickly. “It’s just…”

“Some bad things happened,” Nightwing said. He didn’t seem mad at her at least. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“But I want to help!” she protested. If Robin was in trouble or something she wanted to fix it. “Bat-Kid said I could help behind the scenes if I came here.”

Nightwing shot Bat-Kid a querying look.

“Well, if I’m helping why shouldn’t she?” Bat-Kid said reasonably.

“Because we don’t know her yet. We don’t know if she can be trusted.” Batman had arrived. Had probably been watching them silently from the shadows, like that wasn’t creepy.

Stephanie bristled. “Oh sorry, I didn’t know there was an initiation test into your boys’ club!”

Female laughter interrupted before any of the men could react. Stephanie frowned, looking around for the source. “Not just a boys club,” came from a speaker, voice slightly mechanised like Batman and Nightwing’s. They used what seemed to be custom voice changers that obscured their voices a bit but still let human inflection come through. Bat-Kid didn’t have one and Stephanie sure as hell couldn’t afford one.

“Why can’t she train me then?” Stephanie muttered. She hated everyone’s judgy eyes. It wasn’t her fault she didn’t have the money for a high tech Batcave full of gadgets and an entire stupid obstacle course.

“Oracle doesn’t go into the field anymore,” Nightwing said calmly.

“I’m in a wheelchair.” Stephanie started.

“Oracle!”

“I come to the Cave sometimes, B. She’s going to meet me.”

Batman bristled but let the matter drop.

“Did – did you –”

“Our work is dangerous.” Stephanie was startled by the deep but suddenly gentled voice. “Sometimes people get hurt. Badly.”

“I’m not scared,” she lied. Because she couldn’t lose this. This chance that no-one like her ever got. She had to find a reason to convince him to let her keep coming. Had to get at least some training out of this. If nothing else, Nightwing had proven how far she really had to go.

“That’s what I’m concerned about,” Batman said, still in that strange, gentle voice.

“And that’s why you’re getting training,” Oracle said firmly. “So, you’ll be as safe as you possibly can be.”

But you were trained. Weren’t you? Stephanie found herself thinking. She tried not to swallow obviously. She wasn’t giving up. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t give up.

She was surprised when Bat-Kid appeared at her side and nudged her shoulder gently with his. As if in non-verbal reassurance. For some reason it reminded her strongly of Nightwing.

“Fine, so just tell me what I have to do to prove myself to you. I’ll do it!” She told them. “I can take whatever you can throw at me!”

To her absolute shock Batman’s mouth twitched slightly. “Is this the part where I say jump and you ask me how high?”

Stephanie opened and closed her mouth. Because… had Batman just made a joke? “Will it get you to let me help Robin?”

“I’ll think about it. For now, why don’t you and Bat-Kid hop back on the mats and stretch out a bit more. You’ve gone tense again.”

“And whose fault is that?” Stephanie muttered to herself as she marched back to the mats. Bat-Kid sighed but followed her obediently. She was thankful he took up being Batman’s stretching partner until Nightwing started attempting to bend her like a pretzel and she concluded he’d thrown her under the bus.

Fine. She’d get her own back. They were going to be sparring partners after all.

Chapter Text

Stephanie Brown seemed trustworthy. She fit in easily with Dick and Tim. She was happy to chatter with Dick about anything and everything, familiar with pop culture Bruce didn’t bother to keep up with. She brought out a competitive streak in Tim he hadn’t seen before. It was good for Tim to have someone his own age to interact with. Even if they were using old Riddler files to compete on who could solve the puzzles first.

Every time she drawled something sarcastic in her Park Row accent Bruce was reminded of Jason and his heart ached a little. There was so much similarity in their quick-witted, challenging, bull-headed determination that spoke of survivors forced to grow up far too young. Dick was right; Jason would love Stephanie.

It made Bruce want to wrap her up and never let her out of the Cave. He had to repeatedly remind himself she had a mother and a life. But she was so clever, even if she showed it in part by sassing Batman and everyone else constantly. Was her current school appropriately funded? Could he give her a scholarship to Gotham Academy anonymously? He was sure Tim would be happy to have her as a classmate.

Then again that would be likely to expose their identities. The way the pair had latched onto each other he was beginning to wonder if soulmarks would be showing up soon anyway. He shouldn’t be worried, it could only be good for Tim to have love from more people and it seemed to be a mutual affection (platonic or romantic he couldn’t tell but perhaps at that age it was more striking that it seemed lasting than its exact form). But it was hard not to worry about the potential for loss, of giving your heart to the wrong people. Betrayal wasn’t something he wanted Tim to experience at his young age.

He thought he was probably being paranoid. And having the sheer optimism to be able to recognise that he could lay pretty much exclusively at the feet of having good reason to believe his son was alive. Stephanie had rough edges but she was eager to learn and responded surprisingly well to kindness so long as she didn’t think you were patronising her. Jason had been so suspicious, convinced it was a trap despite how obviously he craved affection and approval. Like Tim, Stephanie positively blossomed under praise and redoubled her efforts like she had never gotten any before. Bruce wished his children hadn’t all been so deeply hurt.

Not that Stephanie was his. Mother. Even if she and Tim were definitely tag-teaming him as a management strategy. Teenagers.

The fact she was so obviously eager to help with Robin’s case, despite not even knowing what it was, was also impossibly endearing. Like Tim she apparently idolised Jason (or Robin) and Bruce wished Jason was here so he could show him how many lives his wonderful, bright child had changed.

Jason’s case was progressing slowly to everyone’s frustration. It was difficult to suppress the manic energy that screamed to go out on the street now, now, now . Jason needed them and they were here doing nothing . It had been nearly four months before they’d even realised he was alive!

At this point it was a process of elimination. After telling the Justice League and Titans that first day in a desperate attempt for an immediate solution that had gone nowhere, Bruce had knuckled down to figuring it out himself. He hadn’t… necessarily expected them to continue to care. One missing, resurrected teenager, even if he was Bruce’s son, wasn’t exactly the world-wide crises the League usually dealt with. He'd had more hope for the Titans, Jason had at least been a reserve member, going to stay with Dick over his school holidays from time to time.

What he hadn’t anticipated was for both teams to be not only overjoyed by the news that Jason was alive but eager to do anything they could to help. Clark had practically been kicking down the door demanding to know how he could help, apparently as frustrated as half the family was by being reduced to pacing anxiously while they waited for leads to pan out. Currently the Justice League and the Titans were working more closely than they had in years to run down leads outside of Gotham based on familiarity with potential suspects rather than team affiliation.

Bruce and Dick were trying to eliminate Gotham’s villains as possibilities for involvement. Bruce tried to be grateful Selina had immediately agreed to help despite the fact he hadn't spoken to her in nearly a year, instead of galled how much they were relying on her. Obviously, Gotham's rogues had the most exposure to Robin and access to the graveyard that held Jason’s body but they were hardly the only suspects. A magic user such as Circe was a good bet for this kind of thing. Or Lex Luthor, who was always doing insane, unethical experiments and had the intellect to have worked out Jason’s identity. Or Ra’s and Talia and the League of Assassins somehow – it definitely had their personal touch. Although Bruce had them lower on the list currently because Lazarus Pits offered healing and longevity (at a terrible price) but not resurrection.

It was slow and it was infuriating and Bruce felt the burning need to find his child only heightening every day. But it was better than it had been thinking he was dead. He still had a chance. He wouldn’t fail Jason this time, no matter how long it took.

He didn’t want Dick and the kids burning themselves out though. When Alfred had suggested Dick take Tim and Stephanie to meet the Titans that weekend Bruce had seconded the motion (so long as Tim and Stephanie weren’t taken on any missions). They all needed to rest somewhere safe with people who would care for them. Dick had talked about analysing reports from some of the Titans’ informants (Dick had even reached out to Deathstroke to Bruce’s concern) but Bruce was hopeful he'd mostly just spent time with people he loved while waiting for updates.

Inevitably it had been too good to last. The day after they got back Joker broke out of Arkham.

When the alert went out at one in the afternoon all Bruce could think was that his kids were still at school. He barely stayed long enough to check Oracle was monitoring and Nightwing was available to go out immediately, if need be, before racing out in a civilian car.

Tim was startled and a little scared when Bruce called him out of school.

“Joker,” was all Bruce said. Tim went still and quiet but didn’t object as Bruce aimed the car further into the city.

If Tim was unnerved Stephanie nearly refused to get into the car. Which was fair enough considering as far as she knew Gotham’s resident billionaire, who she’d never met, was trying to get her to climb into his car without any explanation.

“Stephanie,” Bruce interrupted her indignant tirade, “this is me telling you to jump.”

Stephanie gaped at him for a long moment before climbing into the backseat beside Tim in silence. “Joker’s out,” Tim explained softly. When Bruce looked back at them in the rear-view mirror their hands were clasped firmly together.

“My – my mum,” Stephanie stammered.

“We’ll get her,” Bruce promised, already aiming the car for her apartment.

Stephanie’s mum worked the nightshift and was only just getting up. Naturally she was frazzled to find a billionaire at her door with her daughter who was supposed to be in school and a boy she’d never met. It took far longer than Bruce was comfortable having the kids in the open air but eventually Stephanie’s pleading and the confirmation on the TV that Joker was indeed out convinced her that if she could have her daughter in Bristol away from Joker’s main stomping grounds it was worth the risk and questions.

Bruce really wanted to talk to Stephanie’s mother about rehab. Stephanie had said some worrying things about her mother’s access to prescription drugs but she’d also made it clear that her mother loved her and was trying so he couldn’t just take her away. He’d have to see what he could do for her once this latest crisis was resolved.

“Tim!” Dick came dashing to meet them at the door and immediately folded the younger boy into a hug.

“My eldest,” Bruce explained to the still extremely confused and rattled Crystal Brown.

“I’m sorry, I thought you said Tim was your neighbour’s child?” Crystal said vaguely.

Not if Bruce had anything to say about it once he filed custody papers. But he had to talk to Tim about that first and with everything going on trying to find Jason he wasn’t sure if it was a good time to put that pressure on the boy. Tim might refuse out of fear Jason would take it the wrong way. Since Tim’s parents weren’t around and showed no signs of coming back (and had seemed not just satisfied but enthusiastic about Bruce’s manufactured Wayne Enterprises internship excuse when he’d finally  gotten them on the phone) he wasn’t making it an immediate priority.

Stephanie had gotten dragged into Dick’s anxious hug as he checked over the pair. It would have been ridiculous if Joker hadn’t targeted schools before.

“It feels wrong to be here when other kids don’t have a mansion to hide in,” Stephanie said shakily.

Bruce flinched because she wasn’t wrong. Everything he tried to keep Gotham safe and this still happened. But he wasn’t going to let guilt prevent him from making sure his family, the ones he couldn’t bear to lose, were safe as he headed out to face the Joker. Again.

“Ah, you must be Ms. Brown,” Alfred came to take over. “It is a pleasure to meet you at last. We’ve heard so much about you from Tim.”

“O-oh, I’m sorry, I don’t think Stephanie’s ever mentioned…” being friends with Bruce Wayne’s neighbour’s kid? She hadn’t known until this afternoon. Bruce really hoped he hadn’t made a mistake telling Stephanie his identity. But how else could he have gotten her in the car?

“Yes, I’m afraid Master Timothy is a bit shy sometimes. Nonetheless, it is a pleasure. Why don’t you come into the kitchen for a soothing cup of tea? This whole business is terribly distressing, isn’t it?” Alfred gently ushered Crystal away.

Bruce barely got the kids into the sitting room before Stephanie hissed at Dick, “Batman is Bruce Wayne.” Dick nodded mildly. “Sorry, I just… had to say it aloud,” she explained. Dick’s mouth twitched like he was fighting the urge to laugh. On days the Joker broke out all laughing was somewhat hysterical and usually triggering.

Bruce left Dick to corral the kids and went to suit up. Joker didn’t tend to work in daylight, although he loved to be unpredictable, but the moment the sun set…

“I’m proud of you,” Dick told Bruce, leaning against the doorway.

That actually paused Bruce for a moment. “Why?”

“You chose trusting Stephanie and keeping her family safe over holding onto your secret identity beyond the point of all reasonable doubt.”

“Her mother doesn’t know.” He trusted Stephanie wouldn’t tell her. Well, he had contingencies if she did, they didn’t have any proof, but he didn’t like thinking that way about Stephanie anymore so he pushed it aside.

Dick sighed, his way of saying Bruce had missed the point.

“You’ll keep them safe?” Bruce checked, unable to halt the anxiety thrumming inside him. He had so much more to lose than he’d thought he had a year ago.

“Of course, B,” Dick said gently.

Bruce dragged him into a hug, clutching his child as if he could shield him from the evils of the world with his body. “You’ll keep yourself safe?”

“As much as I can,” Dick snorted but he clung to Bruce just a fiercely. “Be careful, Dad,” Dick whispered.

Bruce managed to force a smile for a moment, cupping Dick’s cheek and staring at him for a long moment. His child, his precious, precious child even if he was a grown man now. He had to tear himself away and make for the Batmobile. He would keep them safe. He would take down the Joker and keep them safe.

* * *

The first day was quiet which only made the anticipation worse. So was the second. Bruce refused to let Stephanie or Tim go to school so long as the Joker was out and Crystal didn’t object. Bruce didn’t want Crystal to go to work either but after the first day she’d insisted that she was a nurse and might be needed. Apparently she’d concluded Stephanie was safe at the Manor, to everyone’s relief. Dick wanted all his baby siblings where he could see them and behind one the most sophisticated private security systems in the country.

The third day was when everything went wrong.

“Three days after his latest escape from Arkham Asylum the Joker is now holding the Stagg Industries Broadcast Building hostage unless Robin, the Boy Wonder, comes to confront him,” one of the newsfeeds was saying. “Joker’s hostages in the locked down building are currently estimated at several hundred and Gotham citizens are urged to give the building at least a two-block radius and comply with GCPD instructions to avoid the spread of Joker Venom, should the gas canisters be detonated.”

It switched to a clip of Joker’s rambling speech. “So, a certain two-faced individual informed me there’s a new birdie in town. Bats, I’m hurt. You know I need to vet anyone you spend time with to make sure they’re appropriate company. I mean, what if they start suggesting you get enough sleep or constructively work through your problems or wear something that doesn’t make you look like a giant bat to haunt people’s nightmares! No, no, no, no. I mean they wear primary colours, clearly their judgement can’t be trusted.

“Batsy, you don’t need to change. Don’t let people beat you down and blow things out of proportion. The last Robin did that and look where it got him,” maniacal laughter. “So I think this new one and I are going to need some alone time so that we can cover some ground rules. Break him in a bit, you know?”

“He wants me,” Tim whispered.

They were all clustered around the Batcomputer watching the live broadcast.

“You said you weren’t Robin!” Stephanie protested, clutching Tim protectively as if the Joker would have to physically rip him away from her.

“I went out as him once, to save B and Nightwing from Two-Face,” Tim said faintly.

Dick was physically vibrating with fury. Bruce looked like he’d turned into a statue.

“Well, he is most certainly not getting you,” Alfred said in a tone that brooked no argument.

“But Alfred! All those people!” Tim protested automatically because he fit right in with their family’s trend of hero complexes.

On the monitor Joker’s speech was being replayed across the various feeds Barbara had pulled into different windows to monitor. The news agencies he hadn’t attacked and was currently holding hostage anyway. On Gotham Evening News the Joker had moved on from ultimatums to morbid stand-up. There was always something disconcerting about seeing figures you knew dead, faces twisted in the rictus of a Joker grin. Dick had often tuned in to this evening show to check what was going on in Gotham as he ate dinner in Blüdhaven. The presenters had never made much of an impression, pleasant and professional and that was it, but he felt a strange kind of impersonal grief as they lay dead over the table while Joker continued to mug for the camera.

“You okay?” he murmured to Barbara as the others clustered around Tim to inform him of exactly how definitely he wasn’t going to face the Joker.

“Just make sure Tim doesn’t sneak out.”

Tim was currently under the watchful eye of two distressed adults. Dick checked Stephanie wasn’t heading for the Robin costumes herself – it would definitely be the kind of thing Jason would have done. Thankfully Stephanie seemed far too preoccupied physically restraining Tim to have considered taking his place. That was a relief.

“If anyone who isn’t dressed like a traffic light comes within a one block radius of this fine establishment I’m flooding the whole building with Joker Gas,” the Joker broke off attempting to use a dead presenter as a puppet. “Maybe a few other places too… I don’t know… I can’t quite remember.”

“Bruce, I have to go!” Tim was on the verge of tears now and shaking with terror.

“Over my dead body!” Bruce growled.

“He’ll kill you! That’s what he wants!” Stephanie was still refusing to let go of Tim’s arm.

Dick made for the suits line up.

“If I distract him then you can save me and it’ll be fine!” Tim protested.

“Master Timothy, please!”

Dick hadn’t been Robin since he was seventeen. Luckily he hadn’t grown all that much since then either. He wasn’t short, if anything he was a little tall for an acrobat, but he was never going to be the size of Bruce or even as tall as Alfred. The suit didn’t have the give of the early ones, too much Kevlar and armouring, and Dick hated the fact it restricted his movements a little because of the less than perfect fit. But it was good enough. Nobody could mistake him for anything but Robin even though he took his escrima harness from his Nightwing suit.

He almost made it to the cycles before the worried cluster at the Batcomputer noticed.

“Dick!” was all Bruce managed to get out before he revved the engine and zoomed for the exit.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Barbara said in his ear.

“He wants Robin, he can have Robin,” Dick growled. He couldn’t have Tim.

“Bruce is freaking out.”

“I can handle it.” As if Bruce would listen. “And tell him not to be seen.”

Barbara sighed heavily but she didn’t force his comm to patch him in to Bruce’s no doubt ready and waiting lecture.

Dick left his bike at the police perimeter and grappled the rest of the way. His first instinct was to sneak in but he was Robin, not Nightwing. He was the distraction. He reluctantly switched his comm to link up with Bruce.

“I’m in position.”

The silence was heavy.

“Don’t die,” Bruce growled. At this point their family had the lowest of standards.

Dick grimaced and went to face the Joker. Again.

The fear was palpable when he swung through the vents to land in front of the Joker. The camera crew were all clustered in a corner, hemmed in by thugs with machine guns and gas masks. Dick wanted to ask if they knew those wouldn’t do much against prolonged exposure to Joker Gas. The gasps and hopeful whispers of “Robin!” made him heartsick.

“Oh. It’s you. And you’re wearing pants,” the Joker said.

“Um. Ew.”

He’d worn pants for years. He’d had to swap to tights as he got older and started getting soulmarks on his legs. He still kind of missed the freedom of movement of a leotard or tiny shorts but he’d finally gotten the balance of armour to flexibility working with the Nightwing suit. This was not that suit.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in blue and being ineffectual in Blüdhaven?” Joker asked. “Aww, did Purple Crossbow Lady kick you out? Well, we don’t want you here either!” Joker’s affable mania occasionally snapped into apoplectic rage. Considering he was no less murderous regardless of affect it didn’t mean much but it was always a disconcerting switch. “Where’s the new kid?!”

Joker wasn’t holding an obvious detonator. Which probably meant he’d wired it to something. Damn.

“You asked for Robin. Here I am,” Dick spread his arms.

The Joker grumbled incoherently, “You’re no fun anymore, lambchop. What did Batman take away your candy privileges?”

“You KILLED MY BROTHER!” He’d at least had the good sense to disable the broadcast before dropping in. Although pretty much everyone knew there had been two Robins and one of them… wasn’t around anymore. From the Joker’s ever widening grin, if he couldn’t torture a kid he was willing to take an emotional outburst from the first Robin. It was taking everything in Dick not to leap at the Joker and snap his neck.

“Nightw – Robin,” Barbara said in his ear.

“Aww, did I ruin your attempt at playing happy families? What must that even be like having a lunatic like Batman as a father?” Joker mock gasped. “Should someone call CPS?” Dick ground his teeth together. “What about this new one? I’m guessing you like him more than the other one considering you didn’t even bother to show up when we had our little chat last time.” Dick jerked forwards slightly before stopping himself. “More twitchy than you used to be too... maybe you could use some help putting a smile back on your face.”

Dick fought his anger down. He’d spent years taunting the worst scum of humanity with a grin. This was no different.

“Maybe I was just feeling left out. After all I was here first,” it came out strained but the Joker still brightened.

“Oh, Birdie you know you’ll always have a special place in my heart. After all you were the first bird whose wings I got to rip off.”

Dick snorted. “I feel like I’d remember that.”

“Really? Cause I seem to remember you not coming around anymore after I shot you,” the Joker smirked. “Did Daddy Bats fire you?”

Well, they’d certainly argued about it. Which Dick had thought a bit rich since Dent’s attack had definitely injured him worse. Probably not what Joker wanted to hear at this point. Still, talking about his own run-ins with the Joker eased some of the seething fury that he couldn’t suppress on the topic of his brothers. He kept up the banter as he slowly, idly looked around the room, giving Oracle and Batman the feed from his mask.

“Nightwing, there are three bombs all wired up to a pressure sensor on the Joker’s chest. If you hit it the bombs will split the canisters and release the gas,” Oracle reported. “Stall him.”

Shit, figured someone like the Joker would have the bombs hinged on goading someone to attack him. Also, keep doing what you’re doing was never a terribly satisfying set of instructions.

“The bombs are on a timer. Not enough time left to disable them all,” Batman growled. Dick didn’t bother to wonder how he’d snuck into the building.

“I should be able to piggyback off the vest’s signal to order a shutdown command,” Oracle said. “Robin –”

Already on it. He flung electrified wingdings at the guards with guns and darted forwards. He shattered the Joker’s jaw while he was still in the midst of some deranged monologue and caught his wrists before Joker could hit the floor. He was just turning back to the guards currently distracted by electrocution and the interference being run into their earpieces by Oracle when the people they’d been holding hostage quickly swarmed them and got them on the floor. Thank God for Gothamites.

“Joker’s down. How do I disable the vest?” Dick asked.

“First bomb disabled. Working through the building to the next now,” Batman reported.

“Are you okay, Dick?” Tim asked anxiously.

“Fine. He didn’t touch me.”

“Got the schematics. There should be a control on the shoulder of the vest,” Oracle reported. Dick cautiously propped Joker on the ground, wrists still held in one hand so he didn’t fall over unconscious, and started to carefully shift the clothing.

Joker had modified it and rigged a failsafe because of course he had but between Barbara, Tim, and a couple of the station crew who took over keeping Joker upright once they knew about the pressure sensor bomb, Dick managed to get it disabled without too many problems. Then all he had to do was hook a receiver up to it for Oracle.

“Bombs disarmed,” Oracle reported in relief.

“Guards neutralised,” Batman announced. “Lift the lockdown and call in the GCPD.”

Dick fled before the cops could arrive or Batman could deliver the pending lecture. In part to get away from the grateful thanks from the crew to ‘Robin’. It felt wrong. He wasn’t Robin anymore.

He wasn’t expecting to find Harley Quinn a few rooftops over.

“Bats handcuffed me to this pipe after I told him all about Mister J’s plans. How’s that for gratitude?” Harley grumbled as soon as she saw him. “Say, aren’t you a bit old to be Robin?”

“You told Batman about Joker’s plans?” Oh God, had they gotten back together and broken up again?

“Sure. Me and some of the boys still talk, ya know?” Harley shrugged. “They tell me things.”

“Why?”

“Hey, I’m a nice gal. Mister J’s not really got a sensitive touch. Sometimes the boys need a bit more of a sympathetic ear.”

“No. Why did you tell us?” Dick pressed.

Harley actually started and then looked a bit… guilty? “Ah, well… The kid… he okay?”

Dick was well aware that logically he should be encouraging this sudden, although most likely temporary, change of heart in Harley. What came out instead was, “You’re not seriously expecting me to believe you care.”

Harley fidgeted and looked away. “The other kid. Robin. He – I didn’t have anything to do with that, you know?”

“What.”

“I didn’t know what Mister J was doing! I didn’t – I mean he was just a kid!”

“So?”

It was Harley’s turn to look startled. “What?”

“Joker’s targeted kids before. Last year he tried to poison all the city’s school milks because he thought it was funny. You’ve never cared about that before.”

“I mean – I didn’t –”

“What, was it different because those kids didn’t have faces to you?! You didn’t know them?!” Dick’s fury had been building all evening dealing with the Joker and now it was just pouring out of him in hate filled vitriol. “Or was it that Joker first tortured and then murdered Robin?! Is just murdering kids okay but you draw the line at torture?! Or is it only the combination that bothers you?!”

“No – I –” Harley was actually starting to look afraid, edging away from him as far as the cuffs let her. Dick didn’t much care.

“You’re seriously telling me you had no idea what Joker was doing in Ethiopia? You didn’t help him set up the meetings to get biological weapons? You weren’t planning what area your puddin’ would unleash a plague on? Or were you fine with all of that but his killing Robin for trying to stop that was crossing a line?

“H-hey, Mister Wing, no need ta –”

“Your name plastered across that monster’s forehead would have been one of the last things my little brother saw as he was beaten to death! Listen, you’re saying you’ve changed, you’re trying to make amends, great, fantastic, I’m really happy for you. Go to therapy, take up yoga, find the self-actualisation of your best self. But don’t pretend that just because you weren’t in that warehouse that you don’t have culpability for Robin’s death just like you have for every other crime Joker’s committed and you helped him with over the last five years! Don’t pretend you just didn’t know what the Joker was until now because you did! And don’t pretend we’re still going to be happily bantering on rooftops as if this is all a game because it isn’t! It got my brother killed and now the Joker’s got a taste for it he’s not going to stop trying to kill everyone else I care about!”

Harley stared at him for a long moment. Shit, he’d probably completely derailed any hope of her actually turning over a new leaf. He didn’t want to be here anymore. He just wanted to go home and cry.

“I’m sorry, Mister Wing,” Harley whispered after a moment.

Dick sighed and deflated. He managed a nod because he definitely wasn’t up to accepting an apology from Harley Quinn of all people. Then he headed off the roof for his bike and home. The kids needed to be put to bed and he needed to see they were okay first.

Chapter Text

Timothy Jackson Drake was, as it turned out, the new Robin.

Talia had summoned Jason to her office after several confusing weeks with an unknown soulmark. He’d assumed just to check he was still alive and vengeful. Or about the Damian thing. He had not expected to be handed a folder full of photos and a couple newspaper articles about Batman and Robin dated after his death.

It was a lot to process very fast.

Starting with, He replaced me! That came with a lot of green.

Followed by, But he thinks I’m dead and he still loves me. He’d checked last night and that morning. The black mark was still there.

Followed by, Sure but the Robin thing didn’t work out so well last time. What’s he thinking?

Followed by, Maybe the new one’s not as much of an idiot as me.

This was followed by his rummaging through the folder and finding out that Robin – aka Timothy Jackson Drake – was apparently a rich high society kid.

He literally upgraded to the better model!

Wait Timothy Jackson Drake – that’s the new soulmark.

Why the fuck would the new Robin love me?! He’s literally taking my place! Also, we’ve never met and everyone knows you can’t get a soulmark from someone you don’t actually know.

Wait wasn’t that quiet kid at some of the galas called Tim Drake?

That barely counts! Also, it’s only coming in now!

Maybe Dick and Bruce are telling him stories about me?

Oh good! He stole them and now he’s digging up dirt!

Maybe he’s trying to carry on the legacy?

A legacy of stupidity, violence, and getting blown up by a supervillain. Great.

Jason found himself staring at what seemed to be a school picture of the kid. God, he looked young. Had he or Dick ever been that small? Surely not. How old was this kid? Like ten?

Apparently fourteen. There was no way that kid was a teenager.

“I realise this must come as a shock,” Talia was saying. She was using the smooth, soothing voice she’d used when he’d first woken up. Aka the one Jason now associated with lying manipulation. She and Hugo Strange should swap notes. “Just another betrayal to add to those your family have already inflicted on you.”

Jason really had been working on getting the whole homicidal rage thing under control. He was more restrained in combat, trying to prioritise efficiency over pain. He was trying to compartmentalize the Pit and stop it getting any hold on his actions. Usually the breathing helped.

It did not at this particular moment because he went from thrown and a bit upset to GREEN basically immediately. Because his family hadn’t betrayed him, Talia had when she’d lied to him about the Pit! This was her fault.

The next thing he knew he was tied to a chair in Talia’s completely trashed office.

Okay, so trying to kill Talia probably wasn’t the best idea, considering the whole: cult of assassins that worship her father thing. But damn if it hadn’t taken her some effort to subdue him this time. The place was a wreck. The sturdy mahogany table had chunks taken out of it. The bookshelves had been shattered by the fight and books were lying tossed and trampled on the floor – if he was honest he felt more guilty about that than trying to kill Talia. Cushions from her settee had sprayed feathers everywhere. Also, there were several splatters of blood. Plus she’d called her guards in.

Talia was leaning on the desk with her arms folded and a bloody nose. “I had hoped you were starting to get the Pit under control,” she said bluntly.

“I’m going to kill him,” Jason said, since redirecting his intent towards Tim seemed likelier to keep him alive.

Offering homicidal intent to a fourteen-year-old seemed to mollify Talia. “I know this knowledge is a shock.”

Tim’s soulmark showing up on him had been a shock. It was still very pale but it was distinctly there now. Red like Jason’s were. But Tim’s seemed to be more a burnished, warm red; Jason’s was quite stark. Tim's reminded him of the sky at sunrise perhaps. His were like fresh blood.

Bruce taking a new Robin was actually kinda predictable if he’d really been thinking about it. Bruce was better with kids than adults usually and Robin had always filled a role Batman couldn’t. He guessed a yearlong mourning period had seemed enough.

Not that Jason was bitter or anything.

“Rest assured, no training Bruce can provide this lacklustre boy will in any way match up to the training we are offering you,” Talia told him.

If by that she meant Bruce’s training was much less likely to kill or maim the kid she was definitely right. Jason was probably proof of concept that crippling violence wasn’t always the best way to get a functioning individual though.

Talia seemed like she was expecting Jason to say something so Jason added, “I’m going to make Bruce watch while I kill him.” He was feeling grumpy and it was the kind of thing that was expected of him by now.

Jesus, how wrong had Talia and Bruce’s relationship gone? She didn’t seem necessarily thrilled about this but it was apparently within her calibrations of plan: get Jason high as a kite on magical rage juice, train him to kill, point him at Gotham, profit?

God only knew what the profit was but Jason assumed there was some.

“Go back to your cell. I expect you to spend the rest of the day meditating on how to use this new information. Not be controlled by it,” Talia said. One of her guards untied him.

He was handed the folder at the door. What was he meant to do? Fester over it? He felt like he was getting mixed signals.

Once back in his cell he flopped onto the mattress and tossed the folder aside. He didn’t want to think about that right now. Why had Talia even shown it to him? To get him angrier?

What actually was Talia’s plan? She still referred to Bruce as “Beloved” and though she said she accepted the possibility of his death Jason could tell she wasn’t keen on it. Hell, maybe she just thought Jason wouldn’t succeed even if he tried.

Thanks for the vote of confidence.

Usually she redirected his murderous impulses away from Bruce. It was more noticeable when he was just saying them to keep up the façade. But even at the beginning when he… hadn’t been terribly coherent those first few days, he could vaguely remember Talia doing it.

Her sympathetic comments to his raving lust for revenge tended along the lines of: “I can understand why you would want to make Bruce suffer after he failed you so completely.”

Jason might not be a genius like Timothy Jackson Drake (okay, maybe he was a little bitter) but he had been trained by someone with the grandiose title, ‘World’s Greatest Detective’. And he'd had a shitty, abusive dad before that. With a, somewhat, clearer head he could now recognize the manipulation.

It didn’t do much for the guilt he felt about everything that had come out of his own mouth but it at least gave him something else to focus on.

So, Talia’s plan clearly at least had the steps: resurrect Jason and turn Jason on his family. Goals which nicely assisted each other considering the Pit’s effects.

But more specifically it was: turn Jason against Bruce in a way that keeps Bruce alive but suffering. Why? What was in it for her?

Batman dead and out of the way had a clear benefit for the League of Assassins. No more spanner in the works. Granted Bruce non-functional with trauma also achieved that but it was hardly as effective.

Was it that after their previous romance Talia couldn’t bring herself to kill Bruce but still wanted him out of the way? Honestly, under the circumstances, it seemed kinder to kill Bruce than try to break him emotionally. Certainly Talia would think so.

So, if it wasn’t a mercy was it a punishment? Did she hate him that much? Was “Beloved” some sort of twisted reminder? But even then, why not torture him and then kill him? Logically speaking it would give her revenge and make sure Batman was out of the way. Jason was starting to feel a bit sick reliving his amorphous evil plans.

Unless… she didn’t want him suffering. She wanted him broken. Broken enough that “irreconcilable moral differences” might not seem like so much of a barrier.

“I’m going to make him kill the Joker. I’m going to make him kill the Joker or kill me.”

“That will be difficult. You will need training. To prepare.”

What better way to break Bruce than to make him kill? To be forced to kill by his son?

What better way to get Bruce to join a cult of assassins than to remove the fundamental reason he never would? Bruce would never be an assassin because he would never be a killer. Which held a lot less weight when he was already a killer and deeply traumatized to boot.

Jason felt sick. This wasn’t how he had wanted to discover the pieces of a puzzle falling into place like dominos, the way Bruce had promised he would one day experience.

* * *

Stephanie had been in tears by the time Dick and Bruce had gotten back from dealing with the Joker. Barbara and Tim had tried to explain that Jason had died but then he’d come back but she was convinced they’d been lying to her about Robin. They’d all been up into the early hours of the morning filling Steph in on the whole saga before she’d finally believed them that Jason really was alive now.

Since then she’d been single-mindedly hunting down leads. Batman had even caught her scoping the Riddler’s properties as Spoiler to try and eliminate him and threatened to stick her in a containment cell. They’d had an impressive screaming match that had somehow ended in Stephanie clinging to Batman as he awkwardly comforted her.

After that Barbara had decided to invite her to come spend time at the Clocktower some nights. It was a shorter trip, Barbara had plenty of busy work to offload, and she didn’t think either of them would mind some company that wasn’t quite as intense as the Cave.

Babs just had to be careful not to let Stephanie see any of the various financial manoeuvrings Bruce was having her do. She was pretty sure he was trying to convince Crystal to let him give her money for Steph’s education but so far she hadn’t bitten. In the meantime, he was taking an interest in the hospital Crystal worked at, the school Stephanie went to, and the building their apartment was in. Hopefully neither of the pair would notice. Bruce’s tendency to throw money at a problem could make people feel uncomfortable. Even if Barbara was amused to find Stephanie had been eagerly using Tim’s parents’ credit card to buy frivolous things as petty ‘punishment’ for them ignoring their son. Considering her idea of frivolous was splurging on a fifteen-dollar frilly shirt and a triple sundae ice-cream, plus a couple of custom fonts, Barbara doubted Tim’s parents would even notice.

Stephanie wasn’t even involved in the biggest conflict in the family at the moment though. That had come the day after Joker was put back in Arkham. Dick had marched down to the Cave and announced that Joker couldn’t still be around when they brought Jason back to Gotham.

Barbara suspected she was the only one who hadn’t been stricken realising they hadn’t even thought of that. She’d been brooding over it almost since Jason's soulmark came back. She was finding ways to deal with her own trauma around the Joker but she hated the idea of inflicting that on Jason.

The ensuing argument had been more driven by frayed tempers and overwrought emotions than actual malice. It probably didn’t help that Bruce had had this exact argument with Catwoman before the whole Joker mess. Barbara had been somewhat surprised how protective Catwoman had been about the rumours Batman had kid sidekicks again (the rumour mill in Gotham never slept).

In the end there was little that Batman or Bruce Wayne could do that he wasn’t already doing. He was trying to improve Arkham to make sure Joker didn’t get out. He took Joker down every time he did. At least nobody had brought up old grievances in a fit of pique.

“I am not subjecting Jason to spending the rest of his life waiting for Joker’s next breakout and praying this time Joker doesn’t get a hold of him!” Dick had eventually yelled before storming out.

Bruce had gone to follow him and Barbara would be lying if she said she didn’t think part of that was genuine fear on Bruce’s part that Dick was going to just go and break into Arkham to murder the Joker personally. She didn’t know what they said but when they finally got back they had at least calmed down somewhat.

The ensuing brainstorming session wasn’t much more productive though.

“Alright ‘Operation: How Do We Get Rid Of The Joker, PERMANENTLY?’, is now in session!” Stephanie announced.

“Did the ‘permanently’ need to be in blood-dripping red font?” Dick asked.

“Yes,” Stephanie said firmly. It had been one of the custom fonts she’d bought.

Barbara was glad Bruce wasn’t in the meeting. He was apparently chasing down some lead he wasn’t willing to share with the rest of them. There was a long pause.

“Custom prison just for him?” Tim suggested eventually.

“I mean anywhere other than Arkham would be better,” Dick agreed. “Not like therapy’s actually going to fix him.”

Stephanie dutifully wrote: “NOT ARKHAM”, on the tablet they were projecting.

“Belle Reve maybe?” Barbara suggested. It was one of the most secure prisons in the world and hopefully even Amanda Waller wasn’t insane enough to try to put Joker on the Suicide Squad.

“Nah, Waller won’t touch him with a ten-foot pole,” Dick sighed. “Bruce asked. She’s talking about taking Harley though.”

After explaining the governmental black ops situation to Steph they moved on.

“So we’ve got… custom prison, a different prison, medically induced coma or cryogenically frozen if we really hate the future I guess, the Phantom Zone which is basically just a really fancy prison and… look do I really have to be the one to say it? We could just kill him,” Stephanie pointed out.

Barbara wished she hadn’t considering she was fourteen.

“I’m not saying I want to go around killing people,” Stephanie held up her hands. “But this is a brainstorming session…”

“Bruce would never go for it. He kinda has a thing about senseless murder after his parents were murdered in front of him,” Dick said dryly. Barbara noted Dick hadn’t actually objected personally. And neither had she.

“I mean it’s not really senseless murder. More like very sensible murder all things considered.”

“Mistress Stephanie!” Alfred protested from the doorway. He had apparently overheard the commotion.

“What? I’ve lived in Gotham my whole life. He breaks out like every six months and kills a bunch of people! Everyone lives in fear of him.”

“On average it’s closer to four months and he kills about a hundred people a year on average,” Tim recited. Barbara grimaced.

Dick was staring at Tim, looking faintly nauseous. See this was why she’d never done the math.

“It’s a wonder the state hasn’t executed him yet.”

“He got off on an insanity plea,” Barbara sighed. “Harvey Dent wanted to try him for newer crimes and prove he wasn’t legally insane because he knows what he’s doing is evil – that’s why he does it. It would have been a hard sell regardless with the precedent but after…” Two-Face. “Anyway, no other district attorney has wanted to draw the Joker’s attention. Also, our state doesn’t have the death penalty.”

“Could we send him to another state? It’s not like he’s only done crimes here,” Dick pointed out.

“Or what about the International Criminal Court?” Stephanie added. “He’s definitely committed crimes against humanity, right?”

“Again, people don’t exactly want to draw his attention away from Gotham and onto them,” Barbara grimaced.

“Well, that – just… sucks,” Stephanie folded her arms angrily. She wasn’t wrong.

“Batman can’t kill. He’d lose all of the city’s trust and that’s the only thing keeping most people going,” Tim pointed out. Stephanie sighed and slumped. “We could… hire someone else to kill him?”

“Master Timothy!”

“I mean… Deathstroke would probably be up for it,” Dick considered.

“Master Richard!”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it!” Dick protested. It was the sudden silence more than anything else that made everyone look at Alfred. He looked as stoically British as ever but… “Alfie?” Dick said, suddenly sounding anxious.

“After Master Jason’s death I may have… come very close,” Alfred admitted after a long moment. Barbara’s heart hurt for the man. Jason was his grandson. “But I realised I could not support Master Bruce’s crusade against criminals if I was willing to hire a murderer to kill someone for me.”

Everyone shifted uncomfortably.

“I mean… it’s not murder if it’s self-defence. And like… seeing the Joker in Gotham is really good enough reason to feel your life is threatened…” Stephanie pointed out.

Things devolved quickly from there.

“So,” Dick said, examining the mess of scribbles now projected on the wall. “We have, over the course of the past hour, come up with multiple ways to murder the Joker and get away with it, have someone else murder him or get the state to execute him… and suggested putting him in a different prison. Babs, delete this and scrub the tablet.”

“Yup,” Barbara took the tablet from a slumping Stephanie. It was probably a good thing Alfred had given up on tempering the discussion a while ago and left.

“Seriously?! There’s got to be something we can do!”

“We could render him quadriplegic,” Barbara remarked, already setting the tablet back to factory defaults before she started running her cleaning programmes over it.

Everyone stared. Well, it wasn’t like she hadn’t been thinking about this for a while.

“It wouldn’t completely neutralise him of course, he’s an expert at manipulating people, look at Harley Quinn. But if he couldn’t move on his own it would at least make it harder for him and reduce his threat,” Barbara didn’t look up from the tablet.

“What are you doing?!” Bruce demanded forbiddingly from the doorway.

“A thought experiment,” Dick said with the utmost innocence.

“Trying to work out what to do about the Joker,” Barbara told him bluntly, daring him with her eyes to object.

Bruce slumped slightly. “No-one is killing the Joker.”

“We never said we would,” Tim said innocently. “We know Batman can’t kill.”

Bruce was giving him a very suspicious look. Which was fair considering Tim tended to precede completely ignoring whatever he’d been told to do with that tone.

“None of you are killing him either,” he said dangerously.

“I mean… everyone knows Batman doesn’t kill… if he's still breathing…” Dick was looking both uncomfortable and distinctly defiant.

“Dick –”

“We could severe his spinal column at the base of his neck and make him quadriplegic. It’ll at least make breaking out harder and he won’t be able to beat Jason half to death before blowing him up again,” Barbara shut off the now back on defaults tablet.

Bruce stared at her. There was definitely horror in that expression but she wasn’t sure if it was horror his children were suggesting this or horror he was considering it.

“I don’t understand why you’re so against killing the Joker specifically!” Stephanie protested. “I mean, isn’t he kinda the exception that proves the rule?”

“It isn’t a rule if there’s an exception,” Bruce growled.

“But he kills so many people. He killed your son!”

“YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW THAT?!”

Stephanie quailed and instinctively ducked behind Dick. Barbara sent Bruce a look. Bruce seemed to abruptly deflate and collapse into one of the armchairs.

“I know what he is,” he admitted to his hands. “But if I start down that road…”

“The slippery slope is a fallacy,” Tim pointed out.

“Not for me,” Bruce said grimly.

Barbara sighed as both of the younger kids drew closer to the safety of Nightwing. Dick just looked concerned.

“You’re too hard on yourself, Bruce,” she said gently. Because, whatever Bruce thought, if he killed the Joker he wouldn’t go on a killing spree.

“If I don’t stand by my principles in all circumstances then how can I really say they’re still my principles anymore?” Bruce demanded. His gaze dropped to the floor. “I don’t want my kids to have a murderer for a father.”

Barbara wasn’t particularly surprised when Bruce abruptly found himself with Dick plastered to one side and Tim’s arms around his neck. Stephanie approached more cautiously but gave his shoulder a tentative pat.

“The only thing worse would be making my children kill instead because I failed them,” Bruce said.

Barbara sighed. Bruce was always taking responsibility for the world’s actions onto himself.

“We could move away from Gotham,” Dick murmured.

Bruce stiffened. “I’ll talk to the Justice League,” he said eventually.

Barbara noticed he hadn’t explicitly said no.

Chapter Text

Jason was kinda pissed about the new Robin. Not kill-him-in-front-of-Bruce pissed (well, hopefully not, he hadn’t had any more blind rages for a few weeks at least) but definitely Dick-just-finding-out-something-important-to-him-had-been-given-away-to-a-stranger-by-someone-who-didn’t-own-it pissed.

He wasn’t even exactly sure what it was that angered him really. Granted being Robin was dangerous but his role was also pretty important. He was way more approachable than Batman, good for victims, good to keep villains on their toes and distracted. Batman had for the most part been careful to keep Robin close to him, out of really dangerous cases, and was fiercely protective of them – and that was after exhaustive training. A couple of near misses with Dick had made him all the more careful with Jason, if it hadn’t been for Jason running away to Ethiopia and the Joker happening to be there so Jason could be sold out while Batman was elsewhere he probably would have been fine.

He could understand intellectually that even after what happened to him Batman might need a Robin. He could even kinda get keeping the mantle of Robin, not something new. People knew it and it kept the legacy alive, his memory alive in a way. That had probably been the intent rather than to callously replace him.

Maybe it was just that Timothy Jackson Drake was, as far as Jason could tell, literally everything he hadn’t been. Clever, calm, measured, well-brought up, polite, rich. Exactly who Bruce had wanted Jason to be and who he had failed miserably at being.

He loves me, Jason reminded himself. He had physical proof.

And apparently the new Robin loved him too? After they’d met a couple of times at galas? Seemed like a stretch. God that was way too confusing.

Speaking of tiny children Bruce had an interest in…

“Mother has informed me that you are not really Batman’s son,” Damian announced, rather grandly considering the room he was projecting into was about the size of a broom closet.

“Yeah? You want me to produce paperwork or something?” Jason rolled his eyes. This kid. Who spoke like that at five in their second language? At least Talia didn’t seem to have flipped her shit.

“Tt,” Damian hissed through his teeth and Jason couldn’t tell if it was adorable or irritating. “You are not his blood son. You are merely adopted. His blood does not run in your veins so neither you or the other pretender are true sons.”

“Three now,” Jason commented.

“What?” Damian faltered.

“He’s got a new one,” Jason pointed out. If he had to be pissed about it, he could at least share the misery.

“Regardless,” Damian rallied, “it does not matter. You are not his real children.”

A few months ago this would have sent Jason into one of his rage episodes. Now he was shocked to find himself simply snorting at this announcement.

“You know Bruce was raised from the time he was eight by a butler he had no blood relation to, right? What makes you think Bruce gives a damn about blood ties?”

“Everyone does. Blood is the most important of ties,” Damian said, looking like the very idea this could be in question had never occurred to him and deeply disconcerted him.

“Everyone here,” Jason pointed out. “What makes you think Bruce is the same?”

It wasn’t really much of an achievement to stump a five-year-old but Jason had to admit that Damian opening and closing his mouth for a moment was oddly satisfying.

“Father trained here,” Damian finally settled on.

“And then he left…”

“He loves Mother,” Damian frowned.

Oh. Oh no… Was that what Talia had told Damian? Oh geez, arguing with a bratty five-year-old was one thing, informing him that actually his parents kinda hated each other was another. Even if Talia also sort of loved Bruce – and Jason wasn’t convinced, he’d seen a lot of his dad’s skin over the years and hadn’t seen anything that looked either Arabic or like Talia al Ghul – there was no way they were ever getting back together.

Well, unless Talia broke Bruce emotionally and dragged him back here to play happy families. Like that was a possibility after you’d mentally shattered someone so you could have them to yourself without having to compromise your morals with theirs… Maybe he should cut Bruce some slack…

Something on his face must have given him away because Damian’s arrogant façade was cracking again.

“Mother has Father’s soulmark! Unlike you!” Damian snapped at him.

Jason’s breath caught in his throat. Not so much about the reference to his soulmarks itself, which he knew wasn’t true even if he did make an instinctive grasp for his back and settle on his shoulder, but at the fact that Talia had apparently told Damian that Jason had lost his soulmarks.

“Yeah? You sure about that kid? You ever seen it? Because Talia told me that having soulmarks was a weakness you were better off without,” Jason snarled.

Damian flinched and clasped his little gloved hands before him. “That – that is different. Family is different. Blood family,” he added.

“Mm, yeah, well I guess at least we can bond over how we’re both missing Bruce’s soulmark, huh,” the green was rushing through his veins. He wanted to rip Talia limb from limb.

The kid actually flinched and then his lip wobbled before he recovered. Jason felt a snap of remorse. He was picking on a kid for parroting back the things his mother had told him. Way to be mature, Jason.

“Father has been staying away until my training is finished.” Assassin training at five. Jason started mediation breathing so he didn’t try to hunt Talia down again. “He knows Mother will raise me well and, when he returns, I will be a worthy heir who he can give his mark to.”

Jason blinked. What?

What?

What, what, what, what, what?

Fuck meditation, he needed a cigarette! Which now he thought about it he hadn’t craved since the Pit. Huh, at least it had cured his addiction he guessed. Whole bunch of other chronic problems but still.

Not relevant.

“Kid, your dad has no idea you even exist,” Jason told Damian bluntly. Hence the no soulmark but it had still been pretty shitty of him to pick at that. Did the kid have any?

Damian just stared at him. “No. Mother told me. She told me that I am not ready yet.” And it seemed to pain him to admit it. Jason wasn’t Dick but he could read the longing in the boy’s stance, the desperate shame that he wasn’t ready now, the burning desire to become ready so that this little boy could finally meet his father.

“Damian, trust me. If Bruce – if our father had the slightest suspicion about you, he would be on a plane right now or breaking into this complex to find you. He would not care in the slightest whether you were ‘ready’ or not. You’re his son, that’s all that would matter to him.”

And fuck, saying that made him really miss his dad. Because if Bruce knew he was here he’d be on his way to rescue him already and Christ he was so, so tired. He just wanted to go home.

“No,” Damian was shaking his head and it was the first time Jason had seen the boy really start to lose his composure. Shit, were those tears? He’d meant to reassure the kid, not make things worse. “No. Mother said – said Father is a great man and he can’t love me because I am not worthy of him yet.” And then protective fury suffused his frame. “But I will be! Mother promised I would be! I will be worthy of Father and Grandfather! They will not need other heirs! They will not need you! I will be better than all of you and Father will choose me as his heir!”

How could Talia have done this to this poor kid? Telling him he wasn’t worthy of love until he earned it. And saying that about Bruce, who wanted to protect and care for kids more than anyone… Who, for all he was a grim, difficult, paranoid, cynical, smothering, controlling asshole, had a heart the size of the Earth and loved deeply with surprising ease.

“Damian, Damian, look at me,” Jason wasn’t sure where the patience in his voice was coming from, holding off the rage. He guessed he had a soft spot for kids too as he knelt so they were closer to eye level. “Whatever else you think, I need you to believe me on one thing, okay?”

Damian was glaring at him and trying very hard to pretend his eyes weren’t watering.

“If Bruce knew about you, you would have a soulmark. You wouldn’t have to earn it.”

Damian’s lower lids scrunched as he tried valiantly to prevent the tears falling. “I have a soulmark!” he announced defiantly.

“Yeah?” Jason didn’t know if he was sceptical or hopeful.

Damian wrenched off one of his gloves and shoved his palm into Jason’s face. Wow, hand marks were pretty uncommon.

The lettering was Arabic and the same green as Talia’s eyes and robes. Jason had been in the League long enough to recognise the Daughter of the Demon’s name. And the word for mother. Mother, not mum or any shortening. Geez.

“Huh.”

He’d kinda thought Talia wasn’t actually capable of love. He guessed she made an exception for her son. Maybe her father? He was pretty sure Bruce didn’t have anything like that on him. How long had she been fooling herself that their relationship was going to somehow fix itself? Damn her need to play happy families even if it meant emotionally shattering one of the participants.

“You see! I have a mark unlike you!” Damian told him, haughtily.

This little brat.

“I have my mother’s too, demon brat,” Jason pointed out.

Damian gaped at him. “You can’t speak to me that way!”

Jason shrugged, straightening, “Big brother privilege. So, what’d you do that was so amazing to earn that mark then, huh?”

Damian startled, glancing down at the hand he had covered again.

Jason grinned. “You’ve always had it, haven’t you?”

Damian straightened under his stare, “Mother has always had faith in me.”

“So, if you didn’t have to earn her love, why do you have to earn your father’s?” Jason asked, flopping cross-legged onto his bedroll.

“Father is an important man. Like Grandfather. He doesn’t just give his love away for free!”

Jason shrugged. “He did for me. Unless you count my stealing his tires as some kind of negative payment?”

Damian frowned at that, scrunching his face up in a very Bruce expression. “You stole Father’s tires?”

“Three of them anyway.” Jason shrugged. “I guess I sorta paid him his tires back?”

“That makes no sense.”

“You’re the one who insisted love was a transaction, kid.”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Whatever, Baby Bat.”

“I’m not a baby!”

“You’re not even old enough to be in school.”

“I do not need school! I have tutors!”

“Good for you, Baby Bat.”

“Stop it!”

“Whatever. I’m just saying, you have two options. One, your father’s a colossal as–jerk, believable I’ll grant you, and one day you’ll maybe be deigned worthy of his attention and affection. Don’t know if that’ll count as true enough love for a mark but whatever.

“Or, two, he doesn’t know you exist and so can’t love you. In which case contacting him now is probably a far more direct approach to getting his love than training for twenty years and only then letting him know.”

“I do not need Father’s love! I – I will earn his approval and be his heir!” Damian announced.

“Keep telling yourself that, Baby Bat.”

Damian stormed out rather than keep arguing and Jason flopped back onto his pallet. It was concerning he was starting to wonder if he wasn’t the most messed up person in this complex.

* * *

“This city's getting crowded. Batwoman one of yours?”

Bruce's frown deepened. He didn't know how he felt about Batwoman aka Kate Kane, if his guess was right, aka his cousin. On the one hand, if anyone was capable of surviving as a vigilante in Gotham it was Kate. On the other, she was a soldier trained in lethal force. And, besides all of that, why was it that everyone he cared about seemed to court danger?

“No.”

“Yeah, that ominous pause really convinced me,” Selina drawled.

Bruce fought a sigh.

“He’s not in Gotham,” Selina’s voice sobered. “You know he’s not in Gotham.”

Bruce’s jaw twitched. “I have to check every possibility.”

“Look, granted it would be exactly the kind of thing Joker would find funny but Harley would know. Even now she still always knows.” There was a sigh in Selina’s voice. Batman’s gaze snapped to her sharply. Had Joker been able to convince his most loyal and effective collaborator to forgive him again?

“Don’t worry, Pammy’s keeping an eye on her,” Selina rolled her eyes. “Although knowing you that’s probably your plan. You know Pam won’t break out of Arkham so long as Harley’s in there with Joker.”

That hadn’t actually been his plan, not that he was objecting. He knew Harley Quinn was friends with Poison Ivy (and that Selina was friends with both of them despite his misgivings) but hadn’t realised they were so close. Or that Pamela was trying to keep Harley away from the Joker.

“You’ve been in contact with them,” he said.

“A girl has her ways, Bats,” Selina smirked.

If Catwoman was breaking in and out of Arkham he really needed to give another push upgrading the security. Oracle was working on software updates but it was the people within Arkham that were most often hacked, not the systems. As Harley could attest to.

At least Selina hadn’t broken Harley or Ivy out.

“It’s not any of us, Bats. The ones with standards would never do it, the ones without them wouldn’t have been able to go this long without their bragging hitting the streets.”

“You’re not like them,” Bruce said automatically instead of admitting she was right.

He couldn’t tell in the mask if the smile was patronising, fond, or somewhat rueful.

“I steal from the rich and give to myself while wearing a costume, Bats. And I have the poor taste to live here instead of somewhere sensible like Central City.”

“You’re a good person deep down.”

Selina huffed a laugh, “Deep down maybe. So are Harley and Ivy but I don’t see you giving them this pep talk.” Bruce frowned. Harley… he couldn’t forgive Harley. Maybe he couldn’t personally forgive any of them. But Ivy… Freeze… Harvey… maybe he shouldn’t have given up his hope some of Gotham’s Rogues could be redeemed. “Look Bats, I’m just helping out because of the kid. Let’s not make this more than it has to be, hmm?”

He deserved that. They’d had something that, if not quite an alliance, could at least be considered an accord before Jason had died. After that… well, he hadn’t really been in the state to be talking quietly on rooftops with her. He was lucky she’d agreed to help him at all. But then, deep down she was a good person and deep down he sometimes worried he wasn’t.

“Thank you for your help, Selina.”

“Don’t suppose your thankfulness could show itself in skipping a robbery at the Gotham Museum next week,” she muttered ruefully.

He gave her a look. Robbing the filthy rich, like Bruce Wayne, was one thing. A museum was for the public.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. That new exhibit all the billionaires are so eager to fund for the tax deductibles is full of stolen artifacts.”

Bruce had a brief internal debate. He didn’t entirely trust Selina to not keep something for herself but it would explain why her latest ‘fence’ looked a lot more like a notable Kenyan antiquities specialist who had past employment at the Nairobi National Museum.

“Only the stolen antiquities,” he growled.

“And the Sionis diamond,” Selina negotiated.

“No.”

“Oh, come on! He’s a supervillain!”

“Exactly. He’s a sadist with a penchant for torture, Selina. You don’t want to draw his attention.”

“I can take care of myself!”

“You don’t have a secret identity, Selina! Returning the relics, fine, I have better things to do. You’re going to start a war with a mob boss, no such promises.”

She glared at him. “You seem to be forgetting I’m not one of your little sidekicks.”

He suppressed a flinch. “Selina… that wasn’t a…” challenge. Damn. “You have soulmarks. Black Mask will target them.”

Selina mostly hid her twitch but not completely. Along with “Pamela Lillian Isley” and “Harleen Frances Quinzel” she had “Bruce Thomas Wayne” and “Margaret Kyle”.

“I’ll think about it,” she allowed and Bruce let his posture to relax. “After all there are a bunch of other things there I could steal…”

He fought a sigh. “I really do have better things to do than chase you, Selina.”

She smirked and flexed her claws, “More important maybe. But better? Don’t kid yourself, Bats.”

His mouth twitched into the slightest of smiles. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed this, even if he was still loath to admit it. “More important then,” he allowed.

Her smirk softened. Bruce moved to leave. He had to start running up on the leads the Justice League had been following. He was beginning to have a sinking suspicion he knew who had Jason though. However, much Talia had denied it. He had asked Clark to check where she had taken his call, after nearly a day’s worth of worth tracking down her scattered signal from Cyborg, but inevitably she only took his calls in safe houses she could burn. It was infuriating.

“You have other leads, right? You’ll find him.” It was somewhere between a statement and a question. Bruce was startled by the very real… care in her voice.

“I’ll find him,” he promised.

* * *

Batman had been distracted and more intent than ever on his micromanaging of the Justice League’s investigations. Tim had actually walked in on Batman getting a lecture from Superman(!) about how his being controlling was just making things harder for everyone. It seemed to have helped marginally. Didn’t stop him from constantly badgering the Justice League for updates he wasn’t providing the rest of them though. Dick and Barbara had apparently had enough.

“You think you know where Jason is and he’s not in Gotham,” Dick said in a tone that promised trouble if Bruce didn’t spill immediately.

“It hasn’t been confirmed and I don’t want… to get your hopes or concerns up if it doesn’t pan out,” Bruce admitted reluctantly.

“Bruce, we can’t help if you don’t tell us what you’re working on!” Barbara said in intense exasperation.

“This isn’t a case of help… I’m waiting for results on some inquiries I’ve made about the League of Assassins.”

Dick’s breath literally hissed on the inhale. “You think Ra’s has him.”

Tim shivered. He’d only heard of Ra’s by reputation but it was enough to terrify him.

“Maybe not Ra’s. Possibly –”

“Talia.” If anything Dick looked angrier.

“We don’t know for certain Dick. And if Ra’s notices the feelers I’ve put out the League will go to ground. We could lose them entirely.”

“You think I don’t know that?!”

“Dick –”

“Deathstroke has contacts with the League. I can help!”

“I don’t want anyone doing anything until the current inquiries pan out.” Bruce was extremely antsy about Dick interacting with the career assassin regardless.

Dick started pacing anxiously. “Bruce, if they have him –”

“They’re likely training him or holding him as a hostage,” Bruce agreed. He looked haggard.

“I’m going to burn the League to the ground!” Dick growled.

In the background Tim could hear Stephanie whispering to Barbara, “What’s the League of Assassins? I mean… besides the obvious…”

Tim was already planning to go over everything they had on the League all over again when Barbara’s voice came through the main speakers, “Hold that thought. My computer just flagged the Drakes as buying one-way tickets from Albania to Gotham.”

Tim startled violently and hurriedly checked his phone. No texts, no missed calls. They were in Albania now? Last he'd heard they were in Brazil.

“When's their plane?” Bruce demanded.

“Basically now, they're probably already boarding. Twelve hour flight.”

“What?! But Tim said they weren’t due back for months!” Stephanie objected through the computer.

“I – they didn't tell me!” Tim stammered.

“Looks like there was a problem with their permits,” Barbara's keyboard clicked over the feed. Tim winced; they wouldn't be happy when they got back then. Dick was looking at Tim in open concern. Bruce had the frown that meant he was planning contingencies.

“I need to go home,” Tim said. He didn't have much time, he had to make the house look lived in.

“Do you feel safe going home?” Bruce asked.

“I – yes. They’ve never hurt me,” Tim said, startled by the implication. His parents weren’t around much but they weren’t violent.

“That’s debatable,” Stephanie muttered.

“But – will you be okay?” Dick asked, looking quite willing to kidnap him if need be. It wasn’t necessary but… it was nice.

“Yes,” Tim nodded. “Only… I won’t be able to work on finding Jason as much with my parents here,” he said guiltily.

“Don’t worry about that, you’ve done enough,” Bruce hurriedly reassured.

“But I want to keep helping!”

“Do you think your parents will let you come round to Wayne Enterprises after school for the internship?”

“Probably.” He hoped so. “They seemed pleased about it.”

“Okay,” Bruce nodded, “we can talk to them about my continuing to pick you up from school then.”

“I… they don’t know I’ve been staying away from home.”

“We'll help you move your stuff back,” Dick immediately volunteered.

They ended up having to buy him groceries too. Dick had wanted to stick around until his parents arrived but Tim felt bad enough distracting everyone from the investigation already. It took a bit but he managed to get rid of them eventually. He then drifted around the house trying to catch any dust Mrs Mac had missed and moving a few things around in an attempt to look tidy but like the house had been occupied the last few months.

He then ended up cooking dinner for his parents in the hopes that might make them feel better when they got home. He was just wondering if he'd started too early and it would be better to just stick it in the fridge when the sound of a car echoed down the drive. Tim hurried to the front door.

“Hey there champ! Come and help me move this suitcase, eh?” Jack spotted him first. Janet was on the phone complaining to someone and spared Tim a distracted nod.

The evening flew by in the same manner. His parents complaining about permits and governmental incompetence and the university that had offered them the grant in equal measure while Tim helped carry and unpack suitcases. The first question for Tim was what takeout he wanted for dinner. He explained he'd cooked and Janet had looked disappointed but said they couldn't waste food. Tim hid his hurt, he'd thought the food had come out pretty well even if it was just lasagne and salad.

Dinner was an awkward affair. His parents kept getting distracted by their phones and his dad sometimes asked him questions and then immediately started talking about something else before Tim had time to answer. Tim managed, barely, to get his parents to agree to his still doing the internship after school but it was made clear he might be needed for some of the galas his parents attended when they were in Gotham. There were also a lot of questions about whether Bruce Wayne was likely to attend any of them.

Tim had felt so uncomfortable by their fixation that he'd tried to shift to talking about Stephanie – the first friend his own age he'd ever made. This lasted just long enough for Jack to congratulate him on getting a girlfriend before the conversation moved on. Tim didn’t have a chance to explain they weren’t actually dating although he thought he maybe liked her? They’d agreed that there was a lot going on and they didn’t have to work it out immediately. He didn't think his parents would care much anyway.

When Tim finally got to go up to his room, he found concerned texts from Dick and Stephanie checking how he was. Along with one from Bruce checking whether he could pick him up from school, which was the same thing from Bruce.

At least he didn’t have to hide drinking coffee from his parents. Alfred had found his coffeemaker and confiscated it. Tim had been having to subsist off the caffeine in over-steeped tea when he couldn’t get out to buy some.

Chapter Text

Tim’s parents were still asleep when he headed to school and he was somewhat startled to find Bruce at the gate to give him a lift. In a lot of ways it wasn’t that different from his usual routine except that he was living in a different, much quieter house. At least he hadn’t lost his ability to talk about nothing at galas.

His parents seemed pleased with him and occasionally Janet would pat him on the shoulder or Jack would ruffle his hair. Tim felt guilty for comparing them to the affection the Waynes offered him when he was in their house. He really wished that his parents would stop throwing out hints that maybe Tim could convince Bruce Wayne to attend the function they were hosting while they were back. After all, he’d practically been a recluse for a year.

“I mean… his son died last year though,” Tim pointed out.

“Then it’s about time he engaged with the world again, eh?” Jack said cheerfully. “Just ask him, huh, champ?”

Tim had dutifully asked, expecting Bruce to point out that he was very busy. Instead, Bruce had blinked at him and then said, “Alright. Is Dick invited too?”

Dick was, definitely, invited too. High off his success Tim had asked if Stephanie could come. His parents hadn’t really seemed to be paying attention but Tim took the, “Oh sure,” as enough to invite her.

“Tim… it’s black tie. I have nothing I could wear!” Stephanie had immediately pointed out, leaving Tim deeply chagrined. He wanted to offer to buy something for her but he thought that’d just make her upset.

Tim was therefore somewhat startled when she showed up, ushered in by the Waynes.

“Babs leant me the dress,” Stephanie said in clear embarrassment, swishing the deep green skirt side-to-side. It wasn’t her usual style and was perhaps a bit big but she looked nice and unless people really stared at her flat, strappy sandals she looked the part. Tim found himself beaming.

“And you look very pretty in it,” Dick told Stephanie, giving her a gentle nudge with his elbow. Tim hurriedly nodded.

“Get off, just because you look ridiculously good in a suit. I think half the people here want to eat you,” Steph griped but she looked pleased. Tim did wonder if they were going to have to pry people off Dick with a crowbar by the end of the night since there seemed to be a gravity well around him. “So, what do you do at one of these things anyway?”

It was the most fun he’d ever had at a gala. Even if everyone assumed that Stephanie was his date. Though from the way she was clinging to his arm, he could tell she felt uncomfortable so maybe it was okay for people to just assume that. She loved all the food though.

“This is really good! Why is nobody else eating?” she whispered.

“Too busy networking,” Dick kept coming to hang out with them and then getting dragged away. “You’d think Bruce was the guest of honour considering the whole room is fixated on him.”

“Should we rescue him?” Tim asked with vague anxiety. The crowd around Bruce did have the faint feel of piranhas around a chunk of meat.

“How?” Stephanie pointed out.

“Maybe if I could get to the chandelier…” Dick mused. A moment later he was accosted by someone who “hadn’t seen him in years” and vanished back into his own feeding frenzy.

“Should we rescue him?” Tim wondered.

“Eh. More food for me,” Steph said cheerfully. Tim giggled and his parents were too far away to hear and scold him.

By the time everyone had gone home and Tim was finally shucking out of his suit for bed, he was buzzing with a kind of happy energy. It had gone well, his parents were pleased in general and with him in specific, Stephanie seemed to have had a good time and for the first time he hadn’t been wandering the room alone, and even though Bruce and Dick had been mobbed the whole night they’d both still smiled and seemed happy when they left. Maybe things wouldn’t be that bad even if Jason didn’t want Tim around much.

“Timothy, I just wanted to say that you did very well tonight,” his mother poked her head around her bathroom door.

He knew it didn’t mean she was suddenly going to love him but it was still nice to hear. “Thank you, Mum,” he said, turning to face her.

“We had Bruce Wayne here, triumph of the season.” Tim smiled dutifully. It had been almost all the Waynes in one place. He wished Alfred and Barbara could have been there too.

“I don’t know what you said –” Janet paused and Tim stilled in taking out his cufflinks. “Did you get a tattoo?”

“What? No!” Tim protested, thoroughly confused now.

His mother’s gaze was fixed at the hem of his now unbuttoned shirt. Tim startled back when she suddenly lunged forwards and pulled it further open.

“What,” she hissed, “is this?!”

“What is what?” Tim asked, starting to get scared. He’d thought they were happy. She’d just been saying he did a good job.

He looked down at where she was staring and froze.

He had a new soulmark.

Stephanie’s was purple and currently a pale line of text over the curve of his hip but it was clearly visible. At Wayne Manor he’d sometimes just stand in the mirror and stare at his soulmarks but since he’d come home he’d been careful not to. He hadn’t even realised Stephanie had given him one.

“Is this a soulmark?” Janet hissed and Tim’s blood ran cold. “That girl gave you a soulmark?! Have you been sleeping with her?! You’re only thirteen!”

Fourteen. He was fourteen. He’d turned fourteen a few weeks after meeting Spoiler. Bruce had picked him up after school and instead of going to the Manor he and Dick had taken Tim to a photography exhibit. Barbara had met them there. Then they’d all gone back to the Manor where Alfred had prepared a feast with birthday cake and silly hats and presents from everyone. His parents hadn’t remembered to call.

“No, Mum, it’s not like that,” Tim protested because it really wasn’t. They just… cared about each other.

“What’s going on?” Jack poked his head in, frowning.

“Timothy has a soulmark.”

Tim shuffled nervously. He’d hoped he might get a soulmark from Stephanie, although he hadn’t let his expectations get too high. He’d thought it would be a happy occasion.

Jack frowned. “Timothy can’t have soulmarks.”

“Then what’s this?” Tim found himself dragged around and his shirt pulled back to show his hip. His mum sounded upset. More than that she sounded mortified, all happiness from the evening gone.

“How long have you had this?” Jack demanded, face thunderous.

“I – I don’t know,” Tim stammered. “I didn’t know I had it until just now.”

“Is this your only one?” Janet hissed.

Tim stilled. He opened his mouth, unsure of whether lying or the truth would be better at this moment, but he’d hesitated too long.

“Strip,” Jack ordered.

“Wh-what?” Tim asked. It felt like the oxygen was being pulled out of the room.

“Strip. I want to see how many more of these you have,” Jack demanded.

Tim felt Janet ripping his suit jacket and shirt off his shoulders, cold air prickling his skin. At a jerk of Jack’s head he took off his trousers with shaky hands. He was relieved they let him keep his underwear.

He’d been wearing little more than this in the Batcave that night after Two-Face but he hadn’t felt vulnerable and exposed like this. He had been in pain but his family around him had been a comfort. Gentle hands and concerned eyes only interested in caring for his injuries and comforting him. Nothing like the hostile eyes staring over his body in silent judgement. He was shivering.

Janet spun him clinically and he went like a doll. He’d been taught to fight by Batman but at this moment he could barely even lift his arms. He felt scared; the eyes scanning his body and fixating on his soulmarks with increasing anger felt like a violation.

“Why the hell do you have Bruce Wayne’s soulmark?!” Jack roared and Tim flinched.

“I – I met him at the internship. He – he just lost a son,” Tim whispered.

“And he thought you could be a replacement?” Janet snarled.

“N-no. He just –” He needed someone to care for. And – and somehow Tim had been good enough, even when he made mistakes and disobeyed Bruce and cried over stupid things.

“Is this his ward’s mark?” Janet’s fingers were a vice around Tim’s wrist.

“Son,” Tim whispered.

“What?” Jack snapped.

“Dick’s his son. He adopted him,” Tim’s voice shook but for some reason it seemed important to say.

“Who the hell is Alfred Pennyworth?” Jack growled. “Disgusting.”

“It – it isn’t like that!” Tim protested. They were his family! It wasn’t like his parents wanted him after all. They wanted an heir; they didn’t want Tim. What did it matter if other people did want him?

“That girl tonight. You’ve been seeing someone else as well?”

“What?! No!”

“Then who the hell is Barbara Gordon?” A cold finger with a sharp nail on his shoulder. Barbara’s had come in too.

“Sh-she’s not – she’s like a sister,” Tim protested.

Jack scoffed.

“Well,” Janet stepped back, glowering, “You certainly seem to have been busy while we were away.”

“Pl-please,” Tim whispered around numb lips, unsure what he was begging for.

“And where are ours?” Jack abruptly demanded.

Tim’s shivering got worse. They knew. They knew he didn’t have theirs! Why did they have to make him say it?!

“I don’t have them,” he whispered.

“Oh, so all this time we thought there was something wrong with you it turned out you could form soulmarks just not for your own parents!” Jack snapped. “We clothe you, feed you, keep a roof over your head and this is how you repay us? Giving your love away like a cheap whore to any stranger who asks but not to your own parents?!”

Tim was weeping silently now. He wanted to scream. To remind them that these were marks of people that loved him . His parents had his soulmarks. He could see it on the back of his father’s wrist now he’d taken his watch off. His lack of their soulmarks meant they didn’t love him ! But his voice was frozen in his throat and he couldn’t seem to move.

He barely heard the rest of the what his parents said. Yelling at each other over his head as if he wasn't there. Only looking at him to glare at his soulmarks as if they hated the sight of them. When they finally slammed the door and locked him in they’d taken his phone, his laptop, every electronic device in his room, even the books on his bedside table. Tim was left alone shivering in the dark.

He barely registered what he was doing as he pulled on clothes, mostly at random so long as they were warm, and clambered out his bedroom window. As soon as he was down the tree outside he turned and ran into the woods bordering the property. He ran until he reached the wall dividing the Drake property from the Wayne’s. Climbed it, jumped down, and kept running. He only stopped when he had come out of the woods, circled around the house to the front door, and was practically hanging off the front knocker.

It seemed to take an eternity and he was terrified they’d finally decided they didn’t want him when Alfred pulled the door open.

“Master Timothy!”

“Tim?” Bruce was already hurrying down the stairs with Dick right behind him.

“Please don’t make me go back. Please, please don’t make me go back,” Tim managed to whisper before bursting into tears again.

The next thing he knew he was being sandwiched between Bruce and Dick’s arms, reassurances whispered into his hair. He couldn’t stop crying as his legs finally gave out and he had to be carried into the house. Safe. With his family. Safe.

Chapter Text

Bruce was livid.

He’d let Tim go back to his parents because Tim had assured them that while they were never there, when they were they weren’t actively abusive. He had tolerated it because he didn’t want to rush Tim into making emotional decisions when the whole family was strained to the breaking point already.

Then this had happened.

Tim had spent a lot of the time he was crying inconsolably apologising. Once they’d finally calmed him enough to tell them what happened, in no small part due to a lot of plying with tea from Alfred, it had been all Bruce could do not to march to Drake Manor and beat them to a bloody pulp.

Tim had been careful to make that clear they had not injured him. No, they had just made him strip off his clothes so that they could manhandle, humiliate, and berate him for forming bonds with people who weren’t them.

Bruce had been a bit worried about Tim being seen with his mark. Even though it was generally agreed that love was an emotion that required you to genuinely care for the wellbeing of the recipient, love could still exist in toxic relationships. Bruce could have understood concern or worry or anger at him.

But anger at Tim? Hatred and judgement of their son for having the gall to form soulmarks that exposed their own hypocrisy in pretending affection for him?

Tim had finally collapsed into sleep from exhaustion, cradled by Dick who had been stroking his hair for the past hour. Which was a good thing since with Tim pinning him to the couch Dick couldn’t go and find the Drakes himself.

“How could they do this?!” Dick whispered, careful not to wake Tim.

Bruce just shook his head. It didn’t matter. Neither of them were going anywhere near his son again.

“I’m filing for custody tomorrow morning,” he said, similarly sotto voce.

Dick nodded in relief.

Tim was still shaky the next morning but able to answer questions from lawyers and social workers. Bruce didn’t like having to leave Tim alone to answer the social worker’s questions but they didn’t have much choice. Tim immediately beelined back to Dick the moment they were done with him.

“Well, he’s made his preference to stay with you very clear,” the social worker sighed, watching Tim tuck himself into Dick’s side like he was a much smaller child.

“I’m not letting him go back to his parents,” Bruce said sharply.

“Well, you’re still a registered foster parent,” he didn’t want to foster Tim, he wanted to adopt him but one step at a time. “That’ll help. I need to call my supervisor,” the man walked away.

“The case for neglect is clear. We could probably make one for emotional abuse based on the treatment he described, particularly since they were targeting his soulmarks,” his lead lawyer murmured, “But the exact legal precedent is hazier. It would be best if we could just convince the Drakes to give up custody. They might be willing to in order to avoid a scandal.”

It wasn’t exactly a satisfying comeuppance for the Drakes but Bruce would accept it if it meant Tim didn’t have to face them again.

“Organise a meeting,” Bruce agreed.

“Did I do okay?” Tim asked quietly when Bruce came to sit with the pair.

“It wasn’t a test, Tim,” Bruce ruffled his hair gently. Then, seeing Tim’s clear anxiety, “The lawyers are talking about trying to get your parents to give up custody. The social worker seems sympathetic.”

“Even if we have to go to court we have clear proof of neglect, you won’t have to go back, Baby Bird,” Dick said protectively.

Assuming the court didn’t send him back to his parents in the interim. Bruce was not putting it past Dick to kidnap Tim and hide him in a safehouse until proceedings were over if it came to that.

“Is this okay?”

“Is what okay, Tim?” Dick frowned.

“Me… here… I don’t want to be in the way. What if – Jason…” Tim’s eyes were getting watery again.

Bruce bent down to kiss Tim’s forehead. “Yes. This is okay, Tim,” he promised.

“Jay’s gonna love you. You’ll be causing mischief together like tiny hellions within days,” Dick hugged Tim tightly. “Besides he was always saying he wanted a younger brother.”

“I seem to recall he was more directly complaining about having an older brother,” Alfred said dryly.

Dick shrugged. “Same difference.” Tim almost managed a smile at that, snuggling closer to Dick.

Bruce left Tim with Dick, Alfred, and Stephanie – who Alfred had brought straight from school – and went over to face the Drakes. All things considered they probably would have been able to convince the Drakes regardless but it helped their case that Jack Drake immediately drew a gun on Bruce.

One quasi-hostage situation and a lot of yelling about “corrupting” his son later Bruce’s lawyers were finally able to lay out the case for neglect and now threats with a lethal weapon, which didn’t exactly look favourable. In the end it was Janet who had bluntly agreed and signed the papers, nudging Jack to follow, still muttering bloody murder.

“Although I can’t imagine why you want him,” Janet said, shoving the papers over. Bruce had passed her the adoption papers instead of mere custody and she hadn’t even flinched.

“An opinion I doubt you will ever learn to regret,” Bruce said bluntly and headed home to his children.

Bruce wished it could be a simple celebration but mostly there was just a lot of crying involved. Partly relief but also grief as Tim realised just how easily his parents had agreed to give him up as soon as it became inconvenient to keep him. It would get easier, Bruce prayed, as he held his newly official son and eldest, hoping Jason was safe.

* * *

It was the League. Bruce’s sources had come through.

Dick was going to burn Ra’s entire operation to the ground and salt the ashes for kidnapping his little brother.

“Find where he’s being kept and we’re square, Slade,” Dick growled.

“Really? You don’t even want me to get him out.” Deathstroke sounded either sceptical or amused. Or both.

“You’re not exactly my first choice for an extraction mission,” Dick snapped and hung up.

“Nightwing?”

“Yeah, Bat-Kid?” It was adorable Tim still pulled a face at that.

“I’ve been going over our current known or suspected League bases list. Based on current satellite photos I think that these ones are no longer operational. Of the others if we split into three teams by combining the Justice League and Titans then I think that maybe…” Tim had a gift for tactical thinking and had really needed something else to focus on lately. Dick settled in to organise battle plans with him.

“Better to swap Hal and John,” Dick mused about the teams.

“I thought, since his profile says John is more measured, it would be better to put him on the target closer to civilians,” Tim frowned.

“Yeah but he and Hawkwoman are still ‘it’s complicated’ with their relationship and Hal and Barry are good friends. Flash will keep Green Lantern in line if you switch them.”

“You’re like a relationship councillor for superheroes,” Stephanie commented in amusement from the Clocktower.

“Trust me, interpersonal drama causes like a third of the disasters on missions.”

“Particularly with the Titans,” Barbara laughed.

“Less now that we’re not all teenagers,” Dick pointed out.

“Look at you being a mentor.”

Dick rolled his eyes. “Speaking of teenagers, I don’t want any of the newbies involved on this one.”

“Define newbie.”

“Anyone who’s under eighteen or has been at this for less than a year. League assassins are better than your average thugs by a long way and Ra’s holds grudges.”

“Well that eliminates Superboy, Impulse, and the new Wonder Girl – Cassie something?”

“Definitely Superboy, Ra’s is bound to have kryptonite stored somewhere and I don’t want the League of Assassins to be his first time exposed to it.”

“Impulse will probably just come anyway,” Tim pointed out.

“Congratulations, guess you’re on babysitting then,” Dick grinned.

“What?! But I want to help on comms!”

Dick grimaced. “Sorry, Baby Bird, but that isn’t happening. I am not letting you anywhere near Ra’s until you’re at least a few years older.”

“It’s not like he’ll know I’m there!”

“Oh, he’ll know. He worked with the Joker to kill Jason, then apparently resurrected him for who knows what. He first tried to get Bruce and Talia together by kidnapping me so he could assess Bruce on a globetrotting Easter Egg hunt. Neither of you two is going anywhere near Ra’s,” Dick said firmly.

There was a pause and both he and Tim turned to the speakers in confusion. That was about when Dick would have expected Stephanie to pipe up with objections.

“Um… Cave to Clocktower?”

“Turn on the news,” Barbara said.

Dick and Tim exchanged glances before moving to the computer and pulling up the news feed. The ticket tape at the bottom caught their eyes before they could even turn the sound on, “JOKER KILLED IN PRISON RIOT”.

“Is this real?” Dick asked while Tim gaped, speechless.

“I’m calling my dad now.”

Dick turned the volume up.

“… suggests that the Joker was assaulted by long-time collaborator Harleen Quinzel, more commonly known as Harley Quinn. Apparently, an altercation broke out in Arkham and ended with the so-called Clown Prince of Crime being fatally stabbed with an improvised weapon. Guards are still trying to get the rest of the inmates under control but so far no breakouts have been reported. We will continue covering this as it develops.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Dick gaped.

“Dad says it’s real. Joker’s been confirmed dead. Harley somehow put a skewer through his eye,” Barbara reported, sounding equally shocked.

Dick had to sit down.

“I thought Harley Quinn loved the Joker,” Stephanie queried.

“They broke up after he killed Robin,” Tim reported absently.

“About damn time!”

“Still amazed she decided to assassinate him,” Barbara muttered.

“I… think that might have been my fault?” Dick said weakly. He couldn’t really parse everyone’s questions. “I… might have yelled at her about being complicit in Robin’s death by association and pointed out Joker’s been targeting the family since.”

“Holy… you think that’s why?” Barbara asked, sounding morbidly fascinated.

“I mean, maybe not. Maybe she just got sick of him,” Dick shrugged weakly.

“Relatable,” Stephanie grumbled.

“We need to call Bruce. He’ll want to see the body. He’s in a meeting with the Justice League, right?” Barbara checked.

“Yeah. To figure out what to do about the Joker,” Dick confirmed. Oh, the irony.

“Wow. In terms of everyone remembering where they were when the Joker died that one’s a doozy,” Stephanie commented.

Dick couldn’t disagree. At least that solved that problem. He felt like he should probably feel worse about it than he did.

* * *

Damian hated Jason Todd. He didn't care if the older boy had had the audacity to mark him!

Damian had been subtly observing him. It was good practise for infiltration. Todd was skilled, yes, but he did not behave distinct from the other recruits. He was quiet and aggressive and they shied away from him but he went from his room to breakfast, training, lunch, training, dinner, back to his room. Like any other trainee. Almost.

Perhaps it was the Lazarus Pit. There was a restless energy there and sometimes his eyes gleamed like Grandfather’s and Damian could feel the lethal intent even from where he hid.

Yet Todd had not killed the other trainees. Damian had seen one snap another’s neck during a climbing drill and pretend they had fallen. But Todd did not do that. Bones fractured under his blows sometimes but the body kept breathing.

Todd was a dedicated student and Damian was displeased to see he outstripped the skill of those around him even though he was clearly younger. Although Mother’s sudden ramping up of his training did not make sense to Damian. He was now among the candidates for true membership to the League. The other candidates resented him and he had nearly died a couple of times. If Todd died Damian would be stuck with his stupid mark on his elbow forever!

Mother must have a reason, she always did, but Damian had thought she wanted Todd intact. Todd had not objected. He had hardly shown any reaction beyond a stubborn refusal to die. There was a distance the other students did not show. As if he was purposefully hiding a part of himself away during training. Perhaps he was more capable than Damian had given him credit for.

Perhaps Mother had planned for the soulmark. Perhaps it was part of her plan to make Todd Damian's bodyguard like the rumours said.  If that was the case Damian didn't want to show her since he was still unconvinced!

The mark lay on the outside of his left elbow so it would have taken a while to notice if Damian had not been dedicated to his training regime which included stretches day and night. The subterfuge of the mark's placement matched Todd's devious nature well.

He lied so easily. Insisting that Father didn’t know about Damian. That Father had gotten another stray. Had said Damian didn’t need to earn Father’s soulmark.

It was such transparent sabotage Damian could only conclude the boy was slow in the head. Clearly Father had been careful to teach the older boy to fight but not navigate the dangers of the League. Damian would not be so naïve. He would not fall for Todd’s attempts to convince him to slacken in his training or contact his father early. When Father arrived, he would be proud. Damian would be worthy for him. Regardless of anything Todd did.

Was the mark just another way of lording his knowledge of Damian's father over his head? The pale red spelled “Jason Peter Todd-Wayne” against his skin as if mocking Damian. Was – was Wayne his father's surname? The arrogance of Todd to put Damian's father's name after his!

Damian just... didn't understand why Todd had marked him. Was he... trying to manipulate Damian? Mother had said their soulmarks showed that their familial bonds were strong. Was this Todd's way of trying to force brotherhood between them? Had Mother somehow forced or tricked him into it?

Damian didn’t even know why he continued to observe Todd. It didn't matter. Whatever use Mother had for him, he would serve. If he was to be Damian's attendant neither of them had any choice in the matter. Damian certainly wasn't going to change his behaviour based on Todd's... attempts at bribery. Whatever his purpose, he was no true threat. However skilled he was still simply another faceless recruit. They were not brothers, whatever Todd thought.

Damian stilled further as Jason’s masked face turned to where he was hiding. He would not see Damian in the shadows. He would not. Damian’s eyes immediately went to the flicker of movement of his hand and saw it subtly shake back and forth. Waving.

Damian hissed and drew further back into the shadows. He withdrew and hurried back to his rooms. The impudence of Todd! The presumption that Damian was there watching him!

Damian held the traitorous hand that had started to rise as if to wave back firmly still at his side.

Chapter Text

Bruce had been expecting a lot of things in the weeks since he’d started systematically destroying Ra’s’ operations. A direct attack on his home. Alliances with other villains. Operations launched against the Justice League or a complete going to ground. If he was really lucky Ra’s just handing Jason over to make him go away.

He hadn’t been expecting the girl.

She was young, about Jason’s age, maybe a little older. She was scarred but moved with the grace of a dancer. And she was the best fighter he had ever seen.

He’d been working through one of Ra’s front buildings when he realised he was being watched. Followed. It was only when he was attacked that she appeared and the next moment his opponents were down. Unconscious, not dead.

Her clothes were worn and dirty, her hair a tangled rat’s nest, and her frame emaciated. Bruce still wasn’t sure if he could take her in a fight. She didn’t seem interested in fighting him though. Just curious.

She edged over, eyes flickering over his form and eyeing the symbol on his suit. Bruce had consciously relaxed his body to appear to be less of a threat. He nearly startled when she darted forwards to touch the symbol on his chest and then darted back. She tilted her head at him like a curious bird.

“Who are you?” he asked. “How are you associated with the League?”

She reacted to the noise with a flick of her eyes to his mouth but otherwise ignored it. Bruce tried again in various other languages without success. In the meantime, she was edging closer again. Was she nonverbal?

“You look hungry.” He pulled a ration bar from his belt and offered it to her.

There was a long pause, then it vanished and she was ripping the wrapper off and shoving it in her mouth. Bruce felt something in his heart melt.

“I have more,” he told her gently. He turned off his voice modulator. “It isn’t safe here. If you come with me, I can give you more food. I can take you somewhere warm where there’s shelter.”

He was mostly just saying it in the hopes she would recognise the tone rather than the words. He was somewhat surprised when her eyes drifted over him and then she moved closer again. After a long pause she held out her hand hopefully.

Bruce almost chuckled and pulled out another bar. “I have a lot more,” he said, indicating the food and then miming moving elsewhere, “if you come with me.”

She made grabby motions for the bar but didn’t snatch it. Bruce again made a gesture she should follow him. After a long pause she took hold of his cape and gave it a gentle tug, moving as if following its flow. Bruce tried a few steps and she moved as if their bodies were interconnected, mirroring his movements like a tugboat in his wake. Bruce offered her the bar.

She eagerly took it with her free hand and ripped it open with her teeth. When Bruce moved she kept following him. He was startled when she suddenly smiled at him like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. He managed a smile back, fighting down the bitter disappointment that once again his son was nowhere to be found.

The girl’s face shifted to concerned and she moved closer, drawing the cape around her shoulders as she did. She touched the symbol on his chest again, then looked around as if asking what he needed from her.

“That’s alright. I just need to do something and then we can get out of here,” he reassured her.

Even though she’d wrapped herself in his cape she didn’t tug on it once as he copied and destroyed the computers and alerted local law enforcement.

“Well, your adoption rate is picking up exponentially,” Nightwing commented as soon as Bruce got home with the girl in tow.

Tim stared at the girl, wide-eyed as she looked around her curiously.

“I found her in a League base. She wanted to help. I couldn’t just leave her there.”

“Hi, I’m Nightwing,” Dick waved.

The girl looked at him and then mirrored the gesture back.

“She doesn’t speak,” Bruce warned.

“Really? Is she deaf?”

Tim snapped his fingers a couple of times and the girl glanced at him curiously. Bruce didn’t like to admit he was a tiny bit nervous of someone so skilled in combat taking an interest in his youngest. The moment he thought it though, the girl had scuttled a little further away and was obviously trying to make herself smaller and less threatening.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. No-one’s going to hurt you,” Dick hurriedly held his hands up placatingly.

Apparently recognising Dick’s lack of fear the girl moved closer, giving Tim a wide berth. Like with Bruce she seemed fascinated by the symbol on his costume.

“It’s a bird,” Nightwing said when she placed her hand on it, not jumping back like she had with Bruce. She seemed to be relaxing. “Nightwing is an old Kryptonian legend.”

The girl blinked up at him and then hopefully held out her hand. Dick shot Bruce a look.

“She wants food,” Bruce explained. “I promised her more.”

Dick huffed a laugh. “Of course, you did. Okay, come on, I’m sure Alfred will be happy to oblige.”

She might not understand what they were saying but she clearly recognised the intent and followed after Dick rapidly.

“I take it we’re not even bothering about the secret identity this time,” Dick called idly over his shoulder.

Bruce sighed but, if she was staying with them, they could hardly just keep her in the Cave.

“She looks like she was homeless,” Tim murmured to Bruce.

Bruce nodded. “Be careful. She’s maybe the most skilled martial artist I’ve ever seen.”

“More skilled than you?” Tim started.

“Probably,” Bruce admitted.

“She doesn’t seem… hostile,” Tim said after a moment.

“No,” Bruce agreed.

In spite of seeing her take down a dozen League elite in seconds it was hard to think of the girl as dangerous when she was curiously playing with Dick’s mask or kneeling down to stare at Tim or stuffing her face with muffins as if trying to see how many she could fit in her mouth at once.

“Slow down, they’re not going to run away,” Dick laughed. Bruce had to hide the rest while Alfred made porridge or she would have made herself sick judging by how skinny and how deprived she must have been.

Explaining about showers and baths was more of a problem. She didn’t seem to understand what they wanted her to do until Dick demonstrated cleaning his arm and Tim did the same with her hand before gesturing at the shower. Bruce ducked out to see if Barbara or Stephanie were available. It was beginning to occur to him that this might be easier with another woman to help her.

As it turned out Barbara and Stephanie were both keen to meet “a ninja better than Bruce”. They came in to find the girl refusing to surrender the towels she was bundled in for actual clothes.

“Well, that’s what you get for having ludicrously fluffy, warm towels,” Stephanie announced. Barbara flicked her lightly.

“Out,” she ordered the boys. “Let’s not overwhelm her.”

While they waited Bruce found himself considering the reactions he’d get from the social workers when he tried to adopt yet another child only a little over a month after the last one. Selina would probably laugh herself off a roof.

His thoughts were interrupted by their being allowed back into the room. The girl was in some of Dick’s pyjamas, somehow Barbara had assigned herself to untangling the girl’s hair, and Stephanie was, of all things, painting her nails.

“Do you think she has a name?” Dick asked, settling next to the girl cross-legged and letting Stephanie start on his nails while the girl’s were drying. Although Stephanie quickly got distracted when the girl took one look at Dick’s arms covered in soulmarks and started trying to play with them, nearly smearing nail polish everywhere.

“If she’s non-verbal probably not,” Barbara mused.

“What do you think happened to her?” Tim asked. The girl perked up when he sat next to her, apparently pleased he didn’t seem scared of her. She then immediately began examining the soulmark on his inner forearm. Bruce’s heart ached thinking she probably didn’t have any.

“Her fighting style isn’t unlike the League’s. If she was at one of their bases it could be she was associated with them once,” Bruce settled beside Tim and smiled when the girl looked at him. “Maybe she came back when she heard the fight.”

He tried sign language for a moment. The girl definitely seemed more interested in that than speech, distracted from the soulmarks, but didn’t show any particular recognition of his question: “What is your name?”

“She seems to read body language,” Barbara said quietly. “She has no trouble understanding Stephanie, she’s so expressive.”

“I choose to take that as a compliment,” Stephanie sniffed, switching to Dick’s other hand.

Barbara smiled, “It was intended as one.” Stephanie went very pink.

“Maybe we can work on teaching her sign language as something a little more familiar,” Bruce suggested, signing as he spoke. The girl watched and tried to mimic the signs back.

“I don’t know much sign language. Guess I’ll have to brush up,” Dick sighed, shaking out his hands. “Too bad we can’t ask her if she knows where Jason is.”

The girl seemed to pick up on his mood and frowned at him as if trying to work out what he needed. The girl looked around at the circle and then pointed at an empty spot as if in question.

“Yeah,” Dick smiled sadly. “A member of our family’s missing and we’re trying to find him.”

The girl gestured to herself, then the empty spot, then to the others, before miming another person taking the spot.

Tim grinned. “She wants to help.”

“Well, she is a part of the family now,” Dick pointed out slyly.

“Do you have an adoption addiction or something?” Stephanie asked having wrangled the girl’s foot into her lap. She then got distracted from painting the nail by running a gentle finger along the ridge of the foot. Bruce was about to tell her to stop because the girl might seem eager to help but she was also obviously lethal and trained, when the girl squeaked and then started giggling, jerking her foot back.

“Well, I’ve discovered she’s ticklish,” Stephanie said proudly. Thankfully she’d capped the polish because a second later Dick was trying to test out whether she was to yelped protests.

“We need to give her a name,” Barbara said, ignoring their antics. Tim was edging away, apparently having noticed Dick’s eyes swinging to him.

“You have something in mind?” Bruce asked.

“Cassandra,” Barbara said after a moment, watching as the girl showed no signs of joining in but seemed happy and fascinated to watch Dick tickle Tim mercilessly.

* * *

“I'm sorry, you have how many kids now?”

“Three. Legally.” Kate wasn't sure what was more concerning: the pause as if Bruce had to actively think about it to calculate how many kids he had or the fact he'd gained two in the little over a year since Jason's death. Also...

“Legally?” Kate demanded. Somehow this was punctuated perfectly by a crashing sound from somewhere in the house. “That sounds like more than three.”

“That sounds like Dick on a good day,” Bruce pointed out, dry humour rearing its head. Kate was somewhat startled. The last time they'd seen each other had been at Jason's funeral. She'd thought her cousin might never smile again, much less make a joke.

“I heard that!”

It was still strange seeing Bruce's oldest fully grown. Even if Bruce would have been only sixteen when he was born. Somehow in her mind Dick was still that tiny child that kept finding ways to climb onto the chandeliers. The one her dad had described Bruce as 'insane' for thinking he could handle.

“I'll have you know I'm the responsible adult supervisor now,” Dick informed Bruce, hands on hips. “On a completely unrelated note, where do we keep the fire extinguisher?”

“Mm hmm,” Bruce raised a single eyebrow, failing to conceal his amusement.

He looked better. A lot better. Not that Kate could really remember Bruce as anything but guarded and taciturn. Sometimes she had flashes of a smiling child at mostly forgotten family reunions who had never met a secret he didn't want to uncover or a rule he couldn't bend. They'd both been different people then. For some reason the Kane family seemed to be defined by their tragedies.

“Bruce, tell Alfred I can be trusted to use the waffle iron! I don't think Cass has ever tried them and that's a travesty!” A blonde hurricane burst into the room. Then blinked as she took in Kate. “Sorry, I didn't know you had guests.”

Bruce sighed, “What makes you think Alfred listens to anything I say when it comes to the kitchen? And this is my cousin, Kate. Kate, Stephanie.”

“Well, you did manage to set the toaster on fire once,” Dick pointed out.

“Wait, seriously?!” Stephanie's eyes lit up with infernal mischief.

“He once burned pasta because he didn't put the water in,” Kate gleefully threw Bruce under the bus.

“I got distracted!”

“There are literally only three essential steps to pasta. Pasta, water, heat. How can you possibly get distracted halfway through that?”

“He made really good baked Alaska that one time though.” That was a new kid. Which immediately filled Kate with concern. Because the newspaper pictures really didn't do justice to the fact that Tim Drake was tiny, black haired, and blue eyed just like Dick and Jason had been. He practically screamed replacement even if the features were all wrong.

“Bruce can only do complicated things in the kitchen. If he has to focus on really specific instructions he can do it. Otherwise he gets distracted by something else and messes it up. Or has no idea what a pinch means and freaks out. It's hilarious,” Dick grinned.

“None of which gets you access to the waffle iron,” Bruce pointed out, looking extremely long-suffering.

Peeking out from behind Tim was another girl with black hair who looked a couple of years older. Which was definitely one child too many.

“I thought you said that you had three kids,” Kate frowned.

“Stephanie is a friend of Tim's,” Bruce said, as if he wasn't watching her with the same possessive protectiveness he was eyeing the others with. “Cassandra, Tim, this is my cousin Katherine Kane.”

“Aunt Kate,” Dick inserted, for some reason both he and Bruce were now signing. Kate assumed that was for Cassandra considering she'd heard nothing about the Drake's child being deaf.

Cassandra dutifully mimed the sign for Aunt, looking at Kate with somewhat disconcerting intensity.

“You're going to confuse her. Your dad's cousin isn't your aunt,” Stephanie protested. She only signed a few words, obviously less familiar with it.

“I mean since when is anything in this family normal in terms of structure?” Dick shrugged. “Not like I'm going to start calling Bette my adoptive first cousin once-removed's first cousin.” Kate tried not to wince.

“Who's Bette?” Stephanie wanted to know. Tim seemed to be murmuring and awkwardly signing explanations to Cassandra, who Kate would have said seemed laser focused on him if she wasn't also sure the girl was aware of every tiny shift Kate made in her chair.

“I'll supervise you in the kitchen. Leave Bruce alone to catch up with Kate,” and there was a fifth one now. At least the flaming red hair was vaguely familiar as a friend of Dick's.

“Why don't I count as supervision?”

“Dick, your version of cooking is adding milk to cereal.”

“Hey! I can cook! I just don't bother in the Manor because Alfred's is better.” Nonetheless Dick helped his... friend? Girlfriend? Whatever – usher the others out of the room like ducklings.

“Love you, Aunt Kate. Good to have you back from your trip!” Dick called as he closed the door.

The scary thing was he meant it. She'd never gotten Jason's soulmark and hadn't been offended. She'd been fond of the kid but they just hadn't known each other that well. But she'd gotten Dick's plastered across the crook of her elbow pretty promptly after meeting him, crushed up by other marks on her forearms. She still had no idea if he had her soulmark.

Both she and Bruce were constantly busy and often seemed to only touch base with each other after another catastrophe. It was one of the reasons she'd put real effort into organising to see Bruce after her yearlong ‘OE’ aka training. Even then it had taken a couple of months as getting set up as Batwoman and making sure Beth was okay ate up her time. Then there was the fact that she and Renee might be rekindling their relationship, the soulmark was definitely darkening again. And that Bette had apparently been training with her dad and wanted to be ‘Flamebird’. As always there was a lot going on. Apparently in the intervening time Bruce had adopted two new kids and extra-legally acquired a few more.

“Five? Seriously?” she demanded.

Bruce shrugged. “The Manor has room.”

Kate sighed. Bruce had always had a soft spot for kids and he seemed to relax around them in a way he never did with adults. Kate was well-aware his ‘Brucie’ persona was a defence mechanism against public scrutiny rather than the reality of his personality.

There was something wistful in Bruce's face as he listened to the kids make a mess of the kitchen. Either Alfred was tolerating it or there was some other domestic emergency in a faraway wing.

“It'll be six soon.”

Kate's stomach dropped. Was he serious? Two could maybe have extenuating circumstances but three? This couldn't in any way be described as healthy. Those kids deserved better than to be pulled into Bruce's orbit in a desperate attempt to plug the hole Jason had left.

“Bruce...” Shit, she wasn't great at the whole... intervention talk thing. She preferred to just bluntly address things head-on. But somehow that didn't seem like a productive approach to talking about someone's dead son. “Are you sure that's a good idea?”

Bruce glanced at her in confusion and then his face smoothed out into a blank mask. Kate wasn't exactly sure what his experience of therapy had been but she got the impression they'd been more excited about diagnosing the famous Bruce Wayne than actually helping him. She’d had some of the same experiences before her dad found her a good one. Bruce didn't really talk about his emotions anymore.

“Jason's alive.”

Oh, shit.

She definitely wasn't qualified to talk Bruce through his grief-fuelled delusions that the dead son he'd buried was still alive. She needed to talk to Alfred. Or maybe Dick but that felt like asking Bette to look after her when she was having a breakdown. Regardless of how old they were it was bound to be traumatising.

Bruce was ignoring her poker face covering panic and started undoing the buttons of his shirt. Kate was afraid she was going to have to knock him out when he stood, before he turned around so he could slip the shirt off his shoulder blade. She registered the soulmark before she registered the fact that it was red.

“Oh my God,” was what slipped out.

Bruce shrugged the shirt back up and buttoned it as if nothing had happened. “We don't know exactly where he is but we have leads. We think he was captured,” Bruce said it as if he was talking about the weather.

“You buried a body!” Kate protested.

“An expertly made mannequin,” Bruce still sounded calm but Kate didn't believe it for a second. “I'm going to be out of Gotham quite a bit for the next little while, Kate.”

She didn't know what to say to that. But... the marks had to have died or they wouldn't have really thought he was dead! Magic? Shit, who was a well-connected enough criminal to do that? She'd been looking into the reemerging Religion of Crime and they seemed like they might have magical affiliations. Suddenly they had jumped to the top of her priorities.

“You're sure?” She had to ask. Because what if magic had been used to fake the mark coming alive again instead? She absently wrapped her arm around her abdomen, protecting the place where, for the longest time, Beth's soulmark had seemed like a taunt and a punishment of her failure.

“Positive. I'm glad you're back. Gotham should have someone keeping an eye on it while I'm gone,” Bruce said, staring at her with an intensity only Bruce could muster.

“I hardly think your charities are going to fall apart if you miss a couple of board meetings,” Kate pointed out dryly. Bruce just grunted.

She and Bruce didn't really do the whole... sincere talks thing. They had each other's soulmarks and that was enough as far as she'd thought both of them were concerned. But... Bruce was obviously trusting her with this information in a way he hadn't ever really done before. She owed it to him to try and meet him halfway.

“If – if he is alive, Bruce... I'm really happy for you,” Kate said softly. Bruce nodded gravely. “Bring him home. I'll keep Gotham safe.” She would fight all the crime in it single-handedly if it meant her nephew coming home.

Chapter Text

Cassandra had been running from the killers her father had wanted her to serve when they became distracted. They were scared of a symbol. It looked a bit like one of the fuzzy flying creatures in caves. Bats.

Cassandra hadn’t wanted to go near the killers but if there was something they were scared of maybe that was something that would protect her. So, she had snuck into their base and found a man with that symbol on his chest.

He was different from the killers. He defeated them but they were still breathing when he was finished with them. His movements were aggressive like theirs but his spoke of anger-pain-protect, not cruelty. He was looking for something. Something very, very precious.

She didn’t want the killers to stop the man finding his precious thing so she had stepped in when there were too many of them and the man was tiring. She had thought maybe the man would think she was like the killers, after all she had killed too, but he didn’t attack her. He was curious about her like she was about him. He had food to give her and he wanted her to come with him. Wanted to protect even though she was a weapon and weapons didn’t need protection.

He had to be better than the killers so she had gone.

She hadn’t expected the other people. The little ones, younger than her. Small and fragile and precious. And the other, older ones who acted like the little ones were precious but the biggest man saw as precious in turn.

They were gentle with each other. They moved with each other to protect and help, not hurt. And they were covered in the funny markings some people had on their skin. Cassandra didn’t know what they meant but she knew they were precious to other people, had seen it in the way they looked at them, and wondered if she could ever have some too one day.

The bird-like man had a lot and didn’t mind her staring at them or touching them. They moved but not because she touched them. The boy was protective of his, like he thought they would go away, but he didn’t mind her looking. He was shy and had been hurt and Cassandra wanted to protect him from whoever had hurt him but it wasn't any of the ones around her.

She liked the purple girl who played with Cassandra’s hands and feet like they weren’t weapons she needed to be scared of. She showed off her marks to Cassandra when she noticed the interest. Her body language said she wanted to see Cassandra’s and Cassandra was sad she didn’t have any to show.

The woman understood, she made gentle sounds to the girl and the purple one looked sad and ashamed which Cassandra didn’t want. But the woman who was in the wheelchair was not angry with her and the girl brightened again but in a softer, sadder way. The woman was strong and clever and seemed to understand Cassandra better than anyone else did. She watched Cassandra’s body like Cassandra watched her hands, trying to discern meaning.

The big man and the woman were trying to teach her little hand movements that meant something. As if they didn’t realise that every movement meant something. Cassandra thought these movements corresponded to the sounds they made. It was hard, she hadn’t been taught to make or understand sounds or hand movements. But it was okay, she would try. Because they were patient and they were happy she was with them for some reason.

It was warm and safe in the man’s big house and there was lots of food brought by the nice old man who looked at the big man like he was precious even though the man didn’t notice.

They were missing someone. There was a hole among them and the person who should be there was missing. That was the precious thing the man had been trying to find. Cassandra wanted to help. She wanted them to be whole again.

They tried to tell her about the missing person but it was hard to understand that from their bodies. She did learn something else though. The marks were people. They represented people.

The sky-blue ones were the bird-like man and the little sunset-coloured ones were the boy. There were purple ones for the girl and the woman’s were the colour of her hair. The man’s were black like the bat symbol he wore and his father’s were yellow. They had marks for each other on their skin. And there were bright red ones that some of them had that were the missing person.

The man and his adult son – the Bat and the Bird – went out at night and helped people. She tried to go with them but they didn’t like it. They needed someone to protect them though so she snuck out. And then they were unhappy but they didn’t hurt her and were worried-sad-protect instead of angry.

The woman helped. She gave Cassandra her own bat costume so she would match them. There was a sound that went with it: “Batgirl”. People started saying that when she saved them or the bat and bird would say it to get her attention. The bat and the bird didn’t try to stop her coming anymore.

There was another sound they called her: “Cassandra”. It sounded pretty and she was happy when she realised that was her. They had given her her own sound like they had.

One day they took her through a strange machine to a floating building that had windows that looked out at the stars and below a beautiful blue and white orb that the boy told her was home. It was pretty.

There were a lot of people in the floating building and some of them moved strangely. Like the green one who didn’t move the ways she expected and it made her nervous. Then someone was in her head telling her it was safe and they just wanted to help.

She didn’t know who had said that, they hadn’t said it with their body, and she had gone to the Bat because he was calm and his body promised safe-protect to her. He hadn’t minded when she wrapped herself in his cape and his body said, safe-calm-promise when the person was in her head again.

The person in her head wanted to help her understand other people the way they understood each other. With their voices and hands not just their bodies. And she wanted that, she wanted to understand. But it was so big and different and she didn’t know what that would mean.

Then she had heard the man in her head. He had explained that the green man was helping them talk in her head so that they could ask her what she wanted. She wanted to be able to talk with her voice but also with her body. The woman said it was okay to want that. They didn’t want to take anything away from her. But Cassandra didn’t know if she could do both. The green man had said it would be hard and she would take a long time to learn but he could make it easier and the Bat – Bruce – trusted him so she had said yes.

Everything felt loud after that, like two sets of things were overriding each other, but the noises made more sense. The voices were filled with concern and their bodies said worry-care-protect.

She cried even though she knew she wasn’t supposed to and would be punished. But nobody punished her and they took her “home”, safe-comfort-family. That night she realised she was starting to get the marks meaning people on her skin too and she cried again but this time she wasn’t afraid anyone would hurt her.

* * *

“You believe you are ready?”

“You were the one who set this up, Talia.” Having suddenly flipped from “you will die” to “you undertake the Gauntlet in two days, Jason”. Something was definitely up but nobody told Jason anything.

Jason wasn’t objecting, he’d been with the League for nearly a year. Which meant he’d been away from his family for a year and a half. If he could get through this last stupid test he could maybe get back before his family had been mourning him for two years.

“That was not what I asked you.”

“What is it with you people and pits anyway?” Jason ignored her, staring down into the fighting ring they had prepared. It looked like a gladiatorial pit from Ancient Rome.

“Jason.”

“What?”

“This could kill you. My father is already unhappy to be having to prepare the Pit for himself after you used it. You will not get a second chance. Even if there was another Pit you could be put into.”

“I thought this was my second chance.” Talia gave him a look. “Relax, I’ll be fine or I’ll be dead and out of your hair. I would have figured either would work for you.”

“I would prefer not to have wasted all the time I have invested in you.”

Jason shrugged, “I’m sure Damian will be eager to take my place if I fail. Which I won’t.”

Talia’s frown deepened. “Has he been coming to see you?”

“Why? Is he not supposed to?”

“Your discussion about his father upset him.”

“Just think how disappointed he’ll be when he actually meets him.” If looks could kill. “Hey! I thought the whole point of this was to destroy his father.”

“Did you tell him that?!”

Jason snorted. “Of course not, I’d rather not be stabbed in the ankles by a tiny gremlin, thanks.”

“Sometimes I find it hard to imagine what beloved saw in you.”

If he didn’t have to fight one hundred other ninja in a minute… He let the Pit leak into his vicious smile though. “Maybe he was just afraid of what I’d become.”

He vaulted into the pit below before she could reply. He would not miss these talks with Talia when he got out of this. His only regret would be he hadn’t decapitated her.

Maybe he could do that when he came back for Damian. Although killing a child’s mother in front of them was probably a bit much.

As it happened Damian hadn’t approached him again. No, the little demon had just been stalking him everywhere and staring at him. It felt very similar to being stared at by Bruce from a distance. Jason had no idea what to make of Damian’s sudden fascination with Jason’s training. No doubt he’d been getting plenty of his own. Which was a sickening thought.

He knocked the first combatant out with a short, sharp punch to the jaw fuelled by his anger at that. Part of him would be quite happy to kill all the people fielded against him. But he didn’t want to give them the satisfaction.

Still, he was willing to make sure they wouldn’t have a chance to be a threat when they woke back up. The rules were to the death or acknowledgement. These were candidates for proper membership and trained ninja – if they lived, they’d be allowed to recover. If they deemed him worthy, they bowed out of the arena. Otherwise, it was until all of them were subdued. If he rendered them unconscious, they could attack him again if they woke up. Which a lot of them would probably be doing to prove a point. He stepped on the ninja’s wrist, hearing a snap, as the next charged.

At first it was just an issue of efficiency. Take out one opponent with as little excess movement as possible. Wait for the next one. Lather, rinse, repeat.

The bodies around him started getting hampering after the first dozen and he had to start moving. Picking a new spot every ten or so.

After thirty, new opponents started dropping down faster. Theoretically it was meant to be one hundred consecutive matches rather than one hundred on one but apparently they were easily bored.

Shit, was that the kid up there? What was Talia thinking letting him watch this? Jason took a blow to the face and shattered his opponent’s kneecap with a heel.

At forty, the sand of the pit was starting to get matted with blood and sweat, shifting under the smooth soles of his shoes.

He started getting tired at fifty. A knife cut into his arm, leaving a slow drip from the crook of his elbow.

He kicked off his shoes in a brief window he’d gained by using a vault Dick had taught him to get to the other side of the arena. He cut his palm catching the knife thrown after him. That would make using his own weapons slippery from now on.

The green was tinging his thoughts and actions more and more as he clocked up to sixty. Honing his senses for opponents but also stirring his anger. His desire to plunge their own blades into their throats increased.

He started losing count around seventy. His count was getting throw by having to fight those who stood up all over again. Did it matter? They’d have to all be subdued by the end anyway.

He brutally snapped the arm of someone still on the ground before they got a chance to come back for more. He took two shuriken in his back from another. Half the bodies were being trampled. The ninja weren’t exactly being cautious of their fallen fellows. Jason tried to avoid the unconscious and laid out bodies simply for the tripping hazard.

Eighty. Blood was dripping into his eyes from a cut on his forehead. He thought it was eighty. How had Bruce done this?!

Ninety. He was surrounded. He ducked out of the way of a projectile and someone screamed. Shit. Had they died? He swept the legs of his opponent and rolled out of the middle. Someone grabbed for him and only succeeded in ripping off one of his sleeves. His legs shook under him as he struggled back up. This had to be nearly all of them. It had to be.

His body moved on autopilot, dodging and subduing with blows from bleeding knuckles and feet. He could taste blood and didn’t know if it was his own.

Kick out and shatter ribs. Slam his skull back into the nose of the man coming up behind him. Grab the arm, spin, and release into the other one. They both went down in a pile of limbs. Jason spun for his next opponent and faltered when no-one swam into his vision with a blade aimed at his jugular.

He spun around slowly, trying to spot any potential enemies hiding among the fallen.

Then the clapping started.

It was slow and measured but the arena seemed to fall absolutely silent so that each clap rang out like a gong. A man in flowing green robes the same shade Talia wore was walking down the inclined steps of the amphitheatre surrounding the pit.

Jason wiped blood and sweat out of his eyes to see a man looking down at him with an accessing gaze. Even from a distance his eyes seemed to glow faintly in the darkness.

Ra’s al Ghul.

Chapter Text

Everything after the fight had been a bit of a blur. Ra’s had just said something about being “impressed” and then marched out. Only after he had vanished had anyone else started moving again.

Talia had caught him as he collapsed and he’d been too tired to be resentful of that. Moments later other ninja had come to collect him and spirit him away to tend his wounds.

He didn’t know where he was now but it was far more luxurious than his previous cell. For a start there was an actual bed.

For a moment, when he woke up, he’d thought that he was finally home, in his own bed in the manor. Then he’d registered the unfamiliar draperies and smells around him.

Cracked and broken ribs ached as he pushed himself upright. One of his wrists was in a brace so it either had a fracture or a sprain. His other arm was tightly bound in bandages around his elbow, as was the hand. His feet ached, he thought he might have stepped on a blade. He could feel stitches on his forehead.

Beside the bed was a small table with two seats. Piled high with actual food, as opposed to the tasteless slop he’d been eating for a year. Knowing his luck, it was probably poisoned but Jason had learned not to turn down food under just about any circumstances.

Muscles he hadn’t known he had ached, as he hobbled over to the table. Still, he was mostly intact. He’d done it. He hadn’t killed any of them. He hoped none had died because of their fellow’s disregard, that would sour the achievement, but he defied Bruce to have done any better. None had died by his hand at least. He was sure of that even through the Pit haze and exhaustion.

He was in loose robes, instead of the tight black gear of the trainees. Plain white but the fabric was soft and the sleeves and trousers loose around bruised skin. Absently he pushed up the sleeve to track Dick’s soulmark as he reached for a honeyed fig.

His fingers faltered. Shit. He’d passed out. Had the people who treated him noticed his soulmarks?! Did they know he wasn’t meant to have them?! Dick’s was still there, peeking out from under the brace so they hadn’t tried to remove them. Maybe… maybe Talia hadn’t realised.

He gritted his teeth. If she had, he’d just have to convince her he hated them regardless. That he didn’t care if they loved him, it was just another tool he could use to hurt them. Maybe he could play up his irritation about the new Robin having the presumption to have already changed his name to “Drake-Wayne”. Little brat.

He didn’t know if she would buy it. Something about the way she looked at him. Like she could see right through him. Like she knew he would have given anything in the world those three months they were gone to have his family’s love back. Like she knew even when he hated his family more than anything, his marks on their skin wouldn’t have faded, even if they had been alive.

The door opened silently. If Jason hadn’t been facing towards it, he wouldn’t have realised. He quickly tugged his sleeve down, pulling the robe tight around his shoulders as he staggered to his feet.

“Please, please, you have performed a feat I have only seen once before in all my millennia of life. You must rest and regain your strength.” The voice was like Talia’s only male. And older somehow.

Jason didn’t know how a firm, vital voice could sound so ancient but as he met Ra’s al Ghul’s glowing eyes he thought he could hear every year of the man’s life in his voice.

“I hope you are enjoying the food,” Ra’s smiled at him politely as Jason dropped weakly back into his chair.

“It’s better than in the training mess halls, anyway,” Jason croaked after a moment, dry throat catching.

Ra’s merely sat in the chair opposite him and poured dark liquid into a goblet. Jason hesitated before sipping it and wincing. It tasted like rotten grapes. Wine, he presumed.

Ra’s chuckled, “It is an acquired taste, perhaps.”

Jason took another gulp just to spite him before setting the goblet back on the table.

“You are something of an enigma to me, Jason Peter Todd-Wayne,” Ra’s commented pensively, pouring for himself and sipping. Jason didn’t know what he was supposed to say to that. Did the old goat want him to say thank you or something? “When the Detective took you in, I confess I did not think much of his choice.” Gee thanks, you and everyone else. “Then again I did not think much of your predecessor either.” Well, that was new. Everyone loved Dick.

“You are both very physical individuals. The Detective, for all his martial prowess, is far more of an intellectual. Much like his newest protégé, Timothy Jackson Drake,” Ra’s circled the rim of his goblet with a finger absently. The Pit wanted to be angry about the new Robin’s perfection but something about the speculative way Ra’s said Tim’s name turned Jason’s stomach. “When my daughter wished to return you to life I was not convinced. After all, the anguish of your death served my purposes with the Detective rather better than your renewed life. Nonetheless, your death was an unintended side effect of an ill-advised alliance and she was insistent.”

Jason tried not to squirm as Ra’s’ gaze pinned him like he was a butterfly on a board. “Now I wonder if perhaps they saw something I didn’t. You do have a certain… determination that is very like your father,” Jason grimaced, he didn’t really know how to take that. “Perhaps I underestimated you,” Ra’s finally looked away.

“Glad to be a halfway interesting knockoff model of your preferred playthings,” Jason muttered sarcastically.

Ra’s chuckled again but the sound had a sinister edge to it now. “Yes, I suppose an accomplishment lessens in value the second time it is achieved.” Jason ground his teeth. “Still, you may take some pride in knowing you are younger than your father was.” Jason shoved more food into his mouth. If he had to listen to this he might as well eat.

“I knew then, when he refused to kill even as he knew it might cost him his life, that though he was a worthy successor he would be an unwilling one,” Ra’s’ eyes narrowed. “I wonder if the same unwillingness can be said of you.”

“What? You running out of Pits to dip yourself in?” Jason asked.

Ra’s sigh was disappointed. “The young are always so alike. Is it really so hard for you to consider that perhaps one might eventually tire of all this? That one might desire a successor to carry on your legacy for you?”

“If you’re so tired, why have you stuck around this long?”

“Because the work I have done must continue, child. I must have an heir.”

Jason frowned. Ra’s’ English was impeccable but he still thought they might be speaking different languages. “You have an heir.”

“Yes, I heard you met my grandson.”

Grandson? Damian was like five! “I was talking about Talia.” God knew she seemed to want the job. She’d one hundred percent drunk the Coolaid of this place. And then fed it to Jason.

Ra’s frowned at him. “She is my daughter.”

“Exactly?”

“I must have a male heir.”

Jason blinked. Christ, seriously? This place really was living in the Middle Ages. He was amazed Talia hadn’t assassinated her father yet. What must it be like following the man’s every command as he talked about finding a worthy successor? He refused to feel sorry for the lying, manipulative witch but still.

“Talia has… somewhat disappointed me recently, regardless,” Ra’s was back to being pensive.

Sheesh, what constituted disappointing in this place? Had she spared someone’s children or something?

“But I must admit that her… experiment with you has led to intriguing results.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“My men inform me almost all the soulmarks you had upon your death have returned to you.”

Jason froze. Ice slid down his spine. He knew.

“What’s your point?” he asked, hoping his voice didn’t sound as strained to Ra’s as it did to him.

“Does that make a difference to you?” Ra’s asked conversationally.

“Why would it?” Jason sneered. Of course, it does. How could it not?

Ra’s stared at him for a moment before his lips curled in faint amusement. “Of course. I apologise for the loss of your mother’s soulmark. The Pit wipes all blemishes from the body when it restores someone.”

Jason barely restrained himself at the idea that his soulmarks were “blemishes”, gripping the arms of his chair.

“Of course, the marks of the dead cannot return. Until recently I had thought that no removed mark could.”

Jason’s hands slackened. What?

Then again, if Talia had thought his marks would come back why would she have lied about how they vanished in the first place? Unless she had really thought his family just didn’t care for him anymore but it would be a big gamble that none would return. But if Ra’s had used the Lazarus Pits for centuries, then how could they not know that was a possibility?

“Naturally the return of yours disputes this theory,” Ra’s continued, steepling his fingers. “Now the only real question is… is there something special about you or about me?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Jason snapped without thinking.

Thankfully Ra’s just laughed. Jason was in no shape to fight an immortal.

“All things considered the latter is obviously more likely,” Ra’s said as if agreeing with Jason. Asshole. “But I must consider all possibilities. What exactly did you do to get your marks to return?”

Jason was so confused by that he just answered honestly. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Really?” Ra’s leaned forwards slightly as if genuinely fascinated. “How long did it take?”

“A few months…”

“Yes, the Pit’s lingering effects tend to lessen after the first few months,” Ra’s mused to himself.

“Do they ever go away?” Jason blurted out, unable to stop himself. Would he be stuck like this forever?!

“If they did, you would die,” Ra’s pointed out dryly.

“I meant –” Jason cut himself off.

“You mean the Pit Rage,” Ra’s’ smile was not pleasant. “Yes, I’ve heard you’ve been struggling with that. It is perfectly manageable for a strong will.”

Jason stared into those glowing green eyes. Was it? His didn’t glow all the time but he knew they glowed during his… ‘struggles’. How many dips in the Pit had it taken for Ra’s’ to shine in the dark all the time? Again, he was given the skin crawling sensation of something lurking under Ra’s’ smile and pleasant demeanour, watching him like a snake waiting to strike.

“Thank you, Jason Todd-Wayne. You have been most helpful, however unintentionally.” Ra’s swept to his feet.

Jason struggled to follow suit. “That’s it?”

“You have provided me with new information that I might form a new hypothesis. For which I thank you.” Ra’s folded his hands into his hanging sleeves.

“You don’t have any soulmarks, do you?” Jason wanted to swallow the words back the moment he said them. He was this close to getting out of this hellhole.

“On the contrary, my grandson has kindly gifted me his,” Ra’s said serenely.

But then why did he think – oh – oh shit. He’d had Talia’s once, hadn’t he? And it hadn’t come back after his latest dip in the Pit. For once in his life Jason wisely kept his mouth shut.

Ra’s’ smirk said he saw Jason’s widening eyes. “It seems I have many things for which I must thank my daughter,” he commented before sweeping from the room as silently as he had entered.

Jason shivered. The room suddenly seemed much colder even though the desert heat continued to beat down on the fortress.

Chapter Text

“He’s there. He has to be there,” Dick didn’t know if he was trying to convince Bruce or himself.

“It’s a fortress,” Barbara said grimly.

“Ra’s only builds these kinds of structures around Pits,” Bruce said grimly. “It’s one of their major bases.”

“You think Jason was put in a Pit?” Dick asked anxiously. He’d seen Ra’s’ glowing green eyes. The thought of his brother having been put in one of those accursed things… he clenched his fists.

“It’s likely, if only to help heal his wounds,” Bruce said grimly.

“We can take it if we ask the Justice League and Titans for help,” Dick said. And they’d be willing, they had been so far.

Bruce grunted.

“Little brother?” Cassandra pointed. She was still having trouble with much more than nouns but, with Martian Manhunter’s help, she was picking things up a lot better now.

J’onn said her mind wasn’t wired normally – that it seemed like she’d never been exposed to language until relatively recently. He’d helped open some new pathways, ones she couldn’t have formed by herself anymore, but Cass was still having to pick up a lot of it manually. Just thinking about what her life must once have been like made Dick seethe with anger. He was just relieved Cass seemed to be able to tell it wasn’t directed towards her.

“We think Jason’s there, yes,” Dick agreed gently. They still weren’t exactly sure how old Cassandra was but she seemed to have taken to the idea of being a big sister with enthusiasm.

“Brother. Rescue. Protect.” Cass said firmly.

“Exactly,” Dick pulled her into a side hug. Cass was still anxious about initiating physical contact but, much like Tim, she seemed to enjoy it.

“How did you find out about this place?” Steph asked.

“Deathstroke,” Dick said at the same moment Bruce said, “Ra’s.”

Dick frowned, “You think Ra’s told Deathstroke?”

“It’s subtle but some of the metadata on the information Deathstroke provided seems to come from inside the complex,” Tim said quietly.

“And he said he’d just scouted the outside…” Dick mused.

“The records don’t seem faked and match patterns of cyphers we’ve previously associated with Talia al Ghul though,” Babs mused.

“But there’s no way Deathstroke should have been able to get hold of them. Talia isn’t that sloppy,” Bruce said grimly.

“You think it’s a trap?”

“I think, for whatever reason, Ra’s wants us to take out this base.”

“Maybe he’s just realised it’s too much sunk cost and decided to give up on holding onto Robin?” Steph suggested.

“Ra’s never does anything for just one reason. Whatever he wants, he’s willing to sacrifice this base. Possibly eager,” Bruce mused.

“But if there’s a chance Jason really is there –” Dick protested.

“We have to risk it,” Bruce agreed.

“And if Ra’s isn’t there we can come!” Tim piped up.

Dick would have to process later the fact that he and Bruce spun with horrified refusals at the exact same time and in the exact same way.

“I already told my mum you were taking me on a ski trip to Switzerland,” Stephanie said smugly. “She got me a passport and everything.”

Dick didn’t know if he was more concerned Stephanie had been planning this that long or that they hadn’t noticed. Then his eyes narrowed at Babs, who was not looking nearly surprised enough.

“All indications say Ra’s isn’t at the base.” Barbara shrugged. Traitor. “They can stay on the plane with me and Alfred.” Tim and Stephanie immediately started complaining about this. Barbara used Alfred’s attempt to talk common sense into them to add in an undertone, “Jason is their family too.” Bruce looked like he had swallowed a lemon; Dick hoped his face wasn’t making the exact same expression but wasn’t that optimistic.

“So, what’s the plan?” Babs redirected, absentmindedly massaging the new soulmark on her arm as she frowned at the screens.

It was unlike any soulmark Dick had ever seen. It looked like Cassandra had dipped her fingertips in midnight blue ink and then laid her hand upon Babs’ arm. Tim had been fascinated and talked about theories speculating that was what soulmarks looked like before writing had been invented. It was the first of Cass’ marks to come in and Dick didn’t think he’d ever seen her as openly excited as when they explained it was hers. They really did feel like a family in a way they hadn’t since he was much younger. They just had to bring the last member home.

Bruce’s expression was somewhere between a grimace and a smirk. “We go up to the front door and ask nicely.”

* * *

“Black Mask is moving a drug shipment through the docks from Blüdhaven in the next three days. Huntress is tagging the containers for the police. There is a possibility of the Penguin attempting to intercept the shipment on-route before the police can impound the drugs.”

Batman had not been what Kate expected. He was notorious for his hypocritical dislike of other vigilantes in Gotham and she'd branded herself a bat without his permission. She hadn't expected him to start... collaborating with her.

Sort of. Most of the time it just felt like him giving her assignments. If anything, it was more infuriating than either his attempting to stop her or actively recruit her would have been. Instead he had a tendency to just pop up, inform her of some intel he clearly expected her to be actioning, and then vanish again.

For a long time Batman had been a symbol of hope for Gotham as much as fear. After Kate had finally found her sister she had struggled to find a new purpose in life. When she had chosen protecting Gotham, it had only made sense to clearly mark which side she had an allegiance to. That didn't mean she'd wanted to be his subordinate.

“There a reason you're telling me this?” She glared at him.

“Flamebird does not have sufficient training if it turns into a firefight on three sides. You'd best leave her on investigating the newest Ventriloquist reports.” Batman utterly ignored her.

Kate's heart stuttered. How did he know about Bette? She'd barely been on the streets a couple of times before her father had benched her for being reckless. He wanted Kate to work with her but Bette seemed to think a bright costume and being a distraction for Batwoman was a good pattern for their partnership as if the last Robin hadn't died.

“Agreed, but there's no need for you to take on his dirty work,” her father judged in her ear.

The problem was... she would have to if he really wasn't going to be there. The chances of a drug bust turning into a shoot out were already high with only Black Mask in the mix but if Penguin was involved too it was a near certainty. She couldn't just ignore it because she was pissed Batman treated her like a convenient assistant. She'd promised Bruce she'd keep the city safe and Renee might be in danger, ignoring the simple moral imperative.

“I don't work for you. Get Nightwing to take care of it,” Kate informed Batman.

“Nightwing and Batgirl will both be out of the city with me at the time,” Batman informed her.

“Seriously? You're meant to be Gotham's protector.”

“That is why I am informing you,” Batman said with infuriating calm.

“And I'm telling you I'm busy!”

“Stay calm, soldier, we knew he was going to be intransigent,” her father said in her ear.

“I can share our intel on the Religion of Crime with you. Activity suggests they are waiting for something. You should have time to handle a single drug bust,” Batman offered promptly.

How did he do that?! Kate thought herself a pretty competent investigator but Batman gave off an aura of just knowing everything. She was pretty sure it was cultivated but that didn't explain where he got the information he did casually throw out.

“We have our own sources. We don't need his bribes,” her father commented. Kate couldn't deny that their own intel said the same though. Granted she wanted to keep her ear to the ground but she probably did have time for the drug bust.

Then, with a sudden air of reluctance, Batman ground out, “Nightwing also asked me to inform you he is willing to do joint patrols with Flamebird while she is getting the lay of the land if she is interested.”

Kate blinked. Flamebird had been a tribute to Nightwing, because he was about the same age as Bette and Bette had followed enough of his work to have discovered the two were apparently a pair. She hadn't expected Nightwing to take any notice of her.

“Oh my God, are you talking to Batman about me?! Uncle Jacob, why didn't you tell me?!”

“Do not clutter the comms,” her dad ordered.

“And also that he got Superman's permission to use the moniker so please don't disappoint him,” Batman looked almost hilariously irritated at being a messenger.

“Superman? What does Superman have to do with it?”

“Considering ‘Nightwing and Flamebird’ is a Kryptonean legend she should have asked herself.”

“Oh... oops?”

“She didn't know,” Kate said defensively.

“He doesn't need to know that, soldier.”

“Then perhaps your information network needs improvement,” Batman said in the toneless default of his voice modulator.

“And apparently you need more flunkies, because I'm not one of them,” Kate pointed out, crossing her arms.

There was a long, telling pause.

“Do you have to fight with Batman? I thought we wanted to get along with him. Please don't make him revoke the offer to patrol with Nightwing,” Bette protested.

“It's about power dynamics. He can't order Batwoman around, it sets the wrong precedent. We are operating independently; Batman shouldn't control all vigilante activity in Gotham,” her father said firmly.

Kate wouldn't mind a middle ground but that middle ground definitely shouldn't involve demands and being patronised. She didn't want to admit it but at first Batman sharing intel had felt... good. Like she was being accepted. Like maybe he approved of the work she was doing and recognised her competency. Now she realised he'd just wanted a convenient gopher.

“I require all of my team when we initiate our rescue of Robin,” Batman spoke first. It sounded like he was pulling teeth. “As such I would... appreciate you watching over Gotham in my absence and making sure the operation doesn't result in deaths.”

Kate blinked. Wait... was he... just really awkwardly asking for a favour? He sounded like Bruce trying to admit he'd missed her. And Robin? There had been hardly any sightings of Robin since a year and a half ago. The general assumption had been he was dead and there had been a couple of copycats.

“Kate! We have to!”

“Stay professional on comms, soldier,” her father reprimanded.

“You've always hated vigilantes working in Gotham without your approval. Why the change of heart? You going to start trying to run me off after you've gotten Robin back?” Kate demanded.

“No.” He paused as if listening to something. Probably his own comm. “Your approach has a certain military inflexibility that I find disconcerting.”

Kate raised her eyebrows underneath the mask. He asked for a favour by insulting her?

“But you have proven yourself a competent investigator and combatant with admirable determination. And I am pleased that you seem to eschew lethal force,” Batman allowed. “Oracle would be willing to share relevant intel with your operation in the future.” Kate assumed Oracle was Batman's information broker.

“Sounds like he wants to recruit you,” her father didn't sound pleased.

“I'm not planning on becoming your lieutenant,” Kate informed him. She'd had enough of that in the military before they'd kicked her out for being a lesbian.

“Co-ordinating operations to best protect Gotham is simply logical,” Batman said. “You did say you didn't want us getting in the way of your cases.”

Kate had to admit he had a point. And she couldn't deny that having access to Batman's information network was appealing.

“Fine. I'll cover the docks for you but I'm expecting you to make good on those promises.”

Batman nodded, “Oracle will be in touch.”

“Yes!”

“Be careful he doesn't turn this into his operation obliquely,” her father grumbled.

“Oh, come on! This means we can ask for back-up if we get in trouble! You were telling me to be more careful!” Bette said excitedly. Kate didn't want to admit the thought Bette would have more people looking out for her on the street did settle some of the worry she'd been carrying in her chest the last few months.

She turned to go. Batman would probably be vanishing in a moment and she didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

“You should be more careful of your secret identity, Kate,” Batman commented from behind her. Her step faltered for half a second.

“Two months ago, during your fight with Killer Croc, the tear at the shoulder of your uniform revealed the soulmark there,” Batman informed her flatly. “We had Oracle scrub the footage but you need to be more aware of cameras.

Shit! She'd thought she'd checked for cameras. There'd been enough blood it shouldn't have been obvious anyway. Curse Bruce's stupidly dark soulmarks.

“What does this mean?” Bette whispered nervously.

“Are you trying to threaten me with your supposition of my identity to get me to follow your orders?” Kate demanded, only to find she was talking to an empty roof. Dammit!

“If we were doing that we would have brought it up when we were asking you to cover the docks.” The voice was modulated but clearly female and definitely shouldn't be on their comms. Bette squeaked and Kate could actually hear her father swearing under his breath.

“Oracle, I presume.”

“That's me. I'm transferring everything we know about the Religion of Crime and the deal at the docks to your systems now. If you need anything else specific checked just contact us on this channel. The other one I'm sending is our emergency channel.”

“Do you... know all our identities?” Bette asked. Her voice wasn't modulated and neither was Jacob's.

“Sorry, occupational hazard. Don't worry, it happens. We're not planning to expose you.”

“I don't suppose you're willing to share your identities though,” Kate commented dryly.

“You're a detective. Figure it out,” Batman's voice came through the comms. If Kate hadn't known better she'd think it almost sounded amused.

Smug bastard. Considering her familiarity with his recent absences and their face-to-face meetings he'd already given her a lot of clues. Now they had access to Batman's emergency line they'd likely have information on any injuries too. See if they didn't.

* * *

Jason had half expected to never see Talia again. If Ra’s didn’t just straight up kill her, abrupt and horrific punishment had seemed likely. So he was startled when he was called from his strangely lavish recovery room to her chambers a few days after his initiation fight.

He would never admit the level of relief he felt to find Talia alone without her father. Something was very wrong with Ra’s. And it echoed uncomfortably with all the things now wrong with him.

“Deathstroke is expecting you in Pakistan. He will have your next contact once he is satisfied with your progress,” Talia told him without preamble.

She indicated her (replaced) desk and the items spread over it. Jason approached cautiously.

Passports, money, plane tickets. Hell, she’d included a phrase book of all things. Jason really, really missed actual books. This was actually happening. He was actually going to get to leave.

Maybe he could get transport to Gotham with the money, maybe not. He could at least break from the League’s expected route. So long as he could get access to a computer with Internet he could contact Bruce and get him to come and pick him up. He’d come. He’d come.

Talia had also packed him a uniform with armour rather like Damian’s, a set of civilian clothes, and a wide variety of weaponry.

“How many stops do I have on my itinerary exactly?” Jason asked absently as he examined everything.

“Does it matter?”

“I suppose not.” Not even remotely.

“Your performance in the fighting pit was… credible.” Talia allowed.

“Wow, you flatter me,” Jason said dryly. Hate you too, Talia.

“Your escort will be ready within the hour.”

Wait, what? Escort?!

“I thought the whole point of the Gauntlet was to prove I didn't exactly need an escort,” Jason drawled, leaning on the table in what he hoped seemed to be nonchalance, not dread making his knees weak.

Talia looked him over speculatively. “I thought you deserved the privilege.”

Jason tried to fight down mounting panic. It was fine, it was fine, he could just take out the escort and run from there. Granted then he’d have the whole League on his trail considerably quicker than he’d been hoping… Murder was looking really appealing right now. Shit, they probably had dead man’s switches anyway. He couldn’t tell if that was a relief or not.

“If my beloved kills the Joker, will that be enough to make you forgive him?” Talia asked idly.

“I – what?” Jason felt like his brain had just run into a brick wall at high speed.

“Killing the Joker. Would that be enough to make up for all of my beloved's failures to you?”

Jason had honestly half-forgotten the make Bruce kill the Joker plan, having been considerably more focused on the how do I kill the Joker issue.

“I don't know,” he managed weakly.

“I just wonder that something so small could be enough to make up for the myriad of ways my beloved has failed you.”

Jason felt like his stomach was in his throat. Talia knew. She had to know about his soulmarks there was no other reason she would suddenly be turning the screws again. Had Ra's told her? Jason had thought Ra's would be too angry to – his sleeve. He'd torn his sleeve during the Gauntlet. Dick's soulmark was on his inner forearm. He thought he was going to be sick.

“Yeah, well, I guess I can always kill him after,” Jason pointed out, mostly just to take a jab at Talia’s own stupid plans.

Talia was eying him with either amusement or respect. Jason really wished she’d go back to the contempt that came with her confidence he was easy to manipulate.

“Would his love be enough to forgive him? In the end, love has no bearing on facts.”

That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Jason found himself thinking against his will. Why had getting his soulmarks back changed everything when he had still died? When the Joker was still alive? When Bruce had still replaced him with a new Robin? Knowing his family loved him hadn’t actually changed anything.

In the end, love was just an emotion. It hadn’t been enough to save him. Really all love did was give you the courage to reach out across a divide and hope that the other person would reach back and try to meet you halfway.

But that mattered. At least… it mattered to him. Jason didn’t think Talia had ever really been exposed to the idea of meeting someone halfway. Jason didn’t want to end up like Talia.

“I guess you loving Damian doesn't count for shit then, huh,” Jason sneered.

Talia faltered. It had probably been a stupid thing to say. Jason should have been agreeing with her blindly, assuring her of his complete dedication to vengeance above all else. But he was just so sick and tired of these games. He'd jumped through every hoop she'd presented. Couldn't she just let him go?!

“You presume a great –”

She cut off as some sort of explosion in the distance made the ground quiver under their feet.

Chapter Text

You had got to be fucking kidding.

What was wrong now?! Although all things considered the timing was impeccable. Alarms had started blaring almost immediately. The inner sanctum was actually technologically up to date, unlike the austere training quarters.

Talia hissed and moved around the desk to pull a tablet and comm, which she immediately put in her ear, out of a drawer.

“Report,” she ordered into the communicator as two of her guards rushed into the room.

Jason snagged the bag and shoved everything into it haphazardly. He was not losing it at this point. If he hadn’t been right in front of Talia he would have used this opportunity to try and get out of dodge while everyone was distracted. If he was very lucky she'd be too busy to deal with him currently and just dismiss him so he wouldn't have to waste the opportunity in a knockdown-dragout with her while he was still injured.

The curtain rustled and Damian darted into the room. He looked nervous and like he was trying very hard not to. He was followed by several more of Talia’s elites. Jason had moved over to his younger brother before he’d thought about it.

“It’ll be okay,” he murmured, hand on the boy’s shoulder.

Damian shrugged his hand off irritably but didn’t move further away.

Whatever intel Talia was getting it clearly wasn’t making her happy. Jason felt a certain vicious satisfaction at that. Her eyes flickered to Damian for a moment, then moved over to Jason. Jason tried to channel his best innocent expression.

“Take Jason and Damian to the lower levels,” Talia ordered the guards who had accompanied Damian.

“Um, if it’s an attack,” although so far there hadn’t been a second volley, “shouldn’t I be helping?” Jason pointed out.

Talia glared at him, apparently unwilling to trust his ‘good’ intentions anymore, and waved her guards away. Jason found himself ushered back through the gauzy curtain as Talia started giving orders to protect the Pit.

“Who exactly is attacking us?” Jason asked conversationally, examining the rooms of what seemed to be Talia’s inner sanctum.

Jesus, was that the kid’s room? It would have been Spartan if not for the downright obsession with tiny versions of various League weaponry. What, was a teddy bear going to kill the kid? Jason made a mental note to buy the kid a teddy bear once he’d gotten Bruce to rescue him. It’d probably really annoy the kid which only made the idea better.

“Be silent,” the guard ordered.

“I too wish to know who is attacking us,” Damian piped up.

They rounded a corner into a corridor that was wider and immediately started to slant down. Okay, Jason really wasn’t that keen on getting trapped deep in the bowels of a building with an alarm blaring danger.

“Hush, Ibn al Xu’ffasch,” one of the guards murmured. Wait, had they seriously just called the kid ‘Son of the Bat’? Yeah, like that wasn’t going to give him issues on top of the ones he already had. Then again the kid was basically a ball of issues roughly crafted into the shape of a child. “It is not yet time for you to know.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Yeah… not that the cryptic stuff isn’t fun… but it kinda seems like you’re hiding something from us…” It couldn’t be… could it?

“Ours is not to question why, you have dedicated your li–” see that was people’s problem. They always expected you to let them finish their sentences.

“Thanks but I’m going to pass,” Jason told the crumpled unconscious bodies. Seriously he’d taken three of them high on Pit Rage right after being resurrected. They really thought he couldn’t take five after a year of training? Fuck, his wrist hurt though. He should have left the brace on.

Damian was pointing a knife at him.

“Relax kid,” Jason held his hands up. “You can’t tell me you don’t want to see who’s at the door. Who knows, might be your dad.”

Damian faltered for a moment. Jason fought down a smirk. He was, after all, still under ten even if he was wielding a knife.

“Besides, you really think you can take me?”

Damian’s face hardened and he lunged. This time Jason disarmed him without the cut to show for it.

“You are a traitor to the League!” Damian yelled, flailing as Jason held him by the back of his robes.

“On the contrary. I am exercising my own judgement that I will be of more use at the entrance than I would be stuck being guarded in the basement,” and also being an impulsive idiot. What else was new? “You can’t really tell me you want to huddle in fear in the bowels of this fortress waiting for invaders to find you.”

Damian stilled. “You will take me with you?”

“Sure,” Jason shrugged, “So long as you’re quiet. You can even throw me under the bus and say I took out our escort in a fit of Pit Rage.”

Damian was frowning suspiciously at him. “Is that what happened? You are compromised?”

Jason sighed. This kid. “No. But that way I’m punished and you aren’t. Capiche?”

Damian just looked confused.

“You coming or not, kid?”

“I shall come to keep an eye on you and ensure you do not compromise the League,” Damian said haughtily after a moment.

“Thataboy,” Jason patted him on the shoulder and handed him back the knife. “Now are we gonna have to retrace our steps or do you know another way to the outer wall?”

Damian glared before heaving a long-suffering sigh he was far too young for and beginning to trot back the way they had come. Jason shrugged and followed as the kid turned off to the left. He hooked his cowl over his face so it wasn’t obvious he was different to any other League assassin. There was no helping Damian but hopefully they wouldn’t run into anyone who knew he wasn’t meant to be there.

Assuming Damian didn’t rat them out immediately, of course, but Jason didn’t think he would. The kid was too curious and too proud for his own good. Jason could relate.

It wasn’t hard to blend in when ninja were running in every direction but particularly towards the front entrance the explosion had come from. It probably had the military efficiency the League was so proud of but from an outside perspective it really just looked like chickens with their heads cut off. There was another boom that made the floor reverberate as Damian and Jason joined the stream.

“It’s the League!” someone yelled, not very ninja behaviour really.

Yes. I know we’re in the League of Assassins. Is this news to you? Jason wondered.

Honestly one crisis in their home base and everyone went to pieces. Sheesh. Both Jason and Dick’s tenures as Robin had involved attacks on the Cave. He wondered if the newbie had gotten that particular initiation yet. Although, now he thought about it, that probably wasn’t something to hope would continue.

They came out into the open air of the front courtyard. Ahead of them ninja were swarming through small doors leading into the outer courtyard. Jason shook his head and tugged Damian towards the wall. He wanted a look at what was going on and he could just rappel down. Ninja, rope, all that.

“We are going in the wrong direction!” Damian protested.

“Knowledge is power, Baby Bat. Don’t you want a good view?”

Damian huffed and insisted on preceding him up the narrow steps. Of course, his stride was like a third of what Jason’s was so he quickly got tired of this.

“Put me down!” Damian flailed as Jason grabbed him with his good arm and hoisted the boy up to dangle by his side. Jason had been careful to pin his arms so he was currently having trouble going for a knife.

“Sorry, Baby Bat. Emergency and all that. Don’t have time for little legs.”

Damian made a kind of offended shriek that couldn’t be heard over the alarms and roar of feet so Jason ignored it as he took the steps three or four at a time. He dumped Damian back on his feet as soon as they crested the top of the wall.

A helicopter was on fire. And a jeep. And floating in the air… holy shit, was that Superman?!

That radiant red combined with glowing green starbolts had to be Starfire. And that was at least one Green Lantern. They weren’t the only figures hovering over the courtyard. And beyond the outer wall…

It looked like a small army. Jason recognised flashes of colour more than he did actual individuals. Holy… there had to be over two dozen superheroes out there. What the hell!

The “League” . The other League. The Justice League. They were here.

It was all that Jason could do not to burst into tears.

“Clark,” choked in his throat, coming out garbled. He gasped in a breath. Beside him Damian was trying to peer over the wall. Would Clark be able to hear him over everyone else? What if one of the League was able to hear him? But…

“Here.” He hoisted Damian up onto his hip to give him a better view. Damian writhed for a moment, then got distracted by the spectacle. “Hold on tight.”

“Why?” Damian frowned.

“Because… SUPERMAN! HELP! SUPER–” he didn’t get a chance to finish.

One moment he was standing on the wall, the next the wind was rushing around him as he clung tightly to Damian, and then he was staggering as his feet hit dusty earth. A hand caught his shoulder and he straightened up from a blue and black glove to find himself staring into a face he’d recognise domino mask or no.

“Little Wing?” Dick gasped.

The Nightwing costume had changed a little. It now had strips of colour down to the fingers from the bird symbol on the chest. It was still the same colour as Dick’s soulmarks. Which Bruce had bitched about a lot despite the fact the yellow of the Batsuit was definitely the same as Alfred’s soulmarks. Geez, like lots of people didn’t have blue soulmarks.

Dick’s cheekbones looked even sharper than usual, his hair just long enough to get that wavy curl. There was something drawn and dangerous about him that Jason only remembered seeing hints of a few times. Cold anger seething through his frame. But he looked so like the older brother Jason remembered that it felt like his rib cage was contracting.

Jason looked different. He knew he looked different. White hair falling over his forehead, taller, more muscled, the lines of his face set in harsher relief. Eyes older and tired and green-tinged against tanned skin. And… shit, he was still wearing the cowl. He ripped it off with his free hand and found Dick searching his face. For what, Jason didn’t know.

“Hey, Big Bird,” Jason said weakly. Nightwing twitched and the next thing Jason knew pain flared as the breath was knocked out of him by Dick abruptly tackling him.

“I knew it! I knew you were alive! I knew it! I knew it!”

It took Jason a moment to get his breath back enough to actually speak. As far as he could tell Dick was trying to wrap his entire body around Jason like some kind of snake, heedless of the fact that Damian was also being included in the hug and struggling. Despite the fact his ribs were screaming at him and, ow, that was where the shurikans had hit him, it actually felt pretty good.

“Ribs,” Jason managed to wheeze out after a minute.

Dick hurriedly let him go and cradled his face instead. “Sorry! Where are you hurt?” He immediately started worriedly feeling over his limbs. “What happened? Do you need medical?”

“No. Nothing life threatening, it’s fine.” Jason winced.

Dick stilled as his eyes finally focused on Damian. “Wh-who?” he stuttered.

“Talia… Bruce… you know,” Jason shrugged.

“Who are you? I demand you release me at once!” For some reason Damian was flailing a knife at Dick instead of Jason.

“Damian, be nice to your big brother,” Jason said sarcastically.

That made Damian waver and Jason took the opportunity to put him down. His muscles still ached from the whole fighting one hundred people in a row thing.

Dick was gaping, which was kind of gratifying. Jason took advantage of his distraction to look around him. He seemed to have been dumped in the very centre of the cluster of superheroes like he was a baby elephant they were trying to protect or something. He was getting a lot of looks. Most of them from people he didn’t recognise. Oh wait, that was Cyborg and Beast Boy, he knew them. He waved. They waved back, looking a little shellshocked.

“Little brother.”

Jason started violently. The black… bat… woman had come out of nowhere. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded, before realising he was threatening her with a knife and awkwardly tucking it away again. That was going to be a hard habit to break.

Dick huffed a somewhat overwhelmed laugh. Jason realised Dick hadn’t once let go of his shoulder. It was… grounding. “Jason, meet Cassandra. We met her while looking for you.”

“Big sister. Little brother.” Cassandra said, pointing at first herself than Jason.

“Wait? What?! No! I did not sign up for another older sibling! Also, what the hell, did Bruce just start haunting orphanages after I died or something?” Jason protested. Dick’s hand tightened on his shoulder reflexively.

“Little brother.” Cassandra sounded smug. Jason glared at her.

The rush of air made Damian yelp and spring back and Jason moved to a combat stance, dislodging Dick’s hand. A moment later he recognised the sudden blue and red. And black.

Batman’s whiteout lens stared Jason in the eye. He wasn’t that much shorter than the man now, Jason realised. Batman didn’t so much as twitch when Superman clasped him on the shoulder briefly and then vanished in another rush of air. The heroes reformed around them protectively.

Jason felt like he was pinned to the spot. Frozen. He hadn’t thought that he would be here. Now. He hadn’t had time to prepare! He didn’t know –

“Jason?” The voice cracked with painful hope.

Dick had moved back, off to the side, pulling Damian with him by the shoulders. Cassandra seemed to have evaporated into thin air. Jason wished he’d noticed them doing it so he could grab them and drag him back as a shield. He hadn’t worked out what to say to Batman yet.

Did you miss me? Why haven’t you killed the Joker? Long time no see? What the fuck is up with Timothy Jackson Drake? Can I come home?

Then Bruce ripped off the cowl and Jason was staring into his dad’s face, eyes swimming with tears and hope so desperate it seemed about to fracture like glass.

“You got old,” was the only stupid thing to come out of Jason’s mouth. The lines on his face had deepened, there was grey at his temples now. He looked tired.

A crooked smile flashed on Bruce’s face for a moment, knocking loose some of the tears. He staggered forwards and Jason flinched back before stopping, remembering Dick’s crushing hug. Bruce faltered but kept steadily approaching after a moment, movements slow and careful. He cautiously reached out a hand and Jason felt like he was frozen as it slowly came up to cup his face, quickly joined by the other.

“Jay. Jaylad,” Bruce whispered, staring into Jason’s face like he was the most precious thing in the world.

“Hey, Dad,” Jason managed around his thick throat.

He barely registered the beginning of Bruce’s smile before he’d flung himself at his father, heedless of screaming ribs, and was clinging to him like he’d vanish again if he let go for even a second.

“Dad,” he sobbed. “Dad! You’re here!”

“We came as soon as we knew where to find you,” Bruce was clutching at him as if Jason might break if he wasn’t careful. “I’m so sorry it took so long! I’m so sorry I left you!”

Jason could felt Dick cautiously plastering himself across his back. Where was the demon brat? Also the League…? Someone should probably deal with that. Should he be doing something?

He startled as something cool and smooth was gently slotted into his ear. Then stilled at the voices coming through.

“Jason?! Jason, can you hear us?”

“Babs?” he choked.

There was a harsh intake of breath. And then what sounded like choked laughter.

“Jason, Jason, oh my boy, my boy, we were so worried,” Alfred sounded like he was crying. Alfred didn’t cry any more than Bruce did, even if wetness was trickling through Jason’s hair from where Bruce had pressed his face to the top of Jason’s head.

“Alf.”

“You’re alive! You’re really alive!” Barbara gasped.

“I told you he was!” Dick asserted from beside Jason’s ear.

Babs laughed, wet and relieved and nothing like Joker’s awful laughter that haunted his nightmares. He could feel Bruce’s lips against the parting of his hair. He could feel their love like it was pouring directly into him, clashing with the poisonous green that now ran through his veins. He could feel his sobs becoming even more choked and hitched.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he whimpered. “They took my soulmarks and I didn’t think – I thought that you – I wanted to do such terrible things and I shouldn’t have believed her but everything was green and I couldn’t work out how to escape and I got someone killed and they put me in the Pit and now there’s something wrong inside of me and I want to hurt people and Ra’s says it’s manageable but I can’t make it stop and –”

“Shh, shh,” Bruce soothed, fingers combing through his hair as he clung to Bruce’s chest like a limpet, hoping they wouldn’t pry him off. “Shh, it’s alright. It’s alright, you’re safe now. We’re going to take you home, Jaylad. I won’t let them hurt you anymore.”

Jason choked on a sob. Bruce hadn’t been able to protect him the first time so how could he be sure Jason wasn’t going to go and get himself killed all over again?

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Jay. None of this is your fault. I’m so sorry I failed you,” Bruce whispered into his hair, pressing more kisses against his scalp. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Jason shook his head with a whimper because he forgave Bruce for his death. He did. But he didn’t want to go back to Gotham and have to listen to that laughter again and Bruce couldn’t fight the Pit in his head and –

“Whatever happened, we’ll work it out, Little Wing,” Dick promised, rubbing soothing circles on his back. “We’re family. You don’t have to deal with any of this alone, I promise. We love you and we’re not going anywhere.” Jason just sobbed harder, oblivious to anything else going on around them, as his family added other words in confirmation of this.

Jason was just starting to get his breathing back under control and things seemed to be quieter when evidently the demon brat could no longer restrain himself.

“Am I to understand you are my father?” the little voice demanded from Jason’s elbow.

Bruce started violently and unpeeled just enough to look over Jason’s head down at Damian. Jason decided to just ignore this.

“Hello, Father. My name is Damian al Ghul, Heir to the Demon and Son of the Bat. I am pleased you have judged me worthy of your legacy so soon,” Damian announced formally.

“He’s a bit messed up,” Jason muttered.

“Little brother.” Cassandra announced again.

Dick was laughing wetly.

“It’s – it’s very nice to meet you, Damian,” Bruce finally managed, one arm leaving Jason to pat the child on the head. Dick shifted to fill the gap.

“Wow, the child acquisition is really getting out of hand,” an unfamiliar voice said in Jason’s ear.

He groaned. “Oh God, who are you? You’d better not be another big sister. We’re full up.”

“I’m Stephanie. And, um, no. I have a mum, thanks.”

“Good for you. Both of mine are dead. And one of them sold me to the Joker so I’m not sure she counted,” Jason groused. Bruce had problems but he would tolerate them as long as Bruce didn’t let go.

The bodies around him stiffened. There were unhappy gasps from the comm.

“Wait. What?!” Dick demanded.

“Yeah… why did you think I went into that warehouse without back-up in the first place?” He’d figured they knew. World’s Greatest Detective and all that…

“She betrayed you,” Batman’s growl rumbled soothingly in his chest.

“Shit, that’s fucked up,” someone murmured in the comm. Jason thought it was Stephanie.

“Was stupid,” Jason mumbled. “Shouldn’t have believed her.”

“Little Wing, no,” Dick sounded heartbroken. “It wasn’t your fault,” a hand was combing through his hair. Jason felt tired. He would like to go home now. But home…

“Don’t want to see the Joker,” Jason sniffled pathetically.

“No, no, no, it’s okay, Jaybird. It’s okay. He’s dead, you don’t have to see him, I promise.”

Dead? Had Talia lied about that too?

“You killed him?” Jason asked hopefully.

Bruce stiffened and disappointment bloomed in Jason’s chest. A gentle hand cradled his head. “No, Harley Quinn did,” Bruce murmured.

“But he killed me,” Jason sobbed.

“I know, I know, Jaylad. I’m so sorry. But if I killed him – I didn’t want your dad to be a murderer,” Bruce murmured into his hair.

“’s stupid,” Jason mumbled. “’s Joker.”

“See, I told you,” Stephanie muttered in the background and was immediately shushed.

“Bruce was trying to get the Justice League to jettison him into space if that helps,” Dick said hopefully.

Jason made a noncommittal noise. It sorta helped he guessed.

“I wanna go home.”

“Of course, Jay. Of course, you can come home.” Bruce whispered.

Good. That was good. He was so tired. He let himself just collapse into the safety of Bruce’s embrace and let go, drifting into black.

* * *

Jason had collapsed out of sheer exhaustion as far as Bruce could tell after a frantic search for injuries. Not that he was lacking in injuries. He had multiple broken ribs and what might be a hairline fracture in his wrist. Not to mention multiple cuts and stab wounds.

Dick was cradling Jason to his chest, somehow managing to keep him upright, and Tim was frantically asking over the comms if he was okay. Damian was looking rather unnerved and kept glancing around anxiously at the superheroes surrounding them. He had a son. A son he hadn’t known about. When he got his hands on Talia –

One thing at a time.

Jason had obviously suffered terribly with the League and all Bruce wanted was to take all his children home immediately and bundle them up in blankets and warmth and safety. He had thought he would have to negotiate with the League, possibly with Jason as a hostage. He hadn’t thought that Jason would get free himself and call Superman. He was so, so lucky.

And he’d found Damian. His baby brother. A baby brother that was currently looking increasingly terrified despite Cassandra’s attempts to reassure him. His cape rustled with the wind of Clark's return.

“Bruce, Talia’s asking for you,” Clark murmured.

Bruce clenched his fists. Of course, this would be Talia’s base. Had she and Ra’s had a falling out? As much as he currently wanted to rip her in half if that was the case it might be ill-advised. Letting conflicting factions in-fight with each other would considerably weaken the League and explain why Ra’s had given up this base.

Regardless, the priority had to be getting his children somewhere safe.

“Take Jason to the jet,” Bruce murmured to Clark. “Nightwing, look after your brother and sister.”

“Are you going to talk to Mother?” Damian piped up.

Bruce looked down at the child he hadn’t known he had. That he had never held. That had been raised as an assassin.

“Yes,” he murmured.

“Will – will I be coming with you now? Now that I’m ready?” Damian asked.

“Ready?” Dick had carefully transferred Jason into Clark’s arms and knelt by Damian.

“To be your heir. Mother said you would come when I was ready.” Damian’s eyes were only focused on Bruce.

Bruce’s heart broke for his son. “Oh Damian,” he knelt in the sand beside the tiny child, “You don’t need to be ready. I want you regardless of your training or anything else.”

“B-but –” Damian’s eyes flickered to the unconscious Jason. “He said you didn’t know about me,” he whispered after a moment.

Bruce shook his head, “I didn’t. I swear Damian if I had known I would have come for you immediately.”

The child swallowed hard. “Why – why would mother lie?”

Because she wanted to raise Damian in the League to be an assassin? Because she knew Bruce would never approve? Because she didn’t want to give up their son? Why even mention Bruce then?

“I don’t know,” Bruce admitted and opened his arms. Damian just looked at him in confusion. Dick nudged him gently and Damian moved a couple of steps closer, close enough that Bruce could gently fold him into an embrace. Damian remained stiff and unsure but he didn’t draw away.

“I’m glad to finally meet you, Damian,” Bruce murmured.

The child made a tiny noise that might have been a sob. Gently Bruce transferred him to Dick’s arms.

“Come on, Baby Bat. It’ll be okay,” Dick patted his back.

“Tt,” the child made a little hissing noise. “Todd keeps calling me that. I am not a baby.”

Dick choked on a laugh. “Well, I’m glad I finally convinced Jaybird of the value of nicknames.” He gave Bruce a nod when he met his eyes. Bruce slipped away through the crowd pulling his cowl back on.

Talia was standing, straight and tall and beautiful as ever, at the head of a League contingent that was armed to the teeth. “Hello, beloved,” she said calmly as soon as Bruce emerged.

Bruce fought the urge to growl. “You kidnapped my son!” he snapped. Now Jason was safe he wasn’t that concerned about being politic.

Talia blinked at him and Bruce momentarily wondered if she was wondering which son he meant. Considering he was angry about both he didn’t much care which she decided on. She seemed so calm Bruce didn’t think she’d realised they’d already recovered Jason, much less Damian.

“He did not wish to return to you,” Talia said simply, apparently not bothering to deny it.

“I beg to differ,” Bruce snarled, remembering the feeling of his sobbing son in his arms just asking to go home.

“You allowed him to die, then failed to avenge his death. What right do you have to still demand his loyalty?” Talia demanded.

Bruce ground his teeth. "Loyalty", how very like Talia. Was that what she had been telling Jason? Was that what he’d meant when he said he shouldn’t have believed her? And he had talked about losing his soulmarks… What kind of psychological tortures had Talia been putting his son through?!

“Was that your plan? Kill my son and then resurrect him in the League?” Bruce demanded.

Talia’s cool expression faltered. “We did not kill Jason.”

“You allied with the Joker!”

“As a distraction! It was never intended –” Talia recovered herself. “Unlike you we have rectified our mistake.”

“You put him in the Pit.”

“As it has allowed my father to live for thousands of years so too may it restore the dead to life,” Talia said simply.

A fact Bruce had not known. Another thing she’d lied to him about. But it didn’t change that its magic was not without cost. “…there’s something wrong inside me…” Bruce tried to block out his son’s terrified words. They would fix it. Or, if they couldn’t, they would help him live with it. Far away from Talia and the League.

“And what about Damian?”

Talia stilled, abruptly seeming to be carved of stone. “Who?”

“Our son,” Bruce snarled. “The son you told me died in the womb! The son you’ve been bringing up as an assassin in your father’s death cult!”

“How do you –”

“His brother found him,” Bruce said coldly.

Talia was indomitable and her expression didn’t change but it was obvious the blood was draining out of her face as she abruptly realised Bruce already had both the people she could use as bargaining chips safely out of her reach.

“You think to take him,” Talia said flatly. “You plan to kidnap my son.”

“You informed Damian that his father would come to collect him when he was ready. I deem him ready now,” Bruce told her, clipping each word between his teeth. “You can keep your base and assassins and Godforsaken Pit. I will take my children.”

Talia’s jaw worked. For a moment Bruce almost hoped she’d fight him. That she’d tell him she didn’t care about any of that; she just wanted her son. Bruce hoped for Damian’s sake that he was more important to her than the League.

“Call him here,” Talia said eventually.

“You really think I would do that?”

“I wish to say goodbye to my son!” Talia snapped.

Bruce took a moment to close his eyes behind the cowl. This was what he wanted. Damian and Jason safe from the League. And yet…

“Mother?”

Bruce turned to find Dick and Cassandra flanking Damian, Dick’s hands protectively resting on Damian’s shoulders.

Talia’s face softened. Just slightly.

“Damian. I told you your father would come for you one day. It seems he has come a little earlier than we expected. But I am happy for you to have been accepted so quickly.” Her eyes flickered to Bruce briefly. “I expect you to do your new family proud. I expect you to do me proud. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mother,” Damian said, holding himself with stiff formality no child his age should have to have.

Talia gave him a sharp nod and her eyes snapped back to Bruce. “You have what you came for. Leave.”

Gladly. But… he supposed he owed her one more thing.

“Talia.” Her eyes narrowed. “Ra’s told us the location of this base.”

Her eyes widened the barest fraction. Bruce turned away from her, trusting the Justice League and Titans and everyone who had come without question to help him save his son to guard his back. “Let’s go,” he murmured to his children.

Chapter Text

Todd was still unconscious, even though there was nothing wrong with him, when one of the meta-humans delivered them to a large, private jet.

Damian at least felt reasonably confident about this. He had flown with Mother and Grandfather before. He knew how to behave in such circumstances.

Apparently no-one else did because the inside of the jet was quiet chaos. Damian shamefully faltered in the doorway. He had not – this was far more children than even Todd had implied Father had!

“It’s okay, Dami.” The black and blue one, Nightwing, nudged him gently from behind, just reminding Damian that he had been expected to go first (as a punishment or an acknowledgement he didn’t know). “They’re our family.”

“Our family”. Damian eyed the man suspiciously. He didn’t expect Damian to believe he would be accepted that easily did he? He was the true heir. The blood heir. He was a threat to all the pretenders’ positions.

“You’re back!”

“Was anyone hurt?!”

“Is this him?!”

“Oh my God, he’s so cute!”

Damian was not cute.

“How’s Jason?” Father seemed… very attached to Todd. He did not treat Todd like he was simply a stray and recipient of charity.

Todd, who Damian had begun to think was at least reasonably competent and might be an acceptable bodyguard after his success with the Gauntlet, had gone completely to pieces the moment he had seen Father. He had already been largely useless, allowing himself to be restrained by Nightwing and losing all situational awareness despite being surrounded. But with Father… Damian would have died of shame to have caused such a scene.

Not only had he wept and clung to Father like a parasite but he had then collapsed and fallen unconscious even though there was nothing wrong with him. The League had treated all his wounds and none had been life-threatening. Damian couldn’t understand how Father could have wanted anything to do with him after that.

Todd was lying prone on a medical bed swathed in blankets with an IV in his arm. All that was familiar to Damian for medical treatment, although again Todd should be fine. That both his hands were currently being clasped by strangers wasn’t. Why were they holding his hands? He was unconscious and not struggling. Even if he had been Damian was not sure the pair could restrain him. One was clearly quite elderly and the other appeared to be bound to a wheelchair.

“We think he’s stable.” The woman holding Todd’s hand had tears in her eyes. “We’ve put him on a saline drip to make sure he’d not dehydrated.”

“Most likely just utter exhaustion: physical, mental, and emotional.” The older man was gently patting Todd’s hand.

Father’s shoulders slumped in relief. Beside him a blonde girl was hugging the assassin girl. The assassin moved like she was part of the League, yet she had accompanied Father.

Nightwing skipped around Damian and hurried to the bed. He slipped an arm around a boy younger than Todd but older than Damian, pressing his face to the boy’s hair for a moment, before moving to sit near Todd’s head. The next moment he had pressed a kiss to Todd’s forehead, even though Todd clearly could not feel it. Although Todd’s face spasmed and seemed to turn slightly towards Nightwing as Nightwing began finger-combing his hair.

“You should take your mask off, Dick.” The boy hopped up and hurried to get something from a side cabinet.

The private jet was different to Grandfather’s. It wasn’t as grand and had more seats that looked comfortable rather than ostentatious. Along with the medical bed Todd was situated in. All the other furniture seemed to be clustered around it. Damian wasn’t sure exactly where he was meant to sit.

“Dami! Come sit with us.” Nightwing had peeled off his mask to reveal vibrant blue eyes and beamed at him as he gestured to the seat next to him not occupied by the other boy.

Damian frowned. He wasn’t going to fall for that. They were Father’s other ‘sons’, he would be foolish to get too close to them and move away from Father’s protection. Also, why was Nightwing calling him ‘Dami’?

Father was just standing in the doorway of the jet staring at them all. Damian didn’t understand his expression. It looked… vulnerable. Almost hurt but in a good way? He didn’t think he had ever seen anyone at the League make that face.

“Well, Master Bruce, perhaps introductions are in order?” the older man prompted.

Father started and then looked down at Damian with that same sad-happy look and patted his shoulder gently. “Everyone, this is Damian. He’s mine and Talia’s son.” Father was still holding his shoulder. Laying claim to him? Saying that the others were not to attack him? Were to defer to him as Mother had said? “Damian… this is your family.”

Family? Damian didn’t – he did not understand. Mother had said Father would come for him one day. Not all these strangers. Family was Grandfather and Mother and him. A line of heirs through the generations. Not this… mess.

“My name is Bruce Wayne; I don’t know if Talia told you,” Father said gently.

“Todd said,” Damian answered when Father seemed to expect a response. Luckily Father smiled so it must have been acceptable.

“Your oldest brother is Dick Grayson,” Father pointed to Nightwing who waved.

“Grayson-Wayne,” Dick rolled his eyes. “I hyphenated it when you adopted me.” Father’s smile somehow only got softer even though Grayson had interrupted. “Oh, Dick’s short for Richard if you were wondering,” Grayson added to Damian. Damian had not been.

“You’ve met Jason,” Father’s eyes seemed drawn to Todd’s still form as if trying to soak up the image of him. “Tim Drake –”

“Drake-Wayne,” the boy inserted.

“Is the second youngest of you boys,” Father smiled.

“I was only adopted recently.” The boy smiled as if that should mean something to Damian.

“Yeah, cause his old parents suck,” the blonde girl said.

“And Cassandra Wayne is your big sister,” Father nodded to the assassin. Damian felt like he at least understood her. Father had not known about him so he had gotten another assassin. An older, stronger one. His stomach twisted anxiously.

“Alfred Pennyworth is my father, the man who raised me,” Father indicated the older man. Pennyworth looked deeply touched.

“I’m Barbara Gordon. I guess you could say I’m a friend of the family?” The woman in the wheelchair smiled.

“Honorary niece,” Bruce suggested.

“Or daughter if Dick marries her,” the blonde girl teased. Grayson and Gordon both rolled their eyes but seemed amused.

“And Stephanie Brown is my other honorary niece,” Bruce shot the blonde girl a resigned look.

“Or daughter if Tim marries her,” Grayson chirped, parrot-like. Drake and Brown both gave him looks that he airily ignored.

Damian had an excellent memory. He was not overwhelmed by all these names and faces. He had already memorised them and would soon know all there was to know about their strengths and weaknesses. He was not intimidated.

“Why don’t I get the jet started and you can sit with Master Jason?” Pennyworth stood up, carefully laying Todd’s hand back down on the bed.

Bruce gently pulled on Damian’s shoulder, “Want to sit by me?” he offered.

Father seemed safer than the others so Damian followed after him. Father immediately took Todd’s hand and began drawing little circles on the back of it with his fingers. Damian perched beside him on the couch by Todd’s feet.

Mother must have been wrong. Todd must be a great favourite if Father was so concerned about him even when he was completely useless. Damian should have tried harder to cultivate a relationship with the older boy.

The loud blonde one, Brown, and the assassin, Wayne(?), had huddled by the woman on the other side and were looking at Todd with open curiosity.

Brown huffed, “I wish he was awake. I was looking forward to meeting Robin.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to get to know him.” Grayson was still fiddling with Todd’s hair.

“Do you think that the white streak is from the Pit?” Drake murmured. “He didn’t always have that.”

“Maybe.” Grayson lightly tugged on it.

“Might I suggest putting on your seatbelts?” Pennyworth’s voice came through the speakers as the plane began taxiing.

There was a small flurry of movement as the wheelchair was locked in, Todd was gently secured to the bed, and everyone strapped themselves into their seats. Damian started when Father laid a stabilising hand on his shoulder as the plane began to accelerate and then pulled into the air with the sensation of becoming heavier.

Things were quiet for a while. Eventually Pennyworth left the plane on autopilot and came back to take a quiet seat watching over all of them. Damian could feel his eyes starting to droop. He shouldn’t be tired. He had barely even done any training today. Everyone else was talking quietly amongst themselves. Carefully pampering Todd even though he wasn’t even awake to recognise it.

“I thought Todd did not have soulmarks,” Damian frowned, staring at the blue one on his arm. “Big Bird” was a silly name.

Father frowned. “Why did you think that?”

“Mother said he had lost all his living ones. And Todd only mentioned his dead mother’s one,” Damian frowned. He had proudly displayed his Mother’s living mark to Todd but if Todd had one on his arm and truly did have his mother’s then he had at least two. Damian bristled at the thought of Todd mocking him. Although... Damian supposed with Todd's he also had two now. It was a strange thought.

“Perhaps he hid them because he was afraid of what the League might do if they saw him with them,” Pennyworth murmured, watching Todd with pensive attention.

Father’s frown only deepened and Damian wondered if he should move before Father became truly angry but Father only shuffled a bit further forwards so he could hold Todd’s wrist as well as his hand.

Todd finally stirred as things got dark beyond the windows. He blinked bleary eyes so slowly it took a while for anyone to notice. It was only when he moved his hand and started trying to pull out his IV that everyone got concerned.

“It’s just saline, Jay, just saline, no painkillers,” Grayson was promising while Father gently restrained his hands.

Todd made an unhappy noise and tried to wriggle his hands free. If he truly was not compromised by drugs Damian did not see why he was behaving as if he was barely conscious. When he couldn’t get free the whimpering started. And the hyperventilation.

“Tim, take it out please,” Father ordered while trying to manage a writhing and apparently terrified Todd.

Drake hurried to remove the line and hold a piece of gauze to it.

“Dad! Dad!” Todd abruptly wailed, not seeming truly conscious. “Dad, please! Help!”

Grayson and Father switched places and Father took over trying to calm Todd as he seemed to have a semi-lucid nightmare. Todd calmed a little when his hands were free, clamping over where his IV had been and apparently unintentionally trapping Drake’s hand as well.

“Don’t leave, please. I’m sorry. It hurts,” Todd was sobbing, head now in Father’s lap as he tried to wriggle out of the bed.

If Damian had ever made such a fuss his trainers would have ensured he was locked in his room without food or water until he showed he could behave. Father was merely cradling Todd, and Drake because he had been dragged by Todd, and whispering reassurances. What had he done to make Father love him so much?!

“Don’t replace me,” Todd was sobbing.

“No, no, Jaylad, of course not. No-one is replacing you,” Father promised. “I promise no-one could ever, ever replace you, Jay. We are all so, so happy to have you back,” Father pressed a kiss to the crown of Todd’s head.

“Don’t go,” Todd had fisted a hand in Father’s shirt and was clinging as he burrowed further into Father. Damian forced down a flare of possessive anger that was beneath him. Why were they tolerating this weakness?!

“Never, so long as you want me,” Father promised.

Slowly Todd’s body slumped back into sleep, still curled against Father. Damian just stared at the boy his mother had described as a “filthy street rat” and Father treated like he was the most precious person in the world.

“Hey, you okay?” Damian started at Grayson’s gentle voice. A moment later a cautious arm touched very lightly over his shoulders. “That must have been scary to see. Jay’s still pretty out of it.”

“He is weak,” Damian sneered and was dismayed to hear petulance in his tone.

Grayson’s eyes swept to Todd who Father was gently easing back onto the bed while Gordon and Brown fussed with the blankets.

“Yeah. He is right now,” the arm around his shoulders tightened a little in a light squeeze, “but we’ll look after him and he’ll get strong again.” There was a pause. “And even if he doesn’t, we’ll still love him.”

Damian didn’t understand.

“It’s okay. You will one day.” Grayson smiled down at him and Damian wondered with horror if he had spoken aloud. Or had Grayson just read his expression? “Come on, Baby Bat. Time for you to get some sleep too.”

Damian protested strenuously but Grayson was a clever grappler and he soon found himself swaddled in blankets on the couch. This was humiliating, he was not a child. He was Father’s true heir and he needed to show that he was ready for anything that required. Grayson was humming a tune Damian didn’t recognise and ruffling his hair gently. Against his will his eyes drifted closed.

Chapter Text

Jason woke slowly from a hazy soup of nightmares.

They weren’t the sharp brutal ones he had sometimes. The ones where he was back in that warehouse and could feel his broken bones shifting, smell the smoke of Sheila’s cigarette, see the timer ticking down as laughter echoed in his ears.

No, this was closer to a fever dream: vague shapes and sounds swirling around him. The Joker laughing, Dick turning and walking away, Bruce’s disappointed face telling him that he wasn’t his son, Robin flying through the sky while he lay broken on the ground, his mother with a needle in her arm, heat and smoke enveloping his skin. Everything soaked in an acid green. He struggled to escape the haze but lucidity kept slipping out of his grasp.

Yet he remembered flashes of soft voices and gentle hands. Promises whispered into his hair assuring he was loved, loved, loved. He clung to those as he floated helplessly through his dreams.

And then, slowly, finally, the world began to take back on the aspect of reality. There was a hand in his hair and a weight snuggled against his side. Warmth enveloped both his hands. He was laying on something soft, fabric smooth against his skin. He blinked his eyes and made out dim lights. Warm yellow spilling under a door, pinpricks of stars in the midnight sky through the window, illuminating a desk, bookcase, closet. He knew those posters, he knew this room.

“Jaylad?”

He turned bleary eyes and found his father looking back at him, still stroking his hair. “Dad?” he croaked.

Bruce’s smile was blinding. “Welcome home, Jay.”

He was in his room. His room which was just like when he’d left it. When he’d stupidly run away. Homework on the desk, jacket on the back of the door, books on the bedside table.

The people were new. Jason blinked in confusion and started when a cup with a straw was presented to him.

“Here, you must be thirsty,” a voice he didn’t recognise offered.

He was thirsty and Bruce seemed calm so Jason dutifully sipped the water. When the cup was drawn back the pale and anxious face of the one offering it came into focus. A face Jason recognised.

“New Robin,” Jason rasped, feeling somewhat hollow.

“What?! No!” the kid, Tim, yelped. “No! No, Jason, I’m not Robin! Robin’s yours, I promise.”

Jason frowned because… Talia had lied a lot but she’d said… and the file. “There were newspapers,” he objected. “About a new Robin.”

Tim went even paler which Jason felt a bit vindicated about. “I – I stole a suit and went out once,” he whispered, as if confessing before his execution. “Two-Face had Bruce and Dick hostage. They were going to die. And – and I thought Bruce needed a Robin and if there was no-one else then it had to be me but then it turned out you were alive and of course you were the best Robin ever so – so –” Tim’s lip actually wobbled. “I wasn’t trying to replace you.”

“Okay. ‘S okay,” Jason tried to flap a hand only to discover Babs was sleeping on top of it. He really didn’t want the kid crying while he tried to process that. “You got captured by Two-Face?” he accused Bruce. Because, seriously?

“You’re focusing on that part instead of the part where you’re the best Robin?” Dick demanded from the warmth pressed to his side.

Jason couldn’t fight a smirk. He remembered this game. “I mean… I didn’t think that was really in question.”

Tim was opening and closing his mouth, looking mortified. “I didn’t mean –!”

“Too late, you said it, it’s official. Suck it, Dick.”

Dick tapped his shoulder lightly but just resettled, apparently unbothered. “That sounds really dirty,” the opinionated girl, Stephanie, mumbled sleepily from somewhere at the foot of the bed. Dick heaved a put-upon sigh.

Jason was frowning again. “Wait, I thought there was a whole thing with the Joker and Robin.”

Dick huffed a laugh. “Jay, that was me. And I had to sneak past Bruce to do it!”

Jason blinked. The way Dick said it and the look on Bruce’s face… He got the feeling after him... they’d been trying to keep everyone away from the Joker... He owed Harley Quinn a gift basket or something.

Then he processed what Dick was saying. If that was Dick… and if the kid had just been trying to save his dad and brother… then... there wasn’t really a new Robin. After all Robin was Dick’s first. Even though he’d known he was dead, that it made sense, a knot still eased in his chest knowing Robin was still his. He hadn’t been replaced.

“You wore the suit with the shorts?” Jason asked.

“No. I wore the one from when I was seventeen. I haven’t worn those shorts in years. Not since Bruce freaked out about all the soulmarks.”

“You do have too many.”

“Shut up. Tim wore the shorts.”

Jason huffed a laugh. “Seriously? I refused point blank.”

Tim was going a mortified crimson. He didn’t really seem that bad. Maybe he wouldn’t make a bad Robin one day. Jason found the idea didn’t bother him so much now he knew he could be the one to pass it on.

“Tim’s your biggest fan.” Dick was smirking, he could hear it.

Tim squeaked.

“Also a fan.” A hand vaguely waved at the end of the bed as Stephanie sleepily rolled over. Jason wasn’t really paying attention anymore though because… he knew that sound. From a stupid little kid with more spunk than sense who had tried to climb down a rickety fire escape in the rain.

“You’re the stalker kid,” Jason frowned. “With the camera… Oh my God you were a rich kid all this time?! I told you to go home! I thought it was a block away not that you were trekking across half the city!”

“My name is Tim Drake,” Tim mumbled behind his hands.

Jason sighed. “Yeah, I know, it’s written across the back of my rib cage. Guess one rescue, a burger, and a couple of galas really made an impression on you.”

Tim dropped his hands to gape at Jason. Dick shuffled to sit up a bit. “Wait? Seriously?”

Jason sighed. “Yeah, it’s super pale but it came in a bit after yours came back.”

Bruce’s hand tightened on his for a moment. “You said that before. Jay, what did you mean when you said you lost your soulmarks?”

Ice coiled in Jason’s stomach. He’d known this was coming. That he’d have to confess… everything. But his eyes were adjusting now and he could see the room. It was stuffed full of people. He could hear breaths from the end of his bed on what was probably a mattress. Dick was curled at his side, Bruce was in the armchair next to him with the demon brat actually tucked in beside him fast asleep. Even Alfred was dozing in another armchair they must have dragged in and Babs had taken the hand of the arm Dick was using as a pillow. Jason thought Tim might have actually been curled up at the foot of the bed. It was warm. It felt safe. He didn’t want them to leave.

“The – the Pit. It gets rid of them,” Jason choked. “It took my soulmarks and scars and – and Talia said it was because you didn’t – didn’t want me anymore. She tattooed my mother’s back onto my shoulder so – so –” So he’d believe her. And he had.

Dick had gasped and pressed himself closer. “I’m so sorry, Little Wing,” he whispered, wrapping him in an octopus hug, all-encompassing and warm. He was going to let go soon.

“I – I was so angry. I wanted – I wanted to hurt you. All of you. Talia said the League would help me. She gave me training.” Jason chanced a glance at Bruce and flinched away when he saw his thunderous expression.

“The League’s training is cruel and merciless. A fifteen-year-old should never be exposed to it,” Bruce said fiercely.

“It’s – everything’s green, when I get angry,” Jason confessed. “Like I’m sinking into a never ending well of rage. And I wish it was just the Pit but it isn’t, some of it’s me. And – and I like hurting people now. There’s a rush. And I know now why you didn’t want me to be Robin because you saw that and – and another trainee said some things and I was so angry. I wanted to hurt them so I broke their leg and their wrist and hurt them. And the instructor said he wasn’t worth the recovery time so he just killed him and it was my fault.”

“Jason! Jay! Jaylad!” Bruce’s voice finally cut through his frantic babble. “Shh, shh, that isn’t true, Jay. That isn’t true at all.”

“It is. It was my fault,” Jason sobbed.

“Little Wing, no.” Dick was stroking his hair. He hadn’t let go yet.

“Jay, I didn’t want you to stop being Robin because I thought you were… sadistic. That isn’t true!” Bruce was clasping his hand tightly.

“B-but –” Jason wobbled.

“I was scared I was hurting you. You cared so deeply and I could see the anger, the helpless frustration. I was worried about the violence, yes, but because I saw how much you wanted to stop people preying on others. I thought I was inflicting my demons on you when you needed time to heal. I just – I just wanted you to be happy. I didn’t think – I will never think you are a monster, Jason,” Bruce soothed.

“I am,” Jason whimpered. “I – I’ve tried but I can’t stop it and I get so angry and I want to hurt people. I wanted to hurt you. I wanted to hurt you all so badly. I wanted to make you suffer b-because –”

“You wanted us to know how you felt,” Dick said softly.

Jason choked on a sob. He had lied to himself, lied to himself for so long, because anger was easier than grief. Because the Pit fed on anger but despair left him like a puppet with its strings cut, useless.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

A soft kiss on his forehead, “I forgive you, Jay.” Bruce murmured gently.

Jason’s breath caught. It couldn’t – it couldn’t be that easy. Not after what he’d confessed. Not after what he’d been planning to do.

“I forgive you, Little Wing,” Dick snuggled closer.

“We all forgive you, Jason,” Barbara murmured, having stirred as Jason had a breakdown. Tim nodded when Jason’s eyes flitted to him.

“Of course, we forgive you, Master Jason,” Alfred’s voice was gentle but held a hint of his firm, no-nonsense tone.

“B-but I – I’m –”

“You’re a human – a child – who was tortured, killed, resurrected by supernatural forces that affected you mind and body, and manipulated by an adult who should have been protecting you,” Bruce murmured. “And you didn’t do it. You haven’t hurt any of us. You’re the one who was hurt. We forgive you, Jay.”

For a long time Jason could do nothing but cry. He had thought maybe, eventually, if he proved he really was sorry… he hadn’t thought they’d just welcome him back. That they’d forgive him.

Slowly he managed to tell them everything that had happened since he had been resurrected. Talia and what he thought she had wanted from his anger, the instructors, the training, the Pit, the deaths, Damian, the Gauntlet, Ra’s. He was surrounded by the whole family, awake and listening by the end.

His back was wet from where Dick was hugging him and sniffling. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you had to go through that, Little Wing!”

Bruce’s hands were still gentle but his face was livid. “Talia made a child fight in a death match?!”

“I volunteered,” Jason mumbled. “I thought – she talked about other training when I’d finished with the League. I thought if I could prove myself there… they wouldn’t make me kill and I could get out.” Dicks breath hitched and his hug somehow became more encompassing even though he was careful of Jason’s ribs.

“Oh Jay, my brave boy,” Bruce kissed his head. “You’re safe. The League is never going to touch you again. We’ll find a way to deal with the Pit. To help you. It’s going to be okay, Jaylad.” And even though Jason knew he couldn’t promise that he believed him.

“Little brothers. Safe,” the quiet one, Cassandra, asserted, hovering at the end of the bed as if watching protectively.

“Damian, I’m sorry for all you’ve suffered at the League’s hands,” Bruce murmured to his youngest.

Damian just looked confused. “Everyone was very pleased with my progress in training,” he protested.

Bruce growled and Damian was abruptly enveloped by the huge vigilante. “That wasn’t training. That was torture and abuse,” he huffed.

Damian continued to look confused, particularly by the embrace, but after a moment he asked as if bracing himself for punishment, “Does that mean I won’t have to kill any more animals?”

There was a collective intake of breath. Jason could feel Dick thrumming. He didn’t think Talia would still be breathing if Dick had heard about this before they left. Damn.

“No, never,” Bruce promised.

“I want to be a vegetarian,” Damian announced as if he was testing his luck.

“If Alfred can find a healthy diet for you where you can get everything you need for your development,” Bruce said.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Alfred said with dry amusement.

Damian didn’t seem to know what to do with permission.

“If Ra’s found out Talia wasn’t as loyal to him as he thought when your soulmarks came back it would make sense he gave up the base. He could get Batman off his back and take out people who were potentially disloyal,” Tim mused.

Jason blinked. “Wait, really? Ra’s gave up the base?”

“We’re pretty sure,” Babs nodded.

“Deathstroke gave us the information but we think Ra’s fed it to him.”

“Deathstroke?!” Hadn’t he been meant to train Jason? Although Jason supposed playing both sides fit in with what he knew about the mercenary.

“He associates with the League sometimes and he owed me a favour,” Dick shrugged. Jason decided to tell him about the somewhat questionable fulfilment of this favour later, lest he stop hugging Jason to hunt the man down.

“We’ve been searching for you for the last eight months, Jay,” Bruce said gently.

Jason blinked. What? But how – why – Eight months?! Wait, that crowd of superheroes – the Titans, the Justice League – had they… been there for him? He’d just thought it was a welcome coincidence. There was no way that many superheroes would show up just for him!

“How did you know I was alive?” Jason managed.

“Your soulmarks came back,” Dick said simply.

What? He’d – he’d thought – since he died. He started as Barbara rolled up her sleeve and Cassandra went to flick on the lights. Jason blinked in the sudden burst, then his eyes were watering in a way that had nothing to do with the light as Babs turned her arm, revealing, in the same vibrant red they had always been, his name crawling down her upper arm.

“They – they came back,” Jason choked. He hadn’t thought – after he’d died and been corrupted by the Pit...

“Yes, they did,” Bruce smiled.

“Tim noticed them first. Yours tend to be a bit hard to see.” Dick nudged Jason gently.

Right. His were always difficult to look at without a mirror.

“I think I may say with confidence that their returning colour was the best thing any of us had ever seen,” Alfred murmured. There was a series of nods that surprisingly included Tim. Jason thought he was going to die again. His heart was swelling in his chest, that couldn’t be healthy.

“You looked for me.”

“Of course we did, Jaybird. You’re family. We love you.”

“I’m sorry it took so long,” Bruce murmured.

Jason shook his head mutely. It felt like his throat had seized up. He had known his father was coming for him in that warehouse. He’d just known he might not be in time. Maybe there had been a bit of a delay but… He had come. They had all come. They had found him. They had saved him. He was home.