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Chapter Text

Six days after Dick left and eight days after arriving at Wayne Manor, Garth gathered English-speakers and mer-speakers together and asked what phrases or words they wanted translated, so that they could communicate when he left.

Bruce had tried to think of practical things:

Are you hungry?

You’re safe here.

I’m confused.

Help me understand what you want.

With Alfred’s help, they included words like, medicine, hot, cold, good, bad, stop, help, please and thank you.

When Garth asked Jason what phrases he wanted translated, the mer hunched down in the water and blew furious bubbles before huffing, “No.”

Garth frowned. You already know how to say that. What other things do you need to be able to say to Bruce and Alfred?

Of the speech, Bruce recognized his name and maybe Alfred’s. It made it feel like something was clawing inside his chest, knowing that he couldn’t communicate properly with this child living in his pool.

Jason curled his lip back. I know human words.

Garth shook his head, mouth quirking with a smile. Bruce hoped it was because Jason had asked him to provide a translation for something the Atlantean deemed rude. In the last week while they had settled Jason in the pool where he’d stay while healing, there had been sudden, random sparks of a fierce and funny personality. Bruce was waiting to see when those sparks would catch into a full flame.

You really don’t.

Frustrated with whatever Garth was saying, Jason grabbed the bottom fin of his tail, curled up like an adorable shrimp, although Bruce kept the comparison to himself. He wasn’t sure if it was like comparing a human child to a kitten or if it was offensive to compare water-people with water-creatures.

“No,” Jason repeated, loudly. His eyes snapped to Bruce, and he flicked himself over to the edge of the pool. Hooking his elbows over the side and doing his best to raise himself up on his still-weak arms, he shouted, “No!”

He wasn’t sure what sort of reaction the boy was looking for. Garth looked embarrassed. “He…he’s not overly interested in learning English at this time.”

Bruce blinked slowly. “Okay.”

“No!” Jason repeated, like a toddler who has just learned the word. “No, Asshole! No.”

Jason! Be nice!

“No!”

Bruce raised both hands in a passive sign. “Alright, Jason,” he said calmly. “No.”

Jason glared, apparently unsure if Bruce repeating the word meant he was agreeing or disagreeing with him. “No,” he repeated, but at least his voice scraped less.

No. Good.

Bruce had a good ear for languages, so he knew his pronunciation was fine. Nevertheless, Jason’s expression told him the boy felt both offended hearing how easily Bruce spoke and smug that he had gotten Bruce to be the one to make the effort. Good, the mer-boy agreed. Snapping to Garth, he announced in words lost on Bruce, You can just teach them, since I already know human words.

“No” and “asshole” are only going to get you so far, Jason. What if you get hungry?

Jason had watched intently while Garth gave Bruce and Alfred their lessons earlier; he used his tail to push his entire upper body up out of the water, scanning until he found Alfred before shouting, Food!

Garth looked appalled, but before he could get words out of his dropped mouth, Alfred interrupted with a sniffed, “I think not. You may inform the young sir, Master Garth, that manners will be needed in this house.”

They decided to table the discussion on communication and plan out physical therapy instead.

Two mornings after Garth left, Bruce felt the cool of Alfred’s shadow cut off early morning sun from his chair by the pool, but didn’t glance up.

“From what I’ve been able to find, it seems it’s typical for freshwater mers to bury themselves in mud at the bottom of whatever body of water they happen to be inhabiting. It not only anchors them but also keeps them warm and seems to provide comfort.”

Alfred frowned. “How fascinating. I assume your next sentence will successfully link this enlightening bit of knowledge with an explanation for why twenty-seven of my best blankets are missing from the manor?”

Neither spoke, simply watching billows of white and red and brown and purple blossom and settle at random in the mess that the pool had become. Every now and then, one of the blooms would tent with an indistinct, almost human shape before deflating as its occupant dashed to another corner.

“Can you even find him in that chaos?” Alfred questioned.

“No, but I think that’s part of the appeal.”

They watched together as Jason darted in and out of the mess of wet fabric that now filled the pool, singing snatches of some song he had apparently made up, based on the mix of mer and human words. Bruce couldn’t begin to guess what it was about, but he caught the word “please” several times, so it seemed harmless at least.

With a thoughtful hum, Alfred set a plate down with slightly less judgement than Bruce had expected before leaving the other at the edge of the pool. “Sandwiches, Master Jason.”

That reminded him. Bruce pulled out his phone, pretending not to care when there were no missed calls or texts, and began researching.

It took Bruce nearly four trips to bring all the crates to the back patio, since he didn’t feel like explaining to nosy delivery drivers why socialite Bruce Wayne was keeping a whole mer child trapped in his family pool. He didn’t see even a glimpse of Jason until he had dismantled the crates; they were large enough to hold something uncomfortably mer-child-sized, which he suspected was at the root of the lack of curiosity. Eventually, when Bruce was surrounded by baggies of water and floppy future pool inmates, the top of Jason’s head appeared at the far end of the pool before flickering away and reappearing closer for examination.

Jason’s eyes went wide when he realized what was in the bags grouped at the edge of the pool. “Yes,” he said emphatically. “Yes, Bruce! Yes!”

Despite himself, Bruce felt a smile prodding at the corner of his mouth. “Good?” he asked, teasing. He was holding a bag with two perches and another with a handful of more exuberant minnows.

The question conjured more serious contemplation from Jason than he was expecting. The mer steered himself into the side of the pool and hefted his upper body up on the concrete enough to tug at the corner of one of the bags, which held a bewildered looking pumpkinseed. “Yes, Bruce,” he said, yanking just enough to indicate that the fish should move towards him, then pointing to the pool. “Yes.” I’m confused. Help me! Good. Medicine.

Bruce chuckled. “If you want me to know you’re trying to communicate with me, you’re going to have to do better than just spouting random phrases you know I understand. You’re a smart kid—I know you can pick up English if you actually try.”

Jason frowned, laying his hand on the side of the plastic bag that held the hovering pumpkinseed trapped inside. Put the fish in the water. Please. I…I won’t ask for anything else, I promise. Just…do it, okay? Just put the fish in the water.

“Fish.” Leaning over to lift the bag from Jason’s grasp, Bruce held it aloft. “Fish, Jason. Fish.”

Please.

“Fish.”

“Fitch,” Jason parroted dutifully. “Fitch, Bruce. Yes. Fitch.”

“Close enough.” Bruce switched hands so he could pull out his penknife.

Wait, I’m sorry! Don’t…don’t be a…a “asshole.”

Bruce shook his head. “Okay, I understood that. Hold on. I should have asked Aqualad how to say ‘patience’ but I didn’t realize I’d need it to so often.” He pushed his penknife into the tense plastic and peeled it down while simultaneously lowering the fish over the edge of the pool. As the water began to spill forth, dragging the pumpkinseed with it, it slipped seamlessly under the surface and, with a single flicker, vanished into the maze of blankets Jason had created.

Jason stared after it for a full three seconds, mouth agape, then whipped back to Bruce so suddenly the man got a mouthful of pool water. “Yes, Bruce! Yes!” Good job! Now the rest. He clawed desperately for the next bag. “Bruce! Yes, Bruce!”

“Okay, okay! Stay in the pool, you’ll tear yourself up on the concrete.” Bruce pushed Jason back until the mer was safely back in the confines of the pool, already starting on the next bag before Jason could get antsy—or bite-y.

Each new fish released brought a delighted cry from Jason. Most of them flashed down to the safety of the blankets, but some hovered at the surface, trusting in the sheen from the sun to camouflage their scales. Jason swirled around them with unconcealed delight, giggling as they flittered close and skittered away.

When the last bag had been emptied, Bruce cracked his back and sighed at the pile of garbage he’d have to deal with before Alfred thought it was his job. He checked his phone to see if Dick had called or texted. He had forced himself out of the habit of checking awhile ago, but he thought maybe Dick would inquire about Jason.

He hadn’t.

Sighing, Bruce began his mission of gathering discarded plastic, when he was caught by a tug at his pant hem. Turning, he saw Jason at the edge of the pool. The mer child held up a hand in what might have been a sign of approval, something that involved three fingers and an exuberant grin. “Yes, Bruce!” he cried jubilantly. This is…you… Jason fumbled for words, looking frustrated with their communication barrier for the first time. You are a good…good thing! he finally announced, proudly, before flickering away into the pool to chase his new pool-mates.

Bruce didn’t know any of the words that had been said, but he felt that he understood them nonetheless.

Three days after they had stocked the pool, Bruce grew concerned that Jason didn’t appear to be eating any of the fish. There had been no signs of bones, nor did the numbers appear to be dwindling. Alfred agreed to forgo bringing the boy food for one day, while Bruce knelt at the edge of the pool and tried to draw the connection for Jason between “fitches” and “food.”

“Hun-gree,” Jason whined, wrapping two pathetic little arms around his stomach.

“Good,” Bruce said. “Fish. Food.” He mimicked putting something in his mouth. “Eat. Eat fish.”

“No,” Making a sort of clenching gesture with his hand—possibly pantomiming something being handed to him?—Jason tried on a hopeful expression and asked, “San wishes, Bruce?”

When Bruce shook his head, Jason collapsed under the water with an exaggerated moan. It was eleven o’clock in the morning. He had eaten dinner the night before.

“Fish. Food,” Bruce reiterated firmly.

Jason blew furious bubbles to the surface and backflipped into his blanket pile.

“And how goes your latest foray into cross-cultural communication?” Alfred queried, when he came to bring Bruce his own lunch and check up on their watery ward.

Rough calluses grounded him in the present as Bruce scraped them over his face. Dropping the plate Alfred provided unceremoniously, he split his fingers over his eyes and looked up at Alfred. “He needs to know how to feed himself, Alfred. I can’t place him away from us until I know he’s not going to starve.”

“I don’t recall arguing that point.”

“I don’t suppose you have any suggestions towards the point, either?”

“I imagine so, yes,” Alfred replied cooly, turning back to the kitchen. “For instance: not leaving your sandwich within reach of the pool water.”

Bruce whirled, nabbing a slippery grasp on Jason’s wrist at the same moment the boy snapped his tail in retreat. Both ended up banging into each other at the edge of the pool—but Jason had the advantage. Sandwich in his free hand, he dropped below the water while keeping his treasure raised high, ducked out of Bruce’s grasp, and burst up on the other side of the pool, cackling with delight.

“Jason!”

“San wishes!” Jason announced proudly, sinking his teeth into Bruce’s roast beef.

Bruce shoved his hair back from his face. “No. No sandwiches. You—” He paused. There, in the water where Jason had retreated: a thin, reedy trail of green. Green like mer blood.

“Jason. Come here.” Bruce pointed to the ground in front of him.

The mer scowled warily. It’s my “san wishes” now. You said you’d feed me. You promised.

“Forget the sandwich.” They could revisit the topic of Jason’s nutrition later—and Bruce would stop taking his meals by the pool. Instead, he gestured to the water beside Jason, where the cloudiness was thicker. Hurt. Help. Medicine.

The moment Jason glanced down, his face turned as green as the water. I—I didn’t mean…I’m sorry. The little mer swallowed hard. I’m sorry, Bruce. Hesitantly, he scooted backwards to the opposite edge of the pool and slid the sandwich onto the concrete. “Bad. Stop.”

“It’s not about the sandwich anymore, Jason. You got injured when I grabbed you. Let me look at it.”

“No.” A whisper, so soft if Jason hadn’t been in the water the sound wouldn’t have carried far enough to reach Bruce. He chewed on his lip, then sank lower into the water, cowering as he whispered, “P-Please.”

It was the first time Bruce had ever heard Jason use the word “please,” hammering home the reality that any injury on his tail was going to be tricky to navigate. But the cloudy spot of water was getting opaquer the longer he waited, and Bruce was concerned that, in its current state, a tail injury wouldn’t clot or heal properly. The last thing he wanted was for Jason to pass out in the water—or even for the injury to heal badly, leaving him more reminders of everything that had happened.

Firmly, he pointed to the water in front of him. “Jason. Come here.”

He heard the soft stir of water as the mer reluctantly dragged himself forward, while Bruce fetched the first aid box from under the table. On the edge of his sight, he watched Jason warily follow his hands removing disinfectant and waterproof bandage from the box. Twice, he watched Jason start to open his mouth, as if to say something, before screwing it closed.

Setting out everything he needed in easily accessible reach, Bruce steeled himself for the most unpleasant part of this task. Turning to Jason, he said, Medicine. Good. Help.

Jason looked sick and didn’t reply.

Bruce leaned over, hooked his arms under Jason’s, and lifted him out of the pool.

Jason screamed. Bruce remained calm. Good, Jason, he reassured, loudly and firmly over the boy’s panic. Good. Help. Safe. Medicine.

“No! No—stop! No, no, no! Asshole!”

You’re safe, Jason. Medicine.

No medicine! No—let me go! Please, please let me go! I’m sorry! I won’t steal food. I won’t say—I won’t—I—Bruce, please, please, no!

Bruce wrestled Jason sideways, so he could see the source of the blood. Sure enough, there was a long scratch along the midpoint of Jason’s tail. Without the protection of scales that were still growing back, it went deeper than it should have, Bruce’s hand stained green the instant he laid it against the spot.

Jason shrieked the moment Bruce touched his tail, sobbing and clawing at Bruce’s shirt. He could already feel gauges in his arm, but kept his voice calm and level. Jason. You are safe. Medicine. Good.

No! No, please, I’m sorry—I’m so, so sorry! I’m sorry! I swear, I’ll—please I’ll do anything. D-don’t…please, Bruce. Please. Please.

It took everything in him to ignore the frantic pleas, but Bruce had made a career out of compartmentalization. Disinfectant spilled over the wound before Bruce successfully applied the majority of the bandage to over the affected area.

As soon as it was done, he sank Jason back into the pool, snapping his hands away, raised and over his head.

Jason curled into a tiny ball and sobbed, brokenly sinking to the bottom of the pool where fish scattered from him. The sight of him lying on the blue floor, tiny streams of bubbles leaking up to the surface, made Bruce feel even worse than looking up to find an accusatory Alfred.

“In the future,” Alfred informed him stiffly, “you will find a better way of handling that.”

The ability to muster words was always the first bit of Bruce to be sapped of energy. He grunted, staring morosely down at the tiny child who was already rolling himself into a blanket.

Blankets. Bruce winced.

“Yes?” It hadn’t escaped Alfred’s notice; nothing ever did.

“He might hide any other injuries.”

“Who could blame him.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I wonder…if we should remove the blankets. Until we know it’s healed. I don’t want…” Bruce ran a hand over his face. This time, the calluses did nothing to help. They only scratched. “I don’t want to take his blankets—his privacy. But I can’t have him hide in blankets while his wound gets infected—or the next time he gets injured.”

The sound of clouds drifting overhead filled the silence with nothingness. Bruce’s hands felt heavy at the end of his arms.

Finally, Alfred said, “Perhaps a regular cleaning of the blankets is in order. I will set a schedule over the next few days to ensure the boy’s home for recovery is well maintained—and perhaps you will be able to assess his health while the blankets are being laundered.”

“Hn.”

It was all Bruce could muster.

The next morning, Bruce visited the pool to find sludgy piles of blankets lining the concrete around the pool. Alfred seemed as surprised as he was, confirming that even if he had the inclination to drag the heavy things from their home by himself, he had no intention of doing so for at least a few days, considering Jason’s reaction to the events of the previous day.

Bruce stood by the edge of the pool, staring at the tiny child curled at its base.

For once he was glad Dick hadn’t called or texted. He didn’t know what he would say.

They had decided to launder the blankets before returning them, folded, to the edge of the pool within easy reach from the water. It was still unclear why Jason had removed them and Bruce didn’t want to return them if the boy was making his feelings about the clutter in his current home known. He had extended one blanket to Jason, which the mer had taken warily before bundling in it and sinking, once again, to the bottom of the pool. Jason hadn’t made an appearance in the two days since. Nor had he touched the sandwiches Alfred left by the pool steps.

Now Bruce sat at the patio table, something painful and sharp sparking in his chest. How many more times were they going to have to have these conversations? Jason had been doing well, but he’d known that for all its appearances, trust couldn’t be formed that quickly. Bruce needed the Atlanteans right now, more importantly Jason needed the Atlanteans, and if he didn’t believe them then communication would only continue to deteriorate.

“Jason,” he called. “Aqualad? Garth?”

It was the best he could do. Since the incident, Jason hadn’t been seen, but sometimes he shouted responses to Alfred or Bruce through his lone blanket and water that were almost entirely in mer and so muffled as to be intelligible.

Silence. Bruce sighed. He could call Arthur—it was a toss-up if having to explain to the King of Atlantis why he had a malnourished, injured mer child trapped in his pool was an easier conversation than calling Dick and asking him to bring Garth back.

From the pool came a faint, I hate that purple-eyed jerk. He said…he said it wasn’t a bad word and I wouldn’t get in trouble for saying it. He’s a liar and you’re a liar. You’re both liars.

He wasn’t sure if he didn’t understand the words or they were just so distorted by the time they reached him that he didn’t recognize them. Help me understand how to help you.

“Asshole.”

Well, at least that one was clear.

“Please, Jason.”

The pool exploded as Jason rocketed to the surface, red face scrunched in fury. Stop! I’m sorry, okay? I won’t say it again—I learned my lesson, I’ll be good. Just…just stop. Please.

Bruce stared, frozen by the sheen in Jason’s eyes.

Please, Bruce repeated, an echo, as something clicked in his head.

“Jason.” His voice sounded hoarse, even to him. “Please.”

Jason’s expression broke. Mustering up as much anger as he could scrape from the edges of his wounded heart, he hissed and scrambled back underwater.

An image flashed across the back of his eyelids: of a tiny, bound mer scowling up from a bathtub he didn’t really fit in, covered in so many bruises and scrapes his top half looked almost as colorful as his mottled tail. A tiny mer so terrified and angry and hurt—

There was no way Bruce was letting the little they had already built crash back into that.

His eyes lashed around until they found Alfred approaching from the kitchen, platter in one hand. “Alfred!” he called sharply. “Food!”

The man stopped as surely as if Bruce had sworn at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Food,” Bruce snapped again, pointing at the table in front of him. “Is it sandwiches? Bring it here.”

Alfred’s face might as well have been chiseled from stone. It should have been impossible to communicate both scathing inditement and the promise of future discipline to come through a lack of movement, but there it was.

Unfortunately, there was also trust. Which meant while every part of his being objected, he approached the table and moved to set the platter down. “Alfred,” Bruce snapped, trying his best to communicate through his eyes as well as Alfred could. “Sandwiches.”

He could see the confusion behind Alfred’s eyes—the man didn’t know what was expected of him. But that was alright, because his default programming kicked in and he snapped without thinking, “Manners, Master Bruce. You will at least say ‘please.’”

From somewhere on his left, out of his line of sight, there was a distinct lack of gasping, the kind that indicated something had been very carefully caught.

Bruce smiled, knowing Jason couldn’t see it. “No, Alfred,” he said loudly, raising his eyebrows meaningfully. “Just give me the sandwiches. Now.”

He watched Alfred recognize what he was doing, immediately condemn the method, but follow suit anyway. “Say please, Master Bruce,” he repeated firmly.

And Bruce said: “Please.”

The platter of sandwiches was set on the table decisively. Bruce said, “Thank you, Alfred.”

“In the future,” Alfred said, the same words and condemnation as he had deployed earlier that same week, “you will find a better way of handling that.”

Bruce smiled softly. “Thank you, Alfred.”

He watched the man retreat back into the kitchen, envious of how even his back managed to convey a wealth of communication (even if it was, in this case, almost entirely scathing), before turning his attention to the pool.

Jason hovered with just his eyes above the water. The darkness in them was both hurt and angry, betrayed and furious.

“Please,” Bruce said gently. Please.

He lifted a sandwich and knelt at the edge of the pool, holding it out. “Please,” he repeated.

Jason’s eyes didn’t leave his face. He looked like he might cry. He looked like he might bite.

Jason whispered, “Please.”

“It means” please. “It’s polite. But…” Bruce licked his lips. “I think perhaps you’ve not heard it that way.”

Jason’s tiny hands quivered where they were clenched around his only blanket. The water rippled with his shaking. Bruce pulled the sandwich back, just enough that he could lay it on the concrete and step back, in case—understandably—Jason was wary of getting within arm’s reach.

Suddenly, Jason lashed at his blanket, teeth ripping at alpaca wool again and again and again, until shreds filled the water like fish. He screamed, trying to rend the pieces with his hands, still too weak to do any damage. He flailed at them nonetheless, tiny, claw-like nails desperately trying to tear and hurt the only thing he could.

Just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. Uneven strips of wool drifted anticlimactically towards the filter. At least the water seemed upset, sloshing sloppily at the banks.

Jason looked up at Bruce, fury trapped behind a frame of tears.

Bruce rose. Silently, he grabbed the top blanket from the pile behind him. He laid it, still folded, on the water and pushed. It eased towards Jason as it began to saturate and sink.

Jason snapped on the blanket with the same sudden, sharp fury, slashing, tearing, ripping, brutalizing until it, too, was in scraps in the water.

Bruce held out another.

It took twelve blankets before Jason’s body gave out. He desperately pulled and tugged and yanked with teeth and claws and tail, but the blanket was too dense in the water for his shaking fingers to gain enough purchase to effectively tear it anymore. He kicked his tail against it and screamed.

Bruce, still crouched, legs tingling sharply, waited until the watery eyes made contact with his. He said:

“Mad.”

Jason’s chest heaved, breath and tears both threatening to betray him.

“Mad,” Bruce repeated. “You’re mad. You’re mad because it isn’t fair. You’re mad because they ruined your body, your ability to communicate, and your trust. You’re mad. Good. You should be mad.”

Tears spilled down Jason’s cheeks. He screamed again, less strong this time.

“Good, Jason,” Bruce whispered. “Mad.”

“M-mad.”

“Yes. Good.” Bruce held out one more blanket, a thin, gentle thing with tassels. “Mad.”

They stayed there, both curled into themselves, Jason floating like a tiny, broken otter in his blanket, Bruce shifting so his legs dangling in the pool, soaking his sweatpants with a weight that couldn’t begin to approach the heaviness in the air.

“It’s good to be mad,” Bruce whispered, finally, extending the sandwich again. “It reminds us that the world is broken. But we aren’t.”

The fingers of his opposite hand trailed over the cellphone in his pocket, thinking of unmade calls and unsent texts.

“Mad is how we grow,” he told Jason. He told himself. “One day, you’ll stop being mad. And I’ll be here when you are.”

Chapter Text

Jason shrieked in fury, fists slamming into the bars in front of him hard enough to reverberate throughout the entire pool, before shouting a string of words easily recognizable as curses.

“Ha! It’s not cheating, you little twerp—I have legs and you don’t. Use your own advantages.”

While Jason made a gesture that Dick was pretty sure was obscene, Dick bounced once more on the board under his feet before launching into another triple flip that ended with a perfect, nearly splash-less dip through a floating hula hoop into the pool.

Water splashed in his face as soon as it broke the surface. Dick laughed again, making the little mer before him even redder as his face tightened in anger. “I said figure out what you can do. I’m not carrying you up to the diving board.”

He proceeded to tread water as Jason coiled away, doing a few furious circles and streaking back to the bars of the pool ladder and yanking on them. If he wasn’t so pathetic, Dick figured he would have ripped the ladder off and thrown it out by now.

“Come on, you’ve got that tail! Are you telling me you can’t get out of the water? Like this!”

Dick dropped so he could kick off the bottom of the pool, rocketing himself up with as much force as his human body could muster before doing a single backflip back into the water.

He watched Jason’s eyes go wide, whites blown up almost comically—before the kid raced to the bottom of the pool and whipped to the surface.

He landed back in the water with a crack as gravity bellyflopped him.

The polite thing to do would have been to offer some congratulatory words on his effort and maybe some pointers on how he could avoid it the next time.

Dick laughed.

“Okay, so maybe even a mer can’t keep up with circus talent.”

Shut up. Jason’s petulance tinted the water as he sunk back to the bottom of the pool. You suck. If I wasn’t stuck in this stupid tank I’d show you all kinds of cool flips and stuff under the water that’d make you look like trash. You already look like trash—look at your stupid bottom arms flopping around like stupid limbs of…stupid.

“Poor sport.” Dick stuck his tongue out, hoping it could be seen through the distortion in the water—then had to leap back as Jason streaked towards the surface again, leaping straight up and getting enough air that for one glorious moment it was actually impressive—the sheen of water droplets against the sunrise, his newly grown scales glistening like fire—before he plummeted back down with another horrifying smack.

“Geeze, kid, you’re gonna—”

“Dick!”

Dick felt his entire body jerk, even if it wasn’t necessarily visible on the outside, like an invisible string wrapped around his skeleton had been tripped. With a flash, Jason had yanked a blanket from the concrete and vanished to the bottom of the pool, only the tips of his inky black hair betraying him.

Sighing, Dick turned, still treading water. It wasn’t exactly the most dignified position to have a heated conversation, but he’d make it work.

“What?” It came out sharp. He meant it to. It was mimicking the exact tone with which his name had been shouted.

“Get out of that pool.” There were icebergs both warmer and softer than Bruce’s tone.

“Lighten up, Bruce. I’m just trying to have some fun with the kid. Sorry if our noise woke you from your beauty sleep—”

“Dick. Out. Now.” His growl made the water vibrate.

Dick huffed as he hauled himself over the edge of the pool. “Fine. Olive branch burned. Good luck, kid.”

“Did you even stop to think before you—”

Dick shoulder-checked Bruce on his way past. Without bothering to even grab his clothes, he marched through the manor straight for the garage, leaving puddles on the slick floor.

“Master Richard,” Alfred reprimanded, voice cold.

“Yeah, sorry, Alfie. Tell Bruce he can clean it up for you.” Without even glancing over at the man, Dick swung open the door of his car, dropped inside, and peeled out of the place he’d once called home. He hoped Bruce slipped on the water he’d left.

Maybe he’d like his mer ward better than his previous human one.

At least two weeks and three Titan emergencies went by before Dick’s phone rang. He was playing video games with Wally and they were expecting Roy, who had blown Dick off for the fifth time in two weeks, so he answered it without checking the caller ID. Stupid mistake.

Immediately, he was greeted to thumping as the phone banged against something, blackness, and the distinct sound of water.

“What the…hello?” He mashed the pause button before Wally could shoot his player in the back (when they weren’t playing on the same team, West was vicious). “Who…?” A glance at the name at the top and he frowned. “Bruce?”

A brief glimpse of blue eyes under a furrowed brow flashed into view, before the eyebrows jumped up in surprise. “Dick! Hello!”

“…Jason?”

“Jason, what are you…? Is that my phone?”

“No!” More blackness and a flash of color, then a thump as the phone was dropped on pavement, before some scraping and another flash of bright sky. Both Dick and Wally winced.

“Give me the phone, Jason, did you call someone? It can’t go in the—”

Dick heard a distinct plunk and caught one glimpse of flashy scales before a sudden black screen and three tones let him know the call had ended.

Wally frowned. “What was that? Was that Bruce?”

“Bruce call me? Yeah right.” Dick shoved his phone down into the couch cushions. “That was nothing.” He unpaused the game and shot Wally’s avatar in the face. TERMINAL DAMAGE flashed across the screen, launching the speedster into a rant about how his reflexes gave him a handicap because of lag and processing and all the other things he used to try and justify losing.

Bruce texted him that night.

Bruce: Did Jason try to video call you earlier?

Dick: What was that about?

Bruce: So he did call you?

Dick: … (typing)

Dick: … (typing)

Dick:

Bruce: He’s mad at me.

Bruce: He must have called you by accident.

Bruce: … (typing)

Bruce: … (typing)

Bruce: I just wanted to make sure he hadn’t called anyone else.

Dick: …

Dick: …

Dick:

Garth read the texts the next morning when Dick left his phone on the kitchen counter, still running through eighteen different replies in his head and sending none of them.

The Atlantean frowned. “Why is Jason mad at him?”

“This may come as a shock, but Bruce can be pretty infuriating when he’s not actively trying to be pleasant.”

“Do you think he’s actually done something to make Jason angry?”

Probably. When it came to personal relationships, Bruce leaned hard into the belief that the ends justified the means. If he determined something was ultimately for the best, then any frustration incurred in getting to that end point was just the other person’s inability to see the big picture and therefore not his fault.

Dick inserted a spoonful of cereal in his mouth and shrugged.

Garth tapped a finger against the counter. It was the sort of stance he held before he announced he was going to do something insane—like leave the team or try to have a pleasant conversation with Roy. Twice he started to open his mouth, then closed it.

Quite frankly, it was getting painful to watch.

Dick said, “If you want to go to Gotham to check up on him, you’re going to have to do it on your own.”

“Seriously, Dick?”

“Seriously. Look, I feel like Bruce and I have come a long way over the last year. We didn’t tear each other’s heads off when he first turned up with the new kid, did he? But he’s still a massive control freak with enough issues to single-handedly keep the psychiatric profession alive. I’m fine right here.”

Garth looked at him. Then continued to look at him. It was probably the purple color that made his eyes seem almost cartoonishly large, that pleat in the middle that begged so effectively.

“No, Garth.”

“What if Bruce gets mad because Jason’s mad and he makes him leave before he’s ready? What if he dumps in a stream somewhere and tells him he’s on his own?”

Dick wanted to say that even Bruce wouldn’t do something like that, but…well, to be fair, it did kind of sound like something Bruce might do. Not quite that bad, but Dick could envision him dropping the freshwater kid in the ocean and assuming he’d find some other mers to help him out.

He sighed. “…Fine. But I’m only going to talk to Alfred.”

“Hello, Master Dick. Master Garth.”

“Alfred!” Garth’s face turned red. It happened any time he was caught off guard. Roy said it was probably “some fishy defense mechanism.” Alfred, fortunately, said nothing about it. He was good that way. “Hello. I hope we’re not intruding.”

“Not at all. I trust you had a pleasant trip?”

“Ah—I mean, yes, of course. How have you been, Mr. Pennyworth?”

Dick abandoned Garth to Alfred. Maybe the Atlantean was too polite to extract himself from the situation, but Dick worried less about being rude these days. Blame the man who raised him through his adolescence.

Which was where he was going, actually.

He left the clock open so Garth would know where he’d gone and could join them eventually. The rough stairs were uneven and annoying under his boots. There was no reason to model them after fifteenth century stone—especially when the whole rest of the cave had titanium and platinum overlays that made it silky and shiny.

It was the only thing Dick had ever specifically asked Batman to fix, shouted at him in frustration after he tripped down them when he was sixteen.

The fact that they remained unchanged felt like a personal slight.

He found the man himself exactly where he expected, sitting in front of that stupid computer, so engrossed in his work he couldn’t even be bothered to look up at Dick’s entrance.

“So, what did you do to make Jason hate you?”

The grunt Dick received as Bruce refused to turn indicated he might not have known it was Dick in the cave at all, but assumed it was Alfred. Dick counted it as a win, since with Bruce you had to take them where you could get them.

He leaned forward, crossed arms resting on the back of Bruce’s chair. “Well?”

“You assume it’s something I did.”

“Prove me wrong and watch how quickly I’ll apologize.”

Case files opened on the computer—not anything Bruce was actively working on, but something for him to tweak while he talked. God forbid he should have to have an actual conversation with eye contact. “I told him he would be staying in the pool for the foreseeable future.”

Dick’s arms slipped, nearly spilling him over the bat-keyboard. “Wait, what? What the hell, Bruce?”

Bruce rose and stalked over to another section of computer, where he either had or was pretending to have some analysis running.

“Bruce, seriously. You promised that kid—Garth!” he called, to the slow footsteps descending the stairs. “Didn’t you promise the kid we’d get him back to his home? As in, not the manor pool?”

“Ummm…” It took around thirty seconds for Garth to appear at the bottom of the stairs. Taking his time on the unreasonably uneven surface. “Yes?”

“Then he’s probably mad at you too. Bruce apparently told him he’s living out the rest of his days in the pool.”

“Be quiet. That’s not what I said.”

“What did you say?” Garth asked, hesitantly.

Bruce—dressed in sweatpants, face as much as mask as his cowl—frowned at the readings on the computer, sticking to his resolution not to make eye contact. “Jason expressed an interest in visiting some of the nearby rivers I had described to him, in order to decide on a place to move. I declined.”

Now it was Garth’s turn to frown, although Dick couldn’t quite tell if it was supposed to be directed at Bruce, at him for pulling himself up backwards onto the top of the Bat-Chair, or just a general sort of frown. “Why rivers? Did Jason say he wanted to live in a river? Like, rivers like the ones around here?”

Bruce grunted in the affirmative.

“Does he know what rivers around here look like? Did you show him videos or pictures or things?”

A few clacks of the keyboard and the screen was full of a small river somewhere in the back woods of the Wayne estate. Dick recognized it as one he had swam in as a child, against Alfred’s express wishes. It was part of the reason they’d had the pool installed in the first place. Less likely to bring home leeches, apparently. “It was my intention to place him here.”

Garth frowned. “Do you…understand the implications of what Jason told you?”

The Atlantean was treated to the steel gaze of Batman’s interrogation face, the kind that made more words come out without him actually having to demand them.

“Freshwater mers live in lakes, in the caves and crevices and spaces at the bottom of the water. Rivers, like the ones around Gotham, are too shallow and unpredictable to build any kind of stable home. While mers might stay in rivers while traveling or recreationally, like camping, it’s no more possible to create a permanent residence in one than it is to live on the streets of Gotham.”

Slowly flipping himself up onto a handstand on the back of the chair, Dick drawled, “Sooo?”

Garth sighed. “Imagine you met a little human boy and you asked about how he grew up. And he told you that his family slept in a tent and was always traveling, never stayed in one place. Would that seem normal to you?”

Dick said, “Yes.”

Bruce said, “Yes…”

Garth frowned at both of them. “I was trying to describe homelessness…”

“You think Jason was homeless?”

“No, based on what you’re describing, I know Jason was homeless. And not in a ‘traveling circus’ kind of way, Dick.”

Dick hadn’t been planning on interjecting, but now he felt like he had to. “You don’t know that he wasn’t a circus performer. Mers might have their own circuses. Maybe his parents were eaten by crocodiles.”

“What is wrong with you?” Garth gasped, horrified.

Dick pointed at Bruce. Bruce sighed. “Well. That information will help me narrow my focus from rivers to nearby lakes, then. Eventually.”

“And that brings us back to the first point. Eventually?”

“Jason is not yet well enough to live on his own.”

“I thought you said in your last message that he was doing well?” Garth protested. “That he was almost completely healed?”

Dick cast a scathing glare in Bruce’s direction. It wasn’t that he cared if Bruce and Garth were talking without him. But he felt he should have at least known they were keeping in touch. Actually, now that he thought about it, he could glare at Garth too. Why the hell was he in Gotham if Bruce and Garth were so chummy now anyway?

In response to Dick’s glare, Bruce simply turned away. Garth, the traitor, had the nerve to reach for Dick’s elbow, as if to prod him to push his former mentor to reply, when several clacks from the keyboard alerted them that something was happening. Bruce clicked and the case file disappeared from the monitors.

On screen was a green-tinted security cam view of the manor pool.

Dick watched as Jason, blanket over his shoulders like a cape, hovered over a fish, intently studying its movements.

Just when Dick was about to call Bruce out for being a creeper who sat around watching children on cameras all day, he saw the fish flicker past Jason’s guard, but Jason stayed still, gaze locked in the same position it had been previously. Dick felt his breath caught in his lungs as he counted. One hundred and fifty-two. One hundred and fifty-three.

Just shy of three minutes in, Jason blinked rapidly and snapped around, looking for another fish as if nothing had happened.

As if he hadn’t noticed anything happening.

Dick swallowed. The quality of the camera wasn’t enough to track Jason’s eye movement, but it seemed obvious even without all the symptoms.

“That’s an absent seizure.”

Beside him, Garth sucked in a breath. “Possibly,” Bruce said, voice low, fingers clacking at the keyboard.

“What else could it be?”

In answer, Bruce clicked and brought up what appeared to be footage from the day before. Jason had his arm tangled in the stair railing to keep from drifting, wrapped like a piece of sushi in a blanket. He might’ve looked like he was asleep, if it wasn’t for the fact that his eyes, wide and unfocused, were very noticeably open.

Bruce scrubbed ahead, while Dick watched the clock in the corner. Jason stayed like that for hours. At one point, the blanket around him unraveled, tugged free, and drifted away. It took awhile after that before Jason finally seemed to blink awake. He looked around in confusion, before shaking his head and swimming off to check his fish traps. Bruce closed the recording.

“Extreme dissociation.” Dick thought back to what he’d been able to piece together about Jason’s captivity, between Garth and Bruce. “Trauma-induced. From prolonged isolation and sensory deprivation.”

He watched as Bruce’s shoulders dipped as if in a sigh. The man’s voice came out as strong and firm as ever. “So it would seem.”

Garth made that sucking-breath sound again.

“I imagine after seeing that,” Dick said, “you informed Jason that he wouldn’t be able to live on his own. You, with your limited ability to speak mer, decided to tackle a nuanced and sensitive conversation with a kid who previously managed to misunderstand the purpose of a greeting.” Dick crossed his arms. “Yeah, it’s a real mystery why he might be mad at you.”

No reply. Dick hadn’t expected one, but still. No reply? None at all?

The fuming silence was broken by Garth’s uneasy voice trying to convey confidence. “Have…have you considered placing him with other mers? There are several groups around Gotham. I’m sure we could find a suitable placement.”

Bruce blinked in Garth’s direction, while Dick glanced between them in bewilderment. Sure, Garth had suggested before that Bruce might dump Jason in a river by himself, but that wasn’t real. Was the plan not to place Jason with other mers all along? Was he seriously planning on just abandoning the kid somewhere?

No, no, not somewhere. Here. Close enough to the manor that Bruce could keep an eye on him, control his every move, put him in dangerous situations and then yell at him when he encountered danger.

Garth was talking again. He said, “I’ll have a talk with Jason…and then I’m willing to stay a little longer and help you identify some possible placements, if you’d like.”

Dick snapped with vicious cheer, “I can stay and offer expertise on what to do when he’s ejected from the manor. One former ward to another.”

“Be quiet.”

Dick took the hint—and the car. Garth could find his own way back to the tower.

“We’ve found a group of mers,” Garth told Dick when he returned the following week. “Near Gotham harbor. Apparently it’s like a group home: a few older mers take in kids who’ve been orphaned by pollution. Like Jason.”

“Great.” Dick hadn’t asked, wasn’t even really that curious. Sure, he hoped Jason ended up somewhere good. But he’d never doubted that Garth would find a good place for the kid—and really, anywhere had to be better than with Bruce and his incompetence, right?

“What’s this about mers? Dick’s dating a mer now?”

“Shut up, Roy.” Dick shoved him off the balance beam where the archer had sprawled in the way of his practice. “Go get the others. Now that Garth’s here, we can run some team drills. It’s about time we got focused again.”

Chapter Text

Three weeks later, Dick was back in Gotham.

Garth had had to return to Atlantis for reasons he refused to elaborate on (Dick strongly suspected it had to do with that girl he’d been seeing—Dolphin or something?). Roy was wherever Roy was these days. And Donna had told him he needed “to find a hobby before you turn into a recluse like a certain someone.”

So Dick was fishing. And since the best fishing spots he knew of were in Gotham, he was fishing in Gotham.

It was coincidence, that was all.

And, so far, not even worth it. He’d been sitting by the stream half the morning and he’d hooked: a scrap of tire, two plastic bags, a clump of pond scum, a stick, and a second clump of pond scum.

When he reeled in his third plastic bag, it started to feel deliberate. He swore and pitched it up on the bank with a fury that was decidedly not reflected in the way the plastic bag wobbled and dropped a foot from where he’d hurled it.

Screw all of this. He was going back to the tower. Donna would have left to visit Terry by now anyway.

Cramming his things back into their tackle box and tangling his line as he snapped his rod to his side, he stomped back towards where he’d parked. Fortunately, he hadn’t walked too far from the put-in on Gotham River—just enough that he could find a small distributary where he didn’t have to worry about motorboats or kayakers ruining his peace or scaring the fish.

There was a fledgling marina along this stretch of river, which he had to cross to get to the parking lot. It was currently occupied by a forlorn man mopping his boat seats with a drenched towel. Still trying to redeem his trip at least somewhat, Dick offered him a commiserating smile.

“Forgot to put the cover on before last night’s rain, huh?”

“I did,” the man insisted, pushing his hat back on his head. “This is what I get for coming down to this lousy part of the river. My aunt lives down here—has for years—and she insisted we take the boat out. Try to be a good nephew, I bring it down last night, moor it up so we can leave first thing, and what happens? Someone swipes the cover. The cover. I swear they just do it to keep the place crummy, you know?”

Dick frowned. Visions of black and blue cloth covers happily bobbing along through the water danced with an eerie familiarity in his head. Sure, it was a long shot. But you didn’t train with the world’s greatest detective for a decade and not learn to trust your intuition.

“Yeah…listen, I might be able to help you out. Can you hang around the pier until I get back?”

The man gestured wildly over his boat, snorting. “I’m not going anywhere soon, am I? You think my old aunt’s gonna tolerate a wet seat? I’d never hear the end of it, even if I explained that it’s a boat on the water and it’s bound to be a little wet…”

Dick shoved his tackle box in his car, threw the pole over his shoulder, and stomped back to the tiny stream where he’d been. Making a show of cocking his arm back for a cast, he fumbled at the last minute and let the hook drop so close to the shore it was in danger of tangling with the grass on the edges of the bank. As if he hadn’t noticed, he stuck the rod in the soft mud, leaned back in the foliage, and waited.

He didn’t have to wait long. Within a few minutes, he saw ripples as something tugged at the line. Now that he knew what to look for, it was obvious. His hand snapped out, yanking the rod back, and felt something catch. His arm flashed into the water and hauled out a very squirmy, very angry mer child.

“Jason!”

Let me go!

“Watch your mouth.” Dick had no idea what Jason had said, but he recognized the expression as clearly as if he had made it himself. Lifting the writhing kid, he plopped him down on the bank and stood over him, arms crossed. “What are you doing here? I thought Bruce left you with some sort of school or orphanage or something in Gotham harbor.”

Jason, who looked like he had swum through a thicket of some sort—with briars tangled in his hair and smudges of mud or bruising on his torso—flopped down huffily in the grass, arms crossed. “Bruce is an asshole,” he said, obviously latching onto the only part of Dick’s speech he understood.

“Sure.” Dick squinted down at him, then pointed a finger squarely at his chest. “Why are you—” now his finger stabbed at the water. “—here?”

I live in the water. That’s what mers do.

“Where are the other mers?” Dick theatrically pretended to be looking around. “Did you…?” He considered, then bobbed his hand through the air. “Run away? Swim away?”

Jason looked at him like he was insane. He probably thought he was. Is this because I wouldn’t let you fish? I only took the first one, you didn’t even catch anything after that, you big dummy. But fine, if you want to be that way, you can have it back. But when I die it’ll be your fault…

“Woah, hey, no!” Dick only just managed to pin Jason back on the bank before the mer squirmed his way back into the water. “You’re not getting out of answering questions that easily.” Jason hissed furiously.

Lemme go! I’ll bring your stupid fish back!

“Fi—” fish? Dick scrambled to remember the extremely tiny bit of mer Garth had crammed into his head back when they were young and would laugh about him running away to Atlantis if Bruce ever got too overbearing. Fish—no, not fish, he said, realizing even as he said it that the words did nothing to communicate the fact that he hadn’t been asking about fish. “I don’t care about the stupid fish, Jason. I care about—well, no, I do care about the fish a bit. You wrecked my afternoon, you little twerp. But I care more about the fact that you’re living like a hobo in a river instead of wherever Bruce put you. And also I know you stole that man’s boat cover.”

Jason scowled and tried to bite him. Dick shoved his head down into the grass. “Hey!”

Do you think I understand you? You are stupid.

Shut up. Dick remembered that phrase, fortunately. How Jason here?

At last, he saw…maybe not regret, but possibly chagrin cross Jason’s face. A grimace, at least. How am I…? Are you talking about the group of mers Bruce left me with? Those guys sucked majorly. The younger ones jumped me and the one running the thing—Gunn? She has some kind of vendetta against humans. They all do. They’re not wrong, but I’m not getting my hands dirty with revenge. No thanks.

Dick sighed. “We’re gonna have to work out a series of hand signs or something. Or I could just haul you back to the harbor myself, I guess. Once you return what you took.” He wiggled a hand in Jason’s face. “Help me out here?” Help?

Jason looked like he wanted to roll his eyes so hard he escaped Dick’s grasp and flopped back into the lake. Nevertheless, he pointed at the water, shook his head—maybe to indicate he didn’t mean this water?—then pointed to it again, wrinkled his face up and gagged.

“Pollution?” Dick guessed, even though he knew there was no way for Jason to confirm whether he was right or wrong. “The water was polluted? Except the harbor water isn’t polluted. Are you…” He struggled to remember. “Something about your parents and pollution? Is that what killed your folks? You’re scared the water might be polluted?”

Why are you talking so much? Focus!

Jason pantomimed a handful of other signs, frowning and scowling as his hands moved through the air. One included cupped hands that Dick thought was a boat—until it flipped over, at which point he realized he had no idea what Jason was supposed to be miming. When the kid started threading his fingers together and ripping them apart violently on repeat, Dick held up a hand in surrender.

“Ok, either you’re describing naval terrorism or you’re really bad at this game.”

Jason’s scowl hardened. “Asshole.”

“Look, let’s start here: where’s the boat cover you stole? I know you took it. Cover? Boat?” His mind scrambled for the correct word in mer, then gave up. “Blanket?”

The fact that the kid’s face immediately dropped then scrambled to hide that fact told him all he needed to know.

“I knew it. Tell me where it’s at so we can return it.”

Jason crossed his arms and huffed a tiny breath of air. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m drying out. I can’t breathe. Put me back in the water.

“It doesn’t belong to you, Jay. We’re giving it back.”

The mer hunched his shoulders. I’m gonna die here and it’s all your fault. You’re killing me. I hope piranhas eat you.

Dick squinted at him. He tried, he really did, to put himself in the…well, not the shoes, but the fins of the little mer. Orphaned, he could relate with. Homeless…well, no, but he’d seen enough of it on the streets of Gotham to be empathetic at least. Stuck in some kind of group home that he’d apparently run away from? Well, Dick had never really successfully run away from the group home he’d stayed at between the circus and Bruce, but he would have if he hadn’t known Bruce was coming for him, so maybe some common ground. Bitter about some ill-defined argument with Bruce? Lots of common ground there.

Of course, none of that really mattered because he couldn’t tell the kid they had any of that in common. This was a child so mad at humans he’d apparently convinced both Bruce and Garth to remove him from their custody less than two months after being rescued from traffickers, but so traumatized that his first move in his native habitat was to run from people like him and steal boat covers to use as blankets, to replicate what he thought of as a ‘normal’ home.

Dick was definitely going to screw this up.

But his heart went out to the kid nonetheless. With a sigh, he grabbed his backpack and unzipped it. “Alright, look. Bring me the boat cover and I’ll…I’ll trade you for it.”

As soon as he moved back to dig in the backpack, Jason sat up, squirming toward the bank. Dick ignored the way his eyes trained on him, as if Jason had realized how little he actually knew him, trusted him, maybe even liked him. That was alright. Dick understood that. But his plan kind of fell apart if he couldn’t win Jason’s trust at least a little bit.

He pulled out the sandwich he’d been saving for lunch. Alfred said something about Jason liking sandwiches, right? “Here. If you bring me the blanket,” he emphasized the word, jiggling his backpack, “then you can have this sandwich.”

The kid frowned. He glanced from the sandwich to Dick to the knapsack, then back again. “San wishes?” he hazarded.

“San wishes,” Dick confirmed. He pointed to Jason. “Blanket.” He shook the knapsack once more. “San wishes.”

Hesitantly, Jason eased himself into the water, watching Dick closely. When Dick didn’t protest or make any moves to stop him, he slithered under, then popped up further away, chin dunked in the stream as he asked, “Fitches?”

“Fitches?” Dick made a face before he realized what Jason was trying to say. “Yeah, bring my fish too, you little thief.”

Jason stuck out his tongue, but popped under the water, leaving only ripples behind.

For about seven minutes, Dick sat there, feeling like an idiot, because of course Jason wasn’t coming back. This was a deeply disturbed kid who thought that asshole was a respectful title for people who controlled his every breath. Why he had thought “san wishes” was enough of a bribe, he didn’t know.

Maybe, if he was honest, he’d just assumed he’d be better at it than Bruce. Which was stupid, because, for all of Bruce’s flaws, he wasn’t actually incompetent. It might have been easier to deal with if he were, or at least weren’t so brilliant.

Dick shuffled to his feet, rinsing the base of his fishing pole off in the water. No fish. No stolen goods recovered. And now, at some point, he was going to have to explain to Bruce that he’d seen his little mer wandered around like a stray dog in some possibly polluted stream and done nothing. What a great day off this turned out to be.

Something sloshed behind him.

Dick turned—and somehow managed to keep the absolute shock from his face as Jason huffed and tried to pull the entirety of a blue motorboat cover out of the water after him. His little arms shook with the effort.

“Woah, kid, let me help you—”

Jason hissed when he got close, snapping teeth sharp enough to freeze Dick’s hand halfway out. Back off! If you want it back, I want the san wishes first.

“Right!” Dick pulled out his lunch—three of Alfred’s roast beef sandwiches, which he had because he might have double-checked Bruce’s alarm codes to make sure he wasn’t at the manor before deciding to head to Gotham. And likewise might have stopped to get a free lunch—and some other things.

Jason snatched them eagerly, abandoning his dripping tarp to chomp into the first sandwich. Immediately, he made a horrified face, but didn’t slow.

“Take them out of the bag first! What is—never mind, I know what’s wrong with you. You’re a mer and you’re a kid and you’ve never seen a plastic bag before in your life. Here, don’t bite me…”

Once Dick removed the sandwiches from their baggies—over Jason’s hissing, snapping protests—he was able to turn his attention to dragging the cover out of the river. Jason, the little jerk who had nearly completely devoured his lunch at this point, just watched. “No fish,” Dick grumbled, mostly to himself, but Jason frowned at the words, stuffing the last of Dick’s lunch in his mouth.

“Fitch. Yes.”

“Yeah, fish. My fish. Where is it?” Dick waited, eyebrows up. Jason waited, blinking innocently.

“…You thought I meant you could keep it, didn’t you?”

Jason looked confused. “Thank you? Please?”

Huffing, Dick rolled his eyes. “Whatever, kid.” He surveyed the bundled tarp and Jason made a soft, whining noise.

You can have the fish back if you let me keep it. Come on, Dick, don’t be an “asshole.”

Dick frowned. “I understood that. Jason. This isn’t yours. Stealing is bad. No.”

Another whining noise.

Dammit. He really didn’t want to do this, but…well, call him a sucker, but his heart still hurt a bit, thinking about poor homeless Jason getting scooped up to live in a windowless bathroom for years.

“Alright.” He sighed. “Come here, I’ve got a something for you…”

Pulling his backpack close, he reached inside to a smaller black bag. The other thing he had retrieved from the manor while Bruce wasn’t around to tell him ‘no.’

Most of it could stay in the bag, because the red and green meant nothing to Jason—to anyone but Dick, really. But the yellow…

Swallowing down the part of him—bigger than Dick would ever admit—that wanted to protest, he grudgingly held out the yellow fabric and forced himself not to wince when Jason snatched it, stretching it one way and then another, trying to determine what it was.

“Blanket!” the mer exclaimed, voice downright gleeful.

Dick corrected. “It’s a cape. Because…” He leaned forward, slipping it out of Jason’s hands before the kid recognized what he was doing, and flung it around Jason’s shoulders, clasping it at his throat. “Because it means light, and you of all people could sure use some. Also: dual purpose—you can’t lose it and you can’t be lost.”

He’d seen plenty of pictures of himself as Robin. Reflections in mirrors and glass windows and shiny cars as he catapulted through Gotham with ‘the greatest of ease.’ But as much as it killed him to admit, he wasn’t sure he had ever looked as giddy as little mer Jason did preening in that yellow cape. The kid was beside himself, twisting and grabbing the edges and yanking it around him and making a sound that Dick was pretty sure humans couldn’t make but was absolutely ecstatic.

“Dick! Yes! Thank you! Please! Good! Yes!”

Dick tried to force himself to smile through the complex emotions battling in his chest—and realized he was already grinning. “Glad you like it. Can we give the boat cover thing back now?”

Jason latched onto his meaning immediately, considering Dick hefted the cover and shook it in a way that left little to the imagination. “Yes!” Yeah, do whatever you want with that thing. It sucked anyway. This is way better! Lookit—I don’t even have to worry about it floating away while I sleep! You’re great—I told Bruce you were cool. And I’m only saying that because I’m pretty sure you can’t understand me, considering you talk like a total baby. This is awesome!

“You sure like blankets, huh?” Dick shook his head.

The cover was too awkward and heavy while wet for Dick to carry without dragging it through the mud, so he let most of it float in the river while he tugged it along from the shore. Jason floated in the river beside it, holding on and presumably helping to drag it through the water, although Dick wasn’t sure how much he was actually doing. The kid had twisted the cape so it covered the front of him now and he could play with the edges as he rambled away, alternating his focus between the bright yellow and Dick.

“Man, you’re just a kid, huh? Look, I don’t know why you ran away, but if you don’t want to go back to wherever Bruce left you, I won’t make you. But you do have to go somewhere. Once we return this thing, I’ll make some calls and we’ll figure something out.”

Once the stream joined back up with the main river, Dick actually did need Jason’s help wrangling the thing over to the marina, since there was a current now. Jason looked less pleased and sunk low in the water, cape tucked underneath him, dragging the cover so he could pull it and be covered by it at the same time. Dick didn’t have time to argue, since he was devoting at least half his brain to trying to figure out who he was going to call (Garth probably wasn’t back from Atlantis yet—and phones didn’t work underwater), how they were going to transport Jason and where they were going to transport him to.

The man at the dock, at least, was equal parts grateful and shocked when Dick turned up with his cover. “You—you actually found it! Where did you…?”

“Well, technically, it wasn’t me that found it.” Dick grunted, tugging it up on the dock. “It was this little guy who ‘found’ it downstream.”

“Little guy? What little guy?”

“The—” Dick stopped. He looked around. Hung off the dock and flipped upside down to check underneath.

Dammit. Dammit.

“I found it in the stream while fishing,” he growled. “Excuse me.”

Dick marched back to the stream. After an hour, he walked back to the dock. After two hours, he’d practically memorized the space between both points. After three hours, the surrounding area felt like home.

Dick waited a total of six hours, all the remaining light that day could offer.

So much for impossible to lose.

Chapter Text

Batman crouched over the dilapidated remains of an old satellite dish on the corner of one of Gotham’s “historic” high rises, overlooking the harbor. He’d be nearly invisible, camouflaged in the detritus of yesterday’s new, if Dick hadn’t been both looking for him and trained to look for him. It stirred something in his chest, that reminder that he could still find his mentor as easily as he had at the height of Robin’s career, and helped bolster the insouciant lilt in his voice as he dropped down lightly behind him with a, “Hey.”

Bruce’s eyes flickered—nearly invisible through the cowl, but Dick had spent more time reading those white eyes than he had the expressions of his own parents.

“Warm night,” he offered, forcing the cheer he didn’t feel in the hopes he could will it into truth.

“Yes.” Bruce’s voice was gruff, still hunched over the edge of the building, staring down at the harbor waters lapping against a dismal freight. “Unseasonably so.”

Dick slid up so he could rest one foot on the wall and peer down as well. “It’s pretty bad when we’re making small talk about the weather…”

“Why are you here?”

“The weather. Remember? Unseasonably warm.”

Batman huffed. Not a laugh, but not a scowl either. Wind’s gentle fingers coiled at the hair around Dick’s mask.

“What are you here for?”

Bruce grunted. Dick rolled his eyes. Fine. If Bruce didn’t want to talk, he wasn’t going to talk either. See how he liked it.

…Actually, he’d probably like it just fine. Dammit.

“I’ll just guess what you’re here. Hmmmm…performing an audit of the hotel’s surveillance, testing a new grappling system, delivering a singing telegram—”

“Be quiet. I’m working a case.” Bruce pulled a device up to his ear, frowning. “If you want to stay, I won’t stop you. But whatever you’re doing had better not interfere. And in the future, you can tell the Titans to stay out of my city.”

“I’m not here on Titan business.”

This earned him a whole glance—or at least, Dick counted it as a glance, since he distinctly caught Bruce’s eyes shifting in his direction. “I’m also working a case.”

The corner-of-the-eye gaze he’d received didn’t shift. But despite Bruce’s oft-voiced opinion, Dick could keep silent when he wanted to. And at the moment, he didn’t feel like explaining himself.

It wasn’t even all to irritate Bruce, either. Mostly it was because the case he was working didn’t quite exist. It just also wasn’t completely imaginary. He hoped.

Ever since he’s spoken to Jason—a fact he still hadn’t mentioned to anyone—he’d replayed the kid’s charades over and over in his head. At first it was unintentional, like the echoes of a conversation that hadn’t quite gone to plan being rehearsed in the shower for better results. But then he’d gotten stuck on what Jason had actually been trying to communicate. His memory wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough to recall almost all of the motions Jason had made.

And the more he revisited them in his mind, the harder it became to find any explanation for them other than some sort of criminal activity. The pollution. The sinking ship. The explosion. All of it seemed to point to ecoterrorism.

Given how polluted most of Gotham’s water ways were, it would honestly be surprising if there wasn’t some ecoterrorism plot going on.

But then again, this was Jason. A kid so messed up he’d twisted asshole into a deferential title.

So as straightforward as it seemed, he had to assume he’d gotten it wrong.

And he did.

But he couldn’t help also feeling that maybe he’d gotten it right.

Especially once a little digging had turned up what could easily be their next target.

“Tell me what you know about Bobby Urway,” Bruce demanded, as if Dick was still ten, being quizzed on his Robin homework. Nevertheless, Dick indulged him.

“Second generation oil tycoon. CEO of Fast Way Global—which started as a nationwide franchise of gas stations that has since expanded to an oil and gas company in five countries. Headquartered in New York. They’ve had five oil spills in the last three years, all swept under the rug by the same kind of money supplying that tri-decked yacht just beyond the far freight liner.” Dick paused. “Is that who you’re investigating?”

Batman tapped at his cowl, no doubt zooming in on his far-off target. “I’m assuming you’ve also heard that he’s been heavily implicated in black markets from New England to the Gulf.”

“Ah. That’s what you’re working.”

Bruce frowned. Or, well, he frowned harder since as Batman he was almost always frowning. “You have something else on him?”

“Not on him, exactly. It’s…a hunch more than—” Dick had his cowl on night vision, zoomed into the water. Just in time to see his hunch become reality.

“Bruce. There are mers in the water.”

“Mers?”

Dick shot his grappling hook at the closest freight—there were three between them and the yacht, maybe four minutes to arrival—but he was already behind Bruce, who was swinging even as he demanded more information.

“Ecoterrorism. They’re going to blow up the yacht.” He hit the first freight and started running for the other side, Bruce two steps ahead but their strides in perfect rhythm.

“I’ll handle the bomb. You prepare the passengers for evacuation.”

And there it was. For all of Bruce’s flaws, when it counted, he always came through. Not a second of hesitation, not a single question as to how Dick knew what he knew, not a flinch of doubt as to its veracity. Action. Immediate, full-faith, action.

Dick passed him in the air between the second and third freight. “You’ve done more reconnaissance on the ship—you know how many people are on board. I’ll handle the bomb.”

No argument, even though he knew it killed Bruce not to handle the threat directly. But apparently he still had Batman’s trust.

It wasn’t until he realized that, that he also realized…he hadn’t assumed anything else.

Of course Bruce still trusted him.

Just like he still trusted Bruce.

They dropped onto the ship in absolute silence, despite adrenaline screaming in Dick’s ears. Bruce vanished for the interior. Dick secured his grappling hook tight to the railing—and then swan dived off the side.

Hitting the water felt like slamming into an open refrigerator—solid, cold, and stunning. It took a second for the breather he’d shoved between his teeth to kick in, and several more for his lenses to auto-adjust to the lighting in the dark water.

Long enough for something to smash him into the hull of the ship.

Dick kicked out blindly, connecting a solid hit before whirling just in time to see blue-green scales vanish. Water pulled behind him. He spun and met the charge this time, catching the mer’s tail with enough momentum to shove them up, colliding with the hull once again.

There’s a human! Kill him!

That couldn’t be anything good. Punching took more force underwater, but it meant Dick didn’t have to pull anything. He slammed into the face before him, covered in black streaks no doubt meant to camouflage them further in the murky waters. Three more mers flashed into view.

The bomb. The bomb was the priority. Dick just had to—

He dodged the first tackle, met the tail whip with a kick of his own, but caught a fist to the back of the head that was so much stronger than the typical hit above water. Dick nearly dropped his breather as he choked for breath.

Fortunately, the hit threw him forward, which he turned into a somersault, grabbing the tail, and whipping the mer upside down. The beautiful thing about water was there were no limits to the acrobatics he could do, no pausing to land or make sure his next vault wouldn’t carry him off a roof. The mers were used to the water, but no one was used to the way Dick contorted.

Spinning sideways, he caught an arm on his way, twisted both it and his body behind the mer, then kicked off the mer’s own tail to propel himself up, arm coming with him so abruptly he heard the crack of the shoulder joint giving out even under water.

They were back up by the hull again. Dick took half a second to glance down the length of the ship’s underside and—there. Blinking red, neatly packaged death.

Dick dove. He expected the mer that caught him, using his momentum to flip again and drag them out of the way. He didn’t expect the teeth that sank into his ankle—or the fact that, instead of tearing, they dragged.

The ship had been arm’s length above his head a second ago. Now it was at least two bodies—and increasing rapidly. His heel caught the mer in the eye, snapping his leg free. But at least three more mer were above him, too many hands on his head, shoving down, ripping at his hair, his mask, his breather.

Like hell was Dick going to die here.

Flash bombs weren’t designed to work underwater. But Dick had been experimenting because…well, he was Batman’s protégé. And he’d thought maybe he could talk Garth into trying them out.

It turned out test run number one would be him after all.

Teeth sank into his hand when he reached for his belt, but Dick smashed the opposite hand into the nose just above his hand, knowing it wouldn’t collapse their airway but hoping it was damn painful anyway. The mer howled, Dick’s hand dropped and landed on the correct pouch, he squeezed his eyes shut—

And everything went white.

Even knowing what was coming, even with his eyes closed, everything went white. Finding up was almost impossible. The black splotch of the yacht somewhere above him was the only landmark. Dick kicked, squirming out of flailing limbs that groped blindly to keep their hold, and raced up.

The red blinking light. He just had to focus on the red blinking light. The blinking that was growing faster now. Or maybe it was that hit to the head that just made it seem that way. Please let it be the hit to the head. Please let it—

Something yellow flashed past him. Dick shouted, then had to scramble to grab his breather back. Something blocked out the red blinking light—and then the light was moving, racing away from the yacht, away from the harbor.

Bruce. Bruce must have gotten to it. Dick didn’t even feel embarrassed. The end of his grapple was still dangling in the water by the side of the ship. Below him, he could hear muffled shouts as the mers were regrouping—and he had no illusions about who was faster in the water. Every ounce of strength he had, he poured into reaching the grapple.

Something tickled his ankle as he smashed the recoil on the rope, yanking himself out of the water so fast it burned, like smashing through a plate glass window. He barely had the presence of mind to flip up onto the deck, staring at the beautiful, smoggy muck of a night sky overhead.

“Nightwing!” Bruce snatched at his arm, folding him up and over so Dick’s breather spilled out of his mouth and he sucked in fresh air for the first time in what felt like forever but had probably been no more than ten minutes. “The bomb?”

“The…wait.” Dick’s frantic eyes slammed into Bruce’s. “You didn’t get the bomb?”

“You—”

KR-KOOM.

It took thirty minutes for Bruce to retrieve the Batboat, not that they really expected to find anything. The size of the blast would’ve taken out not only the yacht, but the freighter closest to it as well. Still, Dick insisted. He didn’t have to—Bruce was never going to let a mystery go un-investigated—but Dick had begged regardless. It was the flash of yellow that had whizzed by him. At the time he’d assumed it was one of Bruce’s black-and-yellow branded remote-controlled devices.

Except Bruce hadn’t had any devices in the water, apparently.

They found the cape after two hours of searching.

Chapter Text

When Dick got back to the Tower, he fired Roy.

Wally said Dick didn’t have the authority to “fire” someone from the team. Even Garth tried to defend him, despite the fact that Roy treated him terribly ninety percent of the time and ignored him for the other ten.

“No. This is not up for debate. Roy, you’re never even here anymore! No one can get you on the phone, you don’t reply to messages—and when you do show up, you’re like a loose cannon. I’m not taking responsibility for you getting someone killed because you couldn’t be bothered to train with us as a team.”

Roy…didn’t take it well. Fine.

When Dick closed his eyes, all he could see was that yellow cape bobbing under the surface of Gotham’s inky harbor.

“It’s not your fault,” Donna had told him, three hours earlier, while they sat on the roof staring out over shiny New York waters, before she realized he was going to send Roy packing. “What happened with Jason. You know that, right?”

“You gave him the damn cape!” That’s what Bruce had said, once they got back to the cave, once Dick vomited up the truth about how he’d known to expect that bomb. “He showed up because he knew you were going to be there, thought he could play the hero just like you. You encouraged him to—”

“Don’t go putting words in my mouth. How would you know? You didn’t talk to him.”

“But you did. You should have recognized the threat when he told you about it, not days later.”

“Are you blaming me? Because I responded to the threat, Jason died, and because I didn’t respond fast enough, Jason died? No way, pal. You’re the one who left him with ecoterrorists and didn’t notice when he ran away at least a week before I ever even showed up in the harbor—”

WHAM!

The bruised jaw Bruce gave him in exchange for his keys to the manor needed salve. Dealing with Roy was Dick’s balm of choice.

Sometimes Dick thought about calling Bruce. Alfred said he wasn’t doing well. That he had had the pool cleaned and restored, that all the surveys of rivers and ecology reports for mer habitation in the area had been canceled, that every scrap of evidence of the few months Jason had lived with them had vanished.

When Dick opened Bruce’s contact, the last call was a seven second video call.

He didn’t call.

The Fiddler wasn’t even a hard enemy. He played a fiddle, for crying out loud!

He played them like a fiddle. Dick hadn’t been more embarrassed for himself or his team since…maybe since their conception. There was a lot of yelling, a lot of storming off, a lot of I don’t need this…

Wally said the words, “You want to save everyone, but we can save ourselves! Get your head out of your own ass, Dick.”

And Dick decided it was time to dissolve the Titans.

A month after he quit the team, razing it for everyone else, Garth found him in a trashy New York apartment where he was attempting to simultaneously figure out and avoid thinking about what he was going to do with his life.

“We’re going to Maine,” he said bluntly. “Get dressed.”

Hot anger in his chest made him want to protest, because he didn’t take orders from Garth, but even Dick wasn’t obtuse enough not to see when his friends were trying to help. He shrugged on a jacket and didn’t even ask why. Garth told him on the drive up anyway.

“Arthur called me yesterday. Said he needed to see me. And unlike you, my mentor doesn’t only call me when he’s mad. So we’re going to Maine. You’ve never been. You’ll like the lighthouse.”

Dick doubted it, but he kept it to himself. It was nice to be out of New York. He forgot how clean the air was outside the city. When they stopped at a diner in New Hampshire, he took the opportunity to scrub his face in the mirror and used a 90-cent razor from the gas station next door to peel off some of the stubble he’d been collecting.

By the time they made it to the coast of Maine, he was practically a new person. Or, even better, the person he used to be.

A thousand man-o-war stings would never get the truth out of him, but Dick actually felt his childhood heart deflate when he learned Aquaman didn’t live in the lighthouse.

There was an adjacent house, perfectly pleasant, much more reasonable. But still. Not a lighthouse.

“Arthur’s also,” Garth said transparently, as they approached the disappointingly normal house, “a very motivational person. Not to open sores right now, but I think, in a way, Arthur can relate to a lot of the responsibility for others that you’re placing on yourself. At least maybe he can inspire you to stop laying around feeling sorry for yourself.”

Dick frowned. “I thought we were coming here because he wanted to yell at you.”

“He said he needed to talk to me—that doesn’t mean yelling for everyone, Dick. I told you: he doesn’t only call me when he’s—”

The door opened to reveal a perfectly framed Aquaman, in full regalia, glowering down at them.

“Mad?” Dick finished under his breath.

“Garth.” Aquaman—there was no way Dick could call him ‘Arthur,’ even in his head—had a voice just as commanding, somehow, as Bruce’s. He had a set of the most intense eyebrows Dick had ever seen. It was like Batman’s cowl as a natural feature of the face. Low and heavy over his eyes, they clearly communicated that he had exactly three seconds before Aquaman got tired of listening to whatever he had to say and just left for more important things. Kingly things.

Aquaman quirked an eyebrow now at Garth—and Dick had to hold himself still from squirming like an kid caught by his dad sneaking back from a party, reeking of alcohol.

Who knew Bruce wasn’t the only one who could elicit that sort of reaction?

“Come in,” Aquaman said, in a serious, pleasant voice that felt threatening in its politeness. “And then you will explain yourself.”

Dick followed Garth into a small living room, where they sat on a slightly weathered, mildly sagging couch. Aquaman took the chair across from them, not frowning so much as definitively not smiling. Why did Dick feel like he was in trouble? Was this an intervention for how he’d been acting lately? Had Garth lied about the reason they were there?

There was silence for a long time. Right before Dick could blurt out every secret he’d been trained to hold through torture, Aquaman said, “Anything you want to share?”

Garth—thank heavens, because Dick was going to share everything, whether or not he wanted to—crumpled his brow in mild confusion. “…No?”

“Anything that might have happened recently, perhaps concerning your relationship with Dolphin?”

Garth looked wildly at Dick, even though Dick, much like the seagulls, shrubbery, and rocks outside, had not a single clue what was going on.

“I’ll be very blunt: have you decided you’d like to be a father?”

“What?”

Aquaman frowned now. A thoughtful, contemplative thing that only looked fierce because of those eyebrows that still made him seem about three sentences from ordering your execution. Eventually, he seemed to accept Garth’s reaction as truthful and rose, opening the door again with a simple, “Follow me.”

Dick felt like he was on surer footing outside. And now that he had a handle on how Aquaman communicated, it was easy to see why he and Bruce got along. According to Garth, Aquaman wasn’t one to keep secrets the way that Bruce was, but other than that they seemed to rely on the same brief, blunt sort of communication.

Rocky steps led down behind the lighthouse, away from the shore. Aquaman spoke over his shoulder as he walked. “I was patrolling the Atlantic and came across him tangled in a pile of trash. Ironically, littering saved his life.” This elicited a somewhat scathing look at Dick, who, for the first time since meeting Superman at nine, wished he wasn’t human. “He was badly injured, so I brought him here to recover.”

“Who is this?” Garth asked, apparently not quelled by Aquaman’s eyebrows or accusations in the least.

“A merboy.”

Dick’s heart tripped down a flight of stairs, punching a single breath out of him.

“Jason.”

“Jason?” Aquaman paused, only a few steps from an uneven landing of tidepools and jagged stones. “Do you know a mer named Jason, Dick?”

“I…sorry. I just…”

“Can we see him?” Garth interrupted, sounded as breathless as Dick felt. “Has he told you his name?”

“No. Perhaps you can help me understand why.”

Aquaman gestured and Dick pushed forward, suddenly forgetting he was supposed to be intimidated or polite. A trapped body of water the size of a kiddie pool nestled between thick clumps of moss, filled with snails and weeds and a sleeping mer with black hair and familiar scars.

“Jason!”

That was Garth’s voice. Dick was too busy dropping to his knees, hand out to shake the kid awake. “You absolute asshole…” he started, but then stopped.

It was Jason. He looked a lot rougher than the last time Dick had seen him, but that made sense. If anything, the only part that didn’t make sense was that he was alive at all after that bomb blast, not that he looked terrible recovering from it.

What was stopping Dick, though, was the fact that he wasn’t asleep at all. His head was the only part out of the water, laid on its side across a flat stone. Eyes wide open. Staring somewhere beside Dick’s knees.

“Jason?” he tried, voice softer now. “Hey, kid…”

Aquaman was talking again. “I thought it was brain damage, from whatever caused the wounds. He’s been here for weeks and rarely responds to any outside stimulus.” Arthur knelt to check the temperature of the pool. “Two days ago, while I was changing his bandage, he suddenly made eye contact and said, quite clearly, ‘You’re just like that purple-eyed asshole.’ Followed by some mumbling, the gist of which seemed to be that you—” A pointed flash of his dark expression to Garth. “—were supposed to take care of him. So.”

His fierce eyebrows raised over his eyes, still slanted in what should have been frustration but raised so high as to look startled and confused. “Now I know you do know him. The question is: how?”

“It’s…a long story.”

Dick sat by the pool while Garth and his mentor settled on nearby rocks, letting the rising and falling of Garth’s storytelling wash over him. How Bruce had called Dick and had him bring Garth to an old Wayne hunting cabin. How Garth had helped Jason settle into the pool at Bruce’s house (which earned them another one of those alarmed-raised-eyebrow looks). What criteria Garth and Bruce had used to determine where Jason stayed. About the mer’s history with dissociation.

As his friend spoke, Dick ran his fingers over Jason’s hand. He wasn’t really a touchy sort of person, except when he was messing with Bruce, but he thought physical touch might help to ground Jason. Assuming this was dissociation, and not head trauma as Aquaman had previously assumed.

Dick added, briefly, to the portion where he had found Jason after Garth and Bruce had left him with the other mers, which made Aquaman hum thoughtfully. Garth explained how they had thought Jason was dead—and Dick excused himself to fetch some water from the house. He’d been avoiding Bruce because he’d known the man would instantly see the failure in his eyes.

Now that he knew how similar Aquman was to Bruce…he didn’t want to be around while Garth explained how Dick had failed.

The water helped with his enflamed cheeks. On the way to the kitchen, Dick passed the bedroom and glanced inside. He considered—then bundled Aquaman’s wool blanket in his arms before stomping back to the tidepool.

It was a hideous thing, anyway. A horrible artichoke color that had faded into lime, with blindingly chartreuse satin edging. Bruce would pay to replace it, probably. Who put satin on wool anyway? He was doing Arthur a favor, really.

Dick didn’t bother to explain what he was doing, or even to listen to hear if Garth tried to apologize, just shoved the comforter in the water and let it soak until it was saturated. After the thing weighed about seventeen times its original weight, he slipped an arm around Jason’s shoulders, propped him up, and wrapped the kid in the blanket. Jason liked blankets. That was one thing he was sure about.

And at least this one couldn’t get him killed. Unlike the last “blanket” Dick had given him.

“Careful,” Garth cautioned. “Is he breathing through his lungs or…” He paused. “Never mind, this is salt water, he can’t use his gills. Why is he in a saltwater pool?”

Aquaman shrugged. “I found him in the ocean.”

“You know perfectly well—”

“Soaking is good for his wounds. At night I collect him up and he sleeps in the bathtub.”

Dick and Garth exchanged looks. “You put him a tub?” Garth sounded wounded.

“He let you put him in a tub?” Dick sounded skeptical.

“Yes and—no, not exactly.” Grabbing the edge of his scale armor, Aquaman peeled the top half off, revealing his bare chest and a heavily bandaged arm. “It’s the only other reaction I’ve ever seen from him. It happened a few weeks ago. He bit clear through the jacket I was wearing at the time. But for the most part, he doesn’t appear to be responsive enough to notice whether he’s in the pool or in the tub.”

Garth made a grieved sound and slid down to join Dick at the edge of the pool, brushing Jason’s hair back from his face. “I don’t suppose you have any crayfish?” he asked, suddenly.

Aquaman made a show of checking his nonexistent pockets. “We’re by the ocean,” he reminded him.

Garth scrambled to his feet. “Lobster, then. Help me get a lobster.”

Dick didn’t know if Aquaman could talk to lobsters and, if so, if it was offensive to ask him to sacrifice one for a little catatonic mer, but he figured Garth would know better than him, so he kept his mouth shut, choosing to nod when Aquaman asked him to keep an eye on Jason until they returned.

Once they were alone, Dick collapsed back, rough hot stone mixing with icky, wet moss against his shirt. He sighed. “Only you, Jason. Only you could possibly have this bad luck. Poor kid.”

After awhile, he pulled out his phone because…he probably should call Bruce. Part of him thought he should ask Aquaman first; another part could picture the vein on Bruce’s head exploding when he found out Dick had seen Jason again and not mentioned it immediately.

Something cold touched his arm.

Dick jerked up as if electrocuted—then seized still when he looked at Jason’s eyes and realized he was looking back.

Carefully, muscles screaming at the thrashing they had just taken in half a second’s time, he lowered himself back down, keeping his voice calm as he said, “Hey kid.”

Jason blinked, slow. Then, almost mechanically, he licked his lips and the softest whisper fell out. Dick?

“Yeah. Yes. Hey—I mean, hi. Hi Jason.”

Jason’s fingers, still partially extended out over the rock where they’d brushed Dick’s elbow, retreated. It was as if Dick could feel the sleepy, prickly energy thrumming under his own skin as he watched the way that Jason moved. The kid’s hand met the horrible green blanket and his eyes closed. “Hurts,” he whispered, voice like fingers scraping over rough paper. “Hurts me.”

“Hurts…the blanket?” Dick snatched a corner of the blanket and crushed it between his fingers. The wool was pretty rough. And Jason’s skin was still raw in places. Dammit.

He lifted Jason and peeled it off, trying not to react to the kid’s flinch. “Sorry, buddy. I know you like blankets and I thought…I was just trying to…” He sighed. “Never mind.” He wasn’t really sorry anyway. It had worked. Maybe the blanket had hurt, but that horrible green sludge had still brought Jason out of his stupor. At least long enough to say—

“I’m sorry. About the bomb.” Dick balled his hands and then flung them apart, wincing at his own indelicacy.

Dick? Jason blinked again. How did you get here? I don’t…I don’t know where I am. I don’t…there’s an Atlantean? Is there?

Dick huffed. “Garth picked the perfect time to wander off, huh?” He reached out and gently rubbed the kid’s hand again. It hadn’t worked before, but maybe it would keep him present long enough for the mer-speakers to show back up. He just had to think of something to keep Jason with them until then.

His phone pressed, hard and cold, against his leg. Dick suddenly remembered that seven second phone call.

“Hey, Jase.” He snapped up his phone, extending it hopefully. “You want to call Bruce? I get the feeling you might like technology.”

Jason frowned at the rectangle. Bruce?

“Yeah, Bruce. You want to see him?”

“See…?” See Bruce? Jason perked up just slightly, fingers raising again. Then he hesitated. His fingers dropped. He frowned.

“Mad,” he whispered. His voice was almost drowned out by the distant waves.

“Who’s mad? You’re mad? Bruce is mad?” Dick shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I’m going to call him one way or the other. Here.” He tapped at the screen until he brought up Bruce’s contact, a picture of the two of them fishing when Dick was younger. “Here. Hit the ‘call’ button, Jason.”

Jason brought his finger up, but still hesitated. Dick genuinely wasn’t sure if he was worried that Bruce would be mad at him for getting hurt or maybe even for leaving the mers in the first place. Or if he was mad at Bruce, because Bruce had left him with mers who got him blown up. That wasn’t Dick’s problem.

“I’ll make sure you can take care of yourself this time,” Dick promised. He knew Jason couldn’t understand. That wasn’t important. He didn’t need Jason to hold him accountable. Just saying the words aloud was a binding contract on his own will. “I’ll teach you how, Jason. I promise. You’ll be able to keep yourself safe.”

Then, without waiting for Jason, he bumped the phone into the kid’s finger.

Jason startled, hand flinching back. He snatched at the bit of satin still drooping in the pool, dragging it up across his face as the phone vibrated twice then blinked into a familiar portrait.

“Dick. What do you…”

Behind the phone, Dick grinned. “Hey Bruce. Guess who I found.”

Chapter Text

No more misunderstandings, Bruce had said when he showed up, translated by both of the Atlanteans and voiced with the sincerest conviction as he knelt by the smelly saltwater pool. From now on, we’re going to work until we’re sure we’ve understood one another. You tell me everything, honestly. And I’ll do the same.

Jason had no idea what Bruce was talking about with ‘misunderstandings,’ since he always understood him just fine. But then he decided the Atlanteans had probably mistranslated; Bruce must have meant ‘lies’ instead. After all, Bruce had lied about taking care of him, since he’d left him in that lake with those mers. And he’d lied about the mers as well. He’d said they were nice.

They were not.

So “no more lies” was what he meant, then. Which was a relief. Jason liked the idea that no one was going to lie to him; it made it easier for him to figure out what he was supposed to do.

For example: when Bruce told him that he would have to stay in the manor pool again while Bruce and Aquaman constructed a new home for him, it had allowed Jason to know that “the pool is good” was the correct response. Even though the pool was not good. It was just better than being turned back over to those psychopath mer terrorists.

Bruce had frowned, which meant the new Atlantean, Aquaman, had translated it wrong, because what Jason had said was the right response. But Bruce must have known it was Aquaman’s fault and not Jason’s, because he didn’t say anything else. Just grunted and told him to let Alfred know if he needed anything.

More honesty. Once again: refreshing, because Jason now knew that Alfred was the one who would be checking on him and, therefore, the only one who Jason would have to convince that he was fine.

And he was doing a pretty good job of it, too. When Alfred brought him delicious san wishes he said, Thank you! with a smile and took three big bites—as much as he could keep down, as quick as he could, while Alfred was still watching. Then Alfred would smile, which was nice, say something pleasant, and leave, which left Jason free to shove the rest of the san wishes in the square hole on the side of the pool.

It hurt his soul, a little, to destroy the san wishes. Not only did he like Alfred’s san wishes, but wasting food made his throat feel scratchy and tight. On the other hand, he was grateful that the pool had this convenient little hole in the side that made the food disappear. Just because he couldn’t eat food now, he didn’t want Alfred to think he wouldn’t want food ever.

He also didn’t want Alfred to stop visiting. Alfred was calm and patient and quiet.

Not everyone who visited his pool was calm. Or patient. Or quiet.

Case in point: Dick.

Dick kept leaving and coming back. Normally, Jason would have been upset at Dick’s leaving, because Dick was the only one who got in the water with him and tried to be interesting. But right now it was Dick’s coming that annoyed him. It was so much harder to be fine when Dick was constantly bothering him.

Dick said things like, memorize these phrases and hold your arms up like this. Then he’d shout things at Jason—Call Bruce Wayne! Six-oh-nine-eight-oh-two-five-twelve-nine!—or try to hit him, which Jason did not care for. Sometimes Bruce would come by while Dick was doing this and tell him to stop—a word which Jason recognized and agreed with. Dick would respond by saying they were playing and then Bruce would leave them alone again.

Jason hated playing. He spat water at Dick when the man’s back was turned, but Dick just laughed, like an asshole, and told him hold your hands up again as the playing started over.

When Dick got tired of playing, he’d say, Rest time. Where’s the remote? which Jason assumed translated into, “Remember: if you don’t keep being good, I’ll hit you for real.” Then Dick always held his hand out, which was Jason’s cue to bring him the button stick to show that he was a good, obedient little mer.

Asshole.

The button stick controlled the large, black rectangle Bruce had added to the edge of the stone ground surrounding the pool. He said it was to keep Jason from sleeping, which seemed rude. When he protested, Bruce just shook his head.

It’s not sleep, exactly, but I don’t know if mer has a word for dissociating—or if you’d know what it was regardless. Bruce used Aquaman to explain, “We’re concerned about you maintaining awareness. It’s not healthy for you to drift off like you did when you were here before, or when you were staying at the lighthouse. Hopefully more consistent, positive stimulation throughout the day will keep you from disconnecting.”

Getting an explanation probably would have helped more if any of it made sense. Jason was pretty sure Aquaman made most of those words up. But he knew that Aquaman was being honest because Bruce had promised no one would lie to him, so he thought about what sorts of lies someone might tell. He decided that if Bruce and Aquaman were going to lie about why they didn’t want him sleeping, they would probably say something like, “We don’t want you to sleep during the day because you’re such a good little mer and we want to spend as much time as possible with you. When you’re awake we can praise you for how well-behaved you are.”

Which meant the opposite of that was true, so what Aquaman had said must mean “we want you to stay awake so you can learn how to be good and we won’t have to punish you.”

So Jason nodded and said, “Ok. I’ll be good.” And Bruce had frowned, which meant that Aquaman didn’t translate it right again, but Jason knew plenty of human words now, so he just said himself, Jason good yes. Bruce had still frowned, but that was probably just because he was annoyed with Aquaman now that he knew what the Atlantean was supposed to translate.

“Do you understand, Jason?” Bruce asked, eyes narrow.

“Do you know what we mean by ‘sleeping?’” Aquaman asked, brow low and sharp like it always was.

“Yes.” Jason grabbed the end of his tail—gently, because it was still sore—and tucked it up over his nose, so he could scowl at them without risking anxiety showing through the rest of his expression. “I know what you’re talking about. You mean when I’m not paying attention.”

Aquaman and Bruce said some things back and forth quickly—maybe explaining the words that Bruce didn’t understand. Fortunately, for once, Bruce didn’t look irritated after Aquaman’s interpretation, so he must have done it right this time. “Good, Jason,” he praised. “I want to help you.”

Jason’s heart nearly plummeted. Help? How did Bruce know he needed help? He’d done such a good job of being fine—he didn’t need any help.

Then, just as suddenly, he realized Bruce meant ‘help’ as in ‘help you be good.’ He was still talking about punishment. His lungs melted. He huffed—disguising his gasp of relief as petty agreement. Yes, he said. Jason good. No sleep.

Both Bruce and Aquaman had looked satisfied with that. Then Dick appeared with the button stick, calling it shrink-wrapped and water-proofed, which was a stupid, long name. Bruce stiffened, probably because he also thought it was a bad name (which meant it was fine that Jason called it “the button stick” in his head) and left without looking at Dick. Dick had rolled his eyes and huffed irritably.

There were two buttons on the stick that could make the rectangle louder or quieter. There were a lot of other buttons, too, which Dick called “fixed” and they didn’t do anything. There was one button that made the rectangle black and completely quiet, but Bruce said the rectangle was supposed to keep Jason awake, so Jason never touched that one. He let Bruce or Dick or Alfred push it whenever they thought he deserved a reward.

It wasn’t as often as he’d like.

The black rectangle was like a video call, except they weren’t people Jason knew and sometimes things looked like weird drawings. Whenever Dick visited, he made the rectangle show two creatures: one larger, gray one with triangle ears that reminded him of Bruce’s demon skin and another smaller, brown creature with three heads (two of them might have been ears, but they were all the same size, so it was hard to tell) and only one face.

Do you like Tom and Jerry? I thought these guys were hilarious when I was your age, Dick said, grinning at the drawings as they ran around.

Watching the rectangle with Dick was always the same. The small, brown creature would do something to antagonize the larger creature. Then, when the larger, gray creature attempted to retaliate, the smaller creature would hurt the larger one. Repeatedly and diversely.

Jason wasn’t sure what the point of it was. To teach him what would happen if he was bad? The way the smaller creature hurt the larger creature did remind him a bit of the things Hey Ricky would do when he wanted to punish Jason: slamming doors into him, hitting him with large objects, crushing limbs…

Jason wished it wasn’t so loud and he could focus. Sometimes, if he tried just right, he could make time go by faster. Kind of like sleeping, but not quite. He’d done it a lot back when he spent most of his time tied up in a dark bathroom with nothing to do. It helped keep him from thinking about horrible things.

Things like Tom and Jerry.

Dick splashed him and called him, This is the good part. It was one of his favorite names to call Jason while they were watching the rectangle, along with Did you see that and That must have hurt! (Although the last one was something he usually shouted at the rectangle, so it was possible that name was intended for the creatures instead of Jason.)

Jason grumbled deferentially, to show Dick he was being good, then tugged his blanket up a little more when Dick wasn’t looking. He arranged it so he could block out as much of the rectangle as possible.

As the two creatures chased each other across the screen, he blinked hard, hoping this was the one that would make time skip forward.

He was still blinking when Dick finally left.

That night, Jason dreamed about the lake.

It started out as a memory: the mers showing him their sleeping pods—like beaver dams anchored to the bottom of the lake, big enough for a single mer, lined with moss and other soft things. He reached out to touch one and they shoved him back, telling him he hadn’t ‘earned’ a pod yet. Jason didn’t care about pods—he and his mother had always slept tangled in tree roots near the surface of rivers—but he didn’t like sleeping in the open so far underwater.

He drifted in his sleep, because he wasn’t anchored to anything, and when he swam back, it woke some of the other young mers. They laughed at the way he swam. One of them mimicked it with stilted, sideways gimping.

Jason punched that one in the face.

Then someone grabbed his arm, freezing it over his head. Except it wasn’t over his head. It was restrained behind his back and he couldn’t move and he couldn’t breathe because now they had a boot on his neck. And a voice said, Nasty fish get consequences and the click click click of the electric stick sparking to life drowned out the rest of the sentence.

Jason slammed into wakefulness, sucking in a lungful of water that sent him scrambling for the surface. Once he threw up, he felt a little better, even though he was still shaking.

It wasn’t real. Or, it was real, but not… Jason had punched the mer in the face. But it had resulted in the same ‘punishment’ as when he punched a different mer for mocking the fact that he couldn’t catch his own fish: gathering oily human trash from the bottom of the lake.

The electric stick…hadn’t been there. It was…it was real too, but not…not in the water. He was safe in the water.

Jason wrapped a blanket around his torso so tight it hurt and closed his eyes.

Say ‘please’…

No!

Ok, alright, no sleeping. Bruce didn’t want him sleeping anyway. Maybe Bruce knew what he was talking about, after all. The rectangle was supposed to help him not sleep. Jason scrambled for the remote and mashed the button that made it come to life.

It was still showing Tom and Jerry from earlier with Dick. Jason wished it would show something else. Like the humans who sat at tables and talked, that Bruce liked to put on. But at least this would keep him from falling asleep. He propped himself up on the edge of the pool and forced his eyes to focus.

The little brown creature electrocuted the larger, gray one.

Jason spent the rest of the night hiding under his blankets at the bottom of the pool.

He didn’t sleep.

Chapter Text

Aquaman was always the first one awake in the mornings, sitting at the edge of the pool, watching the sun rise. When they left the saltwater place, Aquaman had traveled back with them in Bruce’s boat, while Jason soaked in a small plastic pool on the little deck. Apparently, the Atlantean “didn’t trust Bruce to not screw up.” Which, honestly, good call. Jason wasn’t sure what exactly Aquaman was worried about, but in Jason’s experience—Bruce would screw it up.

He poked his head up out of the blankets to check if Alfred was awake. His head throbbed from lack of sleep.

Aquaman caught the movement and treated the mer to his default expression: slightly annoyed, but with something far away. Like he was constantly remembering the existence of pollution. “My father watched the sunrise from our dock every morning,” he said without preamble, indicating the trees in the distance. “He was waiting for my mother, but she never returned.”

Maybe if his brain didn’t feel so spongy, Jason would know what he was supposed to say back—but probably not. He wasn’t very good at talking to people. He hadn’t had much practice. “My mom used to go to find water that tasted tangy and metallic,” he settled on finally. “She said it made her feel better. Maybe your mom went there too. My mom didn’t get better, but yours might. Maybe she’ll come back.” There, that sounded nice, even if he didn’t actually believe it. Aquaman’s mom was dead, almost certainly. Moms died. He didn’t know anyone whose mom wasn’t dead.

Aquaman smiled at him—a tight sort of smile, where his eyebrows didn’t rise and his teeth didn’t show—and didn’t say anything back. Maybe he knew that all moms died too.

“How are you feeling today, Jason? You look tired. Did you sleep?”

Jason shook his head immediately. He wasn’t stupid enough to get caught admitting he’d slept, even if it was only enough for him to have one terrible dream. Not after Aquaman and Bruce had told him not to. “I’m fine.” He was always fine. “Is Dick coming today?” He wanted to change the subject—and be prepared if he was going to have to deal with Dick’s playing again.

“Dick left last night.” Something grunted behind them, and Jason wriggled around slowly—turning too quick made his vision go kind of fuzzy the last couple of days, like when the Heys kicked him in the head—until he could see Bruce stumbling out onto the patio, carrying a cup in one hand and folder of papers in the other.

“Good morning,” Aquaman said, with the sharp sort of edge that even Jason knew meant ‘use your manners.’

Bruce grumbled, “Good morning, Jason. Arthur.”

Jason thought it was funny how Bruce always said Aquaman’s name wrong. Or maybe he just had lots of names, like Bruce.

Dick only had one name. That was one good thing about him. He was just Dick.

Hm. Aquaman knelt, making Jason shunt backwards automatically. He wasn’t quite sure if he was allowed to dodge Aquaman’s grip, but he’d rather find out the hard way than just offer himself up like pond scum.

However, instead of reaching for him, Aquaman’s hand dipped into the pool.

His face turned harder, darker, as his eyebrows—somehow—drew lower. This water is freezing. What the hell, Bruce? This is much too cold for a freshwater mer.

Instead of the snap Jason expected from Bruce, who never let anyone touch Jason’s pool, the man just…stuck a hand in his pool, too. Jason just managed to choke back a shout of outrage.

Bruce’s expression morphed into a mirror image of Aquaman’s. I didn’t set the temperature this cold. “Jason,” he said sharply. “Cold?”

“Fine!” The word broke out of Jason so hard it almost thrust him underwater. He had to flail awkwardly to keep his head up, so they could understand him. “I’m fine! I’m not cold.”

“The water is much too cold,” Aquaman informed him sternly. “Are you saying it doesn’t feel cold? Are you sick?”

“NO! No, I’m not—I have blankets!” He thrust the bundle in his arms forward. “Blankets keep me warm. I’m fine.”

Aquaman frowned harder and Jason resisted the urge to curl back, realizing his mistake too late. The blankets had been a source of contention as soon as they arrived back at the pool and Bruce had dumped what must have been all the blankets he owned in the water. Jason thought he probably felt bad about sending him away to the other mers without a single blanket. Aquaman said they would make it impossible for the child to swim, which meant he didn’t like that Jason had nice things and wanted to take them away.

This is why you gave him so many blankets? Because you don’t want to pay to heat your pool? Aquaman snapped on Bruce the way Hey Ricky used to turn on the Assholes when they patted their pockets and shrugged.

Bruce frowned—maybe at Aquaman, maybe at Jason. It was hard to tell exactly what he was looking at. He sets the temperature. It’s one of the first things I showed him. There was a pause, and then Bruce added, There is a real possibility he misunderstood. That happens a lot.

Aquaman turned to Jason now, those fierce eyebrows jagged over his eyes like dead branches threatening to fall. “Did you know you could change the temperature?”

“…No?”

Bruce stomped to the far end of the pool, then made a motion that even Jason knew meant he had to come. He complied—but stopped out of arm’s reach. Bruce opened the little control box and showed Jason the same dial he had shown when Garth had first convinced him to stay in the pool.

“This heats or cools the water,” Aquaman translated. “It’s important that the water be comfortable, without the blankets, or you might get sick.” He reached over Bruce and turned the dial until the display read 74. “This is a reasonable temperature,” he said, to Jason, and then, Do not set it lower than this, to Bruce.

Bruce said, “If you are cold, Jason, you can open this. You can change it. You are allowed.”

Jason nodded, trying to convey whatever body language might indicate gratitude. Aquaman only looked…less angry, but Bruce, at least, looked pleased. He put his hand over the pipe in the wall where water flowed and grunted with a nod, which probably meant the water was warm now.

Maybe we should take him out of the pool and put him somewhere else until the water heats up. It is very cold right now. I’m sure you could produce some other, smaller pool he could stay in, that would heat faster, until this one is warm.

Jason only recognized some of the words, but he got the gist from the way that Bruce suddenly looked uncomfortable. Aquaman had never liked the fact that Jason was staying in the pool. He’d wanted to keep him in those saltwater holes—and his tub.

No, he lashed immediately. “I’ll be good.”

“You are good, Jason,” Bruce reassured. “Arthur was just—”

“No bathtubs. You promised.”

“No. No, no. No tub, Jason. I promise. No tub.”

Jason scowled at Aquaman, who raised his eyebrows, giving him an alarmed sort of look. “I just thought, since the pool is so cold, you might want to go somewhere else—”

Oh. Maybe he hadn’t been talking about the tub. Maybe he objected to the idea of Jason at the manor at all.

Time to nip that in the bud now before things got out of hand.

No, Aw-kwer-man, he said firmly, using human speech so that Aquaman couldn’t mess up the translation and tell Bruce whatever he wanted the man to hear. No. Bad mers. Mean. Hurts me. No.

“Jason.” Bruce’s voice was low, strong, and sure. He knelt so their eyes were level with each other, his large, almost-mer-like blue ones locked on Jason’s intently. “We’re not sending you back to the lake. We’re not making you leave. You will stay here. You are safe. Arthur made a bad suggestion. You will stay.”

Jason missed when he knew the world was made up of two kinds of humans. Now he knew there were more kinds—but no one would tell him what the kinds were or how they outranked each other. Which meant he didn’t know whether Aquaman was more powerful or Bruce. He dragged his eyes over to Aquaman warily.

The Atlantean sighed. “I don’t want you to leave the pool if it makes you feel safe,” he said, reluctantly. “I just want you to be comfortable. You should be warm, Jason.”

“I’m warm.” Jason snagged a blanket as it drifted by and snatched it around his shoulders without breaking eye contact.

Aquaman sighed. “Alright, Jason. We won’t move you. You’re fine.”

As they left, Jason heard Bruce murmur, He called you Awkward Man.

Aquaman said, Shut up.

Unfortunately, Dick came back that afternoon.

Hey—I mean, hi Jason! Ready to start today’s training? I brought new stuff for you to try out.

A large blue bag—the same kind of bag that he had been shoved in years ago when those Heys, no, assholes stole him from the river—thumped to the pavement. Jason eyed it warily.

“No, Dick.” He glowered, swirling his tail to keep the tufts of blankets billowing around him, shrouding him in the water like dirt from the riverbed. No playing. Go away. He’d learned that one from hearing Bruce say it to Aquaman almost every night since they’d come back.

Dick made a face. Gee, I haven’t heard that eighty thousand times this week already. Fine, I’m getting very good at knowing when I’m not wanted. I’ve got better things to do anyway. Bruce is out building your precious little home, which means the cave’s free. He snatched up his bag—and the button stick. And look, because I’m not an asshole, I’ll even put something on for you to watch so you don’t get all bored and dissociate-y.

Dick mashed buttons until that horrible stupid rectangle flared to life. It was still stuck on those little monsters that he liked—an immediate punishment for Jason shouting at him.

But because you’re an asshole, I’m not gonna let you watch cartoons. The picture changed—right before the button stick disappeared over Dick’s shoulder, to clatter somewhere by Bruce’s table. Dick leaned down towards the water with his tongue out of his mouth. Ha.

Asshole, Jason snapped.

Right back at you, kid.

Aquaman went home in the evenings, always telling Jason goodbye and laying out a rectangle phone on the low wall near the pool stairs. “Call me if you need anything or even if you’re just having trouble understanding whatever the humans are trying to tell you, alright?”

Jason nodded every night, because he agreed with the idea in theory. In theory, it would be great to have someone he could instantly summon to fix anything weird Bruce might be trying to do or to stop Dick from being terrible or obnoxious. But the truth was, he knew Bruce thought calling people was bad. He’d yelled at Jason the one time he tried to call Dick and said something about him making Dick “die.” Even though it turned out later that Dick was fine, Jason wasn’t taking the chance of making Bruce upset, so he had no intention of touching the small rectangle.

Bruce usually spent the twilight hours after the Atlantean had left sipping at a drink that looked an awful lot like human blood and reading by the pool. He changed the large rectangle so it showed people poking their bodies out from behind some kind of table or wall, talking over pictures of fires and buildings and the occasional boat.

Sometimes, Dick would show up by the pool right before Bruce left.

When that happened, he sat at a different table and watched the large rectangle. Neither he nor Bruce ever said anything.

Tonight they were both around, which meant Jason had to dive all the way under his blankets every time his throat started to itch. He would have liked to stay there, but he was afraid Bruce would think he was sleeping, so he always dragged himself back up to stare at the large rectangle again.

After the third time, Dick called, “Jason. What doing?”

Jason lowered himself under a blanket so his eyes peered out, like a frog under a leaf. Bub-els, he said flatly. It was one of the words Garth had taught him while they were still at the saltwater place waiting for Bruce to show up.

Bubbles? Those are some pretty big bubbles, kid.

Yes, Jason agreed, rolling onto his back, careful to keep his tail hidden under blankets. He swept his arms through the air above him. Biiiiiiiig bub-els. “Bigger than you can make with your stupid weak human air. That’s why they’re big. Because I’m better than you.”

“Jason.” That was Bruce. “Be nice.”

Jason nice. Jason good. Dick mean.

How the hell am I being mean? I just asked what you were doing! It looks like you’re coughing up a lung underwater, to get that much air out at one time.

Alright. Bruce stood up, turning off the large rectangle. That’s enough for tonight. He’s a kid, Dick.

Dick stomped off. Jason scowled after him. Asshole, he informed Bruce.

“Good night, Jason,” Bruce said pointedly.

Jason knew a test when he heard one. And since Bruce had turned off the rectangle, it meant he was really trying to trick Jason into falling asleep.

Good luck. Jason knew how to be good.

Well, he knew how to appear good.

That had to be good enough.

Chapter Text

Bruce frowned the next morning when the pool was cold, and frowned harder when he checked the dial and it was still set on 74.

Alfred, the pool was warm when you checked it yesterday afternoon?

It was.

Hm.

Jason, rolled in three different blankets and using a fourth one to create a tent over the metal bars on the stairs, pretended he didn’t know Bruce was looking at him.

“Jason. Cold?”

“No.”

“The water is cold.”

“No. The water is a ‘reasonable temperature.’ What Aw-kwer-man said. That thing looks the same as yesterday.” He'd made sure of that when he reset it before dawn.

Hmm.

Jason tugged at one side of his soggy blanket. It was heavier than he’d anticipated. Maybe one of the more billowy ones would be easier to drape—but he was afraid they’d be able to see him inside when the light shone through.

Is something wrong with the heater?

I’m not sure. Call Arthur and tell him that he and Mera will have to start rerouting the river without me. I’m going to try to figure out what’s going on with this thing.

Jason’s tent was nearly complete. It looked…not bad. It would be hard to fit all of him inside, but maybe if he piled the other blankets in the corner, that would block off the back. Plus, then he’d have something to lean against, so he’d still be sitting up and in less danger of falling too deeply asleep. He desperately needed a nap, but wanted to make sure he’d wake up if someone came to check on him.

Alfred wandered over as he was bundling sopping blankets in his arms. Hm. An excellent idea. They do need to be laundered. And, at the risk of sounding like your Atlantean friend, removing them for the afternoon will allow us to see if the blankets are at fault for blocking any of the heating systems.

Then he just casually leaned over and took the top blanket off Jason’s pile.

Jason squawked in protest. “What? No! My blankets!”

Master Bruce…?

“Alfred wants to wash them.”

“No. They’re my blankets. You said so.”

Bruce had removed part of his clothes, shortening his pants and taking off his shoes so Jason had to look at the human’s weird feet and part of his legs. He was in the process of rolling back the coverings for his arms. “I did not. Alfred will return when the blankets are clean.”

Jason was about to spit back that the blankets weren’t dirty in the first place and Bruce had said they were Jason’s by giving them to him in the first place, but he was interrupted by a new, sleepy voice from the vicinity of the manor’s kitchen.

Alf, should you really be lifting those blankets yourself? They must weigh a ton.

“Dick!” Snatching as many blankets as he could pull behind him, Jason dashed to the other side of the pool—unfortunately, closer to Bruce, but in the opposite corner, at least. Dick, help! Mean Alfred! Asshole Bruce! MY blankets!

Oh, now you want my help? Wearily, Dick crouched, going slow, as if he was afraid any sudden movements would cause him to lose his balance and tumble into the water alongside Jason. He had deep, bruised bags under his eyes. Maybe Bruce wasn’t letting him sleep either? It would make sense. Bruce said Jason had to stay awake to learn how to be good, and Dick was often bad. Or at least annoying.

Hopefully that would make him more sympathetic to Jason’s cause. “They’re trying to take my blankets because Bruce is upset that the water is cold. But it’s not my fault the water isn’t warm—and it doesn’t make any sense anyway because—!” A sudden revelation. Jason snapped on Bruce. Bruce! Cold! Blanket!

Kneeling in front of a box with as many gears and knobs as that car Bruce had used when he stole Jason from the Heys, Bruce grimaced. Hmm. I see your point.

What’s going on?

Bruce grunted, pushing himself back upright. He rubbed his hands against his legs, leaving behind long, dark streaks that looked like blood and nearly made Jason’s throat close, until he realized it was more likely mud. Maybe one of the knobs in the box produced mud the way knobs over tubs produced water.

Something’s wrong with the pool’s heating system. There’s a possibility the blankets are confusing the readers. Alfred wants to launder them and see if the issue resolves itself while they’re out of the water.

“Bruce!” Jason snapped. “I’m serious. I’m cold. I need them. All the blankets.”

Bruce sliced a long finger through the air. “You can keep one blanket.”

“All the blankets.”

“One, Jason. Help Alfred take out the others.”

Jason growled and vaulted back to the other side of the pool, where Alfred had already dispatched of his shelter. He immediately began tearing the clumps apart looking for the biggest, thickest blanket Bruce had given him.

And then what? You’re just never going to return the blankets? Even I know that’s cruel. They’re, like, the kid’s one joy in life.

Don’t be dramatic. I’ll figure it out and he’ll get them back. I have to go get my tools. Make yourself useful and help Alfred. Then keep Jason entertained, since you’re so concerned.

Jason spotted the perfect, white blanket drifting towards Dick. He pulled a lighter one over his back like a cloak and zipped through the water.

I have a life, you know.

I must have gotten confused, since you seem to be here so much.

Go to hell, Bruce.

Bruce yanked open the kitchen door and disappeared inside. Jason snarled, Asshole.

Asshole indeed, Dick agreed, returning to a crouch so he could examine Jason’s claimed cloth. A king-sized sherpa, huh? Yeah, that should keep you just fine until they get the heater fixed. Now move over so I can get the ones behind you.

He wrapped an arm around Jason backwards, so he could push the mer off to one side. Slipping into the water in a pair of pants that spooled around his legs a little like fins, Dick paddled around the pool making quick work of gathering Jason’s blankets and ignoring Jason’s protests.

Alfred frowned when Dick hauled the last of them onto the steps. I assume you’ll be carrying these to the laundry room so you can deposit those pajamas as well?

Wouldn’t want you to have to carry them yourself. Lord knows at your age, you could break an arm and a shin just trying to lift the pile.

Alfred did that thing where he looked displeased but didn’t act displeased. How terribly reassuring to know the family wit has been passed down.

I learned everything I know from you, Alfie.

Assholes. The wobbly blob of blankets grew smaller and smaller as Dick returned for multiple trips, while Jason watched from the bottom of the pool. His blanket alternated between weighing him down and trying to drag him up, as Bruce’s return created the occasional current while he worked. Dick and Alfred ignored Bruce, who pulled sharp, painful looking pieces of metal from out of a black box. One of them, shaped like a crab arm, Jason recognized as something Hey Daryl had owned. He wondered if Bruce took it from him.

Jason had permanent claw-shaped scars from that one.

He looks miserable, someone—it sounded like Dick—said from a part of the patio that Jason couldn’t see. You didn’t even give him any fish to play with this time.

He wasn’t supposed to be playing with the fish. He was supposed to be eating them. It’s a lesson we’ll need to revisit, once he’s closer to moving out of the pool.

Bruce’s blocky figure bobbed in and out of visibility as he moved across the patio, carrying various kinds of equipment. Soppy, fake fur brushed against Jason’s tail as he twisted to follow him, and he fought back a wince. A hand appeared on the opposite side of the pool from Bruce, splashing at the water obnoxiously. Dick.

“Jason. Food.” Alfred sent breakfast.

Jason’s gills froze. Food. He had forgotten about food.

The thing was, every morning, after Bruce and Aquaman left, Alfred brought Jason food. When the sun was high, he brought him more food, usually either right after or just before an appearance by Dick. And in the evenings, he brought Jason food before Bruce returned, he dropped off more food.

It wasn’t clear why Alfred brought Jason food when no one was around. Selfishly, Jason had thought maybe it was because he liked spending time with Jason, all by himself, since Jason spent a lot more time underwater and out of sight when everyone was present.

But Jason had never pried, because it worked out so well for him. He could eat a few bites, make Alfred happy, and then dispose of the rest of the food in the box on the side of the pool.

The box that Bruce was currently just above, digging into more knobs and wires.

Hey! Dick pawed at the water loudly. D’you hear me, kid? “Food!”

Jason sucked in a deep breath. It was calming, the cool water filtering through his gills, in a way that air could never be. If he cared enough about them, he might have pitied humans, who would never know what it felt like to have their emotions washed from the inside. How they managed to calm themselves was a mystery.

Or…maybe they didn’t. That would explain a lot, actually.

Reluctantly, Jason forced himself to the surface, looking like a mudskipper, still draped in his blanket. No, he informed Dick haughtily. No food. Mad.

Mad? What, about the blankets?

Jason nodded. He was mad about the blankets, after all. And he wasn’t going to risk eating while they could see him not eat all of it. That was a sure-fire strategy for getting his meals reduced.

Not a good reason to skip meals, bucky. Dick extended a sandwich, dubiously. Come on, they’re not even cucumber.

Don’t let Alfred hear you say that, Bruce rumbled.

Jason glowered at him, because even if it was unintentional, Bruce was the only reason he was having to lie about this in the first place. Couldn’t he have tried to fix the non-broken pool somewhere else? Dick just pretended he hadn’t heard him. Fine. No food. The man tossed the sandwich back on the plate. Let’s play instead.

‘Play’ sounded dangerously close to ‘playing.’ Jason wasn’t in a risk-taking mood.

No playing, Dick, he snapped. Go away. Asshole.

Nope! Dick snapped open the cabinet where Bruce kept supplies for the pool—like the little net that he used to use to catch fish, back when Jason was still allowed to have fish or the white sticks he stuck in the water and then glared at to make sure they turned the right color. There’s gotta be something we can do in here.

Go away!

Bruce’s voice came sharp from the far side of the patio. Leave him alone, Dick.

You think he’s happy spending his whole day on the bottom of the pool wrapped in a blanket? Screw you, Bruce. Dick emerged holding something squished between his hands. Here, Jason, I found a sponge. No possible way his royal uptightness can object to us playing catch with a freakin’ sponge.

Then he tossed the thing at Jason.

Jason had about half a second to recognize it in the air as it curved towards him. It was green—the one the Heys had used was yellow or sometimes pink. It looked dry, so it probably hadn’t yet been soaked in the clear liquid that looked like water and smelled like an electric shock. It might not burn away the parts of him it touched. Dick probably wouldn’t grab him and use the abrasive surface to scrape away any skin that might remain.

But it might. And Dick might.

And Jason’s brain didn’t care either way.

He screamed, rocketing back, tail smashing into the wall. The sponge landed on the water with an anti-climactic plop. Jason knew from experience that even if it wasn’t dripping with the clear liquid, it could leach it once it got wet, if it had been soaked before. He flailed for the other side of the pool, tail spasming, arms shaking. His gills clamped shut, because he’d tried to filter the stinging clear stuff exactly once and it was probably already in the water. His mouth gasped for air his lungs refused to take in, as if they had shut down with his gills.

Jason!

Jason slammed into the other side of the pool, scrabbling at the rough surface. His arms were so stupidly weak, but one push of his tail shoved him up enough that he could scramble up onto the stones. People were shouting around him—shouting at him, he was sure—but he couldn’t…not again…not now!

What the hell! What did you do?

I didn’t do anything—I tossed him a sponge! I don’t—

Jason! Jason, you need to breathe. Calm down. It’s alright!

Hands clamped on his arms. Jason screamed harder, shoving back with all his might, which wasn’t anything, and now they were going to pin him down and scrape the sponge all over him until his skin bubbled and he was sobbing and then they’d laugh and say poor baby and maybe they’d make him drink the burning water again and he’d—he’d—

“Jason!”

Jason gasped and realized he was out of the pool.

Bruce had his hands locked around his arms, holding him in place. His face was so close to Jason’s that he could see blue swirls in the gray of his eyes. As he held him, Bruce sucked in deep, elaborate breaths, squeezing and releasing his arms as he did. It took a minute for Jason to realize he was mimicking them unintentionally.

They wheezed in his chest.

“I’m—I’m s-s-sorry. P-please, Bruce. Please, I’m s-sorry.”

Shhhhh. Bruce made that ocean noise he only made when Jason was upset. It might have been his idea of a joke. Jason didn’t feel like laughing. “You’re alright. It’s alright.”

Bruce…?

Be quiet.

What’s wrong with his tail?

Jason watched Bruce’s eyes flicker away from his face.

And realized he was out of his blanket in the same moment.

“No!” He threw himself backwards, hard enough to break any of the Heys’ grips, fully expecting and willing to smash his head into the concrete if it just meant he could get away. But Bruce’s hands just squeezed tighter. His body didn’t even rock with Jason’s thrashing. “Let me go! Let me go—it’s fine, I swear, it’s fine!”

Let him go, Bruce, you’re gonna break his arm!

Jason’s hands were pinned together, both wrists easily locked in just one of Bruce’s fists. The man’s other arm wrapped around his torso. One of his ventral fins was wedged under Bruce’s leg—probably on purpose—leaving only his caudal fin to push desperately for purchase on the rough ground. Scales—dry and flaky and painful—scraped off in sleeves.

“You—you said you didn’t want them anyway, so y-you can’t be—you can’t be mad. You can’t. Let. Me. GO!”

Dick. Call Arthur.

Put him back in the pool, before he tears himself up even more.

Pool. Jason recognized pool. Something he was sure, now, they would never put him in again.

It’d be back to the tub. Where he couldn’t hide anything.

Jason snarled, because otherwise he’d sob.

“Jason.” That was Dick’s voice, behind him. “Blanket.”

Before the word was all the way out of Dick’s mouth, the thing draped over him. Bruce kept a tight hold on his torso, but released his arms, so Jason could bury himself in the blanket if he so wanted. It was probably a test, to see if he’d be grateful for their mercy, if he’d learned his lesson about hiding things from them. Except Jason hadn’t learned his lesson.

Scars from belts and sticks and metal claws were all reminders of the lessons Jason hadn’t learned. Refused to learn.

Jason never learned his lesson.

“You are hot.” Bruce’s voice crackled like the fire Jason could feel burning under his skin. “How long have you had…” fever? What’s the word for fever? “…hot?”

Asshole, Jason growled, writhing under the weight of Bruce’s thick arm. Asshole Bruce. LIAR.

Aquaman’s on his way.

“No!” No Aw-kwer-man!

Aquaman would take one look at Jason’s scales and he’d know. Because he knew about mers, he kept saying. So he’d know that Jason had been hiding the fever for far too long. He’d know that Jason was lying about being fine. He’d probably know about the food and the coughing fits and—and—

And then Jason would really be punished.

Suddenly, Bruce’s arms tightened. Jason felt himself rise.

“NO!”

I’m not putting him back in the pool like this. Freezing water, high fever, scales flaking—and whatever that was with the sponge. “Jason. You’re safe. Be calm. I want to help.”

“No, Bruce! No, no, you asshole! You asshole! You promised! You said you didn’t care about them—you said!”

They were moving. Bruce’s hands pressed tight against Jason’s back, holding him in place.

“You said!”

And then Jason remembered how to make time skip.

It turned out it was easy.

You just had to want to die.

Chapter Text

The place where they had brought Jason was dark, like a bruise: bruised air, bruised water, bruised eyes from crying.

Aches from overused muscles screamed through his body, reminding him that his reaction earlier had been stupid, so stupid, and pointless. Because once again he was here, in darkness, pretending this would be the last time he ever felt like this.

It had been awhile since Jason needed to pretend.

He knew he ought to count his blessings. No smooth, cold surfaces pressed at him from any side, so he wasn’t in a tub. All of his limbs still worked, to the slight degree he’d dared to test them. Blankets—well, he hadn’t expected blankets, so he choked down the painful clench in his chest when he realized there was nothing nearby.

That was his own fault for thinking he could have things. He didn’t even have his own scales. The Heys had been very clear about that.

And Bruce’s reaction to seeing them damaged from the fever had confirmed he wasn’t any different.

It…it wasn’t shocking. Jason had known, after all, when Bruce brought him back to the pool the second time, that he wouldn’t be going free again. That he was now Bruce’s pet, to look at and marvel at and preen over. He told himself it was better, because at least Bruce kept him all in one piece instead of pulling him apart for necklaces and broaches and whatever else humans wanted with scales that they shouldn’t have. But that he was jewelry nonetheless.

Jason sniffled into the hand that was folded near his face. Just a few more days. That’s all he would have needed to get better, to go back to being fine. But he couldn’t even keep it together for that long.

This was all his fault. And now, on top of everything, Bruce was probably going to punish him for sleeping. Even though Jason hadn’t been sleeping, because making time skip forward was different than sleeping, but there was no way he could convince Bruce of that.

He’d even handed the man the perfect punishment, with his performance over the sponge. He was so stupid.

Water lapped up around him. Fresh water, the kind you only got in large open spaces, like lakes or deep rivers. But Jason wasn’t stupid enough to think he was in a lake. It was too dark to be anywhere outside. This was another one of Bruce’s tricks. He had devices that could make the water hot and cold. Why not devices that could make it fresh or fetid?

Add that to the list of things Jason should be thankful for: the water wasn’t fetid. Yet.

Somewhere there was light. Jason could see it just barely illuminating the hand in front of him. That was the most light Jason got. When the Heys had come to inspect him, they’d needed light, but Jason remembered when Bruce had stolen him, while wearing that black, demon skin. He hadn’t needed light.

So Jason wouldn’t be getting light anymore either.

Voices echoed from wherever the light was coming from, reverberating like groaning trees through the room—dome? enclosure?—they were in.

How could you have let it get this bad?

I made a mistake—trusting that you would be able to be sure he understood things.

You’re not equipped to care for him.

That’s not your call to make.

It’s more my call than yours!

Why? Because of Atlantis? If you hadn’t noticed, we’re in Gotham. Not the middle of a salt-water ocean he couldn’t even survive in.

You—

Jason held his breath until spots pooled together to block out his vision and everything went soft.

Jason was pressed to the cold floor outside his tub. Someone’s boot dug into his shoulder blade, pressing him flat. A voice said something in a language he couldn’t understand.

Sharp tools pricked just above his caudal fin. He knew what happened next. He pressed his eyes closed tight, breath shoved deep, deep down in his lungs to keep it from escaping in a scream that would get him strangled into silence.

Fingers twisted in his hair and pulled his head back. Glass shoved against his face as they scraped their bottle over his cheek, pushing into his eye.

He couldn’t even keep his own tears.

My boy.

Something snikked against the ground in front of him. Jason blinked—his eyes felt sandy and sharp, like they’d been open for too long, even though he was sure they’d been closed, since he didn’t remember anything but dark.

A white bowl sat before him, steam curling into the dim air above.

Behind the bowl, his eyes found Alfred, kneeling on the dark ground. It looked…rough? Was the ground under Jason rough? He didn’t think so. It was warm. So warm it made him feel nauseous, because he was also warm. He sort of wished it was rough.

What a stupid wish.

Alfred smiled at him gently. It didn’t seem like a bad smile. Probably Alfred wasn’t going to be the one to punish Jason.

In light of your illness, and considering what I’ve learned about the pool’s filter, I thought it best to try something new.

Jason blinked at him. Maybe they were words he was supposed to understand, but couldn’t, because his brain was fuzzy and his stomach was roiling and he was so warm.

“Food,” Alfred said, his accent clumsy but soft.

Food. Jason was supposed to eat. That’s what good pets did. He pushed himself onto one elbow inelegantly, eyes scanning for the food, before realized, stomach tightening, that the bowl was the food.

They weren’t going to bring him san wishes. Bad mers didn’t get san wishes, obviously.

He wanted to cry. But he wouldn’t. Never again, if he could help it.

Here, lad.

Alfred slipped the bowl into Jason’s unsteady hands, ensuring he wasn’t going to drop it before moving back again. Steam slipped up Jason’s nostrils and he just barely managed to clench his throat shut before vomit spilled out.

It was some kind of worm-like thing, a pile of long, slimy noodles. Jason leaned the bowl back and slurped it, the stuff sliding far too easily down his throat, straight into his stomach where it knotted up and twisted and tangled. Its heat was like adding fuel to a forest fire. Jason thought he was going to pass out on the smoke his own body created in his lungs. Even if it had been san wishes—cold, chewy, good—his stomach would have objected, but this? Something hot?

Fish weren’t hot. Crayfish weren’t hot. Lobsters and turtles and frogs weren’t hot.

Mers were hot. It was like eating another mer’s guts.

Jason choked, as tears spilled searing trails down his cheeks. Apparently Alfred was going to help punish him afterwards. Because the man just sat there, smiling absently, until Jason lowered the empty bowl, unable to use his good mer manners, because if he opened his mouth he would definitely be sick.

Then Alfred lifted something else, something Jason had missed because it was clear glass. A cup, filled with translucent liquid with a vaguely yellow tint.

I also brought some tea. An herbal blend that I hoped might help—

The sharp scent of it wrenched up into his sinuses like Hey Charlie’s pick. It was—Alfred wouldn’t—it wasn’t the same smell, it wasn’t—and—and Alfred wouldn’t—

Sometimes, when she’d been out late, Jason’s mom would come back smelling sour and acrid. It wasn’t a pleasant smell, but Jason didn’t mind too much, because she’d bundle him into her arms and hold him against her.

“My little guy,” she’d whisper. Curled up tight, tangled in tree roots, he’d pretend to be asleep so she’d brush his cheek again and murmur, “Little Jason.”

Before they’d started binding his arms—because Jason had scratched and clawed and twisted and snapped—Jason would lay in his tub, in the Heys dark room, and rest his hand across his eyes, dragging his thumb up and down the same spot his mom had touched.

He’d whisper silently and pretend he could hear her voice.

“Little Jason. My little guy. Little Jason.”

Thump. Thump. Brum-br-br-brum. Thump.

The room looked different. The ground was still hot. Jason was still hot. There was more light now, and the air behind him was black. Jason didn’t know if that was because he had rolled over or if the enclosure had changed.

On a ledge a way’s off, he could see someone dressed in demon skin. Like Bruce, but without the black horns that curled on his head. A band of blue ran from one set of fingers, across the chest, down to the others.

Jason’s vision kept turning black. Or…oh, his eyes just kept closing. He blinked, hard, twice to keep them open, but even then his view stuttered in frozen scenes as his eyelids fought against him.

Scene: the black-and-blue demon in the air, curled and flipping like mers through the water.

Scene: the demon landing on a wall.

Thump.

Scene: the demon was kneeling, no rolling. Towards—

Scene: the demon’s legs wrapped around someone’s neck. The person must have been restrained, tight, too tight, because they weren’t moving, not even to trash as the demon raised something—a stick?

Crick—bzzzzzzz.

The stick flared into electric blue life—

It slammed into the unresponsive torso beneath it—

The demon flipped back, electric stick arching with it—

They had electric sticks.

Of course they had electric sticks.

Jason didn’t even realize he was slinking back into the water, desperately curling away from it, until his gasp sucked in a lungful of liquid. He nearly choked, slapping two hands over his mouth so his lungs spasmed instead, so tight and vicious it was like a knife in his ribs.

Not in the water. The Heys had used the electric stick exactly one time in the water.

He’d thought nothing could be worse than the electric stick.

He knew nothing could be worse than the electric stick in the water.

Jason dragged himself forward, trying to keep his motion silent. As he pulled himself out of the water, it had the added benefit of moving from the hot, warm, sickening ground onto something cool and rough and cold, cold, cold. Now that he was on it, harpoons of cold lanced through his spine.

But it was better than the water. When they came with the electric stick, at least he wouldn’t be in the water.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Up above, the demon played on.

Thump. Brum, brum. Thump.

Click—bzzzzzzt.

Shhhh.

Susurration of waves, like those lapping against the lake, washed over Jason. His mom had said they were going to live in the lake, someday, after Jason turned seven.

He turned seven when the waters and air were both their warmest, right before the air got cool while the water stayed warm and the leaves started dropping from the trees and giving him things to chase down the streams.

But the water and the air warmed, and his mom said it wasn’t his birthday. The air got cool and the water stayed warm. Then the water got cool, like the air, and the snow came, and Jason wondered if they had missed his birthday. The air warmed, the water warmed, and then the water and air were both warm again, but mom said it still wasn’t Jason’s birthday.

Because on Jason's birthday, they’d move to the lake, away from the streams with the sour water that Jason’s mom went to, even though they made her sick. Jason's birthday never came, so they never moved.

And then it stopped mattering, because mom was gone and Jason didn’t want to live in the lake without her.

He didn’t want to live anywhere without her.

Shhhhh, the waves whispered. Shhhhh. “Little Jason. Good little Jason.”

The words rumbled, like summer storms. And the water was warm. The air was cool, but maybe…maybe it was just a cool day.

Maybe it was his mom’s voice in the summer storm, coming back for his birthday. Finally.

Just so they could be together one more time.

“Jason.”

Jason blinked. His eyes were scratchy again, so he hadn’t been asleep. Just…not paying attention.

Someone was in the water next to him. He could see black legs stretched out until they melted into the black depths of the water. A hand reached out and brushed the hair from Jason’s forehead. Part of it stuck in his eyebrow and stung when it pulled away.

“Jason, do you remember who I am?”

He pulled his eyes up. They burned, hot, like the ground underneath him. He hoped it wasn’t visible—then remembered it didn’t matter. They knew he was sick. He wasn’t sure why they hadn’t punished him yet, but…maybe they were waiting for him to be well enough to really feel the punishment.

The Heys had done that sometimes. It always made Hey Ricky smile.

Looming over him, a crooked, slightly broken smile glowed in the dark. Jason swallowed. Hard.

“Bruce…”

Bruce rested an arm against Jason’s, his hand rubbing Jason’s. Probably checking to feel how hot his skin was, so he’d know how sick Jason was, so he’d know how bad the punishment should be.

He was wearing his demon skin, but not his demon face. It made his skin cool and slippery, a little bit like a mer.

Jason didn’t like other mers. The ones in the lake where Bruce had sent him had shoved him and kicked dirt in his face and laughed at his “gimpy strokes” because it had been so long since Jason swam in open waters.

But still…there was something nice about feeling the demon skin on Bruce’s arm. He surreptitiously brushed his own arm against it and pretended it was another mer who was nice. Someone trapped, like him. Someone who knew what it was like, who would look after Jason and comfort him after he was punished. Someone…someone who cared.

“Jason.” Bruce’s voice vibrated down into the firm ground beneath him, so Jason could hear it in his bones not just his ears. “I need you to drink this.”

Jason’s heart tangled in his rib cage.

Each beat tore it a little more.

Clear liquid filled the cup in Bruce’s hand. Filled all the way to the brim. Jason had only ever drunk shallow gulps of the burning, cloudy liquid.

Even then, it made him cough up blood.

This was a big cup.

His vision blurred. “P-please, Bruce, I’m s-s-sorry. I won’t—I’ll—I’ll be—” Jason good. P-please. Jason quiet. Bruce.

“Jason is good.” Bruce’s voice didn’t sound mean—which meant it was definitely the burning liquid. When the Heys sounded angry, they beat him. When they sounded nice, they got nasty. The electric stick. Rotten food. Scalding water.

Burning liquid.

“You are good, even though you don’t need to be good. Or quiet. But you do need to drink something. Please, Jason.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll be better. I can. I’ll be a good pet. Please, Bruce. Please…”

“Pet?” Jason must have blinked, because the next thing he knew, Bruce had a hand under his cheek, cupping his face, brow pleated as their eyes met. “Help me understand, Jason. Please. Pet? I don’t know ‘pet.’”

“I’ll be good.”

“Yes, you are good, Jason. Jason is good. Good Jason.” Bruce’s hand never tightened, even though Jason kept expecting it to. His jaw clenched just waiting for the pressure. “‘Pet’ is what?”

He didn’t want to tell him. It was so much worse to have to explain it. A part of him wondered if maybe that was Bruce’s intent. It seemed like something cruel humans would do. To make sure he knew his place.

He…he hoped that wasn’t what Bruce was doing.

Jason swallowed, desperately trying to keep the burning in his eyes hot enough to evaporate his threatening tears. Despite his best efforts, his voice came out strangled and small. Like Hey Ricky had shut it up with his hand around Jason’s throat. “Pet. Like…f-for looking at. Sh-shiny. To…to keep.”

“Keep…to look at…”

Jason saw the moment it clicked in Bruce’s face and wanted to die. Hardness, like ice forming a crust over the surface of water, settled on his features.

“No.”

Jason shriveled, trying to squirm away while also keeping himself still in Bruce’s hand.

“No, Jason. You are not a ‘pet’.”

No. No wait. No, no, no, no…

“I never wanted to ‘keep’ you.”

No.

Bruce was going to send him back.

“P-Please, Bruce!” The words exploded out without permission, so forceful Jason’s teeth hurt from trying to keep them in. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’ll do better—I swear I’ll do better! I do anything. I’ll—I’ll—”

The cup was still in Bruce’s hand.

Jason could taste the blood in his mouth already.

But he realized, in that moment, he didn’t care. He meant what he said. He’d do anything.

He snatched the cup out of Bruce’s hand, spilling the liquid over his own hands, arms, even torso. He was too desperate to even wait for the burning on his skin to start before he was babbling all over again. “I’ll drink it! Please, I’m sorry I argued. I won’t do it again! I’ll drink it—I’ll…Bruce, I’ll do anything, please. Please keep me. Please. Please. I don’t wanna go back.”

The cup splashed over his hands, shaking so hard he could barely keep his grip. “I don’t—I don’t wanna—I—I can’t go—please, Bruce. Please.”

Bruce was wrestling the cup back. “Jason. Stop.” You’re going to choke, Jason. Talk to me. There’s been another misunderstanding. Talk to— “Talk to me, Jason.”

“No!” Jason struggled to get the liquid in his mouth—a mouthful, a sip, anything to prove to Bruce that he could listen. He could be good! This was—

“I’m sorry.” He was on the ground, arms over his face, sobbing. “Please. I’m sorry. Please, please, please.

You have to keep me.

I can't--I can't go back.”

Chapter Text

It was water.

The thing in Bruce’s cup was water.

He was so stupid.

It was the fever, the stupid, stupid fever. He’d let it take over, tell him that of course he was going to be punished. Of course Bruce would have seized on his advertised fear and brought the burning liquid. Of course he’d make him drink it.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You don’t talk to him, Aquaman snarled from somewhere outside Jason’s arms. Not without me present—not even with me present.

Aquaman had arrived some time when Jason was on the ground sniveling like the pathetic mess that he was. He wasn’t sure how long ago that had been—there was some time missing, he thought, or maybe he’d just cried longer than he’d thought.

Aquaman was how he knew it was water. Every now and then the Atlantean would pause his yelling—probably cursing Jason out for such an idiotic display—and switch to fake niceness, kneeling beside him and saying, “Jason. This is water. You need to drink it.”

“Please drink it,” Bruce said.

Shut up. I told you not to talk to him. Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage already?

It wouldn’t kill you to use manners.

You’re lecturing me about manners? Hell must have frozen over. Is this a game to you?

“You’re not a pet, Jason,” Bruce said. “You are not mine to ‘keep.’ I want you to stay.”

And Jason…Jason wanted to believe that. That even if he wasn’t Bruce’s pet, that Bruce wanted him to be. Bruce wanted him. But it meant that it wasn’t Bruce’s call, whether or not he stayed. Which must mean it was Aquaman’s. And Aquaman…Aquaman didn’t seem to like Jason at all right now.

So even if Bruce did want him…Aquaman was probably going to send him back.

Aquaman yelled some more, cursing the trouble Jason was causing with phrases like You’re terrifying him and I never should have brought him back here.

Jason drank the water while they were yelling. He wanted them to see him drink it, wanted to use the breaths between gulps to apologize for being stupid, promise to be better. He wanted to show Aquaman, especially, that he could be a good pet. But Aquaman was too busy yelling to look at him, so Jason just hoped he’d realize everything Jason didn’t say when he saw the empty cup.

Then he buried his head in his arms and pretended.

“Jason.” It was Alfred’s voice that brought him back. Dear boy, I hate to wake you, but you have to drink something. “Drink. Please.”

It wasn’t water. It wasn’t clear at all. It was something the color of waterlogged branches after the bark’s been peeled off, and moved thick and slow as pond scum when Alfred tilted the cup towards him.

I apologize for the taste, but after our last encounter, I had my doubts about your ability to keep down solids.

Jason drank it. It didn’t matter what it was. He’d caused enough trouble by trying to avoid drinking water; if he didn’t want Aquaman to get rid of him, he couldn’t afford to make any more scenes, cause any more trouble. Even if they brought down the burning liquid and told him to drink the bottle, Jason would be good.

It tasted a little like dry grass in the winter—which Jason had tried once despite his mother’s protests because she laughed sometimes when he did stuff like that—and clung to his mouth like bad fish. But he drank it. Halfway through, his stomach clenched and part of it tried to push its way back up his throat. But he drank it.

“Good?” Alfred asked, accepting the cup from Jason’s weak fingers.

Jason nodded. It was good that he was being fed. Even if it would probably never be san wishes again. And he was being good. So whatever Alfred meant by his question, the answer was yes.

In that case, perhaps we will stick with protein shakes for the near future. At least until you are further along in your recovery, Alfred said primly, before carrying the cup and himself into the shadows beyond where Jason lay.

He didn’t say if Jason had done good or not. Jason just had to hope he had.

It was some time later—hours, days, minutes, Jason had no idea—that the light at the other end of the cave flickered on, judging by the sudden warming of Jason’s vision. Crunching footsteps from stupid human feet told him someone was approaching, so he rolled over, because he’d been kicked in the back enough times to know he’d rather it hit his arms if it was coming.

Bruce had a hand tucked into the side of clothing on his legs, trying to dig out something. It looked like a miniature version of the button stick from up by the pool. “Hello Jason,” he said. Even though he was trying to be discreet, Jason saw the man click the button stick ever so briefly while it was pointed at him. “How are you feeling?”

Jason frowned, because he didn’t know what the button stick had done. He…he wasn’t a rectangle that could be controlled, right? It didn’t have the power to make him louder or quieter…did it?

Except now if he kept quiet, he’d wonder if it was because that’s what the button stick made him do, and if he spoke he’d wonder if it was at the volume set remotely by Bruce. He licked his lips, screwing his eyebrows tight over his eyes to Bruce couldn’t see how rapidly he blinked. “What’s…what’s that button stick?”

Hm. Bruce grudgingly held out the stick. It was sleek and black, with a few markings flashing in a faint yellow light over its back.

“It tells me your temperature.”

“Like…like the pool?” Jason wasn’t a pool. If people could have their temperature adjusted like the pool water, the Heys would have figured out a way to do that a long time ago. They hated when a fever made Jason’s scales crusted and flakey. “I’m not a pool.”

“No.” He thought he caught the faintest flicker of a smile at the corner of Bruce’s mouth before the man pushed it away. “No, you’re not. I can’t change your temperature. I can see what it is, that’s all.” He pointed to the little yellow markings. “Your fever isn’t going down as much as I had hoped, but it is improving. See the numbers here?”

Oh, the markings were called numbers. Sure. They looked similar to the ones at the pool, although they weren’t the same as the ones that Aquaman had called good. Those had looked like ‘74’. These ones looked like ‘100’, which were not the same at all. And since it wasn’t the same, it still wasn’t good.

“Even though it’s not completely better, I would still like to…try something. I am going to be…” Hm. Working. “…doing things. On” computer “today.”

Jason didn’t like the sound of that. Whenever humans were ‘doing things’ that he didn’t understand, they always, always turned out to be painful.

He forced down the lump in his throat. He had already cried in front of Bruce once, but Bruce had been upset enough that he hadn’t collected the tears. Now, Bruce seemed calm. If Jason started crying, he was sure Bruce would produce a bottle from somewhere in his clothing and scrape it over Jason’s cheeks. Why anyone wanted mer tears was beyond Jason, but he knew that humans did, so he refused to give them to them.

Bruce. Comp-ew-tur?

Computer, Bruce corrected. “It is a large box a little like the” television “we put by the pool. It helps me with my…things.”

Oh. Oh. Relief rushed through Jason so hard he felt his head spin. It wasn’t something bad at all. It was another rectangle! Rectangles were annoying and loud and sometimes made him feel bad, but they didn’t hurt.

Good Bruce, he said quickly. Good comp-ew-tur.

Hm. The man looked unconvinced, but that might have also just been his face. He often looked like he was trying to think about something else while people were talking and the fact that he was being interrupted frustrated him. Bruce slipped the button stick that told him Jason’s bad temperature into his pocket.

“Would you like to see it?”

See…the rectangle? No, not really. But Dick liked rectangles. And though he’d been gone for awhile, he would probably come back and try to make Jason playing again. If Jason knew where the rectangle was, he could distract Dick with it. And maybe this one wouldn’t have those horrible little creatures who hurt each other on it. Maybe it would show something good.

Besides, when humans asked questions like that, even Jason knew the answer had to be yes.

Bruce walked back the way he had come, indicating that Jason should follow. It was a little difficult, because this pool was slanted, so the stone rolled into the water gradually. Which was nice while he was lying on the heated blanket, because his head could stay above water where Alfred could find him for feeding, but it made it difficult to get deep enough to swim properly. Jason didn’t know how far out the pool went, and he also didn’t know how far away he could go before Bruce thought he was trying to run off instead of being good.

Only when Bruce had stopped before a set of stone steps leading up to the lighted area did he glance over to Jason. Jason stopped where he was, his finger tips brushing the stoney floor while he floated on the water’s surface. About twenty feet in front of him was a wall.

“The computer is up here. This is a dam I built for—” Bruce paused. Hn. Never mind, I don’t know enough mer to explain component testing. “I built this a long time ago. You will have to get over it if you want to see the computer.”

And then, to Jason’s shock, he just—

Left.

Up the stairs, no more looking at Jason, no offer to help, no pointing out the easiest way to get over—nothing.

Jason’s jaw dropped. He stared up at the wall, taller than him if his full body was out of the water. He whipped his head back to where Bruce had disappeared. Then back to the wall. And back to Bruce.

What? What was—he had only been going to see the comp-ew-tur because Bruce wanted him to see it! Not because he cared! He didn’t care. He hated that stupid rectangle up by the pool.

Was this some kind of test? Would Bruce be mad if he failed? He couldn’t be mad because he knew Jason couldn’t get over that wall. Right? He didn’t seriously think Jason could scale it without help, right?

Right?

Jason blinked. It was a slick, cold looking thing, as dark as the stone under the water. He…he couldn’t climb over it. There were no handholds. So…so no. Bruce couldn’t possibly think he could get over it.

Because Jason couldn’t. He wasn’t even a good swimmer anymore, as the mers in the lake had reminded him incessantly, until Jason got sick of hearing about it and ran away.

He thought of Dick, jumping off that stick over the pool.

Maybe Dick could jump down, but he couldn’t jump up. Jason couldn’t jump up.

So…so why did Bruce think he could?

Jason huffed, swimming forward to smack his fist into the wall. It felt like polished river stone and didn’t flinch or vibrate under his paltry might. Stupid. Stupid wall. Stupid comp-ew-tur. Stupid Bruce.

He swirled back, tail wrapping around his arm as it floated behind him. The wall stretched wide, into the part of the pool Jason hadn’t dared explore, because he didn’t want to know how far it went. But maybe there was a passageway further down? Jason flittered over in that direction, only veering slightly off course because of his one weak dorsal fin. Unfortunately, while the water got deeper, both it and the air got darker the farther Jason strayed from where Bruce had gone. So even if there was a passageway, it wouldn’t be any good, because Jason wouldn’t find it.

He dove under and puffed another breath of air through his lungs, letting massive bubbles splurt up towards the surface. His throat had stopped itching soon after they brought him to the dark place, so he didn’t need to go underwater to cough anymore, but he coughed now anyway, forcing as much air out of his lungs as possible. There was at least some catharsis in watching the bubbles burst above him.

Stupid, stupid. He was pathetic. Stupid Heys.

He slashed his tail. Stupid, weak Jason.

His fist clenched. Stupid Bruce.

His brain made a decision and before it had reached the front of his mind, he was shooting to the bottom of the pool, slamming his tail into the stone and driving himself forward. Beating his tail harder than he had in years, maybe his entire life, Jason broke the surface with a cacophony of triumph, for one glorious minute supported only by air on every surface of his body.

But his dorsal fin was still weak. He’d slipped too far sideways—too much power at too wrong of an angle.

Jason slammed into the wall with the smack that frogs made jumping into mud.

The water caught him with the same tenderness as the wall.

Ow. Ow.

A tiny, Jason-shaped ball drifted towards the ground, trailing little streams of bubbles like chains dissolving from his body. He’d known it was stupid. Why had he done something so stupid? His entire side felt bruised, like when Hey Charlie kicked him double-hard while Hey Ricky’s back was turned.

Like. Like when Hey Charlie kicked him.

Jason blinked, startled by the revelation.

He was hurt. But he’d done it to himself. Not because someone else had hurt him. But because he was doing something. Something that wasn’t just lying in a bathtub or pool or pod waiting for others to beat him whenever they wanted.

Jason threw himself out of a ball, flipping around three times before he figured out how to face the surface again. His side wailed in pain.

It was good. Jason felt good.

This time, he coiled himself tightly against the stone at the bottom. Instead of slapping off it with his caudal fin, he curled the entirety of his body underneath him. Like a water snake waiting to strike. His gills washed every muscle in oxygen—so much more efficient than his lungs, where he could only feel it going to his chest. He pulled out his fin, clenching the muscles to keep it taut, and adjusted his angle twice to compensate.

He wasn’t stupid, or weak, or pathetic.

And he was better than this.

This time the streak between ground and surface flashed by so quickly it felt like he could still feel the end of his tail scraping the bottom while his folded hands sliced through the water tension like a knife. Flinging his arms down to his sides drove him upwards. He was a bird. He was a bullet.

He was magic.

His hands smacked the top of the wall.

Jason’s fingers clenched, scraped, screamed.

And held.

He did it. He did it!

The wall dug into his fingers and his body jerked downwards.

Oh. Right. He still had to finish getting over.

Fortunately, one swing of his tail got most of it over the wall, and his upper body followed easily. There was barely a hand’s length of drop between the top of the wall and the trapped water above. Jason plopped into a clearer, semi-lit pool, and screamed with delight.

Then, because that didn’t seem to be enough, he screamed again, spinning so fast his tail smacked the top of his head and he lost track of the surface in all the bubbles from his joy.

Jason broke the surface to find Bruce standing at the edge of the pool, on a lit platform beside a whole army of rectangles. And just like that—he remembered.

He wasn’t free. He was trying to be good. Bruce told him to get over the wall. He didn’t tell him to scream about it. Humans liked quiet mers.

He sunk into the water. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Bruce crouched by the water. With the light behind him, it was impossible to see his face. The human slipped a hand into the water and paddled at it, the way he did in the pool when he wanted Jason’s attention.

Time to accept his punishment. Reluctantly, leaving only the top of his head and eyes above the surface, Jason slunk over. He didn’t really need his tail to move such a short distance, so he wrapped it up against his chest and held it. It was probably stupid, because it made it easier to see, but…well, it’s not like Bruce didn’t know he had a tail.

And it made him feel a little better.

Once he got close enough to edge, he peeled his eyes up, because the Heys always made him look at them when they prepared his punishment. And this time, Bruce actually understood him, so maybe he could…beg? Plead? Persuade? Something that would make it a little easier.

But his words got stuck in his throat when he saw Bruce’s face.

The man was beaming.

“Good, Jason,” he said. And his voice didn’t sound nasty or sickly sweet or mean. It sounded…

It sounded nice.

Well done, Jason. I knew you could do it. Now. Let me show you the computer…

Chapter Text

The comp-ew-tur turned out to be even more boring than Dick’s rectangle by the pool. Even though it was made up of many rectangles instead of just one, none of the pictures moved except when Bruce made them, and then only to disappear and come back. On the rare occasion there were people or animals in the pictures, they didn’t walk around or talk or try to hurt one another, which was good, but Jason got tired of staring politely after awhile and surreptitiously turned his attention to this new pool.

Fortunately, Bruce liked the comp-ew-tur enough for both of them, so while Jason floated, he continued to poke and prod it, making new pictures appear. He told Jason about the pictures as he created them, which meant Jason only had to pay attention with his ears for the most part, and his eyes were free to examine the lights that were attached to the underside of Bruce’s ledge, shining down in the water.

“Now let’s see. Here’s another one—a three day stand in Memphis, July nineth through eleventh…and a house burglary on…hmmm. Jason.”

Jason popped his head out of the water where he’d been trying to bite the light to see how it tasted, hoping Bruce hadn’t noticed. “What?”

“Do you know the word for this thing?” The man pointed at one of the rectangles, showing one of the human’s weird, badly built houses. He was sure Bruce already knew it was a house, since Bruce lived in one, even if Bruce’s was a lot bigger, so he couldn’t be asking because he wanted that word. Jason frowned. Some of the windows in the house were dark, like there was something in the way of them. It made him think of how that room where the Heys had kept him hadn’t had any windows, which made him squint harder. Maybe this was the house where the Heys had kept him? Was that what Bruce was asking?

“Cage,” Jason said, decisively.

“Thank you. So, a three day stand in Memphis starting July ninth and a cage burglary in Memphis on the tenth. That’s the sixth perfect match between the circus’s schedule and these news bulletins…”

Jason waited a little longer, trying to figure out if what Bruce was saying was supposed to make any sense, then shrugged and went back to his light. Even though Bruce wasn’t talking to him, as much as he hated to admit it, the chattiness was kind of…nice. If anything, the fact that Bruce wasn’t expecting a response from him made him like it more. Jason liked knowing he wasn’t all alone, but not having to worry about choosing the right response to keep Bruce happy.

He had almost got the light worked free of its case when Bruce called him again. “Jason?”

He popped back up immediately. This time, the rectangle Bruce pointed to showed a crooked, black thing with a rounded hook in the angled turn.

“Have you seen one of these before?”

Jason considered. It looked vaguely familiar. He thought probably Hey Charlie had had one, back in the bathroom, but he had no idea what it was for. He nodded anyway.

“Do you know its name?” Bruce prompted.

“Oh. Um, yes.” Jason furrowed his brow so hard his brain felt hot. “Uh…stick.”

Bruce’s shoulder flexed, and then loosening almost forcibly. His voice came out tight and low. “Has anyone ever hurt you with a stick before, Jason?”

“No.” Not one of those sticks, anyway. There were lots of kinds of sticks and some of them had hurt Jason a lot, but the crooked one always just stayed tucked into the back of Hey Charlie’s pants. “His didn’t work. He never took it out.”

“His?”

Hey Ch—uh, Charlie.

Bruce hummed in a growly voice but turned his attention back to the pictures littering his many rectangles. “Someone,” he said, voice tight still, “is using the circus as a mobile front for crimes in each town. I’ll bet tomorrow’s news will tell of another cage burglary in Zuma, Indiana…”

“Bruce?”

The man exhaled slowly and turned. “Yes, Jason?”

Jason pointed down at the water. “How do the lights work? Underwater?”

“They’re waterproof. It means…hn. It means they work under the water.”

“Oh.” That wasn’t very helpful. Jason decided not to ask Bruce anymore questions. He’d figure it out himself. Bruce went back to his comp-ew-tur and Jason tried to figure out if the lights needed a flat, hard surface to grow on, like ceilings and ledges, or if he could put one in a riverbank somewhere and have both light and mud. Light and mud together would be great.

“Jason. Another question.”

He flipped over so he could grab the edge of the overhang and pull just his head around, tail still tucked under where Bruce stood. “What?”

“What is this?”

It was harder to see from this angle, but the latest picture looked a bit like a knife, but only if it had been run over several times. “Stick,” Jason informed him. This picture game was not as interesting as his light.

“Stick…” Bruce frowned at the rectangle, then turned to another one, where a white square appeared. Black lines squiggled across it as he mused, Same word, could mean weapon… “Jason.” He tapped something and the rectangle picture changed. “Is this also a stick?”

Jason raised his eyebrows at Bruce. Maybe this was a test, to see if he would be rude to Bruce for claiming not to know the words for things. “That’s a knife.”

“Right, knife. Is a knife a stick?”

Jason thought about this. Probably. He thought they were probably made about of sticks and rocks together, but…sticks could have leaves, too. And they still counted as sticks.

He nodded decisively. “Yes. A knife is a stick.”

Bruce smirked. “Good.”

While Bruce resumed his tapping and poking, Jason was starting to get a little nauseated from jumping up and down, so he decided it was probably best just to wait at the surface in case Bruce wanted something from him again. He curled up in a ball, bobbing just at the surface, with his tail hugged up under his chin. Bruce resumed talking and, if Jason closed his eyes, he could pretend it was a chittering squirrel or angry muskrat along the riverbank. But Jason didn’t close his eyes, because he didn’t want to risk falling asleep, so he just watched the toothy ceiling instead.

Master Bruce. Master Jason.

Jason’s dorsal fin flickered, spinning him back to the platform with Bruce and his comp-ew-tur—and, now, Alfred, who stood with a tray in his hands and a deep frown on his face. But it was directed to Bruce, so it was probably alright.

Would you care to share the secret of how you got your clothes so dry after carrying him up from the lower lake?

Bruce grunted, not looking at Alfred. Maybe frowns didn’t count if you couldn’t see them? Jason would need to try that trick the next time he got in trouble.

I didn’t carry him. He got up here on his own.

You don’t say.

Oh, actually, never mind. The ice in Alfred’s voice let him know that Bruce hadn’t gotten away with whatever it was after all. If anything, him ignoring Alfred was making it worse.

He’s still sick, remember.

He’s fine. It’s good for him. “Good, Jason,” Bruce called.

Good. Bruce still thought he was good—although the fact that he had to reiterate it made it seem like Alfred might have been mad at Jason, not Bruce, which was an uncomfortable thought that made his stomach twist.

Hm. Alfred didn’t sound all that pleased, but he didn’t start yelling, at least, which was a relief. Instead, he placed a small tray at the edge of the pool. “Food, Jason.”

It wasn’t worth moving for that gross, slimy stuff Alfred had been giving him. But if he didn’t, Alfred might think he didn’t want food at all, and Jason couldn’t risk that. Not when his first downgrade had already been so steep.

So, reluctantly, Jason rolled over twice, until he had enough momentum to drift the rest of the way through the water, arms wrapped around his tail protectively. Apparently just moving was satisfying enough for Alfred, who gave him a stiff nod and rose, standing over the water like the board Dick jumped off of into the pool.

If you are on the mend, you may try these, which should be lighter than your typical fare but are still solid. Alfred pointed to one side of the tray with his long string of words, before indicating a cup with a separate gesture. However, if they do not agree with you, I have prepared your protein shake as well.

You know he doesn’t understand a word you’re saying.

Indeed. That hardly seems to have stopped you prior to this moment.

Hn. Bruce sounded annoyed, so Jason picked up the pace and uncurled himself, grasping the ledge of Bruce’s pool to keep from floating away while he examined Alfred’s tray. He had to pull himself up farther, using his chest as leverage, than he had previously, in order to see what Alfred had brought. The cup he expected, but the other thing intrigued him. He hovered just enough to glimpse…

Jason squealed unintentionally, snapping both Alfred and Bruce’s attention straight to him. He instantly dropped back into the water—then realized they might take the plate away and bounced back up. No! Sorry! Thank you! “My san wishes!”

He snatched the plate before Bruce or Alfred could move, struggling to keep it and his head above water as he scrambled backwards through the pool out of arm’s reach.

Bruce blinked, completely lost.

Sand…wiches?

He looked at Alfred. Jason kicked his tail back and forth vigorously, propelling enough of his upper body out of the water that he could hunch over the plate and scowl menacingly.

I had forgone sandwiches in favor of lighter meals, given his health. It seems that was an unpopular choice.

Jason san wishes, the mer reminded them. They could take that gross drink for all he cared, if they wanted to punish him. It wasn’t like they could reach him now without wading into the water, and, while Jason might not be the best swimmer anymore, he was definitely better than humans.

“No one is going to take your sandwiches, Jason,” Bruce said, calmly. Probably trying to lure Jason into a false sense of trust so he’d come back over. And then, yep, sure enough, he added, “Come over here and set them back down so you can eat them.”

No! Jason immediately scooped a san wishes up and shoved the entire thing in his mouth.

Bruce sighed. “You’re going to…” I have no idea how to say ‘vomit’ in mer. But you’re going to make yourself sick.

I’ll leave the shake, then. Please see to it he consumes and keeps down at least some nutrients.

Alfred, at least, appeared resigned to Jason taking the san wishes, which were probably intended for Bruce. Well, too bad. Alfred should have learned his lesson about leaving things where Jason could reach them. Actually, he might have. These might be the last san wishes Jason would ever get.

In which case, he’d better savor them. As Alfred retreated and Bruce huffed irritably, Jason took another square of san wishes and bit into it, actually tasting it this time. It tasted…not the same. Not as good as the previous san wishes. Almost like there was water or something in it. Jason pushed one apart with two fingers and found a green plant thing in the middle. He made a face. That’s not what was usually in his san wishes.

But even the worst san wishes was way better than that gross drink. If Jason had to eat these water san wishes, he’d do it happily. Carefully balancing the plate so it floated on the water, Jason leaned back on the surface alongside it and munched at the san wishes clasped in both hands.

“Is it good?” Bruce asked with a dubious glance over his shoulder. Probably wanting to know what he’d missed out on when Jason stole his meal.

Questions like that were definitely traps. If he said ‘no,’ then they’d use it to justify never giving him more san wishes. If he said ‘yes,’ Bruce would get mad at him for taking his food.

So Jason took another large bite of his san wishes and pretended he didn’t hear him. Even though it was hard, because there weren’t a lot of other sounds in the enclosure, and Bruce’s voice was pretty loud.

Bruce huffed. “Well, you look like you’re enjoying it, anyway. Let me know if you start to feel sick. Now. The trouble with these crimes is that the descriptions of the perpetrator have been different in each case…”

When Bruce put Jason back in the lower water that night, on the heated tarp where they made him stay, Jason tried hard to stay awake. Bruce had been so nice to him, and Jason felt bad breaking the rules just because he thought he could get away with it.

But it had been a long day.

Jason dreamt of san wishes.

The next day Bruce told Jason to follow him to the upper pool again. This time it took him longer to jump over the wall, because his arms were tired from the day before, but he managed eventually. Alfred frowned again when he saw Jason flop his way over the wall, but said nothing other than, Is his fever at least going down?

Ninety-nine this morning, Bruce replied, which seemed like the correct thing to say, because Alfred frowned less harshly and left Jason a drink that wasn’t slimy but was hot, and so Jason felt a little sick afterwards.

“Today I’m going to be…doing stuff. To improve my car,” Bruce announced.

Jason had no idea what that meant. He gathered that car probably meant Bruce’s vehicle when the man walked to a platform on the other side of the upper pool, where his land boat was resting. Although he wasn’t one hundred percent sure, because Bruce had used the word ‘improve’ and whatever he was improving, it was not his vehicle.

“First, I’m taking off the wheels so I can check their balance.” Bruce proceeded to rip off one of the round, black things—as big as his chest and as black as the demon skin he wasn’t wearing—and held it up to Jason. “Jason, do you know what this is?”

“Yes.”

“What is it.”

“It’s…that.” Jason gestured vaguely between the thing Bruce was holding and the car, because he figured it was probably a test to see if he’d been paying attention.

Hn. “Right, well, do you know what it’s called?” Bruce asked, with a notched eyebrow.

Jason frowned. “Ummm…stump.” It looked a little like a tree stump.

“…Have you seen one before? Did someone else tell you what they were called?”

“Yes.” He had definitely seen them. There was usually at least one clogging the banks by the sickly sweet water his mom liked to visit. And of course she had taught him about stumps. They were great places for finding bugs to feed and trap fish.

“And they’re called stumps?”

“Yes,” Jason replied definitively.

“Alright. Then I’m going to take the stumps off my car so I can check its balance.” Bruce proceeded to tear away all the other blackened stumps and leave them in heaps on the ground. He told Jason about that the car needed maintenance to make sure it functioned correctly. Apparently, maintenance meant getting torn apart before having someone crawl underneath to slice open your stomach and bleed your black blood. Jason thought the car couldn’t feel pain, because it wasn’t alive, but it was basically a land boat and sometimes when he was little he would hit small boats with his tail and the boats would go, Ow! We sure hit something!

Bruce?

Yes?

Hurts?

Wiping the black blood from his hands, Bruce frowned. “What hurts?”

Jason pointed. Car hurts?

Bruce’s eyebrows rose steeply. No, Jason. The car doesn’t hurt. No hurt. He rapped a knuckle against the metal vehicle, listening to it echo in the enclosure. “The car is not alive. It cannot feel. It’s fine.”

“…Ok.” Jason only believed him because it hadn’t said ow. If it was going to, it probably would have by now. Back when Bruce was ripping off its stumps.

Alfred brought more food after that (and there were san wishes! Water san wishes, sure, but san wishes nonetheless, which meant Jason hadn’t been too bad).

Bruce’s phone growled angrily while Jason was floating with his food.

Arthur.

Oh. Jason swallowed the last of his san wishes and plunked down into the water, so only his eyes and ears were visible. He wanted to hear what was going on, but he wasn’t sure if Aquaman could see him right now or not, because sometimes people on the phone could see you. And he didn’t know if Aquaman knew he’d left the lower water.

You called?

I texted.

I hate texting.

Bruce rolled his eyes, which almost made Jason snort before he remembered he was trying to keep quiet.

Does “stick” mean weapon?

What? No. Why?

I showed some pictures to Jason and he said they were all pictures of “sticks.” I’m trying to determine what he meant.

Wait, are you saying you were showing him pictures of weapons? Why the hell would you think that was a good idea? He’s going to think you’re threatening him!

He wasn’t scared. Including him helps me accelerate my language learning and he’s been responding well to increased interaction.

I thought I told you to leave him alone when I’m not there? The least you could do is interact with him like a normal person! Except you can’t, because Batman doesn’t know how to be normal. Which is why you don’t have to worry about ‘accelerating your language learning.’

Jason waited, but Bruce didn’t reply. He hoped that meant they were done talking. Even if Aquaman was mad, he couldn’t do much over the phone, and Jason was tired of listening to the yelling. He wanted Bruce to talk to him more.

We discussed this, Aquaman’s voice said suddenly. But at least it was softer this time, as if he had realized he was yelling and felt bad about it. Bruce. He belongs somewhere stable. A home where he can grow up with a sense of normality. It’s not fair to him.

Still, Bruce didn’t reply. Jason slid underwater far enough that he didn’t think Bruce would notice him, then wriggled up closer, until he could just make out Bruce’s face through the dark waves. He looked…upset. Maybe. Bruce always looked a little upset. So it was probably nothing.

I think I’ve found something, Aquaman said, his voice muffled now that Jason wasn’t up in the air with it. We can talk more when I’m back in Gotham tomorrow.

Hn. Bruce grunted and pushed his finger into the phone’s glassy surface, before tossing it onto a table. Ok, definitely done talking then. Should Jason keep waiting? Or did he have to come back up so Bruce would continue doing things and telling Jason about them?

Bruce looked over the water, brow pinched in the middle. Looking for Jason, maybe. But his eyes didn’t seem to be searching so much as just…reflecting. Then he sighed and announced, loudly, “I’m going to get changed. I’ll be back.”

Chapter Text

Jason was proud of himself for not reacting to Bruce’s return. Or well, for not screaming. It probably counted as reacting that the ledge he was clinging to slipped through his suddenly slack grip, dumping him backwards in the water, where he scrambled to find the right direction and then dove all the way to the ground, cramming himself into a corner where the underwater lights couldn’t see him.

Maybe.

“Jason?” Bruce sounded confused. “Are you alright?”

“…Yes.” And he would come up and prove it soon. Soon-ish. Right after Bruce, covered in his inky demon skin, left.

Through the black waters, Jason watched as Bruce’s silhouette crossed its arms, hmmm-ed, and then, slowly, reached up to pull off the demon’s head.

“Jason,” the man said, slowly. “Will you come up now?”

It wasn’t that Jason didn’t know it was Bruce inside the demon skin. He knew. He remembered when Bruce had first rescued him and peeled his face off in front of him. It was just that Jason didn’t know why Bruce liked to wear demon skin. And he had said he was “going to change.” Maybe the demon skin changed more than just his appearance.

He popped his eyes above the surface of the water a healthy distance away from Bruce’s platform.

Bruce made a disgruntled face. He held out black skin. “Do you want to look at my” cowl? “You can see that it is nothing to be afraid of.”

Jason tried to remember the phrase that made Alfred go away, hoping it would work on Bruce too. No thank you. No, Bruce. Thank no.

Hn. It didn’t seem to work as well on Bruce as Alfred, but Bruce did set the demon head on the ground behind him as he crouched down to peer over the water, so maybe that was a win. “I have to go out as” Batman, he said. “I will be back.”

Jason wrinkled his face back. Batman, he said slowly, “means demon?”

Bruce blinked. “Demon?” he repeated. “I don’t know ‘demon.’ Help me understand.”

What didn’t Bruce understand? Unless he was trying to trick Jason into thinking the Batman skin wasn’t a demon, in which case…good luck. Between the horns and the way the skin clung to him, like a second skin instead of human clothing, Jason wasn’t fooled. He nodded at the discarded head—but carefully, in case Bruce got mad that Jason didn’t fall for his lie.

Ah.

Bruce picked up the demon head again, folding it through his fingers without looking at Jason. “This is my” uniform. “Clothes.”

Um, no. They clearly weren’t. Bruce wasn’t supposed to lie to him anymore—but maybe it didn’t count while he was the demon Batman? Maybe Bruce wouldn’t lie, but Batman would?

“I wear this…” Bruce paused, his eyes dark and thoughtful. “…to stop bad people from…doing bad things.”

Running his eyes up and down Bruce’s demon skin, Jason had to agree that it would probably work. If he thought a demon was coming for him, he’d stop being bad. In fact, he didn’t even think Bruce would come for him as the demon Batman and he was still going to be even better than he had been being. No more sneaking naps when he thought no one was watching.

“I wear this—” The demon head with its jagged horns raised menacingly. “—so that people don’t know who I am.”

He seemed to be waiting for a response, so Jason hugged his tail to give him courage and tried to think of an appropriate response. “You…don’t want bad people to know that you’re a human. You want them to think you’re…” Batman.

Bruce’s mouth quirked, the corner of it sliding up to reveal his teeth before flattening again. “That’s exactly right. Bad people listen to Batman. They might not listen to Bruce.”

Jason nodded solemnly. So he could avoid having to deal with Batman if he just listened to Bruce. Then Bruce wouldn’t need the Batman skin.

“Now, like I said: I have to go out as Batman. I will be back.”

That was good. Go out was a weird way to say it, but Bruce wasn’t very good at speaking mer, so he obviously meant get out of the Batman demon skin, which Jason was absolutely on board with. He nodded, enthusiastically this time. Instead of leaving, though, Bruce reached into one of the bulges around the Batman’s stomach and said, “Before I go, I have a thing to give you.”

When Jason didn’t move, Bruce’s eyes flickered up to meet his and one eyebrow raised. “You have to come here to get it.”

Oh. Jason really didn’t want to get any closer to the Batman thing than he had to. There was also the possibility that whatever Bruce had to give him wasn’t nice, because sometimes humans “gave” him things like rotten shrimp or that thing that looked like a crab but turned out to be a rock. He’d broken one of his teeth on that, and Hey Nate had laughed.

On the other hand…he had just decided he was going to listen to Bruce and be good, because if Bruce thought he was bad he would send the demon Batman to stop him from being bad. Jason wasn’t too keen on finding out how the Batman stopped people from being bad.

So, reluctantly, he slithered closer, keeping low in the water so he could duck out of reach if Bruce tried to grab him.

Bruce didn’t mention the pause or how slowly Jason was moving. Instead, he pulled something out of his bulge that looked a little like a stick. It was bright green, like fresh grass shoots, and had one end covered in a thick bubble and the other end covered in a circle of glass.

Bruce held it up. “This is called a” flashlight, “Jason. Can you repeat that?” Flashlight.

Fash-o-ite.

Flashlight.

Fash-o-ite, Jason repeated, somewhat sharper because he’d said it right the first time.

Good enough for now. Bruce grabbed the stick in both hands and twisted it, until it broke in half. He showed Jason the insides. “You asked me how the lights worked under the water. This is a light. It will work under the water. Inside are” batteries “which it needs to run. These things around the edges where it comes apart…” He ran his finger around the insides, which were covered in a bouncy kind of material that pushed back against his touch. “…are called” rubber seals. “They keep the water from touching the batteries. If the water touches the batteries, it will stop working. So you cannot take it apart, do you understand?”

Jason nodded. He hadn’t been listening very well to what Bruce was saying, because it was hard to concentrate when the demon head was so very close, but he knew when people asked ‘do you understand,’ the correct answer was ‘yes.’

Bruce twisted the stick and it went back together. Then he held it out, with one finger in the way. “What are you not going to do, Jason?”

Oh. Was there something Jason was supposed to not do? Sleep. But Bruce was looking between the fash-o-ite and Jason, so it probably had something to do with that. He thought back to how Bruce had taken it apart and put it back together. Probably it needed demon power to go back together, which he didn’t have, or it would stay broken. So the correct answer was:

“Break it.”

“Take it apart, yes.” And then, just as easily as if it were a san wishes, Bruce extended the stick for Jason to take. When he hesitated, Bruce even made a little encouraging sound in the back of his throat and held it out farther, putting more distance between it and the demon head, until Jason snatched it all at once, retreating back in the water.

“If you want to turn it on, you need to touch the” button “on the end.”

Jason frowned into the glass part of the stick. Button? he repeated.

Bruce reached forward, but Jason immediately recoiled. Bruce couldn’t give him things and then just take them back, even if Jason didn’t really want his weird demon-healed-stick. Fortunately, Bruce didn’t get mad. Instead, he pointed to the opposite end, where the bubble was.

Dubiously, Jason touched it, as instructed.

Nothing happened.

“Hard,” Bruce said. “You need to touch it hard.”

Was he trying to say push? Talking with humans was exhausting, trying to figure out what they meant when they used words, because sometimes they didn’t use them right. Jason pushed his thumb down hard over the bubble under it popped in before bouncing straight back out.

And the stick—

The stick was a—

“Light!” Jason exclaimed, blinding himself, then Bruce. Fash-o-ite! “Look, Bruce, it’s—it’s a light!” He waved it over the enclosure, watching it disappear into the snaggle-toothed ceiling, splash off water, and stab at Bruce’s comp-ew-tur.

Good! Good fash-o-ite! Thank you! Good! Good, Bruce!

Bruce’s cheek did that thing where it pushed up against his eye—almost like he was trying to smile, but couldn’t remember how.

“Yes, I thought you might like that. You can take it under the water.”

That was all the permission Jason needed. He dove with a splash. First he showed his little light to the other lights that stuck to the bottom of Bruce’s ledge. Then he dragged it along the wall he climbed over to get to the upper pool, delighted by the way it rippled over the wall’s shiny surface. He shone it down to illuminate the ground below, so he could see the little trails water currents left in the dirt.

“I’m glad you like it,” Bruce was saying somewhere above. Have fun exploring. Hopefully it will keep you entertained for awhile.

Jason popped back up, beaming. His light was beaming too. Yes, Bruce, good! Good fash-o-ite. Thank you! Good! “Go out as Batman,” he commanded. Because the sooner Bruce got out of the demon skin, the sooner he could start telling Jason things again, and Jason could listen while he looked at stuff under the water. That would be good.

Bruce’s mouth quirked. Hn. Anxious to be rid of me now, huh? “Alright, Jason. I’ll be back.”

Good. Jason didn’t waste any more time watching Bruce leave before diving back down with his light. There were crevices all along the floor, grooves for something, buried under the thin layer of dirt. He hadn’t noticed them before, but now his light could show him everything. Were they a door? A door under the water?

Jason tried to pry them open, but he was still pretty weak. Plus it was hard to be this far down in the water right now—his chest still hurt from the sickness and the water was heavier the further down he went. So the grooves would have to wait for another day. Jason returned to the wall and examined it instead.

It was only after he had carefully, meticulously examined all the spots of color on the wall, found three patches of moss, and was drawing pictures in the grime on one of the pool walls that he realized Bruce still hadn’t come back.

He peeked his head out of the water. The lights by Bruce’s comp-ew-tur were still shining. But Bruce himself was gone.

Bruce?

His voice echoed eerily through the enclosure.

“Bruce?”

Jason?

Jason snapped his head around at the footsteps—except that wasn’t Bruce’s voice. Two more quick steps at the far end of the enclosure, and then a familiar figure appeared alongside Bruce’s comp-ew-tur.

Dick!

Dick had his hands stuffed in the sides of his leg clothing. He looked pleased to see Jason—or maybe to see how many rectangles the comp-ew-tur had. Jason initial excitement at seeing the human after so long jumped straight into concern that Dick might want to make him watch those horrible creatures again.

He quickly held up his light. Dick, fash-o-ite! Good!

You’ve got a flashlight. Nice.

Jason showed him how pushing the bubble button on the end of the stick made the light go out, and then pushing it again made the light come back.

I’m thrilled for you. Dick looked over at the comp-ew-tur. Ugh, Jason was trying! But luckily, instead of turning it on, Dick said, Did Bruce already go out?

Bruce. Yes.

Dick sighed. Bruce, he said. Then wiggled two fingers back and forth. Left? As Batman?

Jason clicked his light off, sinking a little lower in the water at the mention of the demon skin. Batman, he confirmed, but even as he said it, he realized: Bruce had given him his light when he was wearing the demon skin. So maybe…maybe Batman only hurt bad people. And as long as Jason was good, he would be nice to him.

He eyes Dick carefully. Batman, he asked slowly. Good?

Well, that’s a loaded question. But—yeah. He is. Sure. I mean, yes, Jason. Batman good.

“Even though he’s a demon?”

He is…crab king? I…don’t think that’s what you said. Dick chuckled to himself, then did something with his hand that made a snap. Oh! Are you saying ‘crown’? Do you mean his ears? He held a finger from either hand on top of his head, in a terrible imitation of the Batman demon head.

Still, Jason guessed he was confirming that Batman was, in fact, a demon. He nodded, clutching his light close.

That’s not a crown or whatever you said. It’s supposed to be a… Dick yanked his eyes erratically over the dark ceiling. Jason, can I borrow your flashlight?

Jason understood ‘Jason’ and ‘fash-o-ite’. More importantly, he understood Dick’s outstretched hand. He shoved the light under both hands, crammed them under his chin, and pushed himself backwards in the water.

Jason fash-o-ite, he said firmly. No, Dick. Thank no. Go away.

Alright, alright, calm down, I’m not gonna take your toy. Can you shine it— Dick put his hands on top of one another like they were holding a stick and then pointed up to one of the long teeth in the ceiling. “—up there?

Jason pointed his light at the spot Dick directed. Dick blinked, unamused. …Turn it on first, you twerp.

Jason assumed Dick wanted the light to shine up there. He had assumed that first, but he didn’t think Dick had enough power to punish him and Jason wanted him to know he didn’t appreciate the man trying to take his light.

However, he also didn’t want Dick to get too annoyed and make Jason watch those creatures again, so he clicked the button to make the light shine, illuminating the browns and grays on Dick’s chosen stone tooth.

Ah, there we go. Do you see the bats?

Dick looked at Jason expectantly. Jason wondered if ‘yes’ or ‘no’ was the correct answer. He clicked his light on and off. It made a pleasant tt-ck sound.

Another sigh from Dick. The things I do… he muttered. Ignoring Jason’s light, he clamored up on Bruce’s comp-ew-tur, avoiding stepping on the rectangles (probably because he still wanted to watch his stupid gray and brown fight pictures). From there, he scrambled onto a structure behind the comp-ew-tur, which Jason hadn’t even noticed because it was so dark, but under his light was revealed to be a large rectangle for storing boxes. High up now, Dick hovered with a hand out in the air, poised, waiting. It reminded Jason of his mom, lulling fish into security before—

Dick’s hand lashed out and snatched something out of the air, startling Jason backwards. His light slipped through his fingers and he scrambled to grab it again. Dick leapt from his perch, whipping in circles like he thought the air was water, before landing back on the platform. He grinned at Jason.

You could clap, you know, he said cheerfully, which was good—provided whatever he was happy about wasn’t horrible. With humans it was just as likely as something nice.

“Jason. Look.”

Jason eased forward as Dick inched his hands away from his chest. He had captured…a creature? A real, live animal. It looked a little like a squirrel, with its brown fur and squinty face. Except unlike squirrels, it had large, pointy ears sticking out of the top of its head. Jason reached out a finger to touch it, but Dick pulled it back.

Ah, probably not a good idea. They bite, and you’re already sick. I don’t want to give you…I dunno, bat flu or something.

Jason dropped his hand back into the water, nodding to show he would be good and not touch the animal, so Dick extended it again. Bat, Jason, Dick said. He jostled the animal gently. Bat.

Bat, Jason repeated, the way he did for Bruce—but it wasn’t until he had already said it that it clicked.

He gasped. Batman!

Dick’s laugh bounced around the enclosure. There you go! See? One of his hands unwrapped from the little creature, so he could point a finger at its ears. Bat ears. Just like on Bruce’s cowl.

Was he…was he saying that the demon head was supposed to look like the bat? Jason scowled. He pointed at the creature in Dick’s large hands. No, Dick. Bat is… Stupid human language. “Bat is cute. Batman is scary. They’re not the same.”

Dick blinked. Was that…cute? Are you saying… “Jason. Bat is…cute?”

Yes! “Cute bat.” Jason smiled at it and mimed petting its little head, even though Dick wouldn’t let him. “Cute bat. Scary Batman.”

You think the bat is cute. And Batman…definitely is not.

No. Batman… Jason stopped, struck by a thought. “Wait, is Bruce trying to look cute? If Batman is supposed to look like a bat, was he…was he trying to look cute?”

It made sense. If Batman stopped bad people from doing bad things, a cute little animal would remind them to be good. Jason wanted to be good and nice to the bat Dick was holding. So it stood to reason that other people would feel the same.

Dick blinked. Then blinked again.

Are you asking… “Jason. Batman cute?”

“Is he…I mean, it’s…it’s not. But if it’s supposed to be a bat…”

Another long blink.

“Yes,” Dick breathed. “Yes, Batman cute.” Bruce is trying so hard to look cute. Please tell him that. “Say” cute.

“Batman is scary,” Jason reminded him. No…cute? Bad Batman.

Yes. Dick sounded like he was choking a little bit. Batman is bad at being cute. But he’s trying. “Wants,” he said to Jason. “Wants cute.”

Ah, so Jason was right. He jerked his head in a sharp nod. Although if that was the case, you’d think someone would have told him how badly he was failing. Batman was the opposite of cute! But maybe humans were stupid and genuinely couldn’t tell the difference between the furry little thing Dick had shown him and the horrible demon skin Bruce put on.

Dick breathed out slowly. That’s gonna sustain me for a long time, he whispered, face spasming as if it couldn’t decide if it wanted to smile or not. He opened his hands—and the little bat creature wriggled to the tips of Dick’s fingers. Now that Jason could see more than just its head, he realized it was wrapped in a tiny blanket.

It was adorable. Bats were the best animal!

Dick! Jason pointed. Bat blanket!

Dick exhaled loudly, blowing air out of his cheeks while his mouth continued to fight against a smile. Uh, sorry. What’s that?

Bat blanket!

Oh. Ha, figures. You’re a sucker for blankets, of course you’d think that. Dick wriggled his fingers and the bat flipped upside down, as if it, like Dick, though the air was water. It hung for a second, then lobbed itself away, brambling through the air like a confused frog in the spring.

Jason laughed. Cute bat! Batman was nothing like bats. Bats were clumsy and adorable and had their own blankets. He couldn’t even imagine Batman being fumbling along, much less wrapping himself in a blanket. Jason would have to have a talk with him when he reappeared from wherever he’d gone.

Alright. Things can only go down from here and, quite frankly, you’re looking a little peaky. When was the last time you took a nap? Or…should you even be up this late anyway, come to think of it? Come on, I’ll move you back to your sleeping pad.

Dick held out his arms, pointing over the wall. He probably wanted to take Jason out of the pool, but Jason…

“Bruce?” he asked, hesitantly. Bruce usually took him out of the pool. He didn’t want Bruce to be mad.

“Bruce fine. Good. He will be happy glad. Jason sleep.”

No! Jason wasn’t going to let Dick trick him into being bad. Batman might be not as terrible as he’d thought, but Bruce had said that Batman punished bad people. Jason was going to be good. No sleep.

Okay, you don’t have to sleep. I don’t care. But…what is it they tell kids? You need to at least lay there and rest. There. That sounds good. “No sleep, Jason. Fine…lay down?”

Jason wrinkled his face up. Dick was weird, how did he always forget that?

…He did kind of want to go back to his heated tarp, though. He was starting to shiver, which happened sometimes. Hopefully Bruce wouldn’t mind if he went to his tarp if it was to keep him from getting sicker.

Fash-o-ite?

Yes, you can keep your stupid flashlight. Now come on.

Jason allowed Dick to pick him up. It wasn’t the same as when Bruce picked him up, but Dick was strong too and he made it down the stairs quickly, depositing Jason on his tarp. “Lay down, Jason,” Dick reminded him. Why don't you have any blankets down here? Hm. I'll ask Alfred later. Right now I’m going to get on the computer while Bruce isn’t around.

After he left, Jason didn’t sleep. But he did close his eyes and let his brain pretend.

It pretended he was underwater with his light, feeding san wishes to a bat.

It was nice.

Chapter Text

I wasn't born with artistic talent at all and don't practice enough, so ignore things that look a little "off", but I've been wanting to do a sketch of mer Jason for awhile. Last chapter I surprised myself with having Jason dream about feeding a bat a sandwich underwater and, well, I couldn't think of a better time to sketch Jason than that.

Edit 5/2/24 - Added fan art below by some incredibly talented people! It's so cute!

Look at these amazing ink sketches of Jason (both line art and colorized versions!)!! Look at his ears! His expression! Agh, it's so good!

Credit: Nozhiksan

And check out these adorable illustrations of baby Jason! He's got his sandwich and his cape and his blanket! So much happiness (and scowling, lol) in one picture.

Credit: JCryptid

P.S. JCryptid is the one who suggested Jason should have a Red Tiger Oscar tail, so additional kudos for that!

Chapter Text

When Jason blinked his eyes open to stop his brain from pretending, he felt a little groggy, like he might have gone away for too long. Which, after a hesitant glance around, was probably alright, since no one was around to be upset with him.

He assumed it was probably a new day, even if there was no natural light to be sure. He wondered what he had to do to be good enough to earn light. It had been at least a week, maybe two, since he’d been down in the dark. It was better than the room with the tub, but the lack of light…

Well, he hoped he’d earn light again soon, that was all.

Jason checked that his light hadn’t rolled or floated away from where he’d tucked it under his arm while he was sleeping, then flashed it a few times into the inky abyss of the water that retreated from his little beach. As expected, it revealed absolutely nothing, which was exactly what Jason wanted. He rolled over and checked to see if the lights by Bruce’s comp-ew-tur were illuminated.

They were—and even better, he could see the shadow of someone moving around up there. Which meant Bruce was back!

Jason darted over to the wall, light in his teeth to leave his hands open for scrabbling over.

But when he popped out of the water in the upper pool, droplets arcing from his hair as it flipped back, he froze.

Because the air stung his throat and burned his eyes.

Jason ducked into the water, clutching his light close, before he even realized what he was doing. Then he rammed a fist against his forehead. No, Stupid. It’s all in  your head. Just like Bruce and the water. He was imagining it, that was all. And he wasn’t going to act so stupidly in front of Bruce twice.

It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.

Sucking a deep breath through his gills to wash over his lungs, Jason inched his way back up out of the water. The air still stung—but it was all in his head, so he could ignore it. Would ignore it. He suppressed a cough.

“Bruce?”

Something clattered behind the comp-ew-tur. The thing Dick had climbed to get the bat shifted to one side, revealing a tall, thin silhouette. Not Bruce.

Alfred.

Jason blinked twice, rapidly, to keep the man from seeing any red in his eye and forced a smile. It wasn’t real, after all. He didn’t have any reason not to smile at Alfred. Alfred, hi!

Alfred smiled back at him, wiping his hands with a white cloth he had produced from…somewhere. That was normal for humans, though. They secreted all kinds of things on themselves and could produce them at will. Jason wasn’t quite sure how, but it had to do with clothes. It almost made him want clothes—except mostly the things seemed to come from human pants, and pants were just a reminder of how stupid legs were. Jason would bear not being able to produce things from thin air if he got to keep his tail, thank you very much.

I would wish you a warm hello as well, Alfred said, except I can’t help but notice you’ve overexerted yourself again. Your face is quite flushed. Alfred shook his head, moving towards a cart on the other side of Bruce’s ledge. I wish Master Bruce had had the foresight not to encourage you to push so soon.

Jason had no idea what Alfred was talking about, and it wasn’t as nice as listening to Bruce talk, since Bruce mostly used words Jason understood. Maybe Alfred was talking to himself? Or to someone Jason couldn’t see? He glanced over his shoulder, just to check if there was anyone else there with them.

“Jason,” Alfred called, directing his attention back to the man. “Medicine?”

Medicine? They hadn’t given Jason any medicine. Not that he would take it, anyway. The Heys had occasionally given him medicine—and it either burned when they applied it to his skin or made the room spin when they forced him to drink it.

No, Jason said hastily. Thank you, Alfred. Thank no.

The human chuckled. Hm. Well, suppose I fetch it anyway? He pushed the cart towards the shadows from which he had emerged—

And that’s when Jason saw it.

Nestled in among the other bottles.

Blue and white, just like the one the Heys always brought to his room.

Because…

Because apparently the stinging hadn’t been in his imagination.

Now, you seemed to enjoy the tea more than the protein shake, but perhaps this time I shall try mixing your medication into some juice. It’s important to try new things.

He didn’t know what Alfred was saying. Wouldn’t have responded anyway.

Good mers were quiet. They didn’t scream or cry or make trouble.

Good mers didn’t get scrubbed or burned.

Jason…?

All Jason could see was the bottle. The blue and white bottle with the markings B L E A visible.

Couldn’t blink. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

“Jason?” Alfred said, and Jason had just enough awareness to realize the man was kneeling by the pool now, his eyebrows tight in concern. His voice was so soft. So kind.

The kind of voice humans used when they were being vicious.

“You’re safe here. Help me understand what you want.”

Good.

Was that his voice? No, no, no! He knew—he knew better than to talk! He wasn’t stupid enough to try to beg. He wasn’t!

Jason good.

Jason is good, Alfred said. The same voice the Heys had used to coo Poor Baby as they shoved a whole sponge soaked in the burning liquid into his mouth, holding it shut with one hand while another dribbled the stuff over his open wounds.

But you also appear quite upset, lad. Is there anything I can do to help alleviate your distress? “Hungry? Hot? Cold? Bad? Help?”

Alfred was…

Jason didn’t know what Alfred was doing. Only that he had the burning liquid in a bottle on his cart.

And Jason hadn’t been particularly good since they’d brought him to this enclosure. Since they’d brought him back from the salt-water place. No—since they’d rescued him. He’d been messing up over and over and over again.

He wondered if Alfred was going to punish him. Or if he was just getting things ready for when Bruce came back.

Bruce…

Bruce had been so nice.

Or.

No.

Bruce had acted nice. All humans acted nice.

Right before they acted horrible.

Just like the little brown and gray creatures on Dick’s rectangle.

One offered a hand in peace.

While holding a giant hammer behind its back.

S-sorry.

It was his voice again. Jason couldn’t seem to make it shut up.

Sorry, Alfred. Jason… Shut up, shut up, shut up. No human liked to hear excuses. No human liked to hear his voice. J-Jason tired. Sorry.

Tired? My dear lad…

Alfred’s hands came out. And Jason knew. He knew better than to try to avoid a punishment. It just made it hurt more. Or worse, made the humans enjoy it more.

He didn’t want to think of Alfred enjoying his punishment.

But he shrank back nonetheless.

Alfred’s hands immediately recoiled.

Sorry! Jason had to salvage this. He had to. He—he—

He frantically cast his eyes around and found the wall.

Jason good! he swore, desperately, launching himself at it. Jason good. “I’ll…I’ll go back to my place. I’m sorry. I won’t—I won’t bother you. P-please, just…n-not right now.”

Not you.

Not Bruce.

Please, Alfred.

Alfred said nothing, his eyes round, pupils huge in the dark. He made no move to correct Jason, however, so Jason scrambled back over the wall. It was his first time getting back into the lake on his own, and he hit the water below hard. It hurt.

But not as much as the burning liquid would hurt.

He knew it was stupid to delay it. It was coming. He might as well get it over with.

But…

Jason was a coward.

He didn’t want to get it over with.

He didn’t want to do it at all.

He crawled onto his heated tarp. It was horribly, terrifyingly exposed, no walls or corners or blankets to protect even one of his sides. Now he knew why they had put him here.

He’d been so stupid.

Voices murmured from the ledge above him.

Alfie, was that the kid? Geeze, I just put him down to sleep and I thought he passed out like a light. What’s he doing up already?

I’m not sure. He may have had a nightmare? He seemed quite shaken and was looking for your—for Master Bruce.

…Right. Ok. I’ll talk to him. Maybe this is better, anyway. It’s not like Mr. Sucker-punch-emotions-in-the-face was going to be a huge emotional support for the kid.

The voices stilled. Jason held his breath, the only sound a low hummmm like crickets that never paused.

Then—a rustle of steps on the stairs.

Jason launched himself over, so he could at least see the punishment coming. And—and at least his hands were free. He could cover his face.

Maybe they’d let him cover his face.

His lungs froze again.

Because the person on the stairs wasn’t Alfred or Bruce.

It was the black-and-blue demon.

And in its hand was its stick.

Jason couldn’t handle both the burning liquid and the electric stick.

He screamed, scrambling backwards. His tail tangled in the tarp. He was stuck.

He was stuck.

Woah, woah, Jason! “Jason! Chill out!” The demon whipped its black eyes from its face. “My name is Dick!”

As if that changed the stick in its hand.

“No,” Jason begged, hating that he couldn’t get his voice to just—stop—talking. No, please. Please, no.

Kid, Alfred said you had a nightmare. I come in peace. Dick’s hands were up. The electric stick was pinched between two fingers, aimed straight at Jason. I thought maybe I’d lend you one of my sticks. Every word brought Dick closer to where Jason lay. Tangled. Exposed. Helpless. That way you won’t have to be scared, because I can show you how to push a button to defend your—

“No, Dick!” he shouted fiercely. “No—no, no, no—no, STOP!”

Dick froze, maybe because of Jason words or maybe just because of the frantic pitch of his voice there at the end. Jason didn’t know. He didn’t care. Wobbly hands blocked his face as he screamed with equal amounts begging and threatening, “Stop. No, Dick. No, Dick, please. Please, I can be good. I will be good. Don’t—don’t—please, Dick. No. No.”

J-Jay. I don’t…I’m not gonna… Kid, it’s—it’s alright…

“Please. Please, Dick. Please, please, please. No.”

And Jason hated that his sobs drowned out all the other sounds in the enclosure.

Even the footsteps of Dick’s demon skin. Because he didn’t even realize Dick had gone until later. After he blinked back into existence from wherever his mind went when it went away.

His eyes stung. His chest ached. His muscles screamed in pain and exhaustion.

The lights by Bruce’s comp-ew-tur were dark. No voices murmured. No footsteps scraped.

They…they had obviously decided the burning liquid and the electric stick weren’t punishment enough. Maybe they were waiting for Batman to come back.

…

Jason wasn’t going to wait around to find out what Batman did to people to stop them from being bad.

In the dark, his hands scrabbled at the crumpled-up tarp under him. He couldn’t take that, because it was tied to a cord that made it hot. That was fine. He didn’t want it anyway. It would slow him down. Get him caught, like the last tarp he’d taken, when Dick had found him.

His fingers closed around his light.

It clicked on once, to find the black part of the lake, the part he’d never dared swim into before.

Then it was dark in the enclosure.

Dark and silent.

Because Jason was long gone.

Chapter Text

If Jason had ever figured out how to run away from the Heys, he would have prioritized moving fast, not far.

Because he’d known they wouldn’t just lick their wounds and move on to other prey. They’d be looking to recover their loss. Even in Jason’s imagination, he never managed to run so far away that they didn’t find him or stay hidden so long that they forgot about him.

So in his plans—imaginary, hypothetical, pain-induced delusions—he’d get to the nearest river as fast as he could.

Just so he could see home one last time.

When Jason ran away from Gunn’s little orphanage for ecoterrorists, he prioritized safety over efficiency.

Sure, it would have made more sense to find a river leading away from the lake and follow it, so he didn’t ever have the chance of running into any of those mers again. But Jason didn’t want to get caught by humans and wind up in another bathtub, so he’d found a tarp and the muddiest, most debris filled tributary available and set up house there, keeping close to the lake for easy escape.

Now that Jason was running away from Bruce, he’d given up on priorities. His goal was leaving. Nothing more.

Maybe this time he’d actually achieve it.

Since he didn’t have a destination in mind, it didn’t really matter which route he took when the water split into different paths. Jason tried to follow streams that seemed warm, in case it was from the sun and they led outside. Of course, he knew there was also a possibility that none of the streams led outside and he’d spend the rest of his life in these dark, tunnel-like rocks.

At least no one was going to hurt him anymore.

Sometimes the water cascaded down in what Jason called “water spills”—since they weren’t really big enough to count as waterfalls—and Jason had to claw his way up and over to continue on. They were all shorter than the wall Bruce had made him jump, but because they were often a jumble of rocks with different landings, navigating from pool to pool to get up was more difficult.

Jason made up a song in his head to distract from the way his stomach clenched and his arms ached as he pulled himself along.

“Na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na…”

Okay, so he wasn’t the best at songwriting. It was more to help regulate his breathing in and out as he climbed than for real entertainment.

He had to stop and rest a lot.

That was fine, too. More than fine.

Because Jason could rest.

One of the first things he did, once he’d made three different choices where the water split and felt like he’d put enough distance between himself and Bruce’s enclosure, was finally, finally let himself sleep.

It was so nice he wanted to cry.

He let himself sleep as much as he felt like. Any time he got tired (which was often), he would dive down deep and use his fash-o-ite to find somewhere he could wedge his tail—to keep from drifting backwards—and pass out.

He dreamed when he slept. Usually about Batman.

Jason didn’t know if anyone would bother chasing him. Bruce had implied he wanted Jason as a pet, but that Jason wasn’t his pet, which meant he probably belonged to Aquaman now. But Aquaman didn’t seem to like him much, so he might be glad Jason was gone and wouldn’t send anyone after the mer.

Still. They might send the Batman after him. Because he was bad. In some of Jason’s dreams they did.

He woke up from those dreams with his heart throwing itself into the tangle of his ribs and his head pounding behind his eyes. He had to use the fash-o-ite to sweep the darkness at least three times before he felt safe enough to turn it back off and continue swimming.

Sometimes, though…sometimes in Jason’s dreams they sent the Batman after him, but…

But when Batman caught him, he swept his arms around him, like the little bat wrapped around Dick’s finger. And, hidden in the black blanket Batman wore, Jason could only hear the beating of a steady heartbeat. Bruce’s heart, pounding inside the demon skin. The blanket would press tight around him, protecting him like he was the tiny bat creature wrapped in Dick’s hands. And Jason was safe.

Jason liked those dreams. He kept his fash-o-ite off when he woke up from them, because then he could pretend the blackness was still the black of the Batman blanket tenting over him.

He incorporated it into his song, so he could keep thinking about it even when he was so, so tired from swimming and climbing and guessing his way through the dark.

“Na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na…Batman. Batman. Batman…”

It was at the third water spill that went down that Jason’s terrible luck caught up to him.

Water spills he had to climb down were a lot harder than ones where he had to climb up. This was the one and only case where it probably would have helped to have a second set of arms, like humans did, so he could feel downwards easier. As it was, he had to lean over, carefully, carefully, and pat along the air until he found a ledge large enough that he could lower himself down. And even then, the rocks sometimes shifted and he slipped down rather than eased onto the next spot.

Jason had his light out, carefully cupping a hand around it to avoid attracting any unwanted attention, trying to see the next spot, when the shale underneath him shifted. His arms flung forward, his tail scrambled back—and he clattered over the side, slamming into rocks, once, twice hard, until he collided with water below.

Or, most of him did.

His arms, still flailing in front, landed first. One of them on something solid.

He didn’t know what, because his entire arm went numb as it hit. Then lit up with fire.

His light went out.

Jason scrambled to find the surface, breaking up out of the water with almost as much noise as he made going into it. His arm shrieked for attention, but he’d learned long ago to ignore pain, because otherwise it would consume you.

His light. He had to find his light.

Years of living in a windowless room with shifting shadows meant even in the dark, Jason could pick out the degrees of darkness among the stones. He clawed his fingers through the base of the water spill, feeling nothing but smooth river stones and cold, unforgiving water. With a choked off scream of frustration, he dove to the bottom of the pool.

Water from the spill shoved and pushed its way into the pool, churning the pebbles underneath. Jason knew he wasn’t helping, squirming and flailing. His arm smashed into the wall, sending crackles of white pain all the way into his teeth, but he couldn’t stop until he—

There! He felt the distinct, rubbery material brush against his stomach. Jason lunged—and his fingers closed around the one thing he owned.

But once he shoved away from the water spill, popping up out of the water to take advantage of the lighter shadows above, he remembered: he wasn’t allowed to have things. The universe had decided.

Jagged edges nipped his fingers when he ran them over the glass circle at the end of his fash-o-ite, where the light came out. No matter how many times he clicked the button at the other end, it stayed very firmly off.

Bruce, or Batman, rather, had shown him how to fix it if it broke in half. And then told him not to do that.

But neither the man nor the demon had said anything about what to do if the glass broke.

Desperate, Jason twisted at the fash-o-ite until its body pulled apart in his hands. Almost immediately, something heavy—its heart, maybe, or soul or something else that made the light decide to shine when no other objects could muster the strength—slipped through his fingers and disappeared into the water with a plunk.

After that, even though he pushed the fash-o-ite back together again, it felt…less weighty. Empty. A shell of itself.

Jason’s arm wailed in pain as he curled up around his dead light and sobbed.

It hadn’t been alive. He knew it wasn’t alive. But it was all he had.

The only thing that hadn’t hurt him or been used to hurt him.

And now it was gone.

Jason pressed himself to the bottom of the water and forced himself to sleep.

He slept for a long time.

He didn’t have good dreams.

Eventually, Jason realized he had to keep swimming. He didn’t know how many days he’d been traveling in the dark. He’d slept probably ten times, which probably meant it had been at least a handful of days. But he hadn’t found any food yet, and unless he intended to die in the dark like the fash-o-ite, he needed to find food.

And Jason hadn’t come this far to die now.

Sometimes he could feel something flash against his tail. Fish, maybe, or even crayfish or eels. But his hands were too slow to catch them without cornering them somewhere first, and without his light it was impossible to know whether he was chasing them into a corner or out of one.

So now Jason had a new goal. He needed light.

Following the warm water moved up in his priorities. On the off chance it came from the sun, he couldn’t risk turning away from it. Unfortunately, Jason was still dealing with that fever that came and went, so usually choosing the warm water just meant choosing whatever felt less refreshing on his hands and tail. He couldn’t be sure if it was actually warm or not.

He stopped finding water spills. As if, after wounding his arm and soul, they had retreated in smug conquest.

Jason wished he had one of Dick’s demon sticks. He was pretty sure he could destroy the water spills with one of those.

It would serve them right.

Swimming was harder now, because his left arm sobbed into his brain if he used it too much, so he spent a lot of time just…kind of drifting. Most of the water was deep enough that he could bob along, resting but not sleeping, only really paying attention when he got to a new split and had to assess the warmth of the water. Sometimes it got shallow, and he had to crab along with his good arm, hissing his little song between his teeth to keep from focusing on the feeling of his tail scraping over stone.

It was in one of those shallow sections, while pulling himself to one side to avoid a particularly sharp looking rock, that Jason realized he could see the sharp rock.

The air was getting lighter.

Desperate excitement shot through his veins like electric shock. Suddenly Jason was scrambling forward, spilling into the deeper water on the other side of the sandbar, weaving and flickering and ignoring the pain in his arm. Now it was definitely brighter—he could make out shadows on the walls and even see a bit under the water, if he didn’t go down too deep.

He stayed underwater, where he could move quicker.

So he missed the babbling of voices until they were loud enough to echo through the stream.

RICHARD JOHN GRAYSON! Get out of that water this instant!

Jason slammed back, wind knocked out of his chest as sure as if he’d run into a boulder.

You can’t keep me here against my—

The hell I can’t!

Jason eased his head up out of the water, blinking to clear the film from his eyes.

His heart lodged in his throat.

He was back in the enclosure.

He was back in the exact same enclosure.

Somehow he’d circled around, because he was on the opposite side of where he’d slipped away—with Bruce’s comp-ew-tur platform in the distance, looking down a long, dark section of lake with two figures on the stone slab of beach. One was up to his waist in the water, the other standing in the remains of Jason’s sick encampment.

You! The figure on the beach—too far away, too small for Jason to see his expression—turned towards Bruce’s stairs viciously. You will talk some sense into that boy. Now.

A grunt, from somewhere new and—oh. Oh, Bruce had been up on the ledge, because now he was coming down, still in the Batman skin, fixing something to cover the one part of his lower face that remained human. Alfred’s right, he snapped shortly. You need to sleep. Get out of the water, Dick.

Dick—had Bruce said Dick? It didn’t look like Dick, because it was covered in demon skin, too, and not the black-and-blue skin of Dick’s demon, but a solid black with something in his hand that looked similar to what Bruce was clamping over his own mouth. This is my fault. I’m going to fix it.

No, you’re not. Bruce’s voice carried over the water better than either of the others, so that both Jason and the maybe-Dick-demon in the water clearly heard him say the word ‘no.’

Jason, hidden in his corner of darkness, took it better than the demon.

You don’t think I’m capable? Go to hell—both of you. I said I’d fix it and I will. Just because I broke everything with the Titans—

Jason ducked underwater. Down here, he was completely silent, deep enough to leave no ripples on the surface as he cut over to the corner of the beach farthest from the others. Gently, he eased his head up out of the water.

—And you haven’t slept either, Bruce! So don’t lecture me, you hypocrite. I’ll fix this because I have to fix this.

Someone had littered jetsam all down the stone shore, as if tearing through equipment looking for something. Or someone, maybe—although it was on shore, so it probably wasn’t from looking from him. There were some sort of vertical crates swinging open, one containing a black skin like what Dick was wearing now.

Jason wasn’t sure what he was looking for. A new fash-o-ite, maybe. Or something, anything, that would help him actually get away from here.

His eyes clicked onto a smooth, black object.

Oh. That would work.

I’ll fix this because I have to fix this.

Jason plipped back under the water and dove down deep, making sure there wasn’t even the whisper of a possibility of a chance that anyone would see him coming.

Now he was close enough to hear Dick’s voice, even though it dropped low, hoarse shouting replaced by clenched fists and a broken expression that cracked over and over again through the refraction of the water.

…I can’t afford to break another thing.

Jason saw Bruce, ankle-deep in the water, frown visible even through the dark cup he had clipped over the lower half of his face. He saw Alfred, looking more wilted than he had ever known a human could look. And he saw Dick—or more accurately his ankles. Watched the man shift his weight from the back of his feet to the front. Saw the reflection of his fists in the water as they tightened until his knuckle bones pressed hard enough to be visible through the skin.

And that’s when Jason struck.

He slammed into Dick’s ankles, throwing the man backwards into the water. Bruce exploded forward, no reaction time, just instant movement, but Jason already had his good arm around Dick’s neck, dragging him back until the man’s scrambling feet slipped off stone and found only water underneath. His arms came up, wrapped around Jason’s head, probably trying to throw him, but he didn’t know what Jason had found on the beach.

Jason jabbed the electric stick into Dick’s throat so hard the man choked, writhing in his grip.

Bruce, chest deep in the water, froze. In his grip, Dick went still. Jason didn’t know if the humans could see his finger hovering over the smooth button on the side of the stick—but they couldn’t possibly mistake the stick for anything else.

Dick exhaled. Jason—

“SHUT UP!” Jason tightened his arm around Dick’s neck, feeling the man’s feet scrabble to keep him above water in their hopelessly inefficient dance. He leveled eye contact with Bruce and pushed the stick tighter against Dick’s neck. “Everyone shut up. Or I’m gonna light this whole lake up with enough electric sparks to knock both of you out and then you’ll drown!”

Water lapped at the stone edges of the lake. Silently, Alfred’s hand came up over his mouth and his eyes squeezed shut. Bruce’s hands came up too—lifting the thing off his face, pushing his demon head from his eyes. The cup thing dropped to the water. Bruce’s hands stayed in the air.

“Alright, Jason,” he rumbled. “I’m listening.”

Chapter Text

Once, when Hey Ricky had finished dragging off one of Jason’s scales and decided to go in for a second, a frantic, desperate, horrifying realization pierced straight into Jason's bones.

He couldn’t do it again.

And without thinking, his teeth sank into the hand of the Hey pinning his shoulder to the floor.

Jason wished he remembered what happened after that. Because as he clung desperately to Dick, as if the human was the thing keeping them afloat, he had a feeling this was going to end similarly. And it would have been nice to be prepared.

He was pressed so tightly against Dick now he could feel his whole body rumble when the man spoke.

So help me, Bruce, I’ve been meaning to pay you back for that sucker punch, but if this kid electrocutes me, you’re gonna lose the use of a lot more than your jaw.

Jason jammed the electric stick up under his chin hard enough to snap his mouth shut with a furious gulp. No, asshole! “You don’t talk!” He wrangled Dick’s head around until he had a hand fisted in his hair, the end of Dick’s electric stick still stuck tight against the skin. “You’re a—a—you’re not allowed to talk!”

“Jason.”

Jason’s eyes snapped up. Bruce, fortunately, hadn’t moved—still stuck with only his upper half out of the water, hands loosely raised beside his face. “Jason,” he repeated, and his voice was calm. Too calm. No one’s voice was ever that naturally calm. “What’s going on? Help me understand.”

“Understand? You don’t—you trapped me here! You—you brought me here and you knew I couldn’t get out. You brought me here to die!”

Sir?

Bruce twitched the fingers on his right hand, and Jason flicked his glower suspiciously to Alfred, who repositioned his mouth so it was pressed tight together. A judgmental kind of closed, like he didn’t approve of Jason’s tactics.

Not that Jason cared what humans thought.

Still. It…it almost hurt. The way that Alfred was looking at him.

“I didn’t bring you here to die.” Bruce’s low voice wrangled Jason’s attention back to him. “I brought you here to heal. You’re right—there isn’t a way out of here. I closed all the exits, long before I brought you here.” The man pressed his mouth closed, a mimic of Alfred, before continuing. “But I can take you out of here, if you really want to go. Only you have to let us—”

“Let you? I don’t trust you, you asshole! You’re just gonna—you’re gonna dump me with some other assholes!”

“I wouldn’t—”

“Like those mers!”

There. At least now Bruce looked properly chastised, if his grimace was anything to go by. His frown cut deep, as if it went all the way down to his very soul. “That was a mistake, Jason. I have…I have made many mistakes. I know that.”

I’m still choking, if anyone c—

“Shut! Up!” Jason twisted his grip, earning a little yelp from his prisoner. “I told you not to talk, asshole! And you!” He snapped on Bruce. “You’re an asshole and a liar! You—those weren’t mistakes! You said you’d take care of me—and then you threw me away!”

“I know. I shouldn’t have done that, Jason. I thought it was what was best for you. I thought it was what you wanted.”

Pain lanced through his arm as Dick dug his nails into the skin, trying to keep afloat and being a jerk about it. “You don’t care what I want,” Jason snarled. “I don’t—”

His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“Don’t what, Jason?”

“I—” don’t want to leave.

Jason didn’t want to leave.

Which—no, where had that come from? Jason shook his head hard. He didn’t want to stay. The other mers had been assholes, for sure, but…but so were humans! So were these humans! Bruce wasn’t any better than—

“Jason.”

Jason flinched, and immediately tightened his grip around Dick’s neck, so the man would think it was in fury. It wasn’t because Bruce had yelled. He hadn’t.

It was because his voice was so…so nice.

“I want you here. I want to take care of you. If you choose to stay here, it would make me happy. But I want you to be happy too. If you are not happy underground, we will move you back to the pool. Or another lake. Or one of the rivers—we are making changes to the rivers here that would—”

Dick wriggled—and Jason remembered the stick in his hand.

Shoving it hard enough into Dick’s throat that he gagged, he screamed, “Shut up! I’m in charge now!”

Bruce’s mouth snapped shut immediately.

“I make the rules now! And—and—you have to do what I want or I’ll burn him and you!”

Bruce’s hands, which had started to sink, rose again. Jason could’ve almost sworn he saw a twitch in the corner of the man’s eye. So help him, if Bruce thought this was a joke…

“Alright, Jason. Tell me what you want.”

“I want…I want…” What did he want? Jason lashed his eyes around the enclosure and found his abandoned encampment, with its rumpled heated blanket—and nothing else. Without asking for permission, words dropped from his mouth and splattered in pathetic droplets on the water below.

“No punishments.”

“No…I don’t know ‘punishments.’ Help me understand.”

Jason glared. Like hell Bruce didn’t know ‘punishments.’ Asshole.

“You can’t just hurt me,” he snapped. “If—if I’m bad, you have to tell me, and I’ll stop. I will! You—you have to give me a chance to stop first. Before you—you—you can’t just hurt me.”

“Hurt?” Is that what this is about? We have treated you with kid gloves, you little—

“Shut! Up!” Jason jabbed Dick harder, popping a little gleep from the man. “No burning liquid! No electric sticks! No—no hitting or kicking or breaking or—or anything. No hurting!”

It was quiet while Bruce digested this. Jason didn’t like that he was taking so long to decide. The man’s hands, which had been sinking for awhile now, curled in slow, hard fists.

Jason felt his own fingers tightening desperately around Dick’s electric stick. His voice shook slightly as he whispered,

“J-Just no…no bad hurting, okay? You—you can hit me some, if—if I’m really bad. Or…or I don’t stop when you tell me. Just…n-not the—”

“Jason.” Bruce’s voice came out so hard Jason nearly triggered the electricity with his wince. Even Dick flinched in Jason’s hold. “I will not be hurting you. Alfred will not hurt you. Dick will not hurt you. No one will hurt you.”

Then why did he sound so angry? “N-Not…j-just no burning liquid and no—”

“Help me understand,” Bruce said, interrupting for the first time. “I don’t know ‘burning liquid.’”

“It’s…” That was its name, what else was he supposed to say? Maybe he was hoping Jason would give up if he thought Bruce didn’t understand, but that was one Jason was not compromising on. His eyes flashed around the space desperately before seizing on a target. “Alfred knows!”

The enclosure went silent as all eyes turned to the accused man. In his arms, Dick was the stillest he’d been so far.

Alfred. Does ‘burning liquid’ mean anything to you?

Alfred closed his eyes for a single breath before they snapped wide once more. From where Jason was, they appeared to glisten. Bleach, he said. His voice was soft, but firm. I was cleaning earlier with bleach. That’s when he first got upset.

Bruce’s fist tightened. Go get the bottle. I want to be sure.

Jason flailed at his hold on Dick. “Hey! I—I don’t—y-you can’t talk in human. English! You—you can’t—”

His voice arrested Alfred’s movements, but appeared to have little sway over Bruce, who tilted his head in an almost lazy acquiescence and couldn’t be bothered to raise his voice above a low growl. “I apologize, Jason. We don’t know ‘burning liquid.’ Alfred is going to get it to see if we are right.”

Jason did not want them to bring it there. That sounded like a trap. “No! No, he can’t—no one can leave!”

He was expecting an argument—maybe to even have to burn Dick’s cheek a bit to remind them of his threats—so it threw him a bit when Bruce immediately raised a hand to call back Alfred and said, “Okay.”

That…this could be a trap too, he reminded himself. Because they still hadn’t said they knew what it was. “It’s…the bottle is blue and white. And it…it stings.”

“Alright, yes, I know it.” Bruce’s voice was still low. Almost like he was talking to himself. If it wasn’t for the water, Jason wasn’t sure it would have carried. He had no idea how humans heard themselves inside their houses, with no water to help move the voices along. “…And they used it to hurt you?”

Right. His demands. Jason swallowed. “Yes. I…I don’t want to do that anymore. No—no drinking it. Or—or putting it in my water or pouring it over raw spots on my skin. It—it’s—That’s bad. You just have to tell me to stop and I’ll stop whatever you say. I—I don’t want that anymore.”

“Okay, Jason.” It sounded like Bruce’s teeth were crushing stones between them. “No one will hurt you with ‘bleach’ again.”

“Burning liquid.”

“Burning liquid. No burning liquid.”

“And—and no electric sticks!” Jason made a point of jostling his, so Bruce couldn’t pull anymore ‘not understanding’ gimmicks.

Is he gonna…?

Be quiet. “No electric sticks, Jason. No cattle prods.”

The noise Bruce made sounded a little like the way the Heys pronounced ‘electric stick,’ so Jason nodded, briskly. “Good.”

“…any other demands?”

Was that…that was it? Maybe Bruce didn’t realize how much he had just agreed to. Well, Jason for sure wasn’t going to be the person to tell him.

“I want—” His mind scrambled for more demands. “I want a new fash-o-ite! And—and a blanket! Two blankets!” For when Alfred stole his first one, because even now the older man looked ready to snatch up Jason and everything he owned. “And I—I—I get to sleep!”

Bruce’s brow creased for the first time. “What happened to your flashlight, Jason?”

Would Bruce think he got to punish Jason for the fash-o-ite because he’d told him not to break it? Jason had said he had to tell him and then he’d be good. But it wasn’t like he did it on purpose!

“I didn’t break it! I didn’t! It just…” Jason swallowed down the water he could feel rising in his lungs, trying to push out his throat, out his eyes. “None of your business!” He still had Dick and some power, for now anyway. “I want a new one! And—and it should be green, too! Just like the old one.”

Something clicked and a burst of light poured over the lake.

Jason screamed, flailing back, because he should have known Bruce would try something! Of course asking for more demands was just him trying to get Jason off his guard! He shoved Dick down into the water, hand fumbling for the button on the electric stick. Bruce was shouting from the shore—Turn it off! You imbecile—of all the times to show up—and then, just before Jason could locate the electricity button:

A new voice.

What the hell?

Jason’s eyes lashed to shore and got a glimpse of green and orange and gold for just a moment, before Dick’s head exploded up out of the water, gasping and choking and swearing (Jason could recognize swearing even if he couldn’t understand the words. He’d have to get Dick to teach him later.).

I’m going to kill you, Bruce, I swear—

Not now. Bruce ignored Dick. Arthur. Stay there. Jason and I are having a discussion.

A discussion? Aquaman—Jason had to shove Dick’s head over to the side to see—raced down the stairs by Bruce’s comp-ew-tur, until he too was standing in the water, about a person’s length from Bruce.

He looked livid.

“Jason is telling us what changes need to be made for him to be happy here,” Bruce explained, voice back to that eerie calm. This time it was even worse, because the tone was at odds with his eyes, which were staring at Aquaman the way the Heys sometimes looked at Assholes when their backs were turned. Like they not only wanted the ground to swallow them whole, but hoped it led to a pit filled with stinging nettle and eels.

“Jason is…?” Is he holding a hostage? What the hell, Bruce? I told you not to push him and this is where you let things end up!

“Jason.” Bruce was apparently going to ignore Aquaman. Jason wished he could. He knew he could outswim Bruce and Dick, because they were humans and weak. But he wasn’t so sure about escaping from an Atlantean. “I will get you a new flashlight. A green one. And as many blankets as you want.”

Oh what the actual hell? You’re putting your son in danger over a—actually, never mind. I shouldn’t have expected anything else, after Robin.

Hey! That was Dick, and he sounded more annoyed than the last time Jason had prodded him. Which, granted, had been a few minutes. Jason jabbed him as a reminder, earning him a hiss of contempt. He hadn’t known humans could hiss, so that was interesting.

“Jason. You need to let Dick go,” Aquaman said.

Jason might have, after Bruce agreed to the new light. He was honestly having trouble thinking of other things to demand—but now Aquaman was here and his face promised that as soon as Jason let go of Dick, the Atlantean was going to prevent him from threatening anyone again by tearing his arms off his body.

“N-no!” He hated that his voice shook. He lowered it, growling furiously, “I’m—I’m not done.”

“Alright.” Bruce had his arms in the air again. “What else do you want, Jason?”

“I…I want a…I want a bat.”

“A bat?”

Oops. I might have shown him one of the bats and he might have been kind of obsessed with—

Jason crammed his elbow into Dick’s nose. “Stop. Talking!”

Aquaman frowned. “You can’t have a pet bat, Jason. They carry diseases and—”

“Shut up! I’m not talking to you, I’m talking to Bruce!”

“That’s enough, Jason.”

Jason felt the flinch through his soul.

“You cannot threaten people to get your way. You cannot hurt people if they don’t do what you want. Let Dick go now.”

Leave. You are making things worse—

“I want to be Bruce’s pet!”

Legs raised as they stormed towards to each other, both Aquaman and Bruce froze, like Jason had shocked the water. He hastily checked the stick, but—no, he was alright. And Dick wasn’t spasming in his hold. So they were both just…shocked by emotions, maybe? Because pets didn’t get to choose their owners. Even he knew that. But Aquaman didn’t even like him, and Bruce said he wanted him, so…

“I…I want to be Bruce’s pet,” he said, again, fighting to keep the tremors from his voice. “Not Aquaman’s.”

Bruce said, “You’re not a pet, Jason. You’re no one’s pet. You’re fr—”

“No! You have to let me be Bruce’s pet or I'll—I’ll burn Dick’s face! Right now!”

Um, that sounded like my name and it did not sound good. I swear, Bruce, if you let him electrocute me…

You’re fine. Bruce sloshed away from Aquaman so he was facing Jason again. His hands weren’t up by his face—instead, they lay on the water in front of him. Palms up. Face calm. “Alright, Jason. Alright. No one will send you away. You can stay here as long as you want. In this lake or in the pool or wherever you want to live.” His blue eyes stabbed into Jason’s, bright and wet and painful. “I will make sure you have everything you need. Alfred will bring you sandwiches. And no one will hurt you. I promise.”

And that…

Jason really, really wanted to believe that.

Unfortunately, it looked like Aquaman was more possessive than Jason had accounted for.

“No.”

No? Bruce sounded outraged.

No what? Dick sounded horrified.

“No, you cannot make demands like this, Jason,” Aquaman said firmly. No, because we had an agreement, Bruce. He needs a family. You think keeping him in a dark cave is going to decrease these sorts of tendencies? No, I’m not allowing you to mold him into a psychopath. He needs actual care—the kind you are in no way qualified to give him.

“Jason.” The Atlantean turned. He was closer now. “You need to put the stick down. Now.”

Jason flinched, curling the arm around Dick’s neck closer to his chest. “Back the HELL up!”

Arthur. Give him some space. Or I will make you.

“Let me help you, Jason.”

“No!” He heard Dick gagging as his grip tightened—too tight, probably—but he didn’t know how to make his limbs any looser. “Y—you’re the one who wouldn’t let me sleep! I don’t want to talk to you!”

Aquaman’s advance stalled. “Wouldn’t let you sleep?”

“You said!” And Jason felt Dick wince at how sharp his voice came out, knew he had to get himself back under control. “No sleeping! You said!”

“We made a mistake,” Bruce was saying, “and we should have done better at making sure you understood us. But that wasn’t what—”

“Jason.”

Aquaman was close now, too close, but Jason couldn’t drag Dick any farther because the man was flailing too much and—and now he could feel his arm being loosened, pried away, as Aquaman settled a hand on his shoulder and whispered, “You’ve been so scared and hurt. I’m so sorry.”

And then—

“I want to help. I want to help fix all of this.”

—there were arms around him.

Jason pressed up against Aquaman’s firm, heated chest. He could hear the thumping of the Atlantean’s heart through his orange scale armor. Pressure against his back held him in place so even his tail didn’t need to keep him up, because someone else was holding him, keeping him…

Jason dipped his head forward, hair spilling over the shoulder where Aquaman cradled his teary eyes.

“I’ve got you. It’s going to be alright…”

Jason slammed the electric stick into his side and pushed the button.

Chapter Text

Jason was on the other side of the lake by the time Aquaman hit the water, clutching his electric stick tight against his chest. It was taking all the strength his body could provide, leaving almost nothing to make his lungs expand and contract. So—so he was having such a hard time breathing. It rattled in his chest.

Someone was shouting, Damn, I bet that hurt. Are you alright? I had it under control, really… or maybe just talking but the ringing in his ears made everything seem too loud—waves of voices, sloshing water, rushing footsteps.

Serves you right, a deep voice was saying, and it crashed like a thunder cloud around the enclosure. Then—

“Jason?”

He blinked. Then blinked again, because he didn’t realize until he blinked that he hadn’t been able to see anything in front of his open eyes.

Now, though, he could see Aquaman, closer to shore where he could stand, hunched over and groaning at the water. He could see…Dick, maybe, beside him, calling to Alfred to get icy hot because his muscles are gonna hurt like a—whatever that was. Alfred seemed to know, though, because he cut off Dick with an impatient Richard! as if he was annoyed that Dick thought he didn’t know.

And closest to him, standing in the deepest part of the lake where his feet could still touch, was Bruce.

“Jason, it’s alright. You’re not in trouble. I promised, remember? You will not get in trouble for things if I haven’t told you. And I didn’t tell you not to do that.”

Are you—ugh, those are definitely turned up too high, do you really use those on patrol? Are you seriously encouraging this behavior right now?

Jason raised his stick weakly, bracing one end against the hollow of his chest, the other wobbling at Bruce. “I—I’m still in charge.”

“You are,” Bruce agreed, a little too amicably.

“He—Aw-kwer-man…” Jason swallowed, trying to force his voice to steady. “I—don’t touch me.”

“Yes, he was very wrong to do that. Bad Aquaman.”

Jason searched for signs of mockery in Bruce’s face, but if it was there, it wasn’t the same ones he was used to seeing on the faces of the Heys and Assholes from the bathroom. Bad Aw-kwer-man, he confirmed, warily.

Now hang on just a minute…

Mister Curry, if you would be so good as to follow me? I believe Masters Bruce and Dick have things well in hand.

Dick laughed for some asinine reason. If it makes you feel any better, I appreciate you taking the hit. If it wasn’t you, it was gonna have to be me. And those things smart.

You don’t say.

Jason’s eyes flashed between the rush of conversation on the shore and Bruce’s stoic expression. There wasn’t a flicker of interest in those blue, human eyes. Which either meant they weren’t talking about Jason—but how could they not be?—or that Bruce didn’t care what they had to say.

Jason…Jason really wanted to not care what they had to say.

He sucked in a breath, feeling his lungs rattle his torso. “I—I get to sleep.” His voice trembled on the final syllable, and he barely raised the stick, because he had far less leverage against Bruce than he’d had against Dick. Dick was a wuss who could barely swim. Bruce was standing, which gave him some advantage, and his arms were thick enough to tear Jason apart like a san wishes.

Still. Maybe what had happened with Aquaman had convinced Bruce of the legitimacy of his threats, because the man’s eyebrows rose steeply before dropping over narrowed gaze. “You’re in charge, Jason. You get to sleep.”

“Yes.”

“Would you like to sleep now?”

Jason felt like he could sleep for an eternity. He clutched the stick in his hands tighter.

“I…I get to keep my stick.”

“I don’t see how we could take it away from you.”

Oh. That was a fair point. And…good. Good, because if they’d let him keep it, it wasn’t really worth anything, was it? If Bruce could just take it when he wanted? But Jason could just electrocute them if they tried, so…so Bruce was right. They couldn’t take it away from him.

“Right.” His knuckles pressed white against the skin. “Then…then I want to sleep. Now.”

“Where would you like to sleep?”

Images of lakes and rivers and waterfalls cascaded through his brain, but it wasn’t like Bruce could conjure those out of his clothes the way he did things like his phone or the fash-o-ite. Part of being in control meant knowing what was reasonable, otherwise they’d seize control back while he was floundering.

“In…in the pool where you talk to me.”

“Alright. Would you like me to take you there or will you go by yourself?”

The idea of jumping over that wall right now…with his arm and head and chest throbbing as if he’d just taking a kicking from three Heys at once…

It made him want to cry. But not as much as the idea of Bruce gripping him and holding him still.

Jason scowled. “I said not to touch me.”

“So you did.” Bruce turned and started sloshing toward shore. It was the most ridiculous Jason had ever seen him look. Humans really were useless in the water, weren’t they? “Then I will see you up there.”

It took a few tries for Jason to get over the wall, but he refused to even glance towards in the comp-ew-tur, in case one of them saw and took it as permission to ‘help.’

He also had to wait until Bruce and Alfred had argued with Aquaman enough that the man left in a huff.

No way was Jason putting himself in arm’s reach of the Atlantean so soon after he’d definitely risen to the top of the man’s enemy list.

When he did make it into the pool, Bruce was there, and he had…

Jason felt his throat close up tight and his eyes sting.

Bruce had brought a blanket.

I have an idea, but I’m not going to share it because he tried to electrocute me to death. Dick was there too, perched on top of Bruce’s comp-ew-tur, and looking entirely too cheerful for someone who’d been taken hostage just recently. Probably because he hadn’t been the one to actually deal with the electric stick.

Just let him get close again, though. Jason curled his hands around the stick and his lips back from his teeth to show the man he had been serious about burning him, if it had come to that.

Okay, fine, I’ll tell you. You should tie the ends of the blanket. Either end, like—

Dick twisted his hands together and Jason slammed his stick forward, spraying water onto the floor in his haste. No, Dick! Asshole! “No strangling—no shut it up—no, no, no!” He flashed his eyes to Bruce, desperately. “That—that counts. As punishment. Hurting. It—I don’t want that. You…you have to tell me what you want me to stop and I’ll—”

“It’s alright, Jason,” Bruce soothed patiently. “Dick was just demonstrating what I will do to him if he doesn’t go away and let you rest.”

Dick didn’t seem threatened, but maybe that just meant he really was planning on leaving. That would be good. Jason didn’t know what he’d do if Dick tried putting on those horrible brown-and-gray creatures right now.

No, not like that. Like a—there you go. And then you have to put it underwater.

Leaning over the pool, Bruce took the twisted up blanket in his hands and knotted one end to a hook in the wall. Maybe to keep it from floating away? With a waving motion to Jason, he then walked around, carefully balancing on the wall Jason had just clamored over, and fished the blanket out of the water to secure the other end there.

Now the blanket was tying the two walls together like a rope. It didn’t billow or stretch anymore. Jason was too small to hide behind it—and he’d have to cling to it the whole time. A whine crawled up his throat. Was he going to have to threaten Bruce again? Was this how it was going to be, him making demands and Bruce intentionally finding ways to be terrible about fulfilling them?

“Before you get upset,” Bruce said, “come here.”

The human pulled at the blanket, revealing a small opening that got wider as he stretched it. It…it looked a little like a cave, made out of blanket. Jason poked it, warily, with the edge of his tail before slipping inside. The blanket expanded to swallow him, while the opening Bruce had created sealed itself. He was completely wrapped in the blanket—like a hug from his mother, with no fear of floating or drifting.

He popped his head out of the opening to stare at Bruce in shock.

Bruce smiled one of his slightly broken, slightly unused smiles. “It’s called a hammock.” Hammock.

Jason retreated back into the folds, only his eyes visible.

From his spot above the water, Dick warbled down, He doesn’t like it?

“What’s wrong, Jason?”

Nothing. Not really. He…he wanted to like it. He just…

Hey, he whispered. Hey mick.

Oh, yeah, that’s no good, said Dick. Geeze, this kid’s finding triggers like we’re in a gun factory.

Cocoon, Bruce said. “It’s called a cocoon, Jason. Not hammock. Cocoon. I made a mistake.”

Oh. Oh, well that was way better. Jason scowled. Bad, he said, clutching the electric stick tightly. Bad Bruce. Ca coon—good.

Good cocoon, Bruce agreed. “Sleep, Jason.”

“I’m in charge,” Jason reminded him. He scowled at Dick so he’d remember too. Then he popped his head back inside the cocoon. “I’m going to sleep.”

From somewhere outside the safety of his blanket, he heard Bruce’s warm voice as the man dragged Dick away. Good, Jason. Good night.

Jason wasn’t sure how long he slept.

He was starting to think he might be bad at telling how much time had passed.

Once he thought he heard the low rumbles of Bruce and Aquaman talking, somewhere outside the pool. One said something like, he might not be well suited for placement with a family, and the other said, I’ll let you know when you’re welcome back. Don’t wait by the phone.

But Jason just checked that he still had his stick and knew that it didn’t matter if Aquaman wanted him back, because Jason wasn’t going to let him take him. So he could argue with Bruce if he wanted to. Jason was staying where he was.

The next time his brain cared enough to fill him in on what was going on outside his cocoon, it was Dick’s voice that filtered down.

I was only upstairs for an hour. What happened in the equipment room?

Bruce’s rumble stayed quiet. Its absence was like the missing thunder of a storm that hasn’t broken yet.

…Is this about the cattle prod thing or the bleach thing?

Hn.

Yeah. Dick sighed. Jason felt something gently stir the water somewhere above him. It should have concerned him, but he was well out of arm’s reach, so unless they got in the pool—which he would immediately know—he was fine.

He was grateful for the blanket wrapped around him, tucking him away from the rest of the world.

Thanks for talking him down earlier. I got taken by surprise when I realized it was him. I was just so relieved he was ok that I didn’t think—

You did fine, Dick.

Yeah. More waves lapping at the surface of his water. It was actually kind of soothing. Jason let his eyes flutter behind closed eyelids and imagined a cool stream with skipping spiders dancing on its surface. I’m glad he’s safe. Dick made a noise almost like laughing but more definitely not. Turns out he didn’t need me to go rescue him after all, huh? Probably for the best. I’m not much good at saving people. Not these days, anyway.

Dick. Scuffing noises of Bruce clearing his throat filled the chasm. Listen. I…know I said some things when we—when I thought Jason had…died…

I get what you’re trying to do, Dick interrupted. The water movement slowed, then picked back up again, almost purposefully. And…thank you, B—

I’m not done. I know I said that you failed to save him, but you’ve never failed at anything you’ve done. Your team didn’t fall apart because of you. The only reason it lasted as long as it did was because of you… The truth is, you couldn’t have failed to save him because you’ve always saved everyone. You saved me, all those years ago…and you still are. Every day.

Water swished through the fibers of Jason’s cocoon. His eyelashes fluttering against his cheek sounded deafening in the silence.

Dick’s huff broke the spell. Dammit, Bruce. I’ve planned on getting you back for that punch, but now I can’t hit you. Something splashed, and Jason heard a squelching noise—like wet human footsteps. Oh well, I’ll just have to do it some other time. It’s fine, though. I’ll just sneak up and surprise you.

Bruce’s soft voice barely carried down into the water.

…You’ll try.

Jason slipped back to sleep with the sound of faint laughter vibrating through the waves.

The next time Jason woke, it was quiet. He peeled apart the folds of the blanket enough to blink out at the dim light. Bruce was there, poking and prodding at his comp-ew-tur so it only showed boring, nonmoving pictures of squiggles.

“…You’re not talking.”

Bruce turned, as if he had known Jason was awake the whole time. Even though he didn’t, because even if he was wearing demon skin, which he wasn’t, no one could have heard Jason blink his eyes open underwater. Not even fish could hear that.

“What’s that, Jason?”

“You’re not talking.”

“…No?”

Jason frowned. Wrinkles of concern shuffled into place above Bruce’s eyebrows. “Am I supposed to be?”

“Yes.”

“I see. What would you like to talk about?”

“No!” A yawn split Jason’s head in half. “I don’t talk. You talk. This is the pool where you talk to me.”

Something happened in Bruce’s eyes—a shiver, a ripple of something that stirred their blue depths.

The man said, “Oh.”

“Oh,” Jason grumbled, but Bruce turned back to his comp-ew-tur. After a moment, his low voice started.

“…Looking back at the string of ‘robberies’ that ‘correspond with the circus’ movements’…it is apparent that it’s someone inside the ‘circus.’ But surely the ‘circus members’ would notice someone out of place. With such a tight community…”

“Bruce?”

Bruce made a noise that seemed to imply he was pausing his speech for Jason’s inquiry. Jason twirled his finger through the edge of the blanket around him. “I think I’m still sick.”

“Yes, Jason.”

“I’m still sleepy.”

“Then go back to sleep.”

“I will.” Jason clasped the blanket up around him again, so Bruce couldn’t see him even if he looked into the water. “I get to sleep as much as I want.”

“You do.”

“Good.” There was a moment of quiet. Jason popped his blanket open enough to say, “You should keep talking.”

“Right…well, perhaps a master of ‘disguise…a chimera, if you will.’ Someone who could ‘impersonate’ another member of the ‘circus’ and—”

“Bruce?”

Hm.

“You didn’t say I was your pet.” He peeled his blankets apart to squint up at Bruce’s blobby figure. “Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Hmmm.

“I—I won’t be Aw-kwer-man’s pet.”

“I know.”

It was quiet, while Jason waited for Bruce to say more. But apparently that was all he had to say. Or, all he had to say right now. Because Jason’s brain was niggled by a memory of a similar conversation, except that time Bruce had said…

“Bruce?”

“Yes, Jason?”

“Am I…I’m not a pet?”

“No.”

He said it so calmly, so…so obviously. Like it made any sense. Jason blinked back little pockets of air from his eyes and scowled to keep any others at bay. “If I’m not your pet, then—then what am I?”

For the first time, Bruce turned away from his computer and faced the black-blue pool where Jason hid. He blinked at its depths, then, slowly, lowered himself until he was sitting at the edge of the water. Like wet grass, his feet slipped out from the side and whispered into the water. Jason could see the deformed, stupid looking things wriggling above him.

When Bruce sighed, it stirred the waters like a boulder sliding from its perch to nestle deeper on the riverbed.

“You are my good…my good thing.” He hesitated, licked his lips, then added, ever so quietly, “Love my good Jason.”

Jason sat up.

He stared up at the distorted picture of Bruce above him.

Tiny bubbles danced around the human’s stupid human feet.

Love my good Jason, he’d said.

Jason swirled his tail, bobbing to the surface. He kept low, so only his eyes popped out into the air. His stick was still clutched tight to his chest.

Bruce blinked slowly back at him.

“…I’m sorry I tried to kill Dick.”

Bruce huffed. “Not Aquaman? Not me?”

“No. Asshole.”

Another huff, a little sound that Jason thought was his broken human way of laughing. “Dick is also my good thing,” he said softly. “You and Dick and Alfred. Please don’t hurt Dick.”

Jason’s fingers tightened around his stick. He thought of electricity and punishments and Dick’s laugh that was good and frustrating and terrible and fascinating all at the same time.

He scowled. “I won’t have to, if he keeps his threats to himself and off my rectangle.”

“Threats?”

“The…the brown and gray creatures. That hurt each other. I know he was using them to teach me how to be good, but I already know how to be good. So he can shove it.”

“Where did you learn language like that?” Bruce shook his head, kicking his feet lazily. “He didn’t mean it as a threat. Those are ‘cartoons.’ They’re meant…” Hm. There’s not a good way to explain this. “They’re meant to be funny.”

“They’re not.”

“I know, Jason. They’re not real.”

“The things they do are real.”

“I know that. Now. You don’t have to watch them again.”

Jason narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Do I have to playing? I’m not doing that anymore either.”

Playing? “With Dick?”

“When he yells at me and hits me.”

Bruce’s eyebrows went up, but his mouth twisted like he had eaten something that lingered too long on his tongue. Hn. “That’s…probably my fault. I—”

“Yes. It probably is.”

“I—quiet. I push Dick hard to be strong. He was trying to push you.” Another sigh. Bruce looked…tired. Like Jason felt. “You don’t have to play if you don’t want to.”

The only sound came from Bruce’s feet swishing and gurling in the water. Jason tried not to think about how it sounded like something trapped thrashing to get free.

“…Strong how?”

Hm?

“You push Dick to be strong how?”

“You mean, how do I push him or how do I want him to be strong? There’s a lot of…practice, involved. ‘Training.’ So he is prepared for anything.”

‘So nothing can hurt him.’

Bruce didn’t say it. But Jason heard it nonetheless.

“Maybe…maybe it’s ok. The…playing with Dick. But only when I say! And—and he has to explain himself better!” Jason crossed his arms fiercely. “If you humans would learn how to use actual words and use them right, we wouldn’t end up with half the messes you make!”

Bruce stared at Jason, blinked twice, then—suddenly—erupted with laughter.

Jason smacked his stick against the water. “Stop it! I’m serious!”

“I know, Jason.” He wiped at his eyes. “You’re right. No more misunderstandings.”

“…Right. Good.” Glaring felt insufficient for chastising Bruce, but the man seemed to get the message anyway, as his face returned to its usual stoicism.

“Anything else you want to talk about?”

Jason considered. Yes. He wanted to know about the demon skin—where Bruce had gotten it, why he wore it, why he didn’t bother to make it look more like a bat. He wanted to know what happened to Aquaman, if he was still around and would try to make Jason leave again or if he’d been successfully scared off between Bruce’s refusal and Jason’s electricity. He wanted to know if Alfred was going to bring him more san wishes soon, because he’d been sleeping a lot, but also he was hungry.

But there would be time later for all those questions. Jason still had his stick. So he’d just make Bruce tell him later. For now…

Jason pushed himself a little further out of the water.

“…My arm really hurts.”

“Your arm?” The sloshing from Bruce’s feet stopped. “What happened to your arm?”

“I fell. And it hurts.”

Peals of water leeching off Bruce’s shoes as he pulled them out of the pool covered the concern in his voice like rainfall. “Would you show me your arm?”

Sure, Bruce could look all he wanted, so long as he didn’t touch. Jason swished around until his arm floated up in front of him. It hurt less, bobbing away from the heaviness of the air, but after using it to hold tight to Dick earlier, ‘less’ just meant ‘not blinding pain.’ It still throbbed.

Bruce frowned. “It looks dislocated, Jason. You need medicine. I need to touch your arm. And it will hurt.”

“Wait, what? No!” Thank no!

“It will hurt so it can heal. Like…like yelling so someone will go away. It is not pleasant, but the end is good.”

That was a terrible analogy. Jason made a face and dropped down through the water before Bruce could try to snatch at him. “No! No, Bruce. No, no, no, no, no.”

He could see Bruce’s frustration, even through the depths of the pool between them. The human pinched between his eyes. Then ran a hand over his entire face, as if trying to wipe off the irritation. It only smeared on thicker.

Finally, he said, “Jason. If you will let me heal your arm, even though it hurts, I will give you things. What do you want?”

He was going to—that was stupid. Jason didn’t need to make concessions. He had his stick. Bruce had to do what he said anyway.

Unless…Jason thought for a moment. True, the stick kept Bruce from doing anything he didn’t want. Bruce couldn’t force him to get his arm treated. Because Jason would just electrocute him. But…but the stick wasn’t all that helpful in making Bruce do things Jason wanted him to do.

If Bruce didn’t want to listen, he could just walk away.

Jason would be safe, but…

He’d also be all alone. And hungry. With no blankets or fash-o-ites or san wishes or—or anything.

Jason popped his head over the surface, carefully on the other side of the pool from Bruce.

“San wishes?” he asked. “With…brown san wishes, not water san wishes?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean by ‘brown,’ but I’m sure Alfred will know. Yes, Jason. Sandwiches.”

He’d agreed a little too easily. That must mean whatever had to be done to his arm was really going to hurt.

“What about my other blanket? And my fash-o-ite?”

“I will get those for you.”

“You have to get those anyway. I—I want a bat.”

“We…can talk about that.”

Jason pressed his lips together. That didn’t sound like a ‘yes.’ He scraped through his mind desperately trying to think of something else, anything else to demand.

For the first time, the smallness of his world lanced through him like a harpoon.

He didn’t even know what else to ask for.

“I…I want more stuff. Good stuff.”

Bruce lowered himself down so he was kneeling. Dark spots from when his legs had been in the water trailed up his gray pants, making him look like a mottled flounder. His hands turned out, flat and open and calm.

“I will give you so much good stuff.” You don’t know what a remote-controlled boat is. But by this time tomorrow, you will. “…I just need you to trust that I will give you good things.”

As if Jason had a choice.

But…

Well, despite himself, he found he did sort of believe that Bruce would find something good to give him. Or, even if it turned out to be something terrible, Bruce would take it away and bring something else. And if that turned out to be terrible too, Bruce would bring another something else.

Until he found something good. Because he wanted Jason to have good things. Because Jason was his good thing.

Burbles of water trailed in his wake as Jason slowly drifted towards Bruce.

“Ok, Bruce. Ok.”

And when Bruce lifted him up, his arms didn’t feel tight or stiff or mean. They were strong. Like Jason was going to be.

And it was nice.

Plus, Jason still had his stick. If it really hurt, he’d just burn Bruce anyway.

So he was going to be fine.

Alfred said it was two days before Bruce brought Jason back up to the outdoor pool. He also said there were too many blankets, which Jason thought meant the older human had finally made his peace with Jason having all the blankets, so Jason rewarded him with a smile and an enthusiastic, “Yes!” before disappearing into them.

Dick, who had taken Bruce’s order to “leave Jason alone” to heart, made an appearance soon after Jason moved. At first, it was just to walk around the edge of the stones and talk on his phone rectangle. The person on the other end was either named Donna or It’ll be fine because those were the sounds Dick made a lot.

I know, Donna. I heard about Roy, Donna.

It’ll be fine. I’m glad he’s getting help. Rehab will be good.

Yeah, Wally’s…Wally’s out. But it’ll be fine.

I know Garfield called him a ‘Star Wars reject,’ Donna. That’s why they need help.

They’re not going to be a team without us, Donna.

It’ll be fine.

Finally, Dick tossed his phone onto the table and kneeled at the edge of Jason’s pool. You’re looking a lot better, huh, kiddo? I brought you something. A surprise. But—! Dick held out a hand, shaking his head with a withering smile. Historically, you have no handled surprises with, shall we say, aplomb. So I have some questions first.

One. Dick held up a finger, pointing at the sky. “Jason. Like sandwiches? Sandwiches good?”

Jason brightened. Sure, he had already eaten, but he wasn’t going to turn down more san wishes, even if they turned out to be the less good, water ones (which he hadn’t seen since Bruce fixed his arm. That had needed a lot of san wishes to smooth over). If Dick brought more san wishes, Jason would just hide them somewhere out of the water for safekeeping.

Yes, Dick, san wishes! Good!

Good. Two. Another finger joined Dick’s first, so they looked like snail feelings popping out of his hand. “Jason. Like ice cream? Ice cream good?”

Eyes…greem? Jason wrinkled his nose. “What the—” Bruce’s voice flashed through his head. Dick. I don’t know ‘eyes greem.’

Ah, okay, that bodes…well, it’s not an immediate ‘no.’ “Ice cream food.”

Oh. Eyes greem was a kind of food? Jason liked food. As long as it wasn’t hot. He narrowed his eyes. Eyes greem hot?

Not even a little bit. Cold, Jason. “Cold.”

Jason nodded in approval. Cold good. Good, Dick. Good eyes greem.

Last question. Jason—chocolate?

I don’t know jog—jog let? No, Dick.

…Good enough. Alright, fingers crossed that even after we’ve done all our background checks, this doesn’t turn out to be some horrible trigger for you. Dick pulled a hand from behind him. It held a paper-wrapped object, about the size of Bruce’s phone rectangle, but thicker, like a san wishes. While Jason watched, he pulled the paper off like bark from a branch and then held the brown-and-white object to Jason hopefully.

Try it, he said. I think you’ll like it.

Jason slid his hands up out of the water and pinched it between both, eyeing the thing warily. It was softer than he’d expected—and colder too. He eyed Dick. San wishes? he asked warily.

Sandwich, Dick concurred. Ice cream sandwich.

The human waited patiently. Jason frowned. Eyes greem san wishes…

He closed his eyes and took a tiny bite.

And Jason’s world exploded into color.

Chapter Text

“Alfred. I need you to prep the garage for a paint update, stage four, lowest setting. And bring a sterile table in. Then I need you to start draining and cleaning the pool so we can fill it with fresh water.”

There was the pause that Alfred knew to wait for and then a softer, lower second part.

“It’s a mer child.”

Alfred said, “Understood,” and the call disconnected.

Once, when Dick was around fourteen and starting to truly chafe under Batman’s demands, he had hung up in the middle of one of Bruce’s calls, turned to Alfred and declared, “You don’t need to let him talk to you like that. You raised him. He needs to treat you with respect.”

And Alfred, reaching around the boy to redial, had returned with the same ire, “Perhaps, Master Dick, you are simply too young to recognize respect in all its forms.”

Dick was a bit too American for that, though. To him, respect was equality in each and every form, at least in those days. Alfred wasn’t worried. Dick would and had matured, and in the meantime neither Alfred nor Bruce were burdened by the need to explain themselves.

Then, as now, Alfred finished the call with Bruce and then did what he did best: whatever needed to be done.

He went down to the garage in the cave and programmed in the settings requested. When the overhead sprinklers turned on, he let it run enough to wash away any grease or contaminates from the last time Bruce had recoated the Batmobile before lowering it to a fine mist. He paused it only long enough to bring in a ten-foot, metal table from one of the more neglected corners of the cave, after carefully scrubbing it and covering it with sterile plastic.

Outside, he released all the drains for the pool. Although the pool, like the manor, was ostensibly separate from Batman’s domain, there were quick releases to drain the pool in a matter of minutes rather than hours. For what eventuality, he never asked. He doubted Bruce himself knew. The key seemed to be to prepare, not to necessarily know what you were preparing for.

There was no automatic process to clean the pool of chemicals or salt, but Alfred credited his good health with his unwillingness to shy away from hard labor. It was the same fortitude he had instilled in his sons, both Bruce and Dick. Two complete scrubbings of the forty foot length later, a thorough rinse, and then the pool was filling once more, with water direct from distributaries of Gotham river somewhere on the Wayne property. It would not have passed cleanliness tests for consumption, but for a fresh water mer it should have proved more than acceptable.

By the time Alfred returned to the cave, Dick had just arrived, peeling his helmet off, leaving his bike in the most inconvenient spot. There was something heartbreakingly familiar about that, even if it had been far too long since Alfred had seen it. He greeted the boy warmly, with a firm hand on his shoulder and a smile.

Dick smiled, face the kind of tired that communicated he had already spoken with Bruce. “Hey, Alfie! Been a minute, huh? Not that this place has changed—no surprises there. Bruce and Garth are behind me. Anything I can help with?”

There wasn’t, but Alfred asked him to check things anyway, because all the men of their family liked to stay busy. “I’m gonna make a sandwich while I’m here. You want anything?”

“That’s alright, Master Richard. Help yourself.”

Dick wrinkled one side of his nose and this time his grin looked a little more genuine. “Richard? Damn, didn’t realize I’d cheesed you off already. There better be something good in the fridge to make up for that.” Then he disappeared.

The Batmobile arrived while Dick was still upstairs. Bruce emerged, and for the first time Alfred felt wrong footed, when he saw the man without the cowl leaving the car that only Batman drove. He walked around to the passenger side, where the door was already opening and young Aqualad clamoring out.

Aqualad pulled his seat forward, as Bruce was already bent in the backseat, drawing out his cape, cloaking an object weighty or fragile enough that he was using both arms.

Something too boney to be an elbow and too sharp to be anything else protruded for only a moment, and then disappeared into the blackness of Batman’s cape. Behind Alfred, he heard Dick’s steps down the stairs. Instead of joining the others, Dick switched on the fans in the garage, to keep the air from thickening too much with mist.

Bruce carried the mer child alone—or carried what Alfred assumed was the child. For a moment, his chest tightened, but Bruce must have caught his eye because his eyes softened ever so slightly. Something that wouldn’t happen if the body completely wrapped in black cape wasn’t still reassuringly alive.

The table Alfred had brought into the shop was slick with water from the sprinklers, but from the shift of Bruce’s shoulders he knew that was as it was supposed to be. Aqualad hurried to be beside the cloak as Bruce laid it down. Now Alfred could make out fingers, too small, too loose, too thin. The weight of the cloak rather than the grip was holding it in place covering its occupant. Aqualad said something in a language of low murmurs.

We’re at Bruce’s house now, little mer. Do you want to come out and look around?

There was a still moment. Then from the cape came a rough, “No.”

Aqualad huffed, dry laughter.

Dick laughed, rough and course. “Yeah, he likes that word.”

Aqualad ignored him and peeled back enough of the cloak to peer in. We need to get you to the pool. Remember we talked about this on the way over?

No. I was sleeping. I’m still sleeping. G-go away.

Jason…

“We need to get him into the pool,” Bruce said, voice tight because there was a child that needed help, because there were people in his sanctuary, because Dick was leaning against the doorway but not inside the room with them. He looked to Alfred, who looked at Dick. Dick shrugged and wobbled a flat hand from side-to-side. When Alfred glanced at the obscured child on the table, Dick considered, then nodded tightly.

Alfred inclined his head slightly.

“It’s ready for him now,” Bruce continued. “But first I’d like to treat his wounds. I’m not comfortable putting him in the pool until I’m sure he’s safe from infection.”

Jason? We talked about this in the car, remember? We need to heal you. We don’t want your wounds to get worse.

They’re fine. Alfred couldn’t get over how small the voice sounded. Part of it was how it had to fight its way through the thick of Batman’s cape. Most of it was simply the age of whatever child Bruce had found.

Like a small circus child he had found, now grown and crooked in the doorway of the garage. So at home and so out of place at the same time.

I’ll—I’ll heal if you put me in the pool. I always heal in the tub, so…so I’ll heal even faster in a bigger place. Obviously.

“He’s bleeding.”

All eyes tugged down at Dick’s words, to the slick metal table, coated in a faint green sheen near the edge of the cape.

It pained Bruce, to see the child hurt, and he advertised it to the world by how his face tightened. At the very least, he advertised it to those who knew him closely. “Aqualad.”

“I’m trying…” There was a beat as Aqualad pressed his lips tight together. Jason? What if we do this bit by bit? We could start with one of your arms, then you could hide it again and give us another arm.

I’m not hiding. The child’s voice was sharp. The cape rustled and an arm only as thick around as the bone under the skin struggled out, pushing at its black covering. Another arm followed the first, just as sickly as the first, and then a matted tangled of black hair. Bruce and Aqualad both levered forward to pull the cape free slowly.

Alfred’s breath caught in his chest.

The boy’s face was mottled with sweeping bags of green and yellow under the eyes, purple spattered over his nose and his forehead. Red infection and crusty green blood dried against the corner of his mouth and ran into his hairline. His neck still looked as if it was circled in Batman’s cape, with bruising dark and thick enough to completely cover the skin. His chest was a mess of burns, scrapes, bruising and deep scars.

Everything below that could only be described as an open wound.

Sluggish green blood seeped around half-formed scales, broken, patchy and insufficient to cover the sickly yellowish and white of his tail. Alfred could only guess the original colors had been black with maybe orange or red from the delicate fins crumpled on either side and the bottom.

It hurt. It hurt the way a child clutching at his father’s too big coat, shivering in the back of a police cruiser had hurt. It hurt the way a small boy screaming about the air, the furniture, the unfamiliar house he now found himself occupying hurt.

Alfred raised a hand to his lips, eyes pressing closed.

He heard a tiny breath catch.

When he opened his eyes, the boy’s gaze was latched onto him, eyes struggling to glare through absolute terror at the table, the room, the sprinklers, the people.

He shrunk back, tiny trembling fist clenched against the bones in his chest. “H-hey asshole B-Bruce” m-mister sir…please…

Bruce’s eyes flashed. “What, Jason? What’s wrong?”

Jason, what’s the matter? Is it… Aqualad’s eyes found Alfred and widened. Oh. Jason, it’s alright. This is Alfred. He gestured. “Alfred. This is Jason.”

Y-you promised. You promised! You said you weren’t gonna…that I could—

The child sucked in a ragged breath. He was sobbing, without any tears, barely breathing. His chest heaved. It bowed upwards off the table, as if used to being bent over something in the small of his back. It hurt, in the same place, to know that the boy’s body had been conditioned and twisted.

Alfred extended a gentle smile. “While the circumstances of your arrival are less than ideal, judging by your assessment of Master Bruce just now, I am nevertheless happy to meet you, lad.”

You can’t sell me. You promised! P-please, please, mister Aqualad. Please. I’ll be good. I’ll be better.

Jason, it’s alright. You’re safe. Alfred just—

“Don’t be fooled like Bruce was,” Dick threw out with vicious insouciance. “He doesn’t actually speak English.”

—wants to help. Bruce would never let anyone in his home who wasn’t safe. You are safe here.

“I’m going to have to treat his tail. It would be better to sedate him.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I have no clue how to explain it to him and we’ve already had enough misunderstandings today to—”

“If I may?”

Bruce turned, with the young Aqualad. From the doorway, Dick shuffled his arms and his feet in turns.

Alfred went to the medicine cabinet and withdrew a vial of diphenhydramine. After carefully measuring out a small dose, he withdrew another bottle, poured a much larger measure into a cup, and then approached the table with both medicines.

Lowering himself to the child’s level, he could now see the thick black bruises that coated the small of his back where it arched off the table. Wild eyes latched onto his with fervor.

“Young mer,” he said gently, “I have two drinks in my hand. This one,” he indicated the small dose, “will help you to sleep so that your wounds can be treated without pain. This one,” and he held up the larger glass, “will ensure that if anyone were to try to move you from this spot or harm you in anyway, you would wake immediately.”

Aqualad’s face twisted uncomfortably. “That’s…a lie.”

Alfred smiled at the mer child and felt his sadness bleed into it. “A small one. A soft one.”

There was a moment of hesitation, then Aqualad’s soft murmurs filled the cave. The child’s expression fought through terror and rage in equal measure, before finally latching onto Alfred with fearful determination. Is…is he telling the truth? I’ll wake up if anyone tries to move me?

Aqualad’s eyes flickered to Alfred, but his breath held steady. Yes, Jason. He’s telling the truth. No one will be able to move you.

It was quiet in the cave as the little mer drank first the diphenhydramine, followed by eight ounces of unflavored Pedialyte. He huddled in the remains of Batman’s cape, eyelids blinking heavily, while Bruce and the others tried not to hover, tried not to rush to bring medical attention immediately.

Alfred alone held his gaze until it faded behind bruised black eyelids. And in that gaze, he hoped the child recognized something warm. Something secure.

Something safe.

Chapter Text

Crouched in shadow, cloaked in the thin, misty air of night, Batman watched the stones that covered one of the many entrances to his cave.

It wasn’t an entrance that got a lot of use. It shouldn’t have gotten any use. But after reviewing camera footage, motion alerts, sensor readings and tracking data from a sticker clinging to the side of a conspicuously green flashlight, he was sure that this was the place.

A small alcove off the main section of river, half underwater, allowed water to leak through to the cave system below. Eddies of water swirled around a pile of stones as they sucked slowly down below. One large stone plugged the entrance, too narrow for anything larger than an otter. Or a small child.

It took over an hour of silent, blinkless watching. But Bruce always caught his prey.

Stones shifted, water gurgled as something pushed against it, and a small, pale hand emerged holding a tiny green flashlight. Its lens still glowed with remnants of a light only just extinguished.

After a bit of hesitant peering, a head followed the hand. Then Jason pulled his entire body through, wrestling around the stones that had previously covered the exit, before plopping out into the quick current of Gotham’s newly re-routed river.

Aquaman and Bruce had done most of the work on the ground—in every sense—for the river’s shifting course. Bruce had plotted the evidence that would make the change seem a natural occurrence, while Arthur provided most of the brute strength for felling trees and staging mud slides. Damming the flood and then convincing it to follow the new path had been the work of Mera, only too happy to help after hearing Jason’s story.

They intended it to lead to the cave and a newly formed pond in the Manor’s back yard, so that Jason would have plenty of viable options that could also provide opportunities for ample oversight, since the boy had a nasty habit of landing himself in bad situations (or manufacturing them himself).

They had intended—and they would make good on those intentions. Just not yet. Which was why they hadn’t told Jason about their plans. Or communicated that him leaving his current living areas without express permission and supervision was in any way acceptable.

And yet here the boy was, hauling up a recognizable belt after him, before turning somersaults in the water that circled its new drain.

Bruce waited.

Jason stretched out in the moonlight, before turning his attention to the yellow belt wrapped around his waist.  From various pouches he produced: a handful of tiny rubber ducks (presumably a gift from Dick), a small folded up cape that went around his neck instantly, and a collapsible net, which he promptly extended and used to hold the ducks in place on the water.

Every now and then one of the ducks would float off from the group. Jason would immediately hurry after it, scoop it up, hold it very close and say, in an extremely serious voice, Don’t wander off. I don’t want you to get hurt. You’re still small. There will be plenty of time for exploring when you’re older. Then he’d plop it back with the rest of the ducks with a smirk.

After fifty-seven minutes of whatever he was playing, Jason returned each duck carefully to his pouch, telling them firmly, Good night. Go to sleep. His cape was bundled off the same way, along with his net. He shifted the rocks a second time and slithered back into his hole.

The river went silent, as if he had never been. Bruce narrowed his eyes at the deserted bank before rising, silently. He’d parked the car about a mile off, not wanting Jason to know he’d stopped. There was still time to patrol after his walk.

And there would be time to talk to Jason in the morning.

“What were you doing last night?”

“Doing?” Jason had been hanging halfway off the dam for the last hour, staying perfectly still, waiting for a bat to fly past. Bruce had explained that bats had diseases and were not pets. Jason had explained that not letting him catch and hold a bat counted as a punishment, which Bruce couldn’t do unless Jason had done something bad. “Bruce, help. I don’t know ‘doing’. Help me understand.”

Bruce leveled him with a dull, unamused look. Jason flipped over into the upper pool, cackling. The laughter reverberated through the water in ripples that shook the surface.

What did you do after I left the cave as Batman?

Slept. Like I do every night. Like you told me to, Jason replied innocently. Why do you ask?

That smirk dared Bruce to call him out on his lie. Because then Bruce would have to admit to spying on Jason. And then Bruce would have to make a rule that Jason couldn’t leave the cave without supervision. Up to this point, Bruce had tried to keep rules to the absolute necessities—only things that would actively hurt Jason or someone else.

He couldn’t explain how playing with rubber ducks in the moonlight would hurt Jason. And making rules around the possibility of hurt had proved to be a slippery slope after he’d banned Jason from dragging himself from the pool to the cave, because it could tear up his scales, and Jason had interpreted it as them confining him to a slightly larger bathtub.

Bruce would like to avoid a repeat of that afternoon.

“Hn,” he said, using his eyebrows to let Jason know that he wasn’t stupid. A fact Jason chose to ignore with a grin and rapid blink.

“And what are you planning on doing this afternoon while I’m gone?” Bruce asked. “Would you like me to move you to the pool?”

“No. Thank no.” Jason hauled himself back onto the ledge of the dam and flipped back upside down. I’m going to catch a bat. Maybe with you gone they’ll actually fly close enough.

You can’t have a pet bat, Jason.

“Bruce, help. I don’t know ‘can’t.’ Help me understand.”

Bruce pulled his cowl over his head and left to the sounds of Jason’s uproarious laughter. Brat.

The meeting at the Hall of Justice was perfunctory at best. Bruce would have much rather have been in the cave, working on his latest cases. And keeping an eye on Jason.

He caught Superman’s eye while Hal Jordan was going on about some latest protocol from the Lantern Corps that Batman had no intention of following.

“Clark,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Tell me what you hear in my cave right now.”

Clark raised a single eyebrow. “…Is this a trick? Why would you want me to listen in on your cave?”

“Just do it and tell me what you hear.”

To his credit, Clark asked no more questions before concentrating. His brow furrowed. “There’s a…child swimming? And…singing? Do you…have your own theme song?” he asked, perplexed.

Hm. So Jason really hadn’t left the cave. Good. Or he’d known that Bruce would be bored while out as Batman in the daytime and would be keeping a close watch on him somehow. Either way. As long as he was where he was supposed to be.

To Clark, Bruce simply said, “No. Thank you for checking.”

“On the theme song? Sure. Also, that reminds me: Dick said I should ask you something about whether you’re trying to look…cute?”

“Ignore him.”

Bruce made a mental note to have another talk with Dick.

It must have been a slow day in Metropolis, because Clark pulled him aside immediately after the meeting. He didn’t even have to say anything—his pinched eyebrows and tight lips asked all the questions for him.

Bruce sighed. “It’s nothing.”

“You have a child in your cave, Bruce. That’s definitely something.”

“It’s Dick.”

“It’s not Dick.”

He narrowed his eyes at Clark. “Now that you know this, are you always going to be listening?”

“No.” Of course not. He was Superman. He had other things to do. “But I won’t have to constantly ask if you just tell me now.”

Bruce checked the time. From across the room, Green Lantern was awarding all the League members with tiny green stars to reward their participation for the day. One appeared on Clark’s chest. Bruce didn’t receive one.

“Is he still in the cave?” he asked finally.

A moment’s pause while Clark’s eyes fumbled upwards, searching for something he couldn’t see. “Yes,” he said. “He’s…ooh.”

Bruce’s fingers tightened in their gloves. “What?”

“He shouted. In pain. Who’s supposed to be watching him? I don’t hear anyone else. It’s not… Bruce. Bruce. You didn’t leave a child by open water all alone, did you? Bruce!”

“Jason,” Bruce said, approximately five minutes later, kneeling by the side of the pool while a flabbergasted Clark Kent hovered behind him. “Come say hello to a friend of mine.”

From across the lake, a tiny head emerged out of the water, swamped by a billowing blanket, two eyes peering through the darkness. “Friend?”

“Yes. His name is—”

But his introduction was cut off as Jason rocketed across the lake, bursting to the surface in an explosion of water. “Here, Bruce friend! For you!” And before Bruce could do anything to stop him, Jason had flung an enormous lake trout straight at Clark’s face.

“Jason!”

Jason laughed so hard he fell over backwards. “Fitches! Friend like fitches?”

We don’t throw fish at people, Bruce informed him sternly.

You don’t throw fish at people, Jason corrected happily. He’s not mad. See?

Bruce chanced a peek over his shoulder. Of course, Clark wasn’t upset. He was still too bewildered. “Bruce,” the alien said faintly. “When did you acquire a mer child?”

“This is Jason,” Bruce said simply. “He’s a little…rambunctious. He doesn’t normally throw fish at people. Or…maybe he does. He hasn’t met many new people, quite frankly.”

Clark knelt by the pool, that winning Superman smile coming out to play as he slipped the trout back into the water. “Hello, Jason.” His voice was warm, artificially so, but better that than the cool distance Bruce knew would send Jason into a panic attack. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Does he only speak human?

He does, Bruce confirmed.

Tell him his one little curl looks funny. He looks like a frogfish.

I’m not telling him that. Manners, Jason.

“Has he met Aquaman yet?”

“Aw-kwer-man!” Jason wrapped two hands around his throat and mimed squeezing, contorting his face horribly. “Hurts me. Killed me!”

Clark’s face blanched. “What?”

“Jason, stop that at once. He’s lying, Clark.”

Jason flipped to the other side of the pool, cackling. At Bruce’s side, Clark watched him with wide, horrified eyes. “Why would he say something like that?”

“Because he’s a child with no sense of ethics. Also, he broke into my computer last week and read some case files. On a related note, if he asks for your shoe, say no.”

You never let me have any fun. Why didn’t you bring Aw-kwer-man?

Because he still doesn’t entirely believe you were lying about me tying weights around your tail and forcing you to escape before I released piranhas. What were you doing earlier?

Jason floated lazily across the pool, upside down, arms crossed. “Tablet.”

“Hn.” Bruce flicked his eyes around the space until he saw the waterproof device resting precariously on the dam wall. “Then why did Clark say it sounded like you were in pain?”

Maybe he’s a liar?

No, Jason.

Dick was here. We were “playing.”

“It sounded like you fell off of something,” Clark supplied anxiously, joining in on Bruce’s earlier sentence.

Jason’s eyes got wide, then narrowed. What the hell?

Watch your language. He can hear you because he’s Superman.

“Swooper-man!” Jason shouted. You didn’t tell me your friend was Swooper-man!

Bruce wasn’t fooled. You knew he was Superman. Dick’s shown you plenty of video footage. And he’s flying.

“Hi Swooper-man!”

“He knows your name is Superman. He’s just being stupid.”

Both Bruce and Clark turned together at the step on the stair, although neither in surprise. Bruce, because Jason had already told him Dick was around. And Clark because he had presumably heard Dick long before the boy chose to make himself known. Traipsing down the last of the steps, Dick grabbed Clark’s arm with the sort of warm smile he still hadn’t quite come around to bestowing on Bruce yet.

“Clark. It’s good to see you.”

“Always good to see you, Dick.” Clark grinned. “I asked Bruce your question, but he didn’t seem inclined to—”

“Dick! Swooper-man!”

Dick sighed and leaned around Clark to eye the water balefully. “Can’t stand not to be the center of attention for five minutes, can you. It’s Superman. I know you know how to say it.”

“Swooper-man can swim in air! Like Dick!” Jason made a scooping gesture through the air with his whole arm. Then, suddenly, he gasped, hands pinned against his cheeks theatrically. “Dick! Like Swooper-man!”

Something actually softened in Dick’s features. “Aw, that’s sweet, but I can’t fly—”

“No,” Jason interrupted. “Stupid. Asshole.”

The softness vanished. Even Clark looked perturbed at the sudden language change. “Hey now, there’s no need for—”

“Shut up!” Jason interrupted, whipping his tail up to hold it tight against his mouth, glaring over the top of the fin. It was a look Bruce was well accustomed to at this point. It didn’t make it any less cute.

Dick waved off Clark’s horror casually. “Oh yeah, you can’t say the h-e-y word around him. Because he’s stupid.” Dick shouted the last part into the pool. Clark’s face looked…conflicted, to say the least.

Jason made a gesture that Bruce couldn’t one hundred percent confirm was the mer equivalent of the middle finger, but definitely wasn’t nice.

“Jason,” he warned.

“Dick like Swooper-man. Good thing?”

“Everyone likes Superman, Jason. He’s a hero.”

Swooper-man is your good, good thing?

Dick made a face. “Clark is my friend.”

“Ugh!” Water sloshed up around Bruce’s boots as Jason threw himself backwards in the pool dramatically. Is that another name? Why do humans have so many names? Is it because you can’t remember them so you just keep making up new ones every time you forget one?

“Dick,” Bruce said over the cacophony of theatrics. “What were you and Jason doing in the cave earlier? Clark said he sounded like he was in pain.”

“Huh? I got here after you.”

Bruce turned back to the pool, where Clark was crouched on the ledge, apparently having decided to take another shot at winning the mer over to his side. “I am Dick’s friend,” the alien was saying. He placed a hand over his chest. “You can call me Clark.”

“Swooper-man,” Jason insisted. You’re his friend? Good, then you can do all the horrible things with him he’s always trying to get me to do. “Dick! Swooper-man Tom and Jerry!”

“Oh for crying out—would you let that go already? I don’t even like the show that much, I just thought you would like it!”

Bruce caught Dick’s eye. “Clark said he heard Jason shout as if in pain just before we returned to the cave. Jason claims he was playing with you.”

“I told you, Bruce,” Dick snapped, “I just got here.”

Bruce frowned. “There’s no need to get defensive. I wasn’t accusing you, just trying to—”

“Woah, there, he—I mean, hi.” In between blinks, Clark had somehow inserted himself between Dick and Bruce. As if he thought Bruce couldn’t handle a simple conversation with Dick. As if he thought Dick couldn’t handle a conversation with Bruce.

Fine. If that’s how they wanted to see him, then let them. Bruce turned to Jason, sourly. Jason. Dick wasn’t in the cave with you.

Too late, Bruce realized it was possible he’d let his irritation with Dick and Clark bleed into his voice. Jason’s body froze for one second that seemed to last longer than time should have allowed—and then he was gone, with barely a blip in the water to indicate where he’d been.

“Nice, Bruce.” Dick scowled at him. “Real nice. Take it out on the kid, huh?”

…Dammit. Bruce marched over to his computer. He’d need to finish updating his case files if he was going to have time to make things up to Jason later.

And he needed peace to figure out how he was going to make it up to Jason.

“You’re welcome to leave,” he said over his shoulder.

He felt more than heard Clark’s mouth open, then close as he thought better of whatever Ma Kent adage he was planning to share. The same way he felt Dick’s snort like a furnace blast on his back.

“Right after I put my number in Jason’s tablet. Don’t even think about trying to stop him from calling if he needs someone to talk to about you.”

Dick and Clark left together. He didn’t know if they flew or if Clark let Dick drive him to Titan’s Tower, so the boy could complain. He tried not to think about it either way. If Dick didn’t want to spend time with Bruce, so be it. It wasn’t like Bruce could change that.

No matter how much he wanted to.

That night, Bruce watched the river entrance again. This time, it was quiet. Which he’d expected. Which he’d hoped for.

But even though it was what he wanted, ultimately, it left a bad taste in his mouth as he headed out for patrol.

Chapter Text

By eleven the next morning, when Bruce checked on Jason, the faint blue and purple just under his left arm had solidified into a mottled mess.

It matched the slightly darker, blackish bruise in the small of his back. Which was starting to blend in with the two smaller, greenish contusions dotting his right wrist.

Bruce said nothing about any of them.

The boy looked like he hadn’t woken much earlier than Bruce, lines from his cocoon still pressed into his cheek and arms. After examining and immediately rejecting the breakfast left for him by Alfred, Jason returned back to the inky depths of the pool, his little flashlight scoring paths like lightning as he dashed around doing…whatever it was he did upon first waking up.

Bruce spent a lot of time trying to figure out what Jason did.

Most days it was a lot of…whatever this was. Darting around with his flashlight. Investigating anything Bruce had left within reach of the lake. Making faces at the computer when he thought Bruce wasn’t watching—not in a nasty sort of way, but the sort of way one might make faces at a sibling behind their parents’ backs.

Jason had such a unique take on the world that, even as the world’s greatest detective, Bruce was often at a loss to explain his actions. Much less why the child might be doing them.

For example: the flashlight could be simply checking what had essentially become his ‘room,’ making sure nothing had moved in the night or changed. Except that when Jason did it, there was a very specific order to it that sometimes had to be restarted, should he get interrupted. And when Bruce had asked what the order meant, Jason had replied cryptically, I’m checking bathtubs.

Sometimes, though, Jason was a little easier to understand. He’d eat breakfast (not if it was hot, never if it was hot, he’d wait for it to cool down or swap dishes with Bruce) and ask Bruce to tell him stories about the Batman. While Bruce worked on his computer, Jason would fool around on the newly installed beach, building moats and highways in the sand. Lately there had been a lot of river construction, the way other children might play with marble runs, utilizing a hose and Jason’s growing collection of rubber ducks.

Bruce still wasn’t sure where Jason had gotten the rubber ducks.

It was nice, normal child activity, though, so Bruce didn’t inquire too far. He’d been informed, by both Alfred and Dick on multiple, lengthy occasions, that he had a tendency to overbear, so he was trying to give Jason enough space that the child didn’t feel smothered.

Which didn’t mean Bruce didn’t get to know things. Only that he couldn’t ask Jason.

Bruce sipped his coffee and pulled up surveillance footage from the cave the previous night.

Something scraped and scrabbled against concrete on his left. Bruce flicked his eyes over to see Jason trying to propel himself up a sheer wall to the, now raised, platform where he kept auxiliary tech.

“Jason,” he called. “What are you doing?”

Jason ignored him. He’d wedged his tail in between two uncomfortably pointed stalagmites nestled in the upper pool, trying to make himself tall enough to reach the platform.

“Jason.”

“Go away, Bruce. Go comp-ew-tur.”

The boy’s fingers brushed at the edge of the platform and started to slide along it. Bruce felt a lot of sympathy for those fingers—trying to grasp something they couldn’t see, maybe something they didn’t even know was there. Would what they were looking for ever be there? Or would they just keep reaching forever?

“Jason. What are you looking for?”

Mouth twisted up towards his nose, eyebrows screwed down low, but Jason was apparently in a good mood today, because he replied only slightly mumbley, “…Tablet.”

Ah. Bruce had retrieved it from its perch last night, worried that it would disappear into the lake and not prepared to deal with the utter heartbreak Jason would experience if that were the case, but hadn’t thought to leave it within Jason’s reach. He minimized the surveillance window and obediently trudged up onto the higher platform, fishing the tablet from its charging drawer.

If only someone could resolve his searching so easily.

“Hm. Do you want to go to the pool today?” he asked, even though he knew the answer.

Jason snatched the tablet. “Thank no, Bruce! Fare thee!”

Alfred had found humor in teaching Jason Shakesperean English, rationalizing that he would have done the same with any child he’d known at that age, if given the chance. Unfortunately for him, Jason already knew the word ‘well.’ Hearing him leave it off to order people to simply ‘fare’ had become the equivalent of wishing someone the ‘day you deserve.’

“That’s fine. Have a good morning.” Because Bruce would be damned if he let himself be dragged into pettiness or Shakespeare.

He returned to his computer, scrubbing through footage of a quiet cave. Jason had already retreated to his beach, where he could prop the tablet against a rock, and was fixated on its little screen intently.

The tablet had been an attempt to ‘normalize’ him, as Dick put it. Deducing that he wasn’t comfortable controlling the televisions had been almost as obvious as the need to ban him from using Bruce’s computer (even if he had laughed at the idea of solving crimes based on people’s shoe prints, Alfred reminded Bruce that case notes were hardly appropriate reading for a child). Bruce had installed whatever the most popular games were, loaded some photos and videos, and taught him how to search for whatever else he wanted (while also installing an alert—because who knew what trouble Jason could get himself into with unrestricted internet).

Jason had initially used the tablet to find videos of rivers and oceans, until Dick had, devastatingly, revealed that the fish and other creatures couldn’t see Jason (not to mention were pre-recorded). After that, Jason had had no interest in the internet.

As far as Bruce could tell, he spent his time flicking through old photo albums to laugh at Alfred with hair and…using the ‘notes’ feature.

Jason’s ‘note’ took up most of his time. After nearly a week of it absorbing Jason’s attention, Bruce had dared to pry and, while peeking over Jason’s shoulder, had asked what it was. Jason told him it was a ‘picture.’

It looked like a mess of letters, symbols, and other characters from the keyboard.

One line was entirely As.

A picture of what? Bruce had asked.

Your toes! Jason cackled, falling back hard enough to spray water up onto the Batmobile.

Jason treated toes the way most human boys his age did butts—the greatest punchline ever conceived to every joke ever.

And, just like butt jokes, they were funny to absolutely no one but him.

Today, Bruce opted to leave Jason to whatever it was he was doing, with his brow furrowed carefully while he jabbed at the touchscreen meticulously.

He’d disabled the sound on the computer, because he didn’t want Jason to know he was spying on him; however, once he found what he believed to be the spot, he turned it back on, to see if it could reveal any more clues.

Because whatever it was happened off-camera. In a small blind spot of the lake, by the far wall. Because of course Jason had figured out where the cameras were.

A yelp. A splash. A frustrated, pitiful sounding whine.

Then, around two minutes and fourteen seconds later, he and Clark appeared.

Bruce frowned and replayed the footage twice more. Even the shadows weren’t any help, since the light was coming from the wrong direction.

He could ask Jason.

He had asked Jason.

Jason would just lie.

Bruce ran a hand down his face in frustration.

“Jason,” he called. “I have to go to work.” There was a board meeting at Wayne Enterprises. Alfred had threatened resignation if Bruce forced him to make another excuse to Lucious Fox. Alfred will bring down lunch soon. While I’m gone, don’t—

“Wait, Bruce.” Jason held up a hand, dropping his tablet. He darted down under the water, returning a moment later holding a small mesh back from which he dumped a pile of ducks. Carefully arranging them on the sand, while still holding out a hand to shush Bruce, he lined them up, leaned close and then told them firmly,

Don’t wander off. I don’t want you to get hurt. You’re still small. There will be plenty of time for exploring when you’re older.

Jason grinned up at Bruce.

Guileless.

So.

“Talk to him,” Clark had said the last time they spoke over the phone, while Bruce was trying not to burn his dinner and Metropolis’s second-finest reporter typed up notes from Superman’s latest exploits. “Use your words.”

He had been talking about Dick, but…well, if Jason was going to force his hand, it probably applied here as well.

Jason. I know you went out last night.

Jason gasped. The Batman had heard many different kinds of gasps—the exhale of being stabbed, the catch of horror at losing a loved one, the shock of fear driven like a stake through your chest. He could identify them now without thinking.

But even without that experience, he liked to think he would have known this one was fake.

You saw me? No! You weren’t supposed to see that. You weren’t supposed to see me playing with ducks.

And telling them the same damn thing Bruce had told Jason over and over and over again. He frowned. “What is this about?”

“Ducks?” Jason suggested with false innocence.

“Not the ducks Dick gave you.”

Jason pouted. Alfred gave me the ducks. After he took away my boat.

“Hn.” Well, it was either Alfred or Dick. Dick had seemed more likely—but not once Bruce was reminded of the boat. Jason’s remote-controlled boat had lasted about a week, until he’d come up with a game where he drove it as fast as it could possibly go (which, since Bruce had upgraded the motor…wasn’t slow) while holding himself directly in its path. The child managed to dodge about eighty percent of the time.

Eighty percent, Alfred had reminded him icily, wasn’t good enough when the projectile had an incredibly sharp bow. There was a twenty percent chance Jason would impale himself. A fact which, though explained at length, did not seem to concern the little mer.

So. The boat had disappeared. Apparently, replaced by ducks.

I tell you that to keep you safe, Jason. Wandering outside on your own, without telling anyone, doesn’t seem safe.

Jason snatched a pool noodle from the beach—those might have been a Dick contribution—and floated miserably in the shallows, clinging to the noodle with a petulant frown. You want me to be safe. But I’m not gonna be. There’s no such thing as safe.

I want you to be strong. Strong enough to keep yourself safe. But you’re not going to get there overnight. You’re not ready, Jason.

The mer flicked his tail, sending a tiny wave up against the beach, rippling the ducks in their line. You can’t keep me safe. I’m not a duck.

“Please.” Bruce whispered. “Please let me keep you safe, just a little longer.”

Jason frowned. “No, Bruce. Bad. No please.” You’re not—you don’t say please. That’s not…you’re strong. You don’t have to say please.

“Everyone needs to ask for things.” They were someone else’s words, whose he didn’t know, but he could hear them as he said them, and he knew he never would have come up with them on his own. “Everyone needs to ask for help. I’m asking you for help right now.”

“No, Bruce. No help.”

Help me keep you safe, Jason.

“No, Bruce! No help! No—no Jason—no!”

Water spit up over him as Jason retreated with a splash that rivaled Dick’s best door slam.

Bruce looked to the ducks.

The ducks just smiled. And offered nothing.

Bruce spent a lot of time trying to understand Jason.

…It was never enough.

Chapter Text

It was Alfred who solved the mystery.

He dropped off Bruce’s breakfast and coffee—in the cave, where Bruce had been taking most of his meals lately—and left Jason’s on the ledge for when the boy eventually made himself evident. Glancing to where the tablet was plugged in, he remarked off-handedly, “I’m glad the boy is finding some enjoyment in those old albums, but it is perhaps an indication that he should have more social interaction than just your brooding.”

Reviewing the notes from the previous night, Bruce took a sip of his coffee and a moment for the words to sink in. He frowned. “What albums?”

“The family albums you put on his tablet.”

“How do you know he’s looking through those?” Bruce knew Jason liked to look through them, because the child would occasionally bring him the tablet, cackling about Dick’s mullet (thank goodness that phase seemed to be over) or Bruce’s teenage pimples (research was inconclusive on whether this was normal mockery or if mers simply didn’t get pimples) or that one time Alfred had decided he was the sort of man who wore a hair piece.

Alfred rolled his eyes. “It’s quite easy to see the last access,” he said flatly. “Of course, that would require you to access the files as well. Where you could see how much time he spends watching family videos.”

He refrained from further commentary which was…good. Bruce had no interest in hearing Alfred’s thoughts on how he chose to interact with his family.

While it was true that Bruce didn’t look at the photos or videos Alfred gathered on the digital drive, it was important to him that they were there. There was reassurance in that. That if he ever needed them…he had them.

It took no time at all to bring up the folders or their history. Alfred was right. Jason accessed the files much more often than Bruce had assumed. Multiple times a day. Or night, since he was most active while Bruce was out of the cave, Batman-ing around Gotham.

Some videos had been viewed over thirty times in a single hour.

One video had amassed over one hundred views in the last week alone.

And as soon as Bruce clicked on it, several things fell into place.

“Jason.”

Splayed out on his beach, tail and torso alike coated in sand, with his tongue stuck out as he concentrated, Jason mumbled, What, Bruce?

Bruce paused long enough to analyze what Jason was working on. He’d rolled on his back like an otter, using his chest as a worktable, with his ducks dotting the beach on either side of him. Two were trapped between his arm and his chest, as if they’d tumbled to freedom, while another was pinched carefully in his hands as he used some of Bruce’s tools to…perform some sort of surgery on the thing?

Alfred would probably have words to say about Jason having access to tools in the first place. One of the ones further down the beach was an acetylene torch.

“We need to talk about your training.”

“Training?” Awareness blinked over Jason’s features as he actually paid attention to the conversation. “I don’t understand training.”

Bruce lifted the mer’s tablet off a nearby rock, flipped to the family album, and pressed play.

The manor gym blurred into color, Dick bounding past Bruce’s one-armed handstand. “Watch this, Bruce!” A startled grunt from ten years ago felt like it was happening now—because watching Dick’s high bar routine, even knowing it was in the past, when he was so small still made Bruce’s breath catch in his throat in a mixture of pride and panic.

Jason watched, wide-eyed, for the entire length of the four minute thirty-seven second video. When it ended, he flicked his eyes to Bruce. “Yay Dick?” he said hopefully.

It’s not Dick I’m concerned about, Bruce informed him. It’s Jason.

Bruce swiped to the next video—the cave, this time. Routine intensity had grown faster than Dick, so he was only mildly taller with a greatly advanced challenge. This video only ran for two minutes and twelve seconds. Once again, Jason was silent while it played.

Bruce frowned at Jason. You’ve been trying to copy Dick, haven’t you? That’s why the cameras had never picked it up: the natural outcropping of stone that lent itself best as a diving platform was in a blind spot. Something Bruce had remedied before even coming to talk to Jason.

Jason said, “No.”

“Jason.”

The mer’s attention turned back to his work. Why would I want to be like Dick? Dick’s stupid. And an asshole. Stupid, asshole Dick.

“Jason.”

“I know,” Jason whined, fishing a little lead ball from the plastic container beside him and inserting it carefully into his rubber duck. Dick is your good thing. Be nice to Dick. How about you be nice to me and leave me alone?

“I’m not upset that you’re trying to learn how to copy Dick’s routine. I’m just concerned that you—”

I’m not, Jason retorted viciously, attention snapping back to Bruce again, trying to copy Dick’s ‘routine’. I can already do his stupid flips and twists. I’m not a baby.

“Is that what this is about? I’m starting to get tired of having this argument with you, Jason. You’re still young and you need to—”

Jason lurched upright, scattering lead and scissors and glue and ducks into the pebbly beach. “Shut up!” I don’t even understand half those words and you know that, so you’re just being an asshole right now.

Don’t, Bruce growled. Don’t use the ‘I don’t understand’ excuse with me. I know you understand plenty of English—more than enough to know exactly what I’m saying.

I understand that you think you can tell me what I can and can’t do, Jason snarled. And I’m sick and tired of you thinking you get any say in that whatsoever.

They stayed on the beach, staring at each other, glaring at each other.

Bruce said, “I don’t care what you do underwater. But do not attempt any of Dick’s routine out of the water again. Is that clear?”

You’re not my father, Bruce. I don’t need this attitude from you.

Jason crossed his arms and refused to make eye contact again. Bruce waited. He was good at waiting. People talked when you refused to, and he knew Jason was uncomfortable. The tightness in his shoulders, the rough breaths, the glare he was directing at the closest unfortunate rubber duck.

Unfortunately, Jason was good at waiting too.

They stayed there on the beach for long, slow minutes. Waiting.

Then Bruce left to adjust the security cameras. When he returned from the store room, Jason was long gone from the beach.

Which was fine. As long as he was safe, Bruce reminded himself, it was all fine. He’d come back around.

Just like Dick would. They’d both come around. Eventually.

Bruce hadn’t put much thought into increasing security in the cave’s waterways up until he found the blind spot in the security cameras. Bringing Jason to the cave initially was meant to be a drastic measure while they repaired the pool, which was also a temporary home until they could reroute the river and create enough safe deposits that Jason could build a home there.

But following Jason’s illness, Bruce had come to realize how unwise it would be to release Jason directly into Gotham’s waters, even a supervised distributary. And Jason didn’t seem in any rush to leave the manor grounds. He frequently asked to be moved back and forth between the cave and the pool and only inquired about the river on rare occasions. The work on the river was almost complete, but until recently it had been a lower priority in Bruce’s mind.

Now that he knew Jason was sneaking out in some kind of bid to prove to Bruce that he could be independent, its priority had risen steeply.

Which was why, today, Bruce had cleared his schedule for cave maintenance.

Jason wasn’t thrilled about it. Bruce had wanted to put him in the pool so he could work undisturbed, but Jason had dragged Alfred fully underwater twice and bit Bruce (not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to be irritating) so he got to stay in the cave. That was fine. Bruce wasn’t going to let him stop any of the planned safety measures from being put in place, even if he was going to be a brat about it the whole time.

He'd opted for a scuba suit, rather than his traditional bat suit, just because Jason still got somewhat skittish around Batman. He’d originally had a belt, but as soon as he got more than waist deep in the water, Jason had stripped it off, proclaiming that if he wasn’t allowed a belt, then Bruce wasn’t either.

Bruce brought up the belt Jason had had the night he snuck out with the ducks. Jason had countered asking if Bruce was saying it was alright that he’d had it. Bruce grunted to that, and Jason took it as a win.

The first step was to map out the large lake area underground, so he could decide what improvements were needed. Bruce attached scanners to his wrists and forehead, fixed the mask over his mouth, and dropped below the surface.

He had a light, but the water wasn’t as clear as he’d hoped, and it took a minute for him to be able to focus enough to push forward. Water swirled around him, stirred up more by the extremely curious and huffy mer child trying to stay out of his field of vision while still investigating his entire setup.

Bruce swatted behind him, glove just brushing Jason, who squiggled away from his hand to tap the tank again.

If he wanted to ask about it, he could use his words. Mers were still perfectly intelligible underwater. Not that Bruce could answer him, of course, since Jason didn’t know any sign language and Bruce needed his air for breathing. But still. If he was that curious, he could ask. And Bruce would figure something out.

Bruce swatted at him again and pushed forward, using his arms to propel him deeper.

At least, in theory that was what was supposed to happen. Except instead of heading down, Bruce instantly felt himself rising—quickly and then quicker, until he broke the surface, feeling the telltale squirm as he kicked out in protest.

He ripped off his mask. “Jason!”

“Hey asshole!” You can’t breathe underwater—humans need air!

“I have air. This mask gives me air from this tank. That’s why I don’t want you messing with it.”

Then why were you drowning, asshole? Jason demanded, furling and unfurling furiously in the water like an angry beta fish.

“I wasn’t drowning, Jason. That’s how I swim. That’s how all humans swim.”

I don’t know ‘swim.’

Swimming, Jason.

Swimming? Swimming? That was swimming? After you wouldn’t let me figure out my own way from the pool to the cave on land, I’m just supposed to let you do…that in the water?

Bruce adjusted the fixtures on his mask, leveling a cool look at Jason. “You’re a child, Jason,” he reminded him. “It’s my job to look after you and make sure you don’t get hurt. It’s not your job to look after me.”

If anything, that seemed to make Jason more irritated. He whipped around in a tight loop, fighting his tail down out of his face so he could scowl more fully at Bruce. The fins on either side of his tail flared, stiffening and relaxing viciously. You told me you needed my help, the mer reminded him. You said you weren’t strong. “Help, Jason. Help Bruce.”

Overlooking the gravely imitation of his voice, Bruce ran a hand over his face and tried to keep his actual voice level. I need your help to keep you safe, he told Jason. I didn’t say I wasn’t strong.

Jason huffed, shoving water at him as he curled underwater. Whatever, asshole. Go back to your stupid swimming, then. See if I care. You look like an idiot.

“Hn.”

With Jason sulking in some other part of the lake, Bruce was actually make some progress mapping the cave, slow though it was. There were more crevices than he’d taken into account—some small spaces that didn’t quality as full caves, but might be large enough for Jason to get stuck in. Bruce tapped at spots on his gloves to mark them in his mapping software, continuing to scan section by section. Twice he spotted rubber ducks floating by, the apparent product of Jason’s experimentation with lead weights, as they reached a various depths and drifted on the underwater currents.

Lights occasionally flashed in the corners of his vision—Jason and his flashlight. Though warbly underwater, Bruce could also hear some singing, although it wasn’t as upbeat or cheerful as Jason’s usual songs. This one seemed to feature the word ‘please’ quite heavily—and given Jason’s original interpretation of that word, Bruce was going to hope it had been written recently instead of immediately post-rescue.

Eventually Bruce found himself along the sides of the cave into which he’d built his dam. The dam had been a sort of slapdash thing, in as much as he did anything slapdash. He’d needed a more controlled environment in which to test various pieces of equipment meant to be waterproof or for underwater excursions and hadn’t had time to do a survey of the full lake. Now, years later, he could see it was overdue for maintenance. There were cracks running into the stone, where anchors were putting too much pressure, risking creating fissures. Some depressions had started to slough off, spilling shale and other sediment from the walls into the lake.

One was of particular concern. High enough that there was about a foot of space between the water and the top of the crevice, creating an air pocket that wasn’t doing any favors to the structural integrity of this portion of the cave walls. Close enough to portions that had already collapsed for Bruce to worry about its stability. Large enough that Jason could easily be using it as a room or hideaway.

Bruce kicked up to inspect the ceiling. Trailing his glove over the rock made several pieces peel off and splatter the water around him. Bruce lifted his mask off and glanced around the cave. “Jason?”

Stay away from this part of the cave, was what he wanted to say, but he caught himself before the words could leave his mouth. Because of course Jason would interpret that as ‘babying,’ of course that would make him more likely to rush right to that area and make it his new favorite place.

Bruce shoved an elbow against the wall. Clay in the back wall slid forward. Probably he could just collapse this portion now and just worry about fortifying it later. Then he could avoid the argument with Jason and move onto to other areas. Like the hole Jason used to slip outside.

Taking care to position himself outside the cave-like hole, Bruce used his foot to kick the corner that looked most structurally compromised. As predicted, shale dropped into the lake.

What he hadn’t expected, however, was for it to bring part of the dam with it.

A wall of concrete hit the water with a thoom and the force of the batmobile bursting past police barricades. Bruce slammed forward, rock and clay and water and pain cascading over him. Something roared past his ears—drums bursting or more dam collapsing. Water, released from the dam, continued to press harder, harder against his back, pinning him in a dark mess of elements as he fought back against it. He managed to clear his vision, ears still roaring, water sloshing like an ocean somewhere past where he was.

But it was still dark. Bruce’s tank, only barely attached still, hissed, a frothing pile of bubbles running up his leg to burst beside his shoulders which were just above the waterline. Bruce’s arms reached forward and hit solid slab. Concrete.

The dam. Part of it had collapsed.

Trapping him in a dangerously unstable crevice in the cave wall.

Chapter Text

Darkness was an old friend to Bruce.

Forty-nine days in isolation, locked in a cave in Tibet, had made any form of light deprivation nostalgic, rather than disorienting. It swept over him like a blanket from your mother’s bed, like the closeness of a hug with more depth than most relationships ever achieved.

So when Bruce realized he was blind in his crevice, he didn’t panic. If anything, the darkness helped to soothe his instincts to immediately find a way out. Because he would find a way out. He was Batman. Batman would find a way.

What he did not account for, however, was that Batman was not alone in the cave.

Bruce!

Jason’s scream ricocheted off the walls, rattling even the strongest of Bruce’s nerves.

It was the first time he’d heard Jason scream like that. And the first time he’d heard him scream, he realized, in a long time.

He’d made that happen. It was his fault.

Bruce! No, no, no, please, please, Bruce, no—!

Bruce coughed, clearing dirt and grime out of his airways. “Jason. It’s alright. I’m alright.”

Bruce! You’re— Something in Jason’s voice caught. “Bruce—good?”

I’m alright, Jason. Don’t try to move anything. Already, he could hear scraping, as Jason pawed hesitantly at whatever slide was on the other side.

The sound immediately stopped, followed moments later by Jason’s voice, shaky. Bruce, are you…you’re gonna come out, right? Like, now?

He allowed himself one last moment with the darkness, drinking it in, before tapping at his forehead to bring the light back. It flared into yellow, offensive existence, drenching walls that were too close. Bruce swiveled, carefully, before lowering down under the water to survey the situation. Immediate exits didn’t present themselves and he’d need a better assessment on the stability of the dam before he tried too hard to shift anything.

“Jason,” he said, voice firm, steady, sure. “Do you know how to make calls on my computer?”

Alfred would be able to run a scan of the wall and pinpoint the sections that were most structurally sound.

“Yes. Yes—Jason—I good. Make calls.”

“Call—”

But Jason’s splash and then a cacophony of scrambling told Bruce that the mer was already gone. The dam. The dam had broke, which meant there was no upper pool for Jason to jump into, to provide himself access to the ledge where Bruce kept his computer.

“Jason?”

“Bruce, quiet! Ok! Jason—” A hiss of pain. “Jason call!” It sounded like a sack being dragged behind a slow moving car.

The stairs. Jason was dragging himself up the stairs.

“Be careful.” It was all Bruce could offer.

He was grateful for the acoustics in the cave as Jason made his way onto the computer platform. The flop as he collapsed into the chair and its wheels spitting across the floor told Bruce exactly where Jason was. Now the mer just had to figure out how to find Alfred’s contact.

“Press the yellow button below the synthesizer panel,” he shouted, trying to help.

No reply.

The yellow button, Jason. Push the yellow button below the panel with green lines and the picture of a bottle.

Nothing. Bruce could hear the chair rolling and jerking to stops as Jason shifted around the console, trying to locate the button. But it didn’t like Jason could hear him. Or, if he could, was going to acknowledge him.

Then—

Ringing.

Bruce’s breath, steady, measured to conserve oxygen, slowed even further. Alfred would be here soon. The man would, no doubt, chastise Bruce for not doing a proper analysis before kicking structurally unsafe faults he’d found—and rightfully so—not to mention berate him for scaring Jason. And Jason would need reassurance, after what he’d seen. But at least Bruce would be out to provide that reassurance. It would be only a few minutes now.

The ringing cut off abruptly, to a voice so different from what Bruce was expecting that it took him a moment to comprehend the words being said.

“Go Batma—uh.”

“Batman, yes!” Jason’s voice sounded frantic, breathless. “Hi! Help!”

“Uh…hey, kid, how did you… No, seriously, what the hell is this?”

Jason hadn’t called Alfred.

He’d called the Justice League.

“Lantern!” It would use up his oxygen faster if he shouted—but Bruce was past the point of caring. “Dammit, Jordan, get Superman!”

Unfortunately, if Jason couldn’t hear him, then the person on the other line of the communicator definitely couldn’t.

“I don’t know what the hell,” Jason was saying and Bruce’s heart cramped. He sounded so scared. “You—help! Help—Bruce!”

“Oh woah, does Spooky have a kid?” Even through the speakers, Hal’s barking laugh made Bruce want to strangle him. Maybe even more than in person. “Hey, guys, check this out—what do you make of this?”

Jason screamed, “Asshole!” And good for him. Bruce was going to see that he got a dozen ice cream sandwiches after this. “You—asshole! Stop! Help!”

“What is going—oh!”

Finally. If anyone was going to hear him, this was his one chance. “CLARK!”

“Lookit—Spooky’s got a kid or something trapped in his lair. I knew that guy was creepy!”

“Shut up, Hal—holy crap, it is a kid. Hey, kid, are you ok?”

“Barry, Hal, quiet. I’m trying to—”

“Swooperman!” Frustration, so close to tears, tore at the edges of Jason’s words. “No, Swooperman!” You don’t understand anything. Ugh! Not you—I need—!

Jason yelped with delight, and for a moment Bruce thought maybe Clark had given up on the communicator and just appeared in the cave—until he heard the absolute relief in Jason’s voice. Jason had met Clark once—and was still somewhat terrified of him. He wouldn’t be relieved to see the man again.

Oh, finally! “Aw-kwer-man!”

There was the sound of confused shuffling, muffled conversation, and then Arthur’s voice, strong and clear, in the cave.

“Jason?”

Finally! Look, I’m sorry about the whole burning you thing—but this was the first button I pressed that called someone and—

Jason. Arthur’s voice interrupted sharply. Is this a game? Or a joke?

“What the hell kind of language is that?” Hal’s voice again.

“Shut up, asshole! Go away!”

“It’s mer,” Arthur said flatly.

Barry’s voice got distorted in the echoes due to the speed he started at. “Okaywoahlotstotakein—who is this mer kid? Is no one else curious? This is Batman’s line!”

“It’s not important.” That was Diana. Bruce wanted to shout, but he’d learned it didn’t do any good, because he’d much prefer her help over Arthur’s. Or even Clark’s, right now. Clark would alarm Jason. Arthur might alarm Jason. But he thought Jason would probably love Diana—and she would understand how he managed to get stuck in the cave-in. “Do you know this child, Arthur?”

“Yes.” Arthur was blunt, as always. “He doesn’t like me. Jason, why are you calling? Does Bruce know you’re on his computer?”

“Bruce, yes, good! Good, Aw-lwer-man!”

“He sure seems to like you.”

“Shut up, Barry.”

“Aw-kwer-man, help!” Bruce took my tablet and I don't know where he put it and—

Jason! This is a secure line for very important matters. You can’t call because Bruce took away your toy.

Something crashed. If Jason’s voice was any indication, he’d thrown something. Bruce just prayed the computer stayed on. “No, asshole!”

“Oh. I stand corrected.”

“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t like me. It’s complicated.” Jason, what do you need? Bruce isn’t here.

I know that! I wasn’t trying to call him—or you! I need to call Dick! But I don’t have my tablet—

“Ha! I don’t speak mer or whatever he’s saying, but it totally sounds like he called you a dick, Arthur.”

“Yeah, I do not think he likes you.”

“He didn’t call me a dick and he doesn’t,” Arthur snapped. I can send your call to Titans Tower, where Dick is. But I’m also coming there as soon as we’re finished with this. Bruce will just have to deal with it.

“Yes! Dick! Good, Aw-kwer-man!”

“Dude, he totally called you a dick.”

“Hal, Barry, I swear—shut. Up.”

Two obnoxious, A-flat tones filled the cave before a new voice, cool and professional, filled the cave.

“Batma—oh. You’re not Batman.”

The tearful frustration was back in Jason’s voice instantly.

You’re not freakin’ Dick! What the hell?

Bruce made one last, desperate attempt. “Jason! That’s Cyborg—tell him to—”

“You! Dick! Get!”

“I…you want Dick? Who is this?”

“Get Dick! NOW!”

It might have been Bruce’s imagination, but he could have sworn rivulets of dirt cascaded down the wall at Jason’s scream.

He should probably be worried. He should probably be proud.

Instead, frustration filled him so completely he had no room for anything else—indelible, complete saturation down to his core. That he had to wait on assistance. That Jason didn’t know what was going on. That Alfred was just upstairs and couldn’t help. That he’d have to talk to Arthur later.

That all the real burden of this fell on Jason.

“—I don’t know, but he wants to talk to you really bad, so get in there and then you can explain what this is about later—”

“Dick!”

The relief in Jason’s voice was almost enough to crack the completeness of Bruce’s emotion and allow for something more sympathetic to make itself known. But he held onto the frustration instead. He needed motivation right now, not pity.

“What the—Jason?”

“Dick! Hi! Help!”

He could tell Dick was sitting just from the way he spoke. In fact, the boy’s expression was almost visible in his mind: eyebrows furrowed, mouth pinched tight, knuckles flexing. “Help with what? How did you get this number?”

You have to come here—part of the cave collapsed and Bruce is trapped in a bathtub and I can’t get him out and I heard him but I don’t know if he has air because humans need that and—

“Jason—stop. Aqualad’s not with the Titans anymore and you know I only get about every twentieth word you say. You’ve got to figure it out in English. Or better yet—have Bruce call me.”

“No, Dick! Asshole! Help Bruce!”

“…You need help with Bruce?”

And—no, it didn’t surprise Bruce that that was where Dick’s mind went, immediately. But it stung slightly, nonetheless.

“Bruce hurt! Help! Help Bruce!”

“I guarantee he doesn’t need any help, Jason. Especially not from me.”

“Yes, Dick—asshole!”

“Look, I’ll call Bruce but I’m sure he’s gonna be annoyed and tell me it’s none of my business. I’m hanging up now.”

“I—Dick—you…you…” Jason’s voice scrambled from different angles, as if the boy was searching for the right answer, before it suddenly seized him and he shouted, “Robin!”

The pause from the other end of the call made Bruce wonder if he was already running short on oxygen, if his hearing was getting muffled or his mind starting to blank out moments.

“What do you know about Robin?”

“Robin—help! With Batman, good!” You worked together, Batman and Robin, right? That’s what he needs. He needs you to help him. Just like that.

When Dick spoke again, his voice was cold. “…Yeah, he definitely doesn’t need Robin. And even if he did, I’m not Robin anymore. And he needs to realize that. We’re not partners the way we were—if we ever were. He can’t just call me, much less rope you into his dirty work, and expect me to come running anymore. Sorry, Jason.”

“No! No sorry! Please Dick! I—I need. Please.” Please, Dick. I need you. You have to come help. You’re—“Strong!” And finally, after numerous threats and cracks and near-misses, Jason’s voice broke. You have to be strong. Because I’m not. I should’ve listened when Bruce told me I wasn’t—but I didn’t and now he’s trapped and it’s my fault and—and he said please and I didn’t want—I can’t help anyone. Because I’m not strong. So you have to be. Please Dick. Please.

It wasn’t crying. But the gasping breaths were sobs nonetheless.

Dick’s voice had gone from stone to plush all at once. “Jason. Jason, woah, kiddo, it’s—ok. Okay, I’m coming, ok?”

Bruce could practically hear the snap in Jason’s neck as he dared hope again. “Dick—yes?”

“Yes, Jason. Yes, I’m coming. Maybe instead of arguing with Bruce all the time, I should try helping him—if he’ll even accept my help, that is. Hang in there a few minutes longer.”

“Ok.” Jason’s voice was barely audible, muffled slightly, and Bruce had the sudden image of the tiny mer curled up in his giant chair, tail tucked up against his face, staring hopefully at a video call with Titan’s Tower. “Ok, Dick. Jason wait. Please. Please come.”

“…I’m on my way.”

Chapter Text

It took roughly twenty minutes for Dick to arrive in the cave. That was faster than he could have arrived on his own without meta-assistance, which meant someone had brought him, the Flash or that alien girl he seemed to spend so much time with these days.

(According to the tabloids, which were fascinated by the long-legged, orange-skinned alien. Dick hadn’t told Bruce anything about it. It had been a long time since Dick consulted Bruce’s advice on relationships, romantic or otherwise.)

Regardless, Dick had at least had the foresight to keep them outside the Manor, so his was the only voice that echoed through the silence that had reigned since Jason ended his phone call.

“The cavalry has arrived! Someone roll out the red carpet and tell me what’s going on.”

“Dick!”

“Hello,” Dick said, because Dick never forgot how to greet Jason. They didn’t talk much, that Bruce knew of, but that didn’t mean Dick didn’t care.

Or. Maybe he just didn’t want to listen to Jason complain about the word ‘hey.’

“You’re in Bruce’s chair. That looks uncomfortable. Where is Bruce?”

Having Dick in the cave was so horribly natural and yet so out of place it rankled. Like an open wound, every movement raw and careful and stinging. Bruce thought it might be partially his fault. Knew that it was partially Dick’s. Told himself it was inevitable as children grew up and learned to be people.

“Bruce, yes.” Jason’s voice was harder to hear now that it wasn’t frantically shouting. It sounded…thick. Like it couldn’t quite slide into the anger Jason was trying to force on it. “A-asshole. Bathtub.”

Dick sighed a response that didn’t make it to Bruce over the sound of his own computer chair scraping across the floor. The splash of Jason hitting the water lapped at the stone wall encasing Bruce, echoes distorting any other words from outside.

Staying out of the water for so long wasn’t ideal for Jason, but Bruce wished the mer child would stay clear of the lake while things were so precarious–both for Jason’s sake and Bruce’s. A misplaced wave could upset the balancing slab of dam inward, crushing Bruce, or outwards, crushing Jason, and Bruce wasn’t sure whether Jason recognized that.

Similarly, he had no way of knowing if Dick would recognize that–whether it was even recognizable outside his little cave. Shouts, followed by footsteps heavy and fast enough to echo in Bruce’s cave, seemed to suggest, however, that the dam collapse was as severe as he suspected.

The exact swear word Dick shouted was lost to another splash from Jason, but Bruce knew it was a curse, because it was followed by Jason’s, audible only through the water, “Zounds!”

More Shakespeare. More Alfred.

Crags of stone clattered and splunked into the water. Hands slapped around the fallen stone, looking for cracks that didn’t exist, before–

“Bruce?”

If he’d had his belt, there were plenty of ways Bruce could have communicated without utilizing his rapidly depleting oxygen. If he had had his belt, there were plenty of ways Bruce could have prevented the need for Jason to call for help in the first place.

Not…that he was upset Dick was there.

He hadn’t doubted Dick would come, if he were ever to call.

But it was nice to know.

Bruce knocked his broken diving mask against the slickest piece of stone he could find, creating a reverberating ting sound. He trusted Dick to understand the rest.

“Dick, help!”

“Shut up, Jason, what does it look like I’m doing?” Dick’s voice was tight. “Bruce, do you have air?”

Ting went Bruce’s oxygen mask off the concrete from the dam, lack of words an answer in itself.

“Okay, that’s a ‘yes’? Is your air limited?”

Ting.

“Got it. Do you see any viable exits on your side?”

Viable could mean a lot of things. If Dick was asking if there were viable exits with Bruce’s current resources, the answer was obviously ‘no’ because otherwise Bruce would have already left. Which meant Dick wanted to know if Bruce had a plan he needed help to enact, in which case the answer was always–

Ting.

From the other side of the wall, Dick released a breath rough enough that it was audible through the thick layers of concrete and bedrock. “Of course. Okay, I’m going to go get my gear and then you can walk me through it. Oxygen levels gonna hold for another sixty minutes?”

Ting ting.

“Uh, thirty?”

Bruce could hold his breath for over seven minutes, which bought them extra time.

Ting.

“Okay. Got it. Good. Good. I’ll–I’m gonna go change now. Give me three minutes.”

Sloshing, as Dick picked his way back through the ruins of Bruce’s dam, was interrupted by a crash of water exploding up to the surface.

Dick? Hey, no, get back here, you asshole! You can’t leave! You’re–you’re supposed to help him!

“Jason, stop , let go of me. I’ve got to get changed and get my gear on so we can start–”

Get back there and help him!

“Help? I’m trying to–now let. Go. Of. My. Leg!”

A roar of water made Bruce wince. He hoped DIck hadn’t kicked Jason into the lake. He hoped Jason had thrown himself back into the lake to pout.

He wished he could explain things to Jason. He wished Jason didn’t need to understand.

You–you asshole! Jason screamed. Why the hell did you even come? Just to leave him there? You–you– jerk! Go to hell!

“Hey, newsflash, kid: we’re in a time crunch here. You called me in–so let me handle it. You stay out of the way so I’m not having to juggle two crises, got it?”

Bruce had known, from the way Dick’s words rushed together yet stayed oh-so-flat, that he was…well, maybe not worried , exactly, but concerned at least. They had worked together, lived together, far too long for him not to recognize Dick’s tells for stress.

What hadn’t occurred to him was that, while reading Dick was as easy as buttoning his shirt for Bruce, the same wasn’t true for Jason.

Or, well, was true. Jason didn’t know how to button a shirt either.

The mer screamed, You don’t even care!

“I don’t care ?” Water crashed and Bruce’s imagination burned –Dick slashing an arm towards the mer, Jason dragging Dick into the lake, even Dick tossing the kid viciously. “The hell do you know about caring? That man raised me. I’ve got through hell with him and because of him. Don’t lecture me about him until you’ve cared for him and loved him as long as I have!” Another crash–this time almost certainly Dick shoving Jason back into the water–and then a vicious, “Just shut the hell up. I was taught by the best. I’m going to get him out.”

And Bruce wasn’t breathing, hadn’t been breathing for about four and half minutes now to conserve oxygen. But even still, the air that wasn’t in his lungs punched out all the same.

Dick’s footsteps, heavy and loud with fury, stormed across the cave. There was no sound from Jason, the water as deceptively still as it usually was when Bruce sat to work in his chair while Jason slumbered somewhere below.

One hundred and forty seven seconds later, Bruce heard the desk chair roll across a gritty floor and the telltale echo of Dick knocking his knuckle against the console in agitation.

He shouted, “I’m running a scan. Damn , that place is unstable, Bruce. Hang on.”

Two hundred and fifteen seconds after that, Dick was back outside the slab blocking Bruce into the cave. “Alright, I’ve finished the scan. We’ve got a couple options–”

“What’s the angle degree of the slab?” Bruce interrupted.

“Wha–Bruce? Uh, the angle is…sixty-seven. Given the length of the lake in this direction, I don’t think we can slide it down without risking a cave in or having it come back on you.”

Bruce inhaled carefully. Thickness coated his lungs as the carbon dioxide-rich air slid down his throat. “Sixty-seven degrees should provide enough stability for you to take the top off the slab and lower a rope down.”

“Go out through the top? Wouldn’t it make more sense to remove the object than risk you climbing out? We don’t know if the wall is stable enough to support an anchor–the ceiling here definitely isn’t. Too many stalactites.”

Bruce didn’t understand how Dick could make that speech, claim that he understood Bruce, cared for Bruce, wanted to help Bruce, and yet still not trust Bruce.

“Dick. Just listen to me. I know what I’m doing.”

“Okay, okay, we’ll do it your way. I’ll start hooking up anchors and then we’ll make a plan for getting the top off.”

The cave filled with the cacophony of gathering equipment. Bruce heard a low buzz as Dick must have pressed the call button on the console, finally doing what Bruce would have done eons ago as he said, “Alfred, I need you to come down here.”

It was a few minutes later, when Bruce could hear Dick setting a grappling hook into the ceiling so he could place anchors, that Alfred’s voice entered the cave.

“What in blazes is going on down here?”

Dick explained–as succinctly and accurately as he could. The dam had collapsed. Bruce was trapped in a pocket. Jason had called Dick from the console. The scans were on said console.

“I really–” a pause while Dick used his teeth to free up his hands for the next anchor. “–just need you to double check my placements of these things in the wall. Now that I’ve got sensors in place, you should be able to see if I’m hitting any major fault lines.”

A longer pause, while Bruce assumed Alfred was situating himself, and then, almost as an afterthought, “Oh. And keep Jason out of the way.”

“Perhaps,” Alfred offered, “it would be prudent to move the child to the outdoor pool.”

“Yeah, I think so too, but I doubt he’s gonna let you. He nearly took my arm off when I went to get changed because I wasn’t working fast enough. And Bruce doesn’t have enough air in there for me to fight with the kid. Just try to keep him on the other side of the lake.”

It was difficult to pick out Alfred’s movements with all the noise Dick was making getting the rope in place, but Bruce thought he could make out a sloshing sound and then Alfred’s muffled, “Hm.” But that was based more on his knowledge of the man than actual audible input.

“I’m assuming this beach being flooded is due to the burst dam?”

“Seems right,” Dick grunted.

Bruce heard Alfred call Jason over. It was the first indication he’d had that Jason was still around since Dick had shouted at him. He wasn’t even entirely convinced Alfred had seen Jason, just called him, until lapping of water indicated that Jason had washed up close to where, from Alfred’s observation, Bruce was willing to bet the water had risen up over the stairs that typically led down to Jason’s beach.

Whining, murmuring–too low for Bruce to hear–from Jason was interrupted by Dick. “Alright, we’re set here, Bruce. I’m going to power up the CO2 laser. Watch yourself.”

Bruce?

“Let’s let Master Dick concentrate, shall we, lad? I’ve already warmed the laser and lined up the ideal trajectory. Be careful removing the slab from the top. We don’t want any more accidents. ”

Alfred would definitely be lecturing Bruce once he got free.

The next sequence of events was hard to line up in Bruce’s mind, based entirely on sound. The laser searing through concrete and granite provided an opening, crescendoing with Dick kicking away the slab to reveal a portal of air and freedom just wide enough for Bruce’s shoulders to fit through. In between was filled with grappling, grunting, clinking, anxious splashing, and some muffled swearing.

Air, thin and cold and pure, filled the space around Bruce once more. Overhead, he could see Dick, dangling from a grapple attached to the ceiling, feeding down a longer rope with through anchors in the wall, obviously not convinced of the grappling hook’s ability to hold Bruce’s weight as he climbed. Cord dangled around Bruce’s head before plopping into the water in front of him.

“Start climbing, old man,” Dick called. “Without that cap on the slab, it could start sliding any moment.”

Hands tangled in the rope, legs still useless in the water as Bruce began to ascend, he grunted, “I told you, it’ll hold.”

“And Batman’s always right–except, of course, when he performed whatever stupid sequence led to this particular circumstance. Semantics.”

Wrapped around Bruce’s wrists, the rope creaked. He glanced up, to Dick already frowning at one of the anchors. The younger man pressed his foot against it, weight holding it back in the wall. Time to pick up the pace.

There was almost no room to maneuver in the dark of Bruce’s prison, and his arms had been soaking in cold water for nearly an hour now. Muscles popped from lack of warm up as he got his head and shoulders through the opening. A gleeful shout cut itself off–Jason, popping down into the water where no one would be able to hear him. Bruce wasn’t overly pleased the boy was underwater, where it was harder to keep an eye on him.

“This slab will hold,” he grunted, loud enough that it carried around the cave. “But that doesn’t mean this part of the lake is stable. Alfred, make sure he–”

Another pop , like before with the anchor. Bruce’s head snapped up, one arm already reaching for the wall in case his cord snapped.

Except it wasn’t his anchor giving way.

He met Dick’s gaze, that wide-eyed, stunned expression, in a moment that held longer than his hook in the stalactite above. The arm that had been scrabbling for the wall reached up instead, just in time to meet Dick as the hook gave way entirely.

“ Robin! ”

Dick slammed into Bruce, something ominous cracking as the rest of his body hit the concrete slab. Kwip went the cord through Bruce’s gloves, harmonizing with the groan of the concrete. Both Bruce and Dick crashed back into the hole in a flurry of debris.

Somewhere in the cave, Jason screamed.

Chapter Text

Bruce’s light had stopped working.

He didn’t need light—darkness was an old friend, one who understood him better than anyone else.

But as Bruce knew all too well, you only ever see one side of your friends. Experiences color perceptions and facets can hide behind circumstances. Friends who were good to you weren’t necessarily good to others.

Darkness wasn’t good for Dick. Not with him groaning like that. Not when Bruce could feel the tackiness in his hair—sweat? Blood?

They needed light. Light was Dick’s friend, his natural companion, his defining quality. Robin: the light to Batman’s darkness.

The slab overhead hadn’t shifted when Dick hit it–it had crumpled, folded, half pressed flat over the opening now like a roof. There would be no slicing and sliding any longer, not without crushing them inside.

At least the space inside had widened. Bruce’s arms could spread before touching either wall, which meant he had enough room to keep Dick supported in his arms, out of the water. And more dirt had fallen to the ground, allowing Bruce better purchase so he wasn’t having to fight to keep his head in the air pocket.

It also amplified sound from beyond the cave.

“Alfred!” What do we do? What do we do?

“Please, lad, now isn’t the time to panic.”

Don’t use that tone of voice–don’t you dare try to calm me down! We can’t just leave them there, Alfred, we have to do something!

Frothing splashes left lashes of waves lapping against the stone like tides breaking, and in Bruce’s mind he could see Jason ripping around in circles in the water, working himself in a wide-eyed frenzy. Over the panic, Alfred’s voice raised until he was practically shouting.

“Master Jason! Lad. First, we will be calm. Master Bruce and Master Dick have both been in far worse situations than this. I know this is new to you, but if you dwell on worst-case scenarios, you can worry yourself to an early grave.”

Alfred…

“Once we are thinking properly,” Alfred continued sharply, “we will assess the situation and call for emergency help. I believe the Justice League should be—”

Alfred! You said “call,” but we can’t call someone–it took Dick forever to get here. Rumpled splashes, like they kept getting interrupted as Jason reversed direction. We’re already here. And we know they’re in trouble. So we have to do something—not someone else.

In the cave, Dick leaned his head back, startling Bruce. He’d genuinely thought the other was unconscious or so injured that all his effort was dedicated only to staying still. Dick’s head bumped against Bruce’s collarbone as he groaned softly.

Bruce tightened his grip under Dick’s arms, since he hadn’t made any effort to stand under his own power. “Wake up. I need—I could use your help.”

“‘M up,” Dick grumbled softly. “The kid’s giving me a headache.” A sigh pressed his chest back against Bruce’s arm. “He cares a lot, huh?”

Bruce hummed thoughtfully, straining his ears to pick up Jason’s words as they dropped heartbreakingly. …He asked me for help, Alfred. I’ve gotta…I’ve gotta do something.

There was silence, bitter, like brackish water. Bruce still his already shallow breaths to try to determine whether it was true silence, or if their voices had just dropped so low even he couldn’t hear. Lapping waves distorted the sound, making it hard to distinguish murmuring voices from murmuring ripples.

And—there. Outside the cave, he could hear Alfred’s low breath. “Oh my, I’m not sure I completely understand, Master Jason.”

Understand what? Bruce wanted to demand, so badly his jaw created from holding it in. Dick seemed to have a similar response, grasping Bruce’s arm hard enough to tug himself more upright, angled towards the stone wall through which sound reverberated.

Alfred’s soft tones echoed with a sigh. “I shouldn’t be doing this…”

It only seemed loud because they were both listening so hard—but the sudden cacophony of water cascading down hit like palms over both ears. Bruce snapped back, reeling Dick with him. Were those—footsteps? Water and footsteps? Was—surely Alfred wasn’t leaving? But he hadn’t called anyone and any newcomers would have announced themselves anyway—

“Alfred!”

Sharp, harsh, and completely ignored.

Against his arm, Dick huffed a laugh, as ill-timed and necessary as always.

“Well. I’m sure he’s got a plan—”

“Be quiet.” Bruce shifted, reaching for the wall to test for even the most basic of cracks. Dick yelped, flailing sideways in the dark, slipping loudly into the water. That wasn’t—Bruce yanked him, noting the way Dick twisted in his grip—stilted, tight, limited.

“Dick,” he growled. “Are you stuck?”

Another huff, this one as much a mockery as it was a laugh. “Should I have mentioned?”

Shifting his grip under the boy’s arm, Bruce leaned his hands forward to slide down Dick’s leg and found—yes, rubble.

“Yes,” he snapped. “You should have mentioned that. How bad is it?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Dick.”

He could practically hear the young man roll his eyes in the dark. “I said, don’t worry about it, Bruce. I’ll be able to head back to the Tower when we’re done here, won’t waste your precious time or resources catering to my recovery like the last time I was injured on your watch.”

And there was the rub, wasn’t it? The last time he had been injured.

Time was a funny thing. Bruce had gone over their fight a million times in his mind. Except—no, he’d gone over it too many times to think of it as a fight, even. Their disagreement. Their…no, his laying down on the law. After the Joker shot Dick, after Alfred had looked at Bruce with so much judgement as he washed out a wound deep enough to show bone. After Bruce had said it was too dangerous, too foolish of him, to allow Robin to roam the streets.

When Dick had left.

Time had pulled and twisted and replayed the memory every way it knew possible—where Bruce was right. Where Bruce was wrong. Where Dick was rejected. Where Dick got the push he needed.

Time made it so there was no truth. Or, perhaps, so that the truth from the moment no longer mattered, in comparison to the truth of this moment.

All we have, after all, is the present.

“You should stay here and recover.”

Dick’s bitter laugh haunted their sarcophagus. “We’ve got medical equipment in the Tower too, you know.” His tone shifted—wicked deflection. “And Kori’s good about keeping me off my feet. If you know what I mean.”

“It would…I would like you to stay.”

“You don’t get a say in who I date, Bruce.”

“No, dammit, Dick, I—” Bruce gritted his teeth. Alfred was working on getting the stone removed. It would be gone soon and then Dick would be gone with it.

Bruce said: “I don’t need Robin.”

It sounded like Dick choked in the dark, and when his voice came, it couldn’t have been more bitter. “So you’ve said.”

“Be quiet and listen. Alfred told me recently that I…needed someone to make me slow down just a bit and wonder what could happen. He suggested that maybe Batman needs Robin. But I can’t, in good conscience, put a child in danger, for my sake.”

Silence, thick and oily and cold, slithered into their space and wrapped its eel-like body around Bruce’s neck. He allowed himself a single deep breath, his lungs stinging from more than just the cold air.

“I don’t need Robin. I need you.”

The strand of silence tightened, as surely as if it had never been loosened. Bruce wanted to take another breath, snatch it from the air around them, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. His lungs burned and his muscles burned and his head burned and none of it was oxygen deprivation.

When Dick spoke, his voice was rough, like his body had been crushed under the weight of an entire building, lungs choked with debris, and maybe that’s what this was, what Bruce was doing: slowly crushing him to death until there was nothing left he could rescue.

And then the words registered.

“…Maybe…maybe Nightwing could patrol in Gotham a little…more regularly.” A swallow, thick and clear in the darkness, before more forced joviality cracked through the sludge in Dick’s throat. “If we ever make it out of here, that is.”

Bruce huffed. It puffed away a weight he hadn’t known was in his chest until it was gone, like the final healing of a pulled muscle, waiting for the twinge that never came. “We will. When you don’t return, your friends will come looking for you.”

“It’s good to have people I can trust to have my back.”

It was gloating, was what it was, but even Bruce knew when to allow it. He’d raised the boy, after all—it wasn’t like Dick had learned it from anyone else. Bruce sighed. “Yes, it is.”

Draped over his arm, Dick twitched, then twitched again, angling forward. “Hey, Bruce—do you hear that?”

The silence that had been so thick before thinned, until it barely covered the air around them, thinner, thinner until Bruce saw the scraped hole. Or heard it, rather. Scraping. Scraping and then—

The dirt wall at the back of the cave crumbled apart in an opening as wide a black mop of hair, sudden shards of light ripping apart the darkness as brutally as the grin it illuminated.

“Dick! Bruce! Hi!”

“…Jason?”

Chapter Text

The tunnel was shallow, about the length of his body, and emerged between two stone plates, close enough that even Bruce felt claustrophobic. After dragging themselves through the crevice, they joined up with part of the underground river, cutting its way through stalactites that Bruce didn’t recognize and stalagmites Jason clearly did. Jason guided them carefully around pockets of water deep enough that Jason fully submerged to warn them against stumbling and through reedy streams where Bruce winced to hear Jason’s tail dragging against stone.

Bruce said nothing.

Dick leaned on him where there was enough room, and Bruce made him go in front when there wasn’t. There was no telling how stable this part of the cave system was. Not after what had happened before with the wall. Jason tried to whisper encouraging things—maybe to them, maybe to himself—but he was breathless from pulling himself down, digging them out, then dragging himself back, so it came out as whispers that got snatched away before reaching anyone else.

It was only ten minutes or so before his eyes began to adjust, before there was sunlight for his eyes to adjust to. Jason shifted a stone out of the way, widening the tiny opening he’d slipped through, and then they were crawling out into Bruce’s newly built river.

A handful of thick debris from the nearby woods dammed the water away from them, making it possible to emerge, clearly thrown together with little planning. Jason squirmed around it to flop in the water, not gasping with his lungs. Bruce took the lead for the first time, wanting to ensure the river was stable before letting Dick out.

Did it, Jason was whispering, practically vibrating, from where he clung in the weeds along the newly established riverbank. I did it.

Bruce leaned down to grab Dick’s hand, hauling the younger man up, spluttering and gasping, into the face of Jason’s makeshift dam blocking the fresh tunnel. As soon as Dick emerged, Jason sat up, tail disappearing into the weeds while his upper body leaned towards them eagerly. He reached for Dick to…help him, maybe, or at least pretend to, but Bruce blocked it, hauling Dick onto the shore with one strong tug.

He snapped on Jason so fiercely the mer stumbled into the shallows.

“I don’t know what you thought you were doing,” he growled, “but you will never do something so idiotic or foolish again. Am. I. Clear.”

Jason gaped. Brought by the sound of his voice, Alfred’s footsteps crunched in the dying grass. Bruce glared up at him, covered in water stains, muddy up to his shins from bringing Jason out of the cave. “Alfred. How dare you—”

“Thank heaven,” Alfred interrupted, breathless and cold, like stone, “that Jason helped free you.” And the butler reached for Dick, helping him into a better position on the shore.

Bruce…I was just trying to…

“No, Jason.” What you did was unacceptable and I will not allow you to—

“Are you yelling at him? Bruce, what the hell—?”

Fine, be mad at me, asshole! See if I care—I just saved your life!

“You shouldn’t have.” Even the air flinched from his tone. Bruce inhaled sharply through his nose, held it, released it, didn’t look at Jason’s eyes, at his trembling lip, his clenched hands. “There’s no reason for you to put yourself in danger—”

“Anymore than there’s reason for Batman to do so?” Alfred interrupted, and—Bruce hadn’t expected that. The betrayal. He jabbed an eyebrow in the man’s direction, something not quite a snarl pulling back at his lip.

In a firm grip, Alfred held out Jason’s all-too-familiar tablet, sun-stained case, water spots dried to the waterproof screen, a line of all-too-familiar, unintelligible markings filling a white expanse.

Jason’s ‘picture.’

Alfred said, “It’s a map” and it was like the key to an encryption, as the jumble of letters and symbols and markings unfolded in his eyes.

Now he could see the way symbols swirled through the other mess of letters, like currents through the underground lake. Could find the rocky outcropping of the ledge where he worked and trace its path to the dam that had so recently collapsed. Could see how the lowercase h’s pressed up against the cave walling, the weak spot he hadn’t seen, buffeted by an army of &s as cold eddies running from the spring outside slipstreamed directly into the pocket he’d thought so dangerous.

I’m checking bathtubs, Jason had said. Places where things, where fish, where mers might get trapped. Things that had to be checked in specific orders and ways to account for the currents and temperatures and weights of the water, things that could be destabilized by careless variants.

“Jason…”

Jason snatched the tablet from Bruce’s loose fingers, scowling as he clutched it closer to his chest. “Asshole,” he snarled.

Jason, I—

“Say, ‘I’m sorry I yelled at you.’”

Bruce’s head snapped left, to where Dick was lounging on the bank. His ankle was propped in front him—sprained if not broken—but it did nothing to impede Bruce’s view of the smug grin on his face. “’Sorry I yelled at you like an asshole,’ if you’re feeling specific.”

“This isn’t a joke,” Bruce started to say, voice bordering on Batman, but he was interrupted by a soft:

“S-sorry.”

He got a glimpse of Dick’s eyes going wide right before he turned, this time on Jason. The little mer was hunched down in weeds that obscured his tail and torso, one arm still wrapped around his tablet, the other picking at the grass in front of him so he didn’t have to make eye contact. “Sorry, Dick,” he mumbled.

“Whoa, kiddo, I wasn’t telling you to apologize…”

Jason’s eyes flickered to Bruce, burning, then away, because it wasn’t just anger that smoldered there—it was shame, too.

It would have been my fault. I get that, okay? I—I asked Dick to help. If you didn’t…if you didn’t both get out of there…it would have been my fault.

“Hn.” Things weren’t quite so simple, so black and white. But as long as he never put Jason in that situation again, he’d never have to explain that. Dick makes his own choices, he said. Just like I do when you go out as Batman. What you did was dangerous. I should have been more careful, you’re right.

Jason hunched over his pile of weeds, huffing bubbles into the water before sulking, But…?

But you are too—

Jason’s head snapped up, guilt burned away, leaving only fury. Little. Young. I’m not, though. I’ve already had to grow up, like…like a shortcut. Do you…do humans have ‘shortcuts’?

Water lapped over the soles of Bruce’s shoes.

“…We have shortcuts. They’re not always good. I want you to be able to be a normal kid, Jason.”

But I’m not normal, Jason hissed.

Alfred said nothing. For once, even Dick said nothing. Maybe there was nothing to say. Maybe they were waiting for him to say it.

You asked me for help, Jason said, and his voice was rough, small, hurt.

I asked you to help me keep you safe. That’s what I need help with, Jason.

I am helping you keep me safe. The best way to keep me safe is to keep you safe.

And what was he supposed to say to that?

It’s not your job, he said, finally.

Well, you’re not doing so great at it! Jason snapped, ripping the weeds as he threw his arm out furiously. You didn’t even know that wall was unstable, did you? I did!

“Is he yelling at you about the wall? Stick it to him, Jason. You royally screwed that up and you know it, old man.”

Bruce rounded on him, to find that, instead of the insouciant expression he was expecting, Dick’s face was grim, firm, judgmental. “Bruce, you have to admit—he did good.”

“I’m not encouraging this. I can’t, in good conscience, put a child in danger. Teach him to…”

“Be like me?” And it was bitter, but not resentful. Unpleasant with regret and sadness and…sweet, with memories and longing and hurt. An acknowledgement that, in an ideal world, there wouldn’t have been a Robin. Wouldn’t be a Nightwing. But Bruce couldn’t imagine a world being better for lack of Nightwing and…maybe that was part of the point.

“He’s not going to be a vigilante, Bruce. And he’s not going to be a normal kid, either. He’s grown up too fast for that. You’re going to have to give him something.”

What had he given Dick, except a reason to hate him, an excuse to put himself in danger and think nothing of it, a way of strangling down all his emotions until it was a miracle if he managed to maintain some semblance of a life?

…He had given him strength. Purpose. Confidence.

Bruce looked down at Jason.

He sighed. “Let’s head back. We can talk about this more at the house.”

Alfred said nothing. As usual, he didn’t have to, even though Dick was nudging him like he wanted the man to. Alfred informed them he would go prepare food and bandages for their arrival, trusting Bruce to get Dick and Jason back by themselves. Bruce hefted Dick up off the bank with a grimace, letting his former ward milk his injury as Dick hopped about a bit to test the ankle, them opted for leaning almost his entire weight on Bruce’s shoulder.

His injury probably wasn’t even that serious. He was just punishing Bruce.

Jason swam along in the water, surging forward like a child stomping off, before letting the stream pull him back, arms crossed petulantly. At least Bruce wasn’t having to drag him as well. He’d take his wins where he could get them.

Dick poked at his side. “Remember when you let me be Robin because I was going to do it anyway and you’d rather I have responsibility with you watching than run amuck myself?”

Bruce purposefully let Dick stumble, glowering at him as the man clumsily regained his footing. “I think I’ve made myself quite clear on—”

“Woah, there, big guy, hold up.” Reaching up so his hands were pressed on Bruce’s arm over his shoulder, Dick lifted himself into the air, legs swinging beneath him, to avoid a dip in the ground. “I’m saying maybe you give him some responsibility to keep him occupied. You know. Like a pet.”

The splashing noise of Jason spitting through the water beside them stopped.

It wasn’t Dick’s fault, Bruce reminded himself. Dick didn’t know all of Jason’s triggers. But the temptation to drop him in the river was strong. Especially with him dangling out over the water on Bruce’s arm already.

Pet? Jason asked, and his voice was so, so quiet. So fearful.

“Jason, Dick didn’t mean—”

I…I could have a pet?

Not fearful. Hopeful.

Still holding Dick extended on his arm over the water, Bruce squinted down at the river, where Jason was wrapped between two stones, clutching the ends of his tail like a child fisting his tshirt in eager expectation. His voice fell breathlessly.

Like a real pet, to take care of and be my friend and—

“Not a bat.” It was out of his mouth before Bruce even quite realized what he was agreeing to.

“A duck?”

And that was—specific.

Bruce’s squinting turned into what he knew was a Batman look. The kind of baleful thing usually reserved for Jim Gordon giving him information he’d discovered three nights before.

“Jason. Do you have a duck?”

Jason scrambled back, eyes wide. You have to say if I can have a pet! You have to say yes!

Dick burst out laughing. “Holy crap, he’s got a duck, doesn’t he? How the holy heck did you not know about this?”

It was the same question Bruce’s eyebrows were asking, lowering their pallor over the little mer child in the river. Beneath that glower, Jason squirmed.

“…You can have a duck.”

“Yes! Thank you! Thank you, Bruce! Good Bruce! Good, good thing!” Jason grabbed his leg so hard Bruce, who had forgotten he was suspending Dick, nearly dropped both of them into the water. Fortunately, Dick flipped and landed his good leg on the bank, arms out, eyes wide at Jason’s sudden exuberance.

Bruce merely sighed. Jason. Do you already have a duck?

The kid waffled back in the water cagily. With more…well, not feet dragging. Tail dragging? With more tail dragging than Bruce expected, he produced his tablet again, dragging his finger around his weird little map until it landed on a particular section. It took Bruce more time than he would have liked to determine which symbols were the water, which the stone, which the tiny alcove underground where Jason liked to escape to the river. There was a slight outcropping covered in u’s that might have represented down or grass or some other kind of bedding. And nestled in the middle were three 5s, which, even Bruce had to admit, immediately looked like ducks, now that he knew what he was looking for.

“There are ducks,” he said aloud, “in my cave.”

Jason scowled. “Jason’s cave.”

Dick laughed. “Man, if they shrunk you and threw you a tail on you, I wouldn’t be able to tell the two of you apart.”

Bruce sighed. Alright, Jason. Once I’ve put you in the pool—just until I can be sure the lake is stable—I will go investigate these ducks. And then we will determine whether or not they’re suitable pets.

“Dick,” Jason said. “Ducks.”

“I just said—”

Dick leaned over to ruffle the little mer’s hair. “Sure, kid. I’ll go get your ducks.”

Jason refused to go to the pool. Normally, Bruce wouldn’t have cared what Jason’s opinion on the matter were, when his cave was full of the crumpled remains of a dam he’d broken, but after he left Jason in the pool, Dick simply let the mer climb up on his back, proving his ankle injury was a sham the whole time, and brought him into the cave with him.

The mer did at least capitulate on going into the lake. Alfred, frowning in disapproval at Bruce of all people—it was clearly Dick who had brought Jason downstairs—produced a small pool that Bruce used occasionally for ice dipping, and settled Jason inside that before leaving to examine Dick’s ankle.

It turned out the ankle was broken. Hm.

Bruce frowned at him. “You shouldn’t have carried Jason down here.”

“You were gonna leave him up there all by himself! You already know the kid has abandonment issues—that seems cruel.”

There was logic there, sure. But Bruce had lost enough arguments for the day. He sniffed. “Now you won’t be able to go retrieve his ducks like you promised,” he said, and watched Dick’s face fall as Jason latched onto the words.

“Dick! Ducks!”

“Damn you, Bruce.”

Bruce retreated to run scans of the cave structure and let Dick sort out his own mess. Served him right.

Thirteen minutes after they’d all returned to the cave, one of Bruce’s silent alarms started flashing, there was a puff of air, and then Clark and Arthur settled beside him—Clark looking alarmed, Arthur looking…shell-shocked. Apparently leaping great distances wasn’t the same as flying at superspeed with a Kryptonian. Bruce made a mental note to update his files later and gave them both a baleful look.

“Yes?”

From his tub, Jason shouted, “Awk-wer-man! Look, rubber ducky!” and flailed around one of said creatures. Alfred must have given it to him to keep him occupied. Although when, Bruce had no idea, since he didn’t think the man had left Dick’s side, where he was still splinting his leg.

“Er…” Superman blinked, perplexed. “Is…everything alright? We got the weirdest call from Jason…”

“I’m aware.”

“Where were you?” Arthur demanded.

Bruce crossed his arms. “Here. In my cave.” The where you’re not allowed to be was very loudly unsaid.

“Ooohhh…kaaayy…but that doesn’t really answer—”

“Look! Duck!”

It’s a very nice duck, Jason, Arthur said, voice tight, expression vacillating between condemnation for Bruce and eyebrow-raised curiosity for Jason.

Clark said, “I don’t know why you think he doesn’t like you. It seems like he loves you. It’s me he doesn’t like.”

“What makes you say that?”

Clark raised a hand to wave. “Hello, Jason.”

Jason’s grin switched from natural to manic. “Swooperman! Like rubber ducky?”

“Yes, your ducky is very cute. It’s—”

Jason threw an entire armful of ducks at his face.

Later that night, when Jason was indeed settled in the pool, Dick was settled on an impromptu bed constructed under the nearby cabana, and Bruce had returned from a brief stint as Batman, Bruce crouched by the pool and extended Jason’s tablet once more.

Here. I made some changes.

Jason unfolded his arms enough to snatch the tablet from Bruce’s grip. “Jason tablet,” he snapped. “No, Bruce. Don’t not touch.”

Humor me. Bruce tried to tap at the screen, but Jason held it away and did it himself. Like a toddler. Like Dick.

The new app was conspicuous in its bright orange color scheme. Jason didn’t wait for permission before stabbing it accusingly, bringing up a black interface with most of the settings and options still locked, in case Jason decided to continue stabbing things with his finger at random.

It’s a map, Bruce told him. I already uploaded the scans of the caves from earlier, and sonograms of the lakebed. But you’ll need to put in the currents and other information you had in your picture.

Jason stared at it. Squinting. The way he had looked at Bruce the first time the man offered him tuna fish.

…How did it feel like just yesterday and a thousand years ago that Bruce had first offered Jason tuna fish?

Jason asked, voice heavy with suspicion, And you’ll let me work on this? You’ll let me go back to the lake and explore and…and do what I have to do to keep this up to date? So that the lake is safe?

Deep breath. Hold it. Release. Yes, Jason. It’s your home. It’s your responsibility. And now that he was less possessive, Bruce managed to tap at the topmost corner of the app, widening the scans to reveal topology as well. Not just the lake, either. We’ll be finished joining the river soon. I want you to do that as well. Can you do that?

He could see Jason considering it, see the glint in his eye as the mer worked through any possible traps or manipulations Bruce had built into the role. Bruce hoped he hadn’t built any traps into the role.

He hadn’t exactly run this by Dick first. He probably should have done that.

“Safe?” Jason asked, finally. He was twisting something in his unoccupied hand, something white and—oh. Ice cream sandwich wrapper. Bruce hoped he hadn’t eaten too many. But it probably explained why he was still up.

“Hm.” Bruce cleared his throat. “I do want you to be safe. But I also want you to grow and be strong. So. So this is part of helping you do that.”

Jason twisted, dragging the tablet underwater as if to be sure it really was his tablet (something he’d done when mistaking Bruce’s tablet for his own one day—and costing Bruce approximately six thousand dollars in proprietary technology), before popping back up. Okay, Bruce. Go to sleep. We can talk more in the morning.

A rough smile, like water cutting through a new river, forced its way across Bruce’s face. Yes. We can talk more in the morning.

He made it almost to the doorway before Jason called, as loud as he dared with Dick sleeping, I haven’t forgotten about the ducks, Bruce! The real ones!

No, I’m sure you haven’t.

I want a little one. A boy one. A…what’s a boy duck called?

“A drake,” Bruce sighed.

“Drake. Drake duck, Bruce.”

Bruce ran a hand down his face. “Yes, I understand. I assume you already have a name picked out for your victim?”

“Vit—tim? Yes. Yes, Bruce. Good.”

He returned to the pool’s edge, kneeling down so he could ruffle the mer’s hair. “So? What is it, then?”

Jason blinked at him. “What?”

What is the name you picked out for your duck?

You…what? You picked out the name.

Now it was Bruce’s turn to blink, nonplussed. “What?”

Tim. Is that… Jason chewed on his cheek, eyebrows tight together. “Tim…name?”

“Oh. I wasn’t saying you had to name it—”

“Tim,” Jason interrupted firmly. “Tim Drake. Duck. Tim Drake Duck. Good, Bruce. Good thing. Night!”

And then, to forestall any other conversation, he dove to the bottom of his pool, taking the tablet and about three blankets with him.

From the cabana, Dick murmured, “Tim Drake is a stupid name for a duck.”

“Hush.” Bruce dragged his blanket further over him and swatted him in the side of the head before settling in the chair beside him. One night by the pool wouldn’t kill him. “I think we’ve had enough excitement for one day. I don’t need you picking fights right now.”

“Fine.” Dick yawned and rolled over, his ankle thumping against the bedframe. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Hn.”

Bruce decided he would spend the next day in the office. Serve Alfred right for not investigating the collapsed wall sooner. For taking Jason up to the river. For encouraging all of…this.

All of it.

Chapter Text

Edit: It has been brought to my attention that I used a female juvenile wood duck as reference XD I went back in and fixed the coloring so Tim Drake matches a little better, lol

Original where I accidentally made the duck female XD

Note transcript:

Alfie said you don't look at the "family" photo album. --Dick

You guys!!! The extremely talented Nozhiksan created a fuller picture of the "photo" above! My intention was originally to draw Jason's whole body, but then the anatomy started looking weird, so I chickened out. I'm very excited they drew it for me!! Look how beautiful Jason and little "Tim" look!

Chapter Text

After two days of nursing a broken ankle and being nursed by Bruce, who had unlocked a fatherly gene Dick thought had died off when he was eleven, Dick pretended to fall asleep in front of the TV until Alfred retreated to the cave and Bruce retreated to his unresolved childhood trauma. Then Dick shoved his enormous, unwieldy boot into the wetsuit he’d prepared in the closet and headed for the pool.

It was dark, aside from the blinking lights from security cameras and a flickering glow of the TV, which was playing some nature documentary. He shouldn’t have been surprised—after the whole Tom and Jerry fiasco, nature documentaries were pretty much all Jason watched. Dick had tried to get him on sitcoms by saying they were nature documentaries about humans, but—according to Bruce’s translation—Jason had used five whole minutes, nearly a thousand words, and some colorful hand gestures to reply, “Humans are not my favorite.”

As he got closer, Dick recognized the documentary as one about a little baby turtle that Dick knew got eaten at the end, so he palmed the remote from the edge of the pool and mashed the power button. As David Attenborough-lite cut away, Dick caught the tail end of a warbly song from the massive clot of blankets in the pool, before it too cut off abruptly. This time with a shout.

Jason exploded into view, shoving hammock and blankets and sopping hair aside so nothing obscured his scowl. Hey! “Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat!”

Oh geeze. “We have got to get you away from Alfred,” Dick said emphatically. A soft glow from Jason’s blankets illuminated the kid’s glare. Dick squinted. “What are you doing in there, anyway?”

“Away, you mouldy rogue!”

But Dick had already wrestled the top blanket off, revealing in no particular order: Jason’s face that matched his red-handedness, a tablet displaying—of all things—a photo of Batman and Robin that Alfred had taken when Dick was nine years old, and a very fluffy, very not-allowed little duck.

Dick raised his eyebrows.

Alfred said I could have him in the pool at night.

“Yeah, I don’t know exactly what you just said, but I know it was a lie.” Dick held his hand out like he was Bruce asking for fifteen-year-old Dick’s phone.

Jason handed him the tablet.

“Not what I wanted—and why are you showing him this stuff anyway?” Jason. Batman. Dick pointed at the photo and used the phrase he’d called Garth to ask about two days ago. What the hell?

Jason cupped the little duck tight against his chest, curling around him protectively. Because Bruce said he might have to live in the cave and I don’t want him to be scared! Tim doesn’t know that Batman isn’t meant to be scary.

Dick’s mer sucked, but he knew enough key words that he figured he had a handle on that speech, at least. “Hm,” he grumbled, before pointing at photo-Bruce. Cute. He stabbed a finger at Jason’s duck—cute—and finally landed on Jason’s nose.

Cute.

Jason scrunched up his face like he was going to scowl, then suddenly darted a finger out and poked the tiny Robin under Batman’s gauntlet. Cute.

Dick rolled his eyes, tossing the tablet over his shoulder. Shut up, he said, depleting what was left of his mer vocabulary. “Look, you’re going to have to put the duck away if you want to go on this adventure with me. No ducks allowed.”

Duck yes, Jason snapped, contrary as usual. “Yes duck, thou cream faced—”

Dick cut him off with a finger against his lips. “I swear, if you say one more Shakespearean insult, I’m leaving you tonight and then calling in an anonymous tip with the authorities for child abuse first thing in the morning. Don’t you want to go on an adventure?”

The kid side-eyed him, tucking his little duck friend under his chin. “I don’t know ‘adventure.’ Help me understand.”

Dick grabbed his wetsuit and pulled it away from his chest before letting it suck back with a disturbing shlurp. Then he pressed a finger to his lips and pointed into the black of the trees stained against the dark blue sky.

Fortunately, the kid had enough experience with humans to take the hint. Unfortunately, the kid also had a duck.

Jason scooped his fluffy companion up and held up forward pleadingly. “Dick. Tim can come?”

“No duck.”

“Tim likes swimming!” Jason protested. He gingerly set his ball of fluff on the water, forcing Dick to watch as the so-called Tim Drake trundled about lopsidedly in the water, like it was trying to flip over.

Dick leveled a look at Jason.

Okay, so he’s not the best at it, but he’s getting there! And he should get to come. He doesn’t like being left out.

“No duck,” Dick repeated firmly. “I mean it, Jason. Absolutely. No. Duck.”

And because Dick didn’t live in a fictional universe, the duck stayed home.

Not without complaining, sure. At one point he was pretty sure Jason was trying to fight back tears and argue that two-week-old Tim Drake would experience abandonment issues if left behind. But Dick was adamant and, with a little swearing and whispered lullabies, Jason finally tucked his duck back in its enclosure and allowed them to leave.

So much for the easy part.

Step two was to get Jason through the woods to the river. In theory, Bruce was working with Aquaman and Mera to construct some sort of inlet that would allow Jason to move seamlessly from the lazy back woods stream to Bruce’s attentive eye in the pool, but that hadn’t happened yet. So Dick had come prepared.

Jason was less than excited about the sling Dick produced. For a few moments as tense as Batman when Robin made a joke at the wrong time, Dick thought the kid might have a breakdown. Was there anything that didn’t trigger some sort of horrific flashback for him? You’d think that if, as Bruce claimed, he’d only ever lived in a bathroom, his triggers would be somewhat limited. But no.

Once they reached the river, though, Jason more than made up for his previous lackluster enthusiasm.

Holy crap, YES! “Yes, Dick—great, stupid, asshole Dick!”

Dick frowned as he pulled himself into the chest high water alongside the kid. “Those are all insults, you know.”

Jason grabbed either side of his face, leaned very close and said, “Good job, asshole.”

Which was probably the best Dick could hope for.

Right before Jason dashed off into the stream, though, Dick snagged his arm, yanking the little mer to a stop. Jason blinked, nonplussed, at the object in Dick’s extended hand.

“Not so fast, little padawan. You forgot the most important part…”

This is stupid, Jason said. Dick hadn’t been one hundred percent sure of the translation the first seven times he’d said it, but by the ninth he’d had his suspicions and around objection number thirteen he’d been sure.

“Picture the scene in your head,” Dick laughed. “Stay flexible and feel the water move around you, don’t fight against it.”

Did you say ‘feel the water move’? What do you know about water, asshole? Dick heard the umph as Jason shoulder-checked another boulder, but that meant he avoided the shallow bed on the left side of the river, which would’ve scraped him up and got him tangled in debris. So the kid was doing fine.

“What’d I tell you? Didn’t I tell you it was easy?”

There was a distinct lack of answer from Jason. If Dick was a rule-breaker, which he wasn’t, he’d lift his blindfold to see which obscene hand gesture Jason had chosen for him this time. But Dick wasn’t a rule-breaker. So he just imagined it was the same one Jason had used when Dick first unveiled the blindfolds.

You’ve done this before? “This…old for you?”

“Oh, sure. Bruce used to dump me in all kinds of crazy places as part of my ‘training.’ And I had it harder than you because I’m sure mers are better at reading the water than humans.” Dick maneuvered around another boulder and kicked his legs to propel himself downstream, arms extended through the next clear section of river. “Plus, I’ve still got that broken ankle, remember.” Leg. Snapped. Remember? Like stick.

Yeah, I’m the lucky one, Jason scoffed. Dick could feel him beside him, cutting through the water seamlessly. Which only meant he moved faster into obstacles, because apparently just feeling the currents didn’t mean you could intuitively move in the right way to flow with them. “Why are I with you here?”

“I thought it was time for us to get out. The great outdoors. Just you and me.”

So you could kill me, right?

“Relax. If I wanted you dead, there were way easier ways to accomplish it.” And Dick hoped to every heaven he knew of that Jason was still only about fifty percent proficient in English. “Come on, let’s up the challenge.” Jason. No hands.

Right, because removing sight wasn’t hard enough. Ugh, ew, duck weed. Something that sounded distinctly like spitting came from Jason’s side of the river.

Arms tucked behind his back, Dick rolled over and kicked, splashing his good foot up into the air and back down again, while the cast dragged along behind him. “So. Tell me about where we are. Tell me about the river.”

Swishing his tail, Jason nearly bumped into Dick but course corrected at the last moment with a hasty jerk. “Um…river is…wide? More wide. And fast. More fast.”

“Good. Why?”

Because we joined up with other parts of the river? We were in a small part, but now we’re in the bigger river. And it rained recently? “More river? Rain?”

Dick hummed approvingly, listening to the swish-splash of Jason paddling and correcting, paddling and correcting.

“So. You’ve got a duck now. And Bruce is giving you more responsibility. What are your plans?”

His fear that Jason would only understand the ‘duck’ part of his inquiry proved accurate and immediately inconsequential as Jason mulled, I’m teaching Tim Drake how to kill people.

“You’re—what?” Jason. Not kill—you mean…?

“Kill,” Jason insisted. “Bad people. Heys. Assholes.” I mean…not like you and Bruce assholes. Other assholes. Assholier assholes.

“That’s not great.” Fortunately, it wasn’t like Jason knew how to kill people—or that a duck could accomplish the feat anyway. Self-reassured, Dick asked, “Ok, how?”

I saw on the TV that you can train ducks to, like, bite things. So I’m training him how to nibble a cord in his pen that’s a tripwire for the knife I lodged in the roof of his house with some springs Bruce left lying around the cave.

Dick laughed, as the wave of unintelligible mer speech wafted over him. It was nice that Jason was excited about his imaginary assassin duck, even if Dick didn’t understand his lofty plans. His comfort was knowing whatever they were, they wouldn’t work. How was a duck going to do any damage? They didn’t even have teeth.

“I’m sure that’s going to work out great, kid.”

Beside him, he felt Jason preen. When they came to the next spot of boulders, the kid dodged every one.

“Alright,” Dick said after a while. Jason. Feel that?

Feel…? Water swept alongside him as Jason twisted under the river. It’s getting faster. And…louder? Is it the ocean?

No ocean. Think.

Main river. We’ve been running towards the harbor, but we’d hit that before the ocean. Less rocks in the river…

“Come on…”

Rockier edges, though—no more sandbars. No more frogs in the weeds. Wait. “Dick. No. Not—”

“Waterfall!”

Dick shot his arms out and snagged Jason’s, giving one giant kick of his legs as the water suddenly dropped out from under them. Jason shouted, both of them careening through the air in one glorious moment before they dropped, just clear of the churning foam, so deep that Dick felt the smooth curve of the beaten stone under his blocky cast before he spurted back to the top with a gleeful shout.

“Dick!” What the—why?

Jason! Fun!

Are you insane? Even with the blindfold slightly askew, it still covered most of Dick’s eyes, but he could faintly see the shadow of Jason splayed out on the water, gasping at the moon above. We could’ve died! Bruce let you get away with that when you were training?

“Bruce? Oh, yeah, he let me get this far—‘cept he caught me by the ankle before I went over because he’s a huge spoilsport.” Dick flopped over onto his stomach, windmilling his arms at his side to give his leg a rest. “But that’s what big brothers are for, right? Helping you do the things no one would let them do.”

He heard Jason roll over, felt the weight of the kid’s stare on his back, even though his blindfold.

“I mean, Alfred and Bruce are great, don’t get me wrong—but they’re also boring as sin. So I spent a lot of my childhood looking for adventure.”

A ripple through the water told him Jason was spinning as he parsed Dick's words, before hazarding, “Robin?”

Dick laughed. “Yeah, sure, Robin—but what good is adventure when you’ve got a grown-up breathing down your neck the whole time?” He splashed in Jason's direction, earning him a raspberry and a larger splash back. They drifted closer to the waterfall, and Dick ran his hand through the churning waters to feel the foam at the surface. Skimming it to the left, he bumped into another hand doing the same thing. A grin eeked across his unseen face.

“Anyway, I figured pretty soon they’ll let you out in the river and you’ll go off and have all kinds of adventures of your own that you’ll never tell anyone about. And…I thought it might be nice if you had someone to share the first one with.” He bumped the kid beside him lightly. “Trust me, I know what it’s like to find something super cool and have no one to tell.”

Static from the waterfall filtered out the noise of the night around them. He felt Jason's tailfin furl around his feet, but didn't know if it was on purpose of just responding to the motion of the water, like how Kory's hair billowed around her in...well, most circumstances. But especially in the water.

Something wet kissed his face, then plucked away. Foam bubbles. Immediately Dick scooped his own, lobbing them in the direction Jason had been, only to feel the pull of a current at his back and realize Jason had ducked around him, seconds before more foam burst against the back of his neck.

Bad, Jason! Ew!

The mer laughed, splashing him this time before ducking under the water. His voice bubbled up somewhere from Dick's left.

“Thanks for…adventure.”

Dick sighed, snagging the mer before he could squiggle away again and then shoving him towards the waterfall immediately. “No problem. Don’t tell Bruce.”

He should have expected the next question, but Jason's immediate “Tim?” still made him groan.

“…You know what? No. Don’t tell Tim. Don’t tell anyone. It’s called a secret.”

Jason scoffed, “Stupid. Stupid words, Dick.” But he flopped back in the water with the same sort of resignation that Wally did after accepting Dick wasn't going to change his orders.

So…what now?

“Now?” Home, Jason. “It’s super late and Alfred’s gonna kill me when he realizes you’re not in your pool.”

Water splashed even louder than the waterfall beside them as Jason collapsed backwards. “Home. Yes. Good, Dick.” I’m ready to—

Dick caught his hand, reveling in the wicked grin Jason couldn’t see.

“Ah, no cheating, Jase.” Upstream. Only hands. “Blindfold stays on.”

Chapter Text

Jason woke up on the single most exciting day of his life to a duck butt hovering over his face.

Hilarious.

But he only let himself laugh for a minute, because Alfred had been very clear that ducks were not allowed in the pool because he wasn’t prepared for the monumental task of cleansing feces from a contained area in which a child lived and wasn’t the one who had agreed to this arrangement. Jason didn’t understand what either of those things meant, but Bruce had made that rumbly hn sound when he said them, so he guessed it was bad.

Scooping his newest friend up in his arms, Jason used a foam board Dick had left out to pull himself onto the concrete without tearing up his skin and push Tim Drake into his gated enclosure. It was a ‘temporary space’ that Bruce had installed for when he needed Jason out of the cave. Which was all the time, right now, apparently, because Bruce still hadn’t completely finished cleaning up his mess down there and Jason had to pay the price for some reason.

“It’s okay, Tim,” he whispered, when his friend gave a forlorn ruffle of his feathers. “You can come back in later, but right now I can’t risk Alfred draining the pool for cleaning or something.”

Fluffy little Tim Drake—the most perfect duck Jason had ever laid eyes on—ruffled some more, then retreated to the shallow little puddle of water in his enclosure. Jason would give him an ice cream san wish later to make up for his desertion. According to Alfred, ice cream san wishes were neither suitable nor healthy for young ducks, but Alfred said the same thing when Bruce let Jason have a whole box of them, and that didn’t stop Bruce, so Jason wasn’t going to let it stop him either.

“I’ll come find you later and tell you how it went,” Jason promised, before slithering back into the pool. He couldn’t risk Alfred catching him out. Not today.

Today was going to be an amazing day.

Breakfast was served by Alfred just before sunrise, which meant Bruce had stayed out late as Batman and was only now getting in. Usually Alfred brought breakfast just after sunrise, but on mornings when Bruce woke up him up early by getting in late, he took the opportunity to get breakfast out of the way. As the air faded from bruise blue to gray, Alfred set a plate by the edge of the pool and hummed disapprovingly when Jason immediately zoomed over.

You’re awake terribly early. Trouble sleeping, perhaps?

Jason grinned at him, because Alfred never cared whether or not Jason could understand him and Jason didn’t want to admit he knew Alfred was asking about why he wasn’t still sleeping. San wishes? he asked hopefully, leveraging himself up on his arms to peer closer.

Alfred sighed and rolled his eyes. As if you would eat anything else…but yes. Breakfast ‘san wishes.’

‘Breakfast’ san wishes were the kind with little yellow and white things that both Alfred and Bruce swore were eggs, even though they were a completely different color and consistency from any egg Jason had ever eaten. When he asked Dick in private about it, Dick confided in him that they were actually brains from the stuffed animals humans like to keep. Then he showed Jason the inside of a stuffed animal, and the white color matched, so Jason knew he wasn’t lying.

It didn’t really matter to Jason, one way or the other, because they tasted delicious. Probably Alfred and Bruce just didn’t want to upset him by telling him he was eating brains.

Remember: No Batman. You don’t know Batman. You have never met Batman.

Jason flung Dick’s ball back as hard as he could. Air was thin, which meant the ball traveled way farther than it would have underwater. But it also meant things turned and twisted more easily, which made it hard for him to judge where things were going to end up. Bruce, for some reason, thought this was connected to the fact that he hadn’t been able to use his arms for a long time when he was in the bathtub. Jason and Aquaman had both tried to explain it probably wasn’t that, but Bruce still made Jason play “catch” several times a day to “improve” on a skill Jason would never need.

I have ever met Batman, he corrected when Dick lunged to put his body where the ball would be. It meant he nearly fell off his deck chair and had to catch himself with one arm, since his giant, blue cast stayed firmly in place.

No. Dick was emphatic. Not today you haven’t. Today Bruce Wayne is just a rich, eccentric asshole who happens to have a mer kid living in his pool for rich, eccentric asshole reasons. And I am his ward who ran away to join the Titans. I know Batman. You have never met him.

Jason frowned, swirling back too far from the ball, because it dropped faster than he was expecting, instead of floating along forward in the air. Stupid, thin air. I want have met Batman.

Too bad, Dick informed him. This is the cover story we all agreed to, for me to stay here while I’m recovering and for Bruce to let my friends come over. So don’t blow it.

Jason blew bubbles at Dick and made a gesture that he was pretty sure humans didn’t have. Just in case, though, he checked that Bruce wasn’t around. And he did it when Dick turned his back.

Dick’s friends showed up after lunch, in a ship that sailed through the air.

Jason had no ideas ships could even go anywhere that wasn’t water.

There were four of them—though apparently they were still expecting someone named “Wally,” but he wasn’t coming on the ship. As far as Jason could tell, none of them were human. He was starting to think humans were a lot rarer than he’d assumed when he was young.

Most of them looked human, though, even if the coloring was a bit off. Except for the first one to reach them—Victor, Dick said. He was a cyborg, which was similar to Jason in that they both had parts of their bodies that looked a bit like human bodies and parts that didn’t look anything like humans. The other parts of Victor’s body were shiny, gray in the shade in the shade and bright white in the sun, and had blinking lights, a little bit like Bruce’s car.

Yo, Dick, you should break your leg more often. This is a sweet set-up.

Dude, you think this is rich? You should see my step-dad’s place! A green-colored friend leapt around Victor and balanced on the railings by the pool stairs. Dick hadn’t said his name yet.

You’re sure that your…Bruce Wayne is fine with this? An alien—orange-skinned, green-eyed, flying like Superman—leaned down and kissed Dick’s forehead. Jason recognized her from pictures on Bruce’s computers that Bruce frowned over sometimes when Dick wasn’t around. He was pretty sure Dick didn’t know Bruce frowned about her.

It’s fine, Kory, Dick said, grabbing her arms and pulling her in for a much deeper kiss. Jason made a face. He knows I’m a Titan. He’s fine with it. Probably won’t even be around.

Victor said he couldn’t go in the water—apparently cyborgs would die in water, the way bugs died when rain pushed them under the river surface. Jason always hated that and would spend hours zooming around and picking them out of their home, while his mother laughed at his disgusted concentration.

Kory said a lot of words that Jason thought meant she wanted to go in the water, but also didn’t want to leave Dick all by himself. Privately, Jason thought that Dick would be fine, because he usually liked being by himself over, say, spending time with Bruce or Jason or Alfred, but he wasn’t going to argue. He was honestly just thrilled how many of them wanted to go in the water at all. Sure, he knew they were Dick’s friends, but it felt an awful lot like they’d come to see him too, and, well, that had never happened before.

Before establishing himself on a lounge chair by the edge of the pool, bright blue leg propped up in an indecent display of toes, Dick helped his friends open the little house beside the pool and extract the toys and things he used when he played with Jason.

Gar—the green-skinned person whose species Jason didn’t know—was the most excited about the pool toys. He dumped armloads into the water, until it was more crowded than even Jason normally kept it with blankets. And while it made it difficult to swim, it was fun and exciting and new.

Hey, greenie, enough already. You’re gonna suffocate the kid, Victor admonished, dragging out several of the spongy tubes Dick liked to hit Jason with when they were ‘training.’

Oh, hey! I almost forgot about him!

Without warning, a pale green face with hair the color of algae leapt in front of Jason.

Hey, little fish!

And that—Jason’s brain skipped, like stones that Dick chucked into the cave lake. Propped up on the concrete before him, he suddenly felt like his arms were stuck. No, not stuck—bound. Tight, unmoving, so the most he could do was curl his shoulders down as another face leered over at him, hissing,

Let’s see how the fish handles this…

No.

No, he was in his pool, with his fam—er, good things. And his arms could—he jerked them forward, trying to keep his voice from tightening too much.

I’m Jason.

Gar laughed, harder than people normally did. Right. Jason, the little fish. Got it.

Jason. He—he didn’t snap, didn’t shout. But he did cast a little glance Dick’s way because—no, never mind, he could handle this. He just…maybe something was getting lost in translation? Just Jason.

Another laugh. What, can’t take a little teasing? You gonna carp about it?

Without warning, Gar’s green face warped, stretched, shrank, melted—and a bright-green, Caspian roach flopped twice on the concrete before falling into the pool with him.

Jason screamed.

Garfield! So help me, if you traumatize that kid—Jason!

Attention snapped to Dick, Jason was shocked to see, not horror, but frustration on Dick’s face. “It’s fine. Good. He makes change.”

“He…what?”

The fish exploded up out of the water, with a cackling laugh that Jason immediately recognized, even though it made no sense why it was coming from a fish.

Cool it, little fish, it’s just me! Dude, Dick, what was that? It was, like, bubbles. You speak bubbles?

‘Bubbles’ was a word Jason knew, one that Garth had taught him eons ago.

…Jason kind of wished Garth was there now. But it was fine. He’d be fine on his own. His English was pretty much complete these days—and Dick knew a little mer if anything got really confusing. So it was fine.

It’s mer, you imbecile. It’s the language he actually understands.

Gar turned to Jason and made a series of popping noises, which—was that supposed to be bubble noises? When Jason stared, he grinned and demanded, What did I say?

Jason thought he understood the words ‘what did I say’—but clearly he didn’t, because it didn’t make any sense. No one had said anything. He scraped the backs of his memory for as many human words as he could remember Bruce using in the cave.

You…sound as…like a fitch.

The entire group roared with laughter—even Kory this time, who joined in so hard she fell off the lounge chair.

Oh man, you just got called out by a kid, Victor gasped.

It’s—he didn’t really call Gar a—?

Dick had actual tear leaking out of his eyes, double over his legs. Oh hell, no. It’s how the dude says fish. He—the timing was just—

Grinning at Jason, Kory said, Excellent joke, Jason.

Jason grinned. It took more effort than he expected, for some reason.

Ok, it’s gonna be like that, huh? Green fish scales wriggled, morphing back into the algae-mop headed Gar, who grinned wildly at Jason. Wanna see some other things I can change into? His body tugged, warping in ways bodies shouldn’t, just enough for Jason to recognize a sneaky-eyed raccoon before transforming into a seagull and then some animal Jason had seen on one of his nature documentaries. Horse? With stripes?

You gonna be a zebra, or you gonna get in the pool? Victor demanded.

Gar snapped back to his human shape. Last one in is a sucker!

The floaties exploded around Gar as he balled his body up to slam into the center of the pool, spilling water and toys on all sides. Dick used a few of the words Alfred told Jason not to repeat, and, guessing from the gestures to his leg, was informing Gar in more emphatic language than he’d used with Jason that his cast couldn’t get wet.

Gar rolled his eyes and his head backward, morphing into a green-skinned dolphin—something Jason recognized, once again, from the documentaries Bruce had shown him. One of the documentaries said certain ones could live in rivers. Jason decided to be flattered that Garth had chosen something from the river to look like, hoping maybe it meant he knew Jason was a river mer.

So, little fish, how ‘bout a race?

Jason was not going to correct him again, because he was pretty sure at this point that Gar was calling him ‘fish’ on purpose, like when Dick called Bruce ‘Mr. Wayne’ even though he knew Bruce hated it. It was…fine, anyway. It didn’t bother him that much.

Leave him alone, Gar.

Gar ignored the black-haired woman who had flown out half of the toys he’d dumped in the pool and was now settling on the floaty at the far end. So Jason ignored her, too—even though it was hard. She was very pretty. And very female.

Race?

The green dolphin dashed halfway across the pool, then looped back, waiting expectantly.

Oh. A competition.

Fast? Jason asked.

Uh, yeah, the idea would be to go fast. Duh.

That sounded like confirmation that he’d guessed correctly. Jason smirked, waiting for Gar to change back into his human form—except Gar just wriggled his dolphin body over to the end of the pool and somehow twisted its face into a smirk to rival Jason’s.

Was the human looking shape…not his original shape? Was there a species of blobs somewhere that could transform into whatever it wanted? Did Gar look human only because that was most convenient for this planet?

…Obviously Jason would have chosen to look like a mer, if he had been born as a blob person, but if Gar’s friends were mostly human, he could understand it.

Just like he could understand, in theory, why Gar might choose to be a dolphin for their race. It wasn’t unfair, he told himself. It was just…natural. For Gar. Just like Jason would have naturally won if he’d changed back to legs with their stupid, gimpy toes.

And he maybe still had a chance. After all, his swimming had been improving. Aquaman said so. And it wasn’t like the pool was that long anyway. Surely it would take a bit for a dolphin to build up speed.

Jason slipped into the space beside Gar, tail braced against the back wall, and nodded.

Gar squeaked at the black-haired woman on the floatie. Alright, Donna, you referee. Just go ahead and drop your top whenever you want us to start.

I’ll muzzle you, Garfield. Go on three. One, two—three!

Gar shot from the edge of the pool, and Jason realized they’d started. Fortunately, he was a much better swimmer than he’d been, even a month ago—one swish of his tail brought him level with Gar, who flipped on his back, winked, and—

Jason hurled himself forward, but still hit the far wall far enough after Gar that the dolphin had time to do a fully victory dance up on his tail, pushing himself backwards in circles and keening to an imaginary crowd.

Jason fought back the sick feeling in his stomach from pushing himself too hard and tried to use the tips his mom had taught him about ‘losing graciously.’ He smiled, laughed a bit at himself, and gasped, Zounds, you are fast—

Zounds? Gar interrupted, morphing back into a human, as if it alone possessed the facial features to capture the shock and delight he needed to convey. Did he just say ‘zounds’?

Victor coughed on his drink. He didn’t. Did he? Is that…what, like, Shakespeare?

From his lounge chair, Dick groaned. Oh geeze, yeah, someone taught him that. I have tried to get him to stop.

Several of Dick’s friends laughed because—Shakespeare, apparently? Was funny somehow? Jason made himself laugh too, even though it felt fake. He didn’t want them to think he didn’t know Shakespeare was funny, after all. Even if he didn’t quite know what or who Shakespeare was.

Sorry, kiddo, it’s just—zounds, I was not expecting that! Gar chuckled.

They all laughed again. This time, Jason joined in sooner and harder.

He laughed so hard he felt sick.

Chapter Text

When Wally showed up—zooming and parting the pool water like downed tree—he, Garth, and Donna decided to do flips off the diving board, like Dick used to when his leg wasn’t broken.

Wally had orange hair, a bright yellow swimsuit, and a grin too wide for his face. He claimed he did fifteen flips before hitting the water, but Donna said it was cheating and then Wally slowed down.

…why it was cheating for Wally to use his powers, but it hadn’t been cheating when Gar turned into a dolphin for their race, Jason didn’t know. But it was fine.

Victor was acting as judge, shouting out numbers depending on how good each of them did. Jason only knew how to count to five in English, so most of the numbers didn’t make much sense to him, and he wasn’t sure how well anyone was doing. But they all seemed to be having fun. Even Kory and Dick, neither of whom got into the water, seemed content draped over each other, watching the shenanigans.

That was a good one, Donna, Victor announced. On a score of one to ten, I give it a— He paused. Zounds.

Everyone laughed. Jason just smiled. They’d explained the joke again when Wally showed up. He still didn’t get it. But he still laughed. Mostly. His cheeks were just sore now, that was all.

Watch this one—it’ll make any athletic achievements you did before or after you got tin-canned look like crap!

Two quick bounces, and then Gar launched himself into the sky, flipping and twisting through so many different animals and shapes it was impossible for Jason to follow, before ending with a dolphin and a tidal wave inducing strike of his tail as he entered the water.

Jason tried not to be impressed, he really did, but it was hard not to be. He clapped from the far corner of the pool, while Wally complained about powers and level playing fields.

Donna rolled her eyes and caught Jason at the end. Hey, maybe Jason wants to join. Jason! She called, waving. Diving?

Something tightened in Jason’s stomach. Maybe he was still feeling a bit bad after the race—from pushing himself so hard. He’d much rather just watch than risk…creating another joke he didn’t understand.

Jason smiled politely and shook his head, hard. Um, no. Thanks no.

Come on, Jay. You don’t have to use the diving board. Donna turned a hard look to the others in the pool. Right, guys?

Gar flipped his head up with an arc of water behind him. Hey, I’m game to try them without the board. Not like it’s going to stop me from winning! A green pike threw itself into the air, twisting and twirling, before dropping back in.

Jason forced his smile wider than it wanted to go, hoping it reached his eyes. Ja—uh, I am ok. No thank you. All good.

Relief like warm tides on cold winter days threaded through him as Gar and Wally turned back to their competition with shrugs.

Unfortunately, Donna apparently didn’t give up so easily.

Sliding through the water, she propped herself on the edge of the pool uncomfortably close to Jason.

No, not uncomfortably. It was fine. She…she wasn’t even in arm’s reach. Couldn’t touch him without plenty of time for him to shy away first.

It—it was still the closest a woman had been since his mom died. Jason screwed his eyes to Wally’s latest spin and tried not to think about it. Donna wasn’t a mom—probably. Moms didn’t hang out with friends and do flips into pools. Donna wasn’t going to die. And she…she was nice. She was just being nice.

Are you sure you don’t want to play, Jason?

Jason didn’t look at her. No thanks. J—I’m good.

Come on. I’m sure you’d do amazing. Are you telling me Dick hasn’t taught you anything?

Dick? Oh. Well, Dick had tried to teach him some things. He’d been real excited about teaching Jason to walk on land using his arms the way humans used legs. But even though it had been months, Jason’s arms were still…not quite where they should be. And Bruce had yelled at Dick a lot for that. So they hadn’t tried again.

Jason shrugged to Donna’s question. He was happy watching.

Don’t be sore about Gar earlier. I’m sure he would have let you win if he’d known it would mean you weren’t going to play again all day. We didn’t mean to upset you.

The thing in Jason’s stomach—the twisting, tight, hot thing—yanked so hard he thought he was going to be sick.

I’m—not upset. I’m fine. I don’t… want to look stupid again. Not in front of Dick’s very cool friends.

He glanced her way and found Donna smiling encouragingly.

Donna! Wally shouted. Come on, we need a third to highlight how much the Jolly Green Giant here is cheating.

Without warning, Donna snatched Jason’s arm with one hand, the other waving excitedly. Jason’s gonna do it!

Fire consumed every scrap of surface on Jason’s face. He did not want to dive. He did not want to be touched. He did not want Donna touching him. He—

A bunch of Dick’s friends—all of them, maybe?—cheered. Alright, Jason! Let’s see what you’ve got.

It was too late to back down. Jason couldn’t imagine the mortification that he would feel if he backed out now. And it wasn’t like there was anywhere he could go, like when Dick’s face turned red and splotchy in his arguments with Bruce. Dick could stomp away to the upstairs, away from the cave, or to the manor, away from the pool. Jason—Jason was stuck.

He swallowed, thickly. …Yes, ok.

More cheering. Donna tugged him with her tight grip across the pool to the deepest end, where Jason usually constructed his web of blankets. Before they arrived, Wally was up on the diving board, kicking his feet, while Gar was clamoring out to sit alongside Victor, hollering something about how this was going to be good.

Alright, Jason, Donna grinned. Wow us.

Zounds us, someone laughed, and Jason immediately dove as far down under the water as he could to prepare for his jump and not so he could hide the burning in his cheeks.

Surrounded by water, with the familiar thud of his own pulse in his ears, suddenly Jason felt like he could breathe again. Not that he couldn’t breathe up above, because—Dick’s friends were great. He just…wasn’t, so much.

But maybe if he did a neat trick they’d be impressed. Possibly. Hopefully. After all, he and Dick had practiced this sort of thing a bunch. And Jason had been really good at jumping Bruce’s wall, down in the cave, before Bruce decided to collapse it on himself and wreck the whole place for no good reason.

Feet churned the water above him. Someone out of the pool hooted impatiently.

Jason sucked in as much air through his gills as he could, remembering everything Dick had taught him about speed and movement. He coiled his tail tight at the bottom of the pool and shoved.

Jason rocketed up in a roar of water and rushing air. He twisted, feeling his caudal fin scrape the tops of his hair as his arms tucked in to his sides in a tight, sleek roll. At the last possible second, he unfurled, letting his tail slap the water in a glorious spray of triumph.

And then the air and water switched places, and he fell through the pool with streams of air flying past him.

Laughter and cheering thudded down through the water, bursting even louder as he broke the surface once more.

Donna squeezed him tight in a hug, hopefully ignoring how stiff Jason went at her touch. From the diving board, Wally cheered, Good try, Jason!

Victor grinned. Ten out of ten for effort, kiddo. Top marks all the way across the board!

Even Gar turned into a bird and squawked encouragingly at the sky.

Heat that had been building in Jason’s head all day flooded through the rest of him—melting him this time. His cheeks still hurt from smiling—but it was a good hurt now. He ducked a grin as Wally bumped his shoulder entering the pool again, proclaiming, Alright, my turn!

Jason shuffled off to the side, but not as far as before. If they asked, he—he actually might go again. He’d had more fun than he’d thought he would. And he’d proved it was something he could actually do! Because—jokes and races against dolphins and…whatever might not be his thing. But he’d been practicing this.

And it was nice to have it pay off.

This time, when Donna slid up next to him, it didn’t feel quite so odd. He ignored the little Jason in his chest that faltered because she wasn’t his mom and tried to forget that she was a woman at all. She was one of Dick’s friends, just like everyone else.

She smiled at him, the kind of smile Garth had used when he was trying to avoid asking for details about Jason’s scars. Are you ok, Jason?

Yes? It was a weird question, but maybe…maybe somehow they’d been able to see how hot and tight he’d felt before. That weird sickness in his stomach that was mostly gone now.

Good. I hope you didn’t hit the water too hard. Together they watched Wally and Gar as they returned to flipping from the diving board. The splashes as they hit the water were bigger this time. Donna frowned as she watched, then tried to grab his attention again, turning his head.

Sorry. I didn’t mean to push you before. I…I think I forgot that just because you’re kind of brothers with Dick Grayson, that doesn’t mean you are him. I shouldn’t have made you do something you didn’t know how to do.

Something he didn’t…? Jason blinked in confusion. He wasn’t Dick Grayson—that part was true, whether or not “Grayson” referred to the same Dick he knew or not—but he…he did know how to do flips. He’d just done one! And it had been—

The tight, hot feeling knotted itself hard in Jason’s stomach, so suddenly he felt his throat catch. His eyes lashed over to Wally and Gar.

Gar was on the board now. Instead of jumping, he kind of flopped over sideways, arms tucked so tightly against his sides that his shoulders jabbed at his cheeks. His legs bent then snapped straight, and he struck the water with his whole body.

Distantly, Jason heard Wally and the others laugh.

It was my fault, Donna was saying, but Jason cut her off.

It’s—I’m fine, he said, smile painfully tight up against the underside of his eyes. All good. I’m—it’s fine.

Because it was. It was fine. He didn’t—it didn’t matter.

They were all still having fun. That was what was important. Laugh at yourself, his mother always told him.

Jason laughed with Wally and Victor and Kory and Dick and Gar. And it couldn’t possibly be at anyone but himself.

Refreshments, Alfred called finally, which referred to a specific kind of food that was san wishes and drinks. Jason hung back because he’d already embarrassed himself jumping out of the pool once today, and everyone else was crowded around the table where Alfred had set down his tray.

Donna—because of course Donna, as if she didn’t already think Jason was enough of a baby—glanced over at him and gave a little smile that was patronizing at best. Oh, guys, Jason can’t reach, someone’s going to have to bring him some. Jason. And that time she seemed to be calling to him. What do you want?

He wanted—ugh, there was a kind of yellow-ish drink that Alfred usually brought, that was almost sour, and Jason really wanted some, but Alfred had only said the name once and Jason couldn’t remember it. Bruce always just seemed to know. He shrugged as casually as he could.

Naught.

Donna stared, uncomprehending. She tugged at Dick’s sleeve, then gestured at Jason, speaking so softly he couldn’t hear her.

So much for his nonchalance. Jason’s arm dropped off the edge of the pool, totally unintentionally causing him to slip down just a bit further into the water.

Oh. That’s that weird Shakespeare thing again, I bet. Dick propped himself up straighter and yelled, “Jason! What food?”

This time Jason didn’t even try for casual. He swallowed and said, as softly as he dared, …San—Sandwich.

Dick raised an eyebrow. Am I losing it? Did you really just say ‘sandwich’?

Does he not eat sandwiches? Kory asked.

Oh, he does. He loves sandwiches. But he usually calls them ‘san wishes.’

Kory detached herself from Dick’s side for the first time, hovered over where Gar and Wally were devouring the majority of Alfred’s food, and plucked two sandwiches from the top. Grinning brightly, she swooped down to Jason and proudly asked, San wishes?

Jason wished he could drop dead. Snatching the food, he corrected, Sandwiches, and his tongue only stumbled a bit.

It’s alright to mispronounce. When I first arrived… Kory launched into a long explanation that Jason was never going to understand—although it didn’t make him any happier when Dick interrupted to tell Kory that. She smiled again, green eyes bright, and said, Oops. Sorry, Jason, before floating back over to feed Dick sandwiches like he was a baby or something.

…Yet, somehow, Jason still felt smaller than anyone else here.

Why don’t you eat, like, fish or something? Oops, I mean ‘fitches.’ Gar cackled around his mouth full of food. Then swallowed enough to ask, Can you not catch them? Too fast?

Jason wished he didn’t understand enough English to parse the question. He shrugged. I, um…hands grab…

Gar! I told you not to traumatize him! You think he lives in a pool for kicks?

Geeze, fine, alright, my bad! I’ll leave him alone! Gar laughed and went back to eating.

Jason snuck to the far corner of the pool, under the guise of looking for somewhere dry he could set his san wish—no, sandwiches. It didn’t really work, since all the dives and brawling and general being-land-people-ness had drenched the concrete. But he was fine getting one sandwich soggy if it meant he had a few minutes to himself. His eyes were stinging and he wasn’t sure why.

The sandwiches were those watery ones that Alfred liked and Jason didn’t. He ate them anyway.

Keeping one eye on the ground, he could see Dick complaining about the sandwiches, and Gar dissecting them to build a tower out of the water green bits in the middle, which Victor knocked over into the pool with a laugh. Donna looked like she was scolding them but didn’t make them fish them out.

There was a pitcher of Alfred’s yellow drink on the table. Gar dumped it over Kory in what was probably supposed to look accidental. Or maybe it was accidental. Jason was getting so many human things wrong today, it would figure. Wally magically procured towels as everyone laughed.

When Alfred came out to collect the things, he frowned in that particular way he had at the stickiness on the concrete and the things in the pool. Sniffing in a way that Dick would have recognized if he hadn’t been directing his friends in the best way to stack all the rubbery floaty things on top of each other, Alfred walked primly around the group and over to Jason.

You are eating alone, Master Jason, he said, and his voice said that the word Jason didn’t understand—alone—was bad.

Jason held up the sandwich in his hand guilelessly. Thank you, he said. Thank you, Alfred, for sandwiches.

Something in Alfred’s face flinched, and his frown tightened. Sandwiches?

Oh no, please don’t make it a whole thing again. Jason couldn’t take another thing. He swallowed and nodded, trying to distract Alfred with another, Thank you.

Fortunately, Alfred, like Bruce, almost never made a thing out of anything. They were very good at ignoring—something that Jason had not fully appreciated until today. The old man glanced over at the group. Are you feeling included? he asked.

He had to know Jason didn’t understand those words. After some consideration, Alfred amended his question to, Are you having fun?

Oh. Jason—Jason swallowed and forced a grin across his face. Yes. Fun. All good, Alfred.

Alfred didn’t look convinced, but, like before, he at least was willing to pretend. He gave a sharp nod, asked if Jason needed anything, and left.

After ‘refreshments,’ some of Dick’s friends wanted to play a boring game that involved little pieces of paper that they hoarded but also shared and yelled about a lot? Jason didn’t get it, but they didn’t invite him to play anyway, so it didn’t matter.

He missed the fact that Victor wasn’t playing, until he heard a tapping sound from behind and turned to find the cyborg man standing in the grassy area beside the pool.

What’s this thing? Victor asked, tapping at the metal netting that covered a little red house inside a larger enclosure.

The thing in Jason’s stomach that had been tightening and growing all day rose a little farther up into his throat. “Um, that’s—oh, I mean…” Duck. Pet duck.

Victor’s one eyebrow rose appreciatively, peering closer into the area. Part of Jason was glad Tim Drake slept in his shady house when it got hot in the afternoon.

Part of him wished he could join him.

That’s cool, you’ve got a pet duck. Does he do any tricks?

Tr—ecks?

Like, flips or, I don’t know, dives or something. What special trick can he do?

Trick sounded…a bit like Tim and Drake together. Maybe Dick had told them his name already?

Jason nodded. Yes.

Unfortunately, Victor’s expression told him he’d got it wrong. Hey Dick! he called. The kid’s got a duck?

Even more unfortunately, now all the attention was back on Jason.

From the other side of the pool, Dick rolled his eyes. You’ll never guess its name, either. Jason! “Say duck name.”

If Dick wanted Jason to share it, it was probably something they were going to laugh at. Jason’s stomach clenched around its sandwich.

…Tim Drake.

Sure enough, everyone burst into laughter. Donna exclaimed, That’s adorable! Kory didn’t laugh right away, until Dick said some more words to her, then she joined the others, albeit slightly less boisterously. She said, It’s a good name.

Dude, a better name would’ve been Duck Grayson, Gar shouted, popping into a small green bird that swooped onto Victor’s shoulder. Plopping down onto the concrete, he switched to a duck and waddled exaggeratedly through the puddles. Get it? Duck Grayson?

Jason never wanted people to look at him again. He frowned. Duck, yes.

Gar rolled his eyes. No, because ‘Duck’ is like ‘Dick.’ Duh.

Duck was…like Dick? Yeah, lots of human words were like each other. Food and good sounded almost exactly the same. Just like Gar and car. If jokes were just pointing out which words sounded the same, people would be laughing all the time. Which they obviously weren’t. Bruce didn’t laugh ever.

What tricks has the kid taught him? Victor asked Dick.

None that I know of. “Jason. Uh…surprise…do?”

“I…what?” Jason started to ask Dick what the hell he meant, but he—wasn’t going to say that in front of Dick’s friends. Even if they probably couldn’t understand, they might still sense that he was frustrated. Which he wasn’t. He was still having fun. They were all having fun. This was the kind of fun you had with friends, apparently.

He doesn’t do any tricks.

Gar laughed. Boring. Why bother having a pet if it doesn’t do anything?

The thing that had been crunching Jason’s chest into coal all day scraped along his rib cage, and suddenly everything inside Jason got hot. Why? Why have a pet if it didn’t do anything? Pets didn’t have to do things! Pets should be allowed to have love and care just for being! Just like everything! You didn’t go around wondering what people could do for you, unless you were an asshole or a—

Dick said, Good question—why do we bother keeping you around? You don’t do anything either.

Then Gar turned into an octopus that latched onto Dick’s arm, and Dick shouted and Kory laughed, and Victor walked away from the duck enclosure to go laugh and fight with his friends.

Jason released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. When Victor tossed Wally into the pool, Jason shoved foam sticks at him until Wally could scramble out and rejoin the fray.

They were just having fun, he reminded himself. This was how friends had fun.

Bruce made an appearance around the time he normally did—when the afternoon shadows were dragging most of the pool into the shade of Bruce’s house and he could sit in the deck chairs and look at his phone near Jason.

This time, he couldn’t sit in the deck chairs. They were mostly stacked on top of each other, and Donna had stuck Wally at the top as punishment for something that Jason didn’t think was really that serious. But the punishment wasn’t that serious either, so it was probably fine.

Bruce stood outside the door of the house, socked foot on the concrete, and raised a mug of something hot a few times, blinking blearily in the sunlight.

It took a minute for Dick’s friends to notice him. Jason wasn’t even sure they were going to, until suddenly Wally was on the ground and all of the deck chairs were back in place. It was so—fast. Jason wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t just imagined they’d ever been any different.

Kory nudged Dick, none too gently, but he just waved to Bruce and Bruce treated him to something like a sleepy nod, and that seemed to be enough for both of them.

Gar whispered, Should I say hi? I think he knew my stepdad…

What, you want advice on running Dayton Industries while he’s gone? Victor prodded, and after that Gar shut his mouth and returned to the game they were playing.

Eventually, Bruce’s eyes found Jason where he was reclining in the corner of the pool, watching the others play. Jason tried to look like he wasn’t wishing for a way to turn on the TV without anyone noticing, smiling brightly as Bruce dropped down into a squat. His second shirt—sweater? Robe? Cape? Humans had too many different names for their clothes—billowed out behind him and landed in a puddle of pool water.

For a minute, they were both quiet, watching as Wally snatched the pieces of paper out of Donna’s hand, while Dick and the others roared with laughter. Jason forced himself to chuckle, on the off chance one of the others glanced his way.

Bruce frowned. “Are you having fun, Jason?”

From the other side of the pool, someone tried to smother a laugh—Gar, probably, because he followed it with a muffled, Bruce Wayne speaks bubbles!

Bruce’s frown intensified.

Jason slapped a smile across his face before Bruce could figure out what words he wanted to put to that particular expression. I am having fun, he said—loud enough to get Bruce’s attention, but hopefully not loud enough that anyone else could hear him. All good, Bruce.

There was a face Bruce made when he was watching videos in his cave, of people in a room talking while another man with an orange mustache asked them questions. Alfred called it his dubious face, after explaining that those were interrogation videos and entirely inappropriate for little ears, which probably meant Bruce’s, since Jason was pretty sure his ears were bigger than either of the humans’.

Bruce made his dubious face now.

Really? Because you’re all alone over here.

Ugh, there was that word again. Jason must have made a face, because Bruce, immediately and without any prompting, switching to mer to clarify, “Why are you over here all by yourself?”

Oh. Shoot. Um…

“I’m, uh…just tired. That’s all.” Jason smiled, letting a bit of exhaustion bleed through. It wasn’t even a lie, he was tired. It didn’t make sense, since he never went to sleep this early in the afternoon, but…well, maybe it was because he hadn’t slept that great the night before. He’d been too anxious, too…

Excited.

About this.

…Jason wished he hadn’t eaten those sandwiches earlier. They sat in his stomach like rocks.

Hn. For some reason, Bruce was still wearing his dubious face. “They’re playing a game called ‘cards.’ Did they teach you how to play?”

“It’s fine, Bruce. I don’t want to play. I just want to watch.”

“Cards doesn’t take much energy.”

“Bruce, please, I’m serious—I don’t want to.”

The frown cut deeper, reaching up through the lines on Bruce’s face to pull down his eyebrows now as well. “Well. If you’re really that tired, then maybe it’s time they went home.”

The rocks in Jason’s stomach turned to stabbing icicles.

“No, Bruce, it’s fine. They can stay. Please, it’s fine.”

Bruce rose.

Jason snatched his leg, not even caring that his fingers were tangled up in Bruce’s disgusting, soggy sock. His heart was beating so fast he thought it might get stuck in his ribcage, or work its way out his throat. He felt—it was different than it had ever been in the bathtub, but it wasn’t completely different. Everything pounded as he hissed desperately, “Bruce, don’t make them leave. I’m serious, Bruce, please, just leave it alone. I’m fine. It’s fine. I swear—please, Bruce, please, please…”

Dick.

Lithe hands and happy laughs stumbled as everyone turned to Bruce. From the center of the group, Dick frowned. And, oh, Jason recognized that frown.

He wished a sinkhole would open up and swallow him whole.

It’s time your friends went home.

Dick shoved off his chair. Are you—what the hell? Why?

Gone was Bruce’s frown, replaced by the smooth emotionlessness that took over every time he was going to get his way. Jason had slid down as far as he could go in the water, without actually disappearing under it. There were no blankets to hide in, and water was clear. Somehow he felt being so low down as to go under the water would make him look even stupider than he already felt.

Jason is tired.

Oh, Jay, honey— Someone, Donna or Kory, gasped. But it was interrupted with Dick’s, So? Send him to bed.

A burst of laughter broke out of someone—it might even have been him. It was still light out, for crying out loud. Even babies didn’t go to bed so early.

This, Bruce said, is Jason’s home. I don’t see why he should have to leave.

Dick held his gaze for a long time, both of their stares smoldering with embers just waiting for the other one to drop a match, give any excuse.

…Fine, Dick spat, finally. Come on, guys, looks like we’re getting kicked out.

Bruce’s frown reached Batman levels of depth. You’re leaving too?

Yup, Dick announced, popping the p at the end of his word like a bubble made of soap instead of just water.

Bruce crossed his arms—and said nothing. He continued to say nothing while Dick’s friends hastily gathered their things. And said nothing while Dick hopped up into Kory’s arms, despite the teen’s defiant glare just daring him to open his mouth.

Then they were gone.

“I’ll help bring your blankets back out,” Bruce said.

Jason exploded out of the water, hands tight enough against the concrete that they burned, “What the hell? What the hell was that? What is wrong with you?”

“You said you were—”

“I hate you! How could you, Bruce? You—I hate you!” He—he—Jason screamed, because even in mer, the words he wanted to say didn’t exist.

Bruce blinked at him, brow pinched. “Jason, I don’t know what’s wrong. Help me unders—”

“Understand this!” Jason flung his tail up, flipping foam sticks and air-filled donuts and sheets of water in a cacophony of fury, before diving to the deepest point of the pool. He could hear Bruce above, first talking, then raising his voice, then lowering it again. Then grumbling. Until—finally—he left.

Alfred brought blankets and sandwiches about an hour later. Jason took the blankets. He left the sandwiches.

Moonlight even brighter than Bruce’s floodlights gave the pool an eerie glow, highlighting all the colorful floating toys that were still scattered over concrete and grass. Jason used one of the boards and scooted onto the grass. With careful, quiet hands, he lifted pressed the correct buttons and lifted the latch to open Tim Drake’s little enclosure.

The duck was curled up in a ball of sleek, waterproof feathers, head tucked down under his wing like nothing could hurt him as long as he couldn’t see it. Jason bundled him into his arms, feeling the rubbery scrape of his little duck feet against his bare skin. Tim squirmed a bit until they were back in the pool, where Jason could sink enough that both of them were in the water, while still keeping his pet tucked tight on his chest.

He stroked Tim’s head, watching his beautiful red eyes take in the twilight.

“So, um, I know you’ve been waiting all day to hear how it went…”

Tim nibbled at Jason’s fingers when the chest under him shook with Jason’s breath.

“It…It went great. I—I made a bunch of new friends. And they’re all really cool—and they think I’m cool too. We played games, like racing and—and jumping. And I did great at all of them, just like—just like I thought I would. Gar—he’s green and he can change his body into a bunch of different ones—I’m pretty sure he was super impressed. And Wally and Donna and Victor and—and even Dick.

“But, um. Uh, they probably won’t come back here. Because, uh, because it wasn’t fair to you. Because you couldn’t come out. See, they’re a little rough for you and…I don’t want you to feel bad because you can’t play. Because it’s ok. It’s ok, that you’re little and…and weird. I—I like you.” Jason tucked his friend under his chin and screwed his eyes shut tight. “I like you just the way you are.”

Chapter Text

Hey, I think the Titans are gonna come over tomorrow again and—oops.

Sour yellow drink spilled over the top of the cup that Dick definitely hadn’t been looking at while he poured. Grimacing, he shook it off his hand, dumped a bit back in the original container, and then slid the now-sticky cup across the tray to where Jason was propped up on the edge of the pool.

Let me rephrase that. I should have said: the Titans would like to come over again tomorrow. Since it’s your pool, do you care or…?

Jason gulped down the drink—let-mine-aid, Alfred had said, when he asked a few weeks ago—even though he was sure Dick couldn’t see his face get hot. They’d been playing on the new slide all day; both of their faces were red.

Dragging a hand across his mouth like he’d seen people do on TV, Jason announced, All good, Dick. “I’m going to help Bruce on the river tomorrow, so I won’t be here anyway.”

Dick’s brow furrowed. Help…Bruce? Oh! You’re going to be gone up to the river? Boo, boring.

You and friends can have… Jason waved an arm casually. Aaallll pool. For fun.

That sounds like an excuse, Dick teased, plopping a pile of cookies on his tray.

‘That sounds like an excuse,’ was what Dick had said to Bruce two weeks ago, when he’d come back to the manor, cast-free, and they’d argued again. Well, Bruce said it wasn’t an argument. Dick said it wasn’t an argument. Apparently, they ‘just talked.’

Loud enough that Jason could hear them in the kitchen.

Whatever. They’d gone out that night as Batman and Nightwing, so maybe that was just how Dick and Bruce talked.

If either of them ever tried to talk to Jason that way, he’d bite them.

Chomping on a cookie, Jason shrugged. I promised, he said by way of apology.

Well, I’m sure they’ll be disappointed. They said you were super cute last time. Shoveling three entire cookies into his mouth as once, Dick bounced back to his feet with a grin. Wanna go down the slide a few more times before Alfred realizes we dumped three bottles of dish soap on it and haven’t installed the safety guards yet?

Jason grinned. Yes, he did.

Did you and Dick have fun today? Bruce asked, in a voice that suggested he knew exactly what they had done that day and also that he disapproved of it.

Jason clasped his hands in front of him primly. Bruce, help. I don’t know ‘fun.’ Help me—

Hn, Bruce interrupted, ignoring Jason’s cackling. He kicked the side of the slide, frowning, because apparently that was how he tested how sturdy things were: by kicking them. Jason reminded him of how well that had worked out for him in the cave, which Jason was only just now allowed back into, and Bruce glared at him.

Where are the safety guards? The sides are supposed to come up higher than this.

Jason rolled his eyes. The slide was set in the ground—they’d resituated Jason in the cave last week so some guy could come move dirt into a hill and dig a trench, so the slide wouldn’t require shaky supports, Alfred said. If Jason went over the sides, he’d just spit out onto the dirt and grass. He couldn’t see how that was possibly dangerous.

But Dick had assured him that Bruce got like this about ‘danger’ that wasn’t Batman-related. I’m thinking of taking up skydiving, Dick had told him. Partly because it looks cool. Partly to see if I can get that vein on Bruce’s neck to pop.

“It’s fine, Bruce.” All good.

Hn. Bruce kicked the slide again, reminding it of its place, but seemed resigned to his role in slide oversight. He slouched over to the pool to ruffle Jason’s hair before returning to the house.

Jason caught his leg. “Um, Bruce?”

A raised eyebrow.

“Is, um, is Awker—Awer—ugh, Awkwaman coming tomorrow? You guys are working on the river?”

The eyebrow tangled itself with its neighbor and Bruce frowned ever so slightly. Yes. Why?

“Do you think I could come?”

Bruce’s frown intensified. He didn’t usually let Jason help with the river work, saying he’d get in the way and that he wasn’t sure Jason should be swimming in the water they were working in, since it was dirty and full of debris. But he’d given in a handful of times, after Jason argued that if he was going to be living there, then he should get to make sure they didn’t screw it up.

“You’re not going to be living in the river,” Bruce had told him sternly. “You’re going to live in the pond. The rivers are just to help you move between places. Eventually we’ll figure something out for the pool as well.”

“You could still mess it up,” Jason had insisted.

“How?”

“You’re you. Asshole.”

Now Bruce stared down at him, as if they were back in the first month when Jason had arrived in the pool and he was trying to figure out what had been said.

Why? he finally asked again.

Jason had prepared his line. To make sure you don’t mess it up.

We’re not going to mess it up, Jason, Bruce said, tiredly. But he must have remembered the last five times they’d had this conversation. Because he sighed, which meant yes.

Jason brought along pinwheels.

Bruce rolled his eyes and said, “It’s one stream to your pond, Jason. I made sure of that. I don’t want you getting lost.”

Jason rolled his eyes and didn’t deign to answer that. Obviously they weren’t for him. But Tim Drake liked shiny things. He also liked wandering. With any luck, once they established a routine, Tim wouldn’t wander too far. But in the meantime, Jason wanted to ensure there were attractive things to lure Tim back to the water where Jason could protect him.

At least Aquaman seemed enthusiastic about the pinwheels—possibly because Bruce wasn’t. He helped Jason arrange them so they could be easily seen through different lines of trees. He also complimented the rocks which Jason stacked around them—specifically chosen to be shiny outside the water (because rocks, like most things, were disappointingly drab when they weren’t wet)—as a secondary attraction for Tim.

“You’re doing all of this for your duck friend? That seems…” Aquaman raised his fearsome eyebrows, reconsidered, and ended with “…nice,” which so clearly wasn’t the original word he was going to choose Jason almost spit water at him.

“He’s got to learn more than other ducks,” Jason informed the Atlantean tersely. “They don’t have to follow any rules, and he’s got to follow a lot. So he should get extra support.”

Aquaman blinked. “Hm. That’s…good thinking.” He scooped up Jason’s remaining rocks so they could move down to the next pinwheel.

Somewhere further down the river, the sounds of Bruce swearing drifted back to them. Another voice, strong and light, chided him. It reminded Jason of Donna; he thought it was probably Mera, Arthur’s…wife? He wasn’t sure. Bruce had told him about her when Jason insisted on coming, but Jason had tuned out pretty quickly after making Bruce promise he wouldn’t have to meet her.

As Jason carefully arranged his stones, Aquaman settled in the grass beside him, legs in the water up to his knees. He was wearing boots. He always wore boots. It was one of his best qualities. Most people took their shoes off in the water, like they thought Jason wanted to be exposed to their stupid, disgusting toes. He did not.

“Where is Tim now?” Aquaman asked, after a moment.

“He’s with the other ducks.” There were three other ducks that Bruce and Dick had ‘relocated’ from their spot in an alcove in his cave. They weren’t necessarily pets, the way that Tim was, because they didn’t have names or a fence to keep them safe, but they had a little house and a pond with a waterfall, and they stayed because all of that was better than anything they were going to find elsewhere. Jason made Bruce bring Tim to visit the other ducks at least four times a week.

“It’s important that he, um, you know. Gets to be around other ducks. I don’t want him to…”

Jason’s mouth twisted. Weeds he’d been ripping away from the pinwheel so the rocks could be better seen tangled in his fingers.

“Um, hey, do you…do you think ducks pick on other ducks?”

Aquaman’s eyebrows shot up. They were always pinched in the middle, which meant when they went straight up, they gave him a truly alarmed expression, that also managed to look a little concerned that it was alarmed.

“Probably,” he answered honestly, because Aquaman was like Bruce and didn’t believe in mincing words the way that Dick did. “Marine animals certainly do. Dolphins especially are…not nice.” When he saw Jason staring at him in bafflement, he clarified, “Lots of people think they are. Ask Garth about Keekblu sometime.”

“Oh.” Jason turned his attention to the grass tangled around his fingers. Every time he pulled back, it tightened harder. His fingers turned a blackish color as blood pooled at the ends. “I’m…worried about Tim.”

“Do the other ducks not like him?”

The weeds ripped as Jason jerked his hand back. “I don’t know, I don’t speak duck.”

Aquaman, for some incomprehensible reason, said, “I don’t talk to fish.”

Jason looked at him. Aquaman looked back, blinking.

“…Why not?”

“Why—No, I meant, I can’t talk to fish. People assume that I can, because I live in the ocean and can use telepathic—”

“You can talk to fish,” Jason interrupted, frowning. “I talk to Tim. Just because I can’t understand what he says doesn’t mean I can’t talk to him.”

Aquaman’s eyebrows were pinched tighter and lower than normal—which was saying something, for a man who always looked as if he was remembering the existence of pollution in the ocean. “Fish brains are too primitive to carry on a conversation,” he said.

Jason huffed. “Doesn’t stop you from talking to them. Maybe they’d think it’s nice anyway.” Shuffling his rocks into place, he muttered, “Maybe now they just think you’re a jerk.”

“I’m sure they do.” The dryness in Aquaman’s tone suggested he was extremely done with that conversation. Fine. It wasn’t like Jason had brought it up anyway. “Why are you afraid the other ducks would target yours?”

“Oh.” Jason had almost forgotten why they were having this conversation in the first place. Fingernails he was using to scrape weeds out from under the nails on the opposite hand slipped, catching a long line of welling green blood down his fourth finger. “Um…Because he…he doesn’t spend as much time with them as he…maybe should. And I’m…I’m afraid it’s gonna make him weird. And then even if he wants to go live with the other ducks, he—he won’t be able to.” Something squirmed in Jason’s stomach, and he snatched at another clump of weeds hastily. “I’m just wondering if m-maybe I should just…put him back with the other ducks now for good. You know. Before he—before he gets screwed up too badly.”

Eddies swirled around Jason’s hand as he trailed it through the water. A few spun off and danced around Aquaman’s legs before twirling away downstream.

When he risked a glance up, Aquaman, too, was watching the tiny swirls as they twisted through the water.

Jason wondered if they reminded him of his wife. According to Bruce, Mera could twist water the way Alfred twisted plants without flowers away from his plants with flowers. Jason wondered if his wife reminded him of his mom. The mom that his dad had waited for every morning, who never came back, because she died. Jason wondered if Aquaman was afraid his wife would die too, if they had kids. Maybe that’s why they didn’t.

Or maybe he just hated kids. Maybe that’s why he was taking so long to answer.

“I was born to a lighthouse keeper,” Aquaman said finally. “Far away from Atlantis. I lived my whole childhood here on land, never even knowing the world that existed beneath the waves.” With a rueful smile, he pushed his boot through the river, digging into a pile of debris that had caught in the bank. “Until one day I started being too weird for the people up here. The rumors started—about me talking to fish. And it wasn’t true, but it didn’t matter. Because I wasn’t like them. And that part was true.”

Running a hand over one green knee, Aquaman laughed—a quiet, barking sort of thing. It was almost the sound Bruce made when Alfred told him he needed to sleep, except Bruce’s wasn’t a laugh because Alfred wasn’t joking.

“Now I live in Atlantis,” Aquaman told him. “And the people there say I am too weird to be king. I love the land too much, they said. I’m not like them. And what can I say? Because it’s also true.”

“Oh.” The grass underneath this particular pinwheel was picked so far down the rocks rested in dirt, more starkly apparent than any other pinwheel. With sudden fervor, Jason gathered his remaining stones, huddling them to his chest, before flickering his tail to dart to the other side of Aquaman, around a tree whose gangly roots thrust out over the riverbank. Jason had to push himself up into the grass to reach the pinwheel they’d placed here, further away so the tree didn’t obstruct its view. Despite the tree between them, he could feel Aquaman’s furrowed gaze on him.

“Um. What…uh, what did you do?”

When no reply came, Jason chanced a look around the tree, sinking down into the water so he could peek through the roots. Aquaman was staring at the opposite bank—or at something even further, his eyes warm and smile faint. They flickered to Jason so suddenly he glupped down into the water, leaving only his eyes above.

Aquaman said, “Do? I am weird.” He shrugged happily. “I continued being weird.” With a gentle tug, the debris he’d been toying with jerked free, floating in broken pieces down the stream. “We’re all weird, minnow. Why let others tell you if you’re the right kind of weird or not?”

“…Oh.” The word caught in the water and twisted away like the eddies.

Aquaman smiled at him. “Tim will be fine. You know how I know? Because he has you. And you have Bruce. And myself. And so many others. How could Tim possibly feel alone?”

“Oh.” And this one settled, smooth and round and soft, like a pebble drifting down to the silt of a still pond.

Vehement dissatisfaction—this time in a woman’s voice—rippled through the air, chased by a disapproving grunt.

With a slosh, Aquaman pushed himself into the water, chest deep at the edge of the little river. “We—or at least I—should probably check on the others. It seems their project may not be faring as well as yours.”

“Right. Um, thanks.” Jason snatched up his stones, shoving them into the base of his pinwheel. “Er, for your help with the rocks. And—and for your help with Tim. He’s—he’ll be fine. Thank you.”

Aquaman’s hand rested in the tree roots as he watched Jason with a vague sort of contentment that didn’t seem at all rushed to check on the others. “Of course. Anytime. And if you ever have any other questions—”

“Um. I do. Actually. Kind of?”

Those fearsome eyebrows climbed into their shocked pose. “Of course.”

“You said you’re too weird to be king.”

“Ha. Yes, I did. What is your question?”

“I just…when did you become a king?”

Chapter Text

The dam that kept Jason’s pond well stocked with both water and fish resembled a beaver dam in every way except the main one, which is that it was primarily composed of shiny black sticks of an unidentified, nonorganic material.

To put it bluntly: they were Nightwing’s sticks.

…He’d been pretty upset when he’d realized where they’d all gone.

As far as Jason was concerned, though, that was a personal problem. Dick would get over it eventually. It was kind of Dick’s fault anyway. He should have noticed way earlier that every time he stopped by Bruce’s cave, he left with only half the sticks he came with.

Dick probably would’ve just reclaimed them, draining Jason’s pond and leaving Bruce to deal with the fallout, except Jason had filled the gaps with the massive amounts of trash littering Gotham’s rivers so thoroughly it even reached Bruce’s otherwise pristine woods. Bruce had had things to say about the trash, including words like unhygienic and pollutant and detrimental to your wellbeing. Since Jason didn’t know what any of those things were, it was pretty easy to ignore them.

Draping himself over the bank, Jason twisted the final bit of white birch around yet another of Nightwing’s pilfered sticks, then balanced it all and sat back with pride.

“Done! What do you think?”

Tim Drake was more interested in snuffling through a pile of Cheezits Jason had dumped in the weeds (Tim liked them; Jason did not) than in admiring the improvements to his home, so Jason tossed a few of the little orange crackers inside.

Later, Jason would teach Tim how to peck at the stick’s button to shoot tranquilizers at anyone who came near it unauthorized. He’d tried various ways of teaching Tim to defend himself before—but once Alfred discovered the knife in his old pool pen roof, Bruce had kept a pretty tight watch on all weaponry. Finding one of Nightwing’s sticks that wouldn’t hurt Tim had been a stroke of luck that Jason intended to capitalize on.

“We should celebrate,” Jason decided. “I’ll get music—” But before he could retrieve his waterproof radio, he was interrupted by the crunch of footsteps.

There was a path from the manor to his pond. Alfred had insisted on it, before they’d allowed Jason to move in a few weeks ago, saying he wasn’t tromping through the underbrush to deliver meals. And even if there hadn’t been a path—Bruce wouldn’t make that much noise. Dick wouldn’t make that much noise.

Jason thrust Tim into a pile of weeds as far away as he dared before dropping down in the water, leaving only his eyes and black hair to blend in with the overgrowth at the pond’s edge.

A bit more stamping, some heavy sighs, and a human emerged: lanky, like there wasn’t the right amount of muscles for his size, with orangey hair in a cut that even Jason knew was bad. It looked like it’d been done by beavers. He was grumbling to himself, running one hand through his hair and using the other one to rub at the inside of his arm.

To Jason’s dismay, the newcomer paused for only a moment at the water’s edge, before inelegantly cramming himself up into the branches of one of Jason’s best shade trees. Draping his limbs all over the branches, he leaned his head back, heaving deep breaths as if he hadn’t quite figured out lungs yet. The stillness left in his wake rippled uneasily through the forest.

As if he could sense it, the orange-haired guy’s eyes snapped open. He scanned the woods for a few seconds with lowered brow before, suddenly, his gaze latched onto Jason’s.

“Oh, hell,” he said.

Which really should have been Jason’s line, considering who had invaded whose home.

“Hey!” Jason snapped. “Get out of my tree!”

The guy grimaced down at him with zero apparent intentions of moving. No hablo mer-spanol, he said.

Oh, so this guy was an invader and a liar. Jason scowled. You said mer already.

I said…no?

Jason huffed. Fine. If the guy wanted to be a liar, that was his prerogative. Batman could beat it out of him when he showed up.

Except—oops. Jason was supposed to push the emergency signal if anything weird happened when he was by himself at the lake. And someone showing up, speaking mer and then lying about whether or not he had, was definitely weird.

He scooted backwards slightly. His signal was underwater, but he didn’t know if this guy had any superpowers that he could use to stop Jason if he thought he was going to run. A surprising amount of humans seemed to have superpowers.

Um, out of curiosity…does Batman know you’re living in his pond?

Well, shoot, Bruce was going to be even less happy now. Jason lifted his tail slightly in the water and played it cool. I don’t know ‘Batman.’ Help me understand.

“Hell,” orange-haired guy said in mer again, apparently forgetting he wasn’t supposed to know it. Look, it’s none of my business, but you got…parents, at least? I know a lot of river mers are orphans and maybe—

“Why don’t you just speak mer?” Jason demanded, crossly. “Actually—I don’t care. Get out of my tree and the hell away from my pond.”

Geeze, kid, I already told you I don’t—

Mer. You mer talk. Talk mer.

I don’t speak mer.

Jason slashed an arm through the water, propelling him sideways and making Tim Drake hiss with concern from his hiding place. Using his tail to shove some more weeds over the duck, Jason snapped, You did. You did mer talk. You said “hell.”

Flopping even more bonelessly in his perch so one scruffy boot dangled dangerously close to Jason’s pond, the human rolled his head to an uncomfortable angle and grinned yellow-ish teeth in Jason’s direction. “Hell” isn’t mer. It’s Navajo.

Whatever the hell ‘Navajo’ was. Mer, Jason insisted.

The grin just got bigger. It looked a bit like the one Hey Charlie used to have before he dropped Jason into the tub while standing.

Go figure there’d be overlap. You speak English pretty good for a kid. Been hiding out here long? Batman’s gotta know about you. Get ready to get kicked out. Doubt he wants you lurking in his woods.

Ugh, Batman again. Reminding Jason he still hadn’t pushed the emergency signal. Bruce was gonna be ticked off. He’d probably make Jason do extra ‘physical therapy’ as punishment. Jason’s arms were fine now, thank you very much, and his swimming was getting a lot better, especially after the last few months of living entirely in rivers and streams again. Bruce could lighten up once in a while.

Instead of subjecting himself to the inevitable consequences, Jason planted both hands on his hips and pushed himself higher out of the water.

Go, he said firmly, the “hell” away.

Orange-hair dropped an arm over his face. No.

What the—no? What did he mean no? He—he had to! He couldn’t just crash in someone else’s woods, in a tree of all places! And Jason was not going to let random humans hover near his water. That was how he’d—well, he had tasers and deeper water and Batman now. And this guy was currently alone. Jason could take him. But if anyone else showed up, he was going to unleash every weapon he had.

You can’t sleep in tree, he snarled, because maybe this idiot human thought Jason wouldn’t find a way to break the branches and drown him.

The human patted his pockets in a way that even Jason knew wasn’t sincere. Must’ve left my tent in my other pants. This’ll have to do.

Hm. With a quick swipe of his tail, Jason dove into the weeds along the bank, where he stashed his lockbox, and produced one of several bright green flashlights. Clicking it on and off a couple of times to get the human’s attention, Jason shredded his lips apart in the largest rictus he could manage.

I have a tent, he said. And then, while orange-haired guy was still wrinkling in confusion, he ducked under the water and swirled around his sleeping pod: a lime green tent anchored to the ground with just enough ties to keep it from bobbing to the surface.

When he popped up, orange-hair smugness had been replaced with shot eyebrows, stiffened posture, and fingers drumming into the bark beside him.

How, uh… “Hell,” he swore. Kid, did you kill some campers and take their stuff?

Jason smiled wider.

The foot that had been dangling was now tucked very firmly up alongside the other one. Hm.

Jason waited for him to climb down and scurry off, but unfortunately either his intimidation hadn’t been as effective as he’d hoped or this guy cared a little less about whether he lived or died, because despite the concern on his face, orange-hair stayed pretty resolutely in his tree. Well. I guess there are worse ways to go, he said, which didn’t make a lot of sense because he wasn’t going anywhere that Jason could see.

Taking in Jason’s scowl, his eyes flittered past him to the bank. Somewhat listlessly, he raised a hand and pointed. You’ve got a duck?

“Hey!” Jason dashed over to where Tim was fighting with a burst of duckweed, throwing himself in front of the duck and ratcheting his glare up higher than it had gone since he left a certain bathroom. No! Don’t look, don’t talk, don’t think! Go away, uncouth asshole!

Dude, what? I’ve heard a lot of insults this past year and…that’s definitely a new one. The human adjusted his sling in the tree so he could raise both hands. I’m not gonna hurt your duck. I’m in a tree. Plus, why would I want to? He’s cute.

He…to be fair, Tim Drake was extremely cute.

Jason shuffled around to pick Tim up, despite the duck’s squirming protests. Despite the urgency of the situation, Jason was still careful to make sure he’d pinned Tim’s wings tightly before lifting. The last time he’d forgotten Tim had gotten a feather stuck in Jason’s eyes, and Jason had had to pull the feather out of both his eye and Tim’s wing to dislodge it. He’d cried so long afterwards that Alfred said he got ‘dehydrated’ and he gave him a special ice pop—which was like an ice cream sandwich but not as good.

Bruce had reassured Jason that Tim losing a feather did not hurt as bad as Jason losing a scale, but Jason couldn’t be sure Bruce wasn’t just lying to make him feel better. So he was being very careful to not have a repeat of that.

Clutching Tim tightly to his chest, Jason snapped, No trapping. He’s an escape artist, which was a phrase he’d learned from Bruce after the fourth time Tim had broken out of his pen by the pool.

An escape artist, huh? Nice.

Tim was nice, and it was good that this human recognized that. Not like…well, not all people did. Jason let Tim attempt to bite him a few times with his waxy beak, before hesitantly placing him back in the water.

Don’t touch, he reminded the guy in the tree.

Tree guy, for his part, made some sort of gesture that was probably supposed to remind Jason he was in a tree and would find it difficult to touch anything, but Jason didn’t care that much.

Spent a lot of time in nature between my first dad and my second. The guy spun a hand through the air over his head lazily, as if he could rearrange the clouds like river foam. I always liked watching the wild ducks in the spring, when they had ducklings.

Jason frowned. He didn’t understand ‘wild’ or ‘spring’ and thought those might be key to the sentence—along with ‘ducklings’ which sounded like duck but wasn’t and could mean something else entirely. Also something about…counting dads?

Two dads? You got two dads?

The human made a weird face. Technically, I guess I have three. But they’re all gone now. The first two died. The last one…wishes I would.

This, at least, Jason knew the proper response for.

Asshole.

Massive asshole, orange-haired guy agreed with another laugh.

Jason wasn’t stupid—he knew better than to let his guard down just because this guy seemed like he wasn’t a threat. He sunk down low in the water, swirling his tail to make eddies underwater. It brought his little mesh bag of stuff to the surface, hopefully far enough below the murky water that orange-haired guy couldn’t see what he palmed from its contents.

As he waited for Bruce to respond to the emergency signal—either via the radio or by bursting down the trees in whatever stupid Batman vehicle he’d conceived of for this scenario—he studied guy in the tree.

He hadn’t noticed before just how bruised his eyes were, like a racoon. He looked like Bruce after returning from Batman-ing, right before Alfred told him he needed sleep and was going to die before he turned forty-five, whatever that meant.

Jason tried the phrases on orange-haired guy, in case it made him go away the way it usually did for Bruce.

Completely antithetical to what he was supposed to do, orange-haired guy had the nerve to laugh. Ha! Like you aren’t the hundredth person to tell me that. Seems like all I hear lately is about how young I’m gonna die.

The human watched him, as if waiting for Jason to do or say something else. Jason was waiting for whatever Batman was going to do or say, so he wasn’t planning on filling the interim with anything exciting.

Orange-hair pointed to one of Jason’s fish traps bobbing over by the dam.

You build that?

No. Jason had repaired it, and the others, and improved on them, with the many powerful and helpful tools Bruce’s cave offered. It worked a lot better for catching fish now, because it wasn’t some foreign object invading their space. Not that he needed it for catching fish, of course—it wasn’t like Jason couldn’t catch fish. It was just…easier this way.

And then he didn’t have to explain why his hands weren’t always fast enough. Or his focus wasn’t always quick enough. Or—

Bruce gave it to me, Jason said, because he felt like he needed to say something.

Unfortunately, it was the wrong thing. Orange-haired guy snapped up, flinging a finger in Jason’s direction like he’d caught him sneaking extra ice cream sandwiches. Ha! You do know Batman!

His laugh wasn’t particularly nice. But Jason knew cruel laughter. And it wasn’t that either.

Still. Asshole.

Jason flipped over on his back and drifted emotionlessly. Help, Asshole. I don’t know English. Help me understand.

Holy hell, you’re a little turd, aren’t you? Bet you’re a hit with all your little mer friends.

Jason snapped upright, spitting fiercely, I don’t have friends. I hate people.

Orange-haired guy blinked twice, then grinned that same wicked grin. Heh. Me too. Go figure, huh?

Hm. Jason rolled his eyes. Obviously the human didn’t have any friends. He was an asshole.

But that didn’t stop the little pang that went off in Jason’s chest when orange-haired guy suddenly rolled over, caught the largest branch with his hands, and dropped, swinging from a precarious spot over the water to land on the bank with a whumpf.

Well. I’d better go. Dick’s already gonna be mad enough I walked off without telling him. Supposed to be under supervision still, you know? Part of the whole ‘just got out of rehab’ thing. Only reason I got dragged out here in the first place. He’ll kill me if he finds me here with you—not to mention what Batman will do to me.

Was orange-haired guy a friend of Dick? Why would Dick want to kill him for talking to Jason? It wasn’t like this guy was any less of an asshole than Dick’s other friends. If anything he was…

Well, no, he was more of an asshole. Because Dick’s other friends hadn’t been assholes, exactly. They just…

Jason scowled. Why does Dick care?

Orange-haired guy announced bitterly, I’m a bad influence.

Jason wasn’t sure what kind of species “influence” was, but it wasn’t like he only associated with humans. Bruce made him talk to Clark still—and an ‘influence’ couldn’t be any more dangerous than someone who could shoot lasers from their eyes. Or an Atlantean that controlled the largest creatures in the world with his brain. Or…

He pointed to his own chest. I’m a mer.

Orange-haired guy blinked. When he laughed, it left a taste in the air like salt water from Aquaman’s house. Heh. You sure are, kid. He ran a hand back through his hair with a glance down the path behind him. Probably nice being a mer. Although at this point—hell, I’d take being pretty much anything over what I am.

He huffed, closed his eyes and inhaled like he was sucking a breath before going underwater.

…accept the things I cannot change, he murmured to himself, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Clouds bumped into each other overhead, spreading shadow and dappling sunlight in equal measure. Tim Drake, having run out of Cheezits, moved to nibble at orange-haired guy’s ratty pant leg. The influence shifted to give him better access.

You—you could come back.

Orange-hair snapped his eyes to Jason’s, looking as startled as if Batman had popped from the pond alongside him.

Jason felt the tip of his nose heating, but forced himself to raise a hand up and down in the water, watching the run off from his fingers nonchalantly. If you want.

Would… Orange-haired guy looked conflicted. I don’t think Batman would like that. Plus, I don’t really want to explain why I wandered out into the woods in the first place—not everyone ‘gets’ the whole Navajo thing and—

Maybe I let you help. Give name to ducks.

You…have other ducks?

Lots of ducks. Jason had, like, eight more ducks. Alfred had made lots of loud, pointed speeches about needing to do something about the numbers but Jason was very good at changing the subject—and also making sure Bruce knew there would be hell to pay if anything happened to them.

That horrific grin broke across orange-haired guy’s face. I’d give them terrible names.

Jason curled his lip back towards his nose. What, like, Duck Grayson?

Ew, what? What the hell? You’re messing with me, right? Asshole.

Orange-haired guy laughed. It still wasn’t nice. But it wasn’t like Jason was nice either.

A hand appeared, thrust out from orange-haired guy’s side. It hovered, sideways, in front of Jason, waiting for something. The name’s Roy, by the way. Roy Harper.

Jason., he grinned. And then—remembering the button he’d pressed minutes ago—added, Oh. Batman is coming to kill you. You should run.

Chapter Text

December 20:

Two vestigial rings reverberated through the speakers, the third just beginning its cry before a voice cheerfully interrupted with what, after significant replay and isolation, he had deduced as, “Merry Christmas!”

Flopped halfway out of the pool so his torso laid out in the three inches of snow that had fallen since Bruce last shoveled, Jason nearly startled back into the water, fumbling the phone in his slippery hands as he exclaimed, “Yes! Swooper-man! Hello!”

“…Jason? Is—you—”

Security camera recordings didn’t pick up the voice from the phone, even on speaker with all the enhancements Wayne Tech could provide, with any great clarity. The rest of the sentence was garbled, but probably had something to do with whether or not Dick knew Jason had his phone, because the little mer huffed irritably and raised his voice.

“Swooper-man, no! Dick’s dead. I’m Jason! Help!”

Considering Clark didn’t appear instantly, someone—Dick—must have told him about Jason’s recent proclivity to proclaim everyone he wasn’t interested in talking or thinking about right now as “dead.” Where that had started was anyone’s guess—but Alfred’s exhortation that it only be used to indicate if someone was really dead had sent Jason into hysterics thinking they might die, so it was a conversation they were leaving for another day.

“You—is everyth—now?”

To his credit, Jason had apparently taken to heart Bruce’s stern lectures and Dick’s wild rants about urgency, because he rolled his eyes hard enough to splay him on his back, trailing his free hand through the sleet around him. “Nine minutes from now?”

Everything with Jason was either ‘now’ or ‘nine minutes from now.’ No one knew why.

“Ok—good—let me—soon?”

“Yes,” Jason confirmed, before mashing his finger into the phone, then tossing it—none too carefully—up onto the nearest chair. Then he immediately dove back into the pool, retrieved the remote from…wherever he hid things and mashed the buttons to the turn the TV both on and loud.

Despite Jason’s steady diet of Christmas movies (from a que Dick had apparently created), this appeared to be some historical drama on World War II. Which meant it didn’t take long for someone else to appear on the security recording.

“Jason! What are you watching? Turn that off—like you of all people need to see someone’s leg get sawn off.” Dick snatched the remote from the mer’s hand, ignoring his loud protests, and swapped over to the Hallmark app, where a blond woman and dark haired man wandered through what appeared to be, even though a security recording, the fakest Christmas tree farm ever conceived.

Chin hooked over the edge of the pool, steam from the heated water billowing around him, Jason scowled at Dick. “Go away.”

“I’m trying,” Dick hissed. “I’m going to miss the Titans’ Christmas party at this rate, but I’ve been looking for my phone for the last hour!”

“Stupid! Stupid Dick!” Jason’s tongue was just visible on the security footage as he pointed lazily. “Phone.”

Torn between shoving Jason’s head underwater and finally having his cell again, Dick risked a quick glance over his shoulder—then a double-take as he spotted the electronic on the oversized chairs that had replaced their summer loungers. “How? I swear I checked out here, like, fourteen times already!”

The ensuing conversation wasn’t interesting or important, once it was confirmed that Dick never checked his call log to find the outgoing conversation with Clark. And Bruce had watched it the first time. He fast-forwarded through Dick’s leaving—after turning on the in-ground heater to melt the snow accumulating around Jason’s pool—and Jason’s impatient laps around the pool—until a distinct shudder in the recording let him know who had appeared on frame.

“Jason. Is everything alright?”

He was Superman, although the distinct lack of stray curl on his forehead advertised that he’d been Clark not too long before. A quick glance over the pool confirmed there was nothing alarming, and his feet, still hovering slightly above the ground, shuffled despite their altitude. “Is it…the cold? Where is everyone else?”

“Swooper-man, hello! How have you been? Did you have a nice summer?” It sounded like a memorized line—because it was. The cadence was identical to Sally Brown from the Peanuts Christmas special Dick had made Jason sit through at least three times now.

Clark softened, noticeably, landing on the concrete with a gentle impression in the melting snow. “Hello, Jason. Thank you for asking—my summer was nice. How have you been?”

“Yes, good! Help.” The security camera did a poor job capturing Jason’s expression from this angle, but the prim way he held himself, perfectly above water at the waistline, hands clasped in front of him like a tiny supplicant, said more than enough.

“What can I help with?”

And there. There was the moment that Jason slid up onto the shallow shelf at the pool’s end, intended for wading or lounging, crunched over his tail, and pointed to a spot just lower than halfway down the scaly surface.

“Swooper-man. Pull.”

Bruce watched Clark. He was turned away from the camera now, but his shoulders still jolted, then curled—shock and confusion. His feet stumbled, ever so slightly, only minutely more noticeable than the twitch of his fingers.

The man kneeled. Rage burned in Bruce as Clark’s fingers reached out and brushed over the soft scales before him.

“Jason. Explain.”

Jason huffed. His face was red—even if the cameras had been in black and white it would have been obvious his face was red. Bruce wished it was from the cold. The hand not pointing clenched under the water, muscles taut throughout his entire body. Jason indicated the spot again.

“Help, Swooper-man. Pull.”

“I—you want me to pull out your scale? I don’t think that’s—”

“Hurts,” Jason said. His voice was tight now. Clipped, like Dick’s when he was hiding an injury. “Hurts me. Help…” His mouth twisted the way it always did as he searched for English. “Gone.”

Clark’s head raised, scanning past the colored string lights and ornaments towards the manor. “Where’s Bruce? I should—” He should have. Rage, hot and cold all at once, seethed in Bruce’s chest as he watched his mer child shake his head, latching onto Superman’s hand to pull him down towards the water.

“No! No Bruce—he’s dead! Gone! Busy! Swooper-man, please. Help please.”

Clark’s fingers—strong, too strong, too precise, too gentle—ghosted over Jason’s tail.

And that’s when he had come outside.

Bruce kept himself still as the recording continued, despite the urge to close the video window. Made himself watch as Superman allowed Bruce to rip him back by the shoulder. Made himself listen as he screamed, curses and threats and demands. Made himself mark the exact second Jason’s hands, scrambling backwards in the shallow end, dropped into deeper waters.

He’d grabbed him. Kept him in place. Yelling. Why? Why, Jason? Do you think it’s funny? Do you think it’s funny to trick Superman? What kind of sadistic game is this where you trick someone into mutilating you? What were you thinking?

Clark had pried Bruce’s fingers off, enough that Jason could slip free. The pool was only ten feet deep. No blankets. He was supposed to be playing while Alfred laundered them. Why would he need them? Jason’s tail—longer than when he’d first come—could only provide so much protection.

The water rippled with his shaking.

“Get out.” Bruce’s own voice growled through the speakers, rumbling in echoes around the cave. “Get the hell off my property, Clark. And don’t ever set foot on it again without my express permission.”

Superman hovered over the sleet, red and green and blue lights dancing from string lights over his chest. Above Bruce. Always above him. “I’ll leave,” he said, voice firm. “But I’m listening, Bruce. I don’t know why he asked that. But you’re not going to figure it out this way. If I hear you yell again, I’ll be back.”

“Jason.” Bruce had turned to the pool the moment Clark disappeared. “Jason, come up here right now. We need to talk.”

“Master Jason. We should talk, you and I,” Alfred had echoed, an hour later, after Bruce had resorted to getting into the pool to make Jason talk with him and Clark had returned, after another fight and Bruce’s furious retreat to the cave.

Hi Jason—Dick said you needed to talk to someone. Are you alright? said the voicemail from Aqualad, as Alfred held his phone above the water, three hours after his own failure.

The only one who didn’t say anything was Jason.

Bruce sighed and clicked to pause the security footage. He hadn’t learned anything more than the first three times he’d watched it.

But it was all he had.

Rubbing his eyes, he reopened the file from December 19 and started it over again.

Chapter Text

December 10:

—Rockin’ around the Christmas tree at the Christmas party hop—

—Mistletoe hung where you can see, every couple tries to stop…—

From the full-length kitchen windows, light spilled over the back patio, dragging long shadows through the year’s first real snow. Bruce knelt beside a half-finished firepit, frowning at a gas line connector that might pass Bristol city inspector standards, but didn’t quite pass his. Saxophone solos danced over him in the evening dark, baptizing his frustration in festivities.

“Ah! Bruce! Help!”

Digging a sleeve of tungsten from the bag of tools brought up from the cave, Bruce didn’t bother turning his head as he mumbled, “You’re fine, Jason.”

“No! Dying! Asshole! Police!”

That got his eyes to flicker, narrowing as they scanned past the thrashing in the pool to a half-igloo of red and green totes on the frosty lawn. “Who taught him that?”

Dick, half inside one of the totes like he couldn’t reach the bottom with truly committing, ignored Bruce in favor of groaning. “Holy carping! It’s a sweater, fishstick. Wear it.”

Ew, what the—? Augh! It’s sticking to my face now! “Dick—no! Sick! Medicine! Help!”

At least Jason’s sweater wasn’t adorned with actual ornaments and glued on silver garland. It was also a traditional red and green, whereas Bruce, despite Dick’s instance that it was just him being color blind, was pretty sure his was closer to fuchsia. He sighed. “Dick, just let him take the sweater off. It’s been twenty minutes.”

The noise that echoed out of the tote was decidedly negative, but when Dick’s head emerged, Bruce recognized the look as acquiescence nonetheless. Bruce turned back to his firepit dilemma.

—You will get a sentimental feelin’ when you hear—

—Voices singing ‘let’s be jolly—deck the halls with boughs of holly!’ —

A metallic clink signaled Alfred’s presence beside him, though when Bruce flicked his eyes up the old man’s gaze wasn’t directed at either Bruce or the metal tray of hot drinks he’d laid on their new stone tabletop; he was too busy frowning at Dick.

“It seems you’ve made less progress than promised on the decorating, Master Dick,” he pointed out. “I agreed to wear this outfit under conditions, you know.”

Bruce still wasn’t sure quite sure how Dick had wrangled Alfred into the red ‘jumper’ with Christmas bells woven into the front; agreeing to do patio decorations seemed like something Dick would have done anyway. Maybe Dick had blackmail. Maybe he’d share it with Bruce, if Bruce asked nicely.

“It’s his first Christmas, Alfie, you stick in the mud,” Dick replied cheerfully. “I’m trying to make it special. Oh my—did you hear me, you little idiot? This is supposed to be fun!” The last part was shouted into what was, presumably, Jason’s ear, though it was currently buried under wet, bunched folds of green sweater. Dick wrestled with the mer’s arms while Jason’s tailed writhed in the water desperately.

“Help! Dying! Alfred, call 9-1-1!”

“Seriously. Who taught him that?”

“Besides,” Dick snarked, dropping the sopping wet mess on the concrete with panting breaths. “I grew up here, remember? If it were up to Bruce, nothing would ever get celebrated. And if it were up to you, we’d be stringing cranberries and popcorn until our fingers bled.”

Bruce, who privately thought a better detective might have noticed that the man who wasn’t keen on decorating for holidays was raised by the man whose décor traditions involved bleeding fingers, said nothing. In the pool, Jason flung himself around like he’d escaped from the clutches of death, wringing his hands dramatically.

Ack! Clothes! You people are sick, you know that? The whole human species. Disgusting. Blech.

Alfred observed Jason scrubbing at his arms offendedly before raising a single brow at Dick.

“Oh, no you don’t! We’re still dressing up for Christmas—even Jason.” From hidden folds of reality, for all intents and purposes, Dick produced a green headband with two toasted brown antlers jutting wildly from the sides. “Here, ya weirdo.”

“Ah! No, Dick!” I’ll bite your hand off if that’s what it—wait, what is this?

“It goes on your head,” Dick instructed firmly.

You don’t have to wear it, Bruce started, but only got halfway through before it was eclipsed by Dick shouting, “You better not be telling him he doesn’t have to wear it!”

Fortunately for Dick’s sake, after some additional examination, Jason actually asked to have the headband positioned in his black hair. Shiny metal coated the outside of the control box Bruce had recently updated for the pool, to ensure the water heated to adequate temperatures in the winter months, and Jason raced over to examine his reflection. His hands hovered over the edges of the antlers, eyes wide.

—The mood is right. The spirit’s up—

—We’re here tonight. And that’s enough. Simply having a wonderful Christmas time!—

Bruce caught the song and turned just fast enough to also catch the expression on Alfred’s face—pure contempt.

“I am sure,” he sniffed, preparing to return to the interior of the manor, “that you can find some more suitable entertainment for this evening.”

“I forget, do you have an actual problem with Paul McCartney? Like, you knew him and hated him? Or is it just that this song annoys you?” It very clearly didn’t annoy Dick, who was bobbing to the synthetic tune.

Bruce took up the remote. “I’ll put on a Christmas movie.”

“Ooh, make it Muppets!”

Jason raced over to where they were gathered, face wreathed in unadulterated glee.

I’m a lionfish!

Bruce frowned. I don’t know ‘lionfish.’ Help me understand.

Jason ignored him in favor of seeing how many flips he could do underwater without losing the antlers.

Holding it far enough out that the reams of water still spilling off it would fall in the pool rather than on him, Dick unfurled the abandoned green sweater and waved it around. “It’s a reindeer, Jason. See? Like this guy?”

Jason stopped cavorting long enough to wrinkle his nose back offendedly. No, that fish is stupid. I’m not putting that back on.

It’s not a fish, Bruce started to say—but a glance at the stylized Rudolph face that bore a passing resemblance to a goldfish cracker if placed on its side made him shrug instead. He asked, “If he’s not going to wear his, can I take mine off?”

“I think you know the answer to that.” Dick dumped a box of ornaments on him. “Hang those around your firepit. Don’t make me get out the hat.”

Bruce had worn a pompom’ed hat every Christmas since Dick had moved into the manor.

He set the ornaments aside and turned back to his firepit.

“Cookies, Master Bruce, for you and your…Christmas elves.”

Dick’s smile flickered almost sinisterly in the glow of fake lanterns that decorated the backyard. “Aw, Alfie. Now you’re gettin’ into the Christmas spirit.” Abandoning the red-and-green totes, he hopped over a corner of the pool. “Dépêchez-vous, little mer-dolph! It’s time to introduce you to Christmas cookies.”

Bruce straightened his back as Alfred peered over the mess of construction in the best illuminated portion of their new patio. “Hm,” was all he said with his mouth. His face, however, said that while he had complete faith in Batman’s ability to create a firepit, he had little, if any, faith that he could do it according to the instructions supplied by Ignus Fire Pits, Inc.

“It’s almost done,” Bruce pointed out.

Alfred raised a single eyebrow.

“It’s not my fault the gas line interfered with the heated pavers I laid around the pool.” Although—even as he said it, he knew it was hard to argue it was someone else’s fault, since he’d installed both of them. Still.

“I look forward to taking my tea here tomorrow morning,” was Alfred-speak for you’ll be lucky if you finish it by Christmas.

Bruce frowned at the gas line and ignored the cookies Dick was waving wildly.

“I’m taking one of each for Jason! Let’s see what weird designations he can come up with for snowflakes and candy canes.”

Ah. On second thought, it was entirely possible Jason would take offense to something like a candy cane. Bruce continued working, but kept an eye trained on the boy’s out of the corner of his eye.

Kicking a plastic tray shaped like a Christmas tree over to the edge of the pool, Dick hunched down with a flourish over where Jason skulked, antlers making it easier to find the tip of his head peeking above the water.

“Alright, kiddo: we got six cookies, which is way more sugar that Alfred would OK normally, so if and when you get a stomach ache, remember: it’s not my fault. Here we go.” He laid each one on the tray like a banker counting out bills. “Ornament, snowflake, gingerbread man, tree, candy cane and…what the heck is this thing?” Dick moved the iced cookie closer and further from his face, like it would reveal itself under motion torture.

Bruce huffed. “It’s clearly a mitten.”

“Ah! Right you are—” and why did Bruce feel as though he’d been tricked into something when Dick winked his way—“and one mitten. Now let’s hear your thoughts, weirdo.”

At Dick’s prodding, Jason wriggled forward and hooked his arms up onto the warm flagstones outside his water. Steam curled around his wet arms as he turned his head to one side and the other, taking in the tray, before reaching a hand forward, picking one cookie up, and setting it firmly down on another.

He looked at Dick hopefully.

Dick scoffed, “They’re not sandwiches.”

Jason practically drooped. Then why would I want them?

They’re cookies, Bruce wanted to tell him. If ice cream sandwiches were any indication of his love of sugar, Jason was going to adore Christmas cookies. But after Dick’s uncouth wink, he’d decided to stay out of their interaction, even if Dick probably could see through the façade of him continuing to work on his firepit.

“Ok, let’s start with the fun part for me then. Jason.” Dick stabbed a finger at the cookie. What is?

What…is? Jason frowned at the plate. He was silent for a moment, before whipping a finger down the line definitively. Red ball. Pain. You tied up. Rotten shark tooth. Stick with human blood on it. Scale.

He looked up at Dick defiantly, daring the older teen to challenge him.

Dick looked delighted. “Bruce! Stop pretending to fix that thing—you’re not gonna get it done tonight and we both know it. Plus, I need you to translate whatever horrifying and-or hilarious thing he just said.”

He was going to finish the firepit before retiring for the night, Dick and Alfred both be damned, but because it was a guarantee, he could afford a few moments to resolve what Dick had started—mostly because he had caught only half of what Jason had said and it was enough to know, if left unchecked, he’d be dealing with it later if he didn’t deal with it now.

Sighing, Bruce squatted down beside Jason’s tray of cookies. He pointed to the mitten. “Mitten.” It goes on your hand. To keep it warm.

To demonstrate, he held up his hand with his fingers together and thumb out.

Jason looked horrified. You put clothes on your hands? What is wrong with humans? Do you hate the air that much? You should just evolve into mers and get it over with.

“What did he say?” Dick prodded impatiently.

“He is not enthused by the idea of mittens.”

“But what did he think it was?”

Jason pointed at the cookie with a scowl. Scale. Mer scale. That’s…a little weirdly shaped.

“He thinks it’s a mer scale.”

“Ha! So stupid.” Dick tried to ruffle Jason’s hair and nearly got his fingers bitten off. He indicated the rest of the cookies.

Jason was the one who continued, before Bruce could even decide if it was worth continuing. Stick.

Bruce hesitated. Yes…yes, stick. But it’s made of…it’s sweet. You eat it.

With human blood on it? Jason shouted in horror.

“Ooh, blood. He said blood, right? I knew he was gonna find a way to make it terrible.”

It’s not blood. It’s just red. Food. It’s stick food, Jason.

Dubiously, Jason raised his hands like he was about to go to bat for the world’s first mer league. “No, Bruce, stick! Pow!” He mimed swinging something hard, before clutching his neck and falling sideways into the water. “Hurt Jason! Ow! So sad.” Then he popped back up immediately to add, But that stick was green. Because, duh, mer blood. This one was made by humans. So red.

It’s just its color, Bruce repeated firmly.

“So sad,” Dick murmured.

Red ball and rotten shark tooth for a brightly colored ornament and decorated Christmas tree were odd but not alarming, so Bruce shared those with Dick, who, predictably, laughed a little too strongly about the rotten shark tooth. The last two…

This, Bruce informed Jason, is a ‘snowflake’. It’s hard to explain, but it’s very, very tiny. He walked away to scoop up a handful of snow and showed it to Jason. This. Snowflakes. Many tiny ones. All together.

That, Jason informed Bruce just as strongly, while staring at him like he thought the man was stupid, is pain.

Pain?

Yeah, like…that’s what you see when you get hit really hard. Like, when your eyes are closed. It’s like, bam!—He held up the snowflake cookie—and then you see this.

“Hn.”

And this is…a tied-up person. It doesn’t have to be Dick. But it could be Dick, if that’s cool with you. They’ve got the same stupid smirk.

And why is he tied up?

Jason swept a hand over the little white lines sectioning off the gingerbread man’s hands and feet. That’s…obviously rope. And his hands aren’t tied together, like mine were. So I guess technically he’s tied down not tied up. Like so people can take his…whatever humans have instead of scales.

Bruce could feel a headache forming behind his left eyeball. “Sleeves, Jason.” He tugged at his own cuffs. “See?”

The mer’s eyes flicked down and then up, his mouth twisting. So he’s wearing…tiny clothes? Like, these dots in the middle are…what, his nipples and belly button? What’s this squiggle right above his legs? Actually, never mind; I don’t want to know. Ew. He pushed the cookie to one side of the tray. You can keep that one, Dick.

“They’re buttons, you weirdo,” Dick chuckled once Bruce treated him to the bare bones glimpse of how Jason’s mind worked. “And that’s, like, his belt. It’s not—that is not what humans have under their pants. But I’m also absolutely not getting into that with you, so…” He managed to get in his hair ruffle while Jason was glowering down at the poor gingerbread man, making the mer hiss angrily.

“Dick.”

“You’re right—I’ve got lots more decorating to do. Thanks for the entertainment, kiddo! What’d I tell you, Bruce? Horrifying and hilarious. You can enjoy your cookies now, Jason.”

With Dick’s departure, it seemed safe to return to his own project.

Bruce had learned not to trust seeming safety with Jason.

Jason? Do you have any questions about the ‘cookies’?

For once, though, Jason waved him off dismissively, already shuffling everything but the gingerbread man into a pile. “No, Bruce. Thanks, no. Go away.”

After ten minutes, Bruce wandered past Jason under the guise of retrieving a screwdriver from the house. He expected to see careful bites taken out of all the remaining cookies from where Jason had sampled from first—and at least half of the cookies already gone.

Instead, Jason was sprawled out of the pool, wiggling the candy cane cookie towards the gingerbread man, who thrashed back and forth in Jason’s other hand.

No, no, help me! I’m sorry—I’ll put on the hand clothing so people won’t be distracted from my gross toes by my very useful fingers! Don’t do it! The candy cane cookie raised. Too bad, human. You had your chance! Snowflake cookie bounced onto the gingerbread man. Ow! No, ow! Augh!

“Jason.”

Jason’s eyes flicked up. His hand was hovering over the “shark tooth.” “Bruce.”

“You’re supposed to eat them. Food.”

When Bruce mimed putting a cookie in his mouth and chewing, Jason’s fingers closed on the tree without his eyes leaving Bruce. Eyebrows down and lip scrunched back towards his nose, he placed it against his teeth and took the smallest bite possible.

Bruce swore he saw the boy’s pupils dilate.

“Enjoy,” he said, as Jason dove down to chomp the head off his erstwhile torture victim.

“And exactly how many cookies did the young master consume?” Alfred asked, upon returning to an empty plate and an enthused Jason, currently turning somersaults underwater and warbling a song about…toes, apparently.

In his defense, Bruce had thought the plate was further out of reach. He shrugged. “If you feel like making more, I’d still like one.”

“I think not.” Alfred lifted an object from the dark grass and held it out to the pool. “Master Jason.”

Jason zoomed straight for Alfred. “Yes! Alfred, hello!”

It was always interesting to Bruce, watching Alfred and Jason interact. Alfred wasn’t a warm man, but most accounts, and certainly not effusive with his affections. Neither was Jason. And they didn’t seem to have a…for lack of a better term, closer relationship than Jason and Bruce or even Jason and Dick. But there was always a special spark in Jason’s eye when Alfred was speaking, like he thought Alfred understood him in a way the others didn’t. The best conclusion Bruce had reached, which was shaky at best, was that Jason, who had immediately assigned titles to humans based on conversations overheard in a bathroom, appreciated Alfred’s use of ‘Master’ and ‘Sir’; he wondered if mer was a hierarchical language.

Red, green, blue, and yellow bumped into each other as Alfred extended a tangle of plastic lights—jumbo sized, each bulb the size of Bruce’s hand—and instructed, “You can use your energy to straighten these out. They will not be harmed by the water.”

Bruce would have happily translated, but Jason was stubborn like that. He nodded smartly. Got it. Take these and…not…water. So… “Food?”

“No.” With one hand, Alfred lifted the mess of plastic. With the other, he located an end and began unspooling it carefully. “Water is fine.”

Oh! Now I really got it.

As Jason ducked underwater with his new assignment, Bruce’s attention was drawn to the darkness beyond the pool. The plastic lights weren’t the only thing hiding there. All the totes that Dick had been sorting through earlier now lay on their sides, disgorging their contents in little lines of Christmas-colored vomit across the snowy grass and damp pool area.

On a ladder propped hazardously close to the edge of the pool, Dick looped another string of colored lights over the poles Bruce had erected for space heaters. Lines of the same lights crisscrossed over the pool. When he noticed Bruce staring, Dick wiggled his foot at a pile of more lights on the ground. “Little help?”

Bruce wandered around the pool, passing in front of the TV just in time for Fozzie Bear to remind him that annual Christmas parties should come twice a year. Dick accepted the lights gratefully, contorting himself to loop them into the others.

After a few aimless minutes of handing Dick lights and moving both him and the ladder as directed, Bruce frowned. “How many of those are you going to put up?” Knowing Dick, it could be as many as Bruce’s credit card would buy—in which case, the manor would be visible from the Justice League’s moon base.

Flipping his head upside down to grin at Bruce, Dick said, “He likes them.”

Bruce glanced down at the pool, where cool air shaved little curls of steam from the surface. Instead of arranging the plastic bulbs Alfred had entrusted him with, Jason had his head twisted up over his shoulder, gaze locked absently on the array of lights spread out like stars above him. His hands opened and closed around Alfred’s garland without any real direction. Blues and greens and reds twinkled on the surface of the pool and in the blue depths of his eyes.

Green, unlight strands dangled in Bruce’s face, leading up the ladder to Dick’s smirk.

Bruce helped put up another eight strings of lights.

“Ok, I’m queuing up the next Christmas movie. Do we want Home Alone, to give him ideas, or Rudolph, to confuse his brain as much as is humanly possible?”

Elbows deep in trying to determine why the gas line, which was now hooked up now, wasn’t working. Bruce frowned at the remote in Dick’s hand. “This one isn’t even done yet.” He jerked his chin vaguely at Scrooge dashing out in his dressing gown.

“Eh, he’s learned the true meaning of Christmas, time to move on to someone else. We still gotta save Frosty from melting, Rudolph from ostracization, the Grinch from his heart defect, and those burglars from non-mer Jason. Don’t have time to sit through every ending.”

“You’re not getting through all those tonight,” Bruce pointed out.

“You’re not finished with your firepit,” Dick pointed out.

“Hn.”

Propped up on the edge of the pool with cookie crumbs speckling the corner of his mouth—and heaven only knew where he’d got more of those from—Jason noticed the attention flickering to the TV and gesticulated wildly. “Bruce! Dick! Help!”

“Help with what?” A glance over at the movie, and Dick laughed. “He’s fine, Jason. He’s happy.”

Jason’s hands went around his throat, mock-choking, before pointing again at the screen where a Muppet that spoke only in ‘meeps’ arranged a little red scarf around Scrooge’s neck. “Help!”

Rolling his eyes, Dick bounded over to his abandoned Christmas totes. Kicking a few of the empty ones, he emerged from the third with a triumphant, “Ah-ha!” before dropping down beside the water and spooling his prize around Jason before the mer had time to react.

Augh! What is this?

“It’s called a ‘scarf,’” Dick informed him. “See? Just like in the movie. It keeps you warm.”

Jason lifted the end and held it in front of him dubiously, but didn’t unwind it. Bruce…?

It’s clothing for your neck.

You guys hate necks too? Jason practically shrieked.

We hate all skin. Apparently.

“He looks like Mr. Tumnus from Narnia now—all shirtless and scarfed.” Dick laughed. “Maybe I’ll put on that one, let him have nightmares about fauns.” He reached for the scarf, but Jason scuttled back, still squinting judgmentally at the red and green stripes and end tassels.

“Fine, keep it. Maybe it’ll be less cumbersome to his majesty as he tries to swim around than the sweater was.”

Jason turned his squint on Dick. His English was getting better—but Bruce hadn’t ventured into the complex and seedy world of third-person narration, much less sarcasm.

“Jason,” the mer said, pointing emphatically at his chest.

“Jason indeed. Stay away from the pool filters with that thing.” Dick flipped the remote from beside him. “I’m putting on Home Alone.”

“You have no idea how much time I spent as a kid plotting out how I’d booby trap the manor if anyone ever tried to burgle it.”

Stretched out on the new patio couch, firepit ablaze and casting a warm heat over the area, Bruce watched as Kevin McCallister orchestrated a blocky, stiff dinner party that apparently fooled two grown adults and frowned.

“Why? You wouldn’t need trickery to stop twice as many intruders—especially ones as inept as this.”

Dick huffed a laugh, sprawled out on the couch cornered next to Bruce’s. He used a foot to nudge Bruce’s elbow. “Because it’s fun, Bruce. And the manor is the perfect place for it. Imagine if this kid had access to as many chandeliers as I did.”

“Hn.” Bruce didn’t have to imagine it: memories of the offense and shock on Dick’s face as he sat in a pile of twisted metal and broken glass were still perfectly clear in his mind.

Dick!

“Hey, you finally untangled Alfred’s lights. Good for you. Why don’t you hang them up between the two poles at the end there, where he’ll see them?” Easing himself back down onto the couch, Dick smirked at Bruce instead of the TV. “Come on, you can’t tell me that little Brucie never thought about what he’d do if someone tried to break into his home.”

Every night since he was eight years old. But Dick was in a good mood. Bruce was in a good mood. He said, “I spend more of my time thinking about how I’ll break into other people’s homes.”

A laugh caught in Dick’s throat, causing him to sputter with unexpected glee. “Alright, that’s it—you and me, last man standing wins, Home Alone style. I get twenty-four hours in the manor unattended, you have twelve hours to get in.”

“I won’t even need one.”

“Not if I fill it with bats.”

And—it was stupid, but something about it caught Bruce just right. He laughed so hard he had to sit up or choke.

Dick looked on with undisguised triumph, struggling to keep down his own laugh. “I’m serious, Bruce. So many bats. And not the ones from the cave, either. I can have them shipped in from wherever they’ve got those giant vampire ones. You won’t even—”

A scream tore through the night.

Bruce threw himself over the back of the couch, Dick thudding down beside him. But by the time he landed, Bruce was at the edge of the pool, where all he could see was a mess of red and green and a shriek that cut off too fast, too wet, too painfully. His hands were reaching before he even realized—it was the scarf. Jason thrashed backwards, his scarf tightening as the jagged teeth of a damaged pool filter gate tore at it hungrily.

Bruce grabbed either side of the scarf and ripped.

Jason was sobbing, hands clawing at his own throat, as Dick tried to keep him from hurting himself. Without thinking, Bruce dropped into the pool, kicking his shoes free so his feet could push against the deep water and keep his head afloat. His hands wrapped over Jason’s arms. “Jason! Stop.” Stop. Stop, it’s ok. It’s ok, I’ve got you. You’re fine.

Since Bruce was holding Jason in place, Dick’s hands instinctively found the scarf where it was still digging too tight into Jason’s throat and loosened it. Sleeves of red and green fell away to reveal welts where the wool had cut against the skin. Jason swallowed painfully, eyes glassy, as Bruce ran his fingers over it testing for swelling—or breaks, because for all he knew, mer necks were more fragile. He wasn’t taking any chances.

“I swear I told him to stay away from the filters, Bruce.”

“You shouldn’t have given it to him regardless.” It wasn’t Dick’s fault. He knew it wasn’t Dick’s fault. But there was heat in his chest that came up his throat when he opened it.

Tears dotted the corners of Jason’s eyes. Bruce knew how much Jason avoided crying, the same way he knew intimately why. He’d smashed a whole case of ‘mermaid tear’ vials the night he’d rescued Jason from that trafficking house.

Move your fingers so I can see better, Bruce instructed, purposefully softening his voice so at least that would feel less threatening. There was nothing he could do about the hands reaching for Jason’s neck.

Jason sniffled pathetically. Hurts.

I know. “Shhh…”

The neck was fine. Sore, probably, with some light bruising possible in the morning. But it had probably scared him more than physically hurt him.

“I told you,” Dick hissed, voice frayed, “to put it up at the other end of the pool. Why were you even near this filter? Why is this filter broken to where it would catch a scarf in the first place? I just can’t—”

“Enough.” Bruce’s tone was sharp, slicing through Dick’s rambling. “That’s enough.” He turned a stern eye on Jason. Jason. You need to be more careful.

Jason, testing another painful swallow, nodded.

“And Dick—”

“Bruce, this cannot possibly—”

“I think we’ve had enough Christmas wear for today. Get rid of that scarf and pick up your mess on the lawn. It’s time for Jason to get to bed anyway.”

Judging by Dick’s open mouth, it looked like he was about to argue—then decided against it. He snapped his jaw closed with a click before stomping off to the field, radiating equal parts outrage and guilt.

Jason’s fingers traced over Bruce’s hands on his arms. I’m sorry…

‘You should be,’ was what Bruce wanted to say.

‘There’s nothing to be sorry for,’ was probably what a good person would say.

Be more careful, was what Bruce said. And even though he knew it was wrong, something about it seemed to satisfy Jason, who gave Bruce’s wrists a soft squeeze before testing Bruce’s grip with a gentle backwards push.

Bruce let him go, climbing out of the pool. Icy air snapped over his wet clothes.

From the lawn, Dick scowled at him, “Get inside and get changed,” he snapped. “I don’t need Alfred cheesed at me too, because you got pneumonia or something stupid.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Bruce told him, once Dick, too, was back in the manor—although Bruce had to go to Dick’s room to find him, because it wasn’t like Dick was going to come talk to him.

Dick threw himself backwards onto the immaculately made bed, rumpling the spread and dropped three pillows over various sides. It was an impersonal bedspread, one identical to at least a dozen others in the manor guest rooms. Dick’s room had always been vaguely impersonal. Just like Bruce’s room. This wasn’t where their lives were. Their lives were downstairs and on the streets and in the air between buildings.

Something about that settled in Bruce’s heart like Jason on the bottom of his pool when he didn’t want to talk to people. It felt cool—not painful, but noticeably there.

“So what,” Dick huffed, “it’s Jason’s fault? Is that what you’re saying?”

It wasn’t what he was saying. Bruce wouldn’t say it.

But as much as he hated himself…he was starting to think it.

Chapter Text

December 16:

“How do I look?”

Hunched over the counter, trying to retie his bowtie in the reflection of the kitchen faucet, Bruce flicked an eye up trying not to look like Jason caught with an entire box of ice cream sandwiches.

Dick leaned against the kitchen entrance, his slicked back hair and smarmy smile the perfect complement to each other. The black suit must have been new—his shoulders had almost definitely broadened since three years ago when he’d last attended the Christmas party with Bruce. His immaculate bowtie and sharp red pocket square blended effortlessly into the look, as if he had, by some miracle made the entire getup comfortable, though Bruce knew from immediate experience it was not.

Bruce grunted and returned to his tie with renewed vigor; his hope that Dick might distract Alfred before the man discovered Bruce in the kitchen was now extinguished.

“You look fine.”

“Oh, that’s good. I was worried I might look nice. Or smart. Even—heavens forbid—handsome. But just fine—I can handle that.”

Bruce did not roll his eyes as he reached for the soap. Some of his concealer had smudged off on his collar during the adjustments, revealing a neck scar Batman had obtained seven years ago. If Alfred noticed the askew bowtie, maybe he’d tell him it was a makeup mishap.

“You know, we’re dressed exactly the same. So if you think my suit sucks, so does yours.”

Had he said Dick’s suit didn’t look good? He was positive he hadn’t. Dick specialized in putting words in his mouth, particularly when he was in a bad mood. Which meant, apparently, Dick was in a bad mood.

“You don’t have to come.” I’d like you to come, he was going to add, but then he looked up and paused.

Dick’s face had twisted in the time since Bruce looked away, mouth sneering up towards his nose and eyes gone cold. Most people would probably miss the dip in his eyebrows or the tightness of his fingers in their fists that betrayed another emotion below the frustration; Bruce only saw it because he was looking for it. He didn’t always remember to look for it.

“I—no. No, you’re right. I’m not trying to…” Dick sucked a sharp, short breath through his nostrils; Bruce could practically see oxygen feeding the fire in his chest. But he painfully straightened his fingers and exhaled slowly. Invisible smoke curled from his lungs. “I told you I’d go. I’m going.”

“Good. That will save me the trouble of using this, then.”

Alfred emerged from behind Dick, setting a rather large vase on the counter as neatly as dropping off laundry in Bruce’s dresser. It was probably a joke. He probably had the vase for separate reasons.

Bruce just had no idea what they could possibly be.

Distracted, he missed Alfred approaching until the firm frown was directly in front of his face. “Hm. It seems our tie has come undone, Master Bruce. That couldn’t be from a trip to the cave to complete the car renovations that I so specifically pointed out could wait until after the Christmas party, could it?”

Bruce gave up his fussing and dropped his hands, letting Alfred take over. “There’s no need to get sarcastic. I’m capable of accomplishing both things, you know.”

“And yet, here we are, with you both late to a party for your own company and a spot of grease on your trousers.”

Bruce looked down. Black and black should have blended together, but instead it was almost as if the differing shades stood out more than two completely separate colors.

From the other side of the room, Dick raised an eyebrow.

“I’m going to say goodbye to Jason,” Bruce said.

The air was crisp, a threat of snow on the wind even though it had rained that morning. Jason’s TV, vigilant in its duties as Christmas movie enforcer, crooned about the badness of a certain Grinch. Apparently, Jason’s initial offense over thinking his antler headband was Dick’s way of comparing him to the dog in the movie had passed and now, according to Alfred, the old cartoon was becoming a fast favorite. Bruce privately thought Jason liked the Whos’ singing, since it didn’t make any sense anyway.

Jason.

The little mer was wedged into the corner of the pool, cramming three sugar cookies between slices of Alfred’s homemade wheat bread. “Bruce! Hello! I am here for the food.”

Bruce blinked, nonplussed. “You are…what?” Something about the way Jason said it niggled at the back of his head… “Oh. Muppets.” He was quoting Christmas Carol.

Technically, it was a valid language-learning technique, to memorize and utilize phrases from film, television, song and books. Unfortunately, in Jason’s case, probably through no fault of his own, it sounded vaguely mocking. It just also made Bruce wonder whether they should be setting screentime limitations on Jason, now that his dissociation episodes seemed to be significantly less frequent.

I hope you will also eat other food. Food that Alfred would approve of.

Jason pretended he didn’t hear him as he stretched his mouth as wide as it could go, in order to fit his triple cookie sandwich inside.

I’ll ask Alfred when I get back, Bruce threatened.

Ugh, don’t you have Batman-ing to do or something? Mouth full of sugar cookies and bread—which made Bruce feel sick even though he wasn’t the one eating it—Jason rolled his eyes. Shiny buttons and bright pocket squares caught the rolling eyes, however, and Jason swallowed so he could squint better. “Bruce. No Batman?”

No, I’m going to a…hm. Bruce considered. “A party, Jason.” Going to see lots of people. Lots of talking. Drinking and eating.

You can drink and eat here, Jason pointed out. You can talk here. And there’s always lots of people here. Even Dick’s around somewhere.

Bruce’s eyes crinkled. I will be back tonight. Do not worry.

Snow crunched behind him. Bruce expected Dick, hustling him out the door, but it was Alfred instead, with a black box and a cocked eyebrow.

“I thought this occasion might call for a pocket watch. Your good one.”

Gold flashed in the colored Christmas lights bedazzling Jason’s ceiling as Bruce peeled the lid back. Something twisted in his chest. Oh. His father’s pocket watch.

He hadn’t taken it out for Christmas last year, too angry about Dick’s lack of appearance to make anything more than a token effort for his own company. This year he’d been preoccupied again—watching each word, each gesture, each interaction. He wanted Dick here this year. He wasn’t going to be the reason Dick wasn’t.

From the pool, Jason watched as Bruce removed the watch and slid it into his pocket, frowning in concentrated curiosity. Bruce laid a hand on Alfred’s shoulder, grateful, in part because he didn’t have to find words for his gratitude.

Alfred said, “As an added benefit, it should also alert you to the time, reminding you that your lateness continues.”

“Oh.” A glance at the floor length windows into the kitchen revealed Dick shuffling back and forth between the counter and the doorframe. “I was expecting Dick to come out and say goodbye.”

“No Dick,” Jason said cheerfully, chomping at his abomination of a sandwich again. He says you’re mad at him, because of what happened the other day.

Bruce frowned. The other day… The scarf incident? He thought he had told Dick that wasn’t his fault. He’d made sure of it. Bruce had…honestly, he’d been looking forward to Christmas with Dick again. So even though he’d been upset about what happened that night, even though it had burned hot and angry in his chest, Bruce had made sure he went to Dick and clearly communicated that he didn’t blame him. Because it wasn’t Dick’s fault. Really.

He wasn’t mad at Dick.

And despite his best efforts to communicate that, Dick had apparently chosen to believe otherwise.

He said you didn’t yell at him, Jason added, eyeing Bruce almost critically. But then he shrugged it off and grinned around the final bite of his cookies. But that doesn’t mean you’re not mad at him. He says you’re mad at him.

A long silence sidled into the air between them, as Bruce watched Jason happily munching on his food, oblivious or uncaring in the face of the heavy stare. Jason was…mercurial. And his moods, much less his reasoning, often didn’t align with what Bruce expected. With what anyone expected.

So the thing to do right now was to focus on Dick. They had a whole Christmas party ahead of them, including the drive there and back. Plenty of time to reverse Dick’s belief in his anger. Because Bruce wasn’t mad. He wasn’t.

Alfred tapped at his shoulder and Bruce shook his thoughts away.

Have a good night, Jason. Eat the food that Alfred gives you. No more cookies. And don’t stay awake for too long.

“Good-bye, Bruce! I hope you find lots of tinsel!”

Bruce paused, foot half raised on his way to the kitchen, before purposefully starting again.

“Rudolph,” Dick said, as soon as Bruce walked inside. “Now come on, it’s only fashionably late if people are still there to see it.”

A single bulb above the cooking range beside the fridge highlighted that Alfred had waited up for them, when Bruce and Dick eventually stumbled in, Dick hanging off Bruce as he did an impression of Lucius Fox so deadly accurate that Bruce determined never to let the man see it.

“Hey, Alfie! You weren’t worried about us, were you?”

There was something unsettling about the fact that Alfred was seated in a chair by the window, a crossword puzzle in hand but lacking the light by which to complete it. Both that fact and the particular way Alfred sniffed before he spoke seemed to escape Dick’s notice, if his grin was anything to go by.

“Yes, of all the nightly activities to cause me concern, a corporate party and some light snow on the roads are what have finally driven me to distraction.”

Even in the dim light, Dick’s eyeroll was obvious—probably because when he did it, it used his entire body. “Alright, alright, well as long as you’re being sarcastic, I know there’s nothing actually wrong.”

Hm. Maybe he’d been more perceptive than Bruce gave him credit for.

“I merely have some things to discuss with your father before he retires. You are welcome to leave,” Alfred continued, blatantly overlooking both Bruce and Dick’s very careful lack of reaction to the word ‘father.’ What they were—Bruce and Dick—had never fit neatly into a single category, and that was when Dick was younger and things were good. Now…

Well. Bruce supposed it counted as a win that Dick didn’t flinch.

“Well, when you come right out and say it, I can tell I’m not wanted. G’night, Bruce.” Dick flung himself off Bruce’s shoulder with a lazy salute before disappearing into the dark.

As his footsteps faded—and Bruce had just enough wherewithal to be grateful that Dick’s good mood hadn’t disappeared in the face of Alfred’s…whatever this was, since he was still willing to make his footsteps audible as assurance—Bruce pulled a chair from the table and perched at the edge of it carefully.

“Something the matter?”

“I rather hoped you’d know.”

Bruce waited for more. With Alfred, he always waited. The man would reveal his purpose when he intended and not a moment before.

“Tonight, after your departure, I took sandwiches out to the pool as usual.” White skin haloed around the edges of Alfred’s fingers where they gripped his crossword. “Master Jason requested that the temperature of the pool be lowered as he was ‘dying’ and ‘hurt,’ ‘choking,’ and things of a similar nature. On my refusal, he became belligerent, refusing his dinner, and calling me a plethora of names which, fortunately for him, I did not understand.”

Now Alfred waited. Because he always waited, with Bruce.

They’d taken the thermostat out of Jason’s range since the incident with the fever. Arthur Curry had visited to consult on the water as the air temperature had dropped with the seasons, taking into account Jason’s age and the fact that he’d never had to weather a winter outside by himself. The pool statistics, including temperature, automatically fed into a portal to which Arthur had access, along with Bruce, a marine biologist who thought he was a coastal rescue in Oregon rehabilitating orphaned seal cubs, and…well, probably Dick. Just because Dick had access to basically everything.

Once they’d got the levels sorted, Jason had never complained about water temperature. And Bruce knew it wasn’t any different than it had been when he left or the day before when Jason had slept out in similar temperatures, because he had an alert set on his phone if the temperature changed at all.

“I’ll talk to him,” he said.

Outside, sharp slices of air dug their nails into his skin, stiffening his fingers and face. A pile of blankets at the center of the pool wriggling gently with the rhythms of mer breath assured him of what he already knew: Jason wasn’t overheating.

“Jason.”

He saw the black hair unfurling from the edges of a Batman-themed fleece—provided by Dick, of course—because he was looking for it. Jason stayed so low in the blankets Bruce couldn’t even make out his eyes over the edge of the blanket through the water. He was sure they were looking at him nonetheless.

I need to talk to you. Can you please come here?

No thanks. I’m sleeping.

Jason.

The thing about Jason was: he was rarely openly disobedient. Bruce didn’t know if the boy’s mother had been strict, much less the father Jason had never even mentioned, or if it was born of his time in that fetid bathroom. But Jason would lie, manipulate, steal, break, and beleaguer as much as he thought he could get away with; he just wouldn’t do it while looking you in the eye.

Especially if Bruce insisted. And his tone of voice left no room for misunderstanding about the fact that he was insisting right now.

Jason floated to the top of the pool, almost completely swaddled in a blanket. He kept well out of arm’s reach.

“Hello, Bruce.”

“Hello.” He breathed in carefully through his nostrils. Jason. Did you tell Alfred you were hot? You needed the water to be cold?

Almost immediately, Jason’s face switched from wary to absolutely miserable. He coughed the fakest cough Bruce had ever heard. “Bruce! Sick! Alfred hurt!”

Alfred did not make your water cold, Jason. I know.

That’s why I’m sick. Blech. Because he wouldn’t make it colder and now I have a fever. Euch.

“You’re not sick, Jason.” No sick.

Jason’s mouth twisted up as his eyebrows lowered petulantly. I could be.

You would be if Alfred had done what you asked.

He wished he had put more thought into this conversation before coming outside, planned out what he was going to say. Dick had never appreciated when he just bluntly got to the point, despite repeated attempts to tell Bruce otherwise. But Bruce hadn’t planned, and so what followed from his mouth was:

Do you want to be hurt?

The offense on Jason’s face could have powered at least double the massive amount of Christmas lights Dick had strung over the pool. He denied it—because of course he did. Why wouldn’t he?

Bruce said, You cannot lie to Alfred, Jason. Whatever this is, it stops now. Do not lie to Alfred. Do not lie to Dick. Do not lie to me.

To no surprise, Jason’s sullen apology was less than reassuring.

November 17:

How fast can you make it go? Jason asked, stroking the Batmobile’s tire gently. Bruce wasn’t sure, considering past conversations they’d had, if Jason was trying to comfort the car or thinking about stealing its wheels.

Very fast, he said.

I want to see! Jason dashed further down the pool, throwing himself up onto the road so he was half out of the water. See how fast you can reach me.

Bruce rolled his eyes and continued doctoring the latest set of dents. “I think not.” I don’t want to hit you, Jason. After all, Jason’s mind was a constant enigma to him. For all he knew, Jason would throw himself in its path assuming it would glide over him like a boat, only to be crushed instead.

Jason flopped sideways, face curious. You wouldn’t hit me. Right?

“Not on purpose.” When he noticed Jason still waiting for an answer, Bruce realized he’d spoken in English. No, Jason. I would not hit you. But bad things still happen sometimes. I do not want bad things to happen to you.

The boy’s grin wreathed his face. Because I’m your good thing, right?

Yes, Jason. You are my good thing.

November 30:

“High-five!” Jason shouted—something he had almost definitely learned from Dick over the Thanksgiving holiday.

Bruce rolled his eye, but humored him, leaning over so his hand extended above the pool. “High—”

His sentence cut off as Jason slammed into him. He felt the delicate bones in the boy’s hand, arm shift. Watched the pain rippled across his face as he fell back. Saw the threat of tears pooling in the corners of his eye as he held it, palm so red it looked burned.

“Ouch, Bruce,” he whispered. “Ouch.”

Bruce took off his gloves—why had he thought he didn’t need to take off his gloves before interacting with Jason? It wasn’t as if the mer child knew the correct amount of force for something he’d probably seen once—before scanning Jason’s hand for broken bones.

December 4:

“Augh!”

Bruce wasn’t ashamed to admit he jumped at the sudden scream, coupled with the crash of Alfred dropping his tray. The breakfast the butler had left beside the upper cave pool, where Jason spent most late mornings, was scattered over the ground. Jason, halfway out of the pool, hands clasped over his mouth taking big, desperate gulps of air, started to dive just before Bruce caught him.

It burns, Bruce, lemme go! Lemme go, I need water, I need—

“Jason, you’re not going to inhale water! Alfred, hand me that glass by my console. I need to know he’s going to drink it, not breathe it.”

Bruce, it hurts.

I know, I know. Drink, Jason. Don’t breathe.

Jason gulped the glass of lukewarm water, passing it back empty with a mild whimper. The burns on the roof of his mouth blistered—and Bruce wasn’t sure if it was because mers had a more delicate palate, or if the food was really that hot.

Egg and cheese from the breakfast sandwich Alfred had left squished warm and gooey around his kneecap.

“I—I had no idea he would—he always waits for it to cool. I bring it hot because it usually takes him a while to even notice it,” Alfred stammered.

“Bring it cool from now on.” Bruce’s voice snapped, because he had promised Jason he would keep him safe and here the kid was, with open sores that would take weeks to heal, sniffling in a tiny ball at the bottom of his pool.

Alfred said nothing about the tone. Probably he wanted to shout too. He just didn’t have anyone to shout at.

December 6:

“Bruce.”

Peeling himself out of the car, cowl lying against his back, Bruce turned bleary eyes towards the pool.

Jason had pushed himself up so his torso was out of the water, making it easy to see the broad sleeve of purple and black painted across his ribcage.

The bruise took up more of his chest.

“Jason! What—?”

Jason didn’t sniffle. He didn’t cry. But his voice sounded strained and his eyes were red, with large gray bags underneath, like he’d been crying before. I—I landed on the wall.

The wall—? I don’t know ‘wall’— Except, no, he did. The wall. The one between the upper pool and the cave lake.

Sad blue eyes skittered around the boy’s twisting hands. When I jumped. I—I wanted to see you and…and that’s the way you told me to get up.

‘You’ve never gotten hurt before,’ Bruce wanted to say. ‘I wouldn’t have asked you to do it if I thought you would get hurt. It was supposed to be about…about strength. And to give you agency. Not to…’

He laid a hand against Jason’s chest gently. Jason. Broken?

Jason shrugged, not meeting Bruce’s eye.

“X-rays, then.” Bruce leaned down and scooped the mer up, all his previous exhaustion evaporated in the face of the newest crisis.

Hands clenched around the edge of his cape, Jason whispered, “Bruce. Mad?”

Bruce said, I’m mad at Bruce, Jason. Me. It is my fault you got hurt.

December 10:

Jason was sobbing, scarf so tight it cut into his throat, hands scrabbling for a hole they could loosen. Bruce held him tight, shouting, “Jason! Stop.” Stop. Stop, it’s ok. It’s ok, I’ve got you. You’re fine.

Dick pulled the scarf free, throwing it in pieces alongside the pool. “I swear I told him to stay away from the filters,” he said. “I swear, Bruce.”

“You shouldn’t have given it to him regardless.” Bruce said to Dick. To Jason, he said, Move your fingers so I can see better.

Jason sniffled. Hurts.

December 13:

Those things that Dick uses when he’s being a demon…what are they?

Carefully comparing an analysis of DNA wasn’t something Bruce typically did with Jason in the cave, but it needed to be done, Jason had asked to come to the cave and Bruce…there was something about leaving Jason alone right now that pricked at the back of Bruce’s eyeballs.

“Hn,” he grunted.

“Brruuuuuccceee!”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before turning. “What, Jason?”

Dick’s…demon sticks. What are they called?

Demon sticks is fine, Bruce said, because, well, if Dick had a problem, he could correct Jason himself.

“Good.” Jason jerked his head in a nod of satisfaction. They have electricity and all kinds of dangerous stuff, right?

I don’t know ‘electricity and all kinds of dangerous,’ Jason.

Jason’s face changed slightly—eyebrows stilling, mouth flattening, eyes widening purposefully. Can I hold one?

And Bruce might have given him one, a month ago. It wasn’t like Jason had never held on. Hell, he’d nearly restarted Arthur’s heart with one back when he had that fever.

It was the lack of expression on Jason’s face. The way he tilted his head just so. The red welts still fading from his throat.

It wasn’t Jason’s fault, Bruce reminded himself.

Unless it was.

He said, “You don’t need them. Go play.” And turned back to his analysis.

December 16:

“Alfred! Hot!” Jason shouted over the security recording, shoving back the sandwiches Alfred had so carefully placed beside the pool. It was the third time he’d repeated himself, each one getting progressively louder and more frustrated.

“If you feel are you are in danger, I can call Master Bruce.”

“No, Alfred! Bruce is dead—help Jason!”

“I am afraid I cannot.”

I’m the mer, so I know what I need. You don’t. So you have to listen to me!

Alfred frowned. His face wasn’t visible through the camera, but he tended to frown with his entire body—shoulders, chest, and arms in particular. “No, Master Jason.”

Jason pitched the sandwiches into the snow, shouting words Bruce didn’t know but which definitely seemed like insults.

Once Alfred went back inside, he pouted in the corner of the pool, running his hands over the rough concrete. Then he returned to the game he had been playing before.

Like none of it had happened.

December 19:

“Help, Swooper-man. Pull.”

Chapter Text

December 20:

“Are you ready to talk now?”

Hand hovering over the replay button for the security recording, Bruce didn’t even bother to turn. It wasn’t like he’d invited Superman into his cave.

“Bruce?”

“I don’t want to hear your opinion.”

Metal clanged quietly as Clark—because if his feet were on the ground, he was Clark—stepped around the console until Bruce could see him out of his peripheries. “I tried to give you a day to…so this wouldn’t feel like an ambush. Because that’s not what I’m trying to do here. But you have to know that what you did was—”

“Do you have children?”

Clark’s eyes flashed, that blue you only found in cartoons, a little too saturated to be human. “Bruce.”

“Then why would I take parenting advice from you?”

“That’s not—this isn’t parenting advice as much as just general—what happened yesterday—”

“You’re not even human.”

“Bruce.”

December 17:

Jason. Come here please.

Jason popped out of the pool, face wreathed in the sort of grin that only fourteen sugar cookies could cause. If Bruce didn’t figure out some way to keep Dick from sneaking Jason cookies, Alfred had informed him, ‘there would be consequences.’ Because apparently having to corral a mer child who had consumed fourteen sugar cookies wasn’t ‘consequences’ enough.

Privately, Bruce thought maybe Alfred should just stop making cookies. But the glare he received when those words started to come out of his mouth made him reconsider.

“Bruce! Hi! Cookies?”

He held out his hand expectantly. Eagerly. Like the night before hadn’t even existed.

Bruce said, We need to talk about last night.

Jason’s brow furrowed, as his demands for more sweets went entirely unacknowledged. Then Bruce’s words registered, and his mouth flattened. Oh. I thought we did that already? Remember? Last night?

Yes. We need to talk more.

“Um, thanks no, Bruce.”

“Yes, Jason.”

Jason stuck his tongue out. It was covered in cookie crumbs and the remnants of sprinkles. “Ok, nine minutes from now?”

“Now, Jason.”

Another face, but at least Jason crossed his arms and hunched down in the water, sullen but still.

Are you happy?

The little mer recoiled like Bruce had spit on him. What the hell? What the—why would you ask that? I’m not answering that. That’s—that’s a stupid question. And he—“Bruce! No sending away! Promise!”

“I’m not sending you away,” Bruce replied calmly. “You’re not in trouble.” No trouble, Jason. But I am upset.

Jason huffed in a way that implied that, not only were Bruce’s feelings not his concern, they shouldn’t be Bruce’s either. In fact, he seemed to doubt the importance of the things altogether.

You have been getting hurt a lot. I do not like to see you hurt.

For some reason, that seemed to thaw Jason slightly. He smiled—not quite a grin, but only tamped down because he seemed to intuit that it wasn’t appropriate.

And I want to know…if you are hurting because you are sad.

Sad? Jason’s mouth screwed up in confusion. But Bruce…didn’t know how to explain.

How to explain that, after years of living in fear and pain from his parents’ death, the peace he’d felt when Ted Grant punched him in the face for the first time was like relaxing a muscle he hadn’t known was clenched. That the first time someone had fired a gun at Batman and the bullet ricocheted off his chest but left behind a bruise that reached down to the bone, it allowed him to feel the pain that had been trapped inside him since he stood in that alley. That all the screams he’d wanted to scream and the tears he’d wanted to cry got stuck somewhere in a child’s body and came out as he realigned his own joints after falling more stories than he could count.

It’s alright to be sad. Or angry. Or…or upset. But I want you to be safe too, and—

“Bruce,” Jason interrupted, almost scathingly, “You sad?” As if the idea was so absurd he couldn’t even fathom it—and if Bruce wasn’t sad, then why should he be, after all?

And…sad wasn’t the way he would describe it. Any of his feelings. Anything he’d ever felt. He’d felt grief, but it was too raw, sharp enough that eviscerated ‘sad.’ He’d felt fear and fury, bittersweetness and regret. But sad?

He looked at Jason and saw the bruises from jumping over the wall. Saw the burns from eating too-hot food. Saw the welts and scratches from a tightened scarf. He thought about Jason asking for Dick’s electric stick, for Bruce to drive his car, for Alfred to turn down the heat in the pool.

“Yes, Jason,” he said. “I am sad.” It hurts me when you’re hurt.

…Oh. Something spasmed across Jason’s face—regret? Confusion? Guilt? Pain?—and then blanked as he swallowed. I’m…sorry. I’ll—I’ll do better. I mean, I’ll be more…more careful. He licked his lips and scooted back into the pool. Sorry, Bruce. Don’t be sad.

December 20:

“You should know better than to act that way around a traumatized child—any child. You do know better. I know you do.”

“If you know me so well, why are you here? You should have known I wouldn’t want to have this conversation with you.”

Clark frowned. “You have to have it with someone.” His face softened and Bruce hated that he did it intentionally. Like he was speaking to a civilian after an apartment fire or the press in the aftermath of a diverted lava flow. “I’ve always trusted you to hold me accountable, Bruce. Not just with my powers. But—all of it. To keep me human. Because we’re not gods. You told me that. Is it so bad for you to have someone to keep you accountable? To help you have the conversations even when you don’t want to?”

December 20 (morning):

“In the minnow we can build-a snowman! Then intend that he is parts-and-brown!”

Minglish was the same Dick had given Jason’s interpretations of Christmas songs—English as heard through the ears of a mer. Considering the lyrics to this particular song didn’t make any sense anyway—who was Parson Brown?—it had been mutually decided not to correct him.

The song echoed, crystal clear thanks to the cave acoustics. Above the lake sat Bruce, ostensibly at the computer but with chair turned away from the actual monitors, staring out over the lake.

Jason was in the cave because he had asked to go to the cave. Alfred had brought Jason breakfast, without Bruce because Bruce felt Jason should be allowed to have space from him, after what had happened, and Jason had specifically asked Alfred to bring Bruce to the pool. When Bruce showed up expecting a justifiable tantrum from Jason, the mer greeted him cheerfully, as if he had particular reason to be happy with Bruce, rather than the opposite.

“Hills say, ah, wee mermaids, we’ll say no—man! But you can do’n’chop when year around!”

After bringing Jason to the cave, the boy had disappeared for over an hour—and Bruce had assumed the cheerfulness was a front to get Bruce to bring him to a place where he had more privacy. Except when Jason reappeared, it wasn’t sullen or for a reason, like because he needed food or he’d gotten hurt. He’d started singing, flittering around with an old cape he’d pulled down from Bruce’s supply.

Bruce sat and watched for twenty-seven minutes before his courage finally took hold.

He swiveled suddenly, fingers flying over his keyboard with an almost possessed fervor. Shocked politeness reverberated through the entire cave as the person answered the call.

“Batman?”

“Aqualad,” he said, Jason’s singing cutting off in surprise. The mer skimmed over the water, zooming back to prepare for his jump into the upper pool. He shouldn’t have to jump up for this. Bruce made for the stairs, carrying a small speaker with him. “I need your assistance.”

Even though he was trying not to look too hard at Jason’s face, to analyze the expression there, the mer’s confusion was obvious. Half twisted for his dash, Jason slowly untwirled and trailed toward the beach, warily.

“Of course. Do you need me to come to Gotham?”

“No.” Bruce set the speaker on a large flat rock and crouched down beside it. “I need you to listen and ensure I don’t misspeak.”

“Is…is something wrong with Jason?”

Aqualad Garth! Hi!

Hello, Jason. It’s good to hear your voice. How are you?

Um, I’m good. Super good. Why did Bruce call you?

I’m…not sure. Why don’t you ask him?

Jason kept himself deep enough in the water that he could still swim, but low enough that his fin could touch, allowing him to push his torso out of the water. A scowl, light but noticeable, marked his face as he demanded, “Bruce. What?”

Musty, thick cave air filled Bruce’s lungs as he inhaled once, deeply. He held it, burning in his lungs, for longer than he should have, before releasing it. On the exhale, he forced himself to speak.

Jason. I want to talk about what happened at…yesterday. With Superman.

Jason cocked his head to one side. Like he had no clue what Bruce was talking about. “Ok?” he said, in a very unintentional imitation of Dick.

I was wrong.

Through the phone, Garth missed Jason’s flinch, the little tremor that went through his face before his entire body recoiled. His face twisted, like he’d bitten into something warm. “Bruce. What?” he repeated, as if English would save him from having to actually engage with the conversation.

But that was why Bruce had called Aqualad. He could have called Arthur. But…

He wasn’t sure he wanted Arthur to hear this conversation.

I should not have yelled at you. I should not have yelled at Superman. I should not have—

No!

“Wait, what?” Garth’s voice stuttered. “Are you—maybe you’re misspeaking, Bruce. Did you—you yelled at him? At Jason?”

“I did. Strongly.”

“That’s—”

Hey, shut up, Aqualad! Jason snapped. Bruce, you’re not sorry. You—you should have been mad, right? Because I was gonna get hurt and—

Jason, Garth cut in. Let me stop you right there. I don’t know what happened, but—

He cut off as, without warning, a sob broke out of Jason’s chest. It was completely at odds with the scowl on his face, the scowl that, now that Bruce looked, was fighting to stay on his face.

No. No, he has to yell. And I know I pushed it. I know I—but he—I stopped. No one was supposed to get hurt, and when he told me it hurt, I stopped. That’s not what Swooperman was—I—I didn’t mean to…

Bruce’s mind scrambled to sort out what Jason was saying, but half-finished sentences and choked words tangled the already unfamiliar language.

Instead of translating, Garth breathed gently, Jason.

He promised. Jason’s fury, betrayed by eyes gleaming in the dim light and trembling lips, turned on Bruce. You promised.

Jason, I agree with Bruce. He shouldn’t be yelling at you. He shouldn’t be—

Just like that, Jason snapped back to the speaker. Did you tell him not to do it anymore?

Not to…yell? No, I—I mean, I would have, if he’d talked to me beforehand, because—

Jason seethed. You asshole. You ruined everything. His fists clenched. …I ruined everything. His heavy eyes leapt over to Bruce again. I—I hate you. You promised.

And something snapped into place, but not a new piece. A piece Bruce had been holding, assuming it couldn’t be that simple. Or maybe because he didn’t want that to be the answer. Like holding onto a puzzle piece because putting it in would confirm a picture you didn’t truly want to see.

Jason hadn’t been hurting himself as a release for pain.

He was doing it to hear Bruce to yell.

For years—maybe before he’d ever even entered the bathroom—Jason’s hurt had been, at best, an inconvenience to those around him. His pain a stumbling block in plans, instead of a recentering.

When Dick was little, someone had told Bruce that kids often needed to talk about their trauma, to see the horrified reactions when they did, because it confirmed for them that it was horrible. That it wasn’t normal. Which was hard, for Bruce, because how could he tell Dick his parents dying in front of him wasn’t normal, when it was normal for him?

And now here was Jason. Who needed to see people get mad at his pain to prove that his pain was something worth getting mad about.

That was what he needed from Bruce. And instead, Bruce had told him it wasn’t worth yelling about. Normalizing. Just like he’d done with Dick.

I—I hate you. You promised, Jason repeated. Promised you’d care.

I’m sorry, Bruce said.

And he was. Just not for the same thing anymore.

December 20:

“You don’t get it!”

The keypad crashed into the wall, keys exploding from their sockets. Superman took a step to the side—not because it would hurt him to get hit. But because he didn’t want Bruce to be responsible for hitting him.

Bruce saw his thoughtfulness and seethed.

“You,” he growled, “could not possibly understand. You don’t have kids. You can’t feel pain. You have the powers of a god at your fingertips and—”

“Can’t feel pain?” Ridges in Clark’s brow formed like mountains terraforming. “Bruce, you know that’s not true. What is this about?”

His fingers tightened around the arm rests of his chair, joints white, waiting to see which object broke first. “You have no idea what it means to be human.”

Anger, hot and sudden, flared across Superman’s face—because emotions were the only place anyone could ever really hurt the man of steel—and then evaporated just as quickly, like a sunspot bursting and being swallowed back. “Maybe not,” he acquiesced, voice cold and calm. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t know what it’s like to have flaws. And you can’t let your anger get the best of you again.”

Bruce laughed—one sharp burst. “My anger is the best of me.”

“You don’t really believe that.”

“What do you think Batman is? Do you think criminals are frightened of my compassion? My diplomacy? You wouldn’t understand, because you have everything to offer the world. Anger is who I am.” His words crumbled in his mouth like clay breaking underfoot. His head dropped, hands just catching it, because they broke before the chair. He broke.

“It’s all I have to give.”

Chapter Text

December 22:

Barry once told Bruce that he and his rogues had a deal—he helped deliver presents to kids in foster care and the rogues saved the crimes for after Christmas. Which was all well and good, but it wasn’t as if rogues accounted for a huge percentage of crime. Sure, their crimes were worse—at least in Gotham—in terms of magnitude, scale, devastation, depravity, but that didn’t mean they were more frequent.

Most crimes were committed by people with opportunity: the gambling addict who noticed how inattentive the gas station clerk was, the jilted lover who realized the smell of new paint would cover the smell of propane if it were left running, the parent who found the exact too-expensive toy their child was begging for in a shop with fake security cameras.

Opportunities couldn’t be haggled with, to arrange for days off around the holidays. In fact, the closer the holidays drew, the more opportunities seemed to abound. Or maybe the more desperate people became to find them.

It meant late nights for Batman, most of the time. Except for this year, because tonight when he’d dropped down alongside the Batsignal, Jim Gordon had glanced at him and said, “Batman. You look like death. I’ve got plenty of officers chomping at the bit at overtime for the holidays. Maybe let us handle things for tonight?”

Which left Bruce standing in his kitchen, holding a mug with no beverage, staring out over the pool at a time too early to call morning and too late to call night.

Jason was still awake.

The television was on, brightly colored flashes complementing the cacophony of lights that the kid must have turned back on after Alfred went to sleep. The film wasn’t one Bruce recognized any more deeply than ‘Mickey Mouse paraphernalia’ and ‘Christmas themed.’ Idly, Bruce wondered if he should be pleased or worried that Christmas movies seemed to softening Jason’s stance on cartoons, which he had previously sworn off due to the whole ‘Tom and Jerry’ fiasco. It would open up more possibilities for child-appropriate entertainment. But explaining the world to Jason was hard enough already, without touching on either cartoon physics or mice who walked and talked like an approximation of humans.

He made a mental note to block ‘The Little Mermaid’ from any streaming services to which Jason had access.

Jason didn’t seem overly interested in the current movie, fast-forwarding over a series of ducks loosely connected to the only one he knew—Donald Duck—and some similarly themed Goofy family before leaping for the ‘play’ button so quickly he almost fumbled the remote.

“There is it, Pluto,” Mickey Mouse said, in a voice that Bruce more closely associated with Dick than the cartoon character. Dick had gone through an impersonation phase when he was around fourteen. “The perfect gift to go with Minnie’s watch!”

Bruce was familiar with the William Sydney Porter story on which this particular cartoon seemed to be based, so he watched Jason more closely than the television and listened to his thoughts over the dialogue.

He should go out and shut the TV off, tell Jason to get some sleep before Alfred got up.

He should just go to bed and give Jason the space he’d very clearly indicated he wanted following their last conversation on the 20^th.

He should at least check on Jason, see what might be keeping him from sleeping, check the heater, test the alerts, everything he normally did.

He should commit to staying up at this point and just pour himself a coffee, instead of holding a useless empty mug.

He should never have come into the kitchen.

“You can’t believe that,” Superman echoed in his head, the death rattles of their conversation from the other day louder than the television through the frosted window he’d silently cracked open. “You’re Bruce Wayne. No one’s given more to Gotham than you. And Batman… you think the man who took in, not one, but two orphans did that out of anger?”

Bruce felt angry. He felt it like the cold at the top of a skyscraper on a December night, biting so deep it cracked his bones. It was the right response, to a world that would take his parents. Dick’s parents. Jason’s parents. Dick’s happiness. Jason’s everything.

They needed anger. And he…he was good at that.

He remembered Clark’s hand resting beside his on the console, close enough that he could feel the body heat that he was sure the Kryptonian regulated to human standards. Not touching, because Clark knew Bruce wouldn’t want to be touched.

“Bruce…do you honestly think Dick comes back home because you’re angry on his behalf? Because I’ve heard a lot of his childhood stories. And the ones where you’re angry are…they’re not the good ones.” A pause. “They’re also not frequent ones. And I’d like to think when Jason grows up…it’ll be the same.”

He should never have come into the kitchen.

What was he expecting? To talk to Jason? Jason should have been asleep. Or to watch him sleep, as if the child’s peaceful would somehow absolve him, provide reassurance that the primary thing he needed—the only thing he needed from Bruce—was protection?

“A chain for my watch! Oh Mickey, it’s beautiful—but I traded my watch to get you that case.”

“And I traded my harmonica to get you a watch chain.”

“Oh, Mickey. I can’t believe you gave up what means the most to you…for me.”

Jason hugged his tail tight against his chest with one arm, the other gripped around his caudal fin as it pressed like a blanket over his mouth, eyes absolutely riveted on the anthropomorphic mice before him. The hand holding the bulk of his tail ran up and down over the scales, catching at them.

Bruce watched his mouth form the English words slowly, whisper so soft he couldn’t hear the actual sound where he stood.

“I can’t belief you cave ‘em what means a toast to you—for me …”

The video rewound.

“I can’t belief—believe—you…you…”

Another rewind.

“…you gave up what means…” The…oh! “The most to you! I can’t believe you gave up what means the most to you. For me.”

Even with the line down, Jason still rewound twice more.

I can’t believe you gave up what means the most to you—and Minnie threw herself onto Mickey, their embrace soft and warm and perfect.

I can’t believe you gave up what means the most to you…

Bruce closed his eyes and saw Superman’s hand twitching above Jason’s tail, as those broken, determined eyes forced themselves to glare up at him and insist, “Pull.”

He put his mug on the counter and his head in his hands.

December 24-25

“If you don’t go to sleep, Santa won’t come. Didn’t you learn anything from Rudolph?”

Through the kitchen window, Bruce could see Jason swirling in the water, like a betta fish challenging another, his tail and hair billowing in equal turns. He puffed out his chest, but couldn’t hide the hurt on his face.

“No Santa?”

“That’s right.” Feet splayed up on the end of the patio sofa he had pushed dangerously close to the end of the pool, Dick wriggled his toes inside their thick stockings and raised his eyebrows with menacingly solemnity. “Because it’s bad to stay awake and try to see Santa. And he doesn’t visit bad kids.”

“No?” I thought…Santa still visits, right?

It took Dick a bit to parse out what Jason had said, since his mer appeared to be the equivalent of what the average high schooler learns of any foreign language in American schools. “You remember the Island of Misfit toys? And how they never got a visit from Santa? It’s because they never slept—”

“No Santa—weird mer?”

Jason might as well have speared Dick through the heart. Instantly, the boy was scrambling onto his knees, hands out. “No, no, that’s not what I said. I wasn’t saying you’re weird—I mean, you are weird, but, like, a good weird! That’s not the reason Santa won’t—I mean, if he doesn’t visit you, it’ll be because—but he will—”

“Santa doesn’t like Jason?” Jason clutched his tail to his face, eyes huge and watery, hovering just above the water. “Bad Jason?”

“No! No, that’s not what I—ugh, listen, Jason: Santa isn’t real. Ok? That’s just for movies. Pretend. Make believe.”

Jason shrieked, “Ris-mas TV lied?”

“I—”

“Master Dick!” Alfred stormed onto the patio, a spatula in one hand, and a hefty—and notably empty—glass pitcher in the other. “What in heaven’s name is going on?”

Dick flailed his arms out desperately. “It’s—Jason—”

“Did you just tell that poor boy that there is no Santa Claus? You ruined the magic of Christmas for a child?”

“What? That cannot seriously be your priority here, I mean—look, he’d probably end up thinking Santa was gonna, I don’t know, snatch him out of his pool or—”

“Santa steal Jason? Bruce!”

“Shhh—shut up! Just—”

Bruce sighed and opened the patio door enough to prod his head through. “Dick.”

Over the wailing of Jason and Alfred’s deafening glower, it was a Christmas miracle on par with Santa himself that Dick even heard Bruce. His eyes lashed to the man with a sort of desperate frenzy Bruce hadn’t seen since the first time Batman and Robin had both gotten themselves snagged by one of Gotham’s more deadly foes.

“They’re messing with you. Jason and I had the Santa talk weeks ago.”

Dick’s mouth opened and closed like Jason singing underwater. In the pool, Jason backflipped away, cackling loudly. Outside the pool, Alfred raised a single eyebrow, dragging lips on the same side into a smirk.

Bruce said, “Cheap shot, Alfred.”

“I will always seize the moment to revive the childishness Master Dick threw away in his youth.”

“I will…” Dick shifted, causing the couch cushions under him to partially collapse, nearly spilling him across the concrete. He flipped over the back of the couch to land beside Alfred, glowering. “Forget coal this year, Santa’s gonna send you someplace you won’t even need it, Alfie.”

“No, Santa, no! Help Jason! Help!” Jason’s fake drowning was about half glubs and half giggles.

Dick kicked a Christmas bulb at him. “No Christmas cookies for you.”

“What?”

They opened presents at midnight, while Hark the Herald Angels Sing played in the background for the fifth time, because Dick had put it on loop after Jason asked what “heart and feral manglings” were.

Dick’s comfort had seemed to wane through the night, culminating in Bruce’s appearance with a pile of boxes. Now he sat on the couch stiffly, back pressed into the cushion, a smile on his face but not his eyes, paying an inordinate amount of attention to Jason’s gasps of trepidation to distract from himself. His reaction to gifts was polite, but distant.

“If there is anything in this box besides a long vacation someplace sunny and distant, I will ensure yours contains a copy of my resignation,” Alfred said as he opened a pair of driving gloves.

Fortunately for Bruce, the paid-in-full itinerary was in the envelope underneath.

Bruce! What is this? Jason stared at the contraption in front of him like it was going to bite. After a brief discussion with Alfred, Bruce had decided against wrapping paper or boxes, considering how, even though Jason was getting better about surprises, anything concealed still caused his whole body to shiver involuntarily.0

“Almost certainly something I will regret.” Bruce knelt beside the pool and drew back the foam slider with a sigh. “Water gun, Jason.” Just please do not use it when we are not in—

Water splattered all over his face and chest. Behind clenched eyes, he could hear Jason’s squeal of delight. “Alright. Maybe we should get in the pool.”

Alfred, to no one’s surprise, declined in favor of renewing their hot chocolate and cookies. Dick, to Bruce’s surprise, remained seated, one hand gripped tightly around the edge of the couch cushion on the side farthest from Bruce, where he was least likely to see.

“Dick, Are you going to join me and Jason in the pool?”

An internal battle seemed to take place. Bruce didn’t know who won when the boy pushed himself off the sofa stiffly. “Sure, why not?”

You have more to give, Bruce reminded himself. You have to. Because if you don’t…Dick doesn’t want your anger. So if you don’t find something else…

He clapped a hand on Dick’s shoulder as they stepped inside to put on heated wet suits. “Thank you,” he said, voice low, “for coming tonight. It…means a lot. To Alfred and Jason. And…to me.”

By the look on Dick’s face, he might as well have sucker punched him in the kidney. He froze, blinking, stunned. Then, suddenly, he flung an arm around Bruce’s shoulder and the smile that had faded throughout the evening burned brighter than the Christmas star.

“Hey, what else was I gonna do, not show up for Christmas? Ha!”

Bruce remembered the quiet of the year before. He squeezed an arm around Dick’s shoulders as well and said nothing.

Jason absolutely could not understand why they would want to drink anything hot, which meant keeping mugs of marshmallow topped cocoa away from him while they lounged in the shallow end of the pool required almost as much skill as his normal Batman routine.

“Why did you think a water gun would be a good idea?” Dick challenged after returning from a jaunt indoors to secure an umbrella, which he was now holding sideways.

It was a water toy. Jason was a child. Children needed toys.

Bruce reminded Dick of the skateboards, plural, that he’d had as a child—and how many of them had been abandoned at the tops of staircases.

“Yeah, but this is annoying.”

“Ahem.”

Oh! Uh…

Shadow cutting out the light from the kitchen behind him framed Alfred’s silhouette on the patio. The basket he held was very nearly blacked out by his frame, only the edge of the handle visible over his shoulder.

“I believe Master Jason has some presents he would also like to share.”

Bruce had been preparing for this. Every day, he skimmed over Jason’s tail for missing scales, hoping that his reaction the other day had at least discouraged any further attempts at mutilation. But the sounds of Jason murmuring Minnie Mouse’s line reverberated through his skull whenever he sat in silence.

“I can’t believe you gave up what means the most to you…”

Looking the kind of mortified only pre-teen children under unwanted attention can look, Jason snatched the basket from Alfred with a grumbled, “Um, thank.” He scooped out two lumps and roughly shoved either arm at Dick and Bruce, bumping around Dick’s umbrella and looking anywhere but at their faces.

Here.

The weight of the thing jerked Bruce’s hand, because he’d attributed Jason’s slightly shaking to nerves. He turned it over carefully, aware that this every reaction was being scrutinized. He’d prepared for this. He’d paid close attention to the Christmas movies Jason had been watching, any gift giving scene, so he could better meet the expectations they’d given Jason.

He could do this. He had more to give than anger. He did.

The sharp stone took up his entire hand, a dark almost-cube like stone trapped in chipped white—franklinite, probably, with calcite.

Dick said, “Wow, kid, this is actually really cool. You find it in the cave?”

Bruce said, Jason. It’s beautiful. Thank you. And then, just like he’d seen on a half-dozen Christmas films, he set the gift on the edge of the pool, reached out, and wrapped the little mer in his arms.

If he’d opened his eyes, he was pretty sure he’d see Dick short circuit. So he kept them squeezed tight, tighter than he held Jason. At first, Jason startled, so Bruce kept his arms loose, in case he wanted to push away. But then he felt a tiny fist clinging to his forearm, a forehead pressed tight to the cave in his chest.

“Merry Christmas,” Bruce murmured.

“Merry Ris-mas,” Jason whispered back, and the cadence was from a dozen Christmas movies and none.

It was…nice. Jason needed this…right? Needed this as much as he needed Bruce’s anger. It was…a different kind of protection. And Bruce could give this, too, he reminded himself. He could.

Abruptly, Jason shoved away, tail bumping into Bruce’s side as he struggled back to the middle of the pool. Bruce expected…embarrassment, maybe. But joy, more likely, since that’s how the Christmas scenes continued.

Instead, Jason looked—

Miserable.

He said, They’re just rocks. I tried to get the coolest ones, but—I don’t know what you’re gonna do with them. I guess just put them somewhere and…you can think of me when you hit them with your stupid feet.

It’s beautiful, Jason, Bruce said again. Thank you.

Jason dipped down under the water, rustling his fingers through his hair. Bruce was ninety percent sure it was hide the slight bubbles streaming from his eyes.

When he popped back up, Bruce reached out an arm again, offering another hug. Jason scowled. “Ew. Thank no, Bruce.” Then he darted to the other side of the pool where Alfred had left unguarded cookies.

Bruce switched arms to Dick. And it was still nice.

But deep down he knew…he had still failed.

Chapter Text

December 31 – 7:12 PM

The New Year’s Eve party Alfred had selected for Bruce to attend was close enough to one of Bruce’s stashes that he could be prepared should anything rear its head, but far enough from the manor to discourage him sneaking out early and hoping no one would notice.

…Bruce desperately hoped something came up.

Which he then felt immediately guilty about because obviously he didn’t want Gotham to suffer. But maybe the Riddler could send a clue about his latest scheme, which would trigger the Batsignal, and Bruce could deal with it before anything actually got put into motion.

That would be ideal.

Alfred had been careful not to bring up the fact that Dick wasn’t joining him, which was unnecessary. Bruce appreciated that Dick had made an effort at Christmas, but also knew that he had his own friends he’d want to celebrate holidays with. And, honestly, Bruce didn’t wish New Year’s parties on anyone. He much preferred knowing Dick would be perched somewhere high, watching fireworks through his mask, surrounded by his teammates to dragging him into more tedious small talk.

There wasn’t any reason for Alfred to worry about him. Or Dick.

“Time to be off,” Alfred reminded him. “You have dinner reservations with Miss Julie Madison at eight o’clock sharp.”

Bruce didn’t put on his jacket. “I’m going to check on Jason.”

With Christmas over, Jason had mostly abandoned his Christmas movies (although Bruce caught him watching the Grinch on two separate occasions still), but had not allowed them to take down the lights canopying his pool. When Bruce emerged, he found Jason in a pile of blankets at the shallow end of the pool, humming and munching on the copious amounts of crayfish Alfred had procured for him as a present.

“Hello, Bruce.” Jason didn’t turn to look at him, continuing to pick apart the shells of his food.

Bruce crouched where it would be harder for Jason to avoid him. “Hello, Jason.” I’m going out. I will be back in the morning. I am not going as Batman. It’s called a “party,” do you remember me talking about it before? I am going to see lots of people. There will be lots of talking, drinking, and eating.

For the first time since he’d emerged from the house, Jason’s eyes cut his way. They looked…it was difficult to describe. Accusatory, maybe, but sad, too, in a way that cut at something deep inside Bruce. Then they flickered away, embarrassed, and Jason asked in a purposefully disaffected voice, “Bruce. Have your good thing?”

His good…? Bruce felt his brow furrowing as he concentrated. “No, Jason. Dick is not coming with me.” No Dick this time.

Huffing in frustration, Jason shoved another crayfish into his mouth and dove under his blankets, splashing Bruce purposefully as he went.

Bruce sighed. He went to his party.

December 31 – 11:38 PM

Julie had stepped out for the bathroom, so Bruce had stepped out for the shadows, cloaking himself at the edge of the room while the party teemed and frothed around him. Most people were thoroughly drunk at this point--even Julie, he suspected, had excused herself to freshen her breath and appearance before the ball drop—which made it both easier to be around people, because he was under far less scrutiny, and more excruciating because, well, they were drunk.

No one sober enjoys being around someone drunk.

Downing the last of his fifth glass of ginger ale, Bruce figured he’d need to seek out more before the toasts started at midnight but couldn’t quite tear himself the wall just yet. In his pocket, he thumbed his father’s watch, thumb skimming the rough front before flipping it over to the smooth, polished back. It had become a source of comfort, during the holidays, like a baby blanket he could keep in his pocket. He liked to imagine his father running his thumb the same way during tedious conversations, or his grandfather stroking it methodically while watching a show. So smooth. Like glass under his thumb.

Bruce paused. He pulled the watch from his pocket, backside still slick under his thumb, getting slicker now as he felt the sweat begin to bead in his palm. In the glinting, moody light of the party, it gleamed like a snake eye.

Bruce pocketed the watch once more. He snagged a waiter, depositing his empty glass. “When you see Miss Madison,” he said, “please let her know it was an emergency and I deeply regret having to leave her.”

January 1 – 02:07 AM

“Jason.”

The little mound of blankets made a pitiful, groaning sort of noise and it occurred to Bruce that he’d never woken Jason before. Not since…well, not since that first night when he’d stolen him from the bathtub. What if Jason thought this was—what if he—

A tiny, black-haired head poked its way through the folds of sherpa and fleece. “Boose?” he slurred, rubbing at his eyes. The more he stirred, the more the blankets began to drift around him. Bruce could see his gills peeking out of holes in the wrapping, fluttering spasmodically. Was he…was that how Jason yawned? Bruce tried to remember if he’d ever seen the boy yawn before.

Jason shoved his head underwater, eyes widening and then blinking rapidly. Well, that was one way to moisten them, he supposed. He came up with streams of water running down his face before he shoved his hair back. “Bruce, what? Jason sleeping.”

I know, Jason. I’m sorry to wake you up. But I need to talk to you.

Jason—didn’t frown. He specifically didn’t frown.

His voice came soft. “Okay. Wh—what?” When Bruce didn’t speak right away, his voice dropped to even quieter. “Bad Jason?”

“No. No. Good Jason. You are always—” Bruce inhaled once, sharply, through his nose. He reached into his pocket. He pulled out his watch. “Jason. This is my—my good watch.”

A twitch ran over Jason’s carefully still face. Under the water, he could see the mer’s fists clenching and unclenching around a blanket. “Yes,” he whispered, voice devoid of emotion. “Bruce’s good thing.”

“No, Jason. It is my good watch. Not my good thing. Not like…not like you. And Dick. And Alfred. This is just…” It was my…it belonged to my… He struggled with how to say it to Jason. My Bruce.

A frown—a reaction, at least. Your Bruce?

He took care of me. With my…woman.

Oh! Your father! The exclamation seemed to jolt Jason back into remembrance and he slunk back into the water, stilling his face and his voice again. Um. It belonged to your father.

My father, Bruce said. My father is dead.

“Oh.” The gasp escaped from Jason—less a word than a sound. Do…fathers die too? Like moms?

Bruce…didn’t really know what to do with that. Moms was probably a word for mothers. But Bruce wasn’t sure if Jason was asking if Bruce’s father had died at the same time as his mother, or if he was asking about Jason’s father. And Jason…they had never spoken about his father. He’d barely spoken about his mother.

That wasn’t something Bruce was prepared to deal with right now. He pinned it to the forefront of his mind and simply said, My father did. Die. Holding the watch up, he said, He had this watch. It came from his father. I don’t know who made it first. I liked it because it reminded me of my father. It was a good watch.

Yes, Jason said again, and this time Bruce heard the ache in his voice. Your good thing.

That’s the thing, Jason. I thought it was a good watch. But it’s not..

Jason’s eyes startled up to Bruce’s. They were wide and blue and creased with so, so much confusion and pain.

Carefully, Bruce held the watch up by its chain. It spun, lazily, gold front reflecting the light of the three strands of Christmas lights Alfred allowed Jason to keep on while he slept. The gold twirled away. The backplate of greens and blues swirled with the reds from Jason’s lights.

Sometimes, Bruce said softly, you see things so often you forget to look at them. I think of this as my father’s watch. I don’t think of it as gold. Or glass. Or…

The spasm of emotion jerked as Jason’s face again. This time, he wasn’t strong enough to resist. Dropping his eyes, he whispered, Sorry. Sorry, Bruce.

“No, Jason. This is not something for you to be sorry about. This is for me—”

I just—!

Bruce—didn’t jump, exactly. But internally everything jolted. He didn’t think he’d ever heard Jason interrupt someone before. Not like that.

The little mer had his blanket clenched so hard in his arms that if it had been anything solid it would have cracked, lips trembling, trying to shove his brow down into rage but unable to get the part above his nose to turn in any direction other than up.

You—you said it made you sad when I got hurt, he choked, half sobbing, half accusing, all pained.

But then—then that was your good—your good thing! And—and that means you’re not really sad, you just—you just don’t want to deal with me getting hurt. Which means I’m—I’m too much work and you’re gonna get rid of me and—and—and— His breath caught in his throat and he shoved his head underwater, gills gasping, before he emerged again, using the streams of water to hide anything from his eyes. This time his voice came out rough and tiny.

…I just thought that if you had something to remember me instead, then…then you could start thinking of me as your good thing again. And—and then maybe you wouldn’t want to…to get rid of me.

From Bruce’s knee where it had dropped, the backside of his father’s watch—the heirloom, the mer scale—winked like a devil.

In the pool, Jason’s shaking made the water shiver and ripple.

Bruce gently picked up the watch and held it where Jason could see it. If he could bear to look up from his quivering hands.

“Jason.”

The mer didn’t move.

I didn’t know this mer. I don’t know whose scale this is or where it came from. I’m ashamed to say I didn’t even think about it being a mer scale until this night. He inhaled, slowly. It is not my good thing. It makes me sad and angry to think that they were trapped, like you, and they were hurt, like you. When I look at this watch now, it makes me sad and angry.

Jason whispered, Because it makes you think of me.

“No.” Bruce pulled the smooth, round thing he’d collected from the cave. The reason it had taken him an extra two hours to come upstairs once he’d arrived back from the party, muting Julie’s number as it hounded him from the shelf where he’d left his phone so he could focus on his task. Because it makes me think of you being hurt. I want to remember you being happy.

He slid his hand through the cool water until it wrapped around Jason’s. Then, gently, he tugged it up, dried it with his handkerchief, and slipped the object from cave into his fingers. “Careful,” he told him. “We need it to stay dry. No wet.”

Jason’s fingers curled instinctively, so he had to uncurl them as his curiosity got the better of him. While he was busy peering through his own fingers, Bruce hooked a tool under the scale on the back of his father’s watch and wrenched it free.

He held the watch out. Jason hesitated, glancing twice at Bruce, before sliding the new back over where the scarring the mer scale had left behind. The smoothed franklinite from Jason’s Christmas present glided into place, fitting with a neat catch.

Bruce laid the watch on the concrete behind him. Then lifted his boot. And smashed the old scale.

Jason gasped, strangling back a harsher, rawer noise that tried to jerk out of his throat. “Bruce!”

For an instant, it occurred to Bruce that destroying it—might be like destroying a bone or desecrating something—

But then Jason choked, “Your good thing.”

“No, Jason. No, no, no, no, no.” And then Bruce was in the water. In his suit. With his dress shoes catching and filling and weighing him down. His jacket hampering his movements as he wrapped his arms tight around Jason. So tight. “It was not my good thing.”

Jason blinked huge, wet eyes, insisting stubbornly. “Your good watch. It—” Your father’s good watch. Now it’s not your father’s—

Now it’s good. It’s more good.

Jason sniffled, sinking low in the water with a wrist shoving against his eyes. Better, he corrected.

Better.

For a moment, it was quiet. So quiet Bruce could’ve sworn he could hear his father’s pocket watch ticking from the concrete. The passing of time. Of traditions. Of cruel customs and selfishness and apathy.

Jason whispered, Is it…really better?

It is.

Another beat. Jason hadn’t even tried to squirm away from Bruce’s hold. Even though Bruce knew he hated being touched. But…maybe not. Maybe not as much as Bruce had assumed. Maybe not now.

The mer pressed his head against Bruce’s chest. His voice filtered out, inflected and higher than normal and soft.

“I can’t believe you gave up what means the most to you…for me.”

Bruce pulled him close. Laid his head in the little mer’s hair. “That watch is not what means the most to me, Jason. You are. You and Alfred and Dick. You mean the most to me.” I would give up anything for you. All I have. He kissed the top of his head.

“Merry Christmas, Jason.”

“…Merry Ris-mas. Bruce.” He paused, before snuggling even closer. “Asshole.”

Chapter Text

The speaker beside his keyboard fuzzed twice, as the little blue light flickered on and off like a firefly, before finally a little voice whispered:

B-Bruce?

Alfred slipped his finger over the new key that had been added to the board—one labeled net, for “safety net” and because Bruce, partially due to Dick’s influence, was not immune to the humor of a good pun. Pressing lightly, he said clearly, “Is everything alright, Master Jason?”

The speaker fuzzed a bit more. Like on the other end, a tiny mer hand was clenching the button on and off in his grip.

I—ne. J’s—ank.

In the far corner of the massive screen before him, the Batmobile’s location blinked red, indicating that Batman was on the move. A tickertape script informed him GCPD had had another call about the Jack-the-Ripper inspired killer in the theater district.

“Master Jason, please press the button completely and do not let go until you have finished speaking.”

This time only one quick fzt—presumably, adjusting positions—and then Jason’s small voice.

…Hi Alfred.

Despite the grisly details about the Gotham Spiller (Alfred didn’t name them—although he went back and forth on whether the GCPD was purposefully assigning terrible names to criminals in the hopes they would out themselves in frustration) filling in yet another window on his screen, Alfred felt something in him soften. He slipped his finger over the net key once more.

Hello, Jason.

It was about the only thing he could reliably say in mer. Apparently, his pronunciation was worse than his American accent, if Dick were to be believed—which was a large if. Still, it felt less crucial now that Jason had learned English so quickly. Misunderstandings still abounded, but that could hardly be blamed on language. Misunderstandings seemed to crop up with Bruce often enough, and he’d spoken English for approximately four decades now.

“Um.” The speaker fzt’ed again, like Jason was playing with the button in a soothing sort of motion. “Is…Bruce Batman?”

“Indeed.” Much to Harvey Bullock’s chagrin, judging by the audio listing through a separate speaker.

Silence. A few more fuzzes.

Alfred frowned. “Is everything alright, Master Jason?”

“Um. Yes.” A long pause proceeded the words. “Everything is…fine. I’m fine. Just…all good.”

Alfred muted the audio of Batman interrogating the last person to see tonight’s victim alive. “Are you quite sure? Because I seem to be talking to you over the communication device that was left in your care for emergencies.”

“Oh. Um.” Another pause. Even longer this time. Long enough that Batman concluded his interrogation and, according to the little transcript in a blue box below his location, informed Alfred he was rendezvousing with Gordon downtown.

“…There are…noises.”

Noises? Swift clacking of the keys brought up not only a shortcut to call Batman, but a litany of security cameras strategically hidden in case of emergency.

What he saw was…

Gently wafting blades of long grass. Moonlight darting over tree leaves. A gentle susurration across the pond water.

And a small mer, huddled tight against the bank, clutching a walkie-talkie in one hand and a small green flashlight in the other.

“I—I don’t…remember the noises.”

Something in Alfred’s chest tightened and loosened all at the same time. Like a piece had fallen out of place and gotten lodged in the wrong spot.

“It echoes,” Dick had whispered, just a week after moving into the manor. “Why does it echo?”

“I can sleep here,” Bruce had said, as if lying in the middle of the living room rug, half underneath the couch was an acceptable sleeping spot for little boys. “It’s far away from—it’s—I can sleep here.”

Alfred kept his voice extremely pleasant. “In that case, Master Jason, perhaps you would care to describe each sound to me? I will use this time to update our database of Northeastern nocturnal ‘noises.’”

As before, there was a pause.

“You…want me to tell you…noises?”

“And be as specific as you can,” Alfred affirmed. “Each isolated and specific noise would be preferred.”

He watched on the cameras as the little mer hunched further down in the water, biting his lip as his little light roved the empty wood.

“Um. O-okay…” Deep breath. “Um, there is a… like—like a shhhhhhhhh noise. Like—hhhoofffffsssshh. And then more. Like a—like someone schwooping water? Goes glump, glump. Then sometimes glump again. But—not—not a someone. A—just a glump. And—and then…”

The Gotham Spiller case spilled over late. Batman emerged from his car at approximately three o’clock, looking as surprised to see Alfred awake as Alfred was that he had managed to remain so.

“Alfred? Something the matter? I thought you logged off hours ago…”

In reply, he simply indicated the monitors, where the majority of the screen was now taken up with the surveillance window. Jason slumped in the weeds, hands still locked around the walkie-talkie from two and a half hours before, when he’d paused in the middle of imitating a barn owl’s call and never recovered.

Bruce frowned. “He should be under the water. It’s safer.”

“Well.” Alfred rose, straightening his stiff back. “You two will have something to talk about in the morning, then.” He, on the other hand, was overdue for bed. He left Bruce to the transcript of their conversation and his brooding.

The following night, Bruce was still seated at the computer when Alfred came downstairs—and it was Bruce, not Batman, which was also surprising.

He said, “It’s a slow night. I’ll go out if anything comes up, but I’ll stay up with Jason tonight. I think it will just take him a little bit to adjust to the new setting.”

Alfred murmured but said nothing, watching on the monitor as Jason dragged two blankets and his flashlight over to the bank, apparently having given up even the pretense of sleeping under the water.

“It will be good for him,” Bruce defended. “Eventually. Once he’s settled.”

The speaker crackled.

Bruce?

Ignoring Alfred’s look, Bruce tapped his keyboard. Jason. You are supposed to be asleep in your pod. It is late.

Um. Are you…um, are you Batman?

Bruce sighed. “Not right now. I will be working in the cave for awhile longer.”

The static clipped in so quickly on the heels of his words it sounded almost eager. “Oh! I, um, I can come to the cave and, uh, and help you.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “You need to sleep, Jason. I will see you in the morning.”

On the monitor, Jason’s shoulders slumped glumly. …Fine, asshole. G’night.

Goodnight, Jason.

Alfred looked at Bruce, who blinked back guardedly. Eventually, he huffed. “I’ll stay until he falls asleep, unless there’s an emergency. But it’s not good for him to rely on the communicator all night. It’s important for him to learn how to handle things himself.”

“I agree,” Alfred said, making Bruce frown, probably because he took issue with the cool, calm tone in which it was said. “And I wish you the best of luck. Good night.”

He went to bed. After all, it was important for Bruce to learn how to handle things himself.

The next morning, they found Jason in the pool.

At first, Alfred assumed Bruce had cracked and gone to fetch the boy, but judging by the distress in the young master’s furious expression, he hadn’t had a hand in it. Once they roused Jason, his chest with dirt embedded so deeply in the scrapes it hadn’t even washed out after soaking for several hours told them all they needed to know.

Jason. Bruce’s voice was firm. The river is too far from the pool. We’ve discussed this. I will create a way for you to get from the pond to the house, but right now you need to call me and wait for me to come and get you. Do you understand?

Picking twigs out of his hair and pieces of grass from between his scales, Jason appeared unaffected. “I’m fine, Bruce. No big deal.”

“Why did you leave your pond?” Bruce demanded, taking the clumps of debris from Jason’s fist and tossing them fiercely past the concrete.

Jason shrugged. “Nice to see you. In the morning. And—Alfred. Easier for Alfred. For breakfast sandwiches.”

Bruce frowned. “Hn. What happened to catching fish for breakfast?” It was an agreed upon schedule to ease Jason into more independence. Every morning he was to check his traps and eat the fish caught, then Alfred would provide both lunch and dinner. It was the third day. To Alfred’s knowledge, Jason hadn’t adhered to the schedule once.

Jason said, “This is nice. Right?”

And Bruce sighed. “…Yes, Jason. It is nice. Don’t do it again.”

Jason did it again.

After a week, Jason’s chest was speckled with bruises and scrapes from dragging himself from the river to the pool. Batman returned early from his patrol and disappeared. Through the monitors, Alfred watched as Batman, sans cowl, marched into the grove of Jason’s pond, the little mer trailing guiltily up the river behind him. In his fists, he clutched his flashlight and a blanket, like a small toddler trying to escape his room.

Dropping to the ground, Bruce leaned back against a tree and ordered Jason into his sleeping pod—a small camping tent they had anchored to the bottom of the shallow part of the pond, after filling it with blankets. Jason had been in love with it when they set it up. Since then, Alfred had only seen him passed out on the bank.

Through the walkie-talkie, Bruce confided, “It’s been two hours. But I’m still not sure he’s sleeping.”

Alfred replied, “Better your back than mine.”

A small voice from somewhere in the weeds whispered, “…Bruce?”

Bruce sighed, and Alfred knew it was at least partly because he hadn’t seen so much as a ripple to indicate Jason was up and about. Through the monitor, Alfred watched as Bruce parted the weeds to reveal a tiny mer clutching eight separate flashlights against his chest.

“…Back in your pod, Jason. It’s late. You need sleep.”

Jason was playing in the pool—some bizarre game he seemed to have invented that involved all the pool noodles as well as a collection of Dick’s old CDs—when Alfred approached with the tablet.

Setting it on the table alongside his afternoon tea, Alfred said nothing, which Jason seemed to prefer anyway. The little mer appeared briefly interested in what he was doing, but after determining Alfred wasn’t taking his tea with any biscuits or cake, had turned back to his own devices.

Alfred took a sip of his tea and tapped the first selection on the tablet.

Three selections in, Jason’s head popped out of the water just far enough for him to stare, wide-eyed, at Alfred.

“Alfred?”

Alfred continued sipping his tea. “Yes, Master Jason?”

“I…hear noises.”

“Indeed?”

The little mer tilted his head, brow furrowed, mouth twisted up as if trying to remember some particular from a dream landscape. “This is…music?”

Dick liked to play music sometimes, when he stopped by to visit. Or, at least, what he called music, so it was no wonder poor Jason was confused.

“Certainly not,” Alfred said, letting his cup clink to show his disapproval. “This is an American bullfrog.”

“Pull…fawg?”

“Bullfrog,” he corrected patiently.

“Oh.” Arms looped up over the side of the pool, Jason blinked at nothing and listened to the groaning, thrumming of the creature. Alfred quietly continued sipping his tea.

After much longer than Alfred expected, Jason asked, “Alfred?”

“Yes, Master Jason?”

“…Why?”

“Hm?”

“Why…listening to pullfa—to frog?”

Alfred glanced down at the little mer with a single eyebrow raised. “I enjoy it. I find the sound to be quite soothing. Or, to use another word, restful.”

Jason made a little hm noise, but he had slunk down low, so bubbles popped in front him as he did so, like a child with a straw in their drink.

“…Alfred?”

“Yes, Master Jason?”