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Jason jolts awake to the sound of the train’s PA system. The speakers are low quality and the man over the announcements is speaking fast and in Italian, making it too hard for Jason to understand.
There’s the sound of a throat being cleared, and when Jason’s eyes adjust to the dim lighting, he sees Tim and Damian.
…Well. He can see parts of Damian.
Damian is wrapped up tightly in the blanket that Tim had snagged from a stall back when they were in Turkey, and Damian’s head is pressed against Tim’s torso. Jason looks back at Tim and they lock eyes.
“We’re four stops away from Milan. It’ll be 2 hours.” Tim says, hushed. His eyes flick over to Damian before flicking back towards Jason.
Jason doesn’t know what to say, so he just nods.
Actually, that’s not true. Jason does know what to say. This isn’t going to work. He wants to say. Batman is going to hurt Damian and you’re going to let it happen. He wants to say. Why can’t it just be me, you, and Damian?
So, sue him. Jason’s grown pretty fond of Damian and Tim. Damian’s just a kid, and he’s good. Behind all the League bullshit and the blood superiority complex, he’s good.
And he’s Bruce’s son. Jason foolishly has thought of Damian as his brother on more than one occasion before pushing it away because no, he will never be Bruce’s son ever again. Not after Bruce wasn’t affected after his death. Not after Bruce went back to patrolling with Dick like nothing happened.
Not after Bruce let the Joker live.
But still. Damian’s good. He deserves better than to be Ra’s personal puppet.
And Tim…
Tim’s just a kid, too. A freaky, highly-trained assassin kid with skewed morals. But still. A kid.
And isn’t he good, too? Jason wonders. Wonders if Tim killing for survival, whether it’s his or Damian’s, is moral. Wonders how Bruce would react if he ever found out.
Three hours later, Jason’s laid on the creaky bed, freshly showered and flicking through the old TV in their motel room. Damian’s taking a shower now, and Tim is out doing who knows what.
Jason’s just found some Italian mystery show and settled in when the bathroom door opens and Damian steps out wearing- wait.
“Is that my hoodie?” Jason asks.
Damian goes a bit red. “I don’t know.” He snaps, turning as he neatly folds his dirty clothes. “Timothy put this in the bathroom for me to wear. It was not exactly my decision.”
Jason bites back a smile and goes back to watching the two detectives try to solve the murder on the TV.
If, three episodes later, Jason pretends to be asleep as Damian tucks himself into the spot right beside him, well. That’s between him and the Italian detectives on TV.
When Tim finally, finally gets back to the motel room, he’s exhausted. He hasn’t slept well since they left Nanda Parbat two weeks ago (did he ever even sleep well there?), and his whole body is sore from having to kill all the League assassins stationed within a 20 mile radius. His fingers ache from faking an online trail to France for Ra’s to follow.
The sun has risen and almost set by the time Tim silently enters the motel room, and the only light is coming from the TV, which is softly playing an eerie theme song.
Tim is two seconds away from telling Jason off about leaving the TV on again (why can’t he understand that Damian sleeps best in the dark?) when he freezes.
One of the two beds is empty. And on the other one…
Tim feels an odd tightening in his chest at the sight of Jason’s arm slung protectively over Damian. They look relaxed. Serene. Damian looks so young. Jason does, too. The permanent scowl on his face has softened, the grief and anger faded away in slumber.
Tim is… he’s happy, of course. Damian and Jason are, on some level, brothers. And it will be good for Damian to have Jason’s trust for when they meet Batman.
But that’s just it. Jason and Damian are brothers. Batman’s sons.
Tim isn’t anyone’s brother. Tim isn’t anyone’s son.