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Something felt… strange.
And while nothing in his life could really be called normal, this was truly strange.
Jason had begun reintegrating into the family about 6–7 months ago and things were going well; he had reconciled with Bruce and spent time with his brothers, they patrolled together, and although he almost never agreed to stay at the manor unless it was for a case, it was noticeable that he was happy to be back. The only concern the other family members had was how Jason would take the fact that there was now another brother in the house—Damian. This, added to the fact that they were, objectively, the two most irritable and hot-headed people in the family, made everyone worry a bit about how those two would behave together (Tim and Dick already had a bet on which one would be the first to explode in the few interactions in which they had to coexist).
And that was what was strange—they seemed to get along… well.
The doubts began one night; all the Bats were present, fighting a large number of goons while Batman handled the main threat. And due to how everyone was moving, Damian and Jason ended up in the same sector. This made Dick, who was the only one who had seen them so far, worry. Not because he didn’t trust his brothers and their abilities, but because Jason and Damian had been together in very few combat situations and their styles were extremely territorial—they struck without restraint, almost like hurricanes, and nobody wants two hurricanes colliding. They could both end up hurt by the other's techniques without meaning to.
So you can imagine Dick’s shock when he saw that as soon as they realized the other was beside them, they both switched their fighting style into something much more methodical.
What surprised him the most was the trust: Jason didn’t attack everyone in his line of sight, only the necessary ones, because he knew Damian would cover him—and vice versa. That kind of harmony doesn’t just appear; it has to be practiced. And as far as Dick knew, they barely saw each other, let alone practiced enough to develop that level of synchronicity. And their expressions confused him even more—they were smiling. But not sadistically or in a way that showed adrenaline had overtaken them. No—these were calm smiles, familiar, almost nostalgic.
He wasn’t able to ask or investigate later, because after that fight they all headed to the Cave to treat their injuries, and the situation he had witnessed was forgotten amidst the laughter in the Cave and the exhaustion that made his eyelids grow heavy.
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It all started with a scream.
Tim was calm when he heard shouting from across the hall—the shouting coming from Damian’s room—so he decided to go investigate and, above all, rescue the idiot who had decided to bother him. Although he could already guess who it was; after all, Jason was the one who least understood Damian’s temper and that it was better not to bother him, especially if he was in his room.
When Tim stepped out to basically pick up Jason’s remains, he found them both in the doorway—Damian pushing Jason to get him to leave, while the older one seemed to have no intention of moving.
“I told you to get out!” the ten-year-old shouted while trying to shove Jason away with all his strength, but Jason simply stood there, leaning more and more of his weight onto Damian. “I would, Dami, I swear, but I feel like gravity is dragging me down,” he said as he slowly let himself fall backward—onto Damian. “Don’t you dare use a Lilo & Stitch reference right now—and especially not that one!” the kid snapped, struggling to remain standing. “Why wouldn’t I? It is your favorite movie,” (How did Jason know that?) With that said, Jason dropped his full weight onto Damian, making them both fall—Damian being crushed while Jason looked victorious.
Tim stared in shock. He was pretty sure anyone else who had tried something like that with Damian would currently be getting treated by Alfred or Leslie. Yet there was Jason, on top of Damian, as if it were an everyday occurrence. Though Damian wasn’t about to stay defeated; it didn’t take long for him to bite Jason’s arm, startling him enough for Damian to slip free. “Ouch!” “I warned you,” Damian said with a smile clearly meant to annoy Jason. Jason smiled back and lunged at him, starting a fight full of shouts and insults from both sides.
Due to the noise, Dick and Bruce came upstairs to see what was happening, worried expressions turning into surprise upon seeing the scene. Even though they were fighting, it was obvious it wasn’t a real fight; the hits were controlled and aimed at places that didn’t hurt much. It was a fight, yes—but a playful one, the way siblings fight. That was what surprised the spectators the most. Jason had reintegrated only recently and wasn’t often at the manor (the fact he was here was rare enough—his presence was needed for a case because of his information networks and knowledge of Crime Alley, so he had come for the day). And during patrol, Robin rarely crossed paths with Red Hood unless it was a planned ambush requiring the whole team.
The three spectators decided to leave the scene, knowing clearly neither of the two would seriously hurt the other, and each went to their rooms to rest.
Bruce lay down in his bed, still thinking about the scene he had just witnessed. As surprising as it was to see those two playing like that, he couldn’t help but feel happy. Ever since arriving at the manor, Damian had always tried to act older than he was—and Bruce understood that. After all, you don’t survive in the League of Assassins acting your age. Bruce had lost hope of ever seeing Damian behave like a child, even assuming that was Damian’s true personality. It had almost been a year since he arrived, and he seemed comfortable. But after what Bruce saw today, it was clear—Damian could act like a child his age; he could have fun, smile, and laugh genuinely.
He would have to thank Jason at some point.
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It had been a rough night.
Everyone was heading to the showers, tired and sore. Those who had been injured had already taken care of themselves—everyone except one. Once everyone was showered and in comfortable clothes, the brothers sat together talking quietly. Everything was calm… except for Jason’s gaze, fixed and analytical, on Damian.
After a few minutes, Jason sighed, walked over to where Damian was sitting, and knelt to be at his eye level.
“Where?” Jason asked without context. Everyone fell silent, watching. Jason was serious—very serious.
“I don’t know what you’re talki—” Damian didn’t finish, Jason cut him off.
“Yeah, yeah, save that for the others. I recognize that look—the look of someone hiding something. And if you keep denying it, I swear I’ll drag you to Alfred myself. It’s been a long night and I don’t have patience.”
They stared each other down for several seconds, both wearing intimidating expressions, until Damian closed his eyes and let out a resigned sigh.
“Dislocated shoulder and broken ribs.”
Everyone else stared at him.
“Dami, why didn’t you say anything?” Dick asked, looking worried.
“It wasn’t necessary. Besides, I didn’t want to compromise the ambu—”
“Are you kidding me?! You decided to hide a dislocated shoulder and broken ribs to not ruin the damn mission? God, you really have zero self-preservation,” Jason snapped angrily.
Dick shot him a scolding look.
“Jason, you don’t have to—”
Jason cut him off again.
“Whatever you say, Dickhead, but this is between Damian and me. If I hadn’t been here, you all would’ve let him go to bed injured because you didn’t notice.”
Everyone fell silent, staring at the floor. He was right.
Jason looked back at Damian, his expression much softer now.
“What time did this happen?”
Damian looked almost ashamed. “Around two.”
It was four in the morning.
Jason exhaled. “Okay, we’re going to the infirmary.”
Jason stood, and Damian followed—but something caught the others’ attention: Damian had taken Jason’s hand and was sticking very close to him, almost seeking protection.
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About 30 minutes later, Dick decided to check on Damian. The door was slightly open. Just as he was about to enter, he stopped when he heard Jason’s voice—but it wasn’t angry or disappointed. It was soft, steady, and worried.
“Seriously, habibi, you can’t do this. Because you hid your injuries and kept fighting, they’re going to hurt more now and take longer to heal.” Jason was sitting beside Damian, running a hand through his hair. “Since you hid the shoulder injury, it hurt much more when they had to pop it back in place.”
Damian was leaning almost all his weight on Jason, eyes closed.
“It hurt…”
Hearing that, Jason pulled him into a hug.
“I know, habibi, I know.”
“Can you sleep with me tonight? Please, akhi?” Damian asked, half-asleep already in his brother’s arms.
“Of course. Now go to your room and try to sleep. I’ll clean up what we used.”
Once told, Damian stood and headed for the exit.
Knowing he’d get caught spying if he stayed, Dick hurried up the stairs.
He couldn’t believe what he had just seen—not only Damian allowing himself to be hugged and admitting something hurt, but also Jason immediately agreeing to stay the night when Damian asked.
Not to mention the nicknames, definitely not in English but in Damian’s mother tongue.
But how did Jason know Arabic? And since when did they call each other that?
Those questions would have to wait. He’d investigate later. For now, he needed to sleep before fainting on one of the staircases.
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The whole family woke up abruptly.
They heard screams—but not screams of anger. Screams of terror.
Bruce reacted immediately. After so many children he’d had to comfort from nightmares, he was used to finding them and offering reassurance.
He looked for the source and was surprised—they were coming from Damian’s room. Within seconds, the whole family was gathered at the door, unsure how to react. This was the first time something like this happened to Damian.
Damian screamed uncontrollably:
“أمي، أخي، أرجوكما لا تذهبا. إذا أخطأتُ شيئًا، سأصلحه، لكن أرجوكما لا تذهبا!”
Everyone froze. Damian kept mumbling in Arabic—words none of them understood. His eyes were red from crying so much, and he was clearly trembling.
Bruce decided to enter—language barrier or not, he had done this with Dick when he only spoke Romani. But he didn’t even make it two steps before a figure ran past him, rushed to Damian, hugged him tightly and protectively, whispering words in that same language Bruce assumed none of them knew.
He was wrong—because when he focused his eyes, he saw Jason—his second son, who he was certain had never learned Arabic under his watch—comforting Damian.
“استرخي يا عزيزتي، أنا هنا، تنفسي,” he murmured, tightening his embrace around his little brother, whose knuckles had gone white from clutching Jason’s shirt so tightly.
No one knew how to react. And apparently, Jason realized that. He looked at them and said:
“I’ve got this. Go to sleep.”
They understood the message: they needed to leave, because none of them would get any sleep after this.
Once they were out of the room and far enough away to talk normally without being overheard, the questions began.
“Okay, did anyone understand what just happened in there?” Dick asked, worried.
“Clearly not. Do I look like a polyglot to you?” Tim replied—funny, considering he spoke five languages.
“Since when does Jason speak Arabic, and since when is he the one who can calm down Damian? I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“Me neither.”
They all turned to Bruce, expecting answers (a habit the Robins all shared—Batman always knew). The only problem was that Bruce was just as confused, though he had to remain calm—or at least pretend to be.
“I have no record of Jason learning Arabic, nor why he’s capable of comforting Damian like that. But the only ones who could answer are… occupied. Let’s go to the kitchen. We can make hot chocolate. None of us are getting any sleep tonight.”
The two sons followed him, sadness in the air. Bruce might not be able to comfort his youngest—but he wouldn’t fail his other children.
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Jason woke up to screaming—not the best way to wake up, but what made him jump out of bed instantly was recognizing the voice behind them.
“Dami,” he said, running to his younger brother’s room.
When he arrived, his whole family was there, watching like statues (“Great way to calm a kid. Shit—weren’t they all supposed to know what to do in situations like this?”). Jason sped up, but what made him run was the next scream:
“Mom, brother, please don’t leave. If I did something wrong, I’ll fix it, but please don’t leave!”
Hearing that, Jason didn’t care about pushing past the others blocking the doorway or passing Bruce, who looked like he was finally going to comfort his son.
“Easy, sweetheart, I’m here. Breathe,” he responded automatically in Arabic. Did Damian speak in Arabic? He didn’t even notice—what mattered was his younger brother waking up screaming for his brother.
He held him tighter when he noticed the three spectators (“Dami’s not gonna like this”), but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that three statues were staring at a boy who already didn’t feel safe, and being watched would only make it worse.
“I’ve got this—go to sleep,” he said, hugging Damian tighter; Damian curled into his chest, face buried in Jason’s neck. Jason could feel his tears.
When he finally heard the door close and the steps fade away (“God, took them long enough to take the hint”), Jason turned all his attention to his little brother.
“Shhhh, easy, habibi, they’re gone. You’re safe now. They won’t bother you.”
Damian lifted his head just enough to look Jason in the eyes.
“They… they stared at me. Like an animal they pity. And then they looked at me worse when I yelled in Arabic, like I was some kind of freak.” He leaned fully back into Jason.
“No, no, none of that. They were just surprised. They don’t understand the language. Bruce was about to go to you when I got there.”
“I… I just let it out. I’ve had many nightmares where I held back the screams.”
Jason felt guilty. How many nights would his little brother have called for him if he could? If Jason had let go of the past sooner? If he had stayed the night more often?
“Why didn’t you say anything, habibi? Maybe not scream, but at least try to go to someone’s room for company.”
He felt Damian curl tighter into him, letting out a sob. Jason hugged him tight, whispering comforting words while Damian cried loudly.
After a few minutes, Damian stopped, pulled away slightly, and prepared to speak.
“Because they’d look at me weird. I tried following your advice—to adapt here, to feel safe, to act like I do with you—but every time I try, they look at me like I’m a mistake. Like the only thing I can do is hate. I… I can’t take their stares anymore like I’m some zoo animal. I already have to deal with that at galas because of my skin color and features—even though it’s not my fault I look like Mom. But I can’t deal with those stares at home too.”
The boy began to sob again, as if he had held it all in during his entire speech. He pulled his knees to his chest and hugged them, head bowed. He wanted safety—wanted to feel at home (“Is that such a difficult thing to ask?”), he wondered as he curled tighter.
After hearing him and seeing him fold into a small ball, Jason couldn’t take it. He approached, lifted his little brother’s face so he could look at him. Damian’s eyes and cheeks were red from crying and panic.
“I’m sorry you felt that way. That I wasn’t there for you at that moment. But I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Damian’s eyes lit up—not from tears, but from hope.
“Do you promise?”
Jason pulled him into a hug, Damian melting instantly into the embrace as Jason lay them both down on the bed.
“I promise.”
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After calming his brother, Damian fell into a deep sleep. Jason would’ve loved to stay beside him, but first he needed to talk to his family. He wouldn’t reveal anything Damian had told him—that was Damian’s choice, for when he felt comfortable.
He headed to the kitchen; he knew his family well enough to know they’d be there. And indeed, as soon as he entered, three worried faces turned toward him.
Bruce opened his mouth to say something but Jason, exhausted mentally and physically, cut him off.
“Listen—he’s much calmer now. He fell asleep a few minutes ago, and I doubt he’ll wake up soon, he was exhausted.”
They all sighed in relief.
“But listen. I’m not answering any questions. That’s for Dami to decide—when and where he tells you. And you’d better not ask him anything tomorrow or ever, because that kid has been through enough… He’ll tell you when he feels safe, which he doesn’t.
Jesus, aren’t you supposed to be heroes? Isn’t being good with kids part of the job description?”
Their gazes fell to the floor, heavy with guilt.
“I’m going back to Dami’s room. I’ve had enough for one day.”
With that, the second eldest left without saying another word, leaving the others drowning in guilt and regret. If they thought they wouldn’t be able to sleep before, now they were certain.
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Tim was walking through the manor when he heard noise in the living room. He headed over to see the cause, and when he entered, he found Damian and Jason sitting on the couch—Damian clearly glued to Jason’s side, leaning against him. They were playing a video game—Mario Bros.—but something seemed odd.
“Since when do we have a Wii in the house?”
Without taking his eyes off the level they were beating, Jason answered, “Since I bought one this morning.”
“You do know we have the new Nintendo, right? You could’ve played Mario on that.”
Jason snorted. “Yeah, but this one has something the new one doesn’t—and that makes it the best.”
“What’s that?”
“Colored Yoshis.”
Sure enough, when Tim got closer, he saw Mario and Blue Toad beside two freshly-hatched Yoshis—one blue, one yellow. When Mario climbed onto the blue one, Jason yelled, “Don’t you dare! That’s MY Yoshi, always has been!”
Damian simply replied, “Well, I’m already on it, so I guess you lost.” Toad mounted the yellow one—but Jason laughed evilly.
“Oh, sweet child, you may have learned everything you know from me… but not everything I know.”
The yellow Yoshi stuck out its tongue, swallowed Damian, and spat him straight into a cliff. Toad hopped onto the blue Yoshi and kept going, deliberately avoiding Damian’s bubble.
“Hey!”
“Sorry, but that’s what you get for thinking the apprentice surpassed the master after one hour of gameplay.”
Jason finished the level without popping Damian’s bubble, and the younger was pouting and making frustrated noises.
Tim laughed at the scene—he played a lot of games, but never thought to invite Damian.
Jason turned toward him.
“Come on, Timbo! Get over here and join—we can still add one more player.”
Tim accepted immediately. He always played alone, after all. And playing with his brothers made his heart dance with joy. After a childhood spent mostly alone, this was the first time he had been invited to play.
They spent the rest of the morning like that—teasing Damian for being inexperienced, and Jason leaving the other two in their bubbles as punishment whenever they misbehaved. The only thing that stopped them was Alfred calling them for lunch, which they went to with smiles on their faces.
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Bruce was known for being the most paranoid man on the planet—especially regarding his children—but he had reason for it.
In recent days, he had noticed his youngest and his second eldest were acting strange—not the old kind of strange, but worried.
A normal person wouldn’t notice, but he was the world’s greatest detective—Batman—and, above all, their father. He saw it in their faces, in Jason’s grimaces, or the way Damian clung closer to Jason—not in a cute way, but as if seeking protection.
So when his two sons left the manor one day, giving Alfred cheap excuses to pass on to Bruce, he didn’t hesitate to go after them. His other sons insisted on going too, and he reluctantly agreed. If he said no, they would go anyway, so he preferred keeping them in sight.
His sons had left at 7 PM; it was now 10 and they hadn’t returned. According to Alfred, they had gone out in civilian clothes, but since it was night, the three decided to search in costume.
After half an hour of searching, they found them on a rooftop, still in civilian clothing—but what worried Bruce was that they weren’t alone.
It wasn’t clear at first, but the third person was a woman, tall, wearing a cloak, approaching his boys.
Something in Bruce’s brain clicked—Talia al Ghul.
Why was she here talking to his sons? He had been clear that he didn’t want the League of Assassins in Gotham, and although she was Damian’s mother, he couldn’t trust her. He analyzed the situation carefully, trying to form a plan—until he saw her approaching Jason.
That was the last straw. Damian might not be harmed by his mother, but Jason didn’t know her, and she wouldn’t hesitate to kill him to take Damian—or kill him just because.
Bruce leapt to the rooftop without thinking. He wasn’t going to lose Jason again.
He heard the others follow him without questions—surely thinking the same.
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Talia loved her children. Yes—children, plural. Because ever since she had rescued Jason in a catatonic state and submerged him in the Lazarus Pit, he had become her son. Obviously she couldn’t say this out loud—her father would never accept it—but when they were in her chambers, she made sure he knew. She had always told Damian that Jason was his brother, and that they had to help him however they could during his recovery.
She loved them, and she would do anything for them.
So when she realized her father was going to kill Jason, she sent him away, making it look as if he had escaped. And when Damian was in danger, she sent him to Gotham. She knew her other son was there too, which made Damian accept leaving her side much faster.
She would do anything for them—even, painfully, let them go.
But that didn’t mean she spent two years doing nothing. She made plans, bribed people, convinced almost the entire League to swear loyalty to her, not her father. It wasn’t easy, but to keep her children safe and eventually see them again, everything was worth it.
When her plan finally worked, and her father was dead and cremated so no one would dare try anything with his body, she did the one thing she had wanted for years—to see her children.
She sent them letters explaining what had happened and that as soon as the League stabilized, she would go to see them. It took a week, but at last, everyone accepted her as their new leader.
She went to Gotham as fast as she could and told her children where to meet her.
She arrived at the meeting place—a rooftop in Crime Alley. Her two children waited there, in the flesh.
“Hello, my dears,” she said with a genuine smile.
“Hi, Mom,” they both replied at the same time, excitement clear on their faces.
“It was difficult, but after two years Ra’s is dead. I am the new leader. You’re safe now, my loves.” She approached Jason. “And as leader, my first order is to welcome you into the family. From now on, you are a—”
“Don’t you dare take another step, Talia. Stay away from them.”
All three turned toward the voice. Batman stood there, with Nightwing and Red Robin.
Jason and Damian looked confused.
“Father, what do you mean ‘stay away’? She’s our mother.”
“That doesn’t mean she isn’t part of the League of Assassins. Maybe you are safe, but Jay isn’t. She doesn’t know him—she could kill him without remorse.”
That burned inside Talia’s heart.
“Excuse me, Bruce, but I am quite certain I know my two sons. Where do you think Jason was during the three years missing from your reports? And what do you think I have been doing for the past two years if not killing my father so they could be safe?”
The three heroes stared at her— despite their domino masks, their shock was obvious.
“Wait—you… Jason… what is going on?”
“For a family with the two best detectives in the world, you really fell short,” Damian said as he walked with Jason toward their mother, who received them with a loving embrace.
Suddenly everything made sense—the familiarity, the jokes, the security Jason gave Damian, everything. Their minds filled with all the moments that, if connected, made it obvious. Two of their sons apparently shared a mother with Talia.
Dick let out a tired sigh.
“Nothing in our family tree can ever be normal, can it?”