Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Steph starts her spring break on a sunny Friday morning—a whole day early—and, as things stand, there are only a couple of detours between her and home.

The fresh start had been a welcome change. She transferred from Gotham U and went out of state, way out, all the way to the opposite coast. Expanding her horizons, putting what’s passed in the past, meeting new people and all that jazz.

And it’s been great, living where the sun decides to show its face once in a while, and where she doesn’t need to keep a knife in her purse when she goes to the grocery store in the middle of the day. But she thinks she’ll always be drawn back to Gotham, in a way only other born-and-bred Gothamites could understand.

Her usual study buddies sure didn’t understand, to the point of being worried for her life when she talked about how excited she is to return to such an infamously dangerous, crime-infested city such as Gotham. And they seemed just as worried about the fact that she’s so excited to go home for her ex-boyfriend (but-now-just-good-friend)’s wedding.

She is excited, though. Really excited, for the rehearsal dinners and the parties and the groom-teasing. It’ll be good to see the Wayne kids again. Especially Cass, who’s been in Hong Kong the past few months and difficult to get ahold of. And Tim, the groom-to-be, who, judging by his texts, is suffering daily freakouts from stressing over venue problems and the guest list and how to rearrange the seating plan now that Tam’s second-cousins from out-of-country have changed their minds and decided to attend. The last time Steph heard from Tim his problem du jour was centered around the upcoming rehearsal dinner. She understands his anxiety—when the entire family gets together for an event, things have a tendency to get out-of-hand. Destructively so.

As long as the wedding doesn’t end up like Cass’s twenty-first birthday a few years back, when Cass lost control of her new motorcycle and nearly ran over Tim and the mayor of Gotham before crashing into the marble fountain. Or like that New Year’s banquet even further back when Damian made a little girl cry, causing her older brother to come to her defence, and when Dick tried to intervene he got pushed by the other teen and toppled over a loaded buffet table, throwing shrimp everywhere.

None of that will happen, of course. At least not again.

It’ll probably be something worse.

For now, Steph relishes this short moment of peace and satisfaction. It’s spring break. She’s got four midterm papers behind her, sipping a overly expensive and ridiculously sugary iced coffee smothered in whipped cream, wearing clean clothes instead of the smelly pyjamas she’s been living in lately, and soon she’ll be flying first-class across the country for what she’s sure will be the most lavish wedding she’ll ever see. Livin’ the glam life.

She wishes she could bottle up and save the feeling because chances are all of it’s going straight down the drain once she gets a certain Damian Wayne-al Ghul, twelve-year-old patience-tester extraordinaire, in her car.

Finding the house is easier than she thought it’d be, minus the part where she took a wrong turn in the expensive, sprawling neighbourhood because she was craning her neck and squinting to see if that man walking his dog was the celebrity she thought he was. She just drives uphill, to the most impressive house behind the largest set of gates, and she knows she’s there.

She smiles at the cameras and gets buzzed in at the gate. As she goes slowly up the long driveway, she tries to keep her eyes ahead but there’s so much to look at. Fountains and lush trees and extravagant gardens in full bloom. Part of her worries some exotic animals, like peacocks, will burst out of the decorative shrubbery and run in front of her tires.

Though she’s been to Wayne Manor countless times, she’s never been to one of the al Ghul houses. It’s not as big as the Manor, but it’s jaw-droppingly gorgeous, all smooth stone and pillars, and probably worth just as much, if not more.

…and this is just one of the al Ghuls’ many homes scattered around the globe, she reminds herself, awed.

Steph honks her car horn as she gets closer to the mansion and sees the boy in the green hooded sweatshirt sitting on the wide stone steps, backpack and suitcase ready and waiting beside him.

No matter how many times she honks and waves at him, he doesn’t look up from the cell phone in his hands. He outright ignores her until she’s standing right in front of him.

“You’re only fourteen minutes late,” he says, giving her only a cursory glance before returning his focus to his phone, typing away. He seems displeased to see her, but he’s waiting for her here, outside, so that’s got to prove a little eagerness. “An improvement.”

"I aim to please."

"And, as always, miss the mark,” he retorts as he stands and slings his backpack over his shoulder, and Steph grins despite herself. Yep, she’s definitely missed the little brat.

She spreads her arms. “How about a hug? It’s been forever since I’ve seen you, Damian.”

Thinking back, it’s been since last summer when she and him were both back in Gotham. Nearly a year already, and it shows in how much he’s grown. He’s gained a few inches and crossed that line from grumpy kid to angry almost-teenager. Lost some of the baby fat in his face that made his scowls look so cute and chubby-cheeked, which makes Steph a bit sad. His short, bristly hair seems to have gotten longer—his head is mostly hidden under the hood of his sweater, but she can see strands of spiky bangs against his forehead.

He suffers through her hug, standing stiff as a board and continuing to scroll through a feed on his phone as he waits for her to release him. It’s still one of the better hugs she’s gotten out of him—when he was younger he used to squirm and scratch.

As soon as she starts to let go he twists out of her arms and walks briskly to the car, leaving his suitcase sitting on the steps.

“Umm,” Steph begins. She might be driving him to the airport but she’s not hischauffeur. He doesn’t turn back, so, sighing, she picks it up and carries it to the car herself. The suitcase isn’t very heavy. He’s a lighter packer than her, that’s for sure. Must be used to traveling from all the times he’s bounced back-and-forth between his parents and tagged along with them on trips across the world.

“This is your car?” Damian asks, lips curling into a sneer as his sharp eyes find every small dent and patch of rust, and Steph’s hurt.

She’s used to him viciously insulting her, and her intelligence, and her clothes, and her life choices, but her car? That’s crossing a line. She adores her car. Sure, it’s old—very old, built before she was born—and it’s seen some wear and tear, but it’s definitely had some major refurbishment done to it by a past owner or two, and it runs fine. It’s never let her down so far.

And how lucky was she to find a car in her favourite shade of purple at her price range?

“How old is this monstrosity?” Damian delivers a small kick to a rear tire, as though testing to see if the vehicle will fall apart at a touch. “You own an impressive piece of history, Brown—one of the innovative breakthroughs of steam technology.”

“Yes, Damian, it totally runs on a steam engine,” Steph deadpans, slamming the trunk shut. “Tweet tweet, all aboard!”

Steph slides into the drivers seat, and Damian, instead of sitting up front with her, crawls into the backseat and buckles up there, where he can easily ignore her. He cranks up the volume on his phone—she can hear the tinny music from his blaring earbuds, can almost make out the lyrics.

Ah, so that’s how it’s going to be, she thinks, shifting into drive.

At a red light, Steph glances around at the boy in the backseat. His arms are crossed stubbornly as he gazes out the window, a frown cemented on his face.

"Damian…" She reaches back and waves her hand in front of his face for his attention. "Damian!"

She can almost feel his glare piercing the back of her seat, and the faint, thumping beat of his music disappears when he hits pause.

"What?"

"I just want to know what’s got you so moody today. Should I chalk it up to hormones, or is something wrong? C’mon, you can tell me."

“I told Mother I don’t require a babysitter on this trip,” he says irritably, after a stubborn, silent pause. “I’m not a child. I can travel by myself.”

“Hey, I’m not trying to babysit,” Steph says, throwing him a reassuring smile as she shoulder-checks to switch lanes. “We’re both headed to Gotham, we might as well look out for each other, you know? Your parents just want to make sure everything goes smoothly.”

An unconvinced -tt- comes from the backseat. He doesn’t buy it.

“So how’s school been treating you?” asks Steph, trying to keep the conversation rolling. “Are you on spring break right now, is that why you’re back in the country?”

"I don’t go to school. I have private tutors."

“I thought your mom was making you go to that fancy private school near London?”

“That was last year.”

“Oh.” Steph remembers something Tim mentioned a while back. “Right, didn’t you get expelled?”

"Mother withdrew me because the headmaster was a brainless plebeian deluded enough to think himself worthy of respect."

"Okay then."

"Everything I said to him was completely warranted."

"Okay."

Maybe conversation isn’t the best idea. But she keeps trying, determined to get through to him. He answers her questions with terse replies and dismissive grunts that really remind her of his dad. She manages to learn that he’s been traveling with his mother the past few months, and that Talia had business here this week but left two days ago for a sudden business crisis in Rome, leaving Damian behind so he wouldn’t miss the wedding. He doesn’t seem terribly excited about it.

Steph’s plan is working—the forced conversation has Damian frustrated, distracted enough that he doesn’t notice the first wrong turn she takes. But Damian’s a perceptive kid, and he sure doesn’t miss the second one.

“Are you lost, Brown?” he asks snidely. He unbuckles his seatbelt and slides into the front seat. “Our flight leaves in an hour, in case you’ve forgotten. Turn around—we don’t have time for this idiotic bumbling.”

“We’re not exactly headed to the airport. At least, not this airport. First we’ve got to make a little stop over in Star City.”

“Why—”

“Because,” she interrupts, “according to Roy Harper, that’s where Jason is right now.”

He fixes Steph with a glare that probably makes his parents bend to his wishes, but it doesn’t work on her. “This constitutes kidnapping. That is a felony, Brown.”

"Oh, hush. It’s not kidnapping. Your dad knows about it. Sorta. Well, Dick knows about it. It was mostly his idea. Don’t worry, we’re still headed to Gotham. It’s just a tiny detour. We’re going to pick up Jason, and then the three of us are going to fly first-class to Gotham from Star City this afternoon. It’s all been arranged.”

Damian looks like he wants to scream abuse at her. Like he has a thousand stinging insults for her but he simply doesn’t know where to start. This is the closest she’s ever gotten him to speechless—she considers it a victory.

"Just sit back and enjoy the ride,” Steph says breezily. “We can stop for lunch later, get ice cream… I’ll even let you pick the radio station."

He’s stopped listening to her. His earbuds are on full blast again as he texts angrily, jabbing at the buttons with more force than necessary. Already expressing his outrage to Dick, probably.

She knows she and Damian are thinking the exact same thing: with company like this, the hours are going to crawl by.

—

GRAYSON. STOP IGNORING ME.

I can see that you’ve read my messages.

This entire situation is your fault. I demand you explain yourself.

sorry!!! helping alfred boss around the caterers so can’t rly talk. I’m supposed to make sure we have enough silverware.

and alf’s showing them the “right” way to make shrimp puffs and I’m taste-tester lol

I hope you choke.

don’t be mad damian! D: you’ll be here soon! I’ll save you some puffs I promise

This is betrayal, Grayson. You went behind my back to make this happen. Thanks to you I’m going to be stuck on a plane with Brown AND Todd, and you didn’t give me so much as the courtesy of a warning.

it was just really sudden!! but why don’t you try talking to steph? brag about those awards your paintings won

Why don’t you stab yourself in the throat with a salad fork?

just please be good, lil d?? I’ll buy you that video game with the swords and the bloody limbs flying everywhere

Mother bought it for me last week.

I’ll play it with you for HOURS. I’ll let you behead my character as many times as you want, k?

I still hate you.

<3

—

Damian doesn’t say a word for the next few hours, except to mutter what he wanted Steph to order him for lunch at the drive-thru. Other than that, he ignores her entirely—just a gloomy little raincloud in her front passenger seat, giving her the silent treatment and glued to his cell phone.

He doesn’t try to push her out of the moving car and take the steering wheel himself, or make any other attempt to murder her, so that’s nice. It’s really the most peaceable amount of time they’ve spent together, that she can remember.

Miles tick by on the odometer as they drive down an endless stretch of highway. Steph loses count of Volkswagen Beetles after the second hour. She changes the radio station every ten minutes out of sheer boredom. Then, finally, finally, she sees the Star City turnoff. The worst is over. She can almost smell the grey smog and damp streets of her hometown already.

She pulls up in front of Roy’s house, parking on the street and waiting. He’s supposed to be watching for her car. A couple minutes go by and nothing happens. She double-checks the address and sends a text.

After a few more minutes she honks the horn. After that she goes and rings the doorbell. Nobody’s home.

It was supposed to be quick—shove Jason in the car and drive.

Finally, Steph gets a new text from Roy. Change of plans. Anxiously checking the time, she sighs and pulls back into traffic. If they’re to make their flight they can’t afford any more surprises. Jason better cooperate, because she really doesn’t want to have to resort to Plan B. It isn’t pretty.

Roy’s directions lead her to a park in the next neighborhood. “Target sighted,” she says, spotting Jason sitting on a bench with a tall, redheaded woman, watching Roy push his daughter on a swing. “Let’s move out, Damian. Mission time.”

Damian gives a -tt-, but unbuckles his seatbelt and follows.

Jason’s sitting perched up on the backrest of the bench, his battered workboots resting on the seat, smoking a cigarette. Steph recognizes the woman he’s talking to—that supermodel, Kory Anders. The one Dick was dating for so long.

Jason’s chuckling at something she said. The smile drops into a scowl the second he sees Steph and Damian walking up.

“No.” He stands up, drops his cigarette butt on the ground and grinds it out with his heel, and crosses his arms. “There is no way I’m—”

Kory places a hand on his shoulder. “Jason—”

“I said no. I told you guys I’m not going anywhere near that shitstorm. Why do you think I’ve been avoiding Gotham?”

“Jason, we’ve got less than an hour to catch the plane,” says Steph. “We don’t have time to argue. Just come with us. Please.”

“Sorry, can’t go.” Jason says, shrugging carelessly. “I don’t have my bag. Too bad.”

"I’ve got all your stuff in my car.” says Roy. Just a tiny bit smug. “Kory packed it during lunch."

"Screw you. This is cold-hearted betrayal, Harper. Anders." He glowers at both of them in turn. "I told you I wasn’t going to the wedding. I trusted you to help me lie low until it blew over.”

"Well, maybe I got a little sick of you swearing around my daughter."

"I’m sorry!" Jason snaps irritably. "I’m trying not to, I’m just so fu— I mean… hecking—?" He looks at Roy questioningly, to check if that’s any better. Roy rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, I get it. The wedding stuff has you in a bad mood and frankly, you’re a pain in the ass to be around right now. At least go to Gotham and aim it at the right people."

"Jason, this is a very important ceremony—a celebration of family and love,” says Kory. “I think it will be good for you to attend, surely your family will be happy to see you. It cannot be as bad as you are assuming."

"Yes. Yes it can,” Jason says dully. “Bad and worse. At best there’ll be just some bloodshed. At worst there’ll be fire. And I’m actually being optimistic here, because explosions are more probable than you’d think—”

“Jason…” Kory takes his hands in hers and smiles at him imploringly. Her eyes are big and green and infectiously cheerful.

"Crap, you’re doing… that thing,” Jason grumbles. “With the eyes. Cut it out.” She smiles wider and Jason almost gives in. Almost. But then he shakes his head and yanks his hands away. “Look, I’d be okay with just heading over with you and Roy the day of and popping in for a couple hours. That’d be… tolerable. But the shit they want me to do?” He waves a hand angrily at Steph, who knows she’s currently playing the part of stand-in for the rest of his family. “Being part of the rehearsals and the wedding party and— and putting on a suit and smiling for the cameras? Nope. Over my dead body.”

“That can be arranged,” Damian says.

“Squirt, you should be on my side. I know you don’t want to be a part of that disaster either. Back me up and we can go to Disneyland or something instead.”

"Todd, get in the car," he demands impatiently, unswayed. "I will not miss my flight due to your childishness. I want to get this over with, the sooner the better."

“One way or another, we’re taking you to Gotham,” insists Steph. “It’d be really nice if you cooperated so we don’t have to like, tie you up and shove you in my trunk.”

Jason snorts. “You won’t.”

“We don’t want to, but, y’know… desperate times…” Really, it’s the four of them against Jason, and Steph has no doubt that Kory herself could probably take him down—she’s got a good few inches on him.

He must realize he’s beat, no way out, because he heaves a long, annoyed sigh, shoves his hands in his pockets, and trudges off in the direction of Steph’s car. A stray soccer ball rolls across his path and he vents by viciously kicking it across the field, back towards the kids it belongs to.

“Bye, Lian!” he calls over his shoulder. “I’ll see you at the wedding. Oh, and your dad’s a big meanie so give him a hard time for me, okay? Raise some serious heck.”

—

Jason stops dead in his tracks when he sees Steph’s car. He stops and laughs. “I can’t believe it. You have a Pinto?”

“What’s wrong with it?” she asks defensively. First Damian insults her car, now this?

“Seriously? You own one and you don’t know? They’re infamous for catching fire on rear-end collisions. A problem with the fuel tank design—it was a huge deal back in the day. And by that, I mean way before we were born. This thing’s ancient.“ He squints at it appraisingly and pats the hood of the car like he’s patting a dog. “And it’s just a really ugly car. Nice colour though. I like the purple.”

“It’s eggplant,” Steph huffs. “And the woman I bought it from said it was perfectly safe. She’d been driving it for years and nothing happened.” And Steph trusted her—they were kindred spirits. The woman had to have been at least seventy and she was selling the car to buy a motorcycle. Plus, she was the one responsible for the purple paint job. Definitely a kindred spirit.

Jason kicks the rear fender hard, with loud metal thunk.

“Hey!” Steph exclaims angrily, kneeling down and checking for a dent. “Stop hurting my car!”

“Just checking,” Jason says breezily, opening the passenger side door and taking a seat. “Guess you were right—seems fine.”

“I’m not getting in that,” states Damian, now eyeing the vehicle warily. “It’s unsafe. Defective.”

“There is nothing wrong with my car,” Steph insists. “Jason, tell him you were making that up. Tell him that it’s fine.”

Jason scratches his chin, thoughtful. “Well, yeah, the story was definitely blown a bit out of proportion. But you never know…” he finishes ominously.

“You rode in it all the way here and nothing happened, remember?” Steph reminds Damian, pushing him by the shoulder towards the car. “Besides, it’s just a short drive to the airport. Then you’ll never have to get in it again, I promise.”

“If I die, my parents will see you put in jail for the rest of your life,” Damian warns darkly, finally getting in the backseat and buckling his seatbelt.

Steph rolls her eyes as she shifts out of park. Right now a nice, quiet solitary cell doesn’t sound so bad.

—

“What is taking so long?” Damian snaps when Steph finally gets back from the ticket check-in desk. The airport is packed with spring breakers and it takes a lot of weaving between the crowd of people and suitcases just for Steph to reach where the boys are sitting, where they’ve been waiting with the luggage while she was trying to sort things out with the ticket people.

“They won’t let us fly,” she says quietly, clutching their tickets tightly in her fist. She’s still stunned.

His brow wrinkles in confusion. “Why not?”

“Good question—I’m not really sure,” she says through gritted teeth, whirling on Jason. He looks at her questioningly, taking a long, ice-rattling sip of the soda he bought while she was nearly tearing her hair out dealing with a bunch of stubborn, rude, tight-lipped airport officials, and that just makes her angrier. “Why don’t you tell us what the problem is, Jason?”

“Yeah… forgot to mention…” He winces apologetically, and she knows it’s an act. He’s not sorry. He knew this was going to happen. “I had a little… trouble last time I was at an airport. Mostly Roy’s fault, though. Actually, it was all his fault. It had to do with this, uh, gun I had. It ended up becoming this huge deal. We were this close to getting arrested. Barbara was supposed to smooth things over for me, adjust my records to make it like it never happened, but I guess she hasn’t had a chance yet. She’s been really busy. Until that gets fixed, I’m pretty sure no airport’s gonna let me fly.”

“Oh my god,” says Steph, dropping into the chair next to them and pressing her palms against her forehead. She can’t believe this. It’s even worse than she thought. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“Like I said, I thought Barbara dealt with it.”

“Leave him behind,” Damian decrees. “This was a idiotic idea—we would have arrived in Gotham hours ago if you weren’t so intent on dragging him along. I refuse to be stuck in an airport for hours more waiting for another flight just because Todd’s a delinquent and you’re delusional.”

"Yes!" Jason agrees emphatically, throwing his arms up in the air. "Leave me behind!Please. I vote for the squirt’s plan.”

Steph ignores him. Both of them. “I’m going to go talk to the ticket people again.” She stands up and straightens the hem of her shirt, preparing for battle. She even puts on her war face. “There has to be something I can do to convince them to let us on the plane.”

“Good luck with that,” Jason tells her, taking another sip of his drink. He’s smirking at her around the straw.

—

Twenty-five minutes later, Steph stumbles back to the chairs where she left the others. Today’s the closest she’s ever come to begging on her knees and hugging someone’s legs pleadingly. She would’ve done it too, without any shame, if she knew it had a chance of convincing them. But realistically she’d just get evacuated from the airport for being a huge creepy weirdo.

"How’d it go?” Jason asks. He has a bag of pretzels from a vending machine and Steph steals a handful from him because she’s starving. She shakes her head as an answer.

“Where’s Damian?”

“He went to go talk to somebody, like you were doing,” says Jason, waving in a vague direction. “He thought he could accomplish something by throwing around his Wayne-al Ghul influence.”

Steph’s stomach drops in horror. “Shit. Oh— oh shit. Please no.” She glances around frantically for the boy, looking for the trail of blood and screaming bystanders. Jason watches her in amusement, eating pretzels leisurely like this is the most entertaining comedy he’s ever seen.

A couple minutes ago Steph thought things couldn’t get worse, and now… Yep, that’s Damian walking towards them. And just as she predicted, that’s a security guard with him, frowning sternly, one hand clamped on the boy’s shoulder.

—

For the third time, Steph has to explain while under the suspicious stare of an authority figure that no, she’s not Damian’s family but she has letters from both his parents and all the right paperwork showing she has permission to take him on a plane. And besides, his brother his here too. No, they’re not actually related… but legally theyare brothers. It’s complicated, see— they’re Bruce Wayne’s kids. Y’know, the Bruce Wayne?

And after much rambling and apologizing and begging the security guard lets them go, personally escorting them and their bags outside and giving a heavily hinted warning to not come back. Ever.

Steph takes a grateful breath of the outdoor air that smells like thick car exhaust and freedom—it’s so much better than the handcuffs and interrogation room she’d been terrified were looming over their heads—and then reality comes crashing down. They’re not arrested, but they’re still screwed.

“You threatened to stab someone with a pen?” Jason asks his younger brother.

Damian has his arms crossed, scowling at his feet. “She was being infuriating on purpose.”

“I didn’t even know they put twelve-year-olds on the no-fly list.” Jason sounds a bit impressed.

Steph checks the time on her phone. “Well, we’ve missed our plane,” she says hollowly, kneading her temples with her fingertips. “I’m doing it. I’m calling Alfred.”

There’s a collective wince of dread.

“Tell him to send one of the private jets,” says Damian. “I don’t see why they didn’t arrange one for us to begin with. Father owns several.”

“His company owns several,” Jason corrects.

“And Father owns the company.”

“Yeah, but most of the time the planes are being used. The company bigwigs need them for meetings in other countries. You know that.” Jason shrugs, digging a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket. “I’m just saying I won’t hold my breath.”

"Mother owns jets as well."

"Shh!" Steph admonishes, one hand covering her free ear in an attempt to drown out the noise of the street so she can hear her phone. "Quiet for a minute, I’m trying to— Hi, Alfred! Yeah, it’s me. How’s the wedding prep going?” She chuckles nervously as she listens. “…You serious? Oh, wow, I’m glad you got that under control… Us? We’re good. Wait, I mean— no, we’re actually not, that’s why I’m calling… You’re right, we are supposed to be on the plane right now.” She frowns at Jason and Damian accusingly, then lets out a long-suffering sigh. “But there’s been a problem. I hate to break it to you, but your grandsons are huge security risks. I know, big shock right? They’ve both been blacklisted from commercial flights. Maybe for life, I don’t know.”

Steph listens, nodding and mmhmm-ing while Jason and Damian exchange nervous glances. If there’s one thing they’re frightened of, it’s Alfred’s displeasure. As they should be. When she hangs up, Jason’s tossing his pack of cigarettes from hand-to-hand like he’s considering lighting up a second one and Damian’s on his own cell phone, making rapid, clipped demands in a language Steph doesn’t recognize.

“Alfred said—” Steph begins, but Damian holds up a hand to quiet her and says something particularly biting and hostile into his phone. Steph can’t understand the language and yet she knows he just called someone an idiot, or worse. She turns to Jason. “Alfred said the jets are all tied up overseas. There was this giant conference—in Switzerland, I think?—and then this big strike at a couple airports… Just bad luck.” She guesses that’s the theme of the day. “We probably won’t get a plane until Monday, at the earliest. That’s if we’re lucky.”

Damian hangs up as angrily as he can on a touchscreen, jabbing at it ferociously with his finger. “Useless,” he complains irritably. “Grandfather is in one of his moods and Mother had to travel to the castle he holed himself up in to stop him from enacting plans to take over the world, or something equally foolish. It’s on top of a mountain in the middle of nowhere. I cannot get in contact with either of them and Mother’s people are incompetent, no help whatsoever. No respect. I hope she fires them all.“

“Sounds like we’re stuck here,” Jason says, pleased. “Too bad.”

Steph’s about to make a retort when she hears the loud, rapid clicking of a camera shutter, a sound that’s unmistakable to her after all the time she’s spent with Tim. She turns at the same time as Jason and Damian, and all three of them get a faceful of blinding camera flash.

She sometimes forgets that the Wayne boys are famous. Famous enough to have their own paparazzi stalkers.

Jason swears angrily beside her and grabs two of their suitcases. “We gotta get out of here,” he says, shoving Steph forwards. She and Damian pick up the rest of their bags and they all sprint to the parking lot, followed every step of the way by the clicks and flashes of the camera.

—

Steph pulls into a gas station parking lot, jacked up on adrenaline from her very first medium-speed car chase. They lost the paparazzi about a dozen blocks ago but she kept zigzagging between streets for a while after, just to be sure. It takes her a minute to pry her hands from the steering wheel, she’s been gripping it so tightly.

They head into the convenience store in search of food, since Steph is still starving. She scarfs down a prepackaged sandwich without stopping to worry about how long it’s been sitting on display. Then she’s scanning the shelves for her favourite kind of peanuts when she spots the little wire display stand of maps.

“Did you know…” She sneaks up behind Jason and Damian, wrestling with an unfolded map of the country, tracing a path across it with her finger. “From where we are right now, it would only take us about… forty-something hours to reach Gotham? We’d get there before the wedding, with plenty of time to spare.”

Jason shakes his head. “No, we won’t. Know why? Because after an hour the demon brat will have had enough and decide to murder both of us, then bury us in unmarked graves. He might make it in time for the wedding, though.”

Damian, browsing the nearby candy rack, neither confirms or denies Jason’s prediction. “Driving to Gotham is a terrible idea, Brown,” is all he says.

“You got any better ideas, then? Because we don’t have a lot of options. I mean, right now I’m scared of even setting foot in an airport with either of you because Iknow what’ll happen and I really, really don’t want to get arrested.” She supposes they could try a train… but the boys are bound to find some way to ruin that, too. She just can’t trust them around any commercial transportation.

“That won’t be a problem if we fly private,” says Damian. “Probably.”

“Probably,” Steph repeats under her breath. Probably. That isn’t too reassuring.

Damian yanks the map out of her hands, nearly ripping it, and examines it briefly. “Besides, you haven’t factored in stops for fuel, food, and other necessities…” He shakes his head like a teacher evaluating a hopeless student’s work. “And, if you want to stop at night to sleep, that’s approximately another twelve to sixteen hours overall. Unless you and Todd are taking shifts driving and sleeping.”

“No, he doesn’t get to drive. People that are mean to my car don’t get to drive it.” She looks at the map over his shoulder, thinking about it. “So, you’re saying it’ll be like… Three-ish days, maybe? That’s still not too bad. It’s still in time for the wedding on Tuesday.” And if by some miracle a private jet does get freed up, it can meet them at an airport on the way.

“You’re not seriously considering this, are you?” Jason groans. “Oh no, you are.”

“This is ridiculous, Brown.” Damian scoffs, wadding the map up into a ball and tossing it at her head vindictively. When she manages to catch it, she feels victorious and he looks annoyed. “You won’t be able to last longer than a day before you give up, mark my words.“

That sounds like a challenge. Steph raises an eyebrow at Damian, and Jason smacks his own forehead with his palm because he can tell she’s now completely committed, if only to prove the brat wrong.

—

“Rule number one,” Steph tells Jason once they’ve turned onto the highway. “No smoking in my car.”

“Gimme a little credit. I’m not that much of a jerk.” Jason fiddles with the radio dial, trying to find a good station, and for a while it’s silent except for the random bursts of noise and music. Damian’s being quiet and sulky in the backseat, hooked up to at least three different electronic devices. His resentful silence is a blessing, considering how mad he is about the impromptu road trip and how miserable he could make the other two if he felt like it.

“What if I kept the window open?” Jason asks. “Then none of the smoke would actually—” He catches the sharp glare Steph shoots his way and rolls his eyes. “I’m kidding. That was a joke.”

“You’re just as funny as I remember,” she remarks, chipper. He laughs.

Unhappy with his first decision, Jason reaches over to the stereo again and goes back to dialling through stations. He’s wearing an old threadbare t-shirt and Steph tries really not to stare at the shiny, stretched burn scars on his arms, from the accident he was in when he was younger, when he almost died. The accident nobody ever talks about.

“How’d you get stuck with brother-wrangling duty anyway?” he asks after he’s finally settled on a station. All classic 80s hits and not half-bad. “Dick forced it on you, right?”

“He asked me. I said yes. I mean, yeah, at the time I thought it was going to go a lot more smoothly, but… what’s done is done, I guess.” She shrugs. Looking at the bright side is the only way she’ll be able to get through this without screaming. “What matters is all of us getting to Gotham in time. I want Tim’s wedding to be as perfect as possible. That means we’ve all got to be there. Even you, believe it or not.”

Jason only grunts in response, watching the cars and signs pass by through the window and brooding in the manner that runs in his family. He taps his finger on his knee to the beat of Hot for Teacher.

“Look, I know you don’t want to go to the—”

“Of course I don’t want to go to the wedding. It’s going to be a circus. Maybe literally, if Dickie’s been sticking his meddling nose into the wedding plans like I know he has.”

“I know,” Steph repeats. “But I was going to say that at least we’re missing most of the rehearsals? I thought you’d be happy about that, since you didn’t want to go to any of those.”

Steph feels bitter disappointment twist in her gut. She did want to go to the rehearsals. She was excited to spend all that time with Tim and Cass and get to know Tam better… And she’ll be missing Tim’s bachelor party, too. That’s happening tomorrow night.

It’s going to be an absolute blast and she’s missing it. Quite possibly the best party she’ll ever have a chance to go to and instead she’s going to be exhausted and chauffeuring Tim’s two surly brothers across the country. For once it’s kinda hard to see a silver lining.

“If I don’t show up in time for rehearsals does that mean I don’t have to be in the wedding party?” Jason asks hopefully.

“Nope. Not unless you want to break Alfred’s heart.”

Jason swears under his breath. “Are you a part of it too?”

“The wedding party? Sort of. I wasn’t at first, but now I’m a fill-in bridesmaid. They had an uneven number and Tim really didn’t want to cut anyone on his side—he had a hard enough time narrowing it down the first time around. The wedding party’s packed because of him. Any more and it totally would be a circus.” She shakes her head as she remembers all the texted freak-outs and the dozens of times she had to assure and reassure him that her feelings wouldn’t be hurt if he left her out. Really, it’s fine. And she’s sure she wasn’t the only one rolling her eyes at slightly-panicked messages from him and promising not to be offended. Eventually he decided on all his siblings—urged by Alfred, no doubt—and his friends Bart and Ives as his groomsmen, with Conner as his best man. (At least, Steph thinks that's everyone.) And all the rest of his friends breathed a collective sigh of relief. “Wait’ll you see Cass in her tux. She looks amazing.”

Steph’s a tiny bit jealous about that, actually. But the bridesmaids dresses Tam picked out are really nice—she and Steph share the same favourite colour. It’s a good sign. Steph’s only met her a couple of times, once when she was in Gotham last summer and then at the engagement party, and both times Tam was really cool and funny and nice. It was actually her, not Tim, who called asking Steph to fill in as a bridesmaid when one of her friends flaked out.

Steph knows they’re going to be good pals, the kind that’ll share very embarrassing stories about Tim while he’s right there, sweating as he listens to what sounds like his wife and former girlfriend conspiring against him. That’s how it goes in Steph’s head, anyway.

Maybe they will decide to conspire against him… But she’s definitely getting ahead of herself.

“Also, me and Dick are going to be the emcees at the reception!” she tells Jason cheerfully. “I get to make a big speech.” She’s been working on it for weeks and she knows it’s going to be fantastic. As long as she can get there in time to give it.

“Cool,” Jason says listlessly. He’s barely been listening. “Is Donna going to be there?”

“Donna… Troy? Umm… I’d say yes, but… I’m not the gal to ask. I’m not one hundred percent sure. Dick’ll know. Text him.”

Jason picks up his phone. He doesn’t type anything, he just looks at the cracked glass of the screen for a moment and then dumps it in the cup holder. “What’s your speech about?”

“Oh, that’s a secret,” she says, winking at him. “You’ll just have to wait and find out.”

—

Standing in front of the gas pump, Steph frowns down at the credit card in her hand. She slips it back into her wallet and turns around to rap on the side window of the car, making Damian look up and scowl at her through the glass.

She motions for him to roll down the window and he does, grudgingly.

“Damian, I was wondering if I could ask you for a teensy favour.”

He’s gone back to texting, but he gives a tilt of his head that she translates as a yes.

“See, my credit card’s close to its limit already and with all the gas stops we’ll need to make, I’m not sure how much more…”

Damian doesn’t wait for her to finish before he’s digging into his backpack for a slim black designer wallet that probably costs more than Steph’s rent for a month. It’s filled with shiny credit cards—ultra, ultra deluxe platinum level cards with near-limitless credit, the bills all footed by his obscenely wealthy parents.

She only gets a peek at the inside of his wallet before he closes it again but that’s definitely a little photo of his dog he’s keeping in there, the way a parent would keep pictures of their kids.

“Here.” He picks out a credit card carelessly and hands it to her like it’s as inconsequential as a stick of gum.

Maybe she should be embarrassed, asking for money from a preteen, but this isn’t any kid. This is Damian, who’s helped make her life a living hell so far today. So she feels no shame in swiping it at the pay n’ pump. “Can I keep it until we get to Gotham? Just to pay for gas and—”

“Fine. I don’t care.”

“I’ll pay you back, I swear.” It just might take her a long, long time. But she’s good on her word.

He gives a -tt-. “Don’t bother. Father won’t notice. He never does.”

“Oh. Okay. Thanks, kiddo.” Steph smiles and reaches out to ruffle his hair, like she used to do when he was younger to make him pout so cutely. His hair is just a bit longer now and looks so fun to tousle that she can’t resist.

He catches her wrist before she can touch him. “Never try that again,” he warns.

—

“So…” Steph says, breaking the silence after a particularly boring stretch of highway. There’s nothing good on the radio, no scenery worth looking at, and no interesting conversation to be had. “What have you been up to lately, Jason? How’s the band going?”

Jason looks up from the textbook he dug out from under the seat. Humanistic psychology. Steph forgot it was there. He must be even more bored than her if he’s resorted to reading that—her prof for that class had chosen the driest, dullest textbook possible. “Band?”

“Yeah. Like, you and Kory Anders and Roy—”

“We’re not a band.” Jason rolls his eyes and flips a few pages. “You read that in one of those terrible magazines, didn’t you?“

“Well, yeah…” she admits. “But Dick and Tim told me, too.”

“That’s because Dick’s a huge gossip that loves spreading false information and Tim’s a little shit trying to make my life miserable as revenge for things I did when we were kids. Like— like when I dropped his GameBoy on the blacktop at recess. Or… or… I can’t even remember. But he’s still holding grudges,” Jason grumbles, and he’s being a little overdramatic. Just a little. He slams the textbook shut irritably. “I let Kory talk us into karaoke night once, and now…“

“So, do you play guitar or drums?” Steph asks, grinning deviously.

Damian scoffs from the backseat. He’s been silent most of the trip so far—every time Steph adjusts the rear-view mirror to check on him he’s focused on a different handheld video game console—but for someone wearing headphones as an excuse to ignore the two of them he somehow never misses an opportunity to pipe in with a smart-aleck remark. “Please. Todd is incapable of playing any instrument more complicated than the triangle.”

“If you guys don’t drop it, I’m going to bail out right now and hitchhike. I swear to—”

“Ok, ok fine. We’ll stop. But please talk to me. I’m sick of the radio and I’m about ten seconds away from screaming, I’m so bored.” Earlier she’d met the eye of the driver passing her on the right and for a moment she very seriously wondered how she could convince him to drag race her, just to liven things up a little. “How’s everything? I heard you haven’t been in Gotham for a while.”

He snorts. “Yeah, because I wanted to keep as much distance as possible between me and any nuclear wedding drama.”

“But even before that—”

“I know. I was joking.” He pulls a pack of something from his pocket. Steph’s about to remind him, oh-so-patiently, about the first rule, but then she sees they’re not cigarettes. They’re the little sugary candy sticks he bought at the last rest stop. He sticks one between his lips and it does look a bit like a cigarette. “I was working with Doc Thompkins a while back, helping out at her clinic. You know Leslie, right? She has the free clinic by Crime Alley, the one that—”

“I know,” says Steph. “I’ve worked with her, too.”

“Right. Right, I remember hearing something like that. You went to Africa with her?” he asks, and she nods. He crunches the candy stick and sticks another in his mouth. “I was just helping out in Gotham, didn’t do any traveling. But I started branching out and getting involved in some foster centers in the Bowery. Volunteering. They’re pretty shitty places to grow up, so I thought I’d try to do what I could to make them more bearable. After a while I was practically running a couple of ‘em. Then I got a call from a woman in Star City who liked the work I was doing and asked me to work with some of their group homes. It was perfect timing—with the wedding creeping up I was about to ditch town for a bit to wait it out. I think Roy put her in contact with me, actually. He was probably sick of me complaining and trying to convince him to leave the country with me.”

“That’s… That’s really great, Jason. The volunteering thing.” A growing sense of guilt makes her frown. “Shit. Way to make me feel bad about dragging you away from that.”

Jason shrugs. “Nah, I’d done everything I could there. It was mostly a consulting job. The brats back in Gotham are the ones that need me. They’re gonna make me pay for being gone so long.” He smiles at her beseechingly. “You sure I can’t skip the wedding to hang out with them instead?“

“Not going to happen.”

“They’re orphans, Steph. They’ve been missing me. How can you be so heartless?”

“I think you and the kids can all wait one more day,” she says, her tone light and pleasant and just this side of patronizing.

He yawns and stretches his arms up. He’s not the only one stiff from being in the car for so long. Steph should make a rest stop soon. “Y’know, it’s kind of unfair,” he says. “Here you are, getting me to spill the reasons why I left Gotham, and I still don’t know your reasons.”

She blinks in surprise. “Reasons?”

“For why you left Gotham.”

“I did it for school,” she says, puzzled. She doesn’t understand why she’s being interrogated all of a sudden. “I got a really good scholarship.”

“You’d probably have your pick of scholarships in Gotham, thanks to Bruce. You’re practically family.”

“Maybe I didn’t want any more Wayne handouts.”

“Sure your scholarship isn’t Wayne-funded?” he prods. “How much digging have you done into the sponsor?”

Steph glares at him, her hands tightening on the steering wheel angrily. “Are you saying that I’m not capable of earning something like that on my own?”

“No, I’m saying that Bruce can be a manipulative asshole who sticks his nose into everyone’s business whether they like it or not. And I’m also saying that you’re a liar, because I know that’s not the real reason.”

“I really have no idea what you’re talking about? At all? Because I’m telling the truth.” And even as she says it, something inside her twinges because. Lying. Jason’s right. But she doesn’t want to talk about that.

So instead she talks about school. Incessantly. She tells Jason about all her classes and midterms and the friends she’s made, like Megan and Eddie, and Rose… And about how he would like Rose a lot; Steph could definitely see the two of them getting along. She talks about how they all live in the same building, tall and skinny with a lot of windows and really nice considering it’s student housing. They nicknamed it the Tower.

She talks, even after Jason’s given up all pretence of listening and gone back to reading the textbook, even though she knows he’s not buying any of it.

—

Steph’s eyeing the speedometer, wondering how much further over the speed limit she can go without risking arrest, and Jason’s perusing the huge, unruly map they bought at the convenience store when Damian decides to chuck his phone at Jason’s head.

It hits him hard on the skull with a hollow thunk of metal on bone. The resulting chaos of shouting and outrage and flailing paper blocking the windshield nearly causes Steph to lose control and crash the car into the ditch.

She swerves to safety at the last second, but it really makes her rethink her disregard of the speed limit. (At least for a couple minutes, it will.)

“What the hell was that for?” Jason’s yelling at Damian, rubbing the side of his head where a sizeable bump must already be swelling. That thunk was loud—Damian definitely wasn’t holding back. Cell phones are disposable to him. He can use them like baseballs if he wants. “I think I’m bleeding.”

“You’re fine. Stop whining, Todd,“ Damian says dismissively. “The battery is dead. Since there is no means to charge it in this fossil of a car, I have no need of it. Brown, give me your phone.”

"Yeah, ‘fraid that’s not happening.” Steph bats aside his reaching hand. Entitled li’l brat. “I don’t have unlimited data and I’m not letting you rack up charges on my phone bill."

"I’ll pay you back. Now give it to me."

"I need it for emergencies, Damian. Like if the car breaks down? Kind of important."

Damian considers that. “I suppose with this piece of junk, that’s an inevitability.” He turns to Jason and tells him imperiously, “Todd, your phone. This is important.”

Jason doesn’t want to. He grumbles and complains and lets out an angry sigh through his nose, but keeping Damian happy is a worthy cause (and a good survival tactic), so he hands it over grudgingly. “Just ten minutes, all right?”

Damian hands it back an hour and a half later with a dead battery. At least he doesn’t throw it.

—

The sun set hours ago. Steph has been driving for much, much longer than she would ever care to drive and there’s still so much more to go. All her initial road trip adrenaline is completely drained, along with her patience and sanity and all the feeling in her gas pedal foot, which she’s not entirely sure is still attached to her body.

There’s silence from the backseat, the video game glow faded about half an hour ago. Damian is probably asleep. Steph’s envious.

Her butt is sore. Her head aches.

There are still plenty of miles ahead.

“You’re looking a bit rough,” Jason observes. “Maybe we should switch places for a while.”

“Like I’m going to let you drive my baby,” Steph says, rolling her very tired, very dry eyes. “I know how many cars you’ve trashed, Jason.”

There was Bruce’s black vintage sports car (before Jason even had his license), and the car he got on his sixteenth birthday, and the car Tim got on his sixteenth birthday, and that incident with the golf cart at the country club, and even the poor little remote-control fire truck Damian had when he was five. That toy didn’t stand a chance; the biggest pieces left were the itty-bitty tires.

“I’m just like Bruce,” he laments sardonically, waving a dramatic hand. “Doomed to keep hurting the things I love.”

Steph’s too exhausted to laugh. She yawns.

“I’ll be gentle,” Jason says, more seriously this time. “I swear.”

Steph ignores him. She just needs to drive a little farther, just until she reaches a place that sells coffee. Or energy drinks. Preferably both.

“You could at least slow down. It’s really dark out there and if you run over anything cute and fuzzy trying to cross the road, Damian will try to avenge their deaths. You remember those stitches I had to get the day after a squirrel ran under my tires? I’m still not convinced that knife ended up on my chair by accident.”

“There’s nothing out there,” says Steph, stifling another yawn. “Besides, we’re making good time.”

A grinding screech under her tires startles her wide-awake. She drifted too close to the shoulder and onto the rumble strip. Quickly, she yanks the steering wheel back towards her lane. Jason shoots her a look that says see what I mean? She ignores him some more.

“I’m sorry I was rude to your car,” Jason says after a couple minutes of dark highway and quietly humming radio. “I was wrong, okay? It’s a really nice car, actually. That’s why I don’t want you to crash and total it and end up killing us all because you’re falling asleep at the wheel. Come on, Steph.” He’s almost pleading now. “Just pull over and let me drive for a while.”

Her eyelids are so heavy and the idea of closing them for a while so tempting that her foot starts easing off the gas pedal and she doesn’t fight it. She pulls off onto the side of the road, then crawls into the passenger seat as Jason gets out and hurries around the car to the driver’s side. She closes her eyes and curls up as comfortable as she can in the seat and it’s so nice. So nice. She must drift off quickly, because she doesn’t even notice the car start moving again.

The next thing she knows Jason’s jostling her awake—they’re in a parking lot, there’s a big neon sign outside that makes her squint and wince when she opens her eyes. She blinks the blurriness away and tilts her head to read the word ‘MOTEL’.

Steph tries to protest—they don’t have time for this, they have to keep driving—but Jason insists. “You’ll thank me in the morning after a few hours of sleep and a shower. Trust me—it makes most of the difference between an awful road trip and a tolerable one.”

And she finds that she’s much too sleepy to argue.

—

“This is disgusting.” Damian wrinkles his nose as he stops and looks around the small, shabby hotel room.

Jason elbows the boy aside so he can get through the door. He drops his overnight bag on the floor and shrugs before diving onto the bed, landing on his back. “Hey, this is the Ritz compared to some dumps I’ve stayed in,” he says, kicking off his shoes. “Clean sheets and everything.”

The only room they could get this late at night has only one bed, but it has a tiny sofa too. It’ll do. Steph grabs a spare blanket and pillow out of the dresser and flops down on the sofa, leaving the bed for the boys. She doesn’t even bother to change her clothes, just closes her eyes.

She wakes up two hours later according to her phone, with a sore back and a horrible crick in her neck. The sofa is lumpy and hard and feels like it’s stuffed with gravel—which, in this dump, is a real possibility.

Sitting up, she stretches out all her cramped-up joints. She can’t lie on this sofa another minute. It hurts. It’s beating her up.

She looks over at the bed. Damian is hogging the sheets and lying on his back in a way that looks stiff and uncomfortable. But he must be deeply asleep, because his usual scowl has relaxed, making him look so much younger, and he isn’t bothered by Jason’s soft breaths stirring his dark hair or the quiet snores next to his ear.

Jason is on his side, curled towards Damian, almost—but not-quite—touching. It looks almost… protective. Sweet. They are brothers, after all. No matter how much they fight it, or fight each other.

It makes Steph remember a camping trip she once took with the Wayne kids one summer back when she was in high school and dating Tim, during a lull of peace between Jason’s explosive falling-outs with the rest of the family, when Damian was littler and marginally less angry.

She walks to the bed, taking her blanket around her like a cloak. “Scoot,” she says quietly, nudging Jason’s back until he moves over enough for her to lie down. It’s cramped but it’s a thousand times more comfortable than that sofa from hell, and she’s so exhausted she falls asleep as soon as she closes her eyes.

Steph wakes up with one arm and one leg hanging over the edge of the bed. Jason’s crowding up most of the mattress. He’s lying on his stomach, snoring face-down into the pillow and when she shoves his shoulder off her other arm—so bloodless it’s numb—he doesn’t even wake up, just grumbles and rolls over towards Damian.

There’s a startled, annoyed grunt from the other side of the mattress, Steph registers groggily. She’s still half-asleep but she can feel the bed shaking and jostling, and then there’s a thud of someone falling on the floor.

Damian stands up. His eyes are bleary from sleep and narrowed in rage, his clothes are rumpled and he’s suffering from an photo-worthy case of bedhead. He looks like a murderous, ruffled cat, the kind with the squashed-in faces. It’s cute. Steph fumbles at the nightstand for her phone but she must have left it by the sofa, because it’s not there. Too bad.

“Todd, your fat ass pushed me off the bed!” Damian shouts. “I told you to stay on your side!” He takes his revenge by jumping up on the bed and kicking a very groggy Jason in the side, just under his ribs, with all his might. Actually more of a stomp than a kick. That helps wake Jason up fast.

Jason yells in pain, clutching his side. For a few seconds all he can do is lie there and take hissing breaths between his teeth, his eyes clenched shut. It must have hurt a lot. Not surprising, considering it was Damian.

“What the hell!” he cries out, gasping as he struggles to sit up. “It was an accident! You didn’t have to kick me!”

Then Jason’s off the bed and tackling his younger brother, grabbing him in a headlock. There’s shouting and chokeholds and punching and Damian even tries to bite Jason’s hand at one point. They fight dirty. While they’re busy wrestling, Steph takes the opportunity to slip around them and take first dibs on the bathroom.

But, man, the yelling and fighting really does take her back to old days. She doesn’t think any of those Wayne kids are ever going to grow up, not really.

—

“Brown!” Damian shrieks from the bathroom. “You used up all the hot water!”

“There wasn’t any!” she calls back. She and Jason snicker to each other as they pack up their stuff. “And hurry up—we’re heading out soon. Got a lot of distance to cover today!”