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i. — first
The stars are dazzling from this view. This is Jason’s first thought.
Tim, who is the sibling that ends up riding the ferris wheel with Jason since the only one really willing to ride with Damian is Dick, notices the look of amazement on the older’s face. “Have you ever been here before?” he asks.
“No.” Entering costs money, and though it was relatively easy to sneak in, it was a bit disheartening to see families and friends enjoy themselves and carelessly spend their pocket change on snacks and games when you were a hungry orphan who didn’t have any of those. Back then, Jason would make sure to not even look twice at the rides, because that would only sour his mood more. “Not if you count loitering outside.”
“So this is your first time.”
Jason can’t help but bristle, even though Tim doesn’t mean anything bad with his comment. He’s just stating a fact. “So?”
They’re here for Damian, really, because Dick said he lacked a proper childhood—they all did, to some extent, but somehow, none of them turned out as aloof and arrogant as Damian—and didn’t know anything about the joy of carnivals and theme parks. From there, it isn’t difficult to see Dick’s logic: exposing Damian to relatively happy things should make Damian a happy kid.
(Jason did not have to be as smart as Tim or Barbara to know this way of thinking was entirely bullshit, but he also didn’t have the heart to argue with Dick.)
Jason’s never actually been to a carnival or theme park either, since he never thought it was a big enough deal to ask Bruce to visit these places back in the early stages of being his ward and being a lot more childlike and demanding. But he hadn’t wanted the entire visit to be about him because that meant he cared about those kinds of things—and he didn’t, it was just something interesting—so he didn’t say anything. Still, with Damian currently not in the picture and generally not for Jason to worry about, he could pretend like the night at the carnival was meant for him and enjoy it to the fullest, admiring the new sights and experiences with the wonder he could never afford as a kid.
Tim just shrugs, unaffected by Jason’s attitude. “It’s nice, right.”
“Sure,” Jason says flippantly, leaning back and crossing his arms. He doesn’t want to admit Tim’s right, and that it’s more than just nice. It’s goddamn beautiful. He’s seen the sky from rooftops when he’d patrol, so it’s not the matter of height, but seeing it from here still feels a lot different. Jason can’t exactly describe it, but he’d like to think that it’s because it’s not often they have times like these, where they get to act like normal people and appreciate the mundane things in their lives when so much other otherworldly things occur. Like a reminder that this is why Jason fights crime, besides looking after and protecting those who can’t save themselves. To have moments like these that they can enjoy to the fullest because they’re safe and they’re alive.
“We’ll come back here,” Tim continues, like a promise even though Jason hadn’t even asked. “We’ll take Bruce with us, next time. And Alfred.”
“Like I care if Bruce is with us,” Jason replies, but it’s half-hearted, because he’s still staring at the bright-lit sky.
From the side, Tim smiles fondly at his older brother.
ii. — healing
“Meditation,” starts Talia. “Is an essential part of the healing process.”
“But I’m fully healed,” Jason whines. “I don’t need this kind of crap.”
Talia glances at him sharply and kicks him firmly at his side. Jason yowls in pain and cradles his abdomen. “What was that for?” he demands. “I’m injured!”
“Hmph,” Talia huffs. “I thought you said you were already healed.” Jason pouts. Talia does not look amused. “This is healing for your mental state. Not your physical one.”
“Whatever,” he grumbles, because it isn’t as if he has brain damage anymore. But Talia clearly isn’t going to budge, and he doesn’t think they’re getting out of this strange zen-like garden in the middle of nowhere anytime soon unless he follows her.
She closes her eyes and returns to her earlier pose. “Now, let’s continue.”
iii. — unconventional
It's a loose but also the most accurate term they have for it—for their relationship that involves Renee Montoya occasionally running into this Crime Alley kid she caught one night trying to steal Batman's tires. She has the savings to take him in as her own and provide for him, and considers doing it by the fifth time they've met and got to know him better, but every time she'd offer, he'd take off, like the thought of trusting his life to an adult's hands scares him more than anything. Regardless, he always comes back to their meeting place at Gotham Park every Sunday evening. Renee is disappointed, but as Kate constantly reminds her, being a cop doesn't mean you can save everyone, and just because people may need saving doesn't mean they necessarily want it.
"He's a kid," Renee argues. "Like, ten."
"Then maybe he's testing how long you'll be willing to stick around with him and keep that offer," Kate says. "Maybe he'll come to you when he's ready."
Renee listens to her girlfriend and waits, but that time never comes. It doesn't mean they stop their weekly run-ins, or that she doesn't give him any more life advice when he voices out his problems. It doesn't mean she retracts her offer because it's been years or she stops paying for his school supplies when he finally admits to her that he decided to go to school so he could get a job and get out of the slums. It just means he isn't officially hers to keep and call her own kid.
But when he wears her brown leather jacket and says he looks just like her, it feels a lot like that anyway, and she can live with that.
iv. — open
“I can’t open it,” Damian admits sullenly. The unintentional pout on his face makes Dick coo and Tim look away because it looks embarrassing. It makes Damian angry, of course, but there are currently more important matters to deal with.
Jason simply laughs loudly, clearly amused, takes the jar from Damian’s hands, and twists it open easily.
v. — grip
Alfred’s grip is so tight on Jason’s clothes that it's enough to rip his worn-out but well-loved clothes off and tear through them with ease. He almost thinks that the butler is angry, for whatever reason, but when Alfred looks up, there is nothing but pride and sorrow in his eyes.
“How you’ve grown, Master Jason,” he says. “It was as if it was only yesterday when Master Bruce took you home and said you were going to be staying with us.”
Jason’s gaze can’t help but soften. It’s just college, but somehow, Alfred makes it sound like it’s so much more than just that. “I promise I’ll visit.”
Alfred nods before reluctantly letting him go. “I should hope so. As much as Master Duke tries, he’s not as good at helping around in the kitchen as you are.”
“I’ll tell him you said that, you know,” Jason teases. “You’ll break his heart.”
“Just as you’re breaking mine?”
Jason rolls his eyes. “I’ll be going now. Take care, okay?”
“You too, Master Jason.”
vi. — siblings
He grew up an only child, so he doesn't know exactly what siblings are supposed to be like. The headlines have said they were always a strange bunch, and given their respective secrets, Jason is inclined to agree.
Still, he takes his biweekly trip to the Manor and sees Damian angrily chasing Stephanie down with a water hose around the garden, both their faces and clothes dirty with paint. Dick and Cass are sitting right outside the porch, eating popcorn as they watch the entire scene unfold like they're viewing the best movie of the year; Duke can be seen through the window, looking mildly exasperated as Alfred beckons him with a gesture to focus on whatever task they're doing inside the house.
Tim opens the front door and steps out with a tablet in one hand and a mug likely full of coffee in the other. He looks down at Dick and Cass before gazing straight ahead, where Stephanie and Damian have finally stopped running and have resulted to downright wrestling in front of everyone. "I don't want to know," He says loudly, immediately retreating back into the Manor when he sees the mess outside. Cass and Dick share a look before going back to Stephanie and Damian.
Jason may not know what siblings are supposed to be like, but these are what his are like. And though the press may call them strange, this is probably the most normal Jason's ever going to get.
vii. — resurrection
Resurrection is a fickle thing. Or maybe that's just because there are only a few ways to go about it. When Jason died, Bruce mourned him terribly, but never thought about bringing him back. The same way he never thought of bringing his parents back.
Somehow, Jason returned anyway. In the end, Bruce realizes that it's pointless to sweat the details of it—or at least, too much of it—because all that matters is that his son is alive, and he's okay. Sort of.
But resurrection doesn't solve everything. Not their strained relationship because he refuses to kill the Joker, not those moments when Jason would just shut down without warning and wouldn't respond to anything until he's taken back to his old room in the Manor and looked after by Alfred for a night or two, because Jason's always been attached to him.
Not the white paper with the doctor's signature that confirms that his son only has five months to live.
Jason isn't dead—not yet, anyway, but Bruce mourns like already is, and it drives their entire family insane. He wants to leave to find a cure, because for someone as pragmatic as he is, he's also always been good at denial.
"Don't," Dick says, gripping him hard on the shoulder. "Jay doesn't need a Batman right now; he needs a Bruce. He needs his father. You might as well start acting like one now."
Bruce relents. He sits by Jason's bedside and reads him lines from his favorite classical books—the original copies he used to treasure before Ethiopia, because Alfred and Bruce both value sentimentality—as if Jason was still a kid and needed bedtime stories to go to sleep.
One night, Jason, who pretends not to be bedridden most days because he's always been a proud boy, stops him mid-reading. "You know," he says. "Moments like this make me glad I came back."
And you'll stay. Bruce wants to say, because the only time he'll ever let himself be naively hopeful is when it's for the sake of his children. Resurrection may not solve everything, but at least it gave him this.
Instead of talking, Bruce reaches out and holds Jason's hand.
viii. — protect
“Why the hell are you protecting me?” Tim snaps, and Jason would’ve taken the venom in the younger’s voice a lot more seriously if not for the fact that he was clutching onto his bleeding harm and sprawled on the floor like a wounded animal. “I thought you hated me!”
“That was yesterday,” Jason replies easily, surveying their surroundings. They’re surrounded by around twenty men, but he can take them. “I’m in a better mood now.”
ix. — touch
Though Dick is the most physically affectionate one, Cass communicates with people through touch. Jason is naturally averse to that sort of thing, growing up in Crime Alley where it meant that being touched meant you were in trouble, but she’s his first sister, and he has an undeniable soft spot for her the way the rest of them do. So when she pulls him back to ask something because she’s always spoken softly and doesn’t plan on changing that, he lets her; when she pats him on the head like she’s the older sister even though he’s pretty sure they’re around the same age, he doesn’t protest.
When she wants a hug, he lets himself melt into her embrace supposedly more for her sake, but actually for his own too. Dick will definitely throw a tantrum later on, but right now, he’s too busy enjoying the warmth only Cass can give.
x. — another
“Another one for the boy right here,” the man tells the bartender. Jason smiles sweetly at the tattooed woman before turning to the man beside him. Though the forty year old is dressed plainly, there are hints of his wealth scattered around him in the most subtle of ways—the Rolex watch, the gold ring, the manicured nails, the neat way his hair is pressed back, the glasses Jason recognizes to be around triple the price of Tim’s.
Jason shifts in his seat, thankful he’s already used to wearing fishnets and tight clothing. He hates these kinds of gigs, but it’s what puts money on the table, and Dick says that the deadline for the payment for Damian’s tuition is next week. The cash Jason can nab from this guy should be enough to cover the expenses for that, so Dick’s bodyguard job can pay for their rent instead.
“Thanks,” Jason says gratefully, when the lady returns and gives him his drink. It burns his throat and he doesn’t like the feeling, but he knows he’ll need this to get through the night. Even if he has to deal with Dick’s incessant scolding because alcohol is a bad vice they can’t afford.
(“Where’d you get all this?” Tim asks later on, eyes wide as he stares at the wads of cash Jason dumps on the dining table the next morning. Damian already left for school, Dick accompanying him as always even though Damian is perfectly capable of going on his own by now. Cass hasn’t left her room, knocked out from returning just a few hours ago from her job at the gym.
“Oh, you know,” Jason shuts the cupboard with the cereal box in his hand. “I got another job.”)
xi. — hour
It takes an hour of radio silence before Jason grows concerned. “You’ve been gone for quite a while, red,” he says through the comm. “You sure you’re alright? Your boyfriend will never forgive me if I let something bad happen to you.”
“Relax,” Barbara finally says after a few moments, and Jason crushes down the urge to let out a sigh of relief. “I didn’t know you were such a worrywart.”
Immediately, he scowls, even if she can’t see it. “Fuck you. Am not.”
Barbara laughs, but it’s immediately cut off by Bruce’s stern voice leaking through their earpieces. “Break it off, you two. We have a mission to complete.”
“Aye, aye, captain,” Jason and Barbara chime in unison, though they’re both snickering.
xii. — time
There isn’t enough time, he thinks, as he stares at the bomb going down second by second in the horror. The doors won’t open, and he hears his mother sobbing. He wishes he had the voice to scream, to comfort her, sit back and make the most out of these last moments he has thinking of all the goodbyes he hadn’t said and all the things he shouldn’t have done.
But the only thing circling in his head is, there isn’t enough time. There isn’t enough time.
Bruce might not make it in time.
xiii. — morning
Jason’s favorite time of day has always been the morning, because it reminds him of the times when he’d catch his mother whistling a happy tune as she waters the plants in their tiny backyard, of his father listening to the radio on the kitchen counter. Eventually, Jason learned to appreciate it for the smell of Tim’s coffee drifting from the dining area to the hallways, the careless padding of Bruce’s footsteps when he’s just woken up and is too groggy to be conscious of his loud movements; the way Dick decides to do his morning stretches right outside the kitchen and how Damian carries around all his pets’ food and meticulously puts them into their respective bowls, while Cass urges Duke to go on a morning jog around the garden before settling down for food.
Besides, Alfred always cooks breakfast best when there’s someone awake enough to enjoy it, and maybe that’s why he likes mornings the most.
xiv. — believe
“There is no way the brat is going to believe this,” Jason states, giving Dick a dirty look. “He’s been trained by the League of Assassins and by Bruce.”
“Oh, c’mon, little wing! Damian’s eleven. Kids his age believe anything!” Dick insists. Jason helplessly shoots Tim a look.
Tim shrugs. “This was Dick’s idea, not mine.”
“Yeah, clearly, because no one would think of something this ridiculous.” Jason rolls his eyes. “Why don’t you do it? You’re the one who actually gives a shit about that kid.”
“He’s right,” Tim agrees, voice slowly fading as he leaves the cave, not wanting to be involved with Dick’s plan anymore.
Dick crosses his arms. “Because Damian already thinks I’m the jolly guy himself. I need him to believe we’re two different people, so I definitely can’t be in the costume.” The thing is, Jason doesn’t even have the build needed to pull this off. Not to mention that it’s, well, stupid. “If you do this, it’ll totally make up for you trying to kill Damian before.”
Jason raises an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t he be giving me that kind of forgiveness instead of you?” But Dick is pulling the biggest puppy dog eyes he’s ever mustered in his entire life, and while Jason really wouldn’t fall for that, the sight is disgusting enough to make him relent, so it probably doesn’t matter. “Fine. But I don’t owe any of you jackshit for the rest of my life.”
“You don’t even give us presents!”
The plan to make Damian believe in Santa Claus fails spectacularly, of course. Even if Jason did put on the fake belly, he just doesn’t have the Santa Claus vibe, and Damian is too pessimistic to believe in an old man who loves children with the ability to tell whether they’ve been good or bad and sneak into their houses to give them presents. Damian would rather much stick to his belief that Dick leaves him anonymous gifts under the Christmas tree that somehow always end up being the best things he’s ever gotten.
“Santa Claus sounds like a predator, Grayson,” Damian says. “Why would anyone want to believe in someone as vile as that?”
Jason has to hand it to the kid; he easily beats Jason in ruining any situation. Dick unconsciously flinches, while Tim looks like he has to agree with Damian’s point. Cass and Duke are ignoring the entire exchange, mostly for Jason’s sake, since he’s still dressed in the ridiculous Santa Claus getup, and way more focused on opening their own presents despite how Bruce told them to wait until tomorrow.
“I told you this was stupid,” Jason tells Dick.
“Shut up,” says Dick miserably.
Damian glances at him. “You look stupid, Todd.”
Jason sniffles. “You think I don’t know that?” He shrugs off the thick red coat before setting the pointed hat on top of Dick’s head and sauntering off. “Christmas is a capitalist movement anyway. You shouldn’t follow it.”
“Jay!” Dick protests.
Jason says that, but on Christmas Day itself, there’s a gift for each of them under the tree.
(“I thought you didn’t believe in Christmas,” Damian points out after Christmas dinner.
“Well, I don’t believe that middle-aged men who live in basements and dress in all black can actually save people, but here we are anyway,” is Jason’s only reply to that.)
xv. — over
Jason has nights when he forgets it's already over—the warehouse, the crowbar, the laughter, the bomb—because there will be times when it's the only thing that runs through his head when he dreams. It's likely fate's design that the nightmares are always at their most frequent whenever the anniversary of his death inches near, so Jason makes it a point to never sleep during that week. Or at least make himself tired enough to just black out so he can't dream.
"You look like you could use a drink," Roy comments, turning to him and handing him a bottle. "It's on the house."
Jason snorts. "Your boss is gonna kill you for this."
Roy shrugs. "Figured we deserved it. Yesterday's mission was a shitstorm." Jason can't help but hum in agreement.
"Well," Roy pours the both of them and glass and raises one in a faux-toast. "At least it's over, right?"
"Yeah," Jason says quietly, glancing at the clock. A few minutes to midnight, and then it'll be the day of his death. The tick of the clock faintly reminds him of the tick of the time bomb, but there is no awaiting explosion here and no death lurking the halls in the quietness of this bar in Star City. Jason's safe and alive. "It's over."
xvi. — robin
"That's a stupid name," Jason states, eyeing the uniform in his hands with distaste. "Robin?"
"It's what Dick chose to use," Bruce simply says. Jason can't help but frown. He doesn't really like it when Bruce talks about Dick, even though he is the first son, because Bruce always tries to hide how sad he really is at the thought of Dick and fails at it. Jason doesn't really understand, not when he's here, the new son, but despite the look on Dick's face when Bruce introduced him to Jason that screamed replacement, he isn't that, really. Or rather, he can't be. Dick is the golden circus boy with jolly laughter; Jason is the dirty street rat with good survival instincts. They're different, so of course things won't be the same. Or at least the same that Bruce unconsciously wants. But that doesn't mean Jason won't make it worthwhile. For both him and Bruce. "You could always pick a new one, if you want."
"Nah," Jason says. Bruce looks at him, and there's a newfound determination in his eyes. "I'll keep it."
Bruce raises an eyebrow. "What changed your mind?"
"I'm gonna be the better Robin," Jason declares confidently, grinning up at Bruce. "I'll be so good you'll stop moping about the first one. Just you wait."