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Chapter Text

"What's this?"

Kori smiled lightly. Her hair was already starting to fade into shades of gray and lines of wrinkles were visible on her face. But she still looked every bit as vibrant as the moment he first met her all those years ago on that island. In her hands was a stark photo of Red Hood and the Outlaws, posing in front of her old ship.

"It is us. Us and…" Kori breathed in; it was still so very difficult to talk about him. "…Roy."

Jason couldn't help it. He trailed his fingers against the visage of the man who, even now, was his best and closest friend. A man that had been dead for decades, and yet whose loss still felt so very fresh in his mind.

A man he'd be seeing very soon.

"Why now?" He couldn't help but ask. "It won't be long until I see him. Hell, I've already promised to Lian to give him her love."

Kori reached out to take his hand, gripping it tightly. "To remember the good times, and to give you some comfort. For when it is time. I will not be here when you go, but I will still be here, Jason." She tapped his chest, directly where his heart was.

Jason laughed, and beamed up her, looking younger than she had ever seen him to be.

"Thank you, Kori," He breathed out, then looked wonderingly at her, "Shall I send Dick your love as well?"

She squeezed his hand a little tighter. "I am sure he already knows. But I am also sure he would not be opposed to a reminder."

Lung cancer.

Suddenly all the jokes made at his expense about his probable second death no longer sounded funny.

There was great irony to be found in the fact that what was finally going to kill him for good was not one of the hundred gazillion ways the various rogues of Gotham regularly tortured the city's populace nor some reality-breaking catastrophe that seemed to affect the universe every couple of years, but rather his old smoking habit coming back to bite him. He had dropped smoking years ago, but it seemed the ever so polluted atmosphere of his home (not to mention the many explosions he had been a part of and even caused) were more than willing to pick up the slack. And here he, Jason Peter Todd-Wayne, was now, bedridden in the Manor, with only his books and various family members for company. Plus the occasional visitor to break the monotony.

Like now.

"Oh, little one," Artemis said, sounding every bit as exasperated as she usually did whenever he did something particularly stupid and reckless.

"Artemis," Jason grinned weakly, "Here to admonish me for not taking better care of myself?"

"From what I understand the damage started long before Bizarro and I entered the picture," Artemis responded dryly.

Jason hummed. "That sounds about right," he admitted.

The Amazon rolled her eyes and sat down on the chair that was now permanently stationed next to his bed. She pulled one of his hands towards her, clasping it between her own. Gently, she wiped away a stray hair from Jason's face, studying it with a fond eye.

Jason had long since lost the youth that softened his sharp features the first time she had met him all those years ago. His black hair had washed out, losing its sheen, and there were wrinkles, both from stress and laugh lines, carving into his face. But even with all this, he was still quite a handsome man; there was a certain ruggedness to him now, an attractive maturity that only came with the passage of time. And his eyes… the eyes were the window to the soul, as so many had often said. And when she looked into them, when she saw the way he looked at her, she could only be reminded of why she had fallen for him all those years ago.

That was enough for her. She had made the right choice.

"I brought someone to meet you," she told him, lacing their fingers together.

"Oh?"

"Penelope," she called out. Jason blinked at the name, watching the door open to reveal a young girl who couldn't be older than ten.

He felt his breath catch in his throat.

Penelope was the spitting image of Artemis. But her hair, her eyes…

"By the time I found out, I was already back on Themyscira," Artemis confessed as if her actions were a sin, and perhaps they were, "I wanted to tell you, but I kept on thinking up excuses not to. And then when word of your diagnosis came, I realized I couldn't delay it any longer."

"Penelope…" Jason muttered, eyes transfixed on the young girl.

Taking it as a summons, his daughter soon planted herself on the other side of his bed, taking his other hand. She smiled sadly at him.

"Hello, father."

He couldn't keep his eyes off her. "I'll have to call my lawyer, rewrite my will. You are my daughter, a Wayne. I'll be damned before I leave you with nothing when I'm gone."

"That's not necessary, father," Penelope protested immediately, "We'll be returning to Themyscira after…" she trailed off.

Jason snorted. "It doesn't matter," he insisted, "You are a member of my family. You will always have a home here if I have anything to say about it."

Penelope felt her face go flush, and she diverted her eyes to the ground. Artemis sighed fondly, and planted a kiss on the side of Jason's head.

"You never did do things halfway, little one."

Talia didn't come like the others. There was no way his family would ever let her walk through the front door, like they had with Kori or Artemis and Penelope. No matter his own relationship with the woman herself, there was simply too much bad blood on both sides for any Wayne to cordially welcome her into their home.

So, when he finally did see her, it was night. Close to when he usually turned in. There was no indication of her arrival, and yet Jason had sensed her anyway. He set down his book onto the right dresser, careful to make sure the bookmark was placed just so, right where he had stopped, and turned to face her.

Unlike him, she hadn't aged a day. With her father gone, at his hands no less, she had near-exclusive access to those blasphemous waters. The same waters that had given life back to him over almost forty years ago.

"The offer still stands," she speaks gently, softly.

Jason shakes his head. When he had first heard the diagnosis four years ago, the thought of using the Lazarus Pit to heal his affliction had, admittedly, crossed his mind. But it was a thought he immediately dismissed. Once was enough for him.

"I want to see them again, T," he said instead.

It had been twenty-two years since he had last seen one of his first three brothers; twenty-nine since Bruce had been taken from him. He had lived his life, had been happy with it, as much as one could while bearing the mantle of the Caped Crusader. Only Penelope made Talia's offer tempting, but he knew in his heart she would be fine. Jason may have only known her for a short time, but he could see that she had the same strength to her as her mother, the strength that drew him to Artemis the moment he first saw her. She would survive his death.

Talia smiled sadly. It was the most expressive he had ever seen her.

"When you see them — both of them — tell them that I'm sorry for everything. That I'm sorry I couldn't be better for them," she took in a deep breath, "That regardless of everything, there was not a single moment where I stopped loving either of them."

"I will," Jason solemnly declares, giving her a short nod.

Talia peered at him searchingly, then returned the nod, satisfied. Yet, as she turned to leave she could not help but give one last remark.

"When I saved you all those years ago, all I saw was a chance to finally win the heart of my Beloved," she started. Jason blinked, but hardly reacted to her words; were he still a child barely in the stages of adulthood, they would've hurt, but now all she was saying was something he already knew about. He turned away and began to reach for his book.

"I never thought I would be gaining another son."

Jason whipped his head back to the window, but Talia was already gone.

"The diner is doing well."

"Of course it is," Jason winked. "Even if you're the one running it."

Carrie Kelley let out a bark of laughter, giving her old mentor a playful nudge. He was joking, they both knew; while the diner did well when it was under Jason's ownership, it absolutely thrived once Carrie got her hands on it. She had expanded the menu, refining old recipes and adding new ones, and began a franchise that had extended throughout all of Gotham and beyond. Their own little carved out corner of the Wayne empire, they both liked to joke. Something Carrie never expected to have when she had bought that Robin costume all those years ago.

"I've got your name on a plaque outside the original diner," the former Robin held up her hands like a pair of quotes, "'Founded by Jason Wayne, 2014' — and, of course, a sanitized version of your story inside the front cover of the menus. That way, the world will never forget you."

"I was Batman, Carrie."

Carrie shook her head. "Not Batman, Jason," she insisted. "You. You did just as much good as Jason Peter Todd-Wayne as you did as Batman. Many would argue more. You deserve to be remembered as more than just a mask."

Jason clicked his teeth in amusement. "You always were a sweet one, Carrie. Always saw the best in people, thought the best of them, even when they didn't deserve it," he looked at her wistfully, "just like the first Robin."

"Dick Grayson, right? Maybe that's why you took me on as your Robin."

"Maybe so," Jason shrugged.

A bout of silence fell upon them. It was heavy and heady with feeling, the weight of what was to come blanketing the atmosphere. Carrie's face was solemn, bordering on tears; Jason's expression had morphed into something comforting and accepting.

"I've made a stack of recipes for you. Cass will give them to you when I'm…" Jason said nothing else, but the implication was heard.

"You want me to add them to the diner's menu?"

Jason shook his head. "Only if you want to. I made them for you. So you'll always have something of mine to remember me by."

"Oh, Jay," Carrie said sadly, reaching over to caress his cheek, "There's nothing in the world that could ever make me forget you."

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Are you really working right now?" Jason asked dryly, looking very unimpressed. "When I'm on my deathbed?"

Helena Wayne returned his expectant look with a deadpan one of her own. "I can't put everything on hold just because my dad could bite it any day now."

"You know, I'm technically your brother."

"Don't remind me. Now let me type in peace."

"By God, it's like dealing with Tim all over again. A raging workaholic running on coffee and spite — I bet he's laughing at me right now."

"Of course he is. Nothing is more amusing than your pain."

That was it. That was the breaking point. Jason laughed long and hard. Helena cracked a small smile, chuckling alongside him.

"They would have loved you," Jason wheezed out, his laughter starting to subside, "They would've adored the shit out of you. You would have had them all wrapped around your finger and they would all know and they wouldn't have cared. And your mom, she would've just egged you on just to annoy our father."

"Would she really?" Helena couldn't help but ask teasingly, though there was a hint of yearning in her voice. Selina Kyle, after all, had died when she was ten years old. What memories Helena had of her mother were sparse and ragged.

"Of course! There's nothing your mom loved more than screwing with our father, in more ways than one," Jason wagged his eyebrows suggestively, causing Helena to slap his shoulder accordingly. Jason let out another laugh, before his expression turned nostalgic.

"Seriously, though. It was the basis of their whole relationship. The Bat and the Cat, chasing each other around Gotham's rooftops. Everyone knew about them, wanted them to do something about it, but every time they got close, one of them got cold feet. When it came down to it, neither of them wanted to give up the game. They didn't know what their relationship would be like without it," he sighed. "I think if there's anything your mother regretted in the end, it's that she didn't give them a chance to make it work."

"And our father?" Helena pressed on.

"If there's anything our father regretted about their relationship, it's that he didn't push for it sooner," Jason confessed. "I loved our father, Helena, as did Cass, Steph, Duke, Babs and all my brothers did. As your mother and Talia did. But if there was anything we could all agree on about him, it's that he wasn't the most open man, especially when it came to his emotions. The death of our grandparents closed him off in ways so very few of us could pry open, and then my first death nearly sealed them off for good."

"Your mother, however, was one of the few that could slip through the cracks, and no matter how many times he tried to expel her from his heart, she always found her way back in. And by the time he finally figured out what he wanted from her, what he wanted with her, your mother no longer saw a future with him without this game that they played," Jason smiled mirthlessly, "We all resented the Batman identity in our own ways, but I think no one resented it more than Bruce, when your mother left him at the altar for it. I think the only thing he hated more than Batman was the fact that he couldn't give it up, no matter how much he wanted to. Because being Batman may have cost him Selina, but it was also the only way he could find his way back to her."

"And yet, despite all that, they still had me," Helena said slowly.

Jason nodded. "They never stopped loving each other, Helena. Nothing in the world could've made them stop. When it came down to it, Bruce Wayne and Selina Kyle were the loves of each other's lives. It's why they were never able to completely let each other go, no matter how hard they tried," Jason gulped. "I think our father knew he wasn't coming back, that last night he shared with your mother. That he sensed his time was coming soon. And think, deep down, she knew it too."

"So for one night, they forgot everything. All the troubles, all the heartbreak. For one night, they allowed themselves to be happy," Helena let out a breath, "And then nine months later, I was born."

"Basically. Honestly, I was more surprised Selina was able to hide you for so long. I can understand why, just not how."

Helena shrugged, "Maybe one of you knew and helped her out."

"Maybe. I'll ask when I see them again."

And that was like dropping a bucket of cold water on all of them. Another reminder of his impending demise. Helena looked at him, heartbroken, but Jason simply smiled at her. He already made his peace.

"Wayne Enterprises will be yours when I'm gone. Try not to turn into a corporate overlord."

"I won't," Helena whispered. "I'll make you proud."

"Oh, my sweet Helena," Jason whispered back, wiping away the tears that had begun to slide down her face, "You already have."

"Hey, hey," Jason patted the back of Matt McGinnis comfortingly, rubbing small circles into the nape of the young boy's neck. "I'm not gone yet, Matty."

"I don't want you to go at all!" The boy cried out tearfully. "Mom and Dad are gone already! Why do we have to lose you too? It's not fair."

"No. No it isn't," Jason agreed. He let go of Matt to look at the boy directly in the eyes, "I remember thinking the same thing when friends died, when my own dad died, when my brothers followed him, one by one. It wasn't fair for them to go and leave me behind like that. But it is what it is, Matty. You, your brother and I all know that life is rarely ever fair to anyone, least of all to us."

Matt sniffed. "I don't like it."

"I never said you had to. God knows I never did," Jason nuzzled his head fondly, "You just need to accept it, Matty. It's something you can't change. And besides, you'll still have your brother, Helena, Carrie, your Aunt Cass, Uncle Duke, Aunt Steph and Auntie Babs. You'll have your friends, so many people that will come into your life." Jason thumbed away another tear. "You won't be alone, Matty. I promise."

Matt sniffled again and nodded, rubbing his face back into Jason's chest. The bedridden man continued to rub circles into his back soothingly for the next half-hour, until exhaustion finally kicked in. Soon, soft snores came from the sleeping boy, and Jason adjusted his position so Matt was settled into his side, beneath the covers.

"I can move him, if you want."

Jason turned to the door of his room to see Terry McGinnis leaning against the sill. The eldest of the McGinnis brothers was staring at them with an uncharacteristically soft expression.

"It's fine, Terry," Jason waved the offer off, "I don't mind."

Terry had nothing to say to that. Instead, he went ahead and sat in one of the chairs, on the other side of where Matt was laying. There was no need to wake up his younger brother with their upcoming conversation.

"You alright, old man?" Terry asked once he was seated, concerned.

"As alright as I can be, in this situation," Jason replied, leaning back into the pillows of his bed. "Of all the things to do me in, I never quite expected it be this."

"Life always did like to throw curveballs at people like us," Terry agreed, taking one of the books on Jason's nightstand to finger through it. "I, for one, never thought I would one day end up becoming Batman."

"Neither did I," Jason muttered. "I was never supposed to be Batman, but I guess fate had other plans. And here we are now," he turned to Terry, beaming. "Thank you, Terry. For everything."

"I should be thanking you," Terry responded, eyes landing on the sleeping Matt, "You're the one who gave us a home when no one else would. You gave us a purpose."

"And now I'm leaving you to take up a mantle that you are far too young for. A mantle that is a curse as much as it is a burden," Jason blew out a lock of his hair. "Promise me you won't let it rule your life, Terry. You do that and you won't just lose yourself."

"I won't."

"Good," Jason let out another breath. "When I die, you'll have complete access to all of the Bat-Computer's files. Every sordid secret of this family will be at your fingertips, under layers of encryption that not even Babs can break. Any questions you have, you'll find your answers there."

Went unspoken was the one question that had always lingered between them. The one that went unasked and unanswered. For Terry too was a detective, trained by Jason and his predecessors Carrie and Helena. His observation skills were top-notch, but even if they weren't, he would have to be blind to miss the physical similarities between him and Helena, the ever-growing resemblance between him and the first Batman, whose portrait still hanged in the main foyer of the Manor. When he was younger, he was too afraid to ask, and as he got older, he came to believe it didn't matter. It still didn't, even now.

"You know, when I first saw you in that alley, I couldn't help but think I was looking at myself," Jason said suddenly, cutting into Terry's thoughts. "And as you continued to grow, I was so desperate to make sure you don't make the same mistakes I did."

"And looking at me now?" Terry asked, one of his eyebrows raised.

"I know you won't," Jason grinned, the skin around his eyes crinkling a bit. "You'll make your own set of mistakes, and you'll learn from them, just like every Batman before you. I just wish I could've been better for you, so you wouldn't have to take this burden on so soon."

"It's okay, Jay," Terry smiled. "You did better than anyone could have asked for. And quite frankly, I don't think I could have ever asked for more."

"B's going to cuff you."

"Probably."

"Followed by Dick throwing himself at you, shouting 'LITTLE WING!' at the top of his lungs."

"And while Dick's hugging the stuffing out of him, Damian's gonna come from outta nowhere and try to shank him."

"All while Tim, Kate, and Selina are making snarky commentary on the side."

"Then Alfred will pop in with tea and cookies and everyone will abandon Jay to get a bite."

"I feel so loved," Jason commented sarcastically to his sister as Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, and Barbara Gordon continued their roast.

Cassandra Cain-Wayne giggled and rubbed the top of her little brother's head. Because no matter how much Jason protested, he would always be the younger brother. The fact that Steph and Babs wholeheartedly supported her claim didn't help either.

"You are loved," she said sincerely, letting out another giggle when he blushed.

"Cass…" Jason whined, getting a few pats on the cheek in return.

Stephanie snickered. "Don't bother, Jaybird," she told him, linking her arm with her best friend, "There's no point in denying the truth."

"Yeah man, it's gonna be a complete riot when you see them again. Every bit as wild as a Wayne family reunion can possibly be," Duke claimed, no doubt remembering when he first joined their eclectic and wild family, the sole voice of sanity before he too got swept up into their antics, a fate anyone who joined the Bat-Family could attest to.

Barbara looked to the sky longingly. "A perfect mix of chaos and violence…" Her face pinched, "And none of us except you will be there to rib on it."

"Don't worry," Jason said dryly, smirking, "I'll be sure to tell you about it when you get there yourself."

"Why would you?" Cass asked him, genuinely curious, "You know the circus will start up all over again every time one of us joins in."

"Exactly."

It would seem morbid, talking about their potential deaths like this, but unlike all his other visitors, these particular ones had been through the same things he had, living on the edge of death every day and night, knowing the next patrol could potentially be their last. They had known and loved the same people he had, had stuck with him through every disaster he'd endured since he had begun his return to their family, through thick and thin. While all his previous visitors had been family in their own way, none of them had been family like these four had.

The laughter continued into the night, and one by one everyone began to turn in. They all had long since had their own rooms designated in the Manor, kept clean by the housecleaning staff for their weekly visits with their own families. Soon, it was just Jason and Cass left, all on their quiet lonesome. Not to say they had stopped communicating; Jason just had to keep his eyes on his sister for her to know what he was saying.

It was soothing. While Cass had long since gotten over her muteness, there was a certain familiarity and intimacy to conversing with just body language. All the members of the family had learned to do it, as it was a particularly useful skill when working with her out in the field, and it wasn't long when they started doing it in their regular lives, for more mundane purposes. Especially during galas and balls, where a single gesture was enough to stave off comparative boredom.

They had only started to do it more as more of their siblings died off until it was only them and Duke left. With all that pain, speaking became harder and harder to do, and it was just easier to use their bodies instead to talk. While neither Jason nor Duke, nor Steph and Babs, would ever be as good as Cass at reading body language, they were all sufficient enough to have full conversations with her just using it. It was only when the children started coming into their lives that the habit begin to taper off, though they still occasionally fell into it from time to time. Like now.

It was towards the end of their current conversation that Cass saw it. That slightest bit of hesitation in Jason's body was a blatant show of self-doubt in her eyes, and there was no way she was going to let it go. She tapped his shoulder, looking at him in a way that he could not mistake.

Jason pursed his lips, and spoke.

"Do you think I made them proud?"

Was that it?

Cass sighed sadly at him, "Of course you did."

"How do you know?"

Shaking her head, she reached over and softly slid her hand along his cheek in a comforting gesture. Her silly little brother; how could he still be so blind?

"Because I am proud of you," she stated firmly.

Jason smiled, taking her hand and squeezing it gratefully.

It's night when he sees her.

He's seen her many times before. She was there when he died the first time, a comforting presence that took him by the hand to After. And when it was time to come back, he saw her again, and she placed her lips on his and breathed life back into him again.

He didn't think he'd ever see her again, not until his second death. But then came Damian and Ra's, and then there was a sword in his gut, and he swore, just for a moment, he caught a glimpse. But then the sword was gone, the wound healed, and he had another sword, this time in his own hands, much longer than his All-Blades, all vibrant and glowing with mystical fire. Then came the duel, the final duel of the Demon's Head, where he had to pour every ounce of will and skill into his body just to survive, let alone win.

It was only when his sword pierced the heart of his opponent that he saw her for real. She had her hands on Ra's, but she was looking at him and while he couldn't hear her, he could read her lips.

"I'll come for you again. I promise."

And then they were both gone and it was just him and a corpse that remained. Life went on.

Now she was here again, and Jason knew that could only mean one thing.

"It's time," Death says, holding out her hand. Jason does the only thing he can do.

He takes it.

When Cassandra Cain-Wayne wakes up to find her younger brother dead, all of Gotham mourns.

Jason Peter Todd-Wayne had been a staple of the city for decades. Everyone knew about the scrappy young boy from Crime Alley that had somehow caught Bruce Wayne's eye and became the newest member of Gotham's First Family. From his unexpected death to his equally unexpected resurrection, Jason had been an enduring subject of public fascination. This especially held true as he took part in more and more of Wayne Enterprises as a series of tragedies rocked the Wayne family one by one, forcing him into a position he never expected to have.

From rags to riches, he stepped up to the plate, and WE thrived under his leadership, remaining an industry giant to become the top company in all of the world, above even LexCorp. A well-known philanthropist, Jason never forgot his roots, and reinvested his wealth into the good of Gotham, promoting infrastructure and affordable housing and all sorts of good causes. Slowly but surely, Gotham began to drag itself out of the pit it had been drowning in for years; recidivism went down, Arkham began actually fulfilling its purpose and started rehabilitating its residents back into functional human beings, and the criminal element all and all began to recede.

Crime Alley was no longer Crime Alley but Park Row, another neighborhood in an ever-bustling city. But even so, they never forgot one of their children, and when his time came, so did the memorials. The walls of the buildings were decorated with graffiti, expanding across the entire area and even into other parts of the city. Yet, they all had one singular purpose — to pay tribute to one of Gotham's greatest citizens, and to wish him the best into the next life. These memorials would endure for many years, another mark Jason would leave upon the city he had loved so much.

And while Gotham mourned, another service was held in the annals of the Justice League's famous Watchtower. Whereas Gotham had lost a citizen, the League had lost one of their own. A stalwart member, a vaulted leader, a man who had overcome his bloody past to become an inspiration to the super-community, the third Batman had proven himself to be every bit of a credit to his mantle's legacy as his predecessors had. So, under the watchful gazes of the greatest superhero team in the world, before his successor, the fourth Batman, a statue of him was erected in the memorial hall, to stand side-by-side with his father and brother and to endure as long as the Justice League continued to function. Etched upon his stand was his true name, along with his previous aliases, as a reminder of the past that he had never allowed to define the person he would become.

A week later, a private funeral was held on the Wayne grounds. Despite knowing it had been coming for a long time, Jason's family was no less devastated. It was a long service, with just as many stories as there were tears. And when it was finished, he had been buried in a new grave, so far away from the one given to him upon his first death. It was in-between the graves for Dick and Tim, a spot having been left open so all the children of Bruce Wayne could be buried with him when their times came. And thus, with Jason's death, the set was close to complete.

But Jason knew none of that.

He was being guided by the hand of Death following her to a place he had been once before, for far too short of time. A place that he sometimes wished he had never left. A place where most of his family and friends were all waiting for him.

And as they approached, it was bright. Almost blinding, really. And he could feel it, feel how his soul was settling into peace. This was it. He was ready.

And then they stopped.

Why did they stop? It was there, right there! Wasn't it his time?

And then Death was looking at him, and her smile wasn't as sad as it could be.

"I'm sorry. It's not your time yet."

What did she mean? Had Talia disregarded his wish after all?

"Don't worry," Death says, and he could do anything but worry, "It's a gift."

How could denying him a chance to be with his family be a gift?

Before he can voice anything, Death's lips were on his, and Jason feels the breath of life enter him again.

He couldn't breathe.

He couldn't breathe.

He reached forward, his arm piercing the surface, and then there was someone else there, helping to pull him up. He didn't fight it, desperate for air, breathing in chunks of precious oxygen as he coughed out the water threatening to fill his lungs.

And then he heard it. The Pit.

Even as he gained control of himself, the whispers of the Lazarus Pit never completely went away. But as the years went by, he had developed a system to fight them off. He remembers every happy memory, cycles through them like a desperate mantra, and allows them to overcome the cries for blood, for mindless violence.

That time Dick took me to watch one of his dumb concerts, forcing Tim to eat real food after he tried to binge on pizza during work again, Damian showing me a sketch he made in class, Cass and I going to karaoke night with Steph and Duke… Already the whispers are beginning to recede, that green fog slowly diminishing away. As his mind began to clear, he saw Talia's visage, and immediately escapes her embrace. He wants to shout at her for betraying him like this, for forcing him back into the Pit.

And then he sees his reflection in the eerie, glowing green waters, his face of all of sixteen years old.

It takes Jason all of his strength not to scream.

Chapter Text

Jason had to spend over twenty years playing the part of the world's greatest detective. It takes him seconds to figure out his current situation.

He has traveled back in time.

He is now occupying the body of his younger self.

Ra's al Ghul is somewhere on these grounds, maybe even in this building, and if he does not leave now, he will die.

Unlike the first time, he doesn't say anything to Talia. No questions, no shouts — he just looks at her, and soon he has a survival kit and Talia is throwing him off a cliff and into the rushing waters below. Do not seek him out, she says, You remain unavenged.

Vengeance is the furthest thing from his mind.

Talia's people find him soon enough. Jason doesn't fight them, because he doesn't know what else to do. Just thinking about his current situation wants him to find the nearest knife and carve his heart out from all the pain. It's not until he's sequestered away in that hotel room that he makes a decision.

Unlike the first time, he does not lose himself when he learns about the Joker. He had made peace with that particular ghost a long time ago, and even now he has no intentions on digging it back up. Instead he, focuses on the date — if his memory is correct, then it has been a little over a year since his first death. It won't be long until Tim starts his tenure as Robin, if he hasn't already.

…Tim. Tim is alive.

Jason wants to go back to Gotham. Go back to Gotham and hug his little brother, maybe even spare him all the pain and grief the life of a vigilante brought him. Towards the end, Tim had become so cold and cynical and so goddamn spiteful that it was taking every person in his life everything they had to make sure he didn't go over the edge and become one of the monsters they all fought against. It had been like that towards the end, when that final game of wits with Lex Luthor of all people had ended his life for good (though not without taking his opponent with him, of course).

But even as the thought crossed his mind, Jason knew it wouldn't be right. Despite every tragedy he had to endure, Tim had never regretted becoming Robin. When it came down to it, his empathy shined above all else, his innate desire to help people pulling him away from the darkness. He might have taken the job to save Bruce, but the Robin mantle had saved him as well in his own way, like it had for Dick and even Jason. Jason couldn't take that away from him, not like Dick had and came to regret.

So no. That wasn't an option. Besides, it wasn't like Tim was the only sibling of his that needed help right now. Even with a job like Robin, Tim was as safe as any one of them could be. He had Bruce with him, after all. The others weren't as lucky. If he had the timeline right, Cass should still be the under the thumb of the godforsaken piece of shit that dared to call himself her father — either that, or trying to escape it. And Damian…

Damian. Jason wanted to collapse into the hotel bed, let himself melt like a pile of jelly. Oh, Damian.

Even with all the timeline shenanigans of the Flash Family, the oldest Damian could be right now was ten. Not even old enough for middle school and probably being tutored in how to cut out the hearts of his enemies with a sword that far too big for him. There was no way Jason could leave him where he was any longer. He might as well just send himself off to hell right now, if he left his youngest brother to rot like that.

But how? There was Bruce. But Batman's reach only extended so far outside of Gotham, even with the Justice League. To find Damian and Cass, Bruce would have to leave Gotham for a time longer than acceptable. Dick wouldn't be able to help, he had his own city to protect, and no matter how competent Tim was, forcing him to take care of the entirety of Gotham for any longer than a day would get him killed. Bruce would know the score, and he'd make a choice, and it wouldn't be hard to make no matter how painful it was. For the Batman, Gotham always came before family.

That only left one other option.

The following morning, he goes to one of his guards.

"Call Talia," he says in Arabic, "I wish for her to take me to the All-Caste."

Jason sincerely hopes he's not making a mistake.

When he next sees Talia, there are questions in her eyes.

She does not understand why there is no rage in him. She does not know how he learned of the All-Caste. She does not know him.

Most of all, she does not know how to use him.

Jason is treading on thin ice. This is no doubt one of the riskiest thing he's ever done. But the other risk is going to Bruce and potentially not finding Cass and Damian for years, and that's not an option Jason is willing to take. It may be reckless and foolish and will probably put Gotham in danger later down the line, but Jason no longer cares for that.

He's not Batman anymore. He doesn't need to put Gotham first.

When they arrive to the Chamber of All, he goes to bow before Ducra without an ounce of hesitation. "All-Mother," he greets respectfully, almost reverently.

Ducra peers at him speculatively, using one of her sharpened fingers tilt his chin up so she can look at him directly in the eye. "How odd," she notes calmly.

"Ducra?" Talia asks, straightening herself out of her own bow.

"Where did you find this boy, Talia?"

Talia blinked. "His name is Jason. He's recently died and come back to life with the use of one of my father's Pits."

Ducra gives her a serious look. "His soul is older than his body, and shows all the signs of a Cleansing."

"Wha—?"

This is it. This is the moment.

Summoning the All-Blades is every bit of instinctive as it was in his previous life. Gotham was certainly weird enough for Batman to involve himself in more than one supernatural case, and dangerous enough to require the skills of a mystical assassin such as himself. Jason feels the weight of them in his hands, the burn of the symbols on his chest, the energy drawing itself directly from his soul. He can hear gasps from his fellow members of the All-Caste, can see Essence peer at him through a cloud of smoke, but pays them no mind; he only has eyes for Talia, how her own eyes alight with sheer disbelief as he swings the blades into a graceful arc, showing off his skill and proficiency with a pair of weapons that no other human has ever wielded.

"All-Mother," Jason says, "Forgive me for my impudence. But I will explain everything to you, and to Talia as well. Right now if you wish."

Ducra huffs. "You're forgiven, but don't do it again without my permission," she turns away, "Come. I can tell this is a conversation not meant for prying ears. I'll take us to one of the private sanctums to talk."

The explanation is lengthy, but they don't interrupt him. Ducra believes him immediately, she knows when a soul is lying. Soul magicks were the heart of the All-Caste after all. And with her vouching, Talia, naturally, has no choice but to believe him as well. There is no other explanation for that little show after all.

But that doesn't stop her from accusing him of being a liar.

"No. No. I would never—"

"You would," Jason instantly disagrees, cold and dispassionate.

"Damian is my son!" Talia hisses back, angry. "I love him!"

"Maybe so, but you love him more. And no matter how much you may have come to love Damian, that doesn't change the purpose of his conception. A purpose you and I both know he will never fulfill, not as long as you still consider your father an option while traveling this twisted road you're on," Jason's voice softened as he pressed on, "I'm sorry that if this hurts you Talia, but it's the truth. I'm just giving you a chance to salvage what little is left."

She is a powerful woman. A dangerous woman, the most dangerous in the world according to Bruce himself. But when her face crumples at his words, Jason knows he has her on the ropes.

"I will lose even more time with him if he goes to his father now," Talia responds, voice wavering. "Jason, once my Beloved has him, I will never get him back."

"Better that then being forged into a weapon his father doesn't want! He isn't living as he is, Talia. I know you want the best for him, but this isn't it. And I know that you know no other way, that this was how you were raised, but that doesn't change the fact that he's better off with Bruce. That he's safer with Bruce."

"And how can you be sure of that!" Talia suddenly shouted, eyes alight with fury, "Your own tale speaks of his fate. He became another child soldier in that insane war his father wages in that wretched hive of a city, and was dead by the time he was twenty. How can any of that be called living?"

"Because it was the result of his own choices!" Jason shouted back, before calming itself. "Damian knew the risks of this life, knew the consequences of choosing to take up a mask, and he accepted them. And I know that, to his dying moment, he never regretted it. He grew up to be a good man, a great man, who used his skills to help people, and he was happy, Talia. Can you honestly say that he's happy now?"

Talia pursed her lips, but didn't answer. She knew he was right.

It was hard to be happy, after all, when you didn't know what happiness was.

"You and I both know what he is to Ra's. You see a son when you look at him, and when I see him again, I will see a younger brother. But your father? He indulged you because to him Damian will be the perfect meat suit to use when his own finally fails him," Jason pressed on, knowing that he had the advantage in this argument.

"Bruce isn't the perfect father Talia, God knows I know that better than anyone else. But at least with him, Damian will be able to live his own life and make his own choices, and be happy, above all else. He'll be loved so strongly and fiercely and have a family filled with some of the most dangerous people in the world that won't hesitate to throw themselves to the wolves if it means protecting him. He'll be as safe as anyone can be in this world."

Jason was pushing and pushing hard. He'd go to his knees and beg if he had to. Anything just to have Damian with their family again. He refused leave his younger brother in a den of murderers when he had the chance to take him away to his father and their siblings.

He had failed his family so many times, far more than he could count. He wasn't about to fail them now, when they were closer in reach than ever before.

"Will that include you?"

Talia was staring at hard at him, testing his conviction. For Jason, it was hardly a trial; the answer was already on his lips before she even finished the question.

"Of course."

He was offended she even had to ask.

It seemed that was all she needed to hear. Jason saw her body relax, as much as it could in these uncertain times.

"I will bring him to you in a month. Not only that, I will also bring your…sister, as well." Jason blinked at, but soon his surprise turned to understanding. Having another sibling, especially one as skilled as Cass, meant double the safety for Damian. "It will be up to you to take them to Gotham after that, however. Give me a list of what you'll need for the trip, and I'll get it for you. That will be the full extent of my involvement. Anything more will draw my father's attention."

Her words lifted a great weight from his shoulders, and he let out a sigh of relief. He had taken the first step. Now there was only the rest of the journey left.

"Thank you, Talia. You won't regret this."

"See that I don't. I assume you'll be staying here for now?"

Jason turned to Ducra, who had all but melded to the walls as an interested spectator. "If they're willing to have me."

The All-Mother leveled him a deadpan look. "You're trouble," she said flatly, "but the kind of trouble we can get behind. You can stay."

Jason smiled.

After Talia's departure, Jason spent the next two months training, trying to reorient his body to match the skills he learned over his time as Batman. It made for a great distraction from thinking about his situation, otherwise he would probably balled up somewhere in the corner of the Chamber, a sobbing wreck.

It was hard work. A different body type that was only going to change as he grew older, instinctive movements that were trying to react with muscle memory that simply wasn't there. Time that wasn't spent building his body back to its peak condition was spent running through an endless series of movements, trying to acclimate to something that would, if not put him on par with Bruce or even Dick, at least give them a decent run for their money. Anything less than that and not only would he die, but so would Cass and Damian, and Jason was not risking that in the least.

But he was getting there. Ducra was a harsh but fair taskmaster, and Batman or no, she had thousands of years of experience on him. Her advice was invaluable as ever, and Jason soaked it up like a sponge. By the end of the first month, he had effectively surpassed every warrior the All-Caste had, winning every challenge made to him. He no longer overreached using a limb that lacked the length, and calculated hits with the strength he had now instead of the strength had in that other life. Combined with the combat experience he now had, it made for quite a potent combination.

Once he had complete control over his body again, his focus shifted to building it back up to something more optimal. He focused less on practicing movements and more on roadwork; runs in the forests that surrounded the temple, climbing the cliffs (first with both arms and then with one), even simple exercises such as push-ups and crunches. Every night was then ended with an hour of meditation, synchronizing his 'center' with the soul that powered his more esoteric abilities. The results of that training were a little less obvious, but no less cherished. Jason knew it would be years before he could truly say he was at his best, but every marked improvement was still noteworthy.

When he wasn't training, he was getting to know the members of the All-Caste again. There were old members that had died in the previous timeline that he had hit it off with, but it was only in this one that he was making the overtures for friendship. There was Essence, who showed a not-platonic interest in him, but Jason had shut that down instantly. Prior experience combined with relative maturity growth had killed off any desire to go down that particular route again. There was Ducra, who was probably the only person he could talk freely and openly with. Baring his soul to her have never felt like a hassle.

All in all, those two months were the most relaxed Jason had been in a long time.

It was only when Damian and Cass arrived that the problems started.

Jason stared.

Damian stared back.

Talia waited patiently for the shoe to drop.

Jason turned to her. "You were planning on artificially aging him up, weren't you?"

Talia shrugged. "The thought had crossed my mind before," she said cryptically. Because, obviously, Damian had no idea about the time travel. Jason had specifically told Talia not to tell him, having wanted to take on that burden himself when he felt Damian was old enough and mature enough to understand.

However, it seemed he would have to wait a lot longer than he thought — looking at the boy now, he couldn't be much older than six or seven. The age difference between them in Jason's previous life was six years, and now it was ten. And despite his accusation, Jason had a feeling that it wasn't Talia that was responsible for this change. No, if anything he'd bet it was one of those reality-breaking disasters the universe had to deal with every couple of years. God knows he had enough memories of divergent, multiplying timelines to accept that as a viable explanation. It would certainly explain his current predicament.

Whatever. It didn't matter — hell, he'd argue it was even better like this. Now Damian had even more years to spend as a normal, happy child, or at least as much as one a baby ex-assassin could with a family of dysfunctional and insane vigilantes. Just thinking about it made it hard to resist the urge to throw all caution into the wind and pull his baby brother into his arms for a bone-crushing hug.

Just looking at him, he could see an innocent child, and not the tortured but good man he became. Jason would always mourn the Damian he had lost, but this? This is something he was sure his Damian would want. No amount of training could make up for all the love that Jason and their family would have for this boy, who still had so much to live for.

He crouched down so he could be eye-level with the much younger boy. Even at sixteen, he towered over Damian. "Do you know who I am?"

The young boy straightened his shoulders and puffed out his chest, clearly trying not to show weakness. Jason tried not to laugh; it made for an adorable sight. "My older brother. One of the many strays Father adopted. Mother says you will take me to him, once you deem me ready."

"I will," Jason confirmed, not bothering to elaborate on what, exactly, he considered 'ready'. "And until you are ready, I will tell you about him, and our other brothers as well. Will that suffice, Damian?"

The boy nodded. Jason eyed him for a long moment. Then, seemingly satisfied, he stood up and looked at Talia expectantly.

"And her?"

Talia adopted a slightly contrite look. "She was difficult to find and subdue, but we managed. She's currently under sedation, though it will wear off by tomorrow. We've already transferred her to Ducra's care."

"Good. Does he know who she is?"

"I thought that would be best left to you."

Jason sighed.

Talia payed it no mind, looking to one of the men she had brought with her. The man stepped forward, handing Jason two large briefcases. Despite their obvious weight, Jason hardly felt the strain, something that Damian noticed. Neither of his relatives missed how he began eying Jason with just a tinge more respect than he had previously.

"The one on the right contains everything you'll need when you finally make the trip to Gotham, including hard cash, fake passports and IDs. The one on the left contains hard-copy files on both Damian and the girl, your family, and any relevant news that's occurred since your first death. I suggest you study them before you leave."

"I will," Jason answered, and gave his one-time mentor a grateful look. "Thank you again, Talia."

Talia said nothing to that, though her eyes softened a bit when she looked at him. Instead, she reached down to tuck Damian into a hug. The boy was surprised by the gesture; such shows of affection, even from his mother, were far and few in-between.

"Obey your brother, Damian. Whatever doubts you may have about him or what he will teach you, remember that he only wishes to protect you."

"Yes, Mother."

Talia gave him another squeeze, murmuring an endearment in Arabic before letting her son go. She gave Jason another assuring nod, and then walked away.

"Do you know why Mother is sending me to meet Father early?"

Jason paused, before continuing to thoroughly chew his food and swallow. He then turned to Damian, looking at him thoughtfully.

After Talia's departure, Jason had set the briefcases down into what would be their room and had taken Damian around the Chamber for a tour. While the boy would remain by his side for most of his stay, Jason wasn't deluded enough to believe that he'd be able to keep an eye on him all the time; Damian's innate independent streak (unquestionably inherited from Bruce) would undoubtedly flare up once he became more comfortable with his surroundings. He'd wander on his own once they had a disagreement, so Jason might as well give him the information needed not to get lost.

Once the tour was over, Jason made one final stop and visited Cass. He couldn't help but stare at his sister, like he had with Damian. She was so much younger, pale and uncomfortably thin. There was a raggedness to her that he hadn't liked, so unlike the elegant woman she had become in his future. Just looking at her, Jason knew that the road ahead would not be an easy one. David Cain had seen to that.

By the time his visit was over, it was time for dinner. Jason directed Damian to the mess hall, where the simple fare that constituted for food at the temple had been spread out. The brothers had seats of honor next to the All-Mother, and Jason instinctively had Damian have the seat next to Ducra. It's not like he had issues with the other members of the All-Caste, but of everyone here, he trusted her the most. Not to mention if Damian's brattiness came out during the meal she'd be more than willing to put the boy in his place.

Jason remembered perfectly well what Damian was like when he first joined the family. He wasn't taking any chances.

"What did she tell you?" Jason asked instead of answering.

Damian scowled. It was a familiar expression. "Mother said it was for my safety. Which makes no sense; nowhere is safer than with the League."

Jason knew for a fact that wasn't true. If anything, the League was the least safe place a person could be, especially for a child like Damian. Of course, that might have been Damian's superiority complex kicking in; the boy was a direct male descendant of Ra's al Ghul and a prodigious martial combatant. He probably thought his position was naturally unassailable and equated that supposed invincibility with relative safety. If Jason remembered correctly, Nyssa Raatko had yet to make her own play yet (something that would've placed Damian in danger and surely dispelled that notion of invulnerability), furthering that delusion.

"I wouldn't say that, little brother," Jason retorted, hiding his smile when he saw Damian's scowl deepen at the reminder of his status relative to Jason. "Tell me: what do you know of your grandfather? Have you met him?"

"Occasionally. As his chosen heir, he likes to keep track of my progress. He even watched my latest duel with my cousin Mara and praised me for putting her in her place," Damian's face lit up at the memory. Jason felt his stomach churn.

Mara al Ghul. Damian's killer. The would-be Demon's Head, until Talia had taken her head in retaliation for the death of her son, ending the line of Dusan al Ghul forever. If Jason was right, she would be Damian's age right now.

Oh, Damian… "Do you know what it means, to be his heir?"

"I shall inherit the League and all its resources upon Grandfather's death. I will continue his work, when he can continue it no longer."

Jason shook his head. "No. You won't continue his work, Damian. He will."

Damian looked at him sharply, narrowing his eyes. "I beg your pardon?"

"I assume your mother told you of my situation? Of how I was unexpectedly revived and then dumped into a Lazarus Pit to heal my memories?"

Damian nodded slowly. Jason peered around the room, making sure no one was paying attention to them. While the information he was about to give out wasn't inherently dangerous (or unknown) to the All-Caste, he wasn't taking any chances. Ducra was no doubt eavesdropping on them, but that was hardly a concern. She already knew everything he was about to say.

"The power of the Lazarus Pit is finite Damian. The more a person uses it, the less potent the effects of the waters will have them. Why else do you think your grandfather practically drowns himself in it every time he has some sort of ailment?"

His younger brother stared at him. The dots weren't hard to connect. "You believe Grandfather plans to possess me when his body finally fails?"

"I know he does, and your mother knew it too. It's the main reason he consented to your conception and birth. Hell, it's probably why your cousin Mara was never considered as heir above you. She's a girl, and your grandfather will never consent to wearing what he considers an inherently weaker body. Otherwise your mother would never have had to contend for her birthright at all."

Damian looked mutinously sick. Jason didn't blame him. Perhaps it was a bit much dropping a bomb like this on a child so young, but Damian unfortunately didn't have the luxury of such innocence. Not in regards to a matter like this.

"You're not lying, are you?"

He believed him. Of course he did; his mother wouldn't have left him in his care otherwise. She did, after all, say that Jason only wanted to protect him.

Jason shook his head. "No. I'm sorry, Damian."

The boy said nothing, instead turning back to his food and continuing to eat quietly. He didn't even offer a protest when Jason sneaked his arm around him in a protective hug. Jason's eye's met Ducra's, and he smiled sadly when she gave him an approving nod.

The next day, Cass woke up.

She was sluggish at first, but as the day wore on and she gradually regained her mental and physical faculties, she became slightly hostile and extremely skittish. Jason took Damian with him, but instructed him to stay out of sight while he dealt with their sister. Not that Damian knew she would be their sister yet.

Cass was obviously suspicious of him at first, but her body-reading skills kicked in when she saw his non-threatening demeanor. She relaxed in his presence, accepting the food he gave her with no protest. When she was done, she looked up at him quizzically.

Jason pointed to himself, "Jason."

She blinked, tilting her head. She pointed at him.

"Jason," Jason repeated, nodding encouragingly.

"Ja…Jayss…" Cass frowned, shaking her head.

Jason took her hand comfortingly, taking it as another victory when she didn't pull away. "It's okay," he said, trying to convey the words with his body language. She gave him a small smile — message received.

The rest of their time together was spent just talking, trying to teach his sister names. Jason gave the okay for Damian to come in, and despite some initial awkwardness, Cass came to accept his presence as well. After they got Jason's name down, they tried Damian's. They got as far as 'Dami' — something that Jason found much delight in — before stopping, and moving on to Cass's own name.

"Cassandra," Jason said, pointing at his sister.

Cass blinked, and pointed to herself. Jason gave her an affirming nod.

"Ca…Cass..saandr-r-aaa."

Jason beamed at her. Cass blushed.

"Who is she?" Damian hissed to him as they made their way for lunch, Cass following silently behind them. It seemed the hours they had spent with her practicing their names had made her reluctant to part from them. Jason was worried about how'd she react to the other members of the All-Caste, but was delighted nonetheless.

"Our new sister," Jason answered nonchalantly.

"You intend for Father to adopt her," Damian immediately surmised, "How are you sure he will?"

Jason winked. "I just do."

Damian sighed, distinctly unamused. "You perplex me, Jason. There's more to you than what Mother told me, isn't there?"

"There is," Jason confirmed, but said no more.

They entered the mess hall, where the meal had already been set up. A third seat had been placed to the right of Ducra's, clearly intended for Cass. Jason directed her to sit between him and Damian, and gestured for her to eat.

That proved to be a mistake. Cass looked at the food and ate like a ravished hound, shoveling food into her mouth at a breakneck pace. It quickly drew the attention of the other patrons, and only a solid glare from Jason and surprisingly Damian caused them to turn their attentions away. Unfortunately, Cass had sensed the disapproval and stopped eating, swallowing what food she had in her mouth and shrinking into herself.

Jason wouldn't let that stand. He tapped on Cass's knee, and when she looked at him, gestured for her to watch him. He slowly and carefully took a pair of chopsticks and held it firmly in one of his hands, using them to pinch the nonexistent air. Cass stared at him, before a figurative light bulb lit up above her head. She spotted her own chopsticks and, with Jason's help, mimicked his hold and the movement of his fingers. When Jason used the chopsticks to eat a bit of fish, she mimicked that as well, and soon was consuming the rest of her meal at a more sedate pace.

Damian watched the entire scene from his own seat with a critical eye, absentmindedly eating his own food, his expression unreadable. When Jason turned his smile towards him, he clenched his fist.

The rest of the day was spent giving Cass her own tour of the Chamber. This took much longer than Damian's; on top of showing her each room, they also had to teach her their names so she could communicate to them when she needed to use one. It was dinner by the time they were finished.

Dinner went much more smoothly than lunch, and after they were done, Jason and Damian helped move Cass's things to their room while she bathed and changed under Ducra's direction. When she returned (another victory!), Jason had her sit next to him as he studied the files Talia had given him the previous day, eventually falling asleep on her own futon. Jason stopped his reading to smile at her.

"Who is she?" Damian demanded once again. He had been sharpening one of his knives on the other side of the room.

Jason turned away from Cass to frown at him, before exhaling tiredly. "Have you heard of David Cain?"

"A former member of the League. A skilled one," Damian paused, "According to Mother, he was one of Father's teachers."

"He was," Jason confirmed, "He taught Bruce how to kill, not that Bruce ever used his techniques for their intended purpose."

"Why ever not?"

Jason let out another sigh. "Our father doesn't kill, Damian."

Damian stared at him as if he spoke gibberish. "But our father is a warrior! A victor of many battles! What kind of warrior does not kill?"

"One with strong ideals," Jason stated firmly, and God did that statement bring back memories, "One that values life above all else, that believes in redemption. I never completely agreed with it, but over the years I've learned to accept it and abide by it for my own reasons. Our father is a warrior, Damian, but he is also an idealist — a hero. And if you truly wish for his acceptance, to follow in his footsteps, then you need to be ready to follow his code."

The boy looked down, staring at the knife he had been sharpening. He looked like any other child who had their entire world upended for the second time. Lost.

Jason moved to sit next to his brother, careful not to wake their sister. Damian didn't resist when Jason wrapped him up in a hug.

"It's the complete opposite of what your mother told you, wasn't it?"

"I'm beginning to wonder if anything she told me was true."

Jason winced. What a damning thing to say. "And how are you sure I'm telling you the truth?" He couldn't help but ask.

Damian looked up at him, and shrugged. "I do not know. Mother tells me to trust you, yet everything you say paints her in a bad light. Yet Cassandra trusted you so easily, and you've been nothing but accommodating to both of us. It is confusing."

"I imagine it would be," Jason fondly ruffled his hair, ignoring the younger boy's noise of protest, "But I promise, I'm not lying. And as for your mother…" He inhaled a deep breath, "Your mother is a complicated woman, Damian. I respect the hell out of her, but I'm not blind to her faults. She's always been torn between the love she has for your grandfather and love she has for our father, and desperate to find a way to reconcile the two. I'm not saying you should disregard everything she's taught you; but you should remember what I've said, when thinking back on it."

Damian remained silent, still ruminating on his thoughts. He'd probably be doing that for quite a while.

"But enough of that. You want to know who Cassandra is, right?"

"I do," the younger boy confirmed.

"Then we go back to David Cain. Cain is one of the best assassins in the world, and one who always strove to be better. Eventually, he came to the conclusion that in order to be better, he needed the perfect assassin as his partner, and sought to train one. After his attempts to train young children to fulfill his vision ended in failure, he sought to conceive such an assassin from his own seed and train them from birth instead. To that end, his search turned to the perfect mate to carry his child."

"His search ended at a martial arts tournament. He saw a pair of sisters duel at the tournament, and concluded that one of them would be a suitable mate. However, he felt her potential was being held back by the other sister, and so murdered her so his chosen conception partner would no longer be held back. Then he ambushed the would-be mother with the League; in exchange for sparing her, she had to carry Cain's child and give it to him for training."

"Cassandra was that child," Damian stated, having already made the necessary conclusions once Jason revealed Cain's goal.

"Yes. The way he trained her was horrific; from birth, she's only ever known violence. He never taught how to read or write, and avoided speech entirely in her presence — to him, the only language she needed to know was that of the body, of combat. Eventually, however, that backfired on him. He had her make her first kill at eight; the body language of the victim convinced her that murder was wrong, and she fled him entirely and has been on the run ever since."

"That's why you're convinced father will adopt her," Damian tacked on, "Her morals align with his, and her past will cause him to sympathize with her."

"Yes," Jason admitted. "She needs help, and our father has never been one to turn away from people who need help. No one in our family ever has. It's not our way. Plus…"

"Plus?"

"She needs his protection too. Like you do."

Damian blinked. "From Cain?"

"Not just from Cain. From her mother as well," at Damian's bemused look, Jason pressed on. "Cassandra's mother is a woman named Sandra Wu-San. But you know her by another name — Lady Shiva."

His younger brother froze, and for the first time in this timeline, Jason saw pure, naked fear on his young face. But how could Jason blame him? Every serious martial arts practitioner in the world knew of the woman who held that name, of what her dearest, greatest wish was.

"The older Shiva becomes, the more desperate she will be to find someone to fulfill her wish. Cassandra, as her daughter, is one of the only people on the planet with the potential to surpass her. And once Shiva comes to that realization herself, she will come for her child and try to force her hand. And Cassandra will die, because she will never kill again, not even when her life is on the line," Jason's nostrils flared.

Just the thought of that woman rankled him; every member of the Bat-Family had been forced to tangle with Lady Shiva at one point in their lives, but none more so than Cass, who had been dogged by the assassin until the day she finally got her wish and died. His poor sister, having her own mother constantly trying to manipulate her into assisting her suicide. Jason was just grateful Cass didn't have to be the one to land the killing blow in the end.

"Shiva? That's almost as bad as Grandfather!"

"Yes. Make no mistake Damian, once we leave the All-Caste's protection, we are vulnerable. And we will continue to be vulnerable until we are within the confines of Wayne Manor."

He grabbed Damian by the chin — not with too much force, but just enough to get the point across — and tilted his head up so he green eyes could meet Jason's own solid mix of teal.

"Yesterday, I deliberately did not inform you what requirements you had to fulfill in order to meet our father. What you needed to do to be 'ready'," Jason's nose wrinkled at the choice of words Talia had to use, but the damage was done and he would have to roll with it.

"Well, here they are: it's when you're able to blend in with a crowd and be completely inconspicuous. It's when people are able to look at you and see you as nothing more than an innocent, unremarkable, child. It's when you can take their well-meaning, oblivious comments and play into them. We cannot draw any serious attention to ourselves during the trip; even the tiniest bit could mean life or death."

"That sounds demeaning," Damian commented, though it lacked the heat that would typically accompany such a statement. Clearly, Jason's words had gotten to him.

"When it comes to survival, Damian, being demeaned is the least of your problems. Trust me — I would know."

It was in that moment that Jason realized how much he sounded like Batman. That lecture was the kind Bruce or Dick would give during training, that he himself had given to his own Robins.

Damian hadn't truly come into himself until he became Robin. It seemed that would be no different here.

The next day, Damian tried to kill him.

Jason wasn't surprised.

He had just upended the boy's entire world over the course of two days. For the first time in his life, Damian knew what it was like to be completely at the mercy of others. The League he had been told all his life he would inherit was now one of the monsters in his nightmares. The girl he was set to travel with would be a target for the deadliest warrior on the planet. And their only protector was a brother he barely knew, who had died and come back to life for reasons unexplained.

Damian needed to know that Jason could protect him. That his Mother's faith was not misplaced.

When the knife came, Jason barely reacted beyond a casual tilt of the head. The blade embedded itself into one of the wooden posts. Cass stared at it, at Damian, in some vague mixture of disbelief and horror. Jason just continued moving through his kata, completely unperturbed.

At lunch, his drink was poisoned. Jason poured the contents into the bed of one of the plants and tossed the cup.

During afternoon training, Damian came at him with a live blade and tried to skewer him. Jason disarmed him in five minutes.

Dinner, he poisoned Jason's drink and food. Jason tossed both and ate fruit instead.

Then it was time to sleep. Middle of the night, Damian woke up and tried to smother him with a pillow. Jason punched the pillow in half, grabbed his younger brother by the scruff of his neck and forcibly hugged him to unconsciousness.

The follow morning, Damian woke up, found them cuddling, and screamed.

"Finally give up?"

Damian scowled at the ground, arms crossed and absentmindedly trying to scuff the soles of his boot by kicking around some nonexistent dirt.

"Good," Jason took out a file and handed it to the seven-year-old, "This is the file on the cover your mother made for you. Memorize it until you can recite it in your sleep. Once you've done that, I've gotten Ducra's permission to take you outside and practice your acting skills with some of the locals."

The child stared down at the manila folder, then up at Jason.

"Who are you?"

Jason raised an eyebrow.

"Mother said you are my brother. You say you are my brother. And yet I cannot help but feel there is more to the situation than what you are both telling me," Damian explained.

Jason stared at him for a long moment. Just as Damian was starting to feel nervous, the older boy smiled down at him, and crouched down so they were eye-level, something he hadn't done since Damian had first arrived to the temple.

"Did your mother tell you what our father was, above all else?"

Damian thought back for a long moment, then shook his head.

"He's a detective, Damian," Jason ruffled his younger brother's hair, a gesture said brother found more comforting than he'd like to admit. "As am I. As are our brothers. And it looks like you have the makings of one too."

Damian blinked up at him, becoming flustered at Jason's proud expression.

"How about this? You investigate me. Collect all the clues that you can. And once you've come to a conclusion, present it and the evidence to me. And if you're right—" Jason bopped his nose playfully. "I'll tell you everything."

The child grabbed his nose, scowl having returned, yet his eyes showed the yearning he felt.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Chapter Text

"Preposterous! You expect us to ride coach?"

"What part of 'under the radar' did you not understand?"

"Surely first class tickets are not that conspicuous."

"They are when all three passengers are under age and one of them is mute. We get first class seats and we'll look like three runaways who stole daddy's credit card for a joyride."

"But—"

"No, Damian. We're riding coach and that's final."

The boy grumbled and stomped off. Jason rubbed his temples, trying to relax the migraine that had sprung up during the argument. While he was glad his younger brother had gotten comfortable enough to argue with him over things like this, it also meant the return of bratty Damian, someone he had not missed. At all.

Jason had been prepared to deal with the tantrums that came with the child that he and Tim had so lovingly nicknamed 'demon spawn' years ago, but that did not make it any less exhausting. None of his Robins had been as spoiled and obnoxious as Damian was during his younger years, but then again, all of them except Matty had been far older when they came into his care and had experienced some resemblance of a normal life beforehand. Damian, for all his training and intelligence, still had the relative maturity of a seven-year-old kid who had been spoiled rotten by a distant family. A family that also systematically abused him with the intention of making him into a killing machine to help fulfill their delusions of world domination.

At least the boy had not complained about the rest of the cover. Playing the part of ignorant American tourist was every bit of demeaning as Damian claimed it to be, but there was no better cover than that. Just ask a few dumb questions, take a few enthusiastic pictures and people would write them off as foreigners with too much money and time on their hands and leave them alone. The only problem there was their ages, but thankfully they were only staying in the public for a day to pick up some new clothes before heading to the airport. People would just assume that their parents were nearby or something and leave them alone.

At least, that was what he hoped would happen. In this case, the biggest snag wasn't Damian, but Cass. A mute girl was not an easy thing to just brush off. Some may leave the situation alone out of propriety, but even more would inquire about where their parents were, because surely they'd be worried about their impaired daughter. Especially at the airport, when they learned that her only traveling companions were two brothers who were respectively sixteen and seven.

Cass herself was another problem entirely. The girl observed human behavior well enough to mimic it, so acting normal in itself was not the problem. It was the lack of literacy; bad enough she didn't know how to speak, but reading and writing as well? Jason could only hope TSA didn't ask too many questions.

I always did like to make it hard for myself, Jason thought mournfully.

Jason held up a picture of Dick, showing it to Cass and Damian.

"Richard," He enunciated clearly. Cass quickly began parroting the word, trying make the correct sounds. Jason handed her the picture so she could focus entirely on it while committing their eldest sibling's face to memory.

"And that would be…?" Damian asked. The boy was doing his own homework next to him, studying the layout for the airports they were going to use for the trip.

"Richard John Grayson-Wayne. Our oldest brother."

Damian perked up immediately. "The first Robin?"

"Yup. Though he goes by Nightwing these days. Protects his own city in Bludhaven. We're actually going to see him first before we meet Bruce."

Damian looked down at the floor plans he'd been studying. "That's why you're having me study the layout for the Bludhaven airport?"

"Yes. Bludhaven…" Jason winced, "In some ways it's worse than Gotham. But going there will not only throw off the trail of most of the people that will be after us, but also give us an in with Bruce. Dick is more likely to believe us to be who we say we are than Bruce will be. Or he'll at least treat us better until he can confirm it himself than Bruce would."

Damian nodded along absentmindedly, until he suddenly adopted a pinched expression. "Why are you calling our older brother a euphemism for testicles?"

"It's what he prefers to be called," Jason replied, grinning, "Dick is an old shorthand for Richard from the early days of writing, in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. I don't know why he sticks with it; it's pure fodder for all sorts of jokes and unflattering nicknames."

"I see," Damian wrinkled his nose, "I take it he doesn't care?"

"Nope. Dick is the most cheerful member of the family. Combined with his good looks and overall friendly personality, and you'll be alienating a lot of people if you alienate him," he tapped the tip of Damian's nose pointedly, "So don't."

"What about his strength? How skilled is he?"

"One step below Bruce himself. I'm pretty sure I can give him a decent fight, but as I am now I doubt I can beat him," Suddenly Jason's expression morphed into something that resembled admonishment, "Which means you don't stand a chance at all, so don't even think about it."

Damian pouted. Not that he'd ever admit it.

"Richard," Cass cut into the banter, smiling as she handed the picture to Jason. Jason gave her a congratulatory pat on the leg, and then showed her another picture; this time, it was of Tim in his civvies.

"Timothy," Jason recited clearly, handing it to his sister so she could repeat the exercise.

"I take it that's your successor as Robin?"

Jason nodded, "Timothy Drake. From what your mother told me, he replaced me as Robin about six to eight months after I died."

"So you don't know much about him."

Jason shrugged. "You could say that," he responded cryptically. Damian didn't fail to notice the non-answer, but said nothing.

Rather than wait for a response, Jason took out another photo, this time of Alfred. He trailed on the lines of the picture with fondness; unlike the other members of his family, Alfred had a relatively peaceful death. He had died of old age, not long after the deaths of Tim and Damian, though the impact it had on the family was no less devastating.

Jason, as Bruce's only known heir at the time, didn't have the heart to replace him; the man had been more than a butler to the Waynes. He had been family. Instead, he had opted to take on the chores of cooking and laundry himself and had a thoroughly vetted housecleaning staff enter the grounds every week to take care of the rest of the Manor.

It would be nice, seeing Alfred again.

"Why do you have a picture of the help?"

And here we go again, Jason internally groaned as he prepared for a long discussion on why, exactly, Alfred was not just 'help'.

"You don't talk about Father much," Damian noted as they transversed around the market place.

After Damian proved himself able to interact with the public as a normal child on his own, without Jason's direction, his older brother permitted him to come with him for the sessions with Cass and for more social trips, just to get out of the temple for a bit. Jason typically used these short reprieves to buy books that he read to Cass and Damian at night, snuggled together by the candlelight. It helped Cass with her literacy, and helped lull Damian to sleep whenever the stubborn child tried to stay up.

"… I guess I don't know what to say about him. Where I should start," because his relationship with Bruce was tangled and knotted with so many different kinds of feelings that Jason might as well be blundering in the dark to find the beginning of it all. He loved Bruce, he knew that much, and he knew that, despite everything that had happened between them through the years, that love had never died.

But no one was more aware of Bruce's faults as a man than Jason (except Dick and Alfred, perhaps). Flaws that Jason had never lost sight of, even as the years passed and his memories were glazed over with a light, rose-tint, as time was wont to do. With Damian, still so painfully innocent of his father's character, it was a question of painting an accurate picture without destroying the boy's own personal image of the figure that had dominated his fantasies for so long. Jason didn't want that on his shoulders. God knows that Bruce would probably manage that on his own somehow, somewhere down the line.

"Mother painted him as a distinguished warrior, as the only man worthy enough to be her mate. Grandfather said he was an esteemed adversary and an invaluable ally. But none of them have really talked about him, what he's like," Damian huffed, "You have, though not enough. You've told me about his ideals, about what he is above else. But not what he's like as a person, what it's like to really, truly interact with him. That is what I want to know about him. I want to know…" He inhaled, "… if he will like me." He whispered the last part of the sentence like a plea.

For all his childish naivete and privileged upbringing, Damian had never been accused of being anything less than intelligent. Jason's words about Bruce echoed in his thoughts, and it wasn't hard to make connections. Damian had spent his entire life indoctrinated in a belief system that diametrically opposed his father's. And his father was a stubborn man and with a great amount of pride, not unlike Damian himself. With his mother essentially abandoning him, Damian was desperate for parental affection, and wholly aware that his father was unlikely to be open with it, at least with him. As such, he was fishing for information so he could adjust his behavior to be something more acceptable for their father, thus help mitigating whatever damage the details of his past would have on their relationship.

Jason said nothing as he mulled this over. He remained silent throughout the rest of the journey, until they arrived at the local bookstore. It was a small shop, musky with the smell of old, battered and well-worn books. The books themselves were a relatively small selection. They were haphazardly organized by genre and publication date, spread out over a number of languages in even more different dialects. When Jason first found the shop, he deliberately stuck to the English section. While he was no doubt capable of reading everything in that store, and was certain that Damian could read a good chunk of it on his own as well, English was still the primary language of their inevitable destination, and so Cass needed to learn it above all else.

The bell that hung at the corner of the door rang the moment they entered. The shopkeeper, an old woman with her graying hair tied in a messy bun, held up a hand in greeting before returning to stacking money on the counter. Jason gave her a short nod before guiding Damian with him to the line of shelves where the English section was. He immediately spotted what he was looking for, and handed it over to his younger brother.

"This was the first book our father got me," Jason said quietly, tapping on the title: Pride and Prejudice. "It was my favorite book long before I met him, the one I kept on reading again and again. So, for my first birthday at the Manor, he bought a first edition of the book and gave it to me."

"I loved it and hated it. It was my first gift from him, and it was something invaluable. But because it was invaluable, I was terrified to even so much as turn a page. I had to wrap it in some protective plastic and put it on display on the bookshelf in my room," Jason chuckled lightly, "When it came down to it, it wasn't a very practical gift."

"It seems like he did not really think your gift through," Damian commented, with an odd sense of wonderment to his voice.

"He didn't," Jason shook his head, a fond smile on his face. "When it comes to work, our father throws everything he has into it. He thinks about all the possibilities, all the possible contingencies for those possibilities, and then makes contingencies for those contingencies. But when it comes to his loved ones… he cares, make no mistake about that. It's just that he tends to see the forest instead of the trees, the big picture above all else. It's one of the reasons his first partnership started fracturing. Why his partnership with me started fracturing. He tried to plot out the best possible futures for us without considering our opinions on the matter."

Damian said nothing, simply staring down at the book as if it had revealed some dark, terrible secret he hadn't expected to hear. Jason clapped a hand on his shoulder, drawing him out of his thoughts.

"Expect greatness when you meet him, but never perfection. He might be a great man, but he is still just that — a man."

After that, it seemed so much easier to talk about Bruce. Every little thing that the siblings did together prompted some kind of story or anecdote of their absent father. Jason had been mindful to keep them within the confines of his first life, the life that Bruce would remember, but the comments still often stumbled out of his mouth before he realized he was saying anything at all.

Damian loved it. He'd listen, entranced, as Jason detailed something as mundane as a morning at the Manor, or a training session before patrol. It was obvious he was hoarding every piece of information on his father and filing it into his brain for reference for when he finally met the man in question. Cass was less attentive (obviously due to a lack of understanding) but seemed happy enough to hear the brothers converse so animatedly, without a hint of hostility.

Of course, there was some umbrage about the other aspects of Bruce's daily life…

"Bruce," Jason pointed to a picture of Bruce in his office, taking a call for work. He handed it to Cass, letting her practice saying the name, before taking out another picture and presenting it to Damian.

It was much more… wild. It saw Bruce being all but smothered by a gaggle of scantily clad women, all of whom were fighting to press their ballooning breasts against his chest and claw at his suit. Bruce seemed to enjoy it, his arms spread out as if to welcome them, a wide grin on his face. His bowtie was partially undone, and there was a half-filled martini glass dangling from one of his hands.

"Brucie," Jason stated firmly, sliding it over to the young boy.

"… What. Is. This." The boy hissed, glaring at the picture as if it had personally offended him.

"Our father's public persona. I figure I'd warn you now about it, because Bruce is going to have to throw a gala to formally introduce us to Gotham high society," Jason paused, "Or reintroduce, in my case."

"And he'll be acting like this?"

Jason leaned back into his pillow and sighed, "It's the best way to convince people that Batman is not Bruce Wayne. Nobody is going to expect the guy throwing himself at women like a man starved and showing up at fancy balls in pajamas is going out in a bat suit every night to punch out violent criminals. It just doesn't compute to the average joe."

Damian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I understand that. It's just… it's going to be so embarrassing to be out in public with him. The man in this picture is not a man I'm going to be proud to call my father in public."

"You're preaching to the choir, kid," Jason snorted, "Once you know the real Bruce, Brucie is so disingenuous it's downright creepy. Everyone in the family hates Brucie; we only put up with him because he's damn good at deflecting the smarter ones from connecting the dots," he shrugged, "Dick even based his Richie Wayne persona after him. That one is a little more tolerable, if only because it's close enough to the real thing, just with a lot more space in the noggin."

"And you?"

"Bruce figured out pretty early on that having his adopted street rat at one of those parties was only going to be a recipe for disaster. Of course, now that I've come back from the dead, there's no way I'll be able to avoid them."

"What of me or Cassandra?" Damian asked, suddenly realizing with rising dread that he might have to attend these soirees.

Jason patted him on the shoulder comfortingly. "I wouldn't worry too much there. You're far too young to be attending these things; even if your presence is required, you probably won't have to stay long. Same with Cass, for obvious reasons."

"Bruce," Cass punctually stated, handing the picture back to Jason. She then looked down at the picture in Damian's hands, and pointed at it, tilting her head. "Bruce?"

"Sorta, Cass," Jason said, wincing as he made the customary hand gesture to help her understanding. Cass made a silent 'oh' in realization, though there was still some confusion on her face.

Despite the initial issues, Jason came to enjoy this time with Damian and Cass. Damian was too young to remind him of the Damian Jason lost, and Cass was Cass, not to mention she was very much alive the last time he saw her before his second death. Jason knew that he wouldn't have such an easy time divorcing these past versions of his family from the family he knew (and lost) when it came to the others, and tried to savor it as much as possible.

Even so, the day finally came. Damian managed to successfully convince three locals he was the lost child of an American tourist. Cass managed to make it through a crowd without anyone drawing attention to her lack of communicative skills. Three and half months after Jason Todd returned from the dead for the second time, one and a half months after his younger brother and sister arrived to the Chamber of All, it was finally time to leave.

"Thank you for sheltering us, All-Mother," Jason clasped his hands together and bowed. Damian and Cass mimicked the action, the former after a small nudge from his older brother.

"Thank you, All-Mother," Damian muttered reluctantly. Cass said nothing; her gratitude was more than evident on her face.

"Like I said, you're trouble, and your siblings are no better," Ducra gave a good-natured sigh, "But all three of you are trouble we can get behind. Don't make the time you spent here a waste."

"We won't," Jason said firmly, as if the very idea of it was impossible to think about.

Ducra smiled at him, taking his hands and giving them a comforting squeeze. "You're going to see your father again. How do you feel?"

"Happy," Jason answered immediately, before hesitating a bit, "And scared too. I know that once I see him, I won't be able to hide anything from him. And once it's all out in the open…" He trailed off, unable to voice all the possibilities in his head.

"Have faith, Jason. Not just in him, but in yourself as well," she patted him on the cheek, "If your bond with him is true, then it will hold past any insecurities and fears you both have."

Jason smiled weakly at her; the advice was comforting, but he wasn't sure if he believed it. Giving his hands one last squeeze, Ducra let him go, watching as her student and his siblings disappeared into the surrounding forest.

The Chamber of All, while typically located in a mountainous region, tended to relocate its entrance (and therefore, exit) in a much more milder climate, halfway around the world, on a random day every couple of years. Nobody, not even the All-Caste, understood why; Ducra kept purposely mum about it, though there were rumors that the Chamber was sentient and had a sense of humor. There were, however, methods to figure out when this day would be, and she handed out that secret rather freely. Nobody understood that either.

Jason took advantage of this day for their departure. The region the Chamber usually relocated the entrance to was near Istanbul, Turkey, and therefore the Istanbul International Airport. Once they entered the city, Jason dropped money at the nearest hotel for a room and then went to the lobby computer to book them an international flight to Bludhaven. According to the itinerary he printed out, the trip would have two connecting flights; the first one would take them from Istanbul to New York, and the second would take them from New York to Bludhaven. While the second flight would be much shorter, the layover would be at least three hours. By the time they would get to Bludhaven, it would be nighttime; Dick would probably be prepping for patrol by then.

So, his next step was to book them a night at the Bludhaven Plaza hotel. While it wasn't the Ritz, it was comfortable enough, and far away from the more dangerous parts of Bludhaven. After they arrived in the city, they could stay the night there and find Dick in the morning. Jason was pretty certain he still remembered the address of the precinct where Dick was stationed during his time as a police officer. The question was whether he should enter there himself, or trail Dick to his apartment instead.

Looking at the clock, he figured he could decide that later. He returned to the hotel room where Damian and Cass were reading one of his books together (bonding!), and started to prep their luggage. The day before they left the All-Caste, Jason had burned all the files Talia had given them. With all the information firmly memorized in his and Damian's head, the hard copies were only liabilities. The last thing they needed was someone stealing them and landing the entire family in trouble, the exact opposite of the reason why Talia entrusted Damian to Jason and Cass in the first place. This left one of the briefcases Talia had given them completely empty, which Jason used to store a change of clothes for all three of them and some of the books he had bought to pass the time on the plane ride. He would try to sleep, but had a feeling that sleep would be rather fitful for him the closer they got to Gotham.

After that, he took them out to visit a local barber shop for haircuts. All three of them had their hair grown rather unruly during their time with the All-Caste; Cass's in particular was so long that Jason dreaded someone taking advantage of such a visible weak spot during a fight. Upon their arrival, he grabbed the nearest magazine and started sifting through for the appropriate hairstyles, choosing a bob for Cass and one vaguely similar to Damian's original haircut for the boy in question. As for himself, he chose a short cut that allowed a bit of his hair to fluff out in the front, similar to the cut he used during his Red Hood days while he was bouncing around the universe with Roy and Kori as the Outlaws.

By the time all three of them were done it was late in the afternoon. Jason opted to get them a nice dinner and ice cream as one last treat before they had to suffer the questionable quality of airplane food. It had been a while since he had Turkish food anyway. Thankfully, it didn't take the host long to seat the three of them; Damian's face scrunched up at being given a kid's menu, so Jason handed him his own and shared with Cass. He needed to order for her anyway.

As soon as their orders were placed, Jason propped up his elbows on the table and gave a pointed look at Damian, smiling lightly. "Just a few more days, huh?"

Damian gave him a neutral look. He said nothing.

"Are you excited?"

The boy shrugged. "I am… eager, yes. I'm just worried about how he'll react to my presence. From what you've told me about him, he will not be happy to hear that Mother has kept me from him for so long. Nor will he be pleased to hear of my upbringing."

"He won't," Jason admitted, knowing that his youngest brother wouldn't appreciate sugarcoating, "But he'll warm up to you, once he gets to know you better. My approval should help with that." He put a comforting hand on Damian's shoulder. "No matter where you came from, what you've done, you're still his son Damian. Nothing will ever change that." It hadn't for him, after all.

"And what of our brothers? Do you think they will approve of me?" Do you think they'll love me?

It was a true mark of progress that he was seeking their approval instead of their removal. Jason was suitably pleased.

"As long as you don't deliberately antagonize them, things will be fine. Try to reach out to them, compromise, and they'll meet you halfway."

"Mother says that someone of my blood never needs to compromise."

"Well, I thought we agreed that your Mother isn't always right about these things."

"We did," Damian whispered, looking down for a bit. After a long moment, he looked up again to meet Jason's gaze. "Do you approve of me, Jason?"

Jason lifted his hand to ruffle his hair in an increasingly familiar gesture that Damian refused to admit he enjoyed.

"Damian, I've loved you from the moment we met in the Chamber. Of course I do."

Jason had chosen a night flight, specifically so they could sleep both before the flight itself and on the plane. Travel was exhausting, even more so when you needed to be on alert for almost every second of it. The following morning, he woke up Damian and Cass for breakfast, then took them on a short trip to a nearby convenience store to buy toothbrushes and toothpaste, along with some shampoo and conditioner for a quick shower. They returned to the hotel, straightened out their luggage and took another long nap, before checking out of the hotel around three. They had another meal at a nearby bistro, before finally leaving for the airport.

By the time they arrived, it was five, three hours before the actual flight. Early, of course, but that's how a lot of Americans traveled. It was an effective cushion when dealing with the often trouble-addled TSA, and made it easier to avoid any tails they might have. Not that Jason had noticed any; either Talia was covering for them more than she cared to admit or Ra's wasn't as concerned about them as much as Jason thought. Whichever it was, it was useful. They made it through security with little hassle and into the terminal.

The first thing Jason did was direct them to the nearest convenience store. Outside food and drink were a no go and Jason knew they would need snacks and water for the trip. They could not rely on the complimentary sustenance that would be given to them on both flights. Jason directed both Damian and Cass to each take one large snack bag that they would like, then got six water bottles from the nearest shop fridge. At the counter, all of the items were placed in a large bag that Jason had Cass lug around. To reinforce their cover, Jason deliberately talked obnoxiously to the cashier in heavily accented Turkish, while Damian playfully tugged Cass around to point at the magazine stand, which was decidedly not stocked with People or Us.

Then they went to their gate. It was still populated with people waiting for the flight departing prior to theirs, so he directed his siblings to one of the few open spots on the floor and took out Pride and Prejudice for them to read out loud. It was mostly him and Damian, though occasionally Cass tried a sentence or two, with her brothers patiently helping her sound out the words. In about an hour the gate had mostly cleared out, allowing them to claim some of the empty seats for their own use and continue.

When it was time to finally board, Jason put the book away, though separate from the briefcase, and took them both by the hand as they waited for their section to be called. Damian plastered his widest, most innocent smile on his face and took his hand while Cass picked up their bag of goodies and stood on his other side. Jason took out their boarding passes, filing the appropriate ones into the correct passport and handing one to Cass while keeping his and Damian's. After they were checked in, they headed into the plane, allowing one of the smiling flight attendants to direct them to their seats. He quickly stacked his two briefcases on top of each other in the cabinet above and allowed everyone else to sit down, with their food and water placed directly under the seats in front of them. Damian was at the window seat, farthest away from actual people and allowing him a decent view of Istanbul for takeoff, Cass in the middle, and him by the aisle, where he could do all the talking.

Thirty minutes later the plane was ready to take off. He showed Cass how to do her seatbelt, made sure Damian's was tight enough, and held Cass's hand when the ascent began, calming her during the unfamiliar sensation. When the flight stabilized, he pointed to the screen mounted in the seat in front of her, showing her how to navigate through the channels while listening with the complimentary headphones. After noticing that Damian had already figured out the controls for himself (and vaguely amused at how entranced the boy seemed to be with a channel of cartoons), he took out Pride and Prejudice again. Marking the place where he originally stopped with a bent page, he continued reading the book again in silence.

Only pausing for the complimentary drink and then dinner, Jason waited until Damian and Cass were ready to sleep to put the book away. Once he was sure they were settled in and away in dreamland, he turned off the light, closed his eyes, and began to think.

In less than forty-eight hours, they were going to meet Dick in Bludhaven. Twenty-four after that, they would see Tim. Alfred.

Bruce.

And here's the freak out, Jason thought languidly to himself.

He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't have had to spend the last month and a half teaching a seven-year-old Damian to act like a passable human being in public. He shouldn't have needed to use that time to teach Cass how to communicate with others in a barely functional manner. He shouldn't be sixteen years old, traveling with two of his siblings to meet another one of his siblings so he can vouch for their identities when they meet another sibling, their grandfather, and their father. A father who technically wasn't the father of their sister and one of their brothers yet.

He should be dead.

And while Jason wasn't blind to the benefits, he also wasn't blind to the implications. Just by this alone, he had changed the timeline irrevocably. The future he came from felt like a dream now, and for all he knew no longer existed. Carrie was only a baby right now. Helena, Terry and Matt, Penelope… they all might never be born. And his siblings… Jason wasn't going to regret stopping them from suffering so much pain. But without that pain, they were going to be different.

Hell, they were different now. Dick was still trying to find his feet outside of Batman, trying to work through the guilt and grief over not doing more for Jason. Tim barely knew him out of his own voyeuristic endeavors and a costume stuck in a glass case. And Bruce…

And not just them, either. Babs — was she Oracle yet? Luke had yet to return from war, the last thing on his mind was a vigilante lifestyle. Stephanie hadn't even met Tim at this point, let alone become part of the family. Duke still had his own parents. Had Kate even begun her own career as a vigilante? The only person in this entire mess that Jason could count on to be the same was Alfred, but that was because Alfred was the stalwart pillar they all leaned on. That had been true long before he or even Dick had entered the picture, and had stayed that way until the day Alfred himself had died.

And then there was him. A fifty-year-old man stuck in a teenager's body. Nobody had changed more than him, and those changes were only going to be even more pronounced once he saw everyone again. The Jason Todd they knew had died a long time ago, much longer than any of them had yet to learn, and in his place was a worn old man who had come back from the dead twice after losing half his family by the time he was thirty. A man who knew them, knew their futures, better than they knew themselves. A man who had been a parent five times over, who had to manage the biggest company in the world while leading hundreds of superheroes to defend humanity on a weekly basis. A man who had loved and lost more than most had in a dozen lifetimes.

A man who had been Batman, and everything that entailed.

Jason wanted to cry. He wanted to cry so badly. But he couldn't do it here on this plane, with so many witnesses. To paint a target on himself, to be dealt with questions. Damian and Cass needed him to be strong now, so he would be strong. He'd hold it together until they were safe, and then…

Then, he could break.

Upon their arrival to New York, Jason had them make a beeline towards flight listings to make sure theirs to Bludhaven was on time. After confirming it was (and also confirming that they had a layover that lasted four hours), he took them to a nearby restaurant for an impromptu late brunch. It was in the midst of eating his burger (topped with a nice, fried egg) that Damian popped the question.

"What are you going to do after we've settled in with father?"

Jason paused mid-bite, before beginning to chew slightly as he thought his answer over. That was a good question. He had been so concerned about getting Damian and Cass to Bruce and his own impending reunion with the family that he hadn't bothered to think over what he was going to do when everything finally settled down. Of course, there was the matter of writing up reports for future events for everyone to use, but after that Jason was going to have a lot of free time on his hands.

Obviously, Robin was off the table. Even before he died the first time around, Jason was beginning to outgrow the role. He had been Robin for three years by that point and was starting to go through the same phases that had caused Dick to break away from Bruce to become his own hero. Now, there was no way he could go back to being the junior partner after having trained four Robins himself, especially when there was a perfectly capable Robin still around. He would have to establish his own separate identity if he wanted to go out moonlighting as a vigilante again.

Then there was school. It would be child's play for him to get a GED, but after that? There was that old dream of Princeton and an English degree, but did he still want that? Jason had given up that dream a long time ago, first for the sake of vengeance and then for the sake of Gotham and his family. He hadn't regretted doing so either time, because he truly felt it was for the best. But now?

"I don't know, honestly," he confessed, "there were a lot of things I wanted to do, before everything, and I guess I can do them now, but I'm not sure I still want to."

Damian raised an eyebrow, clearly not impressed with that non-answer, and even Cass seemed to understand what he was trying to say, judging by her sympathetic look. Jason shrugged. It was all he had. It would be nice to live a normal life the next few years, but Jason wondered if he could do that with all the knowledge in his mind. With that innate desire to help people, to do good, that was wired into his very being after spending most of his life as a vigilante.

Knowledge is a blessing, he thought wearily, and a curse.

"And what of me? I assume Father will continue Mother's training."

"Maybe. He'll probably send you to school instead."

Only Cass's quick reflexes prevented Damian from shrieking in inarticulate rage and drawing the attentions of the surrounding patrons.

The flight to Bludhaven was much smoother. Now that they had a trial run with the New York flight, neither Damian nor Cass needed any direction from him when prepping for the flight or occupying themselves when they finally got into the air. Jason spent the time filling out the paperwork to get them through customs, eternally thankful that the only thing they had brought with them on the trip were clothes and books.

When they arrived at the Bludhaven airport, they freshened up before heading to customs. As the passports they used denoted them as American citizens, they were sped through the line relatively quickly (half an hour opposed to two hours), and before they knew it, Jason was already signaling a taxi to take them to the Bludhaven Plaza. Not a moment too soon, either; Damian was clearly taking time to adjust to the city's polluted atmosphere. Jason sympathized; an urban climate was hard to adjust to after months of fresh air and nature, and no matter how bad Istanbul could be, nothing beat the toxins of American cities, especially the likes of Gotham and Bludhaven.

The moment the taxi rolled up to the hotel, Jason felt the beginnings of fatigue settling into his bones, and he could tell that Cass and Damian were also about to drop. All this travel had not just been physical and mentally exhausting, but emotionally as well. Jason felt his mind was running a mile a minute as he imagined every conceivable way this upcoming reunion was about to go, and he knew Cass and Damian were going through the same thing, if to a lesser extent. As much as Jason would love to see Dick as soon as possible, they really needed a night in first.

He gently roused them awake and got out of the car. While Cass collected their things, Jason payed the driver, not even grumbling when he saw that the going rate was much higher than it was supposed to be. As the taxi drove away, the trio of siblings turned to the hotel and trudged in.

Despite there being plenty of empty seating, both Cass and Damian had elected to stay with Jason in the Check-In line. Either they didn't feel safe within their current surroundings (a reasonable fear) or they wanted to get to the room as soon as possible instead of possibly crashing on the nice, comfy chairs and falling asleep there in relatively awkward and indefensible positions. Jason was betting on the latter. No matter how much he coached them to act 'normal', there was some training you just couldn't overcome.

It was just as Jason got to the counter that things went to shit.

The lights blacked out unexpectedly; both patron and employee alike let out noises of surprises, with one particular guest shouting out "What the hell?" During the commotion, Jason, sensing something was wrong, quickly grabbed for both Damian and Cass's hands, clutching both tightly.

When the lights returned, the screams started.

In the middle of the lobby were three masked gunmen, waving around rifles and machine guns while demanding that everyone get on the ground. While most of those present followed the suit, Jason had to clamp down on both his siblings to force them to do the same. He could already tell that Damian was not happy having to do his first stint as a hostage before he even got to Gotham.

Jason wasn't any happy about it either, but there were too many witnesses and his trained senses allowed him to hear the reinforcements their assailants had. Said reinforcements were now trying to secure the rest of the hotel for whatever reason. Why were they even at this hotel anyway? The Bludhaven Plaza was a nice hotel, but not nice enough for a VIP like Bruce Wayne or Lex Luthor, someone with actual money to burn for their safety. If it was ransom they were after, this was not a decent place for it.

"Got the police on the line?"

"Yeah, boss. With that many sirens, there's no way Nightwing will miss this."

"Good. Blockbuster is offering a mighty nice penny for whoever whacks him, and I intend to collect."

As Damian and Cass exchanged startled looks, Jason resisted the urge to run his hand down his face.

I haven't even seen Dick yet, and he's already causing me trouble. He sighed. Big Brother of the Year, my ass.

Chapter Text

A half hour of being a hostage for his older brother meant Jason was tired, cranky, and about to stab a bitch.

By the ten minute-mark Damian began squirming, forcing Jason to use his considerable weight advantage and growing bulk to hold him down. Cass, blessed angel that she was, played the part of the frightened girl to a tee. Jason himself tried put up the facade of a brave older brother trying to calm his tearful younger sibling, but it was hard when said sibling was so very obviously not afraid and about a step away from trying to eviscerate everyone.

Not that Jason could exactly blame him. These guys were amateurs. Their perimeter was laughable, most of them were barely paying attention to the hostages other than to wave a gun around in a poor show of force every five minutes, and he was fairly certain that they hadn't recruited nearly enough people to secure the entire hotel judging by what he'd overheard from their equally amateurish attempts at talking in code. Damian, from what Jason had read in his file, could do a better job planning this operation out, and he was seven.

Hell, Cass and Jason himself could've taken care of this already, given enough of a distraction and sufficient disguises. The only reason they hadn't was because people would start talking if two new vigilantes popped up completely out of the blue in the middle of Nightwing's territory. They didn't need that kind of attention when they didn't have Bruce's protection yet, especially with Blockbuster still gunning for Dick. If the mobster found out they were connected to the biggest pain in his ass while they were still in Bludhaven… well, it would make Dick's life much harder, and as irrationally pissed off Jason was at his older brother for landing them in this situation, it wasn't enough to be party to his suffering. Jason had grown beyond that a long time ago.

So the only option was to wait for Nightwing to show up and take care of things. Jason hoped it was soon, but not too soon. While he wasn't going to play vigilante for this, he still needed to find a way to squirrel him, Cass, and Damian from the situation while avoiding the police outside. While Jason was fairly certain Talia had given them covers that would hold up against the background checks of local law enforcement, he'd still rather not have those names on any more records. Plus, he wasn't sure how far Dick had gotten around to cleaning up BPD yet, so bribes might not be an option either.

Jason peered around discreetly, perking up slightly when he saw that the hotel had a service entrance that was unguarded. Judging by its position, it led to the alley to the left of the building. The entrance of said alley was, if Jason remembered correctly, hidden by a stack of stationary garbage dumps. Perfect. Worst came to worst they could hide out there until the police were gone. Jason had read up on the BPD's track record from this time, he knew that even after Dick entered the force the number of competent officers could be counted on one hand. They'd never think to check there once the building was cleared out, and everyone else would be too panicked trying to escape to notice them.

Ruminating on his plan, Jason quietly squirmed his arms into his inside pocket, taking out a pair of gloves and silently snapping them on. No chances.

The lights went out.

About time, Goldie.

When they returned, Nightwing was right in the middle of the lobby, having already taken out the two men holding them hostage and presumably the rest stationed on this floor, at the back of the building. At his assuring nod, the crowd fled for the entrance, fighting to get outside, while he ran up the stairs to take care of the rest of the crew.

Jason pulled Damian up, Cass following his lead, and grabbed their things. They made a show of following the crowd, but the moment Nightwing had his back turned and was running in the opposite direction, Jason directed them towards the service entrance, making sure no one was looking at them. Taking out a hairpin he had hidden in one of his pockets, he easily jimmied the lock open and ushered them inside, closing and locking the door.

"Hey!"

It seems Dick missed one. That was rather sloppy of him. Dick did begin running himself down after joining the force. Mostly because he tried to juggle being a vigilante protector of the city and the leader of the Titans at the same time. Jason wondered if the latter had happened yet. It would certainly explain this little misstep.

The thug lumbered towards them menacingly with a knife. Jason amended his previous opinion; these guys weren't amateurs, they were idiots. These guys were already be going to be doing serious time with this stunt — because Blockbuster obviously wasn't going to bust out bail money for two-bit mooks he could easily replace with anyone he picked off the street. So why would they try to add a murder charge on top of that? With kids as the victims? Even in Bludhaven that wouldn't fly well with, well, anyone.

Within seconds Cass had their assailant disarmed and was holding his own weapon to his jugular. Before he could even start sputtering for mercy, Damian punched him in the balls, causing him to collapse. Jason put him out of his misery with a hard kick to the head, which would leave him with a nasty concussion when he woke up. Hopefully the possible brain damage and his pride would prevent him from revealing that he got his ass kicked by a couple of teenagers and a seven-year-old.

Not paying any more attention to the pathetic heap, Jason pointed to the exit. They ran through it, calming themselves as the musky heat of a summer night blanketed their bodies. Spotting a fire escape on the other side of the alley, Jason had them climb up, making sure the shadows hid them from blinking fluorescent lights of police cruisers until they made it to the roof. Once there, Jason let out a sigh of relief; they were safe for now.

"Yo."

The safest they'd been since they left the All-Caste's protection.

Jason turned around to see the first Nightwing in all his glory. It had been a long time since he'd seen those lines of blue and black. After Damian's death, the mantle had passed on to Jon Kent in honor of his best friend, becoming part of the Superman Family's line and a symbol of friendship between their two families. After Jon succeeded his deceased predecessor as Superman, the mantle passed on to his own adopted son, who had been named after Damian. While Jason had never begrudged Jon for taking on the name, even giving his blessing and training him when the younger man had asked for it, he couldn't help but miss the old aesthetics of Dick, and later Damian's, suits.

(Except for Discowing, of course. That was unforgivable.)

"Good job with the guy with the knife, but you three should still be more careful. I take it your parents aren't around?" Nightwing stepped into the moonlight, and Jason stopped breathing.

He looked so young. So unburdened. While, intellectually, Jason knew that wasn't true, that Dick had his own demons even before Bludhaven had nearly torn him asunder, compared to the man he was when Jason last saw him alive, the difference could be measured in magnitudes. The cowl had weighed heavy on those shoulders, and Dick had nearly broken under the strain so many times before it killed him, like it had with Bruce. Jason had hated Batman before, but never as much as the moment it had taken his older brother, like it had their father.

"Hey, kid, are you alright?"

No. No, Jason was not alright. Because his big brother was right here, right in front of him, alive and Jason didn't know how to deal with this, except to let Dick know it was him.

This is real, Jason thought hysterically. Only now was it finally starting to sink in.

"Dick," he choked out, stepping forward.

Nightwing laughed. Jason heard the nervousness subtly hidden beneath it.

"Now, I'm pretty sure I haven't done anything to earn—"

"Dickie," Jason said, a little more loudly, barely fighting back a sob. "It's me. It's little wing."

He could see Nightwing's form freeze at those words. Jason took the initiative and stepped forward into the moonlight with him, letting down his hood and taking off his ball cap, allowing the faint rays of light illuminate his face unhindered.

"… Jason?"

"Dick," Jason moved forward and forward, "Oh God, Dick!"

He launched himself into the chest of his older brother, feeling more like a child than he had in the last twenty years. He clasped into the tight, stretchy fabric of the Nightwing suit, sobbing out so many emotions he could barely keep track. Dick was here, Dick was here, and for the first time in a long time, Jason didn't feel the need to be strong anymore. He could just break, collapse, and allow his older brother's arms to catch him like they had so many times before.

After several minutes of an emotionally-fueled breakdown, Jason finally felt his tears beginning to subside to a gradual sniffle. Slowly, gently, he felt Nightwing began to peel him away from his suit so he could take a good look at him. Jason was still an inch or two shorter than him, though he knew that in a few years he'd be towering over Dick soon enough.

His face was no doubt red and splotchy from the impromptu crying fit he just had, but Dick seemed to recognize him judging by the widening of the lens of his domino. His gloved hands slid over the contours, as if trying to remember the shape of it.

"Jason," Nightwing with much more surety, with an emotion that was similar to what his younger brother had just expressed. "How?"

"Talia. Lazarus Pit," Jason said, and Nightwing, never slow, instantly connected the dots. "I'll explain in full later, but the four of us need to get off this rooftop."

As if remembering the audience, Nightwing's gaze snapped away to look at his brother's two companions. They had been watching at a respectful distance, though he could tell they were aching to join them. To comfort Jason, by the looks they were shooting.

Questions. So many questions.

But Jason was right. They needed to get off this rooftop now, before the police noticed them.

"Come on. I'll take you to my place."

It was a trial figuring out the logistics of reaching Dick's apartment. Eventually, he just had Oracle call them a taxi and gave Jason his address, while he swung home using the rooftops. Jason felt jittery throughout the entire car ride, and it was only due to a comforting hand from Cass and a snide remark from Damian that stopped him from jumping out the window mid-drive.

When they got there, Dick was waiting for them outside. He payed the driver, took the briefcases and had them follow him while he carried the luggage up the stairs. They entered it, Jason resisted the urge to snort at its messy state — a bachelor pad if he ever saw one.

Dick set the briefcases down on the counter of his tiny kitchenette, and turned to look at them expectantly. Cass went to grab Jason's hand, while Damian crossed his arms and gave the newest addition to their group a defiant look.

Jason, trying to dissipate the tension, used his thumb to rub comforting circles on the back of Cassandra's hand, feeling the tension bleed out of her instantly. He placed his other hand on Damian's back, causing the much younger boy to relax. From the corner of his eye he could see the slightest narrowing of Dick's eyes, and resisted the urge to frown.

"This is Cassandra," Jason nodded to the girl. At his look, she took off her own hood and cap, revealing an Asian girl of Chinese descent, around Jason's age.

"Richard," Cass nodded at Dick, causing him to blink.

"Did you tell her about us?" 'Us', of course, being himself along with Bruce and possibly Alfred. And Tim, not that Dick knew that.

"I needed them to know who to go to for help in case something happened to me," Jason responded defensively.

Dick sighed, but seemed to accept the excuse well enough. "And him?" He gestured to Damian, a little more gently.

This time, Jason didn't need to do anything. Damian took off his own disguise, and Jason saw the moment when Dick realized just who exactly this boy was. Damian was, after all, the spitting image of their father.

"Jason."

"Dick, this is Damian," Jason didn't dare say more than that.

Dick swallowed a silent gulp. "How long have you three been traveling?" It was such an obvious change in subject, Jason didn't have the heart to call him out on it.

Jason replied quickly, knowing where this was going. "About eighteen hours or so. We took a flight from Istanbul to New York, and then from New York to here after a three-hour layover."

"You must be tired then."

"Very."

"How about you freshen up a bit for bed? We can continue this talk in the morning."

"Wonderful idea. Cass," Jason turned to his sister, "Bathroom. Damian, go with her. Wash your face, use the can. I'll bring you your toothbrushes and a change of clothes in a little bit."

Damian opened his mouth to argue, knowing that his brothers were about to have a discussion without them, but a quelling look from Jason stayed whatever words were about to come out of his mouth. He left with Cass without protest, following Dick to the bathroom and listening to him as he helpfully explained its many quirks.

The moment the bathroom door closed with Cass and Damian inside it, Dick rounded on Jason and stalked over back to the kitchen.

"Jay. What the hell."

"I know, Dick. I know," Jason said, rubbing his temples to ward off the incoming headache. God, he needed sleep.

"You said it was Talia, didn't you?" At Jason's nod, Dick let out a string of Romani curses. If Jason were in a better mood, he would've appreciated the creativity of them. As things currently were, however, they were an unneeded and unwelcome distraction.

"It's why I didn't come home earlier. The moment I woke up in those waters, all wanted to do was to get back to Gotham. To Bruce. But once I saw him…" Jason trailed off. He didn't need to say much more.

"And the girl?"

Jason twitched, and he gnashed his teeth angrily. "She was being abused. God Dick, if you knew what her bastard of a father was doing to her, you wouldn't have left her behind either."

Dick sighed, rubbing his nose. "I'll take your word for it. I assume you won't tell me the full story until we meet with B?" At Jason's nod, Dick exhaled tiredly. "Fine. At least tell me how long you've been back."

At that, Jason shifted uncomfortably. Dick, ever so observant in situations like this, noticed immediately. "Jason."

"I don't know," Jason confessed at the command.

Dick blinked. "What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I became lucid three and half months ago, when Talia threw me into the Pit. But according to her, I was already alive months prior to that. She found me wandering the streets of Gotham, practically brain dead, and took me to Ra's to figure out my miraculous resurrection. When I failed to show any improvement, he was going to kill me; Talia grew fond of me, or maybe she was just planning to use me against Bruce, so she threw me into the Lazarus Pit. Practically waterboarded me in it, in fact. It worked, so…" Jason shrugged.

"You know we're going to have to confirm that, right?"

"It's fine, Dickie. Go ahead and dig up my grave, you aren't going to find anything there except an empty coffin."

"And Bruce is going to demand confirmation of, well, everything."

"Which is why I went to you first," Jason said, nodding, "B's going to be a mess already with me and the last thing those two need is to deal with his emotionally constipated, paranoid ass at its worse."

Dick raised an eyebrow. "And you think I'd be any better about it."

Jason snorted. "Of course not. You'd just be nicer about it. It's your superpower, after all. You can walk over people, steal their girlfriends, and freeload off their money and they'd thank you for it."

There was a moment of silence as Dick stared at him. "It really is you, isn't it?" He whispered, as if he was finally starting to believe it.

"… yeah, Dickiebird. It's me."

Jason saw the slightest twitch in his older brother's body, and within seconds found himself tight in Dick's ever-present embrace. He didn't even bother to fight it. He doubted he'd ever be able to deny Dick a hug again for the rest of his third life.

"I've missed you," Dick whispered into his hair, "I missed you so much, Jay."

"I missed you too, Dick."

"I'm sorry," Dick rushed out, as if Jason hadn't spoken, "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you more, that I dragged you into the middle of mine and B's fights. That I took out my anger at him on you, when all you needed was a family. A brother. I—"

"Dick," Jason lifted his head from his brother's chest, "It's alright." He wasn't going to deny anything Dick said; it was at least partially true, after all, and while Jason was willing to bullshit a lot of things until they got to the Manor, he wasn't going to bullshit about something like this. He had already heard a similar apology a long time ago anyway, and hadn't appreciated it properly the first time around.

"But—"

"Dick, I forgive you for all that. To be honest, I'd forgiven you for it for a while ago," A long, long while ago. "It's okay. Right now, I'm just glad to be here with you." So glad. Gladder than you could ever comprehend.

Dick let out a breath, something that sounded like relief and disbelief in one. "So am I, little wing. So am I."

"Jason?" The brothers turned around to see Cass and Damian staring at them wonderingly. Jason wondered how long they'd been there; clearly, Dick's continued presence had screwed up his spatial awareness.

Cass pointed to her mouth. Jason blinked. "Oh, right."

He moved towards one of the briefcases, taking it to Dick's tiny dining table and unlocking it. He handed Cass both her and Damian's constitutional bags, along with their pajamas. The duo left for the bathroom immediately, shooting furtive looks at Jason and Dick periodically. As they cleared out, Jason took out his own bag and pajamas, clearly prepping for his own change.

"You gonna go back on patrol?" Jason asked once they were gone.

Dick chuckled. "Are you kidding me? Hell no. I'm way too compromised. Going out now will just get me killed. Besides, Bludhaven can last one night without me."

"Good. If you had said yes I would've knocked you out myself."

"As if you could take me, little wing."

"Don't bet on it, Dickiebird."

They smiled at each other. The emotionally-charged atmosphere was beginning to dissipate, and was leaving behind something more relaxed and familiar.

Jason looked around the apartment, suddenly realizing something. "Where are we gonna sleep?"

"I've got an air mattress and extra sheets, but I think it's better if we just sleep on the floor here. All four of us. We can take out the couch cushions and use them as extra pillows." He didn't have to say why. Jason didn't want to be apart from Dick any more than Dick did with him.

"That's fine. After the plane, just about anywhere is more comfortable." It's not like they hadn't slept in a similar setup before, anyway, and any protests Damian had would be minimal and without heat. After Jason and Cass had both woken up from nightmares during their time at the Chamber of All, the three of them had begun sleeping together and cuddling up for comfort. It didn't ward all the dreams off, but it certainly did make them easier to bear.

"Alright then. I'll get the extra sheets."

When Jason next woke up, it was to the sound of Dick opening the door to re-enter the apartment. He looked outside the window; judging by the position of the sun, it was ten a.m. Dick must've woken up early to go to the station.

"Hey," Jason said quietly, careful not to wake the still sleeping Cass and Damian. "Where'd you go?"

"The station," Dick answered immediately. "Needed to tell them I'd be out for the next couple of days due to a family emergency. My partner was a little vexed but understanding."

"Gotcha," Jason began to peel himself away from his siblings, "I'll freshen up a bit and start on breakfast."

Dick coughed awkwardly. Jason blinked warily up at him, distinctly unamused.

"Dick, please tell me your cupboards don't just have cereal stuffed in them. That you have something in your fridge besides milk and takeout."

"… I'm pretty sure there's some orange juice in there too…"

"I'm telling Alfred when we get to the Manor."

"Wha—No, Jay, no! Anything but that!"

"This is undignified!"

"It's the law, Damian."

"The laws of this country are stupid!"

"Your opinion has been noted. Regardless, we still have to follow them. Now come on and climb into the seat. The sooner you do this the faster we'll get to Gotham."

The seven-year-old grumbled, but the implicit promise of meeting his father swayed him, and he obeyed his older brother's commands. He climbed up to the car seat and allowed Jason to strap him in, crossing his arms and pouting once the deed was done. Jason ruffled his hair, shooting a smile to Cass who had slid into the back of the car and had already put on her seatbelt, before moving to the front seat to ride shotgun. Dick was already inside the driver's seat, warming up the car.

"You're good with them," Dick grinned as Jason stepped inside and began strapping himself in.

"Cass is awesome," Jason shrugged. "Damian — eh, I've had practice."

After breakfast (milk and cereal — Alfred was totally gonna kick Dick's ass when they got home), Dick had gone out for a bit and told them to wait in the apartment. When he had returned with the car seat (borrowed from a neighbor, he said), Damian began pitching a fit. A look from Jason had silenced him briefly, but the moment they got to the car he had started up again.

The engine hummed quietly. Jason nearly lost himself in the sound of it.

"Ready to go home?" Dick asked him, subdued.

"… Yeah. I think I am."

It was a forty-minute drive from Bludhaven to Gotham. Dick and Jason easily filled that time with talk about Dick's work in Bludhaven — both the legal and illegal kind. Judging by what was being discussed, Jason pegged this time as before Dick had gotten together with Babs. He didn't know what to think about that, so he didn't think about it at all.

As they drew closer to the Manor, however, the talk had shifted back to logistics.

"Bruce should still be at work right now, so it'll just be Alfred at home," Dick said conversationally, as they endured the horrors of Gotham traffic. "That's probably for the best. I can run the blood tests myself first. Once he sees the results, he won't be able to deny it."

"Good. I'm not sure I'd be able to deal with him and his suspicions."

They made it out of Gotham and into Bristol. While Cass and Damian made goggle eyes at the idyllic scenery, Jason grew antsier by the second, and tried to focus on the road to sway his nerves. Almost there.

Finally, they were driving up to the main gates of the Main Estate. Dick rolled down his window to go through the standard security checks (including a retinal scanner and voice recognition software that Bruce had to disable whenever they had to hold a party at the estate). Once he passed, the car continued its way, parking itself just outside the garage. Dick turned off the engine and left the car unlocked and the keys in the ignition, knowing Alfred would park it inside for him later. Jason got out, opening the door for Cass and Damian, who had immediately released himself from the confines of the car seat once the engine was off.

They followed Dick up the walkway to the grand doors that served as the Manor's entrance. Dick was in the front, deliberately blocking the view of Jason, and pressed the doorbell. Not even a second later it opened, revealing Alfred. Clearly the butler had been anticipating their arrival, most likely since the moment the car had entered Wayne property. Jason had to lightly bite his cheek to prevent the gasp that was about to escape his throat.

"Master Dick," Alfred greeted the oldest of his charge's children, only a hint of perplexity in his tone. "How… unexpected."

"Yeah, Alfie," Dick scratched the back of his head sheepishly, "I would've called, but this was kind of an impromptu thing."

"I can see that," the butler's signature dryness was as prevalent as ever, "If you are here to see Master Bruce, he is currently still at work. Master Timothy is similarly unavailable due to a prior engagement with his father."

"Good," Alfred raised an eyebrow at the unexpected response, which Dick noticed, "It's hard to explain, Alfred. It's…" Dick huffed, finally giving up on words. He swung his body to the left, revealing a sight Alfred never expected to see again.

Jason Todd smiled at him, awkwardly lifting a hand in greeting. "Hi, Alfie."

As soon as he regained his bearings (which were lost a second time after taking a good look at Damian), Alfred directed them towards the Cave. It was obvious he wanted to ask questions, but refrained himself. He was a Bat too, after all, and he had his own sense of paranoia to match it. No matter how badly he wanted to believe it was Jason at the Manor again, he had to reserve judgment until it was confirmed.

Jason, of course, understood immediately. He too was a Bat, and would have done the same in Alfred's position. Had, in fact, done the same — multiple times. Rather than move to hug the butler like he so badly wanted to do, he simply followed him and Dick to the Cave, tugging Damian and Cass along with him. Damian for once did not protest, too distracted by the furnishings of the Manor. His eyes were wide and curious, making him look much like the child he was supposed to be. Cass was similarly entranced, though she was better at reining it in.

It was the Cave, however, that caught them all off guard. The moment they stepped off the elevator, both of them were in complete awe, and it took some nudging from Jason to get them to move. Jason himself was a little stunned to see the Cave, if only for nostalgia's sake. The place had been revamped a lot in the coming years, by Bruce and then by Dick and eventually by Jason himself. By the time he had formally passed on its ownership to Terry, it was virtually unrecognizable compared to the Cave that Jason had grown up with.

Dick wasted no time ushering them to the medical bay, where he and Alfred drew blood from all three of them. While for Cassandra it was for record's sake, for Jason and Damian it was far more imperative. It was essentially the confirmation of their identities. As the Bat-Computer ran the required tests, Jason took his two younger siblings on a tour of the Cave, helpfully illustrating the stories of Batman's many trophies, using hand gestures to help Cass get the general gist of them. It was a lighthearted venture.

At least, until they reached the Memorial.

JASON TODD

A GOOD SOLDIER

It had been years since Jason had seen this, and by God, did he still hate it.

Bruce had finally gotten rid of it after Jason shot it up in their last real fight. The worst fight they had ever had. The fight where, after, Jason had believed that their relationship was unsalvageable, and had declared as much to his father's face. Where he had said words that, even though they were true at the time (or he at least believed them to be), he still regretted.

It had been after he had finally gotten Artemis and Bizarro back, after he had gone after the League of Assassins with them at Tim's pleas. Dick taken hostage, Damian kidnapped, all because Ra's al Ghul's body was finally giving out and the magicks he was planning to use needed a vessel with a blood relation, and God forbid he use one of his more numerous female descendants or his crippled son. Jason had gone in guns a blazing, and while Tim was trying to blow the place up and Dick and Cass and everyone else fought off the ninjas, Jason had run off with Damian, charged with his safety.

Then Jason took a sword to the gut for his youngest brother, and got his own magical sword in turn. One duel later, and Ra's was gone for good.

His family had all but forced him back into Gotham after that. Bruce hadn't been a part of that battle, having been on a deep space mission for the Justice League, and when he got back, had not been happy to see Jason back in Gotham at all. But one look from Alfred had forced back any protests he had, and he and Jason had coexisted uneasily in the Manor for the following weeks while Jason reconnected with the rest of his estranged family.

Jason, however, was the purest Gothamite out of all of them, and eventually his love for the city won out. He snuck down to the Cave one night, and hacked into the Computer to find out the recent ongoings of what had once been his territory. Unsurprisingly, the place had gone to hell. What was surprising was that Bruce had done absolute jack shit to try and remedy the problem.

And then lo and behold, there was Bruce, having snuck away himself to get more work done in the Cave.

The argument escalated quickly and the blowout was intense. Jason hadn't been the one to throw the first punch, for once — that had been Bruce, and after that they had begun a knockdown, drag out fight all around the cave. Jason hardly remembered what was going through his mind at the time, though he was certain that the Pit Madness had not played a part in the confrontation; everything had been him and Bruce, and the multitude of issues between them.

What he did remember was the actual fight itself, and how it ended. He had pinned Bruce beneath him, bruised and bleeding and victorious. It was at the point that the rest of the family had noticed their disappearances, and had filed into the Cave to stop them. Jason had shouted at them, warning them to stay away, and then had wrapped his hand around his father's neck. He had all but demanded that Bruce verbally yield to him, to accept defeat in front of their entire family.

Bruce had struggled, had resisted with everything he had, but the words passed through his lips. Once they had, Jason released him, standing and taking the hidden gun trapped tightly in his thigh holster, and shot that damn memorial case straight to hell. When he was done, he had proclaimed he was done appeasing Bruce, banning Batman from Crime Alley, which he declared was now back under his protection.

But it was the next words that had cut Bruce straight to the core. So angry, so full of hate, Jason had claimed that if given a choice between murdering the Joker and murdering Batman, he'd choose Batman. That there was nothing and no one he hated more than Batman, and if he never had to see Bruce again, it would be a day too soon. The anger on Bruce's face washed away instantly and was replaced with heartbreak, but Jason hadn't cared at the time to take any of it back. They hurt, and that was enough for him.

It was a whole year before they reconciled after that horrendous fight, and a year after that Bruce was gone. Any satisfaction Jason might have had at finally defeating his mentor in a one-on-one fight (not spar, but fight) was mitigated by the remorse and regret at losing so much time with him because of it. Jason would not deny the part Bruce played in it, he couldn't, but he wished he had not allowed his anger to hold him from reconciling with his father sooner, before Bruce was gone for good.

Seeing this memorial again brought all those memories back to the forefront, and it was even worse now, because now Jason understood. When he became Batman, he had his own Robins, all of whom he had loved as if they were his own children. He put each and every one of them through the most intense training he could humanely think of for an entire year just to make sure they were as prepared as possible for a life of crime-fighting. They had to be the best, he couldn't afford to accept anything less, because they'd be killed otherwise.

And yet no amount of training had made them completely ready for the dangers they faced on Gotham's streets. Every time one of them had a close call, it took Jason everything he had not to forcibly bench them for the rest of their lives just to keep them safe for his own peace of mind. Jason knew that if he had lost any one of them, he would've never been able to live with himself. For a long while, he wondered how Bruce had been able to live with himself after what happened to Jason.

Looking at this glass case now, with his old Robin costume held aloft, Jason was stricken with memories. Memories the Bruce before, and the Bruce after, and how starkly different they were. And with that clarity, it was now that Jason finally accepted the truth.

He hadn't.

"… he never got over it, did he?"

Behind the three of them, Alfred, carrying a tray of chili dogs and lemonade, paused, then shook his head.

"No," Alfred admitted, trembling but honest, "And even with you here, I don't think he ever will."

Jason polished off the last of his chili dog, smiling as Damian's DNA test finished on the Computer, revealing that his DNA had a fifty percent match to Bruce Wayne. Up in the chair, Dick let out a low whistle.

"Congratulations Bruce, it's a boy," the acrobat muttered.

Jason's own DNA test had long since been completed, confirming his identity. As soon as the positive match was shown, Alfred had pulled him in a tight hug, filled with so much love that Jason was ready to break down all over again.

"Welcome home, Master Jason," the butler had said, and Jason allowed a few tears to leak out.

After that, he had seemed to accept Damian's test as a foregone conclusion, and had gone upstairs to open up a few more rooms for more permanent use — including Jason's own bedroom in the family wing. Jason had no idea how he was going to react to that. While he had stayed in that room even into his beginning years as Batman, after Alfred's death he had finally bitten the bullet and moved into the master bedroom that had once been Bruce's.

They were set to be Damian's when the youngest Bat moved to Gotham permanently to take up the mantle, but his premature death ended those plans. With Tim gone as well and Cass permanently living in Bludhaven, that left Jason the undisputed master of the house. Alfred, despite his grief, had urged him to take up the chambers as was his right. Jason resisted (because they weren't his, they were never supposed to be his), and only moved into them after Alfred died to fulfill the butler's last wish. His old room had later been given to Terry, owing to his similarities with his eventual successor.

Now the room would be his again, dusty and unmistakably designed for a child that Jason no longer was. Bruce would be occupying the master bedroom, Dick would be in Carrie's room and Tim, when he finally accepted that he was part of the family, would be in Helena's. Damian would get Matty's and Cass would probably get her own original room too, once Bruce got around to adopting Cass and accepting Damian into the family. Their family wouldn't be quite complete, not without Steph or Babs or Duke, but the Manor's occupants would certainly be a full set.

It would be like the last thirty years had never happened.

Jason really, really wanted to cry, but he was too macho to do it right now, because questions.

Questions. No questions. He could not deal with questions.

"Hey Dick, Alfred told me you were in town!"

And of course, that's when the universe decided that it was time for the most curious, observant, voyeuristic, and inquisitive soul in all of existence to arrive.

Because the universe hated Jason, and he hated it back.

Chapter Text

Fuck you, universe. Jason thought savagely as he turned around to look at a young Tim Drake.

Said young Tim Drake was looking at him as if he was seeing a ghost. Which, honestly, was not all that far off from the truth.

"Timothy," Cass said, surprise in her voice. At the sound of it, Jason allowed all the negative feelings inside to diffuse away. As much as it sucked to have Tim show up so unexpectedly, Jason couldn't help but be happy to see him.

"Yeah, Cass," He said softly, moving forward to greet the de-aged shadow of his favorite brother, "Timothy."

Because that's what Tim was in the end. As much as he loved Dick and Damian, as much as he had mourned them, Tim was unequivocally his favorite brother. They understood each other in a way the others couldn't, isolated and cast out from the family as they were. Even as Jason grew older and realized that wasn't entirely true, that it was also his own issues and pride that were preventing the gap from being bridged, that camaraderie remained.

Tim had confessed a similar opinion about Jason as well, right before he embarked on that final face-off against Luthor to save—Don't go there Jason, don't. Jason had been his favorite brother, because Jason never bullshitted him on anything. The two of them always knew where they stood with each other (except that wasn't true, because Jason had stopped hating Tim long before he had said as much to his face). It was why Tim had willed him Wayne Enterprises instead of Damian; because despite all their differences, he and Jason were cut from the same kind of cloth, and he knew Jason wouldn't allow those corporate scumbags to walk all over him any more than Tim had.

After Tim died, Jason had Artemis take care of Gotham while he went on a three-day bender with his sister. He spent a fourth day with the worst hangover of his life, and it still didn't feel like enough to drown out the pain. He didn't think he'd ever feel so shitty again until Damian bit it six months later and left Jason and Cass the last of Bruce's original brood of children. It had been a terrible year all around, and if it hadn't been for Carrie, Jason was positive he would've followed his brothers not long after.

(When he took her on as his first Robin, Jason had never felt more like Bruce in his life.)

"Jason… Todd?" Tim almost squeaked.

Damian let out a derisive snort. It seemed that their relationship wouldn't be all that different in this timeline either.

Completely aware of the panic that Dick was experiencing behind them, Jason's smile widened in a genuine manner, and he moved closer to Tim. Once he was in arm's reach, he stuck his arm out. No hugs yet. He doesn't know yet. Jason reminded himself.

"Yup!" Jason said, completely aware how uncharacteristically cheery he sounded. He heard Dick make a sound like he was dying, and his grin grew. "Tim Drake, right? My successor?"

Instead of answering or taking Jason's hand, Tim turned to look at Dick in a zombie-like manner. Jason was instantly reminded of early mornings in the Manor where Tim would act similarly until he had gone through at least three cups of coffee. Sometimes two, depending how many energy drinks he managed to sneak past Alfred.

He felt the desire to cry again, and squashed it down hard.

Then, his senses suddenly went on alert. Tim seemed to accept that he was Jason Todd, but when their eyes met again, Jason could see the underlying suspicion in his gaze. It was in that moment that Jason realized he hadn't indicated to Dick that he was aware of his successor's existence at all. The only acknowledgment of Tim's presence that Jason had was Alfred's idle mention of him when they first arrived. Only Bruce or Tim himself could have deduced the idea of another Robin from that little evidence. Combined with the fact that both Cass and Damian were clearly aware of who Tim was…

Ah, hell. Whatever. It's not like the ruse is going to last much longer anyway.

Jason felt positively serene.

Or numb.

Whichever worked.

"So you're our other brother," Damian said, disgust obvious in his tone. "You don't look particularly impressive."

Tim would've taken offense to that, except he was stuck on something else Damian said. "B-Brother?"

Oh, right, Tim hasn't been adopted yet. His dad's still alive.

…Eh, whatever. He's still one of ours. He might as well get used to the idea now.

"Yes. Just like how Richard is our brother as well, or how Cassandra will be our sister when Father gets around to adopting her."

"Damian," Dick snaked into the conversation, having finally gotten over the shock of having his successors meet, "I know we haven't been family for long, and that you're probably missing your mom and all, but don't you think you're getting a bit ahead of yourself?"

Damian blinked, and scoffed. "What are you talking about? It was Jason who told me this."

Sold out by my own little brother. How the mighty have fallen.

Dick turned to Jason with a stare full of disbelief. Jason smiled back at him beatifically. It was probably the most disturbing thing Dick had ever seen.

"Jason, what exactly have you been telling these kids?"

"The truth," Jason responded blandly. Which was true. In the technical sense.

Dick made a gagging sound. "Jason—"

"C'mon, Dick. Like you don't see the kid as another brother. And once B hears Cass's story, there's no way he's not going to adopt her," Jason shrugged, "I was just taking initiative."

That statement did absolute jack shit to help. Dick's jaw dropped, while Tim seemed to have completely shut down. He kept mumbling to himself in an increasingly hurried manner that Jason was only vaguely familiar with. The comedic aspect of the scene would've been rather appealing, had Jason not completely inured himself to all emotion for the time being.

Cass, sweet, wonderful Cass, simply patted Dick on the arm. She then gave Tim a hug, squealing "Little brother!" and sending the boy back into another apoplexy.

Jason was so proud of her. It had taken forever to teach her that phrase and the context of it. She had taken to the concept admirably.

Damian just gave them all a displeased look and threw his hands in the air, leaving to get more lemonade from Alfred.

By the time Damian returned with the lemonade, the situation seemed to have finally calmed down. Cass had let go of Tim and was standing next to Jason, who was showing her the Bat-Computer. Tim himself was in a far-off corner of the Cave, exchanging furious whispers with Dick. There was no doubt about what they were discussing.

Jason was okay with it.

Really.

It was almost time anyway.

An audible ping! echoed throughout the Cave. Everyone froze.

Alfred was already in the cave, having brought out a full pitcher of lemonade with Damian. That meant there could be only one other person who had the means and reason to use that elevator. The one person that everyone, subconsciously or not, had all been waiting for.

"Alfred, I got your message. What's the emerg—"

Jason stepped forward, and smiled.

"Hey, Dad."

For the last three and a half months, Jason tried not to think about Bruce.

'Try', of course, being the operative word.

He didn't know how he was going to react when he saw Bruce again. He just didn't. Would he act like his Robin or as a fellow Batman? Would he smile and laugh or break down in inconsolable tears?

(Well, actually, that last one was kind of a given. Jason had literally been trying to stall a breakdown for the last three months, and other than that slip with Dick he had mostly succeeded.)

Would he rail against him for leaving behind a legacy that got three of his children, Jason's brothers, killed? That forced Jason to take on responsibilities he was in no way prepared for, forced him to live with the guilt of having a legacy that he never once thought belonged to him?

Would he love him?

Or would he hate him?

Looking at him now, at how utterly broken Bruce was, and Jason had his answer. Or at least something of an answer; things were rarely ever that simple with these kinds of things, especially with this family.

"It's me," Jason said softly, nodding to the computer screen that showed his blood to be a match for the one on record. "It's me, B."

"How…?" Bruce was at a complete loss for words. Everyone was watching the scene, though careful not to interrupt it; all of them, even Damian, knew how intimate and personal this moment was.

"I don't know," Jason admitted, and it was true, because he didn't know how he ended up here, in this place, in this body, reliving one of his most heartbreaking fantasies, "I remembered waking up in the Lazarus Pit, in Talia's arms. Everything before that is a blur. But it's me, Bruce," he took another deep breath, "It's me."

Bruce seemed to regain a little of his composure at that, his head finally getting out of the fog. "I'll have to call in Diana," he choked out, "Have her… have her confirm your story."

Jason smiled. "That's fine. It'll be nice, seeing her again."

A second later, Jason crashed into the tightest hug he had ever had in his life. Bruce was holding him close, so close, nuzzling his neck with so much love and affection it was smothering. Jason happily drowned it, in a feeling he didn't think he would ever have again. Not until he was dead for good, at least.

"I missed you, Jay-lad," Bruce whispered, the wetness of his tears bleeding into Jason's jacket. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too, B," Jason whispered back, similarly emotional. "I love you."

"I love you too."

They stayed in that embrace for a long while, just savoring each other's presence. Everyone else seemed to content to leave them as they were. Jason was fine with that. He was more than fine, in fact.

Eventually, however, all things had to come to an end. They reluctantly let go, Jason idly wiping his face with the sleeve of his clothes. Bruce took a deep sigh, and turned to look at Cass and Damian, who had moved to stand next to each other when Bruce arrived. The first Batman took one look at them, zeroed in on Damian, and blanched.

"Hello, Father," Damian greeted him dryly, taking a noisy sip of his lemonade. "I imagined you taller."

"Bruce!" Cass said cheerfully, giving a little wave with her hand.

Bruce, for his part, looked completely poleaxed. Jason spotted Dick, Tim, and Alfred all exchanging grins, and resisted the urge to do the same. All the terror he felt about coming here ebbed away; the stress of the situation was worth it for just seeing Bruce so completely out of his depth for once.

"Who—Wha?" Bruce blinked, jaw hanging low.

Jason, taking pity, decided to illuminate him. He went to Cass and clapped his hand on one of her shoulders. "This is Cassandra. She's the daughter of David Cain. You're going to adopt her."

"…what?" His father's voice took on a decidedly high pitch, and Jason relished it.

"And this," Jason continued on as if Bruce hadn't spoken, gesturing to the youngest person in the cave, "Is Damian. He's your son with Talia."

"WHAT?" Bruce looked ready to faint.

Jason considered that a job well done.

"I'm adopting you," Bruce stated, deadly serious. His eyes were completely fixated on Cass who, for her part, tilted her head and gave him a smile. Jason watched the scene and again tried to bury his laughter.

After Bruce regained his bearings over… well, everything, Alfred suggested that they move the talk somewhere more comfortable — more specifically, upstairs in the Manor. It seemed he had been planning on that for a while now, seeing as the main living room had a tray of sandwiches and another pitcher of lemonade and cups sitting on the coffee table. Once they were comfortably seated, the discussions began.

Jason, of course, went first. Explaining the basics of his resurrection, Talia's part in it, his move to the All-Caste. He glossed over how, exactly, Damian and Cass came into his care (something that went unnoticed by nobody, not that he particularly cared anymore), what he had done to prepare them for the trip to Gotham — generally everything that happened up until the moment the trio had met up with Dick.

Dick corroborated with the tale, picking up where Jason left off. Bruce probed for some of the details, but seemed to accept what they (or, more specifically, Jason) wanted to part. He then turned his attentions to Cass's situation, and why exactly Jason seemed so convinced that Bruce was going to adopt her.

The accompanying story was so horrific that Jason could clearly tell that Bruce was resisting the urge to smother her with hugs. What made it worse was that Cass seemed to understand some of what was being said due to body language, but it was clear that the specifics were completely lost on her. The sad reality was that everyone knew Cassandra's story except Cassandra herself. That, if anything, perhaps motivated Bruce to take her in even more.

"I told you," Jason gleefully threw in Damian's face.

The boy in question sighed, and took another audible sip of his lemonade in rebellion. Dick watched the interaction in complete fascination.

Tim had more pressing matters, "So, um… what do we do now?"

Everyone immediately turned to look at him. He almost shrunk into himself at suddenly being the center of attention.

"Well, first things first," Jason said, taking charge, "I'm no longer Robin, and you have my approval." He reached over to slap a congratulatory pat on Tim's back. "Congrats, kid!"

"…thank you?" Tim was staring at Jason as if he was some confusing creature from another dimension. Which wasn't far off from the truth either. Bruce and Dick were hardly any better, not expecting Jason to take his sudden succession so well.

"Yes, very well. Thank you for clarifying that, young sir," Alfred stood up and loudly clapped his hands, drawing everyone's attention to him. "The real first order of business is getting everyone settled. While I have cleared out rooms for Master Damian and Miss Cassandra to use, along with your old one as well Master Jason, we still need to buy more clothes for you to wear. It's not too late in the afternoon to do some shopping, so the four of us will go into the city and pick up a few things. Anything we can't find today we'll go and buy either tomorrow or sometime during the next week. Is that satisfactory?"

"Very," Jason grinned, hopping out of his seat and taking Cass by the hand with him. She followed him without protest. Damian polished off the last of his lemonade and sandwich and followed them and Alfred to the garage.

They waited until they heard the tell-tale sound of an engine starting, followed by the screech of tires speeding away. Immediately, the expressions on the remaining three men in the room morphed into ones far more serious and calculating.

"He's hiding something," Dick bluntly stated to the silent room. Bruce rubbed his temples, nodding, while Tim pulled up his knees, hugging them to his chest.

"What was Jason like, before…" He didn't say the rest.

"Nowhere near as upbeat as the one we're dealing with," Bruce answered wearily. "He was more… surly. He could be charming, make no mistake, and when he was happy you could tell no matter how many cutting remarks left his mouth. But Jason grew up in Crime Alley, trying to survive being gobbled by the worst of the worst. A childhood like that leaves a chip on your shoulder, and Jason wore his with caustic honesty."

"Also, although I wasn't around as much as I should've been," Dick looked remorseful for a moment at the admission, "I distinctly remember Jay swearing more frequently back then than he has since I met up with him. Like, a lot more."

Tim rubbed his shoulders, over the spot where Jason had playfully slapped him. "Are we sure it's him?"

Bruce and Dick exchanged silent looks.

"Blood tests don't lie," Dick pointed out, then paused. "Usually." He amended after further thought.

"And he agreed to let Diana question him with the Lasso of Truth," Bruce grunted, following the train of thought.

"So it's probably him, but something happened that he couldn't say around Damian and Cass. At the same time, it's also something he thinks we wouldn't believe without verification, hence why he agreed to having the Lasso of Truth used on him," Tim instantly surmised. Bruce and Dick both shot him proud smiles, causing him to blush.

"Good detective work, Tim," Dick tacked on, causing him to flush deeper. "So I guess we just wait for Diana?"

Bruce nodded. "I'll give her a call right now." He got up to leave, though paused when he saw a contemplative look on his current Robin's face. "Tim?"

Instead of answering his mentor, Tim turned to Dick instead. "You remember when I first got to the Cave? How he accepted me so easily? How odd that was?"

"Yeah. Rather shocking," Dick replied, rubbing the back of his head. He had originally chocked it up to Jason remembering Dick's own reaction to his presence and deciding that he would treat his successor better, but now that Tim was pointing it out…

"I remember the moment he saw me. Really saw me," Tim said, voice almost detached. "He looked like… like he knew me. Not of me, but me. And his expression, it was…"

"It was what?" Bruce prompted him.

"… it was full of love."

Both of the older men in the room blanched.

"You mean—"

Tim's eyes widened as he suddenly realized the possible interpretation of his words, and shook his head vigorously. "No, not like that! Not romantic love…" He let his knees collapse so they could see his face, "…but the kind of love he has for you. For Damian and Cassandra. For Alfred. Real, familial love. The look he shot at me, that he kept shooting at me, he shot at all of you at different points of both conversations, both down in the Cave and here. I even saw it in his eyes when he told me-"

Tim took a deep breath, and continued. "That kind of love… that only comes with time. Time, and meaningful interaction. And no matter how approving he was of me, we've only met today. I guarantee it. So why…" He petered off, but the question was there.

Bruce and Dick exchanged meaningful looks at the end of Tim's observation, full of confusion and wonder.

Bruce exhaled deeply. "I'm calling Diana. Now."

"I'm surprised you aren't being recognized," Damian said conversationally as they waited for Cass to finish browsing the undergarments section with Alfred. "Aren't you publicly known as Father's son?"

Jason shrugged. "Like I told you before, dad knew that mixing me with high society wouldn't end well, so I didn't have to attend any of his high-profile gatherings. That also included keeping me away from the press; the only people that would be able to recognize me are old classmates from Gotham Academy, and nobody is going to believe a dead teenager is walking around."

Damian hummed, watching as Cass held up a bra to her chest, over her shirt. "Meeting Father was exactly like you said it'd be."

"Oh?" Jason looked amused, "And what exactly did I say it would be?"

"He has a strong presence, and just by looking at him I can tell that he's a dangerous man. Possibly as dangerous as Grandfather, if I am to be honest. But as a parent, he's… awkward, to say the least," the seven-year-old blew out a deep breath, "You were right. He is great, but he is not perfect. And still, I find myself impressed by him all the same," Damian narrowed his eyes, "I wish I could say the same for Drake."

"Drake? What happened to Timothy?" It wasn't an admonishment; if anything, Jason looked even more amused.

"He can re-earn the right to have me use his first name after he proves his worth," Damian huffed. "Until then, I will refer to him as such."

Jason covered his mouth to stifle his laughter. No, that relationship hadn't changed at all. At least it was like this instead of Damian trying to murder Tim every time they made eye contact. Poor Alfred didn't need to deal with the collateral damage that would come of that, and Dick wouldn't be around all the time to play mediator.

Soon, Cass had finished shopping for bras and panties and the trip continued on. About an hour later, Jason spotted the book store. One look at Alfred's encouraging expression and a credit card later, he was inside and happily browsing. While his love of reading had never waned, his free time was cut down drastically after he became Batman, even more so when he essentially started a family with his Robins. Now, he had all the time in the world to read, and he was going to use it.

Going over the extensive selection, he picked up some classics for himself that he knew weren't in his current collection at the Manor. He picked up some young adult books that he knew that Damian would enjoy, some true crime and detective novels that Tim would eat up, and some simpler books for Cass when they started teaching her how to read. The basket was almost overflowing by the time he was finished, but he carried it no problem to the cashier, a bored girl around his physical age.

She took one look at him and at the pile of books he was carrying with no effort whatsoever and immediately started hitting on him. Her flirtatious tone and innuendo-laden remarks had absolutely no effect on Jason, who smiled politely at her the entire time and thanked her quietly when she was done. When he was outside, he discreetly took out one of his books and threw out the phone number she had slipped inside the front cover.

He had no interest in a civilian girl old enough to be his daughter.

(Mentally speaking, of course.)

He—

No Jason, don't go there. You've avoided thinking about her for this long.

Jason met them outside the store, Alfred having deemed they had bought a sufficient number of clothes for them to at least last the week. They piled their purchases into the back of the car, and drove back to the Manor. Upon arrival, they were met with Dick and Tim, who had been instructed to help carry their purchases into the house and into the rooms Alfred had chosen for them. Alfred himself had made a beeline for the kitchen, declaring that he needed to prepare dinner.

While Dick handled Damian and Tim aided Cass (something he would dearly regret, Jason was certain), Jason had opted to go to his own room by himself. He stared at the door for a moment, which suddenly looked so much taller and wider than it actually was, before steeling himself and opening it. The knob turned easily, though there was some creaking that denoted prior long-term disuse.

The moment he stepped inside, it took Jason everything he had not to collapse. He set down his purchases on the bed, sitting down on the foot of the mattress to just observe a room that hadn't been his in decades.

The walls were covered in posters. Some were of pretty girls in scantily clad clothing (Jason couldn't help but wince at those), some were of motorcycles, but most were of theater productions. Jason, after all, almost loved Shakespeare as much as he did Jane Austen, much to Alfred's delight.

There was a guitar propped up in the corner, one that he faintly remembered strumming along with his off-tune voice. A desk, cleaned and with old notebooks stacked on it. A large book case that, even with Jason's rapidly multiplying collection, had never been close to being full. An old video game console that was probably barely operational — he would have to check with Tim to make sure — and a pile of cartridges beside it (he was surprised Alfred let that stand, regardless of Jason's death). A calendar for 2009, flipped to April. Jason looked at it, and it averted his eyes when he landed on the twenty-seventh.

This was a teenager's room.

A child's room.

Not yet. Not yet. They don't know yet.

"Jay-lad?"

Jason looked up to see Bruce standing in his doorway. How unexpected. He didn't think Bruce would be willing to come anywhere near here, even with Jason back from the dead.

Bruce stepped gingerly over the threshold, as if he were trespassing. As if he were afraid Jason would snap at him for entering this sanctuary. He audibly cleared his throat, and gave his second son a small, comforting smile.

"Would you like some help?"

Jason took another look around the room, and nodded sheepishly.

They finished placing everything in an hour. Most of that time had been spent reorganizing Jason's mini-library, which was originally sorted by color. Jason, finding that juvenile, had it re-sorted so it was organized by publication date and genre instead. Bruce was distinctly amused, and had played the part of assistant by reading off titles and giving books for his son to place. After they were done, Jason had absconded over to Cass's room, where he relieved a grateful Tim of the duty of organizing her undergarments.

By the time they were done with everything, Alfred was just about finished with dinner. Bruce was about to ask Dick and Jason to help set the table, but the doorbell ringing for the second time today had changed those plans. Tim was the one to open the Manor's doors, blinking when he saw who it was.

Diana, in her civvies, was not entirely unexpected. But bringing Clark alongside her certainly was.

"Hey Tim!" The Last Son of Krypton grinned.

"Clark," Bruce butted in immediately, silently allowing Tim to escape the possibly awkward conversation.

"I hope you don't mind, Bruce," Diana piped up, "I was just finishing up a case in Metropolis with him, and when I mentioned your call he asked if he could come. Lois is still on assignment over in England, and he didn't want to spend the night alone."

"Plus I wanted some of Alfred's cooking."

"Plus that," the Amazon added.

Bruce sighed. "It's fine. Come inside; I need to introduce you to some people."

Clark and Diana took to Cassandra's presence relatively well. Damian's… well, there was some cooing involved, though to the boy's credit he didn't try to snap at either of the Manor's guests.

Jason's, however, was another matter.

"Hi Uncle Clark. Hi Aunt Diana," he said sheepishly to the gaping superheroes, using the old endearments he had for them when he was Robin.

Jason didn't really reconnect with either of the other two members of the Trinity (as Lois Lane-Kent had named them and Bruce oh so many years ago) until after Dick had become Batman. He had worked with them, of course; considering he had the clone of one as one of his teammates and an Amazon as another and as a lover, it was inevitable. But it wasn't until Dick permanently inherited the cowl that he really interacted with them again in a casual manner. It felt wrong, considering all he had done as the Red Hood was so very against what they had both stood for.

After Dick's death, however, it didn't seem to matter. With Tim's utter refusal to bear the mantle and Damian's relative youth and inexperience, Jason was the only option left to succeed him. Clark and Diana had both realized that, and rather than shun him for his past, had helped him instead. It was them who had convinced J'onn J'onzz to help fake the Red Hood's death so Jason could fully transition to the Batman identity. It was them that drilled him on Justice League protocols and other information the Batman was supposed to know, because Jason had certainly never expected to ever be a member of the most prestigious superhero team in the world.

They were there for him when Tim died, when Damian died, watching Gotham alongside Artemis, picking up his duties with the League while he drowned in alcohol and regret. They were there when he had decided it was time to integrate Carrie more into the superhero world, introducing her to other child superheroes. They were there when Helena entered the picture, and Jason started floundering at having another sibling that he had to basically raise as his daughter.

When Clark died in that final battle against Darkseid, Jason had been one of the pallbearers. He had been the one to help Co—(don't go there, don't go there)—Clark's successor to come into his own, had been the godfather to the eldest of… his children, Clark's grandchild.

When Hippolyta died and Diana had to give up the Wonder Woman mantle to take her rightful place as Queen, Jason had been one of the few men permitted to attend her coronation. When Artemis had decided it was time for Bana-Mighdall to reconnect with Themyscira, Jason had been a mediator for both sides.

Jason may have lost his best friend, and then half his family, but he hadn't been alone throughout any of it. Clark and Diana had been some of those who made sure of it, and he would forever be grateful to them. Even after everything he had done, all the blood and sin that graced his hands, they had still remained his family in the end.

(They were still his family now.)

And when he looked at them, really looked at them, he could almost pretend they weren't them, but other people. Their successors. Jason's Trinity. Clark looked so much like… like him, and God, he was alive too, wasn't he? Seeing him would be as hard as seeing Bruce and his brothers, and Jason didn't know how he was going to deal with that. Even without the memories, the former were still family. Right now, Jason and him, they were nothing.

And Diana, when he looked at her, he couldn't help but be reminded of Artemis, of Penelope, of—

No. Jason cut off that thought immediately. No.

If he thought about her, then everything would be shot to hell. He'd break right here, right now, and nothing would be able to stop him.

"Jason…?" Diana said in disbelief, reaching out to feel his face. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Clark running his eyes all over his body, no doubt using his supervision to confirm that he was, in fact, human.

"Yeah. It's me," Jason took a deep breath. "I'm the reason he called you here. We've already got a blood match on record but, well," he shrugged, "You know B."

"I do," Diana said, a little wistfully, before pulling him into a hug. "It's good to see you."

After she let go, Clark stepped forward, arms wide and open. Jason smiled up at him and quickly took up the offered embrace. Even with his recent growth spurt, the Kryptonian still towered over him.

"Welcome back," Clark whispered into his hair.

Jason hugged him a little tighter.

Dinner was a raucous affair. In celebration of the occasion, Alfred had opted to cook another one of Jason's favorites: macaroni and cheese and baked chicken, with a side of garlic bread. For conversation, Jason had prompted Tim about what he had been up to as Robin, happily commiserating with him on his various villains and their antics (notably, the Joker was not mentioned even once). Alfred, despite his usual ironclad rule of work being kept below the Manor, had allowed it, no doubt due to Jason.

The conversation then steered to something a little more casual. Damian, thanks to an idle question, had confessed that his experience with pop culture amounted to some in-flight cartoons. Dick and Tim immediately glared at Jason for this travesty, with Dick declaring that they were correcting this oversight in his education immediately. There was then some discussion over what, exactly, would constitute as acceptable study material, and a heated debate broke out over the quality of the Star Wars prequels (the originals, of course, were universally agreed upon as both respectable and necessary).

The meal finished, and the people dispersed in different directions. Jason stayed behind to help Alfred clean up, while Cass and Damian got ready for bed. Everyone else had disappeared with Bruce to the Cave, no doubt preparing for Jason's interrogation with the Lasso of Truth. Once he was done, Alfred handed him a tray with two teacups. One look at the butler was all Jason needed to know they were drugged.

He went to Damian's room first, knowing that he would be the hardest. The boy seemed unhappy to have such an early bedtime, but he knew that Jason wouldn't be swayed by any of his arguments, and had quickly realized that Bruce would be the same. He took the tea with barely any protest or suspicion, and within his first few sips began to droop. Jason took the cup from his hands and placed it back onto the tray, picking Damian up and tucking him inside the covers of his bed.

Cass was next. When he found her, she was sitting on her bed, waiting for him. She only had eyes for him.

She knew. Maybe not the complete situation, but enough to know that what would happen next would be very hard for him. She was worried for him.

Jason smiled encouragingly at her as he handed her the cup, placing a palm on top of one of her hands. "I'll be fine," he said.

She didn't believe him. But she also understood this was something he needed to do.

Cass took in a deep breath, taking in the scent, and sipped. Once she had taken enough, Jason took the cup from her hands, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. Her eyes fluttered close, and she went into dreamland with the faint ghost of a smile on her face.

Jason set that cup down as well, helped put his sister into a more comfortable position. One that wouldn't leave her feeling sore when she woke up the next morning. After that, he took the tray and turned off the light.

This is it. The moment of truth.

The tension in the Cave was palpable, the moment Jason stepped off the elevator. Everyone was there — Bruce, Dick, Tim, Alfred, Clark and Diana. They were all standing near the computer, all watching him wearily, solemnly.

I can do this. I  have  to do this.

Jason walked towards them, careful to keep in range of the Computer's microphone. It would be paramount for what would come next. Everyone else surrounded him in a semi-circle, allowing him the option of escape but also reminding him that even if he tried, he wouldn't succeed.

Bruce, of course, was the one to speak.

"Jason," He paused, then continued, "You've been hiding something from us."

Jason nodded. "I have," he said, trying to sound casual. He failed.

"Whatever it is, you can say it here," Bruce nodded in both directions. "Everyone here is trustworthy."

"I know. I…" The words were stuck in his throat. Tears began gathering in his eyes.

No. Not now. Notnownotnownotnow …

"Jason?" It was Dick now, and he sounded concerned.

Jason inhaled deeply, strengthening his resolve. It was now or never.

"Computer," He stated loudly, clearly, using his Batman voice, ignoring everyone's startled looks. "Initialize Tau Protocol, Section 3, Code Sigma-Sigma-India-Alpha-Omega-Tau-Delta."

"Initialized," The Bat-Computer responded. Clark and Diana, Tim and Alfred, even Dick, were all staring at it, at him, in confusion. But not Bruce.

Bruce was staring at him in horror.

"Please identify yourself."

"Jason Peter Todd-Wayne, Batman III. Formerly Robin II."

There was a loud ping!

"Identity found and initialized. Authorization complete. Welcome, Batman."

And now everyone else was staring at him in shock. But Jason, Jason only had eyes for Bruce, who had broken out of his astonishment and was now staggering towards him. His father grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking.

He knows.

"How long, Jason?" Bruce was asking him, pleading with him. "HOW LONG?"

"B, what…?"

"Master Bruce…"

"Bruce, what the hell is going on?"

"How long?" Bruce whispered one last time.

Jason closed his eyes.

"Bruce, this is the first time I've seen you alive in almost thirty years."

He didn't need them open to see the horrified looks on their faces.

Chapter Text

The silence was stifling.

Jason couldn't stand it.

"Diana," he addressed Wonder Woman, and absolutely no one missed the familiarity in his voice. "I'm ready."

He stepped away from Bruce, straightening his back as he made way to the Computer's chair. The semi-circle that once surrounded him parted like the red sea, allowing him free access. Jason turned it around so it would let him face everyone, took another deep breath, and sat in it. Jason hated how right it felt to be sitting in this chair like this, like he was Batman all over again.

Batman should have never been his to begin with.

They were all staring at him. In disbelief, in horror, they were all staring. Diana slowly moved towards him, Lasso in hand, and tied it around his left forearm, keeping the other end in her grasp. Once she was done, she stepped away.

Jason looked to Clark. He and Diana were the only ones who would be able to properly divorce themselves from this situation. At his nod, Clark cleared his throat.

"What is your name?"

"Jason Peter Todd-Wayne."

"What are the name of your parents?"

"Willis Todd and Sheila Haywood were my biological parents. Catherine Todd was my stepmother. Bruce Wayne was my adoptive father — my real father." Bruce made a pained noise at that.

Clark inhaled. "What is the Tau Protocol?"

"The Tau Protocol is a protocol that was created by Bruce Wayne, Batman I, in the event of time travel, specifically from the future to the past. It allows future Batmen full access to the Cave and all its facilities, and all the data in the Bat-Computer."

"And Section Three?"

"Allows access in the event a future Batman travels back not physically, but mentally via their soul or some other similar means and merges with their past self. In the event of a Section Three, if the user's authorization is already in the computer, then it automatically changes their clearance level to 'Highest', same as the current Batman."

And now their horror grew. They already had some vague inkling of what had transpired by the words he and Bruce exchanged, but having it confirmed… Suddenly, everyone was looking at him a new light. A dangerous light.

A sad light.

"Why did you travel back?" Clark asked quietly, gently.

His platitudes were unneeded. "What happened to me was completely involuntary. I did not choose to travel back in time."

"What?" Dick barreled into the conversation, eyes alight with desperation, "Then why are you here?"

"I was dying," Jason stated bluntly, and the Cave immediately fell silent. "I had been dying for some time. Lung cancer. I didn't quit my smoking habit until my early twenties, and then after that it seemed all the smoke inhalation from constant explosions and Gotham's generally polluted atmosphere made up for it. I was diagnosed when I was forty-eight, and rather than fight it I decided to give up the mantle my successor and spend my last years in peace with my remaining family."

"I died. I remember seeing Death, taking her hand like I did the first time around," there was a general choking sound at that reminder, "And she was supposed to take me to After. But she didn't. We were just about there when she stopped. And she told me…" Jason let out a shuddering breath, "…she told me that it wasn't my time yet. That this was a gift. She breathed life into me once more and suddenly I woke up in the Lazarus Pit again, over thirty-four years in the past."

The silence was back. Everyone had looks of sadness and pity to accompany the horror and disbelief. Jason hated that too.

"Ask your next question," he said, tiredly. "Please." I want to get this over with as quickly as possible.

Tim was next. "Why were you Batman?" Why wasn't it Dick?

Jason stumbled over that question, and the tears were there again, and he tried to fight them back, he tried. It was only when he felt Diana's familiar, comforting hand on his shoulder, along with the compelling magic of the Lasso that he finally found it in him to answer.

"It wasn't supposed to be me. It wasn't," And suddenly, before anyone could question him further, the words came rushing out, "After Bruce died, Dick succeeded him as Batman. And then five years later, in a Justice League battle against Brainiac, he died. It was supposed to be you next. You…you were always the best detective out of all of us, Tim, even better than Bruce. But you refused. Vehemently. That left it to myself, Damian, and Cass. But Cass had her own city in Bludhaven, which she had taken primary protection over after Dick succeeded Bruce, and was content with her own vigilante identity."

"Damian wanted it. It's all he ever wanted, he saw it as his birthright. The best way to honor Bruce. But he was only twenty at the time. He had only graduated from Robin two years ago, had just become Nightwing. He wasn't ready. So that left me, even though I didn't want it. I never wanted it."

"Then why did you keep it?" Tim again. It seemed Tim was able to separate himself too. Then again, this Tim barely knew him. Just thinking about that made him feel as if he lost Tim all over again.

"There was an agreement that I would hold the mantle temporarily. That, in a few years, after Damian got more experience and proved himself, he would succeed me. But then…"

"Then?"

"You died, Tim. One and half years after I became Batman, you died. And six months after that, Damian was dead too. And when he died…" Just thinking about it was painful, especially when there was a Damian right upstairs, so young and innocent and full of life, "…and when he died, that's when I realized that this was no longer a temporary gig. That I was Batman for good. Because Gotham needed a Batman, would always need a Batman, and I was the only one left to fit the bill. Well, me and Cass, but she didn't want it either and I loved her too much to force it on her. And because," Jason breathed again, "And because, in some way, it was all I had left of all you. Of my brothers. Of my father."

And maybe it was the Lasso, maybe it was him. Probably both. But suddenly Jason felt the need to confess everything. Every memory, every feeling he had bottled up ever since he found himself stuck in a time that he never expected to see again.

"Everyday in the mirror, I would look at myself and ask 'Why?' Why was I the one to live while you died, why was I the one with the Cowl when all of you deserved it so much more than me. Because when I came back the first time…I didn't come back right. And maybe that's no excuse for what I ended up doing, all the people I killed, all the sin that scarred my soul, but it was true. And all of you…I treated you all so terribly, even when you were trying to reach out to me. But none of you ever gave up on me, and when I finally got there, when our family was finally whole, half of you were gone and it was just me and Cass and Steph and Duke and Babs left and I had to spend the next twenty-two years of my life without any of you by my side."

He couldn't stop talking.

"And when I found out I was dying, I was okay with it. I lived my life, a full life, a happy life I was content with and I…I wanted to see you all again, I wanted that more than anything else. I wanted to clear the air, apologize more like I should have the first time around. I wanted to tell you all, again and again, how much I loved you, because God knows I didn't say it nearly enough. But instead I found myself here, like an ironic heaven or a very special kind of hell. Because all of you are alive and yet so young it hurts," Jason cried, because crying was all he could do, "It hurts."

"It hurts so much that I feel like I'm dying all over again."

And God, now they all looked they were ready to cry themselves. Jason didn't want that. He didn't want to hurt them, like he had back then. But it seemed that was all he could now. Hurt the people he loved.

"I shouldn't be here. I should be dead. I should be dead."

"Oh, Jason," and of course it was Diana, no one had more compassion in their heart than her. Jason felt the Lasso slip away from his arm as he was gathered into her embrace. He pressed into it eagerly, buried his head into her shoulder and just cried.

Cried because he had his family back, but not really. Cried because in order to have them back, he had to lose the family he gained.

Cried because ever since he saw his reflection in the Pit, that's all he had wanted to do.

Jason didn't know how long he cried. It must have been for quite a while because by the time he was done his face felt overheated and pasty.

And suddenly he couldn't stay here. Not in the Cave, not with all the looks. He allowed himself to savor Diana's warmth for a moment longer, and then slowly extracted himself from her arms. He couldn't bring himself to look at her face, to see the deep well of compassion and sympathy in her eyes.

He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket, and spoke, "I'd like to go back upstairs now. I—I don't think I can answer any more questions tonight."

"That's fine," Clark answered for everyone, his empathy shining through. "Go ahead, get some rest."

"I'll walk you up," Diana said, and despite the gentleness of her tone, Jason knew there was no room for argument.

Jason let her take his hand, help him stand. He walked slowly, gingerly, legs weak and feet unsure.

And then he saw Tim.

Tim was trying not to look at him, and was failing, badly. His eyes were swirling with so many emotions, there was no way differentiate them. Jason had gone from a mere enigma to perhaps the greatest mystery of his short life, and Tim was torn between comforting him and deciphering him. It was oddly soothing.

"Can I hug you?" Because Jason had cuddled with Damian and Cass, had thrown himself at Dick, had fallen into Alfred's arms, had drowned himself in Bruce's love. He had done none of that with Tim. Not yet.

Tim's small mouth dropped for a moment, but then he gave a tiny nod. That was all the invitation Jason needed; he grabbed Tim's hand, tipping him forward into his arms, and all but crushed the much smaller boy. It felt wonderful, so wonderful, and Jason could finally breathe again.

"Never doubt your place in this family, Tim. Never. It doesn't matter how you came to be a part of it — you will always be one of us," Jason finished it off with an affectionate kiss to the top of his younger brother's head, a gesture of love if there ever was one.

He gave Tim another squeeze and then let him go, handing him one last tearful smile before following Diana to the elevator. As the doors closed and his visage disappeared, as the cart flew up to the study above, a taut, invisible string snapped.

"Oh my God," Dick whispered, haggard, "Oh my God."

Bruce said nothing. He punched a wall instead.

Diana is understanding. Jason doesn't deserve her.

No one does, to be honest.

She doesn't push him. She just waits. Lets him brush his teeth, looks away when he changes into his pajamas. Lets him lay in his bed, and just holds him like a mother would her child. Not even Talia showed him such open affection, given him such unconditional comfort.

"I take it you'll stay here until I fall asleep?" He asks, after twenty minutes of silent cuddling, of just laying side by side and staring at the ceiling.

Diana hums. "What makes you say that? I may very well stay here all night."

"I was Batman, Diana," Jason huffs, and it feels so good to finally say that out loud. "More over, I know my family. There is no way they are in any shape to patrol after a bomb like that. They'll get killed if they tried. But Gotham needs to be protected, so it'll fall to you and Clark instead."

"I'm sure Clark can handle it on his own."

"He probably could," Jason surrendered, "But you won't let him. This city is far too unpredictable for even the greatest superhero in the world to go at it without backup."

A quirk of a smile appeared on the Amazon's face, "You know us very well, don't you?"

"Yeah," Jason replied, wistful, "I guess I do."

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

"…Surprisingly enough, yes."

And so, he tells her everything. Or at least as much as he's willing to part with right now.

He tells her about how he never expected to become Batman. How that meant he had to join the Justice League, something else he never expected. About how he couldn't decline, not when so much of Dick's work was with the League, not when their support was necessary for Gotham's protection. And yet, how lost he was with it all, because there were protocols and contingencies and even a code of conduct that he didn't know about, and there certainly wasn't a handbook lying around to help.

The he follows it up with everything Clark and Diana did to help him. How they both helped picked up the slack while he settled himself into the new role he had. How they showed up and ate Alfred's food while they walked him through every single one of the reports that landed in his lap, making him feel like a teenager stuck in a tutoring session.

"That sounds demeaning," Diana observed.

Jason laughed again. "You sound like Damian. Eh, it was alright. I didn't mind. It was important. After that we spent the rest of the month just drilling me about the League. A month after that, I was in the Watchtower, leading and assigning missions, giving my opinion on everything, and the world could pretend I was Bruce or Dick and not some kind of impostor wearing the suit."

There was a swat on his shoulder. It was light and very familiar.

"You were not an impostor. You were their successor," Diana stressed the last word, emphasizing it.

"I know. But it took me years to accept that. I…when I came back the first time, I wasn't in a good place. Coming back from the dead — it leaves scars. It's even worse for those who take a dip in a Lazarus Pit to help them heal."

Diana was humming again. "You said that you killed people."

"I did," Jason confirmed, and that was all the prompt he needed to continue.

He tells her about waking up from the Pit the first time. About the confusion, the desperation, the voices and shouts that are barely heard whispers now. About the green haze the fogged his dreams and memories of that time. Of learning about Bruce and the Joker and the uncontrollable rage he felt, finding out that Bruce had left him unavenged. Of trying to kill Bruce, and failing to go through with it, not because of any lingering affection, but because he wanted to Bruce to know it was him. To know why it was him. And of how Talia granted him his wish.

The training he went through to become the Red Hood. How he murdered his teachers after learning everything he wanted from them, because most of them were scum anyway. Learning about Tim, and the heartbreak he felt at replaced, as if it were a sign of how much Bruce had never loved him. That Bruce had only just wanted a replacement for Dick.

He even talks about Tim himself, about his insecurities, of how those insecurities were exposed by the immense amount of loss Tim went through in a short period of time, culminating in seemingly losing Bruce himself. Of course, Bruce would come back soon enough and they wouldn't really lose him until years later, but they hadn't known that at the time. Which then served as a bridge to Tim's real breaking point.

"And then Dick," here, Jason punctuated the name with a visible grimace, "Dick did something stupid."

Diana took his hand, "What did he do?"

"He took Robin from Tim. Gave it to Damian. And if you think the Damian sleeping in this house right now is bad, that one was worse. Way worse."

"How so?"

And then came Damian. Damian and his fucked up childhood and how, even now, Jason is still working undo the damage with the Damian upstairs. Of how that other Damian, the Damian he knew and came to love and lose, who had not been sent away for his own safety but instead dumped on his father by his mother so she could convince Bruce to become a family with them, had attempted to murder Tim on a regular basis. Of how that Damian had hated all of them, resented them, because he was taught view them as obstacles to his birthright.

Which led to Dick. Dick who hadn't wanted to be Batman either, but was the only one who could have the time, because Tim was too young, Jason was too full of rage and both of them were too broken to carry that weight. Dick, who had been forced to confront that when both of them had tried anyway, and finally found the will to take up the birthright that had been his ever since he started running around in booty shorts back when he was nine years old. Dick, who was the eldest, the head of the family now that Bruce was supposedly gone, the closest thing to a parent Damian had left.

Damian, who had never been and never will be an easy child. Who needed help, help that Dick only knew how to impart by having him his as his Robin. And that mean short-handing Tim, giving the mantle his other younger brother had loved so much, a mantle that might as well be all he had left of his adoptive father, to the brother he hated most.

"It wasn't his best moment," Jason admitted. A person could even argue that one moment was worse than all of Dick's cold treatment of him back when Jason was Robin. Jason would even agree with them. For all that Dick made him feel inferior, intentionally or not, Dick had never once tried to take something so important away from Jason at such a low point in his life, like he had with Tim.

But that didn't stop Jason from defending him anyway.

"The thing is, Tim had long since transcended Robin. He was more than just Batman's assistant, had been for a while now. He was ready to be on his own. Outgrowing the R is a phase all the Robins go through; Dick's saw him create the Teen Titans, and I was in the beginning stages of mine when I died. Tim was in the midst of that phase for a while, and he needed one last push to get out of it and become his own man. Dick tried to express this by giving Tim Nightwing, but Tim told him he didn't like handouts and left. He then created his own identity, Red Robin, and went by that alias until the day he died."

Red Robin. Jason loved Red Robin, because Tim as Red Robin was the one who really started re-integrating him back into the family. And while he was saddened that it was because of Tim's shit relationship with the rest of the family at the time that had led to him seeking out Jason for help for cases, in the end, it did end up working out for the better. Jason eventually stopped with the murder attempts, Tim reconciled with Dick and started getting along with Damian, and that led to Jason starting to work with the others more and more. They weren't quite back to being whole, but it was something.

And then Bruce came back. And while that was a happy occasion at first, it was also the beginning of when everything went to hell.

"You tried to kill him. But I know Bruce has forgiven others for worse."

"It wasn't that, Di. It was…" Jason struggled for a moment to find the right words, "…towards the end of my training, Talia seemed to regret giving into my demands. At the beginning of it, she was angry at Bruce. Wanted to get back at him. But deep down she still loved him, and when she saw what I was becoming, she realized I might very well kill him. So the last place she sent me to for training was the All-Caste."

"You were trained by the All-Caste?"

"You've heard of them? Don't answer that, of course you have. Anyway, it was probably the most enjoyable portion of my training. It was also the hardest, but that's neither here nor there. They…helped me. I'd never been more at peace than I was with them. But at the end of it, I was still angry at Bruce. So angry. So I left. And Talia, she finally gave me what I needed for my revenge."

And then he started on the worst part of his past, the darkest period of his life. The Red Hood's return to Gotham, and everything that entailed: the death, the blood, the heartache. Joker. Black Mask. Fighting Bruce, dueling with him on Gotham's rooftops. Putting up an admirable fight but still losing in the end, because Jason hadn't been quite on that level, not yet at least. Leading Bruce to that building. That final, desperate gambit.

"He didn't choose, obviously. He refused to be party to it. Instead, he threw a batarang at my hand, knocking away my gun and releasing the Joker from my hold. And I…that was it, for me. Ever since I woke up in the Pit, the first time around, I felt like I was living on borrowed time. I wasn't happy being alive again, Diana. When you die for the first time, you're at peace, and being ripped away from that is as good as killing you all over again. And everything that followed…I just wanted him to accept me. Instead, what B did to me — it wasn't a rejection, but it seemed like it at the time, and despite everything, he was the most important person in my life."

"I decided that if he wasn't going to choose, then there wasn't a point anymore. Earlier that night, I'd rigged the building to blow. I triggered the explosive, and then slumped down and waited to die. B tried to disarm it — I put a countdown on it, don't really remember why — and Joker stopped him. Said the three of us dying together was the biggest joke ever, everything he could ever want. B got him off, but it was too late to stop it. He could save himself, or one of us."

"He chose you," Diana determined instantly. She knew Bruce. She knew that no matter how much he tried to value all life, there were some lives worth saving more than others, and his son was certainly one such life, especially when the other option was the Joker.

"Threw me out of the room just before everything blew," Jason confirmed. "It took me years to really understand everything that happened that night, but in the end, I got it. He couldn't compromise his sense of justice for anyone, not even for his children. Because if he did, it would get easier, and easier, until he became the monster he sought to put down. The monster I ended up becoming. But that didn't mean he didn't love us. It was because he loved us that he had to choose justice first. He didn't want to put us in a position where we had to take him down. The position I put him in through my antics."

"So, after that plan failed, I laid low for a bit. Did try to kill Dick and Tim a few times, even Damian once or twice. Though, to be honest, none of those attempts were really serious. The Pit Madness was getting easier to fight day by day; maybe because, in my subconscious, I recognized that Bruce did love me after he risked his life to save me. By the time Tim started hanging around me I was able to recognize its influence, and started developing a system to squash it down. Though it wasn't until I was a part of the family that I was able to make it work."

"As I got to know my siblings, including meeting Cass and reconnecting with Dick, things between Bruce and I remained tense. Me due to being an angst-ridden mess stuck in a constant phase of delayed teenage rebellion, him because he's an emotionally constipated asshole who's constantly struggling to balance between the Mission and his family, the only two things in the world he really cares about. We didn't properly reconcile until I was twenty," Jason blew a fringe of hair out his eyes, "A year later, he was dead. This time for real, and this time for good."

"And I…I was so angry at myself. For letting my pride prevent me from spending all the time I could with him. Because for people like us, our lives are always hanging by a thread with a razor thin edge, and any moment could be our last. I should have known that. I should have known that better than anyone else. But I blinded myself from it, and by the time I got my head out of my ass it was too late to make up for any of it. My father was gone, and he was never coming back. I felt the same way after Dick died, and then Tim, and after Damian I was just about ready to go. If it hadn't been for Cass and the others, I'd probably be here a lot sooner."

That admission was haunting. But it was also liberating, in a way. Jason felt lighter finally saying all of this out in the open, without several pairs of eyes on him, without the Lasso forcing the words from his mouth. Just him and Diana, laying side-by-side. Talking.

The silence returned once more. This time, it wasn't oppressive or stifling. It was…freeing.

"Jason," Diana murmured, "I know nothing will ever make up for what you've lost. All the pain you went through during your second life. But you have another chance now, and while they aren't the family you remember, they are still your family. And if the gods are willing, you have all the time in the world to spend with them."

"I do, don't I?" Jason said, smiling. "Thanks Di. For laying here with me. For listening to me."

"It was hardly a chore, Jason," Diana nuzzled his cheek, like a mother would with her child. "I was more than happy to."

"I believe you. Enough to ignore the bug you planted behind my headboard before we started talking."

Diana froze.

"It's fine, Diana. It's transmitting to the Cave, right?" At her slow nod, Jason cracked a grin. "Great. Means I don't have to repeat myself to everyone else." He yawned. "Now, I'm going to sleep. Please turn off the light before you leave."

With that, the former Batman closed his eyes and allowed the darkness to welcome him. He was out within seconds.

With Jason now dead to the world, Diana was able to extract herself from the bed with little trouble. She removed the listening device from the headboard, then arranged his body into a more comfortable position, leaving him with a kiss to the head not unlike the one he gave Tim earlier that night, and a fond look, before turning off the light and leaving, closing the door behind her.

The walk to the Cave made her more anxious with every step. She had no doubt that every word she and Jason had exchanged in his room had been heard by the Cave's occupants. Diana could only hope Bruce hadn't broken out the alcohol yet. Or let Dick or Alfred have any of it. Poor Tim was still impressionable after all, and Hera knows how he was taking everything.

Finally, as the elevator touched down, she was given an answer.

Everyone had corralled themselves around the Bat-Computer, where the bug's broadcast had been emanating from. Bruce was sitting in the main chair, head in his hands, with Clark beside him and rubbing comforting circles into his back. To his right was Alfred, who had pulled up a chair of his own and had given up all propriety in favor of slumping over the main desk in solemn thinking position. On the other side of Alfred were Dick and Tim, who hadn't even bothered with chairs. They were instead sitting on the floor, leaning against each other's shoulders with their eyes glazed over. All in all, it was one of the most depressing sights Diana had ever seen.

And to think the evening had started out so happily, Diana thought to herself bitterly. A child she and Clark had cared for, Bruce's child, had come back from the dead, and with him two more children for Bruce to care for, a son and a daughter. A miracle that seemed too good to be true.

As it turned out, it was exactly that. For the Jason Todd that had returned to them was theirs, except now fifty years old, stuck in the body of his younger self, having inadvertently traveled back in time after dying of lung cancer over thirty years in the future. A future that saw him endure the deaths of most of his adoptive family before he was even thirty and forced to bear a mantle that he never once believed he had any right to, the same mantle that had effectively destroyed his family. It was a tragic fate that Diana would never wish on anyone, not even her worst enemies.

She didn't blame Jason for that, of course. He had never asked for any of this. No, if anyone was to blame, it was the Joker, for taking away such a promising soul so soon from the world. Or the al Ghuls, for taking advantage of that same boy for their own ends. Even Gotham itself had some of it, for destroying so much and leaving so much devastation in its wake, and yet still having so much history, spirit, greatness and overall good people in it, enough for people to still love it.

Most of all, however, she blamed the cosmic forces that so loved torturing a family that only ever wanted to do good.

Truly, this world is as cruel as it is kind.

Even after Diana's arrival, the silence remained. There was nothing anyone could say to what they'd just heard. Nothing. This sort of situation was completely unprecedented, and all of them were involved in some way. All of them were compromised, even Clark and Diana.

"It's almost time for patrol," Bruce said suddenly, head shooting up. He stood.

Clark pushed him back down immediately.

"No."

"Clark—"

"You heard Jason. You go out tonight after something like that, you'll die. Either you, or Dick, or Tim, or whatever innocent people you're trying to protect," Clark said firmly, tightening his grip ever so slightingly, "I'll handle things in Gotham tonight. Tomorrow night as well, if necessary. And in the very unlikely event I need backup, Diana will go out and help me. You, meanwhile, are going to talk this over with your family. Process everything your son has just said, and figure out where you're going to go from here."

Bruce looked betrayed. "But where do I even begin? He's not my son."

Before anyone could say something to that, Diana was already in front of him, landing a sharp slap to his cheek. Not hard enough to injure for anything more than a bruise, but it got her point across well enough.

"Bruce Wayne," The Amazon Princess hissed, anger and disappointment in her eyes. "How dare you say such a thing? After everything we've just heard?"

"But—"

"But nothing! He is still your son! He might be older, and infinitely more scarred, but deep down he's still the boy you loved and raised! The boy you took from the streets and made your own!"

"HE WOULD'VE BEEN BETTER OFF ON THE STREETS THAN WITH ME!"

An appalling quiet followed that statement. Now everyone was looking at Bruce.

"Thirty years, Diana. Thirty years. I suspected that he was a time traveler some sort, but only a couple of years, not—" Bruce shook his head, "And everything he's said…God, I don't know how he can even look at me!"

"It was bad enough I got him killed. But everything that came after, being turned him into a weapon against his family, finally getting him home only for me to die and leave behind a legacy that would kill all three of his brothers. A legacy he forced himself to bear, because to him, it was all he had left of us. And when he died once more, the universe conspired to have him live his life all over again. And instead of just giving up on this life like he should have done, and leaving me behind to start a new one, he came back here and he's going to destroy himself all over again just to save us."

"He's not my son, Diana. He's not, because he doesn't deserve to be my son. He deserves better," He turned to Dick and Tim, who were watching him with wide eyes. "You all do."

"Bruce…" Dick hiccuped. It seemed he was just about at his limit.

"It's true, Dick. I took you in because you reminded me of myself, and that was the last person I wanted you to be. And yet I let you run around in that uniform, beating down criminals every night, and now you're in deep like I am. You'll succeed me when this life finally kills me. And you'll die in the process," Bruce closed his eyes, the very thought of his eldest son's death bringing him pain.

"And Tim." Bruce turned his attentions to his third Robin, who he had come to love as another son but couldn't admit as much until Jason reappeared on their doorstep with two extra and made it all too obvious. Tim, on his part, merely looked up.

"You never had to be a part of this. You could've lived a normal life. But you stayed and you suffered and then you died too. And Damian, he thought the best way to make me proud was to succeed me and look where it got him. He was in the ground before he was even twenty-five. And Jason and Cass…they were left behind and had to continue on with their lives, fulfilling a mission that got most of their family killed," the broken man looked up to the sky, "I don't blame Jason for hating me after that. I hate myself just knowing it."

Everyone once again fell silent at those words. Nothing Bruce said, exactly, was wrong.

Except for one thing.

"Bruce," Clark interjected, rather forcefully, "Don't be a fool."

The billionaire snapped his head towards his closest friend, mouth hanging open. "Wha—?"

"Did he ever once say that he hated you? That he wished you'd never taken him in?" Bruce obviously had no answer to that, so Clark pressed on, "The only person he hates is himself, for not doing more the first time around. For not being better, for not spending more time with his family. Even though none of it was his fault in the end, he still blamed himself, instead of you or anyone else."

"He loves you, Bruce," Clark's voice softened, and there was a slight hitch to it, "He loves you so much. He said that you were the most important person in his life. And I know you don't want to hurt him again, but pushing him away now will only hurt him more. He needs you Bruce."

"All Jason wants is for his family to be whole again," Diana added on after regaining her bearings, voice weary. "Whole and happy. That's why he waited three months to come home, why he risked the wrath of Ra's al Ghul and forced himself to trust Talia. Because he wanted to bring Cassandra and Damian to you sooner, because he wanted all of you, his family, to be together again."

"But we're not his family," everyone looked to Tim, who had been mostly silent so far. Despite the seemingly cold nature of his statement, the sorrow in his face made it all too clear how he really felt, "The family he loved, and lost, they were different people. People that went through more experiences than us, who had spent more time with him than us. They're the ones he mourned, the ones he wants back. Not us."

"Tell that to him," Dick snorted mirthlessly. Everything was beginning to crash down on him, and even the most optimistic member of the family couldn't escape the inherent somberness and cynicism of the discussion. "You said it yourself, Tim. The way he looks at us, at all of us, it's genuine. You can't fake emotion like that. And the fact that he went so far for Damian and Cass, that he made it his mission to make it as obvious as possible to you, Tim, that he doesn't resent you, that he considers you family too — we might not be them, but it doesn't seem to matter to him."

The world stopped as everyone pondered over that. That certainly was true as well.

"Just because we are not those people, does not mean they were not us," Alfred added in his two cents, lifting his head to look at everyone, "As we have previously established, Master Jason came from the future. The future versions of ourselves that he knew were us at one point, just like how Master Jason was the boy we lost over a year ago, and still is, just with decades of more memories and experiences in his head. People are constantly changing as they gradually accumulate experiences; that is simply the nature of life. To him, we are the family he lost, just without all those memories and experiences."

"And even with all that, if you don't quite believe what I say, it as Master Dick said — it does not matter to him. He loves us, and we loved him before we knew all of this. The question is now, whether or not we still love him after all of this."

That statement had profound effect on everyone. Outbursts came from every direction as all the other people in the room began to protest the butler's words. Even Tim, who had literally just met Jason today, was aghast to hear such a thing come from Alfred's mouth.

"Alfred, how could you—"

"Why would you even think—"

"Of course we still love him!"

"Then why are we even debating this at all!" The old man angrily cut them all off. Everyone was struck dumb, seeing him so uncharacteristically angry and without his usual impeccable and near-unassailable composure.

"He loves us, and we love him. In the face of that, nothing else matters. We shouldn't be discussing whether or not we deserve that love, but rather how we're going to help him. Whether we like it or not, the damage has already been done. Nothing is going to erase the pain Master Jason went through in that dark future of his, not even if we erased the memories from his mind. And even if we did do that, the timeline has already been irrevocably changed due to his, Miss Cassandra, and Master Damian's early presences at the Manor. We need his knowledge of the future to counteract any of the negative effects that may come from this." Because again, Alfred was a Bat, and as wonderful as it was to have three more children join the family, only a fool would believe that no consequences would not come from such a grand change. Especially not with children with pasts and connections like Cassandra and Damian.

"I do not like this anymore than any of you do. This is, without a doubt, the most difficult situation all of us have ever faced. Something that no one here could have truly foreseen, even with all of Master Bruce's contingencies. But," and here, Alfred's voice grew softer, with the slightest hitch, "it is as Master Dick and Miss Prince said. He brought Miss Cassandra and Master Damian to us early. Not to further aid in this family's crusade against crime, but because they were both in terrible situations and he couldn't bear to leave them where they were for one more second. Because he knows they both would be happier here, with us. In the end, he just wants to help us. All of us. So, in light of that, the question we must ask is what we can do to return the favor, and help him cope with the knowledge that is now in his head."

Alfred's words resonated through all of them. Immediately, expressions of shame and sadness and determination and everything in the between appeared.

Diana, for her part, began to sniffle, as bittersweet tears slid down her cheeks. The sound of it turned everyone's attention to her.

"You are blessed," she explained, using a wrist to rub at her eyes, smiling sadly all the while, "With a son that any parent would be proud of, a brother any sibling would adore. You're right, Bruce," the Amazon turned to her friend, who froze at being addressed so directly, "he does deserve better."

She reached over, and cupped Bruce's cheek, sliding her thumb against the jut of his bone tenderly. "So be better."

Bruce stared at her, eyes wide.

"They're right," And now Dick was the center of attention. He stood, shaky but determined, a powerful glint in his eye, "Jason needs us Bruce. Damian, Cass," he threw a look to his right, "Tim — they all need us. Pushing them away and wallowing in self-pity and regret isn't going to help anyone. Least of all them."

But Bruce shook his head, backing away from Diana, the back of his knees hitting the main chair of the Bat-Computer, "I don't know how, Dick. I—" He looked away.

"Then talk to him."

Tim felt every bit as weak-kneed as Dick, but also every bit as determined. "It's him that wants this the most, right?" He said to the assemblage of stunned heroes, "If anyone should know what the first step should be, it's him."

"But—I—"

"Bruce." It was Clark's turn now. "Don't. You might think it's better that way, to compartmentalize, to ignore this, but it's not. It never has been."

Bruce stared at him helplessly.

"Master Bruce," Alfred finally had his say, steely and unyielding, "I did not raise a coward."

He felt cornered. Everyone was looking at him expectantly, waiting for his answer. On reflex, he looked around the Cave, until he spotted it: Jason's memorial. The symbol of his greatest failure.

It 's him that wants this the most, right?

Pushing them away and wallowing in self-pity and regret isn 't going to help anyone.

You might think it 's better that way, to compartmentalize, to ignore this, but it's not. It never has been.

I did not raise a coward

So be better.

He loves you, Bruce.

And I love him. All of them. So goddamn much. But he had always been so, so terrible at showing it.

But they were right. They were all right.

"Alright," Bruce said, submission in his voice, "Alright."

Chapter Text

The first thing Jason did after waking up was change into a pair of sweats and a tank top. Throwing on slippers for good measure, he ambled down the Manor's stairs with a yawn, heading for his home's breakfast nook.

It was relatively early in the morning. As a consequence of the vigilante lifestyle, the earliest anyone in the Manor got up in the morning was six am. That person was typically Alfred, who prepared his own breakfast first before starting on everyone else's. Right now it was 5:00 am; Alfred wouldn't be down for another hour, if that after the rollercoaster that was last night.

The Manor had three kitchens. A large industrial one located in the basement, typically used by caterers for large gatherings, such as galas and balls. A much smaller but still rather sizable one attached to the main dining room, which was used more often as the Manor's usual occupants/visitors grew over the years. And finally, a regular-sized kitchen in the breakfast nook. This was the only kitchen in constant use, and thus the best-stocked out of all of them. Whenever someone was hungry and aching for food, they always came here.

One of the first places Jason had taken Damian and Cass to during their tour of the Manor was the breakfast nook, and he made sure they knew how navigate there without any issues. Food, after all, was the fuel of life, and chances are that Jason was going to spend a lot of time there anyway. Until he was legally revived and they legally existed, they couldn't afford to go out too often. While he was sure that very few people would be able to recognize him, it was better safe than sorry.

Jason hummed as he stepped over the arch and surveyed the room. Like everything else in the house, it emanated a sense of nostalgia for him. While he had tried to maintain as much of the original interior of the Manor as possible, the passage of time was unavoidable. He had to replace faulty furniture, had to redo the walls after a particularly bad attack (freakin' Jokerz), and the kitchen appliances had to be replaced and updated periodically for both efficiency and safety concerns. While the breakfast nook had kept its place as the central hub of Wayne activity for the early day, it had not been smooth sailing.

Even so, it was relatively easy to fall back into routine with the old nook as he usually had with the new one. He instinctively knew where all the equipment was, how to operate the kitchen appliances, and before he knew it he had eggs sizzling on the skillet, pancakes on the pan and a pitcher of black coffee brewing in the background. He was in the midst of mixing the waffle batter and pouring it into the mold when his senses picked up the presence of a new arrival.

"Morning, Alfred."

The old man had seen better days. To someone who didn't know him very well, Alfred was the picture of impeccable composure that he always was. But to Jason, who had known the butler for years and had loved him like family, the frayed edges and the tiredness in his expression were blaring out for the world to see. Compared to the man he saw yesterday, Alfred looked as if he had aged three decades in one night.

"Master Jason," Alfred greeted back, though there was the slightest hitch to his voice. He blinked as he assessed his kitchen. "Master Jason—"

Jason cut him off before he could say another word. "I know I don't have to," Jason told him gently, "But I want to. You're welcome to help if you want. I don't mind."

Alfred hesitated a bit before moving forward. Whatever reservations he had failed in the face of his lifelong servitude and loyalty to the Wayne family, and he made to join the cooking. There was some hiccups at first, but soon they fell into a familiar rhythm, though with Jason taking the lead.

Over a lifetime ago, when Jason had first come to live at the Manor, he had insisted that Alfred teach him how to cook. It hadn't been because he was offended by the taste of the man's food; living on the streets, Alfred's already top-notch cooking tasted like heavenly mana. That same childhood, however, had instilled in him a desire to be self-sufficient, and cooking was a more than viable skill towards that.

He had picked up cooking quickly, and proved to have talent. Jason was perhaps the only person that Alfred allowed to use his sacred kitchens besides himself and professional caterers, and that hadn't changed up until the butler's death. It was because of this skill that Jason had been able to maintain being the Red Hood for so long on his own; a healthy diet seemed to help combat the self-destructive habits of drinking and smoking. Then, after he dropped both to become Batman and moved permanently back to the Manor, cooking had provided a sufficient stress-reliever to replace them. The recipes he had given to Carrie hadn't come from nowhere, after all.

It was the same now. The shadow of the previous night hung heavy over him, over the entire house to be honest, and he needed a distraction. He still remembered everyone's favorites, all their little quirks, and it was so easy just to let his hands follow memory and make them all. Alfred didn't have that foreknowledge for Damian and Cass (he would one day, Jason was certain), and so had to contend with taking orders instead.

He briefly took a break, at Jason's insistence, to have his own breakfast first. It was the first meal Jason made, a full fry-up complete with black pudding and buttered toast. Alfred seemed to stare at it for a moment, as if terrified to mess up such a beautiful plate, before digging in, though in a proper, British, and entirely Alfred-like manner. The plate was picked clean, much to Jason's satisfaction, and soon the table was cleared for the rest of the meal.

A cup of black coffee for Bruce, a similar decaffeinated blend for Tim (Jason was not going to be party to starting that particular addiction early), and orange juice for everyone else. Stacks of pancakes (plain, chocolate chip, and blueberry), another large plate of eggs, another stack, this time of waffles, some bacon (tofu, which Jason was surprised to find), and a stack of toast with a slew of spreads surrounding it. The table looked a bit full, to say the least, especially with the empty plates Jason had dotted around the edges, but it was worth it.

Alfred stayed in the kitchen to keep the coffee brewing and to start cleaning the pots and pans. Jason sat down, on the end opposite of where Bruce usually sat, and began plating his food, making sure to keep heavy on the protein. He was still building his body back up, and every little bit help.

By the time he started eating, the rest of the family started filing in. Dick, morning person that he was, predictably arrived first, though more subdued than his usual boisterous cheer. The moment of his appearance was punctuated by him stilling at the sight of his younger brother and staring at him. It was only after Jason started staring back, lifting his eyebrows in a pointed manner, that he got a hold of himself and sat himself down on the right of Bruce's seat, pointedly away from him.

Next was Bruce. Unlike Dick, Bruce caught one glimpse of Jason and diverted his gaze immediately. He took the morning paper from Alfred, and flipped it open the moment he sat down, not even bothering to hide the fact that he was trying to avoid his second eldest son. Jason felt faintly hurt at that, though he brushed it away soon enough. It wasn't an unexpected reaction, after all.

Cass's arrival, owing to the girl's nature, was upon them before anyone except Jason realized it. It seemed like moment she wasn't there, and the next she was sitting to Jason's right, shuffling some eggs and waffles unto her plate. Unlike everyone else, she seemed completely at ease, though the brief touch to Jason's arm made it clear she was aware, to some extent, of the tense atmosphere.

Tim shuffled in a few minutes later, skittish and more alert than Jason had ever seen him at this time in the morning, and sat down next to Cass, by Bruce's left. Then again, Jason primarily had to deal with workaholic, jaded Tim. This Tim, young and relatively idealistic, still had something of a normal life (and if Jason had it his way, it would stay that way). Unlike Bruce and Dick, Tim's problem was keeping away from looking at Jason for too long and accused of being rude.

Damian, predictably, was last. His relatively smaller and younger body took much longer to process through the sedative, and even now the child was noticeably drowsy, grumbling softly as he walked in with his adorable Batman pajamas (something that everyone took amusement in except for Bruce). He barely struggled when Jason stood up and lifted him overhead, gently plopping him onto the seat to this left. Jason then piled a couple of blueberry pancakes along with some tofu bacon onto his plate, and poured a glass of milk to compliment Damian's orange juice. His youngest brother didn't protest to the selection, and quietly began to dig in.

As breakfast slowly began to wind down, the hushed and strained ambiance was broken. Rather predictably, the culprit was Damian.

"Father, Jason has informed me of the possibility that you will enroll me into grade school once I am legally under your custody."

Bruce, who had given up on the paper and was now focusing entirely on his food to avoid seeing Jason, blinked. He landed a questioning look on his now youngest child.

"Well, yes. It's the law."

"I would like to petition to have home schooling instead," Damian announced. Now everyone was listening in. Dick was starting to look very amused.

His father, meanwhile, was perplexed. "Why?"

"Because this country's education system is inadequate and I refuse to have my mind be filled with their drivel," the seven year old stated seriously, "Any school system that can produce the likes of Drake is clearly not worthy of my attendance."

"Damian!" Jason called out sharply, before anyone else could react, "That was rude! Apologize to your brother," Tim started choking again; it seemed he still wasn't used to being considered a member of the family, "While your criticisms of the American school system are completely valid, Tim is perfectly capable and intelligent in spite of it, and should be acknowledged as such."

"And I will acknowledge it," Damian grit out, glowering at Jason, "When he proves your claims. Thus far all I can see is a blundering idiot who can barely string three words together."

"Damian."

The child continued his glaring contest with his older brother before looking away and huffing, conceding defeat. "Tt. Very well. I apologize, Drake. It is not your fault that you were indoctrinated by substandard institutions for most of your life."

Jason sighed. It seemed even he knew that was the best he was going to get.

Tim coughed. "Uh…apology accepted?" Something that sounded like what the fresh hell is this was muttered under his breath.

Dick couldn't take it anymore. He laughed. Loudly.

"Oh, Little D," he said, slinging an arm around Damian's small shoulders and ignoring the cry of indignation from the child over his new nickname, "Sure, the education won't be the best, but there's more to school than just that! You can play sports, join clubs, make friends!"

"Why would I want to make friends—"

"Damian, we talked about this—"

"Who wouldn't want to make friends—"

Cass giggled as her three brothers began to talk over each other. Tim was lapping his tongue in his coffee, a suspicious look on his face as he realized that it was not sufficiently caffeinated. Alfred, having regained his composure, simply lifted the empty plate of where the eggs were located from the table to be cleaned.

Bruce, despite the war in his heart, couldn't help but smile.

Once breakfast was over, the family separated. Bruce had work, Tim had to go back home to check in with his dad, and Dick had to make a quick trip to Bludhaven to return the car seat he borrowed. Alfred had a spare one in the attic, with plans to buy a new one today already set in stone.

While everyone else was gone, Jason had taken Damian and Cass aside to make a list of what they needed. More clothes, of course, were at the top of the list. Phones were also necessary; even if Cass couldn't use one properly yet, having one would make it easier to track her in cases of emergencies. The new car seat. More books (there were never enough books in the Manor, and not even the presence of two libraries was going to sway Jason's mind).

Art supplies for Damian, something the boy protested about liking until Jason held up a sketch Damian had made on a napkin while they were hanging out at the Kennedy Airport in New York. A laptop had also been considered, until Alfred informed Jason that Bruce would be providing him a state-of-the-art laptop from WayneTech, purposefully designed with him in mind. Went unspoken was the reason why.

Once Dick got back, they drove into town with the Mercedes-Benz. First was the car seat (they were vigilantes already; there was no desire to subvert the law more than necessary), then the phones, and the art supplies, and soon it's time for a late lunch. At Dick's insistence and Jason's general amusement, they end up going to Bat-Pizza. A hundred dollars were spent on tokens, another fifty on greasy pizza and fries, because they were billionaires and they could afford to waste that much money on something like this.

While waiting for the food, Jason took Cass and Damian to the DDR machine and patiently taught them how to use it. While the two became immersed in that, Dick, being the man-child that he was, had commandeered the air hockey table and was now crowing over a string of beaten challengers he was sending back to their mothers. Jason spotted him, and a wicked idea popped into his mind. He smirked.

"Hey, Dickie!" Dick blinked as Jason ambled over on the other side of the table, popping in two tokens and grabbing the striker from his brother's latest victim, "How about you pick on someone your own size?"

Before Dick could react to the taunt, Jason had already dropped the puck onto the tabletop. With one precise hit, it slid over the line at a breakneck pace, entering Dick's goal with an audible sound. Jason's smirk widened as Dick picked up the puck, mouth agape. Slowly, he lifted his head to meet Jason's eyes, and glared.

"Oh, it's on."

"Best five out of seven!"

"No."

"But—"

"No, Dick. You lost, fair and square."

"Fair and square my as—" Dick stumbled as he caught sight of Alfred's infamous look from the corner of his eye, "—ascot, yeah, ascot! You had Little D distract me!"

Damian glowered at him. He still wasn't happy about the nickname.

"Whatever Damian did, it was of his own volition. It's not my fault he likes me more, or that you have poor concentration."

"Why you little—" Before Jason could react, Dick had him in a headlock and was giving him a noogie. Jason laughed as he half-heartedly tried to fight his older brother off. On the other side of the table, Cass giggled (as was becoming customary for her whenever her family did something amusing) and Damian scoffed, though there was a slight hint of a smile on his face. Alfred simply gave a well-practiced sigh, and lifted his fork to take another bite of the pizza.

The atmosphere now much lighter, the rest of the afternoon was spent shopping for more clothes. Jason noticed Dick frowning over some of his choices; less t-shirts and jeans and more polos and slacks and sweaters. The kinds of things an adult would wear. Another reminder of the situation. Jason pitied him, but not enough to change himself on Dick's account.

Once Alfred deemed all their wardrobes sufficient for everyday wear (formal wear needed an entire day on its own), they returned to the Manor to store their purchases, starting with Damian's room and ending with Jason's. Alfred had departed for the dining kitchen relatively early in the endeavor to start on the evening meal, leaving them on their own. Around that time is when Tim got back from the visit to his father. His help sped things up, enough that they were done by the time Alfred rang the dinner bell.

Bruce had arrived in the interim as well, though he, owing to his nature, did not bother to tell anyone. He really was playing the avoidance angle to the hilt, but it's not like Jason was in any position to call him out on it. He hadn't bothered to bring up the subject either, after all.

After dinner, Jason dragged Cass and Damian down to the in-door theater for a movie night, grateful that the mini-fridge and popcorn maker was stocked. He had selected a number of children's movie classics for them to watch, figuring that they could save the more adult movies for when Cass's literacy was up to par. By the time they were done with the second movie, the two were sound asleep.

Dick had slipped in sometime during the second movie, and helped Jason carry the two up to their rooms. Once they were both settled in, the brothers exchanged a look, and Jason sighed. It was time to face the music.

The five of them gather in Bruce's study. Alfred has already prepared tea (intuitive as ever), and Jason immediately grabs a cup, trying to breathe in the scent. Everyone is silent.

Bruce still isn't looking at him as he breaks it. "Last night was…informative."

"Very," Tim concurred, voice deliberate.

"We learned a lot," Dick agreed.

"Really? Because I didn't learn anything."

The rest of the family turned to Jason, whose face was perfectly blank. After realizing they were taking his statement completely seriously, he groaned.

"That was a joke. Don't tell me none of you make jokes anymore. I was certain—"

"Jason," Bruce said tiredly, cutting him off. "Please."

Jason snapped his mouth shut. "Right, right," he sighed, "What do you want to know?"

The three exchanged looks. "Well," Dick began, "I guess we can start by asking what you plan to do now. Normal life or vigilante?"

"If you're wondering whether or not I'm going to share future intel with you, of course I am. I'm not like you Bruce — if the information will give us an advantage, I'll share it."

Bruce flinched at the admonishment. It seemed scoldings tended to be a lot more effective with him when they were coming from his time-traveling son who had been Batman like him. Dick and Tim didn't miss it and looked suitably surprised.

"As for everything else," Jason shrugged, looking a bit self-conscious, "I don't know. I want to say I'd like to live a normal life from now on, but I can't, not when I know all of you are going to keep putting your lives in danger. I'd rather you all live to see your own retirement like I did, as short as it was."

Now everyone was wincing. They didn't like that kind of reminder either.

"Anything else?"

"How did we die?"

Tim blurted out the question without thinking, his curiosity burning. Immediately everyone except Jason shot him a glare for asking so…morbid. And insensitive. Tim himself seemed to realize his folly, judging by the apologetic look on his face.

Jason clammed up a bit at the question, looking away for a brief moment. He seemed to have come to a decision, however, and he turned back with a sorrowed expression.

"Bruce was killed by the Joker," Jason said blankly, and the already grim atmosphere turned grimmer. The Joker, after all, was a responsible for a lot more than just Bruce's death. "Don't ask for the details. Please. I'll tell you eventually, it's just…" he exhaled, "It's just hard, okay?"

"That's fine, Jason," Dick answered softly for everyone.

"Alright," Jason took in another deep breath, "Dick, you died during a battle against Brainiac. I wasn't there, too busy defending Gotham from those fucking robots of his, but apparently you drove the Watchtower into his mothership. You didn't completely get rid of him — he's like a cockroach, seriously — but you certainly set him back by at least a couple of centuries. The JLA never had to deal with him again during my tenure as Batman."

"Huh," Dick had a thoughtful look on his face. Jason could tell what he was thinking — as far as deaths go in their world, that wasn't so bad.

"And me?" Tim asked, just a little anxiously.

"Lex Luthor," Jason stated bluntly, startling everyone. That was not a name anyone expected to hear. "He captured a friend of yours and you had to play Luthor's game to get him back. You won, but both you and Luthor died in the process." He internally flinched when he thought of the friend in question. That was still something hard to think about.

I can't even say his name out loud — I'm screwed when Tim starts bringing him around. His eyes shifted to Dick. Though not as badly as I will be when Dick reintroduces me to her.

"…Oh," Tim obviously didn't know what to think about his death.

Jason cleared his throat awkwardly.

"What of Master Damian? Or myself?" Alfred piped in.

Jason smiled sadly for a moment. "You, Alfred, simply died of old age. It was…sad, but not unexpected. Like my death, we knew it was coming for quite some time. And as for Damian…" His face fell.

"The League of Assassins are what did him in. More specifically, it was his cousin Mara, the daughter of Dusan al Ghul."

"Ra's' crippled son?" Bruce asked, mind already making connections.

"Yes. As you can probably figure out, though she was an al Ghul, Mara faced tremendous prejudice for being the daughter of a disgraced line. She resented Damian for this, and challenged him constantly, culminating in him giving her a scar to always remind her of his superiority."

"Of course, then Damian met you and joined the family, and then disowned his mother and grandfather entirely in favor of being with us, as a hero. So, when Ra's' body finally gave out, he had no issues using Damian's as a replacement, even going as far as to hold Dick hostage to force him into compliance. Bruce was off-world at the time, so Tim and I led the rest of the family with the rescue effort—"

"—'rest of the family'?" Bruce interjected, eyebrow raised, "I doubt you and Tim could just storm the place with Cassandra and Alfred for backup, Jason."

"I'm not just talking about Cass, Bruce," Jason smirked, "I'm talking about the rest of our vigilante family."

"What do you me—"

"Bruce. Did you honestly think that Babs would be the only person outside of this family to take up the Mission?"

Everyone blinked as realization dawned on their faces. "How many?" Dick asked, probably more excited than he should be.

"A lot, though besides Babs, there are around five more that will make up the core. I'll tell you all about them later, and maybe we can arrange things so we can meet them earlier. You'll like them. They're good people. They were there for me when…" Jason trailed off, then shrugged. It was obvious what he was about to say.

"We're getting off topic," Bruce stated, tabling further discussion, "Back to Ra's, Jason."

"Right," Jason coughed, "Well, Tim and I led the family to rescue Damian and Dick. We succeeded, but Ra's…he died permanently during the escape. After that, the League descended into in-fighting for the next eight years, between Ra's' two remaining heirs: Nyssa Raatko — who you're going to hear a lot about soon, Bruce — and Talia al Ghul. Halfway into the civil war, however, Nyssa was assassinated by Mara, her second-in-command, who continued the war in her place."

"Eventually, the two sides entered a stalemate. Talia seemed content to leave it at that and made overtures for peace, but Mara wasn't satisfied. She wanted the entire League under her command. So, she had the bright idea to use Damian to do that. She hatched a plan to hold him hostage to force Talia to surrender her half of the League to Mara."

"By that point, Damian had long since graduated from Robin and was now Nightwing, the current protector of Bludhaven. I had been Batman for two years at the time. Mara decided that in order to force Damian into compliance, she would hold Bludhaven hostage via a biological weapon. Damian, of course, had no choice but to concede, though he left clues for Cass and myself to rescue him."

"Things went sideways. Mara never intended to spare Bludhaven; she never got over her grudge against Damian, and saw destroying the city he wanted to be the hero of as the perfect revenge. So she activated the weapon. And Damian…Damian sacrificed himself to stop it."

Jason could remember the scene vividly; it replayed itself in his mind for months. He hadn't been there in-person for Bruce's death, just the aftermath, and wasn't there for Dick's or Tim's, even though he had been in charge of arranging their funerals as the new head of the family. But Damian…Damian had died right in front of him and Cass, in Jason's arms. He had died crying, sputtering blood, asking them both if they thought if Tim and Dick and Bruce would've been proud of him, if they were proud of him, and of course they both were. And then he had grabbed Jason's suit and had begged, pleaded for him not to place Damian in the Pit, that he couldn't live with having the voices in his heads, with the calls for blood. And Jason…Jason had to agree, because how could he deny his youngest brother, his last brother, this final wish? The brother who had been meant to take this burden away from him, the only brother of his who had ever actually wanted to be Batman, to be like their father, the man he admired above all others?

Tim might have been Jason's favorite brother, but it was always Damian's death Jason had regretted the most. Because Damian still had so much to live for and had it taken away for the follies of a youth that he didn't have any real control over. Even after he was long dead, Ra's still hung over his family like a guillotine about to fall, and in the end, only Talia had ever been able to escape it long enough to for it to matter.

"Talia found out, of course, and she killed Mara personally in retaliation, while we were in the midst of mourning her son and preparing him for burial. And after him — it was just me and Cass left. It was a hard year all around." It was a hard life all around. It got easier, even happy, but it was still hard.

"Oh, Jason," And now Dick was hugging him, and Jason reveled in the embrace. He would probably be reveling in all the affection from now on.

"Well then, we'll have to make contingencies. For all of them, plus everything else you know. I've already got a laptop for you Jason, it'll have a direct line to the Bat-Computer so you can send files when you're finished. I'm just having an expert make sure it's secure."

"Babs," Jason guessed instantly, causing Bruce to sigh.

"I'm going to have to get used to that, won't I?"

"Yup," Jason stated bluntly with no remorse. "Let me guess, she listened in through the Bat-Computer after guessing what was going on from Dick's frantic calls to her back in Bludhaven. And now she wants access to the files so she can help, and you know better than to deny her."

"You really were Batman," Tim said in wonder while Bruce pinched his nose in exasperation.

"Yeah, but that's not how I figured it out. I just know Babs really well. And I know Bats — you lot would've done the same thing in her position. Hell, I would've done same thing in her position."

No protests were made at that declaration.

"Well, I guess you all want to have private talks with me now, right?"

Everyone stared at him.

"I'll take that as a yes," Jason clapped his hands and smiled disingenuously, "Who wants to go first?"

"Great. I was hoping it would be you."

Tim raised an eyebrow. "Because I'm the easiest?"

"Yes." Jason said bluntly, seeing no point in denying it. "For all of your idealism, Tim, you're the most logical and reasonable person in this house. Well, besides Alfred, obviously."

"Right," Tim awkwardly cleared his throat. "…my dad is going to die, isn't he?"

Jason internally groaned. Of course he would figure that out. And of course that would be the first thing he would ask.

It didn't matter how much older and experienced Jason was. Tim would always be the smartest member of the family.

Always.

"He did die in the previous timeline," he confirmed, sighing, "And it wasn't because of some villain's revenge plot or anything like that. It was because…well, you know Jean Loring? Ray Palmer's ex-wife?"

Tim nodded slowly, not sure about where this was going.

"She had a psychotic break, wanted Ray to love her again, and made this stupid and insane plan of staging attacks on the loved ones of superheroes so he would be convinced to go back to her. It went off the rails and saw the deaths of not just your dad, but also Sue Dibny, and several others caught in the escalation of superhero-villain violence while people were investigating the murders."

His younger brother gaped at him, clearly not expecting that explanation. Soon enough, however, his eyes began to water, and Jason was by his side at an instant. He pulled Tim into his arms, trying to soothe him.

"I'm sorry," Jason said softly, "I know that's not what you wanted to hear."

"I-I'm going to lose my dad for a s-stupid reason like that?" Tim got out, angry and hot with bitter tears, "Because that stupid woman wanted her ex-husband back but wanted him to crawl back to her?"

"You won't," Jason said firmly. "It's going to be one of the first files I send Bruce. I'll mark it as top priority, and he'll take care of it. I promise you."

"And what about after?" Tim asked suddenly, eyes alert. "My dad—he's always going to be in danger because of me. Because I'm Robin. Will he be safe?"

Jason hesitated before answering that question. "We'll try our hardest, Tim," he said finally, "but this is Gotham. I can't guarantee anyone's safety. Especially ours, and that of everyone associated with us."

Tim stared up at him, but not with malice. It seemed he understood, something that Jason was grateful for.

"If my dad doesn't die," Tim said suddenly, something that happened every time he had an epiphany, "We won't be brothers."

Jason clicked his teeth and shook his head. "Don't be an idiot Tim. We already are brothers. You're Robin now, have been for months, and that makes you a member of this family. Just because we don't have a piece of paper to prove it doesn't make it any less true."

That resonated with Tim, and for the first time since they'd met, he smiled up at Jason, genuine and almost blinding. Jason smiled back, and pulled his brother in closer. They basked in a comfortable silence for a bit.

"You have something to ask me too, don't you?" Tim noted when Jason started to fidget.

"I do. I want to train you."

Tim blinked, pushing Jason away to stare at him again. "Why?"

"Tim, you and I both know that part of why I died was because I wasn't thoroughly trained enough," Jason stated frankly, holding up a hand to forestall any interruptions, "It's alright. I've made my peace with that decades ago, and I've long since remedied the issue as far as myself goes. And Bruce certainly seemed to fix some of the problem when he trained you. However, more training couldn't hurt, especially with how wild things are going to get the next couple of years. Even with all the reports I have to write up, and taking care of Cass and Damian, I have plenty enough free time, and I can't think of a better way to spend it than making sure my little brother has more ways to not die."

"…In that other timeline, I got training from someone you don't want near the family, didn't I?"

"Lady Shiva."

The hacker blanched. "Yeah, okay, that's a terrible idea, so I accept your offer."

"Great!" And Jason looked cheery again, something that Tim was increasingly starting to associate with trouble, "First things first: fixing your diet!"

Wait, what?

"I'll type up a plan as soon as I get my laptop and a printer. Be prepared to hate me like all my Robins did!"

And I 'm already starting to regret this.

"I'm still telling Alfred about your cereal cupboards and takeout fridge."

"Oh, come on Jay!"

"It's for your own good, Dickie," Jason said seriously.

Dick pouted.

What a child, Jason thought fondly. "In all seriousness though Dick," he said out loud, "You need to take better care of yourself. Honestly, I'd rather have you back with the rest of the family in Gotham, but I know you value your independence. I also agree that Bludhaven needs a protector. But you can't protect Bludhaven by overworking yourself and never bothering to ask for help," and at that, Jason poked the his older brother's shoulder, "So. Ask for help. Just make a call and I'll come running first thing."

"Some bad shit is going to happen to me in the future that could've been avoided if I just swallowed my pride and asked someone for help," Dick immediately surmised.

Of course he figured that out too. Nobody ever said Dick was slow on the uptake, after all.

"Yes," Jason confirmed, no change in his expression. "You're the most well-connected hero in this family. Use that. I'll have files written up about what happened and sent to Bruce and to you as soon as possible, but this still stands. I will not let you go through that again Dick. What happened ultimately wasn't your fault, but it doesn't change the fact that it could've been avoided if you had just asked someone for help."

Dick observed him for a long moment. "You really were him, weren't you?"

Jason said nothing, just flickered his eyes away.

"I didn't name Tim my successor. I named you, didn't I?"

The younger of the two brothers let his shoulders sag, and sighed. "You did."

"Do you hate me for that?" Dick asked, a little worriedly.

"No. God, no," Jason shook his head, "Perish that thought from your mind right now. If anything, I would be more ashamed of you if you hadn't named me your successor." When Dick didn't reply to that, Jason continued.

"Dick, when you're Batman, Gotham must always come first. Always. And if there's anything I hated about being Batman, it was that I always had to put my family's happiness second to the city. I know you hated it too, even if you ended up abiding by it like I did."

"So, when you wrote up your will, logic dictated that you should've chosen Tim as your successor. He was older and more experienced than Damian, and smarter than me. On paper, he would've been the best Batman out of all three of us," Jason rubbed his hands, "But you didn't. You chose me. Because, while I wasn't as smart as Tim, I was still smart enough to be Batman, and I was a better fighter than him, the best of us after Cass, now that you were gone."

"But most of all it was because I was the oldest, the new head of the family. It was my duty to protect them now and take care of them, and that included the legacy we had to bear as Bruce's children," Jason smiled sadly, "I was touched you trusted me so much. I just wished your faith in me had been warranted."

"Oh, little wing," and there was the hug, something Jason didn't even try to avoid, "I know you did the best you could — the best anyone could have done. So no more self-flagellation, alright?"

Jason snorted. "Dick, our family practically runs on self-flagellation."

"Stop it anyway. I won't have it."

"Whatever you want, Dickie," Jason rolled his eyes half-heartedly, "Whatever you want."

Chapter Text

Jason smiled at the next person to enter the room. Dick had left ten minutes ago, and now it was someone else's turn.

"Alfie," Jason got up to give the old man a strong hug, one that was returned just as fiercely.

"Master Jason," the butler greeted kindly, letting go of their embrace so they could sit down together. "Are you well?"

The second son opened his mouth, then sighed, "I'm doing better," he said quietly, "It's easier now that I can talk about it with you all openly. That I don't have to hold it in anymore."

"Except for around Miss Cassandra and Master Damian," Alfred immediately intuited.

"Yeah. Except for them. I'll tell Cass eventually, either when she learns enough speech to understand or when we can find a telepath we can trust. J'onn, probably," Jason rubbed the back of his neck, "As for Damian…well, I've told the others this already, and I'll tell you too. When we were staying with the All-Caste, Damian figured out pretty quickly that there was more to the situation than what I and Talia were telling him. Obviously, with his young age, I was reluctant to tell him everything outright, so instead I gave him the challenge of figuring out what's going on. If he got it right and presents enough evidence to support it, then I would tell him."

"A prudent solution," Alfred nodded approvingly, "I applaud you for your ingenuity, Master Jason."

Jason shrugged, though there was a light blush on his cheeks, "It was nothing, Alfred. I've had a lot of practice dealing with kids, and I know Damian well enough, no matter what age he is."

"Still, it is quite an accomplishment. You could certainly teach Master Bruce a thing or two." Because, while Bruce liked and got along with children well enough, he certainly wasn't the best at raising them.

(Jason had a lot of practice reading between lines.)

He narrowed his eyes, "Oh, I plan to."

"Please do so," Alfred nodded, eyes crinkling in mirth.

The time traveler looked up at him, and beamed. "I've missed you, Alfred."

"I can see that," the butler tilted his head, "You didn't replace me after I died, did you?"

Jason shook his head. "Didn't have the heart to," Jason explained, rubbing his arm, "You were more than just our servant. You were family. Even after Damian died, you stayed with us to the end. No one else could ever compare to you, so I never bothered to try and find anyone else. Cass agreed with me, before you ask."

"Well then, I'm glad you both thought so highly of me. I shall endeavor to live up to that in this timeline as well."

"Just keep doing what your doing, Alfie. That's more than enough."

And now, it was time for the last conversation. The hardest conversation. The one Jason had been dreading for months.

Bruce.

There was Clark as well, but Jason would wait until the man himself sought him out. There wasn't much else Jason had to say to Clark that he hadn't said to Diana already; but he did have plenty of questions that he himself needed answers for. Whatever Clark said would affect the plans he had for his family, especially Damian.

But still…

Might as well get it over with.

"Come in Bruce. Avoiding this any longer isn't going to do us any good."

For this one, Jason didn't bother to sit at all. He instead stood in front of Bruce's desk, opposite the door where the man himself would appear. As much as Jason would love nothing more to be submissive and let Bruce take the lead in the conversation, he knew that he couldn't, not if wanted Bruce to take everything that he said seriously.

He had to be seen as an equal. Regardless of his current physical appearance, Jason was a grown man. He had been Batman like his father, and had raised children like his father. He was in the unique position of being able to empathize with Bruce more than any other person in the world, the only person who could honestly say they knew what it was like to be Bruce Wayne, to be Batman. The sooner that Bruce recognized it, acknowledged it, and most of all, accepted it, the better it would be for both of them.

When Bruce finally did enter, the already tense atmosphere turned absolutely rigid. If Jason had to describe it, would have to be something like a weird cross between a western stand-off and a father-son duo awkwardly trying find common ground for bonding time. They were supposed to have a mostly calm, emotional, but ultimately rational discussion, and yet it felt like they were two opponents who were sizing each other up for fight night. Which was ridiculous, because they weren't going to fight.

At least, Jason hoped they weren't going to fight. His and Bruce's relationship had always been…explosive, to say the least, so it was a valid concern. Admittedly, his much more magnanimous return from the dead in this timeline might negate that, along with Jason's relative maturity, but you could never be too sure…

I'm digressing. I need to focus. There was so much he needed to say to Bruce, and while there was no way they would be able to get through all of it tonight, that didn't mean Jason couldn't say the most important things he right now. The things that Bruce desperately needed to hear.

The silence persisted. Father and son just stared at each other, neither knowing where to really begin.

Finally, Bruce conceded, for as bad as Jason's guilt complex could get, his father would always be the ultimate champion of blaming one's self.

"I'm sorry."

Jason groaned, lifting one hand to rub his temples. "Oh, Bruce—"

"I've hurt you—"

"Bruce. Stop. Dick is right, the self-flagellation act our family gets off on really is getting old," Jason cut his father off before any more could be said. Bruce gazed at him helplessly. It seemed without the self-deprecating rant, he was lost.

"I won't deny that in the timeline I came from, you weren't the best father. To be honest, you were kind of a shitty one, but at least you tried, and I'm grateful for that," Jason started, "but in this one, you haven't done any of that yet. And if you listen to me, to Dick, to Alfred, to your family and your friends, you never will."

Bruce blinked at him, but he looked receptive, almost desperate really, to Jason's words. Jason sighed, and beckoned the taller man over to the couches, where they could sit across from each other. This conversation was going to be a long one.

Luckily, Bruce complied, which meant he really was handing Jason the ball on this one. Now it was Jason's job to make sure he didn't fumble it.

Once they were seated, Jason leaned back into the couch, taking comfort in the plush. His eyes never left Bruce's face, which caused the other man to fidget a bit. He really was completely out of his depth. Any other time Jason might've enjoyed it, heckled him over it, but not now. Not with this.

"Our relationship back then…it wasn't the best, I'm not going to lie. And as much as I want to assign all the blame to you, the truth was that it was me too. I just didn't understand and worse, I didn't know there was anything to understand. Not until I started losing people myself."

"Jason—"

"Tell me, Bruce, how bad was it? How much did you want to die, after I did?"

Bruce clamped his mouth shut, his face falling into an even more pained expression. It was obvious that he didn't want to answer that question. He didn't want to hurt Jason anymore than Jason wanted to hurt him.

"You don't want to answer?" Jason didn't really sound surprised or angry. "That's fine. I already know. After Damian died, I read the reports. Then I talked to Alfred. He told me everything."

His father didn't say anything. Jason continued on.

"For years, I was angry at you for not avenging my death. For not killing him. And because of that I thought…I thought it meant you didn't care."

"No, Jason, no," and Bruce couldn't stay silent at that, "Your death destroyed me. And God — I wanted to kill him. I wanted to kill him so much but I couldn't, because he'd win. He'd make me into a murderer, and I couldn't let him make that your legacy."

Jason paused. He stared at Bruce for a long moment. There was so much he needed to say, but it wasn't the time. Not yet. So he'd say something else.

"So you tried to kill yourself and let that be my legacy instead."

Bruce flinched.

"It's okay, Bruce. I understand," Jason knew he was repeating that phrase a lot lately, but if it was the only way to get Bruce on his side, then he'd say it a thousand times over, "After Damian, that was it for me. I wanted to die too. I wanted it so badly. You were gone, Dick was gone, Tim…Alfred didn't have much longer either, and we all knew it. It was just Cass left, and if I had lost her too…" The rest went unsaid.

Jason didn't like thinking about that time. It was the worst period of his life. At the same time, however, it was what finally put things into perspective for him. What finally allowed him to just let go, forgive, move on, from everything that happened since he came back the first time around. It may have been his lowest moment, but it allowed him to finally change himself for the better, for good.

And now, now it was time he did the same for Bruce.

"Someone finally got my head on straight though. Her name was Carrie. Carrie Kelley."

"Who was she?" Bruce couldn't help but ask. A friend? A lover?

"My eldest daughter," Jason said instead, shocking Bruce. "My first Robin. She saved me, like how Dick saved you." He looked at Bruce right in the eyes. "Like how Tim saved you."

"How did she become your Robin?" How did she find her way to you?

Jason grinned fondly, "I saved her as Batman once, from a mugger while she was lugging around girl scout cookies for her troupe. She was…inspired, to say the least, and within a week she had bought a Robin costume and was running around trying to fight crime."

"I didn't want her running around like that, obviously, but she was persistent, and then one day she saved my life. And after that…after that I knew I couldn't stop her. All I could do was train her, watch over her, so that way she couldn't get herself killed. She made me want to live again, and for a little while I hated myself for that. For moving on, because I thought it would be dishonoring the memory of my family, for trying to live my life again," Jason smiled bittersweetly, "But it wasn't, was it?"

"Of course not, Jason," Bruce rushed out, "It's what we all would've wanted." If this girl, his granddaughter (And God, wasn't that a strange thing to think about?) saved his son's life, then he would always be grateful to her for that. Would be glad to welcome her into the family, if she were here.

"And it's what I should have wanted too, when I died the first time," Jason spoke with self-loathing, "But I didn't. And I didn't feel any guilt for it until you were long gone. And I hated myself for it, Bruce. I did. And it took her, again, to make me realize that's not you would've wanted for me in the end."

His eyes shifted. His gaze turned towards to Bruce's desk — no, to above Bruce's desk. To the portrait that had hung there ever since Bruce finally had finally found it in himself to make this study his own.

"Don't you think your parents would've felt the same about you?"

No Jason, Bruce thought to himself, as he gave his second son a pleading look, Don't got there. Please.

"You've never really recovered from their deaths. No matter how many people came into your life, you let them shackle you, hang over you, cloud you. And I get that, I do," Jason's voice hitched, but he pressed on, "But Bruce, the reason you couldn't be a better father is because you tried to help us without helping yourself first. You've never moved on from them. And if you couldn't move on, how could you have expected any of us to move on too?"

Bruce felt his eyes began to water. The onset of tears, and he wanted to be angry, but he couldn't. Not at Jason. Not when his son was trying to help him.

"They loved you Bruce. They wouldn't want you punishing yourself for something that wasn't your fault," Jason reached forward, and took his father's hand, "Just like how I don't want you punishing yourself for something that wasn't your fault," He took a deep breath, "What happened to them, to me and…and to you, all of you — it was horrible. There is no denying that. But all of that, those tragedies, it's a part of life, and how we react to those losses define who we are. We need to accept it, to learn from it, but we can't let it rule us. Because then all the pain we put ourselves through will be their legacy, and that's not what any of them would've wanted."

Another period of silence fell over them. It seemed Bruce was finally beginning to realize that his intended verbal torture of his own character really was completely unnecessary. Because, regardless of how much Jason had missed him, loved him, that didn't change his nature. Jason never bullshitted anyone when it came to matters like this, and just because it was Bruce didn't mean it was going to be any different.

Jason already knew how screwed up he was. He just wanted Bruce to finally work through it.

"Do you know why I chose to die by lung cancer?" Jason asked suddenly, startling Bruce out of his thoughts, "Why I didn't fight it? Because I could have. Talia even offered a dip in the Pit. I'm not sure I would've been able to handle it, but the offer was tempting at times."

"You wanted to see us again," Bruce replied slowly after some hesitation, drawing from the memories of the previous night, "You wanted to make peace with us."

"Yes. That was the main reason, but not the only one," Jason swallowed and continued, "Another reason is because I wanted time to settle my affairs. To spend what I had left with my loved ones without the world on the line. I didn't want to leave them behind with any questions or regrets."

"I'm not saying there's nothing noble or selfless about sacrificing yourself in the heat of the moment — of dying in the line of duty. But it happens so quickly, before your loved ones can comprehend it, let alone process and accept it. I didn't want that for my family or my friends. I wanted them to know how much I loved them, how happy they made me and that even though I would be gone, I would still be there with them. I didn't want to leave them doubting anything. I'm not quite sure I succeeded completely, but certainly enough to be satisfied."

"Jason," Bruce's voice was hoarse, "Are you asking me to give up Batman? To choose family once and for all? Because I can't Jason, no matter how much I want to. And God knows I've wanted to, especially after last night."

How could he not, after learning what this life would do to this family? What it did to Jason and Cassandra both? It would kill him, kill three of his sons, and leave another son and his sister behind to try and navigate and protect this frankly wretched city in their stead. Not because they cared about it (even though they did), but because they considered it their greatest connection to the family they lost.

It wasn't worth it. Not anymore. But Jason was right too—Bruce had been too shackled to his parent's deaths to give it up sooner, and now he had worked himself into a corner. Because Gotham needed Batman, and if he left now the already encroaching darkness of the city would finally swallow it whole. He couldn't afford to let that happen, because he had as much a duty to Gotham as he did to his family. Hell, thanks to his teachings, they would never let that happen, and would've never forgiven him if he tried otherwise.

"I know Bruce. I know you can't," Jason smiled bitterly, "I was Batman too, remember? I tried to give it up more than once, but I couldn't because my morals wouldn't allow it. Gotham needs Batman, will always need Batman, and what kind of people would we be if we abandoned it just like that? What kind of example would that set?"

One that I would've wanted none of you to follow. Because as much as Bruce wanted his family to be safe, to be happy, he also wanted instill good in them. To use what they had to help others, like his parents had. Unfortunately, what they had were money, detective skills, and about a thousand ways to inflict harm on others. Bruce supposed that was his fault.

It was always his fault, really.

"Hey, no self-flagellation, remember?" Jason snapped out, frowning. Bruce looked at him, and nodded slowly. "Good. And no, Bruce, I'm not asking you to give up Batman. You and I both know that ship has already sailed. What I want…"

He got up, and walked around the table to sit next to Bruce. He laced their fingers together, a comfort to hold them both steady.

"What I want," Jason said with authority, "Is for you to forgive yourself. But I know that it will be a long time before you're ready to try. So, all that I ask is that you let yourself be happy," He placed another hand on top of his father's, looking up at him imploringly, "That you don't push us away. That you let us in, Bruce."

"You always took for granted that you would die in that goddamn suit, not once thinking how it would affect all of us. And if you're going to keep on doing that, then at least do what I did. Spend time with us, show that you care. Don't leave us doubting," and now Jason was crying too, "Because if you do, then I will never forgive you."

"Oh, Jason," Bruce pulled his son forward into a hardy embrace, "I won't, Jason. I promise you — all of you, that I'll be there for you."

Clark was right. Diana, Alfred …they were all right.

They just stayed like that for a long while, only pausing for a moment so he could shift Jason so he was tucked into his side. It felt comfortable and familiar and Bruce was so, so grateful that he got to have this again. The silence was no longer awkward — instead, it was now comfortable, the weight of it slowly siphoning away.

"We still have a lot to talk about."

"We do."

"But not tonight."

"No. I've said the most important thing. Everything else can wait."

"That's fine. I can live with that," that burning desire to know had been tempered by every word Jason had spoken to him. Bruce wasn't sure he could handle much more right now. So he'd wait. "You've gotten wise, Jay. Wiser than me."

"Not wiser, B," Jason rebutted, letting go of the embrace to really look at Bruce again, "Just…older. More experienced."

"Oh, that's right. You're older than me now."

Jason blinked and began to sputter, and Bruce couldn't help but smirk. Revenge is sweet.

"You're fifty, Jay. Maybe not in body, but certainly in mind and spirit. I, meanwhile, am not even forty yet."

"God fucking shit."

And there was the Jason he knew. That familiar foul mouth of his was like music to his ears. Diana was right; this Jason might be older and wiser and infinitely more scarred, but at his core he was still that same street smart boy he had picked up from Crime Alley. The boy who had been his son.

And his son, his son…

I know I 'm not the Bruce he lost, but looking at him now—I couldn't be more proud. And I'm sure that Bruce would be too.

For the first time since all this had started, Bruce felt happy.

They had spent more time talking, though it was more about Jason's future knowledge and logistics. It was odd, being treated like an equal in that regard too. Bruce had listened to his opinions instead of forcing his own on Jason, didn't get angry whenever Jason disagreed with him, and had even been willing to compromise on certain things. It seemed Jason had succeeded in proving to Bruce that he was Batman; the only other person in the family that Jason had ever seen Bruce treat with equal regard was Dick, and not to that extent until Dick himself had his own stint as Batman.

After that, however, Jason decided it was time to turn in. Tonight had been as equally emotionally exhausting as last night. He needed sleep. He stretched his arms as he navigated towards the family wing, only to stop when he spotted someone walking towards him. Two someones, in fact.

"Clark, Diana!"

"Jason," Clark reached him first, and pulled him into a hug.

(Jason had been getting a lot of hugs lately. He liked it, more than he cared to admit.)

"How are you doing?" Clark asked after ending the embrace a few moments later. Jason beamed up at him.

"Great. I just finished talking with Bruce."

The other two thirds of the Trinity exchanged startled looks. "And how did that go?" Diana asked carefully.

Jason's face, if possible, turned even brighter. "Well. Really well. I said what I needed to say, he listened, and…he got it. I know it won't be completely smooth sailing from here on out, but…" His smile was full of hope, "We'll get there."

Diana and Clark exchanged another look, this time much warmer. "Good."

"So, I take it you guys are here to watch over Gotham again for B?" Jason asked, changing the subject.

"We are," Clark confirmed, "Bruce figured that he and the others still needed more time to process everything, so Diana and myself offered to help out again."

"Great, because right now I have questions, and you're the only one who can answer them."

Clark raised an eyebrow. "Ask away then."

Jason cleared his throat. "How long have you and Lois been married?"

Both superheroes blinked, not expecting that. "For eight years," Clark replied slowly. Where was Jason going with this?

"And do you two have any children?"

"Jason, what kind of question is that? You've met Jon. You even babysat him once!"

Rather than answer, Jason closed his eyes and pinched his nose. "Fuck. I was worried about that. I knew it was possible after I saw how old Damian was, but now…"

"Jason," Diana finally entered the conversation, "What's going on?"

Jason sighed. He suddenly looked very, very tired. "I've already discussed this with Bruce, and we're going to tell Tim and Dick together tomorrow before Dick leaves. But, well—you know the multiverse theory, right?"

"Are you trying to say that you might be from a different universe instead?"

"No. Maybe. I don't know. It's probably more like—you know how there are reality warpers? And how sometimes the changes they make stick?" Realization began to dawn on both their faces. "Yeah, it's like that. There were a lot of reality-breaking events over the course of my lifetime thanks to reality warpers and other assorted beings with enough power to affect the fabric of the universe. Combined that with the Flashes constantly changing history, and it made the timeline a huge mess. I have so many memories of so many different versions of certain events that it's hard to keep everything straight."

"So…?" Clark trailed off, interested but not really seeing where this was going.

"It means that whatever sent me back most likely broke reality again. Either that or messed with the timeline. I know for a fact that back in my timeline, Damian was only six years younger than me. Now he's ten years younger, which was quite a shock to see. And as for Jon—how old is he?"

"Six. He's about a year younger than Damian."

Jason exhaled. "Yeah. That seals it. The Jon in my timeline was three years younger than Damian. Didn't stop them from being best friends, though."

"Oh?" And now Clark and Diana looked delighted. That was pleasing to hear. "You want to arrange a play date?"

"Sure. Though not without you present."

"I take it they took after their fathers?" Diana asked, amused, as Clark blinked.

"Yup. From what B told me, they started wailing on each other within five minutes of their first meeting. B convinced Clark to put them in a situation where they would have to work together, and it worked, but…" Jason shrugged his shoulders, smirking playfully.

"I see." The current Superman was clearly starting to regret making the offer, but didn't have the heart to rescind it. Jon needed friends, after all. "We're getting off topic. These changes to the timeline — does that mean your future knowledge isn't usable anymore?"

"No," Jason shook his head, "Before I came here, Talia gave me a manifesto of all the major events that have happened since my first death. They're all similar to what I know did happen while I was gone, just with minor changes — mostly cosmetic, like ages, outfits, that kind of thing. I'll need to review some more recent history, but from what I can tell thus far is that these events are still happening, just at different times, in different places and at different paces. Which brings me to my next question: when do you think is the best time we can bring the Justice League into this?"

Diana pursed her lips, "You and Bruce are both okay with doing that?" Batman, after all, was the most paranoid vigilante on the planet, and Jason and Bruce had both been him. Keeping Jason's status as a time-displaced vigilante merged with his much younger body certainly seemed like a secret they would want to keep on the downlow as much as possible.

Jason shook his head, "There's too much important shit happening in the next couple of years to make that feasible. We can't give out the intel I know without eventually revealing the source — there's simply too much of it for that to go on, because people are going to start asking questions eventually. Bruce and I, after some discussion, agreed that it would be better to at least bring the League in, since they're the most influential heroes in the world."

He grimaced. "Especially Wally West. There are some things he needs to know about Barry Allen—the real Barry Allen, not Eobard Thawne—and he's in the best position to deal with that situation when it finally happens."

"What? But Barry—"

"Has been dead for years, I know," Jason gave Clark a pointed look, "But you and I both know that death rarely ever sticks for people like us."

Everyone winced at that. "If that's the case then, yes, it probably is best that we bring the League in soon. You and Bruce will tell us when you're ready?"

"After I get most of the reports done. Anything I know of that could be even remotely relevant will be logged into the Bat-Computer. If it's pressing enough Bruce will inform you and anyone else it concerns immediately; remember, however, that I don't know everything. Just the most significant events of this time."

"…You really were Batman, weren't you?" Clark stated after a long moment of silence, Diana nodding along side him.

"I swear you're like the fourth person today that's said that," Jason puffed out his cheeks, "Am I really that obvious?"

"Just to someone who knows how Batman operates," Diana assured him, which…wasn't really assuring.

"Like every criminal in Gotham," Jason deadpanned.

"…Yes," she had to reluctantly concede, wincing.

"Well then, maybe it's a good thing I won't be patrolling any time soon. Last thing we need are rumors about another Batman running around."

Last thing, indeed.

After finishing with Clark and Diana, Jason finally went back to his room. He changed into his pajamas, grabbed a book, then laid in his bed and relaxed. Or at least tried to.

His mind drifted, thoughts swirling into a huge mass. There was so much to do still, so much they didn't know. Jason had barely scratched the surface of everything that happened in those thirty years, and he still wasn't sure if he wanted to say anything at all. But he had to, because they deserved to know everything, and it was killing him not to say anything more than he already had.

How was he supposed to tell Bruce about Helena? About Terry and Matthew? Bruce was already feeling plenty enough guilt, regardless of how much Jason just wanted him to let it all go and move on. Learning that in his death that he had left behind not five children, but eight, would just pile on more. To say nothing of the circumstances behind his youngest two's conception.

Jason himself was still dealing with the guilt over that. By now, he was sure Terry knew the truth. And while Terry hadn't cared then, would he still feel the same once he realized how much Jason had hid from him? The sheer manipulation that was involved with his life? Would he think that Jason had simply taken advantage of Michaels' actions, to have a successor to mold to his image?

Because that wasn't the truth. That had never been the truth.

He supposed it didn't matter in the end. Terry wasn't here. He wasn't even sure if Terry even still existed. That future, it was gone, it wasn't coming back, and Jason would have to live with it. What mattered now was taking care of the family he still had, the family he never expected to have back. There were things they needed to know, to learn.

Dick was still being an idiot who obsessed about crime-fighting, yet rarely ever asked his friends for help despite literally being the most well-liked superhero on the planet. To say nothing of his refusal to take care of himself. Jason wasn't lying when he said that he'd rather have Dick back in Gotham, but Dick was an adult in his own right and none of them had any control over him.

Tim — just one look at him terrified Jason. The boy was competent, skilled, but he still needed so much training. If he had been one of his Robins, then Jason would've never let anywhere near the streets yet. Crime might not have evolved to the level it had when Jason was Batman, but that didn't make things any less dangerous. Tim was getting by, but for how long?

Cass barely spoke a lick of English. Scratch that, she barely spoke a lick of anything. She was illiterate, and while a speech therapist might help with that, how would it affect her fighting abilities? Because he knew Cass, he knew that no matter what he wanted for her, she would somehow find her way into this game. Her guilt over that one kill wouldn't allow otherwise, and once that happened, then she would inevitably draw Shiva's attention. And after that…

It took all of Jason's self-control not to throw the book away. The thought of that woman going near his sister, near any member of his family, it brought out a rage in him that he, more than once, had to squash down before he broke the Rule again. There were few he despised as much as he did Sandra Wu-San; whatever sympathy he might have had for her past was overwhelmed by how she had tried to ruin his sister. How she had dogged Cass to the ends of the Earth, tried to force her to commit the one thing that she could never forgive herself for, and to her own mother no less.

In some ways, Cass was all he had after Damian was gone, after Alfred was gone. He had loved his children more than anything, and the rest of the family certainly meant more to him than most, but Cass was his sister, his only remaining sibling. There wasn't anything in the world he wouldn't have done for her. And now he had her still, except she was more vulnerable than ever — no matter how skilled she was.

He hadn't failed her, like he had the others. He wouldn't fail her now.

Then there was Damian. Perhaps the hardest of them all. Jason had made decent progress thus far; Damian saw them as family already. It took losing Bruce and Dick's ever-persistent optimism for that to finally take the last time. Compared that, Jason supposed he should be thankful. But there was still other things they needed to deal with. His morality, for one, though there was decent headway already there. More important was his social development.

Jason was under no illusion that school would help, as much as he insisted on it (no brother of his was going to be a delinquent). Damian was far too ahead of his peers for him to really connect with any of them. He wouldn't accept the opinions of someone any less exceptional than himself, an unfortunate side effect of his upbringing. That's why it was imperative that he meet Jon. If anyone could get Damian to open up, it would be him. They might not be the same boys as Jason knew them, but Jason had seen few bonds stronger than their friendship, and if they managed to connect, then all his worries for Damian would be laid to rest.

So, so much to do.

But it would be worth it. Them, all of them, they were worth it.

Jason wouldn't waste this gift.

Chapter Text

Jason's sleep was peaceful. By the time he woke up for morning training, he felt completely refreshed. He went into his bathroom for a quick face wash, then changed into a fresh pair of sweats and a black muscle shirt. Throwing a sports towel he had bought the previous day over his shoulder and grabbing an empty water bottle, he left his room, one destination in mind.

The Cave was empty when he got there. Perfect. He set up the mats with a quick efficiency that belied his familiarity with the routine. After that, he filled his water bottle using the cooler they kept near the designated training area, taking a small sip for taste, before setting down everything on a nearby table. With that, it was time to begin.

Jason was careful to make sure he was properly stretched. Other than that brief stint with the thug back on the night he met up with Dick, he hadn't actually had any serious exercise in a while. A regrettably necessary concession he was forced to make to ensure that Cass and Damian made it to Bruce safely.

But they were safe now. They were safe, and they'd only be safer if Jason resumed his training regimen and got himself back into peak shape. Or at least as much peak shape as this body could handle. He didn't need break it before it could reach its full potential, after all.

After he was stretched and sufficiently warmed up, Jason began to practice his katas. He started slowly, allowing his body to re-acclimate to the movements, before gradually increasing in speed with every repetition of the set. Once he felt satisfied with the set, he started practicing another, and then another. By the time anyone arrived to join him, he was just about done practicing and ready for a break.

"Boo."

"Hi, Dickiebird."

Of course, that was lost in the face of Dick Grayson. Jason took a moment to observe his older brother. He looked much better than he had the past few days. It seemed that their talk last night had done what it needed to done and smoothed over the biggest worry Dick had. There were others, Jason was certain of that, but that one in particular seemed to bog Dick down more than others.

"Nice moves there, little wing!" Dick complimented him, handing over Jason's water bottle. Jason smirked as he took a sip, noting the critical way Dick was looking at him.

"Spar?"

Dick blinked, "Are you sure? I mean, I'm fresh and you're…" He gestured to Jason's sweaty and slightly disheveled state.

Jason shrugged, "Hey, if you're not up to it—"

"No, no! I'm up to it, just let me stretch and warm up bit."

Jason did just that, watching on the sidelines as Dick took his own spot on the mats. He kept a careful eye on his brother's movements, watching that flexible body contort itself in a way that no one else in the family, not even Cass, could manage. In another life, he would've been jealous; now, he just felt nostalgic.

After Dick was done, Jason set down his water bottle and turned to join him. "Contact only?" Jason asked.

Dick nodded. "Need to go back to Bludhaven today. Nightwing hasn't been seen in a bit so the criminals might be a bit emboldened tonight."

"Right."

The two brothers began to circle each other slowly, occasionally probing each other's guards with a jab. Gradually, however, both of them began to take initiative, and soon they were exchanging blow after blow, the sound of skin slapping again skin echoed throughout the Cave. More often than not, Jason managed to surprise Dick with a move the latter didn't know he knew, forcing him to awkwardly block and concede more ground to his younger brother. On the other hand, Dick was able to play Jason's prior exhaustion against him, taking advantage of the half-seconds Jason took to breathe to land his own shots.

In the end, it was a stalemate. Jason managed to drop down and swipe Dick off his feet, but Dick managed to retaliate by catching their ankles together, forcing Jason down as well. They both landed on the mats with small splats, laughing all the while.

"Uh…" Tim, who had entered the Cave midway through the spar, stood over them. "Did I come at a bad time?"

"Nah. It's just — that's the best spar I've had in a while," Jason said, sitting up.

"Same. Some of the guys Blockbuster hires to off me are decent enough, but not like this," Dick responded as he too got up. He held out a hand to Jason. "You've gotten really badass, Jay."

"All part of the job, Dickie," Jason said as he took the hand, allowing his big brother to pull him up. "All part of the job."

He looked at Tim, who was staring at them with contemplating eyes. "Don't worry Timmy. After you've finished my training, you'll be every bit as dangerous as us," he paused as he thought that over for a minute, "Or at least close to it."

Dick smiled, "You're gonna train him, Jay?"

"I offered and he accepted," Jason smirked lazily, "He's gonna hate me by the end of it."

"Oh?"

He flickered his eyes toward their younger brother, who was suddenly looking very worried. "Let's just say that I have very high standards for my students, and leave it at that."

Damian scowled as his older brothers entered the breakfast nook. Just by looking at them, he could tell what they'd been up to. Having been denied training himself for the past couple of days, he was obviously jealous.

"Don't look at us like that, Damian," Jason said conversationally as he took his spot next to him, "You'll start your training with your father tomorrow morning."

"Wait, what?" Bruce, who had been engrossed in the morning paper, yelped in surprise. He dropped the paper to look at his second eldest in confusion.

"I've got Tim covered and you need to spend time with your new son and daughter. Training should do — Cass already has a routine and you can carry on where I left off with Damian," Jason replied as he picked up the pitcher of orange juice to pour himself a cup.

Bruce groaned. It seemed he was beginning to realize that, in acknowledging that Jason was older and more experienced, he had in turn relinquished what little authority he had left in the Manor. That should've been obvious when Jason point blank told him was going to adopt Cass, but hindsight was twenty-twenty.

"What, Bruce? Are you telling me you don't want to spend time with Damian and Cass?"

At the sight of Damian's hurt look, Bruce immediately backtracked. "No! I'd love to spend time with my newest children!"

Cass, who had been a non-participant in the entire exchange, merely blinked confusedly. Damian's hurt look faded instantly, replaced with something that resembled cat-like satisfaction.

"Thank you, Father. I assure you that your time will not be wasted," the child purred.

Bruce resisted the urge to brain himself with his plate. What had Jason taught that boy?

Dick was watching everything with glee on his face. If breakfast is going to be like this everyday, I've got to come around more often!

"Is this decaf?" Tim hissed, glaring at his cup of coffee.

"Yes," Was Jason's blunt, unforgiving response.

"Why."

"Because you're thirteen and too young to be drinking actual coffee, no matter your night job," Jason retorted with no remorse, spreading some jam on his toast, "Consider it the beginning of your training: not getting addicted to harmful substances before you're old enough to vote."

"But—"

"But nothing! Back me up here, B!"

"B has no leg to stand on—"

"Doesn't matter if he has one, he'll say it anyway—"

Seriously. This is amazing.

"Seriously, Dickie? You want to spend your last hours with us getting your ass kicked in board games?" Jason snarked as Dick took out the Monopoly set from the game closet. Dick stuck his tongue out at him.

Damian rolled his eyes. Tim, staying at the Manor due to his father being 'busy' with physical therapy, ignored all of them in favor of setting up the board. He had that manic look in his eye that reminded Jason far too much of similar nights where Tim's future self ruthlessly crushed the family in a manner eerily similar to his business rivals. And since this was Monopoly…

Hopefully, not too much blood will be spilled.

Since Cass's literacy was still basic, she and Damian were on the same team. Everyone else was on their own. This, of course, sucked for Dick, and within the first fifteen minutes of the game he was ejected out. The eldest of the Wayne children always was too kind for a game like Monopoly.

It was another fifteen minutes before Damian and Cass were eliminated. The two put up an admirable fight, but they were going against the smartest member of the family, and the man who succeeded him as CEO to Wayne Enterprises, after running a criminal empire through his shitty safehouses. Neither of them stood a chance.

The rest of the game was spent with Jason and Tim trying to bankrupt each other. It seemed Tim had not taken the idea of going on decaf well and was viciously trying to express that through the game. Jason, undeterred and unmerciful, met him combo for combo, until a particularly brilliant one from Tim finally ended the game for good.

Tim allowed himself a self-satisfied smirk before he was suddenly and unexpectedly tackled by Jason. Before he could even yelp, the older boy had his fingers ready, poking and prodding his most ticklish spots. The current Robin promptly dissolved into laughter, writhing as he tried to buck Jason off him.

He was saved by Dick, who hauled Jason away. Before Jason could even protest, he too was suddenly struck with a laughing fit of his own thanks to Dick's deft hands. Dick's mischievousness was rewarded when little Damian launched himself at his legs, no doubt seeking to take revenge for Dick's impromptu nickname for him. Soon, all of the siblings were embroiled in a playful tickle fight, courtesy of Cass taking advantage to try and do the same to Tim once again at the same time.

Alfred, carrying a tray of snacks, watched the scene from a doorway with a smile.

"Now, I expect you to call at least once every two days," Jason said seriously as Alfred prepared the car for Dick's departure. The rest of the siblings had already said their goodbyes, as had Bruce (via phone).

"What, not everyday?" Dick said jokingly as he handed the last of his bags to Alfred.

"Only because I want to give you the benefit of the doubt. However, if something big happens and you forget to call…" Jason let the threat hang in the air.

"You're such a dad," Dick huffed. Noticing how Jason twitched at the phrase, he grinned. "Anything else, dad?"

"Yeah," Jason smiled back, just as sweetly. "Hey, Alfred! Dick's been living off of cereal and takeout ever since he moved to Bludhaven!"

Dick paled as a dark, foreboding presence made itself known behind him. Jason took advantage with a quick hug and a laugh, leaving his older brother to the tender mercies of their enraged butler.

"Jason, we need to talk," Bruce said seriously. Jason raised an eyebrow.

It was just after dinner. Dick had left hours ago, as had Tim, needing to check in with his father. That just left Jason, Cass, and Damian to dine with Bruce, along with the ever-present Alfred occasionally appearing to help them refill their glasses and clean up after them. The meal had started out silently until Damian made another complaint about having to go to grade school, which Jason quickly rebuked. It had dissolved into an argument that saw both boys demanding Bruce take their side. Bruce, thankfully for him, had been saved by Alfred's announcement of dessert, which everyone was distracted by because of Alfred's godly baking skills.

"Sure. The study?"

Rather than answer, Bruce simply turned around. Jason followed him without complaint, and like he intuited, they were seated in Bruce's study. Instead of the couches, Bruce opted to sit at his desk, gesturing for his son to sit in one of the chairs located in the front. Jason sighed and acquiesced, already having an inkling about what this was.

"Jason," Bruce rumbled tiredly, "You can't keep making decisions for me like that."

Jason rested his elbows on the armrests, lifting a hand to carry his chin, "I know. But you don't know where to start, so I figured I'd give you a leg up."

Bruce exhaled. Of course. "Even so, we need to talk about these decisions first. I haven't protested anything you've said before, because I agree with all of your initiatives. But that won't always be the case. So please, discuss with me first before you tell anyone else?"

"Fine, fine," Jason waved him off, sighing. "I guess that's for the best. It's just…I'm used to being the one having the final say. It's hard to remember that I'm no longer the master of the house anymore."

"Right. The house was officially yours after…" Bruce refused to speak another word.

"Mmm," Jason hummed, "I'm having difficulty remembering that I don't sleep in your chambers anymore. And I keep on thinking of my room as Terry's."

"Terry?"

"Terry McGinnis. My third Robin." Jason paused. "My son. Not biologically, but…that's what he was. Both in the eyes of the law, and to me."

Bruce trembled, pursing his mouth into a thin line. Jason's son. Another of Bruce's grandchildren.

Grandchildren. At least three, judging by Jason's comment about Terry being his third Robin. Bruce knew, intellectually, that he might someday have some with the many children that he kept adopting into his family. Jason's situation, however, made that thought into a reality, and Bruce simply had no idea how to deal with that.

It was a reminder. Bruce had been so focused on the tragedies of Jason's future that he forgot that they're might be good in it as well. The first of hint of it was when Jason mentioned Carrie, and Bruce hadn't been in a state to really comprehend what her existence meant at the time. But now, he was struck with an overwhelming sense of curiosity. The bad might be important, but so was the good.

"Tell me about them."

"Who?"

"Your Robins." Your children.

"Oh," and now there was hesitation in Jason's eyes. Something unreadable that made Bruce feel queasy inside.

"Well, you know about Carrie. How she found myself into my care. I eventually ended up officially adopting her after her parents died in a car accident when she was sixteen. She ended up inheriting my diner and expanding it into a famous and successful franchise," Jason smiled wistfully, "My sweet Carrie."

"And as a vigilante?"

"First she became the fourth Batgirl, and then after the second Batwoman retired she took up that mantle."

Bruce blinked. "Batwoman?"

Jason grinned. "I suggest you keep an eye on your cousin Kate. She'll be mighty interesting in a year or two."

"Huh," Kate, a vigilante? She certainly had the skills, but what would motivate her to follow his footsteps? Bruce shook his head; he could worry about that later. "Alright, so Carrie became Batwoman. What about your second Robin? I know you had at least three."

"Four, technically, though the fourth only spent one night as my partner before I officially passed the Batman mantle on. As for the second Robin…" Jason inhaled deeply, "Her name was Helena. Helena Magdalene Wayne."

The name didn't seem to ring with Bruce. He simply blinked a bit. Jason frowned before nearly palming himself in the face. Of course! Bruce was operating under the assumption that Helena had simply taken the Wayne name upon adoption. Jason was tempted to let himself labor under that notion, before dismissing it; he was already hiding enough as it was.

"Helena Kyle-Wayne."

And there it was. The widening of the eyes, the slacking of the jaw.

"She was conceived a month before your death, during the last night you and Selina spent together. After you died," Jason rubbed his forehead, "Selina quit the game for good. Fenced all her remaining goods, then fled Gotham under an assumed name. Didn't tell anyone about Helena, though I think someone in the family figured it out and helped her leave, then covered her tracks so the rest of us wouldn't find out about them. From what I understand she intended for Helena to live a completely normal life, away from all this. And she managed that for about ten years."

"What changed?" Bruce asked quietly, a little hoarse. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Selina didn't abandon their daughter by choice.

Their daughter. Their daughter. Bruce thought he might be sick, and pushed it down. Another child he had left behind.

"Black Mask," Jason said grimly, "Or, to be more specific, a son of his that took on the name, since the original died in a gang war that sprung up during Dick's tenure as Batman. He tried to get Selina to work for him, she refused because she was retired, he didn't like that, you know the drill. Selina had to flee with Helena; they ended up going back to Gotham because I was their best shot at help. Unfortunately, Black Mask found them and they were forced to separate. Before they did, Selina told Helena to find me — as Jason Todd-Wayne, not Batman — and to tell me that 'Cat' was her mother. She said I would know what to do after that."

"Did she make it?" Bruce asked eagerly, hands clenching at the thought of another child of his being in danger. It seemed the stress of finding out he had another child had made him forget that Helena had to have made it, considering she had become the second Robin.

"Of course she did," Jason snorted, as if the very thought of otherwise was a massive joke to him, "She's your daughter, Bruce. Yours and Selina's. She was by far the most clever of my Robins, reminded me of Tim more often than not."

Tim. She reminded Jason of Tim. Good. Until Jason's return, Bruce could safely say that Tim was the most responsible and sensible of his sons. He still arguably had the title, regardless of Jason's experience and wisdom pushing him pretty far in the running.

"After Alfred died, I never bothered to hire anyone to replace him. I just did my own cooking and had a cleaning staff visit once a week to handle the Manor. After all, until Carrie moved in I was the only person living there. Helena managed to figure out the agency I used and secretly hitched a ride on one of their vans. Then she hid herself in the bushes until they left — couldn't risk the possibility of one of Black Mask's men seeing her, and one of the staff could've very well have been in his pocket. Once they were gone, she rung the doorbell," a tender look flashed onto his face, "One look at her on my doorstep, and I knew."

Jason saw the faces of his family in his dreams every night, and their reflections in his three middle children everyday. Helena had Selina's green eyes, but her complexion, the shape of her face — she was all Bruce. She looked a hell of a lot like Damian too, just with lighter skin. Detective skills or no, Jason would have to been a fool not to figure out whose daughter she was. It was a feeling that would be echoed when he found Terry and Matty ten years later. The blood tests only confirmed what he already knew.

"And Selina?"

Jason shook his head. Bruce grit his teeth. Another casualty. Another person he cared for that suffered because of him. And because of it, his daughter was an orphan who only had her siblings to care for her.

"I buried her next to you. And then I burned Black Mask's organization to the ground. Before I died, he was still in Blackgate under maximum security, with no chance of parole."

"Good." He deserved worse, but Bruce believed in justice, not vengeance. Anything more than what the law allowed would be exactly that. "After that, you took in Helena."

Jason nodded. "It was either me or Cass, but it was quickly decided I would be the better option. Cass was living on her own in Bludhaven, while I had Carrie with me to help out, along with the rest of the family," He smiled softly, "You would've loved her Bruce. She was brilliant. Could be a little cold, but her heart was always in the right place. I handed off control of Wayne Enterprises to her after I was diagnosed, and the company was absolutely thriving under her."

Bruce peered at him thoughtfully. "You loved her a lot."

"She might have been yours, Bruce, but she was my daughter too," Jason simply answered in return.

His father went silent for a moment. "And as a vigilante?" It seemed he didn't want pursue that line of thought, the idea of his son having to treat his daughter as his granddaughter. While he was glad his children had each other, that they shared such a close bond, it should have never been Jason's responsibility. It should have been his, and Bruce tried to squash the brief flare of envy he felt. Jason was the last person he needed to be jealous of.

"After she finished up her tenure as Robin, she took a break for college. While she was at college she went under some training with Helena Bertinelli, and adopted the Huntress identity in honor of her," upon the alarm on Bruce's face, Jason continued, "And no, she didn't start killing. She was tempted, like all of us are, but I impressed upon her how dangerous that mindset could be and she came to accept the Rule for her own reasons."

Bruce let out a sigh of relief. "Great. That's…great." Clearly, the idea of any of his children becoming murderers was haunting to him, as much as it was to Jason. Jason felt a pang of guilt when he thought of his days as the Red Hood. They still hadn't talked about that.

"And what of your third Robin? Terry McGinnis?"

Jason's breath hitched. Here was the hard one. "Terry…I adopted Terry and his brother Matthew together. Matty was the fourth Robin I was talking about. Their parents were murdered a few weeks before I met them, and instead of risking social services separating them, they ran off to the streets instead. I found Terry trying to jack the hydrogen fuel rods of the Batmobile. When I tried to talk to him, Matty attacked me with a wrench," Jason shook his head, "It was all very nostalgic."

Bruce rubbed his arms. The parallels weren't lost on him either.

"That's not why I took them in though. At least, not entirely," not for the first time, Jason hesitated, though in the instance he looked genuinely distressed. Afraid, almost. Bruce didn't like the sight of it.

"What is it, Jay-lad? Anything you say, I can take."

Jason chuckled hollowly. "I wouldn't say that Bruce. This…this is big."

"Jason." Bruce was firm. He needed to be, for Jason's sake.

"…They're your sons too. Genetically, I mean."

Silence.

"What," Bruce whispered, angry and disbelieving. He could do the math — those boys had to be born years after his death. It should be literally impossible for him to have sired any more children after Helena. Except, "Genetically, you said?"

"Talia, again," Jason paused, "Except not really. Talia…Talia took your death hard. After Damian's, though, she cut herself off from Gotham entirely. Only made contact with me when she had intel she felt I needed to know. But this? This was beyond even her."

"How so?" Very few things were beyond Talia al Ghul, after all.

"…After Amanda Waller died, she was succeeded by a woman named Lyla Michaels. Michaels was every bit as cutthroat as Waller, but twice as power hungry. So she devised something called 'Project Batman Beyond'. She wanted a piece of the superhero pie, you see, and thought that the Bats were her best bet."

Bruce could see why. While he was far from the strongest superhero, he was among the smartest and most well-connected. Every hero in the world looked to him or to members of his family to lead them, advise them, inform them, aid them. If the superhero community could be equated to the human body, then his family would be the backbone, or the brains — without them, the community could quite easily fall into disarray.

"Talia still had samples of your DNA, though I'm not sure if she realized it at the time. Michaels sent in her iteration of Task Force X to steal them, and then assimilated it into a mutagen that would overwrite the reproductive DNA of the subject with yours, essentially making any children the subject had genetically yours."

"She planned to replace you with her own Batman. One with the my DNA," Bruce surmised immediately. Jason nodded.

"At the time, the only possible successor I had was a female Robin. With my next Robin posed to be female, she'd figure that having her own Batman to take the job when the time was right would be a cinch," Jason said tiredly.

It was natural, after all, to assume that Batman had to be a man. It was possible to have a woman take up the mantle and fake being male, but why bother with the difficulty when you could easily have a male successor instead? Especially when the Batwoman mantle existed? Jason could see the reasoning, even though he didn't agree with it. After all, one of the reasons why Terry ended up being Batman was because neither of his older sisters wanted it for themselves.

Hell, one of the reasons Jason ended up Batman was because Cass hadn't wanted it either. At one time in her life, she had, but then she made her own identity and found herself more comfortable with that. Jason might've been bitter about it, had Dick not shown him what putting an unwilling person under the Cowl could do to them. Then he was just grateful his sister managed to escape it.

"The plan was simple — she'd inject the mutagen into the male partner of a normal, suburban middle class-couple. Then, when the child was the appropriate age, she'd have that couple murdered in front of the child, mimicking the death of your parents and putting that child on the same path as you that led to you becoming Batman. At which point she would reveal herself, take the child in, and raise them to be her own personal Batman. Warren and Mary McGinnis were the 'lucky' couple, and they were murdered when Terry was ten and Matty was four."

"Unfortunately for Michaels, Talia found out, and she did not take it well. The years without you and Damian caused her to develop a bit of a conscious, and the thought of Michaels having control over our legacy abhorred her. So, she murdered Michaels and the assassin she sent to kill Terry and Matty's parents, then arranged it so they would meet me," Jason's eyes lid over, lost in memories, "When I saw Terry that first time, I froze. He looked like Damian, just with blue eyes and a lighter skin tone. I knew in my gut that something was up, so I took him and Matty home. Fed them food, and while they were sleeping, did a paternity test. Boom. Had two new siblings that I would have to raise as my kids, just like Helena."

Bruce winced. Three. Three children that he wasn't there for, that his own son had to raise. It didn't matter that Jason was a fully-grown adult by the time they came into his care — they should've never been his responsibility. They should've been Bruce's.

But he wasn't there. He was dead, and Jason and Cass, they had to pick up the pieces of what was left.

"I didn't tell them, of course. There was no easy way to tell them, especially since it was the cause of their parents' deaths. Instead, I adopted them both into the family as my sons, and had Babs fudge their records so no one would learn they were biologically yours. Helena had already moved on from the Robin mantle at that point, and once Terry learned who I was, he demanded to be the next one. Six months later, he started his training. About a year or so after that, I had a new Robin."

"I'm surprised you let that happen, considering his origins."

Jason snorted. "'Let?' Bruce, I didn't 'let' them be Robin. They twisted my arm into it. Carrie wouldn't take no for an answer and then she saved my life, so I had no choice but to teach her. With Helena I liked the idea even less, and said no until she somehow hacked into the Bat-Computer and forced it to play that stupid Lego Batman song ad nauseum until I said yes."

Beneath his breath, he muttered something that suspiciously sounded like 'knew letting Tim mix that together was gonna come back to haunt me'. Bruce thought Jason's statement over, but his mind refused to connect the words 'Lego' and 'Batman' together. Instead, he tried to get the conversation back on track.

"Jason. What about Terry?" He didn't capitulate too easily with that one, did he?

"Terry? Terry I resisted most of all. He ended up dismantling all the models of the Batmobile in the Cave right before I was about to go on patrol to make me finally give in," He shook his head, "I didn't even bother with Matty after that one, especially after he managed to outsmart a bunch of thugs who broke into the Manor during one of Gotham's crises back when he was only seven. One look at him and I knew it wouldn't be worth the effort."

His children were the most infuriating people in the world, Jason was certain.

…I miss them. So much. Jason didn't allow himself to linger any longer than that. This was not the time for another breakdown.

"I didn't want there to be another Robin after Damian," Jason continued on, "Honestly, I think it should've stopped after what happened to me," Bruce cringed, "But I can't argue with what Tim did once I got my head out of my ass and looked at things objectively. He was keeping you sane, and I couldn't begrudge anyone that. And Damian? Damian needed Robin like the rest of us. It was the only way we were able to skew his morality back to something conventional. But after Damian, that should've been it. I wanted this legacy to die with me and Cass, Bruce. It had already cost our family enough."

"But they thought otherwise, and in the end it was either give in or let them go out on their own, without proper training, and get killed. When it was like that, there was no choice at all. Then my worries became about keeping them on the right path. With Carrie, there wasn't much to be concerned, and Helena could be vengeful but she was able to contain herself easily enough once she stopped herself and thought things through. But with Terry…Terry scared me Bruce. Like I scared you. Like we all scared you."

The current Batman inhaled deeply. "Jason—"

"Don't deny it, B. That other you and I, we already talked about it. I came to terms with it a long time ago, though I didn't really understand it until I met Terry," Jason grimaced at the memory, "He was a good kid. Kind, compassionate, always trying to do the right thing. But there was so much anger in him. Not the explosive kind, but the frustrating kind. The kind of anger that builds up when things don't go your way, when you see injustices go unpunished. The kind of anger that I had when I was his age, that I still have, to be honest," Jason met Bruce's eyes, "The kind of anger you deal with everyday."

Bruce looked down. One of the downsides of having someone understand you so completely is that they tended to dredge up things you'd rather ignore.

"It should have been obvious that it would be there. Michaels succeeded in recreating your tragedy with him, and I never told him the full truth of the matter. I just said that the murderer of his parents had been brought to justice, and that was never quite as satisfying to him, since it wasn't him or Matty who threw the book at them."

That sounded familiar too. That sounded way, way too familiar. Bruce could see why Jason was so scared, so afraid, for this brother that he considered a son. If he had been in Jason's position, he would have felt the same.

"As he got older, he got rougher. More vicious. Gotham was safer, sure, but crooks still got off the hook, or at least lighter than they should have. He never liked that, and he was a lot more expressive about it," Jason's hands shook, "He rarely showed any regret or empathy when a criminal did themselves in. Just wrote it off, like I used to. And as that went on, I…I wondered what it would take, to push him over the edge. To finally break the Rule."

"I crossed that line a long time ago," he second son confessed, "And it was only because of our family, of their determination, of their love for me and my love for them, that I was able to pull back. That I was able to stop. But I was still tempted, every single day, and it only got worse when I became Batman. I managed, but every time I looked at Terry, I wonder if he could too. And as he got older, my nightmares began to change. Memories of my time as the Red Hood, except with Terry as me…and me as you."

"It was a stupid fear, in the end. All three of us, we shared that anger, but I wasn't you, and Terry wasn't me. We were different people that lived fundamentally different lives. No matter the similarities, there were more than enough differences to divorce us from that possibility. But I was still scared," Jason crossed his arms, rubbing them consciously, "So I trained him as twice as hard as I did Carrie and Helena. Kept him on a shorter leash, not so short that he would notice and complain, but short enough that I could keep an eye on him. Because as much as I was scared, I loved him. Losing him would've killed me, Bruce." Like losing me killed you.

"Eventually, however, he rebelled. He went off on his own. He got hurt. And I almost benched him for good. Cass had to talk sense into me after that, so I was about to give him back Robin with another crisis struck. And he…" Jason trailed off.

"He what?" Bruce asked, worried.

To his surprise, a wide, genuine smile crossed Jason's face. "…I was in a bind. About to die, really. So he stole back the Robin suit and saved my life. The things he did that day — you would've been so proud of him Bruce. Like I was. On that day, it wasn't just me I saw when I looked at him. I saw Damian, Tim, Dick." Jason's voice hitched. "You. And when I saw you…I knew."

I knew. Bruce felt it in his bones what Jason meant by that phrase. "He was your successor, wasn't he?"

Jason paused. "I had talked to Carrie and Helena about it years ago. Neither of them wanted it, and I wasn't going to force them. You and I both know what Batman does to you, and forcing it on someone who can't handle it, who truly doesn't want it, never ends well. I only managed because I was too stubborn to let it break me."

"But Terry…Terry could handle it. He wasn't as smart as Helena, and he didn't have Carrie's idealism. But he had that strong sense of justice, that sheer, unyielding determination. He wouldn't bend for anyone or anything. Any doubts I had were gone after the incident, when he started calming down. If any one of my children could handle being Batman, it was him."

"I was gonna wait until he was older. Until he was at least twenty-one and had a few years as a solo crimefighter under his belt before I made the offer. I wasn't going to force him. But then the diagnosis came in, and as much as I was a father, I was also Batman. And for Batman," and this, Jason spoke bitterly, "Gotham always comes first."

"So, after he fully completed his training, I showed him the suit, and told him it was his if he wanted it. And he accepted."

"How old was he?"

"…Seventeen."

Seventeen. That was far, far too young, no matter how well Jason trained the boy. He should've asked Carrie or Helena again, convinced one of them to do it—

You and I both know what Batman does to you, and forcing it on someone who can 't handle it never ends well.

Jason was speaking from experience. Everything he spoke of nowadays, when it came to matters like this, always came from experience. He could've been talking about Jean-Paul Valley, but while Jason might be aware of that situation, Bruce had a sinking feeling that it wasn't that particular mess his second son was talking about. Nor could it be Jason himself; against all odds, Jason had lasted over twenty years as Batman and by his general accounts, had done an admirable job. Training four Robins, keeping them alive (something that Bruce failed to do), was proof enough of that. So who was it?

And suddenly, Bruce remembered that Jason was the third Batman. That there had been another Batman before him. The second Batman. Dick.

Dick, who loved life, loved people, and thrived in the light.

Dick, who was eldest, who was his self-admitted favorite, who had been the most talented of his sons. At least, as far as crime-fighting went.

Dick, who, at one point, Bruce thought was the only one capable of succeeding him.

Dick, who had died.

Bruce was struck with the feeling that there was more to Dick's time as Batman than merely dying in a suicide run against Brainiac. It could never be that simple. Not with his children.

He didn't want to know. Not yet. They could table that discussion later. Dick was still breathing, after all. And if Bruce had it his way, he, and the rest of his children, would remain breathing for a very long time.

"B?"

He needed to get his head screwed back on. He was still in the midst of a conversation. "I see."

Jason peered at him, no confusion, just understanding. It was almost clairvoyant, really, how easily Jason could read his thoughts.

"You have another grandchild too. One that isn't technically one of my siblings."

Bruce perked up, all dark thoughts lost in the wake of that announcement. "Besides Carrie?"

Jason nodded, smiling. "Her name was Penelope. I didn't know about her until she was ten, there were some…circumstances about her birth that prevented her mother from letting her meet me earlier. I suppose I should've been angry about that, but honestly, I was just happy I got to spend time with her at all."

"Who was her mother?"

"…Artemis of Bana-Mighdall."

Blinking, Bruce leveled a deadpan look at his son. "You sired a child with an Amazon?"

Jason winced.

Bruce sighed, rubbing his temples. "Did you love her?" He asked softly.

"I did." Jason admitted. "She was my first love. But Artemis, she never quite belonged in Man's World. And as much as I loved her, my heart will always be here in Gotham. It's a little like what you have with Selina, just without the criminal element. Eventually though, we decided we were better off as friends."

And there was that name again.

"…Jason, about Selina—"

"That's for you to decide Bruce, not me," Jason said wearily, cutting him off. "I'm going to tell you what I'm going to tell Dick when he inevitably asks the same thing: I'll tell you who you should avoid, but that's it. I'm not going to tell you who you should be with. Your heart is your heart, and only you know it, not me."

"But what about Helena?" Bruce, certainly, could not forget about that. A daughter, his daughter…

Jason diverted his eyes. "Helena…Helena would understand. The timeline is always changing, Bruce. The future I came from no longer exists, at least not in this universe. It stopped existing the moment I burst out of the Pit with decades of memories that had yet to come. So — Que sera, sera."

"'Whatever will be, will be,'" Bruce translated faintly, exhaling. "…Can you at least tell me how it went for us? In that future of yours?"

Jason opened his mouth, licked his lips. "You continued the game for a while, until — well, until she helped you out with something. Something big. And it was finally enough for you to take the plunge. You asked her to marry you. And she said yes."

Bruce's breath hitched, and he jerked forward. He needed to hear more.

"You made it to the altar. You made it there…" And here, Jason shook his head, "And she left you at it."

"…Oh." Why.

"You two loved each other Bruce. You were the loves of each other's lives. But your relationship," Jason's voice was somewhere between sadness and exasperation now, "Revolved around that game you two played. The Bat and the Cat, chasing each other around Gotham's rooftops. In the end, you two didn't know where you'd stand without being Batman and Catwoman, and both of you were too scared to try and find out."

There was resignation, now. "That's always been a consistent theme with superheroes, and with Bats especially. Always too scared to let yourselves be happy, because you think it won't last," Jason snorted, "Of course it won't last. Nothing lasts. It just comes and goes, and all you can do is hold onto it as tightly as possible when it's there."

Bruce's hand trembled, and he eyed his son with something akin to sorrow. For Jason or for something else, Jason couldn't tell.

"Look," Jason cut him off before he could say anything, "If you want a relationship with Selina, if you want it to work, then you two need to work on being Bruce Wayne and Selina Kyle first, not Batman and Catwoman. Or else any relationship you might have had isn't going anywhere."

The room quietened.

"Thank you, Jason. Your words were…enlightening." And terrifying.

"Just try not to brood over it too much. At least not on patrol," With that, Jason stood up, "I'm done for tonight. We'll talk again tomorrow, if you want."

"That's fine."

"Great. 'Night, B."

"Goodnight, Jason."

Bruce watched his son leave his study, and then slumped into his chair. Every time Jason talked about the future, he was torn between wanting to know more and wishing for his son to stop. And it seemed that wasn't going to stop anytime soon.

The joys of superhero parenthood, Bruce thought derisively, said no one ever.

Chapter Text

The following morning, Barbara showed up.

Jason was in the midst of cleaning up the breakfast nook when she arrived. Tim hadn't stayed over at the Manor after patrol, no doubt due to his father taking umbrage with spending so much time with Bruce Wayne. Bruce himself had already left for work. It was just him, Damian, Cass, and Alfred. His two remaining siblings were working on one of the simple reading books Jason had gotten Cass, with Cass sounding out the words while Damian helped her while drawing on one of the sketch pads Jason had gotten him. Alfred, meanwhile, had taken to start his daily routine of cleaning the Manor.

The doorbell rang. Jason set down the last dish he cleaned into the sink and dried off his hands with a towel. There was a shout. Damian, most likely. He left the kitchen and made his way to the front door. The nook was located just outside the front foyer, making the trip an easy one.

He looked out the door to see who it was, and nearly froze.

(He had forgotten about the wheelchair.)

Plastering on a smile, Jason guided Damian away to his side. He knelt so he and the former Batgirl were eye-to-eye. She was looking at him like she couldn't believe he was real.

"Babs," he reached over to hug her, which she, after some hesitation, returned.

"Jay," she whispered, "When I heard the news from Dick, I couldn't believe it, but now…"

"I know. Trust me, I know."

Someone cleared their throat, causing them to release their embrace. Jason looked up to Commissioner James Gordon peering at him quizzically. Barbara hadn't come alone, it seemed.

"Commissioner Gordon," Jason stood up, holding out his hand.

He didn't know Jim as well as his father and older brother had. By the time Jason had become Batman, Jim had been close to retirement. They only spent a short time working together before Jim finally turned in his badge for good and Jason had to forge a new relationship with the man's replacement.

Of course, that was as Batman. As far as Jason Wayne went, they met frequently due to his close relationship with Barbara. They were well-acquainted, something of friends but not quite to the level of Jim's friendship with Bruce. Jason suspected that Jim knew of his previous vigilante identity, and that barrier had kept them from connecting, even after he had long since left his killing days behind. A sad, but understandable development.

But that was then and this was now. Things were different. Jason was different. And Jason wasn't Batman any longer.

"Jason Todd," Jim breathed, gingerly taking his hand to shake it, "Unbelievable."

Jason shrugged, "Well, believe it. I'm alive and well," His smile widened, "It's good to see you again, commissioner."

"You as well, lad. Tell me, how…?"

The time traveler waved him off, "It's a long story, involving amnesia and a misidentified body. You'll get all of it when I'm legally revived and Bruce makes the official announcement." He looked away. "I don't like to talk about it."

"Completely understandable," Jim nodded, before finally taking note of Damian. The boy had started puffing out his cheeks in rebellion for being ignored. "And this is…?"

"Damian Wayne, Bruce's biological son," Jason's smile turned disturbingly genial as he gestured Damian forward. "Damian, this is James Gordon, the current Commissioner of the GCPD, and his daughter Barbara Gordon. They're good friends of our family."

"Hello," The boy said politely. The Gordons stared at him.

"Jason?" Cass had arrived.

"And this is Cassandra. Bruce will be adopting her." The Gordons turned their stares to her, before Barbara let out a long-suffering sigh.

"All of this sounds like something out of a soap opera," Barbara deadpanned at him.

Or a sci-fi novel. Jason corrected her inside his head. Outside it, he chuckled.

"What can I say?" Jason grinned, "We're the rich and the famous."

Jim didn't stay for long. He had some work to do at the station, and agreed to pick up Barbara later. The four of them spent some time in the living room chatting, with Alfred bringing some tea and biscuits for them to dine on. Over the course of the conversation, Damian and Cass learned that their new guest used to be Batgirl before the injury that paralyzed her. Damian had been about to ask her about it until a look from Jason quieted him. This segued into some discussion of their hobbies, which led to another movie marathon in the theater.

By the time the last movie finished, Damian had tired himself out and had begun napping against his will. A knowing look at Jason had Cass taking him upstairs to his room to sleep off his exhaustion, leaving Jason and Barbara alone in the theater. The moment she was gone and her footsteps couldn't be heard, the tension in the room tripled.

"You've been looking at me weirdly," Barbara commented, rolling her chair over. Jason didn't even blink before picking her up out of it and seating her down onto the leftover space of the couch.

"I have," he admitted, breathing in deeply. "It's just…it's hard seeing you like that. In your wheelchair, you know?"

"Jason…" The first Batgirl reached over to take his hand in comfort.

Another moment of truth.

"I haven't seen you in that chair in a long time."

And just like that, the string broke once more.

The eyes of his friend watered, and Barbara used her other hand to take off her glasses and wipe them away. Her grip on his hand tightened, and Jason gripped back, just as hard.

"You know," Babs whispered.

"I do."

"Of course you did, you were him."

"Nah, Barbie — I just know you."

Barbara used her arms to pull herself over so she could cuddle up to him. Jason wrapped his arms around her, lifting his chin quite a bit so he could rest it on top of her head. She was quite a tall woman, after all.

"When does it happen?"

"The technology will be created in a few years, actually. But you wanted to wait until it was commercially available. So — about ten years or so. Now that I'm here, maybe I can fast track it. I don't know the exact design, but I do know the theory."

Barbara smiled up at him. "You don't have to do that. Just knowing that it'll happen one day is enough."

"I know," Jason smiled back, "But I want to."

They continued talking. As it turned out, Barbara did overhear some things over the Cave's lines but had stopped partway through because she felt like she was intruding. Jason had to elaborate on some of the things that were discussed, including the manners of the others' deaths. Eventually, it became so depressing that she began to reach for a subject change.

"Are you going to be a vigilante again?"

Jason paused, then sighed. "I don't know. Probably, though not for the reasons you think."

Barbara rubbed one of her arms. "I mean, you could change so much—"

"And I already am, by giving you and Bruce and everyone else all that I know," Jason pointed out. "It's different for me than it is for you, Babs. Your career was cut short by circumstances outside of your control. But me? I chose to stop."

At her imploring look, he continued, speaking tiredly. "Babs, by the time I retired I had been a vigilante for over thirty-six years. Longer than you, Dick, Tim — basically everyone who lives in this house besides Bruce and Alfred — have been alive. Close to four decades, and all the accompanying fucked up shit with it. By the time the diagnosis came, I had been ready to stop for a while. I was only trying to hold out because I felt my successor was too young to take on the mantle yet," he snorted, "Fate decided otherwise."

"If that's the case, then why are you going back?" Barbara asked, once the shock wore off. "Nobody would blame you for hanging it up, Jason. You don't owe the world anything, not after everything that's happened."

"You're right," Jason admitted, "I don't. It would be a nice change of pace to live a normal life now, but I simply can't. Not with everything in my head. Not when my family is risking their lives out there every night, and I'm more than capable of helping them out. All those old dreams of going to college, getting a degree, a normal job — it all seems trivial in comparison to protecting my family from what's to come."

"Jason," Barbara said, voice brittle, "That's a little self-sacrificing, don't you think? Would it really be wrong to do something for yourself and be happy?"

Jason pulled her closer, "I am happy, Babs. Being with all of you, seeing all of us together, alive and well — that makes me happy. I won't deny that there's a lot I miss about the future, but I can't ever go back. I have to do with what I have now, and what I have now is a chance to make sure our family remains happy and whole. That's something I can't pass up, for anything."

Barbara continued looking at him sadly, even as he smiled reassuringly at her.

They didn't always have the best relationship. But there was a bond between them that was only strengthened thanks to the Joker. Barbara had always been a little more understanding of Jason's actions as the Red Hood, even if she disagreed with them as much as the rest of the family did. After Jason re-entered the light for good, the tension between them eased and they began working together a lot more.

It was her who crash-coursed him in advanced coding and hacking after Tim died and Jason needed to step up his training to live up to the mantle. Computers had always been his weakest area as a vigilante, but she had been patient with him. While he would never be as good as her or Tim, he could hang with the best of them, which was usually more than enough in their world.

Outside of it — Barbara was family. Another sister, one he loved almost as much as he did Cass. They joined each other for holidays every year, Jason was one of the groomsmen during her wedding to Luke, and he was present at the births of each of her children. She was always there by his side, through thick and thin.

He didn't like seeing her sad.

"It's alright, Babs. I lived my life and I was happy with it. I'm okay with doing just this for now."

Barbara hesitated, but nodded slowly. She was willing to accept that answer for now.

They moved on to other things. Jason mentioned training Tim and perhaps mentoring Cass as well, though that would be much later down the line if he could help it. Some things about Damian, including how exactly he ended up in Jason's care. Gotham, and how much it would change in the future. Bruce. Dick.

By the time Jim had arrived to pick Barbara up, it seemed like they had spoken about everything there was to speak about. Except for why she was here in the first place.

"Here you go," Barbara passed the laptop into his hands, letting him feel the weight of it. "State-of-the-art WayneTech, personally firewalled by moi. Have fun with the reports."

Jason stared at the device accusingly, before turning his gaze back towards her. "How many backdoors have you coded into this?"

His sister in all but blood and name smiled cheekily up at him. "Why don't you find out for yourself?"

Jason sighed and wheeled her out of the theater. Jim met them at the front foyer and after a quick goodbye, the Gordons left for home. Jason watched them go with a small smile on his face, before taking the computer with him upstairs to his room.

Face turning serious, he ran a quick diagnostic on everything. He trusted Babs, but it helped to be cautious. Once he was satisfied, he opened up a new document in the installed word processor. Before he continued, he looked around, making sure that there was no one nearby. It was foolish, he was in his room for Pete's sake, but old habits died hard. When he was able to ascertain his solitude, he began to type. First, the title.

T …H…E…J…

"This is not how I expected my training to begin."

"Funnily enough, that is not the first time I've heard that."

It was the day after Barbara had gotten Jason his laptop. Tim's father was once again immersing himself in physical therapy (Jason jadedly 'wondered' if this had to do with his therapist, the future Dana Winters-Drake), allowing Tim to finally start his training. Jason already had a vague outline of a schedule planned out for when the school year began, but he figured that it was better to start early, and Tim agreed. With that settled, they had agreed to meet right before lunch. Tim assumed that was because Jason planned to feed him some of his cooking.

He was wrong.

"Look, I'm not doubting your training methods or anything, but how does cooking help me become a better crime-fighter?" Tim lifted an empty pot for emphasis.

Jason raised an eyebrow, but rather than answer he instead calmly took the pot from Tim's hands and went to the sink to wash it. "Do you know how to cook anything at all?" He asked casually.

Behind him, he could hear Tim fidget. "Just the basics," the boy admitted, "Enough to get by. My parents' housekeeper showed me some things."

"So you'd survive living at home all by yourself, right?"

"…Yeah," Tim let out reluctantly. He didn't seemed surprised that Jason knew about the neglect he had suffered prior to becoming Bruce's sidekick.

Jason sighed, "Then there's your reason why. Survival."

Tim blinked.

"Tim, I'm going to be honest with you — with the exception of myself, literally no one in this family is able to function without Alfred. Not Damian, not Cass — though with those two it's understandable — not you, not Dick, and especially not Bruce," the former Batman shook his head, "It's sad, but it's true. So, you can imagine what will happen when something puts Alfred temporarily out of commission."

"Productivity will go down?"

"Among other things, yes. Productivity will go down. In fact it will go so down that Gotham will be left by itself for a week after Bruce and everyone else worked themselves to the bone for 'justice' and found out their bodies can't handle the strain of doing that for more than three days. Then the crooks will get cocky and every supervillain in the city that has some plot in the works will align their schedules so they all happen on the same night," Jason finished with great severity, putting the pot back on the counter and picking up a saucepan. "You can imagine how…unideal that will be."

The third Robin winced, rubbing his arm awkwardly. "Yes," he replied carefully, obviously realizing this was a touch subject with his predecessor, "I can. I take it that has happened before." In your future, went unsaid.

"When I was still running around as the Red Hood," Jason confirmed, now washing the saucepan, "Alfred is not getting any younger. He needs to take more breaks, but he won't because he recognizes how helpless everyone in this family is without him. Bruce may be smart enough to rule the world if he ever so desired, but when it comes to things like cooking and chores he's the kind of hopelessness you think would only exist in fiction. Dick knows how to take care of himself, but he's so intent on keeping his independence and proving Nightwing as an equal to Batman that he's let crime-fighting dominate every aspect of his life, barely leaving enough time for sufficient self-care. And then there's you."

Tim pointed at himself as Jason jabbed the saucepan towards him.

"Yes, you. You were worse than both of them combined. You ran off ungodly mixtures of coffee and energy drinks and abominations to cuisine everywhere, you would go days without sleep, and then you'd collapse when it all caught up to you. Do you know how terrifying that is?" Jason demanded roughly. It was clear he had been meaning to say this for a while.

"…Very?" Tim squeaked.

His older brother stared at him hard for a long moment, then sighed. "Yes. Very. As for me, the only reason I'm any self-sufficient at all is because of a combination of my childhood forcing that mindset on me and causing me to ask Alfred to teach my how to cook and my estrangement with Bruce and the rest of the family making it a necessity after I was zombified. And guess what? It worked."

Tim winced even harder. Jason ignored him and continued on.

"I budgeted my time, made an effort to actually to take care of myself, delegated what work I couldn't accomplish on my own to others, and what finally took me out wasn't some schmuck in a colorful suit who finally got lucky but my own body giving out due to poor life-choices I made as a kid. In the process I successfully managed to juggle being one of the greatest superheroes in the world, the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, and a father with minimal strain. I brought Gotham's crime rates to a new low, to the point that I almost retired the Batman suit. I ultimately didn't but that's another matter entirely."

He fixed his eyes on his younger brother once more. "So. Tell me Tim. Will learning how to cook make you a better crime-fighter?" Jason all but growled out.

Tim nodded vigorously, grabbing a wooden cooking spoon and holding it up for good measure.

Suddenly, Jason's expression morphed into something that almost seemed angelic. He clapped his hands together, pleased. "Good. Now, what do you want to eat? I've picked out three recipes that are both nutritious to eat and simple enough for you to cook on your own with minimal interference on my part. Don't worry about getting it perfect the first time, we'll work on it everyday if you want until you get it right."

Tim gulped. I think I've made a terrible mistake.

"The sauce was a little too thick for my tastes and could've used a bit more salt, but other than that this wasn't bad for a first attempt," Jason smiled and clapped a congratulatory hand on Tim's shoulder, "Good job, Timbo."

Tim laughed awkwardly, "Thanks," he replied, a little nervously.

They took their dishes to the sink to wash them clean. As Tim helped put everything into the dishwasher rack to dry, his naturally curious demeanor won out his self-preservation, and before he knew it he was asking Jason a question, "So why aren't you forcing any of the others to learn how to cook? I'm hardly the only person in the house that needs lessons."

A pause. "Damian is too young," Jason finally said, wiping off the last plate and handing it off, "And Cass will learn, but only after she starts speech therapy, and only when her therapist recommends it. It's a safety hazard otherwise."

"And Dick and Bruce?"

"Oh, Dick knows how to cook," Jason corrected him, "Alfred wouldn't let him go running around Bludhaven otherwise. His problem is actually remembering to cook. I've already intervened on that front. And as for Bruce, well, I asked that question myself when Alfred was teaching me."

Tim looked at him pointedly, shutting the dishwasher closed, "And?"

"You see how this kitchen's walls have yellow wallpaper?"

"Yeah?" It wasn't a disgusting bright yellow either, but a more subdued shade that made it resemble gold. It really stood out during particularly sunny mornings.

"The walls of this kitchen were originally painted blue," Jason revealed.

"…how badly were the walls burned?"

"Tim, this was the first kitchen in the house that had its appliances upgraded. How badly do you think?"

Tim grimaced.

"Like I said — the kind of hopelessness you only think is possible in fiction. If there's anything I've learned over the years, there are certain kinds of battles you just can't win, and this is one of them," Jason shrugged helplessly, "It is what it is. That's why I'm just telling him to spend more time with his kids instead. He'll fail at that too, but at least there he'll actually be able to learn from it to the point that he'll stop failing at it."

Tim coughed, trying to hide a snort at that statement.

Jason patted him on the back affectionately. "I know I was a little harsh earlier, and I'm sorry for that," he apologized, "But I just wanted to emphasize how important every aspect of this training regimen will be. I…I just want you to be at your best, Tim, and to me, being your best means being able to take care of yourself. Because if you can't take care of yourself, how can you expect to take care of anyone else?"

The current Robin hesitated, then sighed. "You can't."

"Yeah," Jason agreed, resignation in his voice, "You can't."

"Has Bruce started you on any weapons training—"

Tim opened his mouth to answer…

"—With anything that isn't prefixed with the word 'Bat'?"

…and promptly closed it.

"Only basics?" Jason surmised easily.

Tim nodded sheepishly.

"Figures. Dick did tell me he discovered escrima during one of his jaunts away from Bruce, and God knows how limited my training was in that regard," Jason muttered something indescribable under his breath, "Okay then, we'll be working on that and hand-to-hand. Luckily, I came prepared." He gestured to a table.

Tim gulped when he saw how many weapons that were on that table. Many of which did not look non-lethal.

"Uh…"

"Tim, all weapons are lethal. Some are just easier to kill with than others."

Why do I even bother?

"Your Robins have already asked these questions, haven't they?" Tim stated more than asked.

"Not just my Robins," Jason amended for him, "All my students — or at least my personal ones."

Of course he trained others besides his Robins. Tim thought tiredly. "Alright then. How are we going to do this?"

Jason smirked. "Pick up a weapon from the table and try to attack me with it," he ordered, spreading his arms wide open.

Tim stared at him. At Jason's expectant look, he nervously looked at the table, before spotting a pair of nunchucks. As he told Jason, Bruce had covered the basics with most weapons, and this was one of them. Giving them an experimental twirl, he twisted on his heel and charged, leading with a high kick.

Jason caught the kick, holding up his younger brother by his ankle. He slammed each of his feet onto their respective, dangling metal bars, forcing Tim to let the weapon go.

"Not these," Jason stated bluntly.

"But you said—"

"You're automatic reaction was to attack me with a kick first, not with the weapon. You are not comfortable with this weapon. You don't like this weapon. So. Not. These."

Tim groaned.

And so it went. Tim would pick up a weapon, attack, and Jason would disarm him. How long the attack lasted was entirely dependent on his opponent: sometimes Jason would allow a cursory attack before disarming him immediately, sometimes Tim would be allowed to press on before Jason ended it. Occasionally Jason would give a reason why the weapon wasn't right for Tim, but not always.

As the number of weapons increased, the third Robin started getting more and more frustrated. Nothing seemed to satisfy Jason. Tim had initially assumed that he would have to land a hit with a weapon, but Jason wasn't keeping to one skill level, so he hadn't managed with any of them, no matter how comfortable or skilled he was with them. The pattern seemed invariable and random to Tim's eyes, and to his logic-based mind that was unacceptable.

Finally, that frustration reached a boiling point. Jason had just disarmed him once more, but this time Tim didn't bother to hesitate. He jumped back to the table, grabbed the first weapon his hand could clasp (a bo-staff, he absently noted), and charged. He swung the staff with an underarm spin, striking upwards and aiming for Jason's chin. Jason dodged, obviously, but Tim was undeterred, following through with the strike and swinging the other end of the staff, aiming for his opponent's side. Dodged again.

It continued. Tim would spin and strike and Jason would dodge and occasionally parry. Eventually, however, he struck gold. After another dodged blow, Tim immediately dropped down and did a sweep with the staff, aiming for where Jason was to land. The move connected; Jason fell back…and used his hands to catch himself, propelling his legs into a drop kick that sent Tim tumbling onto the mat, ass over teakettle, causing him to let go of the staff along the way.

Tim let out another groan, though this one was entirely dependent on the physical pain he was in. He hoped that wouldn't leave a bruise.

A hand was held out to him. He took it without thinking, letting Jason pull him up to his feet. Rubbing his chest, Tim looked up at his older brother, blinking at the smirk on his face.

Jason placed a foot on the staff, kipping it up to one of his hands and handing it to Tim. Tim took it slowly, realization dawning on his face.

"This is it, isn't it?" Tim asked knowingly.

Jason nodded. "This was your primary weapon in my future. I was waiting for you to pick it up and see how good you were with it."

"So why did you have me try all of these?" Tim gestured to the large pile of discarded weapons.

"The main reason was to see if you were better suited to another weapon," Jason replied, "Just because this was your main weapon in that future does not mean you wouldn't have more aptitude with another weapon. I needed to determine that for your training."

"And the other reason?"

"This," the second Robin pointed to the staff, "is not the only weapon I will be training you in. I'd like you to familiarize yourself with two more. You don't have to master them, but you will need to reach a high level of proficiency with them. All of that, plus mastering the bo-staff, will be done within a year of today."

Tim stared at him. "You're a slave driver," he said accusingly.

Jason crossed his arms. "Yes, I am," he stated bluntly, "and if you were my Robin, you wouldn't have been let out on the streets until you had finished this training. But you're not, so here we are."

His successor looked at him disbelievingly, only for his shoulders to sag when he realized his new mentor was completely serious. "Anything else you find me deficient in?" He asked sarcastically.

"One area," Jason replied, startling Tim, "Languages. How many languages do you know?"

Tim winced, "Middle school Spanish…?"

"So none," Jason deduced, causing Tim's wince to deepen. "Unsurprising, really, considering your background. We'll build off the Spanish, of course, and Italian isn't too different from that, being a romance language and all. As for the third…Cantonese? Maybe. Something eastern, certainly, to balance things out."

Tim, for all his brilliance, had always been the weakest in languages when it came to Bruce's children (not counting Cass, obviously). It was through no fault of his own; Dick was fluent in Romani already when he got to Bruce. Jason was in the same boat, having conversational skills in Spanish, Italian, and Russian down by the time he was jacking those tires. A byproduct of living in a crime-infested place like Park Row, where gangsters of every nationality made their home. Damian went unsaid.

In short, each of them already had a background in learning new languages, ones that made it easier to pick up others. Tim, meanwhile, grew up with rich, absent parents in a predominantly white neighborhood, educated by, as Damian put it, "substandard institutions". Stalking Batman and Robin might have allowed him to learn Gotham, but it did not allow him to learn new linguistic skills. To his credit, Tim worked to remedy that, but even so, he remained the Robin that knew the least amount of foreign languages at five before he died. Which admittedly was still better than most of the general population, but measured up poorly in their family, which thrived on hyper-competency.

"You're planning to have me learn three new languages at the same time in a year," Tim said, reacting with horror.

Jason shrugged, "You just need to know enough to conduct a coherent and fluid conversation with a native speaker in each one for at least ten minutes. No big."

"How am I supposed to sleep? I have a life outside of all this, you know!"

"Simple," Jason tapped his chest, "Manage. Your. Time. Wisely. My kids had twice the workload you did and they managed to finish it all within a year while maintaining something of a healthy social life and keeping up with their school work on a B average. You can do it too as long as you don't overload yourself with case work."

"But Bruce—!"

"Bruce can manage well enough on his own, especially now that I'm here. He knows how important this training is to your continued survival, so he's not going to demand too much of you in the following months anyway."

Tim still didn't look convinced.

"Tim," Jason said, this time a little softer, "You can do this. The problem isn't finding time, it's making time, and you'll find that you have far more time than you think. Not to mention resources. Just ask and you'll have whatever help you'll need."

Tim sighed, "I hate you." There was no heat to it.

Jason smiled. "I know. All of my students do."

"How did you determine when your Robins would be let out on the field? Did you just tell them they were ready like Bruce does?"

They had finished up training for the day. Tim had already selected his third language, Arabic. Jason took one look at him and smirked, agreeing with the choice. Helpful when dealing with the League, and already came with a fluent, native speaker to tutor him. Of course, that was if Tim managed to convince Damian to help.

(Oh, but he'd manage. Much like all Robins, Tim got what he wanted when he was determined enough.)

Jason wiped some sweat off his brow with a clean towel, "Cass and I devised a series of tests, all based on the necessary skills of a Robin I would be comfortable with having on the field. They didn't have to complete all the tests all at once, but rather they'd take a test when they felt they were ready at their own pace. When they passed all of them, I let them out on the field."

"And all of them completed every test within a year?" Tim asked skeptically.

"Yup. Which is why I'm not worried about you. You've already got more training and experience than they did in regards to combat, so you'll find that easier to finish than you think, as long as you work hard on it. The cooking aspect doesn't have a test, it's just something I require all my students to do as long as they're under my tutelage," Jason rubbed his chin, "Languages will give you trouble, but you'll manage."

"And that's it?"

"Oh no," Jason shook his head, laughing, "There are eight tests. Those are just the three you wouldn't pass under my standards. The other five you've got down pat."

Tim's jaw dropped. "You're kidding."

"Nope," Jason held out his hands and started counting on his fingers, "Let's see…Acrobatics, Computer Competency, Bomb Defusal, Criminology, and Teamwork. Those are the five you would pass. The three you'd fail are Languages, Weapons, and Hand-to-Hand Combat. Though that last one you're close to passing already, you just need polish. The other two…" Jason shrugged, "That's what I'm here for."

"You have ridiculously high standards," Tim told him bluntly.

"Are you kidding me? That's nothing! You should see the tests to become a solo crime-fighter like Nightwing," Jason chuckled, "I purposefully devised those tests so none of them would be able to pass before they turned eighteen. Of course, that didn't stop my successor, who somehow managed it anyway through nothing but pure single-minded grit." Terry, after all, had inherited his determination in addition to Bruce's. He wouldn't settle for anything less than throwing himself 200% into everything he did.

Tim shook his head. Unbelievable.

"They'd hate me for it at first but they'd thank me later," Jason added, a little wistful, "That's the thing about me Tim. I won't accept my students being anything less than the best. Because if I do, well…they're already dead."

Tim looked at him with wide eyes, then looked away when Jason settled his gaze on him. There was nothing he could say to that, after all.

Chapter Text

"WHAT TOMFOOLERY IS THIS!?"

"Good morning, Damian," Jason greeted his youngest sibling genially, "I see you've found today's edition of the Gotham Gazette."

"Who is this Vale woman? I shall have her head!" Damian brandished a fork threateningly for good measure.

"One of Dad's exes. An embittered gossip columnist that loses a bit of her soul every time she has to report about one of his latest flings," Jason took a sip of his orange juice and gave Damian the stink eye, "So drop the fork, Damian. She isn't worth the jail time."

"But—The things she said—My mother—!"

"Damian."

The family's demon child had become increasingly more irritable the past week. It was to be expected, really; he had completely failed to convince his father to not enroll him in grade school (mostly because one look at Jason told Bruce that if he tried he'd pay for it dearly), and the start date for Gotham Academy's school year was approaching. Bruce and Tim had finished up creating legal trails for Damian and Cass just in time for enrollment, and now the former was about to join Gotham's elite for education that he probably didn't need.

He wouldn't be going alone. While Cass had managed to get out of it due to her literacy deficiencies and was instead waiting for a speech therapist that passed Bruce's vetting, Tim had been enrolled in her place. Mostly because of Jason dropping hints and Tim talking it over with his dad. Since the Drake fortune was still, well, a fortune, it had been easy for him to acquire admission as well. This was wonderful, because a girl named Stephanie Brown (who just so happened to win a random contest for a Gotham Academy scholarship that she had no idea she partook in) was in the same grade as him. And the same class.

And a few years behind them was a boy named Duke Thomas, who happened to share the same lunch and recess block as Damian. Duke also happened to have won a random contest for a Gotham Academy scholarship that he had no idea he partook in. How fortuitous for him.

(Jason always did like pulling the strings more than he cared to admit.)

Later that night, Jason entered the Cave and turned on the Computer. Using his new clearance level, he accessed a certain file. Reading its contents, he let out a low whistle.

"Jason," the aforementioned second Robin turned around to see Bruce entering the cave, no doubt to prepare for patrol, "What are you—Oh."

Jason raised an eyebrow.

"I take it these backfire too?"

"Ra's used Talia to access them. He then used them to subdue the League while he continued with his then plot: a recreation of the Tower of Babel. It worked out in the end, but the League's trust in you was broken, so they held a vote to see if they would keep you in."

Bruce sighed. "Let me guess: I left instead because I knew Clark would never let me stay on the team after that."

"Got it in one. You then made this computer program that screwed everyone over even more, so…" Jason hit the delete button, watching gleefully as the file was erased from existence. "Gotta admit, though, these aren't nearly as cruel as the ones Ra's used. I wonder why…"

"These were probably preliminary designs," Bruce replied, "Something must have happened to cause me to increase their intensity and complexity. Ever since Jordan went missing—"

Jason froze. "Hal Jordan is missing?" That wasn't in the files Talia gave him. If his memory of the timeline was correct, Hal Jordan should be dead and the Spectre already.

"Well, yes. Ever since Coast City was destroyed months ago, he's nowhere to be seen. Kyle Rayner, who I assume you've heard of if not met, is the Earth's newest Green Lantern, but for whatever reason the Corps hasn't made the effort to properly train him," Bruce paused when he noticed Jason didn't seem to be listening, instead burying his head in his hands, "Jason?"

"Fuck fuck fuck! Why is this timeline so blown to fucking hell?"

"Jason!?" Bruce was aghast at the language. And the probable disaster his son was alluding to. Mostly that, but the language was pretty bad too.

"The Corps hasn't properly trained Rayner because the Corps no longer exists, Bruce," Jason answered instead, looking very stressed, "They're currently in stasis after Hal Jordan attacked them in his grief to try and take energy from the Central Power Battery on Oa in order to reverse Coast City's destruction. Hal himself is currently possessed by the fear entity that was imprisoned inside the battery, and calling himself by its name: Parallax."

Silence.

"…What."

"Goddamn it all to fucking hell," Jason swore, "Even if we do manage to find Jordan wherever he is in the time stream, Rayner is too much of a fucking rookie right now to get Parallax out of him. And without the Central Power Battery, there's no way we can imprison it anyway."

"Jason!" Bruce was up to his wits' end, "Focus!"

"Right, right, sorry," Jason sighed.

Bruce rubbed his forehead, "It's okay. Now what's this about Jordan being possessed?"

A week after that disastrous talk, where Jason found his workload doubled thanks to how utterly screwed the timeline was, he was finally legally revived. He was surprised it was finished so quickly after Cass' adoption and Damian's transfer of custody, and suspected that Bruce took advantage of Gotham's corruption for once to push it through. Of course, considering how Jason had done very much the same to get work done when he was Batman, he was in no position to judge.

Therefore, poor Damian was accosted during his first day at school by the press, who had camped themselves outside the premises of Gotham Academy just to hassle him. Not helping the matter was Jason, who had taken the initiative to be there for Damian's first day at school alongside Bruce and Alfred. Jason had to rush him through the gates while Bruce distracted the reporters. The last thing they needed was the youngest member of the family actually talking to one of the vultures and leaving an unfortunate soundbite that would inconvenience Wayne Enterprises' PR team. They already had enough work wrangling Brucie's antics, no need to pile more on them.

Thankfully, it seemed Damian himself had realized that judging by the conspicuous lack of behavior complaints (a marked difference from when Damian first started attending school in Jason's timeline). No doubt, part of that success was due to the cultural primer Jason had given him once his enrollment at Gotham Academy was confirmed. Combined with the acting lessons that Jason had given him during their month and a half stay with the All-Caste, it would be literal child's play for a someone of Damian's abilities to blend in with his classmates. If slightly infuriating, but he'd get over it. Eventually.

Once he confirmed that Damian would fit right in with the school, and rearranged Tim's training schedule to fit with his new lack of free time, Jason turned his attention to getting a driver's license. He was fairly certain there was some kind of moratorium on a recently legally revived person getting a license (especially for someone who was still a minor), but since this was Gotham and Jason was rich, that moratorium didn't apply. Which was great, because that meant he could use that newly-minted license to visit Dick in Bludhaven.

Not to say that Dick hadn't been visiting more lately. It seemed he spent every off day he had at the Mansion, which admittedly wasn't a lot but was still much more frequently than he did recent years, judging by what Alfred told him. But that didn't stop Jason from missing him or wanting to see him, especially with Blockbuster still on his case. Hopefully the evidence he was gathering for Dick would be able to put an end to him before he could go any farther.

Just the thought of what Blockbuster and that bitch Flores did to his older brother made his teeth grind. God, just knowing they were both breathing again made him want to break the Rule just so he could put them both back into the ground. And that Dick didn't bother to tell anyone, that he didn't trust his own family to help, to understand…another reminder that while Dick might've glittered, he'd hardly been golden, no matter what Jason called him.

Jason had only known any of it because of a bender he'd gone on with Dick after Wally died. With Roy having died only three years prior, it had brought up some bad memories, and losing another best friend, his closest friend in fact, was close to pushing Dick over the edge. Losing Bruce, becoming Batman, Babs and him ending things for good, all of it was taking its toll, and Jason couldn't just stand by and watch. So he stayed and he drank and he listened.

It had been an enlightening talk. The things Dick told him that night, Jason was certain he hadn't told anyone else. While their relationship had already been mended for several years by that point, the words they spoke in that one conversation had brought them closer together than ever before. After that, Dick made his trust in Jason more evident, often leaving Gotham in his care while he was busy with the Justice League.

They may not have always had the best relationship, but Dick was Jason's older brother and they loved each other. There was not a moment where he didn't miss Dick as much as he did Tim or Damian or even Bruce. And if he could just spare Dick this tragedy and all the pain with it, then this, all of this, would be worth it.

Jason wanted his family to be happy. To live.

Nothing else mattered in the face of that.

"Boo," Jason held up a hand in greeting as the door opened.

"Jay!" Dick exclaimed exuberantly as he pulled his younger brother into a hug. "You didn't call!"

"It was an impromptu thing. A celebration for getting my license," Jason paused, then added, "And to get away from Gotham. I envy how easily you've managed to avoid the press here."

Dick shrugged, "It's not my fault they're looking for Richie Wayne and not Dick Grayson."

"Ah, yes, the old last name switcheroo," Jason shook his head, "Daily Planet, the Gotham Gazette is not."

"Indeed," Dick chuckled, "Come on in. I was just about to eat."

"I'm telling Alfred," Jason stated bluntly even as he took another slice of pizza and chomped on it eagerly.

"Dammit little wing, must you be a tattletale?" Dick grumbled.

Jason thought that over for a moment. "…Yes," he decided, ignoring the glare Dick shot him. "Don't look at me like that, I want you eating healthy, he wants you eating healthy, you'll listen to him more than me — it's not rocket science, Dickie."

"You're so mean, little brother."

"Really? That's the best you could come up with?"

Dick pouted.

Jason shook his head, "How anyone believes you're this suave ladies man, I'll never know. You're such a man-child."

His older brother let out a small smirk, "Hey, it's not my fault the ladies can't resist the old Grayson Charm."

The former Batman gave his predecessor an unimpressed look. "Right. The 'Grayson Charm'," Jason snorted.

Dick huffed, then adopted a sly smile. "Speaking of ladies, you had to have dated quite a few in your timeline, Jay."

"Dick," Jason groaned. Clearly this was not a topic he wanted to cover.

"C'mon! I won't judge."

Jason stared at him, let out a long-suffering sigh. "Fine. Yes, I there were some women that caught my eye. However, I've only ever been in two serious relationships."

"Oh? Who were they with?" Dick looked like a gossipy hen, which was taking Jason everything he had to ignore. For all his faults, Jason knew that his older brother wouldn't say anything to anyone else without his consent. At least, not for something like this.

"Well, the first was with Artemis of Bana-Mighdall—"

"That crazy Amazon the temporarily replaced Diana?" Dick interrupted, eyes wide.

Jason cleared his throat. "…Yeah?" He said awkwardly.

"Wow, little wing, you aim high."

"This coming from the guy who almost married an alien princess who also doubled as a supermodel?"

Dick paused, before nodding nonchalantly. "Valid point. Continue."

"Right, well, my first relationship was with Artemis. She and I met by chance — she was chasing down this magical bow that was stolen from her homeland and tracked it down to Gotham, where it had supposedly fallen into the hands of Black Mask. I was working a case on Black Mask at the time, she and I clashed, and after it was all over I offered to help her find the bow. Things just grew from there."

"How so?" Dick asked curiously, leaning forward slightly, eagerly.

Jason's expression turned wistful and nostalgic. "I loved her Dick. To be honest, I think I loved her from the moment I first saw her. She never took shit from me, and there was a strength to her that was different from any other woman I've ever known. For a time, I even thought I was going to marry her one day."

Dick tilted his head, face somber. "I take it that didn't happen?"

"No," Jason's own face saddened, though there was a certain acceptance to it, "Artemis was never meant to stay in Man's World, Dick. She belonged with her sisters, and I belonged with my family, in Gotham. What we had, it was never going to last. We remained on-and-off for several years, before finally calling it off for good when I was forty. By that point, we were more friends than lovers, so the split was a formality," He shrugged, "Maybe that's why she felt it was okay to keep Penelope away from me."

"Penelope?"

"Our daughter," Jason revealed, shocking Dick. "She was conceived during the last nights Artemis and I spent together. Her mother gave birth to her on Themyscira and raised her there. I didn't even know about Penelope until Artemis brought her to meet me after my diagnosis."

"That must have been surprising," Dick paused, "Were you angry?" He asked, tone gentle.

Jason shrugged tiredly, "I suppose under different circumstances I would've been. But I was dying and my body was weakening by the day, Dick. I didn't have the energy to be angry at her; I was just happy to meet Penelope. Had my will rewritten on the spot so she could inherit her portion of the Wayne fortune. It helped that Artemis and her stayed with me at the Manor until I finally kicked it, so I got to spend at least some time with her."

"You're too forgiving, Jay."

A bark of laughter followed that statement, "I could say the same about you," Jason pointed out, rubbing his hands, "The shit you forgave me for, Dick…" He shook his head.

Dick smiled at him. "Hey, you're my little brother. No matter what happened between us, I could never imagine ever really giving up on you."

"Yeah," Jason smiled back, "Same here."

The room quieted a bit as they held onto the moment a bit longer.

Then Dick, in a much cheerier tone, continued with the previous line of questioning. "So, after you ended things with Artemis, who else did you date?"

Jason grimaced. Unlike with Artemis, where there was some sort of resignation to him, here he looked legitimately pained. Dick noticed it immediately, and his demeanor turned to concern. "Jay?"

"I'm not going to tell you her name, Dick."

"Why? Did it end badly?" There was now a hint of steel to Dick's voice. Overprotective big brother mode — it had been a while since Jason had been subjected to that.

He had to defuse the situation immediately. "Not in the way you think," Jason said hurriedly.

Dick raised an eyebrow, "How so?"

Jason opened his mouth but stopped, his bottom lip trembling slightly before he exhaled deeply. He rested his chin in his hand, eyes lost in thought. "It wasn't because of anything she did to me. On the contrary, what we had — we were happy, Dick. No one except family could make me as happy as she did. But after the diagnosis…" He was struggling to get the words out now, "I ended it. I didn't really give her a reason why, I didn't want to tell her, I didn't want to hurt her — in short, I was an idiot. We got into this huge fight and didn't talk for months. And then when she found out…" He shrugged again, face mirthless and hollow.

His older brother gaped at him before his expression turned sympathetic, "Oh, little wing…"

"I loved her, Dick. I loved her so goddamn much and I just let her go and we lost so much time," And now there was a bit of a sob to Jason's voice, "She was the one, Dick. She was it. And the moment I found out I should have gone to her and gone down on one knee, instead of pushing her away. But that's what I did, and now…"

Dick had enough. He got up and pulled his little brother into one of his signature hugs. Jason melted into it instantly, trying to rub away his tears with his brother's shirt.

"Hey, it's okay Jay," Dick soothed him, "It's not the end of the world. There are other fish in the sea. And who knows? You might have a chance with her again in this timeline."

Jason chuckled bitterly. "As if, Dickie. Right now, the only thing she'll see me as is a little brother. And even if that weren't the case…" His face dimmed. "Her first love is alive again. And I care too much about both of them to stand in the way of their happiness."

Dick had nothing to say to that.

Eventually, the mood changed. There was still a certain gloom to it, but for the most part it was tempered but Dick's unvoiced but gradually emanating curiosity. Obviously, the talk about Jason's love life had been an attempt to segue into a talk about his own.

"So, I got the list of approved love interests you sent me," Dick started.

Jason grabbed the now considerably colder piece of pizza. "And?"

"Well, the only name on the 'NO' list is Catalina Flores—"

"Who you won't have to deal with," Jason stated firmly, "Ever. Bruce and I already took care of it."

And boy, did we enjoy it.

"Then why bother having her on the list at all?"

"Bat-Paranoia, Dickie. You never know."

"Right…" Dick drawled slowly.

Right. He was close but not quite to Jason and Bruce's and even Tim's level of paranoia yet. Oh well, one day he'd understand.

"Then let's move on to the 'Maybe' list, which is really long and is mostly made up of names I don't recognize. I know I have a reputation, but as you pointed out, it's mostly undeserved."

"That's because you never slept with most of those women. However, many of them were attracted to you and all of them are perfectly acceptable partners if you choose to pursue them, so I figured it was okay to have them included. You know, to widen your options a bit."

"One of them is Helena Bertinelli," Dick deadpanned.

Jason shrugged, "She gets better."

Dick looked at him disbelievingly.

"She does," Jason insisted, "Sure, she's a little…unstable now. And lethal. But she mellows out, especially after she and Babs start working together and become best friends. She and I were pretty good friends too. She helped me out a lot when I was Batman before she retired, even trained one of my Robins."

The disbelief remained.

"I'm not saying you should try for anything now, Dick. I'm just saying that, later down the line, when she's in a better place and if you're not with anyone else, it'd be okay to consider her as an option."

"Which I need to do, considering the 'Yes' list contains only two names," Dick noted calmly, though with a hard edge to it.

"Babs and Kori."

Dick nodded. "Babs and Kori," He looked Jason dead in the eye, "Why?"

"You were planning on asking out Babs anyway," Jason said, obviously trying to deflect.

"And normally seeing her name on this list would only invigorate me even more," Dick asserted, "Except Kori is also on this list, even after we dated, got engaged, failed to get married, and then broke up, seemingly for good. So for her to still be considered an acceptable partner by you after all that is rather surprising."

Jason shifted in his seat a little awkwardly. He looked down at the box, and silently cursed. Drat. No more pizza.

"Jason. Explain."

"Explain what, Dickie? How things started out great with you and Babs only for something else to keep getting in the way until you finally called it a quits? How you and Kori found each other again after years apart only for you to die?" Jason through his hands into the air and sighed, "This is why I gave you a list, Dickie. It's a guideline, not a manual."

Dick stared at him. Some mixture of horror and confusion and everything in-between was in every line of his face, and Jason felt slightly guilty for leaving him like that.

"Look," Jason finally said, "Things…happened. Things that changed your relationships with both of them. Things that might not happen now, with me here and all. But regardless of those things, the one thing I know for sure is that right now, as you are now and for who you could be in the future, if you're going to work out with anyone, it's going to be with one of them."

Another moment of silence entered the room as Dick thought over Jason's words. Jason waited for him to speak once more, preparing himself and everything he was going to say.

"…Tell me what happened, Jason," Dick said finally, determined, "Between me and Babs and me and Kori. I know you talked to Bruce already about Selina, and I deserve the same courtesy as him."

"Are you sure, Dickie? You might not like what you hear."

"Jason, everyone in the family who knows about your situation has already accepted that. If we want to know, we want to know."

Jason inhaled deeply. Fine then. If he wanted to know… "Like I said, it started out great between you and Babs. Idyllic, really. You loved each other. You even got engaged. Even after you mutually decided to call it off, you stayed together. But then — well, this life is hardly stable, Dick. Your war with Blockbuster was ramping up, it was causing problems with you and her, and in turn brought out the real issue in your relationship."

"The real issue?" Dick couldn't help but asked, perplexed.

"Tell me, Dick," Jason asked in turn, "Why do you love Babs?"

Dick blinked. Was Jason seriously asking that question?

"Jay, are you kidding me? She's amazing. She makes me feel all warm inside, causes me to lose my breath. She's brilliant and wonderful and so, so strong. One of the strongest people I know. I remember when—"

"There," Jason interrupted immediately, cutting into Dick's statement, "There it is."

"What?"

"You were about reminisce about something she did as Batgirl, weren't you?"

"Yeah, what of it?" At Jason's look, realization dawned on Dick and he collapsed into his chair. "That's it, isn't it? That's why we broke up."

Jason gave a resigned huff. "When it came to the two of you, at least at first, you always found yourselves going back to the past. Always thinking about better times. You didn't seem to realize it, but Babs — she saw it. Maybe because things changed more for her than they did for you." He didn't have to say how; Dick slumped even further into his chair as he processed the words coming out of his little brother's mouth.

"She wasn't Batgirl anymore. She would never be Batgirl again; things had changed too much for her to go back to that, even if she regained the use of her legs today. And as for you?" Jason shook his head, "You weren't Robin. Robin was bright and colorful and lively, and never had problems asking for help. But Nightwing? Nightwing might be a little flippy and make more quips and get along with others better, but he was more like Batman than he ever cared to admit. A paranoid workaholic that seemed allergic to asking for help even when he needed it."

The accusation was clear. Dick remembered the words Jason told him all those weeks ago, and they seemed more real than ever before.

"Nightwing was in love with Batgirl. And Oracle was in love with Robin. And once one of you realized that, it was over," Jason's gaze was a thousand yards ahead, "You tried to work through that, of course. You loved each other, it was only natural. And eventually, you succeeded. But every time you tried to get back together, something kept on getting in the way. It was never the right time, and eventually, after so many misses, both of you began wondering if you were ever going to have your moment."

"…Who called it off?"

"Babs," Jason replied instantly, "You always had the tendency to hold on longer than you should. Her, however? She was always the pragmatic one. The pain…it wasn't worth it anymore, Dick. And before all this, the two of you were friends. Best friends. She wanted that back, more than anything else you two could have had. And deep down, that's what you wanted too."

Jason watched Dick ruminate over that. He hoped he wasn't doing something wrong here. As much as he adored Kori, he adored Babs equally as much. He knew they both had feelings for his brother, and didn't want either of them hurt. But Dick had demanded the truth, and Jason would lie about a lot of things to him, but never about this.

"She moved on. Got married to Luke Fox, the son of Lucius Fox. He was another member of the family, a friend to you and to I. Made her really happy. If she had to marry anyone other than you, I'm glad it was him."

Dick studied him for a moment, then smiled sadly. "Well, if he had your seal of approval, then who am I to complain?"

Jason smirked a bit, one of his cheeks stretching upwards, "Does my approval really rate that highly to you, Dickie?"

"Of course it does," Dick said firmly, as if the idea of otherwise was foreign to him, "You care, Jason. You made that all too obvious since you came home. You wouldn't lie to me about this."

Jason's smirk softened. "No, I wouldn't." His gaze shifted to somewhere far away again. "I guess you want to hear about Kori?"

"…Yeah," Dick spoke quietly, "Kori and I…I don't understand…" The pain still felt raw, fresh. Even though they both knew it had been for the best, in the end, he couldn't help but wonder. Especially since Jason claimed that they had got back together. Had they given up too soon?

"Your relationship with Kori is interesting," Jason noted calmly. He stood up and started cleaning the table. Dick, lost of any other directive, followed his lead.

"In many ways, the relationship you two have is the complete opposite of what you had with Babs. You and Babs had years of history before you became a couple. But you and Kori? It was whirlwind," Jason set the empty pizza box down on the counter, near the trashcan. "It was love at first sight. That's what made it so difficult for your relationship after you broke up. Friendship was easy for you and Babs. It wasn't easy for you and Kori."

Dick's breath hitched. Yeah. That summed it pretty well.

"As much as you two tried to stay friends, you tended to fall in bed with each other. And while casual sex might be easy with a friend or an acquaintance, the two of you were never just friends and acquaintances, Dick. It caused a lot of strain between the two of you, and while there was never hate, there was always sadness," Jason picked up the plates and set them down on the counter, "Eventually, however, you got there. You became 'just friends'. And you both thought that would be the end of it."

"And then Babs and I broke up."

"And then Babs and you broke up," Jason agreed. "She comforted you, of course, but nothing happened. She wasn't interested, and at the time, neither were you. It was the past for the two of you, and unlike with Babs, your relationship never relied on dwelling on yesterdays. You always saw each other as you were in the present. Everything you endured, all the changes it wrought — she'd see them, and she'd accept them with no judgment. And you did the same with her. She once told me that it was a silent promise you two made when you decided to move forward as friends."

"She told you that?" Dick asked, surprised. Jason of course had already met Kori plenty of times, they had already been dating by the time Jason became Robin, but he never expected them to be close enough to have talks like that.

"We were close. I was on a team with her and Roy for a time, and then after I became Batman we worked together as members of the Justice League," Jason rubbed the back of his neck, "I loved her like a sister, Dick. As much as I love Babs."

"Oh." That was…did he just get the shovel talk? From his own brother?

"Right," Jason cleared his throat, "Back to you and Kori. Well, that promise you made — it's what brought you two back together. Kori had an easier time accepting the changes to your character. She didn't agree with all of them, obviously, but it was never because of who you were in the past, but because of who she was in the present. She made that clear every time you two had a disagreement."

"Then, about a year after you and Babs broke up, a deep space assignment had you and Kori working closely together. I don't know the full details about what happened on that mission but, over the course of it, you two fell in love all over again. You tried to take it slow, you wanted to make sure that this time it would work out."

"And?"

"…About week before you died, you showed me the ring you were going to propose to her with. Then you left it with me for safe-keeping," Jason clenched his hands, "When I showed it to her the week of the funeral, she broke down in tears all over again."

Sometimes Jason wondered if it would've been better if he had never told Kori. Kinder. But the ring was supposed to be hers, not Jason's, and he would've never been comfortable keeping it.

"It was never supposed to be mine," Jason explained, when Dick failed to respond to that revelation, "It was always hers. And she took it. And she kept it. But I never saw her wearing it."

"Why?"

Jason smiled softly. "Because it would've kept her rooted in the past. It would've stopped her from moving forward. That's the thing about you and her, Dick. You don't love each other because you need each other. You love each other because you make each other better. And she knew as well as I that you would have never forgiven her for letting you be the one thing that stopped her from living her life."

"…I see," Dick sighed, "So…I guess I should make it work with Kori?"

"No," Jason stated bluntly. "According to what Kori told me about herself during this time period, she's not in a good place for a relationship right now. And the way things are with you and Babs, especially now that Flores won't be interfering, you and her might actually have a chance to work things out this time around, now that you're aware of the issue that plagued your relationship the first time around. Or maybe you'll find someone new and end up with neither of them."

The way Jason hissed out that name made Dick wonder what, exactly, Catalina Flores did to earn that level of hatred from him. In the end, however, that thought was lost to him in the wake of the rest of his little brother's words.

"I didn't give you that list to be a bible of who you should get together with. Just something to tell you who you should avoid and who you have the best chances with," Jason placed his hand on his brother's chest, right over the center, "Your heart is your heart, Dick. In the end, only you can decide where it goes."

Dick stared down at his arm, and sighed. He gently pulled it away and pulled Jason to another hug. "Thanks, Jay."

"Anytime, Dickie."

That went well, Jason thought to himself as he made his way to his car.

Hopefully, Dick would take all his words to heart and really think through with his relationships this time around. As much as he loved Luke, loved Kori, it would also be nice if Dick and Barbara worked things out in this timeline. But in the end, that wasn't up to him, but to them.

Lo que sera, sera, he had told Bruce. Whatever will be, will be. It was something he would have to live by, from now on. That future that he lived was long gone now, and there was nothing he could do to get it back.

Bludhaven was dark out. The streets were empty. Jason finally reached his car, pressing the beacon to unlock it remotely. It was time to go home.

Shink!

It was a low noise. Almost silent, really. But Jason still heard it.

He shifted his head automatically, turning just as the shuriken passed in front of his nose and buried itself into the frame of his car. Great. That was going to be hard to explain.

Jason looked to see his assailant and froze.

Heavy duty armor. Gun. Katana.

Black and orange mask.

"You know, the kid mentioned you a few times to me," Deathstroke the Terminator commented, taking a menacing step forward, "But I never thought you'd be important enough for someone to ping me for a private contract on you."

It was official. Jason hated Bludhaven.

Chapter Text

"Deathstroke…" Jason murmured, slowly moving to the left. Not good. Not good at all.

There was no way he stood a chance against Deathstroke. Not in this body. And especially not without a suit or a weapon.

Shink!

More shuriken. Jason took a step back to the right, deftly dodging them and leaving them to be buried into the frame of his car. This was going to be a bitch to explain to the dealership. Thankfully, he was rich.

He was rich.

"Look," Jason started, causing Deathstroke to cease his advance, "I'm sure a guy look you has better things to do than waste a kid like me. So how much is your boss paying you? I'll double it!"

Deathstroke tilted his head, as if he was thinking over Jason's offer…and then laughed. Loudly, raucously, and for Jason, familiarly. Fuck, that was not a good laugh. It seems Slade wasn't up for the deal.

"Sorry, but I'm just the distraction," Deathstroke explained, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye.

"Distraction…?" Jason asked before heard something else — the sound of a sword being drawn. He jumped away from the car, fast enough to dodge the silver blade that sliced into the metal in the place of his face.

"You're right, boy. I do have better things to do than slice up a punk like you," Slade shrugged lazily as Jason slowly backed away towards him, "But a former Robin is still a former Robin, so I figured you'd be a good test for her instead."

Jason said nothing to that in reply, too focused on his newest assailant.

Same armor. Same weapons. Same mask.

All on a decidedly younger and more importantly female body.

Rose. Shit.

"Meet Ravager, boy."

Ravager — Rose Wilson — grinned nastily as she jumped down from the roof of Jason's car, brandishing her sword, her intentions clear. Jason looked around, immediately spotting the nearest fire escape. He darted towards it, avoiding another downward strike of Ravager's sword, and started climbing, swinging his legs up to catch the bars to make the journey quicker.

It wasn't long until he made it to the rooftop, whereupon he made a beeline for the direction of the nearest abandoned warehouse. While he didn't know Bludhaven as nearly as well as Gotham, he had operated here often enough to orient himself in the city. In particular, he had studied the area around Dick's apartment just in case, and knew there was one such warehouse on the corner of Cain and Southwind, near an empty alley. Jumping from rooftop to rooftop, he took out his phone and dialed what he knew to be one of Oracle's emergency lines for their civilian identities.

The phone rang twice before she finally picked up. "Hello?"

"O? It's Jay. I'm being pursued in Bludhaven by Deathstroke and his daughter. Could you patch me into N's comm?"

There was a bit of static, and a moment later, "Jay?" Dick. Great.

"Hey N. Your old buddy Slade Wilson is in town and he's taken up a private contract."

"What? On who?"

"Me. And it's not really him who took up the contract so much as it was his daughter. But he's still here," Jason dared to look behind him right after he made his latest jump, "Yeah, he's following his daughter."

"Slade? Rose?—Forget it, where's your location?" There was a hard, protective edge to his older brother's voice.

"I'm trying to lead them to that warehouse on Cain and Southwind. I should be able to keep them occupied there until you arrive—" Oh look, more shuriken. Jason ducked. "Sorry N, gotta go."

Jason shoved his phone back into his pocket. Time to run.

CRACK!

Jason took out his leg and dove through the opening he made, rolling into the warehouse. Using his phone as a flashlight, he found the light switch and flipped it on, surprised when the place illuminated and revealed huge stacks of cardboard boxes and dirt. The building still had power. That was lucky.

There was another loud crack!. Jason saw another one of the covered up windows burst into a shower of broken glass and wood as Rose made her entrance. He slowly backed away, cursing when he realized that a huge wall of cardboard blocked his path. No choice but to fight. Or dodge. Dodging was better.

"So, Deathstroke's daughter, huh? That's a surprise!" He chuckled nervously. Keep her distracted until Dick gets here. Can't fight. Can't fight. Deathstroke wasn't the most social of mercenaries, and seeing as Dick's secret identity had yet to be sold on the black market, he was unlikely to talk too much. But better safe than sorry. The last thing he needed were rumors about the second Robin being alive, let alone too skilled.

Or maybe no one will care? It was a faint hope. One that Jason had no time to indulge in as he hopped to the side to avoid another swipe of Rose's sword. "I didn't know Deathstroke had another kid!" That was a lie too, but whatever.

Rose grit her teeth. Oh, that seemed to make her angry.

Right, young Rose still under the tutelage of her father meant being the ultimate daddy's girl. Jason forgot about that. At least she still has both her eyes. Or maybe not. Didn't Dick say Slade storing a piece of Kryptonite in her head is what caused her to finally cut ties with him?

Jason kept the running commentary in his head as he continued to dodge all of Rose's blows. Off to the side, he could see that Deathstroke had already arrived. He was playing the part of spectator, though he had his hand on the side of his calf, where his handgun was. No doubt he was anticipating the possibility of Nightwing's arrival and interference.

"Stop dodging and fight!" Rose finally growled out. "You're supposed to be a Robin, aren't you? Why are you acting so pussywhipped?"

Because I don't want to tangle with your daddy alone, and my brother's not here yet, Jason thought sardonically. He felt a beeping in his pocket. Ducking under another swing, he took out his phone and saw a text from an unknown number.

'Almost there.' Great. He looked behind him. There was no more room to back away. I'm out of warehouse.

Rose could see it too. There was a vicious smirk on her face as she darted forward. Jason briefly toyed with the idea of dragging the fight out but the sight of Deathstroke squashed it immediately. He couldn't afford to expend any more energy when Dick would undoubtedly need his help in the upcoming fight. This would have to be enough.

He twisted away from the stab, grabbed Rose's wrist and pulled her forward into his waiting knee. She let out a loud 'ooph' as she was forced to let go of her weapon. Jason didn't hesitate; he shoved her away, just far enough to hit her with three blows to the face in quick succession, followed by a hard right hook to her chin. She collapsed to the ground, out cold.

Jason took in a deep breath, then whirled around as the sound of clapping invaded his ears. Deathstroke was…applauding him?

"You know, my employer said this assignment would be difficult, but I thought he was pulling my leg," Slade said conversationally as his hand reached back for his sword, "It's why I gave this assignment to Rose. Now?" He shrugged.

"I figured you would be angry. I did just knock out your daughter."

"And normally I would be," Slade agreed. "But right now I'm too intrigued to care. I wonder," the sound of metal sliding against metal echoed throughout the warehouse as Slade slowly drew his blade, "How do you measure up against your big brother?"

Rather than answer, Jason bent down picked up Rose's sword. He swung it with several deft, expert movements, testing its weight. Once he was comfortable with it, he drew himself into a ready stance, sword level with his face.

"Very interesting," Deathstroke commented as he returned the favor, preparing himself for combat.

There was another moment of silence before they clashed.

For years, many people that Jason worked with would tell him he had a gift.

A gift that he deliberately neglected. And when asked why, he would give one answer: "I like guns."

While he did take up guns to piss off Bruce, the simple truth of the matter was that he liked firearms. There was more to a gun than simply point and shoot, despite what everyone else claimed. There was a certain majesty to it, all the shifting parts and how they all worked in tandem to launch bullets at such fast speeds. Not to mention, when you ran out of bullets they made great impromptu bludgeons.

After he became Batman, however, Jason had to give up guns. Batman did not use guns. It was a universal truth, and Jason had no desire to tarnish that legacy. Not to mention, Batman also worked with the police, and they would be much less inclined to help him out when he was packing something with such obvious lethal force. To say nothing of it being a possible Hail Mary identifying him as the Red Hood, who quite publicly died to allow Jason to transition to Batman fully. The Red Hood may have spent the last few years as a full-fledged superhero, but no one had forgotten what he originally started out as, nor his primary weapons of choice. Mostly because of how starkly out-of-character it was compared to the usual Bat.

As a result, Jason had no choice but nurture his gift. Truth be told, he already started that, first by mastering that blasted sword, then by asking his brothers to train with him and trade moves. However, he didn't fully cultivate it until he fell under the tutelage of a master, and dedicated himself entirely to training. By the time he was done, said master called him one of the greats, and in the years after, Jason would establish himself as the third best martial artist in the world, behind Connor Hawke, and, of course, Cass.

Of the three top martial artists in the world, each of them specialized in a certain aspect of combat. Cass' excelled at everything but specialized in hand-to-hand combat, Connor's was projectile weaponry, and Jason's? Jason's was melee weaponry. And blades certainly fell under that category.

It was only because of that he was able to keep up with Deathstroke right now. Years of experience, the natural aptitude he felt whenever a sword fell into his hands, memories of skills not quite practiced but still at his fingertips — all of them kept this man at bay. But only for so long, and only for so much.

Slade had an adult body, enhanced reflexes, and even more experience than Jason. If Jason were in his prime, in his original body, then yes, he would win this fight. Not without difficulty, but his victory would almost be assured. But as he was now? He was surprised he was able to put up a fight at all.

Even so, he was still slowly but surely being overwhelmed. Every blow Slade's blade struck against his own caused his arms to shake. His fingers were beginning to ache by his tightening grip as he desperately tried to keep hold of his weapon. This was a fight he could not win, and both of them knew it.

Nonetheless, Deathstroke seemed to be enjoying himself. He actually looked a bit impressed, which Jason knew — knew! — was going to backfire on him one day. Kids that Deathstroke liked often got subjected to his 'parenting', and everyone knew how that tended to end. Just look at poor Rose, still unconscious on the floor of the warehouse. Jason wondered how many drugs Deathstroke was pumping in her right now to keep her under his control.

Crash!

Dick, he thought. Thank God. He was in need of a break five minutes ago.

Deathstroke, thanks to his enhanced reflexes (and God did Jason hate mentioning those), was able to react quickly when an enraged Nightwing entered the fray. As was Jason, who backed away from him to allow his older brother take over the fight.

As Jason had his well-deserved breather, he observed the ongoing battle. Nightwing's anger was giving him the edge so far, but there were openings that Deathstroke had yet to take only because of his furious blows. Once that initial burst of energy wound down…

Jason might not have his old body. But he had over thirty years of experience as a vigilante. He had studied Dick's fighting style backwards and forwards, had incorporated elements of it into his own. Most of all, he had worked with Dick himself countless times, and while this Dick was younger, a little less experienced, a little less skilled…he was still Dick Grayson.

It was just a matter of waiting for the right moment.

The slightest falter, that single moment of hesitation, Slade saw it, but so did Jason. It was easy to block, easy to allow Dick to follow up, and easy to follow him. When Dick went high, Jason went low. When Jason went right, Dick went left. All of it felt familiar, felt right.

Too bad Slade didn't feel the same.

With the two brothers working in tandem, he didn't stand a chance. It wasn't long before they had him cornered, the tip of Jason's sword pointing at his neck and one of Dick's escrima sticks held somewhere…lower.

There was a beat as Slade looked at Dick to as if to say 'Really, kid?'

Dick responded by clicking a switch on the stick, causing a current of blue electricity to visibly run through it.

"Give?" Jason asked.

Slade sighed. "Give."

The brothers backed away, allowing Slade free passage to Rose. He picked her up like a sack of flour, and turned to leave, before suddenly remembering something. He turned to Jason expectantly.

Jason looked down at the sword and sighed, throwing it over in a practiced motion. Slade caught it with a nod and a smoke bomb, and thus the Wilsons were gone.

Dick and Jason stared at the spot where their adversaries once were for a long moment.

"…You're coming with me to Gotham, aren't you?"

"Let me call the station to schedule a sick day."

"B, is all this really necessary?" Jason asked as Alfred finished drawing blood, "I was attacked. Not held captive."

"No chances," Bruce growled out, "Deathstroke might've caught you with something. You know how he operates."

"Unfortunately," Jason rolled out in a suffering manner. He turned to Tim, who had been present in the Cave when he and Dick arrived, decked out in his Robin suit. "Any theories?"

"Well, since he attacked you as Jason Todd and not as…" Tim gestured to his suit, "I would normally assume it would be one of Bruce's business rivals. Your first death did a number on Wayne Enterprises' profit margins, since Bruce was…" He winced, "Not at his best at the time. WE has recovered since then, and with you back maybe they want recreate the phenomenon. Cause another slump."

"But you don't think that's it," Jason intuited, already seeing the signs on Tim's face.

"If that was the case then they would've gone after Dick," Tim nodded to their older brother, who was glowering at the image of Slade on the Bat-Computer's screen, "As a police officer, his death would've been much easier to cover-up and write off as an accident. Same effect, but none of the strings. Not to mention, they contracted Deathstroke carry out the hit."

Dick hissed. Tim wisely inched away from him.

"And why is using Deathstroke so important?" Jason questioned in such a way that made it clear he already knew the answer, "He's the best assassin in the world."

Tim narrowed at his eyes on him but nonetheless answered. "It's because he's the best assassin in the world. Deathstroke has been publicly known to be at the top of the most wanted list of every major law enforcement agency in the world — including the Justice League. Anyone who contracts him and is found out immediately earns League attention, which no smart businessman — or woman — would ever risk."

He was right. Contrary to popular belief, Deathstroke was much easier to hire than someone would assume with his status. Ever since Slade made his status public with his constant tangling with the Teen Titans, he had fallen into the pitfall of being a well-known supervillain. That severely limited his clientele, because few were willing to land on the radar of superheroes. This had caused him to lower his rates significantly. Now, nobody hired him unless they were confident they could avoid the potential scrutiny.

…or if they could afford it.

"Then there's comment he made during the confrontation. He said that his employer told him that you would be a more difficult target than initially assumed. Of course, it could be because whoever they were thought Slade didn't know you were a Robin, but…" Tim left the statement hanging, the implication obvious.

There was a chance, no matter how small, that the employer knew who Jason really was.

And if that was the case, the list shortened to one potential suspect.

Everyone shifted their attention to Bruce, who was rubbing his temples. "I've been monitoring the League more closely ever Jason brought Damian and Cass home. They've been quiet lately." He clicked his teeth. "Almost unnaturally so."

Dick clenched his fists. "We can't retaliate without proof or confirmation. Ra's will just claim we attacked without provocation, use that to break the truce, and go after Gotham directly."

Ah yes, the truce. The unofficial and unspoken agreement to keep out of Gotham in exchange for the various times Bruce helped the League of Assassins out with their civil war disputes. Mostly because said disputes had a tendency to spill over into Gotham. Jason forgot that existed, mostly because Ra's had a tendency to ignore it whenever it suited him despite his supposedly impeccable 'honor'.

Bruce sighed, before his expression firmed. "We'll keep a closer eye on them for now. In the meantime take a look into anyone on the Bruce Wayne side of things that would have reason to go after Jason. Better safe than sorry."

Better safe than sorry. The family motto.

"In the meantime, Jason, I think it's time you start thinking up a new vigilante identity."

Jason cast him an abrupt glare. "What?"

Bruce was unmoved. "I know you didn't want to get back into the game so soon, but at least you'll have a suit on hand to conceal your identity in case of any attacks. It's a miracle no one spotted Deathstroke and Ravager attacking you in public."

Shit. He had a point. "Fine," Jason bit out.

There was a reason why Jason was refraining from re-entering the vigilante game so soon, and it had everything to do with the time period. A lot had changed in Gotham in those thirty years, and while some things were familiar, a lot more was different. It wasn't just the sights — it was the culture, the laws, the community. The world was different from what it was in the future, and for Jason it became more obvious every time he took a step outside.

"You could be Red Robin," Tim offered. He might not have taken up the name yet, but it was still his to give, wasn't it?

Jason smiled at him, "Thanks Tim, but no."

"What about your other vigilante identity? Red Hood?" Dick innocently suggested.

The smile on his younger brother's immediately disappeared and was replaced by a vicious snarl as he rounded on his older brother. "Not only no, but hell no. That identity was born of spite and hatred and vengeance and pain. I'm not that person anymore, and I never will be again."

Everyone stared at him.

"Sorry," Dick apologized, voice weak.

Jason sighed. "It's okay, Dick, and I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. It's just…" He trailed off.

He couldn't say he hated everything about the Red Hood. That identity eventually ended up becoming a hero in the end. But it was still a manifestation of the first great tragedy of his life, of all the hurt he forced his family to endure in some mad quest for misplaced retribution. It was a reminder of all the mistakes he made with the people he loved most, and that is why he never intended to go back to that identity after he had given it up the first time to be Batman. It symbolized all the things Jason no longer wanted to be.

"Maybe you could design your suit instead and think up an alias later?"

"Yes," Jason pointed at Tim, "Let's do that. I'll rope Damian into it. He's the artist of the family. You can help me with the weapons design."

"And me?" Dick asked eagerly, melancholy now gone.

Jason glared at him. "Nothing. Your fashion sense is terrible."

Dick let out a gasp of horror. "Little wing!" He cried out, heartbroken, "How could you say such a thing!"

"Discowing, Dickiebird! Discowing! And the mullet, don't forget the mullet!"

"At least let me name you then!"

"That's an even worse idea! You're the reason everything in this cave is named Bat-something!"

"But Jay…!"

Tim started muttering himself as he began brainstorming designs.

Bruce simply sighed.

After the Deathstroke incident, the weeks began to pass by again. All of Bruce Wayne's potential rivals checked out and there was no activity from the League, which was worrying in itself. Whenever the League was quiet, that usually meant they were ramping up for something big. Considering they were the primary suspects for his recent assassination attempt, Jason had a feeling he would be in the thick of it with them before long, something he did not like the idea of at all.

Tim and Damian continued attending Gotham Academy, often arriving together with Bruce, who had made it part of his daily routine to escort them there every morning. He similarly spent time with Cass as well, taking an hour to read to her every night before patrol. This pleased Jason greatly, and he and Alfred showed their appreciation by making his favorite dessert for dinner when he got home.

Cass started speech therapy. Jason attended the first few sessions with her, using the agreed upon cover story to explain her situation to her chosen therapist. He was then asked to explain how much he had taught her on his own, including the methods he used. After that, Cass started undergoing the sessions by herself, with Jason reading in the waiting room. Even better, they were able to schedule the appointments close to the end of the school day; as soon as Cass was finished, Jason would take her to pick up Tim and Damian, they would spend the afternoon together doing some activity together somewhere out in the city. It gave Tim some much needed relaxation time while allowing Cass and Damian to familiarize themselves with the city.

Dick still visited, though not as often as before. Due to taking so many days off in such close proximity, he had to work overtime at the station. Thankfully, it didn't seem to be overwhelming him; it seemed he had taken Jason's words to heart and had been asking for more help from the family's various allies. The Birds of Prey team were those most often seen in Bludhaven, though far from the only ones, and not all of them lacked powers. The sudden uptick in superhero appearances in Bludhaven had caused crime rates to go down, and Blockbuster to go underground, no doubt worried that he'd catch the attention of a hero much higher on the power ladder than Nightwing.

As far as romances went, he and Babs had not gotten together yet. Jason supposed that was his fault; not long after Deathstroke, Babs had cornered him and had asked for a similar talk. Upon further prompting, she admitted that Dick had met up with her to talk about their relationship and had suggested she talk to Jason about her romantic future first before making any decisions. Jason had agreed, going in-depth about her relationship with Dick and how it ended, then explaining her relationship with Luke, the man she eventually married. He also revealed that Luke was currently attending MIT and would be returning soon, in case Barbara wanted to meet him.

This left both of the potential lovers thinking, and they agreed it was best to put a hold on a relationship for now. There was just too much information and too many feelings to sift through for them to make a committed effort to dating one another and see if they could make it work this time around. Better to wait until they were both in a better place to make a stab at a romance, lest they risk their friendship like they had in Jason's timeline.

Jason was glad about the maturity both of them showed. He honestly did hope it would work out for them; but if they decided they would be better off as friends, then he wouldn't begrudge them that either. It was out of his hands either way.

Things remained smooth sailing until one day, Tim asked for a weekend off from training and patrol. Jason had agreed, and a look at Bruce had him agreeing as well. Trusting Tim, he hadn't thought to ask about it. Perhaps his brother was taking the training to heart and taking a break from the vigilante life for a little while.

That belief held until Bruce mentioned something about Robin being seen riding a tricked out motorbike the following day. Jason paused, thought it over, and then abruptly went to the Bat-Computer. Using his access code, he pulled up the latest budget reports from Wayne Enterprises — the real ones. Locating one specifically, his eyes trailed down the list of expenses until he noticed a particularly large one.

Jason shook his head, "I can't believe he thought about this before Dick and I did."

Bruce, who had been using the aforementioned computer until Jason cut in, looked at him quizzically. "Thought of what?"

"You'll see next week," Jason waved him off. "When you do though, don't be too hard on him. He might be Robin, but he's still just a kid."

"Jason," Bruce asked, looking increasingly alarmed, "What did Tim do?"

The former Batman smirked. "He made friends," he said cryptically.

A week later, the Bat-Cave gets an alert. One of the Batmobiles has just been wrecked.

The thing is, it's a Batmobile that Bruce had no idea existed.

"You knew about this," Bruce growled out to Jason that night as he finished suiting up and waiting for the JLA to teleport him to Happy Harbor.

Jason, who had just finished an intense workout and was now wiping off the sweat, gave him an unimpressed look. "Believe it or not, the first time around was worse — an exploding building and a budding serial killer were involved." Jason smirked a little when he saw Bruce blanch.

"Compared to that, this is nothing. Had anyone actually been at risk of getting hurt, I would've intervened. But no one was in this case, so I let it go. I'm his brother, Bruce. I'm here to protect him, teach him — not to hold his hand."

"Even so, why did you let this happen?"

"To have him learn that his actions have consequences," Jason replied easily, "Like I said, Bruce. He might be Robin, but he's still a child. He knows how dangerous this job can be, but he has no idea how dangerous he can be. At least not when he's around his friends. This was to teach him that while he can his fun, he and everyone associated with him and that choice is going to have live with the aftermath. In this case, a ton of property damage, plus your disappointment and punishment."

Bruce frowned. "At least tell me how he managed to hide this from me."

"Easy. He hid the expense for it in the Batarang budget."

The current Batman paused. "That's brilliant," he finally said.

"I know, right?" A loud beeping was heard. "Ah, that must be the League. That's my cue to call Dick."

"For what?"

"To ask him to bring me to the parent-teacher conference. I got some things to tell Red Tornado."

When Bruce returned home and called Dick about the conference, Jason received an interesting series of texts that had his older brother complaining about how mean he was and asking if Jason could go alone in his place. Jason was tempted, but ultimately declined, pointing out that the other guardians would never take his opinions seriously since he was a minor himself. Dick was unhappy but complied, grateful that his one day off fell upon the weekend where the conference was to happen.

As his suit was still in production, Jason elected to just wear a dark pair of shades over two domino masks, and a black hoodie and jeans. Packing a small bag of spare clothes and the manifest he made for Red Tornado, he and Dick departed from Gotham in the Bat-Plane that night. The trip was short — about an hour at most, and they made it just in time to catch a glimpse of the ensuing cat fight between Helena Sandsmark and Bonnie Jones.

He leaned against the caves of the wall as he watched the bickering start, with the various parents trying to explain themselves to a thoroughly unamused Nightwing. Once there was a lull in the conversation, he cleared his throat.

"So, while you lot are talking, I'm going to watch the kids. Keep an eye on them and all."

"And you are…?" Max Mercury asked, eyes narrowed.

"Robin's older brother," Jason responded casually, absentmindedly adjusting his gloves.

There was a moment of silence as everyone processed that statement.

"…Robin has an older brother?" Bonnie asked for the uninformed aka everyone except Nightwing, who groaned and began rubbing the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"Yes. And if anyone needs me, I'll be with the kids at their camp out. Getting to know my brother's friends and all." He held up a hand in farewell. "Ta!"

With that, he fled. As he ran down the tunnels of Mount Justice, he could help but chuckle when he heard the questions thrown in his older brother's direction.

"Boo."

"AHHHH!"

Mmm, let's see here. Besides Tim, there's Bart Allen, Cassie Sandsmark, Cissie King-Jones — haven't seen her in a while — Greta Hayes as a ghost, and… Jason struggled to keep his face neutral as his eyes fell upon the last of the child heroes, Kon.

Speaking of Young Justice, five of the newly-formed team were already breaking out of shock and preparing themselves for battle. The only exception was Robin, who was inaudibly groaning visibly in a manner that reminded him of Nightwing from only minutes before. He had recognized Jason immediately.

"Yo!" Jason greeted them, "I'm Robin's older brother!"

There was a beat for silence. Then…

"YOU HAVE AN OLDER BROTHER!" The teenagers whirled around to confront the (current) Boy Wonder.

Robin rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. "Kinda? It's complicated."

"And he doesn't have just one older brother," Jason corrected, "He has two. There's still Nightwing, after all."

Wonder Girl blinked, and drew an amused look at her friend, "We've learned more about you in the last two minutes than we have in the past couple of weeks. Two brothers, huh?"

"Actually three brothers. We have a younger brother — oh, and a sister! She's older than him but younger than me."

That was the deal breaker. Robin leveled a glare at his older brother, gritting his teeth. "Shut. Up."

"Ah, c'mon Robin," Jason slid over next him, throwing an arm around his shoulder. The other five minors blinked, having not realized he moved. "Don't you think your friends should know at least that much about you?"

"No."

"Why not? They're your teammates. You'll be entrusting your life to them from now on, and vice versa."

"Trust does not mean they need to know every aspect of my life, contrary to popular belief."

Jason shrugged. "Perhaps not. But who knows? Maybe one day it won't just be you that you need them to protect."

Robin opened his mouth to protest, only to stop when he saw the look on his brother's face. A softness to his smile that struck something in him. He turned away to look at his friends, who had been watching them curiously. Taking a deep breath, he cleared his throat.

"Guys, this is my older brother—"

"Knight, for now. K for short."

"—Knight. Knight, these are my friends: Bart Allen, aka Impulse. Cassie Sandsmark, aka Wonder Girl. Cissie King-Jones, aka Arrowette. Kon-El, aka Superboy," he gestured awkwardly, "and Secret."

Jason raised an eyebrow, but said anything about the lack of alternate ID. "Nice to meet all of you. I hope you've been getting along well."

The teenagers all nodded together, some quicker than others.

"Why are you here, K?" Robin cut in, frowning. Was there some issues with the conference?

"I just wanted to see my little brother and meet his friends," Jason explained innocently. "Is that wrong?"

"No, but…" Robin struggled to say something that wouldn't offend.

"Oh, I see," and now Jason sounded heartbroken, even though he really didn't look all that sad, "Big bro is putting a crimp on your fun. I'll just go then."

"No!" Cissie cut in. Everyone, even Jason, looked at her in surprise. "I mean — our parents will have no reason to complain if we've got a chaperone, right? He's older us and seems more responsible, but not too old, you know?"

Oh, Cissie, if you only knew …

Kon hummed. "She's got a point," He admitted.

"Idon'tmind."

"Neither do I."

"I'm okay with it."

There was only one holdout left.

Everyone looked at Robin. Jason adopted his most pathetic, puppy-dog look, learned from the master himself: Dick Grayson. Tim stood no chance.

"Fine."

The rest of the camp out went on smoothly. Contrary to what Robin thought, Jason remained completely cordial throughout, answering and participating but to never the point of annoyance. It was almost like having another friend. Eventually, however, the kids talked themselves out, and one by one they filed into their respective tents to sleep.

All except Superboy.

Ever since the discussion about growing up, which inevitably brought up his inability to age, the young hero had been in a funk. He hadn't made it too obvious while his friends were awake, but none of them were fooled. As the night wore on and they gradually tired, his sorrow became more evident. By the time it was just him, the boy was slumped over, staring up at the starry sky with sad eyes.

"No growing up, huh?" Jason settled down next to him, "That sucks."

Kon-El was momentarily surprised, before returning to his slump. "It's fine. Like I said, no wrinkles or arthritis or any of that other stuff. The best kind of life."

"Except your friends will grow old themselves and eventually move on with their lives, while you stay the same and get left behind," Jason bluntly stated. Kon gaped at him.

"You don't pull any punches, do you?" The clone responded after the shock wore off.

"No. Us Bats — well, we lie if we have to. I've never been quite proud of that, so when I can tell the truth, I try not to sugarcoat it," He shrugged, "Some might call it cruel, but I consider it kind. Better they know the whole truth right out the gate so they won't be blindsided by it later on."

Kon-El blinked. He had nothing to say to that, so he returned to staring up at the sky, deep in thought.

"I just don't want to be alone, you know? Like you said, they're all eventually going to move on and live their lives while I stay like this, with the same shtick and everything. I can't help but wonder how long it will take for them to get tired of it."

Jason hummed. "I can understand that. But I think you should have more faith in them. They're your friends, Kon-El. And if your friendship is real, they'll always have a place for you in their lives, no matter what happens."

Kon-El paused as he thought that over, then turned to smile at him. "You think so?"

Jason couldn't help but smile back. "I know so. And who knows? Maybe someday they'll figure out a way to turn back on your biological clock," His voice softened, "But even if they don't…it doesn't mean you won't grow up, Kon. There's a lot more to growing up than growing old."

Before Kon-El could answer, they were quickly interrupted by a pair of interfering mothers. Directing them to the girls' tent, they watched in bemusement as the women let out sighs of relief before departing like a couple of chattering birds. They gradually faded away from sight, their voices becoming more distant.

"Hey, K?" Kon-El said once they were completely gone, "Thanks."

"Anytime. Do me a favor, though? Keep an eye out for my brother."

Kon-El actually laughed at that. "Why? He's the most capable out of all of us. It'll probably end up being the other way around."

Jason smirked. "Maybe so," he conceded, "But he's still my little brother. And no matter how good he is, he always ends up taking more on his shoulders than he should — just like our father. I can't help but worry for him."

"Well don't," Kon-El cracked a grin and jabbed a thumb at his chin, "As long as I've got his back, he'll be right as rain."

"I'll hold you to that." Jason clapped on his shoulder. "C'mon. I think it's time you got some sleep."

The following day, as Young Justice filed into their mountain fortress, Robin was handed a tablet by Red Tornado along with an envelope. Sneaking away to a remote corner while the others were busy, he ripped the envelope open. Inside it was a short note, scrawled on with some vaguely familiar writing.

'Use it as you see fit. Don't be afraid to tell them some of the truth. I trust you.' Robin frowned, before crunching up the note in a ball, making a mental reminder to burn it later. He turned on the tablet, watching it boot up. There weren't any apps on it except a file reader and an accompanying folder, titled with the initials 'Y.J.' A sinking suspicion in his gut, he clicked on it — and froze.

Young Justice

Members

Sequence of Events

Major Incidents

He quickly closed the file and turned off the tablet before he could read anymore. He'd think about this later, when he was alone and not surrounded by potential security risks. While he trusted his friends, he wasn't quite ready to take the plunge Jason suggested yet.

Robin walked back into the fray, noticing how everyone was beginning to congregate around Red Tornado for some reason. Frowning, he moved forward so he was close to the center of the group.

"What's going on?" He asked.

Everyone turned to look at him, looking vaguely confused and slightly irate.

"Ah, Robin. Glad of you to join us," Red Tornado intoned, "I was just about to announce the diet and training plans your brother formulated for the team. He also liked me to inform you that you are required to cook at least one meal for you and your friends every weekend as part of your training, and that I am to inform him if you slack off on that duty. If so, he also informed me that he, not Batman or Nightwing, will be handing out the appropriate punishment."

Robin gaped up at him.

"Also, he said you're not allowed to have any coffee while you're here."

That was it. The rest of Young Justice burst into laughter.

Robin snapped his mouth closed and groaned.

"I hate everything."

Chapter Text

"Why no speech?"

"Because we're going out this weekend, Cass," Jason explained, "It's a rare three-day-weekend at Gotham Academy, which means it's the perfect time to visit Clark and his family."

Cass brightened. "Clark! I like Clark."

"Good. That means you'll love his wife and son too. There are few women as formidable as Lois Lane-Kent, and their Jon is a good kid," He gave Damian a pointed look, "He'll be glad to have someone his age to play with."

Damian gave him an unimpressed look.

Despite the initial promise shown during his first few weeks at Gotham Academy, a reconnaissance report from Tim had torn down all of Jason's already faint hopes asunder. Damian hadn't even bothered with the facade the moment he had step foot into the school and fallen under the temporary custody of its faculty. Instead, he had remained his same imperious self and had cowed his teacher and classmates into relative submission. All of his peers were vaguely terrified of him to some degree, which was hardly conductive to his need to socialize.

He needed to meet Jon soon. Jon had done more for Damian's social development than even Dick, acting as an effective mediator between his best friend and other child heroes around their age. Much like his father, people liked Jon, trusted him, and so were willing to give Damian the benefit of the doubt because of him. Thus, when Damian inevitably showed his softer side, the good person he had become underneath, they were able to better tolerate his more abrasive personality traits. That in turn helped him calm down a bit as he grew older, eventually evolving into a polite, kind and considerate man, if a little arrogant and snobbish.

(He was an al Ghul as much as he was a Wayne, after all.)

Jason was in the process of deciding how to broach the topic with Bruce when Clark made a call, asking if the play date was still on the table. It seems that Jon had gotten in a mood this past week. His powers were still in the process of coming in, and they were making things difficult for him at school. It was hard to connect with your peers, after all, when you had so much to hide. Clark hoped that meeting Damian, a child he didn't need to hide anything from, would help.

Bruce had agreed immediately, quickly figuring out that this was the sort of thing Jason would want for Damian. Jason made his appreciation known by making another of Bruce's favorites for dinner that night with Alfred. Then he began planning the trip, debating over whether or not to take a private plane. When he mentioned this conundrum to Damian, the boy had that look on his face that said he was on the verge of another tantrum, so Jason quickly decided private plane was for the best. Another call to Clark confirmed that Lois would meet them at the airport to pick them up and take them to the farm.

The details hashed out, Jason packed the three of them bags and pestered Bruce to make sure he had Dick and Barbara on speed dial in case he needed company. Content that Red Tornado would keep an eye on Tim and help him keep up with his training, Friday afternoon saw the three of them file into one of the many small jets that Wayne Enterprises owned and used. The flight to Kansas was only a few hours, and before they knew it they were landing in a private airfield close to Dodge City.

Waiting for them there was a very familiar face — Lois Lane herself. Jason smiled the moment his eyes landed on her, widening as the gap between them closed with an embrace.

"Lois."

"Jason," The reported greeted him, "It's been a long time. It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you too. I'd like you to meet some people," Jason shifted to the side to reveal his siblings, "My new sister, Cassandra Cain-Wayne, and my new brother, Damian Wayne. Guys, meet Lois Lane-Kent, Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist and the wife of Clark Kent."

Lois pinched his cheek, "Charmer, leading with that." She then held out her hand. "Pleasure to meet you."

Cass stared at her before awkwardly taking the tips of Lois' fingers to shake. She then darted away, hiding her face into her shoulder.

"Forgive her," Jason said as Lois' expression turned a bit bemused, "She's shy."

Lois gave a short nod, then crouched down to face Damian. Her smiled returned, and she held out her hand again. "Hello."

Damian took it politely and gave it the customary shake. "Mrs. Lane-Kent."

"Please, just call me Lois."

"Lois," Damian corrected himself. "It's nice to meet you as well. I take it you're here to take us to the farm?" It was obvious how much he was struggling not to sneer out that last word.

If Lois noticed, she didn't show it. "Yes. C'mon — the car is in the parking lot."

"What is this?" Damian asked, his voice somewhere between awe and horror.

"This," Lois gave an appreciative slap to the hood of the blue pick-up truck, "is old Charlie. He's been with the Kents since before Clark was a kid."

From a certain perspective, Jason could understand Damian's apprehension. 'Old Charlie' was clearly on his last legs, despite the obvious modifications made to him to keep him running. Even so, it was cheaper than renting a car and even though Jason had his own, unlimited credit card on hand, he was still a penny pincher at heart. If the car died on the road they'd just make a call to Clark and fly the rest of the way.

"C'mon, everyone inside," He lugged their bags up into the back of the truck, helping Lois to secure them with rope. After that was done, they climbed into the front seat from the driver's side. Before Jason knew it, the car started and they were on their way to the Kent farm.

It was around two hours and a pit stop later when they finally arrived to the farm. After parking, Jason slid out the front seat after Lois and helped her untie and take out the bags while Damian and Cass took a look around their new surroundings. There was a loud sound indicating the opening of the front door of the house, and Jason looked up in time to see Jon Kent rushing forward, attaching himself to his mother's waist.

"Mom! You're back!"

"I am," Lois laughed, shrinking down so she could hug her son back. "And I brought some friends! You remember Jason, don't you?"

Jon peeked out from his mother's arms to spot Jason, his face lighting up. Struggling out of his mother's grip, Jon ran over to his former babysitter with a joyful smile on his face. Jason chuckled, setting down the bag he was carrying to pick Jon up and throw him into the air.

"Jason!" Jon squealed as he stopped midair and floated down back to his feet.

"Hey Jon. How have you been?"

The boy turned bashful. Ah, there it was. The insecurity.

"I've been okay," the boy said quietly, before perking up, "But what about you? Mom and dad said that you were…"

"I was," Jason sighed, giving a light smile. "But I got lucky. I got to come back. And I plan to make the most of it. So," He took Jon by the hand, "there are some people I'd like to introduce to you."

He led Jon over to Cass and Damian, who were observing some of the Kents' cows side-to-side. They turned around when they heard Jason's footsteps, Damian scowling when he spotted Jon.

"Jon, this is my new sister Cassandra Cain-Wayne — or Cass for short. And this," Jason gestured to Damian, "is my new younger brother Damian Wayne. He's about the same age as you."

Damian cleared his throat. "To be more accurate, I am one year older," he corrected severely.

Jason shrugged. "Same general principle. Anyway, guys, this is Jonathan Samuel Kent, or 'Jon' as he likes to be called. He's the son of Clark and Lois."

"Hi." Jon held up his hand awkwardly. Cass returned the gesture, just as awkwardly. Damian gave a sniff and walked away.

Jon's smile fell. Jason patted him on the back. "It's alright. He's like that with most people. Just be yourself and he'll warm up to you soon enough."

They entered the farmhouse soon after. The home had been expanded over the years to accommodate for Clark's growing family and the occasional guests he brought over for rest and relaxation. A such, there was enough space for them to get their own rooms. At Jason's request, him and Damian shared one while Cass got her own. Damian looked ready to rebel when told this, but one look at his brother stayed him.

After their bags were settled in, they went downstairs and met up with Jon and Lois again, along with two others.

"Mr. and Mrs. Kent," Jason grinned as he grasped the two wizened hands of Clark's mother. "It's been quite some time."

Jonathan Kent frowned, though there was no heat to it. "Now, I do distinctly remember telling you to call us by our names."

"Indeed," Martha nodded along, patting Jason's hands. "It's good to have you back son."

"It's good to be back. I take it Lois has told you about my two new siblings?"

"She has," Jason twisted away so she could see them, "Hello dears. My name is Martha Kent, and this here is my husband Jonathan. We're Clark's parents and Jon's grandparents."

"Hello," Damian nodded politely. Cass said nothing, opting to give another of her tiny waves.

Jason shifted his head so he could make eye contact with Lois, who was standing behind his siblings. The slightest narrowing of his eyes made his intentions clear, which Lois caught on.

"Jon," Lois said, catching the attention of the son standing next to her, "Why don't you take Damian and Cass on a tour of the farm? Get to know each other. Us adults have some things to talk about."

"But…" Jon started, no doubt noticing how Jason was visibly not an adult, but a look at his mother cut away his protests. He gave her a short nod, then moved to leave the house. Damian followed, knowing that fighting Jason was pointless. Cass hesitated a bit, looking back to see Jason pointing with two fingers at his eyes and then at the young children. Message received, she turned away and began exiting as well.

The moment they were out the door and safely out of range, Jason finally released his tense posture and sighed. "I take it you guys won't mind if we talk this over in the kitchen?" He asked.

"Not at all."

Jason turned around and smiled. Clark, leaning against entranceway to the kitchen, happily returned it.

Jason took the cup of hot cocoa with gratitude. "Thank you, Martha."

"Don't mention it, dear," Martha said, then moved back to sit down at the kitchen table with her husband. Clark and Lois were standing side-by-side, leaning against the counter. Jason, meanwhile, had seated himself on the windowsill, partially to keep an eye out for any eavesdroppers.

"How much have you told them, Clark?"

"Just the basics," Clark answered, sounding apologetic. "I figured anything more would be a betrayal of you and your family's privacy."

Jason nodded, then directed his attention to the other three occupants room. "So you know that I'm a time traveler and a former Batman."

"And that you come from a future where most of your family was dead," Lois added, though she hesitated for a moment to continue. "I'm sorry. I can't imagine…" She stopped. She didn't know what else to say.

He didn't look offended. If anything, he just looked tired. "I know. Sometimes I can't help but wish for the family that I'd lost. Then there are times where I want them to stay as they are right now. So young, so unburdened," Jason exhaled, "It truly is a hardship, having this knowledge. Knowing what they could become, what pain they would have to go through to become those people." He took a sip of his drink to calm his nerves. "But enough of that. I take it you want to know what happened to all of you?"

"And to Jon," Clark added.

The corners of Jason's lips upturned a bit. "Don't worry about him. He was just fine by the time I died. He and his wife just had their second kid," he shook his head mirthfully, "You were so over the moon Lois. Practically pelted me with pictures everyday."

Pure joy spread across everyone else's faces for a moment. The thought of two grandchildren clearly delighted Superman and his wife, as much as it did Jonathan and Martha. However, the happiness gradually faded away on Lois' face as realization hit her.

"Just me?" She asked Jason, fear and resignation on her face.

Jason's face fell, and he scrunched his eyes closed, as if remembering a painful memory. It didn't take a genius to figure out what he was thinking of.

"Jason," Clark said, imploring him to speak.

Jason let out another breath. He opened his eyes, looking up for a moment and then casting his gaze on the Kents.

"Before you ask," He started, directing his look on the older of the two couples, "You two died of old age, in your sleep. Together. I was around twenty-seven at the time."

Jonathan and Martha exchanged a look, clasping their hands together. Their fate was not a bad one, after all.

"And me?" Clark followed up. It was morbid, perhaps, but he needed to know.

Jason frowned, his gaze lidded. He took another sip. "I was thirty-four. Jon was twenty-five. Your daughter Lara," he couldn't help but smirk briefly when surprise flew across everyone else's faces, "was eighteen. Darkseid had launched another invasion, this one more devastating than ever before. In the end, you ended up giving your life to seal him away in the Source Wall. The Green Lantern Corps later brought your body back to Earth for burial."

"…I see," Clark closed his eyes in acceptance, "Well, there are worse ways to go."

"There are, but who knows? Chances are it won't happen this time around. Maybe Orion will actually get around to killing his dad this time."

"Maybe. How did everyone take it?"

"Hard," Jason admitted. "Really hard. You were loved Clark. Missed. No one thought there could be anyone else that could fill your shoes, but ultimately someone had to." He looked wistful. "Gotham needs Batman. But the world? The world needs Superman. It will always need Superman."

Clark pursed his lips at that statement, "So, Jon…"

"No." Jason shook his head. "Not yet, at least. He was the third Superman. The second was Conner Kent — Kon-El."

"Oh," Clark paused, "Not that I disapprove, but…" It was obvious what he wanted to say. The question was also on the face of his present family.

Why wasn't it Jon?

"It was because of Damian," Jason answered for everyone. "Despite their age difference, Jon and Damian were best of friends. Practically family. So, when they were kids, they made a promise. That they'd be Batman and Superman together."

He took a deep breath. "And then Damian died."

Jason didn't need to say anything else. Jon was no doubt devastated by his best friend's death, and the idea of being Superman without his best friend to be Batman must've been inconceivable to him. Genuine sorrow passed on the faces of the Kents as they thought of the grief the youngest member of their family had gone through.

"Even after he was gone, Jon wanted to be close to him. Six months later, he showed up at my doorstep, and asked for the Nightwing mantle."

"Nightwing?" Lois asked, perplexed.

"Damian succeeded Dick as Nightwing when he was eighteen," Jason explained, "By that point Dick had been Batman for three years, and Bludhaven was in need of another protector."

"So Jon wanted to succeed Damian as Nightwing to honor him," Clark surmised.

"Yes. And he wanted my blessing," Jason smirked, "I only gave it after he went through training. Nightwing might be inspired by a Kryptonian legend, but it still began as a mantle of my family. And my family has standards for its solo crime-fighters. Very high standards."

"You didn't hurt him too badly, did you?" Jonathan asked him wonderingly, a little concerned and a little amused.

"Nothing he couldn't handle," Jason assured him.

Clark crossed his arms. "So Jon became Nightwing. And when I died, he wanted to stay as Nightwing, so Kon became Superman in his place. So I take it Kon eventually retired and passed on the mantle to Jon?"

Jason opened his mouth, but no words came out. Clark saw his expression, and faltered. "No. Not him too."

The third Batman swallowed, and he fought to keep his tears at bay. "It was eight years after you died. I was forty-two. Kon had gotten married two years ago, and he and his wife just had their first baby, a son, when…" It was obvious how painful this was for Jason, but he pushed on, "He died a hero, saving the multiverse. You would've been so proud of him."

Clark slumped back onto the counter, head in his hands. The mood of the kitchen plummeted once more.

"You were close with him," Jonathan Kent noted, a statement more than a question.

Jason smiled brittlely at him. "He was my best friend. We didn't get off on the right foot at first, but after Tim…well, it didn't feel right. But we didn't really get close until he became Superman and we started working together more as members of the Justice League. Losing him felt like losing another brother." A kind of pain he, unfortunately, was all too familiar with.

"So," Lois started, voice sad, "After Kon-El died—"

"—Jon became Superman," Jason finished for her. "By that point Damian had been dead for close to fifteen years. Jon missed him, would always miss him, but he couldn't keep mourning him forever. Not when the world needed him more than ever before."

The room fell silent. Always, always silent.

Fittingly, it was broken by a crash.

A very loud crash.

A crash from outside.

Jason turned around to look out the window, and sighed in annoyance and resignation.

"—And that's it. That's the farm," Jon said, spreading his arms open. "So?"

"So what?" Damian asked dryly, hostility thinly veiled.

"What do you think about my home?"

Damian scowled at him, "Charming," he said in a way that suggested otherwise, "Despite the company."

Jon's expression faltered. He looked down for a moment, before looking up hopefully at Cass. "What about you?"

Cass blinked, before smiling widely and patting him on the head in an affectionate gesture. Jon's face morphed into confusion.

"Uh…thank you?" She liked the farm, right?

The third of their trio scoffed. "She's just being polite. My sister's first set of parents were poor caretakers — she can barely speak and has poor understanding of speech. Take the gesture with a grain of salt."

Jon crossed his arms, turning away from Cass to stare back at Damian. "You use a lot of big words," he observed.

"Tt. The level of my vocabulary is hardly noteworthy. You just lack the sufficient intellect to comprehend it." Damian shook his head in disgust. "And to think you're the son of Superman. How ashamed he must be."

Jon barely understood any of that, but he did get the gist. "You just called me stupid, didn't you?" He accused his companion, feeling his frustration boiling over.

"Oh," Damian smirked nastily, "so you do have a brain in there. How surpris—"

Whatever he had left to say was cut off when he was launched away from the ground. Jon, luckily for Damian, had enough self-control not to use too much of his strength. The flight was short and the fall only mildly irritating, especially for someone with Damian's…enhancements.

The son of Batman groaned and shook his head, clearing the cobwebs. Jon blanched once he'd realized what he'd done. He ran over to Damian and bent down to help him up.

"I'm so sor—" He was cut off by Damian twisting his arm and throwing him on his back.

"Hey!"

"Consider that payback," Damian spat out, wiping dirt from his mouth. Jon roared and moved to charge but before he could, he was picked up by the scruff his neck.

Damian moved to laugh at him, only to be picked up himself. "Cass!"

Cass shook her head. Instead, she shifted her hands so both boys were facing the house — and the people in front of it.

Jon let out a small "Eep!" when he spotted the twin glares his parents were sporting. Damian would've mocked him for it, had he himself not been paling at the absolutely livid glower on Jason's face.

"Damian," he hissed.

"He started it!" Damian pointed at Jon, quickly passing the blame.

Jon momentarily lost his fear to throw a dirty look at his age-mate. "No I didn't!"

"You pushed me first!"

"You kept being mean to me! You called me stupid!"

"Of course I did! I try not to be too much of a liar."

"Why you—"

"ENOUGH!"

The argument ceased immediately. Everyone stared at Jason, who was grimacing as he massaged his temples, a visible tick on his forehead.

"You two. Apologize to each other. Now."

The look of quiet fury quelled any more protests. Cass set the boys down, gently guiding them so they'd be facing each other. Both of them tried to look anywhere else, Jon to the sky and Damian to the ground, where he was scuffing the heel of one of his shoes on.

"Boys."

Jon, unsurprisingly, caved first. He straightened his back as he looked at his rival and spoke strongly. "I'm sorry for pushing you."

Damian looked up, and after some clear hesitation, sighed. "And I apologize for insulting you," He was about to stop, until he saw the knowing look on Cass' face, "And throwing you on your back." He added.

"I accept your apology."

"And I yours."

"Good," Jason moved forward, scowling at them both, "Because you'll be serving your punishment together. If that's alright with you," he directed towards Lois and Clark.

"Go right ahead," Lois waved him off, Clark nodding alongside her.

"Very well. Now then," Jason rubbed his chin, "What's the best way to punish a half-Kryptonian hybrid and an ex-baby assassin?"

Both boys shivered when they saw an evil grin slowly dawn on his face.

"Why," Damian asked the world. He was dressed in some old clothes of Jon's, with overalls, boots and gloves to complete the ensemble. Jon was standing next to him in a similar outfit, looking resigned.

"Because you wouldn't learn otherwise," Jason answered for him, showing no sympathy. He held out two shovels, both with handles short enough for them to hold. "Shovels for both of you. You're not leaving until all of the manure is piled away outside."

Jon opened his mouth—

"No powers. And don't think you'll be able to get away with it just because I'm not here to watch you. I will know." With that parting warning, Jason left the scene, leaving the barn door open just enough to make sure the smell was able to filter out.

The boys shared a collective grumble and began their work, staying silent throughout. This lasted for about twenty minutes before someone found the lack of sound too monotonous and broke.

"Why do you hate me?" Jon asked as he paused in his shoveling.

This caused Damian to stop as well, and he looked back at Jon. Instead of glaring, there was a more contemplative look on his face. "I don't hate you."

"You certainly act like it."

The vitriol briefly flared back in Damian's body before he calmed it down. He did not want to suffer anymore punishment. "Well, I don't. Believe it or not, I don't care." That said, he returned to shoveling.

Jon stared at him for a moment and then looked back down at the ground. "You know, I was really excited to hear you were coming here. I thought I'd finally be able to make a friend."

Damian didn't say anything to that, just kept shoveling away.

"It's not that the kids at school are mean and all. It's just that it's hard talking to anyone when you can barely say anything at all about yourself. And with my powers — I'm always so scared I might hurt someone, so I can't really play with anyone else."

The shoveling finally stopped, but Damian still didn't turn around.

"I thought you'd be different. You're Batman's son, Dick and Jason's little brother. If there's anyone I could be honest with, it was you." Jon sighed. "Guess I was wron—"

"All my life, I was trained to kill."

Jon stopped speaking, mouth agape as he stared at Damian's back.

"Every single day. No breaks. I was told that it was for the best. That I was descended from two great families, that I was meant to rule the world. For seven years, that was all I'd ever known."

"And then," and now, there was the slightest hitch to Damian's voice, "One day, my mother came for me. I didn't see her often, usually just when she wanted reports on my progress. If I was doing well, she'd have a treat for me. A new weapon. A new house. A new servant. But this time, she didn't have anything for me."

"Instead, she said she was taking me away. That it wasn't safe for me anymore, that I needed to go with my brother. I was aware, of course, that my father had adopted a few strays, but she had never addressed them as if they were my family. I was so confused, but mother's word was law so I obeyed."

"When I met my brother — Jason — I was so confused. He was kind to me, considerate, but sometimes he'd look at me with so much sadness. To my surprise, I found that I didn't like it. And then he introduced this girl and said she was going to be my new sister, and when I asked him about my father, he said words that tore my entire world to shreds. I was never meant to rule the world, just be another meat sack for my grandfather to occupy when his own finally failed him." Those words were spoken much more bitterly than the rest.

"Now," and here, Damian finally turned to look at Jon, "My father's family is all that I have left. And though they try not to show it, I can tell they are displeased with how I've been raised, the behavior I display. They wish for me to be kinder, to make friends." He shrugged despondently.

"But you don't know how," Jon stated knowingly. He, after all, was the same.

"No," Damian confirmed, rubbing his arm. "I was taught that I had no need of friends. Allies, subordinates, yes. But not friends. Friends were an unnecessary distraction. I do not know where to start."

"Well, that makes two of us," Jon responded, sighing. For a long moment, the two boys stared at each other.

"He engineered this," Damian stated bluntly.

"He totally did," Jon agreed instantly.

"And it worked."

"Yup."

Damian shook his head. "I don't know whether to be impressed or furious."

"How about both?" Jon suggested.

Damian briefly thought that over. "Sounds prudent."

Jon shrugged in agreement, then exhaled, looking over the manure. "So what now? We still have to shovel all of this."

"Perhaps not," Damian said, looking around the barn, "He said you couldn't use your powers. He said nothing about anything else."

"Like…"

"Like that machine over there," Damian pointed at the manure vacuum.

"…You really think that will fly?"

"It's worth a shot."

"You used the manure vacuum," Jason noted.

Damian looked completely unrepentant. Jon smiled sheepishly.

"Well done," Jason smirked, causing both to let out breaths of relief. "Though next time I'm not going to leave such an obvious loophole, so try to behave?"

"No promises," Damian said, with Jon echoing him.

"I'll take it. Now go clean up — Martha has made some of her famous apple pie for you."

Damian frowned. "Pie? The last pie we tried was not up to par. It tasted like pure sugar."

Jon, meanwhile, looked completely ecstatic. "Oh man, you're going to love it! It's warm and gooey and sweet but not too sweet and it's got this great cinnamon aftertaste…"

The half-Kryptonian hybrid continued to extol the virtues of his grandmother's signature confectionery as they moved to wash up. Jason watched them go for a moment, leaning against one of the supports of the porch and smiling nostalgically.

"So," Clark asked from beside him, having been watching from the front doorway. "How did you figure out they used the vacuum?"

"Easy." Jason took a comm piece out of one of his ears and presented it to his father's best friend.

Clark shook his head. "Just like your dad."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Compared to the explosive start, the rest of the weekend felt rather mundane in comparison. Time was spent exploring Smallville, where Jon happily introduced many of the sights to Damian. Unlike his initial meeting with Jon, Damian made the effort to try and appreciate what Jon was showing him, and found that he was enjoying their shared activities in spite of himself. The nights were spent eating more of Ma Kent's Alfred-level cooking and watching old movies on the Kents' television.

Sunday morning saw them packing, preparing to leave for Gotham. Jon managed to squeeze in the car by removing the car seat (much to Damian's genuine pleasure), and the ride to the airport was generally more pleasant than the ride from it two days before. It wasn't long before they found themselves back on the private airfield. The flight's sole attendant grabbed their luggage and made up the stairs to store it, while the Wayne siblings said their goodbyes to Lois and Jon.

"I'll miss you," Jon said, pulling Damian into a hug.

Damian froze for a moment, but to everyone's surprise he didn't fight the embrace, instead gently patting Jon on the arm. "Your lack of presence will be irritating to me as well," he said, the closest he would ever get to returning Jon's sentiment.

Jon let go of the hug and sniffled, clearly trying to fight back tears. Damian, not one for tears, deftly combated them by handing Jon a slip of paper.

"The number to my cell," Damian explained, "We can text each other."

Lois, who was standing next to Jason, leaned over to whisper in his ear. "You do realize this means we'll have to get Jon his own phone, right?"

"Go ahead and charge us the bill if you want," Jason shrugged, "It's not like we don't have the money, and if it means Damian is no longer living on an island, it'll be well worth the expense."

"I will hold you to that."

"So, did you have fun?" Jason asked once they were in the air on their way home. Next to him, Cass started scarfing down a pack of sweets Martha had given her for the ride home.

"It was not entirely displeasing. I found some amusement, as you previously said I would," Damian answered, eyes looking out the window. "The half-Kryptonian hybrid was a worthier companion than I thought he'd be."

"So you wouldn't mind if I invited him to visit the Manor some time?"

"…I would not be opposed to it, yes."

"Great." Jason clasped a hand on Damian's shoulder. "I'm glad you made a friend Damian. I'm very proud of you."

Damian perked up, and a small smile appeared on his face.

"So how was the trip to the Kents?"

"Hello, Dickie," Jason greeted his older brother, not even bothering to shift his attention from unpacking.

Dick, clad in his civvies, grinned cheekily. "You didn't answer my question~"

Jason sighed, though there was no heat to it. "If you must know, it went well. Damian managed to make friends with Jon. It's the Super Sons come again."

"Super Sons?"

"A nickname people came up with when they started teaming on the reg."

"Oh." Realization hit Dick like a freight train. "Because they're the biological sons of—"

"Yeah." Jason nodded. "It's nice seeing them like that again, as young as they are. I can almost pretend…"

"Jay?" Dick prompted his younger brother when he began to trail off.

"It doesn't matter," Jason shook his head. "So what are you doing here, Dickie? Problems in Bludhaven, or are you just visiting?"

"The latter. Though I do have a bit of an invitation for you."

"Oh?"

"Since you got to meet Tim's new team and all, I thought it'd be fair if you meet mine as well."

Jason paused, a strange look on his face. "The Titans?"

"Yeah. I'm sure you've worked with a fair few of them."

"I have. Remind me, who's on the current roster for the team?"

Dick hummed, seemingly not suspicious. "Besides myself, there's Damage, Argent, Jesse Quick, Kori, Victor Stone, and the rest of the originals — Garth, Roy, Wally, and Donna." He didn't notice how Jason squeezed the shirt he was holding, just a little tighter.

"Anyone else?"

"Well, Lian of course, and her babysitter Chanda is staying with us too. Just in case you don't want her to know your identity and all."

"Right." Jason took in a deep breath. "Right. Okay."

"So…?"

"When do you want me to meet them?"

"How about next weekend?"

Jason paused as he thought that over. "Yeah, okay. That sounds fine. Are we taking the Bat-Plane again?"

"That's fine," Dick checked his phone, "Oh, gotta go. Almost time for patrol."

"Later, Dickie." Jason held up a hand in farewell as his older brother left the scene.

Alone once again, Jason exhaled another breath. He dropped the shirt, holding a hand to his forehead and another to his heart.

He was doing this. He was really doing this.

You always were a glutton for punishment, Todd.

Chapter Text

The following week, Jason found it easy to shove away the impending doom he felt every time he thought about his upcoming visit to the Titans. Mostly through distractions — he had finally finalized the designs for his new suit and weapon and had sent it along to Lucius Fox. He had been careful to keep the schematics in-line with the current level of technology. It would take some getting used to, not having those tools at his disposal, but hardly a hurdle in the long run.

According to Tim, Damian's overall behavior at was school was less severe. Not enough for his reputation to diminish, but certainly noticeable. It seemed Jon was already having an effect on him; now, whenever he wasn't working on his homework or training or sketching, he was on his phone texting his friend. Jason posited that it wouldn't be long before that texting would shift to talking, and made it a priority to call Clark and see when Jon could visit. Maybe they could spend Thanksgiving together?

Of course, all thoughts of that was cut short when Bruce called him into the Cave Thursday night. The moment he saw Cass standing there, he knew.

"No. Not yet, at least."

"Jason—"

"She's just started speech therapy! She shouldn't start training to be a vigilante so soon!"

"She isn't doing anything else but speech therapy. Most of all, she asked. Are you going to deny her, knowing what she's capable of?"

"Yes!"

His first major argument with Bruce. Yay.

"Jason." Bruce gripped his nose in exasperation. "You can't keep her locked up in here forever."

Jason scowled at him. "I'm not saying I will. I'm just saying it's too soon."

"It's not like I'm going to let her out on the streets tomorrow! She'll have months of training to go through first. By the time she's done she'll be far enough in speech therapy not to be a liability on the field."

"That's not the problem, Bruce. Cass!"

Cass, who had been listening in on the conversation, heeded Jason's call. Her older brother removed his jacket and gestured her towards the mat. She obeyed his command, watching silently as he followed her there.

Jason was still for a moment before he lashed out with a punch. Surprisingly, Cass was unable to react. Her eyes widened at the unexpected blow and she stuttered in her movements, but before it could hit, Jason stopped, and dropped his stance.

"That's why she can't be a vigilante," Jason said angrily, attention back on their father. "She's lost a portion of her body-reading ability thanks to the speech therapy. Without it she's decent but hardly on the level she's supposed to be to make up for her lack of literacy. And guess what? Neither you nor I have the means for her to regain it." Because she had to die to get it all back.

Bruce sighed. "I know," he admitted, "but Richard Dragon might."

Jason froze.

"You didn't."

"Jason—"

"Goddamnit, you did!"

"Jason! I know you're concerned but this is my decision! Cass has already accepted!"

"I don't care!" Jason replied with vehemence, "You bring in Dragon and we get Shiva along with him! If there's anyone who can give her what she wants right now, it's him, and he won't do it! She knows he won't, which is when she'll turn her attention to Cass, which is what we've been trying to avoid! So no way am I—"

"It's already done."

Jason froze a second time. "What."

"I've already called him, Jason," Bruce said tiredly. "He'll be in Gotham next week. We've already set up an apartment and dojo for him to live in."

I'm gonna kill you. Jason was ready to explode, and everyone could see it. Cass inched away.

Bruce stood his ground.

"You can't protect her forever, Jason."

Jason glared at him. He glared even as tears slowly began to gather in the bottoms of his eyes. "Damn you," he whispered. Damn you.

"I'm sorry," Bruce added.

"No," Jason said bitterly. "You're not." He took a deep breath, then turned his attention back to Cass.

"Is this what you want?"

Cass opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

"Cass," Jason asked, and his voice was soft, the hard edges of his face smoothing out. "Is this what you want?"

She paused, before slowly nodding.

"Fine," He exhaled in resignation. "Don't be afraid to ask me for help if you need it. Or training. If you decide you don't want to learn under Dragon, I'll teach you myself."

Her face brightened, and she hugged him. Jason squeezed back, holding her close, as if afraid that if he let go, she'd disappear.

"I love you, Cass." He muttered into her ear, "Always remember that."

He let go, and turned back to Bruce. He face settled back into a frown. "This weekend, Dick is taking me to visit the Titans. I want Damian to go with us."

Bruce matched his expression. "If he's okay with it, then I don't mind."

"Good." The second son turned to leave.

"Jason—"

"Goodbye, Bruce. I'll see you later."

The rest of the week was spent in tense silence. Jason and Bruce avoided speaking to each other unless absolutely necessary, and this being a family of detectives, no one missed it. Alfred was giving looks to both of them, but neither of them conceded to his silent demands.

Jason knew he was being irrational. Deep down, he knew that Cass would always become a vigilante — her guilt complex would've compelled her no matter what Jason said, and even after she moved past it she was too much of a hero not to try. She was a member of their family. This life was in her blood. But even so, seeing her be her innocent self, learning how to talk, to write, watching her interact with the family…he could almost pretend, just for one moment, that she wouldn't do it. That she'd go on to live a normal life, away from the prying eyes of those that would abuse her and her gifts. Away from all the pain her future self went through.

But it wasn't about what he wanted in the end. It was about what she wanted, and Jason had never been able to deny her anything. This would be no different.

And Bruce…he was being hard on Bruce. Too hard. Jason hadn't missed a single word of their confrontation. Cass had asked for this. There had been no hard-lining, no manipulation. Jason would know, he kept a close enough eye on all of his siblings and his father. But even so, Jason had taken his anger out on him.

He regretted that. And as much as he wanted to apologize, all it did was remind him of the other half of their disagreement. Of the decision Bruce made behind his back, to bring in Richard Dragon for tutelage. God, Jason wanted wring his neck for that!

He didn't have a problem with Dragon himself, far from it. Jason had nothing but the utmost respect for him. However, no amount of respect would allow him to disregard all the issues that came with Dragon reappearing. The biggest issue of all, of course, being Shiva.

Jason supposed that was his fault. He had made his distaste for Shiva known, but he had never truly explained why. There was so much to that tale, so much that he wasn't ready to talk about. So much he had yet to say.

So much that he still wasn't going to say.

He had an entire lifetime of memories, and no matter how much Jason talked, it would never be enough.

"Now, be kind to Lian while were there, okay? She's only four and doesn't get to play with a lot of kids her age, so don't be surprised if she latches onto you."

"Yes, yes," Damian puffed out as they waited in the cave for Dick's arrival. "Do we really have to go? I mean, you didn't take me to meet Drake's friends."

"That's because Tim's friends don't know his real identity. Dick's have known his for years, and are completely trustworthy. You'll like them."

Damian hummed and gave Jason a critical look. "Have you met them before?"

"I have," Jason said. I probably know one or two of them even better than Dick, he privately admitted. "Dick took me to meet them back when I was Robin. I even went on a few missions with them. They're good people, Damian. It'll be fine." Quite frankly, it's me I'm more worried about.

"Indeed it will be!"

Dick's boisterous arrival was heralded by his own presence in the current Nightwing suit. In his hands were domino masks and sunglasses, two of the former and one of the latter handed to each of his brothers.

"If they are already aware of our identities then why are you giving us these?" Damian demanded, even as he began placing the masks on, one on top of the other.

"In case you have to go out in public," Dick easily replied, "Just because they're allowed to know our identities does not mean we should give the rest of the world a leg up on figuring out who Nightwing is."

"Then why the masks?"

"You never know," Dick said cryptically.

Jason read between the lines. Bad situations did always tend to crop up during visits like this. He wasn't going to hope otherwise, because that tended to invoke Murphy's Law.

He had more than enough of his fill of Murphy's Law for one life time.

The flight to New York was even shorter than the one to Kansas. To be honest, they probably could have used a vehicle of some sort, but none of them had wanted to get stuck in New York traffic. It was only thirty minutes before Titans Tower was sighted. Or the projection of Titans Tower, in this case.

Dick landed the Bat-Plane in the Titans' hidden hangar. Once they were stabilized and engine turned off, the hatch opened to let them out. From the corner of his eye, he spotted members of the team already congregating around them.

Grant Emerson, aka Damage, who had been long deceased by the time Jason himself had died; Toni Monetti, who had been similarly retired from superheroics for just as long; Cyborg, in his golden Omegadrome form; Jesse Chamber-Wells, whole and hearty and decidedly not one with the Speed Force; and Garth, still active as a superhero, not as Atlantis' ambassador. Even Wally West was there. Jason didn't think their visit warranted the presence of the third Flash, but apparently it did.

It seemed like the only people missing were those Jason feared seeing the most.

He pushed thought that away, instead climbing down from the plane and helping Damian to do the same. Once they were on the ground, they stood next to Dick to face the welcoming committee. Jason stood casually; Damian, not so much. He crossed his arms and stayed close to the younger of his older brothers, eying the Titans speculatively.

"Guys," Dick spread his arms, "I'd like you to meet the Titans."

As Dick started introductions, Jason let his hand reach around to the small of Damian's back. It's comforting, warm presence relaxed the boy immediately, his posture loosening. Even the severe look on his face smoothed out into something more neutral. Jason could spot some of the Titans shooting curious looks at them, and plastered a comforting smile on his face.

"Titans, meet my younger brothers. Many of you have already met Jason." Jason held up a peace sign in greeting. Dick went around him to stand on the other side of Damian, putting one of his hands on the boy's shoulder. "This is our newest and youngest brother, Damian."

"Hello," Damian said stiffly.

"It's good to meet you," Jason added, "Again, in the case of a few of you," he added.

A round of similar greetings followed. Soon, they were walking through the base, taking a tour. Damian remained silent for the most part while Jason frequently interrupted with questions, striking up some small talk with the others. It remained like that for a while, until a small form darted in front of them, tackling Dick's legs.

"Uncle Dick!" A high-pitched voice squealed out.

"Lian!" Dick said just as joyfully, picking the young girl up into his arms.

"You're back!"

"I am," Dick laughed, then began turning around. "I'd like you to meet some people."

Jason's smile softened into something more genuine as he gazed at the young visage of Lian Harper. So much more innocent than the woman he had called his niece, that had become the second Arsenal, and then the third Green Arrow. The death of her father had weighed heavy on her, but to the credit of the Arrows, they had given her much more support than they ever did Roy. As did he; Lian had always been welcome in the Manor when he was alive.

Though, admittedly, he had considered banning her after she met Carrie. The chaos that ensued whenever those two were near each other almost didn't seem worth it.

(That was a lie, of course. Seeing the two of them was like seeing Roy and him all over again.)

"Hello, Lian," Jason said warmly, "I'm Dick's little brother, Jason."

Lian waved at him happily. Then, as if feeling someone's gaze, she looked down and saw Damian staring at her. The slightest hint of red dotted her cheeks, though no one seemed to notice it.

"This is Damian, our youngest brother," Jason explained to her.

"Hello," Lian said, her voice small. She buried her face into Dick's neck, to everyone's surprise.

While Dick jostled her, asking her what was wrong, Jason took a peek at Damian's face. He was looking up at Lian as if he didn't quite know what to make of her. It was a marked difference compared to his initial meeting with Jon, which started with near-instant hostility. Was it Jon that caused the change? Or perhaps it was because Damian didn't know how to react to her young age and gender?

"Lian!"

Now that is a face I don't recognize. This must have been Chanda Madan, Lian's old babysitter. Jason had only heard vaguely of her, though enough to know that Roy should've been way more thorough with the background check when he hired her. A woman of Quraci descent, babysitting Cheshire's daughter? Not Roy's finest moment.

"Sorry about that, Nightwing," she apologized. She took Lian from his arms and into her own. "She got away from me the moment she heard you were here."

"It's alright, Chanda. I got to introduce her to my little brothers." Dick half-turned to face them again, "Jason, Damian, meet Chanda Madan. She's Lian's babysitter when we're out working."

"Pleasure," Jason said, holding out his hand. Chanda smiled awkwardly and shook it. Damian simply gave her a short nod.

"Come on, we still need to visit our last stop of the tour."

"And that would be…?"

"The kitchen!"

"Chili dog, Jason?"

"Thank you very much, Kori," Jason said gratefully, careful to keep his favorite food over the plate so the excess of chili could drip over it. The moment they had gotten to the kitchen, a veritable feast awaited them, with Kori at the helm. After she was introduced, everyone had proceeded to dig in.

Dick was currently talking about a recent mission the Titans were on to a vaguely interested Damian, who kept shooting looks at a staring Lian. Meanwhile, Jason had subconsciously congregated to Kori — unsurprising, considering their deep friendship in the previous timeline. She was one of the few people he would always be comfortable with.

"I'm glad to see you," he said earnestly. She looked so much younger, so much lighter, without the weight of Tamaran's throne to bog her down.

Kori lightly touched his arm, then ruffled his hair. "You as well, my friend. Dick has been…happier, since your return. He smiles more."

Jason's face twisted into something with a little more sorrow. "He took it that badly, huh?"

"He missed your funeral, Jason, and only because your father never deigned to tell him about it. He never quite forgave himself for that."

"Well, there's nothing to forgive. I never blamed him." Not even once. Not for this.

"Yes, but guilt is hardly ever rational," Kori said wisely.

Jason chuckled sadly. "Don't I know it." He took another bite of his chili dog, wiping his mouth after he chewed and swallowed for good measure.

The door to the kitchen banged open. "HONEY, I'M HOME!"

He couldn't help it — he let out a loud guffaw. It was great for keeping the tears at bay when he saw Roy Harper enter the room, carrying some grocery bags. His hair was a bit longer than he remembered, and there was a lightness to him that Jason had only ever seen in him when he was near Lian.

But it was unmistakably Roy, and Jason was so, so happy to see him.

"So, the guest of honor is already here?" Roy joked, setting the bags down so he could greet Jason with a handshake. "Welcome back, Jaybird."

Jason couldn't help but quirk an eyebrow. "Jaybird?"

Roy faltered for a moment. "I mean, if you don't like it—"

"Oh no, I like it fine. It's just that—nobody has ever really called me that." No one except you and Steph, honestly. And she never called me that as much as you did.

Roy grinned. "Well then," he said, clasping a hand on Jason's shoulder, "let me be the first. And who might this munchkin be?" He pointed at Damian.

Damian scowled. Ah, that was far more familiar than the look of perpetual confusion he had on since they'd arrived. Figured it would take the likes of Roy to bring this Damian out.

"Mine and Dick's little brother, Damian. Damian," Jason gestured to Roy, who gave a peace sign, "this is Roy Harper. He's Lian's father."

"Yup!" Roy confirmed, going around the table to pick up the squealing Lian, "this little bundle of joy is all mine, and everyday I wonder how I got so lucky to have her."

"Daddy!" Lian laughed.

Damian was watching them, the scowl gone. Jason for a moment thought he was jealous — Bruce would certainly never be so openly affectionate with his children, as much as they knew he cared — but a closer look destroyed that notion. He seemed to only be observing, almost studying. It was very unlike the Damian Jason knew.

Before Jason could ask him what was going on, another voice echoed throughout the room. "Roy! I might have super strength, but I still only have two arms!"

Jason felt something inside him freeze. Try as he might, he couldn't push it away.

Donna Troy entered the room, an annoyed look on her beautiful face and far too many grocery bags hanging from her wrists. While the Donna he knew looked at least ten years older than she was now, and had stayed at that physical age, she had always seemed so much older. The loss of so many loved ones, of watching the world changing while she remained the same, was aging her much like himself. This Donna had none of that — she seemed every bit as young as she was supposed to be.

It hurt, Jason was ashamed to admit. This wasn't his Donna.

This would never be his Donna.

Get it together, Todd.

"Whoops, sorry Wonder Babe!" Roy apologized, setting Lian down back on her highchair. He helped went over to help, taking a fair number of bags and setting them down with the rest of the groceries.

Donna shook her head in fond exasperation. Jason could sense the moment she saw him, her face lighting up in a way that made his heart clench.

"Jason!"

"Donna," Jason said, a little more softer than he intended. Unlike the others, she immediately pulled him into a hug. After a moment of hesitation, he slowly reciprocated the embrace, trying not to bask in the comforting warmth.

Donna let go a moment later, her face beaming. "Welcome back."

"Thank you," he paused, his mouth left slightly open, "Here. Meet my younger brother. Damian!"

The youngest Wayne blinked, then turned away from his continued surveillance of Lian and towards his older brother.

"This is Donna Troy, Damian. Formerly Wonder Girl. She's Diana's younger sister."

The boy frowned. "Please tell me she's the last person I have to meet today."

"Damian!" Jason gasped out angrily at his younger brother's rudeness.

Donna chuckled. "I am, in fact. So don't worry — you won't have to memorize anymore names."

"He shouldn't be complaining anyway," Jason grumbled, leveling a pointed glare at his brother. "Apologize to Donna, Damian."

"Tt." The boy scoffed. "My apologies, Troy. There are just far more people on my brother's team than I assumed there would be."

"That's because I'm a people person, Little D!" Dick interjected, throwing his arm around Damian's shoulders. Jason resisted the urge to groan.

Here we go.

Damian let out a shriek of rage. "RICHARD! WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT CALLING ME ONE OF YOUR INFERNAL NICKNAMES!"

"Oh, you know you like it!"

"No, I don't."

"Do."

"Don't!"

"Do."

"DON'T!"

"Don't."

"Do!"

"HAH! I knew it!"

"GAH!"

Jason sighed, lifting his fingers to rub his temples. "Children. I'm surrounded by children."

Dick and Damian paid him no mind, now fully embroiled in their argument. Donna patted his arm sympathetically while everyone else laughed.

As the food gradually depleted, the impromptu party began to wind down. Damian was sent off with Chanda and Lian, with a quick reminder from Jason to behave, while everyone else slowly congregated to the living room. Jason was initially the center of attention, with everyone bombarding him questions about what he'd been doing since coming back from the dead. With Dick's helpful deflections, Jason was able to craft a suitable tale that did not contradict the truth while, at the same, time not revealing the entirety of his situation.

The attention gradually shifted from him to the newer members of the family. Jason let Dick handle those, including and especially those involving Tim, whom Jason would've only known for the past few weeks since coming home. Wally would know the truth eventually, but there was no need to give him or anyone else tips just yet.

It was in the midst of one of these tales that Jason noticed Donna had gone missing. Noting how everyone was completely focused on Dick, it was easy to slip away. He left the living room and walked down the hall back towards the kitchen, where he could spot the vague movement of her shadow.

When he arrived, he saw that she had begun cleaning up all by her lonesome. There was purpose to her actions, but settled with the sort of aimlessness you would find with someone in the middle of deep thought. She was troubled by something, Jason realized, and was trying to be productive while she worked through it.

"Donna."

Donna immediately stopped what she was doing and stood straight up. She looked at Jason, and tried to plaster what was clearly a fake grin on her face.

"Jason! Hey! I was just cleaning up. You should go back to the others, they're probably missing you already."

"If they are, they'll send someone to get me soon enough," Jason commented. "Here. Let me help you."

"Jason, no, you're a guest—"

"Donna. Please."

Donna's face fell. She exhaled before silently leaving him to it, returning to her own work. Side-by-side, they placed dishes and utensils in the sink, unfinished food in the fridge and any excess in one of the large trash bags Donna had taken out. It was all very domestic, and reminded Jason of a different time and a different place, where it was his own cooking and his own kitchen and just them during late nights, having a meal and working on Justice League business. Nights that ended with them asleep at the table, only to awaken when Helena or Terry were there to tell them it was time for patrol, knowing full well they weren't allowed out on their own without their father's permission.

Jason inhaled deeply. Don't go there, Jason.

Soon, the kitchen was clean of trash and all that was left was leftover food stains and the like. Donna crouched in front of the cabinet under the sink and took out soap, sponges, and towels, handing one of each to Jason. He began to scrub away at the counter while she started on the dishes. It was midway through that Jason decided it was finally time to bite the bullet.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"I don't know, a penny might not be enough…" Donna said jokingly, opening the dishwasher so she could store her first clean dish.

"Is this because I'm loaded? Are you trying to extort money from the poor rich kid?" Jason joked back.

"What can I say? Us Titans can't rely on Garth's steady stream of sunken treasure forever."

"I don't know about that — a lot of gold has been lost down there, I doubt he'll be running out anytime soon."

"Yeah, but your money replenishes itself. I'd bet my bracelets that your family is making more money right this second than I have my entire life."

Jason chuckled. "Oh, I wouldn't go that far."

Donna giggled alongside him, and soon they were laughing together. Whatever tension leftover disappeared, if only for that one moment.

"Seriously, though," Jason said as the mirth gradually subsided, "What's wrong?"

Donna sighed. "It's nothing, or nothing to do with you. It's just — when they started talking about past missions and everything, it hit a little close to home."

"How so?"

"Right," Donna shook her head, "You wouldn't know."

Jason had an inkling about what this was. He and Donna had shared everything with each other back when they were in the Justice League together. Judging by the timeline, she could only be talking about one thing.

But he couldn't say anything. Not ever.

So he did the next best thing. He prompted her.

"I don't," he said, and it was technically right, "But I'm a good listener and I can keep a secret. So, if you want to talk…"

"How modest."

"One of my many great qualities," Jason said with flourish, rubbing down on one particularly stubborn spot. "If you don't want to, though—"

"Actually," Donna cut in, a little awkwardly, "I do."

"Oh. Well then, go on ahead." Smooth Todd, real smooth.

Donna allowed herself a little smirk, then another breath as she readied herself. "Well, I guess we should start from the beginning, with Diana…"

"…and just like that, I was back, with powers and everything but my memories — they're so imprecise. I have an ex-husband and a son, a thing going on with the new Green Lantern and this non-relationship with Roy — and that's just my love life! Every time I look in the mirror, I keep wondering if I really am the Donna Troy they knew or just an idealized copy made from the memories of one of her closest friends," Donna finished, burying her head into her hands, "It's all just a mess."

Jason hummed as he thought her words over. Terry and Robert Long were still alive — that was unexpected. Apparently Donna and Kyle had yet to actually become a couple (unsurprising, considering that Parallax was still running around) but still had some sexual tension between them. Then there was the whole Roy thing; Jason genuinely hoped that worked out for them. Donna still had a tender heart for Roy even years after his death, same as him. It was another facet of the bond they shared. Maybe now, with Roy alive again…

"Jason?" Donna was looking at him now, wondering why he was so silent. Jason berated himself for getting lost in thought like that.

"Sorry Donna, just…thinking," Jason rubbed the back of his head, "Your story actually reminds me of my own."

Donna blinked in surprise. "Really?"

"Really," Jason affirmed. "I died Donna. It may not have been as expansive as living hundreds of tragic lives, but it was equally traumatic. And the method from which I was brought back…well, it wasn't nearly as kind as yours."

"I get…flashes. Something overcomes me, a green haze that tells me to hurt, to kill. I've managed to fight it off, but…it just makes think," he sighed. "I look at old news reports, files, pictures, and I can't help but wonder if it was Jason Todd that came back, or someone else. Something else."

"Jason…" Donna didn't know what to say.

"I'll never know whether that's true or not. Just like how we'll never really know whether or not you're the Donna your friends and family loved," Jason shrugged, "It's the sad reality we live in. But you know what?"

"What?"

"It doesn't matter. Whatever that fog is telling me to be, that's not who I want to be. So that's not what I'm going to be," Jason peered at her searchingly, "It's the same with you. Maybe you're the real Donna, maybe you aren't, or maybe you're just something in-between. But the person you are now, and the person you're going to be in the future — that's all up to you, and no one else. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Donna stared at him, eyes wide, mouth open. Jason ducked his head away.

"I'm sorry. I guess that doesn't—"

"No, no," Donna hastily intervened. "It's good advice. I…just wish I could follow it, you know? Sometimes it feels like my past keeps changing, and I feel so rooted by it that I can't focus on the future like you can. What if I want to be the person I was before? What if I want to be the old Donna Troy?"

Jason gazed at her sadly, a bitter smile on his lips. "That's impossible, Donna. People are always changing. The person you are today, won't be the person you are tomorrow. You might be able to go back to some facsimile of that Donna, but you'll never really be her. Just like how I will never be the same Jason." He looked far away, far beyond her. "Too much has happened for that, no matter how much we want it."

"Yeah," Donna said sadly. "I guess you're right."

The period of silence fell over them. There was sorrow, but there was also comfort. Two lost souls, bonding over the strange, familiar world they were in.

"So," Jason asked casually, "Did I make it worse or did I make it better?"

Donna laughed. "Better," she snorted out, "Definitely better. I might not remember much, Jason, but I remember enough of you to know that you haven't changed that much." She reached over and ruffled his hair. "You're still such a sweetheart."

Jason smiled up at her brightly. Before he could say anymore, a loud piercing wail echoed throughout the base. Judging the high pitch and the feminine undertone, it was easy to figure out who it was coming from. The two of them exchanged a look before rushing towards the direction of Lian's room.

Unsurprisingly, they got there after Roy.

"Lian!" Roy yelped, picking up the crying girl. Lian threw her tiny arms around his neck, cuddling him close for comfort.

Jason's eyes darted around the room until he spotted Damian, who was guarding Chanda. He was glaring at the floor, holding a broom that was far too big for him aloft, as if he were in battle. Chanda was shivering behind him, eyes blown up in terror.

"Damian," his younger brother lifted his eyes to meet his, "what happened?"

"We were having a mock tea party until Lian noticed a large spider crawling on the ground below us," Damian explained, still batting away at the imaginary enemy, "It's gone now."

"Then why is she crying?"

"She stubbed her toe trying to run from it."

Everyone blinked. Roy frowned and looked down at Lian's feet, and there it was. The big toe on her right foot was red and had unusually tender skin.

"Oh, honey," Roy began rubbing at the toe. Lian sniffled at the initial sting but gradually began to relax as the pain started to fade. She patted his arm, signaling her father to let her back down, which he reluctantly complied to.

"Damian!" She ran towards his playmate, pulling him forward into a hug. To Jason's surprise, he returned it, patting her back gently.

"Aw, they look so cute together," Donna commented next to him.

"What do you mean by that?" Roy asked, suddenly suspicious.

Donna wiggled her eyebrows teasingly. "I mean that maybe you should watch out when Lian's older. Wayne boys tend to be heartbreakers when they're older. Isn't that right, Jay?" She turned to Jason, only for her smirk to drop when she saw him staring into space. "Jay?"

Jason didn't hear her. His mind was elsewhere.

"Helena, why is it I'm only meeting your prom date tonight?" Jason demanded his daughter, face stewing.

Helena rolled her eyes.  "Because I didn't want you to scare him off. Besides, if you had really wanted to find out who it was, you could've done it within hours of finding out I had a date at all."

Jason refused to admit that she had a point. Instead, he continued to grumble angrily as the doorbell to the Manor finally rang, signaling the arrival of Helena 's date. Before his daughter could reach the door, Jason made it there first, intent on giving the boy who had dared to enchant his Helena a piece of his mind.

He opened the door  — and froze.

Standing there, utterly nervous and reeking of fear, was Damian Kent. Dam-El. The full Kryptonian, half-El, half-Zod, clone-brother-son of Conner, Jon, and Lara Kent. Named after Jason's own little brother Damian Wayne. The current Superboy. A hero that Jason himself had trained personally. Someone that Jason thought very fondly of.

And now, the boy who had done the unspeakable crime of asking out Jason 's youngest daughter on a date. To  Prom  no less.

Jason felt the anger within him grow into something cold, dark and foreboding.

"Hi, Mr. Wayne," It seemed Dam recognized what kind of thin ice he was on, because he addressed him formally instead of the 'Jason' his mentor insisted on when they first met. "I'm Helena's date for tonight. Is she here?"

Jason stared at him.

"Mr. Wayne?"

"Dad!" Helena, pouting, pushed him aside. Jason suddenly realized how beautiful his daughter looked, with her hair down and her makeup accentuating and refining the natural beauty she had inherited from her biological mother. Silently, he cursed both Selina's genes and Stephanie's impeccable makeup skills.

As he watched his daughter and his former student awkwardly flirt together, Jason felt the rage within him gradually begin to simmer away, and sighed. Well, if it had to be any boy, a Kent was probably the best he could hope for.

Still …

"Helena, sweetie, do you mind if Damian and I have a little private talk?"

Helena turned to scowl at him.  "Dad!" she whined.

Damian patted her shoulder,  "It's alright, Helena," he said, handing her the bouquet of flowers he brought with him. Helena blushed as she took the bouquet, twisting a lock of her hair and giggling.

Jason resisted the urge to grind his teeth. Instead, he plastered a smile and threw an arm around Damian 's shoulder, guiding him towards the staircase and leaning in close so his precious daughter couldn't overhear.

"Now, Damian, I trust you. Not only are you a Kent, but you're also one of my students. You've met my standards, both as a hero and as a man," Jason started, noting how the boy was trying to stop fidgeting. "Still, Helena is my little girl, and I only want the best for her. So—"

"When do you want her home?"

"Before midnight, preferably. Two a.m. at the latest."

"State of dress?"

"Not a hair out of place."

"Level of intimacy?"

"Kisses and hugs only. The former on the cheeks and foreheads. Maybe one or two on the lips, but that's it. Any more and I'll know."

"Happiness?"

"She better be over the moon. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Damian said firmly.

Jason slapped his back affectionately.  "Good man. And a quick reminder: I have a vault full of Kryptonite downstairs,  and  I 'm not afraid to use it . "

Damian shivered.

Internally, Jason smirked. Still got it, he couldn't help but boast inside his head.

"Don't worry," Jason said comfortingly to a sputtering Roy, "I'll make sure they won't date until they're thirty."

That did not help. At all.

It wasn't long after the incident with Lian that the visit to Titans wrapped up. After goodbyes were said, Dick flew Jason and Damian back home to the Manor. The moment they were back in the Cave, Damian jumped off the Bat-Plane for the sanctity of his room, no doubt wanting to spend the rest of his free time before dinner texting with Jon. That left Jason and Dick all by themselves.

"So, I saw you spending a lot of time with Donna there," Dick noted casually as he closed the hatch of the plane.

Jason, who was stretching his body, shrugged. "She wanted advice. So I gave it to her."

"Were you two close in the other timeline?"

"…Yeah. We were close."

Dick peered down at him silently. His older brother was perceptive, after all.

"Don't, Dick," Jason said tiredly, eyes lost. "It doesn't matter." Not anymore, at least.

Dick looked like he wanted to protest that, but decided otherwise. He sighed, then put on his signature grin. "Want to head up to the kitchen? See what Alfred's cooking up?"

Jason smirked. "Better change first, Dickie. You know the rules."

"Yeah, yeah, no work upstairs," Dick groaned, walking over to the showers, "Wait for me, please?"

"You got five minutes, then I'm ditching your slow ass."

"Jay!"

Jason laughed.

Chapter Text

"Richard Dragon arrived yesterday," Bruce said slowly, eyes still trained on the paper.

Jason, who was in the midst of making a stew, didn't falter as he continued to make clockwise turns with a wooden spoon. "Is that so? Has he already settled in?"

"Yes. He's ready to start teaching Cass tomorrow," There was a small pause, "Would you mind taking her?"

"No," Jason said instantly, "Text me the address."

"Alright."

There was another lull in silence.

"Jason…your suit is almost done." It's clear Bruce wanted to say something else, but decided to change tact at the last moment.

Now that was something that caught Jason's attention. "When will it be delivered?"

"Two weeks from today. You'll need to test it before you start going out in the field again."

Jason hummed. "Spar with me?"

"…Sure."

It was a start.

The next day after breakfast, Jason helped Cass pack up a gym bag and took her to the building where Richard Dragon had set up shop. Throughout the trip, things were silent; though not because of Cass' lack of speech. She was aware he wasn't happy with this arrangement, and was doing her best not to antagonize him. Jason privately admitted that this was pointless — he had never been able to stay mad at Cass for any appreciable amount of time. There was a reason she was everyone's favorite.

He parked the car in the visitor's garage and led her up the stairs to the lobby. After registering with the security guard, they were directed to an elevator at the end of the corridor, one that was much more spacious than the others. It was clearly one not often used, as the elevator cart was already there when they clicked the up button, empty and free of any other patrons. Jason ushered his sister inside and clicked the button for the top floor, where the penthouse was located, only relaxing when the elevator closed, finally giving them privacy.

"Remember Cass," Jason said once they were completely alone, "If you don't want to do this, just say so. No one will hold it against you."

Cass simply smiled at him and gently patted him on the cheek. Jason was tempted, just for a moment, to reject her affirmation. To fight her on this, to talk to her about why, exactly, she wanted to do this. But he couldn't. She was his sister.

There wasn't anything in the world he wouldn't do for her.

The elevator chimed, and when they got out, Dragon was already there, waiting for them in front of the door. The two of them couldn't help but stop and stare at him for a long moment.

Richard Drakunovski, aka Richard Dragon, was a tall, muscular Eurasian man with striking red hair. He was younger than Jason had last seen him, though still carried himself with a gait that bespoke his sheer experience as a fighter. To someone like Jason and Cass, trained to assess threats at a glance, it wouldn't be hard to believe this man was a contender for being the greatest martial artist in the world.

Dragon, for his part, was observing them just as closely. His gaze landed on Jason first, though he betrayed nothing beyond a slight narrowing of the eyes. When he looked at Cass, however, both of them could see the flash of recognition. Richard Dragon knew Lady Shiva well, after all. They had traveled together, fought together and against each other. He was her greatest rival — and quite possibly, the only man who truly held a place in her heart. He'd know her daughter anywhere.

Silently, he shifted away and opened the door, silently gesturing for his new student to enter. Cass hesitated, but a comforting hand on the back and an encouraging smile from Jason invigorated her, and she followed her new teacher's instruction. Dragon followed after her for a moment, whispering to her to change, before going back outside. He faced Jason again, face completely neutral.

"Your father said you don't approve of me," he stated bluntly.

"Actually, I approve of you greatly," Jason corrected him. "I know she'll be fine under your tutelage. What I don't approve of is what you'll bring with you once word gets out that you're out of hiding."

Dragon hummed. "I can't blame you for that," he admitted. Denying it would be pointless; Richard Dragon was one of the best, and that came with its own pitfalls, something they were both well aware of.

Jason nodded along, burying his hands in his pockets. "She'll come. For both of you."

"She will."

"…Protect her. Please. She's just a child that wants to do good."

Dragon reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, uncharacteristically gentle. "You have my word."

Just this once, Jason smiled at him.

Two weeks passed. Just as Bruce said, his new suit arrived, designed exactly to his specifications. It was almost completely black with the exception of red accents on the forearm and shin guards, and the red bat symbol splashed in the center. Accompanying it was a specially-designed black domino mask that had many of the Batman suit's safeguards, including electrification in case anyone outside of the Family tried to take it off his face, and a face mask to cover his mouth and filter away any impurities. He'd rather not die of lung cancer this time around, thank you very much.

As for the equipment, his utility belt was standard. Batarangs, listening equipment, smoke capsules, tear-gas capsules, trackers, mini-explosives, sedatives, taser gun…it would take too long to list the contents, which was just fine to him. And as for his weapon…

Jason picked up the black escrima sticks, clicking the buttons and watching the current of electricity run through them. Satisfied with that, he turned them around and looked at the ends, lips curling when he saw them.

Let 's see if this works…

"Are you sure about this, Master Bruce?" Alfred murmured as he helped Bruce settle into his suit.

Bruce grunted. "Jason needs a trial run with his suit and I need to know what he's fully capable of. No matter how young he is now, he was still a Batman. And that means the only person that can test him," he pulled his cowl up, "is another Batman."

"But sir, considering how…tense…things have been between you two, don't you think it would be more prudent to wait?"

Batman simply stared at him, then left.

Alfred sighed. Why must violence always be the answer in this family?

"Have you decided on a codename?" Was the first thing that came out of Batman's mouth when he met with his son. Both of them were in full gear, dressed for combat.

"Knight, just for now." The newly-dubbed Knight rolled his shoulders, loosening them. "If it doesn't fit, I'll think of something new later."

"Very well then," Batman gave him a single nod. "Are you ready?"

For this specific sparring session, he had used the JLA's teleporter technology and had them transported to a large, abandoned warehouse located at the outskirts of Gotham. There, he had generated a hard-light reconstruction of a section of Crime Alley for them to fight in. One where they would be able to fight freely in, without holding back.

"What are the conditions for victory?" Knight asked, crossing his arms.

"Capture or submission."

"Not knockout?"

"No," Batman took a deep breath, "We're not trying to actively harm each other. I still have to go out on patrol tonight."

Knight hummed. Then he threw down a smoke capsule.

Batman automatically jumped back, using his cape to cover his mouth from the fumes. Smart. He readied himself for retaliation, but when the smoke cleared, Knight was nowhere to be seen. Batman narrowed his eyes, using his cowl's in-built HUD system to parse through the dark shadows of the building. The warehouse's lighting was minimal, allowing the reconstruction to maintain enough brightness to convey a standard night in Gotham.

When the display failed to pick anything out, Batman took a chance and used his grappling hook to fly up to the nearest rooftop. Just as he landed, he was beset by a body slamming into him, sending him skidding. He managed to stop himself before he fell off the building, but when turned around to retaliate, Knight wasn't there. Batman licked his lips. Stealth certainly wasn't a problem with this son.

He jumped to another rooftop, and then to another, where there was far more space. Then he waited. The conditions for victory meant they couldn't avoid each other forever, and Knight knew well that this was an assessment as much as it was a trial run. He would have to go after his father eventually.

Batman was proven right five minutes later when he felt the slightest change air behind the back of his head. He ducked down, letting the kick fly over him. Knight reoriented his body, landing in a way that allowed that same leg to swing again, this time towards his opponent's legs. Batman jumped over that too, flipping away and throwing two batarangs in retaliation. Knight immediately drew one of the escrima sticks on his back and knocked them away, then retreated himself the moment they began flashing red. He managed to make it to the next rooftop just as the batarangs exploded, leaving cracked concrete in their wake.

Given a brief reprieve, Batman saw Knight draw the other escrima stick, holding one in each hand. For a moment, he saw Nightwing where his second son stood, and shook his head. He'd ruminate over that later.

This time, he took the initiative. He disappeared back into the shadows, careful to keep watch as Knight climbed down the building, searching for him. He remained blended, waiting until his son was close, and then launched himself. Knight immediately dropped to the ground to avoid his lunge, and soon the two were at it, Batman's gauntlets meeting the black metal in a furious series of blows.

One escrima stick was eventually knocked away, but that didn't deter Knight in the least. He ducked down, and before Batman could blink his chin was kicked upwards. He retreated, rubbing his sore jaw and wondering how his opponent managed to get the leverage for such a powerful blow. As he lifted his eyes, he froze.

Knight's last remaining escrima stick had extended into a full-length bo-staff. The vigilante in question twirled it expertly, before bending down into a ready stance. Batman felt his heart beat erratically, as he remembered the account Tim told him of his first training session with his older brother. He had mentioned that, according to Jason, the bo-staff was his primary weapon, had he not?

Before Batman could ponder over that more, he was almost struck by Knight, who had cleared the difference between them in record time. He swung one end and then other, twisting and turning and striking glancing hits. It took time for his opponent to adjust, but soon one of Batman's gauntlets met the middle of the staff, where the extended junction served as its weak spot. Knight kicked him in the chest before the weapon could break, sending him a distance away again.

He took out the other escrima stick again, clicking a button on the other one to make it shorten back to its original length. Batman was about to charge once more, but stopped when he saw Knight bundle the sticks together. The two sticks latched on to each other, merging and morphing into a sword-like shape, long and sharp with a guard and handle. Knight swung the sword expertly, before pointing it directly at Batman.

Polymorphic technology. I did give Lucius the carte blanche to use whatever he needed to meet the full specifications of Jason's suit. And the sword… Damian used a sword in battle. For their training sessions, they used wooden ones, but in an actual fight, there's no doubt he used a real one. And this — this couldn't be a coincidence. Oh, Jason…

Batman didn't have time to think anymore. Knight closed the distance again, swinging the sword with quick, precise blows that Batman struggled to block. Batman might have the advantage in strength, but Knight undoubtedly beat him in speed and mobility. He knew how to use his body, no matter what shape it was in. It was all the hallmarks of an experienced combatant.

The fight continued for some time. Just when Batman thought he was making headway, Knight would switch weapons and catch him off guard. The quickness in which he would do it — going from sticks to the sword to the staff and then jumbling it up all over again — spoke of years of practice and development. This style did not come out of nowhere. It was built up, piece by piece, refined over the years into something truly unique, with a kind of slavish devotion that few had. Something near impossible to duplicate without some otherworldly power or technology.

Jason… Batman had seen enough. This was too much for today. They could continue the assessment later.

He waited until he saw it — the twitch indicated a switch, the slightest of openings, and punched through, hitting his son right in the chest. Knight skidded back, using his gloved fingers to slow down the slide. He looked up, and saw the net coming for him. Without even thinking, he clicked another button one of his sticks, morphing it into a short sword, and cut through his intended prison. He did the same with other stick, standing up and ready with dual blades now.

Batman clicked his teeth in frustration. A new style. This must be Jason's weapon. It only made sense. From what he understood, in the previous timeline Cass preferred unarmed combat. That left only Jason, and Jason had stopped using guns when he became Batman. And from what little he gleaned from his son's time with the All-Caste, he had these weapons mastered before all the others. Jason had made it a point to make sure the third Batman avoided as much association with the deceased Red Hood as much as possible, and if it was known that the Red Hood used this style…no wonder it took so long to come out.

The battle begun anew, and now Batman had to account for that fourth weapon, making things even more difficult. He was beginning to tire. He was nowhere close to hanging it up yet, but he simply didn't have the youthful exuberance he used to when he was first starting out. And while Knight might be even older than he was, his body was young. He could keep going much longer than Batman could.

If he wanted to win, he needed to get that weapon away from his son. That would even the playing field, force them to unarmed combat. And while Jason might be skilled in that field as well, he lacked the height and weight he used to have for his original style. With no weapon to equalize things, it would just be a matter of catching his son.

He had to wait until Knight was using the single sword again. The sticks and the blades were dual weapons, and he only needed one of them to switch to the staff. But the sword — the sword required both, and taking it out would leave his son with his fists and feet only. He just needed to time it at the right moment.

He got his wish mere seconds later. Knight took his two blades and attached them together, lengthening back into the sword. He started slashing away once more, trying to cut into his father's armor. Batman waited, and just when Knight had lifted the sword with one hand in preparation for a downward strike, he made his move. Quick as a whip, he brandished a batarang and threw it with more force than usual. It hit its mark, knocking the sword out of Knight's hand and sending it flying quite a ways away.

Knight only had a moment to observe his suddenly bereft hands before he had to dodge a punch to the face. He dodged two more before countering with one of his own and then using Batman's knee as a launching pad for a kneestrike. Batman barely whiffed that one, but was unprepared for Knight using the opportunity to grab his arm and lock him into a hold, his leg squeezing his opponent's neck. Struggling for a moment, Batman fell forward, breaking the hold with the force of the ground. Knight grunted in pain and let go, rolling away.

This was getting out of hand. One of them had to patrol tonight (it being the weekend, meaning Robin was out with Young Justice), and at this rate neither of them would be able to.

Taking a chance, Batman lunged forward, pinning his son down with his bigger body. Using his hand, he forced Knight's head back with a painful pull. The boy was struggling with all his might, but the difference in strength was too much.

"Yield," Batman growled out, wincing when Knight hit somewhere close to a particularly sensitive area. "Yield!"

Knight was panting. But evidently deciding that this was no longer a battle worth continuing, he let out a reluctant "I yield."

Batman immediately fell over, giving them both freedom. They stayed like that, side-by-side, resting for God knows how long. That had gotten far more intense than either of them had intended.

"Jason…that style you were using…" Bruce struggled to get the words out.

"You noticed, huh?" Jason didn't sound particularly surprised. "What about it?"

"…Why?"

Jason seemed to ponder over that for a long moment, blowing out a loose lock of hair out of his face. "…When you died, everyone knew it. They knew because Dick — Nightwing — disappeared around the same time, and Batman's style changed abruptly. He was quicker, lighter on his feet, not to mention he was quite a few inches shorter."

"The same wasn't true when Dick died. The Justice League never publicized the second Batman's death, because that's not how Batman works. We're the shadows, not the light. So, I decided to take advantage of that. Dick had been teaching me escrima ever since he became Batman again. It was his way of freshing up on it, and my way of both spending time with him and learning a new weapon. So when I became Batman, I started using them so no one would realize Dick and I were different people. I was leaner than you, but taller than Dick, so it didn't always work, but it worked enough for me to be satisfied."

"And the others?"

"I had the same arrangement with Tim that I did with Dick. After Tim died, it just felt right, you know? To honor him. I made my escrima sticks extendable, and if I lost one, I would be able to switch weapons easily. And after Damian…well, I had the sword mastered long before either of the others. You can't wield two without knowing how to wield one first, and all that. So I added in his weapon as well." Jason shrugged. "But as for the style I just showed you? Someone else gave me the idea for that."

Bruce blinked. "Who?"

"Richard Dragon."

The older man sat up immediately at that, wincing, before looking down at his still inert son. "You were trained by Dragon?"

"I was. I was one of his last students, I believe," Jason sat up as well, rolling his shoulders. He pulled his knees slightly up, letting his arms hang over them. "He only isolated himself more the older he got."

"That explains its potency," Bruce muttered. "You must've been a terror as Batman." He sounded approving.

Jason smirked. "A lot of people said I had a gift. He was the one who made me open it and use it."

Bruce hummed. "Why did you seek out training with him?"

"I didn't, actually," Jason admitted, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. "I went searching for him for a different reason."

Bruce frowned. "What other reason could you possibly have?"

"…Cass."

The elephant in the room. Of course.

"What happened? Why would you need him for Cass?" Dragon would no doubt be getting in on his years by then. Cass would have long surpassed him in combat ability, just from what Jason had told him she was capable of in her prime.

Jason sighed. "After Damian died, I wasn't at my best. Neither was she. We kept close, because in some ways we were all the other had left. Us and Alfred. But I—I grew overprotective," he looked ashamed, "Enough that I drove her away."

"'Drove her away'? Jason, what do you mean by that?" Bruce put a comforting hand on his son's shoulder, urging him forward.

"From Gotham," Jason clarified for him. "I drove her away from Gotham. I was stifling, controlling, and she couldn't handle it. So she left, said we needed time away from each other. At the time I resented her for it as much as I resented myself, but in hindsight, she was right. We were becoming scarily co-dependent, and that wouldn't have ended well in the long run."

"She went to Bludhaven, which was in need of her protection again now that Damian was dead. And she let me keep track of her for a while until…until she vanished."

Bruce furrowed his eyebrows but said nothing, silently asking his son to continue.

"It was about a week before I went searching for her. I would've gone after her sooner, but around that time is when Carrie started showing up as Robin. While I was distracted with that, something big went down. Really big. And when Cass didn't show up to help…" Jason exhaled. "That's when I started getting really worried."

"What could have possibly…" Suddenly, a metaphorical light bulb went on above Bruce's head. "Shiva. She went after Cass around that time, didn't she?"

Jason said nothing.

"Jason, tell me everything." Bruce ordered firmly, allowing no quarter. "Don't think I haven't noticed. You're not just afraid of Shiva finding Cass, you're terrified of it. Fear like that doesn't come from nowhere, so explain. Now." He added extra emphasis on the last word, displaying how he wasn't taking any half-answer anymore.

And Jason — Jason closed his eyes, sighing once more. "When Cass was Batgirl, she defeated Shiva in a duel. Obviously, Cass didn't kill her, but it stuck with Shiva regardless. You and I both know what Shiva wants, so when she started getting older and no one else managed to replicate the feat, she became desperate. So desperate that it was…" He shook his head. Obviously, it was something extreme

"So she started hounding Cass again because she knew that Cass could give her what she wanted. I surmised that much."

"You don't know the half of it, Bruce." Jason said, a little more roughly than he wished. "Sandra Wu-San never got over losing her sister. At least part of her motivation for becoming Lady Shiva was so her sister's death would not be in vain. That it would be honored in some way. After all, she slept with her sister's murderer and conceived a child with him in exchange for her own life — something had to make up for that."

"As far as she's concerned, Lady Shiva is Carolyn's legacy as much as it is Sandra's. And when you carry a legacy, you do everything you can to make sure nothing taints it." Jason laid back down, eyes focused on the ceiling above. "And when that legacy is that of a warrior, especially one of Shiva's caliber, there is no greater taint to it than age."

Bruce swallowed.

"You understand, don't you?" Jason let a small, bitter smirk cross his face. "We're like Shiva. We play ourselves up as this unbeatable legend, this otherworldly, incomprehensible force, and it's the biggest lie we tell the world. Because we're not any of those things. We're human. And humans age. They grow old." His voice dropped in volume. "They grow weak."

"Shiva wasn't the best anymore, and she knew it." Bruce finished for him, having connected the dots. "So the only way to make sure her legacy held up was to die in battle, against a great warrior. And who better than someone who beat her in her prime? Who better than her own daughter?"

"Exactly."

There was another beat, a momentary silence.

"Cass didn't do it."

"No, she didn't."

"…Did you?"

Jason remained quiet.

"Jason—"

"Perhaps," his son cut him off, taking a deep breath, "We should start at the beginning."

"You sure about this, Jay?" Stephanie couldn't help but ask one more time, arms crossed. She was wearing her Batwoman suit, but with her cowl down, revealing her long blond hair and blue eyes. "I'm worried too, but she can take care of herself. Are you sure you don't want to wait?"

"Positive," Jason reaffirmed, strapping the last of his weapons in the suitcase. Unlike her, he wasn't wearing his suit; instead he was wearing short-sleeved black shirt and a pair of tight tactical pants and boots. Slung over a nearby chair was a dark beige jacket with some heat tech cleverly sewn inside for particularly cold nights. Who knew where this trip would take him?

"But Gotham needs you! You have so many responsibilities here — not just Batman, but the company, the Justice League—"

"I've been on leave from the League since Damian died," Jason pointed out, grateful he managed to keep his voice even. Even though it had been months since then, the pain of that loss still felt raw. "Luke can handle the company while I'm gone, especially with Lucius in his corner. And as for Gotham…it'll still be standing by the time I come back. And I will come back, Steph, I promise you."

Stephanie still wasn't satisfied. "Jason, Gotham needs a protector. Duke can't protect it day and night and Luke will have to cut back on his hours as Batwing to run the company. There's no one else—"

"There is," Jason interrupted her, "There's you."

The former Batgirl dropped her jaw. She quickly snapped it close and shook her head vigorously. "No, no way. You can't be serious."

"I am. While I'm gone, I'm leaving Gotham under your protection. You'll have full access to the Cave and its facilities. The Family will be under your command during major crises. If need be, the League will call on you for help, not me."

"Jason…" Stephanie was almost on the verge of hyperventilating now.

Jason couldn't have that. He stepped forward, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Hey, look at me. I wouldn't put this all on you if I didn't think you could handle it. Kate chose you to be her successor before she died for a reason, Steph. This is why."

His friend stared at him for a long moment, then pulled him into a strong hug. Jason hesitated only for a moment before returning it. All he had lost over the years had taught him that such gestures of affection should be cherished, not pushed away.

"I still think you're making a mistake," Stephanie muttered in his ear, though there was no heat to it.

"I'm not," Jason said firmly, pulling her away to look at her again. "I trust you, Steph."

Stephanie smiled at him.

"That being said, I can't deny they're might be threats that the Family can't handle on its own. So, your comm has a direct link to Clark — just call on him and he'll bail you out," He paused for a moment, "There's also Alfred, but…try not to rely on him too much."

"I know," Stephanie nodded solemnly. No one in the Family was blind to Alfred's deteriorating state. Even now he was in his room sleeping, no longer able to handle the long nights that demanded so much from them.

"Good. And as for the students, focus on the mental first. Detective skills, computer literacy, that sort of thing. Any combat training should only be limited to the basics. Jon already knows those but Carrie…" Jason shrugged, "Either way, I want her and I to train them in the advanced material."

"Got it," Stephanie saluted him, causing Jason to lightly push her in annoyance and amusement. She giggled in turn, causing him to shake his head.

"I'm going to miss you, Steph."

"And I'm going to miss you, Jay. Bring her back to us, alright?"

"That's the plan," his eyes were far away, "Let's hope it goes our way."

"Now, listen to Steph, alright?" Jason said seriously to Carrie, crouching down a bit so they were eye-level, "For all intents and purposes, she's me for the time being while I'm gone. Hopefully that won't be too long."

"Okay," the girl agreed, though there was a bit of confusion on her face, "But where are you going?"

Jason looked up to meet Jon's eyes, and the younger man instantly understood. "You're going to get Cass."

"Cass?"

"Cassandra Cain-Wayne. His sister. You would know her as the Black Bat."

"The Black Bat!" Carrie exclaimed in genuine surprise, "But she's an urban legend!"

"Oh no," Jason smirked, "She's every bit as real as you and me. And I'm going to get her back."

Carrie frowned. "But why was she gone in the first place?"

Jason sighed and started rubbing the back of his head. "It was my fault," he admitted, "We had a bit of a falling out after the death of our youngest brother four months back."

"Oh." And now she looked guilty.

"It's alright. I'm in a better place now, and hopefully she'll see that when we see each other again," he rubbed his arms. "It might be selfish, but I need her here, not wherever she is now."

"Why?" Carrie couldn't help but ask.

"Because she's an amazing vigilante, and Gotham needs all the protectors she can get," Jason paused, then continued, "Because she's the greatest fighter I've ever known, and if you're going to do this, I won't settle for you learning from anything less than the best." Carrie blushed at that one.

"But most of all, it's because she's my sister, and I love her. No matter what happens, I can't stand to leave things like this between us forever. I've already lost so much — I refuse to lose her too."

"And you won't," Jon agreed, face settled into something determined. "Don't worry about us Jay — we'll behave for Steph. You just worry about Cass."

"Good," Jason looked back at Carrie, and brushed her hair back with his hands. "Steph will start you on your training. Cass and I will take over when we come back. Okay?"

Carrie nodded, then darted over to hug him. Jason froze before slowly returning it, patting her softly on the back. After a moment, they let go of the embrace, allowing Jason to stand back up. He exchanged a nod and a smile with Jon, then went to take his bags to the car.

It was time to bring his sister home.

Chapter Text

Jason Todd did not like Bludhaven.

It was a cesspit of corruption, which might be hypocritical coming from a born and bred Gotham native, but no less true. At least Gotham had personality, something good buried beneath all the insanity. Bludhaven was practically wretched to the core, and Jason never quite understood why Dick had stayed in this city for so long. Why he tried to save it, while the rest of the family was struggling to save the city he was raised in. Perhaps he saw something worth saving here, something that really wasn't there.

Or maybe Jason was just projecting his resentment on his youngest brother's place of death. He had never been a particularly reasonable individual when it came to the people he loved.

Regardless, Bludhaven was where Cass made her home before she disappeared, and that meant it was his first stop. He drove his car through the streets, trying to keep his eyes on the road, until he finally arrived at his destination.

After it was decided to keep Bludhaven under their protection, it was quickly determined that Wayne Enterprises should have a foothold in the city. That included building a branch for both the actual company and the Wayne Foundation, along with their own personal apartment building / hotel for their employees and their families. Of course, the penthouse was specifically reserved for the Waynes themselves, and them only unless the staff was told otherwise.

Tim had fronted the project at Dick's behest, and Damian became the penthouse's first occupant upon its completion and his ascension to Nightwing. The suite was briefly left empty upon his death, only for Cass to take it for herself when she chose to separate from Jason and take up residence in the city. But now that she was gone…

He would've been forewarned if there was anything strange about her departure. Any hint of foul play. But there wasn't any, and while the trail had undoubtedly gone cold by now — he still needed to see the apartment. If there was any hint of where she had gone, it was there.

It had to be.

The valet was a haughty man that looked down his nose when he saw Jason's car, an old Mercedes-Benz that was chosen for being relatively inconspicuous when trying to seek out someone as high-profile as a Wayne. Jason discreetly rolled his eyes behind his dark shades as the valet started pontificating about the rates for valet service, before handing over his platinum credit card. When the man started sputtering and calling for his supervising manager, Jason sighed, took out his phone, and made a call.

When said supervising manager stepped forward and started asking him to step out of the car, security guards visibly behind him, Jason ignored him and started absentmindedly checking his nails. The man looked offended, almost red in the face really, before another employee approached him frantically with a phone in hand. The manager took it angrily, asking with an audible "WHAT!" before gradually paling and blanching. He slowly lowered the phone, handing it back to the employee, before bowing his head and apologizing profusely, to the confusion of the valet and the guards.

"Yes, yes, now are you going to park my car or not?" Jason did not have time for this.

"Of course, Mr. Wayne, of course."

At the sound of his last name, everyone paled. Damian's death, after all, had been well-publicized. That meant he could be only one Mr. Wayne — Jason Todd-Wayne, the current CEO and Chairman of Wayne Enterprises. AKA, the owner of the building and their boss.

The car door was opened hurriedly by the valet. Jason leisurely stepped out of the driver's seat, absentmindedly throwing the keys to the shaking valet, and nodding to the back door. Two more valets appeared to open it and take out his bags, placing them on a luggage cart. Jason took out his wallet and gave the manager a large tip for his troubles.

"Divvy this up equally between all of you," he ordered.

The manager nodded vigorously, once again continuing with the apologies. Jason ignored him, moving to follow the luggage cart into the nearby elevator, before stopping, having just remembered something.

"Also, I'm not here. And if the media says otherwise…" He let the threat hang in the air.

It was mean, he knew that. But Dick was always the nice one, and Jason wasn't in the mood for courtesy right now. He had a sister to find.

"Forgive us for the trouble downstairs, Mr. Wayne," said the building manager, a serious-looking middle-aged man with graying hair named Thompson. "Would you like them terminated?"

Jason raised an eyebrow at the phrasing before shaking his head. "No, it's fine. Just kindly remind them not to judge people by their appearances from now on."

"Very well," they stopped in front of the lobby desk. "What room would you like to stay in, sir? Currently all our VIP suites are open, so you're free to choose from any of them."

"Actually, I'd like to stay in the penthouse," Jason noticed Thompson falter at that statement, "Is there a problem with that?"

"Well, Miss Wayne is currently staying there. She's on vacation, as I'm sure you're aware," He wasn't, but it's not like he was going to contradict that, "But I am uncertain she would want you staying there."

"I'm her brother," Jason said firmly, "She won't mind. And if she does, tell her to direct her complaints to me. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, sir," Thompson turned to the lobbyist manning the front desk, and seconds later had a key card for the penthouse in hand. "Is there anything else you need, Mr. Wayne?"

"If there is, I'll call you. I am not to be disturbed except for emergencies," Jason turned to leave, "Oh, and Thompson?"

"Yes, sir?"

"As far you and everyone else in this building is aware, I'm not here. Keep it that way."

"Of course, sir."

Jason hated rich assholes.

That didn't mean he wasn't good at being one.

He gave another tip to the valets for them to split between themselves after they finished placing his bags in the room. Once they were gone, he locked the door, and leaned against it, letting out a breath of relief. Alone at last.

Then he looked around.

There were signs of Cass everywhere — theater bills, makeup, receipts for clothing and jewelry — everything you would expect of a spoiled (sweet) heiress to one of the biggest fortunes in the world. The cover that she projected to hide her true line of work. Jason knew he would find nothing here. The cleaning service of the building would have access to the penthouse, and Cass would never risk anything of importance to the curious eyes of strangers.

That was fine. It wasn't the penthouse he was there for anyway.

He picked up his bags and set them down on the bed. Zipping one open, he took off his shades and set them down on one of the side tables. He didn't need them right now. What he needed was one of his utility belts, colored black to blend in with his clothing. He strapped it around his waist, pulling at the band to make sure it was secure, before taking in another breath. It was time to get to work.

There was a reason why only the Waynes were allowed to use the penthouse. It was quickly determined that Dick's original setup as Nightwing would not suffice for maintaining their identities while they were working there. Blockbuster, after all, had managed to figure out Dick's true identity and discover Barbara's location as Oracle. Something more secure was needed if the Bats were to continue operating in Bludhaven.

Thankfully, they were both rich and close friends the West-Allen family of the Gem Cities. The fix was easy.

Jason went over to the walk-in closet. Opening it, he ignored the lines of Cass' clothing that surrounding him, heading directly towards the back of it, where a seemingly innocuous, undecorated wall was located. He felt the wall, searching for any signs of tampering, before discreetly knocking on a specific three times. A keypad revealed itself, and above it a retina scanner. Jason punched in a code, then bent down so the scanner was level with his eye.

A buzz sounded. The wall slid upwards, revealing a teleport pad. Jason stepped on it, and let the energy envelop him. The moment he was gone, the wall slid close again, the keypad and scanner hidden. Like it was never there to begin with.

Bludhaven's own personal Bat-Cave, purposefully designed to resemble the one back in Gotham, just with less 'trophies' to populate it. Located on the outskirts of Bludhaven, it was up to date with all the latest technology and had access to its own garage filled with vehicles of all kinds for whatever situations that required mobility and capacity when the standard 'fly over the rooftops' that the Family preferred as their mode of transportation would not suffice.

"Welcome, Batman," was the first thing Jason heard when he stepped off the pad. The place lit up like a Christmas tree, and Jason couldn't help but frown at what he saw. The place was almost completely in order, as if it hadn't been used at all recently.

"Computer, date of most recent log." His frown deepened when the computer responded with a date from two weeks ago. She'd been gone longer than they'd thought. "Show most recent log."

Cass didn't type up her reports. Even with all the tutoring Barbara and the rest of the Family had given her over the years, her ability to read and write was limited, and therefore so was her ability to type. Only her ability to speak had developed well, and that was because everyone was speaking to her all the time. As a result of that, whenever a computer used her authorization, it was voice-activated. She had to substitute her reports for video logs, with an in-built program of Barbara's automatically encrypting them before storage upon completion.

The computer flickered to life, revealing his sister's visage. Jason stared longingly for a moment, categorizing any changes. The only really noticeable one was the length of her hair — it had grown long, so long that she was now opting to tie into in a single, long braid. Was that wise? He didn't know, and he guessed it didn't matter.

She was the greatest martial artist in the world. Nobody would ever get close enough to take advantage.

As the log played, Jason resisted the urge to growl. Nothing. It was just a standard report, listing all the incidents she had resolved over the course of that night. There wasn't even an ongoing case she was investigating. Nothing to suggest where she had gone, why she had gone.

Jason took a deep breath. Okay, Todd. So the Computer is a bust. What about the rest of the Cave? He looked around. Nothing looked out of place, except—

He walked over to the training area. The bag hanging there had stitches on it already, despite being brand new judging by the lack of wear on the material. Cass may have just kicked it too hard, it happened to all of them, but maybe…

Jason took it off its hook, and took out a Batarang. He cut the bag open, right along the stitches, and watched as the sands flowed out. Sifting through them, he felt the first sense of satisfaction since he had gotten to Bludhaven. A note!

He took the note out, dusting off the sand and absentmindedly reminding himself to clean it up before he left. Numbers — no, coordinates. He turned the paper around, just to be thorough, and froze. It was a picture.

A picture of a dragon.

Jason rushed to the computer, pulling up the locater program and typing in the coordinates. The results came in instantly — a small mountain range in the innermost part of Maine. Tall, secluded, slightly treacherous. The perfect location for a master martial artist with isolationist tendencies. He was going to need climbing gear.

Well, at least I won 't have to stay in Bludhaven any longer.

Two days later found him bundled up and climbing up the mountain with gloved hands and no safety gear. Apparently the area was restricted and climbing the mountain was a big fat 'NO', which made him wonder how the Dragon had managed to not only bypass that but also build a house and live here. Then again, he was Richard Dragon. Maybe the authorities had thought better than to try their luck.

Jason was tempted to use his credentials (read: money) to do the same, but thought better of it. The last thing he needed was the media catching wind of what he was doing. That meant sneaking in with barely any of his possessions and climbing up the mountain on his own and hoping no one caught him. It really said something about his life that he hardly blinked an eye at all that.

The climb had only taken a few hours. Having started a little before noon, it was just before sunset when he got to his destination. He spotted Dragon's house — a moderately large cabin, part of it no doubt a dojo — and allowed himself a smile. With that, he let himself rest, fully seating himself on the edge of the cliff and letting his legs dangle for a bit as he watched the sun fall.

He didn't even blink when he heard a pair of footsteps behind him. A man took a seat next to him, and Jason didn't have to look to know who he was.

"About time you got here," Richard Dragon grumbled.

"Your sister said you would come, though she didn't say when," Dragon clarified an hour later. They were seated inside his house now, a pot of hot tea between them. Jason his hands clasped around a steaming cup, eyes focused on light-colored liquid.

"Why was she here?" It wasn't for training, that much Jason was certain. Cass had surpassed Dragon ages ago, and Dragon's advancing age certainly hadn't helped. There wasn't much, if anything, that Dragon could teach her now.

Dragon took a sip of his tea. "She was here to ask me a favor. When I told her I couldn't fulfill it, she left, though not before asking me for another favor in exchange." What those favors were, he did not elaborate, and that immediately piqued Jason's interest.

"Where is she now?"

"That, I cannot tell you."

Jason narrowed his eyes. "Cannot? Or will not?"

Dragon hummed. "Both are accurate. She asked that you not be told until you fulfilled a certain condition."

"And that would be?"

"Defeat me in a duel."

Jason nearly dropped off his chair. "What," he asked flatly.

"Not to death, of course. Unlike others, I don't make a habit out of killing my students." He didn't have to say who those 'others' were. Everyone in the martial arts community knew who Richard Dragon used to run around with back in his heyday.

That hardly mattered to Jason. He was more concerned about his sister, and what he'd have to do to find said sister. Why would she set such a—Oh.

"The favor she asked for was for you to train me, wasn't it?"

"Wow, you caught on quick," Dragon observed.

Jason sighed. "And you agreed?"

Dragon shrugged. "Let's just say she touched my heart and leave it at that."

"Fine. It's not like I got any other leads. Just let me make a call first," Jason paused, "You do have cell reception up here, right?"

"You have got to be kidding me."

"No jokes, Babs. She used her disappearance to send me on a training trip," Jason pinched his nose, "Warn Steph and the others that I'll be gone longer than I thought."

"How long, though? Jason, Gotham needs you."

"I know, but I can't be Batman while worrying about my sister. Especially with Alfred…you know what I mean," Jason shrugged half-heartedly, "Besides, more training is always good, right?"

He heard Barbara sigh over the line. "I guess. But I still don't like it. Are you sure you don't want us to find Cass ourselves?"

"Please, Babs, don't act like I don't know about the search program you started running the moment we found out she was gone," Jason retorted knowingly. The accompanying silence that served as his friend's answer was all he needed to confirm his statement. "I'm not saying to stop, but don't get your hopes up. She was trained by you and Bruce. If anyone knows how to avoid our systems, it's her. This is our best bet, and I'm not giving it up."

"Okay. Can you at least give me an estimate?"

"Six months tops. I refuse to be gone any longer than that. If this training with Dragon starts taking too long, I will find a way to needle the answer out of him and leave."

"Six months," Barbara audibly swallowed, "Okay, we can handle six months. But if things get too rough—"

"Either call Clark or let Jon act as Superboy in his stead. It'll be Steph's call, and whatever she chooses I'll back. Are you fine with that?"

"I am. But even if I wasn't — you're Batman Jason. You've been Batman for two years, and you've done a pretty good job," Jason winced, "You're the leader of this family now, and whatever choices you make, the orders you give; even when I don't agree with them, I'll still follow them."

Jason felt his mouth go dry. "Thanks, Babs. That—That means a lot to me."

"Oh, don't get all sentimental on me now." There was laughter, and it filled Jason with happiness. He missed her. He missed home.

But it would never truly be home without Cass there with him. So, he had to stay. Just for now.

The next month and a half were spent just like that. Training. Knowing that his sister's location hinged on this, Jason allowed himself to forget everything else and focus solely on the art of combat. He obeyed Dragon's every instruction and devoted two hundred percent of himself to practice, only allowing himself to rest at night and during whatever breaks were given to him.

Dragon focused on what he already knew and perfecting it. Escrima first, followed by bo-jitsu, and then different styles of unarmed combat. They were done with that in almost two and a half weeks, much to Jason's surprise. Then they started on new weapons and new styles, and that was taking up the bulk of their time. Jason didn't exactly struggle learning any of the material — he was a well-trained combatant already before all this started — but it was still significantly more difficult than what they started with. Still, he persevered. His sister depended on his performance, and Jason would do anything to find her and bring her home.

In return for his tutelage, Jason opted to cook for the other man. Dragon said that he didn't have to, that it was a favor he was fulfilling, but Jason insisted, and Dragon relented. His teacher had his own personal garden in the back (how he managed that in Maine's climate of all places, Jason didn't understand), so ingredients were easy to access and plentiful enough for the two of them.

It was during one of these meals that Jason finally decided to clarify the entire situation.

"It was Shiva, wasn't it?" Jason said when there was lull in their conversation.

"When did you know?" Dragon asked instead of denying it, pouring himself another cup of water.

"Since the beginning, really. She's the most obvious connection between you two, and few people are able to unnerve Cass like she can." Jason shrugged. "It just made the most sense."

Dragon curled his lip, nodding. "Your sister came here to ask me to duel her in her place."

Jason frowned. "That doesn't sound like her. Even if she didn't want to participate in the duel herself, the idea of killing is so abhorrent to her that she'd never ask someone to do it for her either."

"Perhaps so, but when she came here, she sounded…desperate," Dragon said slowly. "I don't know exactly what Shiva did to drive your sister to this point, but when I made it clear that I wouldn't go through with it, she looked ready to keel over. She was scared. Very scared. It made me feel guilty just looking at her."

"Is that why you agreed to train me instead?" What motive did Cass have for that? What was going on? Jason had a feeling that, whatever it was, he wasn't going to like it.

"Yes," Dragon confirmed. "She knew you'd come searching for her, that you would tear the world apart to find her if you had to. So she decided to save you the effort and send you here. What motivation she has for your training here, however, I do not know. I assume you might?"

Jason closed his eyes, thinking deeply. "Why didn't you agree to duel Shiva?" He asked instead of answering.

If he took any notice or offense to the obvious subject change, Dragon didn't show it. "Because I can't give her what she wants. There was time where I was capable of it, but now…" He shrugged.

"…Do you still care for her?" There were so many rumors about Dragon and Shiva over the years, but this one — the closeness between them — Jason was willing to put a little more stock in. He was a detective. He could see the signs.

"Heh." It seemed Dragon was done with being surprised at how easily he was being read. "…I do. But whatever we had, it's gone. It's been gone for a long time. My presence wouldn't serve as anything other than a reminder of what we once were and could never be again. And since I can't give her the one thing she wants, she could never stand to have me again anyway."

The younger man thrummed his fingers against the table. That response, everything about this conversation, about Sandra Wu-San, was painting a picture. It was all conjecture right now, and he wouldn't have confirmation until he met up with Cass, but…

Shiva had been quiet for the last couple of years. Well, quiet for her. Both sides of the League of Assassins had been vying for her support and aid during the civil war. After all, she was Lady Shiva — her name was respected and feared throughout the world. Her skills, almost unrivaled. She would've tipped the scales for either side.

Yet she stayed neutral. She didn't partake in the war at all, despite all the potential for carnage and destruction that she thrived in. Why?

At that moment, Jason took a long look his teacher. He had seen pictures of Richard Dragon in his prime. So young, so powerful, every inch the warrior that was revered throughout the world as the one, true rival to Lady Shiva. This was a man who had taught some of the most skilled vigilantes to ever grace the Earth: Vic Sage, Helena Bertinelli, Connor Hawke, and of course, members of Jason's own family — Barbara Gordon, his older brother Dick Grayson, and his father Bruce Wayne.

Jason saw only a shadow of that man now. Oh, Dragon was still far more skilled than the vast majority of martial artists in the world, and would continue to be so until the day he died. But now there were wrinkles. Gray hairs. Pain. He was a strong shadow, almost solid, but still a shadow. He wasn't the greatest anymore.

And if Richard Dragon was like this…

Oh, Cass, Jason laced his fingers together in a familiar pose, fear coursing through his heart, What have you gotten into?

The training continued. Jason worked harder than ever, and gradually, it payed off. His moves were sharper, quicker, and flowed much better. Even more noticeably, his repertoire of usable weapons had grown to a virtual armory. He always knew he had a gift for weapons, but Dragon was forcing him to finally utilize it to a level that none of his former mentors had ever pushed him towards. Few of them were truly mastered, of course, but they were certainly wielded with expertise, and he imagined he would master them all, one by one, as the years rolled on.

Still, he couldn't help but be surprised when Dragon declared his training was almost over, one month after their talk. He had seen his teacher in action, and Jason was fairly certain he nowhere close to beating him. But Jason was the student, Dragon was the teacher, and enough respect had been beaten into him not to contradict his teacher's words.

There was just one thing left Dragon wanted to teach him, he was told.

Jason found out what it was that day, when Dragon started laying out weapons on the dojo floor. Escrima sticks. A bo-staff. A wooden sword. Those were very specific weapons, and Jason wondered what his teacher had planned.

"Pick one up," Dragon ordered him, and Jason complied, taking the escrima sticks first. "Attack me."

Jason did just that. Blows were exchanged, fast and furious, but soon one stick was gone, and he had to switch the remaining one between hands to compensate. When that one was gone too, Jason made the near fatal mistake of expecting the spar to stop, and nearly got a chop to the throat for his troubles.

Wondering what Dragon was up to, Jason continued to dodge, trying to fight back, and failing. Dragon seemed to have a counter for every move he made, and Jason was being beaten back. Landing on his ass, Jason subconsciously reached back, feeling the familiar weight of the staff, and blocked the next blow with it, and then swinging the back end, forcing his opponent back.

Now on the initiative again, Jason pushed on with his attack. Dragon adapted to the presence of the staff quickly, and that initial burst of offense was soon repelled. Unwilling to let go of the advantage, Jason dropped the staff, lunging back for the sword. He rolled into a stance, and the battle continued.

And so it went. Every time Dragon would turn the tide of the battle, Jason would retreat and turn it back with a new weapon. At one point, he even used one escrima stick in conjunction with the sword to recreate a bastardization of his dual sword style. And gradually, ever so gradually, he began to dominate.

Had Dragon been in his prime, Jason would have never gotten that far. He would've put a good fight, a great fight really, but the outcome would be obvious to both of them, a hopeless battle that the student would never have the chance to win. But Dragon wasn't in his prime. His prime was long gone, and Jason? Jason was just on the cusp of his.

It was a long fight. So long that both of them had lost track of time. And the end…the end came quick.

Another drop. Another swing of the legs. Another flip.

Jason Todd had Richard Dragon pinned down with his full body, a wooden sword at his throat. For a moment the two men stared at each other, both panting hard. "I yield," was croaked out by the older of the two. Jason finally allowed his shoulders to sag. He dropped the sword, letting it roll away, and then dropped on the other side of the teacher, ready just to let the world fade away.

"Well done," was the last thing he heard before the exhaustion won out.

"Do you mind if I stay an extra two days or so? For the bruises?" Jason asked later that night as he was plating the food for dinner.

"If it means having your cooking for a little longer, then not at all," Dragon joked back, pouring the tea. "Are you sure you're willing though? Your sister is waiting for you."

"You and I both know that whatever trouble she's in, I'll be useless to her if I go to her now without taking time to heal," Jason rebutted easily, taking his seat next to his now former mentor. "Let me ask you a question, though. Why did you let me use weapons?"

Dragon shrugged. "You have a gift. No reason you shouldn't use it."

Jason blinked, then looked down at his food. "A gift, huh?"

"You're quick to master a weapon, quick to switch between them, multiple ones at that, even in the heat of battle — and switch back. Something like that is rare," Dragon took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. "You should take advantage of it."

Jason said nothing. Instead, he looked back at the dojo, where a rack of weapons stood innocently off to the side. It would give him the edge in battle, but would it work for Batman? Something to think about.

"And now that you've asked your questions, let me ask mine," Dragon leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Why are you so intent on finding your sister?"

His former student raised an eyebrow. "She didn't tell you?"

"All she said is that you would come for her. She never said why you had to come for her at all."

Jason hummed. "We had a bit of a falling out. She left home because she said we needed space. I…it was my fault. The last two years have been hard on us, we lost our three other siblings and—" He stopped abruptly. He couldn't say much more.

"I'm sorry," Dragon said sincerely.

"Don't be," Jason told him, sighing, "It's not like you had anything to do with it. Anyway, I can't leave things that way between us. And even if that weren't the case, she still needs to come home."

"Why?"

"Disregarding all our other responsibilities? Our grandfather," he swallowed, easily beating back the sting in his eyes. "He's dying. He doesn't have much time left."

And oh, how that hurt to say. If Jason were honest with himself, it was Alfred, more than Gotham, that almost stopped him from going after Cass. Seeing the stalwart, unassailable figure from his childhood, so weak and pale and barely able to get up from his bed in the morning — it made him want to stay, to give up everything so they could spend as much time together as possible, whatever time they had left. But he couldn't. He had responsibilities, people that counted on him. And Alfred — Alfred was so understanding.

He wasn't dead yet, and already Jason was beginning to miss him.

"He's already outlived our father, and our three brothers. We're all he has left." Jason curled his hand. "My sister needs to see him, before he goes. If she still wants to leave afterward, she can, but until then…"

Dragon appeared sympathetic, breathing in a shallow breath. "Well then, I guess you better go get her."

"Yeah," Jason said, eyes far. "I guess so."

A few days later, it was time to leave. Jason stepped out into the early morning, taking in the sunrise. The world seem bright, brighter than it had been these past couple of months since he realized his sister had fallen off the face of the planet.

"Thank you for everything," he said earnestly, holding out his hand to Dragon.

"Your welcome," Dragon smiled at him, taking the offered hand, "It was a pleasure to teach you, really. If only for the food." They both laughed.

"Is there any way I can repay you?" Jason asked once the laughter subsided. "Money is no object, not for us."

Dragon shook his head. "I didn't do this for money. If you want to repay me, you finish what you set out here to do in the first place." He let go of Jason's hand.

Jason felt the slip of paper, holding it tight like it was something precious. He gave Richard Dragon a single nod, and turned away.

It was time to go.

The coordinates on the paper Dragon gave him were in the more mountainous regions of the Philippines. Jason chartered a private plane there and spent the sixteen hour flight brushing up on his Tagalog. Intent on keeping his arrival on the down low, he exited the plane under heavy disguise and left in private car with tinted windows.

All of them had bought up properties across the world under assumed names. Most of them were categorized in the Computer, and Jason had access to all of them thanks to his status as Batman. One such property in the Philippines had been bought by Tim during his tenure as Wayne Enterprises' CEO, and Jason appropriated it for this endeavor, choosing it as his base of operations.

Once he was settled in, he scheduled another trip to the area where Cass was supposed to be located, using a nondescript white van for his mode of transportation. Using public transportation risked the possibility of being recognized, and anything fancier would just call attention for the area he was going to. And since he didn't know the roads, he needed to rely on a hired driver.

Making the necessary calls, he spent the rest of the day sleeping off the jet lag and eating. Then, the following day, he dressed in some new clothes, these more suited for the tropical climate, and packed a bag of spare clothing and weaponry, along with water and snacks. Even by car, the trip would be long.

A doorbell indicated the arrival of the car. He greeted the driver, paying him half the fee upfront and promising the rest later, then got in the back seat of the van, kicking his feet up against one of the seats and leaning back in his own. Almost there, he thought.

Almost there.

The place where Cass had chosen to station herself was obviously somewhere that didn't get a lot of traffic. The houses were more like huts, made haphazardly of scraps than actual building material. The people wore old clothes, almost dirty rags. There were hardly any cars beside their own. It was all the hallmarks of a third world country, and Jason was painfully reminded of his own childhood.

Reminding himself to donate money here before they left, he thanked the driver in Tagalog and told him that he'd be back with another person in a couple of hours. He took a long look around, before taking out his phone.

The GPS pointed him to a house on the very far outskirts of the village, near the peak of the mountain. Jason passed less and less people the closer he got to it — which may have been the point, he wagered. Less people, in a place like this, meant less likelihood of being recognized. And if she was trying to hide, this would be the place to do it.

He inhaled deeply the moment he arrived in front of the door, and gave it a nice, firm knock. He didn't hear any footsteps.

He didn't have to.

The door opened, and there she was. Her hair was even longer than it was in the video log, and her face wasn't as clean and polished as it usually was, but it was undoubtedly her.

Cassandra Cain-Wayne. His sister.

"Jason." She smiled at him.

"Cass." He smiled back.

Chapter Text

"Come home."

"You know I can't." She met his eyes. "You know why."

Jason released a breath of frustration. "What happened? What did she do?"

They were sitting at the small table in Cass' 'house'. A 'house' that reminded Jason more of the small, grimy apartment that served as childhood home than an actual house. He wondered what that said about him, that he had been so accustomed to basic amenities such as running water and cleanliness that he couldn't reconcile with the squalid conditions his sister had been living with for the past two months.

Cass diverted her eyes, remaining silent.

"Cass. I have been very patient for the past few months. I left Gotham in the hands of the Family, putting off God knows how many cases in the meanwhile along with dumping all my responsibilities with the company on Luke — who, might I add, has a baby at home with his wife, someone we are both very fond of and who is no doubt vexed that we are overworking her husband when he has a family to take care of. Then I climbed up a mountain, without safety gear, played along with the arrangement you had with Richard Dragon, got my ass kicked a lot during that time, and then chartered a private flight halfway around the world, all just to find you." Jason placed his hands firmly on the table and stood, emphasizing how serious he was.

"I love you, dear sister, but if you don't start explaining things now, I'm dragging you home. And don't think that just because you're the better fighter you'll be able to escape me. You and I both know that pure skill is hardly ever the deciding factor in a real fight," Jason paused as he thought that statement over, "Not in this family, at least."

Cass' bottom lip jut out, and Jason could see her hands turn knuckle white. He felt the anger in him bleed out instantly at her obvious distress, and his face crumpled.

"Please, Cass," He asked softly, sitting back down, "Just let me help you."

"You can't."

Jason blinked. "Can't what?"

"Help me," his sister closed her eyes, a single tear beginning to trail down her cheek. "She'll kill you."

"If Bruce managed to avoid being killed by her for all those years, I'll manage," Jason responded after a moment of silence. "Cass. What did Shiva do?"

She met his eyes again. There was so much pain in them, his heart was clenching at the very sight of it. "Harper."

"Harper?" Jason thought of Roy and Lian for a moment, before dismissing them. Roy was dead, as was Cheshire, and Shiva had no reason to go after their teenage daughter when she was both Speedy and under the protection of the current Green Arrow and the second Black Canary (one of the few people she was genuinely fond of). He wracked his mind, and finally the name came to mind. "Harper Row? What happened to her?"

Harper Row was another potential vigilante that nearly joined their family around the same time as Duke, aiding them when Stephanie's father Cluemaster, aka Arthur Brown, used his status as C-List fodder to try and finally make it into the big leagues. To achieve this, he concocted a plan of his own with other nobodies on his level, apparently involving inviting several major villains to Gotham while simultaneously committing another frame-up of Jim Gordon. Considering his daughter was Batgirl at the time, the fact that he even tried was ballsy in itself. Of course, it was also for that reason that the plan was doomed to begin with.

There was a reason why those villains were C-List. It wasn't just due to the memorability and vileness of A-List villains like the Joker or Ra's al Ghul or even Cluemaster's archetype, the Riddler. It was because they were genuinely not as dangerous as the A-Listers. They might have the same general gimmickiness, but they lacked the competence and fighting ability. Harper happened upon one of their little meetings, and after escaping, met Batgirl, and told her about it.

As this was Stephanie when she was Batgirl, in the midst of the road that would see her eventually become Batwoman, she took care of it by herself with painful ease. There was a reason why Jason wasn't afraid to leave Gotham in her hands. While she might not have as much innate talent as the members of his family, she would never gotten as far as she did if she didn't have it. And her work ethic and determination was equal to if not greater than theirs. Whatever plan Cluemaster had cooked up, it was stopped before it could even leave the planning stages.

After that little fiasco, Harper started working on the streets as an informant of theirs, becoming a good friend of Cass, Stephanie, and Tim. She proved to be skilled with computers and tech, and was clearly angling to eventually join the Family one day as a vigilante in her own right. Alas, she eventually ran afoul of a human trafficker named "Mother", and they were forced to ship her and her brother out of Gotham for their own safety. When the dust settled, however, the Rows decided they liked their new location more and opted to stay. They tried to keep in contact, but all the chaos in recent years, up to and including Bruce's death and subsequent succession by Dick, caused them to fall to the wayside. Aside from an occasional email, Harper Row hadn't been a part of any member of the Family's lives in a long time.

Jason had a sinking feeling that they shouldn't have let that happen.

At all.

"The report said accident. Both her and her brother. But I checked and—"

"It wasn't an accident," Jason concluded for her. He breathed in deeply. Fuck. He was right. "And it wasn't just her, was it?" Cass spent more time than them as an international hero, especially back when Dick was Batman and Damian was Nightwing. It was easier for her with her cover. That meant she had more contacts outside of Gotham than them. If they were dying off, she would be the first to notice and make the connection.

Cass nodded miserably. "The last one I found — it was Shiva. He died of the Leopard Blow."

The Leopard Blow. A technique only Shiva and Dragon knew, and the Dragon wasn't one for killing innocents. There was no question about it anymore. It had to be Lady Shiva.

"Okay, so she's after you. Fine. It's nothing new. Just come home for now and we'll figure it out."

She shook her head. "No. She will just keep killing anyway."

"She's going to do that whether or not you come home, Cass," Jason pointed out, "Not until you confront her and give her what she wants, which you won't. Going back to Gotham won't make a difference."

"It will." She pointed at his chest. "You."

She 'll come after  you .

"Cass…" Jason's shoulders sagged, and looked pleadingly at her.

His sister, the strongest person he knew, was trembling, and he never felt so conflicted. "Cannot lose you. Not after…" The tears were back, and Jason had enough. He got out of his seat and wiped them away with the sleeve of his jacket.

"I can take care of myself, Cass. You know that. You made sure of that when you had me trained by the Dragon," Jason reassured her, "We've beaten her back before. We can do it again."

"She'll come back anyway. She will always come back," Cass denied him, "She wants me only now. No one else. I…this was why I was born. For her."

"We'll throw her in prison."

"You know no prison can hold her." She took his hand. "Either she dies, or…or I die."

She might as well as just slapped him. Jason lurched her away from her angrily, teeth gnashing. "AND YOU EXPECT ME TO JUST ACCEPT THAT? TO LET YOU DIE?" Cass flinched, and Jason faltered, but only for a moment, "You're my sister, my only remaining sibling! I'll be damned before I lose you too."

"Jason…"

"Are you going to do that to me? To Steph? To Babs and Duke and Luke and Bette and everyone else?" Jason's voice broke, and the anger was gone, only confusion and sorrow left. "To Alfred?"

Now Cass was the one looking like she had just been hit. Bringing up Alfred in these kinds of arguments always had that sort of effect on all of Bruce's children, and neither of them had broken the mold on that front.

"He's dying, Cass. These days, he can barely get up in the morning. He has so little time left, and you're going to make me go back to him and tell him that his only granddaughter won't go home and might very well be dead in the next couple of months," Jason glared at her, and now there were tears in his eyes too. "No. I won't do that to him, and neither will you."

"But what are we supposed to do!" She burst back, now full-on sobbing. "What are we supposed to do?"

Enough was enough. Jason pulled her into her arms, hugging her tight, threading his fingers through her long hair. For just this moment, he allowed himself to revel in this closeness he had with his sister, the first real contact they'd had in three months.

What were they supposed to do? He had been asking himself the same question ever since Damian died. Maybe even before, when Tim died. When Dick died. Every loss untethered their family more and more, leaving holes that would never be filled. Jason had continued on as Batman, not just because Gotham needed him, because he didn't know what else to do.

Carrie had shed some light on that. But not enough. He still felt every bit as lost as Cass did. But if there was one thing he did know, it was that they wouldn't find the answer arguing here.

"First thing we need to do is stop Shiva," he said once his sister's cries subsided, "Maybe prison can't hold her, but it can delay her until we figure out another solution. After that, we go home, and we figure things out from there."

Cass sniffled, nodding. Good. She was listening.

"I can call Babs, get her to start a search—"

"No," Cass cut him off, "Know someone already."

"Who?"

"Cain."

David Cain. Cass' biological father. The man who killed her aunt Carolyn.

The man who created Lady Shiva.

That piece of shit is still alive? Jason internally seethed at the idea that the man who caused all this, who tried to abuse his sister into a weapon, was still breathing when most of his own family, heroes who had sacrificed everything to save others, were in the ground. Cass, her body-reading impeccable as always, saw it, and she placed a gentle hand on his cheek, caressing it. Jason felt himself relax gradually thanks to her touch.

"Do you know where he is?" he asked.

"I do," she answered.

"Then let's go get the bastard."

Having Cass back made things so much easier for him. Sure, there was still Shiva to deal with, but with his sister by his side he felt like he could do anything. He had missed her like he missed a missing limb. Something essential to himself, that he'd be living a half-life without.

When they got back to the house, Jason took out his computer. With input from Cass and a quick call to Babs, it was easy to find the exact location of David Cain. He was in the deep recesses of the rainforests of Vietnam, near one of the many illegal fighting rings in the area. Jason chartered another flight for them along with a rental jeep and some gear, and the next day they were on their way.

During the flight, he finally decided to bite the bullet and asked what had been plaguing his mind for the past few months. The plane they were on was small, with an in-built bar for drinks and food and two plush arm chairs and a couch for seating. He had taken one of the chairs while Cass had the couch all to herself, laying across it with her hands in her lap and her eyes focused on the ceiling.

"Why did you have me train with the Dragon?"

Cass tilted her head, just enough so one of her eyes could meet his. There was a small upturn of her lips. "Why do you think?"

Jason stared searchingly at her. "…You know about Carrie, don't you?"

"Is that her name? It's pretty." Her smile deepened. "Batman and Robin, together again. It's been long time since anyone seen that."

"…She's not the only one that needs training."

"Oh? Who?"

"Jon," Jason cleared his throat, "He asked to be Nightwing."

There was a momentary, but meaningful silence at that. Jason saw his sister's mouth part slightly in shock. Evidently, she hadn't expected that. Admittedly, he hadn't either when Jon first came to him. Nightwing may have been inspired by a Kryptonian legend, but it was still a mantle of their family. For a Kent to ask for it…

He wondered, vaguely, what Bruce would've thought of that. Of what Dick would've thought of that. Of whether or not they would've acceded to Jon's request, like he had. He guessed it didn't matter.

They were both gone. So was Tim. Damian. And soon, Alfred.

It was just Cass and him now.

Just them.

"You said yes?" Cass' voice shocked him back into reality. She was sitting up now, peering at him.

"I did," Jason frowned, "Do you think I should have said no?"

"No," Cass said slowly, after a beat of thought, "I think they would have liked that." She didn't have to say who.

Jason wet his lips. "They would have," he agreed, even though he wasn't entirely sure himself. "And that's why I need you back home. You can teach them."

"So can you," she pointed out.

"Not as well as you can," he insisted back, "You're the best, Cass. You can teach them things that I could only dream of."

"The same could be said of you. I hate it when you do this."

"Do what?"

"Be hard on yourself," she said, sighing. "Think yourself…unable. You are Batman. Not me."

It was a familiar argument. One that he had heard constantly, ever since he took up the mantle, from every member of the Family. Every time he doubted himself, they'd remind him that he was Batman, not them. That Dick chose him, not any of them. And everyone knew Dick Grayson never got it wrong, after all.

(That was a lie. The biggest lie in the world, and Dick and him both knew it. Dick got plenty wrong. He was just good at playing it off, if he wasn't outright hiding it.)

"I sent you to Dragon, so you could see that," she explained, "You can teach them. You do not need me."

"Now that's where you're wrong," Jason retorted. He got up, suddenly thirsty for a glass of water.

"I'll always need you."

Compared to the trial of finding Cass, finding Cain was comparatively easy. They just had to flash his photos a few times until they were directed to a nearby town. One that had less-than-legal and reputable past times.

Jason hooked his fingers with the cage, as Cass and him watched half-dressed men beat each other bloody with taped fists and feet on a man-made sand pit. A fight club. Because why not?

Considering their nightly jobs, both of the siblings barely reacted as the sheer, unadulterated violence their eyes were being subjected to. They had both seen worse (and in the case of Jason, had done worse), and everything that was being done was hardly new to them. They weren't here to break this up anyway — they were here for Cain. Anything more and they were risking breaking cover and bringing down some unwanted trouble on their asses.

Finally, after two more fights, Cain appeared. Jason frowned when he saw him. The man looked even older than Dragon. He knew Cain had naturally silver hair, but that sheen had faded away into pure white, the hallmark of advanced age. He was muscular, but there was a sag there, a strain. And his demeanor — there was already exhaustion, even though the fight had yet to even start.

And when it started, even Jason couldn't help but cringe at what followed. Cain had started out well enough, but no amount of age and experience could account for the strong disparity in physical conditions between him and his younger opponent. This man had been a terror before, he was certain, but that terror had left this world long ago. This was a tired, broken old man getting his ass beaten for money, a sight so pathetic that Jason almost forgot he was supposed to hate him.

Almost.

When the fight finally ended, when that final blow landed against Cain's chin, it was downright merciful. He felt the sadness emanating from his sister, and automatically reached out to grab her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. He felt her squeeze back gratefully. Even after everything that man did to her, even after years of separation, she still cared for him. Was still willing to forgive him. She was a better person than he was. A better person than he would ever be.

They watched Cain be carried out of the ring. Their quarry located, they left. They had no more business here.

Later that night, they entered a raucous bar that, according to one of the locals, served as Cain's usual hideout. Cass led the way, Jason trailing behind her, to her sperm donor (because Jason absolutely refused to ever call that man her father). Cain was bandaged up, slumping over the counter while nursing a drink. It was pitiful.

Cass lightly touched his arm, and he lazily looked up at her. Once the recognition registered, his eyes widened, and he stood straight up. Watching as the man gently cupped his sister's face, Jason resisted the urge to rip him away from her and break his arms. We need him, he reminded himself.

"It's been so long…" Cain said tearfully, thumbing the arch of Cass' cheekbone. "Why are you here?"

"Shiva," Cass replied to him softly, placing a gentle hand on top of his own.

Cain's eyes widened further at that name, and he looked around at the rowdy bar-goers, suspicious. "Not here," he told them. He slammed the payment for his drink on the counter and got up from his stool, preparing to leave.

It was then that everything went to shit.

Years later, Jason claimed this would be the incident that would make him swear off going to another bar for life. That wasn't necessarily true — an even worse incident at a space bar that Kyle Rayner brought him to about a year or so later was the actual responsible party — but this certainly played a part.

The reason for his anti-bar tendencies was actually rather simple. One that he found amusing when he was younger, only to become exasperating and irritating when he got older. See, Jason had this inexplicable ability to start a fight every time he entered an establishment that was primarily devoted to serving alcohol. Initially it was because of his naturally abrasive personality, but as he got older and mellowed out, it started happening just because, unintentionally and rarely on any part of Jason's.

As seen in this bar fight.

The inciting moment was innocuous. On the way out, Jason accidentally bumped into a serving girl. As he was apologizing to her, the drink tray she was caring dipped a bit, causing some of the liquid from one of the beverages to spill out on the head of one of the customers. He cried out at the sudden splash of cold on his head, abruptly standing up and accidentally elbowing one of his buddies and another patron in the chin. This caused that patron to stand up and punch him, launching him into another group of rowdy drinkers. Before the three ex-assassins knew it, a full-on brawl had erupted, and they were stuck in the middle of it.

Jason resisted the deep urge to groan as Cain, Cass, and him all dropped to the ground, trying to avoid flying everything as they crawled away for some coverage. Eventually, they found shelter with the nearest fallen table, and leaned against it as they waited for the chaos to died down — which seemed unlikely to be happening any time soon.

"Every single goddamn time…!" He hissed under his breath, cursing his terrible luck. Next to him, Cass patted his hand, which, for once, did nothing to soothe him.

"Who the hell is this, by the way?" Cain asked his daughter, frowning. Jason suddenly remembered he was wearing shades, which is probably why Cain didn't recognize him. "Your boyfriend?"

"Brother," Cass corrected him.

"Broth—Oh," Cain said knowingly, tone suddenly a lot less approving. Jason shot a glare at him, making it clear that the distaste was mutual.

Cass lightly slapped them both on the shoulders, expressing her opinion on any potential conflict between them. Wisely, neither of them said anything more.

It was another thirty minutes before the fighting finally stopped. Just about every other patron was on the ground, either knocked out or in too much pain to get up themselves. Once the coast was clear, Jason gestured for them to leave, gingerly stepping over the carnage.

The cool air almost felt like a balm the moment they got out. Cain directed them to his house (or at least what passed as one), shooting suspicious looks at the empty streets as his companions were rushed inside. He closed the door as soon as both of them were in, locking it and then pulling over a nearby chair to block the passageway for good measure.

"So what's this about Shiva?" He asked once he felt they were secure.

"You know where she is," Jason said, removing his shades to glare at the older man.

"I have a contact or two that might," Cain admitted, eyes narrowed, "But why are you trying to find her in the first place? All three of us know that will only lead to trouble."

"Already in trouble," Cass answered before Jason could. "She is trying to make me mad. Killing my friends. Hunting me."

"She's trying to force you into another duel," Cain surmised instantly. "If that's the case, wouldn't trying to find her be the exact opposite of what you want?" After all, you're never going to kill her.

"Normally," Jason conceded, scowling, "But she's not going to stop on her own, so we'll have to do it ourselves."

Cain burst out into laughter, "How? You lot don't kill, and no prison will ever be able to hold her. You'd just be wasting your time even if you do succeed. More than likely, you'll be going to your deaths."

"We'll be the judge of that," Jason fisted his hand into Cain's shirt, "Now tell us where she is."

Cain growled. "I'd be careful if I were you, boy. I may be long out of my prime, but I can still hand a punk like you his ass."

"You wanna bet, old man?" The current Batman shot back. "I saw you in that ring earlier and trust me, I was not impressed."

"Why you—"

"ENOUGH!"

Before either of them knew it, Jason's arm was wrenched away and both of them were sent stumbling on opposite sides of the room. Between them was Cass, uncharacteristically angry. She glared at Jason, disappointment all over her face, and he instantly felt shame envelope him.

"I know you do not like him. But we need him," she scolded her brother, and then turned to the other man. "He is my brother. Do not make him angry."

Cain closed his mouth. While there was no shame in his expression, the fact that he did not refute her words was telling.

"Please," Cass continued, glare gone and desperation plain, "Help us."

For a long moment, the man who sired her observed them both, before giving out an exasperated sigh. "Fine. I still think you're both fooling yourselves if you think this is going to work, but if you're that determined, might as well."

"Great," Jason said, short and to the point. "So where's your contact?"

"Here, actually. He's the owner and matchmaker of the Club."

"Seriously, 'The Club'? That's its name?"

Cain shrugged. "I never said he was the imaginative sort."

"Fine," Jason sighed. "What's the catch? What would he want in return?"

The older man grimaced.

"David Cain, my friend!" A paunchy, middle-aged man in a white suit greeted them the following day. Surrounding him on both sides were two burly guards who were glowering at them suspiciously.

They spent the night at Cain's house and after breakfast followed him back to the arena. He led them into what functioned as the backstage area, through a makeshift locker room and into an office of some sort. Jason tried to ignore the laid out, inert bodies of men and women in varying states of undress. As much as he wanted to take this guy down, he couldn't risk attracting attention to him and Cass. For the remaining Waynes to be recognized in a place like this would not go over well with the international media or the company's investors. He'll just forward the information to the authorities anonymously when he got home.

"Raul."

"Who are your companions?" Jason saw the man's eyes greedily run over Cass, and redoubled on his self-control. No. No matter how much you want to, no.

"They want information," Cain said, short and to the point. Only the slightest tightening of his fist indicated he was feeling similar to Jason. Cass betrayed nothing — she no doubt noticed as well, considering her abilities, but was probably used to it.

Jason bit his lip and cut that thought out immediately. If he went down that road then nothing was going to stop the ensuing rampage.

"What kind of information? I know…" Raul leaned back into his chair, thrumming his fingertips together, "…many things."

"Shiva."

And just like that, the room grew cold. The guards stopped their glowering to blanch, and Raul visibly paled, his cockiness draining out of him instantly.

"What about her?" Raul asked, deathly serious now.

"They want her current location."

"Why the fuck would they want that?"

Jason scoffed. "It's none of your business. Now are you going to give it to us or not?"

"Oh no!" Raul shook his head, shivering, "You want information like that, I'm going to need equal payment in return. Something big."

"Tch. What qualifies?"

Raul furrowed his brow, wetting his lips. "…A fight. My champion hasn't had a decent challenger in a while. If you can last ten minutes with him, then I'll tell you where she is."

The siblings looked at each other. Cass stepped forward, only to stop when Raul held up his hand.

"No. No women fight in my ring."

The decision was made. Cass and Cain turned to look at him. Jason sighed.

"Any tips?" Jason asked, jogging in place to get his blood going. His shirt had been discarded, revealing his muscular chest and a mish-mash of fading scars, as were his pants, replaced by a pair of shorts. Even his shoes were gone, leaving his bare feet, wrapped in bandages like his hands. He was the perfect picture of an underground fighter, something that wasn't lost on the three of them.

"He prefers punches and leads with his right. He's got power and speed, but isn't very agile and isn't one for dodging," Cain told him, playing the part of coach. Jason didn't protest, seeing as they were on the same side for once.

"And the fight can only end by knockout?"

"Yes, though don't end it if you can until the ten minute-mark. Raul won't have an excuse that way."

"Got it," he turned to his sister, "Signal me when it's time."

Cass nodded, then placed her hand on his cheek. "Be careful. If he fights well enough for serious injury, end it. We will find location another way."

Jason returned the gesture, placing his own hand over hers. "I will. But don't worry, Cass, I'll be fine."

Jason had to wait until the end of the card for his fight. As he was the challenger, he went out first. A bottle of hair dye which he had packed at the start of the trip was hastily used, turning his natural black hair into a shade of red with a streak of white running through the middle. Hopefully, that distinguishing mark would hide him, preventing anyone from recognizing him as Jason Wayne. No name had been given to Raul, leaving his identity a mystery while also conveying a sense helplessness to the audience. All but two of them believed him to be another piece of meat to be fed to the champion.

The champion, a man named Cole according to Cain, came out next. The first thought that came to mind when Jason saw him was that he was a beast. He was taller than Jason, his shoulders wider than Bruce's, compounded with more muscle mass than both of them. He had short, spiky blond hair, crooked yellow teeth, and nasty eyes that promised pain. If Jason were a normal man, a normal fighter, he'd be intimidated.

Jason was not a normal man.

The moment the bell rang, Cole shot forward, punch at the ready. Despite the speed and power that it was thrown at, Jason dodged it easily. As he did with the next punch and the next punch. As Cole missed and missed, Jason started hearing boos from the audience, who were demanding blood. Cole seemed to hear this too, and his hits became more frustrated and frantic as they failed to connect. It wasn't hard to figure out why — as the champion, he was who they were here to see. If he couldn't put on a good show, then his pay would get cut.

Jason didn't care about any of that. He was here for one reason, and one reason only.

So when Cole began to tire and left himself open, Jason took advantage. He duck under the next punch and darted forward, landing a quick, tight combination to his opponent's abdomen. Cole stumbled back in shock and pain, then shook his head to clear it. Rather than press forward, Jason kept his guard up, standing at the balls of his feet. The fight needed to last ten minutes, after all.

Obviously, the champion had no interest in Jason's goal. He just wanted to win. They circled each other, and Cole shot forward again, obviously figuring that the direct approach was still his best option. Jason wondered how he had lasted this long as champion. The talent here either must've been sub-par or just plain stupid.

Jason ducked again and again and countered with two more punches to the chest followed by a kick. He followed up this time with a right and left hook to the face and a knee to the chest again. Cole fell to one knee, and Jason backed away.

The crowd was roaring again. Rarely was it that someone took a fight to the champ. Jason allowed himself a small curl of satisfaction, but no more than that. The job wasn't done, after all.

There was a roar of inarticulate rage. The champ was humiliated. He stood up, smoke billowing from his nose, and charged blindly at his opponent. Jason whiffed his opening swipe, grabbing his arm and flipping him on his back, onto the ground. Cole was up to his feet instantly, but Jason was ready for him. He dropped down, hooking his legs with Cole's and sending the man on his back again. Jason kipped up, landing a standing drop kick on his opponent's solar plexus, watching the air forcibly leave his lungs.

He stepped off of Cole, giving him a kick on the side along the way. The champion struggled to his side, using his hands to get back on his feet. The confidence, the hubris — it was all gone. Jason could see it the next time their eyes met. There was fear, real fear.

On a whim, he looked around until he spotted Cass. She held up two fingers. Two minutes. Doable.

Cole looked reluctant to engage. That was fine, this fight wasn't going to last much longer anyway. Jason took the initiative, throwing a rapid series of punches. Cole struggled to block, a few hits connecting. Jason angled his next punch upwards, breaking the guard easily, and then grabbed his opponent's arms, pulling forward into another knee to the gut. Twisting one arm, Cole found himself on his back again, this time a foot in his abdomen and his arm still wrenched in Jason's grip. Jason purposefully buried his foot into the growing bruise, while twisting the arm even harder than before. The big man let out a loud cry of pain.

Bored, he looked back up at Cass. She mime a slit across the throat. Finish it. Finally.

Jason let go of the arm. Cole made one, last valiant attempt to stand, only to be kicked down again. Jason mounted him, pinning Cole's arms down with his legs, and ripped away, throwing punch after punch into Cole's face. A black eye formed immediately, and blood erupted from his nose and chin. Some of it splashed on Jason's face and chest. He ignored it.

The bell rung. The champion was done, a new champion in his place. Jason stood up, blood-stained, and idly held up his hands in a pose a victory as the surrounding audience roared in joy and elation. He spotted Cass and next to her, Cain. While the latter looked approving, the former had a distressingly neutral look on her face. He'd ask her about that later.

He was given time to wash off and change before meeting Raul again with the others. Back in his old clothes and with his shades on, Jason whistled as he walked towards the office, keeping mind of his surroundings. There seemed to be more guards this time around, which was worrying. Discreetly, he dropped something on the ground.

He opened the door. The bodies were gone. It was just their contact, his guards, Cass, Cain, and him. Raul looked up at him, and there was anger in his eyes.

"You beat him," the matchmaker hissed.

Jason raised an eyebrow. "You never said I couldn't. You just said I had to last ten minutes. I lasted ten minutes."

"Fuck you!" Raul cursed back. "He was my star attraction! Not only have you put him out of commission for the foreseeable future, you've ruined his credibility! Nobody wants to see a losing champion!"

"I don't fucking care. A deal is a deal — tell us where Shiva is."

Raul grinned nastily. "Oh no, you're not getting off that easily. Guards!"

Hulk 1 and Hulk 2 whipped out their guns. Two minutes later, they were on the ground, twitching in pain as Cass dusted her hands. The guns were removed of their casings and dropped to the ground, empty of bullets and devoid of any danger.

"Don't bother calling for the other ones," Jason said breezily, stepping between his sister and Cain to lean over Raul's desk, "They're currently writhing into unconsciousness due to some knockout gas I released in the corridor before I got here. The gas will dissipate in about five minutes, but they'll be out for hours if they're lucky."

He reached over and tugged on Raul's tie tightly, forcing the man onto his feet. Raul steadied himself using his desk, and looked up at the three of them in fear.

"Now. Where. Is. Shiva?"

Chapter Text

"Did you really have to bring him with us?" Jason angrily whispered to Cass as they watched Cain mill around the cabin of their private plane. Obviously, he hadn't experienced luxury like this in a long time.

"He was not safe there. We could not let him die," Cass whispered back.

Jason's scowl deepened, and he looked away, scoffing. Cass frowned sadly at him, folding her hands into her lap. The intercom buzzed, the pilot telling them to prepare for lift off, cutting off any further conversation.

This was it. They were finally going after Lady Shiva.

According to Raul, after her little murder spree on Cass' network, Shiva had stationed herself in a village in the countryside of China. Remote, not easily accessed. Jason had their plane land at a private airfield near the area, then commissioned a large jeep for them to use to get there.

Since he was the freeloader, Cain had been elected as driver. He sat in the front by his lonesome, while his two younger companions sat in the back together two rows away, trying to get as much privacy as possible. There was something they needed to talk about.

"You aren't happy with me," Jason noted, speaking quietly.

"What you did was…humiliation."

Jason shrugged. "I would've ended it sooner, but Don King wanted a show, so I gave him a show."

"I know. It was just…distressing. It…it reminded me of her," Cass puffed out a breath. "She is brutal but — she plays, too. And she enjoys it."

Her brother frowned. "Well, don't worry," he assured her, "I'm not her. I never will be."

"It is not just you I worry for."

For a moment, he wondered what she was talking about, but then the thought came rushing in. Jason grabbed his sister by her shoulders, not enough to bruise but enough to keep her in place. He always was the physically strongest of his siblings.

"No, Cass, no. You are, and are never going to be, her."

Cass smiled tearfully at him. "Are you sure? This is not going to work, Jason."

"Don't say that—"

"It won't, Jason. Cain is right, and we both know it. She will never stop."

"She will if she's dead," Jason shot back viciously, "You saw Dragon, Cass, as did I. To say nothing of the bastard currently driving us right now. She's aging. Weakening. We just need to keep her at bay until some other fighter with less scruples than us offs her, and then we're home free."

"We cannot do that, Jason—"

"It's what he would do!"

Jason was heaving. Cass was staring.

"He was a hypocrite like that. He couldn't stand to let anyone die in front of him, but if they were offed out of sight and by someone that wasn't thirsting for his approval, then he didn't care."

"You know it was not like that, Jason."

"Wasn't it?" Jason wiped some sweat off his forehead. "When it came to his morals, there were so many double standards with him that it was hard to keep track what was acceptable and what wasn't. Even the big one. He let Damian get away with shit that he never did with me or Tim or even Dick."

"Because he neglected Damian, Jason. Even when partners, he never gave him approval or attention our brother wanted — or the expression of it, at least. Damian had to find it with Dick and the rest of us."

"And is that supposed to make things better? Is any of it?" Jason buried his face into his sister's shoulder, "God, Cass. I love him, I still do, and I miss him, but I also can't help but fucking hate him sometimes. We were all fucked up on some level because of him."

Cass couldn't deny that, but she didn't want to talk about it any longer. "Enough. This is not about him. What are we to do about Shiva? I do not want to be her, Jason. Be creator and destroyer, but…"

Jason pursed his lips, a plan forming in his mind. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it, Cass. Right now, we need to focus on stopping her here, first."

That wasn't comforting at all. Jason could tell by the way his sister drew back into herself. He wrapped his arms around her, keeping her close to his chest. She was so much smaller than him, he realized. It made her seem more fragile than he knew her to be.

Unbeknown to him, he didn't spot Cain watching them through the rear-view mirror.

They arrived to a large clearing with a cobble of huts that looked like they hadn't been inhabited in decades. Immediately, the siblings felt their hearts sink. Both of them were observant enough to see the signs — life had not treaded this place in a long time.

There was no question about it. The village was deserted.

Jason kicked at the dirt angrily. "Well that's just fucking great! This was our best lead!"

Cass looked both disappointed and relieved. "We will call Oracle then. Ask for help. She can find Shiva."

"Right, right. Here, let me get my phone, she'll be happy to hear you—"

Click.

A gun was aimed at both of them.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Jason sighed, glaring at Cain. "You know that's not going to work."

Cain huffed. "It's not supposed to."

Jason and Cass exchanged a look. Suddenly, from the shadows of the surrounding foliage, a veritable army of ninjas and rogues appeared. And with them—

—was Lady Shiva.

Her hair was shorter, a pair of lines running down the insides of her face, but it was unquestionably her. The greatest martial artist in the world, the creator and the destroyer. The great nightmare than had been haunting their dreams for the past few months. Jason felt Cass tense beside him, and automatically grabbed her hand. Shiva eyed him more critically at the gesture, but that was the only reaction she had to it.

"Well done," Shiva said to Cain, before turning their attentions back to them. "I tire of this game, little girl. Time and again, I have given you opportunity after opportunity to fulfill your destiny, and you reject it no matter what I do. Well, no more. It is time. We fight, and one of us shall die," she narrowed her eyes, "this time, for good."

"Then kill me now," Cass said, stepping forward and resisted Jason's attempt to pull her back. "I will not do it. I will never do it."

Shiva raised an eyebrow, then looked at Cain once more. He gave her a single nod, and smile flitted between her lips.

"Very well then," she fixated her gaze on Jason, "Then I challenge you, Jason Todd. You will be a fine name to add to my list of victims, another building block to my legacy."

Jason's mouth fell open, as did Cass'. She broke out of her reverie first, stepping protectively in front of her brother. "No!"

"It is not for you to decide, little girl," Shiva said disparagingly. "It is his. Either you fight me or he does. That is the only way either of you are going to get out of here alive. He kills me — which he won't, of course — I get what I want. I kill him, and you will give me what I want."

Desperate, Cass turned her attentions to Cain, betrayal aching from every pore. "Why? Why did you help her?" How did she not see it? Was she so blinded by Shiva that she could not see the betrayal in front of her? Or did she not want to see it?

(She still loved him. She wanted to forgive him. So why—?)

"So you could finally become what you were born to be." He refused to meet her eyes.

"No!" Cass cried out angrily. "This is not what I was born to be! This is what you wanted me to be!"

"Enough of your shrieking," Shiva interjected with a bored tone. She looked at Jason once more, smirking. "Well?"

Jason looked at his sister, at her pleading eyes, and inhaled deeply. His gaze met Shiva's. "I accept."

"NO!"

Cass was practically sobbing now, holding Jason's left arm in an ironclad grip. "No, no, no, you can't, you can't—"

Jason gently placed his hand over hers, trying to relax it, loosen it. "It'll be alright, Cass. I promise."

She shook her head, tears in her eyes. Jason kissed her forehead, then wrenched his arm away, dropping his backpack next to his sister. Cass reached out to him, almost ready to collapse, as Shiva's men surrounded her. Even if she were to rip through them, the numbers were against her — not even she could win against this many, or at least not fast enough to stop the battle. And even if she could…she could see the look in Jason's eyes. He was determined, truly intent, and few things could stop him when he was like that.

"I love you. Always remember that," was the last thing he said to her before turning to face Shiva completely, ignoring the sniffles behind him.

Shiva was smiling at him. It was not kind. "It is fitting," she said ominously. "My sister died so I could become creator and destroyer, so I could become Lady Shiva. Now, you will do the same for my daughter."

"She is not your daughter," Jason said angrily, rolling his neck.

"Perhaps so," Shiva shrugged. "Any last requests?"

"Do I have your word that no one here will interfere with this fight, no matter what happens? That until one of us dies, your people will stay their hands?"

Shiva clicked her teeth. "I have no sway over your sister, of course, but as for everyone else," she circled her gaze on the surrounding group, including Cain. "Consider it done."

"She won't interfere," Jason said, voice calm. "She won't have to."

The older woman clicked her teeth. "So confident for someone about to die," she dropped into a stance.

Jason followed her lead, entering a stance of his own. The wind blew, the clearing fell silent. A moment…and then a charge.

The moment he engaged her, Jason knew he could not win. Shiva had weakened, yes, but nowhere near to the extent of Cain. She was easily still on the Dragon's level, and worse yet, she was actually fighting to kill him. She had not allowed him the grace of weaponry, just pure hand-to-hand combat, and while Jason was a master in his own right, there was no way he could win against the likes of her.

As he struggled to block blow after blow, exchanging counter for counter, he couldn't help but observe Shiva in full. The creator, the destroyer, and beneath it all a woman who had lost it all. A woman that was desperate to ensure the worst tragedy of her life never happened again, by discarding all attachments and devoting every fiber of her being to the altar of combat. Despite himself, Jason couldn't help but sympathize with her, far more than he ever did David Cain.

He knew what it was like to lose a sibling. A twin, no, but a sibling, yes. He had lost three in the last two years, and the overwhelming grief still felt too much to bear. If it weren't for this last sibling, the last remnant of the family that the broken man called their father had built so long ago — if it weren't for her, Jason wondered if he would become like Shiva. Shiva certainly believed the reverse would be true; that, if Cass were to lose him, she would become Shiva. The one thing she never wanted to be.

He couldn't let that happen. His sister was good, kind, and deserved the world. He had to protect her. He couldn't protect Tim or Damian, but Cass was still here. She was all he had left.

With his resolve strengthened, Jason decided it was time to put his plan into action.

He deliberately left himself open on his right flank, allowed Shiva that fatal blow. If she noticed it was deliberate or not, she didn't care. She went in for the kill — just as Jason wanted. This, more than anything, showed Shiva's true age.

The old her would've seen this coming.

Time and again, and still she failed to remember, to learn.

Jason was a Bat. And Bats never played fair.

A quick sleight of the hand, and a knife was drawn just as he ducked under the blow. Jason stabbed Shiva's leg, cutting a deep gash into her thigh. He could feel her cringe in pain, and before she could react, he stabbed her in her other thigh, then pulled her by the foot, forcing her on her back. He scrambled up, using his superior weight and physique to pin her underfoot, securing her arms.

From the depths of his mind, familiar whispers began to emerge. The Pit was calling for him, screaming for him to spill blood. And for the first time in years, Jason didn't try to fight it. He held the knife up high, and plunged down, aiming directly for Shiva's face.

But he was stopped.

A familiar pair of pale-skinned hands were fighting his own, stopping him from finally ending this. The knife trembled beneath them, the tip a hair's breadth away from piercing skin. Jason looked up to see Cass there, face distraught.

"Let me do it," Jason ordered her, and this voice wasn't Batman — it was the Red Hood. "You're right. She won't stop, so let me do it."

"No," Cass shook her head.

"Dammit, Cass! Let me kill her!"

"No!"

"She has to die! She'll never stop coming after you! If you won't do it, then I will!"

"You can't, Jason," she was practically begging him now, "You can't."

"You were perfectly fine with Dragon doing it!" Jason angrily pointed out. "Why not me?"

"You are my brother, that is why! And our father taught us that murder is wrong! If you kill her, especially like this, it will be a betrayal of his memory!" Cass retorted, angry as she was anguished, "He would have never approved of this!"

"HE'S DEAD! THEY'RE ALL DEAD!"

Cass froze, tears still running down her cheeks.

"They're all dead," Jason was crying too, now, his face red, "They're all dead, and you are all I have left. I can't lose you, Cass. If I lose you…" The very thought seemed to cause him pain.

"…if I lose you, I'll die all over again. And this time, nothing will bring me back."

Her face crumpled. She let go. But before Jason could proceed—

"You do this, and you will lose me anyway," she told him, voice quiet. "You worked so hard to be a hero again, Jason. Do not let her turn you back into a murderer."

He began to shake.

"This is not our way. So please…" she didn't have the emotional strength to say more. But her gaze never wavered. The will in here eyes said the rest.

Jason looked away, and stared down at Shiva's face. He wasn't really seeing her. He wasn't really seeing anything at all, really. Words kept running through his head, memories of happier times long gone. Damian dragging him to the nearest shelter to find his newest pet; Tim slumped over the counter of his diner, computer half-open and paperwork surrounding him; Dick and him, arms slung over each other's shoulders, red-faced and giggling after a night of drinking; Bruce…

…Bruce.

Cass was right. Bruce would've never approved of this. He would've understood, but he wouldn't have approved. He would've tried to find another way. All of them would have. And what kind of man would he be, if he wasn't willing to do the same?

When he came back the first time, when his mind returned to him, the Pit called for him to kill. But that wasn't an excuse in the end. The truth was that he wasn't willing to try and look for a better way. A way that didn't end in blood and death and pain. He let the Pit consume him, because it was easier to do than have hope and see it crushed time and again. In the end, he'd rather see the bad than the good.

But focusing on the bad had only ever left him miserable. Cynical. Resigned. Unhappy. And he was tired of being that way. He wanted to see what his friends saw, what his family saw, even in their darkest moments.

He wanted to see the good.

But he wouldn't see it if he killed Shiva. If he judged her like he had with others in the past. Maybe she was redeemable, maybe she wasn't. That wasn't for him to decide, it never had been. That was the one truth he had refused to accept, because it defeated everything he had ever done, every sin he committed under the belief that he was saving Gotham. He had to accept it now, because if he believed himself the judge and the jury, then he would have no choice but to be determined to see nothing but the worst.

And that wouldn't solve anything, because he had to see the best too. Seeing the best meant he could finally have the hope his family had. The hope that had driven all of them to try and save a city that so many others had deemed irredeemable.

The hope that had driven them to save him. Because they saw the best in him, and despite everything he had done to them, they never gave up on him. And after everything that had happened since then, the last thing Jason wanted to do was betray the faith they had in him.

He stabbed the knife into the ground. He stood up. He looked at his sister. She looked back.

They were in each other's arms a moment later. Jason kissed the top of Cass' head, keeping her face deep in the crook of his neck. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Cass told him, voice beginning to steady, "It's okay. Just don't worry me like that again, alright?"

"I won't," Jason closed his eyes, "I promise, I won't."

"Pathetic."

Jason hugged his sister closer as they both watched Shiva struggle to her feet, a fierce, uncompromising look of complete disdain on her face. Even the stab wounds Jason had given her, the blood that was gushing from her legs, was not enough to keep her down.

It didn't matter. In her current state, she didn't stand a chance against either of them, let alone both. It would be a trial getting through the army, especially with Jason out of breath from the battle he had just fought, but they'd manage. It wasn't anything they hadn't done before.

"You think this is the end?" Shiva roared at them, a crazed look in her eye. It was disturbing, how different she was now from her initially cool demeanor.

This was not the woman that made the greatest fighters in the world quiver in their boots. No, really looking at her now, Jason could see what she really was — the girl who lost her sister for the sake of her own potential. The girl that wished for her sister to live on in someway after her death, after both their deaths. The guilt, the regret, the loss, all of it was permeating from her in such a way that even he could feel it. He knew Cass did, judging by the pitying look on her face.

That was why she was so intent on having Cass succeed her, he realized. Because Cass was the reason Carolyn was dead. Cain had killed Carolyn Su-Wan to unleash Shiva's potential, so that potential could be passed down to the weapon he sought. Jason knew that Shiva wasn't totally incapable of affection — Black Canary, Dinah Laurel Lance, had proven that — but she was incapable of feeling it for her daughter, because every time she looked at her, she couldn't help but see the beloved sister that was murdered for the sake of her existence.

If she killed Cass, then her sister would be avenged. The cause of Carolyn's death, the person whose feet Sandra Wu-San laid the blame at (more than even David Cain, the man who pulled the trigger), would finally be dead.

If Cass killed her, then her sister would be vindicated. The weapon that Carolyn died for would finally be perfected, finally ready to fulfill its purpose, and the greatest loss of Sandra Wu-San's life would not be for nothing.

No matter what happened, Lady Shiva would win.

But now it was dawning on her that it wasn't happening. That nothing would make Cass kill her. That nothing would make him kill her either. That they would stand together to stop her, and together, not even she could win against them — not anymore. That they would simply keep on imprisoning her and imprisoning her until she died on her own. That this legacy, the legacy she had devoted her entire life to building, would not end in an instant of glorious battle and death, but fade away with a whimper.

And unlike Jason, this was not a truth she was willing to accept.

"Take me to jail! Go ahead! As soon as I heal, I will break out, and it will start all over again! I will kill and kill until one of you finally overcomes their cowardice and ends me!" She was seething, "I am Lady Shiva, creator and destroyer! You dare spurn the hon—"

Click.

Boom.

Jason felt his eyes widen, and he knew Cass had a similar expression. Shiva looked down at her chest, blood leaking out of her mouth. There was a bullet wound there. Right through the heart. She collapsed.

In her place was David Cain, gun still aimed and smoking. He was wearing an indecipherable expression that Jason, for the life of him, could not figure out. So in shock, he didn't even react when Cass slipped out of his arms to stare down at the woman who had given birth to her, and then to the man who had sired her. A thousand emotions, words unexpressed, seemed to pass between the two of them.

An arrow broke the moment. Shiva gave her word that no matter what happened, no one would interfere with the fight until one of them was dead. With her dead, the fight was clearly over.

No point on dwelling on it any longer. They needed to get out of here now.

"Fuck! Cass!" Cass turned to look back at him, "Cover me!"

Not waiting for an answer, Jason ducked under another arrow as the army began to converge on him. He dove for his backpack (left all by its lonesome after Cass interjected herself into the duel) and began rifling through the contents. He didn't have to look up to see Cass tackle one of the soldiers and begin cleaning house. He was a bit surprised to hear the telltale gunshots of Cain doing the same.

Come on, come on—Gotcha! He pulled out his utility belt, snapping it around his waist with well-practiced ease. Taking out three smoke pellets, he snapped a quick "CLOSE YOUR EYES!" and then threw them, grabbing his sister's hand just before they hit the ground.

Smoke exploded around them. Jason felt it wash over his face, and then charged through the mass of coughing bodies, dragging Cass along with him. It was only he felt clear air again that he allowed himself to open his eyes again, running towards the general direction of where they parked the jeep. Cass let go of his hand and ran in front of him, taking out any enemies that stood in their way. Next to him, he could see David Cain following them with more energy than Jason had ever seen in him since they first found him in that arena in Vietnam.

They made it to the jeep. Jason tossed his backpack inside and jumped in the same time as Cass, while Cain took the driver's seat. Even as they punched out of there, Jason didn't allow himself to relax. Things couldn't be that easy.

He was right. It seems Shiva had been prepared for an impromptu escape. Countless dirt bikes, specially-designed for this particular rough terrain, tore through the forest after them at insane speeds. Jason took out several batarangs, handing a few to Cass, and threw them with precision. They knocked away weapons, and blew out tires — he couldn't help but flinch at a particularly bad wipe out — but they just didn't seem to stop coming.

Fucking cult. That was the only explanation. Shiva never had any problems using people's obsession with her for her own gain. Even death didn't seem to break her hold on them.

They kept going regardless. Even after Jason had run out of batarangs and had resorted to taking out bits of the car, they kept going. The Family was waiting for them back home, they couldn't afford to die here. Not when Gotham needed them.

"Oi, Todd!" Jason didn't dare to look back, but he did give out a loud grunt to indicate he was listening. "You got explosives in that bag of yours?"

"Yeah, but—" Before Jason could say more, he was flung back into the driver's seat. A second later he found Cass in the same boat as him. Realizing that the no one was actually driving, he put his hands on the steering wheel, stabilizing them before they could careen into a tree.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!" He screamed. Next to him, Cass uprighted herself, looking up to see Cain begin wrapping himself with the incendiary devices he had packed in his backpack.

"No…" She whispered.

"Take care of my little girl," were Cain's last words.

(They would haunt both their dreams for the years to come.)

Jason blinked and turned to look back. Cass moved to jump after her last blood relative, but it was too late — Cain threw himself at the their attackers, a lit match in his hand. Knowing what was about to happen, Jason stepped on the gas medal so hard that it would probably leave an imprint on his boot when this was all over. The jeep accelerated even faster than before, just barely enough to escape the ensuing explosion.

Next to him, Cass watched as the last of her biological parents died in a literal blaze of glory. She remained in that position for a long time as the fire gradually disappeared from view. The moment it was completely gone, she dropped back into her seat next to Jason, eyes far away.

"Any more pursuers?" Jason asked softly.

"No."

He said nothing in response. That was all he needed to know. One hand on the wheel, Jason used his free arm to tuck her into his side. Cass welcomed his embrace, burying her face into his neck, as the tears once again began streaming down her cheeks.

The flight home was quiet. The moment the plane was in the air, they pulled out the couch and turned it into a bed. After everything that had happened this past week, they were both ready to turn in. Once they were both firmly tucked in, Jason hugged his sister close, and didn't let go.

When the plane landed, Jason was happy to see that the city wasn't on fire. That was probably the best sign they had that things were finally turning around. Even better, a car was waiting for them, with Luke at the helm.

"Welcome home," was the first thing Luke said, pulling Cass into a hug first. She returned it happily.

After they let go, Jason let loose a smirk as he and Luke clasped hands in a tight, familiar greeting. "How's the company? Any heads that need to roll?"

"Nah," Luke returned the smirk. "Dad and I took care of that. When will you be back?"

"Give me a week to settle back in, and then you'll be home free. Just make sure Babs doesn't kill us."

"I make no promises."

Knowing Babs, Jason knew that was the best he was going to get.

(It was good to be home.)

"Jay!" Stephanie said joyfully, lunging at him. Jason caught her with a laugh, looking around at the interior of the Manor from the corner of his eye. Everything looked to be in order. Good.

"How was Gotham?"

"Great!" and then her face morphed into something stern. "Never put me in charge again."

"I'm not sure, I mean you seemed to have done a pretty good job…"

"No!" Stephanie was pouting. "Never again! Too much responsibility!"

Jason snickered, then exhaled. "I have someone that wants to see you."

Stephanie's face softened as he stepped aside to reveal her best friend. As the two caught up, Jason started walking towards the servants' quarters. There was someone else that Cass needed to see. He just hoped the old man was up for it right now.

He knocked on the door to Alfred's room. When a "No, Miss Stephanie, I do not want to watch any more episodes of The Bachelor," met him, he chuckled, and used that as his cue to walk in.

Alfred looked up at him with an exasperated look that instantly melted away once he realized that his visitor wasn't a blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman. "Master Jason!" The butler sounded perturbed. "Forgive me, young sir. I didn't realize it was you."

"It's fine, Alfred. You're looking well."

"Yes, well, Miss Stephanie has been quite attentive. Perhaps overly so."

"It's only because she cares," Jason sighed. "Do you want to see her?"

"Of course," Alfred sounded scandalized that he would ever think otherwise.

"Alright, let me just bring her here."

After leaving Cass behind with Alfred, he sat down with Stephanie in the breakfast nook, face serious.

"Nothing too big happened while I was gone?"

Stephanie shook her head. "Nothing we couldn't handle. Though…" she seemed to hesitate for a moment.

"What is it, Steph?"

"Duke and I did some investigating, and Babs is looking into it right now. There's been some rumbling lately. We think there's a budding crime lord trying to make their home in Gotham."

Jason frowned and adopted a thinking pose. "Any idea who it is yet?"

"Not so far."

"Keep digging. Cass and I are going to have our hands full training Jon and Carrie. Not to mention, I've been neglecting my duties with the Justice League."

"Oh!" It seemed Jason's comment had reminded Stephanie of something. "That reminds me — Clark wants to know when you're going to bring Carrie to meet him and Diana. Something about 'tradition' and all that."

"Tch. Tell him it's after she actually becomes Robin. No sooner than that."

"Alright then," Stephanie looked similarly amused, "But don't be surprised if they drop in unexpectedly just to prove you wrong."

"It don't doubt it, Steph," Jason smiled, "I don't doubt it."

"Cass!"

"Jon!"

"So that's you're super-cool-ultra-badass sister?" Carrie asked as she and Jason watched Cass' next hug fest start.

"Yup," Jason smacked his lips. "Want to meet her?"

Carrie paused, clearly nervous. Jason placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Hey, it's going to be alright. She's going to love you — I promise."

Guiding her towards his sister, he watched as Cass turned around to look at them. She shot Carrie an encouraging smile and bent down a bit, offering her hand. Carrie returned with a shy smile of her own, and Jason knew, then and there, that everything was going to be alright.

More people came to the Manor to welcome the Wayne siblings back home. Duke and Bette, Barbara and her baby son and even her father as well. It felt good to be home.

As the impromptu celebration died down, Jason found himself outside, near the family cemetery. The place where Thomas and Martha Wayne and all their ancestors were buried. The place where Bruce and his brothers were buried.

No expense had been spared for the gravestones. Each one was beautifully crafted and ornate, expressing how much each grave's occupant was well-beloved. None more so than the deliberate space left between Dick and Tim, the first and third sons. The place he would go, when his time finally came.

Jason remembered telling Damian once that he intended to be cremated. That decision had been discarded after Tim's death, with Jason deliberately ordering that there would be enough space between his grave and Dick's for Jason's own. Damian, of course, was on the other side of Tim, while Bruce was on the other side of Dick. He knew Cass planned to have her grave placed next to their youngest sibling, completing the set.

One by one, he placed his hand on each stone. He didn't have the time to buy flowers when he got back to Gotham, and made a note to buy bigger bouquets the next time he visited.

"Hey," he started. "It's been a while. I'm sorry about that — something came up. Cass and I got into a spot of trouble, but we're okay now."

He swallowed.

"I almost killed someone again. A couple days ago, in fact. I thought it would've solved our problem, and maybe it would have. I don't know. I guess it doesn't matter anymore. Cass stopped me. She said you wouldn't have approved."

Jason took a deep breath. "Look. I know that all of us didn't agree on everything. Especially about…about that. And the truth is, the reason why is because I'm jaded. So, so jaded. My childhood, my death, all of it makes it harder for me to see the good. I know that it's there, and I find it, but—well, it never gleamed for me the same way it did for you."

"I was jealous of you for that. All of you. The world seemed so much brighter to you than it did to me. More than once, I wished I could see what you could. Other times, I wished you saw things my way, if only to prove I was right. Sometimes I was. Sometimes I wasn't. Maybe we were all right in the end, or all wrong. We'll never know the answer."

"There's a couple of things I do know, though. One is that I love you all. And if that there's one thing I'm scared of, it's that I didn't say it nearly enough," he inhaled another breath, "The other is that I want to save this city. Like you did, the way you did. And I'm not sure if I can, if I can be good like you were, if I can believe like you did. I just know that I love you too much not to try. And I swear, I'll keep trying until the day I die. I just hope that it'll be enough."

"It will be."

Jason whirled around to see Cass standing behind him. She walked up to him, lacing their hands together and leaning against his shoulder as she gazed upon the headstones. They stayed like for a long while, letting the memories wash over them.

"They wanted to save this city," he murmured.

"They will."

Jason lifted his head at his sister's statement, blinking in surprise. Cass met his gaze, and squeezed his hand.

"Through us."

A genuine smile bloomed on his face, and Jason squeezed back, just as hard.

"Yeah. Through us."

Chapter Text

"We were lucky."

"I wouldn't call what happened lucky, Jason," Bruce rebutted tiredly.

"Maybe not," Jason conceded, "But I can't think of anything else to call it. It was so easy to say in the moment, to believe that we could find another way, but in hindsight — I'm not sure we could have. Not without crossing at least some lines. And now…" he shrugged, helpless.

"…Are you willing to kill her now? To save Cass?"

"No," Jason replied instantly, "In this case, that wouldn't solve the issue. If anything, it would make the situation worse. All the people after Dragon and Shiva will come after me instead. And I…I can't put that guilt on Cass. She'll think it's her fault, even when it isn't."

Bruce pursed his lips. He could accept that, but there was something more to Jason's statement that they needed to talk about. "You said 'in this case'."

Jason deliberately didn't respond to that. He just closed his eyes instead.

"Jason…do you still believe in killing?"

The warehouse was silent again. Bruce waited for his son's answer, while trying to sort through his own feelings. If Jason said yes, then how would he react? Would he reject his son for that? Should he?

"…yes and no," Jason finally answered, "As the Red Hood, I thought it was the only way to make an impact but something happened to change my mind. However, I still believe there are times when killing is necessary."

"Jason—"

"Bruce, I know you don't agree. That you — along with most heroes — believe in rehabilitation. Back then I would've derided you for being naive, but now, I admire you for still having so much optimism," Jason looked jaded, "Optimism I wish I still had."

"Some people don't change, Bruce. They can't or they just won't. And usually, we can just keep those people under lock and key and that's enough to satisfy everyone. But sometimes…sometimes we can't. Sometimes that's not enough. And sometimes they do things that are unforgivable. And they won't stop doing those things and—" His son was hyperventilating now.

Bruce rolled over, and placed a hand on Jason's shoulder. Gradually, his son began to calm down, breathing normally.

"…Some villains need to be put down Bruce. They do," Jason sighed again, "But I don't do it. Not anymore. I keep giving them chances, because I want them to prove me wrong." I want them to prove you right.

Bruce exhaled. "You killed people. As the Red Hood."

"I did."

"…Do you regret any of it?"

"That's more complicated. The people I killed were the scum of the Earth, and I can't really find it in myself to regret the fact that they weren't around anymore to harm more people," Jason sat up, his father following him, "But, in hindsight, I probably could've stopped them another way besides killing. And I do regret that I didn't try to find another way. That's honestly how I've felt about every kill I've made until I stopped for good. Except one."

"One?"

"That one…I don't regret. And if I had to do it all over again, I would. In my timeline — and in this one."

Oh. Well, that one was easy to figure out, "Jason, about the Joker—"

Laughter.

Pure, mirthless, laughter.

Jason laughed and laughed and kept laughing until he was crying. And Bruce — Bruce could do nothing but stare.

"You think it's the Joker! Of course you think it's the Joker!" The laughter subsided into something sad, "God, I wish it was him. I would give up just about anything for it to be him."

"Jason?"

"Bruce, the Joker is probably the one kill I regret the most."

Bruce's mouth fell open, completely agape. "Wha—? Jason, he killed you! How—Why—?"

His son looked like he wanted to answer, but couldn't. Jason just looked away, as if speaking any more than he already had would be a betrayal. The father was still stunned, and couldn't muster up the will to prod his son open. Not with that sorrow enveloping him like a cloak.

"Jason…" God, how he was going to focus on patrol tonight?

"…Can we go home now?" He sounded so young. Younger than he had since had gotten home with his brother and sister in tow.

"Sure, Jason." Bruce swallowed. "Sure."

They don't talk about it again. Even though Bruce desperately wants to, they still don't. Jason isn't ready to talk about it, and Bruce, showing how much he loved his son, didn't press him further. The answers would come one day, he was certain.

Even so, even with that new anomaly between them, the tension from their conflict over Cass' training had eased away. That was reflected in the behavior of everyone else, who were noticeably more relaxed around both of them and no longer afraid to mention the other in one's hearing. Plus the reinstatement of Alfred's baking privileges, which had begun to taper off the longer they stayed mad at each other.

Cass continued training under Dragon. Jason didn't ask for details, but she looked satisfied every time he came to pick her up for speech therapy, so he guessed things were going well. She even started speaking a bit more — not quite full sentences yet, but still more words. There were still long stretches of silence, but it was progress.

Speaking of progress, Damian's friendship with Jon continued to flourish. They had already scheduled their first play date at the Manor, getting permission from their respective parents and planning out the visit through their calls. Lois had finally relented and gotten Jon his phone, and just like she promised, billed him for it. Jason was happy to pay for it.

However, the greatest hallmark of promise came several weeks later. Months after the school year started, after he subtly nudged his younger brother to befriend one of his classmates, Jason and Cass arrived to pick up a bemused Tim and a grumpy Damian, only to find the former talking with a cheery young girl with blond hair that looked incredibly familiar to Jason.

Stephanie Brown smiled at him and his sister with her wide blue eyes, and the both of them couldn't help but smile back. She was so much younger than Jason last remembered her, but the sunny disposition was still there. Even after everything she went through, Stephanie had never been one to let things get her down.

"You're Jason Wayne!" Stephanie exclaimed in giddy surprise.

"I am," Jason confirmed, then gestured to his sister, "And this is my sister Cassandra Wayne, but you can just call her Cass. And who might you be?"

"This," and Jason was so proud, Tim was giving him the stink eye without actually giving him the stink eye, "is my friend Stephanie Brown. She was a new student here like me, and we hit it off."

"I knew Tim knew you guys thanks to this munchkin," Stephanie gestured to a growling Damian, "picking him up after class everyday, but I didn't know you were this close."

Jason shrugged. "Tim is like a little brother to us. Practically another Wayne himself, really." He visibly ignored the look his younger brother shot him. It was closest they were going to get to saying the truth in public, and Jason wasn't going to waste it. It's not like the rest of Gotham didn't know that Bruce Wayne had been caring for the Drakes' son while the boy's father had been in a coma.

"Can we go now?" Damian interjected. "I'm hungry," he complained.

"Sure, Damian. Get inside," Jason met Stephanie's eyes again. "Want to come with? You know, if your parents are okay with it. I'll drop you off at your house afterward."

Stephanie blinked. "I—" She didn't seem to know what to say. "My parents won't mind," is what she finally settled on.

"Then get in," Jason ordered, shifting his gaze to Tim, "Both of you."

"Bat-Pizza? Seriously?" Stephanie whispered to Tim once they were out of earshot. Jason had taken Cass and Damian to order the food while Tim and Stephanie chose the table. "Can't they buy, like, the entire prize counter fifty times over?"

Tim shrugged. "They can, but that isn't the point. We just like to spend time together, and this place appeals to all of us. The food is decent, as are the games. We don't really compete for prizes anyway, so much as with each other."

"Oh?" And now Stephanie sounded coy.

"Damian says that if I manage to earn more tickets than him by the end of the year, he'll start calling me Timothy instead of Drake." Her friend sounded oddly determined for some reason.

"What about Jason and Cass?"

"Jason isn't much for this kind of stuff. He's usually content to just watch over us at the table while he reads. And Cass…" Tim shook his head. "There's no competing with her. She can easily trounce us both at any game we play. We try to invite her anyway, but she's usually content to just sit with Jason."

Stephanie frowned. That didn't sound particularly fun. Not to mention… "I noticed she doesn't talk a lot." Or at all, for that matter.

"She's naturally shy," Tim explained, then hesitated.

"Tim?"

"Don't tell anyone this, but Cass' parents weren't the best," Tim lowered his voice, looking around to make sure they weren't overheard, "Before she came to live with the Waynes, she didn't know how to read or speak at all. That's why she's not attending school with us — she's going to speech therapy instead."

A look of horror appeared on Stephanie's face. When the three siblings returned with the tokens, utensils and the stand for their food, all three of them noticed Stephanie looking at Cass with a determined look. Before any of them realized it, the younger girl stood up and took Cass by the hand.

"Come on," Stephanie said, "Let's go play a game."

Cass immediately turned to look at Jason, who simply gave her an encouraging smile. Looking back at Stephanie, she gave a shy nod, and allowed herself to be dragged away. As they gradually disappeared into the crowd of screaming children and beleaguered parents, both Jason and Damian cast their gazes towards their brother.

"Good job," Jason praised, handing Tim the empty cup for his soft drink.

Tim smirked back.

"Oof!" Stephanie crashed to the ground, groaning. "How are you so good at this?" she complained, though there was no heat to it.

Cass, standing next to her and not even slightly out of breath, simply gave an awkward smile. What Stephanie didn't know was that DDR had been one of the first games taught to her the first time her family came here. With her skills, it was quickly determined that none of them, not even Dick or Jason, stood a chance at beating her.

"New game then!" Stephanie announced, quickly getting back to her feet. She began walking towards the row of skeeball machines, only stopping when she realized that Cass wasn't following her. The other girl was simply just standing there, as if Stephanie was some sort of conundrum she couldn't make out.

Thinking quick, Stephanie threw out a taunt. "Unless you're scared," she said cockily.

Cass tilted her head, her expression remaining the same. Nonetheless, she began following Stephanie to the skeeball machines, where Tim and Damian were (angrily, in the case of the latter) competing over who could get the highest score.

"Damn you, Drake!" A nearby mother wore a scandalized look at his language. "Curse you and your longer arms and more easily developed upper body strength!"

"Hey guys!" Stephanie greeted them, Cass close behind her. "Mind if we join in?"

"Brown," the youngest of the four hissed.

At the beginning of the school year, Damian made as much as an effort as possible to pretend that he didn't know Tim. Tim hadn't thought too much about it at the time, considering that he was still trying to get used to Damian in general at the Manor. Everyone else in the school knew, however, that Tim had stayed with Bruce Wayne while his parents were…indisposed. Inevitably, that caused problems.

The Waynes were the family of Gotham. Even when there was only one of them around, their name had carried more weight than any other in the entire city. This held especially true in Gotham Academy. Dick Grayson and Jason Todd had both gotten a cold reception until they had the Wayne name, and suddenly they were the most popular people in the student body. While Dick had played it off with his natural charm, Jason wasn't one for bullshit and pointedly only talked to people that were only interested in him and not his name.

So, when Tim Drake entered Gotham Academy, it caused a lot of problems. The Waynes had been more of a subject of interest than ever before. Not only had Bruce Wayne adopted a new child (a girl, to boot), he had recently learned and revealed that he had a biological child. If either of those things hadn't caused enough headlines, Jason Wayne's miraculous return from the dead with a tale unbelievable enough to make soap operas look tame certainly had. Now everyone wanted a piece of the Waynes, and were willing to do anything to get it.

Of course, they went after Damian first. But not only was Damian seven, he was a terrifying seven. With a glare that could make grown men cower and a sharp tongue that cut even the strongest exteriors, people flocked away from him in droves by the end of the first week. That left Tim as their only other avenue for information, and soon everyone was besetting him in place of the younger boy. Tim may have had a higher threshold for bullshit than Damian, but he was equally cautious, and even more adept at seeing through the sugary compliments and prying words. It wasn't long before he started avoiding people too.

That's how he had come to befriend Stephanie Brown. As a scholarship student, and a new one at that, there was a bit of berth between her and the other students. She wasn't bullied (Gotham Academy pointedly had a zero-tolerance policy for bullying, courtesy of Bruce Wayne's continued patronage) but she did have a hard time really befriending anyone. People were nice, but not particularly social with her.

Stephanie, however, was one of the few people not ragging Tim about the Waynes. Combined with Jason's suggestion to befriend her (along with the many oblique mentions he made about her whenever he talked about the future), Tim had decided that he would sit with her at lunch and work with her in whatever classes they had. With Stephanie's consent, of course.

Thus began a beautiful friendship. The two bonded easily, Stephanie with her naturally sunny disposition and pop culture references was able to gradually bring Tim out of his shell, including his dry sense of humor and near-effortless brilliance. They studied together, ate together, did just about everything together — at school, at least. There were rumors about their relationship being more, but both of them paid them no mind. They were friends, nothing more.

And thus, because they were friends, Stephanie inevitably met Damian Wayne for real. Damian's attempts to pretend he didn't know Tim fell apart the moment he realized that his fellow students were needling him for information on his family. The boy furiously confronted his secret older brother during one of the day's breaks, while he was hanging out with Stephanie. Naturally, he believed Stephanie to be one of the leeches.

This offended the older girl. That had led to an argument; the first of many. Neither of them had been blind to how lonely Damian was at school, even if the child couldn't admit it. While they didn't share a lunch block, they did share breaks, and lacking any other friends and rather uncaring of their school reputation, they decided they would spend it with him — whether he liked it or not.

That led to talks about where Tim and Damian went after school. Which led to here.

"I'm hearing no protests…" Stephanie sang.

Tim sighed. "Nobody is stopping you two, Steph."

Damian grumbled as Stephanie happily dragged Cass to the two open machines next to Tim. On an unspoken word, all four entered their tokens at the same time. Balls rolled down the openings, and Stephanie picked one up, tongue sticking out of her mouth. She didn't have the chance to visit places like this often, but skeeball was an easy game to master. It was just a matter of the way you flicked your wrist, applying just enough force to get the ball up there while at the same time aiming for the center.

When she was done, she had an appreciably high score — higher than Tim's, in fact. Still nothing compared Cass', though.

"One day, I'm going to beat you at something," she vowed to the other girl. Cass smiled awkwardly at her again, which Stephanie inwardly counted as a victory.

Unlike Damian, who was once again crowing about 'unfair advantages' and shouting at them to 'savor' their 'dwindling youthful adulthood'. Stephanie was seriously beginning to wonder how a seven year old had that kind of vocabulary. Before she could ask, Jason appeared, announcing the food was here. Without even thinking, Stephanie linked one arm with Cass and the other with Tim and started marching the three of them towards the table.

If Cass' arm fit itself a little more snuggly in, she didn't say anything.

Stephanie's home was located in the Narrows. It wasn't Crime Alley, but it was close enough that Jason pointedly refused to park it anywhere else except right in front of her building. Why he would want to park at all was lost on her, until she saw Cass step outside and give her a hug.

"Thank you," the Asian girl said clumsily, "I had…fun."

"So did I." Stephanie happily admitted. "We should do this again sometime."

"We can?"

"If you want."

Cass smiled.

"Stephanie Brown. Daughter of Arthur Brown, aka the supervillain Cluemaster, who is currently serving five year-long sentence in Blackgate Penitentiary for armed robbery." Bruce whirled around in his chair to face his son. "How exactly does his teenage daughter end up a vigilante?"

"Easy," Jason answered, blocking a kick from Tim, "Having a supervillain for a father, even a C-Lister, is hardly conductive to a healthy environment for raising children. Especially when said father has no interest in reforming and was hardly ever around while her mother struggled through her drug addiction to support their daughter."

"Let me guess," Tim grunted as he kept trying to land a hit on his older brother, "When Daddy got out of his latest sentence and seemed to posed to continue on with his crimes, Steph decided she would try and stop him herself—oof!" He landed hard on the ground. Jason held out his hand to help him sit up, which Tim gratefully took.

"Got it in one. Within weeks of his release, she made her own costume. It was purple, though she—and you for that matter, Tim—insisted it was 'eggplant'," Jason chuckled nostalgically, "At least, that's what you said when you two showed it to me the first time. I didn't really get to know Steph until she was already Batgirl. But before she was Batgirl, she was Spoiler."

"Spoiler?" Bruce asked skeptically. "That's an interesting name."

Jason hummed in agreement. "According to her, it was because she was 'spoiling' her father's plans," he explained, "Even after Arthur was sent back to jail, however, she continued on as a vigilante. She wanted to be a hero, you see, and she wasn't going to let anything stop her."

Bruce nodded along as Tim got up to get a sip of water. "So how did I mess up with her?"

Tim nearly choked on his water. Jason was unphased. "You never really gave her a fair chance, Bruce," idly, he slapped his younger brother on the back, helping the water go down the right pipe, "She didn't have as much natural talent as the rest of us, but she did have talent. She would've never gotten as far as she did otherwise. Instead, you put her down when you weren't manipulating her to test Tim's devotion to being Robin."

His younger brother nearly choked again. "Wait, what?"

"I don't really know the full details — you three never liked to talk about it — but from what I understand, it was because Tim's dad found out he was Robin and…didn't take it well." Jason winced. "He made Tim quit. Stephanie ended up filling in for him as Robin for a couple months, but you never really treated her as you did the rest of us, and then you fired her; apparently, the reason you took her on was so Tim would be convinced to take Robin back from her because she wasn't ready for the job. When he didn't bite, you didn't need her any longer. The situation deteriorated from there, a gang war erupted, she was tortured and thought to be killed. Tim came back, though your relationship was strained for a while because of what happened. Steph, meanwhile, had her death faked by Leslie and sent to Africa to heal. You didn't take it well when you found out, Tim." He added that last part almost as an afterthought.

Now both Bruce and Tim were staring at him in horror. "And you still want her around us?" The girl sounded better off having never met either of them.

"As a companion, yes. As a vigilante — well, there's no sign of her being Spoiler yet, but if it happens, then yes, I still want her with us," Jason sighed, "She's a friend, guys. To me, to you Tim, to Damian and especially to Cass."

Bruce frowned. "They were close?"

"BFFs. One of the reasons why Cass had no issues giving up Batgirl to her. Cass was even the godmother to Steph's children, after she retired as Batwoman."

"Is that why you wanted them to meet?" Tim asked in a sudden bout of realization.

"Yes," Jason said bluntly, no remorse in his tone, "Cass needs friends, and nobody got her to open up like Steph did. Well, besides you." He nodded towards Tim.

Tim blinked, then looked away, blushing.

"Steph was good for all of us, really. She wasn't exceptional — not by our standards — but she was bright regardless. And, well, she grounded us," Jason rubbed the back of his head, "Face it, none of us had normal childhoods. Bruce, you were raised by your butler and had sole access to one of the biggest fortunes in the world for all your life. Dick is a former circus brat. I was born and raised in the middle of Gotham's worst neighborhood and lived on the streets for a while. Damian and Cass go without saying. Even you, Tim, had absurdly neglectful parents and have been in and out of boarding schools for years."

"But her? Even with her C-List villain father and druggie mother, Steph's childhood was rather tame, if a bit depressing. She lived a normal life in a normal neighborhood. It gave her a perspective we lacked, helped us keep our feet planted on the ground. She reminded us that we weren't saving numbers, but people. And I'll be honest — that's something all of us, even Dick, tended to forget."

Bruce's frown deepened. Tim looked up. "So…"

"Keep her close," Jason clasped a hand on his brother's shoulder, "Which won't be too hard, right? I mean, you two are already friends and hang out with each other at school everyday."

Tim looked at him suspiciously but nodded nonetheless. Bruce gave a non-committal hum. "I want to meet her myself, eventually. Make my own judgment, if that's alright with you."

"That's fine," Jason agreed, "I think she might surprise you."

"Steph and I were more than just friends, weren't we?"

"And of course you figure that out," Jason massaged his temples.

After training, Jason had dragged Tim upstairs to his room for some rest and relaxation. It was his brother's rare night off, and they were going to use it by playing some video games. While the technology laughably primitive compared to the games he got for Terry and Matty when they were kids, it was good for killing time and for bonding, so when Tim eagerly held up a copy of Super Smash Bros., Jason could hardly refuse, could he?

Of course, since Jason was out of practice, he lost several times before he got a hang of things again and started giving Tim a decent challenge. Oh, the woes of being old.

"Jason…" Tim set his controller aside and crossed his arms.

"She was, Tim," Jason swallowed, sighing as he dropped his own controller into his lap, "You had a lot of girls interested in you, Boy Wonder, but she was the only one who ever really stood a chance. If things had gone down differently, there's no doubt in my mind you two would've walked down the aisle somewhere down the line."

"But we didn't."

"But you didn't," his older brother agreed, "It takes more than just love to have a healthy relationship, Tim. Any relationship really, not just romantic. As much as you two loved each other, so much had happened between you two that neither of you were sure if you could make it work again. So you both decided just to remain friends."

Jason leaned back against the headboard of his bed, looking up to the ceiling. "If I'm going to be honest with you, though, I think that if there's anything Steph regretted after you died, as that the two of you didn't make the effort to try anyway."

"She moved on, though," Tim pointed out.

"She did," Jason conceded, "But does that really make it any better?"

Tim pursed his lips. "I guess not."

Jason turned to look at him, really look at him. His younger brother's shoulders were hunched over, and he looked conflicted. "You know, it doesn't have to mean anything."

"You say that, but you and I both know it doesn't work that way," Tim observed.

"Not always. But in this case — Tim, this was another life, with another you. Whether it happens again, whether it goes somewhere, that's up to you and her. Not me or anyone else."

"Then why tell me?"

Jason huffed. "Because I know that even if you hadn't asked, it would've bogged you down anyway. Just like Bruce and Dick."

Tim smirked. "Them too?"

"What can I say?" Jason said, miming the words with his hands. "Us Wayne men had complicated love lives that screwed us over more than once. I might as well make things easier on us for all of us."

"Yeah," Tim leaned back so he was laying down next to his brother, eyes also on the ceiling, "that figures."

Weeks later, during the same weekend that Damian had scheduled a play date with Jon, Cass asked Stephanie if she wanted to stay over at the Manor for the weekend. They were eating out at a new restaurant that had opened up in the nicer part of town, and despite Stephanie's protests, the five of them went there to celebrate her acing a test she had been studying hard for.

"I'll have to finish my homework Sunday night, but sure. My mom won't mind," Stephanie took a sip of her drink, "You're going to have to pick me up, though."

"No problem. I'll pick you up after I pick up Jon from the airport," Jason said, taking a bite of his pasta.

"Jon?"

"Jon Kent. He's a friend of Damian's from Kansas."

Stephanie blinked. She looked at Damian, who was politely taking bites of his salad, occasionally primly wiping away his mouth with a series of pats around her mouth. "Kansas?"

"Jon's parents are Clark Kent and Lois Lane — you know, the journalists from the Daily Planet. They've been friends of our family for years, ever since Clark met Bruce at baseball game in Metropolis back when Dick was a kid."

"Oh," Stephanie said, sounding far more understanding. "That makes more sense. So," and now her tone sounded much more sly, "what's he like?"

"What do you mean?" Tim asked, taking a bite of his pizza. Jason has lifted the restriction on his diet just for this lunch, and he was taking full advantage of it.

"I mean, if this one is a small, yapping chihuahua," She jabbed her thumb towards Damian, who only stopped himself from launching himself at her at the sight of Jason's warning glare, "what's Jon like?"

"Golden retriever," Jason and Tim answered simultaneously.

"Puppy," Cass added for good measure.

"And now I'm confused again," Stephanie said, taking another look at Damian, who was pointedly glaring at her with murder in his eyes.

Jason shrugged. "You'll understand when you meet him. Jon's family is…special."

"How?"

He smirked. "Let's just say they bring out the best in people, and leave it at that."

"Now remember Jon — no using your powers when Stephanie is around," Jason warned the young boy as they rounded the corner towards the direction of their last visitor's house.

"Got it," the boy nodded seriously.

Next to him, Damian crossed his arms. "Are we really going to have Brown stay over at our house? She's a civilian."

"Technically, Damian, you're a civilian," Jason pointed out, eyes still on the road, "As is Jon, Cass, and even myself."

"Father says you already have a suit and weapons. Not to mention, you're fully trained, even more so than Drake."

"And yet I haven't gone patrolling yet."

"But you could."

"That's irrelevant to the discussion. Fact of the matter is, I have not established a new vigilante identity since my return, ergo, I am currently a civilian."

"Tt," Damian scoffed and looked away, surrendering the argument.

A few minutes later, Jason arrived in front of the Brown home, where Stephanie was waiting for them with a packed bag for her overnight stay. She waved at him as he pulled into the drive way, parking the car and going outside to put the bag in the back.

"Where's Cass?"

"At home," Jason answered automatically, hauling the bag up easily and carrying it to the trunk, "Quick question, though — do you want to sleep in her room or in a guest room?"

"Her room," Stephanie quickly decided after some thinking.

"Okay. I'll text Alfred so he can get some spare blankets and pillows ready."

"Alfred?"

"Our butler and caretaker."

"Right." Even after all this time, she still wasn't quite used to her friends being so rich. "So Tim's not going to be there?"

"No," Jason shook his head. "Tim doesn't come over on the weekends. He has a…thing, out of town. He's really committed to it."

Stephanie hummed but said nothing. She opened the passenger door and adopted a smile when she saw the two boys in the back seat. "And who might you be?"

Jon smiled shyly at her. "I'm Jon Kent!" He greeted her, "And you must be Stephanie!"

"Oh? You've heard of me?"

"Jason and Damian talked a lot about you on the way here."

Stephanie eyed Damian, who pouted. "Well, I hope a lot of it was nice."

"It was! Damian said you're really smart and stuff and that things are a lot louder when you're around which is his way of saying that he likes you—"

"JON!" The other boy screeched. An argument soon followed.

Jason sighed. "No fighting!" He ordered, and the bickering ceased near instantly.

Stephanie shot Damian a quick smile, which turned his face red and caused him to look away, out of the window. She shifted her expression towards Jason, who shrugged. A minute later, they were out of the driveway and on their way towards the Manor.

"Whoa," Stephanie couldn't help but say in awe. She had seen pictures of Wayne Manor — who in Gotham hadn't? — but nothing could compare to the real thing. The towering, wide-spanning, graystone building bespoke centuries of history, and Stephanie felt like she was defiling it just by daring to lay her eyes on it. She doubted the Waynes ever expected white trash like her to walk their halls.

How had she ended up here? When that letter from the Wayne Foundation came in, bequeathing her a scholarship she was certain she didn't qualify for her, everything since then had felt like a dream that was about to crash any moment. She didn't dare say no, her mother refused to let her even think about passing up such an amazing opportunity. Even more so when a representative arrived and revealed that they would be covering all her schooling expenses, including giving her an unlimited bus pass that would never expire (something Stephanie had only ever heard rumors about) and vouchers for her uniform.

Naturally, the rest of the neighborhood heard and Stephanie was beset by people she had barely spoken to who were all hoping to get an in with Gotham Academy elite. She had even ended up breaking up with her boyfriend Dean over it, when he tried to convince her to use the opportunity to find some marks to con money out of. It seemed that was the kick she finally needed to see the sleaze in him that everyone else saw.

Maybe that's why she gravitated to Tim so easily during those first few weeks. Gotham Academy wasn't as terrible as she would imagined it to be — television seemed to really exaggerate how screwed up private schools were — but she still fell lost. She was an outsider, she knew, even for scholarship students. Not even they were quite as impoverished as she was…or had a supervillain father, even if no one quite knew about that.

Tim was an outsider too, even if he was a different kind of outsider. The Drakes were a rich family, if not quite as well-known or established as those that typically attended Gotham Academy. However, they became the talk of the town when Bruce Wayne publicly took in their son after their unfortunate encounter with the Obeah Man. The death of Janet Drake, the coma of Jack Drake, and Bruce Wayne caring for another child after the tragic death of his second son (who later turned out to be alive) established Tim Drake's initially minimal media presence into minor celebrity status.

And yet, despite all that fame, Tim was a genuinely nice person. A little stressed and more tired than someone of his background would suggest, but generally just a swell guy. When he appeared in front of her that day in biology class, bedraggled and all but pleading to be her partner for the rest of the semester, she didn't have the heart to say no. It proved to be a great decision; Tim was funny and smart and kind enough to help her out on her homework. He also came with Damian Wayne, who was adorable in a hilarious kind of way. Arrogant and snobby, but deep down (really deep down), he was good kid too.

She hadn't cared for all the family drama surrounding them. She had enough on her plate to bother with all of that. They were just…good. And so were Damian's siblings. Jason was reserved, but he was nothing but polite to her, along with being a great listener and a fountain of good advice. Cass was the same — quiet, shy, but sweet. Stephanie didn't know much about her past, but Tim implied enough, and to think someone, let alone her own parents, would treat her so horribly that she was only learning to speak and read now…Well, Arthur Brown was a bastard, but even he would've never been so cruel.

Here and now, however, Stephanie was suddenly reminded of how different their worlds were. She was from a low middle-class, borderline poor neighborhood with a C-list villain father and an overworked, junkie mother. They were the children of the richest, most powerful man in the city. The scions of the very height of American aristocracy. For the first time since she began walking Gotham Academy's hallowed halls, she felt intimidated.

"Hey," Stephanie was ripped out of her thoughts by Jason, who was shooting her a sympathetic look. "It's alright. It's not as scary as it looks."

"What makes you think I'm scared?"

"Easy," Jason smiled, "I felt the same when I first came here. Crime Alley street rat, remember?"

Oh, right. Before Jason Todd was adopted by Bruce Wayne, he was just another orphan kid trying to survive Park Row. He probably had an even worse childhood than she did. She could only imagine the immense culture shock he felt, going from less-than-dirt poor to the second son of a billionaire.

"You'll get used to it."

"I will?" Stephanie asked, a little dazed.

Jason's smile widened. "You will."

Chapter Text

"Steph," Cass said in that quiet voice of hers the moment her friend walked through the door. Stephanie waved at her, Jason lugging in her bag with the children trailing behind him.

"Miss Stephanie Brown, I presume?" Alfred interjected before more could be said, taking the bag from Jason's hands. "I am Alfred Pennyworth, the caretaker of this fine establishment. If you have any issues during your stay here, do not be afraid to ask me for help."

"I will do that, Mr. Pennyworth."

"Please, call me Alfred. Where would you like your bags?"

"Store it in Cass' room," Jason answered, "Stephanie told me she'd like to stay there instead of a guest room."

"Very well then. While I prepare their room, I assume you will start dinner, Master Jason?"

"If you don't mind, I indeed will," he turned to his sister, "Cass, why don't you and Damian take Steph and Jon on a tour of the house? Dinner will be ready at the same time it always is."

Naturally, this did not please Damian. "I will not—"

He was cut off by a trifecta of looks from Cass, Jason, and Alfred. Immediately, he clammed up, grumbling as he took Jon's hand and started dragging him away.

"Come along, Brown, Cassandra. We shall start with the guest wing."

Jason watched as the girls followed his youngest brother and his friend, giggling in amusement, and shook his head.

"I hope I'm not making a mistake, Alfred."

"So do I, Master Jason," the butler responded dryly, "So do I."

As a child, everyone in Stephanie's neighborhood gossiped about Wayne Manor. One of the largest estates on the eastern seaboard, the quintessential American castle. The grand symbol of the family that helped build Gotham City from the ground up. It seemed like everyday the society pages of the Gotham Gazette had at least one picture of Wayne Manor.

The caveat, of course, is that the pictures were only ever of the outside. Brucie Wayne, for all his antics, was actually a rather private person. He did not allow cameras within the premises of his home — ever. Not even during the occasional galas he threw at his estate for charity. Only the elite of the elite of Gotham and its visitors had ever seen the interior of his home, and the man never saw any reason to change that.

This meant that no one in Stephanie's neighborhood had any illusions of ever seeing the inside of Wayne Manor. They were the Narrows, a hop, skip, and a jump away from Crime Alley. Even Stephanie, who lived in one of the better parts of the area thanks to her hardworking mother, never deluded herself into believing that she would ever step foot in that glorious house, the sigil of a life that would never be hers. It was a pipe dream. The kind of dream where you could pretend whatever you want, because you knew it would never happen.

Except it did happen. And for Stephanie, it was beyond anything she could ever imagine.

Beyond, because it was so mundane.

Sure, the wood paneling came from never-heard-before-now rainforest in the middle of Asia from the nineteenth century. And yeah, there was a lot of marble specially cut from secret mines in South America. And okay, that chandelier was really big and shined a lot. Plus the bowling alley, the in-house movie theater, the industrial-sized kitchen in the basement…

Okay, maybe mundane wasn't the right word. But Stephanie didn't know any other way to put it. The place was just so darn homey. Midst all the portraits of the Wayne family's numerous famous ancestors, there were Damian's sketches and portraits (admittedly much better than any seven year old's drawings had any right to be), with subjects ranging from members of his family to a milk carton. One of the living rooms, twice as large as the many apartments Stephanie grew up in, was swamped with video games, something that Tim was apparently to blame for. The main library's center table was stacked with study guides, novels, and notebooks, because Jason had no plans of going back to high school when he was perfectly able of getting a GED.

Yeah, parts of the Manor easily resembled the stock still photos of other buildings of its ilk, but at its core it really wasn't any different from any other lived-in home that Stephanie had visited. A really over-sized home, with luxuries and amenities that probably cost more than her mother and her father had made over the course of their entire lives, but still a home. Her opinion was only reaffirmed when Damian told them, in a deathly serious voice, that they were not to swing and/or play with the chandelier at all, and said that his older brother Richard (Richie Wayne, Stephanie assumed) was to blame following an incident where he started napping in it when he was ten.

It was…comforting, she supposed. It made her feel like less of an outsider. Another reminder that while her friends may have had more money, more privilege, than she did, they weren't really any different from her in the end. They were still people with their own interests and their own lives. Not matinee dolls that the Gazette celebrated and condemned as they threw out speculation about their lives. She knew that of course, ever since she really spoke with Tim for the first time, but it was nice to have a refresher.

Stephanie repeated that last statement in her mind, when she met Bruce Wayne's eyes for the first time.

Bruce Wayne. The Prince of Gotham. The last scion of the Wayne family, after the unexpected and tragic murders of his parents when he was eight.

Or at least he was, until he went on an adoption craze and then revealed he had a bastard kid.

While his earlier years were still shrouded in mystery, especially that five-year trip around the world he made around the world after graduating college at age twenty, his life when he came back to Gotham City certainly wasn't. His brilliance as a businessman and philanthropist was overshadowed by his antics as an eccentric playboy. Not quite to the level of a fictional Tony Stark, but certainly memorable. Stephanie once remembered reading about an incident at one of his galas where he showed up in his pajamas and a made a drunken speech to the press about the importance of anglets (whatever those were) before being dragged away by his eldest son. To say nothing of the host of injuries that came from his frequent dives into extreme sports, of which his sons seemed to share a penchant for, judging by the host of bruises both his sons showed up with at school.

(Looking back, Stephanie would beat herself up for not noticing the signs earlier. The Jason she knew preferred books to sports, as good as he was at the latter.)

The only time she knew of where the tabloids weren't ragging on him for his antics were the six months following the death of his second son. Even though she knew Jason to be alive now, Stephanie couldn't help but wince at the thought. The effects it had on his adoptive father were all too obvious to the city — the stock of Wayne Enterprises dropped several points and settled that way for months, there were no galas to be held during that same timeframe, rumors of a fight between the father and the eldest (and at the time, remaining) son, the latter of whom missed the funeral allegedly because the former never told him Jason had died.

Things only turned back to some kind of general normal six months later. Around that time is when Tim Drake started hanging around his home, and then Bruce formally took the kid in after the incident with the Obeah Man. Then, six or so months after that and over one year after his supposed death, Jason Todd miraculously came back from the dead around the same time that Bruce adopted another child (Cassandra, previous last name redacted) and revealed he had an illegitimate biological child (Damian Wayne). And suddenly the Waynes were once again the talk of the town, the 'it' family that everyone was obsessed with.

Stephanie knew all of this and yet, looking at Bruce Wayne now, she felt like she knew nothing about him at all. The jovial man that the papers happily slandered like no tomorrow was nowhere to be found. Instead, there was an air of solemness around him. She'd almost think him cold, if it weren't for the way his eyes softened when he saw his youngest son and his daughter. An expression that seemed to linger when he saw Jon.

Not around her. She could tell — he didn't know what to think about her.

Well, here's to making a good first impression. "Hi, Mr. Wayne. I'm Stephanie Brown. I'm a friend of your kids." She held out her hand.

The man — so much bigger in person — eyed it for a moment, before taking it with a firm shake. "It's nice to meet you, Miss Brown. My children have said a lot about you."

Stephanie giggled nervously. "Nice things, I hope."

"Nice things, indeed," he turned to look beside her, at Jon, "Jon."

"Hi, Uncle Bruce!" The boy said cheerfully, Bruce's own son scowling beside him.

"Father."

"Damian."

Cass simply held up a hand, her standard, silent greeting. Bruce reciprocated the gesture, then looked at his wristwatch. "Dinner should be about ready. Come on; I'll take you to the dining room."

The dining room was the one room Stephanie had yet to see. Apparently that was because no one was allowed in there except during meals. The moment she stepped inside, Stephanie could see why — the place was beautiful. Another glistening, crystal chandelier hung over the long, cherrywood table that served as the centerpiece of the room. The walls were painted a tasteful dark blue and decorated with white arches made of pillars and ribbons. One side of the room was just a wall of tall windows, ornate but clear, displaying a view of the carefully curated yard of topiaries outside.

The table was already set when they got there. The settings were spread out throughout the entire table, the utensils sterling silver, the plates porcelain to the point that Stephanie desperately hoped they weren't china. The food wasn't there yet, however, nor were Jason or Alfred. She supposed they'd come up together from the kitchen. From what Damian said, there was a third kitchen she had yet to see, attached to the dining room and banned to everyone except Alfred and Jason.

There were five settings. One at the head of the table, three to the right of that and two to the left. Stephanie was directed to the last seat on the right, with Cass sitting next to her. Bruce sat at the head of the table with Damian to the left and Jon next to him. That meant the first seat on the right was Jason's. Stephanie wondered where Tim sat when he visited. Or the eldest brother Dick (Richie is apparently what he only went by during galas), the one she had yet to meet.

She sat down, taking the cloth napkin and smoothing it out on her lap, mimicking everyone else. They didn't have to wait long for the food — Jason entered first, taking his seat as Alfred exited with a cart of plated food. Stephanie felt her mouth water a bit as the smell assaulted her nostrils. The Waynes had brought her to some really nice places since she had first joined them for Bat-Pizza all those weeks ago, but none of them had good, homemade food like this.

A large, steaming stew was poured into every bowl by Alfred, followed by crystal clear water from a pitcher. A basket of bread was passed between them as Alfred started placing more plates on the table: mashed potatoes, steaming vegetables, cuts of chicken, etc. It all looked delectable, and Stephanie resisted the urge to immediately dig in. She waited, instead, for the first bite to be taken.

When Jon dipped his spoon into his stew, Stephanie felt her heart lighten.

He really is a nice kid.

"So, Miss Brown," Stephanie perked up from her stew, looking up to see Bruce gazing at her intently, "How did you meet my children again?"

"Well, through Tim, Mr. Wayne. We were in biology class, he needed a partner, I needed a partner, and we just…hit it off, I guess."

"That makes it sounds like you're courting," Damian commented, frowning. "I hope not. For all your faults, Brown, you can do much better than Drake."

Jason groaned. "Damian, what have we told you about insulting Tim?"

"You also tell me to be honest. Do you see where these objectives clash?"

"You know as well as I do that Tim is far more intelligent than you give him credit for."

"Something that I have yet to see."

"His much higher ticket balance at Bat-Pizza suggests otherwise."

"Tt. The discrepancy is only possible because Drake is of greater stature. I assure you, that if we were the same age and of similar height and weight, my balance would exceed his significantly."

The brothers continued to lightly bicker as everyone else watched them in fascination. Stephanie took another large sip of her stew, meeting Bruce's searching stare. Despite the distracting nature of his sons' argument, his eyes had not once strayed from her. She had to admit, she found it a bit unnerving.

"Boys," the oldest person at the table finally said, cutting the argument short. The statement was barely above room volume, and yet carried a deep sense of authority. Both boys obeyed him immediately, though Stephanie noticed that Jason giving Bruce a look that the older man refused to dignify.

She was missing something. She could feel it. But before she could question it, Bruce asked Cass a question, and Stephanie found her mind caught up in the midst of another conversation.

It was probably nothing, anyway.

"So no reality shows?" Stephanie asked, sounding more downtrodden than she probably should be.

"No, Steph," Jason said, voice firm, "not when the kids are awake. Damian could probably handle it, but he's still an impressionable seven year old. And Lois will kill all of us if Jon comes home with that garbage in his head."

"But it's culturally significant! Aren't you trying to help Damian and Cass better acclimate to American pop culture?"

"Steph, the only person who would enjoy it is you. That stuff stopped being amusing to me a while ago, and Cass wouldn't get what's going on. Damian and Jon, I already covered."

Stephanie pouted. "Then what else are we supposed to watch?"

"My Little Pony?" Jason joked.

There was a brief moment of silence.

"No, wait Steph, that was a joke—"

"The things I do for love," Jason sighed, as Nightmare Moon loudly declared 'The Night…shall last…FOREVER!' on the movie screen.

Cass patted him on the back. It didn't help.

"Pinkie Pie is the best pony!" Stephanie exclaimed once they were done with the round of episodes. Jason was suddenly grateful it was 2010 — if it was 2019 then they'd be watching a lot more than one season.

"No, Rainbow Dash is!" Jon protested.

"Rarity," Damian said firmly.

"Fluttershy," Cass hummed.

"Twilight Sparkle," Jason idly commented, blinking when everyone turned to him in surprise, "What?"

"I thought you didn't like the ponies," Stephanie said teasingly.

He shrugged. "She's a bookworm who isolated herself from others only to learn the importance of friendship during a harrowing situation. I identified with that." A cough followed for good measure.

"Sound reasoning, Master Jason," Alfred said from behind him. Stephanie was the only one to jump in shock at his unexpected arrival. The Wayne siblings were used to it, while Jon's ever varying powers picked up his footsteps. "I, for one, prefer Miss Applejack. Hard work and honesty are two values I hold in high regard."

Now everyone was staring at Alfred. Jon and Stephanie were openly gaping at him.

"Now, none of that. Come along, young masters and misses — it's time for bed."

"Alfred is so cool," Stephanie whispered conspiratorially to Cass the moment the door closed. As they were much older than the boys, the girls were allowed to stay up, though Alfred warned them to sleep early enough because breakfast was still at seven and he wasn't going to change that for anything. "He's, like, what I think an old James Bond would be — if James Bond were a butler."

"James Bond?" Cass tilted her head curiously.

"Oh, honey, tomorrow we're going to make a list of all the pop culture references you don't get so that brother of yours can get around to educating you," Stephanie popped her lips, "Really educating you."

The other girl looked down.

Stephanie frowned. "Hey, what's wrong? Is it something I said?" A thought entered her mind, "We don't have to watch anything if you don't want to. We can do something else."

"No, Steph. I…just…" Cass pursed her lips, "My dad."

"Bruce?"

Cass shook her head. "No. Other one. One Tim told you about."

Stephanie felt her heart stop for a moment. "You know about that?"

"It is fine, Steph," Cass reassured her. "Tim trusts you. I trust you."

The blond let out a breath of relief. "Thank God, I was worried I was overstepping," her face softened, and she took Cass' hand into her own, "What's this about your dad?"

"He…not good man," the older girl explained, "He…train me. To do bad things. I was young. Did not know better. Then…I did. I ran. Then…Jason."

"Jason found you?"

"Yes. Jason…he is good. And he cares. But he not like my choices."

"What choices?"

Cass looked uncomfortable. Stephanie didn't like it.

"I want to…help people. And he…likes and not likes. He likes that I care. He…cares for me more."

"He wants you to be safe," Stephanie surmised. Cass was doing something dangerous, and Jason didn't like it and wanted her to be safe. What could it possibly be?

She wanted to press. But while Cass was her friend, that friendship was young. Fragile. The fact that Stephanie was staying at her home overnight was a good first step, a sign of trust — but not an invitation to learn all her secrets.

"What does that have to do with me?"

"He…pushes you to me. Wants me to be like you," Cass frowned, "No. Not right. Not like you. Just…normal."

Stephanie sighed and plastered on her best smile. "Well, I'm sure he doesn't mean anything bad by it. He only wants what's best for you Cass."

"I know," Cass said, "I just…do not want to make him sad. He is sad a lot."

Jason, sad? Stephanie had a hard time believing that. Every time she saw Jason, he always had a smile for her. He was always polite, if a little snarky at times, and far too generous for his own good. You would think someone who grew up in Crime Alley would be more of a miser but no — Jason didn't spend money like a waterfall, but he wasn't afraid to spend it at all if he thought it was worth it.

But Stephanie didn't live with Jason. Cass did. And if she said Jason was sad…

"How do you know?" she asked gently.

Cass smiled. "I see. Not as much as before. But I still see."

Well, that was cryptic. "Okay then. Then tell me — what makes him happy?"

"Us," Cass paused, "Us happy," she amended.

Stephanie waited for more, but none was forthcoming. "That's it?"

Her friend nodded.

"That's…" Stephanie didn't know how to describe it. Suddenly, the word Cass used — sad — seemed incredibly apt.

Something wasn't adding up. She had so many pieces of the puzzle but even more were missing. She wasn't even close to solving it. And if she couldn't solve it, how could she even begin to help Cass?

Cass seemed to realize that. "…Sorry. Should not have said."

"No, no!" Stephanie refuted her. "It's fine. I'm glad you trusted me enough to tell me about this. Just let me think for a moment."

Okay, so Cass wanted to do something dangerous, but made her happy. And Jason wants her to be safe, but he also wants her to be happy, so he's allowing her to make her own choice. At the same time, however, it's hurting him letting her do the unsafe thing, making him sad, which is making Cass sad.

The solution was simple: distract him with something that made him happy. Except, apparently, the only thing that really made Jason actually happy was seeing his family happy. The guy apparently had no actual friends of his own or any interests outside of that. Which was…Stephanie didn't know a word to put to it. But maybe she didn't need to put one at all.

"Then the answer to that is simple," Stephanie told her friend, face brightening, "We find something else that makes him happy!"

Cass tilted her head in confusion.

"Clear your schedule tomorrow, Cass! The five of us are going out on the town!"

"Now remember: stay together," Bruce said seriously as fixed up his youngest son's jacket. "And listen to your brother. He's in charge of your safety, and he takes it very seriously."

"Understood, Father," Damian wrinkled his nose, "Though I don't see the point in this endeavor."

"It's to help with your cultural submersion," Bruce explained. Using the words 'cultural submersion' to a seven year old would be ridiculous had the seven year old in question not been Damian Wayne. "It seems we've neglected to take you to the mall. Stephanie seeks to remedy that."

It wasn't hard to see why that was. When Damian and Cass had first arrived with Jason they had been deliberately avoiding too-crowded places to prevent people from recognizing the latter and/or making connections they didn't want people making yet. Hence, when Alfred took them shopping, it was at high-end department stores that specifically catered to Gotham's elite and knew how to be discreet. That trend of avoidance continued when they were officially unveiled to the public, especially after Jason's legal revival. The press and drama would not have been conductive to the many transitions they were going through.

That had been months ago however. They had settled down into the family, with school, and now had friends. The media scrutiny surrounding them had died down to what the Waynes normally dealt with, as opposed to being the hottest topic in the city. They didn't have to hide anymore.

So, when Cass and Stephanie had asked if they could take the boys out to the mall for the day (all the boys, Bruce was warmed to hear), he conceded. It would allow his two newest children to better acclimate to the city, give more activities for them to bond with their friends, and force Jason to actually enjoy himself for once.

(Bruce may have bugged his children's rooms before Stephanie arrived. Precautions and all that.)

"And what is the purpose of this 'mall'?" Damian asked seriously. Bruce stared at him. He knew his son's childhood was far from ideal or normal, but had he seriously never heard of a mall before?

Damian's serious facade held for a moment, before he slowly began to grin. Bruce blinked then gave an exasperated sigh. This is progress, he reminded himself.

"No worries, Father. The tutors mother assigned to me explained the concept of these worship houses of capitalist-based consumerism," Damian said cheekily, before frowning, "Though I still don't understand what amusements could be found there. Clothing and other necessities can easily be purchased over the phone or online. It's not like any of those things are a priority right now."

"The mall isn't just about shopping, Damian," Jason explained as he walked down the stairs, dressed in his dark jacket and jeans, "There's also food and other attractions as well. Like arcades and salons."

Damian huffed. "We have already made our weekly visit to Bat-Pizza and I have no need to have my appearance redone by a professional right at this time."

"That's not what I—forget it," Jason shook his head, "You'll see when we get there. Now where's Jon?"

"Right here!" The youngest of the boys exclaimed cheerfully as he popped out of the breakfast kitchen, a bit of milk on the side of his mouth. "I was helping Alfred with tonight's dessert!"

"He means tasting tonight's dessert," Damian scoffed, "How you still have such a large appetite when breakfast was only three hours ago is beyond me."

"Blame his dad's genes," Jason commented, smirking.

"What's that about Jon's dad's genes?"

The girls had arrived. Stephanie and Cass had decided to coordinate outfits, Stephanie in her classic eggplant color, Cass in white. Both of them were wearing cocoon coats, jeans and sneakers. It made for a striking contrast, and Jason, despite having no romantic or sexual attraction to either of them, could not deny how appealing they looked. Nor was he blind to the fact that a lot of teenage boys spent their Saturdays hanging out at the mall, regardless of the weather.

Even though he knew the girls could take care of themselves, Jason felt that protective big brother instinct flare up. Hopefully today wouldn't end with him punching someone in the face and hauled to GCPD.

"His father could eat a mountain for breakfast, and his mother certainly isn't a slouch in that department either," Bruce replied smoothly, "It only figures that he would inherit their appetite."

Stephanie and Cass exchanged confused looks and shrugged. "So, is everyone ready?"

"Yup," Jason said, taking out a pair of keys from out of his pocket, "We're taking the van just in case we do end up going on a shopping spree, though."

"How thoughtful," Stephanie said sweetly, Cass smiling next to her. The oldest of the boys felt a familiar shudder, memories of shopping trips with his giggling sister and daughters playing in his mind. The ones that saw him become the family pack mule.

Some things really do never change, do they? He thought mournfully.

While Gotham had several shopping areas like any major city, there was only one true mall, one someone terribly uninspired named "Gotham City Mall". That being said, while the namer was uninspired, the designers and modelers were not — Gotham City Mall tastefully echoed the Gothic architecture while mixing in modern sleekness. The pointed arches, spires and buttresses were smoothed out and thinned so they weren't overbearing and expansive, and the stained glass was clear and crisp while still undeniably stained. Combined with the material being silvery metal instead of classic stonework, and it was a successful blend of old Gotham and the shining future that no one except the optimistic, determined, and possibly delusional believed it would have.

Except for Jason Todd, who knew full well that future was in reach. Just terribly hard to achieve.

All this lazily crossed his mind as he slid the van door open to let his companions out. First out was Stephanie and Cass, followed by the boys, who had appropriated the back of the van for themselves. While Stephanie took the appearance of the mall in stride, the other three were not so composed. Even Damian was struck silent by how different it looked compared to the rest of the city.

"This place looks nicer than the Metropolis mall," Jon said in awe.

"One of the few bright spots of this city," Jason agreed, before guiding the four forward towards the entrance. They followed a growing crowd mostly compromised of families and groups of teenagers and other assorted young people, all intent on spending their Saturday at the mall like them.

If the exterior was impressive, the interior was magnificent. Lines of shops and other assorted businesses stretched on for what seemed like miles, piling on top of each other in stories that seemed endless. Off to the side, near the entrance was the food court, bursting with customers that were being expertly handled by each vendors' workers. Looking at it, it was hard to believe a place like this came from Gotham.

"Okay, what do you want to do first? Eat or look?" Jason asked, turning to face the group.

"Actually," Stephanie cut in before anyone could say anything else, "I already have a place in mind."

"Aren't these places usually bars?" Jason asked suspiciously as they entered the darkly-lit restaurant, loud with music and designed like a retro 1950s diner. Towards the back of the place, where a stage had been set up, a man with a comb-over was belting an out-of-tune rendition of Elvis' Burning Love to a rowdy crowd of patrons. Most of which looked like teenagers, Jason realized upon a closer look.

"Yes," Stephanie admitted, "But this one's teen-friendly!"

"What about kid-friendly?"

"It'll be fine, Jason!"

That was not an answer, Jason noted, but before he could press the five of them were already being guided to a booth by the host. Giving in, he grudging followed as well, taking a menu from the host as he slid in next to Damian and Jon.

As he perused through his options, absentmindedly ordering a glass of water when their waiter arrived to take their drink order, he sensed something. A familiar feeling of dread, more-often-than-not stemming from the mischievous antics of his friends and family. Slowly, he lowered his menu to level a glare at Stephanie.

"What did you do?" he asked, voice deathly seriously.

Stephanie whistled, her dimples popping out in a way that betrayed her guilt. Before he could rag her any further, the waiter returned for their drinks and was now asking what they wanted for food. Jason quickly made his order first, a nice, juicy burger that he was going to devour like a ravenous animal the moment it got here because he fucking deserved it, dammit, for whatever the hell Stephanie had planned.

The waiter was gone minutes later. Jason opened his mouth to question his friend again, before a spotlight shined down at him because why the hell not?

From the corner of his eye, he could see Damian leaning out of the way of the light, suitably confused. Next to him, Jon looked similarly perplexed. But Cass…

She was smiling that little knowing smile of hers, and then and there, Jason knew he was fucked.

"And now a special treat for today! You've all ready about his miraculous return from the dead, and now he's making a rare public appearance at our humble little establishment! Please welcome our next singer, Jason Wayne!" There was loud applause, with just a hint of uncertainty. Jason stood up, plastered on his best public smile, and waved to the crowd as he slowly walked to his doom.

Back in the original timeline, Jason Wayne was not a public figure. He had been dead for six years before Bruce's will publicly and legally revived him, and even then he conspicuously kept out of the public eye. It had been an easy thing to do, because pictures of him were sparse and under the name of Jason Todd. Only yearbooks of Gotham Academy and photos at the notoriously photographer-unfriendly Wayne Manor had his likeness documented. It was better that way. He liked his anonymity.

And then his brothers died, and suddenly Jason Wayne was the most famous man in Gotham. Circumstances beyond his control had forced that change on him, and to the day he died, Jason hated it. How the rest of the family had managed to stand it, he never understood. It was hell having to play up an image, knowing that everyone was watching him while he was conducting the most powerful and clandestine vigilante operation in the world, right beneath their noses.

If there was anything he enjoyed about this whole…situation, it was the return to anonymity for those few weeks before everything was blown to hell with his legal revival. He had been dodging the cameras again since then, but now it seemed karma had finally caught up to him. It was inevitable, really — he knew Bruce was planning a formal gala to welcome him back into the family, but that did not mean he was not going to plan his revenge on Stephanie without great relish. Oh no, he was going to relish it deeply, probably record it, and hold it over her head for the rest of their lives.

And then she would find something else to lord over him in retaliation. And it would go on and on and on for the rest of their lives. Like it had before.

God, how he had missed Stephanie.

"So Jason is going to…sing?" Damian asked, mind still slightly boggled.

"Yes," Stephanie giggled, Cass following her lead. Out in the crowd, they could already see several people with their phones out. Watching a Wayne make a spectacle of themselves never got old.

"But why?"

"Because your brother needs to get out more!" Stephanie said as if it was obvious, "When is the last time your brother actually did something besides watch us and read?"

Damian opened his mouth to answer, before realizing that she was right. "…Valid point, Brown. I just hope you are prepared for retribution. I doubt my brother will take this lying down."

"Oh, I'm banking on it, munchkin."

Before more could be said, Jason finally made it to the stage. He took the time to shoot a look at his table, before whispering something to the MC. The man lit up and started typing on his computer, while Jason cleared his throat and spoke to the crowd, his voice amplified by the microphone.

"This is dedicated to all the important women in my life, and how you all drive me insane in your own ways, and how I love you all anyway," He said as the music started up. The crowd quieted and a few gasps were heard; it seems some had recognized the song.

"This is the story of a girl," Jason began, "Who cried a river and drowned the whole world, and while she looked so sad in photographs, I absolutely love her…"

"He's good," Jon whispered, a mixture of awe and wonder. His companions could only nod their assent, dumbstruck.

"…when she smiles!" An even louder cheer rang out, this one distinctly more feminine in sound than the previous applause. Stephanie and Cass looked out the crowd, noticing that many teenage girls were standing up and screaming, practically shooting hearts at Jason with their eyes.

Stephanie smiled, and leaned over to whisper to her friend. "Forgive me, Cass. I think I just made your brother YouTube famous."

Another day, another mission.

Tim groaned as he heard the incessant chattering of his speedster friend reach a fever pitch as they returned to Mount Justice. He liked Bart, he did, it's just that after today, he could really use some peace and quiet. Which was probably a stupid thing to ask for, considering that he was currently surrounded with fellow teenage superheroes. 'Peace' and 'quiet' were only viable options when life and death were on the line.

He didn't regret forming Young Justice with his friends. Bruce was…Bruce, Dick had his own life and his own friends, Jason might have the body of a teenager but was even older than Bruce, Cass barely spoke and was only now getting out of her shell, and Damian still thought he was an idiot. He loved them, he couldn't help it, but he needed a life outside of them. Normally school would cover for that, but he had just changed schools and his only real friend at Gotham Academy was Stephanie Brown. And while he liked her (how much and of what nature he wasn't entirely sure of), there were some things he couldn't talk to her about. To say nothing of how he'd been sharing her with Cass for the past month.

Young Justice fulfilled that outlet for social interaction. While they may not know his identity like the Waynes (his family, Tim wanted to say but could not, not yet) did, they were still good company besides. They shared his interests, they were significantly less uptight, and he felt more of an equal to them than he did to Bruce. They listened to him, and not the other way around. It was…different, but the good kind.

Of course, Young Justice didn't come without its own pitfalls. The identity thing, for one, and while he knew Jason said it was okay if he did share some of his secrets, Tim still couldn't find it in himself to do it. The information his mentor (brother) had given him was useful, but it was dangerous too, and Tim could only imagine what would happen if it got out that he had it. That weird limbo of knowing and not knowing was gnawing at him, and he wondered how long it would be before he broke.

For another, his friends were still young superheroes like he was, except their mentors were a lot less strict and involved in their development. Even though Bruce and Jason weren't physically present, Tim still felt the weight of their gazes on him. That was made all too obvious considering that Jason had gone as far as to institute specific instructions about his training to Red Tornado, banning him from coffee even here and making him the team's unofficial cook.

As a consequence, however, Tim was far more serious on missions than they were. Efficient, less likely to be distracted, always planning ahead. The others took things on with a levity that not even Dick was capable of. It was nice at times but it could also be supremely distracting. Did they not realize how much thin ice they were on? That this team was only possible because of the graces of the Justice League and their guardians? That all it would take was just one slip-up — one — for all of it to come crashing down on their heads?

Tim wasn't a cynic. He was, however, a pessimist, and that had served him well during his tenure as Robin thus far. One of the reasons he hadn't dived too deeply into the tablet Jason had given him was because he didn't want to know how bad things were going to get. The vindication wasn't worth it.

"…How many lovers would stay? Just to put up with this shit day after day," the sound of singing broke through his thoughts, and he blinked. He turned around to see Cassie and Cissie giggling over the former's phone, where the music was coming from.

"What are you two watching?" He asked, curiosity winning out. For some reason, that voice sounded very familiar.

The girls looked up at him, and giggled even louder. "You know Jason Wayne, right?" Cissie said, then bopped her head, "Of course you do, you're from Gotham. Anyway, this video of him singing at a karaoke bar just went viral."

Karaoke bar? What's Jason doing at one of those? Isn't this the weekend Steph and Jon are supposed to be staying over at the Manor? Tim couldn't help it — he whipped out his phone and typed in 'Jason Wayne karaoke' into the search bar. Immediately, a video came up, titled 'Jason Wayne - Story of a Girl'. Tim clicked on it instantly.

What followed next was the blackmail material of the century. As he watched his brother belt out a tune that would soon make him the next teen heartthrob of America, Tim saw memories crash through his mind like a hurricane — memories of being denied coffee, pizza, and other beloved foodstuffs, and felt his heart lighten.

There really is a God out there, he thought with a soft, thankful sigh.

"…Your clothes never wear as well the next day, and your hair never falls in quite the same way, but you never seem to run out of things to say…!"

"Oh, little wing!" Dick lightly exclaimed, touched. He pressed a hand to his heart as he watched his little brother sing. "How did I not know how great a singer you could be?"

"Is that Jason?" Roy saddled up next to him, peeking over his friend's shoulder. He guffawed when he saw what was happening. "Oh boy, your brother is never going to live this down."

"Roy!" Dick scolded.

"He's right, Dick," Donna said next to them, Garth grinning beside her. "Your little brother has just gone viral. There is no living this down. Ever."

"Plus," Wally added, pulling up on the other side of his best friend, "You gotta admit that it's kind of hilarious."

Dick took another look at the playing video, and shrugged. "Point."

"Master Bruce?" Alfred entered his employer's study, carrying the customary tea tray. At his desk, Bruce seemed to be watching something intently on his laptop, a pair of headphones on his ears.

Silently, Bruce took the headphones off, and turned the laptop around. Alfred watched the video for a few seconds, raising an eyebrow.

"You've saved the file, I hope?" When Bruce nodded, Alfred smirked. "Good."

"Is there anything you're not good at?" Stephanie asked the moment Jason returned to their table.

"Forgiveness," the boy deadpanned, glowering at her. "Expect my retribution to be swift, brutal, and out of nowhere."

Stephanie shrugged. "Worth it."

"Did you have fun?" Cass asked quietly.

Jason looked at her, and his face softened into a smile. The smile remained as he shifted his gaze to Damian and Jon, and then to Stephanie, who he gave a single nod.

"Yeah," he admitted, "I did."

Chapter Text

"This bouncy house was enjoyable," Damian paused, "May we have one at my next birthday celebration?"

"Well, your next birthday isn't for another year, but if you want, sure," Jason picked him up from his car seat. Tellingly, Damian didn't protest or struggle in the least. The trip to the mall had gone well, much to everyone's relief.

After Jason got his burger, their group quickly had to vanish through the crowds to avoid the new gaggle of fans that were clearly planning on stalking them throughout the mall. That did, in fact, lead them to actually shopping, swapping out their current clothing for new pieces, leaving them unrecognizable to the other patrons. Their old clothing was stored into the accompanying shopping bags that came with their new purchases, and carried throughout the rest of the trip.

Following that change, they returned to browsing the mall. They visited various shops, particularly a GameStop that inevitably saw Jason shell out money for new games for Damian and Jon; a toy shop that also inevitably saw Jason shell out even more money for a box of legos and other action figures; and a makeup shop that saw — you guessed it — Jason shell out more money than the former two combined for cosmetics.

Some of the cosmetics had gone to Stephanie, but most of it went to Cass. As the sole female of what was a mostly male household, cosmetics had been one the area that all of them, even Jason, had failed to provide with during their initial shopping trips when they first arrived in Gotham City. That was a purely feminine area that all of them had limited knowledge in; Jason may have raised two daughters, but to say he had help was a vast understatement.

Stephanie, of course, deemed that unacceptable and hadn't hesitated to use Jason's unlimited credit card to ensure her best friend got her fair share of beauty products, with promises to teach her how to apply all of them when they returned to Wayne Manor. Jason had no issues with that (Cass would need to learn anyway for both vigilante and civilian purposes), but also recognized that traipsing around a Sephora would not be enjoyable for him or two boys below the age of ten. So, they had made the decision to split up, with Cass given Jason's credit card while the boys made do with the not insignificant amount of cash he had in his wallet.

While the girls went browsing in the aforementioned Sephora, Jason and the boys wandered around the mall until they happened upon the local play area. A rather large local play area, though considering the size of the mall it seemed rather proportional in comparison. And in this play area, for whatever reason, had a bouncy house set up. Jason vaguely remembered Damian being enamored with bouncy houses during his younger years (Stephanie, unsurprisingly, was to be blame). Of course, with Jon here, that love of bouncy houses could only be redeveloped.

The boys played in there for about a half an hour or so, and then they continued on with their exploration of the mall. Jason spent a significant amount of time in Barnes and Noble, and even managed to get the boys interested in some books for them to read. Not to mention Barnes and Noble's own selection of games, which were both educational and enjoyable. Jason knew immediately what they were going to be doing back home while the girls played dress up, and hoped they wouldn't cry when he trounced them in all of them. Tim wasn't the only one in the family with a competitive streak, they would find out.

Eventually, they met up with the girls a few hours later. Jason got his role of designated pack mule, and they left the mall thankfully unrecognized. Jason wanted to remain as blissfully unaware of his newfound popularity as much as possible. It was already bad enough thinking about the upcoming welcoming gala, knowing he was going to be the center of attention even more than originally thought, lest Brucie did something particularly and spectacularly more stupid than usual.

Maybe I should have Steph go with me or Tim. That would make great payback …

"Master Jason."

"Alfred," Jason acknowledged the butler.

"Might I compliment you on your splendid singing voice? Dare say, have you put any thought of going into theater?"

Jason stared at him. "No."

Alfred's lips twitched.

"No, no, no, nononono NO!" Jason glared at his giggling siblings and their friends, who quickly fled into the Manor, "You're all going to pay for this! I swear it!" He shouted after them, charging into the house with righteous fury.

Alfred watched him go with a fond shake of the head. The young master had not changed nearly as much as he believed himself to have. Quite a refreshing thought, indeed.

The rest of the weekend was spent in much merriment, but alas, like all things, it had come to an end. As Alfred helped Damian and Jon pack the latter's bag for the plane trip home while Jason prepped the car, Stephanie was called into Bruce's office for a private talk with him — alone. Unlike Jon she would not be leaving immediately; living in the same city, just a short drive away, she would make her departure in the afternoon. She had been offered to stay the night, but reluctantly had to refuse. Her schoolwork was at home, and she needed to finish it before Monday morning, which meant no distractions.

With Cass in the bathroom, it was easy for Stephanie to sneak away to Bruce's office at Alfred's direction. A smart girl, she had managed to memorize the path to his private study after numerous games of hide-and-go-seek the previous night (Jon's prerogative; Damian had declared it childish, but played anyway). Nervously, she walked inside, seeing Bruce siting at his desk and sifting through a cache of papers. He wordlessly gestured to one of the chairs in front of the desk, eyes having yet to divert from the pages. Reluctantly, Stephanie sat down and waited.

Finally, after a few more minutes, Bruce set the papers down to look directly at her. It took all of Stephanie's nerves to make eye contact and not flinch. It quickly became obvious to her over the course of her stay that whoever the man was in the papers, that man was not the real Bruce Wayne. The Bruce Stephanie had met and seen interacting with her friends was far too intimidating for that, no matter his obvious affection for all of them.

"Mr. Wayne," she ventured quietly, hoping she wasn't being presumptuous.

"Miss Brown," Bruce nodded, then paused. "Stephanie," he corrected with a sigh.

Stephanie didn't say anything. She was too scared to.

"Thank you."

At least, until he said that. "What for?" she couldn't help but blurt out, then blanched.

Bruce ignored her reaction and answered the question instead. "For being a friend to my children. And yes, I do include Tim among them as well. You've been good for them."

"Oh," Stephanie didn't know what to say to that. "Have I really?"

"Yes," Bruce said firmly. "It's been difficult for all of them, having connections outside the family. Dick — my eldest, their older brother — he's a social kind of person. He can't stop making friends, he's simply too nice for that. But for the others…" He trailed off, "They've had difficult pasts. I have no doubt that once they get to know you better and come to trust you more, they'll elaborate on those pasts to you. But for now, just know that they've had their own hardships, and those hardships have made it difficult for them to make friends. To open up. But you've somehow managed to do what others haven't, and I'm grateful for that."

Stephanie blushed. "You don't need to thank me for that, Mr. Wayne. They're my friends. They've done a lot for me too. I was just returning the favor with what little I had."

"Stephanie, you have much more to offer than you think. That much I've seen this weekend, and I'm sure I'll see more of it the more we see each other." Bruce smiled. "As long as this place belongs to our family, you'll always be welcomed here."

The young teenager felt her mouth drop open a bit, and she could only nod in response.

So lost in her thoughts, Stephanie didn't notice Jason watching her depart from the study from the far end of the hallway. He observed her for a moment, before entering the study himself, closing the door behind him. Father and son locked eyes, and Bruce's expression smoothed out into something more neutral.

"You didn't say anything I have to scream at you for, did you?" Jason bluntly asked.

Bruce sighed. "No. I just thanked her for being a good friend to you all and told her she was welcome to visit the Manor any time."

"Good." And suddenly Jason adopted a more mischievous look. "Told you."

"Yes, you did," Bruce conceded. "She's kind. Sunny. Reminds me a little bit of Dick."

"Ah, yes, the favorite son."

"Jason—"

"It's fine, Bruce," Jason waved him off, "Dick was everyone's favorite at one point. Well, him and Cass."

Bruce filed away that statement into the back of his mind. 'At one point' — that sounded ominous, and while Jason was more free with information about the future than he used to be, there were some things he was still very tight-lipped about. The Joker was one such thing. Dick's time as Batman was another.

"Seeing her now, I don't understand why my other self didn't like her at first. She's…good, I guess. I don't really know any other way to explain it."

"I know what you mean," Jason wet his lips, "And as for him…well, he could be very close-minded back then. Paranoid, manipulative — more so than usual, that is to say. And, well, self-righteous too."

Bruce blinked. "What?"

"Bruce, you're different than him in that regard. Very different. And part of that is because of me — I have all this future knowledge in my head, and I'm basically telling you what you did wrong. How bad those kinds of traits can be when you take it too far, when you convince yourself that you and you alone know best," Jason crossed his arms, "Now imagine if I wasn't here. If I hadn't time traveled and come home."

He didn't know what to think. What his son was suggesting…would he have really become like that? Then, thinking back on some things, he felt his stomach drop. "It wasn't just the JLA contingency plans, was it?"

His son smiled mirthlessly. "Those were just the beginning. You did a lot of messed up shit, and what happened between you, Stephanie, and Tim — that was a part of that. Of the mindset you had back then. You grew out of it, or at least tried to, but you also tended to backslide whenever faced with a major tragedy. When you lost something, either by death or otherwise. You never did handle loss well."

And there it was. Another underlying meaning. Something there, some kind of painful regret of his that Jason didn't want to divulge. Bruce knew that in that other timeline, his relationship with Jason hadn't been the best. But other than his initial confrontation and conflict with the Red Hood, Jason hadn't said a word more otherwise. Just said that they eventually worked through it and reconciled for good.

"Jason—"

"No, Bruce," Jason cut him off before he could say more, "It's in the past, and he and I made our peace a long time ago. Telling you now would only hurt you, especially since I know that you will never ever do it in this timeline. Any of it."

"How are you sure?" Bruce demanded, a little harshly.

Instead of answering, Jason walked towards him, and placed a hand over his clutching fist, covering it gently. "Because it wasn't just you, Bruce. It was me too. Granted, what I did didn't prompt such an extreme reaction reaction from you, but it wasn't just that, to be honest. A lot of things factored into what happened and, well…" he sighed, "It doesn't matter anymore. It's long in the past, and you're not the one who did it anyway. Not really. So please — let it go."

Bruce didn't want to let it go. He wanted to know. Perhaps it was the self-flagellation streak that Dick and Jason had both complained about, but he wanted to hear it regardless. But one look at Jason stayed his tongue. Dredging it up now was only going to cause them both pain, and if Jason was right, if it truly wasn't necessary…

"Fine," he finally said, "Fine."

Jason's smile turned genuine. "Good. Now, I've gotta go — the plane is waiting for Jon and we don't want to be late."

As he bid his son farewell, Bruce was once again left with questions. That always seemed to be the case when it came to Jason.

"I love you," were first words out of Tim's mouth the moment Stephanie saw him again, the Monday after her visit to Wayne Manor.

Stephanie blinked. "…What?"

"This," Tim lifted his phone, revealing the video of Jason's little stint at karaoke was playing on it silently, "is your doing, isn't it?"

"Yup," Stephanie said proudly, though she was still a mite confused. "Though I don't see how that was enough for you to promptly claim your undying love for me."

"Are you kidding me?" Tim looked ecstatic. "This is the best thing ever! I'm never going to let him live this down!"

"I thought you liked Jason."

"I do. That doesn't mean he doesn't get on my nerves from time to time." Tim snorted. "In fact, I'm pretty sure he enjoys screwing with me."

Before Stephanie could respond to that, there was loud, collective sound of female screeching from the front of the courtyard. She and Tim watched as a crowd of teenage girls started chasing after a very familiar car as it zoomed down the curb and away from the school. They watched as Damian fought through the crowd, dusting him off and scowling at the lot of them before walking up to his two (much older) friends.

"Harpies," he hissed. Tim said nothing, on the account of guffawing loudly, while Stephanie had a huge grin on her face.

"Like I said — best thing ever," Tim boasted.

Damian scowled at him. "How plebeian of you Drake, to take delight in the suffering of others."

"Please, like you weren't enjoying that," Tim snorted, gesturing at the fleeing crowd of squealing girls.

The younger boy turned around, watching as the car faded from view, and couldn't help but smirk. "I'll admit, the look on his face quite amusing. Especially since I got a photo of it." He lifted his phone to show said photo.

At the sight of his older brother's panicked visage, Tim couldn't help but grin.

The day proceeded normally afterward, aside from numerous girls (and the occasional guy) all pestering Damian, Tim, and even Stephanie about Jason. What he was like in person, where he usually hung out, how to get his attention, etc. While Damian scared them off and Tim avoided them like the plague, Stephanie deliberately gave different answers to every person who asked her that were all as wildly off the mark as possible. Eventually the rumor mill would take her answers, exaggerate them, until the gossip evolved to the point that they would stop asking any of them questions. Or that was the hope, at least.

They made it through the day, and the next day, and the day after that. However, their usual hangouts after school were limited thanks to Jason's newfound popularity. Even disguising himself did not prevent him from eventually being recognized everywhere they went, especially with his car being so distinctive. So, a new method of hanging out had been devised. The three of them would walk to a nearby restaurant and would be met there by Alfred, who would drive them to the Manor to hang out there until the chaos died down. Stephanie found that she didn't mind — she was growing to like the place. It seemed Jason's words were true after all.

So it went for that week, and the week after that. It was the Friday of the third week when everything went to hell.

"The Internet says they're doing an adaption of A Song of Ice and Fire next year on HBO," Tim idly mentioned as they headed towards the day's meeting spot.

"Those really racy grimdark books?" Stephanie clarified, perplexed, "Your parents let you read those?"

"My parents let me do a lot of things. Whether I should have been doing them is another matter entirely."

Damian looked curious. "What's so special about these books? Can I read them?"

"NO!" Tim and Stephanie both exclaimed in unison, looking desperately at Damian, hoping that he'd heed their words.

And now the boy was scowling again. Even after all this time, he was far too used to getting his way. "And why not?"

"Because those books are books no seven year old should be reading, no matter how smart he is," Tim said sternly, Stephanie nodding alongside him. "Not to mention, if Jason finds out you're trying to read them, he's going to kill all of us. Especially me."

Instead of warding the boy off, Damian suddenly looked contemplative. As if Tim's pain would be worth whatever terrible punishment Jason would heap on him.

"No, Damian." And of course, Tim saw that, because he wasn't an idiot.

"You don't control me. You're not Father or Jason or even Alfred."

As the boys began bickering, Stephanie noticed something from the corner of her eye. A large black van behind them, beginning to linger near them. Immediately, she felt her instincts go on fire. Life in the Narrows called for something of a six sense, a gut feeling that allowed one to react immediately when something didn't feel right. And right now, Stephanie realized that something definitely wasn't right.

"Guys…" she started, backing away. The boys continued on, having not heard her.

They did, however, hear the slam of van doors opening. Immediately, both of them turned around to see large men dressed head-to-toe in black spilling out onto the street from not just the van Stephanie saw, but also two others behind it. All three of the children shared a single look before dashing down the sidewalk, trying to escape. This block was unnaturally bare of bystanders besides them, they realized.

Unfortunately, they could only get so far. Damian's legs were short, forcing Tim to stop for a moment to pick him up to go faster. That gave their pursuers just enough time to make the difference and reach them. All three of them stopped as the men encircled them, blocking off any escape routes. Tim slowly set Damian down back on his feet as he prepared himself to fight. He could see Stephanie doing the same, and vaguely remembered that Stephanie also had some martial arts training as well.

There was only a moment before the chaos started. Tim punched the first man that lunged at him and started trying to fight off the others by throwing hits at any hint of black he could see. Stephanie was doing the same, while Damian was helping by attacking their assailants' legs with his backpack and trying to knock them down. This continued for several minutes, but the attacks didn't recede. There was simply too many of them. Even with Tim's advanced training, it wouldn't be enough to take them all out. Direct combat wasn't his specialty, after all, and he didn't have his preferred weapon with him.

Eventually, Tim was thrown onto the hard concrete ground. He groaned for a moment but immediately tried to get up. It was hardly the hardest he had ever been hit. Before he could however, he felt the cold barrel of a gun on his forehead, and froze. He saw Damian grabbed by another of their attackers, and despite his struggling the man refused to let him go.

"Let go of me—!"

"Steph!" He couldn't help but call out as he watched the rest of the men drag his friend away, binding her with rope, blindfolding and gagging her. Damian let out a roar of rage at the sight and started fighting even harder.

Tim was about to act, but the gun stopped him again this time. He gave out a cry of pain as he was pistol whipped, knocking him back to the ground. Then, he felt a heavy weight thrown at him, and a younger, higher pitched cry, and realized one of the men had thrown Damian at him. His head throbbed, his eyes bleary.

He could do nothing as the vans drove away, taking Stephanie with them.

"Why haven't they answered my texts?" Jason wondered as he and Cass exited the therapy center. The session had taken longer than usual, and Jason had messaged his brothers to tell them that they would be late and to wait at the school until they arrived.

Maybe they left their phones on silent? But that didn't feel right. That familiar feeling that something was wrong crept up on him as he and Cass approached the waiting Alfred. He didn't like it.

Ring.

A call. From a number that looked vaguely familiar, though he didn't know why. Jason frowned, and picked it up. "Hello?"

Cass flinched as he suddenly grabbed her arm very tightly.

"What?"

"And how many men were there?" The officer asked lazily, notepad in the palm of his left hand and pencil twirling between the fingers of his right. Tim, head still aching, couldn't even muster up the anger anymore. Neither could Damian, who was wincing as the EMT treated his many scratches and bruises.

"I don't know. Twenty, thirty? There were so many, and they came at us so fast, it was hard to keep count."

"Alright," the officer made a note.

"Tim! Damian!"

The boys turned around to see Jason, quickly trailed by Cass and Alfred, trying to reach them. Another officer quickly stepped in.

"I'm sorry kid, but I just can't let you—"

And suddenly the air grew colder.

There really wasn't any way to explain it. Because the glare Jason shot the man was flat out terrifying. Tim had never seen such anger on his older brother's face before. On anyone's face, really. Not even Bruce could quite compare to that icy look of contained fury. It was scary.

The officer stepped out of the way. The look melted from Jason's face, leaving that same worried expression that had been there when he first arrived. He reached them, with Alfred and Cass in tow.

"Are you two alright?" He asked gently, going down to one knee so they were eye-level. Jason was getting taller, Tim noticed. He did say his growth spurt had been around this age.

"We're fine. Bumps, scratches, and bruises, plus I have a really bad headache from a gun they pistol-whipped me with—" Jason growled at that, as did Cass, while Alfred's countenance visibly darkened, "—but, we're fine. We'll live."

"Good. Bruce is on his way, but he's on the other side of the city and dealing with Gotham traffic, so it might take him a bit." His older brother looked at them both, dead in the eye, "What happened?"

"We were ambushed," Damian spat out bitterly.

"Stephanie noticed them first. A couple black vans had been trailing after us. They were able to hide in the traffic of the school zone, but after we got out of it…" Tim's shoulders sagged. "They cornered us on the street, before we could really react. We tried to escape, but they surrounded us. Then we tried to fight them off but there were too many. Eventually they managed to knock me down and get a hold of Damian. And then…they took Steph."

Jason pursed his lips in surprise. Stephanie? Why Stephanie? Tim and Damian were far more valuable targets. They were the children of Bruce Wayne, for God's sake. Dick could attest to that, considering how many times his civilian identity had been kidnapped and ransomed before he moved to Bludhaven. Even Jason had a fair few kidnappings himself, for the particularly determined ones who did their homework.

Unless this isn't about money, his mind whispered. Stephanie was the target, that much was certain. And if she was taken, then this couldn't be about money. Her mother was the last person anyone would try to coerce money out of, while Arthur Brown was in prison. There was no way he could field the money on such short notice. Something else was going on here, and Jason had a feeling he wasn't going to like it.

"I should've fought harder," Tim's self-deprecating statements interrupted from thinking on it further. "If I had—"

"Tim, you did everything could," Jason reassured him, "Both of you did, I'm certain. What happened was not your fault; all that's important is that we get her back." He looked at the officer, who was staring boredly at his phone. "I'm certain the GCPD will be doing everything they can to find her, yes?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Great, because my father Bruce Wayne would be dearly disappointed to have his children separated from their friend for so long."

The officer's head shot up. "Bruce Wayne? What does he—" He paled, "Wait a minute, you're…"

Jason smiled. It was not kind. "Walk away, officer. You have all the information you need, and you must get the search underway immediately, yes?"

The man nodded dumbly and then scurried off. Jason let out a huff as he disappeared from view. After a few minutes, the EMT was gone as well, leaving just them.

"When will you be able to leave?" Alfred asked once they were alone.

"When Bruce gets here," Tim answered. "He's still my health care proxy while my dad is in physical therapy and Damian's guardian. Once he arrives, they'll let us go."

"They won't find Brown," Damian suddenly said. He had been quiet throughout the duration of Tim's explanation. The youngest person there looked at his oldest present sibling, frowning. "You know they won't."

"They'll try, which is all that matters right now." Jason leaned over. "Besides, it doesn't matter if they don't find her. We'll find her first."

For the first time today, Damian smiled.

"Nothing?" Jason scowled.

"Nothing." Bruce shook his head. "Whoever did this was a professional. One with a lot of resources."

They were in the Cave, trying to scrounge up any clue they could find that would lead to Stephanie's location. Tim and Damian had both given their own personal accounts about what happened before being sent off to their rooms to sleep off the exhaustion of the day, while Jason had taken pictures of the crime scene when no one was looking. The next step had been to access any security cameras within the area for footage of the attack.

Except all the security cameras had been inexplicably off during that window. Combined with both Tim and Damian both claiming that the area had been unnaturally clear of bystanders — and thus, extra witnesses — at the time of the abduction, it painted a very bleak picture. Someone had been planning this, they knew that much already, but now it was obvious they had been planning this for a lot longer than any of them had thought. And for them to have been so thorough…

Well, maybe it was just paranoia speaking, but Jason had a feeling that it was more to it than that. His gut was rarely ever wrong, after all.

To add to their worries, they had Crystal Brown currently staying with them at the Manor. Bruce had gone personally with the police to deliver the news of Stephanie's abduction. The poor woman had been devastated to hear about her daughter's kidnapping, wailing about her ex-husband, and Bruce ultimately didn't have the heart to leave her all by her lonesome. She had been brought to the Manor and cared for and comforted by Alfred and Cass ever since.

"Okay, so the abduction itself is a bust. What about motive? Why would someone want to take Stephanie specifically? It can't be for money."

"Arthur Brown?" Bruce suggested, then frowned. "No, it can't be him. He's still in prison. He doesn't have the resources right now. Maybe someone with an axe to grind, but anyone with a grudge against him could easily just have a hitman slipped into Blackgate to kill him."

"Unless he pissed off someone like Black Mask," Jason pointed out. The likes of Roman Sionis, after all, were never above going after innocent women and children for petty grudges.

"Perhaps, but Brown is smart. He knows better than to cross the likes of someone such as Black Mask. Unless…" He looked at Jason pointedly.

Jason blinked then shook his head furiously. "No. It can't be them."

"Jason—"

"It's too obvious, Bruce. They've gone hundreds of years unnoticed — why would they blow their cover so blatantly right now?"

"They haven't. There's only two witnesses, remember?"

"And that's still two witnesses too many. Besides, why go after Steph? There's no way Brown has discovered them yet. He would've never survived prison as long as he has if he already knew about them." The Court of Owls, after all, weren't ones to suffer for loose ends.

Bruce pursed his lips. "Okay, if it's not them, then who else? And why?"

The pit in his stomach, and the thought that came with it sprung to mind. "Us. They took her to get to us."

Rather than dismiss it outright, Bruce looked contemplative. "Then why not take Tim or Damian? Damian in particular. He'd be far easier to subdue and keep under control, at least at a glance."

"It's like you said, at a glance." Jason waited a moment for Bruce to catch his line of thought. He was rewarded with his father turning pale at the implication.

"You think they know about us. About our secret."

"It's the only thing that makes sense. We've ruled out Arthur Brown completely and Crystal Brown is clean — relatively speaking. That just leaves us. And yet, they didn't go after the obvious targets. They didn't go after Damian, the youngest of us, or Dick, who's living by himself and is technically the most vulnerable out of all of us. No, they went after Steph — the only one associated with us that doesn't have training. The one with the least chance of escaping on their own should they be captured. And the only people who would know that—"

"—Are people who know we're Gotham's vigilantes." Bruce finished, cursing. "Dammit."

Jason sympathized. "Now, we need to ask: is it someone we know? Or a new player?"

Before Bruce could answer, a buzzer sounded in the Cave. It was a warning one used to indicate when someone was at the front door. Reluctantly, both men ended their conversation and made their way back upstairs.

"This is it? This is all they left?" Crystal whispered, gazing at the piece of paper in disbelief.

"Yes. Forensics already has the original, but had a sketch made just in case," Jim Gordon gruffed out. "Does it mean anything to you?"

Crystal shook her head, almost on the verge of tears again.

"Jim?" Bruce called out as he walked down the stairs, Jason trailing behind him.

"Bruce," Jim nodded to his friend, "We finally have a lead on the girl. Though it's not much of one."

"What is it?"

Gently, Jim took the paper out of Crystal's trembling hand, and then flashed it to the billionaire. Both Waynes blinked.

It was the picture of an eye.

"Does this mean anything to you?"

"I—no," Bruce shook his head, taking the parchment for himself. He stared at it for a long moment, before handing it off to Jason. "Where did you get this?"

"Someone dropped it off at the precinct, in an envelope that was simply addressed as 'For Stephanie'. That's just a copy. We're running forensics on the original right now."

As the two men entered a deep conversation, Jason stared hard at the picture. Something about it was nagging at him, but he couldn't figure out what it was. Instead, he took note of the details. It was a slim eye, but nothing really particular about it. It certainly wasn't shaped liked Stephanie's eyes, which were much more rounded. The only thing that really stuck about it was the eyelid, which was much more pronounced. It made the eye look half-lidded.

Half-lidded eye. Half-lidded …eye…

Jason felt his heart stop.

"Commissioner," everyone looked at him, "When you found this drawing, when you took it out of the envelope, was it like this?" He showed the picture of the eye. "Or like this?" He turned the drawing around, so the eye was now vertical.

Jim and Crystal still looked confused. But it wasn't them he was looking at. He saw Bruce blanch, and knew that his father recognized the symbol too.

A symbol of transformation. Of creation.

Of destruction.

At least we know who took Stephanie now. Jason pursed his lips. Of course, that's hardly a comfort, considering who it is.

After what seemed like hours of driving, they had finally stopped somewhere. She had heard doors opening and closing, talking and a lot of shouting. Bound as she was, she could hardly move or react to any of it. She was a captive, after all, and captives weren't allowed to have any agency unless their captors wanted something from.

It took some time for them to carry her out of the van. She didn't struggle — she knew it was fruitless. The knots were too tight. They set her down on a chair, and removed the blindfold.

Stephanie blinked languidly as light returned to her eyes. She was in a warehouse of some sort, she quickly noticed. Probably recently abandoned. The place didn't look as decrepit as the warehouses she had seen in her neighborhood, and some of the machinery still looked to be in working order. The men that had attacked her friends and taken her were all standing in some sort of formation, at attention. Suddenly, they went to their knees, prostrating themselves as woman walked into view.

She was a beautiful woman of Asian descent. Long black hair, sharp features, alluring eyes, and a body Stephanie could only dream of having when she was older. This was the kind of woman that you'd see in the society pages, online, in movies — places so removed from reality, you could hardly believe they were even real.

Except she was real. She was real, she was right in front of Stephanie, and there was something achingly familiar about her that the teenager just couldn't put her finger on. Even more than that, there was something off about her. Something that made her hairs stand on end.

Stephanie was no stranger to dangerous people. She lived in the Narrows, after all, and her father might be a C-list supervillain and a relative failure as a criminal, but he was still that — a criminal. He cavorted with criminals, brought them to their home, worked with them and inevitably was jailed with them. She always dreaded his eventual return, because she knew he'd never change, that one day he'd cross someone more dangerous than himself and her mother and her would pay the price. That had always been her great fear, the thing that inspired the nightmares that kept her up at night.

Was this woman one such person? Because Stephanie could instantly tell that she was far beyond whatever her father was. This woman set her instincts on fire in a way that a lonely trek through Crime Alley at night couldn't. Every bit of her exuded menace. Stephanie knew, in her heart of hearts, that she was staring at a bonafide killer, and some part of her dreaded what was to come next, whatever that was.

"You are scared," the woman said with a svelte voice. She smirked. "Good."

Stephanie remained silent, but she also didn't dare look away.

"Do you know why you're here?"

Slowly, she shook her head.

"If you are wondering if it's because of your pathetic father, don't bother. His name isn't even worth leaving my lips," she continued, as if Stephanie hadn't responded at all. "No, my dear, this is not about your father. It's about your friends. One in particular."

Friends? Stephanie didn't have many friends, just—No. No way.

Now she realized why this woman felt so familiar, looked so familiar. She looked just like…like…

"You've realized it, haven't you?" The woman smirked. "Very well then, let me introduce myself. My name…is Lady Shiva."

Chapter Text

Knock. Knock.

Jason waited as the door opened, revealing a calm if slightly bewildered Richard Dragon. The older man stared down at him. Jason stared back.

"Remember that promise you made?"

Slowly, Dragon nodded.

"Well, it's time to cash in."

"Another note was sent to the precinct, with coordinates on it," Batman's gravely voice aired over the comm as Jason suited up. "I've told Jim not to involve the GCPD. Shiva will be long gone by the time they arrive to set up a perimeter, and she'll probably take Stephanie along with her."

"Okay. Send coordinates to the computer, and I'll have Tim get us an address. I'll send it to Dragon's cellphone and we'll all meet up together there. Even with us there, there's no way she'll pass up a chance at fighting Dragon," Jason replied, smoothing out his domino mask across his eyes.

"Alright. I take it he tried to convince you to come with us?"

"Yes. I told him fuck no, not with his injuries. But in exchange…" Jason sighed, "Cass managed to wheedle her way in."

"…I thought you didn't want her anywhere near Shiva."

"I don't. Tim, however, managed to successfully argue her case," Jason explained, "Shiva did all of this to draw Cass out, not Dragon. So Cass at least has to make an appearance, even if Dragon is the one who will be fighting her. Plus, we need someone with us to guard Stephanie once everything goes to shit. Stephanie no doubt will have figured out who Shiva is, at least relative to Cass; the resemblance is uncanny, and Stephanie isn't an idiot."

"Valid point. Will we be telling Stephanie the truth after this?" There was no inflection in Batman's voice, but Jason had enough practice to sense the anxiety and disapproval beneath the surface.

"Only if she figures it out on her own and tells us. Otherwise, it would be better to keep her in the dark a little longer. No need to scare her off."

Batman grunted. "So Cass will be coming in civilian clothing then?"

"Yes."

"Fine. Just keep her out of sight. If anyone spots her near the Batmobile—"

"Don't worry, she's not arriving in the Batmobile. She'll go with Dragon."

"Then what about you?"

Jason cast a look towards his little brother, who was working diligently on the Computer. "Well, since Robin isn't making an appearance tonight…"

As they drew closer to the address Jason had given them, Cass shivered.

This — all of this — was her fault.

No one had said as much, but she knew it to be true. Shiva had come to Gotham for her. Had sent men to attack her little brothers, to kidnap her best friend, to draw her out. Everything that had happened these past thirty-six hours, it had all been because of her, and now her mentor was about to enter a fight that he had been avoiding for years, just for her sake. That bitter taste of guilt had been welling up ever since Jason had revealed just who had taken Stephanie, and nothing could drown it out.

How long would it take for them to turn her away? It couldn't be that long, she dully thought. These past few months, first with Jason and Damian, and then with the rest of the family…it had almost seemed like a dream. Sure, not all of it was perfect, but it had been the happiest she had been a long time. Since she had left Cain, in fact. It figured it wouldn't last forever.

She could have never imagined this is where she would end up all those months ago, when those strange men had come for her. It was Cain, she had originally thought. He had finally employed help to catch her, and it had worked. She had fought as hard as she could, but there had been so many and she had been so weak. It had been days since she last ate and as she felt the needle of the plunger enter the junction of her neck, she figured that this would've been the end.

And then she had woken up to two strange boys staring at her. The younger of the two was awkward and slightly hostile, but it had been the older boy that had caught her attention. His body had screamed of sheer affection for her and for the other boy almost immediately, and she didn't know what to make of it. But it also meant he wasn't a threat to her, and he had been so kind…she couldn't begrudge herself this, could she? Especially since she didn't know where she was.

Jason was his name, and the other was Damian. And her name was Cassandra, or Cass for short. Her name…nobody had quite given her that, at least not out loud. Perhaps that had been the first step, the first sign.

They hadn't pushed her into anything. Instead, they gave her food, water, and a place to sleep. They taught her how to speak and how to read, as minimal her progress was. They even trained with her when she asked. They had done all that, and when she finally asked them what they wanted from her, they told her they wanted her to come with them to Gotham. To be their sister. To stay with them forever. She tried to analyze them, to see the ulterior motives they had for their offer, but there were none. At least none that she could object to. They wanted her to be safe. They wanted her to stay with them.

How could she ever say no?

She followed them to Gotham without question, and met the family she was to join. All of them were like Damian was at first, awkward and not quite able to make out what they thought about her. But eventually, they warmed up her, and she gradually got to know them better.

Dick was even more open in his affection than Jason. There was just something so bright about him, so good that she could barely touch on it without being overwhelmed. Perhaps it was a good thing he lived in a different city and visited the Manor rarely. She wasn't sure she could handle having him around all the time.

Tim was much less open than Dick, but just as kind and good. Though his general annoyance and exasperation showed up much more than the others. It was actually a bit refreshing, having someone not so bright all the time. Though that meant their relationship had started up awkwardly, she could safely say they were friends at least. Tim, like Jason, had helped her with her speech therapy, explaining things patiently to her and helping her sound out the words she wanted to read. He even taught her how to play some of his video games, uncaring of how long it took her to get used to the controls.

Then there was Barbara. She showed up less often than Tim but more than Dick, and she was always kind to her. Occasionally Cass could see the occasional flash of bitterness and anger when her paralysis prevented her from doing something, but for the most part she was as put-together as the others in the family. Like Tim and Jason, she had served as another tutor, but took even further interest when she learned that Cass had started her vigilante training. She had even promised to get her started on coding once Cass had reached a certain threshold with her speech therapy.

Alfred was much more subdued and dignified. His interactions were also more reserved than the others; his status as their employee no doubt serving as the barrier. And yet his affection was every bit as clear to her as the others. Jason had managed to drum in basic etiquette during their stay with the All-Caste, but Alfred is the one who had helped her refine it into an art. He was always there with whatever she needed, whether it be food, or water, or a towel, or pillow or just about anything. He was also one of the few that was okay with just sitting with her in silence while she tried to get a hang of silent reading.

Finally, there was Bruce. Bruce was…difficult. There was affection in his carriage, like the others, but it was mired with sadness. Lots and lots of sadness. And anger too. The only time she had seen anything close to it had been with were the other people she had interacted with on the streets with her. And, more disturbingly, Jason, when he thought no one was looking. He had tried to hide it from them, from her in particular, but she saw it all the same. It made her wonder what, exactly, had happened to her brother before they found each other.

Bruce wasn't like the others. If they were awkward, he was practically clueless. But he cared, that much she could tell. He cared, he just didn't know how to express it. So she at least tried to meet him halfway. She just didn't know how, until the idea had popped into her mind a few weeks in.

When she had first found out about the family's extracurricular vocation, she didn't know what to think about it. But when she saw what Batman did on the news, how he saved people and brought justice to others, all without killing people — she had been immediately enchanted. That's what she wanted to do, she thought. She wanted to save people, and perhaps that would make up for what she had done all those years ago.

So she had approached him for training. To one day become a vigilante in her own right. He had been pleased, but also worried. And she didn't understand why until Jason had found out and blew up at him, at them both really. She had never seen him so angry. The way he had looked at her, it was a kind of terrified helplessness that she couldn't quite recognize. It had been like he knew that this day would come, but had desperately held on to the idea that it wouldn't.

And then he had shown her one of the reasons for his disapproval. She hadn't even realized she had lost so much of her own ability, but how could she? Other than training and sparring, fighting hadn't been on her agenda for a while. She hadn't noticed, but evidently Jason had, as had Bruce. It's why he had booked her lesson with Richard Dragon behind her back, something that had enraged Jason because he knew who Dragon would bring with him. Shiva.

It always came back to Shiva.

She had heard of Shiva before, of course, or at least the sound of her name. It had been in hushed whispers, as if speaking of her would summon her before them. She never quite understood why, and Jason wouldn't explain until she all but forced him to tell her. Even then, all he said is that she was the greatest martial artist in the world, a dangerous assassin, and that if Cass became a vigilante, she would catch Shiva's attention — and that she would never be able to shake it until Shiva was dead. Cass had thought he was being paranoid.

She was wrong.

Shiva, somehow, had found out about her. Had come for her. Again, Bruce and Jason hadn't said as much, but she had seen the fear in their eyes once they realized who had taken Stephanie. The way Jason cast his gaze towards Cass as if she were to disappear the next moment he took it away from her. He had fought her involvement in the rescue so vehemently, but all she had to do was admit that she knew Shiva had come for her for him to cave. Even with his reputation, with his past with Shiva, Dragon would never be allowed inside without her presence. Shiva hadn't come for him, after all.

She was scared, she would admit that much, but it was for Stephanie. Stephanie, who beamed at her like the sun, who smiled at her and played with her and taught her so many things that men in her life couldn't. Who listened to her and helped her when she asked. Who made Tim relax in a way that no one else did. Stephanie was her best friend. Cass would do anything to get her back.

Anything.

Cass exhaled as Dragon parked the car a little way's away from the warehouse. Not too far, but far enough to keep the car out of sight and away from attention. They would make the rest of the trip on foot. She watched as he put up the hood of the jacket he was wearing, and mimicked him.

It was night time. Not too late, but late enough for Batman and Robin to start patrolling. Cass knew, however, that neither of them would be patrolling on this night. Robin would probably be out of action for the next couple of days, to be honest. The injuries weren't too severe, but better safe than sorry, as Jason was wont to say.

They followed the dim, dirty streetlights until they reached the entrance of the warehouse. After exchanging a look with Dragon, she hesitatingly knocked on it, waiting for the door to slid open. Eventually, it did, revealing a large man in dark garb. He glanced at Dragon, but then looked at her. Cass lowered her hood, just enough to expose her face, and the man stepped away.

They walked inside, and looked around. Several large men in similar garb and of similar size were loitering around the building, forming a loose but large circle that almost resembled a human-made ring. Cass swallowed, not liking the implication. She looked ahead, and froze.

Stephanie was there, bound to a chair with ropes with her wrists tied up. Her mouth was covered with duct tape, no doubt to keep her quiet. Cass saw her friend look up, her eyes widening at the sight of her. She began to struggle, only to freeze when a slender hand gently but firmly settled her was a single clasp of the shoulder. Cass followed the arm the hand belonged to, and resisted the urge to gasp.

Jason had never completely explained why Shiva would be after her. After some further pressing, he told her about Shiva's obsession with crushing powerful martial artists, and about how she was searching for a superior martial artist to finally kill her in battle. Cass would be of interest to her, because she was one of the few people who had the potential to fulfill that wish. Her body-reading ability, once she regained full use of it, was unsurpassed. It was just a matter of experience and expanding a repertoire of techniques, and it wouldn't be long until she matched Shiva.

She had accepted the explanation at face value, but one question had kept on nagging on her — how would Shiva know that? How would Shiva know about her at all? She knew Cain had been a reputable assassin, but she doubted he would ever air out the details of his pet project so loosely around the assassin community. Even if it was someone like Lady Shiva demanding them. The question had nagged her at the back of her mind, but she didn't dare voice it out loud. Something inside her told she wouldn't like the answer.

And whatever that feeling was, it was right. As she gazed at Shiva, at the planes of her face, the way that it so closely resembled her own, her heart started beating erratically. There was no way that could be a coincidence. She didn't need the basic detective training that Bruce had started her on to see that.

Who are you?

"Hello, little girl," Lady Shiva purred, raking her eyes up and down her body. There was nothing lustful in that gaze, and yet Cass still felt violated. "Do you know who I am?"

"Lady Shiva," Cass replied, and she hated how quiet and stilted her voice sounded.

Shiva smirked. "Take off your hood," she ordered.

Cass did exactly that, and struggled not to flinch when Shiva's eyes met her own again. No doubt she had noticed the resemblance as well — or perhaps she knew it was already there and had just wanted to see it for herself? There was a flash of anger on the older woman's face, but it was gone before Cass could fully process it, and that smug exterior was back in place.

"I'll admit, I was planning on waiting a little longer for this meeting to take place," Shiva said conversationally, as if she were just talking about weather instead of a duel to the death, "But plans changed. If anything else, this will allow me to see if you are ripe or not."

Ripe? What did she mean by that?

"I take it you brought your companion to be your second? Tell him to stand aside. I will allow a few minutes for you to stretch before we begin."

Cass said nothing. Instead, she looked at Dragon, and he knew that was his cue. He removed his hood, and once his face was revealed to all, the entire atmosphere changed. A cold tension settled into place as Shiva processed who exactly had come with her, and Cass savor her stunned look as it slowly transformed into something dark and furious. The men surrounding them had tensed as well. If they were truly Shiva's followers, then they had no doubt recognized the one man who call himself Lady Shiva's one, true equal.

It seemed the only person who didn't recognize her mentor was Stephanie, judging by the confused look on her face. That was only to be expected — Cass highly doubted someone with a relatively normal background like hers would recognize Dragon. The man may be revered in the martial arts community, but he was also a recluse and his face was only well-known in certain elite circles. Even Cass had only heard whispers of him before Bruce had sent her off to him to take lessons. Then again, she could hardly speak and read before Jason and Damian came along, so that probably should have been expected.

She didn't know much about Dragon or his relationship with Shiva. She knew that he was considered one of the greatest martial artists in the world. She knew he had mentored Bruce, Dick, and Barbara. Jason seemed to be familiar with him as well, far more than he was willing to admit. Most of all, she knew Jason hadn't wanted her to be mentored by him, ostensibly because of Shiva. It didn't take Tim to figure out they had some sort of past together. What kind of past that was she had never bothered to find out. Dragon wasn't the most forthcoming of mentors, her speech wasn't the best, and ultimately it didn't matter.

And now it did. Because, while her body-reading ability wasn't quite what it used to be, it was still there, and she was able to see a lot. Neither Shiva nor Dragon had yet to speak, to break their stare-off, but they didn't have to; it was enough to tell everything to Cass, to show her everything she needed to know. The anger, the tension, the respect, the hunger, the desire, and beneath it all, the longing. Something deep, something that she rarely saw. The closest in recent memory had been the few times Dick and Barbara had visited together, and even then what was between them wasn't as raw as what was between these two. It made Cass wonder what, exactly, had happened between them.

"Sandra," Dragon finally said. "It's been quite some time."

"It has," Shiva intoned, voice frigid. "I'm surprised. I thought you were still holed up in that mountain shack of yours. I didn't think you'd rejoin society for the likes of her."

Dragon didn't shrug. The sentiment was there, however. "A former student called in a favor. He was very…convincing."

Shiva narrowed her eyes. "I imagine he was. I imagine his money was even more enticing. And I imagine a single look at her face was enough to seal the deal."

"You never did say much about what happened after Carolyn died," Dragon said instead of denying her words. "Ben knew though, didn't he? I saw some of his style in her. A lot of styles, in a way that makes my stomach curl."

"What are you trying to say?"

"What exactly did you leave her to, Sandra? I am no stranger to harsh training, but her scars, the way she fights — that wasn't training. That was torture."

Shiva didn't snort. That sentiment was also there. "You have no right to judge my choices. You're certainly not any more of a saint than I am. Besides, she came out all the stronger for it, did she not? Not even you can deny her talent, her skill."

"No, I can't. But was it truly worth it? She's your—"

"She is nothing to me," Shiva cut him off. "Nothing but a means to an end. I made an investment all those years ago, and I am here to observe it, to see if it payed off. Do not interfere."

Dragon didn't back down, however. He stepped forward, standing in front of Cass with a determined look on his face. "She is my student, and her training isn't quite complete yet. I would be a poor mentor if I were to let you kill her now."

She glared at him, and then she laughed. There was no mirth in it. "So this is what it takes for you to finally face me? I asked you, demanded you, begged you to fight me, and you refused. I made your life hell, and you refused. And yet I threaten one of your students, and you step in? She's hardly the only student of yours I've faced over the years, you and I both know. Nor would she be the last."

"But the only one still under my tutelage," Dragon reminded her, face set. "Are you really so offended that you'd give this chance up?"

"How do I know you'll even be serious about it?" Shiva shot back, tone disparaging. "Time and again you've shown me how weak you are, how unwilling you were to do what needed to be done. You thrive in violence like I do and yet whenever it becomes too much you scurry up the nearest mountain like a coward. It makes me sick, knowing you, the only man in the world could ever dare to equal me, would rather live in isolation and let his skills rot rather than live up to his full potential."

"Like you?" Dragon asked, and now there was something dark in his voice too. "You think what you've been doing has been fulfilling your potential? Don't make me laugh. You revel in the violence because it's all you have." His face softened. "Sandra, Carolyn wouldn't have wanted this."

"It doesn't matter what she would've wanted. She's dead, and her sister along with her," Shiva responded coldly. "Lady Shiva is all that remains. You would do well to remember that."

"Lady Shiva is just a construction made by Sandra Wu-San, so she won't have to face her grief," Dragon countered. "You can fool the world, Sandra, but you can't fool me. Because there's no one in the world who knows you better than me."

Shiva's nostrils flared.

"Sandra—"

"Enough," Shiva snarled viciously. She smoothly removed her jacket, throwing it to the side. Dragon sighed and mirrored her, though he handed his jacket to Cass.

"Wait," Cass called out before the duel could begin. "Stephanie—"

"You'll have her back after the duel ends," Shiva hissed, glaring at the younger woman fiercely. "Until then…stay out of the way."

Cass felt her own anger flare up, but she squashed it down. Nodding jerkily, she stepped back into the circle, eyes on the two combatants. Her arms clutched Dragon's jacket tightly.

The last interruption finished, the two masters locked eyes, and the battle began.

"When this is all over, you're gonna have to tell her everything."

Knight crossed his arms as he watched Shiva and Dragon lock forearms, and sighed. "I know. I just hope she won't hate me for keeping so much from her."

Batman grunted. "You were trying to protect her. She'll understand that."

Knight neither agreed nor disagreed, but said nothing more on the matter. Instead, he zeroed in on the two martial artists going at it on the floor. "He's not going to kill her."

"No," Batman confirmed, "He doesn't have it in him. She means too much to him."

"We're not going to let either of them die, are we?"

Batman gave him a look.

"I know. I'm not suggesting we should. But it's not going to be easy."

"When has anything we've ever done been easy?"

Despite himself, Knight couldn't help but quirk his lips up. "True. So very true."

Stephanie resisted the urge to continue struggling. Her wrists were starting to burn from the rubbing, and she didn't want to be anymore uncomfortable than she already was. Even so, she couldn't help her beating heart, which drumming in her ears, nor the wince when she heard another loud clash of flesh as she watched her captor and Cass' mentor(?) go at it with a ferocity she had never seen before.

She was no stranger to violence. She grew up in Gotham, in one of the worst neighborhoods of the city. Her father was a supervillain. She even took weekly martial arts classes at a local dojo for the past couple of years. And yet, watching these two try to tear each other apart made her physically sick. Any appreciation she had for their abilities, their skills (so beyond her own) was trampled by the sheer carnage that accompanied it. Humans weren't made for such raw destruction, especially against other humans.

It had barely been minutes into the fight when she heard the cracking of bone. Whose, she didn't know; she wouldn't be surprised if it was both of them. Shiva was already sporting a shiner. Blood was dribbling from Dragon's mouth. Limbs were being twisted, skin cut. There were so many bruises sported on their bodies…the movies really failed to capture what it meant to have a duel like this.

And worse yet, it wasn't going to end. It wasn't going to end until someone died and Stephanie really, really didn't want to see someone die. Not even the men who attacked her and her friends, not even the woman who ordered them to do it. Certainly not the man who came with her friend to save her. And certainly not Cass, like what seemed posed to happen before Dragon revealed his identity, whoever Dragon was.

She just wanted to go home. She just wanted to go home and forget that any of this happened. She was tired, sore, hungry, and in desperate need of a bath. Why couldn't it be over?

So drowned in her thoughts, she barely noticed when she felt fingers touching her bound hands. She stiffened, and looked around — all the men were too focused on the fight. They weren't watching her. Slowly, she turned around, and blinked.

It was a vigilante, that much was certain by the red bat on his chest. Certainly one she had never seen or heard of before. Considering it was rumored that Nightwing was the first Robin, perhaps this was the second? There were rumors that the current Robin was the third. But if that was the case, why had it taken him so long to appear?

Red Bat (as she had deemed him in her head) held up a finger to his lips, and then silently pointed back at the fight. Realizing what he was telling her to do, she quickly turned back to watching the fight, keeping her eyes forward as she felt a knife begin cutting her bonds, first with her feet and then with her hands. He was just about finished with the ones binding her to the chair when a yell was heard.

The fight paused as one of Shiva's men pointed towards Stephanie. Stephanie froze, wondering if she had been had, when another shadow appeared beside her and started moving towards the former combatants. She watched in amazement as Batman (because who else could it be?) approached the two combatants, drawing their attentions away from each other and to him.

"Shiva."

"Batman," Shiva spat out, almost literally. She looked terrible, though Dragon was hardly in any better condition.

"Enough," the Bat said roughly, "I will not have you two killing each other in my city."

"So you wait until we nearly kill each other and then stop us from finishing the fight," Shiva shook her head, "Conniving as ever."

"It's not my fault you never learn." He stepped aside, revealing that Stephanie was no longer in her bonds and long gone. Shiva's eyes widened, and she turned around to see Stephanie already fleeing with Cass and what looked like another vigilante.

"STOP THEM!" She screamed, and her men ran to obey her orders.

She turned back to her original opponent and her new aggressor, and settled back into a fighting stance. Dragon followed the suit, as did Batman.

"You can't beat both of us, Sandra," Dragon growled out, preparing to charge.

He was stopped, however, by a new figure jumping through the window. A very familiar figure.

One dressed in orange and black.

"Who said she had to do it alone?" Deathstroke asked menacingly.

"Come on, come on!" Knight urged the two girls down the street, towards where the Batmobile was parked. The three of them rushed forward, hearing the telltale sounds of running behind them. Without even looking back, Knight tossed a smoke bomb behind him, not bothering to wait for the minor explosion nor the knockout gas that came with it. That should take care of them.

Before they could reach the Batmobile, however, Knight noticed a glint of something from the corner of his eye and drew one of his batarangs and threw it, cutting through the arrow that was about puncture one of Stephanie's shoulders. Both girls froze, and Knight was quick to pull them behind him. Looking up at a nearby rooftop, he narrowed his eyes and snarled beneath his mask.

"Merlyn."

"Merlyn?" Stephanie asked, hysterical.

"A master assassin that specializes in archery," Knight explained, drawing another batarang, "He usually antagonizes Green Arrow over at Star City, but he's also crossed paths with us Bats before."

"Why is he here then? I thought Shiva only wanted—" she looked at Cass guiltily. Cass, for her part, was not offended; she only shrugged helplessly, just as bewildered as her friend was.

"I don't know, but—"

"YOU!"

"Shit," Knight cursed as he and the girls dodged a sword thrust from an enraged Ravager.

"You think I wouldn't recognize you, second Robin!?" The crazed teenager shrieked, brandishing her blade threateningly at the three of them. "Well, screw you! This is not going to go like last time!"

Knight kept one eye on Merlyn as he watched Rose rant with slight exasperation. This was not how he expected tonight to go. If Rose was here, that meant Deathstroke couldn't be far behind — that would explain why Batman hadn't immediately followed up on them. Shiva was dangerous but in her current state Bruce should've been able to handle her easily. Add Deathstroke in the mix, however, and he would be hard-pressed even with Dragon helping him.

More distressing was why all these assassins were here, and how they had managed to slip into Gotham undetected. Bruce would've never been so sloppy as to let that happen. Neither would Babs. Someone had to have helped them. Someone who knew how they worked and knew how to subvert their systems. And considering who these people were…he didn't like who was on the shortlist for the possibly guilty.

"Do you think you can handle her?" He whispered to Cass, reaching back to hand her one of his spare knives. Rose had yet to notice that her 'audience' wasn't paying attention to her. Cass slowly nodded.

"Good." He turned to Stephanie. "Find somewhere to hide behind, and keep low. I'm going to handle Merlyn."

Stephanie hesitated, but quickly realizing that she really wasn't in any position to argue, complied. Knight watched her go, and once he was certain she was secure, bolted past Ravager and towards the direction of Merlyn. Ravager finally broke off her rant and moved to chase after him, but Cass cut her off with her own attack.

He drew his grappling hook, knocking away a few arrows as he shot it towards the ledge of the building next to the roof Merlyn was on. Landing on the fire escape before Merlyn could cut the line, he leaped to the other side and climbed up the stairs, flipping over the ledge and drawing his escrima sticks, landing in a battle-ready position. Merlyn eyed him speculatively, letting go of the arrow he was about draw and holding up his bow like a quarter-staff.

"The second Robin, right?" Knight didn't answer. "There's been a lot of rumors about you lately. I wonder if there's any truth to them."

Before he could say more, Knight charged forward, one of his sticks meeting the sturdy bow in a loud clash. The second stick followed up, and just like that they were at it. Thrusts, stabs, swings — the two of them danced around each other violently, neither one able to to get the advantage. Merlyn might have had a stronger and sturdier body, but he did not specialize in close combat. He was a marksman, not a brawler.

Even so, there was only so much Knight could do with his body. His physical abilities were limited until he was fully grown, and his skills weren't completely able to bridge the distance. That left things at a stalemate, something that he was not comfortable with knowing that Cass and Stephanie were still in danger.

He risked a glance at them, and internally sighed in relief when he saw that Cass had already knocked out Ravager. It proved to be a mistake, as Merlyn took advantage and knocked him away, causing him to land on his ass. Knight shook his head to clear the cobwebs, just in time to see Merlyn aim at his sister and shoot. He looked back at Cass, and breathed a sigh of relief when she managed to dodge it, only getting nicked on the arm.

And then she collapsed.

Poison.

Before he could even get his head straight, he was already up on his feet and charging at Merlyn, a silent roar echoing from his mouth. The man barely had time to react before Knight was on him, knocking him down and slamming one foot — painfully — on his crotch, the other on his right arm. He then reached down and pulled up the left one, stretching it out so he could twist it just so.

To his credit, Merlyn didn't scream. But the expression on his face showed the suffering he was in.

"Antidote. Now."

Merlyn glared up at him for a long moment, but another pointed twist had him grimacing, and he wiggled his fingers towards a pocket in his right leg. Knight bent down and drew the vial from it, and then finished up with a hard punch to the face, knocking the man out cold.

The light was fading. The world was going dark.

She was dying, she realized.

So this is how it ends, she thought. Oh well, that was fine. At least she didn't have to live long enough to see her family turn her away. Perhaps this was for the best. Perhaps this was payment for daring to be so happy after what she did.

"Cass."

Was that Jason 's voice? Or Stephanie's? She couldn't tell. They all blurred together now.

"Cass."

It's too bad. I would've liked to apologize.

"Cass!"

The light was growing brighter now. She reached out —

"CASS!"

Cass sat up, breathing in a huge gulp of air. Knight let out a small sigh of relief, struggling not to reveal how worried he had been. Even after the antidote had been administered, she had — ever so briefly — gone into cardiac arrest. Even with CPR, they still could've lost her.

He watched Stephanie throw her arms around his sister, and was glad his mouth was covered so they couldn't see him smile. He couldn't linger, however, and looked around. He blinked.

Ravager was gone.

He couldn't leave Stephanie and Cass just yet, but he was willing to bet that Merlyn was too, as were Shiva's men. That was fast. Too fast. It was as if…Knight looked around the shadows suspiciously, for any signs of movement. Nothing. But that didn't mean anything. Someone else had been here, he just knew it.

And Merlyn…why did he attack Cass? If she had been his original target, he would've aimed for her first, not Stephanie. Stephanie herself had only been bait to draw Cass out for Shiva. She should've been rendered a non-factor the moment she was out of Shiva's captivity. After all, it didn't matter if she could identify who killed who — all the people involved were publicly known assassins and supervillains. More than that, Merlyn in particular was well-known as a professional. He wasn't one to kill an innocent girl for kicks.

Not to mention the presence of Ravager and, presumably, Deathstroke. The last time he had seen those two, they had been after him. Presumably that's why they were here in Gotham, but how did they know he would've been here as a vigilante? If Tim hadn't been injured, Robin could've easily taken his place and Jason would've just stood by for back up in case of an emergency. This, after all, was Knight's first public appearance. Beyond Stephanie and Dragon, no one outside of the Family knew he even existed.

None of this made sense. None. Unless…

Maybe. But not yet. We don 't have any proof yet.

Still, it was something to file away for later. As he watched his sister and his friend clutch each other tight, he allowed himself to relax, ever so slightly.

They had gotten Stephanie back, safe and sound. Right now, that was all that mattered.

Chapter Text

It was several minutes later when Batman arrived. A barely lucid Dragon had one arm slung around his shoulders, and both of them looked a more than a little worse for wear.

"Deathstroke?" Knight asked knowingly.

Batman grunted. "Who attacked?"

"Ravager and Merlyn. Merlyn managed to nick Miss Wayne with a poisoned arrow, but I got the antidote to her in time. However," he looked out to the street, "both are gone."

"So are Shiva and Deathstroke. A pair of smoke bombs were used by an outside party during the fight, and by the time it cleared both of them had disappeared." The two of them exchanged a look. They both knew this was not a coincidence.

"Will they come back?" Stephanie asked, interjecting herself into the conversation. Knight shook his head.

"I doubt it. One of them is heavily injured and they've lost the element of surprise. They'll probably flee the city for now and try again at a much later date, if they don't scrap their plans altogether."

It wasn't complete assurance, but it was enough for Stephanie to calm down a bit. She looked at everyone, smiling lightly, if tiredly. "Thank you, then. For saving me."

Batman quirked his lips into something resembling a smile. "It was nothing Miss Brown."

"He's right," Knight concurred, "We were just doing our jobs."

Dragon just gave a nod, while Cass squeezed her hand. Stephanie's smile lingered for a bit, though it faded away. "What now?" she asked.

Everyone else exchanged a look. "We're going to take you to the main precinct," Batman finally said, "They'll take your statement, and then call your guardian to take you home. However, Miss Brown, do not tell them about Dragon's or Miss Wayne's involvement. It's imperative that they keep as low a profile as possible, for all our sakes."

Stephanie glanced at the alley where the Batmobile was presumable parked. "That'll be hard, seeing as we're all going to be piled in the same car." Dragon, after all, was clearly in no condition to drive.

"I'll take you to the precinct on the R-Cycle," Knight offered, "I need to introduce myself to Gordon anyway."

The former hostage beamed at him gratefully, then frowned. "What's your name, by the way? I've been calling you Red Bat in my head, but I doubt that's it."

Knight stilled at her words, and a small chuckle escaped his mouth, one that he struggled to keep from evolving into full-blown laughter. Everyone stared him at like he was crazy, and he waved them off.

"Sorry," he apologized as the chuckle tapered off, "In-joke. And no, that's not my name. You can call me Knight. Gotham Knight."

Compared to the ordeal of finding and rescuing Stephanie, the aftermath was almost routine. Just like he said, Knight dropped off Stephanie at the precinct, only staying long enough to introduce himself to Gordon before disappearing into the night like any other self-respecting Bat. Stephanie had been checked over by the on-site EMT, and once she was given a clean bill of health, gave her statement. Knight had helped her craft a plausible story that deliberately left out Dragon and Cass; the presence of two vigilantes had helped on that account.

After she was done, her mother had arrived — with Alfred in tow. Apparently, Bruce Wayne had brought Crystal Brown to the Manor to wait out the kidnapping, knowing that his own son and ward had been harmed trying to prevent it. Now that she was safe, he had offered Alfred's services to take them home, and told her to come visit the Manor as soon as she was able. No doubt it was to talk about Cass' participation in her rescue; Stephanie had been around Bruce long enough to know that whoever the ditz was that the gossip column wrote about wasn't the actual man himself. In reality, Bruce Wayne was ridiculously astute and intelligent. There was no way he didn't know that Cass had been a part of her rescue.

The question was why he let her go. Not that Stephanie wasn't grateful to him or to Cass or to any of the Waynes really. They had done more for her than most others would've done in the same situation. Certainly more than what her father would've done if he had faced a similar predicament. More than likely Arthur Brown would've written her off and had another child to replace her.

Bruce Wayne was not Arthur Brown. He might not have been the most open person, but it was obvious to anyone who spent any appreciable time with him — the real him — that he adored his children. Allowing his daughter to enter such a dangerous situation, even if it was to rescue her best friend, was not characteristic of him in the least. If anything, he would've gone himself before allowing her to go.

…Wait.

Stephanie combed her fingers through her hair, careful not to let Alfred or her mother see the distress she was feeling.

From the moment she saw Shiva's face, she knew that there was a good chance that Cass would eventually appear. It was obvious which of her friends Shiva had been interested in, and while she never stated their relationship, it had been easy to figure out what it was. She wasn't as smart as Tim, but she wasn't an idiot. What had been more surprising is that it seemed Cass hadn't known either. There was no faking that look of shock on her face when she had first arrived to the warehouse and saw who, exactly, had kidnapped Stephanie.

But more importantly, she had only expected Cass to appear. Her, and perhaps the police. The man with her, Dragon — Richard Dragon, according to him — was unexpected, but when she learned that he was Cass' mentor and more than that, someone special from Shiva's past, his appearance made a lot more sense. What hadn't made sense were the appearances of Batman and the new guy, Gotham Knight.

That they had been tracking her, in hindsight, wasn't a surprise. Considering that she had been nabbed in broad daylight and the attack had involved Tim Drake and Damian Wayne, it was probably a part of the twenty-four-hour news cycle within the hour of the 911 call. No, what had been surprising had been their behavior during their arrival. Batman had acted as if he personally knew both Shiva and Dragon. And Knight — he had trusted Cass to fight off that crazy chick in orange and black armor without a second thought. Had even given her a knife to help her. It's as if he knew she was capable of fighting her, beating her.

He knew Cass. Personally. That was only way his behavior made sense. And if he knew Cass, then that possibly meant Batman knew her as well. Not to mention, crazy chick mentioned something about him being the 'second Robin'. Stephanie thought back to Batman's behavior over the past year, and remembered there had been a brief period of a couple months where he had been seen without a Robin. During that time, he had become increasingly reckless and violent, and had only settled back to something resembling normal when Robin — a new Robin that wore pants — started working with him.

That Robin was shorter than Knight. Knight was tall, easily beating her out by several inches. She hadn't seen the new Robin in person, but the pictures in the news suggested that he couldn't be an inch or two taller than her. So if Knight was, indeed, the second Robin, then this new Robin had to be the third. Combined with the rumors of Nightwing being the first Robin…

Nightwing was Bludhaven's vigilante. Dick Grayson, the eldest of Bruce Wayne's sons, lived in Bludhaven and worked there as a police officer. The second Robin disappeared over a year ago and reappeared now as Gotham Knight. Jason Todd's supposed death happened over a year ago, and just recently he had turned up alive. And the third Robin…he appeared around the same time that Tim had been taken in by Bruce.

Could he really be Robin? She couldn't outright dismiss the possibility. She thought back to the attack, and noticed that Tim seemed much better at fighting then someone would guess at first glance. She knew he had taken martial arts classes, but those were just classes. She doubted a rich kid like him had ever been in a real fight before.

Except it seemed he had. The moment the men had proven hostile he hadn't hesitated to throw the first punch. He — and Damian for that matter — had tried to fight them off with a ferocity she had only seen in the likes of Crime Alley kids. If only there hadn't been so many, he might've even won, and Stephanie would've never needed to be rescued at all.

If Tim was the third Robin, then Dick and Jason were undoubtedly the first and second. And if they were Robins, then Bruce Wayne had to be Batman. It would explain why he was so different around his family compared to his public persona. Who would ever expect an idiot playboy like him to be Batman? Stephanie certainly hadn't, until she met the man himself. And it would explain why Batman had all these cool toys; Bruce Wayne had more than enough money to pay for that kind of tech. Hell, he had a company that was more than capable of producing all of it.

And Cass. Cass had said she wanted to help people, and that Jason had disapproved because it put her in danger. And what could be more dangerous than the life of a vigilante? Especially in a city like theirs, a world like theirs. Jason was so protective of all his siblings — he would've never let them run around the streets in colorful spandex and fighting criminals unless he was right there alongside them.

It all made sense. But was it true?

There was only way to confirm it. Confront them. But after that? Things would change. Whether she right or wrong, things would change. She didn't want things to change. But she also couldn't get rid of the knowledge in her head.

So what should she do?

"Stephanie is on her way back home with her mom, Dragon and you are all treated for your injuries, and everyone else has been updated and can finally get sleep," Jason summarized to his brooding father. "Cheer up. Everything went better than expected."

He had long since discarded his suit, placing it back in its compartment and exchanging it for a shirt and some sweatpants. Bruce had only taken his cowl off, but the injuries he sustained had demanded he take the night off. He'd be back at it the next night, Jason was certain, but for now he hoped his father would take this brief reprieve as, well, an actual reprieve.

"And worse," Bruce reminded him. "Don't tell me you didn't notice."

Jason sighed. "I noticed. I hoped to keep my mind off it a bit longer, but I noticed."

"…Do you think he knows? They're all known for working for the League."

"We don't have proof they're working for him this time around," Jason stated bluntly, "But, if he does know, or even just suspects, then he doesn't have proof either. It's too fantastic a tale even for this world. He would need confirmation from us, and if we confront him—"

"—then that's all the confirmation he'll need," Bruce finished the thought for him. "And then we'll be on our own, without the homefield advantage. We might as well be handing him right to you. Meaning—"

"—all we can do is wait," Jason sighed. "What a mess."

"What happens if he does suspect? If he knows? He could tell someone else, another villain, and after that, it would spread."

"He won't. Bruce, you've been foiling him for so long, and with the likes of Clark and Diana around he'll need every advantage he can get. He'll try to acquire me, or at least the knowledge in my head, first."

"And if he can't get that?"

Jason didn't answer. He didn't have to.

Thankfully, they were interrupted before the conversation could continue by the telltale chime of the Cave's elevator. Both men watched as Cass, now dressed in her nightwear, exited the cart and walked towards them. There was a strange look on her face, one that made Jason's stomach turn.

"Shiva."

Both men were startled to hear that name come from her mouth. "Cass…" Bruce said cautiously.

"To me," she cut him off firmly. "Who is she?"

Her father and brother exchanged a look. Bruce stood up, silently deferring the explanation to Jason, and made his way to the changing room to give them privacy. Coward, Jason thought, though there was no real heat to it. He'd book it too if he was in Bruce's position.

"Jason," Cass asked, voice even. Her eyes had not strayed from her brother, even as their father departed.

"You've already guessed," Jason said instead, not quite answering the question.

"Say it anyway."

Jason observed her for a long moment, then exhaled. "She's your mother."

Cass stared back at him, and then shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes. Jason went to comfort her, but she pushed him away angrily.

"You knew," Cass accused him.

"Yes." Jason didn't deny it.

"For how long?"

"…since the beginning."

His sister gave out an anguished cry, and started repeatedly hitting him in the chest. The blows stung only a bit; despite her current state Cass couldn't find it in herself to actually hurt him.

"How?" she demanded. "Why?"

Jason opened his mouth, but no sound came out. This was it, this was the moment of truth. So why couldn't he say it?

"Jason—!"

"I'm a time traveler," he blurted out. "That's how I knew."

Cass pursed her lips, her gaze unblinking.

"Cass—"

"I knew it."

Jason froze. "What?"

"You knew me," Cass continued, as if he hadn't said anything. "You knew me, but…we never met. Before. And the way you look at me — it was too much. You knew too much."

Her older brother grabbed her by her arms, gently but firmly. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Waiting. For you." She swallowed. "Is that why…?"

Jason sighed. "Yes. The idea of you living on the streets for a moment longer, in danger…I couldn't stand it. Not when I had the power to change it. Talia — Damian's mother — was fond of me, so I told her some of the truth, and she agreed to find you and let you and Damian come home with me."

"But…Shiva…?"

"Cass, I'm from the future. I knew Shiva would come after you because that's what she did the first time around. And she didn't stop until the day she died. I—We, didn't care then." He smiled at her. "What makes you think we care now?"

Cass threw her arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder. Jason rubbed her back soothingly, muttering comfort into her ears. They stayed like that for a while, long enough for Bruce to finally get out of the showers. A look from Jason had Bruce going upstairs using the elevator; this was a conversation for them alone, and chances are it would take all night. Bruce could have his own private talk with Cass later.

Eventually, her tears subsided, and Jason gave her a few moments to clean herself up. He led over to the mats, plopping down on the softer-than-concrete material with his sister following his lead.

"You alright?" he asked her. Cass nodded. "Okay then, what do you want to know? There are some things I can't tell you about just yet, but for the most part, anything is fair game."

"Shiva."

"You want to know why she's after you?" Jason surmised.

"I…yes. I am her daughter. And when saw me, she angry. So angry," Cass shrugged. "And she left with Cain. Want to know why."

"It's not a happy story, Cass."

"Does not matter. Need to know."

Jason expelled another breath. "Then our story begins a long time ago, with a lonely hunter whose dreams kept dying. He wanted to raise the perfect assassin, but his children kept failing him. And soon, he realized the problem — they were not his. Not of his flesh, his blood…his strength. He realized that to have the perfect child, he needed the perfect woman to be the perfect mother."

"And so, the lonely hunter searched the world looking for her. And then one day, in the city of Detroit, Michigan, he found his perfect bride."

He met his sister's eyes.

"And he killed her."

"So, you're going?" Jason asked, trying not to let his disappointment show. In the end, Dragon hadn't brought all of this down on them. Shiva hadn't even known he was here.

Dragon shrugged, not even wincing despite the obvious pain he should've been in. The man had bandages and bruises everywhere. "Now that she knows I'm here, it'll only be a matter of time before it spreads to the rest of the community. I refuse to be swarmed by two-bit punks trying to pick a fight with the Dragon."

He wasn't wrong. Jason had no desire to deal with any of that either. Typically, those 'two-bit punks' also tended to be criminals with rap sheets a mile long — the last thing they needed in the already crime-infested Gotham. "Very well then, if you think it's for the best. But Cass…"

"She'll be fine. You noticed it, didn't you?"

Jason did. He had spotted the way his sister was able to predict and anticipate his movements, no matter how complex they were. Her body-reading ability was back to where it used to be. "She'll still need training. More techniques."

"And your father can handle that. He knows plenty enough himself," Dragon gave him a pointed look. "I imagine you do too."

He crossed his arms but said nothing. No need to give him any more ammunition.

"You know, there's something strange about you. I noticed it from the moment I first met you. But, with everything that's happened…I don't think there's anything bad about it," Dragon admitted, smirking. "You've got a lot of potential. Don't waste it. And maybe, in a few years or so, you can seek me out. I'm sure we can have a good scrap or two."

Jason grinned. "I'll take you up on that."

Stephanie shivered. Despite the two layers she was wearing, the late October air felt like it was dancing on her skin. Or maybe it was all the stares and whispers she was getting ever since her mother dropped her off at the front of the school.

Despite Crystal's misgivings, Stephanie had insisted on going to school once the weekend was over. The kidnapping had been harrowing, to say the least, but honestly, she just wanted things to get back to normal as soon as possible. She had survived. No one else had gotten killed. Some had gotten hurt, but it seemed they were on the way to recovery. All in all, things had ended well enough. It was time to move on.

Of course, that would be hard considering that she was now the center of attention. Just like she suspected, her kidnapping had landed on the news, and while it was no longer a part of the cycle (having been resolved days ago), that didn't mean people had immediately forgotten about it. Stephanie supposed she should be just grateful nobody had dug up the fact that her father was a jailed supervillain. That was the last thing she needed publicized.

She'd just have to grin and bear it out for the next week or so and it would all blow over. Hopefully.

"Steph!"

The sound of Tim's voice brought a genuine smile to her face. Stephanie looked up to see her friend and his little pseudo-brother at the front steps of a nearby building, and rushed over to them. She enveloped Tim in a big hug, only to let go when she heard him let out a hiss of pain.

"Sorry," she squeaked.

"It's alright," Tim said, wincing a little, "They're almost healed anyway."

"Brown," Damian called up to her, face oddly placid. Stephanie crouched down and embraced him as well, though much more mindful of the injuries he might have as well.

"Are you okay, Stephanie?" Tim asked once she let go of the younger boy.

"Sorta?" she offered, figuring it wouldn't hurt to be honest. "It was scary and all, but I got out mostly unscathed. I'm not okay okay, if you get what I mean, but I think I'll get there eventually." Her expression morphed into something more concerned. "What about you? I'm sorry you two got hurt because of me."

"It's fine, Steph," Tim allayed her worries, "Just a few bruises. Nothing that won't heal. Honestly, the only thing either of us regret is that we weren't able to stop them from taking you."

"Don't blame yourselves. There were a lot of guys and they were really big. And their boss…" Stephanie shivered again. If she never met Lady Shiva again it would still be too soon.

Tim and Damian exchanged a look. Stephanie didn't miss it. "Guys…"

"Not here, Steph," Tim warned her, "After school, at the Manor."

Stephanie slowly nodded. She was good with that.

Just then, the warning bell rang. The three of them sighed.

"Yay, more school," she said with little enthusiasm.

Tim raised an eyebrow. "Your first class is gym. You like gym."

"Gym also means being the center of attention for every busybody in this place," Stephanie pointed out, sighing, "I'm gonna get grilled like no tomorrow."

"So just another day?" Damian piped up, amused.

"Yeah," Stephanie admitted. "Just another day."

School had gone exactly like how Stephanie expected, though the stares and gossip had began to taper off after lunch. She imagined that most of it would be gone after next week, just as she predicted. She'd just have to endure.

The moment the final bell rung, she collected her things, placing them in her bag and hurrying to meet up with Tim and Damian at their usual spot. After what happened last Friday, it had immediately been decided to go back to the usual method of having Jason picking them up at the curb instead of meeting up with him and Cass at a random location. After what happened last Friday, it was a lot less likely people were going to mob them to get to Jason, whose karaoke episode was no doubt old news by now.

Jason seemed to think so, seeing as he had parked the car at a nearby curb and had actually gotten out of it for once. He had a pair of shades on to make him less recognizable, but for Stephanie, who had gotten to know him well these past few weeks, it was easy to spot him. She could see the moment he spotted her as well; his face brightened, and a small smile crossed his face. He spread out his arms for a hug, and Stephanie obliged him.

They embraced for a long minute before letting go. Jason brushed back her hair and cupped her face, his expression adopting a sorrowed slant. "You're not okay," he stated knowingly.

Stephanie diverted her eyes downward and gave a tiny shake of the head.

"But you will be," he added. To that Stephanie gave a much more vigorous nod. His smile finally widened, becoming a little more genuine.

"Good. Remember that. You're going to have other days like that throughout your life. All of us do. But remember — when you're low, the only place you can go is up." Jason pointed up to the sky for emphasis.

Stephanie giggled and gave him a playful push. "You're such a dork."

"Indeed he is," Tim concurred. He and Damian had been silently watching the whole exchange from the side, but now that the emotional tension had been dissipated, they felt comfortable interjecting themselves into the conversation. "I've been saying that for months and yet no one ever believed me."

"They believed you," Damian said drily, "It was just debased by your own foolishness, Drake."

"Oh, like you're one to talk munchkin. I distinctly remember a certain someone interpreting Spongebob Squarepants as a communist allegory."

"Because it was!" Damian insisted stubbornly. "The depravity of that Mr. Krabs character — the embodiment of capitalism — was proof enough! Just look at how mistreats the titular character, a caricature of the abused proletariat if I ever saw one."

As the two bickered over the deeper themes of a cartoon about an anthropomorphic undersea sponge, Jason sighed and gestured to Stephanie to get into the car. It was time to go home.

"Thank God," Jason mouthed the moment the Manor came to view. Next to him, Stephanie, who had taken shotgun in place of the missing Cass (who was currently recuperating at the house), could only nod in agreement.

The debate over the old cartoon had evolved into a full-blown discussion over the greater themes prevalent in western media, which ballooned into an argument over whether western or eastern culture was superior. Jason's mediation had prevented it from becoming too vicious, but after things had devolved into bickering over the morals of the Bible and the Torah, he was just about ready to crash the car.

He loved his younger brothers and was all for stimulating intellectual discussion, but by God, a minute longer and he was going to drown himself in the nearest body of water. The argument boiled down to taking potshots at the various infamous works both sides had, and that was fun and all for the first five minutes but became annoying rather quickly. Combined with Gotham traffic, and it went from annoying to a complete, long-suffering nightmare, and any and all attempts by Jason and Stephanie to shut it down proved to be ill-fated. The visage of the Manor was salvation, truly.

The moment the engine was off, the seatbelts were off as well and both of them were out of the car. Jason rushed to get Damian out of his car seat as well, cutting off the argument briefly, though it immediately started up the moment his brothers caught sight of each other again. Setting down his youngest brother quickly onto the ground, he ushered the two inside, just in time to see Stephanie throw her arms around a confused Cass.

"Help us," she begged her friend tearfully. Cass blinked.

Jason shrugged, a helpless look on his face while Tim and Damian continued at it. Until…

"Little D! Timmy!" A familiar, joyful voice called out.

"Dick!?"

"Richard!?"

Jason's mouth dropped slightly as his older brother, clad in one his ugly sweaters and slacks, came into view with a shit-eating grin on his face. "Dickie? What are you doing here? You didn't call!"

"I thought it'd be a nice surprise!" Dick said cheekily. "See, I got injured during a recent incident at the precinct," he clutched his side for good measure, "and they gave me the week off in exchange!"

"This won't interfere with you visiting for Thanksgiving or Christmas, will it?" Jason asked suspiciously. He was happy that Dick was at the Manor for the week but if it meant he'd miss those important family holidays…

Dick shook his head, his grin still inordinately wide. He was always cheerful barring during their actual work (and even then he was still peppier than most of them were), but right now he seemed to be exuding joy. And Jason, normally happy to see any member of his family like that, had a growing pit of dread in his stomach. Something was wrong, though he didn't know what.

"You're Stephanie Brown, right?" Dick pointed at the girl in question, who blinked at him bewilderedly. Before she could react, she was soon swept up into one of Dick's famous hugs. "It's so nice to meet you! I've heard a lot about you from my siblings. I'm sorry you got kidnapped last Friday," he said in rapid-fire succession. The bombardment of statements and the tight embrace that was slowly squeezing the life out of her prevented Stephanie from replying.

Jason sighed. "Dick, let her go. She needs to breathe."

Dick looked down at Stephanie, who was, in fact, starting to look a little blue. "Oh!" he let her go immediately, allowing her to land back on her feet. She placed a hand on her chest, taking in some precious oxygen. "Sorry," Dick said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head, "I tend to get a little exuberant."

"It's fine," Stephanie waved him off, "It's good to meet you too, Dick. Your siblings have told me a lot about you as well. Don't worry about the kidnapping. I'll get over it eventually."

"Great!" Dick exclaimed, his grin turning sly. "Then you won't mind coming to a party this Saturday with us, will you?"

"Wait," Jason interjected, worry evident, "what party?"

"Oh come on, Jay. You know what it is. But if you want to know…" Mischievously, Dick handed him an invitation. Jason took one look at it and blanched.

"My return gala! I thought that wasn't until December!"

"Bruce moved it up," Dick gave a half-shrug, still smirking. "He didn't tell you?"

"No!"

"This is his way of telling you, Master Jason," the amused voice of Alfred cut in, the man himself exiting the breakfast nook while drying his hands on a small towel. "He figured that if it were Master Dick to impart the news, you would handle it better."

"Well, he thought wrong!" Jason shot back hysterically.

"Oh, little wing," Dick slung an arm around the shoulders of his little brother, "it won't be that bad."

"Says you," Jason snorted, "All of them are still laboring under the delusion that you're actually going to inherit the company one day. That's why they throw your daughters at you."

"Wait," Damian cut in, having contented himself with watching the show so far, "he's not going to take over the company?" He sounded oddly elated to hear that.

"No," Jason answered before Dick could. "He's capable of running it if he has to but your big brother is too active to want a desk job. Why do you think he ended up a cop?"

Dick shrugged again. "Guilty as charged." One could have sworn his teeth gleamed when he smiled.

"Well, then who is?"

"Probably you, if you want it," Jason admitted. "I'll take over if something, God forbid, happens to Bruce, but I don't want the job either. So if you're up for it—"

"—I am." Damian paused. "Maybe," he reluctantly added.

"Then it's yours." Jason glared back at Dick. "Moving on, what about formal wear? Is it black tie?"

"It always is, Master Jason," Alfred answered drolly. "Which reminds me — Master Dick?"

Right on cue, Dick produced two more invitations, handing one to Tim, and the other to Stephanie. Tim merely looked at the envelope with resignation, while Stephanie was absolutely gobsmacked.

"You're inviting me?" She asked disbelievingly. "But I'm—" she gestured to her entire body with her hands. "I don't even have a dress for this kind of thing."

"Then we'll buy you one," Dick said nonchalantly, "Bruce has already scheduled a fitting for Jason, Damian, and Cass after school tomorrow. It'll be easy to pen you in with them."

"But—the money—"

"Stephanie, we have more money than we know what to do with," Jason said flatly. "We might as well spend it on a friend. Besides, you can use this dress for as long as it fits you. It's well worth the investment, considering you'll probably attending other functions like this as a student at Gotham Academy."

Realizing that they weren't going to budge, Stephanie sighed and gave her assent. "I'll have to clear it with my mom. She might still be a little…clingy after what happened."

"Don't worry, Miss Brown," Alfred chimed in, "Master Bruce already talked to her about it over the phone last night. She thought it would be a good way to get your mind off what happened."

"And my dad?" Tim asked, though it was obvious he already knew the answer.

"He agreed as well. Someone needs to represent the Drakes, after all."

"Wait, represent?" Stephanie raised an eyebrow, "What does you mean by that?"

At that, Dick, Jason, and Tim all sighed. Alfred merely smirked.

"Have fun, young sirs."

After a quick meal had been eaten, the kids had been directed to the theater to watch a movie, as Tim and Stephanie didn't have a lot of homework to do tonight. Before they did, however, Cass had dragged Stephanie up to her room, ostensibly so she could have her favorite pillow down at the theater with her. Everyone, however, knew they were using that as an excuse to talk in private, and left them to it.

The moment the door closed, Cass turned to her best friend with a guilty look on her face. "Steph…I am sorry."

"Cass, no," Stephanie shook her head, "What happened wasn't your fault."

"But it is," Cass said guiltily, "Jason told me she after me. I did not take him strongly."

Stephanie pursed her lips. "Did you know…who she was to you?"

"No. She…has reputation. She is famous among people like me. But that she my mother — no. My other father never said."

"Why was she after you?"

Cass slumped her shoulders. "According to Jason…she wants me to be like her. I do not want to."

"Then it's definitely not your fault," Stephanie said firmly. "You didn't order her to kidnap me; she did that herself. You can't control what she does, Cass. She's her own person and she made her own choices. Besides, if I bagged on you for that then all I'd be is a hypocrite."

Cass tilted her head, confused. "What mean?"

"My father is a supervillain," Stephanie confessed, "A really unsuccessful one, but still pretty dangerous all things considered. The Cluemaster, they call him. He's in jail right now, but I'm dreading the day he finally leaves. I just know he's going to bring more chaos into my life and my mom's too. For a while I was considering cutting off my friendships with you because of that. I wouldn't put it past him to use my connections to you to make a quick buck or something."

"No!" Cass shook her head, grabbing Stephanie's arm firmly. "You are friend. You stay with us. You one of us."

"I know, I know," Stephanie calmed her down. "I don't want to let you go either. Any of you. We'll just have to be careful from now on, okay?"

"Okay," Cass gave a short nod, before pulling Stephanie into another hug. Stephanie hugged her back, happy.

Yet, she couldn't help but let her mind wander. This is it. She could ask Cass right now, and no doubt her friend would tell her the truth. Her guilt wouldn't allow her to lie. But…

Cass was her friend. The Waynes — Tim included — they were all her friends. And if they really were the Bats, well, it didn't really matter if she knew, did it? It wasn't like she was going to tell anyone. She admired the Bats and what they did day in and day out. They protected this city. They saved lives.

So no. It didn't matter if she knew. So she'll just leave it alone.

And if they wanted to tell her one day…well, that was okay too.

Chapter Text

After a thorough chewing out of his father for springing this on him, the following day saw Jason reluctantly driving the usual group to a high-end boutique in the heart of the Fashion District, where Dick would meet them. Named The Menagerie and managed by a severe businesswoman and fashion designer named Callie Ferguson, it was the premier provider of formal clothing for Gotham's upper class. This included the Waynes, who had been long time clients of The Menagerie since it was first founded; it was their patronage that allowed the owners at the time, Callie's great-grandparents, to expand their clientele to the rest of Gotham's one percent. Because of that, the Waynes were always given top priority for appointments. Their own appointment this afternoon ensured that there would be no other clients catered to for the rest of the day.

The Menagerie had started out as a tiny boutique hidden on the corner of a street, but had expanded to cover the entire bottom floor of the small building where it had originated from. An open hardwood floor hosted racks of dresses and tuxedos, some of which were on full display on faceless mannequins. Stephanie, like Cass and even Damian, could help but look around the moment she entered the shop. She spotted one of the price tags and resisted the urge to blanch. She doubted her mother could afford even one of these after an entire year of wages — from all three of her jobs.

At the end of the shop, where an obscenely large three-panel floor mirror stood opposite a red, circular sectional couch, was Dick. He was conversing with a tall, middle-aged woman with dark brunette hair. She had a pair of sleek, rectangle glasses and a tape measure wrapped around her neck. It didn't take a genius to figure out she was Callie Ferguson.

She was the first of the two to catch sight of them, though other than a slight rise of her brow her expression was largely neutral. By contrast, Dick had adopted his classical smile the moment he spotted them. "You made it!" he squealed happily.

Jason glared at him, though there was no heat to it. "It's not like we had much of a choice."

"Yeah, yeah," Dick waved him off, then gestured them over. "Come on, come on! Jason, you remember Callie, right?"

Considering Callie has remained in charge of The Menagerie up to his early years as Batman, yes. Jason did, in fact, remember her, along with her son Bryce. Bryce had been the one to inherit the shop after Callie retired and served as the Waynes' personal clothier for formal events up until Jason's death. Last he remembered, Bryce had been grooming his twins, a son and a daughter, to succeed him in a couple of years.

"I do," Jason said firmly, grabbing Callie's hand to give it a firm shake, "Mrs. Ferguson."

"Callie, Jason," Callie bluntly stated with little reverence.

"Callie," Jason corrected. "Let me introduce you to the others. This," he stood to the side and gestured to Tim, "is Timothy Drake, the son of Jack and Janet Drake. Call him Tim."

"It's nice to meet you, Callie," Tim said politely, taking her hand as well.

"Timothy," Callie gave a short nod, "I've been expecting to see you eventually. I was wondering how long it would take your parents to purchase my services."

Tim had no visible reaction to the unintended slight. Dick and Jason, meanwhile, had a collective wince. It hadn't come often, or at all for that matter, but there was a reason why Tim's parents were rarely ever in Gotham. Or why Tim attended Brentwood Academy instead of the far more prestigious Gotham Academy prior to Jason's return to the city. While Jason had no love for Tim's biological parents, he knew that their neglect was not entirely due to some form of self-absorption. They were outcasts too, in their own way.

"And I take it this is Cassandra?" Callie looked at Cass, who shrunk away a bit even as she held her hand out for her own handshake.

"Yes," Jason quickly cut in, "But call her Cass. And don't be offended if she doesn't say much; she isn't much of a talker."

Callie gave another nod, and then moved on to the scowling Damian, who put on his most neutral look. "Damian," he uttered.

After his brief acknowledgment came Stephanie, who was even more nervous than Cass and studiously more quiet than usual. At the sight of her, Callie raised an eyebrow. "And you must be the new addition. Stephanie Brown, correct?"

Stephanie confirmed her statement and received her own greeting. The introductions finished, Callie gestured to the three-panel mirror, where a stand stood.

"Who's first?"

As it turned out, Dick was first. Which was probably for the best.

"What do you think?" Dick gave a little twirl, showing off a garishly yellow tuxedo with black accents that made him look like a bumblebee.

Everyone stared.

"No," Jason was the first one to cave.

"No," Damian agreed.

Cass merely shook her head, while Tim gave a visible thumbs down. Stephanie struggled to stifle her laughter.

"But why not?" the eldest son whined.

"It's black tie, Dickie!"

"But I have a black tie!" Dick took out his bowtie, which was, indeed, black.

"Dick…" Jason groaned. "I refuse to associate with you if you're dressed like that. I will disown you if I have to."

"Jay!" Dick gasped, faux-offended.

"Okay, maybe I won't actually disown you, but you get what I mean! No means no, Dickie!"

"Fine," his older brother pouted.

The yellow suit was quickly discarded. His siblings subsequently vetoed a lime green suit, a dark brown suit, and a pink suit that made more than one pair of eyes bleed. Finally, they settled on a deep navy blue suit with white and black garnishes. Technically it still wasn't black tie but Dick had a reputation and honestly this was the best they were going to get. Jason sighed in relief as Callie took the suit and marked it to be later fitted to Dick's measurements.

One down, five more to go.

Next was Jason, followed by Tim and Damian. Tim already had a suit for these kinds of events, but it had been a while since he'd worn it and he had grown up a bit in the interim. Rather than have it refitted, his father ordered him to get a new suit instead, which was probably for the best.

Unlike Dick, all three opted for traditional black tie. Jason did consider getting a gray or maroon colored suit, but had opted otherwise. He didn't need to call too much attention to himself. As the man of honor, he'd have enough of that when the gala actually started.

That left the girls.

Stephanie went first. She already had a color on her mind — eggplant purple, of course — so it was just a matter of dress design. Eventually they decided on a long-sleeved ankle-length dress with an intricate lace pattern stitched into the bust line. A little too form-fitting for Jason's tastes, but nothing too revealing, so he counted that as a win.

Cass is where the problems started again.

Like her three brothers, Cass opted for black. A nice, neutral color that no one could look bad in. However, for the designs…

"Too short."

"Too tight."

"Bust line is too low."

"Too see-through."

"Too—"

"Jason," Stephanie cut him off, tone flat. "Really?"

"I just don't want anyone to get any ideas," Jason quickly defended himself.

"They're going to get ideas no matter what you do," Stephanie argued back, "Besides, you know she can take care of herself."

Jason glowered at her, then sighed. "Fine. But the next one should at least have straps for the shoulders."

Everyone rolled their eyes.

"What?"

Wednesday saw a quick trip to an equally fancy shoe store for both the boys and the girls. The boys had it relatively easy, with Dick only getting his choices vetoed five times. The girls took a little bit longer, mostly due to Cass debating between black and white for her heels. She had decided on the former at Jason's suggestion (black was less likely to get stained). It was after the trip that they started on the real task for the day: a full lecture about the Gotham's elite class.

"I thought we were done with school for today!" Stephanie complained as Jason passed down blank notebooks to both her and an attentive Damian. Cass was there as well, but as her ability to write was minimal at best, she was just allowed to watch and listen.

"Don't worry — there's no homework, just a practical on Saturday," Jason snarked at her as Tim set up the projector. They were inside the main library of the Manor, which was usually Jason's domain. The second Wayne son had consented to loaning it out for the sake of the endeavor, spending the day clearing out his books and notebooks and transferring them to his room for the time being.

"Do we really have to know all this?" Damian couldn't help but ask, sympathizing with Stephanie, "I mean, we are the Waynes, are we not? The First Family of Gotham? Why must we grovel to those beneath us?"

"We're not groveling to them, Little D," Dick protested as Tim plugged in the USB drive Jason had given him. He quickly clicked on the sole file on the drive, titled 'History of Gotham'. "We're socializing with them. We might be the most powerful family in Gotham, but it's not our money and efforts alone that are keeping the city afloat. We need to acknowledge that, and these galas are our way of doing that."

Plus, a lot of these families are associated with the Court of Owls, and we need to reinforce our cover with them, Jason couldn't help but think to himself. He wasn't entirely sure if the Court was aware of their double lives yet, but it didn't hurt to throw them off the trail anyway and plant some doubt. Thankfully, some heckling from Dick and Jason had convinced Bruce to ask for the help of J'onn, who would be playing the part of Batman Saturday evening for a couple of hours. Hopefully no one would try to set him on fire while they were schmoozing with the rest of the one percent.

"Plus, a lot of these families have a stake in Wayne Enterprises or are frequent donors of the Wayne Foundation. Some are even both," Jason said instead, continuing where Dick left off. "We have to keep them happy somehow."

"But why do I need to know all this?" Stephanie asked, a little confused. "I'm not one of you. I'm…" she trailed off.

"And so was I at one point," Jason pointed out drily. "Then I got adopted by Bruce Wayne, and things changed."

"I thought you didn't attend these galas often," Damian said skeptically, "Or at all, for that matter."

Jason shrugged, "Still learnt it, just in case." He just didn't bother to mention he learned it in a previous timeline.

"Hello, someone please my answer my question!" Stephanie jumped in, face distraught.

"Because you are one of us now, Stephanie," Tim, finally finished with the technical set-up, answered. He turned around and leaned against a nearby bookshelf, face serious. "You're our friend. You got kidnapped because of one of us, and you decided to stick with us regardless. You're attending Gotham Academy, and you're attending Jason's gala. You might not have the networth, but you have the connections, and that makes you a player, even if a small one."

Stephanie blinked. "A player?"

Jason was about to make a reference to Game of Thrones, but then realized that the show wasn't a thing yet and that there was a good chance Stephanie hadn't read the books. "Of a sort. You know politics? Think of this like that. Like it or not, you have our ears, and, to an extent, Bruce's. In this world, that gives you power — and that makes you a target. Some people are going to try to butter you up, to use you, while the others are going to try to humiliate you, to tear you down. We're going to teach you how avoid all that."

He sympathized with Stephanie. Truly. But these were lessons she needed to learn. It wasn't like the last timeline, where Stephanie went a normal school, where her relationship with Tim hadn't lasted and she could content herself with being Cass' best friend and Jason's friend without all the actual trappings that came with being associated with the Waynes. Stephanie was a student at Gotham Academy now. She was publicly known to Gotham's elite as a close friend of the Waynes, and was now attending what would be the society event of the year as one of their guests. Her days of relative anonymity were long gone; she was now, whether she liked it or not, a socialite of considerable clout and standing, and needed the customary bearing to match that. That included knowing who was who in Gotham's upper class.

Jason knew better than anyone what that was like. For a time, he managed just as Stephanie — content to be a relative unknown in his family's world of glitz and glamor. His brothers and sister could deal with the patricians, let him spend his days working at his diner and his nights beating down criminals. Even after Bruce's death, he had continued to manage as such, and had no reason to change.

Then he became the oldest son and then he became the only son and suddenly, staying out of the limelight was no longer an option. Wayne Enterprises was one thing, but the Wayne Foundation? His natural aversion to galas and balls and fundraisers couldn't cut it there. No matter how much he hated the other members of the upper class, charity was charity and he could not neglect the Wayne Foundation for anything, not even his own his prejudices. The Wayne Foundation had been Martha Wayne's legacy, Bruce's pride and joy. Philanthropy had been the way Waynes had helped Gotham for generations, long before their last son saw his parents get shot in an alley and decided to become a bat-themed vigilante to avenge them. He certainly wasn't going to give up on it just because the Waynes had dwindled down in number again.

So he threw the parties and grinned and tried to build up something of a respectable reputation. Mostly, he just stayed in the background, letting the other members of the Gotham elite take the lead while he just listened and smiled and nodded. He didn't want to play these games, especially when he didn't have to. The Court of Owls was gone, as was most of Gotham's organized crime (at the time). He could stand by the wayside and let the rich screw around with each other while he took their money and used it to help the truly needy.

Helena changed that. It was one thing when he adopted Carrie; Carrie was a normal girl, a peasant much like him, and just as equally uninterested in these games. But Helena? Helena was the daughter of Selina Kyle, a fairly well-known socialite. Worst than that, she was the only living biological child of Bruce Wayne, the natural heir to his company, his fortune. The blood of Gotham's oldest families ran through her veins. It didn't matter what she wanted, she was going to play the game because the other families wouldn't allow otherwise. They wanted a piece of her, of everything she would one day inherit. And Jason, Jason had to protect her. And that meant playing the game himself.

He had to play the game, had to dominate Gotham's high society if he had any hope of keeping Helena away from these leeches. But he wasn't stupid or ignorant. He would have to play from the most inferior position someone of his status could have. His brothers had been better off than him in that regard: Dick was handsome and charming, Tim was brilliant and accomplished, and Damian? Damian was Bruce's biological son. Jason had been the penny among diamonds and now he was the shiniest diamond of them all, but he was so rough and uncut he might as well be worthless.

He was handsome like Dick but hardly as charming. Dick could let veiled insults roll over him with a simple laugh while drawing people into his web with just a couple of words. Jason just grit his teeth, trying to stop himself from retaliating with his own sallies.

He was almost as smart as Tim (no one as smart as Tim, he was Tim) but the only public accomplishment he had to his name was a small diner in the middle of Crime Alley. Before he died, Tim had been running Wayne Enterprises since he was sixteen and had elevated it to the point that it was eclipsing LexCorp (and then Lex Luthor died, which allowed WE to reign undisputed until the day Jason died over twenty years later).

More than anything else, however, is that he didn't have Damian's pedigree. Damian was the blood son, the one who, like Helena, had generations of Waynes flowing through his veins. He was descended from all five of Gotham's First Families if you traced back far enough. Jason wasn't entirely sure who his grandparents were and didn't realize his mother wasn't his actual biological mother until he saw his own birth certificate.

In short, he was the last person that should've been the public face of the family. But life had decided otherwise and Jason wasn't going to shirk his duty when it was so pivotal to helping the city. Batman treated the symptoms and protected Gotham; the Wayne Foundation, however, treated the source of its ills, the poverty and abuse that drove so many to crime. If he wanted to save Gotham, then he had to make do.

And that meant playing to his strengths. He might not have Dick's charm but he did have a sense of humor. He wasn't accomplished as Tim but his knowledge was more geared towards classical arts, like literature and theater, the kind of culture that these high society types held in higher regard than Tim's proclivity towards anime and video games. And while he'll never have the blood of the Waynes, he still had the name.

It may be all he had as far as his detractors were concerned, but he still had it, and it gave him control of the family fortune, of Wayne Enterprises, and, most of all, of Helena. Helena is what they all wanted, but she was under Jason's guardianship. He was the one who decided where she went to school, who she had play dates with, what clothes she was allowed to where — essentially, he held the key to her entire social life. If they wanted Helena, they needed to ingratiate themselves towards him, and Jason was not above using that.

But first, he had to really fit the part. He had to become the next Prince of Gotham, the nom de guerre Bruce himself had borne before his untimely death. And in order to do that, he needed knowledge. Knowledge of Gotham's history was one thing — there was an entire week dedicated to it during freshman history at Gotham Academy. But that intricate web of family history and tensions, that unspoken social code that defined where a family stood on the hierarchy — that had to be learned. Bruce had grown up with it, as had Tim to an extent, but the rest of them…the rest of them had to learn it on their own. Jason was no different.

That's where Bette and Lucius had come in. Bette was a born and bred Kane, and Lucius had been running Bruce's company on-and-off for decades. They both had different experiences with the Gotham elite that allowed him to get a full view of what he was dealing with. They had taught him how to navigate that web and not get caught into it. They had taught him about the sheer power of the Wayne name, and how to use it to his advantage.

If it hadn't been for them, then Jason would've never gotten as far as he did. Would've lost the game before it even began. He was lucky, he knew that, and he would forever be grateful to them for that. He'd be sure to talk to them at the gala on Saturday, compliment them, acquaint himself with them again. But for now…

The projector flickered to life. The first slide appeared.

"What can you tell me about the First Families?"

In the wake of the American Revolution, Gotham had suffered significant damage from the previous battles and was in desperate need of money for recovery. While the citizens all pitched in, the five richest families provided most of the money and resources to complete the city's restoration. Those five families later invested heavily into Gotham's government and infrastructure, buying up properties and starting up lucrative businesses that brought them exorbitant amounts of wealth. This combination of good will and fortune caused them to be nicknamed the First Families of Gotham.

"Their names were Crowne, Elliot, Cobblepot, Kane…" Stephanie looked up to meet Jason's eyes, "…and Wayne."

Damian blinked, looking up from his notes. "Kane? But is that not Grandmother's maiden name?"

"It is," Jason confirmed, "Martha Kane was a member of another of Gotham's First Families. Her and our grandfather practically grew up together. They traveled the same social circles, attended the same schools, and when Martha married Thomas, she brought her own portion of the Kane fortune with her and merged it with the Wayne fortune that Thomas inherited. And, as you can see by the size of the Manor, Thomas inherited all of the Wayne fortune."

"Because he was the only Wayne?" Damian asked slowly. He wasn't blind, after all — the Manor was a big house, and the many rooms of the family wing made it clear that it hadn't been built for a small family.

"Yes," this time it was Tim who answered. He fingered the keyboard, changing to the next slide, showing an animation of family tree with gradually disappearing branches. "Two hundred years ago, the First Families were thriving. But then time passed on and disasters struck. Wars, disease, murders, and even just plain old accidents gradually dwindled each of the families and their fortunes. With the exception of the Waynes, each family is now a mere shadow of themselves."

The Crownes were the first to die out. Or, at least their family name was. Each of the First Families had intermarried with each other at least once, so the blood will live on as long as at least one of the descendants of those five families is alive. But as far as family names go, they're disappearing one by one. The Crownes were the first to go, their last branch only producing daughters who either remained spinsters or married into the other families. Other than the occasional building that bore their name, the Crownes were long gone from Gotham, their once grand fortune diminished and splintered away.

The Kanes were now in the same position as the Crownes. There were only three remaining Kanes left: Colonel Jacob Kane, his daughter Kate Kane, and his niece Bette Kane. Jacob once had two daughters, but one had died with his first wife in a car crash, and while he had remarried since then, he and his second wife had no interest in having another child, content to raise Kate and later Bette together. To top it off, Kate was gay; so unless she adopted a child or Bette married and had her husband take her name, the Kanes would officially go extinct in the next generation.

"Other than the Gordons and the Foxes, the Kanes are our closest associates, if only through blood. Jacob Kane was the brother of Martha Wayne, thus making him our great-uncle. His daughter is Kate Kane, and a huge party girl. She used to be a top cadet at West Point but was discharged because of Don't Ask, Don't Tell — do not bring that up. The last Kane is Bette Kane, the daughter of the deceased Bob Kane. She was orphaned when she was young and was taken in and raised by Jacob and his second wife Catherine Hamilton since then."

"I suppose we'll see them at the gala, then?" Damian frowned when he saw his brothers exchange uneasy looks, "We will, won't we?"

"We don't know," Dick admitted for the three of them. "Bruce and Jacob Kane have never really got on. Jacob blamed Thomas for the alley and that passed on to Bruce, if only to a much lesser extent. Kate and Bruce however get along fine, and Bette is acquainted with the both of us. I guess it depends on whatever mood they're in this week."

"I think they'll come, if only to check on me and meet you two," Jason pointed two fingers at his youngest brother and only sister. "That's a good enough reason as it is, seeing as we are family, if only distantly."

Damian grunted. That was about as close to approval as they were going to get.

"Right then, moving on." The slide changed again, revealing the picture of a handsome redheaded man around Bruce's age.

"This is Thomas Elliot, the sole heir of the Elliot fortune and an old childhood friend of Bruce's. He's a world-class surgeon who is currently traveling the world." And a first-class sociopath who hates Bruce's guts.

Tommy, as he likes to be called, is probably Gotham's second most eligible bachelor after Bruce himself. One would figure he would be the most eligible, considering that Bruce already had heirs and thus no reason to get married, but Tommy was, much to both his fortune and misfortune, an inferior option for many reasons. The primary one was the size of his actual fortune; while it was still quite large, the Wayne fortune was far more vast.

Part of that was due to the merger between Elliot Pharmaceutical and Wayne Enterprises, an event that occurred a few years before Roger Elliot, Tommy's father, died in a car accident. While that increased the Elliot fortune substantially that also meant that future Elliots wouldn't have a stable source of income to fall back on in case something happened and the fortune was depleted. They had a diverse investment portfolio, but such a thing was only manageable with good business sense. Many of the women that would want to marry Tommy Elliot aren't exactly interested in having good business sense.

Of course, then there was Tommy himself.

"Tommy rarely ever visits Gotham these days. He might appear at the gala for Bruce's sake but don't expect to see him much afterward. It's for that reason that people don't take much interest in him, not helped by the fact that he's shown no interest in romance. No notable relationships, few flings reported, some even rumor that he's gay. He isn't, Bruce himself will confirm that for you, but regardless, he's a harder target than Bruce, which is why most women won't go after him."

Clicks of pens and scratching paper followed that statement. After a few minutes and the scratching subsided, they moved on to the next slide. What followed was the very familiar mugshot of a face every Gothamite knew on some level.

"The Penguin?" Stephanie asked incredulously.

"AKA Oswald Cobblepot. The last scion of the Cobblepot family. He was an outcast of the family due to his…distinctive looks. Now he's the last member." Jason adopted a deadpan look. "You can probably guess why."

"So I take it we won't be seeing him at the gala."

Dick snorted. "No, definitely not. Other than the obvious, he hates Bruce. He's not gonna care that Bruce's son is alive."

"Then why bring him up at all?" Damian asked, face confused.

Why indeed. There had been a time when the Cobblepots were only second to the Waynes, but that time was long gone. By the time Oswald Cobblepot was born, the Cobblepots were a mere shell of their former selves. Their fortune had been heavily mismanaged by Oswald's father, Tucker Cobblepot, leaving them in heavy debt and eventually forced to sell their ancestral home to make ends meet. Combined with the heavy bullying he suffered under his family's care, Oswald grew up to be a man desperate to make something of himself — by any means necessary.

"Everyone knows what he does but he's never been successfully nailed down in recent years, partly due to his family name and fortune," Tim explained, frowning at the picture. "And since he's a descendant of the First Families, it's customary for many of the minor families and even some of the major families to invite him to their functions. And sometimes, he accepts and actually shows up, and people fawn all over him while ignoring the fact that he's a publicly-known supervillain that only gets off because Gotham is so corrupt."

"All because he's a Cobblepot?" Stephanie and Damian both sounded aghast, while Cass was quite visibly frowning.

Jason shrugged. "And because he has sole access to the Cobblepot fortune. He's a viable marriage candidate for that alone. However, his prospects aren't the best. Not just because of his looks — trust me, you can be amazed how much the most shallow can ignore when there's so much money on the line — but because how he rebuilt his family's fortune."

"The Cobblepot name is permanently shamed because of him," Dick added after Jason finished, "No matter how many generations pass, the Cobblepots will, from now on, always be remembered as a family of crooks. And with the First Families gradually diminishing in prominence, that status doesn't really mean much unless you're a Wayne. Not to mention Cobblepot himself is not exactly ideal husband material. Looks are one thing, but his personality…" There was a collective shudder. "Anyway, we're bring him up so you know there's a possibility of him showing up. That way you can avoid him if you have to."

"Which just leaves one last family — the Waynes," Jason flourished his hand among all of them, before the powerpoint followed up with another picture, this time of Bruce — or Brucie, as the public knew him, followed by individual pictures of Dick, Jason, Cass, and Damian. "The First Family."

"Because we're the most powerful of all five families," Damian said, this time definitively.

"Yes," Jason nodded, lacing his fingers together.

In all of Gotham, no name was more respected than Wayne. The Waynes contributed the most to Gotham's rebuilding, even among the First Families. Gotham's famous Gothic aesthetics were at the behest of a Wayne. Wayne Enterprises was its most powerful company, the Wayne Foundation its most prolific charity. And of all the buildings that bore the names of the First Families, those with the name Wayne were the most beautiful, the most well-kept, the most beloved. In Gotham, to be a Wayne was to be royalty, and three hundred years had done little to change that. The fact that their fortune, unlike the fortunes of the other First Families, had only grown instead of diminished, certainly helped.

Thirteen years ago, however, the Waynes were in the same boat as the other families. No amount of money was going to change the fact that there was only one person alive who had the Wayne name. Bruce Wayne was brilliant and generous but also an irascible playboy who had never shown any interest in settling down. No settling down meant no heirs. No heirs meant no outside access to the Wayne fortune. And if Bruce were to die without an heir, that meant the greatest fortune in all of Gotham would no longer be up for grabs, and that was an idea that no member of Gotham's high society could hope to bear.

Then, one night, Bruce Wayne took one of his dates to the circus.

And everything — everything — changed.

"By adopting me, Bruce had an heir. Then he adopted Jason, and then Jason died and came back with Cass, and most of all, you Damian. And suddenly the Waynes were a family again. We weren't going to die out any time soon. The Wayne fortune would remain intact, and now there were four more avenues to access it from."

"And that makes all of us targets for them," Dick continued on, gesturing to every single person in the room, "Jason and I are the oldest sons so we'll be the primary targets, but don't be surprised if some of the guests bring their younger daughters to throw at you Damian. As Bruce's only biological child, you have the blood of all five families running through your veins. You'll be a real prize once you hit puberty. And Cass, consider yourself the bell of the ball. If the girls aren't trying to befriend you in hopes of getting to us, all the boys will be trying to hit on you for your own inheritance. Which is why Jason is so…" Dick winced as Jason snapped a pencil he had been holding, "…worried about you."

"And us?" Stephanie asked, gesturing to herself and Tim.

"Same reasons as Cass. They'll either try to befriend you or seduce you to get to us."

"Then why not do it at school? Why here?"

"Because Gotham Academy has a strict rule against PDA," Dick rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, "It's not worth getting expelled from the most prestigious school in the city, especially when all your peers from your social circle attend there. Balls and galas, however, are free game as long as you can escape from your parents long enough — which isn't particularly hard when your parents are doing the same schmoozing and maneuvering as you are."

Stephanie frowned but said nothing.

Finished with the First Families, the rest of the conversation moved on to the other major families. Those not quite as old or distinguised as the former but still rich and powerful all the same. The Vreelands, headed by Veronica "Ronnie" Vreeland, a contemporary of Bruce; the Galavans, headed Theo Galavan, the maternal uncle of Bruce's ex-girlfriend Silver St. Cloud; the Vanavers, headed by heirs Hugo and Samantha Vanaver (the latter of whom was the current Grandmaster of the Court of Owls, unbeknown to everyone except Jason); and the van Dahls, headed by Charles van Dahl and his sister Sasha van Dahl, who were also contemporaries of Bruce.

Then came the Mob families.

"You guys invite the Mob to your galas?"

"We used to," Dick corrected. "We didn't have much of a choice. As powerful as the First Families were, they weren't ones to indulge in crime, murder, and violence like the Mob was. We couldn't afford to offend them. It was usually only the Italian Mob though, and even then it was just whatever family was the top one at the time."

"Decades ago, back when Bruce was kid, the major mob family in Gotham was the Calabreses. Then Rex Calabrese got arrested and his family was supplanted by the Bertinellis. Then the Bertinellis were slaughtered by other families outside of Gotham, and were usurped by the Falcones. The Falcones then entered a silent war with the Maronis that gradually escalated and threatened to consume all of Gotham," Jason listed the families one by one, explaining their fates.

"And then Batman happened," Dick finished for him, smirking. "Batman broke the hold the mafia had on Gotham, and diminished their power significantly. Combined with Two-Face killing Carmine Falcone and Sal Maroni, they're no longer a major threat. These days they're too busy trying to maintain what little power they have left to be threatening any of the Gotham elite, which allows us to get away with not inviting them. Which is a relief, I can assure you," Dick shivered, no doubt remembering the few times Bruce still had to invite the mobsters to their parties.

"Other than the Mob, that leaves us with the minor families and the individual socialites, including some city officials. Most of them are people who came into their fortunes relatively recently — within the last three generations or so."

"This includes the Drakes," Tim piped up. "The Drakes are new money. Our fortune began with a general store my maternal grandfather started. My mother is the one who expanded it into an empire before she died. Technically, the company and fortune is mine as her child, though my father is maintaining it until I reach my majority."

And then he squandered it, Jason thought to himself. "The Drakes were just another minor family until Bruce took guardianship of Tim after Janet Drake's death and Jack Drake's coma. Since Tim now has a personal connection to Bruce, that makes them more notable than other minor families. Some even speculate that Bruce might arrange a marriage between Tim and Cass so he can merge our families."

Both Tim and Cass adopted disgusted looks at that, as did Damian. Stephanie, meanwhile, simply laughed.

"Other notable minor families include the Sionises, the Madisons, and the Beaumonts, though the Sionises have been blackballed thanks to the antics of Black Mask. Notable socialites include Jezebel Jet and Selina Kyle, and city officials like Commissioner Gordon. You don't need to know all of them, it's understandable you wouldn't recognize them, but the major families are a different matter. They're the biggest danger to us."

"While some like the Vreelands don't particularly care about their status, others like the Galavans and the van Dahls are different. They've lived in the shadow of the First Families for generations, and have sought to usurp us in the past and become the new ruling class, so to speak. And while the Waynes are secure for now—"

"—the other families are not," Stephanie finished. "The Crownes have died out. The Kanes only have female descendants and one of them is gay. The last Cobblepot is a criminal and he, like the last Elliot, hasn't shown interest in marrying and having an heir. They're ripe for destruction. So if any of the major families marry into the Wayne family, they can easily claim a portion of your fortune, merge it with their own, and stand at the top of Gotham's high society now that they're kin to the most powerful family in the city."

"Yes." Jason confirmed. "Now do you see the danger?"

Stephanie slowly nodded.

For some people, having so much would never be enough. Not until they had it all. And in Gotham, that means standing at the top — or, at least, at the same level as the Waynes. And Gotham…Gotham was corrupt.

Gotham was corrupt, and that meant these people, while not quite willing to outright break laws like the Penguin, were more than willing to bend them. To use whatever it took to snake their ways into the lives of the Waynes, to take whatever they could grasp from them that would give them the edge. But the Waynes were the Waynes; they had all the power, and one word from them and their suit would be crushed and their reputations tattered.

Stephanie was not a Wayne. She wasn't even a Drake.

Stephanie was simply their friend, and that made her the most vulnerable of them all.

She picked up her pen again, face attentive.

"What else do I need to know?"

Jason smiled.

Chapter Text

Typically, society functions like galas and balls were booked months in advance, held in large buildings specifically designed to host such events. Convention centers, hotel ballrooms, concert halls, and amphitheaters all served as traditional venues depending on the theme and entertainment chosen. Caterers prepared their wares in advance and bussed the food themselves, only adding their finishing touches when they had arrived and settled in. The waitstaff, either provided by the venue or outsourced by the hosts, were chaperoned by their chosen overseer, who only answered to the host or hosts that had paid for their services. All in all, it was a grand profusion of plotting that seemed simple on paper but was a monster to implement in practice.

So, it was only fair that the Waynes flouted every convention with their second son's return gala.

The most famous fixture of the Wayne Estate was Wayne Manor, the ancestral home of the Wayne Family. In truth, however, it was not the only building on the property. The estate was sprawling, easily stretching out over a dozen acres, which was no small thing in an island city like Gotham. Granted, a lot of it was uninhabitable marshland, not to mention the sizable family cemetery where generations of Waynes had been buried and would continue to be buried centuries from now. But there was more than enough land for one other large building to stand.

It had no official name, but most called it Wayne Hall. It had been built over one hundred years ago by Henry Wayne, the father of Alan Wayne, as another hallmark to the Wayne Family's continued dominion over Gotham. The size of three quarters of a football field, Wayne Hall was the intended venue for Alan Wayne's engagement party to Catherine Van Derm, daughter of rising entrepreneur Hector Van Derm and his wife Maria Elliot. The two were married before construction could be completed, and instead it served as the venue for Kenneth Wayne's first birthday party.

Only the vast fortune and continued prosperity of Wayne Enterprises prevented Wayne Hall from becoming a white elephant. Even so, as a venue it was used sparingly over the course of the next century, only brought to life for the grandest of occasions. Despite being renovated regularly, the last time Wayne Hall hosted an important event had been over thirteen years ago, when Bruce Wayne celebrated his long-awaited return to Gotham. Now, it was being revived again commemorate the unprecedented fortuitousness the Waynes had been graced with the past few months.

The entrance to Wayne Hall was located up the road that connected the main gate of the Manor, and thus the family estate, to Bristol. The building itself was almost as awe-inspiring as Wayne Manor. While it did not tower like the Manor did, its entrance was designed to resemble the Acropolis of Athens, though with a Gothic twist of sharp buttresses and arches. Within Wayne Hall were golden walls accented with fine, black paintwork of classical myths and windows of stained glass bearing the feats of numerous Wayne ancestors. Above all was a grand crystal chandelier that easily dwarfed the one in Wayne Manor, hanging overhead and reflecting light throughout the entire building.

Part of the renovations over the years was a concert stage large enough to hold an entire orchestra if need be. It was fitted with the finest acoustics so everyone in the building could hear what was said on stage (with a microphone for individuals, of course). In front of the stage was an area of top-of-the-line spring floors over excellent hardwood, dedicated entirely to dancing. Surrounding that were circular tables that seated ten each and accented with plush chairs. Along the walls were long tables where the food and drink and other miscellaneous items were to be stationed.

Beneath the main building was a large storage area, a centralized lounge area for the waitstaff, and, of course, the kitchens. An industrial-sized kitchen that, again, put even the one at Wayne Manor to shame, it had been retrofitted constantly to ensure that nothing less than top-of-the-line appliances were in use. The entire underground area was connected to a service entrance at the back Wayne Hall, offset away from the open concrete lot where many of the guests' cars would be parked.

Wayne Hall had been left untouched for thirteen years aside from the annual cleaning every spring. Within a week of Jason Todd's return to Gotham with Cassandra Cain and Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne had ordered his longtime retainer Alfred Pennyworth to begin preparing it for an eventual gala to be dedicated to this extraordinary miracle. The event had been intended for the middle of December, only a week before Christmas, but recent events made Bruce bump it up to the first week of November. Not an easy feat, had he been anyone but Bruce Wayne.

Under the nose of his second son, Bruce had sent out invitations a month before the actual event, having his secretary record the RSVPs from the various guests throughout the city. By coincidence it had not reached the ears of his other children at Gotham Academy, most likely because the many power players in Gotham were trying to get a feel of the newest Wayne children. Jason Wayne's supposed death had left the Waynes at their most vulnerable since the deaths of Thomas and Martha Wayne. His astounding return, along with two more children that Bruce Wayne would take into his family, had changed that. Especially when one of them was a male, blood heir.

As it had been said many times before, to be a Wayne in Gotham was to be royalty, and this was no different. Time and again, many of the major players had tried to ensnare the Prince of Gotham only to fail. The closest had been the Galavans; one of their daughters, Silver St. Cloud, had managed to catch Bruce's eye. The two began dating, and by all accounts seemed to be smitten. Yet, just when it seemed they were about to get serious, Silver broke up with Bruce and left Gotham, estranging her from her maternal family. Her refusal to explain why left them in a lurch, and Theo Galavan had even considered disinheriting her. Family loyalty had won out in the end, but Silver's actions still very much left a bitter taste in his mouth.

The adoptions of Dick Grayson and later Jason Todd were two more opportunities to access the Waynes' accumulated wealth that soon proved to be fruitless. Dick Grayson was unfairly handsome and charming but also a rebellious playboy that ran off to Bludhaven to live off his trust fund as a police officer. Jason Todd was good-looking like his older brother but had shown even less interest in the upper class and had deliberately kept himself from any major social gatherings. Then he seemingly died, and just like that it seemed everything would be lost. The reports about Bruce Wayne in the wake of his second son's death were chilling. Many believed that Bruce would follow Jason into the grave.

He didn't, of course, and that coincided with his decision to take in Tim Drake after the incident with the Obeah Man that left the boy's father in a coma and his mother dead. Tim hadn't officially been his son, just his ward, but it was clear to anyone that saw them interact that they had some sort of parental bond between them. Bruce began to stabilize. Gotham's elite rejoiced. They didn't want a piece, they wanted everything, and that was only possible if the Waynes survived for at least another generation. Many supposed that Bruce would split his fortune between Dick and Tim if he predeceased them, with the rest going to his beloved Wayne Foundation.

Then Jason Todd came back, and brought a brother and sister with him.

The daughter was one thing. Scant was known about the newly-dubbed Cassandra Wayne. Apparently her previous caretakers were inadequate and the girl could barely speak at first, let alone read and write. They had shuttled her from the Manor to speech therapy in the city everyday, but reports from the city indicated that even with her handicap she was still reasonably intelligent and rather attractive. A fine prospect for their own heirs, provided Bruce decided not to marry her off to Tim Drake and make the boy he thought of as a son as his son-in-law instead.

No, it was the son that had everyone in a tizzy. Damian Wayne might be the youngest of Bruce's brood, and an unambiguous bastard, but that didn't change the fact that he had Bruce's blood in his veins. The first direct descendant of the First Families born in decades, there was no question of his value. With neither of his brothers showing any interest in his family's company, there was a very good chance that he would be chosen as his father's heir — and that was distressing on many levels.

The more ambitious like the Galavans had plotted to have Bruce marry one of their female relatives. Once that relative had Bruce's son, it would have been easy to shunt aside the adopted children, the charity cases. But Damian's appearance had changed everything. What use would Bruce have for a wife when he already had a blood heir? They could, of course, try for Damian instead, but the boy was seven, far too young to be thinking of things like marriage. Not to mention the boy's reported closeness to his adoptive siblings. He had, after all, arrived in Gotham with his brother and soon-to-be-sister. He would never acquiesce to pushing them away when they were the ones who brought him to his father to begin with.

Just like that, the Wayne fortune was once again out of everyone's grasp. They stewed in the loss, and began plotting again. The Waynes might be secure for now, but that might not be true in the future. Relationships changed, wedges were driven in-between siblings all the time. They could not engineer such things to happen, the Waynes were never foolish and would easily see through such ploys, it was why they were the First Family. But if such things were to happen, well it would be good to know, wouldn't it?

They needed to ingratiate themselves with the family. Bruce Wayne was a lost cause, a playboy who no longer needed a reason to settle down, and Dick Grayson was going the same way as his adoptive father if he hadn't already. But there were three other Wayne children that were ripe for grooming. Jason Wayne had been seen in public but rarely interacted with those outside his family. Those who had been classmates with him called the boy sharp and callous and dangerously irreverent. But that had been over one year ago, divorced away from the traumatic experience that would separate him from his father. Who knew what he was like now? They would all have to take their measure of him and decide their next moves regarding the second son accordingly.

Then there the two newest members of the family. Damian Wayne was a demanding child of insufferable genius. Normally that could be handled easily enough with some flattery, but the boy was scarily perceptive. He had easily seen through the sycophancy and had removed himself from his classmates in turn. He was still young, however, and opinions were easily changed at his age. It would just take subtler approach than usual, and the children tasked with befriending him were instructed as such. Play with him, be deferential but not too deferential. Let him call the shots and see his weaknesses and then pounce.

Cassandra Wayne should be the easiest of Bruce's children. The girl was intelligent and attractive but also supposedly skittish. Moreover, however, this would be the first time she would be in a gathering of this size. Her family would no doubt try to monopolize her, to shield her, but it would be fruitless. She could easily be cornered away so their teenage relatives could work their magic. Kindness would be best with her, not flattery. If she had questions, if she was struggling with something, be patient with her, help her, and then she would be putty in their hands.

Of course, there was Tim Drake, but he would be weary of all of them. Jack Drake might be a hot-headed fool but Janet Drake had built an empire using her father's store, and it was obvious to anyone who met their son which parent he had taken after. Those same teenage relatives were instructed to be kind to him but to also be weary of him, to not allow themselves to get too close. It was better to leave that one alone. Tim Drake was well aware of his family's status prior to the incident with the Obeah Man. He would not have wool pulled over his eyes.

Then there was the last piece. The wild card. The spanner in the works, as one would say.

Stephanie Brown.

Of course, if you had asked any of Gotham's upper class about Stephanie Brown three months ago, you would get a confused look and then would be summarily ignored. Little Miss Brown had come out of nowhere, a poor girl from the Narrows who had gotten into Gotham Academy due to a surprise scholarship. A charity case. It happened, and sometimes those charity cases were even worth acknowledging. Gotham Academy's scholarship students tended to be smart and accomplished, fine for eventual recruitment for their own established businesses.

Stephanie Brown would have been no one of note had she not befriended the newly enrolled Tim Drake. Tim had been reticent ever since he entered the academy, unwilling to accept the overtures of friendship due to rightly suspecting that they had an ulterior motives. He had immediately gravitated to Stephanie, the other outsider of his year, and the two commiserated together into an easy companionship.

However, it had been another thing to befriend Bruce Wayne's one-time ward. It had been another to befriend his actual son. Damian Wayne was another outsider when he wasn't ruling over the children in his year with an iron fist, so his perplexing relationship with the two teenagers was a subject for great gossip. The boy disparaged the two constantly and yet they were the only ones allowed in his presence for an extended amount of time without complaint. He was frequently heard bickering with Tim Drake over the most inane of subjects and comically overreacting to Stephanie Brown's playful teasing yet was stone silent whenever someone else tried to breach him for even polite conversation. The former was to be expected, no doubt Bruce had instructed Tim or Damian or both to look out for each other, but the latter? Stephanie Brown was earmarked for that alone.

When she was publicly seen with not just them, but the other Wayne children, that was when she became the newest fascination. When the rumors about her visiting Wayne Manor hit the school's halls, that was when people started including her in their schemes. When she was kidnapped in the presence of Tim Drake and Damian Wayne, with Bruce Wayne himself rumored willing to offer a reward for her safe return? That's when she became a pawn in everyone's schemes. Her return and her subsequent invitation to the gala was simply icing on the cake.

Stephanie Brown was now the talk of the town, a bell of the ball second only to Cassandra Wayne and, perhaps, Bette Kane. Another piece in a game that would never end. They would flatter her, endear themselves to her, bring her to their sides. It would take years, but they would grit their teeth and bear it, because the prize was a place with Waynes and that was something people would kill to get.

These were the thoughts that crossed many minds as they entered the crescent driveway in front of Wayne Hall. As their doors were opened by valets, as their pictures were taken by photojournalists from around the country. As they were guided up the stairs of the American Acropolis and led to the venue of the society event of the year — no, the decade.

Whether people realized it or not, Wayne Hall would be the battleground that would decide the fate of Gotham for years to come.

Jason took a deep breath as he looked at himself in the mirror. His hair had been slicked back, his suit smoothed out. His bowtie had been tied perfectly, years of practice helping him. He was the perfect image of the dutiful son, because that's what he needed to be. The Court of Owls was watching after all.

That had been the primary purpose of this gala after all. To introduce himself back into high society, to get a measure of the organization that had hampered their efforts to save Gotham for so long. Jason knew their names, their faces, had even aided in taking them down, but it had been Dick and Tim that had been the generals of that campaign. Now it was his turn, and he wasn't going to risk let even one detail mess up his opening volley.

He smiled when he saw Dick enter the room, blue suit and all. "Preparing yourself for the ladies?"

"Indeed I am." Dick flashed him a grin, shooting some air pistols at his younger brother. "Looking good, little wing."

"Shut up, Dickie," Jason said affectionately.

Dick chuckled. "No, but seriously, you look good. The girls are going to love you."

"If they're not fawning over you."

"If they're not fawning over me," Dick conceded. His reputation proceeded him, after all. "But I imagined you still had your fair share of admirers. Especially after…" he trailed off. Even after all this time, talking about his death in another timeline felt strange.

Jason shrugged, though Dick was glad to see there wasn't a hint of sorrow in his face like there usually was whenever someone alluded to a future death. "Oh, there were, but after the first few years they gradually backed off once it became clear I wasn't interested. I could be a bit…imposing, so to speak."

"Imposing?"

"I'm not like you, Dickie. Hell, I'm not even Bruce. I'm not an easy person to like — at least not in these circles. Superheroes are one thing, but socialites?" Jason shook his head, "I don't like 'em and I certainly don't trust them."

"Not all of them are bad," his older brother pointed out, though it was weak. Not all of them were bad, yes, but a lot of them were, especially in a city like Gotham.

"Yes, and those were easy to filter out and stick with. But the rest?" Jason scoffed. "I wasn't going to let any of them threaten my children's inheritance. And once they realized that, they headed for greener pastures."

"I can't think of any pastures greener than the Waynes," Dick pointed out, voice a little skeptical. "Especially since the other First Families had to have been indisposed at that point."

Jason shrugged. Technically, Dick wasn't wrong. By the time Jason had cemented himself as the Prince of Gotham, the Waynes were the last of the First Families, and thus, the greenest pasture of them all. With Kate's death and Bette's marriage, the Kane name had officially died out. Tommy Elliot had been interred and then murdered at Arkham Asylum years ago. Even Cobblepot had bit it once Ricky Sionis, the second Black Mask, made his arrival to Gotham. What better way to take over Gotham's underworld than to take out the man who had manage to outlive almost all of the original Batman's rogues gallery? It had certainly made quite a statement.

That had left the Waynes all by their lonesome, but still so very all-powerful. Jason may have taken the position of the sleeping giant prior to Helena's arrival but that hadn't changed the reality of their position. The issue had always been making sure he fit the part so he wouldn't be undercut at the pass. Some had still tried, of course, like dear old Derek Powers, who had even tried to take over Wayne Enterprises. Jason had happily punted him off to Metropolis in turn, leading him to marry Lena Luthor to merge the ailing LexCorp with his company instead. It had been a power move that had perfectly established his reputation as someone that was kind and generous and not be fucked around with.

More than that, it had left the Waynes untouchable once again. Even the major families, one less thanks to the fall of the Court and thus the Vanavers, had cowed before them and started scheming for the next generation instead. With Carrie sequestering herself in Park Row with the diner as a happy bachelorette and Helena only having eyes for the farm boy Dam, they had set their eyes on his boys to pin their hopes on, only to be dashed when Terry fell for Dana Tan. The Tans barely even counted as a minor family, having come into their fortune only within the last ten years, and none of them, Dana included, had known who Terry or his family was until the fates conspired to have them attend a Wayne Foundation gala. There was Matty, of course, but his Matty had never shown any interest in romance. He was young still, of course, but still not very promising.

So yes, there were greener pastures. The remaining major families, some of the older minor families, individual socialites with or without political ambitions, other families from other cities — the Waynes ruled Gotham but they didn't rule the world. Jason had even brokered a few matches for some of those that he had grown fond of. Like Dick had said, not all of them were terrible.

"Talk to me again in ten years or so," Jason suggested. "You'll probably see what I mean by then."

Dick raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Bruce Wayne wasn't one to make huge events out of personal occasions. Birthdays, holidays, anniversaries — those were usually celebrated with small gatherings of his immediate family and closest friends. The same held true of his children, all of whom preferred not to spend their special days mingling with the Gotham elite.

However, the return of his second son, the reveal of his fourth son and the adoption of his daughter were all too grand events to be limited to such small commemorations. Together, however? He wouldn't settle for anything less than the most spectacular affair Gotham had seen since his own parents' wedding. No expense had been spared in the planning process, with Bruce's own butler, the famed Alfred Pennyworth, personally overseeing everything with his eagle eyes.

Wayne Hall, the chosen venue, was decorated lavishly, with gold and white classical decor covering every inch of space available. The ivory dance floor had been shined thrice within the last week alone. The tables were set up with sumptuous dressings, including goodie bags filled with jewelry, clothing and vouchers to Gotham's most famous and expensive shops and stores. A famous chorale band had been flown in to do a live performance. The seven course meal was from a top-tier catering company that was so expensive that, if you had to ask how much it cost, then you couldn't afford it.

It was such a garish display of wealth so unlike Bruce Wayne that one couldn't help but suspect ulterior motives. Especially since security had been quadrupled from the standard protocols, even though the event itself was taking place at Wayne's own estate. Of course, this being Gotham, you couldn't be too careful, so perhaps that could be given a pass. But everything else…

Bruce threw more charity galas than everyone else in Gotham. For all his faults, no one could deny his devotion to philanthropy, something that he inherited from his late mother. Even so, his galas, while certainly splendid and lush, had never exceeded a certain budget and certainly weren't as opulent as tonight's gala was. Honestly, he had probably spent more money on this one party than many people, including some attending the party right now, made in a lifetime.

Such an exhibit would be widely believed to be an expression of love for children. And while that was no doubt part of the reason, the smarter of tonight's guests could easily see what it really was: a show of power. A reminder that he was still the richest and most powerful man in Gotham. Bruce Wayne had stumbled and faltered after the supposed death of his second son, and with his return, he had righted himself back to his post as the Prince of Gotham.

Better yet, he had cemented his family's continued line by not only adopting a daughter, but also bringing in a biological son. A son that had the blood of all five of the First Families running through his veins. With four viable heirs, each bearing the Wayne name, there would be no hope of any other family usurping their place at the top of Gotham high society for the foreseeable future. It was a master stroke of not only celebrating his great fortune, but also rubbing in that fortune in everyone else's faces.

Bette Kane, daughter of the late Bob Kane and Miranda Kress, had surmised as much within minutes of arriving to the gala. While her uncle Jacob hadn't got along with Bruce all that well, the remaining Kanes couldn't help but sympathize with their cousin when the news of Jason's supposed death had spread. She had met Jason a few times before whenever Kate and her had been invited to the Manor for a rare visit, and while she couldn't exactly say he was as charming as Dick, he was likable enough and it was obvious how much he adored his adoptive father. Most of all, Bruce had loved him. His death must have devastated her cousin.

And now he was back, with two more additions to add to the Wayne family. One was adoptive like him, the other a blood relative to Bette herself. When the invitation came, not even uncle Jacob could find it in himself to say no. The Kanes might not be as respected as they once were and lived a far more modest lifestyle than people of their networth usually lived, but they still had an image to uphold. Everyone who was anyone in Gotham was attending, and people would talk if they didn't appear, especially since they were kin to the Waynes. More than that, they genuinely sympathized with Bruce and didn't want to damper the good mood he had been in since his son had returned home.

So they went out of their comfort zone and went with the dressings that fit their station. Uncle Jake had a hired a driver for to take them to Wayne Hall, using the instructions embossed in the invitation. His wife, daughter and niece had gone to The Menagerie for new dresses and took out the nicest pair of heels they had in their closets, then had booked an appointment at the city's best salon to help them prepare for the gala. And once they were ready, they had piled into the most modern limo any of them owned and made their way to Bristol.

They weren't the first and they weren't the last but they were there and that was enough. The valet opened their door and they were immediately met with flashing lights. A smile there, a pose here, and soon they were up the red carpet and into the Acropolis. Of course, it wasn't exactly like the Acropolis of Athens, which was an open air building and a decayed ruin compared to its heyday. Wayne Hall was still very much a closed building with a solid roof and walls, and the actual entrance beyond the front pillars was a pair of towering oak doors. The doors had been kept open as more and more guests arrived, each accented by a single valet. They passed through the doors, and waiting at them at the very end, in between the two pairs of stairs that led to the main floor, was Bruce himself.

He looked sober and didn't have a woman on both arms yet, thankfully. Bette was sure that would change by the end of the night, and discreetly rolled her eyes. She was fond of Bruce, yes, and would even go as far to say that she loved him, as much as you could with such distant kin, but for all his intelligence and wealth, he could be so embarrassing. Had his last name not been Wayne, there was no way he could get away with such wild behavior. The same could be said of Kate, of course, but Kate was more a sister than a cousin and here Bette could selfishly admit her bias.

"Bruce," Uncle Jake held out his hand.

"Uncle Jake," Bruce said with far more warmth than he had ever directed towards his uncle in decades, grabbing not just the man's hand but also his arm and pulling him into a hug. This was not lost on any of them, but they were smarter than to draw attention to it.

After letting go of Jacob, he had greeted Kate and Bette similarly, exchanging the handshake for kisses on the cheeks. Bruce smiled at them all once the traditional greetings were over, looking fiercely happy. It was like looking at a different man from the one that had graced himself back into Gotham's high society with such irreverence all those years ago. As much as she lamented her cousin's behavior, Bette and the rest of the Kanes knew that part of it was due to the grief he still held over his parents' deaths, much like how Kate's own behavior was a result of her forced discharge from West Point. It seemed that, for now at least, that grief had been muted.

"I'm glad all you came. I know you didn't know Jason well, and you haven't even met Cassandra and Damian, but it still means a lot to me."

"You're family, Bruce," Uncle Jake had told him, and apparently that was all that needed to be said.

Bruce nodded, and gestured over another valet. "Bert here will guide you to your table. Please come visit ours during one of the intermissions — I'm sure Jason will be happy to see you all again, and I'd also like to introduce you to Cass and Damian."

Bette was sure Jason didn't really care about meeting them again, seeing as he had barely known them for the first time around. But she still nodded, agreeing. "Where are they, by the way? Aren't they here yet?"

"They'll be arriving later with Dick and a couple of friends. For many of them it's their first time attending something like this, and they're suffering nerves."

An adequate excuse. The Kanes bade their goodbyes and followed the valet to their table. From the corner of her eye she spotted several notable figures in Gotham already seated, including representatives of the major families. Theo Galavan and his sister Tabitha, observing everyone their noses in the air; Charles van Dahl and his son Elijah von Dahl, a boy around her age, both posturing themselves; Ronnie Vreeland, leering at some of the better looking waiters; and Samantha Vanaver, who was giggling at something her date for the night had said. Bette wasn't fooled by any of their outward behavior. Snakes, all of them.

As immediate family to the Waynes, they had been given a table alongside other close Wayne associates such as Lucius Fox and his wife Tanya, and Commissioner Jim Gordon, his wife Sarah Essen-Gordon and his daughter Barbara Gordon. It was the table closest to the main table where the Waynes themselves would sit. They made the customary greetings, seated themselves, and made smalltalk until the final guest at their table arrived. Bette was careful to limit her shocked reaction to a mere widening of the eyes when she saw the Thomas Elliot address them all with a roguish smile. With him here, nearly all of the direct descendants of the First Families would be present. The only person missing would be Oswald Cobblepot, who certainly wouldn't be missed.

Tommy Elliot, huh. This really is the society event of the decade. The last son of the Elliots had rarely ever visited Gotham, after all. They conversed with Tommy, asking him about his exploits as a surgeon, the many locations he had traveled to for the sake of his profession. More and more people filed into Wayne Hall, until nearly all three hundred guests were seated at their tables. It was almost time for the gala to start.

It was in the middle of a conversation about France when Wayne Hall fell into a hush. Bette immediately knew what that meant. The host's family had arrived.

She turned around, lifting her head just enough to catch sight of her cousin's children. Dick was the first one she spotted, handsome as ever and in a navy blue suit that didn't grate the eyes. It seemed someone had been verifying his fashion choices for once, something that she would forever be grateful for. To the left of him was a girl of Asian descent around her age, of athletically slim proportions. That must be Cassandra, Bette thought. Cassandra, or Cass as she liked to be called according to Bruce and Barbara, had her hair up in a twisted rose bun and was wearing a black evening gown with a slit on the side and black heels. Whatever make up she was wearing seemed to make her pale skin glow, accentuating her natural beauty. She could spot many of the teenage boys present all but drooling, and resolved herself to warn the girl before they made their moves.

On the other side of Cassandra was a short, dark-haired boy that she recognized as Tim Drake. His presence with the Wayne children was a statement in its own right; Bruce was all but acknowledging the boy as another member of his family. And next to him, with her blond hair in a loose curtain of curls that underscored the crown of braids entwined into her hair and dressed in a deep purple evening gown, could only be the famed Stephanie Brown. Bette may have not been able to keep up with the Gotham Academy rumor mill as much as she liked, being so distracted with her many extracurriculars and all, but not even she could have missed the gossip about the scholarship student that had embedded herself with the Waynes so quickly. Bruce might not consider her as treasured as Tim yet, but her presence certainly suggested she was on the way to that status.

The last in the line was a small boy, no older than seven, with a proud look on his face. The spitting image of Bruce, there was no question this was Damian Wayne, the only one of Bruce's children that she was related to by blood. The only difference between him and his father besides his obvious youth was the style of his hair, the dark skin suggesting his middle eastern heritage, and the striking pair of emerald green eyes. This was the boy that had all of Gotham scrambling and readjusting their plans for the foreseeable future, and he very well knew it.

But while Damian Wayne was the one that left Gotham reeling, everyone knew he wasn't the man of the hour. While ostensibly this gala was to celebrate his arrival and Cassandra's adoption, the real highlight was Jason Todd's revival and return. Bruce's second son, the one that had kept away from high society of his own volition, was the guest of honor…and yet he wasn't present.

As if sensing everyone's bewilderment, the Waynes turned their heads back, looking out the oak doors. Slowly, a silhouette came into a view, and who was unmistakably Jason Wayne arrived, taking his place in-between Cassandra and Tim. Bette cataloged the changes between the man she saw now and the boy she had met so long ago and couldn't help but be intrigued. Jason's features had sharpened greatly in the last year he had been gone, and he had shot up in height. He was almost as tall as Dick now, and Bette was certain he would be taller than Dick when he was finished growing. More astounding was the way he carried himself. Gone were the buried insecurities — the man that stood at the head of the Acropolis acted as if he had born for this, much like his youngest brother was. He had a confident look on the face, teeth as white as his brother's but twisted in a cutting smile that very much looked like a sly smirk. She couldn't help but straighten up as she met his eyes; whoever this Jason was, he was not someone to be trifled with, that much she could see. He knew exactly what this really was, and was making it clear to all of them.

To be a Wayne was to be royalty, it was said, and if the Waynes were royalty then Wayne Hall was court. And anyone who attended court had a dagger hidden behind their back, their words honeyed and doubled. Now that the main players were here, everyone readied themselves, calculating their next moves.

The game had begun.

Chapter Text

Like any social event, the festivities were preluded by a speech. The Wayne children plus two, instead of going to their table, followed their father to the stage, where they stood behind him as he addressed the three hundred guests that had arrived to Wayne Hall for the gala. Bruce spoke with a humorous tilt as he welcomed them all, then with more pure emotion as he talked about why they were all here today. He introduced them to Cassandra and Damian, and then gestured his second son to the stage. There was no question who was the star of the show.

Jason exchanged his smirk for a practiced smile that he knew no one was fooled by. He spoke carefully but with surety, running through his memorized speech at a sedate pace. He knew the smart ones weren't fooled, that they could see he was surveying them as much as they were surveying him, but that didn't matter. As long as it fooled most of the mass of humanity in front of him, then that was enough.

He mentally marked the individuals that he needed to keep an eye on. Theo and Tabitha Galavan were silver-tongued but rarely ever meant any of their platitudes, and if they weren't the heads of one of the major families Jason would've advocated barring them from their gatherings. Silver St. Cloud was an alright sort, and truly seemed to have cared for his father — the same could not have been said for her aunt and uncle. The Galavans had been plotting their rise for generations, and no doubt they would be the most vexed by recent events. Theo's son Geoffrey certainly had been when Jason had kicked him off his assumed pedestal with Helena's sweet sixteen gala, a grand event that had also been held at Wayne Hall, reestablishing the Waynes' dominance over Gotham. Ever since then Geoffrey had been unable to look at him in the eye without intense dislike, if not utter hatred.

Then there were the Vreelands, allegedly the second most powerful of the major families. Ronnie Vreeland knew how to play the game but like Bruce (or Brucie, as it were), she was only concerned about getting her rocks off. Her daughter Bunny, a woman that was currently a girl around Damian's age, was much of the same make. Jason would ping her for a talk, get a feel for her possible support, but after that would leave her to her fun. She might have the potential to be a kingmaker, but there was no need to drag her onto the board just yet. Best to keep her in reserve for now if they fell into some trouble on a later date.

The van Dahls were nothing. Jason had it on good authority that Charles van Dahl was not the businessman his father was and that Elijah wasn't much better. By Jason's time their fortune had shrunk to a mere fraction of what it once was, and for that reason Elijah had failed to attract a wife to offset his losses. With no bastards running around, the van Dahls had died out during one of the many incursions on Gotham, and no one mourned their loss. Jason certainly hadn't — Elijah van Dahl had been one of Cass' many abhorrent admirers who had to be rebuffed more than once whenever his sister visited him from Bludhaven. Jason had warned everyone except Stephanie and Damian about it so they could run interference in case history repeated.

No, it was the Vanavers that held the most of his interest. Hugo Vanaver was the head of the family but Samantha Vanaver was the current Grandmaster of the Court of Owls. He couldn't be too overbearing with her, but he still needed to catch her interest somehow. The Court was classist but they wouldn't dare pass up a chance to usurp the Waynes and place one of their number at the top and Jason had to make sure it was him. Damian was too young and Cass wasn't made for that kind of undercover work. Tim was capable but far too green, and there was no way in hell he was letting Dick anywhere near the Court. As their precious Gray Son of Gotham, Dick would be made into a Talon within months and right now they didn't have the means to cure that condition.

No, it had to be Jason, but he had to be careful. Taking out the Vanavers would be easy, but inadvisable. The problem had never been wiping out the Court, it had always been keeping them from springing back up. As long as at least a few members survived a purge with their power intact the Court always came back and struck back hard. It was how they had lost Kate and Renee. If Jason wanted to wipe out the Court again, he had to be thorough — he had to know every name, every associate, and ensure that they were all taken down without signaling the others. It would take years of work, but he'd do it because Gotham would continue to suffer otherwise, and his family would never be completely safe.

The major families covered, he turned the minor families and the individuals. The Beaumonts and the Blomdahls and the Jones and the Madisons and all of their like were largely inconsequential but he reminded himself to talk to them all the same. Some of the minor families were a part of the Court as well and having their goodwill would certainly go far with their Grandmaster. Then there was Tommy Elliot, and Jason resisted the urge to snarl when he saw him. When he heard the future Hush had RSVP'd for the gala he and Bruce had discussed what do with him. It was dangerous having him near the family but they couldn't alert him to the fact that they knew of his true nature. Reluctantly, they had Alfred seat him at the same table as the Kanes, the Gordons, and the Foxes. Let him believe he was still on Bruce's good side for now, and they'd be prepared for when he made his first move.

Others had been marked, individuals of future note, some that he would suggest his siblings meet with, but above them all was the last name on the guest list that Jason searched for. Bruce had admitted to agonizing over whether or not to invite her, and Jason couldn't blame him. It would be a long time before he would able to look at Selina Kyle in the face without thinking of her daughter, Jason's daughter. Helena resembled Bruce, yes, but there was no question she was Selina's daughter as well. Those catlike green eyes of hers still haunted Jason's dreams even now.

A few more minutes and the speech was over. The customary applause followed, Jason gave a wave of acknowledgment, and then followed his family off the stage. It was time for them to get to work.

"The change is uncanny," Stephanie whispered to Cass, who nodded ever so slightly. The first course had come and gone and already Bruce (or Brucie, as Jason and Tim suggested she'd call him whenever they were at parties like this) had left them to chat up one of the model dates at the other table while her actual date was picking up his second serving. She knew Bruce acted like this at society events, and Jason and Tim and even Dick had warned her, but it had still been a trip to see.

"What about him?" Tim couldn't help but ask, shooting a discreet thumb towards a similarly vacantly smiling Dick, who was kissing the hand of a much older woman.

"I don't see much of a difference," his friend admitted, which only made him smirk.

"This is ridiculous!" Damian furiously hissed. "They're embarrassing us."

"Calm, Damian, calm," Tim placed a hand on the youngest's shoulder, which was soon shaken off. "You know how this goes. You know why they do it. Just grin and bear it."

"Listen to Tim, Damian," Jason said lazily, eying the Galavans with a speculative look. "He knows what he's talking about."

"And what would that be?"

Jason blinked and turned around, exchanging his languidness for genuine, if subdued happiness. He stood up. "Bette Kane, as I live and breathe."

Bette met his smile with a polite one of her own, with just a hint of cautiousness. "It's good to see you as well, Jason," she said, holding out her hand which was met with a shake and a kiss on the cheek. "Introduce me?"

"But of course. Everyone, I'd like you to meet our cousin Bette Kane. Bette, I'd like you to meet my sister Cassandra, or Cass as she likes to be called, my brother Damian, and our friends: Tim Drake and Stephanie Brown." Greetings followed the introduction, and each one she reciprocated. When they were done, Jason adopted a softer, if slightly quizzical look. "So where's Kate and your uncle?"

His cousin's smile turned into a rictus, and she ever so slightly tilted her head back to her table. Everyone followed the direction she had, unwittingly or not, pointed them to and tried not to wince. Kate had gotten a bit too into the alcohol it seemed and Jacob was trying to get her to slow down.

"Right." Jason had forgotten how wild Kate had been before she became Batwoman. "So, how have you liked the gala so far?"

They chatted with Bette for a few more minutes before she was stolen away by some of her school friends. At Bette's insistence and Jason's encouragement, Tim, Stephanie, and Cass followed while Jason stayed behind with Damian. He couldn't hold their hands all the time, and he trusted Bette to intervene if necessary.

The small group of chattering teenagers flitted away, and Jason patted Damian on the shoulder and took him in the opposite direction. Leaving Damian with the other small children would be a recipe for disaster and was best left until towards the latter half of the gala when everyone was too drunk to ruin his little brother's fun. For now, he had a more boring but far more useful task for the two of them.

They hit the Galavans first. They were technically the most prominent of the major families, some even considering them to have replaced the Crownes as the new fifth of the First Families. While Jason knew the Vanavers were more powerful, that was a little-known fact kept to the most select of circles. Plus, the Galavans were more easily offended. They wouldn't mind the Waynes acknowledging the Kanes first — the Kanes were kin and another of the First Families — nor Tommy Elliot, but that was where they drew the line. It's why they were seated at the next closest table to the center where the Waynes sat; they were not close associates, but they still needed some form of greater acknowledgment than the other families.

Theo Galavan was a tall man of graying hair and Spanish and French descent. His twin sister Tabitha was a bit shorter but her hair was still a strong dark shade and she had aged a touch more dignified than her brother. He had heard rumors that Tabitha had been quite the beauty back in her day, and he could see the fading shadow of that handsomeness in her face. He was surprised she had never married — she would've been quite the prize for even the First Families.

"Mr. Galvan, Miss Galavan," he approached them with a polite nod. The Galavans pursed their lips but returned the nod respectfully. He might not be of Wayne blood but he was still a Wayne and one that the gala was honoring. Even their power had limits. They wouldn't dare to offend him tonight. "My name is Jason. And this is my younger brother Damian." He gestured down to Damian, and he could see the way their faces perked up, ever so slightly.

"We just wanted to see how you were enjoying the gala so far and to thank you for coming. Our father is a little too…preoccupied to do so himself, after all." Acknowledging Brucie's faults while presenting himself as dutiful and aware of his place. Displaying the control he had over Bruce's sole blood heir. It was a perfect blend to capture the interests of a family that so badly sought to usurp his own.

The conversation flowed smoothly. The Galavans passed on their banal compliments and they followed into a standard discussion. What was it like being in Gotham again? Why was he not at school? Where was Geoffrey Galavan? Answers were exchanged, and the minutes passed by quickly. At the bell signaling the second course, Jason passed on his faux-regrets about their departure and guided Damian back to their table. He felt the Galavans burning their curious eyes into his back, and tried not to grin.

The conversations with the other major families went just as smoothly. With Ronnie he was a bit more genuine, teasing her and teased back in turn, letting her make some digs in with Damian who reacted with his typical blunt manner. He even suggested that Damian meet up with Bunny later down the line. This also had a dual purpose of attracting the other guests that had brought small children with them. There was no way they would risk the possibility, even tangentially, of the next Mrs. Wayne being a Vreeland.

The van Dahls immediately began pontificating, puffed up bags of air they all were. Jason smiled and nodded and made sure Damian did the same. He added some backhanded compliments and flattery and then directed Elijah van Dahl towards Bette's group. He trusted Tim to protect Cass if, again, history repeated, but he doubted she would need it. She would be able to read Elijah's intentions from a mile away and would very much be unlikely to get caught. It would be good practice for dealing with others of his ilk.

The Vanavers were where he was jittery, even if he didn't show it, but he had fallen into easy discussion with Samantha Vanaver over Euripides and Damian displaying his own knowledge about the ancient playwright had only made things go even smoother. Combined with slight veil of disapproval he had shown over Brucie's and Richie's behavior and he knew that the Court would be keeping an eye on him. Hopefully not too closely, but just enough to pull him in so he could dismantle them from the inside out.

The real trial was when he had been approached instead of the other way around. They had just finished the third course and Jason had decided to meet Cass at the dance floor for a quick spin, leaving Damian with a group of the younger children, including Bunny Vreeland. He had served his purpose for the night, so Jason felt comfortable letting him off his leash to have some fun of his own.

Ever since they had arrived to Gotham, Jason had made sure to take at least one afternoon a week to teach Cass what he knew about ballroom dancing in preparation for an occasion like this, in hopes that it would awaken her own love of dancing. It was a slow-going process thus far, but she showed more and more interest every time they practiced, so Jason figured that she'd ask for more lessons eventually.

After three dances, one of them decidedly awkward but no less enjoyable, Dick appeared to take Cass off his hands, wanting to spend his own time with their sister. Jason let her go with a soft smile on his face, and watched them twirl around for a bit until he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning slowly, he blinked at the strangely familiar red-haired man that had deigned to enter his personal space.

"Thomas Elliot," the man introduced himself.

Jason adopted a polite look as he felt the blood in his veins go cold. "Jason Wayne. You're a friend of my father's, correct? I was told you were traveling the world."

"I was, but I figured I dropped back by Gotham for a bit for tonight's party. I'm sure Bruce would've appreciated it."

"I'm sure he did. You've seen him already, right?"

"I have," Elliot admitted, "But he seems to be a little busy right now."

Brucie currently had three models fawning all over him, one for each complete course of tonight's dinner. Considering they were having seven courses, Jason could only hoped he stopped before he got in too deep with so many women and was forced to bring them to the Manor for a little 'fun', otherwise he was going to have everyone else move to the guest wing for tonight. "Forgive him. You know how he can be."

"I do, but I don't mind. It's a little amusing, really."

And grating. The fact that so many people preferred him over you is why you replaced your face with his. "I'm glad you aren't offended. He has his quirks, but he's a good man."

Elliot smiled. It looked too genuine to be anything but fake. "Your father and I are old friends. I already know what kind of man he is."

Jason smiled back. Oh, I'm sure you do.

He continued conversing with Elliot for a little while longer before one of Elliot's schoolmates from his own years at Gotham Academy called the older man away. Jason internally breathed a sigh of relief. It was difficult talking with Elliot without giving in to his ever growing desire to punch the bastard in the face. Thankfully, he was quickly distracted from his violent thoughts by far kinder faces.

"Jason!"

"Babs," Jason bent down to give his surrogate sister a hug, "I'm glad you could make it."

Barbara beamed at him. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

Jason then looked at the man who had guided her wheelchair to him. "Commissioner Gordon. And the beautiful woman next to you must be your wife, Detective Sarah Essen-Gordon, yes? It's nice to meet you, ma'am."

Sarah Essen politely shook his hand. "It's nice to meet you as well. Welcome back to Gotham."

"Thank you, but you know what's funny? Sometimes it feels like I've never left." He exchanged a meaningful look with Barbara as he said that. "This city…it has a way of settling into your bones, you know?"

"I know what you mean." Sarah exchanged her own look with her husband. "That's why we fight for it."

"Yeah," Jason's smile took a sad tilt. "And why you'll keep on fighting for it." Until the day you die.

Preparations for No Man's Land had been another top priority since Jason's return. It wouldn't be for another year, and Barbara had already devised an emergency nuclear alert that would empty the city before the earthquake hit. But even with that in the works, Jason knew there would still be casualties. He could only hope that Sarah Essen-Gordon wouldn't be one of them this time. The Gordons had already suffered enough tragedy for one lifetime. No need to go through any more.

His attention was called back to the present when Barbara took out the gala's program. It had a schedule of the festivities and a full menu of the night's seven-course meal, along with listed alternatives that could be requested for those with dietary restrictions. The program had been handed out to every guest, regardless of age. "Do you know what the last act is, Jay?"

The last act. Jason had been given the original copy of the program and had noticed the same thing as Barbara. The last major act of the gala, set right after the completion of the seventh course, was simply written as 'To Be Announced'. No amount of needling from him or any of his siblings had managed to convince Bruce or Alfred to tell them what the last act was. It seemed the two were intent on keeping it a surprise.

"No clue, Babs," Jason said truthfully, "We're just going to have to wait and see."

"There's so much food," Stephanie said, overlooking the fourth course: a cooked vegetable medley. According to Jason the seven-course meal was in the Italian style, but in a modified fashion that allowed each course to be served by themselves at certain intervals without having to discard any of them. That meant that, if he or she wished, a person could just munch on the first course all night without anyone being any wiser.

She had inquired Tim about what they were going to do with the leftovers, and had been informed that Wayne galas usually had the food preserved and sent to the various food kitchens throughout the city. No sense in letting good food go to waste, after all. That had made her feel a little bit better about the luxury. They had warned her, yes. But just like with Brucie, knowing it was there and seeing it were two different things. This was the life she fallen into now, and something told Stephanie it was a life she wasn't getting out of anytime soon, if at all.

"Steph," she turned around to see a slightly annoyed Tim looking off into the crowd again, "We've got trouble."

Following his line of sight, Stephanie winced and agreed. Approaching them right now was Elijah van Dahl. Jason had covered the boy in his lectures but he needn't have bothered. Gotham Academy's famous rumor mill had much to say about the van Dahl heir, including his various 'conquests'. He had never done anything too shameful (or illegal), but he was unquestionably self-absorbed and left a line of broken hearts that put even Dick to shame, though not for the same kind of reasons. At least when Dick wanted a casual hookup he told you. Meanwhile, dear young Elijah strung girls along and then tossed them aside when he was bored with them, and thus had quite the reputation.

"Drake. Stephanie," and the smile would be charming, if she hadn't been rendered completely inured over the last week. Elijah van Dahl was good-looking, but he wasn't Dick Grayson or even Jason. He especially wasn't Ti—Okay, where did that thought come from?

"Van Dahl," Tim said politely, bringing her back to reality.

"Elijah," Stephanie concurred.

His eyes flickered towards Cass, who had just finished dancing and was now chatting away with Bette and Sally Kaptra. "Mind if you introduce me?"

Stephanie had to stop herself from visibly blanching, and she could feel Tim curl his fist. She didn't want Elijah van Dahl anyone near Cass if she could help it. What if, God forbid, he actually endeared himself to her? Cass didn't deserve to have her heart broken like that, and she could only imagine the kind of scandal that would erupt if the heir to one of the major families spurned Bruce Wayne's only daughter. To say nothing of Cass' siblings. She wouldn't be surprised if Jason tried to murder the guy.

But they couldn't afford to say no, could they? By arriving with the others Bruce had silently declared that Tim and her were unofficial Waynes, at least for tonight. But that didn't change the fact that they weren't official Waynes, and thus that protection could only extend so far. Offending one of the major families, even to protect a Wayne, could not end well — for either of them.

It seemed Tim had come to a similar conclusion, because he showed all his teeth and let out a short "Sure." He directed Elijah towards Cass, and Stephanie reluctantly followed them both.

She could see the moment that Bette noticed them because an uncharacteristic scowl had crossed her pretty face. Bette had been nothing but kind to both of them all night, never looking down on them despite their obvious inferior social status and even instructing them a bit on some of the guests and how to interact with them. Stephanie liked her, and she knew Cass did too. And if Bette didn't like Elijah either…

"Bette, Sally, Cass," Tim addressed them all. Stephanie could see Sally also wincing when she saw Elijah, with more than a little hurt in her eyes. Great, one of Elijah's 'conquests' was here too.

Cass tilted her head at the new face. It was just as Jason said, she was the bell of the ball. Just about all of Stephanie's schoolmates here tonight, many of whom had never talked to her before, had all but mobbed her in hopes of getting to know her best friend. And Jason, but whatever air Jason had adopted had seemed to put off most of them. It helped that the second son of the Waynes had decided to go around conversing with the adults instead with Damian in tow. None of these spoiled rich kids wanted stick around for that.

His sister was different. Many of her schoolmates had at least known Jason through his lingering reputation at Gotham Academy, as outdated that reputation was. Cass was new, a complete unknown. That meant that she was a blank slate, and any pre-conceived biases that had been passed on to her by her siblings and friends could easily be overcome with just enough sugarcoating and flattery. Stephanie had assumed she was the most vulnerable, and in a way she was; but so was Cass. Cass didn't have the context of Gotham Academy to frame her friendships. If she was a blank slate, then so were they.

"Cassandra Wayne," Elijah said suavely, or at least what passed for him as suavely, as he lifted Cass' hand and pressed his lips to it. "At last we meet."

Cass blinked. Sally looked glum, while Bette silently fumed. "You are?" she asked.

"Elijah van Dahl," Elijah introduced himself, winking. "Care for a dance?" Before Cass could answer for herself, he was dragging her away to the dance floor.

Bette put a comforting hand on Sally's shoulder as she glared hard at Elijah. Stephanie shifted uncomfortably while Tim crossed his arms. Cass looked back at them all, a strange gleam in her eye.

They watched as the two clasped hands and began to circle around the marble white floor slowly. Elijah kept on chattering at Cass, who seemed to struggle to answer him. Stephanie was sorely tempted to intervene right now, consequences be damned.

Then suddenly, the song abruptly changed and turned into something more upbeat. People struggled to change their tempos, Elijah included, but Cass had no such issues. She switched styles into something that looked like a tango, or at least what Stephanie thought was a tango, and unconsciously led Elijah to follow her, not noticing that he couldn't keep up. The older boy started flailing as he tried to pick up the pace, until he slipped and landed on his ass.

Hard.

A loud, girlish squeal echoed throughout Wayne Hall. Bette and Sally immediately guffawed, and Stephanie tried to stifle the laughter that started bubbling up her throat. From the corner of her eye, she saw Tim smirk. Elijah turned red as he became the target of more than one amused stare, and waved off Cass' attempts to help him up as he quickly retreated back to his table.

Cass returned to them, seemingly confused, but Stephanie saw a brief flash of satisfaction cross her face.

Her best friend was the best.

The night rolled on. Jason met with the various pullers and levers of Gotham's high society, putting on a polite, witty facade while occasionally showing some fond disapproval for adoptive father's playboy antics. Just a hint of frustration, of doubt, shown towards the more…ambitious of the other families, to cause them to let down their guard. To seek him out when they inevitably sought to take out the Waynes.

This was just the beginning. Taking down the Court of Owls would take years of long-term planning and manipulation. Jason had known that from experience; when they had finally committed to eradicating the Court for good in the previous timeline, it had taken almost all of Dick's tenure as Batman, and not without casualties. Both Kate Kane and Renee Montoya had been killed trying to take down the Court, which had led to Bette's final and official retirement from vigilantism. But in the end, their losses hadn't been in vain.

The removal of the Court meant the loss of much of the corruption in Gotham. Tim had been able to arrange the gradual removal of the rest, and Jason had completed it within two years of his death. Without that innate corruption, it had been easier for Jason to help the city, particularly the most pressing task: reforming Arkham. For a time, the crime rate had dropped to a point that he even thought that he might be able to retire the mantle.

Of course, he thought bitterly, it wasn't meant to be.

The Batman mantle could never be retired. Not until… Jason took a deep breath.

"You alright, kitten?"

Now that's a voice I haven't heard in a long time. "I'm fine, ma'am," Jason reassured the woman, then held out his hand for handshake. "I'm Jason Wayne. And you are…?"

"Selina," the woman gave him a cat's grin, "Selina Kyle."

Oh, I know. "It's nice to meet you, Miss Kyle. My father has said some things about you."

"About as much as he's said about any other fling, I imagine," Selina said, though her voice was more amused than derisive.

"But you aren't a fling, are you? You're a friend." Selina Kyle, after all, had once been a rising socialite. One who had come onto the scene with a splash, and of course that had caught Bruce Wayne's eye. There were rumors about how their first few months of their acquaintanceship went, but they had eventually settled into a polite, if slightly distant friendship, and the gossip moved on.

"I guess you could call me that. I assume we aren't really good friends however, seeing as he's yet to talk to me tonight."

"He hasn't?" Jason frowned. "Well, I apologize for that. I'm sure it's not intentional." Lie. It's definitely intentional.

Selina took a sip of her drink. "Oh, I hope not. I'm fairly certain I haven't done anything to offend him yet."

"I'm sure you haven't, Miss Kyle. My father is not an easy man to offend. He's kind like that."

"Call me Selina, honey," Selina told him, brushing a stray piece of lint off his suit. "If you really are putting yourself out there and attending more of these shindigs, then I imagine we're going to get to know each other very well."

"I'm looking forward to it. I hope I won't be too boring a companion for you."

Selina tilted her head, smirking. "Someone like you? I doubt it." With that, she sauntered away.

Jason watched her go with a fond shake of the head. If only you could see your mother now, Helena. You would've been surprised at how similar you two turned out to be.

Tim took a sip of his drink — a virgin fruit beverage he didn't care to remember the name of — as he observed Stephanie charming the pants off both Emil Jones and Brendon Fossoway. She's doing well, he couldn't help but think admiringly. He switched his attentions to Cassandra, who had left the dance floor to get a drink of her own and was now silently and playfully holding her own against Hallie Blomdahl and Maximilian Hsueh. He needn't worry about her either.

Of course, Tim had his own fair share of hanger-ons throughout the night, but he had disarmed them all and sent them on their way. Most of them weren't interested in his good will so much as getting under his skin. He could see the burning jealousy in their eyes; unlike Stephanie, they assumed he had plotted his way into the good graces of the Waynes, had used the tragedy in his life to to rise up in society. As if he had asked for his parents to be attacked by a voodoo-themed supervillain, he mentally snorted. He had no patience for any of that, and made it subtly clear.

"Poor little Tim Drake, all alone and abandoned," the voice of Bette Kane said in affectionate mocking, breaking him from his thoughts.

Tim shrugged. "I prefer it this way. I'd rather not get caught up in all this."

Bette sighed. "You know it doesn't work that way, Tim. You arrived with the family. You know what that means."

The younger teenager smirked, with just the right tinge of bitterness. "I do, Bette. Trust me."

The Drakes had never really been respected. According to a reluctant Jason, that remained true to an extent even after he had been adopted by Bruce in the previous timeline. Drake blood hadn't been respected until Tim bore the name Wayne, and even then that's because Drake blood was now Wayne blood, and nobody disrespected Wayne blood. At least not out loud, in any case.

Right now, Tim didn't bear the name Wayne. However, he was treated as one by the family, which meant he might as well be one. The dissonance was not lost on anyone, least of all him, and he couldn't help but be resentful of it. The Drakes had never really been respected, because the source of their fortune had been a plebeian general store. Not banking, not wines, not medicine — no, a general store, and for many that was insulting enough.

Tim wasn't blind to the reality of his parents' marriage. While he was certain his parents genuinely loved each other at one point, their union had also been something of a business decision. Janet Lynn needed legitimacy to rise in Gotham's high society and Jack Drake had a fairly respectable profession (archeology) and a need of money to fund his expeditions. It was a mutually beneficial agreement, and Tim was an extension of that. An heir to pass on the Drake name to and carry on the family business.

What had not been in the agreement were the constant business trips, the neglect of their young son. Originally, Janet Drake was to stay in Gotham and raise Tim and play the game while Jack Drake went off on his archaelogical digs and stayed out of her way. But again, the source of the Drake fortune worked against her and unlike Cass, Damian, and Stephanie she had no guide to help her learn the dos and don'ts of Gotham's high society. The stress of failing her social ambitions got to her, and eventually led to her joining her husband during one of his trips, ostensibly on business. One trip led to another and another, and that was how Tim found himself shipped off to boarding schools and left at home by his lonesome for months at a time.

It ultimately proved to be a disaster for the entire Drake family. Tim suffered loneliness and neglect and just enough boredom to convince him that stalking Batman and Robin every night was a viable hobby. Meanwhile, the increased amount of time in close proximity destroyed the Drakes' marriage instead strengthening it. His parents were rarely ever home, but Tim was a smart, perceptive child. He saw the signs, and before the Obeah Man had been counting the days until the divorce papers were signed and he had to decide which parent he would have to live with.

Jason talked about Tim's business prowess in the other timeline. The sheer ruthlessness he displayed as the CEO of Wayne Enterprises, the initiative he would take, the command he respected. His brother spoke of all these things, and Tim couldn't help but wonder how much Jason knew of the truth.

Judging by those brief flashes of fear in his eyes, it was probably more than he would ever care to admit.

The family congregated throughout Wayne Hall in between each of the courses, making conversation, eating, drinking, dancing and acting the part of gracious hosts without actually being gracious hosts. Brucie Wayne seduced women and got slapped, Richie Wayne broke a number of hearts, Jason Wayne smiled and plotted and schemed and planted seeds with his sharp tongue, Cassandra Wayne made everyone fall a little bit in love with her and Damian Wayne enthralled the few children present and began his quest for world domination. Stephanie Brown captivated while Tim Drake savaged while Alfred Pennyworth, forever the unsung hero, made sure the place didn't fall apart before the seventh course. The seventh course came and went and finally, finally, did the last act begin.

The shining lights of Wayne Hall dimmed, leaving just the spotlights directed at the stage. Whispers were heard as speculation rose over what that hidden piece of tonight's entertainment was. Apparently not even the Wayne children were aware of what it was, with Bruce Wayne deliberately keeping mum.

Gradually, even the whispers died down, until pure silence echoed throughout the building. Then, music started playing from the speakers, a low humming sound the gradually increased in volume as anticipation mounted, reaching a peak that was capped with a loud blast of silvery blue dust. Gasps were made, as a curvy silhouette broke through the cloud.

She was a tall, beautiful woman of Italian descent. Wearing a revealing stage costume with shiny see-through stockings for bottoms and a snazzy black top hat, and combined with her buxom figure, one could almost feel the hormones within Wayne Hall spike to insane levels. One look at her glimmering smile hooked the rest in, and a loud round of applause started up.

"Zatanna," Jason gasped out in astonishment.

"Zatanna?" Stephanie asked, not recognizing the name.

"Zatanna Zatara," Tim answered for her, also in slight wonder. "The greatest stage magician in the world. How did you manage to book her, Bruce?"

Bruce smirked. "Other than being a billionaire? Zatanna is an old friend of mine. She was more than happy to do a show for us."

Jason knew for a fact that Zatanna was much more than just an old friend to Bruce. While their relationship never quite reached the heights that Bruce's relationships with Selina and Talia reached, he knew his father's heart was more than a little tender for the woman on that stage, and that the feeling was very mutual.

He really hoped Alfred had prepared the guest wing for them tonight. It was starting to look like they were going to need it.

Zatanna began her act with a pair of doves. Using 'sleight of the hand' she transformed the doves into a pair of white mittens. She then pulled the threads of the mittens and made a strongly threaded piece of rope, upon which she called for a volunteer from the audience as she summoned a trick box from her helpers from behind the stage.

The show was enchanting, if a just a little stereotypical. People cut in thirds only to appear whole, floating animals, simple card tricks, vomiting handkerchiefs, all that was missing was pulling a rabbit from a hat. As if the world had heard him, Zatanna's gaze settled on him.

"And now, for my final trick, I'd like to call Jason Wayne to the stage!"

Jason slowly stood up, acknowledging the applause before making his way to the stage. Zatanna beckoned him over, and she delicately took his hand and guided him to center stage, where a pair of mirrors stood. Jason admired his reflection in one of the mirrors, as Zatanna explained her last trick to the audience. She was going to push Jason through each solid mirror, reflecting him reversing his features once, then again to return him to his normal appearance. To mark the fact that his features had been reversed the first time, she pinned a paper '1' on one side of his chest and a paper '2' on the other side.

"Ready?" Zatanna whispered once she was done addressing the audience.

Jason nodded. He knocked on the mirror just to show everyone it was solid for good measure.

Zatanna, taking that as her cue, gently pushed him through the first mirror. Jason felt that slight brush of magic linger, and then it was gone. He blinked down at the stage lights, then at his hands, and exhaled.

He had been flipped. Literally.

As he held up his hands to the cheering crowd, he saw a flicker of interest in Zatanna's eyes. After displaying Jason to most of the audience, she placed in front of the next mirror, and pushed him again. This time, the magic was just a bit stronger, almost pulsing really, but the effect was more instantaneous. When he looked down, he was back to normal.

The crowd cheered once again, as Zatanna took off the numbers on his chest, hiding her face from the crowd.

"You have a very powerful soul, Jason Todd."

Jason froze as Zatanna leaned forward just so, so her murmured words could only be heard by him and him alone.

"But something tells me you already knew that, didn't you?"

He stepped away, allowed the magician to have her moment, and for that brief moment, closed his eyes. A flash of silver light crossed his memories, along with a hauntingly alluring dark gaze.

You have no idea.

That terrifying minute with Zatanna aside, Jason felt himself relax as the gala guests began to depart into a crowd. He helped with the customary farewells, directed some of the cleanup, and handed off the sleepy-but-in-denial Damian to Bruce so the man wouldn't get any ideas. He could see quite a few women slump in disappointment at the sight, and sighed in relief. He had made the right choice. No one would have to sleep in the guest wing tonight.

Looking back on the entire night, as far as he could tell he hadn't made a single misstep. He had even kept his cool when he met with the current Grandmaster of the Court of Owls, Samantha Vanaver. She would be tricky, that one, but he had plenty of cards up his sleeve to deal with her when the time came. And if they didn't work…well, Lincoln March would probably take care of the problem for them, as reluctant Jason would be to let it happen. Then again, he'd probably be dead by that point, so his say in the matter would be rather minimal.

He had done what he needed to do for tonight. Everyone had played their parts well. They would have to wait and observe for everyone else's next moves, but for now, they could allow themselves to loosen and rest. It wasn't just Damian that was drooping, after all. The night had been fun, but even fun didn't come without a cost.

Of course, Bruce was still spry and ready to go, and Jason wouldn't be surprised if he went on patrol this evening after informing J'onn that his services were no longer need. If that was a yes, then he'd have to do it alone, however, as no one else was up for it tonight, not even Jason. He quite liked being able to sleep more than three hours a night, thank you very much.

"Ready to go back to the Manor?" he asked. Various sounds of approval followed that statement.

"Alfred will take one of the larger cars and drive us all back," Bruce confirmed, to weak cheers. "Did you have fun?"

"Yes," Stephanie said, then winced and clutched her stomach. "Though maybe a bit too much. These galas aren't always like this, are they?"

"Nah," Dick told her, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly, "We went a little overboard with this one. Any others you'll attend will probably be more low key."

"Like the Gotham Academy Prom," Jason added, "If even half the rumors about that are true—"

"They are," Dick confirmed.

"—Then if you can handle this one, you'll be able handle that one just fine. You might not even decide to get drunk and go skinny-dipping in the harbor!"

Everyone stared at him.

Jason blinked. "What?"

It's what they did at Helena's prom.

Jason woke up relatively late for breakfast the following morning. Last night's festivities had hit him rather hard and he was slow and sluggish as he went through his morning constitutional. After he was done freshening up, he made his way downstairs and towards the nook.

Food, a lot of it eaten, had already been spread out on the table, along with a cup of tempting coffee. Figuring he deserved this one treat, he grabbed his favorite mug and filled it to the brim with the caffeinated nectar, knowing he was going to catch hell for his hypocrisy from his younger brother. Silly Timothy; didn't he know that everyone was a hypocrite at some level?

The smell of his drink was already making him more alert. Ignoring propriety and the stink eye Alfred was shooting him, he grabbed a piece of toast and headed for the main living room, where he could hear the telltale sounds of the television on. Let him relax for a little bit more before had to move on with the rest of the week.

So lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice the panicked look Dick shot him as his eyes caught sight of the television.

"—Recent reports indicated that the Joker escaped Arkham earlier this morning during—"

SMASH!

"Jason!" Dick screeched.

"Master Jason!" Alfred ran out of the kitchen, face worried.

Jason didn't pay attention to either them, nor the puddle of coffee that was wetting his feet. Instead, he was entirely focused on the screen, where the familiar picture of a green-haired man with bleached skin and red lips grinned back at him. The sound his high-pitched, cackling laughter filtered through his ears, and he screwed his eyes closed, burying his face into his hands.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

Every city had criminals.

Some had supervillains.

Only one had the Joker.

The debut of Batman saw the fall of organized crime but also the rise of the vigilantes infamous rogues gallery. People debated over which was worse and whose fault it was but in the end it was all semantics. The villains were here, and they were here to stay.

However, that had been years ago and like most cities rife with super-criminality, Gotham had long since constructed and implemented protocols to mitigate the damage caused by such incidents, allowing them to conduct their daily business in a mostly normal fashion. Even with the psychotic slant Gotham villains had, their obsession with Batman further aided in this endeavor. As Batman only operated at night except when conducting business with the Justice League, most Gotham villains attacked at night. With that in their favor, Gothamites were able to protect themselves better simply by not going out once the sun went down when a particularly dangerous villain had escaped from Arkham.

Yet, even with all that, there was not a single villain in the city, nor the world for that matter, that could ever compare to the Joker.

That was not a compliment, of course. The man (if he could even be called that) was psychotic even by Gotham standards. No one liked the Joker. He was sociopathic, he was cruel, and his body count numbered in the hundreds, if not thousands. Even the staunchest opponents of the death penalty or any sort of lethal justice were willing to make an exception for the Joker. Their arguments were based on the idea of change, and the Joker was never, ever going to change. More than one person wished that Batman or the police or someone would finally put the clown in the ground, and few could blame them.

But if he could be credited with anything, is that he was never boring. He was so unpredictable that most were certain that not even he knew his next move. The only thing anyone could count on is that he never did anything without a bang. The Joker was a showman above all else, and his schemes were nothing less than the most violent spectacles a person could possibly imagine.

So, whenever the Joker escaped from Arkham, the entire city was on alert. Wayne Enterprises, the city's primary provider for super-related relief, handed out gas masks and antidotes to everyone, free of charge. Barely anyone walked the streets, and when they did it was with shifty eyes and some kind of weapon on their person. Every building in the city was a push of a button away from total lockdown. Even the GCPD, usually rife with internal conflict, was totally unified in hunting the clown down. Even the most corrupt cop knew that aiding the Joker was folly. The madman had no allegiance to anyone except his own whims, and inevitably betrayed and murdered those who helped him in the most hilariously cruel ways.

It's for this reason that Jason felt no shame in telling Cass that her speech therapy was canceled until the clown was back in Arkham. He knew damn well that, as skilled as she was, she was not ready for the likes of the Joker. He was reluctant enough letting Tim and Damian and even Stephanie go to school during these times. If he could keep Cass with him for the time being, he would.

Dick had wanted to stay as well, even spent his last night fruitlessly scouring the city with Bruce for the Joker's location, but had been forced back to Bludhaven the following day. His vacation from work was over and Nightwing had been gone from the city for too long. He was needed there. Dick had protested, of course, but Bruce had put his foot down and Jason had backed him up. He had a responsibility to Gotham, yes, but he had a responsibility to Bludhaven too. More than that, the Joker was very unlikely to go after him once he was out of Gotham. Everyone else had to stay, but Dick didn't. His older brother had left very reluctantly after that.

His reaction wasn't surprising. The Joker had always been taken more seriously than most of Batman's foes, but after Barbara's paralysis and Jason's death he had been regarded as the worst of them all (barring, perhaps, Ra's al Ghul). That feeling had only doubled after learning that, in a possible future, the Joker had finally succeeded in killing Bruce. And with Jason's return and Cass and Damian's subsequent joining of the family…there was so much more to lose now. It was why they were all going spare trying to find him.

Jason, of course, was the worst of them all. Nobody knew better than him how dangerous the Joker could truly be. He had learned that lesson painfully, time and time again. There was no way he was going to be able to sleep well until the bastard was off the streets and back in Arkham where he belonged. In that, Bruce and him were of an accord.

That didn't stop them from clashing anyway.

"YOU'RE BENCHING ME!?"

Tim winced, as did Cass. Bruce crossed his arms, looking completely unrepentant.

"You cannot bench me," Jason hissed desperately, "You know how dangerous he is! You need every pair of eyes you can get out there looking for him!"

"And I do. Barbara has Black Canary and Huntress out there searching for him as well. Robin—"

"—can take care of himself, I know, but still! We shouldn't take any chances! I know the Joker as well as you do, I can—"

"No, Jason, and that's final! I can't…I can't…" Bruce's voice broke off, and suddenly Jason felt twice as terrible as before. Why hadn't he seen it before? It was obvious why Bruce didn't want him searching for the Joker. The last time he had been in close proximity with that godforsaken clown, he had been beaten to near death with a crowbar and then blown up.

That wouldn't happen this time. They both knew it. But the loss was still raw and Jason's own reaction to finding out about the escape had hardly been the most encouraging thing. Was it really worth it?

Finally, he made a decision. "Fine. But I'm still suiting up just in case you need backup. And I'll be watching the cameras alongside Alfred."

Bruce's shoulders slumped in relief. He could handle that. He just needed to make sure that Jason didn't need to intervene. "Alright then."

"What of me?" Cass timidly asked.

"No," both Batmen said in unison. That, at least, they were in complete agreement on.

However, Jason still felt the need to elaborate. "Cass, you're an amazing fighter, probably the best out of all of us, but you're still in training. And the Joker…" Jason scrunched up his eyes, briefly losing himself in dark memories, "…taking on the Joker takes more than fighting skill. Trust me. You're not ready."

Cass seemed to accept that, and nodded. Jason was relieved. He didn't want to start an argument with her as well. He then turned to the last occupant of the Cave, who had stayed silent throughout the entire conversation. Clasping his younger brother's shoulders, Jason crouched down so he was eye level with Tim, face set.

"Do not take him on by yourself. I don't care how well you did the first time you went against him solo, you even so much as suspect he's anywhere near your vicinity, you call for help. From Bruce, from Babs, from me — I don't care who it is, as long as you do it. You call for help and you stay hidden until that help arrives. Alright?"

Tim nodded slowly. Time would tell if he obeyed Jason's orders, but it would have to do for now.

He turned back to Bruce, as looked at him pleadingly, no doubt remembering the last time he saw his father before a face-off with the Joker. "You be careful too, okay? Don't indulge him unless you have to."

Bruce put a comforting hand on his son's shoulder. "I won't," he said softly, and pulled Jason into a strong hug.

Jason returned it fiercely and hoped, not for the first time, he wasn't making a mistake.

An hour or so after that, Batman and Robin were off for a particularly difficult patrol. Jason had suited up as well, though kept his face mask and domino off for the time being. There was no need to conceal his identity in the Cave.

Instead, he had his laptop open and was working on the file he had on the Joker. He knew that after the Joker was back in Arkham, he would have to come clean about everything he knew about the clown to his family. He had hoped that he would have more time, that he wouldn't have to burden them with this knowledge, but of course, life had decided otherwise. Whenever it came to that damn clown, things always had to be as difficult as possible.

Cass, instead of turning in like he suggested, had instead elected to do more training. She was familiarizing herself with the various tools they had, including the grappling hook and batarangs. There were also some of the more esoteric equipment they had at their disposal, including the shark-repellent spray and the bat-beacon. He had warned her about those — the last thing they needed right now was an accidental medical emergency.

The elevator chimed, indicating Alfred's arrival. However, Jason's ears picked up a second pair of footsteps, this one considerably lighter, and frowned, closing his laptop and turning around. "You should be in bed, Damian," he said sternly.

Damian scowled at him. "I couldn't sleep," he explained, his eyes briefly flashing up to the main monitor of the Bat-Computer with worry. On the screen was a visual of both Batman and Robin, searching different parts of the city for Gotham's most notorious supervillain.

Jason sighed, and gestured for him to grab a chair and sit next to him. Alfred, carrying a platter of sandwiches and a pitcher of water, set the food down on a nearby table, near some plates and cups they kept stored down at the Cave for long nights in. Like tonight.

"What's wrong?" Jason asked gently.

Damian's ever-present scowl deepened. "The man Father and Drake are searching for. He's the one that killed you, isn't he?"

Jason stiffened slightly. "Yes," he said finally, "he is. Did your mother tell you about him?"

"Just that he was a madman. A monster. Someone that should've been put down a long time ago."

Of course that's what she said. Jason sighed. She isn't wrong, though. "The Joker is everything your mother says he is. And he didn't just kill me, Damian. He's also the reason why Babs is in that wheelchair."

His younger brother eyes rose and narrowed sharply at that. From behind him, he could see Cass freeze mid-throw. They had yet to tell her that little bit of information too. It hadn't been for any malicious reason, truthfully; it had just been lost in the worry and stress of trying to find the Joker. After all, while Barbara and him had suffered horribly at the hands of the Joker, Jason knew full well that there were others that had suffered worse.

"We're just two of the many lives he's ruined, and many more will follow the longer he lives. That's why we're so desperate to find him. He's not like your mother's family, Damian. He's not pretending to be some grand visionary." Jason clicked his teeth. "He just wants to watch the world burn."

"Then why he isn't he dead?!" Damian burst out, and everyone flinched at the question. From the corner of his eye he could spot Alfred trembling slightly as he poured himself a cup of water. He imagined that his surrogate grandfather had asked himself the same after those two tragedies. Jason himself had asked the same more than once, and had learned the answer in the worst way possible. "I know Father doesn't kill, that he's devoted himself to being a hero, but can't he just make an exception? Just this once?"

"He nearly did, Damian," Jason replied, silencing the boy, "After I died, he nearly beat the Joker to death, and if Superman hadn't stopped him, probably would've succeeded. And he would've lived to regret it for the rest of his life, no matter how justified he was."

"You have no idea how close our father is to the edge every single night he goes out there. How much he wishes he could do what you're suggesting. But he can't, because he fears what he'll become if he crosses that line."

Damian swallowed, no doubt thinking about his own childhood. About how killing had been treated as another tool to be used, something that should be done as easy as breathing and thought of little after. His time with his father's family had taught him that such thinking wasn't as simple for most people as it was for his mother's family. "What he'll become?"

"A monster, Damian. Not like the Joker, but like your grandfather. Someone who believes that the ends justify the means, no matter what those means are. Someone that, no matter how good their intentions, is honestly no better than the people they fight against," Jason explained tiredly. "When you kill someone, it changes you. There's no going back after that. You'll have to live with it for the rest of your life. And even if you forgive yourself for it, even if you never kill again, the option will always be there, and you'll be haunted by it until the day you die."

His words resonated throughout the Cave, and he could see a look of sympathy and understanding in both the eyes of Alfred and Cass. They had killed too. They both knew exactly what he was talking about.

"Our father can't handle that. He's barely hanging onto his sanity as it is. So don't push on him it, okay?"

Damian nodded slowly, though he still had an inquisitive look on his face. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Why haven't you killed him?"

Jason froze.

"You've killed before, Jason. I know it. I can see it in your eyes, and your explanation confirms it. So why haven't you killed him?"

It wouldn't have been hard, is what Damian didn't say. Jason could've easily snuck into Arkham and killed the Joker before anyone else had realized it. He had the skills, and Talia could've given him the tools. Damian knew that. And judging by the looks both Alfred and Cass were shooting him, they knew too. More than that, they, unlike Damian, knew Jason had plenty more reasons to kill Joker besides his death and Barbara's crippling.

He was from the future. He knew all the terrible things the Joker would go on to do, all the thousands of people he would maim and slaughter for the sake of his own amusement. All the tragedy he wrought upon Gotham. The biggest and most glaring one, of course, being his murder of Bruce.

Jason, more than anyone else, had the justification, if not the right, to put the bastard in the ground where he belonged.

So why hadn't he?

He knew full why he hadn't — why he couldn't, no matter how much he desperately wanted to. But he couldn't tell that to Damian right now. The youngest member of the family was the only one not to know his secret, and Jason had every intention of keeping it that way for as long as possible. If Damian figured it out on his own, fine, but for now…

Well, a little bit of the truth would have to do.

"I want to, Damian. God, I want to so much it hurts. But I can't. It would hurt my family, doing that, no matter how much they'd understand. And more than that…" Jason exhaled deeply, "…it would destroy Gotham."

There was a sound of glass shattering at his words as everyone stared at him in shock and horror. Jason had said nothing about that, after all.

"…what?" Damian asked quietly, disbelievingly.

Instead of answering, Jason went down to one knee and cupped his brother's face. "Do you trust me, Damian?"

Slowly, Damian nodded.

"Then know that I'm telling you the truth — if the Joker dies, then it will ruin Gotham. Ruin all of us. I can't tell you why yet, but one day I will. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good," Jason pulled his brother forward into an embrace, "It'll be fine, Damian. I promise."

He felt his brother grab at his suit, and hoped life wouldn't make a liar out of him.

"Master Jason," Alfred said pointedly once Jason returned from settling Damian back into his bed for sleep. Over at the mats, Cass was watching the confrontation. "Explain."

"Alfie—"

"Did you think I haven't noticed, Master Jason? That no one has noticed?" The butler sounded both incensed and worried, which was understandable. "Master Bruce told me what you said to him about the Joker. Make no mistake, we have been wracking our minds to understand what could possibly make act that way. But this? I know you've been keeping things from us, but this is something you should have told us about weeks ago!"

"I know, Alfie, I know! I fucked up, okay! But when it comes to him…when it comes to him…" Jason grimaced, "Almost all of my greatest regrets involve him. Of all the countless enemies I've had over the course of my life, there's no one I hate and fear more. And if I could kill him again, I would. Not just for our sakes, but for everyone's. If you knew about all the things he's going to do…" He shook his head.

Alfred sighed. "Master Jason, I sympathize with your plight. We all do, and that is why we have not been pumping you for the more…sensitive information. But whatever it is about the Joker that spooks you, we need to know, and soon. If you haven't forgotten, Helena Bertinelli is one of the people hunting him down, and I doubt she'll be able to restrain herself if she finds him."

"And I will tell you everything. All of you. I promise. I just…" Jason closed his eyes, "I just need to prepare myself. It's…a lot."

"I doubt it could be any more revolutionary than what you've already told us, Master Jason."

"You'd be surprised, Alfred." Jason smiled mirthlessly. "You'd be surprised."

Before anymore could be sound, a loud siren was heard on the Computer. Jason quickly rushed to the keyboard and pulled up the accompanying information, while Alfred and Cass congregated behind him.

"By God…" Alfred summed up their reaction when they processed what, exactly, they were seeing.

"He blew up…?" Cass followed, eyes wide.

Jason simply frowned. "A clinic. High-end, in the better part of town. Why, I can't say. Knowing him he probably thought it was funny or something. Luckily, it's night, so no one should have been in the building."

"Even so, we should remain vigilant," with that, Alfred activated the comms, "Batman, Robin, did you get the alerts?"

"We did. Can we confirm it was the Joker?"

"It looks that way. There's a distinct Joker symbol that's painted on a pile of debris outside the blaze. We'll have to run forensics to make sure but at this juncture we can assume it's him."

A grunt followed that statement. "What's the motive for this?"

Jason crossed his arms. "Well, the overall one seems to be the same as it's always been. Attention, from you and the city. And a laugh. Can't forget that."

"But what about this makes it so funny?" Robin asked"And why blow up a clinic with no one inside?"

"Maybe it's a warning?" Jason shrugged. "One of the Joker's core aspects is his obsession with Batman. The only reason he ever bothers to escape is to play around with him. But you can't play if the other player doesn't know there's a game going on."

"If that's the case, then what's the game?"

"I don't know. Maybe he's daring you to guess where he'll hit next?" Jason offered, "Even when there's a method to his madness you can't exactly predict what he wants until he wants you to know. This could be a spree against medical facilities across the city or just a whim he felt at the moment. We won't know until we either find him or he hits another target."

Another grunt. "Robin and I will go to the site of the explosion and investigate. Keep vigilant for anymore attacks. If he hits somewhere else then have Oracle send in Black Canary and Huntress."

"Understood. Cave out."

There wasn't another attack but the city was on high alert all the same. Security was increased at every medically-inclined building in the city — at least for those that could afford it. Other than that, the day continued on as normally as could be when the Joker was on the loose. The world didn't stop turning, not even for the biggest psychopath on the planet.

That didn't stop people from being on edge, just waiting for the next strike. It was for that reason that, when Tim received a text from his father demanding his presence after school at the center where he did his physical therapy, Jason refused to let him go alone. He had yet to meet Jack Drake anyway and figured it was about time he — and the rest of the family for that matter — did.

Jason had his shades on when the arrived at the Crowne Physical Therapy Center (one of the few remnants of the Crowne family's legacy in Gotham). He eyed the front of the building for the moment as his siblings filed out of the car, taking in the crystal doors and the elaborate, colorful glass garden in the center of the lobby. Definitely a rich people's clinic, he thought.

Tim led the way through the lobby, ignoring how everyone else marveled at the building's insides. After talking it over with the receptionist, they were directed to a room further inside the building, a sort-of-gym where Jason spotted a man that vaguely resembled Tim doing exercises with a dark-haired woman observing him. Judging by the small smiles the two were trading, Jason assumed this was Dana Winters, Tim's future stepmother.

"Dad," Tim greeted his father with a nod.

Jack's attentions turned away from his physical therapist to his son, and he took note of the people Tim had brought with him. "Tim. And your friends…?"

"The Waynes, Dad."

Realization dawned on Jack's face. Jason wondered how absorbed he was with Dana to not recognize the faces that had dominated Gotham's headlines for the last few months. Remembering how Tim once mentioned that his parents' marriage had been on their last leg before Janet Drake killed, he decided on 'very'.

"Introduce me," Jack ordered his son, putting on his best behavior. He was in the presence of Gotham royalty, after all.

Tim promptly did exactly that, starting with Jason and following with Cass and Damian, and then finally Stephanie, the only one he brought that wasn't a Wayne. Jack was polite to all of them, almost deferential at certain points. It wasn't really surprising in hindsight; it had taken finding out his son was running around as a vigilante at Bruce's behest to make Jack go against Gotham's favorite son. His wife might have been the brains behind Drake Industries, but both of them had been involved in Gotham's high society. They knew where they stood on the pecking order, and in the end, that's what destroyed their family.

"Tim, why didn't you tell me you were bringing friends?" Jack asked, a little harshly. Jason frowned at his tone.

"I wasn't originally, but Jason insisted. You know, with the clown on the loose."

Jack winced. "Understandable. Anyway, as for why you're here — I need you to take some things to the house for me. I'll be staying at physical therapy today longer than I thought."

Tim raised an eyebrow, casting a look at Dana, before slowly nodding. He was handed a large bag and sent on his way with a brief hug. They left as soon as they came, the bag slung over Tim's shoulder.

"Well that was a waste of time," Damian snorted, as they drove out of the parking lot. "Did we all really have to go?"

"It was about time we meet Tim's dad," Jason shrugged, "Better sooner than later."

Damian opened his mother to argue otherwise—

BOOM!

Shit …

Jason let out a low moan as he lifted his bleating head, the pain not quite crippling but still persistent. Did I hit my head? He wondered. The last thing he remembered was—

He stiffened, quickly blinking his eyes repeatedly so his vision could return. Once it had, he blanched. The explosion had caused the car to veer and crash its hood into the fender of another car, enough to visibly dent it and destroy the front right light. Thankfully, they hadn't been hit hard enough to start a fire with the engine or something. That settled, he looked next to him to see Cass recovering like he had, and then behind him to see Tim and Stephanie doing the same. Damian was apparently the only one to remain conscious from the crash, judging by how he was frantically struggling to remove his seatbelt.

"What…was that?" he asked, voice faint.

"An explosion," Damian growled, though his voice was more subdued than usual.

"But what—" Jason's eyes widened as he looked out through the back window and spotted what, exactly, exploded. Everyone slowly followed his line of sight, and gaped at the scene.

What had once been the Crowne Physical Therapy Center was now a flaming pile of debris. The trail of smoke billowed up into the sky as people slowly began to congregate around the sight. Suddenly, Tim threw the car door open and charged towards the carnage.

"Tim!" Jason yelled, quickly following his lead. When the door refused to open on its own merits, he kicked it down instead. "Stephanie, you're in charge!" he ordered, then charged after his younger brother, pushing people aside and jumping over cars.

He managed to grab Tim before the boy ran into the flames, holding him back with his all his strength as his brother tried to throw him off. "No, Tim, no!"

"But Jason, Dad—!"

"No, Tim. He's—" Jason cut himself off before he could say it.

Tim still struggled regardless, though the longer he peered into the flames he felt his desire to fight give in to his despair. "Dad…"

"He's gone, Tim," Jason said with finality. "I'm sorry."

It was too much. Tim collapsed to his knees in tears, barely reacting when Jason pulled his face into his chest. Jason placed a comforting kiss on his head, as his eyes caught sight of something else: the symbol of a Joker on one of the larger pieces of debris. Jason glared at the sight.

Damn you. Damn you to fucking hell.

The cleanup was slow-going. About twenty minutes after the explosion the police arrived along with firefighters and EMTs. Those who had been caught in the impromptu pile-up had been checked over first while the firefighters tried to get the blaze under control to search for survivors. Though it hadn't been said outright, everyone knew the chances of anyone surviving were practically non-existent. That had been confirmed during the subsequent search once the fire had been put out and was no longer in danger of restarting.

The moment the EMTs had arrived Jason dragged Tim away from what was left of the building to get checked out with the rest of the family. There would be more time for mourning later; his health was more important. Thankfully, it seemed no one had gotten too hurt, though he wouldn't be surprised if someone developed a case of whiplash within the following couple of days.

Once their checkups were over, they waited at a nearby sidewalk until Bruce and Alfred arrived. The two promptly did within another half-hour, Alfred dropping Bruce off while he searched for a place to park. Bruce immediately ran to them, eyes filled with worry.

"Is everyone alright?" Bruce asked once they came into view.

"Physically, we're all fine," Jason spoke for everyone, "Nothing more than scrapes and bruises. But Bruce…"

"Timothy's father was in the middle of the blast," Damian finished for him, voice uncharacteristically gentle. It was telling how severe the situation was that he was addressing Tim by his first name instead of his last like usual.

Bruce, horrified, put a hand to his mouth and looked at his current sidekick, who was silently sobbing, deep in Stephanie and Cass' collective embrace. "Tim…" The girls, knowing what he was about to do, let their friend go so Bruce could gather him up into his arms. "I'm so sorry, Tim. I'm so sorry."

Jason watched them sadly, barely reacting when Alfred walked up next to him. "Master Jason," the butler greeted him, voice subdued. "Is it as I fear?"

"Yes."

Alfred closed his eyes, allowing himself a moment. "…I shall prepare Master Tim's usual room when we return home, then. How long until we can leave?"

"Bruce just needs to check in with the police and then we're good to go."

"Very well. Do you need me to take anything to the car?"

Jason gestured to the pile of bags that had been set next to Damian on the sidewalk. Alfred gave him a single nod and went on with it. Bruce handed off Tim to back to the girls, quietly instructing them to go to his car with Damian. Jason got out of their way, and walked up to Bruce, face set.

"I'm going out with you tonight," he said, voice brokering no argument.

Bruce frowned but slowly nodded. "Alfred told me about what you said."

"I know," Jason admitted. "I figured he would. Which is why I need to go with you. Tim is compromised; there's no way he can help you with the search any longer."

"Right," Bruce agreed. "This has gone on long enough. It's time we bring out the big guns."

Jason pursed his lips. "The Lounge?"

"The Lounge."

The moment they arrived to the Manor, Jason instructed Cass to take Tim to her room while Alfred prepped his. He also warned her to not be surprised if he stayed with her tonight regardless — he would need the comfort of someone close for at least the next few hours, and probably for the next couple of weeks to be honest. Stephanie went to follow them, but Jason gently grabbed her arm, silently asking her to stay.

"We need to call your mom and tell her what happened, and ask her if it's okay if you stay here for tonight or if we should send you home. Either way there's no way you're going to school tomorrow, even if the Joker is caught right now." No sane parent would force their child to go to school after what had happened today, especially when they were so close to the blast.

"Alright," Stephanie nodded, though her mind was obviously elsewhere. "…Is Tim going to be okay?"

Jason let go of her arm and took her hand instead, squeezing it. "Not for some time," he admitted, "He's going to be reserved for a while. Maybe even difficult. Angry. But just be patient with him, and be there for him. Something like this…the pain never really goes away. But it does become easier to handle with time, as long as you remember you have other people in your life."

Stephanie observed him for a moment. "You talk like you're speaking from experience."

Jason smiled at her sadly, then sighed. "I need to call Dick and tell him what's happened. He'll probably claim another family emergency and come here within the next couple of days, if only just to see Tim."

Realizing he wasn't going to answer, Stephanie nodded and went up the stairs to catch up with Tim and Cass. Next to him, Jason saw Damian watch her go, and gently nudged him. Giving him an encouraging nod, he pushed Damian up the stairs. Damian got the message and walked up, catching up with Stephanie, who took his hand and guided him the rest of the way.

"We need to watch him," Jason muttered.

"Agreed," Bruce conceded, walking up from behind him. "Alfred?"

"I shall endeavor to keep an eye out, although if he's staying in Miss Cassandra's room with everyone else I imagine it won't be too difficult to keep him inside."

"And if he doesn't?"

"I shall endeavor all the same."

"Sit on him if you have to," Jason instructed. "Now, if you need me, I'm going to grab some painkillers for my headache."

Bruce frowned. "Are you sure you're going to be okay for tonight's patrol?"

Jason waved him off. "I've dealt with worse, much like you have. I'll rest when the Joker is back in Arkham."

"I will hold you to that," Bruce told him. Jason quirked a tired grin at him and then headed up the stairs towards the main study. That left Bruce and Alfred all by their lonesome in the main foyer. They waited until he was out of view before finally speaking.

"I don't like this, Alfred."

"What is there to like, Master Bruce?" Alfred deadpanned at him. "Jack Drake is dead, orphaning Master Tim; the man who is responsible, who killed your second son and crippled a dear friend, mind you, is still on the loose; and your second son, who is a time traveler, is keeping some secret about him that implies that his continued existence is the one thing keeping the city from falling into further anarchy."

Bruce sighed. "At least I don't have to worry about Jason killing him."

"No. You have to worry about Master Tim doing it instead, which might be even worse." Jason, after all, was a seasoned vigilante with decades of experience. Tim, for all his brilliance, had only been Robin for the last eight months or so. Combined with the recent death of Jack Drake…well, they'd all be keeping an eye on the boy for a long while.

"…Did you think I made the right choice, Alfred? Choosing to become a vigilante to help this city?"

Alfred remained a silent for a moment as he thought his answer over. "Master Bruce, you're only human. You, much like every other person on this Earth, do the best they can with what they have in life. And despite contrary belief, very rarely is there a 'right' or 'wrong' choice. Usually, there are only choices and consequences. Whether those consequences are good or bad is up to interpretation."

"By becoming a vigilante, you may have caused great harm. But, in my own admittedly biased opinion, you have done good as well. You have saved this city, saved the world, countless times. Can you honestly say we would still be here to have this conversation if you hadn't made the choices you did?"

Bruce silently shook his head.

"Then this is my advice, sir. Accept your choices. Accept that you cannot change them. And learn from them. What is done is done. All we can do is move on with our lives, as we see fit." Alfred put a comforting hand on his employer's shoulder. "I need to fix up Master Tim's room."

Bruce watched him go, and sighed.

"He's right, you know."

Bruce whirled around to see Jason standing there, an icepack to his forehead.

"How—"

"Bruce, don't say that. Don't pretend you don't know about the secret passages that litter this place like lint."

Another sigh. "You heard everything." It was a statement, not a question.

"I did, and I'll say it again — he's right." Jason took the icepack off his head and looked off into the distance. "We make our choices, and we live with them, like we do with everything else in our lives. I had to learn that lesson a long time ago. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have been able to move on with my life after my own mistakes."

"Like killing the Joker?"

Jason smiled at him. "You figured that out?"

"It wasn't hard, Jason," Bruce pointed out. "You admitted to killing him already, and your comment to Alfred could've only come from experience. From there it was easy to connect the dots."

"Figures," Jason crossed his arms, looking a hundred years older. "It was the biggest mistake of my life. There's not a day that goes by where I don't wonder what would've happened if I had never pulled that trigger. Everything would've been different."

"But not better," Bruce noted.

Jason shook his head. "Not better. There's no way to know if it would've been better. But if would've been different, that's for sure." He shrugged. "But I did it. And I had to live with the consequences for the rest of my life." He went forward, and patted his father on the arm. "It is what it is, Bruce. We can't change the past. But we can change the future, and that means finding the Joker as soon as possible before he kills more people. Okay?"

"Okay." Bruce paused. "Jason, I'm going to need to know everything after this. You realize that, right?"

"Right," Jason gave him a short nod. "It's overdue anyway. Just a warning though: it's not going to be easy to hear."

"Whatever it is, I can handle it."

Jason opened his mouth to say more, but stopped. "Jason?" Bruce prompted him.

"Promise me something. Promise me that, when I tell you the truth, you won't hate me."

Bruce looked aghast. "Jason, I could never hate you."

"Never say never, Bruce," Jason told him, looking worn. "Never say never."

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, Jason Todd hated Oswald Cobblepot.

The blame for that would lie at the feet of his presumed-deceased biological father and some ill-begotten letters his father wrote that fell into Jason's possession. What followed was a series of unfortunate events that saw him beaten within an inch of his life by Bruce and an estrangement between himself and his adoptive father that Jason refused to bridge even after said adoptive father showed immense remorse and was on the verge of going on his knees and begging for forgiveness. Which may or may not have been fueled by said adoptive father also estranging himself from his three other sons with his massive control freak tendencies in the interim and said brothers of Jason refusing to reconcile with said father unless he reconciled with Jason first.

But that was a story for another time.

What mattered was, a long time ago, Jason Todd hated Oswald Cobblepot. Despised him. Would've killed him if he thought it was worth it. Jason Todd hated Oswald Cobblepot, and for a moment, he thought nothing would change that.

Then life happened.

Then that adoptive father nearly gave his life for Jason's during an attempted villain-takeover of Gotham, finally allowing them to bury the hatchet for good. Then that adoptive father died a mere eight months later, leaving Jason left with very little else to do but to wallow in his regrets.

Then Jason, alcoholic and guilt-ridden, was finally coaxed out of retirement by his older brother to become Dick's right hand, both out of a desire to have an honest adviser and to give Jason a reason to fix himself up and live again. Then Jason, after the death of that older brother, who he had come to love so fiercely, forced himself to bear the mantle Dick had left to him.

After losing Tim and Damian and Alfred and nearly Cass as well, after working day and night, juggling between running Wayne Enterprises and the Justice League, after training and then all but raising Carrie when her neglectful parents were killed in an ill-fated car crash — when he finally received news about the Penguin's death at the hands of Ricky Sionis, the second Black Mask, Jason Todd found that he no longer gave two shits about Oswald Cobblepot. The only thing he felt when he heard the news was worry over how the underworld would fair now that its overseer was gone and a new, potentially more volatile, one was set to replace him.

Then Helena Kyle-Wayne arrived at his doorstep, and that was the last time Jason Todd had any meaningful thought about Oswald Cobblepot.

Jason, now in a new timeline and under the guise of Gotham Knight, was surprised to note that his feelings hadn't changed the moment he saw Cobblepot again. He presumed part of it was because he knew his biological father was actually still alive and out there in the world (not that he particularly cared to find him). That, and knowing that the Joker was out there, and while Cobblepot may be dangerous, he paled in comparison to the Joker. Regardless of whatever Cobblepot had done to him in the past, Jason would always hate the Joker more.

They had snuck into the Iceberg Lounge easily, despite the increased security. Even criminals got jittery when the Joker was out of Arkham; he wasn't exactly indiscriminate when it came to his victims. Then there was, Cobblepot, who, while occasionally indulging in a villain team-up or two, was smart. He knew when to wash his hands of something, and the Joker was one such thing. The city, Batman included, only tolerated his continued presence and prosperity because his crimes tended not to be too severe (relatively speaking) and because of the intel he could provide. But being connected with one of the Joker's atrocities would negate all that and mandate his arrest. And no judge in Gotham, no matter how corrupt, would allow someone associated with the Joker's crimes to go free without some kind of punishment, regardless of their fortune and connections. The villain was that hated.

Because of that, Cobblepot had to make a show of some form of disapproval of the Joker's actions, regardless of whether or not he was connected to the madman's current schemes. Hence the increased security. Not that it meant much in the end to two Bats.

"Hey, hey!" The Penguin screeched as his rich dinner was thrown to the floor due to Batman's dynamic landing onto his table. Knight, meanwhile, darted between the guards, knocking them out with quick nerve strikes before they could realize what was happening. "What are you doing!?"

"Joker's location. Now."

"I don't know what you're talking about! I had nothing to do—"

"LIAR!"

Knight hummed, while Batman continued to shakedown the crime boss, observing the sights. It had been many years since he'd seen the Iceberg Lounge. After Cobblepot's death it had been bought by the Galavans and converted towards their medieval aesthetics, providing another source of income for them. Jason hadn't particularly cared at the time, too busy dealing with Ricky Sionis, but after the Galavans came up in some shady dealings involving Sionis, paid more attention to the place. Nothing came up during the investigation, though he imagined Helena was keeping an eye out all the same.

Is that a shark? How did I forget he had one of those? Knight silently whistled at the large tank, where what was indeed a great white shark swimming throughout the crystal blue waters. He knew he should be taking this more seriously, but honestly things were depressing enough with the Joker running around. Let him enjoy at least this.

"Okay, okay! I'll talk!"

"Good. Talk faster."

"There's been rumblings down by the Cauldron about one of the abandoned buildings there lighting up at odd times. Some of the boys swore they heard the Joker's laughter come from there, but obviously weren't going to go in there and find out."

"Anything else? Does he have a new target?"

"I don't know! Who knows what goes through his mind of his? You know how freaking nuts he is!"

"He's got a point, B," Knight couldn't help but add, turning away from the shark tank to watch the confrontation.

"Yeah! Listen to…" Penguin trailed off when he realized he didn't recognize the new vigilante, "…who the hell are you?"

"Gotham Knight, though you can call me Knight. Batman's newest associate. Just think of me of a part-time Nightwing who lives in Gotham."

"Huh." Penguin actually looked a bit intrigued, but another shake from Batman reminded him of his current situation. "That's all I know, I swear!"

Batman grunted and dropped Penguin to the ground. "If I find out you were lying…"

"…you'll break every bone in my body, I know, I know!"

The vigilante grunted again and made for the nearest window, shooting a grappling hook to the ledge of the next building. Gotham Knight tossed a salute to Penguin right before mimicking his mentor's actions, leaving the crime boss all alone in the ruins of his meal.

"The Cauldron. Man does this place bring back memories," Knight mentioned nostalgically as he observed his surrounding through the tinted windows of the Batmobile.

Batman grunted. "What happened to it?"

"Gentrified," Knight immediately answered. "Eventually people stopped calling it the Cauldron in place of its original name — Crowne Park."

Batman grunted again but said nothing more. They parked on the outskirts of the area, hidden deep in a dead-end alley. Making their way to the rooftops, they observed streets below. Homelessness, drug dealing, casual murder — even by Gotham standards, the Cauldron was destitute. And as much as they'd like to deal with it all, they'd be here all night and nothing would change. The Cauldron would only ever heal if the internal rot of the city was gone, and that wouldn't be happening for a long time. There was someone more pressing they needed to find right now anyway.

They crept from rooftop to rooftop, trying to listen for the laughter that Penguin's men had allegedly heard during their last visit here. It was another half-hour before they heard that distinct 'ha ha' coming from an abandoned apartment building near — what else? — a joke shop. Batman turned on the infrared vision in his cowl, scanning for any heat signatures, and frowned when he saw none.

"I hear the laughter, but no one's inside," he told his partner, scowling.

"Trap," Knight easily deduced.

"Trap," Batman agreed. "Question is: do we spring it?"

"We risk getting killed if we go in there in person."

"Then we don't go in person."

One of the windows was open. That was too convenient, which only cemented their conclusion that the building was a trap waiting to be triggered. Thus, after confirming that the surrounding buildings were also empty of people, it was easy to send in a drone to observe the insides.

Knight frowned at the small tablet Batman had produced. It was directly connected to the camera attached to the drone, allowing them to view a live feed of everything the drone was 'seeing'. The place looked completely deserted. Like it hadn't been lived in for years. If that was true…where was the laughter coming from?

The drone turned a corner and 'saw' an open door. Entering the room, they finally found the source of the noise. At the center was a tall stool where a tape player with a small speaker was playing what they now realized to be a laugh track on repeat. Slowly, the drone approached the device, its light revealing that a piece of folded paper was fitted in between the bottom of it and the top of the stool.

Using the drone's claw, they managed to grab the paper, pulling it from its place. Fearing that something else would follow, they directed the drone to quickly hightail it, exiting the building and having it return to their spot across the street. Carefully taking the paper from the drone's claw, Batman folded it open, with Knight leaning over to read it with him.

'Batsy,

Come and find me.

Love,

Mistah J '

"Well that solves nothing," Knight muttered dryly, only to frown. the corner of the paper had a stain on it. "B…"

"I see it." Batman took out another device, a portable scanner this time. This one had a connection to the database in the Bat-Computer, allowing him to analyze materials quickly and remotely in case of emergencies. The downside was that it was one-use a day, needing all its charge to efficiently scan the database for a match.

Batman hovered the scanner directly above the stain, watching as the attached screen filtered through several words before finally settling on one. "Corn syrup."

"Does it say what kind of corn syrup?"

"Dark. The kind used in hard candy."

Knight frowned. "Wasn't there a candy factory over at the Tricorner that shut down a couple of weeks ago? What was it called — 'Mellie's'?"

Batman frowned. "Do you think he's there?"

"It's a worth a look, and we really don't have any other leads."

Batman's frown only deepened at that, but he had to concede to Knight's point. The two jumped from rooftop to rooftop to return to the Batmobile.

Batman was settling things back into the car, momentarily distracted with something. Just as Knight was about to get inside the Batmobile, his comm buzzed to life, with Alfred's familiar voice filtering through.

"Cave to Batman and Knight."

"Knight here, Cave. Did something happen?"

"Robin is missing."

Knight froze. "What," he hissed demandingly, catching Batman's attention.

"I went to check on him in Miss Cassandra's room with everyone else, only to find the window open and everyone else fast asleep. I believe he drugged their tea. Video surveillance of the Cave shows him changing into his suit, taking out its tracker and leaving with the R-Cycle."

"Shit," Knight swore. At Batman's probing look, he mouthed the word 'Robin', causing to Batman to adopt a similarly panicked look. "Do we have any idea where he went?"

"No, though I imagine there's only one thing he could possibly be after."

"The Joker. Alright. Keep us posted, Agent A. We'll find him." Knight turned to Batman. "Robin took out his tracker."

Batman grunted. "Do you think he knows where the Joker is?" Tim, after all, was the Robin that tended to do his own thing. It was a testament to his competence, but it didn't come without downsides either. There was a reason Knight hadn't let his Robins work alone until they were at least sixteen.

"I wouldn't be surprised if he bugged the Bat-Computer or the Batmobile to keep track of our activities. In fact, I'm almost certain that's he did. Meaning—"

"—He knows about the corn syrup. And he'll make the same deduction we did." Batman didn't groan, but it was a close thing. "We need to get to the Tricorner. Now."

By the time they made it to the factory, the place was smoking. The R-Cycle was parked right outside, near a wilting tree that was on the verge of collapsing under its own massive weight. Distantly, shouts of anger and laughter could be heard.

Silently, they agreed to a plan. Batman would be the one to go the direct route, being the most likely to catch Joker's attention and not be killed immediately. While Knight would go the indirect route — scaling the roof, scoping out the situation, silently feeding information through the comm and intervening if necessary. He wouldn't kill the Joker, they both knew that, but Batman would never completely rid himself of the unease of having them in the same proximity. Knight felt the same, but a loyalty and obedience, all towards the first Batman, had been ingrained in him since his youth. He wouldn't fight his mentor on this.

No proximity sensors. Knight thought as his grappling hook pulled him up. Then again, the Joker never was one for that kind of forethought. At least not by himself. The Joker only ever cared about screwing around with Batman. He would never want the game to end, which is why he never put as much stock into details such as security. Subterfuge, yes. But security? No. Surveillance only ever mattered to him when he wanted to know something to screw someone over. And security would only delay Batman, ruin the fun.

Knight cut off that train of thought before he gave away his position. Anger wouldn't help him here. It would only get Robin killed. And Robin would always, always be more important than the Joker. In any fashion.

After checking for traps, he quietly opened the hatch of one of the skylight windows, angling his body for a quick escape in case someone noticed him. What greeted him was a grim sight.

Robin had managed to take down most of the Joker's men on arrival. Why anyone would work with that madman was beyond him considering the notoriously high death rates of henchmen under his employ, especially since most of those deaths were caused by the employer than any vigilantes or police in the city. Then again, money talked and the Jokerz proved that even the most despicable scum had their fanatics. Either way, Robin had taken most of them out, but must have run afoul of an attack or perhaps a trap of some kind seeing as he was currently strung up upside above a massive industrial mixing vat. One that was on, and filled with what looked like to be chocolate. Hopefully.

He quietly whispered the information to Batman through his comm, preparing himself to jump in and rescue Robin himself if necessary. He wouldn't put it past the Joker to murder Robin the moment Batman burst through those doors. As far as the clown was concerned, the Bat's little birds only existed as another method to hurt his most beloved playmate. Knight himself was proof enough of that.

Once he completed his analysis, he waited for Batman to make his entrance. His mentor did exactly that, bursting through one of the windows, sending shards of glass everywhere. He took out the four henchmen charging at him with practiced ease, sending one careening with a well-aimed batarang that pinned his shirt to the concrete floor. He flipped over the next one, knocking him out with a well-placed boot to the face. The remaining two were punched out, and the Bat approached his arch-nemesis with ever-increasing righteous fury. Knight used this distraction as an opportunity, changing positions to a window closer to Robin and silently and slowly lowering himself down to the overarching walkways nearby.

Robin, bound and gagged, noticed him, but smartly made no indication of it other than a slight wiggling of his fingers. Knight placed a foot on the metal railing of the walkway, and waited.

The conversation was standard, as far as Batman and Joker confrontations went. Shouts from the former about how the latter wouldn't get away with his crimes, giggling laughter and taunts from the latter of his inability to stop him, to kill him. An explanation of what the villain was doing: apparently his newest plan was to make a smiley face that could be visible from space. Knight waited and waited, and when the button was pressed and the drop came, he was already swinging on his grappling line, with Robin in his arms.

He landed on another part of the walkway, and started cutting through the bonds with a batarang, then ripping off the duct tape that gagged his successor's mouth. Robin took in deep breaths, muttering his profuse thanks.

Only to stop when Knight hit him.

Not hard, of course. Not on the head, or anywhere on his upper body, which was no doubt still sore. No, on the knee, and just enough to sting. To grab his attention.

"Don't you ever do that again."

Robin stuttered. Knight hit him again.

"That's not a yes."

Slowly, Robin nodded.

"Good," and Knight squeezed that same knee. He wanted to hug him, they both knew, but they were on the job, and they had a villain to bag.

As if simultaneously reminded of that fact from some god above, the two turned to the ongoing confrontation down below. The Joker ducked underneath a blow from Batman, scurrying away as he cooed at Gotham Knight. He saw the similarities between Nightwing and Robin and him. A new partner, though it seems he hadn't connected Knight to the Robin he murdered over a year ago. In the end, all he really saw was another way to hurt his enemy.

Knight retaliated by throwing the batarang that had been used to cut Robin free.

It sailed through the air and then punctured the Joker's right hand with perfect aim, pinning him to the metal vat with a gasp of pain. He only had time to mutter a "No fair!" before he had his lights punched out by the Bat.

The most dangerous and immediate threat gone, Knight and Robin descended from the ramparts to the floor. Robin was quickly checked over by Batman, who gave him a stern warning about how they were going to talk about this back in the Cave. After assuring his health, he sent his two proteges to restrain the unconscious henchmen while he made a call to Jim Gordon to report the Joker's subdual and request police presence for apprehension.

They followed his orders, with Knight purposely making sure that Robin's eyes did not linger on the Joker for any longer than a few seconds at a time. Especially when Batman finally deigned to remove the batarang and bandage the hand. It wasn't a serious wound, but better safe than sorry.

Within the hour they had all the henchmen, including the ten or so Robin had taken down before he was captured, trussed up in ropes and bound together in groups of four in the center of the factory. The Joker, searched for weapons, was the last one dragged to a pile, an ascot he was wearing ripped off and wrapped around his mouth to keep him from talking in case he woke up. The man looked so limp, Knight went ahead and checked his pulse to make sure he was alive.

He was. Good.

The police arrived, and Knight purposely kept a hand on his Robin's shoulder as the boy glared death at the Joker, who was promptly and unmagnanimously stuffed into the back of Gordon's own personal police cruiser. No chances.

"He deserves to die," Robin muttered.

"He does," Knight agreed. "But he can't."

"Why not?"

Knight leaned over, and whispered something into his ear. Robin blanched. But before more could be said, Batman called for them, and that was the end of that.

The ride to the Cave was silent. Their arrival was punctuated by Alfred pulling Tim into a fierce hug and muttering many of the same worry-born, angry scoldings that had come from both Bruce and Jason's mouths. And once he was done, Bruce had went into his own tirade, sympathizing with his sidekick's loss while lambasting his reckless decision to go after the Joker. Tim would be benched for the foreseeable future, only allowed in the Cave for meetings and training, and then sent off with hugs to allow him to properly mourn his loss. He was warned that the rest of his siblings would be told of his foolishness, and to be prepared for that.

Tim had taken it all with a sullen but accepting face, barring that small look he shot Jason before he returned upstairs to the Manor. Jason had returned it silently, and another look to Alfred had him escorting his younger brother to ensure he actually made it back to Cass' room.

Once again, father and son were left alone, a heaving, exhausted Bruce with his cowl down and a hand on his forehead, no doubt suffering one of his many headaches.

"What did you tell Tim?"

Ah. Of course he noticed that.

"The truth," Jason admitted. "The reason why he couldn't kill the Joker. Why I couldn't kill the Joker. Why no one can kill the Joker, why the Joker needs to live as long as possible."

"And that reason is…?"

Here, Jason kept mum. "When is Nightwing coming?"

Bruce frowned but didn't call him out on the sudden subject change. "He thinks he can get the next two days off."

"Do you think you can get Babs away from her systems tomorrow night and convince her to come here?"

"Yes." Bruce's frown deepened. "Jason—"

"It's time you know the truth about the Joker. All of it. Or at least as much as I can tell you."

Now Bruce looked worried. "As much as you can tell me?"

Jason smiled bitterly. "I spent the rest of my life trying to piece together the puzzle, but some of those pieces were long gone by the time I became Batman. Maybe this time, we can piece it all together."

That was…that was…

"Jason. What the hell is going on?"

Jason snorted. "That, Bruce, is something I have been trying to figure out for the last thirty years."

The capture of the Joker and his immediate internment into Arkham with double the original security hit the news within hours of confirmation. The city relaxed, though many still mourned the losses rendered from the monster's latest attack, Tim Drake included. He would not be seen at Gotham Academy for the rest of the week, and his classmate and friend Stephanie Brown would collect his homework for him to bring to Wayne Manor herself.

But that was for the future. Here and now, the day after the Joker's capture, Tim Drake was sitting at Wayne Manor's breakfast table, quietly playing around with the food on his plate. He could feel Alfred's disapproval, but the old butler said nothing, understanding full well what Tim was going through. He had gone through the same with Bruce when Thomas and Martha Wayne had died all those years ago, and again when Jason had died over a year prior.

Truthfully, Tim hadn't wanted to eat at all, but had consented to having a few bites because he knew his family would give him hell otherwise. He hadn't eaten anything last night, had drugged Cass and Damian and Stephanie and had disobeyed orders to recklessly try and capture the Joker himself. They were sympathetic, yes, but he wasn't going to get a hard pass on everything, especially when those things put him at risk. They certainly weren't going to let him waste away, even if they had to force the food down his throat themselves.

At least they weren't making him go to school. No one, except Stephanie perhaps, was leaving this house for the next twenty-four hours as per Bruce's orders. And even Stephanie was simply going back to her own home. Tim would've asked her to stay, except that wouldn't be fair, and not just because of Stephanie's own mother. It was because of his own thoughts.

Jack Drake was not a good father. He wasn't necessarily a bad one, but he certainly wasn't a good one. Instead, for the first twelve years of Tim's life, he was simply…not there.

Janet Drake, as busy and absent as she was, still took time out of the day to spend with her son when she was in the city. Granted, a lot of it was spent doing pretentious things and some of what she taught him wouldn't fly under a normal household, but she was there. Jack, meanwhile, was so obsessed with his archaeological work that he often forgot he had a son. He only seemed to remember that fact after that fateful encounter with the Obeah Man, after he had awoken from his poison-induced coma.

Despite that, Tim had mourned each of them as much as a dutiful son could. They were neglectful, yes, but they were his parents and they had loved him in their own way. Not all of his memories of them were tainted but their lack of presence either. Stark among them was that visit to Haley's Circus, where Tim had a picture taken with the boy who would become the first Robin. They might not have been the best, but he had still loved them.

What did not help was the knowledge of the future Jason had granted him. His father should have had a few years left, at least. Bruce had handled the Palmers, had gotten Jean Loring checked out by a psychiatrist, had made sure she wouldn't be possessed by Eclipso. Jack Drake wouldn't die at the hands of a two-bit Flash rogue, Jason had promised him.

No, instead he had died in an explosion set by the Joker. Whatever dominoes had that had been knocked down by the changes in the timeline had ensured that Jack Drake would die in a blaze of fire. At least he wouldn't have suffered. At least he wouldn't have been trembling inside in his own home, gun in hand, waiting to fight off an assassin that he had no idea why was after him. Death by the kind of explosion the Joker had created was instantaneous. He literally wouldn't have known what hit him.

And his future stepmother, Dana Winters, had died with him. Tim didn't know how to feel about that. According to Jason, Tim had cared for her, enough to ship her off to a Bludhaven sanitarium after she went spare with his father's death. Of course, then she died when Bludhaven was nuked to oblivion, and by that point Tim was rife with so many losses that she simply became another one to add to the pile.

Tim wasn't blind. The theory had been growing in the back of his mind ever since Jason's talk with Diana. Since the admission that he wanted to train Tim to keep him away from Lady Shiva. With every look of pride and fear that had donned his predecessor's face whenever he made a correct deduction, and there were many of them.

Jason loved him, yes, but he also feared him. And Tim had never quite understood why until the Joker murdered his father. Through all the grief and the morning, the dark thoughts that crossed his head as he silently and tearfully plotted his revenge. Contrary to what his brother thought, Tim wasn't really planning on killing the Joker. That was something no one would ever quite forgive him for. But there were so many other ways to make someone suffer without crossing that line, wasn't there?

And when he had broken through that haze of anger, when he finally had some time to himself, he couldn't help but feel some disgust. Had those ideas really come from his head? They had, he was forced to accept, and the theory came back to the forefront of his mind. What kind of monster had he become in Jason's future? What had made his brother fear him so much? Considering all the losses that Tim had suffered, it was probably worse than anything he could ever hope to conceive.

Then there were the words.

Those words had been pinballing in his head from the very moment Jason had spoken them. They continued to that until his exhaustion had crept up on him and forced him to sleep. They were there now, and Tim was still trying to decipher them, trying not too succumb to the despair he felt just thinking about them. Because if they were true…would they ever be free of him? Of that abominable, godforsaken clown and all the death that came with him?

Before Tim could think on the matter more, Dick Grayson burst into the breakfast nook with his typical flurry. It took one look at his face for Tim to feel the tears streaming down his cheeks again, and soon he was snugged firmly into one of Dick's famous hugs.

"Oh, Timmy, I'm so sorry," the man whispered into his hair, gently guiding Tim's head to the crook of his neck.

Tim didn't say anything. He just continued to cry.

Once Tim was back in his own room, sleeping off his tears after listening to a soothing Romani lullaby from Dick's lips, the first Robin had cornered the eldest of his younger siblings. Jason was back in the library, typing away at his laptop furiously, face scrounged up in a kind of intensity that Dick usually saw when Bruce was confronted by a particularly difficult case. Whatever it was, it could wait, Dick thought.

"Jason."

"Not now, Dick."

Dick wasn't having it. He placed his palm on the back of Jason's laptop and forcefully closed it. "Yes, now. The Joker. Explain."

Jason scowled at him, and wasn't that nostalgic. His little wing hadn't looked at him like that since he'd first return home with two tag-a-longs and a fantastic tale to go with it. Dick would've appreciated it if he wasn't in a foul mood himself. "You'll find out with everyone else tonight."

"Jason—"

"No, Dick. It's going to be hard enough telling it once. I'm not doing it multiple times, even if it's for you."

Even if it's for you. He and Jason hadn't been close, the first time around, much to Dick's eternal regret. But for Jason, it had long been water under the bridge. Whatever had happened in that future of his, it was enough for Jason to look at him with the same adoration Tim did. And while Dick was grateful for that, it also made him guilty. He had done nothing to earn it, far from it, and yet he was getting it anyway.

"I'm just—"

"—going out of your mind, I know. After everything he's done, the fact that there's more to it than him being a two-bit crook who fell into a vat of chemical and came out of it an ax-crazy, psychotic clown with a weird obsession with our father is a little hard to bear. But you're going to have to wait. Babs needs to know too, and Stephanie's still at the house so we have to… we have to…"

Dick watched in slow horror as Jason clutched his head and swore. His younger brother placed his elbows on the table, cursing, muttering under his breath. "Jason!"

He went to help, but Jason stretched one arm out and pushed him away, lifting his head lightly to reveal his now Lazarus green eyes. Pit Madness. Jason had warned them about this, but Dick was fairly certain this was the first time he had an episode around another member of the family.

Jason kept muttering, and Dick could hear his name along with Tim's, Damian's, Cass', and Stephanie's. He could've sworn he heard Donna's as well, but before he could dwell on it Jason began huffing loudly, panting. He let go of his head, taking in another deep, laborious breath, and leaned back into his chair.

"Sorry about that," his brother apologized after a few minutes.

"Don't be," Dick insisted, "Is it always that bad?"

"Sometimes," Jason admitted after a moment. "But not always. Usually I notice it before it can overwhelm me and ward it off with a memory or two. This one, however…well, I was wondering what was taking so long."

Wait. "You were expecting to have one?"

"I always have one whenever the Joker escapes. Sometimes more."

Well shit. "Is it my fault?" Dick asked guiltily, "If so, I'm sorry."

Jason shook his head furiously. "Don't be. Seeing you actually helped it go away faster. It reminded me that you were alive again."

That wasn't really much of a comfort.

"I don't like that look on your face, Dickie. What was that thing we said about self-flagellation?"

"Not to," Dick sighed. "Tonight, then?"

"Tonight. Not a moment later. Just wait."

Here we go.

Jason swallowed. He hadn't expected to have this talk so soon. He wanted to wait a little longer, continue with his research, get a lay of the situation, but…

He had waited too long. He had waited too long, and now Jack Drake was dead. And perhaps if he had said something nothing would've changed, that Jack Drake would've died anyway, but that wasn't an excuse. They had to know, before someone did something they would all regret.

Like Jason had over thirty years ago. Thirty years of regret, of wondering if, had he chosen differently, if everything that followed could have been avoided. Jason wouldn't wish that on anyone, least of all his family. They were already agonizing of things hadn't done and probably never would. There was no reason to force them to agonize over this.

Stephanie had been sent home, her mother demanding her presence as soon as lunch was over. Damian had been drugged again, and was under blissful unconsciousness beneath the sheets of his bed in his own room. That left everyone else.

Alfred was setting up another table filled with sustenance. Jason doubted it would be touched until everything had long gone cold. Bruce was setting up chairs for everyone to sit in, on Jason's recommendation. Tonight would be a long night. And Jason himself was setting up the presentation he had hurriedly made throughout the day, organizing all of his notes into a digestible format. He jabbed the USB connector into one of the ports of the Bat-Computer and made sure that files had been completely downloaded. Then he pulled up his hard work, making it sure it would be visible for everyone to see.

The others arrived soon after. Dick wheeled in Barbara, and was followed by Cass. Tim, to no one's surprise, was last, pallid and reticent. They seated each other, with Barbara's wheel chair next to Dick on one side. After Dick was Tim, then Cass, then Alfred, and finally capped off by Bruce, who was eying him expectantly.

Jason stared at them all. They all stared back.

"There's a lot, and there's no real good place to start," he finally said, "but I guess you," he pointed at Bruce, "are as good a place as any."

Bruce blinked but nodded, urging his son to continue.

"Right," Jason inhaled deeply, "In the previous timeline, there was an incident with Darkseid. I won't go into details, it's not pertinent right now. What's important is what happened to you, specifically, during that incident."

"What did he do?" Dick couldn't help but ask in resigned exasperation. Jason shot him a commiserating look.

"He sat himself on the Mobius Chair and briefly replaced Metron as the God of Knowledge."

Everyone gave Bruce looks. He ignored all of them.

"And while he was on the chair," Jason said loudly, garnering back everyone's attention, "he asked two questions: who murdered his parents, and what the Joker's real name was."

Bruce sat up a little straighter. So did everyone else.

"The answer to the first question was a man named Joe Chill. A random mugger who was desperate for some petty cash. You'll learn more about him later. And as for the second…" Jason trailed off.

"Jason," Bruce prompted him.

"The chair didn't reveal to you the Joker's real name," his son confessed. "Instead, it revealed to you that there had been three Jokers."

And just like that, the entire world fell away.

Chapter Text

Jason did not want to be here.

Surrounded by screeching reporters and their flashing cameras and sanctimonious pundits and the rich bitch donors who made it all possible, the inauguration of Gotham's latest puppet was the social event of the month, and Jason did not want to be here. At all.

But the stock of Wayne Enterprises was beginning to dip again so he didn 't have much of a choice. They already had a major hit when Dami—with the latest difficulty, and Jason had a duty to keep the company afloat. He wouldn't be able to run around in a bat suit and beat up criminals otherwise. If that meant palling around with the jackasses who made his nightlife so difficult and sucking it up for the people watching it all at home, so be it. It was better than throwing his own fucking party and having those people standing on his estate, near his house.

(He didn 't need another reminder of how empty the place was.)

At least this one isn't in too deep with too many pockets, he thought as the man crossed the stage and placed a hand on the Bible to take the oath. With the Court of Owls out of the picture, this mayor was nowhere near as corrupt as previous ones. He was still crooked — Jason was under the opinion that all politicians were — but not to the extent that he would make the Family's nightly activities difficult. Everyone knew the score, ever since Bruce Wayne revealed he was Batman's financial backer. Screwing with the Bat meant screwing with the Waynes, and while they were in a slump right now, they always bounced back. Jason's presence today proved that.

Thankfully, not too many reporters tried to interview him. The Waynes owned a sizable amount of shares in both the Gotham Gazette and the Daily Planet, and while they didn't mess with the free press all that often, the overhanging possibility they would was enough to keep the vultures in line. Plus, Jason, for all his good looks, was scary. Not quite to Dami—to his youngest brother's extent, but certainly scary enough. He wasn't Tim, and he certainly wasn't Dick.

He wasn 't even Cass, who was making her own headlines in Bludhaven. Or at least she was, until she disappeared a week ago. Jason had wanted to follow up on that but the lack of a distress call and a discreet message sent to Barbara indicating she was on a mission had stayed his hand. For now, at least. If she was gone any longer than another week or so then nothing was going to stop him from finding her.

Nobody had asked about that, thankfully. He knew all of them wanted to, wanted more of that Wayne Family Drama TM , but they knew Jason wouldn 't have it. What was between him and his sister was between them and them alone. Well, them and Alfred, but that was a given. Alfred knew everyone's secrets.

The insipid little asshole was almost done reciting the oath. Good. Then there was just the speech, the pictures, the freaking after-party and then he could finally go home and prepare himself for another night of punching out criminals. It would be therapeutic, after the hell that was to be today.

As if the world was listening to his thoughts, there was a hail of bullets and then screaming. Jason ducked down with the rest of the crowd, resisting the urge to go charging in and deal with the issue himself. He had an image to uphold, a lie to sell to the entire world. Bruce had already connected one dot for the populace by revealing the financial ties between Wayne Enterprises and Batman. Jason wasn 't going to connect the rest for them and bring the criminals down on all their heads.

But that didn 't mean he couldn't peek. He lifted his head, just enough to catch sight of the stage again, and snarled. Purple trenchcoat, tacky leather pants, bleached skin and coiffed green hair. Above all else, a red smile that stretched into a sick grin that even now rolled around his nightmares.

The Joker.

He was making one of his stupid, grandstanding speeches, waving around a gun and occasionally shooting down an official or two. Not the mayor, of course, he was too valuable a hostage, but everyone else seemed to be fair game. Jason felt the temptation to intervene again, and bat it down. Recklessness never helped when it came to the Joker, a lesson he had learned painfully, time and time again. All he could do was wait.

And wait he did. And finally, a familiar vigilante dressed up in yellow and black appeared. He was riding a motorcycle with a similar aesthetic, punctuated with a black bat painted onto one of the rims.

The Signal. Gotham 's daytime protector.

A ragged chair rang out. Jason did not join them. As glad as he was for Duke 's arrival, they weren't out of the woods yet. Not until the Joker was knocked out and whatever trap he laid out for them disarmed.

Jason watched the battle with trepidation. Duke did well at first, knocking out the henchmen the Joker had brought with him and even getting the mayor away. But the Joker was smart  — he had brought a metahuman inhibitor to negate Duke 's powers, and then used the crowd of hostages to his advantage. Aiming into the crowd, Duke could try to take him down but that would risk the safety of the civilians. He faltered, just long enough, and got a bullet to his arm for his troubles.

Silently cursing as he saw the Joker approach his friend with a knife, Jason prepared himself to intervene anyway. He and Duke were not quite as close as he was to the likes of Barbara and Stephanie, but he liked the other man all the same. He was a friend. And Jason had lost too many friends for one lifetime to let this happen, to let Duke be filleted by that man. That man had already taken enough when he murdered Jason's father. Jason wouldn't let him have any more.

But before he could act, a shadow caught the corner of his eye. A woman, around his age by his estimate. She had dark hair and olive skin, and would be beautiful if not for the angry tears in her eyes and the fierce snarl on her lips. More worrying was the knife in her hand, brandished and deadly and aimed entirely towards the Joker.

Jason felt a pit in his stomach, a dark premonition overcoming his vision.

No, he thought, Don't. Don't. It won't solve anything, it won't!

But the woman couldn 't hear him. It was all in his head. He watched, in slow motion, as she charged the Joker from behind, catching him by surprise. He felt to the ground, on his back, and she perched himself on top of him. The knife came down.

One stab. Two stabs. Three. Four and after that Jason knew it wasn 't going to end anytime soon. This was personal, he had surmised as much from the moment he saw the woman. She kept stabbing and stabbing even as blood drenched her shirt, matted her hair and face. She kept stabbing and everyone kept watching in horror. This would be another nightmare, Jason was certain. Another reason to avoid sleep for the foreseeable future.

And then…and then…

"Ha."

It was a soft thing. Nobody heard, nobody except Duke, and Duke wasn 't sure if he heard it himself or if he just imagined it. It didn't really matter in the end, considering what followed after.

"Hahaha." A chuckle.

This one was louder. Now this, everyone on stage and some of the people at the front of the crowd heard. It made their blood run cold.

"HahahahahaHAHAHAHA!"

Laughter.

The woman, whoever she used to be, dipped her finger into the growing pool of blood surrounding the Joker's body. With two quick swipes, a pair of parabolas were drawn on her face, connected by the ends, almost parallel. And as she turned her head so everyone could see what she'd done, it took Jason everything he had not to scream. This wasn't just a nightmare, it was real. And there was nothing Jason could ever do to change it.

He knew today was going to be hell.

He was just wrong about what kind.

If he dies, the next one will be worse.

Those words echoed in Tim's mind as a tense, terrified silence fell upon the entire Cave. That horrified stillness persisted for what seemed like forever, as everyone tried to comprehend Jason's words.

"I-I beg your pardon, Master Jason?" Alfred said weakly, "Three Jokers?"

Jason grimaced. "By the time I died, that number went up to six."

A gasp was heard at that revelation, though who it was, Jason couldn't tell. He could hear the audible tightening of Barbara's grip on the handles of her wheelchair, could see Dick going cross-eyed as he tried to process the words. Bruce's eyes held fear even as he he tried to put on a strong face. Tim was wringing his hands, drowning deep in trepidation. He already had an inkling of the truth, but hearing it out loud was enough to plunge him back into the cold waters. Only Cass didn't have a strong reaction, just a mere widening of the eyes, but then again this Cass had yet to see the full depths of a Joker's depravity.

"How?" His father asked quietly.

"I don't know," Jason admitted. "It's not a body-surfing situation or anything like that. If it were then I would have asked for Zatanna's help when she was here. Nor is it some chemical agent, like a drug or something, or a cybernetic implant, or anything along those lines. I don't know what it is, to be honest. It's like some kind of spirit of insanity just overcomes a person and creates a new Joker, one similar to but ultimately distinct from their predecessor. It's the one case we never managed to figure out. No matter how many different avenues we pursued, no matter how many different minds took their crack at it, we never got close to the truth."

"But you managed to figure out some part of it, didn't you?" Tim cut in before anyone else could process that. "That's why you keep on insisting he can't die."

Jason rubbed his arm, diverting his eyes. "We figured out how a new Joker appears. We didn't know why, we just knew how."

"And how does it happen?" Bruce blurted out, unable to stop himself.

Jason looked at him, ashamed. "Death."

Death.

"The previous Joker has to die," he further clarified, and suddenly, everything made a terrifying amount of sense.

"Bruce, the Joker is probably the one kill I regret the most."

He could see it all in his mind's eye. Jason, angry and desperate, finally killing the Joker he thought responsible for his death, perhaps thinking that he finally saved the city, saved the world, from his overarching threat. And then not long after, a new one arose to continue the chaos. Killing thousands of more people, leaving more devastation in his wake.

It was a daunting thought. But none more so than to Bruce. Because he hadn't forgotten who Jason said had been the one to kill him. And with this piece, this last, pivotal piece, everything fell into place.

"It wasn't your fault," he said before he could even think.

Jason opened his mouth at him, and then the tears welled up. "You don't know that. You weren't there."

"Were you the one who shot me in the face, who stabbed me in the heart, who made me stop breathing? Jason, you didn't kill me. The Joker did."

"But if I hadn't shot him—if I hadn't put that goddamn bullet in his skull—"

"Then, perhaps someone else would have, and then the next one would've killed me anyway. Or maybe it would've been something else," Bruce shut down any further argument with his next words, "You said it yourself, Jason. I always took for granted that I would die in the suit, regardless of what you or your siblings or any of my other loved ones thought. That was always my choice. I won't let you take the blame for something I decided for myself a long time ago."

A hiccup. And then—

Jason was in his arms, sobbing into chest, twisting his fingers into his shirt. Bruce rested his chin on the top of his son's head, and his eyes flickered towards the rest of his family. All of them were watching in shock and dawning horror and then sympathy. It seemed they had figured it out as well.

It was several minutes before Jason was ready to continue on with the discussion. After he had finished his cries, he had briefly excused himself to clean himself up, wiping away the tears and cooling his blotchy face. By the time he came back, he looked almost back to normal, though his face was tinted red. Nobody cared; they were too stuck in their own thoughts, on what all of this meant.

"We call it the Joker Virus, or the Joker Curse," Jason said, voice normal and almost business-like. "As I've said before, we didn't know the cause, just the effects, and ultimately all we could do was try to mitigate the damage. When you," he gestured to Bruce, "first found out about it, you didn't tell us because you were under the assumption that all three were alive and didn't want to panic the Family with the news. As we later learned, however, only one of them, Joker III, was alive. The first two were dead."

"What happened to them?" Dick asked, voice a mix of professional and curious, with just a hint of dread.

Jason grimaced once again.

The first Joker was a man by the name of Jeremiah Valeska. The original Red Hood. A simple bank robber, nothing to his name, until a fateful encounter with the Bat at Ace Chemicals saw him fall into a vat with an equally fateful concoction. Everyone knew the story after that.

He was the Joker that made his name against the original dynamic duo. The Joker who would terrorize Jim Gordon, who would cripple Barbara Gordon. That last killing joke, for what happened to him after that is unknown. Considering what happened to his successors, however, it was all but confirmed that he was dead. It was made almost certain when they found the place he had most likely been killed and the following forensics confirmed it. They had just never managed to find his remains.

A light bulb lit up above Bruce's head. "That's why you were waiting to tell us. You were searching for him."

"Yes," Jason confirmed, "He's the missing link. I thought if I could find him or his remains — most likely the latter, truthfully — I could finally solve the case. I could end this without any of you having to deal with the Joker ever again. But I've made no major headway thus far."

"Then we'll help you," Bruce promised.

His son smiled genuinely at him. Bruce, despite himself, smiled back.

The second Joker was Jack Napier. A former mob hitman that underwent a similar accident to Valeska's at an old toxic disposal facility his crime family was using as a hideout. Upon his transformation, he murdered most of his old family, and proved to be even worse than his predecessor. One of his first acts would be to murder Jason Todd, the second Robin. And his last act would set the bar that every subsequent Joker would try to top.

"His final act?"

"The one that led to his death. It's…" Jason grunted, rubbing his head.

"Jason?" Barbara probed after a minute of silence.

"I'm sorry, it's just so stupid. That incident should've never happened."

"But it did, didn't it? Please Jason, we need to know everything."

Jason looked at her and closed his eyes. "Alright, alright. What you need to know is that it all started because of a joke — one that was played on the Joker." There was a collective blink.

"What happened is that some idiot, who somehow managed to become a certified doctor at the Slab, thought to tell Joker II that he was dying of an inoperable brain tumor for a lark."

Silence.

"Yeah, you can imagine how he reacted to that," Jason said scathingly.

The Last Laugh, it would later come to be known. Jokerizing villains in the Slab, sending them out to infect others and cause chaos throughout the word, escaping the Slab to repeat his actions with villains interned at Arkham Asylum…those terrible, terrible events sucked in the Justice League and just about every other superhero active at the time, all just to mitigate the damage. So occupied, they were unable to help when the Joker inevitably went after the Bats. The Arkham Rogues would be sent after Tim Drake, the third Robin, in hopes of killing him and driving either Batman or Nightwing into killing the Joker in turn. After all, as far he knew he was going to die anyway, so why not make a spectacle out of it? Why not make it into one last shot against the enemy he made his entire existence revolve around?

"He succeeded."

He might as well have thrown a bucket of cold water on all of them. "What?" Dick mouthed quietly.

"For a moment, you," and Jason was looking at Dick, and why was it Dick? "thought Tim was dead. And then he mentioned me, and as far as anyone knew I was still dead at the time. And after that — you snapped. You beat him, and kept beating him, until he was clinically dead. Bruce managed to resuscitate him afterward, but that didn't change the fact that he was dead for those few precious minutes."

Dick stumbled back, as if struck. "I…I…"

"It wasn't your fault Dick. Not entirely. He provoked you, and either way you should've never been in that position to begin with. None of that would've happened if it hadn't been for that damn doctor."

"But it was still enough for the Curse to count it as a death, wasn't it?" Bruce instantly surmised.

Jason winced.

It was. The second Joker would be murdered not long after by the third Joker, Arthur Fleck. No chemicals were involved in his descent into insanity, at least not at first. Just a really bad day with his mother, with a series of soul-shattering revelations that drove him over to the deep end. He would willingly toss himself into a vat of chemicals and become the next Joker.

In many ways, he was both better and worse than the previous Jokers. He never managed to kill one of the Bats, or cause any lasting harm. His physical scars always healed.

The mental ones were another matter.

He was one of the only two Jokers to ever figure out the true identities of the Bat-Family. While he, as Bruce rightfully suspected, didn't care about them, he was not above using them for his own gain. And when it came to Jokers, 'their own gain' usually meant getting their figurative rocks off on torturing the Bats.

For example, he made the Bats believe he deliberately manipulated Bruce into meeting and adopting Jason, for the sole purpose of making him Robin and killing him later. It was bullshit, of course, but Jason was a hot-headed idiot with daddy issues at the time, and didn't realize it until later.

Such was the third Joker's cruelties. Screwing over Bruce's relationships was his modus operandi. Like a jilted ex-lover, the third Joker clung to Bruce jealously. His obsession with Batman would only ever be surpassed by the fourth Joker, his successor, in the bloodiest way imaginable.

"I killed him," Jason said, gazing up at the picture of Fleck with some mixture of contempt and despair. "At the time, I didn't have any regrets about it — he was in the midst of a plot that would've killed thousands of citizens along with Tim, Cass, and Damian. It didn't help that Bruce hadn't told us about the whole three Jokers thing, meaning that I believed I was finally avenging my murder." He shook his head bitterly. "Instead, I was committing one of the worst mistakes of my life."

Nobody said anything. They knew nothing they said would have helped.

"He's also the reason why people stopped trying to psychologically treat the Joker. At least not without a massive five million dollar reward at stake. And only if they lasted a year without going insane themselves."

Everyone blinked. "Really?" Tim asked, momentarily forgetting his sullen mood for astonishment.

Instead of saying anything, Jason put up another picture, replacing the one of Arthur Fleck with a slightly older blond woman with blue eyes. He had been surprised to find out she had yet to become a villain, but hadn't hesitated to take advantage of it.

"This is Dr. Harleen Frances Quinzel. In another life, she would've been the newest doctor at Arkham Asylum, who would be assigned to treat the Joker as part of her hazing at the institution. Within three months, she would fall in love with him, break him out, and then toss herself in the same vat of chemicals that turned him into what he is, becoming the supervillain Harley Quinn."

Mouths fell open. Jason ignored them, continuing onward. "Poor Harley would become Joker's much beleaguered girlfriend, suffering severe domestic abuse at his hands, yet unable to leave him like a bad drug addiction. Eventually she got over him, becoming a long-time member of Task Force X and having on-and-off relationships with both Deadshot and Poison Ivy." At everyone's stares, he gave another shrug. "Hey, compared to the Joker, a suicidal sociopathic sniper and a seductive ecoterrorist with a god complex were both steps up. Unfortunately, it didn't end well."

"Joker killed her," Bruce guessed instantly.

Jason nodded. "Joker was a complete bastard to her and more often than not used her as a meat shield, but he also felt entitled to her, since he was responsible for her transformation and turn to villainy. He didn't like others touching his stuff; he only tolerated Ivy because she was another one of our rogues and because she was usually more powerful than him. But when Harley turned her attentions to Lawton too…" He grimaced. "He didn't take it well. That incident where I killed the third Joker? During it he murdered Harley and Deadshot, and nearly Ivy as well. The only bright side is that Ivy finally decided to go straight afterward."

At the suspect looks, he smiled sadly. "Harley's death hit her hard. She was probably the only other human being Ivy — Pamela, ever loved. After that…well, she decided her extreme methods weren't worth it anymore. We got her help, and by the time her treatment was done she was using her powers for honest ecological conservation work." Jason looked up at the picture of on the screen. "To be honest, I never really liked Harley or felt much sympathy for her at first. But her attempts to go straight and her death — they all made me realize that in the end, she was just another one of his victims. Just one who suffered a little more intimately than most."

"Where is she now?" Barbara asked quietly.

"Working at a psychological institution on the other side of the country, far away from here. She'll never become Harley Quinn if I can help it." Jason crossed his arms. "On the downside, that means redeeming Ivy is much less likely, but if Pamela were here, she'd call it a fair trade for Harley's happiness."

The others weren't sure about that, having not known Harley or her relationships with Joker and Ivy, but they conceded to Jason's judgment on the matter.

"Enough about her, however. Onto the fourth Joker."

Robert Song. Joker IV. Nobody knows how he lost it. Nothing from the subsequent investigation revealed any sort of mental break or tragic accident or any other inciting incident. Even after a painful reconstruction of the last month before his transformation (Song became the fourth Joker a week after the third Joker's death). They traced his steps hour by hour, and found squat. By all accounts, he was a normal guy — until he wasn't.

But compared to what he would end up doing, it really didn't seem to matter in the end how he came to be. He would blow up city hall. He would instigate the Arkham Massacre, in which he would slaughter the vast majority of the first Batman's famous rogues gallery, seeing to the deaths of the likes of the Riddler, Mr. Freeze, Hush, Killer Croc, Victor Zsaz, and just about every other Gotham rogue who made their home at the infamous asylum.

And then, one year after he appeared, he did what no other Joker ever succeeded in doing: he killed the first Batman. He murdered Bruce Wayne.

"The others didn't blame me, but that didn't stop me from blaming myself. I was gonna quit being a vigilante, but Dick convinced me not to — with you gone, he needed all the help he could get stabilizing the city. In the end, I didn't have the heart to tell him no." Not when it was all my fault to begin with, went unsaid.

"What was he like?" Tim finally asked, speaking up for the first time in a while. He had been paying attention, perhaps more than anyone else had (especially when Jason went into the second Joker), but for the most part had been content to keep quiet until now, his face kept blank. Jason didn't like that at all, and resolved to keep an eye on him.

"Violent," Jason answered, scowling, though not at Tim. "Like I said, every Joker is worse than their predecessor. They're all poor excuses for comedians, make no mistake, and they're all psychopaths who love their mind games. But the fourth? The fourth seemed to revel in mindless violence in addition to that. It took everything we had to keep him contained, to keep him from drowning the streets in blood and guts for his own twisted sense of humor. And eventually, that led to his downfall."

At everyone's expectant looks, Jason clicked his teeth and changed the pictures on the screen once more. The next one caught everyone by surprise.

It was the picture of a woman.

Poor, sweet Felicia Bell. There wasn't a single Bat who didn't mourn her when her story came to light. Of course, then she became the bane of their existences, and any sympathy died after that. By that point, it had become clear to them that Felicia Bell was dead, and that only the Joker remained.

It hadn't always been like that. Once upon a time, Felicia Bell was a young woman with a bright future. Graduated at the top of her class at Gotham U, got married to her college sweetheart, a man named Samuel Broom. Hopelessly devoted and hopelessly in love, by all accounts they were happy together.

And then Samuel died in one of Joker IV's rampages.

Felicia was devastated — and furious. A born and bred Gothamite, she had lived all her life navigating through the city's worst crises. And, like many other Gothamites, she was sick of the endless masochistic tango between the Batman and the Joker. And with the third Joker's death having never been publicized to prevent panic, she, like the rest of the public, was under the impression that this was the same Joker everyone had been dealing with since the beginning. So, she figured she'd do what Batman and the police failed to do for all these years — she'd kill him.

"And you didn't stop her?" Tim questioned.

Jason gave him a pointed look. "I didn't even know she existed. She's one person among millions, and I'm not Big Brother. I already had enough on my plate at the time. Anyway, it didn't even matter — the entire event occurred at the inauguration of the city's newest mayor, during the daytime. There was nothing I could've done without exposing myself."

Dick blinked. "You mean you were actually physically there?"

"Yes, and before you ask, no, it was not planned. Damian had died a few months prior and this was to be my first official public appearance since his funeral. I was twenty-eight at the time, and still trying to establish my public identity and ingratiate myself with the company's board and investors as the undisputed head of Wayne Enterprises and as the last son of the Wayne family. The last thing I needed to deal with was an interloping supervillain." Jason pursed his lips. "Besides, Gotham already had a daytime protector — Duke Thomas, aka the Signal. He was also present and watching the ceremony because we correctly suspected someone would try to attack during it. But even with that precaution…not even he could've stopped what happened next."

"The Joker attacked the ceremony, trying to take the new mayor hostage. Duke prevented that, but was captured in turn, and was about to be turned into mince meat. I was preparing myself to intervene, secret identity be damned, when Bell made her debut. She knew that the Joker liked to make a spectacle of himself, and hoped that he would appear. The moment he had his back turned, she sprung her trap, and in full view of the crowd and the cameras, she knocked him down, mounted herself on his upper body, and stabbed him in the chest. Once, twice, three times…she didn't stop."

Jason inhaled. "She didn't stop, and then she started chuckling. It was a low sound at first, one that barely anyone could hear, but then escalated in volume until it was full-blown laughter. She was covered in his blood, perched over his dead body, and just like that, she was gone. And in that next moment, when she painted a red smile across her lips, I knew."

A healthy silence followed, as each and every single member of his family tried to visualize that horrifying scene.

"She escaped before anyone could grab her, and the next time she appeared in public her hair was a stringy green and her skin was bleached. Her very first scheme was to try and recreate an even worse earthquake than the one that turned Gotham into a no man's land. Even with the rest of the Family, I was barely able stop her, and if it hadn't been for Carrie Kelley — the girl who would become my first Robin — I would've died. Schemes on the same scale followed. After another one when I was thirty-five that saw her forcibly activate the metagene of hundreds of people and unleashed an entirely new rogues gallery for me and and the rest of the Family to deal with, the city had enough and locked her down in her own cell underwater, beneath Arkham, with security measures that were outright draconian. She never escaped again after that."

"And you allowed that?" Bruce asked, though his tone wasn't admonishing or disapproving. It had a mix of wonder and understanding.

Jason shrugged. "What else was I supposed to do? With her — and with every Joker, really — it's no longer a question of morality. It's a question of safety. The city, quite frankly, can't handle that level of chaos and destruction on such a scale, let alone on a frequent basis. And no other permanent solution was guaranteed to work. Killing her would've just unleashed a Joker worse than her, and the death of the second Joker," Dick flinched, which nobody missed, "put into question what exactly this curse considered a 'death'. Magically sealing her away, sending her to the phantom zone, putting her into a forced coma or suspended animation — they were all considered, but they all had to be rejected due to the risk. In the end, this was the only solution that worked for the long-term while we tried to figure out what exactly was going on. I'm just grateful that by that point we managed to root out the corruption in Arkham, meaning no one was ever going to willingly let her out for something like thrills or a quick buck."

"What happened to her?" Cass asked quietly.

"Life," Jason sighed, "She died from breast cancer. We gave her the best care possible, we had no choice, but in the end she still died, and the city had to prepare itself for the worst."

And the worst did come. For the sixth Joker would begin his final jump into the annals of madness. And that Joker's name would be Jake Chill.

Jake Chill, the great-grandson of Joe Chill, the man who, unbeknown to the world, killed the Waynes and in turn created the world's greatest vigilante, was the worst kind of career criminal. Most career criminals became career criminals because they saw no other paths left for them. They came from poverty and poverty very rarely offered any legitimate opportunities. Only the lucky got that.

Jake Chill was not that kind of career criminal. On the contrary, compared to the life his great-grandfather lived, his childhood was positively idyllic. He wasn't rich but he wasn't poor either. He grew up in a Gotham that had been throughly removed of the Court of Owls' influence and the subsequent corruption that came with it. Several businesses, with Wayne Enterprises leading the charge, were gentrifying the city's worst neighborhoods, offering jobs and aid programs of all sorts. Recidivism was down, lower than it had been since Bruce Wayne's parents died.

Most of all, Jake Chill was smart. Smarter than his great-grandfather ever was. He was at the top of his class, clever in ways that made even the heads of the most streetwise kids twist and turn. By all accounts, he should've been a man that would one day stand side-by-side with the likes of the Waynes on his own merits.

If it weren't for one thing. If it weren't for his obsession with criminals.

From a young age, the boy worshiped criminals. There was no discernible reason; perhaps his entire moral fiber was just born backwards. Either way, he loved crime, he loved criminals, and the one thing he wanted, more than anything else, was to be one. But the world didn't work that way, criminals were not the great heroes he saw them as in his mind. Crime was condemned, and if Jake wanted any sort of a future, he would have toe the line. So dear old Jake Chill shoved those desires in the back of his mind and did just that.

Of course, with a love of crime meant a hatred of those who fought them. Police, federal agents, lawyers, judges, the system itself was a target for his loathing, as capable as he was at hiding it. But even the system itself paled in comparison to superheroes, and in Gotham, there was only one superhero that truly mattered: Batman. There is no one in the world that Jake Chill hated more than Batman.

In the end, it shouldn't have mattered. Jake Chill didn't have it in himself to act on his impulses, his desires. He cared more about success, about fitting in. And for all his hatred of Batman, there was little he, a mere civilian, could do against one of the greatest superheroes in the world.

Except fate had other plans. When Jake was twenty-two years old, fresh out of college, Gotham went on lockdown for an entire month. Word got out that the fifth Joker was dying of cancer, and that once she bit it, it would only be a matter of time before a new one replaced her. Jake found himself secluded in his old family home, bored out of his mind, and as a result diving into old family heirlooms — including his great-grandfather's journal.

It was in that journal that he learned that Joe Chill was the man who murdered the Waynes and plunged Gotham into its crime-ridden state for close to six decades. Jake felt elation, pride in this realization, until he read a journal entry about a nightmare his ancestor had. Of the fear that one day, Bruce Wayne would find out it was him who killed his parents and come for his head.

To Jake Chill, Bruce Wayne might as well have been a curse word. A blue-blooded billionaire, a devoted philanthropist, a financial backer of the Bat, he was the anathema to all of Jake's beliefs, everything he hated all rolled into one person. And despite his great-grandfather's fears, Jake initially derived pleasure from the pain Joe Chill caused the object of his intense dislike. It made him borderline jubilant — until that brilliant mind of his started making connections.

Why had Bruce Wayne been so devoted to his philanthropy? Why had he backed the Bat? It only could've been because of his parents' deaths. That realization had certainly put a damper on Jake's mood, and if Jake had been dumber man, that would've been the end of it.

But no, Jake's mind kept running, kept connecting things together. He looked up Bruce Wayne's biography, and saw that the man had disappeared on some sort of trip for five years before returning to Gotham. Around that time was when Batman started making his first appearances. Coincidence? Perhaps at a glance.

Then the adoption of his first son, Richard Grayson, coincided with the debut of the first Robin. The appearance of the first Nightwing, rumored to be the first Robin, coincided with Richie Wayne moving out of Wayne Manor. Coincidentally, a new Robin appeared around that time, the same time that Bruce adopted his second son, Jason Todd. Then came Tim Drake and Cassandra Cain and Damian Wayne and coincidences, coincidences, coincidences.

Jake knew, deep in his heart, that none of them were coincidences. But he didn't want to believe it. So he extrapolated the idea — if Bruce Wayne truly had been the first Batman, then his sole living son, Jason Wayne, had to be the current one. And if he was the current one, then that meant his children had to be the current string of Robins. So he tried to match them.

The appearance of the first female Robin (disregarding the rumors of a female Robin during Bruce Wayne's time) fitted neatly with the hiring of Carrie Kelley at Catherine's, Jason Wayne's diner. Of course, not many knew of Carrie Kelley at the time, until Jason Wayne made her his ward upon her parents' deaths and then adopted her soon after. The fact that she had the same shade of red hair as the current Robin never seemed to dawn on anyone.

Then that Robin became Batgirl and a new Robin appeared soon after, a year or two after Gotham was rocked by the appearance of a living biological child of Bruce Wayne. Helena Wayne was taken in by the man who was legally her adoptive brother. In practice, however, everyone considered her Jason's daughter, even if they tried to avoid directly mentioning her as such in the tabloids. More importantly, Helena Wayne had the dark hair of her biological parents, and the next Robin was a girl with dark hair.

Then the girl Robins were gone and Gotham had its first male Robin in over two decades. A dark-haired boy, around the same time that Jason Wayne adopted the recently orphaned, dark-haired McGinnis brothers. And who could ever forget dear Cassandra Wayne, Jason's sister? A socialite in her own right, a great patron of the arts and the current head of the Wayne Foundation branch in Bludhaven, which had the fabled Black Bat as its protector.

It was obvious. It was so obvious!

And yet, how was it that he the only one who saw it? Or perhaps other saw it too, but didn't want to admit to it? The Waynes were the First Family of Gotham, after all. Their influence within the city was unparalleled, and globally they were no slouch either. They might as well be royalty.

The last week before the fifth Joker, Felicia Bell, expired, Jake Chill broke curfew and became a criminal. He ran wild, stealing everything not nailed down, vandalizing the streets with near impunity. Nobody was gonna care, not when a Joker might soon walk among them. Or at least that's what he thought, until on the day Felicia Bell finally kicked the bucket, he saw himself chased down the streets of the Financial District, right into a passing truck filled with toxic waste set for disposal. His motorcycle smashed right into the truck, but Jake Chill miraculous survived the crash and bathed in the waste.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what happened after that.

"One of the first things he did was try to murder my Terry. By the time I arrived for the save my son was barely hanging by a thread. Then he released my entire rogues gallery from Arkham and forced me to face every single one in a gauntlet that left me bloody and barely standing. And then he tried to turn Gotham into a floating wasteland in space by rocket launching the entire city into the atmosphere. I nearly died, and if it hadn't been for Terry you'd be meeting me five years younger. And that was within his first month as the Joker," Jason shook his head, "I regret a lot of things in my life, but leaving my children behind to deal with him without my help certainly ranks near the top."

Everyone winced.

"If I could kill any of them, I would, no question, regardless of whatever punishment I would face afterward. Like I said, it's not about morality anymore — morality comes down to opinions in the end. What you and the people around you can live with, and what you can't. But safety is universal, because there's nothing to live with if you aren't living to begin with." Jason shrugged, looking so very tired. "But I can't kill them. Any of them. It just makes the problem worse. So I learned to live with them, just like with everything else in my life."

Some trembled. Others looked away. All remained silent.

"If we don't solve this case…then that's what you're going have to do too."

Chapter Text

"Do you blame me?"

Jason blinked, then blanched. "Wha—? No!"

It had been several minutes since the overview about the Joker had finished. Jason had refused to say anymore, deeming it too much, and promised to explain in more broad details at a later date, along with discussing some of the precautions he had taken to limit a Joker's rampage. They would be more difficult to implement considering the turbulent landscape of Gotham's more conventional politics and infrastructure (not to mention their inability to explain why said precautions were all necessary, even if it was the Joker), but Bruce had promised to push most of it through regardless.

After that, Tim and Cass had been sent upstairs to sleep things off with Alfred. Everyone else — the elder members of the family, the ones that had dealt with the Joker the most over the years — had remained in the Cave, if only just to process the information a little further.

"But it was my fault," Bruce insisted, "If I hadn't let him fall into that vat—"

"You couldn't have known, Bruce," Jason cut him off, "Yes, it is your fault, but you couldn't have known. No one could've known. And either way it doesn't matter whose fault it is anymore. It's done. Our main priority, at least in regards to him, should be figuring out how to stop all this. With him gone for good, maybe…" He trailed off.

"Maybe what, Jason?" Dick asked, with subdued curiousness.

"Maybe we can retire," Jason finally admitted, with just a hint of guilt. "I tried to, once. Before I actually retired, obviously."

Barbara tilted her head. "Then why didn't you?"

"Joker V," Jason answered in a dull tone. "Back then…back then, it almost seemed possible. We had rooted out the Court of Owls years ago, and thus most, if not all of Gotham's corruption was gone. The police were more competent than ever, most of the time they didn't need us to do their jobs for them anymore. And the Family was honestly ready to move on with their lives, myself included."

"Stephanie had just retired as Batwoman to start her own family, and the rest had cut back for similar reasons. I never liked my daughters running out there and putting themselves in danger to begin with. Cass still had to watch out for Bludhaven, but as for me, I would've been content to hang it up entirely. I'd still be on reserve, of course, and would serve as a consultant and as a mentor for the Justice League if need be, but I thought my days of running around as a vigilante were finally done."

"And then the Joker broke out of Arkham for the umpteenth time, saw my gradually limited presence in the city, and realized what I was trying to do," he shook his head, "She didn't like that, obviously, so she decided to remedy the issue."

"The new rogues gallery," Dick immediately deduced.

"Yeah," Jason confirmed. "As much as I despise Joker IV, and as much as I don't condone what he did, his slaughter of our original villains did play a part in the peace that followed. There was crime, yes, but no one was interested in following the footsteps of those villains and possibly becoming a target of Joker's jealousy. The lack of a super-criminal element led to a brief resurge of organized crime in the following years when Ricky Sionis, the son of the original Black Mask, finally came to town, but I managed to contain it and then mostly stamp it out by exposing and imprisoning Sionis."

"The Joker initially liked having me all to herself, but realized that she alone was no longer enough to hold my attention, no matter how big she went on her schemes. She was just one villain, after all. And as much as she hated sharing me, she hated the idea of not having me at all even more. So she fixed it. And I was forced to realize that as long as there was a Joker in Gotham, there always had to be a Batman. The Joker would never allow otherwise. So I stayed on as Batman," and here, Jason cast his eyes towards Bruce, "and started considering my successor."

Bruce instantly got the message. "I don't want there to be another Batman after me."

"You said that the first time, and it didn't take, and now you don't have a choice, Bruce. You made that declaration in your will the first time you supposedly died, and it proved to be a terrible idea, as the city wasn't ready yet. That's what forced Dick to take on the mantle, and why he took it on again after you died for real," Jason explained, wincing at the memories. "It took decades to get the city to the point where I even considered the possibility again, and everyone here knows how many people we lost along the way."

"Now, we're back to where we started, and one of the events that helped bring peace to Gotham might never happen. You're almost forty now. You've got only a decade, maybe two depending on medical and technological advancements, left. Not to mention the very likely chance that you'll get unlucky and die on the job." Like last time, went unsaid.

His father pursed his lips. Jason was right, but it wasn't something easily swallowed. "Then who? You?"

Jason shrugged. "If need be. I do have the experience. But if something were to happen in the next year or two, there's no way I could pass as Batman. Physically, I'm too young."

Barbara raised an eyebrow, "Then that leaves…"

"…me," Dick finished, sighing. "It's gonna have to be me, isn't it?"

Jason clasped a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Just in case, Dickie. Who knows, you may never have to put on the suit. But still, it's good to shore up the line of succession."

Dick raised an eyebrow. "Line of succession?"

"Another contingency protocol, made in case the current Batman died in the line of duty and their will didn't name a successor in their will. Bruce is actually the one who created this after the first time he — supposedly — died and you had to temporarily succeed him. It felt prudent, considering how much chaos Gotham fell into without a Batman to keep order," Jason shrugged again, "Originally, it just went from the oldest Robin to the youngest. Plus Cass."

Barbara frowned. "Why was Cass last?"

"Because as capable as she is, she's still a young woman with a very slim body and it would be hard to convince anyone that she was Batman, especially since we had a Batwoman running around. It felt redundant," Jason pointed out, and Barbara had to concede his point. "Even then, it was generally agreed that if Damian and her were all that were left and he wasn't old enough yet, then she'd be Batman. And when I became Batman, she became my only successor after Damian died. It wasn't until my Robins that I had more possible successors, but she was still first in line, and for a long time the one I had named in my will." Just in case someone got any ideas to try and usurp her.

While he had faith that the Family would've followed his wishes had he unexpectedly died on the job, it still felt necessary to map out the succession just in case. One of the reasons why their had been minimal conflict over Jason's ascension to Batman after Dick's death (despite his own personal shock over the development) is that Jason had already been first in line to take over the mantle per the protocol. Dick, however, had his will long-written by the time he died and most assumed he was going to name either Tim or Damian as his successors, because it was well-known that Jason had no personal interest in the role. Finding out he had named Jason, while unexpected, cemented Jason's role as his successor — only Tim had the clout to challenge him, and Tim pointedly did not want to be Batman.

"Then here's what we'll do," Bruce said with finality. "If the worst happens and I die, Dick will be Batman. Followed by you, Jason, then Tim, and then Cass. And as for Damian…"

"I suggest we exclude him for now," Jason suggested. "He's not old enough to be Robin yet, let alone Batman. If worst comes to worst and, God forbid, we all die, I don't want him to feel pressured into taking up the mantle too soon, or at all for that matter," here, he adopted a more speculative look, "then again, if that did happen, then Talia will scoop him right back up and probably take him back to the League. Who knows what'll happen after that." Ra's would probably try to take Damian's body by that point, which would only invite even more problems.

Everyone else winced. A traumatized boy whose entire family had died violently, back in the organization of murderers they so vehemently opposed? That would be a recipe for disaster.

"Right," Bruce said, coming back to his bearings. "I'll discuss this with Clark and Diana later so the JLA are informed. For now, let's get some rest."

The following morning, things were almost back to normal. Tim still wasn't going to school until the following week for obvious reasons, but Damian was healed enough to go back alongside Stephanie. Instead, Tim would be staying at the Manor in his room with his tears. He had mourned with his family, but he also needed time to mourn alone.

Meanwhile, Bruce was collaborating with the police, confirming Jack's death and making funeral arrangements. Unfortunately, the blast had been too powerful; there was nothing left of Jack Drake to bury. Even so, an empty casket would be built and a tombstone carved, to be erected for the solemn ceremony the following Saturday. There was also the will reading, Jack having had his will written in such a way to avoid probate and have it implemented immediately after his death. Both Bruce and Tim had been named beneficiaries — Jason wouldn't be surprised if they were the only ones — and no doubt part of the will would probably have Tim put under Bruce's custody. The man had taken care of Jack's son before, after all, and their relationship hadn't frayed before his untimely death, unlike the last timeline.

That meant that Tim, in the worst way possible yet again, was now a permanent resident of the Manor. Considering that he already had a room in the family wing, it was more of a courtesy than anything else, but it still felt like a momentous occasion. One that Jason couldn't enjoy, for the simple reason of how it came to be. As much as he disliked Jack Drake, admittedly a man he never knew until the day he died a second time, for his neglectful treatment of Tim, the man had loved Jason's brother and Jason would've tolerated him for that alone. But he was gone, and while Jason had none of the direct blame, he still felt it all the same.

He knew there would be consequences for what he was doing. For choosing to bring Damian and Cassandra here so soon, for giving out future information to friends and family like candy. But it had all seemed benign at first, good things — at least until Deathstroke and Ravager appeared in Bludhaven to try and kill him. Then there was Shiva and Merlyn, and now the Joker and this. Now he was wondering how long it would take until the butterfly effect caused all these changes to snowball into something horrible. Something that they wouldn't recover from.

All those thoughts flew in his head for the next couple of days and into the weekend. Young Justice (through Red Tornado) had already been informed about the recent tragedy in Robin's life, with as few details as the Family could give them, and his recent benching from the suit until he was back in the right head space. Bruce had offered Jason's services in exchange for the loss, but according to Tornado the team had refused; they had nothing against Jason, but they wanted their friend there with them on missions and they would wait until he was ready. Loyal to a fault, Jason thought fondly once he heard, Tim is lucky to have them.

It was on the first Sunday after that terrible week that Jason found Tim in the gym, running through several movements with his staff. Jason watched him for a bit, until a gesture from his younger brother told him that he was welcome to join with him. He took him up on the offer, discarding his shoes and picking up another staff on the rack, and started silently practicing with him.

Practicing led to sparring. Tim seemed focused enough, but the fact Jason was winning five out of five times instead of the usual four out of five all but confirmed that the boy wasn't all there yet. There was an air of sadness around him, and he looked lost. After that seventh lost sparring match, Jason had enough.

"That's it," he said with finality, helping his brother pick himself off the floor, "You're done."

"I can—"

"No, you can't. You're distracted. We go any farther, and you're going to get hurt."

Tim didn't protest any further. He knew Jason was right. Instead, he sat himself on the mats, pulling his knees to his chest. Jason sat next to him silently, cross-legged.

"You're scared of me," Tim stated once Jason was sidled up next to him.

Despite himself, Jason couldn't help but snort. "What gave me away this time?"

"Easy. Every time I do something worthy of praise, you look proud, but there's fear there as well. Not to mention your talk with Diana. And that thing with the Joker…I saw it. You didn't think I would kill him. Yet the fact that I wouldn't kill him is what scared you."

Jason said nothing.

"What happened to me, Jason? Why did Dick choose you over me?"

Jason closed his eyes, and sighed.

Catherine's was an old-fashioned diner with a modern aesthetic located right on the border between Crime Alley and Newtown. Four years ago, its opening didn't arouse much clamor outside of genuine wonder over why anyone, exactly, would want to open a new business in that corner of Gotham. Even with the Red Hood prowling the streets and claiming the area as his territory, Crime Alley was still, well, Crime Alley.

Of course, interest began to ramp up a few months later when Bruce Wayne was spotted around the area on a weekly basis. Especially when he started looking increasingly downtrodden and, quite frankly, desperate. People were desperate themselves to figure out the cause, but were soon distracted by another incident with the Joker, and then an attempted city-wide takeover by the supervillain Bane. The fact that Bane deliberately blew up the diner during one of his attacks seemed like a footnote in the population's collective effort to survive the chaos.

In the aftermath, Catherine's was one of the many places that received money from the Wayne Foundation to help get back on its feet, and only then did people start paying attention to it again, especially when more Waynes besides Bruce were sighted in it. It wasn't until Bruce Wayne's death that people learned why.

Catherine's' owner and proprietor was none other than Jason Todd, or better known as Jason Wayne, the second son of Bruce Wayne, long-thought deceased in the country of Ethiopia six years ago. Apparently, Bruce had found out about Jason's survival, and they had something of a falling out before finally patching things up in the wake of Bane's attack. Jason reacquainted himself with the family, and upon Bruce's death, was legally revived to receive his portion of the family fortune. Apparently, Bruce didn't have it in him to close his trust fund even after he had supposedly died, allowing Jason to reclaim it for his own use.

Four years later, the hubbub over Catherine's had long disappeared, and while it was known as a frequent hangout of the Waynes, Jason was notoriously strict about not just his privacy, but his siblings' privacy as well. People were only allowed on the premises if they were planning to eat and talk, and perhaps celebrate some occasion. Anything more than that and he was perfectly willing to exercise his legal right to kick them out.

For that reason, Jason's older brother Dick Grayson (known to the tabloids as Richie Wayne) felt no fear when he entered the diner. A few looks were shot at his direction, but as the current patrons were regulars, they soon turn their attentions back to their original tasks. Dick similarly paid them no mind, and settled onto his regular seat at the bar, signaling to the waiter managing it to give him his regular order.

And like clockwork, the person who delivered it was none other than his precious little wing.

"Do you ever get tired of pestering me, Dickie?" Jason asked, though there was no genuine heat in his tone.

"Please," Dick snorted, amused, "If you hated my company you would've kicked me out years ago."

Jason let out a scoff, sounding just like their youngest brother, before setting down Dick's order. "Just for that, no dessert today."

"But Jay~!"

"I ain't dealing with your sugary high ass!" Jason shouted back as he returned to the kitchen.

Despite himself, Dick couldn't help but smile. He's doing better. With all of the losses and chaos in the last few years, he was glad that Jason had managed to weather the storm back into something resembling stability. It was a marked difference from years previous, in the aftermath of Bruce's tragic death at the hands of the Joker.

He still remembered finding Jason holed up in his apartment, the one located right above Catherine's, laid out on his couch with empty bottles of scotch and beer surrounding him. His younger brother had taken the death of the their father hard, which was only compounded by the misplaced guilt over his inadvertent part in creating the current Joker. Jason had blamed himself for Bruce's death to the point that one would think he had killed Bruce himself. It was ridiculous, of course, but Jason wouldn't be swayed and Dick had to do something before he lost his brother again.

Reluctantly, he had played into Jason's guilt and manipulated him into focusing on vigilante work. Jason had seen right through him, of course (casual manipulation was a Wayne Family tradition, and Jason was better at it than Dick when he bothered to put in the effort), but had gone with it because doing something useful helped assuage him. It had its own benefits for Dick too, primarily in having another agent to stabilize the city with the first Batman gone. Jason also served as a good foil to him and a decent sounding board when Dick decided to dig his heels in and make his plans for the city, primarily with finally eliminating the Court of Owls.

Of course, that was only the beginning. The years would prove to be fraught with Dick's own difficulties. First with his gradually decaying relationship with Barbara, then with the deaths of Kate and Renee and the retirement of Bette during the ongoing war with the Court. That first great failure as Batman hit Dick hard, causing Jason to return the favor from the year prior and bring him out of the rut with similar tactics Dick had employed.

That would serve a real turning point in their relationship. While they had laid to rest the resentment and animosity between them long before, it was only now that they had something to bridge off into something more closely resembling actual brotherhood and friendship. With Damian becoming more and more independent as he prepared himself for his eventual move into a solo hero career, Jason had become Dick's most frequent patrol partner. They trained together, worked together on cases, and when Dick had to go on Justice League business, it was Jason that he left in charge.

It was good to lean on someone again, especially after his final breakup with Barbara and then Wally's death. He knew from the first time around that the cowl would weigh heavy on his shoulders, but all the recent trials had doubled if not tripled that weight. Having Jason's support was a crutch Dick sorely needed, and he swore not to waste it. Especially since—

"Dick?"

Dick blinked. "Yeah, Jay?" he asked, pushing away his thoughts.

"You've got that look on your face," Jason told him, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"What look on my face?"

"The look that says you're stressed about something but because you're a self-sacrificial idiot who thinks he needs to be on top of everything you aren't going to share it with anyone until it bites us all in the ass."

Dick smiled unconvincingly. Jason, of course, remained unconvinced.

"Dick," he demanded without actually demanding anything.

Finally, Dick caved in, realizing that Jason wasn't going to be fooled by anything he said. "Do you think you could go with Tim tonight?" On patrol, went unsaid.

Jason raised an eyebrow. "You're still worried about him?"

"Am I that obvious?"

"No. Yes. A little bit?" His younger brother shrugged. "I've noticed, and I'm pretty sure the rest of the Family has noticed, but we just don't get why. Tim is still Tim."

"He's barely sleeping and runs off coffee and spite."

"Dick, he's been doing that for years, and nothing we've ever said or done has convinced him to change his ways. I still don't see what all this worrying is about."

Dick swallowed. "Just do it, alright?"

Jason eyed him speculatively, then sighed. "Fine. But only because it's you."

"Good. I know I could count on you Jay." He smiled at his brother for good measure, internally smirking as Jason flustered and turned away, making some half-hearted grumbles.

Still got it.