Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There’s dirt in his mouth, his eyes, his nose, his fucking ears. There’s entire ecosystems underneath his fingernails, digging into his body and taking him over, filling him up with dirt until there’s nothing of him left. He can’t feel anything– he can feel everything. His lungs squeezing with each minute that he goes without air, his broken and bloody nails screaming in pain as he claws through the dirt. His muscles are so tired, begging for him to just take a break, stop for a moment and rest, but he can’t, he can’t go back– he needs– he needs his dad. He needs to see him, to be back with his family, to have them hold him and take care of him and tell him that everything will be okay.

He barely even notices when his arm breaches the surface, so consumed with the animalistic instinct to keep going, to stave off the fuzziness creeping in the corners of his brain. He’s not thinking anymore, his body is moving by itself, digging upwards, fighting for his second chance, his–

His head breaks through and the air is so sweet it might as well be cotton candy. He hates cotton candy, but he’d eat it for the rest of his life if it meant that he got to stay alive.

He collapses into the dirt, shaking so hard his teeth are chattering. Once he’s breathed enough to be able to think again, he inexplicably starts to sob. Why? He should be happy. He did it. He’s survived whatever shitshow he’s landed himself in

But he didn’t. He remembers seeing the bomb, remembers the absolute numbness that washed over him when Shelia realised the doors were locked. He remembers the flash of bright light, followed by pain worse than anything he’s ever felt before, and then a lovely warm blackness.

Did he– did he come back to life?

That’s impossible. That literally goes against the law of– of everything and yet here he is.

Maybe he wasn’t really dead in the first place? Just close enough that it looked like it?

The part of him that’s been Robin for the past three years– that has been to space and met aliens and seen magic– knows that’s not likely.

His muscles scream at him when he picks himself up, still shuddering out shaky breaths, tears leaking down his cheeks, as he turns to look behind himself.

His bottom half is still in the dirt, and he’d heave himself out if he didn’t feel like he’d pass out at any moment. He can strain to look back just enough to see the slab of stone confirming his worst fears.

Here lies Jason Todd

2000 - 2015

He blinks at it, not feeling quite real, and then all of a sudden, the pressure surrounding his legs feels like the ground is trying to drag him back inside– to punish him for defying nature. His vision blacks out a little as he lifts himself on his arms and weakly kicks to get out, but he pushes through it. He can’t go back– he doesn’t want to die. He’s too young, it wasn’t fair.

His legs swing in the air as he finally gets them free, and he uses up the rest of his energy to get as far away from the horrible grave as possible. He only makes it a few feet before he collapses again, panting.

It’s dark, but the streetlights are just bright enough that he can see a little even with them all the way over there. He’s in a public graveyard, he realises, and he furrows his eyebrows. Doesn’t the Wayne family have a private graveyard somewhere? Something about stopping grave robbers, which was a job occupation Jason didn’t think existed in the 21st century.

Maybe they just didn’t have room for him? It doesn’t sound right but it’s also the only explanation Jason can think of.

But Bruce is literally a billionaire. Couldn’t he spare a little bit of money to make room for Jason?

The gravestone feels like it’s looking at him and he looks back, never one to back down from a challenge, even when it’s coming from a slab of stone. After a few minutes he realises what’s so wrong about it.

It says Jason todd. His legal name is Jason Todd-Wayne. He remembers being so proud of that, finally part of a family that wanted him.

Maybe it was a mistake. Or there’s some reason that he doesn’t know about that stopped Bruce from being able to put him in the private lot– to claim him as his own even in death, but his brain is coming up blank.

He’s recovered enough to sit up now, his fingers screaming in pain now that the adrenaline’s worn off. His headstone is remarkably close to another one, he belatedly realises, and he slowly turns to look at it, exhausted beyond relief and–

Sheila Haywood, beloved mother

1979 - 2015

The glint in her eye when Jason revealed that he was Robin–

The Joker– he’d said, and she assured him he was long gone.

“I lied.”

The crow bar landing on him again and again and again and again and he couldn’t breathe– everything hurt so much– there was a bomb and he hated Shelia so much but she didn’t deserve to die, no one deserved to die like that–

He stares at the grave of his mother– no, of the woman who handed him to the Joker and on a golden platter. She was the reason he died– she had put him through all that pain and did nothing but smoke– and Bruce buried her next to him?

Did he even investigate his death at all? When that warehouse blew up– did he even try to save him?

He thinks about their last few months together– Bruce thought that he was getting too violent, thought that he killed that rapist. He didn’t– not on purpose. He really did just spook him, but he could see in Bruce’s eyes that he didn’t believe a word he said.

He had been scared– he didn’t want to be kicked out– he just wanted to secure a back up plan. He couldn’t be homeless again and watch Bruce replace him with a better, more obedient Robin. He just wanted to have someone left who would love him.

And look how that turned out.

If Bruce didn’t hate him for running away, then he certainly hates him for disobeying his orders, for being so stupid as to trust shelia. He should have learnt by now that biological ties mean nothing in the end. He should have known.

He’s not Bruce’s anymore. That much is obvious.

For a moment, there is incredible pain as his heart breaks– but then it’s quickly washed away in a wave of numbness.

He needs– he can’t sleep in the graveyard tonight, that’s bound to have the cops called on him. He needs to find a place to sleep, or– just somewhere where he can sit safely and stare off into the distance, shutting down the parts of his brain that cares about anything other than survival.

There’s tears rolling down his cheeks, but he’s not really crying. It’s just happening. He slowly pulls himself onto his feet, refusing to touch either of the gravestones to help him– which leads him to collapsing a few times.

That can’t do. He can’t show weakness in the streets. Anyone with half a brain would pounce on it and he’d be dead again before the sun rose.

He finally manages to take a few stumbling steps, feeling like a zombie as he walks across the graveyard. He’s in a suit, he realises, and that’s bad. That means that he’s a bigger target, ‘cause he looks rich. Hopefully the torn clothes and dirt will keep people away until he can drop by the charity bin and find some clothes. Will it still be there? How long has it been? Not that long, surely, since there was still air in his coffin, and he’s not decomposed, obviously.

His eyes are stuck on his feet, and he doesn’t realise how bad of an idea that is until a loud beep makes him jump back, a car narrowly avoiding hitting him.

This is the least eventful thing that’s happened in the last hour or so.

Looking up this time, he crosses the road alive, and lets his feet take him wherever it wants. The streets change from patchy concrete to cracked sidewalks, as he gets deeper and deeper into Crime Alley, where the government doesn’t give enough of a shit to fix anything here.

Going to one of the most dangerous places like this is up there with trusting Sheila on his list of bad decisions, but he doesn’t know where else to go. Crime Alley is the closest thing he has to a home, now.

He finds cardboard on the ground, and he decides that’s good enough. He’d much rather hide somewhere that’s actually hidden, not in an alleyway like this, where anyone could get him, but the idea of putting himself inside anywhere– where the walls could shrink further and further and crush him in dirt– he can’t. He just– he can’t. He’ll just have to be safe here.

Despite it all, he drifts away, into the cool blankness of sleep

It’s frightening how easily he slips back into that same mindset he spent three years living in. It’s a strange dissonance, how effortless it is to run through the check list of the things he needs to do if he wants to survive that day, while his body is acting like he’s never done this before, growling if he goes mere hours without food, refusing to let him sleep because it’s too cold.

Oh yeah. And he can’t sleep in any of his old haunts anymore. A lot of the places he’d hidden in were small, secluded and completely surrounded with walls. It had made him feel safe, back then, because he was so small and he didn’t know how to defend himself and it made him feel so much better to know that it would be hard for any adult to find him. Now all he can think of are the walls of his coffin– unrelenting under his fingers as he hit and clawed at them– the velvet tore away so easy but the wood must’ve taken hours– if not days to break–

He snaps himself out of it, panting a little.

Right now, he’s found a compromise by sleeping in the bushes at the park. It’s fucking freezing, but there are no walls, and a little hidden. He’s still small for his age, and the bushes are big enough to hide him from anyone passing by.

It’s so much harder now to survive than when he was a kid, which he thought was impossible. Sure, he was small and easy to pick on, but at least his body had been unspoiled, used to hardships and he’d had his fingers to pickpocket, to steal tires quickly and quietly.

Now Jason's fingers are destroyed. In his panic to get out of the coffin, his nails are broken and torn, a couple of them had been ripped from his finger entirely. He can’t bend his middle finger on his left and or his index and other middle finger on his right. He’d go to Leslie's clinic, but– she knows him. From before. He doesn’t know how long it’s been– the date has been the last thing on his mind when he has to be focused on if he could survive till the next day, but he knows that time has passed since he’s been– around.

There are new knock off villains. The women that had used to frequent the streets that Jason had visited had been replaced with an entirely new batch of girls. The world that he last inhabited has shifted slightly to the left. Just enough to leave him unbalanced.

He wants to go back home. That thought has been torturing him for the last week or so since he climbed out and he just wants to fucking go back home.

He’s tried telling himself that it’s just because he can’t handle the hardships of being homeless anymore, that he just wants to be full again but that’s not the truth.

He just misses his dad. His grandad, and his brother. He wants to have them smile at him, hug him and tell him that they missed him.

And– maybe that can happen. He’s been thinking, recently, and he’s pretty sure now that he just misunderstood what was happening with everything about his burial. He’s been told before that he’s too emotional– oftentimes it can make him see the worst in people. Oftentimes, he’s right in assuming the worst, but not with Bruce. Never with bruce. He was dead after all, how the hell is he supposed to know what went into Bruce's decision making? There must have been some sort of legal stuff, something that Bruce couldn’t money away.

So all he needs to do is find Bruce again, tell him that he’s really here, he’s alive, and then he can go back home, and everything can go back to normal.

Which is why he’s here, on this roof, waiting for Bruce to come here for patrol. He knows all of Bruce's patrols by heart, and though he likes to change it up so he isn’t predictable, he comes here every night. Because the alleyway across is where his parents got shot, and he’s a brooding asshole like that.

Jason remembers being so annoyed when Bruce sat on the gargoyle and stared for a minute or two. They could be out there saving lives and Bruce wanted to take a few minutes to do nothing?

He thinks he gets it now. Maybe. His parents are the whole reason why he’s Batman. It’s nothing but a gesture to the dead, but Jason understands the need to be as close to his parents as possible, at any cost.

It’s what got him in this mess, after all.

And hell, maybe it’s just this building that presses the brooding button within everyone because Jason has been so deep in his thoughts that when Bruce lands on the roof, it takes him by surprise.

He flinches, but the moment he sees Bruce, all tension seeps out of his muscles. Dad is here. Dad will fix everything–

Who the fuck is that?

It’s– a kid. It’s Robin, but he’s small and wearing a different version of the suit, and he’s crossing his arms and sitting down as Bruce stands to face the alleyway. He’s been here for a while, long enough to expect this and– how long did he wait for Jason's body to cool before he went and got himself a new Robin? Seriously?

“You have got to be kidding me,” he growls, and Bruce and his Replacement twist to face him, both of them flinching when they see who he is. Jason crosses his arms, glaring at them.

“...Batman?” the new Robin asks, unsure and deferring to Bruce because of course he is. Bruce wouldn’t risk another rebellious Robin to ruin everything again.

He changes tracks to glare at bruce specifically, and–

He looks… bad.

He’s sure that there are more wrinkles than there used to be on the part of the face that he can see and– the man is shaking. His body is tense, like he’s ready to fight, but he’s not doing anything, and Jason realises that it might be more accurate to say that he’s ready to run away.

“Dad?” he asks, shocked by how– different he looks. Sure, time has passed, he knew that, but… surely not that much time? What if he’s been dead for a decade? Or more?

“Robin–” Bruce grits out, in that too-gravely voice of his that says he’s trying to be strong, “tell me that you can’t see– that.”

Rude, “yeah, I'm real, idiot,” he mumbles, watching the way Bruce's mouth spasms. He’s clearly not reacting well to Jason, but it might have been years since he’s died. Jason can excuse him.

Right now, Jason wants a damn hug. Being on the streets is so lonely and it’s felt like a million years since he’s last seen Bruce, and he doesn’t care about his fight anymore, he just wants his dad.

“I'm here,” he whispers, a little smile teasing his lips, and he starts to walk forwards, run, because bruce is here and he’s alive and everything will be okay–

Pain explodes in his cheek, and he’s suddenly on the hard concrete, his palms stinging like hell.

Bruce did not just hit him. He couldn't have, he’s bruce. He’s promised so many times over so many years that he would never, ever, ever, ever, ever hurt Jason.

And yet, he lifts a shaking hand to his cheek, and flinches before he can even touch it. It hurts that much.

He lifts watery eyes up to Bruce, and sees pure anger.

“B?” he asks, his voice wobbling.

“Who are you?” Bruce screams, making him flinch, “what are you–” he stops himself and lets out a frustrated groan, “Robin, detain him.”

Horrible fear clogs his throat, “It’s me, I know it’s hard to believe, but I'm here. I'm alive. Dad, please–” he sits up– only to be met with the end of a staff in his face.

“Stay right there,” the Replacement orders and Jason has exactly zero patience for this shit. He’s been replaced. His dad just hit him. He’s not believing a word Jason's saying, and he has no idea how to fix any of this.

He stays down for a moment or so, letting Robin think that he’s obeying, before grabbing the staff and pulling it towards him.

Robin– the ametur, yelps and falls forwards instead of planting his ground because jeez, Bruce must’ve been in a rush to replace him– and he slams his head into Robin's nose.

The yelp of pain is worth the headache, and he leaps onto the fire escape just as bruce launches for him, but he’s long gone by then, running through the streets to get away and then he keeps running, running and running until his lungs feel like they’re going to climb out of his chest and he has to stop in case he falls over and hurts his fingers.

He can’t breathe and he’s barely had a minute to pant before sobs start to fight their way through, leaving him to pathetically pant and sob and choke and whine as the tears hit him full force.

Bruce hit him. He hurt him. Far less than Willis ever hurt him but– that wasn’t the point. Bruce promised that he’d never ever hurt Jason and it took so long to believe him and then he broke it.

He wails, not even fucking caring how many sickos are alerted to his presence, and leans over until he hits the ground, his entire world crashing all around him.

What the hell happened? Why didn’t Bruce listen to him? Jason said that he’s back and alive now, why does that warrant a punch? He just wanted a hug.

What the hell can he do now? Bruce is supposed to be the one person to always love him, and he hit him. Is he just supposed to be homeless forever now? Find some skeevy man to take him in and live a horrible life?

For all it had been a part of his reality for three years, the idea breaks his heart in two. He can feel it, as he sobs and whines on the ground, a pain in his chest that will never go away.

It takes him a stupidly long time to calm himself down– and he only really did in the first place because the shop owner he was whining in front of came out and told him to shove off, he was bad for business.

The tears still kept coming as he stumbled through the streets, but at least he can think again. It’s scary, sometimes, how consumed by his feelings he could get.

Okay… so it’s obvious that Bruce is in some disbelief. That’s– okay, that’s fair, he guesses. He did die. He doesn't know where Bruce had been when the warehouse exploded, but it couldn’t have been pleasant to discover that his son– his partner in crime-fighting had died.

He probably watched the camera footage on his suit, the masochistic bastard.

So, yeah. He guesses that he can understand Bruce's reluctance to believe that it really is Jason. Hell, Jason can’t really believe it. He still kinda thinks that he just passed out from the explosion and someone just buried him while he’s alive for shits and giggles. Probably the Joker. Is the Joker still alive? If he isn’t, then he’d better be in the most max security prison ever. Arkham has proven itself incapable of holding that lunatic.

So– that’s fine. It’s fine. He’s been dumb to think that bruce would just accept him with open arms. His dad has always been the ‘ask questions first, act later,’ kind of guy while Jason is the opposite.

So all Jason needs to do is convince Bruce that yes, he’s really here, he’s really alive, and Dick is probably the best way to do that. Dick’s a little more trusting than Bruce, he’ll hear him out without hitting him. He has to.

Only problem is, Jason needs to get a bus ticket to bludhaven. He needs to find a way to actually get fucking money.

He groans and throws back his head to hit the concrete behind him, worsening his already pounding headache. Dammit.

Bruce doesn’t say anything for the rest of the patrol. When they come back to the Batcave, Bruce throws his cowl off and sits in front of the computer, barely even acknowledging Tim's existence.

He pushes away the hurt that being ignored always causes and focuses on the real problem, because whatever was happening, it was bad.

Disregarding whatever that… thing was, it was causing Bruce to backslide almost right back to the start of his mourning period. He knew all the signs, the way Bruce beat up criminals harder than he did before they saw the not-Jason, the way he completely ignored Tim’s existence, like he hoped that if he pretended that if he didn’t acknowledge him, tim would fade into the background and cease to exist. Yeah, it’ll be harder than that to get rid of Tim.

At least Bruce isn’t being more reckless, not yet at least. He’s definitely not going to sleep until they find out who or what the imposter pretending to be Bruce's dead son is.

A shapeshifter? A clone? A shared hallucination? it could be any one of those things, or worse. And there’s no telling what it’s motivations are. His nose throbs from where the not-Jason slammed his forehead into it, so they know it’s violent. The question is, how violent?

After biting his lip and thinking about it for a few moments, he decides to text Dick about it. He can handle this on his own, of course, but Dick has been kept out of the loop regarding his brother enough times. Hell, the not-Jason might even try to go after him next.

Me: Hey dick, me and Bruce were patrolling and we saw someone pretending to be Jason, so watch out for that.

Dick: What??

Me: What I said

Dick: You saw Jason?

Me: We saw someone pretending to be him. Maybe even something.

Me: I just thought I should warn you because it was really trying to appeal to Bruce's emotions. It called him dad, it cried, it tried to say that it’s actually Jason who came back to life somehow. It might go after you next.

Dick: Shit.

Dick: Is Bruce okay?

Me: I can handle him.

Dick: I'm coming over.

Me: You don’t need to.

Dick: I will. This is my family, I'm going to help out wherever I can.

Great, nothing like a reminder of how much of an outsider he truly is. With how friendly the waynes were, it’s easy to forget his real place in the family, or lack thereof. He’s just here to keep Bruce alive, and be his Robin.

Especially since Bruce has been letting him stay here for the past few months now, ever since he realised that he's been staying home alone for months since his parents went to singapore. Bruce thinks that this is an isolated event. Tim’s not going to tell him any different

“I'm going upstairs,” he tells Bruce, because right now they have nothing on the not-Jason, and Alfred is making a Pork roast tonight. Alfred’s food is so amazing. All his nanny has done is buy vegetarian organic stuff ever since his mom went on a kick and threatened to fire her if she bought anything out of her specifications. He guesses it's kind of nice? It‘s like she’s with him, in a way, forcing him to eat his greens from halfway across the globe.

Tim would much prefer her to be right next to him, but he’s long learnt he can’t have everything he wants.

Bruce doesn't even look up from the screen, or give one of his customary grunts as Tim makes his way to the lift.

He forces the swell of sadness down and away. It’s not like Bruce owes him anything.

The elevator doors close slowly and he hopes that Bruce won’t think that he’s being a whiny teenager. He’s here to help him, that’s all. He doesn’t want Bruce to think that he’ll have to deal with his problems on top of everything else.

Hopefully the situation with the not-Jason would be easy and as uneventful as it can be. Bruce really can’t afford to backslide, not now.

Jason bit his thumb as he stared at his spare change. He still hasn’t been able to find a job, and his fingers are still stiff and painful. He reset them a while ago, thanks to the field medicine training Bruce gave him and he’s pretty sure that they’ve healed as well as they can. They just ache a lot. As well as his cheek. It’s developed into a wonderful bruise and he now looks like a true abused Crime Alley kid. It makes him blend in just a bit more, but he feels like throwing up everytime he remembers how he got it.

He sighs. He remembers how limited his options have been on the streets, but it’s not nice to get slapped in the face with it again. All he can do to get money is run drugs, or pick pockets, and he chose the least deadly of the two. It still makes him feel horrible, though. Everyone in Crime alley is in a similar position he’s in, and he’s probably depriving their kids of food to eat. But he doesn’t have the luxury to care about that sort of stuff. He needs to get used to thinking about himself, and himself only. It had been easy as a kid, but now, he can’t help but wonder about how his actions affect other people’s lives. It has been his whole job as Robin, after all.

It’s going to be worth it, though. He’ll save up for a bus ticket to bludhaven, and then when he’s back in the family, he’ll track them all down and make Bruce pay them back. So it’s fine that he’s doing this. It’s fine.

He’s so close as well, he’s about five dollars off, and if he gets lucky, he’ll score a wallet that’ll have that much in cash. Screw the sudden popularity of cards.

Speaking of, he should probably go out now. It’s the rush hour, and the streets are filled with depressed men and women coming back from work.

Jumping out of his hideout, he keeps his head down and his shoulders loose, looking like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He bumps into a few men, and gets nothing but cards. One woman later, and he now has 2.25 in cash. Not bad, he guesses.

People are starting to thin out a bit, and he really doesn’t like picking more than a few people every day. He’s not as small as he was when he started out. He’ll revert back into old habits if someone gave up chase and he’d end up wedging himself somewhere stupid and have the most humilating arrest of his life. His fingers also hurt like hell after being used so much. He needs a break.

He’s debating walking back to his hideout, when he catches a glimpse of blue on the roof. Heart in his throat, he rushes to a nearby fire exit, jumping on the balcony and climbing up until he can see the stop of the other building and– fuck. Yes.

There must be a god up there, however cruel they may be, to allow this wonderful coincidence. And– hell yeah, Dick’s jumping down into the alleyways, probably investigating the gang fight that went down there earlier today. Jason had to physically stop himself from intervening when it happened. He wasn’t Robin– no, he is Robin, just not right now. He doesn’t have the backup of Batman yet.

He jumps back down and rushes to the alleyway, and because God loves him, Dick is still there, examining the blood stains.

“Hey, dick,” he cautiously greeted, breathless.

He can’t see dick’s eyes, but he’s pretty sure they flicker towards him, “...Hey, Jay.”

Jason breathes a little sigh of relief. Dick knows who he is. Dick is sane unlike Bruce and his new baby. Dick will fix everything.

“Checkin’ out the crime scene?”

“...Yeah. Gang fight. Br– Batman asked me to check it out. He’d be patrolling today, but,” Dick shrugs, and Jason feels a little shame filling him inside. Did he really freak out Bruce so much that he had to take an entire day off? He has never heard of him doing that, ever.

“I– I wasn't expecting that new kid of his. Is he incapable of functioning without a Robin now?”

“Pretty much,” Dick shrugs, “It wasn’t like he went out and replaced you on purpose, T–Robin would not stop hounding him. Literally stealing your old suit and following him on patrols. Bruce had to cave eventually, and I hate to say it, but the kid really does help,” there’s a little bit of a smile on dick’s face and it makes Jason’s heart hurt a bit that someone else has filled up a space in dick’s heart. There must be some room left for him, though. Obviously. Jason is his brother. Jason lets the silence hang, unsure of what to say next, and he hears dick sigh next to him.

“I missed you. I mean– the you where you’re like– this. Not screaming or crying.”

And– okay, he doesn’t get what dick means by that, but that doesn’t matter because dick said that he missed him. He wants him back. He sighs in relief and presses his head against dick’s shoulder, glad to be finally safe.

Dick flinches and moves away and Jason's heart sinks to the bottom of his gut, “dick?”

“Fuck– i– shit. I should’ve known–”

“Dick?” He blinks, “why are you freaking out? You just said that you missed me–”

“Not you!” Dick shouts and Jason scoffs.

“Which other jay were you talking to?”

“What do you want with us?”

Jason breathes out a sharp breath, almost dizzy from the insanity of it all, “I want to go home!” He yells, tears in his eyes. “Is it the new Robin? I can– I can let him have Robin if he must–” it still hurt, it will hurt like hell but at least he’ll have his family back– “but dick, please,” he grabs onto his arm and tries not to cry at the way dick leans away from him like he’s a disease, “I'm alive, really. I just want to go home,” he whispers.

“We don’t want you home,” dick Dick hisses, poison dripping from every word.

The floor falls out from underneath Jason, and he barely notices the arm that slips out of his hands, can barely see as dick steps away.

He’s not expecting the hand that grips onto his arm– too tight to be anything other than a seizing. His instincts take over and before he knows it, he’s fighting with Dick, with his brother and not in a sparring way. He can feel it in the hits– they’re meant to take him down.

However good he is, and how lucky he was to get the drop on Batman and Robin, he has none of that luck against Dick. He puts up a good fight, but within minutes Dick has him pinned down on the ground, his hand wrapped tight against his arm, pushing it up, up, up his back.

Panic grips him by the throat. He knows dick won’t do that, he knows, but the position is bringing back so many horrible memories and he knows that dick hates him now– he can’t help the tears that prick his eyes, the panicked tilt to his voice as he reflexively starts to beg.

“No– no– dick please, please don’t do this, let me go, please–”

“Shut up,” dick murmurs, his voice quiet and tight and it sets the panic in him aflame.

He bucks, all logic and training flying out of his head as he falls back on ancient instincts, and Dick above him lets out something that could be considered a sob.

“I'm not– I'm not doing that to do– jesus, you’re not him, you can't be him–” dick’s grip weakens slightly and Jason takes full opportunity of his moment of weakness, breaking out of the hold and running away as fast as he can, his heart tearing into two.

It takes him a block or two to realise that dick isn’t chasing Jason, at all. Because he doesn’t want him back? But then why did he pin him down, then? Just to freak him out? It doesn’t make any sense.

He squeezes his eyes shut, and dick’s words play verbatim in his head, bouncing around over and over until all he wants to do is knock his skull into the brick wall behind him.

We don’t want you home.

He’d– fuck, he thought that they love him. He thought that this was just a misunderstanding, that the fight that he and Bruce had would have long blown over by now. Did Bruce not save him because he still thought that Jason killed Felipe? That once it became clear that firing him wouldn’t stop Jason from being Robin, he did the only thing guaranteed to stop Jason for good? The idea feels so impossibly wrong– Bruce would never do something as horrible as that, but it’s the only explanation that Jason has. For why he buried Jason away from the family plot, disowned and next to his murderer’s accomplince. He didn’t even investigate his death, didn’t even watch the camera footage. He was that happy to get rid of him. Probably too busy training his new Robin.

His chin wobbles, and he wants so badly to be angry, to feel anything other than this crushing pain, but he can’t. He can’t even be mad at his fucking replacement. How can he, when he did the exact same thing to dick? He doesn’t know anything about this kid, about the circumstances that Bruce had pulled him out of. He can only hope that the new Robin stays obedient, lest he end up just like Jason. Except he might be so lucky as to not come back to life.

Fine. Whatever. Bruce clearly doesn’t care about him, so Jason doesn’t care about him back. He knows when he’s not wanted. They’ve already made their opinion pretty clear and Jason isn’t gonna humiliate himself further. The last three years just need to be wiped out of his mind. Boom. Done.

…Though, he can’t stay in Gotham, obviously. He can still use that bus ticket after all, though not to bludhaven. Maybe if he saves for a week or so more he can get a ticket out of this state. Out of his family’s– out of the Bat’s lives. As far from Gotham as physically possible. Then they can enjoy their new Robin without him ruining everything.

He sobs as he makes his way back to his hideout, and he curses himself over and over and over again for ever trusting bruce. For believing even for a second that he had a chance at a future. That they unconditionally loved him when clearly, such a thing doesn’t exist.

Fuck them, he thinks, wiping the tears from his eyes, carefully avoiding his tender cheek.

Dick rubs his face as Bruce paces behind him, already so done with this.

Bruce is going to ask him why he didn’t immediately apprehend the imposter. He’s going to be stupidly observant and put together that dick’s been hallucinating ever since Jason’s died. Then he’s going to flame Dick for not realising that this Jason was different from his hallucinations, as if he understands anything.

And what’s even worse is, Bruce is right. When Jason came up to him, looking like the day before he died, it should have been obvious from the start that it wasn’t his brain playing tricks on him. His hallucinations tended to be a little gorey, the worst of dick’s interpretations of the list of injuries Jason had in his death report, and they loved to make him feel guilty for even being born as if his life somehow led to Jason's untimely death.

All this Jason had was a bruise on his cheek, a pretty gnarly one too, and he’d been friendly, up until Dick realised that he wasn’t a hallucination.

Is this what the rest of his life is going to be? Being followed around by the ghostly visage of his dead brother, forever tortured by everything he didn’t do?

Because he’s sorry. He really is. He’s so sorry it almost killed him, but he can’t go back in time and fix his mistake. Not morally, anyway. All he can do is protect Jason's memory the best he can. Tell Tim fun stories about Jason to counteract Bruce's brooding, make sure that what happened to Jason will never happen to tim, and apparently, take down the sick fucks who run around with his face and personality and– fuck.

It had stunned him how much the copycat acted like Jason, right down to his mannerisms and everything. He even– God, this is horrible– he even begged like Jason did. In the early days when Jason thought that they wanted to do horrible things to him, thanks to the shitty environment he came from.

Bruce came to a stop behind him, and dick closed his eyes, preparing for the lecture, like he’s still twelve years old.

“I'm… I'm not mad at you,” Bruce sighs.

Dick turns around in his chair, his eyebrows high, “what? I'm sorry, repeat that again?”

“You heard me,” he grumbles.

“You aren’t even going to get pissed at me for letting him get away?”

“Well… it’d be hypocritical if I did.”

“When has that ever stopped you?” Bruce fixes him with a look and he sighs, “sorry. I'm just– freaked out by this.”

“I know,” Bruce grimaces, “this is the last thing that a mourning family needs,” they weren’t much of a family, dick thinks, but doesn’t say, “Barbara's still trying to figure out where he’s come from. She can follow him up to a point, and then he disappears from any sort of recording. It’s like he appeared in thin air.”

Dick sighs, “who would even do this? Clones seem more like superman’s thing than yours.”

“I have a few theories,” Bruce said, and as usual, didn’t decide to share with the class.

Dick opens his mouth to ask, and at that moment, Alfred comes in, very disgruntled, with dinner.

“Are you boys enjoying your play time? I'd hope so, considering you left dinner waiting until it got cold.”

Dick winces, meal times have become increasingly important to Alfred ever since Jason died. Dick thinks it might be because he misses having someone who shares his love for food, but it’s just a theory, “sorry, Alfred,” he sits up, “but it was important. We’re–”

“We’re investigating a new trafficking ring that’s popped up,” Bruce cut in, “it’s big enough that I thought that calling dick for backup would be a good idea.”

Alfred raises his eyebrow, “oddly responsible for you, bruce.”

“Well, Tim is busy with his exams, and his grades are slipping. It would be unfair to force him to skip studying.”

Alfred raises his eyebrow again, and sets their plates in front of them, “normally I don't condone eating in the Batcave, but it seems that this will be the only way to get you to eat at all.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Bruce smiles after him as he leaves and dick turns on him.

“Seriously, bruce? I’ve never seen you lie to alfred. Ever.”

“This is painful enough as it is, dick,” Bruce massages his forehead, “I don't want to stress Alfred out more than necessary.”

“Oh, because he’s so old and frail? I'd love to see you try and tell Alfred that.”

“Dick–” Bruce cut himself off and sighs, slumping like all his strings had been cut. He looks very old and very tired all of a sudden. It’s been two years since Jason died, and he can see everyday worn on his face. Maybe Bruce is the old and frail one, unable to handle the stress of telling a grandfather what’s happening to his grandson’s memory.

Dick sighs, “no, I get it. I still think you should tell him, though.”

“Later. When it’s resolved.”

“Fine,” he bites out. He knows that will be the best he can ever get.

Chapter Text

Jason eyed the donuts, weighing the benefits of bringing them along for the trip.

On one hand, they were filling, but on the other hand, they were sugary, and not very cheap. Also a whole box would be too big to carry. He needs lunchbox stuff. Stuff that he can carry and eat as little as possible while he settles into the new place and learns how to survive there. He’s still not sure where he’s actually going. He’s planning on telling the ticket guy to get him a ticket as far from Gotham as possible. It should go pretty smoothly, since Jason won’t be the first time they ever heard a request like that.

Still, he needs to plan. He’s not that reckless little kid anymore, who was ballsy enough to try and steal tires from Batman. He’s taken enough risks as Robin to know that planning and taking precautions is vital, or else he’ll pay for it. Dearly.

He sighs, and decides against the donuts, though the idea of getting something bready probably isn’t that bad, though it’ll get stale or moldy really fast. Really, he should be focusing on stuff like packed nuts– stuff that’s filling but he doesn’t need any tools to eat, and won’t swap out carbs for sugar.

Urgh. But he hates nuts.

He really should get them, regardless, because they’re filling and good for him, but… he doesn’t want to.

Jesus, he really is spoiled.

He’ll break down eventually, but for now, he’d like to not subject himself to more misery than necessary, so he goes and stomps down the canned foods aisle. If he can get the ones with the little lid opener, and find a plastic spoon somewhere, it should be pretty good travel food. Heavy, though.

He sighs, and decides to put a few in his bag, glancing to make sure that he can’t be seen. All those years of being Robin have definitely benefited him in his necessary life of crime. Imagine if he became a villain or something. He’d decimate Gotham, get rid of all the criminals, and no kid would have to grow up like he did.

He’d have to fight Bruce, though. And the idea makes his muscles tense. His cheek still throbs, though it’s in the ugly phase now. Dull browns and sickly yellows.

He takes a deep breath in and tells himself again that he’s making the right choice, leaving Gotham. There’s nothing but positives, no Bats, less horrible crime, better weather, what else could he want?

But there’s a lump that fills his throat every time he thinks about leaving, like he’s somehow tethered to this place, like Gotham wants him and will not give him up.

Ha. Gotham can try. He’s not gonna spend the rest of his life being hunted by his family. After everything he’s been through, doesn’t he deserve to be happy? He’s worked so hard for it, only to have it brutally ripped from him, again and again. He’s been reflecting a lot, recently, and he thinks that the problem is that he’s been waiting for other people to give happiness to him, but that’s naive and stupid. He needs to find it and take it for himself.

Maybe he shouldn’t be thinking these thoughts while staring at preserved foods.

He goes to leave– he has a spare five dollars so he’ll buy something to make himself less suspicious and feel less guilty– when a hand wraps around his arm.

He flinches, hard, his mind rushing through who it could be as he turns around to attack– the Joker– Dick– Robin– Dad– and he freezes, his hand in the air, curled up into a fist.

“Master Jason?” Alfred says, his eyes wide.

Jason blinks. He doesn’t know what to say. Does Alfred hate him? He doesn’t look it, but then again neither did Bruce or Dick, at first. If Jason confirms his identity will Alfred turn horrible like the rest of his family? He doesn’t want that to happen, he wants to keep that kindly old face in his memories– not replace it with the same face twisted up in hate.

He tugs a little, “let me go,” he mumbles, stupid tears clogging up his throat.

The fingers tighten, and Jason thinks that this might be it, that they’ll finally take him home to beat him up or whatever because Jason will never be able to hurt Alfred, not even if he has to.

“Young lad,” Alfred says, his voice as serious as the grave, “I apologise if this is some sort of ridiculous understanding, but I need to hear it myself. Are you Jason todd?”

No, he isn’t. He’s Jason todd-wayne, but it looks like even Alfred has disowned him from the family. The idea finally makes tears prick his eyes and Alfred raises his other hand to hold his other arm. He’s still staring at him, waiting for an answer, but all that comes out when Jason opens his mouth is, “I'm sorry,”

Alfred blinks, “what for?”

“I–I dunno, I'm just– I'm sorry, for whatever I did, that made you guys hate me. I'm– I'm leaving now, though, I'll stop bothering you guys.”

“Leaving–? Lad, we don’t hate you. Are you really–?”

“Yes you do!” He says, far too loud for a grocery store, “you guys chased me and hit me and I'm just trying to fucking survive! I'm sorry, okay? I'm leaving, so you don’t have to keep doing this to me–”

“Lad, please slow down–”

“I'm just– I'm just not sure what I did! I've been thinking about it for so long, but I still can’t figure it out. Was it because I ran away? Or felipe? Or- or was it because I disobeyed orders? Was it everything? Please– just tell me, okay? I promise I won’t bother you ever again, I just need to know–”

“Lad!” Alfred shouts, and Jason’s jaw closes with a click. His apologies won’t matter, anyway, not if Bruce and Dick have turned against him. He can only hope that whatever the Bats want to do with him, Alfred will be a little kind, “please, just answer my question. Are you Jason todd.”

It’s a statement, rather than a question, and Jason knows it’s a test. Alfred is asking if Jason accepts his punishment, if he will take his disownment in grace, and he really should say yes, it’s the smart thing to say yes–

“No,” is what tumbles out of his mouth, “I'm Jason Todd-Wayne.”

There’s a beat of silence, and instead of a slap or a kick or a needle that would put him to sleep– the hands that are wrapped around his arms pull him in closer until he’s pressed up against his chest, arms holding him tighter than he’s ever been held before.

“Oh, Jason,” Alfred murmurs into his hair, “oh, Jason,” is his hair getting wet? What is happening?

“Alfie?” he asks, his voice clogged with tears and Alfred holds him tighter. “W-what–” he starts, but then a fresh wave of tears overcomes him, because he hasn’t been held in so long and it feels so good, “i don’t understand,” he whined.

“What don’t you understand?” Alfred says in a reverent tone, petting his hair like he can’t believe he’s there.

“You all hate me,” he cried.

“What?” Alfred pulls back, and Jason gets to see his face again, even though he loses the hug, “we don’t hate you, why on earth would you think that?”

Jason’s head spins, “but– but I saw Bruce. And Dick and they both– they both–” Alfred pulls him back into the hug, shushing his tears.

“Let’s go somewhere with a bit more privacy, hmm?” Jason barely comprehends it. He just wants Alfred to hold him forever and ever and keep him hidden from Bruce and Dick. He lets Alfred walk him out of the store, and they end up in Alfred's car. A part of him worries that this is a trick. That Alfred really doesn’t love him anymore and he’s just pretending so he can take Jason back to the cave so they can punish him. The bigger part of him wants to keep hugging his grandpa.

Alfred rocks him as he starts to sob, the weight of the last few weeks weighs down hard on him and he clings to Alfred like he’s his only anchor in the world, like he’ll float away and cease to exist if he lets go for even one second.

After a minute or so when his sobs taper off, Alfred says, “tell me why you think we hate you, because I certainly do not.”

They’re just words, but it makes relief bloom in him, warm and glowing, “i– Bruce–”

“Did you see Bruce?” Alfred helps him when he struggles to say more. He nods.

“I– I saw him and the– and the new Robin,” he feels Alfred stiffen a little, “and– and I tried to talk to ‘em, and– and Bruce hit me. He hit me, Alfred, he promised me, he promised that he wouldn’t ever do that–

Alfred’s arms are a protective cage that keeps the world from hurting him, and he can feel a slight shake in his granddad’s hands as he lifts one up to stroke through his hair, “he did promise you that, Jason,” Alfred murmured, sounding so old and so tired.

Jason sobbed, clinging onto Alfred tighter. Now that the floodgates are open, there’s nothing that can him now, “and– and I saw Dick, like a week later, and he was fine at first, but then he started to freak out too, and he said that you guys don’t want me home, and he held me down and made me think that he was gonna– gonna– and– and when I woke up, I wasn’t in the Wayne family plot, i– I wasn’t in there, and my real name wasn’t on the grave and he buried me next to sheila, and–”

Alfred suddenly turns back on from when he’s been frozen, and he holds Jason tighter and starts to rock him again.

“I think– dear me, Jason, I think there’s been a massive misunderstanding.”

“What’s there to misunderstand? You guys hate me now,” he sniffled.

“We don’t, Jason. We… Well, I have no idea what on earth Bruce and Dick were thinking. I had no idea that you were back.”

He sniffles, “what? really?

“Really. Although, I'm sure that they don’t hate you. You must understand, it’s been years since you’ve died, i–”

Jason takes in a shuddering breath, “how many years?” He whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. He hadn’t wanted to check before, hadn’t wanted to realise how much of the world has happsed him by–

“Well. Two years.”

The world spins, and all he can do is hold on tight to Alfred and stare. Alfred hugs him again, and Jason is so stupidly grateful for him.

“I– i– oh.”

“I imagine that a good part of their reaction was pure shock and disbelief,” Alfred sighed, “you look just like the day you died, I'm having difficulty believing you’re really here.”

“But– but I told them that. I– I don't know how I'm back. I don’t know–” Alfred shushes him, but he’s not done, “i just– I just woke up, in my grave, I had to dig myself out, alfie–” Alfred hugs him tighter and he squeezes his eyes shut, “i don’t know what happened.”

“Neither do I,” Alfred sighed, “how about we go home, and figure it out?”

“But– but Bruce–”

“I will not let him touch a hair on your head,” Alfred snarls, “nor will I let Dick or Tim near you. They have all handled this situation remarkably poorly.”

“I– I tried to explain to them what was happening, but– they just wouldn’t listen.”

“Well, please don’t take this as me taking their side, I am spitting furious with them. But…” Alfred sighs, “we live in a world where zombies and vampires exist, as well as clones and shapeshifters. They should have talked to you first, and Bruce should have never, never hit you, but you can see why they wouldn’t have immediately believed you?”

Jason sniffles, “he shouldn’t have fucking hit me, though.”

“No, he shouldn’t have. Believe me, he will be paying for that.”

Jason covers his eyes with his hands, “I'm so mad,” he whispers, because he is. If they didn’t hate him for what happened before he died, then they’re goddamn stupid. Sure– he guesses he understands why they didn’t believe him, but they didn’t have to hurt him. They didn’t have to make him feel like the most unloved person on earth.

Alfred pulls him into one final big hug, so tight it felt like Alfred was squeezing his fractured pieces together, and then he reluctantly pulled away, putting the car into gear and pulling out of the car park.

Jason leans back and closes his eyes, feeling like someone has opened him up and scooped out all his insides, leaving him empty and hollow.

He can feel Alfred's eyes flickering over to him for the rest of the trip.

He doesn’t want to leave the car. He wants to stay inside it with Alfred forever and ever and never see anyone else again. He’s slept in cars before, he can be happy living in one.

After about half an hour of Jason hiding, Alfred eventually has to put his foot down, gently pulling Jason out and letting him cling to him as they walk out into the batcave, because he’s awesome like that.

“What’s your plan?” He whispers and Alfred pats his shoulder.

“I'm thinking that you should stay hidden at first. I want to explain the situation and give him a good talking to before he can make any rash decisions.”

Right, yeah, that sounds like a good plan. He knows that Alfred isn’t gonna let Bruce hurt him again, but his heart still pounds in his chest.

As they come up to the corner Alfred gently pushes him away and Jason crosses his arms, watching him leave. He feels like his heart is gonna jackhammer out of his ribcage. He feels– he feels like he used to feel whenever he talked back to Willis. Defiant, but terrified.

It’s a bitter realization. Once Jason had gotten over expecting Bruce to be like every sleazy rich dude he met, he started expecting him to act like his Dad. His biological dad, that is. He expected for him to get pissed off over every little thing, to hit for for being stupid, or withohold food from him when he was being annoying, but he never did. It took him a while, but he learnt that Willis was a bad dad. Jason didn’t deserve being treated like that, and Bruce would never, ever hurt him. Until last week.

His cheek still throbs but he’s certain that it’s just phantom pain by now, and how stupid is that? Getting phantom pain for a stupid bruise? He’s taken way worse hits and didn’t care about it. It’s not fair that it hurts him so much now– just because it came from Bruce–

“Master Bruce, Master Tim,” Alfred greets, “Master Dick,” Jason stiffens, waiting with bated breath to see how they’ll react.

If it goes bad, he’ll leave on his own. He won’t burden Alfred with him, never.

Bruce grunts, as well as Dick, because he’s more similar to Bruce than he’d like to admit and a young voice shyly says, “hey, Alfred,” it takes him a moment to realise it’s the Replacement. He sounds… younger than he expected.

“Hm,” Alfred hums, “when were you planning on telling me about the boy wandering the city who looks remarkably like Jason?”

His heart drops out of his ass and there’s a sound like someone is spitting a drink, and then Bruce’s stuttered, “wha– you–”

“I am not a stupid old man, Bruce,” Alfred’s voice is clipped and harsh, and it makes Jason feel a little safer. Alfred really is mad at Bruce, “Really, how long did you think you could hide him from me?”

“I–” Bruce groaned, and Dick stepped in.

“We were just doing it to protect you, alfie.”

“Oh, please. You know as well as I do that I don't need protection,” Alfred nearly growls, angrier than Jason ever heard him before.

“How did you find out?” Bruce asked

“That doesn’t matter,” Alfred bites out. “Why were you hiding him from me?”

“Don’t be mad at them, Alfred,” the Replacement butts in, “it hurt Bruce and Dick so much to see someone wearing his face, we just wanted to spare you from that.”

“Me and Bruce, Timmy, you weren’t involved in the decision at all.”

“Uh– right. Sorry,” Jason raises his eyebrow. The Dick he knows would have meant that as ‘don’t lump yourself in with us and get in trouble with Alfred,’ but he has a feeling that Tim took it more as a rejection. For a moment he feels bad for the kid.

There’s the sound of a creaky chair and Bruce's sigh, like he leaned forwards in his seat, “yes, we did find a– doppelganger of Jason and we did hide it from you, for the reasons that Tim said. We were planning on telling you once the situation was dealt with.”

“And how would the situation been ‘dealt with?’”

“Well, you know,” Dick said and Jason could practically see Alfred's eyebrow raise.

“I do not.”

“We would have taken them to the cave, run some tests to see what it is, and interrogate it to find their motivations, if it had any, and then depending on what it is, hand it over to the justice league or put them in arkham.”

“And what if the boy was actually Jason?”

There was a long beat of silence.

Jason can hear his heart beating in his ears.

“That’s impossible, Alfred,” Dick finally says, “he died years ago. You know that’s impossible, right?” Jason closes his eyes

“Hm. And yet we live in a world where there are aliens, and humans who can run faster than sound or stretch to incredible lengths. We've had to readjust our definition of impossible quite some times in the last few decades. I doubt that this is the last.”

“I– Alfred,” Bruce sighs, “I understand that you miss him–”

“I am being far more logical and calm than you were when you encountered him. Hitting him, Bruce? Really? Even if he is a doppelganger I would've thought I raised you better than this.”

“You saw him,” Jason closes his eyes, willing back the tears. When Alfred calls him out he can’t be all red faced like a baby, otherwise they might think he’s trying to manipulate them.

“Yes. We had a very illuminating conversation.”

“Alfred, we can’t risk him not being Jason. He might be a spy trying to find out Bruce’s identity, or steal some of our tech. He’ll say anything to get you on his side–”

“Well, he must be a very well researched spy, as he knew all of your identities already, as well as events that I didn’t even know about,” Silence.

Alfred sighed, “I saw him in the supermarket. He was buying food to keep him alive in a new city because he thinks you all hate him. He thinks his family has disowned him and no longer loves him. He thinks that he needs to live on the streets again, scraping by until he can somehow find himself a new home.”

“But– he’s fifteen– how–”

“He told me that he woke up in his grave and fought his way out. He doesn’t know how or why he came back, but one of the first things he did was try to find you, Bruce.”

“...he’s here, isn’t he? I want to talk to him,”Jason's heart tries to climb out of his throat.

“You may take some tests and check his grave, but you are under no circumstances to hurt a hair on his head.”

“And if he is a spy?”

“We’ll deal with it if he is. Jason, lad. Please come out.”

His stomach swoops and he doesn’t want to. He wants to stay hidden forever and listen to how much Alfred loves him, but he can’t. He grits his teeth and forces himself to move, shuffling into view with his arms crossed.

There’s a shuddering gasp, and he can just tell even with his eyes glued to the ground that it’s Dick. His arm still throbs from how hard he’d wrenched it back.

There’s a long beat and a sigh.

“... Let me get a needle,” Bruce says and walks off. No hugs, no tears of joy. Jason’s crossed arms wrap around his torso until he’s hugging himself. What if, even when they confirm that he’s really Jason, they still won’t want him? Will Alfred let him stay, or will he be back out on the streets again?

Alfred sets a gentle hand on his shoulder and leads him to sit on the examination table, and Jason keeps his eyes on the ground, not wanting to look into anyone’s eyes and see the hatred there.

When Bruce comes with a needle, he reels.

“Shit– wait, I'm sorry, I'm just– just give me a few moments to–”

“Hype yourself up,” Dick murmurs, sounding very quiet. He’s probably thinking of the last time Jason had his blood drawn by a doctor, of the panic attack that ensued. Somehow, it was just better if Bruce did it. If it were someone he trusted.

Jason nods, “yeah.”

He rolls up his sleeve and squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for the sudden burst of braveness that will allow him to stick his arm out for Bruce to draw, but it never comes. After a minute or so, he can feel everyone’s impatience hanging in the air.

“Can, um. Can Alfred do it?” He asks, finally looking up at Bruce's face. He looks serious, grim, like he’s in the middle of an investigation. At his words, there’s a glint of surprise in his eyes. Maybe even some hurt.

Serves him right, the thought came, along with a flare of guilt.

“Hn,” Bruce grunts and hands the needle to Alfred. Something in Jason relaxes, and this time it only takes him about ten seconds or so to convince himself to put his arm out.

It’s only a pinch, but he has to squeeze his eyes against the rising panic in his throat, which is not being helped by the tense atmosphere, by– by Bruce being here.

Finally, the dreaded needle is gone, and Jason quickly rolls his sleeve back down, lest another needle comes and pricks him again.

Alfred wordlessly hands the bottle to Bruce who immediately drops a sample into the batcomputer’s analyzer. The tension is so thick that Jason can taste it on his tongue as the batcomputer analyses Jason's blood, deciding once and for all, if he would be allowed back in the family.

The computer’s voice announces,

Blood is 100% match to Jason Todd-Wayne,

Type AB,

White blood Cell count–

Jason doesn’t even care about the rest. It’s him. He’s been unaware of the mounting anxiety that he isn’t really him until it’s gone. But do the others believe it? Do they–

He’s suddenly tackled and it takes him a moment of panic to realise that he’s not being attacked, he’s being hugged. By a very apologetic Dick Grayson who’s holding him so tight he thinks his chest is going to explode, mumbling frantic apologies.

“Dick– jesus, my ribs–”

“I'm so sorry, oh my god– how?”

“Dick–” he squeezes his eyes shut, his heart thundering, “Dick, please. Let go.”

At his words, Dick unlatches immediately, staring at him with such horrified guilt in his eyes it makes him want to die.

“I'm sorry,” Dick whispered, his voice utterly destroyed.

Jason swallowed down the lump in his throat, pushing the tears away, “it’s fine,” he mumbles.

“No it isn't. It– god, it was beyond shitty of me to trigger you like that. Even if you weren’t Jason, I–”

“I get it,” he whispers, because he doesn't know what else to say. He can’t quite bring himself to say that he forgives him.

Dick blinks a few times and tears fall out of his eyes, “I can't believe you’re here,” he whispered, “you’re really here.

The relief and love in Dick’s voice makes Jason's heart break apart and rebuild itself all at once, and he grabs onto the front of Dick’s shirt.

“J–Jay?”

“Don’t– don’t pin me, just hold me. Just be a normal person for once and give me a normal hug.”

He’s never liked the way Dick squeezes him, when they hug. It’s always a little too tight, a little too possessive. He knows that’s just how Dick hugs, and he’s always put up with it, but now– he can’t. To his surprise, Dick obliges, really just wrapping his arms around Jason's back as Jason does all the squeezing, and it’s perfect. His brother’s back. His brother loves him. He’s still– he’s still unbelievably hurt from getting driven to a panic attack like that, but… he gets that Dick had no idea it was him in the first place. He can’t say that he wouldn’t have reacted similarly in the same situation.

Speaking off, “...Hey Dick. What did you mean when you said that you like me when I'm not ‘screaming and crying?’”

Dick’s arm twitches where it rests against his back, “Uh, Jay, that really doesn’t matter right now. You’re here.”

“Yeah, but, you acted like you’ve seen me before. It wasn’t until I touched you that you freaked out.”

“Did you see– him before all this?” Bruce asks from the batcomputer, where he hasn’t moved since the computer confirmed that he’s really him. Tim stands next to him, his face suddenly grim.

“Why aren’t you reacting to him, Bruce?” Dick accused, “your son is back! Act happy about it,” Jason rolled his eyes. That was such an obvious attempt at distracting them from his problems, but, he has to admit, he wants to know too. Does Bruce still hate him? Even if he thought that Jason was someone else when he punched him, he still buried him away from the family plot. Still disowned him.

Maybe he really can’t stay.

“Do you still hate me?” Slipped out of him before he was even aware that he was thinking it. Bruce jerked his head up, his eyes wide.

“No. No, Jay, god, no.”

“Then why won’t you look at me?” He shouts, tears rolling down his face. Fuck Bruce, seriously. Can’t he be simple for once? Can’t he just be his dad and stop making him feel so confused and upset all the time? He just wants his old Bruce back. He just wants this to have never happened at all.

“I–” Bruce shoves his head in his hands, “I hit you,” Tim makes a face next to him.

“Yeah,” he sniffled, “you also buried me with the wrong name. I'm Jason Todd-Wayne, asshole.”

“I would’ve talked him into it,” Dick murmured, hugging himself now that Jason's moved out of their embrace, “but Bruce had already arranged everything by the time I got back to Earth.”

“Yeah, and by the way, why did you bury me next to the fucking woman who sold me out to the Joker?”

Bruce suddenly looks very pale, “...What?” He whispered.

Jason sniffles, his chin wobbling, “you didn’t even investigate my death? Why? Do you just hate me that much?”

“No!” Bruce yelled, and Jason flinched, “n–no, Jay I don’t, I promise, I just–” Bruce slumped suddenly, looking sad and old. Like… really old. Jason never realised how long two years could be, “... I really fucked this up, didn’t i?”

It was a testament to the situation that Alfred didn’t even mutter ‘language,’ as he stood off to the side, watching, waiting to step in if anything happened. It gave him the courage to ask, “why, then?”

“I– it hurt. Your death. It hurt more than anything that’s ever happened to me. It destroyed me more than my parent’s death did. I couldn’t– if I looked into your death, I'd use it to kill me. I was already close enough not knowing what happened,” Bruce swallows, and– is that a tear? Jason stares, horrified, “I'm so sorry. I had no idea what happened with Sheila. I assumed that you’d want to be near your mothers– Catherine is a few graves over,” the graveyard had been familiar, now that he thinks about it. He just hadn’t noticed, being busy digging himself out.

Still– “my name?” He whispered, dreading the answer.

“I– you had been so eager to find your mother. I assumed that you didn’t want to be a Wayne anymore. Wasn’t that why you were looking for her?”

“No,” he hissed, “I just– I just wanted back up, if you ever kicked me out–”

“I would never kick you out.” Bruce says, his intensity almost comforting.

“Please,” he scoffs, “you took away Robin, I know I wasn’t far behind.”

“I took away Robin because you were starting to become reckless,” Bruce stands up, but not in an angry way, more in a ‘I need to be closer to you’ way. Jason still shifts back a little. “i was so scared that you were going to hurt yourself, get yourself killed–”

“Well,” he sobs, but it might have been a laugh, “I beat you there, didn’t i?

Bruce stares at him for a moment, like he can’t possibly believe that Jason could make that joke, then he jerks forward all of a sudden, and the next thing he knows, Bruce is on his knees, holding his hand.

“There’s nothing I can say that will make you understand how unbelievably sorry I am,” Bruce whispers, “I'm sorry for hitting you, I'm sorry for making you think that we hate you, I'm–” Bruce takes in a shuddering breath, “I'm sorry for not being quick enough to save you,” Jason stares at him, eyes wide. His hands are shaking in Bruce’s, “believe me, if there’s anything I can do to apologize, and I mean anything, tell me, and I'll do it.”

“I just,” Jason whines, shattering into a million pieces, “i–i just want everything to be normal again. I want to go back to before we started fighting. I want to have never died.”

“Jason, there’s nothing I want more for that to have never happened either,” those are definitely tears in his Dad’s eyes, on the precipice of falling down his cheek, “but it did. I can't– I can't do that for you, it kills me, but I can't.”

“I'm so mad at you,” he whines, “I just want you to be my Dad again.”

Bruce stared at him, looking like his heart was breaking in a million pieces. Suddenly, he couldn’t stand it anymore, and he leaned forwards and grabbed Bruce's arms, and that was all the prodding Bruce needed to pull him up into a big hug, pulling him off the examination table and onto the floor.

Jason’s chin wobbled, and the tears that he’d been holding back all this time finally broke free. Moments later, Dick joined, and then Alfred.

He was finally home.

In the corner, Tim watches, his heart simultaneously glowing and breaking into a million different pieces.

He’s done. He did his job.

How selfish is it that he kinda hoped that Bruce would never get better? That he’ll always need Tim to look after him, to be his Robin.

Very selfish, he’s sure. He doesn’t deserve to be here, to stink up their good family with his selfishness.

Making as little noise as possible, he left the Batcave, hugging himself tight. He needs to pack up his room, so Alfred won’t have to go through the trouble. It’s the least he can do.

Jason drifts awake slowly, bit by bit becoming more aware of how warm he is. There’s an arm around his chest and he turns and blinks at the giant holding him to the bed. Right, he’s in bed with Dick and Bruce. Neither of them wanted to be separated from Jason, and neither did he, but they were all so exhausted by the end of the day. So they just… went to bed together. Dick used to sleep with Bruce when he had a nightmare, and Jason did it once, a few months before he– yeah. The fact that everything is alright now, curls up into a lovely warm ball in his chest, comforting him with the fact that he’s back with his family, they don’t hate him, in fact they love him enough to refuse to be separated from him. That’s something, right?

He’s happy, but… it’s not quite right. Everything is slightly to the left. Dick looks tired and worn down, and Bruce is old now. It’s obvious that they’re both so exhausted by the last two years while he’d been sleeping peacefully underground.

There’s something else, as well. There’s someone missing. Alfred? No, he would never sleep with them like this, not in a million years. Was it… oh! The new kid. Where the hell is he? Thinking back, he lost track of him the moment he realised that Bruce still loved him. He tries not to feel guilty for forgetting about him because come on. Even if he’s his new brother, Jason has barely said a few words to him. He’s allowed to be a little apathetic towards him.

Still, he’s part of the family. He should probably be sleeping with them. Plus, he wants to know who he actually is, other than his replacement. Maybe he can talk him into giving Robin back?

…Does he even want to be Robin? He thinks about wearing the suit again and–

Forehand or backhand?

Smoke drifting out of his mother’s mouth– she is not his mother–

A flash of light–

He blinks, and he’s suddenly drenched in sweat, shaking hard. Ew. Dick has shifted a little and it gives him enough room to escape. He’ll look for Tim while he’s up but his main priority is getting a shower. He hates feeling gross and he’s pretty much constantly felt gross since he woke up in that coffin.

He sneaks out of Bruce's room, and notices that the guest room next to his light is on. He creeps closer and pushes the door open. TIm doesn’t even notice him, busy shoving his clothes in his bag. Jason leans against the doorway.

“You know you’ll fit more if you fold them,” Tim jumps and leaps to his feet, already in a fighting position. Jason raises his eyebrow. Tim’s face flushes and he looks down at his feet.

“I don’t have much, anyway,” he guesses he’s right, because looking around, TIm’s room isn’t very decorated. Just a few things here and there.

“You move in recently?

“Uh, yeah, I guess. A few months ago,” Jason doesn’t miss the way he refuses to take his eyes off him, the way he looks entranced. It makes him a little uncomfortable, “but I'm leaving, so. Don’t worry, I won't be keeping you up by being too loud in the middle of the night.”

“Wait, you’re leaving?”

Tim blinks at him like it’s the most obvious thing ever, “yeah? You’re here.”

Jason blinks, “so?”

Tim shrugs and looks down, clearly a little flustered. Jason doesn’t know if it’s him or the conversation, “so, you’re here. Bruce doesn’t need me to be Robin anymore.”

The idea of being Robin again makes his stomach swoop but he ignores it in favour of focusing on the bullshit Tim is spewing, “I'm pretty sure he didn’t adopt you just so you can be Robin.”

“He didn’t adopt me.”

“Sorry, foster.”

“No, he isn’t fostering me, either. I live next door, I'm just staying while my parents are away. Which is, you know, always,” Jason stares at him.

“... How did you and Bruce meet again? Dick says you forced him to accept you as Robin.”

Tim huffed and shrugged, “yeah, that’s pretty much it. Bruce was… you know, not great after you died. He needed someone to take care of him, but you’re back now! So he doesn't need me anymore.”

“So what, you’re just gonna go back to your empty house?” It must be big, too, if he lives next door.

Tim shrugged, “I mean, yeah?”

Jason scoffed, “that’s such bullshit. Did you even talk to Bruce about this?”

“Why would i?”

“I don’t know, I guess I just learnt over the last few weeks it’s better to make sure than assume,” he grumbles. Tim flushes, in that way rich people do when they make a social misstep. Jason sighs, “look. Just, come with me.”

He grabs Tim by the wrist and Tim follows him. He’s a little shorter than Jason and he wonders how young he is. Is he twelve like he was when he met Bruce? Younger? He acts older than he is, but Jason has a feeling that’s because of his parents who are ‘always away.’ did they even leave a babysitter for him?

Jason directs them to Bruce’s room and this is where Tim starts to quietly protest, pulling against his arm a little, but Jason holds tight, shoving Tim on the bed and climbing over Bruce.

“Hnnn?” Bruce says, blinking sleepily.

“Do you want Tim to leave?” He asks.

“What?”

“Tim. Do you want him to go back to his house?”

“No,” Bruce mumbled, “his parents are away. I need to look after him,” Jason smirks at Tim's dumbfounded face.

“What about when his parents come back? Will you just give him back?”

“No,” Bruce's eyes were sliding closed, “I need to have a good long… talk with… them…” his breaths even out and Jason crosses his arms.

Tim scowls, “that doesn’t count, he’s half asleep.”

“I'll ask him again in the morning, then. In the meantime, go to sleep.”

“Here?”

“Where else?”

“I'm– I shouldn’t, I'm not–” Jason grabs him by the chest and pulls him down with him, making him squawk.

“Sleep. You look like you’ve been awake for years.”

“I've just been working for a few nights–” Jason squeezes him to cut him off.

“Sleep.”

An arm goes around Jason, and it’s Dick, who’s half awake and smiling.

“Do you get it now, Jay? I told you you’d end up just like me the moment Bruce got another one.”

Now it’s Jason's turn to flush, “shut up.”

“Sleep, you little brats,” Dick sighs, “I'm so tired.”

Jason closes his eyes, obliging, and after a while, Tim stops shuffling around so much, finally starting to drift off.

Jason takes the moment to relish in being with his family again. He’s not really sure if he forgives them, yet. He’s not really sure how to forgive them. They said sorry, and they respect any boundaries he puts up, which is honestly better than how it was before, but there’s still something festering inside of him, that flares everytime he looks at them.

Maybe he can love and forgive someone, but still be unspeakably angry with them.

It’ll go away with time, he knows, and in the meantime, he’ll keep testing that this really isn’t a test. That he’s really believed and loved and trusted. It looks like he won’t be alone in that. This Tim kids reminds him of himself, kinda. That little vulnerable part of him that he had to hide from everyone. Tim never had to hide it. There was no one around to see it in the first place.

There’s so much he regrets and so much he’s mad about, but deep down, he has a strong feeling that this is the best possible outcome.

Holding his little brother to his chest, with his older brother pressed against his back, their Dad somewhere in the bed protecting them, he drifts off to sleep.