Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The cave was damp, the air humid.

The green Lazarus water bubbled, stretching far and wide as Talia stood at the edge, holding a young boy in her arms.

She strode out into the water until it reached her waist, and placed down the boy, letting the water wash away the dirt and grime as his face was submerged in it.

She ran her hand through his dark curls; whispering prayers to a God she didn’t believe in—for he did—and watched as his skin returned to its original colour, instead of the sickly white it had previously been.

He came back to, gasping for air, once blue eyes now a toxic green, unseeing even as they snapped open.

His fingers closed in on her wrists and he began to push her, kick her—anything that would hurt her.

She didn’t flinch, didn’t say a sound as she grabbed him, dragging him back to dry land, her actions lacking any of the softness she had previously held.

He opened his mouth, trying to force out words belonging to another world—another lifetime.

His thoughts escaped him, memories of a past life flashing through with no coherency. Blurred faces and muffled voices as he grasped at straws, the only thing keeping him grounded being the weight of Talia as she pinned him to the ground.

Anger coursed through him, green, bubbling, anger that was waiting to burst out at the smallest hint of a fight.

“Jason Todd,” Talia said, flicking her brown hair over her shoulder as she used her knee to hold him down.

He jerked, the mumbled voices repeating the name in a tone he couldn’t place.

Dark streets. Dirty needles and a cracked screen displaying 911. Cries and screams.

“You are not home.” she loosened her hold as he stopped resisting, a painful tug of something familiar leaving him more dazed than before.

“And you are no longer Robin,”

Red, green and yellow. Blurred faces with startling blue eyes in the centre. City lights blurring together in mosaics.

“I-”

“Don’t speak, I am not finished.” he blinked. The world was blurry, and it took a while before his vision focused enough to meet her gaze.

Green on green. He held his breath.

“You were killed in an explosion,” she said, voice grave as she looked down at him.

“You have been wandering, a restless soul in the mortal world, unable to find peace.” He struggled meekly in her hold.

“The Joker killed you.”

The green anger bubbled up again as he put more force into his struggle, eyes practically glowing.

Smoke, blood, and ashes. Smudged makeup revealing a manic grin. Metal bending. Laughter.

“Revenge can wait, first, you must train,” she said, “I have healed your body, now, we must heal your mind,”

Nails bending as dirt and blood gathered under them. Suffocating. Scattered and broken memories pulling together as splinters ripped into his skin.

“You must not let your anger consume you!” she slapped him, searing pain bringing him back to reality as his eyes lost the glow.

“I will help you,” she promised, standing up and stepping away from him as she watched him calm down and let exhaustion overtake him.

Talia moved soundlessly over the stone floor, ignoring the bowing assassins as she arrived at the room next to hers.

She had it cleared especially for him, unable to risk having him too far away, especially with the… precarious state his mind was in.

He sat on the bed, staring into the window panes, analysing his reflection that was clearly visible in the darkness of the night.

He grabbed the white tuft of his hair, pushed it up and continued his study, cataloguing the differences and similarities he could remember.

She stood by the door, quietly observing him as he finally moved on from scrutinizing his own reflection to looking around the room.

The generic bed with white sheets, pushed into a corner of the room, the side table with a vase but no flowers, the large wardrobe with only League training clothes and the singular window he had used as a mirror.

“I’m taller,” he said in lieu of a greeting, finally turning to face her.

Her lip quirked up, taking it as an invitation to finally enter the room.

“Indeed,” her own form of a greeting, he seemed to understand as he nodded.

Silence.

She stood away from him, waiting for him to speak first. She could see the gears turning in his head, hands clenching and unclenching as he fumbled with finding the right words to express himself.

She was patient, in the way only a mother of a six-year-old assassin could be.

“Why did you save me?” he finally settled on, meeting her gaze with more confidence than she had expected.

“Our goals overlap,” she said; smoothly, easily, politically .

An answer that answered nothing.

“You must excuse me if I don’t find that to be a good enough answer.” His voice had an edge he rarely ever used, clipped and seemingly pleasant, one he had seen Bruce use at far too many galas.

“My father… Well, let’s just say that I’ve recently begun to see the error of his ways.” She fought down the urge to shuffle where she stood. “I want to take over the League of Assassins, make it great again. For that to work, I need… help,”

she said the last word like it physically pained her, a slight downturn of her lip the only physical clue in her otherwise perfect facade.

“How do I fit in?”

“I need someone who’s loyal to me , and not my father,”

“What makes you think I’d be loyal to you?” he leaned back, eyebrow raised.

“You want to kill the Joker, don’t you?” it was almost imperceptible, the brief intake of air, the slight curling of his fingers before he forced himself to relax.

“I can help you. All I ask is for your loyalty and help in training my son,”

“Your son?”

“As his brother, I expect you to be a good role model, and I hope you can teach him things the League is unable to,” she said, something fond blooming in her chest as she thought of her son, all black hair and chubby cheeks.

“Well I’ll be damned.” he laughed humorlessly, “a biological son, huh?”

“It was bound to happen,”

“I suppose,”

“So I take it you agree?”

“For family,” he said, bowing his head in a toast.

She smiled, tipping her own head in a farewell.

“Damian,” Talia said, watching as the little boy scrambled up, doing a 90-degree bow before sending his mother a beaming smile.

“Mother,” he said, curiously looking at the man behind her before giving her his full attention again.

“We do not have a scheduled meeting,” his mouth curled around the words, carefully pronouncing them as he had been taught.

“I want you to meet someone,” she stepped aside, letting Jason come in full view of the boy.

“A new trainer?” he asked. They assessed each other, Jason in curiosity of what Bruce’s biological son would look like, whilst Damian was more focused on how to deal with the threat—looking for weaknesses.

“Yes, and no.” he tilted his head, letting some childish curiosity show in his gaze. “This is your father's son, Jason Todd,”

For a split second, the boy's eyes widened, and then he was correcting his posture, somehow straightening his back even further and tilting his chin up, making eye contact with Jason, fierce and defiant, and under all the bravado; adoration and fear.

“It is an honour to meet you.” he bowed, not as deep as he did for his mother, but also lacking the ease he had with her.

He folded his hands behind his back to hide the tremors.

“You look just like him,” Jason muttered, awed at how much he reminded him of the baby pictures he had seen of Bruce.

“He shall be your teacher, and you will treat him as your brother,” Talia said, looking both of them in the eye before turning on her heel.

“I will be back by nightfall,” she called over her shoulder before disappearing, leaving the two brothers alone.

“Are you truly the son of my father?” Damian asked, digging his nails into his skin.

“I stole his tires and then he adopted me,” Jason said, a small smile on his face as he saw the other slowly grow more comfortable, the harsh lines of his shoulders growing softer.

“You got caught?”

“I got greedy, I was on the last tire when he caught me.”

Damian nodded, looking serious as he thought about it; like there was a big life lesson to be learned from the small anecdote Jason had shared.

“I worry you will not be a worthy teacher if you are unable to complete simple tasks like controlling yourself, but, you are trained by the Bat, so I shall trust you,” Damian said, turning on his heel just as Talia had done, and moving to the middle of the room, stretching.

Jason was baffled, his eyes steadily turning into a brighter green.

“I could kill you by breathing in your direction, kid,” Jason said, the green tint of his vision surprisingly comforting as he let the grip of his emotions lessen.

“You underestimate me, I have been training since birth, it seems you only started recently.” He contorted his body into a split, reaching forward to touch his toes.

“We’ll see,”

Damian stood up, giving Jason a cursory glance before shifting into a defensive position, recognising the look of madness in his eyes.

The only warning he got was the complete disappearance of any blue from Jason’s eyes, and then he was jumping forward as he tried to tackle him

“Tt.” Damian neatly side-stepped.

Jason laughed, a manic and unpleasant sound, before he was tackling the younger again, who this time wasn’t fast enough to dodge.

They rolled together, only stopping when they bumped into a box—presumably filled with training equipment—Jason holding Damian down as he struggled, gripping the arm that had taken to choke him.

“Can’t say much now, can you?” he laughed, tightening his grip, something inside of him thrummed happily, the green clouding his vision completely as a voice whispered to him.

Finish him.

It kept repeating, over and over again, his voice felt rough but he couldn’t remember using it much, unable to hear anything but the sound of Damian struggling.

Through the green tint of the world, Damian’s eyes shone brighter than ever before, it was captivating, the way that even with everything else being green his eyes stood out, like emeralds, though emeralds were too plebeian to describe them.

Like Kryptonite, bright and dangerous.

Damian got in a well-placed kick to his jaw, forcing him to let go.

“You are not in a position to fight,” Damian said like he could decide for him; like anything was his choice.

“You don’t get to tell me whether or not I can fight!” Jason shouted, reaching out in a blind haze.

The green was talking again, begging him to regain control, annoyed that he hadn’t killed him when he had the chance, annoyed that he had tried to drag it out and enjoyed the feeling of letting go of his control.

Jason lunged out again, getting a punch in that he knew would form a bruise.

“The pit is not to be taken lightly!” Damian said, his voice high-pitched like a child.

It was only when Jason threw him up against the sandy walls that he remembered, he sounded like a child because he was a child, he was six.

He was less than half his height, little more than a third of his age.

The green subsided, the world returning to its original colours, the warm wood of the training bars, the metal of the swords, and the grey of the stone floors.

Jason took a step back, hands shaking as he looked down at them, unsure if the blood was real or conjured up by his brain.

“I apologise,” Damian said. Why was he apologising? Jason was the one who had almost killed him, he had nothing to be sorry for. Bruce’s number one rule was to not kill, and now here he was, about to take the life of a six-year-old, Bruce’s six-year-old. He’d be kicked out of the family for sure, God, he couldn’t let this happen, what compelled him to do that? He had never felt the urge to kill anyone before, was it being in the League?

“I did not realise you had been dipped in the pit.” Damian bowed his head, blood dripping down onto the stone, oh God, the blood was real.

He could feel it now, the stickiness as it dried, the sharp burning of his split knuckles.

He had never been afraid of himself.

But now?

The only time he had ever felt fear like this was when he had been dying.

“Why- why are you apologising to me? I should be begging you for forgiveness I-” Jason let out a choked sob, “Oh God,”

“It was my fault,” Damian said, head still bowed like he expected to be dismissed.

“I almost killed you,” he whispered, backing away slowly, retreating to the corner of the room only to let out a breath as his back hit the wall. He looked up, closing his eyes and grabbing the wall, feeling the rough texture of it as he tried to calm down.

He couldn’t, not when he saw Damian’s bloody face behind his closed lids, not when he could see Damian’s body, mangled and bloody, slowly being covered by dirt.

Would he have to claw his way out of the grave just as Jason did?

He suddenly felt claustrophobic, the wall not being enough to ground him as he pressed himself towards it, he needed to get out, away, he couldn’t be here.

What would happen when Talia came back and saw that he had killed her son? God, he had killed Damian.

No, wait, no, he hadn’t killed Damian, he had just been talking to him.

“Todd,” that was definitely Damian’s voice, was his mind playing tricks on him? The walls were closing in on him, choking him, he needed to escape.

Something small and warm pressed up against his chest, and suddenly he wasn’t being pressed up against the wall, instead, it had been replaced by a swooping sensation before he felt the cold surface of the floor.

He opened his eyes and met Damian’s.

“Todd, the pit makes you angry, uncontrollable, it was my fault for aggravating you,” Damian said every word said so slowly, carefully. He looked deep into his eyes, green on green, trying to convey… something.

Jason couldn’t place it, he couldn’t place anything lately, everything was new and every time he looked in the mirror he found something else that made him look different.

Everything from the white strip in his hair to the green in his eyes, his death had clearly changed him, he was starting to realise that it hadn’t just been physical changes.

He was angrier, he had always had a bit of a temper, but this was something else.

He could feel it bubbling just beneath his skin, waiting to jump out, to hurt.

Would Bruce want him back after he had changed so much? After he had become a monster? The anger under his skin wanted blood, it wanted him to kill.

He was with the League of Assassins now, they would want him to kill, could he refuse? What if they killed him? It hadn’t stuck the first time, but the only reason he was alive and functional now was because of them, if he died again—by their hands—they wouldn’t bring him back again.

Was he ready to die?

“I don’t understand.” he shook his head, trying to calm the rage he could feel, trying to blink away the green that was gathering at the corner of his eye.

“The anger you feel inside of you is natural, and with time and practice you will be able to combat it,” Damian said before he leaned down and pressed their foreheads together, Jason flinched, looking up at him with a question in his eyes. “Mother does this when I have an especially bad nightmare, I hear that waking up from the pit feels the same,” he sounded almost embarrassed as he said it, with pink ears and closed eyes.

Jason chuckled, not sure why, nothing about the situation was funny, but… he had always wanted a little brother and seeing Damian like this… it felt a lot like having one.

“Thank you,” he said, pressing his forehead against Damian’s.

It would be okay, the green had disappeared from his vision and the anger was now down to just sizzling beneath his skin, he could control it there, he was okay.

He would be okay.

He was decidedly not okay.

He knew his room wasn’t too far from Damian’s, he knew that, but it was far enough for him to be unable to hear anything that happened in it.

Talia’s room was in between theirs, huge, with gold detailing everywhere. Unlike the small room filled only with the bare necessities that Jason himself had, his room looked to be a servant's quarter, whilst Talia’s was that of a Queen.

Jason turned, facing the wall now, he could feel the sizzling of the pit begin to bubble up again, he blinked, trying to keep the green at bay.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, holding his head in his hands as he took deep breaths.

He hadn’t killed anyone, Damian was fine, he was in his room sleeping, probably dreaming about frolicking in a field of dandelions and bunnies.

That’s right.

But if that really was the case, why could he still feel the blood sticking to his hands? Why could he see Damian’s cold and lifeless eyes, the once glowing Kryptonite turned into a cold and empty emerald.

Why could he see Damian’s body in the corner of his room?

He stood, shaking as he pushed open the door, he shivered as the cold hit him, and for a brief second, he wondered how it could be so cold in the hallway when his skin was practically melting inside of his room.

He stalked down the corridor, ignoring the strange looks he was getting from the assassins that were patrolling the area.

He reached Damian’s room, and let his hand curl around the cold doorknob before turning it, wincing as it creaked open.

Damian’s room was much bigger than Jason’s, with a canopy bed just like his mother—it even had the same green with gold detailing—and a desk much bigger than any Jason had ever seen.

The whole room was huge, probably bigger than the room he had back in the manor, and it was filled with riches; gold and gemstones hanging from every crevice.

Damian was also there, laying on his bed.

Jason faltered in his steps, Damian was laying there, arms packed tightly at his sides, facing up.

Like a corpse. 

God, he’d killed him, hadn’t he? He had killed him and brought him back to his room, giving him makeup so no one would know what he had done.

Jason shakily came to the bedside, dropping down to his knees as he brought his hands together.

And Jason prayed, he prayed as tears fell from his eyes, he prayed as his hands shook so violently he almost touched the corpse, and he prayed silently in his head when his tears left him unable to speak.

He prayed to all the saints he knew, hoping that one of them was listening, and he prayed until he couldn’t think of any more prayers.

And even then he continued.

“Why did you wake me?” Damian asked, his voice rough from sleep, and oh, wasn’t that the best sound Jason had ever heard? Better than Alfred’s voice when pouring tea and asking what book Jason was reading, better than the sound of Bruce saying that he wasn’t going out on patrol and would instead stay home and watch some stupid movie with him.

Jason let out a choked laugh, relief bubbling up inside of him, he didn’t even notice the sizzling of the pit as his hands stopped shaking.

“I’m sorry, I just… I thought you had died, I keep thinking you’re dead,” Jason said, looking up at Damian, so happy to see that his skin was the healthy melatonin it was supposed to be, not some kind of sickly white colour he had imagined.

“I am perfectly healthy Todd, it will take more than a kerfuffle for me to die,” Damian said, a frown twisting his otherwise cute features.

It was adorable and utterly hilarious to see such an expression on such a young kid.

“You’re right, you’re right.” he nodded. “Could I stay? Just for tonight? You don’t have to say yes I just… I really need to know that you’re okay.” he gave a sad smile, eyes puffy and red from his crying, and voice scratchy for the same reason.

“Tt, if it will make you feel better, and stop you from disturbing my peace… I shall allow it.” he looked away before scooching over to make more room for Jason.

“Good night baby bat,” Jason mumbled thoughtlessly as he finally felt sleep and exhaustion tug at him, the sizzling anger practically gone as tired overpowered it.

“Good night,” Damian mumbled back, closing his eyes.

Talia stepped out of the shadows, a small smile on her face as she looked over the two boys.

She had thought that there would be a lot more fighting between them, and was happy to see that they seemed to get along much better than originally anticipated.

She reached over, pushing up Damian’s hair to plant a kiss on his forehead before doing the same to Jason.

“Good night,” she whispered, sneaking out of the room again.

She had a lot of work to do, there would be much preparation needed if she were to kill the Joker and take over the League of Assassins, one thing at a time though.

She needed to stabilize Jason, he had already tried to kill her son once, and though he would never have actually succeeded (she had the room surveilled by the most skilled of assassins) it was still worrying that he had lost that much control. He had been able to overpower the need to kill, although Talia doubts that it was due to him controlling his emotions and probably more the fact that Damian was a child and Jason didn’t seem to be a fan of killing; especially children.

Jason woke up, hand firmly clasped around someone’s wrist and in his half-asleep daze he thought nothing of it.

He pressed down on the wrist, feeling the soft pulse of another live human being and let the calmness of the situation wash over him.

As he slowly drifted out of the sleep haze, and back into the conscious world he furrowed his brows.

The Joker killed him, he had been killed by the Joker.

Was this Heaven? Why would he be feeling someone’s pulse if it was Heaven? He thought Heaven was supposed to be brighter, where were the angels singing? He couldn’t remember meeting God, did he not die and meet God?

God, was he in Hell?

He didn’t think he deserved to be in Hell, sure he had sworn here and there, and maybe he occasionally used the Lord's name in vain but, Hell? Really?

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to clear his thoughts. It seemed… too peaceful to be Hell, sure, he was pretty warm but not Hell-fire-warm, so maybe Heaven and Hell didn’t exist?

Only one way to find out, he blinked his eyes open, looking around the huge room he was in.

Oh.

Right.

He was with the League of Assassins.

He had died, but he wasn’t dead anymore.

He had clawed his way out of his own grave and was now alive and well, and the pulse he could feel thrumming beneath his fingertips was Damian’s, because he hadn’t killed him.

Because everything was okay, it was just fine.

He was okay.

He would be okay.

Chapter Text

When was he ever okay?

There had been a breach, some nobody had rallied a couple of people and were now doing some kind of anti-LoA protest, this meant breaking into the place, taking as much technology as possible, and then they had to try and hunt down a 6-year-old and kill him.

Jason was not having a good time.

He shifted so his body would cover more of Damian’s, trapping him between his—admittedly broad—shoulders and the back of the closet Jason had pulled him into when the alarms sounded.

“We should be out there fighting! Not in here hiding!” Damian whined, voice petulant in the way only a prepubescent could be.

“They are specifically looking for you,” Jason hissed, “I won’t let them hurt you,”

So maybe he still felt a little guilty about the “first thing I did was try to kill my dad’s biological son” thing, but he thought that was perfectly reasonable.

Jason shifted again, crouching down lower so he could stretch his arms behind him and actually feel Damian instead of just air.

That was his first mistake, immediately a wet finger entered his ear, he jumped up, practically falling out of the closet, he regretted ever teaching him that trick.

Damian took this opportunity to push him the rest of the way out, jump out himself, landing squarely on Jason’s back before sprinting out of the door and into the hallway.

Jason let out some colourful language (mostly not in the same language) as he got up and bolted after him.

“Damian!” he hissed, trying to run as fast as possible whilst also not making a sound.

He easily caught up to him, being much taller and having much longer legs really helped him in situations like these.

Damian took a sharp right and Jason scrambled to follow, almost bumping into an assassin.

They were wearing black training clothes with a small emblem stitched above the heart, it had some sort of symbolism Jason was sure of it—not that it mattered.

Clearly, these people weren’t very serious if they hadn’t even made their own uniforms.

Jason had punched him before he had even finished a thought, quickly knocking him out.

A quick glance at Damian showed that he was fine and had knocked down the last two—He chose to ignore the puddle of blood slowly oozing out from them.

He clicked his tongue, looking up at Jason, “You’re behind.” Then he broke into a big grin and ran further down the hall.

Behind?

Because he had only knocked down one person?

The pit in his veins bubbled to life, happily licking at the competitive flame Damian had inadvertently lit.

Jason smirked, using his long legs to get ahead of Damian, sparing the younger a single look to stick his tongue out at him, before looking forward again.

He came to a stop at the end of the hall, a look to the left showed no one, but a look to the right showed a group of five people.

His smirk widened as he calmly walked up to them.

“A fine morning we have, isn’t it?” he casually said, hands in his pockets where he had stored a small knife.

They started speaking in Arabic, a mix of words Jason knew and didn’t (he had only just started learning, give him a break).

Jason didn’t really care about what they were saying, hand darting out of his pocket he got the first two in the side, enough for them not to want to get up again but not enough to kill them. He couldn’t kill them.

He may not recognise himself anymore, but one thing he knew for sure was that he was Bruce’s son, and Bruce didn’t kill.

He wouldn’t let the League take that away from him, he wouldn’t let them make a killer out of him.

The third person was quick, a dagger in their hand as they slashed down, blocked in the nick of time by Damian, who disarmed the person and threw shurikens at them before stabbing another in the neck.

They were both dead within minutes.

“Tt, they do not deserve to live, Todd,” Damian said after seeing how Jason disarmed and hurt the last one without using lethal force.

“Why? Because they rebelled against your grandfather? Do you believe in your grandfather's teachings, Damian? Do you really believe he wants the best for the world? He is a madman deceived by his own ideas of grandeur, living in his own world where everything he does is justified. They may be stupid, but they do not deserve to die.” he wiped the blood off his knife, looking at Damian with a look he hoped conveyed everything he tried to say.

Someone came down the hall, they were wearing the same clothes as the others and Damian grinned, a bit of blood smeared on his forehead from pushing his hair away.

“Tie-breaker!” he called out, pouncing on the other person, knife ready and aiming for the eye socket.

Jason was quicker though, having the person pinned and out cold in seconds.

Damian pouted, “When my growth-spurt kicks in, I will beat you,” he promised before turning on his heel.

“Damian! We have to get away from here, it’s dangerous.” he grabbed his arm.

“Mother and Grandfather will have them defeated soon, there is no reason-” he was interrupted by Talia running towards them, grabbing both of their arms and running.

Jason felt a deep sense of wrong about the whole thing, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what it was. Until he realised that he could hear her footsteps, he could hear the soft clicking sound of her heels hitting the floor, he could hear her heavy breathing and feel the soft tremors running through her body.

“Talia, what’s happening?” he asked, glancing at Damian who was struggling to keep up, stumbling behind them as he tried to get his small legs to go just as fast and just as far as theirs did.

Jason picked him up without a second thought, settling him on his hip without breaking his stride, it spokes volume to how tired Damian was that he didn’t even try to break free of the hold and just pressed himself closer to Jason’s chest, his own heaving up and down as he coughed and tried to catch his breath.

“We have to move, I have an apartment in Metropolis where we can lay low for a few days.” she bit her lip, debating something with herself. “We will have to push our plans up, but I don’t doubt that everything will work out,”

She seemed to be reassuring herself just as much as she was them, Jason doubted Damian picked up on it though, if he had even been able to listen at all, his little heart was beating so fast even Jason could feel it.

She stopped, taking Damian from Jason and pushing them both into their rooms.

“Find your emergency bags,” she said before disappearing into her own room.

Jason nodded, taking out the duffel bag he always had under his bed, it was something he had been taught from back on his days in the streets, and even living in the life of luxury being a Wayne gave him hadn’t let him shake it. He had a duffel bag under his bed at the manor, he had another in the kitchen, under the cupboard where the silverware that Alfred didn’t like to use was.

He had been surprised when a couple of assassins had dropped the duffel bag in front of him and shouted at him to fill it with stuff in case of emergencies.

He grabbed the hat he had on his side-table and stuffed it into the bag with a pair of batons he had been practising with and hadn’t hidden yet.

When he left the room Damian and Talia had already met up in the hall.

It was strange, the way she seemed to immediately relax when she spotted Jason, was she worried that she had already failed Bruce? Jason didn’t want to think too much about it, else he might start to confuse her love for Bruce for love for… him.

He hadn’t had a mother figure for so long, perhaps he was projecting.

“Do you have everything?” she asked, nodding back at him when he affirmed before taking Damian into her arms and running down the corridor.

They made it to the jet in record time, Talia took the driver's seat and Jason remained tucked against Damian, quoting different poets to try and distract the young boy.

“I will love you as misfortune loves orphans,” he whispered into the crown of Damian’s head as he drifted off to sleep.

“As fire loves innocence,” he whispered as Damian’s head lolled to the side, soft breaths escaping him as the last of the adrenaline escaped his body and sleep overtook him.

“And as justice loves to sit and watch while everything goes wrong,” he whispered as he ignored Talia’s curious look and soft smile.

“I will love you as a battlefield loves young men,” he whispered as he settled back to be more comfortable, to hug Damian a little tighter, to get out of Talia’s line of sight.

He took a deep breath, searched and scanned his mind for the rest of the poem, letting the sound of the wind become background noise as he honed in on the sound of Damina breathing.

He was okay, he lied.

He would be okay, he promised.

When they touched down on American soil Jason had expected to feel something, a sense of coming home, maybe some relief, an itch to go see Bruce and Dick.

Something.

But he didn’t, he didn’t feel much of anything, even as he held tighter onto Damian and slipped into Talia’s blind spots.

He didn’t feel like he was home, maybe because he wasn’t home.

Home was Gotham, home was dirt and smog, it was freshly brewed tea and a British accent speaking words of wisdom, it was sparring and the smell of sweat, it was old movies playing in the background.

Home was Bruce, home was Alfred, home was Dick.

And this was Metropolis.

Metropolis was bright where Gotham was dark, it was concrete and overlit streets, it was coffee in the hands of busy pedestrians, it was a faux-polished accent spewing faux-nice words, it was covered-up bruises and too much perfume, it was new blockbusters playing at cinemas that never closed.

They made it to the apartment easily, walking up to the counter to get their keys.

Jason stayed a couple of steps behind with Damian, letting Talia speak with the blonde woman at the counter as he looked around, counting all the exit points he could find.

“Jason,” Talia called, robotically he came to stand next to her. “Could you go up and unpack? I have some business to take care of before I come up,”

He nodded, grabbing the key with his right hand and Damian with his left.

“Aren’t you boys the cutest?” the woman at the desk—Christene, judging by her name tag—said, smiling down at them.

“Yes, they are. Jason is very into his literature you know, he practically only speaks in book quotes,” Talia interjected, resting a perfectly manicured hand on his shoulder. He leaned into the weight almost imperceptibly.

“If you wake up intending to murder someone at two o’clock, you hardly think what you’re going to feed the corpse for dinner,” he numbly quoted, it was the first one he thought of, and he had stopped himself from outwardly cringing, he wished he had said something better, maybe quoted the Great Gatsby or something.

“My, my, what advanced literature!” the woman gushed, easily brushing off the morbid quote.

“Yes, he’s always been very smart, both my sons are,” Talia said, subtly signalling for him to find an out from the conversation.

Going to too many galas had left him overly prepared for making an escape at a moment's notice.

“This conversation has been lovely, but we’re both tired.” he squeezed Damian’s hand, “the flight has left us exhausted,”

“Of course, of course.” Christene waved her hands at them in a shooing motion, a wide smile showing her crooked teeth. “Sleep well,”

“Good night my love,” Talia whispered, kissing the side of his head before leaning down to do the same with Damian.

“Good night,” Jason mumbled before tugging Damian towards the elevators.

Pressing the button for the top floor before stepping back into the corner.

He found the apartment easily, slipping in the key and opening the door with his hip, cursing himself for leaving the bags downstairs with Talia.

The apartment had an open floor plan with floor to ceiling windows, white counters and furniture with empty picture frames scattered about and mugs that had never been used.

To the right, was a master bedroom with a bed that looked like something that belonged in a hotel more than a home, beside it was a bathroom that had a bath-and-shower combo.

To the left, was another bedroom with two twin beds and one closet.

Jason went into the kitchen first, opening all of the cabinets and the fridge to see if there was any food. He wasn’t surprised when he came back empty-handed but added groceries to his mental list.

“How are we meant to train in this space?” Damian whined, kicking the coffee table.

“Think of it as navigational training, a true warrior can fight even with obstacles in the way,”

Damian scoffed but seemed placated by the response.

“Very well,” he mumbled before jumping at Jason, who screeched.

“Brat!” he shouted, fighting down the tint of green that was appearing at the edge of his vision.

“Surprise attacks, Todd! You need to be able to fend off any attacker, you’re an al Ghul now, we have many enemies,” he said, wrapping his legs and arms around Jason’s throat as he choked him, only to be thrown over his shoulder and onto the grey fake-wood flooring.

“Please, I’m a street-kid turned Wayne, my whole life has been filled with enemies,”

“And now you have more.” Damian grinned, trying to sweep out Jason’s legs from under him, but Jason quickly jumped over the attack, grabbing the leg and swinging him up and towards an empty bookcase.

Damian flipped off of the bookcase and let himself fall directly onto Jason’s chest, the velocity knocking them down.

They continued to play fight for a while, giving each other new bruises that wouldn’t take too long to heal, until Talia came in, letting her heels click on the floor.

“Boys,” she greeted, dumping all of their bags on the floor.

“Mother.” Damian bowed, “Todd has been losing spectacularly in our brawl,”

“You little brat!” Jason squawked, tackling him onto the ground as he ruffled his hair.

“There is no need to lie amongst family." she smiled, "although I'm glad to see that your lying has come a long way, you will make a great leader,” she said, stepping over the two grappling boys so she could claim her room.

“Don’t worry, I’ll let you be my servant once I become the Demon's head,” Damian said, squealing when Jason decided to play dirty by tickling him.

“Of course, young master, I shall bathe and feed you, I shall even wipe your ass!” Jason let his voice mimic that of Alfred, grinning at the disgusted look Damian threw him.

“Lése-majesté!” Damian said, almost poking Jason in the eye.

“You are far from Royal, Dami.” Jason laughed.

“I was born into a position of power, and I am expected to take over the title of ‘leader’ when my grandfather relinquishes the title, how is that not a royal?”

“Royals don’t fight as well as you do.” Jason’s smile turned softer at the red colour Damian’s ears were turning and the quirk of his lips he couldn’t hide.

“I suppose you’re right, royals have taken up a passive role, I intend to be much more hands-on,”

Jason hummed before continuing his assault by tickling Damian.

They had been living in Metropolis for three days, the first thing Jason had bought was blinds, after that he bought food.

The city never slept, there was always a light turned on somewhere, and even from the 12th floor, he couldn’t see any stars.

It irked him, and he hadn’t been able to sleep with all of the light. It turned out he still couldn’t sleep even in the darkness.

He was making coxinhas at 2 am when he turned around and saw Damian sitting on the counter, he fought down a flinch as he looked at him.

He was wearing a t-shirt and loose pants, hair messed up from tossing and turning in his bed, his eyes were slightly blood-shot from lack of sleep and he looked paler than he should.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Jason asked, resting his hip on the counter. Damian frowned and nodded in response.

“Want to help?” another nod as Damian jumped down.

“First, you gotta wash your hands, you can help me put in the filling,” Jason said, pointing at the sink.

They worked in silence, taking dough and filling it with chicken and cheese.

It was nice, Jason hadn’t been coping well with the move, in the League, he was constantly kept busy, he always had something to do when he was awake and by the end of the day he was too tired to really think about anything.

This forced him to slow down, he trained just as much as always, but with the limited space and no trainers, it just wasn’t as difficult. Talia was in and out which left him on babysitting duties, which wasn’t too bad as Damian was largely self-sufficient.

Still, the slow lifestyle made the green harder to control, previously he had distractions and new fights where he could let out his anger, but now? Now he had to control it, had to keep it bottled up, lest he accidentally hurt Damian.

Again, his subconscious whispered.

It was hard to control, but he had to.

The green was unlike anything he had ever experienced, it was all-consuming, as soon as it started he lost all rational thought, the need to draw blood—the need to bring pain—overpowering everything else.

Before he had died, he had started rereading The Secret History, he hadn’t been as busy back then and he had been able to finish whole books in one day, that book in particular always took a bit longer due to the many literary references and translations Jason needed to find.

The main characters in that book had tried to achieve what they called absolute freedom. It was described so beautifully in the book, he had reread the passage again and again, committing the words to memory.

“Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. And what could be more terrifying and beautiful, to souls like the Greeks or our own, than to lose control completely?” he had been entranced, breathing in the words and wishing he could try it, wishing he could lose control, “If we are strong enough in our souls we can rip away the veil and look that naked, terrible beauty right in the face; let God consume us, devour us, unstring our bones. Then spit us out reborn.” and oh, how Jason wished he was strong enough. He wished it deep inside of his bones.

He couldn’t help but think that fate was cruel.

Back then he hadn’t been able to imagine what that would look like, he had struggled to truly comprehend the words, to truly get a picture of what absolute freedom would look like. 

Now?

He couldn’t help but think that it was frighteningly similar to the green anger he felt every day; Pit madness, Damian had called it.

He blinked away the green that was threatening to take over his vision. He wished he had the book now, the reread would certainly be different compared to the other times he had read it, like he was a completely different person reading it for the first time, and wasn’t he? Had he not changed beyond recognition? The Jason that had entered his grave and the Jason who had left it were two completely different people, he knew it when he looked in the mirror and didn’t see a shred of the skinny kid from crime alley who barely had enough fat to cover his bones, he knew it when he let some of the Pit madness cloud his vision while fighting, relishing in the feeling of drawing blood and completely disregarding all of Bruce’s training, just to catch himself before he could jump off the edge and draw blood for the last time.

He knew it when he woke up from dreams where he had killed everyone and felt nothing.

Wasn’t that a frightening thought?

He had become a metaphorical killer, and he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything.

He dug his nails into the soft dough, mechanically filling it.

“How can you possibly justify cold-blooded murder?”
“I prefer to think of it…as redistribution of matter.”

Jason had never thought he would be the Henry in that situation.

In theory, he had no problem with killing, but, in practice? Could he really kill the Joker? Sure, the idea pleased him, being able to take revenge… Well, it was too good to pass up. But breaking Bruce’s number one rule? Would he be able to?

Thinking about it was one thing, actually doing it? Well, that was another thing altogether. 

“You should be in bed,” Talia’s voice called from his right, his back straightened before he could think about it.

“Hey,” he softly greeted.

“You should be getting at least eight hours of sleep every day,” she said, it reminded Jason of how Alfred spoke when the nightly activities went too close into morning activities.

“Couldn’t sleep.” he shrugged.

“Well, at least you’re being productive,” she said, sliding onto the bar stool by the kitchen island.

Jason hummed, “Why are you awake?” he washed his hands, letting Damian fold the last two.

“I was working, then I heard you boys and decided to come say hello,” she said.

Talia seemed relaxed in a way she rarely ever was in the League.

Her posture was still impeccable but the tight lines of her shoulders were gone, the press of her lips had eased into a quirk that came and went.

The biggest difference was her eyes, they still glowed that unearthly green, they still seemed wiser than someone who looked so young should, they were still calculating, filing away every move and sound.

Yet, they were softer, they weren’t as cold, not as emotionless as they had been back in the League, the love she held for Damian was clear in her eyes.

“On how to kill the people who are trying to take over the League?” Jason asked, getting out the pot and oil.

“On how to do it myself,” she corrected.

“What?” Damian’s head snapped towards his mother.

“I… I have long thought that- that my father’s teachings were wrong.” she frowned, a contemplative look in her eyes.

It was weird, the stuttering coupled with the openness of her eyes, she shouldn’t be letting her guard down like this, not in front of him, not in front of anyone.

“But-” Damian was cut off by a glare from Talia.

“He hasn’t been inspiring change, he kills and starts wars without thought, I cannot, in good conscience, let his reign go on,” 

“You cannot be serious, going against grandfather like that-” Damian seemed to stop himself before he could say more.

“I do not enjoy going against him, but he has become dangerous,”

“Bruce could help,” Jason said.

“No, I will do this without him,”

“Talia, we both know that he has the resources-”

“He would not help me,”

“Bullshit.” they looked at each other, for a second Jason thought her eyes had gone cold again, had changed to not show emotion.

The pit bubbled to the surface, a voice he knew didn’t belong to him whispering in his ear. She doesn’t trust you, you pushed her too far, it was taunting him.

Then he looked deeper and found the same openness she had previously, it was just filled with more hurt now, filled with more longing than love, a cruel sort of fear that seemed unnatural on her.

“He loved you,” Jason continued, pushing past the emotions, “and even though you hurt him, he still cares for you!”

“You are still a child, you can’t possibly know-”

“I know enough.” he took a deep breath. “He would help you in a heartbeat, he would get you far away from Ra's, he would do anything to protect you, to protect Damian,”

“We hardly need protection.” Damian sniffed.

Jason dumped the coxinhas into the oil bath perhaps a bit too aggressively.

“All of this can be discussed at a later date, we still haven’t solved the issues with the Joker,”

The change in topic wasn’t smooth, even she knew that, still, they both welcomed it.

“There isn’t much of an issue, just go in, kill him, get out.” he shrugged.

“I’m not an idiot, Jason,” Talia said.

“I never said you were,”

“You haven’t been killing anyone, this would be your first kill, the first one is always special, but I don’t know if you’re ready for it,”

“Don’t underestimate me, Talia.” he left the stove in favour of leaning over the island, peripherally he saw Damian take his position.

“Will you be able to do it? I know your father’s teachings are still ingrained in you,” 

“Not when it comes to him,” he sounded confident, at least he hoped so, for in reality, he did not know.

He deserved to die, and Jason wanted to see that grin slowly fall, he wanted to make sure no one was ever hurt like he was.

But to be the final blow?

Talia sighed and came around the island to rest her arm on his shoulder, leaning onto him in a half-embrace.

“I do not wish to rush you, but this inner battle you are fighting will do you no good.” she kissed his cheek, only just reaching due to the added height of her heels and leaned onto his shoulder.

Jason found himself relaxing instinctually, and then Damian was joining the hug, and Jason had to bite the inside of his cheeks to not chuckle.

He let himself revel in the warmth for a few seconds, eyes closed as his arms snaked around Talia’s waist and into Damian’s hair.

Then he remembered the coxinhas and shot up, mumbling expletives as he prayed for them to be unburnt.

It was later that night (or morning) when Jason was tossing in his bed, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to focus on Damian’s steady breathing from the other side of the room, that Jason found himself smiling.

Motherhood looked good on Talia.

Jason finally got comfortable, teetering on the edge of consciousness, a small smile tugging at his lips with the thought of this weird new family he had been adopted into.

Something poked his arm.

He cracked open an eye to see Damian, a small scowl on his face as he looked away.

“May I sleep in your bed?” he asked, still not making eye contact.

“Of course,” Jason mumbled, shifting a bit to make more space for the younger.

Damian climbed up and curled into Jason’s chest, arms tentatively draping over Jason’s waist.

He smiled, burying his face in Damian’s hair.

Yeah, he was okay.

He would be okay.

(and maybe he was starting to actually believe that)

When he woke up, Damian was in the middle of the room, going through a yoga routine that made Jason feel physical pain.

It reminded him a bit of Dick.

Jason wasn’t sure if Dick’s natural charm would win Damian over or if their personalities would clash too much and Damian would hate him.

Talia knocked on the door and poked her head in, “Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes,” she said before leaving.

“Want me to wait for you or should I just go?” Jason asked.

“Give me five minutes,” Damian said, his voice sounding strained as he moved onto the next pose.

“You should join me one day, the merits to yoga are-”

“I’m not gonna be doing no yoga like I’m some kind of rich, middle-aged, housewife,” Jason immediately shot down.

“Of course not, from my understanding, males are referred to as ‘husband’” that got a startled laugh out of Jason.

“Since when were you actually funny?” he asked, ruffling the younger's hair as he finished the yoga.

“I have always possessed a talent for humour, you’re just too dimwitted to realise it,” Damian shot back.

“Sure D,”

Talia had filled the whole table with food, fruits, vegetables, bread, pancakes, waffles, cereal, the coxinhas from yesterday,  and various beverages. She was biting down on the nail of her thumb, fiddling with her other hand as Damian and Jason entered.

“Good morning boys,” she said, seemingly realising that she had been fiddling she immediately stopped and sat down at the head of the table.

She seemed tense, not in the way she would tense up when she heard certain sounds, or the way she tensed up when she thought someone was following her or about to attack.

Jason had never seen this kind of tense.

(That was a lie, he had seen it before, whenever Bruce would suggest bonding activities or wanted to gift Jason something he got like that).

“Good morning,” Jason greeted, sitting on her right as Damian took her left, also mumbling a greeting.

“We will be going shopping today,” she said as they began filling the plates with food.

“Is that safe?” Jason asked, grabbing three coxinhas before sending the plate around.

“We aren’t in hiding, my father agreed that it would be better if we stayed away from the League for a while, so we aren’t in contact, which means we are free to do as we please,”

“Cool,” he said around a pancake.

“Chew before you speak,” she softly chastised. “Is there anywhere you boys want to go? I will be very busy these next few days so this is the only time we have to… be together,”

It sounded like she wanted to say something else.

“I’d like to see the modern art museum, I’ve heard it’s one of the best in the world and I want to see if it can alleviate my usual distaste for modern art,” Damian said.

“I’ll see to it then, Jason?”

Ah, right, of course, he shouldn’t have just assumed that she wouldn’t include him.

“There is a bookshop around the corner I’d like to check out.” he shrugged.

“I hadn't realised you enjoyed reading so much,” Damian said, Jason shrugged in response.

“You should have said so sooner, the library back in Nanda Parbat is extensive, you would enjoy it,”

“There wasn’t a lot of time for pleasure,”

“Reading expands your mind and furthers your intellect, it is just as important as any fighting skill,” Talia said, “If you had told us you wanted to read, we would have seen to it,”

“Good to know,”

They ate the food in relative silence after that before getting ready to go out and buy some clothes.

Jason ran his hands over the expensive leather of the Jacket, he glanced at the price again, cringing.

He let go, sending it a sad smile.

I loved you; even now I must confess, Some embers of my love their fire retain.

He really should not be quoting poetry at a leather jacket.

But it was a really nice jacket.

“Does it please you?” Damian asked.

It pleases you? Well, then, let the crowds protest and spit upon the shrine where burns your fire blessed. He should really shut down his brain, if he continued like this he wouldn’t be able to speak in anything but Alexander Pushkin quotes.

“It’s too expensive,”

“That wasn’t what I asked,”

They held eye contact for a couple of seconds, there was some kind of fight there, not one that Jason knew how to win, nor did he know what started it.

“Mother!” Damian called, and Jason couldn’t help but smile.

It reminded him of when he and Dick fought and Jason would call on Alfred.

“Todd likes this jacket,”

“Then add it to the pile,” she almost sounded confused, furrowing her brows like she wondered why it wasn’t already in the pile.

“There’s no need, I know it’s expensive, I’ll just get something else,”

“Mother, Todd is being an idiot, please fix this at once.” Damian was about to throw it onto the pile with the rest of the clothes before he thought better of it and skipped off to find another cart for more room.

“Jason, money is no problem, I thought you would have grown accustomed to this, living with Bruce,”

“You don’t have to waste your money on me, I know you’re only taking care of me because of some misguided duty to him.” he crossed his arms, raising his shoulders in a way he knew looked defensive.

“Do you truly think so little of me?” her tone was harsher than he expected.

“It isn’t about me thinking little of you, I’m not an idiot Talia,”

“If I truly did not care for you, I would have left you in the League, I wouldn’t have let you and Damian grow close, and I would not be planning to kill a man for you,”

“Don’t pretend you wouldn’t do anything to get into Bruce’s good graces, Lord knows you don’t need it,”

“Damian sees you like a brother, that makes you my son, whether you like it or not, now go out there and get some more clothes, I don’t want to see you even think about the price tag.” and then she was turning on her heel, walking over to the women's section in that weirdly silent way she had perfected even in heels.

And Jason was left there.

He almost laughed.

He had left because he wanted to find his mother, and here he was, living with a woman who saw him as a son and a kid who was his brother.

Fate was a tricky thing.

Chapter Text

Jason had gotten the jacket, the brown leather stood out against his mostly monochromatic wardrobe, leather jackets, and especially expensive ones that weren’t black, were dangerous when you wanted to blend in.

Too distinct.

That’s why most of his clothes were monochromatic, harder to spot someone in the crowd when they’re wearing black instead of bright red.

It also reminded him of Bruce.

He was brought back to the present when Damian threw him a pair of escrima sticks, catching it on reflex he shifted into a defensive position.

It wasn’t Jason’s first choice but… Dick had been teaching him before he died.

“Talia asked us to work on our Portuguese, so it’s a short spar,” Jason said, Damian hummed in acknowledgement.

Jason surged forward, bringing down both sticks, Damian easily blocked him, and they continued to trade blows.

To an outsider, they looked more like two very angry drummers than fighters.

They continued for ten minutes, exchanging blows as they stuck to Kali fighting, Jason brought down both sticks again, Damian blocking just like he had done at the start of the fight, but this time Jason was quick, twisting his body to come up behind Damian’s and kicking his knee so it would give out before trapping him in a head-lock.

“That’s cheating!” Damian whined, those last moves definitely weren’t learnt from Kali.

“Listen kid, we may be training escrima sticks here, but when you get into a real fight, they won’t stick to one form of martial art.” Jason helped him up, “if you have the opportunity to bring your opponent down, then you take it, no matter what,”

“Even if that opponent is my teacher?” 

“Even if that opponent is your teacher,” Jason confirmed.

“Then you shall not best me again,”

His tone was so dark Jason couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, but for now, let’s move on to language, T will kill me if I let you fall behind on your studies,”

“Tt, mother would never kill you,”

They moved to the kitchen island, the two Goldie Locks books sitting on them, they were both looking a little worse for wear, the pages had obviously been flipped through multiple times, there were sticky notes sticking out of every other page for both of them, and inside you found it fully annotated with translations and further thoughts—the thoughts all written in Portuguese.

They worked silently for hours before switching to Chinese, they were further along in their Chinese so they were reading the Art of War. They continued like that, only stopping to speak with each other when they wanted the other to make them a cup of tea.

Talia came home at midnight, the scent of blood following her like a curse.

She stopped by the boys’ room first, lingering in the doorway.

“T?” Jason mumbled, lost somewhere between conscious and unconscious.

“Go back to sleep habibi,” she murmured, silently making her way towards him.

“You’re late,” he slurred, reaching out to grab the hand that had found its way into his curls.

“I apologise, there was a complication,”

He hummed, “You smell like death,”

Talia laughed at that, letting him intertwine their fingers as he swung between the two states of consciousness.

“That is because I killed,” she said honestly.

“B wouldn’t like that,”

“No, I suppose he wouldn’t,”

“You still love him, right?” his voice was so innocent, slurred with the sleep that begged him to return, yet the question made Talia pause.

Of course, she still loved Bruce, he was her soulmate.

But she wasn’t his.

“I always will,” she said. Jason might not remember this talk in the morning anyway, and she was too tired to lie and protect her heart.

“Good.” Jason shifted, curling further into himself as he moved their still intertwined hands to rest by his cheek, “Then you can get married, and you’ll be my official mom,”

Her heart warmed, the fondness in her chest growing like the fires that had once enveloped him as she watched him.

“I would like that very much,” she whispered, kissing his forehead before getting up.

She watched as sleep overtook him, his body growing lax and mouth falling open, and then she was moving towards Damian who had been awake from the moment Jason called out to her, watching the exchange with pensive eyes that seemed all too old on his face.

“My dragon,” she greeted him, crouching down beside him just as she had with Jason.

“Mother,” his voice wasn’t as slurred as Jason's.

“How was your day with Jason?”

“He is a worthy teacher, and I am proud to call him my brother,” he said.

“I never doubted that for a second, did you have fun?” she watched as her son’s face changed, a spark of excitement brightening his eyes.

There, that’s how they should look, that’s how they always would have looked had her father not been in the equation.

“We studied for a long time, and after that Jason read me poems from memory, his brain is fascinating. The way he retains information, the eloquent way he speaks, even if he is, at times, vulgar in his choice of words,” Damian babbled, happily whispering about his new brother.

“What was your favourite poem?” she asked, a soft smile she couldn’t stop from blooming, softening her features.

“Anna Akhmatova has some beautiful poems, Alexander Pushkin also has lovely works.” he tucked himself further into bed, humming softly as she played with his hair. “ The Return might be my favourite, I’m not sure,”

Talia hummed, running her hands through his curls as she saw the tension slowly bleed from his shoulders.

“I am so proud of you, I could not have asked for a better son,” she said, knowing that she didn’t get to say it enough, that Ras separated her from Damian too much.

“And you got two,” he mumbled, closing his eyes as he let sleep overtake him.

“That I did,” she mumbled, kissing him like she had Jason and making her way to her own bedroom.

If she had one wish, it would be to live like this forever, to always be living in this apartment with her two boys, but reality was not so.

The League was still in her father’s control, the Joker was still alive, her eldest was still hurting, and her beloved had still done nothing.

She had a list of things she needed to do, and as of yet, she had still not completed anything.

First order of business, killing the Joker, then she could take over the League.

When Jason woke the next morning, it was to Talia telling him to get ready.

Damian had chosen an oversized black hoodie that let him hide multiple weapons easily and jeans. He almost looked like a normal kid; almost. Except for the way he carried himself, the way his eyes shone, the way the air around him screamed that he was different, that he was going to be someone.

It was to be expected with his parents, Talia al Ghul commanded the entire room with her mere presence, empires rose and fell at her will, she was as deadly as she was beautiful.

Bruce Wayne may have been known as a ditz but there was still something about him that made people gravitate towards him, he was Batman for God’s sake.

The day the Damian al Ghul-Wayne was born the world had stopped for a minute, silently acknowledging that someone great now existed.

In contrast, Jason was wearing a black t-shirt and his brown leather jacket, his jacket screamed expensive, but the rest of him was normal, he didn’t command a room like the al Ghuls, he didn’t exude confidence, people didn’t see him and think that he was the reincarnation of all the greats.

And why would they? What with his parents, Willis had been an abusive fuck who deserved a fate worse than death, and Sheila hadn’t been much better, selling him out to the Joker.

The day Jason Todd was born, the world continued to spin as if nothing had happened.

Because Jason died, he died losing Bruce’s trust, he died a bad Robin and an even worse son, he died a failure, and this second life might have been a second chance, but change wasn’t in his nature, and it had never been nurtured into him.

Then again, someone once said that you don’t get to die and be reborn the same.

“You come back, but you come back wrong,”

So maybe he had changed.

No, scratch that.

He knew he had changed, maybe not fundamentally, but he had changed.

He was no longer the bright-eyed kid that had happily exclaimed that Robin was magic, he was no longer the kid who Bruce and Alfred smiled at.

The person he was now, he had dreams about killing, he could barely keep green from clouding his vision at the thought of Robin, this new person didn’t see Bruce and Alfred smiles.

All this person saw was the Joker’s twisted grin, his laughter echoing in his mind.

He was distancing himself, he mused within his own mind as he slipped an extra knife into his boot.

By talking about himself like he was some stranger, he was distancing himself, shifting the blame. Wasn’t this something abusers did? Rapists? Terrible people who had done terrible things and didn’t want to deal with the guilt.

Was this his mind preparing for killing the Joker? Was he ready? He hadn’t been so sure a couple of days ago, had practically resented the idea, and still, it made him shiver, made him feel like an exposed nerve, but had his mind already been made up? At least subconsciously?

“Akhi, you have been staring intensely at that knife for ten minutes now,” Damian said from beside him, somehow hiding his katana under his shirt.

“Sorry, I got lost in thought,”

“Do you wish to speak about it?”

Jason looked at him, truly looked at him.

Not as Damian al Ghul, heir to the Demon and son of Talia al Ghul, an assassin trained since birth to be the best.

Not as Damian Wayne, the unknown blood-heir of Bruce Wayne, the Batman, one of the richest people on the planet.

But as Damian, a kid who had yet to find his place in the world—his actual place, not the de facto places he got because of who his parents were—he was just a kid.

Burdened with existence.

Jason fell to his knees then, pulling him into a hug so unexpected that Damian squeaked, taking a second to find his balance before hugging back, nestling his head into Jason’s shoulder.

He was still so young, God, he had probably seen so much.

Jason clutched him tighter, desperately clinging on to him like if he let go they would both break. Like Damian was breaking, and little by little everything that was wrong with the world was seeping into him, stealing his childhood, like it had Jason’s. He hugged him, knowing that if he let go he wouldn’t be able to protect him.

“I know that your presence is a fluke, that you should not be alive right now, that, had everything gone as planned, you would still be buried underneath the angel set to guard you.” Damian carded his small fingers through Jason's hair, he hummed, body tensing slightly as he prepared for Damian to tell him he should have stayed dead, for him to list the reasons his death was the best thing to happen to earth in alphabetical order to- oh, when had he started crying? “But I am thankful that you came to me, to us,”

It wasn’t what Jason needed to hear.

No, he needed to hear Bruce tell him that he still loved him—that he had always loved him—he needed to hear Alfred’s smooth voice, to have him squeeze his shoulder and say “Welcome back, master Jason,” and then pour some tea, he needed Dick to say that he was proud of him, that he had been a good Robin, that he had carried the legacy and done it justice.

He needed Talia to tell him that he would always be her family, no matter if Bruce accepted or rejected him.

So no, he hadn’t needed to hear that Damian cherished him, that something good had come from his death and resurrection.

He didn't need to hear any of those words like he didn't need to eat every day.

“If one good thing came from my death, it was us meeting,” Jason said, hating how wet he sounded.

“I do hope I am included in us ,” Talia said, leaning against the doorway, her lip quirked up as she watched them.

“I wouldn’t dare exclude you from anything, T,” he tried to joke, but his voice was still wet, and judging by the way everything about her softened he hadn’t done well in hiding it.

“Mother, Jason is in emotional distress, parenting books suggest physical contact in the form of hugs ,” Damian said, raising his head to look at Talia.

“Well, if the books say that,” she said, crossing the room in a single step before enveloping them both in a hug, somehow, Jason fit perfectly in her arms, even with him being 250 pounds with shoulders as wide as Russia.

“The books also suggest talking about it, but they mention not pushing it, lest you wish for your teenager to resent you,”

“We wouldn’t want that,” Talia said, slowly rocking them.

He could hear the laugh in her voice. Damian had probably started reading those cringy parenting books as soon as he and Jason had started getting along, he tried to get annoyed, maybe even embarrassed, but all he felt was fondness.

“I wouldn’t say I’m in distress, I just really care about you guys,”

They didn’t speak much after that, soaking in each other's presence for a couple of minutes before Talia pulled away, cupping each of their faces.

“We are moving on with phase one of our plan.” she got up, gesturing for them to follow.

The coffee table was covered in papers and schematics, on one of the corners a tray with cookies and tea was sat, neither Damian nor Jason wasted any time in making themselves a cup and grabbing four cookies each.

“I have received word that the Joker broke out of Arkham 23 minutes ago, the bat will be on high alert, but something tells me that the Joker is planning something big, and it will be weeks before he sets his plan into action, which gives us plenty of time to get ready,”

“What makes you so sure he won’t enact his plan immediately?” Jason asked, taking a sip from his tea just to burn his tongue. 

“Because a new Robin has hit the streets, I am quite confident in thinking he would want to welcome the new bird with a bang,” her voice was hard, harder than he had heard in a long time, all of her emotions carefully hidden behind layers of stone.

Jason wasn’t as stoic.

Immediately green flooded his vision, the world around him disappearing as all he saw was an acidic green.

He replaced you, a voice in the back of his mind sung.

He wouldn’t, I was his so- am, I am his son, he wouldn’t just replace me.

You never mattered to him, you were never really his son, Dick never thought of you as a brother, Alfred never cared for you.

His throat felt raw, but all he could hear was the pounding of his blood, his heartbeat was in his ears, all of his senses screamed, as all he could do was think, all he could see was green, all he heard was his own blood, all he smelt was blood and dirt, all he could taste was metal.

And all he felt was pain.

And I drink to you-

To the lying lips that have betrayed us,

To the dead-cold eyes,

To the fact that the world is brutal and coarse

To the fact that God did not save us.

He could forgive Bruce for not killing the Joker, killing was the one line he couldn’t cross and all, but replacing him? Finding some new kid to run around in green, red, and yellow, putting another kid in danger like he had been.

He had spent weeks asking himself if he was ready to kill the Joker, if he was ready to take a life, and right now, in this moment, he had never been more sure that he could take a life.

That he could take Bruce’s life.

Another part of him—the part that was fully controlled by the pit—wanted him to go further, to push past his moral boundaries completely, to lose control and not only kill Bruce, not only kill the Joker, but this new Robin too.

The pit never wanted him to stop, the green was broken up by blood and ashen faces, Bruce, Dick, Alfred, Joker and more, all dead at his hands, dismangled bodies piled up in heaps, he wasn’t sure how he knew, but the bodies were still warm.

“Akhi!” that was Damian’s voice, calling from him beneath the bodies, God, had he killed him too?

His little brother, a victim of his rage, a part of the endless pile.

“You are home, you are safe,” Talia’s voice said.

No, no, no, no! The voice was lying, it had to be lying.

“Please!” it was all distorted. He was being buried again, this time alive, the bodies of the people he had killed piled up on top of him, his nails broke as he clawed his way out, ripping skin from bone on the way.

Smoke, everywhere the smell of smoke assaulted his senses.

He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t-

Someone was holding him, rough hands tugging him upwards, small hands getting knots out of his hair.

“Akhi,”

Damian.

“Bring me the book,”

Talia.

He could hear Damian’s soft footsteps, almost silent like his mother’s, fade as he left.

Good.

Damian shouldn’t be here, not for this, not when the madness was drowning him, not when the pit burned hot in his veins.

All too soon, Damian came back.

He opened his mouth, throat sore, although he didn’t know what from, he pushed through the pain and forced himself to speak, “Leave… protect,”

He was stopped from saying more by Talia shushing him and gently placing his head on her lap.

“ Tomorrow, at dawn, in the hour when the countryside becomes white, I will leave. You see, I know that you are waiting for me, ” Damian spoke, carefully pronouncing the French words. His accent was strong and he had to repeat some words twice, but Jason felt his body relax the more he spoke.

“ I will go by the forest, I will go by the mountain. I cannot stay far from you any longer. ”

Jason wanted- he wanted to say something, anything, to tell him to keep going, to stay with him, he wanted to beg Talia to continue playing with his hair, beg Damian to never stop reading.

He wanted to scream, scream at them to leave, to save themselves, beg them to leave him, for he was broken, he was unsavable.

“ I will walk eyes fixed on my thoughts, ” Jason took a deep breath, opening his eyes just for the green to grow brighter, “ Without seeing anything outside, nor hearing any noise, ” he shut his eyes on reflex, the green colour was darker like this, not as overwhelming, closer to the colour of the al Ghul’s eyes, to that of their clothes.

“ Alone, unknown, the back curved, the hands crossed, Sad, and the day for me will be like the night. ”

Talia squeezed his hand and kissed his forehead.

“ I will not look at the gold of the evening which falls, nor the faraway sails descending towards Harfleur, ” Damian sounded more confident now, his accent getting better the less he hesitated.

“ And when I arrive, I will put on your tomb- ” Jason interrupted him before he could say the last line, his throat protesting loudly, but he had to, had to give them a sign he was aware and not lost in the madness.

“ A green bouquet of holly and flowering heather. ”

His French was better than Damian’s, more natural, but the pain from speaking the words almost made it sound worse.

Talia pulled him closer, and distantly he heard a thud before small arms were sneaking around his waist.

He was okay.

He would be okay.

Chapter Text

They read him poems for hours, everything from Emily Dickinson to Piet Hein, at some point the green disappeared and he was able to open his eyes again.

“Where’s Damian?” Jason slurred, interrupting Talia from completing the gruk about a cat on the road.

“Training his French, he was getting frustrated with his mistakes.” she took a sip of the tea beside her, humming before adding another spoon of honey to it. “I want to tell you a story,”

“Do you really think we have time for that?”

His little freak-out had already cost them valuable time, they should be planning.

“Just listen,” she said, shifting so she was more comfortable, “There once was a man, a warrior, his sword clean of blood, yet his mind and soul were not as clean.”

Her hands were running through his curls like they belonged there, like she had been doing this since forever.

“He built a legacy, a family, bringing light into every place of darkness, and then, one day, tragedy struck.”

Talia was a dramatic at heart, her voice was smooth and pulled him into a story in a way he wished his teachers had been able to.

“His light, his son , died; was murdered,” Jason shifted, the story was becoming uncomfortably familiar, “His son wasn’t the only one who had died on that battlefield, a bit of the warrior’s soul was lost, and he grew desperate. Every day he would prowl his city, where he had once brought light, he now brought darkness, he was becoming reckless, working himself to the bone and leaving petty criminals half-dead. It was horrible. Then, he saw his son’s murderer, and he almost lost it, almost let the blood in his mind and soul bleed into his sword. His best friend and closest ally had to stop him, physically ripping him away before he could finish the act.” Jason tensed, this was… it was different, different from the story he had imagined.

“This happened two more times, until, one day, a brilliant little boy discovered the warriors biggest secret, he confronted him, and soon, they had become close. The child had helped him create a new light, no brighter than the last, but this one was also good, it helped the warrior, and he found purpose again,”

“Why are you telling me this?” Jason asked.

“Your death broke him, Superman had to stop him from killing the Joker-”

“Please stop embellishing the truth, we both know Bruce would never kill,”

“For you? His son? He’d do anything,” her voice was filled with such conviction he almost believed her.

“I’m not his son anymore,” Jason sat up, crossing his arms, “You saw me, the pit destroyed me,”

“The pit gave you back your mind,”

“MY EYES ARE GREEN,” he shouted, she flinched, and he closed his eyes a second too late, forever that flinch would be ingrained into his mind.

“My eyes are green,” he repeated, softer this time, “I’m not the same person I was before,”

“Why do you insist on that being a bad thing?” he almost scoffed.

“Because that’s who he took in! He didn’t adopt a kid with bloodlust and anger issues, he adopted someone with stars in his eyes, someone who thought Robin was magic, someone… someone better, purer,”

“He did not take you in because you were pure, he took you in because you were good, and Jason, you still are. The pit did not suddenly make you evil, it gave you your mind back,”

This time he did scoff.

“My mind wasn’t screaming at me to kill before the pit,”

“And without the pit you’d never have known that.” she took a deep breath, “You don’t know what it was like, your mind… it was broken. I found you wandering the streets, glass embedded in your soles yet you paid it no mind, an assassin broke your arm in an effort to subdue you and you said nothing, didn’t even flinch, when we finally subdued you all you could say was ‘Bruce’. Try to tell me that the rage you feel right now isn’t better.” Jason kept his head hung low, not wanting to look her in the eyes, scared he would see tears.

“I am filled with hatred where there once was love,”

“The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference,”

“Don’t quote-”

“You were indifferent!” It was jarring, hearing her raise her voice, she almost never did that, her anger had always been scarily calm and cold, “Everyone you loved before your death—everyone you love now—could have died in your arms and you would have felt nothing,”

He sat there, quiet, thoughts too abstract for him to say, too abstract for him to even fully grasp.

“I want you to feel, Jason. I want you to fall in love, to cry; be it tears of happiness or sorrow. I want you to hate passionately and laugh boisterously, I want your emotions to reflect your heart, for your joy and pain to be painted for the world to see. I didn’t want you to be a shell forever, and I’m sorry if you disagree with my choice, but I’d rather have you screaming and arguing with your mind for months if it means you will know happiness,”

“You’d rather I live in madness than peace?”

“One does not cherish the sun until they have lived in darkness,”

“Stop with your metaphors and- and your stories! If you wish to converse then do so without the garden,”

Talia was silent at that, the whole room was, Jason was panting and he wasn’t sure why, but for a couple seconds, this eternity they had locked themselves in, was quiet.

“Had I not used the pit you would have continued to live your life in darkness, knowing neither great suffering nor joy, you may feel madness and ire now, but every day the pit loses some of its hold on you, and when you are at the top of the mountain, looking down at how far you’ve come, you will thank me,”

Truly, she could not finish a single sentence without the use of metaphors.

The pit had practically disappeared on the third day, the story had helped more than he dared admit, and he no longer wanted to harm the new Robin, actually, he kinda wanted to meet the kid. He had always wanted to be a big brother, and Damian was fun .

It might do him some good to have a “normal” brother who had to play pretend ninja while growing up instead of actual ninja.

He could walk around with both Damian and the new Robin, Tim, teaching them all of the tricks to get Bruce to do whatever they asked. 

He would sneak them snacks and teach them how to cook and bake, he’d come up with code words and manavours all with the express purpose of sneaking around Bruce. Him and Damian would introduce Tim to Talia and the three of them would always get together on mother’s day and make presents together that got more complex over the years.

He smiled at the thought, his hands working on lunch while his mind floated elsewhere.

“Jason, has the pit resided?” Damian greeted, it was the first thing that he had said to him after the pit flare-up from three days ago.

Except for the poems and stories that had been read to him.

“Pretty much, baby bat,” Jason said, ruffling Damian’s hair..

He hadn’t left the couch much, except for going to the bathroom and showering, so being able to walk around the kitchen was nice.

“Good, mother has been preparing our first mission, it’s in Gotham, so bring your bag. We leave at once,” he turned on his heel and left.

Gotham.

His home.

Was it still his home?

Had he been gone for too long?

Would Gotham’s shadows still cling to him like a protective shield? Or would it choke him with whispers of intruder ?

If Gotham didn’t accept him—if she rejected him—what would he have?

Nanda… it was sharp knives wielded by people who’d all like to see him fall.

“I will not let your little science experiment leech off of the al Ghul name!” Ra’s al Ghul’s eyes were a mirror of Jason’s own; Ra’s had recently been dipped.

It was startling, it had been a month and Jason still wasn’t used to the lack of blue in his own eyes, so seeing his eye-colour mirrored in Ra’s al Ghul’s?

It felt too much like he had been transported back to before Bruce, before Robin, back when Willis beat him half to death every week and Jason had been forced to stare back into his own eyes.

“People don’t respect him, 20 of our best shadows are in the ICU,” Talia’s anger was always cold, her voice never wavered, she always held herself with the fake kind of relaxed that meant anyone who came within 2 metres of her died.

“He still refuses to kill?”

“My beloved’s teachings-”

“Please daughter, have you not yet accepted that the detective will never love you, nor will he ever care about you enough to accept all your lies-”

“ Your lies! Lies you made me tell!” raising her voice had been her first mistake. Accusing him was her second.

It echoed. 

Ra's still had his hand raised, even as Talia turned her head to face him again, her cheek now slightly red.

Jason didn’t have to see her to know there were tears in her eyes.

“How dare you interrupt me, do not forget your place, daughter ,” he spit the last word out like it was a curse.

Like it made her lesser.

Jason saw green.

When the green receded, Ra’s had a sword against his neck and Talia was pleading with him to stop.

“I let you keep your pet, I don’t kill you for your insubordination, and this is how you repay me? With a rabid dog.” his lips curled with disgust.

“Do not mistake my mercy for kindness.” he stepped away and the room fell silent.

As soon as Ra’s left, Talia was falling to her knees beside Jason and cradling his head.

“I am so sorry my phoenix,” she said. “I tried- I tried to protect you, I didn’t want you to be here for this,”

“I shouldn’t have lost control, it was my fault,” Jason said, blinking away the last bit of green from his vision.

“We will find another way, you should not have to look over your shoulder every second, I will find a way to keep you safe. That is my promise,”

Talia al Ghul did not make promises she couldn’t keep.

Nanda Parbat was not home.

Nanda was Ra’s keeping watch over his every move, forcing him to keep away from Damian.

It was Talia falling to her knees to sweep him and Damian into a hug as soon as Ra’s left because he did not allow her to show affection so openly.

It was harsh lashings across his back when he had “interrupted” Damian’s tutoring session by stepping in and saving the boy from a blow that was almost fatal.

But maybe that wasn’t so bad, maybe he could still find a home there. Talia said she wanted to take over the League, to rebuild it; he could find a home in Talia’s.

Talia and Damian were already becoming a new home for him, a safe-house so far away from his real house, he could extend that to Nanda.

Jason hurried into his room and slung his bag over his shoulder, stuffing his leather jacket into it before getting outside.

Talia and Damian had already left the house, so Jason locked the door behind him and sprinted down the stairs.

He didn’t feel like taking the elevator.

“You guys planning a roadtrip?” the girl at the desk asked, she was the same one that had been there when they just arrived.

Jason racked his brain for a name, Cindy? Celine? Christine!

“She wouldn’t say, it’s apparently a surprise.” he threw her a smile, carefully not giving anything away.

“Aw, I remember back when my momma used to take me on surprise trips,” she got a wistful smile, and Jason felt a bit like she had forgotten he was there, “that was back before that dementia thing got a hold of her, awful,”

She looked like she had bit into a particularly sour lime as she shook her head. For the first time Jason realised she had an accent, he couldn’t quite place it, like it was a mix of things, something distinctly southern in her a’s mixed with the cadence of the city.

The sun seemed to take that exact moment to shift ever so slightly so it peeked through the blinds and landed in Christine’s face, making her usually brown eyes green.

He almost laughed.

Light turned her eyes green, while his were caused by shadows.

“Had a neighbour who got hit by it, could only remember her cat’s name by the end of it,” Jason said, a genuine smile tugging at his lips at the thought of old miss Crawford who insisted that even with her four engagements (not at the same time, but surprisingly within three years of each other), she did not counts as a missus.

He heard the honk of a car and his neck gave an audible crack when he whizzed his head towards the sound.

Talia’s 2017 Honda Civic could easily be seen out of the window, she was glaring slightly and Damian was pouting in the backseat.

The car had been modified just as much as the Batmobile, and he didn’t doubt that if it came down to a car-chase, the Batmobile would be left in the dust.

“Deary me, I’ve been hogging you all for myself!” Catherine giggled, “have fun on your trip, and stay out of trouble! Being a single mother of two can’t be easy, count yourself lucky that your momma is so strong.” she playfully wagged her finger and a wide grin spread across his face.

“I know,” he said, it came out much softer than intended.

Then he was waving goodbye at her as he walked towards the car.

“So, what are we going to do?” he asked as soon as he swung the door open, settling into the front seat with a self-satisfied smirk into the mirror while making eye contact with Damian.

“I’ve gathered as much information as I can from Metropolis, now we need to do some groundwork. I need a time and a place, whatever means necessary, don’t get caught.” she shared a meaningful look with Damian through the mirror while squeezing Jason’s hand.

Jason wasn’t stupid, he could read between the lines.

Kill if needed to Damian.

Damian will take care of the killings if you still can’t to Jason.

He chastised himself for feeling relieved.

Damian was a child, he had almost just turned seven! (It was a very depressing birthday, Damian was separated from both Talia and Jason and forced to undergo some terrible training that ended with him losing his fucking spine ) he wasn’t supposed to be killing yet!
Sure, he was almost eight, but that didn’t mean he was old enough to kill.

“And what will you be doing?” Jason asked.

Talia hadn’t put her hair up, but he could see the hair ties on her wrist. She was wearing a dress that seemed easy enough to slip in and out of, so she was probably going to change at a secondary location.

“Following up on another lead,” she said, tapping a rhythm onto the steering wheel that Jason couldn’t decipher.

“Care to elaborate?”

“Not particularly,”

“God, you and B are definitely soulmates,” Jason mumbled.

“I wish to listen to music,” Damian whined from the backseat, probably still upset that he was too short to sit in the front seat.

“What do we say?” Talia asked, her hands working on finding a CD, she occasionally glanced down at what was written on them before frowning and picking another one.

“I wish to listen to music, please ,” Damian said, he looked almost proud at having said it.

Talia didn’t answer, instead sighing as she gave up and just went with the CD in her hand, Disney written in cursive on the front.

Jason was pleasantly surprised to find that the CD had bops like What’s My Name and Friends On The Other Side .

They arrived in Gotham much too quickly, parking the car in one of those rich people's parking spots that practically ensured that nothing would happen to it (not so much because it was super secure, more due to the fact that if someone went through all the trouble of getting through the extensive security that the car park had, they would not waste their time on a Honda Civic from 2017).

Talia turned off the car, abruptly cutting off It’s Tough To Be A God .

“Go to this location.” she handed Jason a file, “Everything you need to know should be included in that, we’ll meet back here at the end of the day, should you be held up, you text the only number in the phone,”

“Yes mother,” Damian said, excitedly getting out of the car.

“Protect each other,” she said, squeezing Jason’s hand one last time before getting out of the car.

Jason and Damian walked around the streets for a bit, pretending not to notice that Talia was shadowing them, they found a little hole-in-the-wall where they got a corner table that let them see everything that was going on, whilst also cutting off what everyone else saw.

While they waited for someone to come and take their order Jason pulled out the folder to see what they got.

He let out an appreciative whistle as he pulled out the fake IDs.

“These are nice,” he said, carefully watching how the passports looked in the artificial light.

“Of course, only the best is used in the League of Assassins.” Damian sniffed.

“Oh my God, Damian you can’t go around saying that, people might overhear you, and this might be Gotham but the League is a big deal and if people find out we’re here-”

“Yeah, yeah, I understand, I’m not a child you know.” he crossed his arms and pouted, looking very much like a child.

Then he was tensing up, subtly getting everything off of the table before putting on the biggest grin Jason had ever seen on him.

“Heya folks!” the waitress said, posing weirdly and tipping her cowboy hat, under all of the cheer Jason could feel her need to die, “What’ll it be for you guys today?”

Her blonde hair was in pigtails and one of her front teeth had been blackened out with some kind of cheap material that rubbed off on her other teeth, the fake freckles that had been added were of much higher quality though, not that they looked any more real.

“I’ll have a large coke and he’s getting a glass of water, and then we’d like two burgers please,”

“Okay.” she scribbled something in her notepad, “Anything else?” they both mumbled no and then she was on her way.

“We don’t have to hide like that here, it’d be more conspicuous if we weren’t doing anything shady,” Jason said, subtly nodding his head at a table a bit from theirs, where it looked like two mob bosses were exchanging drug money.

“Gotham is weird, I have to be suspicious, but I can’t be too suspicious.” Damian pouted, bringing the file backup and getting acquainted with his new identity.

“You get used to it.” Jason shrugged, doing the same.

After a while, their food came, and after politely thanking the waitress (“Just call me if you need anything else, partner!”) they set about eating and discussing the plan.

“The drop tonight should be the last one before the big finale—whatever that means—if we can find out the secondary location that the goods will be smuggled to, we can just camp out the place until something interesting happens,” Jason said.

“I’d rather not have to stay in a terrible hotel, or even outdoors, for a week with no knowledge of when it will end,” Damian whined.

“Tough luck kid, I don’t see how we’ll be able to find out a ‘when’ without drawing suspicion,”

“There must be someone who doesn’t want to work for that dreadful clown, can’t we just kidnap and torture them?”

“See, now we’re back in the ‘too suspicious’ area,” Jason quipped, only half-serious—he was pretty sure that two women by the front door were discussing an illegal trade of animals. “But you’re right, we could probably go that way, except for the fact that kidnapping and torture is messy, someone is bound to find out and that will put everyone on high alert, we don’t want to attract the attention of the bat,”

“Why not? Surely father will understand that our mission is just and purely for the benefit of you, his son,”

“B has a thing about killing,” Jason said, shrugging.

“Tt.” Damian cut a part of his burger, before lifting it up to his mouth with a fork.

Jason had known, realistically, that Damian was a carbon copy of his father, he had not expected that to reach his eating habits.

“Hey, Damian, have you ever had pizza?” Jason asked, grabbing his burger with his hands—like a normal person.

“Of course,”

“How did you eat that?” by the narrowing of his eyes, Jason guessed that the question had not been subtly, and Damian was trying to figure out if his life was being threatened.

“Like I eat everything else,” he said.

Oh no, he was just like Bruce.

“I don’t see how this has anything to do with the plan,”

“You’re right, it doesn’t.” Jason shook his head, now was not the time to teach Damian how normal people ate, “I still think we should just find out the where and wait it out until the when happens,”

“We could be subtle about asking! Just a casual ‘was it next week the big plan is happening?’ and we’d be good to go,”

“Until we find out that it’s actually next month ,”

“I doubt the clown will be able to wait that long,”

“We still need to be on the safe side,”

Damian glared at him, puffing out his cheeks before sighing loudly.

“Fine, I’ll follow your lead,”

They left the restaurant shortly after, and after paying in cash with a 20% tip to the waitress (discretely given to her so that no one else saw, you never knew if the employers were fair or if they took the tips for themselves) they were on their way.

Jason saw Talia in a dark corner, she seemed to have switched clothes now, and her hair was tied back and away from herself.

He nodded at her and she nodded back before disappearing into the shadows, it seemed to be all she needed as he didn’t see her for the rest of the time.

It was growing darker so he and Damian walked a little faster to get to the docks, putting on their face masks as they settled into their new personas.

Bruce stood in the shadows, watching. Oracle had alerted him of the fact that Talia had been spotted in the city. Bruce had a deal with the League, if they didn’t bother him, he wouldn’t bother them, this was a direct violation of that agreement.

Talia had been shadowing two boys for a while, following them from the rooftops, Oracle had been unable to identify any of them as they skillfully avoided every camera—even the hidden ones Oracle had set up.

The boys entered a building and Talia disappeared. Bruce kept to the shadows, waiting, a couple of minutes later Talia returned—wearing League clothes. Black fabric wrapping around her body, it easily hid the protection she wore under it, whilst also giving room for movement.

The boys left the building and Talia watched them for a bit before leaving.

And so the chase began.

He followed her from the shadows, watched as she jumped from rooftop to rooftop, dancing, she looked… utterly free.

The wind blowing in her hair, the carefree smile that played at her lips, the shine of her green eyes.

She finally stopped at a rooftop, breathing heavier than normal, but not enough for her to be weakened in a fight.

Bruce landed a few metres behind her.

He was too good to make a sound.

She was too good not to notice anyway.

“Beloved,” she greeted, not turning to look at him.

“Talia,” it was too soft, too much Bruce, he discretely shook his shoulders, like that would shake off the Bruce so he could fully be Batman.

“I thought I told you I didn’t want the League in Gotham?”

Chapter Text

Talia felt more than she heard him coming, it wasn’t a surprise to her, it had been her plan.

It couldn’t have taken him long to find out she was in Gotham, and when that happened, she had to get him as far away from the boys as possible, it would not do for him to try and stop them so quickly. Besides, Talia was nothing if not selfish, and she knew that as soon as the Joker was dead, she would have to give up both Jason and Damian while she dismantled the League. Soon, her beloved would have both of her children. Soon, she would be alone.

“Beloved,” she greeted, her back facing him.

“Talia,” if he was surprised that she knew he was there he didn’t show it, “I thought I told you that I didn’t want the League in Gotham?”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not with the League.” she turned on her heel, finally facing him.

He was wearing the cowl, the outfit was darker than the last time she had seen him, secretly, she mourned for the fact that she hadn’t been there to see the transition.

“You will always be part of the League,” his voice was hard, and a part of her was glad that he had turned off the stupid modulator, while another wished it had been on so she wouldn’t be able to read his emotions so clearly.

“ The League will always be a part of me , the difference is subtle but it does exist,” she said, twirling a dagger between her fingers.

“Can we skip to the part where you tell me what you’re here for, so I can stop you?”
“Oh? You think you’ll be able to stop me? My, my, how bold of you.” she grinned.

“Please Talia, don’t start this again, my heart cannot take another night,”

“I seem to remember your heart being very fond of our nights.” she walked closer, leaving only a metre between them.

“Talia, please,” he said, sounding tired in a way she wasn’t used to.

She sighed.

“Like I already told you, I am not here on League business,”

“Then who are you with?”

“Jason,”

“Is that supposed to be a joke?”

“You think too lowly of me,”

“Do I?”

There was a lull in the conversation. The words they had been using as weapons clattered to the ground to give way to a tension that had been growing for years. His eyes were obscured by white, but she had spent too many days studying the colour to forget them, too many mornings memorising the rise of their waves and the depths of their ocean, too many nights dreaming about drowning in those very eyes to not feel their intensity now.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“I’m going to kill the Joker,” her voice was deceptively calm.

He clearly hadn’t expected that to be the answer, his usually stoic exterior falling back as everything about him tightened.

“What business does the League have with Joker?”

“Are you growing slow in your old age? I’ve already told you that I’m not with the League,”
“I find that very hard to believe, and you’re dodging the question,”

“That clown killed Jason, I am repaying a debt,”

He flinched back at Jason’s name, but quickly realised that he had shown his emotions too obviously and took a step closer to her.

“You have no right to speak about him,”

“I have more than right.” They were now mere centimetres from each other, breathing the same air and not for the first time Talia wished she could pull the cowl off and look into his eyes.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing at-”

“Jason is alive,”

That made him pause, no, not pause, it froze him.

Until it didn’t, and he was swinging his fists towards her.

“How dare you!” he shouted, his first punch landing so far away from her she didn’t even have to move to dodge it.

“How dare you lie to me like that!” another sloppy punch.

“You seem to have forgotten your training, I thought we taught you better than to fight with your emotions.” she grabbed his arm, twisted, and then he was on the floor.

“My emotions do not weaken me, Talia,”

“I never insinuated such, emotions only become weakness when you let them control you,”

“If I let my emotions control me, there would be blood on my hands,”

“Don’t lie to me, you failed, thrice ,” she said, spitting on him with only the use of her words. 

He got back up.

“Why are you really here, Talia? And don’t lie to me,” he said, sounding defeated.

“I’ve never liked lying to you,” she said it like it wasn’t a big deal; like it was a simple truth.

“You’re evading the question,”

Talia sighed, the adrenaline leaving her body as the fight left her.

“I made a deal with Jason,”

“Jason is dead!”

“Is he?”

He grew quiet, his mind running so fast she could see it.

“When was the last time you checked his grave?”

“Did the League-?”

“No,” she immediately denied. “I found him wandering the streets of Gotham, catatonic, a couple of months after his death. For a week I travelled with him, trying to get back to Nanda Parbat, he was… unlike anything I’ve ever seen, all he could do was fight, he did not eat unless he was forced, he could not speak… we were back in Nanda Parbat for a week before I put him in the pit,”

“You put my son in the pit?” Bruce hissed.

“I had no choice, his mind was broken beyond repair, and I could not afford to wait. I needed someone who was loyal to me, and not my father,”

“You’re dragging my son into your politics?”

“I am trying to protect him from it!”

“You should have brought him back to me.” he sounded so broken, so desperate.

“Perhaps, but my first priority will always be the safety of my children, and whilst I could’ve safely and discreetly gotten Jason to you, Damian would have been another matter entirely,”

He paused at that, locking all of his limbs as he pulled at the ears of the cowl, like he wanted to pull it down.

“My father is unstable, he wants to use Damian as his vessel, I cannot let that happen, I will take the League by force if that means the safety of our son,” she said, her voice unwavering as she stood tall.

“Damian?” his voice was breathless, she softened.

“Damian Thomas al Ghul-Wayne.” she nodded.

“You gave him my father’s name?” he sounded almost awed, his whole body relaxed as he took half a step towards her, like he was holding back.

“Was that not what you wanted?”

“I did not think you would remember,”

“Your words rarely leave my mind,”

It felt like admitting weakness, like she was bearing her whole heart.

“Why did you lie?” he asked.

“I didn’t-” she bit her lip, swallowing a sob that threatened to reveal too many of her emotions, “I didn’t want to. God, Bruce, I never wanted to lie to you, I wanted to run away to- to leave my father! But you can’t leave the League, it doesn’t work like that, not when you’re an al Ghul. The Lazarus pit will always be in my veins, my father will always have some control over my life, I’ll never be free,”

“If you would just come with me,” he sounded desperate, his hands were reaching out to her and she wanted to take them, to turn her back on her father, the League, her whole childhood, her whole life.

“I can’t.” even saying those words, she grasped his hand like they were a lifeline and he could save her, like she ever had a choice in her life, “Even if I went with you, the League would continue to flourish, they would never leave me, I am… I am trying to change that, when I take over the League I can finally be free, whether I want to dismantle it completely or change it for the better,”

“So dismantle it, I will help you!” he pulled her close, their noses brushing and for a second they could both pretend they weren’t on a grimy rooftop in Gotham. They could both pretend that it was their wedding night, and their body armour was gone in favour of silk and satin sheets.

“The League is large, imagine what good I could do if I transformed it, this is bigger than the two of us, even bigger than the love we have, think of the lives I could help better!”

“And the first step to doing that is hiding my sons from me and killing the Joker?”

The moment was gone, his words brought her back to reality. Away from the sun filtering into their room, away from the soft smiles and kisses they shared, away from everything she had ever wanted, everything she had ever dreamed of.

The sunlight turned to moonlight and the softness turned to hard lines.

“I am only helping him do what you could not.” she let go of him and he let her.

“You want to turn my son into a killer?”

“I want what’s best for him,”

“The best thing for him wouldn’t be for him to become a killer!”

“And letting his murderer run around and ruin more lives is?” she was raising her voice.

“We do not kill, no matter what. Do not force my hand, Talia,”

“I am in no way forcing you to do anything,”

“If you go through with this we both know that I’ll have to stop you,”

“You don’t want him to find peace?” she arched one of her perfectly manicured eyebrows at him.

“Killing won’t bring him peace,”

“Because the other option is so much better.” she scoffed.

“We can’t-”

“Say, how is that Gordon girl that Richard’s been seeing?” she interrupted.

“That was a low blow.” he glared at her, you couldn’t tell but she knew.

“It got the point across,”

The air was tense, her muscles were pulled tight, bracing for a fight.

“Why is it that we have to fight every time you visit?” Bruce sighed.

“Because we’re both too stubborn to admit we’re wrong?” her voice lifted up in a teasing tilt.

“Perhaps we’re too similar,”

“Perhaps.” she hummed, turning around to stand on the edge of the roof, about to jump.

“Talia,” he called out, voice quiet in a way that made her know that she wasn’t talking to Bruce anymore, this was all Batman.

“No matter my feelings for you, no matter my feelings for Jason, I will stop you,”

She smirked.

“I’d like to see you try,”

Jason and Damian arrived at the parking place just as planned.

“What did you find out?” Talia asked as soon as she had finished searching them for injuries.

“They are planning on kidnapping the inferior Robin in three days, from there he will be transported to this-” Damian passed Talia a map where there was a warehouse encircled with red, “-warehouse where the Joker will proceed to lay out clues to Batman, it will end in an explosion that the imposter won’t survive,” Damian dutifully reported. Talia’s lip quirked up at the way Damian kept insulting the new Robin, something fond growing in her chest at the obvious way Damian was favouring Jason.

Jason was also looking at Damian with an amused expression, although he had tried to tell Damian that he didn’t mind that someone new was Robin (he didn’t , technically he had been Dick’s replacement, and yeah, he was a little sad that it seemed like Bruce had found another kid so quickly, he was honestly excited at the possibility of having one more little brother) he thought it was pretty cute that Damian was so protective of him.

Besides, it wasn’t like Damian was going to kill the poor kid or something, he might just gently insult him here and there.

“I am very proud of you my sons,” she said, kissing them both on the cheek before getting back in the car.

They would stay in Metropolis for two days, before travelling back to Gotham.

She would take two days to spend with them, before going back to kill her father.

She was grateful, for all that Jason had done, in the eight months he’d been with the League, he’d studied and worked hard, and had become an important figure in Damian’s life. Not only had they spent almost every second together—with Jason being his bodyguard and teacher—but they had also grown a strong familial bond. Talia couldn’t be happier. The time and effort Jason had dedicated to protecting Damian had given her the time to plan for her father’s demise.

He had already paid any debt he would ever feel like he owed her, and in a couple of days, when she would be forced to give him up, she would be sure to let him know.

Bruce paced through the cave, his cowl was down but he felt like it was still on, sticking to his skin and drowning him in darkness.

Occasionally he’d stop and stare at the glass case that was in the cave. He had put it up when Jason had died.

Jason Todd-Wayne was buried in the family graveyard with all of the other Waynes; he was buried beneath an angel covered in stones.

Robin did not have a body to bury, but Robin had dreams, dreams and aspirations and a future that had to be buried. Robin, where Jason first got comfortable with Bruce, got a glass case with a suit. Not one he had ever worn—the one he had worn had been thoroughly wrecked between the beatings and explosions, and Bruce couldn’t bring himself to get Alfred to resew it—but one he had dreamt. Bruce found it by accident, he had been deep in his grief when he walked into Jason’s room (It didn’t look real, his notebooks and pens were still strewn across the table, Catherine’s ring was still on the bedside table, and his bed hadn’t been made. So Jason couldn’t be dead, clearly, his son had just been there.)  and found the paper. The sketch still surprised him, it was an idea for a new Robin suit, with new gadgets (“COOL GADGETS!!!” was written with a huge arrow pointing towards the pouches) and more armour.

Bruce made it, because he might have buried Jason Todd’s body, he may have buried a little boy’s aspirations, but he would be damned if he buried his dreams as well.

Bruce stopped in front of the case, fingertips touching the golden plaque at the bottom, feeling the indents of the words.

My light .

“What happened?” Dick’s voice interrupted Bruce’s thoughts. He hadn’t even heard him enter, but there he was; his first and oldest son.

His arms were crossed and he was wearing his Nightwing suit, his black hair was windswept and his jaw was clenched. Their relationship had been a seesaw for years, and, after Jason, the rift had seemed impossibly large.

“Dick,” Bruce greeted, “It’s good to see you,”

“No need for pleasantries.” Dick’s eyes narrowed beneath the mask.

Bruce nodded, standing a little taller as he tried to pack his emotions back into their neat little boxes, “Talia is back in the city,”

Dick uncrossed his arms and turned in a little circle, a humourless laugh escaping him, “God Bruce, you really are a masochist, why do you always let her come back into your life? You know it always ends in disaster,”

Dick had never particularly liked Talia.

“She didn’t come for me,”

Dick scoffed, “She never does, yet you always trick yourself into believing she’s changed,”

“I don’t-”

“Do you never learn? What? Is she upstairs? Is she back in your bed? Fuck Bruce, I know you have the worst luck in women, but I thought you had learned,” Dick said, his hatred for Talia meshing with his hatred for Bruce.

“She isn’t in the manor, she’s back in the city and intends to kill the Joker,”

“What does the League want with the Joker?” Dick sobered up a bit, focusing on the mission and not personal feelings.

“That’s just it, she says she isn’t with the League,”

Dick almost laughed, but all that came out was a huff of breath, “and you believe her?”

“She said Jason was alive,”

This time he really did laugh.

“She’s a fucking liar, she’s always been a fucking liar, and now she’s using your biggest weakness against you,”

“I don’t think she is, not this time,” Bruce said.

Because it was true, he really did think that, this time, she was telling the truth. Jason was alive, his baby boy was alive, and he was being dragged into League of Assassins politics, and Bruce would never let that happen. He had already stood by and let Jason die once, never again.

“You’re delusional,”

“But I could be right,”

It was silent for a while, some of the bats were chittering quietly and the batcomputer was whirring softly, but for a little while, it was silent.

“Bruce,” Dick started, but before he could say anything else he let out a sob and fell to his knees.

Like a waterfall, they poured out, like a storm they shook him, and like a winter it left him barren. It did not take long for Bruce to join him, and there they laid. Together. Two strangers, a brother and a father, a father and son, two mourners, lost in grief and blinded by anger.

“Don’t give me hope,” Dick whispered, burying his face in Bruce’s chest. At that moment, their differences didn’t matter, their screaming matches were forgotten. At that moment, they were a family that had felt lost, and didn’t know how to handle hope.

“She says he’s alive, I think- I think I saw him,” Bruce whispered.

Dick had ripped off his mask at some point, Bruce couldn’t feel the tears as his body armour was too thick, but he could feel the tremors.

“What?” Dick looked up, his eyes were wide as he stared into Bruce’s.

“Talia she- she was following two boys, I think one of them was Jason,”

“But why-?”

“I have- God, Dick,” Bruce looked at him, at his son, his eldest, and smiled, “Your brother is alive, your brother is alive and- you have two brothers,”

Bruce didn’t give him time to respond as he pulled him into a hug, letting his own sobs wreck through his body.

“I have brothers,” Dick whispered.

“You have brothers,” Bruce promised.

Jason, Damian, and Talia were back in Metropolis, they had spent all of yesterday together, laughing and enjoying themselves, today, they needed to pack.

“Jason, my dear, have you remembered your toothbrush?” Talia called, she had just finished packing her own bag and was now checking in on the boys.

“Yes mom,” Jason jokingly called, rolling his eyes.

“And your knives?”

“Of course,”

“Good.” she nodded to herself, “Damian, do you have your sketchbook?” 

“Yes, mother,”

She nodded to herself again and leaned heavily on the doorframe.

“Why do we need to pack all of this junk anyway? We’ll be coming back here before leaving for Nanda,” Jason said, stuffing another knife into his bag before singing it onto his shoulder and turning to Talia.

Talia, who was standing completely frozen in the doorway.

“What?” Jason asked, subtly shifting into a defensive stance.

“I will be the only one of us returning to Nanda,” she said.

“What?” Damian swivelled towards them.

“You will both be staying with your father,”

“I refuse,” Damian said, crossing his arms and glaring at her.

“It is not your decision to make,” she said, mirroring his position.

When Jason had first seen Damian cross his arms like that, he thought he had gotten it from Bruce, but now he could see it was all Talia.

“I will not abandon you whilst you fight grandfather!”

“I’m with Damian on this one T, we ain’t leaving you,” Jason said, subconsciously mirroring their stance.

“I am your mother, it is my job to keep you safe, and that means being with your father, end of discussion,”

“What about you?” Jason asked.

“When I brought you back, I asked for your loyalty,” she started, looking at Jason.

“I think your definition of loyalty is thoroughly screwed up, if you think it means deserting someone at the toughest of times,”

“I did not ask for your loyalty in order for you to fight, I asked for it so you could protect,”

“I do not need protection,” Damian interrupted, but shut up quickly when Talia looked at him.

“You will continue your assignment in Gotham, you are loyal to me by being loyal to Damian, by protecting him,”

“Talia-”

“The League will not be safe, do you understand?”

Jason looked at her and felt the fight leaving his body. The League was never a safe place to raise a child, but trying to get a child out of the League was even more dangerous, this was the perfect opportunity to do it, besides, if Talia truly wanted to dethrone her father, Damian would become a walking target.

“I do.” he nodded.

“I need you to protect him,”

“Akhi, you cannot seriously-” Damian whined, but Jason interrupted him.

“You will be safe with Bruce, and if not, I’ll be there, to protect you,”

“But mother-”

“I will visit,” she placated, “whenever I have time,”

Damian pouted and finished packing his bag before leaving the room.

Jason was about to follow when Talia stopped him.

“We are about to kill the Joker,” she said, not softening the blow at all.

Jason gulped but nodded.

“Are you ready for that?”

“Of course,” Jason said, but he wasn’t, and anyone could see it.

“Do not lie,”

“I-” Jason bit his lip. “I want him to pay; for what he did to me and to everyone else. That monster shouldn’t be alive, and the world would be better without him,”

“But you do not want the retribution to come from your hand,”

“Taking a life… even a soul as tainted as his  is still a soul,”

“Jason.” He met her eyes, there was a softness in them he’d grown used to seeing aimed at Damian, “you have always been a creator, destruction is not in your nature,”

She left him like that, and a part of him hated how much it sounded like a goodbye.

Chapter Text

Hell is other people . Jason couldn’t remember exactly who had written that, but it was from a play, that much he remembered.

But if Hell was other people, what was heaven?
Was it, too, other people? Were the differences between heaven and hell just what people one was stuck with? Or was the difference not even that big? Was it not a question of who but a question of which ? Was hell just the people you loved on their worst day, while heaven was them on their best? Was hell Bruce’s mistrusting eyes and Dick’s bouts of anger? Was heaven Bruce’s soft hands tucking him into bed and Dick taking him on a joyride in the Batmobile?

These were the questions Jason pondered on the drive to Gotham. He had elected to sit beside Damian in the back this time around, and was staring out of the window, watching as grey concrete was replaced with greyer concrete.

As a kid he had been sure that he was going to end up in heaven, sure that God would not let someone who believed so much, someone who had suffered so much, end up in Hell.

Then Bruce happened.

And Jason was sure that this was Heaven.

Maybe Bruce wasn’t always there, and maybe Dick had only started seeing him as a brother too late, but for the first time in a long while he had a family and a warm house.

And then came Garzonas, Jason’s fall from grace. He hadn’t even pushed him, he hadn’t even-!

He took a deep breath and blinked the green out of his eyes before it took over.

Jason had been kicked out of his Heaven, they didn’t trust him anymore, not in the same way they used to, and it broke Jason’s heart. Finding his mother had seemed like a miracle, he had boarded the plane without even so much as a thought to his old life, just needing to get away from it all.

Then Sheila sold him out.

And the Joker happened.

And even after the horrible beating that barely left him able to stand, he still tried to save Sheila, still tried to do the right thing.

Then came the explosion.

Jason didn’t know what had happened between his death and his wake in the pit but… he was pretty sure he didn’t end up in Heaven. Even after everything he’d suffered.

He wasn’t good enough for Heaven.

“I can hear you being self-deprecating,” Damian whispered. He was suddenly much closer than he had been moments prior, somehow he had gone to the middle seat and was now clinging to Jason’s arm, all without him noticing.

“Sorry,” Jason mumbled, resting his head atop Damian’s.

“It’s okay, you are allowed to be self-deprecating, so long as you do not stay with those thoughts for too long,”

They stayed like that for the rest of the ride, with Jason trying not to get sucked into his thoughts and Damian being a physical pillar he could lean on and cling to.

They both pretended not to feel Talia’s lingering stare.

Bruce landed on the rooftop with a dull thud before turning around.

Tim, dressed in his new-and-improved Robin suit, landed behind him, taking a couple shaky steps forward. He was a quick study, but he still hadn’t quite gotten the hang of how to stick a landing.

“Good job on stopping that bank robbery, Robin,” Bruce rumbled, ruffling Tim’s hair with a soft smile.

“All in a day's work, Batman!” Tim grinned.

“Let’s call it an early night, wouldn’t want you to be tired for school.” Bruce pressed the button on his gauntlet that summoned the Batmobile.

Tim let out a long drawn-out whine, “But school is so boring! We aren’t even doing anything fun,”

“I seem to remember you saying everyone will be presenting their own projects tomorrow, I can’t have you being so tired that you fall asleep in the middle of your presentation,”

Tim continued to whine, but followed Bruce when he jumped off the building to get to the Batmobile.

In another universe, Tim might have jumped down at the same time as Bruce.

In another universe, Tim might have even jumped first.

In another universe, Tim might never have been separated from Bruce.

But in this one, he was.

A shadow tackled him before he could even jump off the roof, he’d had enough time to open his mouth but not enough to make a sound as the shadow shoved something into his mouth. He was out cold before they had even rounded the corner. 

Bruce’s head snapped up at the sound of a boot scraping across stone. The streets were empty.

He frantically turned his head, trying to find Tim, trying to find anything out of the ordinary that could give him a hint of where he might have gone.

Against one house there were cardboard boxes, piled up high enough that Bruce knew if he lifted one of them he’d find four kids huddled up together.

Further away there was a beat-up couch that was deemed too rough to steal even by the poorest.

Yet, no Robin.

Panic was slowly building inside of Bruce as the Batmobile parked in front of him. He wasted no time in getting in and turning on Tim’s tracker and calling up Dick, he knew Oracle would be listening in.

“Nightwing, I have lost Robin, this is an all hands on deck situation, I need you,”

“What do you mean you lost Robin?” Dick hissed at him.

“He was right behind me, and when I turned around-” the computer on the Batmobile lit up with a yellow R showcasing where Tim was, he was moving fast through the city and towards the docks.

Bruce pressed down the speeder. “I have a location on him but… I think someone took him,”

“I swear to god B if Robin gets hurt-”

“I wouldn’t forgive myself,”

Dick didn’t answer, and after a couple seconds of silence he signed off without a goodbye.

Bruce looked down at the computer just to see that the transmitter had stopped, he sped up but it wasn’t enough.

The connection was lost, the R disappearing from the screen.

Still, he searched desperately, tearing the city apart in his desperation. Oracle had taken control of the traffic to make sure as few cars as possible met Bruce (because it was Bruce now, it was no longer Batman on his justice-driven mission, this was Bruce, a man who had already lost one son and would be damned if he lost another.) as he rampaged, going way above the speed limit.

The transmitter was found broken.

The few Gothamites that saw the bat during his rampage grew scared, drawing their curtains and hiding behind cardboard boxes.

---

Jason was crouched up on a roof, the jacket Talia had bought him was shielding him from the worst of the cold. Beside him, Talia was looking through a pair of goggles. Damian was curled up between them, his feet tucked under Talia’s thigh while his head rested on Jason’s. His breath was coming out in even puffs and every few minutes he’d mumble incoherently.

It was adorable.

“Why does the pit make me so angry?” Jason asked, carding his fingers through Damian’s hair.

He had been thinking about it ever since he woke up drowning in green water. He had seen the pit’s effects on Ra’s, but that had always been different, Ra’s was never angry. Manic, insane, and blood thirst, yes. But never angry .

“The pit enhances your emotions,” Talia said.

Jason frowned. That… didn’t make sense. Jason had never been an angry child. He had been called angry by many people (too many to count. Too many times) but that had never been him. The papers loved to call him a snarling beast that was ruining the Wayne line ( “what could possibly be worse than a gypsy? A thief! Meet Bruce Wayne’s newest project” one particularly creative reporter had once written.) but that had never been him . His days were spent helping Alfred bake and reading in small alcoves.

He wasn’t Dick, who visited the manor just to spend half the time screaming at Bruce.

But apparently he was. Apparently, he had more anger inside of him than anything else.

He laughed, it was short and bitter, but still a laugh, “so the papers were right, really am a good-for-nothing thief who has more rage than brains,”

Talia stilled, lowering her binoculars to look at him, “What you feel thrumming in your veins is not anger, it is fear. The way you deal with your fear is by lashing out, so you may perceive it as anger, but anger is not a core emotion. Anger is always grounded in something else, fear, injustice, jealousy… anger is a reaction,”

After dropping that bombshell, she turned around again and continued watching the warehouse.

---

“Don’t worry birdy, this is going to hurt you a lot more than it does me,” a voice broke through the haze surrounding Tim.

His head felt heavy in a way it hadn’t in a while and both his feet were prickling, like tiny needles were stabbing him.

He shook his head, but his every movement felt slow and drowsy, like he was wading through water. He blinked, trying to get the blobs of colour to come into focus, but they stayed as blobs.

Something cold pressed down on his forehead, and the momentary relief that the cold brought was almost immediately replaced by nausea, as his head was roughly pushed back.

“Come on Robin! It’s no fun if you can’t beg,” the last thing was said in a drawl as Tim’s brain finally clicked and he realised where he was. Or rather, who he was with.

He slurred out what was supposed to be “Fuck you”.

The deranged laugh of the Joker echoed in what Tim thought to be a warehouse.

“Good morning boy wonder,” Joker said, “you’re not much of a morning bird, are you?”

The blurs of colour seemed to sharpen all at once. The Joker was standing right in front of him. Bruce hadn’t let Tim meet the Joker yet, but he had seen the files, he knew about what he had done (thousands dead, hundreds who were alive but not living).

None of it prepared him for coming face-to-face with the Joker. With true evil. His smile was stretched unnaturally wide, all of his teeth were on full display. Maybe it was the drugs, or maybe it was because he was about to die, but his first thought was They’re much whiter than I imagined .

“Do you know what happened to the last Robin?” Joker asked, somehow managing to smile while talking. He was leaning in too close for comfort, his hot breath fanned Tim’s cheek, his bad breath forcing Tim to hold his breath.

“You killed him,” Tim slurred in response.

“That’s right.” somehow his smile widened, “And now you’re gonna follow in his footsteps,”

Follow in his footsteps . The words echoed inside his mind. He wanted nothing more than to follow in Jason’s footsteps (the Robin who died, leaving behind impossibly big shoes that no one could fill. Or maybe it was just Tim who couldn’t fill them, maybe Tim had to work harder, sacrifice more). But whenever someone mentioned following in Jason’s footsteps it always ended the same way.

His death.

If Tim were to follow his hero he would end in a casket six feet under.

He didn’t want to die, he couldn’t die-.

It was the sound that registered first. Metal colliding with flesh. Bones cracking.

Then came the taste. Salt. Metal. Blood.

The pain came last, but when it came, it couldn’t be ignored.

How had Jason kept going after this? How had he crawled his way to the door after this? How had he lasted for hours?

“The thing about birds,” The Joker started, “is that they always sing so prettily,”

---

Jason’s hands were shaking. Why were his hands shaking? 

The warehouse (another warehouse, why did it have to be a warehouse?) was cold and damp, he could smell the sea and fish (and blood and gunpowder and burning flesh and -).

He squeezed his eyes shut before pushing through, finally getting to the main area of the warehouse. The Joker was in front of Tim, his laughter echoing throughout the room ( same laugh, same laugh, same laugh-) but not even that was enough to overcome the sound of metal hitting flesh.

“Come on, are you really going to give up so soon? Your predecessor lasted much longer!” The Joker laughed.

A throwing knife was embedded in Joker’s hand within a second.

Even with his shaking hands he didn’t miss, and the crowbar Joker had been using clattered onto the ground as he slowly turned, shifting his attention from Tim (broken, bruised, covered in blood, so much blood, so much red, another Robin- ) to Jason.

The Joker tutted, “if you wanted a turn you just had to ask,”

“I don’t want to join you, i’d never -” Jason took a deep breath, “I’m here to kill you,”

“Well, I’m afraid I can’t have that,”

That’s when Jason noticed the remote in Joker’s other hand. But by then it was too late, the rumbling of the explosions being set off had already begun and the roof was caving in on itself. Walls were torn apart, metal buried its way into Jason’s calf. The heat of the fire that was ravaging through the warehouse was overwhelming, but it had nothing on the feelings that were ravaging throughout Jason’s own body.

Another explosion in another warehouse .

As metal and glass fell down on and around him, Jason realised this was just like last time. He was trapped, in a burning warehouse with the only man he had ever truly feared. Helpless.

---

They’d found him. Barbara had searched everywhere and somehow found him.

Bruce heard which warehouse Tim was being kept in and then he didn’t hear anything else. He was already driving towards it, mind already there, beating up whoever it was that thought they could take his son from him.

Dick was right behind him, with Barbara in both of their ears, giving an overview of the situation that Bruce had tuned out.

In the end, none of it mattered.

He was two minutes from the warehouse, it was in perfect view, he could see the broken windows, the cracked concrete, the slightly mouldy roof.

He saw the exact moment the bombs went off, say the broken windows break completely as fire came out of them, saw the cracked concrete blow open with the force of the explosives, saw the roof cave in on itself.

Saw another Robin die, another son die .

“No,” he whispered.

Chapter Text

The bombs were controlled, Joker would never kill himself (not unless it would punish Batman, everything always linked back to him ) and the bombs had only been set up by the entrance. Jason was just far enough away to not feel the worst of it. 

He was thrown forward, landing on the ground with a thump and shielding his face from the worst of the fall.

It was an inferno, everything was burning down around them, creating a wall of fire.

Jason got up on shaky feet, turning to Joker. Joker stood, the fire burning behind him, casting shadows and making him look… otherworldly.

“Red Helmet and an expensive jacket, you must be a vigilante!” Joker laughed.

“I’m no such thing,” Jason responded.

“Really?” The smile stretched uncomfortably wide, “Then what are you?”

That was a good question, what was he? A charity case? A dead son? An assassin? A brother? All? None? Was he his relations or did he stand independently? Could he separate his sense of self from those around him? Those who came before him?

His biological mother was a coward, his real one a drug addict. His biological father was a criminal, his real one a hero.

So what did that make him?

Was he his murder?

Was he his return to life?

“Call me karma,”  

“What did I do to deserve a visit from you then?” Joker said, grabbing the crowbar from the floor.

“You killed a boy,” his voice was surprisingly calm as he said it, even when he briefly glanced at Tim who looked like he’d been through Hell.

“So big brother has come for revenge?” Joker mocked.

“No,” Jason chuckled, “He’s not my brother… he’s me,”

Jason surged forward, dodging the first swing of the crowbar and tackling Joker to the ground. They grappled on the floor, Jason landing hit after hit as Joker tried to protect his face. They almost rolled into the fire which singed Joker's hair, the green becoming an ashy black at the edges. The smell of burning hair brought back too many memories, and Jason lost his concentration for a second.

Joker kicked him away, slowly standing up and wiping blood from his mouth.

“You’re quite lively for a dead boy!” he said, spitting.

“What can I say? You didn’t do a good enough job the first time around.” Jason shrugged, trying to clear his mind.

The smoke was steadily rising, obscuring his vision. The world was disappearing around him. Tim, with his bent head and tied wrists, was swallowed by the smoke. A roof piece landed a bit too close to Jason and he jumped to the side.

His eyes were burning, his calf was stinging, and Joker looked fine. Sure, he was bleeding, but his smile was still there, barely visible in the smoke. He wasn’t coughing like Jason or favouring one side. He seemed almost perfectly fine. It was why Jason had always feared him. His ability to look like he was winning no matter what… the way he turned invincible beings into mortal men.

Jason had always looked up to Bruce—to Batman—but even he couldn’t deny that every time he fought The Joker, he seemed just a little more human; a little more vulnerable.

The Joker swung the crowbar again, this time hitting Jason in the side.

He staggered, ribs burning and then...

His pain disappeared, suddenly he could breathe again, or maybe he just didn’t need to breathe anymore. His vision focused on the Joker, as the world was slowly bathed in green. For the first time in a long while, he fully let go; and welcomed insanity.

He could feel his body moving, legs running towards Joker, arm grabbing a knife and slashing. He could feel his feet kick the Joker’s legs, he saw him crumple before his feet, aimlessly lashing out with the crowbar in a desperate attempt to save himself. He could feel his hand moving, wrenching the crowbar out of Joker’s hand and throwing it behind him, he could vaguely hear it clattering onto the ground behind him.

Joker abandoned any hope of fighting and tried to crawl away, but the only way he could go was towards the flames. Jason laughed, it was a weird sound that sounded nothing like him, and then pushed Joker closer to the fire before getting on top of him and slashing. Blood was getting everywhere, running down his knife, his hands, his arms. It dripped onto the floor, spreading towards the fire.

It was so… satisfying.

The squelch as the knife met flesh, the sticky feeling of the blood seeping into his clothes, and the sound of Joker’s screams.

It was everything he had ever wanted. 

Everything he had ever needed.

It was his salvation.

It was his damnation.

It happened so suddenly, one minute all he could feel was adrenaline and joy, and the next all he felt was dread. The green disappeared quicker than it came, and left him barren.

His hands started shaking as he wedged the knife deep into Joker’s arm.

For a minute he couldn’t believe his own eyes, there was so much blood, Joker’s face was screwed up in pain, and for the first time ever, he saw actual fear in them.

The part of him where the pit resided purred happily at that.

Jason threw up, leaning away from the Joker, and managing to dirty one of the few spots that weren’t covered in blood.

He couldn’t believe what he’d done.

What would Bruce say? Did it matter what Bruce said? He couldn’t show his face again, not after this, he’d be thrown out, all alone again.

He’d have no family, Bruce would never accept him, and no matter what Dick said he respected Bruce too much to ever go against his wishes. Talia would never let him close to Damian after seeing him lose control like that, furthermore, he couldn’t stay with the League, not after this. He’d hate it there, reminded of his biggest mistake… he couldn’t do it, couldn’t continue to live and train with murderers, he couldn’t continue training to kill.

And that was the core of it.

He couldn’t do it.

Because when he didn’t think of Bruce, didn’t think of his family and the morals and values they had placed upon him… he wasn’t a killer. He felt disgusted with himself. This was The Joker , yet all he saw were the faces of all the people he had loved and seen die.

Catherine, with her foaming mouth and lifeless eyes, her body cold by the time the paramedics arrived, Sheila, with her cigarette still lit, begging for mercy as the explosion swallowed her, the fear and regret in her eyes. All the kids he hadn’t been able to save in his time as Robin, the mother’s who’s hands he had to hold as they begged him to make sure their children were okay, the fathers he had to hide away from kids too curious for their own good.

When it came down to it, Jason couldn’t kill.

Joker deserved to die, there was no doubt in Jason’s mind that he did.

But not by his hand, it wasn’t about murder being immoral, it was about not wanting to stand with someone's life in your hands and deciding that they didn’t deserve it.

A hand came down on his shoulder, he tensed before realising it was Talia.

“I can’t do it,” he said, voice broken.

“You don’t have to,” she said.

“He doesn’t deserve to live,”

“No, he doesn’t,”

“Then where does that leave me?” he asked. He already had an answer, but he needed to hear her say it, needed to feel validated in his own thoughts.

“It is not your duty to clean up the world,” she said, taking his hands (that were still clutched around the knife) in hers.

“Tim-”

“Didn’t see a thing,” she reassured.

“Damian-”

“Left with him,”

For the first time since the night started, Jason relaxed. He was uncomfortable and covered in blood, but Talia put her arms around him like he wasn’t.

The fire was still burning around them, having spread further so it was close to burning The Joker.

“Close your eyes,” Talia whispered.

Jason did, and pretended not to hear the sound of metal flying through the air, and then the sound of air being exhaled for the last time. He burrowed further into her hold, turning his head to try and block out the smell of burning flesh and only focusing on her jasmine scent.

They sat there, ignoring the burning world around them, and let themselves feel calm, let themselves forget for a moment that the world was cruel and coarse.

“ You are free to cry—This air was made for the echoing of songs, ” Talia said, repeating that one line again and again… and so Jason did. He sobbed into her chest, letting the air carry his cries as notes to a melody not yet made.

Chapter Text

Apparently, Jason had broken more than a few bones during the fight, and they had all been worried about an infection in his leg, so he had been confined to his room on bedrest. 

Alfred was catering to all of his needs and Dick was entering his room every hour to look at him with an odd expression before opening his mouth and leaving again. It had been a week and he’d somehow managed to evade all serious conversations. He knew he had to give in soon, but he was so happy in this bubble, in his folly.

Talia was in the house, she hadn’t been by to see him, but he could hear her arguing with Bruce every other day, besides, Damian spent most of his days beside Jason, and he didn’t think Talia would let Damian stay at the manor alone before Jason had recovered fully.

Surprisingly, Bruce broke first.

Jason thought it was going to be Dick, he always seemed on the verge of starting a long overdue conversation, but a part of him was glad it wasn’t Dick. He didn’t know how he was going to explain how much he hated Dick for not having been the brother he wanted. He didn’t know how to explain how much he loved Dick, regardless.

“Jason,” Bruce started, sitting at the foot of his bed. He looked tired, they all did, everyone in the manor looked like they hadn’t slept in weeks.

“Bruce,” Jason whispered.

“I think we need to talk about… well, everything,” he chuckled, “I want to hear your side of things, Talia has been frustratingly tight-lipped, so I don’t know much. Please, talk to me, tell me about… tell me about your death,”

The room immediately grew colder and Jason screwed his eyes shut.

He wasn’t surprised. Ever since his return to life he had thought about this. During his time in the league he would write pages upon pages of letters, trying to explain everything that had happened to him. Still, it felt like a punch to the gut.

“I felt like you hated me,” he started, opening his eyes to meet Bruce’s. The blue he had once matched flickered, like he couldn’t decide between Bruce and Batman. “I felt like you didn’t trust me. One time, I remember going down into the kitchen and I overheard you talking to Dick, you were talking about how explosive I was, how angry, you said-... you said I was turning into my father.”

Bruce didn’t say anything, just kept staring, his fingers tapping on his thigh. A new tick Jason hadn’t learnt yet, it must’ve come after his death.

“Then you took Robin from me, and I knew, I knew , that you had to hate me, that you never wanted me. I wasn’t like Dick, I couldn’t charm people the way he did, I wasn’t the original and… he had been so angry for so long, about me. It was getting better, we were acting more like brothers but sometimes… sometimes I’d flinch when either of you raised your voices because I thought you were going to start arguing about me again, a part of me was scared that he would one day convince you to drop me back out into the street. I know that’s dumb of me, I know you wouldn’t do that, you’re Batman , but I can’t always help how I feel. So, when I found the box and saw Sheila’s name… I hopped on the first plane and didn’t look back,”

Bruce looked like he really wanted to respond to what Jason had said, but held himself back, as though a part of him knew that he wasn’t supposed to reassure him, not now. This was for Jason, this was an opportunity for a fresh start, one where they laid all the cards on the table. There would be time, later, for him to reassure his son that he had always loved and trusted him, but now wasn’t the time, before he could clean and bandage the wounds, Jason had to show them.

“It turns out that not even my biological mother loved me, and so she sold me out to the Joker. I don’t know how long he kept me there, torturing me, but at some point he must have gotten bored, in any case he left, and I got to die in a gruesome explosion right beside a woman who never loved me,” that part was easier, his voice came out robotic, as he had explained this to Talia too many times, “I don’t remember anything after that, I just remember waking up in the pit and then being told that you had a biological son, and then promising my loyalty in exchange for revenge,”

For ten minutes, they sat in silence. With Jason looking out of the window, it was mostly obstructed by the snow Gotham had been seeing since last week, and his fingers itched to go out in it. He had never particularly liked going out into the cold, when living in the street the cold was your worst enemy, but the cold meant feeling something. It meant stinging pain and numbness in his fingers and toes. Pain meant he was alive.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, when you need me most,”

For some reason, that wasn’t what Jason had expected Bruce to say. So he couldn’t control the tears that fell down his cheeks, couldn’t control the cut-off sob that escaped him as Bruce’s arms surrounded him.

They had a long way to go, there would be more talks in the future, more tears, but for now, this was all he needed.

Tim Drake was a weird kid.

He was short and skinny just like Jason had been, but that was where their similarities stopped. Jason hadn’t been expecting a visit from the younger kid, so when he opened the door to his room, holding a tray with soup, he was confused.

Alfred had, without fail, given him his food every day since the start of his stay, and had forbidden anyone from going near him during dinner, so that he would have time to rest.

Instead of leaving right away, Tim sat down in the chair Bruce had occupied the day before.

His eyes reminded Jason so much of Batman’s eyes that he spent a minute refusing eye contact as he ate his food.

When Jason finished his food Tim grabbed the tray and left, without as much as a goodbye.

This new ritual continued for a week, Jason eventually got a little better, he spent most of his days walking around his room and doing exercises so he wouldn’t lose all of his muscle.

And Tim just… stayed.

He’d come with the food, sit in the chair, and then take the food back down when Jason finished.

It was almost comforting, the routine they had built up together. Even if they never spoke to each other, Jason enjoyed the silent company, and over time the analytical look in Tim’s eyes dulled down.

“Thank you,” Tim said one day. Jason’s eyes snapped up to Tim as he put the fork down to give him his whole attention.

“I wouldn’t have survived if you hadn’t come by when you did,” he gave a rueful smile, hair falling down into his eyes.

“Bruce wasn’t too far behind me, he would’ve saved you,” Jason shifted on the bed, setting the tray down on the side table, instead of his lap.

“No,” Tim shook his head, “Just before you arrived I remember thinking I can’t keep doing this ,”

“You would’ve lasted. I did.” Jason chuckled a bit, talking about his death so casually was still a new thing, but it felt like healing.

Tim laughed too, although his sounded more hollow, almost bitter.

“I know.” he smiled ruefully.

Jason’s food was going cold, but he suddenly felt tense. It was as though Tim’s smile was cutting right through him. His eyes had always creeped Jason out, just a tiny bit too much like Batman, like every move he was making was being calculated and stored for later use. Everything that had once scared Jason about Batman he could find in Tim, and underneath it all, the childhood innocence of wanting to be better ; of wanting to be magic .

Of wanting to be Robin.

“I’ve done all I could to keep up your legacy, I can’t say it was easy. you left some pretty big shoes to fill. But I did it,” here he looked up, eyes hard in determination as he stared down Jason, as though daring him to object, “I’ve help one-hundred-and-sixty-five people since becoming Robin, twenty-three of those being life threatening, I have fifteen active cases and have updated the uniform thirteen times,”

That… wasn’t what Jason had expected. When he thought of their first conversation, it involved Tim asking him for tips, maybe asking him if they could spar together or some other bonding activity for brothers.

He hadn’t expected statistics.

“Okay…?”

“I know that these statistics don’t measure up to all that you did, but I’m still quite new to this, so I hope you will take that into consideration, I will, of course, be stepping down but-” he bit his lip, taking a deep breath as he blinked multiple times, “I hope you won’t kick me out completely, as I’ve grown to really like Bruce and Dick, and hope that maybe we could be friends- but only if you wanted! And I know I’m not super special, but I do live right next to you, so if you ever need company I won’t be far away, even if you just want to annoy me or need someone to do your homework. I can even-”

Jason didn’t need to hear any more, he cut Tim off with a wave, “Thank you,” he started, “You didn’t have to become Robin, but you did, and I’m grateful. And don’t say that 165 isn’t a lot, every life holds value, even if you’d only helped one person I’d be impressed,”

Tim gaped, eyes wide and mouth open.

Oh.

There it was.

When Dick had first started acting like a brother, he had sat Jason down and told him about Robin, about the mantle. Jason mostly remembers bits and pieces, but one thing he would never forget was Dick taking his hands and staring him down as he said “I didn’t become Robin to save others, I did it to save myself. Nightwing helps the people, Robin helps Dick Grayson,”.

Jason hadn’t seen that in Tim, he’d seen the willingness to help others, to save others , but he didn’t see the way Robin saved Tim . But there it was, the need for approval, the escape from his current life, the desperation in his eyes as he begged Jason to not take his safety net away from him.

How does Robin help Jason Todd?

Years later, Jason would be talking to Tim, and he’d tell him how their first conversation had impacted him. He’d tell him about how Tim had made him a hero.

He’d tell him how that conversation was the start of his rebirth.

It took 26 days for Dick to finally start the conversation.

Jason had been working out in the cave, trying to build up the muscle he had lost during bed rest, when Dick walked up to him. They had had multiple conversations since Jason started staying at the manor again, but they had been tip-toeing around Jason’s death for most of that time.

“A week after you died, I went to the psychologist,” Dick said.

We’re finally doing it , Jason though, setting down his weights before sitting on the training mat and gesturing for Dick to do the same.

The bats above them chittered quietly, echoing slightly in the cave.

“I was diagnosed with an abnormal grief reaction .” Dick spat out his diagnosis with an angry glint in his eyes before shaking his head, “For some reason, I thought the… symptoms would stop now that you’re back,”

The vague way Dick was talking put him on edge, his hands itching for a knife or something, as if that would protect him from the upcoming conversation.

“What kind of symptoms?” his voice was hoarse, and with a start he was reminded that he hadn’t had a chance to drink his water yet.

Dick stayed quiet, staring off to his side for multiple minutes, eyes focused even though he wasn’t looking at anything.

“The usual; nightmares, depression, a fuck-ton of anxiety.” he laughed, then opened his mouth as if to continue but stopped himself, looking to the side again.

“You curse a lot more than I remember,” Jason said, propping his chin on his hand.

“Yeah, well, guess you rubbed off on me,”

“Something to remember me by.” Jason grinned and Dick laughed.

“Yeah,”

They were silent again, Dick staring off to the side while Jason studied him.

“You’ve been hallucinating,” Jason said. Dick’s head snapped towards him, eyes wide, hands shaking slightly in his lap.

“Yes,”

There was no use in denying it, still, Jason had expected more of a fight.

“Tell me about it,”

And so Dick did. Told him about the young Jason constantly following him around, sometimes wearing a suit like he had in his tomb and other times wearing the Robin costume. There were good days, where the hallucinations weren’t as often or smiled at him, and then there were bad days, where it (he? It felt weird calling what was essentially himself an ‘it’) would get up close and distract him, start fights and shout, tell him how terrible of a brother he was.

Dick told him about his nightmares.

How he didn’t dream anymore.

How he had had a panic attack because he passed by an ice cream parlour they’d visited together.

They talked for hours, until they both grew tired and went to bed.

The next day Dick told him about the dream he’d had.

He slowly started getting better, the hallucinations stopped, his depression became more manageable, the panic attacks lessened.

He finally started seeing a therapist.

“I am no longer a bird,” Jason said, unprompted, one evening. He was sitting in the drawing room with Talia, staring out of the window and onto the back garden, the snow was gone, and instead flowers had begun sprouting from the ground. His eyes looked older, they had always looked older, but this was different, no longer were his eyes plagued by visions of a horrible nightmare, but instead of a quiet peace that could only come from knowing the world and finding solace in your demons, “or, I’m no longer Robin, at the very least,”

“Nonsense,” Talia smiled, “Richard never stopped,”

It was a joke, meant to lighten the mood, and Jason’s mouth quirked up at it. Still, he did not wish to brighten the mood, this was something he had been thinking about for a long time, and he needed to get it out.

“He did though, he may not always act like it but,” he smiled, a bittersweet thing that was too comfortable on his face, “he outgrew it… long before he outgrew Bruce,”

“You do not outgrow your parents,” Talia said, thinking of her own father who could be in another solar system and still have a hand in all of her decisions, “you surpass them,”

And maybe she had not surpassed Ra’s, but every day, through all of her interactions, she saw herself leaving behind all that he had taught her, everything that had been ingrained in her that she knew was wrong. She saw it when she held Damian’s hands as they walked through the gardens, his eyes open in wonder as she told him about the flowers. She saw it when she prepared tea for Jason, hands idly going through the motions as Jason talked about whatever came into his mind. She saw it when she showed kindness and softness when she had only ever been taught hatred and hard edges.

Still, she held onto some of his values, the fierce loyalty that she showed her family, the merciless way she dealt with those who stood in her way.

Leaving behind one's ancestors came in the form of preserving all which you care for, and creating something new in place of that which you don’t.

“Have I surpassed you?” he asked, smiling.

“Not yet,” she smiled back, “but you will,”

They sat in silence for a while, the birds outside singing a pleasant song, their tea cups half-full.

“I need to be reborn, I think,”

She hummed.

“I want to help people, I want to be a hero,”

“And have you thought of a name yet?”

“For your rebirth,” Damian said, handing Jason a drawing.

It was… perfect. It was bolder than he had been thinking, A stark red skin-tight suit, only broken up by yellow that seemed to lick up his arms and legs like flames and a golden emblem on his chest of a bird unfurling its wings. It came with clip-on wings that could be fastened to the emblem and acted as an extension to the wings.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, pulling Damian into a hug.

Phoenix joined Batman two months after Jason had recovered.

Jason Todd-Wayne joined Bruce Wayne six months after Phoenix started patrolling Crime Alley.

Talia Al Ghul left the day Phoenix rose. Leaving behind her two sons and soulmate.

They would survive without her.

Away from Ra’s, they would be able to grow and flourish. Away from the Al Ghul legacy, they would become fierce and strong. Away from the League of Assassins they would find friendship and love.

Away from Talia, they would find happiness.

That was the price she had to pay for their safety. That was the price of love.

Maybe one day, in the future, she would overthrow Ra’s, and then she could see them again.

Maybe then she could hug her sons.

Maybe then Bruce would forgive her for everything she had done.

But for now, her sons were safe, they were healing, and she would watch over them, protect them, from afar.

It was the least she could do, as she had only ever harmed them up close.