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There was something about fathers.
Something about them that made them seem unstoppable, unbreakable, eternal. And when your dad was Batman? His back seemed to stretch across entire rooms, he seemed to loom over you no matter how tall you were, and he seemed like an entity that would never disappear.
A father and a protector and a myth.
So when Jason goes away for a mission with the Outlaws one day that takes him away from Gotham for almost a year and comes back, he expects everything to be the same. The same old smog, the same old crimes, the same old family… the same old dad.
Only that seemed to be the problem here.
The same old dad.
“What the fuck.” He can’t help but whisper to himself as he watches Bruce take off his cowl in the cave. Red Hood had come back with a bang, jumping right in the middle of a fight between Batman and a gang of dropheads. Now they were in the cave turning in for the night.
Dick, who is standing the closest to Jason, looks over in confusion. “What’s wrong?”
“What the fuck is that?” He asks, pointing at Bruce. His voice can’t seem to get above a hoarse whisper. Dick followed in kind as if Jason is hiding from something in the cave and they were both now hiding from some monster. They might as well be.
Following his finger, Dick looks over at Bruce, squints, and looks over at Jason again. “What’s what? Bruce’s cowl hair?”
“Not his fucking cowl hair, I’ve seen that since I was Robin, his hair!” Jason hisses, “Why is it greying?”
And it was. There were spots of grey at his temples. It was peppered in with his shocking black and made them stand out that much more.
Dick looked over at Bruce again like he was seeing it for the first time before looking at Jason again like he was looking at a child. He started speaking in a voice like he was talking to one, “Because he’s getting old, and when people start getting old their hair starts to go gr—”
“He’s not old.” Jason denied.
“You literally call him ‘old man’ on the regular, Jason.” Tim pipes up from behind them and Jason clenches his jaw to keep from jumping in shock. He whips around and snarls out a low, “Yeah as a dig, a joke, but he’s not old.”
Dick reaches out and rests a soft hand on Jason’s tense arm, “Little wing, he’s not exactly young. What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong with you? Why aren’t you freaking out? He’s greying! He’s — he’s—” Jason breaks off because he doesn’t even know where he was planning to take that sentence and instead shakes his arm free of Dick’s loose touch. It makes him feel unmoored instead of steady and he's already feeling like a child suddenly.
“Well, we already had our own existential crisis while you were gone.” Tim says in his patented matter-of-fact tone. Bland, dry, even. The fact that at least this is the same soothes Jason a bit, his heart calming and his breath evening from where it sped up without him realizing.
“Jaylad?” Bruce asks while walking over with Damian who is frowning at their little huddle, a spark of curiosity mirrored in both their eyes. Father and son. Except now all Jason can see is Damian with the features of a Bruce so much younger and Bruce with the grey on his temples and what looks like small wrinkles by his mouth and in the sides of his eyes.
He’s never noticed those before either.
Is this also a new development or was he just blind to this?
Blind to the fact that his dad is aging right in front of him?
Suddenly all he can see is an empty space where Willis never came home one day only to die in a place far away from Jason and his mom. All he can see is Catherine lying in the bathroom, so still and cold with a needle on the ground next to her. All he can see is himself desperately shielding Sheila from a bomb they had no hope of surviving.
He can’t breathe.
He can’t be here.
Bruce is walking closer and he can see the grey at the temples and the small folds in the space by his mouth and Jason can’t be here because there is something about fathers.
There is something about fathers and Batman and Jason may call him ‘Old Man’ but he never meant that he was an old man.
Jason slams his helmet down on his head again and pushes past everyone’s grasping hands to rush to his motorcycle. He shuts out Oracle on his comms who is asking what is going on, that his vitals are jumping, and that his comms came online suddenly. He jumps on his bike and immediately revs it loudly, turns it around, and rushes past everyone who jumps back to leave the cave in search of a safehouse that everyone might not be able to find him in for at least a few hours.
Just a few hours.
He bites his lip hard enough to taste blood while he rides past cars fast enough to be dangerous while he’s lost in his head. Somehow he makes it to his safehouse in one piece, grapples up the side of the building to scramble through the window, and installs all the traps.
Scrabbles at his gloves and throws one on the ground mindlessly before doing the same to the other. Desperately takes off his helmet next and tosses it into a corner because he needs to breathe. His gasping breaths are background noise to him chucking his jacket and dropping his armor like a trail as he makes his way to the bedroom.
Crawling into his thin mattress in his dirty and sweaty underclothes is something Jason would normally never do but Jason is currently checked out.
This safehouse is clean, well stocked, well lit, warm, and nothing like the small dingy broken place he lived in with Catherine in Park Row. It does nothing to help him to tell himself all this.
There is a montage of Willis’s empty space, Catherine’s body, and Sheila’s desperation to live flashing behind his eyes overlaid by the image of grey hair and wrinkles.
He’s never lived long enough — he’s never had a parent live long enough — to see these things in them.
Jason doesn’t know what to do. His brothers were all calm, the girls seemed normal, and Bruce seemed the same as usual. He’s the only one — no, Tim said they had their own freak-out over this.
Jason scrambles to reach for his phone and scrolls to Dick’s number. His brother, because Dick is his brother, his big brother.
There is something about fathers and something about older brothers.
He pauses right before he calls the number.
What would Dick be able to do? This isn’t something Dick can smile or hug away. This isn’t even something Nightwing can fight.
But there is still something about older brothers so he calls the number.
Dick answers on the third ring.
“Jason! Thank god. Are you okay? Are you safe?” Jason hears voices rising in the background, Tim, Bruce, Damian’s casual taunting that always hides his worry, he thinks he hears Steph.
“I’m fine,” He says in a surprisingly even voice because this family is always fine even when they’re not, “I just — listen…”
“I’m listening.” Dick says with none of the teasing sarcasm that would usually come with the statement.
“Yeah… listen. Can you come over?” Jason says in lieu of, ‘I’m having a freak-out and I need you here to help me, please help me.’
“Of course I can, Little Wing. Where are you?”
“I’ll send you the address. Come alone.” Jason tries to say it harshly but it ends up coming out softly, like a question. “Come alone.” He tries again and it comes out firmer.
“Okay, I’ll go alone. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Dick says and stays quiet, always waiting for Jason to hang up first. Jason does and sends the address, getting a quick confirmation and ETA back.
Jason settles into the bed, staring at a stain on the ceiling and grasping the knife he had hidden between the mattress and the wall desperately. He can’t fight this. Time is something he has never been able to fight.
Give him beings made of pure evil. Give him a Bruce that threw away his morals to kill all his enemies. Give him the clown. Give him all the heroes of the world.
He can’t fight time.
Jason sits up and grips his knife when he hears his traps disable and the window slide open in his living room. Barely relaxes when he hears a small, “Little Wing?”
He stays quiet and lets Nightwing follow the trail of his armor like Hansel and Gretel to the big bad Red Hood hiding beneath his blankets.
“Oh, Little Wing,” Dick says as he takes off his mask, dropping it on the already littered ground and crouching down, “can I come closer?”
Jason stays quiet. He called Dick for a reason and sitting here, seeing all the Nightwing blue, feeling himself relax despite himself because his big brother is here, he can’t help but want one of those giant Grayson hugs. He drops his knife and lunges for his brother.
Dick takes it easily, rocking back onto his heels and wrapping his arms around Jason’s wide shoulders. “I got you. I got you, Jay,” Dick whispers into his hair and Jason wants to cry because suddenly he’s hit with the thought of Dick with grey in his hair and wrinkles on his face and he can’t do this.
A sob breaks free despite himself.
He’s died before. Bruce was thought to have been dead before. Tim almost died before. Damian did die before.
Death is just another risk they take and have encountered in this job. It’s nothing new.
They’ve never had to deal with aging out of it though.
“It’s a good thing isn’t it?” Dick murmurs in his hair, something thick in his voice, sounding like he’s trying to convince himself too. “It’s a good thing.” He says with more conviction.
“He’s going to get slow.” Jason says with venom to mask the wet quality.
“He gets to retire. He gets to watch us grow old. He gets to have a chance to be happy.” All sound arguments but again, it sounds like Dick is saying a mantra meant to convince himself.
“He’s never going to fucking retire. We all know this. Are you going to retire?” The silence is telling. “We’re all meant to die in these colors and outfits.” Jason spits out with just a bit of resentment while tasting the memory of mud on his tongue.
“You don’t kno—”
“Gotham is never going to get better. Gotham is never going to get better. The world will never fix itself.” Jason’s voice is growing louder with anger and resentment, that constant flame of injustice in his chest burning brighter. “All we can do is try our best to make it the best that it can be.”
Dick winces from how loud Jason is being in the crook of his neck but he can’t stop.
“And none of us, none of us, have the willpower to stop. We died! We died and came back and we could have stopped but we didn’t because we can’t. None of us can.” There are tears in his eyes that aren’t falling but are soaking into Nightwing’s suit anyway from the way he’s pressing into Dick’s shoulder. “You know this and I know this and Bruce knew this the moment he decided to put on the damn suit and go out all those years ago.”
There’s nothing but Jason’s gasping breaths for a while before Jason whispers into Dick’s shoulder, “He’s going to get slow.”
“He’s not going to get slow.”
“He’s going to get slow.” Jason reiterates because it’s the truth they can’t escape just like they can’t escape the grey at the temples.
“Then we watch his back to make sure he always makes it home to us.” Dick clutches Jason impossibly closer. Jason clutches back because Dick’s voice is watery and his eyes are losing the fight against crying.
There are more arguments pushing against the back of his teeth.
They can’t always be there. They can’t always be partnered up with someone. Sometimes Bruce goes on JL missions without them. Even when they are there sometimes things happen. Sometimes even they are too slow.
He bites his tongue.
“He’s going to be okay.” He says instead and repeats it again to the images of all his dead parents inside his head.
“Yeah,” Dick lets go of Jason to rest a hand on his cheek, lean their foreheads together, and whisper out a calm, “He’s going to be okay,” that sounds like a promise.
It makes Jason relax despite himself.
“It’s a good thing.” Jason tries saying and imagines he’s saying it in a voice that echoes Dick Grayson, “He gets to watch us grow old. He gets to be happy.”
He doesn’t manage to make it sound real at all but Dick smiles brightly anyway. “Exactly, Jay. Exactly.”
Jason tries again, “It’s a good thing. He gets to watch us grow old. He gets to be happy.” And just to ease his worries a bit, “We can watch his back.”
“Right.” Dick relaxes against him, forehead pressed against his, “He gets to grow old, he gets to be happy, and we can watch his back.”
Jason can still feel the drying tear tracks on his face, can still feel the way his chest wants to hitch on the next breath, he can almost feel the way Dick’s hand is trembling on his cheek.
“We can watch his back. We can give him a chance to grow old.” Jason says with more false conviction. Watches his brother move back to look at him, relax further, and huff out a small laugh.
“Yeah, Little Wing. We’re going to give him a chance to grow old.” Dick pulls him in for another hug and Jason doesn’t bother complaining or fighting it. Just clutches for any kind of give at the back of the suit to desperately hold onto his brother.
Sooner rather than later he’s going to have to go to the manor again and face the family. Face Bruce again.
“We need a powerpoint.” Jason blurts out, a half-formed thought bursting out of his mouth before he can stop himself.
“What?” Dick moves back, confusion lining every part of him.
“We need a powerpoint.” Jason repeats. “To convince him to retire. I’m sure Timmy will help. Timmy loves powerpoints.”
Dick blinks at Jason, lips twitching, before leaning over to the side to give a few obviously fake coughs that hide laughs. He sits back up to stare at Jason with serious eyes and twitching lips. “That sounds like a great plan, Jay. We should get on that.”
Jason pushes Dick off of the mattress before reaching for his phone again because Dick might not be serious about this but he is. Bruce is a logical man so he has to be logical about making Bruce retire and what’s more factual than a powerpoint presentation? They can add graphs and everything. Tim and Barbara could probably pull all kinds of data.
Before Jason can dial Tim though, Dick snatches the phone out of his hand.
“Give that back, Dickface!” Jason lunges for the phone. Only to get tackled and pinned to the mattress.
“No. You can wait one day to do that. Tonight we’re resting. We’re going to watch some Netflix and tomorrow you can start your presentation.” Dick says as Jason grapples with him. Dick stands up, takes off the Nightwing suit, and makes his way into the bed in his dirty underclothes too. Not that Jason can say anything about that. As if Dick read his mind he smirks and says, “Laundry tomorrow.”
Making one more half-hearted swipe for his phone Jason lets Dick bat his hands away.
They get comfortable on the bed, legs fighting for space before just draping over each other in a sprawl, while Dick texts the family.
But there’s still an ache in Jason’s chest and the steady weight of his brother half on top of him is only helping so much.
"How —" Jason cuts himself off.
"Hmm?" Dick asks offhand as he scrolls through Netflix looking for something to watch. He's checking out a show, looking through the episode's synopsis for anything triggering when Jason finally speaks up again.
"When did you notice it?"
Dick’s fingers spasm and click on an episode, the show starting while neither of them pay attention to it. Jason reaches over to pause the thing eventually and push the phone down.
"Dick?"
"A few months ago." Dick answers stiffly. "Steph pointed it out first. Then we all just kind of…"
Jason waits for Dick to continue but he doesn't.
"Right." He says, because he doesn't know what else to say. They found out months ago and his dad was aging for years and his world has turned upside down with one unmasking. As if he was some damn civilian learning their names for the first time.
"Right." Dick says, because what else is there to say? His world was turned upside down too. All of theirs were.
"Should we make him dye his hair?" Jason says, only half joking, just to break the tense atmosphere.
"What? Why?"
"I hate to be matching with him." The smirk is weak and flat and still a bit teary but it gets the job done because Dick laughs long and loud. Jason bears the weight of his brother collapsing on him with grace, and only pushes him off when it seems like the laughter is petering out.
"Jason! Are you calling yourself old?"
"I'm saying he's stealing my fucking style. He can get his own. He should dye his hair." He plays it up for his brother by scowling and crossing his arms. The way Dick loses the tension in his shoulders is worth the ribbing.
There’s something about fathers and something about older brothers.
Dick laughs on top of him, his entire being shaking Jason along with him, and Jason reaches over to pull on Dick’s hair, “Shut up, mullet boy.”
The laughter cuts off with an affronted gasp. “That was in style!”
“Mhmm keep telling yourself that, Discowing.” The shriek of outrage rings in Jason’s ear and now Jason is the one shaking them both with his laughter even as he reaches over to snatch Dick’s phone to start the show from the beginning.
“It was a great suit and a perfectly fine name! It was trendy! A lot of people loved it! It suited the times and I’ll have you know it started trends and —”
“And ended a whole lot more when people realized they were dressing like you.” The inhuman screech is louder now. “Shut up, the show is starting.”
To prove his point Jason shoves the phone an inch away from Dick’s face while turning the volume off. Dick squints, crossing his eyes, and goes closer to the phone instinctively.
“Why the heck is it so quiet? Jay, turn the subtitles on.”
Jason can only see about a quarter of the screen from where Dick is gripping his wrist and fighting to push the phone away but Jason just pushes harder against Dick’s face. “No.”
“Jay! C’mon! You’re not even watching it at this rate!”
“I’m watching. Look, she just walked down the street.”
“Jason!” Dick was bringing his other arm up so Jason thumbed the volume button, “Seriou—”
The show going from mute to full volume an inch away from his face startled Dick enough to headbutt the phone and knock it out of Jason’s hand, making it fall flat back onto Dick’s face on the way down. Jason could hear the show stop and start again, though he wouldn’t be able to tell you if that was due to the fast-forward button being pressed or if they had gone and skipped straight to the middle of the damn episode from Dick’s big forehead.
Jason went to crying from laughter in two seconds flat.
“You fucking —” Dick cuts himself off and Jason chokes on a wheeze that makes him cough around more laughter. It’s always a good day when he gets Dick to curse. Ever since he came back to life and found Dick had started censoring himself around the younger kids it became somewhat of a daily mission.
He ends up pushing Dick off of him because the weight of Dick on him as he laughs isn’t helping his oxygen intake. Chooses this opportunity to push Dick straight onto the floor.
The phone goes with him.
For some reason this sets Jason off some more and Jason curls around himself, legs tangling in his blanket, to laugh with tears leaking out his eyes.
Dick slowly sits up and turns his head to look at Jason with slow and creepy jerks like some demented haunted doll before clearly enunciating, “You. Bitch.”
Jason snorts and wheezes and has to muffle his hand over his mouth to keep in the ugly cackle he knows was crawling up his throat. Once he has himself under some form of control, he talks around giggles, “There’s only space here for one bitch and it’s sure not gonna be you, Jack.”
“You implying you’re Rose?”
“I’m still on here.”
“Jack let Rose stay on the piece of driftwood of his own free will.”
And suddenly, before Jason has a chance to realize it, Dick is throwing the phone up at Jason who catches it but misses the fact that Dick uses that chance to throw himself back up on the bed. He graciously doesn’t kick him right back off.
They restart the show, Dick holding his own phone firmly in his own hands this time, and spend the rest of the day desperately thinking of anything other than their father’s greying hair. It works for the most part.
The next day, Bruce frets over Jason leaving the way he did in his silent stoic way. Cass and Steph do their duo hover-and-poke to try and pry at his seams and find what’s wrong.
Jason does his best not to look too closely at Damian when he stands by Bruce.
Does his best not to look too closely at Bruce in general.
He does get around to dragging Tim and Barbara into a dusty unused room in the manor to scheme up a plot to fill Bruce’s head with so much logic he just has to retire. Alfred joins them. Dick does too.