Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jason Todd could be, and has been, called many things throughout both his lives. Only one of those names have ever haunted him, even though he was unaware of the words. Nobody had ever told Jason about the memorial case Bruce established in the cave because Jason Todd died. As far as the bats were aware, there was nobody to tell. Jason himself hadn’t seen them after crawling out of the earth with shredded hands and scars he did not recall receiving. As a matter of fact, Jason didn’t know his name for over a year, let alone the haunted words that were used to describe him. 

Fate knew, of course, and as fate often does it took the words as a challenge. Jason Todd the child never was a good soldier. He was a boy with a quick temper and broken sense of self to the point of arguing just for the sake of it. He talked back, broke rules, and hated orders. More importantly, he was a child and not a soldier. There was once a brightness that shone inside of him that was so bright it echoed in his gleeful laughter. That Jason was rough on the edges but always painfully soft on the inside. A boy who believed Robins were magic and that’s why they could fly. He could be called many things, but a good soldier was not one of them. 

Perhaps that was the point. Detached from reality enough that Bruce could justify his own self hatred that settled deep into the pits of his stomach. If he told himself that Jason was a soldier and a good one at that, then it meant it was on Bruce that he died. Batman’s fault for letting his good soldier die. If he admitted the truth, which was that Jason was a child but more importantly a son then all there was left was grief. Batman never had the best coping mechanisms. Perhaps that fueled Fate’s plan even further, a flame chasing the wick of a candle. 

Jason was found by an army of shadows and a gentle voice with a rough hand. Hands that intended to mold his blank brain and broken body into a weapon. A soldier who was both shield and sword. Talia al Ghul did not know of the words on that memorial case, having never been inside the cave, but she knew an opportunity when she saw one. This little bird happened to fall right into her hands with nothing but the instincts ingrained into his muscles after years training with the best fighter in the world. She promised her father she would ensure that the investment was worthwhile, though it did not take long for her to see the boy as more than the soldier she would make him. He was so young, 15 when he died and not yet 16 when she found him on the streets. She would have left him there if not for those lost blue eyes, but it would not do well for sympathy to be seen. She would have to make him useful in order to keep him.

A good soldier had many uses in an army of shadows. 

After his submersion in the Lazarus pits, she had expected the rage to pose a greater problem than it did. The boy had always had that rage, though now it was fueled by madness, and it seems the recovery of his mind led to those suppression instincts he had as well. His training was smooth once he found motivation as the boy was always goal driven. The goal this time was not to protect the batman but to kill the Joker. It was only then he would ever feel safe or be safe again. The only way for anyone else in this world, especially those he grew to care about, would be safe. It started with the Joker, but it did not take long for the goal to spread to incorporate all those monsters in the world who would destroy and take from their victims. In his core, Robin was a protector. In his core, Jason was Robin. 

Jason was among the best soldiers in the world by the time he reached 17. No hesitation when given an order. No shot missed and no target lost. His body brandished new and old scars, pale skin tanned from the desert sun, and Arabic became a comfort to hear in all its forms. Jason Todd was respected, and it was not long before he was given the honor of being the personal guard of Talia al Ghul, though he was serving that role far before Ra’s granted the official title. Jason’s temper still flared, but never stronger than his desired goals. His need to protect himself and others outweighed any anger or guilt he may feel. By 18 the plan was finalized, and Talia gave him permission to leave Nanda Parbat to return to Gotham and ensure its safety, as Damian was on the path to returning to his father’s care but could not do so until Gotham was safe enough to prevent harm by either inside or outside parties. 

The Red Hood, a moniker taken to establish power over he who once took it and rebrand it into a symbol of hope and fear. Like a bat, only the crimson red of the hood was the blade of a mighty soldier. It did not pull back, but rather forced its way through all those who stand in the way of a safer tomorrow. The Red Hood ensured that all criminals knew that he was not just a symbol but a promise. A promise to tear Gotham’s crime ridden city down no matter what it took or who died. Rapists, traffickers, wife beaters, and even crime lords were not safe from the glint of red that their minds could barely process before a bullet burrowed itself through their bodies and stole their wicked souls with it. 

The bats were scrambling by the time they found the trail of bodies left behind. The hood was an unknown name, unknown player, but more importantly he was an unknown threat to their rule. Because despite being a man covered in the blood of his enemies, he was not feared by the citizens of Gotham but beloved. Crime Alley always brushed off the Bats, unwilling to cooperate with and far too fearful to ask for help, but with this man they rallied. They hid him better than the darkness hid Bats and it soon became an unspoken vow that no citizen of Park Row would turn on their hero. The man that ensured the working girls would return home unharmed, the children wouldn’t starve on the streets, and the criminals knew better than to break the rules. The rogues and lowlifes would fight against the symbols of robins or bats or others, but the second they caught a glimpse of red they ran in fear. 

Because the bats hold back, but the hood doesn’t. 

Once Black Mask was scrambling to regain control of his empire and was begging the Joker for help, as expected, Jason received orders from Talia to put an end to the games. In the next month, Damian had to be with his father as the tensions and dangers of the League of Shadows had grown stronger and would soon have no choice but to snap. It was not safe there any longer, but Jason had bought enough time to make the escape at the same time as the start of an internal civil war. Jason would follow through as promised, ensure that Gotham was safe but also that Bruce was safe. Despite the fear that coursed through his body alongside his rage, Jason would finally tear the last of the city down as ordered. 

It was only when Jason had been holding a gun to the Jokers head and looking across at Batman that the fear dissipated into simple resignation. Looking across at the man he once called father, watching as there was not a single moment of consideration to do as was requested by his once dead and now resurrected son, that Jason understood. Jason may be a good solider, but he would never be good enough. There was no surprise in him when the batarang flew at him and sliced into his throat, no shock when the bomb left him buried and bleeding once more under a pile of rubble, and no pain when he dragged himself to the nearest safehouse without a sign of Batman or the Joker. As the boy laid on the carpeted floor of the studio apartment, neck sewn together crudely with dental floss, he accepted that it was up to him to ensure Damian’s safety once Damian was brought to this wicked city. 

It was no longer about orders, but about Robin. Protection that must be provided when nobody else would or could provide it. So despite the blood loss and the pain, Jason returned the gleaming red promise back onto his head and set out to Arkham. Ideally, he would kill every Rouge there was, but even he knew that some things could wait. Nobody was any wiser about the death of the Joker, guards only glad the endless laughter finally halted, until the next morning when they came to find the madman’s head stabbed into a wall. There was surprise in his eyes but not a smile on his face.

Batman had tried to find and bring in the Red Hood — Jason — but was unable to locate him or find proof the man had killed Joker. They all knew — Every person in the city knew — but like a ghost who found peace after achieving its revenge, the man had disappeared. 

Two weeks later, a young boy with green eyes and tanned skin looked up at Bruce Wayne and greeted him stiffly, “Hello Father.”

Chapter Text

9-year-old Damian Wayne often found himself at odds with his father and newfound siblings on many subjects. It unnerved them how articulate the small boy was at his age, as it was easy to forget the boy was raised an assassin when considering his appearance. Damian was so short with soft child cheeks and chaotic black hair. Despite his youthful appearance and age, he spoke like a man three times his age and dressed like a miniature businessman at all hours. There was also the fact that he was stubborn and violent to a fault as well as pretentiously snobby. 

Dick insisted that they must look past his harsh words and snide tone to see that the boy was still a child. He insisted that it wasn’t Damian’s fault that he wasn’t like other boys and that deep inside there was still a child in need of patience and gentle words. In a way, it is true, however it was also naive to believe that a boy as intelligent and dangerous as Damian was like every other 9-year-old. Tim would scoff at Dick and insist the boy was evil incarnate, seeing more harm than good where his youngest sibling was involved. It burned him deeply when the small boy would dismiss him, degrade him, or even compliment him. Tim only saw a rude spoiled boy with an inflated sense of self and a favor for violence that hinted at sociopathy. In some ways, Tim was also right to believe these as there was much truth in his insights though there was just as much that was wrong. Nobody blamed Tim entirely for his perspective, seeing as Damian seemed to have a personal grudge against the older boy and attempted to kill and/or maim him on numerous occasions. 

Bruce—Well, it is unknown the true beliefs he has on Damian as he has not and will not engage in the conversation when it arises. Bruce Wayne is not one for communication, at least not in the traditional sense. He loves Damian, he insists, but it is not perceived by the smaller boy as more than a love out of a sense of biological duty. Bruce has praised Damian for his intellect and determination just as much as he has reprimanded him for his cruelty and defiance. In reality, Bruce himself does not know what he believes about Damian due to the fact that Damian is so like his lost son, Jason. Brash, sharp tongued, and reckless while also compassionate and insecure in his own ways. Damian believes his father is strong, intelligent, and a formidable teacher. However, if asked to honestly describe his father in one honest word he would simply state, “Disappointing”. 

A large part of the mystery and misunderstandings held regarding the youngest Wayne was the simple fact that the boy was honest to a fault about everything but his life prior to his coming to Gotham. The only thing any of the family knew about the boy’s life before the manor was that he was raised by Talia in the League of Shadows, trained by assassins, and told that he would one day rule over the al Ghul empire as King instead of Prince. They did not know more than that outside of the little things that could be observed in his daily mannerisms, such as how he takes his tea or his dislike for lack of activities to do to fill his day. Damian was used to a routine schedule so deeply that he naturally woke at the exact same time daily and would practice routinely even though Bruce would not allow him access to new weapons or resources. The main thing they struggled to keep up with and understand was his communication, despite their constant surveillance and probing. 

Damian switched off the television with unhidden disdain and disgust while snarking to Dick, “Grayson, if you must insist on giving into your carnal desires in the midst of battle, I would suggest you refrain from doing so in the vicinity of press pariahs if not for the sake of your dignity than at least for the sake of your teams reputation.” 

It took Dick a few minutes for his sleep deprived brain to translate the statement into one of simplicity and understand that Damian was commenting on how Nightwing was photographed passionately kissing Starfire right before they engaged in the battle against Doctor Light two days prior. It was all over the news and media as the newest superhero gossip with hardly a mention of the actual fight. 

“Seriously who taught you how to speak?” Tim groaned from his section of the couch, barely glancing up from his phone. Unsurprisingly, Damian did not answer but rather threw the remote at the boy and was satisfied to see it hit his phone, which fell to the ground. Tim glared and opened his mouth to start an argument when the sound of ringing was heard. 

All the boys glanced down at Tim’s phone only to find it wasn’t his that was ringing. Dick checked his own and found a blank screen. Both elder boys turned in shock as Damian pulled out a small black burner, which they both knew was not provided to him by Bruce. Damian ignored their wide eyes and looked at the screen, eyes flashing briefly with excitement before he resumed his usual neutral mask. Seemingly forgetting the others around him, he answered. 

Damian remained silent as he listened to the voice on the other side of the phone, a voice too quiet to hear by anyone else in the room despite their held breath in bated anticipation and curiosity. Dick was certain, after a minute, that there was no other voice until he saw with surprise a small smile slide onto the boys face. 

A pause then “You cease forever to be able to do it.” — another pause — “I was under the belief that the dead had forgotten the living, despite the fact that it is usually the reverse. Mother would be displeased to know how long it took, should I remind you of the purpose given to you once and forever?” Damian scoffed in a tone so close to a laugh that Tim found himself locking eyes with Dick only to see his surprise mirrored. “I am a free human being with an independent will. You taught me that and should do well to remember it, Akhi.”

Another break, longer this time and despite the last words Damian said, there was no hatred or upset to be seen in his small frame. He sat straight, as always, but this time it seemed more in eager anticipation. While the smile was gone from his lips it still shone bright in his eyes. Whatever the other person said must have indicated the ending of their conversation because Damian’s subtle disappointment led to his shoulder falling slightly before he gave one strong nod of determination and stated, “I will ensure it”, before hanging up. Damian sat in silence a moment longer, eyes still trained on the small black phone as if willing it to ring again. When it does not, he tucks it away into his clothing and stands, eyes still distant with distraction. 

Dick cleared his throat, grabbing the young boy’s attention, “Who was that, Dami?”

The boy scoffed at the nickname, as he does every time, before lying simply, “Wrong number, Grayson.” He was gone before they could call him on it. 

Over the course of the next hours as they waited for night to fall and the sun’s light to be leached from the sky enough for the vigilantes to crawl out of the cave and back into the streets, Tim and Dick took it upon themselves to try and figure out who Damian had spoken to. By the time the third hour had passed they had only been able to negate two potential peoples known to be associated with the small boy, that being Talia and Ra’s al Ghul. The conversation indicated that the boy had not spoken to his mother, as he referenced her in third person, and the idea of Ra’s owning a phone simply felt too foreign of a concept. They knew it was no bat or bird in the family as it would make no sense for them to call an unmarked phone over the one Bruce himself had provided. Damian had remained in his room since the call, which was not entirely unusual in the sense that the boy had allotted these particular hours to his literature and educational studies (at his own insistence, despite not being enrolled in school due to it being summer). 

By the time the boys had suited up in their designated gear, Robin and Nightwing side by side as Bruce himself finished dawning the Batman suit, they had been no closer to an answer than they had on the couch. Tim wanted to tell Bruce about the call, whereas Dick insisted that doing so would lead to them losing what little trust they may have gained with Damian. However, as the night fell and the three were about to depart the cave to begin their pursuits of an unknown crime lord due to meet with Penguin at the docks tonight, they all began to notice a missing factor. Damian had not come down to the cave, as he had done every night since arriving at the manor with the insistence he join their crusade before ultimately accepting defeat and remaining on comms at the computer for the night until Alfred shooed him off to bed around midnight. Like clockwork the boy had made his presence known and declared that he would be going with them every night at 8:57pm right before the group departed at 9. It was now 9:05 and there was no sign of the small boy. While a part of them wished this was a sign of progress, they all understood it was likely much worse. In a few minutes, Alfred came down with a look of restrained frustration and declared, “It seems Master Damian has found a way off the manor without detection.”

Bruce did not do something as human as sighing like Tim or pinching the bridge of his nose like Dick, though his frustration did radiate off him like an aura. He barked orders for Dick to Search Burnley and the Northside, Tim to search Somerset and New Gotham, while Bruce would look after Old Gotham and the southern docks in case Damian decided to go after Penguin himself. They all kept the comms on and informed Oracle, who worked with Alfred to try and find a trail.  Like a well-oiled machine who has already done this search 5 times in the past month the boy had resided there, the group dispersed and hoped to find the child before he or someone else was seriously harmed. 

“Did he indicate where he might be going or anything to suggest where he might go earlier today?” Bruce asked over the radio as the batmobile whirred down grimy streets and civilians dispersed around to hide from the bat. 

“Um—”

“See-“

“Speak” Bruce demanded.

“Da—Demon spawn got a call earlier today on a burner,” Tim spilled, slightly breathless from jumping across another rooftop. “We don’t know who from, tried to figure it out all day but the way he spoke wasn’t straightforward, even for him. It was like riddles or something, but we found no decipher. Not a hint of where he could be going”. 

“Go to the Docks, B. It’s the most likely place and the meetup is due to happen soon. RR and I will keep searching the streets and ask around…well at least attempt to.”

Damian crawled over the lip of the rooftop of the abandoned apartment complex on the edge of the docks, blending into the darkness in his all-black clothing and mask. He gazed up at the figure of a larger man as he stepped out of the shadows, the yellow hue of the city lights reflecting off the glare of the red helmet the other man wore. Damian waited a moment as he stared down the Red Hood, back from the dead once more. The man made no move to attack as they looked at one another in bated silence.

“I do not wish to avoid the walk,” Damian whispered in the League dialect.

“The distance is nothing when one has motive”, the modulated voice of the mask spoke back. 

Damian had no hesitation as he ran across the distance and hugged the larger man, his small arms wrapping around the waist despite the fact that to do so his face pressed into thick armor and leather. Jason wasted no time to return the hug, knowing how rare they were able to give into such desires and wanting to cherish it while it lasted. After a moment of silence, Damian regained his bearings and took a step back, though he remained within touching distance at all times as if afraid Jason would vanish into the darkness and Damian be unable to pull him back out. Damian nodded his head once in a silent order and Jason kneeled on one knee to make the height difference null. Damian expertly found the small latches on the red helmet and pressed them, bringing himself face to face with Jason. 

Jason had no domino on, to his surprise. His hair was unruly and curly, stark white clashing against black. His eyes were a dancing blend of blues and greens, but the color held no power to the relief reflecting in him. Damian had grown to recognize this face since he was a child, having very few memories of the years before Jason had been in the league. He had drawn the crookedness of the nose and the faint lines of dozens of scars numerous of times over the years, so frequently that he could now do it on memory alone. While Jason’s own eyes take in Damian’s features, often flickering with worry as he looked over the whole boy in search of injury, Damian found his own drawn to a new scar he had not seen before. One that was not there when Damian last saw Jason, which was months before his arrival to Gotham. The scar was pink and newly healed, raised, and jagged like most of the one’s Jason treated himself were. It was on his neck, less than an inch away from his carotid artery. 

“Explain,” Damian ordered as his small finger ghosted over the scar with a hesitance that suggested a fear that touching it would cause pain. Nobody other than Jason or Talia would have seen such hesitance by the boy. 

“Tis but a flesh wound,” Jason said before snickering. Damian was not amused, nor did he get the reference. “Don’t worry baby bat, I have healed, and it won’t happen again. It is why I took so long to call; I was healing. Promise to make up for the last few weeks.”

“And how, exactly, do you expect to do that?”

Jason smiled crookedly, “Family tradition.”

Before Damian could respond, Jason tensed before pushing Damian behind him and shooting a batarang out of the air before it could reach its target in the hand that was previously holding onto the smaller boy’s shoulder. The towering darkness of Batman stood on the other side of the roof, tense and ready for a fight as he was distantly heard requesting backup. Jason kicked his hood back up to his hands like a soccer ball before settling it back onto his head to conceal his face from Bruce, unconsciously stepping further in front of Damian to ensure he was completely hidden. Damian in turn scoffed and pushed him aside so he could see his father. 

“Step away from the boy, Hood,” Bruce growled in warning. “It’s me you want; he has nothing to do with this.”

Jason’s sigh echoed loudly across the rooftop, though his hand remained tense on his pistol and his shoulders did not loosen. Bruce interpreted this as a sign of hostility, though Damian rolled his eyes at his brother’s dramatics and prepared himself for the argument due to ensue. A part of him was intrigued as he had been the only person Jason ever argued with and even then, he knew his brother often held back his true thoughts. Damian has long since been aware that Jason would hold nothing back when it comes to his father and while Damian does not necessarily want to see his father hurt, he also knows that he has no place to intervene. 

“If I wanted to hurt the kid, he would be dead,” Jason snapped back. Damian held back a scoff at the notion of Jason beating him, but also at the absurdity of the idea that Jason would even try. “Also, I don’t hurt kids, keep up old man.”

“Then what do you want with me? Why are you here?”

“Believe it or not, my life doesn’t resolve around you. Besides, what’s so wrong with me wanting to see my brother,” Jason asked, and Damian would bet he was smiling widely in the mask. “I’ve always wanted a little brother. Tim doesn’t count, because you and I both know all he is and was ever going to be is my replacement.”

“That’s not true and you know it. You are both my family, Jason.”

“Family is a strong word, don’t use it when you don’t understand it,” Jason snapped, a terseness to his voice that told Damian that the rage inside his brother has quickly begun to take over any lightness that was previously held. Damian found himself bitter with his father for interrupting their time and snuffing out the easy light he saw in his brothers now covered eyes. 

“Jay-“

“You could never leave well enough alone. God, what do you want from me? In case you haven’t noticed, I haven’t touched the kid. Hell, I haven’t fucking done shit to anyone in this god forsaken town since the last time you gave me the same bullshit speech about family. Of course, you followed that up by saving my murderer and slicing my throat open.” 

“I never wanted to hurt you, but you left me with no choice.”

Damians eyes dropped to the scar on the side of his brother’s throat once more. He would die before he admitted it, but a spark of fear flared inside of him at the thought that it was his father that put that mark there. His father who slit the throat of his own son in order to save a mass murdering clown. Damian wonders what his father would have done if it was Damian who was killed by the madman and came back. Damian wonders what his father would have done to him all the times in the past when he had to chose between killing or being killed and chose the former. He wonders what his father could do to him should he be met once again with that choice in Gotham rather than Nanda Parbat. 

“With family there should never have to be a choice,” Jason declares with finality. “No hesitation or doubt. No negotiating between one or the other…there is and always will be one option. You protect your family, no matter what it takes or what it cost. So no, Bruce, you are not my family.”

“The Jason I knew-“

“The Jason you knew died alone and in pain! The Jason you knew died because his family never, not once, chose him over themselves!” Jason yelled, voice cracking over the modulator in a way that caused an uncomfortable phantom pain in Damian’s chest. “Willis loved his alcohol and his anger more than he loved me. Catherine tried her best but at the end of the day she shot herself so full of poison there was no room for anything else. Sheila decided to trade in her son to a madman for her own life, standing idly by while every goddamn bone in my body was broken. And you?”

Silence. The words hung heavy in the air with a physicality so strong Damian could almost feel them.

“You told me I was safe and loved and that nothing in this world mattered more than me, only to put me in a suit I believed was made of magic and disappear when I couldn’t fly. You made me believe I would never be alone or hurt again, but I was. Over and over again. And I thought— For one moment I thought that at least you would ensure that what happened to me never had the chance of happening to anyone else, but it will. Because Tim is a kid and even I can tell he thinks his life is worth less than yours. Dick is stuck on a path he can never stray from and thanks to you Damian probably will be too.”

“Being Robin was always a choice, Jason. I meant every last word I told you because you are my son and I do love you.”

“Being Robin is never a choice when you are a child of Batman. Because you take in broken people with the intent of saving them, only you can’t even save yourself. You project your mission onto kids who would do whatever it took to be loved and get your approval,” Jason shook his head defeatedly, as if he could already see how this conversation would continue. Round and around in the same circle with his words never really being heard. Jason sighed softer this time when he spotted the small bodies in the distance leaping hurriedly against rooftops to try and stop the big bad Red Hood. “At the end of the day it doesn’t matter if you think you love me, because love doesn’t come with conditions, and I know yours does. Always has and always will.”

Jason completely ignored Bruce as he kneeled once more and turned his attention to Damian. 

“I will go nowhere that you are not. Even if you cannot see and do not hear, know I will always be by your side and save you. Do you understand, Akhi?” Jason whispered in the secret league dialect once more, and through the modulator Damian could hear the softness of the words and the absolute surety as if there was no mask in the way.

“As long as you and your words are with me, I know there is no threat we cannot slay. I expect to see you again, without the company of liars. You shall remain unharmed; I order it so.”

“I am no bird and no net ensnares me-“

“I am a free human being with an independent will.” Damian finishes before stepping between Jason and Bruce to allow Jason the ability to slip away without the batman following. He does not hear his brothers decent but knows in his bones he is lost once again by the time his other brothers arrive.

“What happened? Is everyone okay?”

“Where’s Hood?”

“Damian, explain yourself.”

Damian decided their time weren’t worth his words, his heart heavy as he will once again go an undetermined amount of time without the grace of a familia presence, so he ignores their pestering and begins the decent off the building with thoughts of the scar on his brother’s neck. He wonders to himself if his brothers’ sharp words will leave unseen scars on his father. 

However, the next night Damian finds that his brother remained true to his promise as he received a call on his phone (which he had hidden so not even Pennyworth could find it) and Jason followed through with what he deemed “family tradition”. This time Jason decided to read him The Outsiders and Damian found himself drifting off to sleep to the soft cadence of his brother’s voice and thoughts of how ridiculous a name like Ponyboy was.

Chapter Text

The boy was born with many names and many titles. Damian al Ghul. Damian Wayne. The Demons Son. Ibn al Xu’ffasch —Son of the Bat. The one he was always most proud of, before going to Gotham, was Prince and rightful heir to The League of Shadows. To be a prince meant to someday be the king, Damian’s name came from the Greek word Damianos, which means he was always meant to conquer. Damian was treated with the upmost respect by every person in his life, most notably by those who are below him in rank and skill and knew the value of his life. 

Knowing that his life was worth more than the others is different than seeing it, he would learn over the years.

On the night of Damian’s 7th birthday his mother introduced him to a catatonic boy with stormy blue eyes, bandaged hands, and gruesome scars. The boy did not seem to notice Damian, so it was no surprise when he did not do the customary bow or greeting. His skin was that of death and he himself looked not far from it, so skinny that each of his bones were easy to see despite the skin that laid over them. Talia told him the boy was his brother. Damian felt disgusted at the idea that such a fragile and weak being could possibly share any genetics with himself. 

“Your father has an affinity for taking in injured or lost ducklings and convincing them their bats,” Talia had told him when he expressed his thoughts. 

“What happened to him?” To the child it was unfathomable that the boy before him had been in the care of his father, of the Batman, and come out the other side this way. He was certain it was the fault of the boy, as surely a man as remarkable as Bruce Wayne would have prevented such injury. 

“This little bird tried to fly from the nest when he believed it was expected of him,” Talia simply said, her calloused hands ran through the curled hair of the teenager though he showed no sign of feeling it. “From what I gather, he fell right into a pit of snakes and was unable to be saved.”

“Then how is he here?”

Talia smiled, though Damian was beginning to learn how to see his mothers’ true emotions. Her eyes, while stoic and dark, had given away that she was also sad. It wasn’t pity, his mother would never pity a lowly man, but there was something deeper that suggested to Damian the teen - his brother - had started to mean something more to her. “By all means he shouldn’t be,” Talia stated, showing her boy the various scars that led to the teen’s death as well as the scars from his autopsy. “It seems as though even death could not stop him.”

Admittedly this peaked Damian’s interest, and he gave into the curiosity despite feeling like this may be another test. His eyes roamed the other boys face, seeing the crookedness of a nose that has surely been broken a dozen times and the dozens of faint scars that mar otherwise smooth pale skin. The boy’s chest held the worst of the scars with a Y shaped autopsy scar, dozens of stab wounds, a few gunshot holes, and what seemed to be remnants of where ribs had once protruded from the side. Damian’s small hand wrapped gently around the bandaged fingers of the other before he noticed them moving and a small gasp escaped his throat when stormy blank blue eyes snapped to his upon contact, the first sign of movement. Talia seems to have noticed it as well.

Talia hummed a moment before nodding to herself, “Very well. Damian I will be submerging your brother into the Lazarus pits tonight.”

“Grandfather would not approve of such waste.”

“Indeed,” Talia confirmed in a tone that was also dismissive, making it clear she did not care what her father did or did not approve of. “He will train with the league but most importantly he will train with you. The pit will undoubtedly leave madness in the blankness of his mind, and you will be tasked with taming it. Do you understand me, my love?”

Damian nodded even as he voiced his doubts, “Yes, Mother, though I must admit that I do not see what use this task will have. In his condition currently he cannot even walk, let alone fight.”

“Give him time. I have a feeling in the end we will both be surprised.” She gave her son a soft kiss on the forehead before wheeling the broken boy out. Damian's skin crawled as those empty blue eyes remain locked on him. 

Damian did not get the boys name before his mother had left the room but found himself silently repeating a new title he was just bestowed. The title of brother. 

On Damian’s 8th birthday he was being given a punishment instead of a gift. The small boy kneeled before his grandfather’s throne with his head bowed in respect, unable to see anything outside the edges of Jason’s feet from where he stands beside Talia as he nearly always was as her personal guard. Damian thanked the small sight and the warmth of the desert air for keeping him from trembling as his bare sweaty skin was exposed to the room. He had just finished his eighteenth spar of the evening and waited patiently for the next. Silence hung heavy in the air but he only felt the burning of his grandfather's eyes looking down upon him. 

Damian had returned that morning from a mission in Japan. A mission he failed due to the enemy being aware and turning what was supposed to be an ambush into a full-scale battle. Damian was the only one of the 6 shadows to return, having gone against nearly ten times the men. It was a failure despite Damian having successfully taken out the target and his men because Damian had failed to do so quietly. That was two nights ago and this small pause between spars was the only breaks the boy had gotten. His muscles ached and his eyes burned from lack of sleep, but he allowed no weakness to show. Weakness would only make things worse. 

“You disgraced our name today, child. A demon must never show weakness and yours resulted in a display of ignorance that suggested that we, the league of shadows, were unprepared. If you were a lesser man, I would have your head on display as a reminder that there is no room for error in this empire,” Ra’s snarled at the boy. “It is thanks to you that 5 men of our organization had the dishonor of dying an unremarkable and wasteful death. Their names shall never be spoken again. You shall take 5 lashings for each life discarded due to your uselessness.” 

Damian’s gift would have been 25 lashings that night, lashings that would rip apart his entire small back and leave him vulnerable for weeks despite the fact he knew he would need to return to his training in less than a day, if not for his brother. Despite the fact that Jason and he had exchanged less than a hundred words to one another over the past year, the older boy was before Damian, bowed deeply on his knees so that his forehead brushed to smooth tiles, and asked the head of demons to take the punishment in Damian’s stead. His voice was strong when he spoke and there was no sign of wavering. The last time Damian had heard that voice was three months prior, the night before Jason had left with Talia for a mission somewhere Damian cannot remember in the moment. 

“Todd -- You will ensure her safety and return, or I will personally carve the flesh from your bones and feed it to the dogs while you watch,” Damian had threatened Jason in the league dialect (which Jason was quickly learning) while glaring over the older boy as he stood silently by the doorway that led to his mothers’ chambers. While the boy gave no sign of hearing him, for a moment Damian was certain he saw amusement in the other boy’s now sea green eyes. 

Frustrated with the lack of response Damian prodded again, telling himself it was to ensure the other boy knew his place and not because he was desperate to get a snarky response like he had managed to weasel out a handful of times this year. “A response is in order, even if you are the living dead. Swear to it that you will waste your pathetic meaningless life to ensure that not even a scratch should arise on my mother, as is your duty.”

This time there was no denying the amusement in the elders eyes as he kneeled down and ruffled Damian’s already erratic hair, easily dodging the punch of retaliation, before softly stating, “Make no mistake, baby bat, I swear nothings going to happen to your mother. My word is a bond, and I will always keep my promises, no matter the cost.” Jason stood back up and into the neutral position before Damian could react, his mother stepping out of the room and soon Damian was left alone once more with a phantom feeling of a large hand in his hair.

Ra’s paused as he considered the boy before him and the offer that sounded more like a demand. “Very well,” Ra’s stated as he gave a singular nod to the guard beside him who held the whip in hand. “You will take his punishment in silence. Should a single sound escape you, we will start the count again. Rise, Damian, and return to your mother’s side to watch as your soldier serves you. It will do well to remind you why it is we do not waste the lives of our shadows.” 

Damian watched in silent horror, and it took all his remaining energy not to flinch when the tenth hit ripped across Jason’s shoulder blades and split the skin deeply. Jason had not been so lucky and a groan escaped his lips against permission. Sea green eyes met Damians with renewed determination for a second as Ra’s declared the count start over. Not a single sound left the man again, even after Ra’s and Talia departed with the remaining guards and Damian had to drag the much larger and heavier boy back to his quarters as a final punishment. 

The brothers were silent as Damian gathered the supplies to clean, stitch, and dress the wounds. Damian could silently admit to himself that it was impressive Jason hadn’t passed out yet with the amount of pain he must be in after 35 lashings and an unknown amount of blood loss. As Damian worked on cleaning the wounds, as gentle as possible, he felt the need to distract the elder boy from the pain if only to prevent him from passing out now and leaving Damian alone with his thoughts. He knew he should be nice to the man who just bore his punishment but found himself spewing insults instead.

“I am unsure what foolish thought you had when you decided to place this punishment upon yourself, but it should be known that the only thing you accomplished was unnecessary pain and embarrassment.”

“Yeah yeah, fuck you too,” Jason hissed as he gritted his teeth as Damian washed the wounds with water. He began to zone out until he jerked back at the sight of the needle Damian was about to use to administer pain medication prior to his stitches, “No pain meds.”

“You need-“

“I said no, kid. Shits deadlier than a gun,” Jason huffed and remained tense. The two boys had a stare off until Damian rolled his eyes and dropped the syringe and picked up the needle and thread as he whispered colorful sentiments (most of which he learned from Jason over the last year). 

The two brothers fell back into silence once more as Damian worked on his stitches. Jason managed to remain remarkably still despite the clear pain he was in, knuckles white from clenched fists and eyes distant as if trying to escape. Damian’s eyes fell to the older scars littering the other man’s body and found himself remembering that this pain was surely nowhere as close to what the older boy has already gone through. That only half the marks on his brothers back will even scar, maybe less, and that the other boy must surely think that they are just a small addition to his vast collection. As he continues to sew the broken skin back together, Damian thinks of his own skin. Smooth and mostly unmarked, only having faint white lines where he has previously been injured. There was not a single scar on his skin that was noticeable unless looked. Damian once considered this proof that he was too great an opponent to have been unlucky enough to achieve an injury worth scarring over. Now he wonders if perhaps it was not his skill that prevented his scaring, but rather his people. People like Jason, who did not hesitate to take the punishments and shed the blood for him. 

As Damian sews the last wound shut and begins to wrap the large, muscled back in gauze and bandages, his voice is small as he asks, “Why’d you do it?”

The distance recedes in Jason’s eyes as he responds with a crooked grin, “It’s my duty, isn’t it Bat-Brat?” Something must reflect negatively on Damians face because Jason sobers up and answers more seriously, “You’re just a kid, Damian. Ah- Don’t fuckin deny it like you’re not 7 years old and barely tall enough to reach my ribs.”

“I’m eight,” Damian responds, as if that would help his unspoken protest. “Today is my birthday.”

“Then consider it a gift, kid.” A beat of silence before the older boy sighs deep and whispers the truth as if it was a painful secret, so quiet that Damian nearly missed it. “You’re my brother and my king, Damian. I’d sooner crawl out of a grave again if it meant keeping you safe.”

Damian forced himself to keep eye contact and to ignore the painful squeeze in his chest from the confession. “Grandfather is your king.” He didn’t know what else to say.

“Full offense, but Ra’s can suck a bag of shit for all I care. So shut up and accept that protecting you is the only thing I care about,” Jason’s eyes closed as if he could simply sleep his way out of an argument. “Read me something.”

“What?”

“Read me something then we can call it even. Its my birthday too, consider it a gift.”

Damian’s instinct was to argue or to call Jason out for his clearly deluded speaking from exhaustion and blood loss, but instead he grabbed a book from the shelf and curled up on the bottom of the bed by Jason’s feet, figuring the least he could be is comfortable if he had to entertain such nonsense. It dawned on him as he laid down that he had not known before that his birthday was the same as his brother’s. He wondered if it was guilt he felt at knowing that the older boy had received nothing but pain for a gift today, whereas Damian was given mercy. He hesitated a moment, peeking over the book cover to see if Jason was secretly laughing at him only to see the older boy’s eyes closed patiently as his breathing remained controlled in a way that suggested he was trying to breathe through the pain. Damian cleared his throat and began to read one of the stories inside the collection of Greek tales, this one being the Myth of Jason and the Argonauts.

Damian woke on the morning of his 10th birthday with less of a scowl on his face, bringing it as close to a smile as possible for the boy without blatantly doing so. It was his first birthday he is having since being placed into his father’s care and his small body thrummed with no-so-subtle anticipation. Bruce had promised Damian that tonight, for the first time, Damian could patrol with Batman as Robin. Apparently, Tim, Dick, and Bruce had discussed the idea of passing the moniker to the youngest for the last month, which would explain Tim’s excessively sour attitude three weeks prior. However, Tim had admittingly grown exasperatedly fond of his younger brother despite his best efforts to hate him. It likely had to do with the fact the child has opened up to them more as the time passed and hadn’t once attempted to cause Tim serious harm in the last month, only causing a bruise here or there but never an attempted murder which was substantial progress. Tonight, Tim would officially take on the title of Red Robin (which Damian still found to be a terrible name and ensured the other boy was aware of this every chance he could) and Damian would go out as the Robin. 

Almost as importantly, Damian would be seeing Jason tonight in person for the first time since the start of summer. He knew this for a fact because Jason had told him that it was all he wanted for his birthday and so Damian was going to ensure that this year he granted that wish. They had both been separated last year due to Jason being in Gotham to start his reign of terror as Red Hood and clean the streets well enough to feel comfortable with the prospect of Damian being Robin. Damian knows if it was up to the older boy, he would never dawn the red, yellows, and greens that Jason once bled and died in. Robin, however, was an inevitability. Damian must train to be the best and being Robin was the closest he could get. It was his destiny. Damian could hear the echo of a rough bitter voice in his head telling him It’s your death sentence, but he chose to ignore it. 

Damian knew he had to be on his best behavior today during patrol which meant he couldn’t ditch to find Jason, but rather had to trust Jason to find him. The Red Hood has been on the prowl for the last few months making his presence well known now that the bats knew he was back but has continuously managed to evade capture, which was admittingly easy with his training and knowledge of theirs. A part of Damian is nervous that the Red Hood willingly putting himself in front of and in the path of Bruce and the others would lead to a fight which would prevent him having any quality time with his brother but also potentially lead to imprisonment (not that it would last very long). The larger part of himself decided to not stress things he could not control and rather lay his trust in Jason’s ability to figure out a solution himself. 

Damian should’ve known better than to trust the suicidal teenager with no sense of self-preservation with something as fragile as his own life and safety.

Batman, Robin, Nightwing, and Red Robin (again, atrocious) were all engaged in a fight against a large gang of Penguin and Mahoney’s crew, who apparently decided to put their own fight aside for the time being and work together to take down their threats. This left nearly 50 gang members armed to the teeth with lethal weapons against 4 (though Bruce has had to intervene in a few of Damian’s attacks that were a bit too close for his comfort despite being technically non-lethal as promised). Nearly all of the gang's ranks had been knocked out or too injured to fight by the time the first bomb exploded. They weren’t expecting it, all diving for cover as they tried to avoid debris that sent body parts flying and left their ears ringing. Caught off guard by the first, there was no time to escape or prepare for the second one. They saw it as it rolled in, a grenade the size of a football, from the east corner where Penguin had made his escape. Bruce was moving towards his son’s, all three of whom were closer with Damian being the closest. Damian’s heart was stuck in his throat, and he found he couldn’t move as he watched the grenade roll to a stop.

It was only a matter of seconds, but time seemed to move slowly before racing together all at once. He could barely process as the limp body of an unknown goon was thrown on top of the grenade before a second, larger and better geared body landed on top of the limp one. Damian's eyes widened as his brain slowly processed the familiar dark brown of worn leather and bright red of a hood before he felt an unknown hand (later he would realize it was Dick) wrap around his ankle and pull him back as hard as possible right as the bomb exploded. His domino was splashed with blood, and he felt the impact of the air pushing him back as his head rang with the explosion, but he didn’t care. Couldn’t think or breath or function beyond the sight of the limp body of the Red Hood in front of him. He could only see his back (there was so much red there, so much blood and Damian could’ve sworn he had sewn the wounds shut) and a scream ripped from his throat, but he couldn’t hear it over the ringing and the blood rushing through his ears. 

Damian recovered faster than the others despite his being closest, most likely out of sheer adrenaline he found himself scrambling to crawl towards the too still body of his brother. That tight grip on his ankle doubled down and without hesitation Damian kicked wildly against the restrain until one particularly strong kick made impact with the object and it loosened. Damian crawled through the blood and bodies with a single mindedness that not even Bruce possessed, though Damian didn’t feel anything during the journey. Didn’t hear or see anything but the Red Hood he had been seeking out all night before the encounter. His small hands barely touched the worn leather he was all too familiar with before someone grabbed him by his cape and pulled him back and into the air. Damian’s throat burned with screams he still could not hear as he struggled against the hold, unseeing and unhearing to anything and anyone but the limp body. Tim’s gloved hand was reaching towards the brown leather and in sheer panic, Damian found his hand wrapped around a blade that he then stabbed into the large black figure's leg. The figure, a large black mass he normally recognizes as his father, shouted in pain and loosened his grip enough for Damian to slip the hold and kick Tim’s side hard enough to send the unprepared boy backwards. Damian then finally wrapped his small hands (so small compared to the large, muscled arm he held) around his brother’s limp arm and rolled him onto his back. 

“Todd,” He heard himself say though the voice was so distant. Damians eyes were trained on the other man’s chest before he shook the large man again when there was no movement. “Answer me, I demand it! Akhi!”

Jason has never not responded when asked to by Damian. Not since the day they met. Jason has never bled this much before since—Not allowing himself to venture down that path, Damian slapped Dick’s hand out of his reach and crawled over the too still body to the helmet, ignoring the crack on the cover or how the blood blended into the red a bit too well. Shaking small fingers once again found the hidden latches and swiftly removed the helmet. There was not blood, he noted to himself as he scanned the familiar face and curly hair. He found himself struck by how young Jason looked, passed out and unresponsive, and how vulnerable he was. It felt wrong. Wrong to see his big brother, always so strong and arrogant and annoyingly persistent, being small and quiet and calm. Something warm was on Damian’s cheeks as he lowered his ear to listen for breathing. Damian only noticed he stopped screaming because he heard clearly the soft weak exhale of Jason. 

“Dami,” Dick whispered cautiously behind him only to yelp when a piece of broken concrete was sent flying into his nose. 

Damian brought the hand that threw it down hard across his sleeping brother’s cheek and only allowed himself to breathe again once green-blue eyes flicked open and a pained groan escaped chapped lips. However, the breath only gave into the pressure in his chest and Damian soon found himself sobbing like a child at the sight of his not-dead brother, the warmth on his face growing larger as fat tears dripped down his soft childish cheeks. The sobs were deep and guttural in a way no person had ever imagined possible, and Damian threw himself desperately into the chest of Jason, uncaring of the groan it emitted because pain only came to those who were still alive. He felt large heavy arms wrap around his shoulders, successfully hiding him from sight. 

Damian had unknowingly passed out from a mixture of exhaustion and a minor concussion, which was the only reason why he had been able to be removed from Jason’s broken and bleeding body long enough for them to be brought back to the cave for treatment before police arrived. Jason had only been able to go without a fight because he was too injured to do more than glare, and even then, he passed out the second they picked him up. He woke up after operation to hear the tally from Leslie herself, despite her bewilderment at his being awake (he had managed to pull the pain killer out before enough got in to make a difference). Thanks to his choice to use another body (“Fuck off with that look, old man, the guy was already dead before the second explosion”) he was lucky to have kept all his limbs though not lucky enough to prevent one broken leg, a broken wrist, a broken arm, three fractured ribs, a concussion, and 5 shrapnel wounds that accounted for 64 stitches in total. Despite all this, Jason was still prepared to flee before the sharp demanding reprimand from Alfred had kept him from doing so. 

Jason was in too much pain to argue which is the only reason why he didn’t snap like he wanted to as his skin crawled from the sensation of unwanted eyes staring at him. He could feel Bruce’s concerned gaze taking in, analyzing, and calculating each scar that littered Jason’s body now that he was without armor. Eyes that he could feel running over the edges of the aged whip marks on his back to the deep brutal autopsy ones on his chest. Bruce thought he was being subtle, since he was on the other side of the cave pretending to be looking up reports, but all semblance of that was destroyed when Jason managed to throw the bedpan at him despite his being ordered not to move. Bruce winced and excused himself to check on Damian, who was sleeping on a cot within sight of Jason which was also the only reason he hadn’t left the bed. 

“Can it, dickbird” Jason growled when he saw Dick open his mouth to say something. This was the fourth time Dick had attempted to speak but the first time Jason acknowledged him at all. 

“He didn’t even say anything, asshole,” Tim snapped. 

“Please, Replacement, his big wide sad puppy dog eyes are practically screaming,” Jason huffed, before cutting off Tim before he too could speak the words forming on his lips. “Yeah, yeah, you’re not a replacement, you’re just a 14 year old kid who allegedly forced a man who cant be forced to do anything to make you his robin. I don’t care because at the end of the day you could’ve and would’ve been killed in an explosion you never should’ve been near. Sound familiar, Timberly?”

Both boys winced because while things weren’t that simple, it was true that both Damian and Tim were within the blast zone for that grenade and would’ve been seriously harmed if not for Jason. The unspoken fact that it was quite likely that there could have been another bomb after the second that nobody could’ve stopped and that would have definitely killed them also hung in the air. Dick and Tim knew that wasn’t Bruce’s fault, but they also knew that some arguments could wait for another day. Dick sat quietly as he took in the sight of his brother, the one he had lost a long time ago and was unsure he would ever get back. In a lot of ways, this Jason is as familiar to him as the Jason from before which is to say he knows the basics but not enough to really know him. Tim sipped his coffee and tried to distract himself with writing his report, only admittedly he was distracted by the man he once idolized and found himself idolizing in a new way. Because the Red Hood may be a murderer and a criminal, but he was also a 19-year-old who threw himself onto a grenade without hesitation to protect people he doesn’t know and/or hates… To prevent any more robins from dying too young in places they shouldn’t be, even if one of those robin’s was a boy he believed took his place in a family that he believed was no longer his. 

“How do you know Damian?” Dick asked once the quiet was too loud and Jason had been exhausted enough to try throwing anymore medical equipment at them. 

Jason didn’t have a chance to respond because the child in question woke with a gasp, a shouted name, and leaped out of the bed just as Bruce reached to grab him. Dick would think Bruce was losing his touch if not for the fact that the number of drugs in Damian’s system were supposed to ensure he was out cold for the next 12 hours and Bruce himself was falling asleep. Damian was still clearly drugged as he stumbled desperately towards Jason. Tim reached to grab them before Bruce’s gruff voice told him not to. 

Jason sat up too quickly to have been painless, but he didn’t even wince as he reached forward and grabbed Damian, pulling the smaller boy onto the bed. The other 3 bodies in the room froze in bated anticipation and fear, but all Jason did was tug the small boy to his side so that Damian could latch onto him. Damian was speaking, slurred but rapidly, to Jason in a language nobody recognized. Bruce had heard it only twice before, once from Talia many years ago and once on a rooftop when he first came across Jason and Damian together. Seemingly forgetting the secrecy, Damian switched back to English as he slowly began to lose his fight to remain conscious. 

“Why’d you do it? You could’ve been killed!” Damian shouted, though it came out as barely louder than his normal tone. 

“Been there, done that,” Jason brushed off easily. He caught the weak punch thrown his way with a soft laugh, “Easy, baby bat.”

“I demand you answer me.”

Jason huffed a sigh and blinked heavy eyes before responding, “I made a promise, didn’t I? To serve and protect you, no matter the cost.”

“Make me a new promise,” Damian demanded instead, even as his eyes could no longer open. “Make me a promise that you will never leave me. Mother said that not even death could stop you…Promise it never will. It’s my birthday...You—you owe me. And you have to listen to me, I--” a yawn that was failed to be suppressed escaped, “I’m your king, remember?”

Jason hummed thoughtfully before whispering, “I promise.”