Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Like most self-destructive ideas, it started with Bruce Wayne.

To be fair, it wasn't all Bruce's fault. GothamFeed spared no celebrity. Dick had sent Jason a link, along with one of his annoying custom Nightwing gifs. This one had Discowing doing two thumbs up.

dickhead: yo check this out hehe

Why Dick texted like a 13-year-old girl was beyond Jason. He set aside his volume of Emily Dickinson, opening the link. The headline ran: WHO IS BRUCE WAYNE'S FAVOURITE?

Everyone knows Bruce Wayne, famed billionaire and beloved prince of Gotham, has an incredibly big heart. Beyond his extensive philanthropic efforts, Wayne Manor has opened its doors to many children throughout the years. From last year's Hottest Gothamite Richard Grayson to Wayne's most recent ward, Duke Thomas, the Wayne family has only grown. Now the question on everyone's mind is: who is Bruce Wayne's favourite?

Honestly, the state of journalism these days. Jason rolled his eyes and scrolled down.

If you're unfamiliar, here's a short description of each Wayne kid.

First up we have Richard Grayson, who also goes by Dick (yes, we know!). The oldest of Wayne's children, Richard Grayson was taken in when he was eight. Charming, attractive, and a philanthropist in his own right, Richard is as beloved by Gotham as his father.

Then we have the tragic tale of Jason Todd, Wayne's second child. Here Jason rolled his eyes hard enough to hurt. Originally from Park Row, Jason's life was cut devastatingly short due to an accident in Ethiopia. Though he was not in the family for long, his presence is still felt by the remaining Waynes. Here is an interview where Timothy Drake-Wayne refers to Jason Todd in the present tense (have your tissues handy!).

God, Tim was a fucking idiot.

Who is Timothy Drake-Wayne, you might ask? Only Bruce Wayne's third child. The son of Jack and Janet Drake, he was adopted after both of their untimely passings. He is known for his involvement in Wayne Industries, launching various initiatives to help better Gotham City.

After Timothy comes Wayne's sole daughter, Cassandra Wayne. Not much is known about her besides that she was adopted in her late teens, occasionally appearing with her father at fundraisers. She has an unidentified speech impediment. If you have any information about this, please email us !

Maybe he should email in some bullshit. On the one hand, Bruce and Dick would kill him; on the other hand, it would make Cassandra angry. Yeah, that was definitely worth it. Jason shot off an email about Cassandra growing up on Klingon.

Now we have Bruce Wayne's (so far) only biological child, Damian Wayne. Raised by his mother for the first ten years of his life, he is now living with his father full-time. Damian rarely makes public appearances, but he is currently enrolled in Gotham City High School.

Finally, we come to Duke Thomas. Duke's parents were the victims of a Joker attack, leading to Wayne taking him in as his ward. Time will tell whether, like Richard, he eventually becomes a fully-fledged Wayne!

Duke, a fully-fledged Wayne? First, Duke Wayne sounded incredibly stupid. Second, and more importantly, Duke was way too cool to be a Wayne. Jason refused to entertain the possibility.

The article waffled on for another paragraph about the progression of the so-called Wayne family, touching on Jason's least favourite death conspiracy: aliens. He wouldn't hate it half as much if Dick hadn't called him Jason F. Kennedy for a week straight.

So, who do YOU think is Bruce Wayne's favourite? Vote on the poll below!

Jason selected Richard Grayson (come on, wasn't it obvious) and hit submit. The results loaded after a few seconds, and Jason stared. And stared. And stared.

Cassandra Wayne: 50%

Richard Grayson: 32%

Tim Drake-Wayne: 10%

Damian Wayne: 6%

Duke Thomas: 2%

Jason Todd: 0%

Jason hit speed-dial and, as soon as Dick picked up, cried, "zero percent?"

"You saw the poll results, didn't you?"

"I fucking hate polls."

"Would it make you feel better if I told you I voted for you?"

"No, it would not." Jason lay back on the couch, placing his phone on his forehead. "How the hell is Cassandra first? Nobody knows anything about her!"

"There was that viral video from last month's gala, remember? Bruce was watching Cass dance. You know how he looks when she's dancing."

"Oh, wow, she can dance," Jason said. "So can a greater sage-grouse."

"Jason, you have to know I don't know what that is."

"My point is, this thing's rigged." Jason groaned. "This is all I'm gonna hear on patrol for the next month, isn't it?"

"Oh yeah," Dick said. "This is gonna unlock some major issues among everyone. Should be fun."

"Please tell me it's not on your family group chat."

"Steph sent it this morning. She has no mercy."

"Lord help us," Jason muttered.

"C'mon, they don't know a thing about us. They don't even know you're alive. We can talk more about it at lunch on Thursday, 'cause I wanna know who you picked."

"Myself, obviously," Jason said.

Dick laughed. "You've always been a terrible liar, Jason F. Kennedy."

"That's not even clever! "

****

Just as Jason had predicted, the comms buzzed all throughout patrol. Most of it was Damian and Tim sniping back and forth, their whiny voices giving Jason a headache. Every time he tried to leave the channel, however, Barbara added him back.

"Hey, six percent," Tim said. "Wanna help me out at the docks?"

"I will help you into the docks."

"Cut it out, Robins," Dick said. "We're all equally loved here."

"Yeah? B has been awfully quiet tonight."

"Yes, Father," Damian said. "Who do you love more? Timothy or me?"

A low cough. "I am, um, experiencing technical difficulties. Going dark."

"Oh, come on—"

"Father—"

Jason left the channel for the ninth time. He ripped off his helmet, the cool breeze tickling his face. Crime Alley was quiet tonight, the big hitters in Arkham and the gangs laying low. Since Beta's arrest and the dissolution of the Yellowguards, no new gang had come to fill the power vacuum. Jason fished a cigarette from his belt. The Yellowguards had been a tricky gang, causing more problems than most youth-led groups, but they had given him a reason to visit the Narrows. And if he visited mostly in the daytime, well, that was a matter of convenience.

"If you light that, I'm leaving."

Jason grinned. "You know what they say, Narrows: you only die once."

He turned, and there stood Duke Thomas, backpack slung over one shoulder. He was wearing a T-shirt (wasn't he cold? What if Duke's powers made colds worse for him? Should Jason lend him his jacket, or would that be weird?) and Green Arrow Nike sneakers.

"Do you only have one joke?" Duke asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're like terfs with their helicopters."

"That might be the meanest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"I try my best." Duke came forward, dropping onto the edge of the roof. He patted the spot next to him.

Jason sat, and Duke didn't move. He let Jason sit a hairbreadth away. "What assignment didn't you do this time? Your essay on Persepolis? "

"I finished it last night," Duke said, sticking out his tongue.

"Wasn't it due two days ago?"

"Progress, Jay. A few months back I wouldn't even have started."

A few months back was that fanfiction fiasco. Jason still had people asking about his glowing green eyes, which was objectively hilarious, so he let the rumours lie. What wasn't hilarious was Duke's academic record.

"How are your grades? You did all your extra credit for biology? Is your English teacher still on your ass?"

"Slow down, mom," Duke said.

Jason balked. "I am not the mom sibling."

"Yeah you are. Everyday you text me to read books and eat my vegetables."

"I do not."

Duke pulled out his phone. "Monday: good morning, Duke. Make sure to eat your breakfast! Tuesday: remember you have a test tomorrow, so get 8 hours of sleep. Wednesday: I dropped a protein bar through your window, make sure you get enough nutrients for your test today! Thursday—"

"Okay," Jason said, flushing. "I'm making sure you don't collapse on the field. That's normal colleague stuff."

"Colleagues," Duke said. "Of course."

Jason flinched. "I didn't mean it like—"

"I know." Duke waved a hand. "I get it. It's stuff you have to work through, or whatever. I don't mind."

Duke was a better liar than Jason was, but he wasn't at Dick's level. Jason could still tell. He crushed the cigarette between his fingers.

"Duke," Jason said, "you know you're not—you know you mean a lot. To me."

"I know," Duke said, his lips lifting a little.

"You're—" Jason coughed. "You're my favourite," and because his mouth loved to betray him, he tacked on, "colleague. My favourite colleague."

"You're not mine. Your crowbars are stupid, and you smoke, which is gross. But you are my favourite older brother," Duke said, shrugging, "so that makes us even."

No matter how many times Jason heard it, the words still made his stomach do weird things. He tucked the cigarette back into his belt, unlit. "That's only 'cause you hate Dick."

"Just shut up and take the compliment," Duke said.

Then he leaned against Jason's shoulder, his head in the crook of Jason's neck. Duke's body radiated a peculiar heat—whether it was powers or proximity, Jason wasn't sure. All he knew was that it was warm, and that he never wanted it to go away.

****

Dick's icon flashed across his screen. Jason swiped the green call button, holding up his phone as the smell of spaghetti filled the kitchen. He unscrewed the sauce jar (he was feeling lazy tonight, sue him) and dumped the marinara into the pan.

"Sup?"

"Jason," said a very, very unwelcome voice.

"Fuck off," he said. "Calling through Dick's number is low, even for you."

"You'd rather I circumvent your blocks?" said Barbara Gordon, her tone cool as ice.

"I'd rather you not call at all."

"Believe me, I'm thinking the same thing." She sighed. "I need a favour—"

"No."

"—And before you say no, just know I'm not asking. Your electronics will shut off for a week unless you do what I ask of you."

Jason dumped the spaghetti into a colander. "You sound like a villain, you know that?"

"Do I, Mr. Red Hood?"

"Point taken."

"Let's not make this conversation longer than it has to be. Stephanie's hosting a get-together tonight, and I told her I'd get her some alcohol. Unfortunately my dad dropped by for a surprise visit, and I don't think he'd approve of me buying alcohol for an under-aged party. You're the next closest adult."

Steam curled in the air as Jason mixed the spaghetti into the sauce. "You're kidding. You called me to buy beer for Spoiler?"

"Call her Batgirl, and yes, I did."

"Give her a fake ID," he said. "Or I can give her a bottle I already have."

"She wants a specific brand, and it's only available in one store. They know her face so a fake ID won't work. Well, except for your fake ID."

"Yeah, no, not happening." Jason tossed some spinach into the pan. "Tell Blondie she'll have to stay sober tonight. Better yet, tell her to never ask me for something—"

The room plunged into darkness. Jason blinked, pulling the phone away from his face. A black screen greeted him. The stove was cold, and the hum of his refrigerator had been replaced by a numbing silence.

He was going to kill Barbara Gordon.

****

Finding Stephanie's apartment was difficult on a normal day, but extraordinarily annoying without his phone. He'd never memorised her exact address, since he'd never anticipated a reason to visit. It was also on principle—he refused to remember most of the Bats' addresses because that would give them too much of his headspace.  

Stephanie lived in an apartment on Tiller Street, a popular area for college kids. Jason had wanted to live here once. He shimmied a window open and hoped to God it was the right place.

"—so then I was like, take that! And I broke his nose."

Jason landed on the carpet, shutting the window behind him. Stephanie's voice floated down the corridor, the paint peeling in thin strips from the walls. A picture of Stephanie and an older woman, probably her mom, hung askew from a peg.

"So I—hey, where are you going?"

Crap. Stephanie had company, so he couldn't just enter the living room. Maybe he could pretend to be her roommate? Or he could back out and hunt Barbara down. Yeah, that sounded—

A weight crashed into him, slamming him to the floor. The air left his lungs in a huge burst. He thrashed out with his fist, hitting something fleshy and solid.

"Jesus Christ," he wheezed. "What the fuck is your problem?"

Cassandra Cain backed away, watching him with dark eyes. She pointed to him, pointed to the window, and raised an eyebrow.

"Easier than the door," he grumbled, rubbing his chest.

Stephanie skidded around the corner, her purple pyjamas covered in unicorns. "What's—Jason? What are you doing here? Oh god, who died?"

"No one," Cass said. "Not alarmed."

Jason glared. "You attacked me. I'm plenty alarmed."

"Thought you were an intruder," she said, folding her arms.

"What, your eyes stop working? Your deductions a little less perfect than usual?"

"Your mouth a little less annoying than usual?" she shot back.

"Alright, geez," Stephanie said, stepping in between them. "You guys are making me feel like a referee. Time out, you two. Come into the living room before you start breaking my stuff."

Jason climbed to his feet. Cass didn't offer a hand (not that Jason would've taken it, but again, it was the principle ). The living room was small and cramped, a large beaten sofa taking up most of the space. Stephanie plopped onto the fraying cushions, Cass sitting right next to her. Jason hovered by the T.V.

"So," Stephanie said. "You, uh, gonna tell us why you're here?"

Jason frowned. "Didn't Barbara tell you?"

"Babs?" Stephanie's mouth fell open. "Oh. The get-together. I completely forgot to tell her we postponed it."

"Postponed—" Jason turned on his heel. "Great. Goodbye, Batgirls. See you in the next crisis."

"Wait! You don't have to go."

Jason stopped. Were his ears malfunctioning? "What?" he asked.

"What?" Cass repeated, sounding almost offended.

He twisted around to find Stephanie speaking to the floor. "We were just gonna watch a movie. You could join us, if you want."

"Stephanie." Cass pressed a hand to Stephanie's forehead. "Sick?"

"C'mon," she said, swatting Cass' hand away, "remember what Duke said? About giving Jason a chance? He's right about most things."

"Jason won't stay," Cass said.

And that did it. Because he hated being here, but not as much as he hated proving Cass right. He stalked forward and dropped onto Stephanie's other side.

"I'm game," he said.

What followed was the most awkward minute of silence Jason had ever suffered through. The seconds dragged by like nails on a chalkboard, and Jason began to brainstorm ways to murder red-headed information brokers.

Stephanie forced out a chuckle. "Look at the three of us, eh? The three musketeers. We have a lot in common, Jason. I mean, we both died—"

"Don't."

"Sorry." Stephanie twined her hair around her finger. "We're also both poor! I mean, not anymore. I mean, I'm still kinda broke, but you have all your drug money, which is, uh, morally unethical, but so is regular capitalism, so—for god's sake, someone stop me."

Cass shrugged. "Your bed. Lie in it."

"We just need something to talk about," Stephanie rambled on. "What about that GothamFeed article, huh?"

Oh, fuck no.

"Yes," Cass said. She was looking straight at him. "Let's talk about that."

Oh, fuck her.

"The poll was more accurate than I thought. I mean, you being first makes so much sense, y'know? Everyone knows you're Bruce's favourite."

Cass smiled. "Very accurate."

"It's accurate if you don't know anything about Bruce," Jason said. "I'm surprised, Cassandra. You must not know him as well as you think."

Her smile sharpened. "And you? Do you know him?"

"I don't want to. My identity's not completely dependent on him, unlike some people."

"I'm not—"

"Okay," Stephanie said, "let's avoid the Bruce talk. Who cares about Bruce, anyway? I'm more interested in who the others' favourites are. Like Tim, for instance. It could be Bruce, or—"

"Dick," Cass said, as Jason said, "the golden boy, obviously."

Stephanie beamed. "See? You two are getting along already."

"Tim's been a fan since he was a kid. Dick was probably part of his bisexual awakening," Jason said, rolling his eyes.

"Dick was everyone's bisexual awakening," Stephanie said dreamily.

Cass blanched. "Brother!"

"Not my brother." Stephanie slung an arm around Cass. "Don't worry, spookygirl. You're the better part of my bisexual awakening."

"Get a room," Jason said. "Preferably one that locks from the outside."

Cass smirked. "Jealous?"

"Of course not," Jason snapped. Because, genuinely, he wasn't. He'd never felt whatever it was that made Bruce chase Selina erotically across rooftops, and he was fine with it. But that was none of Cass' business. He glowered at her.

"Damian is the same," Cass said, not sparing him a glance. "Favourite is Dick. Second is Duke. Then you."

"I'm on the podium," Stephanie said, pumping a fist. "So both Damian and Tim love Dick the most. He kinda has a monopoly on the younger siblings, doesn't he? Except for Duke. Who's Duke's favourite, anyway?"

"Me," Cass and Jason said at the same time.

They stared at each other.

"Oh no," Stephanie said, giggling nervously. "This is not going to be pretty."

"You think you're Duke's favourite?" Jason reared his head back and laughed. "You win one poll and you get ideas."

"And you've won nothing," Cass said, "so where do your ideas come from?"

"From the kid himself. He's said I'm his favourite."

"Favourite brother? "

Jason's eye twitched. "So what? We have the most in common. I bet you don't understand half of what he says."

"Jason," Stephanie said sharply.

Cass shot to her feet. "Don't need to know words. I see how he feels, and all you do is make him feel bad. You make everyone feel bad. You're nobody's favourite."

"You mother—"

"Please don't fight in my apartment please please please!" Stephanie latched onto Cass' arm, pulling her back onto the couch. "I was wrong about talking. Let's put on a movie and watch in complete silence, alright?"

"After he admits I'm Duke's favourite," Cass said, shaking off Stephanie's hand.

"Over my twice-dead body."

Her eyes glittered. "Wanna bet?"

"Cass, I don't think—"

"Are you issuing a challenge, Batgirl?" Jason leaned forward. "Why not? Whoever gets Duke to say they're his favourite first wins."

"What's the prize?"

"Whatever you want," he said, "seeing as I won't lose."

Cass tapped her chin. "Most prized possession for both of us," she said. "And I don't lose. I never have."

"Deal."

They leaned over Stephanie and shook hands. Stephanie's face was pale, and she sank into the cushions.

"Did I just start another gang war?" she whispered.

****

Ten minutes into Mean Girls , Jason bailed and went home. As much a home as a temporary base could be, anyhow. He fished out a sheet of chart paper and spread it across the bare wooden floor.

The problem with declaring war against Cassandra Cain was that she was, for all intents and purposes, flawless. Sure, she couldn't write—Jason would exploit that one to hell—but everyone loved her. Bruce was head over heels, Dick gushed over his only little sister, Stephanie was literally head over heels, and Tim adored her, too. If they were betting on any of the others' favourites, Jason would've bowed out already.

But it was Duke. And most likely Cass was right, and this would all be for nothing, but it was Duke, and Jason had to try.

He wrote down 'possible allies' and tapped his pencil against the paper. Dick might help, but he'd be annoying and disapproving about it. Bruce, Tim, and Stephanie would never be on his side. That left some periphery members (Kate, who'd laugh in his face; Barbara, who was basically Cass' mom; Harper, whose relationship with Cass was complicated, but still more positive than her impression of Jason) and one, unfortunate, last resort.

He grabbed his phone and braced himself for an impending headache.

Dick picked up on the first ring. "What happened? Is something wrong?"

"No. I just, uh. Don't make any comments, but I need Damian's number."

A few seconds of silence. "Damian's? Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Oh my god," and there was Dick's proud big brother voice, "you're finally reaching out to him! I knew you two would get along. You have so much in common, like—"

"Yeah, yeah, League, killing, I get it. Just give me the twerp's number and squeal into your pillow after I hang up."

"I'll text it to you." Wariness seeped into Dick's voice. "Be careful, Jay. I don't want you getting wrapped up in whatever scheme the three baby bats have cooked up this time."

"Trust me, I'm the first to call them out on their malarkey. There'll be no scheming on my watch."

Dick hummed. "Alright, I sent it. Just don't cause any problems, alright?"

"Dickie," Jason said, "when have I ever caused problems?"

****

A shadowy figure raced across the rooftops, nearing the water tower on Fourth and Winick. Jason hopped down and waved his arms.

"Yo, brat! Over here."

Robin leapt onto the roof, rolling to a smooth stop. He stood and jerked his chin up at Jason.

"Your message was extremely vague. What do you want, Todd?"

"I need a favour." He'd never been close with the demon, but Dick talked about him non-stop, so he was familiar with the art of Damian-manipulation (Damanipulation, if you will). "I know you and Duke are close. He's told me how much he loves you, and how he thinks you're the best Robin."

"He said that?"

"Yep. He also said you know him better than anyone in the world."

"We do spend a lot of time together," Damian said, preening.

"Here's the thing," Jason said. "I made a bet with Cassandra that Duke likes me more than her. Obviously you're his ultimate favourite, so I thought if there's anyone who can get Duke on my side, it'd be you."

"You made a bet against Cain? That is foolish."

"Figures," Jason said, sighing. "I knew Duke didn't like you that much. I'll go ask Tim, he'll—"

"No!" Damian scowled. "I said the bet is foolish, not impossible. WIth me on your side, you will undoubtedly win."

Hook, line, and sinker. "Aw, thanks, Dami. I knew I could count on you." He grabbed Damian's arm. "C'mon, no time to waste. We gotta get brainstorming."

"Shouldn't we fight crime first?"

"What's the point of a constantly growing child-soldier factory if we can't let others cover for us?" Jason nodded his head towards Crime Alley. "I'll show you my new base. It has video games and whatever."

"I am not a child."

"Then it has beer," Jason said. "Race you there."

He took off, trusting in Damian's competitive spirit to follow. Sure enough, the light patter of boots on gravel trailed him all the way to Crime Alley. They dropped through a skylight into the grimy hallway. Jason went to the far end, unlocked his door, and shoved Damian inside.

"Welcome to my mojo dojo casa house," he announced.

Damian scrunched his nose. "How do you live in this place?"

"Some of us weren't born with a silver spoon." Jason flopped to the floor, dragging the chart paper towards him. "We need a strategy to beat Cassandra. She's spent more time with Duke in the Outsiders, so she has an advantage there. I have the advantage of having more in common with him, including a love for literature. Maybe I should exploit that?"

Damian knelt by the paper, scanning the REASONS I'M BETTER THAN BATGIRL column. "Your cooking ability is somewhat adequate," he said. "Duke has a bake sale coming up. He's planning on making something tomorrow, but he is not confident in his abilities. You should help him."

"Awesome," Jason said. "I'll invite him over, and—what?"

Damian was shaking his head. "You should come to the manor, Todd. He often wishes you would visit."

"I can't. You know I can't."

"Do I?" Damian arched an eyebrow in an impressive imitation of Alfred. "Sounds like a skill issue."

"A what ?"

"If you truly want to be Duke's favourite," Damian said, "cope."

Jason's eye twitched again (he was borderline allergic to Bats). Damian had a point, though—staying away from the manor would put Jason at a disadvantage. He pinched his nose, an ache pulsing between his eyes. Duke was going to be the second death of him.

****

Jason had been to the manor a few times since his death, including when he'd confronted the chaos trio for their Gen Alpha stunt. He'd stayed for breakfast, had a solid twenty-minute run, then he'd blown up at Bruce for staring at him and left. Yes, it was irrational, and yes, it was stupid. But dying and coming back to life was irrational and stupid. And sometimes when Bruce gave him that look, that sorrowing, regretful look, Jason wanted to claw his eyes out. Better to scream and leave, then, than to draw blood.

Today Bruce was at work. Without him, and with Alfred... gone, it wasn't the same place Jason had once explored with a flash-light and a copy of The House of the Seven Gables. When Bruce had found him sneaking through a hidden passage, he hadn't punished him. He'd sat with Jason in that dusty corridor, listening as Jason read aloud Nathaniel Hawthorne's description of the house. Thus early had that one guest — the only guest who is certain, at one time or another, to find his way into every human dwelling — thus early had Death stepped across the threshold of the House of the Seven Gables!

The doors swung open. Damian gazed down at him, hands on his hips. "You said you would get here ten minutes ago."

"I did," Jason said, still at the bottom of the steps.

Damian rolled his eyes. "Can you come in by yourself, or do you need me to coach you through it?"

"Don't snark me, kid." He climbed the stairs and passed into the foyer. "You don't have the spunk for it."

"I have spunk!"

The manor's gleaming floors and chandeliers made Jason as dizzy as ever. He headed for the kitchen, passing a few pictures he tried his best not to look at. The clatter of pans echoed out of the kitchen's open doorway.

"Duke," Jason said, strolling in, "I'm—"

He froze. Duke was at the counter, measuring a cup of milk. Beside him, dressed in a sunflower-patterned apron with the words kiss the cook printed on it, was none other than Cassandra Cain.

Duke looked up, eyes going wide. "Jason? What are you doing here?"

"Damian told me about your bake sale, and I wanted to help."

"Too many cooks in the kitchen," Cass said, tossing a kitchen knife up and down.

"You're right," Jason said. "You can leave now, Cass."

She caught the knife. "I was here first."

"You can both stay," Duke said. "The more the merrier. And you, Damian?"

Damian took a step forward, but Cass tilted the knife in his direction. He swallowed. "I shall leave you to it," he said, bolting around the corner.

Coward.

"I can't believe you're here," Duke said, staring at Jason. "Willingly. Without being seriously injured or mad."

Jason smiled. "Anything for you, baby bat."

Some obscure emotion flashed across Duke's face, and Cass shoved Jason's shoulder. "Don't call him that."

"Don't tell me what to do."

"Enough," Duke said. "If you two can't get along, I'll kick you both out. I need to make these brownies!"

They settled into a stony silence, Cass mixing the batter, Jason helping Duke measure out the ingredients. Duke kept shooting him awed glances, like he thought Jason would disappear once he got out of sight. Which wasn't outside the realm of possibility. The burning sensation, the one he always felt in the manor, had begun in the pit of his stomach.

"Shoot," Duke said, "I forgot the vanilla extract."

"I'll get it," Jason blurted out.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck . Cass grinned and pointed to the door. "Go," she said.

"Uh, I change my mind. I actually want to stay here."

"No take-backs."

"What are you, five?"

"Older than you."

"I'll come with, Jay," Duke said, "if you want."

"Yes! Perfect." Over Duke's head, he stuck out his tongue at Cass.

She put down the bowl. "Come with, too."

"We don't need three people to get vanilla extract," Jason said.

Cass nodded. "Just two. Come, Duke."

She dragged him out of the kitchen before Jason could say a word. He stood by the counter, measuring cup in hand, blinking after them. Alone. In the manor.

It wasn't the end of the world. He just had to wait until they came back, spill batter onto Cass' clothes, and snag alone time with Duke while she changed. He put the cup down and wiped his palms on his shirt.

He could do this. No one was here. He was perfectly fine.

"Duke?" A shadow trailed into the kitchen, followed by a hand grasping the door frame. Then, like a waking nightmare, Bruce appeared. His gaze froze Jason in place. "You—Jason?"

Wonder bloomed on Bruce's face, and something else, too. That hint of perpetual sorrow. Jason leapt onto the counter, smashed the window, and jumped out.

****

The options blurred in front of him. Jason put the menu down, thunked his head against the table, and groaned.

"Tough week?"

"You have no idea," he grumbled.

Dick poked his head. "My poor little Jaybird. Wanna talk about it?"

"It's nothing. I can't decide what to eat."

"Just get indonesian fried rice, that's always good."

The room hummed with low chatter and the scraping of utensils. This was Dick's second favourite Thai place, crammed between two high-end Italian restaurants. Dick's favourite Thai place had shut down sometime between Jason's death and return. Part of him longed to ask why. With Bruce's money, Dick could've saved that place ten times over. Why hadn't he?

"Order for me," Jason said, face still in the tablecloth.

The waiter came and went with their order. Dick drummed his fingers on the table, the vibrations soothing against Jason's forehead.

"I heard you helped Duke with his bake sale," he said. "That was nice of you."

"Did you hear how I left?"

"I saw the window." Dick chuckled. "You gave Bruce quite a scare, you know."

Jason lifted his head, propping his chin on his hands. "I just can't stand being there with him. I don't know why."

"That's fair," Dick said. "I can't stand being there with him, too."

"Yeah, but you're—" Jason sighed. "Nevermind. I hope Duke's brownies turned out okay."

"They were pretty good, though he said he wished you'd stayed. You would've made them better."

Jason fiddled with his napkin, smoothing out the folds. "Can I ask you something? And don't go all mushy on me."

"Sure," Dick said, tilting his head.

"How do you do your big brother stuff? I mean, Tim and Damian adore you. How did you do that?"

Dick blinked. "Oh. I, uh. I just. I don't know."

"C'mon, you must've changed something between being okay with me to being Tim's favourite person ever."

"Well." Dick looked down. "With Tim, I just did what I wished I'd done with you."

"Ugh, that is not helpful."

"Helpful?"

"I want—" Jason's face heated up. "I want to, uh, do those things for Duke. I said don't get mushy!"

Dick had clasped his hands to his heart. "But Jay, that's the most adorable thing I've ever heard. I always knew you'd make a great big brother."

"Just shut up and help me, Dickface."

"Hm," Dick said. "I can show you what I used when you first came along."

He scooted his chair next to Jason, laying his phone on the table. Opening Safari, he typed in how to be a good big sibling and hit enter. The third link was blue.

"There," he said, tapping his screen.

Jason's jaw dropped. "Dick. You used WikiHow ?"

"It worked," Dick said brightly. "We had some fun, didn't we?"

Jason snatched the phone. "Step 1: be a good listener. Step 2: resolve conflict in a mature and honest way." He scrolled down. "Respect your sibling's boundaries and autonomy. Shit, Dick. I'm screwed."

"Those are the hard ones. I skipped them."

"The fuck do you mean, you skipped them?"

"Look at the easier steps." Dick pointed. "Help with homework and responsibilities. Ooh, attend your sibling's events and shows. That's a good one."

Jason narrowed his eyes. "Is that why you showed up to my Sound of Music audition?"

"You were real nice to me that day, so it worked." Dick grinned. "And I still have the video of you singing "Sixteen Going On Seventeen" where your voice cracked."

"I will actually kill you."

"Good older sibling things," Dick said, raising both hands.

"Fine. Lemme text the demon." He shot off a message that read, does Duke have any shows or events coming up?

Damian replied instantly: He is attending an open poetry night tomorrow, 7pm, at Blackbird Books. Drake and I are coming to support him.

"He's doing some poetry thing tomorrow," Jason said. "Do you think I should go?"

"Absolutely. When Bruce came to my mathlete tournament, it made my entire week."

And when you came to my audition, I couldn't stop thinking about it for a month. That was too personal, though, so Jason kept his mouth shut. Him and Dick were in a good place right now. Jason wasn't going to be the one to screw things up.

The waiter deposited two steaming plates of indonesian fried rice in front of them. Jason dug in, the food piping hot and delicious on his tongue.

****

Blackbird Books was an independent bookstore on Corona Way. Jason slipped into its cheery interior, the walls bright green and plastered with posters of various book characters. Weaving his way through the shelves, he climbed the stairs to a room with a stage and several circular tables. Damian, Tim, and Duke sat at the table nearest the bathrooms.

"Hey," he said, dragging a chair and sliding it between Duke and Tim. "What's up?"

Tim shoved backwards. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm here to watch the show." He turned to Duke. "I heard you're reading something?"

Duke ducked his head. "Uh, yeah."

"Can't wait," Jason said. "I'm sure you're amazing."

"Keep your expectations low," Duke said, rubbing his neck.

"Seriously." Tim looked around. "Is no one else freaked out that Jason's here? Hanging out with us? This is not normal."

"Get over yourself, Drake," Damian said in a bored voice.

The demon wasn't so bad after all. "Yeah, Timmy," Jason said, "I'm here to support Duke. Nothing to do with you."

Tim looked at him. "You're up to something."

"Nope," Jason said, leaning back. "And if I were, it'd be a taste of your own medicine."

"This table is crowded already," Tim huffed. "With two extra people, it's gonna overflow."

" Two extra people?"

Tim perked up, his gaze shooting to the door. Jason swivelled around and his heart dropped to his stomach.

"You've got to be kidding me," he said.

Cassandra made her way over to them, her dress glinting in the light. She locked eyes with Jason and her mouth twisted.

"Hello," she said, standing by Damian's chair. She tapped his shoulder.

"Find another seat," Damian said.

She tapped again, this time with more pressure.

Damian sulked as he got up and moved to another chair.

"Did not know you would be here," she said, looking at Jason.

"That makes two of us. Are you sure you should be here? This is a reading, you know."

Cass' smile was brittle. "And this is a social place. You are a hermit."

"What the—I am not a hermit."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am—"

"What am I listening to right now?" Tim asked incredulously.

Cass ignored him, scraping her chair closer to Duke. "Good luck, little brother. You will crush it."

"Thanks, Cass," he said. "I gotta go backstage. I'll see you guys in a bit."

He got up and disappeared behind the curtains. Jason and Cass stared at each other. Bruce's stare was bad, but Cass' was the absolute worst. She could read him like a book, and she was probably judging him, too. Stupid perfect scary freaky asshole.

"Take a picture, why don't you?" he bit out.

She laughed. "Who'd want a picture of you?"

"Oh, wait, do you even know how to use a camera?"

"Could you stop?" Damian said, frowning. "This is Duke's night. Stop bickering like children."

"He started it," Cass said.

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I—"

Tim facepalmed. "How are you two more immature than the actual 14-year-old?"

"Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention." A man stepped onstage, holding a microphone. "Our poets for tonight's session are busy practising backstage. As is Blackbird tradition, for ten minutes we're opening the floor to any audience members who'd like to recite something of their own. Raise your hand if you'd like to participate!"

Everyone shifted in their seats, looking around the room. Cass was glancing backstage, eager to catch a glimpse of Duke. Distracted. Never let it be said that Jason didn't take his opportunities.

He darted forward and raised Cass' arm.

"We have a volunteer!" The host hopped down, shoving the mic into Cass' face. "What's your name?"

"Um—"

"Oh my goodness, it's you!" He spread his arms out. "Everyone give it up for Bruce Wayne's daughter, Cassandra Wayne!"

The room burst into applause. Cassandra Wayne wasn't as famous as, say, Richie Grayson, but her elusive and mysterious air lent her a strong online following.

"No," Cass said, beads of sweat trickling down her forehead. Jason almost felt bad for her. Almost. "This is a mistake."

"Nonsense, it's the jitters talking. Come, come."

He led her onto the stage, a firm grip on her elbow. Damian still looked bored, but Tim was openly glaring at Jason.

"You shouldn't have done that," he said.

Jason lifted a shoulder. "C'mon, Timmy. Have some fun for once."

The host handed Cass the mic, whispered something in her ear, and withdrew into the curtains. Cass shaded her eyes against the spotlight, shifting from foot to foot.

"Hello," she said slowly. "My name is Cassandra. I am a dancer." She straightened, and her gaze zeroed in on Jason. "Fun fact: I never lose."

Oh no.

"This poem is decimated—dedicated to my dead brother, Jason Todd."

A soft gasp went up from the crowd. Tim stuffed a fist into his mouth, his shoulders trembling. The look of boredom had slipped off Damian's face.

"You were here," Cass began, "and now you're gone. You were little like a prawn. You peed your pants everyday. You used to eat bugs and hay. But you still were my brother. A brother like no other. I never met you, and I am glad. Because meeting you would make me sad. Your death brings the family closer. Too bad you never got older. But if you got older you might have been bad. So maybe dying was the best thing you had. I hope you lay in your coffin forever and ever. Rest in peace, I mean. Goodbye, Jason. See you never."

She wiped a fake tear off her face as the crowd went wild. Tim shot to his feet, whooping loudly. God, he really should have killed that kid in Titans Tower.

Cass bowed. "Thank you. I hope my brother, wherever he is—" here she looked down— "enjoyed that."

"We have some time for questions," the host said, coming back out from the curtains. "I, for one, would love to hear the process behind that beautiful poem."

A hand shot up at the back of the room. The host pointed to the hand, which belonged to a man in an ugly fur-suit. "Lovely poem, Ms. Wayne," said the man. "Could you please elaborate on your claim that Jason Todd peed his pants everyday? As far as I'm aware, he was twelve when he was adopted."

"He was," Cass said. "But he liked to pee. So he did."

A dozen other hands shot up.

"You," the host said, calling on a woman with cropped blonde hair.

"What exactly did you mean by, 'maybe dying was the best thing you had'?" the woman asked.

Cass drew herself up solemnly. "Death is bad," she said, "but some things are meant to be. Some people are meant to rest in the ground. Some things cannot and should not be reversed."

Murmurs of approval sounded across the room. Nearby, a man said, "that's the real stuff right there. A true poet."

Jason slammed his hands on the table. "I have a poem," he said.

"Uh, sure, angry man in leather," said the host. "Come on up here."

Before he could change his mind, Jason leapt onto the stage and grabbed the mic out of Cass' hands. He cleared his throat.

"This poem is dedicated to my dear, dear sister," he said. "You say that stains wipe out, you say that people change. But they are who they are, and blood never strays. You are your father's daughter, you are your childhood self. You will never, ever be anyone else. And you—"

For the second time that week, he was slammed into the floor. He twisted out of Cass' grip and spat in her face.

"You," she growled, wiping her cheek.

Someone from the back of the room yelled, "FIGHT!"

The room broke into chaos. Jason tackled Cass, grabbing her hair and yanking hard. She knocked his hand away and jabbed him in the neck. He choked, stumbling backwards and tumbling off the stage. A table narrowly missed crashing into his head.

"Jason!" Tim hauled him to his feet, pulling him out of the way of a flying shoe. "What the hell did you do?"

"Ask Batman Junior, she started it!"

Damian ran towards them. "We should get out of here," he said, leaping over two women wrestling on the floor. "I had no idea nerds could be so violent."

"Duck!" Cass shoved Damian, saving him from a stray glass. "Look what you did," she said, turning on Jason.

"You attacked me first, Batghoul."

"You proved me!"

"You mean provoked?"

Cass cracked her knuckles. "I will provoke your face."

"Guys!" Tim gripped Cass' shoulder. "We're in big trouble."

They followed his gaze towards the door. Cass' fists dropped, her eyes widening. "Shit."

Shit indeed. Cops poured in through the door, and not one of them was on Jason's payroll. The leader, a low-life lieutenant named Hobbs, blew an ear-piercing whistle.

"You all interrupted my dinner," he said in a low, threatening voice. "I'm only going to ask once: who started the fight?"

Two dozen fingers swung towards Jason and Cass. God, Gotham was just full of snitches.

"Listen, officers," Jason said, plastering on a Dick Grayson smile. "I can explain. You see—"

"What's going on?"

Jason whipped around as Duke exited the curtains, running to the front of the stage. Tim, Damian, and Cass also turned around, doom dawning on their faces.

"Duke," Tim said, "don't—"

But Duke had already spotted the cops. In true inner Gotham City fashion, Duke leapt off the stage and decked Hobbs in the face.

"You stay the hell away from them!" he yelled, kicking another officer in the balls.

Tim buried his face in his hands. Damian looked a mix of proud and exasperated, and Cass was, as usual, glaring at Jason.

"Fuck it," Jason muttered. He was legally dead anyway. "Duke, on your left!"

Between the two of them, they mowed down half of the squad before another wave of officers filed in. At that point Jason stepped back, and Cass jumped in to physically restrain Duke.

"Enough," Hobbs barked. Blood dripped from his (probably broken) nose. "You three are coming with me. Who else wants to join them?"

Tim took Damian's hand and shuffled to the side. Jason mouthed, do something . Tim stuck up a middle finger.

As they were herded into the police vehicle, Duke crammed between Jason and Cass, Duke nudged Jason's shoulder.

"Thanks for coming," he said. "And for jumping in with me. I'm, uh, sorry for getting us arrested."

"They were gonna arrest us anyway," Jason said, nudging Duke back. "Besides, Crime Alley and Narrows gotta stick together."

Duke lit up, leaning into Jason's side. Behind Duke, Cass scowled, shoulders slumping. Jason grinned in response.

They both knew that Jason had won this round.