Work Text:
Jason could count on one hand the number of times Damian has called him Akhi since coming to Gotham three years ago.
It’s a maturity thing, Jason suspects. The kid wants to show that he’s outgrown his attachment to his brother. That he can stand on his own two feet and doesn't need anyone's help, or something.
He'll ignore the voice in his head whispering that maybe he's ashamed of Jason. Disappointed in Batman's greatest failure.
When he was even more of a babyface than he is now, the squirt used to call him that all the time. Jason would rather die again than admit it, but he kinda likes it. He likes that it’s exclusive to Jason. Dick might be the favorite, but Jason called dibs, if dibs meant that Jason met him first. Which really isn't much to brag about, but he'll take it.
Honestly, they met in the worst place possible. Introduced by a lady with her own plans and wouldn't tell Jason where he fit into them. In a place like that, the kid got attached to Jason for a number of reasons. All of them are depressing as hell. He still remembers the things eight year old Damian listed when Jason was dumb enough to ask why he likes him. Because Jason was the only one who would even mention a word about Bruce to him. Because Jason said “good job” instead of “do better.” Because Jason snuck food in for him when some teacher decides he should fucking starve as punishment for making a little mistake. Because Jason took punishment after punishment for the brat. Because he was his only form of protection when his (their?) mother can't be around.
So yeah, Jason got attached. You can’t blame him when the kid would whisper “Akhi” when no one was listening, like they'd get in trouble if they got caught. When, through the haze of the Lazarus Pit and uncontrollable rage, Jason needed something to keep himself sane. Something he found in the form of an adorably deadly seven year old baby assassin that Talia all but shoved onto him.
Jason promised to protect him until they got out. He promised to take him somewhere safe, maybe get him an ostrich or whatever.
Things were shitty. Half the League training was literal torture and Jason was treated like dirt. Or worse: Like Talia’s little pet project.
Things were shittier when he had to see what they did to his brother. He'd wanted to kill everyone in the comound. Everyone. Ra’s. Talia. The instructor, the only one he'd actually gotten to shoot. Especially when he held a dead nine year old in his arms, killed by his own training. Jason made another promise as he held his revived body. One he’s never going to tell anyone about because it’s not anyone’s fucking business.
Things were shitty. Things are still shitty sometimes.
And so maybe Jason doesn’t always feel like dealing with shit. Maybe he’d like a day off from dealing with shit because he doesn’t get paid enough for it. In fact, he doesn’t get paid at all.
All that said, if the universe has even the smallest amount of remorse, it will let him work through this hangover in peace. He deserves one day in peace, right?
Nope.
When Jason woke up in his safehouse (apartment), in his comfy bed, glimpsing at a ray of sunlight streaming from the curtain he forgot to close last night, and a thirteen year old twerp looming over him, he goes “Fuck you, universe. When your sorry ass needs saving again, I ain’t lifting a finger.” and burrows further into the sheets.
Said twerp, however, just won’t let him.
"Tt." He clicks his tongue. “Wake up, Todd. You will not ignore me.”
He can and he will. Just to be a petty little shit, Jason shoots him the middle finger from under the covers.
“You truly are the pinnacle of maturity.” He says in a half-decent imitation of Alfred, but the pipsqueak’s voice is still high and he's not using his crazy good voice mimicry.
Jason really doesn’t want to deal with this today. Hell, he doesn’t wanna deal with this tomorrow, whatever this is. Why did he listen to Roy and drink seven shots of vodka again? Right. Because he hates himself. And now his head is pounding. Damn Roy didn’t drink even though he was the one who wanted to go to a bar for the date. It's like he wanted to make Jason suffer. Which, honestly, he shoulda seen coming.
“Can it, brat.” Like all his problems, he shoots a bullet, err, pillow at it.
Damian dodges, then kicks Jason’s shin. It hurt, so now Jason is fully awake. He still doesn’t leave the bed though. The brat will have to drag him and lookie that, he's got 200 pounds of muscle over the short stack.
“You’ve left me no choice, Todd.” He says as he presses his tiny hands onto Jason’s arm. "This is your own doing. Remember that."
Oh no.
Oh shit.
Jason has an inkling of what he's about to do. It should be illegal to use that when Jason's got a pounding headache. He wouldn’t, would he?
He would. Of fucking course he would, because he knows it works. Damian squeezes his arm and calls out to him in a pitifully small voice. “Akhi, I’m hungry.”
He actually did it. Shit.
And like a switch (and probably conditioning), Jason goes into full big brother mode and starts analyzing.
Something's wrong. Whatever happened, Damian needs him to be casual about it, if he goes off his attempt at humor earlier. Act like it's no big deal because it isn't a big deal. So, no injuries. No deaths in the family. Probably just hurt feelings. Maybe Timmy poked the Talia-shaped abandonment issues during one of their fights, or some ass said one of his paintings looked ugly.
Anyway, he's got to be casual. Done. He just needs to channel his inner Dick (starting by cackling at the pun).
“That was a low blow, Squirt. Real low.” Jason is already sitting up and heading towards the kitchen. He’s grumbling about it though as he checks the time on his phone.
It’s not even 10am. What the fuck.
Words cannot describe everything that’s wrong for Jason to find any of his siblings this early in the day, so we’re gonna shelve that for now and yell at Bruce about it because it’s obviously his fault. Is there a chance that the old man has nothing to do with this? Absolutely. Can Jason still yell at him? Absolutely.
A busy vigilante like the Red Hood shouldn’t have to be up until noon. He’s not like Bruce or the Baby Bird, who only seem to need four hours of sleep and can totally function with just a few power naps or whatever the fuck they do.
He pulls out some leftover fried rice and heats it on a pan.
“What are you even doing here?” Jason probably should’ve asked sooner, but he was busy trying to pretend he has privacy when the brat broke into (he has a spare key and blanket permission to come over) his safehouse (apartment, which has a bunch of paintings he got at a thrift store and a Batmobile tire proudly displayed on the wall).
“Pennyworth has given permission for me to spend the day here.” The squirt says.
Oof. Red flag. Given permission means he drove Damian himself to get him out the house. Bruce totally got a ‘you’ve certainly outdone yourself.’ Which doesn’t sound bad on paper, but combined with the tone of Alfred's disappointment, it’s designed to make you feel like crap.
“Alfie? Why? You’re with Dickiebird on the weekend.” He practically shares custody with B.
Damian crosses his arms in a definitely condescending way. “First of all, it is Thursday. If you cannot even discern the date then it is unfathomable how you have managed your reign in the criminal underworld. Second, Richard is preoccupied with a mission and has yet to return.”
“Doesn’t explain why you’re here.” He says as he plates the rice and sets it in front of the kid.
“That is none of your concern.”
Uh yeah, it kinda is.
But Jason knows he can't push, or else the kid will close off completely. Alfred’s the one to let him go, not Bruce. So Damian and the old man probably had a nasty argument or something, and the kid came here to get away from him.
They eat in silence, then go onto Jason’s beat up couch to watch The Real Housewives. He blames it on Dick who got him hooked back when he was fifteen. No doubt he forced all the kids to watch it with him at some point, if he had to guess with Tim's very strong opinions on the production.
Two hours later, they’re still on the couch. Damian is settled with a throw pillow on his lap, staring at the screen when he finally spills the beans.
“Father doesn’t trust me.” He says, the same small voice he used earlier that makes him sound painfully young.
Jason bites back a “fuck him” because he knows the kid hates when someone insults Bruce, even if he gives Jason some leeway in that. The last thing he wants to deal with right now is 'slighting his father's honor' in front of Damian.
“He will not allow me to accompany Pennyworth to the shooting range. Which is idiotic since I am well-versed in firearms and the required safety measures.”
Huh. So it’s not about Robin stuff.
Wait. “Since when has Alfred been going to the range?”
“Pennyworth claims it relieves stress.”
Huh. Good for him.
“And the old man said you can’t go.” Jason says, knowing there’s more to the issue. He lowers the volume of the TV. “Why’d you even want to? It’s not like they can teach you something you don’t already know.”
He huffs with his trademark sour expression. “It is the only opportunity available to brush up without disobeying Father’s teachings.”
Sometimes Jason even impresses himself with how well he can understand Damian-speak. Basically, he can’t practice as Robin because Bruce’ll flip out, but he can't practice in civvies because Bruce flipped out. But Damian doesn’t wanna get rusty just in case he ever needs it, and, more importantly, the knowledge that he can take anyone down with whatever he has on hand is what helps him sleep at night. Without that sense of security, that sense of control, the kid tends to lash out. Which is probably what happened, leading to Bruce to raise his voice, then leading to a shouting match.
Fucking Bruce.
Just because he can’t stand guns (which is fair enough, since he literally watched his parents get shot and that’s fucking traumatic) doesn’t mean he can keep his kids from making their own choices.
And of course, it’s up to Jason to deal with his mistakes. Typical.
“Tell you what.” He fishes out his phone and fires a text to Mother Hen Dickie. Yes, he's tattling. No, he does not feel bad. “I’ll do you one better. We can drive outta of town to an old hunting zone and do some target practice.” Damian opens his mouth to interrupt. Jason waves it off. “No, not on the wildlife. I’ll set up targets on the trees.”
"That is not an improvement! Using trees for such a purpose could kill them!"
"Okay fine! I'll get us target holders instead. No tree deaths. And we can brush up on our foraging skills when we're done shooting. See what we can find in the middle of winter."
“Father will not approve.” Damian says, but he looks just the tiniest bit excited. Which means he's super pumped and totally on board.
“That’s why we don’t tell him.” With a grin, Jason wraps an arm over the kid’s shoulders. “It’ll be fine if Alfred agrees. Which he will, because he’s the best.”
He's proud of the fact that his prickly baby brother leans into the touch without grumbling about it. Well, not grumbling much about it. "That is acceptable."
They make plans for next month, when Bruce is scheduled for some weekend business trip.
10:45am
Jason
Can’t come over today.
Baby Bat and Daddy Bat are fighting again.
Stolen Redhead
no prb 👍
*picture of little Lian trying to fold laundry and spilling it all over the floor*
but you owe us dinner
Jason
Deal.
Don’t cook. Seriously. Lian deserves better.
10:49am
Stolen Redhead
Im not that bad
ok ok i feel your murder stare from over here
were eating out
you still owe us dinner
and i want Dick pics
Jason
*picture of Dick Grayson in a very unflattering zebra print suit and blowing a kiss at the camera*
Stolen Redhead
I hate you
this is revenge isn’t it
for the vodka shots
11:03am
Jason
I’d never do such a thing.
I’m just keeping it child appropriate. You’re welcome.
They keep watching The Real Housewives. At some point after lunch, Damian curls up on the couch and falls asleep. The fact he feels safe enough to do that here does not make him smile.
Jason’s phone rings. He ignores it after seeing the caller ID. It rings again. He gives it the silent treatment. It rings again. He’s not above being petty. On the fifth time, Jason thinks that’s enough playing and picks up. “What?”
“Jason” is all Bruce says.
"Uh-huh." He rolls his eyes and counts to twenty until the old man keeps going.
“Jason, is Damian with you?”
“Obviously.” He wants to scoff. And he does scoff because why not.
“Has he eaten?”
Jason violently pushes down the spiral he unaffectionately dubs ‘Bruce doesn’t think I can take care of someone. Bruce doesn't think I can handle even feeding a kid. Bruce doesn’t trust me to do anything besides put a bullet in a guy’s skull.’
Nope. Nope. He is not dealing with that. And the best way to not deal with that is to shove it in a box and not get defensive.
So Jason doesn’t get defensive. “Fuck you.”
Offensive is better anyway.
He leaves the room so the sleeping kid won’t overhear and continues. “What the hell did you say to the brat to make him skip breakfast and ask Alfie to drive him to my place? He’s never come here in the middle of the fucking morning.”
Jason won’t mention that the kid only calls him Akhi when he’s vulnerable and needs help. He won’t mention why Jason even cares in the first place. That it’s a reminder of their bond in the League that Jason will never forget. A reminder of a muttered promise in a dark room filled with the smell of blood, rocking a mentally scarred, terrified, and so fucking tiny boy to sleep by repeating promises over and over.
He sighs into his hand and growls at the phone. “Just tell me what the fuck you want and stop beating around the bush.”
The line is quiet for a minute, and Jason is really tempted to throw his phone at the wall.
Finally, Bruce figures out what he wants to say. He hears him take in a breath. “I’ll apologize to Damian.” That is not what Jason expects to hear, but it’s a start. “Bring him home by seven.”
“Piss off.” Like Jason doesn’t know it’s an excuse to get him in the house. If it weren’t, Alfred would come pick up the brat.
“Please.” And it’s a word filled with desperation.
Damn it. “...I’ll think about it.” He hangs up.
As if Jason hasn’t already agreed. It's very hard to say no to Alfred's cooking. And no way in hell is he leaving the kid’s side until this is fixed. Whatever this is.