Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dick was tired.

Countless nights spent agonizing over this case, following the breadcrumbs dotted across Bludhaven and Gotham, paranoia at an all time high as lead after lead came back with that same dazed look on their face, an unnatural violet hue swirling in their eyes. The first victim had been gone by the time he'd found her cold lifeless body, her heart stopping in the middle of one of 'haven's alleys. Nothing out of the ordinary, her death ruled as a simple cardiac arrest. But something about it felt...off. 

Dick had looked into the woman, researched her life, her acquaintances, if she'd taken up any new hobbies, gotten involved with anyone new as of late. Nothing seemed off, until Dick rechecked the notes on her autopsy report. 

Some kind of timer on her left wrist, the numbers all displaying a clear zero. It was marked as a tattoo on the report, but even that was followed up with a question mark. Looking at the pictures of the marking, Dick was in agreement. That wasn't a normal tattoo, not by a long shot. 

But what could it mean? Had this counter ever been active? If so, what was it counting down to? When had it hit zero? Was it at the time of death, or sometime earlier? Could the event that caused the time displayed be the reason for this woman's apparent cardiac arrest?

Or was he looking at the mark of a soon to be serial killer? Marking their victim as though their time was up once dead?

It gnawed at the back of his mind for days. This wasn't normal, there had to be something he could follow to find the cause of death, or at least the cause of this counter. 

But despite all his efforts, he came up short. Perhaps this actually was just an unfortunate situation. People died all the time, it wasn't always expected or planned. Did it suck? Yes, but that didn't stop it from happening. And the marking? The tattoo? Maybe it was just a new technique done by a local unknown artist, or a new type of ink. That would make sense.

Accepting the case for what it was, Dick was forced to set it aside, accepting that he had more important cases to solve, especially when he lacked any real evidence of foul play.

A few nights later he rescued a man from a mugging. While there wasn't a standard response victims would take to almost being assaulted for your wallet and then saved by their local vigilante, this guy was...different. The entire time he'd clutched his wrist, his hand running up the inside of his jacket sleeve, uncaring of the knife presented or the threat thrown his way. The mugger had been creeped out by the man's mannerisms, his low mutterings putting the assailant on edge. It made Nightwing's job that much easier. 

Until it wasn't.

Once the mugger was dealt with, Dick began his usual approach, soft smile on his face, voice gentle and reassuring so as to keep the victim calm and let them know he was only there to help. This guy though, he just looked up at Dick, misty eyed and lips trembling as he gripped his arm that much tighter. 

"I thought I'd done everything right," the man muttered. "We were good for each other, we loved each other, but now she's...how could she..."

"Hey buddy, it's gonna be alright," Dick offered as he came to stand before the man.

"No, no it's not, it can't be, it won't ever be again. She's, she's gone and I...how am I supposed to go on when we're..."

It was as the man spoke that Dick noticed it, that faint violet glow in his eyes, growing in intensity as the man continued.

"When you're what?" Dick asked, mind running a mile a minute. 

"When we're...we're...." the man sobbed, clutching his arm even tighter, no doubt leaving bruises. "These were her favorites," he said, holding out his arm so Dick could see the markings there. Baby bell flowers wrapped around the man's wrist, traveling up his inner arm. Dick would have thought it a tattoo, but the flowers looked to be actively wilting, and the way the image sat on the man's skin seemed...wrong somehow. Like the image was sitting on top of his skin instead of being a part of it. 

"What happened to her?" Dick asked, already having an idea of what was to come.

"Car crash. That downpour we had last week. She got suckered into overtime at the office, made her late to date night. I told her to take her time, I'd be there when she arrived, but she, she…" The man looked down at his arm. "If only it weren't for this stupid thing, she'd still be here."

Dick took his time consoling the man, ensuring he got home safe and sound. The man's situation wasn't an uncommon one, but that in combination with the marking...

Something wasn't right here.

And that something continued for the following weeks. Random individuals with random markings, some still alive, some not, most with eyes pulsing an unnatural violet. The mark they wore seemed to be connected to another individual, usually a partner or spouse, or in some cases a friend that could have been more. Some of them were sweet, couples clearly in love, this odd mark a sign of their connection, whereas for others it was a mark of misery, a reminder of what death had taken from them. 

The marks seemed to have no rhyme or reason to their appearance. He'd come across another person with a counter, much like that first individual he'd found, only theirs was still counting down. He'd watched them for a time, bore witness to the moment the countdown hit zero, but nothing spectacular occurred. This young man's date had set their hand on his shoulder, that was it. Others were marks akin to the second man's, something important to this "significant other" if you will. Others displayed a name, bands of color, a number, a place, an emotion, a thought. 

It reminded Dick of those old stories his parents would read to him as a child, stories of love and devotion, of being the only one meant for each other. Soulmates, his mom had called them fondly. 

" Are you and dad soulmates? " Dick remembered asking her in that way all kids did.

She'd smiled, running her fingers through his hair as she answered, " I sure hope so. "

Even knowing that soulmates weren't real, his parents' deaths felt like fate in some weird twisted way. They wouldn't have been complete without the other, so the universe decided to have mercy and keep their souls together. In life and death and everything that came after.

It was an unremarkable Tuesday when Dick finally got his big break in the case. He'd found a common thread amongst a few of the victims, a visit to a would be fortune teller. The woman was constantly moving, making her damn near impossible to track down, but Dick managed it seemingly out of sheer luck.

It was only on his second night in Gotham that he'd found it, a little hole in the wall down by the docks that screamed of secrets. He was only in the city as a favor to Bruce and the younger Bats, who were being kept in to study for their finals and end of year exams. Damian and Tim loathed this time of year, but reluctantly agreed to the terms once Dick offered to help. The relief had been clear in Bruce's shoulders once the younger Bats were out of sight, the tension leaving just as they did. 

In a stroke of unfortunate luck, Bruce had come across similar cases to Dick's, though there'd only been two, and the victims had both been social recluses with little to no family or friends to miss them when their bodies turned up. At the news, Dick had offered his own information alongside the theories he'd come up with.

"Soulmates," Bruce had murmured in the cave. "I don't like it."

"Why?" Dick had questioned, finding himself irrationally offended at the remark. "Soulmates are supposed to be the person you're destined to be with, your perfect match, your missing half. Do you really have a problem with that?"

"It depends."

"On what?"

"Free will."

Bruce had ended the conversation there, unwilling to continue his explanation. Dick didn't bother pushing. Bruce was always weird when the subject of love and romance came up, so this was to be expected. Granted, it's not like they'd confirmed Dick's theory as correct, but it was looking more and more true the longer this went on for.

The docks were as cruddy as they always were, the water's stench enough to make Dick gag. Finding their lead had been easy enough, just follow the string of individuals looking to get their soul read, as they'd been calling it. Actually getting her to talk? Well, that depends on how you define talk.

Streaks of purple and blue flew across the upturned room, cracking the table Dick had overturned to use as a cover. Bruce was here, somewhere, but he couldn't quite tell where through all the cheap flashing string lights and the dust being kicked up by whatever magic this lady was using. It was disorienting to say the least. 

Dick heard the telltale flutter of a cape on the other side of the room, a roar of outrage, and suddenly Dick's position was free from all attacks. Taking the opportunity, he lept over the table, running for the woman, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Bruce was avoiding the flow of energy as best he could, but there were only so many places he could jump to before he'd get hit. And unfortunately that's exactly what happened.

He made it within arm's reach of the woman, reaching out to restrain her, mouth open as though ready to begin his usual combination of questioning and lecturing, only to be slammed with a wall of violet light as she shrieked in outrage.

"Why would you try to stop this?" she demanded, uncaring for the man staggering back, eyes squeezed shut under the cowl. Dick slowed his approach, more than aware that he would be next if the woman saw him coming. "I am helping people, I am showing them the truths of their soul!"

"You're showing them a fairytale," Bruce grunted, finally resuming his march in her direction.

"I am showing them their match," the woman growled, hands glowing as she glared at Batman. "I am giving them the opportunity to find true happiness, to find and foster true love!"

The ring on her finger looked familiar, its violet hue matching what Dick had seen in countless eyes over the last few weeks. Was that the source of her power? Or was it merely the source of her obsession?

"Love requires work, combined hardship. You're not selling love, you're selling obsession wrapped in the idea of love."

"Is that so?" 

The blast came from behind Bruce this time, emerging from seemingly out of nowhere. Throwing caution to the wind, Dick slammed the woman into a wall, grabbing her by the wrists.

"What the hell did you just do?" he demanded, well aware of Bruce's hunched over form in his peripheral vision.

"I gave him enlightenment," she said with an easy smile. She turned to Batman, smile turning hard. "Tell me, what does it say? What does your other half call you?"

"That's enough," Dick growled. "We're not here to play games."

"Of course not," she whispered, twisting her wrist just enough to grip Dick's hand. "You're here for answers. Although, I don't think I'll be giving you the answers you seek. At least not the ones you admit to."

Fire climbed up Dick's arm, spreading through his veins as the violet in the woman's eyes strengthened, the ring on her finger pulsing with energy even as her own magic danced across her fingertips. Seemingly out of nowhere the feeling in Dick's arm vanished, the woman's smile with it. Bewilderment took over her expression, her lips turning into a snarl. 

But then her eyes began to dim, her grip loosening along with them. She was out before Dick could figure out what had happened, the sedative Bruce had hit her with earlier finally working. She slumped in his arms, the air finally settling as Dick laid her down and looked around. The room was trashed, the furniture in pieces across the floor, the walls and ceiling showing signs of the struggle. 

He turned to Bruce, finding him already crouched beside them, pulling the ring from the woman's finger. 

"Appears to be a ring of the violet lantern corps, the Star Sapphires. But this doesn't match their usual power level," Bruce muttered.

"Or abilities. This seemed more like magic than anything the Lanterns have ever done," Dick offered. "Maybe the ring was just amplifying what was already there."

Bruce turned the ring over once more before placing it in one of his belt pouches. "I'll have to check with one of the Green Lanterns, see if they can verify if this ring is legitimate or a copy."

It wasn't until they were back at the Batcave that Dick thought to look, let alone to ask Bruce. Dick tried to keep his sudden excitement in check, but he couldn't, not at the thought of having verified proof of a soulmate, of someone he was meant to be with. 

After so many relationships, so much love and heartache, it felt like a losing battle. He wanted love, needed it. Someone to cherish, who understood him. He'd tried so hard so many times, only for it to fall apart and burn. He'd begun to think maybe it was better he was alone, just maybe. But the mark would prove otherwise, it'd show he had someone, even if he didn't know who they were yet.

He pulled his left glove off, rolling up his sleeve and expecting to find a mark or words there just as he'd found on the others. He froze at the sight of his bare arm, a cold dread seeping down his back. He pulled off his right glove, that dread increasing further as he frantically stripped the top half of his uniform. His skin was bare, no mark, no wannabe tattoos, no nothing. Only the scars littering his body remained. Did this mean that he...? Surely he had a soulmate, everyone had a soulmate right? Even if they had to make one themselves, they still existed, they had to. 

Maybe the mark just took a while to appear, yeah, that's gotta be it. The magic or whatever just needed time to work. 

But didn't the woman demand Bruce tell them what his said during the fight? As though the marks she bestowed upon others were immediate?

"Hey Bruce," he said, slow and careful as he turned to the older man. "Have you checked-"

He didn't bother to finish, already knowing the answer was yes. Cowl and gauntlets off, Bruce's face had drained of seemingly all color, his eyes trained on his wrist in disbelief.

"Bruce? B?" Dick tried, coming up beside him. "You alright? What's wrong?"

Bruce just squeezed his eyes closed, fists clenching as he grimaced. "I can't do that to him," he whispered, low and broken. When he finally opened his eyes again he turned to Dick, a deep sadness radiating from his figure as he presented his forearm. Dick could barely make out the writing on Bruce’s wrist, too many lines overlapping, creating a cacophony of chaos on the pale wrist before him. Black and red lines, like that of two ballpoint pens, danced across the skin, each color distinct, as though made by two different people. 

“You know whose handwriting this is?” Dick asked softly. 

Bruce just nodded, pain written clear across his face.

Dick looked back down to the mark, tracing the black line with his eyes first. Bruce it said, the handwriting damn near pristine. Then he followed the shorter, sharper red line, the ending s attempting to overtake the c and e in the Bruce written there. Bats the line read, red like blood, fighting the black lines for dominance.

“I haven’t seen someone with two marks,” Dick said.

“It’s not two marks,” Bruce murmured, snapping Dick’s attention back to his face.

Dick stood up in a huff, trying to figure out what the hell Bruce could possibly mean. He clearly had two marks on his wrist, they just happened to overlap, have two completely different handwriting styles, and refer to Bruce by both his name and his nighttime alias, or at least a reference to it. 

“You think it’s a rogue?” he asked. The answer was there, just on the tip of his tongue, and for some reason it just wouldn’t come out. 

“I know it is.”

Dick sighed, looking off to the side. “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve dated one of your villains,” he attempted to joke.

If Bruce’s fallen expression was anything to go by, his comedy didn’t land. “Not like this Chum, not with the kind of history we share.”

The answer didn’t help matters. Bruce had too much history with his rogues, had known too many of them before their turn to crime. There was Selina, but her handwriting looked nothing like what was presented on Bruce’s wrist, her hand more delicate, her b’s more bubbly and curved. He and Talia had plenty of history, so much so that they had a child, but surely if the mark was to reflect what your soulmate called you then Bruce’s wrist would only have one set of writing, probably say Beloved or Darling or something else just as corny. And besides, Bruce had referred to this person as “him”. This handwriting belonged to a man. He tried to think of other options, Slade, the Joker, Mr. Freeze, but none of those had a connection to the Wayne half of Bruce. That only left Oswald Cobblepot and…

It wasn't fair, Dick decided. Fine, Dick himself might not have a soulmate, but for Bruce to have one and be in this situation, it was just...it was so fucking unfair. 

"I'm sorry," he offered, knowing full well his words could do nothing to change Bruce’s situation. “Well, maybe this is a sign? He’s gonna get better, turn his life around? Maybe this mark is all the motivation he needs,” he said, forcing a hopeful smile. 

Bruce just shook his head, a weary chuckle escaping his lips. “I wish things were that simple.”

“You never know ‘til you try.”

“I’ve kept my feelings to myself since we were teenagers. Some handwriting on my wrist won’t be the thing to break me.” He looked up, eyes unfocused as he stared into the distance over Dick’s shoulder. Finally, he turned back to Dick, expression serious once more as he prepared to change the topic of conversation, until his eyes shot down to Dick’s arms. He reached out, taking Dick's hands in his own, pulling them closer to himself so he could study the man's forearms, the sadness returning tenfold. "Chum...I'm so sorry."

Dick tried to force a laugh, something light and optimistic. He knew it didn't come out that way at all. "Hey, maybe mine's just taking longer to show up? Or I've gotta meet my person before the word will appear?" 

He knew these were all just attempts to convince himself that he had a chance, that the universe didn't actually hate him. Based on Bruce's sad look, he could tell the same.

"I hope so Chum," Bruce offered, pulling him into a hug. "You deserve the best the universe has to offer. It must still be finding who that is."

Dick actually managed to laugh at the statement, squeezing Bruce tight. He was tired. So fucking tired.

Pain was not a new sensation to Jason. No, after all they'd been through together, one would think pain was a stubborn ex, unwilling to let him go. From his time as a child, living with his mom and dad through the fighting and the drugs and the barely held back tears, to his time on the streets struggling to get by, to his brief period of ease before taking a crowbar to the face, and all that came after, pain had been there through it all.

But usually pain had a source, a reason for barging into his life and demanding his attention. But this burning sensation running up his arm? The heat making the layers he wore damn near unbearable as he made his way through the dank Gotham sewers? There was no reason for it.

He hadn't punched anyone tonight, so it couldn't be that. He hadn't even punched anyone or anything particularly hard the last few nights either. No bad falls, no hits to the limb, no nothing.

As the heat increased, he forced himself to look down at the appendage, wondering if the limb had somehow spontaneously combusted and he just hadn't noticed. But nope, he was free of flames. Even lifting his jacket sleeve from his arm just slightly, he saw nothing underneath. Infection was his last thought, and wouldn't that be a doozy? He was in the sewers afterall, not exactly the most hygenic of locations. If he had an open wound that he was unaware of it was entirely possible something got up in there when he'd dropped into these shit infested waters earlier. 

But surely such a reaction would take hours to happen? Days even?

He shook his head, grumbling under his breath as he decided to ignore the pain for now. What did it matter? It's not like he was going to just turn around and head home at a little discomfort. He'd been through worse. 

By the end of his hunt, he almost wished he had turned around. 

His search had turned up nothing of the missing girls. No body, no purse, not even a stiletto rested in the area. He growled into the empty and abandoned control room at the end of this particular sewer branch. This section had been shut down years earlier, abandoned as new lines were added to the city with better filtration, something more in line with keeping things like Joker gas and fear toxin out of the city water supply. It made these old lines a target for vandalism, a refuge for those seeking shelter, and most unfortunately made it a great option for those with not so innocent intentions. 

He'd need to widen his search, look more into the missing girls, their latest clients, look over the information he already had for anything he might've missed. The situation was not an unfamiliar one. Sex seeking clients weren't always the nicest of people, and the Johns running the business seemed to have no care for the people under their employ, if it could even be called that. Add on outside factors and it made the whole thing so much harder, and by extension more annoying. 

The manhole cover was heavy against his arm, as though trying to keep him trapped in the depths below. He didn't care, he was getting the hell out of here. For how much of a stench Gotham might carry, its sewers were so much worse. The cover acquiesced after he pushed again, granting him access to the city above. 

The sky was starting to lighten, the sunrise not far off, and Jason had to wonder how long he'd been down there. Sure, summer was fast approaching and with it the days were getting longer and the nights consequently shorter. But surely he hadn't been down there that long. 

Tapping into his helmet’s electronics system showed that yes, he had in fact been down there for well over four hours. 

He groaned, feeling far older than he had any right to be. Sleep, he needed sleep. 

He would have already missed the Bats' post patrol debrief, and he was sure he'd get his fair share of judgment for that, but he didn't much care. It wasn't like they wanted him there half the time if the looks and comments were anything to go by.

And besides, a third of the flock weren't allowed out at the moment due to finals and upcoming exams. So if anyone was even present for their little end of the night hoopla it'd just be Bruce, Dick, Cass, and maybe Kate and Babs if they felt up for it. He didn't need to be there, not tonight.

Not ever if he was being honest with himself.

It was all a song and dance, he knew that, some sick and twisted way to give Jason the illusion that they'd accepted him back while being able to keep tabs on him. He wasn't stupid, he knew how this worked. And really? In their shoes? He'd do the same. 

Bruce could claim all he wanted that Jason was welcome, that while they couldn't forget they could move on and forgive, but Jason wasn't falling for it. He'd fallen for the lies when Bruce took him in the first time, the lies of love and acceptance and family, he wasn't about to let himself fall for it again. That didn't mean he had to isolate himself though. He could play nice, for now anyway.

His safehouse was the same as it always was, old and dingy and rundown, the popcorn ceiling yellowing from age, the window frames creaking when it was just slightly too windy outside. Jason knew he could do better than this shitty little hole in the wall, he'd saved up enough money from his crime lord days, still technically made a cut not that anyone needed to know, and if he really wanted to he could guilt a couple thousand out of Bruce in less than two minutes. But he just...couldn't be bothered. It was a safehouse, not a home. He'd lived with less in worse conditions. This space was meant to be functional, not comfortable. And he was fine with that. They didn't all need fancy penthouses like Bruce, or normal, well furnished apartments like Dick and Tim had across the city. This was fine, it was everything he needed and then some.

Weapons unholstered and cleaned, jacket and boots removed and set aside, Jason had completely forgotten about the earlier burning sensation on his arm. There was no residual pain or discomfort, no clear signs of trauma through his jacket, glove, or shirt. There was nothing there to remind him it had even happened. 

And then he saw it.

Gloves removed, his top most shirt neatly folded on the bed beside him, and with his underlayers in the process of joining it, the dark blue on his inner wrist caught his attention like a crowbar to the head. He continued his task, trying to remember if he'd bruised his wrist or written anything there before leaving for patrol. But no, neither of those things had happened. 

Sighing in frustration, his torso free of everything Red Hood, he lifted his arm and about exploded in rage. 

He knew that handwriting, knew those words. This had to be some kind of sick prank. Someone must've snuck in while he was sleeping, wrote the words on him much like others would draw a mustache or penis on their sleeping friend’s face. Only this was so much worse, because he knew that wasn't the case. His safehouse, while not in the greatest part of town and not in the greatest of shape, was armed with the best security Jason could set up. If someone came in there'd be a log, no matter if they came in through the window or the door, system armed or not. But no, there hadn't been any new additions to the log that weren't made by him, no one else had been in this particular apartment since he'd taken it. 

His hands balled into fists as he stared at the words, clearly seeing the tell tale signs of a magic induced mark, knowing this thing wasn't coming off without help, if it could even come off at all.

In another life he might've been ecstatic at the words, might've seen them as a sign. He'd have given anything for this way back when things were simpler and he'd been able to let himself imagine a life of normalcy and happiness. 

"What the fuck did you do?" he growled.

Little Wing stared back from his wrist, remorseless in its condemnation.

He knew water wouldn't take the words off, but he tried anyway. He scrubbed his wrist with the harshest soap he had, and when that didn’t work tried the rubbing alcohol he kept under the sink. His skin was red and tender when he gave up, but the words still remained. He thought of fire, of seeing if he could burn it away, but the thought of purposefully burning his arm without guaranteeing that the words would be gone held him back. This was magic, that much was obvious, and as such would require more than some simple scrubbing and flames to remove. He knew that and yet...

Frustration could not begin to cover the feeling of hopelessness he felt looking down at his wrist. This wasn't fair, none of it was. 

After hours of fighting with the words, doing as much research as he could with the limited resources before him, he was forced to accept his new lot in life. The sun was high in the sky, the rays peeking in through his drawn curtains. 

The thought crossed his mind to see if Bruce could get him in contact with one of his mystic acquaintances. Surely Zatanna or Constantine could help, but he dashed that thought away as soon as it came to him. He couldn't let Bruce know, he couldn't let any of them know. If this mark meant what he thought it meant...

It was a sad day in Gotham if Jason Todd of all people was hoping for a prank. 

He could ask Talia, he supposed. Even if she didn't have answers, she had enough connections across the globe that she could find them. Bonus, Jason knew she wouldn't go blabbing to Bruce about the mark. But he was already too indebted to her, even if she claimed no intentions of calling in that debt. He wouldn't ask her for help, not unless the situation became that dire. 

Oh god, what if this was like those stories he'd read as a preteen? The ones with the flowers? Hanaki disease, that's what it was called, right? He'd been fascinated by those stories back then, though perhaps in a more morbid way than most. The idea of loving someone so much that your body would begin to self-destruct if not reciprocated, the realization that if your love didn't return your feelings you would continue to die? Suffocating on roots, leaves, and wilted petals? He'd been conflicted on the subject, and still was now that he had a reason to think about it again. The protagonist's feelings were always reciprocated of course, leading to their swift recovery and a happily ever after, but what if that didn't happen? In a way, the whole thing felt manipulative in a 'Reciprocate my feelings or I'll die which means my death will be your fault' kind of way. He couldn't imagine putting someone in that position. 

Which meant he needed to get this figured out, now . Was the mark the only effect of whatever happened? Or would there be other side effects? Might he become obsessive, clingy, lose himself in the pursuit of whatever the words demanded? 

Did Dick have a mark too?

He stopped at the thought. The words on his wrist reflected that stupid nickname Dick had been calling him for years, even if it didn't make much sense now. But if Jason's words were a reflection of what Dick called him, then surely Dick's would reflect what Jason called him, right?

A small amount of guilt ran up Jason's spine at the thought of poor Dick Grayson running around for the rest of his life with 'Dickie' 'Dickhead' or 'Big Bird' plastered on his wrist. Though he supposed it could also just say 'Dick', which while his name, wouldn't be without its problems depending on who saw it.

Jason groaned, holding his throbbing head in his hands. He needed to know if Dick had a mark too, at least then he'd be able to calm down slightly. The road ahead, while still murky, would be a little clearer, his options more obvious. If Dick had a mark then they could figure this whole thing out together, hardships shared are hardships halved and all that teamwork endorsing bullshit. And if Dick didn't have a mark? If it was only Jason cursed with the words of another? That might be lonely, but at least he'd know. He'd have the opportunity to keep the mark hidden away, ensure no one saw it for the rest of eternity. The last thing he needed was Dick feeling some kind of responsibility to him just because of some words blasted onto Jason's skin.

But how the hell was he going to check Dick's arm? It's not like the Nightwing suit was sleeveless. He could always find him out of the suit, the manor or the Batcave would be the best options, but then he'd have to deal with the other Bats, and by extension their suspicions for his sudden increased presence on the Wayne family grounds. It's not like he could just ask, that was practically suicide. He heaved another sigh, forcing his body to stand so he could take care of his grumbling stomach before heading to bed. Clearly this was a problem for another day. If he even let it become a problem.

Really, did it have to be a problem? All he had to do was keep his wrist covered and never mention the mark and he'd be fine. What's the worst that could happen?

Spoiler could happen, that's what.

"There you are!" she sang as she dropped to the roof Jason was currently occupying, strutting her way over to him without a care in the world. "Where you been big guy?"

Jason grumbled at the question, wrist once again covered as he returned his gaze to the shipyard across the way. "Around," he answered roughly. "Don't you have finals you're supposed to be studying for or something?"

"Done and done," she announced, throwing her arm around his shoulder. "And I'll have you know I totally aced almost all of them."

"Almost?" he asked, eyebrow raised despite his helmet blocking her view.

"I'm not stupid enough to assume I got an A on all my finals, just most of them."

"Is that so? You sure you're a Bat? Pretty sure the overinflated ego is a prerequisite."

"You would know, you’ve been here long before I came along."

He stopped at the words, turning to take her expression in, or what he could see of it anyway. She wasn't bullshiting him, that much was obvious. Her arm was still around his shoulders, forcing her to stand on her tiptoes. Her eyes sparkled with mirth, no signs of dishonesty or malice anywhere. 

"Doesn't make me a Bat," he muttered, thankful for the helmet's voice modulation. "That ended with my career as a moving traffic light."

She swatted his shoulder, crossing her arms like a disappointed parent. "You keep saying that," she chidded. 

"Because it's the truth."

She huffed, shaking her head. "Bman wouldn't let you work with us if that were the case."

"You say that like this arrangement is held together by anything more than hopes and dreams."

"Why do you always do this?" she demanded, clearly frustrated.

Because he didn't deserve them. It was a thought that had struck him some time ago, back when he and Bruce had begrudgingly begun their alliance. He'd gone after Tim, gone after Dick, had put a gun in Bruce's hands and demanded he break his one rule knowing he damn well would never do such a thing. He was an outsider, had been from the moment he dug his way through that coffin and all the dirt and mud surrounding it. Maybe things could have been different once upon a time, maybe had he done things differently, had Talia told Bruce of her findings, had the pit not taken his anguish and turned it into seething rage, theyy wouldn't be here. Maybe Jason could have gone back to the family he'd left behind in his hunt for his mother. But he'd never know, now would he? 

No matter what he would do in the future, what rights he made, he could never undo the wrongs that Bruce and co saw. And many of those wrongs, namely the lives Jason had cut short, weren't things he'd ever feel guilty for. And maybe that's where all their problems stemmed from: guilt, and a misplaced belief that they could demand each other feel guilt for something they believed they had no reason to.

"Because it's the truth," he answered instead. "Now, are you going to continue on with your patrol out of my territory? Or are you just here to annoy me all night?"

She rolled her eyes at the dismissal, just as she always did. "Group of us are heading to Batburger, figured I'd swing by and see if you wanna come, seeing as I'm obviously your favorite and all."

"Actually, pretty sure Jerry is my favorite."

She stopped, slack jawed at his joke. "The turkey?!" she demanded, personally offended at her ranking below that of a Thanksgiving dish.

"He makes funny noises," Jason explained like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I make funny noises," Steph countered, offense rising.

"Yeah, but Jerry just does them so much better. And he's got that funky little necktie. He's a classy little guy." 

"Robin would be outraged at hearing you call his turkey's wattle a necktie."

"Like you aren't gonna call it that just to annoy him."

"Damn right I am."

The conversation seemed to die off from there, leaving them standing in awkward silence before Steph took it upon herself to break it.

"Well, you can come join us if you want. Wing won't shut up about how hungry he is again so we might be there a while. You know how he gets."

The reminder of Dick sent a surge of heat through Jason's back, reflected in an itch where Dick's words rested on his wrist. It had been over a week since the words had appeared and he'd been doing pretty well at ignoring them and by extension the man they'd come from. Jason had decided to give it a few days, figuring if Dick did have words he'd burst through Jason's safehouse wall like some messed up version of the Kool Aid Man. Dick was a romantic like that. 

Or, Jason supposed, he could break in to demand to know what Jason did to cause this. That felt a little more likely at least.

But after four days of nothing, it became clear Dick either didn't have a mark, or he wasn't willing to approach Jason about it. Jason being Jason decided to leave things as is. No sense in breaking what wasn't broken, no sense in getting Dick worked up.

"He's still in town? Figured with you aceing most of your finals he'd have gone back to Bludhaven."

"Hardy har har, very funny. No, he's sticking around for a bit longer, just taking random breaks to head back to Bludhaven every couple of nights. He and B are working on something, so he's kinda stuck here til it's dealt with. No idea what it is though, they're keeping pretty hush hush," Stephanie explained. "It's weird. Whatever it is they aren't saying anything to the rest of us. The second you enter the cave the computer screens are off and their conversation is over."

"Really now, and when did this start?" he asked, curiosity piqued. Whatever it is, it must either be big or be personal for those two to stick so close together for so long. Sure, they'd gotten better over the years, the younger Bats having little to no experience with the shouting matches that had once marked the end of Dick's visits during Jason's time as Robin, but that didn't change the tension that still built up between the two. For them to stick so close for so long...this must be important.

"No idea, probably last week? Who knows."

Last week. The mark on his wrist had appeared last week. Dick's handwritten nickname for him had been imprinted on his skin only last week. Was it possible that whatever had Dick and Bruce's focus was also the cause of his current predicament?

Hope bloomed in his chest, only to be crushed in a vice like grip. It might be possible that the two were related, but did he want to take that chance? Could he risk showing up to the manor, showing Dick the mark, asking if he had something similar? What if Dick didn't? Jason would look insane, like some crazy ex who ran out and got a tattoo to prove their devotion. 

"Weird," he said, hoping it'd be enough to show he was still listening despite his silence. He lifted his arms, stretching his back as he went, before turning back to her. "Well, nothin’s moving in the ‘yard tonight, that much is obvious. Lead the way.”

"You're coming?" she asked incredulously.

"I mean, I can stay here if you really want," he shrugged. "Didn't think you were offering delivery services when you brought up Batburger."

She shook her head, that spark returning to her eyes. "Nope, no no no, this is a dine in only kinda night. Or, well, take out but to our usual spot so we can eat without being stared at kinda night."

"Good," he answered, grappling away. "You'd probably lose my food on the way back."

He didn't hear her response, already too far ahead in the race to food, but he was sure she heard his cackles anyway. 

The thing is, Jason wasn't terribly upset about the words on his wrist, or at least not in the way most would normally expect him to be. He wasn't frustrated that they were Dick's, wasn't annoyed that this could be some magic soulmark bullshit. At the end of the day he wasn't even annoyed at having fucking Little Wing of all things imprinted on him permanently, ironic as the nickname might be now that he'd grown well beyond Dick's size. No, what annoyed him is that it implied he had a chance.

He'd accepted years ago that it was impossible, back when he was Robin and Dick was coming into his own as Nightwing. Jason had been twelve, fresh off the streets, and Dick had been the cool eighteen year old that could do anything he set his mind to. Their interactions were few and far between, and maybe that separation helped to fuel the butterflies dancing in his stomach. Jason had known it could never happen, for one Dick was an adult, and two Dick was way out of Jason's league. He was amazing, he was hot, he was the focal point of every room he entered. Jason had met the Titans once or twice, had seen the people Dick surrounded himself with. He didn't stand a chance, and it was for the best anyway. He'd keep his feelings under lock and key and one day they would cease to exist. And he'd thought with his death and subsequent resurrection that’s what happened. 

He'd woken filled with rage and pain and the feeling of betrayal. Love had no place in his heart, not anymore, it couldn't. Not if Bruce had replaced him so easily, telling lies of how he'd died, claiming Jason had gone to confront the Joker on his own when such a thing never happened. He'd died in an attempt to help the woman who should have loved him with all her heart, he'd died thinking the man he loved as a father would mourn him as a son even if he couldn't make it in time to save him. Jason didn't need love, not after that.

Or at least, that's what he tried convincing himself.

Everything fell apart, and in the universe's usual bid to leave him with one last slap in the face itnleft him with an old pain made new. After all was said and done, after he'd taken a step back and accepted that maybe he just wasn't meant to be anything more than the unwanted but still needed Robin, he'd taken one look at Dick Grayson's smile and felt his stomach drop. 

Dick tried to talk to him, tried to bond in one way or another, but Jason just...couldn't. Between the heat in his chest everytime the other was near and the angry whispers in his head reminding him that Dick hadn't cared this much before he died, had never offered Jason the love and comradery that he offered Tim and Damian and the others, Jason decided it was best to keep his distance. That avoidance had lead to more than a few fights between them, growls of "What the fuck is your problem?" as Dick demanded answers while Jason sidestepped it all. He couldn't tell Dick that every moment beside him felt like agony, just a reminder of what he'd never have. No, Dick's too much of a people pleaser, too self sacrificing. He'd stick to Jason like glue, overcompensating for every little thing imaginable. It wouldn't be genuine, and Jason would hate himself even more for putting Dick in that position.

Batburger was empty when he and Steph walked in, though that was to be expected at two in the morning. Their food arrived as quickly as they left, the workers more than used to seeing the various vigilantes of Gotham by now. Jason got more than a few strange looks, some whispers as they left, but he was used to it, had to be. He wasn't a Bat, showing up with one would of course lead to speculation, especially given the whole crime lord thing that still hung over his head.

"I think we need to get you a fanclub Hoody," Steph said with a grin, making her way up to the team's usual late night food perch.

"For what? All of two people?"

She turned to him, gesturing wildly back at the restaurant, careful not to lose her food or shake. "Did you not see that back there? Is your helmet malfunctioning?"

He sighed, continuing on his journey ahead of her. Sometimes it was better to just let the Bat brats talk without interruption, get all their feelings out. Less messy that way.

"That cashier was totally into you," she yelled after him with a laugh. He just increased his pace up the fire escape, rolling his eyes at the comment.

"Good thing she's not my type," he answered, figuring that would at least get her off his back. Oh how wrong he was.

"Yeah? What about the grillboy then?" she asked as they came to the roof. "He was totally down to cook your buns, if you know what I mean."

Jason could feel his eye twitch at the absurd statement, more than grateful for his helmet masking the reaction. "That makes no sense."

"But you didn't deny the grillboy!" she exclaimed, giving a little hop in excitement.

He sighed, finding a spot on the roof that wasn't already occupied. He could feel their eyes on him, and he could only be grateful that it was just him, Steph, Cass, and Dick tonight. "Grillboy isn't my type either, not to mention the kid doesn't look like he's even got a license yet," he said with finality, taking off his helmet so he could finally eat his damn food. "And this conversation is over."

She grumbled, plopping down between Dick and Cass who continued to look between them with curiosity in their eyes. 

"Can you believe this guy?" she asked, gesturing wildly. 

"Taste is subjective," Cass offered, stealing a sip of Steph's shake. "Can’t force a horse to drink."

Steph just pouted. Jason ignored it the best he could. This wasn't the first time such conversations had come up between the two of them, they just usually weren't in the company of others. 

"I don't know," Dick said with a cheeky grin. He looked over to Jason, eyes running up and down his form playfully, and Jason about jumped off the building. "Maybe Mr Tall Dark and Handsome over here already has someone in mind."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Jason snapped through a mouthful of fries, fighting down the butterflies as best he could.

"Oh nothing," Dick chimed. 

"Sorry we can't all be Fabio," Jason grumbled, curling into the gargoyle behind him. 

"Aww come on, Little Wing, I didn't mean it like that." 

The words sent a shock through Jason's wrist, a reminder of his apparent connection to the man before him. The sudden urge to tell Dick everything hit him square in the gut, the fries he just ate trying to climb their way out of his throat. He couldn't do this, not with the man sitting there, sauce from his burger smeared down to his chin, hair tousled from traversing Gotham's rooftops, looking absolutely gorgeous despite it all. 

"-sides, Fabio has nothing on you. Have you looked in a mirror lately?"

He'd zoned out, oh god he'd zoned out, and did Dick just call him hot? What kind of an alternate reality had he fallen into.

"Of course I've looked in the mirror, how else am I supposed to shave?" he answered as quickly as he could manage, choosing to ignore the whirlwind in his mind right now.

"Are you sure?" Steph asked, leaning closer with squinted eyes and a raised finger. "Think you missed  a spot," she said with a grin, poking his jaw.

Jason just rolled his eyes, running a hand over the spot. He couldn't really feel the alleged hair through his gloves, but it was the thought that counted.

"Never see you with a beard," Cass said quietly, as though deep in thought. "Or any facial hair."

"Oh my god you're right," Steph declared with wide eyes, turning back to Jason with a determined look. "You've gotta grow it out big guy, I need to see what you look like with a beard."

"Ain't gonna happen," he drawled, finally able to return to his food. "The helmet plus a beard is no bueno. Bad enough with stubble most days."

"You could always go without for a few days, feel the wind on your face, the breeze in your beard," Dick offered. 

"Like hell."

"Damn," Steph said quietly as she stage whispered to Cass. "If Wing can't convince him how the hell are we gonna do it?"

"You're not," Jason answered for her, more than a little offended that they thought they could just sick Dick on him and get whatever they wanted, no matter how true that might be.

He felt eyes on him, and he knew without even turning that it was Dick, head tilted and eyes squinted in thought. 

"What the fuck are you doing Dichead?" he groaned, no real malice in his voice.

"Imagining what you'd look like with a beard based on that five o'clock shadow you got there," Dick answered, voice serious as though he was analyzing a clue. He finally shrugged, nodded, and turned back to the girls. "Daddy."

Jason mind blue screened at the word, static filling his ears as Steph squealed and Cass giggled. He couldn't move, he couldn't react, he couldn't do anything. His food lay in his lap, drink forgotten at his side where they would remain until someone came along to unfreeze him. And when Dick turned back to him, with that beaming smile of his, food stuck in his teeth? Jason was powerless to stop his heart from fluttering.

Three days later Dick was back in Bludhaven and Jason finally had a chance to sneak into the Batcave for some snooping. He could just enter through the front door of the manor, on some deep inner level he knew that, but he refused to abide by those rules. The front door was for family, of which he was not. He was here on business and that was it. Therefore he only needed entrance to the cave. Nothing more, nothing less.

Just as he’d hoped, the cave was empty upon his arrival at half past noon. Dick was out of the city, Bruce should be at Wayne Enterprises doing whatever CEOs do, Damian should be enduring his final week of school before summer break started, and Alfred wouldnbe out running errands. The only people Jason had to worry about running into were Cass, Tim, and Stephanie, of which he wasn’t too concerned. Steph had mentioned dragging the other two and Babs off to some new movie today, flashing her big puppy eyes up at him as she begged him to come with them. He’d declined, so unless their plans had changed, he should have at least a few hours all to himself.

The Batcomputer was as daunting as ever, though not to quite the same extent as when he’d been a wee little Robin. The screens booted up upon his approach, accepting his password with ease. Soon after they filled with the usual information, scans and local radio chatter filtering through the list of current cases and tests being run. He pulled up the case list, knowing based on Steph’s explanation the other day that Bruce and Dick’s case wouldn’t be visible, at least not in the way that would make it obvious. Didn’t hurt to check though. The Bat wasn’t infallible, he did slip up every so often. 

His quick check yielded the results he expected, though it did bring up a slightly older case file that Dick had started. A young woman, believed to have died from cardiac arrest, found in a Bludhaven alley. An unfortunate end to an already short life, Dick clearly didn’t believe her death was natural, but the information presented was limited, sparse, almost as though it had been wiped clean. Interesting. 

What was even more interesting were the images attached to the report, a picture taken of the scene at the time of discovery, another from the same spot the next night after the body had been removed, a recent portrait of the woman, and scans of her autopsy report and its correlating photographs. Jason’s eyes immediately honed in on her left arm, finding the note of a tattoo on the autopsy report. Pulling up the autopsy’s photographs showed the mark clear as day on the inside of her wrist. 

A deep red counter laid across her wrist, clearly displaying 000:00:00:00. Days, hours, minutes, seconds. Her mark must have been dynamic, counting down to…something. Jason doubted he’d find what that was here. Given the woman’s lack of life upon discovery Jason doubted Dick knew either. The folder of older pictures retrieved from her social media accounts showed her arm free of the counter. It was a deadend, but it at least gave answers. He wasn’t alone. There were others afflicted with these marks. But how? And why?

He shucked his jacket off, throwing it onto Bruce’s chair in front of the computer bank, and proceeded to unwrap his wrist. It had been the best solution he could come up with. His watch, while reliable, always had the chance of breaking or moving, he didn’t trust himself enough to not push long sleeves up to his elbows, and he wasn’t about to wear those gaudy sweat bands. They itched way too much and would draw more attention than if he’d left his arm bare. Foundation and concealer had been an option he’d considered, but then the thought of them rubbing off on his clothes felt like it’d make the mark that much more obvious. At least by covering the mark with a wrap he could play it off as a sprained wrist, a cut, or scrape, nothing that would invite questioning. And sure, it’d take more time to reapply than a watch, but it’d stay longer and cover more, which is what he was banking on.

The words beamed under the cave’s bright lights, as though reflecting the light. He’d grown fond of them in a way, a reminder of his humanity, of what could be if things were at least a little different. But he wasn’t here to marvel at the surprise the universe had bestowed upon him, he was here to figure out what was going on and to get answers. 

He clearly wasn’t going to get answers from the Batcomputer if the lack of additional victims or related folders was anything to go by, not without snooping and digging and hacking and he wasn’t in the mood for the kind of fight that would result from that. So that left him only one option now: self study. With all the high tech equipment down here, Jason would be able to study the mark a hell of a lot easier than he could on his own. 

A minimum of two hours, three blood samples, and every file Bruce had on magic induced marks and he was getting nowhere fast. His blood work came back as fucked up as it usually did, the remaining effects of the Lazarus Pit constantly at war with whatever level of normalcy he should be at as an able bodied, healthy twenty two year old. It wasn’t anything that a normal doctor would notice or consider abnormal, but he wasn’t dealing in norms here, he was dealing with Bats and by extension all their superpowered little spandexed friends. Even under the microscope his blood showed no difference, whether it was blood from his elbow, his finger, or directly from the marked area. Scans of his wrist showed nothing that he didn’t already know, even zooming in the writing came across as looking like some unnatural ink, and that was about it. Bruce’s files? Both too few and too many to be of any help. Most of the marks there seemed to be signs of a curse or possession, both in terms of ‘an entity has taken control of your body’ and ‘you are someone’s property’. There was nothing about soulmarks or soulmates. 

Frustrated, he decided to dive into the marks of possession a bit more, figuring that might have something of use. Maybe this was a mark of ownership, whether Dick knew about it or not. His stomach turned at the thought, unease digging into his sides. He was no one’s property, and the idea that someone could take that away, strip away his personhood…

He shook his head, trying to dispel the blurriness from his vision. He’d barely gotten any sleep that morning, instead focusing on getting to the cave when no one was around. Maybe it wasn’t the best of decisions, especially if he planned on going on patrol that night, but what other choice did he have?

Besides just talking to Dick or Bruce about it anyway.

He turned away from the computer screens, deciding to give his eyes a break. He needed to finish tidying up the machines, clear all evidence that he’d used them, let alone been here. The samples he’d taken from himself were already disposed of, the machines wiped down. He just needed to put the tools away and see about wiping the tests and their results from the computer. He could do that, not a problem. 

He stood, intending to walk back to the microscope he’d been using, only for one of his knees to give out, a sudden exhaustion taking over. He caught himself on the way down, only for his hand to slip from the table ledge he’d grabbed, barely slowing his descent to the floor. He hit the floor with a bang, a few slides and vials crashing beside him. What the hell just happened? He was tired, yeah, but not ‘lose control of your legs’ tired. Or at least, not enough for him to admit it.

He laid there, the metal flooring cool against his face, mind feeling like it was being dragged through the mud as he tried to understand what just happened. Was it something he’d eaten? Did someone spike his tea this morning? When was the last time he ate? He did just take a few blood samples, he could just be tired from that. Blue danced in his peripheral, mocking him from where it rested on his figure. He turned onto his back as best he could, grimacing at the broken glass beneath him. He brought his arm up, staring up at the words that seemed to dance before him. The mark couldn’t have caused this right? It hadn’t shown any signs of a mental or physical connection to Dick, just the emotional one, but maybe it was maturing? God he hoped not.

Hands were on him before he had a chance to even notice Bruce’s arrival, his face contorted in concern as he knelt beside Jason. “-son? Jaylad? What happened? Are you alright?”

The words sounded as though they were underwater, muffled and distorted and barely discernible. 

Apparently Jason was taking too long to answer, as one of Bruce’s hands found its way to his forehead, the other pillowing the bottom of Jason’s head. “No fever,” he muttered, moving his hand to the pulse point in Jason’s neck. The confusion on his face deepened as that came back clear too. 

Finally coming back to himself, Jason tried to sit up, ignoring the crunching as he did so. Bruce was quick to support his weight, keeping him sat upright before they stood. “Sorry,” he mumbled, allowing Bruce to direct him the few steps back to the Batcomputer’s main chair. “Give me a minute, I’ll be outta your hair.”

“No,” Bruce said sternly, kneeling next to Jason. He grimaced, regret in his eyes. The next time he spoke it was softer, concerned, with a hand on Jason’s knee. “Stay, please. At least long enough for me to check you over.”

Their eyes met, the usual fight not in either of them today, leaving Jason to sigh in defeat. “Fine.”

“Thank you,” Bruce said as he squeezed Jason’s knee. “I’ll get this cleaned up first, give you a chance to clear your head. How’s that sound?”

Instead of answering Jason just nodded, waving his hand in lieu of telling Bruce it was fine. And just like that, Bruce was off to grab the mini dustpan and broom that was kept in the cave for situations just like this. 

Watching the man work, realization dawned on Jason. It had only been a little over two hours last he checked. Bruce was supposed to be in meetings until at least three thirty today, and they weren’t the kind to be rescheduled. Why the hell was he here? 

“Thought you had all those big wig meetings today,” Jason said, fighting to keep his eyes open.

Bruce turned back at him, a look of surprise crossing his face before he hid it once more. “I did, yes, but Mrs. Crowly had a family emergency, and when I checked my remote uplink to the Batcomputer I received a notification that Dick’s recent case file had been opened beyond the expected time limit.”

Son of a bitch. Of course he’d have that thing set to notify him if someone opened it. Paranoid bastard. 

Bruce made a sound of surprise as he made his way through the cave, finding the various stations Jason had used throughout the past few hours. The test result printouts were still on the table, clearly showing what he’d been testing, even if it didn’t say why. He turned back to Jason, clearly trying to work out what was going on. “Jaylad,” he said so quietly that Jason almost didn’t hear him. “Why are you running tests on yourself?”

Jason didn’t answer. He watched with apprehension as Bruce picked up the sheets, concern written across his face as he came to stand before Jason.

“Do you think you were infected with something?” he asked, running through his mental list of why Jason would do this. Ivy’s pollens, Crane's toxins, Joker’s gas, a paralyzing agent, poison…none of them right. Jason shook his head. “Is the Pit acting up again?” Again Jason shook his head no. Bruce looked down at him, eyes taking in his crumpled form, the tired look in his eyes, the droop to his shoulders. His eyes froze down, lower, and that’s when Jason realized his mistake. “It’s because of that mark, isn’t it?”

“You could say that,” Jason finally answered, pulling the wrist in question closer to his chest. His right hand continued to massage where the words rested. It had become a soothing action of the last few weeks, calming in a completely unintended way, so much so he was apparently doing it without being consciously aware he was doing it. He should’ve been more careful, he chidded himself. He knew how Bruce was. He’d pick up that sort of thing in a heartbeat. The mark should’ve been covered the second it wasn’t being tested, discomfort be damned.

“Can I see?” Bruce asked softly, finally managing to look at Jason’s face once more.

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t,” Jason muttered, more than ready to be ignored.

Instead Bruce nodded, taking the seat next to Jason so they were level with each other. “Can you tell me how you got it?” the questioning continued.

Jason just shrugged. “Dunno. One minute I’m fine, next minute my arm feels like it’s on fire. Get my clothes off and there it is.”

Bruce once again nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Do you know who it’s connected to?” was his next question, and wow, Bruce was really just confirming Jason’s suspicions without Jason even asking. How nice of him.

“I’ve got a pretty good idea who it could be,” he answered, holding his other hand up quickly, “and before you ask, I ain’t tellin’.”

“I understand.”

The cave fell into silence after that, the only sound being the rushing water below and the bats chirping in their sleep above. It was nice, comfortable in a way that reminded Jason of old nights spent in the library, just the two of them reading their own books in separate parts of the giant room. 

“How do you know?” he asked, frustrated at his own memories once again making things so damn difficult.

Bruce reached towards his own wrist, rolling up the sleeves of his button down before unclasping his watch. It was the one with the thicker black band, Jason noticed as he set it down. Eyes returning to Bruce’s wrist, he finally saw it. Two sets of lines, overlapping as they fought for dominance. Bruce was written neatly in a fine black, letters evenly spaced. Alongside it, practically bleeding across Bruce’s wrist, was a red Bats , the letters jagged and harsh.

“Zatanna said there’s nothing to be done,” Bruce said, looking down at his own wrist. “The connection these marks show is real, and by extension the marks themselves. This…connection isn’t meant for us to see, but now that the mark is realized, it can’t be undone.”

Jason could only stare at Bruce, take in the words, try to comprehend what this could mean. Bruce wasn’t one to give up control easily, if ever. For him to just…accept what Zatanna said, to give up on removing this mark, it must be final. “What do we do then?” Jason asked softly, unsure of the answer he sought.

“What we always do,” Bruce said with a grimace. “Zatanna checked the mystic over, and she and Jordan looked over the ring she had as well. There shouldn’t be any other side effects beyond the mark possibly changing. No obsession, no death by lack of reciprocation, nothing of the sort. The violet haze in the eyes of those marked seems to have disappeared as well. We just have a mark on our arm now. A permanent, albeit likely to change, mark.”

“Well that’s…good I guess.”

“I’d personally prefer the marks be gone, but at least we aren't compelled by them.”

“You said the marks could change,” Jason said, trying to take in all the new information. “How so?”

“Some of the marks are dynamic in nature,” Bruce answered, gesturing to the Batcomputer screens. “Dick believes the mark on the woman he found was a timer, a countdown of sorts. He found another individual with a similar mark and the numbers were progressing like a normal watch. Other marks we believe change based on the other individual. Based on what Dick has seen and documented, if my ‘other half’ were to change their writing styles, it’s safe to assume my mark would change as well.”

Jason nodded, leaning back in his chair. Great, so not only was this mark non-removable, it would also change whenever it felt like it. If it weren’t for that little detail he could write the thing off as a tattoo when asked, but if it changed? Well, that’d be much harder to explain.

“Zatanna believes my mark is based on what they call me,” Bruce said softly, as though confessing a great secret. 

“So if they change what they call you, it’ll change what’s written,” Jason supplied.

“Exactly.”

“You know who it is,” Jason determined, looking between Bruce’s wrist and his face. Jason had a suspicion, a very, very strong suspicion. That didn’t mean he was willing to do anything about it.

“Yes.”

“Are you gonna do anything about it?”

“Are you?”

Jason stopped at the question, squeezing his hands into fists. No, how could he? He could never tell Dick, not now, not ever. “I can’t,” he said softly.

“Are you worried they would not reciprocate your feelings?” Bruce asked softly, as though worried he’d scare Jason off.

Instead of answering, Jason snapped back, “Are you?”

After a moment, Bruce shook his head, a sad chuckle resonating from deep in his chest. “In some ways we’re so different,” he observed. “And yet, in others we’re so similar.”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” Jason muttered, reaching for his wrapping. He looked at his wrist once more, at the deep blue words with their sharp t’s and the flippy g, that first l that looked like it was trying to climb off his arm. He sighed, beginning the process of covering the mark once more. He looked up, finding Bruce staring back with sadness in his eyes.

“You should tell him,” Bruce said. 

Years of regret showed on Bruce’s face. It wasn’t related to Jason, that much was obvious. No, he was regretting his own missed opportunities, the one that got away, this soulmate of his that will go on none the wiser if Bruce has his way.

“I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I have,” Bruce said, resting his hand on Jason’s shoulder. “We’ve had our ups and downs but I truly want the best for you. You deserve to be loved, and apparently the universe agrees.”

“You’re one to talk,” Jason huffed as he looked away.

“I know. Just…think about it, okay? What harm could it do?”

“A lot,” Jason answered, looking back up to Bruce’s tired gaze. Surely Bruce of all people would understand, clearly did understand if he had resolved to keep his soulmate in the dark as well. “I won't take that risk B.”

Bruce nodded solemnly, lips pulled back in remorse, accepting the hard decision they'd both made. “Get some rest before patrol tonight,” he advised. “There are plenty of rooms upstairs for you. Take your pick.”

Jason’s chest tightened at the offer, that little itch inside his skull telling him this was a lie, a trap. They didn’t want him up there, why would they? He should leave, needed to leave, get on his bike and drive the hell away now .

Instead he stood, slow and steady so as to avoid Bruce’s mother hening. “I guess I can manage that,” he muttered, grabbing his jacket and walking ahead of Bruce. “Blood work always fucks with my head.”

He tried to ignore the sigh of relief behind him, as well as the comforting hand on his back. He was fine, he didn’t need Bruce’s help. Screw them all.

His head barely touched the pillow before he was out, familiar blue eyes meeting him in his dreams.

After his little chit chat with Bruce, Jason couldn't help but realize how somber Dick had been lately. Dick wasn't always a ray of sunshine, everyone had their shitty days, but those days were usually contained and sparse for the older man. Or more accurately, kept hidden so as not to concern anyone. The more Jason thought about it, the more obvious it became. 

Guilt sunk into his chest, eating away at him as he thought of Dick. The man already had the weight of the world on his shoulders, being not just the most experienced of the Bats sans Bruce himself, but also the leader of the Titans and mentor and role model to seemingly every other group of sidekicks that popped out of thin air. He gave his all to the people he cared about, loved seemingly unconditionally. He was probably looking at this situation and thinking that this was the universe's way of sticking it to him once again. And could anyone blame him if he did? The man deserved the world. He deserved to be loved and cherished, to be doted on and cared for, to be the most important person in someone's life. 

Jason squeezed his fists just that little bit tighter, fighting to keep his stance as relaxed as he could. He could be that person, he knew that. Apparently whatever soul bonding magic shit he'd been hit with knew it too. But he just…couldn't see it. Dick deserved better than some knock off who couldn't even make it to adulthood without losing a life. 

He scowled, watching the others plan and organize from his perch along the outer wall of the Batcave. Thinking back on it, he should've left the cave the second Bruce appeared, his research wasn't that important. And besides, did he really need to know more about the mark? He knew what it was, knew what it symbolized, knew who it connected him to, and he sure as shit knew he shouldn't tell anyone, most importantly Dick, about it. He didn't need anything else. He could've lived with the mark just fine, with no one the wiser. He'd have to keep the thing covered up all the time on the off chance another Bat followed him home or broke into his safehouse for late night tv marathoning, but that was a small price to pay if it meant not playing mind games with Bruce or possibly shattering Dick's hopes of a soulmate and “true love”. 

And maybe that was the cruelest part of this whole thing. No matter what he did or didn't do, Dick would always lose out in the end. He either wound up thinking he was alone and never destined for the kind of true love he sought, or he wound up with Jason. There was no telling which option was worse. 

“You wanna stop staring at Dick? You're making yourself really obvious.”

Jason didn't bother turning his head or even acknowledging the teen, man, whatever standing next to him. He could feel Tim's judgemental gaze on him, those analytical eyes of his trying to read Jason. Like Jason didn't get enough stares as is. 

“I’m going to need your help here. I can't quite tell if you want to kiss him or fu-”

“Don't you got a case to crack Mr. Big Brain Detective?” Jason interrupted, more than ready to leave this cursed cave. 

“A few,” Tim answered with a bored tone. “And one of them happens to be standing in front of me.”

“Oh, so I'm one of your cases now, am I? Makin’ me feel real welcome over here kid.”

“Well maybe if you were a little more honest about your life we wouldn’t be at this point.”

Jason rolled his eyes, frustration mounting. “Oh, so this is my fault? You’re a nosy little twerp and somehow I’m to blame. Puh, figures.”

Tim hummed, the sound eerily similar to Bruce’s. He shifted, clearly looking around the room, all while Jason leaned his head against the wall, eyes squeezed shut as the mounting headache took root. 

“You know, if you just say something he might-”

Jason didn’t even bother speaking this time. He just blindly threw his arm out, swatting the air in front of Tim as though fighting off flies. While not his first mistake of the night, it was certainly one of his largest.

In no time Jason’s arm was held in a vice like grip, Tim’s thin fingers clutched into his forearm. “You’re injured,” he said with an accusing tone. 

It took far longer than it should have for the situation to catch up to Jason. Injured? What the hell could Tim be talking about? He was perfectly fine, perfectly healthy. His pride was a little wounded, wasn’t it always, and his heart felt like it had been left to bake in the sun, but he wasn’t physically injured. 

Realization dawned on him. “Sprained wrist,” Jason covered quickly, pulling his arm free from Tim’s hold. “Took a bad fall.”

Tim’s frown deepened, his eyes turning accusatory. “No you didn’t,” he stated, as though he could speak the words into reality. “You don’t have bad falls, let alone bad enough to sprain a wrist, not without sustaining other much more obvious injuries.” He stepped closer to Jason, toeing way too close to the line of personal space. “What are you hiding?”

A growl pulled itself from Jason’s throat. “None of your fucking business,” he sneered, forcing the panic back as he stared Tim down. He couldn’t let this twerp get even a hint of what was going on. If that meant he had to hide his panic with righteous anger then so be it. 

Tim took a step back, eyes roaming over Jason’s form as though looking for answers. He didn’t believe Jason’s bravado, that much was obvious. He would figure out what was going on, that was the Bat way after all. “What did you do?” he asked slowly, holding eye contact with Jason even through the helmet.

Jason couldn’t do this. He needed to get out, needed to be away from the Bats and their nosy predilections. He had to deal with Bruce knowing he was marked, he wasn't about to let Timothy Drake of all people know too. He'd drag Steph and Cass into this, and then he'd never hear the end of it. It’s not like he could just skip town. Someone would find him, whether that be Tim, Babs, Bruce, or Dick. And then he’d have to explain himself and deal with that fallout. There was really only one option here: escape. 

He looked over Tim’s shoulder one final time, catching Dick’s eyes across the cave. He tilted his head in question, lips slightly parted. Even like this, just lazily sitting on a table, the man was gorgeous, even from this distance that much was clear. He lifted his water bottle as though in cheers, a smile pulling across his face seemingly just for Jason, before he tilted his head back, showing off that slim and sculpted neck as he drank his water. 

Jason returned his gaze to Tim one final time, letting his resolve take over. Fine. What did you do? Tim wanted to know? Don’tcha worry Timbo, Jason can answer that one for you just fine.

“Your mom.”

The scene in the cave had been…explosive to say the least. Jason’s ears were still ringing and he was sure he’d be getting a lecture about respecting other people at some point in the near future, but he was out of the cave and away from Tim. Crisis averted.

Or so he thought.

About half an hour into his patrol a chill ran down the back of his neck, forcing the hair there to stand up. He was being watched, which meant there was a good chance he was being followed. 

Landing on a rooftop, he reached his arms up, feeling the stretch up his spine. He twisted his upper body around side to side, letting the stretch cover his quick survey of the area. There was no sign of anyone, not a hair, not a footprint, not even a disturbance to the grime building up on the nearby roof’s crappy railing. Either this person was trained, or they were lucky. 

Time to see which it was.

He took off at a run, jumping from one roof to another, repeating the process for a block before jumping into a free fall. He let the air cradle him for a moment, pushing him away from the earth even as gravity tried to pull him in. He grappled to the top of the next building with more than enough time to spare, using the opportunity to change his trajectory. He looked over his shoulder as he resumed his run, finding nothing there, and wondering if he’d maybe been imagining things. He kept running anyway.

Ten minutes later he was halfway across Park Row and decided to wait things out atop a nearby construction site. The scaffolding held his weight well enough, even with the nonstandard entry onto the support structure. He figured this would be as good a place as any to wait out his shadow, if he hadn’t lost them already. But he could still feel eyes on him, and they weren't Oracle’s eyes in the sky. 

He looked around, finding the city rightfully deserted. There were a few stragglers, some late night workers, some students finally making their way home from the library, others making late night grocery runs. But no one was looking for him. 

Seven and a half minutes of taking in his surroundings later and Jason was ready to accept his paranoia as just that and continue his patrol. It wouldn’t be the first time such a thing had happened, granted it had been a while since the last incident. But no one was with him, so no one else had been inconvenienced by his mad dash. He could return to his patrol and go on his way.

“We should do this more often. Reminds me of your Robin days, back when we’d chase each other across the rooftops. How quick you were, still are clearly.”

Jason whirled around, pistol drawn and aimed. Nightwing smiled on the other end of the gun, hands up as he sat on the scoffolding’s railing. 

“No offense, of course,” Dick continued, uncaring for the gun in his face. “I forget how fast B is too. It’s just your size, that’s all.”

Snapping out of it, Jason holstered his gun, muttering at the stupidity of some men. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“That you’re built like a very sturdy tank, and we usually don’t think of those zipping and zooming around rooftops.”

Jason sighed, shaking his head as he lowered himself to the edge of the scaffold, letting his legs dangle off the side as he settled in for the long night. He was clearly going to be here a while, may as well get comfortable. “If you’re here to lecture me about what happened in the cave just do it.”

Dick bounced off the railing, sliding into place beside Jason, knocking their knees together once settled. He reached over, laying his hand on Jason’s forearm, giving a gentle, tentative squeeze.

Heat flew up Jason’s arm, pulsing alongside his heartbeat. He could feel the heat reflecting in his face, traveling up to his ears and down his neck at the contact, all for very different reasons. Jason usually tried to avoid direct contact with all of the Bats. Sometimes it was unavoidable, other times it took him by surprise, but this…felt way too intimate all of a sudden.

“No,” Dick said, thumb drawing circles in the jacket sleeve he held. “At this point that would be a waste of our time.”

“...Then why are you here?”

“To check on you.” Dick looked up from his hand, looking towards Jason and his featureless helmet. Yet he was unfazed despite the lack of visual response. “Red said you were injured.”

“The kid needs to mind his own business. I’m fine.”

“Hood…”

“No, I’m not talking about it. I’m fine and that’s that.”

“Okay.”

Jason sat there, shoulders tense with Dick’s hand on his arm, mere centimeters from the words etched into Jason’s skin, waiting for a follow up only for none to come. He looked to Dick, finding his head leaning on Jason’s shoulder, eyes unfocused in the distance. “Are you okay?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Dick answered with surprising honesty. 

“Wanna, uh, talk about it?” Jason asked awkwardly. Oh god what was happening here.

“Not really, no,” Dick answered.

Jason nodded. So what were they supposed to do now? What was he supposed to do now? Dick wasn’t just sitting next to him, he was leaning on him, he had his hand on Jason’s arm, stroking it with an affection Jason had spent far too many nights longing for. He reached up to the back of his helmet, pressing the buttons there in the right order so as to release the pressure inside. He removed the headpiece, setting it to the side. Turning back to Dick, he found bright blue eyes staring up at him.

“You really are handsome Little Wing,” he said softly.

“Don’t say stupid shit,” Jason muttered back, letting his head rest atop Dick’s. 

Dick chuckled, sending a vibration through Jason’s skull. “But it’s the truth. You’re definitely gonna break some hearts Jay, you have no idea. I wouldn’t be surprised if you already have.”

“Sure Dickie, sure.”

“Glad we could agree.”

Jason didn’t bother gracing him with a response. A light breeze blew through the city, cutting into the growing summer heat. It was comfortable, even as it caused Dick’s hair to tickle Jason’s cheek. The city around them was at peace, and that seemed to reflect in their relaxed figures.

Jason closed his eyes, expecting to breathe in the city fumes and instead catching the scent of the fruity shampoo that Dick liked so much. He felt Dick’s hand move away from his forearm, moving up, up, up, to his hand. Before Jason could bring himself to break the moment, fingers were threaded through his own, locking their hands together. It wasn’t harsh or painful or in any way rough. It was gentle, a reminder of the man leaning against him. It hurt just as much as it felt good.

“You’re gonna give me ideas if you go doin’ stuff like that Wing,” he whispered, almost afraid to speak the words into existence and break what little peace they’d made here.

“Good ones, I hope,” Dick answered. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”

He could lie, probably should, but Jason was tired. Tired of the fighting, tired of the lying, tired of being alone. “From you? No.”

“So if I were Batman…”

“I’d deck you so hard you’d wind up in Metropolis.”

“Really now? What about Red? Or Batgirl?”

“Banned from my territory.”
“Harsh, but reasonable I suppose.”

Jason could feel Dick’s eyes on him, could feel as the man lifted his head from Jason’s shoulder. He shouldn’t look, knew it’d be a bad idea. He did it anyway. 

Blue eyes and a gentle smile were directed his way, hair black as midnight framing that beautiful face. If Jason were a better man he’d admit his feelings right then and there, pull Dick into a kiss, show him the words on his wrist. But he couldn’t, he shouldn’t. He didn’t understand what was going on here, and he wasn’t about to take a risk on it.

“I guess I’m your favorite, huh?” Dick said, twirling some of Jason’s hair around a finger.

“No,” Jason answered automatically, not even bothering to hide the blush anymore. “That’d be Jerry.”

Dick froze at the answer, finger holding his hair tight, his other hand still clutching Jason’s. He stared at Jason, utterly confused, and really, Jason couldn’t blame him.
“You have ten seconds to explain yourself,” Dick said slowly, gripping more of Jason’s hair and pulling his head back with it. “You better start now.”

Dick didn’t seem to notice the surprised gasp that ripped itself from Jason’s throat, expression unyielding. Jason couldn't count his blessings even if he wanted to, the pressure on his scalp increasing as Dick's fingers twisted his hair, forcing his head farther back. 

Jason went stock still, aware that any sudden movement would cause those fingers to tighten. Dick didn't seem to be paying attention to what he was doing to Jason, there was no need to clue him in to Jason's ever growing problem. But the older man was ruthless if anything, even here. He leaned closer, head tilting and Jason braced for the kiss he'd been dreaming about for the past decade.

Instead of the feeling of Dick's soft, plump lips on his own, he felt Dick's breath along his jaw, up to his ear. 

“Let's try this again,” Dick murmured low and dark. “Who's your favorite?”

"I distinctly recall Ducra telling you not to go messing with the magic of soulmates." Talia's voice rang out, almost sending Jason back out his safe house’s window. It had been far too long since he'd seen the woman, let alone had her attention directed towards him. Her presence here was an unexpected and truly unwanted surprise.

"I don't remember sending you an invitation," Jason responded, managing to pull himself the rest of the way into the shabby excuse for an apartment.

"And I don't recall ever needing one," came the expected response as Talia took up residence in the nearest doorway, hip cocked against the doorframe and eyes taking in his tired form. "Once again, I ask, did Ducra not tell you to mess around with magic involving soulmates?"

"Hello to you too," Jason grumbled. His jacket and gloves hit the nearby chair, thigh holsters soon joining them. "Yeah, the old lady told me not to fuck with that shit, but I’m not the one who went messing around with that soulmate magic mumbo jumbo." His boots slid off with a bit of effort, socks only able to hold in so much sweat before it leaked out into the boots proper. They found their place beside the chair, the assortment waiting to be cleaned. "Where the fuck did you even hear I was involved in that shit anyway?" he asked, finally making eye contact with the woman who had, for all intents and purposes, given him his second life.

"I can feel it," she answered simply, eyes landing on his bandaged wrist.

"Cool, so you just happen to feel this shit and decide to come bother me about it? There've been I don't know how many other people out getting these damn marks intentionally, why ain't you out bugging them?"

"Because they aren't the reason I am in Gotham," she answered simply, finally entering the room. She came to stand before him, looking down at his seated position, arms crossed in a way that screamed 'I'm not angry, just disappointed' which always meant she was calling him a fool, whether he could hear it or not. "Damian told me you'd been acting strange lately. He asked that I check on you."

"Excuse me?!" Jason snapped.

"He also mentioned an injury that you and the Drake boy had been fighting about your concealment of." She looked down at his balled up fist, the wrapping on full display with his jacket and glove off. "Though, I suppose it isn't an injury you're hiding after all. I am relieved his fears were unfounded."

Jason grumbled, running his hands through his hair. He forced himself to his feet, intent on a shower. "Seriously Tals, this could've been an email, a text, a fucking phone call. We have this thing now, video call? AKA, not breaking into my perfectly good safehouse?"

She watched his outburst, expression bored even through his anger. Once his final words were expelled and his anger lessened to frustration, she stepped forward. "Is it truly so difficult to believe that someone might wish to see you? That I might wish to see you?"

She brushed a piece of hair from his forehead, brushing the white strands back with their still black brethren. He deflated at her words, even more so her touch.

"I understand your worry over the others discovering your mark," she said, continuing to brush her fingers through his hair. "It is a liability if they were to find out, but you must be careful, especially if you are to remain in good standing with your father."

"He ain't my dad," Jason murmured.

"And despite that, you've grown to look so much like him." She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his forehead. He allowed it, the tension in his shoulders finally seeping out ever so slightly. "Go wash yourself, I will be here when you get out."

He nodded, turning to do as she said, the familiar calm washing over him.

"And do not cover the mark," she said to his retreating form. "I cannot help that which I cannot see."

His bathroom was cramped, more than a few tiles cracked or outright missing, and the bath tub had certainly seen better days. Despite that, all he cared about was the hot water pouring out of the faucet, filling the tub so he could soak all the grime off and let his muscles relax in the heat and steam. He spent far longer than he should in there, mind wandering as he did so. He knew she wouldn't leave. Talia wasn't one to give up that easily. She had the patience of a saint, even if her moral code was the exact opposite, not that Jason had any room to judge. She would wait all night if need be, granted by that point she would just break the door down, muttering about idiots drowning in their own bathtub as she pulled him out, uncaring of his protests, let alone his size. 'I have taken down men twice your size, why would you be any different?' he remembered her saying once, which he could only take to be her version of 'Fuck around and find out'. She might not always be fair, but at least she was consistent.

The sweet scent of one of her candles greeted him as he left the bathroom, joined swiftly by the smell of her tea leaves. She was already sipping from her cup when he sat down, eyes directed towards the window, towards the few street lights outside his apartment. He poured himself a cup, taking his first sip, accepting that this was him accepting her presence here.

"Show it to me," she said, setting her cup down.

He laid his arm on the table, palm up, the deep blue mark on full display. He did his best to ignore what was happening, the fingertips tracking the lines, her breath on the skin as she got closer.

She sat back, taking up her tea again, clearly waiting for him to look up. When he finally did, she just cocked an eyebrow, finishing her drink before setting the cup down once more. "Richard?" she asked with a hint of annoyance. "You have the whole word at your fingertips and your soulmate has to be Richard?"

"Hey! It's not like I chose this thing," he argued, pulling his hand back.

"You didn't choose the mark, no. But soulmates are made Jason. They are not decided by the universe. This is not some child's fairytale."

"You say that like I want that asshole's handwriting on me," he grumbled.

"Really? Because I happen to remember certain nights-"

"I was a teenager who was taking a crash course in puberty. Don't you dare use that against me."

She chuckled at his outrage, leaning back as she continued to smile. "That's not what your wrist tells me."

"Oh, fuck off."

"No, I don't believe I will."

He groaned, flinging himself back, more than aware that he wasn't being the best of hosts, but it wasn't like he'd been given a choice! Uninvited guests don't get to demand a good hosting experience, and certainly not one as judgy as Talia al'Ghul.

He looked down at the words on his wrist, eyes slowly moving back to Talia. "You know a way to remove them," he said slowly, apprehensively.

"Perhaps," she stated. "Although you won't like the method, your father certainly wasn't a fan of it."

"You saw Bruce? He showed you his mark?" Now that, that was a surprise. Bruce was already so closed off, hated sharing anything about himself. It was already a surprise that he’d shown his mark to Jason, but for him to share the mark, something so personal, to the woman he'd once loved? Who in some fucked up way still loved him? In a way it felt cruel, essentially confirming for Talia that they could never truly be happy together, not when Bruce was clearly meant for another.

"No," Talia answered with a sigh. "But much like yourself, it was clear he had one."

Okay then. "So how do you remove this thing?" he asked once again.

She leaned forward, all pretense put to the side as she took his hands. "It is not a fool proof method," she warned, eyes reflecting the gravity of the situation. "In fact, I cannot even guarantee it would work, especially if my suspicions about Bruce's mark are correct."

"Who do you think it is?" Jason asked out of curiosity. He knew, but that was also thanks to seeing the man's wrist, knowing of his former associates. She hadn't seen anything.

"Now why would you want to know that?" she said, tightening her grip on his hands.

"Curiosity?"

"And that's what killed the cat."

"But satisfaction brought it back."

"Hmm, that is true." She tilted her head, eyes drifting. "It is not the Kyle woman, there would have been no hesitation on his part if it had been. I imagine it'd be the same if it were any woman really. He always was so paranoid about expressing his attraction to men, not that I can blame him. The Gotham media has always been vicious, and he’s had too much to protect to allow them the knowledge of his same sex attraction." She sighed. "His match is clearly a man, beyond that, I can only hope it is someone worthy of his affections. That Kryptonian boy scout might be a goody two shoes, but they get along well. But something tells me that's not who it is. He would not have reacted the way he did if it was."

Jason nodded along to her reasoning, thankful for the validation of his own suspicions. “So how do we get these things off then?” he asked, apprehension building in his gut. If Bruce reacted negatively enough for Talia to note it, it couldn’t be good.

"The only way I have ever heard of a soulmark disappearing once created is by breaking the bond. And that only happens once both sides are aware of the bond and choose to cut contact."

Jason leaned on the table, resting his head in his hands. "I ain't confessing to Dickface," he mumbled into his hands.

"See? You truly are your father's son," Talia said with a small smile.

Jason just sighed, burrowing deeper into his arms. No, he wasn't going to show the mark to Dick, wasn't going to confess to the man. That was basically suicide. He had better things to do. Namely getting the fuck out of town.

"Granted," Talia continued, "I've only heard rumors of such marks being removed, let alone in this manner, so it's not even a guarantee."

"Course not."

More tea was poured, the remainder of Alfred's cookies pulled from their container so they could snack in silence. Before he knew it, the sky beyond Jason's window began to light up, the sun coming out for its daily battle with the skies. Talia stood as the sun’s rays entered the apartment, taking it as her sign to leave.

"Should I expect another unannounced visit any time soon?" Jason asked as she put her coat on.

She shook her head, smiling with mirth. "I cannot make such promises. Perhaps if you initiated contact more often I wouldn't have to resort to such measures."

He rolled his eyes, recalling a certain twerp making a similar claim the other night. "Sure, like breaking and entering ain't one of your favorite pastimes."

"Don't go giving me ideas now Jason. I might be forced to take it as an invitation."

He continued to watch her, boots now on, coat securely closed around her. "Do you think I should do it?" he asked softly, unable to meet her eyes.

"Do what? You must be more clear in your questions. I am not a mind reader."

"Tell him."

She sighed and shook her head. "I think you should do it only if it will make you happy," she answered, eyes tired. "Tell him because you want to, not because you feel obligated to."

"How will I know which I'm feeling then?" He asked, more than aware he was doing this as a way to keep her there for just a little bit longer.

"You won't, and that's why matters of the heart are so damned difficult. Just remember, you at least have a chance if that mark on your wrist is anything to go by, more than a chance really. It's definitely more than I had."

Jason didn't answer, knew it wouldn't be appreciated even if he did. Standing to her full height, Talia tilted his head down, placing a kiss on his forehead once more as she pushed his hair back.

"Be safe," she said in place of a goodbye. “I am not the only one worried for you anymore.”

He grumbled under his breath, arms crossed as she took her leave. At least she left the tea and candles. It’s the least he deserved.

“I love you.”

The words slipped past his lips with an ease he hadn’t expected, even if the air around him felt like it was trying to suffocate him. 

A familiar smile graced the face before him, all teeth and dimples and wrinkles at the corners of gorgeous blue eyes. “Aww, Little Wing,” Dick said, voice like music to his ears. “I love you too.”

Heart pounding in his chest, Jason finally felt a smile cross his face. “R-really?” he stuttered, gripping Dick’s hand even tighter, hope shining just over the horizon. Maybe his feelings weren’t for nothing, maybe he had a chance after all.

“Of course I love you,” Dick said, squeezing Jason’s hands back. “I love everyone.”

Everything came to a halt at his words, a chill crawling its way up Jason’s spine. No, no this couldn’t be happening.

“I love you, and Damian and Tim and B and Alf. Steph and Cass too, they’ve been doing so well lately. And can’t forget about Babs and Kori, gosh they’re so wonderful, I’m so lucky to have them.”

“Dick, what do you…”

“Oh wait! I didn’t tell you yet, did I?” Dick interrupted, glee in his eyes. He lifted their still joined hands, bringing the engagement ring on his finger into view. “Babs said y-”

The apartment slammed into view around him, the dust bunnies under his bed saying hello when Jason managed to snap his eyes open. He forced himself up, surveying the room around him. The popcorn ceiling was still yellowing, the bed still passable if in need of some tlc. His boots were still sitting outside of the closet door, the only piece of Red Hood not hidden away from prying eyes. The sunlight peeked through his curtains, letting him know it was a new day, a real day, not some nightmare, even if the day was coming to an end. 

He shook his head, feeling a migraine come on. This was ridiculous. It had been weeks since he’d gotten the mark, months even, why was he now getting these dreams again? He wasn’t some horny, love struck teenager anymore, he was a grown ass adult with adult expectations of the world. Surely he shouldn’t be having to deal with this anymore. Or at least, it shouldn’t be so damn PG. 

The image of a shirtless Dick Grayson crossed his mind, skin drenched in sweat from his latest workout, coy smirk crossing his face as he sauntered in Jason’s direction, hips swaying like he had nothing to lose. Pushing Jason to the ground, straddling his waist as his face got ever closer… Okay, no, no that would not be better, in fact it would be so much worse. Stupid love confessions at least gave him a chance to look Dick in the eyes again. Wet dreams? Like hell, Jason not only would never look Dick’s in the eye again, he wouldn’t be caught dead in the same state as the man. He wasn’t willing to take that kind of a chance. 

A familiar feeling of annoyance creeped up his shoulders. He’d never be having these dreams if Talia hadn’t welcomed herself to his apartment, probing him with her tea and claims of concern, and she never would have shown up if it weren’t for her son being a nosy little brat, let alone Tim causing their little scene in the cave. And Jason likely wouldn’t have this damn mark if it weren’t for Dick and Bruce fucking around with lantern ring wielding, love obsessed mystics. 

So really, what that meant, was this was actually Bruce’s fault. And if there was one thing Jason excelled at, it was making sure Bruce knew of his fuck ups. 

Suited up and ready to be more than a little toxic, he left his apartment in search of the man he’d once called a father.

Gotham’s putrid air breezed past as Jason traversed the city’s rooftops. For once, he could almost see the stars through the late night smog, a faint twinkle just barely making a mark in the endless darkness. If he were any other man he might take it to be a sign of good fortune. Good thing for him he wasn’t that stupid. 

As his night went on the buildings he crossed grew taller, the street lights brighter. He was out of the Narrows that much was obvious. A few more miles, a few thousand more sleeping Gothamites to pass by, and he’d found what he’d been looking for. 

One might mistake Batman for a gargoyle, his large figure hunched on the rooftop, completely still at Jason’s arrival. Bruce didn’t even turn his head to acknowledge him, just gave a chest deep hum when Jason’s boots entered his field of vision. Following the man’s line of sight revealed exactly what Jason expected, forcing him to put a pause on his earlier plans of nagging the man. A tightness took hold in his chest at the sight of the man across the way, the curtains of the room drawn but not enough to cover who Bruce was checking on. 

The image of Bruce’s wrist flashed across Jason’s memory, the jumbled mess of black and red lines. Two sets of handwriting, two different names juxtaposed one atop the other, neither more important than the other. Bruce and Bats , neither on top nor the bottom, both forced to live in harmony. 

It was sickeningly poetic, especially once you realized who the handwriting belonged to.

“Are you ever going to tell him?” Jason asked softly as he crouched next to Bruce. “You two knew each other before…maybe he, they would…”

“No,” Bruce answered, voice tired and worn. “In another life I would have been overjoyed to have his writing on my wrist, in some strange way I still am. But we can’t change the past, and I won’t force a future that I know could lead to ruin.”

“You don’t know that,” Jason reasoned. 

“No, but I do know I won’t force him to be something he isn’t.”

They let the silence stretch between them, watching as Harvey flitted around the room below, none the wiser to the men watching, let alone to the dual handwriting on Bruce’s wrist. 

“How often have you done this?” Jason asked.

“Done what?”

“Come out to see him. You clearly aren’t watching him because you think he's up to something. You’re just…watching to watch.”

“...Longer than I’ve had the mark,” Bruce finally admitted. “I miss him. Time is supposed to make things easier.”

“Doesn’t mean it will,” Jason said with an understanding tone.

“No, it doesn’t.” Bruce sighed, shaking his head slightly. “You know, I almost told him, years ago. Back before the accident, even before Dick came along.” Harvey disappeared from view once more, his blurred form appearing in another window. “I'd been so close to telling him. Then he introduced me to Gilda and I knew I didn't stand a chance.”

The lights began to dim across the street, the building closing down for whatever illicit business was going down.

“They'd married not long after, and then Dick came into my life and I had more important things to focus on than my self imposed broken heart.” 

“You say that like you two being together and you taking in bird brain couldn't happen at the same time,” Jason said.

“It couldn't,” Bruce stated, like it was a fact. “You remember how the media was when I took you in, the accusations they threw my way.” He turned to Jason, meeting his eyes. “How much worse do you think that would've been had I been out to the public? Let alone in a relationship with another man?” He shook his head, turning back to his post. “And Harvey's career? He wouldn't have had a chance at any kind of public office. It was for the best.”

“...and now?” Jason asked, watching the final window turn black.

Bruce shook his head once more, a pained expression on his face. “Too many complications, too many possibilities. I'd be risking the safety of all of my children and allies if something were to go wrong. My feelings hold a lesser priority.”

There was no movement in the building before them, all the remaining souls turning in for the night. A seemingly normal occurrence, even if the occupants were anything but. 

“You know you don't have to always do this,” Jason found himself saying, eyes trained on the dark windows even as Bruce stood to his full height. 

“Do what exactly?”

“This whole ‘I’m Batman, therefore my life must be miserable’ shtick you've had going on for God knows how long. It's getting old.”

Bruce shook his head, turning his back on his self imposed watch, and beginning the journey across the rooftop. “Was there something you needed?” he asked, sidestepping the question entirely. 

“Yeah, but your tragedy of a love story has taken all the momentum out of me,” Jason sneered. “Seriously, how am I supposed to blame you for anything when you're being all sad and mopey over there? Next thing you know you're gonna be the one flipping a coin. Heads he loves me, tails he loves me not.”

“I doubt that very much. You're far too stubborn to let something as simple as someone's feelings stop you.”

“Oh please, like you're one to talk Mr I Brood Outside My Beloved’s Window Every Night,” Jason argued, already hot on Bruce's tail. 

“I don't do this every night,” Bruce tried to argue, frustration and embarrassment showing in his tone. 

“Ooh, sounds like somebody's in denial ,” Jason gloated, smirk apparent behind the helmet. 

Bruce huffed at the remark, firing his grappling hook in an attempt to escape this conversation.

“Aw hell no you are not running away now. We are in the middle of a breakthrough. I can see the headlines now. Batman Capable of Love? More on page 3 .”

“This isn't funny, son.”

“Oh it very much is.”

Their bickering coated the air, bringing Jason some semblance of a peace that he hadn't felt in the past few weeks. For the moment he could just forget, forget everything that was wrong with the world, everything that was going wrong. For maybe the first time in the last few weeks, Dick and this stupid mark and his shitty situation were out of his head. 

In the distance, far behind them, a lone figure watched their departure from a shrouded window, watching as his most common visitor grappled across the Gotham skylines.

The strange thing was, Jason was actually becoming comfortable with the mark. After so many weeks, so many months, of the thing being ingrained into his wrist it had become almost…normal. Little Wing was usually one of the first things he saw when he woke up and one of the last before he gave in to the throws of sleep. It was comforting, a steady reminder that even if it didn’t feel that way, he had a connection to someone. In some way shape or form, he was meant to be here, had to be, for the mark to exist if what Talia said was true.

If it weren’t for his paranoia over the whole thing Jason would have foregone covering the mark. But the idea of anyone seeing the mark, recognizing Dick’s handwriting, and drawing their own conclusions kept that urge at bay. As far as he knew the only ones aware of the soulmarks were Bruce, Dick, and himself, which means to anyone else it would look like Jason had gone out and gotten a tattoo of Dick’s handwriting on his wrist. Good relations or not, he’d look like a total creep. Damian would probably try to skewer him for daring to do such a thing to his precious Grayson. 

He’d gotten comfortable, almost to a fault, letting the other Bats in, letting them get close. Could he stomach losing that? Bruce would understand, as weird as that may sound, but the others? Excuses and lies, that’s what they’d tell him.

But the longer he hid this, the higher the chance of being found out and Dick getting hurt. And this whole…whatever they’ve got going on would come crashing down in a blaze of Dick’s righteous fury. He should tell Dick, needed to tell Dick. But even just the thought of showing him the mark brought a tightness to Jason’s chest, a chill descending on his back. He couldn’t do this, not like this. 

So he pulled out his one final option to force himself to do it.

I’ll tell Dickie if you tell Dent.

The words stared back from his phone screen, accusation in their black and white state. He was not only a grown ass man, he was the Red Hood, former crime lord, current vigilante menace. He was that bitch. He shouldn’t need to make a deal with someone to do this, let alone with Bruce. 

He hit send, if only so he couldn’t give himself a chance to delete the words. Message sent, he threw the phone down, groaning into his hands. Why was everything so difficult? Could he really not have one moment of normalcy in his fucked up life? Was peace truly not an option. 

His phone buzzed almost immediately and in his hesitation to pick it up it buzzed again. Oh god the old man was telling him off, wasn’t he? 

Picking up the phone revealed the complete opposite.

Consider it done. 

Do you have a timeframe in mind?

Jason stared at the phone screen, surprised at how easily Bruce caved. The man was normally stubborn as an ox, refusing to be moved unless his life or another's depended on it. For him to accept without even a moment's hesitation…

I didn't think that far ahead Jason admitted. Realistically they were both busy with their own cases, patrols, and responsibilities. Not only that, they'd be limited to when Dick and Harvey were available. 

Jason read over Bruce's messages as his ellipses bounced at the bottom of Jason's screen, realizing a pretty crucial piece of information. You don’t seem too surprised

The ellipses disappeared for a moment, likely a result of Bruce reading the new text. Thankfully they returned quickly, even if they left Jason more nervous than he had any reason to be. He had so many things he could be doing, why was he sitting on his phone texting with Bruce of all people and not researching a case or hunting down some bastard.

I had a feeling. Was the only answer Jason got, and that was probably for the best. Couldn’t risk some nosy board member seeing Bruce’s phone and getting information they never should have had access to. In some weird way it helped Jason to calm down, helped him feel just that little bit more accepted, a little less crazy. 

His phone buzzed in his hand, drawing him back to the screen. Coming to Sun brunch? 

Sunday brunch, the brunch that happened on Sunday, the brunch where everyone ate food as a group and talked and mingled and acted like a family . Could he handle Sunday brunch?

We’ll see he sent, tucking the phone back into his jean pocket once done. He had work to do, and that wasn’t gonna get done if he was chit chatting with Bruce about brunch all day. He had to plan, strategize. He was on a limited schedule now, and he knew he’d get questions about his progress, it’s part of why he chose to go this route. This way he’ll say something much sooner if for nothing else than to avoid awkward looks and conversations.

That and his overachieving self needed the validation of a task well done. Sue him.

Lights flashed around him, the smell of fire and smoke filling his nostrils and the taste of copper filling his mouth. He shouldn't be here, never should have agreed to come. It had been a trap, that much was obvious from the start. But those big blue eyes had him in a choke hold, one Jason knew he’d never be capable of saying no to.

He somehow managed to dodge the next hit, grabbing the offending appendage and flipping his attacker for their efforts. The sound of a table breaking behind him let him know his aim had been true, the silence from the figure telling him they were out for the count. Damn it, why’d he have to agree to this? Hell, why was he the one Dick asked to help on this op? 

“On your left!”

Dick’s voice rang out through the ringing in his ears, just in time for Jason to knock the guy’s teeth out. Jason just barely heard the soft thud behind him, the whisper of a landing that he’d long since memorized. 

“We almost done here?” he asked once Dick rounded his side, nudging Jason’s fallen attacker.

“Just about,” Dick said, satisfied with their assailants’ current state of unconsciousness. They’d need to get them out of the building, preferably sooner than later. Those flames might have started in the basement, but it was only a matter of time before it reached them. “Here.” 

Jason’s eyes snapped to the hand before him. A small flash drive sat in Dick’s bare hand.

“Consider it payment for helping,” he said as Jason took the drive. 

“So I’m getting paid in more than exposure and experience tonight?” Jason countered sarcastically, already making his way to the nearest window with a fire escape. “Gee, I must be the luckiest man in the world.”

Dick shook  his head, smile starting to creep its way back onto his face. “You kids these days. Back in my day we subsided off of the promises of our employers. Who needs money when you’ve got broken dreams?”

The window finally moved under their combined force, sliding open just enough for someone to slip past. The sound of approaching sirens became clearer, fire trucks inbound to deal with the fire their little stunt had created. Well, that Dick’s little stunt had caused. Jason had nothing to do with this, nothing at all. Like hell would he be taking the blame for any of this mess. 

Like a well oiled machine, they moved the few individuals still left on the floor out, shuffling them down the fire escape as quickly as they could while trying to stay out of sight. Honestly, at this point Jason wasn’t sure if it would have been better for them to break into the bar as Nightwing and Red Hood instead of coming as two random civilians who were apparently staring a little too hard at the wrong guy. Paranoid little bitch.

And then Dick went and followed him to the basement, at which point came the boom. He was lucky he came back when he did or Jason would have gone and found him himself, dead or alive. And if dead, well, guess that’s just something the two of them and Damian can bond over once Jason drags his ass back into the land of the living. 

With all their assailants laid out on the ground before them, Jason took the opportunity to try catching his break. The smoke was rising, the flames beginning to engulf the ground floor. “I hate you sometimes, ya know that?” he grunted, finally standing back up to his full height only to realize Dick was no longer standing beside him. “Dick?” he called out, looking around for the older man. He snarled, looking up to the window they’d just gone through to find a familiar blue shirt disappearing into the window below it. “Fucking idiot,” Jason grumbled, already making his way back up the fire escape. 

If it weren’t for Dick being inside, Jason would have left by now, at least that’s what he liked to tell himself. By now the smoke was billowing up through the elevator shaft, no doubt coating the ceiling of the upper floors a dark gray and making it hard to see. 

“Dick!” Jason tried yelling one more time to now avail. Great, just great. Tapping the comm in his ear, he hoped the damn thing was still working even after his earlier punch to the head. “Where the hell did you go?” he growled, heading for what he could only assume was the back office.

“Supply closet,” came the static filled answer.

“Now is not the time to play seven minutes in heaven you prick. We gotta go. Fire’s rising, and the firefighters will be soon too.”

A hand came out of nowhere, bunching into his shirt and pulling him into the closest doorway. “Funny,” Dick commented with a cough, already returning to the filing cabinets before them. “I got everything I could on that flash drive, doesn’t mean there’s not more here.”

Jason snarled at the comment, a fury rising at Dick’s clear lack of care towards their situation. He knew he had no room to talk, his self preservation skills weren’t exactly well known, but by damn he was not letting Dick pull this shit. He grabbed Dick’s arm, spinning him around to pin him to the wall. “What part of fire coming, we need to go, don’t you fucking understand?” he snarled.

Dick glared, his own snarl forming at the words. “Oh, because Mr Bomb in My Headgear is so concerned with keeping himself alive.”

“That’s different.”

“Sure it is, just like it was different when you lit that freighter on fire last month.”

“It was .”

“It wasn’t .”

“Ugh, would you just shut the fuck up and come on already? We don’t have time for this.”

“You’re right, we don’t,” Dick snapped, pulling himself out of Jason’s pin. “If you’re that concerned get going, you know where the exit is.”

Back to the filing cabinet, Dick’s hands moved in a flurry. “I’m not leaving without you,” Jason growled, quieter.

“Then help me look,” Dick sighed, pointing to the next cabinet even as sweat poured down his face. “We’re looking for Pragma.”

Jason nodded, already pulling the cabinet door out. “Anything in particular?”

“No. We want everything and anything we can get.”

The smoke continued to pour in, though by now the fire sounded like it had died down. They could hear voices, dull and muffled, all from the lower floors. File upon file was left in their place, none brandishing the name or word Dick had mentioned. What the hell were they even looking for?

“Aha!”

Dick’s exclamation of victory drew Jason’s attention, the folder in his hand holding more papers than Jason had been prepared to see. 

“That what we’re looking for?” Jason asked, a sudden lightheadedness coming over him. Damn smoke.

“Yup,” Dick announced, tucking the folder away in his bag quickly. “Which means it’s time to get the hell out of here.”

The sound of footsteps grew louder, voices ringing out down the halls causing the men to freeze in place. They couldn’t leave, not now. Filing cabinets closed, door slightly cracked, it was clear they wouldn’t be making a break for it without being spotted. Question was, were they dealing with the fire department? Or were they dealing with the mob that ran this joint? 

Footsteps coming ever closer, Dick turned back to Jason, a calculating look in his eyes.

“What?” Jason whispered, frustration at their situation hitting him square in the chest.

“I have an idea,” Dick answered, moving closer. Only he didn’t stop getting closer, backing Jason up into a shelf. 

“Would ya like to fill me in?” 

“Fake out,” was all Dick whispered before the voices were at the door, pulling it open. 

Jason was ready for what was to come, ready to push Dick behind him, cover whatever attack might come their way. What he wasn’t ready for was Dick’s hand on the back of his head, pulling his face down just enough for their lips to crash together. In the moment the footsteps outside the door didn’t exist, the guns that were probably being pointed at them held no importance, and the mob they’d just fucked with could go eat  rocks. 

There was a crashing noise beside them, something coming off the shelf to hit the floor. He did that, Jason realized, his mind too far focused on Dick, on his lips, his hands in Jason’s hair, the hand on his side that was holding so tight onto him, the thigh between his own. He could get lost in this, was lost, but just like every other good thing in his life this had to come to an end at some point.

“Fellas!” Someone yelled from the doorway. Dick practically dragged his lips off of Jason’s turning just enough to see the interlopers even as he rested more of his weight on the larger man.

“Something we can help you with?” he asked, voice lower, raspy even.

The firefighter just rolled his eyes, the others behind them snickering. “Fire,” he said, pointing up to the smoke hovering in the air. “You boys need to evacuate the building. You can finish your…business at home.”

“Shoot,” Dick answered, looking up like he’d never seen the smoke before. “I guess we really were too hot for this joint, huh babe?”

Those eyes were once again on him, all half lidded and full of sin. As much as Jason might have wanted to hold eye contact, it just wasn’t gonna happen. 

“Sorry,” Dick said, turning his smile back to the firefighters. “He’s not really much of a talker, especially when you get him all worked up.” He turned back to Jason, finally taking a step back. “Let’s get you home,” he said, voice inching back to normal even as he grabbed Jason’s hand.

A shock ran up Jason’s wrist at the contact, Dick’s finger making contact with the parts of the mark that his watch couldn’t cover. He must have jolted at the sensation if Dick’s worried expression was anything to go by. He lead Jason out, following the firefighters to the very same window they’d used earlier. The trip out was much less frantic, but somehow even more nerve-wracking than the last one. The firefighters tried directing them towards the paramedics, but Dick managed to wave them off, citing that their apartment wasn’t far and they were perfectly fine. The firefighters looked ready to argue, then must’ve remembered the scene they caught them in and let them go.

The trek to Jason’s safehouse felt longer than it ever had before, not helped by Dick’s arm around his waist, or Jason’s arm across his shoulders, allowing Dick to hold his hand, though not in the way Jason might’ve wanted. 

Once inside the apartment Dick deposited Jason on the couch, going to his bathroom to grab a bowl of water and a washcloth. They said nothing, forcing the awkward feeling to remain in the air. 

Bowl of water on the coffee table and damp washcloth in hand, Dick began wiping Jason’s face with it, wiping the soot and specks of blood from his skin. The water quickly turned gray as a result, even more so once Dick dropped the washcloth in, clearly thinking they were done. 

Before he had a chance to say anything, Jason reached for the bowl, wringing the cloth out the best he could. He cupped Dick’s cheek, thumb running down the cheekbone and drawing a line in the grime there. Dick closed his eyes, accepting the poor excuse for a washing just as Jason had. At some point the soot and dirt just began to smear, and Jason took it as his sign to change the water. Returning with a new bowl, he retook his spot beside Dick, finally feeling comfortable enough to speak.

“Pragma, that’s one of them seven types of love, ain’t it?” Jason asked, resuming his task. 

“Yeah, enduring love is what it’s usually simplified down to,” Dick answered.

“So why would the mob have a file on love?”

“I think it’s really a gang. I thought it was just one individual doing it, but I might be have been wrong.”

Jason wrung the clothes out, turning back to Dick. “I’mma need you to elaborate a bit more than that Dickie. Unless you’re expecting to keep me in the dark here.”

Dick sighed, leaning into the hand on his face. “A group of mystics, all obsessed with the idea of soulmates and showing people their one true love.”

Jason paused, waiting for Dick to continue. “Is that really such a bad thing?” he asked when it became clear Dick wasn’t going to continue talking.

“That’s what I wondered,” Dick mumbled. “It’s not like they’re marking people who aren’t asking for it. As far as I’ve seen, the only people coming out with those marks are the ones who went asking for them.”

“Hmm.”

“Well, people who asked for them and Bruce. We confronted one of them, needless to say she didn’t take too kindly to what Bruce said about her line of work.”

“Shocker.”

“He hasn’t said anything about his mark since that night though, just keeps it covered. Out of sight out of mind, except…”

“Except he’s going to see his other half,” Jason finished for him, the memory of a heartbroken Batman watching Two Face creeping into his mind.

Dick opened his eyes, an accusatory look crossing his features. “You know?” he asked softly.

“Kinda hard not to.” Jason shook his head, looking away. “The old man’s moping has a presence about it.”

Dick continued staring, head tilting in thought. After an extended silence he finally said, “You have one.”

Head dropping, Jason looked down to his covered wrist, the bottom of a g sticking out below the watch, the top of the first l trying to escape to the palm of his hand. 

“When did you get it?” Dick asked, eyes darting down to Jason’s wrist before returning to his face.

“Few months ago,” he admitted, returning the cloth to the bowl of dirty water. 

Dick squeezed his eyes shut, hands fisting before he got himself back under control. “I’m glad,” he said, small smile on his face.

“Dick…”

“Have you told them yet? You’ve got to introduce us. Someone’s gotta be responsible for the shovel talk, and given my past relationships I absolutely do not trust Bruce with that role.”

“Dickie-”

“This is great Jason, really, I’m so happy for yo-”

“I didn’t see any mystic,” Jason finally interrupted. 

“What are you saying?”

Jason squeezed his eyes shut, gripping Dick’s hands in his own. “Don't hate me, alright?” he whispered, looking up once more.

“Little Wing, I could never hate you, why would you even-”

“I love you.” 

The words pulling Dick to a stop, lips parted in shock. “Jason,” he said with as much calm as he could muster. “Don’t joke like that. You have a soulmate, there’s no need to settle.”

Jason groaned, reaching, leaning closer to Dick. “Please Dick, just listen-”

“I’m not letting you throw this away.”

Jason sighed, releasing Dick’s hands at the words.  through his voice, lifting his own hand. “There’s no way we could be happy together knowing that you-”

“Shut up,” Jason snarled, flinging his watch across the room. “Just shut up.”

Jason held up his wrist, the blue Little Wing written across his wrist for all to see. Dick slowly reached out, touching the sensitive skin  ats hough testing the reality of the mark. He grabbed the cloth from the bowl, barely stopping to bring it out before dragging it across Jason’s wrist, no doubt checking for the smearing of ink. 

When his tests came back clear, he looked back up to Jason, confusion written across his face. 

“When you got hit with the soulmate mumbo jumbo it didn’t mark you,” Jason said softly, grabbing Dick’s wrist, “because it marked me instead.”

Dick’s stare went from understanding to uncomfortable really quickly. Instead of speaking he just continue to look at Jason, bewilderment in his eyes. That is, until his features all but crumbled. 

“Jason, I’m so sorr-”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Jason interrupted. “This mark has no bearing on my feelings, just tells me I might, might , have a chance. You can sit there and tell me you’re not interested, you don’t see me that way, I can accept that. But don’t you dare sit there and apologize for being my soulmate. I’ve loved you far too long for me to accept that bullshit.”

“You mean that,” Dick said. “You really mean that.”

“Have my feelings always been the healthiest? Fuck no. Does that mean they’re any less real?”

“No,” Dick answered, a sort of relief taking over him. He reached for Jason’s wrist again, lifting it so he could view the words again. “Little Wing,” he read, a relieved sort of laugh escaping him. “My Little Wing, my soulmate. I have a soulmate.”

Jason huffed, letting Dick keep his wrist hostage even as he plopped back into the couch. “God, ya don’t gotta make it weird Dick.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dick countered, laughter fully breaking as he followed Jason farther into the couch cushions. “The soulmate I’ve been waiting months to know is right in front of me telling me he loves me. The only way I could make this weird is by running away.”

Jason just grumbled, looking away as Dick seemed to be getting closer. 

“Now here’s an idea,” Dick said, running his finger down the side of Jason’s face, following his jaw and tilting it up. “Why don’t we continue what we started earlier? Before we were so rudely interrupted.”

“Yeah, sure, interrupted ,” Jason droned out, feeling the small hold on sanity he had left begin to snap as Dick’s face got closer. “Think I’d prefer a shower first. Rather not die of smoke inhalation tonight just because you wanna make out, thank you very much.”

“Fine,” Dick huffed, dropping his head to Jason’s shoulder. “Can I get one kiss though? Just to hold me over?”

“An hour ago you had no idea we were soulmates,” Jason said with an eye roll.

“And I still would’ve been down to make out with our resident zombie.”

“What?”

“Oh nothing,” Dick said, leaning up just enough to peck Jason on the lips. “But that wasn’t a no.”

Jason took the kiss, and the follow ups, without complaint. Who was he to deny himself, let alone Dick? 

*Bonus*

Bruce had a love hate relationship with Gotham’s rainfalls. On one hand they were calming, soothing in a way that reminded him of late mornings spent curled up with his mother as they watched the rain paint different patterns on the Manor's opulent windows. On the other hand, being caught in the rain meant consequences, namely of the wet kind. His suit might be made of the most waterproof material in human existence, but it couldn’t stop the water from sticking to him, pooling in every nook and cranny his body had to offer, ready to assault whatever dry surface he might pass. 

That was his current dilemma. Crouched on the window ledge, rain pelting down on his caped back. He should get inside, wanted inside, needed to go inside. But his sopping wet form would leave a trail, leave evidence that he’d been there. He shouldn’t be here, but he couldn’t leave. Not yet. 

“ Well if it isn’t a bat on my balcony. ”

The familiar voice pulled him from his thoughts, forcing his eyes up. The curtain had been pulled apart just slightly, just enough for the man on the other side to be visible, his mismatched features looking unimpressed at finding Bruce on the other side.

“Get in here,” Harvey said, voice once more that of his old friend. The window creaked as it was opened, the rain water dripping into the room. “Last thing I need is to be brought up on charges of making Batman catch a cold. Even if he deserves it.”

Bruce followed the man inside, closing the window as he did. The worn carpet gave a horrid squelch with each step, the rain clinging to his boots just enough to make it to the floor.

“ What do you want Bats? ” Harv asked, voice sounding like gravel. “ Don’t tell us you’re here for a social call. ”

“And if I am?” Bruce asked.

Two Face turned back to him, leaning on his desk with an air of annoyance. “Then I’d say you’re stupider than you look.” His face shifted minutely, the wrinkles of anger smoothing out ever so slightly. “Though I do have to wonder, why is the big bad Batman hanging around here so often? Always looking in, watching, waiting. You’re not very subtle, you know.”

“What if I told you I just wanted to see you?” Bruce asked, moving to stand in front of the other man.

“ I’d think you’re full of shit. ” Harvey sighed, rubbing his temples before looking back to Bruce. “You don’t just ‘see’ people Batman. You want something, suspect something.”

Memories of an asylum hit Bruce at the words, of weekly visits and glass dividers, of a hurting friend who thought he was nothing more than a monster now that he looked like one to everyone. Everyone except Bruce.

“Just tell us what you want,” Harvey implored, voice oh so tired, so exhausted. 

“You,” Bruce said before he could let himself think of another answer. 

“ Ha! Ya hear that Harvey? Bats wants us ,” Harv growled, a vicious smile crossing their features. “ Ya think he means carnally? ” Harvey’s features twisted once more, the two personalities fighting for dominance. 

Bruce watched the display, a familiar worry churning in his gut for his old friend. 

“Quit with the bullshit Batman,” Harvey said, winning whatever internal argument the two had been having. “Why are you here? Why have you been watching us?”

Bruce stepped up next to Harvey, beginning the process of removing his gauntlets, slow and meticulous as he laid out the pieces. Two Face watched him, curiosity written across their features, confusion growing more palpable with every motion made by the caped crusader. 

“I missed you,” Bruce finally said once his gloves were off, holding his wrist as he stared down at words on his skin. “Both of you.”

“ Let me see it ,” Harv growled, holding his scarred hand out. Bruce placed his hand in the burnt palm, wrist facing the ceiling. Two Face pulled the hand closer, twisting and turning the limb ever so slightly as they looked over the mark there. “You saw one of the members of Pragma,” Harvey said softly, thumb running across the words. “Didn’t take you for a romantic Batman. Figured you were too paranoid for such things.”

“I am,” Bruce admitted, silently basking in the soft touches. “That doesn't change the words on my skin.”

Harvey closed his eye, a pained look crossing his features. “So you're here because of some words on your wrist.”

“I'm here because I know who those words belong to,” Bruce argued. He lifted his free hand, letting his thumb run under Harv’s still open eye, cupping the side of his jaw once Harvey’s eye opened again. “And, if given the opportunity, I want to stop being a coward.”

“Funny. Are we supposed to believe that ?”

“Only if you want to.”

Two Face looked back to his wrist, this time tracing the lines from start to finish, spelling out the words. 

“You know,” Harvey started, “Pragma came through a few months back. They got to some of my boys, promised them stories of true love and life long happiness. Bunch of bullshit if you ask me . They promised us the same.”

“And then what?”

“ Our fucking arm is too messed up to read anything, that’s what . ” 

Surprise gripped Bruce at the words, soon followed by anguish at the pain before him. 

“We thought maybe, just maybe, the world would be kind to us, just this once. But no , we can’t even have this . ” They heaved out a breath, then another, clutching Bruce’s wrist in their hand like it was a lifeline. Finally looking up, they met Bruce’s eyes, a desperation sitting there. “Take off the cowl Bruce. Let us see you.”

Bruce didn’t want to move, wanted to keep his hands right where they were, held by and holding the man, men, before him. But he wanted to hurt them even less. Running through the familiar motions, the cowl came off, joining his gloves and gauntlets on the desk. Turning back, he put himself more evenly in front of Two Face, letting their propped up knee brush his thigh as he stepped closer. 

Hands were on his face in an instant, just holding him there as they stared at him. “You’re stuck with both of us,” Harvey whispered, letting Bruce get even closer. “ I ain’t goin’ nowhere .”

“And I’d never want you to,” Bruce answered. Cradling the hands on his face, he turned to each, planting a kiss on each palm. 

“ Fucking sap .”