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It starts, as perhaps all good things do, with Alfred.
Bruce, for however unobservant he pretended to be, noticed that there was something distinctly inhuman about Alfred.
Maybe it was the undying loyalty, maybe it was the gentle love that Bruce grew to adore. Or maybe, it was the night that Bruce’s parents died and he laid sobbing in the hands of Alfred as the man shushed him gently, a hand running up and down his back.
“You can’t leave me,” Bruce pleads into the man’s shirt. “I can’t lose you too. I can’t let this happen again,” he swears.
“You won’t lose me,” Alfred replies. There’s something so certain about his words that a puzzle piece that Bruce had forced away from the image clicks into place.
Still curled against Alfred, he voices his realization. “You can’t die.” Gone was the pleading tone, the begging. It was said with a voice of finality.
“I can’t,” Alfred confirmes, even though Bruce hadn’t meant it as a question. “So know that I mean the truth when I say that I won’t leave you, and you won’t leave me.”
Maybe, in another universe, Bruce would have been nervous by that proclamation. In this universe, though, he snuggles closer into Alfred’s arms, content in the safety while he lets grief run its course.
When Batman made his way into the crime fighting scene, Alfred was always there to patch him up after a patrol gone wrong. He would carefully clean his wounds and stitch up what needed closing with careful hands.
Every now and then, there would be a close call on patrol. A time where, for just a second, Bruce wondered if now would be the day that Alfred’s careful promise was finally enacted.
Each time, though, Bruce managed to pull through, and he lived to see another day, lived to fight another criminal.
Until, of course, he finally hit the day where he lost.
Alfred was waiting for him when he stumbled his way into the bat cave, body screaming with pain. There were no medical supplies out and ready to use as there usually were. The old man eyed the steady rivers of blood trailing past Bruce’s fingers where they were clenched to his side.
“I’m dying,” Bruce stated knowingly.
“You are,” Alfred responded, always answering the rhetoricals. “I can save you.”
Bruce didn’t have to think about it, not even for a second. “I knew you would.”
Alfred smiles, and he situates Bruce carefully onto a cot. A careful hand to the side of his head, tilting it to expose his neck, and Bruce’s pain is gone.
He wakes up a couple days later as something more than human. If any of the villains suddenly realize that Batman has more strength to him, they certainly don’t stick around long enough to tell anyone.
Bruce never kills, not even when his new instincts beg him to. Alfred teaches him how to deal with the thirst, the hunger. He finds new ways to satisfy his new life demand, all with Alfred by his side.
===
Somehow, Bruce finds himself two sons. His first son filled something in his heart he never knew to be missing. He had been terrified to take him in, this kid with grief so similar to something he knew well.
It had worked out well enough. Dick became Robin, and when he no longer was fulfilled by the role of Robin, Jason happened to perfectly step into the scene.
He was open with his sons about who, what he is. He remembers the night that his two boys sat him down, something so serious written into their tiny faces.
“You and Alfred aren’t human,” Dick accuses. Jason crosses his arms across his chest, sitting next to his brother and saying nothing.
Bruce stays silent for a moment, studying the two of them closely. There's no fear in their eyes, no hesitance to be found. It makes something deep within him curl its lips into a smile. The smile reflected onto Bruce’s face. “We aren’t.”
Dick gasps, as if he hadn’t been expecting an honest answer. Jason’s eyes go wide, but he can tell that the kid was trying to mask his shock. “What are you?”
Leaning forward on the table, Bruce asks “What do you know about vampires?”
And thus, the family secret is shared. Bruce makes a familiar promise, that neither he nor Alfred will ever leave them, and similarly, he will always save them two if needed.
That night, Alfred came back from corralling the two teenagers into bed with a knowing look on his face.
“I was asked how long they have to wait before becoming vampires.” There is something exasperating in his tone, but Bruce can see the fondness written across his features.
Bruce smiles, fangs peeking out past his lips. “I tried to explain the nature of turning, but you know how teenagers can be.”
Alfred laughs softly. “Trust me, I know. I recall a young Master Bruce being the same way, asking me if I was going to turn him after every little scrape he had during his younger years.”
If he had the ability to flush, Bruce was sure he would have done it.
“We’re going to protect them,” he says instead, solidifying his claim on the boys. Vampires are a familial species, after all.
“Always.”
===
Of course, in the amazing luck of loss that is Bruce’s life, there comes a day where he realizes he might not be enough to save his children. There's the night that changes everything, the night that he races to the warehouse with something that feels so similar to a heartbeat racing in his ears.
He gets there just out of time. Grief, something so strong that it almost sends him to his knees, wracks through him as he cradles his son's dead body in his arms, something that was never supposed to happen like this.
Still, he tries to make it right. Fangs slide into his son’s neck so easily, and a sob almost makes it way past Bruce’s throat when Jason stays limp in his arms.
When he detaches fangs from Jason’s neck, he brushes dirty locks of dark hair from his boy’s forehead. There are smudges of soot and blood smeared across his face, and Bruce does his best to clean it off as he waits.
And waits.
And waits.
He brings the child back to Alfred, something hysterical in his voice as he asks for something to be done. Some sort of secret to be revealed that will make this all okay again. Alfred says nothing, tears shining in the man’s eyes, and Bruce breaks all over again.
That night, Bruce loses a son, Dick loses his brother, and Alfred loses all three of them.
Bruce throws himself into patrolling, going on a rampage through Gotham the day his son is put into the ground. Dick is somewhere out in the night as well as Nightwing, though neither of them are speaking into the comms.
That night, and the next week of nights after, Bruce returns to the batcave with enough injuries to make even a vampire weak, and Alfred gives nothing but a disappointed frown as he patches him up. Dick still stays at the manor, but it is as if a part of himself is vacant, withering away before Bruce’s very eyes.
The night after he had Jason’s memorial services, Bruce had found himself in Dick’s room in the middle of the night, contemplating something as he stared at the sleeping (and safe) form of his son. Alfred appeared in the doorway, something knowing in his eyes as he guided Bruce out of the room.
“It’s not his time yet,” Alfred said quietly.
“I don’t want to miss his time, though,” Bruce said, voice cracking.
A sad smile. Alfred took Bruce’s cheek in his gentle hand. “We will do all that we can to make sure history doesn’t repeat itself. We can’t take his life from him when it is only just beginning, though.”
A sob works its way past Bruce’s lips. “Jason’s was only beginning.”
Alfred lets out a ragged breath. “And we will forever mourn. Don’t make me mourn you as well.”
Bruce felt like he had been punched. He knew there was going to be a day when Alfred had enough and finally decided to say something about his reckless behavior, he just didn’t think it would be today.
That night, Bruce walked away without saying anything. He didn’t feel like he was dying when getting battered on patrol. Not when a part of himself, in more ways than one, was already dead.
===
A new Robin takes the mantle, one Tim Drake that is so young and takes absolutely no bullshit.
Slowly, Bruce finds himself healing his broken edges. The pain never leaves, but it becomes less a stabbing thing and now more an ache in his chest, a heaviness in his bones. No one ever talks about Jason to Tim. He knows that the boy is aware of him. He’s seen the photos in his new son’s room, and is sure that Tim has seen the photos on the wall that no one could bear to take down.
Just like the rest of his sons, Bruce is open about what he is. The night that he makes the promise to keep Tim safe, there are tears in his eyes and the haunting memory of a limp Jason in his mind. But he will do everything he can to keep his sons safe, to not make the same mistake again, and one day the opportunity shows itself.
The call from Alfred is something that he had been dreading for the longest time, but also somehow takes a weight off of his chest.
“Dick has been wounded gravely on patrol. I think now is time.” It’s those simple words that send Bruce flying to the batcave, just in time to see Nightwing stumbling his way in on barely working legs.
Bruce wonders if there had been the same fear running through Alfred when he turned Bruce as he has now, sitting next to his son.
“Is it going to hurt?” Dick asks, head tilted to the side and eyes closed, so trusting.
Bruce considers for a moment. He hardly remembers the turn now, but remembers it hadn’t been completely painless. “It will hurt no more than the pain you’re already in,” he says, before biting down.
To his utter relief, he doesn't lose another son that day. Instead, Dick joins him in being undead, and there’s something so secure about finally accepting in knowing this son won’t be able to leave him that suddenly makes it easier to sleep at night.
He spends less time tracking Dick on patrol, and in turn his son starts spending more time back at the manor, his instincts pulling him closer than he had been in a long time, craving comfort from his kind. Part of him feels whole for the first time in a while, and Bruce falls asleep for almost a week straight with two of his sons bundled in his arms, memory of a third resting carefully next to them.
As it goes, though, nothing ever stays easy for long.
It started with a distress signal, something that made Bruce’s heart lurch, thoughts suddenly plagued with no, not again. He was sitting in the common room in the manor when he got an alert that a distress signal was pinged from the Titan’s tower, where he knew Tim was.
And suddenly the sound of wind brushing past his ears sounds like explosions, and the ringing of sirens in the distance sounds like screaming.
The signal was cut off sometime in his mad dash for the tower, and Bruce isn’t sure if he’s relieved or terrified by the possibilities of what that could mean. By the time he gets there, a million scenarios are running through his head. He’s expecting everything; an explosion, Arkham breakout, Ivy or Scarecrow or even Joker.
What he doesn’t expect is silence.
It chills Bruce more than violence ever could’ve, because he can expect something with violence and villains. Silence could mean anything, and Bruce wonders for the first time if vampires can get heart attacks.
He makes it inside the tower and stays in the shadows. It looks as if a tornado had gone off indoors; there are chairs overturned and a couple vases shattered on the floor. For a heart shattering second, he’s lost. Then he smells human blood and follows the scent trail. When he finds Tim, he thinks the boy is dead for a horrifying moment.
The kid is covered in blood, though most of it is centered around his neck, staining the front of his shirt and streaking across his face. When Bruce bends down and sees two very specific pricks in the side of Tim’s neck, he feels like throwing up.
He knows the work of another vampire when he sees it, and there’s dread pooling in his stomach as he carries his boy back to the medbay in the batcave through the zeta tubes, a hand to Tim’s neck to stop the blood that stopped flowing not too long ago.
Hours later, when Tim wakes up and is asked what happened, Bruce expects a lot of things. He expects tears, a chilling recount of some crazed vampire attack, or the upcoming of a new villain who thought attacking Robin would make a name for themself.
Nothing could prepare him for when Tim looks Bruce in the eyes and says “it was Jason. He’s alive.”
===
Jason’s vision is tinged with green as he enters his code to enter the Titan’s tower. He was half expecting them to be disabled, but what use is there on taking away codes from a dead boy? He smiles as he walks inside, footsteps not making a sound.
There’s the smell of human inside the walls, and the mere idea of the blood running through the heart that he can hear beating causes fangs to poke past his lips.
“Oh little Robin,” he calls out when he’s within hearing distance of the little bird. The heartbeat he’s been listening to like a song increases in its tempo. It’s a symphony to his ears.
He can see the replacement standing in the middle of the kitchen, eyes wide with fear. “Who are you?”
“That’s the first question you ask?” Jason ponders. Within one blink and the next, he’s standing next to the little bird and grabs him roughly by the shoulders, getting close enough that he can practically see the blood flowing through his veins before he lets the boy go.
“Don’t want to ask what I want with you?” The bird has the foresight to take out his little bow staff, which Jason rips from his hands like its nothing. “How did I get here.” With a snap, he wacks the boy’s hand with the staff, taking pleasure in the cry of pain he’s rewarded with.
A hand reaches up, and Jason takes off his helmet and the domino beneath it. The replacement’s eyes widen. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he jokes. Unfortunately, the boy in front of him cowers instead of laughing.
“You’re dead, how-“ Finally, the bird says something worthwhile. Though, at the sound of his voice, he can feel the green tinge intensify, and his rage increases right with it.
“Well,” Jason starts, gesturing to himself. “Can personally attest that I’m not dead. Or, actually…”
Using inhuman speed, he grabs the boy by the face and tilts his head to the side enough that his throat is exposed, veins right under the skin practically calling to him.
“I think you can let me know how alive you think I am.” With that, he bites down, immediately overwhelmed by how good fresh blood tastes.
Back at the Leage of Assassins, he was only allowed to drink from blood bags. Maybe once in a while if there was a particular enemy that they were fine with losing, they would let Jason drain them dry, though those moments were far and few between.
This, though? This is everything he had been waiting for. He can feel the replacement squirm beneath his grip, trying in vain to get out of the hold, to get away from the monster currently draining him of blood.
After some time that feels both like forever and just a couple seconds, Tim stills, his struggles dying down until he’s lying limp in Jason’s grasp. Normally, this would be when he finishes his victims off, uncaring for the life he takes.
Now, though, the green haze dims just enough for Jason to feel horrified with himself. He detaches himself from Tim in such a rush that he almost falls to the floor. Jason slowly lowers the boy, guilt pooling in his stomach when he sees the bloody mark on his neck.
Jason kind of wants to throw up. He feels so satisfyingly full for the first time since returning to Gotham, and for once both the little voice shouting inside his head and the anger from the pit have quieted. He almost yearns for them to return, with how awful he feels with himself, looking at the boy no younger than he was when he died.
A cursory look over the boy’s unconscious form reveals a distress watch that seems to have been actively pinging for a while. Jason turns it off, knowing that it’ll make Bruce hurry even faster to the boy’s location.
He could wait here to make sure that the boy gets help, he tells himself as he stands up to leave. Jason hesitates for long enough to pretend that there’s still humanity left in the human shell he now fills, but ultimately leaves, not willing to face the wrath of Bruce when he realizes what happened.
What will his once father say when he figures out that his son’s body has been taken over by a monster that has the same memories and uses the same name as his son, but is so irreversibly different? One hand goes up to his armor as he makes his retreat from the tower, grabbing his helmet on the way out with his free hand.
That other hand traces over where his autopsy scars are buried beneath his armor, a reminder that he’ll never again be the kid that died in the explosion. It's meant to be reassuring, and in reality is anything but.
===
Bruce feels sick. The entire trip back to the batcave passed by in a blur, and now he sits next to Tim as the boy lays asleep on the cot once more, Bruce's hand running carefully through his hair. His eyes trail to the fang marks on Tim’s neck, covered by dried blood but still unmistakably vampire.
How did he let this happen?
A million thoughts are running through Bruce’s mind, and not one of them explains how his son that had died in his arms was suddenly not only alive, but attacking a kid so violently.
He is also unsure how Jason is even a vampire. He remembers attempting to turn the boy when he finished dragging him from the warehouse, remembers sinking his fangs into his son’s neck once and then twice while begging for the venom to take.
The ever slowing heartbeat that his hearing had been latched onto slowly came to a stop, and didn’t start back up again, Bruce was sure of it. It's a sound that haunts his nightmares, and fills the silence whenever it stretches on for too long. A heavy sigh leaves his lips, as Bruce returns to running a hand through Tim’s hair, content in the fact that at least this son is safe and sound, if not experiencing blood loss.
“What happened?” Dick asks when Bruce gets close enough to him. They’re still far enough away that a normal person wouldn’t be able to hear with the quiet tone Dick takes on, but enhanced hearing is a truly beneficial part of being a vampire.
He had waited until Alfred was done taking care of Tim and the boy was back asleep to ask, but Bruce can tell that the question had been eating at him. It takes far longer to form the words than he would have thought. Bruce opens and closes his mouth several times before he’s able to speak. “Jason. He attacked Tim at the tower.”
Dick scoffs, as if Bruce is joking. As if he’s about to crack a smile and explain what actually happened. The man stays silent, and Dick takes in a sharp inhale.
“What- that’s- how?” Dick flutters closer to him, and Bruce can hear the muscles in Dick’s hands straining as they shake.
Bruce watches Alfred treat an unconscious Tim lying so vulnerable on the cot that between blinks the casual clothing Tim wears is replaced with that familiar Robin costume, the face of one son replaced with that of another.
Only this time, Alfred gives a subtle nod in Bruce’s direction when he catches his eye, and Bruce practically melts in relief, even if the storm raging in his head refuses to be silenced in the eye of the unending questions smothering the air of the batcave.
“I’m going to go find him,” Dick says suddenly, pushing himself away from the wall and heading towards the exit of the batcave.
“No, I can’t let you do that,” Bruce says, stepping forward to block Dick’s path.
Dick’s eyes flash, his fangs extending in his anger. Bruce stays put, knowing that if Dick finds Jason, he won’t be able to stop himself from following.
“You’re not going to stop me. Jason- he’s out there somewhere. I need to go find him.” There’s something more pleading to Dick’s voice now, and it’s then that Bruce catches the shine of tears in his eyes.
“Come here,” he says softly, opening his arms. Dick chokes on a sob as he rushes forward and collides with Bruce’s arms, fisting his hands into Bruce’s cape as he shudders through breathing.
When Dick finally calms down, the two of them are sitting on the floor of the batcave, the sound of the heart monitor beeping along with Tim’s steady heartbeat filling the silence. Alfred had excused himself at some point, but Bruce is sure that he’s still listening somewhere.
“What are we going to do?” Dick asks, not raising his head to look at Bruce.
He runs a hand through his son’s hair. “We’re going to get him home eventually, but we’re going to need to be careful with this.”
Dick sighs. “M’ hungry.”
Bruce lets out a soft chuckle, his free hand making its way to Dick’s face. The man detaches his hands from Bruce’s cape and gently grabs the wrist in front of him. Fangs sink into the skin of his wrist, causing Bruce no pain.
A soft smile rises to his face as he lets his son drink from him, shifting his position so that he can support Dick more as he slowly slumps more and more before detaching himself from Bruce’s wrist, wiping his mouth once before his eyes are closing and he dozes off practically laying across Bruce’s lap.
“We’ll all be together soon,” Bruce whispers into the batcave, the promise going unnoticed by his two sleeping sons. He will reunite them with their brother; he will not fail Jason again.
===
Jason curses himself as he walks through the dark streets of crime alley, his vision filled with green. For once, though, it’s not anger at the world.
It’s anger at himself.
He feels so disgusted with himself. While he hasn’t been a vampire long enough to be considered fully fledged, he at least thought he had a better control over his hunger.
The feeling of hunger pangs ravashing through his stomach isn't anything new to him, instead a sense of familiarity that he grew to find home in.
Being on his own back in Gotham, though, is making it a lot harder to control his hunger. There’s this little voice shouting in the back of his head, screaming for comfort and blood and all these other things that Jason sure as hell doesn’t have access to.
A small part of him wants to turn around and march over to the manor. He knows the direct path he could take from where he was, and the urge is so strong. He wants Bruce to comfort him and teach him how to be a good vampire. One that would live up to his father's standards
Most of all, he wants to feel normal again. Ever since he somehow came back from the dead, he’s felt like he’s in some sort of limbo. Though, Jason is slightly sure it might be because he’s a vampire and went into the Lazarus pit. Either way, it all sucks, and Jason can't help but replay the terrified noise Tim made when Jason sank his fangs into the boy’s neck in his own mind as punishment.
If there was even a chance that Bruce would take him back before, it is long gone now. Jason knew as such since the first time he killed after making his way back to Gotham, but now Bruce knows that he is Red Hood, and knows that Jason just attacked the current Robin.
He makes his way to the safehouse he's staying in for right now. He barely had it in him to reengage the locks and traps before he was dumping himself onto his flimsy excuse of a bed, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes.
“Pathetic,” he huffs to himself, dragging a hand across his face to scrub away the tears.
Tomorrow he would have to figure out where the closest blood banks are. Jason felt indescribably warm and comfortable with blood fueling him, and it only makes him crave drinking from more people. He wants to feel this sense of comfort again, never wants it to go away.
Which is exactly why he can't allow it to happen again. Drinking from criminals and bad guys he had intended to kill anyway was one thing, but he can't allow himself to slip up and hurt any innocents. Not again.
Plus, he isn't the same fifteen year old boy that died to the hands of the Joker. Now, he is Red Hood more than he's Jason, and that means that he doesn’t deserve the comfort of a full stomach and warmth that comes from fresh blood. Eyes finally closing and sleep pulling him under, Jason pokes his still extended fangs into his lip enough that he felt a twinge of pain, and kept them there as he fell asleep.
The next day, while every part of him desperately wanted to stay in bed and not go on patrol, he knew that he had a duty to protect the innocents of Crime Alley. Plus, beating up horrible people is insanely therapeutic.
He should have known that he wouldn’t be left alone on patrol. A part of him was convinced that Bruce and Dick would want nothing to do with him and wouldn’t show face around his territory. Seeing the familiar costume of Nightwing leaping across buildings and heading directly towards him, though, quickly proved him wrong.
Jason stnads his ground as Nightwing touches down on the same rooftop as him, now only several feet separating him and his brother. During his time at the league, he imagined what it would be like to see Dick again. They were never really close while he was alive, not like brothers should be, but still there were days where Jason craved his presence just as much as Bruce or Alfred. At the end of the day, they were family.
He wants to reach out. Dick was always someone that loved physical touch, finding every excuse to pull Jason into a hug, or drag him down to nap next to him on the couch. He wonders if Dick still does that with Tim, now.
Nightwing stays staring at him, as if he too doesn't know what to do. Jason can assume that this is better than being attacked, though. He doesn’t want to attack someone he once considered a brother, but the Lazarus pit might make the decision for him.
Jason wonders what would happen if he hurt Dick. He isn't sure if even now, with all the years separating them, if he would be able to live with himself if that happened. That would mean the last of the humanity he has left would be truly gone, and Jason doesn't think he can live as a shell of the person he once was.
“Jason?” Dick breaks the fragile silence between them, and Jason could hear his heart tick up a beat faster than it had been before, though it was still beating far slower than it should be.
The realization rushes through him. “You’re a vampire.” He knows eventually his heart will stop all together, but Dick is a young enough vampire for it to still pump blood slowly through his body.
“So are you,” Dick defends, and Jason almost laughs.
“I guess that’s one similarity we have now.” Dick looks confused at his words, but Jason can't bring himself to spell it out for him. Maybe Dick didn’t yet realize the monster he is now.
The thought almost hurts worse, the idea that he has to be around when his brother finally realizes that he’s not worth saving. He’s sure that Bruce already figured it out, but his brother was always the stubborn one. Always looks for the best in people.
“You- how are you alive?” Dick asks. There’s no voice modulator coating his words, though Jason didn’t know if he simply went without one as Nightwing, or if he turned it off for Jason.
“I’m not,” Jason states.
Dick tilts his head to the side, and Jason can just imagine the deadpan his eyes are giving him. “I mean how are you here. Bruce- we were all certain you died.”
Jason crosses his arms in front of his chest, shifting on his feet. He doesn't like thinking about his death. Doesn't like thinking of the darkness he woke up in. “Yeah, I did. Woke up in my coffin, clawed my way out. Definitely wasn’t fun.”
The sound of Dick stuttering in a breath was picked up by his hears, and Jason took morbid satisfaction in the fact that he startled the vigilante.
“Why didn’t you come home?” Dick asks in a mere whisper, as if it was so simple.
Jason can’t help it, he laughs. He can both hear and see Dick tense in front of him, and he revels in the fear. “What, you want this,” he gestures to himself, “to come back home? You want a monster living in your walls?”
Dick takes an aborted step closer, and Jason sneers behind the helmet. “You aren’t a monster.”
It’s Jason’s turn to tilt his head. “Really didn’t want to be the one to break it to you, but I’m not the same person that died. I don’t know who you see when you look at me, but I assure you I’m not him.”
Taking a look around, Dick must deem it safe enough, because he takes off his domino. Jason tenses when those familiar blue eyes settle on him, feeling the full weight of the stare.
Deciding to copy him, Jason takes off his own helmet and domino, relishing in the slight sting of pain he feels from ripping off the eye mask. He can feel Dick studying the changes in appearance. The streak of white in his hair, the green eyes, the scar covering the side of his face.
“You’re paler than you should be. How often are you getting fed?”
Jason pauses, blinking once, twice. “What?”
Dick’s eyes are full of concern. Jason hates it. “You look pale, even for a vampire, which usually happens if you’re not eating enough.”
Jason splutters. “Did you not hear a single word I said to you?”
As always, the man ignores him, instead taking several steps closer to Jason, uncaring or unaware of the stuttered step backwards that Jason takes. “If you want to go back to the manor with me, me or Bruce or Alfred can feed you.”
This time, Jason glares. “I’m not going to the manor. Nor the batcave, nor anywhere where I’ll have to see Bruce.”
He expects anger to cross Dick’s face. Expects his former brother to yell at him, to spew hurtful words that would give Jason some sort of an excuse to feel angry at him and never speak to the man again.
Instead, Dick nods, like it’s easy to understand. “That’s fine, we can work up to that. For now, you need to eat though.” Without giving any word of warning, his wrist goes up to his mouth, and Jason watches with horror as Dick bites down on his wrist with his fangs, the smell of fresh blood immediately overwhelming his senses.
Jason shakes his head, tries to draw his eyes away from the steady river of red dripping from Dick’s exposed wrist and dropping to the ground below, being wasted. When Jason doesn’t make any move to get closer, Dick does it for him. He takes another step closer, and it takes so long for him to notice. “I can’t,” he whispers, though he hates how weak it sounds.
Is this all it takes? One conversation with his past brother and suddenly all his defenses are falling down? The anger that takes over is enough to override the voice screaming in the back of his mind to take that final step closer and drink from his brother.
Dick has this shit eating grin on his face, like he knows that Jason is going to fail. It’s a look that Jason is well familiar with; well equipped to recognize when the man knows he’s going to get what he wants in the end.
Just this one time, Jason wants to spite him. Taking willpower that is half is own and half aided by the Pit, he jumps down from the rooftop, rolling with the momentum to avoid any muscle pain, though he likely wouldn’t have broken anything thanks to his vampire biology.
There’s the startled yelp of Dick from the top of the roof, but Jason takes off running before his brother can give chase. He runs for what feels like half an hour, uncaring that he’s using his advanced speed. No one in Crime Alley is going to care.
When he finally winds down enough to go to his safehouse without fearing for his appliances and furniture, he feels exhausted. His mind still yearns to go back to family, to have a proper meal and be around people that love him.
The vampire voice is bullshit though, and Jason knows that this is likely all some sort of ploy so that Dick can lure him in and they can ship him off to Arkham. He knows what happens to people that break Bruce’s number one rule, and he’d be damned if he thought being the man’s son at one point would allow a bend in those rules.
He’d already made that mistake before, he’s not going to make it again.
===
Dick knows that there’s a massive frown on his face as he enters the batcave. Tim is typing away at a computer, stopping the action and turning around to greet Dick.
The kid looks a lot better than he had a couple days ago. There’s still a bandage on his neck covering up the couple stitches that Alfred had to do, and there’s two casts on his fingers, but other than that, he looks healthy again.
“What happened?” Tim asks. Dick curses the kid for how well he can read him.
“Do you really want to know?” Dick asks. That was another thing surprising about Tim’s encounter with Jason. They all had been worried that Tim would want nothing to do with Jason, or even see him shipped off to Blackgate or Arkham.
“Of course I want to know.” Instead, Tim was immediately joining the band wagon of ‘bring Jason home and figure out what the hell happened’. It was refreshing, though Dick can't help but be a little worried about what would happen if Jason saw Tim again.
Pulling up a chair next to his little brother, Dick sighs and leans back, spreading his feet out in front of him and tilting his head up to the ceiling of the cave. “It didn’t go well. I tried to show him that I care, which I do, but he looked almost scared to see me.” A jolt of pain spears through his chest as he remembers the way his brother had stepped away from him.
“He also didn’t look very healthy. He has a lot of muscle mass, but he’s far too pale. I don’t think he’s drinking enough blood.” Dick lifts his head up and studies Tim as he says this, making sure that the kid doesn’t wince or show any signs of being uncomfortable.
Because Tim is terrifying and apparently feels nothing, the only thing showing on his face is concern. “Did you ask him if he wants to come back?”
Dick nods. “I did. He got pretty upset, and left not long after. I think this is going to be a little harder than we thought to bring him home.”
“Well, if anyone can brother bear someone into coming back home so they can get some post-mortem comfort, it would be you,” Tim jokes. Dick huffs out a laugh before excusing himself to go shower. He’s also still in his Nightwing outfit, which is comfortable, but not as much as the soft pajamas he has waiting in his drawers upstairs.
Dick waits to get into an open hallway of the manor before talking. “He got pretty upset when I mentioned your name. From the looks of it, he’s scared you’re going to send him away or something. I’m sure his kill streak doesn’t help that idea.”
Bruce, who doesn’t even seem apologetic that he was caught listening in on his and Tim’s conversation, huffs out a long sigh. “I was worried that might be the case. Do you think it’s a good idea to try and talk to him, or should I wait until he’s back here?”
A rush of pride swells through Dick. He’s glad that Bruce trusts him enough to ask for his advice, even when he knows that his father is itching to bring Jason home.
“I think you might want to wait until I get him home.”
He can feel more than see the eyebrow raise that Bruce gives him. “I’m assuming you have an idea for this?”
A smile spreads across Dick’s face. “I wouldn’t be a very good brother if I didn’t.”
===
They think him stupid. That must be the only reasonable explanation for what Jason was looking at right now. There is a bag of blood sitting innocently on the floor of the rooftop that him and Dick were talking on two nights ago.
Jason picks up the blood bag and scoffs at it. Admittedly, it was a better alternative to Dick’s incessant mother henning, but he didn't think the man would just leave him some blood and call it a day.
It confirms something that the morbidly hopeful part of his mind had been trying to tell him otherwise. Dick doesn’t care enough to deliver the bag himself. Why would he? Jason made it abundantly clear to the man that the person he once saw as his brother was long gone.
He knows better than to drink it on the rooftop. While he’s sure that Dick would’ve brought it to him if he wanted to confront the man, he can’t be certain this isn’t a test of sorts. He hides the bag under the flap of his leather jacket and slinks into a dark alleyway.
Pulling up his mask, Jason shoves his fangs into the blood bag and drinks the contents aggressively, trying to stamp down the pang of hurt in his chest that he tells himself doesn’t exist. After the bag is empty, he feels full but almost hollow. Ever since moving back to Gotham, there’s been a drag on his mind and muscles. Everything feels slower, and he’s tired more than he should be as a vampire.
It sucks, but Jason grits his teeth and deals with it. He falls asleep at night content in the knowledge that no one will be there for him when he wakes up, and pretends that his dreams aren’t longing scenes of hugs and reuniting. It's better than the nightmares of a maniacal laugh and a timer ticking down.
His senses hum in satisfaction as he leaves the alleyway, content in the new supply of fuel they just received. Something about the blood tastes better than it really should have. Maybe Jason was hungrier than he thought.
Because the Universe is a cruel mistress, it takes Jason a minute too long to realize that he’s being followed. A split second is all the warning he gets when footsteps hop down next to him, and suddenly there’s a hand closing around his throat, locking him close to a body.
Jason thrashes and fights the best he can, but he was taken by surprise, he’s aching, and the person holding him must be built like a brick wall because Jason is getting no leeway.
“It’s okay, Little Wing, it’s just me,” the voice whispers. They mutter more similar phrases, until eventually the voice is recognized by Jason’s jumbled brain.
“Dick?”
He can practically hear the smile in the man’s voice. “The one and only.”
“Why are you kidnapping me?” Because Jason weakly tries to thrash out of his brother’s hold and is given no give yet again.
“Because you haven’t been taking care of yourself, and you’re too stubborn to come back home on your own.” Jason pauses in his struggle, leans his head back enough that he can make eye contact with Dick.
A shoot of terror races down his spine, even if that little voice in the back of his head is practically cheering in victory. “I’m doing fine. I even got blood today.”
Dick scoffs. “Yeah, thanks to me. Do you want more?”
It is a harder struggle than Jason anticipated, but he manages to shake his head. Dick hums unbelievably, and Jason is suddenly thrusted back in time to every time he tried to lie to Dick about something and the boy would give him this knowing look until Jason caved and admitted the truth.
“I’m not dealing with your broody bullshit right now, Jay. You’ve been gone so long and I’ve had so much time to reflect on how shitty I was to you back then and I want- need to make it up to you.” Dick pauses for a second, as if waiting for Jason to refute his claim, to cut him off. Jason is too strung on the words to even form a thought of rebellion.
When silence lapses, his older brother continues. “I can take that hard decision out of your hands. You can come home, and we can be vampire bros together like we always wanted to be.”
This time, it’s Jason’s turn to scoff. “I think we were lied to as kids.” When Dick gives a confused noise, Jason continues. “Bruce never said how shitty it is to be a vampire. My joints always ache, there’s that grating voice in the back of my mind, and I never feel safe.”
Somehow, Dick tenses even further. Jason’s breath catches in his throat as he wonders what he said wrong. What Jason is not expecting him to say is “you dumbass.”
He pauses. “What?”
Dick lets out a disbelieving huff. “You dumbass. None of those things are related to being a vampire. I mean, they are, but only because you aren’t vampiring right.”
Okay, well now he’s mildly offended. “I’m being a perfectly fine vampire.”
“Oh yeah? Because your instincts always agree with you and you’re perfectly well fed, right?” Jason’s silence says wonders. Dick sighs, before shifting slightly, so that one hand is freed. Apparently he trusts Jason enough now to not move. Jason doesn’t.
“I think a good dose of coven blood and heading back to the manor will do wonders to your physical and mental health.”
The words resonate just enough for Jason to tense a little bit. “I can’t see Bruce again.” He has a plan after all. His plan for Joker and Batman will not work if he’s snuggling up at the manor.
“He misses you, you know.”
A breath catches in Jason’s throat, and suddenly he feels like he’s choking.
“He- goodness Jason- I don’t think I can describe the man he became after you- you died. I left for Bludhaven and he retreated into his mind. He- we missed you so much. He’ll accept you home with open arms. Whatever fight you’re expecting, you’re not going to get.”
Choking isn’t even the right word anymore, Jason is drowning. He expected Bruce and Dick to grieve him, sure, but he thought- had been told that they moved on so fast. Dick makes a sympathetic noise. “Let’s get some blood in you so you’re less likely to keel over, and then we can do the whole family reunion thing. Alfred isn’t going to let you leave for weeks.”
Suddenly, Dick’s wrist is in front of his face. Jason stares at it like it’s going to explode. “You… want me to bite you.” He phrases it like a question, though he knows the answer before the words even leave his lips.
“No, I want you to saw it off with a shiv.” At least the sarcasm is still there, so Jason can’t have missed too much of his brother.
Jason turns back to the wrist in front of him. Apparently at some point Dick decides that he’s taking too long because the wrist disappears from his vision, and Jason tries to stamp down the hunger that now sinks its claws into his stomach.
Not a second passes before a sickly sweet smell fills the air. It takes a second for Jason to place why it smells so familiar, but once it does.“It was your blood in the bag!”
Dick laughs. “Yup. Nothing like a bit of coven blood to calm you down a bit and give you a taste of what you’re missing.” He waves his now bloody wrist in front of Jason’s face.
"That's cheating," he says in an almost whine, perfectly aware of how childish he sounds.
"I didn't care to play fair," Dick responds simply, waiting patiently with his wrist in front of Jason. Hmouth waters. He’s sure that he’ll be dealing with Dick’s shit eating grin for days to come, so he decides to bite the bullet and, well, bite his brother’s wrist.
It’s even better out of the blood bag, which had already been pretty damn good. It tastes almost addicting, and for the first time since waking up in his coffin, Jason thinks that he might have found something positive. His hands close around Dick’s wrist, keeping it in front of him as if the man was going to pull away. Dick takes the chance to pull him impossibly closer, until he is practically sitting in Dick’s lap.
“I’m going to take care of you this time around. We won’t fail you again,” Dick whispers into his hair, his promise branded into the air.
Jason lets him say whatever he wants to say, because right now he feels fizzy and nothing hurts and all sides of his brain are happy and he never wants this to end.
A morbid part of himself is terrified that he’s going to open his eyes in one of his safehouses with tears dried on his cheeks and mourning carving a hole in his chest. He’s so worried that he’s going to wake up alone that he doesn’t let his eyes close, not even when his eyelids feel like they have weights attached to them.
“Go to sleep, Jaybird. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
And well, who is Jason to resist?
===
Dick sits there for a moment, breathing. It feels for a moment like all he can do; taking in one breath after another.
The idea of bringing Jason home was different when it was just that– an idea – but now with his brother sleeping practically in his lap, everything feels so real.
He’s also suddenly very glad that he had the foresight to bring the batmobile on this particular excursion. Since he’s not going to be utilizing the specific locks on the doors, he’s glad that he can use the heated seats and reclining chairs. This went a lot more peaceful than he had planned for.
While carefully carrying his brother to the car, Dick can’t bring his eyes away from the man’s face, cataloging every change that occurred to the once familiar face while he was away. He got a glimpse of it on the rooftop a couple days ago, but it differen't seeing him up close. There’s that familiar scar stretching over his lip that he got during a drug bust he ran as Robin.
There’s also an unfamiliar scar on his cheek, taking up most of the space there. If he squints, Dick could say that it was in the shape of the letter ‘J’. But there are also slashes running over the deeper scar, as if someone tried to scratch it out. Dick doesn’t like the image it paints.
The drive back to the Manor is the longest one of his life. He can’t help but check the rearview mirror every two seconds to glance at where Jason is laying across the back seats, as if he’ll disappear in a moment’s notice. Granted the fact that his brother died the second he went off-world, Dick feels like it’s a valid worry to have.
A secret part of Dick was hoping that Jason would sleep all the way through the car ride and the transfer to the cave, and would wake up in medbay. Obviously it was too much to hope for.
Thankfully, Jason doesn't start to rouse until Dick is pulling into the cave, where he can see both Bruce and Alfred waiting for them. He had given them a message letting them know that he got Jason and was heading back.
Jason makes a sleepy noise as he sits up in the backseat, rubbing his eyes and looking around like he doesn't know where he is. Dick allows him a moment to recuperate before speaking.
“We’re at the cave. Alfred is just gonna give you a little health check to make sure you’re doing okay. We can also ask him and Bruce about some of the… problems… you’ve been having.” It hurts Dick knowing that his brother has been suffering alone for so long.
When he was turned by Bruce, it had been a completely different affair. Sure, he’d been bleeding out, but the process itself didn’t hurt more than the pain he was already in, and after he spent several weeks curled up on Bruce’s giant bed, getting all the cuddles and warm food he could want.
Jason got none of that. He died, or at least experienced something pretty damn similar, for Bruce to be so sure that he lost him, and then was gone for over three years in which anything could’ve happened to him.
The sound of Jason clearing his throat brings him out of his thoughts. His little brother looks out the window of the car, and Dick sees that familiar look of fear on the man’s face; something he never thought he’d see again.
“I, uh. Didn’t think this far ahead,” he says. He sounds a little confused, which makes sense. Not only is he likely over exhausted, but Dick would place money on the fact that his vampire instincts and human ones are at war with each other on the definition of safety right now. It shouldn’t be that way, but Dick can use it in his favor.
“We’ll take it at your pace,” he promises, which is the truth. “Right now we’ll just leave the car and you can sit on the medical bed while Alfred gives you a check over. Then you can drink some more from me or Bruce or Alfred, though Bruce would probably be best, but-”
He’s cut off by Jason, who speaks with a growl. “I don’t want to dri- I don’t want Bruce.”
Dick has the urge to sigh. “Good luck telling him that. He looked about ready to tear up when I told him I was bringing you home.
Jason doesn’t have a response to that. Dick can see the conflict in his eyes, and decides it’s best if he doesn’t let Jason stew in it for long. He steps out of the car, sending a quick glance to Alfred and Bruce as he goes around to open the door for Jason.
Immediately, Dick can see tension drain from Jason’s shoulders, though he is sure that it’s not by Jason’s own force of will. The man’s jaw is clenched so tightly that Dick worries his fangs are going to pierce his lip.
“Master Jason. It is lovely to see you again,” Alfred greets warmly as Jason walks tentatively towards him and Bruce, each step small and forced.
“Good to see you too, Alf. I missed you,” Jason admits. His eyes stay on the ground, not daring to make eye contact with either of them.
There’s several more seconds of awkward silence, then “Jason.”
Said kid finally looks up at Bruce, his eyes so unsure that it hurts something deep in Dick’s chest. “Hey, old man.” Bruce lets out a choked noise at that, taking a sudden step forward and only stopping when Jason makes an aborted step backward.
“I’m not ready for that yet. Dick said you wanted to give me a health check, Alfie?” Jason asks, sounding so unsure of himself that it’s hard to imagine him as the ruthless Red Hood.
Alfred shakes himself out of his stupor faster than anyone. “Yes, Master Jason. Come right this way.”
While Jason is sitting on the bed with Alfred checking him over, Dick takes the chance to walk over to Bruce, who is stood in the same spot just now facing Jason, staring at him with this longing look and a clench to his jaw.
“Hey, old man,” Dick says, getting Bruce’s attention. “He’s going to be okay.”
Bruce sighs, running a hand down his face. Even though he stopped aging many years ago, he looks older than he was when Jason died. The years look like they took a physical toll on him. “Will he?” Bruce asks.
They’re both aware that Jason could hear their light conversation if he wanted. With the way that Jason is pointedly focused on Alfred, though, he seems to be purposefully giving them a bout of privacy.
“Yeah, he will be. He needs to get on a better diet and get some actual sleep, but he’ll be okay.”
===
Jason wishes that he could say he’s annoyed by the closeness of his family. Alfred, after giving him a brief checkup and confirming (moreso for himself than for Jason’s sake) that he’s far from injured. Dick essentially ruined his plans to take down the Joker, and he knows he should be upset about that.
It's just so hard to, when his brain still feels strangely fizzy and his body feels warm.
Alfred had many pointed things to say about the pallor of Jason’s skin and the obvious signs of blood deprivation he was suffering from. Jason takes all the comments with steeled nerves, waiting for the shoe to drop, for the questions to start.
When Bruce comes over to crouch down in front of him like he used to do when Jason was younger, Jason wonders if now is the moment everything gets real. There had been so many ways he imagined his reunite with Bruce to go. None of them went peacefully.
“Jaylad,” Bruce starts, his voice so soft that the knot of anxiety working it’s way through Jason’s inside seem to relax. His voice has always meant safety to Jason, and he was a fool to think that would change. “I’m so glad that you’ve come back to us.”
Jason scoffs. “I came back as a crime lord, surely you can’t be that happy about it.” He knows it’s the wrong thing to say, but he can’t help it. He can’t be lured into a false sense of security here. If Bruce wants to welcome him back, or whatever it is the old man thinks he’s doing, Jason needs it to be real.
“I won’t lie and tell you that the killing is something I’m perfectly fine with, but you being back means more to me than any of that. You being here, being safe, is all I’m worried about in this moment.”
Jason yearns for it to be true. Wants nothing more than to accept the words at face value and fall into his father’s arms and indulge in the comfort he’s spent the past three years craving as if he was missing something physical.
But still. “What about after this moment? I attacked your Robin, I’ve hurt people and I don’t regret doing the things I’ve had to do. You- you can’t be okay with that.”
Bruce’s eyes are searching him, and Jason hates how easily the man can still read him, after three years and a lifetime’s worth of differences separating them now. “I think I should be the judge of what I am and am not okay with.” Still, he can't summon up the green pit of anger. It feels impossibly out of reach.
“For years, your absence has felt like a hole in all our lives. You’re back with us, and I’d be far more than a fool to let you slip away again. I failed you once by not protecting you; let me show you that I won’t make the same mistake twice.”
Jason can’t cry. He needs to hold it together. “And what about Robin? Pretty sure he wouldn’t be okay with his attacker hanging out in his house.”
“You two definitely need to talk, and you are going to apologize and show Tim that you mean it, but the boy has already signed off on our plan of bringing you back. He was one of the biggest advocators of it, in fact.”
It doesn’t make sense, none of this does. “You want me?”
Bruce sounds almost breathless when he says “more than anything, Jaylad.”
While Jason doesn’t cry, he’d be lying if he said there weren’t tears in his eyes when he leans in to hug Bruce, his father holding him back tightly, as if never going to let him go again. Jason would be perfectly fine with that.
There’s something so safe, being held by Bruce. The man’s big calloused hand is perfectly gripping the back of his head, his other arm wrapping around his back and pulling him in so closely that he can practically feel the man’s heart beating.
Somewhere in the time they’re hugging, Dick joins in. Alfred doesn’t join in the hug physically, but Jason can sense the man’s presence not far away, watching over them.
He has more questions to ask, and has more things to figure out, but Jason, for the first time since waking up in his coffin with his breath stolen from his lungs and life back in his chest, he feels like he can work this whole thing out.