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Jason's eyes are blue as he stares back in the mirror. It doesn’t feel like him, but his eyes are blue, and there they are peaking out from the holes in the mask. He can’t stop the smile on his face, and maybe a thirteen-year-old should not be this stupidly gleeful. He should be frowning, or yelling, or getting ready to kick some serious ass.
He winks at his reflection instead and fingerguns. “Lookin’ good, handsome.” Then he gasps comically at Bruce’s reflection—Batman—next to him. “Oh, and you’re here too.”
B groans like a dad, and Jason has to slap his hands over his mouth to stop his giggles. Dick is missing out; Batman’s amazing! This is the best time of Jason’s life! He’s going to be a great Robin just like Dick was, and Dick is going to love him. He’s going to invite Jason—no, Robin—to all those secret meetings with the other cool kids, and it’s going to be Nightwing and Robin: Gotham’s Dream Team. All the bad guys are going to fall. Jason will learn all of Dick’s flips, and in a couple years when he’s really learnt how to catapult off of rooftops, maybe Jason could have his own set of escrima sticks. They could be red, matching with Nightwing’s blue.
He can’t stop grinning althroughout patrol. He keeps smiling as they crash through a window and Jason smashes his fist through some lowlife’s teeth. He keeps laughing as Batman tells him stop but he keeps going, because Jason might be thirteen, but he stole Batman’s tires. He took out a whole alley full of goons, some of whom Jason even recognised and didn’t immediately punch. He’s Robin, and Bruce said Jason was born for this. He said he picked Jason because Jason is brave, and that’s all Robin needs to be.
He keeps that sentiment when Dick rolls his eyes and agrees to take Jason for the weekend. He tells himself i’m brave, i’m robin, i’m brave when all the Teen Titans stare at him, the new Boy Wonder. He repeats it as Roy snickers through jokes and Jason hides his growing blushes.
And he clutches Bruce’s words close to his chest as the warehouse falls silent except for the tick tick tick of a lonely timer, just out of reach.
Three.
Two.
One.
Jason gasps through the seaweed, shoving it out of his mouth and hair as he coughs onto the sandy beach. A crab scuttles past, and Jason growls. His eyes are green, vibrant as his pupils morph from their elongated form into something similar to human. He tracks the movement, jaws snapping as his teeth take back his fangs. His body swallows who he once was, tucking the beast carefully inside pale, scarred skin.
He shakes the water off his form and stretches his arms as he stands on two legs. He cracks his neck, and the sound is loud. It shakes the leaves of trees like a gunshot. He sighs, breathes, and when he opens his eyes there is red staring back from the bushes.
Jason is naked as the day he was born, every attempt on his life broadcasted clear on his skin, but he grins at the freckled face glaring from the forest edge. The man is pale unlike his tanned counterparts, and while it’s braided in the island’s indigenous population’s famous style, Jason knows this man isn’t from around here. He’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but Jason is just a wolf.
He lets out a low whistle. “Been searchin’ for ya, Harper,” Jason provokes. “Y’got a nice bounty on y’head.”
The redhead’s left eye twitches. His bow pulls back, primed to shoot. “Last chance to leave before I bury you where you’re standing.”
Jason’s smile only widens. Ever since he was changed, his muscles have been burning with an itch. He keeps hearing a tiny voice in the back of brain begging to bite.
He’s not afraid of challenges. He’s excited, even, when there’s a sweet honey pot sitting at the end of it. Unfortunately for Roy, he’s the sweetest bounty around.
Jason lets out another growl as he charges forward, bones snapping and rearranging mid-air. The twang of the arrow is loud as it flies. The leaves from the island’s trees fall.
It’s like a gunshot, but Jason has already begun his countdown.
He startles awake, sweat-drenched as his fingers clutch at white bed sheets. The room swims, blue ceiling turning white turning grey, and then he sees red.
Roy groans in his sleep, eyes still closed as he turns to face Jason’s side. His arm—thick muscle and bare—slings over Jason’s midriff. “Jaybir’,” he mumbles. “Go t’sleep.”
Jason’s heart thunders in his ears. He can feel is running in circles in his chest, beating against the prison bars of his ribs, and then he feels calloused fingers roaming over his sleep shirt. They move in slow increments, a dance to a rhythm Jason can’t yet hear. He tries to count the beats: one, two, three. But as much regency TV Jason watches, he is not a dancer. He can’t slip into a suit and waltz on a ballroom floor. He’s not made for the finer things in life, and maybe that’s why he likes watching them so much.
Roy shuffles closing, a soft breath escaping his lips. His eyelashes flutter, and god, he’s pretty. Jason thought he was pretty at fifteen, and he thinks he’s pretty now at age twenty-two. Roy’s turning twenty-seven in two months, and Jason doesn’t know what he’s going to do then. Roy will probably celebrate his birthday at home in Star. Jason will still be stuck in Gotham, kept far away from a daughter he isn’t sure he can handle and a man he wants to handle too much.
He has problems.
Jason sighs, sucks in as much air as his lungs can muster. Roy opens his eyes.
“Bad dream?” he guesses, and fuck, Jason’s heart skips a beat at the sleep gripping onto Roy’s vocal cords and making him sound husky.
He’s never wanted to be Kori so bad. Or Jade. Or Donna. Or one of the other numerous men and women Roy picks up in bars.
They’re just friends, though. Best friends, but that’s it. When Jason has a panic attack, he waits a few minutes before deciding to call Roy. When Roy is on the edge of a breakdown, Jason wants him to phone instantly.
He tries to force out his words: “Yeah, jus’ a bad dream. ‘S fine.”
Roy hums, the same sound he makes when Jason asks him to pick up his laundry and they both know he won’t. Lips brush along Jason’s jaw, and then the scruff of a barely-there beard, and Jason has to remind himself to breath again. It’s not on purpose. Roy is just shifting. Roy is just moving his head.
“Tim’s the only good liar out of you Bats,” he murmurs. He returns drawing patterns into Jason’s chest, and Jason swallows, hard.
“‘M not lyin’.”
Roy grunts as he sits up; sometimes he gets flare-ups in his knee, and sometimes Jason wants to get down on his. “Babe, I know you.” His eyes are blue, bluer than anything Jason has ever seen. Jason could fall into them like all the romance novels claim. Jason could stare at them all day and never get bored.
He almost says it then: a twitch of his lips and his lungs will spill the truth. Roy brushes a hair from his face, and Jason can’t stop the dart of his eyes down. Roy’s lips have been getting thinner with age, but his smiles lines are stronger than ever. Jason wants to see him smile all day.
“What was your dream about?”
Roy asks things too sincerely; Jason can’t say no.
He drags his eyes from where he looks too often, and his head spins. Roy’s hair is flat on one side and a tangled mess on the other. Jason could thread his fingers through the strands—he’s done it before and Roy hasn’t said a word—but Roy’s eyes are blue. He’s the ocean. Jason thinks about drowning. He thinks about diving head-first into monstrous waves and letting his body be taken whole. He thinks about a lot of things.
He turns onto his side. “‘S nothin’,” he says again. “Drop it, Harper. Go back to sleep.”
The sigh is the same as most nights they spend together. Roy flops back onto his side of the bed with a thud, and then they’re both facing different directions. It’s just like how they went to sleep, and this is how they’ll always sleep. They’ll never cross the invisible line between them that Jason so desperately wants to touch. They’ll never do any of that.
Jason shuts his eyes. He dreams of blue and oceans, and the world stops.
The world starts.
The table is full, gods and goddesses lined on all sides as gold decorates the walls. B, the most pompous of them all, sits in the middle. His eyes bore into Jason through his mask, and Jason glares right back. He grits his teeth even though no one can see him but the scoff he gets in turn is the only answer he needs.
“I don’t fuckin’ care what you think,” he bites out.
B’s eyes narrow. “I don’t care what you think either, chum.” Jason bristles. “You are forbidden from entering the human world.”
He gapes, and all heads turn. Dick splutters through a defence and Tim starts to yell, but they fall as silent as Cass, Goddess of Shadows. Jason’s the God of Death, but he’s not in charge of who lives and dies. If he was, B would be reasonable. The game would be reasonable, but this is B’s court. This is his world.
Jason needs to make his own. He was in the process of constructing something beautiful, but even beauty is ugliness if B hasn’t been the one to orchestrate the plan.
B runs a hand over his face like this conversation is more taxing than watching the human race destroy itself. “There is a balance, Jaylad. You are directly messing with that balance.”
Jason slams a hand down on the table. “Where was that balance when I came back from the dead? Where was that balance when you let the God that killed me flee to safety in the human realm?” Where were you when I needed you most?
The court falls silent. Even the Goddess of Truth can’t say a word.
It’s Jason’s turn to scoff. He cracks his neck, loud, gunshot, and turns around. “Yeah, that’s what I fuckin’ thought.”
He’s the God of Death, but even he struggles to make stupid rules die. The divine have never loved him, even if Jason is stronger than half of them combined. Maybe that’s why they don’t love him: his eyes are clouded and gold isn’t the only thing he loves. He loves Roy Harper, a human with as many flaws as Jason can say. He’s the only person who dug Jason out of his grave and gave him a hand when no one else was helping him up.
Jason’s the God of Death, and while he can’t force B’s rules into the ground, he sure can break them. He’s bringing Roy up to divinity whether B likes it or not.
“I like you.”
Jason can’t breathe.
“I like you a lot,” Roy clarifies, and the tiniest smile creeps across his face. His cheeks burn pink. Jason knows he’s worse. “Hell, I might even love you, Jaybird, if you’re not gonna kick my balls for saying so.” He laughs, then, and Jason is going to combust. “Lian loves you too.” There’s a look in Roy’s eyes, the kind Jason has only ever seen from the sidelines. “But I love you more.”
It's too much. Roy Harper is too much. He loves with wide teeth and bright, blinding smiles. He loves in full laughs that Jason can't quite copy. He can't quite follow along. He can't fucking breathe.
He gasps like he's six feet under, nails picking up dirt as he scrambles against the lid of the coffin. There's no air. His lungs burn. Jason's eyes are a blearing, blinding green.
Roy loves the colour red. He loves the way Jason looks in his hoodies, torn crop tops, collars and blindfolds and hard, leather cuffs. He loves Jason red and panting against the skin of the sofa, and he loves Jason when there are too many missions pinned up on the boars. He loves Jason when there's only one night left.
There is only one night left.
Jason sneaks out the window. His movements are quiet, but hazel-green eyes are awake. They listen as the love of his pathetic, fucked-up life leaves, and Roy knows it's because he's not good enough. He has never been good enough.
In Jason's head, he's repeating the same thing.
The grapple gun gasps, cries, and spits. It flies, a long, twisted string arcing through Gotham's night. And then it falls.
Something snaps.
“Jason.”
Fingers snap again, and Jason blinks at the monopoly board.
“Come back to us, baby. You drifted for a second there.”
“Jayjay!” a little voice scolds. “Pay attention!”
Jason tries to laugh, but his voice is a little rough. “Sorry, princess. I'm focused on you now, I swear.”
Lian frowns at him, one eyebrow pressed down farther than the other. She's just like her dad. “Pinky promise?”
Jason locks his pinky finger with hers. “Pinky promise.”
She beams and flings her hands in the air. “Yay! Daddy, it's your turn.” The dice tap on the board.
Roy smirks and pools the dice in his palm. Before he rolls, he turns to Jason. “What were you thinking about?”
And what was Jason thinking about? His mind draws a blank, but then he sees them both, falling in and out of every life they could possibly have. It's easy to confess. Roy always makes it easy to confess.
“Nothin’,” he answers on instinct, but then: “Jus’ how in every universe, it doesn't matter what we're doin'. I'd still choose you.”
Roy's grin splits his face. “Aw,” he coos, reaching out to pinch Jason's cheeks. Jason quickly swats him away. “Are you saying I'm your soulmate?”
“I did not say that,” Jason huffs.
“I think you did,” Roy smirks.
Lian slaps her tiny hands over Roy's arm. “Daddy! It's your turn!” She's rocking impatiently in her seat.
“Okay, okay! I'm rolling, sweetheart. I'm rolling.”
He isn't rolling. He leans over to Jason and kisses his lips, slow and sweet. When he breaks apart, Jason can't help but notice how thin Roy's lips are beginning to get. He still loves him.
“Just for the record,” Roy starts. “I love you too.”
Lian shrieks, slamming her eyes over her face. “Ew, ew, ew! Daddy, roll!”
Roy laughs loudly and the dice hit the table. It's a six. He begins to move his icon—custom arrow, cute—only to freeze. “Wait, shit, can I reroll?”
It's Jason's turn to smirk. His lips still tingle with the ghost of Roy's lips. “No rerolls, Harper.”
Roy gapes. “But Lian got to reroll!” he argues.
Jason shrugs. “Lian's a child.”
Lian snickers. “Yeah, Daddy, I'm a child.”
Roy tries to snatch the dice from the table but Jason gets there too fast. He holds them behind his back, and Roy leans across the table, arms outstretched.
“No cheating, Daddy!” Lian scolds.
Jason loves this man. He gives Roy his biggest shit-eating grin. “Straight to jail, Harper. Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred.”
Roy huffs and Lian snickers, evil in a way Jason thinks she got from him. It's adorable. Jason wouldn't want to roll for another life, regardless of if he ends up with Roy or not.