Archive of Our Own

With Bruce now (tentatively) invited back into their lives, the first thing Jason did was quit his job.

He wasn’t stupid. Bruce was the kind of silver-spoon rich where money was a gesture, not an object, and had a ten-tons of guilt on his shoulders. Mostly over Jay – the fragments Jason had shared of just how bad his resurrection could have gone without his intervention made go a Bruce sickly grey – and surprisingly, a little for Jason.

Despite what he’d told Jason during their first meeting, it was as if this new, freakishly nice Bruce somehow felt responsible for his Bruce’s actions. The younger version of his father hadn’t cut his throat, or picked the Joker over him, again and again, but he still acted like he owed Jason something.

The few times they’d met since Clark’s, the look of guilt on Bruce’s face made Jason uncomfortable. Wildly so, even if Jay seemed to have missed the subtle tightness in his brow and the flex of his jaw – traits apparently only gained after Jay’s death. His Bruce had given Jason precious little, but had left him with an intimate knowledge of his emotional tells, if only to avoid them.

When Bruce’s aching sadness was brandished on his sleeves, Jason wanted to leave.

He nearly had the first time, when Bruce looked at Jason the same way he looked at Martha and Thomas. Being the black sheep was one thing, but a fucking motivation? No thank you.

Only through Jay’s presence, and the reminder that despite sharing a face, this was not the man who hurt him, did Jason restrain himself from flying out of the nearest window and hoping Clark would notice.

But slowly –Jason bleeding for every inch of progress made, trying desperately to avoid staining Jay– he and this new Bruce settled.

The money certainly helped.

After three full seasons of being Jay’s de facto adult, Jason was exhausted. Bone deep, sleep ruining, the kind that chipped away the colour in the world choice-by-unavoidable choice. With one eye perpetually on his younger self, keeping him out of trouble, another on his unsteady relationship with Bruce, and his nights eaten by the soul-sucking agony known only to warehouse workers, Jason had nothing left for himself.

When Bruce offered to pay for Jay’s expenses, in that quiet, unassuming manner that riled the pit worse than anger might have, Jason jumped at the chance like a starving man.

Fuck principles. They were a salve for the privileged, self-denial to pretend that all lives were equally hard. He was raising a kid, and Jay deserved an older brother (slash time travelling self) who could be there for him.

Goodbyes weren’t his style, but taking care of people was.

After his last day at the warehouse, unbeknownst to his men, Jason arranged for one of his old contacts to take over. An offer of employment from an untraceable email was sent to a man he would not meet for several years, but who he implicitly trusted to take care of business.

Free time – god had he missed the simple luxury of kicking back – meant Jason was more involved with Jay’s life, which brought him, kicking and screaming, into contact with Bruce.

Early February swept a bitter, needle-like cold to Metropolis. Wind whistled through the high-rise corridors, blowing freezing ocean air into the face of anyone outdoors, leaving a wake of brittle frost and pinked skin.

Dipping into Bruce’s pocket book, Jason replaced Jay’s thrifted coat just in time for the weather, a brand new navy blue puffer, but had neglected to do the same himself. Shivering in his threadbare jacket, the outdoor rugby facility’s shelter deeply inadequate for mid-winter cold, Jason found himself scooting reluctantly close to Bruce.

In his plush jacket, probably spun from the fur of some endangered species, Bruce looked entirely comfortable as his pale eyes tracked Jay’s form as he streaked down the field in a blur of red. Bitter-smelling steam curled from his cup, wafting unfairly to Jason’s nose.

A taunt.

Jason curled his hands in his pockets, anger momentarily overcoming the chill.

On the pitch, Jay’s team scored as they ran the ball into the enemies backline. A try, if Jason’s memory of Jay’s thorough and lengthy explanations was correct.

A scattered handful of dedicated parents cheered across the stands, Jason made sure to be the loudest among them. He stood and waved, until he was sure Jay had seen him.

“I can’t believe how good he’s doing.”

Bruce stood with him, coffee clutched tightly to prevent spilling. He was so young, hair dark, a thin scar through his brow missing, the ageless quality – one Jason knew the next decade would rob from him – still present.

“What? Thought I was too damaged to do it right?”

Bruce took a sip of his drink, clearly unbothered by Jason’s bait.

“Did you? When you first came back, before you got to know Jay?”

He’d been scared witless, unmoored from his own time, in a Gotham where there was no place for the Red Hood or Jason Todd. He’d directed himself at Jay, who he’d seen as a chance to undo his own past. It hadn’t been about the dark-haired boy chasing the ball down the field at all. Not at first.

“I used to worry about Jay. A lot. About whether I was doing more harm, or my worst traits would rub off on him. But I think that means I was doing it right.”

“I remember when I first took Dick in. He was this tiny thing, and so angry. At the world for taking his parents, at Zucco for doing the deed. At himself a little too, even if he didn’t realize it at the time. And all I could think was, Am I making it worse? Am I giving him the tools to destroy himself?”

“Does it get better?”

“One of my sons jumps off skyscrapers for fun, and Jay… well. What do you think?”

It was strange to think of Bruce as his peer. An equal in the field of child raising, with the same thoughts and fears that kept Jason awake in the wee hours.

On the field, a shrill whistle blew, cutting off Jason’s train of thought.

“Break time,” Bruce noted, as the clusters of red and orange huddled on opposite sides of the pitch. “You look cold, Jason. Are you sure I can’t get you a drink?”

Jason pushed aside his reflexive denial. He was here for Jay. Trying to salvage some sort of functional relationship with Bruce, sitting together on freezing metal benches and talking about the weather, for Jay.

And he was cold. How bad could one drink be?

–

The line to the refreshment stand was, perhaps predictably, long. Every parent in the complex was crammed together in the small space, waiting as the pair of flustered workers rushed to provide a truly worrisome amount of coffee.

After Jason had a steaming cup of hot chocolate – caffeine seemed to make the pit worse – he and Bruce returned to their seats. The second round began as they ascended the salt-caked stairs, a loud buzzer announcing the play.

“Alfred’s hosting a party next week. On the fourteenth. I was hoping you and Jay would have time to attend,” Bruce said, like one might comment on the stock market.

“Aw, Bruce. Are you inviting us to your birthday party? Will there be cake, or presents? A pony ride?”

Bruce sighed, pinching his nose in a way that made Jason’s chest hurt.

“I understand you couldn’t make it to Christmas. And I’m not inviting you to Bruce Wayne’s birthday dinner, I knew you would never accept that level of public engagement. This is low-key, and at the Manor. I’m sure Jay would like to visit and see everyone again.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “That reminds me. Why hasn’t Dick or Alfred shown up at my place? I could see Alfred respecting our privacy, but not Grayson.”

“They don’t know.”

Hot chocolate sloshed out of the narrow opening in his cup as Jason turned, aghast.

“Excuse me? Tell me you haven’t been keeping Jay a secret.”

“Like you said. If either of them knew, you wouldn’t hear the end of it. I thought space until both you and Jay were ready would be appreciated.”

“It is. Really, it is,” Jason reassured Bruce “Seems a little cold though. They still think Jay’s dead?”

Bruce nodded.

Jason blew out a breath, billowing into puffy clouds. In the artificially green pitch below, Jay soared into a tackle, knocking another boy supine to stop the ball, then stood. His grin was visible halfway up the stairs.

“I’d like to see him,” Bruce said, nauseatingly earnest.

“Guess we don’t have a choice.” Jason relished the way Bruce’s face pinched. It’s what he got for being a manipulative bastard. “What time does it start?”

–

The footpath to the Manor was perfectly manicured. Not a flake of snow lay on the stone tiles, even as a strong wind blew air from the bay into the hills. Warmth lit up the grand leaded windows of the building, the remnants of a christmas wreath still hanging on the solid oak.

Both Jason’s stood a few feet from the door, bundled in equally impervious jackets. Jason’s, dark red and heinously overpriced, had arrived a few days after Jay’s rugby match. There was no note but Jason didn’t need to be a detective to know it was from Bruce.

“Remember, they still think you’re dead.”

“Because dad is a dick,” Jay replied, grinning.

“Dick’s a dick. Bruce thinks he can control people’s feelings if he control’s their knowledge. Hence, no one knows.”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. Let them fawn over me so they forget you exist.”

“You’re the best.” Jason ruffled Jay’s hair, the younger boy yelping and swatting his hand away, then hurrying to smooth his hair down before Jason could ring the doorbell.

Turns out, he didn’t have to. The door to Wayne Manor swung open, the interior looking both identical and wildly out of date.

Alfred stood in the doorway, in his usual butler blacks, looked even younger than Bruce had. His hairline had re-grown several inches, and there was a robustness to his shoulders. More than most, the intervening years would extract their due.

“Master Jason,” Alfred gasped, looking through Jason like a window, to Jay who was still fussing with his hair.

Jason watched the reunion. Alfred abandoned his post and tread the path to Jay, who met the old man halfway in a sprinting full-armed hug. Jason tried not to feel jealous. This Alfred didn’t know him and had no reason to care that he was alive.

While they were distracted, Jason slipped inside and away from the painful mass in his throat.

Following his memory of the Manor, Jason ended up in the kitchen. The room was empty, but clearly in use. There was a large pot on the stove, and the oven left the room a degree or two warmer than the hall outside. Voices floated through the open archway leading to the most used living room.

Before he could cross the threshold, Jason stalled.

What would they think of him? A future Jason, who’d intentionally kept Jay from them for months. A killer, a bad seed. The black sheep for a good reason.

Why did he suddenly care?

He couldn’t afford to, Jason decided. Any amount of hatred, or even simple dislike, would be worth it. Jay needed his people, and they needed him. It was cruel of Bruce to deny them relief, and worse of Jason to be thankful for it.

Like promised, Bruce’s birthday was a small affair. The living room was large, built to house several generations of nineteenth century families, dwarfing the current occupants completely. Dick and Babs cuddled on a loveseat (still together, to Jason’s shock), while Bruce stood by the roaring fireplace speaking with two dark haired women, Diana and Lois, Jason realized.

More people he’d forgotten to miss, and who he now had another chance to meet.

Jason was a big guy, but he knew how to move like he was still small. Sticking to the edge of the room, moving only when backs were turned, he managed to sneak up on the group huddled by the fireplace without detection.

He tapped on Bruce’s shoulder. “Happy birthday, old man.”

Bruce turned, eyes wide for a fraction of a second before he realized who had gotten the drop on him.

“You made it,” he smiled.

Then Bruce, for reasons Jason could not begin to fathom, wrapped his arms around Jason and pulled him into an embrace. Jason froze. In a fight, that response would have gotten him killed. Thankfully, whatever warm and fuzzy instinct had driven Bruce to hug him faded, and he pulled back a moment later.

“Lois, you already know Jason.”

Lois shot Jason a knowing look, violet eyes sparkling with interest. Maybe she thought he wouldn’t have the guts to enter Bruce’s domain, or maybe she was betting that he would, and she was waiting for the fallout.

“Jason, this is Diana. I take it you knew her in your timeline?”

Where meeting Clark had been an ugly reminder of just how much his future had taken from him, seeing Diana in the flesh awoke an old hero worship he assumed had died with him. The statuesque woman, with the look of a greek carving came to life, peered at him with consideration evident in her dark eyes.

“Not much,” Jason lied.

For some reason, Bruce knowing how close he and Diana were, once upon a time, felt like showing his stomach.

“Timeline, I take it you’re not from ours?” Diana finally addressed him, the low timbre of her voice exactly as he remembered.

“From the future, actually. But it’s complicated. Jason, by the way.”

He held his hand out for Diana to shake, then felt a little silly. This was Wonder Woman, and he wanted to give her a handshake?

Before he could retreat, and try to play the move off as something else, Diana grasped his hand firmly and returned the gesture. Her skin was like marble, warm marble that smelled faintly of lilacs.

“Jason Todd,” she smiled as she spoke, looking genuinely thrilled to see him. “I always believed you did not have it in you to stay dead.”

That was news to Jason. Bruce seemed surprised too, his face pinching up in an expression that either meant he was about to start yelling, or vanish completely.

“That would have been nice to know in advance.”

“Perhaps, but I did not wish to give your father false hope. It can be a dangerous thing, giving men dangerous ideas.”

He wasn’t going to argue with that. At least with Jay dead, Bruce was given a sense of closure. If he’d known that resurrection was possible, the lengths a man like him might go to were frightening to consider.

“But you are not the young man I knew, and if you are here…” Diana trailed off, her eyes fixed on the door Jason entered through.

“Oh yeah, you better get ready. Jay’s been bouncing off the walls all week. Alfred intercepted us, but they’ll be here soon.”

Noting the pile of similarly wrapped boxes on a table near the fire, Jason put his own down. The question of what one got for the man who (quite literally) had everything had consumed Jason’s mind since Bruce’s stilted invitation.

Absolutely nothing had been his first answer. He’d saved the man’s son, Bruce already owed him a Jay sized debt. But apparently that hadn’t been enough for the brat, who pitched the closest thing to a fit Jason had witnessed from his younger self, demanding that they not show up empty handed.

Jason slipped the wrapped book into the small pile, hoping that Jay’s idea was a good one.

Jay picked that moment to burst into the room, Alfred following several paces behind. The rims of the butler’s eyes were red. Had he been crying? Jason didn’t imagine Alfred had ever cared about him that much.

Not for the first time, Jason was confronted with just how badly he’d screwed himself in his timeline. So certain that Bruce would bend first, he’d doomed any real chance they’d had at reconciliation. If he’d gone directly to Bruce, instead of chasing his harebrained scheme to its disastrous end, would it be like it was for Jay? Or had the part of Jay that made him lovable died at some point between the pit and Gotham?

Upon Jay’s sudden appearance, the boy aiming directly at Bruce and jumping into a hug (the only thing these people seemed to do), Dick finally pulled his head off Barbara’s shoulder and noticed the very obvious events unfolding before him.

Dick blinked slowly, watching as Bruce spun Jay in the air, then turned back to Barbara. Confusion crossed his face, followed by grim acceptance. He acted like Jay wasn’t even there.

Wow. Jason knew Dick resented him, but he thought he was above literally ignoring Jay’s miraculous return from beyond the grave. Guess he really mellowed out over the next nine years.

Barbara reacted much more predictably. Throwing herself off her seat and into her wheelchair, she quickly maneuvered to the fireplace and Jason. This seemed to give Dick the prompt he needed to stop being a massive asshole, as he scrambled after her with a bewildered look on his face.

During this, Jason managed to remain largely unnoticed. Squashed between the wall and a stern looking bookshelf, he did an impression of wallpaper and prayed that Jay really hammed up the reunion.
Jason’s stomach churned.

He wanted today to go well, for more than just Jay. Despite ten years of bad memories, Jason wanted these people to like him too. Desperately so, a hunger he’d suppressed while living in Metropolis surging up his throat and leaving his mouth dry with nerves.

At Bruce’s side, Babs had a finger pointed into his chest, voice raised and expression like a stormcloud. Bruce should have been thankful looks couldn’t kill, otherwise his withered corpse would have been the recipient of Barbara’s rant instead.

As it was, Bruce’s attempts to regain control of the situation were failing, his sharp tone holding no paternalistic sway over Babs. She had her own father to deal with, and while Bruce’s bullshit might have worked on the rest of them, she was better than that.

Near a flustered looking Jay, Dick was simply staring at Jason’s younger self like he couldn’t quite trust his senses. He reached out tentatively, hope painfully obvious in his features. When his hand touched Jay’s shoulder, he withdrew it like touching a hot stove.

“You’re real.” He seemed to be reassuring himself more than anyone else.

“Duh. ‘Course I’m real. Could a ghost do this?”

Despite his bravado, Jay’s hug was tentative. Jason remembered how badly he’d wanted Dick’s affection before he died, and it appeared it was a trait Jay had yet to grow out of.

Jason caught Jay’s eye over Dick’s shoulder, and made a retching motion at the saccharine scene. Jay giggled, which, of course, made Dick look behind him. His eyes widened even more, dangerously close to popping out of their sockets, when he caught sight of Jason.

For a moment his eyes darted back and forth between Jason the elder and Jay the younger.

“Am I the only one seeing two of them?”

“No,” Babs said, still glaring at Bruce. “You’re not. Why is that, Bruce? Care to explain?”

–

Most of Bruce’s birthday afternoon was spent doing just that.

At length, Jason walked the gathered crowd of heroes through how exactly he managed to end up nearly ten years in the past (he still had no idea), and what had happened to him and Jay in the intervening year.

Regarding his own timeline, Jason kept the details to a minimum. Only the things he knew would affect everyone present, like the Gotham quake and Blockbuster’s nuking of Bludhaven, but kept his own antics to himself.

The Red Hood was a mistake – an understandable one, given the state he’d been in after his own resurrection– and the new timeline was his chance to change that. None of the people present needed to know about it, not even Jay, who enjoyed badgering Jason for details about their future almost as much as he enjoyed giving him grey hairs. He’d already spilled his soul once, and that was between him and Clark, who was absent from the party, and therefore couldn’t snitch.

“The Demon’s Head truly has access to a Lazarus Pit? That is troubling to hear,” Diana said, face grim.

“Not just one. There’s a whole bunch all over the world. There’s even one in Gotham. Somewhere under the hospital I think, I wasn’t the one who dealt with it last time,” Jason replied.

Bruce nodded. “I’ll make sure the source is sealed properly.”

“Good, but make sure to save a couple for Tim. He seemed to enjoy blowing them up last time.”

“Tim blew up Lazarus pits? Plural?” Dick jumped into the dialogue. “Our Tim? Robin Tim?”

“He took down half the League of Shadows after we thought Bruce died, the little madman. Went completely rogue for like, six months, then came back dragging Bruce with him. By the way, avoid the time stream, if at all possible,” he told Bruce.

While it wasn’t a fully accurate retelling of the events following Bruce’s supposed demise, Jason was pretty sure everyone would appreciate him not mentioning the truly embarrassing fight over Bruce’s legacy that followed.

“Noted.” Bruce looked grim. Whichever Flash was active right now – Jason could never remember when Barry had been replaced by Dick’s friend – would be getting an earful in the near future.

“So you travelled ten years into the past,” Dick said, not quite a question.

“More like nine now. But yeah.”

“And Jay is seventeen.”

“Seventeen and a half,” Jay muttered.

“That means you’re…”

A grin split Jason’s face in two. In his rush to explain, he’d nearly forgotten the second reason he was willing to brave the Manor. The first was Jay, of course. But the dawning look of horror on Dick’s face was everything he’d imagined it to be.

“Congrats, Dick. You’re a middle child now.”

“No. Bruce still adopted you second.”

“Yeah, but I’m older. And taller.”

“Taller? That has nothing to do with anything.”

While Jason had a few inches on Bruce, Jay would never be taller than Dick’s slightly above average. Without the pit to fix years of sub-par nutrition and stunting he was shaping up to be a rather short adult. Not that there was anything wrong with that.

Jason would pay a lot of Bruce’s money to be able to squeeze into small spaces again, and find clothes that fit him without a trip to a specialty store. Maybe Jay would hit a growth spurt before twenty and shoot up to match Jason’s height, but he doubted it.

“That has everything to do with it, little brother.”

Jason stood to his full height, luxuriating in the several inch difference between the two. For Dick, who made being the eldest child a core part of his identity, Jason’s existence must be a terrible revelation. Too bad Jason just thought it was funny.

“You!”

Bruce let out a weary, bone deep sigh. “Dick, we have company.”

“Yep, sorry.” Dick still looked like he wanted to jump Jason. Good to know he could still get under the man’s skin, that might come in handy someday.

“If it’s any consolation, you’ve kicked my ass more times than I can count.”

“You never told me any of this,” Jay said, arms crossed. “I want to know that kind of thing.”

“What, are you planning on fighting Dick later? Give me a heads up, I’ll bring popcorn to watch him kick your ass instead of mine.”

“You guys can fight later,” Babs said, butting into their argument. “Right?”

“Yes honey.”

“Yes Barbara.”

“Don’t look at me. I’m just going to watch these idiots,” said Jason.

“Jason, you knew when and how to save our Jay. I take it in your timeline no one did that for you? Otherwise you wouldn’t have needed to be there.”

Dammit. Jason shouldn’t have expected to get away with not telling them about that night. Or the years that followed. Certainly not with Barbara around, who was too clever by half, and had none of the emotional hang ups that prevented someone like Bruce from asking.

“No. I… I escaped on my own.”

“You escaped a coffin and six-feet of dirt on your own? That’s a little hard to believe.”

Huh. Jason had almost forgotten what really goddamn pissed off felt like. Just another thing that should have stayed buried.

“Well I guess I’m just an implausible person then,” he bit back, holding the green in his mind by the throat. “But yeah, I broke out of my coffin and dug my way through six goddamn feet of dirt. And you know what I got for it? Serious fucking brain damage. I was all but comatose and the only thing that fixed it was a dip in Ra’s hot tub.”

“Oh.” Barbara had the gall to look apologetic. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you are. Just be glad it didn’t happen to Jay. Which, to remind everyone, would have without me.”

The room was rapidly shrinking, and the number of people surrounding him seemed to multiply with each blink. The stranglehold he had on the pit was slipping, anger lashing against the surgebreaks in his mind.

Some seven years in the future, he’d finally figured out what the pit wanted. To protect him. But the mindless force couldn’t differentiate between real, physical danger, and the subtler social forces which could not be cowed through violence.

Jay was suddenly beside him, a serious look in his blue eyes. “You need to chill.”

Their code-phrase, not that secrecy would do them any good surrounded by a gang of geniuses.

The first, and only, time the pit had reared around Jay was a few months into the new timeline. They’d still been learning how to be around each other, and Jay had suggested that what Jason really needed to de-stress was a bath.

He couldn’t have known. Jason remembered loving baths, which felt like a foreign luxury after a childhood of mildewy shower stalls. But the pit had taken that too.

After the green faded and Jason felt comfortable unlocking his bedroom door – the only things he’d destroyed had been his own, never Jay’s – they’d agreed upon a code phrase to use when Jay was afraid, or needed Jason to calm down.

Jason breathed in and out deeply, keenly aware that half the room had tensed in anticipation. They probably weren’t even aware – Jason found that the unconscious mind was a far better judge of character.

“Sorry, Jay. I’m chill now.”

“Good. Don’t want to be bad guests, do we?”

While Jason was focused on breathing, and not fantasizing about sawing someone's head off, Lois had sprung into action. God he appreciated her. If Clark wasn’t literally Superman, and a really decent guy to boot, Jason might try and steal Lois from him out of principle.

“Let’s maybe stop asking all our questions to Jason right now. We’ll have lots of time tonight, and the rest of our lives. Besides, it’s Bruce’s birthday,” she said.

No one looked convinced, eyeing Jason with a mix of wariness and open fear.

“I bet dinner’s ready,” Jason said to Jay, who perked up, then shot off towards the kitchen to check. Before anyone could open their mouths, Jason followed.

–

After dinner, a warm mulligatawny soup – why that was Bruce’s favourite meal, Jason could only guess – and plenty of sides, the group of heroes (and Lois), were clustered in the sitting room.

In a plush high-backed chair Bruce looked particularly imperial. To one side, there was a small table laden with the gifts he’d already opened. From Diana, he received a handful of books, the titles all in Greek. Dick had gone with a less sentimental option, a pair of novelty Batman and Robin plush figures leaned against the books.

Bruce was finally opening his and Jay’s present. The moderate sized book was covered in two layers of paper, neither him nor Jay were particularly gifted wrappers, and a handful of colourful mis-match bows courtesy of Jay.

As he peeled back the wrap he revealed a small, neatly designed, memory book. Jay’s suggestion to give Bruce the one thing money couldn’t buy, time, was better than anything Jason had thought of, and the past year had produced a surplus of pictures.

His favourite, the one greeting Bruce as he opened the book, was a selfie of him and Jay on Jay’s birthday. The first time he’d seen Jay really in his element, dashing between Amazonian artifacts and natural history specimens. He liked journalism now, but Jason would bet that Jay’s future included some flavour of higher education.

Bruce flipped a few more pages, then set the book in his lap.

“This is amazing. Thank you both.”

“Jay included notes with all of the photos, on the backs of each print.”

“Not just me.”

Damn. Didn’t Jay know Jason had a reputation to maintain?

Bruce looked at him, eyes teary and a small but very real smile curling his lips. Jason immediately slammed the big red abort button in his mind. He could deal with pissed-off Bruce, power tripping Bruce, pretty much every version of his dad.

A proud Bruce? Besides doubting his mere existence, Jason had no idea how to handle him.

“Just be glad I bothered to take any pictures. I didn’t have to, you know.”

Jay elbowed his ribs. Jason elbowed him back.

“You’re welcome dad. We both worked really hard on this.”

Betrayed by his own blood.

With an uncharacteristic mercy, Bruce chose to move on to the next present. But from the way his gaze continued to return to the slim black volume, Jason knew it was all he wanted to look at.

–

“So what exactly was that?”

Jay barely waited for the Manor door to shut behind them. The night air was bitter, the sun's warmth no longer providing mild relief from the sweeping ocean gusts, pulling ice-cold spray up the Bristol hills.

“A birthday party? Jay, I know we grew up poor, but you’ve had those before.”

“Not that.”

Jason dropped the act. “I don't like it, okay?”

“Dad being happy?”

“Him being proud of both of us. It just feels wrong, makes me want to punch someone, or jump out a window. Maybe go down to the Narrows and find some creeps to beat up.”

“I wish you would tell me about your Bruce. It would make this easier, I think, since all I know is dad and he's… well he's not a bad guy.”

Jason wished Clark was there. He would know what to tell Jay about Jason's timeline, and about his Bruce, and what to keep hidden.

“You know I can't.”

Subjecting anyone else to his future, and his Bruce, would be cruel. Those things, the Red Hood, Bruce's ‘death’, the neverending series of disasters plaguing Gotham, would never come to pass. That future was gone, and Jason would make sure this softer, kinder Bruce wouldn't become the man Jason knew.

“I get it, but I’m seventeen. I’ll be an adult in August. Why can’t you trust me?”

“It’s not about trust.” Jason took a moment to breathe before getting behind the wheel. “I’m not telling you when you’re eighteen, twenty-one, or thirty. My timeline is gone, dredging up the muck won’t do any good.”

Jason’s word was final. Jay was quiet for most of the ride, and whenever Jason turned to check his blindspot, his face was wrinkled in concentration.

“I’ll be eighteen in six months.”

“I know that. We share a birthday.”

“And you said no heroics while I was underage.”

Jason sighed. He did not like where this was going, but he also knew that any logic he tried would mean little compared to the strength of Jay’s need to do something. Journalism was a good outlet, as were sports, but nothing in the world came close to saving people in need.

“You really want to get back in the suit? The thing that killed you?”

“I don’t know. I was just thinking about how Robin – Tim – wasn’t at the party, and then I remembered how much fun I used to have in the suit. I’m not going to sneak out or anything, I learned my lesson, but I really miss being someone who made a difference.”

“Yeah,” Jason said, throat tight. “I understand.”

“Do you think Bruce needs me? Now that he has Tim.”

His resentment was obvious in his tone, though it was not the mad anger that had driven Jason’s own vendetta against the pretender.

“Bruce would burst into a cloud of bat-shaped confetti if he found out you wanted back in the game.”

“Ha, you’re probably right. I guess I feel like I don’t belong there anymore, in the Manor or the Cave.”

Jason would vehemently deny how happy those words made him, but he felt his cheeks pinken all the same and hoped the darkness of the cabin would hide it.

“You don’t have to fit in with Bruce and his merry gang to be a hero. I may be retired for now, but that doesn’t mean much in this business.”

“No shit. I know about the gun you keep under the floorboards.”

“Damnit. I thought I hid that better.”

“You did, but I noticed you were moving it monthly, so I waited to see where it was.” Jay was smirking, pleased with himself. “But that’s not the point. Didn’t you kill people in your timeline?”

“Not anyone who didn’t deserve it. And anyways, most of them are still alive in this timeline. So I’ve done nothing wrong, morally speaking.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Eh. I’ve got no one else to compare with, and plus, it was good enough for Bruce.”

Jay looked stunned, precisely how Jason had felt when Bruce had accepted his wrongdoings in Clark’s spare room. He still had a little trouble wrapping his mind around that night, despite his perfect recall. The first real crack in his future-stained perception of this Bruce.

“My point is, if you’re going to throw yourself back into vigilantism when you turn eighteen–” Please don’t. “– you have more options than just Bruce.”

“You’d do that for me?”

Jay’s voice was timid, like he was scared Jason might hurt him. Sometimes Jason hated just how much he looked like Willis, sharing a similar size, and nearly identical dark hair and square jaw with his biological father.

“Kid, I’d do anything for you.”

–

The soft caress of early spring – timid greens poking through dirt-crusted snow – brought with it a flush of new life. This included a baby hippo at the Gotham Zoo, offspring of the longtime residents of a deep lagoon near the front of the maze-like space.
Metropolis also had a zoo, which like the rest of the city was shiny, new, and significantly more ethical than the iron-barred dump in Gotham. What it didn’t have, was a baby hippo. Unsurprisingly, Jay immediately demanded they visit the poor creature and Jason found himself a reluctant participant in a day trip to the city.

When they passed beneath the wrought-iron entrance, and finished paying a king’s ransom for entry, Jason spotted Dick waving enthusiastically through the crowd, a tiny but recognizable Tim wearing oversized headphones beside him.

“Jay? Why are Dick and Tim here?”

“What a coincidence,” Jay said, laughing nervously. “I’ve got no idea, but since they’re here…”

“You invited them, didn’t you? Do you even want to see the hippo?”

“Her name is Nata, and she is a delight.” Jay said, achingly serious.

Jason couldn’t help but smile. Jay had manipulated him, and lied rather poorly, but he didn’t care. It meant that he was doing this whole parenting thing right – if Jay trusted him enough to know that even if he broke the rules, Jason wouldn’t punish him.

“Just ask me next time, alright. Grayson’s not so bad I can’t put up with him for a few hours.”

Jay nodded and then sprinted into the crowd, using his well-honed dexterity to dodge strollers and packs of grade-school children. He greeted Dick with a hug, and Tim with a mix between a handshake, high-five, and fist bump. Since when were they friends?
Jason herded the group towards the nearest entrance, dedicated to African wildlife, elephants and lions overlooking sunny savannah standing in stark contrast to the dark metal and grey sky. Once they were moving, the children several feet ahead, Jason fell into pace beside Dick.

They chatted, mostly amiably about pointless topics. Dick went on and on about Babs – he’d always been a romantic, even if he was also an incurable cheat. Seeing them together again, knowing what was to come, made Jason feel a little queasy. Even if they ended up alright, he felt the need to warn Dick. But then again, there were more pressing matters.

“Why the hell were you so weird about Jay?” Jason asked when Jay and Tim were out of earshot. “Jay might have missed it between like, five different reunions, but I saw the way you pretended he didn't exist until we literally forced you to.”

“Oh that? Well I figured he was just hallucijason. Wasn't until Babs started looking at him, not just in his general direction, that I realized it was actually Jay,” Dick replied, like that wasn't a categorically insane thing to say.

“What the hell is hallucijason?”

“Hallucination, Jason. You know?”

“No. I don’t.”

“Your me never told you about hallucijason?”

“No, we weren’t close enough to discuss his imaginary friends.” Dick shot him a worried like. Hypocrite much.

“You've been seeing a hallucinatory version of Jay? This whole time?”

“Not all the time. But he's a great guy.”

“Dick, is hallucijason here right now?”

Jason felt a little absurd asking, but he was curious. This was something he was certain Bruce didn't know, and the thrill of having one up on the world's greatest detective was enough to keep looking. If he was worried about Dick (he totally was), no one needed to know.

Dick stared at a space beside Jason for a second too long to be sheer coincidence.

“No.”

“Okay… And does he like, do anything?”

“General hallucination things,” Dick said, clarifying nothing. “Now what was it you were saying earlier about me being Batman?”

Jason knew when to go with a less than subtle redirection.

Jay and Tim had moved on from the penguins, and were headed in the direction of the Eurasian Wildlife, clearly mid-conversation. Trust his younger self to get on with the pretender immediately.

“I'll tell you, but we should probably follow them.”

“Crap.” Dick took off towards the graceful Indonesian inspired archway, carefully carved stones dotted with fake moss, that Jay and Tim were running through. “Slow down!”

By the time he caught up to the three of them, Jay’s face was pressed against the glass of a large tiger enclosure, the sleeping form of one of the orange and black inhabitants a few feet away. Tim was crouched, holding a long-lensed camera to the glass.

“It was while Bruce was presumed dead. Someone needed to be Batman.”

“And you guys picked me? Was everyone else busy or something?”

Jason decided not to mention the battle for the mantle. “You were the best choice.”

“No way,” Dick leaned in, close to a whisper to avoid anyone overhearing. “I mean, you were around, right?”

“I didn’t spend much time outside of Gotham, if that’s what you mean.”

“Why didn’t you do it, then? You’re a lot more like Bruce than I am, heck, you even walk like he does in the suit.”

Jason gasped. “Take it back.”

“I won’t. Because it’s true. From what I can tell, you’d make a much better Batman than I would. You’re great with kids.” He gestured towards Jay. “And you’re scary. I make villains laugh before stopping them. You’d make them piss themselves.”

Caught between flattery and horror, Jason took a moment to compose himself. This Dick didn’t know him, he wouldn't be saying those things otherwise. Jason repeated the rationalization until the green passed, and it was safe to open his mouth again.

“One, I would make a terrible Batman. Two, Damian needed someone stable as a father-figure, which I am not.”

“Damian?”

Jason’s mind caught his mouth, and he went pale. He was the worst brother on earth. So satisfied with Jay's continued existence, then caught up in surviving as a single-parent, he’d completely forgotten that there were still people he knew who were still in danger.

Damian, Cassandra, hell, even Stephanie Brown if her dickbag father was still doing his knock-off Riddler bit. Duke should be safe, since Jason had no plans of letting the Joker gas half the city again. But he could have improved their lives a year ago, and it simply hadn’t occurred to him.

Cassandra was probably still homeless, and entirely non-verbal at this point. Was she in Gotham yet? Jason struggled to remember.

“Shit.” His voice was strangled. “I need to talk to Bruce. Right now.”

–

“This biological son of mine–” Bruce stared at the list of details Jason had forwarded to him projected on the monitor. “–you say his mother is Talia al Ghul?”

The hint of longing in Bruce’s voice, and the way his eyes kept returning to the photo of Talia, was not lost on Jason. Bruce’s fucked up morality system would never allow him to admit it – loving someone he saw as the enemy wasn’t allowed – but some part of him still clung their brief romance.

“I feel like this shouldn’t be such a surprise. You two were practically married, weren’t you? You do know how babies are made, right Bruce?”

“She told me…” Bruce trailed into silence.

“That doesn’t matter. Talia had her reasons, good or bad. Nada Parbat is no place for a child, but she managed to do alright by Damian. And at least we know now.” Jason took a deep breath. “In my timeline Damian was dumped at your doorstep in about five years from now. How do you think that adjustment went, after a lifetime of being told he was the specialist boy in the whole world, heir to the Demon’s throne and the Batman?”

Bruce’s grunt was full of understanding. Jason wanted to figure out his trick someday, if only to use it against the man.

“But Damian’s not my main concern. He’s going to need a lot of support, a therapist or two, and an ego check, but Talia’s doing alright by him. He’s got food, shelter, and things don’t get bad for another couple years.” Jason felt like such an asshole, picking one child over the other, and throwing Damian under the bus like this. “We need to focus on finding Cassandra.”

After a few clicks, her file was pulled up instead. Unlike Damian, there was practically nothing on the ghost of a girl. A couple of compiled photos, a mugshot pulled from a foster care file nearly three years out of date and determined defunct after Cassandra vanished before placement, and a blurry screenshot from a few months ago outside a Narrows convenience store.

Already in Gotham then. The timeline between her escape from Cain, and her arrival in Gotham was always blurry. One downside of Cassandra hating his guts was that she didn’t share those sorts of details.

“She’s homeless, has been for years, and Cain is still after her.”

“David Cain?”

“Her father.”

Bruce grimaced.

“And she can’t speak. At all. You’re going to have to use body language to communicate.”

“Understood. But why me? You could have sought Cassandra out a year ago, like you did for Jay.”

Where to start? The list of reasons he and Cassandra would never mix was long and exhaustive.

“Cassandra needs a mission, something to give her purpose beyond surviving, some way to use her skills to preserve life, not take it. That’s why she picked you to fixate on last time, I think. You’re morally uncompromising, paternal if you squint, and most importantly, you don’t kill people.”

Sharing a room with Cassandra had been difficult, her glares and later her cutting words furthering the distance between them. Her mind was hard-wired to seek out bloody hands, and Jason’s were never clean, even a decade removed from his worst crimes.

“She hates me.” Jason held a finger up before Bruce could reply. “No, she’ll know. It’s one of her fun little tricks, like a damn bloodhound. But she needs someone – someone who’s not me. Black Bat is better than the rest of us combined.”

Bruce’s mouth was a terse line, his jaw clenching hard enough to crack a molar. “Understood.”

“Maybe call Clark? As much as a drawn-out investigation would be fun, the sooner Cassandra is here and settled in, the sooner we can go get Damian.”

He left Bruce alone in the cave to contemplate the information overload Jason had dumped on him. With Dick still babysitting at the zoo, his phone lighting up every few minutes with a new photo from Jay, he had a few hours to spare. This wouldn’t take that long.

The Brown household lived in a stretch of suburb on the middle island, in a squat split level home – nice by Gotham standards, concerning by the Metropolitan conditions he’d grown used to.

Staking the place out was laughably easy. Through one of the many glass windows – no one-sided panels or reflective stickers – he watched Arthur Brown. There was nothing special about the man, other than an unfortunate ponytail, no indication he was anything but a regular game show host and family man.

Jason knew better. Brown hadn’t pulled the trigger, but his descent into crime led to the eventual murder of his daughter. Bruce was equally to blame. Tim told him how Stephanie was treated as Robin, a tool to get back at him more than her own person, but Brown was easier to get to, and to scare straight, than Bruce.

Waiting until Brown was alone, after a softball uniform-clad Stephanie and her mother – Crystal, if his memory was correct – drove away, Jason let himself into the house through a ground floor window and moved silently to the second floor. He left the window open in case he needed a quick exit.

As Jason stepped softly down the hall, he reflected on how surreal it was to be Stephanie’s childhood home. They were never close, but Jason liked to think there was an unspoken bond between them, more than anyone else in their circle, they were the children of Gotham.

He tried his best to ignore the smiling family photos, and kept his eyes glued to the fake-wood flooring as he passed a floridly purple door. Letting his mind linger felt like an invasion of privacy.

“Hey Arthur,” Jason said as he entered the room, voice a growl. “No, no. Don’t turn around, you stay right there.”

Brown froze in his chair, hands slowly rising to meet his head.

“If this is about the money, I told Kismov that I’d pay him back by the end of the month! The network is cutting people right now, but if I can just hang on I can pay him back with interest.”

Kismov? Jason wracked his brain, trying to remember why that name tickled his memory. A stormy Gotham night, tracking down drug-peddlers across the city, out to make a point. Once upon a time he’d murdered the low-level drug kingpin and made his death a warning to others like him.

If Brown was dealing with the likes of Kismov already, he was already in deep.

“I’m not here about your money, Arthur Brown.”

He waited, allowing the frozen man to run the possibilities through his head. Jason knew next-to-nothing about Brown, and even less about whatever illicit business he was involved in, but he didn’t need to. All he needed to do was wait, and let the man’s mind do the work for him.

“I know all about your plans.” A bluff, Jason wasn’t sure if the Arthur Brown of this timeline had the Cluemaster planned yet, or if the persona was a seed yet to germinate. “You want to be the next big thing, better than the rest. A puzzle even Batman can’t solve. You’re willing to throw it all away, aren’t you. Just waiting for the universe to give you a sign.”

“How do you–” Brown began to turn in his chair.

“Stay right there, unless you want your family coming home to a dead man.” Once, it would not have been an empty threat, but these days Jason had too much to lose.

“I’m staying, I’m staying,” Brown whimpered.

“Good. Now you’re going to drop that shit. All of it. Get the idea that you deserve anything out of your head. You think life is bad? You’ve got a loving family and a job, more than most in this city. And for God’s sake, get out of the show business.”

“Oh… okay? Did Ridder send you?”

“Yeah, you know what, sure. But I’ll be back in a year. If you’ve broken any of those promises – and I will know – you’re a dead man, Brown.”

Jason left as he came, silently.

Neither Stephanie or her mother would know he was there, and they were the better for it. He couldn’t save everyone, most people didn’t deserve his help, but if he could keep his family – or unwilling associates, in the case of Ccassandra – safe, he would.

–

That August was unyielding, hot days languishing under shockingly blue skies that stretched into nights of sweat-soaked tossing. The city of chrome blistered without relief as the heatwave stretched into weeks of unending sunshine.

Jay’s birthday was soon. Jason’s too, but he wasn’t exactly counting those. The anniversary of his arrival had come and gone without fanfare, but he’d noticed Jay had grown increasingly morose leading up to the one-year mark of his new life.

At least he wasn’t stuck in the League, functionally braindead, or choking down an ocean of green as the pit re-wired him, harder and angrier. Jason’s justifications were hollow even to his own ears. Just because Jay wasn’t living the life he had didn’t mean his struggles weren’t real. A little less so – he was becoming an adult, not a living weapon – but still, Jason felt the need to respect his younger self’s obvious pain.

He’d driven the two of them back to Gotham on the anniversary of Jay’s rebirth, a mild spring day compared to the torrential downpour a year hence. They spent most of the day in the cemetery, visiting Bruce’s family and their own, a mixture of unshed tears and quiet words.

Jay perked up after the visit, but Jason still found himself wishing he could do more, or that he had training beyond lived experience on how to handle these things. Not everything could be solved with violence, brute force or a delicate touch, but he had little else in his arsenal and he wanted to change that.

So, as a rush of students enrolled in spring classes, Jason slipped himself amongst their numbers. Under a fake name, and with an even faker backstory, he breezed through the handful of introduction to social work classes required for a practicum, then took to the real work.

Most of his classmates went for the obvious, and better paying, roles. Working with addicts, criminals, or in hospitals, all important occupations, but not what Jason wanted.

Fresh off his mother’s death, and Willis’s disappearance, Jason had been faced with a choice between the Gotham foster system (hellish, even today), and the streets. Even as a child he’d known what the system did to kids like him – he’d be lucky if he made it to eighteen alive and intact – so he chose to starve and freeze rather than put his life in someone else’s hands.

Children and their families were the only logical path for him. The classes had started as a way to better understand Jay, Cass, and the other young vigilantes that would one day come into their lives, but had become more than that. Something bigger, which Jason was on the cusp of reaching.

Most of Jason’s practicum was grunt work, sorting files, calling leads, the things relegated to the unpaid and untrained students that came through the Office of Family Welfare every few months. On rare occasions, however, he accompanied a mentor into the field. And sometimes, even more rarely, he did the work himself.

“Everything is looking really good in the house, Ms. Milar. Remind me how long you’ve been clean for?”

“A year, next month. I’ll have my token and everything.”

Jason’s smile in return was genuine. “That’s amazing. Now I’ll need to have my supervisor sign off on it, but I feel comfortable advising the court for a return of custody. You have a stable home environment, a job, and you’ve followed our requirements like a checklist.”

A part of him still squirmed whenever he remembered that the government, with no less guarantee of corruption, had the ultimate authority in cases such as these. Just one of the things he planned to change, leveraging Bruce’s money and name to do so.

Jason offered Ms. Milar his card, with his fake name but a very real contact number, as well as the wider office contact list.

“If you ever need anything, give me a call. I want Jaime to have a home here as much as you do.”

After extracting himself from the woman’s gushing thanks – he wasn’t sure why, he was just doing what was right – he returned to his supervisor and handed over his case notes.

“It all checks out. I think we’re good to send the order off.”

Checking over the case notes page by page, the weathered old man, a veteran of the system, finally agreed that Ms. Milar was a stable enough parent for reunification. He sent Jason home early, citing his good work.

With Jay busy at the Planet, spending most of his free time under the golden globe as Lois’s full-time assistant and part-time copy editor, Jason had some time to burn before he was due for pick up. When he decided to spend it in the city core, catching up on popular music of the era while admiring the architecture from the safety of its shaded walkways, he hadn’t expected to be robbed along the way.

The kid – and she really was a kid, maybe fifteen or sixteen, was wide-eyed and had a white-knuckle grip around the knife. Her hands were shaking. Was it her first time robbing someone?

“Money, now,” she squeaked out.

“Are you seriously mugging me? What is this, Gotham?” Jason replied, letting his accent slip through, a warning for anyone who knew the city’s reputation.

“Shut up! Give me your money.”

Jason had to hand it to her, for being outclassed in every way, the kid was putting on a good show. He was easily a foot taller than her, and visibly muscular even if he wasn’t in fighting form. An idiot's gambit.

Or a chance taken by the desperate.

Stepping back from his first response – violence – Jason assessed the situation. Young, female, his eyes swept her general upkeep, and not someone with consistent access to amenities.

Years of training warred with the past few months. The old Jason, who wore the Red Hood as a symbol of pride and had nothing to lose (or live for), would have taught her to pick better targets. Nothing over the top, she was just a kid, but she’d be regretting this for at least a week.

Jason, who saw more of Jay the closer he looked, knew better.

“God, you really picked the wrong person to mug. Come here.”

Jason disarmed her with a gentle twist of his wrist, careful not to leave lasting damage. The knife clattered to the ground, and he picked it up and twisted the blade back into its sheath.

He offered it back to the kid hilt-first.

She stared back at him with bugged out eyes, caught between awestruck and terrified.

“You need a way to defend yourself, right? I’m not going to take that from you.” Weapons were security blankets in the right circumstances.

“Why are you doing this?” Her voice was shaky, though less frantic than before.

He was asking himself the same question, despite already knowing the answer. Why was he helping a stranger who tried to rob him? Why help Damian (slowly adjusting to nice-Bruce’s care), or Cassandra (who was still wary of him)? Why was his first response, upon travelling a decade in the past, to put his neck out for Jay, when he could have easily vanished?

“‘Cause I’m not going to sit here and do nothing when it’s obvious you could use a hand. I’m a social worker, or I’m going to be one soon at least, and I can help. Just promise to listen, that’s all I ask.”

“That’s it?” She was wary. Good. Suspicion kept kids like her alive.

“That’s it. We can go somewhere public, so I can’t do anything if I have bad intentions.”

The girl considered his words, eyes darting rapidly to the nearby alley and down the street.

“Fine. But any funny business and I leave.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

–

Her name was Claire. She had two living parents, though neither of which acted like it when she came out as a lesbian and was promptly evicted.

Claire wasn’t Jason’s, being placed with a foster home he had personally vetted through less than legal means, but Jay stuck himself to her like an octopus anyways. His younger self had a bad habit of collecting friends, Tim, Claire, and a handful of kids from his school that took over Jason’s apartment on a semi-weekly basis.

Jason didn’t know who he got it from. Dick, probably, as Jason himself had never been a particularly social person as an adult for Jay to see.

The last time he’d seen her, Claire had been far from the too-skinny teenager attempting (and failing) to mug him, as she (far more successfully) emptied his cupboards along with the rest of Jay’s pack of teenagers.

Seeing her happy and safe simultaneously served as a reminder of Jason why was doing any of this, and a sharp stab of shame at his past self. He’d forever be under the shadow of the Red Hood, and while his opinion of killing hadn’t changed – there was some evil too great to remain in the world – the memory of his childish tantrum through Gotham kept him awake at night.

Good things, like always, had to come to an end.

When the first bomb hit, a few blocks east of their apartment tower, Jason thought it was a minor earthquake. Not an unfair conclusion, the fault line running under Gotham extended southwards for several hundred miles, but one proven to be false by a second, and third wave of concussive force moments later.

Later, after evacuating the building and hiding in a disaster shelter built into the Metropolis rail line, Jason realized just how helpless he felt. Without his gear he was reduced to watching a livestream of Clark battling the villain of the week with the rest of the civilians huddled in place. Helpless and harmless.

Jay caught his eye, silently communicating the same thought running through Jason’s head.

This was unacceptable. They needed back in the game.

Of course, this meant a visit to Bruce.

Jason dragged his feet, managing to put the task off until Jay kicked him out of their apartment and refused to let him back in until he’d talked with their father.

His sour mood only left him once he passed the edge of Gotham proper, and the familiar sights and smells greeted him. The air stank of something acrid, likely the result of the massive quantities of toxins being pumped out Ace Chemicals, but it smelled like home.

The Batcave also conjured a warm ache in his chest, as much as Jason would never admit it. The familiar soaring cave roof, dotted with hanging limestone pillars and a colony of squeaking bats, made his heart do flips, as did the sight of Bruce at the Computer, hair mussed from the cowl.

“Jason.” Bruce turned as he heard Jason’s approach. “You have good timing, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“You have?”

“Yes, about a few things, actually.”

Bruce stood from the chair and walked to meet Jason. “This way,” he said, gesturing towards the storage hall.

“I have a request for you – an offer really – not just from me.”

They stopped in front of a display, the glass frosted over. Bruce seemed nervous, gaze lingering a moment longer on Jason’s face than it would have normally, thumb running over the ridges of his belt.

“Just spit it out.”

Bruce sighed. “Jay is an adult now and I know your ban on heroics was while he was underage. I imagine he’s keen to return to work.”

“And what does this have to do with me, Bruce? ‘Cause it sounds like you want my permission to send Jay off to die again. That’s not happening.”

“It has everything to do with you.”

Bruce pressed a button on the display case and the frosting cleared. Inside the glass cylinders hung two suits, one roughly the size of the bat suit, and one considerably smaller.

“I was warned that offering Jay the role alone would be a bad idea, so I want to invite both of you. This invitation isn’t just from me. The Justice League is extending an offer to both of you. You would be independent – money and gear would be through a League fund, not from me – to make sure there are no conflicts of interest.”

Jason was silent, thinking.

Despite coming to Gotham to ask for just this, he wanted to deny Bruce’s request on instinct. His father must have known that, which is why he went to the effort of making it an invitation from the League, and not a bald-faced attempt to get Jay back under his thumb.

The offer was good. The League had deep pockets, and tech far beyond anything Jason had access to even in the future. But as the premier superhero organization in the world, they also had standards.

“Please, they don’t want me. I’m a murderer and a fuck-up, I’d drive the League’s reputation into the mud.”

“Not everything is about you.”

“You’re right. It’s about you. This is a trap, extending the offer to both of us, knowing that the League will only take Jay. You’ll get me out of the picture without lifting a single finger.”

Jason’s pulse quickened, a swell of pit anger and protectiveness surging along his veins as he stared Bruce down, daring him to move.

“No one knows what you did in the future, you have my word. The League is extending this offer on mine and Clark’s recommendation.”

“Your recommendation, huh? That’s just like you. I bet those suits are microchipped too.” The force of Jason’s punch cracked the case, a web of fine cracks. “I won’t take you golden handcuffs, and neither will Jay.”

Jason turned heel and left, taking one final look at the suits before the Cave door shut behind him with a heavy thunk.

–

Even in another timeline, Bruce was pathologically unable to let things rest.

Just as Jason made it onto the highway connecting the cities, serving around a bunch of assholes who couldn’t fucking drive, someone knocked on Jason’s window. As he was going well over eighty miles an hour, this was an understandably upsetting development.

Clark waved through the passenger side window, pointing at the seat with a raised brow.

Jason scowled back at him, but waved him inside.

“That’s really stupid, you know,” he said as Clark settled into the car and did up his seatbelt. “Everyone just saw Superman get into this car.”

“Did they? It’s not the first time I’ve done this.”

“So what did Bruce tell you?”

“That you blew up on him over a very reasonable offer? And that there is probably something deeper going on, but the specifics are lost on him.”

Jason blew out a laugh in a sharp thrust. “That’s about right.”

“This would be easier if you shared why you’re so hostile to him.”

“Easier to trap me, you mean. Anything I share with Bruce is just another piece of information he could use to neutralize me. Did you know he has a whole list of ways to take out pretty much everyone he knows. I think there’s about twenty entries for you alone.”

“Um, okay.” Clark paused, making a note on his phone. “I’m definitely going to talk to him about that.”

“You’re not going to change his mind.”

“I know,” Clark said, utterly ambivalent. “That’s not the point.”

Fucking Clark. Always making everyone seem so petty by comparison.

“What’s really going on, Jason?”

From anyone else the question would have been an insult, but Clark’s stupid face was just too open and kind. Jason put down the proverbial rock he wanted badly to throw, and tried to put into words an answer even he didn’t know.
After a few minutes of silent driving, he finally spoke.

“It’s too goddamn easy. I went to Bruce expecting to have to claw a concession out of him, and he already had everything I wanted and more ready. Everything I’ve ever done with him – and for most of my life – has been because I struggled for it. Now he’s just offering me a place on the team, and a way to make sure Jay feels independent, and I just…”

Jason intentionally loosened his fingers from the wheel and took a calming breath. Flashes of lectures about how traumatized children lashed out popped into his mind. This was different, he told himself.

“Do you want to accept?” Clark’s question was steady, professional neutrality laced with concern.

“Of course I do. I went to Bruce to ask to re-join the team. After the attack last week, neither of us want to be caught off guard again.”

“That’s an understandable feeling. I’m sorry you got caught in the aftermath. But I think you should accept, if not to Bruce, then to me. The League does want you, you and Jay both. Two more competent heroes would be a real boon, and if it makes you feel safer, that’s even better.”

“Why did you recommend me? You of all people should know why that’s a bad idea.”

“I recommended you precisely because of the story you told me. You have a rough past, but everything you’ve done in the past year has shown that it doesn’t define you. You didn’t need to save Jay, give him a loving home where he could grow, just like you didn’t have to help Claire.”

“You know about that?”

Clark waved his hand. “I like to keep an ear on my people.”

His people. Jason felt a little pathetic as the words sunk in, and he realized how good they made him feel.

“Don’t let Bruce colour this for you. The offer is real, and can be negotiated. I’m sure you and Jay would appreciate a part-time schedule.”

“I’ll give it some thought,” Jason said, as close to an answer as Clark would get.

“Good, that’s all we ask. Say hi to Jay, won’t you?”

Clark shut the door gently, then vanished into the sky, leaving Jason alone with his thoughts.

Kidding himself wouldn’t help, he already knew his answer. He’d known it even as he snapped at Bruce, before he’d even stepped foot in Gotham, all of this was a formality.

Just like he was doing good through his studies, he could do good through heroics. That’s why his first instinct had been to camp out in the graveyard and spirit Jay away from Gotham. Life had been cruel to him, but he could be kind in turn.

Now Jason had his chance, sins erased and the future wide-open. He needed only to say yes, and surrender himself to the world.