Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s not that Duke hates Gotham Prep; it’s, by all means, a good school. With high academic standards and an even higher graduation rate. One that, even though they couldn’t afford the tuition, his ma would definitely have approved of. When he passed the entrance exam, he could almost hear her gossiping to Mrs. Baker in the apartment downstairs about how her "little light" was going to change the world one day. It was a line he’d heard her say a dozen times over before the accident…

But the kids are mostly assholes, and the teachers are less than subtle in the way they look down on the little Black boy, with a Narrows accent as thick as his hair. That still doesn’t bother him—code-switching, even when they know he can, doesn’t faze him. He was lucky enough to get Bruce Wayne in his back pocket. But this isn’t new. Hell, one of the first things his dad taught him was to roll with the insults. So, he can blow them off almost as easily as he can solve riddles.

No, he hates Gotham Prep because it’s too damn far from Anthony’s bodega.

Gotham High was right in the heart of the Narrows. He used to be able to walk to school in less than 45 minutes—quicker if he took the train near Park Row—but his ma used to get upset about that. He’d stop by almost every morning with the $35 he made weekly from helping his elderly neighbor Karen clean up her apartment. And if not during school days, then the doors were open during the hottest days of summer. He still remembers buying piraguas with his parents and munching on the cold treat on the way home. The place had been such a core part of his routine and filled up so many memories that he felt displaced without access to it.
And sue him, he really just wants a shrimp po’ boy for breakfast.

So, he promises Damian that he’ll owe him a favor (which seems to weigh more than money ever could, but he supposes that’s what happens when you’re on a billionaire’s budget) to not snitch about him skipping school to go downtown. (Something he’s sure he’s going to regret.) But Damian had agreed.
While he doubts Bruce would consider "needing a taste of home" a valid reason to skip school, Duke does.
The car comes to a rolling stop right outside the small shop, and Duke almost forgets how loud the city is. He never really could sleep well in the manor—not when he grew up drifting off to the sound of the city.

He thanks the Uber driver, whose name he really couldn’t be bothered to remember, and makes sure to tip him $100 because his parents had always raised him to give what he could. Then, he steps out of the car.
Duke wipes his palms on his Gotham Prep uniform and hates the way nervousness seems to bounce around him like atoms. He really hadn’t been back here since he’d been officially Bruce’s ward. And well, going from a homeless Gotham teen hell-bent on finding his parents to the ward of Bruce freaking Wayne was a big deal.
But he also knows this is the same man who lets kids do their homework in his shop, the same man who didn’t hesitate to help feed Duke once he realized his parents were missing. He was just good like that.

Anthony’s face almost seems to light up from behind the counter, and Duke can’t help the small smile that plasters itself across his face.
“Yo, Duke, I ain’t seen you in a hot minute.”
“What’s up, man?”
“Thought you up and left the Narrows for good. I saw the papers.” He lets out a low whistle. “Bruce Wayne, huh? Shit, I always knew you would make it out of the Narrows, and look at you now, up in Bristol with the big shots.”
Duke wants to say that he hasn’t made it out of anywhere, that he’s still the same kid who took to the streets with his gang and decided to show Gotham rogues that they didn’t just need Batman to take care of them, that he’s still the people’s Robin. Instead, he grits out, “You still serving them po’ boys? I kinda hitched a ride across Gotham for one.”
The man grins, and Duke almost feels like it’s just another day before his world ended.
“You know it. You still don’t eat pork?”
“No, sir.”

“Alright, shrimp it is.”
He waits beside the cash register with more cash than he’s ever really had the luxury to hold before. And he hadn’t grown up in poverty. He may not have had the newest shoes, but his ma and pa always made sure he had what he needed. The thought sends a pang of hurt down his chest. His parents would get better, he reminded himself. They weren’t gone for good—just for the moment.
He must have been staring a moment too long because Anthony’s eyes drift from the food bar behind the counter toward him.
“How’re you holding up, little man?”

He knows Anthony means his parents. “I—I’m making it. Pushing through.”
“I’m glad Wayne found your trouble-making ass. I was worried you’d get yourself arrested with some of the shit you were pulling,” Anthony says, his tone joking. Duke can’t help but smile a little.
Anthony had been right to be worried. Technically, he had been arrested. The officer just didn’t account for his willingness to jump out of a moving car.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m really good at evading the police.”
“Uh-huh. Like I said, you’re lucky Wayne found you.”

Duke’s smile faltered. He was grateful—truly. How could he not be? But gratitude didn’t erase the loss. It didn’t change the fact that he’d lost his parents in the process.
Anthony seemed to pick up on his unease. “How’re your folks?” he asked gently.
Duke’s hand drifted to his neck, brushing against the faint bruise hidden beneath his collar. His mother’s laughter had turned violent that morning, her hands wrapping around his throat with terrifying strength. He’d had to fight her off, alerting the doctors as he stumbled out of the room, his chest heaving with panic.
“They’re...” he began, his voice cracking before he could finish. “They’re not getting worse. Just... not better either.”
Anthony’s brow furrowed, the pity in his expression unmistakable. “Damn, Duke. I’m sorry. They were good people.”
“Are.” Duke’s voice was sharper than he intended, his fists clenching at his sides. He took a steadying breath, forcing his tone to soften. “They are good people. They’re still in there. They have to be.”
His words sounded hollow, even to himself—like a child clinging to a bedtime story long after outgrowing it.

Then the world seems to shift.
Duke felt the shift in the atmosphere before the first masked man even entered the shop.
The image of the future and past merge into one and duke rolls behind the shelf on the far side of the small shop.

Three men stormed in, their faces obscured by ski masks, each armed with a handgun that gleamed menacingly in the fluorescent light.
"Everybody down! Hands where I can see 'em!" one of the men barked, his voice sharp and commanding.
t. Anthony stood frozen behind the counter, his hands slowly rising in surrender. His gaze flickered toward Duke; a silent warning written all over his face: Don’t move.
The first man marched toward the cash register, jabbing the barrel of his gun toward Anthony. “All the money. Now.”
OK three-gun men one known target, it’s obvious they haven't seen him yet, which gives him advantage.
Anthony nodded; his movements slow as he stepped toward the register. Duke could see the sweat beading on the man’s forehead, his fingers trembling as he keyed in the code to open the till.
The other two men fanned out, one moving toward the back of the shop while the other lingered near the door, keeping watch. Duke pressed himself against the shelf,
Shit, of all days, why now?

Duke closed his eyes, focusing on the light around him. He could feel it, a thrumming energy that pulsed just beneath his skin. Slowly, carefully, he bent the light, cloaking himself in invisibility.
The tall goon at the register barked at Anthony again, this time jabbing the gun into his ribs. “Hurry up, old man!”
Anthony flinched but kept his hands steady. His eyes darted toward the shelves, toward Duke’s hiding spot, as if silently urging him to stay hidden. But Duke had other plans.
Moving as quietly as possible, he crept along the floor, using the shelves for cover. His heart pounded in his ears, but his steps were steady. He reached the first man and acted swiftly, kicking his knees out from under him with enough force to send him sprawling to the ground. The gun clattered from his hand, sliding across the floor.
“What the hell was that?!” one of the other men shouted, spinning toward the noise.

Duke didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the fallen gun and hurled it across the shop, the metal skidding loudly against the tiles. The second man’s attention shifted toward the sound, his confusion giving Duke just enough time to land a punch squarely to his jaw. The impact was solid, and the man staggered back, clutching his face.
“You see that?!” the third man shouted, panic creeping into his voice. “He’s one of those metas!”

“I swear, I’m not doing anything!” Anthony stammered; his hands still raised in surrender.
The second man regained his balance, his hand darting toward his holster for a backup weapon. Duke cursed under his breath and reacted instinctively. He shoved a nearby shelf, sending it crashing to the ground with a deafening thud. Bags of chips and candy bars spilled everywhere, creating a momentary distraction.
Both men’s heads whipped toward the noise, and Duke used the opening to disarm the second man. He grabbed the gun and twisted it from his grip before delivering a sharp elbow to his ribs. The man let out a grunt of pain and collapsed to the floor.

The third man, still by the door, pulled out his gun and aimed it at Anthony. Duke’s stomach dropped. He didn’t think—he just moved.
The shot rang out, deafening in the small space. Duke dove forward, tackling the man just as the bullet embedded itself in the counter behind Anthony. The gun went flying, and Duke delivered a flurry of punches, his fists moving faster than the man could react.
The last goon crumpled to the floor, unconscious. Duke’s chest heaved as he stood over the three men, his knuckles bruised and his adrenaline pumping. He lets the light drop from around him and takes a deep breath.
what the hell just happened?”

“Are you good?” Duke asked, his voice steady despite the rush of the fight. He gestured toward the unconscious men. “Do you have duct tape? They’re not waking up anytime soon, but we should make sure.”
Anthony blinked, then shook his head, snapping out of his shock. “Yeah... yeah, I got duct tape. Back aisle.”
Duke nodded, already moving toward the tape. As he grabbed the roll, he took a moment to steady his breathing. The fight was over, but the weight of what had just happened settled over him like a heavy blanket
Anthony stared at him, wide-eyed and stunned and more than a little afraid and maybe duke hadn't thought this through, he never seemed like the type to have something against meta humans, but then again, this was Gotham, it seemed everyone had something against him for one reason or another. He puts his palms up in surrender, He tries to take a deep breath, but it feels chocked in his throat.
“Duke.”
“Look, sorry about the mess, also yea I'm a meta you don't have a problem with that do you”

“DUKE”
The look of terror in his face only seems to escalate and duke looks down to see a small puddle of red forming beneath him.
“Oh, well shit”
At least he knows where the stray bullet went, he feels himself fall, before he can even begin to stop himself and when his sight returns Anthony is hovering over him.

Duke blinks sluggishly, the world shifting and blurring in streaks of color. He tries to move, but pain stabs through his stomach, hot and unrelenting.
“Don’t—don’t move, man, ok you're going to be ok duke,” Anthony’s voice trembles beside him. Duke feels the pressure on his abdomen as Anthony presses down on the wound, and he bites back a scream. The sound claws its way up his throat anyway and he forgets how to breathe.

When he comes back around, Anthony’s gone, and Jason’s leaning over him, taking his place. When had Jason gotten here? His face is set in a permanent grievance, but he doesn’t look angry—not like after a fight with Bruce—so he supposes he can’t be that pissed. He’s angled where Duke can’t see his hands, can’t see his stomach either. Which means it might be worse than he originally thought.

“Shit, man… What’re you doin’ here?” Duke mumbles. His voice sounds thin even to his own ears, and his mouth feels like he’s talking through cotton. That can’t be good.
Jason’s lips press into a thin line, and his jaw works like he’s chewing on the truth before he spits it out. “Wanted a pack of smokes.”
Duke’s head lolls to the side, his apartment flashing in his mind like a distant memory. Jason lived in what? Bowery? Why had he come across town for a pack of cancer sticks?
Duke tries to laugh, but it comes out as more of a wheeze. His head swims, and the pain shoots a wave of hurt through him that, threatens to pull him under again. He knows he shouldn’t fall asleep, just like he shouldn’t have come to the bodega. Like Jason shouldn’t smoke. But it’s a bit funny in the moment, because he’d skipped school, took an uber and make his way halfway around Gotham just because he missed home cooked food, the same type of shit he’d eaten with his ma, and from the looks of Jason had made a similar trip for a pack of cigarettes.

“Why... why the bodega?” he slurs. His words tangle together, slipping past his lips as his thoughts scatter. Because he knows that there were easier places to get smokes, he doesn't know why he pushes, a part of him blames it on the delirium that comes with blood loss.
Jason doesn’t answer right away. His accent slips when he finally speaks, the edges of his Gotham drawl sharpening like broken glass. “I just... wanted the good stuff, alright? hey stay awake narrows!”
Duke understands that. His head hurts, and it feels like the room is dancing, except rooms don’t dance—Cass does. Above him, he can hear Jason mutter something. It sounds like he said something about Robin, but the words sound as if they’re underwater. He does make out a faint “Stay with me!” met with a matching face of panic and glowing neon green eyes.
He tries to speak but can’t seem to open his mouth properly, so he hums instead, hoping to convey the fact that he’s a little bit sorry as his eyelids droop. Jason smells like smoke, but not the worst kind. Not the kind that makes his chest tight and his eyes sting. This kind is different, familiar almost, like walking out back during a reunion, or his neighbor’s apartment. It smells a little like the Narrows and a little like home, and Duke thinks that maybe the Bat Family isn’t as disconnected as he thought. Or maybe Jason isn’t.
The thought is fleeting as the darkness rushes in, drowning out the sounds of Jason’s voice and the faint wail of sirens in the distance.

Chapter Text

Jason knows he should quit smoking. He hates the taste of cigarettes, and any long-term substance use wasn’t good for the body—therefore not good for the vigilante life. But smoking reminds him of his ma, of the better version of her, before the heroin. Plus, He’s been smoking since he was, what, ten? It hadn’t killed him the first time, and he seriously doubts it’ll do so the second.

He used his last pack last night, after a more than hard patrol and call him sentimental, but the ones near the Bowery just don’t taste the same as the ones from the bodegas in Park Row or the Narrows. Maybe he’s more nostalgic than he lets on. Or maybe addiction really is hereditary, and he’s just looking for an excuse.
That’s how he finds himself out before noon, heading to Ant’s on his motorcycle. The engine’s sound is off—a tune-up is overdue—but that’s a problem for future Jason. Right now, he’s debating whether to grab something to eat or buy groceries to actually cook. It’s been a hot minute since he’s had anything that didn’t come out of a can or a paper bag, and honestly? He’d kill for some Sancocho right now.
He parks the bike on the street, far enough to avoid a fine but close enough to keep an eye on it. Just as he’s heading toward the store, the sharp crack of gunfire splits the air. A scream follows, loud and raw.
Jason curses under his breath. One day—just one—where Gotham’s bullshit doesn’t find him would be nice. He sprints toward the broken door of the shop.
Then he hears it, and he almost thinks that it has to be a coincidence. Because he should be at school.
“DUKE!”
The word sends a chill down his spine, and for a moment he almost thinks it has to be a coincidence because Duke should be at school. Duke should be at Gotham Academy right now, sitting in class until 3:30, and then doing his stupid solo day patrol. Jason’s pulse spikes as he pushes inside.
Anthony, the store owner, is hunched over a figure Jason recognizes immediately. Duke, still in his Gotham Prep uniform, is sprawled on the ground. His crisp white shirt is soaked in blood, steadily darkening too nearly black.
“Shit…”
Jason flips open his phone and dials Oracle. She answers almost immediately, her voice groggy but alert.
“Jason?”
“Track this address. Duke got shot—abdominal wound, heavy blood loss. Need evac now. We’re in civvies.”
“What? Jason, what’s—”
“Just send help!” he snaps, shoving the panic down.
Jason rushes to Duke, whose breaths come in shallow, wheezing gasps. His brown eyes are glassy.
“Duke, hey! You with me?”
Duke’s head lolls toward him. “Shit, man… What’re you doin’ here?” he slurs, wincing as Anthony presses harder on the wound.
“I wanted some smokes.”
Jason kneels, assessing the damage.
The man’s hands were shaking and blood-stained in a way that reminds Jason all too much of exactly how much blood Duke had lost. Anthony’s not applying proper pressure and definitely lacks most medical practice. Jason, however, does.
“Move,” Jason orders, his voice coming out harsher than intended but he can't bring himself to feel guilty, swallowing the fear clawing at his chest. “On three, I’m taking over. You call an ambulance.”
Anthony hesitates, but Jason doesn’t wait for a reply. He counts to three and switches positions. Duke screams as Jason’s hands press down on the wound, and bile rises in his throat at the sticky warmth of blood on his fingers.

“Oracle, ETA?” Jason growls, his voice tight.
“Twenty minutes,” she says, a bit steadier now.
Jason glances at the wound and then back to Duke’s glassy eyes. He might be a meta, but a slight healing factor might not help him if he hemorrhages to death.
“Hey!” Jason yells toward the back of the store. “I need something like a pressure bandage!”
“Why... why the bodega?” he slurs. His words tangle together, slipping past his lips as his thoughts scatter.

Jason doesn’t answer right away. His accent slips when he finally speaks, the edges of his Gotham drawl sharpening like broken glass. “I just... wanted the good stuff, alright? The kind you only find in the Narrows.”
Anthony rushes back with a roll of gauze and a strip of clean cloth. Jason takes it without a word, wrapping the wound as tightly as he dares.
“Shit, this is why you should’ve been at school,” Jason mutters, tying off the bandage. “How’d you get yourself into this?”
Duke licks his lips, the faint trickle of blood at the corner making Jason’s stomach churn. “I Dunno, man,” Duke murmurs. “Just wanted a taste of home.”

“Jesus, kid,” Jason breathes. “Stay awake, okay? No more dead Robins, you hear me? I swear, you stay awake, and I’ll make you anything you want. Deal?”
Duke hums, his eyelids drooping. Jason shakes him gently, panic clawing at his ribs.
“Stay with me!” Jason barks.
The blood sticking to his hands feels suffocating. It feels like his death. It feels like Tim’s. It feels like losing the only brother who didn’t cling to the past or deem Jason’s morals irredeemable. He can’t let Duke die. He doesn’t think he could survive the guilt. He’d kill whichever of the goons that had done this.
The sound of sirens in the distance almost makes him cry with relief. He counts down the seconds until two EMTs burst through the door.
“Take over in five, four, three, two—one,” Jason says, lifting his blood-soaked hands.
As the EMTs work, Jason vaguely hears words like “currently hemorrhaging” and “in route to St. Mary’s.”

“That’s my brother. I need to ride with him,” Jason demands.
The EMT looks him over and shakes their head and jason rights the urge to deck him. “Do you have any ID? Only legal guardians are allowed to ride with adolescent patients. I’m sorry.”
Jason snaps because like always when one of them was in danger Bruce was fuck knows where,
“That’s my fucking brother in there!” He couldn’t leave Duke alone, not when he’d lost so much blood, not when he got hurt trying to be a hero.
“Jason.”
He turns toward the voice only to meet a less-than-disheveled Dick, in pajama pants and a dress shirt, and house slippers that scream that he’d just woken up. He moves to place a hand on Jason’s shoulder, and he avoids the contact easily. He can still feel the blood on his hands and taste the distant taste of gunpowder in the air that mixes with the smell of iron that had come from his brother.
“Let them go. We’ll drive to the hospital, okay? He’s going to be fine.”
He watches as the EMT shoots him an apologetic smile before closing the door and pulling off. He glances over to the three men still unconscious and is tempted to empty a clip in each one as payback. He could do it with ease, he’d kill them now, so it never became a Joker situation, because Duke shouldn’t have to live in fear of them.
He must have been glaring too hard because Dick walks over to him, palms raised like he’s some frightened creature or a civilian in shock.
“Jason.” Dicks voice is more than a bit strained and his eyes dart from the still ambulance driving off and then back to Jason like he has to hold himself back from chasing after it.
“What?” he growls out, trying to quell the growing dread in his stomach. His hands are red and coated in blood again, and it reminds him way too much of when he’d broken Tim’s bones, when the joker had broken his own….
“Your eyes are green.”
And oh yeah, well, he should have expected that. Doesn’t matter though, his actions are still his own. If he decided to kill everyone in this room, it would still be him.
“Let’s go, okay? Let the police handle them. The last thing Duke needs when he wakes up is a reason for you and B to be fighting, okay? He won’t appreciate being the instigator, so let's just go ok”

He can't tear his eyes way from the puddle of blood on the ground, from the blood sticking to his shirt.
“My bikes in the alley” if he leaves now, he might be able to make it to the hospital before the ambulance,
“No, Ima be honest jay you're not in a state to drive, why don’t we take the car ok, “I'll have Steph pick your bike up okay””
There was no way in hell he was leaving his bike here, he opens his mouth to protest, but the worn tired expression on dicks face makes him bit back a reply.
“Ok”
Jason grits his teeth but forces his feet toward the doorway only to be stopped by a voice, and he fights the urge to brush past him. He knows this isn’t his fault, but a part of him can’t deal with the respectability policies that come with mainstream vigilantism.
“You let me know if he’s alright, please. He saved this place from being robbed, and I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.” Dick nods, guiding Jason toward his car. He feels nauseous from the blood and sick with worry, and he doesn't think he'll ever be able to buy cigarettes again without seeing blood. Maybe he’ll have to quit after all. He can't seem to get duke’s words from his head.
“A taste of home”
maybe Jason’s home was always meant to taste like ashes and blood.

Chapter Text

Jason has always hated hospitals. The bright lights always seemed sickly blinding, and the smell of antiseptic makes his stomach twist, from memories that arn’t quite his.
. He’d barely crossed the threshold with Dick when they were greeted by Bruce, Stephanie, and Cass. The moment Jason’s eyes locked on Bruce, his stomach twisted into a knot. His nerves were already on edge, but he shoved it down, forcing his steps to match the nurse’s as they were led to the surgery waiting room.
“What happened” Bruce grits out and Jason takes a step back, because that tone reminds him way to much of Bruce when he’d first gotten back to Gotham. He looks from bruce then back at his siblings and the accusation suddenly clicks, did bruce think he’d done this?
He dosent bother trying to cool down the rage that seems to follow him like a second reaper. Anger was good, he at least knew how to channel that into something useful.

“ Your not, seriously, what happened? I went out for cigarettes. Got there just in time to try to keep him from bleeding out. And like always when one of us need help, your no where in fucking sight”
He watches as Bruce’s eyes narrow, in a way that feels like another insult, and suddenly he feels like he’s 15 again getting accused for a murder he didn't commit.
. “ I thought Duke was at school. Imagine my surprise when Oracle calls to tell me Duke’s hurt as a civilian—not as a damn vigilante. And then there you are—how does that even happen, Jason?”
It happens because he lets children play soldiers, it happens because of duke’s own stubbornness that he’s beginning to believe might be on bars with his own, it happens because duke insist on helping people even if it cost him his own life…
He opened his mouth to let the words fly, but all that came out was bitter, raw anger. "You think I had something to do with him getting shot?"
Bruce’s voice dropped, dangerously calm and he sees the moment Bruce slips back into batman even with the cowl, “Jason, you have a track record, you have to understand how it looks, I am trying to give you a chance to tell your side of the story”.
Jason laughs harshly and the sound comes wet with inshed tears and laced with so much fury that he feels like he can't breathe again. Because he wants to be angry at bruce for even suggesting that he’d try to kill duke. But he had tried to kill Tim, lazuerous pit affects or not, he’d still done that. He bites the insdie of his cheek hard enough to taste blood, and snarls like the rapid person bruce seems to think he really is, and yea maybe he shouldnt fight Bruce in public, but he cant bring himself to regret the idea. He opens his mouth and snarls like the rapid creature b seemsto thinks he is. Until he feels a tight hand his hand pressing firmly on his shoulder.
“B we don’t we table this for now, your in public and you really can't afford for this to be on the news more then it already will be, why don’t you have o send the store footage later”.

The room felt like it was vibrating with the weight of their voices. Jason’s hands trembled as the memory of Duke’s blood—dry and sticky on his skin—flashed in his mind. He clenched his fists, his heart hammering in his chest, as Bruce’s words sliced through him.
“ he said, his voice steady but strained, like he was holding back something much worse. “Jason, you need to wash your hands.”
Jason didn’t move at first, eyes burning, but then Dick’s steady grip led him toward the bathroom. The silence in the bathroom felt suffocating. The sound of running water was deafening as Jason scrubbed at his hands, the blood—Duke’s blood—slowly washing away. His mind raced, anger mixing with the guilt and helplessness twisting in his gut. He stared at the sink, trying to breathe through it all.
When he stepped out, Dick was waiting for him, standing in the doorway like he always did, calm when Jason couldn’t be. “Bruce didn’t mean it like that,” Dick said gently, his voice soft. “He’s just worried.”
Jason didn’t trust himself to speak. His throat felt too tight, words choked in the back of his mouth, ready to spill into something more dangerous. He didn’t want to hear it. They walked back toward the waiting room in silence, but the tension still hung thick between them. Dick tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Duke’s a strong kid,” he said, as if trying to convince both of them. “He’ll pull through.”
Jason muttered, his voice low, but heavy with a fierce promise. “Yeah. He better.”
As they neared the waiting room, Dick glanced at him, his gaze softer this time. “Thanks for saving Duke,” he said, his tone sincere.
Jason shrugged, the motion feeling heavier than usual. “It’s my job. You would’ve done the same.”
Dick smiled faintly, the corners of his lips twitching. “Duke’s a good kid.”
Jason’s reply was quieter, wrapped in layers of meaning and something more. “Yeah. We all were.”
Dick shook his head but offered a tired, weak smile. “Duke’s a strong kid. He’ll pull through.”
Jason nodded, but the reassurance felt hollow, like a promise that could break at any second. As they neared the waiting room, Dick glanced at him, his voice a little softer. “Thanks for saving him.”
Jason shrugged, though the gesture felt empty. “It’s my job. You would’ve done the same.”
Dick’s smile faltered, just a little. “Duke’s a good kid.”
Jason’s chest tightened at the words, a pang of something sharp cutting through him. “Yeah. We all were.”
Back in the waiting room, Bruce sat with Damian and Steph. Damian, usually so composed, looked uncharacteristically disheveled, though Jason knew he’d never admit it. Dick ruffled his hair as he sat down next to him.
“How you holding up?” Dick asked softly, concern lacing his tone.
Damian’s shoulders sagged, but he quickly straightened, as if catching himself. “I am not at fault for Thomas’s incompetence.”
Jason rolled his eyes, but he didn’t take the bait. Instead, he dropped into a plastic chair, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor. Stephanie’s voice broke the silence, cutting through the weight of their thoughts.
“Where’s Tim?” she asked, her voice soft but sharp with concern.
“Covering a WE meeting,” Bruce replied, his tone clipped. “He had to stay behind when I left.”
Jason thought about Tim’s unsettling ability to compartmentalize. It was like flipping a switch—cold, efficient, terrifying. Even though Damian looked uneasy, Jason chalked it up to stress. Cass leaned against Bruce, her quiet presence grounding him, but Jason couldn’t stop glaring at the man. The room seemed to grow smaller, the silence stretching on for what felt like hours, thick with unspoken tension.
Finally, a nurse pushed through the double doors, clipboard in hand. Everyone bolted upright at once, their collective breath held.
“How is he?” Bruce asked, his voice tight, almost desperate.
The nurse smiled faintly, trying to ease their worry. “The surgery went well. The bullet ruptured his appendix, and he lost a lot of blood, but he’ll make a full recovery with time you are very lucky Mr. Wayne.”
Jason felt the weight in his chest lighten for the first time since he’d arrived. His knees almost buckled from the rush of relief, his breath leaving him in a quiet exhale. He glanced at Bruce and saw the tension drain from his frame, his shoulders sagging as if a mountain had been lifted off them.
“Can we see him?” Bruce asked, his voice quieter now.
“The anesthesia should wear off in the next hour. You can be there when he wakes up,” the nurse replied.
They head back to Duke’s room, but Bruce stops Jason at the door, and Jason decides that he doesn’t care if there are in-their-face personalities; if Bruce doesn’t let him see Duke because of his insane morals, then he’s going to punch the man square in the nose.
He growls out, "What the fuck?" because he doesn’t have time to deal with Bruce, but Bruce steps outside and lets the door close.
but Bruces voice cuts him off before he can even begin his rant. "I'm not doing this right now to it was wrong of me to accuse you of hurting Duke. I know you wouldn’t do something like that," the again goes unsaid and Jason swallows a lump in his throat. " and I’m sorry that it came off that way. I guess I was scared. I didn’t want to lose anyone else. Thank you for being there. I don’t know what would have happened otherwise."
"It’s fine, B," he says, pushing back the well of emotions growing in his chest. Today had been a whirlwind—hell, it had been one big goddamn emotional wreck, and he’d been a part of it, just like all the others who wore the same costume as him. "I get it. It’s fine."
because now he feels awkward, like he's in unfamiliar territory because Bruce didn't apologize and Jason didn't, well hadn't just accepted it before. maybe it was the stress of the day, it had to be. > "No, it wasn’t. I’ll work on being better. You’ve put in a lot of effort to change and try to see a new perspective. It’s only fair we do the same."
Jason cracks a small smile, wiping away the tears he won’t let fall.
"Okay, old man, apology accepted. Don’t expect one back, though. I still stand firm that Duke and Damian shouldn’t be vigilantes."

B hums in response, then holds the door open. His siblings are already surrounding Duke’s bed. He looks a bit pale, the oxygen cannula around his nose making him seem smaller. When Duke blinks his eyes open, Jason can’t help but tease,
"So, you’ve racked up your first near-death experience. How do you feel?"
Cass jabs him in the ribs for that one, but it’s worth it.
"Like I just got shot," Duke grins, and Jason can tell the painkillers in his system are top-notch.
"Woah, I feel like I could fight God right now."
"Let’s not," Steph says from her chair, and Cass giggles behind her.
"I’m glad you’re okay, Duke. You really scared us."
Tim bursts through the door, still in his Wayne Enterprises suit.
"Sorry I’m late." He glances around, finally meeting Duke’s eyes. "Oh, good. I’m glad you’re okay."
Duke gives him a small wave, and Jason snorts,
"Oh, look, Timothy is here."
Damian rolls his eyes, then glances at Duke.
"Thomas, I hope you know I will never cover for you again. You seem incapable of skipping school without nearly dying."
Duke lets out a small laugh. "You know what? That’s fair. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were worried."
"Of course not, Thomas," Damian hisses.
"Wait," Jason finally speaks up. "You knew Duke skipped class?"
"Yes, Todd, but no worries. I won’t make the same mistake again. And that explains the guilty look on his face earlier."
"You’re a snitch, Damian," Duke bites back, his words still a bit slurred.
"Wait," Steph says, brow furrowing. "Why’d you skip class in the first place? I thought you liked school."
"Don’t you think it’s a bit unfair to ask personal questions to someone on painkillers?" Dick says, shooting a quick glare at Stephanie, who just shrugs.
The room goes quiet for a moment, and then Duke opens his mouth. Jason wonders if he’ll regret being this open.
"No offense, but I missed home food. Food my mom used to make. No one else makes it like she did, and I love Alfred, I really do, but it’s not the same. Sometimes it feels like nothing is the same."
Tears well up in Duke’s eyes, and Jason watches, surprised. Duke hadn’t even cried when he was shot.
"Hey, it’s alright, buddy," Dick says, his voice soft, trying to placate him. Jason would’ve laughed at the awkwardness if the situation weren’t so raw.
He’s sure everyone in this room, other than Bruce, understands that cultural divide.
When Bruce first took him in, Jason had experienced metaphorical whiplash—living in such excess after growing up with so little. He imagines it’s the same for Duke.
Dick speaks first, giving Duke’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
"You can’t keep skipping school, little D, but I understand. I still haven’t found a way to recreate my mama’s mititei. It drove me crazy. But one time, I was on a mission with the Titans, and we were on stakeout in Star City. Found this hole-in-the-wall restaurant that served it. Best food in the world. I actually started crying. The host looked at me like I was nuts."
Dick looks at Jason, almost expectantly, and Jason rolls his eyes but speaks anyway.
"I was planning on making sancocho today. Can’t quite make it like my mom did, but it’s close enough. I still smoke the same cigarettes I always did, too."
Damian scrunches his nose.
"Cigarettes are ill-suited for a vigilante, Todd, but when I was in the League, we ate mulukhiyah often. No place in Gotham serves it."
That seems to spark a domino effect, because suddenly Tim’s talking about a stew a maid makes, Cass mentions mapo tofu, and Steph even brings up a casserole her father used to make. Jason has never felt more at home and simultaneously disconnected.
"Duke, remember when I said I’d make you anything if you didn’t die?"
Steph elbows him again, clearly thinking it’s part of his incentive. Jason keeps speaking anyway.
He waits for Duke to nod before continuing.
"How about we have a dish day? We can cook something together, try it until we get it right, so you don’t have to skip school and almost end up on a t-shirt because of it."
Duke snorts, then bursts into laughter, a sound Jason doesn’t think he’s ever heard from him before.
"Alright, I can’t wait."
Jason smiles back, feeling a little lighter.
Duke looks a little shocked, but also right at home.
Jason glances over at Bruce, who has a small smile on his face.
"Glad to have your back, Duke."